#Nolan's Visit

[ask-kado-thorne]

*slams his fist on the reception desk* You can't kick me out because "I don't have a reservation". Do you know who am I? Do you have any idea?! I know the owner of this resort! And you'll get fired!!

-@ask-kado-thorne

I'm sorry... Who is this? I think you meant to tag your blog and not mine, dear.

And I don't intend on firing myself, so let's see how your complaint goes.

[crismakesstuff]

the house looks so different now it’s so pretty but I can’t help but think

the house is covered now in the colors of nolan’s omniman costume with the pale greyish-blue and red tones. i have never seen a character haunt the narrative as much as that man

[unnecessarilygrandiose]

the titular rookie in the show the rookie is not lucy chen???!!?!??

[dialdrunk]

might start journaling down oc thoughts idk

[lavidajesse]

[fluentmoviequoter]

It's Not About You

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: When Tim overhears his fellow police officers and your other neighbors flirting with you, he gets jealous, and takes it out on you.

Warnings: jealous!Tim (he's hot), brief angst, fluff at the end

Word Count: 2.1k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

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

Over the last few years of impromptu visits to the Mid-Wilshire LAPD station, you’ve gotten to know most of the front desk staff. They know you too, and you’re often wordlessly handed a visitor’s badge and wished good luck. You’ve heard the stories about the man you come to visit: how intense and grumpy he can be, but you’ve never seen that side of him for yourself.

Today, two people sit at the front desk, and you’ve never seen either before. Moving into one line, you wait until you reach the desk. You smile as you look at his name tag and are surprised to realize that you have heard his name.

“How can I help you today?” he asks, clearly displeased with his current position and forcing his smile.

“Officer Nolan, I am here to visit Officer Bradford,” you answer.

“Bradford,” Nolan repeats. “Tim Bradford?”

“That’s the one. I just need to drop something off and ask him a quick question.”

“Oh, sure,” Nolan replies. “Just fill this out for me and I’ll get you a badge.”

You nod, stepping to the side as you fill out the paperwork you haven’t seen since your first visit. Knowing that Nolan is new, though, and seeing just how busy the station is, you decide to do as he asks rather than argue with him.

“So, do you know Officer Bradford?” Nolan asks.

“I do. I’m his neighbor,” you answer.

“Ah, I see. I’m surprised someone as nice as you would intentionally visit him.”

“What does that mean?” you ask, furrowing your brows as you pass the clipboard back to him.

“Nothing, just- Hang on, I’m out of badges. Jackson, do you have visitors’ badges over there?”

“Uh, yeah,” the man beside him, Jackson apparently, answers.

“She’s here to visit Bradford,” Nolan explains.

“On purpose?” Jackson asks.

“That’s what I said!”

“Why is that so surprising?” you ask, smiling.

“He’s just… grumpy, and you seem so kind and fun to be around,” Nolan replies.

“You think I’d be fun to be around?”

“I- I mean, yeah. So envisioning you and Bradford talking to each other is just weird.”

“And concerning,” Jackson adds. “Have you been tested for any cognitive issues?”

“That’s not cognitive-related, you’re just questioning if I’m a good judge of character,” you argue.

“What’s your impression of me?” Nolan inquires. “Just to make sure you’re okay.”

“Well,” you begin, tapping the desk as you think.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim looks down at his watch before glancing at the door. You should be here by now; your text said ten minutes, and it’s been twice that. Tim abandons the conversation he’s been ignoring and walks to the door behind the desk. He hears you say why you’re there, but when Nolan starts talking to you about how different you are from Tim and then dips into what sounds like flirting, Tim's jaw tightens as he listens.

“As much fun as this has been,” you say with a chuckle, “I’m really late, and-“

“Bradford hates that. Trust me, I know,” Nolan interjects. “Do you know where you’re going?”

“I do. Thank you, Officer Nolan.”

“John.”

Tim watches you smile as you use Nolan’s first name, and his nostrils flare. Usually, he can recognize his own emotions (and he’d admit - to you, at least - that he doesn’t have much emotional range). Right now, he can’t place the feelings he’s experiencing watching you and Nolan.

“Uh, Tim?” you ask, stepping through the door to go to the bullpen.

“Hey,” Tim replies, turning quickly. He picks up a folder and adds, “Everything okay? Took you longer than usual.”

You look at the folder in his hand and answer, “Yeah. My favorite cop wasn’t at the front desk so I actually had to go through the whole visitor thing.”

“I’m not your favorite cop?” Tim asks.

“Depends on the day,” you reply, smiling as he steps beside you.

Tim doesn’t answer, and when you look over at him, you’re surprised to see him looking straight ahead, bending the folder with a tight grip. You stop, placing a hand on his forearm.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

“Never been better,” Tim answers. “Why’d you stop by?”

“Oh. I wanted to let you know that Kojo is at my house, but also have a question.”

“Then ask.”

You bristle slightly at Tim’s disinterested tone, but you know his job is tough, and he’s probably had a long day.

“Do you-“

“Bradford!” someone calls. “Let’s go!”

Tim looks toward you, and you say, “Go ahead. My question can wait. Have a good day, Tim.”

“You too,” he mutters.

Tim takes the time to watch you leave, despite his seeming indifference. When you stop by the desk to say bye to Nolan, Tim destroys the folder as he realizes what he feels. Tim Bradford is jealous. Worse, he’s jealous of a rookie.

✯✯✯✯✯

Kojo is on a leash in your front yard, and you smile as you watch him jump after a ball. Tim lives directly beside you, so you’ll know when he gets home. Hopefully, the rest of his shift went okay, and he’s in a better mood now.

A deep voice calls your name, and you look away from Kojo. Your neighbor from the other side stops on the sidewalk before your house to continue talking to you.

“Hey! How are you?” you respond, staying by your porch.

“Better now,” he replies with a flirtatious smile.

He’s not a bad neighbor, but he makes you uncomfortable because he flirts with you every time he sees you. Having Kojo nearby makes you more comfortable, but you hope to get through the small talk and move on.

“I’m having a little get together on Friday if you’d like to come over.”

You call Kojo to your side, and he happily sits before you, another buffer between you and your neighbor. Tim’s truck turns into his driveway, and you sigh in relief. He gets out quickly, stopping by his passenger door as he watches you and Kojo. You smile, unsurprised but disappointed when Tim doesn’t return it.

“Friday?” your neighbor asks.

“I’ll, uh, I’m not sure if I can make it,” you offer. “Thanks for the invitation, though.”

“Open invite,” he adds before walking back toward his house.

“Hey, Tim,” you call, walking across your yard with Kojo’s leash in your hand. “Work go okay?”

“Yep. Thanks for taking care of Kojo.”

Tim takes the leash, his hand covering yours for just a moment. He pulls his hand away quickly and nods before he turns toward his house.

“Do you need me to watch him tomorrow?”

“No,” Tim answers, keeping his back to you. “Have a good one.”

You stand in your yard for a moment, wondering what happened. You’re starting to see the Tim Bradford that the officers at Mid-Wilshire talk about, and you’re not sure you like it.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim was hoping that you’d ask your question when he got home. When he saw your other neighbor talking to you and, from what Tim heard, asking you out, he decided he wasn’t in the mood to talk. Turning his back on you felt wrong, but his jealousy is calling the shots for now. Everyone close to you, close to Tim, seems to be making a move on you. Tim doesn’t want to admit it, but part of why he likes you so much is because he’s falling for you. He knows he’ll never be good enough for you, so he’s happy to be your friend... until today, and now he’s not sure if he can stand by and watch another man attempt to make you happy.

“Any chance you can tell me that I saw that wrong?” Tim asks Kojo. When Kojo huffs, he replies, “I didn’t think so.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Kojo starts barking as soon as you return home from running some errands. Tim said he didn’t need your help today, but Kojo needs something. You text Tim, asking if he wants you to check on Kojo, but he doesn’t answer. After a few minutes, you use your spare key and enter Tim’s house.

As you walk into the backyard with Kojo, you call Tim, but he still doesn’t answer. Kojo is fine, simply lonely, so you take him back to your house. After texting Tim to let him know, you walk back to your car to lock it. A police car stops across the street, and when you see Nolan exit the driver’s side, you yell his name and jog toward the road.

“Hey,” he greets.

“What’s going on?” you ask, walking into the street so you can hear him.

“Noise complaint. How long have you been home?”

“Ten minutes, maybe.”

“They called about excessive dog barking, and that’s a direct quote.”

“Oh… that was Tim’s dog. He’s fine now, but he was barking at me when I got back because he was lonely.”

Another shop parks behind Nolan’s, and Tim slams the door as he exits.

“It was Kojo, I’m so sorry,” you offer.

“I told you he was fine today,” Tim replies.

“He started barking and I was worried about him. You didn’t answer, so I-“

“It’s fine,” Tim snaps.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

Nolan nods as he gets back in his shop. Tim waits until he drives away to take a deep breath. He begins to speak, but another neighbor stops as he drives by, rolling his window down to ask how you are. Tim opens his door, and you rush to his shop and look through his rolled-down window.

“I’m sorry, Tim,” you repeat.

“It’s fine.”

“Clearly it isn’t because you can’t even look at me. I won’t do it again.”

“It’s not about you,” Tim argues. It is, but he can’t tell you that.

“Got it,” you murmur, stepping back. “I’ll take Kojo back to your place and leave my key.”

You cross the road, walking through your yard as you think about what you’re losing by accidentally pushing Tim away. Tim yells your name, and you stop but don’t turn toward him. He walks up behind you, and you can’t see his hands flex at his sides as he tries to find the words to say.

“It is about you, but not about you taking care of Kojo,” Tim begins. “It’s about you and me.”

Turning your head, you watch Tim’s hand fold into a fist as he continues.

“I just- Nolan was flirting with you, and…”

“You think he was flirting with me?” you ask, turning so you’re facing Tim.

“He was. And it made me angry. When I came home and saw what’s-his-name flirting with you too…”

“You got angry?”

“I got jealous,” Tim forces out.

“Why?”

“Because they’re doing what I want to do.”

“What does that mean, Tim?”

“It means that I want to be more than your friend but I’m not relationship material. Watching guys try to be what I want to be makes me jealous and angry, and for some reason I took it out on you.”

“And Nolan?”

Tim pauses before nodding.

“You know the worst part of this?” you ask. “That if you had just told me, I would have let you know that I feel the same.”

“You don’t get jealous,” Tim argues.

“That’s not true. Every time someone flirts with you or stares a little too openly, I remember that you could have anyone you wanted. Being your neighbor was the closest I thought I could get.”

Tim steps toward you, and you match his movement, closing the distance together.

“So…” you begin.

“So. What did you want to ask at the station?"

"If I could come over, but I feel confident assuming that you'd say yes."

Tim closes his eyes when your neighbor says your name.

“Cute,” you murmur.

“I realized that a big gathering like that wasn’t a good choice, so I wanted to ask if you were free Thursday? Maybe we could get some dinner or something."

“She’s busy,” Tim answers, his eyes on you.

“But-“

“Let me rephrase, she’s taken!” Tim yells.

“Oh, sorry man, I didn’t know.”

Tim watches him scurry inside before turning back toward you. You smile as you look at him.

“I’m taken?” you repeat.

“Only if you want to be.”

Nodding, you lay your hands on Tim’s chest. He moves a hand up to your waist, pulling you against him. Kojo barks before he can do anything, and you laugh against Tim’s uniform.

“Aren’t you still working?” you ask.

“Technically. How about dinner when I get off?”

“Only if you cook.”

“Like I’m taking you out in public this soon. I just got over the jealousy.”

You kiss Tim’s cheek just before dispatch alerts him of a call in the area.

“Where are you going?” he asks as you walk away.

“Home!” you call as you walk into his porch. “My boy lives here. And you do too.”

[xjulixred45x]

I just watched the first episode of the second season of Invincible and OH MY GOD, can you imagine how terrifying it would be to have Mark from the other Dimension as a Yandere (whether romantic or platonic)??? I mean, he literally left PARALYZED Eve so he wouldn't have to kill her and on top of that support her so he could visit her!

Can you especially imagine a Darling without powers or abilities? The poor creature would have been TERRIFIED of Mark, probably at first, before he came back like that, they were dating and everything, but as soon as Mark saw things "right" everything turned upside down. Darling would be running away from him constantly but Mark sees it as a kind of GAME.

What if Darling tries to go with the resistance? Mark will think she was kidnapped and will go on a KILLING spree until he finds her, he always tries to maintain that "calm boyfriend" image and keep his voice soft around Darling, but it's hard to believe him or stay calm when he's COVERED IN BLOOD NOT HIS OWN.

Nolan just watches as a spectator, tries to encourage Mark to be tougher on Darling or be some kind of "mediator" but really only supports Mark in everything he decides for Darling's life. And he's like "aw, Young love".

Although I don't think he will paralyze her if she continues to run, he just believes she was kidnapped or manipulated, Darling can't leave him after everything they've been through, right? She understands things as they are, that's what she said, of course, it was before HE had to invade the earth and with half-truths, but it counts for something, right?...right?? It's okay, eventually you'll see things right.

[augustvandyne]

Hey! Could you do fluff John Nolan and wife reader where she visit the station and everyone just awed at her beauty? Maybe someone try to flirt with her. You decide how it end. Tag me later. Thanks!

first time writing for nolan 😜

lmk how i did!

nolan’s wife

You were way too beautiful to be John Nolan’s wife, is the first thing that comes to mind to all the officers when you introduce yourself.

Lucy and Jackson knew Nolan was with someone, because he always shot down anyone that came onto him everywhere they went. Whether it be the hospital, a call, the bar, anywhere.

But they didn’t know that that woman was his wife, nor that she was that gorgeous!

And I mean everyone, even Tim Bradford, was checking her out as she made her way towards the rookie.

“John,” You said in a silky voice, slightly fixing his tie.

“Y/n,” John smiles down at you, leaning down to place a kiss on your lips.

That was the only downside of your husband—his height. He was so tall, and it wasn’t that you were short, it was just that he was so tall! Even in high heels you couldn’t match his height or anywhere near it.

