You Know I Love You

All The Reasons We Can't

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (Lucy's roommate)

Summary: When you move in with Lucy Chen, you don't expect to fall for her ex-boyfriend.

Warnings: unspecified age gap (r is younger than Lucy), angst, fluff, spoilers for s6! (it's canon-divergent but still has spoilers)

Word Count: 2.6k+ words

A/N: If you are looking for a happy ending for Lucy and Tim, this is not the fic for you lol.😆

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Lucy!” you call, waving from your seat in the back of the restaurant.

She rushes to you and pulls you into a tight hug. “Thank you so much for coming,” she whispers into your embrace. “I needed this.”

“You’re my best friend, Lucy, I’ll always be here for you.”

Lucy nods as she releases you. You take the seat beside her rather than across from her. She’s dealing with a lot, and you know that she needs a friend right now.

“So, how long are you staying in town this time?” Lucy asks as she picks up the menu.

“Uh, about that,” you begin slowly. “I was thinking I’d just stay this time. You’re here, a lot of other things I love are here, and I just- I think it’s time to stay in LA for good.”

“You’re moving?” Lucy exclaims. “Please don’t be kidding, I can’t take that right now, girl.”

“I’m serious,” you promise her. “I’ve been looking for a new job and a place. Lucy, I want to be close to you; I need you in my life all the time, too.”

“It’s been too long,” Lucy agrees as she takes your hand. “I do have an idea though.”

You hum, inviting her to share, and her smile grows.

“Why don’t you move in with me? Tamara moved out, so I have the room. Even if it’s just temporary until you find your own space, I’d love to be roommates.”

“Are you sure? That’s a lot of change, Luce, and I don’t want to get in the way of you processing everything.”

“I’m really sure.”

“Then, yeah, I’d love that, Lucy.”

Lucy squeals, drawing the attention of an older couple sitting across from you. You wave awkwardly before they look away, then laugh with Lucy. Moving in with her sounds perfect and being right there for each other is part of why you decided to move.

“Hello,” you greet when Lucy returns from work. “Dinner is in the oven.”

“You’re the best friend ever,” Lucy sighs. “Where have you been all my life?”

“Wasting time until we met online mostly,” you answer. “How was today?”

“It was- uh, it was better. Tim and I still have a lot of work to do, mostly on ourselves. We’re going to try to be friends, though, because there’s no way either of us could ever just go back.”

“I get that. Being friends will be good for you, Lucy, even if it’s hard. Especially since you have to see him every day.”

“Yeah, it’s just still hard. Really hard sometimes, to wake up and remember he’s not there.”

You pull Lucy into a hug, which she gladly accepts. The oven timer dings, and you release her with a smile and an apology to finish preparing dinner.

“What would make it better?” you ask. “I know you’ve been thinking about it.”

“Honestly, I know I’m not ready to get out there yet, but I think seeing Tim with someone else – even just platonically – could help. He deserves it, too. For everything that he did and didn’t do, he’s a great guy, and he needs a friend or two that he can be himself with. Or does that sound selfish, like I’m trying to push him away to forget?”

“It doesn’t sound selfish at all, Lucy. You want the best for him, and if he’s trying to be friends, it seems like he wants that for you, too.”

“Yeah.” Lucy taps her fingers on the counter.

“I’ll get you a sign for the door,” you joke, trying to make her smile. “Lucy Chen, Platonic Matchmaker.”

It works, and Lucy smiles as you slide two plates onto the counter. She’s your best friend, and if she thinks Tim Bradford needs a friend (even after breaking her heart), then you trust she’s right.

“Hi,” Tim greets softly when the elevator opens.

Lucy nods once in greeting as she steps inside. “Good morning.”

Tim presses his lips together in the awkward silence. He knows he made the right choice by letting her go to get the better things she deserves, but it doesn’t make this part easier. “Big plans this weekend?”

“Not really,” Lucy replies. “My roommate is making me dinner tomorrow night and we’re just going to hang out, I think. Tamara and some other friends are coming over this weekend.”

“That’s good. You got a new roommate already?”

“I did. A friend I met a few years ago moved here, so…”

“Nice.”

“Yeah.” The door opens and Lucy steps forward. “Plus, she knows every little thing there is to know about me and you.”

Tim’s eyes widen and Lucy laughs as the elevator door closes behind her. Shaking his head, Tim smiles because Lucy looks happy again. His phone buzzes with another reminder about her cop-iversary, a term she coined to celebrate the anniversary of when she graduated to short sleeves. It’s the first year he hasn’t celebrated with her, but he’s still celebrating for her.

On the day of Lucy’s cop-iversary, you wake up early to surprise her with her favorite breakfast. When you have the food done and decorated for her big day, you realize that she should be awake by now. You walk to her bedroom door and knock lightly.

“It’s open,” Lucy calls from inside.

Gently pushing the door open, you see her finishing her hair. With the last clip in place, she sighs and looks at you. Her eyes are bloodshot, she looks tired, and there’s no sign of excitement for her big day.

“What happened?” you inquire.

“Yesterday was awful. A cop got shot, and I got roped into an undercover thing that almost blew up in my face… I’m just stressed and tired, I think. Everything’s piling on, you know?”

You extend your arms toward her, and Lucy hugs you tightly.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “What is that amazing smell?”

“That’s your cop-iversary breakfast. Go eat, I’ll tidy up in here for you.”

“I love you,” Lucy sighs. “You’re the best person, friend, roommate, human, ever.”

“Back at ya,” you reply happily. “Now go before you run out of time.”

Lucy presses her hands together in another silent thanks as she walks backward out of her room. If she hadn’t told you about the rough day yesterday, her room would have. There are some clothes spread around on the bed and floor, her desk is disorganized, and there’s an overflowing backpack shoved in the corner. Her go bag, you realize. You pick a place at the back of the room and begin gathering the loose items; it’s the least you can do for your best friend.

In the kitchen, Lucy takes a bite of food and closes her eyes in appreciation. Before she can continue eating, someone knocks on the door. As she stands, she grabs a piece of food from the edge of her plate and pops it in her mouth on the short walk to the door.

“Kojo!” she squeals.

She drops to her knees without greeting Tim, opting to welcome Kojo into the apartment rather than the man who brought him over. Lucy takes the leash from Tim and leads Kojo to the couch.

“Can I come in?” Tim asks from the hall.

“Yeah,” Lucy answers, not looking away from Kojo. “What are you two doing here?”

“Heard about yesterday,” Tim says as he closes the door. “Thought you might want some Kojo comfort.”

“Kojo comfort is my favorite.”

“Happy cop-iversary.”

You survey Lucy’s room once you’re finished. With a satisfied nod, you turn toward her door. As you open it, you realize that Lucy has company.

“Sorry,” you say softly as the man looks toward you.

You recognize Tim Bradford from Lucy’s description of him and the pictures she refuses to delete. Now that they’re friends, it’s fine, but you didn’t approve of the folder while she was lying awake every night.

“I’m just gonna…” you trail off and walk toward your room.

“No, you can stay,” Lucy says. “You live here, too. This is Tim. Kojo and I will be right back.”

Lucy stands, and Kojo follows quickly behind her. She gathers her plate from the counter before she and Kojo disappear into her room and the door closes behind them.

“Hi,” you tell Tim. You remember that Lucy never actually said your name and offer it.

“Nice to meet you. And glad to see Lucy got a good roommate,” Tim replies.

You nod and look toward her door before you drop your voice to say, “Thank you. Lucy told me how you’re trying to do everything right after the breakup. Friends and all that. Plus, she needed to see Kojo today.”

“It is quite literally the least I can do,” Tim replies.

“I disagree. You seem like a great guy, Tim, and the fact that you’re trying at all means a lot. To me, at least.”

Tim isn’t sure how to respond to that. He blames himself for so much of what has happened recently, yet as he stands here with you, that guilt and the memories fade. He just wants to know about you.

“So, you and Lucy have been friends for a while?” he asks.

“Long-distance friends. We met online and then ran into each other in person a while back. Everything just kind of fit between us.”

You’re taking up every thought in Tim’s head, he realizes. Even as you’re talking, he wants to know more, to know you. But then a small voice in him points out that you’re young. Whatever it is he’s feeling doesn’t matter; you’re younger than him, younger than Lucy, and there’s no way you’d be interested in him. The realization fails to silence the other voice that whispers about how he feels alive, like himself again.

“How are you?” you ask. “Not just like how are you, I mean. Uhm… How are you doing with everything?”

The whispering voice rises to a yell. Tim’s heart knows exactly what it wants. Back to life in his chest, Tim acknowledges its cry that he needs you. Tim Bradford has feelings for Lucy’s younger roommate.

“I’m sorry if that’s overstepping your boundaries,” you add when Tim doesn’t answer. “It’s just that Lucy had me, Tamara, plenty of people to talk to after the breakup. From what she’s told me, you may not have had that same community to help you.”

“I don’t,” Tim agrees. His heart hammers in his chest as he wishes he could come home to you and your arms, where nothing else would matter.

“I’m sorry.”

He shrugs half-heartedly and offers a small smile. You see right through them to the sadness and guilt beneath. Living with Lucy has accustomed you to touch and physical affection, and you don’t think twice before you hug him.

Your arms wrap over his shoulders, and the brief moment where you think he will pull away ends when his strong arms tighten around your waist. He drops his face to your shoulder and holds you tighter as he clings to you. You feel it, and Tim does too, as he melts in your arms and releases the baggage he’s been carrying for far too long.

“You have people now,” you whisper.

Tim nods against you and raises one arm toward your shoulder to deepen the hug before he pulls away.

“Do you have your phone?” you ask, your hand still on his arm. “I can give you my number so you can call or text any time you want.”

Tim passes you his phone and watches your eyes as you type your contact information. As you place it back in his hand, you repeat your invitation.

“Anything you need, just to talk or listen, I’m here, Tim.”

“Thank you,” Tim replies. He holds your eyes for a moment then asks, “Is Lucy going to give Kojo back?”

You tilt your head back and laugh, and Tim smiles at the sight and the melodious noise. “Nope,” you answer.

“Maybe I should take her roommate to get even,” Tim jokes.

You smile at him as you shake your head. “Take a seat, she’ll be a while. There’s plenty of food, too, so help yourself.”

Tim happily takes a seat, more than willing to pass the time with you while Lucy gets comforted by Kojo. The minutes pass quickly as you and Tim get to know each other. When Lucy’s door opens again, Kojo trots to Tim’s side and Lucy calls that she’s just getting her stuff and she’ll be ready.

“Great, I’m a chauffeur now,” Tim grumbles.

“Tim, you should come over more often,” you suggest. “Only if you’re comfortable with that, of course. I think it would be good for all of us, though.”

You pat Kojo’s head as Tim promises, “I will. And if you ever want to come to my place or meet somewhere, you have my number.”

Lucy emerges before you can answer Tim, and she hugs you tightly to thank you for the cop-iversary present. She tells Tim he’s free to go, to which he rolls his eyes but leaves anyway. You know that you’ll be texting him soon.

“You hugged Tim,” Lucy accuses after he leaves.

“What?” you ask, turning back toward her after watching Tim leave.

“I’m not mad. You’re really good for him.”

“Lucy, I promise it was not my intention to-“

“I know,” she assures, reaching for your hand. “But Tim and I are friends, he clearly likes you… If you want to try, I’m rooting for you.”

“Thanks.”

She picks up her bag and steps toward the door. “You didn’t ask how I knew you hugged him.”

“Cologne?” you guess.

“Happiness. I saw it on him too, and it’s been a very long time since it was that obvious.”

After she leaves, you unlock your phone and see that Tim has already sent you a text. With his comments and Lucy’s approval, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t pursue whatever it is that’s blooming between you.

“Thanks for the hug and the talk,” you read. You smile as you type a reply: Meet at my favorite restaurant on Friday for more?

The message says ‘delivered’ then ‘read,’ but there’s no reply. A minute passes and you lock your phone. Maybe you misread everything, and he really did just need a hug, and now he’s done. You try to shake it out of your head and begin to clean the kitchen. You’re nearly done when your phone rings.

“Hello?” you answer as you dry your hands.

“Why?” Tim asks.

“Hmm?”

“I’m older than you,” Tim points out. “And I dated your roommate and then dumped your roommate. I kept secrets and lied and nearly lost my job. There are more reasons than I can count that this wouldn’t work.”

“I know you’re older than me. And I don’t care. Tim, for all of the reasons you just told me that this- that we wouldn’t work, did you think of any reasons we would?”

Tim exhales before he admits, “No.”

“Then I’ll see you Friday, because both of our hearts already know, and for every reason that your brain tells you no, my heart is telling me yes. If yours isn’t, tell me now and we walk away.”

“Mine is too,” Tim whispers.

“Good.” You smile as you say, “Hey, can you get the early bird special, so our first date is cheaper?”

“What do you care? You’re not paying,” Tim replies, an addictive, teasing lilt in his voice.

“I’m glad you came over today, Tim. I needed that hug, too.”

“See you on Friday for more.”

If the Bun's as Sweet as You

Part 2 of Sweet as You

Pairing: David "Deacon" Kay x pregnant!wife!baker!reader

Summary: After you find out you're pregnant, you try to use baking jokes to tell Deacon. Unfortunately, he isn't the first to understand you.

Warnings: fluff!! Street and Hondo. r is implied to have an irregular cycle?

Word Count: 1.6k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

Masterlist Directory | Deacon Kay Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

A/N: I swear I could look at his smile forever. An extra special thanks to @elephants-bubbles-brachosauruses for the amazing ideas about using "bun in the oven" and Deac being oblivious!

In your bakery’s kitchen, you sit and press the back of your hand against your mouth. The last week or so, you have been nauseous, and emotional, and the smells you once found mouthwateringly amazing are now causing your stomach to churn.

“What are you making, boss?” your employee Tristan asks. “Smells amazing.”

