series summary | hotelier!miranda priestly, who’s unable to conceive a child of her own leading to two divorces, has already made peace with the fact that she’s going to spend her life all alone while she desperately tries to keep her crumbling hotel from falling apart. but when she crosses paths with a struggling single mom!reader determined to survive for her and her daughter, an unexpected connection begins to challenge everything miranda thought her life would be.
warnings! | strangers to lovers, age difference, angst, fluff, slight ooc!miranda, soft!miranda, single mom!reader, romance, set in 2000s, found family, sexuality crisis, internalized homophobia, slow burn, pining, they’re bad at communication, lesbian panic, (more tba)
a/n | this mamma mia reverse au has been on my mind for so long now and i was debating whether it’ll be a donna or a miranda fic, but then here we go (again jk not really). this’ll be my first wlw fic (of the many meryl streep fanfics i’m currently developing) and english isn’t my first language so please go easy on me. i wanted to post this so i won’t have anymore excuses to procrastinate. i hope some people would enjoy this <3 meryl streep is my gay awakening.
𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ryland grace & fem!reader
𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 after learning that you and grace are married, you both decide to jog your brains in an attempt to remember who you both were as a couple before your memories were tampered with, leading to a recollection of why you're here in the first place.
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 1.8k
𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 i did not expect the last part to be received so well!! low key thought it was ahh so i was ready to sweep it under the rug but nope so here's part two yippieee!
ryland sits on his favourite spinning stool with wheels as you haul over a large white board to prop up against the wall and two white board markers. he does a little twirl in the chair before you toss a marker in his direction.
before he takes it, he spots the marker you're holding.
"i want the blue one."
you glance over your shoulder at him as you get rid of the old equations on the board with a dry eraser. with a sigh, you toss him your pen, giving him the blue while you catch the black from him. he gives you a single exaggerated nod in thanks for the trade.
"alright," you begin, "i know we'll eventually get all of the memories back, but i thought we could try get them faster by coming up with questions for us to think about together that'll help us remember more about this relationship."
"marriage," he corrects.
you internally panic, then nod. "marriage. right. sorry."
you spin around to the board and write up a heading at the top; 'WHO ARE WE?'. ryland hums in amusement.
you wordlessly jot down underneath: ‘HOW DID WE MEET?’
ryland furrows his eyebrows.
“school.”
you turn to him with a befuddled look. “what?”
“i remember that one. my school reached out to the hospital and you came in to talk to the kids about what it’s like to be a doctor.”
your writing hand falls limp at your side. the memory hits you in the face.
“why didn’t you tell me?”
“i thought you would’ve remembered!” he contended.
with a sigh, you throw the white board marker across the lab and sit down on the seat across from him. “this is stupid.”
he taps his blue pen on the table’s surface, thinking. then, he decides, “let’s just talk.”
you lift your head from being buried your hands.
“talk?”
he shrugs.
“talk. share what we each remember.”
you glance down at the wedding band on his left hand, letting out a deep exhale.
“alright.”
“yeah?”
“yeah.”
“okay,” he gives a little smile, tossing the beloved blue marker in the same direction as yours. “i’ll go first. i remember you used to pants me whenever i was winning an argument.”
“what?” you laugh.
he leans forwards on the table with a sigh.
“yup. i recall one time where you claimed that mercury is the hottest planet. common misconception.”
“it’s the closest to the sun!”
as soon as the argument comes out of your mouth, the memory of this exact conversation rushes in.
it was a sunday night. you were both in the kitchen, ryland making two peppermint teas while you sat on the counter to keep him company. he was reaching into the cupboard for a pair of mugs while responding to your false statement.
‘okay, sweetheart, yes it may be the closest, but mercury just doesn’t have the substantial atmosphere that’s needed in order to contain that much heat.”
you blinked. ‘but…’
‘no. no buts. you’re a doctor, honey. you’re smarter than this.’
with that, you frowned, then suddenly hopped off the counter to tug ryland’s sweatpants down his legs. they fell into a bunch on the floor, leaving him in his plaid boxers.
he didn’t flinch, just looked at you over his shoulder mid-tea pour.
‘really?’
you folded your arms across your chest.
‘yup.’
“i did do that didn’t i…” you say after you recall.
ryland catches the look of recognition on your face, eyeing you over the rims of his glasses with an amused smirk.
“alright, your turn.”
he pushes his glasses up his nose. you sigh, scratching the back of your neck as you jog your memory. you glance up at him.
“d’you remember how we ended up here together?”
ryland stops to think.
“they…they made me. by force.” he clears his throat at this part, but when he tries to remember where you fit into the equation, he frowns, eyebrows bunching together.
“where were you?”
you chuckle, running a palm up your arm as a self-soother. you begin to blush at the memory.
“i was already with you on the boat by that point after you demanded for me to be flown out…” you tease. “when the lab blew up, i didn’t have to be told to know that stratt would put you on the mission,” you say softly before suddenly stopping.
ryland notices the avoidance of eye contact, the glassy eyes and the tense jaw in your expression. he reaches for your hand across the desk and gives your fingers a squeeze, listening carefully.
“i nearly let you go, grace…” you whisper.
you remember his crying, his attempt of running away to god knows where, and the way he pleaded into the dirt when he was held down.
when they were taking him to be put into the induced coma, you were crying alongside him, squeezing his hand and peppering kisses all over his face, saying that it was going to be okay. stratt had convinced you that ryland would be making a courageous sacrifice for the rest of the world, but when you lost grip on his hand and he was taken from you, you approached stratt and seized her by the wrists.
‘let me go with him,’ you sobbed.
she tensed in your grasp, already visibly upset. ‘dr. grace, i am afraid that is not possible-’
‘i’ve been glued to his side practically the entire time,’ you insist, cheeks wet with tears. ‘i know the science—the stars, the astrophage, and like ilyukhina said to him, i can pick up the other stuff as i go along!’
stratt stared at you for what felt like a long time. you knew it wasn’t that simple, but if you could just make her feel like she owed you this.
‘you do understand that you would be giving up your life?’ she asked simply.
you let go of her wrists, your throat bobbed as you swallowed another cry.
‘my husband and i had plans to grow old and die together, stratt.’
your voice wobbled with every word.
‘if we can’t have the old part, at least let us have the dying part. i won’t…’ your throat tightened. inhale. exhale.
‘i won’t let you take him from me,’ you finished.
you knew then as you know now that that sentence wasn’t fair. but, she looked truly sorry.
stratt paused again for a long time, then looked you up and down. ‘you are a physician, yes?’
‘yes, ma’am.’
‘then for the record you will be designated the role of medic for the project hail mary mission.’ she turned to carl who looked like he was still staring in the direction ryland was taken in.
‘officer carl, bring her to the team and explain the situation please.’
carl snapped his head back into your direction, gave stratt a nod, and you a reassuring smile.
before being taken away, you remember flinging your arms around the other woman, squeezing your eyes shut.
‘thank you.’
she didn’t hug back, but gave an awkward pat on the back. you didn’t see that she had closed her eyes too, embracing the moment.
‘good luck,’ she whispered.
your eyes start to water, ryland’s grip only tightens on your hand. his eyes are widened ever so slightly, lips parted like he has something he wants to say.
your eyes shyly shift back to him.
“grace…?”
he can’t peel his eyes away from you. then he clears his throat.
“that- that doesn’t count…if i wasn’t there then that’s technically just one of your own memories,” he tries to jest lightly.
when you don’t laugh, he holds your gaze again, then murmurs, “you’re here because of me.”
it’s not a question. he sounds like he’s processing it. all you do is give a little nod while anxiously chewing on your bottom lip.
“if it weren’t for you, i’d be alone. ilyukhina and yao…they still wouldn’t of woken up. it’d just be me.”
ryland has stood from his seat, letting go of your hand, though his eyes haven’t left you once.
you glance down at you wedding rings. your favourite gemstone standing loud and proud on top of one of the bands. your thumb twists it a little.
“i’m not dying alone because of you.”
you stop. this makes you look up at him. because i love you, is what you want to say, but neither of you are sure how to approach that part of this dynamic just yet. so, ryland makes the first move by circling the table and suddenly scooping you up from your seat into a tight hug.
his chin rests on your shoulder, glasses hanging off his face, eyes squeezed shut. you’re too shocked to process any of it, but you eventually wrap your arms back around him, closing your eyes and melting into his warm embrace.
the security of his arms takes you back—it was a weekday after a particularly gruelling shift at the hospital. you and ryland had plans for a date, maybe the fifth or sixth. he came to your place to pick you up like the gentleman he is so the both of you could walk to the restaurant (he was still too shy to admit that he only owned a bike at this point).
when you opened the door looking just as nice as him, something came over you to see so much effort being put in for little old you. a sob left your throat, ryland panicked and immediately came closer to place his hands on each of your upper-arms. ‘what? what’s wrong? is it the tie? i wasn’t sure about it either to be honest, i just-’
‘no, no, i’m sorry, it’s just been a day…’ you whimper. ryland’s heart cracked open ever so slightly. he had bad days as a middle school teacher, so he couldn’t imagine the amount of stress you’d constantly be under as a doctor.
‘okay…okay, c’mere…’ he spoke softly before gently bringing you into his arms, squeezing tightly. you let yourself cry into his chest, shoulders shaking with each sob. ryland didn’t try to hush you, he just held you, eventually running his fingers through your hair in an attempt to comfort.
that night you ended up ordering takeout despite the reservation he had made. you two lounged on your couch, still dressed up, watching finding nemo.
your head found his shoulder when marlin and dory started bouncing around on the jellyfish.
‘the tie is ugly,’ you muttered. he smiled, then lifted an arm to wrap around your shoulder.
‘i knew it.’
you both pull away from the hug, though ryland’s hands stay firmly planted on your elbows as he looks down at you. you’re both teary-eyed, and you laugh as you push his falling glasses up his nose for him with your index finger. he smiles.
This particular piece was requested and I loved the idea so much, I just let the story take over and see where I'd end up. 15 pages and 4.7k words later, I am obsessed with the final results! I slipped in some Criminal Minds Easter Eggs too, if you know, you know 👀
TW: one allusion to smut, towards the end (cargo pants, iykyk), Tim Bradford being emotionally constipated, one mention of Nolan x Lucy, Smitty, Jackson is not a bad guy in this one, I just needed someone for that line, we absolutely love him on this page! (and he lives in this one too), mentions of Rachel, incorrect timeline (I had to make adjustments to make it work); let me know if I missed anything
Summary: While on leave in LA, visiting your godfather, you catch the attention of one grumpy officer.
Pairings: Tim Bradford x NavyOfficer!reader / John Nolan x Goddaughter!Reader / Steve McGarrett x Daughter!reader
Masterlist
Closing the passenger door of your car, you made sure to lock it before making your way towards the range. Your go-bag was perfectly fine sitting in the trunk, but the front of the car seemed like the quicker option. Call it military training, if you will, always be ready at a moment’s notice. There was nothing wrong with that, of course. After all, it taught you how to be efficient and on time, a habit your dad tried to instill in you since middle-school. You weren’t trying to make a habit out of being late, of course, but you were cutting it pretty close for a long time before joining the Navy. Now, after years of adjusting your internal clock, you could not be late even if you tried.
The parking lot was buzzing with activity and if their shirts were any indication, the majority of them were LAPD officers. Good, you thought to yourself, got the location right.
You were on leave for a total of two weeks before you were expected back in Hawaii for God knows how long, so you decided to pay your favourite (and only) godfather a visit. An initial scan of the parking lot revealed no John Nolan in sight, but his car was here, so he probably headed inside to get ready for the test. You knew he had his gun qualifications today and that was exactly why you decided against going over to his house and waiting for him and Bailey. You were curious to see how his rookie training was going so far.
When he first told you he was enrolling in the Academy, you thought he was pranking you. Granted, it was well past the first of April, but the police Academy at 45 sounded like an odd kind of rebound after him and your Aunt Sarah got divorced. It wasn’t that you thought he couldn’t do it, you had complete faith in him. But you couldn’t help worrying over this sudden decision and the consequences it would inevitably bring.
Deciding to head inside and see if you could catch him before the qualifications began, you passed by two officers who looked like they’d rather be patrolling the streets at this ungodly hour than being here, proving their competence once again. The tall and broody one – a training officer, if the stripes on his sleeve were to be believed – sighed, shutting his car door with a little too much force. He spotted you and let out a loud scoff, rolling his eyes before turning to his colleague – a detective.
“I hate training with the public. Feels like we’re sharing trade secrets.”
The detective raised a teasing brow, not missing a beat, her keen eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Is it possible Tim Bradford is having performance anxiety? There are pills for that, you know?”
