#the rookie ask

[thebisexualdogdad]

Not only is Y/N's doppelganger a feared crime boss but he's banging Chenford's doppelgangers which makes Angela go "wow, you three really are made for each other"

Tim "is it wrong that I think it would be kind of hot to watch them have sex?"

"I was thinking the same thing"

Lucy pretends not to be into it but the first time she saw both you and Tim covered in tattoos while going undercover she nearly combusted

[watmalik]

I don’t like the cast making fun of us with the ice cream

I’m assuming the rookie cast? I’m sorry you feel that way, anon. And for anyone that feels that way too. IMO I don’t think the cast is making fun of us in a bad/bully type of way, but more like in a friendly teasing type? (If that’s a word? Apologies. Me no ingles, sometimes)

And none of them are people with bad intentions irl, so it’s def a friendly fire. I do find it funny bc I think they like how invested we are in the show just as much as they are—that we as an audience have as much as a connection with the characters as much as them, who play it.

Feelings are valid, but always look at both sides of things so you don’t read much into a situation with just a bad light. You’d be surprised.

Anyways, chin up and thanks for the ask 🫡

[wanna-be-bold]

Don’t think just answer:

Nyla or Angela

Nyla

I love Angela but Nyla's growth in just a few seasons has been amazing and she's such a badass

Ask me anything!!

[strawberryforks]

slipping smiles//tim bradford x reader

reckless smiles adjacent (call fic)

warnings: you could have died, swearing, animal-in-danger, no beta we die like my sleep schedule

a/n: writing calls is surprisingly fun! SORRY for the (definite) inconsistencies. asks are open! dedicated to @scenesofobx because your comments have made my day <33 enjoy!

You’re dressed in a cute little workout outfit. Leggings, a cropped skintight long sleeve top with thumb-holes, overtop of that a gray sweater, and over that, a puffer vest that you leave open because it’s not as cold as you thought it would be. The vest you realize, might be a little extra, but you’re already committed now, halfway to your favourite taco truck. It’s your day off and since you can’t just do nothing, you’ve decided to go on a jog. It’s around lunchtime (you’re headed to get yours) and you pick this time purposely—you’re a cop, you’ve seen a lot. Enough that you don’t go running when it’s dark out and when there aren’t other people around—12PM ensures witnesses and sunlight and since you’re jogging on a sidewalk in the suburbs; in a relatively wealthy neighborhood, you don’t expect anything to happen. You run this route often and know that in a little bit, you’ll run across a bridge, that the small lake running underneath will be frost kissed, reflecting sun back at you. You know you might stop to take a picture—what you don’t know is that the group you’re nearing, jogging towards, are buying.

Up ahead, a man with a hood pulled down, obscuring his face passes a brick—not a baggy, a brick—of something into the hands of another man, this one wearing a ball cap and baggy jeans, sans face covering. You reach for your off-duty weapon and the badge you keep tucked into your wallet. “LAPD, hands in the air!”

Because nothing is easy and karma is against you, all hell breaks loose. Two of the guys pull out their guns, one shoots bullet after bullet in quick succession—you dive out of the way, ducking behind a grey civic that acts as a shield, absorbing bullets so you don’t have to. The other two start running and dammit, those ones are the guys who brought the drugs. The ones you really need in custody. You dial 911 and give your general address, you give your name and badge number, “10-57, requesting backup,” then you hangup. You call Chen—knowing she should be patrolling in the area; that she usually does, at least. “Hey! Pursuing armed suspects or about to… would love some help. Drug deal gone—“ and then you hear dispatch regurgitating your earlier words, hear her TO accept the call and then you’re shooting back, running behind other cars paralell parked on the sides of the road, using them as cover, and darting after the two escaping. A bullet whizzes past your side—you turn and bury one in the shooters shoulder. The other man, you shoot in the hand, causing his gun to go flying. Then you’re sprinting after the two. Distantly you hear sirens. Up ahead, alongside the criminals, is a scraggly looking stray. A cop car skids to a halt on the other side of the men, Chen and Bishop jumping out, guns raised. The criminals are now paused atop the bridge, looking at you like they’re planning to go through you, like it's the easier option now that the cavalry has arrived. You approach, another car sliding behind you. This one, Tim Bradford climbs out of, looking like the soldier he was—dangerous, determined. “It’s over! Interlace your hands behind your head!” you shout. The two men, both shot by you, are already stuffed into the backseat of a shop, headed for hospital before they’re to be booked.

