#reader x Adam karadec

[playbucky]

I need more High Potential fics, specifically for Oz.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Pretending You Can't

Pairing: Adam Karadec x fem!cop(analyst)!reader

Summary: You're touch starved and wishing to make friends in the LAPD, but you move divisions so often that it becomes difficult. While working with the Major Crimes unit, you find a solution to both problems.

Warnings: depiction of touch starvation, discussion of difficulty making friends, murder case, fluff, comfort, OOC Karadec

Word Count: 4.1k+ words

A/N: I love Karadec so much. Hope someone can enjoy this.🫶🏼

“Melon alert,” someone whispers as they rush past you.

You roll your eyes and turn to the next page of your report. Lieutenant Melon is annoying, but he has yet to request your direct assistance. That is one of the few benefits of being quiet and reserved in a Los Angeles Police station. It is, however, far outweighed by the downfalls. You’re lonely, and you want to make friends at work, even though you are quiet. Each time you meet someone you think could be a friend, you get moved to a new desk or a new division and have to start all over. Maybe, you think, I’m just not made to have friends.

You stand and stretch your arms over your head. The report on your desk must be signed by Melon, but he’s busy, so you walk down the hall to stretch your legs and get something from the break room.

“Sorry,” you apologize as your shoulder hits someone backing out of the elevator. It feels like the skin on your shoulder is on fire, and pain like pins and needles travels down your arm. This would have been a good indicator something was wrong if you hadn’t already known you were touch-starved. Shaking your arm, you see the large box in his arms and ask, “Do you need help with that?”

“Please,” he answers.

You slide your hands under the side opposite him, and he lowers it to rest between your chests.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Detective Osman, right?”

He nods and somehow knows your name, too. You look around briefly as he leads you through the door into Major Crimes. This is one area you have not worked in, but you think you’d like it. The people in this division are kind when you see them in the station, and they do good work. Your gaze hits Detective Karadec, and you look away quickly, telling yourself it’s because you need to watch where you’re going.

“It’s too much,” he says, his shoulders moving up in a short shrug as he nods. Something about his body language disarms many people, but every time you see him, you’re drawn in by him.

Lieutenant Soto exits her office, pinching the bridge of her nose. Detective Osman sighs as he looks at her, then thanks you quietly. You smile and nod, then walk toward the door. Before you reach it, Soto calls your name. Turning slowly, you raise your brows and hold your hands against your stomach.

“Yes, ma’am?” you answer.

“You worked in the gang unit last year, correct?” she inquires.

“Yes, but only for a few months in the spring.”

“Are you familiar with the name…” she pauses to look at a sticky note in her hand, then says, “Victor Kwang?”

Nodding, you explain, “I did the paperwork for his arrest warrant, the affidavit, I mean, and some research into his accomplices and manufacturing.”

“Did you find the factory in Westlake?” a woman in a cheetah-print skirt asks.

“Excuse her,” Karadec interjects as he spins his chair to face you. “This is Morgan Gillory.”

You’ve heard about Morgan, or as Melon calls her, the cleaning lady, but if she already found Kwang’s Westlake factory, she’s better than you thought.

“I did,” you tell her. “It wasn’t operational at the time, but it was searched. Turned up practically nothing.”

“Okay,” Morgan drawls slowly. “It’s not in the report.”

Karadec watches how your brows pinch, and your eyes shift like you’re thinking.

“There’s another report,” he guesses.

“I only worked on one.”

He nods once before spinning his chair to use the computer. Opening the report they’re going on, he scrolls to the bottom of the first page to see who completed the report.

“It wasn’t this one,” he says, looking over his shoulder at Detective Daphne Forrester.

She raises her hands and says, “It’s the only one that came up when I typed in Victor Kwang.”

You focus on your memory of completing the report and ask Daphne, “Are most of his arrests for assault?”

“90%,” she replies.

“Wrong Victor Kwang,” you say. “When that case was open, there was a lot of.. discontent, I guess, in Koreatown. The DA said they had every right to be treated exactly the same here as in Korea.”

Karadec scoffs and shakes his head. You agree; it didn’t make sense, but you complied.

“So?” Osman asks.

“His arrest record and the reports from that investigation have his Korean name on it. Kwang Kyu. Surname first, given name, and everything we have on him is in that file.”

Soto raises her brows at Karadec, unseen by you. He looks between you and his lieutenant, then to Morgan.

“Who are you reporting to now?” Soto asks you.

“Lieutenant Melon,” you reply. Quieter, you add, “Technically.”

“I think it’s time for a change,” she muses before returning to her office.

“Did you do this whole report?” Daphne asks, looking up from her computer. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” you answer softly. Without Soto as a buffer and the contained topic of police work, you’re unsure how to talk to the detectives you’ve looked up to for so long.

Soto returns from her office and smiles as she instructs, “Pack up. You’re coming to Major Crimes.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Oz asks.

Soto looks away from the door that just closed behind you and levels her gaze on Karadec.

“I think she can help,” he states. “Morgan didn’t catch that the report was for the wrong guy.”

“You didn’t either,” she argues.

“Where does she usually work?” Daphne wonders aloud. “I see her around from time to time, but never in the same place twice.”

“She jumps around,” Soto explains.

“Why?” Oz adds. “Hard to work with? Trying to find where to use a golden ticket?”

“She’s good,” Karadec answers. “She can do close to everything. Chief decided to pass around the talent.”

“And how do you know that?” Soto challenges, her brows raised knowingly.

He looks at her from the corner of his eyes, then shakes his head.

“If Kwang opened a factory in Westlake, he probably did it to get away from the suspicions about what he was doing in Koreatown,” Morgan muses. “His factories form a parallelogram with an overlaid pyramid. When you look at those on a map, they center around one place.”

“Being?” Karadec presses, sounding more tired than he had with you.

She moves closer to the caseboard and examines the map briefly. “Hotel Normandie.”

“Koreatown?” Daphne clarifies.

“Yep. 605 Normandie Avenue.”

“And what is that supposed to tell us?” Karadec sighs.

“I…” Morgan purses her lips to trace her nail along the map.

“You’re missing another shape,” you point out as you return with a small tote bag of your things.

Soto’s eyes widen, and she presses her lips together to hide her smile. You’ve been here for less than five minutes, and you’re providing information Morgan can’t. They all know it’s because of how long you spent studying Victor Kwang, but it’s still interesting to see.

“Hotel Normandie is one of Kwang’s favorite spots. It’s less than thirty minutes from the Hollywood Bowl, Griffith Observatory, LA County Museum of Art, Natural History Museum, and Dodger Stadium. That’s a-“

“Pentagram,” Morgan finishes. “He could get around to all of them and back to the hotel in 2 hours without traffic.”

“Add Forest Lawn,” you add, setting your bag on an empty chair. “And you’ve got a hexagon.”

Karadec stands at the word hexagon, and you wonder what they’re working on.

“DB was called in this morning,” he tells you as he slides his cell phone and a bottle of hand sanitizer into his pocket. “It was found at the corner of Wilshire and Crenshaw. There was a note in the vic’s pocket with the name Victor Kwang written repeatedly. The note was folded into a hexagon.”

“And that intersection is in Kwang’s criminal hexagon,” Morgan adds.

“The victim had his visa,” Daphne says as if she’s reading your mind to answer your questions. “ID’ed him as Chang Shirong. Came in from China four months ago, so he likely would have been traveling back within the next few weeks.”

“Six months. He had a B-1 visa?” you realize incredulously. “What business activities was he conducting?”

“I’ve got that,” Oz interjects, holding an open file. “He had a relatively legitimate clothing business and was negotiating contracts with Lids and Fanatics.”

“How long ago did he get approved for the visa?” Morgan asks.

“Five years ago,” Daphne answers.

You fall silent and listen, happy to stay here and complete their paperwork while they go out in the field and put Kwang back in jail. Provided that he’s found guilty, of course.

“When was Kwang released after the sweatshop factory fiasco?” Karadec asks, though his gaze strays to you.

“Five-and-a-half years ago,” Oz reads. “Could have easily gotten in with Chang to move operations overseas.”

“The Government Accountability Office would’ve had Kwang on a short leash,” Soto states. “If Kwang broke that kind of labor law, he wouldn’t have been able to conduct business of any type, not for a while at least.”

“Not necessarily,” Morgan counters, raising her finger.

“Here we go,” Karadec murmurs, holding his fist against his chin.

“AB633 holds California garment manufacturers responsible for sweatshop conditions. It ensures workers are paid minimum wage and overtime. Because of that, the Labor Commissioner can bring lawsuits on behalf of the whole workforce to guarantee wages and – this is the important part – revoke the registration of the manufacturer that fails to pay a wage award. They up new registration fees, but can't legally keep someone from reopening a business based only on wage crimes.”

“Sounds like you need to look into the sweatshops,” Soto says before telling everyone where to go.

You pull a chair to Daphne’s desk to help her trace Kwang since his release from prison, and she smiles as she whispers, “Teach me your ways.”

You send her a small smile and immediately decide that you want to be friends with Daphne Forrester. The longer you sit beside her and across from Oz, the easier it is to open up and offer your ideas and theories.

“Oz,” Morgan calls as she returns a few hours after leaving. “Karadec needs you to throw a phone book at someone.”

“We still don’t do that,” he replies as he exits the office.

“What are we working on?” Morgan asks as she takes Oz’s chair.

“We found Kwang’s quote ‘professional’ activities since leaving prison,” Daphne explains.

“Any theories?”

“I don’t have any.” Daphne gestures toward you as she adds, “This one has some great ones.”

“Lay ‘em on me,” Morgan requests. “Unless you don’t want to.”

“You must be a very good mom,” you murmur.

“I have a teenager,” she says, “I know the signs of someone not wanting to talk to me. I also notice when someone’s eyes wander to a certain detective.”

“Karadec?!” Daphne exclaims, tapping her hand against your arm and igniting invisible flames beneath your sleeve.

You drop your head and wring your fingers together. “I think Kwang met someone in prison who could set him up with an overseas businessman. Your victim flew in on a visitor’s visa a week before Kwang was released and stayed for nearly two months. If they met then, Chang had a reason to get a business visa and make regular trips to visit his business partner.”

“Any idea who could’ve known both of them?” Morgan wonders.

“That’s where we found the hiccup,” Daphne answers.

You have an idea, but it doesn’t make sense, so you stay quiet. Morgan and Daphne look at you, then at each other. Morgan nods before she stands.

“You’re coming to my house for dinner,” she says. “It wasn’t an invitation or a question, you’re coming. Let’s go.”

Daphne nods and tells you to have a good night, so you follow Morgan out of the station. While you walk into the parking lot, she slows and looks toward you.

“You like Karadec,” she begins. “When you’re not incredibly focused, your eyes stray to him. It happens when you’re not confident in your statements, too.”

“I- he-“ you try before deciding to say, “Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. I notice a lot, and I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. Maybe you should try to just talk to him tomorrow, share one of those good ideas you kept to yourself today.”

“I thought that was your job.”

Morgan smiles. “If it gets Karadec to smile, I’ll relinquish my duty to you for a day.”

“Why would that make him smile?”

“You can figure that out, detective.”

Morgan begins walking again, and as she opens her car door, you call, “I’m not a detective!”

The following morning, you enter the station early with a mental list of names and information to look into. Walking into Major Crimes, you’re not entirely surprised to see Karadec already at his desk.

“You’re early,” he muses. “You can use Oz’s desk.”

“Thanks.” You lower into Oz’s seat and use your station login to access the police database.

“Help yourself,” he offers, gesturing to a donut box.

You smile and take one of your favorites. If you had to guess, you never would have assumed that Karadec was the one who brought the donuts every week. Maybe they take turns, you think.

As you work quietly beside Karadec, you run through each idea you have. Each search that fails to provide a helpful result discourages you more than the last.

“Pass me the Kwang file?” Karadec requests.

His fingers brush against yours as he takes the extended file. He thanks you, but you don’t hear it as your nerves alight. You try to hide the pain in your hand as you place it back on the keyboard. Failing to remember the last time you were hugged or even simply touched in a way that lets you know someone cared about you, you force yourself to focus. Your hand curls into a fist as the pain subsides, and then you return to work.

With your focus on the lack of touch you’ve experienced recently, you don’t notice Karadec watching you. He’s known since before you joined their team that there is more to you than people think.

As the rest of Major Crimes begins arriving, you log out and pull a chair to the corner of Daphne’s desk to continue working with her. Karadec tries to focus, but when you are close, he finds it hard to do.

“Good morning,” Morgan greets, sitting beside you. She lowers her voice to remind you, “Talk to Karadec.”

“All of my ideas turned up nothing,” you explain softly.

“And?” Oz asks as he approaches the other side of Daphne’s desk.

“She likes Karadec,” Morgan replies.

Your eyes widen as you look over at her. Daphne stifles a laugh, and Oz shrugs as if that isn’t new information.

“Yeah, yeah,” Morgan murmurs. “Et tu, good report maker. Seriously, tell him something. You have more ideas; I can see it.”

“Any new theories?” Karadec asks, turning his seat to face Daphne’s crowded desk.

“I think the order of the hexagon was wrong,” you blurt out.

“Why would the order matter?” Oz inquires.

Karadec watches you, listening carefully. Morgan smiles and shakes her head knowingly before she winks at Daphne.

“If the route matters, then traffic, travel times, and when the places are actual targets changes.”

“Targets?” Karadec repeats.

“I assumed you were evaluating the places based on their proximity to his former sweatshops,” you explain. “So, he could use them as alibis, to recruit workers, or in this case, to lure Chang into his previous enterprise to undermine Chang’s business.”

“Like a sightseeing tour for bad guys,” Oz translates.

“Alternatively, they were on their way to one of these places and Chang dropped some news about taking a larger profit margin or something, Kwang was outraged and killed him.”

“In which case, he’d want to get another shop up and running ASAP,” Morgan comments.

“Let’s run with that theory,” Karadec decides. “We’ll split up and check the different points on the hexagon. Use Kwang’s previous warehouses for ideas about where he’d be holed up or operating a new factory.”

“Someone from Immigration is here with Chang’s visa information,” Soto says.

“I got it,” Oz offers. “Go find this guy.”

“I’ll go with Daphne,” Morgan announces.

“Okay,” Karadec agrees, standing. “Which direction do we go?”

“Hotel Normandie faces east,” you answer. “Most people turn right when leaving a building, so he’d be pretty likely to go South. The art museum would either be first or last because it’s west of the hotel.”

“We’ll take the southern locations starting with the Natural History Museum. Then we’ll hit Dodger Stadium and go around. Daphne and Morgan, go west to the art museum then north toward Griffith Observatory. Overlapping visits should double our chances.”

“Yeah, that’s not how percentage of chance works,” Morgan replies. “I’ll explain it later.”

“Oh, good,” Karadec deadpans.

“So…” Karadec begins as he drives toward the natural history museum. “What did you want to do when you joined the department?”

“At first, I didn’t know. Then I realized I wanted to become a detective,” you answer. “I think it’s too late for that.”

“Never know. What made you decide?”

“A lot of detectives worth looking up to. Including you.”

You realize what you said and chew the inside of your bottom lip as you wait for Karadec to say something. Anything.

“Thank you,” he says after a moment. “Although you had better options.”

“I didn’t know Daphne yet,” you joke, pulling a rare smile from him. “Hey, slow down. That building should be condemned.”

Karadec slows as he steers the car onto the gravel shoulder. He watches the shadows moving in the covered windows and radios for backup.

“ETA two minutes,” dispatch replies.

“Uh, Karadec?” you interrupt.

“Yeah?”

“Door just opened.”

You watch Victor Kwang exit the warehouse in an expensive suit. He notices the car and then runs along the side of the building. You don’t hesitate to exit Karadec’s car and chase him, ignoring Karadec’s yells for you to wait.

As you round the western side of the warehouse, you speed up and push off your right foot to tackle Victor Kwang. He grunts as he lands in the dirt, and you pant through your recitation of his Miranda rights. Karadec approaches behind you and passes you a pair of handcuffs.

“Maybe we should let you carry those next time,” he says. “Is that your car, Mr. Kwang?”

