Your Biggest Fan

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.°𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫 .𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊

pairing ☽˚⁀➷｡ andy barber x fem!reader

summary ☽˚⁀➷｡ andy knows what he really wants but laurie doesn’t seem to want that

word count ☽˚⁀➷｡ 3,716

warnings ☽˚⁀➷｡ PART TWO OF SERIES being a parent, speaking spanish, speaking french, taking homecoming pictures, teenagers being annoying, confrontation if you squint, being a concerned partner, passionate romantic sex, anal, oral receiving, sextape, squirting, andy cheating, jacob accidentally calling reader mom, proposing, breeding, size kink, andy being a dilf and making you go brrrrrr DO YOU DIRTY SERIES

authors note ☽˚⁀➷｡ happy laurie barber hate club friday!!! enjoy the second addition to the laurie hate “series” PLEASE REBLOG MY TAGLIST IS ENDING ON JULY 10TH PLEASE FOLLOW @dulceslibrary AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS TO BE NOTIFIED WHEN I POST 18+ ONLY,, feedback is appreciated

enjoy the official laurie barber hate club playlist

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She's my wife

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist

Tim Bradford x wife!reader Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: You are Tim's wife and join him to the station for the day, looking for a Metro recruit.

Fluff

A/N: I loooove this, I start to love writing fluff. Thank you for this request. I have so many ideas and I don't know where to start. Also, I'm looking forward to your requests. Thank you for your support and your feedback is more than welcomed and appreciated! Have a wonderful day, bubs and enjoy this story! Lots of love

Warnings: None, pure fluff, not proofread yet

Requested: Yes! Words: 3.8k Photo not mine, credits to the owner @renegadesstuff !

The familiar scent of stale coffee and printer ink hits you as soon as you step through the doors of the station. It's been years since you last set foot in that place, but the memories come rushing back with startling clarity. The station hasn't changed much—it's still a hive of activity, with officers rushing to and fro, phones ringing off the hook, and the occasional burst of laughter echoing through the halls.

As you make your way through the bustling room, you can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia. This place holds so many memories for you—the late nights spent poring over case files, the adrenaline-fueled chases through the city streets, the quiet moments of comradery with your fellow officers. It feels like a lifetime ago, yet the memories are as vivid as ever.

You pause for a moment to take it all in, your gaze sweeping over the familiar surroundings. The bullpen, with its rows of desks and cluttered bulletin boards, holds a special place in your heart. It's where you once stood as a training officer, guiding rookies through their first days on the job.

Tim Bradford was your favorite and a handful from the start—a troubled rookie who struggled to follow orders and grasp the basics of the job. You remember the frustration of trying to teach him the ropes, the countless hours spent drilling him on the rookie book, only for him to push back and resist at every turn.

You remember the determination in Tim's eyes, the way he refused to give up even when the odds seemed stacked against him. And despite his rebellious nature, there was something about him—a spark of raw talent and an unwavering sense of loyalty—that set him apart from the rest.

But amidst the nostalgia, there's a sense of purpose driving you forward. You're here on official business, after all— you were sent there to find a new recruit to join Metro. And while part of you wishes you could stay lost in the memories of the past, another part knows that you have a job to do.

You're greeted by familiar faces at every turn. The joy radiating from your former colleagues as they see you again warms your heart, and you can't help but return their smiles with genuine affection.

Among the crowd, you notice Tim watching you from across the room, his expression a mix of confusion and curiosity. You shoot him a reassuring smile, silently promising to explain everything later.

Lucy stands beside Tim, a look of bewilderment on her face. "Who's that?" she whispers to Tim, nodding in your direction.

Tim's brow furrows for a moment as he studies you, then he turns back to Lucy with a shrug. "That's Y/N," he answers simply. "She works with Metro."

Lucy's eyes widen in surprise, her gaze darting back and forth between you and Tim. "What's she doing here?" she asks, her curiosity piqued.

Tim gives a nonchalant shrug, trying to downplay the situation. "No clue," he replies, though a hint of curiosity lingers in his tone. "Maybe she's just passing through."

As Tim watches you from across the room, a wave of warmth washes over him. Seeing you here, in the midst of his workplace, brings back a flood of memories—of late-night patrols, of shared laughter, of the bond you forged as rookie and TO. Despite the hustle and bustle of the station, his attention is drawn solely to you, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of your beauty.

It's an understatement that he adores you. He loves you with every breath, every heart beat and he couldn't get enough of you. Since you were recruited for Metro, he missed you every shift, longing for you to make his duties more bearable.

There's a softness in his eyes as he approaches, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Despite the secrecy surrounding your relationship, seeing you there fills him with a sense of comfort and belonging. In that moment, surrounded by the chaos of the station, all that matters is the connection you share—a bond that transcends the boundaries of your professional lives.

"Hey there," he greets you warmly, "What are you doing here?"

Seeing him there, in his element, reminds you of the journey you've taken together—from a rookie and his training officer to partners in both crime and love.

You return Tim's smile with one of your own, your eyes twinkling with mischief. "Oh, you know, just thought I'd drop by and say hi," you reply casually, purposely avoiding his question. "How's your day been?"

There's a twinkle in your eye as you meet his gaze, a silent acknowledgment of the love and understanding that binds you together. Despite the complexities of your situation, there's an unspoken agreement between you—a shared understanding of the sacrifices you've made for the sake of your relationship.

Tim chuckles at your playful evasion, rolling his eyes. "Smooth as always," he replies, though there's a hint of amusement in his tone. "But seriously, what are you doing here?"

You feign innocence, batting your eyelashes at Tim with exaggerated sweetness. "You know I can't tell you." you tease, knowing full well that your response will only fuel his curiosity further.

Tim lets out a mock sigh, shaking his head in amusement. "Fine, keep your secrets," he says with a playful grin. "But just remember, I know where you sleep at night."

You laugh at his playful threat, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the cheek. "Wouldn't dream of it," you reply with a wink, before turning your attention to Lucy, who's been watching the exchange with interest.

A curious expression played on her face as Tim takes the opportunity to introduce you. "Officer Chen, meet Y/N," he says, gesturing to you with a fond smile. "She's a pain in the ass sometimes, but if you ignore her, she's ok."

"Nice to meet you, Lucy," you say, your tone friendly and inviting as you offered Lucy a warm smile, extending your hand in greeting. "I've heard so much about you."

Lucy returns your smile, her curiosity piqued. "Nice to meet you," she replies, shaking your hand. "How do you know Tim, if you don't mind me asking?"

You glance at Tim with a mischievous twinkle in your eye, a playful smirk playing at your lips. "Oh, you know," you reply cryptically, earning a raised eyebrow from Tim. "We go way back. Let's just say he owes me a few favors."

Tim lets out an exasperated sigh, knowing full well that you're enjoying teasing him. "Don't listen to her, Chen," he says with a chuckle.

"You should listen to me if you want to survive him." you winked at his rookie " I created the monster and I'm the only one who knows how to defeat him."

Tim's eyebrows shoot up in mock indignation, his lips curling into a playful smirk. "Hey now, watch it," he retorts, feigning offense. "I'll have you know, she doesn't need any help from you."

You laugh at Tim's exaggerated reaction, shooting him a knowing look. "Oh, I'm sure Lucy can handle herself just fine," you reply with a wink, earning a chuckle from Lucy.

"Wait–" the rookie began as realisation hits "You are Tim's TO?"

You glanced at your husband, smiling brightly as he put his grumpy expression on, "Guilty as charged."

As Lucy's eyes widen in shock and excitement, she can barely contain her enthusiasm. Her mind is racing with questions as she tries to process the realization that she's standing face-to-face with the legendary training officer.

The rookie turns to Tim, her expression incredulous. "You never mentioned her before!" she exclaims.

Tim crossed his arms above his chest, a hint of irritation creeping into his voice. "Because my life is none of your business, Officer Chen," he retorts.

She faced you with a barrage of questions, her enthusiasm didn't wane, "What was Tim like as a rookie? I heard he wasn't so keen on following orders, is it true?"

You smiled at her, starting to like her more and more. She's definitely giving Tim a hard time. What you know from Tim and seeing her so curious and exited, you knew she has what it takes to be a successful cop.

Before you can respond, Tim interrupts, his irritation growing by the second. "Alright, that's enough, Chen," he barks, his tone firm and commanding. "Shop, now!"

"Yes, sir."

Lucy's excitement fades as she reluctantly obeys Tim's orders, shooting you an apologetic look before hurrying off to prepare for the patrol. As she disappears from view, Tim lets out a frustrated sigh, the grumpiness lifting slightly as he turns back to you.

"She seems nice," you comment, nodding towards where Lucy disappeared. "She's a good kid."

Tim sighs, running a hand through his hair as he considers your words. "Yeah, you're probably right," he admits, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

You reach out to gently squeeze his hand, a reassuring smile playing on your lips. "I know, and I know that sometimes a little kindness goes a long way," you say gently. "She'll appreciate it in the long run."

As Tim gazes at you, a mixture of admiration and gratitude flickers in his eyes. He's more than just a grumpy, hard-to-please man—he's a devoted husband, a dedicated cop, and a man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. Despite his tough exterior, there's a vulnerability in his gaze.

The sun filters through the windows of the station, its golden rays dance across Tim's face, casting a warm glow that accentuates his rugged features. He appears even more handsome in this moment, his chiseled jawline and piercing gaze illuminated by the soft light.

His sandy blonde hair catches the sunlight, creating a halo of golden warmth around his head. His eyes, usually sharp and focused, soften in the gentle light, revealing a depth of emotion that takes your breath away.

As Tim searched your face, you're bathed in a soft, ethereal glow, the sunlight highlighting the delicate contours of your face and the warmth of your smile. Your eyes, a mesmerizing shade, sparkle with mischief and warmth, drawing him in like a moth to a flame.

He peaked around at the officers, everyone minding their business, before he leaned in, his warm breath caressing your skin, sending shivers down your spine. His hand gently cups your cheek, his touch tender yet possessive, as if he never wants to let you go. You feel the soft brush of his lips against yours, a gentle yet insistent pressure that ignites a fire deep within your soul.

As the kiss deepens, you feel his other hand slide around your waist, pulling you closer until there's barely an inch of space between you. His touch is electrifying, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body as you melt into his embrace.

His lips move against yours with a hunger that matches your own, each kiss a testament to the love and longing that burns between you. There's a raw intensity to his touch, a desperate need to be as close to you as humanly possible.

For a brief instant, time seems to stand still as you respond eagerly, your heart racing as you lean into the kiss, savoring the warmth of his embrace. Despite its brevity, the intensity of the moment leaves you dizzy with desire, longing for more even as you reluctantly pull away.

Before the moment can linger, Tim's attention is drawn to something behind you. With a quick glance over your shoulder, you realize that Lucy is watching from afar, a curious expression on her face, sided by her mouth forming an "o" shape filled with surprise.

Tim's lips curl into a wry smile as he leans in to murmur in your ear, his voice barely above a whisper. "Looks like we've got a little shadow," he says, amusement dancing in his eyes. "She's gonna be a pain in my ass all day!"

You laugh softly at Tim's comment, shaking your head in amusement. "Well, you did sign up for this when you became her TO," you tease, a playful glint in your eyes. "Just be nice, okay? She's just curious."

Tim rolls his eyes at your advice, but there's a hint of affection in his gaze as he gazes at you. "Fine, I'll try to play nice," he concedes with a grin. "But no promises if she starts asking too many questions."

As your husband heads off for patrol with Lucy, you find yourself seated across from Sergeant Grey in his office, the familiar surroundings offering a sense of comfort amidst the chaos of the precinct. His office is tidy yet lived-in, with stacks of paperwork neatly organized on his desk and a few personal mementos scattered about—a photo of his family, a commendation plaque from his years of service.

Wade offers you a warm smile as you settle into your seat, "Y/N, it's been a while. Think the last time I saw you was at your wedding?"

You nod in agreement, "It hasn't been that long. But you know Metro, it keeps me busy."

"Well, it's always a pleasure to have you around." Sergeant Grey's words of praise for your time as an officer at the station warm your heart, "You were one of the best we had," he continues, sincerity evident in his tone. "It's a shame to lose you to Metro."

As the conversation progresses, you take a deep breath before broaching the subject of your visit. "Sir, I'm here on official business," you explain, your tone serious. "Metro is recruiting, and I'm here to find the best officer for the job."

Grey nods in understanding, "I see. And do you have anyone in mind?" he asks, leaning forward slightly.

You hesitate for a moment before responding. "Actually, I do," you admit, your gaze meeting his. "I think Officer Bradford would be the best fit for Metro."

He considers your words for a moment before responding. "I have to say, I agree with you, Tim would make an excellent addition to Metro."

There's a hint of hesitation in your eyes as he speaks, and you can tell that he senses there's more to your recommendation than meets the eye. "Is there something else on your mind, Y/N?" he asks, his tone gentle but probing.

You paused, choosing your words carefully before responding. "Well, sir, it's just... I'm not sure if it's appropriate for me to recommend Tim," you admit, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "I don't want it to seem like a conflict of interests."

You found yourself grappling with a mix of emotions. There's a deep-rooted sense of pride your work, coupled with a genuine desire to see Tim succeed in his career.

"Trust me, Y/N, Officer Bradford's qualifications speak for themselves." he leaned back on his chair, "Don't worry about it. I'll handle it from here. We both know you and Tim keep your private life apart, and I'll make sure Metro knows this decision is based solely on Tim's achievements."

Sergeant Grey's words sink in, a rush of relief floods through you, washing away some of the anxiety that had been gnawing at your nerves. It's comforting to know that your integrity as an officer won't be called into question, that your personal connection with Tim won't overshadow his merits.

With a grateful smile, you nod in appreciation, the knot of worry in your stomach loosening with each word he speaks. "Thank you, Sir."

"Now go find your husband!"

In the dimly lit interior of the shop, the tension between Tim and Lucy was palpable. Lucy's curiosity burned bright, fueled by suspicions and unanswered questions.

"So..." Lucy ventured, breaking the uneasy silence. "I saw you and Y/N kissing, back at the station. Is she your girlfriend?"

Tim's jaw clenched at the inquiry, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. "That's none of your business, Chen," he shot back, his tone gruff.

Lucy persisted, undeterred by his dismissive tone. "Come on, Tim," she pressed. "You can't just brush this off. I obviously know there's something going on between you two."

But Tim remained stoic, his frustration simmering beneath the surface. "I said it's none of your business," he repeated, his voice terse.

Lucy gaze lingered on him, studying his face. She couldn't read anything but irritation caused by her intrusion into his private life. She searched his hands, no sight of any ring, so the possibility of you being his wife dropped.

"Do you like her?" she insisted.

"What's the proper procedure for securing a crime scene?" he replied to her question, avoiding giving any details about you.

"Come on. You can't avoid this forever. Are you and her just colleagues, or is there something more?"

Tim's irritation simmers beneath the surface, his frustration mounting with each passing moment. He had hoped to avoid this line of questioning, to keep his personal life separate from his professional one. But Lucy's relentless curiosity had pushed him to his breaking point.

"What's the recommended procedure for securing a firearm during an arrest?"

She couldn't shake the feeling of defeat, knowing deep down that Tim wouldn't give her the answers she sought. Despite her best efforts to uncover the truth about Tim's relationship with you, she found herself hitting a dead end.

"I saw the way you look at her. You have feelings for her?"

"When searching a suspect, what areas of their body should you prioritize for pat-downs?"

"Fine. I'll shut up."

Confusion clouded Lucy's thoughts as she struggled to make sense of the situation. She couldn't understand why Tim was so guarded about his personal life, especially when it came to someone who seemed to hold such significance to him. It left her feeling unsettled, a nagging sense of curiosity gnawing at her.

As he focuses on the road ahead, he can't help but feel annoyed by Lucy's persistence. He knows she means well, but he's not ready to share the intimate details of his relationship with the woman he loves. He just wants to focus on their job, to keep their partnership strictly professional.

As lunchtime approached, the bustling street food area near the station came to life with the sound of chatter and the aroma of sizzling food. Amidst the crowd, you found an empty table, enjoying the inviting atmosphere, with colorful umbrellas providing shade from the midday sun as you waited for Tim.

Your husband approached the table where you were seated, a sense of defeat hung heavy in the air, exhausted from all of his rookie's questions. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, as he leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, a tangible reminder of the connection you shared.

As the conversation turns to you, Tim leans in with a curious glint in his eyes. "So, what were you doing at the station earlier?"

"Metro sent me to find a recruit," you confess, your gaze meeting Tim's.

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "And did you find one?"

Angela rises from her seat, flashing a smile, "I hate to break up the party, but duty calls. I'll catch you guys later."

You nod understandingly, bidding her farewell with a wave as she heads off to resume her patrol.

You return your attention to Tim, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Yeah. You."

Tim's eyes widen in disbelief, his expression a mix of shock and excitement. "Me? Are you serious?"

Nyla's figure blended into the bustling crowd as she disappears down the street with her rookie, leaving you and Tim alone.

You give him a knowing smirk. "Dead serious. They've been considering you for a while. Sending me down to the station was just a formality—a test, to see if I was ready for a promotion or something."

"You're getting promoted?"

"Uh-huh."

"That's awesome, babe. I'm proud of you."

As the lunch break comes to an end for Tim, he and his rookie prepare to go on patrol again. They stand by the patrol car, gearing up for their shift.