You chuckled softly to yourself, catching his snarky remark about Annie Oakley and something about a patrol crown. You knew cops were competitive, but you weren’t expecting the myths to be quite so true. Shaking your head, you hurried inside, keeping an eye out for your godfather while also trying your best to remain unnoticed for the time being. As it turns out, John Nolan is quite impossible to miss, one simply has to follow the endless teasing.
Seeing him after so many months brought back a lot of memories. Your first instinct was to run and hug-attack him, just like you did when you were little and still incapable of maintaining the element of surprise, but today you thought better of it. For one, because your stealth has improved and he wouldn’t even know you were there until you quite literally tackled him to the ground; and two, you wouldn’t want him distracted before the qualifications began and risk an accident, or, God forbid, him failing the test altogether.
Standing to the side and nearly blending in with the scenery, you listened as the Watch Commander explained how the morning’s events were to proceed. First round, the TO’s, second round, their rookies. If anyone failed the test today, they would have the next 30 days to better prepare and pass it. His tone, however, told a completely different story. He expected perfection from his officers, and honestly, who could blame him? These people are literally trained to protect an entire city if need be, and keep themselves safe and alive at all times. Failure was not an option.
You watched the TO’s get into position and were pleasantly surprised to see the witty detective from earlier in the same lane as John. But your interest was really piqued when the grumpy officer took the spot right next to her. Well, this should be fun.
Loud gunshots, bullets fired with rapid precision, magazines emptied and targets completely demolished. The training officers stepped back and the rookies took their spots. Your eyes followed each of them, cataloguing their familiarity with their weapons, the dexterity when checking everything was functional and the sheer determination shining in their eyes. That was, until your godfather looked away a fraction of a second, lowered his gun, and proceeded to completely flunk his turn, instead appearing infinitely more invested in a man wearing scuba gear and shooting hay dummies than his own target.
“Officer Nolan!”
His Watch Commander was as perplexed as you were. Why, exactly, did John stop? This is LA, weirder things have happened, a man training in scuba gear was really low on the list of suspicious behaviour.
The fire ceased, the test was done. John Nolan had failed spectacularly, and your self-restraint was right behind him.
“What the hell was that? You never take your eyes off a target, no matter what sparkly unicorn decides to fly into the range!”
So much for remaining unnoticed. All eyes turned to you, various degrees of surprise, confusion and amusement reflected in the officers’ faces. The detective – your godfather’s training officer – raised an inquisitive brow, leveled John with a glare, and pointed at you.
“What she said.”
You heard a mutter from one of the other two rookies – Officer West, by the name on his shirt – and cocked your head to the side, waiting for him to repeat the words. He rolled his eyes.
“All unicorns fly, it’s literally in their job description.”
You tried to school your expression, you really did, but couldn’t keep down the offended scowl you were certain was displayed oh so clearly on your face.
“No” your tone sounded dangerously close to your Aunt Sarah’s when she was trying to gently discipline baby Henry all those years ago “Only pegasi fly. It’s common knowledge.”
It took all your remaining will-power – and there was not much of that either – not to roll your eyes and mutter duh while you were at it.
“…Pegasi?”
“Winged horses. No horn. Ergo, different species.”
Officer West looked at you as if you’ve spontaneously grown a horn yourself. You sighed and shook your head, faux disappointment evident with every passing second.
“Amateurs.”
Then turned back to face John, the sternness you inherited from your father working overtime to ensure he took you seriously. But in all fairness, you did not think he would. The man has known you practically your whole life, has been there for pink themed birthday parties, difficult first days of school – granted, more difficult for Steve than for you – and even the years where you proudly decided to take after him and try and fix things around the house. Your idea of fixing, however, mostly included sticking crayons in the DVD player because the black and white film your dad was watching had to be the result of technical difficulties and setting up glitter bombs to go off in his and Danny’s go-bags because – and you quote – ‘the gear could use some sparkles’. So really, how were you expecting him to see you as an actual, functioning adult? Still, a girl can dream.
“But you!” you point a finger at his chest “What were you thinking? It’s literally the first lesson they teach you in the Academy! Eyes. On. The. Target! Do you want to get yourself hurt? Or worse?”
John lifted a brow, arms crossed over his chest, his expression bordering more on entertained than actually listening to a word you’re saying.
“Are you done?”
You huff, crossing your own arms.
“No, I’m not done! Exactly how many –“
“I’m sorry, but who are you?”
Officer Grumpy interrupted your lecture, his patience visibly evaporating. And good thing he did, because the mix of fondness and amusement on your godfather’s face almost made you pout, which would have undermined your whole argument. Your gaze shifted slowly, taking him in from head to toe. You clocked his posture, the way he carried himself, and the precision behind each movement. Military background.
Interesting.
You squared your shoulders and kept your chin up as you answered, voice steady, eye contact never wavering.
“Lieutenant Commander McGarrett, United States Navy.”
A few low whistles circulated the space around you, whispers too quick to decipher being exchanged between the officers.
“And the reason you’re chewing out Nolan for reckless behaviour – which he deserves, by the way – is?”
The detective trailed off, seemingly waiting for an explanation, but you suspected she was more invested in the drama than the real answer. And you couldn’t blame her, really. The way you were yelling at him just now suggested a level of familiarity usually reserved for loved ones.
Your eyes still on Nolan, you let out a long suffering sigh.
“If my godfather here wants to insert himself into some of the most dangerous situations known to man, fine, he has my full support. But he could, at the very least, prove that he can handle a weapon. For my sanity.”
The smile John was fighting finally broke through and he stepped forward, engulfing you in a warm hug. And as much as you wanted to be upset with him – or at the very least, keep up the appearance – you couldn’t help but hug him back tight, the feeling of home never failing to settle deep within your chest every time he gave you one of his legendary bear hugs. A few tears gathered on your lash line and threatened to spill over, but you willed them back. You wouldn’t cry now, especially not in front of such a large audience.
“You and your stupid timing.” you heard yourself mumble “Waiting until my dad retires and I’m finally done worrying about him to pull a stunt like this, so I have to start all over again? I’m too young to go gray, uncle John! You are successfully sending me to an early grave!”
“Now you know how I felt after you called to tell me you joined the Navy.”
“Touché.”
From the corner of your eye, you catch a slow movement, the Watch Commander leaning towards Officer Grumpy – whose name you read as Bradford – and mumble something about owing his daughter a big apology, making the other man chuckle. Huh, you didn’t think he was capable of it, with all that frowning shadowing his handsome face and all.
Nevermind, scratch that. Even grumpy and scowling, the man was beautiful in a way that had you thinking back to some Renaissance paintings you studied back in college. All sharp angles and surreal blue eyes, Officer Bradford was a study in divine proportion.
Letting go of your favourite honorary uncle (but don’t let Danny hear that), you took a step back and glanced towards the target practice lanes, an idea forming in your head. Turning on your heel, you addressed the Watch Commander, your expression settling into all business.
“Sir, may Officer Nolan try again today?”
The older man shrugged, looking between you and his oldest rookie.
“I don’t see why not, if he does it fast – and actually does it, this time.”
“Good” you nod once and move to pull your own firearm from your thigh holster, your mouth settling into a small smirk “how about a little contest, uncle John? Loser cooks tonight?”
Before he had a chance to answer, the other two rookies, Officers Chen and West, burst out laughing. Nolan frowned, confusion taking over his features.
“What?”
“A firing contest between you and a trained special forces operative? I hope you bought a flattering apron.”
“Hey! I could beat her, you don’t know!”
Detective Harper snorted.
“No, you really can’t. But the spirit is noted and appreciated.”
John was left gaping like a fish, before turning to you with a determined look on his face.
“You’re on.”
Grinning like you won the lottery, you grabbed a pair of protective goggles and some earmuffs, moving into the right lane once the holey targets were replaced with brand new ones. John Nolan knew his goddaughter like the back of his hand, yes, but this wasn’t a one-sided street. You took pride in the fact that you knew him just as well – and so, you knew what buttons to push in order to either get what you wanted, or encourage him to do something for himself. You knew first-hand how competitive he could get, he would never turn down a challenge like this.
“Ready.”
You checked your gun one last time, making sure everything worked as it should.
“Set.”
Rolling your shoulders, you moved into position, years of special training turning this little routine into muscle memory.
“Fire!”
Gunshots drowned the previous silence, as shot after shot hit the dummies. You were vaguely aware of Nolan actually doing what he’s supposed to for a change, his shots ringing in the space around you and hitting true. But you were faster, more experienced. His fellow rookie wasn’t wrong to point out that this is, in fact, an unfair fight.
One set done, you maneuvered the gun skillfully, reloaded, and pointed towards the second target. A few shots in, you stopped to check the clip and took notice of the single remaining bullet in the magazine. Well, you got this far. And fired again, hitting the paper dead center.
There was no denying that you were faster, John finishing his turn almost half a minute after you, but his task was well and truly accomplished, passing his gun qualifications with flying colors. Even the Watch Commander looked pleasantly surprised.
“Congratulations, Officer Nolan, you get to keep your gun. For now.”
You heard some cheers and watched money being exchanged between the rookies, before a groan cut the party short.
“What is it, Smitty?”
The Watch Commander looked like all the patience in the world could not get him through the next five minutes.
“Now I have to return this.”
He lifted his right hand and a silver whistle caught a ray of sunlight.
Sergeant Grey pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head through what looked like a few breathing exercises.
“Why, on God’s green earth, did you buy a whistle?”
“For Nolan, in case he failed his test.”
You weren’t sure how to react, but judging by the reactions of the people around you, this was a rather common occurrence. Officer Chen recovered first.
“You…kept the receipt?”
Smitty gave her a look that damn near called her stupid six ways to Sunday.
“Duh. I’m irresponsible, not reckless.”
This interaction must have lasted a lot less than you thought, because just then, the whirring of the cogs could be heard over the noise and chatter, the papers finally returning so you could properly see your results. The first target showed impressively close groupings, all within the center of the human shaped drawing. For you, this was a regular Tuesday afternoon. For the officers crowding to see the paper, your skill was beyond impressive. Nolan’s first target wasn’t bad. A few shots towards the arms and one towards the head of the dummy, but the majority of his first clip was evenly spaced between the circles on the torso. His second target came back, and there were no wandering bullet holes this time. Good, visible improvement. But then your second target came back, and you were barely keeping a satisfied smirk at bay.
Because right in the center on the target dummy, inside the smallest circle, you drew a heart. With bullets. And that quick magazine check you did before your last shot? Right in the center of the heart.
“Did you just…flirt with the target?”
You weren’t sure whether Bradford’s tone betrayed amusement or admiration, but you were good with either, really. You shrugged in response.
“Maybe.”
John’s eyes kept moving between the target and your smug expression, letting out an exasperated sigh.
“Did your dad teach you this?”
You scoff, placing a dramatic hand over your heart.
“Of course not! Don’t be ridiculous.”
He raised a brow, clearly not believing you.
“Uncle Danny did.”
The innocent smile tugging at your lips was enough to cause your godfather to shake his head. He should have known, really.
“Of course he did.”
Unbeknownst to you, Tim has been keeping an eye on you since he first spotted you in the parking lot. You didn’t look as out of place as the general public usually did at a police range, and the way you carried yourself led him to speculate that you had some sort of military training. He was glad when his instinct was proven right. He saw you watching their practice, blending with the shadows and tactically taking note of your surroundings, all while finding the time to lecture Nolan about his poor performance. Your emotionally charged reaction, however, surprised him at first. Only someone close to him would react like that. A daughter, maybe? You were certainly within the correct age range, but he’s only ever mentioned a son, Henry. A sister? Doubtful, really. A step or half sister, maybe, but again, not likely.
A girlfriend?
God, he hoped not. He knew Nolan had no qualms about dating younger – really, Lucy was not as sly as she thought – but you seemed a bit too young. And besides, wasn’t he dating that firefighter?
So who, exactly, were you?
He chalked his interest up to mild curiosity and deep distaste for surprises. So, he didn’t like the unexpected, sue him. That didn’t mean anything. But he was still adamant it didn’t mean anything when a relieved sigh slipped past his lips upon hearing the word ‘godfather’. He was simply looking out for you, is all. Why would he need to do so in the first place? Well, he was a cop. He took an oath, swore to protect the innocent. And you looked pretty innocent from where he’s standing. Never mind that you were fully trained and perfectly capable of doing all the necessary protecting. He was simply doing his job, his sworn duty.
Nyla clocked the conflict unfolding in his head, and very likely on his face, and leaned in to whisper, making sure no one else but him heard.
“You know, Bradford, it’s okay to have a crush. She’s pretty badass.”
