Latest Posts by myfictionalbfs - Page 5

California Dreams

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Nolan!reader (John's younger half-sister)

Summary: You move to California to be closer to your brother John after your mom dies. There, you meet Tim Bradford and begin dating. When your boyfriend and brother meet each other, you're surprised to learn it isn't their first interaction.

Warnings: r and John have the same mom, mostly fluff, brief angst, flirty and soft Tim

Word Count: 2.8k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Pennsylvania and California are completely different. When your older half-brother John flew out to Pennsylvania after your mom passed, he kept you at arm’s length. You were close growing up and stayed close into adulthood, so the sudden distance confused you. It wasn’t until after the funeral that you realized he was protecting you from the drama that may have tainted how you remembered her. More than what you already knew, at least. That wasn’t what shocked you the most, though. Most shocking was the question John asked before he left: Would you consider moving to California? We’re family. It took a few weeks, but once you were alone in the place where you grew up, you decided that John was right. So, you packed up your life and moved across the country. That change was the first of many.

“John,” you groan over the phone. “You practically raised me, but you won’t help with this? You’re not a very good brother.”

“I’m an excellent brother if I made you the person you are,” he counters. “But I have work, so it’s not that I won’t help you buy a mattress, but that I don’t have time.”

“Bailey would help.”

“Bailey also has to work.”

“Fine. I guess I’ll just move back to Pennsylvania then.”

“You sound like Mom,” John says before he laughs.

“Hurtful. I have to go.”

“Enjoy shopping. Love you.”

“Clearly,” you mumble. “Be safe.”

You end the phone call and look around the neighborhood. Maybe walking aimlessly while talking wasn’t the best idea. Every house looks the same, and you don’t remember if you turn right or left to get back to your house.

“Excuse me,” you call to a man walking a dog across the street. “Sorry, I just moved here, and I don’t remember how to get back to my street. Could you help me?”

He nods before he jogs across the street to talk to you. “Sure. Which street?” he asks kindly.

You tell him and he looks toward his right to explain, “Turn left at this corner, go down two streets, make a right, and it’ll be on the right.”

“Left, two streets, right, right,” you repeat. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem.”

His eyes drop to your Penn State shirt, and you roll your shoulders to stand straighter. If you knew you were going to meet a gorgeous man on this walk, you would have changed out of your moving/cleaning outfit.

“Can I ask you a favor in return?” he asks.

“Uh, yeah,” you reply, pinching your brows together.

“Join me for lunch?”

Your brows unfurrow quickly to raise. He must feel bad for you, being new in the area.

“Or dinner, whichever works better,” he adds after a moment of silence.

“For what?” you inquire softly.

“A date, or a welcome, if you prefer.”

“You’re asking me out? Why?”

“Why not?” he counters with a heart-stopping smile.

“Are you going to keep answering my questions with questions?”

“Are you going to accept my invitation?”

You shake your head to clear it before answering, “I’d love to go out with you. Lunch sounds amazing. Give me a few minutes to change?”

“I’ll come pick you up in twenty. Meet you at your corner?”

“Okay, yeah, sounds good,” you ramble. You take a step to go past him before you stop. “Can you tell me how to get there again?”

He tips his head back to laugh before repeating the directions. As you walk, you repeat left, two streets, right, right; left, two streets- why did he ask me out? – right, right.

When you exit your house twenty minutes later, he is waiting at the corner just as he said. He leans against the driver’s door and smiles when he sees you walking toward you. Your decade-old Penn State shirt and paint-stained bottoms have been exchanged for a date-worthy outfit, yet he looks at you the same way as he had before.

“Before we go on a date, I thought I should at least introduce myself properly. I’m Tim,” he says, offering his right hand.

You shake it, surprised by how gently he touches you. He repeats your name softly after you introduce yourself, and as he helps you into the passenger seat, you know that moving to California was the right choice. For more reasons than John.

“I’m stealing his best brother ever mug. He doesn’t deserve it,” you huff.

Your hands are on your hips as you look at the mattress on your driveway. When John said he’d drop it off for you after work, you thought he’d bring it in. No. He left it in the middle of the night and sent you a text to let you know it was there. Based on what he’s told you about being a cop, you should be grateful that it wasn’t stolen, but now you have to figure out how to get it inside and on your new bed frame by yourself.

“I can do this,” you tell yourself.

Someone clears their throat on the sidewalk behind you, and you turn quickly.

“Tim,” you breathe out, relieved to see him rather than a stranger. “Hi.”

He nods in place of greeting before he looks to the mattress. “Did your brother drop that off?”

“How did you know that?”

He points to a piece of cardboard taped to the end closest to the road. You walk toward him and sigh when you read it.

“Enjoy. Love, your favorite brother,” you read. “He’s such a jerk.”

“Really?” Tim questions.

“No,” you admit, rubbing your jaw briefly. “He had to work late and didn’t want to wake me up to get it in.”

“Do you want some help?”

“No, it’s fine.” You turn toward Tim to ask, “Did we have plans?”

“I was hoping we could make some. But seeing as you have a mattress to babysit, maybe I’ll come back later.”

“Give me twenty minutes,” you request quickly. You look at the size of the mattress and amend, “Thirty, tops.”

“Or…” Tim begins, leaning in. “You could just let me help.”

“You drive a hard bargain. Get the mattress inside and then we can go?” you agree.

Tim shakes his head, betrayed by his smile, as he steers you toward the mattress.

“Why are you here?” you ask.

“I just told you. I’m here to take you on a date.”

“No, I mean, why aren’t you at work?”

Tim shrugs as he squats. He flips the mattress on its side effortlessly, and you step back as you watch his arms flex under his sleeves. “Do you want to watch or help?”

You clear your throat quickly and walk to the other end. “Help,” you whisper.

“Do you trust me?” Tim asks dramatically.

“Run me into a wall and you’ll regret it,” you answer.

Tim scoffs before he instructs you to walk backward toward your front door. Within a few minutes, Tim has the mattress inside, out of its protective wrapping, and placed on your bedframe. He leans against the end of the mattress while you change, and rushes to hug you when you emerge.

“You’re happy today,” you murmur as you return his tight grip.

Tim hums in reply before he leads you to his truck. The bouquet waiting for you on the passenger seat makes you happy, but suspicious. His dropping by mid-morning to take you out isn’t inherently odd, but the rush to get you wherever it is he’s taking you is interesting.

Tim parks outside the restaurant he took you to the day you met. You said you loved the food, but Tim has been expanding your California taste by taking you to different restaurants on every date you’ve been on in the last two months.

“Are we going to go in?” you ask softly.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” he asks quickly.

You grab Tim’s hand as your smile grows. “Tim, look at me?” you request. When he turns his face and sees your smile, you answer, “I’d love to. Nothing would make me happier.”

“Really? Nothing?”

“Fine, not much would make me happier,” you correct with a chuckle.

“Thank you.”

“Is that the proper response?” you tease.

Tim rolls his eyes but leans across the console to kiss you before lunch. Moving to California was certainly life changing.

“You’ve been busy,” John says as he walks into your house.

“I know we’re family, but there’s this thing called knocking. It’s all the rage in Pennsylvania, you should try it,” you call from the kitchen.

“Then why’d you give me a key?”

“Because California is scary.”

John shakes his head as he joins your side. You shove him away from the oven before he can touch the food, and he scoffs as his hand raises to his chest.

“After every meal I’ve made for you!” he exclaims.

“Thanks for the mattress. I think you could’ve dropped it off a little nicer, but I appreciate it.”

“Where is it? I thought I’d be helping you carry it in when I came over.”

“One of my neighbors saw me staring at it and mumbling about how terrible you are and helped me get it in.”

“You let a stranger into your house?” John asks loudly. “Have you learned nothing?”

“John-“

“This is not Pennsylvania. We don’t know everyone and their dads. That was incredibly stupid. He could’ve been casing the place!”

“I never said it was a man,” you mumble.

“Okay, she could’ve been casing the place!”

“Hello?” Bailey asks from the front door. “Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” you answer while John yells, “She let a stranger in here!”

“Let her explain,” Bailey requests calmly.

“Thank you,” you tell her. “John, I know you’re worried about me, but I wouldn’t let anyone that I didn’t trust into my house. You know that.”

“And you trust your neighbors after two months?” he asks.

“When he’s my boyfriend, yes, I do,” you answer, tired of arguing with him.

Bailey looks between you and Nolan, and mouths Good job when you meet her eyes.

“Since when?” Nolan asks after a moment.

His voice is back to its normal level, and he’s your half-brother again, not a protective cop who thinks you’re in danger.

“Officially? A couple of hours. We’ve been dating for two months, though. We met the week I moved in,” you explain. “He helped me out. I didn’t tell him anything personal until I got to know him better, I promise.”

“I trust you, I do,” Nolan assures. “Sorry for yelling and worrying.”

“I want you to meet him soon, John. Just give me a little time, okay?”

“That sounds nice, and I won’t pry before then. Promise.”

“I will,” Bailey interjects. “What’s he like?”

“He’s amazing,” you answer.

Nolan lets his head fall back; he hasn’t listened to you talk about boys since you were in high school, and he thought he would never have to again. That doesn’t mean he isn’t happy for you, and you know that.

“Hey,” Tim greets as you open the door. “I brought your favorite snacks and popcorn.”

“I love you,” you sigh dreamily.

“Should’ve brought popcorn sooner,” he muses.

“I need to ask you something before we start the movie, though.”

Tim freezes in your kitchen.

“I didn’t say we need to talk, Tim. Just have something to ask,” you clarify. “It’s not bad.”

“Go ahead,” Tim agrees.

“Will you come over for dinner on Friday and meet my brother?” you ask, wringing your fingers together.

“Your brother?”

“Yeah. He’s- he’s all I have left since my mom died. I know that it’s a lot to ask-“

“Yes,” Tim interjects. “I’ll be here. Tell me what to bring.”

“That was easy,” you mumble.

“I have a hard time saying no to you,” Tim admits.

You smile, and Tim shakes his head. He points to the couch, and you walk away from him to get comfortable for movie night. You understand his dilemma completely. All you can do now is hope that John doesn’t do anything to push Tim away; you don’t think he wouldn’t do it on purpose, but he can be overbearing and protective.

Tim parks on the street in front of the house beside yours. He sits in his truck for a moment before he gets out. You told him he didn’t need to bring anything (repeatedly, because he asked a lot), yet he carries a case of your favorite drink as he approaches your driveway.

“Bradford?”

Tim looks up from the sidewalk and sees a familiar truck and face in your driveway.

“Nolan?” he asks.

“What are you doing here?” they ask simultaneously.

Neither answer but square their shoulders and stare at one another. They’re both protective, for different reasons, and the surprise of seeing each other brings that out. As they continue evaluating one another, trying to think of a logical explanation but failing because they’re thinking of you, the front door opens.

You step out and see your brother and boyfriend staring at one another in your driveway. They don’t look up, so you walk toward them. Your smile drops as your excitement evaporates. Maybe one of them said something or they came in with assumptions. Whatever is happening between them, you can’t risk losing either of them.

“Why is Tim Bradford here?” Nolan asks suddenly.

“I’m her boyfriend. Why are you here?” Tim counters.

“Boyfriend?!” Nolan repeats incredulously.

“Stop, both of you,” you say. “Just- just come in and I will explain everything.”

Tim tears his attention from John and follows you inside. He whispers an apology as he sets the drinks on your counter. When John walks in, though, Tim goes back to the hardened cop John knows. You’ve seen Tim’s protective side before, so you aren’t surprised by his change in attitude.

“Tim, John is my big brother. Half-brother, technically, but we’re incredibly close, so I wanted you to meet him. John, Tim is my boyfriend. We’ve been dating for a couple of months, so I thought it was time to let you meet him,” you explain.

“Why didn’t you tell me I worked with your boyfriend?” John asks.

“I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t tell her you were a cop?”  he asks Tim.

“He did,” you interrupt. “But he’s Metro, so I just assumed you hadn’t met. That one’s on me.”

“Well,” Tim begins, “nice to meet you, John.”

“What are you talking about?” John inquires.

“I’ve only met cop John, not brother John. Does he talk less?”

“More,” you mumble.

“That’s enough out of you,” John tells you.

“I have to go finish dinner,” you say. “Be nice.”

“I’m not going to give you the whole talk, but don’t hurt her,” John says quietly.

“I wouldn’t,” Tim promises. “I promise you that.”

“She’s happy. Thank you.”

“She’s amazing.”

“That’s because I raised her.”

Tim presses his lips together and slaps Nolan’s shoulder as he says, “No it’s not.”

“Thank you both for coming,” you say after you clear the table. “And I’m sorry for making everything awkward by not mentioning you to each other.”

“It’s not your fault,” Tim replies.

“You had no way of knowing,” John agrees. “We’ll stop fighting.”

“In front of you,” Tim says into his glass.

“I’ve got an early shift, so I have to head out,” John says as he stands.

He hugs you and says goodbye, and you walk him to the door before returning to Tim. You perch on his leg rather than sitting across from him now that you’re alone. He tilts his head to kiss you, and you relax against him. Dinner was both better and worse than you hoped. It worked out, though, and that’s what matters.

“I’m so glad you don’t act like your brother,” Tim says as you pull back.

“Don’t make this weird,” you reply as you lean in to kiss him again.

When you lean away and stand, Tim follows you wordlessly. You retrieve another drink from the case he brought but set it aside to wrap your arms over Tim’s shoulders.

“Who won the staring contest?” you ask.

“Clearly, I did. I wouldn’t have stayed otherwise,” he answers.

“You and John… you’re both protective, but you put that aside to do it together, or whatever that quiet conversation was. Thank you for giving me a chance.”

“I’m supposed to thank you. You’re the one who introduced me to your family. I just asked a yes or no question.”

“That’s not true. I met Kojo.”

Tim smiles as he pulls you closer. He and Nolan may not get along perfectly (who does? you remind yourself), but they both love you in their own ways. When Nolan said dreams come true in California, you thought it was a cheesy ploy to convince you to move, but he was right. Your dream is kissing you right now, and you’ve never been happier.

Talk to Me, Baby

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!shy!wife!reader

Summary: Your son loves to talk to you. Unlike his dad, Tim, he doesn't try to make you shy.

Warnings: FLUFF! Angela and Tim act like siblings

Word Count: 1.0k+ words

A/N: Happy birthday @sweetheartlizzie07! I hope you enjoy!🤍

“Hi,” your baby boy says as you approach his crib.

“Hi,” you reply happily. “How are you?”

“Hi,” he repeats with a nod.

You shake your head in amusement and lift him from his crib. He’s only a few months old, but he enjoys talking to you as if he understands exactly what the conversation is about. As you carry him into the living room, he clings to the collar of your shirt and babbles quietly. Your phone rings, and you lower him onto a play mat to crawl around before you sit on the floor beside him and answer your phone.

“Hi, Angela,” you greet.

“Hey! The kids and I are in the neighbourhood, and I wanted to ask if we could drop by for a few minutes?” she asks.

“Of course, come on over.”

“Is everyone awake? I don’t want to interrupt naptime.”

“Yep,” you assure. “You’re not interrupting anything.”

“Perfect! Thank you so much!”

You end the call and look toward your son, who is on his hands and knees to press the buttons of a toy phone.

“Aunt Angela is coming over,” you tell him.

“Ange!” he cheers.

“Yeah, Ange. And she’s bringing your friends.”

“Hi!” he says, waving excitedly toward the door.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t get your people skills from me or your dad,” you mumble. “Where’d you learn to talk like that?” you ask him. “All those books we read?”

He nods and crawls toward you, so you pull him into your lap and kiss his plump cheeks. He giggles loudly at your attention, and you continue playing with him as you blow raspberries against his skin. You pull your knees up so he’s upright and kiss his forehead as he calms down from his giggle fit.

“Can I get one of those kisses?” Tim asks.

You look up quickly, surprised to see him. He smiles at you, and you look back at your baby, so he doesn’t see your shy smile.

“If you want,” you answer softly.

“You’re right,” Tim says as he walks toward you. “I don’t want one. I want more than that.”

He sits beside you and takes his son from your lap. You lean toward Tim and rest your head on his shoulder. After he kisses the top of your head, he gives his attention to his son.

“Hey, buddy,” he greets.

“Hi, dada!”

“Angela is coming over,” you tell Tim.

“Friends,” your baby says.

“You’ve got a better vocabulary than Lucy,” Tim praises, raising his voice to a higher pitch that makes your baby smile.

“Boot,” he says, sounding it out slowly, like ‘buh-oo-t.’

“And better word association,” Tim adds.

“He’s going to start calling people boot if you’re not careful,” you say against Tim’s shoulder.

Someone knocks on your door, and Tim raises one hand to help you stand. As you walk toward the door, he holds your son close to his chest and pushes himself up. Angela comes in with both of her kids, and you point her to the bathroom when Jack asks to go.

“It’s almost mama’s birthday, bud; let’s practice,” Tim says behind you. “Happy.”

“Hap,” your son says.

“Happy,” Tim repeats. “Birthday.”

“Hap birth-ay.”

“Good job, my little man.”

You walk to Tim’s side, and when he raises the arm not holding your baby, you wrap your arms around his waist and settle under his arm. Angela may want to talk while the kids play, but Tim just got home, and you’ve been missing him since he returned to work after paternity leave.

“We read Goodnight Moon earlier, and he finished some of the lines,” you tell Tim.

“Because he’s smart like his mom,” Tim replies.

You hide your face against Tim’s shirt as you say, “And his dad.”

“I think we should read him the rook book. Give him a head start.”

“And that’s why we wonder how you ever got married and had a baby,” Angela says as she returns.

“Don’t like the competition?” Tim taunts.

“How do you deal with him?” Angela asks you.

“I usually don’t,” you answer. “He’ll just make it worse if I try.”

“That makes me sound like a horrible husband,” Tim interrupts. “But I’m not. Ask this guy and he’ll say I’m the best dada.”

“Best dada!” he cheers, bouncing against Tim’s arm.

“See?”

Angela shakes her head as she pulls her phone from her pocket. She types something quickly before she looks at you.

“I have to go. Maybe we can schedule an actual play date soon so your genius son can teach Jack that crayons are for coloring and not sniffing,” she suggests.

“Nothing wrong with sniffing crayons,” Tim defends. “It builds character.”

“If you sniffed crayons and turned out like this, I need to make him stop before it’s too late.”

Angela rolls her eyes at Tim as she hugs you, and then she gets a high-five from your son before she leaves. Alone again, you return to Tim’s side and lay your hand on your son’s back.

“I got you something,” Tim says. “We arrested a counterfeiter today who had a ton of books that he used for ink matching, and evidence cleared the books. So, the backseat of my truck is filled with children’s books.”

“Little guy will be thrilled when he wakes up.”

You point to your son, asleep against Tim’s shoulder, and smile. He loves reading with you and Tim, which you accredit to all the time you spent reading aloud while you were pregnant. Tim thinks that’s also the reason he can talk so well already.

Tim walks to the couch with you and sits beside you. Seeing him with your son on his chest makes you fall more in love with him each day, even if he does tease you for watching them. Sitting at Tim’s side, you have a clear view of his profile. When you tip your chin up and kiss his cheek, Tim smiles and turns his face toward you. You kiss him and sigh against his lips.

“I love you,” you say as you pull back.

“I love you,” Tim replies.

“Love you,” your baby says against Tim’s shoulder.

“Has he said that before?” Tim asks, wide-eyed as he looks at you.

You shake your head and quietly scold Tim for trying to wake him up to hear it again. When you kiss Tim’s jaw, your baby boy gets another shot at peaceful sleep, while you fight not to shy away from your husband’s affection.

No Party Like a Costco Party

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!shy!reader

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

Warnings: just fluff!

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No one is handling anything!” Tim snaps.

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

“It never ends,” Tim sighs.

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

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

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

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

“I’d like to do more, but-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” you ask softly.

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

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

“Is it going to be terrible?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To go where?” you ask.

“Shopping.”

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

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

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

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

“No, this is great!”

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

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

“Well, look who it is.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi, Sergeant Grey, Luna,” you greet.

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

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

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

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

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

“Yet,” Tim scoffs.

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

“Small world,” Wade muses.

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

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

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

“What?” he asks with his brows raised.

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

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

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

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

“You don’t have to,” you say quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you whisper.

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

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

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

“Was it really Tim’s idea?” you ask.

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

“You didn’t have to do that.”

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

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

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

“It’s the least I could do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Defend Myself

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (hockey fan & self-defence teacher)

Summary: During a hockey game, you get into a fight with the drunk man sitting beside you. When Tim Bradford arrives to break up the fight, he decides he'd like to see you again.

Warnings: fight between r and drunk man, unwelcome comments and grabbing (nothing overtly sexual or descriptive), fluff at the end, Tim and Aaron are sarcastic

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

A/N: Why I go back and forth between American and British spellings is a mystery.

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Alright, ladies,” you call to the self-defence class you’re teaching. “What’s the goal here?”

“Defend ourselves and protect our minds,” they reply.

“Right. Because learning how to fight and keeping yourself physically safe isn’t all that matters. Focusing on what can go wrong in life isn’t any fun, so while we work on self-defence, use it as anger management. Have fun with this!”

Your last class on Friday afternoons is one of your favorites. The women are always excited to learn, they listen well and use good form. Most importantly, they really understand your goal in teaching them. In addition to how great the group before you is, you also get to look forward to hockey after they leave. Whether it’s a game or just to watch practice, you find yourself at the rink most Fridays, and as many other chances as you can get. Hockey and self-defence are two of your favorite things, so afternoons like this are borderline magical.

“Uppercut,” you signal.

As you demonstrate the proper way to move into an uppercut after the warmup, you watch the class.

“Can I ask a question?” a woman in the back row asks between moves.

“Of course,” you reply with a smile.

“Have you ever had to use these moves in real life? Like, to defend yourself?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But that’s why we learn it, right? If we know how we don’t have to live in fear about the when.”

“Which is why we chose the bear,” another girl murmurs.

“Can’t always choose. Preparation is key, and knowing how to react is the most important thing you can learn as a woman.”

“Fighting can be boring though,” someone groans.

“Clearly, you’ve never been to a hockey game. Let’s focus, ladies. Take a breather before we move into strength drills.”

You grab your water bottle from the floor and survey your classroom. Hockey fights are certainly more entertaining than fighting to defend yourself, but you enjoy both.

Los Angeles isn’t necessarily known for its hockey scene, but the arena is packed tonight. Your season pass with the seat on the ice is getting plenty of use this year, and as you sit back to watch warmups, you can’t help the smile that grows on your face.

As the crowd grows and the first period gets nearer, two men take the seats to your right. You nod politely when they greet you, but quickly return your attention to the players preparing to skate out. While the announcer introduces the teams and prepares the fans for a good game, you glance toward the men beside you. The one closest to you seems to already be buzzed, and the oversized cup of beer between his legs doesn’t instill confidence in you. Hopefully, he’ll stay quiet, you think. Cheering for your team is one thing but you know too well how quickly a drunk hockey fan can ruin a night. Anyone who’s been to a hockey game can probably imagine your concern.

You try to ignore him as he gets more talkative, but in the middle of the first period, he drains the remainder of his beer and turns toward you.

“Pretty little thing like you prob’y has some questions,” he says. “I can explain it t’ya.”

“I’m good,” you answer firmly.

“If t’changes,” he slurs as he turns away.

It won’t.

The bell rings and the teams leave the ice as the crowd rises in mass. You stay seated comfortably in your seat as your drunk neighbor leaves with his friend. Since you told him you didn’t need his help, he’s left you alone. As long as that continues, you’ll be able to enjoy the rest of the game, and maybe witness a hat trick from your favourite player.

“Here,” your neighbor says as he returns. “Looked thirsty.”

He shoves a cup of soda toward you, and you push it back. “I don’t want that.”

“Just try’na be nice!”

As he falls back into his seat, you lean toward the side to get some room. His arm moves to the armrest between you as he reaches his fingers toward your leg.

“Don’t touch me,” you tell him as you knock his hand back into his lap.

“Jus’ a pretty lil’ thing,” he murmurs as he leans over the armrest.

“Sir, get him under control,” you say to his friend.

“He’s not my problem,” the other man answers.

“Stop.”

He rolls his eyes as if you’re overreacting and sits back in his seat. Your fists are clenched tightly as you watch him move away from you, and you’re mad that he’s causing you to miss so much of the game and keeping you from enjoying it.

“Los Angeles, make some noise for the third period!” the announcer yells. “We’ve got a tight game and tighter teams. Make it a night to remember, LA.”

“Night to r’mem’ba sounds pre’y good.”

You take a deep breath before you raise your eyes. Somehow, your neighbor got more drunk in the short break between the second and third periods than the rest of the game combined. He reaches toward your arm, and when you pull away, he frowns and steps to stand over you where you sit.

“Leave me alone,” you demand as you stand.

After you put a bit of space between you, you notice that the people sitting behind you are watching you. You don’t care, however, as he throws an empty cup toward you. You move out of the way, and it isn’t until he lunges toward you that you truly react. Your fist makes impact with his jaw before he finishes stepping forward.

“Fight!” someone yells behind you.

You plan to do just that. If he can’t understand no or stop, maybe he’ll understand some of your favourite self-defence moves.

“Reports of assault at Honda Center: fight in progress. Attendees have made numerous reports of disturbance,” dispatch alerts.

“Responding,” Tim replies. “Code 3.”

“Aren’t there supposed to be fights at hockey games?” Aaron asks. “That’s, like, half of the draw.”

“On the ice. Fights off the ice are a regular occurrence,” Tim answers. “Usually drunk rival teams.”

“Easy to break up?”

“Sure. If you think pulling a guy who can’t feel anything off of another guy who doesn’t even remember why he’s trying to kill someone else easy, absolutely.”

“Could’ve just said no,” Aaron mumbles as Tim turns.

“Man, back up!” a security guard demands.

He grabs your attacker’s shoulder and tries to pull him backward, but it doesn’t work. As you prepare to throw another punch, you see that the drunk guy’s eye is black and swelling, his lip is busted, his nose is bleeding, yet he still isn’t quitting.

“Jus’ stop playin’!” the man demands as he grabs for your waist.

You push his wrists away and shove him against the glass dividing you from the ice. He elbows backward, but you block it with your forearm as he yells at you.

“The police are on the way!” someone yells from higher in the seats.

“Get off me!” the man roars as he pushes himself backward.

You manage to catch yourself before he shoves you against the seats. When he raises his hands toward your chest, you raise your right leg into a front kick and momentarily stun him into remaining still.

“Kick his butt, lady!” a man cheers.

“LAPD,” Tim announces as he and Aaron enter the arena. “Where’s the fight?”

“Follow me,” the guard replies.

He leads them into the section where the crowd has gathered to watch the fight. The moment Tim sees the number of people invested in the fight and the suspended timer above the rink, he expects the worst.

“Call for backup, Bradford?” Aaron asks.

“Not yet. Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” Tim answers.

“I doubt the guy can go for much longer anyway,” the guard adds. “She knows what she’s doing.”

Tim doesn’t get a chance to ask what that means before he reaches the center of the crowd. He watches you elbow the man under his chin. As Aaron takes a step toward you, Tim extends his arm to stop him. You’re clearly winning, but the guy is too drunk to realize that he can’t keep going. He’ll realize just how badly he lost once the alcohol wears off. A night in lockup would do that nicely, Tim thinks.

The man steps back and prepares to jump at you, but Tim grabs his shoulder from behind and throws him against the glass before he shoves the man to the floor. With his knee pressed into the man’s kidney, Tim secures the handcuffs on his wrists.

“Take him,” Tim tells Aaron.

Aaron nods and yells for the crowd to clear a path. He follows a small group of security guards as he walks back to the shop.

The crowd around you begins to spread out the moment your attacker is ripped away from you. You take a deep breath and nod at the officer who helped you.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer with a smile. “Little tired. Thanks for the assist, Officer Bradford.”

Tim watches your eyes rise back to his face after reading his name tag. He smiles at you just before the buzzer over your head rings as the game resumes.

“You wanna stay?” he asks over the sound of skates and cheers.

You shake your head and follow him to the staircase. Once you’re in the main area of Honda Center and the noise of the game is muffled, Tim turns toward you.

“That was impressive,” he applauds. “I’ve been called to more fights than I can count. Never seen one under control like you had it. You, uh, you clearly won.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to commend me for getting into a fight, officer,” you tease.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” he asks.

“I teach a self-defence class for women,” you explain. “Been fighting for a while but honed my skills for safety more than entertainment.”

“Then they were wrong.” At your confused look, Tim clarifies, “911 dispatcher said there was a fight. You were just defending yourself.”

“He was drunk and didn’t understand when I told him to stop.”

“Which I am allowed to commend you for.”

You smile at Tim again, and he decides that he needs to see you again. More than being impressed by the thorough beating you delivered to the man who was harassing you and trying to touch you, Tim finds you incredibly beautiful, and he knows you’re talented and care about others. He doesn’t want this to be a one-time encounter.

“Have you ever considered hosting a class for the police department?” he asks, looking for a way to ensure he can talk to you again soon. “We bring in instructors from the city occasionally to host free classes. You’d receive compensation, of course.”

“I haven’t, but it does sound nice. If more women knew how to defend themselves, it might make your job easier.”

Tim agrees as he hands you his card. “Call the station in the morning and we can work something out. If you need a teacher’s assistant or anything, I’d be happy to help, too.”

You tap his card against your thigh as you say, “I’d like that.”

“Bradford!” his partner, Thorsen – you feel like you should recognize the name but don’t – calls. “We got another call.”

“Sorry,” Tim tells you. “Hopefully I’ll see you at the station soon.”

“I think you will.” When you smile at him this time, Tim feels like you punched him, too.

Stay in the Car

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!cop!reader

Summary: Tim disappears from the station, and you and Aaron have to find him. After a heroic leap of faith, you save him in more ways than one.

Warnings: this is inspired by a scene in 6x10 but there's no story spoilers, angst, implied abduction and drug trafficking, injuries, fluff

Word Count: 2.3k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

It’s been a slow day in the Mid-Wilshire station. You and your husband Tim were called back to assist with a case, but so far, all you’ve done is sort through paperwork.

“I thought we had rookies for this kind of thing,” you whisper conspiratorially.

“They’re busy babysitting crime scenes,” Tim replies.

You nod as you slide the last form into its proper place. Tim pushes his empty box away and sighs. Now there’s truly nothing to do.

“So, this is where the party is,” Aaron teases as he and Nolan return.

“Yeah,” you agree sarcastically. “It’s a rager, as you can see.”

The detective you’ve been assisting gathers his papers and thanks you quickly. Alone and bored again, you ask Aaron how the streets are today.

“Quiet. Not so much as a speeding ticket so far,” he tells you as he collapses into the seat beside you.

“The Q-word,” Nolan reminds him. “Make sure Harper isn’t around before you use it.”

Tim shakes his head and digs his phone out of his pocket. You tap your foot against his leg under the table, but as his brows draw together, he doesn’t look up at you.

“You alright?” you ask him.

“I have to go.” Tim stands as he speaks, and only spares a glance in your direction.

“Where?”

Tim jogs toward the door as he answers, and you can’t make out part of what he says. It sounds like laundry then, "I love you."

“What’s that about?” Nolan asks.

“No idea. Someone must’ve called for backup,” you guess.

“Probably someone at Hollywood. They’re getting calls.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Aaron nods at you as you stand. When you walk out of the station you see Tim’s truck and his shop still parked in their usual spots. You walk past both vehicles, but there’s no sign of him.

“You lookin’ for the cop that just walked out?” a man on the sidewalk asks.

“Yes, I am. Did you see where he went?” you reply.

“Guy led him to a truck. Figured they were friends or somethin’.”

Your eyes widen as your heart rate increases. Tim wouldn’t have just left while on duty without telling you. To provide backup, sure, but not to get in a truck with a civilian.

“Did you see the truck? Where it went?” you question.

“Nah, miss. Sorry.”

You run back inside and straight to Aaron. Nolan is no longer waiting with him, but Aaron has nothing but time, and you need to find your husband.

“Did you drive to work today?” you ask him.

“Yeah,” he answers slowly. “Why?”

“We need to go. Tim just left and might need backup. He’s not on a call, though.”

“Just take a shop.”

“No, Aaron. I don’t know where he is or who he’s with, and I don’t need to spook anyone into killing him!” you exclaim.

Aaron makes no move to hand over his keys, but you need a personally owned vehicle to stay incognito. Tim has his truck keys, so you need to convince Aaron to help you; if not for you, for Tim.

“Aaron, keys!” you demand.

“We don’t even know where they’re going,” Aaron argues.

“And we won’t find Tim if we don’t do something.” You take a deep breath and run your thumb over your wedding band. “I can’t lose him, Aaron.”

“I know,” he assures. “But I’m going with you. Tim needs all of us. Whatever that text was must've been important.”

Aaron waves as he steps past you, and you follow him to the parking area. When he removes a leather key fob from his pocket and you see a Lamborghini sitting in his spot, you momentarily forget about Tim and his sudden disappearance.

“Aaron, we can’t…” you begin.

“Forget about the car. Let’s go!”

You climb into the passenger seat as Aaron starts the car with an obnoxious rev of the engine.

“Habit,” he murmurs as he pulls the gear shift into reverse. “Where are we going?”

“It’s been at least fifteen minutes since he walked out. They could be miles in any direction by now,” you reply.

“But they wouldn’t have gone anywhere, right?” Aaron asks as he looks both ways to turn. “It may have been last-minute, but they had a plan.”

“What did he say when he left?”

“That he loved you.”

“No, before that.”

“Oh, uhm.” Aaron pauses to think as he passes a truck going under the speed limit. “Something about a laundromat, I think.”

“Did he say laundromat, laundering, or laundry?”

“What’s the difference? Besides washing clothes and the illegal money trade, I mean.”

“Landry,” you realize aloud. “He said Landry as in Pierre Landry!”

“Okay,” Aaron replies. “Who is that?”

“Head toward the Hills.”

“Finally,” Aaron mumbles.

“One more favour?” you request.

“Anything, you know that.”

“Drive this car like you want to. Grey alerted dispatch that we took a POV.”

“Now that’s a favour I’d love to do.”

You sit back in the passenger seat as Aaron shifts into another gear. He swerves in and out of traffic as you think of your husband. Tim has to be safe, because you’ll lose yourself if he’s not.

“What exactly is the plan?” Aaron asks.

You snap yourself out of your racing thoughts of Tim to say, “I’ll know when I see it.”

Aaron nods to himself, but you can tell he’s not convinced. Your plan certainly isn’t detailed, probably not even smart, yet you have to trust that it’ll work. It has to work.

“Slow down,” you tell Aaron. “See the brown truck in the right lane, thirty yards ahead?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Aaron answers. “Oh.”

The back window is broken out and the driver is swerving within the boundaries of his lane, but you can’t see why. When the truck drifts toward the car in the next lane, they hit their brakes and lay on the horn. Aaron swings into the lane behind the truck and ignores the people who honk at him.

With the new vantage point, you see a gun in the bed of the truck. As you lean toward Aaron’s dash to get a better look, you see two people moving in the cab. The driver raises a knife, and then they duck down toward the seat again as he swerves toward the barrier between the lanes. The truck moves over a lane, and the surrounding traffic has given him plenty of room to wreck without harming anyone. The new bumper surrounding the erratic (and armed) truck driver provides the perfect opportunity.

“Get beside him,” you tell Aaron. “But not too close. Stay away from his door.”

He nods and speeds up to drive into the lane beside the truck. You toll your window down and unclip your seatbelt as Aaron’s car lines up with the truck bed.

“What are you doing?” Aaron yells over the wind.

You pull yourself through the narrow window to sit atop the door. “Saving my husband!” you answer loudly. “Keep it steady and fall back the minute I jump.”

“But you-“

“Thorsen!” you interrupt. “Fall back the minute I jump. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You raise your hands to the hood of his car and carefully pull your knees up. When your right foot reaches the door, you push yourself to stand and use your hands to stay steady. You count down in your head 3, 2, 1, and then you jump. Aaron hits the brakes and the distance between you and him increases quickly.

When you hit the truck bed, you roll before you catch yourself. With a calculated movement, you wait until it swerves again to push yourself up and toward the broken back window. Pushed against the body at the back of the cab, you reach your arms inside and grab the driver’s arm. It isn’t until you push yourself in further that you actually see Tim. Tim’s eyes meet yours, and he exhales sharply as you pull the driver back against his seat.

“Move,” you tell Tim.

He pulls himself up from the floorboard and into the passenger seat. The driver finds his knife again and begins slinging it aimlessly over his shoulder, aiming for you. Tim doesn’t hesitate to move across the cab of the truck and pull the driver’s hands away from you.

“Tim!” you warn as the truck begins drifting toward the curb.

You keep your arms locked around the driver’s shoulders but watch Tim. He takes a deep breath and leans back. As he shoves his feet against the man’s side, he grimaces in pain but doesn’t stop. The momentum knocks the driver against the door beside him and his foot slides off the gas pedal. You move your left arm to his neck and hold him tightly as you reach for the steering wheel with your right.

Tim slips forward again to avoid a punch from the driver and extends his arm toward the brake pedal. He groans as he pushes it to the floor, and you use all of your strength to pull the driver back and away from Tim. The truck lurches to a quick stop and you turn so that your side makes impact with the broken window frame rather than your face or chest.