"Lucy, you're driving," Tim says, tossing her the keys with a grin. "Show me what you got."

Lucy's eyes light up with excitement as she catches the keys, nodding eagerly. "You got it, Officer Bradford. Shotgun!"

While Tim is in the shop, double-checking some equipment, you lean over the car door, catching his attention. "Hey," you say softly, a hint of concern in your voice. "Be safe out there, okay? And have a good time."

Tim gives you a reassuring smile, placing a hand over yours on the door. "Always am, love. Don't worry about me."

Just as the car starts to move, you lean in closer, your voice barely a whisper against the noise of the street. "And Tim... I'm pregnant."

Tim's eyes widen in surprise, his heart skipping a beat at the unexpected news. You placed a playful kiss on his cheek, before the car pulls away, you watch Tim drive off with a mixture of excitement and fear.

You were scared of his reaction, delivering him the news this way gave you time to process and turn all the possible scenarios upside down.

He meets your gaze one last time before the car disappears down the street, a rush of emotions flooding his mind—joy, excitement, and a touch of nervousness. But above all, there's a deep sense of love and gratitude for the life you've created together.

"Did you get your TO pregnant?" Lucy asks, her tone a mixture of surprise and incredulity.

Tim's jaw tightens, a flash of irritation crossing his features at the inappropriate question. He takes a deep breath, gathering his composure before responding firmly.

"She's my wife," Tim states, his voice leaving no room for further inquiry. "Now, shut up and drive."

He reaches up to where his uniform shirt collar meets his neck, pulling out a small chain with a wedding ring and some dog tags hanging from it. It's a subtle gesture, but one that holds immense significance—a symbol of the most important moments of his life, from fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan to marrying you.

Lucy's eyes widen in realization, a flush creeping up her cheeks as she realizes her mistake. Without another word, she focuses on the road ahead, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Meanwhile, Tim sits back in his seat, his mind still reeling from the unexpected turn of events. Despite the initial shock, a sense of pride and excitement fills him at the prospect of becoming a father. And as the patrol car speeds through the city streets, Tim's thoughts are consumed with thoughts of the future.

Father's Faults

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: Tim is distracted by his memories of his father, so you find an unprecedented way to keep him focused. After he lashes out at you for overstepping, he realizes that you understand and have your own memories to battle. Rather than bonding over that, you accept what's been between you since you first met.

Warnings: discussion of child abuse, domestic violence, Tim and r have a lot of childhood and job-related trauma, angst to fluff, confessions and kisses

Word Count: 3.8k+ words

A/N: @nevereclipse inspired this with magnificent ideas about Tim and a traumatized reader. I hope you like it!!🤍

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

There’s a scuff in the dashboard of Tim’s shop. It’s been there for as long as you can remember, but there’s something different about it today. Tracing the ragged scrape marks with your eyes, you try to come up with a story about how it got there or an explanation for its appearance. Anything other than acknowledging the tense silence in the car or your partner's tight grip on the steering wheel.

“7-Adam-100,” dispatch radios, “there’s an active home invasion in your area.”

“7-Adam-100 responding,” Tim replies, dropping the radio after he finishes.

You don’t speak, opting to look out the window as Tim drives to the address with the blue lights spinning. Part of you feels like you should know what’s bothering Tim, but he’s not exactly easy to read, nor is he willing to admit that something is going on. So, until - or if - you can deduce what’s making him so distant and easily angered this week, you’ll give him the room and the quiet he clearly desires.

“Side gate is open,” Tim says as he parks beside the neighbor’s house. “We’ll use it for entry, split up and clear the house. I’ll go right.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply, opening your door.

As you follow Tim through the gate and duck under windows lining the side of the house, you focus on the job. Tim’s back muscles are tense beneath his uniform, and if you aren’t careful, you’ll think about him and let your guard down. Entering the broken back door, you tap Tim’s shoulder before you turn left into a small dining area. With your gun raised, you move quickly but carefully through the room. A crash sounds down the hall, so you press your back to the wall and move toward the noise, keeping your steps light and breathing quiet.

Tim exits a door behind you, and you drop your gun as soon as you realize it’s him. Moving together, you prepare to enter the room where the intruder is shouting demands.

“On three,” Tim whispers, covering the door so you can enter. “One. Two. Three.”

He pushes the door open, stepping into the doorway as you move inside. 

“LAPD!” you announce. “Put your hands up!”

The large man - whose boot likely matches the shoe print on the back door - bares his teeth at you before he turns to the woman guarding her son. They’re both sporting bruises and a wound at the woman’s hairline drips blood down her cheek.

“Let me see your hands!” you demand, stepping toward the man.

Tim doesn’t move, his eyes bouncing between the suspect and the young boy cowering behind his mother.

“It’s my house,” the man says.

“Not anymore,” the woman interjects. “We have a restraining order.”

With his jaw clenched, Tim lowers his gun and steps forward. “Last chance. You walk out with us or you can keep being a coward and we’ll drag you out.”

The man sneers, turning toward Tim as he prepares to lunge. You holster your weapon quickly, pulling your taser out instead. Pointing it at the larger man’s chest, you shake your head.

“Is that your son?” you ask. “Do you really want him to remember you like this?”

He hesitates, then swings. Tim ducks out of his reach at the last second, and you depress the trigger on the taser, sending 1,500-volt pulses through his body as he folds in on himself and collapses.

Tim steps over the man’s leg to cuff him, and you set your taser down to approach the man’s son and his ex-wife. The boy clings to his mother but looks up at your shield with a small smile.

“We’re Code 4, need an RA at this location,” Tim alerts. “One in custody.”

“This card has my number on it,” you say, offering a large cardstock square to the woman before you. “There’s also a list of numbers on the back that can help support you during this time. The domestic violence hotline can give you information about keeping your address private and hopefully preventing something like this in the future.”

“Thank you,” she replies. “He just showed up out of nowhere.”

You pull a tissue off a nearby table and offer it to her, watching her son as she presses it to her bleeding forehead. The ambulance is only a few minutes away, but you kneel to check on the boy.

“Let’s go,” Tim murmurs, hauling the abusive father to his feet.

“I need an ambulance!” he moans. “She tased me.”

“You will be seen, but you’re trespassing.”

“I can’t walk,” he argues.

“Then I’ll drag you,” Tim snaps.

The man stands then, his head hanging toward his chest as he pulls his feet rather than taking normal steps. You notice that Tim has his hand on the handcuffs rather than the suspect’s arm. Tim's past, you remember. Tim has been in this situation before, he knows precisely what this mother and child are thinking, and that’s why he reacted like he did. There has to be more to it, though.

Tim is thinking about something and he endangers himself every time the thought surfaces.

“Bradford is all yours,” Angela says, shaking her head as she exits Wade’s office. “I know he’s going through some stuff, but how do you deal with him when he’s like this?”

“What’s he going through?” you ask, looking through the glass door.

“It’s almost the anniversary of his dad’s death,” she explains. “I understand being a little touchy, but-”

“We took a domestic call this morning,” you complain, pressing your thumb and forefingers against your eyes. “I didn’t realize the date. I should have told him to let someone else handle it.”

“He’s a cop, he can handle the job,” Angela assures you. She looks at Tim and sighs. “I just… none of us can get through to him. It’s like he’s holding himself hostage in his own memories.”

“I- I’ll see what I can do,” you offer.

“Don’t beat yourself up if he won’t talk. And don’t take anything he says this week personally.”

“You ready?” Tim asks, exiting Wade’s office.

“Yeah,” you answer, nodding to Angela as you follow Tim back to the shop. If he’s thinking about his dad too much, maybe you can give him something else to consider.

The corner store is silent as you walk down the center aisle. At midnight, the building is empty, the radio is off, and the cashier sits silently at the register, earbuds in as she stares at her phone. You should find the silence enjoyable after being yelled at by Tim four times in one night. Instead, it makes you uncomfortable, desperate for something to happen.

“Aha,” you murmur when you find the small selection of cleaning products.

It’s probably a bad idea, you think while you fill the small, handheld shopping basket with various items. You tried to get Tim’s mind off his dad, and their strained past, but none of your attempts were successful. He thought about you long enough to yell, accuse you of overstepping, and make vague threats to discourage you from attempting to make small talk with him. But even then, he retreated into his mind as soon as you agreed and fell quiet again.

“Uh,” the cashier mumbles when you place the basket on the counter. “Is this… you good?”

You look at the odd collection of items ranging from candy and a Dodgers sweatshirt to twine and a spray bottle, smiling. “Yeah.”

“Whatever you say.”

Tim glances at your bag as you place it on the floorboard of the shop but doesn’t say anything. You’ll let him reach his own conclusions about its contents for now. After double-checking with Angela this morning, you learned that there are two days until the actual anniversary of Tom Bradford’s death, and you plan to help Tim through the next forty-eight hours, no matter what it takes.

Now that you've been reminded of the date, it’s clear that Tim is thinking about his father. His tight jaw, distant stare, defiant act of threatening an abusive father, and how he stands at least a foot away from everyone, even if it’s someone he knows and trusts, it's all indicative of his trauma response. Thinking back to yesterday, you remember that he stiffened when you touched his back during calls, and it all begins to make sense.

Tim has a tell, you discover. When he’s thinking about his past, his nostrils flare. You will never admit to watching him that closely, especially not to someone like Angela or Nell, who are convinced you’re in love with him. Yet, you observed him enough yesterday afternoon and during roll call to confirm your suspicion. Even as you watch him now, his fingers tighten around the steering wheel, and his nostrils flare quickly.

“What’s your opinion on stop and frisk?” you inquire.

His hand relaxes as he furrows his brows and asks, “As a policing technique or in general?”

“Policing.”

“So, Terry stops. I think that if there’s reasonable suspicion and no bias it is a useful and protective tactic.”

“Interesting. How can you tell if there’s bias, though? And what makes suspicion reasonable?”

“What are you doing?” Tim asks.

“I’m making conversation, getting opinions, learning,” you list dramatically. “Is that so bad?”

“When we’re in this shop, we’re partners. I’m not your personal podcast.”

“That would actually be really nice,” you reply. “Anyone ever told you your voice is soothing?”

“Stop.”

“It’s just a question!”

“Stop.”

You lift your hands in surrender and turn into your seat properly again. Tim drives through a green light, sees a father walking his son into a playground, and the look returns. You sigh and pull your bag open.

“What was that?!” Tim exclaims, swerving slightly as his right hand raises to his face.

“It’s water,” you answer, shaking the spray bottle. “I need you focused. I can’t worry about you or we’ll both get killed.”

“Focused? I am your superior!” Tim argues as he wipes his hand on his pants.

“Then work with me,” you plead.

“What makes you think I’m unfocused?” he inquires.

“You’re thinking about other things. Just… keep your mind in this shop today, and I won’t spray you again.”

“If you like this job you won’t spray me again,” Tim amends.

“If that’s what you need to hear.”

“She bought Wesley a tie with lobsters on it,” Angela tells Nyla.

“My dad has a tie with fish,” Lucy says. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You called?” you interrupt as you follow Tim to the detectives' desks.

“Yeah, we need you to run down a lead,” Nyla answers. “Unless you’d rather hear about Lucy’s dad’s ugly ties.”

“Hey, I chose some of those ties! Father’s Day is coming up if you want to know where I got them,” she offers.

“Oh, I already bought James a gift,” Nyla answers with faux disappointment.

“What lead?” Tim asks.

Standing behind Tim with one hand behind your back, you spray him without anyone noticing. He turns his head toward you, his eyes warning you to stop. You smile, nodding along with Nyla’s explanation.

“I am not a cat,” Tim whispers as you exit the station.

“Then take the hint,” you reply softly.

Nyla’s lead was indeed helpful, and you deliver a new suspect to the station before you return to patrol. In the shop, you hold the spray bottle in your lap as Tim drives. When you move your fingers toward the top, Tim slams on the brakes and snatches it out of your hand.

“You don’t get to decide what I think about!” he exclaims. “If you’re so worried that I can’t do this job right now, then get out and go back to the station.”

“Tim, that’s not what-”

“It is not your business,” he continues. Loudly. You flinch, but he's too mad to notice. “It is not your place to be my therapist and tell me to only think about good things or to stay in the moment. Whatever it is you think is on my mind is not worth this!”

You take several breaths, watching Tim’s chest heave.

“I know it’s almost the anniversary,” you say, forcing your voice to stay level as you press your palms against your thighs. “Your dad… he clearly got to you, your childhood affects you. And that’s okay. I’m not saying to forget everything or let those experiences become meaningless.”

“Then let it go.”

You look down at your hands as Tim drops the spray bottle beside your feet and begins driving again.

“I’m sorry,” you offer after several minutes. “It was affecting you, and I thought giving you something else to think about would help.”

“Not your call,” Tim grumbles.

Nodding, you locate the scuff on the dashboard, staring at it until your vision blurs. 

“How’d that mark get there?” you whisper.

“What?” Tim asks, glancing toward you. “I don’t know.”

“There were marks on my mom’s dash, too,” you say. “Nobody knew how they got there. Nothing we would admit while my dad was around, anyway.”

Tim’s eyes find you again, his gaze different. But you’re still looking at the scratched plastic.

“It was like a switch was flipped,” you confess. “One day, he was at a recital, cheering on his baby. And the next… there were marks on the dashboards and new scars that- that I didn’t ask for. So, I have an idea of how painful the memories can be, how far and how fast they can drag you under until it feels like you’re drowning. I went about it wrong, and I can see that now, so I’m sorry. But my intentions are still the same. I don’t want to sit by while a memory of being hurt keeps hurting you.”

Tim doesn’t reply as he shifts his eyes back to the road. You don’t watch him during the remainder of your shift to know if his nostrils flare or if his breathing returns to normal after his outburst. What you do know is that if Tim is willing to let himself be controlled by memories, you can’t stay close enough to watch it happen.

Scrolling through your notifications as you exit the station, you let your body run on autopilot as you make your way home. You’re nearly across the parking lot when someone says your name. You stop and look up, surprised to see Tim’s full attention on you.

“Lopez thinks you were flirting with me,” Tim says, leaning against the tailgate of his truck.

“When?” you ask. There are several feet between you, and you’d prefer to keep it that way.

“Well, she says it pretty often, but the spray bottle. She noticed that my back was wet, saw it in the shop, put it together.”

You nod, holding your phone with both hands so you don’t fidget and expose how uncomfortable you are.

“Could we talk?” Tim asks.

“Not if it’s about me flirting with you,” you reply lightly.

Tim’s lips quirk up. “No. I’m pretty sure I’ve seen you flirt, and that wasn’t it.”

“Then, what do you want to talk about?”

“What I’m not supposed to think about.” Tim slides his hands into his front pockets and shrugs. “I should talk to someone, not just retreat into who I used to be, dissect what could have been different. I just thought… If I’m going to talk, I need to tell someone I trust. Someone who understands.”

“And that’s me? Last I heard, I was overstepping and needed to let it go.”

Tim nods, stepping back toward his driver’s door.

“But,” you call after him, “if you’ve changed your mind, we can talk.”

Tim’s house is warm, comfortable, manly, and everything you expected. Yet, it’s awkward as you lower onto his couch and watch him move in his kitchen. It’s oddly domestic, but the connection between you and Tim is hanging on by a thread. 

“I’m not mad at you,” Tim says suddenly. With his hands spread on the counter, he watches you. “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. I… my mind feels like my archenemy some days, and I fight that battle alone. You tried to help, and I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry.”

“No one knows the mess we’re in,” you agree. “The voices in my head say I’m being paranoid, but I know it will pull me under someday if I let it. You don’t have to apologize, Tim. I get it.”

“I don’t know what hurts worse, letting go or remembering,” Tim adds, walking to the couch with two glasses. He sets one in front of you, then sits beside you. There’s not as much distance between you now, but the vulnerability makes it feel like you’re exposed face-to-face.

“You were right,” Tim admits. “I’ve been thinking about what happened when I was a kid, wondering where everything went wrong, trying to identify something I could have done differently. Now that he’s gone, I guess I’ll never know.”

“Tim,” you breathe out, your heart breaking for him. “That was not your fault. None of it was because of you.”

“You’ve never wondered?”

“I didn’t say that.” You lift your glass, holding it between your hands to look down at it. “I used to lay awake at night trying to figure out what part of me was so broken that someone would do that to me. Especially someone I loved and who was supposed to love me.”

“But it’s not our fault,” Tim repeats. “It’s theirs.”

“And we can’t save everyone.”

“We shouldn’t have had to save anyone. Not even ourselves. I think back now, and I don’t remember my dad ever hitting my mom. He was verbally abusive, threatened to go farther, exhausted her emotionally and mentally. I tried to stay between him and Genny.”

“From what I’ve heard, you protected Genny from more than the bruises,” you offer. “You’re an incredible person, Tim.”

Tim smiles, turning his head toward you as his elbows rest on his thighs. “Was that flirting?”

“You’ll know when I’m flirting, Bradford,” you answer with a smile.

“When I was deployed, there were a couple guys whose wives divorced them,” Tim begins. “I found myself wondering why my mom didn’t do that. My dad would disappear for a week or so here and there. She could have left, but she didn’t.”

“I think moms try to fix everything in the only way they know how. If my mom even knew, she never showed it. But, I wondered the same thing. 20/20 hindsight, I guess.”

Tim empties his glass, then says, “Thank you.”

