The Cook And The Teacher!

It's Bubba

Here is a new Evan Buckley imagine, requested by a lovely anon. I hope you will all like it, let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @stefansalvatoresgf @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra8484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @shelbygeek @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana

@shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @ml572 @jessie-lynn28 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700

@ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @itshamleth @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Part 2

Birthday Wishes (Prequel)

Summary: When Evan's parents come into town, they aren't happy to find their grandson prefers Bobby over them. And they take their frustrations out on (Y/n).

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/n)'s lips curved into a grin and she couldn't help the relief that overwhelmed her when she realised who was at the door.

"Come in." (Y/n) opened the door wider and took a step backwards to allow Bobby inside.

Her eyes followed him as he stepped into the hall, one hand tucked into his pocket and the other stretched down to push the small pedal bike through the hall. She closed the door, pressing her lips together to dampen her smile that threatened to reach her eyes. She watched Boby push the pedal bike towards the stairs so it was just out of the hallway so it wouldn't be a trip hazard.

"All fixed for the little man." Bobby stuffed both hands in his pockets and turned to face (Y/n) as she stepped past the stairs.

James had spent the weekend with Athena and Bobby and the three year old had tried riding his bike around the block, with Bobby's supervision of course. The four year old was rather fast when he had his training wheels but one of them came loose and the bike took a tumble.

Bobby had fixed the wheels back on and checked it over and he knew James would want the bike to play on before next weekend when he was due to spend the night with him and Athena again.

"Thank you, he'll be very pleased."

"Is he around?"

(Y/n) gave Bobby's arm a squeeze and pointed into the lounge. She stayed close behind him as he walked into the living room and took a peek around. Cartoons were playing on the tv, there was a colouring book on the table and crayons scattered along the floor.

And there was James, curled up in a ball on the sofa, head almost hanging off the edge and arms bound to his chest. Drooling onto the pillow as he dozed off in a power nap.

"Want a coffee?" (Y/n) kept her voice quiet, not wanting to wake James just yet when he had only been asleep for a good ten minutes or so. He would wake up soon and he would be thrilled to see Bobby when he did wake up. The three year old was under the impression that Bobby was his grandad and nobody would or wanted to correct him on that.

"Sure." Bobby patted his hand on the back of the sofa, grinning at the little boy that always stole his heart, before he spun on his heels and moved towards the kitchen.

He had come round today because he had the day off and Bobby hated to swing by and leave in a hurry. The one time he had tried to do that James had cried when Bobby didn't come inside for a drink or stay long. He wanted to hang around and chat to his grandson when he woke up.

"So, how are you?" Bobby took a seat at the kitchen table while (Y/n) flicked the kettle on and got some mugs out ready.

"Did Evan tell you his parents are in town?"

The way (Y/n) arched a brow and glanced over her shoulder at Bobby made him whistle lowly and hang his head for a moment.

No, indeed, Evan had not mentioned that little fact. Although it did explain why Evan had been restless on shift yesterday and why he had been so twitchy and distant instead of involved and forever bombarding the team with facts and new information he had learned.

"Oh, so that's who you're expecting?" He noticed (Y/n) had seemed a little jumpy when she opened the door.

(Y/n) didn't want her in-laws turning up when Evan wasn't here. She never knew what to say to the Buckley parents, things were always tense and awkward and she needed Evan to play referee and keep the peace and the tension down.

They were in town now and they had visited Maddie this morning and they should be coming to visit (Y/n) and James anytime soon. (Y/n) was dreading it, but if Bobby was here it might calm the waters a little. She hoped.

"Evan's on shift, how lucky." (Y/n) joked and placed a cup down in front of each of them, using the table as leverage to ease down and try to shake the discomfort in her back.

She slouched back in her seat, pushing her knees forward into the table while her shoulders jabbed back into the chair. The looser she sat, the easier the pain was to handle in her back and stomach.

(Y/n) hadn't been in this much pain when she was pregnant with James, but then again, she was having twins this time.

She almost wished Evan and Maddie hadn't told their parents she was pregnant. They wanted to come down more often now they knew she was having twins, just like they visited a lot when they had been expecting James. They rarely visited Evan before then, but once James was born they were down every other month and kept calling to see how he was. Evan had never had so much contact with his parents since he moved out at eighteen.

It was nice that they were trying to make an effort, but it was too little too late. They were in contact much more often now that Evan had his own family, but it still wasn't enough. Going from almost nothing to a few visits didn't make James see them as his grandparents. He thought of (Y/n)'s parents as his grandparents and he saw Bobby and Athena as Evan's parents, therefore they were his family.

Bobby had been there when James was born, he had seen him almost every day and cuddled him and took care of him. He and Athena were always taking James on days out and having him sleep over and were teaching him to ride his bike. They were his grandparents.

"I'm sure he doesn't feel very lucky. Does the little man know they're coming?"

"No, just in case they don't turn up today."

(Y/n) didn't see any point in telling James in case the Buckley parents didn't make it here today or something came up. And she knew James wouldn't be excited to see them like he would when he saw Bobby. James didn't spend a lot of time with Evan's parents and it had been months since they had last visited and over a year since they had taken him out anywhere.

They pledged when he was born that they would spend a lot of time with him and take James out places, because he was their first grandchild. So far they hadn't kept up with that ideal, and Evan hadn't expected them to either.

"Oh," (Y/n) took a quick sip of her coffee, pursing her lips when it burned the back of her throat. She set her cup down and moved her hands to the table, pushing herself up despite only just sitting down.

She aimed for the fridge and pulled down the latest scan photo Evan had pinned with a magnet, next to James's latest drawing. Which happened to be a stick figure James said was Evan, stood next to a bright red fire truck.

"Here," She couldn't hide the smile from her lips when she slid the photo over to Bobby and sat back down.

Her left hand moved to glide across her stomach where both twins were kicking up a storm. Her right hand began to tap against the table as she watched a soft but proud smile flutter across Bobby's face as he skimmed his thumb across the picture. He still had the first picture Evan had given him to announce he was going to have his first kid. Now he was having two for the price of one this time.

"For me?" He murmured quietly, wafting the picture before he got his wallet out his back pocket to keep the picture safe when (Y/n) nodded. "Only two months left."

"I can't wait." As much as (Y/n) was happy to be pregnant, she was eager for it to be over and to have both babies in her arms.

The timing was hopefully going to work out though. They had been warned (Y/n) could go into early labour because she was having twins, something which had put Evan on red alert and set off his anxiety. But (Y/n) was hoping that wouldn't happen because in three weeks it would be James's fourth birthday. Which happened to be on the same day as Evan's thirtieth birthday.

She wanted to get the party out the way and celebrate both her boys before she had the twins. The last thing they wanted was her to go into labour just before the party and ruin the day for James or take the attention away from him and Evan. Or to go into labour now and have two screaming babies disrupting the little family party they had planned out.

Maddie had taken the lead in organising a party, of course Evan had to know about it because it was for his son, but he didn't know the details. All he knew was he had his birthday off work and so did his team so they could all have a big get together. Evan didn't know where it was happening, what time, what was planned. Nothing.

It was a big birthday for him and Maddie and (Y/n) wanted to celebrate.

Evan had been head over heels when the day before his twenty-sixth birthday, (Y/n) went into labour. And when James was finally born, they looked at the time and realised it was three in the morning. Officially Evan's birthday. He got to share his special day with his boy and it had been the best present he had ever gotten.

"I'll bet. So, what's he asking for his birthday this time?" Every time Bobby asked James what he wanted or what he was expecting, he seemed to ask for something different.

"A fire truck. Like, a real one, he wasn't impressed when Evan told him he couldn't get one."

James had sat in the truck before and been for a ride and he was enthralled by the work his dad and grandad both did. He loved the trucks and the ambulance and he asked if he could have one. Evan politely explained the best he could do was get his son a replica toy truck for now which made James cry.

He wanted Evan to bring the truck home. James was under the impression that since his dad was a firefighter, he should be able to drive the truck whenever he liked and use it as his personal car.

The doorbell broke apart the conversation and (Y/n)'s shoulders visibly slumped and the way she flopped her head forward had Bobby's face softening.

He reached out to pat her arm before she pushed up and sighed, trudging out the kitchen towards the front door.

They were here. (Y/n) couldn't imagine it being anyone else at the door, she wasn't expecting anyone and she knew Maddie would be on shift this afternoon which was why her parents had gone to see her first this morning. It had to be Evan's parents.

Please don't stay until Evan gets home!

