#john nolan fic

[goaways-stuff]

riding john nolan’s face is all i can think about rn

John Nolan x AFAB!gn!reader

A/N: Little John Nolan drabble. Sorry for any mistakes. Not proofread. Gendered language used only for genitalia, but otherwise gender neutral reader.

Ohhh he's definitely into servicing you in the bedroom. Your pleasure comes before his constantly, and that often means eating you out. He loves it, the way you call his name as he's knuckle deep inside you, eating your pussy like a starved man.

"Taste so good, honey," He murmers into you, nose rubbing against your clit as he licks up into you. You don't even have to ask before he's practically begging you to sit on his face.

He lays down, a smirk on his lips. "A little change in position. Your new seat is right here." He chuckles, pinting to his face. You playfully roll your eyes, but waste no time in climbing on. His strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you down until you're fully sat before he goes straight for the big shot. You gasp, then moan as he sucks on your clit, his hands sneaking to knead your ass, encouraging you to grind down on his face. He groans up into you, letting out hums of approval as he feasts on his favorite meal. Your hands fly to his head, unable to get a good grip on his short hair. He licks up into once more until your grinding your clit against his nose, moans falling from you mouth. You call his name as he guides you to your release, coaxing it out with his mouth. His efforts are consistent as he watches your every move, finding exactly what buttons to press. He reaches a hand up to gently pinch your nipple, twiddling the hardening bud.

The buildup was nearly non-existent as you felt your orgasm come crashing over you, his hands gripping your hips as he continued devouring you, dragging out the waves of release. He made sure to lap up every drop, your legs still trembling as he laid you on your back. He kissed your neck, gently bringing you down from the high as his fingers gently played with your cunt. He light brushed over your folds, giving your clit the ever so slightest touch as he did.

"How'd that feel, hun?" He asked, knowing damn well exactly hiw good he'd made you feel. He just likes to hear it from your own mouth.

"Fucking. Incredible." You breathed out, turning over to kiss him. You could still taste yourself on his tongue as you pulled him deeper. He pulled back, a stupid, cocky grin on his face as he climbed on top of you.

"Mm, someone's still eager." He chuckled, unbuttoning his pants to pull his hard cock out. "Got myself a greedy one, huh?"

He chuckled, pulling you closer to him by your hips, ready to give you exactly what you needed.

[fluentmoviequoter]

California Dreams

Requested Here!

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

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

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

Word Count: 2.8k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

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

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

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

“Bailey would help.”

“Bailey also has to work.”

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

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

“Hurtful. I have to go.”

“Enjoy shopping. Love you.”

“Clearly,” you mumble. “Be safe.”

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

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

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

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

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

“No problem.”

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

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

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

“Join me for lunch?”

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

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

“For what?” you inquire softly.

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

“You’re asking me out? Why?”

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

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

“Are you going to accept my invitation?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can do this,” you tell yourself.

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

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

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

“How did you know that?”

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

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

“Really?” Tim questions.

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

“Do you want some help?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why are you here?” you ask.

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

“No, I mean, why aren’t you at work?”

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

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

“Do you trust me?” Tim asks dramatically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Really? Nothing?”

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

“Thank you.”

“Is that the proper response?” you tease.

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

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

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

“Then why’d you give me a key?”

“Because California is scary.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“John-“

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

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

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

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

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

“Let her explain,” Bailey requests calmly.

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

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

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

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

“Since when?” Nolan asks after a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s amazing,” you answer.

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

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

“I love you,” you sigh dreamily.

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

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

Tim freezes in your kitchen.

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

“Go ahead,” Tim agrees.

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

“Your brother?”

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

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

“That was easy,” you mumble.

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

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

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

“Bradford?”

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

“Nolan?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

“Boyfriend?!” Nolan repeats incredulously.

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

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

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

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

“I didn’t know.”

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

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

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

“What are you talking about?” John inquires.

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

“More,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

“She’s happy. Thank you.”

“She’s amazing.”

“That’s because I raised her.”

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

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

“It’s not your fault,” Tim replies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who won the staring contest?” you ask.

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

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

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

“That’s not true. I met Kojo.”

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

[newobsessionweekly]

Matchmaking

Main masterlist | The Rookie masterlist Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Fandom: The Rookie

Summary: Ever since you've known Tim, you turned everything into a competition, including hiding your feelings. More than a decade later, you finally let your feelings loose with a bit of help.

Warnings: don't think so, pure fluff if u can believe that

Flufff Requested: Yes Words: 3.2k

GIF not mine, credits to the owner.

When you and Tim arrive at the station in the early morning, almost simultaneously, the air tingles with excitement.

Your arms are loaded with coffee cups, and as you struggle with the door, Tim effortlessly steps forward, his hand finding its place on the small of your back as he holds the door open, guiding you inside and allowing you to score another point.

A rush of warmth floods through you at his touch, but you quickly push the feeling aside, burying it beneath layers of familiarity and friendship. With a proud smile, you stride inside, leading the way.

You and Tim go way back—to those academy days when the competition between you two was as fierce as it was playful. That bond has stuck like glue through all the twists and turns of life, making you each other's ride-or-die. But to everyone else, it's crystal clear there's more brewing between you two than just a regular friendship.

Angela, Lucy, and Nolan greeted you with warm smiles as you approached, carefully balancing the steaming morning fuel. Tim lingered close behind, his grumpiness belying the playful twinkle in his eyes.

You handed out the coffees, your smile widening as Tim stepped forward to claim his cup. But before he could reach for it, you pulled it back with a mischievous grin.

"You're late, Bradford," you teased.

Tim's lips quirked into a half-smile as he reached for the cup, his fingers brushing against yours for a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

"62 to 58, you're getting lazy," you added.

"I'm not lazy," he retorted, his tone playful but firm. "I got stuck in traffic."

You rolled your eyes at his excuse, but the warmth in your chest told you that you wouldn't have it any other way.

Tim's got this tough-guy act going on, but deep down, he's got a soft spot for your sunshine personality, that smile of yours that could light up a room, and how you're always there for everyone. He won't come out and say it, claiming he's a man and men don't have BFFs, but deep down, you mean the world to him. He'd take a bullet for you in a heartbeat, no questions asked.

Whenever you're around, Tim's whole attitude changes. That grumpy exterior melts away, replaced by this warmth in his eyes that's just for you. You bring out a side of him that most people never see, and he treasures every moment he gets to spend with you. He might not say it out loud, but his actions scream it - you're not just his friend or colleague; you're everything to him.

When Tim glanced at his coffee cup and spotted the name Loser,he couldn't help but suppress a chuckle behind a façade of annoyance. "Seriously?" he grumbled, holding the cup up for you to see.

You just flashed him an innocent smile, grabbing his arm and guiding him towards the locker room to get ready for the shift.

"You and I, Bradford, we'll have so much fun together at the spa," you teased.

"Don't get your hopes up, Bug," Tim retorted, though there was a hint of fondness in his tone.

As you both walked away, Angela watched with a knowing smile. She had seen firsthand how your friendship with Tim had evolved over the years, and she knew there was something more between you two. She had watched as you both danced around your feelings, too afraid and too proud to admit the truth.

Angela turned to Lucy and Nolan, curiosity gleaming in her eyes. "What's the score?" she inquired, eager to know the latest update on the ongoing competition.

Lucy shrugged, "I'm not sure. Lost count at 45 to 53."

"It's not that bad in 12 years," he remarked, his eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Angela's lips curved into a mischievous smile. "Try 4 days," she enjoyed the shock that spread across John's face at her revelation.

"What could possibly be the prize?" Lucy's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Tickets to the season end game for Tim and a spa day at Four Seasons for Y/N."

Lucy's jaw dropped, "That's pretty expensive."

"Yeah, they had 10 years to level up the game. Five more and the loser is gonna pay for the wedding," Angela teased, nodding in agreement.

Lucy's mind started to race, a hint of speculation in her voice. "Wait, their wedding?" she paused, her expression thoughtful. "You don't think...?"

Angela rolled her eyes, dismissing Lucy's suggestion with a sarcastic tone. "That they're both stupid and love each other? No," she retorted, making it clear that the reality was far simpler. "They are going together either to the game or spa."

Lucy nodded in understanding, piecing together the situation. "Obviously it's a date but can't decide where to go."

As the day stretches on, the radio comes to life once again, dispatcher's voice cutting through the quiet of the shop.

"Attention all units in the area, we have a report of a stolen vehicle in progress. Last seen heading east on 5th Street. Suspect described as male wearing a red hoodie, driving a black sedan. License plate 7-Mike-India-John-2-5-9."

Nolan's eyes meet yours, both of you immediately springing into action. "You heard the lady," you say, already reaching for the radio to confirm your response. "Let's go, Nolan. We've got a car to find."

 With Nolan at the wheel, you scan the streets, eyes darting from one alley to the next, searching for any sign of the stolen car. Tim's shop trails closely behind, the tension palpable as you both race against the clock.

"Two points for the first one to get the suspect in custody," Tim challenges through the radio.

You can't help but fire back, a smirk evident in your tone. "Afraid you're gonna lose the football game, Bradford?"

Suddenly, you spot the stolen car ahead, "There it is!" you exclaim, urgency lacing your voice as you urge Nolan to step on the gas.

"Go, go, go! We've got 'em!" you exclaim, your heart pounding with adrenaline as Nolan accelerates, closing the distance between you and the suspect.

"Take the next left. We can cut them off at the intersection!" you shout, your voice filled with adrenaline-fueled excitement.

Nolan follows your instructions without hesitation, the shop skidding around the corner with precision as you close in on the stolen vehicle. With a burst of speed, you pull up alongside the suspect's car, effectively blocking their path and forcing them to come to a halt.

