The People You Deserve
The People You Deserve
Pairing: father figure!Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader (found family/platonic)
Summary: While training as a rookie, you have a devastating argument with your parents. Tim realizes that you need someone - someone you deserve - and sets out to become that person for you.
Warnings: familial angst, verbal/emotional abuse, fluff and comfort, Smitty
Word Count: 3.9k+ words
A/N: heyyyy @nevereclipse I finally wrote another one of your marvelous Tim ideas🤭
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Lucy gasps as Tim wraps his hand around her arm and yanks her around a corner.
“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice raised from surprise.
“Did she tell you anything?” he demands.
Lucy’s brows raise as she exclaims, “Who?!”
“My rookie!”
Tim releases Lucy’s arm before he steps back.
“No, she hasn’t said anything. What’s going on?”
Shaking his head, Tim answers, “I don’t know. She’s off, though.”
Tim’s eyes lift, and Lucy turns to follow his line of sight. You have your bag on one shoulder, and Tim’s on the other, talking to a fellow rookie as you walk toward the shops.
“She seems fine,” Lucy says.
Tim doesn’t reply, but he’s not convinced. He knows you better than Lucy does and he can tell that something is wrong. You’re tense; your shoulders are pulled toward your ears like you’re ready to either fight or flee. That isn’t your usual state, unlike Nolan’s new rookie, who has fought and fled while on patrol. Usually, you are the calm and prepared one, ready for anything. You’re distracted today, even if no one else sees it.
“Sorry for grabbing you,” Tim tells Lucy.
“No worries,” she replies. “You’re worried about your rookie, I get it. Although, I never got worried about by TO Bradford.”
Tim returns his eyes to her face to glare at her. “Don’t you have a job to do?”
“I was trying to before hashtag grumpy cop assaulted me.”
“Keep your voice down,” Tim hisses. “I apologized.”
“And I’ll never let you forget it.”
Lucy waves over her shoulder as she walks away. Tim thinks about you while he walks to the shop. You were wringing your fingers together when he first saw you this morning, and he did not miss your nearly invisible flinch when he first spoke to you. Whatever it is you’re bottling up inside has the potential to turn explosive, and Tim doesn’t want the blowout to impact himself or you. So, despite his usual approach and reputation for being a hard, unforgiving TO, Tim climbs into the driver’s seat and prepares to talk to you.
He fails almost immediately, however. Instead of starting a conversation, he sits in the driver’s seat and stares straight ahead. You run your finger along a stitch in your uniform pants, as silent as him.
“What’s going on?” he asks as the other shop pulls forward in the garage.
“Dispatch alerted to an active alarm on Wilshire,” you answer. “The map also shows heavy congestion-”
“No,” Tim interrupts. “What’s wrong? You’re off, and we’re not going out until I know you’re stable enough to do this job.”
You shift in the passenger seat, looking at the dashboard rather than your TO. “Nothing,” you lie.
“Not gonna cut it,” he replies. “Not today, not any day you put on that uniform.”
“Sir,” you begin.
He shakes his head, and you immediately silence.
“You know what happens when cops bottle up their emotions?” he asks.
“They explode,” you answer softly. “Almost always in the wrong place and on the wrong people.”
“Right. But it also slows their reaction times, clouds their judgement. If I got shot right now, boot, would you be able to save my life and catch the shooter?”
“Yes.”
Tim scoffs. Yet, he doesn’t argue. He believes you. Despite your distracted state and the clear signs that something is bothering you, you’re a good cop.
“Look, you need to talk to someone, get some of that weight off yourself,” Tim explains. “If not me, there’s a dozen certified therapists the department will pay for.”
“I don’t need a shrink,” you argue. “I’m fine.”
Tim turns in his seat, resting his left forearm on the steering wheel as he looks at you. You sigh, aware that Tim will keep you from patrolling until he knows you are okay.
“I’m just… My parents came over last night,” you explain. “It didn’t end well.”
His posture relaxes slightly, but Tim doesn’t respond or start acting like a cop again. He stays open toward you, inviting you to keep talking. On your first day at the LAPD, you never would have imagined you’d be having a heart-to-heart with Tim ‘break their spirits’ Bradford. You’ve mentioned your parents maybe twice in the time you’ve been a rookie, and every time, you could tell that Tim not only listened but that he understood.
“We were just supposed to have dinner and catch up,” you begin.
The Night Before
“Hey!” you greet, smiling as you open the door. “Come on in. It’s so good to see you both.”
“You too,” your mother replies, looking around your apartment.
“We could have met somewhere closer to home,” your father complains.
“This is my home,” you point out. Your brows pinch as you add, “And I had to work late, so I wanted to make sure I wasn’t keeping you waiting.”
“Work late writing tickets?” your mother scoffs. “Sounds like a miserable existence.”
“That’s not all I do. I really like my job.”
“Why are we here?” your father asks. “I know we didn’t just drive to this hood to hear about how great your job is. What do you need? Money?”
Your eyes widen in shock. Neither of your parents has ever been overly supportive. Still, you didn’t anticipate your invitation to have dinner together would lead to this.
“Money wouldn’t be a problem if you’d simply done as I asked,” your mother sighs, opening the fridge. She frowns and closes the door, then shudders.
“I don’t need anything,” you say. “I just wanted to have dinner, catch up, be a family.”
“You moved out, you’re an adult,” your father argues. “We don’t have to keep up this appearance.”
“Appearance?” you repeat incredulously. “I’m your daughter, we are a family. You’re supposed to come over because you love me, not because I’m an obligation to make you look like a good family man at the country club!”
“We’ve never been country club people,” your mother interjects. “Maybe if we hadn’t had a child to pay for.”
“That’s all I am to you? A bill? Something you have to pay for and travel fifteen apparently excruciating miles to see?”
“Maybe if you’d moved to Brentwood and gotten a real job,” your father begins. He trails off, leaving the insinuation hanging.
“Okay,” you murmur, clenching your hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “You don’t like my job, that’s fine. Let’s just have dinner and talk about something else.”
“Like your family?” your mother suggests. “Oh, wait.”
You swallow harshly, fighting to keep yourself from lashing out at them. “You’re right. This was a bad idea; you should just go.”
“You made us drive over here for nothing?” your father asks, his voice rising.
“You didn’t even want to come,” you point out.
“And you wonder why we’re so disappointed,” your mother muses.
“You’re disappointed because nothing makes you happy,” you defend. “You are miserable people, and you try to push it onto everyone around you!”
“We’re only miserable because of you!” your father yells.
He stands from the barstool at your kitchen island, pointing at you as you step back from him.
“You are a disgrace to our name and yet you insist on wearing it on a meaningless badge! So desperate to feel wanted that you ran to a job that takes anyone, no matter how underqualified or worthless.”
You clench your jaw, swallowing the tears threatening to spill. “Get out.”
“We’ll see who’s miserable when you don’t have our pocketbook to fall back on,” your mother says, failing to hide her smirk.
“Go,” you demand.
“Oh, yes!” your father yells as he opens the door. “Pretend to have the authority you want. Whatever makes you feel seen, just remember that sooner or later everyone will see the walking disappointment hiding beneath your façade of self-confidence.”
You slam the door behind him, pressing your hand against your stomach as your emotions fight within you.
You shrug as you conclude your story. “They left. I stayed up most of the night wondering if anything they said was true.”
Tim lets your statement hang between you for a moment. “They don’t deserve you,” he says.
You shake your head. “Not how it works.”
“It is,” Tim assures you. “You deserve more. You need people who support you, who understand you and why you do what you do. What you love– who you love matters and settling for people who don’t care enough to see that is not good for you.”
“Not good for me as a cop,” you agree, nodding. “Because my personal life affects my job performance.”
“Your parents are miserable people,” Tim says, agreeing with your point from last night. “They are terrible people who don’t deserve to be around you or see everything that you accomplish in life.”
Finally, you look up at Tim. He says it like someone who has had to cut someone off as if he has kept people from seeing him at his best because of how they treated him at his worst. You have some idea of his past, but the fact that Tim has lived through something similar makes you faster to trust him.
“And if I don’t have anybody?”
Tim shifts into Drive before he answers, “You’ll always have your TO.”
“That was stupid,” Tim chides as you return to the shop.
“He was getting away,” you reply.
“And you could have seriously injured yourself by stopping him like that.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Not this time.”
You nod and accept Tim’s correction. His teaching style has changed since he learned of your strained relationship with your parents. He still pushes you daily, teaches you in a way that works for you, and lets you apply everything he says and demonstrates, but he shows you that he supports you. His praises are few and far between, but they matter, and you never forget what he says when the praise does come.
Nearly a month after falling out with your parents, your phone chimes with a new message. It’s from your dad, and you delete it without reading it. Over the next few days, you get messages, emails, voicemails, and even a physical letter from the people who consider you a disappointment and an obligation. You ignore all of them, and because of Tim’s advice and support, you find that you don’t even care.
“You look tired,” he says after roll call.
“My phone rang around midnight and woke me up,” you admit. “Took a while to go back to sleep, but I got a few more hours.”
“Who called?”
“My dad.”
Tim tips his head to the side, and you shrug.
“I didn’t answer. I should probably just block his number, since he can’t seem to take the hint.”
“He’s called before?” Tim asks.
“He and my mom have both been trying to reach me for about a week. I don’t know why; I delete everything without looking at it. Shredded the letter they mailed… I hope there wasn’t cash in it.”
“Doubtful,” Tim replies. “Keep your phone on today.”
“Why?”
“TO’s orders.”
You roll your eyes and ignore Tim’s displeased hum. He’s become more than a TO over the last few weeks: he’s someone who supports you and understands you. Finding a father figure in Tim Bradford was the last thing you expected to happen as a rookie. The closer you get to graduation, the more thankful you are for it and for him.
After your third call of the day – a robbery gone wrong – your phone rings. Your dad's name flashes onto the screen, and Tim snatches it from your hand and answers it.
“Sergeant Tim Bradford speaking,” he says. “Yeah, she can’t talk right now… Because she doesn’t want to…”
He turns away from you so you don’t hear him say, “Stop trying to mend this bridge just to burn it again, because we both know that’s what you’re going to do. You can contact her, but if I hear one word about you stepping out of line again, I will throw you in jail, is that clear?”
Returning your phone, Tim says, “He should stop calling.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmur.