“Lawyer,” Kwang replies as you turn him to make him sit up.

“In that case, I’ll go ahead and get it towed to the station in violation of California Vehicle Code 22500,” Karadec says, pulling his phone from his pocket.

You look at the car and smile. “Section f: A person shall not stop or park on a portion of a sidewalk.”

“It’s my sidewalk!” Kwang argues as sirens approach the front of the building.

“It’s the city’s sidewalk,” Karadec says. He takes your place and pulls Kwang’s arm to make him stand. “So, we’ll be searching your illegally parked car when it arrives at the station.”

After an officer takes Kwang, you take a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” Karadec checks, laying his hand on your shoulder.

Your muscles tense, pulling into a tight knot before immediately releasing to be more relaxed than before Karadec touched you. He feels every movement and realizes by the movement that you are devastatingly touch-starved. Karadec does not like touching things or people, you’ve noticed, but you’re both acutely aware of how well his hand fits on you.

“I’m okay,” you answer quietly.

The moment ends abruptly when Karadec’s phone rings. He removes his hand from your shoulder to answer Daphne’s call, but his warmth lingers as you follow him back to the car.

After Kwang confesses to receive a plea deal and offers up the international crime matchmaker who introduced him to Chang, you return home. Your hand raises to your shoulder, where Karadec touched you. Now that the case is closed, you’ll likely be transferred out of Major Crimes again and lose the four people you think you could have been friends with. Again.

Someone knocks on your door, and you approach it quietly to look through the peephole. Sighing, you open the door and silently invite Karadec into your home.

“Is everything okay?” you ask. “Soto told me I could finish the reports in the morning.”

“No, that’s fine,” he replies, looking briefly around your living room before bending back slightly with his hands in his pockets. “I… I think I can help you.”

Your mouth opens, but you take a moment to find the right words. “Do you mean that the other way? Can I help you again?”

“No, no,” he answers with a smile. “Can I just show you?”

“Sure,” you say slowly.

Adam pulls his hands from his pockets as he steps toward you. You inhale quickly at his proximity, and when his hands raise, you hold your breath. Tensing your muscles as Karadec lays his hands on your waist, you swallow. His thumbs brush wide arcs between your ribs as your body relaxes at his touch.

“Oh,” you realize under your breath.

“You said you looked up to me as a detective. I admire you as a lot more than that.”

The initial pain of his touch fades, and you seem to melt beneath his hands. If you’re going to react like this, Karadec thinks, he may never take his hands off you.

“I thought you didn’t like touching things with germs,” you remember.

“Found an exception.”

Karadec smiles as you argue, “Soto won’t like that.”

One of his hands slides from your waist and catches your hand. You instinctively try to pull away because it hurts, but he holds you tighter, drops his smile, and whispers, “It’s okay.”

You nod and shift your hands to interlace your fingers with his.

“If you want help with this,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “I’m here. But you tell me when to stop.”

“Why?” you inquire.

Karadec doesn’t answer, and you admit, “I have feelings for you. Like… feelings. I understand if that makes you feel different and you don’t want me close anymore.”

“Feelings?” he repeats, using the tone you used the second time. “Should it make me feel different?”

Your brows furrow and Karadec returns both hands to your waist.

“It doesn’t,” he assures you, dropping his hands.

“There’s hand sanitizer in my bag, behind you,” you offer.

“Soto sent me over to tell you she wants you in Major Crimes full-time,” Karadec interjects. “It’s up to you, though.”

“Would that… Do you care if I say yes?”

“I’m not going to answer that.”

“You’re not really helping me here.”

He nods in a small circular movement which tells you he doesn’t care about that. His smile, however, makes you smile.

“I have wanted to be a detective for a long time,” you muse.

“Anyone you’d be leaving behind in the other divisions?”

“Oh, yeah,” you answer sarcastically. “I’m just swimming in friends, hence the extreme touch starvation.”

“Give Soto your answer in the morning,” he requests. “I’ll see you there?”

“Of course.”

You watch Karadec leave, and when you wrap your arms around your waist, nothing happens. No pain, no pins or needles, just warmth and the memory of Karadec's touch.

When Karadec enters Major Crimes the morning after visiting you, you’re nowhere to be seen.

“Daph!” he calls. “Where is she?”

“Morgan?” she clarifies.

“She’s finishing paperwork,” Oz answers. “Transfer papers, I’d guess.”

“I need signatures,” Soto says, exiting her office.

“Beautiful,” Daphne whispers as she signs your completed report.

“Yes, it is,” Karadec agrees, though his eyes are up, watching you enter the office with a smile.

“Where’d the grumpy persona go?” you whisper as you place a donut box on your new desk.

“I’d guess wherever he left it last night,” Soto answers, looking between you.

Morgan enters, spouting theories about another case but stops when she sees you. “I told you! You just had to stop pretending you couldn’t do it.”

“Hey,” Daphne calls, pointing at you with a sprinkled donut. “No ‘will they, won’t they,’ okay? Do it or don’t, but I can’t watch my friends dance around each other.”

“We’re friends?” you repeat.

“Duh.”

“So…” Morgan begins. “Are you okay with a group hug or do you need some more time?”

You look at Karadec, who shrugs, and then you nod. As you’re wrapped in warmth and care by your new friends – and Karadec, who you hope can be more than a friend – you realize that you finally found where you belong, and you’re not pretending anymore. You can do this. You can do the job, the friendships, and the openness.

[venommie]

hi

excuse me, hi

sorry

where are the high potential fics

i need karadec to hug me and talk about the investigation hes doing i just love listening to him

cozy, sweet life cooking for him to when he gets home

OR

being a detective/analyst or just working in the police station and acompanying him to a crime scene, going home at the end of the day, having a comfortable talk during dinner, sleeping together and lifes so good

where are them fics?

[thepjofanqueen]

*looks around, whispers into the void*

We need high potential fanfic

…I think I love Adam Karadec

[devonpravesh]

lev ozdil x fem!karadec!reader summary: the fastest way to a man's heart is through his stomach, right?

The precinct smelled, as always, of too much coffee, printer toner, and a trace of stale takeout. But today, the aroma of warm apple fritters cut through it all as you pushed the glass door open with your hip, one hand cradling a bakery box. You had woken up before your alarm, wired and restless, and somehow ended up baking. It was impulsive, sure, but baking helped you slow your thoughts, and recently, your thoughts had been moving too fast—mostly in the direction of a certain detective.

You didn’t spot Adam right away. Instead, it was Morgan who noticed you first, glancing up from a stack of unsorted case files at the corner of the bullpen. Her expression shifted into a grin.

“Well, if it isn’t our legal angel bearing edible bribes,” she called out, pushing her chair back with her foot and standing up. “What’ve we got today?”

You walked over and popped open the lid. “Apple fritters. I had too much energy and not enough court prep this morning. Figured I’d inflict the results on you.”

Morgan leaned over the box with an appreciative whistle. “Damn. I didn’t even eat breakfast.”

“You should try one before they vanish,” you said, offering her the first. “I’ve learned that crime scenes don’t wait for pastries.”

“True,” she replied, biting into one. “Holy hell, this is amazing. You know, I used to think being able to deduce someone's entire life story from the scuff on their boot was impressive, but you might’ve just dethroned me.”

You smiled, the compliment genuine and unexpected. “Don’t tempt me. I might quit law and open a food truck.”

“Only if you promise to park it outside the precinct.”

Behind you, Adam’s voice rose over the noise. “Are you handing out breakfast before you even say hi to your own brother?”

You turned around to see him standing at his desk, jacket draped over the back of his chair, tie already loosened like he’d been here for hours. His face lit up when he saw the box.

“I was trying to do something nice,” you said, walking over. “You’re the one who always says I’m too by-the-book.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean you had to start bribing my coworkers to like you.”

You arched an eyebrow. “I think they like me just fine, thanks. I’m just reinforcing the bond with sugar.”

He laughed, taking one of the fritters and immediately taking a bite. “Okay, okay. You’re forgiven.”

You leaned casually against his desk, watching the usual rhythm of the bullpen unfold—phones ringing, keyboards tapping, Morgan now sharing the fritters with a grateful intern. Across the room, Daphne and Oz were deep in discussion, Daphne gesturing toward a whiteboard while Oz nodded along. You tried not to stare too long.

Daphne caught you looking and offered a quick, warm smile.

Oz didn’t.

But that was fine. You weren’t here for him, not officially. You were here because you missed the energy of this place, the way it hummed with purpose. And yes, maybe because seeing Oz—even if it was just a moment, just in passing—had become something of a silent motivation.

-

A few days later, you came back—but this time, with a box of donuts. Not from the corner shop either. These were homemade: yeast-raised, filled, dusted, and drizzled with obsessive precision. You had started baking them around midnight, driven by some mix of nerves and curiosity. This time, you hoped to break the pattern. No more lingering in the background. No more waiting for eye contact that didn’t come.

This time, you walked in and found Selena in the briefing room, mid-conversation with two younger officers. She looked up when she saw you.

“Well,” she said, one brow arching with sly amusement, “unless those are subpoenas disguised as pastries, I don’t recall signing off on your visit.”

You grinned and lifted the box slightly. “Donuts. Consider it a peace offering… and maybe a bribe.”

Selena’s expression softened into something warmer as she crossed the room in a couple of long strides. She crouched a little to peer into the box, her nose wrinkling playfully at the sweet scent.

“Let me guess,” she said, tapping a finger against the edge. “Cinnamon swirl, classic vanilla glaze, and… ooh, is that pistachio matcha? Someone’s trying to keep things interesting.”

You blinked, surprised. “How did you—?”

“I’m not psychic, but I do have eyes—and a love for good food. Plus, Morgan won’t stop talking about you like you’re her latest science project.”

You laughed, and Selena actually smiled—a rare but genuine sight. “Well, since you’re not here to file complaints or corrections, you can leave that box on my desk. And maybe stick around a bit. You’re not bad for morale.”

“I’ll take that as high praise.”

She gestured for one of the officers to grab the box and then gave you a nod. “Seriously. Good call. You’re welcome here more than you think.”

That comment lingered longer than the taste of the donut you bit into.

Later that morning, you found Oz in the breakroom. He stood with his back to the door, fiddling with the coffee machine like it had personally offended him. His movements were slow, almost deliberate, like he was stirring more than just his cup—a quiet tension humming under his calm exterior, like a violin string pulled tight but not yet played.

You stepped inside softly.

“No fritters today,” you said, your voice light and teasing.

He turned toward you, eyes catching yours with a flicker of surprise—so quick you thought maybe it was just your imagination. But then his gaze softened, just a little.

“I heard about the donuts,” he said quietly.

“You missed them,” you said, holding a small paper-wrapped treat out to him. “There’s only one left. Lemon poppyseed. It looked like it needed saving.”

He reached out for it, and when your fingers brushed, a tiny spark shot through you, a silly, electric jolt that made your stomach do a flip. He didn’t pull away—if anything, his fingers lingered a beat longer, and you dared to hope he noticed, too.

He took a bite and chewed slowly, eyes still on you.

“Ever think about baking for a living?” he asked, half-joking.

You sighed dramatically. “I considered law school instead.”

He nodded once, almost deadpan. “Mistake.”

Then softer, almost reluctant: “They’re really good.”

Leaning against the counter, you watched him out of the corner of your eye. “Can I ask you something?”

Oz glanced over, wary but curious. “Go ahead.”

“Why is it,” you started, “that you always look like you’re trying to figure me out—but never actually say anything?”

His eyes flickered, a little guarded, and his jaw tightened for just a moment.

“I guess…” he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, “I don’t know what to say.”

“Try,” you urged gently.

He looked down at the donut in his hand, then back up—more direct now, as if he was steadying himself.

“You walk in like you don’t want any attention, but then you leave pastries lying around like it’s evidence. I’m stuck wondering if you’re trying to make friends or build a case.”

You smiled softly. “Maybe both. Lawyers can multitask.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes narrowing like he was really seeing you for the first time. “You don’t strike me as someone who does things without a reason.”

“Maybe,” you whispered, “I’m just trying to get your attention.”

The silence that followed stretched, heavy and sweet, like the world had folded in on itself until it was just the two of you.

“You had it,” he said quietly, his voice low and steady. “You still do.”

Your heart skipped, throat suddenly dry.

And just like that, the whole room felt different—charged, open.

Before either of you could lean into it or back away, the door burst open.

Morgan appeared, brandishing a manila folder like a banner. “Hey, have either of you—oh. Oh.”

She glanced between you, then at the half-eaten donut in Oz’s hand, then back again.

A pause.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to interrupt… whatever this is.”

Oz cleared his throat, stepping back, avoiding your eyes. “Just donuts.”

Morgan gave a teasing grin. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, a little breathless and bashful. Somehow, despite the interruption, your heart felt lighter than it had in days.

Those donuts might’ve been the bait, but maybe something sweeter was finally taking hold.

-

You had spent an absurd amount of time brushing phyllo dough with butter the night before, layering crushed pistachios like your life depended on it. Your kitchen still smelled like honey and orange blossom water when you left that morning, the baklava safely nestled in a tin.

This wasn’t just about baking anymore. It was a tiny mission.

So when you arrived at the precinct, you didn’t pause at Adam’s desk. You didn’t swing by Morgan’s workstation or try to catch Selena on her coffee break. You walked straight past all of them, tin in hand, butterflies flapping wildly in your chest.

You found Oz in one of the smaller offices tucked near the end of the hall. The door was cracked just enough for you to catch him in profile—his brow slightly furrowed as he scanned a lineup of crime scene photos pinned to a corkboard. The collar of his shirt was open, sleeves rolled to the elbows, fingers resting on his temple in that thoughtful way you were slowly falling for.

You knocked gently.

He turned, surprised to see you—but not displeased.

“Hey,” you said softly, stepping inside. “I brought something.”

You set the tin down on the desk in front of him and popped the lid with a little flourish. “Baklava. Thought I’d honor your roots a little.”

His brows lifted, and for the first time, you saw him visibly thrown.

“You made this?” he asked, almost disbelieving.

You laughed, smoothing a stray hair behind your ear. “Don’t look so stunned. I’m not a one-trick lawyer, you know. I have layers. Like this pastry.”

That made him smile—just a flicker, but it reached his eyes.

He picked up a delicate diamond-shaped piece, inspected it, then carefully took a bite. The sound of the flaky crunch was immensely satisfying.

He chewed slowly, then looked at you with mock suspicion. “Okay. Be honest. Did you get this from some obscure Greek deli and just repackage it?”

Your hand flew to your heart. “I’m offended. I even grated fresh lemon zest like some kind of deranged food blogger.”

He took another bite. Then another. Then blinked. “This is really good. Like... you could compete with my mother good.”

You gasped theatrically. “You realize that’s the highest compliment you’ve ever given me?”

“It might be the highest compliment I’ve ever given anyone,” he admitted.

You leaned on the edge of the desk, hands behind you for balance, just close enough to pick up the subtle scent of his cologne and the warm sweetness of the baklava.

“You’re full of surprises,” he said, his voice quieter now.

You tilted your head, a soft smile tugging at your lips. “I could say the same about you.”

The air between you shifted—just enough to feel it. The kind of moment that made your heartbeat skip slightly off rhythm, like a record catching on a groove you didn’t know was there.

Oz reached for another piece, then paused mid-motion and looked at you directly, his voice still low.

“Dinner sometime?” he asked. “My treat. No desserts allowed unless you bake them.”

Your breath caught for half a second, then you arched an eyebrow.

“Is this you asking me out, Oz?”

He gave a rare, lopsided grin that looked like it had taken him years to figure out how to wear. “It’s me trying to keep up.”

You nodded slowly, that same flutter in your chest lifting into your smile. “Good. I was worried I’d have to bake an engagement cake before you noticed.”

He laughed—this time fully, warmly—and it echoed through the tiny office like sunlight breaking through clouds.

“Let’s start with dinner,” he said.

And you both stood there for a moment longer than necessary, smiling at each other like the story had only just begun.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Strong Enough

0.8k+ fluffy words of Karadec getting fed up and proving you wrong. (it's not a prank blurb but it is a from a trend so I'm tagging it the same!)

