Bottom Of The River Masterlist

Tour of Dreams

Requested Here!

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x fem!wife!teacher!reader

Summary: Your class takes a special field trip to SWAT HQ and your husband Deacon makes the tour especially memorable.

Warnings: Hondo, fluff

Word Count: 1.4k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Kay Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

In the early morning peace of your classroom, you erase the large purple 2 on your whiteboard and replace it with a 1. Your class has been learning about the government recently. Because of the shared success in naming the three branches on the most recent quiz, you reward them with a small field trip. LAPD SWAT was more than happy to host your class and give them a tour of their headquarters.

You smile as you sort through your notes for the day. The kids will undoubtedly be excited about tomorrow’s trip, but there are a few things you need to get done today. Your phone buzzes with an incoming message, and your smile brightens when you see who it’s from. Rather than answering, you press your husband’s contact to call him.

“Good morning,” Deacon greets when he answers. “Were you going to tell me about tomorrow’s field trip?”

“I was going to, but you’ve been really busy. I talked to Hicks and he said it was okay,” you reply softly.

“Oh, of course it is,” Deacon insists. “I was just calling to ask if you need a tour guide.”

“Really?” you ask, thrilled by the idea. “You would do that?”

“Absolutely. They’re good kids, and… well, to tell you the truth, I’m in love with their teacher.”

“I- we would love to have you with us,” you answer. “And their teacher loves you too.”

Deacon sighs and murmurs, “That’s a relief.”

You laugh at his response, then ask, “Do I need to change anything? I made the plans with Hicks and don’t want to put you out.”

“He went over it with me, everything’s good. We’ll see you tomorrow, same time, same place.”

“Okay, awesome. Thank you, David.”

“Of course. I thought you were doing a pizza party for them.”

“I let them pick between a local field trip to visit one of the government branches or a pizza party. They chose the executive branch.”

“You’re a good teacher.”

“You’re a good sergeant.”

“Hey, I’ve got to go, but I’ll see you tonight.”

“Thank you. Be safe today.”

“Always. I love you.”

“I love you.”

You end the call and return to the board. After surrounding the trip countdown with hand-drawn confetti, you begin readying the classroom for your students.

“Alright, what are we going to be?” you ask your students in SWAT’s parking lot.

“Respectful,” they answer together.

You smile and nod, then ensure everyone stands with their assigned buddy.

“Good morning!” Deacon calls as he exits the station.

“Good morning!” your students reply.

“I am SWAT Sergeant Kay, but you can call me Deacon,” he introduces himself. “I heard you’re here to see the executive branch in action?”

Your students nod excitedly, and Deacon sends you a smile. The gate behind you lifts, and a grey Charger pulls in.

“Mrs. Kay!” Hondo yells as he exits the driver’s side. “And Mrs. Kay’s class!”

“This is my team leader, Sergeant Harrelson,” Deacon tells the kids. “We work together with a few other officers to go into dangerous places and help people.”

“Hicks didn’t tell us it was your class,” Hondo whispers as he stops beside you.

“I don’t know how Deacon found out,” you reply quietly. “I was trying not to bother you guys.”

Hondo drops his smile and raises a brow. “I know you did not just say that.”

“It’s Friday,” you remind him, tapping him with your elbow. “Leading a field trip probably isn’t the ideal way to end the week.”

“As opposed to what? Getting shot at?”

“Mrs. Kay?” one of the students closest to you calls.

“Yes, Remy?” you reply, stepping toward her.

“Why doesn’t SWAT use regular police cars?”

“That is a great question,” you say. “Let’s ask Sergeant Kay.”

Deacon smiles as Remy raises her hand, then asks, “Yes?”

“Hi,” Remy begins softly. “I just wanted to ask why you don’t use regular police cars.”

“Excellent question,” Deacon responds. “Because we go into dangerous situations, we have to use cars and trucks that can help protect us. And, sometimes, we don’t want people to know that we are the police because it might make them scared or angry. We have to protect the people around us.”

“Thank you,” Remy says.

“Of course. Are there any other questions before we go inside?”

Hondo raises his hand, and Deacon looks straight past him. He drops his hand and turns to you with a pout.

“Yes?” you inquire as you follow your class into the building.

“Are you coming to family dinner tomorrow?”

“Have I ever missed?”

“Yes.”

“The first week after we met doesn’t count.”

“Ask Luca if it counts.”

“This is our training area,” Deacon says as you shake your head. “SWAT officers have to be ready to run, lift things, and help people at any moment. So, we work out and help each other prepare for our job.”

“How much weight can you lift?” a student asks.

“Yeah, Mrs. Kay, how much weight can he lift?” someone repeats beside you.

You smile as you look at Street. “More than you.”

“Ow.”

“We’re not going to warn you again, kid,” Hondo tells him. “Don’t start with her.”

“Hey!” Luca greets you, wrapping you in a quick hug. “I heard you were bringing the class by today.”

“Next,” Deacon continues. “We’re going to see the situation room. That’s where we find out what we’re doing, who we’re looking for, and it gives us a chance to talk about the day.”

Kelsie, one of your quieter students, raises her hands. Deacon points at her and offers a kind smile, so she asks, “Is it like our bell work?”

Your husband looks at you, and you say, “Yeah, Kelsie! That’s a really cool connection. During bell time, we talk about what we're doing that day and make sure everyone has what they need for the day.”

“Exactly what we do in the situation room,” Hondo adds.

Hondo, Street, and Luca excuse themselves, and you join the front of your group. The parent chaperones keep everyone in order as you join Deacon’s side to answer a few more questions. The tour is better than expected, and you have your husband to thank.

As you return to the training area and Deacon finishes the tour, you prepare to lead your students back to the bus.

“There’s one more thing that is important and necessary in SWAT operations,” Deacon says. “Would you like to see it?”

Your class cheers before they remember your instructions to respect the people working and quiets quickly. They nod, excited, as Deacon leads them toward the door.

“What’s up, everybody?” Luca calls. “You’re about to see something that is very special to me. I’m Officer Luca, 20-David’s resident driver.”

“What do you drive?” several kids ask simultaneously.

Luca leads them around the corner and reveals, “This is Black Betty. She’s a type of APC, or armored personnel carrier. That means we can put our team in the back and drive into very dangerous places, but still be protected.”