He rolled his eyes, the notion simply too absurd to entertain.
“I’m a grown man, I don’t have ‘crushes’.”
The detective raised her hands in surrender.
“Just saying, I’m pretty tempted to ask her out myself.”
The glare he threw her way was enough to freeze Hell over, and he realized far too late that he fell right into her trap. She knew how to push his buttons and chose to do just that, judging by the self-satisfied smirk playing on her lips. He groaned, closing his eyes and begging for some divine intervention to save him from embarrassing himself further.
“Not a word.”
He had to admit, your little contest idea was intriguing. It was clear that you had an advantage, just as Lucy said, but he’s got to give credit where credit’s due, because it surely worked. Nolan got requalified. And you got to show off, not that he’s judging. If he could shoot that well and turn target practice into art class the way you just did, he would never stop.
As he watched the officers make their way towards the exit, he hung back, glancing towards your results once more. Before he could think twice, he moved forward and unclipped the paper from the practice dummy, rolling it up and slipping it into his go-bag.
*
It’s almost two weeks later when Tim runs into you again. To say that he is surprised to see your confused expression trying to make out the architectural structure of the bullpen is an understatement. He calls out your name, and relief floods your face.
“Hi, sorry, do you happen to know where John is, by any chance?”
“Booking, him and Harper just came in a minute ago.”
“Thank you, Officer Grumpy.”
“That’s not my –“
He stops short upon noticing the teasing smile playing on your lips.
“But you already knew that, didn’t you?”
You hum affirmatively, allowing your eyes to slowly and shamelessly check him out. Tim should feel uncomfortable. He does feel uncomfortable, but there’s also something else. Intrigue, maybe? He’s not sure.
Or rather, he wasn’t sure. But then you cocked your head to the side, opened those perfectly glossed lips and his brain successfully short-circuited.
“Do you want to have dinner with me?”
“I – uh – what?”
“I’m leaving for Hawaii in two days, I don’t know when I’ll be back in LA. But I hoped to see you again before I left. Preferably, in a social setting. That is, if you’re interested?”
Your voice betrays you on the last syllable, the hope undeniable as you wait for his reply. You see the conflict warring on his face, the same way it did two weeks ago as he watched you rip your godfather a new one for mishandling a weapon.
He should say no. Tim Bradford doesn’t do long distance. Isn’t that what broke him and Rachel up in the first place? And what is the point in going out on a date when any potential romance between the two of you would be doomed before it ever had a chance to start? But he finds that he doesn’t have it in him to say no, curious to see where the night might lead you, curious if you could become more than a fleeting memory and a make-shift poster hidden at the bottom of his gym bag.
He gives you a boyish smile, one that makes him look heartbreakingly handsome in the bright morning light.
“Yeah. Let’s do it.”
*
Almost three years later, you walk into Mid-Wilshire station as a woman on a mission. Getting a visitor’s badge at the front desk, you are sent on your merry way into the heart of the building, greeting people in passing and dodging hurried rookies running around like headless chicken. Passing the bullpen, you take the now very familiar right on the corridor and stop in front of the door you’ve been searching for. A quick knock revealed that your fiancé was not back yet, so you let yourself in, closing the door softly behind you.
You’ve always been proud of Tim, through highs and lows, good days and bad, opportunities and locked doors alike. You helped him study for the Sergeant’s exam and celebrated him when he scored 8th out of 140 people. You couldn’t help your squeal of excitement when a position opened at Mid-Wilshire and he got to stay with his friends and family. You knew how much he hated the idea of starting anew at a different station. But when he told you about Metro? You were so proud of him, you felt like your heart could burst.
Tim Bradford deserves the world, and the parts of it you couldn’t give him, you’d make sure to help him achieve.
Sitting down at his desk, you take in the newly decorated office. A few picture frames on his desk, a picture of the two of you from the day he proposed sitting closest to him and another, his favourite of you and Kojo, right behind it. His office supplies sit neatly organized before you and the case reports are arranged alphabetically in the drawers. You didn’t think he’d take your labeling idea seriously, but it turns out he was actually listening.
Moving your gaze to the wall opposite the desk, you freeze. It couldn’t be. Surely you are imagining.
But no. Right in front of you, framed and protected by a thin glass case, was your target practice sheet, the one you shot the first day you met. The light fixture in the small office space illuminates every line and bullet hole perfectly, drawing the attention towards the heart in the center immediately.
The door opens and you tear your watery eyes away from the case, focusing instead on a smiling Tim, who’s pleasantly surprised to see you earlier than scheduled.
“Hey, sweetheart. I’ll be done in a minute, and then we can go to dinner.”
The soft smile you were sporting just before he came in turned into a wide grin, your eyes sparkling with so much love. Tim wished he could capture this moment, seal it in a magic jar, and never let it go for as long as he shall live.
“You kept it?”
Tim frowns, confused for a moment, before following your line of sight.
Oh.
“Yeah.”
His answer is so simple, so matter-of-fact, so Tim, that you can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips.
“Why?”
He shrugs, looking away, and you could swear a tinge of pink coated the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears.
“It represents the first day of the rest of our lives together.”
The tears slowly cascading down your cheeks turn into full on sobs as you get up from his chair and throw your arms around his neck, holding him as tight as humanly possible. His arms engulf your smaller frame as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent and reveling in the knowledge that he is home.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, baby.”
“Oh, almost forgot!”
He jumps back, pulling suddenly away, eyes wide and teasing as he starts digging through the pockets of his uniform cargo pants. God, those pants give you unholy thoughts every single time.
Upon finding what he was looking for, he hands you a folded sheet of paper.
“What’s this?” you ask as you take and unfold the note.
“Metro hazing. The guys thought it would help team morale if we got matching tattoos.”
You frown, hands stopping any movement, as you glance between him and the paper.
“Cops who get matching tattoos inevitably end up in prison.”
The adoring smile he flashes your way is not consistent with the threat of a potential gang tattoo he’d just mentioned. Now you were really confused. For his part, Tim only sighs, shaking his head fondly.
“Just open it.”
You raise a brow in question before opening the page and as your eyes settle on the contents of his handmade envelope, you let out the most undignified snort. The pink unicorn sticker that looked like he’d seen better days gleamed in the low light, the glitter covering his mane still delivering the full effect.
“Matching tattoos, huh?”
“They covered me in them, I was pretty sure I’d find glitter in places a man never wants to find glitter for the foreseeable future. But I saved you the most intact one I could find. And don’t worry, I already gave one to West too, for old time’s sake.”
Biting your lip, you fished your phone out of your pocket, carefully transferring the adorable little unicorn onto your plain, baby pink phone case. Now every time you looked at it, you’d think of Tim, and all of the little ways in which he shows you just how much he loves you. And God help you, you love him right back, with everything you have, and more.
Summary: She thought the hardest part was earning her place. She was wrong. The job doesn’t get easier, it just changes, leaving room for choices without clear answers. And somewhere in that shift, her dynamic with Tim becomes something far less certain and harder to ignore.
Word count: 3.4k
Series Masterlist
<- Previous
a/n: Okay! I don't really know what to say here other than enjoy and lmk what you think!
The station felt different the next morning.
Normally there was always noise at this hour. Conversations between officers finishing one shift and starting another. Someone complaining about paperwork. Someone else trying to convince whoever was closest to grab coffee before briefing. The usual rhythm of a station full of people who spent more time together than they did with their families.
The bullpen wasn't silent, but it was quieter than you'd ever heard it. Conversations stayed low and brief. Officers moved between desks with a kind of subdued purpose, speaking when necessary and little beyond that. Nobody was gathered around the coffee machine. Nobody was laughing.
The first black mourning band caught your attention as Officer Jan crossed the room, a thin strip of black fabric wrapped around her badge.
It wasn't the only one.
Every officer in the bullpen wore one.
When you entered the briefing room, a small box sat near the door. You grabbed one without thinking, fastening it across your own badge before heading towards your usual seat.
Yesterday, Captain Andersen had been standing in front of the division leading a briefing. Less than twenty-four hours ago she had been giving orders, coordinating an operation, and reminding officers exactly what was expected of them.
Now she was being remembered by a strip of black fabric pinned across hundreds of badges.
The thought settled heavily in your chest.
Around the room, officers continued filtering towards the briefing. Lucy sat besides West, neither of them speaking much. Nolan looked exhausted, dark circles beneath his eyes making it obvious he hadn't slept. Angela stared down at a file for several seconds before finally turning a page. Even Bradford seemed quieter than usual, standing near the back of the room with his arms crossed and his attention fixed somewhere distant.
Nobody talked about Andersen.
They didn't have to.
Her absence filled the room anyway.
It sat in the empty spaces between conversations. In the way people avoided looking towards the captain's office. In the way every officer in the room seemed to carry themselves a little differently than they had the day before.
Eventually Grey stepped to the front of the room.
The remaining conversations died away almost immediately.
For a moment he simply stood there, looking out at the division.
You'd known Grey long enough to recognise the strain around his eyes. Andersen had been more than his captain. More than his commanding officer. They had spent years working together, building Mid-Wilshire into something both of them believed in.
When he finally spoke, his voice remained steady.
"Yesterday, we lost Captain Zoe Andersen." The words settled over the room. "There'll be time for grief later. We have a job to finish. Midas gave up his son. We know where he's headed. Look, I know what's in your hearts. What you want to do more than anything. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want it, too. Word is, if you kill a cop, you never see the inside of a cell. But that's not what Captain Andersen would want. Killing this loser won't honour her memory. Doing our jobs will. And we owe it to her to do it the right way. Agreed?"
A chorus of quiet affirmatives answered him.
Grey nodded once. "All right, let's go."
///
Less than an hour later, you found yourself standing behind a patrol unit on a stretch of empty roadway outside the city.
The operation had been planned quickly and executed even faster. Units had been positioned at key points along the route, creating a controlled interception point with enough officers present to ensure Cole Midas wouldn't have any options once he arrived.
You'd never seen this many officers gathered for a single arrest.
Patrol officers stood shoulder to shoulder behind their shops. Detectives moved between vehicles making final preparations. SWOT officers occupied positions further back, rifles trained towards the roadway. Every officer present wore a black mourning band across their badge.
A reminder of why they were here.
The California sun beat down on the asphalt, but nobody seemed to notice.
The atmosphere felt heavy, the kind of focus that came from hundreds of officers trying very hard to remember Grey's words from the briefing.
Do it the right way.
You adjusted your grip on your rifle and looked down the road.
Besides you, Max stood in position, his attention fixed on the same stretch of pavement. Neither of you had spoken much since the night before. There hadn't been much to say.
Around you, officers checked equipment and exchanged quiet updates. Radios crackled intermittently before falling silent again.
A helicopter circled overhead, its steady thrum carrying across the otherwise quiet roadway.
Then Grey's voice. "All units, get ready. Airship has a visual. Two minutes out."
The effect was immediate.
Every set of eyes turned towards the road.
Two minutes.
After nearly twenty-four hours of grief, anger, and exhaustion, the man responsible for all of it was finally on his way.
Besides you, Max shifted slightly, his attention still fixed on the roadway. For a while neither of you spoke. The silence wasn't uncomfortable exactly, but it wasn't easy either. There had been too much distance between you lately for that.
Eventually he let out a slow breath and shook his head. She would've hated this."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of your mouth before disappearing just as quickly. "Probably."
For a few moments the conversation threatened to die there. Around you, officers continued checking equipment and exchanging updates while the helicopter circled overhead, but Max surprised you by speaking again.
"Yesterday kind of put things in perspective."
When you glanced over, his eyes never left the road.
"I spent a lot of time being angry. I kept telling myself it was about what happened between us, but honestly, I don't think it was." He paused briefly before continuing. "I think I was putting a lot of things on you that had nothing to do with you."
The admission caught you off guard enough that you didn't immediately respond.
"I told you what happened with my ex, and part of me was putting that onto you. Even after that, I was still looking for her in you." His jaw tightened slightly. "Looking back, I think I was comparing everything, and that wasn't fair. I know that."
The words settled heavily between you.
"I kept comparing you to somebody you were never trying to be," he continued. "And I kept expecting things from you that weren't fair."
You looked down at the rifle in your hands for a moment before shaking your head. "You weren't the only one."
Max glanced over.
You sighed. "I wasn't exactly clear about what I wanted either. Half the time I acted like I knew what I was doing, and the other half I just expected you to somehow figure it out without me actually saying anything."
That earned the first genuine laugh you'd heard from him in weeks.
"Yeah," he admitted. "You did."
You rolled your eyes despite yourself.
"Thanks."
"I'm serious."
The corner of your mouth twitched.