“You’re right. But someone needed to remind him that you’re not alone, and he can’t walk all over you.”
“Thank you.”
Tim nods, then remembers that you’re still on duty. “Get in the shop, boot.”
“Congratulations,” Tim says, passing you an unmarked envelope. “And with the highest score.”
“I owe you most of the credit,” you reply, smiling as you hold the letter to your chest. “I couldn’t have passed my exam without you, and everything you’ve done for me.”
“Yeah, you could have.”
“Ready?” Angela asks.
“For what?” you inquire.
“We’re taking you out to celebrate,” Tim replies. “Graduating from long sleeves is a big deal, and you deserve it.”
You step toward Tim, then hesitate. He seems to understand what you’re thinking. He sighs but raises his arms anyway. You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him tightly as you thank him again. Tim grunts dramatically when you collide with him, but he pats your back, and you suddenly understand what it’s like to be loved and cared about. You’re worth something, and Tim Bradford took it upon himself to show you.
“Alright, let’s go,” Angela urges, smiling at you. “If you want to invite anyone, we made reservations with extra room.”
“Can I invite my boyfriend?” you ask.
Angela looks past you to Tim, whose jaw drops. She recovers quickly and tells you they’d love to meet him, but Tim is still caught on the revelation that you have a boyfriend.
Looking over your shoulder, you ask, “Are you coming?”
Tim murmurs, “Yeah, yeah,” as he tries to think of every man you’ve ever mentioned or had an encounter with while he was nearby. “You said boyfriend?” he asks. “That’s new.”
“New-ish,” you admit.
Tim holds the door for you and Lucy, laughing together as you enter the restaurant. Your boyfriend replies with a text that he’s stuck at work and a promise to celebrate with you the following weekend.
“What’s his name?” Lucy inquires.
“Fin,” you answer.
“You’ve never mentioned him before,” Tim says, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.
“Yes, I have. When we watched Lord of the Rings, I told you that the scene where Gandalf releases Theoden from Saruman’s control is his favorite.”
“Tim Bradford watched Lord of the Rings?” Angela asks. “With you?”
Pressing your lips together, you look at Tim with an apologetic grimace. He waves at you, dismissing the attention. Your movie nights aren’t a new occurrence, but they were meant to stay between you. Tim has become your family, and the time you spend with him outside work is incredibly special and dear to you. What you won’t tell Lucy or Angela, or anyone else, is that Tim is the father you always wanted. A man who can show you that you matter and you’re loved, even if it’s hard for him to express.
Over the last few months, you’ve become incredibly close with Tim, and you wouldn’t trade it for the world. He smiles at you when Aaron arrives, bearing a congratulations bouquet and a gift card to your favorite store.
“Thank you,” you whisper across the table. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Tim.”
He nods, but as your celebration continues, Tim mentally plans the following morning to include running a background check on this Fin you claim to love.
Tim exits Wade’s office with a sigh. The fugitive he’s been tasked with finding seems to be an expert at hiding. Your first week riding alone is going well, and Tim didn’t anticipate missing you quite so much.
“Timothy,” Angela calls. He looks up, and she waves him over. “I figured out why you couldn’t find your future son-in-law.”
“Excuse me?” Tim asks.
“Your rookie’s boyfriend,” she amends. “You didn’t know his full name. Fin is short for Fingon; apparently his dad also likes Lord of the Rings.”
Tim hesitates, then walks to her desk. “What’d you find?”
“He seems great,” she replies, smiling. “And get this: James knows his dad. He did some construction work around the community center a while back and they became friends. The whole family… they’re good people, Tim.”
“You know this for sure?” Tim asks.
“Nyla invited them over to dinner last night, we talked to him-"
“What?!” Tim demands.
“Kidding. But if James can vouch for the dad, and your rookie – who has great character judgement – for the son, then I’d say, yeah, they’re good people.”
Tim taps his knuckles against Angela’s desk, then sighs again. “Thanks, Lopez.”
“No problem. I hope I get to meet him first, though. If you scare away her boyfriend, you can kiss those movie nights goodbye and I for one would love an invite.”
Tim ignores Angela’s smile as he rolls his eyes. Walking away, he thinks only of you. Pulling his radio from his belt, he asks dispatch for your location.
Your boyfriend Fin knocks on Tim's door two months after meeting Tim and nearly nine months after he began dating you. You’re at your apartment, getting ready for your date, and unaware of your boyfriend’s plan or current location.
“Fin,” Tim says as he opens the door. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, sir,” Fin assures him. “I’m here to talk to you, if you have a few minutes.”
Tim narrows his eyes but nods and lets him in regardless. Angela was (unfortunately) correct about Fin and his family. They are good people, and his parents treat you better than your own ever did. But not as well as Tim, you once confided in Lucy.
“Can I get you a drink or anything?” Tim asks, closing the door.
“No, thank you. I won’t take up too much of your time. I… I’m pretty old fashioned.”
Tim nods, and Fin slides his hand into his pocket. After pulling out a small, square box, he rests it on his palm and shows it to Tim.
“I want to propose,” Fin explains. “But I want your blessing. You are one of the most important people in her life; you care about her, and I do too. So, I want to know that you are okay with this before I do anything.”
Tim is a man of few words, but he’s rendered speechless by Fin’s words and the ring box before him.
“You love her?” Tim asks after a moment.
“More than anything.”
“And you know that if anything happened to her-”
“I would answer to you,” Fin finishes, beginning to smile. “Yes, sir.”
Tim sighs, then shakes his head. “Let me see the ring, since you’re proposing.”
Fin steps forward, raising his arms to hug Tim before he reconsiders. He stops and offers his hand, which Tim shakes firmly.
“I assume you have a plan to make it memorable,” Tim says. “I’d warn against boats of any kind.”
“I do have a plan. Maybe you’d be willing to spare a minute to go over it with me?”
Tim nods, welcoming Fin to have a seat. As he begins speaking, he says your name, and Kojo runs from the hallway, looking around.
“She’s not here, Kojo,” Tim calls. “Maybe tomorrow.”
Fin raises his brows as he reaches forward to pet Kojo. “I’m in the market for a ring bearer,” he tells Tim.
“I feel like half of the LAPD is out there,” you murmur, smoothing your hands over your dress.
“There’s no more than a third,” Tim says.
You smile but continue fidgeting. Tim stands, walks to your side, and pulls your hands into his.
“Breathe,” he encourages. “It’s your wedding day. It’s about you and Fin, not what Lucy or Angela or Smitty think.”
“Smitty came?” you ask, finally loosening up. “That’s amazing.”
“We all care about you. We want to see you happy.”
You open your mouth to thank Tim but instead, you wrap your arms tightly around him. He chuckles, then returns the hug, his hold warm and safe.
“It’s almost time,” Lucy says, knocking as she looks inside the door. “You ready?”
You nod. Stepping back, you loop your arm through Tim’s elbow and smile at him.
“I wouldn’t be here without you,” you confess as you walk toward the venue.
“Neither would I,” he admits. “And you look beautiful, if I forgot to say it before.”
“You did,” you reply playfully. “But Kojo told me, so it’s okay.”
Standing at the end of the aisle, you watch Kojo trot alongside Lucy. Having your friends in your wedding party, being surrounded by the people who mean the most to you – the people you deserve – is perfect. You don’t even realize your parents are absent as Tim leads you down the flower-petal-covered aisle and toward your forever.
You smile at Fin as you gently remove your arm from Tim’s. He inhales sharply when you turn toward him to thank him once more.
“Don’t,” you warn softly.
He smiles, but you can see tears welling in his eyes.
“No, no, no,” you urge. “If you cry, I’m going to lose it and nobody wants to see that.”
“I’m proud of you,” Tim says. “Everything that you’ve done, everything you’ve become, and all that you’ll accomplish in the future… You’re amazing.” He brushes his thumb under his eye, then smiles. “I never thought I’d love a boot.”
Your surprised laugh is silenced by Tim’s shoulder as you wrap your arms around him. The off-duty police officers behind you break into an excited round of applause, and you can hear Angela and Lucy yelling above everyone else.
Stepping back, you whisper, “I love you too.”
Tim looks at Fin and levels his expression. “I know where you live,” he says before he turns and takes his place on the front row.
“Are you crying?” Wesley asks under his breath.
“No,” Tim answers. “We’re outside, there’s dust.”
“Just reign in the waterworks for the first dance,” James interjects from behind Wesley.
“Shut up,” Tim says over his shoulder.
“Congratulations,” Wade says, catching you between dances at the reception. He slips you an envelope and explains, “Special delivery from your Mid-Wilshire family.”
Before you can reply, Smitty calls, “But I also got you a fondue maker, so if you’re picking favorites or a name for any future kids..,” he trails off, gesturing to himself before he returns to the dance floor.
You turn to watch him as he does the electric slide to a song that does not fit the dance, then laugh and return your attention to Wade.
“A fondue maker will be pretty hard to beat,” you muse. “Thank you. I owe so much to you. Thank you for giving me a family, and a job I love.”
“You deserve it all and more,” Wade assures you, laying his hand on your shoulder. “But Tim is glaring at me, so I’m going to go.”
You turn, but Tim is smiling when you meet his eyes.
“Your parents didn’t show,” he says.
“I didn’t invite them,” you murmur. “I sent the announcement, but not an invitation. My real family is here; you’re here.”
“Tell me they at least sent a gift.”
“A $2,000 Visa card in an unsigned Hallmark card that said Congratulations over a wedding cake.”
“Smitty can beat that,” Tim scoffs.
“He did. Fondue maker,” you reply, nodding.
“We got a fondue maker?” Fin asks, returning from a dance battle with Aaron.
You wrap your arm around him but look at Tim as you say, “We got a lot more than that.”
“You did good,” Tim responds. “Boot.”
More Posts from Myfictionalbfs and Others
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.
Find Anything Black!Batmom Here!