The Major Crimes unit is silent. It’s disturbing and unsettling, and you shift uncomfortably in your seat while waiting for someone to make a noise.

“Is Soto back?” Oz whispers.

Daphne shakes her head no, then taps her mouse to check if the computers are back up. “We’re still dark,” she replies softly. “So… what’s the worst date you’ve been on recently?”

You don’t have to see Karadec to know he’s rolling his eyes. Still, you smile at the distraction and move closer to Oz and Daphne’s back-to-back desks.

“I haven’t been on one in a while,” Oz says. “But a few months back, she asked me to get her an Uber to her backup date.”

“Oh, no,” Daphne exclaims with a laugh.

“That’s awful,” you agree. “She didn’t have to tell you where she was going.”

“No, she really felt like she needed to,” he explains. “What about you, Daph?”

“Went on a second date with a guy and he asked what kind of wine I wanted and then ordered something completely different.”

“Don’t tell me he pulled the I’m paying and I’m sure you’ll like it,” you ask, pinching your brows sympathetically.

“Better. He told me that my palette wasn’t refined and offered to help with that.”

“Gross,” you and Oz respond simultaneously.

“I went on a date last week, and he offered me his jacket,” you offer.

“That’s sweet,” Oz argues.

“It didn’t fit, so he asked if I was working to lose any weight so I could wear his clothes if things got serious.”

Daphne’s jaw drops as her brows rise, and Oz shakes his head.

“Granted, I don’t think I’ve ever dated a guy whose clothes I could wear. Let alone one who could lift me or anything. I’m not sure they exist in my circle.”

Karadec scoffs, and you turn in your seat to look at him.

“What?” you inquire.

“Nothing, just working,” he answers, opening a file.

“Sure. What’s the worst date you’ve been on?”

“Nothing as bad as this moment.”

“Someone’s grumpy,” you stage-whisper over your shoulder to Daphne.

“You work with cops, there’s fifteen gyms within a mile radius,” Karadec explains, “so you must be choosing the wrong men.”

“Okay, one, the cops I actually work with day-to-day are mostly desk jockeys. No offense, Oz.”

“None taken,” he interjects.

“And two, Karadec, I’m not going to go hang out beside a gym to get some testosterone-fueled meathead just because he can pick me up. I’m saying realistically, naturally, in everyday life, I don’t know anyone who could just romantically manhandle me for the sake of it.”

“Romantically manhandle?” Morgan repeats, incredulous, as she enters the bullpen. “What am I interrupting?”

“Detective over here thinks there are no men in Los Angeles who could lift her onto their shoulder,” Karadec explains flatly.

“Ooh, like the video?” Morgan inquires, pulling a chair to your side. “Ava has shown me a few, they’re cute. Not so much when the scrawny-armed boys don’t succeed, but still.”

“We’re not going to get any work done today, are we?” Karadec inquires.

“Not with Soto busy and the system down,” Daphne reminds him. “So, try to let loose for a few minutes, would you?”

“You really don’t know anyone who could do it?” Morgan asks.

“Nope,” you answer. “Not for lack of trying, contrary to what Karadec will tell you.”

“Tell her about the jacket guy,” Oz encourages.

Karadec stands and gestures for you to do the same.

“Fine, we’ll change the subject,” you sigh.

“Stand up,” he demands.

Morgan moves her seat back as you stand, and Karadec steps closer to you. He wraps an arm around your waist, bends slightly, and then your feet are off the floor. You clutch his wrist at your side as he effortlessly lifts you onto his shoulder. From the elevated position, you look down at him with wide eyes.

Carefully, Karadec lowers you back to the floor and removes his hand from your side. He raises his hands to his sides and asks, “Happy now?”

Before you can answer him, Lieutenant Soto returns.

“Are workplace crushes frowned upon?” you ask her.

“Shut up,” Karadec grumbles as he returns to his desk and retrieves hand sanitizer from his drawer.

“What did I miss?” Soto asks, looking between you and Karadec.

“Oh, we can’t explain what just happened,” Oz muses.

“Luckily, I filmed it,” Daphne announces, raising her phone.

“You did not,” Karadec snaps, spinning to face her.

“She did!” Morgan answers, smiling brightly, as she watches the screen over Daphne’s shoulder. “And right… there is the moment she falls in love.”

Karadec shakes his head, and you murmur, “I was kidding. I know it doesn’t mean anything.”

He tips his head to the left, then nods and reboots his computer. “Of course not,” he replies, though it’s the least convincing you’ve ever heard him sound.

[fluentmoviequoter]

A Picture of Happiness

Pairing: Adam Karadec x fem!cop!reader

Summary: When your robbery investigation and Karadec's missing persons case intersect, Morgan notices that there's more between you than professional collaboration.

Warnings: fluff, soft Karadec, Melon alert, case involving abduction and drug trafficking

Word Count: 2.2k+ words

A/N: The final scene is inspired by an idea posted by @venommie but I'm also planning a fic based more heavily on it!

High Potential Masterlist | Masterlist Directory | Request Rules/Info

“Oh, no,” Daphne murmurs. She leans back, turning slightly to look into Lieutenant Soto’s office. “Our vic was robbed last weekend.”

Selena sighs, then raises her phone toward her ear. “I’ll bring in Melon.”

“Oz, what’s the latest on the car?” Karadec inquires as he returns to the bullpen with Morgan.

“Still waiting to hear back from the DMV,” Oz answers.

“Daph?”

“The victim was robbed just over a week ago,” Daphne explains. “Part of a string of B&E thefts slowly progressing from simple wallet snatching to larceny. Lieutenant is alerting Melon.”

“Fantastic,” Karadec grumbles. “Are we thinking that the B&E went south? Homeowner was there, they can’t graduate to murder yet, so they snatch him?”

“From that house?” Morgan clarifies, her brows raised. “Not a chance.”

“Even the most prepared people can get caught off guard,” Oz points out.

“He had a Glock in his nightstand, he wouldn’t have let someone get that far into his house, or that close to him, without fighting back. Was there any sign of that?”

“No, there wasn’t,” Daphne says. “CSU isn’t done cataloging the weapons, so we’re not sure if any are missing.”

“I don’t see this guy getting caught off guard,” Morgan muses. “Not by some stranger sneaking in through a loose window.”

“The neighbor who wouldn’t talk to us this morning is in interview 2,” Karadec adds. “Lawyered up, but I think he’s just covering his own-“

“I heard a cry for help,” Lieutenant Melon interrupts, smiling as he enters the bullpen.

“Yeah,” Oz deadpans. “That’s what this is.”

“Quite the robbery spree you’ve stumbled upon. Estimated $2 million in property losses, even higher insurance payouts if we don’t start recovering things soon.”

“What’s the MO?” Morgan asks, flipping through the missing persons' case file.

“Initially, broken window, a few little, moderate risk items stolen.”

Morgan looks up, surprised to hear a voice she doesn’t recognize. She looks at you, then at Melon, then Karadec, and back at you.

“Yesterday morning, reported robbery used a crowbar to pry open a sliding glass door and cleaned out the safe,” you continue. “No sign of forced entry into the safe, just the door.”

“Strange,” Daphne murmurs.

“So, what can the missus and I do for you?” Melon asks. “Solve your case?”

“Missus?” Morgan repeats. She notices how Karadec shifts, pushing his jaw out as he rubs his jaw. It’s evident that he wants to speak but stops himself.

“We’ve been undercover,” you explain. “Trying to get this guy to rob a new, naïve rich couple.”

“Translation: she’d never settle for Melon,” Selena interjects.

“Hey, I’m a catch,” Melon argues.

“More like someone would catch something from you,” Oz adds.

You smile, and when you lock eyes with Karadec, you both shake your heads.

“Yesterday’s robbery wasn’t the same thief,” Morgan interrupts. “The approach pattern was completely different.”

“Approach pattern,” Melon repeats softly.

You look over Karadec’s shoulder to their case board. Tapping the simple black band on your left ring finger, you mentally review the facts of the case. Adding a missing person to a robbery case means the criminal is progressing. If more than one criminal is working here, your job becomes harder.

“Bottom to top,” Morgan says. “Your average thief works from the bottom up. Makes it easier to rifle through drawers because you don’t have to close one to get to the next. That’s where we get the whole ripped apart scene cliché. Yesterday’s case – and our missing person – produced scenes that were relatively neat. Because… any guesses?”

“The perp worked top down,” you and Karadec answer together.

“Right!” Morgan snaps, turning toward the case board. “So, if we remove these two cases… That gives us one planner, someone unafraid to go straight from- what’d he take?”

“From which scene?” Melon inquires.

“Yesterday.”

“Uh…” Melon opens the case file and skims it quickly before he answers, “A pair of diamond earrings, a Degas copy, and a thumb drive. Total estimated value: $14,000.”

“The earrings are most of that,” you add. “Apparently the thumb drive was empty, because the report didn’t value it in any way.”

“No intellectual property,” Daphne agrees. “Then why steal it? Not like they’re expensive or hard to come by.”

“There is something on it,” you realize. “Something he didn’t want the police to know about.”

“Maybe something worth kidnapping someone for,” Karadec adds.

“Whoa,” Melon interjects, raising his hands. “That’s a bit of a jump. It’s a thumb drive owned by someone who is not your victim.”

“Interior,” you say.

Morgan nods excitedly while Melon turns toward you with a sigh.

“The Degas copy was ‘Interior,’ which depicts a meeting between a man and a woman. It’s tense, dangerous, also called ‘The Rape.’”

“Make the connection, dear wife,” Melon pleads.

Karadec tips his head to the side, holding Morgan’s attention with his reactions to how Melon speaks to you.

“Follow me,” you invite.

Karadec moves first, falling into line behind you. You walk into Melon’s office without asking permission, and he scoffs when Morgan and Karadec join you.

“Get over it, Walter,” you encourage, uncapping a marker to alter his board.

“Is this even in English?” Morgan inquires, squinting to read a sticky note.

“Ha, ha,” Melon mutters. “What are we doing here?”

“This,” you answer, circling an address on the board. “The robbery from yesterday. Compare this address to the one of your missing person.”

Karadec’s eyes bounce around the board as he thinks. “454,” he realizes. “They’re a number apart, and the street names are just a few letters off.”

“As if someone had part of an address and was looking for something specific,” Daphne adds.

“And covering their tracks by taking something worth missing,” Oz says.

“He was looking for the thumb drive,” you deduce.

“Why?” Morgan asks. “None of our suspects – none of yours, either – have a clear connection to the victim.”

“Where was the Degas purchased?” Selena asks.

“Art dealer in downtown LA,” Daphne answers.

“Maybe someone should go look for another,” she suggests.

“Like a well-to-do married couple?” you ask, smiling.

“Precisely what I was thinking.”

“Well done,” Karadec says.

“Thank you,” you reply. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I need to feign an interest in impressionist art with my husband.”

Morgan’s eyes widen as she watches Karadec. He doesn’t react as before; instead, he lets you take his hand and lead you out of the office. There’s no sense that he doesn’t want you to touch him, no second-guessing of your intentions, or startled expression. He’s used to that, she realizes.

“So, what’s the deal with Karadec?” Morgan asks, back in the Major Crimes bullpen.

“What do you mean?” Daphne replies.

“He was ready to knock Melon’s teeth out. Followed a certain officer out of here like a lovestruck puppy.”

“Notice that, did you?” Oz interjects.

“What am I missing here?”

“I thought you were supposed to be the smart one,” Daphne teases.

“Karadec just texted,” Selena calls. “They found something.”

“Need backup?” Oz asks.

Selena chuckles rather than answering, and Morgan slaps her legs.

“Seriously, what am I missing? Are they some kind of dream team or something?”

“What did you see?” Selena asks.

“Karadec longing for her, but- wait. Seriously?”

“Can neither confirm nor deny,” Oz answers. “But the first part wasn’t that hard to notice.”

“What do you see?” Karadec asks softly.

“Some of these frames are hollowed out,” you whisper. “There’s more than paintings in here, but before we start talking, we need to know what it is they’re moving.”

“Drugs or money.”

“Isn’t it always?”

“Cover me,” you request.

Karadec nods, straightens his shoulders, and buttons his blazer as he walks toward the man at the desk. You walk toward the back of the store, pretending to look at the paintings as you locate the cameras overhead. Directly beneath one of the lenses, you bend your knees to lower, then run your fingers along a delicately beaded frame. Slipping your fingers over the corner, you examine the narrow slotting in the wood. When you run into a small plastic pouch, you pull your hand back and look at your fingers. The white powder on them could be wood or printing materials, but it’s not likely.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” you apologize as you return to Karadec’s side. “There’s just so much to see… to do.”

“Your husband was telling me that you’re a fan of Degas,” the man whose nametag reads Antonio states with a smile. “We’ve got no shortage of quality prints.”

“I saw my favorite at the back,” you reply. “They’re beautiful, very well done. We were actually referred here. One of our friends who shares our appreciation for arts, and its many influences, mentioned that his friend Leonard loved your service and the purchases he’s made.”

“Leonard is one of our best customers,” Antonio responds. “Any friend of Leonard’s is a friend of ours. Perhaps I could walk you through a bit of the influences we’re passionate about here.”

“We’d love that,” Karadec agrees, smiling at you as he traces his finger down your finger beneath your wedding ring.

“Two cases closed in one afternoon,” you muse as you fall into your seat. “Drug running secrets stolen, people abducted to procure more product, the American dream. You’re welcome.”

“We helped solve your case too,” Daphne points out.

You crack one eye open before you argue, “I had to pretend to be Mrs. Walter Melon for no reason.”

“You deserve a medal,” Oz says, shuddering for emphasis.

“You also pretended to be married to Karadec, no?” Morgan asks.

You turn toward her, then look at Oz and Daphne. “She doesn’t know?”

“We’re not legally or morally permitted to tell anyone,” Daphne replies.

“Under threat of bodily harm,” Oz adds.

“Promise of bodily harm,” Karadec corrects. “And, no, Morgan, we weren’t pretending for that part.”

Morgan’s jaw drops, and she turns quickly to look between you and Karadec. She’s observant and brilliant, so you fully anticipated that she would have figured out your relationship status already.

“Breathe a word of it to anyone,” Karadec warns.

“Yeah, yeah, bodily harm, I caught that.” She leans toward you and whispers, “I have so many questions.”

“No.”

“Wasn’t talking to you Karadec.”

He hums, repeats, “No,” and tosses you his keys.

You wave over your shoulder, and Morgan’s excited chattering seems to follow you through the station.

Karadec watches you, spinning his ring on his finger. You feel his eyes on you but don’t say anything as you prepare dinner. When the food is in the oven, you wash and dry your hands, then walk toward Karadec. He looks up at you from his seat, and you smile.

“You’re brooding,” you point out.

“I don’t brood,” he argues.

You hum and move between his knees and the coffee table. Karadec leans back, spreading his knees apart so you can stand comfortably between his legs.

“Want to talk about it?” you ask.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve been waiting to all day.”

“Save the sarcasm, Adam.”

He lifts his brows, barely containing his smile as he lifts his hands to your thighs.

“Are you jealous?”

“Of course not.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“I know he does it just to get under my skin.”

“Then don’t let him,” you encourage, rubbing your hands down your husband’s forearms.

“Not that easy,” he argues.

“Yes, it is. He’s Melon, and I come home with you. Whatever he says or does, just ignore him.”

Karadec nods, and you scratch your fingernails gently over his wrists.

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you.”

“I also threatened to punch Melon today.”

“Should’ve carried through,” Karadec muses. “Sorry for letting him in my head. It’s been a weird few days.”

“I get it. No hard feelings. As long as you’re not grumps.”

“Did you just say ‘grumps'?”

You smile, and Karadec shakes his head as he tugs your hips forward. Before you can catch yourself, he pulls your knee to his side so you drop into his lap.

“Ah,” you murmur. “You don’t like that Melon acts all soft and loving when we’re undercover and you think you have to do it in private.”

“I thought you were a good detective.”

You inhale, playing up your offense at his taunting. Before you can reply, Karadec slips his hand beneath your shirt and rests it against your waist. Lifting your hand, you cup his jaw and lean toward your husband.

