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imkaiandtrash · 3 months ago

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Lost without you

Summary: What happens when Tim Bradford’s secret girlfriend, Y/N, shows up at the station with his forgotten lunch, leaving his coworkers stunned by the reveal?

Note: I’m happy I’m back to being active, but this time I decided to switch it up a bit. I decided to add the one and only Tim Bradford to my list and here is my first ever story I wrote about him. Enjoy! 😊

Tim Bradford x reader

Genre: fluff

Tim Bradford was a man of precision, discipline, and control. His reputation as the gruff, no-nonsense sergeant at the LAPD was well-earned, and his coworkers knew better than to mess with him unnecessarily.

He lived by structure, with everything in its place, including his private life.

What nobody at the station knew, however, was that he had been in a relationship for the past three years, a relationship that softened him in ways no one would believe if they saw him at work.

You were the polar opposite of Tim in every way.

Shy, soft-spoken, and a bit introverted, you’d never imagined yourself dating someone as commanding and straightforward as him.

But Tim had an unshakable way of making you feel safe, cherished, and seen.

Your differences didn’t drive you apart; they were what made your relationship thrive.

Sure, there was an age gap, but neither of you cared. What mattered was how deeply you loved one another.

Tim loved teasing you to get a reaction. Whether it was a quick quip to make you blush or a small gesture in public that only you two would understand.

He thrived on the little moments when he could make you flustered.

And you? You adored his steady, unwavering presence, the man behind the uniform who was patient, gentle, and surprisingly affectionate.

The morning started off as usual. Tim had woken up early, slipping out of bed quietly to avoid disturbing you.

But today, you stirred, blinking up at him groggily as he adjusted his shirt in front of the mirror.

“You’re leaving already?” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep.

He turned, his gaze softening as he saw you stretching under the covers. “Didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, walking over to the bed.

He leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, his hand brushing over your hair. “Go back to sleep, sweetheart.”

You yawned and shook your head. “You always say that, but I like seeing you before you go.”

You sat up, rubbing your eyes. “Did you grab your lunch?”

Tim gave you a sheepish smile, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “Not yet.”

“Of course,” you teased, rolling your eyes. “What would you do without me?”

He smirked, leaning down until his face was inches from yours. “Starve, probably.”

Your cheeks heated at the proximity, and you pushed at his chest lightly.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though your smile betrayed your words.

He kissed you again this time on the lips, before standing.

“Thanks for putting up with me,” he said softly. “See you tonight?”

“Be safe,” you said, watching him leave.

But as the door clicked shut, you glanced at the counter and saw the neatly packed lunch you’d prepared for him.

Classic Tim, you thought with a fond smile.

Hours later, you found yourself at the station, Tim’s lunch in hand. As much as you loved Tim, the idea of walking into his workplace made your stomach twist nervously.

You’d never been to his station before. Tim had always been adamant about keeping his personal life separate from work.

But you knew he’d appreciate the gesture, and it was an excuse to see him again.

As you approached the front desk, the officer there gave you a curious look. “Can I help you?”

“Uh, hi,” you said, holding up the brown paper bag.

“I’m here to see Sergeant Bradford. He…uh, forgot his lunch.”

The officer raised an eyebrow but paged Tim down. You waited, feeling out of place amid the bustling officers.

When Tim finally appeared, his stern expression softened immediately upon seeing you.

“Y/N?” he said, his voice tinged with surprise.

“You forgot this,” you said, handing him the bag.

Your voice came out quieter than you’d intended, and you felt your cheeks flush under his gaze.

Tim stepped closer, taking the bag from you. “What would I do without you?” he murmured, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

His touch lingered for a moment before he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Probably starve,” you said with a small smile, using his own words against him.

His lips quirked up into a smirk. “You’re too good to me, sweetheart. I would be in fact so lost without you.”

Behind him, his coworkers: Lucy, Nolan, Angela, and Jackson had stopped in their tracks, watching the exchange with wide eyes.

Tim wasn’t exactly known for being…well, affectionate. Yet here he was, smiling at you like you were the only person in the world.

“Thanks, baby,” he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “I’ll see you at home later, okay?”

You nodded, your cheeks burning as he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead.

As you turned to leave, you felt several pairs of eyes on you. You glanced back once, catching Tim’s gaze.

He gave you a small, reassuring smile, and you felt your nerves settle.

As soon as you were out of earshot, the questions started.