Sirens sound behind you and grow louder quickly now that you aren’t moving. The driver reaches for something under his seat, but you grab the gun that slid forward in the truck bed and aim it at his temple.

“Drop it,” you command. “Now.”

Tim groans again as he sits up, but he keeps his eyes on the man you’re holding. You loosen your grip and open the driver’s side door so the approaching officers can get him out and into custody. He takes the opportunity to roll out, but Aaron pulls up beside him before he can push himself up and run.

“That was amazing!” Aaron applauds as he exits his car.

Tim hisses in pain, and you turn toward him quickly.

“That was dumb,” he argues.

“Are you okay?” you ask him.

Tim cradles his arm but nods. You hop over the side of the bed and open the passenger door. Tim leans toward you as you lay your hand on his shoulder.

“Where’s Landry?” Nyla asks as she and Angela run toward the truck.

“Whoa,” Angela interjects. “You alright?”

“Yeah. Driver didn’t say much, but he radioed that he would meet someone at John Anson,” Tim answers.

“Get an ambulance,” Angela tells a passing officer.

“John Anson Ford? The theater?” Nyla clarifies.

You tune out their conversation as you squat beside the truck. Tim’s boots are scuffed from breaking the window, but other than the scrapes you can see and his arm, he seems relatively fine. You release a relieved, albeit shaky, breath as you stand.

“It’s not high season for the theater,” you add. “Landry could be using it as a distribution base for his new product.”

“He’ll get suspicious when reckless back there doesn’t show,” Tim says.

“We’ll send someone in,” Nyla assures him. “You’re going to the hospital.”

“Don’t,” Angela warns when Tim opens his mouth. “Argue with your wife about it.”

She winks at you as she and Nyla walk toward the other officers waiting behind you. The ambulance navigates through the crowd of police cars and officers, and you look into Tim’s eyes.

“You scared me,” you murmur, taking his hand.

“You jumped from a moving car onto another moving car, but you want to play that card?” Tim challenges.

“Are you really okay?” you ask.

“I promise. There is one thing I’d like you to do- two, maybe.”

You nod quickly, and Tim looks over your shoulder at the approaching EMTs.

“Go finish this case, and make sure it’s over.”

“Tim, I-“

“I need to know. And you do too.”

“Okay,” you agree. “What’s the second thing?”

Tim tips his chin up, and you smile before you kiss him gently. He moves his good arm toward your waist, but you step back.

“You’re sure?” you check.

Tim nods, and you demand that he keep you updated as you step back.

“I love you,” you tell him.

“I love you,” he replies. “Get Landry.”

You salute Tim and smile when he rolls his eyes. Tim will give the paramedics a hard time, but he’s safe, and that’s all that matters.

“Grey,” you call as you enter the bullpen.

“Thank goodness,” he sighs. “Everything wrapped up?”

“Detectives are closing the case as we speak, and Landry is already booked and processed. We also grabbed two distributors who already had product on them.”

“Then get out of here.” Wade smiles as he adds, “And take your husband with you.”

You furrow your brows. Tim should be at the hospital still; it’s only been a few hours since you left him with the EMTs. Wade points toward the roll call room, and you see your husband sitting against a table with his arm in a sling.

Without another word, you walk away from Sergeant Grey and toward Tim. He looks up when you open the door, and his shoulders drop when he sees you.

“We got Landry,” you say before he asks.

“I’m fine,” Tim tells you, sensing that you have a question too.

“Good. Ready to go home?”

“As long as you’ll stay in the car this time,” Tim jokes.

He stands, and you hug under his uninjured arm. You feel him relax before his wraps his arm around you and ducks his head toward your shoulder.

“You mean more to me than you’ll ever know,” he murmurs. “Thanks for saving my life.”

“I love you, Tim,” you whisper. “But don’t ever make me do that again. You walked out and then you were gone.”

“Hey.” Tim waits until you look at him to finish, “Never again.”

You kiss him quickly and then step back and take his hand. “I promise to stay in the car all the way home if we can get food on the way.”

Tim rolls his eyes, but the way he keeps you close as you walk to his truck – which you have to drive now – makes you think he really was just as worried about you as you were for him.

Lonelier in Misery

Part 2 of Lonely in Misery

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!paramedic!reader

Summary: After you first date with Tim, you decide to keep your relationship from Nolan and Bailey for as long as possible.

Warnings: brief angst, fluff

Word Count: 1.7k+ words

A/N: Titles are hard sometimes. This is one of those times.

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

The morning after your first date with Tim, feigning your continued misery isn’t hard. You miss him already, even though it’s been less than twelve hours since he kissed you and turned your world on its axis. He changed everything, and you never want to go back to how it was before. Now your absent smile and downcast demeanor are because you miss Tim; you miss someone rather than not having anyone. It’s a nice change, but you’re still craving another kiss.

When you arrive at work, Bailey runs across the station to meet you. She pulls you into a tight hug, and you slowly wrap your arms around her in return.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers. “I thought it would work out with Tim.”

“Oh,” you murmur as you realize she’s still making assumptions based on your text from last night. “Right.”

“Don’t take this as a sign or anything, though. I promise I will do better next time! Just tell me what you did and didn’t like.”

“Bailey, you don’t have to set me up again.”

“No, you need someone. I hate seeing you like this. Being lonely sucks, and with our job, we deserve to have a person to go home to.”

“I agree, but a blind date isn’t-“

“You have to give me another chance. Nolan has more friends, plenty that aren’t cops, so I can find you the right guy.”

Bailey turns when the battalion chief calls her name, and you’re left alone again. You’ll have to convince her not to set you up on another date later. The problem is that you can’t tell her why, not unless you want her to insert herself into your relationship with Tim. Bailey is great, she’s your best friend, but she meddles.

You sigh as you pull your phone out. Tim has responded to your good morning text, so you send a quick warning: Bailey wants to set me up on another date since last night ‘didn’t work out’

Tim answers quickly, and his message brings a smile to your face.

Don’t worry about it. I’ll handle all the dates from now on.

While you avoid answering Bailey’s questions, Tim is dealing with his own line of inquiries about the date last night.

“How did it go? You like her, right? I know you’ve met before,” Nolan asks quickly.

“It was fine,” Tim answers.

“Fine… Is that it? I don’t get more details?”

Tim shrugs and repeats, “It went fine.”

Nolan tosses his hands up in exasperation. Tim won’t elaborate, he already knows that, but he needs to know if he and Bailey were right about their idea that you and Tim would be perfect for one another.

“Sergeant Grey!” Nolan calls. “Bradford and I can deliver the safety brochures to the police station.”

“You want to do a rookie’s assignment for them?” Grey asks, his skepticism audible.

“Yes, sir.”

“Yeah. I know you’re just going to visit Bailey, though, you’re not smooth, Nolan.”

“Never expected to be. Thank you, sir!” Nolan turns to Tim to say, “Let’s go.”

“Why?” Tim asks.

“Because I want to hear from both of you. Fine isn’t good enough.”

Tim grumbles as he follows Nolan to the shop. “I’m driving,” he yells when he catches up.

You’re restocking an equipment kit near the open garage door when a police car parks outside. As you set your gear aside, you see Tim exit the driver’s seat. You smile at him, but he shakes his head just before you see Nolan on the other side. It’s not a friendly visit, then.

“Good morning,” Tim greets. “We are here to drop off these public safety cards.”

“Great. Thanks,” you reply as you take them.

Your fingers brush over Tim’s and you feel the same jolt as when he kissed you last night.

“Where’s Bailey?” Nolan asks.

“Kitchen, I think,” you answer.

He nods to thank you, then walks past the fire engines to find Bailey. You raise your brows and look at Tim, but he just sighs. It’s not far-fetched to assume Nolan gave him treatment similar to the one you got from Bailey.

“Alright,” Nolan calls. He returns with Bailey beside him, and you sigh with Tim this time. “Let’s get to the bottom of this.”

“What happened last night, Tim?” Bailey asks. “You get to the restaurant, and?”

“She’s not who I expected,” Tim answers. He glances at you quickly, and you immediately decide to play along.

“Exactly,” you agree. “Blind date usually implies that you don’t know the person. We’ve met before.”

“Okay, but there’s no animosity or anything. You get along,” Nolan argues. “So, why’d you leave just as sad as when you got there?”

“Because I was still lonely,” you answer.

It’s not a lie. Neither you nor Tim will lie, but you’re going to answer the questions without admitting that they were right. They’ll never let you live it down if they can take credit for your relationship with Tim.

“I just don’t understand why you didn’t enjoy yourselves,” Bailey says. “But your relationships are your decisions. And I already have another guy lined up that I want you to meet.”

You open your mouth to argue, but Tim winks at you before you speak. He told you not to worry about it, so you won’t.

“We need to get back to the station if you’re done with the interrogation,” Tim tells Nolan.

“Sure, yeah,” Nolan responds.

You wave discreetly as Tim leaves, and your internal countdown to when you’ll see him again resumes.

As you walk out of the fire station after your shift ends, your phone rings.

“Hi,” you answer.

“Hi,” Tim repeats. “Are you off?”

“I am. I’m leaving right now.”

“Then you should come over for dinner.”

“I’d love that.”

Tim texts you his address, and you smile for the entire trip to his house. When he opens the door and pulls you into a hug, you feel complete again.

“Whoa, it smells amazing in here. Are you cooking?” you ask.

“Maybe,” Tim answers. “That depends on if you have any stereotypical views that I can’t because I’m a man and a cop.”

“I think you can do everything and look good doing it,” you reply happily.

“Then, yes, I’m cooking. And thank you.”

You follow Tim into the kitchen and settle at his side as he finishes preparing the meal. Everything looks great, but you’d do just about anything as long as you were with Tim.

“I’m sorry if I pushed everything too far today. I know we don’t want them in our business, but if you want me to stop covering things up, I will,” Tim offers.

“You didn’t go too far. I thought it was kind of fun. Plus, I like being with you, even if we are lying to my best friend.”

“Lying,” Tim scoffs.

“By omission, yeah.”

Tim rolls his eyes but tugs you closer to kiss you. His hands rest on your cheeks and as you move with him, you know that it is impossible to feel sad or lonely around Tim Bradford.

Two days later, you find yourself pacing beside your ambulance. Tim texted this morning, just: I won’t answer for a while.

There hasn’t been anything on the news or the radio channels about big police operations, so you’re left to worry about him with nothing more to go on. You try to convince yourself that he’s just in a meeting or on patrol with someone, so he can’t use his phone, but then your mind wanders to a dangerous situation where using his phone could get him killed.

“Oh no,” Bailey murmurs. “Are you okay?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah,” you answer, snapping yourself out of your thoughts. “I’m just stressing. For no reason.”

“Get your stuff.”

“What? Why?”

“You need a distraction, and John Nolan is my favorite distraction. Tag along with me?”

You consider it for a moment. If you stay here, you’ll just be worried and alone. “Yes, please,” you decide.

When Bailey parks at the Mid-Wilshire station, you follow her inside and force yourself not to check your phone again. Tim will reach out when he can. Someone calls your name, and both you and Bailey stop.

“Hi, Detective Lopez,” you greet when you see Angela.

She hugs you tightly as she says, “Stop, it’s Angela. Especially now that you’re dating my BFF.”

“What?” Bailey interrupts.

Angela’s eyes widen, and she whispers, “I’m so sorry. I thought everyone knew. He told me, so I just assumed.”

Bailey says your name and points at you, ready to accuse you of lying to her and keeping secrets. Before she can, Nolan yells, “Why?!” from somewhere else in the station.

A few seconds later, he walks into the bullpen with Tim following closely behind him. Tim is talking, sternly and meanly, based on his stance. Nolan sees you and Bailey and quickens his pace.

“Bailey,” he begins.

“I know!” she replies. “They’re liars.”

“Why would you lie about that?” Nolan asks.

Tim steps to your side as you answer, “Technically, we didn’t lie. We answered your questions.”

“You just didn’t ask the right questions,” Tim agrees. “Which is part of your job, Nolan.”

“No, no, no. Don’t make this about me,” Nolan argues.

“Wait, so then are you going out again?” Bailey asks.

“And did you actually consider that to be a date? Enjoy it and everything?” Nolan adds.

Tim takes your hand as they continue asking questions, and you wave kindly to Angela as he leads you away. You smile as you follow him blindly. Once he has you away from the bullpen and the endless questions, he stops and pulls you close.

“Are you okay?” you ask. “I’ve been worried.”

“I’m sorry. I got called into a meeting to consult on a UC operation. Everything is confidential, so I couldn’t have my phone on me.”

“I’m not mad. I feel much better now that I know you’re okay.”

“It’s Friday,” he reminds you. “We have another date tonight.”

You nod, and Tim moves his hands, one on your waist and one on your jaw. He dips his chin and kisses you in the empty hallway, and you wonder what did it feel like to be miserable again?

Lonely in Misery

Requested Here!

Part 2 Here: Lonelier in Misery

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!paramedic!reader

Summary: Bailey notices that you're lonely and miserable while Nolan notices the same about Tim. They decide to set you up on a blind date, but it only ends with more sadness.

Warnings: mention of motorcycle accident, pure fluff (the title and summary are misleading, my bad)

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

A/N: @newobsessionweekly here's some soft Tim if you're interested🥰

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Let’s go!” your chief calls. “Motorcycle accident on Wilshire.”

You nod as you gather your equipment. Being a paramedic is stressful, but you work with an amazing team. It’s too bad you don’t have the same kind of community in your personal life. Working with your best friends is great until you can’t hang out or talk to anyone because they’re on different shifts.

“Single rider?” you ask as you climb into the ambulance.

“Dispatch didn’t say. Only called for one ambulance, so I assume,” your chief replies.

“Hey, maybe it’ll be a single guy and you can nurse him back to health and finally get a date,” your teammate in the driver’s seat jokes.

“Ignore him,” Bailey says, rolling her eyes.

“Ignore who?” you tease.

As the BLS rescue ambulance pulls out, you sit back in your seat.

“Are you okay?” Bailey asks softly.

“Fine,” you reply. “Just… I don’t know.”

“I get it. We, uh, we haven’t been able to hang out in a while. What have you been up to?”

“Nothing. Work, eat, workout, sleep, repeat.”

“Yeah, you’ve been kind of mopey.” She reaches her hand toward you and smiles when you lay your hand in hers. “This job is hard enough without being lonely. Why don’t you go on a date or just go hang out somewhere, meet somebody?”

You shake your head and brush off her concern with a half-true promise, “I’ll be fine. I’m looking forward to when our schedules give us time to be friends again. If I can get out away from Nolan, of course.”

Bailey smiles and rolls her eyes but squeezes your hand reassuringly. You know she isn’t convinced that you’re fine. Your job is more important, though, so you decide to focus on the motorcycle rider who needs your help rather than the empty home, the empty life you’ll go home to after your shift ends.

“Hey!” Tim yells harshly. “Socialize on your own time, boot!”

His new rookie ducks his head and walks quickly after abandoning his conversation. Tim has been grumpier than usual lately, and he’s taking it out on everyone in the station. When he yelled at Sergeant Grey, who only shook his head and told Tim to take a breather, Nolan knew what was happening.

“He’s lonely, right?” Nolan asks Angela.

“Incredibly,” she answers without hesitation. “It’s been worse, though, so his sports buddies must have gotten busy, married, something.”

Nolan nods. He has an idea, but he knows better than to suggest Tim go on a date where he could overhear or be told. As he walks toward his shop, Nolan makes a mental note to ask Bailey if she knows anyone who would be willing to go on a date with Mid-Wilshire’s resident grump.

“Do I look like I care about your engagement party?” Tim asks across the garage.

“Hey,” Nolan says as he walks into the house.

“Hi,” Bailey replies.

Nolan hugs Bailey and sighs against her.

“I need your help with something,” Bailey says.

“Anything,” Nolan replies as he steps back. “But I need a favor, too.”

“My best friend is lonely and needs a date.”

Nolan’s brows raise as he adds, “My coworker is lonely and needs a date.”

“Did we just plan a blind date in under thirty seconds? Are we really that good?”

“Depends. Is your friend interested in someone like Tim Bradford?”

Bailey considers the pairing for a moment but smiles as she pictures you balancing Tim and him providing an edge that you haven’t experienced in years.

“Oh, yeah,” Bailey decides. “She’ll be interested.”

“Great! Now I just have to convince him to actually go on the date,” Nolan muses.

“Good luck.” Bailey laughs before she realizes, “I have to get her to let me set her up too.”

“Well, if she’s anything like Tim, appeal to her misery.”

“Yeah, because it’s better than absolutely nothing and complete unhappiness is the perfect way to pitch a date,” Bailey scoffs. “I’ll get my friend there, and you convince Tim your way.”

“I hope this works,” they say together.

“What’d you do last night?” Bailey asks as you exit the locker room.

You step back in surprise at being ambushed the moment you arrive but recover quickly. “I made dinner, watched a movie, and went to bed. Why?”

“Because you’ve got a date tonight, so we’re switching it up.”

“Bailey,” you begin.

“No, no, hear me out before you decline. Please? I’m doing this as your best friend, I promise.”

“Okay,” you sigh. “Pitch this guy. But, Bailey Nune, if you say it’s Nolan’s brother Pete I will find a new best friend.”

“Oh, no. I love you, I would never do that. Besides, the whole point of a blind date is that I don’t tell you the guy’s name. But…” She raises her finger to emphasize as she adds, “Nolan and I both know him well and he’s a great guy.”

“You’re gonna have to give me more. I don’t want to go on a date just to say that I didn’t spend another night alone, Bailey.”

“Completely. I know you, though, okay, and this guy he’s- he can do and be everything you want. The romance, the connection, the best friend that is also your life partner, what you are looking for in a guy, this is it. I promise. And, if I’m wrong, I’ll bail you out of the date and I will clean your equipment for the rest of the month.”

You purse your lips as you think about her offer. She does know exactly what you want in a man, and you trust Bailey’s judgement. “Fine. I’ll go on the date.”

“Yes!” Bailey cheers as she hugs you. “I’m so glad. You’ll feel so much better after you’re not miserable and lonely anymore.”

“You should’ve been a motivational speaker,” you deadpan. “Now don’t mention it again until we get off. This can’t be the topic of conversation for the rest of the day; I’ll never live it down.”

“I’ll stay quiet and think of the perfect outfit for you,” Bailey says as she follows you into the heart of the station.

“Officer Bradford,” Nolan calls as he walks across the bullpen.

“Yeah?” Tim asks.

“I’ve got a proposition for you. Or a question, idea, whatever you want to call it.”

“Then spit it out, Nolan.”

“Right, yes, sir. Bailey has a single friend, and we want to set you up on a blind date.”

Tim’s face remains impassive as he shakes his head. “Pass. Ask Aaron.”

“No, Tim, I’m asking you.”

“And I’m not interested,” Tim argues.

“Look, you’re lonely and miserable, so you’re making all of us miserable. I know you – sort of – and I know this woman. She could be really good for you.”

“If you’re wrong? Because I think you are.”

“Then leave the date! You’re not losing anything more than a few hours.”

Tim takes a deep breath before he asks, “Why do you think she’d be good for me?”

“She can be the balance that you need, and she understands some of what we deal with daily.”

“Don’t tell me she’s a lawyer.”

“Oh, no, I know better than that. So… is that a yes?”

“It’s a hesitant yes,” Tim answers. “When?”

“Tonight.”

Tim nods once before he walks away to reprimand a rookie. Nolan watches him yell and hopes that he and Bailey are right. Because if they’re wrong and the date goes poorly, Tim will be worse in the morning.

You sit in the front of the restaurant and await your date. Bailey said he’d arrive after you. She never explained how you were supposed to find each other, though. As you watch people come and go, you grow discouraged. You shift your attention from the door to your hands. Several minutes pass before the door opens again, and you look up but don’t expect anything.

“Tim?” you ask.

You’ve seen Tim Bradford several times in passing. At wrecks, crime scenes, and various Los Angeles law enforcement meetings. He’s always been kind to you, and you remember that you may have mentioned finding him attractive to Bailey before.

“I’ll assume you’re my blind date, then,” Tim replies. He smiles as he adds, “I’m not as disappointed as I expected to be.”

“Wow,” you say through laughter. “If I’d known you were such a flirt, I would’ve asked Bailey to set us up sooner.”

Tim shakes his head, and you join his side as he gives his name to the hostess. As you walk to the table, a sudden awkwardness descends. There’s no good way to begin a conversation on a blind date, you realize. Tim takes his hand against the menu but looks similarly lost about what to say.

“I guess being lonely and desperate worked in my favor,” you joke.

“Oh, I can guarantee that I was lonelier and more desperate,” Tim replies. “Nolan used that to convince me to come tonight; said I was making everyone else miserable with my misery.”

The mood lightens with your playful jokes, and you smile at Tim.

“Since you’ve had to pull an arson suspect off me before, should we skip the small talk?” you ask Tim over your menu. “Or do this the normal way?”

“There’s nothing normal about this,” Tim comments.

Your phone buzzes in your bag, but the Are you still miserable? text from Bailey goes unread.

“Okay, I hate this,” you murmur as you set the menu aside. “Can I just sit beside you?”

Tim’s smile grows as he stands and offers his hand. Once you’re seated beside him, where you don’t have to lean across the table to talk, you don’t even remember the miserable feeling that led Bailey to set this date up.

Tim leans over to whisper, “I’m glad I agreed to the date,” and you move closer to him as you answer, “Me too.”

As you walk out of the restaurant with your hand in Tim’s and a joyful smile on your face, you don’t want the night to end.

“Same time next week?” you ask as Tim slows.

“What about the same time another day this week?” he suggests. “I had a great time, and I want to go out again. If that’s what you want, of course.”

You pull your phone out and hand it to Tim, ignoring Bailey’s text. He puts his number in and texts himself, so he has your number, too. You grow giddy, something you thought was a thing of your past.

“I think this is the best date I’ve ever been on,” you tell Tim as you begin walking again. “Thank you.”

“Nolan and Bailey are gonna take credit if we tell them the blind date worked,” Tim points out.

“Yeah,” you agree, drawing out the word. “But I don’t think I can hide how happy tonight made me. Not from Bailey, at least.”

Tim nods like he understands as you stop. You turn to face him, and he raises the hand that isn’t in yours to hold your cheek. There isn’t a question or doubt in your mind as you kiss Tim. What was supposed to be a date to cheer you up and get you back out of your mundane, lonely life is already becoming so much more. As Tim releases your hand to hold you and pull you closer, your entire world brightens. Neither you nor Tim are lonely, let alone miserable, with the prospect of a new relationship with one another. You pull back when you can’t stop smiling against Tim’s lips.

“Thanks,” you whisper.

“For what?”

“All of it.”

Tim smiles and brushes his thumb under your bottom lip. “If I don’t see you before Friday, I’m looking forward to our date. And I’ll pick you up at the fire station.”

“Are you sure about that?” you question. “Bailey will tell John.”

“They’ll have to learn sooner rather than later that there’s no room for them in our relationship.”

Your smile grows at our relationship, but you lick your lips to keep your excitement from showing. “They’re both born meddlers.”

“Let’s stop talking about them,” Tim murmurs as he leans in again.

Bonus:

When you arrive home, you see the text from Bailey and answer: More miserable than you can imagine. I’m going to sleep to escape it. Sure, you left off the part about being sad because the date ended, but she’ll find out soon enough.

Creepy, But Special

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x goth!fem!ME!reader

Summary: Tim sees a woman in a cemetery after dark and can't stop thinking about you. When he calls for the M.E. and you arrive, he gets a chance to find out more about you.

Warnings: spoilers for 5x22, r is an ME and performs an autopsy, mentions of past judgement and insults, fluff, Tim gets kinda flirty even while there's a dead body between them?

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

A/N: The request said shy reader, but she's pretty open with Tim so I didn't include it in the pairing dynamic. R is very professional with the other characters, though, so that could be considered shy, I think. And, as always, ignore the Chenford gif🤭

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Kojo, c’mon,” Tim urges as Kojo tugs the leash away from Tim.

Kojo has been taking his time on this walk, more of a stroll to sniff everything than a walk, but Tim is ready to get home. When Kojo returns to Tim’s side and begins trotting again, Tim rewards him with a whispered compliment: “There’s the best boy.”

As they near a cemetery, however, a cat meows inside the open gate, causing Kojo to stop again. Tim shakes his head but watches Kojo as his ears perk, and he looks into the narrow gate opening.

“No, Bazinga,” someone says from inside the fence. The cat meows again, and this time the voice - pretty voice, Tim’s mind corrects – laughs. “How are you going to do a séance if you can’t talk, Bazinga?”

Tim and Kojo step to the inside edge of the sidewalk for a better view. Tim should know better than to let his guard down here, but when he realized that the creepy cemetery cat had supervision, he needed to know more. Standing at the fence, he can see a gray blanket spread across a small clearing. You’re sitting on the blanket with a large book open across your lap. A black cat, Bazinga, presumably, roams around you before jumping onto your shoulder.

Tim can’t help but be intrigued by you. He can tell you're young in the dim light of a nearby streetlight. While he’s simultaneously drawn to you and put off by your odd choice about where you relax, Tim lets his logic win and snaps for Kojo to heel beside him. With one final glance at you, Tim leaves you in the dark but remembers your voice long after you ask your cat, “What do you think about the black cat stereotype and how well you fit into it?”

When Tim wakes the following morning, his first thought is you. Part of him wonders if he imagined you, a young woman dressed in black reading in a cemetery in the middle of the night, yet he can’t get you off his mind even as he rises and gets ready for work. Now that overtime has been approved, he has to focus on catching the masked individuals who attacked Aaron and Celina just hours after he saw you.

Once he hears Aaron and Celina’s statuses, it’s easier to forget you and your cat. When they find Roy Gracco and prepare to enter his house, Tim doesn’t even remember his previous cemetery-side walk.

Tim leads the alpha team into Gracco’s home, prepared for anything, but is surprised to find the house clear and cold.

“Drop the gun! Drop it!” he demands as he rounds a corner.

“I think he’s dead,” Nolan calls.

Tim approaches him slowly and confirms that Gracco is dead, 10-5-5.

“It’s a trap,” Nolan realizes aloud.

“Abort! Abort! Abort!” Tim yells. As he exits Gracco’s house, he radios, “Control, I need the bomb squad to the target house for a full sweep. Send the M.E. and TID out here, standing by for a priority search once the house is clear.”

“Yep, got it,” you reply to the police dispatcher.

Your work phone buzzes with a message containing the address where you’re needed. The van is prepped and ready to go, so you only grab your phone, keys, and seal-wrapped black coveralls. When you arrive at the house, dozens of police officers, crime scene investigators, and city officials are waiting.

“Sergeant Grey?” you ask as you approach him. “Has the house been cleared?”

“Almost. Bomb squad’s doing a final walk-through,” he answers. “The officers who found the body are inside and ready to assist you.”

“Dispatch said the air had been cranked down to delay decomp. Do you know if anyone touched the thermostat?”

“No. Sergeant Bradford made sure the house stayed in the same condition as how they found it.”

“Perfect.”

“All clear,” one of the bomb squad members calls as he exits. “Your people are free to enter.”

“Hold up,” Grey calls to TID. “Let the M.E. get what she needs first.”

“Thank you,” you call over your shoulder as you approach the front door.

“Hi, I’m Officer Chen,” an officer greets you as you enter. “Bradford, M.E.’s here.”

“Sergeant Bradford, I hear you preserved the scene and the body. Thanks,” you tell him as you set your bag down.

Tim doesn’t reply, too intrigued that you, a woman who hangs out in cemeteries with her black cat, is the M.E. That and your age, to be more precise.

“What’s the temperature in here?” you ask, looking up at him.

“Fifty-eight,” he answers quickly, shaking himself out of his thoughts and reminding himself not to stare.

“Fifty-eight,” you murmur as you scribble something on your paper. “Then I’m putting time of death between 1 and 2 a.m.”

“Before Aaron and Celina were ambushed,” Lucy says.

“How can you limit it to an hour?” Tim asks. Not because he’s overly interested in your method but because everything you say and do interests him. He wants to hear you talk again. To him, preferably.

“The air temperature and confinement slowed decomp but also affected the blood coagulation. Because of that, and knowing the average maintained temperature since death, I can calculate it with a bit more accuracy,” you explain.

Tim nods and looks at Lucy, who seems to know why he took a sudden interest in forensic science. He has a dozen more questions he’d like to ask you, very few of which are about the case, but you frighten Tim Bradford just enough that he falls silent to let you work.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” you say suddenly.

“Is everything okay?” Tim asks.

“Yeah, just this little guy.” You straighten and extend your hand to show Tim a moderately large spider. “There’s a web in that windowsill, he must have been confused by the temperature drop.”

You cup your hand as you walk toward the window and gently place the spider back on its web. Tim watches every little move you make, trying not to be convinced that you were in a cemetery and are still dressed in black merely because you’re creepy.

“So, based on positioning, lividity, and blood coagulation around the wound in his hand, I’m confident that my estimate of 1 to 2 a.m. today is accurate. More, I’d say that he was unconscious when both the bullets and the knife entered his body. There’s no sign of jerking or resisting, and the stiffness in his spine suggests that he’s been positioned like this for closer to a day.”

“A day?” Tim repeats. “How could he be in one position for nearly ten hours before being shot and stabbed?”

“Was he alive when he was stabbed?” Lucy inquires.

“Yes,” you answer her. “He didn’t react in any way to that pain and the lack of naturally dried blood around the wound, so he was likely already in a state of statis. His heart rate was likely low, the temperature was impeding the healing process, and, as I’m sure you know, bullet wounds don’t close on their own.”

“Then why lead us here?” Tim wonders.

“This is related to the cops that were attacked this morning?” you ask. “I heard about the riddle.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us?” Tim asks.

“I don’t think you’ll find much in this house other than him.”

“I agree.”

“If Gracco is a patsy,” Lucy interjects, “then we should be asking why him?”

“He’s a felon with a history at Mid-Wilshire,” Grey answers as he walks in.

“Sure, but there are hundreds of guys like that. So, why Gracco? Did they pull his name out of a database or is there some kind of connection?”

“You think it’s personal?” Tim asks.

“Look, if I was gonna go to the extreme of targeting police officers, why not take out some of my enemies along the way?”

“That’s gotta count as a goth point,” you murmur.

“Costs us nothing to run with that,” Grey points out. “Get back to the station, check Gracco’s known associates, family, coworkers, anyone he did time with that might hold a grudge. Run them against people that we arrested. And say a prayer while you’re at it.”

“Actually, Grey, can I escort the M.E.?” Tim asks.

You look up from your spot on the floor, and Tim looks away quickly because he suddenly thinks that in that position, you look like a cat.

“Do that,” Grey agrees. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with. Chen, Nolan and Harper are at the station and ready to assist you.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucy replies as she exits.

“Why do I need an escort?” you ask once you’re alone with Tim.

“Because we don’t know what we’re up against and I don’t want to find out the hard way that we’re closer than we think,” he answers.

You nod as you stand, then remind Tim that you have to prepare the body to take back to the morgue. He nods and steps aside, hands clasped, happy to watch you.

“Got it,” Tim says into his phone. “Pine’s got Metro mobilized; do you need me to come back?”

You pull your gloves on as Tim ends his call. He steps toward you and says, “I’m clear to stay with you.”

“Why?” you ask.

“All of our bases are covered. So, if you find something, we need to know.”

You shrug as you concede. It’s not that you don’t want Tim with you; you are confused about why a decorated Metro Sergeant would want to keep you company while you perform an autopsy.

“If you want a mask or anything, they’re in the black case behind you,” you tell him.

“Of course it’s black,” Tim muses.

“Meaning?” you inquire as you mark your incision points.

When you look toward him, Tim gestures to your outfit. You certainly don’t dress like other medical examiners. Or act like them, for that matter.

“What do you have against black?” you tease. “Or are you just jealous of the Converse?”

Tim smiles as he tips his head and replies, “I would rock some studded black Converse, right?”

“Totally. I’ll hook you up with my shoe guy. He might want to see you in the heeled version first, though.”

“So, why’d you become a medical examiner?” Tim asks as you begin the first cut in Gracco’s chest.

“What do you think?”

“Love for science?” Tim guesses.

You lift the scalpel and narrow your eyes at Tim. “Most people just assume I’d like to dig around in dead people.”

“Why? Because you wear black and pick up spiders?”

“Amongst other things.”

“What other things?”

You shake your head and argue, “You have to tell me something about you first.”

“I like the Dodgers.”

“Wow,” you drawl. “Mark me as shocked and surprised.”

“I’m a cop, there isn’t much time to do things worth telling.”

“Fine, I’ll go first but you better have something when I’m done.”

“Yeah, of course. Just, one more thing. How old are you?”

“Twenty-seven. Don’t you dare say oh, you look older, or wow, you must be smart, I really can’t take hearing that again.”

“I didn’t think you must be smart. You clearly are,” Tim replies.

“Good answer. You still want to know about me?”

Tim nods, and you tip your chin down to continue the autopsy as you speak.

“So, you can tell that I like black and spiders… I feel most alive in the fall, Halloween is my favorite day of the year. And cats! They’re much better than spiders because you can watch horror movies and Beetlejuice with them, and birds bring out their violent sides. But cats will also read witch books with you and listen to music, hang out in cemeteries. All the stuff that gets you labeled a ‘creepy weirdo’ is more fun with a cat.”

“Has someone called you a creepy weirdo?” Tim questions.

“More times than I can count. But I have another list that’s longer.”

“A list of what?”

“The coolest tattoos I’ve ever seen.”

Tim hesitates before he asks, “On dead people?”

“Some,” you admit honestly. “Most of them are on live people, though. They’re not as cool when the skin underneath isn’t moving or filled with blood.”

“Interesting.”

“Is this where you call me a creepy weirdo?” Tim shakes his head, and you add, “I guess I’ve just always felt drawn to stuff like that, and it makes me happy, so why should I care what people say about that?”

Tim leans against a table across the morgue from you as you continue to work. He asks a few questions as you work, but the autopsy is as simple as expected. Gracco was killed. There’s no additional evidence about who killed him or why, and his body is relatively clean and well-preserved.

“Sorry I couldn’t be more help,” you tell Tim as you discard your gloves. “If it was a full moon I may have been more help.”

“Because you like full moons, I assume.”

“It was actually a weak werewolf joke, but yes, I do.”

“Does Bazinga?”

You freeze beside Tim before you look up at him to ask, “How do you know my cat’s name?”

“You said it,” Tim answers.

“No, I didn’t.”

“Not today, uh… I saw you in a cemetery a few nights ago.”

“I knew there was someone out there! Bazinga thought it was a ghost.”

Tim nods, unsure of how to keep the conversation going. You both want to keep talking, but there’s something Tim can’t ask, and you aren’t sure you can answer. So, you trace the shape of a crescent moon on your wrist to encourage yourself.

“Will you go out with me?” you ask quickly.

Tim opens his mouth to answer, but you add, “You don’t have to! If I’m misreading this or you’re just being nice and really do think I’m crazy, I understand.”

“I’d love to,” Tim answers when you fall quiet. “Maybe Kojo and I could join your next cemetery picnic.”

“You don’t think that’s creepy?”

“Really creepy,” Tim answers dramatically. “But you like it, so I’d like to see why.”

“What’s your shoe size? I’ll bring you some black Converse.”

“With studs?”

“Wouldn’t you be the stud?”

Tim laughs as he follows you into your office, but his phone rings with an update from Sergeant Grey and he quickly exchanges numbers with you before he leaves. Later, you remember that you never asked who Kojo was, and the picture Tim texts in return to your question makes you smile in your lonely office.

“How nervous are you?” you ask as Tim and Kojo meet you outside the cemetery.

“Probably not as much as I should be,” Tim answers with a smile. “Just don’t tell me we’re eating with someone, uh, someone in there.”

“No, of course not.” You open the gate and joke, “We’ll ease into that.”

“Where’s Bazinga?”

“Bazinga is a cat. In the picnic basket.”

You help Tim spread your favorite blanket on the grass and join him and Kojo as you set the food out. Tim watches you and realizes you’ve never been creepy, scary, or a weirdo. You’re special and if this spot beside you has been left open for him by people underestimating or judging you, he’ll make sure you know how special you are.

Friends From Here

Requested Here!

Pairing: (platonic) Tim Bradford x fem!MP!Chen!reader (r implied to be Lucy's twin)

Summary: When you return to the States, Tim Bradford confuses you for your sister Lucy. That night, you realize why he seemed so familiar and gain a new friend.

Warnings: platonic relationship but allusions to future romance, fluff!

Word Count: 1.7k+ words

A/N: While it is implied that r and Lucy are twins, this can be read as sisters, half-sisters, or an adopted sister that happens to look similar to Lucy! I tried to keep it somewhat inclusive so there are no physical descriptions for r other than Tim thinking r was Lucy from the back!

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

It has been far too long since you saw your sister Lucy. You joined the Army immediately out of high school and have worked through the ranks since then. Now, you’re an officer with the Military Police. Though you may never know, your determination and success are part of why Lucy became a cop.

Your phone rings as you wait for your plane back to the States. Lucy’s picture on your screen makes you smile, but you answer it quickly.

“Hi!” Lucy exclaims when the line connects. “Are you busy?”

You glance at the boarding screen above you and see you have fifteen minutes to spare.

“No, I’ve got time. What’s up?” you reply.

“I’ve got good news! I’m getting short sleeves!”