With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you swiftly exit the shop as Tim parks his car behind the stolen vehicle and sprints towards the suspect, but you're already a step ahead.

You draw your gun and level it at the suspect. "LAPD! Hands where I can see them!"

But then, you turn to Nolan with a knowing smile. "Officer Nolan, you have the honor," you declare, your tone proud as you watch him take charge.

Your rookie approaches the stolen car, his gun held steady as he orders the suspect out of the vehicle. "Get out. Put your hands on the hood."

With Nolan taking control of the situation, you turn your attention back to Tim, who's watching you from a few feet away. As your eyes meet, a sense of satisfaction washes over you, knowing that you've once again proven yourself in front of Tim.

"64, Bradford," you call out, "Start to think you really want that spa day."

Tim chuckles, a grin spreading across his face as he closes the distance between you.

"Don't get too cocky, Bug," he replies, "Day's not over yet."

You hold your head up high, meeting Tim's gaze with a determined look of your own as you watch Nolan take the suspect in custody.

"You're slipping, Bradford," you tease, your voice laced with amusement. "Better step up your game if you want to win those tickets."

Tim chuckles, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he leans in closer. "Careful, Bug." he murmurs, "Wouldn't want to get too comfortable in first place."

You raise an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "Oh, I don't know," you shoot back, "I'm starting to think you enjoy being one step behind."

Tim's grin widens, his gaze never leaving yours as he leans against the patrol car. "Maybe I just like the view from back here."

You can feel your cheeks flush at his words, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you playfully shove his shoulder. "Smooth, Bradford."

Sergeant Grey lays down the rules at the Shadow Hills Shooting Range and you can feel the tension crackling in the air, mingling with the smell of gunpowder and sweat. Tim's presence beside you only adds to the intensity, his handsome, serious face and confident attitude drawing your attention like a magnet. You silently scold yourself for those thoughts. The earlier banter and Tim's remark about liking the view from behind made you question — again, after a long time of pushing down the feelings that blossomed for him — whether it can be something more between the two of you.

As Officer Dixon explains the rules, your eyes meet Tim's, a silent challenge passing between you. The competition is on, and neither of you is willing to back down.

With your heart pounding in your chest, you take aim at the target, your fingers steady on the trigger. But as you line up your shot, you can't help but steal a glance at Tim, his muscles flexing beneath the fabric of his uniform, his eyes focused and intense.

For a moment, you're distracted by the sight of him, the raw power and masculinity emanating from his every move. But then, you shake off the momentary lapse in focus, reminding yourself of the task at hand.

As the shots ring out, you and Tim fire with precision, each round hitting its mark with deadly accuracy. The tension between you is palpable, a silent battle of wills playing out on the firing range.

And when the last shot is fired and the smoke clears, you can't help but smirk triumphantly at Tim, your cocky grin mirroring his own. Despite the intensity of the competition, there's an undeniable attraction simmering beneath the surface—a spark of something more that threatens to ignite with every passing moment.

"Not bad, Bradford," you tease, "But I think I've got you beat this time."

But as Tim catches your gaze, his eyes lingering on you for a moment too long, you quickly compose yourself, the thrill of the competition still coursing through your veins.

"Care to make it interesting?" he murmurs, "20 bucks and 6 points if your Boot makes it out on top?"

Sergeant Grey calls the rookies to the firing line and Tim leans in close, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers teasingly. A shiver runs down your spine at the intimate contact, but you push it aside one more time. You can't resist the challenge, a grin tugging at the corners of your lips as you accept.

"I'll take that bet."

"Me too," Angela chimes in.

With the bet made, the three rookies take their positions and prepare to fire. Officer Dixon gives the signal, and they begin shooting at the targets.

But just as the competition heats up, Nolan's attention wavers, distracted by something in his peripheral vision. He stops shooting, his gaze fixed on whatever has caught his eye, and Grey barks at him to focus.

"Nolan!"

You shake your head in disbelief, frustration bubbling up as you realize your chance of winning the bet slipping away because of your rookie's distraction. Glancing over at Tim, you can't help but feel a pang of disappointment, knowing that this time, luck might not be on your side.

As Grey announces the results, everyone is waiting with bated breath to hear who will come out on top.

"So, finishing first with the most hits, fastest time, and tightest grouping... Officer Chen. Congrats. You are the new Mid-Wilshire champ," Grey declares, the sound of cheers and applause filling the air as Lucy accepts her victory.

Tim smirks as he collects his winnings from you and Angela, a playful glint in his eyes as he leans in closer, his lips dangerously close to yours and you can't help but hold your breath, aware of the eyes watching your every move.

"Looks like we're going to the game," Tim murmurs, his voice low and intimate.

You meet his gaze, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. "Uh-huh, Bradford. We're tied. Spa still has a chance," you retort, your tone teasing despite the flutter of anticipation in your chest.

Grey's voice cuts through the air, bringing your attention back to the present. "Bradford, Y/L/N, you both tied for second," he announces, his words punctuating the moment with a sense of finality.

You can't help but groan in mock frustration, shooting Tim a playful glare. "I don't know what I hate more—tying for second with you or losing to a rookie."

As the weekend arrives, you and Tim find yourselves honoring the bet. With the score tied, you decide to indulge in both activities—starting with a relaxing day at the spa and ending with watching the big end-season game at Tim's place.

The scent of lavender filled the air as you and Tim relaxed in plush robes, sipping on refreshing cucumber water and enjoying the soothing ambiance of the spa. With each gentle stroke of the masseuse's hands, you found yourself drifting into a state of bliss, the worries of the week melting away.

After the spa, you and Tim retreated to his apartment, settling in for a cozy evening. Beers in hand, you lounged on the couch, the warmth of Tim's presence beside you sending a pleasant tingle down your spine.

But just as you start to enjoy the easy rhythm of the evening, there's a knock on the door, interrupting the peace.

Tim's expression darkens as he goes to answer it, clearly not pleased by the unexpected visitor. To his surprise—and evident displeasure—it's Lucy.

But despite his less-than-enthusiastic reaction, you quickly stand up, putting on a welcoming smile as you greet Lucy and invite her in. "Hey, Lucy! Come on in," you say, motioning for her to join you on the couch. "Want a beer?"

Tim's annoyance is palpable as he glances between you and Lucy, clearly not pleased by her unexpected visit. But you ignore his displeasure, focusing instead on making Lucy feel welcome and enjoy the football game.

“Hey, did you see—?”

Tim turns his head to make a comment about the play, but Lucy suddenly moves beside you, forcing you to shift quickly. Unaware of the short distance between you and Tim, you find yourself turning your head towards him, trying to give him your undivided attention.

Your faces are mere inches apart—lips almost touching, gazes locked in a heated exchange. Time seems to stand still as you linger in the charged silence, the air thick with anticipation and unspoken desire.

In that fleeting moment, every nerve in your body is alive, your heart pounding in your chest as you drown in the intensity of Tim's gaze.

His eyes seem to search yours, as if seeking permission to bridge the small gap that separates you. And for a heartbeat, you entertain the possibility—allowing yourself to imagine what it would feel like to lean in and capture his lips with your own.

But just as quickly as the thought crosses your mind, reality comes crashing back, and you pull away, retreating into the safety of your own space.

“More beer?”

Lucy makes her way to fetch more drinks, handing the popcorn to Tim. You seize the opportunity to lean back on the couch as you inch closer to the bowl in Tim's lap.

His hand instinctively wraps around you, pulling you close and your head finds its way to his shoulder, the warmth of his body seeping into your own. Tim's gaze falls upon you, his eyes softening as he takes in your closeness.

For a brief moment, you allow yourself to revel in the intimacy of the gesture, the world falling away as you lose yourself in the warmth of Tim's embrace. But as quickly as the moment began, it shatters, broken by the sound of Tim clearing his throat and shifting away, placing the popcorn bowl between you. creating a physical barrier.

When the final buzzer sounds, signaling the victory of your favorite team, you and Tim shoot up from the couch in excitement. Turning to each other, your eyes meet in a silent exchange, the unspoken tension between you crackling in the air. And then, without a word, Tim pulls you into his arms, the heat of his body searing against your own as you melt into his embrace.

In that moment, nothing else matters—not the game, not the world outside—only the two of you, wrapped up in each other's arms. For a split second, you allow yourself to surrender to the intoxicating rush of desire, the walls around your heart crumbling in the face of the overwhelming connection between you.

But as quickly as it began, the moment passes, and you find yourselves pulling away, the weight of your unspoken feelings hanging heavy in the air.

Lucy watched with growing frustration, unable to bear witness to your dance of denial any longer. With a determined glint in her eye, she finally snaps, her frustration boiling over into a burst of blunt honesty.

"Okay, I'm sick of this," she begins, "You're so blind and stubborn."

You and Tim both turn to her with confusion, unsure of what she's getting at. But before either of you can respond, Lucy cuts through the tension.

"Just kiss already, you stupid," she exclaims, her frustration bubbling over into exasperation.

And in that moment, something shifts. Tim's resolve crumbles, his feelings finally breaking free from the confines of his heart. Without hesitation, he leans in and captures your lips in a searing kiss.

It's everything you've ever imagined—and more. His lips are warm and soft against yours, fitting perfectly as if they were always meant to be there. Every touch, every caress sends sparks flying, igniting a firestorm of passion that threatens to consume you both.

You pull away quickly when you realized the kiss was evolving into something that shouldn't be happening in front of Lucy. With a smirk playing at the corners of your lips, you tease Tim.

