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fluentmoviequoter · 4 months

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Poisonously Bad Day

Requested Here! (Thank you so much for my first Tim Bradford req!!)

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: Just before your anniversary with Tim, you receive threatening messages. When someone tries to take your life, you and Tim learn the importance of talking to one another. (Or, Tim's crazy ex stalks you and Tim gets really worried about you.)

Warnings: reader is stalked and threatened, violence with a nail gun, reader has severe food allergies and uses an epi-pen, a little bit of grumpy x sunshine with our favorite grump, angst to fluff & hurt/comfort

Word Count: 4.1k+ words

A/N: I do not have much practice writing for Tim, so I apologize if he's OOC. However, I really love writing for him and trying to capture his amazing character, so I love the practice and appreciate any other requests you send me! I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

Tim Bradford doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Or he didn’t before he met you. Your sunny personality drew him in, making his world a little brighter. From the moment he met you a few months ago, Tim has been enraptured by you. He’s still grumpy; his personality didn’t change overnight upon meeting you, but your sweet laugh and kind responses to his grumpiness make him happy. His smile isn’t as rare as it once was, but you still fight to see it, bringing as much sunshine as possible.

As your two-month anniversary approaches, you’re happier and giddier than usual. Toning it down as you knock on Tim’s door, you’re surprised to see him already smiling when he invites you in. It seems you’re rubbing off on him, even if he only shows you the softness that lies under the grumpy Tim you know and love. Although your relationship is very new, you haven’t even learned much about Tim’s previous relationships, you know you love him and treasure every moment you spend with your man of honor.

“Hey, you,” Tim mumbles, pulling you into a warm hug. “Missed you.”

“Long day?” you ask, pushing your fingers through his hair.

“Unbelievably. Nolan and Lopez decided to interrogate me about why I was in a ‘good mood’ all day.”

You stifle a laugh at Tim’s air quotes. He rolls his eyes when he sees your bright smile but pulls you into the kitchen anyway.

“I didn’t even know you could smile,” you tease him. “Now I want to know what caused the good mood.”

“I think you know.”

Despite his initial hesitance in getting close to you, Tim obviously knows how to treat you right and make you feel seen, appreciated, beautiful, and loved. Each moment you spend with him makes you a little more curious as to why no one has snatched him up yet. Yes, he’s grumpy, but he’s also just a big teddy bear underneath if you’re willing to dig.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim usually walks you home after dates, but he gets called into work, so you return alone. There is a small envelope slipped in the space between your door and the jamb, and you decide to open it before going inside.

The simple message reading ‘Back Off’ doesn’t give much information, so you shrug as you unlock the door. It’s probably just some kids messing around or a silly prank that ended up at the wrong house.

As soon as you lock the door behind you, your phone rings.

“Hello,” you greet cheerfully.

The line is silent for a few seconds before it beeps, disconnected from the other end.

“Wrong number,” you hum to yourself as you walk away from the phone.

When it rings again, you don’t answer. Your cell phone rings, a rare picture of Tim smiling (that he will delete as soon as he finds it) lighting up your screen as you race to answer it.

“Hey,” you say.

“I called your house a second ago, are you home yet?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, someone called right before with a wrong number, and I thought it was them again.”

Tim hums before telling you he wouldn’t be at work as long as he thought; he just needed to help with some paperwork before a case went to court.

“I can get reservations for next weekend if you’re still okay with my restaurant choice.”

You smile at Tim’s willingness to let you choose before assuring him that you only want to be with him, but you like the food there, too, so it’s a win-win.

After Tim hangs up, you fall asleep, forgetting about the note and the phone call.

✯✯✯✯✯

Someone knocks on your door as you exit your bedroom the following morning. You locate a bathrobe, pulling it over your pajamas before opening the door. Another envelope is on your mat, but no one is in sight.

The message in this one is a bit more concerning. The message, typed in a plain black font, reads: ‘I will KILL you to take him back.’

You consider calling Tim, asking him if he knows of any pranks like this going on in the neighborhood before deciding he’s probably too busy with real police work. Maybe you’re just paranoid.

Your cell phone rings, and you answer quickly, silencing when the only noise on the other end is distorted breathing. After they hang up, your thumb hovers over Tim’s number.

“Grow up,” you chide yourself before returning to your room to get ready.

✯✯✯✯✯

Throughout the day, more creepy phone calls are made to your cell phone until you finally turn it off. When you meet Tim for lunch, he asks if you got the message he sent you, and you tell him a white lie: too many telemarketers were calling, and you turned it off. He nods, but his gaze is intense like he doesn’t quite believe you.

✯✯✯✯✯

After three days of phone calls with nothing but breathing and more notes about someone killing you to get whoever him is back from you, you’re tired. However, the morning goes by with no calls, and you think maybe whatever it was is finally over. When you walk out to your car, you freeze in the driveway and nearly drop everything you’re holding.

Someone has slashed your tire and put a large building nail through it to attach a note.

You are next.

Up to this point, you’ve been more agitated than anything, but now you’re scared. Whoever this is has been close to you and knows when you come and go. But, at the same time, it’s just some notes and phone calls, not like you’re in any immediate danger.

Your phone buzzes, and you jump, an incoming text from Tim startling you. You reply to his message quickly, telling him you ran over a nail at some point and won’t be able to meet him for lunch. Seconds after pressing send, he calls you.

“Morning,” you answer, staring at the nail in your tire.