“Lucy, congratulations! I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you! I wish you were here so we could celebrate together. Have you heard anything about when your next leave is?”

“I wish I was there too, but we’re so busy here that I haven’t even had time to ask.”

“Okay,” Lucy says. She’s trying to sound as excited as before but doesn’t quite manage it.

“I’m sorry, Lucy.”

“No, I understand. I just…”

“Miss me?” you tease. “Because I’m the best sister and friend you’ll ever have, and I’m just so amazing and smart that you-“

“Stop,” Lucy begs through her laughter. “I have to go before my TO yells at me, but I really miss you. Talk soon?”

“Super soon,” you promise. “I love you, Lucy, and congratulations again.”

“I love you too,” Lucy replies before the line ends.

The landing in Los Angeles is smooth, but you barely look around as you secure a car and head for the Mid-Wilshire police station. You changed out of your uniform at the airport, but you have to see Lucy before you can do anything else. The man at the front desk tells you to wait, and he’ll find your sister for you. With your back to the desk, you check your phone to get caught up on what you missed during the flight.

“Chen!” someone yells behind you. “Why aren’t you in uniform?”

“Excuse me?” you ask as you turn to face the officer. Your brows raise when you realize he’s attractive, but his attitude keeps you from enjoying it for long.

“Just because you graduated to short sleeves doesn’t mean you can come and go as you please, boot,” he adds.

You desperately want to laugh because you don’t think you and Lucy look that much alike, even though you’ve heard it all your lives. Rather than laugh, however, you decide to play along with Officer Bradford.

“It means something,” you argue.

“You’re on the clock, boot-“

“Bradford?” Lucy asks behind him. “Is everything okay?”

You press your lips together at the shock on his face. His brows furrow as he looks at you, and then he turns slowly. When he moves, Lucy sees you standing before him and nearly shoves him out of the way to hug you. You happily wrap your arms around her and say hello but level your gaze on Bradford, who you think owes your sister an apology.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles. “So, you’re…”

“My sister,” Lucy answers.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Tim says. “Sorry again.”

“You look so good in your short sleeves!” you cheer once he’s gone.

“I feel so good in them!” Lucy agrees.

“Have you told Mom?”

“I’m going to tonight over dinner. Does she know you’re back?”

“No,” you answer with a laugh. “I didn’t tell her anything.”

“How long are you here? Can you come to dinner tonight?”

“I can come to dinner tonight and I’ll tell you everything after dinner, how’s that? I mean, you are on the clock, boot.”

Lucy laughs at your impression of Tim before she hugs you and invites you to stay in her apartment. You gladly accept, but as you exit the station, you wonder why Tim Bradford’s voice and attitude seem so familiar.

The door slams as your mom storms out after belittling Lucy over her success. You reach across the counter and take Lucy’s hand to keep her calm.

“Lucy let’s get out of here,” you suggest. “We’ll celebrate the way you deserve to be celebrated.”

“Was she like this with you?” Lucy asks weakly.

“I was on the other side of the country, then the world,” you remind her with a shrug. “She didn’t take my calls the first few months, but eventually she started calling me. Mom is… you know Mom.”

Lucy nods and hands you the keys to her car.

“Yeah, let’s go party, sis!” you cheer. “Short sleeves!”

“Wait, why did I give you the keys? You don’t know where to go,” Lucy remembers.

“Party!” you yell over your shoulder as you lead her out of the apartment.

“What do you want?” you ask Lucy as you stand.

“Surprise me,” she replies happily.

You nod and tap the back of your chair as you walk away. At the bar, you see someone you recognize. You aren’t sure how you didn’t remember him sooner.

“Sergeant Bradford,” you greet. “You know, I took credit for you leaving the Army.”

“Chen,” he replies. “That’s why your sister looked so familiar. And I didn’t leave because of you.”

“Really? Because I’m the last soldier you gave orders too. Explain that.”

Tim shakes his head, but his lips quirk into a small smile at your teasing.

“You were actually my favorite Sergeant I met. The rest of them seemed to think that I was incompetent.”

“Did you talk back to them?” Tim asks. When you don’t answer, he replies, “I thought so.”

“I’m here to celebrate my sister graduating to short sleeves, but…” you pause and pull a napkin toward you to write your number on. “We should talk. When you know who I am and don’t call me boot.”

Tim takes the offered napkin and nods. “Sure.”

You wink at him as you pick up your drink and Lucy’s. When you return to the table, you forget about Sergeant Bradford for the night, but he doesn’t forget about you.

Several hours later, you steer Lucy to her bed and promise her you’ll still be there in the morning. Once she’s asleep, you collapse against the couch and take a deep breath. You’ve been back in Los Angeles for less than a day and are exhausted. Your phone buzzes, and you scroll through your notifications until a text stops you.

Breakfast tomorrow? I’ll remember your name this time. -TB

You reply that you’d like that and suggest a restaurant nearby. Back in town with your sister, a new station, and a breakfast ‘date’ with Tim makes falling asleep with a smile easy.

Before you leave, you text Lucy where you’ll be and leave her a note with a promise to bring her food. You don’t mention who you are meeting, but you have much more to tell her when you return.

“Good morning,” you greet as you join Tim in a booth.

“Morning,” he replies. “How was your first night back?”

“How’d you know I just got back?”

“Your sister talks a lot.”

You nod knowingly before a waitress arrives and takes your order. After she leaves, you lean back in the seat.

“I think we should try to be friends,” Tim says.

“You make it sound like you could fail,” you reply. “Why don’t we just say we’ll be friends?”

“Then, I think we should be friends. Unless you’re leaving? Just… I think it would be nice to have a friend who understands what we’ve been through.”

“Lucy made it sound like you were a cold, un-friend-able grump. But I should warn you, if you really want to be friends with me, I’ll be the best friend you’ve ever had and you won’t be able to ditch me.”

“I think I can handle that,” Tim assures. “But you didn’t answer my question about leaving.”

“Let me tell my sister the big news and then I’ll tell you, deal?”

“Deal.”

“Also, as my friend, I hope you’re prepared to pay for my breakfast,” you say as your food arrives. “Because I have to buy Lucy a celebration breakfast and confetti pancakes have gotten more expensive since I was here last.”

“Sure,” Tim answers with a laugh. “What else are friends for?”

“You should come back to Lucy’s apartment with me. Big news is for friends, too.”

When you walk into Lucy’s apartment with Tim, you’re not surprised that she’s still in her room. You knock before entering and tell her that you’ve got breakfast and company. She smells the pancakes and rushes to wake up and get ready.

“Tim?” she questions as she enters the living area.

“He’s here as my friend and he’s going to be nice to you. Right, Tim?” you ask.

“Right. We’re celebrating your short sleeves. Yay!” Tim cheers sarcastically.

“You’re the one who kept me in long sleeves,” Lucy accuses.

“He threatened to make me clean the latrines the first time we met,” you say. “I think it’s part of his charm.”

“Sure,” Lucy agrees, unconvinced. “Confetti pancakes are for very good news.”

“You did something amazing, Lucy. You’ve got your dream job and you’re moving up; that deserves celebration,” you point out.

“And…”

“And,” you begin. “I’m staying in the states. I am now working in domestic investigations.”

“You’re an MP?” Tim asks as Lucy jumps to hug you and shouts, “Yes!”

“I am,” you tell Tim. “Have been for a few years now. I was working overseas, traveling constantly, so when a domestic position opened, I jumped at it.”

“The sisters are back!” Lucy cheers. “This definitely deserves pancakes.”

“Told you,” you tease her.

“Would you have said yes if you weren’t staying?” Tim inquires as you slide a pancake toward him.

“Yes to what?” Lucy asks around her fork.

“To being friends,” Tim rushes to explain. “Not a date or anything.”

“I would have told you that I wasn’t staying long, but we could’ve been friends from anywhere, Tim,” you say.

“But you would not have gotten the weekly phone call,” Lucy adds. “That was mine.”

“No more weekly phone calls now. The furthest I’ll go is DC and it’ll only be for a few days at a time. Now I just have to get a place to live.”

“Live here with me!” Lucy suggests excitedly. “I have a spare room.”

You look at Tim, and he shrugs. “I’ve never had a friend live close by, don’t look at me.”

“Oh, I have so much to teach you,” you muse.

“Which you can do from here,” Lucy points out.

A Manly Guard Dog

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader

Summary: You've been asking your husband for a dachshund, but he tells you that you need a manly dog. When the K9 unit gets a new recruit, Tim reevaluates his view of dachshunds.

Warnings: teasing/banter, pure fluff

Word Count: 1.2k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Tim?” you whisper over your dimmed phone screen. “Are you asleep?”

“That depends,” your husband Tim answers. “Why?”

“Look at this.”

“I’m asleep.”

You roll your eyes at his poor attempt to avoid talking to you, even though it is the middle of the night and he has to be at the station in the morning. Despite feeling bad for waking him up, you know he’s awake and need to ask him something important.

“Tim, it hurts,” you add.

“What hurts?” he asks as he sits up quickly. After he pushes up onto his hands, Tim leans toward you and reaches over you to turn on the lamp on your nightstand.

“Look,” you repeat, extending your phone toward Tim so he can see the dog on the screen. “It hurts because I don’t have one of my own.”

“A dachshund? We’re back to this again?” Tim asks incredulously.

“Tim, I want a dog.” Your words are emphasized by your pout, but Tim only grunts as he turns the light off and lies down again.

“If we ever get a dog - big if,” Tim murmurs, “it has to be a manly dog. One that can protect you when I’m not here.”

“We can train a dachshund to be a guard dog,” you argue. “They’re vigilant, loyal, vocal, and easy to train. Tim, it would be perfect and so cute!”

Tim tosses an arm over your waist and kisses your temple before he responds, “Go to sleep.”

As you move closer to him to do just that, he whispers, “I love you, but we’re not getting a wiener dog.”

“Tim, Tim, Tim!” Lucy calls as Tim exits the locker room the following morning. “Oh, you’re not going to believe this.”

“Then don’t tell me,” Tim deadpans.

“So, there’s a new K9, right?” Lucy begins as they walk toward the bullpen.

“And you’re telling me.”

“The trainer brought Officer Fuzz over. Cutest name ever, I know. But when we heard that they were working with a new breed we thought it would be a husky or something. It’s not. It’s so much better. Guess what it is, Tim!”

Tim stops in the middle of the bullpen. A crowd of officers surrounds the K9 trainer, and between two cops, Tim can barely make out the shape of…

“A dachshund?” Tim asks loudly.

“Yes!” Lucy cheers. “Isn’t it awesome?!”

“I can’t believe this.”

“C’mon,” Lucy urges, pulling Tim along by his arm. “Meet Officer Fuzz.”

Tim squats to pet the friendly dog and shakes his head at the tiny K9 vest he’s wearing.

“Nice to meet you, Fuzz,” Tim mumbles. “My wife’s never going to let me hear the end of this, pal.”

“Bradford,” Wade calls from the other side of the circle. “How would you like to take them out for a ride along?”

Tim stands as the trainer adds, “I’d love to join one of the best officers in the field to test Officer Fuzz’s progress.”

“Sure,” Tim answers through gritted teeth. “But are dachshunds really worth anything in a job like this?”

The trainer and Officer Fuzz follow Tim toward his shop, and Tim can’t help but watch the small dog walk happily through the station on his first day.

“If they’re trained right, they certainly can. They’re bred to hunt badgers by tracking scents and entering their burrows. A lot of those skills translate to police dog responsibilities. Basically, because of their intimidating bark, alertness, devotion, braveness and stubbornness - courtesy of their hunting instincts - they’re perfect. Fuzz here can scare a suspect or locate bombs, drugs, you name it.”

“Scare suspects until they see him, you mean,” Tim points out.

“Well, Bradford. Let’s test your theory.”

“LAPD!” Tim yells. “On the ground!”

Behind him, Officer Fuzz barks.

“Is that a dog?” the suspect attempting to steal a sports car asks. “Your car doesn’t say K9.”

“Show me your hands and drop to your knees!” Tim repeats. “Or I can call my K9 partner over here.”

The man seems to weigh his options, then drops his tool and raises his hands over his head.

“Scared of dogs?” Tim asks.

“Police dogs are crazy dangerous, man. Scared is smart, that’s what my-“

“I don’t care who said it,” Tim interjects before he begins reciting the Miranda rights.

When Tim opens the back door of his car, Officer Fuzz growls lowly before barking once.

“Whoa! I’m not sitting by that thing!”

“See the barrier? That’s for your safety, not ours,” Tim says. “Now get in.”

At lunch, Tim pulls his phone from his pocket and begins to type. He hesitates, however, and looks away before he can finish the search.

“Chen!” he calls, waving for Lucy to join him. “Where can I adopt a dachshund?”

Lucy’s eyes widen in excitement before she asks, “You’re getting a dog?!”

“I’m getting my wife a dog.”

“Because of Officer Fuzz,” Lucy states (not asks).

“No,” Tim defends. “No, I just… Dachshunds are a good option for family pets and protection.”

“Which you know because of Officer-“

“Fine, yes,” Tim admits quickly. “Do you know where I can adopt one or not?”

“Maybe you should ask the K9 trainers,” Lucy suggests. “They’ll know where to get a good one.”

“Thanks, Lucy.”

“Sure thing.” Lucy stands to return to her partner, but not before she says, “And I’m glad you’re finally listening to your wife.”

“No, quiet,” Tim commands. “Good. Now, sit.”

“Tim?” you call from the front door.

“Uh, one second!” Tim calls.

He sounds frazzled, and you walk toward his voice before you stop. Tim is whispering to someone, but you can’t make out what he’s saying before the bedroom door opens.

“Hi,” you greet. “Are you okay?”

“You’re home early,” he replies, gripping the doorknob tightly.

You glance at the time on your phone and say, “No, I’m not.”

Tim’s brows furrow as he looks at his watch. He nods, then laughs and locks eyes with you.

“Am I interrupting something?” you ask.

“No, well, yes, but no.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Tim sighs and reaches toward you. You don’t hesitate to step forward and lay your hand on his. With his hand wrapped around yours, Tim leads you into the bedroom, and inside, a brown blur races toward you.

“Tim!” you exclaim as the long-haired dachshund puts its front paws on your leg and wags its tail happily. “A dachshund!”

“Canis lupus familiarias. The K9 trainer that helped me out told me all about them,” he explains.

“Is he…” You trail off, unprepared to hear a negative answer.

“He’s ours,” Tim answers happily. “He’s already been obedience trained and I’m going to work with him to create the smallest but mightiest guard dog you’ve ever seen.”

You pull the dog into your arms and hug him kindly before you lean against Tim’s chest.

“Thank you,” you whisper, looking into Tim’s eyes.

“Sorry I said no for so long.”

“What changed your mind?”

Tim doesn’t answer, and you turn your attention to your new pet, or guard dog as Tim introduced him to you.

“Was it Lucy? I bet it was Lucy,” you whisper to the dog.

“It was Officer Fuzz,” Tim grumbles, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

“Officer who?”

“New K9 who I’m sure you’ll meet next time you visit the station.”

“I love you.”

Tim kisses your head before he asks, “Wait, me or the dog?”

Choose a Side

The Bradfords Series Masterlist (4/?)

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!cop!reader

Summary: Lucy asks for your opinion on a date, not expecting you to take sides. You do choose a side, but not the one she thinks.

Warnings: fluff, banter, grumpy!Tim

Word Count: 1.3k+ words

A/N: There are two random references in this (an Eric Winter movie and a previous Tim fic). Which is completely irrelevant. Enjoy.

The station is quiet when you walk through, but you know better than to get comfortable in the calm moment. It’s not superstition for you, just that you know the people you work with, and even if there aren’t many calls, it still won’t stay quiet for long.

“Hey!” Lucy calls behind you.

You smile at her interruption and stop walking so she can catch up to you. As she approaches, you notice that she’s looking over your shoulder.

“Is Tim with you?” she asks.

“No,” you answer, “he’s helping Angela with a case. Do you need him?”

“What I need is a second opinion and I do not want his.”

“Okay,” you drawl. “What’s up?”

“So, I’m going on a date tonight.”

“Please don’t say it’s with a cop,” you murmur.

“With a firefighter.” Lucy stops and tilts her head to ask, “Is it really that bad to be with another cop?”

You raise your hand to her arm and smile. “Lucy, I’m kidding. Tell me more.”

“His name is Alex. He’s been a firefighter for a few years since he got out of the Army. We actually met while playing tug-of-war and he was super flirty, but apparently he actually likes me!”

You ignore the odd way they met and choose to say, “Don’t sound so surprised he’s interested. When’s the date?”

“What date?”

You and Lucy look up together, wide-eyed at the sight of Tim approaching. He furrows his brows and keeps his eyes on you rather than looking at Lucy.

“I’m cheating on you?” you try.

“What date?” Tim repeats, completely ignoring your attempt to remove suspicion from Lucy.

“I have a date,” Lucy admits, “with a former soldier who is now a firefighter.”

“Killer turned arsonist. Way to pick them, Chen.”

“You were a soldier,” you point out.

Tim turns his chin toward you long enough to argue, “And you used to be nice to me.”

“Tim," you warn.

“Didn’t your last boyfriend leave you so heartbroken you bought jewelry from the evidence room?” Tim asks.

“I bought that because I like it,” Lucy defends, crossing her arms across her chest. “This is different.”

“Which station does he work at?” Tim inquires.

“Does that matter?”

“Yes,” you answer, with Tim. You frown as you add, “Sorry.”

“29,” Lucy says quietly. She raises her voice and glares at Tim to challenge, “Do you want his shoe size and social security number as well?”

“Lucy, some of the stations are known for having firefighters that are terrible people. Trust me, I’ve met more than my fair share on calls,” you explain. “Tim’s just trying to look out for you on that one.”

“Oh, so you’re taking his side. That’s great!”

“Lucy,” you reply with a laugh. “29 is a good station, right down the road, so we would know if it wasn’t. They’re good people.”

“As good as firefighters can be, you mean,” Tim adds. “What’s his last name?”

“Tim,” you chide. “That’s none of your business.”

“There can’t be that many guys named Alex at station 29.”

Tim pulls his phone from his pocket, and you snatch it out of his hand.

“If you call Nell to ask about him, I will take Kojo and Lucy to the station on my lunch break to hang out with firefighters.”

Tim shakes his head before he turns to face Lucy.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working instead of talking about date night outfits?” he asks.

“Oh, outfits!” Lucy exclaims. “We didn’t get that far!”

“Nope,” Tim interrupts. “Get to the shop, we’re going on patrol.”

“But I never got a second opinion.” Lucy pouts as she looks toward you, and you smile.

“Lucy, it sounds like you and Alex get along really well. You should go, have fun, and just see where the relationship may be able to go.”

“Thanks, Mom,” Lucy says, raising her arms to hug you.

“Boot,” Tim barks when the hug lasts for a second too long. “Shop.”

“He’s so grumpy today,” Lucy whispers in your ear as she pulls back.

Tim nods at you before he turns to follow Lucy to the garage. You look down at his phone in your hand and smile. He’ll realize before he leaves and come back for it, and this time, you will let him know that you really did pick a side.

“I need that,” Tim says as he returns.

You tuck his phone behind your back and use your other hand to grip the collar of Tim’s uniform and pull him closer. Face-to-face, you look into his eyes before you speak.

“Don’t look into him,” you demand.

Tim’s brows pinch before he asks, “What do you mean?”

“Tim Bradford, if you start a fire just to meet Lucy’s date, it will look like you care about her. A lot.”

Tim clears his throat softly, then nods once. “Can I go now?”

“Sure,” you agree, smiling as you release his collar and step back. “But she’ll tell me if you interrogate her in the car.”

“Why does it matter who my boot dates or when?” Tim inquires as he straightens his shirt.

“I don’t know, Tim. Why does it?”

Tim grumbles as he takes his phone from your hand.

“I love you,” you call after him.

“Not as much as Alex, apparently.”

“This is by far the most illegal but sweet thing you’ve ever done,” you tell Tim. “Pretzels?”

“It’s not illegal,” Tim argues, extending his hand for a snack. “We’re just enjoying a date night. What’s wrong with that?”

“The fact that we’re not just enjoying a date night. Tim, you’re watching someone else’s date.”

“You can’t say you’re not interested.”

“I can,” you argue, lifting your phone. “I’m watching a cheesy romcom about a widower who owns a restaurant and coaches little league but falls in love with the woman who wants to buy him out.”

“Riveting,” Tim mumbles, turning back toward the restaurant. “Where’d she go?”

The back door behind you opens before Lucy slides into the car. You offer the bag of convenience store snacks over your shoulder, and she accepts it to look for her favorite candy. Which, of course, you bought for her. Uncomfortable with Lucy's presence, Tim shifts as you pause your movie and remove the earbud you’d been using to listen to it.

“How was the date?” Tim asks.

“You tell me, it seems like you saw just as much as I did,” Lucy responds.

“Sorry, Lucy,” you interject.

“It’s okay. I mean, if he was a serial killer or something, I’d be glad you’re here.”

“That’s what I said,” Tim defends.

“But he wasn’t.”

“Told you,” you tell Tim. “She can take care of herself. Besides, Alex is a sweetheart.”

“You’ve met him?!” Tim asks loudly.

You nod and take a bite of your snack before you explain, “On a call this afternoon. Nell attached me to it.”

“Oh, so I can’t call Nell, but you can?”

“I asked her to watch for an opportunity,” Lucy says.

Tim shakes his head and throws his hands up. “I give up. Lucy, do you want a ride home?”

“Your home or mine?”

“You’re not spending the night.”

You chuckle in the passenger seat at their bickering. Tim doesn’t look at you this time, too focused on the road as he pulls out.

“How was it?” you ask Lucy.

“It was really good. We’re going out again.”

“When?” Tim asks.

“Don’t answer that, Lucy,” you suggest. “We can talk tomorrow.”

“Right,” Tim scoffs. “And she was worried about you picking sides.”

“You know, you could just say it,” Lucy tells Tim, leaning toward his seat.

“Say what?”

“I love you. Trust me, you tell me once and you’d feel so free. I love you. That’s all it takes, Dad.”

“The guy in your movie didn’t have to deal with this,” Tim mumbles.

“He actually did have a kid,” you say as he approaches a stop sign.

“Wait, what movie?” Lucy asks excitedly.

As you begin explaining the plot to Lucy, Tim shakes his head. You know he cares, and when you get home and kiss him, maybe he’ll reconsider simply admitting it.

A Daughter Who's a Boot

The Bradfords Series Masterlist (3/?)

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!cop!reader

Summary: Tim interrupts your dinner date with Lucy with a cryptic call that leaves you concerned. Lucy stays beside you and you remind Tim that she's important to both of you (and that he cares about her, even if he won't admit it).

Warnings: mention/depiction of domestic terrorism, banter, fluff!

Word Count: 1.6k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Your phone buzzes with a text from Tim while you watch for Lucy. Tonight’s dinner date with Lucy has been planned for weeks, but Tim seemed reluctant to let you go. Whether his sudden borderline clinginess was because you’re spending time with Lucy instead of him or something more, you’re unsure. Regardless of the reason he’s texting, you promise to let him know when you’re on your way home and encourage him to enjoy his time alone. Since you married Tim, he’s grown used to you being around, but you thought he would enjoy a night to himself. It seems you were wrong.

The restaurant door opens again while you place your phone back in your bag. You look up quickly and wave to Lucy, whose smile grows as she rushes to your table.

“I ordered your favorite drink,” you say as she sits across the table.

“Thanks, Mom!” she replies, still smiling.

“Someone is going to think you’re serious and have some intense judgements about me,” you scold playfully.

“How was your day?” Lucy asks, ignoring your faux protest.

“It was pretty good. I’m more interested in how yours was.”

“Busy, but fine. I’ve been counting down the seconds to this dinner, though.”

“We should do it more often.”

“Like your husband would allow that,” Lucy scoffs. “He’s so jealous of me and how much time we spend together.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Tim cares about Lucy just as much as you do, but he has a very different way of showing it. Lucy knows that, but she enjoys teasing him and trying to get under his skin. After the waiter approaches and takes your order, he turns to Lucy. Your phone lights up in your bag, and you politely excuse yourself before you look down to check it. There’s a missed call from Tim that went to voicemail less than a minute ago.

“Tim?” Lucy guesses as the waiter leaves.

“Yeah,” you say, furrowing your brows. “He knows we’re busy.”

Your phone rings again, and this time you answer it immediately.

“Tim?” you ask as the call connects.

“I need you to come home. Now,” Tim says before your phone beeps.

You pull the phone away from your ear, and when a text comes through from Angela, you know Tim is serious.

“I have to go, Lucy. I’m so sorry,” you explain as you gather your things.

“I’m coming with you,” Lucy offers.

“No, Luce-“

“You’re rattled, and now I’m worried too. So, I’m coming with you.”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s go.”

You leave some cash on the table for your waiter and tell the hostess there’s an emergency as you rush past the greeting stand. Your mind races with what could be this urgent, but you resolve to remain calm and composed as you race to get home.

Lucy walks into your home behind you and nearly runs into you when you stop suddenly. She peeks over your shoulder and sees a map covering your dining table. Tim and Angela are leaning over it, marking seemingly random locations with bright red dots.

Tim looks up, and when he sees Lucy, he tells you, “I told you to come home, not Lucy.”

Lucy opens her mouth to apologize, but you speak before she can.

“Tim, you said to get home and then hung up on me. You should know that she wouldn’t let me leave alone after that. She’s worried, too, so either we both stay, or we both go,” you respond.

Angela gives Tim a that’s your wife look before he sighs and steps toward you. When Tim lifts his arms, you willingly move toward him and let him wrap you in a hug. He apologizes against your shoulder as he rubs a warm hand along your spine.

“So,” you begin as you step out of the hug. “What was the cryptic call about?”

“Interesting question,” Angela muses. “We have enough reason to believe someone is planning a huge attack on downtown LA. Like, they want to level it huge. But we don’t actually have enough evidence to get the FBI involved or do anything about it.”

“Not yet,” Tim adds, glancing at you.

“Of course,” you agree without being asked. “Tell me what to do.”

“Us,” Lucy corrects, stepping to your side. “Tell us what to do.”

“The locations marked in red have the most foot traffic, we think those would be easy targets because no one would be able to see anything,” Tim explains.

“But that doesn’t take into account rooftops, abandoned buildings, flight paths, anything that wouldn’t rely on a diversion,” you deduce.

“Right,” Angela agrees. “But we have a notebook in evidence with some details. Techs are trying to piece it together but they’re not making any progress.”

“Do you have pictures of the notes?” Lucy asks.

“Of course we do, boot. We’re not incompetent, just behind,” Tim answers as he passes a tablet to Lucy.

“Thanks, Dad,” she replies as she scrolls through the pictures.

“Hey, Angela,” you call, ignoring Lucy and Tim bickering behind you. “Can you pass me that stool?”

She nods and brings a stool from your kitchen island to your side. You position it beside the table before you climb to stand atop it.

“Don’t-“ Tim begins, but you’re already up. He sighs as he walks past Lucy and places a hand on the back of your thigh to keep you steady.

You rise to your tiptoes, aware of Tim’s hand pressing against your leg to reassure himself just as much as you, and snap a picture of the map from above. Tim takes your hand as you jump down and examine the angle you photographed.

“Am I seeing things or do the red marks spell something?” you ask, passing your phone to Angela.

You squeeze Tim’s hand, which is still wrapped around yours.

“I can see two letters,” Angela cheers. “D, something, T.”

“A dot,” Lucy fills in, zooming in on a scanned page from the notebook. “It’s marked on a map, looks like 100 Main Street… is that a real address?”

“It’s not a dot, it’s DOT!” you exclaim. “Department of Transportation, D-O-T. Caltrans has a headquarters on South Main, downtown.”

“It wasn’t going to start multi-target,” Tim realizes.

“If they can hit Caltrans, they can take out more than downtown, they can take out all of Los Angeles,” Angela adds.

“I thought traffic was bad now,” you murmur as you join Lucy’s side to view the mastermind’s notes.

“I’m going to alert Caltrans, LADOT, DHS, and anyone else I can get in touch with,” Angela says as she picks up her phone. “Thank you so much for your help. Sorry, I ruined dinner.”

“Tim ruined dinner,” Lucy corrects.

“I’m okay with shifting the blame to him. I’ll see all of you at work.”

“Bye, Ange,” you call after her. You tilt your head to look at Tim while Lucy continues scrolling through evidence pictures.

“What?” Tim asks.

“Seriously?!” you ask incredulously. “You scared me. Calling twice in a row, telling me to get home, and then hanging up on me is not okay.”

Tim nods, seeing just how upset you still are. All because he worried you. The last time you were stressed because of someone close to you was when Lucy accidentally lured a former convict to her apartment. Now, it’s completely Tim’s fault that you feel this way, and he knows he could have gone about it differently. Tim pulls you into his arms and apologizes again before promising never to worry you like that again. It’s not necessarily a promise he can keep, but you know he’ll try. You nod against his chest and wrap your arms tighter around his waist.

“Hey, maybe I’m worried about you too, Dad,” Lucy interrupts. “Can I get in on the hug?”

“No,” Tim answers shortly. “But thank you for coming.”

“No problem.” Lucy smiles at you and says, “Goodnight, Mom. Call if you need a break from him.”

“Goodnight, Lucy. Thanks for everything,” you reply. You release Tim to hug Lucy before she leaves.

When she returns the hug, Lucy whispers, “Is Tim a good hugger?”

“No,” you lie quietly. “He’s the worst.”

“I knew it.”

Lucy leaves, and when your front door closes behind her, you turn to Tim, but he shakes his head and steps back.

“If I’m such a bad hugger, you can live without another one,” he says.

“We may fight all the time, but you need me, Bradford,” you reply.

Tim stares into your eyes before he pulls you roughly into his arms and kisses your forehead.

“Hey, since you interrupted my dinner with Lucy, I’m crashing your breakfast with her next week,” you threaten lightly.

“I’m ditching her,” Tim replies. “Breakfast with you sounds a whole lot better.”

“She’s our daughter, Tim, you’re gonna have to learn to get along with her eventually.”

Tim pulls back and cups your face before he explains, “She’s a boot, not a daughter. Keep that straight.”

“Sure,” you agree. “Just remember that next time she’s in danger and you call me panicking.”

Tim releases you and steps back dramatically as he accuses, “Traitor. Kojo, let’s go somewhere we’re appreciated.”

Hearing his name, Kojo trots into the room with you and sits beside your feet. He looks up at you and wiggles happily as you reach down to pet him.

“You’re outnumbered, Bradford,” you remind Tim. “And you love us.”

Tim returns to your side and distracts you from Kojo as he kisses you. “I do love you,” he says against your lips. “Remember that.”

Mom and Dad Are Still Fighting

Part 2 of The Bradfords

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!wife!reader

Summary: After a long night, you're grateful for Lucy and all she does for you. You continue protecting her from Tim's attitude, even though you're lying to them.

Warnings: mostly fluff, brief angst, threats and robbery. typical rookie stuff.

Word Count: 1.4k+ words

A/N: I love this dynamic!! Two Bradfords caring about Lucy in their own ways is so fun to write (and being married to Tim is a dream by itself). I will continue abusing Chenford gifs for this storyline lol.

“Good morning, Mom,” Lucy calls as she enters the bullpen. 

She passes you a cup of your favorite drink, and you look at Tim quickly. He tilts his chin to the side, and you nod once. You’ve been talking without speaking for years, and you’re more grateful than ever for your silent language.

“Thank you so much, Lucy,” you say.

You pull her into a hug that lasts longer than usual. She couldn’t know that you had a long night and needed this today: the drink and the hug. Hence, your shared ‘did you tell her?’ ‘no, she just cares’ look shared with Tim.

“Where’s mine?” Tim inquires with his brows raised.

“I, uh, I didn’t know your order,” Lucy says carefully. “Sorry.”

Angela calls for you, and you thank Lucy again as you walk away. Tim watches you go; he knows you aren’t feeling great and appreciates Lucy’s care on your behalf.

“Thanks, Chen,” he says.

“For what? I didn’t get you anything.”

“You should know that caring about her is the same as caring about me. At least as far as I’m concerned,” he answers. “Now get ready.”

Your long night catches up to you quickly. By your mid-morning break, you’re feeling tired and stressed. The worst part of what you’re feeling is that you haven’t told anyone why you’re feeling it. Tim stayed up with you most of the night and held you to comfort you, and while you appreciate it, it only upsets you more because he did it without asking why you needed it.

“7-Adam-19 requesting backup,” Chen calls over the radio. “11351; suspect in possession of heroin and oxycodone.”

“Dispatch, attach me to 7-Adam-19’s backup call,” you request.

You drive to the address dispatch provided and hope your day improves after seeing Tim again. When you arrive, the suspect is cuffed and in the back of Tim’s shop as they search his car for other drugs.

“Hey,” you call as you exit your car. “What do you need?”

Tim looks at you as Lucy says, “Suspect escort and search assistance.”

“I can do either. Let me know what you want me to do,” you offer.

“Suspect escort, please,” Tim answers. He tips his head to the side, and you walk to the sidewalk with him.

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

“Yeah. So, you just want me to get him to booking?” you reply, brushing off Tim's concern.

“Please. Will you tell me if you stop being okay?”

“Yes, Tim. I’ll, uh, I’ll see you at lunch.”

You turn away from Tim and move the driver in custody into your shop to take him back to the station. Tim and Lucy abandon their search to watch you leave.

“Is she alright?” Lucy asks.

You turn a corner, disappearing from Tim’s view, and his jaw tightens. He couldn’t get an answer from you, and now Lucy thinks he knows everything in your head. Tim refuses to show worry, so he lets his concern come out as anger and annoyance.

“That is not your business or an appropriate topic to discuss while we are on duty, Chen. Focus,” he replies.

Lucy nods and returns to the search of the car, but she’s beginning to feel just as stressed as you and Tim. You all care about each other and moving around in circles like this won’t help.

“Goodnight, Luce,” you call as you walk beside Tim to go home.

“Hey, do you want to go to dinner with me on Friday?” she asks. “Just to catch up, hang out?”

“Yeah, that sounds fun,” you answer with a smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Tim grumbles beside you, and you’re convinced it’s because he didn’t get an invite.

“We’ll have breakfast Saturday,” you promise him.

Lucy laughs behind you, and you wave over your shoulder as Tim spreads his hand across your back and leads you toward his truck. You know he’ll hold you close again all night, even if you don’t ask, because he comforts you without pushing you. When or if you want to talk about it, he’s ready to listen, but he knows what it is like to need room, and he’d never take that from you or force you to tell him anything before you’re ready. He’s amazing, and you wish you could share what is bothering you, but you can’t put any more people in danger.

When dispatch alerts you to a call in your area, you accept it, hoping to get your mind off everything. The officer reads Lucy’s apartment building address, and your stomach drops. You tell dispatch to attach Bradford and Chen to the call before hitting your lights and sirens to get there as fast as possible.

The apartment building, for the most part, has been ransacked. Doors are broken, windows broken and locks picked, and residents’ belongings are strewn through the halls, but nothing appears to be missing. Tim and Lucy arrive a few minutes after you do and meet you on Lucy’s floor. Her apartment is trashed, but she can’t see where anything has been stolen.

You lead Tim through the other side of her apartment before stopping suddenly.

“Tim,” you whisper. “Someone called me a few nights ago… They threatened to do something to Lucy, and I think this was it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

He looks over your shoulder to ensure no one is listening before giving you his complete attention.

“Wade knew, but he said that you and Lucy shouldn’t know because the threat was vague, and it would just put you on edge.”

“That should have been my decision!”

“Tim, I’m sorry.”

Tim’s eyes soften before he nods. “Is that what you’ve been so upset about? You were worried about Chen?”

“Yes,” you admit softly. “But this looks planned, intentional. They only went into certain apartments, and the stuff thrown everywhere was an afterthought.”

“Someone was looking for something,” Tim agrees.

“But what?”

Tim looks around before yelling, “Chen! Get in here!”

“Yes, sir?” she asks as she enters.

“What do you have in here that someone would be so desperate to get?” he asks.

“I don’t-“

“Don’t tell me that you don’t know. Think about it, Lucy. What would someone risk their freedom, their life for, and do this kind of damage to hide?”

Lucy taps her fingers against her thigh as she thinks. Your surprise phone call didn't provide information about what they wanted, so you stay quiet.

“Well?” Tim pushes.

“Give her a second to think,” you scold. “She didn’t ask for this, she’s not the criminal. Be nice.”

Tim clenches his jaw. In his mind, she may as well be the criminal. She led someone to her apartment, to you, and you’ve been worried because of her. His annoyance and need for answers is justified.

“Wait, I got a necklace at a police auction!” she says suddenly.

“You bought jewelry at a police auction?” Tim asks. “Last boyfriend really that cheap?”

You elbow Tim and shake your head. “Leave her alone.”

“Who buys a single necklace at a police auction?” he argues. “A car, a trailer, sure. But one necklace?”

“It was expensive,” Lucy defends.

“Which means whoever wants it is probably the one responsible for the police having it,” you deduce. “I’m going to go help them search the upper floors. Tim, be nice. Lucy, look for the necklace, please.”

You walk into the stairwell and find yourself face-to-face with a Humphrey Bogart wannabe in a ski mask. It takes less than thirty seconds to get the cuffs on him, and based on his surprise, he thought he had already outsmarted the cops with the widespread burglary distraction.