Looking back now, it seemed ridiculous how much damage had been done simply because neither of you had communicated. You'd both made assumptions. You'd both got hurt. Then you'd both doubled down and spent weeks avoiding each other because it was easier than having an uncomfortable conversation.
"I should've talked to you," Max admits.
You smile. "I definitely should've talked to you."
This time the laugh that escaped both of you came easier.
Yesterday you had stood besides a pool looking at someone who had been alive only hours earlier. Suddenly all the energy you'd both spent being angry felt small compared to that.
Neither of you spoke for a while after that.
You found yourself looking further down the line of officers, where Bradford was standing with Lucy. Even from this distance it was obvious she was getting some kind of lecture. Tim's posture gave it away immediately. Arms crossed. Expression serious. Lucy looked increasingly guilty with every passing second.
A smile pulled briefly at your mouth.
Besides you, Max followed your gaze before letting out an amused huff. "Poor Chen."
You nodded. "Tim's definitely turning this into a lesson."
"One hundred percent."
The smile lingered as you watched Tim say something else that immediately made Lucy's shoulders slump.
Then Max looked at you. "You know, you probably think I'm a major asshole for bringing this up again, but you do look at him differently."
You frowned.
"What are you talking about?"
"Bradford."
The answer came so quickly that it took a second to process.
"What? No."
"Come on."
"He's my TO."
"Was."
You gestured vaguely towards the pair. "We got close."
Max laughed. "You don't see me looking at Lopez like that."
"Okay, but that's completely different—"
"All units, twenty seconds out. Get ready." Grey's voice cut through the conversation.
The conversation with Max disappeared instantly beneath the weight of what was coming. Officers adjusted their grips on their weapons, attention narrowing towards the stretch of roadway ahead as movement finally appeared in the distance.
A dark sedan emerged around the bend, moving steadily towards the roadblock, and the atmosphere changed immediately. The grief that had been sitting heavily over the operation since morning didn't disappear, but it seemed to sharpen into something else. Purpose.
This was why they were here.
The vehicle continued forward before gradually slowing, finally rolling to a stop several yards from the line of patrol vehicles. For a moment, nothing happened.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
The helicopter continued circling overhead while dozens of officers kept their weapons trained on the sedan. The tension was almost physical now, stretching across the roadway as everyone waited to see what Cole Midas would do.
Grey stepped forward, raising the megaphone. "Cole Midas, you are surrounded by the LAPD. Step out of the vehicle with your hands in the air."
The order echoed across the roadway before fading into silence.
Still nothing.
The doors stayed closed.
You could feel the officers around you tightening with every passing second.
Then Angela's voice cut across the radio. "I've got a clean shot, Sarge."
Grey's expression hardened. "Get out of the damn car now!"
The pause that followed seemed to last forever.
Then a voice finally called back. "Okay! I'm getting out! Don't shoot!"
The driver's side door opened slowly.
Every weapon on the scene tracked the movement.
Cole stepped out with both hands raised above his head, looking significantly less intimidating than the man who had dominated every conversation in the station for the last two days.
You found yourself staring at him.
This was the man who had ordered a green light on a Noland. The man responsible for Captain Andersen's death. The man whose actions had left an entire division grieving.
And he just looked like a man.
Grey never took his eyes off him. "Nolan, go arrest that man."
The words settled over the roadway.
A few feet away, Bishop immediately turned towards him. "It shouldn't be him."
Grey's gaze remained fixed on Cole.
"No," he said quietly. "It needs to be."
Your eyes found Nolan automatically.
He hadn't spoken since arriving at the roadblock. Truthfully, you weren't sure he'd spoken much at all since the pool. He looked exhausted, grief etched into every line of his face, but there was something steady about him as he stepped forward and began crossing the distance between himself and Cole.
Nobody argued.
Every officer there understood exactly why Grey had chosen him.
Cole attempted confidence at first, talking before Nolan had even reached him, but the bravado felt hollow now. Whatever power he thought he had disappeared the second he stepped out of that car. Nolan secured his hands, positioned him against the vehicle, and began reading his rights with the same calm professionalism he brought to every arrest.
Watching it felt strange.
Then Cole laughed.
The sound carried further than it should have in the silence.
"Come on. We both know I won't live to stand trial."
For the first time, something shifted in Nolan's expression.
"Yes, you will." The words were firm enough to make Cole fall silent. "Because the woman you killed taught us it's not our job to punish you. Just to see to it that you are."
The statement settled over the officers gathered along the roadway.
For a brief moment nobody moved.
Captain Andersen would've approved of that answer.
Nolan finished the arrest and guided Cole towards a waiting shop, placing him in the back seat before closing the door behind him.
Just like that, it was over.
The hunt that had consumed the division since Andersen's murder was finished. Cole Midas was in custody. He would stand trial. He would answer for what he'd done.
But as officers gradually lowered their weapons and began returning equipment to their vehicles, you realised that nobody looked relieved.
Maybe because relief implied something had been fixed.
And nothing about this was fixed.
Captain Andersen was still gone.
Your attention drifted across the scene as officers slowly began breaking formation. Most looked exhausted. Some looked numb. Others seemed lost in thought. It wasn't until you noticed Bradford moving away from the group that something finally pulled your attention from the aftermath.
His posture had changed.
The exhaustion was still there, but it had been replaced by something sharper.
Anger.
Following his gaze, you found the source almost immediately.
Murphy.
The Internal Affairs investigator stood a short distance away observing the scene, and whatever Bradford was thinking, it was obvious he wasn't happy to see her there.
"Wh— no, don't—"
Lucy spotted it too, hurrying after him before he could reach her.
You watched the exchange from a distance, unable to hear most of what was being said but understanding enough from their expressions. Bradford looked ready for a fight when he approached. Murphy didn't back down. For several tense moments, it seemed like the conversation could go either way.
Then something changed.
The anger slowly left Bradford's posture. Murphy's expression softened. Whatever was being said, it clearly wasn't the confrontation either of them had expected.
The conversation lasted another minute before Bradford finally nodded and stepped away.
By the time he returned, Lucy was waiting for him.
"Is everything okay?"
Bradford glanced back once before looking at her.
"Yeah," he said. "For now."
Then he gestured towards the vehicles and started walking again. "All right. Back to work."
You watched them go for a moment before looking away.
There was obviously history there. More than you understood, and probably more than you wanted to understand.
Today wasn't the day to ask.
When you finally turned back, Max was already looking at you, wearing that familiar expression that immediately made you suspicious.
You narrowed your eyes. "Don't."
His grin widened. "I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
"Maybe."
You pointed a finger at him. "We literally just made up."
The grin only grew. "And?"
"And I'm not ruining it by arguing with you again."
A laugh escaped him, the sound easier than it had been in weeks. "That's probably smart."
You rolled your eyes. "I take back everything I said."
"No, you don't."
Unfortunately, he sounded entirely too confident about that.
For a second, neither of you spoke.
Then Max bumped your shoulder lightly as the two of you started back towards the shops.
"We good?"
The question was simple.
So was the answer.
"Yeah. "For the first time in a long time, you meant it. "Yeah. We're good."
///
By the time you finally made it home, exhaustion should have been enough to drag you under, but the bedroom remained stubbornly awake around you. The apartment was dark except for the thin golden pool of light spilling from the stove, the same one you always left on when your shift ran late. Your boots lay kicked off by the front door, and your uniform shirt was draped over the back of a chair like a discarded second skin. Yet sleep refused to come.
Every time you closed your eyes, the last two days pressed in again, Captain Andersen’s body besides the pool, Nolan kneeling in the blood, the silent line of officers standing at attention as the gurney rolled between them, the black mourning band stretched across your badge. And then Cole Midas stood in the middle of the roadway, hands raised, while Nolan’s voice cut through the air.
You stared at the phone in your hand for a minute before pressing 'call'. The line rang twice.
“Hey.” Tim’s voice was rough with exhaustion, but you weren’t surprised.
“Hey.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence felt strangely comfortable, like neither of you needed to explain why you were still awake at this hour.
“Can't sleep?” he asked.
A humourless laugh slipped out of you. “Not even a little.”
“Yeah.”
The single word told you everything. He wasn’t sleeping either.
You sat up slightly, resting your back against the headboard, and the words slipped out before you could stop them. “I don’t know how to do this.”
Tim was quiet for a beat. “Lose someone?”
You swallowed. “Yeah. I keep thinking I’m okay, and then something reminds me of her and it’s like…” You trailed off, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see it. “I don’t know. The station felt different today. It felt… less safe.”
“It did," he agreed, voice low.
“It felt more fragile. More real.” You hesitated, then added, “I keep thinking about yesterday. She was sitting in her office talking to me about becoming a detective. Not even twenty-four hours later, we were standing in formation watching her leave in a coroner’s van.”
The silence on the other end stretched for a few seconds. When Tim finally spoke again, his voice was quieter than before. “She believed in you.”
“I know.”
“No,” he said gently. “I don’t think you do. She talked about you all the time.”
A weak laugh escaped you. “That’s terrifying.”
“I’m serious,” he said, and something in his tone made your chest tighten. “She saw something in you early, before everybody started noticing, before you proved yourself a hundred different times. She saw what kind of cop you were becoming.”
The words landed harder than you expected, hitting something raw you’d been trying to keep buried. Your eyes burned instantly. For a second, you couldn’t speak, because hearing it from Andersen would have been encouraging, but hearing it now felt like losing her all over again. A sharp breath caught in your throat, and you pressed a hand against your eyes.
“Damn it,” you whispered, the curse breaking on the way out.
Tim didn’t try to fix it or tell you everything would be okay. He just stayed on the line, steady and present, listening while the tears came.
You weren’t even sure if you were crying for Andersen, the pool, the empty office waiting at the station, or the simple fact that tomorrow would come and she still wouldn’t be there. Through all of it, he never interrupted.
Eventually, the tears faded, leaving the silence gentler than before.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
You laughed weakly. “No.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Me neither.”
For some reason, that made you smile.
A few more minutes passed before the conversation finally wound down. “Get some sleep,” Tim said eventually.
“You too.”
“I’ll try.”
The line disconnected a few seconds later.
You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling. The apartment felt quiet, the kind of stillness that only made the thoughts louder. They drifted, unwillingly, back to the conversation with Max earlier that day, the way he’d looked at you and said you looked at Tim differently. Even now, your first instinct was to scoff at the memory. But lying here in the dark, another thought surfaced instead.
When the day had finally caught up with you and the grief grew too heavy to carry alone, you hadn’t called Max. Or Angela. Or Lucy. Or anyone else at the station. Maybe Max wasn’t completely wrong. Maybe somewhere along the way, you had started looking at Tim differently.
The thought barely had time to form before you shoved it away. It wasn’t fair, not to him, not right now. Tim had spent years fighting for Isabel, and even after rehab and relapses and heartbreak and finally letting go, he was still trying to figure out what his life looked like without her. Whatever complicated feelings might be flickering to life could wait for another day.
Summary: She thought the hardest part was earning her place. She was wrong. The job doesn’t get easier, it just changes, leaving room for choices without clear answers. And somewhere in that shift, her dynamic with Tim becomes something far less certain and harder to ignore.
Word count: 3.4k
Series Masterlist
<- Previous
a/n: Okay! I don't really know what to say here other than enjoy and lmk what you think!
The station felt different the next morning.
Normally there was always noise at this hour. Conversations between officers finishing one shift and starting another. Someone complaining about paperwork. Someone else trying to convince whoever was closest to grab coffee before briefing. The usual rhythm of a station full of people who spent more time together than they did with their families.
The bullpen wasn't silent, but it was quieter than you'd ever heard it. Conversations stayed low and brief. Officers moved between desks with a kind of subdued purpose, speaking when necessary and little beyond that. Nobody was gathered around the coffee machine. Nobody was laughing.
The first black mourning band caught your attention as Officer Jan crossed the room, a thin strip of black fabric wrapped around her badge.
It wasn't the only one.
Every officer in the bullpen wore one.
When you entered the briefing room, a small box sat near the door. You grabbed one without thinking, fastening it across your own badge before heading towards your usual seat.
Yesterday, Captain Andersen had been standing in front of the division leading a briefing. Less than twenty-four hours ago she had been giving orders, coordinating an operation, and reminding officers exactly what was expected of them.
Now she was being remembered by a strip of black fabric pinned across hundreds of badges.
The thought settled heavily in your chest.
Around the room, officers continued filtering towards the briefing. Lucy sat besides West, neither of them speaking much. Nolan looked exhausted, dark circles beneath his eyes making it obvious he hadn't slept. Angela stared down at a file for several seconds before finally turning a page. Even Bradford seemed quieter than usual, standing near the back of the room with his arms crossed and his attention fixed somewhere distant.
