Home To My Family

Home to My Family

Amazing idea from @avada-kedavra-bitch-187!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader

Summary: After you give birth to twins, they're taken by a nurse for checkups. You soon realize that she's not a nurse, so Tim calls in reinforcements to save your children and catch their abductor.

Warnings: child abduction, r just gave birth but story begins post-labor, angst, happy ending with fluff

Word Count: 1.7k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Congratulations,” the doctor says as your second baby is placed in your arms. “Two healthy babies.”

“They’re perfect,” you murmur, your eyes on the baby boy in your arms.

“A nurse will be in shortly to take them for full checkups,” someone informs you.

“How do you feel?” Tim asks.

You look away from your son and smile at the sight of Tim holding his daughter. She beat her brother into the world by nearly three minutes, and Tim has been enraptured with her since then.

“I’m okay,” you assure him. “We did good.”

Tim scoffs and lays his hand on your son’s back as he corrects, “We did great.”

“Hello, Bradfords,” a nurse greets with a knock on the open door. “I’m here to borrow these babies.”

You watch as Tim hands your daughter to the nurse to be placed in a bassinet before he turns to you to take your son. It makes you uncomfortable to hand them over so soon after giving birth, but the first checkup is necessary. Tim takes your hand and sits on the edge of your hospital bed to wait together.

“Did you call Angela?” you ask.

“Where are those pretty Bradford babies?” another nurse singsongs as she enters. “Checkup time!”

You furrow your brows, but Tim is on his feet before you can ask any questions. Tim is heartbreakingly familiar with the reality of evil in the world, and he realizes before you that something terrible has happened. As he races into the hall, fear settles over you as tears build in your eyes. If the real nurse is here now, who has your children? And where are they?

The nurse leaves to double-check that your babies weren’t transported by another nurse, and you’re left alone. After several minutes alone, scared, Tim returns and shakes his head. His jaw is clenched tightly, but you can tell he’s only a moment from breaking.

“I reported it to the department,” Tim says, his voice tight. “Angela’s on the way and I let her know too.”

You nod before you sit up carefully, wincing in pain as you swing your legs over the edge of the bed.

“Hey, hey, no,” Tim murmurs, rounding the foot of the bed. He lowers before you and lays his hands over your thighs. “You just gave birth; you need to rest.”

“I need to find them, Tim. We have to find them!” you exclaim through your cries.

“I know. We will, I promise we will.”

“But you don’t need my help.”

Tim smiles at your attitude, understandable anger building beneath your pain, fear, and tiredness.

“Your help isn’t the issue, it’s your health.”

“Timothy,” Angela greets. She walks to your side and hugs you tightly. “Tell me everything.”

You lie back carefully as Tim recounts the events of the past few minutes. Angela nods along, then looks around your room.

“They’re still in the hospital, I’d bet,” Tim concludes.

“Grey stationed officers at every opening to keep it that way,” Angela responds. “There’s plenty of hiding places in a hospital. But Tim…”

“I don’t know,” he answers. “I have no idea who would do this. I’ve put plenty of people away, called CPS hundreds of times, any of those people could have decided to return the favor.”

Lucy and Nolan knock on the open door, and Tim waves them in as Angela draws a diagram of the hospital on the whiteboard opposite you. Lucy walks directly to your side while Nolan stands beside the door to watch the hallway.

“What do you need?” Lucy asks softly.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. “Other than the obvious.”

“We’re going to find them. Half of the station is here for you.”

“There’s only one option that finishes this quickly,” Angela decides. “We split up and search every floor of this hospital.”

Tim looks to you rather than answering, and you promise, “I’m okay to be alone. I trust you, all of you, to find them and bring them back to me. Do whatever you have to do.”

“We will,” Tim promises. “Nolan, stay here, keep an eye on this hallway. Lucy, you’re with me.”

Lucy squeezes your hand kindly before she walks to Tim’s side. Nolan steps out of your room with them and closes the door. Completely alone, all you can do is wait.

“Hey,” Tim calls urgently. A male nurse spins and raises his hands in question. “Have you seen a nurse in pink scrubs with twins?”

“There’s lots of nurses, pink scrubs, and twins here, sir,” the man answers.

Tim takes a measured step toward him, and the man steps back urgently, bumping into the desk behind him.

“Do you want to be charged with aiding and abetting a kidnapping?”

“Sir, if you’ve seen a woman in pink scrubs with two bassinets, you need to tell us now,” Angela interjects.

“I haven’t,” he answers quickly. “I swear I haven’t.”

Tim steps away from the scared nurse and sighs.

“This floor is clear, no sign of them,” Angela reports.

Tim’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he retrieves it without looking away from the empty hallway.

“I remember when I wasn’t allowed to look at my phone on duty,” Lucy muses.

“Your children hadn’t been abducted,” Tim snaps. He reads a message, furrows his brows, and then says, “Angela.”

Angela knows that Tim using her first name isn’t a good sign, and she's proven right when he passes his phone over. “Where is this?”

“I can’t tell. The message seems familiar,” Tim replies.

Angela zooms in on the picture while Tim repeats the message to himself. Lucy moves beside Angela and looks at the picture, pointing to any discernable items in the background. The image shows your son in the bassinet front and center, and while it’s clear that they’re still in the sterile, white hospital, it’s unclear where.

“Supply closet,” Angela realizes just as Tim says, “Keiran Tumble.”

“The counterfeiter?” Lucy asks. “What’s his problem with you?”

“I arrested him, but I’m also why he lost visitation rights for his kids. They were in the warehouse with the printing fumes. He hasn’t been out of prison long.”

“Prison for counterfeiting?”

“Federal prison. The Reserve pressed additional charges. When he got out, he got served with the papers about his kids.”

“Wait,” Angela interrupts. “You said it was a female nurse.”

“Keiran’s girlfriend,” Tim guesses. “I didn’t see her, she wasn’t there when we raided his operation, but I’ve heard plenty about her.”

“Me too. Tim, she’s suspected of at least three murders. This isn’t a manhunt; we have to find her without risking your kids.”

“ Supply closet?” Tim repeats. “Let’s find the right one, and then we move in. She makes one move toward them, and you drop her.”

“Tim, maybe you should sit this one out,” Lucy suggests.

“No,” Angela answers. “If this were Jack, I’d want to be right there when we found him. Look that monster in the face and remind her that at the end of every day, I go home to my family.”

“I’m more use here, Chen,” Tim assures. “How’s Nolan?”

“He said everything’s clear there. Only a few nurses through since we left.”

Tim nods, but Angela purses her lips in thought.

“What?” Tim inquires.

“Isn’t your room across from a supply area? Wouldn’t someone have needed something by now?” she asks.

“No one saw them because they didn’t go far,” Lucy realizes.

“Let’s go!” Angela exclaims.

Fiddling with the blanket over your legs, you think about what you will do when you get your babies back. Kiss them, apologize even though they won’t know what’s happening, and then beg Tim to take you home. You refuse to think about any alternative.

“Yep,” Nolan says on the other side of your door. “All clear here, too. Good luck.”

“C’mon, Tim,” you whisper.

You trust him more than anything, but right now, your fear threatens to override all of your rational thoughts.

Suddenly, a single gunshot sounds. Immediately after, you hear screams and loud promises that everything is alright and everyone is safe. You, however, refuse to believe it until you see your husband and children. Frozen in uncertainty and fear, you count your shallow breaths rather than running through possible scenarios.

Two firm knocks on your door are followed by Nolan smiling as he holds the door open. Tim steps in with both of your babies cradled in his arms and a relieved look. You release a shaky breath, then smile as tears roll over your cheeks.

“It’s over,” Angela promises as she hugs you. “We got her.”

Tim walks to the other side of your bed and carefully lowers the twins to your chest. They coo softly in their sleep, none the wiser about what they’ve been through. Holding them against you, you kiss their heads and whisper that you love them.

“Do you know what you need now?” Lucy asks.

“Get me out of here,” you beg, smiling.

“I’ll see what I can do,” she answers, leading Nolan out of the room.

“What happened?” you ask Tim.

“Do you remember Keiran Tumble?” You nod, and he places his arm around your shoulders as he continues, “He got out, mad about his arrest and losing his kids, and sent his girlfriend to make me feel some of the same pain. Or that’s the working theory.”

“It’s right,” Angela adds. “Only a criminal would be that stupid.”

"So, Nolan radioed an all-clear, got her guard down, and we went in. She shouldn't be out for a very long time."

You lay your head against Tim’s shoulder and say, “I love you.”

“Aw, I love you, too!” Angela jokes.

“If you weren’t our first choice for godmother, I’d kick you out,” Tim tells her.

“You love me.”

“Thank you,” you interject. “I’m glad you’re both here.”

“I’m going to go fill in Grey and then make sure your house is ready for an early return,” Angela says as she steps toward the door. “Need anything else?”

“You’ve done more than I can ever thank you for,” you answer. “I’ll call you later.”

“Like she won’t still be at the house when we get home,” Tim mumbles.

“Hey, I filled up your freezer with comfort food, be nice to me, Timothy.”

Alone with your babies, you smile as Tim extends his finger to your slowly waking son. You’ll never get tired of being with them, and there’s no one else you’d rather have by your side than Tim Bradford.

Lonely Christmas

hot cocoa bar celebration🧤❄️🎄 | requested here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Army vet!cop!reader

Summary: During a Christmas Eve night shift with Tim Bradford, you glimpse what is behind his tough exterior.

Warnings/Word Count: vague depictions of veteran-specific depression, brief angst, Tim yells at r, fluff and comfort. 1.1k+ words

A/N: This is a dynamic (Tim with a partner who was also in the Army) that I've had on my mind for a while. While this is a really fast-paced blurb-like fic specific to Christmas, I'd really love to write more of this pairing if anyone is interested. Sorry for the short length but I really wanted to get it done before Christmas Eve🫶🏼

Working the night shift on Christmas Eve feels like the opposite of a Christmas miracle. The long night is made worse when you’re partnered with Tim Bradford. He’s had something against you since you joined the department after leaving the Army. Though you’ve never spent more than a few hours with Mid-Wilshire’s grumpiest officer, you know he doesn’t like you, so you decide to stay quiet and obedient to make Santa’s job – and your own – a little easier tonight.

“Merry Christmas,” you greet as you enter the passenger seat of Tim’s shop.

Tim huffs, and you set a small treat bag of cookies from a nearby bakery in the console without a word.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Is Christmas Eve usually hectic?” you inquire.

“Depends on the year. Based on the last few weeks, I’d say it’ll keep us busy.”

You nod, then inquire, “Any plans for Christmas tomorrow?”

“Nope. Heads up, grey Challenger.”

“I’ll run the plate,” you offer, secretly wishing you were in a sleigh rather than a shop.

“VA Hospital reported a disturbance,” dispatch radios. “Two armed men forced their way into a room and have barricaded themselves in with equipment.”

“Responding,” Tim replies. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” you inquire softly.

“Try to twist this into some merry Christmas thing. We’re vets, we know there are plenty of people like us spending the holidays alone, grieving for those we’ve lost, and I don’t need you to make this specific slice of reality any harder than it already is,” Tim snaps. “So, let’s deal with this call like it’s not Christmas and move on.”

As your shift comes to an end, with the brutal reminder that lonely people go to extremes even during the holidays and several emotional bruises from Tim snapping at you more than often, you try to remind him that he is not alone. Over the last few years, you’ve learned to take Tim’s attitude and swings from helpful superior to the short-tempered Bradford the station knows him as in stride.

Walking through the station to return to your lonely home, you’re surprised to hear Tim call your name. You turn to face him, and he pulls his backpack strap tighter against his shoulder. It’s nearing midnight, almost Christmas, and you’re expecting one more reprimand to conclude the all-but-perfect night shift.

“Do you want to come over for dinner?” he offers. “My sister dropped off a casserole this afternoon.”

“Dinner at midnight?” you clarify with a grin. “I’d love to. Only if you’re sure, I don’t want to impose on you on Christmas.”

