Bradford Bingo

Anonymity

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!singer!reader

Summary: You and Tim Bradford have secret lives, but when you see one another, the desire to wear a mask disappears.

Warnings: attempted violence against reader, mostly fluff!

Word Count: 3.3k+ words

A/N: There was a brief period where I wanted to be a songwriter, so the bad lyrics in this are mine! I've been listening to even more music than usual lately so if you have (or need) any song recs, please drop them in my inbox🤭

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“What exactly are you telling me?” you question.

“Your front row security team refused to sign the NDA,” your manager Wendy explains.

“So, I don’t have stage security for tonight? The show that starts in less than six hours,” you clarify.

“Right.”

You sigh, rubbing your jaw as you think. “Do they have to sign one?”

“They’re required to have backstage access via all access passes to be in that area between the crowd and the stage,” she explains. “So, yes.”

“And we can’t get a security team vetted, signed, and prepped that quickly. What are we supposed to do?”

“I don’t want to suggest we cancel the show, but our options are incredibly limited.”

“That is not an option,” you say. “These people paid for tickets; they’re already lining up. Absolutely not.”

“Legally, I cannot let you on that stage. As your friend, I wouldn’t anyway, it is not safe.”

“Then we need to start brainstorming.”

Your makeup artist enters, greets you kindly, and begins clipping your hair away from your face.

“I have one idea,” your manager says several minutes later. “But you’re not going to like it.”

“Can’t be as bad as cancelling,” you murmur.

“We could call the LAPD for assistance.”

You shake your head, meeting her eyes in the mirror. “They have better things to do.”

“Then we ask for a few trustworthy cops who are off duty and make it well worth their while.”

You hesitate but answer, “Fine. But give them double what we were going to pay the last team.”

“Whatever you say, Scinan.”

You grab a used makeup wipe off the vanity and throw it over your shoulder at Wendy. She laughs as she dodges it, then walks out of the room. You apologize to your makeup artist and sit back to have your transformation completed. Because you remain entirely anonymous on stage, there are a lot of security and legal measures that someone has to consider. Luckily, you have an entire team of people you trust.

Letting your eyes close, you review your set in your head, then start daydreaming new stories and shifting them into songs. The hours leading up to a concert used to be stressful and anxiety-inducing, but after several weeks of sold-out stadiums, you’ve learned to find the peace before the madness. Besides, you love what you do.

“If there’s a bunch of cops in the front row,” your makeup artist muses, “I might stay and fall in love.”

“Only if you wait for a decent song to kiss, give the people in the front row something worth filming,” you tease.

Less than an hour before the doors open and SoFi Stadium fills with fans, Wendy knocks on your open door and steps into the green room your host set up before you arrived.

“Good news?” you ask.

She looks at you for a moment, then shakes her head. “Sorry. You’d think I’d be used to the difference, but it still throws me off a little bit when I see the costume.”

“Well, at least I succeed in looking like a different person,” you reply.

“I do have good news, though.”

She offers you a small stack of papers, and you flip through the signed and dated NDAs. They’ve been notarized, so you return them and thank her for the quick thinking.

“What did the LAPD say when you called?” you ask.

“The Sergeant I talked to was more than willing to pass the offer along, even recommended a few officers he knew had tonight off. They now make up four-fifths of your security team.”

“Are they here?”

“Yes, they’re getting familiar with the stage area.”

“I want to meet them before the doors open.”

“Follow me,” Wendy says.

You walk onto the stage and immediately spot the officers. They’re wearing similar dark tactical pants, boots, and matching shirts reading ‘SECURITY’ on the front and back. The three men before you have black ball caps tucked in their back pockets.

“Officers,” Wendy calls. “I’d like to introduce you to Scinan.”

“Hi!” one of the female officers says, waving excitedly. “I’m a huge fan, but I promise I’m not you know, a crazy fan.”

“You sound a little crazy right now,” the woman beside her points out.

“I am excited,” the first woman says under her breath.

“Scinan,” Wendy begins, “these are Officers Chen, Lopez, Thorsen, Nolan, and Bradford.”

“Oh, first names, please,” Officer Thorsen says. “That’s Lucy, Angela, I’m Aaron, John, and Tim.”

“It’s very nice to meet you all,” you reply, smiling. “I can’t thank you enough for making time to be here.”

“It’s an honor, thank you,” Aaron says.

“You’re Aaron Thorsen?” you ask.

“Yeah,” he answers carefully. “Wondering where you know me from?”

“Sort of,” you admit. “Is your dad Lincoln? From Flex and Flow?”

“He is.”

“You know Flex and Flow?” Lucy exclaims. “Make Da Noise is my go-to karaoke jam.”

“Not this again,” Tim grumbles.

“I’ve never considered singing it at karaoke,” you reply. “Not that I ever actually do karaoke, but, you know.”

“You could sing your own songs, and no one would know,” Angela points out.

“I only have the confidence to sing in character,” you respond. “I’m more myself when people see a face that isn’t mine.”

“It works,” Lucy says. “Your fans – the ones who like you and your music and the stories – also like your mind and your heart, and your voice, obviously.”

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Help yourselves to the merchandise, it’s on me. Show your security badges at the snack bar, and you can get food, water, anything, free of charge.”

“There are also refreshments just off stage left,” Wendy offers.

“Right,” you agree. “Thank you all again, and I’ll see you all night.”

“Good luck,” Angela says.

“You don’t need luck,” Lucy adds.

“Thanks,” Nolan says. “My wife loves you, so I’ll get to take her at least a t-shirt.”

“Go get her one now,” you encourage. “Or one of each, seriously, it’s all on me. I can’t thank you enough for being here. This show quite literally would not be happening without you.”

You nod to Tim, the only one who didn’t speak directly to you, then turn to exit the stage. When you return, you’ll be fully immersed in your character, living a story similar yet wildly different to your own. Maybe you’ll have the courage to do more than look at him then.

The stadium is dark when you take your place at the microphone. Phones are up, cameras pointed toward you, yet you feel hidden, fully confident, and bright. Scinan, your stage name, is the Old English word for shine, and though your music is often referred to as dark, moody, and raw, you seek to bring some light to the darkness of reality. As you weave a narrative through your songs, albums, and the shroud of mystery around your character, you’re telling a story of moving through the dark, navigating life with a purpose rather than wandering blindly.

“Welcome to the City of Demons,” your voice says through the speakers. It’s distorted, played from the opening of your song Fear. As you wait for your cue to begin singing, the band starts playing, and the crowd cheers.

“Scinan!” the crowd yells.

You can hear some audience members quoting the song’s opening monologue, and you smile beneath your hollow ceramic mask. A few years ago, you wouldn’t have imagined you’d make it here. Now, you never want to leave.

“Darkness engulfs me like a blackened shroud,” you sing.

The lights behind you begin twinkling, reminiscent of a field full of fireflies.

“In this dark, I am forever alone.”

The stage lights slowly begin to glow, illuminating the meticulously designed stage. You look out into the crowd, invisible yet fully exposed.

“Even the sun can’t be seen through the cloud, and no one hears my broken groan.”

As the drummer picks up the tempo, you pull the microphone from the stand, walk to the edge of the stage, and wave to the crowd, inviting them to join you in the darkness as you lead them to the light. You squat behind Tim Bradford, watching him from behind your mask.

“The fear has kept me bound in its chain,” you sing.

The beat drops, and you join as the crowd yells, “So I pull it to my side!”

“I’ve got one surviving memory of when you walked away, taking everything,” you sing, stepping purposefully across the stage. “But past that I don’t remember a thing.”

“Scinan!” a man in the front row screams, waving a vinyl record cover.

You carefully jump off the stage and smile as you walk between the crowd barrier and the stage.

“Do you remember what it felt like when it was real?” you continue, accepting a pen from Officer Nolan to sign a few things.

When you reach the man who drew your attention, you scribble your autograph across the top corner of your most recent album cover. You step back, but he wraps his hand around your wrist, pulling you toward the barrier. Before you can glance over your shoulder, Tim Bradford is between you. You feel the man release you and step back, letting the crowd sing the chorus. Tim turns toward you, carefully steering you away from the front row as Nolan and Angela unceremoniously pull the man over the barrier and shove him toward the exit.

You pick up his forgotten album cover as the song ends. A young woman who'd been standing behind the man looks frightened, so you write a note on the cover and offer it to her with a smile.

"Are you okay?" Tim asks, holding your shoulders.

"Yeah," you answer. "Thank you."

Tim exhales like he's relieved you're safe. "Let me know if that changes."

“You know that video is going to be all over social media, right?” you whisper to Tim.

He taps the bill of his cap and winks before he helps you back onto the stage. You shake your wrist out and get right back into the show. With Tim so close, you have nothing to fear, not even the demons you fight through your music.

The final song on your set list is one of your slower songs but is among the most highly rated. You took to Instagram when the tour was first announced and allowed your followers to assist you in building the set list, and this was nearly unanimously voted to finish the show.

“Whoever you love,” you say into the mic. “Tell them before it’s too late. Sing it, scream it, whisper it, show it. But don’t risk what could’ve been for what might’ve been.”

As you sing the first verse, you remain close to the side of the stage where Tim is. You’ve been drawn to him all night, and it’s time you take your own advice. Even before he stepped between you and the overeager fan, you saw how special Tim was behind his mask. You can relate to that, but you also know that for the right person, removing the mask is more than revealing your appearance; it's baring your soul and your heart to someone worthy of seeing it and treasuring it.

You shift to sit on the catwalk, letting your feet hang over the edge. The crowd cheers, undoubtedly filming you and the moment you’re having. You lean forward and tap Tim’s shoulder. When he turns to you, you slip your arm across the back of his shoulders and tug him closer. Tim doesn’t fight you but steps forward to stand between your legs. You sing to him like there’s no one else around. There are 70,000 people in the stadium, but only one has your attention.