You increase the pressure of your hand against your mouth while fighting the urge to throw up. It hits you then: you might be pregnant. What other explanation exists for a sudden sensitivity to certain smells and tastes, plus the morning sickness that has been pulling you out of bed even before Deacon wakes?

“Tristan, I need you to take over,” you say quickly. “I have a quick errand to run, and it may turn into a personal day.”

“Sure thing. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. There’s lemon snaps in the oven and cheesecake filling setting in the fridge. Schedule’s on the board, call if you need anything.”

“Of course. Don’t worry about anything, just take care of you.”

You nod in thanks, then hang your apron on its designated hook before gathering your things. There’s a pharmacy just a few blocks away, but you want to take the tests at home rather than in a public restroom.

In less than an hour, you have five tests waiting on your bathroom sink as you sit on the edge of the tub and watch your leg bounce with the timer on your phone. When it dings, you exhale before you stand. You don’t have time to wonder how you’ll feel if they’re negative before you see two pink lines. Then, a plus sign. And a digital message reading ‘Pregnant 3+.’ Every test is positive.

You smile as you gather the tests and place them in a box below the sink. Telling Deacon has to be special, but you don’t want to wait. A baker joke, you think as you prepare to return to the bakery. It will be perfect.

Your stop at the bakery is quick; you ensure Tristan and the rest of your staff are doing well, then gather an assortment of treats. You ensure that Deacon and his team’s known favorites are included before you leave for HQ.  Since marrying Deacon, you’ve been welcomed into their station more times than you can count, and they’re family to you.

“Wait,” Deacon says, dropping his guard.

“For what?” Street asks as he steps back.

“See how he perked up like a dog?” Luca points out.

“Uh, yeah.”

Hondo interrupts to explain, “That means his wife is incoming. I’d say in about, three… two…”

“Mrs. Kay!” Rocker yells around the corner.

“I’m getting pretty good at that, Deac!” Hondo brags. “Watch your back, my man.”

“Hi, guys!” you greet as you round the corner.

Rocker is carrying the boxes for you now, and Deacon’s team can’t decide whether to look at you or the baked goods you brought them.

“Dig in, they’re still warm,” you say.

Luca, Hondo, and Street tap your arm gently in thanks as they follow Rocker to a nearby table. Deacon smiles as he exits the ring and walks to your side.

“I missed you,” you murmur as he pulls you into a quick hug.

“Missed you too,” Deacon agrees. “I didn’t get to see you for long this morning. Are you feeling better?”

You nod, remembering that a few hours ago, you were sick but didn’t know why. Now, you press your hand against your thigh to keep it from resting on your nonexistent baby bump.

“I brought your favorite again,” you tell Deacon. “I’ve been thinking that I could use that flavor in some other kind of recipe, maybe make it a bit savory somehow.”

“Anything you make will be amazing.”

“Like you?” you ask, smiling as you lean against his side.

“Like you.” Deacon keeps his arm around your waist and drops his chin to kiss you quickly. He looks at the open boxes and says, “You brought more today.”

“I made a ton,” you agree. Then, you smile as you add, “Plus, there’s a bun in the oven.”

Deacon’s brows furrow, but his smile never drops as he asks, “Just one? That’s a terrible business plan.”

You laugh, caught off guard by how easily your pregnancy announcement went over his head. Deacon has been incredibly attuned to you and your needs since long before you were married. Yet, when you tell him you’re pregnant, he thinks you’re talking about your bakery.

“I’m going to go get some before it’s all gone,” Deacon whispers, carefully removing his arm from around you.

“Enjoy,” you murmur, shaking your head in amusement.

“The weekly visits may have been a terrible idea,” Deacon announces when he returns home after his shift. “It’s just enough time to make me want you around more.”

“I’m sure Hondo feels the same,” you agree.

“What are you up to?”

Deacon wraps his arms around your waist and drops his chin to your shoulder, pressing a kiss against your neck. You lean against him and set your pen aside, the beginnings of a new recipe jotted down in your favorite recipe binder.

“I started baking a new recipe,” you begin carefully, “but it won’t be ready for 8 months, give or take.”

Deacon hums, then asks, “How do you get your recipes so perfect? Besides being brilliant and all the time you put in?”

You close your eyes, smile, and drop your head against his shoulder. Deacon is smart, but it seems he’s entirely oblivious when it comes to a baby.

“Mostly time, trial and error,” you answer. “Which hopefully only applies to baking and not making other things.”

“Are you going to work tomorrow?” Deacon asks.

“No. Why? Did you get called in?”

“You’re stuck with me.”

You hum and decide to try a more direct approach. “I promise that if I jump out of bed and run to the bathroom to be sick, it’s not because of you,” you joke. “The bun in my oven just doesn’t seem to like mornings.”

Deacon nods against you before he steps back and offers to make dinner. You consider showing him the positive tests, but now you want to see how long it will take for Deacon to realize what you’ve been trying to tell him all day.

Forty-eight hours after learning that you are expecting a baby with your husband, Deacon, he has yet to catch on to a single one of your hints. You’ve tried every version of the ‘bun in the oven’ line, mentioned that you shouldn’t have rum cake, made jokes about your morning sickness, and even pointed out that being a baker is the perfect occupation to make it easier to eat for two. Deacon Kay is oblivious, you’ve discovered.

So, to get your mind off the dilemma of how to tell your husband without just blurting out I’m pregnant, you’ve taken to experimenting in the kitchen. When the third batch of your sweet and savory cookie crisps is finished, you carry the tray around the bakery and ask for your employees’ opinions. After six of them give you a thumbs up and one admits that she doesn’t like crunchy cookies, you package the new item and wave goodbye to your kitchen assistant.

You’re going over your weekly visit to SWAT HQ, but you don’t care. As you walk in, you hear Deacon talking.

“Hello, beautiful,” Hondo calls. “I finally beat Deacon to you.”

“Not by much,” Deacon points out as he walks to your side. “Whoa, what are those?”

“They don’t have a name yet,” you answer, passing the box to him. “They’re a twist on a savory chocolate chip cookie crisp.”

“I’m sorry,” Hondo tells you, laying his hand on your shoulder. “Your husband was distracted by the cookies. How are you feeling?”

Deacon rolls his eyes and passes the box of cookies to Street.

“How did you come up with this recipe?” Luca inquires.

You decide that now, surrounded by your friends, is as good a time as any to try one more time.

“I think the bun in the oven is making me a better baker,” you admit.

The men around you freeze, and everything is silent for several seconds.

“Congratulations!” Luca exclaims, hugging you tightly.

Hondo points at you with a bright smile and says, “You can’t give me that look when I call you Mama now!”

“Oh my gosh,” Street murmurs, reaching toward your stomach. “Can we call them Cookie?”

You laugh and say, “Sounds like I’m bloated, but sure.”

“What?” Deacon asks slowly. When you look back at him, his eyes are wide, and his brows are raised high on his forehead. “What?” he repeats.

“I’ve been telling you for two days, Deacon!”

“No, you haven’t!”

You smile and take Deacon’s hand. “You’re way too pretty to be this oblivious.”

“Hey, if pretty’s all you’re after,” Hondo interjects, shrugging as he raises a cookie toward his mouth.

“Back off,” Deacon chides playfully. He looks at you and asks, “You’re pregnant?”

You smile and nod as you raise your hands to his shoulders. “You’re going to be a dad, Sergeant Kay.”

Deacon’s eyes brighten as he smiles. Then, his smile drops long enough for him to mumble, “Oh.”

“You just caught on to everything I’ve been saying,” you accuse.

Deacon kisses you rather than admitting you’re right but pulls back quickly when Street asks, “Hey, can I be the godfather?”

“Over my dead body,” Hondo answers lowly.

“I feel like we’re interrupting something,” you whisper to Deacon.

“I love you,” Deacon replies.

“I love you, too. And if this baby is anywhere near as sweet as you, everyone here is going to love them, too.”

“We'll love Cookie, you mean,” Street calls.

Lonely Christmas

hot cocoa bar celebration🧤❄️🎄 | requested here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!Army vet!cop!reader

Summary: During a Christmas Eve night shift with Tim Bradford, you glimpse what is behind his tough exterior.

Warnings/Word Count: vague depictions of veteran-specific depression, brief angst, Tim yells at r, fluff and comfort. 1.1k+ words

A/N: This is a dynamic (Tim with a partner who was also in the Army) that I've had on my mind for a while. While this is a really fast-paced blurb-like fic specific to Christmas, I'd really love to write more of this pairing if anyone is interested. Sorry for the short length but I really wanted to get it done before Christmas Eve🫶🏼

Working the night shift on Christmas Eve feels like the opposite of a Christmas miracle. The long night is made worse when you’re partnered with Tim Bradford. He’s had something against you since you joined the department after leaving the Army. Though you’ve never spent more than a few hours with Mid-Wilshire’s grumpiest officer, you know he doesn’t like you, so you decide to stay quiet and obedient to make Santa’s job – and your own – a little easier tonight.

“Merry Christmas,” you greet as you enter the passenger seat of Tim’s shop.

Tim huffs, and you set a small treat bag of cookies from a nearby bakery in the console without a word.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“Is Christmas Eve usually hectic?” you inquire.

“Depends on the year. Based on the last few weeks, I’d say it’ll keep us busy.”

You nod, then inquire, “Any plans for Christmas tomorrow?”

“Nope. Heads up, grey Challenger.”

“I’ll run the plate,” you offer, secretly wishing you were in a sleigh rather than a shop.

“VA Hospital reported a disturbance,” dispatch radios. “Two armed men forced their way into a room and have barricaded themselves in with equipment.”

“Responding,” Tim replies. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” you inquire softly.

“Try to twist this into some merry Christmas thing. We’re vets, we know there are plenty of people like us spending the holidays alone, grieving for those we’ve lost, and I don’t need you to make this specific slice of reality any harder than it already is,” Tim snaps. “So, let’s deal with this call like it’s not Christmas and move on.”

As your shift comes to an end, with the brutal reminder that lonely people go to extremes even during the holidays and several emotional bruises from Tim snapping at you more than often, you try to remind him that he is not alone. Over the last few years, you’ve learned to take Tim’s attitude and swings from helpful superior to the short-tempered Bradford the station knows him as in stride.

Walking through the station to return to your lonely home, you’re surprised to hear Tim call your name. You turn to face him, and he pulls his backpack strap tighter against his shoulder. It’s nearing midnight, almost Christmas, and you’re expecting one more reprimand to conclude the all-but-perfect night shift.

“Do you want to come over for dinner?” he offers. “My sister dropped off a casserole this afternoon.”

“Dinner at midnight?” you clarify with a grin. “I’d love to. Only if you’re sure, I don’t want to impose on you on Christmas.”

“I’m free for the next few hours.”

You follow Tim out of the station and tip your head in thanks after he opens the passenger door of his truck for you. The ride to his house is quiet, only the low humming of instrumental Christmas music filling the space as Tim navigates the quiet (for once) streets of Los Angeles.

“What are you doing for Christmas?” you ask as you enter his home.

“Going to visit my sister and nephews for lunch and gifts,” he replies. “You?”

“I’ve got a few people to see.”

Tim nods and begins preparing the food. You start to speak simultaneously, and your expression of gratitude is cut short when you smile. “Go ahead,” you murmur.

“I wanted to apologize for earlier,” Tim begins. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you about the vet in the hospital. It just… it reminded me of one of the guys in my last unit. Seeing people like us struggling around the holidays is hard, but you know that, and I had no excuse to yell at you like that. So, I’m sorry.”

“I do know that, but I can also understand that your response is valid. I probably would have overstepped, and honestly I’d rather you yell at me before I can do something that pushes you away rather than letting me do it and suffer the consequences.”

Tim’s brows pinch as he asks, “And what do you think the consequences would be?”

“Let’s just say I would hate to end up on the Bradford Naughty List.”

Tim’s face shifts into a smile as he shakes his head, and you grin at him before offering to get plates for dinner.

Something shifts beneath your cheek, pulling you from a peaceful slumber. You don’t sleep well most nights, and for a moment, you think Christmas magic lulled you to sleep. Then you realize that the fabric under your face looks awfully familiar. Sitting up, you press your lips together as you watch Tim blink and look at you. You remember eating dinner side-by-side and watching a rerun of It’s a Wonderful Life. You had no intention of falling asleep together, or in his house, for that matter.

“You look your cutest like this,” Tim rumbles, his voice thick with sleep and concerningly unfiltered.

“But I just woke up,” you argue.

Tim nods, his full attention on you, and states, “I know what I said.”

“I- I should probably go. You have your family to visit. Merry Christmas, Tim, and thanks again for dinner.”

While you gather your things, Tim watches your movements from the couch.

“Why do you care so much?” he asks.

“About what?” you ask, looking up from your bag.

“Me, people… You tried to make last night feel like Christmas. Why?”

You shrug. “Everyone deserves some magic, and there’s no better time than Christmas. And, as for you… I have an idea of what it’s like. I do know that it’s not easy, and though I can’t imagine what you’ve dealt with specifically, you haven’t let it keep you from seeing the good in people. Even if you don’t let on that you do.”

“I see the bad too.”

“Job hazard. Despite seeing that bad side, you still let people close. That’s why I care about you, because you’re a good person.” Tim opens his mouth again, and you add, “That last point was objective, it’s not up for debate.”

“Do you want to stay?” Tim asks after a moment. “You shouldn’t be alone on Christmas, either.”

“Your family,” you remind him.

“I’m sure they have an extra plate,” Tim teases.

You gesture to your outfit and slept-on hair, but Tim stands and lays his hands on your shoulders.

“I already said you look your cutest like this.”

“Thought you were incoherent and half-asleep.”

“But don’t I see the good in people?”

Your head falls back as you groan. Tim offers to drive you home to let you get ready, and you realize that you wouldn’t mind spending Christmas with him and his family. Even if he yells at you and calls you cute mere hours apart. It’s part of his Tim Bradford charm.

It's Always The Nice Ones

Kinktober Fic: Clark discovers his girlfriend's tumblr.

