Giving Zoro Head On The Ship Deck 18+

Tim Through the Years - The Second Date

Series Masterlist

Summary: You and Tim go on your second date and he mischievously makes you fall for him. 0.5k+ words

It was your third outfit change this morning, and the closet was looking like a disaster. This was your second date with Tim, and you were going out for lunch. Last night was so amazing with him. You finally settled on a sundress covered in strawberries, and as soon as you put on your shoes, there was a knock at the door. 

“Coming!” you shouted as you quickly walked to the door and opened it to reveal Tim in a blue button-down and some jeans. “Hey Tim,” you said to him shyly.

“Hey,” Tim said quietly. “Wow, you’re so beautiful.”

“Thank you, let me grab my bag and we can go,” you told him while you grabbed your purse.

Tim offered his arm after you locked up your house and led you to his truck out front. 

Tim told you that he was taking you to the Santa Monica Pier for the day, that he was going to win you all the stuffed animals that your heart desires. 

What you wanted first was some food, so you both went to all the different booths and got a variety of stuff to share. Which was all delicious and you got to walk around the pier as you ate and people-watched.

A young lady was doing caricatures by the water, and you asked Tim if he would sit down with you to get drawn. He, of course, agreed, and he put his arm around you as the lady drew.

After your picture was drawn, you both stopped by to see what game Tim should play. You decided on a ping pong toss game that was currently being used by a child. The small boy kept missing the bowl of the red beta. Soon his turn was over, and he had no more pocket money. As Tim paid the man, the small boy watched from the side to see if he could tell what Tim's strategy was. Tim tossed the balls a couple times, and they missed, but the last one landed in the red beta. After Tim was handed the fish, he walked over and handed the small boy the beta.

“Here you go,” Tim told the boy with a smile, “you’ve been trying really hard for this guy.”

“But, Mister! It’s yours fair and square,” the small boy informed Tim.

“And I want to give it to you,” Tim responded. “It’s all yours”.

“Really?!?! Thanks, Mister!” The small boy quickly hugged Tim and took the beta, walking carefully over to his mom and exclaiming loudly about what happened. 

Tim turned to you with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, he seemed like he needed it more.”

You smiled at Tim. “It’s all good. You did that on purpose to try and win me over.”

A mischievous smirk crept onto Tim’s face. “Oh absolutely.”

The sun had set many hours ago, and you were walking hand-in-hand on the beach without shoes so the ocean water would brush up against you. 

“Today has been amazing,” you told Tim as you squeezed his hand softly. 

“I had an awesome time today, too,” Tim said. He slowly stopped you and turned to look at you.

“Can I kiss you?” Tim asked softly with a shy smile.

“Yes.”

Tim slid his hand up onto your cheek, slowly leaned in, and kissed you softly. It felt like fireworks were flying between you both. You were really falling in love with this man and falling hard.

First and Second Steps

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!wife!reader (first-time parents!)

Summary: Deacon has missed a lot of important moments, but when you surprise him at work, he gets to watch his baby's first and second steps.

Warnings: FLUFF!!!!!!!!!! (I don't specify if it's a son or daughter, nor the age, so that's up for interpretation/preference!)

Word Count: 1.2k+ words

Picture from Pinterest (we don't get to see Deacon smiling enough, especially considering how pretty his smile is!!!)

“Deac?” you mumble groggily, reaching out across the bed. “David?”

“We’re right here,” Deacon answers from the rocking chair in the corner of your shared bedroom.

“We?” you ask, rubbing your eyes as you turn, following his voice.

Smiling as you see him holding your baby, you toss the covers aside. Deacon has your baby against his bare chest as he enjoys the quality time he can get. You walk to stand before him, sitting on the fluffy rug below the chair.

“I’ve missed so much,” Deacon says, rubbing his hand over your baby’s back.

“You’re an amazing father, David. From the pregnancy check-ups you made it to, being by my side when I went into labor, to right now, you’ve been here. We’re lucky to have you,” you tell him, laying a hand on his knee as you lean toward him. “Besides, not much has happened so far. Other than ‘dada’ being the first word.”

“Because I’m a great dada, right?” Deacon asks, winking at you before he looks down at the sleeping kid on his chest.

“You are,” you agree. “And the massive amount of overtime is ending soon, so when you get back to a regular schedule, you’ll be here for every dirty, smelly moment and the adorable ones in between.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, David Kay, and your baby.”

Deacon waits until you stand, letting you take the baby from his arms. While you feed, Deacon gets ready for work, hugging you both close before he leaves. You kiss his jaw, waiting for his promise to come home to you before you let him go, with another reminder that you love him.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ 

“Deacon,” Hicks calls as he enters the situation room. “Deacon… David!”

“Yeah? Sorry,” Deacon answers, looking up from his phone.

“What’s going on with you this week?”

“I just- I miss my kid and my wife.”

“I can understand that, but your baby’s not brand new. It usually sets in before this, those paternal instincts that make you want to stay close, be there for everything and protect them.”

“I missed so much of the pregnancy, and with this overtime and everything happening, I’ve barely been home since we got home from the hospital. It was a miracle that I managed to be there for the birth, but I’m missing first words and growing. Maybe it shouldn’t bother me…”

“Deacon, your family is your priority, so you decide what does and doesn’t, should and shouldn’t bother you. We’re getting these cases wrapped up, and the moment I can, I’m sending you home for a few days. Until then, just know that we’re here for you, all of you.”

“I appreciate that. Thank you. Uh, what’d you need?”

 “Oh, there’s someone here to see you. My office.”

Deacon nods, thanking Hicks again as he walks toward his office. He’s expecting a DA or captain, so when he opens the door and sees you smiling, he rushes to close the door and get closer.

“What are you doing here?” Deacon asks, hugging you tightly.

“We missed you,” you answer, sighing against him.

“Dada!”

“Hey, kiddo,” Deacon replies, turning.

You raise a hand to Deacon’s chest, holding him in place as you both watch with wide eyes. Watching your only (so far) child standing clumsily, you clutch Deacon’s hand as you witness the first step. With a giggle, your baby rushes toward Deacon, falling as he gets close. His superpower-like abilities and dad reflexes allow Deacon to catch his baby before he hits the floor, laughing before he cheers.

“You didn’t miss that,” you say, pressing a hand between Deacon’s shoulder blades. “Someone was excited to see Dada.”

“I’m excited too, baby! You did so well,” Deacon says, turning toward you.

Your smile grows when you see the pure joy on Deacon’s face. This moment makes up for so much of what has been missed, and Deacon’s excitement about being here for the first steps reminds you of why you love him and what makes him a good father.

“May I?” you ask, extending your arms.

“Mama.”

Walking a few steps away, you sit on the floor of Hicks’ office, setting your baby on the floor, hoping to see another race toward Deacon. Following your lead, Deacon kneels, watching happily.

“Maybe I’m more likable than I thought,” you whisper.

“I like you,” Deacon agrees. “A lot.”

Hicks knocks before he opens the door. “Uh, am I interrupting something?”

“First steps,” Deacon answers happily. “Maybe second, too, if Mama stops hogging all of the attention.”

“Wow,” you respond, and Hicks advises, “Take it easy, Deacon.”

“Yeah, David. You don’t have to get jealous, there’s enough of me to go around,” you add.

Deacon doesn’t reply, his eyes widening as you slide back, giving room for second steps. After a few wobbly steps, Deacon pulls his giggling baby into his arms, cheering just as excitedly for the second walking trip. You stand, walking to Hicks’ side as Deacon falls into a happy conversation with a miniature version of himself.

“Thanks for letting me surprise him,” you say. “He’s been upset about missing so many firsts.”

“I understand. I wasn’t home for a lot of my kids’ firsts, and it can weigh on you. We’re dads, so not everyone expects us to want to be involved.”

“But you are good dads and good husbands, so you do.”

“Right, and Deacon’s the best of us.”

“I’d have to agree.”

Deacon says your name, drawing your attention to your kid standing before Deacon, holding one of Deacon’s hands out as he steps in place.

“Of all the things you could have given him, you gave him your energy,” you say sarcastically. “Thanks for that.”

“Don’t worry, I’m giving him some time off, so they can wear each other out,” Hicks tells you kindly.

“Hug?” Deacon asks, raising his other arm.

“Hug!”

“Got Deac’s touchy tendencies, too, huh?” Hicks murmurs.

“Oh, yeah,” you agree. “You can’t imagine what it’s like for me. But I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

Hicks smiles before turning away to answer his phone. You stand beside Deacon, smiling down at him as he relishes in a hug.

“Good news, Deac, 20-David just got released from standby. If you want to take the rest of the day,” Hicks begins.

“I do. Thanks, Hicks, see you later,” Deacon answers quickly, standing as he speaks.

With his arm around you and your baby held against his side, Deacon leads you to the locker room, gathering his things quickly before leaving S.W.A.T. HQ to spend as much time with you and his baby as possible.

“Congratulations,” you say, smiling as you kiss Deacon.

“For what?” he asks, looping his arms around your waist.

“Having a great kid and being here for the important stuff.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more. And, really, you should be congratulating me for my excellent timing on deciding to surprise you today.”

Deacon chuckles, pulling you into another kiss, leaving a trail of kisses up your cheek before he replies, “I should, shouldn’t I?”

“You’re going to get touchy, aren’t you?” you mumble against his neck as you return his hug.

“Oh, we both are. We have a lot to celebrate.”

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

It's Your Life, But Let Me In

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!reader

Summary: You overhear Chris and Molly giving Street a hard time and ignoring his boundaries. When you encourage him to make his own decisions and remind him that you are with him, he realizes how different you are.

Warnings: spoilers for and dialogue from S.W.A.T. 4x7 "Under Fire", angst to fluff, Chris and Molly, love confession, kissing

Word Count: 3.8k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“Luca needs to get back from Germany,” you bemoan. “I’m starving.”

“There’s this crazy new thing called cooking for yourself. You should try it sometime,” Hondo replies with a smile.

“I have tried and it’s not the same.”

Hondo rolls his eyes and pats your shoulder as Lieutenant Lynch enters S.W.A.T. HQ.

“What are you doing here so early?” she asks you.

“Nothing better to do.”

“Wow. Thanks for that,” Hondo interjects. “I’m not going to let you visit Street anymore if you’re going to treat me like this.”

“You should blame yourself for sending Luca away. I’m irritable because I’m hungry.”

 ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

Across town, Street is facing a similar problem of being hungry in Luca’s absence. He’s taken a different approach: less complaining and more cooking for himself and Molly.

“Maybe not as tasty as Luca’s special breakfast burritos, but, uh, as long as he’s in Germany, it’s gonna have to do.” He sees the time and adds, “I’m running late. Would you mind plating these? I’ll be right back.”

“Plating?” Molly repeats. “Think maybe we need to stop binging those cooking shows.”

As she moves the food from the pan onto the prepared plates, three plates she notices but doesn’t stop to wonder why, Jim’s phone begins vibrating on the table.

“Babe, your phone!” Molly calls. When she doesn’t receive a reply, she looks at the caller ID: State Prison Lancaster. “I think it’s your mom!” she adds.

After two more vibrations, she answers and says, “Jim Street’s phone.”

“This is a collect call from state prison inmate Karen Street. Will you accept the charges?” an automated voice asks.

“Yes.” When the line connects, Molly begins, “Mrs. Street, my name is Molly. I’m Jim’s girlfriend.”