She had a horrible gut feeling that they would hang around all afternoon and stay until Evan came home from work so they could see him. (Y/n) didn't want to have to entertain them all day, but it seemed like that was a big possibility. Part of her hoped she could manage to persuade them to leave later this afternoon and come back tomorrow when Evan was off.

It would be easier for everyone, (Y/n) wouldn't be so drained if they turned up tomorrow, Evan would be home and recuperated after a good nights sleep and James would be a bit more lively.

The calmest, controlled look (Y/n) could muster plastered across her face when she opened the front door and was met with the sight of her in-laws.

Their smiles were warm and made some of the nerves in (Y/n)'s stomach die down, but it still didn't feel right to see them without Evan being here. He always controlled the situation, he steered the conversation and stopped his parents from causing any arguments. And if an unsettling topic arose, Evan squashed it immediately.

Despite everything Evan had been through with his parents, somehow, he was always calm and composed and (Y/n) didn't know how he did it.

"Hi, you made it. Come in." (Y/n) moved to let them in, watching the way they shrugged off their coats and hung them up as if they were round here every week rather than every couple of months.

They were more at ease than they used to be, but they still looked and seemed out of place here. Not like when they visited Maddie. They were happier visiting her, and for the longest time (Y/n) couldn't understand why. Until it was made clear why Evan had been born in the first place.

"Do you want to go into the kitchen?"

(Y/n) led them into the kitchen, locking eyes with Bobby who took another sip of coffee and stayed seating. He didn't feel the need to stand up or shake hands or try and make any effort in a big hello with the Buckleys.

"Would you like a drink?" (Y/n) rolled her lips together and watched her in-laws as they dithered, debating whether or not to sit down at the table or stand near the counter. They seemed to settle on sitting opposite Bobby at the table, although they looked perplexed as if wondering why he was here.

"A cup of tea would be nice."

She rattled through the cupboard for any teabags. Evan could drink coffee like it was water and most of the team had a preference for coffee, but not many of their friends and family drank tea. (Y/n) used to have a taste for iced tea when she was pregnant with James, but she hadn't drank much of it since.

An old pack of teabags was still in date and (Y/n) set to work making them each a drink.

"How have you been? You remember Bobby,"

"Yes, yes, Evan's Captain. We're well, we missed little James, where is he?" Margaret nodded towards Bobby and watched him raise his mug towards her before his eyes flitted over towards (Y/n).

Bobby couldn't help the nagging feeling that clawed behind his chest. They weren't asking how (Y/n) was. God knows when the last time was that they had seen or talked to her, and here they were not bothering to ask how their pregnant daughter in law was doing in herself.

But he held his tongue. There was no sense saying anything, Bobby didn't want to start an argument and he knew it wasn't worth it.

"I'll go see if he's awake."

With their cups placed in front of them, (Y/n) smiled and slowly padded through into the living room. She didn't want to wake James, she wanted to let him sleep because he needed it, but if she didn't wake him now and Bobby left, James would get upset. He would want to see him and Evan's parents wanted to see him.

They always made the effort with James, maybe because they knew they had messed up so royally with Evan and were trying to make amends through his son.

A smile fluttered across (Y/n)'s lips when she saw James was still in the same place she had left him earlier, cuddled up on the sofa.

It took some effort for (Y/n) to lean on the arm of the sofa and lower herself down to her knees. She smoothed her hand across her stomach, settling the twins while her other hand moved out and brushed through James's hair. She brushed her fingertips across his temple and moved his messy hair back on his head which roused him.

His tired eyes blinked open like headlights and be brushed his fist against the tip of his nose, squeaking a yawn while he stretched his arms above his head.

"Someone's here to see you." Her voice was quiet and she leaned across to kiss his cheek which puffed out into a smile.

That was all James needed to wake himself up. A shiver tore through him and he sat up straight, stretching and wriggling like a worm on a hook before he scrambled down off the sofa. He didn't have to know who was here, James loved visitors he would attach to anyone who came by.

With a deep breath, (Y/n) heaved herself back up to her feet and followed James through into the kitchen.

"There he is." The happiness in Phillip's voice was surprising, but it was James's reaction that had (Y/n)'s heart jumping up into her throat.

Panic fluttered across James's face when he saw his grandparents sat at the table. He could see Phillip's arms stretched out towards him like he was waiting for James to run into his arms. And Margaret was leaning forward with her hands clasped together and a sickly sweet smile on her face. But James didn't want to go over to them.

He didn't want hugs or kisses from the two people he didn't know very well. The grandparents that were more on the phone than they were in person. The ones who held his hand too tight when they sporadically took him out. Who were more often than not arguing with his parents or visiting his aunt Maddie. The ones who upset his mum and didn't often speak to his dad.

The three year old paused in the doorway, hands wavering in front of him as he tried to work out what to do. He didn't know whether to back up and cling to his mum or go over and let them hug him.

He didn't have to decide.

The moment James looked up and realised there was another person standing in front of the sink washing a cup, he seemed to become animated again and come back to life.

"It's bubba!"

Excitement flooded James's voice and his arms stretched out as a grin as broad as his arms fluttered across his face.

"Hey, there's my little man." A quiet 'oof' left Bobby's lips when the three year old barrelled into him like a bullet. He leaned down and scooped James up, setting him on his hip so the little boy could curl his arms around his neck and cuddle up close.

He pressed a kiss to Bobby's cheek and clung tightly to his neck, giggling and shimmying when Bobby swayed him from side to side.

Although James could say Bobby, he never called him that. Since the moment he began to talk, he could never pronounce Bobby and it always came out wrong. So James ended up calling him bubba, something which Evan had called James when he was a baby. Now that was James's special name for the person he classed as his grandad. He thought bubba meant grandad and no one corrected him on that.

Just like when he saw Athena, he called her 'nanny Nash' and she loved it.

"How are you, hm?" Bobby kissed his temple and eased back against the counter, jostling James in his arms. His eyes flitted across to (Y/n) when she sat down at the table across from her in-laws who could do nothing but stare at Bobby and their grandson.

"You fix the bike, bubba?"

"I did, it's all fixed and ready for you."

The squeal James let out had bobby's smile broadening and he let James pull him down by the neck so he could snuggle their cheeks together. He murmured "Thank you," and squeezed Bobby tighter.

The glares Bobby could feel being sent his way made him hug the little boy tighter like he was suddenly afraid they were going to try and snatch the little boy from him. He kissed James's temple before he leaned forward and set him down to his feet again.

"I think I'd better get going, I'll be on shift to see your dad soon."

"You leaving?" James grabbed Bobby's hand and swayed their arms back and forth between them for a few seconds, the disappointment clear in his voice which made Bobby shiver. He didn't want to go but he had to, he couldn't impose and he did have to get ready for shift soon.

"I gotta go, but you'll see me at the weekend, okay?" He kissed the top of James's head and rubbed his hand across his back when James let go of him to hug his legs.

Part of him wondered if the toddler was going to let him go or not, but James eventually unravelled himself with a soft "Love you," which Bobby returned.

He watched James clamber up onto (Y/n)'s lap and his smile softened when the three year old wiggled onto her knees and huffed at her stomach which seemed to be in his way. His hands tapped down on the table as he leaned back into (Y/n), curving around her stomach while she kissed the top of his head and wrapped both arms around his waist.

"I'll speak to you soon."

"Thank you." (Y/n) reached up and gripped Bobby's hand when he held her shoulder as he passed.

Part of her wanted him to stay. She wanted back up, help, a friend to stick around until Evan came home. But they both knew it would be easier if he left, and he had to get ready for work, (Y/n) wouldn't delay him just because she didn't want to be on her own with her in-laws.

(Y/n) was ready for a lie down.

She was ready for Phillip and Margaret to either make their departure or for Evan to come home and save her.

She rested her head on her hand and looked across the table at her little boy. James was sat on Phillip's knee, munching on a biscuit, pushing a toy truck across the table. He didn't look impressed, he wasn't settled.

The couple had interrogated James for almost an hour, asking him questions, trying to check on him and how he had been doing. What he liked to watch and play with and of course, James had told them all about Bobby helping him to ride a bike.

"Tv?" James looked across at (Y/n) who reached for a biscuit herself. She didn't like eating in front of Margaret, not after a few years ago when her mother in law liked to tell (Y/n) what she should and shouldn't eat. And she doubted Margaret would agree or listen if (Y/n) tried to say she was eating for three, which she was.

"Go ahead baby."

He needed no more permission than that to scuttle away from his grandparents and rush into the living room.