After you pass him off to another officer, you return to Lucy’s apartment and let them know he’s in custody.

“Bradford, why does my suspect have a black eye?” Wade asks over the radio.

“He threatened Lucy,” you answer quickly. “But, who knows, maybe he already had that. He was wearing a ski mask, after all.”

“You hit him for threatening your puppy, station kid, whatever you call her?” Tim asks with his brows raised.

“Thanks, Mom,” Lucy calls from her bedroom.

“We’re leaving,” Tim announces. “Good luck finding your criminal necklace.”

“It’s pretty!” Lucy yells as you walk out.

“I need a nap now,” you tell Tim.

He nods and says, “I always need one after working with Chen.”

Mom and Dad are Fighting Again

Requested Here!

The Bradfords Series Masterlist

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!wife!reader

Summary: You and Tim become Lucy's station parents, and you show your care for her in different ways.

Warnings: fluff, brief angst, grumpy!Tim to softie!Tim, "mom and dad are fighting again" is a Castle reference

Word Count: 2.5k+ words

“Bradford!” Wade calls.

“Which one?” you and Tim ask together.

Wade sighs, and Angela adds, “He’s tired just thinking about the conversation. That means he needs Tim.”

“Tim,” Wade clarifies. “Let the other Bradford help Chen prep the shop. I need to talk to you about something.”

“Ooh,” Angela and Lucy taunt.

You roll your eyes, but it is a bit like being called into the principal’s office. Luckily, Tim and Wade get along well. You tap Lucy’s shoulder and wave for her to follow you. After you sign for your gear, Lucy gets hers and Tim’s. Once you’re in the garage and your bag is in your shop, Lucy turns to you with a pout.

“If a Bradford had to be my TO, why couldn’t it have been you?” she asks.

“Tim is the best there is, Luce. I know he can be grumpy and push a little too hard, but I promise learning from him is worth it,” you reply.

“At least I have you to stand up for me.”

“Ah, so that’s why you wanted to be my friend.”

“We’re cops, not friends,” Tim interjects as he walks out of the doorway behind you. “Let’s go, boot.”

“We’re not friends,” Lucy murmurs under her breath. “Says the guy who’s married to another cop.”

“What was that?” Tim asks.

“Tim,” you warn gently.

You shake your head, and he takes a deep breath before getting in the driver’s seat. As you climb into your shop beside him, Lucy rolls her window down and gestures for you to do the same.

“Dad says he loves you,” she says with a wide smile.

“Chen!” Tim yells.

“I love him too. Be safe, both of you,” you call before pulling out.

“We need to talk about boundaries, Chen,” Tim grumbles.

“Better than not talking,” she argues.

Tim leans against the side of the shop and stares straight ahead. It’s an interesting situation, but no matter how long he looks, he can’t decide what the best approach is. Lucy has spouted numerous ideas, and he’s vetoed each one.

“We could call for a lift truck,” she suggests as she paces on the sidewalk.

“Can’t get close enough,” Tim replies.

“Then you know what we have to do.”

Tim looks at Lucy, who now has her hands on her hips and a determined look.

“We have to call smarter reinforcements. Call Bradford,” she demands.

“I’m not calling my wife because we can’t- how could she even help?”

“She’s brilliant. You of all people have to know that.”

“Sounds like you should be running her fan club,” Tim complains.

“Having a hero isn’t wrong. If you don’t call her, I will.”

“And I’ll write you up.”

Lucy sighs and turns to look at the scene again. Tim runs through a few more ideas in his mind, but they all end in a worse situation than the current one. He sighs as he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

“Hey,” he greets when you answer.

Lucy turns around quickly and claps quietly. Tim glares at her, but her excitement doesn’t diminish as he continues talking to you.

“Are you busy?” he asks.

“Just tell her we need help!” Lucy implores.

“Yeah, that’s Chen. And we do need help.”

Lucy pumps a fist over her head in victory. When Tim ends the call, though, she steps back and quiets.

A few minutes later, you park beside Tim’s shop and exit your car with a smile.

“Someone called for the cavalry?” you joke. “So, what’s so strange Tim Bradford had to call for backup?”

Tim doesn’t answer but grabs your waist and leads you to stand between him and Lucy. He points up through a gap in the trees and you follow his finger. Your responding “huh” does little to make Tim think you’ll have an easier time solving the problem.

“What am I supposed to do about it?” you ask.

Tim turns to glare at Lucy again, and she ducks behind you. You look at Tim from the corner of your eye and he accepts your silent reprimand and gives Lucy some space.

“Did you try to get up there?” you ask.

“No. There’s no good approach,” Tim answers.

“I thought we could climb onto the roof beside it for recon and find a way to reach it,” Lucy says. “Or maybe get a ladder truck in the yard.”

“Roof recon isn’t a terrible idea,” you agree. “Why didn’t you do that?”

“Because I don’t agree that it would get us any more information than we can get from the ground,” Tim explains.

“We can’t get to it from here, though,” Lucy argues. “This park is protected, and we can’t bring CSU out here to traipse all over it. That house is our best bet.”

“Chen, you are not in charge,” Tim snaps.

“Tim,” you warn softly. “Just hear her out.”

“She’s my rookie. I don’t have to do anything she says.”

“I’m not saying to do exactly what she says, but you’re training her, not dictating her. Give her a chance to work this.”

Tim clenches his jaw and breathes out of his nose. The situation is stressful, you know, because every element of being a cop is. But Tim arguing with Lucy will only delay the inevitable.

“Please?” you add. “If her plan to scout from the roof doesn’t work, then I will call the park service and tell them to deal with it.”

“We don’t even know who owns that house.”

“One way to find out,” Lucy says.

You let Lucy take the lead and stand beside Tim on the porch as she talks to the owner of the home. He doesn’t seem inclined to let three police officers climb onto his roof to deal with something that he can’t see.

“I’m done talkin’ to ya,” he says before slamming the door in Lucy’s face. It opens a moment later and he adds, “One more thing.”

You can tell he’s prepared to do something stupid and pull Lucy back quickly. His fist misses her face by an inch, and you move her toward Tim before turning toward the homeowner. His second hit is luckier and lands against the side of your nose, but he’s not trained like you are. When you hit him in the same spot, he goes down hard and fast. You raise your hand to your face and immediately feel blood coming from your nose. There’s likely no real damage, just a busted blood vessel or two.

Lucy begins apologizing as Tim calls for backup and another unit to deal with the issue in the park. He returns his radio to his belt and lays his hands on your shoulders to look at you.

“We’re going back to the shop. Stay with him until backup gets here, Chen,” he commands.

“Yes, sir,” she answers quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Lucy,” you offer.

“We’ll discuss that later,” Tim interjects. “Let’s go.”

Tim keeps a hand on you during every step of the short walk back to the shop. He presses a wad of gauze under your nose and uses his other hand to tip your head slightly forward. When the top of your head hits his chest, you feel him sigh.

“What would you have done? If Chen wasn’t here?” he asks.

“I don’t know, Tim. A huge, gaudy murder confession nailed to a tree in a park is a new one. Park department wouldn’t have been much help, so it may have been one to pass off. Or trespass.”

Tim looks away from you when Lucy returns. You cover his hand to pull the gauze from your face, and when you see there’s no fresh blood, you pull an antiseptic wipe from the first aid kit and clean the dried blood from your chin and Tim’s hand. Lucy waits silently, and now she looks like the one waiting to be called to see the principal.

“What were you thinking?” Tim demands when you release his hand. “You never just stand in front of someone’s door. If we hadn’t been there, or if he had opened the door with a knife, what would have happened, Chen?”

“It won’t happen again, sir.”

“You’re right it won’t! I don’t know why you refuse to listen to me or remember basic, common procedures, but it will get you killed, and I’m not going to let that happen. I will take your badge if this is the kind of police work you’ll do once you’re out on your own!”

“Tim!” you interrupt. “She messed up. We all have. Maybe let her prove that she learned something before you threaten her career.”

“No! I don’t want her on the streets alone. I don’t want to imagine what I’d hear if she was partnered with you someday.”

“Drop it,” you demand as you stand.

Your chest presses against Tim’s, and his eyes bore into yours. Lucy watches on with her hands pulled tightly behind her back and guilt in her eyes.

“Or what?” Tim asks.

“You’re making it about me. But you’re done yelling at Chen. Lucy, get in my shop, we’re all going back to the station.”

“For what?” Tim scoffs.

“To learn some human decency, apparently. And if you’re still acting like this when we get back, I’m taking Chen for the rest of the week.”

Tim watches you toss the keys to Lucy before she walks away. His brow furrows and you realize he thought you were leaving him to drive back with Lucy.

“You trust her to drive your shop?” he asks.

“What is this about?” you counter. “Because she was just in a bad place, which is the best that could have happened.”

“She doesn’t apply what she knows. Lucy is smart and she’s got instincts, but she gets excited and jumps too soon.”

“Then walk her through everything. Standing back and being a drill sergeant is only going to make her rush more.”

“When did you become an expert on being a TO?”

Tim smiles softly at you, and you pat his chest.

“Guess you’re teaching me, too.”

“Bradford,” Wade calls over the radio. “The guy you booked for assault on an officer is claiming that Chen harassed him. I need your body cams as soon as you return.”

Tim pulls the seatbelt too hard and locks it. You answer Wade that you’ll all be back with your cams shortly. After replacing the radio on the dash, you lay a hand on Tim’s arm and encourage him to take a deep breath.

“That’s not Lucy’s fault,” you remind Tim.

“It was her plan,” Tim responds.

“I agreed with it. Does that make me a terrible cop?”

“Of course it doesn’t, but this isn’t about you!”

“Then what’s it about?” you ask, your voice raising to meet his.

“I feel like I’m failing her and that’s why we keep ending up here!”

Tim huffs as he finishes, and you watch him carefully. His shoulders drop, and you want to hug him but know better than to try while he’s driving.

“You’re not failing her. But there is always room for improvement. Being a teacher doesn’t mean you can’t learn, too.”

“How do you trust her like this?”

“You said it yourself. She’s smart and has good instincts, but she needs a bit of room to learn and hone those skills without feeling pressured to be perfect.”

Tim nods, and you whisper an apology for yelling at him. He shakes his head, and you agree that he doesn’t need to apologize either.

When you exit Wade’s office after surrendering your body cam and making your statement, you hear Angela ask Lucy where you and Tim are. Or, as you’re referred to at the station, The Bradfords.

“Oh, Mom and Dad are fighting again,” Lucy jokes.

“About you?” Angela asks, playing along but aware that Lucy isn’t completely wrong in her phrasing.

“What else?” Lucy counters.

“Chen, a word?” Tim asks as he moves around you.

You watch as he apologizes, and smile to yourself. Angela winks at you as she passes, and you join Tim and Lucy.

“Wade said I could stay with you two for the rest of shift. What are we up to?”

“We still have to deal with the murder confession in the trees,” Tim groans. “Hey, Nolan, have you dealt with a murder confession yet?”

Nolan shakes his head, and Tim looks around for Bishop. When he sees that she’s not close, Tim steps into Wade’s office and asks him to transfer the call to Nolan.

“Thanks, Officer Bradford!” Nolan replies happily.

“No problem,” Tim says.

Lucy hides her smile as she walks beside you. Every moment spent with her requires a level of parenting, and though you’re relatively close in age, you and Tim feel responsible for Lucy. As more than a cop. You show it in your own ways, but she knows how much she means to you and Tim and feels the same.

During one of your very few days off, you want to surprise Tim with dinner. The recipe that you want has seemingly disappeared, though, and you’ll have to call Lucy to get it again. 

When her phone rings, and she answers, “Hey, Mom,” Tim shakes his head.

“No personal calls in my shop,” Tim says.

“You answer for her.”

Tim’s brows furrow until he realizes Lucy isn’t talking to her biological mom, but her station mom. He nods to let her know she can continue talking to you.

“Dad says hi,” she says, just to bother Tim.

“Dad says he needs a day off, too,” Tim grumbles.

“Don’t you dare answer that,” Tim says against your lips. “Date night, not LAPD night.”

“It’s Luce,” you argue as you reach for your phone.

Tim catches your wrist and brings it to his lips to distract you. Your phone rings again, though, and Tim’s chimes with an incoming text. He releases your arm hesitantly and pulls you so he can lay his head against your shoulder.

“Hi, Luce,” you answer.

“Put me on speaker!” she requests happily.

“Alright. Tim and I are both here.”

“I passed my rookie exam! I know you’re both off today, but Sergeant Grey knew we couldn’t wait to hear the results. Thank you, both of you, so much!”

“Congratulations!” you and Tim say together.

“We’ll celebrate when we get back,” you add.

“I knew you could do it,” Tim says. “Good job, Lucy.”

“Okay, okay, I need to call my mom and tell her that she was wrong. Enjoy the rest of your time off.”

The line beeps as she ends the call, and you and Tim lock eyes.

“She called us first, didn’t she?” you ask.

“We really are turning into her parents,” Tim says with an exaggerated shudder.

“You look pretty good for a dad,” you tease. “And you care about Lucy no matter how much you pretend not to.”

Tim looks at you for a moment before asking, “You know Lucy’s real parents set the bar low, right?”

“Let me have this. She’s my daughter and she’s no longer a boot.”

Tim groans, but before you can tease him again, he pulls you down to continue kissing you. Until your phone begins buzzing nonstop with excited texts from Lucy, at least.

Divorcing Dad

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader (they're parents!)

Summary: When your daughter asks Tim if he's getting a divorce, he doesn't know what to say. In the aftermath of the question, you have to comfort both Bradfords.

Warnings: mentions of divorce obv, fluff, crying, comfort, I changed the spelling of Capt. Andersen's last name for Tim's daughter

Word Count: 1.5k+ words (this was supposed to be a blurb lol)

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

Tim’s favorite day of the week is Friday. Not because it marks the end of a week or is the mostly agreed upon best day of the week, but because it’s the day that he gets off work early and gets to pick up your daughter from school. Since his promotion to Sergeant, Tim began leaving early one day a week to spend extra time with his daughter, who has him wrapped around his finger. She’s been a daddy’s girl since you gave birth. Still, whenever you see your favorite Bradfords together, you become more convinced that Tim Bradford didn’t truly understand love until he cradled you and your beautiful daughter in his arms. Although, you’re a bit jealous that she is Tim's spitting image. At least he’s gorgeous, you remind yourself often.

“Munchkin!” your daughter, Anderson, named for Tim’s late captain, yells as she exits her classroom.

Tim shakes his head as he pulls her into his arms and against his chest. A few weeks ago, she overheard you call Tim Munchkin while teasing him about playing princess dress-up, and she’s picked it up as well. Rather than remind her that he’s Dad, not Munchkin, Tim moves his hand to her side and tickles beneath her backpack strap.

“Dad, dad, stop!” she yells through her giggles.

Tim relents, smiling as he waves to her teacher and turns toward the parking area. As he walks, he listens to Anderson talk about her day. When she hesitates before talking about what she and her friend Marcie did at recess, Tim fights the urge to get protective.

“Did you play any games?” Tim asks as he places her in the booster seat.

“We played fairies!” she answers, perking up again to explain what her fairy looks like.

Tim nods along, but his mind drifts back to her sudden pause. He’ll wait for her to bring it up, he decides… or for you to get home.

“What do you want for dinner, my little fairy?” Tim asks as he looks in the pantry.

“Are you getting divorced?” Anderson asks, her voice soft behind him.

Tim freezes with his hand on a container of flour. He has no idea where she came up with the idea; he’s never said it, which means she must have heard it at school. Or, worse, he thinks suddenly, from you. Shocked, with his mind racing, Tim doesn’t realize that his silence has misled Anderson. When she begins crying, Tim turns quickly. He shakes his head, confused and desperate to know if you mentioned divorce around her, which only makes it worse. Anderson’s cries turn to sobs, so Tim lowers to his knees and pulls her close. She clings to his neck, crying against his shirt, and he can only rub her back.

“It’s okay, baby, it’s alright,” Tim whispers.

Anderson hiccups and shakes her head. “No!” she wails through her cries.

Tim shifts back, leaning against the cabinets as he pulls his knees up to hold Anderson as tightly as possible. Anderson needs time to calm down, so nothing Tim says now will help. Convinced that he can’t help his daughter, Tim is forced to return to the question of where she came up with the idea that you were getting divorced.

“We love you, Anderson,” Tim promises.

You stretch your neck to the side as you exit your car. As you walk toward your front door, you smile because it’s Friday. So, Tim and Anderson are already home, likely making dinner and messing up your kitchen. It’s the most family time you get all week, even with Tim’s new Sergeant schedule. The door is closed and locked, which is unusual. Usually, you’re greeted by Tim, your daughter, or both. Shrugging, you fish your keys out of your bag and let yourself into the house. Rather than the television, music, or laughing, you’re greeted by your daughter crying and Tim whispering. Rushing toward the kitchen, you stop when you see Tim sitting on the floor with a visibly distraught Anderson curled against his chest.

“What happened?” you ask softly, stepping toward them carefully.

At the sound of your voice, Anderson begins crying harder, harsh, hiccupping sounds before she pants for air.

“Tim?” you inquire.

Anderson takes several short breaths as she stands and maneuvers out of Tim’s lap. When she reaches you, she wraps her arms around your legs and presses her face against you. You place your hands over her hair and look at Tim, wide-eyed as he stands and wipes his cheeks.

“She, uh, she asked if we were getting divorced,” he explains quietly.

“What did you say?” you ask, slightly more accusatory than intended.

“Nothing. She- I don’t know where she even heard about it!”

“Anderson,” you coo, carefully bending to smile at her. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re divorcing Dad,” she whispers, heartbroken.

You shake your head and take her hands in yours. “No, I’m not, sweetheart.” You lean closer, conspiratorial as you add, “He’s stuck with me.”

“You’re not?” Tim asks.

Your brows furrow as you look up at him. He shrugs, and you realize he thinks Anderson heard you talking about it.

“Anderson, where’d you hear about divorce?” you inquire.

“Marcie,” she answers shyly, attempting to drop her head against your side again. “She said her mom or dad aren’t living with her anymore.”

“Alright,” you murmur as you pull Anderson into your arms and stand. Looking at Tim, you smile and request, “Order us pizza and then meet us in the living room?”

“Sure,” Tim agrees. He toys with his wedding ring while on the phone with your favorite pizza place. Though his worries have lessened since you returned, especially after hearing that someone at school introduced the topic to his daughter, Tim is still eager to hear everything. “Twenty minutes,” he tells you as he lowers onto the couch beside you.

You offer your hand behind Anderson, and Tim happily takes it in his. As you begin speaking, he notices that your wedding ring is on Anderson’s finger.

“Anderson, your dad and I aren’t getting divorced, okay? We love each other so much, but we love you even more,” you explain. “Marcie’s parents will always love her too, even if they don’t live together.”

Anderson nods and leans against Tim’s side. She’s not old enough to hear about his previous divorce from Isabel, but he knows that he needs to acknowledge the topic, the same as you.

“Yeah, Munchkin,” he teases. “We love you so much that we’re never letting you go. You’ll be with us like a baby kangaroo in a pouch.”

Anderson laughs, then, as kids tend to do, she changes the subject. “Can I draw a picture?” she asks.

“Of course,” you answer. “Grab your color case and come back, I want to watch.”

“Okay, Mommy!” she cheers as she slides off the couch, leaving your ring on Tim’s thigh.

Tim watches her with a smile, then picks up your ring and turns to you. “Sorry I freaked her out.”

“You didn’t look too good yourself, there, Sergeant,” you reply.

Tim rolls his eyes and raises your left hand to put your ring in its rightful and permanent place.

“I mean, after all this time, you should know that I’m never letting you go. Marrying an Abercrombie model-level-hot cop is a once in a lifetime thing,” you tease, leaning toward him.

“Is that how it is?” Tim challenges.

“You’re right. You are the lucky one, I’m a catch.”

Tim’s eyes soften as he takes your hand and murmurs, “Yes, you are.”

“You want cuddles tonight don’t you?”

“I just spent an hour in the kitchen floor worried that you were divorcing me, what do you think?”

“Mom!” Anderson calls as she returns with her drawing items. “Can I draw us at the beach?”

“At the beach?” you repeat excitedly. “Absolutely.”

“I love you,” Tim says.

“I love you,” you reply – promise.

“Me too,” Anderson agrees before deliberating between blue and gray for the clouds.

Bonus:

“Wait, wait, Anderson asked if you were getting a divorce, and your mind immediately went to my wife is leaving me without telling me? The woman who treats you far better than you deserve and kind of settled for you?” Angela asks.

“The insults felt a bit unnecessary, but, yeah,” Tim answers. “What else was I supposed to think?”

“She’s six, Tim, kids her age have no filter. If someone in her class hears a word, she’s going to hear it,” Wesley points out.

Tim tips his head back and groans.

“I’m with Wesley on this one,” Nyla chimes in. “You should’ve asked instead of freezing, which to most kids sounds like, yep.”

“I’m still stuck on the fact that you could even think she’d leave you,” Lucy muses. “She loves you, like, a concerning amount.”

“Never took you for the insecure type, Bradford,” Nolan adds.

“It’s not insecurity,” Wade interjects. “Not wanting to lose the love of your life is a whole ‘nother thing.”

“Dad!” Anderson yells as she runs toward the table.

“Sorry,” you apologize, approaching behind her.

“Yeah, clearly, she wants to divorce you,” Angela tells Tim.

“Well,” you begin, wrapping your arm around Tim’s shoulders as you stand beside his seat. “I guess we’ve just got this marriage thing figured out more than Marcie’s parents.”

Tim smiles at you, and you barely catch Angela exclaim, “Marcie’s mom from PTA? That witch had more than a divorce coming.”

Home to My Family

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

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader

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

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

Word Count: 1.7k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

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

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

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

“How do you feel?” Tim asks.

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you call Angela?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know. We will, I promise we will.”

“But you don’t need my help.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What do you need?” Lucy asks softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tim steps away from the scared nurse and sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Prison for counterfeiting?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tim nods, but Angela purses her lips in thought.

“What?” Tim inquires.

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

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

“Let’s go!” Angela exclaims.

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

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

“C’mon, Tim,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What happened?” you ask Tim.

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

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

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

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

“Aw, I love you, too!” Angela jokes.

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

“You love me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Arrest Me, But It's Not So Sexy

Part 2 of Arrest Me, But Make it Sexy (🏷 @newobsessionweekly)

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: While you're undercover, Metro raids the drug manufacturing facility you're in. Tim tries to arrest you again, but you have a job to finish.

Warnings: discussion/depiction of drug trafficking, typical show warnings, fluff and banter

Word Count: 1.6k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

Put me in the back of your car and we'll start a verbal flirtation. I'm doing tax fraud and arson, now take me down to your station.

“Defying orders is the best thing I’ve ever done,” you muse as your captain reviews your current case.

“You’re just lucky Bradford didn’t actually report that,” she points out. “The body cam footage and arrest got to do all the talking.”

“And you saw it and just knew you had to have me, right?”

She nods sarcastically, then pushes an envelope toward you. “This is your cover. Nysse Bret.”

“And I fit some kind of description?”

“There’s word going around about a new dealer, better product, better prices… easy on the eyes. It’s got the target dealers and producers shaken up, just how we like them.”

You nod as you look through the envelope. It’s your first time going undercover alone, but you know you can do it.

“So, you want me to shake them up a little more, overstep on their turf, down sell their product, get them out in the open?” you clarify.

“Preferably. And given your track record of disobeying orders to do the right thing, going in solo seems like the logical next step for you.”

“The product you’re giving me?” you ask.

“It’s real,” she answers. “Diluted and nearly unusable, but legitimate. If it’s tested, it’ll come back as weak but real.”

“Got it. Don’t use it. And if I need backup?”

“Never more than five minutes out. We’ll try to grab buyers as we go, but that’s not the priority.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for the opportunity.”

“Oh, and keep up this sassy, unbreakable thing. That’s what these guys will expect from Nysse Bret. That and not taking any crap.”

“You’re saying I can flash my gun if they think sassiness is an invitation.”

“Was that a question?”

You smile and slide your sunglasses onto your nose as you answer, “Nope.”

“Sergeant Bradford has new intel on Savva Pavlov, one of Los Angeles’s biggest drug manufacturers. Heroine, coke, if someone can do it, Pavlov can make it. We take him out, we take the majority of the drugs out of LA,” Captain Pine reports.

“Until the next guy moves in,” someone points out.

“Then we find him too,” Tim answers. “Pavlov is big, so we gain time, at least, if we take him out.”

“Take it, Bradford,” Pine encourages.

“Yes, ma’am. We have good intel, so we’re moving in on this location.” He pauses and points to a location on the screen. “There will be people inside, drugs inside. We go in protected, get everyone we can, and make sure that Pavlov doesn’t slip through the cracks. We’ll have teams of three stationed on every side of the building and we’ll enter from the north and south sides.”

“How can you know if Pavlov is there?” an officer asks.

“We don’t. If we get lucky, we arrest him. If not, we break one of his guys to find out where he is. This drug war needs to end, so we can’t wait around for Pavlov to get back from a smoke break.”

“Any questions?” Pine asks. “Preferably ones that aren’t stupid?”

“No, ma’am,” the team answers together.

“Then get ready, we roll in twenty.”

“So, you’re Nysse,” a man drawls, looking you up and down but never glancing above your neck.

“Depends,” you answer. “Would you make the woman taking your bosses’ customers wait?”

“They’re not his customers, they’re ours!”

“Sorry, sorry,” you apologize through chuckles. “I wasn’t aware this was a Starscream undermining Megatron situation.”

“What?”

You level your gaze, drop your smile, and remove your sunglasses to look down at the shorter man. “I said, you’re trying to act bigger and bolder than you are.”

“I’ll show you bigger and bolder,” he growls.

You lift the left side of your shirt to show the Colt 45 against your hip. “I’d like to see you try.”

The man licks his lips as he steps back. “Mr. Pavlov will be here soon. He’s finishing a meeting.”

“Perfect,” you exclaim cheerfully, dropping your shirt and sliding your sunglasses onto your head. “Hey, what’s it like working for him? Get good vacation time?”

“Perhaps you’d like to see his process while you wait,” he suggests, leading you through a swinging door.

“Oh, I’d love to.”

“This is where the magic happens,” he says, opening his arms toward the warehouse of men and women working in gas masks and hazmat suits.

“What’s back there?” you ask, pointing to a blocked-off area at the back.

“Pavlov’s office. He’ll take you back there when he arrives.” He smiles and adds, “Women like you always leave happy.”

You roll your eyes at his comment. Before you can reply sarcastically, a flashbang is thrown through one of the few ventilation windows. You see it in time to drop your head and cover your ears, but you’re still disoriented for a moment.

“LAPD Metro!” someone yells. “Drop to your knees, hands on your head! Now!”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” you exclaim.

“Follow me,” the man beside you urges, blinking wildly to regain his vision. “There’s a-“

“Cop behind you,” you point out, tilting your head to the side. “He’s pretty cute, actually.”

“LAPD, on the ground. Now,” Tim says slowly. “That means you, sir.”

The man is still facing you, his back to Tim. You can tell he plans to run, so you lean against the rail beside you and cross your arms.

“What’s in it for me?” you ask.

“What?” Tim asks, holding his gun against his shoulder.

“If I get on the ground and ruin my outfit, what’s in it for me?”

Tim begins to say your name, but you shake your head once.

“Nysse Bart,” you introduce. “Maybe you’ve heard of me. But your little war on drugs is a war against me. So, make it worth my time and maybe I tell you what I know.”

“What about me?” the man before you asks.

“Sure, fine. Help us out, and we help you out, handsome,” you tell Tim. “Or we could just leave, find a more romantic spot.”

“You’re under arrest,” Tim says, dropping his gun to handcuff your tour guide.

“Cuffed while Pavlov enjoys the beauties of the port,” he mumbles.

So that’s where he is, you think. Picking up a shipment – or ladies – at the port.

“Bradford is it?” you ask as Tim moves toward you. “I really like how this shirt fits, so could you cuff me with my hands in front? As a sign of good faith, I’ll apologize for hitting on you.”

Tim shakes his head and pulls your hands behind your back. He places the cuffs in your hands rather than around your wrists. You huff and pout at him, then notice your phone, Nysse’s phone, is buzzing.

Another Metro officer takes Pavlov’s right-hand man, leaving you with Tim. You have to get to Pavlov, and after Metro raided the facility while you were inside, you have to go forward on your own.

“Sorry,” you say as you close one of the cuffs around Tim’s wrist.

He pulls his arm back when he feels your hand on him, but you snap the other side closed around the safety rail behind him.

“Take it off,” Tim demands.

“Sorry, sir,” you taunt as you walk backward, placing your sunglasses back on your nose. “That wasn’t quite sexy enough.”

“Get back here!”

“Oh, he looks like he wants to chase me,” you say, fanning yourself dramatically. “Navy blue booty, go ahead and lock me up.”

You wiggle your fingers to wave before you turn and walk through a side exit to catch Pavlov before he leaves the port with imported drugs. When you call your captain for backup, you tell her that Metro raided the facility, not knowing you were there. She grumbles something under her breath and promises to look into it and keep it from happening again. You remember the shock on Tim’s face when you cuffed him and realize it wasn’t so bad.

“And here I was, thinking that you’d be in the back of someone’s car admitting to tax fraud and arson,” you tease as you enter the roll call room.

“You caught Savva Pavlov,” Tim says. “Nice work.”

“If you want me to apologize for handcuffing you in a drug warehouse, I know this really nice place where we could have dinner, and I could kiss you to prove I mean it.”

Tim huffs a laugh, his smile appearing for several seconds. Your smile grows at the knowledge that Tim enjoys your back and forth as much as you do.

“I’m sorry,” Tim says. “We should have done our due diligence before we went in. I risked your safety during the raid, and there’s no excuse for that.”

You shrug and assure, “It worked out. Plus, you looked so good that it was a great break from the greasy little guy I’d been stuck with.”

“Yeah, he seemed to think I interrupted something.”

“A UC operation.”

Tim nods and asks, “Are you staying with the UCs?”

“I like it. Maybe not full time, but, yes, it’s something I can see myself doing again.”

“You’re a great cop, just… be careful.”

You lay your hand on Tim’s arm and promise, “I will. Knowing you’re in Metro and will come when I call helps.”

“You don’t need anyone telling you how to do your job, I know that, but I just want to make sure you’re safe. Especially after what happened today.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, gently squeezing Tim’s arm. As you step back, you ask, “Why didn’t you actually cuff me?”

“Nysse Bart? You said the name and I realized we messed up. Not to mention that, for once, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Didn’t you just say I could do no wrong?”

“No, I said-“

“So, should we go to dinner, or do you want me to go buy some illegal contraband so you can arrest me again?” you tease.

Your smile drops when Tim says, “Dinner. Meet me outside in ten.”

He turns and is almost to the door when you ask, “Wait, seriously?”

Arrest Me, But Make it Sexy

Requested Here by @newobsessionweekly! Part 2 Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: Tim recruits you to aid in a Metro op. When you ignore his direct orders, you dare him to arrest you, but you have a request.

Warnings: this is pure fluff and banter!! the song reference part is a teeny bit suggestive I guess, but it's completely clean/sfw as always!

Word Count: 1.5k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

cop cuties, cute and on duty. navy blue booties, go ahead and lock me up. arrest me, but make it sexy.

You’ve been a patrol cop since you completed your rookie training with Tim Bradford. Throughout the last few years of working alone, you’ve trusted him enough to ask for advice, offer to work for him and reach out when he was injured. Most cops don’t stay close to their TO, but Tim was always more than that. Somehow, against his will, you think, you and Tim became friends. He knew from the beginning of your training that you were going to be a great cop, which is why he decided to recruit you for a new job.

“Officer,” Tim greets as you walk into Wade’s office.

“Sergeant,” you reply. “I take it I’m here to see you and not be yelled at by Grey.”

“Why do you need to be yelled at?” Tim asks, raising his brows as he crosses his arms.

“Absolutely nothing, sir.”

“Sure. Metro is working a forgery operation, and we need an extra set of hands. I think you’re the right cop for this job.”

“You do?” you ask, suspicious of why he chose you over the hundreds of other choices.

“Yes. But you get to decide. Do you want to join the team and complete your first Metro op?”

“Yes, sir,” you agree. “Thank you for the opportunity.”

“You still have to prove that I’m right,” Tim reminds you. “Gear up, we’re leaving in ten.”

You nod before you exit the office. Working with Tim is something that you’re used to, but not in a Metro team.

“Get to the corner,” Tim orders.

You stay in place, watching the forger. He’s in plain view, waiting for something and checking his watch every minute or so. That makes him dangerous and reckless. The overview that Tim gave you and the Metro squad at the station didn’t place the suspect outside of his studio.

“Corner, now,” Tim repeats.

“He’s outside,” you radio.

“And you’re not in position.”

You huff and move your hand off of your radio. There’s no chance of catching this guy if you move from your current position. Tim is still going off the original, incorrect intel. Not to mention, moving could spook him and ruin this operation.

Tim says your last name over the radio, and you wait for him to continue. “Get in position.”

“There’s no point,” you argue.

Tim radios for someone else to cover his position as he moves toward you. His approach is nearly silent, but as he squats beside you, you don’t look over at him.

“You have to follow my orders out here,” he reprimands quietly.

“Even if they’re stupid orders?” you reply without looking away from the suspect.

“That’s not your call. This isn’t rookie training where you get input because you’re learning. You do what I say or you’re off my team.”

“I understand that.”

“Then get in your position at the corner,” he orders again.

You don’t listen but remain quiet rather than argue with him again. Tim sighs beside you and clenches his jaw.

“Do you remember where you’re supposed to be?” he asks.

“Yes, sir,” you answer.

“Then get into that position and be ready for the next phase of this op.”

“No, Sergeant Bradford.”

Tim looks at the side of your face. He’s had enough of you acting like a partner who can argue with him. As much as he trusts you, you’re still his subordinate and this is unacceptable, especially in the middle of a Metro operation. Leading Metro is the most rewarding yet challenging position he has had as a cop, and he won’t let you compromise his position or the trust his team has in him.

“You know I can still make arrests, right?” Tim asks harshly.

You raise your brows and turn toward him to snap, “So, what; are you gonna arrest me? For what?”

“For disobeying direct orders! I can arrest you now and put you on desk duty and break room fridge refills for the rest of the month.”

You look back at the suspect before you stand. Tim follows your movement, and you lean toward him to push your finger against his chest.

As you crowd him, you dare, “Arrest me, Officer Bradford. But make it sexy.”

Tim looks between your eyes before he grabs your right shoulder. He spins you quickly and pushes you against the cinder block wall behind you. He wraps one hand around both of your wrists behind your back as his other hand rests against your hip, just above your holster.

“You want to say that again?” Tim asks.

“Not that I expect you to know what a real Degas looks like, Officer,” you taunt loudly, “but the gallery you just destroyed is worth more than your life!”

“What are you doing?” Tim whispers in your ear.

“Go with it,” you request.

“Excuse me!” the suspect calls as he approaches you and Tim. “I couldn’t help but overhear. I’m an art connoisseur, of sorts. What seems to be the problem?”

Tim pulls his handcuffs from his belt and puts them loosely around your wrists. He pulls you away from the wall and against his side as he turns to face the art forger.

“This woman is an art forger,” Tim answers. “So, unless you purchased a Degas painting from her, there’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“I fear that’s impossible,” the man replies. “Degas is nearly impossible to forge. The paint age and brush strokes are dead giveaways.”

“Spoken like a true enjoyer,” you say.

“Shut up,” Tim demands. “Sir, if you’d like to have your art checked by our experts, I’d be happy to make that call for you.”

You nod, a small movement you hope will make the man trust you. The art experts know his signature, so if they can get a look at his work, Tim’s work will be done, and another forger will be behind bars. The crime itself seems too white-collar for Tim’s skills, but a successful arrest is a successful arrest.

“I would appreciate that, Officer,” the man answers. “I can give you access to my collection now.”

Tim radios for the art experts waiting nearby to come in. He keeps a hand around your wrist, his pinky occasionally brushing between your skin and the metal cuff. After the experts enter the warehouse, it only takes two minutes before they radio to Tim that they have the evidence they need.

“You’re in luck, sir,” Tim tells the suspect. “Looks like the only forgeries in there are yours.”

Tim moves his hand from your wrist to your waist and pulls your handcuffs from your belt.

“You’re under arrest for art forgery, possession of stolen goods, and unlawful sale of property,” Tim says as he secures your handcuffs onto the suspect.

Another Metro officer rushes past you and takes the man from Tim to lead him to a waiting patrol car. Tim turns to face you and pulls a pair of aviator sunglasses from his pocket before he puts them on.

“You’re welcome,” you tell him.

“There are better ways to tell your superior officer that a different approach may be better,” he responds, crossing his arms over his chest. “Ignoring orders isn’t it.”

“You weren’t listening!”

“I listened at the end. You did well, but don’t ever do that again.”

You smile and step forward until you nearly hit Tim’s folded arms. “Scared I’ll take your job?”

“You are stubborn, uncompromising, and have no respect for authority,” Tim lists. “My position is safe from you.”

You tilt your head to the side and shrug. Tim radios a code 4, then walks away.

“Are you going to take these cuffs off?” you call after him.

Tim turns and stops a step away from you.

“You’re the one that wanted to be arrested,” he replies. He shrugs and asks, “Was that sexy enough?”