“Are you alright?” he asks, ignoring your nice greeting.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m still at home, just noticed the tire.”

“I can come pick you up for lunch,” he offers. “Or come see you.”

“It’s completely out of the way, Tim, no worries. I’ll make up for it tomorrow?”

Tim doesn’t speak for a moment, and you can nearly see the crease on his forehead as he dissects your answers.

“Sure,” he says finally. “Call me if that changes.”

As he ends the call, he rubs his chin and decides to ask you what’s going on next time he sees you. You had been so happy and excited leading up to your anniversary, but it’s like a switch was flipped in you, and now you don’t want to talk to him. He believes you about the tire, but something else is bothering you, and he intends to find out what.

✯✯✯✯✯

Eating lunch at your desk, someone brings you a box from your favorite bakery.

“This was delivered to the front desk,” your coworker says, leaving it with you.

There are no names on it, but Tim is one of very few people who knows how much you like their treats. He also knows that you have severe food allergies, and it is one of the few bakeries in Los Angeles that happily works around them. Smiling at the idea of Tim sending you something after your rough morning, you open the box and take one of the goodies out.

After the third or fourth bite, you realize something is really wrong. As your throat closes, you start to panic as you dig through your bag for your epi-pen. One of the girls at a desk near you sees you and rushes to your aid, pulling your spare epi-pen from the communal snack area and inserting the tip into your leg as she yells for someone else to call 911.

The adrenaline surges into you, clearing your throat as you take a deep breath. Immediately, you know that whoever slashed your tires knows more than where you live and when you leave.

✯✯✯✯✯

The hospital is busy, and people are in and out of your room so frequently that you can barely think straight. You hear someone yell your name, recognizing Tim’s voice anywhere. He appears in the doorway a moment later, wide-eyed as he looks you over.

“I completely forgot I put you as my emergency contact. I’m so sorry,” you apologize lowly.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice softer than it was outside as he nears your side.

“I- I ate something and forgot to check the ingredients. Then I couldn’t find my epi-pen.”

Tim knows you always check the ingredients; your allergies dictate part of your life. If you didn’t make it or order it after inquiring about its ingredients or how it’s made, you don’t eat it.

“How are you feeling now?” Tim asks, deciding it’s not the best time to press for the truth. His hand lands on your leg, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb.

“I’m okay. My chest is still a little tight but they gave me something for it.”

“Let me call my chief and I’ll take the rest of the day off so I can take you home,” he offers.

“No, don’t do that, Tim. One of my coworkers can give me a ride home so you can go back to work.”

“I don’t think you should be alone.”

“The medicine is working, I just have to give it time and take it easy for a few hours. I promise I will be fine.”

Tim nods, squeezing your hand before kissing your forehead. “If you need anything, call me.”

You nod, watching him go. The feeling of his hand on yours is still there, and you feel terrible for lying to him, but there’s no real evidence that someone is trying to hurt you. Maybe someone was trying to be kind with the treats and didn’t know about your allergies.

Even as you think it, you realize it sounds ridiculous. You’re in danger, and you’re going to have to tell someone eventually.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your coworker drops you off after you insist you can walk to the door alone. Mostly, you don’t want her to see the giant nail in your tire.

Worse, you realize, is the other one. You slow when you see your front door, with a six-inch building nail driven into it. It’s nearly level with your eyes, and a disgusting mix of red and brown paint covers the door below it. A replica of a murder scene, you presume.

Finally understanding that every little thing over the last few days has been a threat, you don’t feel safe alone in your house. Stepping back, you prepare to call Tim.

Before you can, you see a woman standing in your driveway, staring at you with a nail gun and a paintbrush hanging from her hand.

“Who are you?” you ask quietly, swallowing as you try to steady your voice.

“I’m the one that Tim Bradford is supposed to be with,” she answers, slowly moving toward you. “Everyone could see how good we were together. Then you showed up and he changed his mind about me. Whatever you did to get him away from me… I will do so much more to you.”

You step backward as she speaks, fumbling with your keys behind your back. Just as she reaches the front of your porch, you step inside quickly and slam the door, locking it and looking around frantically for something you can use as a weapon. It gets quiet outside, not even a footstep audible as you hold your breath to listen.

A key slides easily into your lock, and you scramble into the kitchen, loosening your grip on your stuff to grab a knife on your way to the bathroom, one of the only doors that lock. The front door closes and locks, her easy footsteps far too familiar with the layout of your home.

Reaching for your phone to call for help, you realize that you dropped your phone to get the knife. You stand in front of the bathtub, terrified as you raise the knife in front of your chest.

After a moment of silence that seems to last an eternity, the doorknob jiggles. You tighten your grip on the knife handle as she hums.

A nail shoots through the lock, lodging in the metal mechanisms, and you back up until your calves are pressed to the cool side of the tub. Another nail comes through the door, launching through the hollow wood and lodging into the tile on the wall behind you. You drop your head as the tile shatters, and a third nail follows quickly, her aim much lower as it hooks your pants, pinning you to the porcelain behind you. You rip your leg free, stepping away from the tub and failing to notice the stinging sensation or the blood trickling down your ankle as you climb into the tub, hoping it offers enough protection.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim clenches his jaw when his third call to you goes unanswered. You promised to keep him updated after the anaphylaxis scare, but it’s been a couple hours since he left you in the hospital, and he hasn't heard a thing.