★Fics★
Thomas Troubles
→ Baby Thomas is causing trouble
Batmom giving birth
→ Damian not knowing why y/n’s baby is brown
Batmom Being Pregnant
→ pregnant batmom things
MILF STUFF
→Reactions to batmom being a milf
Winter Wonderland
→ winter at the manor
Keeping Up With Her Kids Love Lives 1 2
Strummin’ My Pain
→ Duke and Batmom jamming out
Songs that remind me of Black!Batmom and Bruce 1 2
T-Shirt and Hair Tied
→ Bruce just wants to fuck his wife in his t-shirt
Invited to the Cookout
→ Clark makes the mistake of putting raisins on the potato salad
The Key to Marriage w/ Bruce and Y/N Wayne
→ They sit down for an interview and discuss their marriage
Smile for the Camera
→ His wife wants to make a sex tape
For the man who has everything
→ Dick doesn’t know what to get Bruce for Christmas
Sense of normalcy
→ Batmom and Jason at four stages of his life
“Oh My God! My Parents are Swingers!”
→ Dick finds out about his parents’ extra-marital activities
Don’t Touch My Hair
→ Sometimes having black hair is stressful
Batmom Finding out about Damian
→ The bullshit Bruce be on
BHM
→ Black History Month in the Wayne Household
Winter Wonderland
→ Winter at Wayne Manor
In High School
→ a brief story of Y/N and Bruce in high school
In the Before Times
→ What Batmom did before getting with Bruce
My Baby Boy
→ Batmom finds out Jason is still alive
★Headcanons★
Batmom & the pets HCs
Batmom Dying HCs
Being Pregnant w/ Bruce’s Baby HCs
★Blurbs★
Vampire blurb
Batmom singing Megan Thee Stallion lyrics
Blurb #003
Blurb #005
Blurb #028
Batfam at a Cookout Blurb
Tiktoks about Black!Batmom
F My Baby Dad Blurb
Batmom Gets Pearls Blurb
Batmom Gets Mugged blurb
Juneteenth Blurb
Batmom and Bruce Working Out Blurb
Picture Day Blurb
Black Wife Effect Blurb
Batfam Sick Blurb
Mother’s Day Blurb
Black!Batmom Knitting
Binging Shows w/ Bruce
Bruce Missing a Phone Call
Jim Gordon Instigating Blurb
Elevator Blurb
Hot Mom Blurb
Black!Batmom & the Renaissance Tour
Batmom’s reaction to the Red Hood
Bruce is Dead in this One
Announcing the Twins Blurb
Birth of the Twins Blurb
Besties Get Banged (part2)
⟢Angel Dust x PornstarReader - Besties get Banged smut💦
Part 1 ꒰აMaleReader ✧ FemaleReader໒꒱ Part 2 ꒰აMaleReader ✧ FemaleReader໒꒱
Val leaves set and Angel offers the sofa of his dressing room to continue what you started.
「warnings/promises: Angel x FemaleReader , vaginal creampie, quick fuck, kisses, cuddles」
same story as male reader; just different bits and bobbles
minors dni 🧯
Angel’s hand slipped into yours as soon as Val was called off set. You two had been corrected for your behavior by the overlord, but luckily his square headed prince needed him.
“Ya know, I have a private dressin’ room.” Angel’s fingers tugged your hand, “With a sofa.”
The benefit of so many arms was how easily he could close the door, lock it, and pull open both of your robes all while you struggled to shake off your slippers.
His mouth left yours as he gently pushed you back toward the purple chaise lounge near the balcony door, “You whole?”
A common question amongst Val’s employees, especially those who found comfort in each other after his abusive power trips. Not are you hurt, that implies just physical harm. Not are you okay, you can be okay and not be okay. You understood very well what he was asking, are you mentally and physically comfortable to continue?
You nodded, “Yeah, you?”
“He doesn’t get to me as badly anymore,” two hands on your face, two on your hips. Ah, you wish you could touch him more, with as many hands as he had soft places to caress. Angel lowered you, lithe body coming to rest on yours as his hips began moving against your naked core. Soft cock slowly growing against your skin, lube and slick being rubbed into your folds by his ministrations.
As soon as he was hard enough to enter you, he did. The sigh he made, the weakness that came over his face as he sunk into your tight but welcoming cunt made you shudder. A streak of electricity traveling from your spine down and forward to your clit.
Angel wasted no time in finishing the fucking he had been dreaming of just an hour earlier. His arms came down, fingers exploring your valleys and your peaks. Hungry for your affection, for the tenderness he so desperately needed, his mouth crashed into your cheek. Sloppy, happily unprofessional, he kissed and licked his way to your mouth, already open and waiting to receive him.
He tasted like candy on your tongue, sweet and melting. Every gasp and moan he gave you he then greedily swallowed.
“Shit, close,” he whined, “Already”. He found your hands with his, pulling them and you up as he leaned back. Two hands cupped your ass and lifted you onto his now seated lap. Your legs came around his waist, your measly two arms wrapped around his neck as you held tightly. Small but strong, he pistoned himself up into your heat while those hands did the work of you riding his swelling cock.
He pulled you in for another kiss, lips pressing into yours with no rhythm or goal as he tried to bring you over the climax together. While he spent most of his time with dicks, literally and figuratively, he understood the focused wind up a female orgasm could need.
Your hand came between your bodies, trying to meet him at the edge. Eyes shut, you focused on the place where he was in you, the heat and the stiffness of his arousal for you. As he whispered, “so close” and whined, “baby” into your ear with gasped breaths, you thought about your pussy wringing Angel Dust dry and quickly reached your orgasm.
“Me too,” was all you could manage as your teeth clenched and head came down onto his shoulder.
Angel continued to move you on and off his dick as he rode out his climax. Your walls contracting around him, milking him like your body had been designed to do it. A feeling he wasn’t wholly used to, definitely not for free and off camera, he pulled you down and held you there to linger in the sensation.
“Too deep,” you wiggled, slightly painful pressure as his still engorged head was now threatening to slip past your cervix.
“Sorry” he smiled, “not used to, ya know, some of this stuff.”
Valid. There was a lot more stuff than he was used to thinking about. Especially at work.
He eased up his grip, letting you lift enough to relax.
Slippery and hot, you stayed stuck together for an unknown amount of time. His mouth kept finding its way back to you, lazy but content kisses peppered across pink cheeks and flush lips.
Rarely he could be held so gently while sober, so he took his time in enjoying your tenderness. Four arms wrapped around you and pulled your head into that fluff on his chest, “Val’s not gonna let us work together again.” He said it matter of factly.
You sucked in through your teeth, “Yeeeeeah… I’ll probably get canned.”
Angel pursed his lips, “Well, I know a solution to both problems.” He pulled back, beaming down at you, “A place with free rent where yous can easily see me anytime we want. How do ya feel about group activities?”
༻Masterlist༺
∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):
@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,
@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove @saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings
@looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @sailorsmouth ,
@jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling
With You, Even When I'm Not
Requested Here by the amazing @newobsessionweekly!
Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader
Summary: When one of Tim Bradford's enemies is released from prison, he sets out to hurt Tim by hurting you. You trust that Tim will save you, but time is not on your side.
Warnings: angst, car accident, torture (injuries to r), based on 2x11 but this isn't a rewrite (for once lol), crying, fluff and comfort
Word Count: 5.5k+ words
A/N: I didn't include a scene with Tim threatening someone like he does in 2x11 and I kinda regret it because it was hot, but I also really like how this turned out...
Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List
“The almighty Tim Bradford isn’t coming to save you. You know why? Because you’re already dead.”
You force your eyes open and ignore the pain and fear to say, “So are you.”
Less than eight hours ago, you sat beside Tim in roll call. You force yourself to remember that rather than consider what Ferguson plans to do to you.
- 8 Hours Ago -
Your day starts like any other: you wake up, get ready, go to the station, and take your seat beside Tim for roll call. The sun is bright, the sky clear, and Los Angeles is event-free for once. So, it has the makings for a good day.
“What is up with you?” Tim asks quietly.
“What do you mean?” you counter.
“You’re all smiley and happy. Someone puked in my shop yesterday and you’re acting like this is the best job in the world.”
“It is!” You chuckle at his look before explaining, “It’s going to be a good day. Just let me enjoy this one for every hundred bad ones I’ve dealt with.”
“Sure.”
Wade enters, and you give him your full attention, though you never forget about Tim. He’s a constant in your life, and you wish you could have him by your side every moment, not just during roll call.
“Nolan, Harper is back so you can return to your TO,” Wade says.
“That’s why you’re so happy,” Tim muses. “You got rid of Nolan.”
You shake your head and smile before you stand. You’re patrolling in one of the nicest Los Angeles neighborhoods today, so you probably won’t see or hear Tim much today.
“Have a good one,” you tell him.
“Be careful,” he replies.
You exit the room, and Tim watches you go. Lucy walks to his side and stops, aware of what he’s looking at and longing for.
“Let’s go, boot, don’t just stand there,” Tim demands.
“Bradford,” Wade calls. “A word? Chen can stay.”
Tim nods and follows Lucy to the front of the room.
“Ferguson was released on parole this morning,” Wade says. “Sorry to tell you like this, but I thought you should know.”
“He had fifteen years left; how did this happen?” Tim asks.
“Who’s Ferguson?” Lucy inquires.
“Someone I arrested,” Tim answers. “He threatened to kill me when he got out.”
“Oh. Uh, should we-“
“That is up to Officer Bradford,” Wade interjects. “If you want to sit today out, I’ll understand.”
“No. I’m not letting him ruin my life, too. We can handle Ferguson if he’s stupid enough to show his face.”
“The parole board seems convinced he’s reformed, but we both know he’s a good liar and a better manipulator. Keep your eyes open, Tim, and don’t hesitate to call in anything you think is a threat.”
“Yes, sir. Let’s go, boot.”
Tim leads Lucy to the shop, and he's quieter than usual. Lucy hasn’t been a cop as long as him, but she knows what it’s like to have a criminal blame you for the consequences of their actions. She won’t push Tim, not about this, but she has questions about everything she heard.
“Pull up Roscoe Ferguson,” Tim says as he turns onto the road. “Get familiar with his face. If you see him, I want you to know it’s him.”
“You really think he’ll do something?” Lucy asks as she turns the dashboard computer toward her.
“I’m counting on it.”
“Dispatch, this is 7-Adam-9, are there any alerts in my area?” you ask into the radio.
“Negative, 7-Adam-9.”
You nod to yourself and place the radio back in the console. The morning has been quiet and slow. You know you shouldn’t complain; a sunny drive in the hills is rarely a bad thing, but you’re a cop, and you’re getting bored.
“7-Adam-9, switch to channel 4 for Sergeant Grey,” dispatch instructs.