"Was about time, Bradford," you quip, "Took you more than a decade to kiss me."

Tim, caught off guard by your boldness, can only manage a sheepish grin in response.

"Didn't know you wanted me to do that," he admits, his eyebrows rising with surprise.

"Yes! Mom and dad are finally together," she cheers, her eyes shining with excitement and a proud smile spreading across her face as she revels in the success of her matchmaking efforts.

But Tim's grumpiness returned in an instant as he realizes Lucy was watching their intimate moment.

"Chen, get out," he grumbles as he gestured toward the door.

Undeterred, Lucy flashes a teasing smile at both of you before opening the front door of Tim's house. "Yes, sir," she teases, her playful tone undercutting the seriousness of Tim's command. Before disappearing behind the closed door, she offers one last remark.

"Be safe," Lucy calls out.

"Fifty pushups before every call tomorrow!" Tim declares, his attempt to regain control of the situation falling flat in the wake of Lucy's teasing.

With a pleading look, Lucy turns to you, her eyes silently begging for your intervention. "Mom?"

You meet her gaze with a reassuring smile, knowing that you can't save her from Tim's grumpiness but offering a comforting presence nonetheless. "Good night, Lucy," you say gently.

[rqgnarok]

leave a light on - nolan price

prequel for love you better now, but can be read individually

fandom: law & order, law & order special victims unit

wc: 4,735

warnings: canon presence of injuries, blood, violence, weapons, and hospitals. female reader.

summary: nolan's wife gets shot. he tries and fails to deal with that.

author's note below! masterlist / ko-fi / ao3

Nolan misses Liv’s call thrice before he calls for a recess.

The first two he’s stuck cross-examining a witness and doesn’t realize she’s trying to reach him until the third time she calls. He can’t answer– Judge MacNamara is lenient but not enough for Nolan to take a call in the middle of the day– but it goes to voicemail and his screen lights up with Liv’s other calls, constant and insistent.

He immediately knows it’s bad. And he immediately knows it’s about you.

His chest constricts with his panic, breath catching and refusing to enter his lungs as his brain catches up to the situation. The courtroom is suddenly too small and suffocating, his tie a noose around his neck.

It takes McNamara calling his name several times and the DA snidely wondering if the defense needs a minute for Nolan to somewhat snap out of it, pressing on Liv’s contact before the judge finishes adjourning for the day.

“Nolan,” she says, shaky. 

Not Price, which is what he’d expect from his wife’s coworker. They’re all friends, sure, but during work hours they fall into the habit of keeping each other at arm’s length. Not right now, for some reason, and Nolan is tiptoeing the line between fine and about to crumble on the courthouse steps from a knock-out panic attack. 

“What happened?” Because something must’ve happened. You have one of the most dangerous jobs out there, life-endangering experiences being the norm and coming home not-dead being a good day. But if Liv is calling– if Liv is calling and you aren’t…

Nolan has been psyching himself up for this day since you first told him about joining the police academy. He’s still somehow not ready. 

He will never be ready for this. 

Olivia hesitates for a second too long and Nolan’s fear gets the best of him. “Olivia. What happened?”

Her voice cracks when she says your name. Nolan grips his briefcase so tightly on the way to the hospital that his hand goes numb, nails digging into the skin of his palm until it’s red and tender. 

The knot of anxiety in his belly doesn’t unclench despite the quick, easy ride to Bellevue. New York traffic seems to be doing him a favor, but it isn’t the physical distance he’s worried about. That one he’s able to cross but there’s nothing he can do if his wife is… if you…

Nolan finds himself amidst a sea of NYPD blue as soon as he steps into the reception, talking over each other as they watch over one of their injured own. None of them are familiar faces and his vision tunnels, the sound of his heartbeat in his ears drowning out doctors, officers, and detectives. 

Suddenly, the sea of people parts. Olivia is in his line of sight and it gives Nolan something to focus on rather than the never-ending possibilities of what he’s facing here. She looks disheveled, shirt askew and vest still halfway on; hair out of place and expression haunted, but no blood. There’s no blood on her and it's an important distinction for Nolan to make when she seizes his free hand in hers.

“Nolan,” she says, and her voice sounds like static, just like it did on the phone. It isn’t the line but Nolan’s brain filled with noise, like cotton in his ears. “Nolan, are you okay?”

“What happened?” he asks now in person. Liv hadn’t explained, not really. She only told him that you were hurt and they were taking you to Bellevue. You should come too, she’d said, and should had sounded more like need, which did nothing to soothe Nolan’s raising hackles.

His breath stutters. Nolan knows what happened but can’t comprehend it. He’s still holding onto his fucking briefcase and his hands won’t stop shaking. 

Liv only blinks at him, mouth open and no words coming out. “Liv. What happened?”

“We were chasing a suspect via foot,” and Nick’s there, too, by Liv’s side, like an apparition Nolan’s broken mind has conjured. His brows are furrowed, jaw tense. “We caught him mid-rape and separated to cover more ground. No one had mentioned a gun during their disclosures, he wasn’t supposed to be armed.”

“She caught up to him first,” Liv continues, shaking her head. “He– Shots went off but we didn’t know– he must’ve known we were onto him. Got his hands on a gun after the first wave of assaults.”

Nolan bites the inside of his cheek. He tastes blood, thinks of his wife. Stops.  

“She was alone for two minutes tops,” Nolan wonders if Liv thinks she’s being reassuring. “She’d been shot, we called a bus right away.”

“Where?” Nolan asks tightly.

Liv stares, uncomprehending. Nick answers, “What?”

“Where, where in her body was she shot, how–” he struggles for a full breath and only comes out half successful. “How bad is it?”

Silence. 

“Did you– did you not see her?” he wonders, biting. Nolan turns back and forth between his wife’s coworkers, losing his patience. “Were you there, was she– Jesus, Liv, how bad is it?”

“The bullet hit her chest,” Nick says, and Nolan loses all fiery, defensive passion right then and there. His own heart stops for a second, or at least that’s what it feels like when his chest is engulfed by a pressing ache that numbs him all over. 

“They took her straight to surgery,” Amaro continues when Nolan finds no answer to that. “Liv rode with her in the ambulance but there wasn’t– it’s in their hands now. They’re taking care of her, pal, okay?”  He reaches to touch Nolan’s shoulder, shake him a little. “She’s getting help.”

Where was the help when she was alone chasing a fucking criminal, where the hell were you, huh he wants to say; wants to shout and curse and make a scene, but the words get stuck in his throat and in the next blink he finds himself seated in the waiting room, still surrounded by cops.

God, Nolan thinks, pressing his fingers to his tightly closed lids. When in all your years together could he have seen this coming? The pretty girl in a law course elective that outsmarted half of the senior class still in his life decades later, bleeding out a couple rooms over and threatening to take his heart with her six feet under. 

He remembers running into you after that final exam outside the lecture hall. He’d been catching his breath on a bench when suddenly you were there too, smiling as you crouched against the opposite wall, elbows on your knees. You’d nodded. “How’d you do?”

Nolan had stuttered back, flustered in your presence, “I’m, uh, not flushing out yet, I hope.”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

“Ask me after I’ve slept some 12 hours,” he’d sighed, messing nervously with his hair. “Things usually seem less dire by then.”

“Would some coffee do the trick?” and Nolan hadn’t known it then, but you’d been nervous too. After all, you’d offered him what would be the first day of the rest of your lives together. No easy feat, but you’d seen something in him that deemed him worthy of you. 

“Coffee can work,” Nolan, young and eager, had said slowly. He couldn’t stop grinning, high with lack of sleep and your attention on him. “You’re buying?”

“It’s only fair,” you’d shrugged, but there was something giddy about your expression that still appears in your features these days, bright and young. “You look like you’re about to drop dead.”

“And I still seem like worthy company?”

“I think we can pull a few good hours out of you yet,” a few hours, a few years; Nolan will be as sleepless as he was then on his wedding day out of pure excitement. You’ll have spent the night before the ceremony talking on the phone while in separate rooms since your friends were sentimental little fucks and wouldn’t let him even kiss you goodbye before the big day. 

He’d described the few hours apart as agony in his vows, had made the crowd laugh and you cry with the sentiment, and now he wishes he hadn’t. He shouldn’t have said a damned thing, shouldn’t have manifested any sort of agony into your lives because now the illusion cuts off sharply and he’s back in the waiting room, a nurse calling your name while he fiddles with his wedding ring, staring blankly into the hallway. 

Liv’s still there for some reason, as are some other officers and Amaro, while the others hunt down the man who landed you here. Munch had snapped at the Captain when he told him he couldn’t stay. Fin had to lead Amanda out by the shoulders, too stricken to walk out herself. 

Liv and Amaro stand but it takes Nolan a few moments to return to himself. She tells them, gently, that you’re out of surgery. “She lost a lot of blood, but only some of the bullet’s fragments hit her heart. It was touch and go but the doctor was able to extract all of them.”

Nolan’s lungs open up and he breathes his first full breath since Liv called. He must make a sound, because the attention in the room shifts to him, suffocating and inquisitive. His vision blurs for a second, heartbeat pumping in his ears.

“She’s extremely lucky,” she continues, looking right at Nolan, like it's supposed be comforting. Like that’s what luck means, almost-but-not-quite bleeding out while your heart had to be stitched up back together. “Most people with injuries like this don’t even make it past the ambulance.”

Nolan closes his eyes in anguish. He presses his closed fists against his forehead, elbows on his knees, back hunched. It’s almost like he’s trying to disappear into himself, but the image of an ambulance opening its doors to his flatlining wife refuses to leave him.  