“Have anything else you need to talk about?” you inquire softly. “A case? Personal stuff?”

“No,” Karadec answers. “Not right now.”

“Right. No talking.”

Karadec nods, pulling you closer. “That sounds like a good idea.”

You smile, then kiss your husband. He holds your waist in one hand and cups the back of your head in the other while you hold his face, brushing your thumb over his beard and up to his cheekbone. Moments like these are your favorite, and make you remember why you love Karadec so much.

Although your relationship may not be common knowledge, you’re happy, content, and secure. The quiet nights after the long, hectic days make it all worth it. No one notices or questions why you carry around hand sanitizer and keep an eye on Karadec during joint operations. You appreciate the privacy, but they’re missing out on a picture of happiness, love, and pure joy.

[fluentmoviequoter]

High Potential

Adam Karadec, Lev ‘Oz’ Ozdil

Adam Karadec x fem!reader

Pretending You Can’t

4.1k+ words | analyst!reader | fluff | You're touch starved and wishing to make friends in the LAPD, but you move divisions so often that it becomes difficult. While working with the Major Crimes unit, you find a solution to both problems.

A Picture of Happiness

2.2k+ words | cop!reader | fluff | When your robbery investigation and Karadec's missing persons case intersect, Morgan notices that there's more between you than professional collaboration.

2000 Leagues

4.6k+ words | Coast Guard!reader | angst to fluff | Karadec is searching for a stolen yacht and a missing person. You assist him and his team in finding the ship, but you land yourself in the middle of a dangerous case.

Where You Belong

2.9k+ words | BAU!reader | angst to fluff | After leaving Adam Karadec in California to join the FBI's BAU, you return home to work a case. You find more than you expected to in Los Angeles: a second chance.

waves of feelings

3.2k+ words | detective!reader | brief angst to fluff | You don't realize that you like Karadec and he feels the same until Morgan points it out.

Lev ‘Oz’ Ozdil x fem!reader

Someone I Care About

4.0k+ words | detective!reader | brief angst, fluff | When Karadec pairs you and Oz on an unusual case, you get more than one confession.

Turn the Tide

1.8k+ words | brief angst, fluff/comfort | Oz is having a bad day, but it only takes a moment for the tide to change.

Third Act

3.9k+ words | actress!reader | angst to fluff | You are being targeted because you witnessed something you shouldn't have, but you don't know what you saw. As you try to keep your boyfriend Oz from spiraling, you offer all the help you can to catch a killer.

Going Home

1.9k+ words | FBI!wife!reader | fluff | You return home from an undercover assignment to surprise your husband, Oz. His coworkers are shocked to learn that he's married, but you have one more surprise.

Closer

2.3k+ words | angst to fluff | You have been Oz's best friend for as long as either of you can remember, both convinced that the love you feel is unrequited. When you're abducted by a suspect, Oz has to work with his team to find you. He's ready to admit his feelings, but you beat him to it.

Blurbs

Strong Enough - Karadec x reader

[fluentmoviequoter]

Why We Pretend We Can't

Part 2 of Pretending You Can't

Requested Here!

Pairing: Adam Karadec x fem!cop(analyst)!reader

Summary: Months after he realized how touch starved you are, Karadec continues helping you overcome your touch starvation and get used to touch.

Warnings: touchstarved r, emotional vulnerability, canon-divergent backstory for Karadec, minor injuries, fluff and comfort

Word Count: 3.0k+ words

High Potential Masterlist | Masterlist Directory | Request Rules/Info

“Lieutenant Melon asked to see you,” an officer tells you.

You look up from your desk in the Major Crimes bullpen and nod once. You’ve spoken to him a few times since you were transferred out of Robbery/Homicide, but an early-morning call can’t be anything good. Coming in early to complete reports has become a habit, but your routine is interrupted. You lock your computer screen before you stand, and when you brush your hands together, you realize that the muscles in your arms and hands have tensed.

Last night, you didn’t sleep well, thinking about your loneliness and relationships that aren’t where they should be. It’s a cycle you’re used to, but one you thought you left behind when you found a group of friends and realized that Adam Karadec’s hands feel like home. Yet, it’s been a long few months since his unexpected house call, and not every day can be good.

“Good morning,” you greet, knocking on Melon’s open door.

“Morning, traitor,” he replies. “I’ve got something I could use your help on.” You open your mouth to argue that you have a new job, but he cuts you off. “I promise it’ll only take a few hours. I need some intel and no one else seems to be able to find it.”

“What intel?” you inquire.

“String of robberies in the nicest neighborhoods of Los Angeles. The thieves seem to be targeting houses with expensive safes.”

“Marketed as impregnable?”

“Some, but not all. Most of these safes run upwards of $10,000, and they’re opening them like pocket doors. Current estimated losses from the insurance companies is around $2 million.”

“Homes have security systems?”

“They do. I’ve got a list of addresses, safe makes and models, security system information, and how much time the crew spent in each home.”

“How big is the crew? And how much time are they averaging?”

“Five people, from what we can tell, spending less than 9 minutes inside.”

You hum, somewhat impressed by the criminal crew's efficiency. “Email me the information and I’ll see what I can find.”

“You’re the best!”

“I’m not coming back,” you reply with a smile.

“It was worth a shot.”

Back at your desk, you organize Melon’s quickly-typed reports into a spreadsheet. Then, you pull up property records to look for any connection between the homeowners. You don't hear anyone enter the bullpen as you compare and analyze the information about the different security systems and safes.

A hand lands on your shoulder, and you jerk away from the unexpected touch. Morgan lifts her hand when you move and sends you a close-lipped smile.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you,” she offers.

“It’s fine,” you reply, smiling as you shake your head. “I just didn’t hear you come in, lost in the work. Sorry.”

“What work?” she inquires, setting her bag on Karadec’s desk. “I thought we closed the last case yesterday.”

“The last case for now,” Oz corrects as he walks to his desk.

“I’m assisting Melon with a string of safe robberies.”

“He does remember that you’re not his gopher, right?” Daphne inquires.

“Do you guys carpool?” you wonder aloud.

“No, we just get to work on time,” Karadec answers, looking between you and Morgan. “You should try it sometime.”

“If you’re not early, you’re late.”

“And you’ll sleep when you’re dead?” Karadec challenges. “Thin line between dedication, obsession, and avoidance.”

“Are we taking a break from murder and mayhem for philosophy?” Soto interjects.

“Something like that,” Daphne replies. “Have anything for us?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Then we can help with the safe cracking!” Morgan announces.

“I think I found the connection,” you say. “Every one of these safes was manufactured in California, and the homeowners purchased them from West Coast Safes. The safes are installed by a five-man team.”

“You think the installation team is robbing the safes,” Karadec clarifies.

“I do.”

He nods, and Daphne calls Morgan to her desk for her opinion. Karadec moves to stand beside you, and his gaze drops to your tense shoulders, your muscles tightened from holding your shoulders back and up as if you’re guarding yourself against something.

“What are they stealing?” he asks.

“Guns, jewelry, silver, the standard safe contents.”

“Are the safes specific to those contents?”

You hum, pulling up the specs once more. “All but one. The most recent robbery was a tactical safe, but the insurance claim lists precious metals as stolen.”

“They could be looking for something specific, then.”

“I’ll pass that along to Melon,” you offer. “Thank you.”

Karadec nods, watches you email your spreadsheet and findings, and then steps toward the door with you.

“I’ll be right back,” you remind him.

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

You purse your lips, then nod. As you walk away, feeling Karadec’s eyes on you, you’re reminded of Morgan’s unexpected touch this morning. Karadec sees you past your professionalism and analytic abilities and sees the loneliness and touch deprivation you hide behind your smile. A few hugs from Karadec will help, but the emotions beneath longing for a caring touch won’t disappear if he stays close.

When you return from lunch – which you ate alone in your car because your friends are investigating an attempted assassination – there’s something in your chair. You pull it away from your desk and smile when you realize what it is. Last week, you investigated a stabbing in a neighborhood grocery store and saw a police officer Squishmallow. You couldn’t justify buying a stuffed animal for yourself, especially at a bloody scene. As you pull the soft koala into your arms, you smile. You suspect you know who may have noticed your infatuation with Detective Kirk. But there are no real clues as to which of your new friends gifted you the perfectly huggable detective. With him safe in your bag, you open a report and return to work, your heart feeling lighter with the knowledge that someone cares.

Running your finger along your opposite forearm, you attempt to soothe yourself and go to sleep. Your blankets are arranged comfortably, your new Squishmallow is cuddled against your side, and the mellifluous melody of white noise fills your room. Still, you can’t fall asleep because you feel as if you are drowning in your loneliness and sorrow. Your mind races with the idea that you’ll never be in a meaningful relationship, held just for the sake of it, or kissed breathless because someone can’t help but show you they love you.

Fighting the urge to reach for your phone, you close your eyes and try to imagine you’re somewhere else, living a different life. Your doorbell ringing interrupts that attempt to induce slumber. You ignore it, but the knocks that follow make you groan. Rather than looking at the doorbell camera, you remove yourself from your comfortable imitation of a nest, pull your robe on, and walk to the front door.

“Karadec,” you greet, crossing your arms over your chest. “Is everything okay?”

“I don’t think so,” he answers. “Tell me if I’m overstepping, but you pulled back. I know I told you that you decide how far this goes, but if you don’t get some help, this is going to get worse.”

“I know,” you murmur. You open the door wider, tip your head inside, and close the door behind Karadec.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks.

“I don’t want to pull away when someone I care about reaches toward me, but I can’t stop it,” you admit. “Morgan laid her hand on me this morning, and it hurt so much. I didn’t even think about it before I moved.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“Why are you being so nice to me about this?” you inquire.

“Because I’ve been there,” he offers. “My old partner and I were friends, we hung out, slapped each other on the back, and then he left. I was alone, and before I even realized that I hadn’t been hugged in months, I was recoiling from every little thing.”

“How’d you make it better?”

Karadec shrugs. “I don’t think I did. I’ve always had a problem with touch-“

“The hand sanitizer,” you interject.

“Yeah… so when I started dreading people touching me, I kind of accepted it. You can’t do that.”

“You did.”

“You aren’t me. This is hurting you. It’s not just the pain of unexpected touch; there’s anxiety, stress, loneliness, and based on the fact that you opened the door, I’m betting you’re having trouble sleeping.”

“You Googled touch starvation, didn’t you?” you ask, lifting your brows.

“No,” Karadec answers, incredulous. “I asked Morgan.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you step closer to Karadec.

“Do you want to talk to someone?” he asks.

“Not really.”

“Do you want to become a cat person and have them to cuddle?”

“Not really.”

“Do you want any help?”

“I… I don’t know. The only time I can remember enjoying being touched was with you.”

Karadec doesn’t reply, and you close your eyes, realizing how it sounded.

“Sorry,” you offer. “I just mean- I don’t have many people in my life, and that was new. But it was different.”

Karadec nods, but your eyes are still closed. He reaches toward you, stops an inch short, and lets his warmth linger. With his eyes on your face, he doesn’t notice you lean forward until your hand bumps into his.

“Why me?” you ask, blinking your eyes open but not moving your hand.

“Why not you?” Karadec challenges.

“That’s not an answer.”

You turn your hand, pressing your palm to Karadec’s larger one. He swipes his thumb across your knuckles, and you shiver at the feeling. Your shoulders drop at his touch, your tension loosening at the physical statement that you are not alone, that someone cares about you.

“Detective Kirk,” you say.

“Who?” Karadec asks, his brows lifting.

“The Squishmallow,” you explain. “Was that from you?”

“Cuddling something can help.”

“Thank you.”

“The less touch-starved you are, the easier it will be to encounter unfamiliar touch.”

“So, you’re saying that if I want to stop overreacting to being touched, I need to be touched more. That sounds like a solid plan,” you deadpan.

“I’m saying that this isn’t 0 to 60, you’re going to have to warm up to being touched. Hold someone’s hand sometime, shake a stranger’s hand, and then ask for a hug. Little things to adjust.”

“I can’t just do that, Karadec.”

He looks pointedly at your interlaced fingers, then back up at your face. Settled on the back of your couch, he’s shorter than you, and you look over his head as you smile.

“You know what I mean.”

“Then do it with me, but don’t let yourself spiral in this.”

“We’ll have to invest in bulk hand sanitizer,” you muse.

Karadec’s gaze wanders around your home, and when he sees your fridge - and the to-do list on it - he tilts his head in thought. “You’re task-driven, analytic, right?”

“I don’t like where this is going,” you murmur.

“Here’s your first task-“

“Are you my therapist now?”

“First task,” Karadec repeats sternly. “This week, find an opportunity to comfort someone with touch. A hand on their shoulder, tap the back of their hand during a shake, whatever it may be. It can be 2 seconds or 20 minutes, but you initiate it.”

“I… okay, I can do that.”

“Good.” Karadec lifts his free hand to your waist, and you step into his touch. “Does it hurt?”

“Not so much now,” you whisper.

Karadec smiles, then jokes, “First two visits are free of charge.”

“… doesn’t get me.”

Karadec hears Ava but hasn’t seen Morgan all morning. He walks toward the office where he thinks she is and stops when he hears another voice.

“Do you get her?”

Aware that he’s intruding, Karadec turns away, but he sees you through the blinds. Your hand rubs comforting circles on Ava’s back, and Karadec returns to the bullpen with a smile.

“Where is she?” Karadec demands as he enters the emergency room. “Now.”

“3rd door,” the nurse answers quickly, pointing down the hall.

“What was he thinking?” Karadec asks Daphne. “She’s an analyst.”

“She’s really good at more than analyzing, you know that,” Daphne reminds him. “It was an audible, and she could have said no.”

“He shouldn’t have asked!”

“Hey, you need to calm down before we go in there.”

Karadec slows, taking a deep breath as he heeds Daphne’s advice. The call that you were injured came as a surprise. You were going to look at a safe, accompanied by three police officers, yet you’re in the emergency room, and they’re unharmed back at the station.

“Hey,” Daphne greets, smiling at you. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine,” you answer. “They’re overreacting.”

“Melon said someone tried to put a drill bit through your head,” Karadec says, stepping inside the curtain. “They’re allowed to overreact.”

“He didn’t,” you reply. “I’m fine.”

Karadec looks at your face and then down your arms. You sport a few scrapes and a forming bruise or two, but otherwise, you look the same as you had at the station.

“Daph, give us a minute?” you request.

“Of course. Need anything?”

You shake your head, and she winks at you before she leaves. Morgan, Daphne, and Oz have known about your feelings for Karadec since you walked into the Major Crimes bullpen a few months ago to answer questions about a suspect you’d investigated before.

“Karadec, I’m okay,” you assure him.

“You shouldn’t have been put in a position to be injured,” he argues.

“Come here?” you ask, beckoning him closer.

He walks to the side of the hospital bed, and you push yourself to sit up before you drape your legs over the side. Karadec holds his hands toward you, ready to assist you.

“Can I please have a hug?” you request.

“Are you sure?” he checks.

You smile and nod, so Karadec leans forward, wrapping his arms lightly around your waist as you circle your arms over his shoulders.

“Thank you,” you say against his shoulder.

Karadec feels you relax, and he tightens his grip on you. You’re adjusting to touch – slowly, but it’s happening – and now you’re asking for it. He knew things were improving when he saw you comforting Ava earlier. Still, he didn’t expect you to initiate a hug this quickly.

“Only for you,” you say.

“Hmm?” he hums in question.

“You’re the only person I can touch without panicking,” you repeat. “For now, at least.”

Karadec pulls back to look at your face and brushes his finger over a scrape on your temple. “Then take whatever you want,” he offers.

A week after your unfortunate encounter with the safe crackers, you accompany Melon to arrest them and accidentally abandon your team in a time of need. Repentant, you get Karadec’s address from Soto and approach his apartment a few minutes before 11 p.m.

You hesitate before you knock on Karadec’s door. His late-night visits to check in on you seemed very out of character for him and still do, despite his explanation that he has been through what you’re struggling with and wants to help. You know he’s awake, but you won’t press him to talk or knock again, you decide. A minute passes, then two, and you shift on his doorstep as you prepare to leave.