“For what?” you inquire, setting your cup beside his.

“The stuff in my locker? No one else would have put it there.”

You duck your chin to hide your smile. “It’s what I wanted when I was stuck in this cycle as a kid. I had panic attacks for a while. Music, something comfortable to wear, something rough to hold and ground myself with, and snacks I wouldn’t get otherwise felt like an escape to a world where I was safe, different.”

“I saw a therapist who told me to find ‘a portal to a better world’ when my PTSD was at its worst,” Tim says, leaning back against the couch, his hand falling toward you. “I was reliving memories that were killing me, and couldn’t figure out how to stop the bloodshed long enough to discover Narnia.”

“Narnia?” you repeat. “I didn’t realize you were a man of taste.”

“Next time, you won’t try to distract me with sports.”

“No. Although, I’d prefer a world where there isn’t a next time.”

“That’s a world we’d have to make.”

You lock eyes with Tim, shifting closer to him as the soft hum of his air conditioner fills the room.

“Are you okay?” you whisper, brushing your fingers against Tim’s.

“Would it sound like I was flirting if I said I am now?” he questions, leaning toward you as he smiles.

“Maybe,” you admit. “But would that be such a bad thing?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Me neither. After all, you trust me and I understand.”

Tim rolls his eyes at your teasing, and when you inhale, preparing to continue, he raises his right hand to your face, holding your jaw. You silence, watching Tim’s eyes.

“I don’t…” he begins. “I don’t want to be crutches.”

“Tim,” you breathe. “We’re not showing each other our scars to learn how to support each other. I’m telling you who I am because you make me better. You help me see who I am now, not who I force myself to see in the mirror. You aren’t my salvation, but I think you could be something.”

“I’ve lived in fear for most of my adult life that I couldn’t love someone, that I could tell them the truth about everything, about me. With you… telling the truth is as easy as breathing.”

“Breathing before, after, or during a panic attack?” you clarify.

“Why are we even having this conversation?” Tim jokes, shrugging. “You’ve been flirting with me for years, you clearly want me.”

“Then I guess it’s up to you,” you reply. “We’re at the edge, Tim. It’s your call. Are we going over the edge or running back to safety?”

“Tell me something about yourself,” Tim requests, pushing your hair over your shoulder.

You hum, dragging your fingers along his forearm. “I thought I was undesirable until I was, like, mid-20s.”

“What changed?” 

You shrug. “Put on the uniform, met a few badge bunnies, I don’t know. I still feel it sometimes.”

“With me?”

“No,” you whisper. “But I think you see more than my face. Your turn.”

Tim licks his lips as he thinks. “You know all my secrets now.”

“Then tell me something that isn’t a secret.”

“I didn’t think I’d be able to fall in love after Isabel. Not until a few years ago.”

“You had a girlfriend?”

Tim laughs. “What else changed a few years ago?”

You trace your own life back one year, then two, then… “Oh. Me?”

“Oh. You,” Tim repeats. “I was also called Reaper in the Army.”

“That’s so much cooler than falling in love with me. How’d you get that name?”

Tim’s lips are mere inches from you as he asks, “Is that really what you want to focus on right now?”

“Promise you know we’re not crutches?” you request.

Tim takes your hand and says, “I know. You’re clearly more of a walker.”

You huff, but Tim closes the distance - finally - and kisses you slowly. With his hand on your face, your hands joined, and your knees against his thigh, you forget everything except Tim Bradford and the future you want with him.

He pulls back first, searching your eyes before you drop your chin and kiss a scar on his neck. Tim takes a shaky breath as you sit back on your socked feet. You’d felt so out of place when you first arrived, and now you’re not sure you want to leave the comfort and seclusion of Tim’s home and his arms.

“You know we’re not going to be allowed to ride together anymore, right?” Tim asks.

“Yeah. Now we can do so much more,” you reply.

“Such a flirt,” Tim murmurs.

“I’m here for you,” you remind him. “No matter when, no matter what.”

Tim smiles as he pulls you closer. “Prove it.”

Opportune Growth

Requested Here!

Pairing: Dominique Luca x fem!baker!reader

Summary: While Luca looks for opportunities to expand his food truck business, he doesn't expect growth in his personal life or to meet you, a woman capable of making everything better.

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Luca Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“I’m on it,” Luca says into the phone. “Hopefully by next week.”

Street tilts his head to the side, a silent request to be pulled into the conversation.

“Yeah,” Luca agrees, laughing. “Thanks, Xiomara.”

“What’s funny?” Street asks when Luca ends the call. “I like funny things.”

“You are a funny thing, Streeter.”

“I’m okay with that.”

Luca shakes his head and playfully punches Street’s shoulder. It’s a slow day at SWAT – though none of them will admit that aloud and risk jinxing – and Luca has been spending more time working on the growth and thriving of Guata-Mama’s.

“I’m looking for some opportunities to expand Guata-Mama’s. Ya know, get more jobs, maybe a more permanent spot,” Luca explains, shrugging as he finishes.

“Like a restaurant permanent or a parking spot permanent?” Street clarifies.

“I’ve been asking myself the same question. Xiomara doesn’t seem to care, she just wants to cook, and now that we have enough help, she can. Right now, I’m focusing on finding some new venues; farmer’s markets, events, stuff like that.”

“There’s a farmer’s market like a mile from here tomorrow,” Street remembers. “We could go scope it out, see how Guata-Mama’s would fit in.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Luca muses.

“Of course it’s not, it’s my idea,” Street counters, smiling. “Plus, you used all the blueberries this morning.”

“There were three left, Street.”

“Tan’s rolling with 50-squad for a hostage situation,” Hondo says as he exits the situation room. “What are you two doing?”

“Planning a takeover of Los Angeles,” Street answers. “Guata-Mama’s will be the only name that matters.”

Luca smiles as he rolls his eyes. “I’m looking for new opportunities.”

“Well, this is the right city for that, my man,” Hondo encourages.

“I feel underdressed,” Street says through his teeth as they enter the farmer’s market.

Luca taps his elbow against Street, then gestures toward a juice vendor. The man is wearing a light kimono, board shorts, and sandals.

“Never mind,” Street adds. “Just rich, overdressed customers then.”

“I’m gonna go talk to a few of the vendors, get a feel for what it’s like,” Luca explains. “You coming with?”

“I’ll catch up,” Street mumbles, his eyes locked on a booth farther down the transformed parking lot.

“Sure, you will,” Luca agrees facetiously.

He walks between tents and fruit stands, smiling and greeting people as he approaches a strip of food trucks. A breakfast truck offers pancakes on a stick, a smoothie/ice cream hybrid truck appeals to health nuts and sweet tooths, and a sandwich truck is parked between them. Around the corner, tents sell homemade food – everything from customizable organic trail mix to fresh bread.

“Good morning,” Luca greets as he approaches the Juice Cream Dream truck. “I was going to ask if I could speak to the owner, but now I think I need to order two blue line smoothies.”

“You an officer?” the woman in the truck asks.

“I am. How’d you know?”

She shrugs and says, “The owner is picking something up, he’ll be back in five minutes, maybe less. I’ll let him know you want to talk to him.”

“Thank you,” Luca replies, retrieving his wallet.

“It’s on the house,” the woman interjects. “Wendall, my boss, told me never to let an officer pay for a drink he made for them.”

She passes Luca the smoothies and tells him to let her know if she can help with anything else.

“Luca!” Street calls as he returns. “There’s an artist over there who painted a picture that looks like- why do you have two smoothies?”

Luca offers one to Street, and his story is forgotten as he takes the first drink.

“That is incredible,” Luca says after taking another sip.

“And it’s got a blue line,” Street muses. “What is the blue line?”

“Blueberry,” a man answers. “Sorry for interrupting, gentleman. My name is Wendall, I was told you wanted to speak with me?”

“I do,” Luca replies, offering his name and hand. “I own a food truck and I was wondering if you’d be willing to share your experience here with me.”

“Of course.”

“I will be at that bakery tent,” Street tells Luca. “Nice to meet you, Wendall.”

“Good morning,” you greet when someone enters your tent. “How are you?”

“Better now,” the man replies. “It smells amazing in here.”

Your smile grows as he begins looking at the labels on your fresh baked goods. Since you opened your bakery, you’ve found immeasurable joy in seeing people enjoy what you make. When you started vending at a farmer’s market, that joy grew. Being face-to-face with customers like this beats being in the back of your shop, you think, even though you love every aspect of your job.

“Looking for anything specific?” you inquire.

“Well, now I’m trying to narrow down what I want because everything looks amazing,” he replies. “Can you recommend anything?”

“Depends on what you like. The raisin scones are my personal favorite, but the butter croissants and maple cookies are well-loved.”

Another man enters your branded tent and sends you a devastatingly beautiful smile.

“Luca,” the first man says, “we need all of it.”

Luca, you repeat to yourself, drawn to him and his name for a reason you’ll probably never know.

“Good morning,” he tells you. “Sorry about my friend.”

“He’s a great customer so far,” you say lightly, smiling at the man before you.

Luca hesitates, desperate to talk to and be near you for as long as possible. He tries to shake the feeling, but it lingers, like a cloud of impenetrable smoke separating the two of you from the rest of the world, blind to reality around you.

“I’m sorry, is your name Luca?” you ask. “You wouldn’t happen to be Dom Luca, of Guata-Mama’s, would you?”

“Dude, she’s heard of you,” Street gushes. “You’ve made it.”

“Yes, I am,” Luca tells you, sending a look to Street. “You’ve heard of it?”

“It’s the best food truck in LA, of course,” you answer. “I’ve been hoping to see the truck at a farmer’s market.”

“That’s actually why I’m here. I think Guata-Mama’s would do well here.”

You nod and pull a folder from beneath your table. “Here is the contact for the director,” you offer, extending a piece of paper. “He’s a great guy, really down to earth and just looking to make local food and businesses accessible.”

“Thank you,” he says, folding the paper carefully to stow it in his pocket. “How long have you been selling here?”

“Not long. I’ve got a brick-and-mortar place, and I thought it was time to get out of the bakery every once in a while. Business is good here, so it worked out.”

“Looking at your product, I’d imagine business is good all the time.”

Luca smiles and ignores Street’s low whistle. You match Luca’s smile as your cheeks warm.

“I know you own Guata-Mama’s but is that your primary job?” you ask.

“No, we’re LAPD SWAT. The truck is more of a passion than a job,” he explains.

“I love that. And thank you for keeping LA safe. A friend of mine was at the flower market shooting a while back, and I heard SWAT was instrumental in keeping those people safe.”

“I made a decision,” Street interrupts.

Luca turns toward him, and his brows raise when he sees Street’s arms full of boxes.

“You do not have to buy everything I mentioned,” you tell him. “You know that, right?”

“I’m not,” Street assures as Luca takes a few boxes. “These are just the things I couldn’t say no to.”

Luca knows the feeling; he can’t imagine saying no to you either.

“If you’re sure,” you say, giving him an out.

“Very sure,” Street answers.

You make more small talk as you ring up the items. After applying a hefty discount, Street pays for the items as you put them in a large canvas bag. You then draw a business card from the stack beside the iPad you use as a register and write your name and cell phone number on the back.

“This is for you,” you tell Luca, sliding it to him.

“It was nice to meet you,” he says after he sees your handwritten note on the back.

“Enjoy the food, and hopefully I’ll see you around.”

You will, Luca mouths as he follows Street out of the tent.

3 Weeks Later

Luca unlocks his phone again, smiling as he taps the screen.

“Okay, what is up with you?” Tan asks. “You’ve been looking at that phone nonstop all week, and you haven’t acknowledge a single one of Rocker’s stupid insults about double date night.”

“Probably because they don’t make sense,” Deacon interjects. “Although, Luca, he’s got a point, you’ve been… in the clouds, lately.”

“Ooh,” Street teases. “Everybody knows something is up with Luca, and I’m the only one who knows what it is.”

“You know?” Tan asks, turning toward Street. “What is it?”

“Why would I tell you?”

“Because we’re friends and he’s on my team.”

“I brought muffins,” Luca says, changing the subject to one thing he knows his team can’t ignore: food.

Tan follows Street toward the kitchen, pestering him about giving away Luca’s secret. Deacon, however, stays with a knowing look.

“Baked goods, huh?” he asks. “That’s not really your specialty, Luca. Or something you’d go out of your way for, unless someone made them more appealing.”

“Maybe I just got them at the store,” Luca counters.

“You’d never feed us store bakery goods.”

Luca sighs and nods. “She owns a bakery.”

“And it’s been, what, a month since you met?”

“Three weeks.”

“You really care about her.”

“I think I love her, Deac. This is different than anything I’ve experienced before. It’s like she’s a magnet, an addictive drug, I don’t know, but I can’t go long without thinking of her.”

“You’re telling the wrong person,” Deacon points out. “I’m happy for you, Luca. And I’m willing to bet that this woman feels the same, this isn’t like your past relationships.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Let’s go to dinner,” Hondo says as he closes his locker. “I’m in the mood for not having to cook.”

“I’m in,” Tan agrees.

“Me too,” Street adds.

“Annie’s sister is watching the kids while she prepares a deposition, so I’m free,” Deacon says.

Luca checks his watch before he answers. “I have to run by a new store to get some ultra-fine milled whole wheat flour.”

Tan’s eyes widen dramatically. “No way.”

Deacon and Street nod, and Hondo looks between them and Luca several times.

“Is that a special flour, or?” Hondo inquires, lost.

“Don’t focus on the flour itself,” Deacon says. Hondo raises his fingers from his backpack strap in question. “He’s going to a special store to buy a specific ingredient for something he wouldn’t use.”

Hondo considers Deacon’s explanation for several seconds, then asks, “A girl?”

“Not just any girl,” Street replies, “a baker.”

“My man!” Hondo cheers. “When were you going to tell us?”

“He didn’t have to tell us,” Tan teases. “We figured it out without a lesson in romance from Deac.”

“Pipe down,” Deacon interjects.

“Get the flour and then meet us at the restaurant,” Hondo tells Luca. “We need to plan to meet this baker that swept Luca off his feet.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Street says as they exit the locker room, ignorant of Luca’s phone buzzing again.

Strikes to Die By

Part 2 of Words to Die By

The Rookie x Criminal Minds Crossover

Pairing: (FBI!)Tim Bradford x fem!BAU!reader

Summary: Months after you kissed Tim, you have to save him and yourself without letting your emotions get in the way. His past follows him to the FBI, and you must decide if you want to be part of his past or his future.

Warnings: angst, canon-typical content, violence, near-death experiences, fluff and banter, literary references and spoilers for Revival by Stephen King, canon-divergent Monica Stevens

Word Count: 10.6k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

The air buzzes as a hooded figure walks through the dewy grass. Hair stands on end as the city seems to shake within itself. A door closes silently, and less than an hour later, the figure returns to the static-filled wilderness of Teague, Texas, leaving wreckage in his wake.

Quantico, Virginia

“That’s great, baby girl, but it’s too long,” Derek chides gently.

“No, it isn’t,” Penelope argues. “This is a correct sentence.”

Derek clicks his tongue, then straightens from Penelope’s side.

“Historically, the longest sentence ever printed was 823 words long,” Spencer interjects from his desk. “Victor Hugo put it in Les Misérables.”

“Well, I’m going to be more miserable if we don’t cut some words out of this,” Derek complains. “Where’s the bookworm?”

“Me?” you ask from Hotch’s doorway.

“No, Frankenstein,” he deadpans.

“Actually,” Spencer says, “Frankenstein is-“

“The doctor,” everyone in the BAU bullpen finishes together.

Spencer raises his hands in a dramatic surrender, and you heed Derek’s beckoning and walk to his desk. He points at his screen, and Penelope sighs as she pushes his chair back. You drop your chin forward to read the briefing on the screen and then look at Penelope with your brows furrowed.

“What’s the problem?” you inquire.

“It’s too long. That sentence takes up four lines!” Derek exclaims.

“It’s a report,” Hotch calls. “Not a contender for the Pulitzer.”

You shake your head at Derek’s dramatics, then point to an accurate but lengthy transition phrase. “Remove this, add a period, and fix the capitalization on the right side.”

Derek lifts his arms in victory as Penelope does as you instructed. She hums, pleased, and submits the report to Hotch.

“You’re the best reader in the world, sweetheart,” Derek tells you.

“Careful, Penelope’s right here,” you warn.

“We can share him,” she assures you. “For now.”

“Iceland is probably home to the best readers,” Spencer tells JJ. “They have the highest per capita book reading rate in the world and a literacy rate of about 99%.”

“I bet Iceland is quiet,” Derek muses. “What with all the reading, not so much time to talk.”

“Was that aimed at me?” Spencer replies.

“Conference room!” Hotch barks. “Now.”

You abandon your post beside Derek’s desk and follow him into the conference room. As you lower into your seat, Hotch leans over the table and puts the phone on speaker.

“SSA Hotchner,” he greets. “I have the BAU here with me.”

“Pleasure,” a man with a moderate thick southern accent says. “I’m Deputy Sheriff Neilson of Teague, Texas. This morning, we discovered a man dead in a hotel room.”

“Murdered?” JJ asks.

“We’re not sure,” he replies. “ME took a preliminary look and reckons the victim was electrocuted. But we’re having… We have reservations about actually entering the crime scene or moving the body.”

“Why?” Hotch says.