You turn the channel dial and let Wade know you’re there. He doesn’t answer, and you slow at a stop sign as you bounce the radio against your thigh.
“You’re in the hills, right?” Wade asks suddenly.
He doesn't use your name or call number, only asks a rushed question. It concerns you, but you remain professional.
“Yes, sir,” you answer. “Do you need me to come back?”
“No, stay up there. Just wanted to double-check.”
“What’s going on?”
Wade goes silent again, and you repeat the question.
“Nothing, I hope. Just trying to keep everyone connected to Bradford out of the heart of LA today.”
“Why?”
“Ferguson was released.”
“He has 15 years left on his sentence!” you exclaim into your empty car.
“I know. I’m trying to get everything figured out and petition for it to be reversed, but for now, just keep working.”
“Yes, sir.”
You turn the channel back and set the radio down. Roscoe Ferguson hates Tim and would do anything to get to him. Tim knows you're here for him, so you focus on your assignment. The Hollywood hills are quiet this morning, but you know better than to let your guard down.
As you turn onto Tahoe Drive, you notice a black truck in your rearview. He gets close to the tail of your shop but slows suddenly and turns onto Tahoe Place. You roll your eyes; the people who live in the Hills drive like they own the hills. They probably do, but it doesn’t excuse unsafe vehicle operation.
You round the bend where Tahoe Drive turns into Lake Hollywood Drive, and the Hollywood Reservoir comes into view. When you glance up, you see the black truck speeding toward you again. You hit the lights and leave them on for a few seconds as a warning, but the driver doesn’t slow. If they pass you, you’ll stop them and issue a ticket, you decide.
There’s a point on Lake Hollywood Drive where there’s less than 200 feet of terrain between the road and the reservoir. It’s covered in sparse foliage, but it would be easy enough to get to the water or hide in the trees. You realize too late that the truck isn’t slowing down or moving to pass you as you near that point. It rams into you from behind, and you lurch forward before the seatbelt catches and snatches you backward. Steering is pointless as the shop slides into a small patch of dirt. The truck is still driving, pushing your car forward. The driver stops just before you collide with a tree, and you reach for the radio.
It's fallen from the console, and the seatbelt holds you uncomfortably tight to your seat. As you wrestle to free yourself and get the radio, you don’t see the man exit the truck or approach your window. He hits it with an illegal tool used for breaking into cars, and you turn your face away as glass showers over you.
“Hi,” he greets. “7-Adam-9, right?”
“And you’re Roscoe Ferguson,” you answer.
“Bradford, get back to the station,” Wade radios, “Now.”
“What’s going on?” Tim asks as he makes a U-turn.
“Ferguson stole a truck. We don’t know where he went after or what he’s planning to do.”
“We should find him,” Lucy says.
“And don’t say you should go look for him,” Wade adds. “You’re too close to this.”
“He’s not going to kill me, Grey,” Tim argues. “Let me help. I caught him once; I can do it again.”
“Get back to the station. That’s an order.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tim sighs as he continues driving toward the station. The last time he worried about Roscoe Ferguson, you were sitting beside him. Though you’ll never take the credit, Tim thinks you’re the main reason he finally got Ferguson in cuffs.
“What now?” Lucy asks.
“We find a way to help find Ferguson,” Tim replies.
“Get out,” Ferguson demands.
He pushes the gun closer to your face, and you raise your hands slowly. Your left shoulder aches from the impact of the seatbelt, and as you reach through the broken window to open your door, you feel the tiny scratches littering your face and neck sting. Ferguson pulls you away from the shop and pushes you toward the reservoir.
“What’s your plan here, Roscoe?” you ask.
He taps the gun against your back to make you keep walking. With your back to him, you slide your hand into your pocket and remove the laminated piece of paper you keep in it. It falls to the ground, and you hope it’s enough to help Tim find you and Roscoe.
“Kill me to get to Tim? Hurt him without touching him because you know he won’t let you get the chance?”
“Shut up!” Ferguson yells. “Walk!”
Taunting him may not be your brightest decision, but making him mad will make him careless. When you reach the water, he grabs your belt and pulls you backward. Your breath rushes out as your back hits the ground, but you smile through the pain.
“You will never beat him,” you say.
“Tim Bradford took everything from me. Let’s see how he likes the feeling,” Ferguson responds.
He raises the gun to your face and pushes the barrel against your forehead. You keep your eyes on him, unwilling to flinch in the face of death. He changes his mind, however, and brings the butt of the handle down against your temple instead, and everything goes dark as the water blows in the wind.
Tim and Lucy have been relegated to desk duty. With Ferguson on the run and numerous threats against Tim’s life, Wade decided it would be best for him to stay here. Wade watches them from his office and shakes his head when Lucy begins twirling her handcuffs around her finger. His phone rings and Wade steps away from the glass door to answer it.
“Sergeant Grey,” he answers.
He listens silently before lowering the receiver and stepping out into the station. Tim looks up, and his expression drops immediately.
“What happened?” Tim asks as he stands.
“They found the stolen truck. It was involved in an accident near the reservoir. He, uh… Ferguson ran a cop off the road, and they’re both missing.”
“Who?” Tim asks, urgency and panic lacing the syllable.
Before Wade can answer, dispatch reads your badge number in a missing officer alert, and Tim’s blood runs cold. He freezes, staring at Wade as he realizes what has happened and that it’s his fault. Tim never anticipated Ferguson going for the people Tim cares about – loves – and he should have.
“Let me go out there,” Tim demands lowly. “I can find her.”
“I shouldn’t,” Wade answers. He looks to Lucy and adds, “But I will. Don’t try to do this alone, Bradford. Take help where you can get it.”
“I don’t want the credit; I want her back,” Tim snaps.
“Then get to the reservoir and do what you do best, Tim.”
Lucy nods at Wade, an unspoken promise that she’ll do her best to help him and keep him from spiraling. They both know that it’s easier said than done.
“Tim,” you call out when you wake.
“Nope, just me,” Ferguson says.
He’s sitting across from you as he carves a piece of wood into a chipmunk. Your arms are tied tightly behind you, and one of your ankles is secured to a metal pole with your handcuffs. Whatever he’s planning to do to you will hurt you, but it will hurt Tim much worse.
“I hope you’re asking for a lot of ransom,” you mumble.
“You and I both know this isn’t about money. It’s about that little partner of yours and what he did to me.”
“Making you pay for your crimes? Yeah, he’s a terrible person.”
Ferguson moves forward quickly. The half-finished wood carving falls to the floor as he presses the knife under your jaw.
“These whittling knives are small, but I can cut an artery before you can call out to him again,” he threatens.
You swallow, causing the knife to bob in his hand. He presses harder and turns to the left before standing. Warm blood trickles down your neck, and you wonder what he plans to do to you before he kills you. If you didn’t have so much faith in Tim, you’d be tempted to anger Ferguson and trick him into killing you early. It’s a terrible thing to think, but at the end of the day, you’re a cop, and you know when your chances aren’t good enough. Right now, they are.
“When he gets here, he will put a bullet in you this time,” you tell Ferguson.
“You stopped him last time,” he answers.
He’s planning to use you as a human shield; let Tim be the one to finish you off in the darkness. Perhaps that’s why you’re underground. The only light you see is from a small lamp; when it goes off, you will be plunged into complete darkness.
“Stop talking,” Ferguson demands as he retrieves his chipmunk. “We don’t have much air in here.”
You try not to let your shock show, but as you look around and fail to see a single air vent, you worry that Tim won’t make it in time. Forcing yourself to take a steady breath, you close your eyes.
“No, no, no,” Ferguson chides. “No napping. We have to stay awake for the pre-game, and the final score.”
He tips your head back, and your eyes open instinctually. When he sees that, he tightens his grip on your jaw and circles you. Looking at him upside-down, you tug against your restraints. He raises a foot and places it on your bound hands before stepping down hard and fast. Your shoulders pull backward at a painful angle with no room that makes you yell in pain. Ferguson’s laugh drowns out your scream, and he keeps his hand on your jaw as he lays a rope over the back of your neck to hang over your shoulders.
“He’s going to kill you,” you say between pants when Ferguson releases your face.
He hinges at his hip, invading your personal space as he smiles and says, “You too.”
“Bradford, there’s blood,” an officer alerts.
Tim steps to your open shop door and sees a few small, oblong blood drops on your seat. Based on the shape, you were in motion when they fell, and it wasn’t enough blood to kill you.
“Probably from the glass,” he decides. “Let’s move toward the reservoir. We can’t tell footprints apart but watch where you’re stepping!”
“Tim!” Lucy yells from just past the tree line.
He jogs to her side and looks down. She found a small, laminated piece of paper, and Tim recognizes it immediately. Your self-proclaimed “perfect fortune” from one of your first dinners together as P2s rather than rookies. He picks it up and looks toward the water. He’s looking in the right place, you made sure to tell him that, but he feels like he’s missing something else.
“Please,” you whimper, even though you know he can’t hear you.
“How many more times do I have to tell you?” Ferguson asks. “He’s not here.”
The only thing on your mind is Tim because if you stop thinking about him you’ll only know the unbearable pain and the man inflicting it. Ferguson places his foot between your legs, pushing against the chair slowly. It tips back, and you close your eyes and imagine Tim catching you. It doesn’t stop the initial pain of your leg being held in one place by the handcuffs as the rest of your body moves back or the scream you release as you hit the floor, but it does give you a reason to keep fighting. Ferguson pulls you up nearly as fast as he tipped you over, and the rope digs in against the side of your neck.
“This is the best workout I’ve ever had,” he says.
He wipes the sheen of sweat from his forehead, and you notice how hot and thick the air seems. Ferguson admitted that the air supply was limited, so if you start wasting it, maybe he will leave.
“If you call him…” you begin slowly. “Let me hear Tim Bradford’s voice one more time, and I will lure him here for you.”
“Do you think I’m dumb?” Ferguson asks.
You nod and immediately regret it when he pulls the rope and forces your head down toward your chest.
“I’m not letting you take control. This is my plan, and it ends beautifully.”
“I can’t do this!” Tim yells.
He runs his hands over the back of his head and down his face as he squats by the reservoir. There are no other hints about where Ferguson took you, nothing to guide Tim toward saving you, only dirt and broken promises. He told you that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you; Tim whispered the promise in the dead of night when you were asleep during an overnight patrol, yet he’s holding himself to keeping it like it will kill him if he doesn’t. Because it will.