“There’s still a long way to go,” she continues, softer, realizing she’s hit a nerve. She turns to Liv and Nick, who are paying rapt attention even as Nick walks close to him to put a hand on Nolan’s shoulder, firm and steady. “She won’t wake up anytime soon. Her body needs rest and to recuperate from the most acute injuries. And the doctor would like to talk about next steps once she does.”

Next steps, Nolan thinks. The only next steps he’s aware of are those that lead to your room. Olivia and Amaro trail behind him and the nurse like a couple of guard dogs, standing alert for any sign of Nolan backing out or collapsing into his grief.

He just might. He feels queasy, nauseous with exhaustion and worry. But then he sees you, and nothing else matters. 

“Sweetheart,” he says, devastated, walking to your bed. “Oh, honey.”

Despite his eagerness to touch you, Nolan flails when you’re finally within arms reach. You look asleep for one blissful, hopeful moment, but then Nolan blinks and the light settles; the ashiness of your skin, the uncomfortable placing of your body, the blank expression devoid of dreams or nightmares or consciousness. 

He’d usually be embarrassed to have witnesses to such a personal display of affection, but not even Liv and Nick standing at the door can stop Nolan from carefully cupping your face in his hands and kissing the apple of your cheek, lingering and gentle. He’s afraid of touching the rest of you, of jostling you too badly. But the steady noise of your heart rate monitor is a constant, loud reminder that you won’t fall apart that easily.

Liv and Nick linger behind him, talking quietly amongst themselves in sharp whispers. It might or might not be an argument. Nolan would kick them out if he could gather the energy to care. 

Benson eventually takes a few apprehensive steps into the room, seemingly having lost whatever fight she and her partner were having. 

“We’re on our way out,” she murmurs. “There’s a lead on our guy and Cragen’s calling us all back to the precinct. But if there’s anything…”

She trails off. Nolan doesn’t answer, studies instead the bridge of your nose and the shape of your brows, tries to count your eyelashes and catalog the bruises on your face. Liv sighs defeatedly and reaches for him.  

“Whatever you need,” Liv says firmly with a hand on his arm. Still, her steady presence is undermined by the way she keeps looking at you like you’re already in a coffin. For that, Nolan wants her out, can’t stand her even if she rode with you to the hospital and kept you semi-conscious until the doctors took you off her hands. “We’re here for you, alright? All of us, Nolan. I’m serious.”

“Thanks,” he says, monotone, voice rough and cracked from swallowing down his panic and tears. He clears his throat but it does little to help. “Thank you, Liv. For everything.”

Her lips tighten in an unpleased line, but she nods and leaves the room with one last pat to his arm. He’s being ungrateful, he knows. Liv’s the one who found you, who held your hand in the ambulance before they drove you off to surgery. Nolan owes Benson his life.

The thought alone makes him so nauseous he has to clench his eyes shut, breathing shallowly. God, what would he have done? What will he do, if something happens to you? You aren’t out of the woods yet and if something goes wrong, if your body decides to cave in, if the wound gets infected, if there’s something they didn’t catch, if, if, if, if–

He lifts his head and catches his wife’s face, lax and motionless. Once again, the panic settles. He hasn’t gotten the chance to let it unfold the way it needs to. 

“I finally got you on your own,” Nolan says, soft, careful not to disturb the semblance of peace in the room.You don’t answer, no matter how badly Nolan wants you to. “You’re very popular. A tough one to find these days, you know.”

You weren’t even supposed to be in today. Cragen had called mere hours after you’d gone to bed and Nolan had done his best to stay up while you got ready to go. You’d kneeled next to his side of the bed and Nolan had leaned in to kiss you without thought, an automatic notion he wishes he’d paid more attention to now. 

I’ll call you when I can, you’d nudged your nose against his temple before pressing a kiss there. Nolan had already been half asleep at that point. I love you.

Love you, Nolan mumbled, eyes closed, jutting his chin forward blindly. One more. 

He continues as if you had replied. “You’ve got half of the NYPD out there waiting on you. The nurses are rioting, but I don’t think anyone’ll leave until you wake up.”

Nolan’s voice loses the battle, it breaks right at the end of his sentence and so does his composure, eyes burning with tears that for some goddamned reason just won’t fall.

“Please,” he begs to the sky, to God, to no one. “Please, please, please. Wake up.”

He presses his forehead to his wife’s limp hand maybe a little too harshly. Even if your skin is cold and your grip nonexistent, the touch has him sobbing dryly.

An hour ago you were in surgery, out of reach and sight even if you were already getting help.

Three hours ago you were bleeding out in some alleyway in Queens, struggling for your radio to call for help. 

Twelve hours ago you were kissing him goodbye, smiling against his mouth despite the dark nature of the case because Nolan kept pulling you in for one more kiss.

One more, one more, one more, his pleads now. Wake up and give me one more, sweetheart, come on.

“Please, honey,” he whispers, wet and nasal with emotion. “I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready yet, I didn’t– I don’t–”

The words don’t come. Nolan chokes, holds your hand in his own. Breathes, breathes, and breathes. 

Days keep piling up. You don’t wake up and Nolan doesn’t cry. God knows why, but he can’t, his body on automatic while he solely focuses on your condition. The nurses know him by name and he makes record time to the apartment and back for showers and quick naps, some food for the little appetite he has. 

He doesn’t even think to be offended when he’s placed on indefinite leave at work. Nolan can’t bring himself to care, he would’ve stacked up every sick day and vacation time available to stay at your side as much as he could anyway. 

The squad offers to stand guard almost daily, which Nolan appreciates, but his object permanence has gone to shit. Whenever he doesn’t have eyes on you his panic rises again like a tidal wave, never quite crashing but dwindling when he sits in that Godawful chair next to your bed. His hand settles your ankle or arm or somewhere he can easily look for your pulse, weak but steady, and it keeps him wearily calm.

It’s desperate, he knows, and more than a little pathetic, but Nolan feels like he’s allowed. Until you wake up to tell him he’s been worrying over nothing he will do as he pleases.

He talks to you. Liv and Amaro have caught him more than once speaking quietly into the lull of the hospital room, holding your hand and drawing soothing motions with his thumb against your skin.

Mom drove into the steps again. The ones in the driveway? They were already loose from last time and now she has Dad driving through every Home Depot in North Carolina to find the right tile to replace them. 

Jill sends her best. Last time I saw her she was talking my ear off about her kid’s college fund. Apparently her husband lost half of it during Tuesday night with the boys, whatever that means.

Munch says he owes you 20 bucks from the Giants game from two weeks ago? Which is weird, because you haven’t watched a full game since, like, ‘08. Not like you’re missing anything, but still, your accuracy to outsmart Munch in his own line of work is pretty outstanding. 

It helps, though barely. Whenever he ventures over what you’ll do once you’re awake the illusion breaks and so does Nolan’s composure. He trails off, feeling foolish, the weight of his delusion pressing against his chest.    

“It’s not silly,” Munch tells him during one of his visits, the book he’s been reading to you resting on his lap. “You’re talking to your wife. If I’d done more of that back in my day then maybe I’d still be married.”

“Which time?” Nolan asks, his lips tingling with the almost want to smile.

Munch points at him, managing a smirk himself. “Exactly.”

He’s so sure it calms Nolan more than you’d expect. So far he’s the only other person who talks about you like you’re still alive and thus, the only one who doesn’t make an indomable rage wash over Nolan whenever they’re in the same room. 

He’s the one with him when you wake. You do so in a panic, waking Nolan up from his uncomfortable nap next to your bed. It’s a sudden flail after another as your heart rate monitor goes crazy and you don’t answer any call of your name, terrified and in pain.

It’s awful. Nolan doesn’t think he’ll ever forget how you almost tear your stitches mid panic while doctors and nurses gather around and kick him out with quick accuracy. There’s nothing he can do to help and he knows it, but he’s never supposed to be in a position in which he can’t help you.

He’s doomed to watch from a glass window, helpless, as you suffer without anyone to reach out to.  

She woke up but had to be sedated, a nurse tells him after, it’s normal for patients to be unaware of their surroundings after waking up from long periods of unconsciousness. We still haven’t been able to determine neurological damage, so we’ll have to wait until it wears off. 

“Kid, kid, hey,” Munch says, alarmed after coming back from the cafeteria with two coffees and finding Nolan sitting outside your room, crying into his knees. “What’s wrong, what happened? I was gone fifteen minutes–”

Nolan tries to explain but the words get caught up in his throat, his grief taking over his sense of logic. She woke up, he meant to say. She woke up and she didn’t know where she was and I stood by like an idiot watching her suffer. 

After he’s talked down from a panic attack he says, a mere croak. “She woke up. They don’t know–” his breath hitches “–but she woke up.”

Munch sighs, visibly relieved as he squats next to Nolan, cupping the back of his neck. “Good. That’s good, hey– Nolan. That’s good, okay? That’s one step closer to getting her back. This is good.”

He repeats those words to himself like a mantra. This is good, this is good, this is good, and doesn’t dare to close his eyes for something other than blinking until you’re conscious. It’s hours later, deep into the night when you open your eyes again, groggy and disoriented, blinking into the dark hospital room. 

“Honey,” he says, quiet and so, so relieved. You don’t appear to hear him and a flash of fear seizes his heart. He presses the button and calls for a nurse, edging closer to the bed. Nolan says your name, filled with trepidation. “Hey, honey, you with me?”

Arduously slowly, you follow the sound of his voice. You blink at him, gulping and saying, dry as the Sahara. “Nole.”

It’s the most glorious thing he’s ever heard. The smile that pulls at his mouth feels odd on his face, like he’s forgotten how to show joy. How to feel it. He goes to touch your face, hands shaky and reverent. “Yeah. Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me.”