“I mean, yeah, it worked,” you answer. “But defying your orders got you the arrest, so…”

“You have the right to remain silent,” Tim begins.

He continues reciting your Miranda rights as he leads you to his car. His hand trails down your right arm as he puts you in the backseat. Once he gets into the driver’s seat, you realize that the handcuff on your right wrist is loose enough you can get your hand through.

“Defying direct orders is wrong,” you muse. “What if I start a verbal flirtation while you take me to your station?”

“I will arrest you,” Tim threatens.

“With what cuffs?” you ask, spinning his on your finger. “You gave yours away and took mine.”

Tim shakes his head and pulls over. He opens the back door, and you hand him his handcuffs as you climb out.

“If I had to get arrested, I’m glad it was with you,” you say before you round the back of the car to get in the passenger seat.

“I was considering mentioning you for a Metro promotion,” Tim begins as he drives back onto the road. “But after that stunt today…”

“You’ll never see me the same?” you guess.

Tim looks over at you, though you can’t see his eyes past his aviators.

“Something like that,” he murmurs.

“You liked it,” you accuse playfully. “Admit it.”

Tim adjusts his sunglasses and says, “Maybe.”

Party Favors, Bribes, and Sharks

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x shy!(goth!)fem!reader

Summary: When Tim finally invites you to meet his friends, it takes more than party favors and promises to convince you to go.

Warnings: fluff, brief depiction of anxiety/nervousness, teasing

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“What are you wearing?” Tim asks, frozen in the open doorway.

“A shark,” you answer softly. “It’s a hammerhead.”

Tim presses his tongue against his cheek and nods. He’s seen you in nearly every outfit imaginable over the last year, except for bright colors… or, as it seems, sharks.

“I didn’t know your fascination had extended to clothing,” he mumbles as he finally closes the door.

“It’s a hooded blanket,” you explain. “And it was on sale.”

Tim nods again, unable to take you seriously with the plush hammerhead pulled over your hair or the patterned sleeves your arms are in. He drops his bag and sighs as he sits beside you. It’s been nearly a week since you saw him. As you offer him one side of your shark blanket, he smiles.

“We solved the case,” he says, laying your blanket over one of his legs.

“I knew you would,” you murmur, looking at his neck rather than his face.

“And we decided to have a little get-together to celebrate.”

You hum, straightening the edge of the blanket along Tim’s thigh.

“You should come,” he adds, placing his hand atop yours.

Frozen, you pinch your brows and consider what he said. You’ve been dating for about a year but haven’t met any of his friends or coworkers yet. For good reason, you think.

“Funny,” you whisper, looking away from Tim.

“I’m serious,” Tim assures. “I’m inviting you to the… Lucy’s calling it a party. You can meet everyone.”

You look at the television screen, the rainy night ambiance video threatening to weaken your resolve. “Tim,” you begin. “I’d rather eat my own eyes."

Tim tips his head back and laughs, not at you or your shyness, but at your graphic response. You’re all things darkness, but Tim knows the softness and shyness lying underneath.

“C’mon, you have to come with me.”

“No, I don’t.”

Tim sighs before he turns toward you and places his hands on your sides. “If you come with me, I’ll get you fresh strawberries from that farmer’s market in Santa Monica you love so much.”

Your eyes widen at the idea. Those strawberries are the best things you’ve ever had. Unconsciously, your hand raises to your neck, and you toy with the strawberry charm tucked beneath your other jewelry.

“We can go this weekend and buy as many as you want,” Tim continues. “Maybe even eat some on the beach.”

“I… Tim, I can’t just go,” you argue softly.

“Yes, you can. Listen, I promise that everything will be completely fine. This isn’t a huge thing, it’s casual, you can be yourself.”

You scoff and look down at Tim’s arms.

“I’m serious,” he says firmly. “They’re going to love you. So, if you’re just nervous about them not liking you, that’s not enough of a reason to say no.”

You purse your lips to think. It’s not fair that Tim knows you so well or is willing to use your love of strawberries against you.

“Fine,” you whisper. “But if it doesn’t go well, I stand by my eye-eating comment.”

“I have no doubt of that.”

The day of Mid-Wilshire’s celebratory party, you’re a mess. From the moment you wake up, you’re stressing about every little thing and growing more nervous. You peruse your closet, then turn to Pinterest for outfit ideas, but you keep questioning what Tim meant when he said casual. His casual and your casual are very different, and you don’t want to wear the wrong thing and make the night even more nerve-wracking or awkward than you’re sure it will already be.

“Breathe,” you remind yourself.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and exit your room. After a break in which you have a snack, watch a short shark documentary, and wave to your neighbor’s cat out the window, you return to your closet. This time, the outfit seems to jump out at you.

As you lay a pair of baggy jeans on your bed, the rest of the look falls together effortlessly. You choose a black sweater with a skeleton made of stars, black Converse with colorful jewels on the laces, and your daily rings and necklaces. The strawberry charm Tim got you on one of your first dates gets lost among the dark, gothic jewelry, but you know it’s there.

With an outfit picked, your heart rate slows, and your nervousness eases slightly. There’s plenty you could be concerned about, but your question will be answered soon enough.

“Worst case scenario,” you murmur as you straighten your outfit in the mirror. “They hate me, and Tim leaves me.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Tim says, suddenly behind you. You turn quickly, and he pulls you into a hug. “You’re perfect, and everything is going to be fine.”

“You can’t know that,” you complain against his arm.

“I brought you something to help convince you.” Tim steps back and pulls his backpack off the floor. “I’ve been holding onto this for a special occasion, and this seems like a good time.”

You watch as Tim pulls a stuffed animal out of his bag. You want to make a joke, but then you see what it is. The shark plushy is colored like a strawberry; it combines your two favorite things in the world. Things that Tim knows make you melt. Your shyness and worry are forgotten as you hug the strawberry shark to your chest.

“This is like Halloween!” you cheer.

“You mean Christmas?” Tim counters.

“I mean my favorite day of the year.”

Tim nods, kisses your forehead, then steps around you to get ready. As you wait with your shark, you allow yourself to be distracted. When Tim returns a few minutes later, you reluctantly set the stuffed animal on your bed and pat its back.

“Thank you,” you tell Tim. “I love him.”

“Is that why he’s in my spot?” Tim inquires with a knowing smile.

You smile and look down, clasping your hands together behind your back. Until you get to the party, you won’t know what to expect. You’ve heard Tim talk about everyone in attendance, but that’s different than meeting them, seeing them face-to-face, and allowing them to judge you. These people mean something to Tim; they’re his family, and if they don’t like you, there might be a risk of losing him.

“Are you ready to go?” Tim asks, offering his hand.

“Is it down to that or eating my eyes?” you question.

“Yes, and I happen to like your eyes.”

You grumble under your breath and take Tim’s hand. He leads you to his truck and whispers that everything will be fine. You try to believe him.

Halfway through the drive, your leg bounces so hard that the entire seat shakes. Tim turns, then places his hand on your knee, brushing his thumb over your leg. He has seen you nervous, but never like this.

“You’re fine,” he promises.

“What if they-“

“They’re going to love you.”

“But I don’t want to-“

“We’re here.”

You look up from Tim’s hand and sink in your seat. He squeezes your knee gently, opens his door, and rounds the truck to help you get out.

“Tim,” you whisper.

“I got you,” he promises, smiling despite your obvious concern. “Trust me, and then we’ll go get strawberries.”

“I like my rocks better than you,” you complain quietly, sliding out of the truck.

“Remind me who found your favourite rock.”

You huff, unwilling to acknowledge that the rock that looks like it’s covered in raindrops is your favourite or that Tim found it in your backyard. He takes your hand and leads you to the door. When you step behind him, Tim allows you to pull his hand with you, reaching behind his back to comfort you. Although, he knows you won’t need a buffer.

“Tim! You made it!” a woman cheers as the door opens. She gasps and drops her voice to add, “And you finally brought her!”

Tim lifts the hand not trapped in yours toward her, and you assume he motions for her to take it easy on you. Your eyes are on his back muscles, visible through his shirt, rather than anything or anyone around you.

“I was beginning to question if I’d see a night off,” another voice says.

“Tell me about it! Especially when Oscar called.”

Everyone groans, and you look up, still hidden behind Tim but able to see some people in the room. They’re dressed casually, you notice, and one of them is wearing an outfit similar to yours, minus the skeleton design.

“What?” Tim asks.

“Nothing, nothing,” the woman who opened the door answers.

You step to the left and raise your chin, accidentally locking eyes with her. She smiles but doesn’t move toward you or speak. You appreciate it and return her smile.

“Thanks for letting me come,” you say before introducing yourself.

After you say thanks, she moves to your side and pulls you away from Tim. Away from him and the others, she directs you to sit with her.

“I’m Angela, and I’ve been waiting so long to meet you. When Tim slipped and told me he had a girlfriend, I, well, I didn’t believe him at first, but I’ve never seen him like this,” she explains. “He’s been so happy with you! He refused to show me pictures, but you’re even prettier than I expected.”

“Thank you,” you reply softly. “Sorry, I’m not great at, uh, anything interpersonal.”

“Then you’re perfect for Tim.”

You laugh at her friendly teasing and are surprised when you fall into a short but easy conversation with her about how you met Tim.

“Give her some room, Lopez,” Tim calls from the doorway.

“It’s okay,” you tell him.

“Yeah, Timothy,” Angela replies. “It’s okay. It won’t be once she meets Nolan and Lucy, but I’m her new best friend, so you need to watch your back, Bradford.”

Tim rolls his eyes as he nods. He waves for you and Angela to join the others when you’re ready, then retreats around the corner again.

“I’m still nervous,” you admit to Angela.

“Well, now you have me. Just remember these two things: one, Nolan never shuts up, but he doesn’t actually say much.” She pauses as you chuckle, then raises another finger to add, “And we all tease each other, but there’s nothing except respect and care between us. You’re going to fit right in, I promise.”

“As my best friend?”

Angela loops her arm through yours after you stand and replies, “You understand already.”

You sit between Tim and Angela at the table, and less than ten seconds after she joins you, Tim's friends begin asking questions.

“Guys,” Angela interrupts. “Okay, this is Lucy, Nolan, Wade, Nyla, her husband James, and my fantastic husband, Wesley.”

“Why did he get a fantastic husband?” James challenges.

“You heard me.”

“Okay, how did you meet Tim?” Lucy inquires.

“We just ran into each other,” you answer nervously.

“Did he ask you out?” Nolan adds.

You nod, and they continue taking turns to better understand your relationship with Tim. A few minutes into the conversation, your answers are louder and contain more words.

“What’s your favorite animal?” Wade asks in the first lapse of silence.

“Sharks,” you and Tim answer together.

“Tim!” Lucy exclaims, clapping her hands together.

You laugh and realize at that moment that Tim was right. His friends are chill, open, and seem to like you.

“I don’t get why you’re with Tim,” Nyla tells you on the way out, “but I’m glad you came tonight.”

“Me too,” you answer. “I’ll see you around.”

“Count on it!” James calls.

Tim helps you into the truck and then reaches into the backseat. He passes you the new strawberry shark, and you clutch it tightly.

“Your friends are great,” you tell him.

“I tried to tell you,” he responds lightly. “And they’re your friends now, too.”

“I like that.”

Tim nods and murmurs, “You didn’t like it before I agreed to get you strawberries and watch Halloween movies.”

“We’re watching Halloween movies, too?!”

Good Luck Charm

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: At a Dodgers game, you meet Tim Bradford, who thinks you're a good luck charm for the Dodgers.

Warnings: pure fluff!

Word Count: 1.4k+ words

A/N: @bradleybeachbabe inspired me to write this (as well as Eric Winter posting about the Dodgers)! I hope you enjoy the game you're going to soon, Rachel!!!💙

Today’s date has been circled on your calendar for months. The Dodgers are playing at home in LA, and you got tickets behind home base. Since scoring the tickets, you’ve been counting down the moments, using this game to get you through tough days and long nights. Now that it’s finally here, you can forget about everything else for the evening and enjoy the game, hoping for another exciting evening like the tiebreaking two-run homer you watched on TV last week. Dressed in your favorite Dodgers shirt, you leave for Dodgers Stadium happier than you’ve been in weeks. Something in the Los Angeles air makes you think it will be a great night.

“Lucy, if I had an extra ticket, I’d sell it,” Tim sighs as he parks at Dodgers Stadium. “If you want to be at this game so badly, ask Thorsen. If anyone can get you a last-minute ticket, it’s him.”

“But he’s already at the game,” Lucy laments over the phone.

“So am I!”

“Yeah, but that’s different.”

“How is that-“ Tim stops and shakes his head. “Lucy, I hope you can figure something out. If not, I’ll tell you all about the game at work.”

“Ugh, you’re such a man.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

Tim ends the call before Lucy can explain that she did not mean that as a compliment. It’s been a tough week at the Mid-Wilshire station, and Tim wants to watch a good game, cheer for his team, and unwind.

Tim smiles as he makes his way to his seat: an unexpected but highly appreciated upgrade to home base. Coming into Dodgers Stadium feels like coming home, and Tim thinks tonight will be a good game. At least until he sees that the seat beside him, which he expected to be empty, is occupied by a woman scrolling on her phone rather than enjoying the pre-game activities. He ignores his disappointment at being in the section with a disinterested neighbor as he watches warmups.

You look up from the detailed roster file you keep on your phone. Gavin Lux, an infielder who is a left-hand batter and right-hand thrower, is wearing his glove on his right hand for warmups. As you scroll through your newest notes, glancing up at the team every few swipes, someone sits beside you.

“Left, right,” you murmur to yourself.

“Excuse me?” the man asks.

You lift your gaze from your phone, then freeze when you see the attractive man occupying the seat to your right.

“Sorry, I’m talking to myself. Lux is just… never mind, sorry.”

As you turn back toward the field, he asks, “Lux is?”

“He’s warming up with his glove on his throwing hand.”

The man looks out into the field, locates Lux, and nods. “He is. Any idea why?”

You shake your head. “I thought maybe I was remembering his stats wrong, but I double-checked and he’s warming up opposite.”

“Interesting. Think we can win with him off his game?”

Pursing your lips, you shrug. “I don’t think he’s the player that makes or breaks a game. Unless he tries to bat right-handed, we should be okay.”

“I’m Tim,” he introduces, offering his hand.

You shake his hand as you tell him your name, surprised by how he holds your hand in his just a moment longer than is usually acceptable. You don’t mind, especially when he smiles and asks if you’ve noticed anything else.

“Is this your usual seat?” you inquire after a few minutes of discussing the players and their techniques.

“No, my season pass gets me over first base,” Tim answers. “You?”

“One-night only. I’d love to get a season pass someday.”

“If we win tonight, they should give you one on principle.”

You laugh as you ask, “Why?”

“If we win tonight after that tenth inning save last week, with our infielders off their game, and you just happen to be in the crowd? You’d have to be good luck.”

“Maybe it’s just a good day,” you counter softly.

Tim smiles as he agrees, “Maybe.”

“Stop letting the ball play you!” someone behind you yells. “This is why they should have left you in the minors!”

You stifle a laugh at their enthusiasm but agree with them. Tim sighs beside you and checks the score.

“Just one can of corn, is that too much to ask?” Tim grumbles.

“Wow,” you exclaim. “You really just used that term.”

“You disagree?”

“Not at all, just haven’t heard someone younger than Babe Ruth call it that.”

“Then, what do we do? We’re going to lose at this rate.”

You shrug and offer, “Guess I’m not very good luck, after all.”

Tim wants to disagree but decides that it’s not his place. If the Dodgers win, then he’ll tell you that he’s impressed by you, drawn to you, but otherwise, you’ll go your separate ways, never to see one another again.

“I don’t want to watch this, Tim,” you say with a pout.

The Dodgers are tied in the bottom of the ninth in a concerning parallel to their previous game. You don’t trust them to get the ball where it needs to be to win, not after their lackluster performance in the first few innings.

“Wish them luck,” Tim encourages, standing beside you as the crowd roars. “C’mon, give into the superstition once. What’s the worst that happens?”

“We lose, and my night of relaxation becomes me wondering if you put a curse of the team by saying good luck in these sacred walls.”

“I never thought I’d be the one to say this, but it’s a baseball game. It’s not that serious.”

You try to ignore Tim, but the smile on his face is too hard to look away from. To appease him and partially because you love hearing him say you are good luck, you whisper a wish of good luck, boys through the net separating you from foul balls.

And, somehow, between when you speak and when the stadium silences, Mookie Betts hits a homerun that echoes throughout Los Angeles, and the Dodgers perform another walk-off.

“You did it!” Tim yells as the crowd erupts into cheers.

He pulls you into his arms, completely forgetting his prior hesitance to tell you how much you affected him, and you throw your arms over his shoulders as he spins you. When your feet are on the ground again, you cup Tim’s jaw and smile.

“We won!” you cheer as fireworks boom overhead.

“You really are good luck,” Tim replies.

“Maybe you’re the good luck."

Tim shakes his head and leans closer to you. The stadium around you is completely forgotten, entirely focused on the man before you. His hands are on your waist, yours are framing his face, and you can’t wait to hear what he says next.

“Will you go out with me? I think we could both use some more good luck,” he proposes.

Your smile widens as you nod. “I’d love to.”

Tim pulls you against his side, his arm warm and steady over your shoulders as you cheer for your home team and yourself.

Bonus:

“So, how was the game, Tim?” Lucy asks before roll call.

“It was great, after we caught up, at least,” Tim answers. “Did you watch it?”

“Yeah, Aaron pulled through and got me a ticket. Over the outfield but still better than anything I could’ve gotten on my own.”

Tim nods, but she doesn’t move out of the doorway so he can walk inside.

“What?” he asks.

“I saw something else at the game. Someone made it onto the jumbotron,” Lucy sing-songs. “You’re trending on ClipTok. Everyone’s talking about the mystery couple who celebrated the win.”

Tim narrows his gaze at Lucy, who shrugs and invites him to check for himself before she enters the roll call room. He pulls his phone from his pocket, surprised to see a text from you.

We’re trending. I don’t know if I should be more upset by all the people shamelessly looking for us or that they’re calling you ‘gorgeous’ and I’m ‘that girl hugging him.’

Tim rolls his eyes and answers:

Wait until they find out why we won.

You don’t acknowledge the implication that he’ll tell someone (Lucy, who will undoubtedly put it on ClipTok); instead, you tell him you’re looking forward to dinner tonight. What was supposed to be a relaxing evening at a baseball game for you and Tim turned into something so much more. If that’s not good luck, you don’t know what is.

We've Got Time

Requested Here!

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

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

Warnings: fluff, r makes Tim a little nervous

Word Count: 1.6k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

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

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

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

“How’s policing going?” you inquire.

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

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

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

“Éclairs au chocolate make everything better.”

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

“Bye, Lucy,” you say. “Je t’aime.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir,” Lucy says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lucy, I can’t impose-“

“Forget I asked, I’ll get the key.”

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

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

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

You smile and agree, “Sure.”

“Uh, so, how long are you in town?”

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

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

“She is.”

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

“Yes?” you encourage.

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

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

“I could give you my number.”

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

“Probably a lot.”

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

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

“Merci, amie.”

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

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

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

“But we-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It sounds amazing.”

“What about you? What makes California home?”

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

“That’s beautiful, mon chéri.”

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

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

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

“About Tim?” she guesses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But, he-“

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

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

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

“The macarons,” you argue.

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s all here. I want to stay.”

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

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

“What are you calling me?” he inquires.

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

Who Trained Who?

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x shy!fem!reader

Summary: You take Kojo to visit your boyfriend Tim at the station and learn that Tim doesn't like how much time you spend with Kojo.

Warnings: just fluff!

Word Count: 1.4k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

“There’s my handsome boy!” you exclaim softly as the door opens.

“Good morning to you, too,” Tim greets smugly.

You ignore him as you drop to your knees to greet Kojo. Since you started dating Tim, you’ve become his unofficial dog walker, dog sitter, and Kojo’s best friend. Tim tried to tell you that you don’t have to spend all of your free time with Kojo, but rather than answering, you buried your warm cheeks against Kojo’s neck and stopped talking to Tim. He hasn’t tried to bring it up again but has done everything to make you shy.

“I’m working a double shift today,” Tim tells you as he pulls you to your feet.

You nod, looking at his neck as he leans back to check your knees. The first time you met Kojo, you skinned your knees during your excitement, and Tim has promised himself not to let that happen again, regardless of how close you and Kojo are.

“If you can’t stay with him, just let him out and make sure he has water?” Tim requests.

“Yeah, of course,” you answer. “I can stay, though.”

“You don’t have to.”

You shrug, and Tim gently directs your chin to look into your eyes. He smiles and repeats himself, and you nod numbly, failing to hide how your shoulders rise toward your ears with his undivided attention. You and Tim thought your shyness would wear off after more time with him, but it’s getting worse if anything.

“Have you fed him yet today?” you ask, desperate to get attention off of yourself.

“Not yet. Call if you need anything, okay?”

“I will,” you promise as Tim gathers his things. “Be safe today.”

“Always,” he replies. He cups the back of your head and presses a kiss to your forehead before he adds, “You too. Have a good day, but don’t let Kojo get away with so much this time?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you lie. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning?”

Tim nods once, a firm promise that he’ll do everything to get home to you and Kojo. You haven’t told Tim you love him yet, which you know you do, so this exchange of good wishes and promises to see one another again is the placeholder until one of you finds the right words to express what your relationship means.

“C’mon, Kojo,” you call, walking toward Tim’s kitchen as he closes the door behind him. “Ready for breakfast?”

Kojo bounces his front paws in excitement before he sits and watches you prepare his bowl. As you set it on the floor, he tilts his snout up, and you kiss him just above his nose.

“Loslaten,” you command, using the Dutch command Tim trained Kojo with.

Kojo releases as instructed, stands, and walks to his bowl to eat. When Tim initially introduced you to Kojo, he did everything you instructed and surprised Tim. With one of the K-9 handlers, Tim taught Kojo Dutch and German commands, but there seemed to be no language barrier when you arrived. Tim quickly determined that Kojo simply listened better to you and later decided it was because you’re shy and quiet… a dog whisperer.

After Kojo finishes eating, you get his harness and leash from Tim’s cabinet and get him ready for a walk. Being with Kojo is similar to being with Tim, though he fails to make you as shy as Tim manages to. Kojo leads the way on the walk; he protects you from squirrels and intersections, and thoroughly enjoys sniffing around the neighborhood. Upon returning to Tim’s house, you open the backdoor and let Kojo run off the rest of his morning energy – Tim hates it when you call them zoomies, but that’s what they are. You sit on Tim’s patio and wait for Kojo to return to you, panting and ready to rest at your side.

You make yourself comfortable on Tim’s couch, and when Kojo joins you, you don’t have the heart to tell him he isn’t allowed on the couch. Yet you know that if you let Kojo get away with it, Tim will let you get away with it. As you begin working, you wonder if you should visit Tim during his short break between shifts.

The sun is setting as you lead Kojo into the police station. A K-9 officer saw Kojo and yelled in excitement before he greeted you and led you inside to find Tim. The people who work closest to Tim are always excited to see Kojo, so you do not doubt your surprise visit will be welcomed. Kojo also serves as a good buffer between you and the officers, who seem to be in some unspoken contest to see who can make you shy away first.

“Kojo!” Lucy yells, standing quickly from her desk.

You smile and pass the leash to her as Tim exits an office and smiles at you.

“What are you doing here?” he asks as he reaches you.

“Kojo missed you,” you answer softly. “And Lucy, of course.”

“Mostly me, right?” Lucy asks Kojo.

“I brought more company,” Angela announces. “The K-9 unit saw Kojo walk through and was waiting for an invitation.”

“Sounds like they’re the ones getting trained,” Tim jokes.

“Don’t start, Bradford,” one of the officers replies before shaking Tim’s hand. “Is he still responding well to the commands?”

“Better when they come from her,” Tim answers, gesturing toward you, where you’re kneeling beside Kojo and Lucy.

“Smart man. You teach him that?”

“What a great question,” Angela interjects. “Did you teach Kojo to listen to your girlfriend? Or was it just by example?”

“Bradford?” another officer calls.

Tim looks up, and when he sees the officer holding up a bag of treats, he nods and gestures for him to go ahead.

“Kojo,” the man calls, offering the treat.

Kojo looks to you, and you murmur, “Geh Voraus,” to tell him to go ahead.

Kojo hesitates yet again, and you kiss his nose quickly. Then, he pushes to his feet and happily takes the treat. Lucy’s jaw drops as she looks between Kojo and Tim.

“That was the cutest thing I’ve ever seen!” she exclaims.

“Timothy taught him that,” Angela murmurs to the officer beside her.

Tim presses his lips together and nods, pressing his hands against his belt. Lucy immediately realizes what he’s doing and can’t resist the opportunity to mess with Tim.

“You want a turn, Tim?” she inquires.

All eyes turn to Tim, and he rolls his eyes before he answers, “Funny, Chen. Maybe you should get back to work.”

“Can you get back to work, or do you need a command and a kiss first, too?”

Lucy smiles as she asks. She thinks your relationship with Kojo and Tim is adorable, but she won’t outright admit that to him. When Tim doesn’t answer, she shrugs and scratches Kojo’s back as another officer passes him a treat.

Your eyes haven’t raised from Kojo since you kissed his snout in front of so many people, but when he nuzzles his face against your arm, sensing your discomfort, Tim’s façade slips. His face relaxes, and Angela can see the longing behind his eyes. Being a cop is hard work and long hours, and Tim wants nothing more than to be with you like Kojo is right now.

“Kojo, staan,” you command when someone asks to see a trick.

Kojo steps back from you and raises to stand on his back legs. As he waits for you to tell him he’s a good boy before walking to the officer with the treats, Tim decides he’s done.

“Yep,” he announces suddenly. “That’s enough, let’s go.”

“You’re working,” you point out as he picks Kojo’s leash off the floor.

“I can take you home, my break’s coming up,” he answers.

You take Tim’s offered hand, and your eyes widen in shock when he tucks you against his side after pulling you to stand. Your suspicions are proven right. Tim was getting jealous of the attention (and kisses) you gave Kojo.

“Thanks,” you murmur against his side.

“I’m going to need a bit more than that,” Tim whispers.

“Nose kisses and treats?” you joke under your breath.

“Sounds like a start. And no more bringing Kojo around Lucy. I don’t need her looking at me like that.”

You want to comment, but Tim exits the station and pulls you into a kiss, effectively silencing you. Watching Kojo is always fun, but maybe you should drop by the station unannounced more often.

Next Year

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (w/ retinoblastoma + a prosthetic eye)

Summary: Tim accompanies you to your yearly ophthalmologist appointment for the first time.

Warnings: depictions of anxiety about dr visit, fluff, comfort

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

“Are you going to Lucy’s party?” Angela asks as she walks into the station beside Tim.

“No,” he answers quickly.

“Did you get invited yet? Because you can’t say no before she asks you.”

“Tim!” Lucy calls.

“When’s the party?” he asks.

“A week from today.”

“Can’t. Maybe next time.”

Angela shrugs, conceding defeat, but Lucy wants to know why Tim refuses to attend. Usually, he’ll say he doesn’t want to, but his short answer - can’t - intrigues her.

“Why not?” she inquires, walking quickly to keep up with Tim’s long strides through the station.

“I’m going out of town that day,” Tim says.

“Why?”

“Chen,” Tim sighs, stopping to face her. “I can’t go to your party, I’m sorry.”

“Okay. But, where are you going?”

“Is no not sufficient?”

“Tim, c’mon, give me something so I don’t just assume you hate me and never want to see me outside of work.”

Tim raises his brows, and Lucy shakes her head quickly. He knows he can’t get out of this easily or quickly, so he blows out a breath and explains, “I’m going to San Francisco with my girlfriend.”

Lucy’s eyes widen as she gasps. “Are you proposing?” she whispers.

“What? No.”

“Why else would you be taking her up there, then? You can tell me if you’re proposing, I’m really good at keeping secrets.”

“Not something to brag about in a police station, Chen.”

“I’ll ask Angela to interrogate you.”

“It’s a doctor’s appointment,” Tim admits. “And truly none of your business.”

“A doctor’s- Is everything okay?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out, so we can’t come to your party, but if you keep this between us, I will make sure I come to the next one.”

“Keep what between you?” Wade asks.

Lucy presses her forefinger to her lips and nods once, but Tim rolls his eyes and answers, “Next week.”

“Ah,” Wade murmurs. “Tell her we’re keeping her in our thoughts and let us know if you need anything.”

“Will do.”

Tim sees the look of hurt that flashes across Lucy’s face at not being included in whatever it is you’re dealing with. Yet, she knows that medical issues can be stressful enough without a bunch of cops asking you questions or treating you differently.

“I’ll see you at the next party then,” Chen says. “And bring me some Ghirardelli!”

“No.”

“Are you ready?” Tim asks as he turns his truck off in the parking garage.

You look at him from your place in the passenger seat and shake your head. “I’m nervous.”

Tim takes your hand over the console and smiles as he promises, “Everything’s going to be fine. Even if it’s not, we’ll deal with it. Okay? And just think about the cheesecake you get later.”

You take a shaky breath and smile as you nod. Tim squeezes your hand before he exits the truck, walks to your door, and takes your hand as you walk to your doctor’s office. The waiting room is tiny, and you cross your fingers as Tim opens the door that it’s not busy. You’re anxious enough without having to stand or step around other people while you wait.

“Good morning,” the receptionist greets.

She’s new, you realize, and you offer a small smile as you tell her your name and birthday.

“Alright,” she says after typing for a moment. “I’ve got you checked in and they’ll call you back shortly.”

“Thank you,” Tim tells her, placing his hand on the small of your back to lead you to a chair.

You clasp your hands together in your lap to hide your shakiness from Tim, but when your leg starts bouncing beside him, you realize it’s pointless. He’ll see your anxiety even without the outward responses.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper to him.

Tim nods once and watches you walk to the bathroom before he looks at the small table beside his seat. There’s a pamphlet about retinoblastoma, and he picks it up to read the back as he waits for you.

With your hand on the doorknob, preparing to exit the restroom, you realize that you’ll probably have to come straight back. It’s one of the more annoying responses to anxiety, the constant bathroom breaks. When you remember that Tim is waiting outside for you, you feel better.

“What are you reading?” you ask as you sit beside him, leaning toward him.

Tim flips the pamphlet closed, and you smile as you furrow your brows.

“It is my first time,” he points out. “You’ve told me a lot, but I’m not going to pretend like I know exactly what you’ve dealt with or have to go through every year.”

You wrap your fingers around Tim’s forearm as your leg begins bobbing up and down again. He extends his arm over your torso to rest his hand on your leg. Almost immediately, a nurse opens the door and calls your name.

“I’ll be right here,” Tim promises.

You follow the nurse into a small exam room and try to listen to her instructions on reading the charts to test your vision. You’ve done this every year for as long as you remember, so you know how to do it. Still, you haven’t cracked the code to eliminate the anxiety that comes with the yearly doctor visits.

“Read these letters,” she prompts.

Resisting the urge to squint, you read, “A, K, L, M.”

“Good, and these?”

“Y… uh, P? E, R.”

“Okay,” the nurse mumbles before showing you more letters. “Good, done with that. Now we’ll check your eye pressure and dilute your eyes for the doctor’s examination. Do you have any questions about that?” You shake your head, and she smiles as she prepares the numbing drops. “Tip your chin up toward me slightly?” she requests. “Good. Open nice and wide.”

You blink after the drops hit your right eye, and she quickly moves to do the other side. A moment later, she instructs you to sit closer to the machine that checks your eye pressure. After the pressure is checked and your retina is imaged by the retinal camera, she instructs you to turn toward her.

“Time for the worst part,” she announces. “Tip your chin up again? Thank you.”

As the dilation drops begin working, you swallow to get the taste out of your throat. You can feel the drops draining down the back of your throat as your vision shifts, growing farsighted. Luckily, you return to the waiting room before it gets too bad. Tim appears blurry as you sit beside him and wordlessly pull his arm against your chest to hold his hand. He turns to lay his other hand on your knee and brushes his thumb against your inner thigh.

“Feel okay?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” you answer against his arm. “Just don’t like the dilation.”

“Nobody does,” Tim whispers, as if it’s a secret. “What happens next?”

You appreciate Tim’s presence beside you more than he’ll ever know, but the fact that he’s concerned about you and wants to know exactly what you’re dealing with and thinking makes you love him even more.

“I’ll talk to the doctor about changes, but there aren’t many this year. Then he’ll check my retina, and every other year he does imaging and ultrasounds to look at the tumor. I got them last year, so I shouldn’t need them unless he sees something.”

Tim nods and carefully pulls his arm away.

“How’d you know?” you ask as you stand.

“Do you need help?” he says rather than answering.

You shake your head and walk carefully to the bathroom. Before you sit back in your seat, you’re called back again and wave to Tim. He’ll be there when you finish, and that’s a good comfort as you follow the tech to the exam room across the small hall.

“Good morning,” the doctor says as he walks in, glancing your way before he sits and looks over through your oversized chart and the results of today’s vision test. “Any changes to vision or pain?”

“No pain,” you answer. “My vision is a little blurrier than last year, mostly when I’m looking at things far away.”

The doctor nods and sets the large folder aside as he moves his chair toward you. “Anything else?”

You shake your head and follow his light as he moves it from left to right. He raises his retinoscope and direct ophthalmoscope to further examine your retina.

“Good reflectivity,” he tells the technician behind him. “Minimal changes.”

“So, I’m cured?” you joke, pressing your hands against your thighs.

Your doctor smiles, a rare expression, at your comment and murmurs, “If only it were that easy.”

He moves closer to examine your eye through the ophthalmoscope and hums as he moves upward. When he lowers it and pushes back to look at his notes from last year, you bite the inside of your bottom lip and prepare yourself for bad news.

“You’re fine,” he announces, causing you to release your breath. “There has been a minimal change to your vision, but it’s not even worthy of updating any preexisting prescriptions. Your retina looks as good as it can, there’s no new damage, no swelling, and the tumor obviously hasn’t changed. The nerves are intact and healthy also.” He presses a few buttons on the computer and three images of your retina load, and he points to the one on the far left to say, “This was six years ago, and there’s been very little change since then. These nerves and vessels are maintained, the fovea centralis is healthy, and that’s what I wanted to see.”

“Thank you.”

“And the other eye still matches,” he adds.

“Was that a joke, doctor?”

He shrugs, reminds you of eye safety rules, and tells you to schedule your next appointment with the receptionist before you leave. You thank him again and then follow the tech slowly to return to the waiting room.

“Ready?” Tim asks, offering his arm as he walks to your side.

“I need to make my appointment,” you answer as you wrap your arms around one of his.

“Already on it,” the receptionist tells you. “Does the same day next year at 10 a.m. work for you?”

“Yes,” you and Tim answer simultaneously.

“Perfect. You’ll get some email reminders, and I’ll get you an appointment card now. See you both next year, then.”

You doubt it; you rarely see the same receptionist twice, but you enjoy hearing that Tim will undoubtedly be at your side again next year.

“And?” Tim prompts as he leads you out of the office.

“Everything’s fine. My retina’s okay, the nerves are functioning and healthy, so I’m as good as I can be.”

“That’s great!”

You nod and remind him, “Now I need cheesecake.”

“Of course. Hold on tight.”

You do just that, trusting Tim to get you safely where you need to be. After he gets you into the truck, he drives to Union Square. Then, Tim leads you into Macy’s to go to the top floor and enjoy lunch and cheesecake at the Cheesecake Factory for a reward. You and Tim talk about work, Kojo, and enjoy the time together, even if you are in San Francisco for an unexciting reason.

“Left?” Tim clarifies as he leads you out onto the street.

“Yes,” you answer. “You have to figure it out once we get closer though.”

Tim smiles and pulls you closer to his side as he leads you down the street to your next appointment. It’s much faster, just answering a few questions and waiting for your eye maker to polish, clean, and check the size of your prosthetic eye before you’re ready to go. As you leave, the effects of your dilation begin to wear off.

“At least I don’t have to ride back to LA with dilated eyes,” you tell Tim after he asks what your relieved sigh was about.

“I wouldn’t have made you do that,” he counters. “We could have gotten a hotel.”

“Maybe next year.”

Tim smiles and turns you to face him on a sidewalk in Union Square. He brushes his thumbs gently across your cheekbones before he kisses you. It was his first time accompanying you to an appointment. If every visit is like this, you may actually look forward to next year’s visit.

Tastes of Home and Cake

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!baker!reader

Summary: You own a popular bakery frequented by celebrities, but when the Mid-Wilshire police station hires you for a luncheon, you go out of your way to make cakes, cupcakes, and favourites to make the day special.

Warnings: fluff, Tim bring grumpy toward everyone except his wife who makes him a softie

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

“The cast of Rings of Power will be here at 10:00 tomorrow instead of 10:15, is that okay?” your assistant, Kasey, asks.

“Of course,” you respond as you spin a tart pan to remove an air bubble from the filling. “Did you hear back from the Scuderia Ferrari people?”

“Oh, yes. I fit Charles and Lewis in for a lunch and tasting five days before the Las Vegas Grand Prix in November of next year.”

“Perfect!”

You pass the tart to one of your bakery sous chefs before you follow Kasey out of the kitchen. The small dining area of your bakery is full, and the door has been closed and locked to give your clients a private meal.

