The Flower And The Serpent : A Walt De Ville X Reader FF : Four

Moved On (Andy Barber x Wife!Reader)

A/N: Thanks for this request! I attempted an Andy Barber fic once but tbh I wasn’t happy with it and deleted so thank you for sending this one in so I could have another shot. <3 This fic takes place three years after the series. A few things deviate from the book/television series, but I you like this, anon.

Pairing: Andy Barber x Wife Reader

Warnings: Language, angst, Laurie Barber.

Length: 2.4k words

Andy crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the granite kitchen island as he watches you in pure adoration while you go about setting the table for dinner. He knows that he should probably be helping you out, but he simply can’t help himself as he stands there and stares at you in complete and utter awe—he never would have believed that this was the life he would be living. Sometimes he can’t believe this is the life he’s living, even after all this time. It often feels like a dream, a blissful dream he's afraid that one day he’ll wake up from.

If someone would have told Andy three and half years ago that one day he would be remarried to the love of his life, expecting his second child, and that his teenaged son would be healed, healthy, and happy, he would have scoffed right in their damn face. After everything that had happened—the murder trial, the near fatal car crash, and Laurie being put behind bars for nearly killing herself and their son, Andy could have sworn that his life was over. Laurie had been put in the psychiatric unit of a women’s correctional facility to serve her four and a half year prison sentence and shortly after that, Jacob had come out of his medically induced coma with an incredibly long and painful road to recovery ahead of him. Physically, mentally, and emotionally, Jacob had been wounded so deeply by everything that had happened and Andy feared he wouldn’t be able to be the strength his son needed to go on. He’d been left all on his own to pick up the shattered, jagged pieces of the world he once knew, with no idea of how to even start putting them back together again.

But then you happened.

Andy never saw this coming—never saw you coming.

When he first met you, from the first hello you two exchanged, Andy couldn’t have possibly imagined that you would end up being exactly what he and his son needed.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” You tease, smiling over your shoulder at him.

“Sorry, honey.” Andy chuckles and shakes his head, uncrossing his arms as he pushes himself away from the kitchen island. “What can I help you out with?”

“Can you pull out the salad from the fridge and bring it over to the table?”

He quickly nods and does as you request, bringing over the bowl of salad that you’d chopped up earlier to the table. He sets it in the middle of the table before taking his seat at the head of the table. “Where’s Jake? Let’s get him down here, I’m starving.”

“Jacob!” You call out loudly. “Dinner’s ready! Let’s go, shut off that video game!”

Andy frowns. “Video game? Isn’t he supposed to be studying?”

“It’s Friday, so I let the kid live a little.” You wink at your husband as you take a seat beside him and drape a clean white cloth napkin across your lap. “And besides, he’s been doing really well in his classes. His counselor e-mailed me the other day. Jake’s grades have never been better.”

“He has a good influence.” Andy reaches over and places his hand over yours.

At that moment, your seventeen year old stepson comes down the stairs and takes a seat across from you. He has a white envelop clutched in one of his hands.

“What do you have there, bud?” Andy questions suspiciously as soon as he sees it. He raises an eyebrow at his son. “You’re not in any trouble, are you?”

Jacob doesn’t reply, and instead, he simply shoots you a nervous glance.

“Go on,” You encourage him, grinning excitedly. “Tell him, Jake.”

Andy glances between the two of you, confused. “Tell me what? What’s going on?”

“It’s an acceptance letter,” Jacob informs him, handing it over. “My first one. It came in the mail earlier today.” He shoots his father a sheepish look. “I was going to wait for all three of us to be together to open it, but I couldn’t wait and neither could she,” he explains, tossing you a quick smile. “We figured we’d just tell you over dinner.”

Andy opens it and he beams with pride as his blue eyes glaze over the document in his hand. “Northeastern University?”

Jake nods. “I’m going to e-mail the school and commit first thing on Monday for the upcoming semester.”

Andy’s smile fades ever so slightly. “Commit? Already? Are you sure this is where you want to go? You’re still waiting on other letters, Jacob. Isn’t it a little too soon to make the commitment?” he asks, setting the letter down. “You still have a couple of months left in the school year. Don’t you want to wait?”

“Not really. This school is the closest to home, dad. I don’t want to move somewhere too far for college, especially since I want to be close enough come and see my little sister after she’s born.” Jacob turns from his father and his eyes meet yours. “I want to be a part of her life as much as possible. I can’t do that if I ship myself off too far for school.”

You place a hand on your growing baby bump. “He’s got a point, Andy.”

“Well, if that’s your decision, than you have our full support.” Andy puts a hand on Jacob’s shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “I’m so proud of you, Jake. We both are. We know you’ve got a bright future ahead of you.”

“Thanks, dad.”

After dinner, Jacob excuses himself from the table to watch television—normally he’s the one to help you clear the table and clean up, but Andy decides to give him a pass for the night and volunteers to help you himself. You’re in the kitchen tossing scraps into the silver, stainless steel trash can when Andy walks in, takes the plate from your hand and sets it down on the counter. He then grabs you and takes you into his arms, pressing his lips to yours in a long, slow kiss that sends chills up and down the length of your spine. As his hands start to wander, you break away from him ever so slightly, resting your hand gently on his chest.

“Mm, someone’s feeling extra affectionate today,” You murmur against his lips.

“I’m just really happy, is all. Ridiculously, deliriously happy.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm.” Andy moves his mouth to your neck and starts to trail his way down to your chest.

You laugh, lightly pushing him away. “Let’s finish cleaning up first, lover boy,” You tell him, eliciting an impatient groan from him. “I cleared off the dishes for you, can you just load them into the washer for me?”

“Fine.” He playfully rolls his eyes. “But wait until I get my hands on you later tonight. I had dinner, now I want my dessert,” he smirks at you. “My sweet tooth is aching for you.”

“Jesus, Andy! Jake is in the room next door! Save it for the bedroom,” You remind him, blushing as your attention turn back to the trash can. You grab at the bag, tying together securely before pulling it out of the component. “I’ll be right back, I’m just going to go take this outside.”

Andy shakes his head and reaches out. “Sweetheart, let me do that for you—”

“Andy, I’m pregnant, not wounded. I’m perfectly capable of taking out the trash,” You tell him, shooting him a look. “I’ll be right back.” You make your way through the house and out the front door, stepping out into the chilly, evening air. You walk down the long driveway towards the black garbage can, lift the lid open and quickly toss the bag inside, letting the lid slam shut. As you turn and begin to walk back up to the house, you stop when you get the sudden feeling that you’re being watched by somebody. Furrowing your eyebrows, you slowly turn on your heel and let out a gasp when you see her standing there right beside Andy’s Audi.

Laurie Barber.

You and Andy have been hearing faint whispers around town about Laurie’s possible early release due to her improvement and good behavior. After the car crash, Laurie and her defense lawyers had taken a plea deal from the prosecution in order to avoid having to go to trial. While her sentence may have been light considering the serious nature of what she had done, the mandated court order to stay away from Andy and Jacob had been much harsher. She was not allowed to come into contact with either of them after her release or it would violate the terms of her probation. And yet, here she is, standing right in front of you, outside of your family’s home.

You stand there, frozen solid on the spot, looking like a deer caught in the headlights.

Laurie stares at you, her eyes falling to your swollen midsection.

Instinctively, your hand goes to your stomach.

Her eyes flicker to the diamond ring on your finger. “You must be his new wife,” she says, rigidly. “I heard he remarried. But I didn’t know he was having another baby.”

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out and you clamp it shut.

Unsure of what else to do, you give a small nod of your head.

“I’d heard the rumors that he’d completely moved on,” Laurie says. Despite the stiff, and cold tone of her voice, you can see that her eyes are brimming with tears. “Part of me refused to believe that he could forget about the life we had together, just like that. That he could move on so quickly.”

“Laurie, you shouldn’t be here,” You finally manage to say. “You need to leave.”

“How’s Jacob?”

“Laurie, please, you need to leave right now before Andy sees you—”

She ignores you, firmly repeating, “How is Jacob?”

You let out a small sigh, feeling conflicted.

One on hand, you can’t stand the woman for what she had done. But then, on the other, you can see the remorse in her eyes and you know that she’s desperate to hear about her son. “He’s doing great, Laurie,” You tell her. “Jake is thriving. He’s doing well in school, he’s been accepted into a good university. And most importantly, he’s healthy and he’s happy.”

“I need to see him.”

“You can’t. The judge ordered you to stay away from him.”

Laurie steps forward and grabs your arms. “Please! I need to see Jacob—”

“Get your fucking hands off my wife!” Andy’s growl comes from behind you, startling both you and Laurie. He snatches you out of her grasp and pushes you behind him, his broad shoulders squaring protectively. He speaks again, his tone venomous as he faces his ex-wife for the first time in over three years. “What the fuck are you doing here, Laurie?”

She lifts her chin, a tear sliding down her cheek. “I’m here because I want to see my son.”

“After you tried to fucking kill him?” He nearly shouts. “Are you fucking insane?”

“I made a mistake, Andy! I wasn’t in the right frame of mind! After everything, after the trial, everything was just falling apart and I couldn’t take it!” Laurie shouts back at him. “It was a fucking terrible mistake!”

“A mistake that nearly cost our son his life!”

You step beside your husband and place a hand on his chest. “Andy, please! You need to calm down before Jacob overhears and comes outside.” You look up at him, your eyes meeting his. You can see the anger, the pain, all of his emotions swimming in them and your opposite hand slips into his, lacing your fingers together. You give his hand a small squeeze. “Please, just calm down.”

Andy nods in agreement and takes a deep breath before turning back to Laurie. “I don’t know where you got the nerve to show up at my door,” he says. He’s certainly calmer than before, but there’s still an angry edge to his tone. “How you can even show your face around here after what you did is beyond me.”

“I’m sorry,” Laurie whispered. “For everything. Andy, from the bottom of my heart, I’m so fucking sorry. You have to believe me, I wasn’t in a good place. Mentally, or emotionally.” At this point, the tears were now streaming down her face. “I love my son, and I live with the guilt and the shame of what I did every damn second of every damn day. I never meant for any of it to happen, Andy. You have to believe me. I love Jacob.”

Her apology doesn’t faze Andy, but it fazes you.

Perhaps it’s the pregnancy hormones that have you on the sensitive side. But you just can’t help but to feel some sympathy for Laurie Barber.

“Please. I just want to see my son. I want to tell him I’m sorry. At least let me do that,” she pleads. “Let me apologize to him, face to face.”

Andy is about to protest when you place a hand on his arm to stop him.