“Tim, just go,” Angela says, a knowing look on her face. “You won’t be able to focus until you know they’re okay. Unless you’re finally willing to tell me who brought a little sunshine to Timothy Bradford’s cloudy skies,” she taunts at the end.

Tim lets out a soft “hmm,” accepting her offer and gathering his things from the edge of her desk.

“She must be important,” Angela calls behind him, smirking to herself when he doesn’t correct her.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your breaths are loud and shaky even as you focus on controlling them. Several more clicks are heard from the nail gun, and you flinch each time, curling further into the bathtub. A loud screech draws your attention, a second nail dislodging the knob and the lock before the door opens.

You take your chance, hoping to surprise her as you jump toward her, knocking her to the floor and using both hands to point the nail gun away from you. She tries to roll out from under you, squeezing the trigger and firing a nail into the ceiling as she does. A small shower of drywall dust coats the room, but you keep your head down, entirely focused on keeping her at arm’s length.

“When it ends – when you end – I get him back!” she grunts, twisting in your grasp.

The sharper end of the paintbrush she had earlier is pushed into your side, and you gasp, loosening your grip on the nail gun. She raises it quickly as she tilts to the side, dumping you onto the floor and taking the upper hand. A nail is fired beside your head, momentarily deafening you as you flinch away from it.

You are unsure if she said him or Tim, but you think she means the same either way. Tim is the only thing you can think of that someone might want to take back from you.

“Isn’t that his choice?” you ask, pushing her hands away from you as she gets angrier.

She drops the paintbrush before using both hands to push the nail gun toward your forehead. You raise your legs, kicking her forward and over your head. As she topples, she squeezes the trigger multiple times. After the last firing sound, you open your eyes and notice a nail holding your shirt to the floor.

When you hear her groan behind you, you reach over until you feel the metal trash can beside your toilet, raising it over your head and dropping it aimlessly.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim has dozens of questions he wants to ask, but as he races to your house, they slowly fade into two: are you safe, and how can he make you see that telling him everything will benefit you both? He knows he doesn’t always seem like the best listener and isn’t big on sharing, but he wants to know what is happening in your life, what you’re feeling, and what you’re dealing with. More than that, he wants to be at your side, helping you navigate a life with him.

✯✯✯✯✯

The door opens with a loud bang, causing you to flinch. You attempt to sit up before yelping in pain when something tugs your side. Someone is running through your house, and you’re torn between yelling for help or staying silent in case she wasn’t working alone.

Tim yells your name, and you sigh before answering, “In the bathroom.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Tim turns into your driveway, blocking the sidewalk as he parks behind your car, he sees the oversized nail protruding from your tire. Walking past it, he knows that wasn’t accidental, nor was the slash below it.

Worried about you and racking his brain over who would do something like that to you, he sees the scene on your door and kicks it open before he even thinks to knock.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim stops in the hallway, his eyes raking over the nails lining the door and the few stray ones in the wall across the hallway. It appears that most of the attack was aimed at the bathroom, but whatever happened escalated quickly.

Using his shoulder, he forcefully opens the door before entering the small bathroom. He steps over your unconscious assailant, lowering to his knee beside you. Looking over you, he lays a hand on the side of your neck, a warm and welcome comfort as he directs you to look at him.

You try to move closer to him, but he rushes to stop you.

“Don’t. Don’t move. The ambulance and more help are on the way, let’s just wait for them,” he says.

You nod, trusting him but unsure why he won’t let you move.

“Is she…” you ask, trailing off.

“She’s unconscious,” Tim answers concisely. “What’d you hit her with?”

“The trashcan,” you answer, a small smile appearing and making Tim shake his head.

“I should get one of those,” Tim jokes, leaning toward you.

Sirens grow louder as they get closer, and Tim sighs in relief.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “I can’t ask what happened yet, that’s for the next cop. But as your boyfriend, are you okay?”

“I am now,” you answer, raising your hand to lay over his on your jaw.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Do you know who she is?” the officer asks as the EMT sits beside you.

“No,” you answer. “I’ve been getting phone calls and messages for a few days, but I’ve never seen her before.”

“I have,” Tim interjects, shaking his head at you before supplying a name. “My ex.”

“Any idea as to why she attacked you?” the officer asks, glancing toward Tim.

“Sergeant Bradford, I presume. She said she’d kill me to get him back, but never said who him was,” you answer.

Tim nods, lowering his voice to explain something to the officer as the EMT asks questions about how you feel.

You sigh in relief as the paramedics carry Tim’s unconscious ex out, gripping Tim’s hand as he moves to your side again.

“This is going to hurt, I’m sorry,” the kind EMT says.

Tim moves his fingers, letting you squeeze him as much as you need.

“The nail caught some of your skin, but I’m going to try to go fast to minimize the pain.”

Understanding why it hurt to sit up before, you focus on Tim’s hand in yours rather than the hands on your torso, working to free you from the bathroom floor and stop the bleeding.

“All done,” the EMT announces. “You didn’t even flinch. We’ll get you to the hospital and let the doctors check everything.”

You sit up with Tim’s help, leaning against him as a temporary bandage is placed on your side. Looking around your destroyed bathroom, you move closer to Tim, grateful for him.

“Your ex is crazy,” you mumble against his shoulder.

Tim laughs, and it's a short but relieved noise accompanying his arm across your back, keeping you close and comforted.

“We’ll fix the bathroom later,” he promises.