“We take Black Betty almost everywhere we go,” Deacon adds.

“Whoa!” the kids exclaim as the lights come on.

Street exits the driver’s seat and opens the rear double doors.

“Who wants to stand inside and see what she looks like?” Luca asks.

All your students raise their hands, and you walk to Deacon’s side as they follow Luca in a single file line to take turns.

“Thank you,” you say.

“It was just a tour,” Deacon replies.

“No, it wasn’t. You made their year. I have no doubt a few of them will be telling me about their dream careers of being SWAT officers next week.”

“You’ve got a couple promising recruits.”

You smile and watch Street and Luca play with your students as they climb in and out of Black Betty.

“So, how much can you lift?” you tease.

“Enough,” Deacon replies.

“That’s exactly what she said,” Hondo interjects. “You know, I’ve always heard opposites attract, so if you ever-“

“I know where to find you, yes,” you interrupt. “Keep this up and I’ll tell Luca you uninvited me from family dinner.”

“Ooh!” Street yells. “Sorry, that was so loud. But, you deserved it, Hondo.”

“Can we turn on the sirens?” Remy asks Deacon.

He looks at Luca, who smiles and nods. You watch Deacon lift her into the driver’s seat and show her the switch to turn the sirens on with a smile.

“You made dinner,” Deacon says, wrapping his arms around your waist.

You turn in his hold and smile. “Well, after all the hard work you did today, it’s the least I could do.”

Deacon shakes his head before he kisses you. Being a tour guide has never been a duty he’s enjoyed, but with you and your class, he thinks he could do it daily and not get tired.

“Thank you again,” you say.

“Any time,” Deacon promises before pulling you closer.

Tape

Description: Bruce and Y/N’s sex tape leaked

Warnings: Cursing, sex tape, suggestive,

Word Count:0.8k

“Bruce, wake up,” Y/N startled her husband awake. Normally she tried to let Bruce get at least four hours of sleep but this was an emergency.

“What? I’m up,” Bruce’s first thought was either the Manor was on fire or one of the kids was about to set the Manor on fire. He knew Y/N shaking him awake meant something bad had happened.

“It leaked,” Y/N speaking in vague terms didn’t help Bruce relax in this situation. He was much too tired to attempt to decipher whatever she was talking about.

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Not my kid!

Tim Bradford x Rookie!reader [PLATONIC] — Ongoing series: Like Father, like Rookie.

Summary: When Angela and Lucy are wholeheartedly convinced that you and Tim have the most ‘I don’t get paid enough for this shit’ father to ‘I love making Tim’s life harder!’ child-like dynamic in the precinct, Tim is stuck with the fact that they won’t shut up about it.

Tim Bradford had been through a lot in his years as a cop. He’d survived war zones, worked under some of the worst training officers the LAPD had to offer, and somehow managed not to strangle Aaron Thorsen on a daily basis. He’d seen it all.

And yet, nothing in his career had prepared him for you.

“Kid, I swear to God—”

You guided the criminal into the backseat of the shop with a grin, entirely unfazed by the exhaustion in his voice as you shut the door. “I got the guy, didn’t I?”

Tim exhaled through his nose, standing on the curb and leaning against the shop. “You got the guy by jumping off a dumpster, nearly breaking your neck, and landing on top of him like some kind of rabid squirrel.”

“Worked, though.”

“You are going to give me a stroke.”

“Eh, you’re too tough for that.”

Tim turned his head just enough to shoot you a look—one of those deadpan, barely-contained irritation looks that had made rookies before you crumble under the weight of his judgment.

But you? You just smiled, perfectly comfortable in the way you leaned back against the shop like this was just another normal day.

Meanwhile, Lucy and Angela were having the time of their lives eavesdropping into you and Tim’s conversation as they walked towards youse.

“I mean,” Lucy mused, arms draped over the front seats like she was settling in for a show, “it’s kind of impressive. You have to admit, Tim—”

“I do not.”

“—that it was a solid takedown.”

Angela, arms crossed but clearly holding back a smirk, nodded. “If a little reckless.”

You lifted a hand, like a lawyer presenting evidence in court. “A calculated risk.”

“Bullshit,” Tim and Angela said at the same time.

Lucy snorted. “You’re getting soft, Tim. Back in the day, you would’ve—”

Tim’s glare cut through the air like a warning shot. “You wanna ride with me for the rest of the month, Chen?”

Lucy grinned but lifted her hands in surrender. “I’m just saying, it’s funny.”

“What’s funny?” you asked, head tilting in curiosity.

Angela smirked. “The way you two act like a single dad with a hyperactive kid.”

You blinked. “Oh.”

Tim groaned. “No.”

Lucy’s eyes lit up, her smile downright smug. “Absolutely. He’s all rules and structure, and you’re just out here doing parkour, making his life miserable.” Her expression practically screamed, ‘Did I lie, though?’

Angela tilted her head, considering. “And yet, if anyone else tried to parent them, they’d end up in a ditch.”

You turned to Tim, expectant, eyes bright. “Sir?”

Tim exhaled sharply, staring dead ahead like if he ignored the conversation long enough, it would cease to exist. His jaw tensed, hands gripping his vest as he muttered under his breath—

“I don’t get paid enough for this.”

Lucy let out a delighted laugh. “Oh my God, that was the most dad thing he could’ve said.” She exclaimed to Angela, the two of them borderline snorting of laughter as if you and Tim weren’t there.

Tim made a mental note to start requesting solo patrols.

Meanwhile, you were still grinning like you’d just won the precinct lottery, leaning into your seat with the kind of self-satisfied energy that made Tim’s eye twitch. “So does that make Lucy the fun aunt?”

Angela snorted. “She wishes. If anything, I’m the cool aunt, and Lucy’s the big sister who has to keep you alive while Dad’s at work.”

Lucy gasped, clutching her chest like she’d just been hit. “That’s… painfully accurate.”

Tim groaned, dragging a hand down his face like he could physically wipe away the conversation. “You’re all insufferable.”

You, unfazed as ever, nudged his arm with your shoulder, practically radiating warmth and mischief. “C’mon, sir. You know you love us.”

Tim had been a cop for a long time. He knew how to lie. Knew how to keep a straight face. Knew how to bluff his way through situations that should’ve killed him.