Warnings/Kinks: Warnings/Kinks: Stomach Bulge, Spanking, Size Difference, Non consensual Recording (is this a bit self indulgent? yes, yes it is. thank you for noticing!)

Word Count: 1.5k

Y/N kicked off her shoes as she entered her and her boyfriend's shared loft. It was a little expensive but the two of them made it work. That was Clark. Sweet, wonderful, and understanding Clark. Y/N loved him with all her heart. There wasn't a thing she would change about him. Well, maybe one thing. Don't get her wrong, he would always leave her satisfied but sometimes Y/N would still want more than what he gave her.

"So the Jamaican place was out of what you usually get so I got you what I get. Kinda works out anyway since you love to steal my jerk chicken," She called out to him as she walked into the kitchen. She was expecting to find him lounging on the couch while watching his favorite fall movie. She was pleasantly surprised to see him leaning against the kitchen counter with his glasses sitting on top of his head.

"What's this?" Clark asked, gesturing to Y/N's laptop. Her laptop was open and the current screen was the homepage of Y/N's Tumblr.

"My laptop? Clark, why do you have my laptop?" Y/N was a little scared. Her Tumblr was her sacred place. It's where her thoughts went to live and she didn't have to be as tame as a real person.

"Mine was dead so I thought I'd borrow yours. Could you imagine my surprise when I found out that my sweet girlfriend writes the most obscene 'smut' on the internet," He said smut in quotation marks. His blue eyes were trained on Y/N. Clark was normally a gentle giant with her but as he approached her, his energy was different. For the first time in their relationship, Y/N felt small. Now Clark being a 6'5 alien was a constant reminder in their relationship but he had never done anything that made her feel small and delicate.

"Clark, I can explain. There like fantasies," She said looking up at her boyfriend and placing her bags on the counter. She could feel the heat rise to her brown cheeks and warmth pooled into the bottom of her stomach. This wasn't fear, but rather horniness. 

"I had been gentle with you because I was afraid I might hurt you. Turns out you want to be hurt," Clark leaned down to whisper this in her ear. Y/N's insides practically melted. 

"Baby, I-" Y/N was going to explain herself but Clark interrupted her by placing a finger to her lips.

"Hush now. I want you to go upstairs and strip. You'll have to be punished for deceiving me. Don't worry, I'll go gentle on you the first time," Y/N's heart was racing and Clark could hear it.

"Clark," Y/N tried to justify herself once more. She couldn't find the exact words that she wanted to say. 

"Upstairs," Clark said sternly and he had dropped his smile. He looked serious.

"Okay," Y/N said stepping away from her giant boyfriend. She quickly found their bedroom and stripped out of her clothing for the day. She sat on the bed anxiously. At first, she was scared but then she found herself to be excited at the sound of the heavy footsteps of Clark as he walked up the stairs. Unbeknownst to her, Clark had placed a small camera he had borrowed from Bruce in the bedroom and it was almost impossible for the untrained eye to spot.

"Imagine my surprise when I found out that my sweet girlfriend wants to be fucked like a desperate whore and writing about it online. To think that I've been holding back. Get on your hands and knees," Y/N did as she was told, not wanting to make the situation worse. 

"Let's see. You've deceived me and then tried to cover it up. I think that's worth ten spankings," Clark spoke as he took in the stalk of his girlfriend's body. He looked at every curve, stretchmark, and scar lovingly but once again, Y/N felt small. Clark's cool hands rubbed her ass almost tenderly. 

"Spankings?" Y/N repeated, almost tripping over the word. When she had written it, she had never thought that it was going to happen to her. The idea that it was going to happen to her awoke something in her deeply.

"That's what you wrote about, isn't it? You dreamt of a moment like this," Clark said knowingly. He could always read her like a book to the point that she used to think one of his powers was telepathy. 

"If at any point it's too much, you can tell me and I'll stop okay?" There was a glimpse of the sweet Clark that she knew. 

"Okay," She nodded as she spoke. 

"Great, now count," Once again, his features darkened and it was like a different man was speaking to her. This didn't look like the man who made love but rather a man who fucks. 

"One!" She said after his hand collided with her ass. Clark grinned at the sight of the recoil of her ass. He wasn't using his superstrength, of course, but a small part of him enjoyed these actions. Y/N continued to count, her ass stinging with every spank. She almost gave out from the pain but she stayed strong even as tears began to run down her face. Clark was just hoping that the camera caught this angle. 

"See there's my pretty girl. You feeling okay?" Clark said tilting her jaw up after he had finished. He wiped her tears away with his thumb.

"Mhm," She said as her eyes stopped welling with tears. 

"Look at you. You're dripping just from a spanking. Roll over," Clark began to toy with the folds of her pussy while she was now laying on her back. Y/N spread her legs on instinct and Clark enjoyed the sight.

"So good at taking orders," He remarked as he kneeled between her legs. He pulled her waist to the edge of the bed and used his hands to pin her down. Her size didn't matter because he knew he had the strength to hold her down.

Now, eating Y/N out was one of Clark's favorite pastimes. He could do it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. He loved to have her wetness smeared all over his face like it was now. Hearing her moans did something to him but he preferred to listen to her heart rate as she got closer and closer to her peak. His tongue toyed with her clit while his fingers took long strokes in and out of her. 

"Clark, I'm close, please," Clark simply chuckled as Y/N spoke those words. He pulled his mouth away from her and removed his fingers.

"Wait, why'd you stop?" Y/N said a little upset from her ruined orgasm. She was quickly satiated when Clark replaced his fingers with his dick. She didn't even hear him unbuckle his pants. Clark normally liked to take his time with Y/N and allow her to adjust to his length. Hell, he had spent months just training her to be able to take all of it but now all of that was gone at the window as he pounded into her with fullness. 

Y/N thought she was seeing stars as she moaned out from the deep strokes she was receiving. The stinging of her ass couldn't be felt from the pleasure Clark was giving her. The sound of the headboard hitting the wall was the only thing grounding Y/N to reality. She was sure there were dents in the wall but that would be tomorrow's problem. Well, if she could walk, it would be. 

Clark was having the time of his life. He could see the faint outline of his cock from Y/N's stomach and began to move harder. Once the outline was much more prominent and pressed his hand to her stomach. Both of them cried out from the new sensation. Clark's cheeks had turned a bright red and his glasses managed to get across the room. He had regretted not doing this earlier.  

Y/N's pussy began to spasm with Clark's dick still inside and soon after he finished inside of her. His strokes slowed until he fully pulled out of her. Y/N's legs were tingly and her breaths were deep. Clark kissed her cheek and congratulated her for doing so well before disappearing into the bathroom. Y/N almost felt like she had just cosplayed a Twinkie. 

"I'm gonna clean you up and then put this cream on your bum," He said with a warm damp towel in one hand and some sort of numbing cream in the other. 

"Clark, sweetheart, you just fucked the living daylights out of me, you can say ass," She said while he cleaned between her thighs. Her hands found his hair and he simply had a dopey grin on his face. After he was finished, he discretely grabbed the hidden camera and put it somewhere safe for now. Just because he knew Y/N's kinks, didn't mean she needed to know his, not yet, at least. 

Clark gave Y/N one of his T-shirts and brought up the food from earlier. She leaned on his shoulder as the two ate in bed. She wondered what other boundaries she could push Clark to now that he knew her darkest fantasies. 

The People You Deserve

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

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

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

Word Count: 3.9k+ words

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

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

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

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

“Did she tell you anything?” he demands.

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

“My rookie!”

Tim releases Lucy’s arm before he steps back.

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

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

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

“She seems fine,” Lucy says.

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

“Sorry for grabbing you,” Tim tells Lucy.

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

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

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

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

“And I’ll never let you forget it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sir,” you begin.

He shakes his head, and you immediately silence.

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Night Before

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go,” you demand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And if I don’t have anybody?”

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

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

“He was getting away,” you reply.

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

“But I didn’t.”

“Not this time.”

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

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

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

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

“Who called?”

“My dad.”

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

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

“He’s called before?” Tim asks.

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

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

“Why?”

“TO’s orders.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

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

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

“Yeah, you could have.”

“Ready?” Angela asks.

“For what?” you inquire.

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

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

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

“Can I invite my boyfriend?” you ask.

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

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

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

“New-ish,” you admit.

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

“What’s his name?” Lucy inquires.

“Fin,” you answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?” Tim asks.

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

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

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

“You know this for sure?” Tim asks.

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

“What?!” Tim demands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“More than anything.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t,” you warn softly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shut up,” Tim says over his shoulder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your parents didn’t show,” he says.

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

“Tell me they at least sent a gift.”

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

“Smitty can beat that,” Tim scoffs.

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

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

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

“You did good,” Tim responds. “Boot.”

The Cook and The Teacher!

Let's pretend The Bear and Abbot Elementary are in the same city.

Another cute interaction between Carmen (Carmy) Berzatto x Abbot Teacher Femreader! Sunshinereader!

Trigger warning: Mentions of the asshole Chef David Fields, some angst and anxiety attacks.

It was late—too late.

Carmy barely registered the walk home, his body moving on autopilot, his mind still tangled in the chaos of the night. The cold air bit at his exposed skin, sharp and unforgiving, but he hardly noticed. The city around him murmured in the background—streetlights flickering, cars humming in the distance, the occasional shout from someone leaving a bar. But it all felt muted, distant, like he was hearing it through water. What lingered instead was the crushing weight of the night pressing against his ribs, a dull and relentless pressure that refused to let up.

Dinner service at The Bear had been a disaster. One of those nights where everything that could go wrong, did. The shipment. Late. So late that it threw off the whole prep schedule. Orders were late. Tickets stacked up like a goddamn mountain, looming over him, mocking him. Then, of course, one of the fryers broke mid-rush. The kitchen had been thick with tension, and every sharp movement edged with frustration. Richie and Sydney had gone at it—again—voices rising over the clatter of pans, cutting through the already fraying nerves of the staff.

And Carmy? He could feel himself unravelling. Patience thinning. Jaw tightening. His fingers curling into fists so hard his nails dug into his palms, but there was no outlet, no way to fix it. And then there was the heat. The noise. The pressure of it all, building and building, squeezing in on him until it felt like the walls were closing in, the suffocating knowledge that he should have done more, been better, made it work. No matter how hard he worked, no matter how many hours he gave to The Bear, it was still just a ticking time bomb of mistakes waiting to happen.

By the time he peeled off his clothes, shoving them into a crumpled pile somewhere near the hamper, his body felt disconnected from his brain. Like his limbs weren’t quite his own—like he was floating just outside of himself, watching everything happen from a few steps away.

His muscles ached, the deep kind of exhaustion that settled in his bones, making every movement feel heavier than it should. His head throbbed in dull, rhythmic pulses, the pressure lingering behind his eyes, threatening to split his skull in two. And his skin—Christ, his skin burned. Still clinging to the heat of the kitchen, to the suffocating weight of the night, to the stench of grease and smoke that no amount of showers ever seemed to fully wash away. It was embedded in him, stitched into his fibers.

And yet, still, he couldn't stop.

His feet carried him toward the kitchen before he even registered the movement, muscle memory taking over where his brain had given up. His fingers found the knob on the stove, twisting it with a practised flick until the flame flared to life, a small but immediate comfort.

A pan. Some oil.

Something simple. Something controllable.

He should be asleep. He knew that. His body screamed for it, his eyes burned from the strain of the day, his hands still bore the small nicks and cuts from rushed knife work. But sleep meant stopping. Stopping meant sitting in silence, letting the weight of the night press down on him again.

And if he let that happen—if he let himself sit in the quiet too long—he knew what would come creeping in.

The doubts. The failures. The voice of the fucking asshole, even now, echoing in his head. You’re too slow. You’re too careless. You’re not enough. You should fucking die.

He cracked the egg, let it hit the pan, and barely noticed the sizzle. His eyes weren’t on the stovetop. They were somewhere else. Somewhere he couldn’t claw his way out of.

His thoughts swirled, a chaotic loop that refused to quiet down. Back to the heat, the noise, the impossible weight pressing against his chest like a tightening vice. He rubbed a hand over his face, fingers pressing hard against his eyes like he could physically wipe the memories away. Exhaled sharply. Tried to shake it off.

Too slow. Too much. Not enough.

His breath came a little too fast, his jaw clenching so tight it ached. Carmy barely noticed the first tendril of smoke curling through the air.

For a second, it didn’t compute.

His eyes followed the lazy drift of grey, sluggish, delayed, like his brain was still playing catch-up. Then— Shit.

The oil. The heat. The flames licking up the edge of the pan. The Déjà vu.

His body moved before his brain fully caught up. Fast. Sharp. Instinct taking over where exhaustion failed him. His hand shot out, killing the burner, while his other grabbed the lid, slamming it down over the flames before they had a chance to spread.

His pulse hammered in his ears. It was small—controlled—just a second of distraction. For a second, he just stood there, staring at the smothered pan, the burnt remnants inside. The acrid smell clung to him, to the walls, to everything. Embedded, like everything else.

Too much.

His feet moved before his brain could process it. He shoved open the door, barely feeling the cool brass of the handle beneath his fingers, stepping outside onto the hallway. The air hit him sharp, cold against his overheated skin. He inhaled deep, sucking in the crispness, trying to force his heartbeat to slow the fuck down.

Ground yourself. Breathe. Breathe.

But it wasn’t working.

Because the moment he lifted his head, he saw you. You were standing in the hallway, just a few feet away. Still. Watching him.

And you knew.

It was written all over your face. The way your brows pulled together, the way your lips parted like you were about to say something but hadn’t yet figured out how.

“Carmy, you okay?” Your voice was too soft—too careful—but somehow, it still cut through him like a blade.

His breath hitched, his pulse still too fast, too erratic, his body caught between the past five minutes and right now. He should say something. Smooth this over. Make it disappear before it became a thing.

“Was nothin’,” he muttered, shaking his head quickly. His voice came out hoarse, frayed at the edges. “Just—just got distracted.”