“The room is spotless. By which I mean, it’s too clean.”

“Do you have CSI photos? Any photos?” Spencer inquires.

“Emailing those now. Photographer got in and out pretty quickly, but the photos should show you how odd this seems. Even the vents are clean, as far back as you can see.”

Penelope types something on her laptop and then casts the images onto the large television screen behind Hotch. He steps out of the way and listens to Neilson’s account of the distressed 911 caller: a housekeeper who entered the room with a master key.

“It’s way too clean,” you murmur.

“That’s beyond what any hotel maid is trained to do,” Spencer adds.

“Or paid to do,” Derek says.

“Penelope, can you go back?” you request after she clicks another image.

You stand and round the table to view the wide-frame photo of the hotel room. There’s something off about it – even more than the cleanliness.

“Is there another picture of the nightstand?” you ask. “Closer?”

Penelope exits the full-screen view and scrolls through the files before she finds one. After it loads on the television, you point to the Bible on the nightstand.

“That should be in the drawer,” Hotch says. “Nielson will call back in a few minutes. I gave him the go ahead to have CSI process. I doubt there’s any physical evidence left to disturb.”

“The Bible should be in the drawer, yes,” you agree. “But that’s not what I noticed.”

“Is that bed frame waxed?” Derek interrupts, peering over your shoulder.

“You’d notice,” Penelope jokes.

“Hotch, I can call the cleaning staff to find out if there’s a reason the room is that level of clean.”

“Sure,” Hotch agrees. “Make sure you ask about the air vent, too.”

Derek salutes as he exits the conference room. After he leaves, you point to the Bible's top and bottom edges.

“The pages aren’t big enough,” you point out. “Whatever is in here, I don’t think it’s the Bible. I think it’s a paperback in a Bible binding.”

“Why would someone do that?” JJ asks. “Aside from the obvious.”

“In a scene this clean, it has to be a signature,” Hotch answers.

“We need to know what book it is,” you say.

Hotch calls Nielson back while you, Spencer, and JJ look through the rest of the pictures. It’s a weird scene, something you haven’t seen before, but it’s carefully constructed. As close to perfect as you’ve ever seen a criminal come.

“Hey, where’s your boyfriend?” JJ asks you.

You turn your head slowly, then scoff. “Tim is not my boyfriend.”

“No, they just use my office to makeout sometimes,” Penelope interrupts.

“That was one time,” you argue. “And we’ve barely seen each other since then.”

“Because he’s moving to the FBI and across the country,” JJ points out. “For you.”

“Not for me.”

“That’s not true,” Spencer states.

You, Penelope, and JJ turn toward him together. He shrugs and continues examining the photos. Spencer’s comment doesn’t change your mind, though. Tim Bradford is part of your life; you have feelings for each other, but it ends there. It has to.

“We would’ve done something already if we were going to,” you admit softly.

“You did. You pulled him out of the bullpen and into a rom-com worthy smooch fest,” Penelope says.

“Who did what?” Hotch asks as he returns.

“Uh, Spencer found a loose screw on the bed frame,” Penelope lies.

“No, I didn’t,” he defends, standing to his full height.

“Oh, then I misheard.”

“I’ll assume I did too, then,” Hotch deadpans. “CSI said you were right. It’s not a Bible. It’s an annotated copy of Stephen King’s Revival.”

You close your eyes and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Fantastic.”

“That means something to you then,” Derek muses as he returns. “Hotel said there is absolutely no way their cleaning staff did that. Bonus, the hotel was closed for two weeks before it reopened four days ago, when our vic checked in.”

“Why was it closed?” Spencer asks.

“Let me guess. An ant infestation,” you say.

Derek’s brows raise as he begins to clap slowly.

“Revival is a nod to horror classics like Frankenstein and Lovecraft,” you begin. “It’s the story of a Methodist preacher who discovers ‘secret electricity’ that can heal people. Jacobs decides that it can take him into the afterlife and – as in most Stephen King novels – loses his mind in the process of trying to get there.”

“How do ants play into this?” Derek asks.

“How does murder play into this?” Hotch amends.

“Jacobs has an unhealthy obsession with Jamie, a boy he met while he was still a preacher, before his family died and his decline began. When they meet, Jamie is playing with toy soldiers on an ant hill. When they open the door into the afterlife, neither heaven nor hell greets them. Instead, it’s something called ‘The Null.’ Inside, ant-like creatures serve ‘Mother,’ who takes over dead bodies and uses them for her purpose: to bring more souls into The Null.”

“That answered half of the question.”

“Jacobs kills with electricity in his attempt to go to the afterlife.” You glance at the map showing Teague, Texas, and tilt your head. “Is the hotel the tallest building in the city?”

Penelope’s fingernails click against the keyboard for several seconds before she replies, “Tallest building, second tallest structure. There’s a decommissioned water tower that stands taller.”

“Why was it decommissioned?” Spencer asks.

Hotch raises the phone to his ear and raises his finger for Penelope to wait. A moment later, Deputy Sheriff Nielson is connected to the call and brought into the conversation.

“Why was the water tower decommissioned?” Spencer asks him.

“It was struck by lightning one time too many,” Nielson answers. “Teague is the lightning capital of the world, if you didn’t know, and over the years, we’ve had to learn to adapt to that.”

“Hotch,” you whisper.

He turns around, facing you with his back to the phone and the team.

“In the book, Jacobs goes to the tallest place he knows of, where’s there’s a big metal flagpole, and that’s where he makes his final kill.”

“You think this guy will do the same?”

“Without looking at his notes in the book, I can’t be absolutely sure, but if he has enough of an infatuation with the book and electricity to stage the scene like he did… it’s likely.”

Hotch nods once, then turns back toward the table. “Deputy Sheriff Nielson, our team is inbound. We’ll be there in a few hours to assist your department with the case.”

Nielson exhales, sounding like it would make him physically lighter. “I can’t thank you enough, SSA Hotchner. We’ll be waiting for you.”

Someone knocks on the open conference room door as you gather your things. You don’t look up until JJ elbows you in the ribs.

“I couldn’t help but overhear the last part,” Tim Bradford says, not even sparing a glance at you. “I can lead the tactical apprehension team.”

“I’ll work on finalizing the assignment,” Hotch agrees.

“We don’t need a tactical team,” you interject. “He’ll get spooked too easily for that.”

Tim keeps his eyes on Hotch, but you can see his jaw working as he tenses his facial muscles.

“All due respect,” Tim begins.

“No, Tim,” you snap, turning toward him quickly. “This is not a storm the castle operation. This guy isn’t limited to electricity, and he will kill anyone who gets in his way.”

Hotch looks between you and Tim and surveys his tight fists and your short breaths. The final decision is his, but he respects your opinion. Then, he remembers that Tim saved you and Spencer on his first day with the FBI. You bring different skills to the BAU, and he doesn’t know which he may need in the Lone Star State.

“Your team will accompany, Bradford,” Hotch agrees. “But you are on standby until further notice. You don’t say or do anything without my instruction, is that understood?”

“Understood, sir,” Tim agrees.

He leaves the conference room first, and you follow Hotch into his office and close the door.

“Hotch, I trust Tim,” you explain. “But if you want to solve this case without losing more lives, you need to tread lightly. If he gets to close, it’s over.”

Hotch nods once, and you step backward, preparing to leave.

“You said the guy in the book had an unhealthy obsession with someone,” Hotch remembers. “Think that affects our investigation in any way?”

You consider the possibility of a Jacobs and Jamie-type conspiracy. It wouldn’t shock you to learn that the killer wasn’t working alone, but something about the efficiency of this particular kill makes you think it was just one man: one man who could somehow control all of the variables in that hotel room.

“Not yet,” you answer carefully. “It took Jacobs a while to actually bring Jamie in as an adult. For this case, I’d say he’s more likely to recruit a former cell-mate or small-time criminal from his past to assist him in the big kill.”

“Victim?”

“There’s only one person in the world who knows that, and he won’t be in any mood to talk to us.”

“Penelope is looking into the town’s residents. If she finds anything, I’ll let you be the first to look.”

“Thank you, sir. Oh, and one more thing. The book isn’t just about faith and the nature of reality. It’s about addiction and morality. Drug addiction, healing addiction, someone turning away from God to make a deal with something worse than the Devil. Whoever this is, there’s more to him than meets the eye. We need to be careful.”

“We’re all coming back from this,” Hotch assures you. “We’re wheels up in twenty.”

Tim splashes water in his face, then grips the edges of the porcelain sink as it drips from his chin. He doesn’t look up in the mirror and doesn’t want to see anything except you. Since you walked into Mid-Wilshire nearly a decade after dropping out as a rookie, you have consumed Tim Bradford’s thoughts, his time, attention, and – most terrifyingly – his heart.

“Regretting arguing with her, aren’t you?”

Tim stands up at the sound of Derek’s voice. He snatches a paper towel from the dispenser and wipes his hands harshly, then wipes his face before he tosses it into the trash can.

“I didn’t come here for her,” Tim defends.

Derek smiles. “Nobody said you did. Nobody except you.”

“I’m not doing this with you.”

Tim begins to walk toward the door but stops when Derek says, “If you didn’t come for her, you need to tell her that.” Tim’s head turns toward his shoulder, so Derek continues, “Coming back into your life wasn’t easy for her, and don’t let her think there’s a spot in it for her if there isn’t.”

“I’d never lead her on.”

“Maybe not on purpose.”

Tim pushes the bathroom door open too hard and walks out.

“What’d the door do to you?” you question from the hallway, your go bag slung over your shoulder.

“It was in the way,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, they tend to do that.”

You look at each other silently for a moment, then speak simultaneously.

“No, go ahead,” Tim insists.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry if I overstepped earlier. The situation, this killer, it’s all very volatile and I don’t want to see anybody else get hurt.”

“I get it,” Tim responds. “And I’m sorry I stopped reaching out after I went back to LA.”

“It’s okay.” You smile and say, “A taste of my own medicine won’t kill me.”

“It was different.”

You nod, then lead Tim to the plane. It’s a few hours to Texas, and you have over 400 pages of literary research to review on the way. Plus, whatever fun facts Spencer can tell you about lightning.

Hotch’s phone rings as you begin your descent into Texas. He answers it, his brows pinching as he listens to the caller. Extending his hand, he says, “It’s for you.”

Tim glances at you as he takes Hotch’s phone. He introduces himself, then shifts so that his gaze is directly on you for the duration of the call.

“Where?” he asks after listening for several breaths. Then, he says, “Thanks… I’m not, but I can… I’ll let you know.”

He hangs up and returns Hotch’s phone, ignoring the intrigued looks from the rest of the BAU as he stands to speak to you.

“That was Angela,” he says. “Oscar filed a new residency and employment with his parole officer. Then, he got a new parole officer.”

“What are you saying? He moved counties?” you clarify.

“He moved states.”

Tim steps his right leg back into the aisle of the jet to address your team. He concludes, “He moved to Teague, Texas.”

“And you think this Oscar is our killer?” Hotch asks. He looks at you, but your eyes are on Tim.

“If Oscar is the Reverend Jacobs in this scheme, then he’d have another contact in California either with him or coming right behind him,” you point out.

“Or he is the co-conspirator,” Spencer adds.

“In either case, we’d have to comb through decades of Oscar’s criminal history," Hotch says. "Tim? Do you think he’s the mastermind or the recruit?”

“I think he’d used somebody long before he let himself be used,” Tim decides.

“I can’t imagine him being this cold-blooded, though,” you say. “He’s a narcissist, not a psychotic murderer trying to open the gates of Hell.”

“If he’s a narcissist and he found someone to look up to, it could get dangerous very quickly,” Spencer offers. “His narcissistic tendencies would return and likely be worsened. He’d…”

“Have a god complex?” Derek guesses.

“More or less, yes.”

“Then we need to find Oscar and find out what is going on,” Hotch instructs.

“I can do it,” Tim offers. “He knows me.”

Hotch looks at you, and you nod, which ends the discussion. Tim is running headfirst into danger for a case you didn’t even want him to work. It’s a very good thing he isn’t your boyfriend, you tell yourself, even as your hands shake at the mere thought of losing him.

Teague, Texas

“Deputy Sheriff Nielson, this is my team. Special Agents Reid, Morgan, Jareau,” Hotch introduces before he gets to you.

You each shake the Deputy Sheriff’s hand before you enter an oversized office with a large wooden table centered inside. A cardboard box of evidence is on the table and two folders bearing the case number rest atop it. You expected as much - or as little - with such a pristine scene, but seeing how little you have to go on is disheartening.

“Are there any people in your jurisdiction that you think are capable of something like this?” Derek asks Nielson. “Any motive?”

Nielson taps the table in thought, then tips his head to the side. “Kid named Nicholas just got back from a stint in Texas State Pen. He started in high school, little things like petty theft and peepin’ tom charges and worked his way up to manslaughter. Thinks he’s hot stuff around here.”

“What’s Nicholas’ full name?” JJ asks. “We can run him through the federal database and work from there.”

“Hutchinson.”

You look away from the nearly empty evidence box. “Hutchinson? Do you know if he’s related to Oscar Hutchinson?”

“Sure, he mentioned a cousin named Oscar once or twice. Seemed close, but Oscar doesn’t live around here.”

“Wait, Oscar?” Derek repeats. “Oscar who-”

“Tim is going to see?” you finish, unlocking your phone to warn Tim. “Yeah, that Oscar.”

“I take it you have a profile, then?” Nielson asks Hotch.

“One better,” Hotch answers. “We have a suspect.”

You ignore their continued conversation as the phone rings.

“C’mon, Tim,” you mumble as the dial tone trills in your ear. The line finally connects, and you ask, “Tim? Tim, you there?”

“I haven’t seen your name in a while.”

You take in a sharp breath as you wave your hand toward JJ.

“I didn’t know Bradford had gotten his little rookie back.”

“What do you want, Oscar?” you demand.

Your words catch your teammates' attention far quicker than your actions, and Derek rushes to your side. He wraps his arm around your shoulder and lays his head atop yours to listen to your phone call.

“Oh, you misunderstand!” Oscar exclaims with a laugh. “This is about what I can do for you.”

“You know exactly what I’d like you to do,” you reply darkly.

“The BAU has jaded you, dear. Tim is perfectly safe. Aren’t you, Sergeant?”

“Everything is fine,” Tim calls. “Just like the last time we split duties.”

“That’s enough small talk,” Oscar interrupts. “I assume you know about my cousin, Nick.”

“No, I don’t.”

Oscar takes several breaths before he hums. “You’re a good liar. But you’re a better cop, so I’m sure you know exactly who I’m talking about. He was released from Texas State Penitentiary last week and then poof! he disappeared. He’s in Texas, you’re in Texas… you catching my drift?”

“He went missing?” you clarify. “Immediately after being released from prison?”

“There it is. You understand my concerns. Now, to give you a little incentive to release him unharmed, I’ll promise to keep Daddy Cop here unharmed.”

Tim makes a noise of protest, but there’s a roaring in your ears that you can’t ignore. You don't even notice Derek lift his head long enough to repeat Oscar's nickname for Tim.

“Oscar, have you read Stephen King?” you ask.

“No. Live enough horror and you don’t want to read it,” Oscar answers.

“I think your cousin is in danger,” you tell him, looking up at Derek.

“Well, that’s a new play.”

“Oscar, I’m not playing. We’re not here for you or your cousin, we’re here because someone was murdered last night.”

“Sure, because the LAPD cares about that.”

“I’m FBI now,” Tim corrects.

The line goes silent. Your heart races, pounding in your chest, and you prepare to run out of this station and look in every building in the county until you find Oscar and Tim.

“My plan may need some slight adjustments,” Oscar muses.

“Oscar, listen to me. Tell Tim what you know, let him come back to the station, and I promise you that we will find your cousin and get him home safely.”

“I’m not big on the first two points. I’ll tell your boy what I know, and then I leave him here. A baseless arrest is the last thing I need.”

“Oscar do not try to find Nick alone!” you implore. “Let us do this; there’s more at stake than you realize.”

“You have no idea.”

The line clicks, and you clasp your phone between both hands to keep yourself from throwing it at the wall. Derek rubs his hand along your back as he looks at Hotch.

“What can we do to help?” Nielson asks.

“He won’t hurt Tim,” you assure your team. “He’s full of himself, not stupid. Give him a few minutes, and if we haven’t heard back, I will hunt him down myself.”

“You said Nick is in danger,” JJ says. “What does that mean?”

You lean into Derek’s touch and explain, “I was looking at it backward. Nick isn’t Jamie, he’s Mary. He’s the sacrificial lamb. Whoever our killer is, he plans to offer Nick up for whatever his purpose is.”

“Picked the wrong state to deal in religious symbolism and the deadly sins,” Neilson murmurs. “Dallas SWAT, Texas Bureau of Investigations, and Fort Cavazos have teams on standby ready to assist you in any way you need.”

“Excellent,” Hotch responds. “Considering our tactical leader is currently being held hostage.”

You blow out an amused breath and argue, “I told you not to let him come.”

“What can we do while we wait?” Derek asks.

“Find out when the next lightning storm is,” Spencer answers.

“Yep, that’s all you, Pretty Boy, get to work.”

Spencer rolls his eyes but opens a laptop regardless. On the plane, he found out that the estimated time of death aligned perfectly with a cloud-to-ground lightning strike within a few miles of the city. Considering the killer’s infatuation with the book, you support the opinion he’ll time his next kill with another lightning storm.