“I’m free for the next few hours.”

You follow Tim out of the station and tip your head in thanks after he opens the passenger door of his truck for you. The ride to his house is quiet, only the low humming of instrumental Christmas music filling the space as Tim navigates the quiet (for once) streets of Los Angeles.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” you ask as you enter his home.

“Going to visit my sister and nephews for lunch and gifts,” he replies. “You?”

“I’ve got a few people to see.”

Tim nods and begins preparing the food. You start to speak simultaneously, and your expression of gratitude is cut short when you smile. “Go ahead,” you murmur.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier,” Tim begins. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you about the vet in the hospital. It just… it reminded me of one of the guys in my last unit. Seeing people like us struggling around the holidays is hard, but you know that, and I had no excuse to yell at you like that. So, I’m sorry.”

“I do know that, but I can also understand that your response is valid. I probably would have overstepped, and honestly I’d rather you yell at me before I can do something that pushes you away rather than letting me do it and suffer the consequences.”

Tim’s brows pinch as he asks, “And what do you think the consequences would be?”

“Let’s just say I would hate to end up on the Bradford Naughty List.”

Tim’s face shifts into a smile as he shakes his head, and you grin at him before offering to get plates for dinner.

Something shifts beneath your cheek, pulling you from a peaceful slumber. You don’t sleep well most nights, and for a moment, you think Christmas magic lulled you to sleep. Then you realize that the fabric under your face looks awfully familiar. Sitting up, you press your lips together as you watch Tim blink and look at you. You remember eating dinner side-by-side and watching a rerun of It’s a Wonderful Life. You had no intention of falling asleep together, or in his house, for that matter.

“You look your cutest like this,” Tim rumbles, his voice thick with sleep and concerningly unfiltered.

“But I just woke up,” you argue.

Tim nods, his full attention on you, and states, “I know what I said.”

“I- I should probably go. You have your family to visit. Merry Christmas, Tim, and thanks again for dinner.”

While you gather your things, Tim watches your movements from the couch.

“Why do you care so much?” he asks.

“About what?” you ask, looking up from your bag.

“Me, people… You tried to make last night feel like Christmas. Why?”

You shrug. “Everyone deserves some magic, and there’s no better time than Christmas. And, as for you… I have an idea of what it’s like. I do know that it’s not easy, and though I can’t imagine what you’ve dealt with specifically, you haven’t let it keep you from seeing the good in people. Even if you don’t let on that you do.”

“I see the bad too.”

“Job hazard. Despite seeing that bad side, you still let people close. That’s why I care about you, because you’re a good person.” Tim opens his mouth again, and you add, “That last point was objective, it’s not up for debate.”

“Do you want to stay?” Tim asks after a moment. “You shouldn’t be alone on Christmas, either.”

“Your family,” you remind him.

“I’m sure they have an extra plate,” Tim teases.

You gesture to your outfit and slept-on hair, but Tim stands and lays his hands on your shoulders.

“I already said you look your cutest like this.”

“Thought you were incoherent and half-asleep.”

“But don’t I see the good in people?”

Your head falls back as you groan. Tim offers to drive you home to let you get ready, and you realize that you wouldn’t mind spending Christmas with him and his family. Even if he yells at you and calls you cute mere hours apart. It’s part of his Tim Bradford charm.

136 notes View Post

myfictionalbfs

2 months ago

undercover(s) (18+)

summary: oh no, there's just one bed!

pairing: tim bradford x f!reader

word count: 5,4k

warnings: friends to lovers trope, dirty talk, vulgar language, pet names, unprotected sex, creampie, riding that thick dick, praise, mentions of injury (reader), let me know if i missed anything<3

You were perched in front of the mirror, admiring the woman gazing back at you through long lashes.

“It's giving brat.”

False lashes, acrylic nails, threaded brows.

“You know, I'm actually kind of diggin’ it.”

Little black dress with an open back, Jacquemus handbag, golden hoops, perfumed skin, high-heeled boots.

“Damn, I look good.”

Through the mirror, you could see Tim still at it with the device, a little black box with an antenna that could detect signals from even the smallest, most high-tech recorders. It made a static noise as he hovered the stick over just about every surface and object.

“Alright. It's safe,” he finally concluded once he was content with his work.

“Could have told you as much. My contacts are good,” you sassed with a smug look, leaning your hand on your hip.

Tim shot you an incredulous look as he packed away the gear. “Yeah, you can drop the bratty attitude now, smartass.”

You chuckled as he removed the gun from his belt and put it on the dresser. “I don't know—it's kinda growing on me.”

Though you had never been undercover with Tim before, you were confident you knew him well enough to feel when something was off with him. You had known each other for a long time, and right now he was being off.

And you knew exactly why.

“Come on, it's not that bad,” you sighed, finally moving away from the mirror and stepping out of the shoes.

There was only one bed.

He arched a brow at you and rolled his eyes. “The hell it is. We're supposed to play brother and sister and we're sharing a bed?”

You snorted at his tone—speaking as if it would jeopardize the whole operation.

“Look, even if anybody thinks anything of it, I refuse to believe it'll become a problem. We'll just roll with it,” you reasoned nonchalantly.

“What?” he mouthed in disbelief. “Roll with it? I—” he cut himself off, brows knitted tightly as he ran with hands over his face.

You couldn't help but laugh at his reaction and folded your arms as you leaned against the wall. “I'm sure we won't be the first incestuous couple residing in Buttfuck Arizona.”

You were clearly making him uncomfortable and you were having way too much fun with it.

Tim seemed to be looking anywhere but at you. You wondered if it was the one bed or the way you looked in the dress. You hoped it was the dress.

His jaw clenched as he inhaled sharply through his nose, his mouth set in a tight-lipped twitch. He shook his head when he finally glared at you, quickly turning to unload the gear from your suitcase. "Okay—just… Get your head on straight, yeah? Meeting's set in twenty.”

***

You winced as Tim tightened the string working through the flesh of your upper arm, the hand that wasn't holding the needle holding your shoulder in a firm grip. The pain was nothing you hadn't experienced before, but his touch made you hyper-aware of every sensation in your body. Including the heat rushing to your cheeks and ears.

“Stay still,” Tim ordered, his steely blue eyes focused on his patchwork as he closed the wound and bandaged it for you. “Let me know if there's any discomfort.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you sighed, your tone lower and shakier than you expected it to be.

The deal had gone sideways, but not completely off the tracks. Tim seemed worried that your cover was blown but your instincts told you not all had gone awry—you had been caught in a knife fight with your target's enemies. While the target fled the scene and bullets ricocheted, you and Tim secured the gangsters before heading off, too, leaving the rivals disabled for when backup swooped in. You had convinced Tim the operation was not compromised—that if anything, you had substantiated your cover.

Tim went out to pick up some food and you jumped in the shower, careful not to ruin the work Tim had just finished on your arm. By the time you finished up, Tim returned with a plastic bag and you ate on the bed. You could practically feel the tension in him radiating from his body and though you tried to tune it out, there came a point where you could no longer stand it.

“Look, if you're that worried about it, we can call it off,” you proposed. “I trust your gut so if you feel like something's off, we just pull the plug. Check-in's in an hour.”

Tim looked up with a furrow, appearing confused by your suggestion. It had crossed your mind that the ordeal with the rival gang earlier on was not the only thing pressing him—the whole situation probably made him uncomfortable.

While you were used to undercover work, he had really only dipped his toes into the world. You had known each other for years; you've had drinks far into the morning, deep conversations, and seen each other adapt to life's challenges. You knew he felt comfortable around you, and you felt comfortable with him, but it made sense to you that this whole scene was somewhat unfamiliar to him.

Your jobs forced circumstances where you worked together, but you had never been entangled in a situation where either one of you got seriously hurt. It was one thing knowing someone you cared for could find themselves in a dangerous situation at any given moment; a whole other when you're present and see how things go south in a matter of seconds.

Tim shook his head, swallowing down a bite of his burger. “You've done this kind of work a lot longer than me, it's your call.”

It bothered you a tad, him showing you unconditional trust in a life-or-death situation. If he really thought there was the slightest chance you had been made, you would rather have his honesty.

You chewed your lip instead of the fry in your hand, watching him quietly, trying to read him. In all the years you had known Tim, he had always been stoic, his warmer traits only showing once his guard had been breached. While he wasn't exactly an open book, he was always blunt on his opinions—just not now.

It had to be more than just about the operation.

“We'll do the check-in to let them know we're good. We can revisit in the morning.”

Tim bobbed his head but didn't look at you.

You arched an eyebrow at him, deciding to switch topics. “So… you wanna flip a coin on the bed?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “No, you take it. I can make myself comfortable on the floor.”

Your brows knitted together and you gave him a quizzical look. “What? You sure—I mean I certainly prefer sleeping cozy, but it doesn't feel fair to just—”

“Doesn't matter. You take the bed. I'll be fine.” he insisted and finished his meal, wiping his mouth with a napkin before standing. “I'm gonna take a shower.”

Tim scrunched the trash together and threw it in the bin before locking himself in the bathroom.

You sighed and drank from your watered-down soda.

Tim planted his hands on the counter in front of the bathroom mirror, letting his head fall to level with his shoulders as he exhaled deeply. He cursed himself for agreeing to this operation.

It was one thing to know you got hurt, and another to see you suffer injury on his watch.

This is what you do, he reminded himself. You are used to this.

Tim was angry with himself for letting this get to him, although he was more disappointed that your - well, your character's - blatant flirting with the criminals bothered him in such a way—his blood boiling whenever someone looked at you with primal urges.

He had no right.

Even worse he was disgusted with himself for entertaining the thought—how your acrylic nails would feel scratching the skin on his back, how your soft and supple flesh would mold in his palms, how your glossy lips would whimper soft mewls, and how your lashes would flutter shut in bliss.

Tim inhaled sharply, clearing his throat, and turned on the shower. The splashes that hit the tiles added a backdrop to his obscene thoughts while he rid himself of his clothes, goosebumps forming on his skin.

He stepped into the downpour, leaving the shower head attached to the clasp in the wall. Tim subconsciously held his breath as he let the water burn his skin, feeling the need to inflict pain on himself to clear his mind. Regardless, the scorching sensation passed and soon enough he gave in and pumped his aching cock in his hand.

When he had showered - and shot his load down the drain - he put on a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants and a white shirt before walking back into the room.

You had already gotten under the covers, your eyes focused on the open page of your book. You had put aside two blankets and a pillow for Tim to make use of. The TV was on low volume, viewing a baseball game, and the remote was left at the end of the bed.

Tim’s jaw clenched and he felt a wave of guilt wash over him, seeing how you had laid out this display for him to feel comfortable when he had just jerked off thinking of you in a way friends were not supposed to.

He made a spot for himself on the floor, leaving his watch and handgun beside the pillow.

“You made contact?”

“Yup,” you replied softly, turning the page.

Tim hummed in response and settled on the hard floor cushioned by one of the blankets. When you felt his attention focus on the television, your absentminded gaze left the book and you watched him instead.

Even in a relaxed position, he maintained his characteristic rigid demeanor. Your gaze was caught by the broadness of his frame and the way his shoulders appeared constrained by the white fabric that hugged them.

Tim didn't seem too invested in the sports channel and soon he turned it off, lying down. You followed suit and put your book away, turning off the bedside lamp with a small grunt.

“You can read on if you want,” he said lowly.

You chuckled as you got comfortable in the bed, head leaning over the edge just enough to watch him from above. “Is that your way of telling me you're scared of the dark?”

A huff left his still body, and a grin pulled at your lips and although it was too dark to see, you could hear the smile in his voice. “Go to sleep.”

You laughed. “Yes, sir.”

You weren't sure for how long you had laid there before you began feeling restless. Instead of merely zoning out, your mind seemed to focus on every little detail. Outside the wind was ominously howling, a windchime clinking soft pitchy notes, and Tim seemed fixated on every little sound, whether it was a car door shutting or you turning in bed.

The silence inside was tangible, and you could practically hear Tim's mind running at a hundred miles per second.