“Oh, my god,” Lucy sped over to the two of you, her hair pulled back into a low bun. “You are gorgeous!”

“Thank you?” You pull back slightly from John, giving him some personal space.

“I have to say, you are beautiful,” Jackson says, his hands resting on his belt.

“Who’s this smoke show?” Smitty walks over, raising his brows and flashing a smile. “Wanna go out tonight?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to pass,” You nod awkwardly, holding your hand out to let him see your ring. “I’m married.”

“To who? I could take him,” Smitty assures you.

“To me. She’s my wife,” John asserts dominance, which has Smitty backing up a few steps.

“Alright, slow down cowboy,” Smitty puts his hands up, walking back to his desk.

Lucy laughs, shaking her head.

“Hey, we were just about to head out for lunch, wanna join us?” Jackson asks nicely.

“Oo, yes!” Lucy jumps excitedly. “Please, please, please come!”

“I mean, if it’s okay with you,” You turn towards John, looking up at him sweetly.

“Of course, oh, I’d love for you to go,” John puts his large hands on the sides of your head, leaving a kiss on the top of your head.

“So it’s a deal, let’s go,” Lucy puts her arm through yours. “Y/n gets shotgun.”

Lucy drives you to this food truck joint, that has several different types and trucks to try from, so you could basically get whatever you wanted.

You sit in front with Lucy, while John and Jackson take up the backseat.

You snap a photo of John in the back seat, and tell him that you think it’ll make the Christmas card this year, resulting in a laugh from him.

Once there, Lucy picks a table with four chairs, and you sit as John gets the two of you something to share. Because, yes, the two of you are adorable like that. But also because he wanted to surprise you since you’ve never eaten there before.

You watch him go around to several of the trucks, getting a bit of everything, and you love him for it because he knows you so well.

Lucy shares a few of her fries with you as you wait.

When he sits back down, you are relieved to be hit with the smell of food, but then are hit with the urge to vomit.

Which brings you back to the whole reason you came to see John at the station.

You cover your mouth, which has you receiving a concerned look from your husband.

“Everything okay?” His frown deepens as get up.

“Excuse me,” You all but sprint towards the nearest trash can and hurl into it, not even caring about how people around you are trying to eat.

“You okay?” John appears beside you, rubbing your back and giving you a napkin so you can wipe your mouth.

“I’m fine,” You swallow, trying to get the taste out of your mouth. “Did you get something to drink?”

“Yes, it’s right this way,” John still watches over you intently, his hand on the small of your back. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” You laugh it off.

When you sit, you feel eyes on you, and you know who they belong to.

Your husband.

“John, we should talk,” You turn your head, dropping your fork.

“And that’s our cue,” Jackson nods to Lucy who stands with the man to leave to another table.

“What’s wrong? I thought everything was okay.”

“It is,” You grab his hand. “I took a test this morning.”

“A test? What— like, like a pregnancy test?” His eye brows shoot to his hairline. He was surprised, to say the least.

“Yeah,” You look down. “It was positive.”

“Really?” John lets out a breath.

“If you don’t want this, I understand,” You tilt your head. “You’re still just a rookie, and—“

“No,” John shakes his head with a big grin bloomed across his face. “I mean, I’ll admit, it’s terrible timing, but I couldn’t be more happier.”

You let out a big sigh of relief that has John laughing along with you.

“Good. Because I don’t know what I would have done, had you said you didn’t want this baby.”

“I would never say that to you, or anyone, for that matter.”

You smile up at him, placing a kiss on his jaw.

“We’re gonna have a baby,” John whispers.

“Yeah,” Your eyes water a bit, stupid hormones. “We are.”

[callsign-dexter]

Love in the Moonlight 18+

Request: Hiya ❤️ hope you don't mind me sending in a Tim Bradford idea 😊 I thought about something where they're colleagues and close friends (with crushes) but she distances from him as he starts going out for dates. He notices that and one night comes to her apartment to confront her. But as he sees her in her nightgown he can't resist and kisses her, making love to her, and she never stops him. Afterwards they cuddle and he admits that he just went on dates to get rid of the feelings he has towards her, but now all he wants is her to be his girl, which she happily accepts. Thank you in advance sweetheart 💋 you're the best !

Pairings: Tim Bradford x Police Officer!Reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, swearing, smut

Masterlist

A/N: @talesofreading and @imagine-all-the-fandoms Tim smut for ya hope you're prepared....

Love can make you do some crazy things. Love could make you jealous to the point of doing something you regret. Love can make you think of nobody else besides that person. Love is just unpredictable. Love is something you want with Tim but it seems like you were the only one that wants that. Tim doesn’t even seem that interested in you and you hated that. Every time you saw Tim you fell further in love but he just seems to see you as one of the guys and that kills you. What you didn’t know was that he loved you too but was too afraid to show. Every date you went on made him jealous and every date he went on shattered your heart a little more each time. You wanted that to be you. You wanted to be the one wrapped in his coat on a windy night or under his arm sleeping in his bed. 

Tim and you were very close and the crush started when you both got out of the academy and then when you both got accepted at the same precinct. Where he became a TO you just became a regular officer and you loved it. You and Tim did everything together from texting each other 24/7, eating lunch together, having each other over at each other’s apartments, crashing at each other places when one became too drunk, even to the point of going to the movies together. You both had everything from bathroom necessities to both of your favorite types of coffee at each other’s apartments.  How were you not supposed to fall in love with the man you hang out with all the time? 

The only people that knew of this crush was your two best friends Angela and Talia who had sworn to secrecy not to say anything. You had girls’ night often and you would rant and rave about it and they would sympathize with you. You even talked to them about maybe transferring to another unit or taking the offer that the FBI that you kept getting offers from. Currently you were out with the girls, that included Lucy now, at a bar that you visited frequently. Everyone was a few drinks in but you were further into them and feeling it. “I just don’t know what to do anymore. Clearly, he doesn’t like me like that and he only sees me as one of his guy friends. I can’t keep going on with this burning aching feeling of love for him. It’s to the point that I’m considering taking that offer that the FBI has been sending me. I would be in Quantico, VA and far away from him.” You said taking a drink of your beer that had been freshly poured. 

“Oh honey, he feels so much more towards you.” Lucy said and you scuffed.

“Bullshit. He has a funny way of showing it.” You said. You were definitely drunk. “I just want to have hot crazy sex with him.” You said and everyone chuckled.

“Ok, that is enough for you.” Angela said “I’m gonna call Tim to come and get you.” She said and you looked at her horrified. You all had taken a cab to the bar since you all were drinking and then you had planned for Nolan or Jackson to come and get you all. You had taken one earlier to secure a spot and started drinking about 3 minutes before them starting with the hard stuff aka Fireball. 

“Nooooo, you can’t do that.” You said beginning to slur. That was the thing about you two, the both of you would drop everything to come to each other aid no matter what and no matter where.

“Yes, I’m calling him.” Angela said and pulled out her phone and dialed his number in. “I’m also calling Nolan afterwards to come and get us. We’re calling it a night.” She said and then Tim answered she started talking to him. 

——————————————————————

Tim was out having a date with Teresa and was not having a good time. He really wished that he was with you at the moment with you cuddled in his arms. Tim was bored. She was going on about something that happened at work and he was halfway paying attention to her. Suddenly he heard his phone ringing and he mentally sighed in relief, he pulled it out and saw that it was Angela calling and he frowned, a million questions ran through his head: ‘Did something happen?’, ‘Were you alright?’. He answered it without hesitation.

“Angela, is everything ok?” He asked right out of the gate.

“Tim, hi. I know you’re on a date right now but Y/N is absolutely hammered. Can you come and get her?” She asked

“Of course. Is she ok?” He asked, reaching for his wallet.

“If you would consider her about to get into a bar fight with a guy that touched her ass, then yeah.” She said and that made his eyes widened in panic.

“I’ll be there soon. Just keep her contained. I’m 5 minutes away.” He said

“We’ll try our best. But you know your girl is strong as hell.” She said and his heart skipped a beat when she said that. “Just hurry.” She said and then hung up and so did he.

Teresa was looking at him as he finished the call. “Let me guess you need to go.” She said and he nodded.

“I’m sorry.” He said and she smiled.

“It’s ok. Raincheck?” She said and he nodded. He got in and started the trip to the bar that was only 5 minutes away. He was quick to spot you and Angela outside and you were sitting on the curb looking drunk as all get out and he knew you would be feeling it in the morning. 

——————————————————————

Angela saw the lights of his truck and sighed in relief. “Y/N, your knight in shining armor has arrived.” She said with a smirk and you looked at her.

“No, he is not. He doesn’t love me like that.” You slurred and she shook her head. Tim parked the truck and got out and walked over to you.

“How much did she have to drink?” He asked and you looked up at hearing his voice.

“Timothy!” You slurred and tried to stand up but fell and he sighed but helped you stand up. 

“I think she started drinking before we arrived.” Angela said and Tim turned toward you.

“Y/N how much have you had to drink?” He asked using his cop voice and you looked at him and started thinking.

“Like 6 shots of Fireball, several glasses of beer, and lots and lots of shots. Speaking of shots, can we go in and get more?” You asked, already starting to turn towards the bar.

“Nope as a friend, I’m cutting you off.” He said and that sent a pang of hurt through your chest.

“Right friend.” You said and let him help you get in his truck. He turned to Angela who was walking with you both and she was opening the door since he was pretty much holding you up. He guided you up into the truck and made sure you were buckled in and then shut the door and turned to Angela. 

“I shouldn’t be telling you this but that girl has had a crush on you since you both got out of the academy. She literally would drop everything for you and you know it and I know you too. It hurts her every time you go out with someone because she wishes that it was her.” She said and he shook his head.

“That’s not true.” He said and she shook her head. “No, she doesn’t. We’re just very good friends.” He said and she shook her head.

“Whatever, just get her home safely.” Angela said and turned back and walked back into the bar. 

Tim got into the truck. He looked over at you and you were sound asleep and he smiled. He put the truck into drive and headed to your apartment. It was a silent ride to your apartment and when he got there. He pulled into a parking spot next to your car and got the truck parked and killed the engine. Then he was walking over to the passenger’s and opened it and unbuckled your seatbelt and gently got you and carried you. When he got to the front door, he grabbed his keys and found your key and unlocked the door. Yes, he had a key to your place and you had a key to his place. He unlocked the door and shut it going straight to your bedroom. He gently laid you down and pulled off your shoes and then covered you up. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed some Tylenol and a bottle of Gatorade and then walked into your office and wrote a note then, he walked it to your room and sat it on the nightstand. He grabbed your phone and plugged it in and then left.

The next morning you woke up to your phone alarm blaring and your head was pounding and you were hung over. You turned over to shut it off and then noticed the note along with the Gatorade and Tylenol. 

Take these and drink all of the Gatorade. It’ll help.

-Tim

You smiled and took the Tylenol and drank the Gatorade as you got ready for the day. By the time you were leaving all of it was gone and you were feeling better. You walked out to your car and got into your car and then you were off to work. You saw Tim’s truck and smiled but then you decided to park next to Nolan’s and got you and walked into the precinct. You greeted everyone and headed to the locker room where you quickly got changed and then walked into the briefing room, it was mostly full and few seats left. Tim noticed you walked in and smiled and motioned to the open seat next to him but you bowed your head and decided to sit next to Smitty of all people and that made him frown, you always sat beside him. Sergeant Grey walked in and started the briefing and then when he was done you shot out of there in a hurry before Tim had even gotten a chance to come and say hi or ask you how you were feeling. 

Lately you had noticed him going on more dates and being happy and that was killing you on the inside. So, you started to distance yourself from him. At first it was making excuses when he asked to hang out and then not answering his every phone call, or hardly texting him and when you text back you would send a short or one worded answer. You even started to take separate lunches or take yours to go. It saddened him that you were pulling away but he didn’t let it show and that upset you, it was like he didn’t even care. 

Lucy and he did catch up to you when you were getting your bags and stuff “Hey, Y/N.” Tim said and you tensed and turned to him.

“Oh, hey.” You said 

“How are you feeling?” He asked

“Fine.” You said and then grabbed your stuff and you were heading to your shop. 

“Hey, are you free tonight? There is a movie out that I thought we could see together.” Tim asked 

“No, sorry. I have plans.” You said and then you were gone before he could get another word out. 

Once you were alone out on the streets you were fine and actually happy. You answered calls here and there and they were mostly easy. There were a few that you had to take in and there were a few traffic stops. It was nearing lunch time and you dreaded it. You pulled over into a parking lot when you saw your phone light up and buzz. You looked at it and saw a few missed calls from Tim but you were busy during that time and a few texts from him. You sighed and debated if you wanted lunch but then your stomach growled and you groaned and put your shop into drive and headed to the usual lunch place. You parked and got out and headed that way you saw Tim and smiled but it quickly faded when a girl came up to him and kissed him. You caught the eye of Angela and Talia when Tim broke apart from the girl, he followed their eyes and saw you and his heart sank. Lunch be damned, you would eat later, you need to talk to Wade. You turned back to your shop and was off before he could even get up or say anything. 

You arrived back at the precinct and parked your shop in the bay and then you were walking into the building and heading to Wade’s office. When you got there you knocked on the door and he looked up and waved you in “Officer Y/L/N, what can I do for you?” He asked and you sighed.

“You know that I’ve been getting offers from the FBI in Quantico, VA specifically from the BAU.” You said and he nodded.

“I do. What is this about?” He asked 

“As much as this pains me to say, I want to take their offer and transfer.” You said and he nodded.

“Are you for sure you want to do this?” He asked and you nodded.

“Very sure, sir.” You said and your phone started buzzing but you ignored it.

“Do you want to get that?” He asked and you shook your head.

“No, sir. It can wait.” You said and he nodded.

“I’ll start putting the request in. I’ll be sad when you leave, you’re one of my best officers. I just want you to know that if you ever want to come back you always have a place right here with us.” He said and you nodded smiling.

“Thank you, sir.” You said and he smiled and you left his office running into Angela.

“Hey, what were you talking to Wade about?” She asked

“I asked for the transfer.” You said and she was shocked.

“Seriously?” She asked and you nodded.

“I need to get out of here.” You said and she nodded.