The criminals are outnumbered and outgunned. They raise their hands slowly, fingers splaying, guns clattering to the ground and you approach, wrenching brick-boy’s hands behind his back, your own outstretched, waiting for a pair of cuffs to be thrown into them. Tim passes you a pair and you shove the restrained criminal towards your TO, past the cowering stray who the asshole swipes his foot at. The criminal kicks the dog who yelps and is knocked under the guardrail. You shove him harder then, forcing him to his knees in front of officer Bradford as you throw yourself at the fence, peering over where you see water. The dog fell through the thin layer of ice. You see him paddle up once, twice, and then he dips under again. Comeon, comeoncomeoncomeon, you plead. He doesn’t surface. Tim Bradford’s the last person you look at, the one who reaches for you as you vault over the guardrail and take the plunge yourself.

The water is cold. So cold that it seems to slow time down. Everything takes an extra minute, everything slowed as your eyes shoot open, blinking to adjust to the feeling of wetness against them. Underwater, you paddle, spinning around, looking for the dog. You see him, his little legs are frantic, pawing against the water. Still holding your breath, cheeks puffed up, full of air you’re losing faster than you’d like, you make large strides and close the distance between you and the pup. With the dog in your arms you try to surface. A layer of cold glass stops you. You bang your fist against it—breakbreakbreak. Weighed down by panic you climb along the underneath, looking for the crater you fell through. You claw your way to the hole in the ice and the dog surfaces before you do because you stick your hands out, up in the air, and pump your legs as quickly as you can. Your head breaches the water and you grab the ledge of the ice, wincing, terrified, when it gives way, only widening the break in the ice. You push the dog up onto the ice—the solid kind, and watch as it coughs up the cold water you’re still in. The cold water that’s feeling less cold. It's not the water, you know, it’s just you feeling less. Your feet are numb, your hands too. People are shouting but it still feels like you’re underwater. Still feels like something’s blocking your ears. Vaguely, as you attempt to pull yourself onto the ice you see flashing lights. Cop ones, ones from LAFD vehicles, too. There’s an ambulance here—as much for you as the men you shot, if only you could make it to them. If only. You’re getting tired. Sounds blur together, sensations, and colours too. You’re cocooned in a haze, a fog that just keeps getting thicker and thicker. A voice breaks it.

“Boot!” snaps Bradford. He’s closer than the others, you think. “Look at me,” he demands. You do, of course you do. He’s lying on the ice, body weight dispersed over a larger part of it so nothing shatters and he’s reaching out for you. There’s a few blurs behind him, firefighters, you think, telling—yelling at him, but all you can focus on is the words he’s saying. “Focus!”

You do your best.

“I need you to grab my arm. I’ll pull you up,” his hand is reaching towards your own and even though you can place your fingers—can’t feel them, you watch them carefully, making sure you direct your hand into his. Then, Tim pulls you from the water, sliding you along beside him and shifting so you’re between his legs, his forearms wrapped around your chest, holding you tightly. You’re shaking—still are, as two LAFD members drag Tim backwards to the bank, you with him. They take you from him and you didn’t fight his hold but you squirm in theirs, remembering the reason you took the ice-bath in the first place: the dog. “They’re going to help you,” Tim says, “you need to get warmed up.”

Your teeth clash with each other brutally in agreeance but you shake your head. “The d-dog. I-I have to get him, make sure he’s okay.”

Tim shakes his head incredulously. You don’t budge, insistent as ever and finally he relents. “I’ll get the damn dog. You, get warmed up. Listen to them.”

The dog would be okay, Tim would make sure of it—he’d take it to the vet himself, pay the bills, buy it a fucking sweater. Tim would do anything as long as you get seen by the paramedics because your lips were blue and he was terrified.

He hides that fear under a scowl as he searches for the pup and pulls him into his arms. The dog is small—a scraggly chihuahua mix of some kind—and he’s just as cold as you; a little less, thanks to the matted fur he’s covered in. Tim unzipped his jacket and wrapped the dog in it, then he headed up the bank to check on you. You, who had been ushered into the back of the ambulance and despite your assurances, “I’m fine, I’m fine, just a little chilly. Guys, this really isn’t necessary, I could warm up just as easily at home—“ shut in. A woman climbed into the driver's seat, her partner in the back with you and the doors were wrenched open a second time, your TO and the stray in his arms joining you. “I’m riding with her,” he tells the paramedics. He sits down on one of the small half-benches. “You’re okay?”

“Is the dog?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’ll take him to the vet to be sure but he seems okay. Now, Boot, answer.”