Nobody talked about Andersen.
They didn't have to.
Her absence filled the room anyway.
It sat in the empty spaces between conversations. In the way people avoided looking towards the captain's office. In the way every officer in the room seemed to carry themselves a little differently than they had the day before.
Eventually Grey stepped to the front of the room.
The remaining conversations died away almost immediately.
For a moment he simply stood there, looking out at the division.
You'd known Grey long enough to recognise the strain around his eyes. Andersen had been more than his captain. More than his commanding officer. They had spent years working together, building Mid-Wilshire into something both of them believed in.
When he finally spoke, his voice remained steady.
"Yesterday, we lost Captain Zoe Andersen." The words settled over the room. "There'll be time for grief later. We have a job to finish. Midas gave up his son. We know where he's headed. Look, I know what's in your hearts. What you want to do more than anything. I'd be lying if I said I didn't want it, too. Word is, if you kill a cop, you never see the inside of a cell. But that's not what Captain Andersen would want. Killing this loser won't honour her memory. Doing our jobs will. And we owe it to her to do it the right way. Agreed?"
A chorus of quiet affirmatives answered him.
Grey nodded once. "All right, let's go."
///
Less than an hour later, you found yourself standing behind a patrol unit on a stretch of empty roadway outside the city.
The operation had been planned quickly and executed even faster. Units had been positioned at key points along the route, creating a controlled interception point with enough officers present to ensure Cole Midas wouldn't have any options once he arrived.
You'd never seen this many officers gathered for a single arrest.
Patrol officers stood shoulder to shoulder behind their shops. Detectives moved between vehicles making final preparations. SWOT officers occupied positions further back, rifles trained towards the roadway. Every officer present wore a black mourning band across their badge.
A reminder of why they were here.
The California sun beat down on the asphalt, but nobody seemed to notice.
The atmosphere felt heavy, the kind of focus that came from hundreds of officers trying very hard to remember Grey's words from the briefing.
Do it the right way.
You adjusted your grip on your rifle and looked down the road.
Besides you, Max stood in position, his attention fixed on the same stretch of pavement. Neither of you had spoken much since the night before. There hadn't been much to say.
Around you, officers checked equipment and exchanged quiet updates. Radios crackled intermittently before falling silent again.
A helicopter circled overhead, its steady thrum carrying across the otherwise quiet roadway.
Then Grey's voice. "All units, get ready. Airship has a visual. Two minutes out."
The effect was immediate.
Every set of eyes turned towards the road.
Two minutes.
After nearly twenty-four hours of grief, anger, and exhaustion, the man responsible for all of it was finally on his way.
Besides you, Max shifted slightly, his attention still fixed on the roadway. For a while neither of you spoke. The silence wasn't uncomfortable exactly, but it wasn't easy either. There had been too much distance between you lately for that.
Eventually he let out a slow breath and shook his head. She would've hated this."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of your mouth before disappearing just as quickly. "Probably."
For a few moments the conversation threatened to die there. Around you, officers continued checking equipment and exchanging updates while the helicopter circled overhead, but Max surprised you by speaking again.
"Yesterday kind of put things in perspective."
When you glanced over, his eyes never left the road.
"I spent a lot of time being angry. I kept telling myself it was about what happened between us, but honestly, I don't think it was." He paused briefly before continuing. "I think I was putting a lot of things on you that had nothing to do with you."
The admission caught you off guard enough that you didn't immediately respond.
"I told you what happened with my ex, and part of me was putting that onto you. Even after that, I was still looking for her in you." His jaw tightened slightly. "Looking back, I think I was comparing everything, and that wasn't fair. I know that."
The words settled heavily between you.
"I kept comparing you to somebody you were never trying to be," he continued. "And I kept expecting things from you that weren't fair."
You looked down at the rifle in your hands for a moment before shaking your head. "You weren't the only one."
Max glanced over.
You sighed. "I wasn't exactly clear about what I wanted either. Half the time I acted like I knew what I was doing, and the other half I just expected you to somehow figure it out without me actually saying anything."
That earned the first genuine laugh you'd heard from him in weeks.
"Yeah," he admitted. "You did."
You rolled your eyes despite yourself.
"Thanks."
"I'm serious."
The corner of your mouth twitched.
Looking back now, it seemed ridiculous how much damage had been done simply because neither of you had communicated. You'd both made assumptions. You'd both got hurt. Then you'd both doubled down and spent weeks avoiding each other because it was easier than having an uncomfortable conversation.
"I should've talked to you," Max admits.
You smile. "I definitely should've talked to you."
This time the laugh that escaped both of you came easier.
Yesterday you had stood besides a pool looking at someone who had been alive only hours earlier. Suddenly all the energy you'd both spent being angry felt small compared to that.
Neither of you spoke for a while after that.
You found yourself looking further down the line of officers, where Bradford was standing with Lucy. Even from this distance it was obvious she was getting some kind of lecture. Tim's posture gave it away immediately. Arms crossed. Expression serious. Lucy looked increasingly guilty with every passing second.
A smile pulled briefly at your mouth.
Besides you, Max followed your gaze before letting out an amused huff. "Poor Chen."
You nodded. "Tim's definitely turning this into a lesson."
"One hundred percent."
The smile lingered as you watched Tim say something else that immediately made Lucy's shoulders slump.
Then Max looked at you. "You know, you probably think I'm a major asshole for bringing this up again, but you do look at him differently."
You frowned.
"What are you talking about?"
"Bradford."
The answer came so quickly that it took a second to process.
"What? No."
"Come on."
"He's my TO."
"Was."
You gestured vaguely towards the pair. "We got close."
Max laughed. "You don't see me looking at Lopez like that."
"Okay, but that's completely different—"
"All units, twenty seconds out. Get ready." Grey's voice cut through the conversation.
The conversation with Max disappeared instantly beneath the weight of what was coming. Officers adjusted their grips on their weapons, attention narrowing towards the stretch of roadway ahead as movement finally appeared in the distance.
A dark sedan emerged around the bend, moving steadily towards the roadblock, and the atmosphere changed immediately. The grief that had been sitting heavily over the operation since morning didn't disappear, but it seemed to sharpen into something else. Purpose.
This was why they were here.
The vehicle continued forward before gradually slowing, finally rolling to a stop several yards from the line of patrol vehicles. For a moment, nothing happened.
Nobody moved.
Nobody spoke.
The helicopter continued circling overhead while dozens of officers kept their weapons trained on the sedan. The tension was almost physical now, stretching across the roadway as everyone waited to see what Cole Midas would do.
Grey stepped forward, raising the megaphone. "Cole Midas, you are surrounded by the LAPD. Step out of the vehicle with your hands in the air."
The order echoed across the roadway before fading into silence.
Still nothing.
The doors stayed closed.
You could feel the officers around you tightening with every passing second.
Then Angela's voice cut across the radio. "I've got a clean shot, Sarge."
Grey's expression hardened. "Get out of the damn car now!"
The pause that followed seemed to last forever.
Then a voice finally called back. "Okay! I'm getting out! Don't shoot!"
The driver's side door opened slowly.
Every weapon on the scene tracked the movement.
Cole stepped out with both hands raised above his head, looking significantly less intimidating than the man who had dominated every conversation in the station for the last two days.
You found yourself staring at him.
This was the man who had ordered a green light on a Noland. The man responsible for Captain Andersen's death. The man whose actions had left an entire division grieving.
And he just looked like a man.
Grey never took his eyes off him. "Nolan, go arrest that man."
The words settled over the roadway.
A few feet away, Bishop immediately turned towards him. "It shouldn't be him."
Grey's gaze remained fixed on Cole.
"No," he said quietly. "It needs to be."
Your eyes found Nolan automatically.
He hadn't spoken since arriving at the roadblock. Truthfully, you weren't sure he'd spoken much at all since the pool. He looked exhausted, grief etched into every line of his face, but there was something steady about him as he stepped forward and began crossing the distance between himself and Cole.
Nobody argued.
Every officer there understood exactly why Grey had chosen him.
Cole attempted confidence at first, talking before Nolan had even reached him, but the bravado felt hollow now. Whatever power he thought he had disappeared the second he stepped out of that car. Nolan secured his hands, positioned him against the vehicle, and began reading his rights with the same calm professionalism he brought to every arrest.
Watching it felt strange.
Then Cole laughed.
The sound carried further than it should have in the silence.
"Come on. We both know I won't live to stand trial."
For the first time, something shifted in Nolan's expression.
"Yes, you will." The words were firm enough to make Cole fall silent. "Because the woman you killed taught us it's not our job to punish you. Just to see to it that you are."
The statement settled over the officers gathered along the roadway.
For a brief moment nobody moved.
Captain Andersen would've approved of that answer.
Nolan finished the arrest and guided Cole towards a waiting shop, placing him in the back seat before closing the door behind him.
Just like that, it was over.
The hunt that had consumed the division since Andersen's murder was finished. Cole Midas was in custody. He would stand trial. He would answer for what he'd done.
But as officers gradually lowered their weapons and began returning equipment to their vehicles, you realised that nobody looked relieved.
Maybe because relief implied something had been fixed.
And nothing about this was fixed.
Captain Andersen was still gone.
Your attention drifted across the scene as officers slowly began breaking formation. Most looked exhausted. Some looked numb. Others seemed lost in thought. It wasn't until you noticed Bradford moving away from the group that something finally pulled your attention from the aftermath.
His posture had changed.
The exhaustion was still there, but it had been replaced by something sharper.
Anger.
Following his gaze, you found the source almost immediately.
Murphy.
The Internal Affairs investigator stood a short distance away observing the scene, and whatever Bradford was thinking, it was obvious he wasn't happy to see her there.
"Wh— no, don't—"
Lucy spotted it too, hurrying after him before he could reach her.
You watched the exchange from a distance, unable to hear most of what was being said but understanding enough from their expressions. Bradford looked ready for a fight when he approached. Murphy didn't back down. For several tense moments, it seemed like the conversation could go either way.
Then something changed.
The anger slowly left Bradford's posture. Murphy's expression softened. Whatever was being said, it clearly wasn't the confrontation either of them had expected.
The conversation lasted another minute before Bradford finally nodded and stepped away.
By the time he returned, Lucy was waiting for him.
"Is everything okay?"
Bradford glanced back once before looking at her.
"Yeah," he said. "For now."
Then he gestured towards the vehicles and started walking again. "All right. Back to work."
You watched them go for a moment before looking away.
There was obviously history there. More than you understood, and probably more than you wanted to understand.
Today wasn't the day to ask.
When you finally turned back, Max was already looking at you, wearing that familiar expression that immediately made you suspicious.
You narrowed your eyes. "Don't."
His grin widened. "I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
"Maybe."
You pointed a finger at him. "We literally just made up."
The grin only grew. "And?"
"And I'm not ruining it by arguing with you again."
A laugh escaped him, the sound easier than it had been in weeks. "That's probably smart."
You rolled your eyes. "I take back everything I said."
"No, you don't."
Unfortunately, he sounded entirely too confident about that.
For a second, neither of you spoke.
Then Max bumped your shoulder lightly as the two of you started back towards the shops.
"We good?"
The question was simple.
So was the answer.
"Yeah. "For the first time in a long time, you meant it. "Yeah. We're good."
///
By the time you finally made it home, exhaustion should have been enough to drag you under, but the bedroom remained stubbornly awake around you. The apartment was dark except for the thin golden pool of light spilling from the stove, the same one you always left on when your shift ran late. Your boots lay kicked off by the front door, and your uniform shirt was draped over the back of a chair like a discarded second skin. Yet sleep refused to come.
Every time you closed your eyes, the last two days pressed in again, Captain Andersen’s body besides the pool, Nolan kneeling in the blood, the silent line of officers standing at attention as the gurney rolled between them, the black mourning band stretched across your badge. And then Cole Midas stood in the middle of the roadway, hands raised, while Nolan’s voice cut through the air.
You stared at the phone in your hand for a minute before pressing 'call'. The line rang twice.
“Hey.” Tim’s voice was rough with exhaustion, but you weren’t surprised.
“Hey.”
For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence felt strangely comfortable, like neither of you needed to explain why you were still awake at this hour.
“Can't sleep?” he asked.
A humourless laugh slipped out of you. “Not even a little.”
“Yeah.”
The single word told you everything. He wasn’t sleeping either.
You sat up slightly, resting your back against the headboard, and the words slipped out before you could stop them. “I don’t know how to do this.”
Tim was quiet for a beat. “Lose someone?”
You swallowed. “Yeah. I keep thinking I’m okay, and then something reminds me of her and it’s like…” You trailed off, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see it. “I don’t know. The station felt different today. It felt… less safe.”
