#Skids was also an option

[hayleythesugarbowl]

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

Nightlight || Tim Bradford x reader

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

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

word count: 10.4k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “Is that your answer, Boot?” 

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

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

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

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

     “Saved by the suspect,” you joked. 

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

     “Ok, batman.”

     Tim glared at you.

     “I mean, Sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “I swear—”

     “Hands on the car!” You ordered 

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

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

     You felt your blood instantly run cold at the name. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “What the hell was that?” 

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

     “Sorry, I—”

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

     “Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     And so much for not talking about this now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “Boot, focus,” Tim barked. 

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

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

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

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

     “Until?” Tim prompted.

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

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

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

     You took a deep breath, steeling yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     You were both silent for a moment. 

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

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

     “And the guy back there?” 

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

     The thought made your skin crawl. 

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

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

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

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

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

     “Negative,” Bradford answered the dispatch call. 

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

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

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

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

     “What’s a 215, Boot?” 

     “Carjacking.”

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

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “Yes, Sergeant.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Tim stayed silent. 

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

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

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

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

     “Do what?” You asked, confused. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     And with that she walked out of the room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

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

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

     Funny how things could change so fast.

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

     Get a grip, you told yourself. 

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

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

     “What are you doing?” You asked. 

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

     “Tim, you don’t have to—”

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

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

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

     Tim started the engine. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “Tim—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “Is that really needed?”

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

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

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

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

     Had Tim Bradford just made a joke?

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

     “Bold for someone whose career I could end.”

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

     Tim raised his eyebrows.

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

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

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

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

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

     Tim got up, disappearing into the kitchen.  

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

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

     “Ginger ale it is.”

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

     You noted the careful distance he put between you. 

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

     You smothered a laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Tim glared at you. 

     “Angela told me.”

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

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

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

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

     “Damn straight.” Tim nodded. 

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

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

     “Aside from the graffiti incident?”

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

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

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

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

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

     “You? Sloppy?” You interrupted.

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

     “Right, sorry. Continue.”

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

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

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

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

     “Of course not!”

     Tim blinked.

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

     “Tim—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Your little impromptu sleepover. You smiled.

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

     “Listen, Boot—”

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

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

     Tim turned to you. “Stay here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Tim would notice you were gone. He had to. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “Get down on the ground!” Tim growled.

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

     You trained it on him. Paul was surrounded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “911, what’s your emergency?”

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

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

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

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

     Images flooded your senses. 

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

     Your eyes snapped open, your breath coming out fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “Boot?”

     The muffled voice was closer than the others had been. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “What?” You rasped, barely hearing him. 

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

     You swallowed hard, your mouth feeling dry.

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

     You breathed a shaky laugh, opening your eyes slowly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “For what, doing my job?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “That’s not true.”

     You raised an eyebrow at him.

     “Nine-thirty,” he admitted. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “Let me go with you,” Tim offered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “I can leave, if you’re—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “There is no secret,” Tim shot back.

     You winked. “Exactly.”

     “You’re impossible.”

     “Thank you.” You smiled.

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

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

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

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

     He paused. 

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

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

     “It’s a word!” Tim defended. 

     You laughed, turning over on your side. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

     Tim didn’t speak.

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

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

     “Tim?”

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

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

     Your pulse quickened. He hadn’t denied it. 

     You stood up. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

     You broke apart, both gasping for breath.       

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

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

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

     When you came apart again, he was smiling. 

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

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

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

     “Boot—”

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

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

     You laughed, kissing him again. 

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

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

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

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

     “But is it—what you want?” 

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

     He broke off, running a hand along his hair. 

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

     Tim looked at you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

     And the decision seemed clear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     “What?” You asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

     You felt safe, protected in his arms. 

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

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

     “Tim?” You whispered.

     “Hmm?”

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

     “What are TOs for,” Tim shrugged. 

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

     “Shut it, Boot.”

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

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

[hotheadedhero]

Like 'em Big

AN: I have so many stories to write but I had to do this. Blaming being sick, m'kay? Fever has got me bad and these meds got me loopy. Thinking we need some good, silly fun in our lives, right? Plus, now that I've watched Rise, I'm hungry for some big Raph appreciation. I know I ain't the only one

Part 2

All characters are aged up

Raphael x Reader

Warnings: near peril, easily smitten, possible errors due to fever (what kind of fever is up for deliberation🥴)

Cutting right to the chase. You like big dudes. That doesn't necessarily mean muscles, either. You just love you a big man - someone with a bit of something-something to them. More to love, you know? Given your track record with the greater world, it shouldn't be all that much of a mystery. Cats? Get yourself a tiger that you can cuddle into. Jumpers? Comfort central, baby. Beds? If you can't spread eagle then you see no point. The old-age saying does declare that the bigger the better, so who are you to disagree? How true that is may be up for debate but it’s merely as simple as understanding what your preferences are.

However, this makes dating a difficult ballpark to play in. No matter how tall, jacked, or voluptuous someone is, it never feels like enough. Human biology and genetics can only go so far in the conceivably possible sense. You just want to be absolutely engulfed when you get a hug. Is that such a crime? Apparently, it is. Unfortunately, you also seem to come across the worst jerks when you attempt to date within this set of criteria. One might argue it's your karmic justice for being so superficial and picky but a woman has needs. Not those kinds of needs, either. Get your head out of the gutter.

All hope seems lost and after yet again, another failed date, you decide to call it in for the evening and make your way home. A fresh failure and another wonderful outfit gone to waste. By no means is it anything flashy but you put a lot of work into it: pencil skirt, turtle neck sweater, and a nice pair of boots to compliment the look. The whole shebang! All of that effort for nothing. This is the last time you spend three hours doing your hair and makeup. Block after block, your feet grow heavier with every step. What you would give to come across a mountain-like man you can climb who is also a kindred spirit. Perhaps this dream guy will forever be that - a dream. Men like that don't just fall out of the sky.

"Look out!!"

The sudden shout almost scares you into tripping over and you look behind yourself, wishing you hadn’t. Two very large, very dangerous-looking figures entangled in battle, those of which are approaching your helpless little self. You quickly duck as the giants hurdle over you. One falls on its side whilst the other claws and skids against the ground, regaining its balance. It shakes its head and locks onto you, a guttural snarl rumbling past its jowls. Such a creature is surely from the stuff of nightmares. An indescribable nightmare whose sights are set on you. The smart option would be running away but it's as though your shoes have melted into the pavement. Pawing into the tarmac, the beastly thing growls and lunges for you. Great. This is how you die: torn limb from limb by a demon dog. Well, assuming your clothes join you, at least you’ll look like a total babe in the afterlife.

"Oh no ya’ don't," the other one yells from behind the predator, grabbing it by its tail. “Pretty ladies are not food!”

With a mighty tug, he pulls it back and swings it as far away from you as possible. You release a shaky breath, legs trembling beneath you. That was far too close for comfort. The fight isn’t quite over, however. Just as it approaches him, the green goliath swivels on his feet, full 180, and whacks the creature's jaw with a closed fist. His speed alone has you in awe but the force is astounding, practically earth-shattering. It completely knocks the air around you and pushes you onto your backside.

When the dust clears, the first thing you see is your saviour panting, his spiky shell(?) pointed towards you. Just past him in the distance, you notice three more figures in blue, purple, and orange taking a closer look at the unconscious tyrant. You swear one of them pokes at it with a stick. Witnessing strange beings such as this isn't entirely new. Anyone who's watched Chateau Pretenche knows about the celebrity chef turning into a grotesque pigman. To describe it in one word? Horrifying. It's just whether people choose to believe it genuinely happened or if these bizarre entities exist. Being up close and personally observing it now puts your scepticism in check.

As the humanoid turtle calms, he turns to face you, recapturing your attention. A red mask sits over his eyes and there’s a noticeable snaggle tooth poking past his upper lip. Typically, the prerogative is keeping out of sight but it’s much too late for that. He gradually advances towards you. You watch him warily and he keeps his movements slow for that very reason. It wouldn’t be a shock if you were to try and make an escape. He wouldn’t blame you. Currently, all he wants to do is make sure you weren’t hurt during that fiasco provided you don’t suddenly come out of your bewilderment and run off. You have good reason to but he just saved you. Either that or he’s as ravenous as that beast and wants you all to himself. The irrational conclusion remains as such - irrational - when he descends to one knee and outstretches a hand. There’s an irrefutable kindness in his eyes; a caring nature that can’t be replicated in the face of savage brutes.

"You okay?" he asks.

You continue to gawk without a word but, bit by bit, you reach out for his offer. Your fingers lightly trace the centre of his palm before comfortably trusting the proposal. His hand engulfs yours completely and Raph hopes to mercy that you don’t realise how sweaty he’s getting. He can feel his heart beating like crazy. He wonders how much of that is the adrenaline from the fight and how much of it is being in the presence of such a beautiful gal. As he helps you to your feet, he rises to his own. Someone of his stature shouldn’t be capable of being this delicate but he is. It has you running through a loop and you unintentionally stare at the remarkable behemoth.

Quite pathetically, you nod, unable to verbally respond to his question. How can you? You are effectively starstruck. Once you gloss over the turtle-y features, all you see is the sheer size of him as he towers over you. Height, width, the magnitude of those arms! All of it is glorious. You can hear the universe asking, “You want a big man, huh? How about one who isn’t human?” to which you answer, “Who gives a damn?”. If the only way a man can be this big is not to be human, so be it.

Amidst a whisper, your mouth moves on its own, "You're beautiful."

"What?"

"Huh?" Blinking out of your trance, you realise what you’ve said and giggle sheepishly, "I mean, you're be... ba... booming! Totally awesome with the whole- uh... saving thing." Nailed it. 

He blinks right back down at you. This is certainly a first. He can feel his face heating up and he withdraws his hand lest you endure the wrath of his bashfulness, opting to hold the back of his head. At this moment, he seems to look anywhere but you.

"Heh. Gee, thanks." His humility is adorable and you’re glad he doesn’t question your initial statement. He turns to you once more, regaining some composure. "You sure you're okay, though? That thing was pretty scary looking."

It’s clear that you haven’t sustained any physical injuries but even bearing witness to something so unsightly can have lasting effects on one's mind. His brows furrow gently in concern down at you and it occurs to you that there’s a soft heart under all of that shell and muscle. Bonus points. This makes you smile for the first time in front of him and Raphael is sure that the streetlights got brighter.

You laugh fondly, “Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you.” Twiddling your fingers, your lips purse up in his direction.  “Is there any way I can repay you?”

He places his hands on his hips and chuckles cutely, “Just doing my duty, ma’am.”

He may be indulging in his alter ego - the Red Angel of Preventing Harm - but it’s not every day he gets paid thanks when he saves someone. It’s also not every day he gets to save such a pretty woman, either. You, however, can’t just leave it at that. There must be some way in which you can properly thank him. Ulterior motives include getting to know this already loveable lug better but shh. It feels like the odds are finally turning in your favour and you won’t let this slip away from your grasp. That’s when it hits you.

Muttering under your breath, you erratically search through the confines of your little handbag. You are certain that you had one in here somewhere. In the spare pocket maybe? Ah! Found it. Fumbling to take the lid off of your pen, you hold out your hand, gesturing for his. He slowly complies, to which you jot down a series of digits on his palm accompanied by your name and a tiny 'x'. 

"Gimme a text sometime," is the last thing he hears before you disappear around a corner.

Oh? Oh. Ohhh. Wow. Getting your number is the last thing he expected. Did he get hit on the head during that scuffle or something? Was everything from the last few minutes a dream? He bores holes into the writing on his skin, scanning it over and over, scared that it’ll disappear if he so much as blinks. A dumb, wobbly smile not so gracefully decorates his lips as he trudges back to the turtle tank. He takes his seat but it’s obvious that he isn’t all there. Being so caught up in his rose-tinted bubble, he doesn’t register his brothers' voices. In an effort to gain his attention, Michelangelo jumps onto his shoulder, partly intrigued by what their leader is so absorbed by.

"Oh me gosh!” the young brother screams in shrill excitement, “Raph's in love!"

Careful not to smudge the neat ink, he’s quick to hide his hand against his chest. "That's crazy talk!”

Donatello sniffs the air and mockingly covers his nose. "The overwhelming manifestation of your nervous stink indicates otherwise, dear brother."

"I got a girl’s number!” he continues to defend, feeling his face go all kinds of red. “'Course, I'm nervous but that don’t mean I’m in love."

Lies and slander. It was practically love at first sight. He just doesn’t like the idea of his brothers knowing that. It’s easy pickings to be made fun of.

"Don't worry, Big Red. Lucky for you, you got a guy who knows all about the charm." Leonardo points both thumbs at himself as he falls back into his seat and props his legs up on the dashboard. "First, you just need to..."

The "helpful" advice drowns out as the large snapper opens and gazes at his palm again. He just can't comprehend how a gorgeous individual such as yourself could take one look at him and give him your number. It's puzzling but he supposes there’s a first for everything? That also doesn't mean he won't text you. The only thing getting in the way of that is fear. Raphael thinks he’d rather go toe-to-toe with that mutant dog again than have to face the risk of embarrassing himself. To anyone who knows him, it’s no surprise that he caves under pressure. No. He will do it! A chance like this is one in a million.

Oh boy. What could possibly go wrong?

[toska-writes]

Clone commandos request if possible. 😁 Could you do delta squad. where on a mission they get captured along with the Padawan, and get protective when they try to separate them or interrogate them.

So i thought about writing a fic based on todays bad batch episode (but I need to get some of the requests done- if you wanna request some Wolffe *wink wink* that’s ok)

“Got your back”

Summary: a mission goes south with the delta squad but they have your back

Paring: The delta Squad/ republic commandos x padawan!reader (PLATONIC OFC)

Warning: slight mentions of injury and imprisonment nothing too bad… the most scary- not proofread

Word count: 1688

Notes: Delta Squad fics are not my “most popular” but ones I always do so much for and I don’t know why

Also I swear to god someone asked to join the Taglist but I can’t remember nor find it so let me know!

"Can you focus for one second Scorch? EVER?" Fixed screamed through the comms, you could see his tense movements from a mile away as the squad ducked once again behind a wall.

Boss could only nod this head, he quickly spun around from where you, Sev and him were hiding to shoot an incoming droid.

"Sorry Scorch I can't defend you this time it's not looking good." You spoke between gasp of your own breath, the adrenaline from the long hours fighting wearing on you and the whole group.

Sev leaned heavily on Fixer from where you could see him, though Scorch as of now was doing a good job covering them.

"Boss," You yelled over the hiss of a smoke bomb going off- the contents of which were going in your eyes and making you cough. "I'm all out of ideas here."

The comando spared you a glance for a second, you feared what his face would have looked like if his helmet was discarded.

Boss looked down at the padawan for a moment. A thin cut ran along their cheek way too close to their eye for Boss’s comfort. He watched their head whip around looking through the fog desperately before a huge bang went off.

After a moment of slight ringing Boss felt the bump of another person against his side. The padawan looked around frantically for the force of the bomb before looking up to the comando.

In a more solemn voice they asked. “Boss what are we gonna do?”

Boss thought about their options then. Backed into the corner of what should have been an abandoned outpost, on of their men injured and the rest ready to collapse from exhaustion. He as a leader thought he was better than this but Boss felt as if he walked his squad right into this trap.

“The missions easy enough for us.” Boss had said only hours before. A knot sat in his stomach but the team needed an easy mission, a break from their last fiasco with the bugs.