You tilt your head and furrow your brows, prompting Tim to kiss the crease between them. “You’re not coming back here for a few days. Don’t give me that look.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Leaving the hospital, Tim lifts you from the wheelchair, staring at you when you grab his shoulders.

“I can walk, Tim,” you remind him.

He doesn’t listen or doesn’t care, taking the last few steps to the passenger seat and setting you down before buckling your seat belt, mindful of your bandaged side. He carries you into his house, grabbing some of your favorite snacks and drinks before sitting beside you and welcoming you into his arms. He’s quiet, but you’ve grown to understand Tim’s different silences better than most people’s words.

Right now, he’s relieved, but you’re sure he has a lot of questions, too. Getting him to ask them is the hard part.

“Have any other exes I should know about?” you ask after a few minutes.

“Hmm.” He raises his fingers as he nods and shakes his head, a playful ‘debate’ over who is worthy of being mentioned. Lowering his hands and giving you a sincere look, he says, “No, I don’t think so. And I’m sorry I didn’t mention her, I never expected she’d do something like this.”

You nod, though you never considered blaming him for something so completely out of his control. This is all on her, and she’ll have a chance to explain herself.

“Think I’d be a crazy ex?”

“You won’t be an ex at all,” Tim answers, tugging you closer against his chest.

Turning toward him, you trace your finger in small shapes over his chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tim asks gently.

You shrug. “I didn’t know how. And it wasn’t that bad at first.”

“You have to tell me these things or I don’t know something is wrong, I can’t help.”

“But you get grumpy,” you reply with an exaggerated pout.

Tim proves you right, grumbling even as he kisses you. “I’m allowed to be grumpy when someone is hurting the woman I love.”

You sit up quickly, and Tim’s eyes widen, his hands raising to your side as he grows concerned that you hurt yourself.

“You love me?”

Tim shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he mutters, “Against my better judgment, yes.”

You giggle at his grumpiness, leaning back into his side. He pulls your legs across his lap, letting you curl completely into his side. Toying with the hem of his your borrowed sweatpants, Tim lets his mind wander before tracing a gentle finger around the bandage on your ankle.

“Tickles,” you argue when you yank your leg away from him.

Tim pulls your leg back down, pointing out, “I deserve a few tickles after the week you put me through.”

“I was poisoned, and you had a bad week?” you repeat.

“I knew you were lying, you lying liar that lies!”

You duck your head at the reminder of everything you kept from Tim over the last few days. The anniversary you were so excited about now seems tainted.

“Hey,” Tim whispers, drawing your attention. “I’m not mad at you. And whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’m right here.”

“I don’t even know how she found out about the allergies,” you mumble.

“That’s probably my fault. I have notes and epi-pens everywhere, so if she was close enough to do this to you, she was close enough to find any of my stuff laying around.”

You shiver at the idea of her going through your things, but Tim’s hand rubs down your back and chases those thoughts away.

Taking his invitation, you start at the beginning and tell him about the notes, the phone calls, the bakery box, and how the little, seemingly harmless notes progressed so quickly. He grows grumpier with each word, so you determine you may need to make the ending a bit more interesting for him.

“And then my knight in shining armor showed up and saved the day,” you finish, kissing his cheek. “He’s just a grumpy teddy bear.”

Tim pulls you closer, glad to have your company again. “Tell me things and I’ll be even more of a teddy bear.”

You smile excitedly, so Tim clarifies, “Only for you.”

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #the rookie #requests #tw: violence #tw: injury #🐿 anon

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fluentmoviequoter · 4 months

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Love (Both of) You

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x pregnant!fem!reader

Summary: After telling your husband you're pregnant, he kicks you out. Going to your best friend Luca's house, you find an unexpected source of comfort in Deacon Kay.

Warnings: reader is pregnant and suffers from hyperemesis gravidarum (severe nausea, vomiting, and dizziness), reader's ex-husband is a terrible person. Deacon and Luca are the perfect protective duo. lots of hurt/comfort, slight angst, fluff

Word Count: 4.6k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

✯✯ 4 Months Ago ✯✯

“Are you sure?” Luca asks, displeased with the last answer.

“Yes, Luca,” you answer quietly. “He’s… he’s a good guy.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s the right guy for you. You can do so much better than him and you know that.”

“If I could do better, then why haven’t I?” you ask with a sad smile, your eyes dropping to the engagement ring on your finger.

“He made you sign a pre-nup. This isn’t love,” Luca whispers, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“And I don’t want to be alone again.”

Luca sighs, pulling you into a proper hug as you wrap your arms around him and press your face against his shoulder.

“I could always set you up with someone.”

“Like Street?” you tease.

“We’re looking for someone better, remember?” Luca plays along.

You take a shaky breath and step back. “It’ll be okay. The pre-nup is just- just a precaution.”

“Or a fallout plan because he knows he needs one.”

“Why are you trying to talk me out of this?”

“Because I don’t think he loves you. And I know it sounds terrible but you’re my best friend and I don’t want to see this guy hurt you.”

You nod, biting your bottom lip as you think.

“I already said yes. I’m doing this.”

“Okay,” Luca says, smiling as he nods. “I really hope I’m wrong.”

“Me too,” you whisper.

✯✯ Present Day ✯✯

Waking up, your first thought is, Luca was right.

It’s been one of the few things on your mind since your wedding three months ago. Your husband was never overly kind or caring, but he was charming enough to convince you he could give you what you wanted and deserved. But that was just an act. After the first week, he asked you to move into a guest room, stating that he didn’t like having your things mixed in with his in his own house. Then his little comments built up from there, ranging from how you dressed or washed the dishes, each digging a little deeper than the last.