As the song ends, you lean back, pulling your palm lightly along Tim’s jaw before you stand and walk to the end of the catwalk. The song ends, and the lights go out. The crowd cheers, bringing another smile as you return to the mark where you started. With your custom-made, glowing blade in your hand, you press the foot pedal beside your mic stand and wait for the sword to alight. Cheers and screams fill the venue, and you spin it carefully before propping it against your shoulder.

“One more song for the road?” you ask as the bassist strums the opening chords of Blade.

“I can’t hear, but that was so worth it,” Lucy says too loudly as she pulls her earplugs out of her ears.

“Bailey was right,” Nolan muses. “She’s better live.”

“Wait, why didn’t Bailey come?” Angela inquires.

“She’s going to the San Diego show with a few friends next week.”

Aaron nods, and then his jaw drops. “Tim, you got a little something…”

Tim raises his hand to his neck, rubs it lightly, then looks at his fingers. They’re stained a yellow-tinted grey, clearly from where your painted skin touched him. He’d been face to face with you, his hand on your hip where the crowd couldn’t see, and it felt as if you were singing to him, about him.

“I would actually pay for her to sing like that to me,” Lucy sighs dreamily.

“Well, the paint is incredibly hard to remove, so now I feel bad,” you interrupt.

Tim turns first, looking up at you where you stand on the stage.

“Sorry,” you offer.

“It’s okay,” he assures you.

You glance down, but Tim shakes his head. He raises his arms and holds your hips. Bending forward, you place your hands on his shoulders and let him lower you onto the floor.

“Thank you,” you whisper before you step away from him.

Your outfit has been exchanged for black sweatpants and a Deftones shirt that is too big for you. The body paint covering your arms and neck has worn off in several places, but your face is still covered.

“You were incredible,” Aaron applauds. “What a show.”

“I really appreciate that,” you reply. “My security team made it special.”

“We’re yours now?” Lucy asks, bouncing in place.

You smile, but Tim answers, “Easy, Chen. Don’t drool all over her.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Wendy says. “Do you need copies of your NDAs?”

“I do,” Angela replies. “My husband would kill me if I didn’t bring him one.”

“I’ll take mine, too,” Aaron adds. “Thank you.”

Nolan and Lucy also ask for copies, but Tim politely declines.

“It’s legal documentation,” Lucy points out. “You may need it.”

“You can call or email Wendy if you need it later,” you offer. “She can send it from anywhere.”

Lucy shrugs, but Aaron narrows his eyes. He shakes his head as Nolan and Angela begin speaking again, and whatever suspicion he had passes.

“If any of you are interested in security jobs or free concert tickets, please let me know,” you say. “I’ve got some stuff to do before we leave tomorrow, but it was very nice to meet you all.”

“You too,” they reply.

“Good luck with the rest of your tour,” Lucy adds.

You nod in gratitude, then step back so they can leave. When they walk toward the exit, it feels a bit like losing friends.

“What’s your favorite song?” Tim asks from beside you.

“You know the answer to that,” you reply, smiling at him. “I didn’t mean to paint you while I sang it, though. Sorry about that.”

“Not the first time I’ve had to wash this stuff off.”

You shake your head, raising your hand toward his face. Tim catches your wrist and wags his finger in a no motion.

“Sing about painting me or something, don’t actually do it.”

“My songs have to be authentic,” you groan. “I can’t sing about it if I haven’t experienced it.”

“After your last show, then,” Tim stipulates.

“You’re coming to San Diego with me?” you ask excitedly.

“If that’s alright.”

“I’d let you go everywhere with me, handsome.”

Tim taps your mask, and you tip your chin up. After pulling it away from your face, Tim carefully removes the strap from around your wig. He cups your chin and replies, “Beautiful.”

“The sweat streaks in the paint really sell the look, right?” you joke. “Speaking of which, I’m pretty sure Aaron knows.”

“If any of them caught on, it would be Angela.”

“He noticed that Wendy only had four NDAs.”

“I’m going to fire her.”

“Not your call.”

“They want to talk to you again,” Wendy calls from the right wing. “Can I bring them back in?”

“Yeah,” you reply. “Give me ninety seconds.”

“Got it.”

“I’m going to tell them,” Tim says, tugging the strap on your mask to put it back on.

You lift your hands quickly to stop him. “About what?”

“Lucy keeps trying to set me up on dates.”

Biting back a laugh, you nod and allow Tim to finish. As you face your returning friends, you murmur, “Tell them now.”

Tim looks at you but can’t reply before Aaron, Angela, Lucy, and Nolan return.

“I was wondering where you went,” Aaron tells Tim.

“We’d like to go to the San Diego show,” Angela explains. “Whether you need security, or we buy tickets, we’d love to be there.”

“I can hire you to work, or I can get you VIP passes,” you offer. “I’d love to have you there.”

“My wife is going,” Nolan tells you.

“Send Wendy her ticket info, I’ll get them upgraded and put you near each other, if you want.”

“You’re the sweetest person in the world,” Lucy says. “I love you.”

“Lucy,” Tim sighs.

“Ooh, Tim, you should bring a date.”

“Stop.”

“But, it would be so good for you!”

“Chen,” Tim interrupts firmly. “I’m married.”

The stadium falls quiet, no more voices to echo as Tim’s friends stare at him with wide eyes and slack jaws. They seem to repeat his statements internally as you watch them process his reveal.

“To whom?” Angela asks, clearly forcing her voice to stay level and calm.

“Why didn’t you tell me?!” Lucy demands without taking the same care to control her reaction.

“You all seem like very trustworthy people,” you murmur.

“We are,” Nolan says. “Which is why I don’t understand why you’d keep this from us.”

“Especially me!” Lucy adds. “I’ve been trying to set you up!”

“You are a catch,” you tell Tim. “Hope your wife doesn’t care that you’re wearing my mark.”

“Will you stop?” Tim whispers.

“You two do know each other,” Aaron realizes. “That’s why Tim didn’t sign an NDA.”

You give Tim an I told you so look through the mask, and he rolls his eyes.

“Can I tell you guys one more secret?” you ask.

“Anything,” Lucy answers. “I’ll take it to my grave.”

“What is wrong with you?” Nolan asks her.

“I’m starstruck, I think.”

You smile as you pull your mask off. With your face exposed to your new friends, you say, “I don’t usually look exactly like this.”

“Are we best friends now?” Lucy inquires.

“I think so,” you answer. You introduce yourself and finish with, “Tim’s wife.”

You’re met by the same slack-jaw looks Tim had received. Only when they snap out of it this time, it’s much louder.

“Whoa, whoa,” you chuckle. “One question at a time.”

“No questions,” Tim amends. “It’s midnight, and we all have stuff to do tomorrow.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you repeat. “Hopefully we can actually meet soon.”

“Dinner after San Diego,” Nolan says, pointing at Tim.

“We’ll see,” Tim answers. “Now get out.”

“I can’t believe you’re married to her,” Lucy tells Tim.

“Who do you think Jacket is about?” you whisper conspiratorially.

Tim shakes his head yet again as he pulls you back. You wave before you let him lead you toward the back door of the stadium.

At two a.m., after you have showered and come down from the post-concert high, you lie in bed beside Tim and press your ear over his heart.

“Nice to see you again,” Tim murmurs, rubbing his hand along your spine.

“I missed you,” you reply. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

“Thanks for finally confirming that Jacket is about me.”

You lean forward to kiss Tim’s jaw, then close your eyes and relax against him.

“I love you,” Tim says, tapping your ring.

“I love you more,” you reply, falling asleep before you hear Tim’s argument.

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.

Tim Bradford's Princess

Part 3 of Bradford's Princess

Pairing: Tim Bradford x younger(24-26y/o)!fem!reader

Summary: Being Tim's princess is the best position you've ever held, and the last one you'll ever want. Every little thing he does proves it, even if it means tearing himself apart.

Warnings: the briefest of brief angst, fluff, domestically dominant Tim, makeout sesh, hickeys, Tim offers to ignore a Dodgers game for you

Word Count: 2.7k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

“Do you like my ring?” Lucy asks.

Tim looks away from the road just long enough to see the simple rose-colored ring on her index finger. He lifts his brows rather than replying.

“You buy any new jewelry recently?” she inquires.

“What are you doing?” he counters.

“Just making conversation.”

“Well, stop.”

“Tim,” she sighs. “We’re in a shop together all day. Give me something.”

“I did. A request for you to stop.”

“Did you propose on Valentine’s Day?”

“No,” Tim answers, more out of surprise at the sudden question than a genuine interest in discussing his personal life. “Not that it’s your business.”

“But you’re going to propose soon, right?” Lucy continues.

“Chen,” Tim says sternly. “Drop it.”

Lucy nods, murmurs something about popping a question, and turns her attention to the radio as dispatch alerts of a nearby carjacking. Tim hits the lights and sirens, attempting to rid his mind of the image of you wearing a ring he put on your finger.

“How’s whipped life treating you?” Aaron inquires as Tim exits the locker room.

Tim stops and turns toward Aaron. He sees Lucy, Nyla, Angela, and Nolan approaching. Sighing, he spreads his arms.

“What is it that you’re all so interested in knowing?” he asks.

“Nothing,” Nyla answers. “Just curious about how everything is going.”

“And that involves using quite possible the least subtle hints about engagement rings?”

“Lucy,” Angela chides.

“How’d you know it was me?” she exclaims. “Nolan could have said something!”

“I’m actually the only one here with a healthy respect for Bradford,” he interjects.

“Well?” Nyla asks, turning back toward Tim. “Are you proposing any time soon? You’re not getting any younger and clearly you’re obsessed with this girl.”

