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kanerallels · 8 days

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For @chenford-prompts 2 Weeks of Chenford, prompt: Injured.

This is set sometime mid season four, and is obviously not canon compliant. It's also technically a deleted scene from a fic I'm posting later this week, but doesn't have any real spoilers. Oh, and it was inspired by a piece of art by @accidental-spice, that I will link here when it's posted!

(TW for hospitals and injury)

Tim felt like he spent a lot of time in hospitals for someone who wasn’t a doctor. Sure, it was bound to be a part of his job— hazard of being a cop was you got hurt. A lot. And he was fine with that.

It was when it was someone else who got hurt on his watch that things were different.

He glanced at the bed he was sitting next to, and his heart twisted in his chest at the sight of Lucy Chen, pale and motionless, hooked up to a heart monitor. He hated seeing her like this. It was unnatural for her to be anything less than bright and energetic and full of life.

She’d been shot on patrol. A shooter had gone after him, and she’d tackled him just in time. Just in time for him to be safe, and for her to be hit herself.

Tim could still feel the panic swelling in his chest at the sight of the blood welling through her shirt as he clung to her, begging her to stay with him. She’d been unconscious by the time the ambulance reached them.

But somehow, miraculously, she was alive. The surgery had been fine, and she was supposed to wake up by the next day. The others had been in to visit her— Jackson for a brief stint, Lopez and Wesley right behind him with Thorsen. Genny had been one of the more recent visitors, carrying a bag with his things, and had walked out again with Nolan. He’d stayed longer than almost any of the others— besides Tamara, who had been right there with him for hours, until the Greys insisted on driving her to their house, where she would stay the night.

Tim hadn’t moved from his spot in hours, and he didn’t intend to. Clasping his hands, he bowed his head, emotions swirling in his chest.

She’d taken a bullet for him. And that had landed her in the hospital. I failed. Again. I couldn’t keep her safe.

“Neck deep in the guilt spiral already?”

Tim’s head snapped up at the sound of Harper’s voice. Handing him a disposable cup, she said, “I thought I’d bring better coffee than what they sell here.”

“Thanks,” Tim muttered, taking a sip.

He could feel her studying him, and elected to ignore it. Finally, she said, “It wasn’t your fault. Lucy knew what she was doing.”

“She was jumping in front of a bullet meant for me. If I hadn’t—”

“No,” Nyla said flatly. “Don’t try and take the credit for it. Lucy made the choice to protect you, and she wouldn’t want you to be worrying about it like this. Don’t make it about you.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do,” Tim said. “I just— she shouldn’t have—”

“Shouldn’t have what? Shouldn’t have made the same choice any other cop would have made? Shouldn’t have protected someone she cares about?” Nyla snorted. “Sure. When she wakes up, I’d love to see you sell her on that.”

She turned towards the door, then paused, looking at him. “Accept the fact that she got hurt helping you, and then move on. Wallowing in it isn’t going to help anyone. Got it?”

“Got it,” Tim said, looking back at Lucy. Like it or not, he knew she would have said the same thing.

That didn’t mean he was going anywhere, though. Sliding his chair a little closer, he took her hand, lacing his fingers around hers. He felt Harper watching them for a minute, then she turned and left, leaving them alone together.

#2 weeks of chenford 2024 #chenford #lucy chen #tim bradford #nyla harper #okay two more fun facts! one yes jackson is alive and you can fight me on that #and two one of these days i'm actually gonna do more than just vaguely hint at my crack ship but apparently it is not this day #the rookie #writing stories is a kind of magic too #also it was originally supposed to be angela talking to him #but then she said something and i went wait a second that's harper talking #and then voila there she was!! i haven't written her much but she's one of my faves so it was a lot of fun

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ameliagiovanna0 · 1 year

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Feel Your Kiss On Me

Title from For You by Liam Payne and RIta Ora

Requested by @whiskeyloverbae , thank you! 💕

“Tim has a hickey and he thinks it’s hidden by his collar but Angela calls him out on it. “

“Lucy!” Tim called from the bathroom.