“Hey,” Karadec says, pulling his door open.

“Hi,” you greet, wringing your fingers together. “I’m sorry for just showing up, but I heard about what happened with Oz. I should’ve been there.”

He shakes his head, dropping his eyes to your shoes. “None of us should have been there.”

“You got everyone home safe, though, Adam. That’s what matters.”

“I almost didn’t.”

“Daphne told me you saved his life. He’s still here, focus on that.”

Karadec shakes his head again, and you step into his door, raise your hands, and cup his face. “Don’t think about what could have happened. It’s a slippery slope.”

His hands find your waist, pulling you inside before he pushes the door closed behind you.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“You told me to comfort someone. I told you that I didn’t mind when you touched me.”

You move your right hand to his neck, tipping his face toward yours.

“Stay here with me,” you plead. “You’ve been helping me since we met. Let me return the favor.”

“It wasn’t a favor,” he argues, shaking his head in your hold. “You don’t have to repay it.”

“Then let me stay, just because.”

“Why?”

Your hand slides off his jaw, surprised by his question, but he catches your wrist and uses it to pull you closer.

“Why do we pretend we can’t do this? You feel it, I know you do. But we circle around each other, terrified that we’ll bring out the worst in each other.”

“Maybe the worst is all we can see in ourselves.”

Karadec presses his lips together, and you don’t hesitate this time. No more pretending, giving yourself excuses, or finding reasons it won’t work. That you won’t work together.

You press your chest to his, angle your chin toward his face, and kiss him. He freezes, flexing his hands at your sides before he holds you like he never wants to let go. Karadec is the one source of touch you can never be scared of, grow tired of, get enough of, and as you move together, you begin to see the good. You can’t regrow the trauma from before now, even if you left, because Karadec is one of a kind. You’re where you belong.

“Still think I’m your therapist?” he mumbles when you pull back for a breath.

“My place?” Morgan asks the following morning.

You hug Morgan rather than answering. She pats your back awkwardly, then returns the affection.

“Thank you,” you say against her shoulder.

“Not necessary,” she replies.

“Why don’t we all go out to dinner?” Oz suggests.

“I’m in,” you agree, pulling away from Morgan. “We’re a family, right?”

“Well, that answers that question,” Daphne muses.

“What question?” Karadec asks, pulling his eyes from you.

“The will they portion of what I told you to avoid.”

“It took my nearly dying to get you two there?” Oz deadpans.

“Don’t say it like that,” Karadec chides.

“What are we talking about?” Soto inquires.

“Family dinner,” Morgan answers, laying her hand on your shoulder.

[fluentmoviequoter]

2000 Leagues

Pairing: Adam Karadec x fem!Coast Guard!reader

Summary: Karadec is searching for a stolen yacht and a missing person. You assist him and his team in finding the ship, but you land yourself in the middle of a dangerous case.

Warnings: angst, yearning, character death, drowning, murder, fluff and a happy ending!!

Word Count: 4.6k+ words

A/N: 2000.

High Potential Masterlist | Masterlist Directory | Request Rules/Info

“Karadec.”

Daphne and Oz lock eyes when Karadec answers the phone, sharing a silent hope that it’s a quick case and they can leave on time today.

“Why assign it to us?” Karadec questions. “Wouldn’t that fall to Robbery/Homicide?”

“One can hope,” Daphne mumbles.

“Yes,” Karadec says. “I understand. My team and I will be there. Thanks.”

He sighs as he turns toward his team.

“We working a robbery or a homicide?” Oz asks.

Shaking his head, Karadec answers, “A stolen yacht.”

“That is not in our purview,” Oz argues after blinking several times.

“It is when the owner was reported missing three days before the yacht was removed from its spot at the marina.”

“Who’s the owner?” Daphne inquires.

“Local millionaire named Ashton Weatherford.”

“Of Weatherford Water Sports?” Morgan interjects.

Karadec doesn’t look surprised but sounds utterly exasperated as he asks, “How did you get here so fast? I just texted you.”

“I was nearby.”

“Of course you were,” Karadec sighs.

“And, yes,” Oz replies. “Ashton is the CEO of Weatherford Water Sports, but his brother Simon is the owner. Has been since their father’s death three years ago.”

“If he wanted the company to himself,” Daphne muses. “That’s good motive.”

“But we’re not sure Ashton’s disappearance has anything to do with the stolen yacht,” Karadec points out.

“How would one steal a yacht?” Morgan asks. “It’s not exactly the most inconspicuous of the vehicles.”

“That’s a good question,” Daphne agrees. “How do we go about looking for it, Karadec?”

He crosses his arms over his chest, tilting his chin as he thinks. They’ve worked robberies, homicides, missing persons, and every combination of major crimes; the stolen item has never been as grand as a yacht.

“The federal government has jurisdiction in territorial seas,” Morgan begins. “Within 12 nautical miles. The US Exclusive Economic Zone, however, has 200 nautical miles. The state has certain authorities in the EEZ, but that usually has to do with resources and marine life. If that yacht went out to sea…”

“We don’t have time to jump through hoops with the feds or the EEZ,” Daphne says.

“Not with our missing person coming up on six days,” Oz adds. “He’s already not likely to be recovered alive.”

“Especially if he’s on the yacht,” Morgan whispers.

“I can call in a favor,” Karadec interjects. He takes a deep breath and pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. “Let me see if I can get an assist a little faster. Oz, start pulling warrants for the yacht’s GPS, and somebody find me footage from the marina the day before the yacht was reported stolen.”

“On it,” Daphne replies.

“Who are you calling?” Morgan inquires, perching on the corner of Karadec’s desk. “Ronnie? Another FBI agent who likes you a little more?”

“Hello,” Karadec greets, ignoring Morgan. “I’m Detective Adam Karadec, LAPD. I’d like to speak to CMC- Thank you.”

“You know a Command Master Chief Petty Officer of the United States Coast Guard?” Morgan asks.

“Hopefully it’s enough,” Karadec murmurs.

You stretch your hands above your head and look out of your office window. The Pacific is calm today, with 3-foot waves rolling in every 18 seconds and a steady temperature of 54 degrees. You aren’t supposed to be at work today, but you were called in to complete some paperwork from a recent expedition. Now that you’re finished, you have to decide if you want to get ahead on next week’s work or go home and enjoy the rest of the day.

“Ma’am, there’s a detective from the LAPD calling for you on line three,” an officer alerts, standing at attention in your doorway.

“Thank you,” you reply. After he steps away, you lift the phone and pull it to your ear. “Good morning,” you greet.

“Good morning,” Detective Karadec responds.

You smile, leaning back in your chair. “What can I do for you today, Detective?”

“I’m investigating a missing person’s case,” he explains. “It seems that the man’s yacht was reported stolen a few days after his disappearance, and we’ve been tasked with finding it.”

“So, you want my team and me to assist you in locating the yacht, which you believe is at sea.”

“Right. We’re trying to recover the GPS data from the ship, but we have reason to believe it hasn’t gone far.”

“Where was it taken from?” you ask, reaching for a map on the side of your desk.

“Long-term dockage contract listed Marina Del Ray,” he answers. “The LA DBH was less than helpful, but they’re looking for video.”

“If the slip was rented long-term, there’s likely bills for electricity, water, and Internet,” you explain. “I’d get a warrant for those to try to nail down the time those services were discontinued.”

“I’ll do that. Thank you.”

“The yacht was reported stolen, what, two days ago?” Karadec hums affirmatively, and you look at the list of ocean conditions for the past week. “Assuming that it was taken some time the night before… conditions have been mild. Waves were higher last night and some patchy fog, but they could still be 200 nautical miles from the coast by now.”

“Ask if she thinks the ship could be docked at a different slip,” someone whispers.

“Have a new lady friend, Karadec?” you tease. “Is she at your desk for business or pleasure?”

“She’s a consultant,” Karadec says flatly. “Could the yacht be taken to a different slip?”

“If someone already had it rented or had a private slip, then possibly. They couldn’t rent out a new one without providing owner documentation and identification,” you explain. “If you think someone close to the victim took the vessel, then absolutely.”

“We’ll see if Simon has a slip,” Karadec murmurs. “And the other thing?”

“I’ll have a boat and a crew ready to sail from Marina del Rey,” you offer. “Give me an hour.”

“Thank you,” Karadec says.

“Of course. I owe you a lot more than this. See you soon.”

“You have a contact in the Coast Guard?” Morgan explains after Karadec ends the call. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why would I have told you that, Morgan?” he questions. “It’s my contact, and believe it or not, we don’t have to call in military favors often.”

“Are we going out to sea?”

“We are not. Daph, Oz, and I are,” Karadec corrects.

“You need my help,” Morgan argues. “This guy isn’t just floating over the continental shelf thinking about the best route to get two thousand leagues away.”

“That’s six thousand miles, Morgan,” Karadec says. “He isn’t going to Russia.”

Morgan stops, pinching her brows as she considers Karadec’s statement. “You know leagues?” she asks.

“Yes. We’re not completely incompetent.”

“We’ve got the GPS records,” Oz announces.

“Great,” Karadec says, pushing out of his chair. “Find Daphne and meet me outside. We’re going to Marina del Rey.”

“Shotgun!” Morgan calls.

“Good…” you hesitate and look at your watch before finishing, “morning, detectives.”

“Oh, I like the sound of that,” the blonde woman in the iridescent leopard print skirt murmurs.

“This is Morgan Gillory,” Karadec introduces. “She’s a consultant.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you say, offering your hand as you introduce yourself. “And a pleasure as always, Daphne, Oz.”

“Same to you,” Daphne says, pulling you into a quick hug.

“How do you all know each other?” Morgan asks.

“Lot of water under the bridge,” you answer, smiling. “If you’ll excuse my lack of uniform, today was supposed to be my day off. So, no titles or ma’ams or anything like that required.”

“As long as you show us the same courtesy,” Oz replies.

“Deal. Anyone need anything before we board? Dramamine? Sunscreen?”

“Depends on how you helm the boat,” Karadec murmurs.

“What happened to no secrets, partner?” Morgan asks.

You walk down the dock beside Karadec, and smile as you look at him and whisper, “Partner?”

“Something like that,” he answers. “Thanks for your help.”

“Oh, blessing my eyes with those sunglasses is all the thanks I need. Now put on your lifejacket and keep an eye out for a ten-meter yacht with a red jet ski decal on the port side, correct?”

“That’s the one,” Daphne answers, pulling a yellow life jacket over her head.

“Seaman Quinn and Seaman Jefferson will be able to assist you in boarding the vessel should we find it,” you say, introducing the two other members of your team.

“Why isn’t every case like this?” Morgan asks, sitting back in the seat as you accelerate out into the Pacific.

“We’re looking for Ashton Weatherford, not tanning,” Karadec snaps. “Show a little respect.”

You catch a glimpse of something about a mile ahead. The sun reflects off a red strip, then glints a bright white before the light dims.

“Ad- Karadec,” you call.

He stands from the seats lining the side of the boat and walks carefully to your side. You point over the boat screen.

“That look familiar?” you ask. “Big white ship, bright red accent?”

“You found it,” Karadec applauds, standing up straighter. “How far out is it?”

“Just under a mile, I’d guess. We can reach it in two minutes if you’re ready.”

“Daph, Oz,” he says over his shoulder. “Get ready.”

You nod to your subordinates, and they prepare the rope and grappling devices needed to go from your boat to the yacht’s deck. As you approach the yacht, you slow the speedboat. The yacht isn’t moving and doesn’t appear to be anchored; it’s simply floating in the sea. While you instruct your team, Karadec, Daphne, and Oz prepare to board the stolen yacht.

“I’m going first,” you say, connecting the carabiner on your belt to the rope.

“This is LAPD’s case,” Karadec argues. “We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

“And you brought the case to the Coast Guard,” you remind him. “I’m not going in alone.”

You plant your feet on the side of the yacht before you begin the ascent. The rope shifts slightly as Karadec follows you. Having him behind you gives you more comfort and a stronger sense of security than you get from your own team. At the top of the front deck, you carefully climb over and land soundlessly on the teak floorboards. Pulling your weapon from your holster, you cover the detectives behind you as they imitate your movements.

“I don’t hear anything,” you whisper.

“Why steal a ship like this to abandon it?” Oz wonders.

You signal to Karadec before you go in different directions, each approaching a door on either side of the deck. As soon as you push the door open, you step back.

“I know why they left the ship,” you murmur.

Karadec nods, motions to Daphne and Oz to wait, then follows you down the stairs. In the galley, you round a corner with your weapon raised. Immediately, you see coagulated blood on the floor, the source of the unmistakable smell you encountered at the door. While Karadec covers you, you walk through the galley and clear the rest of the cabin.

“We found your missing person,” you say when you return to Karadec’s side.

“Rest of the ship is clear,” Oz calls down the stairs. "What's unlocked, at least."

You follow Karadec back to the main deck, take a deep breath, and attempt to calm your stomach. Unfortunately, it’s not the first time you’ve been so near a dead body, but the sights and smells of death will never become easier to deal with.

“Ashton Weatherford was murdered,” Karadec says. He glances toward you, but you’ve recovered before he can ask if you’re alright. This isn’t your first time encountering the evil of the world, he knows, but he cares about you.

“So,” Morgan begins, leaning against the rail. “How do we solve a murder at sea? Which, by the way, is more Agatha Christie-esque than I anticipated.”

“LAPD still has jurisdiction,” you begin. “But if you need any more assistance, please let me know. My team can extract data from the ship’s computer, examine its body, anything you may need.”

“We’ll head back to the station and get the proper warrants. Oz, call it in?”

Oz nods and turns away to call Lieutenant Soto. You also make a call, and with the guarantee that a tug ship is on its way out to recover the murder scene, you relax. The case is far from over, but the answers Karadec seeks now have a physical representation. He’s a good detective, so you have no doubt he will solve the case. It may be too late to save the yacht's owner, but he’ll get justice. That much you know.

“Is there fuel in this?” you ask suddenly.

“I didn’t think to look,” Daphne answers.

Karadec nods, so you travel to the bridge and turn the key enough to see the gauges without starting the engine. You snap a picture before returning the key to the OFF position. As you walk through the ship, you look at the picture and try to make sense of the mismatched information displayed.

“Help!” someone yells.

You stop, looking around as you slide your phone into your pocket and retrieve your gun. The sound was muffled, but the intended word was hard to misunderstand. You push into a closet, but it’s empty. Turning, you look for any other place where someone might be hiding or stuck.

“US Coast Guard!” you call. “Where are you?”

“In here!” the muffled voice answers. “The bag! Help!”

There’s no bag in sight, so you prepare to call Karadec. Before you can, a metallic screeching causes you to jerk to the right. The lifeboat extended over the edge of the boat drops rapidly. Leaning over the rail, you see a large black duffel bag in the lifeboat. The deflated lifeboat, you realize.

“Karadec!” you scream, pointing your gun up as you twist to look at the balcony deck above you. It’s clear, so you holster your weapon and watch the raft crash into the ocean.

You push yourself onto the rail, keeping one foot on it as you watch the person in the bag flail wildly.

“What are you doing?” Karadec demands, running around the corner.

“There was somebody else on board!” you answer. “I’m going in.”

Karadec moves faster than you, wrapping his hand around your arm and pulling you back onto the deck.

“Let me go,” you plead, pushing against his chest.

“That dive could kill you!” he exclaims.

You stop, your hands spread against his shirt. “And whoever is in the bag could die. Please, let me go. Tell my team which side of the ship we’re on. And find whoever put that person in there to die; they’re probably still on board.”

“Daph!” Karadec calls. “There’s someone else on board. Find him.”

Daphne nods, then leads Oz away. Karadec’s grip on you loosens, so you pull away from him and return to the rail.

“You owe me dinner if I survive this,” you say, smiling before you jump off the rail. As you near the water, you tense your muscles, point your toes, and enter the water in one tight line. It hurts, and your limbs feel heavy as you’re submerged in the cool water. Opening your eyes, you ignore the burn of the salt water as you search for the sinking black bag. Your head feels like it’s shrinking, and your vision begins to narrow, blackening around the edges as your fingers wrap around the end of the bag.