“Tim don’t give up yet,” Lucy encourages. She lowers beside him and lays a hand on his back. “We can do this, but we have to work together. The paper means something right? Could it be more than an indication she was here?”
Tim wipes under his eye, and Lucy’s eyes widen as she realizes tears are streaming down his cheeks. He stops them quickly, but she pats his back to remind him he’s not fighting alone. You’re fighting, too, and Tim needs to remember that.
“Lucy, I lo-“ Tim stops suddenly, though Lucy is confident she knows where he was going. “I know what it means.”
He stands quickly, and Lucy follows him to the place where they found the fortune. The little strip of paper from a fortune cookie has been in your pocket since you read it, but not only for the encouraging message on the front.
“34831,” Tim says.
“Your badge number?” Lucy asks, tilting her head to the side. “What about it?”
“It was on the back of my fortune that night. Hers, though, didn’t have a number. So, we wrote one on it.”
“What’s the number?”
“2 25 12 9. I didn’t think she’d know what it meant.”
“What does it mean?”
“It’s an alphabet cypher, but backward.”
“B, Y, L, I,” Tim rattles off. “If she had this, she may have left more clues at those points: 2, 25, 12, and 9.”
“This would have been about 2,” Lucy says, gesturing to the ground. “That’s what, 2 meters from the car?”
Tim furrows his brows at Lucy’s use of meters but nods anyway.
“We can’t walk 25 meters forward, we’d be in the water,” Lucy points out.
“Then we need to spread out in every direction we can go 25 meters… Unless I’m wrong.”
“Don’t question it.”
“No, she would’ve fought. He wouldn’t have been able to make her go anywhere if she wasn’t willing to. We should assume that she couldn’t leave a trail after this point.”
“Then we’re back where we started?”
“Exactly.”
“Tim, what does that even mean?”
“She’s still here. They both are.”
Tim turns and yells for someone to get satellite imaging of the area and the camera footage from your car. Your body cam and police uniform shirt were discarded by the water but the cameras could tell them what happened before and during the initial attack.
“We’ll find her, Tim,” Lucy promises again.
“Thank you,” Tim whispers.
Running footsteps echo over the top of the tin deathtrap you’re in. Someone yells, and Ferguson ducks his head as he moves out of your sight.
“Tim!” you yell.
Your voice cracks, and as you prepare to yell again, Ferguson pulls the rope around your neck. It digs into your skin and compresses your windpipe. Tears begin leaking from your eyes, and after the day you’ve had, you don’t care to stop them.
“Tim, please,” you whisper.
“Welcome to the final round,” Ferguson says into your ear.
He loosens the rope and pushes your chair forward. His foot pulls down against your hands again, pulling your shoulder muscles cruelly as they stretch to accommodate the impossible movement. You scream in agony as Ferguson pushes you past the point he stopped at previously.
“Did you stop to ask yourself what he’s thinking? Wouldn’t he have found you sooner if he cared? I’ve been out long enough that he knew, yet he let you out by yourself,” Ferguson taunts.
“You won’t win,” you say between ragged breaths.
Ferguson pulls your head to the side to hold the whittling knife against your windpipe, and the cut he made earlier pulls open. Your white shirt is stained with blood and tears, and even as your blinks slow and breathing begins to feel impossible, you trust Tim.
“The almighty Tim Bradford isn’t coming to save you. You know why? Because you’re already dead,” Ferguson says.
You force your eyes open and ignore the pain and fear to say, “So are you.”
Throwing your head backward, you ignore the sting of his knife sliding across the tender skin of your neck. Your skull hits Ferguson’s nose, and he staggers backward with a hand holding his face. Suddenly, you can’t pull a full breath into your lungs. Time has run out, and Tim isn’t here yet. You hold your breath as Ferguson stumbles behind you. He drops, and you see his hand and face are covered in blood. His chest rises and falls slowly, but you’re safe until the rest of the oxygen is used up.
“Tim,” you whisper toward the metal sheet above you.
“Wait!” Lucy calls. “The ground is hollow here.”
Tim returns to Lucy’s side and hears his footsteps echo. It sounds like there’s a metal sheeting under the dirt beneath his boots. He raises a hand to call a few officers over before someone screams. It’s muffled by the metal and earth, but it’s a clear sign of pain. Better than that, it means someone is still alive.
“Find a way in,” Tim demands quietly.
As he searches the area around the hollow spot, he wishes to hear your voice again. Not another scream, but an acknowledgement that you survived whatever caused you such agony.
"Bradford!” Janssen calls.
He waves Tim over and points to a small opening. Together, they lift the heavy steel cover away from the round hole. Another barrier of cloth and metal sheets blocks the entrance, and as Tim digs through, he wonders how much air is getting through, if any. The moment he can see inside the fortified bunker, he pulls his weapon and drops silently into the metal housing.
What was likely meant to be a storm shelter has been converted into a survivalist’s nightmare. A small corridor leads to a wider opening, and a dim light is the only sign that anyone is inside. Tim raises his guns and stays ready to shoot as he nears the opening.
“Tim,” you whisper.
Tim hears your voice and doesn’t hesitate to step into the open room and swing his gun as he clears the small, square area. Ferguson lies unconscious in the corner, and Tim can only see your back, the restraints keeping you in place, and the rope loosely wrapped around your neck and shoulders.
Your shoulders shake as you exhale slowly. When you notice that you can breathe again, you take a deep breath before letting your head fall forward.
“Tim,” you repeat, trying not to think of anything else.
Tim says your name as he holsters his gun. You sit up straight and try to turn your head to the side but are stopped by the pull of the rope and the pain in your shoulders. You hiss in pain before returning to your previous position.
“You can’t trick me, Roscoe,” you mumble.
Tim steps toward Ferguson and handcuffs him. He repeats your name as he moves into your line of sight. His hands are raised to his shoulders, though his expression is pure concern. When he sees the blood, sweat, and dirt covering you and your clothes, he has to fight not to rush to your side.
“Tim,” you say again. Your voice is louder than before but still has an untrusting quality. “Tim.”
When you start crying and lean toward Tim, he kneels before you. He reaches down carefully to use his key and remove the handcuff from your ankle. Your head rests on his shoulder as he moves, and when he sees the damage done to your ankle, the swelling, deep bruising, and handcuff-induced gash, he looks back at Ferguson.
Tim sits up slowly and raises a hand toward your face. He pushes your hair back softly and waits until your eyes meet to speak.
“I need to go get backup,” he says.
“No, no! Please don’t leave me, Tim,” you plead through your slowing tears.
You lean forward and wince when your shoulder meets its new range of motion.
“I need to get Ferguson out of here,” Tim explains. “There’s a lot of people above us waiting for me to signal.”
“Tim, please.”
“Can I yell?”
You swallow as Tim moves closer to you. He stops an inch away from you, with your knees almost touching his ribs.
“I’m not going to yell unless you say I can,” he adds.
Tim waits for your nod, then leans away from you slightly to yell for Janssen and Lucy to come in.
“Help me,” you whisper when Tim’s eyes return to you.
He sits back on his heels as he unloops the rope from around you. It’s heavy, and he sees your shoulders drop once it’s away from you. They drop unevenly, though, and he knows you need more help than he can give you.
“I’m staying with you,” Tim promises, “but I have to untie your hands.”
You shake your head quickly, and Tim moves his hands to the sides of your thighs as he agrees not to leave. He asks Lucy to free your hands and keeps his hands on you as Lucy cuts the restraints.
“Thank you,” you say.
Tim doesn’t answer before you pull your arms forward. With them free, you don’t hesitate to raise them and wrap them around his shoulders. It hurts, and you sob as you fall forward and cling to Tim. He welcomes your touch and wraps his arms around your waist, but he doesn’t touch you, too mindful of how injured you are and where those unseen injuries are.
“I knew you’d come,” you say through your tears.
Tim looks over your shoulder as Janssen and a few other officers carry Ferguson to the opening. He should call an EMT to meet you here, but he can’t let you go yet. His grip tightens around your waist without thinking. When your only reaction is relaxing against him, Tim holds you as tightly as he needs to. Your tears are drying, and you turn your face toward Tim’s neck to speak.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t leave more clues,” you begin. “But I knew you didn’t need them.”
“The paper was smart,” Tim replies. “And I will always find you.”
“He wanted to lure you down here and trick you into killing me. Every time I called out for you he reminded me that we would both die.”
Tim exhales deeply, unsure how to tell you he knows you and he’d never make that mistake. He sits back, twisting you so that he’s holding you against his chest rather than letting you support your own weight.
“It hurts,” you say softly.
“Can you get out of here? Go up the ladder?” he asks.
“There’s a ladder?”
Tim’s brows furrow at your question. How did Ferguson get you down here if you weren’t conscious when you came in? He shakes his head; the detectives (and Tim) will look into the details of your abduction later. For now, your safety is the priority.
“Can you climb out?” Tim asks.
“Not without help,” you answer. “I don’t think I can walk.”
Tim looks at your ankle again, and his eyes catch on the fresh blood pooling against your collarbone. He leans closer to you to find the source. When he sees the cut across the front of your neck, he knows you need help sooner rather than later.
“Hold on,” he instructs you.
“I- I can’t move my shoulder.”
Tim lays you against the metal floor and looks at your left shoulder. It’s out of its socket, but Tim can’t risk pushing it back in without knowing if your muscles or ligaments are still intact.
“Please just get me out of here.”
Tim nods and turns around so your hips are beside his shoulders. He leans down and pulls your legs over his shoulder rather than your arms. With one hand pressing your shoulder to your side, Tim stands and pulls you up in a modified fireman’s carry. You stifle the yell that tries to escape, and Tim’s heart breaks when he hears it. He spent so much time fighting, desperate to find you, that he didn’t consider how different things would be when he did.
With the help of Janssen, Nolan, and Lucy, Tim gets you back above ground. He collapses to the ground but makes sure you’re set down with care. You reach out for him immediately, and Tim pulls your chest to his again. The paramedics are close, but until they arrive, Tim will hold you like he never has.
“I’m so sorry,” Tim whispers.
“You found me,” you reply. “You found me.”
Your right hand squeezes Tim’s shirt in your hand as you hold onto him. You didn’t doubt him for a second. Being in his arms gives you the safety and comfort you need to fall apart because you know he’ll hold you together.