“Is this about Tim?” She asked and you didn’t say anything but she knew her answer and smiled “I get it. I’m gonna miss you when you go.” She said and she laughed but hugged you.

“I’m gonna miss you too.” You said and then you broke apart and then you saw Tim and he was looking at you but you said nothing and walked back to your shop to continue your shift.

This was the right move for you and your career. Right?

——————————————————————

The end of everyone’s shift was nearing and everyone couldn’t wait to be home. There was something that Sergeant Grey was needing to talk to Tim about and requested him to meet in his office. So that was where he was going now. He knocked on the door and was waved in. “Officer Bradford, I want to talk about you taking the sergeants exam.” Wade said and Tim nodded.

“Yes, I’ve been studying for it.” He said and Wade nodded. Tim was looking at him and then something caught his eye. Something that had your name on it. He focused on it more and saw it was a transfer request to the FBI and his heart sank. He knew that you had been getting offers but didn’t actually think you would take it. They finished their talk but all he could think about was those transfer papers and why he didn’t hear about it from you. Wade dismissed him and he left. As he was leaving, he ran into Talia. 

“You got any plans for tonight?” She asked

“Yea, I have another date.” Tim said not knowing you had heard him and not knowing how bad your heart was breaking. He did have a date but now he wanted to go to your place and find out why you were transferring. The shift ended and everyone got changed and was heading out the precinct he caught you walking with Nolan and laughing with him and his heart pinged with jealousy. Then he noticed that your car wasn’t near his when it normally was. Something was wrong and he was going to find out. 

He did end up going on the date but that transfer request was just burning in his mind. He apologized to Teresa and she asked if she would be seeing him again and he said no and then he was off heading to your apartment. He drove like mad until he reached your place and parked in a parking spot, once he killed the engine he was storming up to the apartment and knocking.

——————————————————————

Knocking is what woke you up and you groaned but got up and grabbed a silk robe and slipped it over your silk nightgown. “Hold on, I’m coming.” You said but the knocking persisted. “Hold on, geez.” You said unlocking the door and opening “What-” You began but saw it was Tim “Tim? It’s late. What are you doing here?” You asked.

“You’re transferring?” He asked in a stern slightly higher pitched voice.

“What are you talking about?” You asked, still half asleep.

“Your transfer request to the FBI. I saw it on Sergeant Wade’s desk. Why?” He asked

“You.” You said

“Me?” He asked

“Yes you. Damn it can’t you see? I’m in love with you! I have been ever since we got out of the academy together. Then you go off and date and it kills me. I know it’s selfish but I couldn’t stand for you to be happy with anyone else but me.” You said and he didn’t say anything instead he crashed his lips into yours and kissed you fiercely. He backed you into the apartment and shut the door and then turned you until your back hit the door. You two broke apart when air was needed. 

“I’ve wanted to do that ever since I met you.” He said and then crashed lips into yours and then he was slipping your silk robe off your shoulders revealing your very revealing nightgown he broke the kiss and looked down “Damn you are sexy.” He said and was tapping your thighs and you jumped up and wrapped your legs around him and then he was taking you both to your bedroom. He gently laid you down and quickly got rid of his shirt. He grabbed the hem of your nightgown and looked at you and you nodded and he was slowly peeling it off of you until it was off revealing you weren’t wearing a bra and that made him moan. Your nipples got hard as rocks when air hit them, he admired them and then he was taking a nipple into his mouth and sucking on it, making you mona. His right hand came up to play with your other breast and his left hand was caressing your side. Once he was satisfied with the treatment of your left breast and nipple, he popped off of it and gave your other breast the same attention. Again, once he was satisfied, he popped off of it and then was standing up and getting rid of his jeans and boxers and his hard length came up and slapped him in the stomach.

“I need you.” You said and he nodded and was crawling back up to you and slowly taking your underwear off and adding it to the pile of clothing already growing. He moved in between your thighs and licked a broad strip up your folds and you jumped but moaned. 

“So wet for me and I hardly did anything.” He said, smirking.

“Need you now.” You moaned and looked as he did it again and bit your clit.

“You got it, Baby.” He said and moved up to where he was now face to face with you and kissed you. You could taste yourself on him and you could feel him at the entrance. He grabbed his cock and looked you in the eyes “You ready? Tell me to stop if you need to.” He asked and you nodded and he pushed himself into you and you both moaned.

“Oh, Tim!” You moaned out not even trying to be quiet, neighbors be damned.

“So tight. It was like you were made for me.” He moaned out and started to thrust in and out of you. He stretched you in all the right places and hit you places that you didn’t know that could be hit. He hit you g-spot just right.

“Faster, Baby. Faster.” You moaned out and he nodded and did as he was told and it just brought another wave of pleasure to you. “So good.” You moaned out and his face went into the crook of his neck and he attacked it with kisses and sucked on it. His arms caged you in and your ankles locked behind him making him go deeper. Your hands went to his shoulder blades and your fingers dug into them and then he hit your g-spot and bit your pulse point. Your nails raked down his back leaving long angry red scratch marks in their wake. He hissed into your neck but he did not let up. “‘M close.” You said and he brought his head up from your neck.

“Me too, Baby. Me too.” He said and that just spurred him on to go faster. One hand went down to your clit and started to rub it, getting you closer to your climax. “Cum with me.” He said and then he pinched your clit and then that rubber band snapped and you came hard. You squeezed him and that made his thrusts irregular and the snapping of his hips into your hips came to a halt as you both moaned and he painted your walls white. 

After you both came down from your high you unlocked your ankles and he fell to the side of you onto his back. You ended up lying on his chest tracing shapes and he cuddled you close to him as he covered you both up. “Don’t leave.” He said and you looked up at him.

“Hmm?” You asked in confusion.

“The transfer, cancel it. You belong here with me. I only went on those dates to get rid of my feelings for you and each time I went on them I wished it was you. I love you and have loved you since we graduated from the academy together. I was too stupid to see what it was doing to you and I’m sorry for that.” He said and you smiled.

“I’ll cancel the request to transfer.” You said 

“I want you to be my girl and my only girl. What I’m asking is will you be my girlfriend?” He asked and you smiled and looked up at him.

“I thought you would never ask. Of course I’ll be your girlfriend.” You said and he smiled “I love you.” You added.

“I love you too.” He said and you both kissed each other and then you resumed your position and you both fell asleep with a smile on your face. 

Both of you were happy and finally got what you wanted and that was each other. 

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[hayleythesugarbowl]

Hey girl hey, I definitely haven’t been stalking your masterlist (I have 👀) but I saw that you updated and said you’d write for the rookie!!!! Anyways I’m like in love with John Nolan which I know is so unpopular (sorry Tim) and I was wondering if you’d write a short little fic about the reader dating John and her being into the whole cop thing and so he agrees to roleplay and adorableness ensues

Daddy Cop || John Nolan x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist  • tim bradford fic ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: you go to visit john at work and see him in uniform for the first time

word count: 1.2k

warnings: mild language, reader has a thing for cops?

a/n: omg girlie you crack me up, stalk me anytime you want (except, you know, not in real life—for your own sake, i mean my internet search history is better left un-stalked)!! anyways i’m happy to give u the nolan content u deserve 🤭 i don’t write smut but i hope you enjoy this nonetheless!!

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

     “Hi, I’m here to see Officer Nolan.”

     You smiled at the man sitting at the front desk of the Los Angeles Police Department. He looked up from his computer and gave you a smile of his own—or, it would have been a smile if he was sitting upside down. 

     “I’ll send him right out,” he said with mock-enthusiasm, sighing and picking up a phone before speaking into it. “We have a visitor here for Officer Nolan.”

     “Tell him it’s his girlfriend,” you blurted out, clutching the backpack in your hands tighter.

     The man just rolled his eyes at you. “That guy actually has a girlfriend? Color me shocked.”

     You opened your mouth to defend Nolan, but the man just held out a hand and gestured to a seat across from the desk.

     You sighed. “Thank you Officer—”

     You looked at his name plate. 

     “—Smitty.”

     “You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he said sarcastically. 

     Ok, you thought, so not everyone enjoys their job here. You sat down and put John’s backpack on your lap as you waited for him to come down.

     He didn’t exactly know you were here. You and John had begun dating a few months ago and you’d yet to visit his place of work—there hadn’t been a reason to. 

     Until now. John had spent the previous night at your place, and in his rush to get to his shift on time that morning, he’d left his backpack at your apartment. 

     Which was what brought you to the L.A.P.D—well, that, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t just a little curious about what John did when he wasn’t with you.

     “(Y/n)?”

     Upon hearing your name, you spun around, finding your boyfriend standing in the doorway.

     “What are you doing here? Is everything ok?” He asked.

    You walked over to where John stood, bridging the gap between you. “I’m fine, just here to make a delivery.”

    You took in Nolan’s attire. You’d always had a thing for cops—but seeing John in his uniform was an entirely new experience. You were momentarily speechless as you noted how the material hugged his frame. 

     “What?” Nolan asked, amused.

     “Nothing,” you blushed at getting caught staring. “I—here.”

     You held out Nolan’s backpack. 

     “You just saved me from a very embarrassing—and very pant-less—walk out of here,” He said, taking it from you. “Thanks, (Y/n).”

     “Anytime,” you said, standing on your toes to kiss him. He kissed you back, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Besides, now I get to see where you work.”

     John pulled back, looking down at you. “Speaking of work, I should get back to it.”

     “But I just got here,” you pouted. 

     “I know, and I love you, but my TO is going to be furious if I don’t get back to the shop in—”

     He checked his watch.

     “—7 minutes.”

     “So you have 7 minutes?” You said playfully.

     “Well, yes, I suppose I do,” John smiled. “What did you have in mind?”

     You dragged your finger along his forearm. 

     “Aren’t you gonna show me around?” You asked him innocently.

     “I—I’m not really sure if that’s proper procedure,” John said, running a hand down your arm. “You’d have to fill out a visitor’s form and—”

     “That’s a shame,” you whispered, your finger tracing patterns on his chest. “I was just thinking how sexy you looked in your uniform.”

     John blanched.

     “On second thought, I’m sure the watch commander wouldn’t mind if you just peeked in.”

     John grabbed your hand and pulled you through the doorway and across a hall, stopping in an empty room marked ‘Interrogation’. 

     “No one’s using this room?” You asked him, looking around. 

     “We are,” Nolan smiled. “Unless you actually want a tour of the station?” 

     “Maybe some other day,” you said, pushing Nolan up against a wall.

     “Well then,” Nolan said with a smirk, looking down at you. “I’m all yours.”

     He kissed you, his hand coming up to caress your cheek. You wrapped your arms around him. 

     “So, you’re into the cop thing, huh?” Nolan asked between kisses. 

     “Guess so,” you breathed. 

     “Well, you just made all of the long days at the academy worth it,” John teased. 

      “I’m glad,” you said. “And what was the academy like? You never talk about your job.”

     “It was tough but rewarding,” John said honestly, kissing your cheek. “You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff I’ve seen out there. Think of the academy as practice for all of it.”

      “You want some more practice?” You asked, biting your lip. “For when you’re back on the streets, busting perps.”

     “Yeah we don’t actually say—you know what, never mind. We’ll talk about the amount of cop shows you watch later.”

     “Are you going to arrest me or not,” you pouted. “I’m getting away. You don’t want to let me escape, do you?”     

   “Of course not. In that case,” he said, deepening his voice. “I’m going to have to take you in.”

     “What am I under arrest for?” You batted your lashes at him. “Tax fraud? Failure to appear in court? Violation of penal code 504? 

     “A 504 is actually the crime of tampering with a vehicle so that doesn’t really apply—”

     You raised an eyebrow at him.

     “Right, shutting up,” Nolan said, “How am I doing? I ruined it, didn’t I?” 

    You giggled. It was adorable how serious he was taking this. “Not at all.”

     “Let me try again,” Join said, pulling out his handcuffs and spinning them around one finger. “I meant, you’re under arrest for stealing my heart and looking so damn good in those pants. Better?” 

     You smacked him in the arm. “Much.”

     He leaned in to kiss you again but you were interrupted by a voice that filled the room. 

     “I hope you turned your body cam off when we got back to the station.” 

     You and John broke apart. You heard the handcuffs clang as they hit the floor. You followed Nolan’s gaze up to a speaker on the wall. 

    “Bishop,” he mouthed, then pointed. “One way mirror.”

     You bit your lip to stop the smile threatening to take over your face. You knew you should feel chastised, but you could only be amused and thrilled at the situation. 

    “I—yes,” Nolan called out. “I—I’ll be right out.”

    “Please, take your time!” The voice—Bishop—said. 

     John’s brow furrowed. “Really?” 

     “No!” Bishop yelled. “You better get your ass out here before I give you a blue page.”

     “Yes ma’am!” Nolan shouted back, before leaning closer to you and whispering, “That’s serious, I really should go. But we had our fun.”

     You smiled, mischief in your eyes. “Not enough fun.”

     “I’m almost afraid to ask what that means,” John said, pulling you closer.

     “Nothing, just—maybe you could, um, bring that uniform home sometime,” you replied. 

     “I’ll see what I can do,” John winked, leaning in to kiss you one last time. “See you tonight.”

     “I’m looking forward to it,” you said. You let go of his hand and his other hand was just on the handle of the door when the speaker crackled to life with Bishop’s voice. 

     “Nolan.”

     John turned back around. 

     “Yes ma’am?”

     “Bring the handcuffs with you. You may need them for an actual crime.”

