THE SUNSHINE STATE. / T.BRADFORD / SUMMARY - Tim Bradford struggles to accept his TO
PAIRING: TO!reader x Tim Bradford / w/c: 2.0k / fluff
a/n: this request is so cute I’m obsessed !!! anon’s req here
Tim Bradford wasn’t sure what fresh hell he’d walked into when he got assigned to you.
You were waiting by the patrol car at the crack of dawn, coffee in one hand and an energy bar in the other, your uniform crisp and your hair tied back in a way that somehow looked both professional and adorable. The second you saw him, your face lit up like the damn sun.
“Oh my god, you must be Officer Bradford!” you chirped, holding out your coffee-less hand for a shake. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
He blinked once. Twice.
“Uh-huh,” was all he said, giving your hand a firm shake before dropping it.
You were not deterred.
“I read your file. Former Marine, ran point on a meth bust your first year, commendations up the wazoo,” you recited like it was the most exciting thing in the world. “I’m honored to be your TO.”
Tim narrowed his eyes at you. “You always this… chipper?”
You didn’t flinch. “Pretty much. You’ll get used to it.”
“I doubt that.”
You smiled wider.
The first hour of your shift was quiet, minus the occasional call over dispatch and the static of the radio. You drove with one hand on the wheel and the other occasionally reaching for your thermos. Tim sat in the passenger seat, arms crossed, jaw clenched, radiating silent judgment.
You hummed to the radio.
“You know,” he muttered, “this isn’t a joyride. You don’t have to act like we’re on a road trip to Disneyland.”
You didn’t even look offended. “I’m not acting, I like my job. You’ll find out I’m serious when I need to be. But I’m also not going to pretend I hate life just to seem ‘tough.’ That’s not how I roll.”
He side-eyed you. “You think you’re gonna scare me straight with sunshine and good vibes?”
You grinned. “Oh, Bradford. You’re already halfway there.”
By the time you responded to your first call — a domestic dispute involving a weed-whacker and an angry ex-boyfriend — Tim watched in disbelief as you managed to talk both parties down with a warm voice and a soft touch. Somehow, in five minutes, you had the suspect in cuffs and the victim laughing through her tears.
He blinked again. “What the hell are you?”
You glanced over your shoulder as you loaded the suspect into the back of the cruiser. “What do you mean?”
“I mean—” he gestured vaguely, “you’re not a robot. You’re not fake. But you’re… freakishly nice.”
You leaned in, conspiratorially. “Wanna know a secret?”
He didn’t answer. You told him anyway.
“I used to be a total hardass. Military family, everything by the book. And then one day, I realized I could be good at this without being mean about it.”
Tim stared at you, genuinely puzzled.
You just smiled again. “C’mon, partner. Time to file some paperwork. I’ll even let you pick the radio station.”
He grumbled something under his breath but followed you anyway.
Tim had been assigned to you for exactly ten days, and he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to punch a wall or throw himself out of the cruiser every time you smiled at him.
You were… too much.
Too bright. Too chipper. Too goddamn nice.
And worst of all?
You meant it.
It wasn’t fake, not a performance. You didn’t walk around with rose-colored glasses—you saw the rot in the world, just like he did—but somehow, you still managed to find something good in every shitty situation you two rolled up on. You always had a kind word, a soft smile, a calm presence that made even the worst days feel manageable.
It pissed him off.
Because if you could be this warm, this sunshiney—then maybe he was the problem.
Today had started with a call about a stolen dog, followed by a B&E in a sketchy part of town. You cleared the house together, Tim moving methodically, his voice clipped as he gave commands. You? You were calm, collected, and didn’t even flinch when a guy with a tire iron came charging out of a closet.
Tim got to him first, tackling the suspect to the ground.
You slapped cuffs on the guy like it was nothing.
“You okay?” you asked, brushing a leaf out of your hair after the struggle.
Tim stood, flexing his knuckles. “I’m fine.”
“You always say that,” you murmured.
“Because I am.”
You tilted your head, studying him with those big, annoyingly observant eyes. “You know, being vulnerable doesn’t make you weak.”
He scoffed. “Did I look weak when I took that guy down?”
“No,” you said with a laugh. “But you do look like someone who hasn’t let himself breathe in about five years.”
Tim said nothing.
You handed him a water bottle from the back of the cruiser. “Drink. You’re dehydrated and grumpy.”
“I’m always ‘grumpy.’ According to you at least.”
“Yeah, but now you’re grumpy and tired. Double homicide.”
That almost earned you a smile. Almost.
It was only later, during the lull between calls, when things started to shift.
You were sitting on the hood of the cruiser, legs dangling, eating trail mix and humming along to some cheesy 2000s song playing on the radio. Tim leaned against the driver’s side door, arms crossed, watching the sunset with a scowl.
You nudged his leg with your foot.
He glanced over.
“You know,” you said, popping a peanut into your mouth, “I can’t tell if you hate me or if this is just your resting murder face.”
“It’s my resting leave me alone face.”