While Molly answers his phone, Street gathers his things and thinks of you. You’re supposed to stop by the station this morning to visit, and he’s planning to take you some food because he knows you miss Luca’s incredible meals as much as he does. Upon returning from the bedroom, he sees Molly on the phone and asks, “Is that my phone?”

“Yes,” Molly answers, covering the microphone. “Just a sec, Mrs. Street. Here’s Jim.”

Street takes the phone and ends the call before sliding it into his pocket. He returns to the kitchen and shakes his head at his mom’s antics.

“Jim, what are you doing?” Molly asks. “That was your mom.”

“Yeah, I know. Why would you answer that?” Street replies.

“What if it was an emergency? Which it was. She’s really sick. Says they’ve got her at the prison infirmary.”

“She’s fine.”

“She didn’t sound fine.”

“I promise you it’s just another one of her scams to suck me back into her life.”

“If you’d talked to her, we’d know for sure, wouldn’t we?”

“There’s a reason that I never mention my mother to you. I’m done with her. She’s out of my life. I don’t want her anywhere near me, and I definitely don’t want you anywhere near her. Believe me, it’s for your own good.”

Molly stands in her place, unable to see where Street is coming from. She doesn’t understand why he is so comfortable leaving his mother alone, especially when she calls to tell him she’s not doing well.

“You know,” Molly says after a moment, “I’m going to be late. I’ll grab breakfast at work.”

“Molly,” Street calls after her. “Just wait a second, Molly.”

He sighs as the door closes behind her and sets the empty pan to the side. Street has never been great at relationships, but after Molly ignores his reasons and wishes, he’s not sure she is the woman worth fighting for, anyway.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“Good morning,” Deacon says as he looks over your shoulder.

You turn quickly and smile when you see Street walking toward you. He extends a covered bowl of food, and you gasp excitedly before thanking him. His close-lipped smile immediately clues you into the fact that something is wrong.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

“Yeah, I’m good. Enjoy the food.”

You nod and thank him again before he walks away with his team. After their morning meeting, you hope to spend a few more minutes with Street and get to the bottom of whatever bothers him. Years of friendship have brought you incredibly close to him, and you want him to know that you support him, no matter what he is going through. However, you also know that he is with Molly, so you respect that boundary, too. While you want to hug him, hold him tight, and promise that everything will be okay, that isn’t your place. Until he invites you in, you are happy being an onlooker in Street’s life.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“You made breakfast,” Chris muses as she shakes her head. “Guess that means Molly stayed over.”

“How’s that going?” Deacon asks. “You planning to settle down sometime soon?”

Street inhales before he shrugs. “I guess we’ll see how it works out.”

“Hey,” Hondo calls as he gestures for Street to hang back and talk to him. Once the rest of the team is out of earshot, Hondo says, “I haven’t heard much about your personal life recently. Your mom’s not still giving you trouble, is she?”

While you look for Street to thank him for the delicious breakfast, you accidentally stumble upon him talking to Hondo about his mom. You stop in a nearby hallway, and prepare to turn around to let Street finish his conversation privately. He tells you a lot about his life, and though you don’t know how big that is for him, you think you probably already know what he’s going to say: he has everything under control, even if he doesn’t, because he has trouble asking for help.

“I got it all handled," Street answers as expected.

“That’s not an answer. Talk to me,” Hondo replies.

“She tried to call me this morning from prison. Molly answered, she didn’t know any better.”

On that note, you do turn and walk away. Molly is not your friend, Street is, so now that the conversation has shifted, you feel wrong about eavesdropping further.

“That doesn’t sound handled. Your mom still locked up?”

“Yeah. Violating parole should’ve been just a year, max, but she’s still there, so it can only mean she’s still screwing up.”

“You don’t talk to her?”

“No. I mean, I did, early on a couple times. But it’s always the same old BS with her… How she’s a victim, how the C.O.s or the other prisoners aren’t treating her right. Nothing’s ever her fault.”

“She’s still blaming you for being there?”

“Probably. She was never exactly the forgiving type.”

“All right, look, kid. I’ve always tried to have your back where your mom’s concerned. Now, we banged heads over it early on, but when it comes down to it, you got to do what’s in your heart.”

Street nods, but lately, what his heart wants goes against what everyone around him thinks is right.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“C’mon,” Chris says, “I have to do the boring part of the job and I could use some company.”

You nod and follow her into the kitchen and dining area of S.W.A.T. HQ. Technically, you were supposed to leave a while ago, but you’re still worried about Street and want to stay close in case he needs a friend. Yes, his teammates are also his friends, but since you don’t work with him daily, it is easier for him to open up to you. Or, at least, that’s the reason as you see it.

Chris gives you a few directions so you can help her and make the project go twice as fast. You work side-by-side and talk about your plans for the weekend. Even though you aren’t on the team, Street’s teammates always make you feel like part of the family when you stop by.

“So, any big weekend plans to tell Street how you actually feel?” Chris asks.

Luckily, the door opens before you can reply.

“Oh, hey,” Street says when he enters. 

He smiles and asks what you’re still doing here, but you don’t get to answer before Molly walks in.

“Molly, what’s up?” Street asks.

You return your attention to your task, and you and Chris speed up to get out of the room as quickly as possible.

“I know you’re busy, but I called the prison to check on your mom.”

Once you hear that Molly crossed such a clear boundary, you freeze momentarily before growing desperate to escape this conversation.

“You did what?” Street demands.

“She wasn’t lying, Jim. I talked to a doctor, it’s something with her liver. They’re transferring her to a hospital for tests. It’s bad.”

“I told you, I want nothing to do with her. You know our history. Her- her drug abuse, alcohol, violence.”

“Every one of those things is consistent with her being abused,” Molly argues.

“Do not go making her a victim.”

You finish what you’re working on and look at Chris. She picks everything up and points hurriedly at the door. A tiny part of you wants to hear where this is going, but you and Street are too close to throw away your relationship over something he will tell you when he’s ready.

“Well, that was…” you begin as you walk into the hallway.

“It’s going to be a long day,” Chris sighs.

“Not what I was thinking,” you murmur.

You look back over your shoulder at the door and wish you could go in and encourage him to do whatever he wants, whatever he thinks is right. But Molly is in there, and you trust Street will always do the right thing no matter what she says.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

Street watches you leave and wants to follow you, but Molly continues arguing.

“Babe, your mom is a victim. I deal with women like your mother all the time, their lives destroyed by the trauma of being abused and never getting help. Twenty years ago, she needed treatment, and all she’s had is a life of black eyes and incarceration.”

“This is my fault for having her locked up again?” Street questions.

“No. But, Jim, this is the woman who gave birth to you.”

“And dragged me through hell every day since. She betrayed me, she lied to me, she stole from me, she almost cost me my career at S.W.A.T. I can’t believe you’re taking her side on this.”

“I’m not taking sides.”

“Don’t you think maybe you should be? You know what? I can’t do this right now. I’m at work, okay? I just…” Street turns and walks toward the door as he finishes, “Can’t do this.”

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You leave the station soon after Street returns from his conversation with Molly. You plan to visit again when he gets off and remind him that you’re here for him, but he is at work and has more important things to focus on than his mom, girlfriend, or you. There’s a brief moment where you consider calling Luca and asking him to talk to Street. You decide against it because Jim probably doesn’t need anyone else in his business right now.

When you arrive at the station, Deacon sees you in the parking lot and insists you go inside. He noticed Street’s off attitude, too, and thinks you're the cure.

“Are you sure?” you ask quietly.

“He needs a friend. That’s you.”

You nod and walk into HQ. Street isn’t around, so you sit beside the locker room and are soon unintentionally eavesdropping for the third time today.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

At the end of the shift, after a long day of saving firefighters and finding a shooter, Chris and Street are in the locker room and preparing to leave. Street wants to go home, maybe call you, and then enjoy some alone time without anyone asking him what he is going to do, or worse, tell him what he should do.

“You figured out how you’re gonna make it right to Molly yet?” Chris asks.

“How I’m gonna make it right? I’m not the one who needs to apologize," Street replies.

“We got out of there as fast as we could, but I heard enough to know, you… You’ve got some fences to mend.”

“You also heard how she totally went behind my back with my mom.”

“Her motive being, what? Compassion? Giving a crap about women who’ve had a messed-up life?”

You pull your phone from your pocket and press Street’s number. He doesn’t answer, and you frown before standing. You don’t want to hear more than you have to, so you walk to the parking lot and wait beside Street’s bike. He exits the building alone and is clearly in no mood to talk, but you must ensure he knows that Molly and Chris are wrong. They have no say in his personal life and are never willing to be there for him.

“Hi,” you greet. “I know you’ve had a crazy day and you’re ready to get home, but I need to say something first.”

“Let me guess,” he begins defensively. “You’re going to tell me that I should go see my mom or apologize to Molly. Why not make it better and say both?”

You fight down a smile at his response. At least he hasn’t lost his personality in the day he’s had.

“Actually,” you reply, “I was going to tell you that Chris and Molly overstepped. None of these decisions are theirs, and, in the end, it’s your choice. Because your life is the one being most affected. I just thought you could use a reminder that no one gets to make these calls for you. It’s your life, Street. I, for one, am with you no matter what you decide to do.”

“What if I make the wrong decision?” he whispers. Every trace of defensiveness is gone in his clear doubt about the choices he faces.

“Then you’ll find a way to learn from it. I don’t think there is a wrong decision here; unless, of course, it’s not yours.”

“I really don’t want to talk to my mom.”

“Then don’t. You know you and you know her, so you know what is best for you and your relationship with her. If that’s no relationship, that’s your choice.”

“I don’t know.”

“But you will,” you promise. “You’ll make the best decision for the right reasons. You choose for you, not for anyone else, okay?”

Street nods slowly, and you wish him goodnight before you turn toward your car. Suddenly, you remember he is facing one more decision and spin to face him.

“One more thing, Street. You didn’t do anything wrong, you just stood up for yourself, so don’t apologize unless you think you need to. Don’t let anyone that’s not in your relationship into your relationship.”

“Thank you,” he calls after you.

You don’t see Street’s smile return as you enter your car, but your statements help him more than you thought they would.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

When Street texts Molly and asks her to come over, he fully expects her to say no, so when she knocks on the door a few minutes later, he’s surprised.

“Thanks for coming,” he says as he invites her in. “I wasn’t sure you would after today.”

“I’m here, so…” Molly begins. She trails off and waits for Jim to do something.

There’s an apology somewhere inside Street, where he says he was a jerk and makes excuses for his actions. However, your words are fresh in his mind, and he decides not to apologize. As he looks at Molly and compares what she said and did today to your words and actions, Street realizes something.

Whenever he thinks of taking the next step with Molly or one of the guys asks where he sees the relationship going, he can’t get past this point. Hondo joked that it was his inner playboy, but Street sees now that the issue was never him or a fear of commitment. It was Molly the whole time. 

Since the beginning, Street knew that Molly wasn’t the right one, but he’s finally ready to admit it. Molly was never really there for him, never listened to him – still doesn’t, Street thinks – and she has never been respectful or careful of his boundaries. 

“You may be expecting an apology,” Street says, “but I don’t think I need to give you one. I asked you to leave it alone, and you didn’t. I know you mean well, Molly, but I can’t keep doing this if you’re just going to go behind my back and ignore everything I say.”

“She’s your mother!” Molly argues. “You still have time to fix things with her.”

“That’s just it, though. I’m- I’m not sure I want to. Listen, Molly, I know that you lost your mother, and how devastating that was for you, but it’s not the same situation for me.”