“I’m okay, just a little cold and sore. Don’t take him to the shelter after the vet. I’ll pay the bill just let me know how much.”

“You want to adopt him?”

“Yeah, I could use a roommate.”

[wintergreenoreo]

Since George has a race win and now Lando has a race win… I’m praying for an absolutely chaotic race where Alex gets a chance to win one in that tractor of a Williams. 😭🙏

[augustvandyne]

Hey! Could you do fluff John Nolan and wife reader where she visit the station and everyone just awed at her beauty? Maybe someone try to flirt with her. You decide how it end. Tag me later. Thanks!

first time writing for nolan 😜

lmk how i did!

nolan’s wife

You were way too beautiful to be John Nolan’s wife, is the first thing that comes to mind to all the officers when you introduce yourself.

Lucy and Jackson knew Nolan was with someone, because he always shot down anyone that came onto him everywhere they went. Whether it be the hospital, a call, the bar, anywhere.

But they didn’t know that that woman was his wife, nor that she was that gorgeous!

And I mean everyone, even Tim Bradford, was checking her out as she made her way towards the rookie.

“John,” You said in a silky voice, slightly fixing his tie.

“Y/n,” John smiles down at you, leaning down to place a kiss on your lips.

That was the only downside of your husband—his height. He was so tall, and it wasn’t that you were short, it was just that he was so tall! Even in high heels you couldn’t match his height or anywhere near it.

“Oh, my god,” Lucy sped over to the two of you, her hair pulled back into a low bun. “You are gorgeous!”

“Thank you?” You pull back slightly from John, giving him some personal space.

“I have to say, you are beautiful,” Jackson says, his hands resting on his belt.

“Who’s this smoke show?” Smitty walks over, raising his brows and flashing a smile. “Wanna go out tonight?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna have to pass,” You nod awkwardly, holding your hand out to let him see your ring. “I’m married.”

“To who? I could take him,” Smitty assures you.

“To me. She’s my wife,” John asserts dominance, which has Smitty backing up a few steps.

“Alright, slow down cowboy,” Smitty puts his hands up, walking back to his desk.

Lucy laughs, shaking her head.

“Hey, we were just about to head out for lunch, wanna join us?” Jackson asks nicely.

“Oo, yes!” Lucy jumps excitedly. “Please, please, please come!”

“I mean, if it’s okay with you,” You turn towards John, looking up at him sweetly.

“Of course, oh, I’d love for you to go,” John puts his large hands on the sides of your head, leaving a kiss on the top of your head.

“So it’s a deal, let’s go,” Lucy puts her arm through yours. “Y/n gets shotgun.”

Lucy drives you to this food truck joint, that has several different types and trucks to try from, so you could basically get whatever you wanted.

You sit in front with Lucy, while John and Jackson take up the backseat.

You snap a photo of John in the back seat, and tell him that you think it’ll make the Christmas card this year, resulting in a laugh from him.

Once there, Lucy picks a table with four chairs, and you sit as John gets the two of you something to share. Because, yes, the two of you are adorable like that. But also because he wanted to surprise you since you’ve never eaten there before.

You watch him go around to several of the trucks, getting a bit of everything, and you love him for it because he knows you so well.

Lucy shares a few of her fries with you as you wait.

When he sits back down, you are relieved to be hit with the smell of food, but then are hit with the urge to vomit.

Which brings you back to the whole reason you came to see John at the station.

You cover your mouth, which has you receiving a concerned look from your husband.

“Everything okay?” His frown deepens as get up.

“Excuse me,” You all but sprint towards the nearest trash can and hurl into it, not even caring about how people around you are trying to eat.

“You okay?” John appears beside you, rubbing your back and giving you a napkin so you can wipe your mouth.

“I’m fine,” You swallow, trying to get the taste out of your mouth. “Did you get something to drink?”

“Yes, it’s right this way,” John still watches over you intently, his hand on the small of your back. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m okay,” You laugh it off.

When you sit, you feel eyes on you, and you know who they belong to.

Your husband.

“John, we should talk,” You turn your head, dropping your fork.

“And that’s our cue,” Jackson nods to Lucy who stands with the man to leave to another table.

“What’s wrong? I thought everything was okay.”

“It is,” You grab his hand. “I took a test this morning.”

“A test? What— like, like a pregnancy test?” His eye brows shoot to his hairline. He was surprised, to say the least.

“Yeah,” You look down. “It was positive.”

“Really?” John lets out a breath.