“We also need to look for places he might choose to commit the murder,” you say. “Between the first mention of the ants and the ultimate sacrifice, Jacobs took more lives. Granted, some of them took a while. I… I don’t think he’ll take that route, actually.”

Your phone lights up, you answer it before the first ring ends, then place it on speaker.

“Hello?” Penelope asks.

“Oh, hey,” you greet, setting your phone on the table.

“Whoa, don’t sound so disappointed that it’s me,” she replies.

“Tim was abducted,” Spencer tells her. “We’re waiting for a call with his whereabouts.”

“Speaking of which,” JJ begins. “Is no one going to mention what Oscar called him?”

“It’s an inside joke,” you say. “What’s up, Garcia?”

“I got the property records for the land surrounding the old water tower,” she explains. “It’s on public land, but everything around it is private.”

“Right,” Nielson agrees. “You can’t get to it without going through someone’s yard now.”

“But, the lot east of the tower was just rented,” Penelope continues. “To Nicholas Hutchinson.”

“No way he can afford something like that fresh out of prison,” Derek argues.

You nod but then consider the idea of land plots. “How many acres?”

“Seven,” Penelope reads.

“Tim said that everything was fine, like the last time we split duties, right?” you ask.

“Yes,” Spencer answers. “Does that mean something to you?”

“Maybe,” you murmur. “He’s either giving us a clue or talking about something I don’t remember.”

“The last time you worked together was in LA,” Hotch reminds you.

You stare at the table, thinking. You spent most of that trip trying to separate your life and work from the past. It didn’t work, and you and Tim were held at gunpoint by a man trying to save you from everything except himself.

“We didn’t work together much,” you say. “I worked with Lucy, he went with Derek, and then we stayed together until we were in the townhouse with Riley.”

“No, you weren’t,” Hotch says.

You turn quickly, your brows raised.

“When we went to the last scene – the one where we found the novella about you – Tim was at the station. Pissed off enough that people stayed away from him, from what I’ve heard.”

“Whoa, watch your language Hotch,” Derek chides. “This is a work trip.”

“I’m still your boss, Morgan.”

“But a big teddy bear of a boss,” Penelope interjects.

“Regardless of who remembers what,” JJ says, “what does that mean to you?”

“I made him stay at the station,” you reply. “He was mad, obviously, but… he was fine. We thought I was in danger because I jumped the gun.”

“And we found two bodies,” Spencer mumbles.

Your breath catches, and you lock eyes with Derek before you look at JJ, then Hotch.

“What?” Spencer asks, looking up from the looping radar on his laptop.

“Hutchinson wouldn’t kill people right in front of Tim, would he?” JJ asks slowly.

“Deputy Sheriff,” you call, “have you had any double murders here recently?”

“No murders, no, but there was a car accident that killed two young girls about a week ago,” he replies. “Out on County Road 650.”

“Any structures near it?” Hotch asks.

“A couple outbuildings a few hundred feet from the curve where it happened.”

“Is there any way our abducted agent would know something had occurred there?”

“There’s a collection of flowers, stuffed animals, stuff like that. And… yeah, there’s a large picture of the girls, the family put it up.”

“We need to get out there, Hotch,” Derek urges.

“I’m going with you,” you say.

“How far is that from the water tower?” Spencer asks.

“A few miles,” Nielson replies. “Faster if you cut through a field.”

You slide your phone into your pocket and follow Derek and Hotch out of the police station. For the first time since you met Tim Bradford, your roles have reversed, and you may be the only thing standing between him and something he’ll never come back from. He’s saved you more than once, and you plan on returning the favor.

“Slow down,” Penelope instructs, her voice clear through Hotch’s speakers. “You’re approaching the curve where the accident happened.”

“Guys,” you say. “Oscar’s calling.”

Hotch slows, steering the SUV onto the grassy shoulder beside the road. He keeps his eyes up, but Derek turns in the passenger seat to watch you as you answer the call.

“You have one chance to save yourself, Oscar,” you remind him.

“He’s unharmed,” Oscar grumbles. “But I’d like to offer a trade.”

“We had a deal.”

“Yes, but this one involves a better outcome for me.”

“What do you want?”

“I’ll tell you where I am, and you can come get me and your boy. In exchange, I want to assist in the search for Nicholas.”

“And then you’re going to jail for abducting a federal agent,” Derek interjects.

“I’m not bartering with you,” Oscar replies.

You meet Hotch’s eyes in the rearview mirror, and when you exhale shakily, he nods.

“You’ve got a deal, Oscar. But you’re on thin ice,” you respond.

“Excellent, that’s where I do my best skating. We’re in some nasty barn off 650.”

Hotch pulls back onto the road, hitting his blinker to turn onto a dirt path that travels straight toward the outbuilding Nielson pointed them toward.

“We’re here,” you tell Oscar. “We’re coming in and you-”

“Better not have a weapon, yes, I know.”

Derek pulls the large sliding door open, and you enter behind Hotch, who raises his gun. Oscar lifts his hands lazily, and Tim stares at you from the back corner of the barn. You walk around Hotch and straight toward Tim.

“I’m sorry,” you say, reaching up to release the knotted rope holding his hands above his head.

“You can apologize later,” he replies. “Oscar’s not our guy.”

“We know. That’s what I was calling to tell you. I had it all wrong.”

“And now?”

You lift your brows quickly, silently acknowledging that you aren’t sure what you have now. You push higher onto your tiptoes before you stumble and place your hand on Tim’s chest to right yourself just as his hands fall from the pole above him. He catches you, his hands firm against your waist as you tip toward him. Looking into his eyes, you don’t move back. At least not until Derek clears his throat.

“Oscar has an idea of who might consider Nicholas as a perfect sacrifice,” Hotch says. “If you’re ready.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” you agree, stepping back.

As you exit the building, you notice the air is growing uncomfortably humid. With your hand against your forehead, you look up at the sky. Thick, dark clouds are gathering in the north, and the wind shifts to blow against your right side.

“There’s a storm coming,” you point out. “A bad one.”

“You think it’s time?” Derek inquires.

“Time for what?” Tim asks.

You drop your voice and say, “Whoever has Nic is going to kill him in some grand display.”

“Where?”

Shrugging, you admit, “Maybe the water tower, maybe somewhere else.”

Tim lifts his brows, then says, “Sounds like you need to do your job instead of worrying about me.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Yet you suffer me,” Tim deadpans. “Let’s go.”

“Without a solid lead, we’re going to have to split up,” Hotch explains back at the station. “There are three potential targets for the killing site. The water tower, the top of the hotel - again, or a barn out towards the lakes.”

“But there’s only five of us,” Spencer points out.

“Six,” Hotch corrects. “Bradford’s team was called up to Salt Lake City for a counterterrorism case, but he’s still here.”

“So, we’re sending two people out, so the lucky couple gets to fight a crazed psychopath who kills people with electricity,” Derek reiterates snappishly.

“During a lightning storm,” JJ adds.

“We really can’t narrow this down more?” you inquire. “What about the lead Oscar gave us? Lev Davids?”

“I’d recommend going that route,” Tim interrupts, entering the private office. “Oscar finally told me why he suspects Lev.”

“A criminal he looked up to?” you guess.

Tim nods, and his eyes remain locked on yours as he says, “Monica Stevens.”

The rest of your team turns to look at you, and you stand.

“Tim,” you begin. “I have no idea who that is.”

“Right, sorry, after your time. She’s a corrupt lawyer, she worked for Elijah Stone and Abril.”

“Now those names we know,” Derek announces, smiling again. “I’ll get Penelope on their trails, see what she can find.”

“We only have fifteen minutes before the storm is here,” Spencer says. “Not much time to find someone and get there. And if we’re wrong, we’ll be too late.”

“Then we split up, as planned,” Hotch replies. “If Garcia finds something or someone gets a better lead, we reconvene. For now, it’s our only choice.”

“Why don’t we ask Nielson for officers to help us?” JJ asks.

“We can, but they’re not trained in hostage negotiations and don’t understand the psychology of someone who would do this. There’s too much risk leading them in all the way.”

“We’ll take the water tower,” you say, walking toward Tim.

“I was going to send you with Derek,” Hotch argues.

“Send him with Spencer,” you suggest. “You know we can do this, Hotch. Besides, he may not even go to the water tower.”

Hotch sighs, shaking his head with a hand on his hip. He looks more like a father of five than someone leading a highly trained group of federal agents, but he trusts you. So, he lets you go.

“What are the chances we’re walking into the middle of a storm?” you ask, bracing yourself against the wind as you exit the station.

“You’re talking metaphorically, right?” Tim checks, opening the door for you. “This is going to be awful.”

“That’s not comforting!”

Tim prepares to close the door as he says, “It’s true.”

Your phone buzzes as Tim steers the car around a large rock. The water tower looms above you, tall and imposing against the dark storm clouds. Thunder rumbles in the distance, growing closer as the car shakes with its intensity.

“Garcia hacked into Stevens’ computer; Lev is planning to use the water tower,” you communicate. “She isn’t sure what their connection is or what Stevens’ motivation is for encouraging him to do this, but she’s still working.”

“We can’t wait,” Tim says, glancing at his watch. “The storm’s about to intensify.”

You reach for the door handle and say, “Then let’s do this.”

The wind closes the car door harder than you intended, and you draw your shoulders up, hoping Lev didn’t hear the noise. As you approach the water tower, you adjust your holster so your gun will be accessible even as you climb 150 feet into the air while the wind blows nearly 60 miles an hour.

“Any words of encouragement?” you ask Tim, looking up the metal ladder that seems to reach far past the clouds.

“The chance of tornadoes is low,” he replies over the wind.

Looking over your shoulder, you exclaim, “That is not encouraging! Or comforting!”

Tim lays his hand on your back, leans forward, and promises, “I’m right behind you.”

You nod, take a deep breath, and wrap your hands around the ladder rung. Tim boosts you slightly, and you can feel the metal shift in the wind. Climbing up, you remind yourself not to look down and keep moving as fast as possible without compromising your safety or Tim’s.

“Cavalry is here,” he says as you near the halfway point.

“I really hope they brought a sniper,” you grumble.

Lightning flashes brightly, striking nearly to the ground in the not-far distance, and you hold the ladder tighter as thunder follows it. You’re nearly out of time, and if Lev is ahead of schedule or planning for more lightning, you may be too late to save Nic. Worse, you realize, is that you may be unable to save yourself. Climbing onto a giant metal lightning conductor during a severe thunderstorm was a job requirement today, but it may not have been your best idea ever. You and Tim are on your own, and you have to save a life, keep yourselves safe, and then find a way off this tower before the storm worsens.

Nearing the top, you slow, attempting to gauge where Nic and Lev are. Before you can guess, you hear footsteps. Tim sees the shadow of someone approaching the ladder and climbs several rungs. His chest presses against your back as he wraps his arms around the side of the ladder. You trust him to hold your weight as you let go of the ladder and pull your gun from its holster.

“You need to go!” Lev yells.

“Not going to happen,” Tim replies. “Put your hands where we can see them, and this gets easier.”

“I have to finish! My mission is nearly complete!”

“Your mission?” you repeat. “Or Monica’s mission?”

Lev doesn’t reply, and his shadow remains in place.

“Don’t do this for someone who doesn’t care about you, Lev,” you implore. “There’s more in this world. There’s better people. You can have a life. But not if you do this.”

“You don’t know what I can have,” Lev argues.

He walks toward the top of the ladder, and you aim up and ahead of you before you pull the trigger. Lev drops to the metal balcony as the bullet whizzes by. It cracks loudly when it impacts the tank.

“Go, go,” Tim instructs in your ear.

You slide your gun into the holster quickly and pull yourself up the last few rungs. When you grip the handrail and spin onto the balcony, Lev is gone. Tim joins you, pulling his rifle off his back and into his hands. You duck when another lightning strike flashes, but you can’t focus on the storm now.

“The storm is coming from the north,” Tim reminds you, whispering as he leans toward you. “That means he’s probably on that side.”

You nod, looking over his shoulder quickly before you point toward the north, the opposite side of the tank. He gives you hand signals as the rumbling thunder softens. You will lead the way, and Tim will ensure Lev doesn’t sneak up behind you. It’s a dangerous game of cat and mouse you’re caught in. There is no choice but to play, however, and you distantly wonder if this is what Jamie felt like in the book. But Jamie didn’t have his own gun, you remember. Or Tim Bradford watching his six.

 The first raindrop landing on your cheek is an omen, a reminder that even when you get to the other side of the balcony, this is just beginning. As the sporadic drops become a steady downpour, you fight the urge to lower your gun and wipe your face. Tim moves silently behind you, and you wish you were back in Quantico. You wonder what you’d be feeling right now if you had just told you care about him when you had the chance. It’s gone now, and nothing you can do will change that. If you survive this storm, you’ll face Tim Bradford, unafraid and determined. The rain may saturate your clothes as you hear someone screaming in pure fear, but Tim has the unrivaled power to transform your life like heavy rain, cleansing and shaping you just by being near you.

“Steady,” Tim murmurs behind you.

He taps your left shoulder, and you look in that direction. Your eyes widen when you see the large metal pole extending from the side of the tower. It wasn’t in any of the pictures you reviewed of the city, so you know Lev is deviating from the book, no longer trusting nature to do the job for him unassisted.

“He’s scared,” you whisper.

“That’s not comforting,” Tim replies.

“Lev,” you call, pressing yourself against the tank. “Do you like Revival?”

“There has to be more,” he says, raising his voice over the rain. “This is only the beginning.”

“Did Monica promise you that?” Tim asks.

“This isn’t about her!” Lev screams. “It’s about me and what I deserve!”

“Life in prison?”

“No! Vindication!”

You glance at Tim, and his expression mirrors yours. Lev is having a mental breakdown, and you don’t have the time to pull him back to reality.

“Last chance to surrender,” Tim tells him. “If you don’t, we will drop you.”

Lev barks a laugh. “You’re too late!”

At the bottom of the water tower, Hotch looks up, covering his brow with his hand as he attempts to find you and Tim. Derek argues with Spencer about whether or not someone should go up after you, but JJ remains in the car.

“Garcia,” she greets when her phone rings.

“Monica was taken into custody,” Penelope says. “She alluded to the fact that Lev didn’t know the entire plan and that she intended for him to die on that tower too.”

“He’s just a pawn?” JJ clarifies.

“Something like that. The tower is a death trap.”

JJ ends the call and rushes out of the car. “Hotch!” she yells over the thunder. “Stevens expects Lev to die up there!”

“I’m going up,” Derek decides.

“No, you aren’t,” Hotch replies. He looks up again, rain falling on his face. “We’re too late to change anything.”

“Then we should at least warn them!”

“Are you crazy?” Spencer inquires. “Cell phone usage is inviting a lightning strike. At their altitude and the current barometric pressure, they’d die before the line connected.”

“We can’t just stand here!” Derek exclaims.

“I understand you care about her,” Hotch says. “We all do. But… Whatever happens now is in her hands.”

Derek steps toward Hotch with his hands fisted at his sides. “If she doesn’t come down, it’s on us.”

“And we’ll all have to live with that. If- If she doesn’t come down.”

Spencer ducks and Hotch turns toward him before something hits the ground. Derek glances toward the sky and then retrieves it. He holds up two cell phones before tapping the screens to wake them.

“Either they’re alive and taking precautions or Lev is crazier than we thought,” he muses.

“Crazy is a generic term,” Spencer points out.

“Which the FBI frowns upon,” Hotch continues. “But this psycho has two FBI agents up there in a deadly storm, so let’s make an exception, Reid.”

You shake your hand after tossing your phone over the railing. Your gun has metal in it, and your back is against a giant steel plate, but limiting the dangers on your person seemed like a good idea when Tim whispered the suggestion. Lightning strikes in a nearby field, and Tim turns toward you, pushing his arm over your torso. It won’t make a difference when the storm is directly above you. Yet, the idea that he’s still protecting you after everything you’ve done and said makes you wrap your hand around his forearm.

“Tim,” you murmur. “If we die up here, I need you to know that I never meant to hurt you. Leaving was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and I don’t regret joining the FBI, but I do regret leaving you without an explanation.”

“I never blamed you,” Tim replies. “I- I still-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt. “We can’t change it.”

“But I can say it now.”

You look into Tim’s eyes, rain running down both your faces. If you weren’t in immediate peril and convinced today is the day you’ll die, you might find it somewhat romantic.

“Let’s finish this,” Tim whispers.

You nod and step forward, raising your gun toward Lev.

“Drop it!” you demand as he pulls a long chain toward the rail.

“Help!” someone calls, his voice muffled.

“Nic?” you ask.

He hums, and you lower to your knee, giving Tim a clear shot of Lev. Moving forward, low against the tank, you round the valves on the northwest bend in the balcony. Nic comes into view, and your heart drops. He is wrapped in chains, and secured to a metal chair against the side of the tank. The metal rod you saw earlier extends into the sky, anchored between Nic’s feet.

“What are you doing?!” Lev screams.

He pulls the chain tighter before he lunges toward you. Another loud thunderclap nearly drowns out Tim’s gunshot. You stand as the world seems to slow, reaching forward as Lev stumbles back. He topples over the balcony rail, and you are several inches short of catching him.

The chain stops unraveling, suspending Lev as he hangs from the tower. Tim pulls the strap on his rifle so it’s against his back once more before he pulls you away from the rail.