As you wonder what would happen if you just laid in bed all day, ignoring the person you vowed your life to, your body betrays you. Running out of bed as fast as you can, you barely reach the bathroom before you get sick. It’s the second day in a row, and as you lean your head against the cool tile in the bathroom, you calculate dates in your head. It could be PMS, or it could be the beginning of something else.

Rummaging through your small bag in the guest bathroom vanity, you pull a pregnancy test out. You bought a few after getting married, hoping to start a family with the man you thought you could love.

✯✯✯✯✯

You smile as you walk inside. The sun is setting, and the picture hidden in your back pocket makes you feel weightless and giddy despite the constant nausea you’ve had the past two days.

“Hi,” you greet, wrapping your arms around your husband’s shoulders as he sits at the table.

He squirms beneath you until you step back. “Do you mind? I’m in the middle of something, and I don’t expect dinner anytime soon.”

Your smile drops momentarily, and then you remember your news.

“I have something to tell you.”

Turning toward you, he crosses his arms. “Well you’ve certainly distracted me already, so go ahead.”

You take a deep breath before saying, “I’m pregnant.”

Saying it aloud makes it feel more real, and your cheeks seem to squish higher as your smile grows. Expecting a hug or a hand on your stomach, you hadn’t considered any alternatives.

“You’re kidding,” he huffs.

“No,” you say quietly, pulling your hands over your stomach. “I took a test and went to the OB to get checked.”

He stands, shaking his head with a clenched jaw. “That’s not going to work for me.”

Furrowing your brows, you don’t have time to respond before he takes an angry step toward you.

“What about me and all of my plans for life? I can’t do what I need to do with a pregnant wife and a kid running around my feet.”

“I-“

“You didn’t do anything apparently!”

He raises a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose before walking around you. Tears gather in your eyes as you watch him retreat down the hall, and you stand motionless, unable to fight them or wipe them away.

When he returns with a smile, you think an apology may accompany it.

“Thank God for pre-nups,” he says happily. “Get out.”

“What?” you ask, your voice breaking.

“You heard me. It’s my house. I’ll call my lawyer in the morning and get the divorce pushed through as fast as possible.”

“You’re divorcing me because you got me pregnant?” you ask, tears streaming down your face.

“I don’t want kids,” he answers. “You need to leave.”

You open and close your mouth, failing to speak before he sets a hand on your shoulder and turns you toward the door.

“Don’t touch me,” you snap, twisting your shoulder out of his grip. “This is low, even for you.”

“I’m not the one who ruined everything,” he seethes.

“No, you’re the one who tried to control it until you couldn’t anymore.”

Walking backward as you argue, you nearly trip over the step onto the porch, stumbling as he slams the door in your face. Taking shallow breaths against the panic building in your chest, you turn and walk toward the driveway, unsure where to go or who you can call.

The door opens, and he yells your name before slamming it again. One of your bags has been tossed onto the sidewalk, and you gather it in your arms before approaching your car.

There’s only one person in the world that you want to see right now, and he’s the one who warned you against doing this.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Nah, man, it’s all about the QB’s wrist,” Luca says, imitating the football highlight on the screen.

“So that miraculous catch had nothing to do with it?” Deacon asks with a smile.

“Not a thing.”

Someone knocks on the door, and the two small raps are barely heard over the television. Luca stands, pointing at Deacon and telling him not to be a sore loser when he comes back, and the quarterback proves he’s the MVP. Deacon shakes his head and makes no such promise.

As soon as he opens the door, Luca’s smile falls.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your tears haven’t slowed since they started, and standing on Luca’s doorstep, you can feel your chest tightening at the panic you feel. Distraught and with nowhere else to go, you hope that Luca is home and willing to help despite his efforts to warn you away from your now ex.

He opens the door with a bright smile that disappears immediately upon seeing your tear-soaked face and short breaths.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize breathlessly as a new set of sobs rack your body.

Luca pulls you into his arms, wrapping one around your waist as the other cradles your head against his shoulder. Being best friends, you’ve hugged Luca before, but this hug is different.

He pulls you inside, closes the door behind you, and says something over your shoulder. Assuming Street is home, you tuck your head closer to Luca and hope he can hold you together.

“Hey, talk to me,” Luca says quietly, ducking his head to speak in your ear.

You pull back, taking a shaky breath and harshly wiping your face. Luca gently knocks your hands away, using softer touches to clear the tears from your cheeks. He smiles sadly at you when you look up.

“He kicked me out,” you admit. “He told me that he’d send divorce papers in the morning and threw a bag of my stuff out behind me.”

“Did he touch you?” Luca demands.

“He put his hand on my shoulder, but not really,” you promise. “I shouldn’t have-“

“Hey, don’t do that,” Luca interjects.

“What?”

“Don’t try to blame yourself, this wasn’t your fault.”

You nod, prepared to tell him it is, but he interrupts you, telling you he will get you some water.

“This is my buddy, Deacon,” Luca says, pointing to a handsome man on the couch. He tells Deacon your name before steering you to sit beside him.

“Sorry for overhearing,” Deacon says kindly. “But Luca is right, based on that conversation, it seems like your ex is entirely to blame.”

You sniff, a sad smile present as you say, “At least partially.”