He’s never been more wrong in his life.

While he was lost in thought, Boss nearly missed Scorch sliding up next to their leader, his panicked voice tried to fill Boss’s ears.

For a moment the other comando didn’t realize the trooper in yellow was talking until Scorch made a shhh gesture with his hand.

That’s when you noticed it too, the complete lack of noise. No more clanker chatter or blaster bullets from each side. Just the low hiss of the fog that didn’t seem to die down.

You opened your mouth to say something before the unmistakable scraping of metals filled your ears.

“Rollies! get down!” Scorch shouted pulling you and Boss to the floor with him. About 5 Droidekas emerged from the smoke…. Lucky you guys.

“Scorch handle them.” Boss yelled using his hands to signal something at Fixer and Sev at the speed of light. His gruff tone scratched your ears but you all seemed pretty fed up at the situation.

Blaster bullets were blocked by your lightsaber left and right until the next words made your heart drop all together. “Out of hand grenades sir.” Scorch ripped his blaster out now but the shields were too strong on the droids.

“Down the hall!” Fixer yelled as both He and Sev passed the 3 of you, a way out hopefully planned.

You felt them before you saw them, you tried skidding to a stop before turning into the next hall as a hand shot out to grab Boss.

“Shit.” Was the only thing you could say, before they could question what you meant a group of comando droids emerged with guns drawn.

“You’ve got to be joking me.” Sev rasped out, his arm shook while he tried to lift his blaster up and fire. The tiredness leaked off of him though you were sure it did for everyone.

A ring of blue light hit the wall behind you. It didn’t make sense though, comando droids weren’t the type to show mercy.

Your lightsaber flashed along the darkened walls trying to keep the nimble droids away, why couldn’t the separatists just send the normal clankers.

Once again the hall was engulfed in a think smoke. You heard more blasters going off but you feared you were getting more and more disoriented. After a moment you heard a sickening thunk next to you and you assumed the worst.

In the blink of an eye you felt the blast hit its mark and half your body go limp. Unlike the bulking clones you were with it only took about 2 hits before you were out.

•✩•

Boss was the first one to awaken. His head bobbed around and his eyes fluttered open. Boss reached his hand up only to finally realize that his armor was gone.

He laid there for a moment, confusion laced his face. What had happened to him? To them….

In a split second Boss shot up to a sitting position , which his head greatly protested, and looked for the rest of his squad.

Relief was one of the best things in the galaxy in this moment. In the dim light of the ray shield keeping them in Boss could count the 3 other comandos and the form of their padawan knocked out next to Scorch.

Sev still looked bad as now Boss could get the full view of his gash along his side- the blacks on all of the men seemed to be tattered.

Boss observed their surroundings for a moment before giving a light tap to Fixer on the foot. When that didn’t work the first time a much hard kick was implemented.

Fixer gasped awake along with Scorch after a “friendly” tap from the clone comando.

I didn’t take Scorch long before he leaned back against the wall and groaned, clearly he knew the situation at hand.

Boss could only stare for another second at Sev, guilt rummaged through his insides as he helped his injured brother up ultimately waking him as well. This was his fault and Boss couldn’t shake that.

“Fixer start working on those bindings.” Boss ordered unable to keep his gaze on the unconscious padawan. Clearly to the eyes of their captors the Jedi was the bigger threat.

Sev hissed for a moment now finding a new brother to lean on.

You came to with the feeling of someone’s exposed hands brushing against your arms. The pounding in your head was present but the blanket of confusion was much scarier.

“Thanks for joinin’ us.” The unmistakable voice of scorch chimed in. Your eyes strained against the darkness but you could tell what the problem was.

The cool metal hurt your wrists as Fixer fiddled with them muttering a small apology every once in a while.

Boss’ low voice filled the cell, plans of just how they would get out to fight another day. Your eyes scanned the worrisome group.

Scorch sat fidgeting with his hands trying desperately to listen but you could see the worry in his eyes as clear as day.

Fixer sat in front of you cursing and apologizing but he just couldn’t seem to do anything useful without his tools and data pad.

Sev’s eyes closed everyone once in a while and you could see the fight to remain in the moment, though his scowl never seemed to be wiped off.

And finally Boss. His voice was level and low just like the countless other times you heard him give directions, however this time was different. He knew this wasn’t in their favor and he was worried beyond belief.

Someone had to stay strong for them all.

Your heartbeat beat out of your chest, a dull throb started in your temples the feeling seemed vaguely familiar.

“I think someone’s coming.” For the first time you were unsure in the force. Fixer faltered for a moment before meeting your eyes. “It’s probably these. Messing with you.” He shook the bindings.

Though to your surprise, and relief in a way, someone did make their way down the hall. Boss spoke out quickly as you averted your gaze, sweat started to form on your brow.

“We need a medic.” It was hard to call it pleading despite where Boss said it from his position on the floor, but it was definitely more of a demand.

2 masked figures approached though they seemed to ignore Boss all together.

“We need the Jedi.” The cool voice stated only once.

Everyone seemed to freeze for a moment unsure about which group would make the first move.

“Get up.” Was demanded at you and you glanced around meeting Boss’ eyes for only a moment before you gripped onto the sleeve of Fixer.

The ray shield was down now and the larger figure stepped in. “I’m not asking again”

“Like kriff they’re going with you.” Scorch stood in front of you now. His full height filled up their line of sight.

“Move clone.” For a second Scorch was pushed back that was until Boss stood as well and shoved their captor away from his brother.

Before the other could react with their blaster Scorch was all over them. Fixer taking the hint that their time was now scrambled to get their other brother still on the floor.

Your eyes were blown wide with the loud alarm that was set off. You felt someone grab your arm as you were still in a little daze.

“I hope you didn’t think we were really gonna let them take ya.” Scorch said as the group rushed down the halls.

You thought about that for a moment, had there truly been something to worry about while you were surrounded but the Delta Squad, your brothers?

A smile broke out of your face and Scorch seemed to get your reply.

“I hope you know.” Scorch called over his shoulder. “You’re never picking the missions by yourself again Boss.”

An angry yell was heard from somewhere behind you replacing the fear in your body with a laugh. “You were the one to pick the bug mission Scorch!”

______________________________

Taglist:

@arctrooper69 @thereforepizza @padawancat97 @pb-jellybeans @floffytofu @verybadatwriting @solstraalaa @ray-rook @gregorsmissingarmor

[politemenacephd]

The Surrogate: Part IV

Miguel O'Hara X Peter B. Parker X GN!Reader (+18) Part one Part Two Part three Series Content: Planned pregnancy, Breeding kink, PinV sex, Oral sex, Threesome, Web knotting, Aftercare, Possible Angst/fluff.

Miguel and Peter want a third child, and apparently they've run out of options. That is, except for you, their friend and colleague. They offer to cover everything, and the pay is life-changing. There's just one catch: they went to concieve naturally.

- One month later-

‘Breakfast! Come on, wakey wakey!

You darted your head towards the door of your bedroom as Peter’s voice drifted through. Was everyone awake already?

You were standing half naked in your own little guest room, one you were very well acquainted with at this point. Your clothes filled the wardrobes and spilled out over the edge of the bathroom hamper, and the bed had your signature messy look to it. Your items were all over the bedside table, the bathroom smelled like your favorite body wash, and you could find your way to bed now even with the light fully off.

You also had been here long enough to know that call, and to know what the morning routine was.

You hurried to pull on some comfortable, lounging clothes before pushing your door open to join the rest of the household.

Peter was in the kitchen behind a smoky stove, busy cooking away for once. You were used to Miguel being the chef around here, at least for the girls. Neither of the boys were very accomplished cooks but they desperately wanted you to believe otherwise.

You could also see two little heads bouncing up and down beside him, heads which immediately homed in on you as you entered.

‘Y/N!’ May squealed, her little socks skidding on the floor as she hurried around the counter.

‘Good morning, ladies’ you said, gently holding out your hands as the girls rushed towards you. You’d gotten used to the way May would squeal and rush to latch onto your leg, and the way Gabriella would politely take your hand and jump up and down as she tried to tell you about her day.

This morning was no exception. The girls both cried for you from the kitchen where they were huddled around Peter, tugging on his trousers as he tried to finish loading up five plates worth of pancakes.

You could see he was sweating over the pan but he had the most infectious, patient smile on his face regardless, dressing in his loose shirt and pants with a tight pink apron around his waist.

As you approached Peter beamed and made a slight ‘oh’ face. ‘Oh, good morning! Hey, watch this’ he called, and without missing a beat he tossed a pancake nearly a meter into the air before catching it again.

‘Come on, am I getting good or am I getting good?’ Peter crowed. He relished in your polite, slightly amused clap and the girl's squeals of excitement.

‘You’re going to make a mess, that’s what you’re doing.’

Miguel’s gruff, smooth voice filled the kitchen as he entered from his and Peter’s bedroom. He was still in his pajamas a common sight for you now, with his hair messy and unkempt and a slight stubble on his jaw. It was a weekend, and he’d just returned from a long and vicious mission, so you understood his desire to relax a little. You knew Peter tried to enforce rest where he could.

‘My love- I made EVERYONE’S plates without spilling a single one!’ Peter protested. He pouted up a storm but still melted when Miguel came up to kiss his temple.

‘Mhm. You got very statistically lucky’ Miguel purred back. ‘Now I’d like you to stop being that luck runs out.’

‘Papa!’

Miguel paused his teasing to scoop up May and Gabriella in both arms, kissing them both on the cheek before carrying them over to the dining table.

‘Yes, good morning mi amors’ he said with a yawn, his face also endlessly patient as the girls patted at his worn, rough face. He even chuckled as May tried to trickle him, showing no response to her patting at his thick neck.

‘Alright, come on, behave. What will our guest think?’ Miguel added as he put the girls down in their chairs. May groaned.

‘They’re not a GUEST anymore! They’ve been here FOREVER!’ she whined.

‘A month isn’t forever’ Miguel said gently, ‘and even if it was forever, would that mean you can still be so rude in front of them?’

‘YEAH! It does! They’re like you and daddy, they have to put up with us’ May insisted.

You couldn’t help but stifle a giggle on the sidelines. The girls were so damn charming, it was so hard not to love them. Just like their dads.

‘Alright! Sit, sit down, come on! Chop, chop!’

Peter’s impatient yelling and clapping drove you to rush to your seat, and as you did you got a chance to say good morning to Miguel. He bumped against you as you moved past him to your seat, and you got to watch as his eyes softened and creased. They roamed from your face, to your chest, right down to your belly, and there they lingered before rolling back up.

You felt your heart skip as he smiled.

‘Mi compinche’ he whispered. You snorted at the little nickname he’d given you over the past month, which was mostly a stand-in since they couldn’t really think of what else to call you. ‘Good morning’ he added.

‘Good morning, Migs’ you replied, only to be shoved into your seat by a huffing Peter.

‘Sit DOWN! No respect in this place!’ he groaned while also shoving Miguel into his seat. The man could have overpowered him all too easily but he sank down just to appease his sulking lover.

‘I know, I know. I’m awful to you’ Miguel chuckled as he checked the news on a holographic tablet. Peter snorted and put on a pout.

‘You are! Anyway- good morning you lovely little thing, look at you.’ The moment Peter turned to you his attitude changed, turning into another dorky smile as he laid down the first few plates.

‘Good morning again, Peter’ you replied with a similar chuckle.

You ate breakfast with the family in relative peace. Miguel was quite quiet, busy checking the news and the Spider Society’s daily going-on's while Peter chatted to May about her dreams and to Gabriella about her upcoming soccer game.

Miguel would interject to take notice every so often, still clearly concerned about the girls, but you knew enough now to know he showed affection in a more subdued manner to Peter. You could tell he looked contented though. Surprisingly contented…

‘Alright! Come on, Gabi’s got practise, let's go!’

You were jolted from your daydreaming by Peter’s cry, as the man pushed back his chair and hurried to get the dishes in the sink before herding the girls away.

Ah, right. They’ve got soccer practice, you thought. I’ll be home alone today.

The girls rushed off to get dressed, and while you got up to do the same, you were stopped.

You felt a thick, firm hand on your wrist, which then gently moved down to your fingers as if the person realized they were being a little too aggressive. You turned already knowing who it was.

‘Hey, hermosa/o’ Miguel said, his voice low and sweet. You smiled up at him.

‘Hey! What’s up? Is it—’

Before you could finish speaking you felt him slip something into your open hand, forcing you to grasp it. It felt like… a little cardboard box?

You rolled it around in your hand, your face growing more and more confused. It was long and thin, you could feel the soft raised brail points on its edge…

‘It- what is this?’ you whispered after a few moments of confused pause.

Miguel met your gaze with glimmering, bright red eyes. They were overflowing with excitement.

‘Pregnancy test’ he whispered, like it was the most inane thing in the world. Your heart skipped a beat, and you had to stop yourself from instinctively touching your belly.

‘You- wait, already?’ you whispered back.

Miguel’s eyes narrowed as he licked his fang, offering just a soft, almost amused grunt of confidence. ‘Mm, compinche, I already told you. The first time will have done it. You were ovulating then, it should have been enough time to show up. So, go on.’

You found your chest growing oddly tight. Already? You were already expected to be pregnant?

Miguel seemed to sense your insecurity, as his own brows went up, but before he could ask if you were okay, you smiled back and nodded.

‘Okay! Sure, no problem. I’ll um- I’ll check it this afternoon, whenever I need to pee, I guess. And- we’ll see’ you replied, quickly soothing his worries.

Miguel beamed down at you, and god it almost hurt. He looked so proud of you.

‘Mil gracias, mi compinche’ he purred back.

…

You stared down at the little test your hands, sitting alone in the en-suite to your temporary room in Miguel’s apartment. It was isolated here, and you’d hoped it would be quiet, but you could still hear May and Gabi playing in the living room just a few doors away.

One line. Just one line on the thin blue test in your grip. You let out a slight sigh of disappointment.

It had only been a month, that’s what you kept telling yourself, as your mind swirled.

It’d only been a month. Why, then, did it bother you so much?

You’d waited until the afternoon to take the test, as you’d somehow been too nervous to pee. You’d drunk nearly three gallons of water beforehand but only now had it worked, and only when the whole family happened to be home again after soccer practice.

You’d hoped to have time to prepare. Either to mentally prepare for this outcome or to prepare a surprise for the positive lines.

But now…

You crept out of the bathroom and peered into the living room. You could see Miguel and Peter were trying to teach May how to use her new web shooter to knock little plush toys off of the coffee table, while Gabi was mischievously throwing items in her way to distract her as she tried to web those instead.

You heard them laughing, and cheering.

Your stomach turned. Oh god. Were you about to ruin the good mood?

You slowly, shyly, closed the door, right as Miguel glanced at it.

You couldn’t stand to face them yet.

You lost track of time pacing in the bedroom, going back and forth over the fine wood flooring until it squeaked. How did you tell them? It wasn’t a big deal, right? It was normal, this was normal, but they’d made it seem like you SHOULD be pregnant right now.

Oh god, what if they were disappointed? What if they hated you? What if they thought you weren’t good enough for this?

You hated feeling this way about your friends, but you’d gotten so comfortable here, so happy, so content, and now… You remembered that you were here for a job. A serious job. And, it already felt like you’d failed…

‘Compinche?’

You jumped in place, your spine chilling at that familiar voice. You spun in place and found both Peter and Miguel in the doorway.