“We have to get the rod down!” he reminds you.

You nod, letting the rain wash away the guilt of not catching Lev. He had every chance to surrender, and he was going to hurt you. Tim did what he was supposed to do, exactly what you would have done.

You pull the rod at the base, and it slides up through the grating of the balcony with a sharp screech sound. Tim takes it from your hands, tipping it over the edge just before a nearby tree cracks, struck by lightning.

“We don’t have time to get him freed and down,” Tim points out.

“Go,” you implore, holding Tim’s wet vest. “I can free him, and we’ll hunker down. You can get down.”

“I’m not leaving you up here!”

“Tim, if one of us-”

Tim raises his hands to your face, holding you as his eyes bore into yours. “I’m not leaving you.”

You nod slowly, then step back and search for the end of the chain. The metal links are wet, your hands are wet, and the air turns eerily still and quiet as rolling thunder echoes against the metal.

“I can’t find it!” you exclaim, your hands pushed into the metal.

Tim stands above you, his legs against your back while he begins pulling the chains up over Nic’s head. “This is going to hurt,” he warns.

“I don’t care,” Nic replies through chattering teeth. “Just get me out of here, please.”

You shift to reach the loops around Nic’s legs. You don’t notice that the chains have been filed while you pull the tightened chains over his feet. Sharp points line the outermost links, and they dig into Nic’s skin and yours.

“Go, go,” Tim exclaims as he drops a heavy bundle of chains onto the balcony.

You stand as Nic does, and he limps past Tim as he moves toward the ladder. Rather than following, you’re distracted by a black shadow in the other direction.

“What are you doing?” Tim calls.

“There’s a rubber mat,” you reply.

Tim’s eyes widen as he calls Nic back, but you turn to look at the sky.

“Tim,” you say.

“Yeah, we’re coming.”

“No, it’s too quiet.”

Tim moves to your side as Nic stands atop the rubber mat. He follows your gaze, but there’s nothing to see besides fields, sparse houses over the land, and trees swaying in the wind.

“Please don’t be a tornado,” you say to the sky.

Tim grips your upper arms and steers you to the mat. On it, you have a better – though admittedly not great – chance of surviving a lightning strike. The insulation will help, but it may not be enough.

“It’s not big enough,” you realize as Tim stops.

He looks down at your feet and Nic’s. There isn’t room for him to join you on the safer material, so you step back onto the metal.

“Get on it,” Tim demands.

Shaking your head, you make up your mind. Wherever Tim is, that’s where you’ll be. He puts his hands on your waist and attempts to push you back. Your tears mix with the rain, but when you lay your hands on his chest, he hears your breath catch as you cry.

“I can’t do this,” you admit, gripping his shirt at his collar.

Tim hesitates, then turns so that you’re facing the mat. He steps back onto it, then pulls you forward. Against his chest, he directs your legs so that they’re bracketing his. Your left foot is between Tim’s, and your right is against the side of his boot. Nic shifts slightly to make room for you. Only then do you notice the blood.

“Nic, are you okay?” you ask.

He nods, then raises his hand to his neck. “It’s just a scratch. The chains,” he explains.

You glance at your hands and notice that they’re similarly marked. Holding tightly to Tim, you brace yourself as the tower sways gently in the strengthening wind. Tim glances at his watch and cradles your head against him.

“It’s here,” he murmurs.

Closing your eyes, you pretend that you and Tim are hugging for any other reason. Try to pretend that tomorrow is promised and that Tim will believe anything you confess.

“In the car,” Spencer demands. “It’s not safe out here.”

“JJ, call the fire department,” Hotch requests as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “We need them here as soon as the storm passes.”

“Do you think they’re okay?” Derek asks, glancing out the window at the man hanging from the tower.

“That’s not Tim,” Spencer reminds him. “Different build; it has to be Lev.”

“That didn’t answer my question.”

Derek’s phone rings, but he sends Penelope to voicemail. The car brightens with the next lightning strike, and the bright red flash at the water tower’s highest point isn’t promising.

JJ covers her mouth while Derek drops his head into his hands. Hotch sighs, looking at the wheel rather than the tower beside them.

You groan before you open your eyes. Tim’s hand moves slowly across your lower back as Nic mumbles.

“I feel like I’m buzzing,” you murmur.

“Storm’s moving,” Tim says. “Do we try to get down on our own or wait for the fire department?”

You look at Nic, the most injured member of your party.

“I’m ready to go,” he answers. “I don’t ever want to see another water tower.”

You smile as you stand straighter. Tim holds you steady as he taps his boot against the metal platform. Nothing happens, so he drops his hands to your hips as you step off the rubber.

Nic walks beside you, but as you near the ladder, he stops walking.

“I- I can’t feel my legs anymore,” he says.

His eyes roll back before he tips, losing consciousness. Tim catches him, lowering him gently to the balcony.

“I guess we’re waiting,” you mumble as you kneel beside him. “No burns. Indirect strike, I’d guess.”

“You can head down if you want to,” Tim tells you. “I’ll stay with him.”

“And I’ll stay with you.”

Tim nods. He offers his hand, and you squeeze it tightly as you move to sit. He sits beside you, and you lean against his shoulder.

“I want to tell you something,” you say. “But not now. I don’t want you to think that I’m just saying it because we could have died.”

“Will you answer a question?”

“Sure.”

“Was there ever a chance of starting something between us back in LA?”

You consider the question, rubbing your hands on your pants. “No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“Ask me another question,” you request.

Tim notices your constant movement and lifts one of your hands. He brushes his finger along your wrist as he looks at the cuts and darkening bruises lining your skin.

“Why did you kiss me at the BAU?”

As you breathe together, the thunder grows quiet even as the sky remains dark and rain falls in steady sheets.

“I acted too fast,” you answer finally. “I tried to seize a second chance that I don’t think was there.”

“Is that why you stopped talking to me after?”

“It scared me,” you admit. “I messed up before. It kept me up at night for years, Tim.”

“Me too. But… Never mind.”

Your hand is still in Tim’s when you see first responder lights approaching. Some look like police, two or three firetrucks, and at least four ambulances.

“Care for a question?” you ask.

Tim smiles as he answers, “Sure.”

“Is there a chance of starting something between us now?”

Leaning forward, Tim looks into your eyes and says, “There never stopped being a chance after you came back.”

Smiling, you whisper, “I love you. I’ve loved you since I walked into Mid-Wilshire again.”

Before Tim can reply, a police cruiser siren sounds once. Derek speaks through the loudspeaker to threaten, “If you survived, I’m going to kill you.”

“What’s he going to do if we didn’t survive?” Tim asks.

“Kill Monica.”

Tim purses his lips and lifts one brow. “Might not be the worst thing.”

“Derek,” you groan. “Thank you for caring about me, but my head is throbbing, so could we save the lecture for later?”

He stops talking, and when you think he’s about to stomp his foot and start again, he wraps you in a hug.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again, gorgeous,” he implores.

“I won’t,” you reply. “Although, it wasn’t on purpose this time.”

“Shh.” He tightens his grip on you, then steps back and salutes with a smile.

“Do you have a minute?” Hotch asks. “It’s not a lecture.”

You nod, then stand from your seat and join him at the back of the jet. Tim is in Los Angeles for a few days to work on the Monica case, and when he returns to Quantico, you have a lot to discuss. He isn’t aware of your new symptoms from being indirectly struck by lightning, but Spencer assured you they’re temporary.

“Are you okay?” Hotch asks softly.

“I’m… almost fine,” you reply. “That was terrifying, but I’ll be okay.”

“Well, you know the bureau offers counseling if you need anything, and I’m here, too.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“What did you tell Bradford on that tower?”

Your eyes widen, and you search for the right words. “Just some shared history stuff.”

“You thought you were going to die. In that situation, people tend to say something they don’t mean or speak the truest statements in their lives.”

“Yeah,” you agree carefully. “Lots of confessions, real and imagined.”

“So,” Hotch continues, crossing his arms. “Which was yours?”

“You’re a profiler, you tell me.”

Hotch shakes his head at your smile but moves his arms to lay a hand on your shoulder.

“Be sure he meant what he said before you do anything you can’t take back,” he advises.

“You think he would speak emotionally?”

“In the right circumstances, we all can. Even a stoic like Bradford.”

“Are you speaking from experience, sir?”

“This is me giving you advice, not an interrogation, agent,” Hotch replies.

You nod, hiding your smile. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate the advice.”

Hotch turns away, then looks over his shoulder. “One more thing. There’s a bet in the unit about whether or not you kissed up there, so maybe keep the specifics to yourself.”

“What do you think happened?” you ask.

“I know everything.”

“Even the art of romance?”

“I’m leaving now.”

You smile as you trail Hotch until you reach your seat. Derek watches you, then leans back in his seat and closes his eyes. JJ’s computer chimes before she tells you that Monica’s court date has been moved up.

“Bradford isn’t listed as testifying,” she adds.

“Is Lopez? Grey? Chen?”

“Yes, as well as Nolan and a few other officers from the division.”

“Then he’ll be there,” you reply. “Which means, Hotch, you may need someone to fill in for him and keep me safe.”

“You were a lot less reckless before daddy cop showed up,” Derek muses.

“Did you tell everybody about that?!” you exclaim.

He shrugs, practically admitting his guilt before he closes his eyes again. Tim texts you that he is staying in LA for a few more days. The following text, which says he’ll see you when he gets back, is the one that surprises you.

It’s just past 2 a.m. when someone knocks on your door. You roll over, pulling a pillow over your head. Unfortunately, the knocking doesn’t stop. You groan and retrieve your gun from your nightstand as you walk out of your room. At the door, you lean against it and press one eye to the peephole. Suddenly, as if you drank straight espresso, you’re wide awake and pulling the door open.

Tim’s hand raises to knock again, but he stops when you open the door and wrap him in a warm hug.

“Good morning,” he grunts as you collide with his chest.

“Morning,” you reply, your voice carrying traces of sleep.

Tim moves his right arm around your waist and carefully maneuvers back into your living room. He kicks the door closed behind him, drops his bag, and then notices your gun on the table by the door.

“Expecting someone else?” he asks, smiling.

“Not expecting anyone,” you reply, stepping back. Your hands remain on Tim's shoulders as you continue, “It’s a good surprise.”

“Sorry to wake you. I couldn’t wait to see you.”

“It’s fine. This one time.”

“How are you?” Tim asks, pushing your hair out of your face. He slides his fingers into your hair, pushing it up toward your roots gently. He watches your face as if he’s memorizing it, worshipping it. “Headaches gone?”

“How do you know about that?” you ask, tipping your head toward his hand. “Derek?”

“Spencer,” he corrects. “I got a lengthy message about letting you rest and not giving you a reason to be on your phone.”

“They’re good coworkers but they’re nosy.”

“They care about you.”

“Just them?”

Tim raises his other hand to your neck as he steps toward you. In the low light of your living room, only the streetlight outside illuminates your face and the space around you, and it’s as if you are the only people in the world. Tim looks at you like you alone matter. Like this moment is specially made for the two of you.

“They care about you,” Tim repeats. “I think I do a bit more than that.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how I felt sooner,” you say. “I… I know our relationship isn’t typical, but you deserved the truth.”

“I didn’t know, no, but I still would have fought for you. I didn’t know what I had until I lost it, and the decade I spent without you taught me that some things- that some people are worth fighting for.”

“You weren’t this nice to me as my TO,” you murmur, brushing your thumb over a scar on Tim’s neck.

He got it protecting you, although he yelled at you the entire time he was treated and bandaged. Tim shivers at your touch yet doesn’t shy away or attempt to hide behind the persona he wears to protect himself.

“What you said on the tower,” Tim says. “Ask me.”

“Do you love me?” you whisper.

“I fell in love with the idea of you the day we met,” he admits.

You recoil from his touch briefly, but he holds you close. “And then I realized that everything I felt, all of the bitterness and disappointment I associated with you, was because I wanted you, desired you, more than anything. I didn’t think I loved you because I’d never been in love like this before.”

“Do you love me?” you repeat, softer. As you step toward him, pressing your chests together, soft rain begins to fall outside.

“Yes,” Tim answers. “Of course I love you.”

His smile grows as you hug him. One arm wraps around your waist as the other remains in your hair, gently curling and uncurling his fingers. Using the hand in your hair, Tim tips your head so he can see your face. He leans forward and stops with a single breath between you.

“Who needs lightning when you’re here?” he jokes.

You roll your eyes and scoff. Before he says anything else, you move your arms over his shoulders and kiss Tim. It’s different than the kiss in Penelope’s office. This moment is slow, meaningful, and full of love, history, and new beginnings simultaneously. Tim lets his hand fall from your hair, trail over your side, and slip beneath your arm to hold your hip.

Tim takes slow steps to move you against the couch and then lifts you to sit on it. Once you settle, Tim breaks the kiss just long enough to take a breath, squeezing your hips as he breathes.

Diving back into you like you are oxygen at the bottom of the ocean or a safe haven in a lightning storm, Tim cradles your face in one hand as he splays his fingers across your back and holds you upright.

“Tim,” you say, repeating it several times before he presses his forehead against yours and lets you speak. “I meant what I said in the storm. That wasn’t my emotions. I’ve felt like this for a long time.”

Tim smiles. “Stop profiling this,” he grumbles before he lowers you onto the couch and hovers above you.

“There’s also a bet running about what we did on the tower.”

Tim lifts your head and moves your hair so it isn’t pulled or trapped beneath you. “Let them wonder,” he whispers before trailing kisses along your jaw and hairline.

“What have we got?” you ask as you enter the conference room.

“Wannabe Bonnie and Clyde,” Spencer answers.

You nod and sit beside Penelope, who narrows her eyes at you.

“What?” you whisper.

“You kissed daddy cop,” she accuses. Your brows raise, and she speaks up to add, “He came to see you as soon as he landed, didn’t he?!”

You look at Derek and mouth, You’re dead, but he smiles and blows you a kiss.

“In line with the theme,” Hotch says, drawing attention back to the case, “this couple is heavily armed.”

“Which our tactical sergeant would know something about,” Derek muses, smiling as he looks at the door.

You turn and see Tim standing in the doorway, wearing an FBI t-shirt.

“Thanks for coming, Bradford,” Hotch says. “We’re going to need backup for this one.”

“Of course, sir,” Tim replies.

After Hotch dismisses you, you wait until you’re alone in the room with Tim.

“Would telling them make the teasing stop?” he asks.

You lean against the table and cross your arms. “You’ve met them, right?”

“We could always pretend to hate each other.”

“Easier for you than me,” you argue.

Tim shakes his head as he takes your hand. He rubs his thumb over the nearly faded marks from the chains.

“We don’t have to tell them,” you say.

Tim’s brows raise as he asks, “You want to keep a secret from your team?”

“They’re outside the door.”

Tim glances toward the door as you stand from the table and pull it open, unsurprised when Derek stumbles inside as he tries to catch himself.

“Secret’s out,” you say flatly. “We good?”

“What about the bet?” Derek asks.

“Morgan,” Hotch warns.

“I mean, what bet? Who said anything about a bet?”

“My office is off limits,” Penelope says, pointing at you.

“Can we get back to work?” Tim asks.

“Excellent idea,” Hotch replies. Nobody moves, so he adds, “Now. Everybody.”

The room clears, and, this time, your team members return to their respective desks.

“Not you two,” Hotch says. “I had an idea to run past you.”

“Sure,” you answer, closing the door.

“Bonnie and Clyde.”

“Yes?” Tim presses.

“They’d be threatened by another couple.”

“Us?” you clarify, pointing between yourself and Tim.

“Only if it’s something you’d be comfortable with.”

You look at Tim, who tips his head toward you, giving you the final decision. It wouldn’t be much different than what you did in Los Angeles a few months ago or some of the lies you played into during your short time as a rookie. Besides, when else will you have a chance and an excuse to be that close while working?

You smile, and Hotch nods. “Pack your bags then,” he says. “You’re going back to California.”

Under fire

Pairing: Criminal minds x reader

Summary: During a case a pregnant victim escapes during the search you find the young girl but not before one of the unsubs finds you first.

TW: mentions of murder, childbirth, blood, gunshots, getting shot, blood

******************************************************** “James we are placing you under arrest for 10 accounts of murder and kidnapping, anything you say…” you heard as Rossi read your newest unsub his rights. You stood next to Derek watching as the rest of the team talked to the sheriffs department, or helped with the killer.

“Hey you okay?” Derek asked wrapping you in a strong arm.

“I’ll be fine, it’s just cases like this…”

“I know baby.” You wrapped your arms around him in a sideways hug, being together was one of the best decisions you two had ever made, between work and just life you were a pretty good team, you made a great couple, but in cases like this it was being each other protector and safe place that made it that much more worth it.

“I just wish we knew what happened to the girl friend, she was young and beautiful.”

“well now that we know who did it maybe we can get some answers, give everyone some closure.” He reassured you.

“Hey you two, ready to go?” JJ asked walking over to you.

“ready as I’ll ever be.” You said with a sigh.

“Rossi and Emily are going to ride with the unsub, Luke, Reid, and Tara will meet us at the station.” She said as you all climbed into the black suv.

as you made your way down the road you watched as trees flew past your window, Derek was driving and JJ navigating in the passenger seat, you were propped up in the back letting your mind wander about this case. Out of no where you saw a young woman stumble into the road, Derek quickly slamming the vehicle to a halt. You sat up in the middle the three of you watching the young woman, she was sporting a baby bump at least 7 months along, dressed in tore up jeans boots and a t-shirts, a tattered flannel pulled over her arms the clothing worn and dirty as if she had been running through the woods.