“I know what it means,” you say. “Or I think I do. B-Y-L-I; it’s backwards, right?”
Tim nods against you, and you smile through your tears. The paramedics arrive, and you’re carefully removed from Tim’s grasp, though his hand stays in yours. You’re not sure you’ll ever be able to let go, but Tim has already made a new promise, and he won’t leave your side until he’s forced to.
“Where’s Kojo?” you ask as Tim leads you into his house.
“He’s staying with Lucy tonight. He gets excited when he sees you and I didn’t want him to hurt you,” Tim answers.
He guides you to the couch and sits beside you after placing your things in his guest bedroom. Tim refused to let you return to your apartment alone after being discharged from the hospital, and you didn’t need much convincing to stay with him while you heal.
You lean your head against Tim’s shoulder, careful not to jostle your shoulder in its sling. He moves his arm to welcome you closer and tilts his head to rest beside yours.
“It’s I love you backward, right?”
Tim looks down at your hand, surprised to see your fortune in it. He takes it from you and flips it to see his handwriting. He nods and sits up straight. When you turn toward Tim, he wipes under your eyes as if he can still see the tears you cried when he saved you. Your skin is littered with scars and reminders of what Ferguson did to you, but Tim still seems to only see you underneath all of it.
“It’s I love you, Bradford,” he answers. “Whether you wanted that to mean ‘from Bradford’ or something else.”
“I begged for you to save me while I was down there with him.”
“I’m-“
“Don’t apologize. I just- I need you to know I trust you that much because I know you love me. I’ve known for a long time. But I also knew that even if you didn’t find me in time, I would die loving you. And life was worth living because you were in it.”
Tim’s hands rise out of his lap before freezing. He looks down at your neck and back to your eyes before smiling. His eyes look misty, but you know yours are, too, so you decide not to tease him about it this one time.
“I don’t know where I’m supposed to put my hands to kiss you,” he mumbles.
You hold his shoulder as you lean in and kiss him. His hands raise to your waist without thought, and other than the soreness of using your obliques to search for Tim while tied in place, it’s a painless touch. Tim moves slowly and intentionally as he kisses you, reminding you of everything he said and did, even what you weren’t present for.
“I love you, Tim Bradford,” you say against his lips.
“I love you. I will always love you, and I will never lose you again.”
Tim slides the fortune into your pocket as he kisses you again, and every pain and fear you faced disappears because you know Tim will always find you and make you whole.
Whatever happens (Tim Bradford x F!Wife!Reader)
Summary: do to your work as a high ranking national security officer you and Tim get taken hostage in your own house
Warnings: : torture, not descriptive but is listed what happened. Misogyny and sexism (not from tim), hospitals, kidnap, canon violence
Notes:
Sorry for the grammatical errors. I’m new at writing so feedback is appreciated. Thank you for reading. do not translate or appropriate my work
Comments and kudos are highly appreciated :)
words: 2500
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You unlock the door and enter your house. Tim is already out of uniform, and he is cooking dinner in the open space kitchen. You drop your bag on the floor next to the door as you sigh, tired from the long day. As one of the top-ranking officers of the National Defense some days were really exhausting to say the least. At least you now could relax at home with your husband
‘hey. I thought I would get started on dinner’ he says as he puts on the stove, giving you a hint of a smile to greet you, something that is reserved to you and only you
‘did I tell you that you are the best husband in the world?’ you ask him with complete appreciation as you give him a quick kiss
‘from time to time’ he teases you as he smirks
‘you are. I’m starving. And it was my turn to cook’ you tell him seriously as you place your hands around his neck as he places his on your waist. He kisses you again, now more properly
‘well you can always show your appreciation later’ he teases you again as you roll your eyes lovingly at him ‘deal’ you tell him as you peck him again before you throw your heels out of the way
‘long day?’ he asks as he lets you go to stir the rice
‘the longest’ you reply as you start to set up the table ‘we fear there has been a breakthrough of info on undercover agents and they put me as head of operation to make sure they are safe, I need to check each of them’ you sigh
‘well that sounds exhausting’ he replies honestly
‘your day?’ you ask
‘some standard arrests. And lucy passed my Tim test today.’ He replies as he start putting the food on the plates
‘tim tests? Can’t you leave that poor boot alone?’ you playfully make fun of him as you sit down
‘be careful or you are going to be Tim tested too’ he says pointing the spatula at you
‘you wouldn’t’ you tell him faking shock ‘I’m your wife’
‘don’t test me’ he replies hiding a smile ‘come on. the food is ready’ he says as he moves towards the table with the meal in his hand. But before he places it on the table the room gets filled with smoke and he feels something in his neck, a narcotic that makes him faint instantly as you do too while he calls your name.
-.-.-.
You wake up tied to a chair in your home’s office. Two men stand in front of you
‘hello y/n’ they tell you ‘had a good sleep?’ they mock you
‘who are you and what do you want’ you ask. This is not your first kidnap
‘straight to the point I see. We want the real name of the undercover agents’ they tell you playing with a knife
‘I don’t have them. They are classified’ you reply
‘and that is the first lie of the night. Our intel says only one person has all of the names, and that is you’
You maintain your calm wondering how they know it. ‘I don’t’ you reply as you asses the situation. You are chained to the chair. Is impossible to break free
‘okay let’s see if your memory starts to work after we are finished with you’ they tell you before punching you in the face
-.-.-.-.-.
Are the screams that wake Tim up. your screams. It takes him a few seconds to realize that he is still in his living room and that the screams he is hearing are your screams.
‘y/n!’ he shouts ‘leave her alone!’. but is useless. He is not even tied, he is chained to a metal chair. He mentally curses himself and your shared love for design, at least if it were a wooden chair he could have tried to free himself. He assesses the situation. he is a cop, he was a sergeant in the army , he should know how to get out of any situation. he needs to help you. His wife is being tortured and he is without a scratch and unable to help you
He tries for more than two hours to free himself, trying to not think about what they are doing to you as your screams get progressively worse
Tim is kind of scared of how you held up, how you did not say anything as they tortured you. He knew you were strong, but this, this is almost inhumane.
The screams stops and he fears the worst.
The door suddenly opens and the two men bring you in. he has the first glimpse of you since they took you. tim can’t almost recognize you. Your face is too puffy and full of blood. They had beaten you up, for hours. Tim also notices that some of your limbs don’t look right. The two men throw you on the floor. You are still passed out. Your hands tied together behind you.
His hearts start beating again only when he sees a feeble movement of your chest going up and down. You are alive.
Tim’s blood boils in his veins. Flashbacks of the last time he has seen you like this passes through his mind. more than 10 years ago, when you were both in the army and you got taken hostage for days. He still doesn’t know all of what had happened to you during the captivity, you never talked about it apart from some info then and there. He had killed who did that to you, heading the rescue mission. He had a lot of remorse for what he witnessed in the army but never for that. Now he wanted to do the same to these two men who had entered his house and tortured his wife. Damn the consequences
‘son of a bitch what did you do to her’ he says in anger as he tries in vain to move
‘don’t worry big guy. She is alive. I must say this bitch is strong. Broke more than 20 bones in her body one by one and still has not given a name’
Scratch that. Tim doesn’t want to kill them. He wants to break each and every bone of his body and more. He wants to inflict them 10 times what they did to you.
‘I’ll fucking kill you’ he says rage in his eyes
‘what a knight with a shiny armor. A bit difficult considering your situation right now.’ The guy mocks him
The man takes some water and throws it in your face to have you woke up, it works as you stir. He throws more at you before giving you a kick. Tim tries to move from his chair and the man laughs at him
‘tim’ is your first word as you try to find him, your eye focus still blurry from the blood and the puffiness until you see him, just a bruise on his face, his eyes blurry with tears for you and anger against them. You sigh in relief
‘are you okay?’ he asks his voice almost breaking, he knows he sounds stupid as you clearly are not but he needs to have a verbal confirmation
‘yah’ you say as you spit blood. Tim doesn’t believe you
‘sleeping beauty is awake’ the man says taking your face in his hand roughly to throw you on the floor again
Tim flinches
‘as torturing your body did not work we will try with a psychological torturing. let’s see if your so little to nonexistent self-preserving instinct applies also to others’ the man says pointing his head towards tim
Your biggest fear comes true. Tim is going to suffer because of you.
‘tell me the real names of the undercover agents or I make him my own punching ball’ the kidnapper says pointing to tim
Tim stays silent looking in your eyes saying with them ‘don’t’. you spit some blood and stay silent. Your heart breaking as you just basically agreed for the man to torture your husband
‘well then’ the man says as he punches tim. You look away. The other man grabs your face again and forces you to look as He punches tim again and again . tim tries to not react, knowing that if the situation was reversed he would give in immediately at the sight if you suffering. He tries to be strong for you, to not have you give in to the blackmail
‘okay clearly you don’t care enough’ the man says as he pauses his assault on tim. ‘who is this one anyhow’ he asks as tim too spits some blood, his face now too puffy and bruised.
‘no one important. The local supermarket delivery guy. He was just dropping my food delivery’ you lie through your teeth
Tim knows you are saying that to protect him, to not have them use him as leverage more than they are already doing, but it hurts anyhow
‘no one important? Hum. There are quite a few pictures of this delivery guy around here’ the kidnapper says as his partner picks up and passes to him a photo of you and tim where you two are kissing
‘no way, this is your bitch?’ the man asks tim connecting the dots
‘don’t call her that’ tim replies his anger violent
‘tim’ you warn him, knowing his rage will only harm him
‘oh I see. You are her bitch’ the man says pointing at tim ‘this changes everything’ the man says to his partner laughing ‘if torture on her won’t work let’s see how she reacts when her man is the one being tortured’
The second kidnapper picks up the boiling hot knife he had been warming up and passes it to the leader who shows you the knife before going towards tim
‘don’t tell them anything’ tim tells you dead serious ‘I can handle it. I promise’
The kidnapper burns tim and cuts him, when he breaks his leg you scream. Tim still tells you to not speak as you start to cry but remain silent.
‘I see. We have a fellow hero here’ the man mocks tim, now bloody almost as you
‘ I didn’t expect this to be this difficult. I will give you that. Okay now time to stop the games’ he says taking out a gun and pointing it to tim ‘speak or I put a bullet between his eyes’
‘y/n don’t tell him anything, I am just one person’ tim says trying to convince you. He is a cop his job is to protect people. His life counts less than the one of the undercover agents.