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

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed darlings!! now that i’ve officially waded into a new fandom, maybe expect more the rookie fics in the future? is this the official promo for my tim fic coming out soon? 🫢🎀

[dscombobulate]

「 the grove apartment 」

— dakota visited her sister and baby niece in their charming and eclectic apartment by the beach.

living area

plaster wallpaper | ceiling fan, ficus tree, magazines, flower paintings, wall clock, tv , cable box, sofa & pillows, plant basket | strawberry triceratop | laundry basket | shoe bench | handbag | floral pennant | wreath | mirror | dvd player | book basket | end table

kitchen

windows | curtains | copperware rack | dining table | rug | calendar | fridge & microwave | gas stove | kitchen counters | shelving system | milkshake blender | blender | rice cooker & kettle | plate rack | egg case & hand towel | books holder, coffee bag, tea case, and bread box | tea planters | bottle warmer | box of eggs | recipes tin box | sandwich tins | tea tins | oreos | containers | food boxes & cans | cans | banana rack | tea box | toaster | breakfast cereal boxes

kids area

door | bunny rug | poster macrame | toy kitchen, shopping cart, and drums | bear | toy basket | pyramid toy | ceiling lamp & books | books | toy blocks | llama plush

bedroom

sheer curtains | rug | ceramic ceiling light | desk | desk chair | desk mirror | tablet | makeup bag | beauty case | makeup brushes | floor lamp | rattan mirror & macrame tapestry | palm vase | bed frame | mattress | end table

@felixandresims @awingedllama @nolan-sims @syboubou @kirsicca @joyceisfox @plushpixelssims @tudtuds @pierisim @sims-kkb @brazenlotus @caio-cc @harrie-cc @aroundthesims @valiasims @s-imagination @sforzcc @thecluttercat @littlbowbub @leaf-motif @officialsnootysims @imfromsixam @vintage-simmer @surely-sims @irinaseverinka @taurusdesign @plumbobteasociety @myshunosun @lilaccreative @linzlu

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[arieswritez]

golden boy

golden boy | yandere stepbrother!mark grayson x afab!reader

cw; DARK CONTENT!!! MDNI!! pseudo-incest, panty thief!mark, roofies, victim blaming, non-con video taping, voyeurism, rape, reader's anatomy is sexualized, forced breeding, time skip (mark is an adult & nolan never killed the guardians), mark is a sicko you've been warned

about; life was easier when mark was an only child. he wishes it would've stayed that way. (1.9k words)

a/n; an anon asked about a platonic yan sibling duo so i raise you: big pervy step bro who hates your guts but also wants to rearrange them

step brother mark who's used to being the light and joy of the grayson home. as the only child, he's spoiled beyond belief. he's spunky and cute and the graysons love him to death, constantly showering him with love and adoration.

step brother mark who gets a new sibling after villains make you an orphan. nolan finds you in the ruins and it's like he's on auto-pilot: carrying you to that secret hospital and handing you off to the doctors that rush to his aid. . but not before your tiny fist closes in his suit.

as he watches you being taken away, barely alive, something inside his chest pangs.

debbie notices nolan acting strange. he's restless and he's late for dinner, more so than usual. something's very clearly wrong. and it's not like her to grow suspicious of nolan but she does.

nolan's never given her a reason to believe his head may have been turned but for some reason, she starts to believe there might be someone else.

only to find he's been visiting you at the hospital, staying at your bedside for hours on end as you recover. you're in bad shape. doctors aren't sure how you survived. . if you even will. debbie's never seen nolan so torn over a survivor before. he's seen many things: deaths, disasters, you name it. yet, you're who's causing the sleepless nights.

of course, debbie has a kind heart and, soon, it's not just nolan who's worried. the graysons keep tabs on you. and when you come to, they’re the first thing you see.

you look confused, scared, but as nolan soothes you, you offer a meek smile and nolan finds himself feeling that same giddiness he felt when he first saw a tiny mark cradled in debbie's arms.

the graysons become your legal guardians and, suddenly, mark isn't the golden boy anymore.

you take up so much of their attention. now, christmases and birthdays all revolve around you. suddenly, marks good grades and the fact he hit a home run isn't all that impressive. mark's late for his baseball practice and games more times than he can count. . yet they never miss your dance recitals.

you got an A in an absurdly easy class and that was a cause for celebration. in the meantime, mark won a spelling bee & all he got was a 'good job'.

they treat you like you're made of glass, like you'll shatter into a million tiny pieces the second someone so much as looks at you the wrong way. mark still remembers being reprimanded whenever he said the smallest things to you. he doesn't think he's ever lived down that one orphanage joke that made you bawl. god, he was just kidding. . its not his fault you're sensitive.

soon, you're calling his parents 'mom and dad'. and worse of all, they reiterate the fact that you should be calling mark your 'big brother'.

fucking fantastic.

you are everything to them while mark is pushed aside. and it only worsens the older the two of you get. mark gets his powers - there's literally nothing more impressive than that - yet he still has to do a million and one things in order to outshine you. nothing ever works. and despite the fact that mark is - quite literally - saving lives. . your stupid birthday is still more important.

you are the light of their lives and mark bitterly remembers when they used to look at him that way, too.

you are perfect in their eyes. just like he once was.

and mark wishes you would've died in that accident, just like your parent(s).

as you start to develop a sense of self, mark gets into the habit of stealing your clothes. it's the only thing you seem to care about: the way you present yourself to the world.

they're small things at first. like a single shoe when his parents had bought you new ones yet refused to get him the ones he wanted. he'll admit it, it was petty and spiteful. but you were distressed and the graysons seemed upset you'd already misplaced your brand new - expensive - shoes.

at first, he was content with telling himself that what he was doing was solely to spite you. but that was a lie. when his kleptomania made him steal one of your shirts. . it wasn't spite that made him press the material to his nose and pump his cock until he came. no, it wasn't just spite.

all your simpering and whining, following him around like some lost puppy, that one time you asked him why he hated you so much. . it made him feel more than just hate.

he didn't know what to do with you then.

so, at first, he settled with stealing your clothes.

a couple more shirts.

a pair of shorts.

knee-highs or your favorite tights.

and finally, a pair of panties.

his favorite are a lacy pair. sheer and tiny, he recalls lifting them out of your drawer with a finger. . and thinking, seriously? what're these even meant to cover?

he's extremely sure you aren't supposed to have these~

mark is content with secretly stealing your things. he doesn't get in trouble for being mean to you anymore.

you don't think he hates you.

it's a win-win situation, really.

and mark would've been happy - he would've been fine - with the little game he's been playing. soon, the two of you would part ways for college and he'd forget all about you.

he'd forget the way you'd foolishly walk to your room in only a towel when you knew the two of you were home alone.

he'd forget the way you looked when you changed out of clothing, you never truly believed in fully closing the door, did you?

he'd forget the way your moans sounded, when you touched yourself at night, thinking everyone else was asleep. he'd forget the way he'd concentrate on hearing your pretty sounds - and it's not like he'd have to try hard, another perk of having powers.

he'd forget about how he could almost envision you: humping your fingers and biting at your lip, desperately trying to get yourself off. it was like he was in the room with you. . you were so wet he could hear the wet clicks of your cunt.

he'd forget all about you.

you, you, you.

he was sure of it.

but if it's one thing about you is that you could never just let things be.

you could never just let the graysons be a normal, happy family.

and you could never just let mark forget about you.

because the first time his parents say no to you - the very first fucking time - you don't listen.

you're just not used to it.

that stupid party you weren't supposed to go to.

that stupid party mark sneaks off to, too.

and when you see him there, you're surprised.

he pretends to be, too.

because it's not fair if only one of you was forbidden to go. no, you had to fuck it up for the both of them.

it's a good thing you're so spoiled, though. and it's even better that mark eavesdropped on the conversation you had with your friend, the one in which you planned to sneak out.

you're so fucking naive. so stupid.

you think the two of you are finally getting along when he gets you a drink and whispers, don't worry, i won't tell if you don't. and you laugh and wink at him like you'll keep his secret, drinking from whatever concoction he's prepared for you.

you were too young when your parent(s) passed and the graysons never seemed to sit you down for the talk. . or maybe they did and you were just too stupid to understand why you should never accept an open drink.

it's easy to blame it on you being a lightweight. the way you sway and slur your words, the way you stumble into him, the way your body overheats.

you've had too much to drink. you're not used to it, is all. he'll take care of you, don't you worry, big brother always does.

first, he's got to lay you down, you poor thing.

he doesn't want you to hurt your pretty little head by falling!

so, he lays you down in the empty room of the house as the party continues downstairs. as you fall to the bed in a heap, you swear you can see the throbbing beat of the music, now muffled behind the closed door.

in the dark room, the moonlight leaking through the pale blue blinds look like drunken undulations, wavering like heat shimmers, yet you can't keep your eyes open long enough to ogle at them. your body doesn't feel like your own, but you're not as nervous as you should be.

mark yanks his shirt off over his head - practiced, ready - and stalks over to your semi-limp body that's nearly hanging off the bed.

it's not hard to undress you, considering you're dressed like some cheap slut. and, honestly, if it wasn't mark that night, he's sure it would've been another dude at the party. the way you're such a fucking tease, he doesn't think anyone would be able to keep their hands off of you for long.

so, really, it's only fair your older brother is the one to get his hands on the goods, first. afterall, he was there to watch them grow.

the little camcorder he took from his parents - the old silver one they used to record all their trips around the world, mark's first steps, your first birthday with them - blinks red, on and off, on and off, as he strips you. he makes sure to capture your body: your bare tits as your chest rises and falls with each panicked breath, the smooth skin of your tummy, then down, between your legs, as he records your sopping cunt taking his fingers.

you mewl and your vision's swimming. and you feel here, there, everywhere, and it's so, so confusing.

you don't know what's happening and it's distressing because you know something is.

your hands weakly try to push at the foreign body on top of you. . inside of you. . but mark is stronger than anyone will ever be and you are far too drugged to do anything about it.

they're gonna be so mad, mark thinks, as he slides into you and tries to keep the camera recording the way your cunt grips him as he feeds his cock inside of you.

they'll be so mad when they find out you've snuck out.

and maybe you'll tell them. . you think something happened. . someone did something to you. . when you try to wash his cum out of your pussy.

maybe you won't. maybe you shouldn't. they'll already be mad at you, best keep quiet about it~

but the graysons will feel even worse in the next few months. . when you start puking your guts out.

and like the perfect parents they are, they'll take you to a doctor. . only for the results to come back positive.

mark may not be a golden boy, anymore.

but in nine months, maybe you'll give him one, instead 💗

[rpking99]

DedSpec Phantom Saga Chapter 6

Doctors Visit

Closed with @the-blackbird-roleplays

Darkness. Nothing but darkness.

...

And then, there was some light

"Hey, hey, wake up. That's it, nearly there." A soft, supportive voice spoke to Nolan

Standing over the awakening Nolan was a gothic/punk themed woman in a lab coat. The woman, with short dark blue hair, hummed as she put a pen light back into her coats pocket, a light that not too long ago had been shinning into Nolan's eyes

"Welcome back to the land of the living." she commented as she took a few steps back, sitting on a chair and crossing her long legs. The two within a small looking doctors office, the lights being rather... dull. "I am Doctor Tae Takemi, how are you feeling Nolan?" she asked while picking up a clipboard and writing some notes

[weebsinstash]

He's not in the show yet but as a comic reader I've been thinking a lot about how ABSOLUTELY AWFUL it would be to be a human captive of the Viltrumites and, forget Mark, forget Nolan, those two would not even compare because THRAGG is the real mf you don't want to be yandere for you

I was sitting and thinking about it and like. Just. Imagine being in a relationship or platonic yandere situationship with the Grayson family and then, boom, the invasion happens. You're just a helpless little human and Nolan traps you away to keep you safe while everything you've ever known and loved is taken from you. By the time you're "let out" the Earth and most of its major cities have been all but razed and Viltrumites and their construction drones are EVERYWHERE, rebuilding what was broken, essentially erasing the history of humanity

You're now a "registered human" under the official Viltrumite occupation of Earth. You have to wear an identification badge that can be scanned to identify you, to designate which Viltrumite you belong to, like some cat with a collar tag, and it also tracks your location at all times. Humans have extremely limited rights, and Nolan and Mark heavily restrict which other humans you can interact with because the occupying forces don't want some kind of rebellion (mostly though Mark and Nolan just couldn't risk any dumb humans putting any silly ideas in your head and getting you hurt when this life is good for you after all :( and what if some nasty little rebel tried to kiss you--)

But I just. I just picture Reader being Nolan's mate and at some point, you're sitting in your completely Viltrum-constructed home with Viltrum robots and androids that cook and clean and do everything for you and completely take away all your usefulness and agency for yourself when, someone comes to visit. Another Viltrumite you recognize from the broadcasts on TV. All you understand is that he's Nolan's boss on some level or another, and he came to speak with Nolan, but since the man isn't here, all his questions are directed to you

Can you even imagine you're like sitting there already suicidal and in comes Thragg asking why you aren't pregnant yet, like literally wanting actual fucking details about why you haven't bore a single child despite being with Nolan for a few years. I'm talking complete dehumanization as Thragg is asking you TO YOUR FACE how often you're having sex with Nolan, which positions, what do you do in bed, acting like you're doing something wrong. He asks what you do after mating and you just kind of start to reply and he sort of smirks, "you can still walk afterward?" And he seems grossly smug about it, but, this is a very threatening conversation to you. You have a man who could reduce you to paste at any moment and completely take away any luxury or privilege you and Nolan have and he's asking you extremely intimate questions you have to answer through ground teeth and at some point I'm sure he starts on about, "your duty as a woman"

Nolan comes home completely unaware that Thragg has been there and you're still sobbing on your hands and knees as you literally scrub the spotless floors by hand because Thragg told you what a submissive little servant you're expected to be as a lowly human woman and Nolan is trying to comfort you and your hands and fingers are literally pruning from cleaner as you keep crying and refuse to stop "because it's not good enough, it's not good enough"

At some point Nolan and Thragg get into it. Nolan is sent off on some mission that he very slightly underperformed on, or maybe he actually made a really huge tactical error, and here's Thragg, deciding to punish Nolan by. Taking you. Just straight up taking you away from Nolan like you're some kind of privilege he has been allowed and YEAH it is to be a servant/mate for Thragg himself. And Nolan makes a big fuss about how he's one of the ones who helped even conquer this damn rock, how dare the Grand Regent take his mate, but Thragg doesn't care and even if other Viltrumites who serve under him disagree, as you know he rules with such an iron fist that none dare to speak up