Deacon tilts his head, a question in his eyes – they catch your attention, big, brown, and caring.

“He kicked me out because I told him I was pregnant,” you admit, pulling a pillow into your lap. “Apparently he wasn’t ready for that. Said I would be in the way of him and his plans, and the baby would too.”

Deacon lays a hand over yours, a look you can’t quite place on his face. It’s not sorrow or pity, but something kind in his eyes. You smile at him, giving him your attention instead of the pillow.

“How far along are you? If you don’t mind me asking,” Deacon asks.

“You’re pregnant?” Luca asks incredulously, returning from the kitchen with three glasses of water. He sets them on the table before sitting beside you. “You didn’t tell me!”

“I just found out today,” you explain. “That’s why he kicked me out.”

“Child,” Luca mutters angrily.

Deacon smiles and gives you a look that says he agrees.

“The doctor said I was about six weeks.” You remove the ultrasound from your back pocket, a small crease across the top corner from the eventful evening. “I’d been nauseous for a few weeks, but the morning sickness started so I took a test.”

“Congratulations,” Deacon says, squeezing your hand where it lays beneath his.

“You know I’m here to help you with anything you need right?” Luca asks. “You and your baby always have a place here.”

You nod, whispering your thanks. “I don’t want to put you out for too long, though.”

“Take all the time you need.”

Deacon’s hand over yours provides an extra level of comfort you haven’t felt in a very long time, and when you look over at him, his eyes are kinder than your ex ever was.

✯✯✯✯✯

“I thought girls made lists of baby names in like middle school,” Luca says, passing you a bowl of your favorite snack.

You shrug. “Well, the name depends on if it’s a boy or girl, but I just don’t really have any ideas right now.”

“You’re a mom now, you’ll find the right name when the time is right,” Deacon tells you, sitting on your other side.

You find yourself in this position often since moving into Street’s room while he is out of town on a training trip. Luca and Deacon seem to arrange themselves around you like guards, protecting you from everything they can.

“When’s your next check-up?” Deacon asks.

“Tomorrow.”

“And you’ll-“

“Keep both of you updated, yes I will,” you finish, smiling as you lean toward him slightly.

“How are you holding up?” Luca asks, hoping you’re as happy about the finalized divorce now as you were when the paper was dropped off.

“I feel better now than I ever did with him,” you admit. “It’s hard not knowing what I’ll do next, but it’s better this way. You were right all along, Luca.”

Luca sighs, shaking his head even as he smiles. “I hate that I was right. And I’d never use that against you.”

“I know. But maybe I’ll take your advice to heart next time.”

“You won’t,” Deacon and Luca say together.

Your jaw drops as you look at Deacon.

“You don’t even know me.”

“Not yet,” he replies, winking at you.

You turn away quickly, but you feel him move as he laughs beside you. Deacon cares for you, and each time he learns something new about you, he falls deeper into his need to be by you.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Based on your symptoms, the severe nausea and vomiting and the dizziness, I feel confident in saying you’re suffering from hyperemesis gravidarum,” your doctor says, looking at your paperwork. “But this isn’t unusual or overly dangerous, so rest assured. I recommend staying hydrated, eating nutritious foods, and eating enough of them. And I know you’re in a unique position here but try to limit stress as much as possible. Your baby is healthy and we’re going to keep it that way.”

You thank your doctor, then receive a paper of tips and tricks, and recommend nutrients before leaving. Deacon invited you to his house for dinner while Luca attends a dinner with some friends. You’re nervous, so you knock rather than walking right in as you do at Luca’s house.

“Hey,” Deacon says, smiling as he leads you inside. “You can just walk in, you know.”

You nod, fiddling with your fingers as you follow Deacon through his house and to the kitchen. Sitting on a stool at the island, you engage in easy conversation with Deacon while he finishes preparing the food.

“How’d your appointment go? What’d the doctor say?” he asks as he returns from setting the table.

“I’m perfectly healthy,” you lie, a small closed-lip smile accompanying your words.

Deacon’s eyes narrow, but he nods and gestures toward the table. You stand and instantly grow dizzy, keeping one hand on the seat behind you as you close your eyes and waver.

Deacon’s hands grip your biceps, gently tilting you forward to rest against him. After a moment, you blink against his chest and stand up. Deacon’s hands hover beside you as he watches you worriedly.

“What did they really say?” he demands, his voice gentle but firm.

“They think I have hyperemesis gravidarum; so I get really nauseous and dizzy,” you answer quietly, wishing Deacon was still holding you.

“Any recommendations of what to do?”

You nod as you answer, “I have a list of nutrients and foods I should consume, and I’m supposed to reduce stress and take it slow.”

“We can do that.”

Shaking your head, you drop your eyes away from Deacon. “I don’t know how. I don’t have a home and I’m divorced, there’s no one to support me,” you ramble.

“That’s not true,” Deacon says, raising your chin with his hand. “No, you don’t have your own house right now, but you also don’t need to be alone. And you have plenty of people supporting you: Luca and I are here for you, 24/7.”

“But you shouldn’t have to be.”

“We want to,” Deacon promises, looking intently into your eyes. “I want to be right beside you for this, so will you please let me?”

You lean toward him, relishing in the warmth of his skin against yours. “Yes. I- I do need to find somewhere to go before Street comes back, though. I doubt he wants to share his room with a pregnant lady.”