He offers you a drink and grips your hand all through the nurse’s examination, which you pass with flying colors. While she’s tinkering with your IV, you ask him, “Bellevue?”

“Yeah,” he says grimly, thumb rubbing soothing motions against your skin, trying to infuse some warmth. 

“Shot?” you wonder next.

Nolan hesitates. “You don’t remember?”

“Guessin’,” you slur, tired, blinks getting longer each time you close your eyes. 

The nurse pipes up then with the same explanations she’s given Nolan the past few weeks: the bullet to your heart, the long-lasting surgery, the even longer coma. You nod in all the right places but your head rests against the pillow and your expression is vacant, like you’ll forget all about it by the next time you wake up.

“Anyone… else?” you ask.

“No,” Nolan responds, watching some tension fall off your frame when he confirms this. He wishes he felt the same, though a selfish part of him would’ve preferred it to be someone else in this hospital bed instead of you; Liv or Amaro, Rollins or even Fin. It’s true, even if the thought is followed by guilt. “No, everyone’s fine, honey. Working their asses off and worried out of their minds, but okay. It’s just you.”

You hum and then promptly fall back asleep, breaths settling into an even rhythm. It’s then that his eyes water and his tears fall on the scratchy hospital sheets where you lay.  Oh, Nolan thinks, almost surprised by them. So this is what it takes.  

The next time he looks up, hours later, is because you’re reaching to touch his face, tender and shaky. He snaps to attention like a soldier called to the front lines, but there’s no trouble chasing after you, no bad thing happening for once. You’re both okay, safe in your hospital room while nurses and doctors and visitors keep passing by just outside the door.

“You haven’t slept,” you croak out as you drop your hand from where you’d been gently pressing at the bags under Nolan’s eyes, tired from that simple movement. Your chest rises and falls with breaths that are a little too labored, but your eyes are fixed on your husband, worried. “Nole.”

It almost makes him smile: how you worry about other people while you lie with a hole in your heart on a hospital bed. Nolan would laugh if he were sure the sound wouldn’t dwindle into sobbing. There’s nothing funny about this. Nothing.

“‘m alright,” he promises, croaky and wet from previous cries. You’re still a little too out of it, but your face contorts in weak disbelief. You don’t believe him for a moment. He amends: “I will be. And so will you. You’re gonna be okay, honey.”

happy new year!!! i wanted to start the year giving you a little something after being so absent the last couple of months and i've had this piece in my drafts for ages! it was originally waaay longer but i thought i'd end it on a happy note and maybe make a part two if anyone's interested?

anyway! i hope you guys enjoy what has become one of my favorite pairings to write and i hope you had a good time last night and a great 2024! thank you for reading!

<3

[juniperskye]

Masterlist

My blog is 18+ Minors DNI. Requests are currently OPEN. I currently write for Criminal Minds, Stranger Things, The Rookie, The Last of Us, Supernatural and Marvel - I am open to other fandoms (don't be afraid to ask)!

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Let's Start Over: Finally Together - Agent! Fem Reader

She's Definitely Guilty.** - Unsub! (not) Fem Reader

That'll Show Them - Single Mom! Reader

I Can't Do This - BAU Fem Reader

Joel Miller X Reader

Silence is Louder Than Words - Fem Reader

Bucky Barnes x Reader

I’ll do things right this time. ** - Avenger! Fem Reader

John Nolan x Reader

Until I Found You - Fem Reader - Meet Cute

Eddie Munson x Reader

Why Are You In My Head? - Soulmate AU (Complete) Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4** Part 5

Expectations - Single mom Henderson! Reader (Unplanned Pregnancy)

I Can't Be Your Friend. - Fem Reader (friends to lovers)

Like I Talk To Myself. - Fem Reader

It Had to be You. - Fem Reader (lovers to enemies to lovers)

[chenfordloverx]

This is my opinion and I’m not trying to put anyone down for fics, I understand it’s their preference on how to write them..but I can’t stand fics that are written like scrips..like on AO3 and wattpad..they aren’t detailed at all and the story goes way to fast and like ugh..I prefer like well written detailed fics set out in paragraphs and chapters..and I love one shots

For example

Tim- hey babe

Lucy- hey

Tim-how are you

Lucy-I’m pregnant

Tim-wow let’s get married.

I JUST FOR REAL CANT STAND FICS LIKE THAT *MY OPINION*

[extratforextratalent]

Poll for The Rookie fanfic AU

hey guys i’m planning a fanfic where Lucy is a surgeon/doctor (as a sort of greys anatomy crossover but you don’t need to have watched it to read) so…

[kilikills]

UMMMMMM

so im watching the rookie and baileys team js got a call and were called the 118????? and u know how everyones favourite firefighters (buddie) work at... THE 118!! so, the only logical theory is that bailey IS bshift. THIS IS IT AND U KNOW IT.

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

lies are only as good as the person telling them (and you’ve never claimed to be) part 4

Read on Ao3 Masterlist

Pairings: bishops/nolan booth

Warnings: gunshot wound

Word Count: 3089

Nolan gets shot, the Bishops have to deal with their feelings.

"Drive," Sarah orders, pressing her hands hard to Booth's side. John pulls the car around and the tires squeal as more gunshots ricochet off the back bumper. She grits her teeth and presses harder, willing the blood to stay inside Booth's body. "Stay awake, do you understand?"

"I understand that you're currently fighting with my ribs, yeah." Booth yowls like a cat as she pushes down harder. "Hey, hey! Take it easy, I bruise like a peach."

"You're not sweet enough to be a peach," she mutters, too caught up in the fact that Booth is bleeding out from a bullet he took from her to worry about the words coming out of her mouth, not when he's rapidly losing color in his cheeks. "Just stay awake."

Even with his paling face, he still manages to make an offended pout. "I'm plenty sweet enough! I even have the rock-hard pit in my—okay, okay, ow, ow!"

"Do you ever stop talking?"

"Not when I'm awake."

"Keep him talking," John barks from the front seat, "as long as there's bullshit coming out of his mouth, we know he's not about to die."

"Aw, you do love me."

She hears the hitch in John's breath better than Booth does, she's sure, and she doesn't imagine the way John leans into the curves of the road a little more, trying to get them through the next mile before Booth ends up bleeding to death all over the back seat. She grits her teeth again and pushes even harder. Booth winces, his expression contorting in pain, but he doesn't say anything else.

"What were you thinking?" Sarah hisses, shifting her grip as the car swerves around a turn.

"I was thinking that I'd rather not see you get shot right in front of me," Booth grits out, "that's what I was thinking."

"That was reckless of you."

Booth huffs a wet laugh. "What, making sure you don't get shot? You're welcome, by the way, and yeah, maybe not my finest moment, but you tell me how polished and suave you'd be if you saw someone pointing a gun at your partner."

Sarah's hands stutter and her gaze snaps up to Booth's. Booth isn't looking away, isn't biting his lip, doesn't look like he regrets what he said at all. No, it's far worse than that; despite Sarah's best efforts, his eyes are dropping lower and lower. His breathing is slowing under her hands and in a panic that she will deny later because Sarah Black does not panic, she presses down hard enough that she can feel something under her give.

But it works. Booth's eyes snap open again and he stares at her.

"Stay awake," she orders and it comes out more like a plea, "just stay awake until we can get you someplace safe."

The corner of his mouth tugs up the smallest bit and she hates how much she hates the fact that it looks like such a pale imitation of his normal smirk. "The Bishop has a heart after all, how touching."

"You're one to talk," she scoffs if only to cover up her relief that he's talking again, "you just took a bullet for me."

"Which I still can't tell if you're happy I did or not." He coughs once, twice, as the car swerves around yet another turn. "I'd ask if it'd kill you to say thank you, but I think I know the answer already, so—"

"Thank you."

Booth stops. His mouth drops open. "Okay, I definitely must be dying because I could've sworn you just said 'thank you,' and I—"

"You are not dying," she says firmly, as blood covers her hands, "and I did say thank you."

He goes to say something else—I'm sure it was excellent, Nolan, don't worry—but then he's coughing again and the wound under her hands gushes. She pushes harder and gets him to lie down in the backseat, climbing on top of him and using her full weight to press down on the bullet wound.

"Whoa," he mumbles, half-dazed, half-confused, "if this was all it took to get you on top of me, then…"

He trails off before he can finish his sentence and despite everything, she smiles. "If it's what you wanted, you could've just asked."

"Nah…you'd keep it from me," comes his reply, voice beginning to slur, "you're…you're so clever…you'd make—make me work for it…"

"Booth? Booth!"

"'S okay," he mumbles, eyes starting to droop again, "jus' a…jus' a minor s'tback, see? 'S not…'s none of my b'sness anyway…"

"Stay awake," she pleads again, pushing down as hard as she can as John curses and swerves again, "stay awake Nolan, you need to keep your eyes open. Just look at me, alright? Can you do that?"

Nolan's eyes blink open slowly and a slow smile manages to make its way onto his face. The soft sort of smile you see when the person isn't thinking about it, the one you can't really feel until someone points it out. Nolan is giving her that sort of smile now, as she presses down on the wound that should have been hers, as John drives them through the streets of Paris. Nolan just looks up at her, and he smiles, and how could she ever have believed him capable of the same sort of cruelty she was?

"There," she hears herself say as his breathing grows raspier and raspier, "it's okay, Nolan, you're going to be alright. We're going to get you someplace safe and fix you up, right? Then you'll be quipping and annoying us just like you always do, alright?"

"Tha's me," he slurs, "pain in the ass."