‘Heeyy, pretty thing, just- can we, come in?’ Peter said softly, his eyes as desperate as a puppy.

Your heart sank. You couldn’t exactly tell them no…

‘Ah- sorry, yeah, come in’ you murmured. The boys took the opportunity right away, swiftly shifting the door at their backs as they crossed the room towards you.

Miguel looked ecstatic but impatient. He seemed surprised you hadn’t told them the moment you came out of the bathroom, confused as to why you weren’t screaming and jumping for joy about his new baby.

Oh god, why, why, why…

‘Look, hey, we have to get ready for dinner, but… We wanted to ask first…’

Miguel approached with his hands outstretched, the softest smile spreading across his face as he implored you. Peter was beaming at his back.

‘It’s okay, the girls can find out later’ he added gently when you refused to say a word. Your heart sank. God, it hurt so bad. He was expecting it already, like he was so sure it’d worked. He assumed you must just be shy about these things.

You couldn’t get the words out. It was too hard. You paused, and then slowly you shook your head. You held up the little test to show the single line instead.

The way Miguel’s face changed was agony. The way his lips jittered, like he was forcing them to stay up. The way his body tensed and lowered. The way his shoulders just… deflated.

He was fixed on that line like it was his worst enemy, like it was a person who’d personally spat in his face. He paused and went silent for just a moment as he wiped a hand down his face, and God, the sigh he let out was like a knife to the chest.

‘Okay’ he whispered.

You pursed your lips into a thin line as you tried to stay calm. Why was this so hard? Why was he taking this so badly? It was just the first time. Still, you couldn’t say it out loud. ‘I… I’m sorry—’

To your surprise he then suddenly pulled you into an embrace, squeezing you tight to his huge chest. You felt so minuscule against his enormous form, tightly clutched in his giant biceps, feeling his pectorals heave as his heart thundered against your cheek.

His heart thundering… His breath a little ragged…

Oh god, he wasn’t mad. He was upset. But, was he upset with you?

‘It’s okay’ he murmured, his chin resting now on the top of your head. ‘It’s okay. It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll- try again, we’ll try again. We’ve got time.’

You could only nod awkwardly. This felt almost unfair. Almost nobody just got pregnant within a month of trying, it wasn’t this unusual. While Miguel’s confidence was fun and, in a way, sexy, the real pressure now mounting on you felt incredibly unnecessary.

But then he said something that really made you pause.

‘I can do this.’

I can do this. Not ‘you’ can do this, referring to you, or even ‘we’. I can do this.

He didn’t act mad, at least not towards you. Was he, angry at himself?

‘Hey, hey, it’s okay.’

Peter was the one who then rushed in and squeezed you so tight your ribs hurt, offering Miguel the same. Miguel was silent as he hugged him back.

‘It’s fine! It’s the first month, these things happen. It might even, just uh- show up next week, actually. Maybe it’s a little early. But either way, it’s normal. It’s fine. Nobody did anything wrong, YOU did nothing wrong mi amor, and neither did you pretty thing’ Peter said, softly tutting sympathetically as he saw the pain in your eyes.

Miguel remained silent.

‘We’ll try again tonight’ he repeated with a gruff tone, lightly rolling his shoulders as he forced that stoic, calm expression to fill his face. Peter’s smile faltered a little.

‘Is that, okay with you?’

As he turned to you, you nodded desperately. ‘Yeah! Of course, it—’

‘It is REALLY okay with you?’ Miguel said, his voice suddenly sounding oddly vulnerable and concerned. ‘I don’t- Ah, I’m sorry’ he said through gritted teeth, wiping a hand down his face. ‘I don’t- I know I’m, putting pressure on you, it’s not my intention. I’m sorry. I am. Just… are you really okay to try again tonight?’

You paused only for a moment in the face of his big, soft, puppy eyes, before nodding.

‘Yeah- yeah! Yeah. I am. I’m fine to go again. We’ll start again, I’ll- track my periods, I’ll take the injections, it- it’ll be fine.’

Peter’s sympathetic face turned into a grateful mess as his lip quivered, and Miguel too had his brows turn up with a look of what could only be pride.

‘… Thank you, compinche’ Miguel murmured. He put a hand on your head, ruffling your hair before pulling back with a melancholic huff. ‘Thank you.’

The two men left you as the girls started screaming for their attention. You watched Peter put a silent hand on Miguel’s back, as if propping him up when he barely had the strength to do so, before the two stepped out as if nothing had happened.

You remained, alone, in your room. This was going to be a long night. 

…

That evening you waited for Miguel and Peter to visit, and sure enough they appeared the moment the girls were asleep.

Miguel came in already half naked in just his pajama pants, while Peter was wearing his full loungewear. The two looked a lot less hopeful than they did the first night you’d been in this situation.

You gulped, trying not to show how nervous you were.

‘Peter, mi amor.’

Miguel addressed Peter first before you, his eyes glancing to his partner as you sat alone on the mattress. Peter glanced at you then at him.

‘Yes?’

‘Mm… We’ll, both do it, right?’ he said softly, a fang flashing beneath his lip as he licked his teeth. Peter nodded quickly. ‘Yes, if- they want that.’

‘Ah… guys?’

You couldn’t stop yourself from speaking up as they glanced at each other, but when they looked down at you in unison you felt the lump in your throat grow.

You were a mess of arousal and nerves, far worse than the last night. The sight of those huge men, powerful and relying on you, with those soft brown eyes and dark red eyes both peering at you like meat in the dim light, you felt your body stiffen.

‘Sorry, I—’

‘No, no don’t apologize.’ Miguel raised his hand and gently cut you off. He looked strained over something, but when he spoke to you, he was as gentle as ever. ‘You’re fine. It’s okay, just- We were saying, I wanted Peter to help with the, uh, foreplay first before getting into it, since…’

Miguel paused and glanced at Peter again, who gently nodded for him to continue. ‘He’s… agreed, I will be the only one having sex, with you, tonight’ Miguel said after a small pause, his voice dripping as it slipped from his lips.

You blinked in surprise at that. It’d just be Miguel tonight? Even after the bad news with the baby? Surely they’d both want to be taking turns even more now.

‘I… Oh, sure, no that’s- fine, that’s fine’ you murmured.

‘It’s not because I don’t want to’ Peter said, offering an awkward tease in the face of the weird tension filling the bedroom. ‘Trust me, I uh- would love to, but, papi here requested it.’

You glanced up at Miguel and saw that same look in his eye you’d seen before, that dark, red, glowering glare that seemed both so overly confident and so insecure at the same time. It was a look of desperation, a look of need. You felt his eyes on you like a drowning man swimming towards a pocket of air.

What had gotten into him?

You breathed in deeply and slowly nodded.

‘Yeah, of course. That’s fine. That’s, fine. I’m fine with that’ you reply slowly.

Miguel gave a curt nod, a contended, affectionate nod, and without another word, he crawled onto the bed.

As Miguel descended on you, he stank of hormones. He had a dark expression, one clouded with testosterone and primal need, and it was like that need was seeping through his pores, coating his rough, scarred skin in a light sheen of pure virility.

When he flexed his veins popped on his forearms, his biceps tight and round. He didn’t even need to speak for you to back down, cowering on your chest as he put his nose to your neck. He breathed in deep, and you shivered.

‘Mm… Okay, we’ll do your favorite, si?’ Miguel purred against your nape. You nodded.

‘Yeah, y-yeah—AH!’

You squeaked as Miguel lifted your hips without even moving his face or body. He spread your legs by slipping his muscled arm between your thighs and lifting you by the cunt, raising your hips about a foot from the mattress, allowing Peter to slide down beneath your pussy.

‘Good’ Miguel purred against your neck again. ‘Good, good.’

‘That’s it, pretty little thing, come down gently now. Don’t you worry about suffocating me either, if you do it’d be an honor’ Peter said as he carefully took over maneuvering your hips from Miguel. The larger man released your soft, wet vulva from his grip with a soft grunt, and Peter took the weight with both his hands.

He breathed on you a few times, teasing just a little as he blew hot air against your swollen clit, but he could only hold off for so long.

With a low moan, he dropped your pussy onto his face.

‘A-AH! Ahh, f-fuck’ you whimpered.

Peter moaned as he began swirling his tongue, eagerly sucking and slathering your clit with all the love he could muster, while Miguel moved his hand back down and carefully shifted it through the folds until he found your entrance.

He didn’t waste time on ceremony. He slipped one finger in, pumped, dragging the soft side of his finger right down your g-spot, then withdrew and replaced it with two fingers.

You screamed. You could do nothing else. The walls were thankfully very soundproofed, so it wasn’t an issue, but even if it had been you weren’t sure you’d have had the strength to stop.

‘OH- O-OH MY, GOD, FUCK!’

Between Miguel’s thick, calloused fingers pumping in and out and Peter eagerly making out with your clit in the messiest way possible, you melted into absolute putty in their hands.

Miguel grinned. You felt it against your neck, his lips pulling back and his sharp teeth bumping your nape as he breathed. His breath was hot, potent, desperate.

He began to move his fingers harder. With each pump you got a little looser, a little wetter, and soon his fingers were squelching as they moved in and out.

‘Good, come on. That’s it, baby’ Miguel whispered against your ear. He was commanding you like a horse, like an animal to be trained, and it did something to you. ‘Go on, that’s it. Loosen up. It’ll make it easier.’

‘U-Uh, f-fucckkk, fuck—’

Your eyes rolled as Miguel pulled back a little and pulsated his fingers at about halfway, keeping the tips on your g-spot. Peter, sensing the movement, quickly moved to suck on your clit at exactly the right time.

With a dull, frantic cry you orgasmed for the both of them, your body shaking with the strain of every muscle slowly tightening and then releasing with that heavy wave of pleasure. Peter dragged your hips down until you were crushing him, cutting off all his air just so he could get his tongue right up into your cunt, tasting every inch of that orgasm as it quivered to a stop.

Miguel let his fingers stay just long enough to feel it, to help squish some of those precious juices down for Peter to taste, before abruptly pulling out.

Your body was limply rolled off of Peter’s face and onto the bed, still on your front, and after supplying a few soft, soothing pets and gruff praise Miguel moved to whisper at Peter.

‘I’m going now. Okay?’ he hissed.

Peter was barely lucid. His eyes were glazed over, his lips and face red and wet, and his cock was hard and throbbing in his loose pants to the point he had to half-heartedly adjust them, pawing at his own erection with a soft whine.

‘O-Okay, ah… I- can I—’

‘Yes, mi amor, you can watch and satisfy yourself. Or, you can wait for me to be done and—’

‘No. No, lemme- watch’ Peter whined, a dreamy smile spreading over his face. ‘Uh… I should take some pictures of this sometime…’

Miguel grunted, not even really focused on him anymore. All he could sense was you, all he could smell was you. His breedable friend, his baby machine, the foundation of all his pride.

He crawled over and pulled your hips up into doggy before mounting from behind.

‘Now… I’m going to fuck you’ Miguel said, his voice slow and thick. ‘You understand?’

‘Y-Yes’ you whimpered.

‘You want me to fuck you?’

‘Y-Yes…’

‘I’m going to fuck you multiple times. I will ejaculate into you, multiple times. I will not let you lose any of it. You understand this?’

‘Y-Yess…’

‘It’s going to be rough’ he groaned, pressing the tip of his erect cock right against your sodden entrance. ‘Very rough.’

‘Yes…’

‘I will stop. But if you can take it—’

‘I can… take it, please, just… uh… do it’ you moaned.

Miguel sneered with pleasure. His pride bristled, and without wasting another second he spread your cunt with his fingers and shoved his cock inside.

You were winded by the force, and winded a second time by his refusal to start slow. The moment his erection slid up and kissed your cervix he was pumping like mad, grunting like an animal as he thrust his hips back and forth.

You were forced to moan into the sheets as you struggled to maintain any control. He was slipping himself all the way out, so far that only his bulbous member was left to stretch your entrance, before slipping back in within barely a second, stretching you out over and over.

You felt the soft walls stretching, expanding, tensing, and quivering in response to his intrusion, as he made your body his, as he molded you for his purpose.

And he made that purpose clear.

‘Need to… cum… Mmm… need to, fill you… put my baby in here…’

Miguel’s barely coherent grunts filled your ears as he bent your spine and slapped his pelvis into your rear, making the skin hot and raw where he hit it.

‘My… baby…. Mine… m-mine… you’re…. mine…!’

His grunting got wilder, rougher, and between that and your own moaning there was a third voice filling the bedroom. You glanced over, and through the sweaty strands of hair covering your eyes, you saw him.

Peter was watching, as promised, lazily spread out as he stroked and fisted his own cock. It was a gorgeous side, with his pajama pants just down to his thighs and his hand eagerly massaging his member.

And his eyes were fixed on you.

You felt the heat rising in your belly from this, as you were held down and pumped by that enormous, grunting, red-eyed man while his partner watched and stroked himself.

You made eye contact with Peter just for a moment, as he watched your sweaty face taking his partner's load, and with a shuddered groan he came.

You watched his eyes roll back and his lips part as he ejaculated into his own palm. God, what a pretty sight. There was so much of it, thick and slick and glossy in the dim light, coating his fingers and belly. It made you involuntarily clench your cunt around Miguel.

‘Y-You, AH-!’

You squeaked as Miguel groaned, his thrusts getting harder as he also climaxed. You felt his claws digging into your hips as he humped that first load in as deep as he could, ensuring it filled every damn inch of your pussy, smothering the walls until they were practically stuck together.

As he rocked to a halt you took a moment to breathe. There. That was good, he’d done it. And he—

‘Uh- come on!’

You squeaked in shock as Miguel began to rock his hips again, barely a second after he was done ejaculating. He continued to pump just as hard, pushing you face-first into the mattress as sweat flew from his brow.

‘Come on…. Come on…’

It was like a mantra he hissed to himself, as he overrode his brain's desire to rest. There was no rest. There was only breeding. There was only you, and that womb, that he NEEDED to fill.

‘Come on- come on- come on-‘

Your soft cries were barely audible over the creaking of the bed, over the aggressive slap of his pelvis as it thrust and smacked into your rear until it went numb.

‘COME ON- UHN—’

You felt Miguel’s whole body stiffen and release as he pumped that second load in. The hot, thick fluid seeped out and put even more pressure on your insides, forcing those soft muscular walls to strain. You squirmed a little.

‘M-Mmm, mm…’

No, no, you could take it. You could take it.

Miguel paused to grunt, his face now dripping with sweat and his thighs trembling from the pleasure of two ejaculations so close together, but even then he refused to stop.

You could only respond with a squeak as Miguel started pumping you all over again, violently rocking his hips as he pushed through the overstimulation and went for loads three.

‘AH! A-Ah—’

You tugged on the sheets so hard they nearly ripped as he thrust from behind, the smack of his hips letting out a dull, heavy thump that ripped through the room. He was groaning so hard, spitting and hissing involuntarily, his claws digging into your hips as he dragged you back against his cock.

‘Uh- uh- uh- uh- UH- UH- UH- !”

Thrust, after thrust, after mind-numbing thrust, until—

‘ARGH! F-FUCK!’

Miguel cried out weakly as he orgasmed for the third time in a row. He moved primally as he did so, his body bucking despite his exhaustion as he tried to pump it deep. You could only whimper.

You felt this load just like the others, in all of its terrifying potency. That thick, wet, hot seed spilling out and coating you from the inside, pressed right to your cervix with no escape. He was holding you against his pelvis and refusing to pull out, almost like some kind of basic form of knotting.