“Good afternoon,” you greet after removing your apron and straightening your outfit. “It’s a pleasure you have you here, and I hope you enjoy everything.”

After several minutes of speaking to your customers and promising to fit them into your booked schedule when they finish filming in several months, you return to Kasey’s side.

“How do you keep your cool talking to celebrities every day?” she inquires. “I talk to their agents on the phone and get a little starstruck.”

“Well, he’s one of the nicest people on the planet,” you point out, referring to Pedro Pascal sitting behind you. “And, at the end of the day, they’re still people. Well-known and sometimes really mean, but they’re customers, just like the small population of Los Angeles that we serve for a few hours every morning.”

“Speaking of that, I need to get back to the people in the LA Times about the feature they want to do on the bakery. Do you want to do it?”

You stop by a tray of cookies and sigh. “I don’t know. Part of me says yes, but then the side that isn’t caught up in the business wonders if it’s worth it to get longer lines and higher wait times.”

“Did you talk to your super-secret boyfriend about it?”

“I did. He wasn’t much help, basically said to do what I thought was right. Just… tell them not right now. If they take that as a no, that’s fine.”

Kasey nods and jots a note in her always-present journal before she notices the whiteboard where you make plans for tastings and events.

“Is all of that for the LAPD luncheon you’re catering?” she inquires, wide-eyed at the quantity and quality of items. “You know they’re paying a flat rate, right?”

“Kasey, I’m going to tell you a secret,” you reply as you slip your apron over your head. “My ‘super-secret boyfriend’ that you constantly ask about… He’s a cop. And my husband.”

“That explains the Madagascan vanilla shortbread cookies,” she mumbles. “Wait, can I meet him?”

“Me first!” one of your regular celebrities yells from the dining area.

You roll your eyes in amusement and then begin working on the croissants for the sandwiches and the dulce de leche cake for Mid-Wilshire’s annual officer appreciation party.

“This is Officer Thorsen,” Kasey introduces as you exit your car at the police station.

“Aaron,” you greet, welcoming his hug.

“Please tell me the department sprung for my favourite,” he replies.

“I might have thrown in a few goodies.”

“You are the best. I was honestly surprised when I heard they’d chosen your bakery.”

You shake your head at Kasey to remind her not to say anything. To her surprise, they didn’t contract with you because your husband works here, just because of your reputation in Los Angeles. The people working in this station don’t even know you have a relationship with one of their own, so your expanded menu should appear to be a nice surprise, showing your appreciation for the brave men and women who keep you and your city safe.

“This is my watch commander, Wade Grey,” Aaron introduces.

“Nice to meet you,” you offer as you shake his hand.

“You, too. My wife has been wanting to visit your bakery, but we never seem to make it in time,” he replies.

“I’ve got some extras packed away in the van if you’d like to take her something. It’s the least I can do.”

“Baker to the stars… how do you like dealing with so many high profile people every day?”

“Most of them are great, just looking for a place to eat some carbs without the paparazzi. There are a few that I try not to have availability for, of course, but it’s the baking that I really love. My assistant handles most of the people side of things.”

“Well, we can’t thank you, and Kasey, of course, enough for fitting us into your schedule. We’ve been looking forward to it for a while.”

“Of course. I hope you don’t mind but I did throw in some free treats, just my way of saying thank you.”

“That’s incredibly kind of you. Let me know if you need any help setting up or finding anything.”

“Thank you, Sergeant Grey.”

After he returns to his duties, you try to let Aaron return to work, but he insists on helping you set up. Thirty minutes later, the bullpen has been turned into a space of food, appreciation, and more cakes and cupcakes than you remember making.

“I thought you said a few freebies?” Aaron murmurs. “Did you leave anything in the bakery?”

“I hope so. Ryan Reynolds will be a little disappointed if I didn’t,” you respond lightly. “I think I’m done here. Thanks for your help, Aaron.”

“Of course- I’m sorry, Ryan Reynolds?”

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

Someone gasps, and a moment later, Officer Chen runs up to Aaron’s side and smiles as she says your name.

“I watched the Food Network special on your bakery,” she exclaims. “I’ve never been more excited to eat in my life.”

“I hope you enjoy it,” you reply. “Thank you for all you do.”

“You might want to get food now, Lucy. It looks like a lot but it won’t last forever,” Aaron suggests.

“Precisely my plan,” Wade agrees as he exits his office. “It looks great.”

Standing back, you watch officers come in, chat with one another, and get plates of food and treats.

“That’s a lot of cake,” someone says behind you.

“It’s like you’re trying to set up the joke, Tim,” you respond without turning.

His fingers dance across your back before he moves to stand beside you.

“Too much?” you ask.

“No. I for one appreciate it. I’m glad my getting shot at equals roughly that much cake.”

You lean sideways to hit Tim with your shoulder, and he smiles as he rights himself. He moves away from you when he sees several officers walking toward you with cake and cookies on their plates.

“This is by far the most delicious cake I’ve ever had,” one says. “My mother-in-law is throwing me and my husband an anniversary party and if I have this cake, I’ll actually go.”

“She’s booked through spring of 2027,” Tim interjects. “So, unless you want to get on the waiting list for a tenth anniversary cake, it’s not gonna happen. Tell Mrs. Evers you can’t make it.”

“2027?” the woman beside her muses. “Good for you.”

“Thank you,” you answer. “You all have much more important jobs than me, though. Maybe my assistant can fit you in, so you don’t have to miss your own party.”

“See, Timothy? That’s what being nice gets you,” Angela taunts.

“Well, he’s actually the reason I even brought that cake,” you point out.

Angela cocks her head slightly, her fork halfway between her plate and her mouth as she looks from Tim back to you. The woman beside her, who you assume is Nyla Harper based on Tim’s detailed stories, watches you with similar interest.

“It’s not even my favourite,” Tim grumbles.

“Don’t start with me, Bradford.”

“You made me taste test a bunch of stuff last weekend and I told you it’s good but not Malibu Rum cake good. There is no Malibu Rum cake.”

“Tim, she brought way more than we expected,” Lucy says as she joins your small circle. “Be nice.”

Tim sees your smile and rolls his eyes. Kasey walks by, on the phone with assumably another agent, and passes you three small boxes.

“For you,” you tell Tim. “Though I’m not sure you deserve it now.”

He sees your writing on the corner above the clear plastic top, Malibu Rum <3, and tugs your belt loop to reach a plastic fork on the table behind you.

“Officer Chen, this is for you,” you say, passing her a box. “And this one is for Aaron, who-“

“I’m here. Don’t give it away,” Aaron says, seeming to appear out of nowhere to take the box of his favourite cake with a new cookie.

“Maybe I should get on your waiting list,” Angela muses as she finishes her slice of cake.

“You can jump the line,” you promise.

“What do I do to get Bradford’s taste testing position?” Nyla inquires. “Because if everything you make is a quarter as good as that Pumpkin Maple Biscotti cupcake was, I’ll do anything.”

“I think that privilege is limited to marriage,” you explain with a frown. “But next time I make an entire test batch, I’ll bring some by.”

Sergeant Grey stops behind the three silent women standing before you. They watch you, ignoring Tim as he enjoys his cake.

“So…” Angela begins before shaking her head.

“You bake for celebrities, and you’re married to Tim Bradford?” Lucy inquires.

“You turned down my proposals for him?” Aaron interjects, his brows furrowed together as he returns with a croissant sandwich (after his cake, you notice and make a mental note to tell his mom to watch his reaction).

“One, you proposed just because you like the way a caramel apple souffle tasted, and two, I was already married to Tim,” you reply. “Which seems to be very surprising for some reason.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when I said I wanted to hire her for this?” Wade asks Tim.

Tim shrugs and says, “I didn’t think she’d work you in regardless. Kasey and I told her to charge double.”

“Hypothetically,” Nyla begins, “if I invite you over for dinner and ask for your help, would you cook like this?”

“She wouldn’t help,” Tim answers. You elbow him gently and say, “Of course. It’s the only way I can cook, I think. I prefer baking though.”

“I have so many questions,” Angela murmurs.

“Me too,” Lucy agrees. “Like where’s the farthest place someone has come from to eat at your bakery? Are you allowed to say names?”

“Most of the time I can, after they’ve left, of course. And I think Chris Hemsworth coming from Australia was the farthest.”

“I can’t believe we didn’t know Tim was married,” Nyla points out.

“Yeah, yeah, you can ask questions later,” Tim interrupts.

“We can?” Lucy asks excitedly.

“You can ask, didn’t say I’d answer.”

Tim takes your hand and pulls you away from them, but you wave over your shoulder and thank them once more before you’re in the privacy of a hallway.

“I could fit Angela in,” you tell him.

“Don’t really care,” he admits – honest and blunt as ever – before he kisses you.

“You taste like cake,” you whisper as you pull back.

“What time will you be home tonight?”

“Probably before you. I’ve got an appointment at three and then I’m done. You?”

“Around six. I’ll bring dinner?”

“You’ve got a deal, Mr. Bradford.”

“And you want me to give Angela and Lucy your number,” he guesses, squeezing your waist playfully.

“Smart and handsome! Yes, please, oh and Nyla and Wade. I need to make sure his wife gets to come in, apparently she’s been trying.”

“Isn’t this Kasey’s job?”

“Kasey is mad that I didn’t tell her I was married, and you have to see them all the time. Be nice and help me out and I’ll bring more of the rum cake home.”

Tim kisses you once more before you leave the station to prepare for your next celebrity visit. His subsequent interrogation at the station makes him more eager to get home to you. When he finally walks in with your favourite takeout, welcomed by the smell of brown sugar and butter, Tim knows he’s home.

Happy Scary Halloween

Requested Here!🎃👻

Pairing: Tim Bradford x shy!SWAT!fem!reader (w/ daughter from previous relationship)

Summary: Lucy asks you and your daughter to help prank your boyfriend Tim on Halloween, but he isn't the only one who gets scared.

Warnings: vague spoilers for Megan (2022), quotes from other horror movies, fluff!

Word Count: 1.9k+ words (I had fun with this one haha)

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

“Coming with?” your teammate asks. “We’re meeting at Fanny’s.”

“Not tonight,” you answer softly, looking down at your shoes.

“Mid-Wilshire will be there,” she adds, shaking her shoulders as she watches you.

Rubbing your neck to hide your reaction to the mere thought of Tim Bradford, you murmur, “I have to pick up my daughter.”

“Ugh, fine,” she concedes. “You get a pass this one time. But you can get a sitter – shoot, I’ll watch her next time if it gets you out for a few hours.”

“Thanks.”

You leave the locker room and walk through the station, unable to keep your mind from drifting to Tim and when you’ll get to see him next. You’ve been dating for a few months, and your daughter gets along with him well, but it’s been just the two of you for so long that you are unsure if you’re comfortable with taking the next step. Tim is quite possibly the love of your life, and you don’t want to do anything to jeopardize that, but your daughter comes first. I need to buy her a Halloween costume, you remember as you get in your car.

“What do you want to dress up as this year?” you ask your daughter, who rests against your shoulder as you watch an old Halloween movie.

She shrugs and moves closer, wrapping you in an awkward hug. “Any ideas?” she asks you. After speaking, she shakes her head and mumbles about the character on screen being dumb for going into a cemetery alone.

“Depends,” you answer. “Do you want to be cute, scary, something in between?”

“I dunno. Maybe we should ask Lucy for help.”

You nod and smile. “Probably.”

While you relax in the comfort of your home, watching the end of a movie with your daughter, Tim sits at a table in a diner surrounded by other police officers. The days leading up to Halloween are usually some of the worst days of the year for cops, rivaled only by Halloween itself and Spring Break. He’s tired and wants to see you, but his department put in a lot of work over the last few days, and Angela guilt-tripped asked him to come.

“Any big Halloween plans?” Lucy asks as she slides into the booth seat across from Tim.

Tim shakes his head and leans back in the seat.

“You’re going trick or treating aren’t you?” she guesses. “Getting soft now that you’re in love, huh?”

“Watch it, Chen.”

“What’s my honorary goddaughter dressing up as?” Angela inquires.

“Honorary goddaughter?” Tim repeats, raising his brows. “What?”

“Just tell me what she’s going to be, Timothy.”

“I don’t know, don’t think they’ve decided yet.”

“They? Oh my gosh, I love them so much,” Lucy gushes. “I wish my mom and I got along like they do.”

“What can you expect? They’re both shy,” Angela points out, “and they’ve had each other through everything.”

“You and Wesley giving out full-sized candy bars again?” Tim inquires, attempting to move the conversation away from you and your daughter.

“Of course,” she scoffs. “And we’ve got a bet going to see which costumes will be most popular this year. He’s thinking Spider-Man, I’m thinking Hermoine or Megan.”

“Megan?” Lucy repeats, his eyes widening in a way that Tim knows too well – she has an idea.

“Don’t start, Chen,” Tim sighs.

“I didn’t say anything!”

“C’mon, Lucy,” Angela beckons, “let’s go where we’re appreciated. There’s some firefighters from the 118 back there, maybe we can get you a date for the Halloween party.”

“As long as his costume isn’t a shirtless firefighter,” Lucy stipulates as she follows Angela. “Once was enough.”

Tim checks his phone, unsurprised to see you haven’t texted him. Yet, he smiles when he sees the picture of you and your daughter on his wallpaper. Maybe he is getting soft, but not for anyone except you.

Across the diner, Lucy drops her voice to communicate her idea to Angela, Nyla, Nolan, Grey, and Wesley. It will take some convincing, and a few minutes of practice, but it has the potential to be amazing. Most impressive, it might actually scare Tim Bradford.

“If I get punched, I’m blaming you,” you murmur to Lucy as you straighten your costume.

“If he punches you, Angela will punch him back,” she replies. “But I don’t think he’s going to go that far. I want him to run, not react.”

“We are talking about the same Tim Bradford, right?”

“He’s on his way,” Angela announces. She turns to your daughter and asks, “Are you ready?”

“Yep!” your daughter answers, smiling at you. “I’ve been practicing.”

“This is the best Halloween ever!” Lucy exclaims.

“I’m still saying it doesn’t work,” Wesley calls from down the hall, where he’s setting up a fog machine.

“Have a little faith, Wesley!” Angela replies. “He loves them, his guard won’t be as high.”

Your cheeks warm at her comment, and you walk to your daughter to fix her wig and dress instead of replying to Angela’s claim. Tim does love you, you know that, but it doesn’t make it easier to remain impassive or collected, for that matter, when someone else points it out.

“All these years of SWAT training to just prank him with a creepy doll movie,” you muse quietly.

“Hey, that’s a good point,” Nolan replies. “If he punches you, just use that training.”

You look over your shoulder to scowl at Nolan, but his eyes meet yours, and he smiles, so you turn away quickly. Tim will arrive any minute, so Lucy turns the lights off, starts the music she made for this prank, and everyone moves into place as the fog machine whirs.

The front door opens, and you inhale deeply but silently, just as before a raid. It clicks closed, and you count Tim’s steps before he flips the light switch. Nothing happens thanks to Nolan flipping the breakers, and Tim’s movements grow quieter but not impossible to track. In time with his soft breaths, you tap Lucy once… twice… and then lay your palm flat against her arm.

A spotlight in the corner of the hall comes on, dim and buzzing lowly, as it illuminates your daughter, dressed as Megan and standing with her head down. The replica katana Wesley brought glints on the table from your position but should be invisible to Tim. He moves into the hallway and narrows his eyes as your daughter looks up. The blue contacts Angela helped her put in seem to glow as she watches him.

Suddenly, the music changes and your daughter steps to the side, beginning the dance from the movie as she moves down the hallway and nears Tim. Pushing off of the wall, she spins and lifts the katana. With a deep breath, she does the measured lunge Nolan helped her learn and stabs the blade toward Tim. He jerks backward just as the light turns off. Your daughter giggles as she disappears into a dark bedroom.

Though he can’t see you, Tim is only feet from you as he turns in a slow circle in the dark. Lucy’s music fades before Megan says, “This is the part where you run.”

All the lights in the house come on as Nolan flips the breaker, and you wait behind Tim. When he turns again, he steps back quickly at the sight of you. Sitting in a chair and dressed as Annabelle, you let your head drop to your shoulder before Angela and Wesley throw several dolls out of the doorways in the hall, letting them land with clear thuds on the hallway floor.

Tim steps back, narrowly missing the table while he backpedals toward the door. You’re admittedly shocked at how well this is going, but you’re also beginning to feel a bit of remorse for pranking him like this.

“You need to learn some manners, Tim,” your daughter says, stepping back into view with the katana hanging from her hand.

Tim reaches for the doorknob, then stops. He watches her for several silent seconds, then says her name. With his complete focus on your daughter, you stand and place the life-sized Annabelle doll in your chair.

“That-“ Tim begins, leaning forward to place his hands on his thighs. “That was pretty good.”

“You were scared,” your daughter taunts, bouncing in place. “We did it!”

“I can’t believe that worked,” Wesley murmurs as he turns off the fog machine.

“Add that to your Tim Tests!” Lucy exclaims, emerging from the kitchen.

“I should’ve known you were involved.” Tim turns toward ‘Annabelle,’ and says, “Okay, you did it, you can get up now.”

The doll doesn’t move, and he looks at Lucy, who keeps her eyes on the white dress and shakes her head. Tim walks to the chair and lays his hand on Annabelle’s shoulder, causing her to tip onto the floor.

“Where’s Mom?” your daughter asks, looking between Angela and Lucy.

“She was Annabelle,” Lucy murmurs slowly. “I didn’t have a doll.”

“We didn’t either,” Angela adds. “She has to be around here somewhere.”

“Nolan, if this is-“

“It’s not me,” Nolan interrupts. “This wasn’t in the plan.”

“Tim,” your daughter calls, more of a squeak than anything, as she points to a trail of red droplets leading toward the side door.

Tim leads the way, followed closely by Angela, Lucy, and Nolan, while Wesley waits inside with your daughter. They exit the house and see bullet casings scattered across the small patio but no sign of anyone.

From your position on the roof, you can see their expressions, the worry and fear they’re attempting to mask – likely for your daughter’s sake.

“I see dead people,” the speaker you mounted below the patio covering whispers.

“Do you think she’s doing this?” Lucy whispers.

“I don’t know that she could,” Angela points out.

You smile beneath your mask, moving closer to the edge. Pressing a button on your phone, the speaker plays a dial tone before shifting to a quiet static sound.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” you ask from the roof.

Tim, Angela, Lucy, and Nolan turn quickly, and Nolan presses his hand over his heart as he sighs. You don’t know what you look like, perched precariously on the roofline in a Scream-face mask with a long black robe rippling in the breeze, but clearly, it worked to scare Tim even more.

You pull the mask off and smile. “So, did we scare him?”

“Him?!” Lucy repeats. “You scared us!”

 Tim smiles suddenly, and your eyes drift to his chest.

“You scared your daughter, too,” he points out, clearly proud of himself.

“Did I?” you challenge softly.

Wesley and your daughter exit the house, and she smiles as she looks at Tim. He shakes his head and hugs her, then demands that she change or at least take out the contacts.

“Happy Halloween, Tim,” you call.

When they turn around to find you, your position on the roof is empty, not even a shadow of your robe is left as evidence you were ever there.

“Thanks,” you tell your SWAT teammates as you land on the ground in your front yard. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Oh, we got the good end of this deal,” your teammate says. “Bradford trying to get out of the house without any sudden movements was golden. And it’s all on video. Good luck dealing with him now.”

You sigh as they leave and return to the backyard, where Tim cups your face and demands eye contact. You squirm in his hold, and his smile widens.

“I’m getting you back next year,” he promises.

“Ooh, I’ll help!” your daughter agrees, moving to stand beside you both, her shoulder pressed to yours.

You, however, get caught in the idea that they both want to be here, beside you and with you, again next year. It’s a happy Halloween, indeed.

I have a (The rookie) Tim Bradford x shyreader request please?

Tim and shyreader just recently start dating and one time when Tim, shyreader and his cop friends are at a restaurant “Denny’s” (I always order pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausages with Coca Cola) and Tim cop friends are meeting shy!reader.

Tim is surprised when Lucy and shy!reader have secret new best friends handshake and everyone finds it cute while Tim is being sad and surprised puppy asking himself when did this happen. https://youtube.com/shorts/WUON5Q4HDuc?si=4cot1jSQiyi5F-zI

Such a cute request; thank you! 0.7k+ words of fluff (I couldn't figure out how to make it longer without it being super boring. I hope this is okay!)

Secret Relationships, Handshakes, and Pancakes

“It’s been a month,” Tim points out.

“Five weeks and two days,” you correct softly, looking at Tim’s hands rather than his face.

“That’s worse.”

You glance up at him, unsurprised to see that he’s looking directly at you. He hides his smile and lifts his brows.

“Breakfast with a few of my friends can’t be that bad,” he assures. “I don’t even like spending time with them, but I’m still going.”

You push your hand against Tim’s chest before you ask, “Will Lucy be there?”

“Yes,” Tim answers, wondering why you’d ask about her. He’s told you stories about all of them, but this is the big day (Angela’s words) when you finally meet them.

Nodding, you agree to go, then wrap your arms tightly around Tim’s waist. He uses your grip on him to get you out of the door and into his truck. It’s not that you don’t like spending time with Tim or don’t want to meet his friends, but it’s hard being around new people when you’re shy, and you don’t want to make a bad impression and lose Tim forever.

“It’ll be right out,” the waitress says after taking drink orders.

“Thanks,” you whisper to Tim.

“For what?” he replies, lifting his brows innocently like he doesn’t remember ordering for you.

“Tim!” Lucy calls as the door to the restaurant opens behind you.

You smile and turn, then stand and hug Lucy. She pulls back and offers her right hand, which you take in yours. Tim watches as you shake her hand, then flip your fingers to hold her wrist before sliding your palms against one another. Laughing as you hook your fingers with Lucy’s, then snap, you almost forget that other people are around.

“Um, excuse me?” Angela interjects as she stops beside you. “I want a handshake.”

“It’s reserved for best friends,” Lucy argues. She winks at you as she sits beside you.

Angela groans, then smiles and introduces herself and Wesley Evers. You shake their hands before you lower to your seat. Tim’s eyes are on you, but your neck is already warming, so you keep your gaze forward.

“I was under the impression we were all meeting you for the first time today,” Angela tells you, looking pointedly at Lucy.

“We met at the station,” Lucy explains. “I recognized her from one of Tim’s pictures.”

“When did you see my pictures?” Tim interrupts, momentarily distracted from his internal wondering of how you and Lucy hit it off so quickly.

“Anyway,” Lucy deflects, “Nolan is running a few minutes late, but he’ll be here soon.”

“Did you come up with the handshake yourself?” Wesley asks you.

“I did,” you answer softly. “But it was Lucy’s idea.”

“Were you on the clock?” Tim inquires over your head.

“No,” you and Lucy answer together.

Tim pinches the bridge of his nose and looks down to ask, “How long have you been friends?”

“About a month,” Lucy answers.

Their conversation is interrupted by the waitress returning with drinks for the table. After Angela thanks Tim for remembering her favorite, Tim gently taps his elbow against your arm. You turn toward him and interlace your fingers beneath the table.

“So, while I was fighting to get you to talk to me, hold eye contact… you were hanging out with Lucy and making secret handshakes?” he accuses.

“Bet you’re wishing you’d picked up Nolan,” Wesley tells Lucy.

“Wasn’t the goal of breakfast to let us bond?” Lucy defends for you. “We just bonded early.”

“He’s mad that you stole his girlfriend’s limited attention,” Angela explains. She meets your eyes and smiles. “No offense.”

“None taken,” you promise. “Sorry I didn’t tell you, Tim.”

Tim sighs and murmurs, “I suppose there will be even more handshakes now.” As Angela cheers, he reaches across the table for a straw and uses his arm as cover to whisper, “I’m the only one who gets secret kisses, though.”

You nod, fighting the shy smile growing at his words.

“Hey, Nolan,” Wesley calls. “Lucky for you, no one else has to talk once John gets here.”

Tim takes your hand under the table, and as his thumb brushes over your knuckles, you know your relationship is better than all the secret handshakes in the world. But then he orders for you, and the women at the table act like it’s the sweetest thing anyone has done since Fitzwilliam Darcy walked to propose to Elizabeth Bennet. You turn to hide your face against his arm.

“Wait, handshakes?” Nolan exclaims a moment later. “I love handshakes!”

“No you don’t,” Tim warns, his hand warm against your back.

Brighter, Sweeter Days

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x shy!fem!baker!reader

Summary: Tim comes to your bakery daily, and you try to brighten his day to get him to notice you. When he finally shows you he has noticed you, there's a lot you have to tell him.

Warnings: minor injuries, fluff!!!

Word Count: 2.4k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

A wave of hot air greets you as you open the oven. Pulling the cookie sheet from the left side and a muffin pan from the right, you smell the intermingled brown sugar, maple, and orange. After the hot pans have been safely placed on one of your bakery’s tables, you close the oven and remove your heatproof gloves.

“I really hope you have more maple biscotti because there’s a really cute firefighter and I can’t slip him my number if we can’t fulfill his order,” your employee, Melanie, rambles as she enters the heart of the bakery.

“Just pulled some out of the oven,” you answer. “It’ll be about ten minutes before we can box them, though. Offer to throw in a dozen free cookies or a coffee traveler.”

“Yes, chef!” she calls over her shoulder.

“And stop watching The Bear before work every day,” you murmur as you check the consistency of a new whipped buttercream.

Several years ago, you opened your bakery in Mid-Wilshire, Los Angeles, and remain shocked at how well it has done. There have been celebrities who travel hours just to try your creations based on the good word of a few locals, you’ve had to close at lunch more than once because you ran out of food, and yet you’ve only been in the front of the bakery a dozen times since opening.

You’re shy, passionate about baking, and less of a people person than most business owners, so you spend your days in the back as your dedicated employees create a friendly and welcoming environment for your customers to come in, enjoy the atmosphere, and try a delicious baked good or slow-roasted coffee.

After the morning rush, during which you make three cakes, drizzle white chocolate on your newest biscotti, and decorate sugar cookies, Melanie returns to the back of the bakery. She sighs and leans on a table.

“How’d it go?” you ask.

“Good. Seemed busier than usual, lots of law enforcement,” she explains, peeking into a mixing bowl.

“Those are scraps from cake pops,” you tell her. “Help yourself.”

“You’re an angel,” she sighs. “A walking, shy so not much into talking, angel.”

You roll your eyes and begin folding chocolate swirls into croissant dough. “And the firefighter?”

“He thought they’d love some coffee but refused to accept it without paying. So, I slipped an angel food cake and my number into his bag.”

You nod and continue working on the croissants, but when Melanie continues to watch you, you know there’s more she isn’t saying. Turning, you set aside the spatula and raise your brows.

“My psych professor moved our exam up and I can’t come in tomorrow,” she explains quickly. “I know it’s your busiest day and I’m so so sorry. I can ask around and see if Cass or somebody can cover me.”

You wave your hand and assure, “It’s okay. I’ll cover you. Good luck on your exam, okay? If you want to leave early today to study or get some rest, do that, too.”

“Now I feel worse for leaving you.”

Tim turns his alarm off and sighs. It’s his birthday, and he’s alone. Lucy insisted on bringing cupcakes, and Angela offered to take him to lunch. Tim appreciates their kindness, but it’s not quite the same as having someone to truly celebrate with, besides Kojo, who he wouldn’t trade for the world, of course.

As Tim gets ready, he asks himself what he’d want if he was in a relationship. What would they do that would make today so different? Breakfast in bed is one of the first ideas that pops into his head. So, Tim searches for bakeries that aren’t far out of his way. One five-star option appears on the list, and Tim reads the directions as he walks to his truck.

As Tim walks in, he notices how nice the bakery is. There’s a line, but it moves quickly. He scans the menu on the large chalkboard over the counter as he waits, but he knows what he wants when his eyes drop to the display case.

An employee places another plate in the case, a birthday cake-flavored mini souffle that makes Tim smile. When he reaches the register, he forgets about the cookie that caught his attention.

You take another order and glance at the line. There are two times when you’re so busy it’s hard to remember to breathe, and you’re currently between those. Though you don’t love working here with customers, you do enjoy seeing the smiles on people’s faces when they find their new favorite.

Someone in the line catches your eye. He’s wearing an LAPD shirt, and you assume he’s a higher-ranking officer. He smiles as Mitch places a birthday cake souffle in the display case, and you wonder if it’s his birthday.

“Good morning,” you greet when he reaches the register. “What can I get you today?”

He hesitates for a moment, then asks for one of your jumbo cookies and two dozen chocolate chip cookies. Glancing at the menu, he also adds coffee to his order. You press the buttons for the two dozen cookies and the coffee, but make a note to include the jumbo cookie for free.

“Mitch,” you call when he passes again. “Take over for a minute?”

“Sure thing,” he tells you.

“I’ll grab that for you now,” you tell the attractive cop, whose name you now know is Tim.

“Thanks,” he replies before stepping to the side with his coffee.

You use clean plastic tongs to place thirty chocolate chip cookies in a branded box, then pull a jumbo cookie from the warmer. It’s already boxed, so you take a marker out of a nearby drawer and write Happy Birthday with a little candle drawn beside it. If it’s not his birthday, he’ll think it was the wrong box, but either way, you hope it’ll brighten his day. With the cookies placed in a bag, you hand it over the counter and thank Tim for coming in. You hope you’ll see him again. With your tendency to work in the back and the high number of one-time customers you get, you try not to get your hopes up.

The drive to the station is spent in silence. The radio is off as Tim enjoys what he considers the best cup of coffee. His mind continues to return to you, the cute girl at the bakery, who he could tell was a little shy. Your service was great, but you didn’t quite meet anyone’s eyes or engage in small talk.

After parking in the station lot, Tim pulls his jumbo cookie from the bag. The birthday wishes make him smile, and he shakes his head as he wonders how you knew. Granted, it could have been the wrong box or something, but Tim prefers the idea that you did it special for him. The receipt is on the bottom of the box, and he pulls it away only to see that you gave him the cookie for free. Maybe it will be a good birthday, after all, he thinks.

Tim enjoys half of his cookie, then returns it to the box to save for later. Tim will most certainly be returning to the bakery because your smile and the taste of the coffee and the cookies together are pretty close to perfection.

Tim sets the cookies on a central table in the bullpen and opens the box. He can immediately tell that there are more than 24 cookies, and he shakes his head at your kindness.

“Happy birthday!” Lucy calls as she runs to his side.

“Thanks,” Tim replies, in a better mood than the last decade of birthdays combined.

“You’re back!” you cheer when Tim returns the following morning. Melanie called to tell you her exam went well, but she had to wait for the essay portion to be graded, and you invited her to rest at home one more day while she waited. So, you’re at the front again.

“I am. Thank you for the birthday note yesterday,” Tim replies, smiling. He has a gorgeous smile, you think. “How did you know?”

“I noticed you smile when the birthday cake souffle came out,” you explain softly, shrugging rather than providing more explanation.

“I really appreciate it. My coworkers loved the cookies, too.”

“I’m glad. You want to try something else today?”

Tim smiles, and you unconsciously move your fingers to the side of the register where you can include discounts and freebies.

“What do you recommend?” he inquires.

“Our maple pumpkin biscotti cupcakes are pretty well-loved. I like the chocolate swirl croissant,” you answer. “It’s new, but..”

“Then I’ll take thirty-six of those cupcakes and two of the croissants. On one condition.”

“Yes?” you ask, furrowing your brows.

“Let me pay for it this time.”

You nod once and type in the order. As Tim steps to the side, you begin helping the next customer and whisper to Mitch to give the officer a small coffee with the excuse of preparing it too soon for a pickup order.

“I’m paying for it,” Tim insists after it’s left on the counter.

You ignore him, smiling as you take another order, and Mitch gives him the bag of cupcakes.

“See you,” Tim calls as he leaves.

“Have a good day!” you call after him.

When you return to the kitchen around 10 a.m., you sigh and set out to make something you think Tim will love.

Over the next two weeks, Tim comes in daily. He gets something for the officers at this station or just a treat for himself, and on one busy morning, he says hello and orders a coffee. You look forward to seeing him each morning, finding an excuse to be at the front during his usual time. He is the kindest customer you have ever had, and you want to ask him out. Each morning, you give yourself a pep talk and get encouragement from Melanie or Mitch, then get shy and fail to tell him how you feel. So, you find a way to brighten his day and remind him you’re there and you see him. You slip him a freebie, give him a free coffee, charge him for a smaller size than what you give him, or ask him to test a new item and get back to you. If it’s not on the menu, I can’t charge you was your excuse for the last one.

As far as you can tell, he has noticed you. He comes in and immediately finds you or keeps his eyes on the kitchen door until you exit. Yet, he hasn’t said any more than you have. Eventually, one of you will say something… or so you hope.

You’ve slowly opened up but can’t speak more than a few sentences before you remember who you’re talking to and get shy again. Tim asks about you, how you’re doing, what your favorite menu item is, what you’ve baked recently, and you gladly listen when he tells you about himself in return. It seems like you're getting to know him, but you still want so much more.

One morning, nearly three weeks after meeting Tim, you glance at the clock again. He’s late. Or he isn’t coming. As you leave the counter and return to the kitchen, you make red velvet cupcakes for a large order and try not to think about Tim. You didn’t say anything for three weeks, there is no reason to assume that he had any real reason to come back.

Melanie enters the kitchen, and you look up hopefully, but she shakes her head.

“I’m sure he was just running late or had to go in early. He’ll be back tomorrow,” she says softly.

You shake your head and begin portioning the cake batter into muffin tins. Getting your mind off Tim will be hard; he’s consumed every one of your thoughts for nearly a month, but you have a business to focus on and more customers than the handsome sergeant who was your favorite daily customer until today.

 Several hours later, Mitch is on the phone when the chime over the door rings. You wave to him and walk out of the kitchen, then stop behind the register.

“Sorry I’m late,” Tim says.

You remain silent as you look at him. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest beneath his shirt, there’s a scrape over his eyebrow that looks recent, and the knuckles on his left hand are darkening. Based on his appearance alone, you assume he was late for a good reason.

“What can I get you?” you ask, breathless, as you move to stand behind the register. “It’s on the house.”

Tim smiles, and you have to remind yourself to listen. He orders your favorite, then places his hands on the counter and leans closer to you. You nod, then blink and ask him to repeat himself.

“Your favorite,” he says.

“How do you…”

“You told me. I remembered.”

You lick your lips before whispering, “Why?”

“The same reason I know that you hate working at the register because you’re shy and it drains your energy. You’d rather be in the back with your recipes and music than up here with customers. The reason I know you own this place but don’t advertise it because you don’t want the attention. All of that, all of you, is why I keep coming back. And I’m really hoping that those things will be why you say yes when I ask if you’ll go out with me.”

You swallow but can’t form words yet. Your answer is yes, of course, it is. When you open your mouth, though, you ask, “Are you okay?”

Tim smiles again and says, “I worked all night and could really use some of your amazing coffee.”

“You missed breakfast?”

Tim extends his arms so his hands are closer to yours and corrects, “I missed you.”

“Yes,” you whisper. “I really want to go out with you.”

Tim nods, then thanks Melanie when she sets a coffee cup on the counter beside him. He sees your number on the side and smiles, but you drop your head momentarily to avoid the embarrassment Melanie provides.

“I promise we’ll do something you’ll like,” Tim assures as his fingers brush yours.

I’ll find the courage to do anything with you, you want to say. Deciding that is more of a second date statement, you merely nod and ask Tim, “Do you actually want my favorite or is there something else you’d prefer?”

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.”

Words to Die By

The Rookie x Criminal Minds Crossover

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!BAU!reader

Summary: Seven years after failing to become an LAPD officer, you return to Los Angeles as a literary analyst with the FBI's behavioral analysis unit to catch a serial killer.

Warnings: angst, violence, discussions of autopsies and forensic science, literary references, fluff and banter, improper use of a meat locker

Word Count: 13k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

As the slick black SUV with US government plates parks outside the LAPD Mid-Wilshire station, you try not to reminisce. It would be too easy to remember how excited you were to walk in on your first day after the police academy, too easy to remember the devastation and heartbreak you felt walking through the same doors after surrendering your badge. You open the car door and focus on the current job, keeping your head down as you follow your team into the station that once felt like home. After finding an empty space out of the officers’ way to wait while your boss speaks to the watch commander and captain, you unlock your phone and scroll through the case details you reviewed on the flight, looking for anything you might have missed.

“Can I help you?”

You look up from your phone, the case detail email disappearing as you press the power button and smile at the LAPD officer standing before you.

“Sorry, I’m waiting for the rest of my team,” you explain before brandishing your badge.

“Oh, no worries. This is my first time working in a task force,” she replies. “It’s exciting.”

You nod and subconsciously tug on your sleeves. Officer Chen is obviously a rookie, and her enthusiasm is refreshing.

“Is this your first time in LA?” she asks.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Chen, Bradford wants to see you before roll call,” another officer calls.

“Is Bradford your training officer?” you ask.

“He is. Do you know him?”

You look around, then say, “Tim is on, what? His tenth plain clothes day washout?”

“Eleventh,” she answers, surprised.

“Nice to meet you, Officer Chen.” You offer your hand and say, “I’m number five.”

Chen’s jaw drops before she asks, “And now you’re FBI? How did that happen?”

“Long story… But I’m a literary analyst for the behavioral analysis unit, not exactly a field agent.”

A passing officer stops, then steps backward to look at you. “Are you on Hotchner’s team?”