Street’s mind drifts to you. He remembers what you said earlier and realizes it has always been you. You are the only person in his life who has always been with him, listened to him, supported him, and respected his feelings. You respect him and his boundaries no matter what. Unlike Chris and Molly, you’ve never tried to decide for him or make him see your reasoning, but you’ve been there to talk or listen when he needs it.

“Molly, look. I love you; I do. But not in the way that you deserve to be loved, or that I need to love whoever I spend my life with,” Street explains. “You will always be special to me, but I have to make my own choices.”

Molly wipes a tear as she asks, “Like what?”

“When to go get the girl,” Street answers quietly.

Molly nods and rushes out of Street’s house. He sighs before he follows her.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

A loud knock pulls your attention from the book in your lap, and you set it to the side before you slowly walk to the door.

“It’s me,” Street says from the other side.

You release a breath and open the door. It’s late, and you’re confused about why Street is knocking on your door when he’s supposed to be with Molly, but you let him in anyway. When he stops beside your table and stares at the book you left on it, completely silent, you grow less confused and more concerned.

“Street,” you say. You lay your hand on his arm and ask, “You’ve been different today. What’s bothering you?”

“You,” he whispers. 

After you pull your hand away, shocked and heartbroken at his answer, he rushes to explain himself.

“No, listen,” he begs. “What you said earlier changed everything. You told me that it was my decision and that I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to, all that. But, when I was talking to Molly about how she doesn’t respect my decisions or my boundaries and tries to force her opinions about what I should do without knowing my reasons, I remembered you.”

You furrow your brows, and Street raises his hands to hold your shoulders.

“I appreciate you, so much. Not just for telling me what I deserve but for being that and so much more. You are the only person in my life that just lets me do what I need to do, and you’re by my side through all of it. Everything that you said I needed, I have in you. Thank you.”

“Of course. It’s your life, Street,” you reply. “But that doesn’t mean you have to do it alone.”

“You-“ Street begins again before trailing off. He doesn’t know how to express his feelings because he’s slowly realizing what he feels for you.

“Spit it out, Street,” you say with a smile. “I’m here to listen.”

Street shakes his head but lowers his voice to do as you say. “I loved Molly, but- but Molly didn’t just love me back. She tried to tell me how to love. And Chris- I don’t even know what Chris’s problem is; some days she wants to love and others she just wants to be loved, but never at the same time. It’s exhausting to deal with, but then she argues about what love looks like even though she can’t possibly know.”

You nod along, not sure what Street needs or wants to hear. Staying silent seems like the best option while he works through these thoughts. He’s saying the word love a lot, but never in the present tense or as an active feeling, you notice.

“But you… with you everything is shared. You love without expecting love in return, and you listen and remember. There has never been a moment with you where I felt pressured or ignored, and I love that about you.”

You smile and open your mouth to tell Street you’ll always be here for him, but he cuts you off.

“I love that about you,” he repeats. “I love you because you are everything I don’t deserve, but you make me feel deserved.”

After your eyes widen, you make a noise that sounds like a sob and a laugh. Street waits for you to say something, but you can’t beat the speech he just gave, so you raise your hands to his cheeks and nod. His eyes widen to match yours when a tear slides over the bump of your cheek as your smile returns.

“You said it’s my life, but I don’t have to do it alone, right?” Street murmurs as you step closer to him.

“Right.”

“Then, I think that I’d like to make you a bigger part of my life.”

You don’t hesitate to kiss him, and as he meets you in the middle, you think about how long you have wanted to be part of his life. Being near him was beautiful, but being by his side through everything will be an entirely new and perfect experience. You love Jim Street, and now that he loves you, too, you feel like a part of his life, not an accessory to it.

“I love you,” you say against his lips.

Street’s arms tighten around your waist, and he tilts his chin to kiss your forehead before standing.

“Did you break up with Molly before you came over here?” you whisper.

Street nods, and you bite your bottom lip before saying, “So, you’re giving me her position?”

“No,” Street promises with a laugh. “I’m giving you the position I should have given you a long time ago.”

You kiss Street quickly and laugh when he tries to follow you for more. “I promise to fill my position well, and to always listen to you, respect your boundaries…”

Street ducks his head, and his nose brushes against yours as he replies, “Maybe we could remove a few of our boundaries.”

He kisses you again, and you find that you like your new position in Jim Street’s life more than you ever anticipated.

shot - e. buckley

evan buckley x gn!reader

summary: a visit to the 118 goes wrong when a grief-stricken man with a gun storms in.

w/c: 2.4k

⚠️ TW: gun, shooting

You made your way to the 118 firehouse, a container of cheesecake cradled in your arms. You'd baked it especially for them, making sure to save an extra slice for Chimney, who had raved about it last time.

As you stepped inside, Buck greeted you with his signature smile, his blue eyes lighting up as he noticed the dessert in your hands. "You really didn't have to," he said, pulling you into a hug. "I wanted to," you replied, enjoying the comfort of his embrace. "Besides, Chimney practically begged for more last time."

Buck laughed, taking the cheesecake from you and leading you upstairs to set it on the table where the rest of the crew was gathered. "You should stay awhile," he suggested. "At least until the next call." It didn't take much convincing. Spending time with Buck and his team always made you feel like you were part of something special - they were like a second family to you.

But the peaceful atmosphere didn't last.

About fifteen minutes later, a shout echoed from downstairs, shattering the mood. Everyone turned their heads toward the commotion, a collective unease settling over the group. Everyone exchanged wary glances before rising to investigate. As you all gathered at the top of the staircase, what you saw sent a cold chill down your spine. A man stood at the bottom, brandishing a gun, his voice trembling with rage and desperation. "You killed my wife!" he screamed, his face contorted in agony. "Now you're all going to pay!" The man's behavior sent a wave of fear through you as he ordered everyone downstairs.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you couldn't afford to panic. Slowly, you began descending the stairs with the others, taking note of the man's shaky hands, the sweat beading on his forehead, and the wild look in his eyes. You leaned toward Buck, your voice barely above a whisper. "Look at him closely, babe. He looks like he's under the influence of something."

Buck followed your gaze, his brows furrowing as he observed the man more closely. You continue, "His hands are trembling a lot, he's sweating excessively and his eyes look wide and panicked. That can't be normal." Buck nodded in agreement, whispering back, "You're right. If he really is under the influence, it makes this ten times more dangerous because he could be unpredictable. We need to be careful."

Before you could say anything else, the man's eyes snapped to you. "What are you whispering about?" he demanded. "N-nothing," you stuttered, hating how fear made your voice falter. "Better be," he growled, his eyes darting between you and Buck.

Buck gently put his hand on the small of your back, his touch bringing some comfort to you. ‌"It's okay, baby. We'll be fine," he tried to reassure you, but he didn't seem so certain himself.

Once you were downstairs, everyone spread out slightly, but Buck stayed close, his touch never leaving you. The man's breathing was erratic, and he was clearly unstable. You kept glancing at Buck, who kept his hand lightly on your back, a silent promise that he wouldn't let anything happen to you. "Stay calm," Buck whispered again, his voice low and controlled, even though you could feel his pulse quicken through the light pressure of his hand.

The man's gaze darted between the firefighters, paranoia swirling in his bloodshot eyes. His grip on the gun tightened, knuckles white against the metal. "You think I'm bluffing?" he growled, eyes wild. "You think I won't do it?"

‌Behind you, Eddie slowly moved to your right, his movements so subtle that you almost didn't notice. You could tell he was preparing for something, but you weren't sure what. ‌Chimney tried to reason with the man, "We're not the ones who hurt your wife, man. Let's talk about this, figure out what happened. There's no need for this to get worse."

‌The man's hand shook even more violently, the gun bobbing in the air. "Shut up! You don't know anything!"

Hen had positioned herself slightly to the left, closer to the phone. The man glanced away for a moment, his focus faltering. ‌But then, suddenly, he snapped back to you and Buck, eyes narrowing. "You two," he snarled, pointing the gun directly at you. "You were whispering. Come here."

Buck stepped forward in front of you, shielding you instinctively. "Leave her out of this. She's not the one you want," he said, his voice dangerously steady, but there was a tremor underneath that only you could hear. The man's eyes darted between the two of you, flickering with uncertainty. His breathing grew more erratic by the second. You knew Buck was ready to move if he had to, but the wrong move could end disastrously.

‌You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady as you started to speak, hoping to diffuse the situation as best as you could. "We don't want any trouble. Please, just put the gun down. We can talk this out, okay?"

‌The man wavered for a split second, his grip faltering. His eyes flickered to you, and for a moment, you saw some uncertainty, or even hesitation. His grip on the gun loosened slightly, his stance wavering. You hoped this would de-escalate or else this would all spiral out of control.‌ "You don't have to do this," you said softly, keeping your hands where he could see them. "Whatever happened to your wife, it wasn't their fault. They're just here to help."

‌For a moment, the man looked confused at your words. He probably assumed you were also a firefighter but he seemed to realise that you weren't. Then, his face twisted in anger. "Help? You call letting her die helping?" His voice cracked, desperation leaking into his words. He looked over at the rest of the 118. "I trusted you guys. She trusted you!"

‌Eddie inched a little closer, but the man suddenly noticed the movement, snapping his attention back to Eddie. "Stop!" he yelled, pointing the gun wildly between all of you. "Stay where you are! I swear, I'll shoot!" ‌Eddie froze, hands up, and you felt your heart hammering in your chest. Buck stepped closer to you again, his body tense, ready to move if needed. ‌"Listen," Buck said, his voice calm but firm. "We're sorry about what happened to your wife. But this isn't going to help. This isn't going to bring her back. Please, let's just talk."

‌The man's face contorted with pain, his eyes glossy, filled with unshed tears. His arm was trembling so badly that you feared he might pull the trigger by accident. His voice wavered, "I-I don't know what to do anymore..."

‌Hen, who'd managed to get a little closer to the phone, locked eyes with you. She signalled for you to keep him talking. The longer you stalled, the better chance you had of getting help. ‌Taking a breath, you spoke gently. "I can't imagine how much you're hurting. Losing someone like that... it's unbearable. But this isn't what your wife would want."

‌He lightly flinched at that, and you knew you'd struck something deep. Did you say the wrong thing? You hoped you hadn't or you could end up dead - or even worse, one of the 118. "You don't know what she'd want," he muttered, though the conviction in his voice was fading.

‌"I don't," you admitted. "But I can tell you loved her. And I know that if she was here right now, she'd want you to be safe. She wouldn't want you to throw your life away."

‌Tears slipped down his cheeks, and his hand shook violently, the gun lowering just slightly. But then, almost out of nowhere, a sharp ring pierced the air - the phone. ‌The man jumped, startled by the sound, and in his panic, his finger tightened on the trigger.

Bang!

Everything happened in a blur. You felt Buck pulling you to the ground as the shot rang out. There was shouting, movement all around, and you didn't even know where the bullet went. Your ears rang from the sound, and your heart felt like it was about to burst out of your chest.

‌When you finally managed to focus again, you saw Eddie and Bobby rushing toward the man, disarming him as he stumbled backward in shock. Hen and Chimney were already moving to check on everyone.

‌Buck looked down at you, still shielding you even though the danger had passed. Until he felt something. ‌Buck pulled away slightly, his eyes widening in horror as he noticed the blood soaking through your shirt. "No, no, no..." he muttered, his hands trembling as he pressed down on your abdomen. You hadn't even realized you'd been hit, the shock of everything numbing the pain.