“What?” Lucy returned, coming around the corner from her bedroom.

He couldn’t help but rake his eyes over her in the kimono and sleep shorts she wore, her hair wound messily on top of her head.

He grumbled, remembering he was trying to be pissed at her, and gestured to his neck and the purplish mark forming there.

“Oops,” she posited, but the mischievous grin that spread across her features betrayed her.

“Lucy, we have work today! What am I supposed to do with this?”

“I’ll go put a spoon in the freezer,” she tucked her lips between her teeth, trying to suppress her laughter.

Lucy rounded the corner once again, wrapping her arms around his waist as he dragged a razor through the shaving cream on his face.

She pressed her lips to his bare back, “You adding to the mess you’ve created?”

She smiled against his skin, “I wasn’t planning on it, but now that you mention it,” she chortled as she nipped at his shoulder.

“Luce!” he tried not to laugh, trying desperately to be mad at her, “We share a locker room!”

“Oh, like it’s the first time one of you’s had a mark.”

“It’s a hickey, Luce. I have a reputation.”

He tapped the razor in the sink before turning around in her arms to her raised eyebrow, “We both know that went out the window when you met me.”

“You’re impossible,” he said as his hand found the sides of her face.

Tim wore a collared shirt into the station, forgoing his usual henley in hopes of hiding the mark his girlfriend left the night before, the frozen spoon not doing much to dull the offensive color. He put his white undershirt on and then uniform top on as fast as humanly possible, hoping none of the other officers noticed. He adjusted the collar in the mirror on the inside of his locker door and hoped it would stay in place all day.

“I should’ve starched these,” he complained to himself.

He left the locker room, seemingly unscathed. Angela asked him to see her when he came in for the day, so he made his way to her desk with two cups of coffee.

“Ange,” he set her cup in front of her.

“Hey, she greeted, “Thanks. The name Dennis Rand ring any bells?”

“Jesus,” he groaned as he balanced his arm on his duty belt.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes?’”

“I’ve arrested him maybe ten times over the years. Why?”

“He managed to get invol–”

Tim turned his head at the sound of glass shattering on the other side of the bullpen.

“Damnit, Smitty!” Angela barked before he even made it into her field of view.

“I’m sorry! It just slipped out of my hands!”

“Clean it up! That’s the third one this week!” she finally braved a glance at the mess of broken porcelain and coffee on the floor.

Angela looked up, Tim’s head still pulled in the direction of Smitty dejectedly slinking toward the janitor’s closet.

“Timothy…”

His body stiffened as she stood up. It was never good when she used his full name.

He turned toward her, “Yes, Angela?”

She pinched the collar of his shirt, pulling it away from his body and laughing like a maniac. He rolled his eyes at her antics.

“Tim,” she managed to get out between snorts, “Is that a hickey?”

“I’m going to kill her,” he griped.

Angela simply laughed harder, nearly doubling over, having to brace herself with a hand on the edge of her desk.

“Are you done?” he asked when she managed to stand up straight again.

“Oh, no. Not even close.”

“You two have fun last night?” She giggled again, “Oh, lemme guess. You bet on who could list the most penal codes in sixty seconds, and this was your punishment for losing?”

“No, wait! Lucy decided that she’d had enough of other women hitting on you, so she finally decided to do something about it?”

Tim blushed. This is not the conversation he’d envisioned for his Monday morning.

“No, no, I got it. Were you misbehaving?”

“I have work to do,” he turned to walk away.

“No, Tim, wait!” she tried not to laugh again.

He turned around only long enough to flip her the bird.

“Your life would be so boring without me!”

He shook his head, a reluctantly amused smile on his face as he made his way to his office. He kind of hated her for it, but it was just Angela’s way of showing affection.

Sitting behind his own desk, Tim placed his coffee down when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

A: Dennis Rand, asshole. I needed info

T: Maybe you shouldn’t have made fun of me then

A: whatever, I’ll just ask Lucy. Among other things 😁

T: I hate you both

A: You love us

Tim shot a text off to the woman in question.