“If you don’t want this, I understand,” You tilt your head. “You’re still just a rookie, and—“

“No,” John shakes his head with a big grin bloomed across his face. “I mean, I’ll admit, it’s terrible timing, but I couldn’t be more happier.”

You let out a big sigh of relief that has John laughing along with you.

“Good. Because I don’t know what I would have done, had you said you didn’t want this baby.”

“I would never say that to you, or anyone, for that matter.”

You smile up at him, placing a kiss on his jaw.

“We’re gonna have a baby,” John whispers.

“Yeah,” Your eyes water a bit, stupid hormones. “We are.”

[msmargaretmurry]

I’m enjoying following San Jose this year, but even as as Washington hater (Pittsburgh fan) they clearly are the winner of the whimsy cup!!! How can people not see this!! You are being swayed by the rookies!

omg validation from a pens fan....... i will cherish this all day. thank you for seeing the truth and the light!!!! and like yeah it is truly Not that serious and i adore my sharkuda friends but in MY humble and biased opinion the caps out-whimsy the sharks by miles. the caps whimsy per capita is simply so much stronger. there is not a single member of that team that isn't in cahoots. they are ritually serenading each other. they are barking. they are calling connor mcmichael mcjesus. they are hollering for ovi to win the selke. they have the most nonsensical collection of hockey nicknames known to mankind. we don't know what a zini is and neither does dylan but that's his name now and he's going with it. when ovi was out injured he legit had fomo and was constantly lurking to make sure he didn't miss out on the fun. whimsy so strong they gave ALEX OVECHKIN fomo. sometimes in the locker room after wins carbs can barely get through his postgame speech because they're all too busy yelling weird compliments at each other. girls just wanna have fun and so do the washington capitals

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

Arrow 3x1 | The Rookie 6x6

[superintendent-b]

Excuse me sir I would like to request some more Sleeveless ODSTs please

I love your responses and artworks, they bring me so much joy when I see them

One order of sleeveless ODSTs coming up o7

And thank YOU ×1000!! I like making silly art pieces about the characters I love and when other people get to enjoy them with me, it makes it worth the effort

[avoidmint]

Phantom in the Ruby?

I choose to believe it ate him. And now Gadget gets to explain to everyone that ghosts are real. At least as far as the Phantom Ruby is concerned. Yes he is the only one who can see him. No he's not losing it thanks to the Phantom Ruby's influence. Guys please this is so awkward help me-

[thebisexualdogdad]

Tim Bradford, exasperated with his son: "Listen CAREFULLY: you 👏 are 👏 not 👏 the 👏 parent!"

Bradford Reader who showed up at his work yet again to check on him: "🤨🤨🤨🤨 anyways, I packed you a lunch. Be home by curfew."

Angela and Nyla love when you come to the station because you end up gossiping with them and telling them embarrassing stories about Tim

"Has he told you about the time he got sick from space mountain at disneyland?"

[watmalik]

Hey I saw someone on X use your chenford edit with no credit. I did see someone on the comments adding your link but it wasn’t there before. I can let you know their @ if you want

Thanks for letting me know, but it’s totally okay! I don’t mind with manips as they don’t take much of my time like fanart or gifs and I’m just photoshopping their faces into something that’s there already haha. It still does have my watermark and it’s not like they’re saying they did it so it’s fine.

Would love to see the comments if they liked it as well as this Twitter post. The reaction made me smile bc I thought the manip was rough looking (not my best) at first lol, I’m really glad they liked it 😭

[m1dnitefloat]

i couldn’t get this out of my head sorry (original)

[strawberryforks]

Can you please write something for Tim Bradford where the reader is his rookie? Kind of like a grumpy /sunshine fic?? I just started watching the rookie and I'm literally in love with him😩

reckless smiles

warnings: probably swearing, mentions of DV & guns, other police stuff, nepotism (oops)

a/n: got you anon! hope this works! 🙈🙈 as always, asks are SO open! i’m working on a part two to the other TR fic i posted (per request) and if anyone likes this one there’s another small fic in this little mini series already written that i could post! it’s the call with barnaby <3 anyways, ENJOY!!

Sergeant Grey stands at the front of the briefing room. You’re sitting in the front row (like all rookies do), just happy to be here, beside fellow trainees Nolan, West, and Chen. “Rookies!” booms the sergeant, “today, we’re going to switch things up. Nolan you’re with Lopez, Chen with Bishop, West with me,” your face falls, smile collapsing completely, morphing into something else as you realize who's left to pair up with. Who you’ll be riding with today.