‌"Buck?" your voice came out weaker than you intended and the moment you heard it, the reality started to sink in. The bullet must have hit you. You tried to focus, but the pain was spreading, sharp and hot.

‌"Hey, stay with me," Buck said urgently, panic creeping into his voice. "You're gonna be okay. Chim! Hen!" His voice cracked as he called for help, but you could barely focus on him anymore. The world felt fuzzy at the edges, the sound of everyone around you starting to blur.

‌Chimney was beside you in an instant, his hands moving quickly to assess the wound. "Alright, we've got you," Chim said, his voice steadier than Buck's, but you could see the worry etched in his face. Hen was already rushing to grab supplies and Eddie tried to move Buck to the side but Buck refused to budge, his hand still pressed against the wound, his eyes locked on yours. "Stay with me, please," Buck whispered, his voice breaking. You could see the desperation in his eyes, his fear for you palpable.

‌Chimney spoke more urgently now. "Buck, you need to let us work. We need to stop the bleeding." ‌Buck hesitated, his grip tightening as if letting go of you would mean losing you, but finally, he stepped back, allowing Chimney to take over. Hen was back in seconds, placing pressure on the wound as Chimney worked quickly, his face calm but focused.

‌You felt Buck's hand grasp yours, his fingers trembling. "You're gonna be fine," he kept saying, over and over, as if trying to convince himself as much as you. But your body felt heavy, the pain sharp. ‌You tried to speak, to tell him you were okay, but the words wouldn't come out. Instead, you just squeezed his hand weakly, hoping it was enough.

‌"Hang in there," Hen said as she prepared an IV, her hands moving swiftly. "We'll get you to the hospital soon."

‌Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. The world around you was dimming, the edges of your vision going dark. You could hear the sirens in the distance, you knew help was coming but it felt so far away. Buck's voice was the only thing grounding you, the only thing keeping you from slipping away entirely.

‌"I love you," Buck said, his voice barely above a whisper, the words laced with fear. "Please... don't leave me." ‌You tried to hold on to that, to his voice, to the warmth of his hand, but the pain was overwhelming. The last thing you saw before the darkness took over was your boyfriend's face, tear-streaked and terrified, as the world faded to black.

(TIMESKIP - the next day)

When you finally woke up, the harsh lights above blurred into focus. Your body felt heavy, your chest tight with pain. For a moment, everything was hazy, and you couldn't remember how you got there, but then it hit you like a truck. The gunman, the shot, Buck's terrified voice.

‌You blinked, your vision clearing just enough to see Buck sat beside you, his eyes red and puffy from crying. His hand was wrapped around yours, his grip so tight you wondered if he'd been holding it like that the whole time.

‌"Buck," you whispered, your voice weak. The simple act of speaking made your throat burn, but you needed to let him know you were here, okay - or at least alive. ‌"You're awake," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. He sat up straighter, leaning closer to you. "Thank God, you're awake."

‌You managed a weak smile, though every movement felt like a huge effort. "Hey," you whisper, "It's okay, Buck. I'm okay."

‌Buck let out a breathy laugh, though it was laced with a kind of relief and disbelief. "You scared the hell out of me," he said, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "I thought-" He swallowed hard, his voice cracking slightly. "I thought I was going to lose you."

‌Buck looked like he was barely holding it together. "Baby, your heart stopped. It-" he paused, his voice shaking. "But they brought you back. You're okay now. You're going to be okay." He said it like he's reassuring himself. ‌You glanced down at yourself, seeing the bandages across your abdomen. It hurt but the pain was nothing compared to the fear you had felt before everything went black.

‌"I was so scared," Buck continued, his voice breaking as he squeezed your hand again. "I couldn't do anything but watch you bleed, and I..." He trailed off, shaking his head as if trying to shake away the memory. "I don't know what I would've done if we lost you."

‌"Shh," you murmured, managing to lift your other hand weakly to touch his face. "I'm right here." ‌He closed his eyes at the touch, leaning into your hand. "I love you," he whispered again, like he needed you to know, like you might forget if he doesn't say it enough. "You mean everything to me."

‌Tears stung your eyes, the overwhelming emotions mixing with the pain in your body. "I love you too, Buck," you whispered back. The words were weak, but they were all you could give him in that moment.

‌He smiled, though it was shaky, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. "Just rest, okay? The doctors said you're going to need time to heal."

‌You nodded slowly, exhaustion starting to pull at you again. The pain meds were dulling the ache in your body but your body was craving rest. As you closed your eyes again, Buck's hand stayed firmly in yours. He promised himself he would stay with you however long you needed him to.

911 masterlist

Home to My Family

Amazing idea from @avada-kedavra-bitch-187!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader

Summary: After you give birth to twins, they're taken by a nurse for checkups. You soon realize that she's not a nurse, so Tim calls in reinforcements to save your children and catch their abductor.

Warnings: child abduction, r just gave birth but story begins post-labor, angst, happy ending with fluff

Word Count: 1.7k+ words

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“Congratulations,” the doctor says as your second baby is placed in your arms. “Two healthy babies.”

“They’re perfect,” you murmur, your eyes on the baby boy in your arms.

“A nurse will be in shortly to take them for full checkups,” someone informs you.

“How do you feel?” Tim asks.

You look away from your son and smile at the sight of Tim holding his daughter. She beat her brother into the world by nearly three minutes, and Tim has been enraptured with her since then.

“I’m okay,” you assure him. “We did good.”

Tim scoffs and lays his hand on your son’s back as he corrects, “We did great.”

“Hello, Bradfords,” a nurse greets with a knock on the open door. “I’m here to borrow these babies.”

You watch as Tim hands your daughter to the nurse to be placed in a bassinet before he turns to you to take your son. It makes you uncomfortable to hand them over so soon after giving birth, but the first checkup is necessary. Tim takes your hand and sits on the edge of your hospital bed to wait together.

“Did you call Angela?” you ask.

“Where are those pretty Bradford babies?” another nurse singsongs as she enters. “Checkup time!”

You furrow your brows, but Tim is on his feet before you can ask any questions. Tim is heartbreakingly familiar with the reality of evil in the world, and he realizes before you that something terrible has happened. As he races into the hall, fear settles over you as tears build in your eyes. If the real nurse is here now, who has your children? And where are they?

The nurse leaves to double-check that your babies weren’t transported by another nurse, and you’re left alone. After several minutes alone, scared, Tim returns and shakes his head. His jaw is clenched tightly, but you can tell he’s only a moment from breaking.

“I reported it to the department,” Tim says, his voice tight. “Angela’s on the way and I let her know too.”

You nod before you sit up carefully, wincing in pain as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed.

“Hey, hey, no,” Tim murmurs, rounding the foot of the bed. He lowers before you and lays his hands over your thighs. “You just gave birth; you need to rest.”

“I need to find them, Tim. We have to find them!” you exclaim through your cries.

“I know. We will, I promise we will.”

“But you don’t need my help.”

Tim smiles at your attitude, understandable anger building beneath your pain, fear, and tiredness.

“Your help isn’t the issue, it’s your health.”

“Timothy,” Angela greets. She walks to your side and hugs you tightly. “Tell me everything.”

You lie back carefully as Tim recounts the events of the past few minutes. Angela nods along, then looks around your room.

“They’re still in the hospital, I’d bet,” Tim concludes.

“Grey stationed officers at every opening to keep it that way,” Angela responds. “There’s plenty of hiding places in a hospital. But Tim…”

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I have no idea who would do this. I’ve put plenty of people away, called CPS hundreds of times, any of those people could have decided to return the favor.”

Lucy and Nolan knock on the open door, and Tim waves them in as Angela draws a diagram of the hospital on the whiteboard opposite you. Lucy walks directly to your side while Nolan stands beside the door to watch the hallway.

“What do you need?” Lucy asks softly.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “Other than the obvious.”

“We’re going to find them. Half of the station is here for you.”

“There’s only one option that finishes this quickly,” Angela decides. “We split up and search every floor of this hospital.”

Tim looks to you rather than answering, and you promise, “I’m okay to be alone. I trust you, all of you, to find them and bring them back to me. Do whatever you have to do.”

“We will,” Tim promises. “Nolan, stay here, keep an eye on this hallway. Lucy, you’re with me.”

Lucy squeezes your hand kindly before she walks to Tim’s side. Nolan steps out of your room with them and closes the door. Completely alone, all you can do is wait.

“Hey,” Tim calls urgently. A male nurse spins and raises his hands in question. “Have you seen a nurse in pink scrubs with twins?”

“There’s lots of nurses, pink scrubs, and twins here, sir,” the man answers.

Tim takes a measured step toward him, and the man steps back urgently, bumping into the desk behind him.

“Do you want to be charged with aiding and abetting a kidnapping?”

“Sir, if you’ve seen a woman in pink scrubs with two bassinets, you need to tell us now,” Angela interjects.

“I haven’t,” he answers quickly. “I swear I haven’t.”

Tim steps away from the scared nurse and sighs.

“This floor is clear, no sign of them,” Angela reports.

Tim’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he retrieves it without looking away from the empty hallway.

“I remember when I wasn’t allowed to look at my phone on duty,” Lucy muses.

“Your children hadn’t been abducted,” Tim snaps. He reads a message, furrows his brows, and then says, “Angela.”

Angela knows that Tim using her first name isn’t a good sign, and she's proven right when he passes his phone over. “Where is this?”

“I can’t tell. The message seems familiar,” Tim replies.

Angela zooms in on the picture while Tim repeats the message to himself. Lucy moves beside Angela and looks at the picture, pointing to any discernable items in the background. The image shows your son in the bassinet front and center, and while it’s clear that they’re still in the sterile, white hospital, it’s unclear where.

“Supply closet,” Angela realizes just as Tim says, “Keiran Tumble.”

“The counterfeiter?” Lucy asks. “What’s his problem with you?”

“I arrested him, but I’m also why he lost visitation rights for his kids. They were in the warehouse with the printing fumes. He hasn’t been out of prison long.”

“Prison for counterfeiting?”

“Federal prison. The Reserve pressed additional charges. When he got out, he got served with the papers about his kids.”

“Wait,” Angela interrupts. “You said it was a female nurse.”

“Keiran’s girlfriend,” Tim guesses. “I didn’t see her, she wasn’t there when we raided his operation, but I’ve heard plenty about her.”

“Me too. Tim, she’s suspected of at least three murders. This isn’t a manhunt; we have to find her without risking your kids.”

“ Supply closet?” Tim repeats. “Let’s find the right one, and then we move in. She makes one move toward them, and you drop her.”

“Tim, maybe you should sit this one out,” Lucy suggests.

“No,” Angela answers. “If this were Jack, I’d want to be right there when we found him. Look that monster in the face and remind her that at the end of every day, I go home to my family.”

“I’m more use here, Chen,” Tim assures. “How’s Nolan?”

“He said everything’s clear there. Only a few nurses through since we left.”

Tim nods, but Angela purses her lips in thought.

“What?” Tim inquires.

“Isn’t your room across from a supply area? Wouldn’t someone have needed something by now?” she asks.

“No one saw them because they didn’t go far,” Lucy realizes.

“Let’s go!” Angela exclaims.

Fiddling with the blanket over your legs, you think about what you will do when you get your babies back. Kiss them, apologize even though they won’t know what’s happening, and then beg Tim to take you home. You refuse to think about any alternative.

“Yep,” Nolan says on the other side of your door. “All clear here, too. Good luck.”

“C’mon, Tim,” you whisper.