‘Hey, hey, big guy.’

As Miguel knelt over you, sweating and heaving, his chest dripping and slick, Peter crept up and gently gripped his shoulders. 

‘Hey, it’s okay. Take a breather’ he whispered.

‘Need, to… need to, prove…’

Miguel continued slowly rocking his hips, pushing past the overstimulation until his muscles were tensed and aching. He kept moving inside you, squishing until his cum started to slip out, which only drove him more mad.

He moved his hand down and used it to squish the little white drops back inside, all with his fat shaft still impaling you in place. You whimpered at the sudden extra intrusion.

‘Need to… Impregnate.. God, damn it..’

‘Miggy, hey…’ Peter continued stroking Miguel’s forehead as he continued rocking back and forth, pushing you until you whined. The pressure was immense. His cock, three loads

‘Give them a break, then.’

That seemed to snap Miguel out of his trance. He glanced down with those hazy red eyes and he saw you spread out beneath him, trembling from the strain of being taken so many times so fast. He saw the sweat on your skin, the shimmering glow on your skin, and the wetness of your parted lips.

Almost immediately he released his grip.

‘I… Mierda, I’m so sorry—’

‘No, I’m… f-fine…’ you whimpered. ‘I’m, not hurt…’

‘No, but, you are clearly exhausted’ Peter cooed softly. ‘It’s okay. If we really want to try again, we can, just… let’s rest.’

‘But—’

‘I know’ Peter whispered softly, his own melancholy seeping through. ‘I know. You both want this baby. A lot. I know. I want it too. But this isn’t going to change anything. So let’s just, rest for a moment, and go again. Okay?’

At that moment, Peter was the gentle voice of reason for both of you.

Miguel let out a soft grunt, but he did pull out slowly, making sure to keep his fingers and palm stuffed in the little swollen entrance between your thighs to keep his seed safely intact. You allowed your body to collapse into the sheets with a sigh.

His fingers made you jolt and whine on occasion, but, you could handle that.

The three of you lay back and moaned softly, trying to catch your breath, with Peter hugging both of you close.

As Peter held you, you couldn’t help but glance over at Miguel just a little, though you tried to keep your gaze hidden.

You were so confused by the insecurity you’d sensed in him. There was no other way to put it. Before he’d been so confident, so sure, so calm, like he was just messing around, but now… There was an urgency in his movement.

There was a need. That was the best word for it. But, it wasn’t just a need to get you pregnant. Not now.

There was a need to prove himself.

[thatsatricky1]

𝐀𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 || Prologue

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Abandoned. After going through hell and back together, she was left there to fend for herself. Y/n felt as though they’d left her in the dust at the facility. A facility that had taken young gifted children raising them in secret. The eight of them had been taken as children and grown up together at the facility and just when it they had the chance of escaping they made one crucial mistake, leaving her behind in the dust. One big mistake they hadn’t forgiven themselves for, and she would make sure they’d never forget it.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Nct Dream ot7 x Reader.

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Angst, Cursing, Fluff, Mystery, Psychological, Supernatural, Thriller, Trauma, Weird Humor.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Slight gore, mentions of blood, mentions of being wounded, angst, abandonment.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,4k+

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: This does not depict an accurate picture of Nct Dream and this is strictly fantasy/fiction for entertainment purposes.

“Run Donghyuck!”

“What do you think I’m doing, strolling through the garden?” Donghyuck replied sharply out of breath as he ran as fast as he could, adrenaline filling his body making him unaware of the stinging feeling in his feet. Jaemin a few paces ahead of him.

Donghyuck skidded to a stop once he finally saw everyone in front of him. Breathing heavily as his eyes scanned over the familiar faces, relief dripping from him but his breath that he finally was catching back was stolen again, eyes widening in realisation.

“Where’s Y/n?!” He barely managed to get the question out from how he was trying to catch his breath back.

“She is coming, don't worry we have one more minute before they start looking for us.” Mark replied, grabbing Donghyuck’s hand, tugging him over to the rest of the group waiting at the mahogany wooden door.

“No this isn’t right, she should have gotten here first.” Donghyuck gasped out in between sucking air greedily back into his body that was desperate for oxygen.

“The security around her hall was timed differently than usual, they changed the rotation early.” Jaemin replied, also heaving in breaths. The whole group needed to gain their breath back.

Renjun winced while checking his pocket watch again, thirty seconds had past, eyes looking down the dark corridor, hearing the blood pulsing behind his ears like a drum.

”Thirty more seconds.” Renjun barely managed to get out.

They’d said from the start that no one would be left behind. The eight of them against the world if they had too. But it had taken months to plan this escape and it looked like one random security route change up would ruin that.

The boys share a glance with each other before Jeno steps to the front deciding something that would change their future.

“We need to leave now.”

“What no. Fuck no. We wait.” Jaemin disturbed as he shook head, eyes widening at Jeno’s words.

“Ten seconds.” Renjun spoke only focusing on his pocket watch hand gripping it tight.

“Our time is limited Jaemin, we can’t wait anymore. She would want us to escape even if she doesn’t get out.” Jeno stressed out grabbing his hair with both hands tugging on it.

Jeno didn’t want to leave her behind but what other option did they have. Stay and continue suffering? They had all been waiting years to get away from the hell hole they were trapped in.

“Jeno is right, there’s no time left.” Mark managed to say even if every fiber of his being didn’t want to admit it.

“Are you out of your mind?” Donghyuck says moving to tug at Mark’s vest slightly red in the face whether from the running or anger no one could tell, most likely both.

“Five seconds.”

“We get it!” Donghyuck spat at Renjun who was still insistently calling out the time left before they really had to go unless they wanted to be stuck there.

“Donghyuck we need to go, she’ll understand.” Mark cut his yelling off lest they get any unwanted attention grabbing his friend's face, cupping his jaw in his hands to face him. Mark noticed the tears welling in his friend's eyes.

”Promise. Promise me that she’ll understand.” Donghyuck all but begged.

“I… I promise.” Mark managed to grit out through clenched teeth.

Mark letting go of Donghyucks face when he finally nodded back.

“Will she be okay?” Jisung finally spoke up, unlike the others who held back tears, his were free flowing.

“Y/n is tough, she’ll be okay Jisung.” Jeno reassured with a tight lipped smile, not sure if he was trying to convince Jisung or himself.

“She will be okay.” Chenle spoke up with a determined look. Out of all of them, Y/n was always the one to keep it together.

“Waiting period is over.” Renjun stated putting away his pocket watch, lip quivering as he watched the hallway in front of them. Silence, with no familiar footsteps coming towards them anytime soon.

Flashes of red neon hued lights flashing on and off. A blaring alarm ringing through the air signally something was wrong in the facility. An attempted escape.

Y/n didn’t know what to focus on. The burning feeling all over her body, muscles aching and screaming for a break, throat dry and swollen from air being swallowed down greedily and being exhaled too fast, blood thumping and rushing. Not to mention the gushing wound on her side.

The stomping of boots fading in the background as she made pace. Always having been the fastest, something the facility took pride in but not at this moment.

For the first time in what felt like days, weeks even she smiled. A smile of relief. Her freedom, her boys freedom so close she could touch it. Somehow the hope in her stomach pushed her faster as she bounded down the second last hallway. Hand still pushing pressure into the side of her torso.

“I’m coming! Boys I’m nearly there!” Y/n let the scream ripple out her dry cracked lips, not needing to be quiet as she was already being chased down. By the ones who’d taken her in the first place.

Taking a sharp right, managing to keep her footing as she raced across the sterile white tiles bare feet staining the floor red in her wake. Seeing the dark mahogany door now.

Her smile dropped into a frown of confusion as she raced down it, not seeing a person in sight. Not the seven figures she’d been expecting to be there. Skidding to a stop a few steps away from the door, that had been left ajar.

Her breathing haggered as she stood wobbling, balance unstable as her eyes trained on the door. Trying to wrap her head around the sight before her. Though it was plain and simple to connect the dots, her mind could and would not accept the sight.

Hand leaving her side slipping away from her gushing wound, slow droplets of blood rolling down her paling hand, falling down onto the once clean white tiles below her.

”No.” Her whisper lost between the loud blaring alarm.

Her figure disappears into the darkness only to reappear every few seconds in the floodlights of red coming from the lights. Swaying slightly now yet her eyes stayed trained on the door, the one that led to her escape.

Her body tried to take a steady deep inhale through her nose but a sudden blinding pain caught her off guard spreading through her head, time seemingly slowing down as her sight seemed to be going sideways.

Y/n not even noticing it wasn’t just her sight going sideways but her body that collapses down onto the ground. A figure behind her being revealed not much older than herself as he stood there eyes wide gazing down at her, his grip on the metal pipe in his hand tighter if possible.

Her body thumped onto the ground in a heap, a mess. Eye glazed over with unshed tears, pain radiating through her. Not just physically but from deep within her.

“Good job Jeongin, very well done my boy.” An older man’s voice cut through the loud alarms.

Y/n not being able to hear it, everything sounding drowned, like she was underwater. She laid there unfocused eyes still staring at that mahogany door from where she was on the floor.

“I told you not to harm my girl, only to detain her!” The older man's voice sounded angry now yelling at people in the distance finally having caught up a bit too late to her.

“Get her to the medical ward, don’t harm her any further or you’ll all be missing a hand as punishment. We’ve already lost seven of my boys, my girl isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”

Y/n barely felt the touches against her body, not even the hand that pressed tightly against her wounded side. Her body being dragged up, held against someone as they started walking away from the door.

Her hand just barely managed to lift weakly up in the direction of the wooden door that was slowly getting further away.

‘They left me.’ Was all that ran through her head, hand falling limp, her eyes finally failing her as her eyelids felt too heavy to keep open, the pressure of her eyes closing finally letting a tear slip past rolling down her cheek.

They left me.

Prologue || Chapter 1 || Chapter 2

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

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𝐀𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭:

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[itsnotmourn]

spooky month shipchart

hi everyone!!

inspired by another fandom, i decided to make a romantic shipping chart for spooky month! i’m making this so that people know of the common ship name and can tag/mute it for comfort reasons! <3

please feel free to send asks/comment/reblog creative, silly or simple shipnames, even if you might not ship it yourself! polyamships are also an option!

(image not up to date, always check the link)

[seefullforecast]

B.B The 100

Just a little excerpt from a potentially larger fic??

Stomping her way back to camp like a child, Amara was yet to stop crying. Very rarely did she get upset, usually she would do one of two things. Either lock herself away until the problem went away or try and use sarcasm as a form of defence. At the moment neither of those options were going to work for her. 

Since leaving The Ark she didn't recognise herself anymore. She was always crying, arguing with people or trying not to die. Everything felt hopeless. 

Every now and then she would kick a stone or purposefully stamp on a stick to try and take her anger out. In reality she wanted to hit something.

"Stupid Clarke." She mumbled between her tears. "Doesn't know what she's talking about." 

Her thoughts were scattered and her breaths were erratic. She stopped. She took a second to look up to the sky. She thought about the people on The Ark. She was down here so they could follow. It was everything her grandmother had ever hoped for. She touched the wristband she was still wearing and for a moment was grateful she still had it on. 

A noise in the near distance broke her from her thoughts. It sounded like a horn. Panic set in her blood. Immediately she thought grounders. That's when she took of sprinting through the woods. She didn't know if she was running away from something or towards it but her instincts told her to move and move fast. 

Her legs began to burn as she ran as fast as she could, pushing her body as much as she could. 

A flash of blonde hair crossing her path caused her to skid to a sudden stop almost falling in the dirt.

"Amara!" Charlotte shrieked.

"Charlotte?!" Amara was unsure why the girl was all the way out here.

"Move now! Go, Go!" Bellamy's booming voice came from behind the girl. He was also running. He grabbed a hold of the two girls and began dragging them in tow. The horn sounded again in the distance.

"There's some caves this way." Bellamy called back to the others as they all began to become separated. 

In a moment of stupidity, Amara glanced back to try and get a look at what they were running from. 

Clouds of yellow fog were following them and moving quickly. Amara watched as it engulfed Atom who was a little ways behind them. He yelled out in obvious pain and fell to the ground.

"Atom!" Amara tried to turn.

"Amara, Bellamy!" He cried to the two.

"We can't! Amara!" Bellamy had lifted the girl from her feet and forced her into one of the caves Charlotte had raced into as shelter from the deadly fog.

"Oh my god, Atom." She breathed in disbelief. 

"Get back from the entrance." Bellamy pulled her back to try and keep her from being burned. She looked up to him and nodded slowly. Bellamy took in her dishevelled state. Her eyes were red and her face was puffy.

"Amara!" Charlotte barrelled into the girls' side and wrapped her arms around the taller girl.

Amara took Charlotte's face in her hands and began to fuss over her inspecting her of any injuries.

"What the hell was that? Did it touch you, are you okay?" Amara spoke hurriedly and as softly as possible but was terrified and both Bellamy and Charlotte could tell. 

"We might be here a while, we should settle down." Bellamy placed a hand on Amara's shoulder to try and help Charlotte from Amara's pestering. The girls followed suit and made their way a little further from the mouth of the cave. Amara removed her jacket and wrapped it around Charlotte who lay down on the ground. The remaining two sat opposite each other with their backs leant against the cave walls. 

"What was she doing out here?" Amara questioned Bellamy after some time had passed.

He knew she was only concerned for the young girl but to him it felt gut wrenching to think Amara was somewhat judging his decision to allow the young girl to join the hunting party. 

"She was struggling having to listen to Jasper." Bellamy told her honestly. Amara just nodded. For whatever reason, Amara had become protective over the girl and almost felt responsible for her. 

"What are you doing out here? Alone for that matter, I thought I told you that the grounders..."

"I got into it with Clarke and was trying to get back to camp." She felt silly now about the whole ordeal as she thought back. Oh god, she hoped they were safe and that she could see them again to apologise for her little temper tantrum she pulled.  "Didn't really fancy staying with them longer than I had to." She confessed.

Bellamy nodded to her showing she didn't need to explain if she didn't want to.

Shortly the heaviness of todays events caught up to Amara and she was falling asleep as much as she tried to fight it.

"No!"

Amara's eyes shot open to the sound of a scream. She pushed herself from the ground and frantically looked for the source that awoke her. 

Bellamy was already by Charlotte's side by the time she had time to comprehend where she was. 

"Does it happen often?" Bellamy's voice was soft and unlike anything Amara had experienced first hand from him thus far. Charlotte had a nightmare, and from her screams it seemed distressing. "What are you scared of? You know what? It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is what you do about it." He told the girl who was already starting to calm down. 