“Let us talk to Jacob, first. And if he decides he is up to seeing you, then we can contact our attorney. They can speak to the judge and perhaps we can arrange something if he allows it.” You glance between Andy and Laurie. “It’s a decision that Jake should make. And everyone will respect his choice as well as the choice of the judge. Can we all agree on that?”

“Okay. I can agree to that.” Laurie nods. “Andy? Do you agree?”

His lips press into a tight, thin line. “You’re lucky my wife is here to be the voice of reason. Because if it were up to me, you’d never fucking see him again. Not a fucking chance. Now leave my property before I call your probation officer.” He grabs your hand and starts pulling you towards the house. “Come on. Let’s go back inside.”

“Wait!” Laurie reaches for your opposite hand, holding you back.

Andy’s nostrils flare. “Don’t fucking touch her!”

She ignores him, her desperate eyes meeting yours. “If Jake decides that he wants nothing to do with me, can you just do me a favor?”

You nod slowly.

“Look after him for me, please. From a mother to a mother. Please, just look after my boy for me.”

“That’s what I’ve been doing all along, Laurie,” You tell her in a low voice. Before you can stop yourself, it slips out, “I’ve been the mother he’s needed for the last three years.”

Laurie releases you, feeling stung by your words.

“Let’s go,” Andy says firmly, pulling you towards the house.

shot - e. buckley

evan buckley x gn!reader

summary: a visit to the 118 goes wrong when a grief-stricken man with a gun storms in.

w/c: 2.4k

⚠️ TW: gun, shooting

You made your way to the 118 firehouse, a container of cheesecake cradled in your arms. You'd baked it especially for them, making sure to save an extra slice for Chimney, who had raved about it last time.

As you stepped inside, Buck greeted you with his signature smile, his blue eyes lighting up as he noticed the dessert in your hands. "You really didn't have to," he said, pulling you into a hug. "I wanted to," you replied, enjoying the comfort of his embrace. "Besides, Chimney practically begged for more last time."

Buck laughed, taking the cheesecake from you and leading you upstairs to set it on the table where the rest of the crew was gathered. "You should stay awhile," he suggested. "At least until the next call." It didn't take much convincing. Spending time with Buck and his team always made you feel like you were part of something special - they were like a second family to you.

But the peaceful atmosphere didn't last.

About fifteen minutes later, a shout echoed from downstairs, shattering the mood. Everyone turned their heads toward the commotion, a collective unease settling over the group. Everyone exchanged wary glances before rising to investigate. As you all gathered at the top of the staircase, what you saw sent a cold chill down your spine. A man stood at the bottom, brandishing a gun, his voice trembling with rage and desperation. "You killed my wife!" he screamed, his face contorted in agony. "Now you're all going to pay!" The man's behavior sent a wave of fear through you as he ordered everyone downstairs.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you couldn't afford to panic. Slowly, you began descending the stairs with the others, taking note of the man's shaky hands, the sweat beading on his forehead, and the wild look in his eyes. You leaned toward Buck, your voice barely above a whisper. "Look at him closely, babe. He looks like he's under the influence of something."

Buck followed your gaze, his brows furrowing as he observed the man more closely. You continue, "His hands are trembling a lot, he's sweating excessively and his eyes look wide and panicked. That can't be normal." Buck nodded in agreement, whispering back, "You're right. If he really is under the influence, it makes this ten times more dangerous because he could be unpredictable. We need to be careful."

Before you could say anything else, the man's eyes snapped to you. "What are you whispering about?" he demanded. "N-nothing," you stuttered, hating how fear made your voice falter. "Better be," he growled, his eyes darting between you and Buck.

Buck gently put his hand on the small of your back, his touch bringing some comfort to you. ‌"It's okay, baby. We'll be fine," he tried to reassure you, but he didn't seem so certain himself.

Once you were downstairs, everyone spread out slightly, but Buck stayed close, his touch never leaving you. The man's breathing was erratic, and he was clearly unstable. You kept glancing at Buck, who kept his hand lightly on your back, a silent promise that he wouldn't let anything happen to you. "Stay calm," Buck whispered again, his voice low and controlled, even though you could feel his pulse quicken through the light pressure of his hand.

The man's gaze darted between the firefighters, paranoia swirling in his bloodshot eyes. His grip on the gun tightened, knuckles white against the metal. "You think I'm bluffing?" he growled, eyes wild. "You think I won't do it?"

‌Behind you, Eddie slowly moved to your right, his movements so subtle that you almost didn't notice. You could tell he was preparing for something, but you weren't sure what. ‌Chimney tried to reason with the man, "We're not the ones who hurt your wife, man. Let's talk about this, figure out what happened. There's no need for this to get worse."

‌The man's hand shook even more violently, the gun bobbing in the air. "Shut up! You don't know anything!"

Hen had positioned herself slightly to the left, closer to the phone. The man glanced away for a moment, his focus faltering. ‌But then, suddenly, he snapped back to you and Buck, eyes narrowing. "You two," he snarled, pointing the gun directly at you. "You were whispering. Come here."

Buck stepped forward in front of you, shielding you instinctively. "Leave her out of this. She's not the one you want," he said, his voice dangerously steady, but there was a tremor underneath that only you could hear. The man's eyes darted between the two of you, flickering with uncertainty. His breathing grew more erratic by the second. You knew Buck was ready to move if he had to, but the wrong move could end disastrously.

‌You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady as you started to speak, hoping to diffuse the situation as best as you could. "We don't want any trouble. Please, just put the gun down. We can talk this out, okay?"

‌The man wavered for a split second, his grip faltering. His eyes flickered to you, and for a moment, you saw some uncertainty, or even hesitation. His grip on the gun loosened slightly, his stance wavering. You hoped this would de-escalate or else this would all spiral out of control.‌ "You don't have to do this," you said softly, keeping your hands where he could see them. "Whatever happened to your wife, it wasn't their fault. They're just here to help."

‌For a moment, the man looked confused at your words. He probably assumed you were also a firefighter but he seemed to realise that you weren't. Then, his face twisted in anger. "Help? You call letting her die helping?" His voice cracked, desperation leaking into his words. He looked over at the rest of the 118. "I trusted you guys. She trusted you!"

‌Eddie inched a little closer, but the man suddenly noticed the movement, snapping his attention back to Eddie. "Stop!" he yelled, pointing the gun wildly between all of you. "Stay where you are! I swear, I'll shoot!" ‌Eddie froze, hands up, and you felt your heart hammering in your chest. Buck stepped closer to you again, his body tense, ready to move if needed. ‌"Listen," Buck said, his voice calm but firm. "We're sorry about what happened to your wife. But this isn't going to help. This isn't going to bring her back. Please, let's just talk."

‌The man's face contorted with pain, his eyes glossy, filled with unshed tears. His arm was trembling so badly that you feared he might pull the trigger by accident. His voice wavered, "I-I don't know what to do anymore..."

‌Hen, who'd managed to get a little closer to the phone, locked eyes with you. She signalled for you to keep him talking. The longer you stalled, the better chance you had of getting help. ‌Taking a breath, you spoke gently. "I can't imagine how much you're hurting. Losing someone like that... it's unbearable. But this isn't what your wife would want."

‌He lightly flinched at that, and you knew you'd struck something deep. Did you say the wrong thing? You hoped you hadn't or you could end up dead - or even worse, one of the 118. "You don't know what she'd want," he muttered, though the conviction in his voice was fading.

‌"I don't," you admitted. "But I can tell you loved her. And I know that if she was here right now, she'd want you to be safe. She wouldn't want you to throw your life away."

‌Tears slipped down his cheeks, and his hand shook violently, the gun lowering just slightly. But then, almost out of nowhere, a sharp ring pierced the air - the phone. ‌The man jumped, startled by the sound, and in his panic, his finger tightened on the trigger.

Bang!

Everything happened in a blur. You felt Buck pulling you to the ground as the shot rang out. There was shouting, movement all around, and you didn't even know where the bullet went. Your ears rang from the sound, and your heart felt like it was about to burst out of your chest.

‌When you finally managed to focus again, you saw Eddie and Bobby rushing toward the man, disarming him as he stumbled backward in shock. Hen and Chimney were already moving to check on everyone.

‌Buck looked down at you, still shielding you even though the danger had passed. Until he felt something. ‌Buck pulled away slightly, his eyes widening in horror as he noticed the blood soaking through your shirt. "No, no, no..." he muttered, his hands trembling as he pressed down on your abdomen. You hadn't even realized you'd been hit, the shock of everything numbing the pain.

‌"Buck?" your voice came out weaker than you intended and the moment you heard it, the reality started to sink in. The bullet must have hit you. You tried to focus, but the pain was spreading, sharp and hot.

‌"Hey, stay with me," Buck said urgently, panic creeping into his voice. "You're gonna be okay. Chim! Hen!" His voice cracked as he called for help, but you could barely focus on him anymore. The world felt fuzzy at the edges, the sound of everyone around you starting to blur.

‌Chimney was beside you in an instant, his hands moving quickly to assess the wound. "Alright, we've got you," Chim said, his voice steadier than Buck's, but you could see the worry etched in his face. Hen was already rushing to grab supplies and Eddie tried to move Buck to the side but Buck refused to budge, his hand still pressed against the wound, his eyes locked on yours. "Stay with me, please," Buck whispered, his voice breaking. You could see the desperation in his eyes, his fear for you palpable.

‌Chimney spoke more urgently now. "Buck, you need to let us work. We need to stop the bleeding." ‌Buck hesitated, his grip tightening as if letting go of you would mean losing you, but finally, he stepped back, allowing Chimney to take over. Hen was back in seconds, placing pressure on the wound as Chimney worked quickly, his face calm but focused.

‌You felt Buck's hand grasp yours, his fingers trembling. "You're gonna be fine," he kept saying, over and over, as if trying to convince himself as much as you. But your body felt heavy, the pain sharp. ‌You tried to speak, to tell him you were okay, but the words wouldn't come out. Instead, you just squeezed his hand weakly, hoping it was enough.

‌"Hang in there," Hen said as she prepared an IV, her hands moving swiftly. "We'll get you to the hospital soon."

‌Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion. The world around you was dimming, the edges of your vision going dark. You could hear the sirens in the distance, you knew help was coming but it felt so far away. Buck's voice was the only thing grounding you, the only thing keeping you from slipping away entirely.

‌"I love you," Buck said, his voice barely above a whisper, the words laced with fear. "Please... don't leave me." ‌You tried to hold on to that, to his voice, to the warmth of his hand, but the pain was overwhelming. The last thing you saw before the darkness took over was your boyfriend's face, tear-streaked and terrified, as the world faded to black.

(TIMESKIP - the next day)

When you finally woke up, the harsh lights above blurred into focus. Your body felt heavy, your chest tight with pain. For a moment, everything was hazy, and you couldn't remember how you got there, but then it hit you like a truck. The gunman, the shot, Buck's terrified voice.