"Evan should be home soon." (Y/n) ran her fingers through her hair and leaned her head to one side. She tried to smile, but she felt exhausted. She wished she and James were visiting because then it would be easy to make an excuse and go home. She couldn't exactly kick anyone out of her own home, it wouldn't be right and they were Evan's parents, (Y/n) didn't feel like she had the right to tell them to leave. That was Evan's job, his responsibility.

"Why did you let him call him that?" Margaret's words took (Y/n) by surprise.

Her brows furrowed and she looked over at her with confusion in her eyes. What was she talking about? Why did she have that look of discern in her eyes and something foul on her lips?

"Call who what?"

"Bubba."

"Oh, well that's- that's what he's always called Bobby, he could never pronounce Bobby properly." (Y/n) smiled fondly at the thought, even though she knew Phillip wouldn't see this so happily.

It was just a name that stuck, something that James found comfort in calling Bobby. A name that he loved, but whenever it was Bobby's birthday or Christmas or a special event, James would get him a card that said grandad on the front. He saw Bobby as Evan's dad and therefore as one of his grandparents, and that was the way they all liked it.

"But I'm his grandad. You let him run right past me to get to Bobby, and he's not even family. James barely spoke to us just now."

They couldn't blame (Y/n) for that.

It wasn't her fault that they weren't around enough for James to feel like they were his true family, his true grandparents. He couldn't help being close to Bobby when Bobby was always in his life and they weren't as close to him. Bobby had cared for him when he was a baby, looked after him, took him out most weekends and dealt with his temper tantrums and checked in when he didn't feel well.

If Phillip and Margaret didn't bother to check in or be around for most of James's life and the important things, they couldn't expect him to be close to them if they didn't do things in return.

"He is Evan's captain, not his father and James shouldn't be calling him grandad-"

"He's been in James's life since he was born, he's as good as a grandparent." (Y/n) turned away from them, twisting to the side on her chair to stop looking over at them.

"No he isn't, I'm his grandad, you shouldn't let him call Bobby that, it's wrong."

With a scoff, (Y/n) shook her head and used the table as leverage to push herself up. This wasn't fair and she didn't have to sit and listen to them chide her for something that wasn't her fault and wasn't even a problem to begin with.

"How can it be wrong? Bobby's prominent in his life, you see how much James loves him."

(Y/n) threw her hand to the side, wishing she could just project her thoughts and memories into their minds so they could see this from her point of view. They couldn't just expect things to go both ways and want James to be attached to them if they didn't put the effort in and see him often enough.

She padded over to the sink, dumping her cup before she tried to tidy the counter. She needed something to do before they sent her up the wall.

"You didn't even say anything to him. He completely ignored us and you let him, he can't get away with everything-"

"He didn't do anything wrong." There was no reason for (Y/n) to tell James off if he hadn't acted out or done anything wrong. He had been affectionate and happy and he was now entertaining himself in the living room, he had been as good as always today.

With one hand gripping the counter, (Y/n) moved her other hand down to cradle the side of her stomach. She didn't feel very well.

When was Evan coming home? Couldn't they wait for him to have this argument?

"And what was all that about a bike?"

(Y/n) couldn't refrain from rolling her eyes and she was glad they were sitting behind her so they wouldn't see.

"Bobby's teaching him to ride a bike, they had a collision at the weekend so Bobby fixed it for him." She motioned to the hallway but she was rather surprised when Phillip got up and actually went to take a look. As implied, there was a blue pedal bike in the hall that both of them had completely overlooked when they came in.

She spun on her heels when she heard Phillip tut and gasp and her eyes widened when Margaret had tears in her eyes.

Her free hand moved down to her stomach that twinged like a coil within her had been pulled and she let herself slump into the counter to keep herself upright. Adrenaline was coursing through (Y/n)'s stomach and fluttering up to her chest, making it harder to breathe and her fingers were starting to turn numb.

"We could have- I could have taught him. For goodness sake (Y/n) that man isn't family. I'm his bloody grandad."

"Wasn't it Maddie who taught Evan how to ride a bike?" She couldn't help the snappy response or the way her nose crinkled and her upper lip curled into a grimace. They couldn't be pulling this one on her. They didn't teach Evan to ride a bike or show any interest in helping him and watching him grow up. Maddie had been both sister, mother and father to Evan.

That was the reason Evan was so desperate to be there for all of the moments with James. He didn't want his son to feel as left out, cold and alone as he did growing up and it was why Evan wasn't surprised when his parents fell through on their promise to be around for their grandson.

So if Bobby wanted to step into that role and keep up the pretense of being a grandparent and actually love James, Evan was more than happy for his Captain and surrogate dad to do that for them all.

"And he stays with this Bobby on the weekend? You've never let him stay with us," Margaret moved her hand to cover her chest like there was a hollow pain she was trying to blot out and it made (Y/n) feel infuriated.

Dread crept up the back of (Y/n)'s throat and she could feel tears burning in her eyes. She looked around them to try and peek into the living room, but James was none the wiser to what was going on. He was sat on the floor with a few toys scattered round him and a Scooby Doo cartoon playing on the tv, he was happy in ignorant bliss.

"I never- that's out of order."

Both hands moved to her stomach as tears welled up in her eyes from both fury and agony. She was starting to feel like a boombox, her heartbeat pulsing under every inch of her skin making her vibrate. And the twins were starting to shift around so much it was becoming painful. Her abdomen was tense and tight and weighed heavy making (Y/n) want to lean forward more than usual.

"You've never a-asked for James to stay with you." They had never asked, but even if they did, (Y/n) wouldn't agree. James may be a social butterfly, but he didn't settle with many people, only close family.

He wouldn't cope being away from home to stay with Phillip and Margaret, he would be crying and wanting to be back home. Bobby and Athena were different, James had been staying over with them every other weekend since he was one. It was what he was used to, and he was often staying with Maddie and Chimney when she wanted time with her nephew.

(Y/n) reached her hand out when James came toddling into the kitchen, toy truck cradled to his chest and a worried look on his face. He stared between his mum and grandparents, unsure what was going on. But he didn't like the way Phillip had his hands on his hips and how Margaret looked a mix between angry and upset.

"You need to have words with him, (Y/n). You're turning him against us-"

"Stop it."

"Well you shouldn't-"

"Don't shout at mummy." James stomped his foot down on the floor and moved to stand in front of (Y/n). He lifted his chin and looked up at them with a defiant look that matched Evan one hundred percent. He didn't know why they were arguing or what they were talking about, but he didn't like the way they were talking to his mum.

He knew if his dad was here he would of already manouvred in front of (Y/n) and would have told his parents off already. Without Evan here, James felt the need to stop them shouting at his mum.

"Sweetie I- we weren't-"

Both of them paused when a quiet "Oww," tumbled past (Y/n)'s lips and she hunkered down. Her nails scratched into the kitchen countertop and her other hand pushed up into her abdomen like she was trying to lift up the weight of the twins to relieve the pain she was now feeling.

She couldn't help the way her knees bent forward and she lowered down like she was trying to crouch or do a squat behind James.

The tears welling up in her eyes started to fall freely down her face as her chin tucked into her chest that was starting to shake. Her stomach was hurting, more specifically, her lower abdomen. Sharp, striking pains hit her like a knife and she shuddered through her next breath, begging for the pain to disappear.

This wasn't right. (Y/n) was on observation by the midwife, she was having extra check ups to make sure she wasn't going to go into early labour and to control things if she did. She wasn't likely to make it to her due date with twins and now, (Y/n) had a horrible feeling that this might be labour pains.

She couldn't go into labour now. She was thirty-one weeks, they had two months left before this should be happening, or in the very least, one more month before they should be thinking about this.

Her in-laws were stressing her enough to cripple her body down in pain. If they had distressed her enough to enforce contractions, Evan was going to hit the roof when he found out.

"Honey, what's the matter?"

"I- I don't…" Reaching her hand out, (Y/n) shifted to grip the table but her knees were almost scraping the floor.

She shuffled, bending her feet oddly to get herself across to the chair and she shook off Margaret's hand when the older woman tried to reach out for her. (Y/n) didn't want her help when she was probably the reason for (Y/n)'s sudden pains.

For a few seconds, none of them said anything. Both elder parents stood hovering by the table, unsure what to say or what to do to help. Margaret looked like she was going to reach out for James but he moved quicker. He stood beside his mum, leaning into her just a little in case she didn't want his touch, but he wanted comfort and security at the same time.

(Y/n) tried to take a few deep breaths and ward away the tears, she hated being upset when James was around to see. She didn't want to scare him like that, but when another pain tore through her abdomen, she couldn't help the way she started to shake.

Her body coiled forward and she swallowed down a whimper, moving her hand back and forth across her stomach but it didn't do anything, not that she was expecting it to take away the pain anyway.