‘you choose y/n’ the man mocks you ‘300 agents or the man you love’
‘please-‘ you plead them. The man puts the gun on tim’s forehead
‘last chance’ he says as he charges the gun while tim mouths ‘I love you’ as he closes his eyes waiting for the inevitable end
‘okay okay I will tell you!’ you shout ‘But please let him go.’ You plead them
‘see? It wasn’t that difficult’ the man replies as he drops the gun from tim’s head
‘Let’s make a deal I will voluntary come with you, I will be a valuable hostage, but let him go. Please I beg you’ you continue. You don’t care what happens to you, you just want to save tim and the agents
‘y/n quit the crap don’t-‘ tim says as the man punches him to shut him up before laughing
‘the great y/n y/l/n the youngest director of Internal Security Special Unit and one of the top ranking National Defence officers is begging me? Wow. and all for him? a woman is a woman after all, he must fuck you well’ the guy mocks you, while the other laughs
Tim is boiling in rage at the blunt sexism and insults of the man in front of you. You don’t care anymore, you will do whatever it takes to get Tim out
‘please let him go’ you plead him again
‘nah. This is more fun. Speak now or never’ he tells you
‘don’t tell them’ tim says pleading you with his eyes
‘3 … 2 …’ the man starts counting the gun barrell at tim’s forehead. tim takes in your face for what he thinks will be his last time. He wants to take in every detail of you even if you are so bruised and broken, to him you are still the most beautiful person. As the man reaches two he closes his eyes
‘John Lawrence!’ you scream before he can count to one.
‘perfect. Here we go. See it was easy’ the kidnapper mocks you as tim opens his eyes in defeat, as you can’t bring yourself to look at him
You list all the people taking the longest time possible to hope they will come rescue. You want to buy time, knowing that when the list is done not only the agents will be dead but also you and tim.
Yet Inevitably the list comes to an end
‘thank you very much. Betraying your country and 300 people for one single man’
You keep your head low knowing you just sentenced to death 300 agents.
The man points the gun towards you ‘kill me but spare him please’ you say having given up on your fate but hoping you will still be able to save tim
Tim flinches in his seat at your plead. ‘she told you what you wanted let us go now’ tim says
‘and let you stop our operation? No way’
‘by the time they find us you will already have done it’ tim tries to make him reason
‘you know what? You are right. I will not kill you’ the man says as he turns
He shoots you in the stomach as tim screams your name and you can’t even cling to your stomach as your hands are tied ‘I will let you die of blood loss so that you can stare at his corpse knowing it is your fault’
He then points the gun to tim’s head
‘no! please!’ you shout
‘its okay sweatheart. I love-‘ tim says looking at you
As you hear the gun shot you close your eyes screaming but then you hear tim’s voice calling your name. you open your eyes as you see the SWAT entering the house and killing the two intruders before you pass out
-.-.-
Tim wakes up in a hospital bed, Lucy goes next to him in a second
‘tim! How are you?’ she asks him
‘y/n. where is y/n’ he asks frenetic looking around ‘tim…’ lucy tries
‘where is my wife!’ he shouts at his rookie. ‘next room but tim-‘ she tries, he doesn’t care he gets of the hospital bed falling down as he realizes that is leg is still broken after all
‘tim- you shouldn’t get up-‘ lucy tries to make him reason as she goes to help him
‘help me or leave!’ he says his eyes look like pure fire she nods as she helps him up and to walk next room where you are staying
Angela, who was sitting next to you, stands up seeing him ‘tim-‘
Tim freezes when he sees you. You are in a bed, more casts on your limbs that he can count. Your face is still swollen even if now is clear from the blood, tubes come and go out of you, one is even in your mouth.
‘y/n’ he sighs. Lucy and angela help him to the chair next to your bed. He sits down and takes your only non-casted hand in his
‘how is she?’ he asks them looking at your broken form, eyes lucid
Angela and lucy exchange a look before Angela speaks ‘the doctor said the situation was critical. Both her legs, her arms and one hand are broken. She had a concussion from the beating and lost a lot of blood, but the gun shot did not damage any major organ’
‘is she-‘ he is afraid to ask as the words die in his throat
‘yes she is in a coma. They are positive that she is going to wake up.’ Angela says
‘when‘ he asks as a knot forms in his throat
‘they don’t know‘ lucy replies as tim just nods never taking his eyes off you
‘the intruders?’ he asks now voice plain and cold
‘they were killed in the rescue operation. Any info they might have gotten never made it to their associates’ angela says, careful to not say or insinuate that you indeed told them something or in this case everything
‘they should have suffered more’ tim says as lucy and angela exchange a look
‘tim you should be resting. You have a broken leg and a minor concussion, and bruises and burns everywhere…’ lucy tries to make him reason
‘leave’ he only replies voice flat
‘tim…’ angela tries
‘leave!’ he shouts looking at them and they do leave. He turns again towards you worry and regret consuming him
He places your hand in both his as he kisses it before placing his forehead on it.
And for the first time in years tim bradford cries
PART 2
Tim Bradford master list in ‘Other Characters’ master list’
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.
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.”
I am in love with recent luffy smut omg that was amazing. Is it possible if I can request a usopp smut, please. I’ll leave the topic in your hands, bc I trust u✨
Usopp X Reader: Shot your shot
I don't have Usopp's mannerisms down as much as Luffy's so i hope i did him justice. Enjoy! ❤️
Warning: smut, fingering, penetration (p in v), nipple sucking, kissing, dirty talk, soft sex, fluff, making out.
Word Count: 2,5 K
"Bet you won't do it."
Usopp's head snaps up from his drink, his eyes moving to glance at Zoro.
"What are you talking about?"
"Come on man, you've been staring all night."
A small blush creeped into Usopp's cheeks at the sword masters words. Was it really that obvious? Usopp's eyes made their way back to you watching as you danced with Nami. You were smiling wide as you swayed to the music. The sight made Usopp's heart skip a beat. The sharpshooter had always had a small crush on you but he never acted on his feelings, far too scared to do something and risk your friendship. Despite his lack of action it was pretty clear he had a thing for you. Anyone who paid the smallest bit of attention could see it. You were the only one who didn’t seem to notice it.
Not that it was your fault. You weren’t used to guys beating around the bush. When someone was interested in you they made it quite clear. It annoyed you a bit but it also made things easier. You weren’t exactly great with feelings, especially not romantic ones. You’d never really felt desire for anyone, far too preoccupied with staying alive to care about something like love. Yet since you joined the strawhats you found yourself being drawn to Usopp. You liked listening to his fantastical tales, even if they weren’t true it made you feel a sense of adventure. It was why you’d joined the crew in the first place. You’d gotten sick of waiting tables as the baratie and decided to tag along with Sanji. You hadn't planned on sticking around for long but the longer you stayed with the crew the less you saw yourself leaving.
Your eyes scan the crowd around you, searching for your friends. Luffy is sitting at a table scarfing down the third plate of the evening, Sanji is off to the side of the bar flirting with some blonde he'd met, Zoro was leaning over the counter talking to the bartender, Usopp stood beside Zoro. You smiled at the boy, gesturing with your hand for him to join you. Usopp raised his glass towards you, silently telling you he couldn't join you because of the drink in his hand. Zoro noticed the exchange, reaching over and grabbing Usopp's drink from his hand before gulping it down.
"What the hell Zoro!"
"Stop making excuses and go over there.”
You watched Zoro shove Usopp in your direction. The sharpshooter stumbled forward, not having been prepared for the sudden movement. You let out a laugh, turning to tell Nami about it. Except that she was nowhere to be found. Oh well she can handle herself. Usopp shuffled his way through the crowd making his way to you. Once he was close enough you grabbed his hand and tugged him over.
"Hey."
“Hi, quite the trip you’ve had.”
“Did you see the monster I had to fight on my way over?”
You shook your head slightly giggling at the boy's exaggerations.
“You're very brave Usopp. Thanks for coming to save me.”
“You’re welcome princess.”
Your body warmed at the nickname. How could something so small get such a reaction out of you? Usopp seemed to notice the shift in the atmosphere, his hands going to rest on your arms.
“You okay?”
“Yeah i’m fine i just-”
Music started to blare, making you stop in your tracks. Your eyes widened at the familiar sound.
“Oh my god! I love this song! Dance with me Usopp.”
“Oh I'm not really the danci-woah!”
Before he could give you some lame excuse you dragged him into the center of the dance floor, a bright smile on your face. You started moving to the rhythm of the music, closing your eyes as you did. Usopp observed you in awe. The way your body swayed to the beat, face completely blissed out, made his body twitch. You looked like an angel. You snapped your eyes open feeling the weight of Usopp's gaze on you.
“This is a dance floor that means you have to, you know, dance!”
“I’m not a good dancer.”
“So what? No ones looking anyway.”
That was true. Everyone around you was far too into their own thing to care about you and Usopp but it didn’t really calm him. You were watching and that was enough to make him nervous.
“Here I'll help you out.”
You took his hands into your own, placing them on your hips. Usopp's fingers twitched around your waist, his arms stiff as he waited for your next move.
“Jes Usopp, loosen up! I won’t bite.”
Usopp gave you a sideways smile, his body relaxing a bit at your words.
“There you go. Much better.”
You started moving side to side slowly, allowing Usopp to get used to the motion before quickening your movements. He seemed to catch on pretty quickly, his body following the flow of the music in a matter of seconds.
“See you’re a natural!”
“Nah, I just have a good teacher.”
You smiled, biting the corner of your lip. Usopp's eyes dropped to your mouth for a brief second before moving to stare at the place where his hands rested on your body. You followed his gaze, staring at the muscles on his arms. The small amount of liquor in your system was making you bolder than normal. You inched yourself closer to Usopp, your hands resting on his chest. He raised his head to look at you, his lips parting slightly. The song changed suddenly, switching to a more sensual rhythm. You’d have to remember to leave the DJ a tip when you left. You turned your body around so that your back was pressed up against Usopp's chest.
“Uh, what are you doing?”
“Shh, just go with it.”
Your hips moved with the music, slow and steady, causing you to grind against the sharpshooter. You heard Usopp take a deep breath in, the grip on your waist tightening. He called out your name, making you turn your head to look at him.
“What is it?”