“I am. I assume you remember him?”

“You know an FBI agent, Officer Lopez?” Chen asks.

“He was responsible for over 100 convictions of corrupt cops six or seven years ago. Five of them were LAPD, and one was our watch commander,” Lopez explains. “Chen, we need to get to roll call.”

You nod to Lucy, then return your attention to an email from Penelope.

“Your phone should be at least twelve inches from your face to limit blue light exposure,” Spencer says as he enters the station. “Sixteen to eighteen inches is preferable.”

“Spencer,” you reply, smiling as you turn toward him. “Penelope used what appears to be 6-point font and then zoomed out. I appreciate the concern for my eye health but take it up with her.”

Spencer frowns and murmurs, “Sounds like a job for Morgan.”

“What’s that, pretty boy?” Derek inquires as if he was summoned by the utterance of his name. “Gettin’ girlie here a date?”

“In Los Angeles?” you ask incredulously. “Hard pass.”

“Right, because the location is the issue with the plan. Not the fact that we’re working a case, and new evidence was discovered this morning,” Hotch deadpans from your side.

“I can multitask, boss man,” Derek defends, tossing his arm over your shoulders.

“Psychologists have determined the human brain isn’t designed for successful multitasking,” Reid begins. “It can cause switch cost, which results when attention and information retainment are suddenly redirected from one task to another, and cognitive efficiency and performance diminish-“

“Says the walking brain with at least fourteen tabs open,” Derek jokes.

“They’re waiting for us,” Hotch reminds. “I mean, only if you’re ready.”

“Your station,” Derek tells you, shaking your shoulders gently as he follows you toward the roll call room.

“… and there is no excuse for failure to communicate,” Sergeant Wade Grey continues as you follow Hotch into the roll call room.

You stand between Hotch and Derek as he speaks and look around the room. Fourteen officers are seated at the tables, listening intently even as their eyes stray to the case board. JJ joins you a moment later, mouthing an apology to Hotch before passing him a folder.

“More evidence?” you whisper.

She nods, then whispers something to Spencer, who furrows his brows and squints at the case board. You know the look, and it increases your concern about the case. Though there have been two notes and a book tied to the previous crime scenes, you’re unsure why  Hotch decided you needed to join them in LA. You could have stayed in Virginia with Penelope, you think, but you trust him and the rest of your team. Turning away from JJ, you fight the urge to peek into Hotch’s open folder as you run your eyes up and down the rows of officers. You recognize Chen and Lopez from this morning, but stop when you see Tim Bradford.

Hotch notices your shoulders stiffen in the split second before you relax, and he taps his elbow against you. You look up at him, and he nods once to reassure you. You’re not alone, and unlike the last time you were in this station, someone else knows the truth of what happened.

“Any questions about the case?” Grey asks. He sighs when someone raises their hand and says, “Yes, Nolan?”

Nolan doesn’t seem concerned with Grey’s lethargy. “What’s the connection between the zoo and the first victim?”

Spencer shifts beside you, and Derek shakes his head in amusement. You can imagine the rambling fighting to get out of Reid, and you smile at Derek rather than laugh.

“I should’ve been clearer. Any questions about our side of the investigation?” Grey amends, and this time the officers stay quiet. “In that case, I’d like to introduce Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner of the FBI, the BAU unit chief, who has brought his team across the country to assist in this case.”

Hotch walks to the front of the room and sets his files on the podium. He fixes an evaluating glare on the officers before him, then nods.

JJ leans toward you and asks, “Remember how intimidating that look used to be?”

“Still makes me stand up a little straighter,” you admit.

“We’re here to help,” Hotch begins. “But that means that we need you to be as committed to solving this case as we are. If you’re not ready for that, you’re free to go.” No one moves, so Hotch says, “Good. Sergeant Grey has briefed me on each of you. You’re good officers, but street smarts and police procedure won’t get this monster off the street.”

“But talking about the suspect’s feelings will?” one of the officers jokes.

Hotch’s eyebrows raise, and his serious look fades into a knowing glare. “You must be Bradford.”

JJ takes your hand, and Derek exhales. They know more about your history in LA than the people in LA do, and you appreciate their friendship and presence.

“Sorry, sir,” Tim replies. “I only meant that there is tangible evidence at these scenes, and it seems to me that concrete proof will help us find this guy faster than dissecting his mind through his habits and words.”

Hotch returns behind the podium and admits, “I understand how our process could seem like a waste of time, and criminal profiling is not an exact science, we’re wrong sometimes, but you know as well as I do that there’s no one right way to solve a crime. The important thing in this situation is to get a killer off the streets before he claims more lives. If our behavioral analysis can assist in that, we’d appreciate your cooperation.”

“I can assure you that you have the LAPD’s complete cooperation,” Sergeant Grey interjects, looking pointedly at Tim. “And anyone unwilling to do so will be removed from this task force.”

Tim crosses his arms across his chest and nods, a position you remember well from your limited days as a rookie. You expected this type of attitude from him and possibly more cops. You truly believe that the BAU can offer insights Tim can’t glean from analyzing a crime scene or going through the processed evidence.

“Do any of you have questions for me or my communications liaison?” Hotch asks.

Several officers ask questions about task force protocol, what your team does, and other run-of-the-mill inquiries about the federal agency and its duties.

“I believe it is time for introductions?” Hotch says, stepping to the side as he welcomes Sergeant Grey back to the front of the room.

“The LAPD has selected fourteen of its best officers-“ He turns away from the room and lowers his voice to tell Hotch, “If you’re against rookies on the team, I’ve got some other officers on standby.”

“If you trust them, they’re welcome to stay.”

Grey nods and turns, then continues, “Officer Lopez, Officer Bishop and her rookie, John Nolan, Officer Janssen…”

You tune out most of the officers’ names, trusting Spencer to fill in any blanks for you, until you hear, “Officer Bradford and his rookie, Lucy Chen.”

You were in Lucy’s position just over seven years ago, and now you’re looking in from the outside. You love your job and appreciate the FBI and the BAU for giving you a home and a rewarding career. Yet, sometimes you’re still plagued by the inevitable wondering, what if?

“Pleasure to meet you all,” Hotch responds. “I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, behind you is my team: Special Agents Reid, Morgan, Jareau…” Hotch meets your eyes before introducing you, and you watch him rather than Tim, who turns quickly in his chair and stares wide-eyed at you before controlling his expression and returning to his usual composed demeanor.

“How is a literary analyst helpful?” someone questions softly.

“This unit has taken down more serial criminals than you can name,” Wade snaps. “Show a little respect.”

“We’d like to brief you before the media,” Hotch explains. “If it’s possible to reconvene before tomorrow’s patrol begins, of course.”

“Not a problem. I want all of you back in here fifteen minutes before beginning of shift tomorrow,” Wade tells his officers. “Keep the conversation in this room, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” the officers respond as they stand and file out of the door, some whispering together, others leaving quietly and alone.

“I think that went well,” Derek says as Hotch gathers his things.

“Socially speaking, there was a divide and a complete lack of faith in us,” Spencer argues. “Though there is the question of authority and a misunderstanding regarding our purpose and purview.”

“Pretty boy and I are going to go find some coffee.”

As Derek and Spencer leave, and JJ excuses herself to answer a phone call, you’re left alone with your current supervisor and former watch commander.

“It’s good to see you,” Wade says, smiling as he pulls you into a hug.

“You, too,” you respond. “Sorry I haven’t been back as much as I’d like.”

“I understand,” Wade assures. “And it seems that you’ve found your perfect place in the BAU.”

“We like to think so,” Hotch agrees. “Although…”

“Bradford won’t be a problem,” you interrupt.

Hotch tilts his head questioningly, and you add, “He fights back on new things, but he’s a good cop, so he’ll do what’s right in the end.”

Hotch hesitates, then asks, “Do you trust him?”

“With my life.”

“He’s the best I’ve got,” Wade comments. “But if there’s a question about him…”

“He’s Morgan, but more serious,” you tell Hotch. He doesn’t change his stare, so you sigh and promise, “I want him here. There’s no bad blood between us and he’s going to be invaluable in this.”

Hotch nods and looks away from you finally and begins asking Wade about one of the files turned in the night before, which you understand as your cue to leave. After you step out into the bullpen, Derek returns to your side.

“Where’s Spencer?” you ask, looking over his shoulder.

“Telling Officer Chen about the health benefits of doing something boring. How are you?”

“I’m okay. Hotch doesn’t seem to think so.”

Derek gasps and holds your shoulder to exclaim, “You have two overprotective father figures to work for now!”

You consider arguing for less than a second before you realize he’s right. Wade stayed in touch after you left LA. Hotch has never left room for you to wonder how he sees you and his need to protect you. So, you’re working on a case that feels like two different versions of your personality, and parts of your life have combined into one perfect yet terrifying case. And you haven’t even talked to Tim yet.

“I hope our hotel has a hot tub,” you lament.

“Plain clothes day washout number five, huh?” Lucy asks Tim as they patrol Los Angeles.

Tim shakes his head and doesn’t answer. He’s gone seven years without talking about you, only having to relive the heartbreak on your face and the disappointment he felt during his loneliest nights. Tim saw great potential in you, considered you more than a rookie, and taking your badge had affected him in a way he never expected. Now, you’re in the FBI, which is news to him, and you’re working on a case that he hasn’t been able to solve even with ten crime scenes to work with.

“What happened?” Lucy tries.

“None of your business, Chen,” he snaps. “That case, Hotchner’s team, all of it stays in the roll call room for now. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

A bell chimes above your head as you enter your favorite Los Angeles diner. It’s your first night in the city, and since you don’t know how long you’ll be here, you wanted to revisit it while you had a chance. When you mentioned the diner, your team gave you their orders to bring to the hotel, where they’re currently reviewing the autopsy reports. It feels wrong to leave them, but you sigh in the comfort of a place that once provided you a refuge after long days.

“Old habits?” you ask as you approach the counter.

Tim looks up from the laminate and watches you. You don’t meet his gaze but look at the menu while you wait for the waitress to return. This was your favorite diner when you started at the LAPD, and Tim has never given himself time to wonder why he kept coming back even after you left.

“Something like that,” he says. “So, uh, the FBI. That’s incredible.”

You shrug. “Not what I wanted, but I love it.”

Tim nods, unsure what else to say. You’re not the girl you were on day one in the academy, not even the girl who left the station in tears after washing out. Tim still sees you, the woman who fought for what was right never gave up, and was smarter than she ever realized. That’s not the person he saw your last week on patrol, but he knew you were still in there somewhere.

“How long have you been with the BAU?” he inquires.

The waitress returns, and you take the excuse to not answer Tim. You retrieve your phone from your pocket and read a large order from the screen, then pass a shiny, FBI-issued credit card over the counter.

“It’ll be a few minutes, hun,” the waitress informs as she returns the card. “Feel free to have a seat.”

You thank her and slide onto a stool, ensuring you leave an empty seat between you and Tim.

“Failing to become a police officer was one of the hardest things I’ve ever experienced,” you confess. “A few months later, Aaron Hotchner knocked on my door. There was a case nearby, a serial rapist who was leaving personalized love letters with every single victim. He found my résumé on a local job board and came to ask for help because of my background. The rest just fell into place, I guess.”

“You get to carry,” Tim points out, gesturing toward the holster on your hip, concealed from everyone else by your shirt. “They don’t let people who just ‘fall into place’ do that.”

“I did everything by the book, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m wondering what changed on plain clothes day,” he responds. “You were on track to be an amazing officer, and then that last week, you just… something changed.”

“I did.”

“There’s more to it.”

“There’s really not,” you insist. “If you don’t want to be on this task force-“

“I do. I wish you could see that you have the potential to lead it.”

“Hotch saved my life. I trust him.” Tim understands the part you don’t say: that you trust him more than yourself.

The waitress returns with two full bags, and you stand as you take them from the counter.

“Goodnight, Tim. I’ll see you at the station tomorrow.”

As you leave, the bell chimes over the door again, and Tim hears your voice in his head, the promise of another chance, but he doesn't miss the fact that you leave every time you see each other.

“What if - and hear me out on this - you just told him the truth,” Derek suggests.

You take a drink from a cheap Styrofoam cup and nod. “You’re right, Derek, why didn’t I think of that?”

“You know, most hotel chains serving breakfast fail to maintain proper culinary heat-“

Hotch raises one finger before Spencer can ruin breakfast for everyone. “Don’t.”

“I agree with Morgan,” JJ says. “There’s clearly questions there, and if you explain what happened, he’ll trust you more.”

“And he can deal with some of the guilt,” Hotch grumbles.

“What guilt?” you inquire, pausing with a cheap metal fork in your hand.

“He clearly blames himself for letting you lose your position,” Hotch explains.

“He knows how good you are, so that final week probably doesn’t make any sense to him,” Derek adds.

“He doesn’t,” you mutter. “He told me last night-“

“You saw him last night?” JJ exclaims.

“I ran into him at the diner.”

“He still goes to your diner?” Derek questions.

“It’s just a diner! But I saw him there and he insisted that there was more to what happened than me changing.”

“And you lied to him?” Hotch responds. “It’s over, you can tell him, you can shout it from the top of the Chinese theater.”

“That would be illegal,” Spencer mumbles.

“And wouldn’t change anything,” you add. “We’re here to work a case, not mend a bridge that has been-“ you scramble for the right word before finishing, “disintegrating for nearly a decade.”

Derek groans as he leans back in his seat, and Hotch finally looks up to say, “If this gets in the way of the case, I’ll have Garcia email him everything he needs to know.”

“I’m cutting holes in all of your quarter-zips tonight,” you threaten in return.

Hotch frowns and mouths, You’ll never find them all.

“Good morning,” Sergeant Grey calls as the door closes behind the twentieth and final member of the task force. “SSA Hotchner is going to fill you all in.”

“Thanks for coming in early,” Hotch begins. “There have been no new developments in the case since yesterday, but my team has created a preliminary profile based on the preexisting evidence and details from the first ten victims.”

Your phone buzzes with an incoming call from Garcia, and you exit the room to answer. “Whatcha got for us, gorgeous?”

“Ooh, does Derek know you’re talking to me like this?” she replies, her keyboard clicking in the background.

“Not like he’s competition,” you say with a playful scoff. “Find anything on the deep dive?”

“Nothing inherently helpful. The prelim suspects are all pretty similar, though one of them did alibi out. Carson Gillery was working remotely from Chicago during the second and third murders. Hotel and airline checks corroborate that.”

“I’ll tell Hotch. Anything else?”

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“Fine. Why?”

She stops typing suddenly and then inhales sharply.

“Garcia?” You ask.

The line beeps as she disconnects, and a phone on the desk closest to you begins ringing. A Virginia area code appears on the caller ID, and you stretch across the desk to pick up the receiver.

“Penelope?” you ask hurriedly.

“He’s in the data!” she explains, typing again. “He’s not doing much, but someone is overriding minor coding and there was another line tied into our call. I could hear him breathing; thought you were crying at first, but now I’m running a backward search to find this psycho.”

“None of the prelim suspects would know how to do that,” you point out.

“Uh oh,” Penelope breathes. “I think…  I think he left you a message.”

“What is it?”

“It’s in the seventh victim’s ME report, overwriting the details of the posthumous wounding to the back. It says 2/18/17… It matters not how strait the gate, How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.”

“Henley,” you murmur, trying to connect the dots as you forget the first half of the message.

“There’s more,” Penelope says. “A copy of your one-way ticket to Virginia with an alternate ID that says, ‘thanks for the perfect opening night.’”

“It’s about me?” you whisper.

“I’m going to trace these messages,” Penelope declares. “You tell Hotch about this, and please, please do not try to investigate this on your own.”

“You got it. But can you send me a scan of page 39, no- 38, from the William Ernest Henley book in my office? I need the annotated copy of Invictus.”

“You got it. Tell Morgan and I said hi and I’m wearing-“

You hang up and take a deep breath as you return the receiver to the cradle.

“Agent Hotchner,” you call as you return. “I need a word.”

“Let me finish-“

“There’s been a development,” you interrupt. “An urgent one.”

Hotch sees the look in your eyes and calls Spencer to the front of the room to continue reviewing the patterns in the killings and to discuss the psychological traits and drivers they suspect the killer will have. Derek watches as Hotch and Grey follow you out of the roll call room. Meanwhile, JJ watches Officer Tim Bradford as he manages to conceal his concern but not his interest as he watches you through the glass walls.

“Garcia called with information on the prelim suspects,” you explain. “Someone tapped into the call, and then… whoever it was started manipulating her date on the FBI server. She did say that Carson Gillery alibied out, he was out of state for several of the murders, but whoever this guy is, he is incredibly close to this case.”

“Manipulated the data how?” Hotch asks.

You wring your fingers together as you answer, “He left a message. Garcia thinks it was for me.”

“Left it where?” Grey inquires.

“The seventh victim Mel Houghton’s autopsy report. It was a date and a line from a William Ernest Henley poem.”

“The date?” Hotch presses.

You inhale deeply before saying, “February 18, 2017.”

“The day you lost your position in the LAPD,” Grey remembers. “What does it mean?”

You look toward Hotch, and he shakes his head twice. There isn’t an obvious answer to Grey’s question, but the implication that this case has something to do with you isn’t good.

“He… he also had a picture of my plane ticket to Virginia and added a note, something about ‘thanks for the opening night,’” you add. “Hotch, if you have to take me off this case-“

“We need you,” he interjects. “The literary aspect of this case is progressing.”

“Does that mean we could limit our suspect search?” Wade asks, looking between you and Hotch.

“Not likely,” you reply with a sigh. “Plenty of literature enjoyers can’t be located purely based on that. There’s no evidence he’s educated or active in book clubs, debates, anything.”

“Garcia’s tracing the data changes?” Hotch assumes.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then we work what we can until she gets back to us.”

“I need to see the novellas left with the victims,” you request. Hotch begins to speak, and you add, “Not the scans, the actual, physical stories left with their bodies.”

“I’ll get someone to go through the evidence with you,” Wade assures. “Any preference?”

You look into the roll call room through the glass sheeting, your eyes drifting past Tim as you decide, “Officer Chen, please.”

Wade nods once, then returns to the podium inside as Spencer concludes his comments on the psychology of the killer’s modus operandi.

“What are you expecting to find?” Hotch asks you.

“I really wish I knew,” you answer softly. “Hotch, what if this is all my fault?”

“The delusions of a killer have nothing to do with you. If something you did as an officer triggered him to start, there is no reason to assume he wouldn’t have started later. He’s clearly reality-challenged, living in a space between this world and the events of his imagination, and that is not on you.”

You nod, rubbing your forehead as you think. “Literature is clearly important to him. If it comes to it, will you let me go with JJ to a press conference?”

Hotch hesitates, and you know he doesn’t like the idea of putting his team in public view, unless absolutely necessary, but he says, “Fine. Only if it gets that far.”

“Hotch? February 2017 had massive storms. Urban flooding, mudslides, wind, snowfall, there was mayhem that week. I mean, a police chase with a DUI driver, a car fell into a sinkhole. I used some of those cases to…” You trail off, remembering all of the things you did wrong.

“Talk to me,” Hotch encourages.

“Any one of the people who had contact with the LAPD that weekend could have been pushed over the edge. He could have been killing for seven years, since whatever happened, but just got bold and brazen enough to make it public.”

Hotch leaves your side for a moment to wave Spencer out. When he joins you and Hotch in the bullpen, Hotch gestures for you to explain your theory.

“I suppose,” Spencer muses. “The killings have progressed minimally since the first victim three months ago. It does point toward a more practiced unsub, someone who has, in their mind, perfected their method. Yes, it’s completely possible.”

“The books,” Hotch points out. “Those are new. Unsolved cases with novellas or poems shoved down victims’ throats would have caught someone’s attention by now.”

“Serial killers gain experience with each new offense,” Spencer explains. “The learning curve is steep because of the logistics it takes to commit a murder. If he’s been killing without being caught, the thrill of killing would empower him to take more chances. In this case, the trophy aspect of his MO could easily have changed, but his idiosyncratic psychological needs remain the same.”

“We don’t have enough people to comb through seven years of cold cases to find similar killings,” you lament.

“We do have the media,” JJ interjects, sliding her phone into her pocket as she approaches. “It’s a long shot, but if we could find one or two, would it be enough to complete a profile?”

“An estimate of how long he’s been at this, with Garcia’s trace and the analysis of the literature at the scene… Yes, we could establish a firm MO and improve the unsub’s psychological profile.”

“Hold on,” Derek urges into his phone as he joins the rest of your team. He looks at you and says, “Give me your phone.”

You pass it to him, and he flips it in his free hand as he listens. He gives you an apologetic look and then drops it.

“Morgan!” Hotch exclaims as Derek brings the heel of his boot down on your phone screen.

“Unless Penelope told you to do that, I’m going to be very mad,” you say.

“Alright, baby girl, tell us all,” Derek requests as he puts his phone on speaker.

“I found our guy, or his IP address at least,” Penelope says.

“And?” Hotch asks. “Where is he?”

“That’s the thing. He’s in an apartment a few miles from the station.”

You recite your previous address and Penelope murmurs, “That’s the one.”

Penelope explains how she traced his data trail before you interrupt to ask, “Is there anything about another cop in it?”

“Uh, there were some numbers,” she answers.

“34381?” you guess. “And 6147?”

“Amongst others, yeah. Do they mean something to you?”

“One is Officer Bradford’s badge number. The other is Sergeant Kenneth Adamson.”

“I’ll run the rest of the numbers against the LAPD database and get back to you.”

“Are all of our phones in need of stomping?” Spencer asks before Penelope hangs up.

“Not yet,” she replies, and then the line clicks.

“Running everything is going to take too long,” you complain. “He’s probably already targeted his next victim. He could be writing the novella for all we know!”

“His system is organized,” Spencer explains. “We can use that. The past victims have been a week or more apart. Even if he does change his timeline because we’re here, he needs time to plan, write, correct?”

“Yes,” you answer. “He could do it overnight if the circumstances called for it.”

“Assuming he’ll take a break between kills, however…”

“We have two days,” Derek concludes. “Let’s hope he’s not too organized, doc.”

“He’s a criminal,” JJ says. “They all get stupid and forgetful.”

“We don’t change anything. He’s changing the rules, pushing himself, but we’re not playing his game,” Hotch says. “And, for the moment, we keep the LAPD connection to ourselves.”

“What if they could help?” JJ argues.

“No.”

“Act like we have a week, and he won’t expect us to be ready to go,” you say. “In that case, I’ll start analyzing the literature.”

“Speaking of which.” JJ pulls a paper from her bag and says, “The homicide detective said CSI found this on a secondary scene analysis.”

You read the scan of the evidence, and your eyes widen as you look up at Derek. “Good thing you came with. He’s building a bomb.”

“Whoa,” Derek says with little intonation in his voice, but his hands raise as he moves his head in surprise. “Explain the progression from writing stories to bombs.”

“Postmodern literature is the most recent literary movement that contains vulgarity in diction and violence. It’s often used as an authentic portrayal of humanity, depicting violence against gender, race, and the human body,” Spencer answers. “Epic poetry was one of the first storytelling forms to depict interpersonal violence.”

Derek rolls his eyes at Spencer’s reply to the rhetorical question, and you add, “The Victorian literary period was marked by violence through the use of suffering and physical dangers as literary themes. The gothic genre aestheticized the darker elements of human life, explored sexual violence, dramatic monologues, and realistic violence like robbery, beheadings, even serial murders.”

“Which affects us how?” Hotch inquires.

“William Ernest Henley was a prominent figure in the later years of the Victorian movement. He sent lines from Invictus to Garcia, and that piece has been the poem of choice for extremists and terrorists to justify their violence in the last few years. There is some hardship beyond our killer’s control, and this is how he’s dealing with it.”

“Still doubting your hypothesis?” Hotch deadpans.

“Wouldn’t he have to stop all of the suffering somehow?” JJ asks.

“Yes. But he hasn’t decided on an endgame yet, we’ll see the signs of that when it comes. The beginning of a plan for a bomb isn’t concerning yet. For now, we continue as planned, but he will likely strike again in 24 to 48 hours.”

“They’re getting concerned,” Derek whispers, waving toward the roll call room.

“I’ll handle them. You have your assignments,” Hotch states. “We reconvene tonight after end of shift.”

“Yes, sir,” you agree with the rest of your team.

As you return to the roll call room between JJ and Derek, you keep your eyes on the front of the room, ignoring how Tim turns to look at you. Hotch gives an acceptable excuse for your team’s private meeting and then provides tasks with Sergeant Wade.

“What about me?” Lucy asks as the other officers exit into the bullpen.

“You’re with me,” you reply, stepping toward her as you smile. “If that’s okay.”

“Yes!” Lucy cheers. She clears her throat and amends, “Yes, of course, I’d love to help.”

“Keep me updated,” Hotch tells you.

“Yes, sir. Oh, and…” You move your fingers in a scissor motion to remind him of your previous threat before concluding, “Spencer has the information you asked for.”

Hotch nods once, and Wade smiles. Suddenly, you’re hit with the feeling of being torn apart, stuck between the life you wanted and the one you have. When the case is solved, the killer is behind bars, and you’ll have to leave these people again. At least you’ve finally remembered that planes travel both ways.

“Ten victims,” you say as you pin the last picture to the bulletin board in the office you and Lucy have set up. “Six novellas, a book, two pamphlets, and a bloody poem.”

Lucy’s eyes follow the red thread connecting the victims to their evidence and the order of the killings as you stare at the T.S. Eliot poem from the fifth scene with your hands on your hips.

Plus, a William Ernest Henley poem meant to bring me into the killer’s world, you think.

“Ready?” you ask Lucy.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You laugh and invite her to use your first name, then spread the evidence pictures from the first murder on the metal desk. It isn’t the same as reviewing the physical books and poems, the thick paper holding the twisted ideas of a serial killer left warm from the printer beside the lives he claimed for the sake of his own story. It’s the best you can do for now.

“Janice Davis, our first victim. The killer stapled a San Diego Zoo pamphlet to her chest.” You flip through the case file and add, “Antemortem. Ouch.”

“That looks like a building staple,” Lucy muses, leaning over the picture.

“It is. Your forensics lab determined it’s a Powernail galvanized seven-eighths inch crown staple. Intended purpose is woodworking and flooring, and one side of the staple extends out at an angle, so even if she was conscious long enough to try removing it… well, it would’ve hurt more to take it out.”

“What was the cause of death?”

“Unknown,” you read, furrowing your brows. “Manner of death: homicide. But it looks like they couldn’t determine the cause. Any chance ME Daniella Smith is still around?”

“I don’t know,” Lucy confesses. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Sorry, you’re good at this, I keep forgetting you’re a rookie.”

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever told me.”

You smile, then return to the evidence before you. “The next victim, Gregory Hunter, was found with a copy of Orwell’s Animal Farm open beneath his head. The page, as far as I can tell, is irrelevant.”

“Then what’s the point of leaving it there?”

“Hunter was Davis’s boss, and apparently they had been involved a few years prior to working together. Animal Farm presents Orwell’s ideas on power, equality, socialism and corruption.”

“All things the San Diego Zoo has been accused of abusing throughout history,” Lucy adds. “Along with the animals.”

“Precisely. Then it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that our killer was wronged by a failing class structure, abuse of power and control, inequality, or socialism.”

“That’s a lot of options.”

“Which is why we keep looking. Victim number three had a personalized novella…”

“The method of killing has been consistent with every victim. They’re injured, kept alive for three to twelve hours, and then killed. Janice Davis, victim one, was ruled as undetermined cause of death, but there was no evidence of blunt force trauma, gunshot wounds or poisoning, which we’d expect based on the sudden killings of the others,” Spencer explains.

“You can tune him out,” Derek whispers. “When his voice drops an octave, he’s about to ask a question.”

Tim nods, but he wasn’t listening to begin with. His mind keeps drifting to thoughts of you. He watched you talk to your team, has worked with you, and knows the depth of your talent and potential. Yet he continues to wonder how you truly came to work at such an elite division in the FBI and what you’re hiding.

“Do any of you have experience with crime scene investigation?” Spencer asks.

Several officers raise their hands, including Angela. Tim has guarded scenes and looked around on his own time, but he isn’t sure when his unique skills will be required for this case.

“Morgan,” Hotch calls from the doorway. “Take an officer to gather the literary evidence. Someone with a station ID has to sign it out for us.” He looks towards the front of the room and sighs. “And tell Spencer to wrap it up.”

“Doctor Morgan,” Derek calls as he stands. “Perhaps we should move on to the evidence snapshots and physical profile?”

Spencer nods and shifts his attention to the tools and proposed appearance of the killer.

“I’ve got a station ID,” Tim tells Derek. “If you need that evidence now.”

Derek sighs but waves for Tim to join him. He remains quiet while they walk to the evidence lockers, largely because he’s evaluating Tim. Derek knows about your time in Los Angeles, and even if he did encourage you to talk to Tim, he isn’t sure if Tim deserves your time.

“You were military?” Derek asks as they wait for the evidence to be thoroughly signed out and accounted for.

“Army,” Tim responds. “FBI always the goal for you?”

“Oh, nah, I started as a cop up in Chicago. Things just happened.”

“Seems to be a lot of that,” Tim murmurs, remembering your ‘fell into place’ excuse.

“Why be a TO?”

Tim shrugs. He’s never had a good answer for that question, and if he starts thinking, he might get caught up on his fifth washout.

“Special Agent Morgan,” the evidence officer says as he places a large box on the ledge. “Your supervisor has to sign this form upon evidence return.”

“Got it. Thank you.”

Derek picks up the box and steps back, but the officer places another box behind it. Tim takes it without a word and follows Derek to an office with a closed door.

He taps his foot against the door and calls, “Open up, pretty girl, these muscles are just for show!”

You smile as you open the door, and Tim clenches his jaw at the realization that Derek Morgan just called you ‘pretty girl.’

“I fear you’ve mistaken me for Penelope,” you tell him as you hold the door. “Thank you so much.”

Tim nods as he places the box down, and then looks at the case board.

“Oh, Tim,” Lucy says. “Do you know if ME Daniella Smith is still working?”

“She retired,” Tim replies.

You drop your shoulders and nod. “Thanks.”

“I can get her address and phone number, though,” he offers, partially to help and partially because he hates how disappointed you look.

“That would be amazing!” you reply happily. “Lucy, feel free to go with him, move around for a few minutes.”

Lucy follows Tim, and you close the door to talk to Derek. You explain that the literature points toward class structure, abuse of power, or socialism.

“Maybe he should move to Canada instead of killing then,” Derek muses. “Have you told Hotch?”

“Not yet. There’s also the string of violence in the literature. At first, it was metaphorical violence, a symbolic representation of the dangers of power in society, but it’s gotten more blatant, more Victorian in its realism.”

“The novellas?” he guesses.

“I haven’t gotten to read them in their entirety yet, I’ll start that now, but I’d guess he’s outlining his preferred method of violence as well as the reason.”

“Think it will shed some light on the explosives schematics? Which, by the way, are pretty weak. A bomb like that would be hard pressed to flip a Prius, it wouldn’t do major damage unless it was an incredibly confined space.”

“Ask Spencer what he thinks about the space,” you suggest. “The killings have been in relatively open spaces, but he’d know better than me if it means anything.”

“I’ll run it by him if I can get a word in.”

You laugh at Derek’s joke, but he turns serious again to ask, “Are you okay? I know this can’t be easy for you, working a case here after seven years.”

“I’m okay,” you promise. “I’ll let you know if that changes and I need a Morgan hug.”

Derek smiles as he opens the door, and Tim and Lucy return soon after.

“She lives three miles from here and said she’d talk to you,” Lucy relays.

“Let me tell my team.”

Tim raises a hand to stop you as you gather your things and repeats, “She said she’d talk to you. She recognized your name.”

“Oh.” Hotch walks by the door, and you step out quickly to explain, “I found the ME who couldn’t determine Janice Davis’s cause of death. She’s retired, but lives nearby and agreed to talk to me, but only me.”

Hotch weighs his options, but when he sees Tim behind you, he suggests, “Then you should probably take your TO.”

Your eyes widen in shock, but you trust Hotch, so you nod and step back into the office.

“You don’t have to,” you begin as Tim asks, “Ready?”

You fail to find the right words for several moments, then say, “Lucy, do you want to help Derek Morgan review crime scenes for construction and security?”

“Sure! Let me know if you need more help with this stuff when you get back,” she responds. “Good luck!”

“Thanks,” you say, though you think I’ll need it.

“Do you want to drive or should I?” Tim asks once you’re alone.

You lift keys from your pocket and say, “I will. Do you think Smith will be any help?”

“We can hope.”

“Can I address the elephant in the room?” Sergeant Grey asks.

“Be my guest,” Hotch answers, not looking up from his improved profile.

“Bradford isn’t operating at his usual level.”

“She is.”

“Which is why I think there may be more to his side of the story.”

Hotch looks up to propose, “You think he had something to do with Adamson’s misconduct?”

“No,” Wade assures, “nothing like that. But two days of fire-able offenses and not a single correction from her TO? Bradford either didn’t care that she gave up or, for some reason, he wasn’t in a position to.”

“The corruption we found ran deep. There’s a chance he was hoping to get a piece of the takeaway… or he was in a similar position to her.” Hotch reaches for his phone quickly after he speaks and raises it to his ear. “Garcia, I need you to run the badge numbers again. Tell me how many of them had a direct connection to Keith Adamson.”

“One second,” Penelope requests. “Software’s running it now. Oh, the medical examiner, Smith, she resigned less than an hour after the charges against Adamson came in. Thought that was interesting.”

“That’s one connection.”

“Okay, yep, all ten of the badge numbers embedded in the coding have connections to Adamson. Seven subordinates, his captain, and two IA investigators.”

“Thanks, Garcia.” Hotch ends the call and tells Wade, “Whatever Adamson did, it wasn’t just skimming the evidence pile, it pushed our killer over the edge.”

“I remember Janice Davis,” Daniella Smith says as she passes you a mug of hot tea. “She was young, twenty-six, I believe, and had a construction staple in her sternum.”

“Your official report listed the cause of death as indiscernible,” you reply, wrapping your hands around the mug as your thigh presses against Tim’s on the small settee. “Do you remember if you may have had any hypotheses?”

Daniella sighs as she lowers into a chair across from you. “It was asphyxiation. Her mouth was sealed with superglue, and she couldn't get enough air after a few hours of lying horizontally.”

Tim looks at you before demanding, “Why didn’t you put that in the report?”

“I was scared.”

“And you think the people living here weren’t?”

“Tim,” you whisper harshly. You shake your head as Daniella shrinks in her seat. “Why were you scared, Ms. Harris?” She shakes slightly, and you give her a moment to breathe before you ask, “Did someone at the police station ask you to lie?”

She laughs once, a sad sound before she wipes her nose and corrects, “He threatened me if I didn’t.”

“Who?” Tim asks.

“Sergeant Keith Adamson. He was the watch commander at the time. My career, my life, my marriage, he threatened to ruin it all if I didn’t cover up how she was killed.”

“Was there residue?” you inquire. “From the superglue?”

“There were trace amounts, and the lab was able to identify it easily.”

“It was the only death to be covered up, why do you think that is?”

Daniella looks up quickly, her eyes wide as she states, “Because it was an experiment. The others were killed more conventional, faster: a slit throat, hammer to the temple. Her death would have taken time.”

“Was the time of death in your report accurate?” you ask. “Because it was around the same time as the others even with the changed MO.”

“It was,” she explains, “he must have taken her earlier to get a head start.”

“You said it was an experiment,” Tim repeats. “She was victim number one. If it didn’t go well, wouldn’t the others have just been an improved, or changed, MO?”

Daniella frowns, and you lean forward to ask, “How many more were there?”

Tim slams the passenger door as you return to the car. Daniella disappears from the front window, crying as you start the engine.

“The FBI will charge me if this car gets damaged,” you mumble as you shift into reverse.

“Thirty deaths that she knows of!” Tim exclaims. “How could she cover all of those up?”

“Pretty easily. Self-preservation is a powerful motivator.”

“This monster has been at it for years. You were probably on the job for some of his murders, how can you say that?”

“It’s not my place to judge everyone involved in this case, Tim. Not yours either.”

Tim scoffs, but he’s interrupted by your phone ringing. You answer by saying your last name and Hotch’s voice fills the car as he speaks.

“There’s been another murder,” he says. You slap the steering wheel before he continues, “A double murder. I’m sending you the address. Drop Bradford at the station and meet us there.”

“Yes, sir.”

After the call ends, you grit your teeth to keep yourself from yelling. You spent too much time with the retired ME, and two more people are dead now.

“I’m going with you,” Tim states.

“No, you’re not. You heard him, you’re going back to the station.”

“You need me-“

“Actually, we don’t. We have jurisdiction now, Tim,” you snap.

“Do they know about everything you did your last week on the job?” Tim challenges. “How you ignored calls, put yourself, and me, in danger just to let the clearly guilty criminals go? I mean, you let a guy get away with assault and your handcuffs!”

You don’t reply because your mind begins racing. You had forgotten about that specific incident. Your last two days on the job were a blur, just forty-eight hours you have done everything you could to forget.

“Alexander Riley,” you murmur.

“What?” Tim snaps.

“Nothing, Tim. I’m sorry you’re not happy, but you don’t have authorization to join me, and I’m done breaking the rules.”

“Convenient.”