"Call Maddie." (Y/n) spat the words through gritted teeth as she stared up at the pair of them through blurring eyes.

"She's at work-"

"Then call 911!" Her voice changed to a low whine and she slammed her hand down on the table to get their attention. She felt the way James jumped against her but he stayed close and did well not to cry too. If Maddie was at work that was better for (Y/n), Maddie could give them the advice they needed and get help. She could do something and call someone because Bobby was now at work and they didn't know if Evan was on his way home or not.

(Y/n) needed help and she needed Maddie if she was going into the hospital because she didn't want Phillip and Margaret to be the ones looking after James.

She needed someone she trusted who James would feel comfortable being around and Maddie was the only person they could call right now when everyone else was at work, including Evan.

Slouching to the right, (Y/n) flopped her right arm on the table and dropped her forehead down onto her arm. She could feel herself beginning to shake when another pain wracked her stomach in a low, dull throb. The first one felt like a contraction, (Y/n) knew what that felt like even after four years. And she would guess that this was some sort of stress pains but whatever they were, she shouldn't be having them.

A quiet mewl left her lips and she wanted to smile when she felt James tenderly kiss her arm and smoothed his hand up and down her back like he wanted to do something to help her.

She wanted Evan. They both wanted Evan.

… Evan could feel himself trembling, legs close to giving way as he rounded the corner and set off into another sprint down the corridor. His hands balled into fists at his sides and his chest was heaving, threatening to strain and break free from his shirt.

The moment his eyes locked on his family, a small puddle of relief started to bloom in his stomach. He felt better for seeing them, but he still didn't know what was going on.

His lips rolled together when his sights set on James. The three year old started to whine and wriggle on Maddie's lap, previously settled leaning into her chest until he realised Evan was finally here. He kicked his legs out and slid beneath Maddie's arms, sliding down to the floor so he could set off into a sprint.

James's arms deadlocked around Evan's legs and he tilted his head back, looking up at his dad with tears in his eyes and his chest panting and heaving.

"Daddy."

Leaning down, Evan scooped James up, allowing his boy to grip his neck and snuggle close into his chest.

"I'm here, I've got you."

Evan danced his eyes around his family. Maddie pushed up from her chair and stepped closer, her hand already on his arm giving a light squeeze to try and calm him down and give whatever comfort she could. Their parents remained seated in the corridor, hands linked together, worried eyes gazing up at Evan as if he was a profit that had just appeared in front of them.

"What happened?" Evan didn't know what brought them all here.

He had only just climbed off the truck after a two hour call out when the shift lead told him to call Maddie because dispatch had gotten through to the station that he had a family emergency. And all his sister told him over the phone was that (Y/n) had had pains and they were taking her to the hospital to get checked out.

He let Maddie steer him a few feet away down the corridor and her eyes flitted to James, but the toddler wasn't listening. He was happily humming into Evan's chest and drawing patterns on his shirt. Evan didn't have chance to change. He had sped from the station down here to the hospital so he was still in his shirt that was black with smoke, damp with water backsplash and tight and crumpled from heat.

"She started getting cramps, the doctor said it was the start of labour pains."

Evan could feel his upper lip curling and he tilted his head back, trying to dull down the ache in his lower chest and the fire burning behind his ribs.

"Why? It's too early… when I left last night she was fine. Where is she?" Evan wouldn't have gone to work if he thought (Y/n) wasn't well or if he'd of known she would go downhill like this. There was nothing to suggest she was going to go into labour and it was too early for that, this would be premature for the twins and dangerous.

Evan bounced James up and down in his arms and cradled the back of his head, tilting his head down so he could kiss the top of his head.

"They've given her something to stop the contractions."

"Thank God, Maddie what happened?"

The way Maddie looked across at their parents made Evan's stomach drop. What had gone on while he had been at work? Something had to have happened, (Y/n) couldn't just go into labour out of the blue when she had been fine last night and there had been no problems before now.

"Mum and dad were round to see them… (Y/n) said they were arguing with her."

"They did this?" His tone was dark but it was the look in his eyes that set Maddie on edge even more.

She watched the way he leaned down to try and set James back on his feet, but the little boy wouldn't let go of Evan's neck. He clung to his chest and wriggled in his arms, whining to try and get Evan to keep hold of him.

"James, baby let go for a minute-"

"They shouted at mummy."

Evan paused, crouching down with James stood between his knees with his arms bound tight around his neck. His hands squeezed James's sides and he kept him close, trying to stay calm.

"What did they say, baby?" He wasn't sure if he wanted the answer or not, but Evan wasn't impressed in the slightest that James had clearly heard something he shouldn't. Had his parents really shouted at his wife? Had they argued with her with James nearby to hear them? Had they upset his wife enough to cause all of this and panic his son too?

"They were arguing about Bubba, and the bike… they were being mean." James leaned his head on Evan's shoulder and pushed into his chest until Evan held him tighter and kissed his temple.

"Okay. Okay, baby you stay with aunt Maddie for a minute, then we'll go see mummy. Bubba's coming soon to see us all too."

Evan shared a look with his sister and he chose to ignore the panic in her eyes while he carefully nudged James across to her. He waited until she had her arms wrapped around him before he got up and advanced over to his parents. Both hands curled into fists at his sides and he took a glance over his shoulder to make sure James was at a safe enough distance away not to hear anything, although that meant Evan was going to have to keep his voice down.

"Evan-"

"I was in the middle of a double shift, and I get a call to say (Y/n)'s in hospital, so I come down here to be told she's in labour after arguing with you. And you have the nerve to stick around? What the Hell did you say to her to cause this?"

He hadn't even finished his twenty-four hour shift before he got called to come here. Evan thought maybe (Y/n) had had some sort of fall or she was sick or having some kind of pains with the twins. He wasn't expecting her to be in labour- which hopefully had stopped by now. And he wasn't expecting his parents to be the cause of all this.

"She got herself worked up-"

"Labour doesn't count as worked up, mum, it counts as fucking stressed out. What did you say?"

"James wouldn't come near us today, he's rushing around with that Captain of yours, calling him his grandad and spending weekends with him. She's turning him against us Evan, we are his grandparents."

A horrid shuddering breath rocked Evan's system. His hands found his hips and his foot began to tap against the floor as he looked up at the ceiling. He could feel his fingers puncturing into his hips and his chest ached at their words.

How were they blaming (Y/n) for this?

She hadn't done anything to warrant any of this. It was their own doing and now they had stressed his wife into labour when she was supposed to be resting and taking things easy until the twins were born.

"Just leave."

"Evan, don't do this, please."

"Bobby is James's grandad, always has been, always will be. He doesn't stay with you because he barely fucking knows you and I wouldn't trust him with you either. Look what you've done today, we'll be lucky if she doesn't go into premature labour now after this." Twisting to the left, Evan motioned his hand out towards James. "Come on, we're gonna see mum."

As soon as James trotted over to him, Evan grabbed his hand and steered him straight ahead. He wasn't stopping to argue and he wasn't having James getting worried or upset any further than this. He wanted to see (Y/n) and make sure she was alright.

He could feel Maddie close behind them and he rapped his knuckles lightly on the door before he headed inside.

His lips curved into a smile before he could stop himself and something warm flooded his eyes when they set on his wife. The moment her arms stretched out for him, Evan let go of James so he could move forward.

Evan almost melted on the spot when (Y/n)'s arms looped around his neck. He wound his arms tightly around her waist, trying not to squeeze too much and cause her any more pain or discomfort. His face burrowed into the side of her neck and he inhaled her scent, smothering his lips against her skin while he felt (Y/n)'s hand run up and down his back.

"Are you okay? What did the doctor say?"

Evan let his weight slump down on the side of the bed and he didn't miss the way the bed groaned beneath him and he felt it shudder when James scrambled up on the other side of the bed.

(Y/n) gripped Evan's hand and opened her other arm out, mumbling "Hi baby," when James crawled up and plonked himself down beneath her right arm. She didn't miss the way Evan's eyes kept moving to her stomach and she gently moved his hand to rest on her stomach. She wasn't tender or made of glass, he could reach out for the twins like he always did without fear of making her feel any worse.

"Contractions have stopped, but I'm here for twenty four hour observation to make sure they don't start again. They're both doing okay."

Evan mumbled his relief before he leaned forward and pressed his lips down against her stomach. His lips curved into a grin when he felt James's fingers brush through his hair, something the little boy had always seen (Y/n) do often.

"Sorry to drag you away from work."