You knew exactly what you were doing. You'd wanted this for a while now but had never found a good time. I mean what better place to seduce someone than at a bar? Usopp lowered his mouth to your ear, his hot breath fanning over your bare skin.
“Let’s go somewhere more private.”
“Lead the way Captain Usopp.”
As soon as you arrived on the ship Usopp's hands were on you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, tugging you as close as possible before capturing your mouth in his. You’d expected Usopp to be sweet and gentle when it came to stuff like this but there was a hunger in him you hadn't seen before. It’s safe to say you enjoyed it. You wrapped your arms around his neck, using his body as leverage to lift your body up. Usopp understood what you wanted, his strong arms moving to cup your thighs so that you could wrap your legs around his waist. You groaned at the feeling of his hard on against your clothed cunt.
“Usopp…”
“Yeah princess, what do you want?”
“Too much clothing. Take it off.”
Usopp walked over to a nearby table placing you on top of it before moving back to remove his clothes. He started off with his shirt unbuttoning it to reveal the taut muscles underneath. You practically drooled at the sight. You’d become used to seeing the other boys on the crew shirtless but you often forget that beneath his clothes Usopp hid a great physic. You placed your hands between your thighs leaning forward on the table to get a better look. The position of your arms caused your breasts to be squashed together, the low cut top you were wearing doing nothing to hide them. Ussops stopped moving at the sight, the hand that had been working on his shirt stopping in mid air. You frowned at him for a moment before realizing what he was staring at. A small smirk made its way onto your face, body leaning even farther forward.
“Like what you see?”
Usopp moved forward with his hands outstretched.
“Can i?”
He looked up at you shyly.
“What do you want, baby?”
“Can I touch them?”
“Of course you can, darling.”
That was all he needed. Usopp's large hands found their way to your breasts, cupping them gently. He gave them a squeeze making you moan out. The sound of your moans drove Usopp crazy. He repeated his actions, his dick aching against his pants as you whimpered his name. He pulled down your top in one harsh tug, lowering his head so that he could suck on your nipples. You placed your hands behind you, allowing Usopp easier access to your breasts. He pushed your body backwards forcing you to lay down on the table. Your legs widened instinctively, allowing the sharpshooter to slot himself between them with ease. He grinded against you as he sucked your nipples, his hands massaging your stomach gently.
“So pretty for me.”
“For you huh?”
“I uh- i mean not for me… i don’t own you or anything i just meant-”
“Usopp.”
“Yeah?”
“Just shut up and make me feel good.”
“Yeah okay.”
Usopp's hands moved down to your clothed cunt tugging your shorts down before throwing them over his shoulder. You started to laugh but it quickly turned into a moan when Usopp began playing with your folds. You grind your hips against his fingers reveling in the feeling of his hands on you.
“That's it-uh- good boy.”
Ussop groaned at your praise, his free hand going to tug at his crotch. You noticed his movements moving to lean on your shoulders.
“I thought I told you to take those off.”
Usopp looked down at you and then at his pants.
“How are you expecting to fuck me with your pants on.”
You grinned as you said the words, enjoying the pant you got out of the boy.
“Can you help me?”
“Of course baby.”
You moved to sit up, your hands finding Usopp's belt and beginning to relieve him of his bottoms. Usopp kept fingering you as you worked on his clothes, his face dropping to your neck so he could leave a trail of kisses down your shoulder blade. Once you managed to unbutton Usopp's pants you reached into his boxers and cupped his dick in your hand.
“Ah princess…”
“Feel good?”
“Yeah-fuck-so good.”
“Wait until you’re inside me.”
Your words seemed to make everything real. Usopp had dreamt about this moment so many times. He’d woken up in the morning, his boxers stiff with his cum and his body itching for the feeling of you. And now here he was: your hands wrapped around his dick as he got you off with his fingers. Your walls clenched around Usopp's fingers signaling to him that you were close. If that wasn’t enough your random babbling made it very clear.
“Baby… I'm close.”
“Cum for me princess. Coat me with it.”
“You talk about it lik-ugh ah-like its a…uh…gift.”
“Because it is. Anything you give me is a gift.”
The moment Usopp's words entered your ears you started cumming. Your body went limp falling onto Usopps as you soaked his finger in your juices. He held you close, helping you through your high. Once you’d recovered your motor functions you moved to tug on Ussops chin, placing a kiss on his lips before laying back down on the table.
“Your turn, pretty boy.”
You widen your legs allowing Usopp to have a clear view of you pussy. It was puffy from your last orgasm. You motioned with your index finger for Usopp to come closer and like the good boy he was he did as you asked. You watched him free his cock from its confines, gasping at the sight of it. It wasn’t an abnormal size but it was thick. Your walls fluttered at the idea of being filled again. Usopp's hands were gentle against you as he moved your legs off the table and onto his shoulders. You smiled gently at him causing him to give you his signature smirk.
“Should I put something on?”
“No it’s okay I'm on birth control. Fill me up all you like.”
You expected Usopp to ram into you. You’d been teasing him all night after all. But he didn’t. instead he sunk into you slowly, savoring the feeling of you around him.
“Shit Usopp….”
“Fuck you’re warm.”
Usopp leaned forward, tugging your body off the table so that he could wrap his arms around you. He moved slowly, softly fucking into you. It was tender and loving. His lips found your face and he placed a kiss on your nose. You weren’t used to this. Most of your hookups had been just that. Hookups. Just meaningless sex. But this was different. This was real. You began to tear up, your eyes glossing over. The second Usopp noticed he stopped moving.
“Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”
He began pulling out of you but you called out his name before he could.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just not used to being treated like this. This is perfect. You’re perfect.”
Usopp cursed at your words. What kind of idiots had you been hooking up with before. What fools would get the opportunity to be with you like this and not treat you the way you deserved. He promised himself he would show you what it felt like to be loved. He placed a soft kiss on your lips, removing the sweaty hair from your forehead.
“I’m gonna go a little faster okay?”
“Okay.”
“Tell me if you want to stop.
“Usopp you don’t have to-”
“Promise me.”
You stared into his eyes, the eyes of a boy who’d been through so much pain and still found a way to be kind. A boy you were now releasing meant much more to you than you had expected.
“I promise.”
You spent the rest of the night pressed against Usopp's body, his hands working to bring you to places you’d never been before. When you woke up the next morning you found your body cuddled into Usopp's, his arms holding you close like he was scared of you drifting away in your sleep. You turned your body around nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.
“Morning princes.”
“Morning Usopp.”
“Wanna get up?”
“No, let's just stay here a little longer.” “Whatever you want.”
If it was up to you you’d stay in Usopp's arms forever. Lucky for you he shared the sentiment.
Tim Through the Years - The Sibling Dinner
Series Masterlist
Summary: Tim meets your overprotective brothers. 0.7k+ words.
“Mashed potatoes... corn... chicken... croissants... gravy,” you mumbled while running around the kitchen of your home. You wiped your forehead and smeared flour on yourself as you checked on the chicken.
“Hey babe! I’m here!” Tim shouted from your front door, letting himself in with the key he had gotten from you so he could take care of your many houseplants when you were gone for a week. Tim walked into the kitchen with you running around trying to get everything done and wearing a very messy apron.
“Oh! Hi, honey, I didn’t see you come in,” you said while mashing the potatoes.
Tim gave you a soft smile and walked up to you. “Baby, why don’t you go get ready and I’ll finish up.” He took a wet cloth and started to wipe away any stray food that had landed on your face.
“But... tonight has to be perfect!” You said while mashing harder and sloshing milk everywhere. You felt eyes on you and made eye contact with Tim and he gave you the look.
“Sigh, okay. Thank you.” You kissed him softly on the cheek and quickly left to get ready. You peeked around the corner to watch him. “Pie needs to come out of the oven in 5 minutes and I make homemade gravy so the recipe card is in my cookbook...” You stopped when Tim crossed his arms and stared at you. You looked away, embarrassed, and ran off to your room.
You looked at yourself in the mirror and smoothed down the outfit you decided to wear. Three sharp knocks hit the door before Tim announced, “They are here!”
You ran to the door and opened it to see your twin and older brother standing in the doorway.
“Hey munchkin,” your eldest brother said while giving you a big bear hug.
“You're squishing me!” you tried to say loudly but it came out muffled. Your older brother laughed, let you go, and pushed you to hug your twin. He made eye contact with Tim and stood in front of the both of you. “Who’s this?” he asked gruffly.
“Oh, this is Tim... my boyfriend. Tim, meet my older brother Dean and twin brother Sam,” you said nervously.
The staring didn’t stop. Dean stared and Tim stared right back at each other. Dinner was very awkward. No one wanted to say anything for fear of what could happen. You nervously bit your bottom lip and moved your fork around the plate, a little too nervous to eat.
“So Tim, what do you do?” Sam asked to try to break the tension.
“I’m a Sergeant for the LAPD,” Tim said, breaking his stare to look at Sam.
You heard Dean snicker next to you and you kicked him under the table. “Don’t do this,” you whisper-shouted at him.
Dean gave you a mean look and rubbed his knee. Dean turned his attention to Tim, who sat across from him at the table.
“So Tim, you're a police officer. What are you going to do when you die on duty and leave our sister here?” Dean asked with an evil look.
“I don’t plan on ever leaving her. Ever,” Tim stated firmly as he stared right back.
“You don’t know that. And I don’t like the idea of my little sister being here heartbroken because you wanted to be Mr. Hero.” Dean sneered.
“Oh, like you left her and Sam when you ran away from home because of your alcoholic father?” Tim sneered right back.
Dean’s face contorted into anger quickly. “I did that so I could provide a safe, healthy environment for my siblings."
“Um, let’s change topics shall we?” Sam interrupted. “Munchkin, could you pass the croissants?”
“Fine, tell me, Tim. Have you ever killed anyone? You might be a danger to my little sis,” Dean stated while stabbing a piece of chicken with his fork.
You don’t know what happened after that, but there was lots of shouting. Doors slamming and you, sitting in your seat with tears in your eyes. As Dean left your house in a rage, Sam stayed to support you.
“I’m sorry, baby, I’m so sorry.” Tim hugged you and kissed your head softly, repeating it over and over. Dean’s support meant everything to you... you didn’t know what you’d do if Tim and Dean could never get along.
i feel like i have read every tim bradford fic on here and idk what to do now 🤣🥲
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