And yet, when you said it like that, with all the unshakable confidence of someone who had already decided he was stuck with you, Tim didn’t have it in him to argue.

He sighed instead, looking into the shop windows as if there was something more important to focus on besides this conversation, and muttered under his breath.

“Not my kid.”

Angela leaned against the shop, arms crossed, the smirk on her face downright smug. “Oh, please. You act like it’s just us seeing it, but literally everyone knows.” She said, holding a hand up as if to say ‘Oh, you don’t get to talk just yet.’ when Tim opened his mouth to protest.

“Grey watches you suffer on purpose. Nolan says you remind him of when he first became a dad,”

“Lopez, shut the hell—“

Angela only continued, “West told me he once saw you instinctively put an arm out to stop them from stepping into traffic—mid-lecture—like a stressed-out parent.” Her voice laced with a knowing tone as she crossed her arms, “And me? I’ve personally witnessed you yank them back by the collar when they tried to chase a suspect barefoot because, and I quote, ‘I had to know if I could.’”

A small ‘Ohhh, I remember that.’ left your lips, huffing a laugh at the memory that was personally hilarious to you, but excruciating to Tim.

“Not to mention, just last week, you scolded them for getting blood on their uniform like it was grass stains on a kid’s soccer jersey.” Angela raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. “So tell me again how they’re ‘not your kid.’”

Lucy whistled, “Damn, Wesley been teaching you a thing or two.” she smirked.

The sidewalk fell into a momentary silence, save for the hum of the engine and the distant chatter of dispatch over the radio.

You, still grinning like you’d just won some unspoken battle, hopped into the shop and settled into the passenger seat, clearly pleased with yourself.

Lucy exchanged a knowing look with Angela, both of them reveling in Tim’s suffering as they walked back to their own shops.

And Tim? He just exhaled slowly, staring at the road like it held the answers to all of life’s problems—like if he focused hard enough, he could pretend he wasn’t stuck in a moving circus.

But deep down, buried beneath the exasperation and the ever-present headache that came with being responsible for you, he knew the truth.

He’d never admit it out loud, but he was stuck with you. And worse? He didn’t actually mind.

taglist: @its-ares @nevereclipse @chezze-its @mcckunty

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬𝐧'𝐭 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭 𝐡𝐞𝐫

pairing || andy barber x fem!reader

word count || 3,865

summary || you and andy have been sneaking around for months and soon it might catch up to you two

warnings || drinking, throwing up, oral, reader has twins, andy cheating on laurie, oral receiving, oral giving, couch sex, making dinner, eating dinner, over the counter sex, taking care of teenagers, andy buying you stuff, beach house, beach house sex, name calling, breeding, ass fingering, pussy fingering

authors note || PLEASE REBLOG MY TAGLIST IS ENDING ON JULY 10TH PLEASE FOLLOW @dulceslibrary AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS TO BE NOTIFIED WHEN I POST 18+ ONLY,, feedback is appreciated

𝐌𝐘 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄 | 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐑

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No Party Like a Costco Party

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!shy!reader

Summary: You enjoy going to Costco, so Tim decides to take you shopping on your birthday. With a little help from your best friend, it turns into a party.

Warnings: just fluff!

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

“Tim!” Lucy calls as he walks into the bullpen.

He stops and watches her as she skips toward him. Even though he rolls his eyes and shakes his head, she continues smiling and bounces when she reaches him.

“What are you doing for my best friend’s birthday?” she asks.

“Nothing,” Tim answers. “I will be doing something for my girlfriend’s birthday, though.”

“Just admit that she likes me more than you.”

“No.”

“Tim,” Lucy groans. She punches his arm playfully, then ignores his offended glare as she asks, “What do you have in mind?”

Tim shrugs and admits, “I’m not sure yet. I was thinking I may just take her to Costco or something.”

“Please tell me you’re kidding,” Wesley interjects.

“Why are you here?” Tim asks as he looks over. “And it’s none of your business, or yours, Lucy.”

“A trip to Costco is not romantic, Tim,” Wesley says. “But I have a client who needs my help. It seems you do, too, but Lucy can handle your girlfriend issues.”

“No one is handling anything!” Tim snaps.

“I’m with Wesley,” Angela comments from her desk.

“It never ends,” Tim sighs.

“She does love Costco,” Lucy agrees. “She’d enjoy going with you.”

“Wait,” Angela says. She chuckles as she looks up at Tim. “Your girlfriend, the shyest person I’ve ever met, likes going to Costco? The busiest store in existence?”

“Is it too late to back out of this conversation?” Tim asks.

“Absolutely,” Angela answers. “So, just a trip to Costco. That’s all the birthday girl gets?”

“I’d like to do more, but-“

“I’ve got it!” Lucy cheers, slapping Tim’s arm again.

“Stop hitting me!” he demands as he steps away from her.

“What if you surprise her at Costco? Like, her friends could ‘run into’ her while shopping, and then someone can have a cake or something at the café. It would be so fun, Tim!” Lucy suggests.

“That’s… it’s not a terrible idea,” Tim murmurs. “I don’t know how she’d feel about interacting with a bunch of people, though.”

“She loves us,” Angela reminds Tim. “Just a quick ‘hey, happy birthday’ and then she moves on. We don’t have to draw attention to her or anything.”

“Fine, yeah, let’s do it,” Tim agrees.

“Yay!” Lucy yells. “I’ll go invite the people she likes.”

Tim watches Lucy run through the bullpen and shakes his head. It’s a good thing you like Costco and Lucy, he thinks, because it’s certainly nothing he would have planned alone.

“What are you doing?” you ask softly.

Tim sets his phone aside and then places his arm back around you. As he pulls you against his side, he sighs.

“Checking to see how many seconds are left until your birthday,” he jokes. “Lucy had a question.”

“Is it going to be terrible?”

“It’s your birthday. It’s going to be great.”

Tim jostles you gently, and when you turn your face against his shoulder, you feel him chuckle. He enjoys making you shy, or simply reminding you of how shy you were when you first met. With your birthday coming up, you know that Tim has something planned. You can only hope that it’s a good surprise. As Tim pulls you closer, you listen to his heartbeat.

“I got Kojo treats at Costco today,” you tell him.