Tim Bradford.

Nolan leans over from his chair. He rests his hand on your shoulder while standing up and moving past you. But first, “You’ll be okay,” he assures—Chen, Bradford’s usual victim, doesn’t say a thing. Instead she shoots you a squashed smile and mouths “good luck,” you know you’ll need it but… but you’ll make the best out of it. Like always.

You steel your expression, trying to wipe away the upset that slipped onto your face momentarily. Despite Tim Bradford being the biggest asshole in the LAPD he’s your superior and you were raised to respect rank… even if you don’t respect the person.

“L/n, you’re with Bradford. Try not to kill each other. You’re good cops, we need you both.”

“She’s a boot. Hardly a cop,” Tim Bradford, asshole extraordinaire, chimes in.

“This batch of rookies is a good one and you know that. L/n is a legacy, top scores in the academy and a record number of arrests for her first year on the force. That’s not easily dismissable.”

Officers began to trickle out of the room, Lopez and Bishop were the first to leave, and then your friends—their rookies, Nolan and Chen, with.

“Feeding me to the wolves, West?” Jackson grins back at you, shrugs, and the door shuts behind him. Even Grey leaves, not wanting to be a part of this. The entire briefing room is empty save from you, Tim Bradford, and Smitty. Smitty, who has his hand inside a miniature bag of popcorn and his feet crossed at the ankles and stacked on top of the desk in front of him. He smacks loudly and Tim shoots him a withering glare. “Fine, fine,” he says, palms raised, “I’ll go. Just uh… tell me how it–”

“Smitty!”

He leaves the briefing room and then you’re left alone.

“Boot,”

“Sir,” you echo.

“I know you’re used to special treatment but that’s not how I work. I’ll be driving,” sure you (with your history) love to be behind the wheel but that’s not a problem, Tim doesn’t let Lucy drive either, it isn’t bias, just how he does things. “You do what I say when I say–none of that reckless idiotic behaviour I hear about from Harper. Just because she has unorthodox methods does not mean you should be copying them. You’re a rookie. Today, my rookie.”

“I don’t expect special treatment. And yes sir.”

Tim crosses his arms across his chest and tilts his head ever so slightly. He can’t figure you out–it frustrates him that he wants to. You’re always smiling and even now, looking at him with as close to a frown as he’s ever seen on your face, there’s something in your eyes. Not happiness but challenge, maybe? Determination. A sparkle that can’t be dimmed. Not with his shouting, not with his Tim-Tests. He almost takes it as a challenge. He almost tries to break you, to interrupt that inability to back down–the one he knows will get you killed.

The next week is awful but every day you show up to work with a smile (sometimes faux–but fake it until you make it and all that) and the drive to do better, to impress him.

You can’t.

At a DV call, the assaulted woman is terrified. Tim, he would leave that detail out, instead focusing on your shortcomings (how he had threatened to give you a blue page, how you sat there and took it: “I’d understand, is all I’m saying. If you need to put that blue page in my file, go ahead. And I know my lack of regret is not making this better for myself but… I’d do it again,”) that when the victim pulled a gun and pointed it at your head, after you arrested her husband, you decided to take away Tim’s shot. She was frantic and angry, losing her absolute mind, but moreover she was scared and when she pointed the gun at you–safety off, finger pulsing over the trigger because all of her was shaking. Tim had her in his crosshairs. You saw this and moved. You moved, knowing she would follow, and putting yourself at risk while making sure she couldn’t be killed. In your eyes, she was still the victim. She did fire her weapon. Into the ceiling, after you knocked the gun away.

Two similar incidents follow. Ones where you put yourself in needless danger.

You’re reckless. Impulsive. He’s seen you speed off duty, seen you sweet-talk the would-be arresting officer, give him your number and drive away scott free. All because of your smile, because of the twinkle in your eyes. The brightness, the innocent glow. Tim has seen you out at the club, drinking your bodyweight in booze, dancing and singing karaoke, and even a Clip Tok video of you soaking wet after diving into a partially frozen lake to rescue a dog. The public went wild over that one–Aaron Thorsen was in frame too, boosting the videos popularity. Tim could recognize the sentiment. It was great how determined you were, how kind you were, and the soft spot you had for animals and people alike but he was there and had hated every second of that terrifying call.

Tim corrects you, you smile and take it, switching your coffee into your other hand, handing the one you bought him over.

Tim shouts at you, that’s fine, you smile and take it.

That’s what you do, what you’ve always done: smile and endure.