“Who was that?” Lucy asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

“Yeah,” Nolan chimed in, his eyebrows raised. “Since when do you smile like that?”

Tim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Drop it.”

“Oh, no way,” Angela said, grinning. “She’s cute. Is she your friend? A cousin? A-”

“Not your concern,” Tim interrupted sharply, his tone brooking no argument.

The group exchanged incredulous looks but didn’t back down.

“Come on, Tim,” Lucy pressed. “You’ve been holding out on us. Who is she?”

Tim crossed his arms, fixing them with a pointed glare. “It’s personal.”

Lucy scoffed. “Oh, that’s not going to cut it. You can’t just act all sweet and lovey-dovey and expect us not to ask questions.”

“Ask all you want,” Tim said flatly. “I’m not answering.”

Angela tilted her head, smirking. “You’re really not going to tell us?”

“Nope,” Tim replied, his lips twitching as if daring them to keep trying.

The group groaned in unison, clearly frustrated.

“You’re impossible,” Lucy muttered, throwing her hands up.

Tim just shrugged. “And you’re nosy.”

Despite their protests, he refused to give in, leaving them buzzing with unanswered questions.

That evening, Tim came home to find you in the kitchen, humming softly as you stirred a pot of pasta.

He leaned against the doorway, a small smile tugging at his lips. After a moment, he walked over and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

“Hey, baby,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Tim!” you yelped, startled. “You scared me!”

He chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself. You looked too cute.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, turning in his arms to face him. “Long day?”

He let out a low sigh, his hands settling on your waist. “Better now,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You? Everything okay?”

You smiled, resting your hands against his chest. “Yeah, just the usual. I missed you, though.”

His lips curled into a soft smile, and he kissed you tenderly. “Missed you too.”

As you sat down to eat dinner together, Tim began telling you about his coworkers’ reaction to your visit earlier.

“They wouldn’t stop asking questions,” he said, shaking his head. “Who you were, why you were there, if we were related. I shut them down, but they were relentless.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, setting your fork down.

“They must think I’m some random girl who wandered into the station. Or worse, someone putting up with your grumpy self.”

Tim smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, they definitely think you’re crazy for that. But I didn’t give them anything. Figured it wasn’t their business.”

You tilted your head, considering.

“I mean… maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they knew. They’re your friends too, right? They might tease you, but it’s not like they’ll judge us.”

His expression softened as he studied you. “You’d be okay with that? Them knowing about us?”

You reached across the table, taking his hand.

“Yeah, I think so. I mean, it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong. And it might make things easier for you at work if they aren’t constantly guessing.”

Tim laced his fingers with yours, squeezing gently. “If you’re sure. I didn’t want to say anything unless you were ready.”

You gave him a reassuring smile. “I am. Besides, i would rather have them know the truth than think I’m your secret cousin or something weird.”

He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Fair enough.”

After a moment, his gaze turned serious. “You know, I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I’m not hiding how much I love you, Y/N. Never have, never will.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you squeezed his hand tighter. “I know, Tim. And I love you too. So, let’s do it. Let’s stop hiding.”

Tim nodded, his smirk returning. “Alright. But don’t blame me when they start interrogating you instead.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’ll take my chances.”

He leaned across the table, brushing his lips against yours. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“And you’re biased,” you teased, grinning.

“Damn right,” he said, his voice full of affection.

The next day, you found yourself back at the station. This time, it wasn’t because Tim forgot his lunch by accident, it was very much on purpose.

You knew this because when you asked him about it that morning, he had shrugged and said, “Maybe I’ll forget again,” with a mischievous smirk that made you narrow your eyes.

Now, standing outside the station with his lunch in hand, you felt the same nervous flutter in your stomach as the day before.

You weren’t used to being in Tim’s world, surrounded by his colleagues and the constant hum of police activity.

Still, you were here for him, and that was enough to push you through your shyness.

As you walked inside, the same officer at the front desk spotted you. He raised an eyebrow but smirked knowingly. “Back again?”

You nodded, offering a polite smile. “He forgot his lunch. Again.”

The officer chuckled and picked up the phone. “Sergeant Bradford, your…lunch delivery is here.”

A few moments later, Tim appeared. He didn’t look surprised to see you, of course, he wasn’t.

His face softened immediately as he spotted you, and he walked over with his usual confident stride.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, his voice low and warm as he reached for the bag. “You didn’t have to come all the way here again.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Someone has to make sure you eat, Tim.”