“Which I can’t blame you for,” Angela adds. “It’s nice to see you happy, and if a woman as sweet and beautiful as her wants to be with you despite the age difference, you should do everything you can to keep her close.”

“Whoa,” Aaron says while Nyla grips Angela’s arm, and Lucy’s eyes widen comically.

“You’ve met her?” Nolan questions.

“I ran into them while they were on a date, remember?” Angela replies.

“You didn’t say you met her!” Nyla argues. “Just that you bumped into Tim.”

“I want to see her!” Lucy says.

“Me too,” Aaron agrees. “Tim? You got a picture?”

“Or a free night where we could all get dinner?” Nolan suggests.

“No,” Tim responds.

“You have to give us something,” Nyla says.

“Something about what?” Wade inquires, approaching Tim’s side.

“He won’t show them a picture of the girl who has him wrapped around his finger,” Angela explains, ignoring Tim as he shoots daggers with his gaze.

“I wouldn’t show Aaron, either,” Wade murmurs.

“You’ve seen her too?” Lucy asks.

“Get out of here while you still can,” Wade whispers to Tim. “The rest of you, I’ve got a question about the call in Hancock Park.”

The quiet murmur of the television and soft, glowing candles greet Tim as he walks into his home. He smiles when he sees you on the couch. You look up when the door closes and smile brightly. Tossing your Kindle beside you, you stand on the cushion.

“I missed you,” you say, reaching for Tim’s shoulders.

“You’re going to fall one of these days,” he replies, setting a bag on the floor before he lifts his arms to hold your waist and steady you.

“You won’t let that happen.”

Tim shakes his head in silent admiration of your trust in him.

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you,” he promises.

“How was your day?”

Tim answers you, giving a brief overview of his day. His shoe bumps against the bag, and he stops talking. You always seem more excited to see him than anything he may have with him. He’s come to you with flowers, expensive makeup, concert tickets, and a dress you’d been eyeing for weeks, but you’ve always seen him. That won’t make him stop getting you gifts, though, because every little thing Tim can do for you saves a piece of him, healing from the inside out.

“I have a question,” Tim says, sliding his hands down to your hips.

“I have an answer,” you reply.

Tim waits until you lower onto the back of the couch, sitting with your arms around his shoulders. He pulls the bag up and offers it to you.

The bouquet inside has white roses and baby’s breath, and a blue ribbon circles the trimmed stems. An envelope attached to it bears your name and the Los Angeles Dodgers logo.

“They’re beautiful,” you say.

“I’ve been going to opening day at Dodgers Stadium for years,” Tim explains. His hands run along your sides and down your thighs as he speaks. “I bought tickets: two seats in my usual section. If you wanted to sit somewhere else though, we could. It’s a tradition, and I want you to come with me.”

You remain quiet, watching Tim’s face as you admire his excitement. After dating Tim for as long as you have, it’s no surprise that a moment in the baseball season could mean so much to him, but seeing the joy and anticipation in his eyes makes you happy. Tim has dealt with things you can’t imagine, yet this tradition holds a special place in his life. Now, he’s inviting you into it.

“You don’t have to go,” Tim murmurs. “I don’t even have to go. We can do something else if you want.”

You shake your head adamantly, pressing your hands against Tim’s chest. “You do have to go,” you reply. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t quiet because I don’t want to, you’re just really cute when you’re excited.”

Tim narrows his eyes at you, but you don’t let him speak.

“I’d love to go with you,” you answer. “I really appreciate you inviting me to part of your tradition.”

Tim brushes his right hand over the ends of your hair before he cups the back of your head. “You’re part of a lot more than that,” he whispers.

After he parks, Tim hurries around the front of his truck to open your door. His gentlemanly actions and princess treatment of you are nothing new, but you still smile and thank him softly. Tim’s fingers slot comfortably between yours as he leads you into the stadium and to your seats. His preferred section has a great view, and as you sit beside Tim, you briefly wonder how you got so lucky.

“C’mere,” Tim says, tapping your shoulder where his hand rests.

You shift in your seat, and Tim carefully removes your Dodgers hat. Your hair falls onto your neck, and you frown when you realize your hair tie has broken. Tim runs his fingers on the underside of your hair as he pulls it back where it was. You feel another band tighten around it before he carefully pulls your restyled hair through the back of your hat.

“There you go,” he says.

You raise one hand to check it, then smile and take Tim’s hand. “Thank you.”

Tim shakes his head as if it’s no big deal that he just fixed your hair in a stadium full of people. Then, you realize that the black band he wears on his left wrist is gone. He’s offered you hair ties, bobby pins, and lip gloss, but it usually comes from his truck. The fact that Tim carries things you may need is just another in the long list of reasons you love him, and can clearly see he feels the same.

When the game begins, you flip your joined hands so that Tim can stand and cheer as he desires. He pulls your hand off the stadium seat and into his lap, and you realize within a few minutes that you stand with him more often than not. Although Tim treats tonight like a date, it’s his tradition, and you want him to enjoy the night and the game.

“You need anything?” Tim asks after cheering for a good pitch.

Shaking your head, you answer, “We’re here for the World Champs, remember?”

“I think they’d understand,” he replies.

Tim kisses your forehead and takes your hand in his again.

You look up at the blue and white fireworks in awe. Tim wraps his arm around your shoulders, and you lean against him as the night continues.

“You want a picture?” he asks.

You turn toward him, and he gestures to the field, where a large photo of the team is projected as they celebrate their win. Nodding, you open the camera app on your phone and try to get a good angle. Tim removes his arm from your shoulders, bends slightly to circle your hips, and lifts you onto his shoulder. He holds your outfit in place with his free hand as you take the perfect photo. When you’re back on the ground, you put your phone away and smile at Tim.

“Thank you,” you say.

“Any time,” he promises.

When you’re back home, changed out of your jerseys, and preparing to go to bed, Tim traces his finger along your collarbone and then spreads his fingers gently over your throat.

“Thank you for tonight,” he murmurs. “For being part of my life.”

“Thank you for letting me,” you reply. “There’s nothing in this world I want more.”

Tim uses his hand, still on your neck, to turn your jaw toward him before he kisses you. As the city continues to celebrate the opening night win, you have much more to celebrate and be thankful for.

The day after opening night, the Dodgers are playing again. This game is different, however, because it’s also the night of the World Series Ring Ceremony. You run your finger along a page while Tim watches the television, pursing your lips as you attempt to understand what you’re reading.

“Do you want help?” Tim asks.

You look up, smile, and shake your head. He nods, then looks back to the TV as he pets Kojo.

“Which color should I use?” you ask.

“Do you have white?” he inquires, leaning to the side to look at the supplies you’ve spread across the table.

“Yes,” you answer. “This one: Marshmallow.”

“I like it.”

The game comes back on, and you thank Tim for his input as you prepare to do the next step. Tim ordered you a nail art kit after you mentioned one in passing, but he found one that was bigger and better. Now, as you spend time together while enjoying different things, you wonder why you didn’t start doing your nails yourself months ago. When Tim’s hands wander to your shoulders, and his warm palms run along your exposed upper back, you decide that no salon will ever compete with this.

“It’s too much,” you say, pouting.

“It’s not,” Tim replies. “You’re the one that said it was the best flavor.”

You stare at the family-sized cheesecake. It is the best flavor the bakery has, but you expected Tim to buy one slice for you to share, two if he thought it looked really good. Not an entire cheesecake.

“How much does that weigh?” you ask.

“Fourteen pounds.”

“Tim!”

Tim chuckles as he lifts the lid. “We don’t have to eat it all tonight. Want your own piece?”

You shake your head vehemently, ignoring Tim’s continued laughter. When you accept a fork and taste the cheesecake, your protests are forgotten.

“Maybe you should’ve gotten two,” you say after offering Tim the last bite.

“Wesley mentioned a dessert tour a while back,” Tim replies. “Would you want to do that sometime?”

“Yeah, that sounds fun.”

You watch Tim’s back as he puts the rest of the cheesecake in the fridge. He dressed up for your date tonight, and you’re convinced he gets more attractive every day. When he turns back to you with his brows raised, you blink to refocus.

“Did you ask me something?” you inquire.

“If you’re free Friday,” Tim answers, looking as if he’s hiding a smile and aware that you are staring at him rather than listening.

“I’ll have to check my calendar,” you muse with a sigh.

Tim returns to your side and agrees, “Of course. Have your people let me know.”

Smiling, you tug the bottom of Tim’s shirt. “You are my people.”

“Oh. Should be a short phone call then.”

Tim takes your hand and pulls you toward the couch. Kojo is asleep in his bed, and you laugh as you collapse onto the cushions.

“You look beautiful,” Tim compliments.

“You look handsome,” you reply.

Tim kisses you quickly, then immediately leans in for another longer kiss. He holds your jaw carefully, sliding his fingers into your hair.

“Stunning,” he says, moving to kiss your jaw.

“That’s all you,” you breathe.

“Perfect,” he continues, kissing toward your ear.

“Tim,” you whisper, holding his shoulders.

He pulls back enough to look into your eyes, and you smile. As you shift to place your leg over his, you kiss Tim again. He lowers his hands from your face to your waist. When your hands slide down his chest and dip under the hem of his shirt, Tim pulls you closer. His left hand returns to your jaw, his thumb running reverently beneath your cheekbone. You push your hands up his torso until you reach his bare chest. Tim deepens the kiss as you roam, attempting to memorize Tim’s skin through touch alone.