“It’s downpouring, good thing our shift is almost over.”

“I’ve always liked the rain. It’s nice,”

“What part of getting rained on is nice, Boot? It’s basically the sky crying.”

“We need rain. If it’s good for plants it can’t be bad for us.”

“I find that logic flawed.”

“You find a lot of logic flawed, sir.”

“What was that?”

You tell him nothing, that you didn’t mean it, and your shift is over. Heading back to the station to grab your things you make your way into the locker room. Lucy’s there, pulling on her jacket and taking out her umbrella. “How do you do it, Luce?” you ask.

“Do what?”

“Deal with Tim. He hates me. I try so hard and he just hates me,”

“I don’t think…”

“He does. You know he does. He hates me because of my last name, because he doesn’t think I’m a good cop. Because I smile. I don’t know what to do. No one’s ever hated me for smiling before…”

“I’m sorry,” she says. “Just hang in there. We’ve only got a few months left before we’re P2s then Grey’ll let you ride with someone else, I’m sure. Maybe with me–how about it?”

You nod, and give Lucy a small smile. She sees through it, how tired you look, how defeated. She rests her hand on your shoulder. “I’ve got to get going. Jackson’s waiting for me–I said I’d cook tonight.”

“See ya, Luce. Have a goodnight and say ‘hi’ to West for me.”

“Of course.”

Lucy slings her bag over her shoulder and leaves the locker room. The door swings open a second time and in walks Tim. He’s silent as he walks over to you. As he mirrors your movements across the small room, grabbing his own things from the cubby space.

Hehearditallhehearditallhehearditall.

You paste a smile on, almost wincing as you slip past him and– “Boo–Y/n.”

Your back faces him and all of you wants to keep it that way. My shift is over–I don’t have to endure, you think, but then you hear your father’s voice. Hear his lessons on respect, on how things should work in the department, how to interact with coworkers, superiors–even the awful ones. You turn to him, you look up, meet his icy blue eyes and repress a shiver. You forget to smile. Your slips stay pressed into a small line as you look at him, realizing that you are too close. You’re too close and you should back up but you can’t. Your breathing heavily, you realize Tim is too. He’s looking down at you with melting eyes. The frost, the coldness, seem to fade away as his hand flys to the back of your neck.

Your tongue darts out, wets your lips, and then his press to yours. Your eyes flutter shut, your body reacting to his touch while your mind hasn’t caught up. TimBradfordiskissingme. MyTOiskissingme. Those thoughts are the only ones that make it through the fog. The questions are satiated by how he’s making you feel. His lips are warm and soft, like his breath, when he pulls away for a moment, eyes boring into your own. “Is this–”

“Yes,” you say. It’s okay. It’ssookay. Betterthanokay.You nod a few times for clarification and one of his large hands lands on the small of your back, pressing you to him, the other moves beside your head as he pushes you against the wall, caging you in.

You’ve never been more okay with being trapped. By him, by his mouth.

His kisses were talking and when they stopped, he was ready to.

Staring down at you with a fast beating heart (no match for the rate your own was thumping in your chest at) he smiled back, for once. It was infectious. A grin split your face and you felt blissful, for a moment. Like you and Tim were the only two in the world, like nothing else mattered, like you were floating in a bubble, transcending your problems and surroundings.

It was a nice bubble, “I don’t hate you.”

Until he popped it. Until he reminded you of what had just happened, of what led to this and the conversation you had with Lucy–the one he overheard.

“I don’t hate you,” he said.

“I don’t believe you,” you blurt.

He raises a brow. His expression says ‘you don’t believe me? After that?’ and fair enough, because all you believe now is that you’re incredibly confused. Incredibly, very confused.

“You yell at me, you constantly talk about how I’m not ready to be a cop, you regularly threaten to give me blue pages and criticize what I do in my freetime–”

“None of that means I hate you.”

“It doesn’t make it seem like you like me! You get mad at me for smiling!”

“I don’t… okay, I get annoyed sometimes but it’s situational. When I’m reaming you out, you shouldn’t be smiling.”

“It’s that or cry! I don’t like being yelled at.”

“I don’t like when you put yourself at risk constantly. That’s why I yell, that’ why I reprimand you. You’ll make a damn good cop but no one wants you to make yourself a fucking martyr. No one wants you to put everything else–the job, a dog–above your own life! I get mad because I care,” he argues. Then lowly, “too damn much.”