“Of course, you did,” Tim murmurs before he kisses your head.

“Go get ready, birthday girl,” Tim says.

He takes your plate to the kitchen, and you sneak Kojo a bite of your breakfast leftovers. Waking up to Tim making you breakfast was special, but since he told you that he had more planned for your birthday, you’ve grown more curious and more excited.

“To go where?” you ask.

“Shopping.”

You furrow your brows but stand and push your chair in regardless of your confusion. Tim isn’t a big fan of shopping, so you assume this particular shopping trip has to do with what day it is. After you’re dressed and ready, Tim takes your hand and leads you to his truck.

When he pulls into a turn lane, you feel confident you know where he’s taking you. You frequent Costco often; it's fun to browse and kill time in a place where you can disappear and go unnoticed every once in a while. Tim usually teases you for how much you use your Costco card, but he hasn’t made a single sarcastic comment today.

“Are we going to Costco?” you ask excitedly.

“We are,” Tim answers as he turns. “Unless you want to do something else.”

“No, this is great!”

Tim smiles and when he glances at you, you try to control your excitement and watch the road instead of him. You have a mental list of things you’d like to look at, and maybe treat yourself to since it is your birthday after all. Tim extends his hand over the console of his truck, and you happily lay your hand in his. He interlaces his fingers through yours and squeezes twice. The moment he parks, however, your hand is pulled from his as you exit the truck.

You walk through the entrance and take Tim’s hand again as you look at the promotional items in the front of the store. Tim watches you as you read signs and stop to touch an oversized stuffed animal. He knows what’s waiting for you inside, but seeing you so excited was worth the trip, he thinks.

“Well, look who it is.”

You turn quickly and smile when you see Angela. She pulls you into a hug as Tim and Wesley shake hands. They share a look, and you pinch your brows as you step back from Angela.

“Happy birthday,” she tells you. “Has Tim bought you anything yet?” “No,” you answer with a chuckle. “I’m just glad he finally came with me.”

“Tim Bradford saying no? I can’t imagine it.”

You laugh at Angela’s sarcasm, and Tim smiles at how happy you are. You’re always fun to be around, even if you are hiding against him because he made you shy, but birthday joy is a good look on you.

“There’s a sale on rings, Tim,” Wesley says.

Your eyes widen before you drop your gaze to the floor. There has been no discussion of getting engaged or married in your relationship with Tim, but it’s certainly somewhere you can see yourself going.

“It’s her birthday,” Tim chides. “Don’t do that to her.”

“Well, we have to get back to the kids,” Angela interjects. “They’ll riot soon if they don’t get their snacks. Enjoy the rest of your birthday!” “Thanks, Angela.”

You hug her once more and wave at Wesley before Tim lays his hands on your shoulders and steers you toward your favorite section of the store. He keeps a hand on you as you browse, moving when you do. It was a surprise to see someone you know, and on your birthday, no less, but you don’t think too much about the coincidence.

Until someone says, “Happy birthday!” down the aisle from you, at least.

“Hi, Sergeant Grey, Luna,” you greet.

You look toward Tim quickly, but he shrugs and lays his hand across your back.

“Will she ever call me anything other than Sergeant?” Wade asks Tim as Luna hugs you tightly.

“I’ve been trying to get her to call me Sergeant, but she won’t do it,” Tim laments.

“Ignore them,” Luna encourages you. “How’s the birthday going?”

“It’s great,” you answer. “Tim made me breakfast and hasn’t tortured me yet.”

“Yet,” Tim scoffs.

“We just ran into Angela and Wesley, too.”

“Small world,” Wade muses.

“Big city,” you argue, looking toward Tim.

“Do me a favor and buy yourself something amazing for your birthday, and I will see you at lunch next week,” Luna tells you. “Bye, Tim.”

Tim waves as they pass, and you cross your arms to look at him.

“What?” he asks with his brows raised.

“You’re doing something,” you accuse. “It’s too much of a coincidence.”

“I am doing something,” Tim admits. “Loving you.”

You drop your arms and tip your head back, which Tim takes as an opportunity to wrap you in a bear hug. You grip the back of his shirt, somewhere between shy because of the public affection and relieved because you need a hug.

“Alright, let’s go find you something to buy,” Tim declares. “For me to buy for you, I mean.”

“You don’t have to,” you say quietly.

“It’s your birthday, and it’s my boyfriend-ly duty.”

“That’s not a word,” you mumble as he leads you to the next aisle.

You browse several aisles before you see someone else you know, and now you’re convinced that Tim has orchestrated this. After running into at least a dozen people that you know and choosing not one but three things that you like, you and Tim approach the checkout lanes. He pays for your gifts and takes your hand.

As he leads you to the café seating area, you see your best friend, Lucy. Tim grumbles as you release his hand to approach her. You stop short when you see a birthday cake sitting on the table beside her.

“Happy birthday!” she calls as she rounds the table to hug you. “I’m so happy to see you!”

“You did all of this?” you ask, looking between Tim and Lucy.

“It was Tim’s idea, I just helped,” she says.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

“Don’t get shy yet, you have half of Mid-Wilshire to share that cake with,” Tim replies.

On cue, everyone you’ve run into today approaches the table to give you more birthday wishes and a few gifts. The attention makes you shy, but they’re your friends, and you appreciate them and their kindness more than you can, or would, say.

Lucy passes you a piece of cake and stands beside you as everyone else begins eating.

“Was it really Tim’s idea?” you ask.

“Yeah. He said he was going to bring you to Costco, and I just recommended a cake,” she says. “Unfortunately, I can’t take credit for the cake; Tim ordered it. Oh! I also have a gift for you in my car, so don’t leave before I give it to you.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did. We’re best friends, and you are the kindest, most special person I have ever met. If anyone deserves this kind of love on their birthday, it’s you.”

You set your plate down to hug Lucy and only release her when Tim grabs your waist. He laughs when you lean against him but drops his head and whispers to ask if you’re okay. Very early in your relationship, he learned your tells. He knows when you’re overwhelmed, when you’re getting shy enough that he needs to give you a minute, and every other little thing about you.

“I’m great,” you answer. “Thank you for all of this.”

“It’s the least I could do.”