Can you even imagine you were with Nolan for like 5 years overall with never so much as a pregnancy scare and Thragg has you for like two months and boom, you're pregnant, in fact you're INSANELY pregnant, you've got TWINS, and for you noncomic readers, Viltrumite DNA is literally so aggressive that twins are literally quite literally unheard of because they cannibalize in the womb or only the strongest lives so, now you've presented Thragg with these nice shiny new little trophies he can self aggrandize over. The first Viltrumite twins in the entire history of their culture, and they're Thragg's

(Something something "what if thragg was having birth control put in your food so you wouldn't become pregnant by Nolan before he could manufacture an excuse to take you for himself" something something)

I also think like. Thragg had the twins in the comics, Ursaal and Onaan, so like. What if he already had the twins when you're taken from Nolan and you give him TRIPLETS. Like. Jesus not only is your fate sealed, you're going in the goddamn Viltrum history books as some sort of magical womb the oh so virile Grand Regent Thragg managed to conquer for himself idk 🙄🙄🙄

But I think it's just the concept of. Such a monstrously violent and cold dude realizing he has uncontrollable feelings for you and they're like FEELINGS FEELINGS, but he literally doesn't know how to act so he's being. Like. Kind of just blatantly shitty and abusive most of the time. You give him any lip and he's got his hands on your throat and threatening you but internally he's like. Turned on by your spice. He wishes you were a Viltrumite so he could be rougher with you. You two have a rare argument where you get those oh so rarely seen guts to talk down to him and later that night he's putting you in your place underneath him fucking you like he's trying to get another brood of children out of you

Think of just the little ways he could show affection which is completely foreign to him and he like doesn't even realize his own behavior and is rationalizing it as something else. He sees you talking to Ursaal one day, combing her hair, telling her that she could potentially consider cutting her hair as males tend to grab it as a battle tactic and he feels a little warmth in his chest as Ursaal dutifully nods "Yes Mother" and Onaan is lurking around the corner, jealous. Thragg forces you to make public appearances with him and you learn how to temper your emotions better, and you'll be brought along to school functions for the children, like Thragg smirking internally as you scold Onaan that he lost a scheduled fight because he's arrogant and wasn't properly paying attention to his opponents

You're forcibly assimilated deeper into Viltrumite culture, but you're also humanizing the Viltrumites you interact with. Ursaal and Onaan realize that they deeply desire more affection and support as children and become fiercely protective of you because you actually treat them with kindness. Thragg can act indifferent to you at best but one day you realize that you have significantly more privileges as his mate than Nolan's and you march off to Thragg's place of work because maybe the twins wanted you to see where they work with their father and you're brought into Thragg's office and he's as stonefaced as ever while you're like. Surrounded by photos of yourself just all over the place. The one on his desk directly in front of him isn't even one of you smiling, it's you scowling with a glare and looking pissed and apparently that one is his favorite. And Thragg is like not even bothered by you seeing all these photos, and his kids are just completely nonchalant like this is all totally normal, "oh, Father, you had a memorial photo made from where you and Mother visited my school, I like this one--" as if these uh collages have been up for quite some time, some maybe even taken from security cameras from your time with Nolan--

I just picture like. Can you imagine the triplet scenario and you wind up giving Thragg Mark, Ursaal, and Onaan, and you bond more with Mark as a late bloomer and the one who is the most human and his siblings are getting monstrously jealous and Thragg doesn't want his legacy tied to a weak powerless Viltrumite, like this man would rather have Mark be dead than not have powers, and Thragg is trying to force you and Mark apart. Can you even conceive like, being a mom and you walk into the room and your son is being absolutely brutalized by his father who is convinced he is hiding his powers or something and you have to shield your own son from his father before he kills him. Could you EVEN IMAGINE Thragg going to throw Mark off of whatever cyberpunk skyscraper nightmare you're living in because he's convinced the panic will make his boy finally learn how to fly and you have to watch as he just drops your (favorite) child off the building and Mark ... never comes back up. Thragg just sees how absolutely devastated you are and convinces himself it's because you're emotional and weak and just casually, "we can make another" (although I imagine in this scenario Mark was saved by Nolan and the two train and eventually basically spearhead a rebellion against Thragg and his empire and rescue you and restore Earth, but, whatever lmao)

I feel like as a general thing, yandere Thragg would often indulge in and enjoy the fact you couldn't deny him sex, because even if you try to deny him, what are you gonna do, overpower him? So he uses it to assert control over you. You snap at him or mouth off, you're getting railed that night to remind you how powerless you are, that you're still his mate. You two have a nasty fight where you legitimately manage to wound his pride, you're getting fucked near unconscious and you're essentially "grounded" for the next few days if not weeks where you aren't allowed to leave your home (maaaaybe because you've managed to make him insecure that his little mate doesn't like him 👉👈 he can't have anyone else steal you away, not when you're making him feel all these powerful emotions he doesn't even know what to call)

You're not even aware of it but the surveillance systems in your home are being CONSTANTLY tuned into all the time, if not by him, then by his own children who are tasked with watching you. I also feel like having the kids on the mix kind of makes everything kind of grotesque. Like imagine you just wake up and you're going by your business one day and you walk into the room and Thragg has your like 5 year old toddlers gathered around a table with knives and weapons on it and you hear little Mark say, "all these things can hurt Mom?" "They can" "even though they're so soft?" "Only to Viltrumites like us" "Mother is really that... weak?" And you realize Thragg is turning your own children into weapons to use against you, watch you, report back to him, because... your kids aren't like you. They're Viltrumites like him and he'll be damned if you make them 'too soft'

But I imagine a day comes when he's forced to at least semi-confront these feelings. Ursaal and Onaan are dedicated little soldiers to him, but also seem to respect your authority as their mother, something Thragg also sometimes encourages (since your "rank" as their mother earns a certain degree of respect and he's trying to teach them to respect the chain of command, even if you are a soft human). Ursaal and Onaan take a mission to another planet with their father and they return and Onaan has a gift for you, an alien flower he thought you might like, something he took without telling his father, but. He doesn't realize there's something wrong with it, something that wouldnt bother a Viltrumite but would definitely harm a human. The second you touch the plant, the second some of its pollen touches your akin, enters your lungs, you start becoming ill, very, very, very ill.

Thragg is trying to tell himself you're just another mate to him, just another bearer of his many many many children that he has no emotional attachments to, but the second he receives word that you might ACTUALLY BE DYING like genuinely actually fucking dying, there's no hesitation. The next time you open your eyes, you're in a Viltrum-run hospital in a lavish sanitized room receiving ONLY the best of care as Thragg is sitting in a chair beside your bed staring directly at you as if he had been staring at your unconscious body perhaps the entire time you were asleep. There's almost a visible relaxation of his posture as you're able to hold a conversation with him, but, his voice is, lowered but firm as he tells you you have yet to fully recover, that you're in isolation to reduce the risk of foreign pathogens. He feels the need to tell you in detail how severely Onaan was beaten for almost costing you your life, almost as if he's seeking your approval, some sort of forgiveness. You ask him how long he's been sitting there and he just deflects and tells you you're still too weak to hold a conversation and to conserve your strength, that the two of you can speak later.

Once you've recovered, it doesn't even seem like he's that interested in sex anymore, but the notoriously sturdy Viltrumite is suddenly returning home much more often now, if only to hold you as you sleep in the marital bed you share with him....

I guess as one final, final suggestion, I can't get over like. Is there an upper limit on the whole "oh you had Viltrum DNA but it just didn't kick in yet" thing. Could you imagine like, once the Viltrum invasion has begun and you're "acquired" for either Nolan or Thragg or whomever, you're scanned or whatever by Viltrum tech and they're like "oh hey what up, Viltrumite DNA detected? Dope?" And maybe it could even be "weak" like from a grandparent or something but, it inevitably "kicks in" and now you have to confront all the new caveats this brings with you. You're expected to live as a Viltrumite now. Maybe Thragg seems to find you a little less pathetic and personally wants to train you himself because he doesn't want the most publicly visible and famous of his mates to be weak. Also just maybe he's glad he can have rougher sex with you. I can just imagine he's forcing you two to have some sort of spar amd you have some sort of natural aptitude or higher than average strength and you wind up really giving him at least ONE really good fucking punch to the face and he's wrestling you down, pinning you down and forcing a kiss onto you as the blood from his broken nose drips onto both of your faces, like

Yeah, anyways I have normal feelings about this series tee hee 😘

[harbourslighthouse]

asphalt in my lungs (jason todd x f!reader)

Summary: It's been six years since the death of the second Robin, your Robin, and you're twenty-one and barely getting by. When a certain person's phone calls stop, you're forced to drag yourself out of your head and pay a visit to a man you didn't think you'd see ever again. You can barely stand the colour red.

—

There are mentions/implications of past abuse & neglect, so be wary of that if that is an issue for you. The story itself is mildly angsty, but it's not severely depressing. You don't necessarily need to read it for future stories, but it does give a lot of information about the reader and sort of 'sets the tone' of things.

For just a little context, I take different details from different mediums of the DC universe. I use aspects from the animated movies, the Christopher Nolan films, and the Arkham video games. Don't regard my stories as 100% canon compliant. 

I hope you enjoy, it is a bit of a long one, but I put my heart and soul into this as it's one of my first stories that I'm publishing here.

It’s 2005, and since you can remember, Gotham City has been made of barbed wire and blood. It crawls like something alive, writhing with sin and grime. The Wayne Enterprises tower sits in the center of Miagani Island, a pulsing beam of light that’s meant to mean something, yet those who live in the darkest slums see it only as a mocking sentinel glowing down on them. 

You wonder if Bruce should have made a symbol of good out of his own name, instead of creating the masked entity: the Batman. 

Maybe then, he would have done something. 

You know the darkness that seeps out of Gotham intimately. Born and bred on Miagani Island—the most urban of the three islands—you grew up in a desolate street, in a desolate house. The school you went to was just as dull, with teachers that hated their jobs, and school kids that shoved each other off slides and dunked heads down toilets. You remained a hidden thing, invisible to most. 

Gotham City remains a corrupted landmark on the map, often pointed at with the resolute statement, ‘That place? We can’t possibly live there. It’s filthy and the crime rate is insane.’ If anyone asked you, as a Gothamite yourself, if it was worth the ridiculously low rent prices, you’d shake them by their shoulders, shove them towards their car, and tell them to drive away as far as possible. 

Yet, you can’t bring yourself to hate the city. You’ve seen its most hideous parts; the trash littered alleyways with burning barrels and tents made of scrap fabric and metal; the rat infested houses along the edge of the Narrows that are half crumbling into the murky water that surrounds the small isle; gang spots stained with blood after a deal goes wrong. Gotham City is many things to many people, but it’s different for you. 

Gotham City, to you, is made of memories. 

As a young child, you hadn’t been blessed with a sweet home full of warmth and love, the kind you see in the sitcoms that only aired at specific times. Not that you watched much of those, anyway. No, yours had been an empty echo of bitterness and split lips. Yours had buried a hole in your chest as something ugly and not worth thinking about, something scabbed over or fully scarred. So you only remember parts of it on the worst of days, when you’re paralysed by something you can’t name. 

Shouting rings from the open window, and there’s a dull pang of surprise that there isn’t a jagged hole in the glass. By now, they start throwing mugs, or plates. Whatever is closest.

Your back digs into the screen door, and you pull your knees up to your chest as you sit and wait on the porch. They locked the door, and there’s no other way for you to slip into your room. The window out back is too high for you to reach, and your arms aren’t strong enough to push yourself up to the windowsill. 

You’re not sure when the dull emptiness had begun to set in, but even at this age, you know violence and normalcy should not co-exist together. But, you’re only fourteen. There’s not much that you can do. 

A glass shatters, the shrill noise making you flinch. It’s the first of many broken pieces of porcelain, so you haul yourself up onto your feet with a silent huff, feeling the burn of tears. You slip your backpack over your shoulder again, and hop down the wooden steps. 

The street is mostly empty. Trash flutters out from underneath parked cars, and the smell of dust and exhaust fumes is thick and heavy. You walk with steady steps, although your gaze keeps falling to the brick-laid sidewalk. There’s a horrible pressure in your chest, like something has lodged itself into the space between your lungs. You count the crosses on your sneakers and pray that they stop shouting soon, so that you can come back home before it’s dark.

Memories are often distorted the older you get. It’s usually the cloudy, grey days that render you in bed for hours. Laying amongst rumpled bed sheets with your hair still styled from the day before, your mind casts a line back into the past, hoping to reel in some sort of closure that you’ve been chasing for years.

You’re not sure why, but during these days when you can’t get out of bed, and your eyes flicker across the gritty texture of your ceiling, you often think about the second home you were introduced to—a home that was given to you when your hand slipped into that of a billionaire celebrity’s, whose eyes held secrets. 

The muted sound of gravel crunching seems louder than your heartbeat as the car pulls into a broad driveway. You lean to the side, temple pressed against the car window, and your lungs clench in awe. 

Large and imposing, a stately mansion made of pale brown bricks, numerous windows, and pointed roofs, sits as a giant backdrop of wealth amongst the vibrant green lawns that stretch onward for miles. You blink rapidly, hand curling around the metal door handle as the engine becomes silent. You climb out slowly, the chill air pushing against your cheeks. Your worn shoes are thin at the bottom, and you can feel the pressure of gravel and pebbles against your heels, but you can’t seem to care as you numbly walk closer to the entrance of the mansion. The structure towers above you, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s as intimidating on the inside as it is on the outside. It reminds you of all the large estates you’d seen in the history books (ones that hadn’t been scribbled over with sharpie).

The butler, or Alfred, as you’ve come to know, strides past you with his measured steps, and opens the double doors made of wood as dark as dirt. He waits patiently inside, grey eyes cast over your awe-struck face. He nods his head, urging you to step across the threshold. 

Swallowing thickly, you walk past him and feel the air in your lungs escape in a silent gasp. Thick, velvet carpet cushions your feet and stretches down a large hall, hiding away wooden floorboards that shine as if wet. Gilded paintings are hung on either walls, portraits and landscapes in oils. Vases sit neatly on tables with clusters of flowers, and a chandelier hangs above the room in glittering crystal and electric candles. 