"But... I'm asleep." Charlotte's voice was fragile.  "Fears are fears. Slay your demons when you're awake, they won't be there to get you when you sleep." Amara watched the Blake boy closely admiring his compassionate side. She could see now that it seemed like he was speaking from experience.  "Yeah, but... How?" "You can't afford to be weak. Down here, weakness is death, fear is death. Let me see that knife I gave you." Bellamy wrapped his hands around Charlotte's who held the knife.  "Now, when you feel afraid, you hold tight to that knife and you say, 'screw you. I'm not afraid.'" He told her pointing to the knife she now held.  "Screw you. I'm not afraid." Bellamy looked to the girl as if she could do better. She repeated the phrase this time a little more convincingly.  "Slay your demons, kid. Then you'll be able to sleep." Charlotte lay back down, most likely feeling much more empowered and a bit more relaxed to go back to sleep.  Bellamy returned to sitting across from Amara who was now fully awake watching him intently which he didn't miss.  "That was sweet." She told him truthfully.  He looked back to the younger girl who seemed to have dozed back off.  "Octavia is lucky to have you, Bellamy." He looked into her eyes. It was something his mother would always tell him. He was told Octavia was his sister, his responsibility and that nothing would ever change that.  "I didn't realise until you said something similar to Charlotte just now, but I remember." She spoke watching his eyes bore into her own. "You were the only person that spoke to me that day." Amara referred to the first time they met on The Ark when he was the janitor that found her crying at the window. "My mom, she had been sick for some time. For as long as I could remember actually. I knew it was coming that's why I was upset. She died that night." Amara opened up to him watching as he swallowed her words taking each one of them in, listening to each syllable that fell from her lips. "Nobody would look at me let alone say anything, it was suffocating." 

"I didn't know that was why you..." He slightly shook his head confessing to the girl.

"I'm not the best at all of this, it seems like every day Earth just really wants to put me through it, but you seem to be thriving. Earth suits you." She smiled to him honestly. 

"Thriving? I'm barely surviving." He choked a small laugh. "Between Octavia, trying to maintain order and avoid grounders I feel like there's not enough of me to go around." 

"You're doing good." She smiled to him tiredly. 

"Don't go all soft on me now sweetheart, it was only yesterday you tried to kill me with a tree branch." Bellamy tried to lift the conversation knowing neither of them wanted to continue down the path they were going. At least not tonight in this cave. 

"Relax you don't have a freckle out of place." She retorted as she lay back down on her side facing away from Bellamy. A few moments passed before she felt a jacket be draped over her bare arms. Bellamy lay his jacket over the shivering girl who had selflessly gave hers up for Charlotte. 

The two fell into a comfortable silence before Amara spoke up a final time with one last thought. 

"On a real note though." She began. "Would you rather be itchy for the rest of your life or sticky for the rest of your life." 

Like music to her ears, Bellamy laughed. He wholeheartedly laughed for the first time in a long time. He didn't need to answer Amara was happy enough with that as his response and was able to fall back asleep shortly after. 

[juuuulez]

📰 | part one: capulet.

info: Carl Grimes x Saviour!Reader, female reader I’m so sorry!!!!, mostly scene setting..next chapter will get juicy.

summary: You meet Carl whilst the Satellite station is being raided, where they take you as prisoner.

previous | next

This is gonna be an ongoing fic!!! I’ve already got like,, 8 parts mapped out, but will likely add more stuff here and there. It also currently has no name……but I’ll think of something. It will follow canon loosely, mostly at the start, and then I’ll just diverge into whatever I want to write about LOL. Let me know what you think, if you like it, want more soon etc etc.

It’s Saviour!Reader, with very heavy father-figure Negan because I am sorry but I LOVE HIM! Slow burn, enemies to lovers with Carl, teenage squabbling, you get the gist.

I’m also open for requests!!

It feels like you can’t breathe.

It’s dark, so dark. Almost pitch black, if not for the moonlight shining through the windows, spaced out near the rooftops to allow some visibility. You try to keep your footsteps light, one hand clutched around a metal baseball bat, the other feeling the wall to make sure you don’t trip. Everybody else is asleep.

Everybody else is dead.

You have no idea who’s done this. But it’s multiple people, from what you’ve gathered. A group uninvolved with the Saviours. Until now, you suppose.

It was no secret that your father was a tyrant, and had his fair share of enemies, but this? Talk about retaliation. If you’d been sleeping, too, you’d be dead. Maybe it was some sort of fate that you weren’t. Divine intervention. Whatever, it didn’t matter.

Then an alarm blares, disturbing the calculating silence, awakening anybody who remained unconscious. Panic spreads throughout the satellite station, followed by the relentless noise of machine guns. Your grip on the bat tightens as you sprint down the hallway, searching for salvage, somewhere to hide. They’d overpower you, no doubt. Though you were strong, a dedicated fighter, there was only so much a 17 year old girl could do. Facing them was too risky.

And to come home in a body bag? Not an option; Negan would kill every last person alive.

You round the corner, facing a door that you knew led to a supply room. The perfect hiding spot. So, you check your surroundings, weapon at the ready before entering the small space.

The door slams behind you.

“Hands up.”

You panic, momentarily, yet don’t obey. Spinning on your heels, you meet the source of this threat, a pistol pointed in your direction.

But behind it stands a boy, likely no older than yourself. Messy brown hair, stupid looking hat. Eyepatch. Definitely not a soldier.

He takes your silence as offence, “I said, hands up!” The boy barks at you, pulling back the safety with a distinct click.

It feels like there’s a lump in your throat, yet you speak anyway, arms still caged defensively at your sides. “You wanna kill me?”

The question clearly takes this boy off guard, judging by the way his jaw clenches, displeased by the ambiguous attitude you’re holding.

“Haven’t decided yet.” He answers, tone cold and steely.

But the gun isn’t pointed at your head. It’s a little to the right, just past your ear. If he shot it now, the bullet would hit the concrete wall. Lack of depth perception, you decide. One eye.

And so, you take that chance. With one motion, you’re swinging your bat towards him, using all the strength in your body. For some reason, he doesn’t shoot, but does duck down, the swift motion causing that stupid sheriff’s hat to fall to the ground.

The minuscule moment of shock, uncertainty, is your window of opportunity: it doesn’t take much to barrel towards him, your shoulders colliding with a thud as you disarm the boy, letting the pistol fall to the ground.

You don’t bother to pick it up, kicking the weapon away from the two of you, letting it skid across the concrete and hit the opposing wall. But in the time it takes him to retrieve the gun, you’re already out the door.

It doesn’t take long to navigate your way out of the station. Sprinting through hallways, narrowly avoiding tripping over limp bodies of people you once knew. Then the doors are right there, so close. You could even see cracks of sunrise seeping through the gaps.

Fresh air assaults your face, filling your parched lungs, and it takes everything in you not to fall to the ground in relief.

But it doesn’t matter.

There’s shouting, the figures of people coming into view. It floods your system with panic, suddenly alert at the newfound danger. Your sprinting comes to the stop, skidding on wet grass, blanketed with morning dew.

You fall flat on your ass.

The moment of clumsiness is all it takes for these people to approach you, shouting, demanding a name. A gun in your face. You grit your teeth, spotting the metal bat a few feet away, too far to reach.

And that boy, with the stupid hat. He picks it up. It makes you want to scream.

They demand you take them to Negan. To the next outpost. Locate their friends. There’s talking, bargaining on a radio. You stood in silence, childishly frustrated about being used like a pawn on a board. Exchange of you, for their two friends. That, or they’d kill you.

This immature silence lasts the whole trip.

The handcuffs around your wrists are irritating. There’s an itch on your cheek you can’t scratch. Your shoulders begin to hurt from being twisted into such a position.

But the worst of it? That boy, with his stupid hat, holding your baseball bat.

You swallow your anger.

You swallow your anger as they leave you in the RV to raid the Saviour outpost.

You swallow your anger when they come out with their two friends, but none of yours.

You swallow your anger when they tell you that Negan is dead, he’s been killed. That you’ll be put in a cell until they know what to do with you.

“Let me see the body.” You demand, brows furrowed, attempting to shield your inner confliction. Concern.

The man with the curly hair and beard answers, already distracted, moving onto the next task. Like the life of your father was meaningless. “Ain’t no time, we gotta move. Get back to Alexandria before nightfall.”

You swallow your anger.

Until you can’t anymore.

It hasn’t even been that long. The end to a long, gruelling day. At least, it appears to be, judging by the dimming light seeping through tiny windows. You’ve never been in a prison cell before. Though, granted, it was probably time you got some semblance of consequence for your morally-grey actions.

There’s footsteps. Once person approaching, then another walking away. Keeping guard on your cell, you presume. The same process had happened twice already.

Except this time, the footsteps continue a little further. The jingle of keys, a metal door creaking open.

Then he’s standing in front of you, on the other side of the bars. You want to burn that stupid hat.

“Your hat looks stupid.”

His face twists, brows furrowed, but otherwise ignores the harsh statement. The hat remains on his head.

“What’s your name?” He asks, standing a few meters away, warily. As if he’s afraid you’ll squirm through the bars and attack him. Maybe that’s a good thing.

You don’t answer.

But the boy continues talking anyway, “Mine’s Carl.”

It’s like an olive branch, a truce. An ounce of humility amongst this whole, terrible experience.

You roll your eyes, but tell him your name anyway. Carl seems to take this as permission to continue, as he now sits down on the cold concrete floor, though still maintains the distance between the two of you.

“Were your parents back there?” He asks you, though doesn’t sound particularly curious, nor judgemental. It’s that same, weird, stony tone. Like he only wants to know simply for the benefit of information.

So, you humour him.

With a shrug, you mumble, “No.”

“Is Negan your dad?” Carl asks almost immediately, already having a path of conversation in mind. This boy knows what he wants, and intends on figuring it out. That, or he’s just really blunt.

Once again, you shrug, giving a pointed look that conveys how you don’t intent to cooperate.

In response, Carl narrows his eyes, taking your lack of cooperation as hostility.

A few moments pass, and he’s getting up again, storming towards the door. The keys jingle. Metal creaks.

And he’s gone.

Another few days pass.

Nobody had interacted with you; it felt like you were going insane. Four walls and a dinky bed.

At least Carl tried to talk to you, nobody else seemed interested.

Until the curly-haired man is back, who you presume is named Rick, and is getting you out of the cell, once again adorning handcuffs.

“You’re going to Hilltop,” He tells you, snapping your wrists together once more, but this time offers the reprieve of cuffing your hands in front of you, “Somebody will watch you, give you a new home. You misbehave? It’s back in the cell.”

Though displeased, you have no choice but to follow. Suspicion stews in your gut, as these people appear to be in a rush, ever so slightly frantic. An energy in the air.

You remain impartial, annoyance radiating from your being as they drive, all these people packed into an RV. Everybody is having their seperate conversations, though you remain alone, handcuffed at the back of the vehicle.

A few hours in… and the road is blocked.

Blocked by people. A few cars parked nearby.

Disruption stirs in the RV, weapons suddenly gripped, prepared for a threat. Just before Rick can go to investigate: you hear it.

Whistling.

Your face must clearly light up, a hint of hope, and you’re rushing to stand. Though you can only make it two steps forward, deeper into the RV, when suddenly hands are gripping your shoulders, a firm hold keeping you in place.

Keeping you from escaping.

You twist and turn, aggressive curses leaving your mouth, but are unable to fully face your captor.

But from the corner of your eye, you see the rim of that that stupid, stupid hat.

[atinylittlepain]

Only Lovers Left Alive

cowboy!vamp!joel miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

He offers her another option between life and death. How could she refuse?

warnings | 18+ smut, slight dubcon initially, gore, blood, dark themes in general, you've been warned muah hahahaha

wordcount: 4.5K

a/n | vamp!joel has me by the throat (pun intended) and though this is my last fic before my two month break, i have decided to turn this into a series that will span the decades! i already have 1920s, 1950s, and 1970s vamp bb waiting in the wings for when i get back in august :) BTW this first one is set in the 1870s ish - ALSO, @toxicanonymity posted a mind-melting vamp!joel fic last night that y'all should check out if you have a taste for the ~darker~ things in life. k, love you, bye

.........................................

A condemnation. An exile. Execution and exultation all wrapped up in one. She knew that if she rode out of town she need never look back. A white dress hanging on the bureau in her room the last thing she saw before she slipped out into the night. Her daddy’s gun and her brother’s horse and a scrawled note for her mama left behind. Do not look for me, I am already gone. 

She has every intention to be dead by the time the sun unfurls over the plains. The only true escape for a woman in this world, a loveless marriage nipping at her heels on her way out. She rides hard in the inky darkness until the flickering lanterns of the town are only a blink in the distance. 

Her hands are shaking as she dismounts, eyes skittering over the lip of the canyon she stands above. A bullet and a fall. If it’s so easy, why can she feel the cool slip of tears as she presses that steel mouth to her temple? Just like she learned from her daddy, thumb back the hammer to load that single, sweet bullet. And a pull, as easy as a loose tooth snapping free.

But before she can, her horse lets out a nervous chitter, head swinging side to side. A man, silent, palms open and up, comes inching toward her out from behind a copse of sagebrush.

“Don’t come any closer!” He stops dead in his tracks, lips parted, eyes wide and glinting in the moonlight.

“Easy, miss. Don’t want any trouble. Just wanted to offer my help.” It’s such a strange thing to say to a woman with a gun nosing at her temple that she finds herself letting out a humorless laugh.

“Do I look like I need any help right now?” It surprises her, the smile that softens his features, eyes crinkling up, soaked in kindness, and understanding.

“With all due respect, miss, you seem perfectly capable. But you should know that pistol of yours ain’t loaded.” She almost doesn’t want to check, a hot rush of embarrassment skittering up her spine when she does and sees that the man is right. She can already feel the tight sting of tears, something uglier and more desperate than frustration settling in her stomach.

“You probably think I’m a fool, don’t you?” The man takes another step forward, still with his hands up, still with that kind look in his eyes.

“I don’t think you’re a fool. Think you’re hurting like a lot of other folks out on these plains.” Another two steps closer and he extends his hand out to her, and for some reason, she takes it.

“Name’s Joel Miller, miss. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, even under such circumstances.” Deep, dark brown eyes that swallow her up. She finds herself telling him her name before she can even think not to. 

“I ain’t gonna try to talk you out of anything. What I can offer you are some bullets, and maybe a meal if you’d like to stick around a little longer.” All charm, the quicksilver of his smile crooking in the pale light and she has to force herself to let go of his hand. She tries to take a few stumbling steps back, oblivious to the cliff-side her heel skids right over, a clipped yelp jolting through her chest before strong arms are wrapping around her waist and tugging her back from the edge.

“Woah there, miss. I think you’d prefer a bullet to a fall like that.” The way he so easily talks about it makes her stomach flip, something slippery settling that isn’t altogether unpleasant. 

“I don’t have money and I ain’t that type of girl if you’re thinking you’ll get something out of helping me.” He laughs, a low thrumming thing, his palms still gripping her waist, his legs brushing against her skirts.

“Ain’t that type of man, miss, I promise. Just another lonely soul like yourself.” His hands slip away from her, stepping back, a chill running up her spine that makes her flush.

“Tell you what, I’ve got a camp a few yards ahead. A quick ride on that horse of yours. You can think on it and when we get there, I’ll get you your bullets and if you’re inclined to it, a warm meal.” She knows she can’t go home, not now, something worse than death waiting for her there. And something about this man, Joel, is making her want to say yes.

“Alright, you have a deal. But just because my gun isn’t loaded doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use it in other ways so you better not try anything.” A grin, all teeth.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, miss.” 

He’s strong, she can feel it in the bulk of his thighs settling behind her on her horse, the steady, solid front of him pressed against her back. By the time they canter into a small rock outcropping, her mind is hazy with the feel of muscle pushing and pulling against her.

True to his word, the first thing he does after helping her down from her horse is to rustle around in his pack, taking out a silvery pistol and giving her two bullets from his own barrel, palms brushing in the trade.

“Those oughta work just fine in that gun of yours, though I am waiting on your answer.” That same slanted smile of his, eyes flicked up with the tilt of his chin.

“Please, miss. Pity a poor, lonely man. Just a bite.” How could she say no to that?