“It did," he agreed, voice low.
“It felt more fragile. More real.” You hesitated, then added, “I keep thinking about yesterday. She was sitting in her office talking to me about becoming a detective. Not even twenty-four hours later, we were standing in formation watching her leave in a coroner’s van.”
The silence on the other end stretched for a few seconds. When Tim finally spoke again, his voice was quieter than before. “She believed in you.”
“I know.”
“No,” he said gently. “I don’t think you do. She talked about you all the time.”
A weak laugh escaped you. “That’s terrifying.”
“I’m serious,” he said, and something in his tone made your chest tighten. “She saw something in you early, before everybody started noticing, before you proved yourself a hundred different times. She saw what kind of cop you were becoming.”
The words landed harder than you expected, hitting something raw you’d been trying to keep buried. Your eyes burned instantly. For a second, you couldn’t speak, because hearing it from Andersen would have been encouraging, but hearing it now felt like losing her all over again. A sharp breath caught in your throat, and you pressed a hand against your eyes.
“Damn it,” you whispered, the curse breaking on the way out.
Tim didn’t try to fix it or tell you everything would be okay. He just stayed on the line, steady and present, listening while the tears came.
You weren’t even sure if you were crying for Andersen, the pool, the empty office waiting at the station, or the simple fact that tomorrow would come and she still wouldn’t be there. Through all of it, he never interrupted.
Eventually, the tears faded, leaving the silence gentler than before.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
You laughed weakly. “No.”
“Yeah,” he said. “Me neither.”
For some reason, that made you smile.
A few more minutes passed before the conversation finally wound down. “Get some sleep,” Tim said eventually.
“You too.”
“I’ll try.”
The line disconnected a few seconds later.
You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling. The apartment felt quiet, the kind of stillness that only made the thoughts louder. They drifted, unwillingly, back to the conversation with Max earlier that day, the way he’d looked at you and said you looked at Tim differently. Even now, your first instinct was to scoff at the memory. But lying here in the dark, another thought surfaced instead.
When the day had finally caught up with you and the grief grew too heavy to carry alone, you hadn’t called Max. Or Angela. Or Lucy. Or anyone else at the station. Maybe Max wasn’t completely wrong. Maybe somewhere along the way, you had started looking at Tim differently.
The thought barely had time to form before you shoved it away. It wasn’t fair, not to him, not right now. Tim had spent years fighting for Isabel, and even after rehab and relapses and heartbreak and finally letting go, he was still trying to figure out what his life looked like without her. Whatever complicated feelings might be flickering to life could wait for another day.
Summary: She thought the hardest part was earning her place. She was wrong. The job doesn’t get easier, it just changes, leaving room for choices without clear answers. And somewhere in that shift, her dynamic with Tim becomes something far less certain and harder to ignore.
Word count: 4.8k
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a/n: thank you all for being so patient with me!! I know this update took forever, and I can't promise the next will be any quicker, but I promise I'm trying!! Life has just been stupid crazy with family stuff and school stuff :/
Captain Andersen’s voice cut through the bullpen before the room had fully settled into the morning. “Can I have your attention?”
The chatter dropped almost instantly.
You looked up from your desk as officers began to gather beneath the landing outside the briefing room. Chairs scraped back, papers were straightened, and radios were adjusted out of habit more than necessity. The shift in atmosphere was immediate, that familiar quiet tension that always came when the captain decided the room belonged to her.
Andersen stood at the top of the steps, hands relaxed at her sides, waiting until everyone had fully assembled. Her posture alone was enough to make the space feel smaller, more contained.
“All right, guys, listen up,” she said. “Internal Affairs will be conducting random integrity tests this week.”
That landed in the room with a noticeable pause.
"The goal is simple,” Andersen continued. “Ensure officers behave appropriately, follow procedure, and avoid misconduct.”
A few low sighs broke out immediately.
From somewhere off to the side, you heard Tim Bradford scoff under his breath.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered, not really aiming it at anyone in particular, but loud enough that half the room heard it anyway. “This is just a chance for cops to go undercover to rat out other cops.”
Grey stepped forward just enough for everyone to see him clearly.
“We are professionals,” he said evenly. “So we will act like it. IA is doing its job. You do yours. Don’t give them anything to write down about you.”
That settled the room a little, though not completely.
Around you, officers were already shifting into quiet side conversations, muted complaints, eye-rolls, and the shared understanding that this was going to make an already unpredictable job even more tedious.
You let out a slow breath, adjusting your stance as you listened without really engaging in any of it.
Your radio crackled softly on your shoulder, a reminder of what was actually waiting out there: real calls, real emergencies, things that didn’t care about internal oversight or staged evaluations.
You stepped out of the station a few minutes later, the morning air already carrying that familiar mix of exhaust, heat, and distant sirens that meant the city was fully awake. Your shop sat in the lot like it always did, unremarkable at a glance, but immediately yours as soon as you slid into the driver’s seat.
It didn’t take long for the pattern to start revealing itself.
The first call was routine on paper. A “suspicious civilian complaint” that didn’t feel quite right the second you arrived. A man was standing near a storefront, shifting his weight like he was waiting for something that wasn’t going to happen. A woman nearby insisted he was “acting threatening", but her attention kept flicking between you and something just behind her.
You clocked it in seconds.
Too clean. Too staged.
You approached anyway, calm and procedural, letting your tone stay neutral as you asked questions, positioned yourself where you could see both of them, and let the situation unfold at its own pace. The man gave you exactly what you expected: minimal resistance, vague irritation, and just enough confusion to sell the illusion without breaking character.
But it was just a test.
You de-escalated it anyway, documented it anyway, and left with the same quiet annoyance settling in your chest that had been building since the briefing.
By the second call, you were already over it.
Traffic stop on a black sedan; expired registration was flagged in despatch. Simple enough.
You pulled it over cleanly, positioned your shop correctly, and approached with the same controlled pace you always used. The driver was overly polite. Too polite. Hands visible before you even reached the window, voice steady in a way that didn’t match the nervous energy people usually had when they actually did something wrong.
"Licence and registration", you said.
He handed them over immediately.
Everything checked out faster than it should have, but you already knew what this was before despatch confirmed anything.
Nothing criminal. No violations worth escalating.
You let him go with a calm warning, watched him drive off, then stood there for a second longer than necessary with your attention fixed on the empty road ahead.
You weren’t irritated at him.
You were irritated at the fact that you knew you were being watched while doing it.
The third call made it more obvious.
Domestic disturbance, “verbal only", and no weapons reported. You arrived with another unit already on the scene, both officers speaking to a couple outside a small apartment complex. Voices were raised, but not out of control. The kind of argument that could’ve been real, except for the way it softened just slightly when you got closer. The way the tension seemed to hold itself just a fraction too neatly, like it had been practised.
You took over one side of the conversation, letting your tone stay even, giving them space to talk without pushing too hard. You watched body language instead of words. The subtle tells. The timing between responses.
And that’s when it clicked fully.
One of them was watching you more than reacting to the situation.
Waiting for you to slip.
You didn’t give it to them.
Instead, you did what Andersen had reinforced without saying it directly; you slowed everything down. You didn’t rush to fill the silence. You let discomfort sit without reacting to it. You asked fewer questions, but better ones. You let people reveal themselves instead of forcing conclusions.
Within minutes, the tension deflated on its own.
No incident. No escalation. No mistake for anyone to record.
Just a quiet resolution that felt almost anticlimactic.
You felt your phone buzz on your way back to your shop.
Lucy.
You picked up immediately.
“Hey,” her voice came through, slightly breathless.
“Let me guess,” you said as you eased the shop into traffic. “IA.”
A pause.
“…How did you know?”
“Because I keep getting them,” you replied, glancing at the intersection ahead as you turned.
Lucy huffed a quiet laugh. “Okay, so it’s not just us, then.”
“They're accessing everyone, you know,” you said.
There was a brief shuffle on her end, like she was moving while talking. “No, you don’t get it. We literally just watched Mario Lopez run a stop sign, and Tim almost lost it when he realised IA recruited him to help monitor compliance.”
That got your attention in a way you didn’t fully expect.
You blinked once, then let out a short laugh despite yourself. “I wish I’d seen that.”
“I promise you don’t,” Lucy said immediately. “He was this close to accepting his bribe just to make a point.”
You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head slightly as you merged lanes. “That sounds about right.”
“Yeah,” she said, then hesitated like she was deciding whether to say the next part. “It’s just… he’s getting worse. Like, by the day.”
You slowed slightly at a red light, eyes focusing on the cars ahead.
You didn’t respond right away because the first thing your mind went to wasn’t IA.
It was Isabel.
“Yeah,” you said finally, your voice quieter than before. “That actually makes sense.”
You watched the light turn green but didn’t move immediately, thinking instead.
Tim didn’t do well with things he couldn’t fix, and he especially didn’t do well with things he couldn’t control. A separation, no matter how “right” it was, was still a loss he didn’t get to solve his way out of. There was no procedure for it. No protocol. No clean resolution where effort guarantees an outcome.
Silence settled for a moment on the line.
And because, for a brief second, you couldn’t help but picture him earlier, jaw tight, voice sharp, that edge in him that wasn’t just irritation but pressure with nowhere to go.
You knew what Tim looked like when he was fine.
And you knew what he looked like when he wasn’t.
“This is going to be a long week,” Lucy said finally, pulling you back.
“Yeah,” you agreed softly. “It is.”
You ended the call a moment later, the phone slipping back onto the passenger seat as the despatch crackled through your radio.
But even as you answered it, your thoughts stayed a few steps behind.
On Tim.
And on the uncomfortable realisation that whatever was building in him right now… Internal Affairs probably wasn’t the real cause, just the easiest thing to take it out on.
The rest of the shift doesn’t slow down, calls coming more frequently, more often with IA officers watching than not.
You handle them the way you always do. Calm. Direct. Professional.
No openings. No escalation. No unnecessary movement or emotion that could be read the wrong way.
By the time you’re called back to the station, the shift doesn’t feel like it’s winding down anymore.
It feels like something has already happened.
The bullpen is louder than usual but somehow more contained, as everyone has already been told enough to know they should be paying attention even if they don’t know why yet. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. Officers gathered in clusters instead of moving freely. The energy is alert in a way that doesn’t belong to a routine debrief.
Grey is already waiting at the front.
The moment you see him, you know it’s not small.
"Alright", he says, voice steady but carrying just enough weight to pull the room into silence. “Listen up.”
Everything stops.
“This afternoon, Nolan was involved in an arrest involving a civilian, Astrid Heisserer.”
A few heads shift.
Grey continues without hesitation. “During the arrest, there was a minor tear to her clothing. She is now alleging misconduct.”
That alone would normally be noise. Paperwork. Investigation. Routine friction.
But the way he pauses tells you it isn’t routine.
“She’s connected to Cole Midas,” Grey says.
That name changes the room immediately.
Son of the imprisoned Southern Front leader.
You feel it land in your chest before you even consciously process it.
“And due to that connection,” Grey continues, “a green light has been issued on Nolan.” Grey’s voice stays controlled, but there’s urgency underneath it now. “Nolan has been advised to stay hidden until further notice.”
The words settle heavily because this is no longer about a complaint or a misunderstanding or even an internal procedure. This is someone deciding Nolan should not exist on the street anymore.
You glance around the room.
Tim is there.
So is Max.
And for the first time all day, whatever personal friction existed between anyone feels completely irrelevant.
Because Nolan is out there somewhere.
And now he isn’t just working a shift.
He’s in a situation that wants him dead.
///
The next morning feels different the moment you step into the briefing room.
Officers are already filling the space, most of them standing in small clusters instead of sitting, the usual pre-brief noise subdued into something more focused. Conversations stop and start in short bursts, like nobody quite knows how to talk around what’s coming.
You take your usual spot, but it feels less like routine and more like waiting for impact.
Grey is already at the front when Andersen steps in from the side entrance, her presence immediately sharpening the room’s attention.
“Thank you all for coming in,” she says, scanning the room once. “Most of you are on your day off. Until this is resolved, all overtime limits are lifted.”
That alone tells you how serious this is.
Grey steps forward, voice steady but firm. “As you may know, Southern Front originated as a white supremacist prison gang about fifteen years ago. Since then, they’ve expanded significantly.”
Andersen continues without hesitation, like she’s making sure no one misses the reality of what they’re dealing with.
“Drugs. Prostitution. Extortion,” she says. “But what sets them apart is their access to military-grade weapons.”
Grey nods once. “Their leader, the so-called King Midas, is currently serving three consecutive life sentences. His son, Cole, runs day-to-day operations on the street—but make no mistake, his father is still pulling the strings.”