But you didn’t look convinced.

Your gaze dropped to his hands. The ones still trembling, even as he tried to disguise it, rubbing them against the fabric of his hoodie like that would erase the evidence. You stepped closer, slow, cautious, and it made his skin prickle.

“It doesn’t look fine. And that’s not what I asked,” you murmured, your tone even. Not accusing. Not pushing. Just… knowing.

And fuck, why?

Why did you have to look at him like that? Why did it feel like you were peeling him open with just a look?

Like you could see whatever was wrong, the way it clung to him, the way it seeped into his bones, wrapped around his ribs like a vice.

Why the fuck did you care?

His jaw tightened as he exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. His skin felt too tight, his thoughts too loud. His heart was still racing, his breath coming in short, shallow pulls, and the way you were looking at him—it made it worse. Annoyance flickered up, hot and sharp.

“Well, it is, alright,” he bit out, voice low, clipped.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back.

Your eyes held him there. Concerned, not pitying. And for some reason, that made it worse. “What’s going on?”

Your voice was gentle, but he still felt like it pressed against something raw in him. He swallowed again, the motion tight, too quick. His shoulders tensed. Like a cornered animal.

“Fucking nothin', alright?” His voice snapped—not loud, but sharp. A warning. “Just got fucking distracted.”

There was a bite to it. A finality. A 'don’t push it'. But you didn’t look away. He could feel his pulse in his throat, the weight of the night crashing down again.

“Left something on the stove too long.” His fingers twitched, restless. “It’s fucking fine, just—” He gestured vaguely toward your apartment, his frustration turning in on itself. “Just go back to your house.”

He didn’t mean for it to sound harsh. But it did.

Your expression barely flickered, but he saw the way your brows knitted together for a fraction of a second, the way you took in his words, measured them, and decided not to take the bait.

Carmy knew what he was doing. Knew the sharpness in his voice, the edge he was putting there—not to hurt you, not really. Just to push you away, to create space where there was none, to stop you from seeing too much. From seeing him like this.

But you just stood there, calm, unwavering, like you had all the time in the world for him to burn himself out. You took another step closer, slow and deliberate, your gaze never leaving his face.

“Okay,” you said simply, shrugging. “Fine.”

That threw him off. He expected pushback, expected you to demand answers or call him out. Instead, you just… accepted his words. His anger fizzled out slightly, like a match burning out too fast.

You shifted your weight, crossing your arms. “But if it’s fine, then you won’t mind standing here for a second and breathing with me.”

His brows furrowed. “What?”

You gave him that look, the one that was patient but somehow immovable. “I’m not asking you to explain. I’m not even asking you to talk. Just... breathe with me.”

Then, carefully, you reached out—not touching, not forcing, just holding a hand palm-up between you. Not a demand. A choice.

“Just once. If it doesn’t help, I’ll go inside, and you can keep pretending you’re fine,” you said, your tone gentle but sure.

A muscle in his jaw ticked. He hated this. Hated being seen like this. Hated the way you were giving him an out but also making it real fucking hard to take it.

His gaze flickered to your hand. Just sitting there, open, steady, waiting.

Like an idiot, he took it.

It wasn’t much at first. His grip was tight, rigid. Like he was bracing for impact. But you didn’t squeeze or try to pull him closer. You just held it. Let him be shaky. Let his fingers flex, then tighten, then relax—like an anchor, like something solid in the mess of his own mind.

Carmy clenched his jaw. He should tell you to go, to drop it, to just—leave him alone. But then you inhaled, slow and deep, through your nose. And for some fucking reason, he did it too.

Not perfectly. Not steady. But he tried.

“Good,” you murmured, nodding. “Now out.”

He exhaled, shakier than he wanted it to be, his fingers twitching again. You stayed quiet for a moment, watching him, letting the air settle between you.

You shifted slightly, tilting your head. “Again.”

He hesitated but did as you said. In through his nose. Out through his mouth. One breath at a time.

Until the world wasn’t pressing against his ribs like a vice. Until the knots in his stomach weren’t so fucking tight. Until his hand—still in yours—wasn’t trembling anymore.

Finally, finally, his shoulders dropped a fraction, and you let out a small exhale, like there you are.

“See? Now it’s fine,” you said, voice lighter, teasing but not pushing. “Knew I could get you to listen.”

Carmy let out a quiet, shaky huff—half a laugh, half an exhale. “Didn’t say it helped.”

You smirked, tilting your head. “But you’re not telling me to leave anymore.”

“Guess not.”

You let go of his hand—easing the connection rather than dropping it. Still, he can't help but flex it, missing the warmth, the feeling.

Carmy exhaled again, slower this time. His jaw was still tight, but the sharp edge of his frustration had dulled, faded into something closer to exhaustion. He ran a hand over his face, rubbing at his temple. “I'm sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” you interrupted softly.

That threw him off balance more than before. You weren’t asking for an explanation, weren’t searching for answers, weren’t waiting for him to fix himself before you’d stand there with him.

You just were. And for some reason, that made something in his chest pull tight.

Your smile softened, and you nudged his foot lightly with yours, the touch grounding, casual—like you weren’t standing there peeling back every layer of him without even trying. “You don’t have to say anything, Carmy. Just… let me be here, alright?”

Carmy’s chest rose and fell in a slow, measured breath. His fingers twitched, he wanted to reach you again but instead he let them fall, finally relaxing.

His gaze drifted over you then—really seeing you for the first time tonight.

The colourful oversized pajamas, a mismatched set that somehow made sense on you made you look impossibly comfortable. The messy bed head, strands sticking up in odd directions like you’d been in too much of a hurry to smooth them down. The thick glasses perched on your nose, slightly crooked, like you’d shoved them on without thinking.

And yet, none of it diminished you.

No, you were still—God, you were just so...

Soft in a way that didn’t feel fragile. Kind in a way that didn’t feel forced. For someone who should’ve looked a little ridiculous standing in the dim hallway at nearly midnight, dressed like a walking fever dream, you were still—

Still just you. Still perfect.

Not in the unattainable, polished way that made people feel like they had to measure up. No, you were real. Warm. The kind of presence that pulled people in without trying. Like someone who didn’t need him to be anything other than exactly what he was in this moment—messy, frayed, a little burnt at the edges.

His throat worked as he swallowed, the words forming but never making it past his lips. Instead, he just nodded once, short and barely there. But you caught it, you always did.

You smiled a quiet understanding passing between you and tilted your head toward your apartment. “Come inside. Just for a bit.”

Carmy hesitated, shifting his weight like he was already halfway out the door. “Nah, you really should go back to sleep. You, uh—you got to teach tomorrow, right?”

You scoffed, shaking your head with an amused little huff. “Please, I wasn’t asleep. I was on my Kindle, making poor life choices about just one more chapter.”

That made him glance at you, brow twitching slightly upward. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, waving a hand. “I sleep late all the time. Bad habit. I’m a terrible role model for my students. Preaching good sleep schedules by day, sabotaging my own by night. Not my proudest contradiction, but hey, I make it work.”

He pressed his lips together, unsure. He’d already taken up too much of your time, already made too much of a mess of himself in front of you. But before he could find another excuse to disappear, you tilted your head toward your apartment, eyes glinting mischievously.

“Tell you what—I’ll sweeten the deal." you said, "Come inside, and I’ll make you pancakes or something.”

His brows furrowed, but there was amusement flickering in his tired eyes. “You’re bribing me with pancakes?”

“I’m persuading you with pancakes,” you corrected, crossing your arms. “Big difference. One’s morally questionable, the other is just good business.”

He exhaled a small laugh, shaking his head as he glanced past you toward your open door. The warmth of your apartment, the contrast of soft, golden light against the dim hallway, was enough to make him hesitate just a little longer.

You sighed dramatically, tipping your head back. “Fine. I see how it is. You don’t want pancakes. You don’t want warmth. You don’t want the chance to experience my culinary prowess, which, by the way, is heavily dependent on boxed mix and sheer confidence.”

Carmy exhaled another small laugh, “That supposed to convince me?”

“I don’t know,” you mused, tilting your head. “Is it working?”

He hesitated, then glanced at you, eyes flickering between your expression and the soft glow of your apartment.

He huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand over his face before looking at you again. “You even got syrup?”

You gasped, clutching your chest dramatically. “How dare you. Of course, I have syrup. And not just any syrup. The good syrup. The expensive kind that makes my pockets cry.”

He looked back at the open door, at the warmth, then at you—waiting, expectant, patient.

“…Alright,” he muttered finally, turning off his light and closing his door . “Just for a bit.”

Your grin widened as you stepped aside. “Good call. I was prepared to escalate to full puppy-dog eyes if needed.”

Carmy hesitated in your doorway, eyes flicking between the warm glow of your apartment and the quiet comfort of your presence. The offer was simple—pancakes, syrup, a brief reprieve from his own mind.

And for a second, just a second, it felt familiar.

Too familiar.

His chest tightened. He didn’t mean to think about Mikey, but the memory crept in any way—uninvited and unavoidable.

He wasn’t sure when he noticed it, that pull you had. The way you could turn a moment weightless without even trying. It was something about the way you carried yourself—unapologetically bright, effortlessly magnetic, like the room revolved around you but you never let it go to your head.

Mikey had been like that.

Carmy swallowed, rubbing the back of his neck as he leaned against the counter, watching you move around the kitchen, talking about some ridiculous pancake technique like it was revolutionary. Like this was normal. Like he wasn’t just outside five minutes ago trying to claw his way out of his own head.

Mikey used to drag him into things, into late-night runs for shitty gas station snacks, into arguments about what actually made a perfect sandwich, into moments that felt like they meant nothing at the time but everything in hindsight

And now here you were, doing the same thing.

Pulling him out of his own head. Out of the spiral. Out of the weight of it all.

You didn’t even realize it, did you?

Carmy never thought he’d meet someone else like that. Didn’t think he deserved to.

But here you were.

Different, but the same in all the ways that mattered. You lit up a room without trying, turned things that should’ve felt heavy into something bearable.

“Alright, Chef,” you teased, flicking a bit of flour off your fingers, breaking out of his thoughts. “You wanna help, or are you just gonna sit there looking pretty?”

Carmy scoffed, rolling his eyes, but there was no real bite behind it.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, but his hands were already reaching for the whisk.

Mikey would’ve loved you.

A/N: Helloooooo. How is everyone!?? Okay first I want to thank you all for the support, for those likes, comments and shares ❤️ I still can’t believe the love for this fic. Thank you so muchhh.

And second of all I hope you enjoyed this one, I am personally not sure about it. It feels like it needs that je ne sais quoi factor… hopefully I'll have a good one for Valentine’s Day 🫶🩷

Be safe out there 🫶 Tell me if you would like to get tagged.

Tags:

@hiitsmebbygrl16 @urthem00n @svzwriting29 @tyferbebe @akornsworld @khxna @ruthyalva96 @beingalive1 @darkestbeforethedawn16 @turtle-cant-communicate spideybv28 veryberryjelly @daisy-the-quake leilanixx softpia cosmix-stxrs the-disaster-in-waiting memoriesat30 emerald-jade1 sabrina-carpenter-stan-account ateliefloresdaprimavera

GRRRRRR I NEED A STILES FIC WHERE'S UR LIKE THE COACH'S KID OR SMTH AND HE FINDS OUT. IT'S NOT FUNNY I NEED STILES IN MY VEINS AAAA. Who said that guys...

ˋ°•*⁀➷ “You’re coach’s daughter!?” ♬⋆.˚

╰┈➤ requested!

pairings(s)- stiles stilinski x reader

Summary- You and Stiles have been talking recently but he finds out who your dad is.

category- fluff

warnings- american school system, coach, greenberg, slight shy!stiles, not proofread

word count: 2670

masterlist; teen wolf masterlist

a/n: I hope this fits what you wanted!!

---------------------------

You had switched to Beacon Hills High School during your sophomore year of high school. Your father is a coach and teacher for Beacon Hills so you went to a different school, you and your dad (mostly you) thinking it was for the best.

But you hated it, the reachers were annoying, the school was crazy strict and you just didn’t fit within the school so you asked your dad if you could transfer to Beacon Hills where be taught at. He was more than overjoyed to now have you attending his school, he signed the transfer papers fairly quickly.

You had only transferred at the beginning of the school year, showing up for the first day like any of the normal students.

Now it was the 3rd month of school and no one knew you were Coach Finstocks daughter except for the two of you, and the principal. Your parents split up when you were little, your dad getting full custody of you though you do see your mom here and there. When you were born you got your mothers last name, something to do with her culture or the way she was raised so that was another reason no one knew you were Bobby’s daughter, you guys didn’t have the same last name.

When you arrived at the school your attention was immediately taken by a certain boy. His name was Stiles Stilinski. As soon as you saw him you thought he was the most attractive guy you’ve ever seen, everything about him was literally perfect in your eyes. So what did you do? You talked to him…but not until like a month and a half of school had already passed

On the first day of school when you walked into class is when you noticed him, you also noticed him staring. So you walked towards the empty seat behind him and sat down. That day when you had sat in that seat, he and his friend turned around slightly and you just gave them a smile.

Almost 2 months had passed since the first say of school and that was when the two of you first spoke. The both of you remembered that day distinctly.

You walked to your usual seat in first person and sat down, right behind Stiles like usual. When the teacher began class you took a breath. You had finally grown the balls to talk to him, since he wasn’t going to be the one to do it. Leaning forward slightly in your seat, your hand reaches forward and gently taps his shoulder twice, your hand lingering on his shoulder for a moment, not enough for someone else to notice, but enough for just the both if you to notice.

The boy quickly turned around, he knew it had to have been you since you sat behind him but when he turned around and actually got view of you actually trying to talk to him he lost his breath. His mouth dropped open slightly, his jaw slightly moving as if he was trying to talk but the poor boy just couldn’t get the words out.