"Hey, if you're not well I need to be here. Bobby's coming down soon, said he'd look after a certain someone for us so I can stay with you."

He could see the panic that fluttered across (Y/n)'s face and he felt her grip tighten on his wrist when she looked towards the door before she looked back at Evan. It wasn't that she didn't want Bobby to come by, of course she did, it was sweet that he cared and that he was willing to help them when he didn't have to. But Evan's parents were outside that door and (Y/n) didn't want another fight breaking out if they saw the Buckleys.

"Evan, you parents-"

"Aren't staying. Everyone who matters is right in here, so no worrying. Everything's okay."

They were all in here and when Bobby arrived, that would be their immediate family right here in this room. His parents had been told to go and Evan doubted they would hang around after what had happened today. He wasn't going to let this happen again.

Playing Favorites

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

Summary: Tim trains you differently, uncaring that he's accused of playing favorites. When he realizes that the scars your trauma left go deeper than your approach to police work, he accidentally falls in love with you, and you're beside him for it all.

Warnings: touch starved reader, brief angst, depiction/discussion of past traumas, allusion to past domestic violence, canon-typical injuries and violence, fluff, comfort, obligatory makeout sesh

Word Count: 3.2k+ words

A/N: I used this fantastic idea by @nevereclipse!! As someone who is touch starved, I loved every single aspect of this dynamic and hope I did it some justice🤍🫶🏼

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Less than a minute after your TO slams on the brakes, declares he’s been shot, and demands you tell him exactly where you are, the radio crackles. Officer Bradford has been quiet since you answered him with the nearest cross streets and the direction the shop was facing, and his silence is something you assume you’ll have to grow used to. It’s better than the yelling, you think.

“7-Adam-19,” the dispatcher radios. “Domestic disturbance in your area.”

“Responding,” Tim replies. “What’s standard procedure for domestic calls, boot?”

You stiffen, straightening your back against the seat as you answer robotically, reciting your list of dos and don’ts for this type of call. Tim listens, glancing at you every few seconds. He has a reputation for judging his rookies quickly – and usually, he’s right in his judgements. Yet, he held off on deciding whether or not you would succeed. Though it’s your first day, Tim has, until now, been unsure what to think of you. You know your stuff; there’s no question of that.

“Good,” he murmurs when you finish. “Follow my lead.”

“Yes, sir,” you answer.

Tim slams the door to the shop, but when he walks past you to approach the front door of the dilapidated house, he realizes something. You’ve endured hard things, experiences you’ve probably kept to yourself and dealt with all alone. Despite that hurt and the devastation Tim knows comes with it, you decided to become a police officer. Whether to be the person you needed during the bad days and dark nights or to stop someone from going down the wrong path is irrelevant to Tim. All he knows now is that your potential outweighs your response to your memories, your dedication is stronger than your past. Tim will have to change his ways because you have what it takes to be a success story.

For the first time in his TO career, Tim adapts his training method to fit his rookie rather than molding his rookie to fit his style. For you, he can be different: gentler, kinder, quieter. You need to learn and grow, and Tim will do everything he can to help you...

Right after he kicks the front door in and starts yelling at the couple fighting on the kitchen floor.

“337.6,” Tim says.

Pinching your brows, you answer, “Unlawful use of a California Horse Racing license? Do you really think that will come up?”

“It’s not about whether or not you’ll need it,” Tim explains, “but whether or not you know it.”

“Okay.”

“Why do you know that one?”

“Why do you?” you challenge, smiling.

Tim shakes his head as he turns on to Pico. “628.5.”

You think for a moment, then remember, “Information attained during prosecution for criminal activity in relation to massage therapy is made available to the California Massage Therapy Council.”

Tim scoffs, though he's impressed by your knowledge of Penal Codes.

“I don’t remember the Business and Professions Code section, though,” you add softly.

“That’s fine,” Tim replies.

You stare out of the windshield, pulling your shoulders toward each other as you curl in on yourself.

“Boot,” Tim says. “You don’t have to know the whole code, just the premise.”

“What if it comes up?” you question.

“You’ve got a phone with internet and the entire LAPD dispatch at your disposal. Asking for help to fill in the blanks isn’t frowned upon, it’s good policing. You may ride alone someday but you are not expected to do this job by yourself.”

“10-50 multiple vehicles, at northeast intersection of Pico and Hauser,” dispatch alerts. “Service technician ETA seven minutes.”

Tim pulls the radio from the dashboard and attaches himself and you to the call. You flex your hands as he turns around and drives toward the accident scene.

“What would you like me to do, Officer Bradford?” you ask as Tim parks behind the wrecked cars.

“Get these people out of this lane,” he answers, opening his door. “We’ve got a few cones in the war bags, make them work.”

“Yes, sir.”

You open the trunk as Tim joins the other officers on the scene. While he checks for injuries and ensures statements will be taken, you direct a driver to go into the other lane.

“But I need to turn right!” he calls through his rolled-down window. “I’m late to a meeting!”

You walk to his car to assist him after checking that no one is trying to get through. “Go straight through when it’s clear, turn right on Carmona, and it’ll take you up to San Vincente,” you direct.

“But I’m going to Olympic,” he rambles quickly, gesturing to his GPS.

“You’re from out of town?”

“That obvious?”

You smile and point straight. “Go through this light. Right on Carmona, which merges into Masselin after you cross San Vincente. That’ll get you straight to Olympic.”

“Okay. Right, right.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks, officer.”

He pulls up to the white line at the intersection just as the light changes to red. Tim says your name, then gestures to the traffic backed up in the Northbound lane.

“Sorry,” you say.

As you turn to jog across the street and direct traffic, Tim calls your name again.

“One thing at a time,” he reminds you. “Good work.”

You nod, then look both ways. You’re out of earshot and are directing drivers to merge before crossing the intersection when Officers Lucy Chen and John Nolan look at your TO with wide eyes.

“What?” Tim questions.

“You just said good work,” Lucy says. “To a rookie.”

“You’re being… nice,” Nolan adds.

“I had to remind myself not to cry on numerous occasions as your rookie, but you tell her good job? I didn’t know you played favorites, Tim.”

“I’m not playing favorites,” Tim defends. He looks over his shoulder to check on you, then sighs. “Are we going to move these cars out of the way or talk about my teaching style?”

“EMTs are here to check the drivers, so we could do both,” Nolan suggests.

“Go put the sedan in neutral, Chen,” Tim instructs. “Nolan, you’re pushing.”

The service technicians arrive as Tim, Lucy, and Nolan get the first car out of the lane. As they take over, and another thanks you for your help and begins directing traffic, Tim leans against the shop and watches you return.

“Are you okay, Officer Bradford?” you inquire.

“How many times did you get flipped off?” he asks rather than answering.

“Four,” you answer. “Sir.”

“Should’ve written them tickets.”

Your brows raise, and you press your hands against your legs to stop yourself from wringing your fingers together. “Really?”

Tim shrugs as he says, “Up to the officer. In a backup like that, no, but if any of them had gotten hostile, absolutely.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“I know you will,” Tim replies, pushing off the shop. “Let’s go.”

As you buckle your seatbelt, a robbery in progress call comes through, and you gladly accept Tim’s offer to take the lead when you arrive at the nearby drugstore, smiling at his faith in you.

 “Did you know Tim has a favorite officer?” Lucy asks.

“Yeah,” Angela replies. “It’s me.”

Nyla barks a sarcastic laugh, then smiles when Angela glares at her.

“Who is it this week?” Nyla inquires.

Lucy looks around, then leans forward to whisper, “His boot.”

“Tim?” Nyla asks, still sarcastic. “Falling for a boot? Who would’a thought it.”

“What we had was not this,” Lucy argues. “We were a fling, and now we’re friends. He’s- he’s nice to her, talks to her without yelling, corrects her without getting mad. It’s weird.”

“Lucy,” Angela begins. “As a TO, you have to do what is best for the rookie, not for you. Maybe that’s what she needs. For some people, the yelling and obnoxious reprimands are too much.”

“Tim Bradford does not care about being too much,” Lucy points out.

“Got a point there,” Nyla agrees, leaning back in her chair. “He breaks boots’ spirits, regardless of what they need. There must be something else going on.”

Angela juts her chin toward the door, and Lucy and Nyla turn in time to see Tim leading you into the station. You’re walking side-by-side, and he’s nodding along as you speak. Tim watches your face, then glances at your small hand motions. When one side of his lips quirks up, and he shakes his head, Angela and Nyla look at each other.

“See?!” Lucy exclaims when you turn out of sight.

“Oh, we see,” Nyla replies.

“So, what does it mean?”