You’re sure if you could see yourself, you’d be amused at the slack-jaw expression on your face as your eyes trace across the dark, polished interior of the house, sliding along the gleaming banisters of the grand staircase that must lead to even more exuberant displays of wealth. Was the owner a king? Or perhaps a lord from the 1700s? You nearly forgot all about the man that had smiled at you a day ago, and that you’d meet him again today. 

You hear Alfred clear his throat from behind you, and you swivel towards him, hands awkwardly clasped at your middle as if you’d been caught in the act of something. Your heart flutters as his eyes crease with a silent smile, and he strides past you through an arched doorway, and you follow quietly behind, unaware of just how different things will be from now on. 

You wonder if there’s something you’re searching for in that memory, with how many times you come back to it, but as the days stretch in a linear line of routines and phone calls, you shove it to the far side of the shelf, where it remains stationary and covered in dust. 

If you’re being honest with yourself, the state you’re in emotionally isn’t stable. You’re very good at hiding it, though memories and heartache trail after you like rumours, wrapping around your throat some days and sending unshed tears to gather in your eyes. Despite those days, you have a life that you can’t ignore or leave behind. You have a regular job as a secretary—nothing fancy—and interestingly, you can’t bring yourself to complain about it. You assist a defense attorney in the Department of Justice, and you’ve found that law, despite what many say, is quite entertaining to someone who isn’t directly involved with the legal proceedings. 

And you’ve made some friends, although you’re not sure if it’s an official thing or something you’ve decided on your own. Commissioner Gordon is kind to you, tilts his head when he sees you sitting at your desk, and gives you a mustached smile, auburn hair curling around the corners of his lips. He once brought you a coffee, tired eyes glancing your way with a softly spoken greeting. You wonder if he noticed the way you’d been able to smile after feeling like your face had gone numb. You wonder if he remembers how you looked six years ago in a purple and yellow suit.

The trek back to your apartment is notorious for bringing up unwanted snippets of a life long-gone. You see Bruce’s face in the passing men in business suits and finely tailored coats. Reflections of grey-haired gentlemen makes you think of Alfred with his creased eyes and dry, sarcastic humour. The occasional red sweater nearly sends you choking on air as flashes of a boy embellished with wonder and pride strikes your mind viciously. 

Alfred leads you into a kitchen, and again, you are in awe of the gleaming tiles beneath your feet, the pristine cupboards with glass fronts that let you see the polished crockery inside. As Alfred disappears into the hall outside again with a gentle instruction for you to stay put, you stand idly at the end of a long, white-washed table that gives you the impression of a beach-house dining room. It then strikes you that there’s probably a grand dining room elsewhere in the mansion. 

A rustling sound scratches at your ears and you turn just to see a second doorway at the opposite side of the room creak open—a doorway that blends seamlessly into the tan coloured wall. You’re rendered dumbly staring at a boy around your age, whose own eyes stare back at you in silent shock. In his arms, he cradles a packet of crackers and…a loaf of sliced bread.

Your gaze flicks between the contents in his arms and his widened eyes, before you clear your throat awkwardly and flick your hand in a tiny wave. 

“Hi,” you say quietly, and you wonder if the words are loud enough to even reach him. 

Your voice seems to snap him out of his surprise, and he blinks rapidly, straightening. 

“Hello,” he says in a voice that sounds forcefully deep, as if he were trying to sound bigger, stronger than what he looks. He’s tiny. Thin and bony, short even. You wonder if he actually is near your age, or much younger. 

Thick, black hair shifts atop of his head as he glances swiftly around the room, as if searching for someone else to explain your sudden appearance. Then he looks back at you with eyes that seem largely intelligent, yet skeptical, and you get the impression he’s silently sizing you up, or studying you. What he intends to find, you don’t know. 

You step back as he resolutely shuffles the crackers and bread in his arms to better fit in his hold, and makes his way to you, socked feet padding across the tiles. Watching mutely, he drops the items on the table with little care, the bread falling lopsided with a squishy thud. He turns to you fully and sticks his pale hand out to you. 

“I’m Jason Todd,” he says stiffly, jade-coloured eyes flickering across your profile. 

You glance at his hand with bated breath, noticing the red sweater he’s wearing has sleeves that are too long and cover most of his hand other than his fingers. 

Hesitantly, you curl your hand around his, palm to fabric, and shake it with little strength or enthusiasm. Like a wide-eyed deer, you feel as if you’ve met a grinning wolf with eyes that are kinder than what nature usually permits. 

You smile weakly and give him your name.

That memory leaves you with something throttling your heart, until you’re sure you might just pass out on the side of the street. That’s never happened before, but there’s always the possibility. 

Usually, you’re able to reign in these flashes of the past, and you’re largely successful as the days go by. Yet, when your phone lights up with a buzz, and you see the familiar name ‘Grayson’ pop up, you’re left standing in square one again with shaky fingers and burning eyes.

You’ve read countless messages from Dick, sent during the early morning hours or late in the afternoon. You figure it aligns with his schedule in Bludhaven. The young, twenty-four year old is adamant, ever since you left the manor three years ago, at eighteen, to remain in contact with you no matter what. You haven’t been able to escape his ceaseless concern over your whereabouts, the not-so-subtle questions about your well-being.

It’s funny to you, considering he hadn’t been the most emotionally stable person either, especially when, at fourteen, you and Jason became Batman’s well-known sidekicks, Batgirl and Robin. He had been eighteen, angry, and reckless, going off on his own to make a name for himself that isn’t weighted down by Bruce’s shadow. Yet now, despite owning your own place, securing a stable job, and regularly keeping up with normal adult responsibilities, the older man refuses to ease his worry over you. You know the truth.

He’s afraid of the grief you carry. 

You wonder if he’s even aware of his own grief, seeing as all he does is care about yours. You don’t have the heart to tell him to let it go, to give you space—you’re sure that he needs the weekly phone calls more than you do. So, you let him text, call, facetime. Sometimes you’re in the middle of grocery shopping when your phone vibrates with his name rolling across the screen in bright letters, ‘Dick Grayson is calling…’ 

And sometimes he says something that has you clenching your teeth, staring off at something if only to keep the burn behind your eyes minimal. He’s a trigger for many of these memory flashes that don’t ease the thing inside your chest that’s wailing. 

‘I saw this girl the other day that looked like Batgirl and I wondered if I’d been taken back in time, y’know? And—yeah, it was so strange…but then I was like, no—that makes no sense—she’s in Gotham, not here in Bludhaven, but like…she was decked out in purple and yellow, and I thought of you…’ 

Your ears have started ringing, drowning out the rest of Dick’s monologue; purple and yellow. Purple and yellow. That was Batgirl’s thing. That was your thing. Or, at least, it had been. 

You glance down at the pair of latex gloves you clutch in your hand. The material is bright yellow, shiny in the light. Grimacing, you look at Bruce and sigh. 

“B…?” 

A low hum is given in response, an acknowledgement of your pending question. You’ve grown used to Bruce’s minimal communication. The husky words said in a gruff voice, the clipped instructions, the low grunts. 

“Does it have to be bright purple and yellow?” Your voice is quiet, a little unsure. Years of shouting and backhanded slaps after a question still leaves you cautious. Afraid. 

The dark-haired man turns in his chair, sharp eyes sliding your way. You stand awkwardly, almost timid. You see the same softening around his eyes, the same flash of gentleness you’d seen when he found you hiding behind a filthy dumpster on a cold Tuesday night. 

“Yes,” he says flatly, and the single word lingers with something trailing behind it, as if there’s more that he wants to say. You wait patiently with raised brows, but he doesn’t say anything more, and turns his attention back to the glowing monitors, eyes flitting across blue-lettered reports and images.

You stand there with nothing else to say, the roof of the Batcave seemingly constrictive and as dark as a hole in the ground, the metal tiles under your feet empty and expansive. 

There isn’t a sting travelling across your cheek. There’s no screamed curses and insults thrown your way, simply because you asked a question. Yet, why does it feel as if you’ve been kicked in the gut? Was his answer not enough? Surely it is—it’s better than what you used to receive from the people who were meant to love you. 

You tug the gloves onto your hands, shimming your fingers into the right places, and glance down at your mustard-yellow boots. You’ll simply have to make do. 

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when an elderly lady nudges your arm, murmuring a small ‘excuse me’ as she leans over to grab a container of mozzarella balls. 

“Oh,” you mumble, smiling apologetically as you move out of the way. “Sorry, that’s—sorry.” 

You hear Dick’s faint voice call your name, and you bring your phone back up to your ear again, answering his questions with a quiet tone, walking away from the aisle of cheese and other dairy products.

For what it’s worth…those aren’t even the worst kinds of memories you have. No, the worst are of the boy shrouded in glory, the second Robin—Jason Todd.

Jason Todd had been the first thing to make sense in your life, which was strange, considering most of your life had been an abstract mess of scraped knees, broken plates, and late nights shooting hoops in the neighbourhood basketball court. A life that Jason knew very well, too. 

Perhaps it was the shared trauma of broken families that brought you closer together; sealed the both of you in a wordless acknowledgement that said, ‘I see you.’ Either way, the both of you acted as a crutch for the other, and you try to forget it as you stand in empty elevators, on the edge of the curb for a taxi cab, when you see a little boy with raven-feathered hair on the street. 

Oh, Jason. You were everything, is all that you can bring yourself to think some days, when the noise of the city becomes unbearable and you simply have to shove towels inside the gaps in the windowsill—if only to muffle the noise and silence the screaming police sirens.

Those are the days when you’re tempted to leave Gotham entirely, if only to run away from whatever thing is haunting you. Sometimes, in the shadowy darkness of the night, as you lay in bed with the covers drawn to your chin, you wonder if it’s Jason you see at the end of the bed. Small as he was, quiet, and vibrating with a passion that burned bright red. Then you blink and realise you’d only been imagining the straight slope of his nose or the curve of his eyelashes. 

“It’s entirely unfair,” you mumble, hands in your lap as you sit cross-legged in the centre of Jason’s room.

Surrounded by scattered CDs, you hear the floorboards creak as Jason moves around the edge of his bed, carrying a pile of books to the empty bookcase. You were helping him sort out the books and CDs he’s been collecting.

“What?” He scoffs with a grin that pulls more to the right than the left. “You’re jealous of boys and their ‘long eyelashes’?” 

You can’t help but smile at his mocking tone, the way he teases you as if you’ve known each other for longer than just a few months. Jade-green eyes glance at you briefly. 

Rolling your eyes, you sigh defeatedly with dropped shoulders. “Yes, because you all have such long, luscious lashes. Meanwhile, mine are just average.” 

Jason slides his pile of books into their designated spots, paper pressed against wood panels, and turns to you. Stepping over the littered CD cases, he crouches directly in front of you, and your breath catches. 

“I’m tellin’ you right now, nothing about you is average,” he says, and you can barely breathe with how intently he’s looking at you, and suddenly, it’s like you’re staring into the heart of Gotham. Broken and marred, bloodied and bruised, and yet still so irrevocably beautiful and worth everything. 

Well, you once thought that Gotham’s heart was worth everything. Now, you’re not so sure. You lost the clearest piece of love to you on the planet, a boy wrapped in barbed wire with a grin as infectious as a disease.

You wonder sometimes if you’re the only one who feels Jason’s absence as strongly. The emptiness that lingers where his laugh used to echo is so heavy, you’re sure it’s formed a presence of its own. Did his ghost haunt Dick as it did you? Did Dick check over his shoulder and blink rapidly whenever he saw a young boy wearing a red hoodie? Did he have to mutter to himself in the kitchen, pleading with himself to get over what used to be? Or were you the only one? 

And what about Bruce? Does the man who once held a broken, fifteen year old boy—who believed in everything the Batman stands for—reduce himself to a mess every night? 

Just the thought of Bruce sends a sick sense of bitterness churning in your gut, which you feel entirely guilty for. You know what happened wasn’t Bruce’s fault. You know that he did everything he could. Yet, when you think too hard about what it was like on the day he came back with nothing but red eyes, a clipped utterance, and no Jason…you have to run to the bathroom to empty out the contents of your stomach in the toilet. It’s embarrassing and leaves your cheeks burning with shame.

You should be over this by now. It’s been six years. 

Memory is a fickle thing, regardless of time. It chooses when to be heard and when to remain dormant. You’re stuck in an endless cycle of paralyzing remembrance and constant avoidance. Weeks go by without incident, only for a month to trap you inside your head with memories of a broken past. Then the cycle repeats. 

Despite this, you’ve learnt to cope with the past like a sailor does with the roughened sea. Although, you’re sure you’re more akin to a sailor stranded in a raging tempest. You ride each wave of nausea-inducing memory, all whilst clinging to the barest strip of wood—Dick Grayson and his ever-present concern, Alfred’s occasional query of your wellbeing, Bruce’s own sanity, the job you have, and the sickening feeling that you can’t let Jason see you like this, despite him not being here in the first place. 

You’re drowning in grief, and you know it. 

And so you’re not sure what exactly happened between April and June of 2005, but you know Dick’s phone calls stopped almost entirely for three whole months. You only called once, in carefully concealed panic, when you realised he hadn’t called you in two weeks.

“Hi, sorry. I know I don’t usually call, but you haven’t—” 

“No, no, don’t—uh—don’t apologise. I’m—yeah. I'm sorry, that’s my bad. Should’ve let you know. Things have just been busy, honey.” 

“...That’s all it is? Just been busy?” 

“Yeah, I promise. Everything’s okay.”

“Okay…well, I’m glad you’re okay then…”

The phone call had been short and it had put you on edge. Dick doesn’t let phone calls end abruptly—instead, he takes his time to explain things or rambles about topics you’re not very interested in. But you don’t push or prod, mostly because you have the suspicion it has to do with his life of vigilantism—the one you left behind five years ago. 

Leaving that life behind had been easy. Jason’s death meant the death of Robin. It meant the death of Batgirl, too. Although, your death had been inward and known by very few people. 

July comes by, only a week passes where Dick calls you consistently, and then it’s back to radio silence. The importance of his phone calls is viciously realised, but you don’t have the heart to admit it. Dick Grayson has been your crutch for the last three years, and you’re inexplicably starving for the care he manages to give you through his calls.