In the warm glow of the fire, shadows and light reveal just how handsome he is. The strong hook of his nose, the cut of his jaw beneath that patchy scruff of his. And those eyes, flickering in the flames, watching her every move. 

She hadn’t realized how hungry she was, and though it’s sparse, rough fixings, she finds herself scraping up every last bite. No one to tell her to chew with her mouth closed, no table to get her elbows smacked off of, just this strange, silent man staring at her.

“Aren’t you hungry too?”

“Oh no, miss, I’m quite alright.” It makes her pause, her breath hitching, as she stares down at her already empty plate, her stomach rolling in a quick lurch.

“You– I–”

“You worried I poisoned you?” He says it with that same grin, and she’d like to scramble onto her feet and onto her horse and get as far away from him as she can. But the cool prickle running up her spine keeps her seated right where she is, trying to stammer out some sort of response. Joel is quick to silence her stumblings with another laugh though, teeth glinting in the swerving light of the fire.

“That’s alright, miss. But you should know I don’t want to harm you. I want to help you.” 

“Help me?”

“Uh-huh. What if I told you that I could offer you another way out that doesn’t involve putting a bullet in that pretty head of yours?” Those eyes of his are catching her again, soothing the stilted beat in her ribs.

“W-what would it involve?” 

“Well that’s a bit hard to explain, miss. But I assure you, it’s nothing you wouldn’t enjoy, thoroughly.” His hand reaches out, fingers tracing along the hinge of her jaw, brushing down the side of her neck before dipping under the neckline of her dress, flickering back and forth, back and forth along her skin.

“If you ask me, a sweet thing like you deserves more out of this cruel, cruel world.”

“M-more?” Shifting closer to her, his arm draping over her shoulders, pulling her into the haze of him, that silvery grin up close.

“Don’t you want to feel good, miss?” His lips so close she can feel the brush of them along her cheek, his fingers curling tighter around her shoulder. And then, with a stuttered nod of her head, she sinks into him completely. 

She’s only had frivolous, playground kisses before. Quick, daring pecks followed by a fast dash away before anyone could catch them. This is not that. He devours her, licking into her mouth in a way that both shocks and soothes, his palm coming to hold her jaw firm in place as his lips move against hers. And she takes it, all of it, letting him move her to his will, his lips a wandering drag beneath the hinge of her jaw, lingering along the arc of her neck before dipping down to the tops of her heaving breasts pressing against the neckline of her dress.

“How sweet you are, my darlin. Sweet everywhere, ain’t you?” There’s nothing she could possibly say to that, her mind spinning in jagged gasps of sensation when he brings his hands to the front of her dress and rips clean down the front of it, corset and all, leaving her in just the thin gauze of her slip. She finds something like courage, a small ember of it smoldering enough for her to start tugging at the shoulders of his leather coat, earning a chuckle from him when he finally gets the hint and shrugs out of it.

“I need your words, darlin, else I can’t do this. Do you want this?” She’s not even entirely sure what this is, only that her mind is swimming in it, in him, and she wants more of it.

“Yes, Joel, I want this, I do.” He pulls her in for another bruising kiss, lips curled in that grin as he coaxes her to lay out on the cold desert ground, though she doesn’t mind with the way her body is burning up beneath his touch. 

She’s never done this before, guided only by the sharp tug in her belly, that aching want intensifying as he rucks her slip up beneath her collar bones and begins a salacious trail down her skin. His lips close around the peak of one of her nipples, a gasp dragging through her throat as his tongue laves over the bud. But it’s a rattling shock when he dips just a bit lower, teeth sinking into the full curve of her breast before his tongue sweeps over the sting, soothing, soothing, soothing. 

Lower and lower, a path of his open mouth mapped across her skin until he’s settled between her thighs, the broadness of his shoulders spreading open the hinge of her hips.

“No one’s had you like this, have they, darlin?” His eyes are blown black, unwavering, turning her shy and small beneath his question, her chin tucking into her shoulder as she shakes her head. He lets out a low groan at her response that makes her thighs clench, jolting in the wide grip of his palms.

“I’ll do all the work. All you have to do is let it feel good.” That’s about all the warning he gives her before his tongue drags a flat stripe through her cunt, her spine arching with the dizzying sensation as he settles his lips over a spot that makes her gasp. Over and over again, his tongue swirls against that aching point of pleasure, his palms turning harsh in their grip on her thighs as her muscles start to shake from it. Her eyes roll back, up to the stars in the pitch-black sky, ears thrumming with the obscene sounds of his lips smacking with her arousal. And it hits her all at once, everything going tight and hot with sensation before she unfurls for him with a sigh of his name, body languid and liquid as he continues to lap at her dripping cunt.

“Feels good, huh, darlin? Can make you feel so much better though.” She groans when his mouth meets hers again, open, wanting, receiving, the taste of herself on his lips making her mind swim. It’s primal, pre-human, the want she feels for the thick heat of him that’s settled between her legs, her hips canting up to chase that pressure. 

“Please, Joel, I want to feel good.” She’s almost crying with it. Nothing has felt like this, ever. And he’s more than willing to give her what she wants.

“Gonna take my time with you, darlin. Make it feel real good.” He plants one palm next to her temple in the red earth, his other hand fumbling to unfasten his pants and shuck them down enough so his cock can rest, heavy and flushed against the soft inside of her thigh. She has to bite back a whimper just looking at the sheer size of him.

“Don’t you worry, darlin. Remember what I said, huh? Not gonna harm you, just help you. Relax for me, that’s it.” A stretch, a searing, sick pleasure as he begins to drive his cock into her fluttering cunt. But he’s gentle, so gentle, a slow spread that has her mewling beneath him.

“There you go, taking all of it. Made for me, ain’t you? My angel, all mine.” She can’t help the moan that tears through her chest when he grinds his hips deep and driving, a pulsing, aching fullness that has her digging her nails into his shoulder blades. But that ache bursts into a snarling fire of want when he drags his hips back, only to roll them forward on a much faster, much deepers thrust, already settling them into a dizzying rhythm of push and pull.

“Joel, please I– feels so good, oh my go–”

“Just my name, darlin. Say my name and nothing else.” She does, long drawn out preens of it as he fucks her, that same pleasure pulling taut up and down her spine. 

“Again, darlin, just like this.” His words are murmured into her throat, that beating, pumping crook in her neck, and her body responds in kind, unraveling for him all over again as he continues the hot drag of his cock through her cunt. As she starts to come, those open-mouthed kisses snap into something else. Teeth, a graze, and then a sinking, startling pain. All she can do is hold on, her whole body going limp in his arms as that pain radiates into a burning singe. A rushing settles into her ears, dark pinpricks around her vision, barely registering the warbled moan he lets out as she feels something warm smear against her stomach.

“I think I’ll keep you, darlin.”

And then perfect darkness.

…

Like fingers skittering up her throat, she wakes up to a thirst so singular, so consuming, she actually brings her hand to her neck, wincing when her fingers brush what feels like a bruise across her skin. 

“You’re awake.” It startles her so badly she jumps, curling up and scrambling back until she’s pressed against a large boulder. Joel sits, crouched, studying her, face schooled and steeled. 

“I– how long was I asleep?” Her voice cracks, that thirst making her words weak and warbled. 

“About two days. Slept like the dead when I was done with you.” His words crackle with his grin and she has to shake her head to refocus on figuring out where the hell she is. Looking down at her body, she finds herself in men’s clothes, slacks and boots, a button up, all too big for her, most likely Joel’s. And then she remembers what he had done to her dress and her thoughts go hazy again.

“W-where are we, Joel?” 

“Just a few miles west. You hungry?” 

“No, I’m– I’m thirsty.” His grin goes big and bright at that, silvery slick in the moonlight.

“I bet you are, darlin. Why don’t you come over here and I’ll give you something to drink?” The promise of this need, this burning urge being slaked is enough for her to close the distance between them, letting him maneuver her shivering body into his lap.

“Just give your body what it wants. Easy as reaching out and taking it.” Her palms press against his chest, a futile struggle as he guides her face into the crook of his neck with his hand cupping the back of her head. But something else takes over in her, a fire flickering up her throat when her lips press against the thin skin of his neck. And it is what her body wants, lips parting, teeth snarling and sinking in.

“That’s it, darlin. My angel’s a natural, huh?” When she finally pulls away, eyes hooded and heavy with satisfaction, she finds herself smiling up at him, something slick and sweet simmering in her veins. 

“Thank you, Joel.” Teeth, all teeth.

“Of course, darlin. Gonna be you and me from now on.”

…

He offered her another option. Something between life and death. That is where she lives now. This is how she lives now. With him. 

When they must, they travel in the day, wide-brimmed hats tilted down, bandanas tied over their faces, long leather coats and gloves. Otherwise, they move in the night, over the vast, whimpering plains, whetting their particular appetites whenever they can, jumping towns before their faces can be known.

A year, maybe two, maybe even three. What use do they have for time? Caught in an endless tangle, just the two of them, and that blazing thirst. 

But there is one thing they have their sights set on. Making their way back, retracing their path, her path to him, until they find themselves on the outskirts of a town she swore she’d never see again. 

No guns, they don’t need them. Horses set loose, they won’t be needing them either. As the sun dips down over the plains, they walk through the main drag of town. He let her call the shots, agreeing when she insisted they come for the men only. Let the women and children run so long as they stay out of their way. 

It’s a long night. One that ends in her childhood home. And by the time the sun is coming up, one would find the ranch house with the front door ajar in a silent yawn, her mama and her sisters having fled. And on the porch, still holding his shotgun, her daddy’s splayed out body. Perhaps luckily, she didn’t have any brothers. Just the man she was supposed to marry.

“I’m so full, Joel. I don’t know if I can have another bite.” 

“Hmm, you wanna save him for later?” 

“I think I can make room.” Fear, like the cream top on a fresh gallon of milk. So, so sweet and rolling in waves off the man’s trembling body, Joel pinning him against the wall of her childhood bedroom as she paces back and forth. They haven’t had this much to drink in ages, and she feels dizzy, drunk off it, smacking her lips with the lingering taste.

“What are you people? W-what happened to yo–” Joel cuts off the man’s blubbering by jostling him back against the wall, teeth bare, something like a growl pulling from his chest.

“Now, Joel. Didn’t your mama teach you not to play with your food?” She grins, and he mirrors her in turn, looking over his shoulder at her. A hum in her throat, she glances around her old room, eyes settling on the wardrobe, her hands itching with a small want. She’s already moving over to it, opening it, and sure enough, that white dress is tucked inside. 

“That’s pretty, darlin. Why don’t you put it on for me?” It’s nothing for Joel to hold the man against the wall, one forearm pinning him by his neck as he turns to watch her, her fingers already flickering through the buttons of her shirt. She strips completely bare, savoring the two sets of eyes trailing her every move as she slips the simple white frock over her body.

“Look like an angel, darlin. Doesn’t she, boy?” Joel punctuates his question with a harsh press of his arm into the man’s windpipe, making him wheeze out a stuttered yes. 

“All this talk has worked up my appetite again.”

“This one’s all yours, darlin.” 

Blooming red flowers all down her dress, a trail of it down her chin that Joel laps up with a satisfied groan. They turn greedy with it, desperate to get the other bare, and when every thread of clothing is in a pool around their feet, he circles around her, his lips pressing into the striped scars on her back, a mapping of her history that she finally got to repay.

“How’s it taste?”

“You were right, Joel. There’s nothing sweeter.” 

“Except for you, darlin.” 

She’s not that shy little girl anymore. She knows how to take her pleasure, how to pull it from her man. And tonight, both of their bodies painted and slick with their feast, she does just that. All teeth, sharp, scraping nips when her mouth meets his, her hands tangled up in his hair to tug him closer with a low groan. Push and pull, a stubborn tangle onto the bed, her hands splaying out on his chest, nails digging in enough to make him hiss beneath her. Their skin sticks and slides with all the dribbling blood. They’ve always been messy eaters.

“Look at you, darlin. Like a fucking painting in my lap. So beautiful.” He swipes his thumb over her nipple, collecting a stray trickle of red and sucking it into his mouth with a thrum in his throat. And she in turn dips down to lick up the line of his neck, salt and metal on her tongue. So perfectly sated, she feels dazed with it, a slow-flickering want rolling in her belly as she drags her dripping cunt along his cock, just a taste of the pleasure they’re both chasing. But they’re both too far gone, too full of that ache for her to tease much more, sinking down onto him slow and smooth with a preen curling her spine.

“I’m so, so full, Joel. Fuck, so good.” Her whole body hums with it, the harsh press of his fingers into the curve of her ass, his eyes watching the tight bounce of her breasts each time her hips drop against his, and his cock grazing so deep inside her, that pleasure that snarls with just a tinge of pain.

“Take it, darlin. Fucking take all of it. My angel’s so good, always so good for me.” Planting his feet into the mattress, his thighs settle against her back as he starts to meet her thrusts, a broken cry dragging from her chest as she lurches forward in his hold.

“Yes, yes, yes. I’m so close, Joel. Please don’t stop.” Words she presses against his throat, collapsed on top of him as he fucks up into her, chasing that pleasure with snarling teeth so he can lay it at her feet. It snaps all at once, her whole body going tight and taut around him, a close cry of his name as he fucks her through it. She doesn’t drink, just a simple creature comfort to sink her teeth into the curve of his neck, a lick of pain that sends him right over the edge with her. 

They lay like that for a while, chest to chest, mouths sliding lazily together until sunlight starts to flicker through the window. She gets up with a sigh, his softening cock finally slipping out of her as she steps off the bed to close the shutters tight.

“I need a little taste.”

“Reckon there’s some left over, darlin.” The body is still warm, slumped on the floor. She crouches over it, still bare, flecks of red drying and flaking off her skin. His wrist, pale and perfect, untouched, just the place to sink her teeth and pull. Sweet satisfaction singing in her bones, she hums as she slips back into bed, curling up against her man and letting him lick the remnants from her mouth.

The story goes that a town lays somewhere tucked in the rolling dips of the plains that one day went dead. Women and children fleeing, and a fate far worse for the men. You can go searching for it in the daylight, when all lays still and silent, maybe catch a glimpse of a skeleton long picked over by some larger predator. Just don’t stay long enough to see the sun slip over the hills unless you’d like to meet a pair of lovers with a taste for a violence so pure, and an appetite that surely can’t be human. 

“You and me, darlin. Forever.” 

“Forever, Joel.” 

[tklpilled]

saltines

part two of a commission from @rand0m-s1nner ft their sona!! aaaand thanks to @thornoisdono pitching in, there's an extra 1k words! surprise!!

Childe stretches, glancing over at his opponent. It’s nothing but a regular spar; no Visions, no weapons, no weird Foul Legacy transformations. Simple hand-to-hand combat. Childe is strong, sure, but he finds he often relies on the elements or his weapons. It’s good training for him, he figures, because if he asked any other Harbingers he’s sure they’d kick his ass instantly. He knows he's strong, but he knows also that he's eleventh place out of ten. Sometimes he wonders if they only let him join out of pity; a bloodied and beaten down teenager itching for a fight he knew he couldn't win was surely a sad sight. He's fought the others before, on occasion. He knows they don't exactly like sparring with him, but Arlecchino and Scaramouche tend to jump at the opportunity to beat him up, so he's picked up plenty of moves from them.

“Hey!” calls Sinner, arms crossed, tapping their foot impatiently. “Are you ready?”