T: in case you didn’t hear the cackling coming from the bullpen, Angela found the monstrosity you left on my neck

T: Maybe I should return the favor tonight

L: don’t threaten me with a good time bradford

He chuckled, setting his phone down.

This was going to be a long day.

#i know most people don't title drabbles #but i wanted to #it keeps me organzied #this is essentially a crack fic #it made me giggle #the rookie #chenford #chenford fic #chenford fanfic #chenford fanfiction #lucy chen #tim bradford #angela lopez #quigley smitty #amelia’s requests ✉#i may or may not post this on ao3 #ameliagiovanna writes

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thepotentialof2007 · 9 months

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Lewis getting a big hug and smile from his bodyguard, Lloyd, after winning pole at the 2023 Hungarian GP

📷. formu1a uno

#lewis hamilton #hugs #bodyguard #qualifying #hungary #2023 #this is really sweet #never see lloyd crack a smile #makes sense when he's on the clock #as a big bad #in public #the angela analogue person #who is also smiling big here #am told is stevo!

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lumiereandcogsworth · 27 days

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#i haven’t watched the whole vid yet but i cracked up at this part on my lunch break lmao #smosh #smosh games #don’t win mario party #spencer agnew #trevor evarts #shayne topp #angela giarratana #op

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softestaura · 1 year

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Kidä for Crack Magazine by Cassar, styled by ZJ. Corona

#kidä #crack magazine #angela reyna #ketvoid

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blackgirlsreverything · 1 year

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#her black don’t crack #angela bassett #madonna

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therealmofamorus · 3 months

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Crossover Crack Ship: Angelic Amplification/Jaugela/Mercy and Chivalry

Mercy:

Jaune Arc:

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hausofmamadas · 10 months

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| Our man in Mexico |

⁂

Pairing: Andrea Nuñez x Horacio Carrillo

For @narcosfandomdiscord Summer of Smut Alphabet: July 1 - [A] Angry sex

Word count: ≈ 2.5K

TWs: smut, biting, slapping, hair pulling andrea being her bestest, most cuntiest self

“Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I need you.” After the fall of Escobar in Colombia, everyone's favorite hot-headed, helicopter-shucking Colonel Horacio Carrillo has managed to make it out with not just his life in tact, but with a clean enough reputation to make the DOJ's shortlist of military officials to head up a new military investigation of the alleged collusion between General Jesus Guttiérez Rebollo and the Juarez cartel. He's stationed in Tijuana, Rebollo's last base of operations, where he personally and professionally crosses paths with rebel-with-many-causes journalist Andrea Nuñez, still reporting for La Voz. But when he puts a gag order on all things related to the Rebollo scandal in an effort to protect her, Andrea's fed tf up. And tells him as much. right to his face. Only one question remains: what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? Carrillo fucks around and finds out.

⁂

“Señorita! N— no puedes entrar ahí, por favor! He’s in a meeting. I can’t— If you don’t have an appointment, I can’t let you back there!”

Andrea walked over to the door of the embassy office without a word and barged through, tearing down the hall. The secretary scrambled from behind the desk like a spooked rabbit, little kitten heels click-clacking on the tiled floor as she struggled to keep up with Andrea’s long, steadfast strides. And this, ladies, is why it pays to wear sensible footwear. The poor woman was just doing her job but her frantic puttering and cries of, “Señorita! You can’t be back here!” only served to build the rage in Andrea’s chest more.

She stopped so cold and turned around so fast, the woman’s forehead nearly slammed right into her own.

Andrea crossed her arms. “Mira, vieja. You haven’t even called security, so unless you’re going to tackle me to the ground and throw me out yourself, and—“ she glanced down at the woman’s heels, eyebrow cocked smugly, “—you could try but I don’t think you’d get far in those— I’m getting into that goddamn office one way or another.”

The woman sputtered something unintelligible. Andrea couldn’t be bothered to let her piece a proper sentence together before cutting her off with a curt, “ya eso es lo que pensaba.”