He smirked, his fingers brushing yours as he took the bag. He held your gaze for a moment longer, and you felt your cheeks heat under his intense stare.

“Thanks, baby,” he murmured, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

The small gesture made your heart flutter, but you became acutely aware of the stares from across the room.

Tim’s coworkers Lucy, Angela, Nolan, Jackson, and Harper were watching the scene unfold with varying degrees of shock and curiosity.

You tried to ignore them, but their presence only made you more self-conscious.

“I should get going,” you said softly, glancing down at your hands.

Tim frowned slightly. “You sure? You can stay for a bit if you want.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want to get in the way.”

“You’re never in the way,” he said firmly, his hand brushing against your arm. The touch was gentle, reassuring.

Before you could respond, Lucy Chen’s voice cut through the air.

“Okay, who is she? Is she the girl from yesterday?”

You froze, your eyes widening as Lucy and the others approached. Tim sighed, running a hand through his hair.

You wanted to answer and tell them the truth. You had gotten the confidence from the conversation you had with Tim last night, but unfortunately, your shyness won again.

“Not now, Chen,” he muttered, but it was too late.

Lucy crossed her arms, a sly grin on her face. “Come on, Tim. You can’t expect us to just ignore this.”

Angela joined her, smirking. “Yeah, you’ve been keeping enough secrets, Bradford. Spill.”

Nolan, ever the curious one, chimed in, “She brought you lunch again. That’s not just a random act of kindness.”

You felt your face heat, and you instinctively took a small step closer to Tim.

Sensing your discomfort, Tim placed a protective hand on the small of your back.

“Guys, this is Y/N,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “And that’s all you need to know.”

“Oh, come on,” Lucy said, her grin widening. “Y/N…what? Girlfriend? Sister? Cousin? Who is she?”

Tim’s jaw clenched, and you could tell he was seconds away from shutting them down completely.

But before he could, Angela spoke up again, her tone teasing.

“She’s too cute to be your sister. So, girlfriend it is?”

Tim let out an exasperated sigh, but he didn’t deny it. That was all the confirmation they needed.

“Oh my god,” Lucy said, her eyes wide. “You’ve been dating someone this whole time, and we’re just now finding out? For how long has this been going on?”

“Three years,” Tim said simply, his tone clipped.

The group gaped at him in disbelief.

“Three years?!” Angela exclaimed. “How and why did you keep that a secret?”

“Because it’s none of your business,” Tim replied, his hand still resting on your back.

Angela laughed. “I can’t believe this. Tim Bradford, the grumpiest guy in the station, has a girlfriend, and she’s adorable. How does that work?”

Tim gave her a pointed look. “Angela…”

She held up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”

But Lucy wasn’t done. She turned to you, her expression curious but friendly.

“So, Y/N, what’s your secret? How do you put up with him?”

You hesitated, unsure of how to respond but still laughed at her question.

Tim chuckled softly, his hand moving to squeeze your shoulder.

“She’s unbelievably patient,” he said, his tone light.

You looked up at him, surprised by the teasing warmth in his voice. It wasn’t often that Tim let his guard down like this, especially not in front of his coworkers.

“I think you’re worth it,” you said softly, your eyes meeting his.

His expression softened, and for a moment, it was just the two of you.

Lucy let out a dramatic sigh. “Okay, that’s actually kind of sweet.”

Angela nudged her. “Kind of? It’s downright shocking. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Tim look at anyone like that.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “All right, that’s enough. Don’t you all have work to do?”

“Not until we get more details,” Harper said, grinning.

“You’re not getting anything,” Tim said firmly.

Before the group could protest, you turned to Tim. “I really should get going.”

He nodded, his hand dropping to your waist. “I’ll walk you out.”

The group watched as Tim escorted you to the door, their expressions a mix of disbelief and amusement.

Once you were gone, the interrogation continued.

“Okay, seriously,” Lucy said, turning to Tim. “How did you pull that off?”

“Pull what off?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Her,” Angela said. “She’s way too sweet for you.”

Tim smirked. “Maybe I’m not as bad as you all think.”

The group laughed, clearly unconvinced. But beneath their teasing, there was a genuine warmth.

It was clear they were happy for him, even if they couldn’t resist poking fun.

“She should come around more often,” Lucy said. “It’s nice seeing you act like a human being for once.”

“Yeah,” Angela added, grinning. “She makes you tolerable.”