‌You blinked, your vision clearing just enough to see Buck sat beside you, his eyes red and puffy from crying. His hand was wrapped around yours, his grip so tight you wondered if he'd been holding it like that the whole time.

‌"Buck," you whispered, your voice weak. The simple act of speaking made your throat burn, but you needed to let him know you were here, okay - or at least alive. ‌"You're awake," he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. He sat up straighter, leaning closer to you. "Thank God, you're awake."

‌You managed a weak smile, though every movement felt like a huge effort. "Hey," you whisper, "It's okay, Buck. I'm okay."

‌Buck let out a breathy laugh, though it was laced with a kind of relief and disbelief. "You scared the hell out of me," he said, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. "I thought-" He swallowed hard, his voice cracking slightly. "I thought I was going to lose you."

‌Buck looked like he was barely holding it together. "Baby, your heart stopped. It-" he paused, his voice shaking. "But they brought you back. You're okay now. You're going to be okay." He said it like he's reassuring himself. ‌You glanced down at yourself, seeing the bandages across your abdomen. It hurt but the pain was nothing compared to the fear you had felt before everything went black.

‌"I was so scared," Buck continued, his voice breaking as he squeezed your hand again. "I couldn't do anything but watch you bleed, and I..." He trailed off, shaking his head as if trying to shake away the memory. "I don't know what I would've done if we lost you."

‌"Shh," you murmured, managing to lift your other hand weakly to touch his face. "I'm right here." ‌He closed his eyes at the touch, leaning into your hand. "I love you," he whispered again, like he needed you to know, like you might forget if he doesn't say it enough. "You mean everything to me."

‌Tears stung your eyes, the overwhelming emotions mixing with the pain in your body. "I love you too, Buck," you whispered back. The words were weak, but they were all you could give him in that moment.

‌He smiled, though it was shaky, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. "Just rest, okay? The doctors said you're going to need time to heal."

‌You nodded slowly, exhaustion starting to pull at you again. The pain meds were dulling the ache in your body but your body was craving rest. As you closed your eyes again, Buck's hand stayed firmly in yours. He promised himself he would stay with you however long you needed him to.

911 masterlist

Pretending You Can't

Pairing: Adam Karadec x fem!cop(analyst)!reader

Summary: You're touch starved and wishing to make friends in the LAPD, but you move divisions so often that it becomes difficult. While working with the Major Crimes unit, you find a solution to both problems.

Warnings: depiction of touch starvation, discussion of difficulty making friends, murder case, fluff, comfort, OOC Karadec

Word Count: 4.1k+ words

A/N: I love Karadec so much. Hope someone can enjoy this.🫶🏼

“Melon alert,” someone whispers as they rush past you.

You roll your eyes and turn to the next page of your report. Lieutenant Melon is annoying, but he has yet to request your direct assistance. That is one of the few benefits of being quiet and reserved in a Los Angeles Police station. It is, however, far outweighed by the downfalls. You’re lonely, and you want to make friends at work, even though you are quiet. Each time you meet someone you think could be a friend, you get moved to a new desk or a new division and have to start all over. Maybe, you think, I’m just not made to have friends.

You stand and stretch your arms over your head. The report on your desk must be signed by Melon, but he’s busy, so you walk down the hall to stretch your legs and get something from the break room.

“Sorry,” you apologize as your shoulder hits someone backing out of the elevator. It feels like the skin on your shoulder is on fire, and pain like pins and needles travels down your arm. This would have been a good indicator something was wrong if you hadn’t already known you were touch-starved. Shaking your arm, you see the large box in his arms and ask, “Do you need help with that?”

“Please,” he answers.

You slide your hands under the side opposite him, and he lowers it to rest between your chests.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Detective Osman, right?”

He nods and somehow knows your name, too. You look around briefly as he leads you through the door into Major Crimes. This is one area you have not worked in, but you think you’d like it. The people in this division are kind when you see them in the station, and they do good work. Your gaze hits Detective Karadec, and you look away quickly, telling yourself it’s because you need to watch where you’re going.

“It’s too much,” he says, his shoulders moving up in a short shrug as he nods. Something about his body language disarms many people, but every time you see him, you’re drawn in by him.

Lieutenant Soto exits her office, pinching the bridge of her nose. Detective Osman sighs as he looks at her, then thanks you quietly. You smile and nod, then walk toward the door. Before you reach it, Soto calls your name. Turning slowly, you raise your brows and hold your hands against your stomach.

“Yes, ma’am?” you answer.

“You worked in the gang unit last year, correct?” she inquires.

“Yes, but only for a few months in the spring.”

“Are you familiar with the name…” she pauses to look at a sticky note in her hand, then says, “Victor Kwang?”

Nodding, you explain, “I did the paperwork for his arrest warrant, the affidavit, I mean, and some research into his accomplices and manufacturing.”

“Did you find the factory in Westlake?” a woman in a cheetah-print skirt asks.

“Excuse her,” Karadec interjects as he spins his chair to face you. “This is Morgan Gillory.”

You’ve heard about Morgan, or as Melon calls her, the cleaning lady, but if she already found Kwang’s Westlake factory, she’s better than you thought.

“I did,” you tell her. “It wasn’t operational at the time, but it was searched. Turned up practically nothing.”

“Okay,” Morgan drawls slowly. “It’s not in the report.”

Karadec watches how your brows pinch, and your eyes shift like you’re thinking.

“There’s another report,” he guesses.

“I only worked on one.”

He nods once before spinning his chair to use the computer. Opening the report they’re going on, he scrolls to the bottom of the first page to see who completed the report.

“It wasn’t this one,” he says, looking over his shoulder at Detective Daphne Forrester.

She raises her hands and says, “It’s the only one that came up when I typed in Victor Kwang.”

You focus on your memory of completing the report and ask Daphne, “Are most of his arrests for assault?”

“90%,” she replies.

“Wrong Victor Kwang,” you say. “When that case was open, there was a lot of.. discontent, I guess, in Koreatown. The DA said they had every right to be treated exactly the same here as in Korea.”

Karadec scoffs and shakes his head. You agree; it didn’t make sense, but you complied.

“So?” Osman asks.

“His arrest record and the reports from that investigation have his Korean name on it. Kwang Kyu. Surname first, given name, and everything we have on him is in that file.”

Soto raises her brows at Karadec, unseen by you. He looks between you and his lieutenant, then to Morgan.

“Who are you reporting to now?” Soto asks you.

“Lieutenant Melon,” you reply. Quieter, you add, “Technically.”

“I think it’s time for a change,” she muses before returning to her office.

“Did you do this whole report?” Daphne asks, looking up from her computer. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” you answer softly. Without Soto as a buffer and the contained topic of police work, you’re unsure how to talk to the detectives you’ve looked up to for so long.

Soto returns from her office and smiles as she instructs, “Pack up. You’re coming to Major Crimes.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Oz asks.

Soto looks away from the door that just closed behind you and levels her gaze on Karadec.

“I think she can help,” he states. “Morgan didn’t catch that the report was for the wrong guy.”

“You didn’t either,” she argues.

“Where does she usually work?” Daphne wonders aloud. “I see her around from time to time, but never in the same place twice.”

“She jumps around,” Soto explains.

“Why?” Oz adds. “Hard to work with? Trying to find where to use a golden ticket?”

“She’s good,” Karadec answers. “She can do close to everything. Chief decided to pass around the talent.”

“And how do you know that?” Soto challenges, her brows raised knowingly.

He looks at her from the corner of his eyes, then shakes his head.

“If Kwang opened a factory in Westlake, he probably did it to get away from the suspicions about what he was doing in Koreatown,” Morgan muses. “His factories form a parallelogram with an overlaid pyramid. When you look at those on a map, they center around one place.”

“Being?” Karadec presses, sounding more tired than he had with you.

She moves closer to the caseboard and examines the map briefly. “Hotel Normandie.”

“Koreatown?” Daphne clarifies.

“Yep. 605 Normandie Avenue.”

“And what is that supposed to tell us?” Karadec sighs.

“I…” Morgan purses her lips to trace her nail along the map.

“You’re missing another shape,” you point out as you return with a small tote bag of your things.

Soto’s eyes widen, and she presses her lips together to hide her smile. You’ve been here for less than five minutes, and you’re providing information Morgan can’t. They all know it’s because of how long you spent studying Victor Kwang, but it’s still interesting to see.

“Hotel Normandie is one of Kwang’s favorite spots. It’s less than thirty minutes from the Hollywood Bowl, Griffith Observatory, LA County Museum of Art, Natural History Museum, and Dodger Stadium. That’s a-“

“Pentagram,” Morgan finishes. “He could get around to all of them and back to the hotel in 2 hours without traffic.”

“Add Forest Lawn,” you add, setting your bag on an empty chair. “And you’ve got a hexagon.”

Karadec stands at the word hexagon, and you wonder what they’re working on.

“DB was called in this morning,” he tells you as he slides his cell phone and a bottle of hand sanitizer into his pocket. “It was found at the corner of Wilshire and Crenshaw. There was a note in the vic’s pocket with the name Victor Kwang written repeatedly. The note was folded into a hexagon.”

“And that intersection is in Kwang’s criminal hexagon,” Morgan adds.

“The victim had his visa,” Daphne says as if she’s reading your mind to answer your questions. “ID’ed him as Chang Shirong. Came in from China four months ago, so he likely would have been traveling back within the next few weeks.”

“Six months. He had a B-1 visa?” you realize incredulously. “What business activities was he conducting?”

“I’ve got that,” Oz interjects, holding an open file. “He had a relatively legitimate clothing business and was negotiating contracts with Lids and Fanatics.”

“How long ago did he get approved for the visa?” Morgan asks.

“Five years ago,” Daphne answers.

You fall silent and listen, happy to stay here and complete their paperwork while they go out in the field and put Kwang back in jail. Provided that he’s found guilty, of course.

“When was Kwang released after the sweatshop factory fiasco?” Karadec asks, though his gaze strays to you.

“Five-and-a-half years ago,” Oz reads. “Could have easily gotten in with Chang to move operations overseas.”

“The Government Accountability Office would’ve had Kwang on a short leash,” Soto states. “If Kwang broke that kind of labor law, he wouldn’t have been able to conduct business of any type, not for a while at least.”

“Not necessarily,” Morgan counters, raising her finger.

“Here we go,” Karadec murmurs, holding his fist against his chin.

“AB633 holds California garment manufacturers responsible for sweatshop conditions. It ensures workers are paid minimum wage and overtime. Because of that, the Labor Commissioner can bring lawsuits on behalf of the whole workforce to guarantee wages and – this is the important part – revoke the registration of the manufacturer that fails to pay a wage award. They up new registration fees, but can't legally keep someone from reopening a business based only on wage crimes.”