“Ever heard of kindred souls?” Angela asks.

Lucy hesitates as Angela and Nyla stand to leave, then decides, “Tim is not kindred anything.”

“Maybe not to you,” Nyla says over her shoulder.

“Is she okay?” you ask.

Tim scrubs an antiseptic wipe across his knuckles as he returns from the ambulance. You were expecting the worst when you got a call for a possible 187, but walking into a home with two screaming teenagers and a bleeding child was far worse.

“Paramedics aren’t sure,” Tim answers. “They’re rushing her to UCLA Children's.”

“It doesn’t make any sense,” you murmur.

“No,” Tim agrees. “The detectives will figure out what happened, but unfortunately, we rarely get to play a part in deciphering the puzzle.”

You nod, tapping the toe of your right boot against the asphalt. If you’d gotten here faster, if you’d urged Tim to go inside the back door, or radioed for an ambulance as soon as the call came in, maybe the young girl fighting for her life would have a better chance.

“Hey,” Tim says. You don’t look up, so he lays his hand on your upper back and says, “It’s not our fault.”

You stiffen beneath his hand. Unable to remember the last time you were touched like this, you fight the urge to push him away as pain like pins and needles erupts under the warmth he gives. Then, suddenly, it passes, and the only thing you can feel is the comfort he provides.

Your muscles relax, and your shoulders drop as you unconsciously lean against his hand. Tim spreads his fingers when you seem to melt beneath him. At first, he thinks you’re going to fall. But, as quickly as you went from tense to wholly relaxed, a voice in his mind says, Oh.

There was no question that you’ve had hard times and seen and experienced difficult things that shaped who you are today, but Tim missed your touch starvation before now. With his hand on your back, Tim watches you take a deep breath before you look at him.

“There’s,” he begins, trailing off.

“I know it’s not our fault,” you say softly. “Thank you.”

Tim swallows as he nods, wondering why his hand fits so well. A car pulls over on the other side of the street, and Tim withdraws his hand when Nyla and Angela exit the front seats.

He nods to you before you begin speaking with the detectives, and the admiration you had for your TO and his knowledge begins shifting into something more.

“You alright?” Tim asks.

You raise your hand to your shoulder, press it lightly, and nod. Your frown tells Tim differently, and he gently hooks his finger beneath the collar of your uniform. He doesn’t have to pull the fabric far to see the redness of your skin.

“Get in the shop,” he says. “We have to get that checked.”

“It’ll be fine,” you reply. “Just sore.”

“Wasn’t a question.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” you answer with a salute.

Tim shakes his head and shifts the car into drive. It’s been nearly two weeks since Tim laid his hand on your back, and he’s lost count of how many easy touches he’s given you since then. But it works for both of you. You’re an even better cop than Tim expected. If he’d ask, you’d tell him it’s because of him.

The shop is filled with a tense silence as you drive back to the station. Tim is sitting like a statue in the passenger seat, and the man behind you stares at the back of your head as if he’s trying to make it explode.

You’ve known since the very first call of your training – a domestic disturbance – that Tim’s past affects him. Maybe you can see his trauma because you have your own, or it's evident because you cared enough to look. Either way, you know that calls like this affect him.

Finding a little boy hiding in the closet with a bruise on his cheek and drywall dust in his matted hair broke your heart, but it made Tim angry. You had to pull him off the man sitting behind you, and it’s only because of your demands and warnings that they’re both sitting in silence.

When you pull up to the station, an officer is waiting to take your arrest into custody, and you thank him before you return to the streets of Los Angeles.

“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask after several minutes alone.

“No,” Tim replies.

“Yeah, me neither,” you agree. “Wanna talk about the Braves?”

Tim jerks toward the door, his eyes wide in shock.

“Welcome back,” you mutter.

“It...” Tim begins.

“It’s hard,” you finish for him. “Especially when it reminds you of something or someone you recognize. I get it.”

“I know you do,” Tim murmurs.

“That’s why you’re so nice to me.”

“I’m just teaching you.”

You smile as you slow, parking outside a small strip mall. Turning toward Tim, you explain, “I’ve heard the stories, Officer Bradford. I know you don’t treat all of your rookies like this. But I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

Tim nods. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not today.”

“Wanna talk about the Dodgers?”

“You’d like that.”

“You wouldn’t?”

Your smile matches Tim’s, and everything feels lighter when Angela interrupts to ask for assistance with a new case.

“Big day tomorrow,” Tim reminds you as you walk out of the station together. “Get some sleep, don’t overstudy, and know you’re going to do great.”

“That’s it?” you ask. “No warning? Now if you make less than a 93, it’s a failure?”

“Lucy?” Tim questions.

You shrug, but Tim raises his hand, wrapping his fingers around the crook of your elbow to stop you.

“You are not Officer Chen. You are not a copied version of me. You are your own officer, your own person, and you do what you are capable of doing.”

“What if I’m not capable of doing this?”

“You are.”

“Only because of you,” you whisper.

“You did the work. I just offered an assist.”

You glance at Tim’s hand on your arm and don’t hesitate to wrap your arms around his neck. Hugging him tightly, you smile against his shoulder as he returns the hug. His light touches changed your life, but initiating physical affection and taking what you want is different.

“Thank you,” you say. “For everything.”

“You did the heavy lifting,” Tim replies.

As you step back, Tim’s hands pause on your waist. He looks at you, almost like he wants to say or do more. But then he steps back and wishes you a good night.

Alone in your apartment after graduating to short sleeves, you raise a glass and congratulate yourself. Your favorite movie is queued, you picked up dinner from the best restaurant in Los Angeles, and a congratulations card from Detective Lopez is now displayed on your bookcase. Yet, it feels like something is missing. While the movie plays, your thoughts wander to Tim.

A loud knock on your door distracts you from your daydreaming and the quiet night in. Pausing your movie, you walk to the door and look through the peephole. You smile as you open the door and invite your surprise visitor inside.

“Tim- Officer Bradford,” you greet. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re off the clock,” he reminds you. He sees your table and asks, “Celebrating?”

“Yeah.” Shrugging, you explain, “I figured, I made it this far.”

“It’s a big accomplishment. Have room for an extra guest?”

“Depends on the guest.”

Tim smiles and offers you a card. You thank him and set it on the counter as you offer to get him a drink or something to eat.

“I’m good, thank you.”

You nod, leaning against the counter as you look at him. He meets your eyes, and the silence around you is anything but awkward as you stare at one another.

“I came to congratulate you,” he says after a moment.

“Thank you.”

“You were right. I trained you differently.”

“Why?”

“Because I could tell that you were different. Whatever it was in your past that led you here, it made you special. It affected you, so I wanted to use that, let it help you rather than hurt you.”

“You never asked,” you muse.

“People who want to talk about it tend to start that conversation themselves.”

“Which you never do.”

“Not often, no.”

“Whatever happened to you, Tim, whether it made you the man you are or if you are here today in spite of it, you’re a good man.”

“Same to you.”

“You think I’m a good man?” you joke, smiling after the serious moment.

“It’s not obvious?” he replies.

You raise your hands to playfully push Tim away from you, but he catches your wrists and holds your palms against his chest. Standing together, you continue looking into his eyes. You’ve seen more in each other during your training than anyone else has ever cared enough to look for.

Falling in love with Tim was not intentional, and it wasn’t like free falling. After he touched you, he brought you back to life, and every day after, you fell a little more for him.

“Why’d you let me hug you?” you whisper.

“Because I wanted it, too,” he replies.

Tim brushes his thumb over the pulse point on your wrist. He releases your hand and cups your neck, tracing your jawline. You lean toward him while he pulls you closer.

Tim’s kiss feels like entering a new world, like coming home and finding paradise simultaneously. Sliding your hands up his chest, you shiver against Tim when his arm wraps around your waist. Tim bends slightly, lowering his hand to your hips before he lifts you. You don’t break the kiss as he sets you on the counter, and as his fingers tangle in your hair, you hold his jaw and lose yourself.

Through each breath, each movement, you give a piece of yourself to Tim and accept the pieces he offers you. Remembering that you stiffened and considered pushing him away the first time he touched you, you chuckle against Tim’s lips.

“What’s so funny?” he questions, pulling away and straightening your hair.

“I was touch starved a few months ago,” you reply. “And now you let me take whatever affection I want.”

“You’re welcome.”

You push your hand against Tim’s abs, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder.

“Some people think you were playing favorites with me,” you muse, looking up at him.

“I was,” he answers. “Still am.”

“Lucky me,” you murmur before kissing his jaw and tugging his shirt to bring him close again.