Tim shook his head, but there was a small smile on his face.

When Tim arrived home, he found you curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your lap.

You looked up as he walked in, your face lighting up with a smile.

“Hey,” you said softly.

He walked over, leaning down to kiss you. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“How was the rest of your day?” you asked, moving over so he could sit beside you.

“Exhausting,” he said, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “But worth it.”

You tilted your head, giving him a curious look. “Worth it? Why?”

He smirked, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Because I got to show off my amazing girlfriend.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you buried your face in his chest. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he teased, pressing a kiss to your hair.

You couldn’t argue with that.

The end

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imkaiandtrash · 3 months ago

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I won't remember you

Main masterlist | The rookie masterlist

Protective!Tim Bradford x girlfriend!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: After an attack leaves you bleeding out, Tim races to your side, terrified of losing you. In a desperate moment, you confess your fear of forgetting him after death. Tim swears nothing, not even death, will ever take you from him.

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of injury (stabbing, blood loss), panic, anxiety, fear of death ,near-death experience, heavy emotional distress, Protective!Tim in full force

Angst

Words: -

Fear lived in you now.

It wasn’t always this way. You used to be able to kiss Tim goodbye before a shift without feeling like you were sending him off to war. You used to be able to close your eyes at night without fearing you might never wake up. But lately, it had taken root inside you, growing deeper with every passing day.

It started as a whisper—soft, insidious thoughts creeping into your mind at odd hours. What if something happens to him today? What if you don’t wake up tomorrow? What if you forget him?

You told yourself it was just anxiety. That you were being paranoid.

Then, the panic attacks started.

Some nights, you’d wake up gasping for breath, your heart slamming against your ribs as if trying to claw its way out. Other nights, you didn’t sleep at all, too afraid that if you closed your eyes, you’d never open them again.

Tim noticed. Of course, he did.

He had always been good at reading you, knowing when something was wrong even before you did. At first, he didn’t push, just watched you carefully, his sharp blue eyes tracking your every move. But when he caught you trembling after waking from another nightmare, your arms wrapped around yourself like you were trying to hold your body together, he couldn’t stay silent.

"You’re not okay," he had said one night, his voice low, careful, as if afraid to spook you.

You had tried to lie.

"I’m fine."

"Don’t do that." He had stepped closer, fingers grazing your jaw, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look away. "Talk to me, sweetheart."

You had broken then, the dam inside you shattering all at once.

"I’m scared," you had admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "All the time, Tim. I can’t—I can’t shut it off."

His arms had been around you in an instant, his body solid and warm against yours. "What are you afraid of?"

You swallowed, gripping the front of his shirt like he was the only thing keeping you grounded. "Losing you."

Tim had tensed at that, his grip on you tightening. "That’s not going to happen."

"You don’t know that." Your voice cracked, a tear slipping down your cheek. "You leave for work every day, and I—I feel like I can’t breathe until you come home."

His jaw clenched, but he didn’t pull away. He just held you, his lips brushing against your hair.

"I always come home," he murmured. "I will always come home to you."

"But what if you don’t?" Your fingers curled into his shirt, your breath shaky. "What if one day, something happens, and I lose you? What if I lose me? I don’t—I don’t want to die, Tim."

His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears slipping down your cheeks.

"You’re not going anywhere," he said fiercely. "Neither of us are."

You had wanted to believe him.

But now, as you lay on the pavement, blood pooling beneath you, you realized—you should have believed him while you had the chance.

It had been a normal evening.

You had left the apartment to pick up dinner—Tim’s favorite, because you knew he had a long shift and would come home exhausted. The air was crisp, the streets familiar, and you had felt safe.

Until you weren’t.

You didn’t hear the man coming.

One second, you were unlocking your car. The next, an arm wrenched you backward, slamming you against a brick wall.

A blade pressed into your side.

"Give me your bag," a low voice hissed in your ear.

Your breath hitched. Your heart pounded so hard it hurt. You nodded quickly, hands shaking as you slipped the bag from your shoulder, pressing it into his grip.

But he didn’t let go.

"This ain't enough," he snapped, his fingers digging into your arm. "You got a phone? Jewelry?"

You reached into your pocket, but he must have thought you were going for something else. Before you could speak, pain exploded through your side.

The knife slid in, hot and deep. You gasped, the world lurching as agony tore through you. For a second, you didn’t even understand what had happened. Then, warmth bloomed beneath your fingers.