Deacon chuckles, swiping his thumb below your bottom lip. “You’ll always have a place here. Just say the word.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Every move you make is watched, and you wouldn’t change it for the world. Luca has always been a good friend and protective, and those characteristics multiply each day of your pregnancy. Similarly, Deacon has grown very close to you and seems just as protective as Luca, if not more prepared to force you to slow down or eat something.

Yes, they hover and crowd you, but you like being near them. Deacon’s consistent care, comfort, and protectiveness prove that not all men are bad. Your ex was the wrong person for you, but Deacon has been at your side since the night you left him.

Whenever you feel sick or weak, even if you simply don’t feel like doing something for yourself, Deacon is right beside you, ready and willing to do all that and more.

Though your emotions are still a wreck, and a part of you constantly wonders why you aren’t good enough, the memories of your ex are slowly being replaced with images of Deacon and Luca laughing with you, comforting you, and arguing over whether you’re having a boy or girl.

“Have you eaten today?” Deacon asks as he walks in the front door.

“Several times,” you answer, sitting up from your relaxed position on the couch. “Thank you for leaving so much food, you didn’t have to do that.”

Deacon has given the look enough times that you understand his sideways glance as meaning, “I want to.”

“Are you going out with Luca tonight? He texted that the team is doing something.”

Deacon shakes his head, and you feel terrible for keeping him away from his friends.

“Please go. I don’t want you to think that because I’m staying with you that you can’t do anything.”

“It’s not that. I just know you don’t always feel great, so I want to make sure I’m close. You’ve never made me feel like I have to do anything.”

“Then you should go out tonight.”

Your words slow toward the end of your sentence, your head spinning as you grip the couch cushion to ground yourself. The dizziness comes and goes, much less reliable than the nausea, which is relentless.

Deacon wipes his hands on a kitchen towel before kneeling before you. He holds your wrists, rubbing comforting circles over your pulse point.

“Take some deep breaths,” he reminds you gently.

You nod, trying to focus on Deacon’s face, and sit upright.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. I’ll get you some water.”

“And then go to dinner with your friends?”

Deacon sighs, waiting to reply until he returns to your side, hovering as you sip the water.

“Why don’t you just come with me? I don’t like the idea of leaving you with those dizzy spells,” he suggests.

“I’ll be okay.” Deacon isn’t wavering, so you add, “And I’ll text you updates. Call you if anything changes.”

“Regular updates,” Deacon amends. “And if I call, you have to answer.”

You smile at his worry, his concern often reading as demanding.

“I promise.”

Deacon purses his lips before nodding, asking if you need anything before walking down the hall to change. As he walks out the door, you wonder what it would be like to go somewhere with him, enjoy a night out under his arm, and talk to him about anything. You’ve never had that before, not even with your ex.

Deacon spends his drive wondering how to convince you that you’re not a burden, that he cares about you and wants you by his side. More than your health, he has feelings for you that he can’t quite explain, and his heart and mind only calm when you’re at his side.

As he parks at the restaurant, receiving the first update from you, he smiles and decides he needs to tell you.

“Deac! I thought you weren’t coming,” Street calls, waving him over to the table.

Luca looks over his shoulder, searching for you. Deacon gives a small nod, an answer that you’re fine. You don’t leave their minds through the night, and Luca quickly notices how often and how regularly Deacon checks his phone.

He smiles, wishing he’d thought to introduce you sooner.

✯✯✯✯✯

In Deacon’s house, sitting alone in a dark room, your emotions and hormones get the best of you. Since the divorce papers came, you’ve been convinced you are unworthy of the type of love you crave, destined to be alone forever. Tears begin falling as your mind races, and your nausea worsens with the emotional storm within you.

Deacon is smiling as he walks in, a to-go container from your favorite restaurant in his hand. The living room is dark and empty, but there’s a faint glow of light under the door that he’s come to refer to as yours. He sets the food in the kitchen and walks toward you like he’s being pulled in by a magnet.

After knocking quietly, Deacon hears a quick sniff and opens the door without hesitation. He searches the room, his eyes softening when he sees you. Curled in on yourself and crying, Deacon wordlessly approaches the bed and pulls you into his arms. His warm embrace and his hand rubbing up and down your spine make everything seem better, and it’s far too easy to be vulnerable with him.

“Why am I not good enough?” you whisper against his chest.

“You are,” he answers firmly. “He was a child who didn’t know what he was losing. But that doesn’t have anything to do with your worth.”

At the sound of Deacon’s voice, you feel movement in your stomach and lean back, bringing your hand to your bump as you feel another kick – the first of many, you hope. Your eyes widen as Deacon tilts his head, wondering why you pulled away. Gently, you pull Deacon’s hand to your stomach, and he feels it too.

“Hey, little guy,” he says with a smile, spreading his hand over more of your growing stomach.

“Guy?” you repeat.

Deacon nods, rubbing his thumb over your shirt.

“Why did you stay?” you ask. “The first night, when I came to ask Luca for help.”

Deacon’s eyes raise to yours as he answers, “I know when something is worth it. And you’re pretty irresistible.”

You smile, ducking your pleased look away from Deacon. “I have a doctor’s appointment in the morning. Would you maybe be able to come with me? I just don’t want to be alone.”

“Absolutely. I’ll go wherever you want me.”

✯✯✯✯✯

The following morning, Deacon lets you hold his hand and play with his fingers from your spot in the passenger seat and the waiting room. When the doctor comes into the room, asking about you and your symptoms, Deacon offers to give you privacy, but you cling to his hand before he can step away.