Tim Through the Years - Meet the Class

Series Masterlist

Summary: Tim meets your class of 25 five-year-olds. 1.2k+ words.

“Hey, can I run something by you?” you asked Tim while you were having lunch at his desk.

Tim looked up at you mid-bite of his shared sandwich. He chewed quickly and asked, “Of course, is everything okay?”

You softly bit your lip. “Yes. I know you aren’t a fan of community outreach, but will you come to my class and talk about safety and what to do in an emergency?”

Tim gave you his million-dollar smile “I’d be more than happy to come and talk to your class. I get to spend a whole morning with a beautiful lady.” He leans over and kisses you. “I also get the added bonus of being away from Lucy, too.”

You shoved him slightly. “I think you like the latter more.”

“Hey, that’s police brutality. I might have to handcuff you to this desk all day and then you’ll have to hang out with me.” Tim smiled as he spoke.

“Aw! You two are just so cute!” Lucy said when she walked up to the desk.

“Hi Lucy, how are you?” you turned and asked her.

“I’m doing well! Do you think we can have a girls night with me, you, Angela, Nyla and Bailey? We could go paint pottery or watch a movie or go laser tag or…." Before Lucy could finish, Tim sent her a glare.

“Can I help you with something, Officer Chen?” Tim growled out.

“Our suspect is ready to talk,” Chen said to Tim.

“I’ll see you later,” Tim told you as he kissed the top of your head.

“Bye Tim! Bye Lucy! We definitely have to get together soon!”

You wave them off as you pack up and leave. 

You paced back and forth before school started, waiting on Tim to arrive. You were extremely nervous because your students, while awesome, were very protective of you. They’ve stopped a presentation before because the man who was talking about his job told the class that they could do better than being a teacher. The poor guy got booed and slightly bullied by the group of 5-year-olds, so you just hope that today goes over well. Tim texted you to let you know that he would be a little late due to the fact he saw a crime being committed right in front of him.

When the bell finally rang, your group of students walked into the classroom all chatting away with each other. They put their bags up and sat down in the respective seats (it took a while for them to get down). 

“Good morning everyone!” you tell the class when the second bell rang.

“Good Morning Miss. Winchester!” they responded. 

You started the morning off with doing some freeze dance to get the kids ready to start the day. When that was done, you picked up right where you left off from yesterday. Some students still shouted out answers, but others would remember and raised their hands. You found it adorable how much they enjoy getting to learn. Soon, there was a knock at the door. 

“Class, we have a very special guest today who is going to talk to us about safety.” You walked up to the door, you let Tim and, to your surprise, two more officers in.

“IS THAT A DOG?!?!?!” a student named Ashley shouted.

All the students erupted in excitement, and you had to use your quiet hand gesture to try and settle the class as Tim, a K9 officer, and a small dog walked up to the front of the class. 

“Class, Meet Sergeant Bradford from the LAPD,” you announced to the students.

“Good morning, students, as you heard, I’m Sergeant Bradford, and today I’m talking about safety. Firstly, I brought two special guests with me, Officer Stan with his K-9 Officer Fuzz.”

Officer Stan smiled and greeted the students as Officer Fuzz, a small dachshund, barked excitedly as a greeting.

“I brought Officer Fuzz in today so you can understand what a K-9 is used for and when to approach one,” Tim explained.

“Officer Fuzz is used like any other police officer; he helps us find bad guys and can catch bad guys faster than we can. Officer Fuzz can run up to 20 miles per hour, so we typically send him in to run after someone. Officer Fuzz also helps smell out bad stuff for us to take away. You can approach a police dog at any time with permission from the Officer. If you do see a police dog chasing after someone or he looks angry, do not approach. He could accidentally hurt you because he’s trying to protect his fellow officers or trying to stop someone,” Officer Stan explained. “Any questions?”

Lots of hands flew into the air, so you called on a girl named Hanna to ask the first question. “Does Officer Fuzz stay at the station all the time?”

“That’s a great question! No, Officer Fuzz is technically my dog. So, when I get off work, he gets to go home and be with me. He also goes in when I do, so just like me, Officer Fuzz gets to be a normal dog when he’s not working,” Stan said.

The students continued their questions about Officer Fuzz and his handler. Before Officer Stan had to leave to go back to work, he released Officer Fuzz so he could run around and receive pets from everyone. Officer Fuzz ran up to you last and laid on his back for belly rubs.

“Aren’t you the cutest?” You bent down and gave the tail-wagging dog belly rubs.

“You might have some competition, Bradford,” Stan said with a smile and slightly nudged Tim. Stan called back Officer Fuzz and they both left with waves of goodbyes and a huge “Thank you!” from your students.

“Hello again! I want to tell everyone what to do if they feel unsafe or lost. If you get away from your mommy or your daddy, find a store worker or an officer to help you find your mom or dad. If you are in danger or hurt, call 911 and we will do everything we can to help you. Do we have any questions?”

“What do you do as a Sergeant?” Logan, a young student, asked.

“I am everyone’s boss; I tell them what to do and make sure their job is getting done. I am currently training someone to become a police officer, they are called a Rookie,” Tim explained.

Your students asked as many questions as they could until the lunch bell rang, and the class let out a collective grown in disappointment. 

“Can we have lunch with Sergeant Bradford?” Wade asked, and the other students jumped in to agree.

“I don’t think Sergeant Bradford can stay any longer, he does have to leave at some point,” you said softly.

“I can stay for lunch,” Tim said with a smile. The class cheered and you sent them to get their lunches and to have a private moment with Tim.

“You didn’t have to stay,” you said to Tim as you looked up at him.

“I’m more than happy to. Your students are wonderful,” Tim said with a smile, and kissed the top of your head.

“Did Miss Winchester fix your heart?” Johnny asked Tim, startling both of you. 

Tim smiled and looked at you. “Yeah, she did,” he answered, which caused you to blush.

Johnny’s eyes got all big and he quickly ran out to the other students.

“Guys!!!! Sergeant Bradford is Miss. Winchester’s husband!!”

You then hear a loud scream of joy and all the students running in to ask the both of you a million questions about this new revelation. It was going to be a very long afternoon. 

I just found this fic. Hopefully it will be good. It’s a Aldon fic.

It’s so criminal when you start watching a new show/movie, and realize after you are already in love with yet another fictional character, that there’s no fanfics at all.

I need people to start writing for Aldon Reese from Fubar and Patrick Jane from the Mentalist. Plssss

𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐤𝐢 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary; stiles lets it slip that he hasn't had his first kiss yet and, as his friend, you're more than happy to remedy that.

warnings; no use of y/n, fluff, established friendship, some pretty intense kissing, one instance of reader being referred to as a girl

word count; +3.5k

a/n; no smut here, but i am currently planning a couple nsfw pieces to work on between bouts of writing my ongoing (long suffering) stiles fic.

please think about leaving a comment/reblogging if you enjoy! it would actually mean the world to me

“-And it was just.. So wet. Way, way too much spit, y’know? And there was entirely too much tongue on his part considering the fact that his hands, like, never even left his pockets-”

You’re not entirely sure how, nor at what point, the conversation devolved into a mostly one-sided and incredibly detailed analysis of Mark Hagan’s kissing technique, or lack thereof, but by the time your eyes fall to the boy sitting in the driver’s seat, you realize that you’ve been rambling for at least a full minute in the patchy darkness of the parked car.

“-And I’m not saying I wanted to be groped or anything but, I mean, it’s a little awkward when a guy just-”

You falter suddenly, when you notice the awkward slump in Stiles’ posture, and your words taper out without warning. He has one hand white-knuckled on the steering wheel and the other gripped tightly on the back of the seat where he’d turned to face you when he first asked how your date had gone the night before. And- God. That had been minutes ago, now.

“Sorry,” You apologize immediately with a grimace, “Was that, like, way too much information? Sorry.”

“No, I, uh,” He releases the steering wheel and shakes out his hand as if only just realizing how tight his grip had truly been. Your eyes are embarrassingly distracted by the long line of his fingers as he continues, “I guess I just didn’t realize how many things you could do wrong, y’know? I assumed it’d be more straight forward than that. You lean in, press your lips together, kiss, done. Right?”

You laugh softly at his rushed response, “I mean, I guess. I’d like to think there’s a little more skill that goes into it than that.”

“And, uh, Mark..” Stiles has been seemingly overwhelmed with reasons to dislike the other boy since you’d announced your upcoming date the week before, and he nearly spits the name with disdain when he says it now. “No skill, huh? Not quite, uh.. Not up to your standards?” He’s fiddling with the straw from his long-finished milkshake as he speaks, eyes downcast and determinedly focussed on his fingers, “Considering the overabundance of tongue, the lack of groping, and the, uh.. All-around wetness-?”