“Bradford…”

“It’s Tim, to you.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to worry anyone. I just…” you trail off, Tim still watching you closely. “I can’t not try to save someone. I became a cop to do good, to help people, not to hurt them, to shoot them, to arrest innocents and victims of circumstance. There’s enough awfulness in the world that I don't want to contribute. I didn’t…”

“Didn’t what?”

“I didn’t want to be a cop but it’s what my family does–I like the job now, but the way I work it, you know?”

“I get it. I do. You just need to be more careful. You weren’t even on the clock on that call,”

You’re not exactly sure which call he’s referencing. You’ve intervened a few too many times when you shouldn’t have been on duty. It’s how you have (as said by Grey) ‘a record number of arrests for your first year on the force’ because you don’t let injustice slide just because you’re not getting paid. That, and because you’re ridiculously nosey.

“What call?”

“With the drug dealer and that stupid dog.”

“Hey,” you scold. “Barnaby is far from stupid.”

“Barnaby?”

“Yeah. He was a stray so I kept and named him. We trauma bonded–no way I was letting him go to a shelter after that.”

“No, no, that makes sense. I’m just wondering how the hell you came up with Barnaby.

You shrug; it’s a good name.

“Bradford!” shouts Grey, “you in there?”

Tim walks towards the door, shouting back and confirming his presence.

“My office! There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

“Alright!” Tim turns to you, he mouths his goodbyes and slips from the room leaving you incredibly confused.

[arkarti]

I'm sorry in your last Willry post...the..the hair grab???? HENRY GRABBING WILLIAM'S HAIR, LIKE THAT???? Dead. You have killed me off. Congratulations, the Fazbear franchise dies here because you keep killing off those poor restaurant workers with their hot bosses.

yes, the hair grab was very important to me 😳 jkahgjk glad u like it

help, that is the funniest way to die tho. rip in peace anon 😔

[augustvandyne]

Hi I wanted to ask if you would write a Lucy Chen imagine. Where the reader is also a police officer and gets hurt badly, so Lucy is very worried. Just fluff with a bit of angst.

Thank you very much.

ofc ofc ofc!

backup

Lucy could tell it was going to be bad by the shake of your voice on the radio. You’d shakily asked for backup, but it was too late.

You and Lucy hadn’t been riding together that day, and that was the worst decision Sergeant Grey had ever made.

You were assigned to a shop with yourself, while Lucy was with Tim.

She didn’t understand. She’d seen you twenty minutes ago, tops. But from there the two of you had went separate ways.

Her voice broke, “Tim,” as soon as your voice had disappeared, and with one look at the woman, he stepped on the gas.

Tim gave her the spiel, if she wasn’t able to handle it, she’d have to step aside until you were safely transported to the hospital, where Tim would take her right after this, along with the rest of the station.

To say the way you looked was bad, was an understatement. The sight of you had everyone speechless, even Nyla.

“Conscious, but unresponsive,” Nolan is able to get out over the lump in his throat.

The man you were obviously up against looked worse than you, if that’s even possible. He took a shot to the chest, and was DOA.

You, on the other hand, had taken several shots and several cuts. There were bruises starting to form along your body and blood pouring out of your cuts.

Bailey has to keep her tears from falling as she and her team load you onto a stretcher.

Lucy stands by the side the whole time, trying to keep her tears at bay, but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t let a few slip.

Tim and the rest of the team escorted you to the hospital, following behind the ambulance that was going more than a few miles over the speed limit.

By the time Lucy had gotten to the hospital her face was red from rubbing her tears away and her hair was messy from her running her hands through it.

She’s out of the car and by your side before it’s even in park.

“Oh, my god,” Lucy can’t even look at you. She knows it isn’t her fault, but she can’t help but blame herself. She had a bad feeling the whole twenty minutes since she’d saw you, and she should’ve known. “Y/n, you’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna be here the whole time, okay? I’m not leaving until you’re sick of me.”

The nurses push you through, an O.R. already ready for you, as you are a loved face all over LA—the station, the community center, the hospital.

When the doors close, and Lucy can no longer follow, Tim is there to bring her into a tight hug.

He needed it just as bad as she did.

Lucy quite literally breaks down it his arms, and Tim isn’t sure what to do, so he just stays standing there with a broken Lucy in his arms until the rest of the team found the two of them.

The group went around hugging Lucy, which was greatly appreciated by her because she needed it, and that’s why everyone embraced her.

The two of you were at the height of your relationship, and so she was more in love with you than ever.

She was going to marry you, and she knew it, so she couldn’t let you die now.

Sergeant Grey granted Lucy a few days off to get you back up and on your feet, which she gratefully took.