“Sounds like you need to look into the sweatshops,” Soto says before telling everyone where to go.

You pull a chair to Daphne’s desk to help her trace Kwang since his release from prison, and she smiles as she whispers, “Teach me your ways.”

You send her a small smile and immediately decide that you want to be friends with Daphne Forrester. The longer you sit beside her and across from Oz, the easier it is to open up and offer your ideas and theories.

“Oz,” Morgan calls as she returns a few hours after leaving. “Karadec needs you to throw a phone book at someone.”

“We still don’t do that,” he replies as he exits the office.

“What are we working on?” Morgan asks as she takes Oz’s chair.

“We found Kwang’s quote ‘professional’ activities since leaving prison,” Daphne explains.

“Any theories?”

“I don’t have any.” Daphne gestures toward you as she adds, “This one has some great ones.”

“Lay ‘em on me,” Morgan requests. “Unless you don’t want to.”

“You must be a very good mom,” you murmur.

“I have a teenager,” she says, “I know the signs of someone not wanting to talk to me. I also notice when someone’s eyes wander to a certain detective.”

“Karadec?!” Daphne exclaims, tapping her hand against your arm and igniting invisible flames beneath your sleeve.

You drop your head and wring your fingers together. “I think Kwang met someone in prison who could set him up with an overseas businessman. Your victim flew in on a visitor’s visa a week before Kwang was released and stayed for nearly two months. If they met then, Chang had a reason to get a business visa and make regular trips to visit his business partner.”

“Any idea who could’ve known both of them?” Morgan wonders.

“That’s where we found the hiccup,” Daphne answers.

You have an idea, but it doesn’t make sense, so you stay quiet. Morgan and Daphne look at you, then at each other. Morgan nods before she stands.

“You’re coming to my house for dinner,” she says. “It wasn’t an invitation or a question, you’re coming. Let’s go.”

Daphne nods and tells you to have a good night, so you follow Morgan out of the station. While you walk into the parking lot, she slows and looks toward you.

“You like Karadec,” she begins. “When you’re not incredibly focused, your eyes stray to him. It happens when you’re not confident in your statements, too.”

“I- he-“ you try before deciding to say, “Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be. I notice a lot, and I’m not saying it’s a bad thing. Maybe you should try to just talk to him tomorrow, share one of those good ideas you kept to yourself today.”

“I thought that was your job.”

Morgan smiles. “If it gets Karadec to smile, I’ll relinquish my duty to you for a day.”

“Why would that make him smile?”

“You can figure that out, detective.”

Morgan begins walking again, and as she opens her car door, you call, “I’m not a detective!”

The following morning, you enter the station early with a mental list of names and information to look into. Walking into Major Crimes, you’re not entirely surprised to see Karadec already at his desk.

“You’re early,” he muses. “You can use Oz’s desk.”

“Thanks.” You lower into Oz’s seat and use your station login to access the police database.

“Help yourself,” he offers, gesturing to a donut box.

You smile and take one of your favorites. If you had to guess, you never would have assumed that Karadec was the one who brought the donuts every week. Maybe they take turns, you think.

As you work quietly beside Karadec, you run through each idea you have. Each search that fails to provide a helpful result discourages you more than the last.

“Pass me the Kwang file?” Karadec requests.

His fingers brush against yours as he takes the extended file. He thanks you, but you don’t hear it as your nerves alight. You try to hide the pain in your hand as you place it back on the keyboard. Failing to remember the last time you were hugged or even simply touched in a way that lets you know someone cared about you, you force yourself to focus. Your hand curls into a fist as the pain subsides, and then you return to work.

With your focus on the lack of touch you’ve experienced recently, you don’t notice Karadec watching you. He’s known since before you joined their team that there is more to you than people think.

As the rest of Major Crimes begins arriving, you log out and pull a chair to the corner of Daphne’s desk to continue working with her. Karadec tries to focus, but when you are close, he finds it hard to do.

“Good morning,” Morgan greets, sitting beside you. She lowers her voice to remind you, “Talk to Karadec.”

“All of my ideas turned up nothing,” you explain softly.

“And?” Oz asks as he approaches the other side of Daphne’s desk.

“She likes Karadec,” Morgan replies.

Your eyes widen as you look over at her. Daphne stifles a laugh, and Oz shrugs as if that isn’t new information.

“Yeah, yeah,” Morgan murmurs. “Et tu, good report maker. Seriously, tell him something. You have more ideas; I can see it.”

“Any new theories?” Karadec asks, turning his seat to face Daphne’s crowded desk.

“I think the order of the hexagon was wrong,” you blurt out.

“Why would the order matter?” Oz inquires.

Karadec watches you, listening carefully. Morgan smiles and shakes her head knowingly before she winks at Daphne.

“If the route matters, then traffic, travel times, and when the places are actual targets changes.”

“Targets?” Karadec repeats.

“I assumed you were evaluating the places based on their proximity to his former sweatshops,” you explain. “So, he could use them as alibis, to recruit workers, or in this case, to lure Chang into his previous enterprise to undermine Chang’s business.”

“Like a sightseeing tour for bad guys,” Oz translates.

“Alternatively, they were on their way to one of these places and Chang dropped some news about taking a larger profit margin or something, Kwang was outraged and killed him.”

“In which case, he’d want to get another shop up and running ASAP,” Morgan comments.

“Let’s run with that theory,” Karadec decides. “We’ll split up and check the different points on the hexagon. Use Kwang’s previous warehouses for ideas about where he’d be holed up or operating a new factory.”

“Someone from Immigration is here with Chang’s visa information,” Soto says.

“I got it,” Oz offers. “Go find this guy.”

“I’ll go with Daphne,” Morgan announces.

“Okay,” Karadec agrees, standing. “Which direction do we go?”

“Hotel Normandie faces east,” you answer. “Most people turn right when leaving a building, so he’d be pretty likely to go South. The art museum would either be first or last because it’s west of the hotel.”

“We’ll take the southern locations starting with the Natural History Museum. Then we’ll hit Dodger Stadium and go around. Daphne and Morgan, go west to the art museum then north toward Griffith Observatory. Overlapping visits should double our chances.”

“Yeah, that’s not how percentage of chance works,” Morgan replies. “I’ll explain it later.”

“Oh, good,” Karadec deadpans.

“So…” Karadec begins as he drives toward the natural history museum. “What did you want to do when you joined the department?”

“At first, I didn’t know. Then I realized I wanted to become a detective,” you answer. “I think it’s too late for that.”

“Never know. What made you decide?”

“A lot of detectives worth looking up to. Including you.”

You realize what you said and chew the inside of your bottom lip as you wait for Karadec to say something. Anything.

“Thank you,” he says after a moment. “Although you had better options.”

“I didn’t know Daphne yet,” you joke, pulling a rare smile from him. “Hey, slow down. That building should be condemned.”

Karadec slows as he steers the car onto the gravel shoulder. He watches the shadows moving in the covered windows and radios for backup.

“ETA two minutes,” dispatch replies.

“Uh, Karadec?” you interrupt.

“Yeah?”

“Door just opened.”

You watch Victor Kwang exit the warehouse in an expensive suit. He notices the car and then runs along the side of the building. You don’t hesitate to exit Karadec’s car and chase him, ignoring Karadec’s yells for you to wait.

As you round the western side of the warehouse, you speed up and push off your right foot to tackle Victor Kwang. He grunts as he lands in the dirt, and you pant through your recitation of his Miranda rights. Karadec approaches behind you and passes you a pair of handcuffs.

“Maybe we should let you carry those next time,” he says. “Is that your car, Mr. Kwang?”

“Lawyer,” Kwang replies as you turn him to make him sit up.

“In that case, I’ll go ahead and get it towed to the station in violation of California Vehicle Code 22500,” Karadec says, pulling his phone from his pocket.

You look at the car and smile. “Section f: A person shall not stop or park on a portion of a sidewalk.”

“It’s my sidewalk!” Kwang argues as sirens approach the front of the building.

“It’s the city’s sidewalk,” Karadec says. He takes your place and pulls Kwang’s arm to make him stand. “So, we’ll be searching your illegally parked car when it arrives at the station.”

After an officer takes Kwang, you take a deep breath.

“Are you okay?” Karadec checks, laying his hand on your shoulder.

Your muscles tense, pulling into a tight knot before immediately releasing to be more relaxed than before Karadec touched you. He feels every movement and realizes by the movement that you are devastatingly touch-starved. Karadec does not like touching things or people, you’ve noticed, but you’re both acutely aware of how well his hand fits on you.

“I’m okay,” you answer quietly.

The moment ends abruptly when Karadec’s phone rings. He removes his hand from your shoulder to answer Daphne’s call, but his warmth lingers as you follow him back to the car.

After Kwang confesses to receive a plea deal and offers up the international crime matchmaker who introduced him to Chang, you return home. Your hand raises to your shoulder, where Karadec touched you. Now that the case is closed, you’ll likely be transferred out of Major Crimes again and lose the four people you think you could have been friends with. Again.

Someone knocks on your door, and you approach it quietly to look through the peephole. Sighing, you open the door and silently invite Karadec into your home.

“Is everything okay?” you ask. “Soto told me I could finish the reports in the morning.”

“No, that’s fine,” he replies, looking briefly around your living room before bending back slightly with his hands in his pockets. “I… I think I can help you.”

Your mouth opens, but you take a moment to find the right words. “Do you mean that the other way? Can I help you again?”

“No, no,” he answers with a smile. “Can I just show you?”

“Sure,” you say slowly.

Adam pulls his hands from his pockets as he steps toward you. You inhale quickly at his proximity, and when his hands raise, you hold your breath. Tensing your muscles as Karadec lays his hands on your waist, you swallow. His thumbs brush wide arcs between your ribs as your body relaxes at his touch.

“Oh,” you realize under your breath.

“You said you looked up to me as a detective. I admire you as a lot more than that.”

The initial pain of his touch fades, and you seem to melt beneath his hands. If you’re going to react like this, Karadec thinks, he may never take his hands off you.

“I thought you didn’t like touching things with germs,” you remember.

“Found an exception.”

Karadec smiles as you argue, “Soto won’t like that.”

One of his hands slides from your waist and catches your hand. You instinctively try to pull away because it hurts, but he holds you tighter, drops his smile, and whispers, “It’s okay.”

You nod and shift your hands to interlace your fingers with his.

“If you want help with this,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across your knuckles. “I’m here. But you tell me when to stop.”

“Why?” you inquire.

Karadec doesn’t answer, and you admit, “I have feelings for you. Like… feelings. I understand if that makes you feel different and you don’t want me close anymore.”