You trust him more than anything, but right now, your fear threatens to override all of your rational thoughts.

Suddenly, a single gunshot sounds. Immediately after, you hear screams and loud promises that everything is alright and everyone is safe. You, however, refuse to believe it until you see your husband and children. Frozen in uncertainty and fear, you count your shallow breaths rather than running through possible scenarios.

Two firm knocks on your door are followed by Nolan smiling as he holds the door open. Tim steps in with both of your babies cradled in his arms and a relieved look. You release a shaky breath, then smile as tears roll over your cheeks.

“It’s over,” Angela promises as she hugs you. “We got her.”

Tim walks to the other side of your bed and carefully lowers the twins to your chest. They coo softly in their sleep, none the wiser about what they’ve been through. Holding them against you, you kiss their heads and whisper that you love them.

“Do you know what you need now?” Lucy asks.

“Get me out of here,” you beg, smiling.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she answers, leading Nolan out of the room.

“What happened?” you ask Tim.

“Do you remember Keiran Tumble?” You nod, and he places his arm around your shoulders as he continues, “He got out, mad about his arrest and losing his kids, and sent his girlfriend to make me feel some of the same pain. Or that’s the working theory.”

“It’s right,” Angela adds. “Only a criminal would be that stupid.”

"So, Nolan radioed an all-clear, got her guard down, and we went in. She shouldn't be out for a very long time."

You lay your head against Tim’s shoulder and say, “I love you.”

“Aw, I love you, too!” Angela jokes.

“If you weren’t our first choice for godmother, I’d kick you out,” Tim tells her.

“You love me.”

“Thank you,” you interject. “I’m glad you’re both here.”

“I’m going to go fill in Grey and then make sure your house is ready for an early return,” Angela says as she steps toward the door. “Need anything else?”

“You’ve done more than I can ever thank you for,” you answer. “I’ll call you later.”

“Like she won’t still be at the house when we get home,” Tim mumbles.

“Hey, I filled up your freezer with comfort food, be nice to me, Timothy.”

Alone with your babies, you smile as Tim extends his finger to your slowly waking son. You’ll never get tired of being with them, and there’s no one else you’d rather have by your side than Tim Bradford.

Tim Bradford's Princess

Part 3 of Bradford's Princess

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

Summary: Being Tim's princess is the best position you've ever held, and the last one you'll ever want. Every little thing he does proves it, even if it means tearing himself apart.

Warnings: the briefest of brief angst, fluff, domestically dominant Tim, makeout sesh, hickeys, Tim offers to ignore a Dodgers game for you

Word Count: 2.7k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

“Do you like my ring?” Lucy asks.

Tim looks away from the road just long enough to see the simple rose-colored ring on her index finger. He lifts his brows rather than replying.

“You buy any new jewelry recently?” she inquires.

“What are you doing?” he counters.

“Just making conversation.”

“Well, stop.”

“Tim,” she sighs. “We’re in a shop together all day. Give me something.”

“I did. A request for you to stop.”

“Did you propose on Valentine’s Day?”

“No,” Tim answers, more out of surprise at the sudden question than a genuine interest in discussing his personal life. “Not that it’s your business.”

“But you’re going to propose soon, right?” Lucy continues.

“Chen,” Tim says sternly. “Drop it.”

Lucy nods, murmurs something about popping a question, and turns her attention to the radio as dispatch alerts of a nearby carjacking. Tim hits the lights and sirens, attempting to rid his mind of the image of you wearing a ring he put on your finger.

“How’s whipped life treating you?” Aaron inquires as Tim exits the locker room.

Tim stops and turns toward Aaron. He sees Lucy, Nyla, Angela, and Nolan approaching. Sighing, he spreads his arms.

“What is it that you’re all so interested in knowing?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Nyla answers. “Just curious about how everything is going.”

“And that involves using quite possible the least subtle hints about engagement rings?”

“Lucy,” Angela chides.

“How’d you know it was me?” she exclaims. “Nolan could have said something!”

“I’m actually the only one here with a healthy respect for Bradford,” he interjects.

“Well?” Nyla asks, turning back toward Tim. “Are you proposing any time soon? You’re not getting any younger and clearly you’re obsessed with this girl.”

“Which I can’t blame you for,” Angela adds. “It’s nice to see you happy, and if a woman as sweet and beautiful as her wants to be with you despite the age difference, you should do everything you can to keep her close.”

“Whoa,” Aaron says while Nyla grips Angela’s arm, and Lucy’s eyes widen comically.

“You’ve met her?” Nolan questions.

“I ran into them while they were on a date, remember?” Angela replies.

“You didn’t say you met her!” Nyla argues. “Just that you bumped into Tim.”

“I want to see her!” Lucy says.

“Me too,” Aaron agrees. “Tim? You got a picture?”

“Or a free night where we could all get dinner?” Nolan suggests.

“No,” Tim responds.

“You have to give us something,” Nyla says.

“Something about what?” Wade inquires, approaching Tim’s side.

“He won’t show them a picture of the girl who has him wrapped around his finger,” Angela explains, ignoring Tim as he shoots daggers with his gaze.

“I wouldn’t show Aaron, either,” Wade murmurs.

“You’ve seen her too?” Lucy asks.

“Get out of here while you still can,” Wade whispers to Tim. “The rest of you, I’ve got a question about the call in Hancock Park.”

The quiet murmur of the television and soft, glowing candles greet Tim as he walks into his home. He smiles when he sees you on the couch. You look up when the door closes and smile brightly. Tossing your Kindle beside you, you stand on the cushion.

“I missed you,” you say, reaching for Tim’s shoulders.

“You’re going to fall one of these days,” he replies, setting a bag on the floor before he lifts his arms to hold your waist and steady you.

“You won’t let that happen.”

Tim shakes his head in silent admiration of your trust in him.

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you,” he promises.

“How was your day?”

Tim answers you, giving a brief overview of his day. His shoe bumps against the bag, and he stops talking. You always seem more excited to see him than anything he may have with him. He’s come to you with flowers, expensive makeup, concert tickets, and a dress you’d been eyeing for weeks, but you’ve always seen him. That won’t make him stop getting you gifts, though, because every little thing Tim can do for you saves a piece of him, healing from the inside out.

“I have a question,” Tim says, sliding his hands down to your hips.

“I have an answer,” you reply.

Tim waits until you lower onto the back of the couch, sitting with your arms around his shoulders. He pulls the bag up and offers it to you.

The bouquet inside has white roses and baby’s breath, and a blue ribbon circles the trimmed stems. An envelope attached to it bears your name and the Los Angeles Dodgers logo.

“They’re beautiful,” you say.

“I’ve been going to opening day at Dodgers Stadium for years,” Tim explains. His hands run along your sides and down your thighs as he speaks. “I bought tickets: two seats in my usual section. If you wanted to sit somewhere else though, we could. It’s a tradition, and I want you to come with me.”

You remain quiet, watching Tim’s face as you admire his excitement. After dating Tim for as long as you have, it’s no surprise that a moment in the baseball season could mean so much to him, but seeing the joy and anticipation in his eyes makes you happy. Tim has dealt with things you can’t imagine, yet this tradition holds a special place in his life. Now, he’s inviting you into it.

“You don’t have to go,” Tim murmurs. “I don’t even have to go. We can do something else if you want.”

You shake your head adamantly, pressing your hands against Tim’s chest. “You do have to go,” you reply. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t quiet because I don’t want to, you’re just really cute when you’re excited.”

Tim narrows his eyes at you, but you don’t let him speak.

“I’d love to go with you,” you answer. “I really appreciate you inviting me to part of your tradition.”

Tim brushes his right hand over the ends of your hair before he cups the back of your head. “You’re part of a lot more than that,” he whispers.

After he parks, Tim hurries around the front of his truck to open your door. His gentlemanly actions and princess treatment of you are nothing new, but you still smile and thank him softly. Tim’s fingers slot comfortably between yours as he leads you into the stadium and to your seats. His preferred section has a great view, and as you sit beside Tim, you briefly wonder how you got so lucky.

“C’mere,” Tim says, tapping your shoulder where his hand rests.

You shift in your seat, and Tim carefully removes your Dodgers hat. Your hair falls onto your neck, and you frown when you realize your hair tie has broken. Tim runs his fingers on the underside of your hair as he pulls it back where it was. You feel another band tighten around it before he carefully pulls your restyled hair through the back of your hat.

“There you go,” he says.

You raise one hand to check it, then smile and take Tim’s hand. “Thank you.”

Tim shakes his head as if it’s no big deal that he just fixed your hair in a stadium full of people. Then, you realize that the black band he wears on his left wrist is gone. He’s offered you hair ties, bobby pins, and lip gloss, but it usually comes from his truck. The fact that Tim carries things you may need is just another in the long list of reasons you love him, and can clearly see he feels the same.

When the game begins, you flip your joined hands so that Tim can stand and cheer as he desires. He pulls your hand off the stadium seat and into his lap, and you realize within a few minutes that you stand with him more often than not. Although Tim treats tonight like a date, it’s his tradition, and you want him to enjoy the night and the game.

“You need anything?” Tim asks after cheering for a good pitch.

Shaking your head, you answer, “We’re here for the World Champs, remember?”

“I think they’d understand,” he replies.

Tim kisses your forehead and takes your hand in his again.

You look up at the blue and white fireworks in awe. Tim wraps his arm around your shoulders, and you lean against him as the night continues.

“You want a picture?” he asks.

You turn toward him, and he gestures to the field, where a large photo of the team is projected as they celebrate their win. Nodding, you open the camera app on your phone and try to get a good angle. Tim removes his arm from your shoulders, bends slightly to circle your hips, and lifts you onto his shoulder. He holds your outfit in place with his free hand as you take the perfect photo. When you’re back on the ground, you put your phone away and smile at Tim.

“Thank you,” you say.

“Any time,” he promises.

When you’re back home, changed out of your jerseys, and preparing to go to bed, Tim traces his finger along your collarbone and then spreads his fingers gently over your throat.

“Thank you for tonight,” he murmurs. “For being part of my life.”

“Thank you for letting me,” you reply. “There’s nothing in this world I want more.”

Tim uses his hand, still on your neck, to turn your jaw toward him before he kisses you. As the city continues to celebrate the opening night win, you have much more to celebrate and be thankful for.

The day after opening night, the Dodgers are playing again. This game is different, however, because it’s also the night of the World Series Ring Ceremony. You run your finger along a page while Tim watches the television, pursing your lips as you attempt to understand what you’re reading.

“Do you want help?” Tim asks.

You look up, smile, and shake your head. He nods, then looks back to the TV as he pets Kojo.

“Which color should I use?” you ask.

“Do you have white?” he inquires, leaning to the side to look at the supplies you’ve spread across the table.

“Yes,” you answer. “This one: Marshmallow.”

“I like it.”

The game comes back on, and you thank Tim for his input as you prepare to do the next step. Tim ordered you a nail art kit after you mentioned one in passing, but he found one that was bigger and better. Now, as you spend time together while enjoying different things, you wonder why you didn’t start doing your nails yourself months ago. When Tim’s hands wander to your shoulders, and his warm palms run along your exposed upper back, you decide that no salon will ever compete with this.

“It’s too much,” you say, pouting.

“It’s not,” Tim replies. “You’re the one that said it was the best flavor.”

You stare at the family-sized cheesecake. It is the best flavor the bakery has, but you expected Tim to buy one slice for you to share, two if he thought it looked really good. Not an entire cheesecake.