Every kiss with you is memorable, but moments like this, makeout sessions that simply happen and don’t have to lead to anything more, hold a power that Tim will never be able to describe. Your hands on him, your acceptance of his scars – both seen and invisible, and the way you want to be as close as physically possible make Tim fall even deeper in love with you. Tim is your everything, and when you lose yourself in moments like this, being held by the man you love as if he never wants to let you go, everything else fades. You’d spend an eternity in this moment, and that’s part of how you know that Tim Bradford is the one. He’s your forever.

It's unusual for Tim to be home before the sun sets. Today, his shift was changed at the last minute. He was called to the station before 3 a.m. and now has the entire afternoon to spend with you. The early start was worth it, he thinks. Your homemade dinner bakes in the oven as Tim enjoys quality time with you.

“So,” you begin, sitting on the counter. “Last time we made out in here was after your friends called you whipped.”

“Yeah,” he replies, not taking his attention away from his current task.

“Have they said anymore about your treatment of me?”

Tim’s hands tighten around your waist as he stops what he’s doing long enough to say, “My relationships are none of their business.”

You hum, running your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck. “But you have relationships with them too… If you’re ashamed of me, just say so,” you joke.

Tim hums against your collarbone. He’d pulled you into a kiss the moment he came through the door, but after you prepared dinner, Tim opted to let you relax while he did the heavy lifting. Hence, the new hickeys. And the work in progress, which Tim reminds you of by running his teeth over the sensitive skin just beneath your collarbone.

“I don’t need to match the bruises you get at work, you know.”

Tim separates himself from your skin and replies, “And you don’t need to meet the people who think I treat you better than them.”

You move your hands to Tim’s shoulders, encouraging him to meet your eyes. He sighs as he straightens to look into your eyes.

“I understand the separation,” you begin. “But don’t split yourself into two sides to the point that it hurts. If there’s not room for me and everyone else you care about-”

“Stop,” Tim interrupts softly. “I’ll introduce you when the time is right. I promise.”

You nod, accepting his promise and trusting that he’ll do what’s right. He drops his chin and kisses your jaw. When his second kiss lands open-mouthed, you laugh and pull him up for an actual kiss. He runs his fingers over the darkening mark on your collarbone as his hands rise slowly toward your hair, and you decide that being Bradford’s princess is the best position you could ever hold and the only one you want for the rest of your life.

The Better, Not So Hidden Half

Part 2 of The Better, Hidden Half

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader

Summary: After Tim decided he didn't want to keep you hidden any longer, you meet the rest of his friends (colleagues, as he prefers), but not the way he planned.

Warnings: depiction of minor injuries (Tim), fluff, grumpy!Tim, Smitty, mentions of drugging

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

When Tim was infected by an unknown biological weapon, he told you that he wanted to stop keeping you separate from the rest of his life. You’re his better half, and he cares deeply about you and your safety, but that doesn’t mean you should be his hidden half. During his short stay in the hospital, Wade introduced you to Lucy Chen, Tim’s rookie, and John Nolan. Since then, however, Tim hasn’t done proper introductions or made any real changes. He has started wearing his wedding ring to work, though, rather than leaving it on a chain around your neck. Baby steps, maybe, but it’s progress.

Your phone rings while Tim is at work, and your breaths grow shallow when you see Wade’s name on the screen. The last time something happened to Tim, Angela called you; any time you see Wade Grey, Angela Lopez, or Talia Bishop’s names appear on your phone, your heart drops in fear for your husband.

“Hey, Wade,” you answer softly.

“Can you please come talk some sense into your husband?” he asks.

Wade's tone and accompanying sigh are all you need to hear to know he’s tired. Sirens have surrounded you all day, so you’re not surprised that something happened.

“About what?” you reply.

“Sorry for the surprise call,” he adds, “I know those can be concerning, so I’ll go ahead and tell you that Tim was in a minor accident, but he’s refusing to get looked at.”

“Shocking,” you joke. “I’ll be there soon. How is he?”

Wade begins to answer, but you hear Tim yell, “If I need a break, I will take one!” in the background.

“Sounds about the same as usual,” you say and answer your question. “See you in a few.”

“Thank you. You’re the best honorary cop I’ve got.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere, Sergeant Grey.”

When you walk into the Mid-Wilshire Station, Tim and Wade are nowhere to be seen. You see Angela waiting nearby, and she rushes to hug you after you wave.

“Are you finally here to meet everyone? Since someone decided that he needed to talk to you alone to heal last time?” she asks playfully.

“I’m here because Tim is injured and stubborn,” you answer.

“And he’ll still be injured and stubborn after you meet the boots who can’t stop talking about you.”

“Is he okay?” you whisper.

“He’s fine. Barely injured, I promise.”

You nod and thank her before she leads you toward a small crowd of officers. Talia says hello, and the three in long sleeves stand up straighter when they see you.

“Mrs. Bradford, nice to see you again,” Lucy greets.

“You too, Officer Chen,” you reply.

“Lucy, please.”

“You’ve met Lucy and Nolan – however brief Tim kept it. And this is my rookie, Jackson West,” Angela introduces.

“Nice to meet you,” you offer with your handshake.

“So, you married Bradford?” he asks. “Why?”

You chuckle at the question but can’t answer your cliched answer of because I love him, and he’s really just a big softie under the sarcastic eye rolls and grumpy yelling before Nolan asks another question.

“At the hospital, you said less than five words to Tim, and he listened. No complaining, no hateful looks, just immediately obeyed. How do you do that?” Nolan inquires.

“Wait – how did you meet?” Jackson adds. “Let’s be chronological.”

Nolan nods in agreement, and you prepare to answer.

“Then I want to know your first thought of Tim. Before you met, just saw each other, whatever… what did you see that drew you in?” Lucy asks.

Angela and Bishop smile as your eyes bounce between the rookies and their never-ending questions. You can’t answer one before the next one is asked, and though you don’t feel the same, you can understand why Tim didn’t want you to meet them all at once.

“No!” Lucy exclaims. “Where did Tim propose?”

“The place where they met,” Talia answers.

Nolan turns quickly to yell, “You knew Tim was married! Why didn’t you mention her?”

“She’s not my wife,” Talia replies sarcastically. “Not my story to tell.”

“I would have talked about her because she’s my best friend,” Angela interjects. “But Tim threatened me.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Bradford,” Jackson says. “We’re just excited and shocked and have so many questions.”

“Mrs. Bradford?” a passing officer asks. “You’re too young to be Mom Bradford, and you’re not his sister…”

“I’m Tim’s wife,” you finish.

“This is Smitty,” Angela tells you.

She winks quickly, and you nod in understanding. You’ve heard plenty of stories about Smitty, and more than enough complaints when you’re alone with Tim. He seems unique, to put it lightly (and kinder than Tim does).

“You married Tim Bradford? Was he by any chance in possession of narcotics or mind-altering drugs when you met? Because it’s pretty easy to convince a woman to do something these days, just a little powder in an uncovered drink, you know,” Smitty continues.

“Smitty, have you drugged a woman before?” Nolan asks. His suspicion is evident in how he asks and the narrowing of his eyes.

“Well, Officer Smitty,” you begin. You nod at Angela, and her smile grows when she realizes you plan to play along.

Tim stands with a quiet grunt of pain. He stretches to the side to fight the growing stiffness and sees Lucy talking to a group of people. Smitty approaches the side, and Nolan steps back to reveal the focus of all of the attention. Tim doesn’t think twice and races out of Wade’s office to save you from the boots.

You address Smitty but don’t say anything more before Tim wraps his hand around your arm while the other grips your hip and pulls you backward. Tim moves you away from Angela and ignores the protests that follow your sudden departure. You don’t fight him as he leads you into Wade’s office. Wade looks up and mouths a relieved thank you.

“Tim, as much as I love meeting the people you pretend not to care about, would you please stop getting hurt and giving me an excuse to drop by unannounced?” you ask.

“I didn’t get hurt,” Tim argues.

His hands are still on you, so you turn in his hold to look at him. Several scrapes litter his left cheek, and you run a gentle finger under them. You can see that his shoulders are tense but you're grateful that his injuries seem to be limited to some stiffness and scrapes.

“What did Wade tell you?” Tim whispers.

“That you were being stubborn and not listening,” Wade mumbles behind you. “I’m surprised she believed me.”

Tim keeps his eyes on you but doesn’t comment further on his injuries or the rookies you just met. He looks down, and you follow his eyes to his hands. His left hand is wrapped tightly with gauze and bandages as he slides his right hand into his pocket.

“Had to take this off,” he tells you.

You extend your hand to accept his wedding ring and curl your fingers around it. After unhooking your necklace chain, you slide his ring on and keep it safe against your chest. Tim nods once it’s secure with you and pulls you to sit beside him. You lay a hand against his right cheek and smile as he leans against your hand. He leans in and kisses you quickly before glancing at Wade to ensure he isn’t watching.

“He’s seen us kiss before,” you remind Tim.

“And I will never let you forget it,” Wade agrees, focusing on the paperwork before him.

“No mind-altering drugs required,” Tim says with a small smile.

“Now I understand why you didn’t want me to meet Smitty.”

“I warned you.”

“Luckily, Angela introduced me to the rookies first, and I invited them over for dinner on Sunday. Wade, you and Luna are welcome to come, too, if you’d like,” you say.

Tim groans as Wade promises to pass the invitation on to Luna. You sit back carefully as Tim leans against you. He’s grumpy about your new connection with the boots but loves you. Tim meant it when he said he didn’t want to keep you hidden and risk wasting his life by separating from everything else that matters to him.

“Lucy won’t shut up,” he realizes with a dramatic sigh.

“Yeah, because I’m sure you carry half of the conversation as it is,” you tease. “Don’t forget how well I know you, Bradford.”

“As long as you don’t forget that I don’t like these people, Bradford,” Tim counters.

“You let Angela come over all the time. And don’t give me the whole ‘she scares me’ thing; you love her.”