“Go!” Karadec yells. “Now!”

Morgan holds on to the back of her seat, looking out into the ocean as the speedboat accelerates quickly around the bow to the starboard side of the yacht. The deflated life raft is still rising and falling with the waves, but there’s no sign of you or the person in the bag you claimed to have seen. Karadec leans over the stern, looking for you, but the water is too dark to see anything.

“Karadec!” Oz calls from the main deck of the yacht. “We’ve got Simon in custody!”

“She’s been under too long,” Karadec decides, shedding his blazer. “I’m going in.”

“We can’t let you do that, sir,” Seaman Quinn argues.

“And I can’t sit here and let her drown!”

“You can’t stop both of us,” Morgan adds, standing beside Karadec.

“She is my CMC,” Jefferson says. “You think this isn’t killing me?”

“Clearly it isn’t, or you would’ve jumped in already!” Morgan argues. She steps between the officers and Karadec, and he takes the opportunity to jump over the edge and into the water.

“Man overboard,” Jefferson alerts. “We have to pull him back in.”

“Actually, you need to help Detectives Forrester and Ozdil secure the prisoner, no?” Morgan challenges.

“Come on,” Karadec pleads. He inhales deeply, then flips to go under the waves. Without any thought for his safety, he stays under until he sees the black bag. After resurfacing for one more breath, he grips the strap with both hands and pulls as hard as possible while kicking himself back up toward the surface.

Karadec coughs, sputtering water as he breaks through the waves. As he attempts to regain control of his breaths, the officers who refused to let him enter the water assist him in pulling the bag into the speed boat.

“Start compressions, Morgan,” he instructs.

Karadec lowers back into the water, treading for a single breath before he goes under again. This time, he realizes that a long black thread-like trail extends from the bag, now above him, into the darkness beneath the boat. He uses his arms and legs to dive deeper into the water, ignorant of the lowering temperature and increasing pressure as he follows the line.

He feels you before he sees you. The line is attached to your belt, and Karadec hooks his fingers under it to pull you up against his chest. Then, he wraps his left arm under your arms and holds you tightly as he pulls with his right arm and kicks his legs to save your life.

When his own vision begins dimming, and his lungs burn for oxygen, Karadec swims harder, tightening his grip on you as he reaches for the light above. He remembers gasping, pushing himself onto his back to get your head above the water, and then everything goes black.

“… still no pulse,” Daphne says, but it’s strained, full of terror and heartbreak.

Karadec realizes she’s crying as his senses return one at a time. When he remembers that there were three people in the water, he sits up quickly. He coughs, heaving water from his lungs before he can look around.

The wind whips harshly around him as Seaman Quinn pushes the boat as hard and fast as it will go. Karadec feels the bite of the breeze on his wet skin but forgets about his pounding head as he reaches for you.

“Hey, hey, there you are,” Morgan soothes someone over their retches.

But it’s not you, Karadec knows. He crawls to you on his hands and knees. On your other side, Daphne is kneeling as she counts chest compressions through her tears.

“Come on,” Daphne begs, slowing as she drops her head to your chest to listen for your heartbeat.

“You’re okay,” Morgan says.

Karadec pulls his eyes from your lifeless body just long enough to see that the unknown victim in Morgan’s arms is a child. He can’t be more than 10 or 11, and he clings to Morgan out of relief, terror, and likely confusion.

“It’s been too long,” Karadec mumbles.

“No, it hasn’t,” Daphne argues, her face tear-streaked as she looks up at him.

“Daph,” Oz says softly, pulling her back. “Let me take over.”

Oz begins more compressions and blows air into your lungs. Karadec owes you dinner, but as he holds your cold hand and stares out at the passing waves, he feels like he’ll never eat again. You wanted to save someone, and exchanging your own blood and life to do so took you to depths Karadec couldn’t pull you back from.

When Oz tips your head back to breathe into your mouth again, you twitch. It’s not enough to be promising, but Karadec pulls his attention back to you, holding your hand as you near the Coast Guard port at Marina del Rey. Emergency services are waiting by, but if Oz can get a sign of life now, Karadec might be able to breathe again. He wishes the water in your lungs could be transferred to his. He’d breathe past it for eternity if it meant another minute with you.

“Got a pulse!” Oz exclaims as he renews chest compressions.

You gag, so Karadec shifts to keep your head straight and avoid worsening your condition. As Oz finishes the round of compressions and Jefferson announces that he’s docking, you cough harshly and sit up. Before you can choke on the water in your airways, Karadec pats your back firmly. You cough again, spitting water onto the deck as you heave.

“Breathe, breathe,” Karadec mutters, holding you tightly.

You look up at him, take a shaky breath, then look around the boat. When you see the boy in Morgan’s arms, you collapse against Karadec’s chest. You begin shaking, and Karadec pushes you away, fearing that something else has happened. He sees the tears trailing down your face and pulls you into his lap to hold you.

You’re both wet and injured, but the feeling of your heart beating against Karadec’s is more than enough proof you were revived. Proof you’re still with him. As the paramedics pull you apart, you let yourself lose consciousness once more. What was supposed to be an easy day helping Karadec find a stolen yacht has taken a turn, and the last thing you hear is Karadec’s demand to be taken to the same hospital as you.

“It’s not good,” the doctor says under her breath. “The physical injuries are the most promising part of this.”

“Where is she?” Karadec asks. His voice is rough and it hurts to talk. The lights above him hurt his head even though his eyes are closed.

“Who?” you question.

Karadec turns his head toward your voice. He opens his eyes slowly. You send him a close-lipped smile from your hospital bed – which has been moved to be directly beside his. Your lips are chapped, you’re wearing an oxygen mask, and an IV is taped to your hand to deliver medication and liquids. Karadec realizes then that he’s wearing a mask as well.

“Who is the doctor talking about?” he rasps.

“The boy: Kevin Weatherford,” you answer. “Simon was worried Ashton was training him to take over when he turned 18. Decided to get both of them out of the way.”

“And Kevin?”

“He’ll be alright, eventually. The water damaged his lungs, but there’s hope that it can be surgically repaired. From what I understood, the doc’s biggest concern is his mental health.” You cough, folding in on yourself to mitigate the pain.

“I’m sorry,” Karadec offers, brushing his fingers against yours.

“For what? You saved my life, Adam.”

“I shouldn’t have let you jump.”

“Then Kevin might not be here. I made a choice, and I would do it again.”

“You’re awake!” Daphne says softly, stepping into the room. “It’s good to see you both again.”

“Thank you,” you and Karadec say together. Your sternum is fractured because of the CPR you received from Daphne and Oz, but you’re breathing because of it, and, over time, you’ll heal. The thanks you can offer will never be enough.

“How are you?” you ask.

“I’m not answering that,” Daphne replies. “You… we thought we lost you.”

“Does Kevin have anyone?” Karadec inquires.

“His mom and grandmother are here,” she answers. “Morgan’s been at his side the entire time, too.”

“Good.”

Karadec looks at you again, and you move your fingers over his. This morning, you told Karadec you owed him more than one favor, but now you owe him and his team your entire life.

“Room for one more?” Lieutenant Soto asks, knocking lightly on the open door.

“Always,” Karadec answers.

She enters and closes the door, then pulls the cord on the blinds to block the light and the eyes in the hallway.

“Are you really going to fire me while I’m still in the hospital?” Karadec grumbles.

“Quite the opposite. Although there is some internal discussion about why the LAPD and the Coast Guard were out in the Pacific without notification, we’re too happy you’re both alive, so we’re not going to deal with that right now.”

“We radioed,” you reply.

“Several times,” Daphne adds.

“You did?” Soto asks. “To LAPD or Marina del Rey?”

“Both,” you, Karadec, and Daphne answer together.

“He had a jammer on the yacht,” you realize, remembering the odd readings on the gauges.

“That’s why the GPS pinged randomly, and we didn’t get confirmation from a medic until we were a mile out,” Daphne adds.

“That yacht will be ripped apart,” Soto assures you. “And Simon is lawyered up, but there’s more than enough evidence to charge him with murder, grand larceny, several counts of attempted murder, and much more.”

You feel your blinks grow heavy and squeeze Karadec’s hand. “Can we have one minute before you give us the good news?” you request.

“Of course,” Soto answers. “In fact, I’ll come back tomorrow. Get some rest and feel better.”

“Thank you,” Karadec calls after her.

When you’re alone, with the door closed and the room darkened, you pull your oxygen mask off your face and look at the man beside you.

“I should’ve told you before,” you say. “Before I jumped, before I hung up the phone this morning. Every chance I had.”

“Don’t think about what you didn’t do,” Karadec encourages. “Not after the heroics you displayed today.”

You wipe the first tear off your face harshly, startled by the feeling of water on your face.

“I should have said it, too,” he replies. “But, what’s stopping us from saying it now?”

“The life-saving equipment between us, mostly.”

Karadec smiles, and you hear it, even if you don’t say it. You’ve missed opportunities to say it, but have seized every opportunity to show it.

Three Months Later

“Front page,” you muse, looking over Karadec’s shoulder. “Not bad.”

“Soto’s going to frame this,” he complains.

You bend at the waist and kiss his jaw, laughing as you stand before he can turn and return the affection. Karadec catches your wrist, pulling you back toward him. Your hands land on his shoulders, and you smile down at him. The front-page picture of you, both in uniform with your newly awarded medals of valor, is forgotten as you lean against Karadec’s desk and wrap your arms around his shoulders.

His hand ghosts over a scar on your abdomen from the wire that saved your life, and you use your pointer finger to lift his chin. When your eyes meet, his smile grows to match yours. Karadec stands, pulling you against him and into a hug that warms you from the inside out. You’ve both been required to attend therapy following your accident. Though some moments are worse than others, you think you can do anything together. This is the place where you feel most capable: in Karadec's strong, loving arms.

“Kevin is coming by the station today,” Karadec says against your shoulder. “If you want to come.”

“I’ll be there,” you promise, tightening your grip on him as your cheek squishes against his shoulder and distorts your voice.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you,” you promise.

Karadec sways gently, then releases you, dragging his hands down your arms as you prepare to spend time together before he returns to work. His phone buzzes during breakfast, and he shakes his head before he shows you the message.

“‘Name your first kid Morgan, it’s unisex,’” you read. You hum, then say, “Not the name I was thinking.”

Karadec drops his phone at your admission of thinking about it, and your breakfast grows cold as he holds you in his arms, the place that has become home.

[fluentmoviequoter]

Where You Belong

Requested Here!

Pairing: Adam Karadec x fem!BAU!reader

Summary: After leaving Adam Karadec in California to join the FBI's BAU, you return home to work a case. You find more than you expected to in Los Angeles: a second chance.

Warnings: fluff, discussion of past abduction and injury, canon-typical content

Word Count: 2.9k+ words

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“Do you ever just wish that we didn’t have to come back to Quantico?” Derek wonders, tossing a tennis ball into the air to catch it with his other hand.

“Every case,” JJ answers. “It would be easier to just fly from place to place without this stop in the middle.”

“You only say that because you don’t have a family,” Spencer interjects. “Studies have determined that weekly visits and constant contact with family members is essential to long-term physical and emotional health.”

“So, we have to come back so Hotch doesn’t wither up and die,” Derek muses.

“Like you could survive not seeing Penelope between trips,” you joke, scrolling through a case file.

“What about you, then?” JJ asks. “Ever wonder what it would be like to not be tied down here?”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair as your computer loads. “Every single day.”

“Whoa,” Derek murmurs, dropping his tennis ball to move toward you. “Tell me more about that reply.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Spencer mumbles.

“Not to everyone else, pretty boy.”

“Does he have a name?” JJ asks, smiling knowingly.

“Oh. Oh,” Derek realizes. “Where is he?”

“You’re not going to leave me alone until I give you something, are you?” you groan.

“About what?” Penelope asks, appearing as if summoned by the gossip.

“Fling wherever home was before the BAU,” JJ replies, pulling a seat up for Garcia.

“You? A fling?” Penelope repeats. “Tell us everything.”

“It was… nothing, it didn’t go anywhere because it couldn’t,” you explain.

“Why?” Derek presses.

You sigh, looking for Hotch, hoping to find a way out of this conversation.

“Hotch is in a meeting,” Derek tells you. “You’re stuck with us.”

“If you really don’t want to talk about it,” JJ offers, trailing off.

“It’s not that. Just…” You shrug and pull your knees up, pushing your feet into your chair. “A few months after I joined the BAU, I met someone in L.A. We hit it off; we were great, and I didn’t think I’d ever find that. Not in this line of work. Everything between us worked, and I could see myself falling in love with him.”

“But you lived on other sides of the country,” Penelope sighs.

“Right. It wasn’t even that, I don’t think. It was the constant travelling. We couldn’t just meet halfway or visit each other. You guys get it; this job is like long-distance but 100 times worse. We tried, for a while, but it was too hard on both of us. It was amiable, of course, but that doesn’t stop me from wondering.”

“What if? is a dangerous question,” Derek agrees. “Sorry.”

You shrug. “Job looks like heaven. Learned the hard way it isn’t.”

Penelope and JJ look at each other then. You’ve been on desk duty for two weeks, and they know that your last case left a mark - seen and unseen.

“Conference room!” Hotch announces, walking purposefully past your desk.

“Are you up for this?” Derek inquires as he stands.

“I am,” you assure. “Let’s go catch another bad guy.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear.”

You take your unassigned but understood seats around the large wooden table in the conference room. Hotch opens a file, glancing between the pages and a few pictures before he looks up at you and your team.

“There’s a situation in Los Angeles,” he begins. “A team of two to three people are breaking into homes in the middle of the night.”

“Serial robbery?” Spencer guesses.

“No, they’re not taking anything. Serial assault,” Hotch replies. “The Major Crimes team on the case hasn’t been able to find a connection between victims, locations, or narrow down their suspect pool. They’ve invited us to support.”

“Support?” Derek repeats, his brows raising. “They want us to solve it but give them credit, you mean.”

“I mean we have been invited to assist in the apprehension of dangerous and violent criminals. I’m sure you can imagine that Los Angeles of all places has their hands full at any given moment.”

“There’s no connection between victims?” you ask. “Not even tax bracket?”

“As far as their investigation has revealed, no. We’ve got middle-class parents, retired single women, and just about everything in between.”

“What about geography?” Spencer inquires.

“Here’s the map of the homes targeted,” Hotch says, sliding a thick cardstock image across the table. “If you find something, we’ll call them on the plane. We’re wheels up in thirty.”

Your team stands, but Hotch gestures for you to wait as they begin filing out of the office. Derek jokes about taking a swimsuit, and your smile deepens the rut between Hotch’s brows.

“You do not have to accompany us,” he offers after the door closes. “If you are not ready, no one would blame you.”

“I’m getting tired of myself, Hotch,” you admit. “If you don’t think I’m ready, I’ll respect that opinion.”

“Do you think you’re ready?”

“I do. The shrink you forced me to see thinks so, too.”

Hotch shakes his head. “If that changes, alert me immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s also the option of working with Garcia, staying home.”

“All due respect, this isn’t home. I need to get back into the field before I lose my mind. Or my abilities.”

“I don’t think there’s a danger of that. But, I agree with your shrink. Get your bag.”

You salute, your smile growing at Hotch’s tired sigh. It’s been weeks since you clung to Hotch, feeling as if you were drowning in the aftermath of a case that turned sour quickly. Now, as you prepare to board a plane and return to work, you wonder why the exhaustion won’t go away. Every step feels like you’re lugging cinder blocks behind you, and nothing excites you anymore. Not even Spencer’s rambling about the psychology of couples who commit criminal acts together.

“Welcome,” a woman greets. “I’m Lieutenant Selena Soto, Major Crimes.”

“SSA Hotchner,” Hotch replies, shaking her hand. “This is my behavioral analysis unit.”

“Thank you for coming. Follow me, we’re set up in the bullpen.”

Hotch reviews the basics of the case and your team’s purpose and procedures as you walk. You look around the station, wondering if anything has changed since the last time you were in an LAPD building.