Childe nods, gives them a wave, and the fight begins.

Officially, it does, anyway. Neither of them make a move, giving Childe some time to think. He thinks about how the other Harbingers would open. Scaramouche would rush in, a crazed smirk upon his lips as he toys with the enemy. He knows from watching her train one of her favourites eldest that Arlecchino wouldn’t make the first move. Neither would Dottore, though he's more of an evader than an attacker. Columbina would leap forward, her steps so quick and soft that it's like she teleports behind her opponents. He hasn’t gotten the chance to see Capitano fight yet, but he gets the impression that he’d jump in and end the fight in an instant. All of them seem like fair options.

But he is Tartaglia, not anyone else, and none of those sound appealing to him.

He lunges forward instantly, ready to shove them to the ground, but he knows it won’t be that easy. They quickly evade him, moving to the side and rushing to get behind him. They grab for his arm, intending to yank him off-balance, but he spins around just in time and smacks their hand away. Sinner jumps back, holding their arms out defensively, and Childe can see their eyes scanning his every move.

See, Childe has plenty of experience with all sorts of weapons; swords, spears, he’s even fired a gun once or twice. Hand-to-hand combat isn’t his specialty, exactly, but that doesn’t mean he’s bad at it—far from it. Years of catching fish with his bare hands, sparring with his master, fending off horrifying Abyss creatures, it’s all taught him well. So, while it's not his best subject, he's confident he can win.

That is, until Sinner throws their fist into his stomach and sends him to the ground.

He cries out, eyes widening as he’s suddenly staring at the sky. He's shocked for a brief moment, not giving himself the time to breathe before he's back on his feet. He dodges their attempts at hitting him again, backing away. They don't follow him.

The two of them stare at each other for a few seconds, then they both move forward at the same time. They’re heading directly towards each other, but right before they crash, Childe jumps into the air and out of the way. Sinner skids to a halt, whipping their head around in time to dodge his next attack.

Sinner springs forward, fist outstretched, and Childe ducks just before they can make contact. Before they get away, though, he gives their leg a little kick to send them falling to the ground, then quickly grabs their arms and pins them behind their back.

They kick a little for a moment before slumping to the ground in defeat. “Ugh. You win.”

Childe stands up and offers a hand to them. “You did good. Thanks for helping.”

Fifteen minutes and a couple bottles of cold water later, Sinner rolls their shoulders, groaning. “That’s definitely gonna bruise.” They stretch their arms out in front of them, joints popping as they do so.

Childe winces, rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish chuckle. “Heh, sorry about that. Don’t think you’d have wanted me to go easy, though.”

“Of course not,” they say, stretching their arms. “That defeats the point of training, doesn’t it?”

He sets his water to the side, walking over to them. “Here, turn around.” He sits behind them, tentatively placing his hands on their back. He’s not sure which spots are sore and he doesn’t want to make anything worse. “I’ll give you a massage. I’m really good at it, y’know.”

Sinner nods, putting their water away as well. “Yeah, thanks.” They still sit up straight, letting him have better access, but their shoulders noticeably slump in relaxation.

Childe puts his hands on their shoulders, his thumbs pressing just above their shoulder blades. He’s being firm, but careful to not cause any more pain than they’re already in. He rubs his thumbs in a tiny circle, squeezing their shoulders a little as he does so.

He thinks back to doing this with his siblings. While they never sparred with him, he would still give them massages from time to time, the way his older brother did to him. Tonia would often beg for him to do it even if she wasn’t sore, and she’d fall asleep in the middle of it almost every time. Teucer would manage to stay awake, though Childe always noticed him holding back his yawns and the way his eyes would flutter closed. It’s how he got so good at it; plenty of practice on his younger siblings.

“Lay down,” he instructs Sinner, and they comply. They fold their arms under their head, laying down comfortably. Childe doesn’t want to climb atop them to get a better angle, but he doesn’t want to stand either, so he settles for sitting at their side.

His movements are muscle memory at this point, his fingers moving with practiced ease as he rubs his palms along their back to loosen Sinner’s muscles. He notices them getting a little tired, too, but decides not to mention it.

He focuses on their shoulders, mostly, knowing that their limbs are likely aching the most. He’s sure they would greatly benefit from a leg massage, too, but he doesn’t want to suddenly spring it upon them, so he sticks to their back. He takes some time to focus on their lower back, too, and he’s about to return to their shoulder area when he feels them spasm beneath his hand.

He blinks in surprise, pulling his hands away. “Ticklish?”

“No,” they reply, muffled from the way their face is pressed into the cushion.

Massages-turned-tickle fights aren’t something he’s a stranger to; because, again, siblings. Antony always liked to tease him with a pinch to his sides, and in turn he’d do it to his siblings as well. Tonia’s spine, he remembers, was always sensitive to light touches, and it made him laugh how desperate she was for his massages despite the fact.

The nostalgia is tugging at his big brother urges.

“No?” he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. He skitters a few fingers up their back and bites back a laugh at the way they squirm.

“Cut it out!” Sinner whines, reaching behind themself to swat at his hand. He can’t see their face, but from their tone, he can tell they’re smiling.

“Why?” Childe says, poking and prodding, moving his hand around faster than they can push him away. “You’re not ticklish, right? This is part of the experience.”

His siblings would, by now, be giggling their heads off (though he’s sure a big reason is simply the fact that little kids laugh at everything), but Sinner’s mouth stays firmly shut. Oh well. He can work with this.

“Come on,” he coos, shoving his hands under their arms, but rather than thoroughly tickle them, he slowly moves his fingers, just enough to tease.

They make a whining sound, their hands stuck between covering their face and protecting themself. Ultimately, the latter wins, and they press their arms firmly against their sides as though it will somehow force him away.

This doesn’t deter him, though, not at all. In fact, it only encourages him to keep going, more and more and more until a giggle finally slips out, and then another, and then the entire dam falls apart.

Childe bites back a laugh of his own. “You’re not laughing at me, are you? Don’t be rude.”

“Y-yohohou knohow what Ihi’m laughing ahahat!” Sinner cries, squirming so strongly that Childe almost thinks he’s going to be overpowered.

“Why?” he grins, and although they can’t see it, he knows it’s evident in his tone. “Am I tickling you? I thought you said you weren’t ticklish—”

“Shut uhuhup!” they squeal, and suddenly Childe is on the floor, staring up at Sinner’s red cheeks and messy hair as they look over at him from the couch.

He bursts out laughing. “Ha! Is that what it takes to make you stronger? If I’d tickled you during our spar, would you have—”

Sinner throws a pillow at him with a glare. “I s-said shut up!” Still, as angry as they’re trying to act, there’s an unmistakably genuine smile still etched on their face.

Childe lifts his hand, wiggles his fingers playfully. “Hey, careful, I know your weakness now! I’ll just tickle you again.”

He means it as a joke, but there’s something about the way their blush intensifies and their eyes widen that makes him curious. It’s not as though the reaction is abnormal or anything, not in the slightest. He just has a hunch.

“Do you…” he’s almost nervous to ask, “want me to tickle you?”

Sinner freezes, their hands midway to grabbing at another pillow as if to throw it at him again. “No! O-of course not, why would I want th-that?!”

Childe has gotten better at reading people over the years, and he can tell that, while their mouth says no, everything else screams at him, yes, please.

Liking tickling isn’t a new concept to him. He himself thinks it’s fun, so the idea of craving it isn’t such a far-fetched idea. He could tease them more; act like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing, just walk away and return to daily life.

But Childe lives for the thrill, and where’s the fun in doing that?

He pounces again, his hands quickly finding the sides of their ribs despite their attempts to fight back.

“Ack, nohot thehehere—!” Sinner almost instantly begins to beg, but there’s an undeniable happiness to their laughter. They’re grinning even when he pulls his hands away to find somewhere else to tickle.

“Not here, huh?” Childe hums to himself, poking down their sides as he thinks aloud. “I don’t think that’s your worst spot, though, is it? Come on, don’t give up so early.”

They make a shaky sound of protest, almost like a squeak. It makes him laugh himself. He tests out their legs, squeezing their thigh right above the knee. They yelp, eyes widening as they kick their leg out and nearly hit him. He ducks, then grins.

“Now you’re trying to hit me?” He grabs at their ankle, pinning it in place while he focuses his attack on their knee. “Sore loser,” he teases. “If you want a rematch, just say so.”

“D-dihihie,” they threaten him, and he wouldn’t be intimidated anyway, but with the way they're giggling the whole way through, it’s less scary than a kitten.

Speaking of which.

He moves up, lightly scratching at their ears, and they freeze up. They’re stiff for a moment, but as he continues, they practically melt into his touch.

He chuckles. “You like that?”

Sinner mumbles something, still giggling but not nearly as intensely. It’s kind of cute.

“I’m g-gohonna kill you…” they grumble at him, sending him a tiny glare, but they still don’t move away from him.

Childe smiles at him. “Can’t wait.”

[paperweight91]

Ok, Chelsea, what about this?

You just got back from staying with family over the holidays. When you go to make yourself some dinner you realize your cupboards are bare. So you rush out for an emergency grocery run. But oh no! When you get to the register, you realize you forgot your wallet. Luckily, there's a good samaritan in line behind you who offers to pay for your food.

Who is it?

Are they feeling generous or do they make you pay them back somehow??

Breakdown, Aisle 3

W/C:1012

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x reader

A/N: Okay so I had two immediate thoughts pop into my head for this, and in an amazing show of restraint I only did one of them. (Yes I’m patting myself on the back) but I have to say this is such a fun prompt that I feel like it could have gone soooo many different ways. I hope you like it lovely ☺️ comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

Your chest heaved on an exhale as you finally got on the highway. Christmas was always your favourite time of year, but your family was stressful to put it nicely. Knowing that you were just an hour away from home was enough to have you feeling so, so relaxed. You cranked up the radio to keep you awake on the drive and coasted home.

You came into your apartment feeling lighter, but also starving. That ravenous hunger that would only ever hit when you had pushed yourself for far too long without eating. Throwing your purse on the island, where it skidded across and fell off the other side making you huff. That was a later you problem, food first. You turned on a house flipping show for some background noise and started to look through your cabinets. Nothing. You checked your fridge. Not even milk.

Smacking your forehead you remembered why, donating a bunch of non-perishables for the holidays and throwing out your entire fridge before going to your parents maybe wasn’t the best idea you had. You groaned and stomped your foot, why you?

Collecting your purse off the floor you raced back down to the parking garage. You would pick up enough for dinner and something for breakfast before doing full groceries tomorrow. You went to the closest supermarket, a little on the higher end, but it would be fine for one night.

You made a beeline for the frozen food section, letting out a sad noise when nothing appealed to you. Maybe it was a snacks for dinner kind of night. A new plan in mind you grabbed all of your favourite snacks, and a few treats. You also grabbed a nice fresh loaf of French bread something you would rarely get just for yourself. Happy with your haul, you made your way to the barren checkout line.

Unloading your cart, you heard a huff behind you. Glancing up to see a striking man, with only one item. He was clean shaven with bright blue eyes, his hair swept back just so. He was glaring at the conveyer belt, a hand on his hip. You sighed, your hunger could wait for this impatient man, “do you want to go first?” As the question left your lips you heard the beep of your first item being scanned.

He rolled his eyes, and waved his hand dismissively. “Seems like it’s not an option now.”

Feeling heat in your face, you turned back to unloading as quickly as you could. Of course you would piss off the only stranger you run into in the supermarket. You rushed to bag your items, thankful you at least remembered your bags.

“That’ll be $85.50” the cashier looked so bored, you almost forgot they were there.

You pulled your purse up, rummaging through. Your movements got more urgent as your fingers kept missing the familiar square of your wallet. “No. No, no, no!”

The man behind you huffed again. “Really?”

You turned to him, panic written clearly across your face, causing his expression to morph from irritation to concern. Tears beaded in your eyes as you continued what you knew now was a wasteful search. “My, my wallet. It’s not…” you covered your face with your hands. You were so hungry. The stupid thing must be laying on your floor somewhere.

The stranger sighed this time, passing his lone box of cookies to the cashier, “Add this to the bill.” He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and quickly paid for the entire haul.

“Put the cart away.” His tone was soft, but it was clearly an order as he picked up all of your bags, tossing his cookies on top of on haphazardly. You stood in shock for a moment before he rolled his eyes at you and pointed at the cart. You jumped and quickly grabbed the cart, wheeling it back to the front of the store and putting it back in neatly. You heard a snort behind you.

Turning to glare at the haughty stranger, you found yourself softening as he gripped your grocery bags. You nodded and lead him out of the store towards your car. You popped the trunk, and he placed your bags carefully in the back. “Thank you,” you murmured. “I’m sorry about all that, I can’t believe I left my wallet at home.”

He closed your trunk, and leaned with one hand on the vehicle. He took in your full appearance. Starting from the old running shoes you had thrown on before leaving the house, coming all the way up to your hair, which you had thrown into a quick bun. “It’s nothing.” He said quietly. His petulant attitude seemed to have been left in the store.

“It’s not!” You’re quick to reply, “I just got back from spending the most exhausting visit with my family. And realized I was the idiot who decided to clean out my fridge before leaving. And then you swoop in to save me!”

The man still leaning against your, now has a road grin spreading across his face. “Ransom.” He says only that one word and you realize it’s his name. You give him yours and hold out your hand.

He takes your hand in a firm grasp. Not shaking, just holding. Your lashes flutter as you look up at him. “Would you maybe want to join me for a late night snack?” You’ve never done this before, what were you doing?

Ransom smirks and chortles slightly at your horror at your own words. “Well it’s the least you could do, since I did in fact buy it all.” He winked at you and you felt butterflies take off in your stomach. “Besides, I now need to know why your family is so exhausting. Because mine will make your head spin.” You laughed and reached back into your purse taking out your phone. The two of you exchanged numbers, and you texted him your address.

Maybe forgetting your wallet at home wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

[sunny6677]

Tom x Lila AU question—

So 2 options for Deadly Smiles since I think I thought of a lil alternative—

1. It stays the same, with Tom and Lila being off-screen together the entire episode attending to some duties to do with their job, and they of course come back together to pick up Skid from Pumps house toward the end of the episode.

2. Tom isn't too busy with work, so she decides to look after Skid instead of Lila dropping off Skid at Pumps house, but Pump comes in anyway because Skid wants to see him—and Pump goes over to Tom & Lila's house, which leads to Tom looking after them. And after she finishes doing something work related on her computer, she agrees to let Skid & Pump go to the movies, and tags along with them the entire time they're outside until the whole incident with the sweaters and just brings them back to her & Lila's house. Lila also doesn't have to pick up Skid in this option and just comes home.

[bow-of-aros]

You Can't Hide Forever

This ended up a little longer than I thought it was going to, but I still think it's pretty fun :) This is an immediate continuation to Playing with Fire so I hope that y'all enjoy!

-

“You have five seconds to run.”

Those words echoed in Charles’ ears as he skidded through the halls of the building. A sort of of giddy nervousness bubbled up inside of him as he frantically tried to think of a place to hide.

He felt like a soda can that had been shaken up: bright and fizzy and full of energy just waiting to explode.

He hadn’t realized, but he’d needed this. It had been weeks since they’d had a proper break between cases and they were both completely wrong out. Between the stress that never stopped building and the rest they could never seem to find the time for, this was good for both of them.

They needed this reminder that they were allowed to still be kids every once in a while, that they were still allowed to play and have fun and laugh.