Tim moves closer to you to whisper, “I love you more.”

“Then go get a full physical examination. Make sure all the handsomeness is still put together like it’s supposed to be.”

“I don’t need to.”

“Then maybe you don’t love me like you claim to. That’s why you leave your ring with me, right? Easier to bring women in when no one knows you’re married.”

Wade fails to hide a laugh before he covers it with a fake cough. Tim shakes his head but kisses you again before standing. You follow him to the door and thank Wade for the call. Tim waves everyone over, and Lucy beats the rest of them by a solid three seconds.

“Hi again,” she tells you.

“I’ll go see the medic if you rescind the dinner offer,” Tim tells you.

“You’ll go see the medic either way, so no,” you reply.

“We’ve decided a better way to ask questions, and we’ll give you time to breathe in the future,” Jackson says. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay, Jackson. I understand the excitement; not the shock because, I mean, look at him," you wave toward Tim and continue, "but it’s not every day that you meet Officer Grumpy’s secret wife.”

“Did you just gesture to me like I’m a game show prize?” Tim murmurs.

“Tim and I will be happy to answer all your questions at dinner. It was very nice to meet all of you, and if Smitty asks again, I was absolutely drugged.”

Tim drags you away once again, and Angela only hears him ask, “Officer Grumpy?” before the door closes behind you both.

You turn and place a hand under Tim’s chin. One touch, a smile, and a kiss turn Tim back into your loving husband. He didn’t realize that keeping you separate from his work life gave you a unique power over him because he’s never had to hide his love for you or the physical affection he’s grown to crave.

“Be careful,” you request softly. “And call me if they find any other injuries.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Tim answers.

“Don’t,” you warn.

“You kissed me first.”

“Thanks for letting me be part of your life, Tim.” He nods and kisses you slowly, but you push him away to warn him, “Ask Angela to tell you about Smitty before he says anything about our relationship.”

“You talked to Smitty, too? Maybe I should start leaving you at home again.”

“I love you,” you call over your shoulder.

“I love you,” Tim replies.

He walks back into the station with two things on his mind: learning what Smitty thinks about you and Tim that was worth a warning and getting home to you. Your touch, kiss, and the soft return of his ring will always be the best part of Tim’s day, and even though he wears his ring more often now, you still pull him in because he needs you more than he’s ever needed the ring.

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.”

Kinktober Special Part 3

Mo’s Kinktober Special 

The Crew’s Whore (Part 3) (+18)

Summary: You are the former owner of the Grand Line’s most popular brothel. Your powerful fighting abilities got the attention of the captain of the Straw Hat Pirates. He had asked you to join their crew but what would you bring to the team? Your battle skills were hardly comparable to many of the other Straw Hats… but you actually had a great talent. Your years working as a high end escort had prepared you to become the private plaything for this pirate crew. You joined the Straw Hats as their personal sex toy.

Pairing: Zoro x afab!reader

WC: 3100

TW: Grumpy Zoro, Big Dick Zoro, accidental voyeurism, handjob, bathtub fondling, doggy style, pussy slapping, unprotected sex, creampie, being walked in on, piledriver, name calling, dirty talk, degradation, Zoro is mean :( Zoro is also cute :( poor Usopp :(

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3: The Swordsman  

It was a quiet night aboard the Sunny. After dinner, you played cards with Usopp and Chopper for an hour before you started yawning. As the chatter of your crewmates and activity aboard the ship died down,  you felt your body begin to notice the aches of your long day at sea. You excuse yourself from the game and made your way down to your room. With each dragging step towards your door, you felt your legs getting heavier and heavier. You reach your room and slump into it to push it open. 

The sight of your bed makes your mouth water almost, so fluffy and cozy and waiting for you to swan dive into it. However, you look down at your grungy clothes and realize you haven’t showered or bathed yet today. Normally you would say skip it and do it in the morning, but your skin was extra salty and grimy. *a bath DOES sound nice…* You thought to yourself.

So, you stripped yourself of your sea-worn clothing and grabbed a fresh towel from your closet. You wrap the towel around your torso and head towards the bathroom for a quick soak. Popping into the bathroom a few doors down from your own, you walk over to the large tub to sit down on the edge and turn on the hot water. After putting in the plug and leaving it to fill, you moved from the tub to the bath cabinet, searching for something to make your relaxing bath just a bit more indulgent. You found some scented bath bubbles and brought them over to the tub and dumped a bunch in the running water. 

You waited for the tub to fill in by sitting on the edge of the tub and rubbing your sore feet. Once the tub was filled to the brim with hot, steaming water and giant, white fluffy bubbles, you unwrapped the towel from your body and folded it nicely to place next to the tub impending your departure from the water. You stepped gingerly into the tub and began lowering your aching body into the warm embrace of the bubbles. You audibly moaned as you finally seated yourself fully in the tub. 

You rest your head back onto the edge of the bathtub and let out a long, relaxed sigh. You were so glad you didn’t wait until tomorrow to bathe, this felt so good- 

*WHAM*

The door to the bathroom slams open. You shriek on instinct while sitting up on your knees in the tub, sloshing a large amount of water and bubbles over the edge in the process. 

“Ah!” You put your hands up in defense instinctively. 

“AAAH!”  A very confused, slightly tipsy swordsman had burst into the bathroom without knocking. 

“Zoro what the FUCK!” You shouted at him. He looked around the room briefly to register where he was and then his eyes zoned in on your naked, wet chest. 

“Hello?” You ask when he doesn’t respond, still staring at your breasts. His eyes finally snap up to meet yours and he takes a step backwards.

“I—y/n I— I thought this was my room!” Zoro stutters out, eyes darting from your body to your face, trying to keep his composure. 

“Why the FUCK would this be your room? You LIVE on this ship, HOW does this keep happening? Also WHY do you open doors like that?!” You weren’t upset, just still startled by his sudden, loud intrusion. 

As a man who isn’t easily criticized, Zoro immediately snapped out of his daze and and started yelling back at you.

“Oh it’s MY fault that YOU didn’t lock the bathroom door?! Also, as a fighter it is important to ALWAYS SLAM DOORS OPEN just in care there’s an enemy behind them! I can open this door any way I want, you-!” 

“Goodness, Zoro. Relax.” You interrupted his rant. 

Zoro breathes heavily. 

“I think a little TLC would do you some good, Mr Swordsman…” From your position on your knees you lean your body forwards towards the edge of the tub, arching your back and poking your ass up. It was shining with water and covered in bubbles. 

“Why don’t you join me? The water’s still hot…” You lean back again and squeezed your soapy breasts together, your cunt starting to heat up at the thought of finally having the green haired swordsman naked in front of you. 

“Hmm…” Zoro looks at your slick body and considers your offer. “I guess it would get everyone off my back about smelling. Fuck it.” He closes the door behind him and turns towards the tub.

You smiled and sunk back into the tub on your stomach this time, and folded your arms together over the edge of the tub and laid your head on them, so eager to watch him undress. He gently laid his swords down first before removing each layer of clothing piece by piece. 

He had no idea what he was doing to you. Reading the room was never his strong suit. You remind yourself to close your mouth, realizing that it had dropped open slightly as he began untying his pants. 

He lets them fall to the ground and steps out of them towards you. 

*Wow… more like four sword style…* You thought to yourself.

As Zoro walks towards the steaming tub, he notices your eyes on him. 

“Enjoying the view, pervert?” He smirks at you. 

“Very much so, actually, thanks for asking. Now get in here.” You smile seductively and lean back in the tub making space for him between your legs. He steps into the tub one foot at a time and lowers himself in. Once slotted between your legs, he leans his broad, muscular back into you, leaving your pebbled nipples pressed against his skin. 

He lets out a sigh as he feels the warm water comfort his body, sore from all his training that day. You start to rub at his huge shoulders, trying to alleviate some of the tension. He smelled like sake and sweat. He hums in approval as he leans back further into your adept touch. As you work his back and shoulders, you felt him starting to relax under your hands. Your hands eventually make their way towards his scarred chest, rubbing and caressing him there, so small and dainty against his large torso. 

“Y/n… what exactly are you doing?” Zoro asked as one of your soft hands made its way to his pelvis and started rubbing small circles on his hip bone. He leans his head back onto your left shoulder and turns to look at you. 

“What? I’m just trying to help you relax… is that so bad? Is it that terrible to let go for a little while?” You shoot him a wink. 

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt… it’s been a long day.” 

Taking that as the go ahead you reach for his half-hard dick under the bath water and wrap your hand around it. He flinches slightly. You begin to stroke him painfully slowly underneath the bubbles. He grows erect under your hand, his length and girth becoming even more impressive. You apply more pressure and he lets out a low groan. 

“Does it feel nice, Zoro?” You purr into his ear. 

“Obviously. But this isn’t what you want.” You were confused, this is exactly what you want, this was what you were here for, after all. 

“Of course this is what I want, I want to make you feel good.” You reassure him how happy you were just sharing this intimate moment with him, finally seeing him relax. 

“Jerking me off in the bathtub isn’t the way you want to do that, is it?” He turned again to look at you from where his head was resting on your shoulder. His lips looked so soft… how you wanted to feel them on your body… Okay maybe he was right, maybe you wanted something else… 

“Zoro I-“ you try to continue. 

“I know you well enough by now, I’ve heard you with the others. You’re insatiable, always screaming for more… You don’t want this, do you? You’d much rather have me throw your body around this bathroom right now and use it as a personal fuck-doll until you’re screaming and crying to be full of cum, right, y/n?” Zoro says so casually. 

His nonchalant delivery of these filthy words made your cunt clench with arousal. He was right, you’d love nothing more than being manhandled and railed by him at his full strength. Maybe he felt the slight twitch in your hips but he doesn’t wait much longer for you to respond. 