“We have several ideas concerning finding those facts,” Hotch says, pulling your attention from the past.

“My team will be more than happy to hear you out on any and all recommendations and insights,” Lieutenant Soto replies. She walks through an open door and slows as your team moves into a line.

“Karadec,” you say, surprised to see him.

Soto shoots him a look before she says, “Yes, this is my head detective, Adam Karadec, detectives Oz and Forrester. We also have a resident consultant who isn’t here.”

Hotch introduces your team while you force yourself to focus on him rather than Karadec. You are keenly aware of his presence and how his eyes linger on you.

“The file said that the team was two to three people?” Spencer asks, setting his bag in an empty chair.

“Right,” Detective Oz replies. “Several of the victims claim it was a man and a woman, but others state that a third person was in the house.”

“Perhaps a trainee,” Derek suggests.

“We considered that,” Forrester says. “But we’ve got conflicting statements about their level of involvement.”

“Interesting,” Spencer mumbles, nearing the case board.

“So,” Oz murmurs, glancing between you and Karadec. “You two know each other?”

“We worked together,” you answer simultaneously.

“A while back,” he adds. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You too,” you reply.

“I found something!” a blonde woman in a patterned skirt announces as she enters the bullpen. “And we have company. Sorry.”

“This is Morgan Gillory,” Karadec says. “Our consultant. Morgan, this is BAU team from the FBI.”

“Wait, you’re Spencer Reid?” she asks.

“Yes,” Spencer replies, cocking his head to the side.

“I read your article on the brain chemistry of abusers. It was fascinating.”

“Thank you! The tendency to-”

“Agent Reid,” Hotch interrupts. “Perhaps we should focus on the case for now?”

“Right, right,” Spencer agrees.

“We’ll talk later,” Morgan whispers. “I have a few thoughts about the regulation of the prefrontal cortex and encounters with violence as a child.”

Spencer’s eyes widen as he nods, but you can’t bring yourself to be excited for him. You can barely focus on the case board as Hotch and Karadec present their findings. Unconsciously, you pull your arms across your stomach and finally convince yourself to listen, if only to escape your own mind.

“Agent Morgan suggested that we could attempt to set up a meeting between the suspects and UC officers,” Hotch says.

“Why?” Oz asks.

“May I?” JJ interjects. Hotch nods, so she steps forward and explains, “When we see criminals working in teams like this, they’re often drawn to similarly-minded teams or couples. Think of it as a double date. They look for people who are similar to them. If we could get out news that there is another criminally-inclined couple in L.A., they would likely be unable to resist the draw of meeting them.”

“We know they like the spotlight,” Forrester agrees. “They’ve left their headlines in other scenes.”

“Who would you like to send in?” JJ asks. “I can reach out to some contacts in the LA Times and NBC4.”

“I trust Detective Karadec implicitly,” Soto replies.

Karadec nods, then glances at you. “You up to go in with me?”

You straighten, looking at him rather than your team.

“Your choice,” Hotch says.

Nodding, you step forward and agree. Hotch wouldn’t send you in if he didn’t think you could do it, and your history with Karadec should make it easier to pretend to be a couple or, at the least, partners.

“It would be a fact-finding mission more than anything,” Derek points out. “Meet them, get information about their plans and evidence of the past scenes. Then we’d set up and move in before they can strike again.”

“And no one will doubt that you’re besotted with one another,” Morgan adds, raising her brows when Karadec sighs.

“Then let’s get you prepared,” Soto invites.

JJ exits the bullpen to call the local news outlets, and you finally let yourself focus on Karadec. With your eyes on him, everything seems lighter, the sun brightens, and you smile at him.

“Where did they go?” Karadec asks softly.

Your leg is over his knee, you’re turned sideways on the barstool to face him, and you glance over his shoulder long enough to locate Olivia and Peter, the most unsuspecting criminals you’ve ever met.

“They’re talking to someone,” you reply, brushing your fingers over his collar. “Probably their third man. Or woman, I can’t actually tell from here.”

Karadec falls quiet, watching you as you attempt to read their lips or catch a word of their hushed conversation. His finger brushes under your jacket sleeve, and you pull away from him without thinking.

“Sorry,” he says.

“No, no, no,” you murmur, looking at him with wide eyes. “Their third man just accused you of being a cop.”

“Do you trust me?” Karadec asks.

You shake your head, looking into his eyes as your startled, “What?” comes out as a whisper.

“Do you trust me?” he repeats.

Swallowing, you nod. Karadec doesn’t hesitate then. He hooks his hand behind your knee, pulling you between himself and the bar before he kisses you. His hands slide up to hold your jaw before he closes his eyes and opts to hold the back of your neck. You relax against him as he moves with you; you spread your fingers over his chest and forget that you’re pretending.

A throat clears behind you, and you open your eyes before you pull away from Karadec. You smile, wiping your lipstick from Karadec’s chin as you move back to your stool. Such a public display of affection appears to have worked; Olivia and Peter no longer look concerned about Karadec’s day job.

“You said you’re interested in expensive goods, right?” Olivia asked.

“Who isn’t?” you counter, leaning against the bar as Karadec subtly places himself between you and the criminals before you.

“Meet us at this address tonight. 9 p.m. We have our own purpose, but I’ve got good intel that the homeowner has a penchant for expensive art pieces,” Peter says, passing Karadec a folded piece of paper.

“You’ve done this before?” he asks, sliding it into his pocket.

“Let’s just say we’ve been called the 21st century Bonnie and CLyde more than once.”

By the L.A. Times, you think. In the article you left at the last scene.

“We’ll be there,” you answer. Looking at Karadec, you smile and add, “Right?”

“Whatever you want,” he answers.

If only it were that simple.

“Get in,” Peter demands, sliding the passenger seat of the Corvette forward.

“I thought this was your target,” Karadec argues, gesturing down the street.

“No, this is where I told you to meet us. Now get in.”

“Are you serious?” you question with a laugh. “No way he’s going to fit back there. I won’t fit back there and he’s taller than me.”

“What’s more important?” Olivia calls from the driver’s seat. “Your comfort for a few miles or millions of dollars of insured art you can sell and live off of?”

“Well,” you murmur, removing yourself from underneath Karadec’s arm. “When you put it like that.”

You fold your legs up into the seat, trying to give Karadec as much room as possible. If something happens and you have to get to your gun, you’d rather trust him to do it, anyway.

“We’re going to split up when we get there,” Olivia says as she drives down a darkened street.

“Why?” Karadec asks.

“Because two women walking together will remove suspicion from us, brother,” Peter answers. “We’re going in the back way and they’ll circle back so we can let them in the front.”

“Smart,” you reply.

Karadec nudges you, waits until you look toward him, and mouths, Come back to me.

You nod, shifting in the seat as you approach the target house. Your team and Karadec’s are following you, but you’re on your own for a few minutes until they move in. Something about how Karadec squeezes your hand makes you think that there’s more to this than him adopting a character.

You’re alone in Soto’s office, looking out the window with your chin in your hands when the door opens. You don’t bother to turn, assuming that Hotch is back after taking your statement.

“You did well,” Karadec says, sinking into the chair beside you.

“Thanks,” you reply softly. “You did too.”

“How have you been?”

Shrugging, you mumble, “Just been working.”

“At the bar, when I touched you…” he begins.

“Last case we worked,” you admit, dropping your hands to trace the scar on your wrist. “Unsub knew a little more about us than we knew about him. Saw us coming, had me cuffed to a wall before I even realized he was there. My team found me within a few hours.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Can’t change it now.”

Karadec watches you; he notices that the muscles in your forearm are tense and you’re looking out the window but not actually seeing what’s out there.

“You can change something now,” he points out.

You look at Karadec then, turning your chair toward him. “You told me to come back to you,” you say. “Was that from you or who you were pretending to be?”

“Me,” he whispers. “If you don’t feel the same, that’s fine. But everything I said tonight was me.”

“I want to come back to you,” you confess. “But we can’t do long distance, we already tried.”

“Then we find something else to change.”

Nodding, you look at Karadec. The noise in your head quiets. The memories of your last case wash away like the tide carried them away.

“I… I don’t want to go back to Quantico. I don’t think I can. I just, I’m so tired, Adam.”

Karadec lays his hand on your leg. He’s open with you, and though you know your history has a lot to do with it, you also see the promise of a future within his actions.

“Maybe a break in sunny Los Angeles?” Karadec suggests.

You smile, sniffing as you think about staying here. “Honestly? I think it could put a lot back in perspective. Fix what’s broken inside me, maybe.”

“You’re not broken. Just a little burned out, I’d guess.”

You nod, laying your hand over Karadec’s. Soto calls for you, and you thank Karadec softly as you stand.

“I’ll be here waiting,” he promises. “No matter what you choose.”

The BAU’s Gulfstream is 30,000 feet in the air when the sun sinks into the Pacific. Olivia and Peter are in custody, Spencer and Morgan have already exchanged over a dozen emails, and your shoulders no longer sag with the weight of the world.

“What exactly are you offering?” you ask.

“We could use a behavioral analyst in Major Crimes,” Soto repeats. “I’m offering you a full-time position in the department. You can take as much time as you need; this job will be here when or if you’re ready to take it.”

“I… thank you.”

“Now get out of here,” she demands, smiling.

You walk out of the station, inhaling deeply. Karadec waves, leaning against the trunk of his car. Walking to him, you realize that you were just burned out. Your team is your family - and they always will be - but you were a kind of lonely they couldn’t fix.

As you hug Karadec, you know that this is where you belong. Scars and all.

[fluentmoviequoter]

waves of feelings

Adam Karadec x fem!detective!reader request, brief angst to fluff, emotional vulnerability, 3.2k+ words

You don't realize that you like Karadec and he feels the same until Morgan points it out.

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Karadec is pretty like the ocean during a thunderstorm. At first glance, it seems dark, dangerous, all choppy waves waiting to pull you under and sharp rocks. But, if you wait a moment, linger in the cool sand beneath the clouds, you can find peace in it. The grey clouds reflect off the dark blue water, painting the horizon in a mysterious yet mystifying collision of danger and growth, spouting from the same precipice.

“No, she’s gone,” someone says, drawing you from your daydream.

You blink, and the Major Crimes bullpen comes into focus as the image of sitting on a beach with Karadec fades to the back of your mind. Daphne and Oz are watching you, smiling as you try to catch up with the conversation.

“What?” you ask.

“Oz wanted to know if you had the security footage from the 7/11 across the street from our stabbing scene,” Daphne answers.

“Oh,” you murmur, shaking your mouse to wake your computer. “Yeah, I’ll forward it.”

“Thank you,” Oz says. “Care to share what you were thinking about?”

You shake your head as you focus on finding the video. “Just zoned out.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Daphne jokes. “Here I thought it was daydreaming.”

“Fine,” you sigh, smiling over your shoulder at her. “I was on a pretty beach, far from murder and mayhem, with nothing on my mind but the beauty in front of me.”

Daphne nods as she pulls herself back to her desk, reaching for a lollipop. “Better answer. Which beach? Bahamas?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

Daphne sighs, then begins typing, drawn back into the real world. You’re lucky to have this team, you think. You can joke with each other and have fun, but you’re also there for each other when things turn serious. This job is hard enough as it is, and you can’t imagine doing it with anyone else.

“Shouldn’t Karadec be back by now?” Oz wonders.

“He’s with Morgan,” Daphne reminds him.

“Yeah, so however long it would take Karadec, double it and add half an hour,” you add.

“What’s the half hour for?” Morgan asks as she enters the bullpen.

“Fun facts, sightseeing, replacing the lollipop you stole,” Daphne lists.

“Hey, I apologized.”

“Doesn’t replace it,” you muse.

You spare a glance at Karadec, then turn back to your computer. He’s been different lately, and not just because of Morgan. Or maybe it is because of Morgan. Either way, you think he’s found something or someone that has made his life different. You’re happy for him, of course, but you can’t help but wonder why you don’t have that. Flexing your fingers over your keyboard, you remind yourself to focus, then open the video feed from a traffic camera less than a mile from the crime scene.

“Find anything?” Karadec asks, stopping beside your desk.

“The 7/11 had Monster energy drinks on sale,” you answer, leaning back to see him. “Four cans for $5.”

“Ooh,” Oz murmurs. “I might need to find a 7/11.”

“There are approximately 1,900 7/11 stores in California,” Morgan informs, perching on the corner of Karadec’s desk. “Or one store for every 21,000 people.”

“That’s a lot of stores that don’t even sell the best sour candy,” Daphne says.

“TOD was around 11, right?” you check. Karadec nods, so you continue, “Two cars drove by at a high rate of speed at 10:23 p.m., heading toward the scene. I’m trying to find them on other cameras to see if maybe they stopped around there.”

“Good work,” he applauds, nodding. “Let me know.”

“Sure,” you agree, releasing a breath when he steps away.

“Morgan and I found the store where he bought the knife,” Karadec says. "A hunting and fishing store in Rancho Cucamonga confirmed that the knife was purchased there. Apparently, they’re the only seller in the contiguous U.S., and it isn’t sold online in the states. Their legal team is prepping a list of buyers to send over.”

“Doesn’t narrow it down much,” Oz responds.

Karadec shakes his head, his gaze wandering to you. You’ve been distant lately, distracted. He'd ensure you were okay if he could find the right time or place. At the end of the day, when you all go home and the cases are supposed to be pushed out of your mind until you return to work or catch a break, he realizes that it isn’t his business. Karadec has enough going on in his life that it’s easy to forget to wonder about you when he actually has time to slow down and think. Like now, this stabbing case is familiar, almost too familiar, so when he looks away from you, that worry disappears, and he begins analyzing his own past for an idea of why he can’t seem to move past this stall point in the investigation.

“Still a John Doe?” Morgan inquires.

“Oh!” you exclaim, glancing at the clock above Karadec’s head. “I have to go. Meeting with the ME.”

“Need a second set of eyes?” Morgan offers.

“I’m okay,” you answer, gathering your things. “Thanks.”

After you leave, it’s as if a scale has been removed from Karadec’s eyes. Everything is a little clearer, the pieces of the puzzle fit together, as he opens the case file and turns his back to your desk.

While you’re gone, Karadec remembers why the case seems so familiar, why it’s bringing up memories of his field training days. He realizes that the sudden influx of nightmares must be related. Turning toward Oz and Daphne, Karadec prepares to tell them what he knows.

“My first year on the job, there was a series of stabbings,” Karadec begins. “Every victim was left on the side of the road with no wallet, no keys, and no clues as to how they got there.”

“A serial killer?” Daphne asks.

“The Rager,” Morgan says, snapping as she remembers. “They discovered the victims were run off the road and attacked by a man with intense road rage.”

“Right,” Karadec replies. “The speeding cars in the 7/11 video could indicate a similar situation.”

“Is the original killer still in prison?” Oz wonders. “If he got out, started driving again… could be the same guy.”

“He died,” Morgan answers. “Prison riot a few years ago, he was stabbed, passed away the next day. Right?”

Karadec nods, tapping his fingers on his thighs. In his nightmares, people he cares about turn up dead, killed in different ways by the criminals he’s locked up over the years. The vengefulness of wrongdoers has permanently marred his mind. If he had a chance to work some of his past cases again, he’d approach them differently. Maybe this is that chance.

Looking toward your desk, he asks, “Did the traffic cams show anything close to the scene?”

“Closest one was a half mile away, between the scene and the 24-hour grocery store east of it,” Oz replies.

“So, the other side of the 7/11. If the same car or cars passed it, we could get some more information.”

“How did the Rager get rid of the other cars?” Daphne asks.

“He came back for them,” Karadec answers. “Had a friend bring him back, claiming he was picking it up for a friend with a car repo business or something. It was a different time.”

“Exactly,” she agrees. “Today, you can’t just leave a car on the side of the road without someone taking notice.”

“Two killers,” you announce, returning from the ME’s office. You drop your bag in your chair and lean over your desk to pull up the video from the traffic camera. “I’d be willing to bet that we’ll see both cars driving by, going the speed limit, not riding each other’s tails, just going.”