“Seriously, it is,” Wesley adds. “Making you use your Costco card to get into your birthday celebration was certainly… a choice.”

“It’s perfect,” you say. “And all my friends are here.” “Plus these people,” Lucy jokes as she gestures to everyone else.

“You’re just her best friend because you can carry both sides of the conversation, so she never gets shy with you,” Nyla teases.

“And our mutual disdain for Tim’s weird humour,” Lucy adds.

“What’s that?” Tim asks, tipping his head toward you. “You want to leave now? Okay, let’s go.”

You laugh as he tries to pull you away, but you’re enjoying your Costco birthday party too much to leave. When Wade offers to stand on the table and tell all the other customers that it’s your big day, however, you consider taking Tim up on that offer.

Falling Slowly

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

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

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

Word Count: 4.0k+ words

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

Picture from Pinterest

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Should we tell him?” Angela replies.

“I think we’ll have to.”

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

He stands, offering a calloused hand to shake.

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

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

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

“Yes, sir,” you answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Call it in.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” he answers bluntly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Tim,” Angela says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But?”

Tim shrugs, turning away before Angela can dig deeper.

“I give it a week,” Nyla announces.

“Before what?”

“He can’t take it anymore.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Domestic disturbance in your area,” dispatch alerts.

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

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

“He’s hurting my mom,” she whimpers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Where’s my mom?” she asks.

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

“Is he nice?”

“The nicest,” you answer.

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you whisper.

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

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

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

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

“What is this? A bribe?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

“Are you hit?” Tim asks.

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

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

“I do.”

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

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

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

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

“Do it. I got you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

“It won’t,” you promise. “Sorry.”

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

“Ow. See what?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Should we do something?”

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

“Sorry,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

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

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

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

“You’re with Nolan,” he tells you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he demands.

“Tell you what?”

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

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

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

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

✯✯✯✯✯

“How’s Vincent doing?” Nolan asks.

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

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

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

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

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

“So do I, but I’m still a good cop.”

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

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

“Monday morning. So, rest up.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Why not?”

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

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

“And I can’t do this,” Tim adds.

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

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

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

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

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

“Go to dinner with me?” he asks.

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

✯✯✯✯✯

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

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

“Looks like we won,” Angela cheers.

“Where’s Bradford?” Vincent asks.

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

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

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

Andy getting accused of cheating on his wife with his work wife because no one knows they are married. She wanted to make a name for herself so she kept going by her maiden name at work

“I think its disgusting.” Your ears pique at the sound of gossip, and you try to be nonchalant when you raise your head and look at the two women standing near the copier, whispering between themselves.

“He’s cheating on his wife, with her.” Your hand nearly flies to your mouth to hide your biting laugh, immediately catching on to what they’re talking about.

Or rather, who they’re talking about.

“Mr. Barber has a wife at home, she should keep her damn nose out of other people’s marriage.” They look at you, brashly throwing you a dirty look before the door to your department opens and Andy walks inside with a pair of coffees in his hand.

“She’s married too. Did you see the rock on her hand? Gold-digger can’t get enough dick-“

Your husband is as beautiful as ever, thick beard giving him an air of woodsy intrigue and masculinity. He’s tall, absolutely squandering your height with his own, a different that is both a turn on to you and him.

“Mr. Barber, good morning.” They greet him with warmth and endearment, snidely look you over when you stand. You walk around the desk to greet him with a quick kiss to the cheek and a soft laugh when he sits on your desk and pulls you into his chest, hands cupping his neck.

“This feels like an HR violation.” You mumble softly, looking at him through your lashes.

“I have an in with HR. In fact,” he slips his hand down your back, toying with you, “I think my HR insider should spend the next hour across my desk-“

“Mr. Barber!” One of the women squawks, her shrill protest cutting the moment short. “You have a wife!”

“Relax, Piety Prudence.” Andy’s chuckle reverberated against you. “Y/N is my wife, we have different last names.”

“I kept my maiden name.” You turned your head and flashed them a victorious grin, enjoying their stalwart silence and shock. “I guess that makes me his homely wife and his dirty mistress.”

“God, I love it when you’re dirty.” Andy grins and yanks you even closer, smacking your ass for shock and awe. “Come see me in my office in ten minutes, we have to have a discussion.”

It’s so criminal when you start watching a new show/movie, and realize after you are already in love with yet another fictional character, that there’s no fanfics at all.

I need people to start writing for Aldon Reese from Fubar and Patrick Jane from the Mentalist. Plssss

Giving Zoro Head On The Ship Deck 18+

Aka- Getting dick on the deck

Imagine the crew docking to boat at the nearest island and going into town. Leaving Zoro and You alone. It had always been a fantasy of yours to have sex on the deck. The thrill of someone possibly seeing you. But your mind is consumed with the need to pleasure him. Tears dripping down your face. Saliva dripping down your chin.

He would periodically stroke your cheek while praising you on how well you take him. The feeling of pride takes of you when he’s so overwhelmed with pleasure all he can do is throw his head back and moan. Even when he dose finally release into your mouth you don’t stop until he has nothing left to give.

Pulling off of him and sitting up all you could do was aww at how beautiful he looked is this moment. The usual composed and tough man was almost like putty in your hands. His cheeks flushed and sheen of sweat was on his face and chest.

As he was about to gently push you onto your back to return the favor. You both heard Luffy loudly asking Sanji, “what and when they were having dinner.” because he was starving. Even though he just ate so much meat in town not even ten minutes ago.

So Zoro had to compromise and tell you to meet him later that night so he can show how much he appreciated you. Safe to say you wouldn’t be getting a lot of sleep that night.

Authors note:

By the way this is a really shitty pic I just took photos off of Pinterest and mashed them together.

Also this is my first time writing. Please be some what nice.

Thanks for reading.

Break My Rules

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Smitty!reader

Summary: You have a rule not to date men who work with your dad - who just happens to be Quigley Smitty. After becoming friends with Lucy Chen, you meet Tim Bradford and realize that some rules hurt you more than they help you.

Warnings: slight angst, discussion of Tim's past, stress and anxiety (Tim and r), fluff, comfort, very slightly suggestive at the end, softie!Tim, Lucy is a wingwoman

Word Count: 3.8k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“Sorry I’m late,” you say, hanging your bag off the back of the chair. Your dad waves off your apology as he stands and pulls you into a hug. “One of my choir students asked for help with her homework after practice and I lost track of time.”