“Feelings?” he repeats, using the tone you used the second time. “Should it make me feel different?”

Your brows furrow and Karadec returns both hands to your waist.

“It doesn’t,” he assures you, dropping his hands.

“There’s hand sanitizer in my bag, behind you,” you offer.

“Soto sent me over to tell you she wants you in Major Crimes full-time,” Karadec interjects. “It’s up to you, though.”

“Would that… Do you care if I say yes?”

“I’m not going to answer that.”

“You’re not really helping me here.”

He nods in a small circular movement which tells you he doesn’t care about that. His smile, however, makes you smile.

“I have wanted to be a detective for a long time,” you muse.

“Anyone you’d be leaving behind in the other divisions?”

“Oh, yeah,” you answer sarcastically. “I’m just swimming in friends, hence the extreme touch starvation.”

“Give Soto your answer in the morning,” he requests. “I’ll see you there?”

“Of course.”

You watch Karadec leave, and when you wrap your arms around your waist, nothing happens. No pain, no pins or needles, just warmth and the memory of Karadec's touch.

When Karadec enters Major Crimes the morning after visiting you, you’re nowhere to be seen.

“Daph!” he calls. “Where is she?”

“Morgan?” she clarifies.

“She’s finishing paperwork,” Oz answers. “Transfer papers, I’d guess.”

“I need signatures,” Soto says, exiting her office.

“Beautiful,” Daphne whispers as she signs your completed report.

“Yes, it is,” Karadec agrees, though his eyes are up, watching you enter the office with a smile.

“Where’d the grumpy persona go?” you whisper as you place a donut box on your new desk.

“I’d guess wherever he left it last night,” Soto answers, looking between you.

Morgan enters, spouting theories about another case but stops when she sees you. “I told you! You just had to stop pretending you couldn’t do it.”

“Hey,” Daphne calls, pointing at you with a sprinkled donut. “No ‘will they, won’t they,’ okay? Do it or don’t, but I can’t watch my friends dance around each other.”

“We’re friends?” you repeat.

“Duh.”

“So…” Morgan begins. “Are you okay with a group hug or do you need some more time?”

You look at Karadec, who shrugs, and then you nod. As you’re wrapped in warmth and care by your new friends – and Karadec, who you hope can be more than a friend – you realize that you finally found where you belong, and you’re not pretending anymore. You can do this. You can do the job, the friendships, and the openness.

You Know I Love You

0.5k+ words of you stressing Deacon out by not saying "I love you" back.

“That’s not right,” you murmur. “He didn’t even read her Miranda rights.”

“Are you still watching this show?” Deacon questions, chuckling as he returns from the kitchen with your favorite drink.

“I thought it would get better,” you defend. “It hasn’t.”

“So, you’re going to turn it off now?”

You shrug, and Deacon shakes his head in amusement.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he promises.

Deacon places his hand on the back of the couch and leans down to kiss you. As he stands, you click the remote and begin the next episode.

“Don’t,” Deacon warns. “You’ll regret it. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“I won’t,” you assure him. “I’m giving it five more minutes. Ten maybe.”

Deacon slides his phone into his pocket and retrieves his keys from the table beside your door.

“I love you,” he says as he opens the door.

“See you when you get back,” you reply.

Deacon pauses in the open doorway and watches you. You’ve never hesitated to tell him how you feel; you said I love you first and kissed him a minute ago, so he knows you aren’t mad at him.

“Want me to bring dinner back?” he asks.

“I was actually thinking we could cook,” you say, turning to face him. “If you want.”

“Sounds good.” With your attention on him, Deacon tries again. “I love you.”

“Be safe.”

“Yeah… Text me if anything comes up, okay?”

You nod, and when Deacon says, “I love you,” again, you smile and turn to sit properly again.

Deacon drops his keys onto the table again and closes the door. He walks around the couch and then drops to sit directly beside you.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, of course,” you promise. “Just wondering what these writers were thinking.”

“Can I get your full attention for three seconds?” Deacon requests.

You pause the show and smile, leaning toward him as you nod. “I’m all yours,” you say.

“I love you,” Deacon says slowly, intentionally.

“I know.”

Deacon’s brows raise, and his shock is evident. You can’t take it then, laughing as you fall forward into his lap.

“I’m so sorry,” you force through your laughter. “I just wanted to see your reaction.”

Deacon raises your hand to his chest, and your amusement turns to guilt when you feel his heart beating rapidly.

“I’m sorry, Deacon,” you repeat, sitting up and taking his hands. “I love you - you know that.”

“Well, I thought I did, but then I said it a half-dozen times and you just asked about dinner.”

“Dinner with you!” you point out. “It was stupid; I really didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Say it again,” Deacon requests.

“I love you, Deacon.”

Deacon sighs, kisses your forehead, and then stands.

“Although, after a kiss like that, I shouldn’t have to tell you,” you joke.

“I will be back in a few hours,” Deacon says again, and you can tell he’s fighting not to smile. “And I hope for both of our sakes you are in a better mood.”

“I’m in a great mood when the man I love is here,” you flirt.

“Yeah, yeah,” he murmurs as he opens the door.

“I’ll see you later with food!” you call. “Love you!”

“I know."

𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖇𝖚𝖌𝖘 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉 𝕬𝖀

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you meet each other at your worst, and together you grow to be your best.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: daddy!Andy Barber x little!Reader

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘

𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐭𝐰𝐨

𝖉𝖗𝖆𝖇𝖇𝖑𝖊𝖘

laurie walking into andy’s house and he sees baby on the couch with a paci

andy finding out he has a littlespace

Andy buying baby a bottle of his cologne to spray on all her stuff for when she gets lonely and misses her daddy

baby can’t sleep in the middle of the night

andy working overnight so baby and jake are home alone

imagine andy making baby a bracelet that says “if lost call *his number*

Laurie saying something mean to Baby and Baby starts to fake cry

baby making friends with some of the mom friends from jacob’s school

laurie finding out andy’s taking baby on lauries dream vacation

him shaving his beard while she’s little and when she sees him gets freaked out and cries part two part three

emancipation convo

baby and Andy getting married and the send a invitation to Laurie

eating andy's ass convo

drabbles feat. Juniper (baby x andy's daughter)

laurie tries to feed Juniper

junipers always sticking her lil tongue out at laurie lol

juni gets older and finds out laurie was mean to her mommy

Juniper said something really mean

The People You Deserve

Pairing: father figure!Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader (found family/platonic)

Summary: While training as a rookie, you have a devastating argument with your parents. Tim realizes that you need someone - someone you deserve - and sets out to become that person for you.

Warnings: familial angst, verbal/emotional abuse, fluff and comfort, Smitty

Word Count: 3.9k+ words

A/N: heyyyy @nevereclipse I finally wrote another one of your marvelous Tim ideas🤭

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

Lucy gasps as Tim wraps his hand around her arm and yanks her around a corner.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice raised from surprise.

“Did she tell you anything?” he demands.

Lucy’s brows raise as she exclaims, “Who?!”

“My rookie!”

Tim releases Lucy’s arm before he steps back.

“No, she hasn’t said anything. What’s going on?”

Shaking his head, Tim answers, “I don’t know. She’s off, though.”

Tim’s eyes lift, and Lucy turns to follow his line of sight. You have your bag on one shoulder, and Tim’s on the other, talking to a fellow rookie as you walk toward the shops.

“She seems fine,” Lucy says.

Tim doesn’t reply, but he’s not convinced. He knows you better than Lucy does and he can tell that something is wrong. You’re tense; your shoulders are pulled toward your ears like you’re ready to either fight or flee. That isn’t your usual state, unlike Nolan’s new rookie, who has fought and fled while on patrol. Usually, you are the calm and prepared one, ready for anything. You’re distracted today, even if no one else sees it.

“Sorry for grabbing you,” Tim tells Lucy.

“No worries,” she replies. “You’re worried about your rookie, I get it. Although, I never got worried about by TO Bradford.”

Tim returns his eyes to her face to glare at her. “Don’t you have a job to do?”

“I was trying to before hashtag grumpy cop assaulted me.”

“Keep your voice down,” Tim hisses. “I apologized.”

“And I’ll never let you forget it.”

Lucy waves over her shoulder as she walks away. Tim thinks about you while he walks to the shop. You were wringing your fingers together when he first saw you this morning, and he did not miss your nearly invisible flinch when he first spoke to you. Whatever it is you’re bottling up inside has the potential to turn explosive, and Tim doesn’t want the blowout to impact himself or you. So, despite his usual approach and reputation for being a hard, unforgiving TO, Tim climbs into the driver’s seat and prepares to talk to you.

He fails almost immediately, however. Instead of starting a conversation, he sits in the driver’s seat and stares straight ahead. You run your finger along a stitch in your uniform pants, as silent as him.

“What’s going on?” he asks as the other shop pulls forward in the garage.

“Dispatch alerted to an active alarm on Wilshire,” you answer. “The map also shows heavy congestion-”

“No,” Tim interrupts. “What’s wrong? You’re off, and we’re not going out until I know you’re stable enough to do this job.”

You shift in the passenger seat, looking at the dashboard rather than your TO. “Nothing,” you lie.

“Not gonna cut it,” he replies. “Not today, not any day you put on that uniform.”

“Sir,” you begin.

He shakes his head, and you immediately silence.

“You know what happens when cops bottle up their emotions?” he asks.

“They explode,” you answer softly. “Almost always in the wrong place and on the wrong people.”

“Right. But it also slows their reaction times, clouds their judgement. If I got shot right now, boot, would you be able to save my life and catch the shooter?”

“Yes.”

Tim scoffs. Yet, he doesn’t argue. He believes you. Despite your distracted state and the clear signs that something is bothering you, you’re a good cop.

“Look, you need to talk to someone, get some of that weight off yourself,” Tim explains. “If not me, there’s a dozen certified therapists the department will pay for.”

“I don’t need a shrink,” you argue. “I’m fine.”

Tim turns in his seat, resting his left forearm on the steering wheel as he looks at you. You sigh, aware that Tim will keep you from patrolling until he knows you are okay.

“I’m just… My parents came over last night,” you explain. “It didn’t end well.”

His posture relaxes slightly, but Tim doesn’t respond or start acting like a cop again. He stays open toward you, inviting you to keep talking. On your first day at the LAPD, you never would have imagined you’d be having a heart-to-heart with Tim ‘break their spirits’ Bradford. You’ve mentioned your parents maybe twice in the time you’ve been a rookie, and every time, you could tell that Tim not only listened but that he understood.

“We were just supposed to have dinner and catch up,” you begin.

The Night Before

“Hey!” you greet, smiling as you open the door. “Come on in. It’s so good to see you both.”