You smirked. “Cute.”
He stared at you, deadpan. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Maybe.”
He blinked.
You turned back to the sky, eyes soft. “I like sunsets. They remind me that no matter how bad a day was, it’s still ending. Still got through it. Still standing.”
Tim looked at you like you’d just said something in a foreign language. He didn’t understand people like you—people who felt things, who believed in good for no damn reason.
“What happened to you?” he asked before he could stop himself.
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You said you used to be a hardass. Something changed you. What was it?”
You hesitated.
Then: “My best friend. She was sick for a long time. Cancer. I spent so much time being angry, trying to control everything. But I couldn’t control that. Couldn’t save her. So, after she died, I just… decided I didn’t want to live like that anymore. If I only have so much time, I’d rather spend it being kind.”
Tim didn’t say anything for a long time.
Finally, he asked quietly, “Do you ever regret it? Choosing to be soft in a hard world?”
You smiled at him, but it wasn’t your usual sunny grin. It was smaller. Sadder. “Sometimes. But it’s still who I am.”
And then you did something that completely threw him.
You leaned your head against his shoulder.
Not in a romantic way. Not even flirtatious. Just quiet comfort. A human moment.
He didn’t move away.
There were many more moments like that. He would buy you coffee, offer his jacket when you were cold, split his food with you.
Small gestures that meant the world to you.
You were standing in the precinct parking lot after another long shift. The air was heavy with the smell of impending rain, thick and warm with the kind of tension that mirrored what had been building between the two of you for days. Weeks, maybe.
Tim had lingered after debrief. You’d pretended to be finishing paperwork on the hood of the cruiser, but you weren’t fooling either of you. He leaned against the passenger side door, watching you quietly.
Finally, you looked up.
“What?” you asked with a small smile. “You gonna critique my penmanship now?”
His lips twitched. “You write like you talk. Loopy.”
“You mean pretty.”
“I mean chaotic.”
You rolled your eyes and closed the folder. The sky above you rumbled, soft thunder echoing in the distance.
“You sticking around for a reason boot?” you asked, more gently this time.
Tim didn’t answer at first. His gaze was unreadable, guarded, like he was working through something in his head and didn’t trust himself to say it yet. You knew that look now. You’d come to know it too well.
You let the silence stretch, gave him the space.
He stepped forward.
“Back there,” he started, “during the foot chase… you looked over your shoulder. Right after I went over the fence.”
You blinked. “Okay…?”
“You looked for me,” he said, voice low. “You could’ve kept going, but you didn’t.”
You shrugged, trying to keep it light. “Well, I didn’t want to explain to Sergeant Grey how I lost my grumpy new partner in a foot pursuit.”
He didn’t smile.
“You worry about me.”
The words weren’t accusatory. They were soft. Surprised. Vulnerable.
You swallowed. “Of course I do.”
“Why?”
You hesitated.
“Because I care about you, Tim.”
He stared at you like he was seeing you for the first time. Rain started to fall in lazy drops, dotting the pavement around your boots. A droplet landed on your cheek, slid down like a tear.
Tim stepped closer.
“I thought I was imagining it,” he said. “Thought there was no way someone like you could feel anything for someone like me.”
You opened your mouth, but he cut you off.
“You’re… light,” he said, like it hurt. “You smile at strangers. You remember how I take my coffee. You hum in the car. You don’t treat people like problems to solve.”
“I’m not perfect you know?,” you laughed.
“I know. But you feel perfect. And I—” He exhaled sharply, eyes searching yours. “I’ve been through some stuff. Stuff that made me believe people like you don’t end up with people like me. That I don’t get to have this.”
You stepped even closer, until there was barely any space between you, until the rain was falling heavier and soaking into your clothes, your hair, and neither of you cared.
“Don’t you get it?” you said, voice thick. “I like you. And for what it’s worth I think you like me too, I think that I bring something to your days that you’ve never known until now.”
His breath caught.
Then he said, very quietly: “Do you love me?”
You felt your heart stop and stutter in your chest. It was too soon. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it had been coming since day one.
You didn’t flinch.
“I’m getting there,” you said, honest and certain. “Every day, I get closer.”
Tim looked like you’d knocked the wind out of him.
And then he kissed you.
It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hard. It was steady. Reverent. His hands found your face, fingers curling gently at your jaw as his lips pressed against yours like he’d been thinking about this for weeks—because he had.
You leaned into it, fingers gripping the front of his uniform, kissing him back like you were afraid you’d wake up and find it had never happened.
When he finally pulled away, rain dripping from his lashes, he rested his forehead against yours.
“I’ve wanted to do that since day two,” he admitted.
“Why not day one?”
“You scared the hell out of me.”
You laughed, breathless.
“Still do, a little,” he added.
You kissed his cheek and whispered, “You’ll survive.”
“Promise?”
You nodded. “I’m not going anywhere.”
His smile was small, but real.
And when he tucked a strand of wet hair behind your ear, the storm around you didn’t feel nearly as loud.