“I remember when you used to ask for homework help,” he muses. “I was pretty good at it, wasn’t I?”

“Sure, you were,” you answer, rolling your eyes playfully. “That’s why Mom told me to stop asking you.”

“She was just jealous.”

“That must be it. How was work?”

“It was normal. Bad guys got arrested.”

“That’s the way it’s supposed to be, right?”

“That’s why it was normal. No high-speed helicopter chases or unexpected promotions make Smitty a dull boy.”

You nod, opting to peruse the café’s menu rather than commenting. Your relationship with your dad is great, and you enjoy the time you spend together, but he can be a bit… dim. He doesn’t seem to do it on purpose, but you know that he’s aware of how he comes across, and he doesn’t seem to care that he makes himself the punch line. If he’s okay with his reputation, who are you to pick him apart for it?

“Good evening,” the waiter greets, approaching your table. “What can I get started for you tonight?”

You order, then pass your menu to him after your dad finishes. The waiter smiles at you, and you thank him as he walks away.

“He was flirting with you,” your dad points out.

“You think he was flirting with me, but you can’t tell when I’m being serious about picking up the bill?” you challenge. “He’s a waiter, his job relies on his people skills.”

“If you’re not interested in him, let me set you up with a cop. The money isn’t great, and we’re always stressed, but there are one or two who have promising potential.”

“Dad,” you sigh, shaking your head. “I’m not dating cops. I’ve had the rule for years.”

“No dating cops,” he says with you.

“What if I set you up with someone who isn’t from my station?” he offers.

“No. If you know them, I don’t want to date them. That’s like inviting a devastating breakup or lackluster romance.”

“Just because I know them doesn’t mean they’re like me.”

“That’s not what I mean. I just… it’s easier this way. And there’s something to be said for serendipity.”

“Seren-what-ity?”

You sigh and shake your head. “What song should we perform for the state choir show this year?”

“The Real Slim Shady.”

“Why did I ask?” you mumble.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, stepping back from the metal bin before you. “Completely my fault, go ahead.”

“No, no, I wasn’t looking,” the woman beside you replies. “You’re good.”

She has two records tucked in her folded arm, and you nod to communicate your approval of her choices.

“Good taste,” you compliment.

“I got a record player for my birthday, and I’ve been looking for some of the stuff I listened to as a kid and trying to branch out a bit. Try some new things,” she explains. “Based on your outfit alone, I’m guessing that you have good taste too and could offer a few good recommendations? If you have time or want to, of course.”

“Well,” you begin, glancing toward the alphabetized bins. “I’m a sucker for classic rock, but you’ve got to try something from this decade on vinyl. Most of the production is really good, depending on the label. You said you like older?” She hums, and you flip through the A-C bin before you murmur, “This one.”

“A-ha? Like ‘Take on Me’?” she questions, reaching out for the record.

“One of the best songs ever written, I think, and hearing it like this is like being in the front row of an angel concert.”

“I’ll buy it,” she begins slowly. “On one condition. You get coffee with me and become my best friend, because I feel like we’re halfway there.”

“Was that a Bon Jovi reference?”

“You do know your classic rock.”

“Well,  I am a choir teacher.”

“Please agree to coffee. I’ll pay.”

You smile and pull your phone from your pocket. “Here, give me your name and number. We’ll set it up, bestie.”

“I’m Lucy, by the way,” she offers, moving the records against her chest to put her contact information in your phone.

You tell her your first name as you send her a text with your favorite coffee shop and a link to your current favorite playlist. As you walk to the checkout together, you feel lighter. Maybe you can find a life outside of school separate from your dad.

“Take me to church, I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies,” you sing softly, flipping through your choir binder.

“Have you made a decision?” Lucy asks, pulling the chair from the opposite side of the table to sit closer to you.

“I’ve got it narrowed down to three. Well, the kids narrowed it down to three and now I can’t pick.”

“Which songs?”

“Take Me to Church, Hallelujah, and Frozen Heart.”

“Those… those seem very different. What’s Frozen Heart?”

“The ice workers’ song at the beginning of Frozen. I don’t know who picked it originally, but it got a lot of votes.”

“If you were performing, what would you vote for?”

“Honestly, as a teenager, I probably would’ve said Frozen Heart. And they’ve got the skills and the range to do it.”

“There’s your answer,” Lucy says, smiling.

“Thank you,” you reply, closing the binder. “Now, how was your day, Officer Chen?”

“Long, but I did hear a new song on the radio with a melody I think you might like.”

“No, you don’t get to change the topic back to me like that. How are you, Lucy?”

“I’m okay. I guess I just feel kind of bored. Like, I go to work, I hang out with you, and I love my routine, but I want to do something new.”

“Well, you’re invited to the choir show, of course. But, in the meantime, we could always do something together when you have some time off. We live in the heart of shows and sports; there’s plenty of things to pick from and I have someone who can get tickets at a price high school choir teachers and cops can swing.”

Lucy’s eyes brighten, and she smiles.

“What are you thinking?” you ask, narrowing your eyes suspiciously.

“Would you like to go to a Dodgers game?”

“Always.”

You stay at school late on the day of the Dodgers game. Choir practice ended on time, but Lucy is bringing another cop friend to the game, and it will be easier for them to pick you up here rather than at your apartment. As you tidy your classroom, you play music and sing along.

Losing track of time as your playlist continues, you don’t hear someone open your door. As a song ends, you turn and freeze.

“Hi,” you greet, lifting your hand in an awkward greeting. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” the man watching you replies, his eyes following you as you rush to pause your music. “Sorry to intrude.”

“No, I lost track of time, sorry to make you come in.”

“You’ve got a beautiful voice.”

You slow, smiling shyly as you murmur, “Thank you.”

“Oh, there you are,” Lucy sighs, rounding the corner to reach your classroom. “This is Tim, who I asked to wait for me.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say, offering your hand.

His handshake seems to warm you from the inside out, and when you drop your hand to your side, it feels as if you’re pulling away from the world’s strongest magnet.

“Ready?” Lucy asks. “We got an email earlier that the seats were upgraded, so we’ll have an even better view when we win.”