Another heavy sigh escaped him as he turned on the floor with a grunt. Initially, he hadn't thought it would be that bad - Tim reminded himself he had slept in worse conditions while in the army - but now that he was here, the carpet smelled like tobacco and the ’80s pattern seemed to crawl.

He rolled on his back again, draping one arm over his eyes.

You shifted under the covers, the springs creaking beneath you. “How are you doing down there, bro?”

“Don't call me that,” he scoffed quickly, clearly far from sleep and you grinned.

You debated it in your mind before deciding to just throw it out there. It didn't have to be weird. You could literally just not make it weird. “You know, there's enough room for the both of us up here.”

Yeah, that wasn't too weird.

Right?

“What?”

Okay, you had made it weird.

The suggestion made Tim tense up, and his mind did not hesitate to picture the scenario. He knew you well enough to know the offer was innocent, but he couldn't help but imagine things far from innocent.

You chewed down on your bottom lip and tried to joke your way out of the position you had just put yourself in. “Easy, Sargeant—not offering to get handsy, just a side of the bed.”

There was another pause and the air was too thick for comfort. You were quickly coming to regret your offer, wishing the mattress would just swallow you whole before Tim could say another word. It had been a long time since you had been this embarrassed.

A moment later you could hear him move, but you didn't dare look.

“Move, then,” he suddenly muttered, and a shiver chilled your spine—he was already on his feet, so close.

You swallowed and made space for him in the bed, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. You felt a heat rise to your cheeks when you realized he had brought the blanket from the floor, your subconscious having irrationally convinced you that you would be sleeping under the same.

Tim's movements were almost mechanical as he lied down, and you found yourself shifting further to the edge of the bed, afraid to accidentally touch him.

God, you wanted to touch him.

If nothing else, then just to see his reaction—find out whether he wanted you as much as you did him.

You stared up at the ceiling, trying to slow your breathing as your whole body tingled. You could hear Tim's breaths as well, measured and controlled like everything else he did and it bothered you for some reason. If only he would just slip up, be a little easier to read.

Tentatively, you tilted your head just enough to glance at him from the corner of your eye. His hands were folded across his stomach and his eyes were shut, taut muscles barely moving an inch as if it might actually kill him to shift.

Tim couldn't possibly be comfortable like that.

He looked like a damn robot waiting to be recharged.

While this rigid man lay unmoving beside you, your heart was hammering away in your ribcage and your thighs rubbing together like the act might stand a chance of relieving you in some way.

You returned your gaze to the ceiling, breathed out, and rolled onto your side so that your back was facing him.

The thought of what you might feel if you pushed yourself against him made you inhale sharply.

Stop it, you cursed yourself mentally.

You didn't know how long you were laying there, just staring at the wall, but at some point your eyelids finally grew heavy, sleep slowly but surely, pulling you in.

Tim wasn't as lucky.

His mind wouldn't let him get a second of rest with you lying this close to him. He tried to focus his mind elsewhere but he was all too aware of the proximity.

His mind continuously betrayed him, replaying every moment during the day that had made him feel like you knew exactly what you were doing to him—the way you had practically teased him while doting on yourself in the mirror, the way that damned dress hugged your body in ways that made him feel like a fucking schoolboy with uncontrollable hard-ons, the way you had flirted with the criminal at that meeting and the way it made him feel possessive in a way he had no right to.

Then you had offered to share the bed with him, making it sound so casual like you knew it wasn’t the worst thought you could have had—reigniting the idea of “getting handsy” in his already spinning head.

You had to know what you were doing to him.

He felt like a coiled wire about to snap; like the subtle heat radiating off of your body threatened to burn him alive.

Then you shifted.

A tiny, barely noticeable movement so small he might as well have imagined it.

But then it repeated, this time accompanied by a small sigh.

In your sleep you inch closer to Tim, instinctively seeking a warmth the covers fail to provide you.

At first, it's just your foot grazing his calf, but then you rolled over, closer to him, and your knee bent so that it rested on his thigh as you nestled deeper into the mattress.

Tim tensed and held his breath, his entire body going rigid beneath the sheets.

You didn’t pull away. Instead, you continued shifting, moaning as if displeased, and rolled closer, molding your body against his side as if it belonged there.

He knew he should pull away—you're asleep, completely unaware of what you're doing. But it really did feel like your body belongs this close to him. Tim can't make himself move.

But then your hips moved, ever so slightly, and it didn't feel so innocent anymore.

Tim couldn’t think straight, his head spinning, conflicted. He was as still as a statue, stiff and unmoving. You sighed, soft and breathy, content and utterly unguarded against his body, his scent filling your lungs with safety.

Worse is when you murmured his name in your sleep. Though barely a whisper in the quiet room, it slipped through the cracks and under his skin, searing Tim from the inside out.

Before he could stop himself his hand moved down, ghosting over your hip to see if you would stir, if this was real. It was the faintest touch and while you didn't flinch, Tim was spiraling at the feeling of the curve of your body hiding beneath the cover.

His hand tentatively weighed down on your hip, ever so carefully feeling you in his palm. He froze when you shifted again, but you only pressed further into his touch and his breathing stuttered in response.

Another content moan escaped your lips, and Tim's jaw locked while his fingers clenched in reflex, tightening his grip on your hip.

A sharp inhale caught in your throat and your spine went taut as Tim's grasp pulled you from your semi-asleep state.

Your lashes fluttered against your skin and for a moment you were afraid to open them fully, fearing the man whose scent had captivated your dream might not be real.

But Tim was very real and very close, the warmth of his hand seeping through the cover and into your skin, branding you.

It took you a moment to separate imagination from reality, but when it sunk in, you melted completely.

For a moment neither of you spoke, the darkness of the room swallowing everything bar the feel of one another. The creaking bed might as well have been a cloud, peacefully floating about in the dark of the night.

Tim felt captured as your gaze studied his features, your hazy eyes full of something he didn't dare assume, but could only hope.

“Tim—” you breathed quietly, lips quivering with the unspoken, and Tim's heart ached at your voice; a raspiness, a hesitance.

He knew he should pull away, apologize, do something, but he couldn't move or say a thing. Not with the way you looked at him with desire in your eyes and your bottom lip caught under your teeth.

You didn’t pull away, you couldn’t and you didn’t want to, and judging by his hand still holding onto you, he didn’t want you to either.

You weren't entirely sure what was happening, lust and warning bells waging war in your mind, but your primal needs took over and your hips did an experimental grind.

A curse slipped from his lips, low and guttural, and he exhaled your name, a confirmation that he wanted you as much as you did him. Tim's digits dug into your hip, his stormy eyes latched onto yours as he swiftly moved on top of you, bracing himself with a strong arm beside your head—

And fucking hell it was spinning.

His lips were so close, his warm breath ghosting your skin, raising goosebumps. Your chest heaved heavily with each breath but instead of the air entering your lungs it was only him.

Another second passed and it was one wasted not on Tim, so as the next ticked in you closed the space between you completely, pressing your lips against his in a feverish kiss.

Tim's sturdy body molded against yours, his rough palm sliding up to cradle your cheek as he kissed back with an eagerness resembling your own.

All that had pent up in the course of the day, or perhaps for longer, was released then, your bodies syncing to become one in the dark of the night.

Sighing against his warm lips, you allowed your hands to find purchase on his shoulders, feeling around for any inch of revealed skin. Your fingertips slid under the sleeve of his t-shirt, tracing the hard lines of his flexed muscles, and your other hand snaked up to the back of his neck.

You could feel yourself getting more heated by each second, hungrily licking into Tim's mouth as you allowed yourself to be completely engulfed in everything him.

In turn, Tim worked on removing the blankets separating you so that your bodies were flushed.

When you felt his frame pin you and his erection press against your sex, you gasped into his mouth, every stolen glance, every flirty comment leading up to this moment, suddenly sparking every nerve ending in your body alive. Feeling his undeniable lust for you made your world tilt on its axis, making this feel overwhelmingly real. And yet, it was somehow not real enough to convince you it was not merely another fever dream. You needed him inside you, to claim you and to fill you up, to leave marks on your skin that would linger in the morning.

You bucked your hips against him, pathetically trying to relieve yourself with some sweet friction.

A low groan vibrated against your wet lips and he held your waist down with a rough grip, squeezing the exposed flesh.

You whined, looking up at him with doe-eyes. “Tim, I wanna feel you.”

“You will,” he promised, ghosting his lips over the shell of your ear making you shudder and writhe.

His stubble tickled the sensitive flesh of your throat and his mouth suctioned the skin, tongue pressing and teeth scraping, quickly contorting the pout on your face into a breathless moan.

Tim's hand brushed past the waistband of your shorts and panties with practised ease, and when two long digits dragged through your wet folds, another breathy moan escaped you.

“Fuck,” Tim cursed as he felt how wet you were for him, watching your reaction with dark eyes as he dipped the fingers into your needy hole. “Tell me—did you have a little dream about me?”

Your jaw went slack, lips parted in a silent gasp, as he slipped two fingers into you, knuckle deep. No sound escaped your throat, but you couldn't exactly stop the wet squelch coming from your wet cunt.

His palm guided your face back to his, stormy blue orbs searching for an audible answer. You hadn't even realized you'd been holding your breath. “S'that why you've soaked yourself? Were you havin’ a little dirty dream ‘bout me?” Tim's fingers sunk back into your sobbing pussy.

“Yes,” you finally exhaled shakily, eyes rolling back as he slid his torturous fingers out and back in, curling them against your gummy walls. “F-fuck—yes!”

“Was it the first time?” he quizzed, clearly pleased with himself and—well, you were very pleased with him, too. He planted a chaste kiss just below your ear. “Hm? Have you dreamed of me before?”

“Ye-yeah,” you hummed, your mind barely grasping the words he spoke, everything a hot haze. “Sometimes… when I touch myself.”

“Good,” Tim murmured, scissoring his fingers into you while leaving feather-light open-mouthed kisses along your neck.

You shuddered, biting down on your wet bottom lip, focusing on the contrast between his delicate touch tracing down your collarbone and his fingers stretching you deliciously. He lifted your shirt, exposing your breasts and you moaned as he sucked on the soft flesh above your perked nipple.

Clamping down on his long fingers, you felt yourself getting closer to the edge. Breathing shallow, eyes rolling to the back of your head, Tim picked up on the clues.

“Let go for me, sweetheart,” he encouraged. “I got you.”

Tim continued fingering you through your orgasm, pumping slowly but purposely as you creamed around his digits. Thighs shaking involuntarily, hands struggling to hold on to anything, you cried out a shaky moan. Riding against Tim's hand, you clawed at his neck as you came down from your high, quivering lips teasing his.

“Attagirl,” praised Tim and softly patted your jaw, prompting you to open and he shoved his fingers down on your tongue. Barely out of your daze, pussy still throbbing, you moaned around his digits, sucking them deeper into your mouth when he pressed his erection against your thigh. “Shit.”

Tim pulled his fingers back out and hungrily licked into your mouth, tasting the honeyed essence on your tongue.

Your hips bucked against his hard cock, greedy for more. Looping your arms around his form, you turned him over and straddled him, the creaking of the mattress emphasizing your needy movements.

Tim inhaled sharply, large hands squeezing your waist, pressing you down against his clothes hard-on.

Steely blue eyes that looked to be brewing a storm watched you intensely, loving how fucked through you looked after just one orgasm. Hair disheveled, lips plump, neck and cheeks flushed.

Grinding down on Tim you sighed, leaning down to kiss him passionately, acrylics poking into his chest where you found purchase. You were still out of breath, but you didn't care—oxygen was no longer what kept you alive, he was.

Moaning your name, Tim felt a wave of heat rush over him, veiling him completely in your scent and desire. He could hardly believe this was happening. One thing was you dreaming, moaning his name and letting him care for you; a whole different kind of reality was you grinding down on him, rubbing your sweet little cunt over his rock-hard, twitching cock.