She turned back and kept on tearing down the hallway, closer and closer to the door marked, ‘Colonel Horacio Carrillo’ in block letters that were just as uppity and patronizing as he was. Or maybe it was just because it was his office, the arrogant prick.

Sure, he was a legend back in Colombia. Sure, he helped take down the biggest, baddest drug trafficker the world had ever seen. But if this asshole thought a gag order was gonna fly in the wake of Rebollo’s mess — which, oh by the way, she helped to expose — he was deader than General Jesus Gutiérrez Rebollo’s reputation. She refused to be cowed by the AFO goons who followed her to her car on late nights after work. She certainly wasn’t going to be intimidated by this Colombian haircut. He wasn’t even threatening to slash her tires. So, what was a bit of healthy confrontation between friendly colleagues? Making an appointment would’ve just spoiled the mood.

As her hand landed on the door handle, she smirked at the sound of muffled voices inside. Huh. So, he really was conducting business. In Mexico, “he’s in a meeting,” was usually code for he’s actually chain smoking at his desk, on the phone chatting away with his mistress on company time. But no, it seemed Carrillo hadn’t been dodging the press. Maybe just her calls.

For a split second and against her own will, the image of him sitting at the bar flashed in her mind. The night she met him. Well, not him, him. Not as she knew him now, no more than a stranger, dressed like a dad, but in well-tailored khakis and a grey polo that fit far too smartly for him to actually be anyone’s dad. She’d come to find out he was divorced, no kids, so a dad he certainly wasn’t which, if the rumors she’d heard about Search Bloc were true, made more sense and still wasn’t comforting in the slightest. But she didn’t know about any of that yet.

Around here, strangers in dimly lit bars were seldom safe and fewer troubled themselves to even establish a pretense of safety. But he was a different, safer kind of stranger. She didn't know how she knew but she didn't. He must’ve been anyway, since she didn’t usually make it a habit of taking strangers back to her car after some pleasant, cheap conversation and a few shots of even cheaper bourbon.

And yet, that’s where he ended up. The back seat of her stationwagon, his firm lips encased against hers, breath deliciously hot and sticky on her neck, fingers ruthlessly digging into the flesh of her hips as she ground them down onto his, car windows all smudged with insistent palm prints that said something along the lines of, ‘mmm, that’s right. Yes, just a little closer.’ A couple of months later and those stupid smudges were still there. She noticed them crossly when she’d parked outside, moments before accosting the man’s poor secretary. She'd wondered aimlessly if he’d even know what they were if he saw them. Would she want him to? Maybe that’s why she was in such a foul mood. She didn’t know.

Shaking her head, the indecent image dissolved noncommittally into thick, black ink behind her eyelids, like answers disappearing in a magic eight ball. Outlook not so good, ask again later. Oh whatever, fuck off. I don’t even have enough sense to regret the whole thing. So just fuck off.

The momentum of the door swinging open fueled her ire again, and she breathed it in, soaking it up., letting it fuel her. When the handle smacked against the wall, three heads whipped around to stare at her in shock. It looked so rehearsed, she couldn’t resist the urge to crack a sly smile. Carrillo’s nostrils flared. Yeah, that’s right. Fuck off. She strode between the two suits seated at each corner of his desk, to face him across it. He barely moved an inch, elbows propped up on the armrests of that big, obnoxious executive chair he sat in behind the desk.

Leaning forward, knuckles pressed flat on the papers strewn across like all of it was hers, she said cooly, “Sorry to interrupt, Colonel. But you’ve been dodging my calls, so thought it best to pay you a visit. Call it professional due diligence.”

He was fuming, dark eyes lit with indignation and what else was it? Maybe panic. But all that Boy-Scout-School-of-the-Americas training must’ve kicked in because he didn’t miss a beat. “Mm. Due diligence? About what, exactly?

“To ask you a simple but very important question.”

He waited.