You looked down.

Blood. So much blood.

The man cursed, shoving you backward before disappearing into the night.

You staggered, your body trembling violently as you pressed your hands against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

Someone screamed. Someone called 911. But not you.

You should have called your boyfriend.

Tim had seen people die before.

He had seen officers go down, had pressed his hands against bullet wounds, had watched blood stain the pavement, had heard final breaths rasp from broken bodies.

But nothing—nothing—had ever prepared him for the moment he heard your name come through dispatch.

"Victim is y/n y/l/n. Possible GSW. Medics en route."

It was like the world snapped.

The air was sucked from his lungs, his heart stopped beating, and for a split second, everything froze.

Then—he ran. He didn’t think. He didn’t breathe.

He was in the car before anyone could stop him, the sirens screaming as he tore through the streets, his hands clenching the wheel so tightly his knuckles went white. His mind was a chaos of images, panic clawing at his throat—

You on the ground.

You gasping for breath.

You—motionless.

His foot slammed on the gas. The drive was a blur. The city rushed past him in streaks of color, his own breath coming in short, ragged bursts. His heart was pounding against his ribs, so fast it hurt, so hard he thought it might break right out of his chest.

Please. Please. Please.

The second he saw you, his entire world collapsed. You were on the pavement, blood was everywhere. A dark crimson stain spread across your side, soaking into your clothes, pooling beneath you like an open wound in the earth itself.

Tim’s knees hit the ground before he even knew he had moved. His hands—steady on the field, in firefights, in life-or-death situations—shook as they pressed down over yours, trying to stem the bleeding.

"Y/n!" His voice cracked, his breath ragged. "Baby, I’m here."

You gasped, barely conscious, your eyes fluttering open just enough to meet his.

"Tim…"

The way you said his name—weak, broken, like you weren’t sure you’d ever get to say it again—ripped him apart.

"Hey, hey, baby, stay with me." His fingers curled over yours, pressing against the wound, desperate to stop the blood, to fix this, to save you. "You’re okay. Just hold on, sweetheart. Just—just stay with me."

You blinked up at him, your lips trembling.

"I didn’t call you," you whispered.

Tim’s jaw locked, his breath shuddering.

"Why the hell not?" His voice was sharp, raw, barely controlled beneath the sheer terror gripping him.

You swallowed, your fingers twitching against his. "Didn’t want you to… hear me like this."

A choked noise caught in his throat.

"Jesus, y/n" His hands tightened on you, pressing against the wound, his body instinctively shielding yours like he could keep you safe just by being there. "You always call me. Do you hear me? Always. I don’t give a damn what I’m doing—I will always come for you."

A soft sound left your lips—half a breath, half a whimper.

"Scared," you murmured.

Tim exhaled sharply, his chest aching at the fragility of your voice.

"I know, baby," he whispered. His fingers brushed against your face, streaking your cheek with your own blood. "I know."

You inhaled shakily, a weak tremor racking through your body.

"I don’t… I don’t want to die."

Tim clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. A burning sensation settled in his chest, threatening to consume him.

"You’re not going to die," he growled, his voice shaking. "Do you hear me? You’re not leaving me. Not now. Not ever."

You blinked sluggishly, your pupils unfocused.

"But if I do…"

Tim’s stomach dropped. His heart stopped dead.

"Don’t," he begged, voice hoarse. "Don’t say it."

Your hand—so cold, so weak—curled around his wrist.

"But if I do…" you whispered. "I won’t remember you."

Tim’s entire body locked. A shuddering breath left him, raw and wrecked.

Tears blurred your vision as you forced yourself to continue, despite the sharp ache in your chest. “They say—at weddings, they say ‘till death do us part’ because when you die, you forget. You forget the people you love. And I don’t want to forget you.”

Tim broke. The breath he sucked in was sharp, painful, like glass cutting down his throat.

"You’re not going to die," he choked out, his grip tightening on you like he could physically hold you here, keep you tethered to him.

Your lips trembled.

"But if I do… Will you find me?"

A tear slipped from Tim’s lashes, burning against his skin. His forehead pressed against yours, his breath warm and unsteady.

"Always." His voice shook, barely above a whisper. "I will always find you, baby. No matter what. I swear to you."

Your lashes fluttered.

"’Til death do us part," you murmured.

Tim flinched. No. No, he hated that phrase.