Tim's jaw clenched when you reached down to free his neglected erection, an inhale getting stuck in his throat as the feeling of your soft fingers wrapping around the base of his shaft.

He was heavy in your hand, certainly bigger than what you would consider average. Thick and veiny girth with an angry head leaking precum. Swiping your thumb across the weeping slit, you brought it between your lips, moaning at the salty taste.

Tim hissed and sighed your name, hips bucking upward, eager for you to sink down on him. He was getting impatient and you could feel it in the way he held you, so you drew his throbbing cock against the soaked fabric of your panties.

His grip tightened in warning before he spoke in a low tone. “Don't be a brat now, sweetheart.”

You choked on the chuckle you emitted when you pushed your panties to the side and lined him up. Pushing the angry head between your slick folds, forcing an intrusion— “F-fuck, Tim,” you cried out, sinking down on him.

The stretch was intense, a sharp pain that shot into your abdomen, but you tried to ground yourself in the moment, focusing on where you were—on an undercover mission with a colleague, a friend, a man you had suppressed your attraction to for all too long.

You inhaled deeply, your hands falling to where his were placed on your hips, guiding them up to your breasts as he allowed you to accommodate him. Doing an experimental squeeze around him, he cursed and you began moving.

“You're so big,” you shuddered, leaning forward so that your bodies were flush, grounding you, cupping your hand against his clean-shaven jaw. “Feel so full of you, Tim.”

Sinking back down on him, you began to feel the pleasure overpowering the pain, the stinging stretch becoming absolutely delicious as you felt how your walls hugged him, clinging onto him. A wanton moan rasped from your throat as you sunk back down on him, reveling in how your cunt molded to fit around his thick girth.

Picking up a comfortable rhythm that had him rubbing against all the right spots, you met his gaze, salacious eyes staring back at you through layers of desire.

“You're so beautiful like this,” he admitted coarsely, breaths heavy and jaw slack. “Ridin’ me like you were made for me—fuck… Sweetest girl, you feel so good around my cock.”

His praise settled in your chest, pulling at your heart's strings. Clashing your lips against his, you picked up your speed and Tim's hands squeezed at the soft flesh of your asscheeks, resting there, helping you keep the rhythm steady.

Your tits bouncing against his chest, ass slamming down on his thighs, and your tight, juicy pussy sucking him in—Tim prayed to God this was not the last time you would ride him.

The sexiest moan you had ever heard reverberated from Tim's chest, the sight of the strings of your slick attaching to his pelvis as you bounced bringing something resembling primal instincts out of him. A ring of your milky cum circled his engorged shaft like a pearl bracelet, hugging his base and making a complete mess on him.

“Shit, baby—I won't last long f’you keep going like that,” Tim rasped, but made no sign to stop you. A breathy, self-satisfied grin escaped you but it contorted into a moan when Tim's thumb began drawing tight circles on your bundle of nerves. He pulled you down by your hair, fingertips rough yet soothing against your scalp. “S'that what you want? Hm? Wanna milk me for all I'm worth, yeah—go ahead, sweetheart. I'll fill you up,” he coaxed.

The pressure Tim applied to your throbbing clit made you whimper pathetically, though it was barely audible over the obscene moans and slapping sounds of wet, sweaty skin-on-skin contact.

The muscles in your thighs were burning from the strain but you didn't dare stop riding him, needing him to fulfill his promise of filling you up with his seed.

Tim showered you with praise, spurring you on as he noticed how your moans crescendoed. His thumb rigorously rolled against your clit, hips bucking up and fucking into you as he chased his own orgasm. “That's it, baby—come around my cock.”

And the brink was no further away than that.

You came, pussy clamping down on his rock-hard cock, pulsing walls practically massaging Tim's thick shaft.

You desperately tried not to get sloppy, wanting him to fill you, but you were a moaning, writhing mess, and your movements stuttered.

Tim wasn't one to break a promise though, and he fucked you through your orgasm, cock relentlessly fucking into your crying pussy. Incoherent pleas for him to fill you with his cum tumbled from your lips, and he didn't leave you begging for long.

With a final thrust, hot spurts of his seed painted your velvety walls, Tim's swollen cock pulsing against your insides.

Breath heavy, panting, you slowly slid off him, limply falling on his side, barely grounded as the high wore off. Tim's large hands supported you, one cradling your cheek, thumb caressing the warm skin, while the other dragged between your legs as he whispered reverent praises.

“You did good, sweetheart.”

Your heart fluttered and you whimpered when he scooped his leaking cum from your pussy and made an effort to push it back in. Lacking the strength to do more, you merely nuzzled your head deeper into his embrace, and he pulled you closer. “Does that mean we can do this again?” you asked, somewhat sheepish.

Tim's chest rumbled with a chuckle and he placed a kiss on the crown of your head. “Of course, but you have to let me take you out on a date once we get back.”

The butterflies in your stomach began flapping their wings harder. “Deal,” you agreed with a tired smile and kissed his collarbone.

1K notes View Post

myfictionalbfs

3 months ago

Hot or Cold

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!reader

Summary: You work in a coffee shop, and when you are trapped in the fridge during a robbery, you can only hope that your boyfriend Deacon will find you.

Warnings: armed robbery, violence against reader, angst to fluff & hurt/comfort.

Word Count: 2.7k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

“How’s the handsome boyfriend?” your coworker asks as you wipe down the front counter. “Still dreamy and treating you right?”

You chuckle at the thought of Deacon not being dreamy or treating you right, an impossibility. “Yes, he is.”

The bell over the door of the coffee shop rings, and you abandon the conversation about Deacon to do your job.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask… does Deacon have any single cop friends?”

Reading the name on the latte you just prepared, you shake your head. If you were in her place, and she had a boyfriend like Deacon, you’d want to know where to find one.

“Thanks,” the man says as he takes the cup.

“Have a nice day!” You turn toward your coworker to answer, “Honestly, I don’t know. Street’s still in his ‘will-they-won’t-they’ thing with Chris, Tan is, well he’s Tan… the new guy might be single.”

“I don’t know who any of those people are.”

“You shouldn’t. I can check for you though; if I’m right, you’d be cute together.”

“Is he as easy on the eyes as Deacon?”

“Nope,” you answer with a smile.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Man, I would kill for an espresso after that,” Rocker groans.

Luca waves his hands in a ‘stop talking’ motion before Deacon hears any reference to coffee. Luca loves you, but Deacon has difficulty stopping once you’re mentioned.

“Too bad you don’t have time,” Deacon answers instead. “We got another call. Up, buddy.”

Rocker rolls his eyes before standing.

“What now?”

“Another bank robbery. You should’ve gotten a coffee when you had the chance; it’s going to be a long day,” Hondo answers.

Deacon nods at the idea of coffee, a picture of you making him feel a little more awake.

✯✯✯✯✯

“What is going on today?” someone asks, sitting back after a mad rush.

“Are you referring to the caffeine addiction of Los Angeles or the continuous sirens? Because I have no answer for either,” you answer, leaning on the counter.

“All these sirens and no single cops or firefighters to accept my number,” another voice sighs, joining your small huddle.

“Why don’t you guys head out early? I can close up, I know it’s been a long day,” you offer.

“Are you serious?”

“Sure. You can just cover for me when I don’t want the early shift next weekend.”

They weigh their options before you get a group hug and overlapping expressions of gratitude.

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here,” you mutter, shoving them toward the small locker room-like area at the back.

“You’re the best!”

“I know.”

As the door closes, their voices fading into the alley, you take a deep breath. You feel like you’ve been on the move all day, with people in and out without a break. Your phone shows no messages or calls from Deacon, but you hope to see him tonight.

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself, pushing off the counter as you prepare to close.

You lay your phone on the counter and turn on some quiet music, focusing on getting finished and home to Deacon’s house as soon as possible. The counters are cleaned, and the dirty dishes are loaded into the industrial-sized dishwasher, so you're nearly done. As you begin sweeping the floor, someone opens the door.

“Sorry, we’re closing,” you say, moving toward the door to lock it. “The Starbucks down the street is open all night.”

“They have better security,” the man replies, keeping his foot pressed against the door so you can’t close it.

You drop the broom and step back, reaching for your cell phone on the counter to call for help. The man barges in, locking the door behind him as he points a gun at you.

“Don’t move,” he demands.

Deacon is in your favorites list, so it would only take two taps on the screen to call him. You raise your hands before stepping toward the counter. You don’t get to your phone before the man hits the back of your head, knocking you into a nearby table. Holding your ribs, you try to stand but kick a chair on accident and fall to the floor.

“Are you going to keep being a problem or can you sit there and be quiet?” the man asks with his gun at his side.

“I’ll be quiet,” you answer lowly.

He cocks his head, looking around. Stepping back, he slides your phone behind the counter so you can’t reach it easily.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you,” he says, pushing you back on the floor.

“No,” you mumble, trying to fight him off of you.

“And you said you wouldn’t be trouble,” he almost growls, bringing the butt of his gun and the hard side of his hand down on your temple.

The impact disorients you; all you can do is grab his hand as he hauls you toward the walk-in fridge. When he pushes you inside and winks before closing the door, the severity of the situation finally reaches you.

“Don’t do this! Take whatever you want but let me out,” you scream, banging on the large metal door.

Your head pounds with each movement, and when you graze your hairline with your fingers, you hiss when you reach the broken skin. Stepping further into the fridge, you shiver under the vent and sink to the floor, fighting dizziness and nausea as your head aches. With no way to call for help, you should try to stay warm, but the pain in your head and fear that no one will find you until morning influence you to close your eyes.

Outside the fridge, the thief sings along to the song playing from your phone as he empties the cash register into his small bag. Nodding at his earnings, he steps toward the door before taking the last muffin out of the display case.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon glances down at his watch. You have a habit of offering to close after long days, but even if you stayed, you should be getting home about now. Deacon smiles at the thought of you doing what you usually do: passing your driveway to pull into his own. You’ve been neighbors almost as long as you’ve been dating, though his house seems to be a landing place for both of you.

“20-David to command,” Hondo radios from inside the bank. “We’re Code 4.”

Deacon sighs, lowering his weapon and standing from his hidden position. He pulls his phone from his pocket, surprised to see no notifications from you. Maybe you had a day like he did.

Rushing home to hold you after a long day, Deacon slows beside your driveway, nodding when he sees it empty. But, when he sees your car isn’t in his driveway either, his brows furrow as he wavers between surprise and concern.

Shifting his car into park, he presses your contact, waiting until he gets your voicemail. He texts you to call him ASAP, and after a minute with no acknowledgment, he calls you again. Taking a deep breath in his attempt to stay calm, he dials the number for the coffee shop and prays to hear your voice. The line beeps before your recorded voice greets him.

“Answer,” Deacon begs as the dial tone begins again. “Hey, Luca, I need your help with something. You got a minute?”

“Yeah, of course, anything for you, man,” Luca replies.

Deacon says your name before running a hand across his mouth. “She’s not home and she’s not answering her cell phone or the coffee shop line.”

“Anywhere else she’d be?” Luca asks, shuffling on the other side of the line.

“Not this late. I’m going to drive over to the coffee shop,” Deacon adds.

“We’ll meet you there. Street and I are only a couple blocks away. We’ll find her, Deac.”

Deacon thanks him as he backs out of his driveway. The coffee shop is a ten-minute drive that feels like an eternity.

✯✯✯✯✯

Street and Luca are coming out of the alley when Deacon rushes onto the sidewalk.

“Hey,” Street greets. “The lights were off when we got here. Back door is locked, and her car is still here.”

“Did you try the door?” Deacon asks.

“Not this one; we just got here,” Luca replies.

“Thank you for coming so late.”

“Of course. We’re here for you and her, Deacon.”

Deacon nods, taking a deep breath as he pushes the door open. He glances at Luca, who tilts his head in concern. Luca and Street enter behind Deacon, their hands at their sides and ready to pull their weapons if needed. There’s quiet music playing from somewhere in the building, and Street nods to Luca as he breaks off to find the source.

“Deacon,” Street calls quietly. He stands from behind the counter and holds up your phone.