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

By the time your surgery was done, not a single person had left the hospital.

Tim had tried to get Lucy to go to the cafeteria to eat with him, and to get her to go home to get some things for you and herself, but she wouldn’t even budge.

Nyla had brought her at least two cups of coffee, but Lucy had just let them sit. She was still in shock.

Tim sat on Lucy’s right, while Nyla sat on her left.

Those three were the three most important people in your life.

Lucy was the love of your life. The reason you kept going. You’d attended the academy together, but you were a year behind her, so she’d never really spoken to you. Maybe once or twice at the bar, but that was it.

Tim was your best friend. Any problems you had, you took right to him. On your off days, he’d take you to your favorite food truck and did whatever he could to cheer you up, because when you were sad, there was no light in any room.

Then there was Nyla. Your T.O., mentor, teacher, whatever you wanted to call her. She would never admit it, but you were her favorite. You’d won her over in the first week, and that was a Nyla Harper record.

So here were your three favorite people, all praying you’d make it through this surgery, and then make it through the night.

The nurse that comes out happens to be friends with Tim, so he is able to sweet talk her into letting the three of them come see you in the ICU.

Even though you aren’t awake, Lucy, Tim, and Nyla want to see that you are okay and breathing.

You looked better.

The cuts had bandages over them, and most of the dirt on your face had been washed off.

You’d only taken two actual shots to your body—your ankle and your shoulder. Any other shots had been caught by the vest. That was evident from the bruises formed on your chest.

One of your legs had been cut up pretty badly, and it had stitches. Lucy knew you’d be self conscious over the big gash that ran horizontal on your thigh.

Nyla lets out a loud sigh, her hands on her lower back as she stares at the ceiling to keep the tears from falling.

“Where was her goddamn backup?” Nyla lowers her guard for a second when a tear falls down her face.

“Nolan was on his way,” Tim keeps his jaw clenched, his hands in his pockets to keep himself from doing something he’d regret. “He said he was responding. I don’t— I don’t know. He—“

Lucy stands in the corner next to Nyla, afraid to speak.

Seeing Tim and Nyla so distraught has Lucy’s tears come back. Her heart breaks and drops to the ground all over again, and it definitely doesn’t feel good.

“God, if I’d have drove faster, maybe—“

“Don’t blame yourself,” Nyla takes a seat in the chair by your side, holding one of your hands in hers. “Don’t blame anyone. It’s no one’s fault but the man who did this.”

“I had a bad feeling,” Lucy has to bite her lip to keep herself from breaking down again.

“Lucy—“

“No,” Lucy scoffs. “I should have known.”

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

Lucy is still asleep by the time you wake up. Nyla and Tim agreed to take turns staying with Lucy until you were discharged from the hospital. Which would be in a few days.

You had a bit of internal bleeding, so the doctors want to keep you for a few days to watch over you.

Tim is in the cafeteria grabbing some air and coffee. The two of you were asleep, so he figured he could have at least ten minutes to himself.

You wake Lucy when you’re reaching for the water, your throat was uncomfortably dry.

Lucy is immediately grabbing the cup and pitcher and pouring you water.

“Lucy—“

“Don’t talk,” Lucy feels her eyes watering again.

“Then don’t cry,” You whisper. You try to reach out and wipe her tears, but it pains you due to the shot in your arm. “I think my arms broken.”

Lucy laughs, glad to have some relief after those last agonizing hours without you.

“You were shot in the foot and shoulder. Your shoulder is broken, baby, but you’ll be okay. You have a large cut on your right thigh, too. I’ll take you to physical therapy, and you’ll be as good as new, okay? Grey gave me the next week or so off, but if you need more time with me, I will stay off longer. You’ll be back soon enough—“

It takes everything in you to lean forward and kiss Lucy.

“It’s okay, Luce,” You smile. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Lucy’s features soften.

“Lay with me,” You insist.

“Are you sure you won’t break another bone moving over?”

“Lay with me,” You say more aggressive this time so Lucy knows you aren’t kidding.

“Okay, fine,” Lucy fits in the spot you open up for her, despite the pain it caused to open it, it was totally worth it. “Now, let me tell you about how I saw Tim crying.”

Tim decides to come in at that moment.

“Oh— you’re awake,” Tim’s brows raise.

“Come and sit,” You turn your head towards him as he sits in the chair beside your bed. “Lucy was just about to tell me about how big and bad Timmy was spotted crying.”

Tim rolls his eyes but listens anyways.