Andersen’s expression tightens slightly. “Lifting a greenlight would be a major loss of face for Cole. He’s not going to do it willingly.”
Grey finishes it cleanly. “So we make it a business decision. If we hit their operation hard enough, they’ll reconsider.”
There’s a brief shift in the room after that, officers exchanging looks, recalibrating what this means operationally and what this turns into now.
And then the side door opens again.
Nolan steps in.
In uniform.
You can feel the collective realisation ripple through the room. He was supposed to be gone. Off-grid. Protected. Hidden until this blew over.
“Sorry, I’m late,” Nolan says simply.
No explanation beyond that.
He starts towards his seat, but he doesn’t make it all the way there before the room shifts.
Tim stands first.
No hesitation.
Just a firm clap that cuts through the silence.
It spreads quickly after that.
Bradford sets the tone, but it doesn’t stay his alone for long. Officers rise one by one, the applause filling the room in a way that feels less like celebration and more like acknowledgement of courage, or stupidity, or maybe just the fact that Nolan is standing here anyway.
You stand too.
Nolan gives a small nod, almost uncomfortable under the attention, and finally sits.
Andersen watches it all for a moment before speaking again, voice steady but carrying weight.
“Yesterday, Southern Front tried to kill one of our own,” she says. “Today, we hit back.”
The room shifts again, focus sharpening, and adrenaline replacing hesitation.
Almost immediately, assignments began moving through the crowd. Detectives and supervisors spread out across the briefing room with folders and intelligence packets, dividing personnel into teams and redirecting resources towards every known Southern Front associate they could identify. Conversations became more focused now, officers exchanging names, addresses, vehicle descriptions, and known affiliations.
You were scanning through a list of known associates when you heard Grey's voice call your name.
He was standing several feet away, motioning towards you and Max.
For a moment, neither of you moved.
Then you both headed over.
The distance between the two of you felt strangely familiar now. Not comfortable exactly, but established. Weeks of avoidance had settled into its own routine, one where conversations were kept brief, and eye contact was mostly accidental.
Grey waited until both of you stopped in front of him before speaking.
"Under normal circumstances, I'd have both of you working separate sectors today." His gaze moved between you. "But these aren't normal circumstances."
Neither of you argued.
A greenlight against a police officer changed things. Everyone in the room knew that. Traffic stops became more dangerous. Routine calls became less routine. Every officer stepping out of a shop had to consider the possibility that somebody might be watching.
"Until this situation is resolved," Grey continued, "nobody rides alone."
You felt something tighten briefly in your chest before you pushed it aside.
Besides you, Max's expression remained unreadable.
"I know you two have worked well together in the past." Grey didn't seem particularly interested in how either of you would react. So, until further notice, you'll be riding together again."
"Yes, sir," you said.
Max nodded once. "Understood."
Grey handed over a thin folder, and you opened it immediately.
Inside were photographs. Arrest records. Vehicle information. Known associates.
The first photograph belonged to a man named Travis Mercer from the Southern Front. He had weapons charges, multiple gang enhancements, and most importantly, known ties to Cole Midas.
"We've received information that Mercer has been operating around a warehouse district east of downtown," Grey said. "Auto salvage businesses. Shipping facilities. Several properties connected to known Southern Front associates."
You flipped to the next page.
Eric Vaughn, distribution runner, suspected involvement in moving both narcotics and weapons through Southern Front territory.
Grey tapped the folder lightly. "Your assignment is intelligence gathering and pressure. Locate them. Identify movement. Track associates. If you find something actionable, call it in."
"Not arrests?" Max asked.
"Not without backup." Grey's voice remained calm, but there was an edge underneath it. "If you locate either target, I want surveillance first. Backup second. Nobody is making hero plays today."
You nodded.
Warehouse districts offered too many hiding places. Too many blind corners. Too many opportunities for things to go wrong before help arrived.
Grey clearly knew it too.
"Southern Front wants officers making mistakes right now," he said. "They want someone angry enough, scared enough, or distracted enough to do something stupid."
His gaze lingered on both of you for a moment.
"Don't give them that."
"Understood," you said.
Max echoed the response a second later.
Grey gave a short nod before turning his attention towards another group of officers across the room.
"Get moving."
You closed the folder and stepped back into the flow of activity filling the briefing room.
For a few seconds, neither you nor Max said anything.
Around you, officers were already filtering towards the parking lot, conversations blending together beneath the constant movement of a division preparing for something bigger than a normal shift.
You started walking towards the exit.
After a moment, Max fell into step besides you.
Outside, shops were already pulling out one after another, radios crackling through open windows as officers headed towards their assigned sectors.
You reached your shop and slowed automatically.
For a second, your attention drifted towards the passenger side.
Then towards Max.
He noticed the hesitation.
Neither of you commented on it.
A moment later, he walked around the front of the vehicle and opened the passenger door.
Something unexpectedly familiar settled in your chest as he climbed inside. You hadn't realised how long it had been since someone had sat there.
The realisation lingered for only a second before you pushed it away, rounded the driver's side, and slid behind the wheel.
The radio crackled to life almost immediately.
///
The shift settled into an uneasy rhythm almost immediately.
The city felt different today.
Every radio transmission seemed a little sharper than usual. Officers checked in more frequently. Backup requests were answered almost before despatch finished broadcasting them. Everywhere you looked there were additional units moving through the city, patrol officers, detectives, and motors, all working the same problem from different angles.
Nobody was taking chances.
Not with a greenlight in play.
For the first hour, you and Max focused on the assignments Grey had given you, moving between warehouse districts, salvage yards, and businesses connected to known Southern Front associates.
The strange part wasn't the work; it was him. The silence between you wasn't the same silence you'd shared before everything happened. Back then, neither of you had felt obligated to fill it. It had been easy.
Now every quiet moment felt more deliberate. The conversations stayed professional.
And yet, as the hours passed, you found yourself slipping back into old habits without meaning to. You'd point towards a vehicle before realising Max had already noticed it. He'd start pulling up information on the MDT before you asked. At one point, you found yourself reaching for the radio to update another unit, only to discover he'd already done it.
Small automatic things, the kind built through repetition.
The day kept you busy enough that neither of you had much opportunity to think about it.
Leads came in; officers requested backup; known associates were identified and questioned; and a handful of arrests were made throughout the day, most requiring multiple units. And every single time, the same thing happened.
The second a situation became active, whatever awkwardness existed between you disappeared. A suspect would run, and both of you would move without discussion. A building needed to be searched, and somehow you always ended up covering opposite angles without having to coordinate it.
Months of riding together had created habits neither of you seemed capable of shutting off. It shouldn't have surprised you. But it did.
Because outside of calls, Max barely looked at you, yet the moment something became uncertain, he trusted you completely.
He trusted you to cover his blind spots, to be exactly where you were supposed to be.
The realisation followed you through most of the afternoon; despite it all, Max still trusted you. And you trusted him.
By late afternoon, the entire division seemed to be operating on the same wavelength. Units moved quickly, check-ins came constantly, and backup arrived almost immediately whenever it was requested.
Every officer knew exactly why. Nobody wanted to be the one caught alone. Nobody wanted to be the reason another officer got hurt.
The tension never fully disappeared.
It simply became part of the day.
Something everyone carried with them as they moved from call to call, waiting for the next update, the next lead, the next sign that Southern Front was finally starting to crack under the pressure being applied from every direction.
By late afternoon, the search for Southern Front had settled into something relentless. Units moved from lead to lead, detectives coordinated surveillance, and every available officer seemed to be working the same problem from a different angle.
The tension that had hung over the city all day never really eased. If anything, it became more noticeable as the hours passed. Officers checked in constantly. Backup requests were answered almost immediately. Every traffic stop seemed to draw more units than usual. Nobody wanted to be alone if things went sideways.
The radio crackled again as you pulled away from another location connected to one of Southern Front's known associates. Despatch was requesting status updates from units across the city, something that had become increasingly common throughout the day.
You barely paid attention at first.
Check-ins were constant.
Then, despatch called for Nolan and Andersen.
Neither responded.
A few seconds passed before despatch tried again.
Still nothing.
You noticed Max glance towards the radio.
The same thought crossed your mind, but neither of you said anything. There were plenty of innocent explanations. They could be interviewing someone. They could be away from their radios. They could simply be occupied.
A minute later, another attempt was made.
Again, nothing.
This time the silence felt different.
The radio traffic continued around it, officers checking locations and reporting updates, but something had shifted beneath the surface. You could hear it in the voices coming across the air.
People had noticed.
Several minutes later, Grey's voice cut through the radio. All available units were being redirected to assist in locating Andersen and Nolan.
The atmosphere changed immediately.
Whatever operation had been running throughout the city suddenly became secondary. Patrol units, detectives, supervisors – everyone pivoted towards the same objective. Locations were assigned. Search areas were expanded. Air support was brought in.
Within minutes, the radio became a constant stream of overlapping transmissions. Possible sightings. Negative searches. Requests for additional units. Updates from officers moving from one location to the next.
You and Max joined the search without question, moving through assigned areas alongside dozens of other officers. As daylight began fading, helicopters appeared overhead, their spotlights sweeping across streets, parking lots, rooftops, and abandoned properties.
Hours seemed to blur together after that.
The search grew larger.
The radio grew louder.
And with every failed attempt to locate them, a little more tension settled over the division.
The longer Andersen and Nolan remained silent, the harder it became to convince yourself that everything was fine.
You and Max had stopped worrying about whatever existed between the two of you; there simply wasn't room for it anymore. Not when every officer in Mid-Wilshire was searching for two of their own.
And as darkness settled fully over the city, the uneasy feeling that had followed everyone throughout the day finally became something harder to ignore.
Something was wrong.
///
The call finally came nearly an hour later.
A location.
You barely remember the drive there. The radio never seemed to stop: units calling out locations, supervisors coordinating the search, and despatch trying to keep up with all of it. Patrol cars converged on the neighbourhood from every direction, red and blue lights washing over houses and front lawns by the time you and Max arrived.
Officers were already moving towards the property when you jumped out of the shop. The front gate stood open, voices carrying from somewhere deeper inside the yard as officers rushed through the house and around both sides of it. You followed them automatically, your pulse pounding harder with every step.
The backyard came into view, and the world seemed to stop.
Nolan was sitting on the ground besides the pool, completely motionless. His uniform was stained with blood, his shoulders slumped forward as though simply holding himself upright had become too much effort. Captain Andersen lay against him, her head resting in his lap, and for a moment your brain refused to make sense of what you were seeing.
There was blood on the concrete. Blood on Nolan's uniform. Blood in the water.
No.
The thought came immediately, irrational and desperate.
No.
This wasn't possible.
Yesterday she'd been sitting across from you in her office, telling you not to rush your career. Telling you to trust your instincts. Telling you that you were doing good work.
You could still see the look on her face when she'd told you that you already thought like a detective.
Most people in the department knew Captain Andersen as a respected leader. You knew her as the woman who had believed in you when you were still trying to prove you belonged here. She understood what it meant to start over after the military. She understood the adjustment, the uncertainty, the feeling of having to rebuild your identity from the ground up. More than once she'd given you advice when you needed it, and more than once she'd seen potential in you before you saw it in yourself.
She wasn't supposed to be lying besides a pool.
A strangled sound escaped your throat before you could stop it.
Your vision blurred instantly.
The tears came so fast they almost startled you. One second you were standing there staring, trying to convince yourself there had to be another explanation, and the next you couldn't breathe. Your chest felt tight, your knees suddenly unsteady beneath you as the reality of what you were looking at crashed into you all at once.
Someone stepped into your side.
A hand settled firmly against your shoulder before another wrapped around your arm, steadying you before you could lose your balance completely.
Max.
You hadn't even realised he'd moved.
You grabbed onto the front of his uniform as a sob finally broke free, and Max simply pulled you closer.
Because Captain Andersen wasn't supposed to die.
Across the yard, Nolan finally lifted his head.
You barely recognised him; he looked hollow, like something essential had been ripped out of him and left behind at that pool.
For several long seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Nolan swallowed and looked at the officers gathering around him. "It was Cole."
His voice sounded raw.
The words settled heavily over the yard.
Cole had murdered a police captain.
And nothing was ever going to be the same again.
Word spread quickly.
By the time Captain Andersen was ready to be moved, officers from across the division had gathered outside the property. Patrol officers stood alongside detectives, supervisors alongside rookies, every available member of Mid-Wilshire lining both sides of the driveway in full uniform.
You stood besides Max, hands clasped tightly behind your back.
Further down the line, Tim stood at attention besides Angela and Talia. Grey was near the front, his expression carefully controlled despite the grief visible in his eyes. Lucy, West, Nolan, and dozens of other officers filled the space.