Deacon swallows harshly, looking toward the back.

“Let’s clear the building and we’ll go from there,” Deacon instructs quietly.

Street and Luca nod, moving slowly and silently until they’re sure the building is empty. Deacon turns on a light in the back, frowning when he sees your bag in its regular storage spot.

“The cash register is empty,” Luca calls, his voice raised after concluding there is no immediate threat.

✯✯✯✯✯

You hear a voice outside and blink rapidly, forcing yourself to focus. With your arms wrapped tightly around you, your shivers are growing in strength as you grow weak and disoriented.

“Where- go- night?” someone asks, their voice breaking as you strain to listen through the thick metal of the fridge.

The voice sounds familiar, and you summon what little strength you have left to bang on the door. It’s quiet, and as your hand slides down the cold metal, your blinks slow.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Wait,” Deacon demands, raising a hand to quiet Luca and Street. “Did you hear that? Something made a knocking noise.”

He walks toward the fridge, the only place they didn’t check during their initial sweep. Luca nods, standing behind Deacon as Street unlocks and opens the door. Deacon sees you slumped on the floor and rushes in.

“Dea- David?” you mumble, your eyes lidded as you look up at him.

“Hey, yeah, I’m here. I got you, sweetheart,” he soothes, laying his hands on your shoulders.

“I’ll call it in,” Street says before reporting the robbery and requesting an ambulance.

“We need to get you out of here,” Deacon says quietly, pulling you against his chest.

He stands slowly, cradling your shivering form to his chest. Once Luca closes the fridge, Deacon sits on the floor, taking his jacket off and wrapping it around your shoulders. He moves you gently to make sure all of your clothes are dry. Sliding his fingers onto your pulse point, he calculates your heart rate with a frown.

“Hypothermia?” Luca asks quietly, passing Deacon a nearby jacket.

Deacon nods, laying it over your hips as he lets you lean against him.

“Ambulance is here, Deac,” Street alerts. “Is she okay?”

“She has to be,” Deacon and Luca answer together.

✯✯✯✯✯

Deacon and Luca follow the ambulance in Deacon’s car while Street returns home, telling the team what happened. They sit together in the waiting room, sharing their concern and sympathies without speaking.

A nurse exits and says your name, smiling as Deacon and Luca rush to her side.

“The doctor wants to talk to you. Relatives?” she asks.

“He is,” Luca answers. “I’m just a friend.”

“Then I’m going to ask you to wait here.”

“No problem. We’re here for you, Deac.”

Deacon nods, whispering, “Thank you,” as he follows the nurse into the hospital.

“You found her in plenty of time, sir,” the doctor says with a kind smile. “She’s suffering from hypothermia and some surface-level injuries. Despite that nasty bump on her head, we don’t see any indications of a concussion.”

“Thanks, doc. How bad is the hypothermia?” Deacon asks.

“We caught it very early. She’s warming up; temperature was right around 94, so it isn't too severe.”

“Can I see her?”

“Of course. Let me know if you have any other questions, and I’ll be back by soon.”

Deacon steps into your room quietly, looking at you with a sad smile. Dressed in the thin hospital gown with heated blankets and heat packs on your chest and neck.

“’S not as warm as you,” you mumble with your eyes closed.

Deacon smiles, pulling a chair up beside your bed. “Working better though,” he says quietly.

You turn your head toward him and smile as you open your eyes. “Thanks for finding me. It wouldn’t be as much fun to get in trouble without you around to save me.”

“Well no more trouble for a while, okay? Because that was terrifying.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. Robbery is working on catching the guy.”

“He stole my muffin.”

Deacon chuckles before offering, “I’ll make you a whole batch to make up.”

“You should’ve been a baker, not a cop.”

“I’m not sure I’m the house-husband type.”

“Trophy husband for sure,” you correct with a nod. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When you get discharged, Deacon takes you back to his house, and you notice that someone has moved your car back to your driveway. After getting you comfortable on the couch, Deacon begins rushing back and forth, doing everything the doctor recommended and then some.

“Deac,” you call when he rushes by again.

He stops and backpedals into the living room. “Do you need something?”

“Yes. I need you to sit with me. You’ve done more than enough, and I just need your company right now.”

Deacon smiles and whispers an apology as he sits beside you, holding you close. You cuddle into his side, focusing on your favorite movie. When you kick the blankets off, barely moving as you struggle, Deacon stops himself from acting again.

“Need help?” he asks, running a hand down your spine.

You nod slowly against his chest, and he reaches across you to remove the blanket.

“Want to you want for dinner?”

“Not hungry.”

Deacon looks at his watch, furrowing his brows when he notices it’s been nearly twelve hours since you ate at the hospital, and who knows how long before that.

“You really need to eat something,” he urges kindly.

Your weight increases on him as you shake your head and close your eyes. When your forehead hits Deacon’s arm, he’s surprised to feel how warm you are. He retrieves a thermometer from the small care kit he assembled in his concern-filled frenzy.

“You have a fever,” Deacon tells you. “It’s pretty high, so I’m going to call the doctor.”

“Stay here,” you mumble, grasping at Deacon’s shirt.

He wraps his arm around you, tugging you closer as he raises his phone to his ear.

“Hello, this is Deacon Kay… Yes, ma’am… She has a fever of 103.2, she’s not wanting to eat, and she’s very weak... I will. Thank you.”

“What’d they say?” you ask as he sets his phone down.

“They think it’s probably just the stress of what you went through, or maybe an upper respiratory infection from the cold. I’m supposed to keep you hydrated, medicated, and happy, and call if anything changes.”

You nod, nuzzling closer to him as he chuckles. It doesn’t take much coaxing from him to convince you to take some medicine, drink lots of water, and take a few bites of your favorite food, especially when he promises to hold your hand through it all.

✯✯✯✯✯

When you wake up the following morning, wrapped in Deacon’s arms, the fever is lower but not gone.

“More water,” Deacon demands.

“You’re bossy.”

“Trophy boyfriends are allowed to be.”

“Trophy husband,” you correct.

“Are you proposing?” he teases.

You take a minute to consider before asking, “Would you say yes?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Then you just wait until I feel better, Kay.”

He smiles, pulling a lightweight blanket over you as your fever finally breaks.

“You’re still worried,” you accuse, sitting up to look at him.

“Of course, I am. I came home and you weren’t here, and then weren’t answering your phone. It’s only because of Luca and Street that I was able to find you without panicking.”

“Then we should have them over for dinner to thank them. Although, I know you would’ve found me without them.”

“I’ll always find you,” he promises.

“Even when I can’t decide whether to be hot or cold?”

“I love you either way,” Deacon replies, matching your tone as he kisses your forehead.

201 notes View Post

myfictionalbfs

5 months ago

Grumpy, Grumpier, and a Cat

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x grumpy!(kinda)grunge!reader

Summary: You and Tim are on a holiday vacation when your duo of grumpy and grumpier gets an addition just in time for Christmas.

Warnings: mostly fluff, playful arguments, one murder joke

Word Count: 1.3k+ words (sorry it's shorter than some of the others!)

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

“Don’t touch me,” you grumble.

Tim pulls his hand away from your leg and shakes his head. “They look fine,” he replies.

You stick your tongue out of the corner of your mouth to focus as you drag the nail polish brush along the side of your pinky. As soon as you put the cap back on the bottle, Tim lays his hand on your leg and changes the channel, turning off the murder mystery show that you solved fifteen minutes ago to watch the end of a game.

“So?” you ask, holding up your hands.

Tim looks over and nods. “Black, like usual.”

You sigh and extend your legs, stretching them across Tim’s lap.

“Grumpy today, aren’t we?” Tim asks lightly.

“Which isn’t different than yesterday, or the day before that,” you add, turning your head to look at Tim rather than the game.

“Do you know what today is?”

You shrug, and Tim says, “It’s almost our two-year anniversary.”

“We should dress up,” you reply. “Gomez and Morticia?”

“Any excuse not to smile,” Tim says, clicking his tongue to hide his smile.

“You’re just mad because I make you smile,” you point out.

“Pathetic,” Tim mumbles at the television.

“Could’ve told you that. Home Alone comes on in five minutes.”

“Are you serious?”

You meet Tim’s stare and counter, “It’s a kid torturing intruders, what’s not to like?”

Tim sighs, but he tugs your pajama-clad legs farther into his lap. His pants match yours, but his Dodgers sweatshirt is a stark contrast to your black tank top.

“Tim,” you call. He hums, clicking through the channels to find the movie. “It’s snowing.”

Tim looks up, leans over your legs to see out of the darkening window, and his eyes widen when he sees the flurries falling onto the forest floor. It had been his idea to get away from the city for a bit, and when you found this secluded cabin in the northern Los Angeles National Forest, it was an easy decision.

“Excuse me… May I… Is your mother home?” the officer in the movie asks.

You listen to the movie, but your focus is on the snow outside. As the wind picks up and the snowfall grows heavier, you smile. After two years together, Tim knows you well. He knows what you like to wear, your favorite food, all the things that make you grumpy, and the few things you love. Though Tim knows you love him, even when you don’t always show it very well, he also understands that being in love doesn’t automatically mean that you’re happy all the time.

“Hey, let’s go outside for a bit,” you say as Kevin realizes that he’s been left home alone.

Tim begins to argue, then sees the way your eyes light up as you turn toward him and offers his hand to help you stand. You grab your jacket as you exit the sliding glass door onto the snow-covered porch. After you lay your jacket on the snow, you at Tim sit side-by-side on the edge of the porch to watch the snow. He lays his arm around your bare shoulders but doesn’t comment on your lack of a jacket, even as he shakes his head.

Snow begins to coat the ground as the wind howls and flurries thicken into thick sheets of white blanketing the green forest. Leaning your head against Tim’s shoulder, you are content to watch the world around you turn white and forget about everything else. But the peace is soon disturbed.

You straighten from Tim’s side as a strange noise, like a sharp Ree-ow, comes from the trees. Tim’s arm slips from your shoulders as he stands on the snowy step. He looks down at you before searching the tree line. Quietly, you stand behind him but can’t see anything moving in the dark other than the falling snow.

“We should look,” you murmur. “It could be a hurt animal.”

“Or someone coming through the trees,” Tim argues. “I’ll check.”

He steps off the porch, and you roll your eyes before walking the other way. You each start out the outer boundary of the yard and meet in the middle, but there’s nothing to see. Tim shrugs as you shake your head, so you turn back toward the cabin.

“Maybe the abominable snowman got an early start this year,” you joke. “That or we’ll get murdered in our sleep.”

Tim doesn’t comment on your dark joke, but he stops suddenly, and you keep your eyes on him as you do the same. He gestures toward the porch with his hand. Turning, your eyes widen, and you laugh once before moving carefully.

“Hey there,” you murmur. “I don’t want to scare you, buddy.”

The black cat curled up on your jacket raises its head slightly, then burrows further into the warm fabric. You reach the steps and gently lower your hand. As you pet its smooth black coat, brushing stray snowflakes away, it vibrates beneath your touch with happy purrs.

“You just need a nice home, huh?” you ask it.

“No,” Tim interjects. “It needs to go back where it came from.”

You look over your shoulder, and the moment your eyes meet Tim’s, he closes his eyes and sighs. He can’t put up a fight, even if he wanted to, because he’s too invested in you and helping you be happy to deny you of something that brings you joy, especially this close to the holidays.

“It’s Christmas, Tim,” you remind him. You pull the cat against your chest, rubbing its side as it nuzzles its head beneath your chin, and ask, “Please, can the cat stay in the cabin with us so I can take it home? He needs it.”

Tim nods, melting faster than snow in Los Angeles. “Just be careful,” he requests. “We don’t know where it came from.”

“But he’s just a sweet baby,” you whisper to the cat before kissing its head.

“We should go inside,” Tim suggests, grabbing your jacket and eyeing the cat.

“I won’t let him steal all of my attention,” you promise.