“Hmm? Am I right?” He asks you again. 

“Yes…” You breath out even lower than a whisper. You felt your cunt start to ache with need. You were perfectly fine with stroking him to completion in a nice warm bath, but now with his mention of fucking you it was the only thing you could think about. 

“Sorry I didn’t hear the rest of that… yes what?” Zoro teases you further with his voice, needing to hear you say what you truly wanted. 

“Yes I want it. I want what you said. I want you to fuck me hard, without stopping until I’m full of your cum. I want you to use my body for your pleasure. That’s exactly what I want.” 

“Hmm.” Zoro smiles before rising up from the tub. He steps out and grabs the towel you set on the side of the tub to dry himself off. He tosses it aside and grabs another towel from the counter and lays it out on the wooden floor of the ship's bathroom. “Well? What are you waiting for princess? A formal invitation? Get the fuck over here. I don’t have all day.” 

You quickly hop out of the tub and scramble over to the towel and lay down on your back, propped up on your elbows. Your head was foggy with lust as he stood over you, body still damp and large cock standing at attention. You spread your legs as far as they would go, putting on a little show for him. Your body was wet from the bath water, but he could see the sticky, slick arousal on your throbbing clit and pink inner lips that were swollen and peaking out at him. Now you were the impatient one, you were trying to incite him to get on with it already, fill you up.  

“Now let’s get some things straight. I’m not anything like that stupid shit-cook. I don’t ‘make-love’ and I don’t ask for permission. I’m going to fuck you the way I want and you’re going to take it like the good little slut I know you are.” 

The way your pussy clenched around nothing did not go unnoticed by Zoro. “Please just fuck me, Zoro. Fuck me hard, I need it.” 

“Hmm.” He smirks at you pleading for him from the floor with your legs spread impossibly wide. “Face down, ass up for me baby.” 

You quickly shifted onto your front and held your body up on your hands and knees. You spread your legs so he would have access to your throbbing core, while arching your back and poking your ass up in the air at him. Zoro walks over to where you’re presenting yourself to him and gets down on his knees behind you. He lowers his face so he can get a better look at your leaking pussy. 

“This worked up already? I haven’t even fucking touched you, you dirty slut. You love being treated like this, don’t you? Look at the way this pussy squeezes when I call you a little slut… You just need cock so bad, huh?” 

You hang your head down, so flustered by his filthy mouth, letting out a big sigh and pushing your hips back pleading for him to get inside of you. 

*SMACK* 

“AH!” You shriek out as Zoro delivers a harsh slap to your pussy. 

“I asked you a question, princess, I expect an answer.”

*SMACK* with this slap, you moaned.

“OH- YES! Yes I need cock I need your cock, please just fuck me now, please!”

“Oh don’t worry, I will. I’m going to fuck you so hard that you’re going to regret begging for it. Now take this cock and be good-“ He says with a wicked glint in his eye. He spreads your lips and cheeks with his hands painfully far and lands a gob of spit onto your pussy. After chuckling to himself, he begins to slide his thick length into your sopping hole. 

“Fuck!” You throw your head back and slam your eyes shut as you steel your body to accept the large intrusion. “Fuck, finally, yes-“ You gasp out desperately. 

Once Zoro was fully seated inside you, he doesn’t give you more than a second before he pulls out and slams back in at full force. You scream. He continues to pull himself out to the tip and drill himself back into you, speeding up his pace. 

“God damn, princess. Still so tight? Such a sloppy little pussy I hardly expected it to feel this good.” Zoro continues slamming into your cunt while he keeps a tight grip on your hips. You moan with every thrust, losing yourself in the immense pleasure. You head fell forward again. Zoro used one of his large hands to pull your hair in a tight grip and snap your head up. 

“Head up, slut.” He kept his grip on your hair, pulling hard as he continued fucking you. He landed a harsh smack onto your ass cheek and you squealed out as your battered pussy squeezed his length. 

“Oh you like when I hit you like that? So fucking nasty! A little painslut!” He smacks your ass 3 more times in quick success and you cry out his name. 

“Yes,” you pant out. “I love it so much, please give me more!” You while staring at the bathroom door in front of you. You felt that familiar pressure begin to build in your abdomen. You began to slam you hips back onto Zoro’s cock, desperately chasing your orgasm. Suddenly, you’re pulled up by your hair and flush against the swordsman’s scarred chest as he wrapped his free arm around your front and harshly grabbed your breast, squeezing your nipple painfully. You loved it.

“Uh uh, princess. I’m fucking you, not the other way around. You stay still like a good little fuck toy, or this is gonna hurt.” Your cunt clenched around him again, pushing out more sticky arousal to drip down past his balls. 

Zoro breathed out an exasperated sigh. 

“Seriously? You want me to fuck your shit up that badly? Fine, you asked for it.”

He flips onto his back, pulling your body with him, his cock never leaving its spot nestled deep inside your cunt. Zoro hooks his arms under your knees, pulling your legs as far as they would go and put his hands locked behind your head, forcing you to look at your sloppy, speared pussy that was currently swallowing his dick whole. 

“Gonna absolutely fucking ruin you…” Zoro grunted out while he planted his feet and pounded into you from below. You felt your orgasm quickly approaching due to the angle he was hitting your spot from. 

“Zoro I’m going to-“ You couldn’t hold it anymore, it was happening so fast. Your body started cumming before you even registered what happened next. 

The bathroom door that Zoro neglected to lock was ripped open by an unsuspecting Usopp. You screamed at both the intrusion and at your body that started spasming and your pussy squirted right as he looked down at you from the door frame. 

“OH MY GOD- YOU GUYS?!” Poor sweet Usopp had just watched you cum on Zoro’s dick, thinking he was coming in to catch a quick shower before bed. 

“A bit busy here?!?” Zoro growled at him from underneath you, not faltering in his thrusts, being so close to cumming himself and not giving a shit who sees him wrecking you on the bathroom floor. 

Usopp was gone in a flash without a second word, the bathroom door slamming behind him. Zoro continued to fuck you at an inhuman pace as you babbled unintelligibly, tears streaming down your face. 

“Fuck you got so much tighter, you thought that was hot? Having him watch you squirt like that? You’re so fucking filthy. I’m going to fill this filthy little pussy up, just like you want so bad.”

You find your words finally and yell out at him, 

“yes… Please! Cum in me! Need it!”

“Take it, princess.” Zoro emptied himself inside of you, burying himself deep to the hilt as he did it. 

Both of you gasping for air, you laid on top of him for a few moments trying to catch your breath. He picks you up off his cock and wraps you in a towel, your hands still shaking from the intense fucking he just gave you. Zoro puts his clothes back on and picks you up bridal style. 

“Alright, let’s go to bed.” 

He carries you to your room and strips you of your towel and lays your underneath the covers in your bed. It was dark and you hear him walking around in your bedroom, figuring he was heading to the door. To your surprise, you feel the mattress sink and Zoro climbs under the blankets next to you. 

“You don’t strike me as the sleepover type, Roronoa.” You yawn as you finish your sentence. 

“I’m not, you just wore me out and your bed is way more comfortable than mine. Shut up and go to sleep.”  Zoro lays next to you on his back, slipped out of his clothing as well. You turn towards him and wrap an arm around his chest and throw a leg over his pelvis. You didn’t expect a response, but he uses his arm behind you to wrap around your shoulder and pull you in further to his chest. 

"I think we scarred Usopp for life..." You mutter to him as you recall what happened earlier in the bathroom.

"Ehhh whatever. It's about time he finds out what sex is." Zoro yawned loudly.

You chuckle.

“Goodnight, swordsman.” You smile to yourself.

“hmm.” He was already asleep. 

xx

We've Got Time

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!French/American!reader

Summary: You return to Los Angeles from France to visit your childhood friend Lucy Chen and find everything your heart has needed.

Warnings: fluff, r makes Tim a little nervous

Word Count: 1.6k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Come on!” Lucy groans. “I told you not to eat macarons when you can’t share.”

You smile guiltily and set the pastel pink macaron back on the hand-painted dish beside your phone. “Sorry, Luce.”

Lucy sighs, and a pang in your heart reminds you how much you miss her. She became your best friend during summers in America as a kid, but you haven’t had a chance to visit the States in too long.

“How’s policing going?” you inquire.

“As good as it can, I guess. Tim is still grumpy and finds something wrong with most of my decisions, but I’m learning.”

“You’re good at everything you decide to put your mind to, Lucy, and no matter what this Tim guy says, you’re going to be a great cop.”

“I think an éclair would make me a better cop,” Lucy replies with a dramatic pout.

“Éclairs au chocolate make everything better.”

“Boot!” someone yells in the background, causing Lucy to roll her eyes.

“Bye, Lucy,” you say. “Je t’aime.”

“If you really loved me, you wouldn’t tease me with macarons and French countryside on all of our calls. But… I love you, too.”

Your phone screen changes as Lucy ends the call, and as you trace the paint on your plate with your eyes, you decide what to do. It’s time to visit your best friend.

You straighten your jacket as the U.S. customs officer looks through your bag. Your French and American passports sit on the metal desk as he lifts a wrapped Saint Laurent box.

“Uhm,” the man begins before mouthing a few words. “Contenu de cette…”

“I speak English,” you offer with a smile. “It’s a purse, gift for a friend.”

He nods and returns the box to your suitcase before he leans forward to zip it. “You’re free to go. Welcome to Los Angeles.”

“Thank you.”

As you pull your suitcases through Los Angeles International Airport, you smile. Your excitement to surprise Lucy increases as you near her police station, hoping to brighten her day.

“You’re  looking for Chen?” someone asks.