“How much does that weigh?” you ask.

“Fourteen pounds.”

“Tim!”

Tim chuckles as he lifts the lid. “We don’t have to eat it all tonight. Want your own piece?”

You shake your head vehemently, ignoring Tim’s continued laughter. When you accept a fork and taste the cheesecake, your protests are forgotten.

“Maybe you should’ve gotten two,” you say after offering Tim the last bite.

“Wesley mentioned a dessert tour a while back,” Tim replies. “Would you want to do that sometime?”

“Yeah, that sounds fun.”

You watch Tim’s back as he puts the rest of the cheesecake in the fridge. He dressed up for your date tonight, and you’re convinced he gets more attractive every day. When he turns back to you with his brows raised, you blink to refocus.

“Did you ask me something?” you inquire.

“If you’re free Friday,” Tim answers, looking as if he’s hiding a smile and aware that you are staring at him rather than listening.

“I’ll have to check my calendar,” you muse with a sigh.

Tim returns to your side and agrees, “Of course. Have your people let me know.”

Smiling, you tug the bottom of Tim’s shirt. “You are my people.”

“Oh. Should be a short phone call then.”

Tim takes your hand and pulls you toward the couch. Kojo is asleep in his bed, and you laugh as you collapse onto the cushions.

“You look beautiful,” Tim compliments.

“You look handsome,” you reply.

Tim kisses you quickly, then immediately leans in for another longer kiss. He holds your jaw carefully, sliding his fingers into your hair.

“Stunning,” he says, moving to kiss your jaw.

“That’s all you,” you breathe.

“Perfect,” he continues, kissing toward your ear.

“Tim,” you whisper, holding his shoulders.

He pulls back enough to look into your eyes, and you smile. As you shift to place your leg over his, you kiss Tim again. He lowers his hands from your face to your waist. When your hands slide down his chest and dip under the hem of his shirt, Tim pulls you closer. His left hand returns to your jaw, his thumb running reverently beneath your cheekbone. You push your hands up his torso until you reach his bare chest. Tim deepens the kiss as you roam, attempting to memorize Tim’s skin through touch alone.

Every kiss with you is memorable, but moments like this, makeout sessions that simply happen and don’t have to lead to anything more, hold a power that Tim will never be able to describe. Your hands on him, your acceptance of his scars – both seen and invisible, and the way you want to be as close as physically possible make Tim fall even deeper in love with you. Tim is your everything, and when you lose yourself in moments like this, being held by the man you love as if he never wants to let you go, everything else fades. You’d spend an eternity in this moment, and that’s part of how you know that Tim Bradford is the one. He’s your forever.

It's unusual for Tim to be home before the sun sets. Today, his shift was changed at the last minute. He was called to the station before 3 a.m. and now has the entire afternoon to spend with you. The early start was worth it, he thinks. Your homemade dinner bakes in the oven as Tim enjoys quality time with you.

“So,” you begin, sitting on the counter. “Last time we made out in here was after your friends called you whipped.”

“Yeah,” he replies, not taking his attention away from his current task.

“Have they said anymore about your treatment of me?”

Tim’s hands tighten around your waist as he stops what he’s doing long enough to say, “My relationships are none of their business.”

You hum, running your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck. “But you have relationships with them too… If you’re ashamed of me, just say so,” you joke.

Tim hums against your collarbone. He’d pulled you into a kiss the moment he came through the door, but after you prepared dinner, Tim opted to let you relax while he did the heavy lifting. Hence, the new hickeys. And the work in progress, which Tim reminds you of by running his teeth over the sensitive skin just beneath your collarbone.

“I don’t need to match the bruises you get at work, you know.”

Tim separates himself from your skin and replies, “And you don’t need to meet the people who think I treat you better than them.”

You move your hands to Tim’s shoulders, encouraging him to meet your eyes. He sighs as he straightens to look into your eyes.

“I understand the separation,” you begin. “But don’t split yourself into two sides to the point that it hurts. If there’s not room for me and everyone else you care about-”

“Stop,” Tim interrupts softly. “I’ll introduce you when the time is right. I promise.”

You nod, accepting his promise and trusting that he’ll do what’s right. He drops his chin and kisses your jaw. When his second kiss lands open-mouthed, you laugh and pull him up for an actual kiss. He runs his fingers over the darkening mark on your collarbone as his hands rise slowly toward your hair, and you decide that being Bradford’s princess is the best position you could ever hold and the only one you want for the rest of your life.

Sliver Spoons & Plastic Tubes

Posted:02/06/24

Title: Sliver Spoons & Plastic Tubes

Felix Catton x GN Disabled Reader

Summary: Felix learns that the new student he has a crush on is disabled.

[Reader uses a feeding tube due to a damaged esophagus and using a wheelchair because of scoliosis]

Author's note:

Word count: 2,947

Saltburn Story List/ Master List/ Requests Here

Warnings: language

🔞18+ page due to dark and adult themes. Minors will be blocked 🔞

"Make sure you write this down. This will be on your finals." The professor says while aggressively writing on the board. As quiet as you tried to be your desperate attempt to control your breath exposed you. " Mx L/n you're late... again." Your grumpy elderly Professor says without turning from the board. In heavy breaths, you try to form words. "Ran across campus... back pain -" She cuts you off and harshly whips around. "You are not more special than the rest of us, Mx l/n. We all have to get around campus in a short amount of time. So figure it out." You nodded, embarrassed, and found a random seat as she began speaking in the lecture once more. "I wouldn't take it personally. She is a bit of a bitch to all of us." A smooth voice says in a hushed tone as you pull your notes from your bag. "Pardon?" You turn to see the handsome brunette sitting next to you. Often, he would sit a few seats away, but this is the first time you can recall that he was directly next to you. "I said I wouldn't take it personally." You nodded. "Wasn't planning on it." His smile was sweet and honest. "I'm... I'm um Felix." He holds out his hand under the desk. Shaking it, you introduce yourself, only making his smile widen. "Y/n l/n..." Your name rolls from his lips. "I'm glad to finally put a name to that pretty face." He whispered with a wink. A soft, playful scoff failed to cover your fustiness. "I have to focus on the lesson." You say, turning away.

The class was over, and for the last time of the day, you'd have to run a marathon to get across campus in ten minutes for your last class of the day. Rushing out the classroom door, you begin to speedwalk. Running wasn't an option because of your spine. "Y/n! Wait up!" Felix calls from over the crowd. "Can't! Late!" All your energy was going into moving your feet as you dragged your wheeling backpack across the rough stone paths. "That's fine. I just thought I could give you a copy of my notes since you were late to class." His long legs kept up with your slow speedwalking with ease. "It was only 8 minutes. I'll be fine." The pain of your twisted spine forces you to keep your head as you walk. This kind of walking was taking everything in you. "Oh yeah, right..." He replies, almost disappointed. "Oh!" Felix exclaims as if a light bulb went off. "My friend is throwing a party tonight, and I think you should -" Frustrated by having to waste stamina on a pointless conversation, you abruptly cut him off. "I'm good." Taken back, he tries again. "A-are you sure? It'll be a lot of fun." The idea of fucking up your already messed up body with cheaply homemade alcohol, not being able to eat any of the finger food/ pizza, and being unable to fully dance with others was not what you had in mind for fun. "No." One word said with edgy cut Felix deep. "R-right. Yeah. No. I get it. Maybe some other time." He stops walking and watches you do your best to speed off believing you were trying to get away from him. Felix watches you wheel your bag away and wonders if he's offended you.

The embarrassment of watching you during class for the first half of the semester and then fucking up his first conversation with you took a toll on his mind. Convinced he offended you, Felix begins to be over-completed with suffocating kindness. "Y/n!" He whispered shouts as you here in late again. Only by 5 minutes, he noted. Felix pats the seat he saved you watching you scrabble to sit down. "You look great today." You fish for your notes, not fully hearing him. "Uh? What? Oh, um, thank you." You respond still not hearing him. Felix frowns, realizing you aren't paying attention. Day after day, you gave him the cold shoulder. There is never much knowledge of his presence in class and always rejecting his offers to hang out at the pub or a party. Until poor crushing, Felix saw the chance to finally get to know outside of class. Partner assignments. "So there's no fighting over who's with who's you'll all be working whoever you're currently sitting next to." The class mixes with grunts and cheers. "Looks like it's me and you," Felix says when the professor informs pairs to start conceptualizing. "Yeah. Do you want to go ahead and exchange phone numbers?" His phone warms. "You want my number?" Felix asks with a cheeky smile. Confused, you nodded. "Yeah? So we can meet up for homework." Mentally smacking himself, you trade phones to make contacts.

Felix wasn't sure why, but you'd asked to meet at a public library off campus. There were plenty of places to work and study on campus, so why go out of the way? Whatever the reason, it's what you said would be most comfortable for you, at least for your first meet-up. Felix wasn't going to complain he was just excited he was finally getting to hang out with you. "Felix!" He hears you whisper and shout. Looking up, he sees you in a wheelchair and his heart drops. He's quick to stand. "Holy shit! what happened? Are you okay?" You chuckle at his panic. "I'm fine. I just use a wheelchair to get around sometimes." Tilting his head like a dog showed his confusion as he watched you stand and park the wheelchair next to the study booth. "Why?" He asks. "Because my scoliosis makes it painful to walk long distances... and sometimes short distances." Being inquisitive, Felix's questions just keep coming. "Why don't you use it to get around campus?" You chuckle at the frustrating memories. "Because the school rather care about the well-being of the old bricks and stones of Oxford than the well-being of their students, so they refuse to make it wheelchair accessible." Felix nods along, understanding that. "Is that why you're always late?" You nodded. "Also why I never want to go to parties. I can't exactly dance my heart out." The handsome brunette frowns. "I-I'm sorry I didn't realize..." You hold up a hand stopping him. "It's fine. Really. You didn't know. I wouldn't have expected you to." Even then, he still felt bad, but then it hit him. You haven't been cold or dismissive of him. You've just been struggling with pain.

Felix takes your hand in his. "If there's anything I can do. Anything at all. Please tell me." He smiles sincerely. You blush as his thumb starts to brush against your skin. "Oh, um, okay. I will..." There's a moment of silence as you both stare at your hands. "Then I guess you should also know that I can't eat food either..." Meeting your eyes, he waits for you to continue. "I can't swallow solid food because a part of my esophagus is damaged. So I eat through this feeding tube." You pulled your hands away to lift your shirt, revealing the g-tube. Felix moved to sit next to you, getting a closer look. "Damn..." He whispered to himself. "Can I touch it?" You blushed. "Um sure, I guess..." Slowly, his huge hand reached for your tube. Two fingers touch the top and bottom. "Does this hurt?" He whispered. You shake your feelings a little too shy to speak. "Wow... that's fascinating." And he meant it. As you got together more often closer, you became. Felix is constantly asking if you're doing okay and bringing you smoothies.

"The hell is a g-tube?" Farleigh asked. "It's this cute little thing that sticks out of their stomach. It's how they eat." Felix explains. "Anyway, y/n said they have it because they can't eat solid food." Farleigh chuckles. "What? What do you mean they can't eat solid food? That sounds like bullshit. Not gonna lie." Felix clenched his jaw. "It's not bullshit, dude. They didn't tell me why, but they said their esophagus is damaged, and that's why they can't eat." Farleigh rolls his eyes. "Yeah, and they use a wheelchair but only off-campus. Isn't that convenient?" He takes a puff of his cigarette as Felix starts to get mad. "What the hell is wrong with you, Farleigh? These are serious issues." Again, Farleigh rolls his eyes. "They just sound a little fake to me, is all." Farleigh never even meets, but he's also never met someone with disabilities like yours. Why wouldn't his judgmental attitude get in the way of his compassion? Pissed off Felix storms out of the pub, not wanting to scream at his cousin.