You were concerned and having a nursing background, jumped out of the car, “Hey Y/N wait, no…” you heard Derek call after you and you held out a hand telling him to wait.

“Hey, what’re you doing out here?”

“I-I escaped fr-from the house and started running… please help me.” she spoke shakily, one hand clutching under her large bump.

“Okay, let’s start with names… I’m Agent Y/N Morgan, I’m with the FBI, what’s your name?”

“FBI…” she whispered, “m-my name’s Cassandra, my friends used to call me Cassie.”

“Cassie, pretty name… can you tell me how far along you are?” You motioned to her large abdomen.

“I’m not sure… he took me and I didn’t know, I just, oh ughhh…” she bent over in pain, and you turned seeing Derek and JJ both standing next to the suv.

“Woah, hey, can you tell me what you’re feeling?” You asked inching towards her as she grimaced bent over her bump in pain.

“It’s- it’s like some cramping pain, like my muscles are tearing, they started happening earlier but I kept running cause I had to get away.”

“Okay, okay, have they been getting closer?”

“ye-yea and more painful, I think something is wrong with my baby.” She started to cry, still bent over.

“Cassie, can you look at me?” she glanced up at you, “can I help you, I think you might be going into labor.”

she hesitantly looked at you before nodding, you slowly walked towards her, until you heard shots ring out, you felt one hit you tearing through your side just above your right hip, you stumbled shielding Cassie with your body, you started moving her as another bullet grazed your leg. You rushed her to the car as Derek and JJ returned fire to give you cover.

Opening the back seat and helping her in, Derek looked at you questioning, “here’s my closure.” You said and immediately he knew, this was the supposed girlfriend, the young woman the killer kidnapped and held captive and she was about to have her baby in your backseat.

You helped her as Derek started down the road hustling to get you to the closest hospital, both the other agents scanning to see where the fire was coming from, JJ called Emily and Tara to alert them of what was happening.

“nahhh…” she groaned out, you could see the tears rolling down her cheeks at the pain.

“okay sweetheart, I wanna help you but you have to let me… Cassie, I need to get you out of these pants, I need to see how dilated you are.” She looked at you hesitantly, not ready to fully expose herself to a stranger, which after her expierence you didn’t blame her.

“do you know anything about delivering babies?” She asked.

“I do, I worked as a nurse before I signed on with the bureau, you’re in good hands, I promise… okay?”

She looked at you hesitantly, “okay… okay.” She nodded and turned towards you putting her back on the door, you helped her out of her pants and put your jacket over her legs, hissing as you peeled it off your shoulders.

“JJ can I have some gloves out of that compartment?” she handed you a pair of exam gloves.

“okay sweetheart, I’m going to just take a look?” She nodded as you lifted the blanket.”

“okay I can see your baby’s head…looks like this baby doesn’t want to wait.”

“I feel… I feel like I need to push.” Cassie whined out, gritting her teeth, her hair was caked to her face with sweat, chest heaving.

“That’s okay, do what your body tells you… give me a big push.” She gritted her teeth and bared down, reaching out she found your hand on her knee and squeezed it.

“Okay, good girl, now one more time for me…” she screamed and with one last push you held a screaming newborn in your arms, the moment was short lived as you placed the baby on her chest.

she was too focused on her baby to notice your hands covered in blood, “Y/N?” JJ trailed you with her eyes as you turned to look at her.

“That’s a lot of blood…” her eyes drifted to the seat and your clothes, your jeans and shirt now stained red the gloves you wore and you arms had crimson streaks.

“I feel fine though.” Cassie answered.

“because it’s not yours…” you said sinking back in the seat with a hiss, skilled fingers finally tracing the bullet hole. Your eyes fluttered as the adrenaline started to wear off.

“Y/N, are you okay?” You heard the young girl ask trying to calm her baby.

“Uhm, I’ll be okay, just a couple scratches.” You lied, you knew you were bleeding and every second you sat here was one second closer to death.

“Y/N?” Derek asked concerned for you.

“Oh my God, Y/N!” JJ turned to face you, she climbed over the seat grabbing a cloth or towel, you weren’t sure, and pressed it your abdomen, trying her best to stop or slow the bleeding, she supported you as you started to sway feeling intense exhaustion come over you.

“Talk to me baby.” Derek demanded, watching you from the review mirror as your eyes fluttered closed, color draining from your features.

“the bullet, it uh… I took it, I got hit.” You winced as JJ pressed a little harder, your blood slowly seeping through the cloth onto her hands. You saw a frantic Derek in the mirror and felt the car lurch forward.

“Okay um, okay…” he said starting to panic.

“Derek breathe, it’s okay.” You said, head falling back against the seat.

“no, God dammit Y/N it’s not okay, you got shot.” He sped and finally came into the city seeing the lights of the hospital, weaving through traffic until the car halted to a stop in a nearby ambulance bay.

“I’m coming love, I’m coming.” Derek said jumping out of the car and coming around to you.

“no, no, Y/N, stay awake with me.” He flung the door open and pulled his shirt over his head and used it to apply pressure, taking over where JJ was you heard as he panicked and JJ checked on the new mom.

“I’m right here…” you whispered.

“stay with me just a little bit longer, come on baby.” He said tears burning in his eyes, medical staff rushed out to the car, a large male nurse pulling your husband away as they loaded you onto a stretcher, another team taking care of Cassie and her new baby. You reached for them but felt weak as you hand fell limp, eyes fluttering closed, covered in blood as they rushed you in hearing the frantic yelling of Derek as he called your name telling you to stay awake.

Memories flashed quickly through your mind as you came in and out of consciousness, the classic line of hospital lights and medical staff leaning in and out of view. Memories of first meeting Derek, Penelope being protective of the both of you telling you that if one hurt the other she would kill you because she loved you both. Being there with him when Prentiss “died”, building a family with the team, seeing JJ become a mom and being the boys “favorite aunt”, watching Derek propose and marrying the man of your dreams. Times out to dinner with the team, picking on Reid, nights out with the girls. Everything good in your life quickly became your worst fear as you were terrified of leaving it all behind, every fiber of your being fighting to stay alive, fighting so that some nurse wouldn’t have to tell your family they need to plan a funeral.

A few hours later the team was all seated in a waiting room, Derek sat there staring into space stone-faced, unmoving as his brain was both blank and going a million miles a second his shirt and pants still stained in your blood. JJ was now wearing one of your hoodies that she found stashed in the car, her bloody shirt long since disposed of as spoke with some staff about Cassandra and what took place as the rest of the team sat waiting, Garcia drove in and was seated next to Derek quietly fidgeting.

“Ehem,” a nurse entered the room clearing her throat, “Derek Morgan?”

He shot up out of his seat too quickly and almost startled everyone. “How is she… is she?”

“She’s okay, still recovering from the surgery and blood loss but she’s awake and asking for you.”

“Oh thank God, thank God.” He said as she gave him your room number and he took off down the hall as she stayed to update everyone else.

You heard the glass door slide open and then closed turning to see the chiseled silhouette of your husband. “Baby girl I thought I lost you.” He said as he sat next to you and picked up your hand, tears flowing down his cheeks as he flashed you a signature smile.

“can’t get rid of me that easy, we’re in this for life Mr. Morgan.” You joked and he kissed you.

“Cute…”

“you know what would be cute?… our babies, we should make some babies.”

“is that you or the drugs talking?” He chuckled.

“both.” You said flashing him a cheeky grin.

“well then as soon as you’re ready we can make some cute babies.”

“gorgeous, smart babies.” You said sleepily as the drowsiness was overtaking you.

“if they look anything like their momma then they’ll be beautiful.” He said over you as you slept, he knew that even though you were drowsy and drugged up, you meant every word you said, you wanted nothing more than to expand your little family and there’s no better time to do it than now.

Welcome in Barber's Production! Beforehand the stories are connected but only by characters meaning that you can read them as standalone.

Every star has their own masterlist which will be added after their first fic is posted! (the first fic will be Lloyd and dropped 28th August 2022).

dividers by @firefly-graphics / other actors will be mentioned and in the future added! all readers are female!!!

𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐄𝐑

CEO; founded the production, his friends were his firsr stars

Kinks: daddy, praise, breeding, cream pie, house wife, degrading, spanking, general authority kink — DOM

Acting: since founding

pairing: pornstar!ceo!andy barber × darling!publisher!reader

𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐍

Kinks: choking/gagging, degrading, bdsm, spanking, knife/gun, anal, pain, bondage — DOM (can be switch)

Acting: since the beginning

pairing: pornstar!lloyd hansen × sunshine!pornstar!reader

𝐀𝐑𝐈 𝐋𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

Kinks: size, manhandling, innocence, dumbification, anal, spitting, possesive, brat taming, daddy, corruption — DOM

Acting: since the beginning

Pairing: pornstar!ari levinson × jellybean!pornstar!reader

𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐌 𝐃𝐑𝐘𝐒𝐃𝐀𝐋𝐄

Kinks: mommy, overstimulation, squirting, nipple play, creampie, thigh riding — SWITCH (mostly dom)

Acting: two years after founding

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐊𝐄𝐌𝐏

Kinks: biting, chasing, face riding, face fucking, slapping/spanking, pain kink humiliation, pussy worship, bondage — DOM

Acting: one year after founding

𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐖𝐋𝐄𝐑

Kinks: bondage, orgasm denial/edging, spanking, dumbification, pain kink, degrading, slapping — DOM

Acting: three years after founding

𝐁𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐒

Kinks: pussy eating, pussy/body worship, degrading, praise, daddy, breeding, spanking, overstimulation, cream pie, choking, possesive, dry humping everything, fingering, mommy — DOM

Acting: one year after founding

Hey Mom

andy barber x wife!reader

summary: laurie can't get around what her son calls his new stepmom

warning: angst, fluff, mean!laurie, protective!andy and jacob, age gap (12 years)

word count: 1.4k

a/n: this is for @balenciagabucky writing challenge divorce!andy/laurie barber hate club @dulceslibrary

navigation | taglist

"Hey mom!"

Laurie didn't mean to listen in on her son's conversation. Jacob had finally decided to come to hers for the weekend for the first in months even though she was supposed to see him every weekend while he spent the weekdays with his father.

She would always receive a somewhat bullshit excuse from her son saying that his dad and you had plans with him.

You. Andy's new wife. She absolutely hated you, and was disgusted by the age gap the two of you had, 12 years. Though you had been nothing but nice to her since you and Andy had started seeing each other which wasn't that far after the divorce, she made it her goal to make you leave forever.

Andy was so caught up with you, he didn't even notice how Laurie would come up with the most fake rumors about you so Andy would break up with you and go back to her.

As much as Laurie seemed to hate the idea of the two of you together, she was always on top of any news that came from the relationship.

The night Andy had proposed to you, your birthday, he invited all his friends and yours and Jacob wanted Laurie to come and could never say no to him.

She happened to stumble upon you in the kitchen while you were refilling your wine glass and thought it was perfect. Andy had bought you a beautiful white dress for the evening, a birthday present, so as you were walking past Laurie back to the party, she bumped into you a little harshly letting your red wine spill all over your dress.

"Oh my goodness I'm so sorry." Laurie faked an apology.

You were nice, too nice as Andy would like to say, and you had always given Laurie the benefit of the doubt despite all the crude things she did to you, Andy was waiting for the minute you snapped at her.

"I can't do this anymore!" You shrieked. Laurie had her smirk forming more and more on your mouth thinking it was the end until you opened your mouth again.

"I've had enough of you and always sabotaging me. I have done nothing but be nice to you since the moment I met you, I let you into my house, was civil with you in public and you always, always have to be embarrassed somehow. And I'm not as dumb as you think, I know you still have feelings for Andy and you're only doing this thinking I'll leave him but guess what news flash, I'm not going anywhere, he proposed to me this morning." You screamed in her face ignoring that fact that probably everyone could hear you. "So please save yourself the embarrassment and go enjoy the party or go home."

"Damn I missed it." You turned around to see Andy leaning against the fridge with a smile on his face. You rolled your eyes, still turning back to Laurie who was still standing in your kitchen.

"You're going to let her talk to me like that?" She looked over at Andy thinking he was going to defend her.

"You heard it, enjoy the party or go home." Andy shrugged, coming up to you, lifting up your left hand to kiss your knuckles, just to show the ring he gave you to Laurie.

Laurie looked in shock at the diamond on your finger. It was bigger than the one she received, way bigger, and the two of you were together the fraction of time of Laurie and Andy.

"Is there something wrong?" You asked innocently, tilting your head. She had mumbled something under her breath, stomping out of the kitchen.

"God you're so fucking sexy when your mad." She heard him tell you as she left.

"So who was that on the phone?" Laurie asked when Jacob came back into the room.

"Oh it was my mom, she just asked what I wanted for dinner tomorrow when I came back." The name rolled off his tongue with ease.

She didn't dig into it more, just letting Jacob go back up to his room. Laurie had been so caught up in the moment, letting her hand grip around his glass, letting it shatter across the island.

Her and Jacob didn't talk for the rest of the weekend, him staying in his room while Laurie did anything to release her anger. Her knuckles were practically white as she drove him back to his dad's house Sunday evening.

"We need to talk." She threw daggers at Andy when he answered the door letting Jacob head upstairs to freshen up for dinner. "Your wife too."

"Hey sweetheart, can you come here quickly?" Andy called for you as he led Laurie to the living room. The two of you moved when you got married, it had been on the other side of town, two times the size of a normal three bedroom. It was sleek, modern but still had a homey feel to it.

"Yes, is everything alright." You wiped your hands down on your pants. "Oh hello Laurie."

"Y/n." She practically spat your name.

"So what was it you wanted to ask?" Andy sat down next to you, interlocking your hands together while resting them on his thigh.

"Jacob called you mom yesterday." She looked over at you like she was accusing you.

"Is there something wrong with that? He has been calling Y/n since we got married." Andy furrowed his brows.

"You're allowing that!" Laurie exclaimed. "She isn't his mother, I am."

"I think we both know you lost that title long ago." Andy sneered.

"If it makes you feel any better, I never encouraged him to do that, it was his choice." You didn't raise your voice not wanting to cause any more commotion.

"Can't you shut up for once in your life, we get it Y/n, you always have to be positive and radiate it, sometimes I just want to smash your head into the wall." Laurie yelled. You gasped, flinching back, pulling yourself closer to Andy.

"What the hell is wrong with you Laurie." Andy released your hand standing up. "You have no right to say that to my wife who has been nothing but kind to you while you've been a total bitch to her."

"Is everything alright?" Jacob came down the stairs. "I heard some noises."

"It's alright Jake, just wait for us upstairs, we'll call you when dinner is ready." You said to him softly trying not to cry in front of him. Jacob had been a total momma's boy with you.

"Why are you crying mom, are you alright?" He instantly made his way towards you.

"I can't, I just can't. Jacob, she isn't your mom." Laurie yelled at her son before turning her attention back to you. "You are such a crybaby."

"Hey!" Jacob exclaimed. "You can yell at me as much as you want but don't you dare yell at my mom when she has done nothing to you!"

Laurie stared in disbelief knowing he was defending you along with Jacob.

"Come on mom." He helped you off the couch bringing you into the kitchen.

"Great." Andy rolled his eyes. "Thank you for ruining my anniversary."

It didn't dawn on her it had been his one year anniversary with you, it was the only reason why Jacob had gone to her place so he could give you two some alone time.

"She will totally remember this one." Andy retorted. "I've had enough with this, Laurie, go home, we can talk about this another day."

"Andy-" She started.

"Don't." He said sharply. "You ruined so many memories with Y/n for me and I just wanted one perfect day that went perfectly and you just have to ruin it again."

She stared at him hoping he would change his mind and talk it through with him but when he saw he wasn't budging, she stomped her way out the house slamming the door behind her.

"I'm sorry." You looked at Andy when he came back to the kitchen.

"What are you sorry for, you did nothing wrong." He kissed the top of your head. "Laurie just has a bunch of problems, no offense son."

"None taken." Jacob shrugged, going to grab his plate starting to fill up with food.

"Hey." He whispered, cupping your face. "We have a few more hours left of today so let's make it the best. Happy Anniversary, my love."

"Happy Anniversary babe." You smiled.

Someone nice, Somewhere safe

Angel x Virgin Female Reader

જ⁀➴ Angel x Virgin Male Reader - Someone nice, somewhere safe*

*same story, just your bits and bobbles are changed 

You let it slip to the group you were a virgin, and instead of laughing, Angel grabs you before bed to offer a friendly hand.

.<Warnings/Promises: Angel Dust x Virgin Female!Reader, smut, fingering, lubed to the gods, Angel uses four arms, Valentino is a blind bag of smashed assholes, creampie, oral, the gentlest sex I’ve ever written (probably), an alarming towel>

listen here virgins, if I could craft a perfect first time for you, this is it. Minus the lack of condoms because—it’s hell? Sex workers are tested bi-weekly?? This is still a fantasy??? Just if anything, please take from this the importance of a safe and trusting environment at all times 🙏  

minor dni (shoo! get outta here! Go on, git! 🧹)

You thought everyone would laugh when you said you were a virgin. The group awe’d and said it was cute, which was definitely better than the response you’d gotten in the overworld. But when you said you’d never actually orgasmed before, everyone just looked… sad? The conversation was quickly derailed by Angel launching into a list of wildest orgasm faces he’s seen, Charlie leaving the room entirely.