“You too,” your mother replies, looking around your apartment.

“We could have met somewhere closer to home,” your father complains.

“This is my home,” you point out. Your brows pinch as you add, “And I had to work late, so I wanted to make sure I wasn’t keeping you waiting.”

“Work late writing tickets?” your mother scoffs. “Sounds like a miserable existence.”

“That’s not all I do. I really like my job.”

“Why are we here?” your father asks. “I know we didn’t just drive to this hood to hear about how great your job is. What do you need? Money?”

Your eyes widen in shock. Neither of your parents has ever been overly supportive. Still, you didn’t anticipate your invitation to have dinner together would lead to this.

“Money wouldn’t be a problem if you’d simply done as I asked,” your mother sighs, opening the fridge. She frowns and closes the door, then shudders.

“I don’t need anything,” you say. “I just wanted to have dinner, catch up, be a family.”

“You moved out, you’re an adult,” your father argues. “We don’t have to keep up this appearance.”

“Appearance?” you repeat incredulously. “I’m your daughter, we are a family. You’re supposed to come over because you love me, not because I’m an obligation to make you look like a good family man at the country club!”

“We’ve never been country club people,” your mother interjects. “Maybe if we hadn’t had a child to pay for.”

“That’s all I am to you? A bill? Something you have to pay for and travel fifteen apparently excruciating miles to see?”

“Maybe if you’d moved to Brentwood and gotten a real job,” your father begins. He trails off, leaving the insinuation hanging.

“Okay,” you murmur, clenching your hands into fists to keep them from shaking. “You don’t like my job, that’s fine. Let’s just have dinner and talk about something else.”

“Like your family?” your mother suggests. “Oh, wait.”

You swallow harshly, fighting to keep yourself from lashing out at them. “You’re right. This was a bad idea; you should just go.”

“You made us drive over here for nothing?” your father asks, his voice rising.

“You didn’t even want to come,” you point out.

“And you wonder why we’re so disappointed,” your mother muses.

“You’re disappointed because nothing makes you happy,” you defend. “You are miserable people, and you try to push it onto everyone around you!”

“We’re only miserable because of you!” your father yells.

He stands from the barstool at your kitchen island, pointing at you as you step back from him.

“You are a disgrace to our name and yet you insist on wearing it on a meaningless badge! So desperate to feel wanted that you ran to a job that takes anyone, no matter how underqualified or worthless.”

You clench your jaw, swallowing the tears threatening to spill. “Get out.”

“We’ll see who’s miserable when you don’t have our pocketbook to fall back on,” your mother says, failing to hide her smirk.

“Go,” you demand.

“Oh, yes!” your father yells as he opens the door. “Pretend to have the authority you want. Whatever makes you feel seen, just remember that sooner or later everyone will see the walking disappointment hiding beneath your façade of self-confidence.”

You slam the door behind him, pressing your hand against your stomach as your emotions fight within you.

You shrug as you conclude your story. “They left. I stayed up most of the night wondering if anything they said was true.”

Tim lets your statement hang between you for a moment. “They don’t deserve you,” he says.

You shake your head. “Not how it works.”

“It is,” Tim assures you. “You deserve more. You need people who support you, who understand you and why you do what you do. What you love– who you love matters and settling for people who don’t care enough to see that is not good for you.”

“Not good for me as a cop,” you agree, nodding. “Because my personal life affects my job performance.”

“Your parents are miserable people,” Tim says, agreeing with your point from last night. “They are terrible people who don’t deserve to be around you or see everything that you accomplish in life.”

Finally, you look up at Tim. He says it like someone who has had to cut someone off as if he has kept people from seeing him at his best because of how they treated him at his worst. You have some idea of his past, but the fact that Tim has lived through something similar makes you faster to trust him.

“And if I don’t have anybody?”

Tim shifts into Drive before he answers, “You’ll always have your TO.”

“That was stupid,” Tim chides as you return to the shop.

“He was getting away,” you reply.

“And you could have seriously injured yourself by stopping him like that.”

“But I didn’t.”

“Not this time.”

You nod and accept Tim’s correction. His teaching style has changed since he learned of your strained relationship with your parents. He still pushes you daily, teaches you in a way that works for you, and lets you apply everything he says and demonstrates, but he shows you that he supports you. His praises are few and far between, but they matter, and you never forget what he says when the praise does come.

Nearly a month after falling out with your parents, your phone chimes with a new message. It’s from your dad, and you delete it without reading it. Over the next few days, you get messages, emails, voicemails, and even a physical letter from the people who consider you a disappointment and an obligation. You ignore all of them, and because of Tim’s advice and support, you find that you don’t even care.

“You look tired,” he says after roll call.

“My phone rang around midnight and woke me up,” you admit. “Took a while to go back to sleep, but I got a few more hours.”

“Who called?”

“My dad.”

Tim tips his head to the side, and you shrug.

“I didn’t answer. I should probably just block his number, since he can’t seem to take the hint.”

“He’s called before?” Tim asks.

“He and my mom have both been trying to reach me for about a week. I don’t know why; I delete everything without looking at it. Shredded the letter they mailed… I hope there wasn’t cash in it.”

“Doubtful,” Tim replies. “Keep your phone on today.”

“Why?”

“TO’s orders.”

You roll your eyes and ignore Tim’s displeased hum. He’s become more than a TO over the last few weeks: he’s someone who supports you and understands you. Finding a father figure in Tim Bradford was the last thing you expected to happen as a rookie. The closer you get to graduation, the more thankful you are for it and for him.

After your third call of the day – a robbery gone wrong – your phone rings. Your dad's name flashes onto the screen, and Tim snatches it from your hand and answers it.

“Sergeant Tim Bradford speaking,” he says. “Yeah, she can’t talk right now… Because she doesn’t want to…”

He turns away from you so you don’t hear him say, “Stop trying to mend this bridge just to burn it again, because we both know that’s what you’re going to do. You can contact her, but if I hear one word about you stepping out of line again, I will throw you in jail, is that clear?”

Returning your phone, Tim says, “He should stop calling.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you murmur.

“You’re right. But someone needed to remind him that you’re not alone, and he can’t walk all over you.”

“Thank you.”

Tim nods, then remembers that you’re still on duty. “Get in the shop, boot.”

“Congratulations,” Tim says, passing you an unmarked envelope. “And with the highest score.”

“I owe you most of the credit,” you reply, smiling as you hold the letter to your chest. “I couldn’t have passed my exam without you, and everything you’ve done for me.”

“Yeah, you could have.”

“Ready?” Angela asks.

“For what?” you inquire.

“We’re taking you out to celebrate,” Tim replies. “Graduating from long sleeves is a big deal, and you deserve it.”

You step toward Tim, then hesitate. He seems to understand what you’re thinking. He sighs but raises his arms anyway. You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging him tightly as you thank him again. Tim grunts dramatically when you collide with him, but he pats your back, and you suddenly understand what it’s like to be loved and cared about. You’re worth something, and Tim Bradford took it upon himself to show you.

“Alright, let’s go,” Angela urges, smiling at you. “If you want to invite anyone, we made reservations with extra room.”

“Can I invite my boyfriend?” you ask.

Angela looks past you to Tim, whose jaw drops. She recovers quickly and tells you they’d love to meet him, but Tim is still caught on the revelation that you have a boyfriend.

Looking over your shoulder, you ask, “Are you coming?”

Tim murmurs, “Yeah, yeah,” as he tries to think of every man you’ve ever mentioned or had an encounter with while he was nearby. “You said boyfriend?” he asks. “That’s new.”

“New-ish,” you admit.

Tim holds the door for you and Lucy, laughing together as you enter the restaurant. Your boyfriend replies with a text that he’s stuck at work and a promise to celebrate with you the following weekend.

“What’s his name?” Lucy inquires.

“Fin,” you answer.

“You’ve never mentioned him before,” Tim says, trying and failing to sound nonchalant.

“Yes, I have. When we watched Lord of the Rings, I told you that the scene where Gandalf releases Theoden from Saruman’s control is his favorite.”

“Tim Bradford watched Lord of the Rings?” Angela asks. “With you?”

Pressing your lips together, you look at Tim with an apologetic grimace. He waves at you, dismissing the attention. Your movie nights aren’t a new occurrence, but they were meant to stay between you. Tim has become your family, and the time you spend with him outside work is incredibly special and dear to you. What you won’t tell Lucy or Angela, or anyone else, is that Tim is the father you always wanted. A man who can show you that you matter and you’re loved, even if it’s hard for him to express.

Over the last few months, you’ve become incredibly close with Tim, and you wouldn’t trade it for the world. He smiles at you when Aaron arrives, bearing a congratulations bouquet and a gift card to your favorite store.

“Thank you,” you whisper across the table. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Tim.”

He nods, but as your celebration continues, Tim mentally plans the following morning to include running a background check on this Fin you claim to love.

Tim exits Wade’s office with a sigh. The fugitive he’s been tasked with finding seems to be an expert at hiding. Your first week riding alone is going well, and Tim didn’t anticipate missing you quite so much.

“Timothy,” Angela calls. He looks up, and she waves him over. “I figured out why you couldn’t find your future son-in-law.”

“Excuse me?” Tim asks.

“Your rookie’s boyfriend,” she amends. “You didn’t know his full name. Fin is short for Fingon; apparently his dad also likes Lord of the Rings.”

Tim hesitates, then walks to her desk. “What’d you find?”

“He seems great,” she replies, smiling. “And get this: James knows his dad. He did some construction work around the community center a while back and they became friends. The whole family… they’re good people, Tim.”

“You know this for sure?” Tim asks.

“Nyla invited them over to dinner last night, we talked to him-"

“What?!” Tim demands.

“Kidding. But if James can vouch for the dad, and your rookie – who has great character judgement – for the son, then I’d say, yeah, they’re good people.”

Tim taps his knuckles against Angela’s desk, then sighs again. “Thanks, Lopez.”

“No problem. I hope I get to meet him first, though. If you scare away her boyfriend, you can kiss those movie nights goodbye and I for one would love an invite.”

Tim ignores Angela’s smile as he rolls his eyes. Walking away, he thinks only of you. Pulling his radio from his belt, he asks dispatch for your location.

Your boyfriend Fin knocks on Tim's door two months after meeting Tim and nearly nine months after he began dating you. You’re at your apartment, getting ready for your date, and unaware of your boyfriend’s plan or current location.

“Fin,” Tim says as he opens the door. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, sir,” Fin assures him. “I’m here to talk to you, if you have a few minutes.”

Tim narrows his eyes but nods and lets him in regardless. Angela was (unfortunately) correct about Fin and his family. They are good people, and his parents treat you better than your own ever did. But not as well as Tim, you once confided in Lucy.