Tim huffs as he opens the patio door, and you lift your chin for a kiss before you enter. Inside, you set up a small, warm bed for your new pet before returning to your seat beside Tim. He pulls you against his side as you resume the movie.

As the intruders fail to get through Kevin’s traps in Home Alone, your cat rises from its bed, stretches, and runs across the room to join you on the couch. He curls up between your leg and Tim’s, and you look down at him.

“He needs a name,” you murmur.

“Skellington,” Tim says without hesitation.

You look up at him with furrowed brows, but he only shrugs and continues watching the movie. It’s a good name, you think.

“Hot chocolate,” you whisper suddenly.

“He’s not brown,” Tim says.

“No, not for his name,” you reply. “I want hot chocolate.”

Tim nods but doesn’t move away from you or the cat.

“I think Skellington is a good name,” you decide.

“Maybe he should be Coal.”

“Coal is only for bad boys, and Skellington is good.”

“The Grinch, then.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be making hot chocolate?”

“You’re the one that wants it,” Tim argues.

“Help me out, Skellington.”

“I named the cat. You make the hot chocolate.”

You glare at Tim, but the longer you hold his stare, the less grumpy you get. As you begin to stand, Tim beats you to it, and waves as you complain about him arguing for no reason.

“What are we going to do with him, Skellington?” you whisper.

The cat slaps your left hand, and you answer, “I don’t think we’re quite ready for that.”

Tim listens from the kitchen, and fixes your hot chocolate exactly as you like, and mumbles, “Maybe we are.”

310 notes View Post

myfictionalbfs

5 months ago

Falling Slowly

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

Summary: You are Tim's newest rookie, and his favorite. He treats you differently, able to see that your past affects you, and the little things build up until you can't deny your feelings.

Warnings: so much fluff, brief angst, domestic violence (Tim and reader respond to a call & allusions to past dv against reader), one scene is inspired by "The Switch" (1x4)

Word Count: 4.0k+ words

A/N: This doesn't really fit in any specific season, so I put characters in the roles I wanted them to have and just made up some names to fill in the gaps. Hopefully everything makes sense. Please let me know what you think!

Picture from Pinterest

“What are you doing here?” Angela asks, surprised to see Tim.

Furrowing his brows, Tim answers, “I’m here for the TO meeting.”

Angela tilts her head back and groans, passing Nyla a 10-dollar bill.

“She thought you’d give up your position for Metro,” Nyla explains.

“I’d like to, someday, but not today,” Tim replies.

“20 bucks this is his last one,” Angela says to Nyla. “He still has the open invite to Metro and his patience can’t take many more boots.”

Nyla reaches to shake Angela’s hand as Tim rolls his eyes and walks away.

“Let me see his rookie first, then we’ll talk,” Nyla decides. “I’ve got a feeling a lot is going to change around here.”

“Like what?” Angela asks. “Nyla! Like what?”

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking into the Mid-Wilshire station on your first day as a rookie is both nerve-wracking and exciting. You’ve heard stories about boots making it through the academy to fail once they reach this level, but you’re determined. When you were a kid, you were in bad situations more often than any child should be, but kind police officers changed your life, and you’d like to do the same.

Waving to one of your police academy friends, you sit in the bullpen, waiting impatiently to learn which officer behind you will be your training officer. Getting the perfect training officer is up to fate, based on what you’ve heard, and your TO can make or break your career.

“Good morning, boots! I am Watch Commander Wade Grey. You have made it through the police academy, but don’t expect a pat on the back, your work is just beginning. This is the time to prove yourself, to show your TO, me, and this city why you deserve to be a police officer.” He pauses, moving around the podium to add, “If you should be a police officer.”

As you listen intently, striving to remember every word Sergeant Grey says, two detectives stand at the back of the room and evaluate the rookies.

“He’s only got one shot,” Angela mutters.

“If he gets the pretty one in the front, I’m not taking the bet,” Nyla says.

Angela looks up a row, her brows raising when she sees you. “If he ends up with her, we’re starting a station-wide pool and getting rich,” she adds.

“Now, it’s time to be assigned to your judge, jury, and executioner,” Wade says with a smile. “Or, as we call them, TOs. Our former rookie turned TO, Nolan: you’ve got Edward Henderson.

Officer Nolan nods at Henderson, and you remember his story: a late-life rookie who got a golden ticket. Part of you wants to work with him and learn why he decided on law enforcement, but you only nod at Henderson before turning back around.

“Lance Vincent, you are with our newest TO, Eliza Reagan.”

Wade says your name with a smile that seems a bit more genuine than before. “Officer Bradford, last but not least,” he says as he assigns you your new TO.

You look over your shoulder, a small smile on your face as he nods at you. He is undeniably attractive, and you hope it doesn’t cause any problems.

“Oh, he’s a goner,” Nyla whispers under her breath when you smile at Tim.

“Should we tell him?” Angela replies.

“I think we’ll have to.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Something about you bothers Tim. Not in the usual, grumpy-with-a-new-boot way, but he has a sense that you’re different.

“Nice to meet you,” you say, walking to Tim at the back of the bullpen.

He stands, offering a calloused hand to shake.

“I’m not going to pretend this is going to be easy or fun,” he tells you. “Being a rookie is the hardest part of your career, but if you’re a good cop under the uniform, you’ll be fine.”

Nodding, you promise to do your best and express your willingness to learn everything you can from him.

“Good,” he says. “Meet me outside the war room. We’re not wasting any time, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” you answer.

Tim watches you walk away, and when you stop to let someone carrying a large box cross in front of you, Tim realizes that you’re hurting, or were hurting not long ago. The underlying need to help people is something he recognizes.

“She’s pretty,” Angela muses, walking to Tim’s side.

“Though you know that,” Nyla adds, smiling on his other side.

“She’s a boot. No different than the other rookies,” Tim argues, though his gaze is still on your back as you sign for your bags and weapons.

“Sure, she is. Why don’t you go put her through a Tim test?” Angela suggests.

Tim rolls his eyes as he leaves, wondering what hurt you bad enough to make you want to be a cop. He became a cop despite his hurt, but you’re young and bright – and too good for him – so there must be something in you that makes you worthy of this. More worthy (and more beautiful) than any rookie before you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Several officers wish you luck, with one or two warning you about so-called “Tim Tests” while you wait for Tim behind the shop.

“Don’t tell me you have a checklist,” Tim begins, drawing your attention away from the shop tires.

“No, sir,” you answer. “Just being vigilant, I suppose. I’d hate to start my first day with a flat tire.”

Tim nods, asking where the war bags are. You tell him how you checked the contents and loaded them into the trunk, and he appreciates your brief explanation.

“Good work. The easy part is over,” Tim says. He seems to weigh his options before deciding, “You drive. Show me what you’ve got.”

He follows you to the driver’s side door, opening it as he reminds you of standard shop procedures. As Tim closes the door, you wonder if he’s a gentleman or if he followed you because he doesn’t trust you to drive correctly. Either way, you know what you’re doing, and you won’t let the man in the passenger seat distract you… too much.

Driving toward Wilshire Boulevard for patrol, Tim looks out the window.

“Blue Camaro has an expired plate,” you alert.

“Call it in.”

You do so, hitting the sirens as you engage the traffic stop. Tim raises a hand to stop you from getting out.

“Remember your training. Don’t let the situation get away from you.”

His words linger in your mind, and you complete the stop with no problem, issuing a ticket and returning to the shop.

“I’m driving,” Tim alerts you, spreading his hand across the small of your back as he directs you to the sidewalk.

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask when he starts the car.

“No,” he answers bluntly.

You lick your lips nervously, turning your attention to your surroundings. Suddenly, Tim pulls over and hits the brakes.

“I’ve been shot, boot. Where are we?” Tim demands.

Furrowing your brows in surprise at his actions, you answer, “Intersection of 12th and Meadowbrook, west of Redondo. There are several hospitals in a five-mile radius, but only one has a trauma center.”

Tim pulls out wordlessly, continuing his patrol route. Tim doesn't say much else throughout the few hours between his first test and lunch. He lets you point things out, answers your questions about the area and procedures, and glances at you out of the corner of his eye. When he pulls up to a small circle of food trucks where several police officers are waiting, he turns toward you.

“You’re doing well. I’m not neglecting to give you good feedback for any reason other than once you start riding alone, you won’t get it. My role here is to prepare you for your solo career, not hold your hand until you get there.”

“I understand, sir. Thank you for answering my questions,” you reply as you open the door.

Tim’s hand finds your upper back as he leads you to his favorite of the food trucks, a light touch that disappears nearly as quickly as it happened. You thank him quietly for the suggestion before sitting with your fellow rookies.

“Hi, Tim,” Angela says.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, his annoyance breaking through his growing fondness for you.

“Just came to get some food. Your boot seems to be in a good mood.”

“Strange, I thought Tim’s thing was ‘break their spirits in the first hour,’” Nyla adds as she joins Angela.

“You two not have work to do or something?” Tim inquires.

“Something like that. How’s she doing?” Angela tips her chin toward you as she asks.

“She’s got good instincts, knows protocols.”

“But?”

Tim shrugs, turning away before Angela can dig deeper.

“I give it a week,” Nyla announces.

“Before what?”

“He can’t take it anymore.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Domestic disturbance in your area,” dispatch alerts.

Tim grabs the radio, accepting the call as he hits the sirens and turns into a residential area. You chew the inside of your bottom lip; domestic calls are your least favorite, especially when kids are involved. Unwilling to show discomfort, you put on your best brave cop face and follow Tim to the door.

A young girl with a bloody nose and teary eyes opens it, and you glance at Tim before kneeling and asking her to come outside. She listens without question, her lower lip wobbling as you smile.

“He’s hurting my mom,” she whimpers.

Tim nods at you before tilting his head toward the shop. You direct the girl to stand at the edge of the porch and wait for you as you follow Tim inside.

“LAPD, put your hands up!” Tim yells as he steps into a bedroom.

Your eyes widen when you see the large man towering over the girl’s mother. He smiles as he reaches for something.

“Don’t move unless you want to give me a reason,” Tim says lowly. “Step away.”

The man looks toward the nightstand before taking a deep breath and giving up.

“I got it,” Tim tells you before radioing a code 4.

You wait until Tim has the handcuffs secured to walk outside. The girl runs into your arms, and you pop the shop's trunk, setting her down as you retrieve a small first aid kit. She lets you clean her bloody nose, gripping your wrist when it stings.

“Where’s my mom?” she asks.

“She’s talking to my partner right now, she’ll be out in a few minutes,” you explain.

“Is he nice?”

“The nicest,” you answer.

“Mom!” she yells, letting you set her on the ground before she runs to her mom’s side.

“Get in the shop,” Tim commands as he walks past, his hand brushing your arm as he closes the trunk.

You obey, climbing into the passenger seat and waiting as he talks to the EMTs. When he joins you, he drives to a quiet, empty street before switching off his body cam and gesturing for you to do the same.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice softer than you’ve heard.

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t say what I want to hear. Domestic calls are tough but that wasn’t your first one, was it?”

You shake your head, looking out the windshield instead of at Tim.

“We all have reasons for becoming a cop, and some calls are harder than others. As long as your past doesn’t get in the way and put you in danger, it’s okay to be human,” he continues. “TOs are notoriously hard on you, but we’re also here for you.”

“Thank you,” you whisper.

Tim shrugs, one corner of his lips upturned. “No more sappy stuff, we have work to do.”

“Oh, if you think that was sappy, I’ve got a lot to show you before I graduate to short sleeves.”

The comment catches Tim off guard and makes him feel something he didn’t expect.

✯✯✯✯✯

By the end of the first week, you feel like you know Tim well. His hand spread across your back or shoulder when you’re in front of him, his little reminders that you’re not alone, that you can show emotion when the time allows, and every other little thing he does makes you wonder why there are so many horror stories around his teaching style.

Likewise, Tim thinks he has you down. You ask him questions, ask for his opinions, listen and apply what he says, and send him small smiles when he compliments your work.

But, it only takes a shift to realize that people are multi-faceted, and cops and rookies are no different.