Continuing with the evening’s theme of surprise, you hadn’t expected Angel to catch up to you when everyone was filing off to bed. His hand gently reached for your wrist, “Hey ya got a sec?”

 For Angel, the epitome of smiling through the pain, you’d give him the remainder of your time in hell if he just asked. Every second, his.“Always!”

“So uh”, he rubbed the back of his neck, “about bein’ a virgin and all that.” Your stomach dropped, was the famous porn star about to embarrass you into a second death?“I think it’s real important that like— knowin’ yourself, and what makes you feel good is like super healthy. I dunno if you are interested in that kinda stuff but,” he was wildly moving his hands round, nervously stumbling over his words, “I’d be happy to help ya out.”

All of the blood rushed to your face.

“Oh fuck!” Angel grabbed your head and tipped it forward, “I would have accepted a simple no, jesus!” With one hand pinching your nose, he led you into his room just down the hall. 

What— what was happening, exactly? At all? In general? With your entire existence?

He kicked the door closed behind him and grabbed a handful of tissues, “Keep your head forward. Everyone who says tilt it back is an idiot.”

His hand was red when he drew it from your face, using his other hand to now hold tissues between his fingers as he pinched your nose shut.

“Is- is my nose bleeding??” Your voice cracked.

“Does that happen often?”

“Never.”

“Well I got to help you with at least one first, right?” Angel laughed, moving his hands away as you took over the task.

Oh, right. The offer. You glanced around the room, small but lived-in. Everything was pink and purple and soft.

“Angel, do you think because you’re a sex worker, you have to help me?” The room fell silent. Angel completely still beside you. You would love someone you could trust to take your virginity, but you would never want to use Angel like so many other people did on a daily basis.

“Ya know— a lot of people get real confused about this.” He sighed, chest heavy with the many misconceptions others had, “What I do for work, what I gotta do to get through the day, has nothin’ to do with who I am as a person.” You turned to look at him, “Why should I limit my experiences because of what other people have done to me?” The words hit you like a truck. You had unintentionally boxed him into his job, in turn into his trauma, summing him up as a warm body and incapable of any depth past that. Just a sex worker.

“No, no I didn’t mean anything like that. I just, I don’t want to ever,” you grabbed two of his hands, “ever take advantage of your kindness.” You squeezed, “or any part of you.”

His frown turned up, “We’re dead, yea, but you still exist. If you want to, you should enjoy every part of your afterlife. And I’d hate you to meet some asshole who’s too rough or doesn’t get ya warmed up first. A bad first time can be really traumatizin’.”

You nodded without actually thinking. Your brain wasn’t really processing meaning, his words were just soft and kind and your nose still stuffed full of tissue.

“Do you wanna?”

You nodded more vigorously, “Did my nose start bleeding again?”

Angel took the tissue away, giving a second to see, “Nope.”

Taking a deep breath, you said, “Okay. Yeah, I want that. Someone nice, somewhere safe.”

“It ain’t quite nice but-,” Angel looked around his room.

“It’s perfect, Angel.”

“Aw fuck, I should clean up,” he hurriedly carried trash from his nightstand, flattening out the comforter and adjusting his pillows. He placed fat nuggets on the floor with a little pat on the head.

Finally, he stood in front of you, two hands on his hips, two gesturing to you.

“Alright baby! Let’s pop some cherries! Undress~” he elongated the word, shimmying his hips a little, “-to your comfort level.” He began to unbutton his blazer, “Bare minimum, take off your pants and underwear, please and thank you. Though I have fucked through underwear…” He was momentarily lost in a memory.

You hadn’t anticipated getting naked in front of a friend tonight. But Angel so effortlessly shed his clothes, peeling off his gloves. Pulling off your pants, you paused.

“Is it weird if I keep my shirt on? Like— do you know who Winnie the Pooh is?”

“Nothin’ weird about bein’ comfortable, pookie.” He pinched your cheek, “I’d offer a modesty blanket but I kinda need to see what I’m doing.” His eyes flitted to the left, “No, wanna. I wanna see.” Angel’s laugh relaxed you, the idea of anyone wanting to see you made you feel a little less—-naked. Still, your hands seemed frozen on your underwear’s edge.

With a hum, he disappeared into the bathroom and returned with a towel. “Go on, lie down. I’ll help ya relax. This is already feeling too medical-like.”

Were you going to need a towel? Were you going to need a towel?? Were you going to need a towel!?

You sat back on his bed, and when he crawled up to meet you, all legs and arms and Angel Dust, you buried your face in your hands.

“Oh hey—,” his voice was so soft, lacking its usual sass, “Wanna just, cuddle and watch stupid shit on my phone?” You groaned, face sinking further down. This would be easier if he wasn’t so sweet. You could at least take a backseat, then.

You shook your head, and felt his hand on your ankle. It snaked up your calf, slipped down your knee and thigh, finding the waistband of your underwear. When you looked up from your hiding place, Angel was a foot from your face. His features lit only by the purple neon signs hanging beside his bed and near the door. He lifted his brows, a question he didn’t need to vocalize. You sank back into the purple and pink pillows, different sizes, different textures, gently enveloping you.

With two hands now, he slide off your underwear. You might die, again. Your heart would give out any second, incapable of handling the moment. You were manually breathing.

He lifted your hips with two hands, a third sliding the towel beneath you before setting you back down.

“Do ya-,” he was rummaging now inside the nightstand drawer, “not play with yourself? Ever?”

“Not really. Not like, there.”

“Whaddya do with all your free time?” His short but enthusiastic laughter forced a smile to your cheeks. Angel slid the drawer shut and came to rest in front of your tightly shut thighs and knees. You heard a cap pop, and found the courage to sit up and see what he was doing.

“What?” He squeezed a clear, thick lubricant onto his right hand, “Nerves can make holes dry like nothin’ else. No fun for no one, trust me. Could start a fuckin’ fire—- and spit ain’t lube!” Angel said it like he spoke from a personal experience.

Ah, the towel. That made sense now.

“Should I do something?”

“Just lie back, baby~,” he opened your knees and followed your face as you settled back down, “Do you like kissin’?”

You’d kiss a trashcan if Angel said it got him hot, so, “Yeah.”

“Good,” One hand touched your cheek, sliding to your chin as he brought your lips to his. You thought you’d melt, his hands so soft on you, lips confident and sure. He used his thumb on your chin to pull down your bottom lip and ask you for entrance. When you opened up to him, his tongue slid into yours as his sticky wet hand finally came into contact between your legs. Two fingers rubbing the lube up and a down your pussy.

You nearly inhaled him with your shock, he giggled into it, “You’re so cute.” You twitched under his hand, “Ooh, and reactive! Daddy likes.”

Stop. Stop talking. I’m going to black out.

His mouth returned to yours, tongue over your tongue, as his fingers just massaged your entrance. No attempt at entering, no prodding, just gentle up and down motions. Slowly, your felt your skin heating beneath his hand, the lubricant somewhat melting with your warmth.

At work, Angel was never the lead. Never the top, and never afforded time to ease anyone open. He had no issues with sleeping with women, it was just usually for money or a shoot. Not his preferred flavor, but he could still get it up. Watching you sigh and twitch under him felt like a treat. Such a sweet response to what so many people made unnecessarily dirty at work. He wasn’t shocked to find his cock twitching, swelling as your breathing hitched with every stroke of his hand. When was the last time he could just… slow down? Be the one in control? Not control like Val, control like—- can I get you a pillow? Is the pacing good? Let’s soften these lights.  Hold my hand, sweetheart.

His head felt a little dizzy. His middle finger pressed now, and with a slow but constant motion entered you. ‘Uncomfortable’ was the best word. Your body tensed around him, but he gently pressed passed your virgin walls. He hummed, “First one down! Atleast,” he paused, “two more to go.”

“Atleast??” You shook your head.

“It’s sex math, trust the professional in the room.” He withdrew the finger and slid it back in, starting a slow pace of long drags from knuckle to fingertip.

It didn’t hurt, to his credit. The excitement of having Angel touching you so intimately made the finger easier to relax into. Angel must have noticed, his finger leaving you. He popped the top again of his lube and pressed in two fingers. This was harder. You whined, his fingertips pushing past the tight entrance of your cunt and settling into the wet warmth behind.

Lying on your back, you stared at the now upside-down photos behind his bed. He looked so happy. Could you join that wall? Was this wall worthy?

“You still good?” He leaned over you, fingers  moving.

You nodded, “Can I have another kiss?”

Ah, you might as well have punched him in the chest. “Of course, darlin’~ Ask and you shall receive.” You liked kissing, genuinely, but were always scared you’d kiss someone too long and end up in an awkward situation having to explain you weren’t wanting sex. But that fear was all gone, you’d broken the code. Get naked first, then kiss.

You smiled into his mouth, and he smiled back, “Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

“I like kissing you.” You leaned up, pressing your lips to his chin. His fingers quickened, and you moaned without warning. You felt your self grip his finger, nervousness slinking away and finally letting you feel aroused.

“Ooh, now we’re gettin’ somewhere,” he leaned back, repeating the same steps and trying to press a third finger into you. His abundance of hands were a blessing, one at your entrance, one on your knee to keep your shaking legs open, and two roaming down the sides of your body. When three fingers finally entered, you could feel the burning stretch of your skin around them. He pushed in, and the skin followed. He pulled out, your sensitive hole pulling too. The hand on your knee came to your crotch, his palm pressing lightly down on your clit. You glanced up to him, his eyes focused as he watched his fingers slowly drag in and out of you. It burned still, but just past that burning was a slippery sensation that made your lap warm with the rush of blood.

He let his fingers sink in entirely, before bending and feeling inside you. Your knee jumped when he hit something.

“Bingo! Say hello to your g-spot.” He beamed down at you, gold tooth shining, “Not everyone needs it to cum but oooh boooy does it maximize pleasure,” it sounded so pornographic when he said it.

You weakly copied, “B-bingo.” 

“Three fingers means I can do this now~” he replaced his palm with his fingers,  sticky with lube. His long digits were fast and practiced as he rubbed your clit. “Sex math. Dont need your virgin pussy locking up on me.” He said quietly to himself, fingers in and out of you picking up speed. Your head was pressing into the pillows as your neck strained, you’d never masturbated while someone, something, penetrated you. Every stroke of his fingers made your body spasm, the feeling of something hard and unforgiving pushing back against your quivering walls made a pleasure you couldn’t describe.

“Feelin’ good yet?” The way he said it, he knew damn well how you were feeling.

You whimpered into one of the pillows, “Yeah, it’s starting to feel good.” A weak nod.

Angel’s grin bordered on wicked, hand slowing. He leaned down and placed a kiss on your clit. Then another. His tongue flattened against his bottom lip as he dragged it over your sensitive bud of nerves.

You moaned, a half spoken-half cried, “Oh fuck, Angel-.” Hips bucking up, his fingers kept their place and followed. You humped up against his tongue, ground down into his fingers; up, down. Soft tongue, rigid fingers.

“Like that? Watch this,” He cupped his mouth over your clit and began strumming it with his tongue. Fat and flat, then thin and sharp. His fingers slowed, now just bending to hit your soft g-spot again and again. 

One hand held tightly to the pillow, the other coming to Angel’s hair. Your body kept jumping away from overstimulation but you fought against it every time and tried to grind against his face.

He lifted his mouth off you with a deliberate pop, “Feelin’ good?” You nodded, eyes closed. “Ready for the real thing?”

“Yeah. I want to feel more, Angel.” It came out as more of a whine than you meant.

His hand came to his erection, red and leaking. Stroking himself, he returned to massaging at your entrance, fingers dipping in then out.

“You comfortable with getting on your knees? This position ain’t so conducive for what I’m tryin’ to do.”

Somehow, ass up sounded better than face to face, “You’re the expert.” You rolled onto your stomach, hips up, face resting into the sea of pillows. You paused, lifted off your now sweaty shirt, and got back into position. 

“Sexpert, but thank you!” The lid popped open again, cold and viscous lube being dripped directly onto pussy, “Finally some recognition around here.” He coated himself with what was still on his hands, and raised your hips to line himself up.

“Deep breaths, okay?” He leaned over your back, kisses falling down your skin. Two hands held your hips, one guided himself into you. You tensed when his head began to push in, “Relaaax, just like the fingers.”

A muffled, “okay” from your place in the pile. Your heart was suddenly racing, the tight coil of pleasure his mouth summoned now gone. He wiped his dick up and down your folds, swiping past your entrance. Lining up, he pushed in, getting his head firmly sunk into you.

“Breath, baby,” he moaned into your shoulder. You took a deep breath in, your body tight still. But, it didn’t hurt like you’d thought. It burned, but there was no sting, no tearing. Angel’s hands ran up and down your sides, along you ass and thighs. He gently touched everywhere he could reach, until he felt you soften, “Ready to keep going?”

“Yes please”, you turned your head to look at him.

He pulled out slightly to collect more lube on his shaft, before slowly sinking into you until he bottomed out.

You were gasping, your brain misfiring. You couldn’t feel anything but him, your body just a formless thought with Angel’s warm, solid cock reaching deeper into than you thought possible. One roaming hand reached for your shoulder, “Can I move?”

“Slow,” your hand searched for a loose fold of comforter to grip, but it was soon encased and intertwined by one of his.

He pulled out, and slowly thrust back in. A saccharine moan fell from his mouth, and it made you whimper. 

You were so soft around him, yet gripping him so snuggly he felt like he was melting into your walls. His breath was unsteady, “You feel so good on my cock, baby.” A burning blush took over your face, a rush of pleasure electrifying your clit.

“How ya doin’?” Angel sounded nervous, timid.

You had to collect saliva to get any words out, mouth running dry from panting, “S’good.” You tried again, “So good.” Your fingers tightened around his.

He adjusted his hips, watching you closely. When your eyes closed and your hand nearly broke his, he grinned down, “Bingo~,” his speed began to pick up. 

“Right there,” you whimpered, “please don’t stop, right there Angel.” You dragged out the last syllable of his name. You could feel a pressure building in your lower stomach. 

Angel took languid thrusts out to the tip and pushing back past your still resisting entrance. Every time he pulled out and slipped in felt better than before. The sensations of him opening you around his cock again and again had your stomach and thighs tensing. You brought your hand up to press at your clit, finger frantically moving. You felt something building, you were desperate to reach its climax.

Angel’s hand came down and pushed yours aside, his fingers strong and not shaking with your impending orgasm. 

“Almost- Angel pleeeease! Don’t stop- keep—” You squeezed his hand tighter, his thrusts becoming faster and shallower. His repeated pressing of your g-spot pushed you over the edge, hand slowing only slightly.

"You can do it, baby. Come on. Almost there~" His words fell apart in his mouth, his own moans getting louder, your cunt tightening in spasms as your first orgasm tore through you. Your body was so inviting, warm walls sucking his head deeper. He rarely got to feel this sensation, barely ever chosen as the one doing the fucking, let alone fucking a woman. His head rested against your back, hands running along the curve of your hips as he melted into your sweet heat.

He picked up speed, only drawing out an inch or so now with each thrust. The lube made a pop and squelch every time his skin pulled from yours, the sound making his legs weak.

“Where can I cum?” His breath was raspy, messy with the pleasure of your soft insides rubbing along his shaft. You gripped the blanket, orgasm still rolling from the feeling of Angel chasing his release with your body. You could hear the strain in his voice, “Gonna need an answer real fast, babe.” You hid your face in the pillow mountain again, embarrassed to answer.

“Inside,” you tried to say it loudly enough for him to hear.

He whimpered a, “Fuuuuck” down your spine, “Such a dirty little virgin.” His hips stuttered before he sunk into you with such force your legs gave out. Your body came down flush onto the bed. Angel was pressed into you, chest against your back as his breathing calmed. You could feel his heart through your ribs, his chest fluff silky on your skin. Your body was warm, his hot cum filling you.

Small, lazy kisses on your back, then up your neck, he leaned to kiss your cheek. He slid out of you delicately, but you didn’t move.  His weight left the bed, then returned as a warm, wet cloth wiped you clean. After a couple of minutes of gentle cleaning, you felt the throw blanket cover your back. Angel plopped down on his back beside you, pulling the blanket over his legs and unlocking his phone, “Wanna see this fuckin’ hilarious video of my boss runnin’ into a glass wall?”

You chuckled, “More than anything.” He side eyed you, “Well, not anything.”

“Right answer, toots,”  One of his hands came down and settled on your hair, he leaned in to your head and as you watched Valentino collide head first into a wall, he said softly, “Let me know if you need anything. I got a bitchin’ tub in there.”

You hummed, reaching a shakey hand up and pressing ‘replay’ on his phone. Angel’s laughter echoed off the walls, and you decided you had no plans on leaving bed anytime soon.

༻Masterlist༺

The Cook and The Teacher!

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

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

Headcanons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Carmen,” he said. “Carmy.”

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That caught his attention. “Teaching?”

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

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

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

“Signature?” Carmy asked, raising an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

-------

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

"For the cookies.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey, Carmy-next-door!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hope you enjoy it!!!! <3

Part 3??