“Can I get you a drink or anything?” Tim asks, closing the door.

“No, thank you. I won’t take up too much of your time. I… I’m pretty old fashioned.”

Tim nods, and Fin slides his hand into his pocket. After pulling out a small, square box, he rests it on his palm and shows it to Tim.

“I want to propose,” Fin explains. “But I want your blessing. You are one of the most important people in her life; you care about her, and I do too. So, I want to know that you are okay with this before I do anything.”

Tim is a man of few words, but he’s rendered speechless by Fin’s words and the ring box before him.

“You love her?” Tim asks after a moment.

“More than anything.”

“And you know that if anything happened to her-”

“I would answer to you,” Fin finishes, beginning to smile. “Yes, sir.”

Tim sighs, then shakes his head. “Let me see the ring, since you’re proposing.”

Fin steps forward, raising his arms to hug Tim before he reconsiders. He stops and offers his hand, which Tim shakes firmly.

“I assume you have a plan to make it memorable,” Tim says. “I’d warn against boats of any kind.”

“I do have a plan. Maybe you’d be willing to spare a minute to go over it with me?”

Tim nods, welcoming Fin to have a seat. As he begins speaking, he says your name, and Kojo runs from the hallway, looking around.

“She’s not here, Kojo,” Tim calls. “Maybe tomorrow.”

Fin raises his brows as he reaches forward to pet Kojo. “I’m in the market for a ring bearer,” he tells Tim.

“I feel like half of the LAPD is out there,” you murmur, smoothing your hands over your dress.

“There’s no more than a third,” Tim says.

You smile but continue fidgeting. Tim stands, walks to your side, and pulls your hands into his.

“Breathe,” he encourages. “It’s your wedding day. It’s about you and Fin, not what Lucy or Angela or Smitty think.”

“Smitty came?” you ask, finally loosening up. “That’s amazing.”

“We all care about you. We want to see you happy.”

You open your mouth to thank Tim but instead, you wrap your arms tightly around him. He chuckles, then returns the hug, his hold warm and safe.

“It’s almost time,” Lucy says, knocking as she looks inside the door. “You ready?”

You nod. Stepping back, you loop your arm through Tim’s elbow and smile at him.

“I wouldn’t be here without you,” you confess as you walk toward the venue.

“Neither would I,” he admits. “And you look beautiful, if I forgot to say it before.”

“You did,” you reply playfully. “But Kojo told me, so it’s okay.”

Standing at the end of the aisle, you watch Kojo trot alongside Lucy. Having your friends in your wedding party, being surrounded by the people who mean the most to you – the people you deserve – is perfect. You don’t even realize your parents are absent as Tim leads you down the flower-petal-covered aisle and toward your forever.

You smile at Fin as you gently remove your arm from Tim’s. He inhales sharply when you turn toward him to thank him once more.

“Don’t,” you warn softly.

He smiles, but you can see tears welling in his eyes.

“No, no, no,” you urge. “If you cry, I’m going to lose it and nobody wants to see that.”

“I’m proud of you,” Tim says. “Everything that you’ve done, everything you’ve become, and all that you’ll accomplish in the future… You’re amazing.” He brushes his thumb under his eye, then smiles. “I never thought I’d love a boot.”

Your surprised laugh is silenced by Tim’s shoulder as you wrap your arms around him. The off-duty police officers behind you break into an excited round of applause, and you can hear Angela and Lucy yelling above everyone else.

Stepping back, you whisper, “I love you too.”

Tim looks at Fin and levels his expression. “I know where you live,” he says before he turns and takes his place on the front row.

“Are you crying?” Wesley asks under his breath.

“No,” Tim answers. “We’re outside, there’s dust.”

“Just reign in the waterworks for the first dance,” James interjects from behind Wesley.

“Shut up,” Tim says over his shoulder.

“Congratulations,” Wade says, catching you between dances at the reception. He slips you an envelope and explains, “Special delivery from your Mid-Wilshire family.”

Before you can reply, Smitty calls, “But I also got you a fondue maker, so if you’re picking favorites or a name for any future kids..,” he trails off, gesturing to himself before he returns to the dance floor.

You turn to watch him as he does the electric slide to a song that does not fit the dance, then laugh and return your attention to Wade.

“A fondue maker will be pretty hard to beat,” you muse. “Thank you. I owe so much to you. Thank you for giving me a family, and a job I love.”

“You deserve it all and more,” Wade assures you, laying his hand on your shoulder. “But Tim is glaring at me, so I’m going to go.”

You turn, but Tim is smiling when you meet his eyes.

“Your parents didn’t show,” he says.

“I didn’t invite them,” you murmur. “I sent the announcement, but not an invitation. My real family is here; you’re here.”

“Tell me they at least sent a gift.”

“A $2,000 Visa card in an unsigned Hallmark card that said Congratulations over a wedding cake.”

“Smitty can beat that,” Tim scoffs.

“He did. Fondue maker,” you reply, nodding.

“We got a fondue maker?” Fin asks, returning from a dance battle with Aaron.

You wrap your arm around him but look at Tim as you say, “We got a lot more than that.”

“You did good,” Tim responds. “Boot.”

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.

It's Commander, Sergeant

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Army-FBI!reader

Summary: After years of thinking about Tim Bradford, you meet him again during a riot in Los Angeles. When he learns you outrank him, he falls... hard.

Warnings: incorrect Army terminology and actions, depiction of riots, fluff! a couple Call of Duty references. Also, I grew up ten minutes from Fort Rucker, so I'm allowed to trash talk it.

Word Count: 2.7k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

When you joined the Army immediately after graduation, you didn’t expect it to become a career. What surprised you more was meeting Tim Bradford. You only met him once, but he stayed with you, a firm and commanding yet protective and loyal personality that was impossible to forget. Now, years later, you continue to think about him occasionally, hoping he’s doing well and happy. He inspired you to work through the ranks and do something more meaningful than just obeying as you’re told. Not that being a soldier and taking orders is unimportant, as you’ve explained to the troops you are now Master Sergeant of. Personally, you felt a calling to do more.

“Master Sergeant, Sergeant Major Riley is here to see you,” a soldier says, standing at attention in your doorway.

“I’ll be right out to meet him. Thank you, Private,” you reply kindly.

You are a different kind of Master Sergeant, unwilling to act higher than the men and women who answer to you. Your respect for others, regardless of rank, has made you a favorite on base.

“No need. Is now a good time?” Riley asks, taking the Private’s place.

“Of course. What can I do for you, Sergeant Major Riley?”

“There’s a developing situation in Los Angeles. If you and your team are up for it, I’d like to send you in to help.”

“Los Angeles? Who has jurisdiction?”

Riley chuckles, shaking his head, as he says, “I knew that would be your first question. Not ‘what’s the situation?’ because that’s boring, right?”

“Something like that, sir.”

“The LAPD called in military reinforcements for an out-of-control rioting issue.”

“When do we leave?”

“1700 hours. Tell your troops.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“How’s everyone enjoying US Army Garrison Italy?” you ask your team, composed of twenty of the best soldiers.

“The men- the view is beautiful, Master Sergeant,” one of the female soldiers says.

“I’d have to agree. But we’re heading back to the States. There’s a riot issue in Los Angeles and they’ve called for the best to come in and help.”

“Riot control? Now, we’re talkin’, ma’am!”

“Los Angeles, California?” someone asks.

“What other Los Angeles is there, man?” a second voice replies.

You clear your throat, and everyone in the room snaps to attention. Smiling, you nod and confirm that your destination is Los Angeles, California.

“We leave at 1700 sharp. Helos are standing by. And before you ask, no, I don’t know when or if we’ll be back. LAPD is running point on this - listen closely, we are assisting. This is about the safety of US citizens. Not proving grounds or a test to become a Ranger. They’re calling the shots, but you still answer to me. Is that clear?”

“Yes, ma’am!” your team yells together.

“Then let’s get out there and protect our home.”

As you leave, someone whispers, “I’m gonna miss Italy.”

You agree, but your job is about more than the view from the base. As you pack to return to California, you wonder if you’ll ever be back to Italy.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Master Sergeant. Thank you for coming so quickly. I am Sergeant Wade Grey, I’m Watch Commander of the LAPD Mid-Wilshire division,” Grey introduces, shaking your hand.

“Nice to meet you, sir. Tell us where you need us, and we’ll be there.”

“We’ve got six teams out there right now, covering what we consider the biggest targets, but I’ll get you in touch with my lead Sergeant.”

“Is he in the field? We’d be happy to meet him where he is and take his direction from there.”

Wade sighs, a relieved smile appearing on his face. “You’re the best person in the state right now, Master Sergeant. He’s at the Wilshire Federal Building, the intersection of Wilshire and the 405. We’re running short on equipment, but we can get you transport.”

“Oh, we’ve got a ride. And, Sergeant Grey, feel free to drop the formalities,” you offer before telling him your first name.

“Only if you call me Wade,” he replies. “Wait- don’t tell me you have an APC parked outside my station.”

“We don’t. We have an M113 APC, a light tank, and six more vehicles waiting for a destination. You called for riot control, and we’re going to control some riots.”

“If you ever get tired of the Army, the LAPD would be happy to have you.”

“Unless you can offer me a station in Italy and as many armored vehicles as I can drive, I think I’m happy where I am.”

“Fort Irwin is scenic.”

You walk backward as you exit the office, tilting your head to the side as you consider. “Italian oceanside or California desert. Guess which I’m picking?”

“Good luck out there.”

“Thank you, sir- Wade.”

✯✯✯✯✯

The moment you jump off the side of the APC, two LAPD officers rush to you and your group of four soldiers. Splitting your team into five groups and sending one to join each of the LAPD squadrons seemed to be the best option. One of your team members introduces you to an officer, who nods and ushers you to follow him.

“Master Sergeant, this is LAPD Sergeant-“

“Bradford?”

Tim tilts his chin, his eyes the only part of his face you can see past his helmet and shield. You’d know him anywhere after countless nights of thinking of him and being inspired by him.

“Have we met, Master Sergeant?” he asks, his voice raised over the crowd gathering on Wilshire Boulevard.

Someone throws a flaming bottle of alcohol toward the steps of the building, and you motion for your team to push the crowd back.

“Later, Sergeant Bradford. Care to tell me what’s going on?” you ask.

“LA courts decided to take a bunch of cases back to trial, deal with overcrowding, standard procedures. But… you get it.”

“Don’t want ‘em out or want to make sure they do get out. Yeah, I know the answer, though I’ve never understood the thought process behind it.”

“You and me both. What are we supposed to do to show them this won’t change anything?”