“To ask how— after only a few months, just how is it that you think you already own the journalists in this city? I thought the point of bringing in an outsider was to avoid corruption, not perpetuate it by silencing the people’s right to free press. Or is that how you rolled back in Colombia? You and your Search Bloc.”

He knit his brows and, as if he just remembered they were there, glanced at the two men still seated, who watched them with a combination of confusion and the voyeuristic enthusiasm of a housewife watching her favorite novela.

“Gentlemen,” Carrillo cleared his throat and motioned to the door, “we’ll have to pick this up later.” His jaw hardened, eyes moving from the door to Andrea, going from resigned to livid in mere seconds. “It seems, despite her due diligence, Ms. Nuñez must not be that great a journalist because she doesn’t know how to take ‘no comment’ for an answer.”

That was a low fucking blow and he knew it. Well, what the man lacked for in hospitality, he more than made up for in emotional range. One of the men tipped his hat as he stood up and gave a sheepish shrug before heading to the door. The other nearly tripped over his chair on the way out, seemingly unable resist the temptation to observe them with wonder like a couple of zoo animals. Two fingers to her forehead, Andrea gave them a tiny salute filled to the brim with disdain.

Once the door closed, she rolled her head back around to face Carrillo, who looked like he could throttle her right there.

“If I were a man, you’d hit me right now, wouldn’t you?” she said like it was a dare. Ignoring the blaze of shock all over his face, she continued to press, still leaning over the desk. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Carrillo opened a drawer and rifled around for something. He came out with a pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, lit it, and then leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh.

“Well?”

He took an infuriatingly long drag, and exhaled the smoke in her face, so that an opaque cloud now filled the space between them. On purpose. Naturally. This wasn’t his first rodeo with angry reporters. But this was his first rodeo with her. She straightened upright, waiting for him to speak.

“Well, before I can answer that, I have a follow-up question.”

She crossed her arms, swinging one hip out to the side, “O, sí?” inviting him to continue treading on dangerous conversational ground.

Nodding, “Sí, sí,” he flashed a cynical smirk that dissolved into a glare as he looked up at her and gave a perfunctory tap of his cigarette into the ashtray on his desk. “Just who the fuck do you think you are, barging into my office like this?”

“Just who the fuck do you think you are, putting a gag order on all press inquiries relating to Rebollo’s trial?” she shot back.

He dragged long and deep from his cigarette again like it was an oxygen mask, then said dismissively, “It’s a big case. A lot of moving parts. You know the judge makes that call, not me.”

“Wow, you really must believe I am that bad at my job if you think I’m naive enough to buy that bullshit. As if you have no sway with Mexican judges who can be bought for less than a few pesos.” She laughed bitter as battery acid, “Venga ya pues. No me shingües con esas mamadas, cabrón.”

There was a beat of silence before he stood up, stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray, saying through gritted teeth, “No. I don’t think you’re bad at your job.” He rolled his eyes, grumbling, “That’s the entire problem. Cierto? Sí porque eres una cachorra con un pinche hueso entre tus dientes.”

Her eyes narrowed. What the fuck was he playing at paying her a compliment like that.

“What? What am I supposed to say? Thank you?”

A tacit desperation crept under his glare now, an equal measure of anger and pleading for her to understand.

Oh, no. That’s when she put it together. Oh, hell no. Her face fell and she dropped her arms to her sides. No. No, he didn’t. He wouldn’t dare.

“No. No me digas que t—“

His glare melted, eyes full of nothing but pleading now as he stepped around the desk to join her on the other side.

“Okay, yes I talked to the judge. But Andrea, I only sugges—“

“No.” She backed away, dropping her bag on the ground. “Don’t do that. You don’t get to say my name like you know me well enough to patronize me this way.”

“You have to underst—“

“Understand?? What do I need to understand??? Hmm? What? That I might get hurt? That my job is dangerous? That journalists in this town have a short fucking shelf life? Or oh, that you what? You care now? You’re what? Trying to protect me?”