John's hysterical chuckle mixes with hers as Nolan grins with dopey pride. Something terribly sad occurs to her then as she has to adjust to keep her balance.

Is this all he expects from them? Just the occasional bone thrown to the world's most annoying dog? Does he think that's all he is to them?

Too late does she realize that in her moment of distraction, Nolan's eyes have fully closed.

"Booth? Booth!" She pushes down harder. "Nolan!"

***

"In here," John says, rushing to the bedroom and laying the too-limp form of Nolan Booth on top of the sheets, "grab the kit from the bathroom."

Sarah is off the next moment, her shoes clicking across the floor as John rips open Nolan's shirt and throws his own jacket to the side. He curses—the bullet's already gone through and through, which is why Sarah was having such a hard time keeping all the blood inside him in the car, and why he's still losing color.

"Here," comes Sarah's voice and he rips the kit open immediately, "I'll get everything else."

He barely has time to shoot a thanks or even an acknowledgment over his shoulder as he gets to work. Nolan will not die on their watch, they won't let him. He's a goddamn stubborn son of a bitch but they're more stubborn than he is put together, and they're sure as hell not gonna let him slip away.

"You think you can just tap out now and make us do the rest of the work?" he finds himself muttering as he works over the limp body. "Not a chance in hell. This whole thing was your idea to begin with, so you're damn well gonna stick around until it's done, you hear me?"

Nolan doesn't say a word, and John curses the part of him that ever wanted to shut Nolan up for good. He doesn't want that, he bargains with the universe, he wants the Nolan that pokes and prods at them all the time like it's his goddamn job. He wants the quips and the jokes and the innuendoes that perfectly walk the line between funny and too crass. He wants the asshole that's unfairly good at singing on key while he works on the blueprints or the lockpicking kits. He wants the dipshit who went right up to the people who betrayed them, double-crossed them right back, and then invited them to work with him on the biggest score they could ever remember.

He wants Nolan Booth, damnit, and if this bullet takes him from them before they've even gotten a chance, he's gonna march right down to whatever pit in hell they decide to stick his soul and drag him back to the land of the living.

"Come back here, you prick," he mutters as he gently cleans away the worst of the blood so he can see what he's doing, "you're not getting away from us that easily."

Sarah's hands join his and together, they patch the worst of the bleeding before Nolan can bleed out. He lifts him carefully in his arms as Sarah ruthlessly strips the sheets from the bed, tossing the mattress protector too for good measure. She remakes the bed with astonishing speed and strides to the bathroom to start getting the blood out. It's what she needs to do, he knows, pour her frustration at the situation into something so it doesn't blow up in their faces, but that doesn't make him move from his self-appointed vigil over the too-still Nolan.

Just watching his chest go up and down, up and down.

When night's fallen and Sarah's scrubbed the sheets within an inch of their lives, she comes to sit next to him. They don't say anything, just sitting silently as the moonlight spills across the bed. Nolan's hands are still bloody. He gets up and goes to the bathroom, getting a washcloth and running it under the warm water. He goes back to the bedroom and picks up one of Nolan's hands in his, tenderly cleaning the blood from his knuckles. When he's finished with the hand, he offers the washcloth to Sarah. She takes it and cleans his other hand as John keeps a hold of the one in his.

"I think he'd be a great dancer," Sarah murmurs after an eon, her eyes still on Nolan's knuckles.

"I think so too."

There's another moment of quiet.

"I think," Sarah says again, her voice even quieter, "if you asked him to dance, he would say yes."

John swallows around the lump in his throat. "Yeah?"

"You might have to ask a few times," and now Sarah's holding Nolan's hand too, the washcloth draped over the foot of the bed, "and he's probably going to say no at first."

"But you think if I show him I really want to dance," John finishes, "you think he'd say yes?"

"I do."

They look at each other across the too-quiet room.

"Are you—" he stops to clear his throat— "are you gonna ask him to dance too?"

She looks down at him, her fingers idly toying with the cuff of his sleeve. "I don't know if he wants to dance with me."

He huffs. "Didn't sound like that in the back seat."

"But that's who he is," she says back, "he makes the jokes and he takes the hits because it's expected of him."

"But he doesn't do things he doesn't believe in."

"You're biased," she says with the ghost of a smile.

"Of course I am," he says and she laughs, "but so is he. You two had a thing going way before he even knew about me."

"That was different."

"Is it?"

She looks at him, and she looks at Nolan, and she slowly lets out a long breath.

"He needs to wake up first," is her eventual concession, "and then…then it's going to take him a while before he's up to dancing."

"That's okay with me. Is it okay with you?"

She smiles and she looks like the Sarah Black he knows and loves again. "No one ever got anything worth having without having the right amount of patience."

See, he says silently to the sleeping Nolan Booth, we're waiting for you, you asshole, come wake up already.

***

When Nolan wakes up, he's very, very confused.

Because in the world he fell asleep in, he was very much the reluctantly dragged third wheel of the Bishops, who only teamed up with him because he blackmailed them into it. He was spat on and kicked around because he was an easy target and hey, he could give insults as good as he got. They kept him around because he was good, goddamnit, and he knows how to set up a good score. They needed him, and he needed them, and that was it. He took the hits because they couldn't hurt him in ways they hadn't already, and he took the good moments because he's a greedy bastard who doesn't know when to stop himself.

Including taking a bullet for the fucking Bishop.

Things got really hazy in the back seat, and not in the good, sexy way, but in the incredibly un-sexy blood loss way where he's not quite sure what happened, but he has vague memories of Sarah on top of him, telling him to stay awake, and saying thank you. He's not really sure what to make of those, nor what embarrassing things he ended up saying, but he's pretty sure that that world at least by and large makes sense.

The world he wakes up in, on the other hand…

Well, for starters, he blinks awake on a bed. Not a hospital bed, not a hotel bed, but an actual fucking bed. Hartley and the Bishop's bed, to be more specific, in that shitty little apartment on the outskirts of Paris. His mind would love to conjure up all the fun reasons why this could be happening, but then there's a blooming ache in his side and his head is pounding and the bed is cold, cold, cold.

Except it isn't, because there's a body like a fucking space heater right next to him, and he just manages to crane his neck to one side to realize it's Hartley. Actual, built-like-a-brick-shithouse Hartley, who blinks awake and smiles at him like he's something worth smiling at.

"Hey," he says, voice all soft and rough from sleep, "you feeling okay?"

Uh, no, he's pretty sure he's either died and gone to heaven or woken up in some parallel universe.

"Here," Hartley says, sitting up and reaching over him for the glass of water on the nightstand, "you're gonna be dehydrated, drink up."

Nolan goes to lift his hand when his body informs him that no, moving is not allowed right now, and a pained hiss escapes through his teeth before he can stop himself. Concern flickers openly across Hartley's face and he's sitting up more, turning and sliding a hand under Nolan's head to let him drink.

Water never tasted so good.

"That's enough for now," Hartley says when he's managed half the glass, "don't want you sick on top of the bullet."

Right. The bullet. The bullet he took for the Bishop. The Bishop—

"Hey, hey, hey," Hartley soothes as he starts to panic, one large hand pressing him down into the mattress, "shh, calm down. She's okay, she's just in the kitchen."

"Is he awake?"

"Yeah, he's up, he wants to see you."

"Don't—" he coughs through his dry throat— "don't put words in my mouth."

But then the Bishop actually comes around the corner and he can't stop the way he sags in relief at seeing her unharmed. She comes over to the bed, sitting down near his hand, and—and picking it up and putting it in her lap.

Uh, no, I definitely died and went somewhere else. What the fuck is happening?

Oh.

Oh.

It's just part of their ploy, isn't it? To get him to—to—well, he doesn't know what the fuck else they want from him at this point. Shit, he just took a bullet for the Bishop and now he's completely and utterly at their mercy, what the fuck else could they want? It's not like he's in any position to stop them if they wanted to do something right now, they could just go and do the score and leave him here on this bed, in the apartment, all by himself, while they go and he's left alone, all alone—

"Hey, hey…"

"Shh…don't cry, Nolan."

"Look at me. Hey, Booth—Nolan, look at me."

There's a hand on the side of his face. The side of his face is wet. Why is the side of his face wet? Oh. One of them said don't cry. Is he crying?

"Do you need more painkillers?" There's still a hand on his face. "Sarah, can you—"

The hands on his start to pull away and he's clutching at them desperately before he can snap at himself to stop it. But it's too late, the Bishop is sitting back down and they're having a murmured conversation and then there's a cool hand on his face too.

"Don't worry," comes her voice, smooth and soft as fresh water, "we're not leaving, Nolan."

"You're stuck with us," Hartley agrees.

But—but—but that doesn't make sense. Nothing in this world makes sense and he wants to go back to the other one where at least things made sense, where things hurt but at least he knew when to expect it, not here where he has no idea what's going on and he just wants everything to go back to normal and then he won't be guessing, second-guessing, triple-guessing everything until they leave him again.

"Silly boy," the Bishop says fondly as tears drip like razorblades down his cheeks—there goes his resolve never to let them see how badly they hurt him— "did you think I would let you take a bullet for me and then let you leave without giving me a chance to pay it back?"

"I—I didn't—I didn't mean—"

"Shh," Hartley soothes, his big hand moving to card through Nolan's hair, "calm down, Nolan, it's okay. We can talk about this again when you wake up properly, just rest for now. You've worn yourself out."

"I'll wear you out," he mumbles back, more out of instinct than anything, and Hartley chuckles warmly.

"It's a promise, big guy."