Glancing at the crowd, you weigh the options. “Realistically, getting violent is only going to make this worse. I’m not suggesting a negotiation, but… what if we try stopping?”

“We’re not setting down our arms and opening the gates for them to storm the Wilshire Federal Building!” Tim yells.

“Then what would you like to do? Stand here until the trials are done?”

“That’s not-“

“Look, I don’t want to pull rank but if you’re just going to stand here and argue with me, I will, Sergeant Bradford,” you reply. His jaw clenches beneath his helmet, and you offer, “Half of your men lower their shields, a show of good faith. Then we go from there.”

Tim lowers his shield, stepping toward you to threaten, “If anything happens to my men, it is on your hands. This isn’t your home, but it’s mine.”

“I understand how this works, Sergeant Bradford. And I’m not telling you to do it alone.”

You push past him, leading two soldiers to the front line, dropping your shield, and raising your hands. The crowd members closest to you stop, looking at you curiously.

“There is a court schedule available online!” you yell. “If you have a loved one that you would like to advocate for, call the courts, call their defenders, and tell them why someone is worthy of freedom at the proper time and place! But don’t risk your own freedom, don’t take the lives of your neighbors or your peace officers in the process!”

You signal for all of the officers to raise their shields again. As the crowd storms forward, you rush into the fray, letting your training take over as you disarm the citizens around you.

“Down on the ground!” you yell, panting as the tank approaches behind you.

At the sight of the tank, the men and women standing in the road begin kneeling, lowering their weapons, and raising their hands. The LAPD rush forward, doing their jobs as you send your team to give your orders to the other soldiers you brought back to the States.

“That shouldn’t have worked,” Tim says, approaching from behind you.

Turning toward him, you sigh and remove your helmet. “Lots of things shouldn’t work, Sergeant Bradford.”

“You know my name; care to tell me why?”

Pressing your lips together to hide your smile, you walk past him, calling over your shoulder to say, “Never expected I’d have a higher ranking than you, Sarge!”

✯✯✯✯✯

“Is the Master Sergeant here?” Tim asks as he enters the bullpen.

“She’s with her team, briefing their superiors.” Wade smiles before asking, “Why would you like to know?”

“She knew my name. I can’t place her though.”

“She’s Army, you were Army… think about it, Tim.”

“I met hundreds of people in the Army, Wade-“

“Not all of them stay in the Army and work their way through the rankings because you inspired them,” you say, standing in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“No problem,” Wade says, adding your first name while looking toward Tim.

Tim looks past you, clearly trying to place your name.

“I met you my first year, we were only in the same room for a few minutes and didn’t say more than a few words to each other. But you inspired me. You were a good soldier, a better leader, and I wanted to do what you did.”

“And now you’re a sergeant?”

Smiling, you correct, “It’s Master Sergeant, Sergeant.”

✯✯✯✯✯

“You got a little drool right there,” Angela jokes, pointing to the corner of Tim’s mouth. “What’s so special about her?”

“She outranks me,” Tim answers.

“Okay. Lots of people do.”

“Yeah,” Wade adds from Tim’s other side. “You don’t look at me like that.”

“No offense, Wade, but you’re not as pretty,” Angela replies.

Tim shushes them suddenly, nodding when you turn and see him. You smile at him, yet again drawn in by Tim Bradford’s presence and leadership. His not trusting you at first, yelling at you, was somewhat unexpected, but you’ve been in his place before. Trusting people as soon as you meet them is difficult, often impossible in your profession, but Tim’s quick change makes you smile. You’re a good leader, like him.

✯✯✯✯✯

“We’ve got a problem,” Wade calls, ending a phone call. “There’s another riot at Cal State Prison. LAPD and Lancaster PD can’t handle it alone.”

“We can never make it there in time,” Nolan responds. “It’s nearly 2 hours without traffic.”

“Now would be a good time to get a private jet or something, Thorsen,” Angela calls.

You pull your phone from your pocket, typing quickly before nodding. “I need Bradford,” you tell Wade. “And your landing pad.”

“What did you do?” Tim asks.

“Sikorsky X2 is five minutes out. We can get there and drop in 20 or less.” You raise a finger to point to everyone in the room. “This stays here. I’m not supposed to know the Army has one stateside.”

“Has a what?” Aaron asks.

“Good answer.”

“It only holds two crew members, but I’ve got a team out there that can ride in a cargo area. We’re going to need backup, so if you can get airships or anything, Sergeant Grey, please do. Let’s roll.”

Tim follows you quickly, jogging to catch up with you. “How’d you pull this off?”

“Somebody owed me a favor.”

“Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“That I inspired you to stay in the Army, to get here.”

“Oh.” You push open a door and begin climbing the stairs quickly. Stepping onto the roof, you look at Tim and say, “Ask me again when this is over.”

Tim waits until you turn away to smile. He can’t believe he forgot you, but your sacrificial, mutually beneficial leadership style, kindness, and abilities, not to mention that you outrank him, have him practically wrapped around your finger.

✯✯✯✯✯

Standing in the back of a helicopter and hooked to a rail, you lean out against the whipping air and feel weightless. The pain and concern of the day are wearing off, and as the sun sets, you’re glad you were asked to come to LA. Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath.

Tim taps your side, and when he has your attention, he points West. The ocean is now visible, and the light ripples over the water, reflecting the pastel colors painting the sky. You smile at the view before looking back to Tim. Reaching up, you adjust the channel dial on his headset. He doesn’t even flinch at your sudden movement, and your smile grows as he leans toward you.

Looking at the soldiers behind you, you say, “If I think any of you can hear me, I’ll have you transferred to the worst base I can think of.”

No one except for Tim reacts, and he chuckles quietly.

“Okay, ask me again,” you request into your microphone.

“Did you really stay in the Army because of me?”

“Yes. You showed me what was possible, but your kindness toward me made me think I could do it too.”

“You could’ve done it without me.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Easy, Sergeant.”

“It’s-“

“Master Sergeant… when this illegally obtained helicopter lands, would you go to dinner with me?”

A soldier to your left moves, and you shake your head. “After this illegally obtained helo lands, and I have Henderson transferred to hot and humid Fort Rucker, Alabama, I would love to go to dinner with you.”

“Since you outrank me, surely you get paid better, so it’s on you?”

You lean toward Tim, pausing when your headset hits his. “I could also go back to Italy and see if anyone there is willing to take me to dinner.”

“Fine,” Tim groans. “I’ll pay, but only if you stay in town long enough to show me how much my inspiration paid off.”

✯✯✯✯✯

The dinner date does not go as planned. When you enter the police station, Sergeant Major Riley awaits you. He takes you into Wade’s office to talk, and Tim stands outside waiting for you.

Being a soldier means being sent to different places with only a moment’s notice, but being at your level makes things far more difficult and irregular. Tim may have missed his chance.

“Any idea what that’s about?” Tim asks Wade.

“No clue.”

You exit a moment later, your previous smile now absent. Tim tries to hide his disappointment, but he should have known getting into a relationship with a younger, yet higher ranking, soldier would never work.

“I blame you,” you tell Wade, stopping before him and Tim.

“What did I do?” he asks incredulously.

“You said there was an opening at Irwin, but you didn’t say that you only knew that because my Sergeant Major told you.”

“He may have mentioned it.”

“Anyone want to loop me in?” Tim asks tiredly.

“I’m moving to California. Leaving Italy behind to lead a new force,” you answer sadly. “No more authentic pasta for me.”

“Wait- you’re moving to California? Irwin, which is three hours from here?” Tim interjects.

“It’s your fault too,” you remember. “I let you inspire me to be a good leader and a good teacher, but now I’m paying for it.”

Riley calls your name, beckoning you back into the office. The second time you exit, you seem a bit more pleased.

“Is the offer for that date still on the table?” you ask Tim. “Looks like my team is going to be in LA county for a few days before I can get discharged.”

"Whoa, whoa, what are you talking about? You're getting out?" Tim asks, raising his hands in question.

"I'm receiving another raise in rank," you tell Tim, grabbing his extended wrist and pulling him toward the door. "But not in the Army."

✯✯✯✯✯

✯✯ 1 Year Later ✯✯

“Your form needs some work, but there’s potential,” you say.

“My, uh, my recruiter said that you take potential and make talent,” the recruit before you says.

Standing, you smile. “I like to think so. But I can’t do anything without your effort. So, are you willing to put in the work to do your best?”

“Yes, ma’am, Commander.”

“Then I only have one more question. Why do you want to join FBI special operations?”

“Commander,” someone scoffs from the doorway. “It’s like you take pride in increasing the divide between our ranks.”

Glancing over, you make a “shoo” gesture before finishing the recruit’s evaluation.

“Let’s go,” you tell Tim, gathering your things. “It’s been almost a year, and we still haven’t had an uninterrupted dinner date.”

“I’m not sure we ever will, Sarge.”

You move your hands to Tim’s shoulders, brushing your lips over his before whispering, “It’s Commander, Sergeant.”

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!)

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“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.”

Break My Rules

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Smitty!reader

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

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

Word Count: 3.8k+ words

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

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

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

“She was just jealous.”

“That must be it. How was work?”

“It was normal. Bad guys got arrested.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No dating cops,” he says with you.

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

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

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

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

“Seren-what-ity?”

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

“The Real Slim Shady.”

“Why did I ask?” you mumble.

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

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

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

“Good taste,” you compliment.

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

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

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

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

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

“Was that a Bon Jovi reference?”

“You do know your classic rock.”

“Well,  I am a choir teacher.”

“Please agree to coffee. I’ll pay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Which songs?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lucy’s eyes brighten, and she smiles.

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

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

“Always.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve got a beautiful voice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And its laughingstock.”

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

“Yeah,” you reply. “Smitty’s my dad.”

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

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

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

“No,” Tim and Lucy answer together.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Noth- nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing, Tim.”

“Can you call me when you’re done?”

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

“At home.”

“I’ll be right there,” you offer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay,” you murmur. “I got you.”

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

“Can you keep doing that?” Tim requests.

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

“Humming?” you clarify.

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

“Your voice is pretty.”

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

“Why don’t you sing?”

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

“Do you need to get that?” Tim asks.

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

“When’s the next choir show?”

“Friday.”

“Can I come?”

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

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

“Don’t do that,” Tim says softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell her,” she says. “Not me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?” you ask.

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

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

“Would you…”

“Would I?” you press.

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

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

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

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

“Then?”

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

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

“You’re not mad?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

“Tim,” you whisper, leaning toward him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Even when I’m not at a performance.”

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

“I can’t do it,” you whisper.

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

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

Tim squeezes your hand gently.

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

“What are you saying?” Tim asks.

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

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

Laughing, you shake your head and lean toward Tim.

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

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

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

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

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

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