He hated the finality of it. The implication that death was the end. That you could be taken from him and there would be nothing after.

His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones, smearing blood over your skin.

"Not even death," he whispered fiercely. "Not even death could take you from me."

You shivered beneath his touch, the cold creeping into your bones. Tim felt it and it terrified him.

"Stay with me, sweetheart," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "Please."

Your lips parted then your body went limp. His heart stopped.

"No—no, no, no—y/n!" His voice was a roar, pure desperation as he shook you, as he pressed his hands against the wound, as if he could force life back into you. "Stay with me!"

The paramedics were suddenly there, voices shouting, hands pulling him back, but Tim fought them.

"No!" He thrashed against their grip, his voice ragged, his hands bloody as they tried to push him away from you. "I’m not leaving her!"

"Y/n, stay with me, baby, please—"

They wrenched him back, and suddenly—he couldn’t touch you anymore. He couldn’t feel you.

"Her pulse is weak—get the stretcher, now!"

"She’s lost too much blood—"

Tim’s breath came in ragged, painful bursts, his hands shaking so violently he couldn’t control them.

He watched—helpless—as they lifted you, as the sirens screamed, as your head lolled to the side, your skin too pale, your breath too shallow.

Panic clawed at his throat.

He shoved past the medics, gripping your limp hand.

"You’re not leaving me," he whispered, his voice shattering.

They loaded you into the ambulance, and Tim didn’t let go.

He climbed in after you, his fingers clutching yours, his forehead pressing against your knuckles.

"I will always find you," he whispered, a silent prayer.

"Just—please—find your way back to me."

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imkaiandtrash · 3 months ago

Note

may i request kunikida with a trans male (or nb/gn) reader who hasn't been able to find support/love? id be happy with any way you take this idea! (i love the way youve written for him before btw)

“You’re starting kind of early.” Kunikida commented as he came into the café after work.

He found [Y/N] already there, and looking like 3 rounds in on the proprietor’s homemade juice. “I wish I still drank.” They muttered.

“Don’t say that.” Kunikida told them. Knowing that they weren’t being serious but it never hurt to remind them that their sobriety was important. “What’s wrong?”

Kunikida had known [Y/N] since his teaching days. Though not in his class, they were around the school and pretty noticeable with their ‘alternative lifestyle’. In a more conservative environment like Shin-Tsuruya Institute, any deviation from the norm was considered abnormal, which made [Y/N] stick out like a sore thumb. He tried to help them during this time as much as he could, so he felt comfortable enough to consult with them now that they were colleagues on what was going on.

“Everything sucks.” Kunikida chuckled at their typical youthful angsty and sipped his freshly poured coffee as he waited for them to continue. “Do you think I’m weird Kunikida-kun?”

“Yes.” He answered honestly. “But to be fair, we’re all a little weird here.” The hiring motto for the agency should just be ‘Weirdos: Apply Here’. “Why do you ask? Usually you don’t care if you’re a little odd.”

[Y/N] pushed their glasses across the bar as they folded their arms on it and rested their head. “Being weird is lonely.”

Kunikida sighed and sat his coffee down. Yes, being different could be isolating. He was lucky enough to find other people with abilities, his sense of justice, or just amicable weirdos to be part of his life. Not all were so lucky. Not all were so understanding of [Y/N]’s od—uniqueness like they were. But he knew that in some cases that wasn’t enough.

“I know it can be. I have no baring on what your situation might be like, but I know being different can be lonely. It’s easy to have friends when you’re like everyone else. Reflections in a mirror can’t disagree, can’t change, can’t be different. But mirrors only reflect the present, not the future. I know it’s lonely now, but you’ll find someone. Someone who won’t think you’re weird but extraordinary. Like I do.”

The smallest hint of a smile pressed on [Y/N]’s lips and they sat up to give Kunikida a friendly kiss on the cheek. “Thanks sensei.” He smiled at their nickname. One he asked them not to call him but it stuck so much, and meant so much of the past, he let it slide.

“Do you want some coffee?”

“Oh no. That stuff will kill you.” [Y/N] replied as they pulled out their cigarettes from their jacket to head outside. “Tell Dazai that that’s my spot and I’m coming back for it.”

“Will do.” Kunikida replied as he sat at the bar alone himself now. Keeping watch on the stool.

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imkaiandtrash · 3 months ago

Note

ooo chuuya and 💙 (drunk/tipsy kiss)

send a heart - 💙 drunken kiss / tipsy

Chuuya doesn’t drink.