“Good morning,” you greet, passing Tim a small box.

“What is this? A bribe?” he asks.

You smile as you reply, “Nope. Just something I found, and I thought you’d like.”

Tim opens the box, his eyes widening at the 2000 Super Bowl tickets, the Rams’ first win. “I can’t accept these.”

“They were under a bookshelf in my apartment, it’s not like I spent a million dollars on them, Officer Bradford.”

Tucking them into his pocket, Tim opens your door. “Thank you.”

You smile, and Tim thinks your joy is the better gift.

✯✯✯✯✯

During your first call of that day, you show Tim that you don’t just value his opinions.

“Shots fired!” you radio as you duck behind the car.

“Are you hit?” Tim asks.

Shaking your head, you move closer, trusting him to direct you and keep you safe. The men in the house you were called to have automatic weapons, and though you’re a good shot, you’re not a match for their guns alone.

“Backup is on the way, but I need you to do something for me. You trust me?” Tim adds.

“I do.”

“Reach around the back and open the trunk; just far enough to reach the latch. I’ll cover you.”

He stands above you, firing into the shattered window of the house as you slip your arm and back around the end of the shop and open the trunk.

“Good, perfect,” Tim praises as he ducks beside you. His knuckles graze yours as he leans past you. “Can you reach the shotguns?”

Glancing in the window above you, you locate them quickly. “I can.”

“Do it. I got you.”

Once the shotguns are in your hands, you pass one to Tim as you ready your own. Timing your shots, you take out two shooters just as your backup arrives.

“You’re bleeding,” Tim says, his adrenaline dropping as a tactical team takes over.

You look at your arm, just noticing your ripped sleeve and bloody skin. Tim lays his hands on your arm as he turns it toward him.

“I think it was just glass from the windshield,” you say quietly, pointing to the car behind you, riddled with bullet holes and broken glass.

“Either way, we need to get it checked out.”

“Officer Bradford?” you interject. “Thank you. For making sure I trust you.”

“Thanks for trusting me,” he mutters, so soft you can barely hear it.

He taps the Super Bowl tickets in his pocket as he rises to get a paramedic to check on you, and you smile, wondering how bad it would be if you fell in love with your TO.

✯✯✯✯✯

“You’re quieter than usual,” Tim points out. “I need to know that whatever is bothering you won’t impair your ability to work with me.”

“It won’t,” you promise. “Sorry.”

Tim considers pressing, but he trusts you. “I’m here. If you decide you want to talk about it.”

He exits the shop and opens your door before you can reach for the handle.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Did you see that?” Nyla gushes, elbowing Angela.

“Ow. See what?”

Nyla points to Tim, closing your door and laying a hand on your shoulder as he ducks his head to talk to you.

“That’s not a reprimand,” Angela deduces.

When you smile, a tiny upturning of your lips, Nyla laughs.

“Oh, that boy… The door, the touches, listening to her? He’s gone.”

“Not just him,” Angela adds. “She asks him questions, smiles at him, trusts him more than anyone… and the Super Bowl tickets? They’re adorable.”

“Should we do something?”

“Not yet. I think they’re close to realizing.”

✯✯✯✯✯

After your longest, and worst, day yet, you find yourself in a hospital waiting room beside Tim. He hasn't said anything since a speeding driver ran into your side of the shop, though you've apologized countless times (even though there's nothing you could have done).

Tim’s jaw is clenched so tight you’re worried it will snap. You’re sitting close to him, a bandage around your wrist and an ice pack pressed to your cheek.

“Sorry,” you whisper.

“Stop- stop apologizing, it’s not your fault,” Tim sighs.

His arm is on the armrest between you, and you move your hand toward his. When he doesn’t back away, you turn your arm to allow your knuckles to brush against his.

“It’s not your fault,” you tell him kindly. “He ran a red light.”

“And you could’ve been killed,” Tim replies, standing abruptly and walking away.

You slump in your seat, dejected and curious about what you could say to make him stop blaming himself for someone running into you.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Tim and his rookie sitting in a tree,” Nyla sings under her breath.

“I don’t have time for this right now,” Tim replies.

“Right, because you’re too busy being mad that she got hurt. Cops get hurt Tim,” Angela reminds him.

“Not with me,” he begins, pausing to take a deep breath. “Despite what you think, I’m upset that she got hurt, not because I’m in love with her.”

“Whatever you got to hear, buddy,” Nyla replies. “But tell me this. If it was Nolan when he was a boot, would you have felt this bad? Even if I believed you didn’t have feelings for her, which I don’t, you’re different with her and you know it.”

Tim sighs, looking out the door at you. He knows it’s true; despite his constant denial, he does treat you differently because you are different, and you’re like a magnet, incapable of being ignored or forgotten. Finally confessing it to himself, Tim knows that his feelings for you will get one or both of you in trouble unless something changes.

✯✯✯✯✯

“It is time for The Switch,” Wade says as he walks into the bullpen. “The day you ride with a new TO.”

You glance at Tim, who gives you an encouraging nod. He tells you that you’re a great rookie, but he also tells you that you’re pretty sometimes, which doesn’t seem pertinent (or always true, in your eyes). Wade says your name, and you look up.

“You’re with Nolan,” he tells you.

Smiling at Nolan, you cross your fingers under the desk that it’s a good day.

“Henderson,” you call as he stands up, “what’s Nolan like?”

“He’s great. Really understanding and knowledgeable. A little talkative, but fairly easy going. Just stick to protocol and listen to his directions; you’ll be fine.”

“What about Bradford?” Vincent asks you. “Everyone says he’s the toughest. Anything I should be aware of?”

“I don’t think so. He’s quiet sometimes, but he’s great.”

You collect your war bag with the expectation of a good day. You will miss Tim, but learning how another TO teaches and his views can be invaluable. As you slide into the driver’s seat beside Nolan, you realize something: you like Tim as more than your TO. He means more to you than just being your teacher, your mentor, and a trustworthy officer. The thought hits you so suddenly you're not sure where it came from.

With each passing moment, you find yourself remembering something Tim said or wanting to tell him something, but he isn’t there. Nolan is kind and laughs at your muttered comments, but it is nothing like riding with Tim. As you think about all the little things Tim does, everything begins to make sense.

Someone yells your name when you step out of the shop to get lunch. Turning, you’re surprised to see Vincent storming up to you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands.

“Tell you what?”

“That Bradford has ‘Tim Tests’ and nothing pleases him!”

You glance over his shoulder, finding Tim and Nolan talking. Tim glances over at you, and the tension in his shoulders seems to ease until Nolan says something else.

“His Tim Tests aren’t that bad; he’s just teaching you awareness and safety.”

“He wants to end my career,” Vincent exclaims before muttering something about you not understanding as he walks away.

✯✯✯✯✯

“How’s Vincent doing?” Nolan asks.

“That kid has no situational awareness,” Tim answers. “I stopped at a street sign, and he couldn’t figure out where we were.”

“He’s probably scared of you,” Nyla interjects. “And, no, Bradford, I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

“My rookie can tell me where I am, no matter what,” Tim adds.

“Your rookie is very good, I’ll give you that,” Nolan replies. “But Vincent has potential. Besides, your boot has people problems.”

Tim glances over at you, locking eyes with you while Vincent talks to you dramatically.

“So do I, but I’m still a good cop.”

Nyla watches as both you and Tim sigh before abandoning the conversations you’re in. She shakes her head, calculating her winnings if the betting pool goes her way.

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking out of the locker room at the end of the day, you’re surprised to be called into Sergeant Grey’s office. You sit across from him, fiddling with the hem of your shirt to spend your nervous energy.

“You are being assigned to a new TO. Officer Bradford has decided to hand you off to someone better equipped to teach you,” Grey informs. “But you’re not in trouble.”

You still your hands in your lap. “Okay. Effective when?”

“Monday morning. So, rest up.”

As you stand, Grey says your name, smiling as he repeats, “You’re not in trouble. This was Bradford’s decision, nothing to do with you. Well, nothing to do with you as a rookie.”

You purse your lips at his phrasing, and he chuckles before sending you out. Walking through the parking lot, you see Tim’s truck is still there and decide to ask him what happened. Standing by the tailgate, you chew your bottom lip as you wait, nervous that you did something, though Wade assured you differently.

Tim walks up unnoticed, saying your name to get your attention.

“What did I do wrong?” you ask, jumping straight to your questions. “I can fix it; there has to be a way to fix it.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Tim promises. “I just can’t be your TO anymore.”

“Why not?”

Tim shifts his backpack on his shoulder. “It’s not appropriate.”

Your heart drops. Tim knows you have feelings for him, and it makes him uncomfortable; that’s the only explanation. Nodding slowly, you accept your fate.

“And I can’t do this,” Tim adds.

His hands slide onto your jaw, his palms against your cheeks as his fingers settle behind your ears, pulling you into a quick kiss. You only begin to respond when he pulls back.

“You’re the best boot I’ve ever had,” he whispers, brushing his thumbs over the apples of your cheeks.

“I’m not your boot anymore,” you remind him.

“That’s your fault. Those little gifts, and soft smiles, and how well you listen… You make it impossible not to fall for you.”

You laugh, leaning against his hands as you reply, “You do too. How do you think I felt when you called me pretty or touched my back? Then you kept comforting me and inviting me to talk. It was too easy.”

“Go to dinner with me?” he asks.

You nod, smiling against his hands before he moves to touch your back again, opening the passenger door as he helps you in. Tim slips his hand into yours, kissing your knuckles as he keeps you close.

✯✯✯✯✯

When the rest of the rookies leave the station, noticing that your car is still there, they ask each other if anyone has seen you.

“Bradford’s truck is gone,” Nyla notices as she walks out.

“Looks like we won,” Angela cheers.

“Where’s Bradford?” Vincent asks.

“On a date,” Nyla answers. “With his former boot.”

The rookies’ jaws drop, wondering how you managed to pull Mid-Wilshire’s resident grump.

“Don’t expect the same to happen to you,” Angela says as she passes the rookies. “We all worked for this one.”

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myfictionalbfs

4 months ago

Tim Through the Years - The Third Date

Series Masterlist

Summary: Tim takes you to play paintball and learns something new about you. 0.7k+ words

Every date with Tim made you more convinced he’s one of the good ones. So, when Tim approached you after work and asked if you wanted to play paintball with him, your answer was an enthusiastic “Yes!”

Tim promised he’d take it easy on you and teach you how to use the paintball gun and strategize to win, and you smiled and nodded instead of telling him that you’ve used a gun before. He was just so excited.

“Are you ready for this?” Tim asked as you got into his truck.

“That depends,” you answered with a smile. “Are we going to be on the same team or is it every man for himself?”

“The same team, of course,” Tim promised. “At least until I show you the basics.”

“Right.”

At the range, Tim checked out the equipment you needed and carried it to a dressing area. After he set everything down, he turned to you with a bright smile. You matched his smile and stepped closer to him, quickly glancing toward the gun.

“Okay, so this is your gun,” Tim said while lifting it and passing it toward your chest. “It’s a semi-automatic .68 caliber. So, you just pull the trigger when you’re ready to shoot, and the paintball comes out.”

“Got it,” you assured, taking the gun. “Straightforward.”

“It’ll kick a little bit, so just don’t hold it too high.”

“Tim, I think I can handle pulling the trigger of a paintball gun. Unless you’re scared of losing to a kindergarten teacher,” you taunted.

“I’m a highly trained police officer,” Tim responded. “You don’t stand a chance.”

You twisted the gun in your hand and pulled it against your shoulder, too close to your sternum. Tim shook his head, and you furrowed your brows. Carefully, Tim covered your hands with his and shifted the gun to a more comfortable position.

“What kind of date would I be if I didn’t make sure you did it right?” Tim murmured.

“One that’s desperate to win,” you teased softly.

Tim looked up, face-to-face with you, and smiled. “I won’t let you win.”

“Maybe not on purpose.”

“We’ll see.”

“Are you this confident when your students challenge you?”

“Are you this confident when a criminal challenges you?”