In response to his awkwardness you let a smile overcome your face, trying your best to not laugh at his expression. “do you have a pencil I could borrow?” you ask quietly, careful not to disturb the teachers lesson. Now, after a while of wanting to talk to him all you did was ask if you could barrow a pencil (which you had in your bag anyways), but it was better than nothing!

Stiles’s mouth snaps shut and he swallows, nodding quickly he turns around and grabs a perfectly sharpened pencil out of his bag. He turns back around rapidly and holds the pencil up between the two of you like it was a prize. The smile on your face grows wider all while he just stares at you with wide eyes, as if he’s in a trance. You reach forward and grab the pencil from his hand, purposely making your hand graze against his. The boys expression hadn’t changed, still looking at you as if you were a princess or something.

Stiles could have sworn his heart skipped a beat and no actually probably stopped when he turned around to see you looking at him with a gentle expression.

He had wanted to talk to you since the very first day of school when he saw you. Before that day he had never seen you, so clearly you were new to Beacon Hills, or at least new to the high school. He just never had the guts to actually speak to you, he was never good with girls. Especially very pretty ones like you. When he first turned towards you he couldn’t tear his eyes off of you, you were up close and asking him a question and you looked like a princess. In that moment he would do anything you asked, when you asked for a pencil and finally snapped him out of his haze he was grateful. One of those reasons being because he thought he looked like an idiot staring at you like that, and second because he really liked your voice.

From that point forward the two of you spoke regularly. After a couple of days you guys ended up exchanging numbers and you talked 24/7. He still didn’t know that your dad was one of his teachers and his coach but you were going to tell him soon.

Last week Stiles was shockingly able to ask you on a date. You were shocked that he was able to stand in front of you and get the words out but you obviously said yes, happily. And when he got that answer he lit up like a kid at a candy store and did a celebratory movement. You had compromised a day in which you knew your dad wouldn’t be home, you didn’t want your dad to know just yet and you didn’t think Stiles would want to be heavily interrogated on your first date.

The date had went great, the two of you were just as amazing together as you were outside of romantic feelings. Although you guys just recently met, both of you could see a great relationship together and it was definitely something you both wanted to explore.

Just five days after your date with Stiles it was now a Wednesday and you were at school, the two of you were supposed to be having another date tonight. Right now it was your free period, usually you would go to the library to either read or catch up on work but the library was currently closed for the day seeing as the librarian had to leave early. It was too cold to go outside seeing as it was transitioning from fall into winter. So you decided you would go to your dads classroom seeing as his office is connected to the room and you knew he would let you chill in his office while he taught his class, what you didn’t know was that Stiles was in that current class.

You walk through the halls of the school, bag over one of your shoulders. Your phone in your hand with headphones connected to your phone and one of the buds in your ear.

When you make it to your dads classroom you bring your hand up and knock on the door. He opens the door and looks down at you with a confused expression “what are you doing here?” he asks, not rudely or in his usual tone of voice but in pure confusion and slight worry which shocks the other students, never having heard him using an abnormal tone of voice on a student.

Bobby steps aside and lets you walk in even further slightly. Upon seeing your frame Stiles perks up, a smile immediately casted onto his face and his curiosity spiked. “Free period and library’s closed. Can I chill in your office?” you ask your dad, slightly stepping further into the classroom, avoiding looking at any of the other students. “yeah go ahead” he looks down at you a nods. He moves back towards the front of his desk while you walk past.

As you were walking you felt eyes on you. You were about to turn around when your dad speaks up. “Greenberg! Stop looking at my daughter!” he says harshly. You squeeze your eyes shut slightly and turn towards your dad with raised eyebrows. Still feeling eyes on you, you turn your head slightly and see Stiles looking ahead at you with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. At further notice everyone in the classroom was looking between you and your dad in shock, well except for Greenberg, he had his head down after your dad’s comment.

“shes your daughter?” Stiles says loudly in shock, his finger pointing at you. His mouth was open in a jaw dropping way and his eyes were wide. You take a deep breath and walk into your dads office, ignoring the eyes of your fellow students and more importantly Stiles

It was now the end of the school day and you were getting longer stares from students, clearly word had gotten around. You truly didn’t care but now everyone would be questioning why neither of you said anything.

And let’s just say you were slightly avoiding Stiles, well not really…you only avoided him after that class. You were now at your locker, packing up your school bag so you could head home when a presence is suddenly next to you. “Coach is your dad!?” the voice exclaims, breaking slightly at the end. You let out a breath and grab your bag, then closing your locker.

Stiles’s face was revealed once you closed your locker. His face was filled with pure shock, he looked at you as if you had two heads. Your lips press together into a thin line and your grip on your backpack adjusts. “Sorry I didn’t tell you, I was going to I swear!” You try your best to reassure him.

His face confronts from shock and into confusion, looking at you with pulled eyebrows but his mouth still slightly open. “Wha- I just cant believe your Coaches daughter!” he exclaims loudly, everyone in the hall turns towards the two of you and in response to his loudness you raise a singular brow at him. He grimaces slightly “sorry” he whispers. “I just cant believe you, like you standing in front of me came from him, it makes no sense!” he exclaims, definitely more on the quieter side this time around.

You fight a smile on your face, Stiles always brought one to your face. When he sees you smiling a smile is immediately pushed onto his face as well. “Well I am” you respond quietly, looking up at him.

“And you know thats very scary but who cares?” Stiles shrugs, one of his hands coming up to grip onto his backpack strap. Your face lights up in response, you were scared he would want to see you anymore just because of who your dad is. You let out a small laugh at him saying your dad was scary but then you look up at him happily “so, our dates still on?” you ask, swaying your body lightly.

He pulls a face and looks at you as if you asked the dumbest question ever. “Are you serious? You’re the best girl ever of course I want to go on that date, you’re like amazing, your pretty, funny, kind, great clothes- Well uh um unless you dont want to go on the date which is totally-“ He rambles, moving his hands theatrically.

During his rambling you couldn’t help but smile. Sure the compliments weren’t out of this world creative or poetic but when you could tell they actually mean something from who they’re coming from means a lot. Before he could continue to ramble and stress about if you wanted to go on the date or not you bring your hand up and cover his mouth. “I want to go on the date, Stiles.” you assure him, nodding your head slightly with a smile

Stiles lets out a little nervous laugh and nods as you remove your hand from his face. He tucks one of his hands into his jean pocket and looks down at you bashfully “good, cause I was- am really excited about it” he tells you, bouncing on his feet lightly.

“me too” you respond, looking up at him with a matching smile.

It was now later in the day and you were ready for your date with Stiles. You were dressed in a cute turtleneck sweater and a pair of jeans, Stiles said he was surprising you so you had no clue where the two of you were going.

Now, since the cat was out of the bag you didn’t see too much of a problem in the fact that your dad would indeed be home all night. So he would be here when Stiles picked you up and dropped you off, which was definitely nerve wracking knowing who your dad was and knowing how Stiles is, Oh! and the fact that your dad had no clue you were going on a date.

You were putting in your last earring when the doorbell rang, you quickly grab your jacket and throw it on, as well as grabbing your purse as you walk out of your bedroom. As you were walking down the steps you hear your fathers naturally loud voice ring out so you stop, not being seen by either of them. “What are you doing here Stilinski? and with flowers?”

“uh um your-“ before Stiles could even finish his sentence where he was going to tell Bobby the flowers were for you he jumps in.

“for me?” He asks dryly, knowing they weren’t for him yet at the same time not knowing they were for his daughter that was currently eavesdropping.

“Yeah! actually! As a thank you for being the best coach” Stiles stammers, pushing them forward and into your dad’s hands. From on top of the steps behind the wall you let out a giggle and finally decide to put Stiles out of him misery.

Your dad looked down at the bouquet of flowers in his hand then back up at an awkwardly smiling Stiles in pure confusion. Not a single thought in your dad’s brain or a feature in his face didn’t hold confusion.

You walk forward, now stepping in between the two boys. “Dad. Stiles and I are going on a date” you tell him confidently. To be sure to win your father over him you show him one of your award winning smiles that always had an effect on your dad.

“Stilinski? You’re going on a date with Stilinski? Actually no, my daughter’s going on a date?” Bobby exclaims, pointing his finger at each of you accordingly.

“yup” you say happily, popping the p

“oh god” Stiles whispers, silently praying for his safety

“since when do you go on dates?” Your dad asks uncomfortably yet in his usual stern voice. He didn’t like seeing his little girl grow up.

“since now, dad” you respond, quickly pulling him into a hug and pecking his cheek. “Make sure to put those in water!” you say hurriedly while grabbing Stiles’s hand and speed walking to his car

“Have her home by ten!” Your father exclaims, his hand holding the flowers raising and shaking sternly with his words.

“Yes Coach! Oh uh Sir!” Stiles exclaims back to him, clumsily almost tripping over his feet but your hold was there to balance him. He opens the door for you and lend you a hand to get inside before running around to the drivers side of his precious Rosco.

“At least it wasnt GreenBerg” Bobby mutters, running a hand over his face and through his hair as he closes the front door.

Defend Myself

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (hockey fan & self-defence teacher)

Summary: During a hockey game, you get into a fight with the drunk man sitting beside you. When Tim Bradford arrives to break up the fight, he decides he'd like to see you again.

Warnings: fight between r and drunk man, unwelcome comments and grabbing (nothing overtly sexual or descriptive), fluff at the end, Tim and Aaron are sarcastic

Word Count: 1.9k+ words

A/N: Why I go back and forth between American and British spellings is a mystery.

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Alright, ladies,” you call to the self-defence class you’re teaching. “What’s the goal here?”

“Defend ourselves and protect our minds,” they reply.

“Right. Because learning how to fight and keeping yourself physically safe isn’t all that matters. Focusing on what can go wrong in life isn’t any fun, so while we work on self-defence, use it as anger management. Have fun with this!”

Your last class on Friday afternoons is one of your favorites. The women are always excited to learn, they listen well and use good form. Most importantly, they really understand your goal in teaching them. In addition to how great the group before you is, you also get to look forward to hockey after they leave. Whether it’s a game or just to watch practice, you find yourself at the rink most Fridays, and as many other chances as you can get. Hockey and self-defence are two of your favorite things, so afternoons like this are borderline magical.

“Uppercut,” you signal.

As you demonstrate the proper way to move into an uppercut after the warmup, you watch the class.

“Can I ask a question?” a woman in the back row asks between moves.

“Of course,” you reply with a smile.

“Have you ever had to use these moves in real life? Like, to defend yourself?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But that’s why we learn it, right? If we know how we don’t have to live in fear about the when.”

“Which is why we chose the bear,” another girl murmurs.

“Can’t always choose. Preparation is key, and knowing how to react is the most important thing you can learn as a woman.”

“Fighting can be boring though,” someone groans.

“Clearly, you’ve never been to a hockey game. Let’s focus, ladies. Take a breather before we move into strength drills.”

You grab your water bottle from the floor and survey your classroom. Hockey fights are certainly more entertaining than fighting to defend yourself, but you enjoy both.

Los Angeles isn’t necessarily known for its hockey scene, but the arena is packed tonight. Your season pass with the seat on the ice is getting plenty of use this year, and as you sit back to watch warmups, you can’t help the smile that grows on your face.

As the crowd grows and the first period gets nearer, two men take the seats to your right. You nod politely when they greet you, but quickly return your attention to the players preparing to skate out. While the announcer introduces the teams and prepares the fans for a good game, you glance toward the men beside you. The one closest to you seems to already be buzzed, and the oversized cup of beer between his legs doesn’t instill confidence in you. Hopefully, he’ll stay quiet, you think. Cheering for your team is one thing but you know too well how quickly a drunk hockey fan can ruin a night. Anyone who’s been to a hockey game can probably imagine your concern.

You try to ignore him as he gets more talkative, but in the middle of the first period, he drains the remainder of his beer and turns toward you.

“Pretty little thing like you prob’y has some questions,” he says. “I can explain it t’ya.”

“I’m good,” you answer firmly.

“If t’changes,” he slurs as he turns away.

It won’t.

The bell rings and the teams leave the ice as the crowd rises in mass. You stay seated comfortably in your seat as your drunk neighbor leaves with his friend. Since you told him you didn’t need his help, he’s left you alone. As long as that continues, you’ll be able to enjoy the rest of the game, and maybe witness a hat trick from your favourite player.

“Here,” your neighbor says as he returns. “Looked thirsty.”

He shoves a cup of soda toward you, and you push it back. “I don’t want that.”

“Just try’na be nice!”

As he falls back into his seat, you lean toward the side to get some room. His arm moves to the armrest between you as he reaches his fingers toward your leg.

“Don’t touch me,” you tell him as you knock his hand back into his lap.

“Jus’ a pretty lil’ thing,” he murmurs as he leans over the armrest.

“Sir, get him under control,” you say to his friend.

“He’s not my problem,” the other man answers.

“Stop.”

He rolls his eyes as if you’re overreacting and sits back in his seat. Your fists are clenched tightly as you watch him move away from you, and you’re mad that he’s causing you to miss so much of the game and keeping you from enjoying it.

“Los Angeles, make some noise for the third period!” the announcer yells. “We’ve got a tight game and tighter teams. Make it a night to remember, LA.”

“Night to r’mem’ba sounds pre’y good.”

You take a deep breath before you raise your eyes. Somehow, your neighbor got more drunk in the short break between the second and third periods than the rest of the game combined. He reaches toward your arm, and when you pull away, he frowns and steps to stand over you where you sit.

“Leave me alone,” you demand as you stand.

After you put a bit of space between you, you notice that the people sitting behind you are watching you. You don’t care, however, as he throws an empty cup toward you. You move out of the way, and it isn’t until he lunges toward you that you truly react. Your fist makes impact with his jaw before he finishes stepping forward.

“Fight!” someone yells behind you.

You plan to do just that. If he can’t understand no or stop, maybe he’ll understand some of your favourite self-defence moves.

“Reports of assault at Honda Center: fight in progress. Attendees have made numerous reports of disturbance,” dispatch alerts.