“Look, Andrea.” She wished he’d stop saying her name. “I know you're tough. You can take care of yourself. But this is bigger than you and you're not bulletproof. The pockets this Rebollo had his hands in? They’re more dangerous than some thugs following you to work or harassing you in the street. They’ll ruin your reputation, your livelihood, take anything you have, maybe even have you killed.”

“That’s never stopped me before.”

Carrillo pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Andrea. After you’re gone, they’ll come after your colleagues, friends, family.” She could tell he was growing more defensive by the way he strained to keep his voice level. “Corruption on this scale does more than just ruffle feathers. The more you uncover, the further you dig, the easier it is to bury you and anyone you care for. And that’d be too hard to bear for anyone who might be starting t— well, maybe— who does care for you.”

Her chest burned. She was roiling with indignant fury, practically breathing fire, nostrils flared, hands balled into fists at her side. Este pinshe pendejo. They’d been working together for weeks now, and not once did it step outside the confines of professional conduct with the exception of the— well, it was just the one time. She’d assumed they were moving on because of course they were. What was one night in the backseat of her car when they were nothing to each other? Nothing. But now this, all of a sudden, out of the blue. Why? Because. Because he cared. Well, he’d neglected to fill her in on the feelings and the caring before taking it upon himself to violate a boundary, meddling in her work ostensibly on her behalf.

Oh, she was positively— she wanted— but no, she couldn’t— oh, but she fucking could though. She would if she could— she really could actually fucking punch him.

As she stood there, vibrating, ready to go nuclear, he stepped closer. “Now who’s the one who wants to hit someone?”

Barely beyond strangers, and yet, he understood her implicitly. It only made the whole thing all the more aggravating. He stepped closer again, until they were nearly chin to chin.

“Do it.”

She looked up, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“Do it,” he said again quietly, eyes virtually unreadable. “If that’s what you really want. Hit me.”

He was inscrutable. There was no more pleading. No humor. No anger either. Something else. Something baser. She thought about those smudges on her car window.

Her hand moved so quickly, he didn’t even have time to flinch. She slapped him. Hard. Hard enough to send him back a couple of steps. The blood rushed to his cheek, angry and red, as he turned back to face her with an expression of something like dazed admiration. He began to speak but before he got a word out, she grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him close to bury him in a kiss so deep, the force of it nearly hurt her teeth. She inhaled the rumble that escaped from the back of his throat like it was a breath of life, before breaking away and shoving him back to sit on the desk.

Hooking his fingers in the belt loops of her jeans, he yanked her close, positioning her between his knees. She felt a tug at her hair as he pulled out her hair band. Catching his hand on its way down her shoulder, she brought it around her waist, sinking into another brutal kiss that had them both gasping for air. As one of her hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair and the other traveled down to palm the bulge in his pants, his hips bucked against hers and she felt a sharp sting as he bit her bottom lip. On reflex, she scrunched her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck and pulled so hard, he hissed.

Oh yeah, that felt good. She’d liked how it sounded and how he looked, head back like that, chin up, throat exposed. Getting lost in those deep, dark brown eyes, she kept him pinned in that position, regarding him for a moment. She suddenly found herself thinking about those nature documentaries on the Discovery Channel, ones where the lions take down gazelles, sharp canines puncturing their throats right there. His skin tasted salty as she tongued his neck in that very spot. If she were a wild animal, he’d be bleeding out on the floor for what he’d done. Trying to save the poor damsel-in-distress reporter from her own recklessness because oh, she can’t possibly know what’s good for her. That wasn't what it was until he made it that way. Co;onel Horacio Carrillo, our man in Mexico, nothing but a mouse in her trap.

Then she said, sincere but grave, “Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking I need you. I’ll never need you.” To soothe the wounded expression on his face, she planted a soft kiss on his mouth and trailed a few more along his jaw, mumbling as her lips made their way back down to his throat, “And that’s exactly why you love this.”

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taglist: @drabbles-mc @narcolini @ashlingnarcos @cositapreciosa @narcosfandomdiscord

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