Tim shook his head and leaned in, but before he got close enough to kiss you, he pulled the strap of his paintball gun over his head. With his helmet on, he gestured over his shoulder to show that he planned to find a place on this course. Alone, you sighed and prepared yourself to show Tim that you would win, whether he liked it or not.

“Thanks for the hunting lessons, Dean,” you murmured as you pulled the helmet down over your face.

You ducked behind a wooden barrel, surprised by how quickly Tim moved through the Old West-themed shelters and decorations. Tim is in situations more dangerous than this daily, yet his competitiveness is more intense than you anticipated. When he raised from behind a sideways saloon door, you exhaled as you squeezed the trigger. Nine pops sounded one after another, and you waited for Tim to regain his balance and catch his breath before you raised your helmet visor and stood.

“How was that?” you asked, failing to hide your smile.

“What was that?” Tim countered as he removed his helmet. “I thought this was your first time!”

“It is my first time. Playing paintball,” you explained. “But my brothers took me hunting… a lot. Tim, my last name is Winchester, did you seriously think I wouldn’t have fired a gun before?”

“I…” Tim trailed off and dropped his head, finally looking at his shirt. “Did you paint a heart on me?”

“I did,” you cheered with a smile. “You look so cute.”

“There’s going to be a bruise there tomorrow.”

“Do you want me to kiss it better?”

Tim hesitated before he answered. Rather than saying yes, please, he asked, “Go another round? On the same team?”

“Oh, I see how it is. You don’t want me on your team unless I can carry my weight.”

“This was a practice round,” Tim defended.

“Is that why you didn’t fire a single paintball?”

Tim huffed as he pulled you closer by the strap over your shoulder. “We’ll be better as a team, you know that.”

“I do,” you whispered in the proximity. “Should we go show everyone else?”

“We should.”

You raised as if you were going to kiss Tim, then slid your helmet back onto your head. He smiled at your teasing but wondered something as he followed you toward the front of the range.

“What were you hunting that taught you to shoot like that?”

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myfictionalbfs

3 months ago

i feel like i have read every tim bradford fic on here and idk what to do now 🤣🥲

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myfictionalbfs

4 months ago

Black Friday

Relationship: Eddie Brock/Venom x Reader

Fandom: Marvel

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Inappropriate Behavior Towards Women

Word Count: 2,098

Main Masterlist: Here

Marvel Masterlist: Here

Summary: Quite possibly the most stressful day of the entire year is here. Now, they have to really keep a leash on the symbiote.

Consider Donating: Here

“Eddie, wakey, wakey. Wake up, my love.” A soft dulcet voice caused the man to blink his eyes open finally. The sun was just starting to rise outside the window, but inside was simply blinding. His girlfriend’s gorgeous smile was above him, causing her hair to fan out.

“Hey,” he groaned with his voice still thick with sleep, “how’s my girl doin’?”

“Good, but we’ve gotta get up. I’ve got to get to work, and you promised to stay with me so we can go straight from there to shopping. They got that deal on the new tv we wanted.” Eddie rubbed the sleep from his eyes as he sat up. He wrapped his hands around her waist to bring her into his lap. Burying his face into her neck, he pressed a few kisses there, before pulling back to look at her sweet face.

“Alright, pretty girl. What time is it?”

“Five.”

“Well then, we don’t want you to be late. Now do we?”

“No, we don’t.” The deep voice of their favorite symbiote suddenly joined the party. An inky black head with large white eyes materialized upon Eddie’s shoulder, who then sighed an annoyed sigh.

“Morning, V. How are you, sweet thing?” She pressed a kiss to the slimy cheek which made the alien let out a happy rumble.

“Don’t encourage him. It’s too early,” mumbled Eddie once he dropped his head in defeat.

“Eddie, she loves me. Do not get in the way of our love.”

“Okay, boys,” she chimed in before they could start an argument, “let’s go get ready for the day.”

The couple and their unintentional third wheel went about their routine like normal. It was a pleasant morning for what was most definitely going to be a stressful day ahead. Black Friday had hit the American economy. While they did plan on taking advantage of it, they had stuff to do first. So, having the calm of the morning was lovely. Eddie spent his time trying to actually make breakfast and coffee for him and his lover. Venom tried to help in his own special way, leading to a mess that Eddie would, inevitably, have to clean. And she spent her time getting ready for work.

This was the joy of living with her boyfriend, and the symbiote. There was never a dull moment, and yet, they managed to work well together. In recorded time, she was out the door with her boyfriend, and walking down the beautiful street towards his bike. No matter what, she always wore her helmet. Eddie insisted upon it, and since Venom could not inhabit her body, he did too.

All of her coworkers knew that the revving of the bike’s engine meant that she had brought her gorgeous piece of meat with her. It genuinely made her giggle the first few times when the other women, and one of the guys, were hitting on Eddie while he was inside the cafe, with her nearby. Now, everyone just liked watching him work on his laptop in the corner as the pretty man he is.

“I’m gonna go clock in. You hang out in your spot, okay? I’ll bring your first round to you shortly,” and she gave Eddie a kiss once the helmets were gone.

She went into the cafe first, feeling the cozy heat inside, and rounding the corner to start her job. Eddie followed shortly after, even though the cafe was still technically closed for another few minutes. No one minded have him inside. He was always nice to people, and tipped them generously once it came time to pay his tab.

As soon as seven hit, the store was flooded with customers. Some people were looking for their first fix before starting their own Black Friday shifts. While others were trying to stay caffeinated and/or warm for their Black Friday shopping ahead. Either way, their little cafe was busy. She brought over Eddie’s second coffee, with a double chocolate chip cookie for Venom.

“Thanks, angel. And, um,” he leaned in just a bit, making her do the same. “The other guy says thank you too.”

“You guys are welcome.” She replied in the same tone that he had been using. As she walked away to start helping behind the counter again, she heard her lover muttering to himself.

“No, I’m not gonna tell her that. She’s working. Control yourself.”

Never a dull moment with those two. But, thanks to the holiday, there was never a dull moment the entire eight hours behind the counter anyways. Eddie watched as a steady stream of customers kept his darling girl busy. She took on different jobs, like they all did, rotating every couple of hours so no one got into too much of a rut. It was actually really lovely to see them using so much teamwork.

His favorite time was when his angel was on the register. He loved it. Eddie was seated with a perfect line of sight so that he could spend those two hours watching her. And the man was having a great time, even with the commentary from his friend in the back of his head. That was, until, some jerk came along to ruin it.

For some reason, there was a guy who, no matter how many times he got turned down, would continually make passes at Eddie’s girl. Now, she could take care of herself, but each time it was getting harder and harder to restrain the other guy. Today, this prick decided to some early Black Friday shopping it appeared.

“Hello gorgeous. How’s my favorite little barista doing today?” He leered, only to be met with her most deadpan face.

“Welcome in. What can I get started for you?” To anyone else, she sounded like a cheery, customer service worker. But Eddie knew better.

“Well, I just got this new watch,” he flashed the overtly shiny thing in her face. “Wanna know the greatest thing about it?”

“Are you going to get a coffee, or a pastry, sir?”

“It tells me exactly when to pick you up for our date tomorrow night.” Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she took a deep breath in, and out.

“Are you going to order something? There is a line, sir.” She tried once more, and yet, this guy was just not getting the hint.

“As long as you are on the menu, yes. I’ll be getting something.” This creep leaned across the counter, over the register, and into her personal space. As much as she tried to lean and get out of his way, she did not catch the hand coming up onto her arm until it had made contact. Jumping back as if she had been burned, the shiver that swept through her body could not be suppressed. Thankfully, right as Eddie started making his way over, her male coworker, Leon, had sprung to her aid.

“Hey. Uh, no way honey. You are gonna walk out of here and not come back before I call the cops and have you trespassed. We are gonna keep our hands to ourselves before I come across this counter. Come on, sugar.” Leon ushered his angel to the back to take some deep breaths before coming back out to find the creep still there.

“Go on! Shoo! If I have to come across this counter, you sure as hell not gonna like me. Go!” Finally, the man left in a huff as Eddie saw his angel poke her head out from around the corner of their dry storage. He kept murmuring to himself on the entire trip out, but no one came to his aid. As soon as he was gone, she went back to working the drinks counter while Leon filled for her at the register.

“That pathetic man put his hands on our angel.” Venom growled, letting Eddie feel the rumble deep in his chest.

“Yeah, I don’t like it either, buddy. But she’s safe behind the counter.” Before he could sit back down, the man felt his limbs go rigid as his friend took control over his muscles.

“What are you doing?” They were walking faster towards the front door and past the counter. Eddie’s laptop was still there, so everyone knew he was coming back. But as she saw the shadow of her boyfriend walk past her, a small black tendril emerged from her lover’s back and sent a salute towards her.

“Oh no.” She chuckled and went back to work.

“We are going to teach that thing a lesson about touching what’s ours.”

“What is this ‘our’ stuff you spouting off about, V? She is my girlfriend. Not yours.”

“I know she is not just mine. That is why I say ours, Eddie.” Before said Eddie could retort once again, they rounded the corner to the alleyway right next to the back door of the cafe where they would take out trash. And would you like to guess who they found lurking around?

“Let me eat his head, Eddie. Please. He’s got a Black Friday discount on life.” He had no clue whether or not the symbiote was joking. Knowing Venom, he knew he probably was not.

Inky limb like tendrils shot out from Eddie to grab at the creep that had been targeting their girl, and shoved him against the wall. Venom was not completely taking over Eddie’s body yet, but he was close. Walking up to the pinned man, another tendril slapped over his mouth to silence his screaming. Eddie tried to look as mean as he possibly could.

“Look, guy. Whoever the hell you are. Leave my- ow- our girl alone. She isn’t interested. She will never be interested. Get it through your head. Got it?” Unfortunately, he still could not take a hint.

“Oh, what. Like she’d go out with you, mister disgraced journalist? Listen pal, I’ve got connections. You try to threaten me and you’ll be in a jail faster than you can say ‘merry Christmas’. Now let me go!” He struggled once more, but Eddie just sighed.

“See, that just ain’t gonna happen. See, I’ve got a friend. And right now, he is really itchin’ to hurt you. So let’s just part ways and this all goes away, yeah?” The offer fell on deaf ears as the man struggled to break free.

“You asked for it.” In an instant, Venom’s head popped up from his shoulder like an aggressive cat. The silence that followed was beautiful.

“I would very much like to eat his head now. Human brains always taste best.”

“No, V. We’re just gonna rough him up and then go back inside. No eating heads. Don’t wanna draw attention to m- our girl.”

Their entire dialogue was being witnessed by someone who looked three seconds away from passing out, peeing himself, or screaming. Maybe all three. But as Venom showed all of his teeth and his disturbingly long tongue, turns out it was those three. But in very fast order.

“Well,” the body dropped to the floor, “that was interesting. Let’s go inside. I want some more coffee before we leave.” Eddie turned on his heels and marched back inside. Once he was within view of others, Venom retreated back into his host. “Good boy.”

“I am not a dog, Eddie! But thank you. I would like another cookie for my efforts.” The monster growled, a pleasant purr emitting from him as he saw their angel behind the counter.

“Alright. You can have another cookie.” Once he was at the register, Leon got Eddie’s, and unknowingly Venom’s order, before moving down to where his girl was making delicious treats. But he did turn back at the last moment to send a quick, “thank you,” to the man who just nodded.

“You won’t have to worry about that a-hole again, angel.” He murmured, accepting the cookie she gave him, mostly for his alien friend.

“Did Eddie talk to him or the other guy,” came her tease as she made his coffee just how he liked it.

“A bit of both. Ow, would you quit it? Fine! Mostly the other guy. You happy now, diva?” His monologue that she knew was actually a dialogue sounded hilarious right about now.

“Thank you. Both of you. I’ve got thirty minutes left, so after that we can go get that new tv since our old one is broken.” Even though he was not physically present, Eddie knew that she was staring at Venom when she said that.

“Black Friday makes people do crazy things.”

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