You hit the brakes too hard as you stop outside the back entrance of the station. Tim slams the door again before he walks inside, and you shift into park to call Derek.

“Are you still at the station?” you ask when he answers.

“We’re about to leave,” he replies. “Did you beat us to the scene? You know speed limits still apply to federal agents, right?”

“No, I’m at the station too. I need you to - without raising suspicion - get Hotch and Sergeant Grey out here.”

“Okay,” he agrees slowly. “Why?”

“Because I think I know who the killer is. Bring the novella from the ninth scene, it’s Heralded Angels.”

“You got it.”

You can hear the strain in Derek’s voice, but there’s too much on your mind to dwell on his reaction right now. After Hotch, JJ, Derek, and Spencer join you in the FBI-issued SUV, you follow Sergeant Grey, driving an unmarked car, to the double murder scene.

“You had something for me?” Grey asks as you approach the townhouse.

“I do. Trust me for a few more minutes and I’ll tell you everything?”

Wade nods, and you enter the bloody living room with your team. JJ waits outside, and as you squat beside a bookcase covered in blood splatter, you know you’re right.

“Alexander Riley,” you announce, pushing against your knees to stand. “I think he’s our killer.”

“Why?” Spencer asks. “Wait, who?”

“Alexander Riley is one of the men I should have arrested my last week as a rookie.” You look toward Wade as you continue, “He assaulted a store owner while looting during a flood, and I let him get away. He ran away with my handcuffs, but I didn’t try to stop him because I was sure Sergeant Adamson would have used it against me.”

“Abuse of power,” Hotch deduces.

“Right, and class system. You know, cop doesn’t do what cop is supposed to do. So, he may have taken his escape as a sign that something needed to change.”

“Based on his killings, I’d agree that he saw a wrong that needed to be fixed, but why murder?” Wade asks. “How does that fit his idea of making things right, evening everything?”

“He chose victims he viewed as outliers,” Spencer explains. “The first two victims were romantically involved, and then she got a job in his company.”

“The fifth victim was a single man with adopted children, and he left a copy of T.S. Eliot’s ‘The Hollow Men,’” you add. “He went after people who didn’t fit into our traditional class system or who benefitted from misused power. And, if that isn’t enough… there’s an extra novella in here.”

“What?” Hotch and Wade say, stepping toward you simultaneously.

“It’s a little bloody, but the words cop, dirty, and corrected system are showing up pretty well. My name’s on the first page, and I’d guess it’s on the last, too.”

“He’s going to target you?” Derek translates. “That’s not okay.”

“We need to find him first,” you reply. “He’s not going to press pause until he can get to me, he thinks he has to fix the entire world.”

“I’ll get a BOLO out,” Wade offers.

“Wait, Sergeant Grey,” Hotch calls. “I think this should come from us.” He turns toward you and adds, “It would mean more from you.”

“I’ll do it. Although, some of those cops aren’t going to like hearing that I had something to do with it.”

“Just send ‘em my way,” Derek jokes.

“Our profile is complete,” you begin, looking at the entire task force. “And we’ve used that profile, along with scene evidence, literary analysis, and previous arrest records to identify Alexander Riley as our killer. Sergeant Grey has posted a BOLO, and we’d like to send you out in patrol teams to assist in the search for Riley.”

Tim has his folder open, and you’re sure he’s reading the incident report filed after you let Riley get away.

“Maybe you should get out there and find him instead of sitting in our station and reading,” he snarks, closing his folder.

“Bradford,” Wade begins.

“No, it’s okay,” you assure. “I will be assisting in the search, and I will admit that my incompetence likely played a role in Mr. Riley’s progression from petty thief to serial killer. However, we have reason to believe he was killing in private long before he felt the need to leave his victims in plain view for Los Angeles and all of America to see.”

“Officer Bradford, he listed you by name in the novella left at Liza Renner’s murder,” Hotch interjects. “Do you know why he may have done that?”

“No idea. Sir.”

“I’d appreciate if you would stay and help review the story to find an idea, then.”

You look between Hotch and Tim quickly, but their icy stares make you look away before you continue explaining what the manhunt entails and how the FBI will assist.

“Be safe out there,” you conclude.

As officers stand and leave, Hotch and Wade walk to Tim’s side, and then all three of them exit through a different exit.

“That was fun,” you mumble to Derek.

“On the bright side, no one has been publicly executed in the US since 1936, so it’s unlikely you’ll be burned at the stake,” Spencer says.

“That is bright,” you respond. “Thanks, Reid.”

An officer asks for your assistance and leads you to an observation room. Your eyes widen when you realize Tim and Hotch are on the other side of the glass in an interview room. Rushing into the room, you’re surprised when Hotch invites you to take a seat. As the door closes, Tim clenches his fists and begins to stand.

“Sit down,” Hotch demands, unmoving as Tim rises from his chair. Tim turns, face-to-face with Hotch. “Sit down,” Hotch repeats, quieter yet firmer.

Tim falls back into his seat and crosses his arms to stare at you.

“You can blame me if you want,” you offer. “But it won’t change anything. Twelve people are dead because of me.”

“Then why is my rookie still patrolling the streets of LA looking for the man your team decided did this? Hotch here covering for you again?” Tim challenges.

“Shut up,” Hotch says as he sits beside you, across the Table from Tim.

“Kenneth Adamson,” you say. “Do you have any idea of what he did?”

“Fired you for taking the easy way out when you decided you didn’t want to be a cop anymore?”

“Intimidated me,” you reply. “Got indicted for it, but it was never made public knowledge because ‘he was facing enough personal and professional issues for the widespread results of his corruption.’ Good excuse, right? Tim, I happened to be the person who put cuffs on Alexander Riley and allowed his delusion to take over. I didn’t mean to turn him into a serial killer, but I still feel like I have blood on my hands.”

“Wait,” Tim requests, raising his hand. “Adamson intimidated you?”

“Yes.”

“You could have told me.”

You scoff, and Hotch raises his brows. “Like you would have believed me,” you reply.

Tim leans across the table, ignoring how Hotch moves closer to you, protective and ready to finish this case.

“He intimidated me too,” Tim confesses. “We should have told each other, but we messed up, and I’m sorry for that. Adamson was going to tell IA about something I did in the Army and twist it to get me fired if I didn’t find a way to get you off the force. Then you suddenly stopped trying and I thought… I guess I didn’t think about it, or I would’ve seen it.”

You look at Hotch, who shrugs. There likely isn’t proof that Adamson did to Tim what he did to you, but you have to make a choice. You can believe Tim Bradford or walk away.

“I caught him stealing evidence,” you say. “Skimming money from scenes before CSI got there, pulling jewelry from robbed houses, little things he didn’t think anyone would miss. When I saw him outright lie to a victim who only wanted her late mother’s locket back, I said something. And he was going to make my life a waking hell for it. So, I did what he asked and threw away my career.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your apologies, Tim. I want you to help me find Alexander Riley and put cuffs on him before he goes after another innocent person, because there is nothing to stop him from progressing to killing cops he sees as corrupt. We kept it from the other officers because of that, so please don’t make me regret trusting you.”

Tim nods and murmurs another apology. You read his lips as he says it, and when Hotch stands, you’re prepared to accept it.

“One more out of line comment and you’re off this task force, Officer Bradford,” Hotch says as he buttons his blazer.

“Yes, sir. I’ll do everything I can to assist you.”

“Do you know why Riley would have used your name as a cursed wanderer in Liza Renner’s novella?” you ask, standing beside Hotch.

“Cursed wanderer?” Tim repeats.

“Remorseful, unabsolved character tormented by their fate and their actions.”

“He must not remember you well,” Hotch tells Tim.

“He’s not a very good writer,” Spencer mutters as he flips the page of one of Alexander Riley’s novellas.

“Maybe we should find a way to charge him for that too,” Derek grumbles. “I mean, ‘Tim Bradford carried the weight of his sins, heavier than the Kevlar on his chest. Each day he was forced to face the memories of how he’d failed his partner, the only woman he may ever love, but would never deserve.’ That’s awful.”

You and Tim turn to face each other quickly, each wondering if you heard what Derek read correctly.

“Derek, does that- when you read it, does it seem like he’s saying his partner is the only woman he’d ever love? Same person?” you ask.

“Yeah. You.”

“That’s what I got too,” JJ agrees. “There’s characters in the third novella that look exactly like the two of you, but they’re married. Doomed by the narrative to watch each other die, but…”

“Are there characters like that in all of them?” Hotch asks.

The sound of papers flipping precedes several firm answers of “Yes.”

“They always die?” you add. “But he doesn’t know. He sees a relationship that isn’t there.”

Tim doesn’t say anything, but you ignore him as you ask JJ to use her laptop. After signing in to your email, you pull up the scans Penelope sent you from the books in your office.

“In the clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeoning of chance my head is bloody, but unbowed,” you read. “Black as the pit from pole to pole.”

“Are you gonna explain it or is this like Jeopardy?” Derek questions.

“He doesn’t portray our characters as corrupt,” you cheer. “We’re unfortunate, ‘doomed by the narrative’ players in a bigger game. I need the newest novella, the extra one from the double homicide scene.”

Wade knocks on the open door as you look through the evidence boxes on the table. He glances between you and Bradford before he asks, “Have any of you heard from Lopez and West?”

“They’re revisiting the last scene,” Hotch says. “They haven’t checked in?”

“Not recently.”

Tim looks at you, and when you meet his eyes, he offers, “We’ll find them.”

“Be careful,” Wade implores. “And keep me updated.”

“Can you do me a favor?” you ask.

“Anything,” JJ and Derek answer together.

“Look for any sign of restoration or avenging. It’ll probably be in the first novella, but I need to know if my character in his story is avenged somehow.”

“Revenge is a psychological response to wounds from others,” Spencer says. “Why would he be motivated to retaliate and justify this level of violence for you, if you’re the one who did wrong?”

“I think he may have changed his motives after Keith Adamson was indicted. If you find something, let me know, if not, Hotch probably has a better idea.”

You follow Tim to an unmarked car and ride in the passenger seat like you’ve pressed play after seven long years of having this part of your life on pause. Somehow, it feels better than before.

Tim's radio crackles as he makes the last turn to reach the crime scene.

“07-Adam-07,” Angela radios. “Sergeant Bradford, contact on channel 3.”

Tim changes the dial to channel 5 as he slows on the curb. You point to the dial, and he raises a thumb to tell you it wasn’t an accident.

“07-Adam-19,” he replies. “Go ahead, Lopez.”

“I think we found something that might be helpful to the detectives. Meet me at the scene and see if you agree?”

“I was already on the way. To tell you the truth, I don’t trust the feds. ETA two minutes.”

Tim returns his radio to the dash and then sits back to wait.

“Don’t trust the feds, huh?” you ask, smiling as he rolls his eyes.

“You really think he realized we were just as aggrieved as him?” Tim asks.

“Big word,” you murmur before dodging Tim’s weak backhand. “Why else would he keep us in the grand story he’s trying to write?”

“You said your character died in the new one.”

“All I saw was my name. I made an assumption without enough evidence. It was stupid.”

“Welcome to the club.”

Your phone buzzes, and you shake your head as you read the message from Penelope. “FBI tech guru Garcia hacked into the house’s security system. She’s got cameras inside. Riley has Lopez and West holed up in the master bathroom. My team and your watch commander are watching, ready to breach if this doesn’t go well.”

“You think it will?”

“I think Derek is going to be very mad after I do something reckless. That’s how it usually goes.”

Tim clears his throat awkwardly, then asks, “Are you and Morgan…?”

“No,” you answer with a laugh. “He’s just one of the many protective men I work with.”

“It’s been a minute and a half,” Tim says, changing the subject and breathing a little easier. “Are you ready?”

“I hope so.”

You exit the passenger seat as Tim pops the trunk. He passes you an LAPD bulletproof vest and a standard-issue belt to help you look more like a cop and less like a fed. After pulling the vest over your head, you struggle to get the belt in place beneath it. Tim gently takes it from you, his hands moving carefully around your waist as he clips the tactical buckle and slides the gun holster to its correct position.

“Thanks,” you whisper as he straightens, mere inches from you.

Tim drops his hands away from your sides but doesn’t move away. “Channel 3 is Lopez’s code,” he explains. “She only uses it when something’s wrong.”

Your phone buzzes again, and you turn away from Tim to answer it. “Hello?”

“Riley is armed,” Hotch says. “He’s got Lopez and West in the master bedroom on the ground floor. They’re uninjured, but he’s fidgety.”

“Did Derek ask Spencer about the bomb?”

“He did,” Spencer replies. Hotch’s phone is likely on speaker, and you turn your phone to allow Tim to hear too. “The bomb schematics were for a very closed-in space… like the townhouse you’re about to go into. It’s not incredibly enclosed, but given that Riley has issues with control, it could be a manifestation of claustrophobia. If his anxiety has caused a fear of enclosed spaces, based on the fear of losing control in those spaces, then he may be attempting to overcome that by giving himself power in the situation.”

“Could he be a cleithrophobe?” Tim wonders.

“What is that?” Derek asks, and you can imagine him looking around Wade’s office.

“I haven’t seen evidence of it,” Spencer answers. “He doesn’t seem to mind being closed in; the murders in the townhouse didn’t seem to affect him, but he is clearly concerned with power, control, and the hierarchy of those. It relates more to claustrophobia. Though I wouldn’t advise locking any doors to test it.”

You hang up suddenly and gesture to the townhouse. Tim looks up in time to see the curtain in an upstairs room fall back into place. He takes the lead, walking to the door with purpose and his hand on his gun. You follow him and look around the front porch for any sign that Riley is planning to kill anyone today.

Tim pushes the door open carefully, nodding to tell you it is unlocked before Angela calls his name. The novella with your name in it is still by the bookcase, and you remove it from the evidence bag and slide it under your vest. You trade places with Tim, going up the stairs first as he covers you. At the top of the landing, Alexander Riley steps out into the hallway with a gun strapped around his shoulders.

“You made it,” he says.

“We’re here to help, Riley,” you explain softly, holding your hands where he can see them. “You know that.”

He nods before jerking his head toward the doorway. You walk past him and stop in the center of the bedroom, scanning Angela and Jackson for any wounds. Luckily, they appear to be fine other than the handcuffs secured around their wrists.

“What’s the plan here?” Tim asks. “Not much room for error, Mr. Riley.”

“Give me your gun,” Alexander replies, holding his rifle with one hand as he extends the other toward Tim.

Tim complies, but his glance at you is a clear communication to not surrender your FBI-issued piece.

“Against the wall,” Alexander tells Tim. “You’re right, there isn’t room for error. But I’m prepared. I’ve been preparing since I lost everything.”

Tim sits against the wall, less than a foot from Angela. Alexander turns toward you, and his gaze softens. You were right, it seems. Alexander Riley has a soft spot for you; he thinks you’re like him, wronged by corruption and abused power, and you’re going to work that soft spot until he’s in cuffs.

“Take your vest off,” he requests. “Please.”

You don’t move but look pointedly at his gun before raising your eyes to his face.

“I won’t hurt you.”

Despite your instinct to refuse, to call in the cavalry and help Tim incapacitate the killer before you, there is too much at stake, and the longer you’re compliant, the longer Riley will keep everyone alive. So, you pull the vest over your head, not bothering to catch the novella as it falls to the floor, the blood on the cover contrasting the neutral carpet below your feet.

Back at the station, Hotch clenches his jaw as you open yourself to Riley, and Derek says, “Don’t do it… I might kill her for that.”

“You wrote it, right?” you ask, gesturing toward the stapled manuscript. “You wrote all of them.”

Riley fidgets, then nods.

You step toward him, keeping your expression soft and conveying understanding as you add, “I read some of them. They’re good, Alex. Can I call you Alex, or do you go by something else?”

“Alex is fine,” he replies, whispering your name under his breath like a prayer.

Tim shifts as Alexander’s attention changes slightly, morphing from a fierce protector into someone who wants to be by your side after you’ve been saved. You don’t spare a glance toward Tim, and for a brief moment, he wonders where you learned to do this. Then reality crashes back in like a wave that knocks Tim off his feet, the reminder that he could have taught you if he hadn’t let Keith Adamson get to him.

“In Brightest Day, you wrote a character who was a young cop, naïve and desperate to do the best thing,” you continue. “Who was she?”

“You know who,” Alex mutters.

You smile and ask, “Was I in all of them?”

“Of course.”

“That’s why you went to my old apartment before you sent the message to my friend in the FBI? Because I’m part of this? No, because you’re improving the character, right?”

“You were so far away,” he whispers.

“Alex, did you learn how to code just to talk to me?” you inquire softly.

He nods, then looks to the novella at your feet. The toes of your boots are inches from the paper, and his mouth twitches like he wants you away from it.

“Kick it,” he demands.

“Why? It’s art, it’s part of your soul,” you argue.

“Kick it.”

Tim nods in your peripheral, and you swallow before kicking it toward the door. Alex doesn’t hesitate to shoot the paper. You turn away from the noise, covering your ears even though it’s too late to keep your head from pounding. As the noise fades and your hearing returns, you see the shredded paper surrounding the hole in the floor.

“How does the story end, Alex?” you ask, stepping toward him again. “Are you like the truck drivers in Animal Farm? The cursed wanderer in Render Down you wrote for Liza? Or are you some new character that only cares about usurping the power for yourself?”

“It was never about me!” he replies, louder than you’ve heard him before. He softens his voice to repeat, “Never.”

“She was mine first,” Tim interjects suddenly.

Alex spins on his heel, the barrel of his rifle rising as he faces Tim. You shake your head wildly, desperate to stop him from saying something that will make Alex pull the trigger again. Angela looks down quickly, and you see her gun beneath the bed. As Alex’s chest heaves, his eyes locked unblinking on Tim’s, you move closer to the weapon, to Alex, and to freedom where you all walk out of here alive.

“I was saving her!” Alex roars. “From corruption, from Adamson, from you!”

“Adamson is the only one who hurt her,” Tim argues.

“February 17, 2017. You took your rookie to a noise disturbance call, and when you got there, four stupid young men were looting a flooded store during a break in the storms. She handcuffed one of them, but the rest ran. Then… then you started yelling at her, blaming her for all of it. While you were busy berating her, the other man ran with the handcuffs. I got away, but the power, the corruption, the greed was all getting to be too much. We hurt the owner because she was too worried about not getting insurance money for the water damage to empty out the register.”

“Something changed,” you say from beside Riley.

He doesn’t move away from Tim but stops talking to listen.

“In the first novella, it was you and me, wasn’t it? You wanted to make a new world together, save me from the love you thought would corrupt me.”

“Adamson used you too,” Alex tells Tim. “I made room for you to come with us and this is how you repay me? Chasing me for making things better. You’re back where you started.”

“Maybe now isn’t the time to act,” Jackson West says. “What if the world could’ve healed on its own and the people you killed might have helped?”

“Fool! They’ve gotten to you, too.”

As Alex’s finger slides onto the trigger, he turns toward Jackson. You don’t hesitate to lunge forward, closing the distance between yourself and Alexander. While you tackle him to the floor, he squeezes the trigger, and the shot rings through the now-silent townhouse and seems to echo for hours as your team watches in horror.

Tim pulls the handcuff key from his belt and passes it to Angela before he crawls on his hands and knees to reach you.

“I hope somebody got scans of that novella before he shot it,” you groan as you sit up.

Tim sighs, taking your face in his hands as he wipes blood from your temple.

“Is his writing really that good?” Jackson asks as he stands.

“It’s a little preachy,” you reply with a smile.

Your phone rings, and you swipe the screen to answer, then immediately hang up.

“That was your boss,” Tim points out.

“He can yell at me when he gets here.”

“Alexander Riley has been charged in the deaths of twelve Los Angeles residents,” JJ says at the press conference the morning after your encounter with Alex. “His victims include Janice Davis, Gregory Hunter, Bryce Keller, Hank Sheller, Peter Bristol, Liza Renner, Mel Houghton, Destiny Crest, Angelica Thomson, Alissa Alvarez, and Jack and Cassidy Wilson. Nearly three dozen cold cases are now being reopened, and the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit supports the LAPD’s claim that Riley could have committed these crimes as well. I’ll welcome any questions at this time.”

You scrunch your nose from the side, resisting the urge to remove the bandage on your forehead. Tim stands beside you, watching you.

Tim notices that the bandage is loose but doesn’t move before Hotch warns, “Don’t do anything in the public view that you don’t want to get out and give Riley a chance at walking.”

When the conference ends, Derek sighs and walks past Hotch to return to the hotel and pack. As he approaches you, he smiles and says, “And you didn’t want to come because I can’t help, and LA is too sunny.”

You try to punch Derek for his poor impression of you but miss as he breaks into a jog. Shaking your head, you turn to Tim and prepare a joke about how you don’t sound like that. Tim’s serious expression stops you, though.

“You didn’t think you could help?” he asks. “You were going to be an amazing cop, and I regret playing a part in taking that opportunity from you.”

You shrug and respond, “I like the FBI, and I got to tackle a murderer, so it all worked out.”

“Yeah,” Lucy interrupts, walking to your side. “But now you have to go back to Virginia.”

“Thank you,” Wade says, stopping at your side. “Come back soon, okay?”

You smile as he hands you a paper. As you read it, you sigh, then shove it into your pocket. The email came in this morning telling all active FBI agents about the new tactical unit, one which will work closely with the BAU. They’re actively recruiting, but if you tell Tim, you’re asking him to choose between you and the job again, and you can’t do that to him. Asking Tim to leave LA would be cruel, you think, so you force a smile onto your face.

“Thank you for everything,” you tell him. “Especially the part where you saved my life and the apology. I’ll try not to stay gone so long this time.”

Tim nods, and you smile at Lucy before following your team. He watches you walk away, ignores Lucy’s encouragement for him to chase you, and waits until you leave to whisper what he wants to say. But Tim lost his chance again. Worse, he lost you again.

Two Weeks Later

“Which one of you wants to die first?” the armed suspect asks, swinging his curved meat hook between you and Spencer.

“Probably you, right?” you whisper. “You know, my blood’ll be on it if he kills me first.”

“The mean value of Staphylococcus aureus in raw meat is 3.84 in a butcher shop,” Spencer replies. “I don’t know where that thing has been. At least your blood has been relatively well contained. And any amount of water on that thing increases the number of bacterial specimens transferred from the meat surface.”

The metal door of the meat locker blows open suddenly, and when the butcher before you turns to see what caused the noise, two men in tactical uniforms subdue him and confiscate the meat hook. Spencer rushes out of the facility, and you watch as the new FBI team takes your suspect into custody.

“I could have done that,” you complain.

“Sure you could, boot,” one of the men says, his voice muffled by the helmet.

You look toward him with your eyebrows raised. He takes his helmet off, and your jaw drops. Tim Bradford.

Smiling, you step toward him with questions racing in your mind, but he extends a gloved hand, holding it against your waist to stop you as he whispers, “Morgan has cameras everywhere.”

As you walk into the BAU bullpen together, Hotch looks up from a paper. He looks at you, then Tim, then back to you, and smiles. With wide eyes, you hide behind Tim’s shoulder, unsure what a Hotch smile could mean in this particular circumstance.

“We’re wheels up to Los Angeles in forty-five,” Hotch says.

“Why?” you ask, stepping out from behind Tim.

“There’s a domestic terrorist leaving Shakespeare at foreign-owned businesses hours before they’re bombed or become mass murder scenes.”

You nod, but before you can speak, Derek calls, “Bring Bradford! We could use the Army experience.”

Hotch narrows his eyes at Tim, then shrugs and agrees.

“Good, good,” you mumble, wrapping your hands around Tim’s arms. “I’ll show him the ropes then and we’ll be back in thirty.”

“Please do.”

You quickly forget the ropes as you drag Tim into Penelope’s empty office. He smiles and prepares to ask what this has to do with terrorism, but you slide your hands onto his jaw and kiss Tim. Finally. Tim's hands meet your waist, and he pulls you closer as he kisses you, both of you melting into one another and getting lost in the moment you’ve waited so long for. When you pull back, Tim keeps you close, smiling like he’s seeing you clearly for the first time, though he’s known your heart and potential for nearly a decade.

A quiet gasp draws your attention, and you both look to the door as Penelope says, “I’m telling Chocolate Thunder!”

Should I Stay or Should I Go? (Part Four)

Part One // Part Two // Part Three

Pairing: Spike x Giles!reader

Part four of four 💖

Warning: reader drinks/smokes, difficult relationship with Giles and not friends with Buffy. Fighting. Blood. Biting. Sexual reference

It had been a long night.

Spike kept swatting you away every time you started trying to talk to him about something. He was getting exasperated and you found it cute. You didn’t want to walk in silence sensing demons and vampires anymore, that game was getting tired.

He sighed, looking up at the sky exaggeratedly as you started mindlessly talking again. It was something that he usually enjoyed, always had ever since he had met you and you just poured out your thoughts to him against your better judgement. The way you were able to just talk, speak your mind in such a way that made him want to reach deeper. Know you even more.

But there was a time and a place and he was really trying to concentrate. Still, he weaved his hand in yours and squeezed as he listened.

“Don’t you get bored with the fighting? I’m getting splinters here” You moved to show him the other hand, the one brandishing the stake.

“Put the bloody thing away then. You don’t need it anyway, you’re a natural, love” he insisted, making you glow at such a high compliment. He wouldn’t compliment you on your fighting lightly.

“Well, thanks, but I’m still kinda over it. Surely it’s almost dawn?” you yawned, side-eying him to watch the characteristic eyeroll. You knew him so well now, as well as he knew himself.

“Don’t you feel it? Coursing through your veins?” He said, squeezing your hand tighter and bouncing slightly as he walked.

“Boredom?” you teased, the smile spreading across your face telling him that you had been enjoying your little hunting trip. But, really, ten demons was excessive for one night and you were starting to get cramp in your wrist from all the staking.

“The power, pet, the fight of it all”

“There’s me hoping you’d be a lover not a fighter”

“Why can’t I be both, hm?” He arched an eyebrow suggestively, his hand grazing the skin of your arm, until he reached that point on your neck that he loved so much. His thumb stroking the pulse point.

That look was in his eye again, the one from that night. You gasped as his lips caught yours, taking the stake from your hand and throwing it into the darkness. There was a need to the kiss, an urgency even though he had all the time in the world to enjoy your love.

His senses consumed by you, he couldn’t care less if a demon was in the area anymore. All he wanted to feel was you. He pressed you against the closest mausoleum, the rough brick caressing your back as you held Spike against you. You moved your hand beneath his duster, under the layers of fabric that kept his body from yours.

It had been a month. A month since you had died.

He had grazed the skin of your neck, leaving a trail of your blood. He whispered what he wanted to do. That he wanted to turn you. To have you for eternity, that was how strong his love was for you. You had nodded, not thinking and just enjoying the moment. Enjoying him.

You only realised once you had awoken, that you had made the right decision. You would have done anything for him in that moment. In any moment.

It hurt, God it had hurt. If you hadn’t already been dying it would have made you want to so badly. He cradled your form as you went limp beneath him, licking up the side of your neck at the open wound that was still leaking. You had never looked so attractive to him as his own blood collected at the corner of your mouth.

He held you for hours, whispering reassurances, promises of glory and just how good you would feel. Really, he should have buried you. It was a vampire’s rite of passage, having to claw your way out of a grave. But he had never been one for rules.

He laid you in his bed, lying beside you each day, waiting for you to arise.

When you did, you understood everything in such clarity. This is what you were meant to become. You felt like yourself, you weren’t itching for some lame evil masterplan nor were you feeling any guilt for becoming something you had been taught was disgusting and unnatural for so long.

Spike doted, he truly did. He adored you even more now that he had sired you, if that was even possible. Worshipped the ground that you walked on.

And he liked to show you at any possible moment. He liked to stay in physical contact in some way most of the time. Whether it was his hand in yours, leaning against you or kissing you as passionately as he was now. Your life was so full now, you had made friends with a couple of local demons and you sometimes even managed to convince Spike to go on double dates (very, very rarely).

You finally had a purpose. A reason to get up in the evening. All it took was the little death to make you come alive.

You and Spike made a cosy little life together, you lived fully and helped kill demons when the mood struck. You felt like you were doing good, even if it was in a kind of morally grey way. You knew that Giles would never be proud of you, but you couldn’t find it in your to care as much as you did when you were living.

As Spike slid his hand beneath your waistband, his hands sizzling against your skin despite you both being room temperature, your kisses getting sloppier as you mumbled against his lips. You adored this man. His lips. His hands. His everything…

You moaned against his skin, fully wrapped up in him.

Until, of course, you were interrupted in the usual Sunnydale way. You had missed the sound of footsteps, beating hearts and panting breath.  You had missed the scent, the urgency and fear that could now be smelled in the air.

“Y/n! I’m glad we found you”

“Y-you are?” You said, managing to drag yourself from Spike’s touch, ignoring Xander’s eyes dropping to where Spike had just removed his hand from. He was stood with Anya looking

“Can’t a man have any sodding privacy around these parts?” Spike grumbled, showing his hands in his pocket and daring Xander to say something about what he had seen with that smirk that you loved so much.

You focused on trying to look human. You blinked probably more than was normal and stook irregular and strange breaths. It was funny how easily you could have forgotten something that had once been so normal.

You stared at them, more specifically at their necks. Beating and full of life. It made you hungry. Ravenous. You gripped Spike’s arm, feeling your fangs threatening to elongate as the human spoke animatedly about something.

Oh, right, you were meant to be listening.

There was (another) apocalypse on the horizon. An evil force that had been exploding people from the inside. Demons and humans alike. It was like a parasite, once you were infected it lived inside you, making a home until it was ready to ‘hatch’, leaving the host exploding into pieces.

It was pretty grim, even by Sunnydale standards and even Anya looked scared. A little impressed, but still scared.

“What am I supposed to do about it?”

“There’s some prophetic-prophecy thingy that mentions you”

“Me?”

“Well, sort of. G-man can explain. Let’s go”

“Hold on, what makes you think we want to help you losers?”

“The world is ending here, and I’m human and mortal and I don’t want to die and we haven’t got time for tantrums” Anya spiralled and Xander comforted her. It was clearly serious. You and spike looked at each other for a moment.

“One condition. Spike comes too.”

It was awkward to say the least. There was something written about the one that ends a Watcher lineage having ‘potential’. Some sort of dormant power that needed releasing. You had to say some words or shake a stick or something that would cause immunity from the parasite. You weren’t listening too closely you were just waiting for instructions.

You had half hoped it was just some excuse so that your father could talk to you. Perhaps reconcile. But when you arrived it was clearly not the case. They had invited you in, thankfully, and you sat in the corner with Spike.

You stared across the room, your father brewing a hot drink for the group who looked like they all needed something a bit stronger. They had all been told that the world was ending, after all.

As if he had read your mind, Spike slid a flask from the inside pocket of his duster, a glint in his eye as he poured the liquor into each of your mugs. Your father either didn’t notice or chose to turn a blind eye due to the nature of the situation.

They discussed the situation well into the night. Each of them eyed Spike suspiciously and your Dad flat out glared every time Spike so much as looked in your direction.

It was getting late but neither you or Spike was tired. You had always been one to stay up late so it wasn’t unusual to your father. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.

“Do you have any snacks?” You asked, moving to look through the cupboards. You and Spike were going to watch movies until everyone else went to bed and you could sneak out for some blood. You had settled on some sort of comedy, with lots of blood and guts.

“Oh! You have a full box of these!” You exclaimed, they were your favourite snack, grabbing them and fighting the box to get it open. He had kept them in the cupboard, in case you ever returned.

“You did, ah, always like them when you were a child” Giles said smiling wistfully. It really wasn’t like him to come over all nostalgic and soft. They might take away his British citizenship if he wasn’t careful.

Your father stayed for another twenty minutes before he left for bed, looking at you and wishing you a good sleep before he went. He had missed you, even if you did make some terrible choices.

You had mostly been camped in your old room for the last couple of days. It had been taken over by stacks and stacks of books since your departure. You had insisted that Spike stayed and seeing as you were helping the Scoobies out they reluctantly allowed you both to stay. You had been grumbling about the state of your old room and Spike reminded you that last time he was here he was sleeping in the tub, so it was somewhat of an upgrade. Willow skipped in that morning to see you.

“Let’s go to the espresso pump, it’s a nice day and I have something I wanted to tell-”

“No. Thanks” You said firmly. Willow had wanted to tell you about Tara, she knew you would be supportive.

“Just go, Y/n, we don’t need you here every hour of the day. Just be on call for when we need you” Your father had walked in behind Willow, eyeing Spike with disdain.

“No, really, I’m good. Thanks, though”

“Come on, some light will do you good” Willow insisted, trying to draw back the curtains. You propelled yourself forward to try and stop her but Spike just braced himself and moved out of the way.

You screamed. It wasn’t exactly your finest moment. But the pain was terrible, it felt as if your skin was being cooked. Bubbling beneath the surface.

Everyone ran in from the other room, shocked and confused as you dived behind your old bed to hide from any stray sunlight.

“You’re-”

“Dead? Yeah”

Buffy didn’t think she just launched herself at you, leaving you reacting instinctively and kicking her in the stomach from your spot on the floor. Leaving her reeling backwards into a stray stack of books, not actually expecting you to be as strong as you were.

Xander caught Buffy and Spike immediately got to his feet and struck the Slayer on her jaw before howling in pain at the chip firing in his head.

“I’m, ow, I’m- I have a soul!” You shouted and everyone just stared at you.

“How?” You father asked, staring at you as if you were a museum exhibit. You could have made something up, some heroic story but you doubt any of them would have believed you anyway. You knew you had a reputation for being a bit of a slacker.

“You liar! You don’t have a soul” Anya stated. She would have been able to see it in your eyes.

“Worth a shot” You shrugged trying your best to stick to a defensive stance.

Giles turned to Spike, rounding on him and pinning him against the wall. Spike had killed his child. And turned you into something evil. You ran to pull him off your love, Giles staring at your strength and seeing a passion that he had never seen you display before. You cared about Spike. Truly.

“Look, Dad, I’m sorry. I know I’m all dead now and I’m probably not exactly what you envisioned but I’m powerful now and I can fight demons the way you always wanted me to.”

“I don’t suppose you believe that this cancels out the numerous killing of innocents?”

“I’m, uh, joining Spike on an animal diet. It’s only fair seeing as he can’t eat proper- uh, the other way around” You insisted, though this hadn’t been entirely true. But they didn’t need to know that.

Spike just stared at your Dad, his face unchanged. The amount of times the vampire had wanted to rip Giles’ head off for the way he treated you. But he had let him get a few blows in, because he knew it would still upset you if he hurt your Dad.

There was a silence for a while. Everyone exchanging glances. Finally Buffy nodded and walked towards you, reaching out her hand to you. Waiting for you to shake. A truce. An agreement.

Buffy leaned in, warning you that the moment she caught you killing or doing something immoral you would be dust.

You didn’t feel particularly evil. Or particularly good. You were happily between the two, basking in the grey area that you had always figured existed for demons. Now you knew it was true. And would try and prove it every day to the Slayer and your father.

You had hoped for a happier ending with your father. He barely tolerated your presence. But, you supposed it was better than the alternative: matching piles of dust. You and Spike had gone back to the crypt, so as not to tempt anyone to kill you both in your sleep. But you had still committed to visiting Giles one evening a week to discuss the prophecy and to spend time with him. You had just left and Spike was waiting for you at the end of the drive.

His face always softened when he saw you, his love for you deepening by the day. You felt a little sad. You hid it from Spike the best you could, smiling at the way he doted on you. Waited to walk you home to your shared crypt.

He reached for you, pulling you into an embrace. He wrapped his arms around you, inhaling deeply, enjoying your scent. It was as if he could feel the sadness radiating off you, though. You were clinging to him a little tighter. Hiding your face against him.

“Sod this” Spike said suddenly, pulling away.

You frowned, “The hug?”

“No love” he replied, having already taken his hand in yours and began leading you at pace through the streets of Sunnydale until you reached his car with the blacked out windows and he gestured for you to get in.

“Where are we going?”

“Far” He shrugged, opening the passenger side door for you.

“We can’t go. I can’t let them die, Spike. Even though I would probably quite enjoy it.” He grinned, pressing a kiss against your temple before you slid into the seat.

“Thought about it, when I visited LA last Angel had an ex-Watcher working with him. I wager they’ll figure it out before any real damage is done” He shrugged sitting beside you and starting up the car.

Wesley. You had forgotten about him. You suppose he had ended his Watcher lineage too if he was no longer in the role.

Spike was, as you had once claimed, quite astute. And he could tell you needed a change of scene. He hated to see you sad. This should be one of the best times, learning to hunt and enjoy the darker side of life. He wanted to show you a whole new underworld, one that he knew you would thrive in.

You didn’t need any crappy jobs, no “success” as defined by your father. You had power. Had love. Had a way to contribute. You could actually fight the demons now rather than cower in the corner and let Spike deal with the threat.

You watched him as he pushed a cassette tape in and started slamming the wheel to the beat and banging his head.

You lit up a cigarette, not able to stop yourself from smiling wide. As you passed the Sunnydale sign, you felt free. For the first time in a long time you felt lighter. With Spike by your side, with all the possibilities that came with your new powers.

You drove towards the sunrise, cigarette smoke curling in the air and the music blasting. You couldn’t help smiling as he slid a hand to rest on your thigh.

You felt happy. Real happiness. You felt a flutter of excitement in your dead heart.