Charles felt as though he were floating on air as he ran from room to room, all of the pent up energy that had been itching for a way out finally finding its release in this chase.

Speaking of the chase, Charles could hear Edwin’s footsteps pounding not far behind him and steadily gaining. He should’ve known that this was a bad idea. Edwin had always been faster than him, he never took a false step, each perfectly placed to achieve maximum speed and distance with minimum effort and even less room for error.

Charles didn’t like to think about why that was, but he had to admit that it came in handy when they were on a case and they upset something they definitely shouldn’t have.

It was less handy when Charles was the one who had to escape Edwin, so he needed to come up with a plan.

He couldn’t travel through any mirrors because Edwin would be able to determine the path he’d used and would just follow him through. That would also break the unspoken rules of the game, which Charles was already pushing by leaving the office.

He couldn’t keep running because Edwin would catch up with him in no time, and he wanted this to be at least a little bit of a challenge.

Alright, hiding it is.

Charles quickly runs through his options as he skids around another corner and phases through a wall, hoping to buy himself a few precious seconds.

The office is too obvious with not enough places to hide, another person’s room would just be weird, and he doesn’t want to risk attempting to hide in one of the bathroom stalls.

So, the roof or the basement?

He can’t hear Edwin’s footsteps anymore.

That can’t be good.

Charles slows down, quieting his footsteps and phasing through walls when he can. He’s been up on the roof a few times, and it’s mostly open space which will not end well for him.

Basement it is.

The silence as he makes his way futher down is unnerving. Every time that Charles hears the faint echo of a creak, he freezes until he deems it safe enough to keep moving. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle, but every time he glances over his shoulder, there’s nothing there.

Finally, after what seems like forever, he finds himself in what he assumes is a storage room. There are cardboard boxes shoved up against the walls, there are lone pieces of furniture lying forgotten throughout the room, and there’s a large bin full of abandoned clothes in the corner.

Charles eyes that bin and thinks, Bingo.

He wastes no time in clambering into the pile of clothes, burrowing down until he’s fully concealed.

And not a second too soon, apparently, as he hears the steady click…clack… that accompanies Edwin’s casual stroll.

“Oh Charles,” Edwin calls out, “I know that you’re in here.”

Charles clasps a hand over his mouth in an attempt to stifle the giggles that are already threatening to leak out. He forces his limbs to still so that they don’t give away his hiding spot even though he’s filled with energy that's thrumming just under his skin.

Edwin’s footsteps are growing closer and Charles fights the urge to shrink back. His pace is unhurried, like he has all the time in the world to draw Charles out. He walks with the easy confidence of a predator who knows that his prey is trapped, and is only toying with him until he decides to pounce.

“You can’t hide forever. You only managed to run for so long because you cheated.” His tone is lightly chiding, but Charles knows that he’s not really upset, and that he’s playing it up for the game.

“Do you want me to tell you what I do to cheaters? What I’m going to do when I find you?” A dangerous edge creeps into Edwin’s voice, that spark of mischief that they normally find in Charles is finally being directed at Charles.

At this point, Charles is wondering whether just giving himself up would be less torturous than what Edwin's putting him through with the endless teasing. The anticipation is ramping up inside him until he's sure that he might combust right where he is.

As Edwin makes his way around the room, making a show of narrating his search of each nook and cranny, of the revenge he plans on exacting, Charles wonders if this is how Edwin feels whenever he’s itching for some fun: nervous and excited and happy.

He’s filled with a warmth that comes with the reminder that he and Edwin are best mates. Of course, it’s one of the few certainties that he can rely on in his tumultuous afterlife. But this? Them being friends outside cases and mysteries and the occasional existence-threatening danger that comes with being on the run from Death?

It’s a feeling that he can’t quite put words to, but that he knows that he wouldn’t trade for the world.

The footsteps stop.

Suddenly, faster than Charles can blink, light floods his vision and he’s pulled out of the bin and backed up against the wall.

He looks up at Edwin’s grinning face, eyes dancing with a playful light as he rests his hands on Charles’ ribs. “Any last words?”

Charles puts on his most charming smile and offers the most insincere “I’m sorry?” of his entire afterlife. It makes Edwin laugh though, and that’s what matters.

Edwin’s not the only one laughing soon enough as Edwin curls his fingers into the grooves of his ribs. Frantic, high-pitched giggling tumbles out of his mouth and he barely lasts a second before his knees buckle and he’s sliding down the wall.

Not that it does much to help him. Edwin just follows him down, hovering over him and thwarting his feeble attempts to curl up into a ball, massaging Charles’ stomach in a way that has him throwing his head back as pleas for mercy rush out in between peals of laughter.

“Edwin! Edwihihihin please! I’m sorry! I’m sohohohorry! Shit- NO!”

Evil, cruel hands jump down to his knees and Charles is lost. He’s desperately kicking his legs, shoving away from the wall in an attempt to escape the electric shocks travelling through his legs.

“I’m not sure that you are Charles. Not yet, at least,” Oh that bastard. He’s got that smug look on this face and his tone just screams ‘I’ve got you right where I want you,’ “Oh, but you will be.”

Those words send a bolt of anxiety through his system, spurring another stream of frantic, if half-hearted, pleas.

What? This is the most fun he’s had in ages.

“Let’s see if we can drain the rest of that energy out of you, shall we? Maybe then you’ll let me get some work done? Unless…” he pauses for dramatic effect, because Edwin's a dork like that, “you feel like giving up?” Charles knows Edwin well enough to know that he’s giving him an out, and while he appreciates it, it feels more like a challenge than anything.

He should know that Charles has never been one to back down from a challenge.

He tilts his chin up defiantly, using the small reprieve to suck in some unneeded breaths, and says, “Do your worst.”

And, well, there are certainly worse ways to spend your afternoon than laughing with your best mate.

[brigdh]

I was thinking more about how Stede doesn't really have an arc this season (see my previous criticism here), and I've decided that what I would have loved to see was Stede actively attempting to court Ed.

Now, we did get a little of this in the first few episodes: Stede's letters in 2x01 are great, I love his attempting to track Ed down via a crime-map in 2x02, and of course the "I'll never leave you. I'll never leave again" speech at the end of 2x03 is fantastic. But once Stede and Ed are both in the same location and conscious, there's really nothing. Stede just hangs around, waiting for Ed to figure himself out, or take the lead, or something, I don't know, but Stede's certainly doesn't take any action to progress their relationship himself. He's such a static character in the second half of S2.

But! Imagine instead the arc where Stede is actively trying to romance Ed! I don't need him to be good at it; it's probably a better character arc if he isn't, in fact. Maybe he comes on way too strong at first and this is why Ed asks him to slow down, until Ed can figure out what he's doing about his own guilt/violence/identity/daddy issues (maybe Ed can actually figure out something about his guilt/violence/identity/daddy issues). Maybe Stede's entire conception of romance comes from poetry and novels and it hits a hard skid when he tries it out in reality. Maybe there are cultural clashes between how pirates approach one another and how the landed upper class does it. The exact way Stede fails doesn't really matter, because the point is that Stede is trying something, and fucking it up, and trying again, and growing as he does so, learning more about what the relationship between him and Ed needs and who they are as people.

This also could have been a really interesting arc for Stede internally. Throw in a couple of flashbacks to Stede courting Mary, to make a parallel between how he acted then and how he's acting now with Ed. If it's beyond the budget to fly Claudia O'Doherty to New Zealand or she's busy or something, give Stede a random other lady or two he approached as a young man – ones who obviously refused to accept his hand. Excellent! Now there's even more weight to him getting it right this time with Ed, when he's never managed to get someone to like him before! Or give young Stede an intense friendship with another young man that went wrong, and back then he didn't understand, but now he can look back and be like, 'oh I guess that wasn't as platonic as I thought'. (Personally, this would be my favorite option, but I know Jenkins & co said they didn't want to write a coming-out story, so maybe they'd have been less interested in this one. Fine, but I want it! 🥳 ) I think you could do this without taking up a lot of screentime – I doubt all the scenes we got of Ed's childhood add up to five minutes in total, but we got plenty of information from those three glimpses.

It would also make sense for Stede to discuss the issue with the crew, which gives the show a chance to flesh out their role a little more, another thing the season could have used. If he asks Lucius, what Lucius responds and how he reacts could help to develop the Lucius/Pete relationship. Similarly, if Stede turned to Olu or Jim, we could have heard more about Jim/Archie or Olu/Zheng or any combination of the four. Or any of the crew! What kind of relationship advice does Frenchie give? Roach? This also could have intersected with Ed's redemption arc nicely: which are the crew are willing to put aside their anger at Ed to help Stede (and them doing so would give more credence to Izzy's speech about them being family and loving Ed at the end)? Who isn't willing, and tries to deliberately sabotage their relationship for revenge, and how do Stede and/or Ed react to that?

Overall, I think such an arc could have fit the show's themes of masculinity and toxicity really well. There's so much about dating and pick-up lines and romance that reflects on gender – there are expectations of who should be aggressive vs receptive, flowery vs crude, prudish vs too fast, gifts as a sign of love vs gifts as obligation... it's endless. Obviously the season wouldn't have time to explore all these angles, but I list them as a sign of how many directions they could have taken this topic in. Ultimately it all comes down to: Who does Stede want to be as a partner? And who does Ed want him to be? And that would be so strong as a direction to go in, even if we didn't get final answers to the questions! At least they would be asking them.

But instead we got a vision of a mermaid and never explored who Stede is in reality. :(

[insipid-drivel]

Getting a new wheelchair! The XTSO M4

If you're wondering what model of power chair this is, it's this in the readmore:

Here's the website.

Here's my family friend's website with even more variety and options.

I'm brand new to wheelchairs and power chairs, but have recently invested in this one as my mobility has been an increasing issue as I'm getting older. A family friend of mine has MS and owns a wheelchair and powerchair company, and just recently went to a floor-show of new models in Miami, FL, and emailed me back with the XSTO M4 as a recommendation for my first chair.

These chairs are expensive. They may not be affordable for you. I'm only getting one because I know a guy who sells them and he's willing to help me out when it comes to the financials. However, if you're curious, shopping, or interested to know what kind of new tech is starting to be incorporated into electric wheelchairs, here are some product deets about the M4:

Comes with an automatic balance system, which balances out the seat even when I'm going uphill. This prevents the "I'm going to fall and hit my head" sensation if a slope is steep.

Can clear vertical obstacles of up to 2" vertically or 6" horizontally (such as rolling over grass between paving stones) , so if a city's infrastructure sucks for chair-bound people, I can at least brute-force to a sidewalk or park when necessary.

Can handle slopes of up to 15°

Breathable back and memory foam seat for no more Ass Sweat Prints on warm days.

Designed not to slip or skid on slippery surfaces or going up or downhill

Self-adjusts the seat to stay level even when on a slope so I don't tip over or fall off the chair. Also has a safety-wheel in the back so it can't be tipped backwards, either.

Travels up to 11 miles on a single charge

Has both "casual" (indoor) and "off-road" settings.

Can adjust the seat up or down up to 8" to Reach Things Better or Be More Visible To Traffic.

Has no rear handles for assholes to grab and try to move me around without permission.

Comes with an app (ugh I know) that makes my phone make an alert noise when the battery is low or a part or component is malfunctioning, gives me the ability to remotely control it to wheel it closer to me if it's out of reach and I can't walk to it (honestly a selling point for me; I never know when I'll have Bad Issues and need extra help), switch its modes from casual to sport mode, and make it fold/unfold for space.

Breaks into 3 separate parts for easier storage in the back of a car.

Goes up to ~4mph, which isn't bad for me, since my normal mph at home without a chair is 0.

Has a tight 32" turning radius courtesy of the front tires, making it good for moving around indoors too.

Seat reclines and has a small leg-rest for if I want to lean back.

The manufacturer recycles parts, so if something like the battery needs replacing, I can send the old part in and receive a new, replacement part for free.

Almost every feature covered by the app is also available on the LCD readout beside the joystick, so I don't need to use the app if I don't want to.

It doesn't look like I stole it from a retirement home or a WalMart.

[wifetomegatron]

countries and cities i've been to that i think the lost light crew will enjoy (vol. i)

i think ratchet would like switzerland. snowy alps, open green fields where purple and yellow poppies littered across the grass dance with the northern wind. he enjoys the secluded valleys and will spend hours just driving past the topaz lakes. he likes the quiet of it all, the serenity, the closure. he makes drift join him in their holoforms to walk, taking in the traditional log houses and brightly-colored buildings, shops, and restaurants surrounded by lush woodlands, upland meadows, and snow-capped cliffs. grindelwald because drift is fascinated by humans and their winter sports, ascona for when it gets warmer and the boats are out by the docks. in a first contact au, ratchet would most likely end up working in either zurich or geneva, working closely with earth's international bodies like the united nations to facilitate human-cybertronian relations. i can also see the medic crew stationed there as well; running the first cybertronian medical facility on earth.

drift, predictably, would prefer japan more. osaka and tokyo for its entertainment, where he and rodimus would spend hours exploring the nightlife in their disguises. at times, they would even go as their alt-modes. rodimus gets ahead of himself with all the attention he's getting. he'd travel through many prefectures, driving past the borders to clear his head — perks of having a conjunx that works closely with human organizations is that he gets exempted from all the paperwork — but always end up somewhere private, tranquil. the shrines, the forests, the mountains — he would even be bold enough to dream of settling down there. one time ratchet flew in to visit him at a resort by the foot of mount fuji, and his husband was neck-deep inside the natural saunas. content and purring, sinking into recharge against the stones.

i have a feeling brainstorm and skids would stir up trouble somewhere in the netherlands. most likely in the infamous lecture halls of leiden university, where great minds like descartes and rembrandt once walked in. they'd hate the weather, where the sun becomes optional the moment it hits autumn (even before, apparently.) the roads are small, so they'd have difficulty navigating at first, nearly driving into a canal because of how fast people bike. direct, with just the right amount of witty, the pair are glad to enjoy the company of dutchies without having to rely on their (human) food because nothing that they've seen looks appealing or digestible. getaway is also there, most likely in amsterdam, where his holoform is most likely to get cornered in an alley and have his bike stolen.

nautica would love the sea, the vast, great open oceans of southeast asia would be the perfect place for her. ever the adventurer, she would drag riptide and velocity with her to explore the islands of the philippines & indonesia. where she'd learn how to dive and swim with the animals past the coral reefs. sweet girl nearly cried when she saw a group of whale sharks. anode and lug are content sitting by the beach, sipping on their latest invention — coconut-infused energon. bali is where i imagine the girls ( and riptide ) would go for a nice getaway. the people are all smiles, warm and friendly, and passionate about their culture. even if the two are more inclined towards the sciences, the flourishing art and spirituality of the balinese people made them feel at home again. ( if not nostalgic for caminus.)

i know rodimus is living his life in spain. maybe it won't be his designated home on earth. but with the lost light stationed in geneva, where ratchet, minimus, and megatron are with the rest of the united nations council ( because there is no way they can park the ship anywhere in the new york branch ), barcelona was his first solo trip on earth without straying too far from his co-captain's watchful eye. it was the peak of summer and there he was under the sun. the people were only initially surprised, but then again, they'd probably seen weirder things than a sixty-foot-tall robot asking them if he could join their game of volley by the beach. he bumps into krok and his rag-tag team — who's also trying to get away from minimus — so that's how he and misfire end up nearly drowning after a competitive game of water tag.