He doesn’t like the way it makes him feel, and given his ability it was best if he maintained control at all times. Which was why he was usually the sober one in these situations, much to his chagrin.

“Ehhh…Chuu-ya! Try this one! It has a little umbrella in it!”

“No, thank you.” Chuuya repeated for the fifth time as [Y/N] offered him a sip of his cocktail. They were all celebrating, for what he couldn’t remember, but it seemed everyone had decided to imbibe and his partner was one of the rowdier ones. “Don’t you think we should be calling it a night?”

“What?! But the night is still young!” [Y/N] raised their hands over their head, throwing themselves off balance, but Chuuya caught them quickly. “Teehee, my handsome prince.”

“Yes, yes. I’m the handsome prince.” It was best to just agree with them when they got like this. “Can the handsome prince spirit you away to bed now?”

“OoOoO! Chuu-chan is a pervert~!” Chuuya growled but picked them up and carried them off to the car to take them home. “Will you stay with me tonight?”

“I guess I have to.” He told them as he put them in the car. “Have to make sure you don’t fall down the stairs and break your neck. Or asphyxiate in the middle of the night either.”

“Awwww~ Chuu-chan loves me~!” He really did.

This part of their relationship was annoying, but Chuuya did love them so much. He was fine to play babysitter once in a while when they got drunk.

As he got into the other side of the car to drive, [Y/N] reached over and grabbed him by the collar to pull him in for a kiss. It was sweet. Sugary sweet. Mixed with fruit and the underlying taste of bitter alcohol on their tongue. They were gonna have such a hangover in the morning. “I love you Chuuya.”

“I love you too.” He told them as he sat them back in their seat and started the engine. “Don’t puke in my car though.”

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imkaiandtrash · 3 months ago

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“Stay With Me” — Tim Bradford x Single Mom Reader

Summary: A routine call turns personal when Tim responds to a terrified 4-year-old reporting their mom collapsed. He finds you barely conscious—and realizes you’ve been fighting alone far too long.

————————

The 911 call came in just after seven. Late enough that most emergencies were winding down, but not so late that anyone relaxed. Tim Bradford had been running paperwork, thinking about grabbing dinner, when the dispatcher’s voice clipped through the radio.

“Child caller. Four years old. Mother unresponsive. Possible medical.”

That was all it took. One word—“four”—and Tim’s blood turned cold. He barely heard the rest before snatching up his radio.

“1-Adam-07, patch me through. I’m on it.”

⸻

The kid’s voice was barely a whisper when it crackled through.

“H-hello?”

Tim inhaled sharply. “Hey, buddy… This is Officer Tim. Can you hear me?”

“Uh-huh.”

That tiny sound hit him harder than it should’ve. “Good job, Eli. I’m coming to help you and your mom right now, okay? Real fast. Can you tell me… is she breathing?”

“I dunno… I scared.”

Tim forced his voice steady. “It’s okay to be scared, kid. You’re really brave. Can you touch her? Tell me if she feels warm or cold?”

Rustling. Sniffles. Then a small, broken sound. “Cold… Tim, s’cold.”

Tim’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel as he flipped the sirens on. God, please…

“I’m almost there, Eli. Can you unlock the door for me?”

“I try.”

⸻

By the time he screeched to the curb, his heart was hammering. The neighborhood was quiet—too quiet. Dim porch lights. Empty driveways.

The front door creaked open a sliver. A tiny face peeked out—tears streaked, cheeks blotchy.

“There you are, buddy,” Tim murmured, crouching low. “You did so good. Where’s Mom?”

Eli didn’t answer. Just… pointed.

Tim pushed the door wide and stepped inside—one hand instinctively hovering over his holster, the other reaching back for the kid. “Stay close, okay?”

The house was small. Lived-in. Crayon drawings taped to the fridge, a stuffed bunny abandoned on the couch. And there—on the kitchen tile—was you.

You were pale. Too still.

“Shit,” Tim breathed, rushing forward. He pressed two fingers to your neck, searching—there—a faint, thready pulse.

He grabbed his radio. “Dispatch, I’ve got the subject. Female, early thirties. Pulse is weak. Roll EMS, now.”

“Copy, 1-Adam-07. EMS en route.”

Eli whimpered behind him. “Mommy?”

Tim glanced back, softening. “Hey, buddy. She’s okay. She’s breathing. I need you to be my big helper now, alright?”