The team gathers around your monitor as you press play, and it’s just as you suspected. You replay the clip, then pause it as the second car enters the frame.

“The bumper is damaged,” Morgan realizes. “They ran him off the road, killed him, then took his car.”

“Run the plates, Oz,” Karadec instructs. “Find our victim’s name and who own the killer’s car.”

“ME confirmed that the stab wounds were inflicted by two different people,” you say. “Likely one man and one female.”

“Nice work,” Karadec applauds.

“You’re not going to believe this,” Oz calls. “Killer’s car is registered to Rager’s nephew.”

Lying sideways across your bed, you let your head hang partially off the side, your hair loose and cascading toward the floor. You move your feet to the rhythm of your favorite song, playing on repeat as you try to clear your mind.

Across town, Karadec looks out of his window, spinning a glass between his hands as he pretends he can see the stars past the smog and city lights. The case is closed, so he could probably sleep without nightmares tonight, but his mind won’t quiet. It’s been years since he worked the Rager case, but he feels like he’s in the same place, back at the beginning, stuck in a continuous cycle.

He looks at the clock as your song ends, and you both sigh before you stand. Sleepless Los Angeles nights call for one of two things: finding someone to spend it with, or a midnight walk on the beach with a prayer you don’t get caught while it’s closed to the public.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you exclaim, pulled from your wonderings about why your life looks so much different than you imagined it would.

Karadec turns away from the ocean, facing you as your mind reminds you of what you’d thought about this morning.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he guesses, walking toward you.

“I’m surprised any of us can these days,” you muse, forcing yourself to look at the dark waves rather than Karadec.

“What’s your excuse? You closed the case, you should be taking a victory nap,” he teases.

You scoff, walking slowly beside him, dragging your feet through the loose sand. “Right, because solving a case is the key to turning your mind off. If that were true, you would never complain about sleep deprivation.”

“Those complaints are our right as detectives,” he argues.

“You… you might have a point there.”

Karadec shakes his head, a close-lipped smile gracing his features as the lights of a pier come into view.

“Come out here often?” he asks.

“Not as much as I used to,” you admit. “I’ve been thinking a lot lately – too much, maybe. The waves drown out some of those thoughts.”

Karadec nods. “Yeah, I’m sure you have a lot to think about.”

“What does that mean?” you inquire, laughing.

“I mean, look at you,” he says, gesturing toward you as if he answered your question.

“I’d prefer not to,” you reply.

“Seriously,” he continues. “You’re a good detective, got a stable job, a nice place to live, you’re pretty. Other than the hazards of our job, you’ve got it pretty good.”

“Yeah,” you agree facetiously. “If that were true, I’d be in a committed relationship, not considering adopting a cat just so I’m not completely alone between shifts.”

“Better to be alone that haunted by past arrests in your dreams,” Karadec murmurs.

You quiet, letting your smile fall as you nod. He’s right, of course, but there has to be a halfway point, where the good and the bad outweigh each other and everything is at the very least okay.

“What do you normally do on beach nights?” you inquire.

“Besides avoiding the patrol trucks?” Karadec counters.

“Obviously.”

“Usually go get coffee or something, stroll through a neighborhood.”

“Okay, midnight coffee is terrible for you, and I’m going to assume that you stroll through a moderately safe neighborhood.”

Karadec shakes his head. “Then what do you do? If my routine is so bad.”

You smile, pointing towards a break between beachfront buildings. “I’ll show you.”

Sitting across from Karadec, you lean back against the cracked red vinyl. The table between you is inlaid with newspapers and magazines from the 1900s, and Rhythm of the Rain by The Cascades plays on the jukebox by the door.

“I thought coffee was a no go,” Karadec says, opening the menu.

“We’re not here for coffee,” you argue.

“Hey, sweetie,” the singular waitress working at midnight greets. “The usual?”

“Yes, please,” you reply, smiling kindly. “And the same for my friend.”

“You got it.”

“The usual,” Karadec repeats. “My midnight go-to is unhealthy, but you can go to a diner every night.”

“You’re very judgy for someone getting a free treat,” you muse.

“I can pay for it.”

You wave, glancing out the window as you fold a napkin on the table.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Karadec invites.

“Not at all. Do you?”

He shakes his head, and you sit in comfortable silence until two bowls piled high with vanilla ice cream are delivered to your table. A long plate with various toppings accompanies them, and you smile as you say, “Thank you.”

“Midnight sundaes,” Karadec says, his brows lifted. “Much healthier than coffee.”

“You’re just jealous I thought of it first.”

It’s nearing two a.m. when you exit the diner and stop out into the parking lot.

“I’m a mile that way,” Karadec says, pointing straight ahead.

“I’m a mile that way,” you reply, pointing over your shoulder.

“Come on,” he invites as he begins walking.

“I just said I’m the other way,” you argue, following him anyway.

“It’s a mile regardless. This way, you don’t have to walk alone at this hour, and I’ll drive you back.”

“But I was walking alone before I found you,” you point out.

“Which is terrible for you,” Karadec deadpans, drawing a chuckle from you as you jog to catch up with him.

The following morning at work, which is only a few hours after you left Karadec, you feel oddly rested. You’ve still got a lot on your mind, but it doesn’t seem as pressing anymore, and you can see where you’ve succeeded in life. Like midnight sundaes, a brilliant advancement from your college years. Karadec comes into the bullpen while you’re scrolling on your phone, and he’s clearly thinking too, not greeting his team as he usually does.

“Are we case-free right now?” Morgan asks. “This is weird, right?”

“It’s never long,” Oz assures her. “We’ll get a call soon.”

“While we’re waiting,” Daphne begins, smiling at you.

You lock your phone and pinch your brows as you say, “I don’t like your tone, Daph.”

Karadec unlocks his computer, then turns his chair, looking between you and Daphne.

“I want to set you up with this guy I know,” she explains. “You’re single, right?”

“Yeah,” you answer slowly. “But I don’t think I want to date anyone right now. I… It’s not the right time.”

“Unless it’s Karadec, of course,” Morgan interjects.

Your eyes widen as you look at her, and Karadec clenches his jaw so hard you can see the muscle in it tighten.

“What?” you whisper.

“You like Karadec,” Morgan says, lifting her hands. “He likes you. You like each other.”

You look away from Morgan, your eyes bouncing left to right as you think. You’ve been evaluating every area of your life over the last few weeks, picking apart your feelings to find what was missing. It makes sense now that you somehow brought Karadec into every musing. When you thought about needing a break, Karadec was on the beach with you, a lighthouse in your storm. When you considered your career success, Karadec was solving cases beside you. It’s so obvious now that Morgan has said it. You like Karadec.

Karadec watches you as you think. He’s more composed following Morgan’s intrusion into your private life, thinking about all the instances in which you invaded his thoughts. After a nightmare, he’d open your text thread, type a message, then delete it, opting to sit with himself and feel hopeless until the sun rose on a new day. Even last night, you’d been on his mind as he stared out at the ocean and asked himself if he was doing a good enough job as head detective.

“I’m going to take this as a no,” Daphne drawls, sitting back in her seat.

“Morgan, I think you broke them,” Oz chides, looking between you and Karadec.

“Gillory,” Karadec begins. “We’re at work. There is never a time or a place for you to interject yourself into your personal lives.”

“Got it,” she replies, nodding. “I won’t be so blunt next time.”

“I just said-" Karadec cuts himself off with a sigh, closing his eyes as he shakes his head.

“I- I’ll be right back,” you murmur before you stand. In the privacy of the bathroom, you look at yourself in the mirror. You’d convinced yourself that Karadec would never like you, and it didn’t take much. Then, you let yourself believe that your entire life was running off the rails. Maybe if you’d just admitted that you had feelings for Karadec, you could have solved cases faster because you wouldn’t have been so easily distracted.

Rushing back into the bullpen, you don’t notice how Oz, Daphne, and Morgan look up, wide-eyed and ready to eavesdrop on whatever moment you and Karadec are about to have.

“We need another case,” you declare. “I think we can crack a cold case.”

Karadec watches you for several breaths, then asks, “Did you have coffee while you were gone?”

“No, that’s your thing,” you reply, smiling. “Tell me I’m wrong. This team can do it, and we don’t have anything else to do today.”

Karadec can’t interrupt you to say that Morgan was right, not with the others watching, so he smiles and agrees. Morgan already has a cold case in mind, and the board is filled with details as you talk everything over, sparing glances at Karadec every chance you get.

You knock on Karadec’s door long after the sun goes down and a cold case has been reopened, solved, and closed. In your cooler, you’ve brought ice cream, your favorite sundae toppings, and everything you saw Karadec use last night. You need to talk, need to clear the air, and address what Morgan pointed out today, but there’s no movement inside, no answer to your knocks. Letting your smile fall, you wonder if Morgan was wrong. The thought doesn’t linger long before the elevator opens and someone clears their throat behind you.

Turning, your smile returns when you see Karadec lift a grocery store bag.

“You weren’t at home,” he says.

“You weren’t either,” you reply softly. “I, uh, I brought sundaes.”

“I brought coffee.”

You scrunch your nose, and he steps past you to unlock the door. “Don’t knock it ‘til you try it.”

He pushes the door open, and you step inside, looking around as he sets his bag on the counter. Karadec takes the cooler from your hand, pulls the ice cream out, and sets it in the freezer.

“Morgan was right,” you blurt out. “About me liking you. I guess I didn't realize because I was caught up in the waves of my own feelings - trying to keep them from pulling me under.”

Karadec pushes the freezer closed before he returns to your side. Standing in front of you with only inches separating you, he raises his hand to your face. His touch is warm and gentle, his hand strong and calloused.

“I get it. Don’t tell her, but Morgan was right about more than you liking me,” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you as he kicks the front door closed.

[playbucky]

Together. // L.O

Having Morgan on your team always helps with cases, but when it’s more personal, she can’t always help herself. Characters - Reader x Oz, Morgan, Adam Warnings - Pregnancy? Word Count - 1.1k.

“Have you told him yet?” Morgan asked, and you looked at her, quickly absorbing her bright outfit for the day. “Told who what? You need to specify your outbursts.” You commented, she rolled her eyes and lowered into the seat next to you. “Oz, have you told him you’re pregnant?” She asked. You closed your eyes, sighed, tilting your head back. You straightened and narrowed your eyes at her, you could feel the excitement seep off her. “I’ll take that as a no.” She answered her question. “I did a couple of tests last night, but I haven’t had the time to tell him or even think about it.” You told her truthfully, you had peed on the sticks no less than twelve hours ago, only to be then pulled in. “Scared?” She quizzed, and you raised a shoulder. “Possibly.” “How did you know anyway?” You questioned, and she smiled widely before twisting fully to you. “You’ve been drinking a lot of water and plain crackers.” Morgan said, you scoffed and nodded, “Morning sickness?” She asked, and you nodded again. “I feel like it’s only hit because I say the positive sign.” You told her, she nodded and chuckled to herself. “When will you tell him?” Morgan asked, shrugging your shoulders. “Maybe at the weekend, meant to have a date night.” You told her, playing with the label on your water bottle. “Meant to?” She quizzed, and you nodded. “Plans seem to be pushed to the side a lot recently.” “Morgan, we need you.” Adam said, the pair of you turned and looked at him, and his frown deepened as he looked between the pair of you. “Time to use your brain.” You commented. She patted her knees before standing up and fixing the skirt she wore. “Make sure you phone me when you tell him.” “I’ll try to remember.”

“Marry me?” “I’m pregnant.” The pair of you said together, freezing as you stared at each other. “What?” “Baby, look at me.” He placed his hands on your cheeks and made you look at him. You blinked and focused on his eyes, which were filled with mixed emotions as he smiled. His thumbs moved over your cheeks, and he sighed. “You’re pregnant.” He breathed. “I’m pregnant.” You replied, his smile widened before he lurched forward and captured your lips in his. He tilted your head back, trying to deepen the kiss before you placed a hand on his chest. He pulled back, pressing a quick peck on your lips before resting his forehead on yours, both eyes shut. “Ask me again.” You whispered, and he pulled back. “What?” He asked. “Ask me again, Oz.” You told him, his eyebrows dipped before he cleared his throat. “Will you marry me?” “Yes.” You answered, and he went to kiss you, but he stopped himself. “I don’t have the ring.” He said. “I don’t -,” You started, but he shook his head. “No, just wait.” He said, pressing a kiss to your forehead before he stood off the couch, his foot getting caught in the blanket. He gained his balance and walked over to the chest of drawers under the TV. He leaned over and opened the bottom drawer, producing a small red velvet box. You rubbed your lips together before he lowered himself onto one knee, lifted the lid, and revealed the stunning ring. “It’s beautiful.” You said, seeing the small stone set in the middle of the band. “Y/N, the love of my life, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?” Oz asked, you twisted towards him and nodded. “Yes, I will marry you,” you answered. He removed the ring from the box and gently grabbed your hand, sliding the cool metal over your finger. “How long has that been hidden in there?’ You questioned, he dipped his head. “Five months.” “Five months?” “Yeah, I bought it after we wrapped up the double homicide.” He admitted, your eyebrows furrowed. “What was so special about that case?” You quizzed, and you noticed the tips of his ears go red. “Wait,” you held a finger up, “You acted funny after I cornered the guy in the toilet.” Your head tilted as you watched him, his eyes darted up to you and then back to the ring. “I felt like I needed to put a ring on your finger before you did that to me.” He told you, and you chuckled. “But it took you five months?” You said, Oz smiled and pulled your hand up, gently kissing your palm. “Had to be sure.” He commented, you hummed as he sank into the couch and pulled you onto his lap. “We should start thinking of names.” He mumbled, hands landing on your waist, thumbs moving over your stomach, warmth spreading over your skin. “Names, that’s what you want to discuss?” You quizzed, placing your hand on his chest, the ring catching the light. “Yeah, we should focus on them rather than the wedding, right?” He asked, an eyebrow raised, you looked down at the ring. “Yeah, unless -,” You trailed off, shaking your head. “Unless what?” Oz asked, he could hear the cogs in your head moving, “You gotta tell me, baby.” “We could just do a courthouse wedding?” You suggested, but he stayed silent, “Message the group and go down one day, just us and our family.” “You wouldn’t want a big fancy one, big puffy dress, veil and everything?” He said, listing off everything coming to his head, you shook your head. “No, that was never my idea of fun.” You said, moving your hand from his chest to his neck, fingers playing with the short hair. “Let’s do it then.” He agreed. “Really?” “Yeah, you, me and the group.” He said, “That’s all we need, right?” Oz added, you smiled widely before you leaned forward and captured his lips with yours, he placed a hand on the back of your head and deepened the kiss. “We need to message them.”  “They can wait.” OZ mumbled, pushing himself off the couch. You wrapped your legs around him, and a yelp passed your lips, “I’m celebrating with my fiancée.” He said, his lips brushing against yours as he guided the pair of you to the bedroom.

[fluentmoviequoter]

currently working on...

💌 Adam Karadec x detective!reader

💌 Tim Bradford angst

💌 Tim Bradford x secret wife fluff

Requests In Progress:

*These are the requests I am working on, not all that I have.

Upcoming Continuations:

✉️ Part 7 The Bradfords (posting June 27)

✉️ Part 5 of Bradford’s Princess (posting June 30)

[fluentmoviequoter]

Hiii I just want to start this of by saying I’m a massive fan of your work and really enjoy reading it . I also want to possibly request something however I’m not sure if you requests are still open so if they aren’t please just ignore this however I wanted to request for you to please do possibly a part 2 for the Adam karadec fic , pretending you can’t . Maybe where karadec is helping reader to still aa just and warm up to bieng touched . Or maybe just any karadec x reader fic as I just really enjoy reading them however there’s literally non except for your fic and I’ve come to just really love them so if you could do this it would be so so so great however if your not feeling up to it’s genuinely fine as well and you don’t have to do it xx

Hi! Thank you so much!! I'm glad you enjoy reading my stories!!🫶🏼 I had been trying to find a plot for part 2, and I love this idea, so thank you! I hope you like how it turned out.🤍

Here's Part 2: Why We Pretend We Can't