“Responding,” Tim replies. “Code 3.”

“Aren’t there supposed to be fights at hockey games?” Aaron asks. “That’s, like, half of the draw.”

“On the ice. Fights off the ice are a regular occurrence,” Tim answers. “Usually drunk rival teams.”

“Easy to break up?”

“Sure. If you think pulling a guy who can’t feel anything off of another guy who doesn’t even remember why he’s trying to kill someone else easy, absolutely.”

“Could’ve just said no,” Aaron mumbles as Tim turns.

“Man, back up!” a security guard demands.

He grabs your attacker’s shoulder and tries to pull him backward, but it doesn’t work. As you prepare to throw another punch, you see that the drunk guy’s eye is black and swelling, his lip is busted, his nose is bleeding, yet he still isn’t quitting.

“Jus’ stop playin’!” the man demands as he grabs for your waist.

You push his wrists away and shove him against the glass dividing you from the ice. He elbows backward, but you block it with your forearm as he yells at you.

“The police are on the way!” someone yells from higher in the seats.

“Get off me!” the man roars as he pushes himself backward.

You manage to catch yourself before he shoves you against the seats. When he raises his hands toward your chest, you raise your right leg into a front kick and momentarily stun him into remaining still.

“Kick his butt, lady!” a man cheers.

“LAPD,” Tim announces as he and Aaron enter the arena. “Where’s the fight?”

“Follow me,” the guard replies.

He leads them into the section where the crowd has gathered to watch the fight. The moment Tim sees the number of people invested in the fight and the suspended timer above the rink, he expects the worst.

“Call for backup, Bradford?” Aaron asks.

“Not yet. Let’s see what we’re dealing with,” Tim answers.

“I doubt the guy can go for much longer anyway,” the guard adds. “She knows what she’s doing.”

Tim doesn’t get a chance to ask what that means before he reaches the center of the crowd. He watches you elbow the man under his chin. As Aaron takes a step toward you, Tim extends his arm to stop him. You’re clearly winning, but the guy is too drunk to realize that he can’t keep going. He’ll realize just how badly he lost once the alcohol wears off. A night in lockup would do that nicely, Tim thinks.

The man steps back and prepares to jump at you, but Tim grabs his shoulder from behind and throws him against the glass before he shoves the man to the floor. With his knee pressed into the man’s kidney, Tim secures the handcuffs on his wrists.

“Take him,” Tim tells Aaron.

Aaron nods and yells for the crowd to clear a path. He follows a small group of security guards as he walks back to the shop.

The crowd around you begins to spread out the moment your attacker is ripped away from you. You take a deep breath and nod at the officer who helped you.

“You alright?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer with a smile. “Little tired. Thanks for the assist, Officer Bradford.”

Tim watches your eyes rise back to his face after reading his name tag. He smiles at you just before the buzzer over your head rings as the game resumes.

“You wanna stay?” he asks over the sound of skates and cheers.

You shake your head and follow him to the staircase. Once you’re in the main area of Honda Center and the noise of the game is muffled, Tim turns toward you.

“That was impressive,” he applauds. “I’ve been called to more fights than I can count. Never seen one under control like you had it. You, uh, you clearly won.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to commend me for getting into a fight, officer,” you tease.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” he asks.

“I teach a self-defence class for women,” you explain. “Been fighting for a while but honed my skills for safety more than entertainment.”

“Then they were wrong.” At your confused look, Tim clarifies, “911 dispatcher said there was a fight. You were just defending yourself.”

“He was drunk and didn’t understand when I told him to stop.”

“Which I am allowed to commend you for.”

You smile at Tim again, and he decides that he needs to see you again. More than being impressed by the thorough beating you delivered to the man who was harassing you and trying to touch you, Tim finds you incredibly beautiful, and he knows you’re talented and care about others. He doesn’t want this to be a one-time encounter.

“Have you ever considered hosting a class for the police department?” he asks, looking for a way to ensure he can talk to you again soon. “We bring in instructors from the city occasionally to host free classes. You’d receive compensation, of course.”

“I haven’t, but it does sound nice. If more women knew how to defend themselves, it might make your job easier.”

Tim agrees as he hands you his card. “Call the station in the morning and we can work something out. If you need a teacher’s assistant or anything, I’d be happy to help, too.”

You tap his card against your thigh as you say, “I’d like that.”

“Bradford!” his partner, Thorsen – you feel like you should recognize the name but don’t – calls. “We got another call.”

“Sorry,” Tim tells you. “Hopefully I’ll see you at the station soon.”

“I think you will.” When you smile at him this time, Tim feels like you punched him, too.

𝐀𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐌𝐬.𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥

Pairings- Black!OC x Abbott Elementary Cast, later Black!OC x Manny (Can be read as x Reader though!)

Summary- S1E1-Light Bulb with Naoya Lovel

Warnings- Swearing, kids, mixed race reader( those aren't warnings really, just what to expect)

Jazzie'sNotes!- let me know what you guys think!! I've been really obsessed with Abbott Elementary recently and I'm contemplating if I want to write S1&S2 just to get to the Manny season. I want to get there fast but I know what won't be possible with two seasons worth of writing. Let me know what you guys think I should do.

Word Count- 5,680

“Ten seconds!” Jacob yelled over his shoulder at the people in the room. Melissa and Barbra rushed over to the sitting area in front of the television that played the action news. Naoya sitting the opposite of them on the small couch.

“Oh, we love Action News! Get in early just to watch it.” Melissa said to the cameras. “It just really calms you down after wanting to take a wrench to someone's side mirror in traffic.” She beamed as if what she said was totally normal.

“But the Philadelphia region continues to suffer, temperature in the mid-90s with a heat index approaching 100…” The television said as they all sat and watched.

“Now I’m a proud married Christian woman and I love my husband. But there’s something about that Jim Gardner.” Barba gushed to the cameras. “That non-regional diction.” The woman was practically blushing just at the thought of the man.

“It is so important to support and acknowledge local journalism, okay?” Jacob started. “There’s no agenda here. This is—This is one going, in the streets, powerful stuff.” He explained seriously.

“I get in early just to see my aunt Magnolia on the screen. She’s a news anchor and I like telling her what I like and dislike about her outfits every morning.” Naoya nodded nonchalantly.

“Wouldn’t want to see that dog in traffic.” Jim Fardner said as they all laughed while watching a little Pomeranian dog drive a toy car.

“Yes, Jim.” Barbra agreed, not seeing the confused look Noaya gave her from the side.

“I like the news because that’s when I can say whatever I want and nobody asks any questions.” Mr.Johnson told the cameras with a smirk.

“I’m taking a personal day.” The old man said as he entered the room, looking at the backs of everyone’s heads as they continued to watch the morning news. “Going fishing with my friends. Anyways, toilet papers in the closet.” He said before walking out.

“I hear him.” Naoya nodded, giving the people behind the camera a small smile. “I hear everything. Plus he is a hilarious old man and I wanna know all his secrets. I am this close to cracking him.” She said with an evil smirk making its way into her face as she lined her fingers together to indicate a small amount.

“I saw Jim Gardner once. At the Chipotle.” Barbra smiled bashfully, not taking her eyes away from the television. “Ooh, he orders a bowl so handsomely.” She gushed. Naoya gave the older woman another look, this time more concern than confusion.

It was only a moment later that Jacob was going through the break room fridge, poking around for something. “Who’s branzino is this?” He asked, holding the fish dish in his hands. “This is a very powerfully smelling fish to put in a shared fridge.” The boy complained as politely as he could, closing the ice box with a disgusted look on his face.

“Don’t touch it,” Melissa said looking up from her phone. “I’m making it right at my cousin Annette’s.” She made her way over to have a seat in her usual spot next to Barb. “She thinks she’s the best cook in the family. I’m gonna show her in a non-threatening way. Imma look cuter than her too.” She smirked.

“I have a distant cousin named Annette,” Naoya said, finishing up the delicious breakfast sandwich that she had every morning. “She was psychotic though, used to put poison in the condiments at restaurants.” The younger woman stated, looking off in thought as the rest stared at her in disbelief. “I haven’t seen her in ages. Don’t want to either, she was butt ugly.” She then took a sip of her orange juice.

Just as she finished, Janine walked into the room, putting her bag down on the table in front of Melissa and Barbra. “Guys, the lights in the back hallways have been out for weeks.”

“Thank you for the update,” Melissa said as she applied more makeup.

“What are you wearing?” Barbra asked, looking her up and down.

“And we need to do something about it. Okay?” The short woman tried to sound demanding but it didn’t come off that way. “Uh, Melina, from your class.” She started, pointing at Melissa. “Yeah, she was afraid to come to school this morning. Said it looked like “The Shining.” And I don’t even get how she knows that reference.”

“She loves “The Shining,” Melissa stated.

“It’s a classic movie.” Jacob chimed in.

The camera panes Naoya’s way, who looks at them at their movements. ‘Never seen it.’ She mouthed with a shrug of her shoulders.

“This isn’t okay, alright?” Janine stressed. “And I already talked to Mr.Johnson and he said that there isn’t anything he can do.

“What do you want us to do about it?” Barbra asked the girl tiredly.

“I mean, it can’t be hard. It’s just screwing in a few new bulbs.” The small woman stated.

“Janine, just worry about what can be controlled.” Barbra cut her off.

“Exactly.” Melissa agreed. “All we can do on a hot day like this is our own jobs, anyway.”

“I know what’s right,” Ava said as she barged into the room and made her way over to the coffee machine. “Why is it February and hotter than the devil’s booty hole outside?” She asked.

“Climate Change.” Jacob and Naoya said at the same time, causing them to point at one another in recognition while Ava shot both of them a tired look. “We are living in the middle of its disastrous effects. The permafrost in Russia—” He was about to rant before Ava cut him off.

“Nerd.” The woman said between coughs, which sounded more like a laugh. Naoya rolled her eyes while Jacob just turned back to what he was doing.

“Ava.” Janine started, walking up to the woman who was still laughing from her childish joke. “Can someone from the city come and check on the back hallway lights?”

“Girl, no.” The woman answered, her usual judgmental look on her face. “Do I look like the Kool-Aid man?” She asked, halving around the room. Her eyes stopped on Naoya, who raised her eyebrows in question. “Don’t answer that.” She pointed at the woman, who just shrugged it off. “I don’t have enough juice to manipulate the inner workings of city hall.” The principal continued, looking back at Janine and scoffing before making her way out. “They’ll probably come in the summer.” She said as the bell rang.

“I’m the summer?” Janine asked after doing a double take at her words. But the woman was long gone and the others were making their way out of the room to their classes.

“Tough break. Want some egg white bites?” Jacob asked, easing closer to Janine and holding out a plate. The solemn woman looked up at him with a new determination. “No. I don’t have time to eat.” She said before walking out. Jacob was mid-bite when he turned and faced Naoya, who was putting her bag over her shoulder. And before the man could even speak, the woman stopped him. “No, I don’t want your peasant food, Jacob. It’s insulting that you would ask someone as cultured as myself such a question.” She started before strutting out of the break room. Jacob stood there in disbelief.

“It’s just egg white bites, you put them in the microwave.”

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“Janine, what on earth are you doing on that thing?” Naoya asked as she rushed down the hall to the smaller woman who stood on a ladder. She had just come from using the restroom and leaving a class of a bunch of nine to ten-year-olds unattended for even a few seconds could lead to chaos. She didn’t know that chaos would be the grown woman who was the height of a nine to ten-year-old.

“I’m going to fix this broken light.” The woman said determinedly, only a step above the floor in the heightening tool. Naoya made it next to her, seeing the woman wasn’t doing much movement. She placed her hands on her hips, a smug look on her face. “Janine, you are not meant to go to those heights. God gave you your stature for a reason. Plus you’re terrified.”

“I am not terrified.” The woman said, shooting a glance at her. At that, Naoya gave her a knowing look before ushering the woman to go ahead. Janine nodded and looked back at the matter, fear gripping her. She gulped looking back at Naoya. “Okay, I am terrified but I’m gonna do it because I’m on a mission.” She said before carefully making her way up the ladder.

“If this backfires, you buy my dinner,” Naoya asked, after checking in on her classroom through the glass door, seeing them still doing their reading time. At that, Janine gave a confused look to the air, since she was too scared to look down. “Uh, no. This bet is not in my face, at all.”

“Well, at least have some faith in yourself, goodness gracious.”

At that, Janine continued, taking the cover off the lights and continuing to tweak at the wires. “See, look at this. It was just a loose wire.” The woman said, briefly glancing down at the people below her. She then connected the wire with another one, watching as the light stopped flickering. But it didn’t stop for long, the bulbs brightening before bursting in her face.

“Oh!” The woman screamed as she ducked:

“Janine!” Naoya yelled from below her, hosing her arms out in case the woman fell. Instantly, all the rooms were filled with the sounds of confusion and discomfort. The doors opened as the teachers exited.

“Oh, God! Can someone please help me down?” Janine asked, her voice shaking from the fear of the height she was at and the bulb exploding before her.

“And why would we do that since you caused this situation?” Melissa asked as she propped her door open.

“Okay, I didn’t know doing this would cause all the power to go out.” Janie tried to justify, still clutching onto the ladder.

“Well, the power is not all out,” Barbra stated. “It’s on in some places and off in others.”

“It’s off in my room,” Gregory said.

“On in the gym.” The coach said tiredly, slugging up to the group.

“Yeah, it’s off in my room,” Melissa spoke back up. “Thank God we got the A/C or we’d all be meltin’ already.”

“Okay, well before anyone freaks out, the best thing to do in these situations is just stay calm and—” Naoya started as she looked around the group but was silenced by the frantic voice of their terrible and terrified principal.

“Okay! This is it, y'all! The End Times!” The woman said as she rounded the corner in a hurry, a light strapped to her head. “It’s three months early, but it’s happening!” She said, as she closed in on them, giving the closest thing to her a tousle, which happened to be the very thing that was holding Janine up.