Nothing makes sense right now, Nolan decides as that big hand lulls him right back to sleep, but if the Bishop is promising they're not going to leave him alone, and Hartley is laughing at his stupid jokes, he thinks that maybe he could figure out a way to make this world work.

Just for a little while.

[eddiebvckley]

the rookie x 911 crossover miniseries for the 911 gotcha for gaza event, featuring buddie, minor chenford, buckley-nune antics, timthena mutual sergeant respect, and celina juarez being astute

series: 4k words, rated t

[dreamerrgirl]

Chenford ❤️ 5.13 fix it. Where everyone finds out?!

I've gotten a few requests to do this one! In my opinion, I think everyone, except maybe Nolan, already knows, or at least has their suspicions, and Tim switching jobs just confirms it for them. So here is my take on how that would go once everyone finds out about his new role!

"Why are you here?"

Angela's voice came from behind his right shoulder, where Tim could see her hovering over him in the reflection of his computer screen.

"This is my desk," he said plainly, spreading his hands over the space, as if it wasn't the most obvious answer in the world.

"Yes, I can see that, but what I want to know is why is this your desk?" Angela pressed, stepping forward to lean against it, Nyla moving in to perch herself on the left corner; the two women effectively boxing him in.

Leaning back in his chair, Tim sighed, his crossed arms mirroring Angela's. He knew this line of questioning would be coming sooner rather than later, but he and Lucy had agreed to keep their relationship under wraps for a little bit longer, so he was going to have to do some major deflecting to keep it that way.

"Tell me if I'm wrong, Nyla," Angela said, glancing over at her partner. "But this just isn't adding up. Tim Bradford, all the sudden taking a comfy desk job over patrol for no obvious reason?"

Nyla shook her head, her sharp gaze turning on Tim. "It's mighty suspicious if you ask me."

Looking between the two women, Tim shook his head, refusing to rise to their bait. "The pay is better," he finally said, shrugging.

"By maybe fifty dollars, annually," Nyla shot back doubtfully. "Nice try."

After a few more moments of silence, Angela shifted, leaning towards him as her hands came down to brace herself against the edge of his desk.

"Tell us, Timothy, this wouldn't have anything to do with a certain dark haired, recently single, female officer who you haven't been able to stop smiling at as of late, does it?"

Tim gave Angela his best T.O. no nonsense glare, noting the amusement dancing in her eyes as she conspiratorially leaned her head towards Nyla.

"Did you know they practiced kissing before they went undercover?" she asked, a shit eating grin on her face.

"No they did not," Nyla laughed.

"Angela!"

"What?" she asked innocently, batting her lashes at him.

"I told you that in confidence," Tim hissed, feeling like a cornered animal ready to be eaten. "I thought we were friends."

"Friends don't lie to friends, Tim."

Tim glared at her. "I haven't lied."

"No, but you haven't told me the truth, either." Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she winked at him. "Don't worry though, your bright red face is doing all the talking for you."

With one final laugh, Nyla left, leaving Tim to fume at Angela.

Tim watched as her grin slowly turned into a soft smile, her gaze losing some of its edge. "Jokes aside, I'm really happy for you; I haven't seen you this happy in well, ever," she said. Pushing off his desk, she stepped forward, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I just hope taking this boring ass job isn't going to mess that up for you."

All Tim could do was shake his head in defeat. "They don't call us the dream team for nothing," Angela teased, patting his shoulder one more time before she walked off.

"No one calls you that," Tim grumbled under his breath.

As Angela's footsteps faded, he heard Aaron's sing-sing voice call from behind him, "I told you!"

Whipping around in his chair, he watched as Nyla and Angela both slapped a five dollar bill into the young officers hand, Aaron grinning like a Cheshire cat. He purposely looked anywhere but in Tim's direction, completely ignoring the senior officer glowering at him from the corner of the room.

"Told them what?" Nolan's voice rang out, he and Celina walking towards the group. Tim wondered briefly if he still had time to throw himself out a window- Lucy was going to kill him.

"That Sargent Sunshine over there and Lucy are dating," Aaron stated matter-of-factly, loud enough for the entire precinct to hear. Tim groaned, leaning both his elbows on the table as he buried his head in his hands, wishing he were anywhere else but here.

"What, really?" Nolan exclaimed.

"Oh definitely, their aura's have totally changed in the last few weeks, it's actually been really sweet to watch. They've been so in sync," Celina gushed. Tim was pretty sure he just threw up in his mouth.

"How's his aura looking now?" Nyla snickered.

"I hate you all!" Tim called, refusing to lift his head and turn around.

"Officer Nolan," Sargent Grey chided, his voice coming from the doorway of his office. "You seem surprised. Are you telling me you haven't noticed anything in the last month that made you wonder, even a little?"

"Well, I uh...no, Sir. Should I have?" Nolan asked, sounding very unsure.

"Yes," Celina, Aaron, Nyla, and Sargent Grey said, all at the same time.

"They've been incredibly obvious," Angela added.

"All right, all right, everyone back to work," Sargent Grey commanded, the humor still evident in his tone. "Let's give Sargent Bradford some room to breath, shall we?"

Thankfully, the gossip group finally disbanded, leaving Tim to wonder how Lucy was going to take the news that they apparently hadn't been as sneaky as they thought.

"Oh, and Officer Nolan," he heard Grey call, "I've got my eye on you. Don't give me a reason to make you my pet project again."

"Uh oh," Lucy's voice said from his left, Tim spinning around to find her standing there by his side, staring after Nolan. "That doesn’t sound good. What'd I miss?"

[oneislchen]

Should I do a fan fic for The rookie?

If so who should I start with

[adaedellta]

Severely disappointed in the complete lack of found family father daughter fics on ao3 between John and Cilena at like every turn he just dads her, Bailey too they’re just her parents at this point and the fact I couldn’t find anything on ao3 is a TRAGEDY

[juniperskye]

Until I Found You

***Potential spoilers of The Rookie***

Pairing: John Nolan x Fem Reader

Sneak Peek: After his breakup with Bailey, John is convinced he will never fall in love again…that is until he found you. (This is taking place pre TO Nolan) Reader owns a Café (food truck).

Fluff/Angst

Word count: 2851

Warnings: Reader has kind of spooky vibes, no use of y/n, Implied age gap, mention of food and eating (no explicit details), brief mention of crime (no explicit details), mention of past relationships, mention of unhealthy relationships, mention of getting ready for a date (details are feminine leaning – shaving, makeup, nails, hairstyling), developing strong feelings quickly, one teeny tiny kiss.

Not edited - please be kind.

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

After his breakup with Bailey, John was convinced he wouldn’t find love again. How would it be fair for him to have had love with Sarah, Lucy, Jessica, Grace, Bailey and for him to expect it again. His love with each of those women differed from one another, but they all had played a very important role in his life. For the last few months John had really just been going through the motions; sleep, work, eat, repeat.

Today had been a particularly slow day on the job for John, very unusual for the LAPD. He had been riding alone today which was honestly making the day drag on even more so. He was counting down the minutes until lunch – at least then he would get to socialize with his fellow officers.

Two speeding tickets, one robbery and a stolen car later, it was finally time for lunch. Heading to their usual spot, John notices that there is a new food truck parked, black with orange script on the side spelling out “Hallowed Grounds” alongside little white painted bats. John’s eyes were drawn to this truck not because it is new, or that the line was at least fifteen people long, but because of the beautiful person running the window.

It was Lucy who had ultimately broken John out of the trance he was in.

“Hey, you okay? You were spaced out there for a second.” Lucy questioned.

“Huh? Yeah, I’m okay. What’s with the new truck?” John wanted to see how much Lucy knew without giving away the attraction he was feeling towards this stranger.

“Oh! It is all over social media, Hallowed Grounds, it is mostly coffee, but the pastries are to die for! I mean literally that is their slogan!” Lucy laughed.

“The line is pretty long, so it must be good. Should we check it out?”

“Sounds good to me!”

With that, John and Lucy made their way to the line. Lucy was talking John’s ear off about some new social media drama, but honestly John wasn’t listening, he was far too distracted by your beauty and the honey sweet tone of your voice. You had this way about you that was breathtaking, moving with grace and just so patient and kind to all the patrons who had been waiting in line. They were finally nearing the front of the line, and John had realized he hadn’t even looked at the menu.

“Hi there! What can I get for you?” You smiled at him.

“Hi, can I get a medium caramel latte and a lemon blueberry scone?” Lucy ordered with no hesitation.

“Of course! And for you?” You looked expectantly at John.

“I um, can I just get a black coffee and, no that’s all.” John stuttered.

Lucy looked over at him confused as she paid, and they walked over to stand near the pickup window. John took note of you disappearing from the window and a young man taking your place.

“Okay, I know that we did not just stand in that long line just for you to order a black coffee. What is up with you?” Lucy questioned John. “OH MY GOD! You think she’s cute, don’t you?”

“Okay, hush! I’d rather not scare the girl off before I even get a chance to talk to her.”

“Okay sorry! I’m just happy for you. You’ve been sulking ever since you and Bailey broke things off.”

“I have not been sulking…okay maybe I have. But I really thought she was it for me.”

“John and Lucy?” You called.

They made their way up to the window to pick up their orders.

“Alright Lucy, a caramel latte and a lemon blueberry scone, and for John a black coffee and a chocolate croissant.” I hope you guys have a wonderful day and stay safe!”

“Oh, I didn’t…” John started.

“Thank you so much, you have a wonderful day too!” Lucy cut John off and began to drag him away from the truck.

The two of them went to sit at a table with Tim, Aaron and Nyla for the rest of their lunch. They were all hoping it wouldn’t be cut short by a call coming in.