You look up from your phone and across the police station lobby. The officer is handsome - stern but attractive, which tells you he’s…

“Officer Bradford, I presume,” you reply as you stand. “I am. I understand if she’s busy, though. I can surprise her later.”

“Surprise? Oh, you’re the friend that lives in France.”

Your eyes widen in surprise that he’d remember that. When you nod, he turns and walks away. Left to stare after him, you shrug and pick up your bag. You have Lucy’s address, so you’ll wait for her at her apartment.

“Yes, sir,” Lucy says.

You stop and watch the doorway where Tim went, and when Lucy steps through, she freezes.

“No more French countryside in the background, as requested,” you joke.

Lucy gasps as she runs toward you, and you’re wrapped in a signature Lucy hug. You tighten your arms around her as she whispers how much she missed you.

“Napa’s not close enough to the French riviera for you, Chen?” Tim asks as she steps out of your arms.

“Oh,” you tut, shaking your head at him. “There’s no comparison, mon chéri.”

Tim’s lips quirk up as he tilts his head to the side. You ignore Lucy’s questioning look or her growing smile following your pet name.

“I know you’re at work,” you tell Lucy, “but I just had to let you know I was here.”

“Thank you! I’ll give you a key to my apartment and you can stay with me, okay?”

“Lucy, I can’t impose-“

“Forget I asked, I’ll get the key.”

Lucy rushes away before you can argue further, and you’re left alone with Tim again.

“Thank you for letting me see her,” you say. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I just didn’t want to hear her complain about missing you for another hour of patrol.”

You smile and agree, “Sure.”

“Uh, so, how long are you in town?”

“I’m not sure yet,” you answer with a shrug. “I came in on a one-way ticket.”

Tim nods, his fingers fidgeting along his belt. “Chen’s taking a while.”

“She is.”

After an awkward pause, Tim sighs and opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

“Yes?” you encourage.

“If you need anything while you’re here, I could- could help you out. If you want.”

“And how would I be able to ask for your help?”

“I could give you my number.”

“What would Lucy think?” you ask quietly, smiling so Tim knows you aren’t saying no.

“Probably a lot.”

You laugh as you pass your unlocked phone to Tim. He types his information in quickly, then sends himself a text before he returns your phone, his fingers brushing yours.

“Here you go!” Lucy announces as she returns. “Make yourself at home, and I’ll be back around 7, after my shift ends.”

“Merci, amie.”

As you hug Lucy, you wink at Tim over her shoulder. A trip to Los Angeles was the right choice for more reasons than you thought.

“What’s mon chéri mean?” Tim asks as he and Lucy leave the station after their shift.

“I think that’s a question for the one who called you that, Tim,” Lucy replies. “Maybe you should take her out to dinner and ask all about it.”

“But we-“

“You’re terrible at hiding your vast emotional range, Tim. Call her.”

The next night, you meet Tim outside a restaurant of his choosing. After you gifted Lucy the YSL bag and a vintage band t-shirt, she repaid your kindness by letting you borrow a dress and helping you prepare for your date with Tim Bradford. Now, you laugh to yourself as Tim walks to greet you.

“Petit Trois,” you murmur. “You do know that taking a French girl to an American French restaurant is probably a terrible idea, right?”

“Probably. But the chef is French, and you’re the only person I know that can tell me if this is authentic cuisine,” Tim answers. “Unless you’re in the mood for American, in which case, there’s a McDonald’s down the street.”

“No, let’s try little three. If they don’t have éclairs au chocolate, though, you owe me a Frosty.”

Tim offers his arm, and you loop your arm through his as he leads you inside. The conversation comes easily, and between Tim, Lucy, and all of the good memories you have here, you’re beginning to wonder if you even want to return to France anytime soon.

“You met Lucy when you were kids?” Tim inquires after you order.

“I did. My dad’s American, and we spent summers in California when I was young. Lucy was the best friend I ever had, and we stayed close. Even after I moved back to France full-time.”

“What’s your favorite thing about France? Besides the pastries, of course.”

“The scenery, the slow and easy pace. It’s so different from America, but it’s beautiful.”

“It sounds amazing.”

“What about you? What makes California home?”

“The Dodgers.” You shake your head, and Tim offers, “Everything I love is here. It’s all I’ve ever known, and I feel most like me in Los Angeles, I guess.”

“That’s beautiful, mon chéri.”

Tim still doesn’t know what it means exactly, but he falls for you when you take his hand and call him yours. Everything that you love about France, what makes it beautiful and special to you, he sees it in you: your beauty, kindness, and grace. Lucy seemed to think something would happen between you and Tim, and, for once, he wouldn’t mind if she was right.

A week after arriving in Los Angeles, you’ve settled into Lucy’s guest room and have made no plans to leave. You’ve gone out with Tim, caught up with Lucy, and remembered why you loved summers in Los Angeles.

“Lucy,” you begin as you bake macarons together. “Can I ask you something?”

“About Tim?” she guesses.

“Not just Tim. I… I’ve been thinking a lot and I’m not sure I want to go back to France. Not for a while, at least.”

“Are you serious?” Lucy asks excitedly, dropping her spoon onto the counter. “Don’t say stuff like that if you don’t mean it.”

“So, you’d be okay with it? Me staying? I could get my own place or pay rent, whatever, but…”

“Of course, I’d love to have you here!”

“Do you think Tim will want to keep seeing me if I stay?” you ask softly.

Lucy lays her hands on your shoulders and smiles. “Tim feels exactly the same. He wants you to stay because he likes spend time with you. Maybe even more than that.”

“But, he-“

“No,” Lucy interrupts. “Trust me on this. You have to follow your heart. You taught me that when we were kids, remember? My heart couldn’t buy me a plane to France, but it was still good advice.”

You nod and lean forward to hug Lucy. “Merci,” you say against her shoulder. “I’ll follow my heart.”

Lucy pushes you back and points to the door. “Do it now.”

“The macarons,” you argue.

“I can finish them!” she replies. Then, she purses her lips and admits, “I can do my best.”

You assure her they’ll be perfect before you grab your bag and rush out the door. Your outfit feels incomplete without the jacket you like to wear over your tied shirt, but it’s the least of your concerns as you follow your heart straight to Tim Bradford.

“Hey,” he greets as he opens the door. “Did we have plans? I was just-“

“Je t’aime,” you interrupt breathlessly. “I love you, Tim. And I’m staying in the States because all that my heart wants is here.”

“Don’t stay just for me or Lucy, okay?” he says, stepping toward you. “Whatever you want-“

“It’s all here. I want to stay.”

Tim smiles and says, “Well, with all this time, maybe you can teach me how to make your first love.”

“Éclairs au chocolat?” you fill in. “Anytime, mon amour.”

“What are you calling me?” he inquires.

You lay your hand against his cheek and promise, “We’ve got time for you to learn.”

The Flower and The Serpent : a Walt De Ville x reader FF : ten

A/N: This is the finale. I hope it meets some expectations, if not all. Sorry it’s taken so long to write.

18 and up, y’all.

There were no servants to be seen in the winding corridors that led toward Walt’s bedroom, and not one of his steps faltered, his arms like pliable steel around you. The long hem of your dress fell almost to the tops of his shined dress shoes, white lace drifting to and fro with the sway of his movement.

You glanced up at Walt’s face, your heart hammering a fast staccato in your chest. He caught your look and winked, a slow unfurling grin revealing the blunt points of freshly returned ready canines.

Keep reading

tasm who got sprayed with an aphrodisiac, so he goes to his roommate and fucks her well into the morning 🤭🤭🤭

A/N this deviated a bit but i needed to spread the munch agenda…hope you can forgive me friend…..

peter enters the apartment like a hurricane, his shaking body and heaving breaths impossible to ignore.

“peter?” you ask, eyes wide with concern. “what’s wrong?”

he doesn’t answer at first as he looks at you. of course you’d be wearing tiny pajama shorts right now, when he has no control of where his eyes land. he’s trying hard to catch his breath, his hands clenching into fists. he brushes the hair curled with sweat off his forehead and forces himself to look you in the eyes, raising his head higher. he anchors himself on your kitchen counter behind him. “aphrodisiac.” he breathed. “came home for my research.” he gulped, pushing himself to his bedroom, still evidently woozy. “gotta be an antidote.” he started to sway to the side, and you moved on instinct for him to fall in your arms.

“easy.” you drawled, arms shaking with his weight. you’ve never seen him in this state before. “where’s the antidote? do we have it?” you try to keep your voice level, but the urgency escapes your tongue in droves.

he shakes his head, looking up at you. his brown eyes have been blown even darker, the pupil completely swallowing his irises. “lab. somewhere. gotta go.” he pushes off of you, but you grab his shaking hand.

“there is no way in hell i’m letting you leave here like this.” you took a deep breath, knowing the ethics of this are dubious at best, since you’ve been attracted to him since the day he moved in and he is technically drugged. he’s obviously in pain, and you can’t let him go out alone all the way to the lab to get the antidote. you don’t even know if he’d survive. “look. it’s an aphrodisiac. i….” you closed your eyes before you continued. “if it will take the pain away, you could….take it out on me.” you swallowed, trying to put it gently.

peter looks at you in shock, managing to push himself off the ground all the way. “you mean it?” he asks, looking straight at your lips. “because it would…” his voice trails off, cracking.

“yes.” you grab his shoulders. “i mean it”

peter immediately grabs your face with his large hands and pulls you into him, his lips sliding against yours in an anxious release. you didn’t imagine your first kiss going like this, but it doesn’t count, right? as soon as he gets a bit of control of himself, though, he slows down a little, capturing you in a breath-sucking kiss, both of you breaking away for air twice. “are you sure?” he asks again, his voice a low rasp this time. you nod and he urges you to jump, carrying you with a kiss into his bedroom.

he lays you on the bed as gently as he can, and you immediately make work of sliding off your shorts and underwear. he’s so obvious with his staring, it’s adorable. “can i?” his eyes wander down and he asks again in that low rasp. “please?”

the way he said please sent a shiver down your spine. “yeah.” you answered breathlessly. “what do you want?”