The kid nodded, lip trembling.

“Can you grab me that blanket?” Tim pointed. Eli scrambled, dragging it over with tiny hands. Tim tucked it around you, jaw tight.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he murmured—half to you, half to the kid. “Just stay with me.”

⸻

Minutes felt like hours. Tim didn’t leave your side, one hand checking your pulse over and over, the other resting protectively over Eli’s shoulder.

EMS burst through the door—young, efficient. They worked fast, lifting you onto the stretcher. Tim stayed kneeling until they moved past.

Eli’s eyes filled again. “I come?”

Tim didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah, kid. You’re with me.”

⸻

The ride to the hospital was quiet. Eli sat curled in Tim’s lap, face buried in his chest, fists gripping the dark fabric of his uniform.

“She okay?” the little voice finally asked.

Tim swallowed hard. “She’s gonna be. You did good, Eli. You saved your mom.”

⸻

The ER was bright. Too bright. Tim hated hospitals. Hated the smell, the noise. But he stayed. Watched as nurses buzzed around you, checked monitors, whispered words like “dehydration” and “exhaustion” like they were medical diagnoses and not just proof that life had beaten you down.

⸻

You woke slowly. Blinking against the light, brow furrowing.

“Easy,” a deep voice murmured. “You’re okay.”

You turned your head—and saw him.

The cop. Tall. Broad. Blue eyes way too gentle for a man who probably carried a gun for a living.

“Your son’s right here,” he added, voice soft. “He’s… he’s been really brave.”

Eli popped his head up, face blotchy. “Mommy!”

Your eyes welled instantly. “Eli… oh god…”

Tim helped him onto the bed, watching as tiny arms wrapped around your neck.

“I… I’m sorry,” you rasped. “I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Tim cut in. “You’ve been running on empty. Doc says exhaustion, dehydration… You’ve been doing too much on your own.”

You blinked at him. “I don’t… even know your name.”

“Tim.” He smiled faintly. “Tim Bradford.”

A beat of silence.

“You stayed.”

“Yeah,” he exhaled. “Didn’t feel right to leave.”

⸻

They discharged you hours later. Tim was still there—Eli wouldn’t let go of him.

“I’ll drive you,” he said gruffly, like it wasn’t a question. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

⸻

Your house felt colder when you returned. Tim helped you in, set Eli on the couch, and knelt in front of you one last time.

“I meant what I said. You’ve been doing too much alone.”

You stared at him, exhausted tears threatening. “That’s… just how it is.”

“Doesn’t have to be,” he muttered. “I’ll… check in tomorrow. Groceries. Whatever you need.”

You tried to argue—but Eli’s head flopped onto Tim’s shoulder mid-yawn.

Tim smiled, slow and soft. “You good if I hang around until he’s out?”

You nodded, too tired to fight it.

⸻

And just like that… Tim Bradford became the first safe thing you’d known in a long, long time

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imkaiandtrash · 3 months ago

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Tim Bradford's Princess

Part 3 of Bradford's Princess

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

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

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

Word Count: 2.7k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

“Do you like my ring?” Lucy asks.

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

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

“What are you doing?” he counters.

“Just making conversation.”

“Well, stop.”

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

“I did. A request for you to stop.”

“Did you propose on Valentine’s Day?”

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

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

“Chen,” Tim says sternly. “Drop it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Lucy,” Angela chides.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve met her?” Nolan questions.

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

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

“I want to see her!” Lucy says.

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

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

“No,” Tim responds.

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

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

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

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

“You’ve seen her too?” Lucy asks.

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

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

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

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

“You won’t let that happen.”

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

“I love you,” you say.

“I love you,” he promises.

“How was your day?”

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

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

“I have an answer,” you reply.

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

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

“They’re beautiful,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There you go,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You want a picture?” he asks.

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

“Thank you,” you say.

“Any time,” he promises.

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you want help?” Tim asks.

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

“Which color should I use?” you ask.

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

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

“I like it.”

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

“It’s too much,” you say, pouting.

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

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

“How much does that weigh?” you ask.

“Fourteen pounds.”

“Tim!”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, that sounds fun.”

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

“Did you ask me something?” you inquire.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You look beautiful,” Tim compliments.

“You look handsome,” you reply.

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

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

“That’s all you,” you breathe.

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

“Tim,” you whisper, holding his shoulders.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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