Taking it upon yourself to find out what’s going on, you decide to drive to the Manor.  You crank up the radio as loud as you can, the car rattling with noise as you cruise across the bridge that leads to the mainland. If you’re alone with nothing but silence and your thoughts, you’ll probably turn back the other way. It had been hard enough to convince yourself to grab your keys off the kitchen counter.

The Manor is just as grand as you remember it, if not a little weathered by time—brown against the blue sky, like a giant boulder sitting in the center of a vibrant green landscape that stretches flatly like a canvas before reaching a thin treeline of woods. Gravel crunches under tires, and the car’s engine rumbles before fading into silence. Blinking, you’re fourteen again as your hand wraps around the door handle, and you step out into the frigid air. 

Tugging your coat closer to your frame, you take measured steps up the driveway, glancing at the neatly pruned hedges that cluster beneath some of the large, lower windows, and the copper-leaved tree that’s remained the same for the last decade—sitting resolutely to the left of the estate and hiding away pale-brown bricks and frosted glass panes. 

The double doors, the colour of dirt, are the only thing between you and something that leaves behind a bitter taste in your mouth. Gripping the heavy, bronze door knocker, you thud it against the door three times, before stepping back as if burned by the metal. 

You’ve forgotten Alfred’s punctuality, because it’s only seconds before the doors silently groan open in the way that only heavy things do, and you’re met with grey, creased eyes that glue to you with reserved surprise. 

Lips twitching into a weak smile, you say quietly, “Hi, Alfred.” 

The stoic butler ushers you in quickly, a welcoming and familiar hand pressed lightly against your back to lead you across the threshold. He gestures to your coat, but you look at his wrinkled face and shake your head, something inside you breaking in half, but you don’t know what it is. 

“That’s okay, Alfred,” you say gently, “I just—I’m here to talk…to Bruce. Is he down in the cave?” 

Alfred nods his head, walking past you towards the parlour room. You follow behind quietly. 

“He is, indeed. Might I ask why you’ve come?” 

You glance his way to see him already looking at you, eyes the colour of iron flickering across your face as you both step into the parlour. It’s cold you notice, and the room is dim. 

“I, um…” you’re not sure how to word this—how could you possibly say, ‘I’m getting separation anxiety because Dick isn’t calling me and I want to know why’? 

“Just want to ask him if there’s something important going on…Dick’s been busier than usual,” is what you settle with, and Alfred accepts it with nothing but a simple nod, and no further questions. You appreciate Alfred’s uncanny ability to brush off any form of curiosity. 

The parlour room remains the same, with only a few, small changes. You’re sure that the two leather couches have been reupholstered; shinier and a richer shade of brown. Vases full of flowers are placed neatly beneath the colonial windows which are framed by thick curtains the colour of moss. Usually the bouquets consisted of lilies, but now they’re tulips. The persian carpet stretches across the polished floorboards, softening the sound of your shoes, and the mounted electrical lights are unlit, surrounded by clusters of gilded paintings. 

Passing under an arched entranceway, you walk into a familiar, adjacent room, where bookcases line the walls with glass doors, and an old grand piano sits as the centerpiece of it all. Sleek, black, and with keys open to the cool air that drifts in through an open window. 

Alfred looks your way with a careful glance, and says in a mild tone that’s not meant to be accusing.

“Do you still remember?” 

You wish you could tell him that you remember everything. Would it be ill of you to break down and spill your guts out to the man who’d patched you up more times than you can count? Who stitched torn skin back together again while you bit down on a piece of leather? Not that you needed it, anyway. 

No, you think to yourself. Alfred does not need to see me that way, either. 

You smile softly and bob your head. “Yes, I remember.” 

His thin lips quirk ever-so slightly, and he nods curtly. With his hands clasped neatly behind his back, he turns and leaves the room without another word, leaving you behind with your heartbeat pounding inside your ribcage like a panicked bird.

Glancing down at the gleaming keys, you lift your hand to hover above them with the intent to replicate a familiar tune. Your fingers are shaking violently, and for a moment, all you can hear is the blood rushing inside your ears, before you swallow thickly, and press your fingertips down on the cool ivory-coated wood. 

The melody is quiet, the pressure of your fingers not great enough to make it echo. Instead, it reminds you of the faint call of birds outside, the ones you’d see flying down from the trees to the lawn, picking at the grass.

A low creak deep inside the house reverberates through the room, and the centre bookcase dislodges from the wall with a scrape. You stagger back a step as the bookcase swings outward like a door—the books and the nick-nacks remaining stationary inside the shelves, a feat you had never decided to investigate. 

Your pulse flutters in your neck, and you unclench your jaw. Teeth aching, you look down the shadowed staircase that the bookcase had revealed. Entering the Batcave had been so normal to you, three years ago, and now, your stomach churns as if the bats that hang from the cave’s ceiling are living inside your gut. 

With a deep sigh and a shift of your feet, you take the steps down. The air is noticeably cooler, but damp, as if leftover mist was hanging in the air and brushing against your cheeks. You had realised, at fourteen, that it’s because there is mist in the air, courtesy of the waterfalls that rush from the ceiling like jets of water from a spout. You clench your fists by your sides to stop your hands from shaking. 

Reaching the bottom, you walk slowly across the metal floor of the first and main platform. Glancing to your left, monitors that curve at the sides glow brightly around sleek desks; news channels play from the ones mounted higher above, police scanners from different units below, and open windows of various different tabs on the ones below that. To your right, you spare a very brief look at the cylinder cases that display various suits. One scorched and shredded suit in particular sends bile rising up your throat, and you instantly tear your gaze away. 

Hopping down a small set of steps to the second platform, your footsteps echo as you pass the several medical cots neatly placed in rows, the smell of antiseptic light in the air from countless injuries tended to on the white cotton mattresses. It lingers, and your throat tightens at the memory of sitting on the edge of one of the cots, legs dangling, and wincing whenever Alfred passed a needle through your skin. Blinking and burying the memory down, you quickly shuffle past and stop at the top of another flight of stairs. 

This one leads to the third and last level of the Batcave that acts as two main things: Bruce’s main monitor that only he can use, and the Batmobile’s, quote on quote, ‘garage’. Looking down at the platform below, you hesitate. Currently, the Batmobile isn’t in sight, instead hidden beneath the platform to make room for two large monitor screens mounted to a desk, where a broad shouldered man sits. 

Any courage that you might have had before is shattered in an instant. How do you possibly speak into the empty, moist air of the cave without your voice cracking like a pubescent teen’s? How can you possibly ask Bruce Wayne anything when you haven’t spoken to him in over a year?

And then you remember the cost of the gasoline you pumped into your car, and the fear that’s lodged itself inside your ribcage because Dick hasn’t been calling you as often as he did. Are you afraid for Dick, or are you afraid of a change in routine? 

You inhale sharply through your nose, the air chilling the inside of your lungs. Petrichor hangs in the air, and although the scent is usually soothing, nothing seems to quieten the thundering beat of your heart. 

“You know I’m here,” you say from atop the stairs, and your voice echoes like a ripple in still water. 

Bruce barely shifts in his chair, rectangular glasses sitting on the high ridge of his nose. That’s new. 

“Why?” Comes his gruff response…that's not new. 

You inhale deeply, steeling your nerves as you descend the staircase. You know this man, he’s not a stranger. Oh, what a lie that is. 

“Dick’s been busy,” you say, hating how your voice sounds so loud in the emptiness of the cave. 

Bruce doesn’t look at you, but instead his eyes flick over the text on the monitor screens, and you can feel yourself shrivelling inside, and you’re no longer twenty-one, but fifteen and choking on grief. 

“Bruce, what’s been going on?”

The tone of your voice is only slightly firmer, because you really can’t stand being here for much longer.

A rough exhalation of air meets you, wide shoulders rolling stiffly before he finally turns to you, the chair squeaking quietly. For the first time in over a year, you meet familiar eyes the colour of gunmetal-blue, and feel something crash down on you heavily. 

“Nothing,” he says lowly, and the gravel of his voice echoes out clearly through the cave. The rush of the waterfalls is nowhere near as loud as the thin humming of blood in your ears.

“Things have been the same as always—” 

“That’s not true,” you interject, surprising yourself even with the severity you push out. 

His sharp brows knit together, and he goes to say your name in what you’re sure would have been a stern tone, but you don’t let him utter even the first syllable out. 

“Dick calls me all the time,” you say, raising a loose hand, “and now he’s barely been able to call me twice. It’s not normal, and I want to know why he’s so busy. Last time we spoke, he said he’s been helping you.”

Shockingly, you watch as Bruce takes his glasses off and rubs a harsh hand over his face. You notice now that his jaw is covered in dark stubble, instead of being clean shaven. Now that you see him fully, you notice just how tired he seems, and something other than the panicked bird in your chest comes to life. 

Something’s wrong. 

Watching the creases in his forehead deepen, as if he’s thinking about something severely upsetting, you wait with your feet glued to the floor. Not even seconds ago, you felt the urgent need to flee, as if your skeleton could not remain still for another second, but now, it’s as if gravity has latched an even tighter hand around your ankles, keeping you firmly in place. 

If Bruce is…ruffled by whatever thing is going on, you need to know. You have to know, even if it has nothing to do with you. The thought confuses you; caring about Bruce’s issues hasn’t been at the top of your agenda for three years. 

“Someone new has come to Gotham,” Bruce finally says, and his voice is quieter than before. 

Immediately, you frown. “Who?” 

Bruce stands with a near silent huff, as if his muscles are aching and it’s getting the best of him, and he starts ascending the stairs up to the first platform. You’ve known since you were fourteen that he wants you to follow him. 

“He showed up three months ago.” Well, that checks out with the cessation of Dick’s phone calls. 

Walking up the three flights of stairs, you trail behind Bruce as he makes his way up to the curved monitors, falling heavily into one of the rolling chairs. You eye him curiously, your pulse fluttering with anxiety as the keyboard clicks and clacks beneath his swift fingers. 

An image pops up on the screen, and you squint at a blurred image of a man seated on a motorcycle. You can just make out the train tracks that run through the ground and the station's arched ceiling made of steel beams and glass. 

Your frown deepens. “What is….?” 

Bruce doesn’t pay you any mind, instead typing quickly again. The image’s resolution refreshes, and you can see much clearer. Your head tilts with further intrigue as you notice the red helmet the biker wears, but it looks nothing like a motorcycle helmet—no, it’s smooth and sleek, with gleaming white eyes instead of a visor. 

“Well…” you say slowly, “what’s so special about him that it’s got you and Dick working so hard?” 

Bruce clicks another key, and you realise that it’s not an image, but a video. You hear the masked man call out, voice deep and heavy.

“You haven’t lost your touch!” 

The man’s voice is nearly drowned out entirely at the end by a train as it roars past, hiding the biker from view completely. Bruce pauses the video. 

Your confusion only heightens, and a dull burn of frustration settles in your chest because why can’t Bruce just tell you instead of forcing you to figure it out on your own?  

“I don’t understand,” you sigh, glancing at Bruce’s profile. Gosh, he looks terrible. 

Bruce remains quiet, a deep exhale passing through his nose as he types again, the sound echoing in your ears louder than it should. The video replays, this time without the overlaying noise of the train. 

You haven’t lost your touch, Bruce!” 

A pang of shock shoots through you, brows raising. You look to Bruce, searching for an answer in his silence. This unknown man, wearing a strange helmet, knows who the Batman is? That’s…disastrous. 

You’re not prepared for Bruce to stand, nor for him to walk past you to the other side of the platform where the cylinder glass cases are. You swallow thickly, eyes flickering between the wide line of his shoulders and the case he approaches. Remaining in place, you don’t dare say anything, instead waiting for him to speak. 

Bruce says your name, and you feel your heart drop to your stomach with a heavy thud. 

He’s standing in front of the torn and shredded suit you’d barely been able to look at for more than a second when you came down here in the first place. 

He’s looking at Jason’s suit. 

Your voice trembles. “B?” 

“It’s him.” 

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence. No, no, no. 

“Bruce, stop—” 

“He’s trained,” Bruce continues, paying your increasing panic no mind. He only stares at his reflection in the glass, as if he could find something that would solve all of this. As if there’s an answer to the guilt you can see so plainly in front of you. 

“He knows things that only a Robin would know.” 

You can feel the inside of your elbows burning, your fingers violently shaking at your sides. You can’t bring yourself to say anything, but you’re desperate to scream. 

You’re insane. You’ve gone insane! 

“Things…only Jason would know.” 

You break. “Stop, Bruce. He’s dead. He’s dead.” 

Bruce turns, eyes snapping to you with intensity. You can’t pin-point the emotion in his face—you almost never could before—and your hand presses to your chest where your heart thunders against muscle and bone. 

This had been a terrible mistake. You should never have come back here. 

“If this…if this is what you’re saying to help you sleep at night…” you warn, but the strength of your voice is barely there, wobbling like laminated paper. “Then that’s fine, but don’t…don’t you dare bring me into it.” 

Bruce regards you with a calculating look, as if mentally pinpointing all the parts of you that are breaking. How dare he say such a ridiculous, cruel thing? After six years? Six years of pretending that everything’s okay? 

You hear him say your name lowly again, and you shake your head, pointing a trembling finger at him.  

“It’s been six years, Bruce. You held him. This—this man,” you glance briefly behind you at the monitor, lifting a weak hand, “he’s probably just some—some guy that’s smarter than everyone else.” 

Even you know how unlikely that is, but you can’t hear anything over your pulse and the overwhelming panic that’s clawing at the lining of your stomach. 

Bruce sighs deeply, the rough sound grating at your ears. You should have just waited for things to blow over. Dick would have started calling you again, and you’d never have asked what was happening—never would have stepped back into this second home of yours that’s far too empty. 

“I wouldn’t have told you if I wasn’t sure,” Bruce says, and his voice comes out quietly, as if he’s finally realising the damage he’s causing you in this moment. 

“He’s dead,” you hiss, your voice catching. Your cheeks are wet, and you don’t remember when you started crying—you shouldn’t be. Not in front of Bruce. 

“There’s a way to bring people back…” 

You’re shaking your head again, trying to suck air back into your chest, if only for your heart to stop thudding against your ribcage like it’s trapped. 