“Aah, don’t shake the ladder.” The smaller woman yelled from up top.

“Gregory is the only person that can stay in my bunker, so stop asking.” The crazed principal continued. Naoya’s head jerked back at her words, shocked at the woman’s blatant advancements that were harassment at this point.

“Ava,” Barbra started, holding her arms out in a non-offensive manner to calm the woman. “It is just a partial power outage. Alright, listen up everyone—.”

“Listen to Barbra, y'all!” The doomsday woman yelled, still latched into the latter out of fear.

“Are you kidding me?” Janie asked, clasping at the top of the ladder for support as it shook again.

“This is what we’re gonna do.” Barbra started again. “Everybody without power, please, head to the gym.”

“Head!” Ava chimed in again.

“We will conduct classes there until this is all fixed. It is not ideal—.” She stressed, looking up at the culprit on the ladder. “But it will work.”

“You hear her. Let’s go!” Ava demanded with a nod.

“Guys!” Janie called from the top of the ladder, causing them all to look up at her. “I-I just wanna I-I’m sorry, everybody.” The woman said nervously. “I just thought if I could get up here and get this done then we wouldn’t have to wait and..”

“And look where it landed us, baby girl.” Barbra cut in. “Everybody please head to the gym. We’ve got bigger fish to fry now.”

“Oh, Jesus! My branzino! Everybody out of the way. Out of the way!” Melissa yelled as she sprinted down the hall filled with children.

“Well, if someone can please help me! I feel like I’m one wobble away from death!” Janie begged from where she fluted the top of the ladder. At that, Naoya walked closer, raising her hand to help guide the woman down but was intercepted by Gregory's large arms. The two people glanced at each other, unexpected by the other one's move. Naoya waved her hand, signaling him to help instead. “Thank you,” Jannie said, too spooked to even pay attention to the odd interaction before her. “Okay, give me your hand. Take your time.” Gregory soothed, his large hand latched onto Janine’s. When he was turned away from her, she gave the camera an odd look, scratching the back of her ear. “Whenever you're ready.”

“Okay.” Janine sighed. There was a moment of silence between them all as they waited. “Am I doing it?” Janie asked, just standing there.

“No, honey,” Naoya spoke up, raising an eyebrow at such an odd question.

“Okay, let’s do a count of three.” Janine reiterated, adjusting herself to prepare.

“Okay,” Gregory started. “One, two…three.” He finished and the woman still wasn’t moving. “One more time.” He said.

▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣▣

“This is all my fault,” Janie said as she looked around the gymnasium at all the students. The shock clock then went off, the constant noise startling Gregory, who paused his class to speak to the woman. “Yeah, you probably shouldn’t have tried to do the job of a newly graduated DeVry student, but this is okay.” The man sassed, with an awkward smile as she gestured around the room. Melissa was teaching her kids the best she should with something in flashcards, while Barbra was teaching her students to tell time.

Naoya was on the other side of the room, all her students sitting in rows with their eyes closed and taking deep breaths, with her in the front as a group meditation process. She chose this alternative instead of their gym scheduled gym activities, so the kids weren’t accidentally hitting four-year-olds in the head with basketballs.

Janine sighed, going to pick up her phone that pinged. She read the messages she got from Tariq, and that pissed her off even more. Well, it wasn’t helping her attitude for today.

“I made this mess, and I need to fix this.” She said again, looking around at the distressed room of teachers.

“Okay, but fix this how? Gregory asked her. “It seems very outside of your skill set. You should probably just wait for somebody to get to it—.” He tried to reiterate what Barbra had been saying all along and Janine was not having it.

“I don’t want to wait for someone to get to it!” Janine hissed. “You know, our children have needs that deserve to be met. And I’m going to fix this. Nothing is going to get in my way.” She said determined.

“What if you have to climb another ladder?” Gregory finally asked. “Those seem very tricky for you.”

“No.” That was all Janie gave him. “Not today.

Sometime later, the bell rang, signaling to everyone that it was much time.

“Aren’t you going to lunch, Janine?” Melissa asked as she, Barbra, Gregory, and Naoya made their way to the gymnasium doors.

“Uh, no, I’m actually gonna stay and help the lunch ladies with lunch.” The shorter woman tried to find a reasonable excuse.

“The lunch ladies don’t like you, Janine. They never say hello back.” Naoya said, crossing her arms as she looked at the woman across from her. “So, is that what you’re really doing?”

“Yes!” She answered. “And maybe trying to get the lights back on.” She rushed out at the end, hoping no one heard. At that, the two older women groaned.

“Would you give that a rest?” Melissa started. What do you want? To make the whole school blow up?”

“No!” The woman said as she folded her arms. “Plus, I can’t. Luckily the school was built as a bomb shelter in WWII, so…”

“Let it go.” Barbra practically begged the girl before her before she and the rest of the teachers started walking away.

“Okay, I will.” The woman told them, watching them exit. She and Gregory held long eye contact, both knowing the truth deep down. After they were gone, Janine looked back down at her phone, not paying attention to her friends next to her.

“You’re not gonna let it go, are you?” Jacob spoke up.

“No, I’m not gonna let it go, Jacob, okay?” She said, giving the two of them a look. “I need to right my wrongs.”

“Okay, we’ll count me out.” He said, waving her off.

“I never counted you in,” Janine said to him, confused about where he got that from.

“Well, then count me in.” He restated. “Because I don’t have any lunch plans.”

“Okay.” She sighed. She then looked at the woman next to him, her purse on her shoulder. “Weren’t you going to lunch?” She asked.

“You owe me lunch, remember? Your plan backfired.” She reminded the woman from earlier with a shrug. Janine sighed, turning away from them and walking, knowing they would follow. “That’s not how bets work, Naoya. Both people have to agree.”

“That’s how my bets work and you owe me food, woman!”

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“This is just like the one in my apartment, this is going to be easy,” Janine stated as the three of them made their way to the breaker box that was in the custodian closet. “Me and Tariq have to go in that thing like three times a month.” She said them behind her, Jacob holding the flashlight above her head.

“Maybe you should move.” The man suggested.

“Yeah. Tariq says he is “practicing” his credit score.” Janine struggled out and she pushed to get the metal box open. “Apparently 380 isn’t a good—.” She continued to struggle, her words getting lost in her. “Let me try,” Naoya said as she softly nudged the smaller woman out of the way. She gave the box a pull and the thing popped open. She turned and smiled at the two. “I loosened it,” Jannie said, trying to save face.

“Sure, Jan,” Naoya said, going back to looking in the box. “Oh..” she said, looking at the jumbled mess of wires and switches.

“Oh, no,” Janie said, looking at the same thing. “Don’t touch. Not even a little bit.” She read out loud, giving the camera a certain look. “Uh, okay. What’s that say?”

“End of the Road? It’s so hard to say goodbye?” Naoya read out loud, looking at the labels next to some of the switches. “What? Motownphil—These are Boyz II Men songs.” She deadpanned, turning to the rest of them.

“Why?” Jannie asked, moving to stand in front of the box herself.

Jacob chuckled. “It’s ironic ‘cause I’m on Bended Knee.” He joked, giving the camera a brief look. Naoya genuinely snickered while Janie just laughed awkwardly. “Heh. Okay.” She said before going back to the wires. “Oh God, why is that one hot?” Offering them a glance of concern. “Let me try this one.” She said and just a flip of a switch caused a giant spark to erupt, the trio screamed and jumped back to dodge the sparks as best as they could.

“What in the world.”

“What going on?”

Melissa and Barba exclaimed as she entered the hot and dark school building with children running around. “It’s so hot I’m gonna frizz.” Just then, Janie and Jacob came out of the appliance closet, their hair a mess from the static they endured. The three teachers who left for lunch automatically knew who the culprit for everything was.

“Janine! What did you do?!” Barbra asked, quite fed up with the younger woman. “Looking like ‘who shot John.’”

“Barbra, look, I know you told me to let it go, but I couldn’t. Jacob and Naoya—.” At that, she looked back to see where the woman was but she was nowhere to be found. “Jacob helped me open the breaker.” She was quick to accuse.

“I ran away as soon as the sparks started flying. I was looking out for myself.” The woman shrugged as she leaned against the wall next to her. “Plus, I wasn’t about to get yelled at by Barb for this whole mess.”

“It was a chance to support a strong Black woman.” The man next to her breathed out, in a state of shock, quite literally.

“The breaker?!” Melissa asked. “Janine! You can’t do this stuff! What had you come to work today and lose your mind?”

“Look, I—.” She tried to find something to say. “I just have—she gulped—I feel lightheaded.” She said as she swayed.

“Ohh, okay,” Barbra said worriedly as they all closed in on the smaller girl.

“Did you eat today, because I know you didn’t have lunch,” Melissa asked the girl worriedly.

“And you didn’t have any breakfast,” Jacob stated, his tone showing his concern for the woman’s wellbeing. Janine couldn’t even say anything, her balance was off and her mind was delirious.

“Okay, we’re losing her,” Melissa yelled, easing up on the girl. “Do I have your consent to slap you?” At that, Janine fell backward into Gregory’s arms just as Ava and Naoya rounded the corner. “There she goes,” Melissa said over the shocked screams of her colleagues. “She’s out.”

“Yall feel this heat?” Ava asked, just now seeing the sight of the woman on the floor before her. “Oh my God! She’s pale like a zombie! You know, they eat the hottest people first, let me back my tasty ass up.” Ava said, going back to where she came from down the hall. At her stupid words, Naoya was tempted to follow her but snapped out of it when she saw Janine on the floor.

“Uh, okay! I’m gonna go see if I can get some water out of the fridge. Hopefully, it’s still cold.” Naoya said before running off.

“Oh my God, my branzino!” Melissa yelled, moving to push Barb back.” “Excuse me, Barb. She’ll be okay!” She yelled as she pushed the older woman out of her way and jumped over the unconscious woman.

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Once Janine woke up from her little coma, the coach told her that all the kids and teachers were outside. She walked out to see all of them playing in the water that was sprouting from the fire hydrants while the teachers lunged in chairs. “Oh, look who’s back in the land of the living,” Melissa said once she saw the small woman exit the school.

“Who opens the fire hydrant?” Janine asked

“Well, as Melissa would say, snitches get stitches,” Barbra said.

“It was Naoya,” Jacob whispered to his shorter friend, pointing over at said woman who was playing in the water with the children. She had her bat at her side, leaning her weight on it as she splashed the kids who came near her to throw water her way.

“That is correct.” Melissa started again. “But I am not talking to you on account of you killing my branzino.” She said, before leaning back in her seat. Barbra gave her a look and cleared her throat. Melissa looked at the woman from under her shades and sighed a little before sitting back up. Barbra then got up from her seat, allowing Janine to take it.

“So that’s it, huh?” Janine asked, looking around at the kids. “I , uh, gave it my all, passed out, and ruined the school day?”

“Oh, you tanked,” Melissa told her. “You tanked Janine. You took the whole school down with you. It was impressive.” She pressed, knowing she was pushing the woman’s buttons.

“Look, I know. I should’ve stopped. I’m sorry.” Janine sighed. “I just felt so bad when I saw that look on Melina’s face this morning.”

“You don’t think it kills us to see those faces in the morning?” Melissa asked her. “What, are we made of stone? You’re not the first person to feel things, kid. We care.”

It was silent for a moment as Janine thought over the woman’s words. “How do you and Barbra stop yourselves from caring too much if that’s a thing.”

“Because it’s the opposite.” Melissa smiled at the girl as she took off her shades. “We care so much we refuse to burn out. If we burn out, who’s here for these kids? That’s who you gotta take care of yourself.”

“Yeah, what’s with you today Nini?” Both women jumped at the sound of Naoya’s voice, while the woman just stood behind them with her bat. “You’re normally bananas, but…” She trailed off, waving at the girl's aura.

“Uh, I don’t know. Just some stuff at home, I think.” Janine shrugged with an answer.

“Oh, okay,” Melissa said with a nod. “See, that’s the other thing me and Barbra learned. All that at-home stuff—you gotta leave it at the door. Otherwise, you open up a whole nother Panera’s box of problems.”

“I think you mean Pandora’s box,” Naoya told the woman sitting in front of her.

“Nah, I’m pretty sure it’s Panera’s box.” She nodded, while Janine and Naoya both gave the camera a look.

Later on that day, Naoya was in her room in the process of changing the clothes she had on into some that she kept in her closet. She enjoyed playing in the water with the kids but she was not going to go home wet. As she was in the process of changing, she got a phone call. Looking down at her phone, she saw the contact and quickly answered the phone.

“Hello, Adona.” The girl sighed into the phone as she pulled a new shirt over her head.

“Oh, well don’t sound so pleased.” The feminine voice over the phone said to her. Naoya rolled her eyes, as she opened the drawer of her desk and pulled out a plastic store bag. She offered the camera a glance, knowing they were probably thinking as to why she kept so many plastic bags in her drawer. But all she could offer them now was a shrug as the voice over the phone continued.

“Anyways, how are you?”

“What do you want, Adona?” Naoya spat, stuffing her semi-wet clothes into the plastic bag.

“What? I can’t see how my own sister is doing?” The woman said over the phone, the hurt in their voice obviously sarcastic.

“No, but I know you. And I know that you only call when you need money. Money for something other than your child.” The younger girl snapped over the phone. All she got in response was a sigh and some shuffling from the other end.

“You know, you don't have to rub it in.” Adona started, and Naoya rolled her eyes at the woman’s words, knowing this conversation was about to go to the argument they always had. “This all would have been so much easier if the rest of us weren’t left out of her will.”

“That’s not my fucking fault, Adona. I tell you that every time you call. Do you think I want the burden of you and the others calling me every month for some fucking bill for me to pay? Not to ask how I’m doing?” Naoya spat at her sister over the phone. She could feel her eyes start to sting, she was never the best at arguing when it came to her family. She’d been called sensitive all her life and it rang true every time she talked to her siblings.