No one spoke.
The only sound came from the slow roll of the gurney as it emerged from the house.
Your throat tightened immediately.
Just yesterday, Andersen had been standing in front of an entire room of officers, leading a briefing and directing an operation. She'd spent years fighting for this department, protecting the people under her command, pushing officers to become better than they thought they could be.
Now she was leaving beneath a white sheet.
Grey's voice carried across the driveway.
"Officers, order arms."
The line snapped into a salute.
You raised your hand with everyone else, fighting to keep it steady as the gurney moved slowly between the rows of officers.
Besides you, Max shifted slightly closer, a movement so small nobody else would have noticed it.
You did.
The gurney continued past.
Grey's voice rang out one final time.
"Execution arms."
As one, the salutes lowered.
The rear doors of the coroner's van closed.
And in the silence that followed, with no radios speaking and no orders being given, the loss finally felt real.
For the first time since you'd put on a uniform, it felt like the department itself had lost something it would never get back.
Me watching Good Omens 3 and not caring about the reviews or complains, and simply enjoying the fact that this show even got an ending at all. Also being grateful for getting to see new content of Michael Sheen as Aziraphale and David Tennant as Crowley one last time:
Warnings: Switch!Toph, cunnilingus, fingering, Public sex, foot grinding, Pussydrunk!Toph, reader uses Waterbending on Toph, dirty smut.
Toph Beifong. A woman who prided herself on her strength and fearlessness. A woman who never let silly emotions throw off her focus.
Well, that is until she met you.
There was just something about the way you carried yourself— Confident, strong-willed, untamable— That was so alluring to her.
You had this ability to make others falter without even trying. Nothing could hold you down. Not even gravity.
You were able to take even the most crowded of rooms, and make it so that all she ‘saw’ was you.
Everything she’s ever told herself was thrown out of the window with only a single glance from those beautiful eyes. It was infuriating!
Yet, so addictive..
Toph couldn’t help but want you. You challenged her in a way no other ever had the guts to. Every opinion? Shot down by your intellect and boldness. Every insult thrown your way by her? Dodged and sent full force to her with your sass and witty comebacks.
It was everything she’s ever craved! Everything she never even knew she needed.
Toph Beifong. The strongest Earthbender in the world. Had finally met her match, and it was the most exhilarating feeling in all of the Earth Kingdom.
She found herself staring at you more often than she’d admit. Head tilted to the side the way blind people do when they’re studying someone’s every move.
And when you caught her gawking at you? You faced her head on. Popping out your hip with that unshakable attitude of yours, and smiling so smugly she could practically feel that confidence radiating off you in seismic waves.
And— Oh, she loved every second of it.
You were a force to be reckoned with. A strong one at that. A Waterbender, just like Katara. But, so much more dangerous. You managed to tear every one of her walls down with a smirk and a flip of your hair.
Ugh, it was getting harder and harder to control herself around you. And everyone knew it!
It was all in the way she stared at you. Wherever you’d walk by, her gaze would linger. Nothing but pure, unadulterated hunger behind those sightless eyes.
Right now was no different. You and Toph were at dinner together, bickering per usual. She’d say something out of pocket, (Because, of course Toph flirts by being mean) and you’d retort with a remark ten times worse!
Spirits, it made her head spin with ecstasy. Because, you didn’t back down. Never did when it came down to it.
Her heart pounded in her chest. Eyes sparkling with delight, not that you ever noticed.
Toph leaned in closer, to which you responded in kind by closing in the distance just a fraction as well. She smirked. That cocky little curl of lips that could make anyone’s knees weak, and spoke in an almost rougher tone.
“Gods..”
Her gaze never wavered from where she knew yours was. Raw, unfiltered need etched all over her features. Her foot lifting to brush against your leg under the table before continuing..
“You’re so hot when you talk back.”
You stay completely still, Not even acknowledging the way her bare foot was teasing your skin. You just sat there staring at her with a tilted head that matched her own and that stupidly attractive smile on your face. It’s like you know what you’re doing to her!
“Yeah?”
Your voice was low, seductive. Toph’s breath hitched at the sound, almost imperceptible had you not been so close to her. It made the smirk on your face turn downright wicked.
“You like it when I’m like this?”
She didn’t answer right away. Instead, she dragged her foot slowly up your calf, bare sole warm against your pants. Teasing, testing how far you’d let her go.
Then that smirk returned full force, the one that said I’m about to wreck you.
“Like it?” She echoed lowly, leaning even closer until her nose almost brushed yours. “I’m obsessed with it.”
Her voice dropped to a growl—the kind only you ever got—and her hand shot out and grabbed the back of your neck.
“Well, that’s a real problem..”
You whisper teasingly in response, lips purposefully brushing against Toph’s before pulling back entirely and sitting back in your booth chair.
“Because, you’re not getting anything from me. That is.. unless you like to grovel.”
Toph froze.
The air between you turned electric—charged with challenge and something far more dangerous— arousal.
For a heartbeat, she didn’t move. Just sat there, her hand still hovering where your neck had been seconds ago. Her lips tingled from that near-kiss—a ghost of contact—and her entire body screamed to close the gap again.
But no.
You’d pulled away. Teased her. Dared her to grovel?
A slow, wild grin spread across Toph’s face. The kind that meant trouble for everyone involved, especially you.
She leaned back in her chair now… arms crossing over that broad chest like a queen sizing up an insolent knight who just insulted the crown.
“Ohhh,” she purred, voice thick with amusement and threat all at once. “You wanna play it like that?”
Her foot? Still on your leg, but now pressing harder into your thigh as if marking territory.
And then came the smirk again…
The one right before battle began.
“I do.”
You hum, finger moving under the table to lightly graze the sensitive skin of her ankle and lightly trailing your fingertips around it.
“You want me? Show me how much.”
Toph’s pulse spiked.
That little graze, just a feather-light touch on her ankle, sent a shock through her like lightning through stone. Her breath caught, muscles tensing not from anger, but desire, hot and sudden.
She hadn’t expected you to play dirty. To go straight for the weak spot, a sensitive nerve she rarely showed anyone.
And gods… it felt good.
Too good. You were unraveling her with just your finger, and you knew it too, judging by that smug grin of yours.
Her jaw tightened. Pride warred with passion inside Toph Beifong, the girl who never begged now fighting every instinct not to throw herself at you right here in front of everyone in the mess hall (where they totally weren't supposed to be doing this).
But then?
A slow breath out…
And without tearing her eyes away from yours— Blind as they are— She did something completely unexpected for someone as proud as she was.
She slid under the table.
Kneeling right there between your legs like a servant ready to obey any command.
You raised one of your brows, surprised she was actually down there. Under you. Staring up at you, like that.
Completely at your mercy..
You shifted your gaze toward the restaurant. Nobody seemed to be paying any mind to either of you, each customer unaware of the filth that was about to take place right under their noses.
Toph’s hands draw you out of your thoughts. Rough, calloused, wrapped around your legs. Slowly trailing up your calves, lifting one up to her shoulder and pressing a lingering kiss to the skin there.
Then another to your knee.
And one more to your inner thigh..
Stopping when she reached the thin piece of fabric under your skirt. Your lips were parted, a shaky breath escaping your mouth. And just when things were getting good..
“Excuse me.”
Your eyes landed over to the voice instantly, eyes wide and staring at the waiter who had his notepad in hand.
“Your order, Ma’am.”
You sat frozen for a second, then cleared your throat and looked down at the menu that was resting on the table, idly scanning over it.
You’d thought that Toph would stop her ministrations when there was a person right beside them.. That you would be safe from the consequences of teasing her until she finally caved?
Wrong.
Her finger lifted to your inner thigh, burying her face between your legs and inhaling the scent that was already coaxing from your panties. Then? She pulled them to the side, blowing a puff of air teasingly onto your core.
“And for the drinks we can- can..”
Your whole body shuddered, a low pitched moan erupted from your throat.
“Are you okay, Ma’am?”
The waiter actually looked worried, pen pausing its note taking and his eyes lifted to your now flushed face.
“Who, me? God- good! I’m good! Just so cold in here..”
You managed to say, the shivers that came from Toph’s tongue movements made the lie a little more convincing.
“Oh. Okay then.. I’ll just bring you guys some waters. We’ll be back with your orders shortly.”
Toph smirked against your cunt, licking a long stripe over your center and then latching her lips to your clit. Sucking on the bud with a fervor that made your thighs clench around her head.
You clasped a hand over your mouth, keeping the moans that left your lips muffled as Toph worked your pussy.
Toph’s free hand lifted, pulling your pussy lips apart and sliding two of her digits inside of you.
Curling them up to hit that sweet spot deep that you were never able to reach with your own fingers. Your back arched off the seat, hips bucking into her hand to meet her thrusts.
“Toph!”
Your voice came out higher than intended. Though due to the loud atmosphere, no one heard it. Thankfully..
Your body jolted when she pulled her fingers out of you, only to push them back in deliciously enough to make your head fall back against the booth.
Her tongue didn’t stop either. Continuing to suck on your pulsing clit, nibbling when her fingers thrusted into you, and flattening it again in an open-mouthed kiss. Her free hand hooked around your thigh, keeping you from squirming away while she drowned in the feel of your pussy. The way your juices smeared over her face, how your walls clamped around her fingers like they were claiming them.
One of your hands found her hair, tugging on the strands harshly enough to make her groan and guiding her face closer to you. You weren’t gentle with her, she loved it. How you took what you wanted from her without question. The thought alone was enough to dampen her underwear.
Spirits above, you were so made for her..
Toph’s fingers curled into you deeper, continuously hitting that spot that made you see stars. Your climax came with a breathless sob from your mouth. Toph never paused her actions, drawling out your pleasure for as long as possible. When your tremors stopped is when she finally pulled away from you.
Her gaze lifted up to you, unfocused eyes narrowing as she took in your disheveled state. A wide, cocky grin spreading across her features.
You were gone now. Face flushed a dark red, pupils blown wide with want, throat hoarse from trying to keep your sounds in. There was even a little drool dripping at the corner of your mouth. Gods, that might’ve been the best you ever had. Way too good for someone who once said they hated you. So, being the generous person you were..
Who would you be if you didn’t return the favor?
Your hand moved under the table, not to grab at her hair, no. Instead, you flexed a finger outward. Using your Waterbending to gather all of the wetness in her boxers and move it up to her clit.
The slick circling around it torturously slow, make a low groan leave Toph. You weren’t merciful, your bending pressing excruciatingly hard into her, but not going fast enough to create any sort of build up.
Toph got impatient, her hands moving to your legs, pulling you closer to her and grinding against your foot hungrily.
You took notice of this, pausing your movements enough to make her whimper, then amplifying her pleasure by making her juices vibrate over her aching core.
“Holy shit-“
Toph breathed out, stopping her movements for a second, A low, guttural sound getting torn from her.
Your finger made another motion, the vibrations on her clit getting faster, rougher. Toph let out a whine, her head dropping to your thigh. Her hips proceeding their motions on your foot, thrusts now growing sloppier, losing their rhythm, signaling that she was about to cum.
You pressed her slick rougher into her, amping up the pressure into her clit one last time before she’s finding her release. Teeth sinking into the plush skin of your thigh to muffle her sounds. You rode out her high, bending stopping their movements when she went pliant in your lap.
————
You guys ended up getting the food to go.
It was late now, the two of you walking the quiet streets of the Earth kingdom. Toph’s arm now draped around your shoulder as if marking her territory.
“So..”
Toph starts, keeping her gaze forward for a second before turning to you with a wide grin.
“Dinner at my place next time?”
WAIT CAUSE I WAS IN MY BAG WITH THIS ONE
Guys please enjoy this, It took me hours to finish it. Commitment ya’ll.
super short tiny little baby snippet of a Ryland Grace x reader oneshot I am working on, I just found this too funny to keep to myself!
“Question?” Rocky says suddenly making Grace blink several times.
"What?"
“Grace not listening.”
"I was listening."
“False. Grace was staring at Grace’s mate.”
Your head immediately drops into your hands.
Rocky continues before either of you can recover.
“This is opposite of listening. Is something wrong with friend (y/n), question?”
"Oh my God," he mutters.
"Do not invoke deity. Answer question."
You are laughing so hard you nearly fall out of your chair.
Grace wishes, not for the first time, that alien spiders understood embarrassment. Unfortunately Rocky possesses the social subtlety of a sledgehammer.
“Grace stare often.” Rocky observes.
"I do not!” Grace attempts, rather futilely, to defend himself.
"False."
"You cannot just say false every time—"
"Can. Just did."
And Rocky taps his claws together, clearly pleased with himself.