“She just wants the Dodgers to win because there’s less of a chance of us getting called in for overnight patrol if we do. Bigger loss means more fighting,” Tim explains quietly.

“No, I’m a fan,” Lucy argues, several steps ahead of you.

“Is your station near the stadium?” you inquire.

Lucy holds the school’s door open for you and answers, “We’re in Mid-Wilshire.”

You stop in the parking lot as your brows draw together. “You both work at Mid-Wilshire? How did I not know that?”

“You know the station?” Tim asks, slowing to wait for you.

“And its laughingstock.”

Lucy laughs as she pulls the backdoor of Tim’s truck open. “Our laughingstock is a cop, believe it or not.”

“Yeah,” you reply. “Smitty’s my dad.”

Lucy’s hand slips off the door, and she steps forward quickly to catch herself. Tim’s eyes run over your body before lifting to meet your gaze again. If you weren’t feeling so put off by the realization that you’re breaking your rule in a way, you might be flattered by how easily he seemed to take you in. Maybe even admire you.

I’m not breaking my rule by being their friend, you tell yourself. But can it end there? you wonder, looking at Tim.

“Did you know he had a daughter?” you ask, beginning to walk again.

“No,” Tim and Lucy answer together.

Tim opens the passenger door for you and whispers, “I wish I had.”

Less than a month after meeting Tim, you’ve become close. Now, you have not one but two best friends from your father’s station. You haven’t said anything to him about you, and you assume Tim and Lucy haven’t either because he hasn’t brought it up the numerous times you’ve seen one another.

Shaking your head, you try to stop thinking of Tim and focus on the practice session you’re leading. Five minutes before choir practice ends, your phone rings.

“It’s a distraction,” your choir group calls together, quoting your response when asked why they can’t have their phones out even though school is technically over.

You see Tim’s name on the caller ID and wave for them to quiet before you answer it. As a cop’s daughter, you’re no stranger to the wave of nausea that threatens to pull you under as you answer an unexpected call. Tim could be hurt, or maybe Lucy, even your dad. But you must answer the call to find out, so you swallow your fear and ask, “Hello?”

“Sorry,” Tim says breathlessly. “Sorry to bother you. Are you busy?”

“I’m finishing up practice. What’s wrong?”

“Noth- nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing, Tim.”

“Can you call me when you’re done?”

“Where are you?” you inquire softly, looking over your shoulder at the high school students talking to one another.

“At home.”

“I’ll be right there,” you offer.

Tim releases a sigh before he says, “Thank you,” and ends the call.

“You’re free to go, guys,” you announce. “Great work today. I’ll see you for dress rehearsal tomorrow and then you get a break until the show on Friday.”

The students cheer as they leave the room, but your mood is far more somber as you shove your things into your bag and rush out of the building. Tim’s house isn’t far, but every mile seems to stretch for an hour as you worry about him. After parking behind his truck, you jog to his front door and ring the doorbell.

Tim pulls the door open wearing sweatpants and a look that makes your chest tighten.

“I’m sorry,” he forces out. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

“Come here,” you offer raising your arm to him.

Tim doesn’t hesitate to step forward and into your hold. His arms wrap around your waist as you rub your hand along his bare upper back. Without removing his hands from your sides, Tim nudges the door closed and presses his face into the crook of your neck.

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “I got you.”

Tim exhales shakily against you, and you guide him carefully to his couch. Sitting beside him, with his chest pressed to yours, you trace shapes on his back and begin humming.

“Can you keep doing that?” Tim requests.

You’ve become friends with Tim; you know about his past and grumpy disposition, but you’ve also seen glimpses of the man beneath. Right now, you’re with a side of Tim you suspected wanted to break free but had been buried after years of heartbreak, betrayal, and abuse.

“Humming?” you clarify.

Tim nods, and you start a different song, humming the opening notes before singing softly. As you move through the words, Tim relaxes against you.

“Thank you,” he whispers as you finish the song.

He sits up, separating himself from you. His eyes meet yours, soft and open, and you raise your hand to cup his face before you stop yourself. He put distance between you, and you don’t want to scare him away by moving too quickly. You care about Tim more than you should probably care about a friend.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

“I’m better now,” he admits. “Thank you. Today was… there was a little boy who called the police on his dad because he was hitting his mom. It got to me – it shouldn’t have, but it did. Then I got home, and in the quiet, it was too much. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let myself get stressed like that.”

“How do you normally destress?” you inquire, shifting the focus from what he thinks he should or shouldn’t have done.

“Boxing, watching a game,” he lists. “I’ve got a few little things, but everything felt wrong.”

“Well, I’m here for you,” you promise. “Anytime you need me.”

“Your voice is pretty.”

“You’ve told me before,” you murmur. “Thank you.”

“Why don’t you sing?”

Your phone buzzes with an incoming message from your dad, but you flip it face down on Tim’s coffee table.

“Do you need to get that?” Tim asks.

“No, he’s just checking in. I’ll call him later. And to answer your other question, I don’t sing because I like teaching, supporting, more than being the center of attention. I love it, but I don’t think I’d thrive in it as a career.”

“When’s the next choir show?”

“Friday.”

“Can I come?”

You smile at Tim and answer, “Of course.”

As you shift your hand to pick at your fingers, someone walks closely behind you and pulls your wrists apart.

“Don’t do that,” Tim says softly.

You sigh and turn toward him, tucking your hands behind your back. “I’m the teacher and I still get as nervous as I did when I was actually singing,” you confess.

“Everything is going to be fine,” Tim assures you. “They’re talented – you’ve said it yourself – and they have a great teacher.”

“Unless I forgot something or miss a cue or-“

“Stop,” Tim demands, using his cop voice rather than the softer tone he tends to adopt when speaking to you. “Breathe.”

You nod, watching his chest as you match your inhales and exhales to his. After several breaths, you release a sigh and whisper your gratitude.

“I brought you these,” Tim says, reaching for a nearby seat. He lifts a cellophane-wrapped bouquet and passes it to you, watching your eyes as you stare at the beautiful arrangement.

“Thank you,” you say. “They’re beautiful.”

“I don’t know choir etiquette, but, I thought you’d like them. If I knew you were panicking I would’ve gotten you something more useful like a weighted blanket or an inhaler.”