☆

"Come to Saltburn..." Your new best friend offers. "What?" You asked, surprised. "Come home with me for the summer. Come to Saltburn." His eyes were big and innocent like the puppy he was. "I-I don't know Felix. My disabilities-" He cuts you off. "It won't be a problem. I promise my home will be accessible and my cook will make you the best soups and pudding... please y/n I want to spend my summer with my best friend." You blush at the thought. "... I guess I'm not doing anything else this summer." Felix smiles. "Yes!" He cheers before hugging you tightly and kissing your forehead. "You'll love it, I promise!" You can't help but smile at his eagerness. "With you there, I will love everything~" Felix blushes but tries his best to play it off.

☆

Nervously, you take in the view of Saltburn as a footman retrieves your luggage from the escort while another footman assembles your wheelchair. "Here we are." He says, grabbing your attention. "Oh, thank you." You replied, sitting down and placing your cane in your lap. With a nod, he begins pushing you down the long gravel road leading up to the house. At the entrance was a grand door with stone stairs. However, a ramp was installed clearly for your benefit. The hash contrast of the centuries-old stone clashing with shiny metal made that abundantly clear. As you were rolled up the ramp, the doors swag open. "Welcome to Saltburn Mx L/n. Master Felix has had us working diligently for your arrival." Greets and intimating butler. "Please do come in." He instructs like there wasn't a footman pushing you. "Wow." The extravagant architecture took your breath away. You were guided into a large room with gold on the walls and old artwork hanging from it. "Y/n!" Felix cheers from the other side of the elongated room. Your smile matches his. Standing, you wait as he rushes to engulf you in a tight hug. "I missed you so much~" He kisses the top of your head. "I missed you too~" Let's go tell his scary butler to take care of your bags. "Do you want me to push you around while I give you the tour?" Shaking your head, you show him your cane. "I'll just use this for now. If that's fine." He grins," of course. Take the wheelchair with their bags." Felix compared before taking your arm like a gentleman and began guiding you around the house.

☆

After the tour, you finally got to meet the family. "To think the poor thing can't eat anything. How unfortunate and not to mention the scoliosis -" A woman says before Felix can be heard cutting her off telling her she's being rude. You knock on the halfway-open door while pushing it open. Felix's face brightens. "Hello..." You shyly wave. Seeing an older man, Farleigh, Felix, an orange-haired woman, and a blonde woman who stands to greet you. "You must be Y/n. I'm Elspeth, Felix's mother. It's so lovely to meet you. Felix was very eager to have you come stay with us - oh and you ARE stunning." She praises. "I told you." Replied Felix. His mother rolls her eyes. "Yes, well, you're kind to everyone. You can't be trusted." You blush at her forwardness. "Thank you." Pulling you to the couch, she shows off the orange-haired woman named Pamela. "You know I've never heard of a g-tube before. I was very fascinated when Felix told me about it. May I see it?" Felix immediately jumps in. "Mother!" "What?" She asks innocently. "It's rude." "Oh ignore him." You smile at Felix before turning back to his mother. "It's alright." You lift your shirt to reveal the tube in your stomach. "Wow. How adorable." That's probably the strangest reaction you've gotten to it. "It's also called a button." You inform her, which makes her awe again. "What a fitting name~" Elspeth goes on to tell you of the accommodations the house has made for your disabilities. The many ones being Wheelchair ramps installed almost everywhere and especially made liquid meals. "That's so kind of you." You praise. "Oh, it's nothing, really. Not to mention, Felix was very adamant about your house being assessable. He even wrote most of the meals for your meals." She says, sipping her champagne. You look to Felix, whose face is pink. "It's an important thing to be adamant about..."

Dinner time rolls around, and you dress in the clothes Felix kindly provided for you before nervously making your way down to join everyone. "Wow..." Felix breathes when seeing you. "You look great." He compliments hugging you. Pulling out the chair next to him, he gestures for you to sit. "Thank you.", "Of course~" The large table was filled with food and decor you couldn't begin to name. "For you, Mx y/n." A footman grabs your attention before seating a silver tray with a matching silver dome over it. He lifts it with grace to reveal a gourmet soup. The footman gave you a quick overview description of the meal that you hardly understood. "Thank you!" He nods before leaving. You were quick to try a bite with a shiny silver spoon. The mouth-watering warm soup was full of flavor. "Mhm!" You moan at the taste, causing Felix to chuckle. "I take it you like it?", "Are you kidding?! This is the most delicious thing I've ever tasted!" Felix almost forgot about his food due to watching you devouring and praising the soup. One of the many things he'd picked out for you.

The summer is filled with newness. New food, new state-of-the-art electric wheelchairs, new people, and luxuries. Of course, your best friend Felix was at the center of all of this. Showering you in affection. For the first time in your life, you could see your value in someone's eyes. When he looked at you, you weren't a sick kid or a fragile patient. You were his equal, and that radiates through his actions.

Today, he wakes you up in the middle of the night to have root beers floating on the roof of his mansion. The stars were clear due to being so far from the cities and towns. A few garden lights here and there created their star-like lights down below, giving the view a high-heaven feeling. As if you were high up in another world looking down to earth. The root beer floats enhanced the moment with sweet coolness and cheap sparks.

"You know..." He starts. "You could have this forever if you wanted..." You frowned in confusion. "I don't think drinking root beer floats forever is a good idea." He laughs, shaking his head. "No, love. I mean... this." He gestures to his over-the-top home. "The luxury of saltburn... you could eat gourmet soup every day and have people wait on you. You could even have a home doctor if that's what you want or the best-trained service dog..." This feels random. "Felix... where is this coming from?" He sighs. "I... I love you so much, y/n, and I know this is bonkers, but... I wanna marry you." Your jaw drops thinking this has to be a joke. "It doesn't have to be anytime soon, but I want to call you mine someday and share my life with you." He pauses to gauge your reaction. Frozen, you almost spill your drink. "Wow, Felix..." He becomes shy, embarrassed by the confession. "I know it's crazy. I just... I just need you to know that." You blink trying to come back to the moment. "Well... haha... I uh... I'm flattered." The young man looks at understanding. "I don't know about marriage, but... a date sounds nice." His eyes light up. "Really?" The question comes out with a squeak of excitement. You nodded. "Holy shit." Exhaling a breath, the weight of the world disappeared. Felix pulls you into a strong hug, scared to let go. "Fuck. Really? Are you sure? You don't have to say yes just to spare me." You giggle. "Yeah, I'm sure." In a blink, Felix pulls you into a passionate kiss before quickly pulling back. "Shit, sorry. I should've asked.", "you can kiss me when you want, baby -" He blushed and cut you off with a deeper kiss. The natural puffiness of his lips tastes like sweet vanilla ice cream and cheap soap. "I can't wait to take you out, doll.", "I'm glad I know a good place to eat." He kisses your forehead. "Come on, love, let's go get to bed.", "Only if it's the same bed~," you flirt with a wink. An innocent bashfulness causes him to turn pink in the moonlight. "Your wish is my command~" He kisses you before hands, and you both almost empty cups and waits for you to sit in your wheelchair before pushing you along, back to your new home.

Divorcing Dad

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader (they're parents!)

Summary: When your daughter asks Tim if he's getting a divorce, he doesn't know what to say. In the aftermath of the question, you have to comfort both Bradfords.

Warnings: mentions of divorce obv, fluff, crying, comfort, I changed the spelling of Capt. Andersen's last name for Tim's daughter

Word Count: 1.5k+ words (this was supposed to be a blurb lol)

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Tim’s favorite day of the week is Friday. Not because it marks the end of a week or is the mostly agreed upon best day of the week, but because it’s the day that he gets off work early and gets to pick up your daughter from school. Since his promotion to Sergeant, Tim began leaving early one day a week to spend extra time with his daughter, who has him wrapped around his finger. She’s been a daddy’s girl since you gave birth. Still, whenever you see your favorite Bradfords together, you become more convinced that Tim Bradford didn’t truly understand love until he cradled you and your beautiful daughter in his arms. Although, you’re a bit jealous that she is Tim's spitting image. At least he’s gorgeous, you remind yourself often.

“Munchkin!” your daughter, Anderson, named for Tim’s late captain, yells as she exits her classroom.

Tim shakes his head as he pulls her into his arms and against his chest. A few weeks ago, she overheard you call Tim Munchkin while teasing him about playing princess dress-up, and she’s picked it up as well. Rather than remind her that he’s Dad, not Munchkin, Tim moves his hand to her side and tickles beneath her backpack strap.

“Dad, dad, stop!” she yells through her giggles.

Tim relents, smiling as he waves to her teacher and turns toward the parking area. As he walks, he listens to Anderson talk about her day. When she hesitates before talking about what she and her friend Marcie did at recess, Tim fights the urge to get protective.

“Did you play any games?” Tim asks as he places her in the booster seat.

“We played fairies!” she answers, perking up again to explain what her fairy looks like.

Tim nods along, but his mind drifts back to her sudden pause. He’ll wait for her to bring it up, he decides… or for you to get home.

“What do you want for dinner, my little fairy?” Tim asks as he looks in the pantry.

“Are you getting divorced?” Anderson asks, her voice soft behind him.

Tim freezes with his hand on a container of flour. He has no idea where she came up with the idea; he’s never said it, which means she must have heard it at school. Or, worse, he thinks suddenly, from you. Shocked, with his mind racing, Tim doesn’t realize that his silence has misled Anderson. When she begins crying, Tim turns quickly. He shakes his head, confused and desperate to know if you mentioned divorce around her, which only makes it worse. Anderson’s cries turn to sobs, so Tim lowers to his knees and pulls her close. She clings to his neck, crying against his shirt, and he can only rub her back.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s alright,” Tim whispers.

Anderson hiccups and shakes her head. “No!” she wails through her cries.

Tim shifts back, leaning against the cabinets as he pulls his knees up to hold Anderson as tightly as possible. Anderson needs time to calm down, so nothing Tim says now will help. Convinced that he can’t help his daughter, Tim is forced to return to the question of where she came up with the idea that you were getting divorced.

“We love you, Anderson,” Tim promises.

You stretch your neck to the side as you exit your car. As you walk toward your front door, you smile because it’s Friday. So, Tim and Anderson are already home, likely making dinner and messing up your kitchen. It’s the most family time you get all week, even with Tim’s new Sergeant schedule. The door is closed and locked, which is unusual. Usually, you’re greeted by Tim, your daughter, or both. Shrugging, you fish your keys out of your bag and let yourself into the house. Rather than the television, music, or laughing, you’re greeted by your daughter crying and Tim whispering. Rushing toward the kitchen, you stop when you see Tim sitting on the floor with a visibly distraught Anderson curled against his chest.

“What happened?” you ask softly, stepping toward them carefully.

At the sound of your voice, Anderson begins crying harder, harsh, hiccupping sounds before she pants for air.

“Tim?” you inquire.

Anderson takes several short breaths as she stands and maneuvers out of Tim’s lap. When she reaches you, she wraps her arms around your legs and presses her face against you. You place your hands over her hair and look at Tim, wide-eyed as he stands and wipes his cheeks.