“Please stay.”

Deacon nods, his hand squeezing yours as he returns to his spot beside the exam table. Watching the screen during the ultrasound, Deacon smiles at the sight of your baby and the healthy heartbeat echoing in the room.

“You two have a very lucky, healthy baby,” the ultrasound tech announces.

Neither you nor Deacon corrects her.

“Keep that stress low and do as little as you can,” your doctor reminds you. “I’m not putting you on bedrest but if the nausea or dizziness worsen, I will.”

“She’ll be calm and comfortable, doc,” Deacon replies, and you believe him.

✯✯✯✯✯

With no good way to thank Deacon and Luca for everything they have done for you, you decide to surprise them at work in the middle of a long day. Carrying a few pizzas from Luca’s favorite spot, you walk into the station with a visitor’s badge adhered to your shirt.

Luca sees you first, jogging toward you and drawing Deacon’s attention. When Deacon sees you walking and carrying things, he comes to your other side.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Luca frets as he takes the pizza from you.

“I just wanted to do something nice. You’ve both done so much for me,” you explain.

Deacon’s hand wraps around your arm as he leads you toward a comfortable chair.

“You don’t have to thank us,” he tells you.

“I missed you.”

Deacon can’t argue with your kind words or soft smile, so he shakes his head and helps you sit before kneeling beside you.

“Thanks for the pizza,” Deacon says.

“Go eat some. I’ll go home as soon as I find the willpower to get up.”

Deacon chuckles, brushing his fingers over your cheekbone.

“Who is that?” Tan asks, watching Luca return to your side.

“Luca’s best friend,” Street answers. “Her ex-husband kicked her out when she got pregnant, and Luca and Deacon haven’t left her side since.”

“How do you know that?” Hondo inquires.

“I live with Luca; I see her all the time.”

Luca removes himself from your side, retrieving the pizza and delivering it to the rest of the team.

“Okay, so she’s Luca’s best friend, but why is Deacon so close to her?” Tan points out.

At Luca’s look, both Hondo and Tan realize. Deacon is protective, caring, loyal, and radiates comfort; he’s everything you need given your situation.

“Heard anything else about the dad?” Street whispers to Luca.

Luca’s jaw tightens before he says, “He stopped calling. Apparently he finally got the idea.”

“Are you ever going to tell her about how many times he tried to contact her?”

“Not unless I have to.”

“You’re a good friend, Luca.”

Street claps Luca’s shoulder before walking away. When you tap Luca’s shoulder to ask for a hug, he forgets the anger brought up by the idea of someone intentionally hurting you.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Can you help me with something?” you ask, standing in the doorway of Deacon’s small home office.

“Anything,” he answers, beckoning you inside.

He pulls a chair beside him, taking your hands as you lower yourself into it.

“I want to find my own place. But, if it’s okay, I’d like to be close to you.”

Deacon nods before clarifying, “I’ll help, but you’re staying with me until after the baby is born.”

“You’ve already done more than enough.”

Deacon’s hand finds its place on your bump, a touch you’ve grown familiar with as his other hand cups your chin.

“You are braver and stronger and more worthy of being loved than you will ever understand. Let me do this for you.”

Your smile grows as you look up at Deacon, your baby kicking excitedly against his hand.

“He likes you,” you mutter, unconsciously accepting Deacon’s idea that it’s a boy. “Almost as much as I love you.”

Deacon’s eyes widen beautifully as he smiles, ducking his head toward yours. You meet him in the middle, kissing him slowly with love and gratitude. You laugh against your lips when it feels like someone is doing backflips in your belly.

“We’ve got a lot to thank this little guy for,” Deacon says, dropping both hands to your stomach.

“And if it’s a girl?”

“I’ll spoil her like I spoil you… if you’ll let me.”

“I’m never letting you go, Deacon Kay.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Bonus:

After Deacon and Luca accompany you to tour a small house near Deacon's place, you realize that they need more than pizza for all they’ve done for you. While they’re at work, you busy yourself in Deacon’s kitchen, making a dinner you think they will both enjoy and cleaning as you go.

“This doesn’t look like low stress and minimal activity,” Deacon chides as the door closes behind you.

You hum, keeping your back to him. Deacon approaches behind you, his warmth pressing against your back as his hands slip over your waist and settle below your bump. With his chin on your shoulder, Deacon lowers his voice, asking how your day was and what you’re doing.

Before you can answer, Deacon straightens up, using his hands to lift your stomach, easing the load on your back and hips. Sighing, you lean back against him and take a few deep breaths, enjoying the lightness and temporary relief.

“Thank you. And I’m making you and Luca dinner,” you breathe out.

“Ready?” Deacon mutters, waiting for your nod before slowly lowering his hands.

“I love you,” you say, turning toward Deacon.

“Luca has a food truck, yet you feel the need to cook for him. He doesn’t sound like a very good friend,” Deacon jokes.

“You’re not a very good friend either.”

Deacon’s brows furrow and you lower your voice to add, “Because we were never just friends, were we?”

You wish you could hug Deacon as closely as you want to, and he seems to know. Turning you to the side, Deacon hugs you from a non-traditional angle, holding you as close as possible.

“I love you,” he responds, kissing your head. “Both of you.”

#david deacon kay x reader #david kay x reader #deacon kay x reader #david deacon kay #deacon kay #swat cbs #requests #fem!reader #cw: pregnancy #🐿 anon

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