You laugh, pushing Tim’s shoulder slightly. Something about being near him makes you feel different. When Tim is with you when you’re talking or sitting together, even the mere thought of him makes you feel special in a way you have never experienced before. Tim Bradford is special, and though he has quickly become one of your closest friends, you can’t help but feel that there’s something else, something more.

“Hi!” Lucy exclaims, pulling you into a hug. “You look so nice!”

“Thank you,” you reply, smiling as you hold your flowers to your chest. “You do too. Thank you both for coming.”

“Of course,” Lucy answers. “I’m so excited.”

“If your choir team finishes third or higher tonight, you go to regionals, right?” Tim clarifies.

“Yes,” you answer. “But we’re hoping to line up some charity shows after this either way.”

“Well, we know a police station that wouldn’t mind a concert,” Lucy points out. “Right, Tim?”

“Right,” Tim agrees, his focus steady on you.

“I’ll keep that in mind. Oh, my dad just walked in. I’ll see you two after?”

Tim and Lucy nod, wish you luck, and then take their seats as you walk toward the opposite side of the auditorium to say hello to your dad.

“I can’t believe she’s Smitty daughter,” Lucy mumbles. “They’re so different.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees, his eyes following your every move. “She’s a lot more tolerable.”

Lucy lifts her brow and muses, “Sounds like you’d like to do more than tolerate her.”

Tim turns quickly, a warning look on his face, so Lucy raises her hands in surrender.

“Tell her,” she says. “Not me.”

“You really did not have to do that,” you repeat as you and Tim walk out of the restaurant.

“Least I could do,” Tim replies. “Now stop talking about it.”

“No, I have to pay you back. At least let me buy you coffee or something.”

Tim slows on the sidewalk. He brought you flowers to the show, hugged you after your team was awarded second place and progressed to regionals, and enjoyed a nice dinner with you, which he paid for. Everything felt more like a date than two friends hanging out and supporting one another, he realizes. More, he thinks, he wanted it to be a date, and he would like to do it again.

The Tim Bradford who hesitantly agreed to join Lucy and her new friend at a Dodgers game a few months ago is not the man walking beside you now. Not the man wondering what it would be like to take your hand and kiss you in the warm glow of a streetlight, thinking about the right words to ask you out, picking apart every word you’ve said tonight for a sign that you might want it too.

“Are you okay?” you ask.

Tim looks up at you, realizing his thoughts caused him to stop walking. “Just thinking,” he admits.

“Must take a lot out of you,” you joke lightly. “Everything alright?”

“Would you…”

“Would I?” you press.

“Would you like to go out on a date?” Tim asks quickly.

You let the question hang between you as you process what he’s asking. For Tim, the idea seems to crash between you, shattering on the sidewalk between you as you prepare to reject him.

“Never mind,” he says. “I shouldn’t have-“

“No, Tim,” you interrupt, raising your hand. “It’s not you or the question. Not even that I don’t want to.”

“Then?”

“I have this rule. I came up with it years ago, a decision never to date one of my dad’s coworkers. There’s too much that could go wrong, I guess, and I see the strain being a cop puts on my dad and his relationships. So, it’s not you that I’m saying no to.”

“It’s that I work with your dad. I get it,” Tim offers. “Being a cop is hard. Being with a cop is harder.”

“You’re not mad?” you ask.

“I’m not mad,” he assures you, offering a small smile. “You don’t have a rule against being friends with a cop, right?”

“Well, I did, but I didn’t find out Lucy worked with my dad until it was too late, so I scrapped that rule.”

Tim laughs, but deep down, you both wonder, What if the other rule was scrapped too?

Although you picked the movie, you can’t focus on it. Tim’s fingers tap against his jean-clad thigh, moving restlessly as he looks past the television to stare at the wall.

“Tim,” you whisper, leaning toward him.

He hums, his fingers slow, but he doesn’t reply. You reach for the remote, pause the movie, and then pick up your phone from the table. After a moment of scrolling, you find a song and play it. The music fills the space, and you shift to sit atop your feet with only a cushion between you and Tim.

“Oh, they say some people long ago were searching for a different tune,” you sing softly.

Tim turns toward you, his eyes tired and his shoulders tense. As you continue singing the first verse, he lets his head fall back against the couch cushion and his eyes shut. Watching Tim, you sing as the tension in his muscles ease and his hand spreads across his leg, the stressed movements slowing because you distract him from whatever is on his mind.

“And then they nursed it,” you sing, moving your hand to rest an inch away from Tim’s.

“Rehearsed it.” His hand moves toward yours, your fingers brushing.

“And gave out the news.” The song is nearly over, and you want nothing more than to collapse into Tim’s arms and give in to every urge and desire you’ve buried since you met.

“That the Southland gave birth to the blues!” you conclude.

Tim smiles and opens his eyes when you slip your hand under his and lace your fingers with his.

“Does me singing actually help you?” you wonder.

“It does,” Tim answers. “Do I actually help you calm down?”

“Even when I’m not at a performance.”

Tim nods, and the deeper meaning of your questions pushes you toward a decision you’ve been avoiding since Tim asked you out.

“I can’t do it,” you whisper.

Tim sits up straighter, looking at you but refraining from speaking.

“I thought that refusing to date someone my dad worked with would save me from heartbreak, keep me from getting into a doomed relationship. But the rule is what’s hurting me.”

Tim squeezes your hand gently.

“I can’t follow the rule anymore. I want you, Tim. Telling you no hurt me worse than trying to be more than friends could.”

“What are you saying?” Tim asks.

“I… Would you want to go on a date with me?”

Tim smiles, releases your hand, and pulls you against his chest. As his hands rise to hold your face, he answers, “Unless you have any other rules you want to break first.”

Laughing, you shake your head and lean toward Tim.

“I’d love to go on a date with you,” Tim says. “But remember that I asked you first.”

“There is one favor I have to ask, though.”

Tim nods once, and you request, “Can we not tell my dad? For a while, at least.”

“I try not to talk to your dad unless forced.”

“I’m taking that as a yes, honey, I’ll do whatever you want.”

Tim’s brow raises, and he slides one hand around your waist and spreads it across your back to encourage you to lie against him. “Whatever you want, honey,” he repeats lowly before his lips meet yours.