“She, uh, she asked if we were getting divorced,” he explains quietly.

“What did you say?” you ask, slightly more accusatory than intended.

“Nothing. She- I don’t know where she even heard about it!”

“Anderson,” you coo, carefully bending to smile at her. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re divorcing Dad,” she whispers, heartbroken.

You shake your head and take her hands in yours. “No, I’m not, sweetheart.” You lean closer, conspiratorial as you add, “He’s stuck with me.”

“You’re not?” Tim asks.

Your brows furrow as you look up at him. He shrugs, and you realize he thinks Anderson heard you talking about it.

“Anderson, where’d you hear about divorce?” you inquire.

“Marcie,” she answers shyly, attempting to drop her head against your side again. “She said her mom or dad aren’t living with her anymore.”

“Alright,” you murmur as you pull Anderson into your arms and stand. Looking at Tim, you smile and request, “Order us pizza and then meet us in the living room?”

“Sure,” Tim agrees. He toys with his wedding ring while on the phone with your favorite pizza place. Though his worries have lessened since you returned, especially after hearing that someone at school introduced the topic to his daughter, Tim is still eager to hear everything. “Twenty minutes,” he tells you as he lowers onto the couch beside you.

You offer your hand behind Anderson, and Tim happily takes it in his. As you begin speaking, he notices that your wedding ring is on Anderson’s finger.

“Anderson, your dad and I aren’t getting divorced, okay? We love each other so much, but we love you even more,” you explain. “Marcie’s parents will always love her too, even if they don’t live together.”

Anderson nods and leans against Tim’s side. She’s not old enough to hear about his previous divorce from Isabel, but he knows that he needs to acknowledge the topic, the same as you.

“Yeah, Munchkin,” he teases. “We love you so much that we’re never letting you go. You’ll be with us like a baby kangaroo in a pouch.”

Anderson laughs, then, as kids tend to do, she changes the subject. “Can I draw a picture?” she asks.

“Of course,” you answer. “Grab your color case and come back, I want to watch.”

“Okay, Mommy!” she cheers as she slides off the couch, leaving your ring on Tim’s thigh.

Tim watches her with a smile, then picks up your ring and turns to you. “Sorry I freaked her out.”

“You didn’t look too good yourself, there, Sergeant,” you reply.

Tim rolls his eyes and raises your left hand to put your ring in its rightful and permanent place.

“I mean, after all this time, you should know that I’m never letting you go. Marrying an Abercrombie model-level-hot cop is a once in a lifetime thing,” you tease, leaning toward him.

“Is that how it is?” Tim challenges.

“You’re right. You are the lucky one, I’m a catch.”

Tim’s eyes soften as he takes your hand and murmurs, “Yes, you are.”

“You want cuddles tonight don’t you?”

“I just spent an hour in the kitchen floor worried that you were divorcing me, what do you think?”

“Mom!” Anderson calls as she returns with her drawing items. “Can I draw us at the beach?”

“At the beach?” you repeat excitedly. “Absolutely.”

“I love you,” Tim says.

“I love you,” you reply – promise.

“Me too,” Anderson agrees before deliberating between blue and gray for the clouds.

Bonus:

“Wait, wait, Anderson asked if you were getting a divorce, and your mind immediately went to my wife is leaving me without telling me? The woman who treats you far better than you deserve and kind of settled for you?” Angela asks.

“The insults felt a bit unnecessary, but, yeah,” Tim answers. “What else was I supposed to think?”

“She’s six, Tim, kids her age have no filter. If someone in her class hears a word, she’s going to hear it,” Wesley points out.

Tim tips his head back and groans.

“I’m with Wesley on this one,” Nyla chimes in. “You should’ve asked instead of freezing, which to most kids sounds like, yep.”

“I’m still stuck on the fact that you could even think she’d leave you,” Lucy muses. “She loves you, like, a concerning amount.”

“Never took you for the insecure type, Bradford,” Nolan adds.

“It’s not insecurity,” Wade interjects. “Not wanting to lose the love of your life is a whole ‘nother thing.”

“Dad!” Anderson yells as she runs toward the table.

“Sorry,” you apologize, approaching behind her.

“Yeah, clearly, she wants to divorce you,” Angela tells Tim.

“Well,” you begin, wrapping your arm around Tim’s shoulders as you stand beside his seat. “I guess we’ve just got this marriage thing figured out more than Marcie’s parents.”

Tim smiles at you, and you barely catch Angela exclaim, “Marcie’s mom from PTA? That witch had more than a divorce coming.”

Stay here.

Tim Bradford x Rookie!Reader [PLATONIC] — ONGOING SERIES: Like Father, Like Rookie.

Summary: After responding to a particularly gut-wrenching call, you find yourself struggling to shake it off. Tim doesn’t do hand holding or pep talks, but the way he subtly keeps you grounded reminds you that maybe he does care—just in his own way.

Warnings: Reader & Tim take a domestic call gone wrong, mentions of blood, derealisation.

You weren’t sure why this one stuck with you.

You’d seen worse. At least, that’s what you told yourself. You’d handled chaotic crime scenes, violent arrests, situations where adrenaline took over and left no room for emotions to settle in. But tonight—tonight was different.

It was a domestic call gone bad. The kind that started with a 911 hang-up and ended with shattered glass, blood on the floor, and a kid too young to understand what had happened but old enough to know it wasn’t right. You did everything by the book. Secured the scene. Called for medics. Reassured the child the best you could, even when their small hands clung to your uniform like a lifeline. You did your job. And then you left.

That should’ve been the end of it.

But one thing couldn’t get out of your head — Your uniform was awfully stained.

The blood wasn’t yours, but it didn’t matter. It had splattered across your sleeves when you helped the woman up from the floor, smudged onto your hands when you picked up the crying kid. You hadn’t noticed it at first—too busy, too locked into protocol. But now, sitting in the shop under the dim glow of the streetlights, it was all you could see.

You rubbed your palms together, as if you could scrub the feeling away, but the red didn’t disappear. It had already dried, darkened into something rust coloured and permanent. Your breathing slowed, the noise of the city fading into a dull hum as a strange weight settled in your chest.

You didn’t even realize you were staring at your hands until Tim spoke.

“Hey.”

The sharpness in his voice cut through the haze. You blinked, finally looking up, and he was already watching you—brows drawn, head tilted just slightly. You hadn’t even noticed that the shop had pulled over to the side of the road.

“You’re here,” Tim said evenly, like he was reminding you of something obvious. “Stay here.”

You exhaled, shaking your head as if that could clear the static in your brain. With stiff movements, you reached for a napkin in the center console, scrubbing at your hands even though it wouldn’t do much good. Tim let you, didn’t say a word until your hands stopped shaking.

Then, after a long beat, he reached behind his seat and tossed you a fresh department hoodie.

“Put that on,” he muttered, turning his attention back to the road.

You hesitated, then pulled it over your uniform without question. The fabric was warm, heavy, grounding.

You weren’t sure if it actually helped, but somehow, you didn’t feel so lost anymore.

You pulled the hoodie over your uniform, the scent of worn fabric and faint cologne settling around you. It was grounding in a way you didn’t expect. But then, Tim reached over and—

His thumb swiped against your cheek.

You stiffened slightly, not because of the touch, but because of what he was wiping away.

Blood.

You hadn’t even realized it was on your face too.

Tim’s movements were calm, methodical. He pulled another napkin from the glove compartment, wetting it with his water bottle before dabbing at the smudges across your jawline. His touch was firm but not rough, like he knew you needed something tangible to focus on.

“You’re doing fine, kid,” he said, voice low, steady. “Stay with me.”

You nodded slowly, still silent, but compliant. Your breathing was shallow, but you matched the rhythm of his movements—each slow pass of the napkin against your skin, each flick of his eyes scanning for anything he missed.

When he was done, he studied you for a moment. His usual sharp, assessing gaze softened just slightly, like he was trying to gauge if you were still floating somewhere outside yourself.

“Talk to me,” he finally said.

Your lips parted, but no words came out at first. You swallowed, forcing out something—anything.

“I didn’t even feel it,” you admitted. “Didn’t notice the blood was there.”

Tim nodded, like that answer made sense. “That’s because you were running on instinct.” He tossed the used napkin into a small trash bag near the console. “It’s not a bad thing. It means you did your job.”

You let out a slow breath, feeling the weight in your chest shift—still heavy, but not suffocating.

Tim didn’t push for more. Instead, he rested his arm against the center console, glancing at you like he was about to say something but changed his mind. Then, after a beat—

“Let’s get some coffee.”

The abruptness of it almost made you laugh. Almost. But the offer was exactly what you needed—something normal, something routine, something that wasn’t blood and sirens and silence pressing in too hard.

You nodded, finally meeting his eyes. “Yeah. Coffee sounds good.”

Tim hummed in approval and put the shop in drive.

The coffee shop stayed quiet between you and Tim for a while, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Just… steady. Like the weight of the last call wasn’t pressing as hard anymore. Like you could actually breathe again.

Your coffee was still too hot to drink properly, but you held onto it anyway, fingers gripping the cup like it was some kind of lifeline. Tim didn’t comment on it. He just sat across from you, sipping his own, gaze flicking out the window every now and then, like he was still half on duty even while sitting down.

You let the silence sit a little longer before finally speaking. “So… you’ve done this before.”

Tim glanced back at you. “What?”

“This whole ‘walking someone out of a breakdown’ thing,” you said, raising a brow. “You’re kinda suspiciously good at it.”

Tim scoffed. “It’s not a breakdown.”

You gave him a look. “It was getting there.”

His jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I’ve done it before.”

You nodded, waiting.

For a second, you thought he wouldn’t say anything else. But then, his fingers tapped lightly against the side of his coffee cup, and he spoke again.

“I had a T.O who did the same thing for me,” he said, voice lower now. “When I was a rookie, fresh out of the military. Thought I could handle anything.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “Turns out, I was wrong.”

You blinked. Tim didn’t talk about himself much, and when he did, it was usually wrapped in sarcasm or some kind of tough-love lesson. But this—this was different.

“What happened?” you asked carefully.

Tim exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “Bad call. Domestic. Ended ugly.” His fingers flexed once against the cup before stilling. “My T.O. knew I was barely keeping it together after. Took me out for coffee, let me sit with it. Didn’t push, didn’t lecture—just reminded me that it wasn’t my job to carry it forever.”

You swallowed, watching him.

Tim glanced at you then, eyes sharp and knowing. “That’s what I’m doing for you.”

You shifted in your seat, suddenly feeling like he could see straight through you. “I’m fine,” you muttered, though even you weren’t convinced.

Tim’s brow lifted. “Sure. That’s why you haven’t taken a sip of that coffee yet.”

You scowled at him but finally lifted the cup and took a hesitant sip, more out of stubbornness than anything else. It was still too hot, and you made a face, setting it back down.

Tim smirked. “There. Progress.”

You rolled your eyes but felt the tightness in your chest ease just a little.

After a moment, Tim leaned back, stretching his shoulders. “You don’t get used to it, you know,” he said, voice softer. “The blood. The way people look at you when they realize you can’t fix everything. You just learn how to live with it.”

You nodded slowly. “And coffee helps?”

Tim shrugged, smirking slightly. “Doesn’t hurt.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, finally taking another sip of your drink. This time, you didn’t grimace.

The weight of the last call still lingered, but it wasn’t crushing you anymore. You weren’t fully back yet, but you were getting there.

And Tim—without making a big deal out of it—was making sure you didn’t have to get there alone.