“Alright Nolan!” Aaron exclaimed as John sat down.

“What? What did I do?”

“The bag. The barista gave you her number!”

John turned the bag around and sure enough your name and phone number had been neatly printed along with a little heart. John looked at Tim, then Nyla and finally to Lucy. He hadn’t been expecting you to give him your number, especially not after he had made a complete fool of himself in front of you just moments before.

Just as Lucy was about to encourage him to text you, a call came ringing in over the radios. Everyone was quick to get up and head to their respective shops. John heard Tim and Lucy radio that they were responding, and that Nyla and Aaron were acting as backup. He figured they had it covered, and he would continue to patrol, but not before adding you into his contacts.

Three days.

It was three days before John had gathered the courage to text you. He hadn’t seen you either, since he’d worked through lunch one of the days, had a pretty big drug bust on the second day, and was assigned to the front desk on the third day. Today though, he had the day off and now was his time to text you and see if you would want to go on a date with him.

John: Hey, this is John. From the other day.

You: Hi! I was beginning to think that maybe I was too forward.

John: Oh, no, not at all! I’m sorry, things have just been really busy with work. I finally have a day off.

You: Okay, good! I’m sorry work has been keeping you busy. Hopefully you’ve been able to stay safe.

John: I have. Nothing too out of the ordinary this week. How have you been?

You: I’ve been good! I have been testing some new recipes and trying to figure out what to swap in for the fall season.

You: Speaking of which…would you like to be a taste tester for me? I could really use a customer’s perspective!

John: I would love to! By the way, that croissant was incredible. I was actually texting you to ask you to dinner.

You: Yeah, dinner and then we can go back to mine to try these desserts?

You: Wow that was also very forward…I’m not usually like this by the way!

John: No worries. I won’t read into it I promise. So tonight, can I pick you up at 7?

You: 7 is perfect, see you then John!

After confirming your plans with John, you kicked it into high gear. It was 10:07 a.m. and you had a lot to do before you’d be ready to go. You really needed to get your nails done, you needed to finish the 6 different pastries you’d been working on, and you’d really need to shower before you could get ready.

After doing some quick math in your head, you figured that you would have just enough time to get everything done provided you shower while some things were baking in the oven. With that, you place the pre-cut cookie dough into the freezer (these would be easy enough to pull out and bake later when you and John go back), you placed the muffins and two different loaves of bread in the oven. That just left the cake that you were actively frosting and the pie that was cooling. Once the cake was thoroughly iced, you threw the dishes in the dishwasher and headed towards the shower, not without checking your timer to make sure you’d have ample time.

You were sure to go through all the steps of what you’d consider a full shower, washing and conditioning your hair, washing your body with your best smelling body wash, and shaving essentially every inch of your body. You weren’t anticipating that anything would happen tonight, but you wanted to be prepared nonetheless and you’d make sure at the very least that you smelled good.

After drying off and throwing on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, you made way for the kitchen just in time to pull out the muffins and the bread. You set them out on the cooling rack, turned the oven off and then you headed to your favorite nail salon. They were able to get you in right away seeing as it was 12:00 p.m. on a Thursday.

Your nail appointment ended at about 1:30 p.m., which gave you enough time to head over and check on your staff and the truck. Upon arrival you noticed there were a few police cruisers parked along the curb. You knew John was off today, but you still found yourself scanning the crowd for him.  

“He’s not here.” Your staff, Ezra, had called over to you.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” You tried to hide your blush, embarrassed about getting caught looking for John. Ezra was the one who had encouraged you to give him your number in the first place, having seen how smitten you were with John when you’d met him the other day. Ezra and you had been friends for years, he could read you better than anyone.

“Mmhmm, sure thing. It was a different group this time around. What are you up to? Aren’t you supposed to be off testing new pastries?” Ezra questioned you.

“I was doing exactly that when John texted me and asked me out! I went and got my nails done and figured I would stop by and see how things were going before I went back home and got ready for my date.”

“OH MY GOD! See I told you that if you gave him your number, he’d ask you out. There were definite vibes the other day, he was so enamored by you that he forgot to look at the menu!” Ezra gushed.

“Okay, fine. You were right. I’m kind of nervous, he’s taking me to dinner, then we’re going back to my place so he can taste the new desserts and give me his opinions on them.”

“Girl, you are going to be fine! He seems nice and you are an amazing person, no reason to be nervous. Plus, what have you got to lose?” Ezra had always been your voice of reason in times of need.

“Okay, yeah. I should probably get going then so I can get ready.”

“Okay babe, have a great night! OH and you should wear the outfit you wore to our opening party, it screams you and its hot!”

“Oh, that was a good outfit, I don’t know where he’s taking me yet, but it should be dressy enough.”

You said your goodbyes to Ezra and made your way back home. It was nearing 3:30 p.m. and you knew you should probably start getting ready. You grabbed a glass of water and then got to styling your hair. You curled your hair and applied some natural looking makeup and went to get dressed. To pair with the faux leather skirt and starry mesh top, you slid on some black tights, comfy socks and your Doc Martens. Looking over at your alarm clock you see 6:45p.m. glowing red and you decide to switch to a smaller purse in the time you have left before your date…your usual everyday tote bag not exactly matching this outfit choice. You’d opted for a small leather handbag, with gold accents, it matched your outfit perfectly and was better suited for the occasion. As soon as you organized everything into the purse a knock sounded at the door. You took a deep breath then walked to answer it.

“Hi!” You greeted John as you opened the door.

“Wow, you look incredible.” John was awestruck, you had such a different style than the women he had previously dated, but he was really loving it. You were so confident in your own skin, and you just had this glow about you.

“Thank you, you look very handsome.”

“Shall we?” John gestured to his truck.

You nodded and the two of you walked around to the passenger side. John opened the door for you then offered his hand to assist you into the truck.

“Such a gentleman.”

John blushed at the compliment, he tried to shake it off as he started the truck and pulled out of your driveway. You made small talk on your way to the restaurant, which ended up being a very nice steakhouse.

John parked and looked over to you, he made note of the way you were inspecting the sign, and immediately panicked.

“I probably should have asked and made sure you weren’t a vegetarian!”

“I’m not! I love a good steak; my dad is a self-proclaimed grill master!” You laughed.

John laughed with you and let out a sigh of relief. He once again opened your door for you and reached to help you out of the truck. He was so different form the men you had dated before, so polite and caring. He listened to what you had to say and even asked you questions to learn more about you. It was so refreshing to be around someone like him. Truth is, you had dated some pretty terrible people in the past and that was the main reason you were single now. You’d decided to take a break from dating and focus on yourself and your career, which is how you’d gotten to the point of owning a very successful food truck. You had explained to John that your end goal is to have a brick-and-mortar location of Hallowed Grounds that was a café/bookstore. You wanted to create a cozy space for people to hangout while they enjoyed good food.

John just sat and smiled, he loved how you lit up when you spoke about it. Seeing you so passionate about something was honestly inspiring. He hadn’t expected the feelings for you to be so immediate, so strong, just crashing to the surface as the night went on. John could feel himself growing concerned about whether or not you were feeling as strongly for him as he was for you. The two of you had just clicked and it was so effortless.

What John didn’t know is you were currently battling the same demons. Was it really possible to be this comfortable with someone after such a short time?

Dinner had passed far too quickly for either of your likings, you were honestly just glad that you had already planned to continue this evening. You weren’t ready to say goodnight to John just yet. As John drove you back to your place, he took a risk by reaching for your hand to hold, you were quick to slide your hand into his and you couldn’t help but blush. John couldn’t believe how soft your hand was and it made him think about how rough his must be from his years as a contractor, he shook the thought away as you gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

You made it back to your place relatively quickly and John once again made sure to assist you on the passenger side, only this time instead of offering you his hand, he was a little bolder. He’d placed his hands on your waist and slowly helped you out of the truck. You stood there, chest to chest, your breath hitching from the proximity. Your gazes danced over one another’s face, shifting from eyes to lips back to eyes, silently asking for permission. When you slightly tilted your head, John understood and reached his right hand up to cup your jaw as he brought you in for a kiss. The kiss lasted for what felt like forever but ended far too soon. You wanted to exist in this moment infinitely.

You and John held hands once again as you staggered to the door. You made quick work of the lock and invited him in, guiding him to the kitchen.

“You ready to try some desserts?” You asked.

“Absolutely!” John replied.

You blushed, realizing the double entendre and moved to get all the desserts plated up. You explained to John that you’d need to throw the cookies in the oven, but they only took about 10 minutes to cook. He nodded and asked if you needed any help with anything, which you declined and encouraged him to relax.

John watched as you worked in the kitchen, this had been your element and it was like a well-choreographed dance, the way you moved. He couldn’t help but smile to himself, picturing the two of you like this, years down the road. He knew that you had only just met, but after tonight he couldn’t deny the connection. He realized he had been wrong when he said he would never fall in love again. That was true, until he met you.

[4drinkames]

I desperately want a fic where Lucy or Tim is a t.o. (Ik he’s not one anymore) to a new rookie and the rookie is hitting on Tim and Chenford are married and its not a secret but the rookie doesn’t realize and talks to the other rookies about trying to get with Tim. And like one of them overhears and tells the other and they purposely make out or something in plain view of the rookie😂

But I need this to be more than just a one shot ok. I need full on pining with this rookie and they will not take no for an answer even if they know he’s married to Lucy. I need angst, jealousy, all the good stuff!!

[thechaosthatismybrain]

Hey does anymore know a chenford fic where Tim finds out Lucy and Nolan dated?? I realised he probably doesn’t know and now I just need to see that happen