“my face buried in your thighs.” he responds instantly, with the cadence of a casual conversation for something so brazen. you stifle a gasp and nod. he wastes no time gripping your thighs and hooking them on his shoulders. “you’re fucking dripping, baby.” he remarks as he starts to explore with his fingers. “this for me? you like seeing me worked up?” he almost whispers.

“i think so.” you manage to get out in between gasps from his fingers brushing against your clit. “do…do that more.”

“this?” he asks, rubbing his thumb in circles. “you like that, baby?” you squeeze your eyes shut and throw your head back with a stifled moan as your answer, and he grins. he takes this opportunity to start putting his mouth to work, his tongue lapping crudely as his thumb resumes pressing all of your nerves. the way he’s sucking and licking is filthy, the wet noises, his hums of delight and your cries of pleasure create a cacophony of pornography. you buck your hips against his face, pulling him closer lightly by his hair and when he groans you feel it inside of you. you whine, arching your back and he has to pin your hips down with a hand. he pulls his face away for a second, his mouth glistening with a smirk. “now who can’t control themselves?”

“shut up.” you whined in embarrassment, grabbing his hair and pulling him back down. he breathed a laugh against your clit, and you squirmed as much as you could in his hold. you’re not gonna last. he hummed and spoke into you, “yes ma’am.” and you knew you were done for.

“peter?” you whimper in between heavy breaths. “gonna cum.”

“yeah, baby?” he pulls his face away a bit, still keeping his thumb in position, only switching it to take your clit between his lips. “go on. cum for me.”

that’s all it took for you to release all over his chin with a weak little cry, your voice hoarse and breathless. you try to catch your breath, laying your head back on his pillow. “alright…” you breathed. “just give me a second…and you could…we could-“

“-about that.” he interrupted you. “i….i already did?” he says in a question, almost like he’s embarrassed, stark contrast to what his tone was minutes ago. “the effects wore off. let’s just leave it at that…” he trailed off, coughing. you prop yourself up on your elbows.

“did…did you…” you look down. “cum in your suit just from eating me out?”

he takes a deep breath, looking at you up and down. “maybe.”

you fall back with a giggle, and he immediately gets defensive. “what?”

“nothing.” you shake your head, the blood rushing to your face. “just so fucking hot.”

Stay here.

Tim Bradford x Rookie!Reader [PLATONIC] — ONGOING SERIES: Like Father, Like Rookie.

Summary: After responding to a particularly gut-wrenching call, you find yourself struggling to shake it off. Tim doesn’t do hand holding or pep talks, but the way he subtly keeps you grounded reminds you that maybe he does care—just in his own way.

Warnings: Reader & Tim take a domestic call gone wrong, mentions of blood, derealisation.

You weren’t sure why this one stuck with you.

You’d seen worse. At least, that’s what you told yourself. You’d handled chaotic crime scenes, violent arrests, situations where adrenaline took over and left no room for emotions to settle in. But tonight—tonight was different.

It was a domestic call gone bad. The kind that started with a 911 hang-up and ended with shattered glass, blood on the floor, and a kid too young to understand what had happened but old enough to know it wasn’t right. You did everything by the book. Secured the scene. Called for medics. Reassured the child the best you could, even when their small hands clung to your uniform like a lifeline. You did your job. And then you left.

That should’ve been the end of it.

But one thing couldn’t get out of your head — Your uniform was awfully stained.

The blood wasn’t yours, but it didn’t matter. It had splattered across your sleeves when you helped the woman up from the floor, smudged onto your hands when you picked up the crying kid. You hadn’t noticed it at first—too busy, too locked into protocol. But now, sitting in the shop under the dim glow of the streetlights, it was all you could see.

You rubbed your palms together, as if you could scrub the feeling away, but the red didn’t disappear. It had already dried, darkened into something rust coloured and permanent. Your breathing slowed, the noise of the city fading into a dull hum as a strange weight settled in your chest.

You didn’t even realize you were staring at your hands until Tim spoke.

“Hey.”

The sharpness in his voice cut through the haze. You blinked, finally looking up, and he was already watching you—brows drawn, head tilted just slightly. You hadn’t even noticed that the shop had pulled over to the side of the road.

“You’re here,” Tim said evenly, like he was reminding you of something obvious. “Stay here.”

You exhaled, shaking your head as if that could clear the static in your brain. With stiff movements, you reached for a napkin in the center console, scrubbing at your hands even though it wouldn’t do much good. Tim let you, didn’t say a word until your hands stopped shaking.

Then, after a long beat, he reached behind his seat and tossed you a fresh department hoodie.

“Put that on,” he muttered, turning his attention back to the road.

You hesitated, then pulled it over your uniform without question. The fabric was warm, heavy, grounding.

You weren’t sure if it actually helped, but somehow, you didn’t feel so lost anymore.

You pulled the hoodie over your uniform, the scent of worn fabric and faint cologne settling around you. It was grounding in a way you didn’t expect. But then, Tim reached over and—

His thumb swiped against your cheek.

You stiffened slightly, not because of the touch, but because of what he was wiping away.

Blood.

You hadn’t even realized it was on your face too.

Tim’s movements were calm, methodical. He pulled another napkin from the glove compartment, wetting it with his water bottle before dabbing at the smudges across your jawline. His touch was firm but not rough, like he knew you needed something tangible to focus on.

“You’re doing fine, kid,” he said, voice low, steady. “Stay with me.”

You nodded slowly, still silent, but compliant. Your breathing was shallow, but you matched the rhythm of his movements—each slow pass of the napkin against your skin, each flick of his eyes scanning for anything he missed.

When he was done, he studied you for a moment. His usual sharp, assessing gaze softened just slightly, like he was trying to gauge if you were still floating somewhere outside yourself.

“Talk to me,” he finally said.

Your lips parted, but no words came out at first. You swallowed, forcing out something—anything.

“I didn’t even feel it,” you admitted. “Didn’t notice the blood was there.”

Tim nodded, like that answer made sense. “That’s because you were running on instinct.” He tossed the used napkin into a small trash bag near the console. “It’s not a bad thing. It means you did your job.”

You let out a slow breath, feeling the weight in your chest shift—still heavy, but not suffocating.

Tim didn’t push for more. Instead, he rested his arm against the center console, glancing at you like he was about to say something but changed his mind. Then, after a beat—

“Let’s get some coffee.”

The abruptness of it almost made you laugh. Almost. But the offer was exactly what you needed—something normal, something routine, something that wasn’t blood and sirens and silence pressing in too hard.

You nodded, finally meeting his eyes. “Yeah. Coffee sounds good.”

Tim hummed in approval and put the shop in drive.

The coffee shop stayed quiet between you and Tim for a while, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. Just… steady. Like the weight of the last call wasn’t pressing as hard anymore. Like you could actually breathe again.

Your coffee was still too hot to drink properly, but you held onto it anyway, fingers gripping the cup like it was some kind of lifeline. Tim didn’t comment on it. He just sat across from you, sipping his own, gaze flicking out the window every now and then, like he was still half on duty even while sitting down.

You let the silence sit a little longer before finally speaking. “So… you’ve done this before.”

Tim glanced back at you. “What?”

“This whole ‘walking someone out of a breakdown’ thing,” you said, raising a brow. “You’re kinda suspiciously good at it.”

Tim scoffed. “It’s not a breakdown.”

You gave him a look. “It was getting there.”

His jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he let out a slow breath, rolling his shoulders. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I’ve done it before.”

You nodded, waiting.

For a second, you thought he wouldn’t say anything else. But then, his fingers tapped lightly against the side of his coffee cup, and he spoke again.

“I had a T.O who did the same thing for me,” he said, voice lower now. “When I was a rookie, fresh out of the military. Thought I could handle anything.” He huffed a quiet laugh. “Turns out, I was wrong.”

You blinked. Tim didn’t talk about himself much, and when he did, it was usually wrapped in sarcasm or some kind of tough-love lesson. But this—this was different.

“What happened?” you asked carefully.

Tim exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “Bad call. Domestic. Ended ugly.” His fingers flexed once against the cup before stilling. “My T.O. knew I was barely keeping it together after. Took me out for coffee, let me sit with it. Didn’t push, didn’t lecture—just reminded me that it wasn’t my job to carry it forever.”

You swallowed, watching him.

Tim glanced at you then, eyes sharp and knowing. “That’s what I’m doing for you.”

You shifted in your seat, suddenly feeling like he could see straight through you. “I’m fine,” you muttered, though even you weren’t convinced.

Tim’s brow lifted. “Sure. That’s why you haven’t taken a sip of that coffee yet.”

You scowled at him but finally lifted the cup and took a hesitant sip, more out of stubbornness than anything else. It was still too hot, and you made a face, setting it back down.

Tim smirked. “There. Progress.”

You rolled your eyes but felt the tightness in your chest ease just a little.

After a moment, Tim leaned back, stretching his shoulders. “You don’t get used to it, you know,” he said, voice softer. “The blood. The way people look at you when they realize you can’t fix everything. You just learn how to live with it.”

You nodded slowly. “And coffee helps?”

Tim shrugged, smirking slightly. “Doesn’t hurt.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, finally taking another sip of your drink. This time, you didn’t grimace.

The weight of the last call still lingered, but it wasn’t crushing you anymore. You weren’t fully back yet, but you were getting there.

And Tim—without making a big deal out of it—was making sure you didn’t have to get there alone.