“ “The others”? That’s what you call us? You’re family?” That was all Adona could say back. Naoya rolled her eyes and let out a scoff, pulling the phone away from her face as she sniffed and held her head back, trying to stop her tear flow. After only a few quick seconds, she brought the phone back to her face. “Uh, I can already see where this is going, so I’m gonna end it here. Just send the amount and I’ll talk to you some other time. Take care.” She said before pressing the red button on her screen to end the call.

She placed her phone in her back pocket and moved around her room to gather her things, trying her best to occupy her mind from what just ensued. She was so in her head that she forgot the cameras were there. And she didn’t hear the voice of Gregory at her door.

“Naoya?” He called out to her.

She looked up at the sound of his voice as she placed her things into her bag. “Oh, Hello Gregory.” She smiled, her face showing none of the emotions she was feeling.

“You’ve eaten?” He asked, just standing in the doorway of her classroom.

“Uh, no, actually. Janine was supposed to buy me lunch because I bet that her plan would backfire.” The woman said as she placed her things in her arms. At that, Gregory gave her a questioning look. Naoya raised her hands in surrender. “I know, I sound like a terrible friend. But it’s not that I don’t believe in Janine, I just know how to black a bet. Get it from my father.” The girl shrugged. She and Gregory both laughed lightly. And when it died down, they just started at one another, the air between them oddly peaceful.

“But, uh, are you offering?” She asked, looking at the man before her.

“Uh, yeah. I was going to ask Janine too.” He said, pointing his thumb in the direction of the said woman’s room.

“Cool! Let’s go.” She said with a genuine smile, causing the man to smile at her as well. They walked out and over to Janine’s room, where it looked like the woman was doing something on her phone. Gregory knocked on her door to get her attention. “Hey.” He said.

“Hey,” Jaimie said, looking at the two.

“Have you eaten?” He asked.

“Oh. No. The um, lunch lady gave me that can of peaches but no can opener, so, no.” She chuckled, pointing at the can on her desk.

“What? No fair! You’re so lucky. Well, besides the whole can opener situation. ” Naoya said jokingly.

“Alright, we’ll, you wanna go get something to eat? With me?” Gregory said before Naoya lightly cleared her throat. “With us?” Gregory was quick to reiterate. Naoya nodded, offering the slightly flustered older man a brief look.

“Oh,” Janine said, looking between the two. “I was gonna wait for my boyfriend to finish his show to eat…” She said. Naoya nodded at her words, understanding where she was coming from. Well, understanding as best as she could because she’d never wait to eat for a man. But maybe that was love. She caught the way Gregory’s posture changed at Janin’s words out of the corner of her eye. She didn’t say anything but she did give me a crazy side-eye, hoping he noticed.

“But…no.” The shorter woman started back up with a laugh. “I’m hungry now, so I should eat now, right?”

“That’s typically how hunger works, yeah.” Gregory played along.

“Right! Normal people eat at normal times, like…4:00.” She said, pointing over at the clock on her wall.

“Yeah. All true.” Gregory said with a nod before smiling. “So, let’s go eat.”

“Let’s. Okay.” Janine said with an equally large smile before moving to grab her things. At that, Naoya turned around to head out the door, not wanting to be in the middle of an obvious love fest. She gave the cameras outside a knowing look, a large smirk on her face.

Seconds later, the two of them walked out of the room, Naoya joining them to go down the hall. On their way, they ended up meeting Jacob.

“Oh, hey guys, what up?” The man said.

“We’re just headed to get something to eat,” Gregory answered.

“Oh, great, I’ll join.” The man just inserted himself, not catching the looks thrown his way by the three. “After school crew.” He continued.

“Ooh, “After School Crew.” I like that.” Janine smiled. They all ended up stopping at the lights coming on within the school. They looked over to see Mr.Johnson in the supply closet, standing next to the breaker machine in his fishing gear.

“You touch the lights, didn’t you, Janine?” He asked, shooting an accusatory look the woman’s way.

“Yes,” Janine answered with a defeated look.

“Good thing I got me a system.” The man told her, flicking the breaker box closed. “I’ll make love to you. Like you want me to.” He continued to sing. This caused them to all sigh and continue walking. Naoya stayed behind, a fond smile on her lips as she watched the old man. When he caught the sight of the woman still there, he paused and looked at her.

“You have a good fishing trip?” She asked the man, crossing her arms over another. The man looked at the girl kind of shocked that she asked and that she knew.

“Yeah. Yeah, I actually did.” He said, offering her a smile of his own. Naoya nodded at his words before walking away, following the crew that left her. Mr.Johnson looked at the spot she left, a fond smile on his face as she continued to sing the song.

Friends From Here

Requested Here!

Pairing: (platonic) Tim Bradford x fem!MP!Chen!reader (r implied to be Lucy's twin)

Summary: When you return to the States, Tim Bradford confuses you for your sister Lucy. That night, you realize why he seemed so familiar and gain a new friend.

Warnings: platonic relationship but allusions to future romance, fluff!

Word Count: 1.7k+ words

A/N: While it is implied that r and Lucy are twins, this can be read as sisters, half-sisters, or an adopted sister that happens to look similar to Lucy! I tried to keep it somewhat inclusive so there are no physical descriptions for r other than Tim thinking r was Lucy from the back!

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

It has been far too long since you saw your sister Lucy. You joined the Army immediately out of high school and have worked through the ranks since then. Now, you’re an officer with the Military Police. Though you may never know, your determination and success are part of why Lucy became a cop.

Your phone rings as you wait for your plane back to the States. Lucy’s picture on your screen makes you smile, but you answer it quickly.

“Hi!” Lucy exclaims when the line connects. “Are you busy?”

You glance at the boarding screen above you and see you have fifteen minutes to spare.

“No, I’ve got time. What’s up?” you reply.

“I’ve got good news! I’m getting short sleeves!”

“Lucy, congratulations! I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you! I wish you were here so we could celebrate together. Have you heard anything about when your next leave is?”

“I wish I was there too, but we’re so busy here that I haven’t even had time to ask.”

“Okay,” Lucy says. She’s trying to sound as excited as before but doesn’t quite manage it.

“I’m sorry, Lucy.”

“No, I understand. I just…”

“Miss me?” you tease. “Because I’m the best sister and friend you’ll ever have, and I’m just so amazing and smart that you-“

“Stop,” Lucy begs through her laughter. “I have to go before my TO yells at me, but I really miss you. Talk soon?”

“Super soon,” you promise. “I love you, Lucy, and congratulations again.”

“I love you too,” Lucy replies before the line ends.

The landing in Los Angeles is smooth, but you barely look around as you secure a car and head for the Mid-Wilshire police station. You changed out of your uniform at the airport, but you have to see Lucy before you can do anything else. The man at the front desk tells you to wait, and he’ll find your sister for you. With your back to the desk, you check your phone to get caught up on what you missed during the flight.

“Chen!” someone yells behind you. “Why aren’t you in uniform?”

“Excuse me?” you ask as you turn to face the officer. Your brows raise when you realize he’s attractive, but his attitude keeps you from enjoying it for long.

“Just because you graduated to short sleeves doesn’t mean you can come and go as you please, boot,” he adds.

You desperately want to laugh because you don’t think you and Lucy look that much alike, even though you’ve heard it all your lives. Rather than laugh, however, you decide to play along with Officer Bradford.

“It means something,” you argue.

“You’re on the clock, boot-“

“Bradford?” Lucy asks behind him. “Is everything okay?”

You press your lips together at the shock on his face. His brows furrow as he looks at you, and then he turns slowly. When he moves, Lucy sees you standing before him and nearly shoves him out of the way to hug you. You happily wrap your arms around her and say hello but level your gaze on Bradford, who you think owes your sister an apology.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbles. “So, you’re…”

“My sister,” Lucy answers.

“I’ll give you two a minute,” Tim says. “Sorry again.”

“You look so good in your short sleeves!” you cheer once he’s gone.

“I feel so good in them!” Lucy agrees.

“Have you told Mom?”

“I’m going to tonight over dinner. Does she know you’re back?”

“No,” you answer with a laugh. “I didn’t tell her anything.”

“How long are you here? Can you come to dinner tonight?”

“I can come to dinner tonight and I’ll tell you everything after dinner, how’s that? I mean, you are on the clock, boot.”

Lucy laughs at your impression of Tim before she hugs you and invites you to stay in her apartment. You gladly accept, but as you exit the station, you wonder why Tim Bradford’s voice and attitude seem so familiar.

The door slams as your mom storms out after belittling Lucy over her success. You reach across the counter and take Lucy’s hand to keep her calm.

“Lucy let’s get out of here,” you suggest. “We’ll celebrate the way you deserve to be celebrated.”

“Was she like this with you?” Lucy asks weakly.

“I was on the other side of the country, then the world,” you remind her with a shrug. “She didn’t take my calls the first few months, but eventually she started calling me. Mom is… you know Mom.”

Lucy nods and hands you the keys to her car.

“Yeah, let’s go party, sis!” you cheer. “Short sleeves!”

“Wait, why did I give you the keys? You don’t know where to go,” Lucy remembers.

“Party!” you yell over your shoulder as you lead her out of the apartment.

“What do you want?” you ask Lucy as you stand.

“Surprise me,” she replies happily.

You nod and tap the back of your chair as you walk away. At the bar, you see someone you recognize. You aren’t sure how you didn’t remember him sooner.

“Sergeant Bradford,” you greet. “You know, I took credit for you leaving the Army.”

“Chen,” he replies. “That’s why your sister looked so familiar. And I didn’t leave because of you.”

“Really? Because I’m the last soldier you gave orders too. Explain that.”

Tim shakes his head, but his lips quirk into a small smile at your teasing.

“You were actually my favorite Sergeant I met. The rest of them seemed to think that I was incompetent.”

“Did you talk back to them?” Tim asks. When you don’t answer, he replies, “I thought so.”

“I’m here to celebrate my sister graduating to short sleeves, but…” you pause and pull a napkin toward you to write your number on. “We should talk. When you know who I am and don’t call me boot.”

Tim takes the offered napkin and nods. “Sure.”

You wink at him as you pick up your drink and Lucy’s. When you return to the table, you forget about Sergeant Bradford for the night, but he doesn’t forget about you.

Several hours later, you steer Lucy to her bed and promise her you’ll still be there in the morning. Once she’s asleep, you collapse against the couch and take a deep breath. You’ve been back in Los Angeles for less than a day and are exhausted. Your phone buzzes, and you scroll through your notifications until a text stops you.

Breakfast tomorrow? I’ll remember your name this time. -TB

You reply that you’d like that and suggest a restaurant nearby. Back in town with your sister, a new station, and a breakfast ‘date’ with Tim makes falling asleep with a smile easy.

Before you leave, you text Lucy where you’ll be and leave her a note with a promise to bring her food. You don’t mention who you are meeting, but you have much more to tell her when you return.

“Good morning,” you greet as you join Tim in a booth.

“Morning,” he replies. “How was your first night back?”

“How’d you know I just got back?”

“Your sister talks a lot.”

You nod knowingly before a waitress arrives and takes your order. After she leaves, you lean back in the seat.

“I think we should try to be friends,” Tim says.

“You make it sound like you could fail,” you reply. “Why don’t we just say we’ll be friends?”

“Then, I think we should be friends. Unless you’re leaving? Just… I think it would be nice to have a friend who understands what we’ve been through.”

“Lucy made it sound like you were a cold, un-friend-able grump. But I should warn you, if you really want to be friends with me, I’ll be the best friend you’ve ever had and you won’t be able to ditch me.”

“I think I can handle that,” Tim assures. “But you didn’t answer my question about leaving.”

“Let me tell my sister the big news and then I’ll tell you, deal?”

“Deal.”

“Also, as my friend, I hope you’re prepared to pay for my breakfast,” you say as your food arrives. “Because I have to buy Lucy a celebration breakfast and confetti pancakes have gotten more expensive since I was here last.”

“Sure,” Tim answers with a laugh. “What else are friends for?”

“You should come back to Lucy’s apartment with me. Big news is for friends, too.”

When you walk into Lucy’s apartment with Tim, you’re not surprised that she’s still in her room. You knock before entering and tell her that you’ve got breakfast and company. She smells the pancakes and rushes to wake up and get ready.

“Tim?” she questions as she enters the living area.

“He’s here as my friend and he’s going to be nice to you. Right, Tim?” you ask.

“Right. We’re celebrating your short sleeves. Yay!” Tim cheers sarcastically.

“You’re the one who kept me in long sleeves,” Lucy accuses.

“He threatened to make me clean the latrines the first time we met,” you say. “I think it’s part of his charm.”

“Sure,” Lucy agrees, unconvinced. “Confetti pancakes are for very good news.”

“You did something amazing, Lucy. You’ve got your dream job and you’re moving up; that deserves celebration,” you point out.

“And…”

“And,” you begin. “I’m staying in the states. I am now working in domestic investigations.”

“You’re an MP?” Tim asks as Lucy jumps to hug you and shouts, “Yes!”

“I am,” you tell Tim. “Have been for a few years now. I was working overseas, traveling constantly, so when a domestic position opened, I jumped at it.”

“The sisters are back!” Lucy cheers. “This definitely deserves pancakes.”

“Told you,” you tease her.

“Would you have said yes if you weren’t staying?” Tim inquires as you slide a pancake toward him.

“Yes to what?” Lucy asks around her fork.

“To being friends,” Tim rushes to explain. “Not a date or anything.”

“I would have told you that I wasn’t staying long, but we could’ve been friends from anywhere, Tim,” you say.

“But you would not have gotten the weekly phone call,” Lucy adds. “That was mine.”

“No more weekly phone calls now. The furthest I’ll go is DC and it’ll only be for a few days at a time. Now I just have to get a place to live.”

“Live here with me!” Lucy suggests excitedly. “I have a spare room.”

You look at Tim, and he shrugs. “I’ve never had a friend live close by, don’t look at me.”

“Oh, I have so much to teach you,” you muse.

“Which you can do from here,” Lucy points out.