But he won’t stop talking. “It’s called the Lazar—” 

“Stop,” you gasp, hands clamping over your ears.

As if you’d inhaled concrete into your lungs, you can barely breathe, and you can almost imagine the taste of asphalt on your tongue—no, that’s the blood from your bitten tongue. 

You stagger back a step, feeling as if everything around you is spinning. Gunmetal-blue eyes stare at you with concealed concern, flickering across your face. Your gaze falls on the case behind him, the shredded red and yellow fabric that taunts you, and all you can remember is the heat of the explosion.

Your legs give out. Your head hits the floor before Bruce can get to you. 

Your name is whispered urgently, and your consciousness returns to you in slow blinks as you wake up. Someone’s shaking your shoulder, fingers gripping the edge of your sleeve. 

Pale moonlight illuminates the jade-green eyes that blink down at you, and you groan, pushing your palm against Jason’s cheek and away from you. It’s the middle of the night and you were sleeping so well. 

“What?” You grumble as you throw your arm across your face, and you hear his quiet breath. 

“You gotta see something.” 

Dropping your arm, your bleary eyes glare at him tiredly. It’s the first night you’ve had in ages that doesn’t involve swinging from one rooftop to the next, and he wants you to get up and see something? Is he serious? 

Jason tilts his head, his lopsided smile curling his lips.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, nudging his head to the side. A small gesture for you to get up and follow him. Indulge him in whatever nighttime adventure he has planned. 

Glancing between him, the digital clock on your nightstand that winks 1.34 AM at you, and your open door…you huff and fling your duvet off of you. 

“If this is something stupid…” 

“It’s not,” Jason assures you with a sigh, socked feet silent along the hardwood floor. 

Trailing behind Jason and yawning into your elbow, the two of you silently make your way up marble staircases and down empty hallways. The third level of the manor is mostly bare, sparse pieces of furniture hidden behind white sheets like dormant ghosts, and as well trained as you both are to remain silent, your footsteps echo in the emptiness. 

“Jason, what exactly—” 

He cuts off your whisper with a shush, a single finger pressed to his lips. He places a hand on your shoulder, the weight heavy and warm, and nudges you into the largest hall on the level. It’s noticeably brighter, the windows devoid of curtains and letting the moonlight spill against the floor in giant rectangles.

Typically, this room is used for wrestling, floor mats splayed across the hardwood floor that isn’t as shiny as the lower floors. You follow Jason as he crosses the room, his raven-feathered hair ruffled. 

Crouching beside him at one of the windows, you notice the glass pane has been pushed open, and the telescope Bruce bought for Jason’s birthday is propped against the windowsill. Usually, Alfred insists that the windows are kept closed during the night, as the last time one was left open, a bat had come into the manor and had remained chained to the ceiling for the better part of a week. 

You frown with intrigue as Jason peers into the telescope. He glances at you, bobbing his head for you to do the same. Jason watches you carefully as you lean forward, fingers pressing lightly against the scope as you look through the glass. 

As bright as an orb of lightning, the moon greets you in a stunning vision of magnified quality. Your breath leaves you in a quiet gasp, and you trace the grey lines that make up the craters that crack through the moon’s surface. It’s as if the moon were made of glowing glass, and the craters were the product of golf balls smashing into it. 

You pull away, and find that Jason is already looking at you. A wide grin creeps across your face. 

“It’s amazing,” you murmur quietly, and your initial grogginess has already begun to dissipate. 

Jason’s dark lashes flicker, and he smiles. The right side of his mouth is always higher than the left, and you've always loved the deep commas around the corners of his lips.

“Thought you might like it,” he says, keeping his voice low. 

For a moment, you’re suspended in his gaze, watching the minuscule movement of his eyes as they trace your features and the smile that remains on your face. He's calm, in this moment. The opposite of what he has been for the last few weeks, and you relish in it. 

“Thank you for showing me.” 

Jason’s lips curve upward farther, the creases around his eyes deepening like he's proud.

“...Even though you woke me up at an ungodly time.” 

Your shoulder is pushed back lightly by his hand, and you laugh with a quiet breath, hearing his own chuckles reverberate next to you. 

“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles, his voice carrying his smile audibly. 

You lean forward again, quinting through the eyepiece. You’ve never been able to see the moon this close, and you never even dreamed that you would. The only thing that ever came close to this was the printed images in the library books at the school you once went to. 

“It’s so—” your words die when you lean back again, finding the space beside you empty. The warmth of his body absent, as if he had never been there in the first place.

Blinking, your head swivels around, and confusion settles in your chest. Where’d he go?

“Jason?” 

Standing to your feet, your fingers idly rub at your arm as you look around the large hall. You look in the shadows, but you find nothing there. There’s only you and the sound of your breathing, the floormats suddenly uncomfortably soft beneath your feet, as if you might just fall through them. 

He couldn’t have left the room so quickly, could he? 

The light in the room dims, and you glance behind you through the window. Dark clouds slither across the moon, and something cold wraps around your lungs.

You spin, gaze frantically searching. 

“Jason?” You call out, not bothering to hide the volume of your voice in the quiet manor. “Jason!?” 

There’s nothing but noise in your ears, muffled and warped. The darkness of your closed eyelids is the only thing that greets you, and a pounding in the back of your skull and a singular sentence. 

Where’s Jason? Where’s Jason? Where’s Jason? 

Your eyes fling open and you shoot upright, gasping.

Jason’s here. 

Thank you for reading! God bless <3

[fluentmoviequoter]

Lonelier in Misery

Part 2 of Lonely in Misery

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!paramedic!reader

Summary: After you first date with Tim, you decide to keep your relationship from Nolan and Bailey for as long as possible.

Warnings: brief angst, fluff

Word Count: 1.7k+ words

A/N: Titles are hard sometimes. This is one of those times.

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

The morning after your first date with Tim, feigning your continued misery isn’t hard. You miss him already, even though it’s been less than twelve hours since he kissed you and turned your world on its axis. He changed everything, and you never want to go back to how it was before. Now your absent smile and downcast demeanor are because you miss Tim; you miss someone rather than not having anyone. It’s a nice change, but you’re still craving another kiss.

When you arrive at work, Bailey runs across the station to meet you. She pulls you into a tight hug, and you slowly wrap your arms around her in return.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I thought it would work out with Tim.”

“Oh,” you murmur as you realize she’s still making assumptions based on your text from last night. “Right.”

“Don’t take this as a sign or anything, though. I promise I will do better next time! Just tell me what you did and didn’t like.”

“Bailey, you don’t have to set me up again.”

“No, you need someone. I hate seeing you like this. Being lonely sucks, and with our job, we deserve to have a person to go home to.”

“I agree, but a blind date isn’t-“

“You have to give me another chance. Nolan has more friends, plenty that aren’t cops, so I can find you the right guy.”

Bailey turns when the battalion chief calls her name, and you’re left alone again. You’ll have to convince her not to set you up on another date later. The problem is that you can’t tell her why, not unless you want her to insert herself into your relationship with Tim. Bailey is great, she’s your best friend, but she meddles.

You sigh as you pull your phone out. Tim has responded to your good morning text, so you send a quick warning: Bailey wants to set me up on another date since last night ‘didn’t work out’

Tim answers quickly, and his message brings a smile to your face.

Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle all the dates from now on.

While you avoid answering Bailey’s questions, Tim is dealing with his own line of inquiries about the date last night.

“How did it go? You like her, right? I know you’ve met before,” Nolan asks quickly.

“It was fine,” Tim answers.

“Fine… Is that it? I don’t get more details?”

Tim shrugs and repeats, “It went fine.”

Nolan tosses his hands up in exasperation. Tim won’t elaborate, he already knows that, but he needs to know if he and Bailey were right about their idea that you and Tim would be perfect for one another.

“Sergeant Grey!” Nolan calls. “Bradford and I can deliver the safety brochures to the police station.”

“You want to do a rookie’s assignment for them?” Grey asks, his skepticism audible.

“Yes, sir.”

“Yeah. I know you’re just going to visit Bailey, though, you’re not smooth, Nolan.”

“Never expected to be. Thank you, sir!” Nolan turns to Tim to say, “Let’s go.”

“Why?” Tim asks.

“Because I want to hear from both of you. Fine isn’t good enough.”

Tim grumbles as he follows Nolan to the shop. “I’m driving,” he yells when he catches up.

You’re restocking an equipment kit near the open garage door when a police car parks outside. As you set your gear aside, you see Tim exit the driver’s seat. You smile at him, but he shakes his head just before you see Nolan on the other side. It’s not a friendly visit, then.

“Good morning,” Tim greets. “We are here to drop off these public safety cards.”

“Great. Thanks,” you reply as you take them.

Your fingers brush over Tim’s and you feel the same jolt as when he kissed you last night.

“Where’s Bailey?” Nolan asks.

“Kitchen, I think,” you answer.

He nods to thank you, then walks past the fire engines to find Bailey. You raise your brows and look at Tim, but he just sighs. It’s not far-fetched to assume Nolan gave him treatment similar to the one you got from Bailey.

“Alright,” Nolan calls. He returns with Bailey beside him, and you sigh with Tim this time. “Let’s get to the bottom of this.”

“What happened last night, Tim?” Bailey asks. “You get to the restaurant, and?”

“She’s not who I expected,” Tim answers. He glances at you quickly, and you immediately decide to play along.

“Exactly,” you agree. “Blind date usually implies that you don’t know the person. We’ve met before.”

“Okay, but there’s no animosity or anything. You get along,” Nolan argues. “So, why’d you leave just as sad as when you got there?”

“Because I was still lonely,” you answer.

It’s not a lie. Neither you nor Tim will lie, but you’re going to answer the questions without admitting that they were right. They’ll never let you live it down if they can take credit for your relationship with Tim.

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t enjoy yourselves,” Bailey says. “But your relationships are your decisions. And I already have another guy lined up that I want you to meet.”

You open your mouth to argue, but Tim winks at you before you speak. He told you not to worry about it, so you won’t.

“We need to get back to the station if you’re done with the interrogation,” Tim tells Nolan.

“Sure, yeah,” Nolan responds.

You wave discreetly as Tim leaves, and your internal countdown to when you’ll see him again resumes.

As you walk out of the fire station after your shift ends, your phone rings.

“Hi,” you answer.

“Hi,” Tim repeats. “Are you off?”

“I am. I’m leaving right now.”

“Then you should come over for dinner.”

“I’d love that.”

Tim texts you his address, and you smile for the entire trip to his house. When he opens the door and pulls you into a hug, you feel complete again.

“Whoa, it smells amazing in here. Are you cooking?” you ask.

“Maybe,” Tim answers. “That depends on if you have any stereotypical views that I can’t because I’m a man and a cop.”

“I think you can do everything and look good doing it,” you reply happily.

“Then, yes, I’m cooking. And thank you.”

You follow Tim into the kitchen and settle at his side as he finishes preparing the meal. Everything looks great, but you’d do just about anything as long as you were with Tim.

“I’m sorry if I pushed everything too far today. I know we don’t want them in our business, but if you want me to stop covering things up, I will,” Tim offers.

“You didn’t go too far. I thought it was kind of fun. Plus, I like being with you, even if we are lying to my best friend.”

“Lying,” Tim scoffs.

“By omission, yeah.”

Tim rolls his eyes but tugs you closer to kiss you. His hands rest on your cheeks and as you move with him, you know that it is impossible to feel sad or lonely around Tim Bradford.

Two days later, you find yourself pacing beside your ambulance. Tim texted this morning, just: I won’t answer for a while.

There hasn’t been anything on the news or the radio channels about big police operations, so you’re left to worry about him with nothing more to go on. You try to convince yourself that he’s just in a meeting or on patrol with someone, so he can’t use his phone, but then your mind wanders to a dangerous situation where using his phone could get him killed.

“Oh no,” Bailey murmurs. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” you answer, snapping yourself out of your thoughts. “I’m just stressing. For no reason.”

“Get your stuff.”

“What? Why?”

“You need a distraction, and John Nolan is my favorite distraction. Tag along with me?”

You consider it for a moment. If you stay here, you’ll just be worried and alone. “Yes, please,” you decide.

When Bailey parks at the Mid-Wilshire station, you follow her inside and force yourself not to check your phone again. Tim will reach out when he can. Someone calls your name, and both you and Bailey stop.

“Hi, Detective Lopez,” you greet when you see Angela.

She hugs you tightly as she says, “Stop, it’s Angela. Especially now that you’re dating my BFF.”

“What?” Bailey interrupts.

Angela’s eyes widen, and she whispers, “I’m so sorry. I thought everyone knew. He told me, so I just assumed.”

Bailey says your name and points at you, ready to accuse you of lying to her and keeping secrets. Before she can, Nolan yells, “Why?!” from somewhere else in the station.

A few seconds later, he walks into the bullpen with Tim following closely behind him. Tim is talking, sternly and meanly, based on his stance. Nolan sees you and Bailey and quickens his pace.

“Bailey,” he begins.

“I know!” she replies. “They’re liars.”

“Why would you lie about that?” Nolan asks.

Tim steps to your side as you answer, “Technically, we didn’t lie. We answered your questions.”

“You just didn’t ask the right questions,” Tim agrees. “Which is part of your job, Nolan.”

“No, no, no. Don’t make this about me,” Nolan argues.

“Wait, so then are you going out again?” Bailey asks.

“And did you actually consider that to be a date? Enjoy it and everything?” Nolan adds.

Tim takes your hand as they continue asking questions, and you wave kindly to Angela as he leads you away. You smile as you follow him blindly. Once he has you away from the bullpen and the endless questions, he stops and pulls you close.

“Are you okay?” you ask. “I’ve been worried.”

“I’m sorry. I got called into a meeting to consult on a UC operation. Everything is confidential, so I couldn’t have my phone on me.”

“I’m not mad. I feel much better now that I know you’re okay.”

“It’s Friday,” he reminds you. “We have another date tonight.”

You nod, and Tim moves his hands, one on your waist and one on your jaw. He dips his chin and kisses you in the empty hallway, and you wonder what did it feel like to be miserable again?