Another small huff of laugher escapes you as you drop your own empty cup into the greasy paper bag the diner had stuffed your to-go order into a half hour before, your socked feet returning to the Jeep’s dashboard only a moment later.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” You fight back a cringe at the mere memory of the drool that coated Mark’s chin when you’d finally decided you’d had enough and pulled away.

“What about you?”

His question catches you off guard and your brows furrow as you meet his gaze, “What about me?”

He twists and folds the straw of his drink with more vigor, nose crinkling before he elaborates, “What would you say your, uh.. Your skill level.. is?”

You pitch forward to grab one of the few remaining curly fries from the container perched by your feet on the dash, falling back into your seat and munching slowly as you genuinely ponder the question.

“I think I’m probably alright,” You shrug after a moment, “I mean, it’s hard to say, right? But I’ve never had any complaints. And considering Lydia is, like, the queen of complaining-”

You’re caught off guard by the entirely inhuman squawk of disbelief and surprise that escapes him. He’s scrambling in his seat with no real purpose before he slowly comes back to a standstill, now sitting just a few inches closer to the passenger side than he was before.

“Lydia? You.. You and Lydia have-?”

You shrug again as you wipe your greasy fingertips on the leg of your jeans, “Yeah, like, twice. Maybe three times?”

“Three-?”

“What about you?” You interrupt.

You tip your head against the backrest to look at him in the dim light of the parking lot as you await his response. The Jeep is barely getting hit with the residual light from the windows of the diner, but the bright neon sign on the roof of the building casts a pretty red hue over Stiles’ face. His mole-dotted skin is flushed with it, the only bits safe from the red-tinted glow are the shadows beneath his brows and the tiny divot in the tip of his nose that extends up from his cupid’s bow. You want to trace the darkness on his skin with the tip of your finger — with your lips.

You find yourself getting lost in just how gorgeous he is, not for the first time.

“Huh?” Stiles asks dumbly.

“Skill level,” You elaborate with a grin, lifting one foot from the dash to poke your toes into his knee, “What about you? Are the girls positively swooning? Melting under your touch? ‘Oh, Stiles. You’re the best kisser on this side of the Rockies-’”

Your teasing is silenced when his hand comes out to cover your mouth, long fingers trapping the words beneath your lips. Your knee is squished awkwardly between you, but he’s so warm you can feel the heat of his body seeping into your own, and the scent of his body wash fills your nose now rather than the lingering smell of grease from your shared dinner. You can hardly focus on his words as the smell of teakwood and pine invades your senses.

“No one in their right mind would ever say something like that after being kissed,” He tells you, face pinched in a cringe, “Like, not even something remotely along those lines. Not even in those weird old-timey romance movies you make me w-”

You grab ahold of his fingers to pull his palm from your lips with a small giggle, “Oh, c’mon, the suspense is killing me! Are you a good kisser or not?” Your mind is reeling a bit as you think about it. You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss Stiles, to feel his lips on your own, his hands on you. “I feel like you probably are. Just the right about of enthusiasm but you’re also a total perfectionist so it’d-”

“I don’t know!”

His exclamation is entirely too loud for the confined space of the car, his voice ricocheting sharply off the metal shell of the vehicle and causing you both to flinch a little. Stiles looks as if he wishes he could stuff the words back into his mouth and try again. You’re simply looking him over with a more critical eye, searching for the reason for his recent outburst as if it might be written plainly on his face, like you might find big emboldened letters of explanation etched across his skin.

“What’d’you mean you don’t know?” You scoff in amusement, “Y’know what? Fine-” You shuffle closer as an idea pops into your head — a brilliant, glorious, heaven-sent idea. His fingertips are still trapped within the palm of your hand and your knee slips over the top of his thigh as you slide closer and move into the center seat, “C’mere. I’ll give you review-”

Your face edges closer and closer to his own until your noses bump and the delicate touch seems to zap Stiles into alertness, sending him jolting back as if he’s been electrocuted.

The sourness that erupts in your belly at his reaction isn’t wholly unexpected, but a small flicker of shame joins it and burns like acid in your chest.

“Well, shit..” You murmur with an awkward chuckle.

It’s difficult to bite back the nagging feeling of embarrassment that swirls through your veins in response to being shot down by your best friend — your best friend that you’ve desperately been wanting to kiss since middle school.

You swallow harshly before continuing with a self-deprecating laugh, “I didn’t realize the thought of kissing me was quite so.. Horrifying. My bad.. I.. I’m sorry. You don’t- I didn’t think and I just- Sorry.” The last bit comes out quieter, the sound of it buried beneath the sudden tightness in your throat.

You find yourself avoiding his eyes, but that only means that your gaze is drawn to the smooth expanse of his neck — and there’s that glow from the diner’s neon sign again. His skin is cast in that red hue, smooth expanses of scarlet broken up by the speckles of dark moles and beauty marks scattered here, there, everywhere. You can almost make out his jumping pulse beneath the hollow of his throat, the dark crimson shadow twitching nearly imperceptibly with each too-quick beat of his heart.

They’re all spots that you’ve only dreamt of having your lips touch.

On rainy days when he shakes his hair out like a dog with the sole purpose of hearing the way you squeal in surprise, the drops of water finding their way down his temple and filling you with the urge to kiss it away.

When you slip into daydreams from the desk behind him during class, your eyes stuck on the exposed curve of his shoulder where his shirt collar is stretched just a little too loose, your lips tingling with the all-too vivid phantom feeling of his skin beneath them.

Trapped in his embrace, his height just enough that your face is smushed into his collarbones, nose crushed against him and pulling in the woodsy scent of his cologne, your mouth pressed limply to the soft cotton over his chest but aching with the desire to pucker and leave behind a gentle peck.

“No! No, it’s not that!” Stiles denies immediately. He’s already reaching out to drag you closer again, hands curling into your waist the moment you attempt to slip backwards into a bubble of shame in the passenger seat. “Kissing you would be the opposite of horrifying! It would be, like, a dream come true or- Or-”

Your eyebrows creep up your forehead at that, the barely there curve of a nervous smile pulling at the corners of your lips as his words seem to tumble out faster, growing increasingly difficult to understand as he rambles in a way that you’re all-too familiar with.

“-Because if I was going to kiss anyone, I’d want it to be you, but if I do kiss you and I’m horrible at it and you’re, like, repulsed-”

You’re still trying to piece things together despite the jumbled bits you seem to have missed. Your lips part in astonishment and his fingers tighten where they’ve begun to anxiously dig into your hips as he continues.

“-What if I’m worse than Mark? What if.. What if I’m so bad that you kiss me once and then you never, ever want to kiss me again because I was so unbelievably-”

“Stiles!”

You cut him off, already scooting closer until your left thigh is practically in his lap. His words cut off, a sharp inhale tearing past his lips as your hands find his shoulders, your thumb dragging over the freckled skin of his neck. You can feel his pulse jumping wildly against the pad of your finger as you finally voice your question.

“Are you telling me you’ve never kissed anyone before?” You ask the question as delicately as you can manage, but he still winces as an embarrassed flush colors his cheeks further.

“Not.. Not technically.” He admits quietly, big brown eyes still tinted beneath the crimson glow from outside the Jeep.

“Not technically?” You repeat slowly.

“I don’t know why I thought saying it like that would make it sound better,” He says weakly, “It didn’t. It was still just as mortifying. And so, so lame.”

Your heart flutters, cracks, and then ticks up in quick succession as your flooded with a wide array of conflicting emotions. You can’t quite believe what it is you’re hearing.

“You haven’t had your first kiss?” The words come out a bit more heartbroken than you intended.

Stiles looks horrified at the bluntness of your statement for a moment before he’s swallowing harshly, eyes dropping from your own for a fleeting second.

“No,” He says in a quiet voice, nearly a whisper as his eyes flick back up to yours, “But, um, if- If you’re still offering.. I mean-”

Your heart is positively hammering in your chest, so hard you worry he might be able to hear it, but then your thumb drags up and brushes over his own racing pulse again and his nerves seem to somehow calm yours. Your lean forward until the tip of your nose catches on the bridge of his again, eyes not leaving his as you move achingly slow, giving him time in case he decides to change his mind.

“You’re sure?” You ask softly, the whispered question little more than a breath of warm air against the bow of his upper lip.

“Uh huh.” He just manages the quiet sound of affirmation, a small nod of his head has your lips brushing lightly and the barely-there touch pulls a sharp breath of anticipation from him.

“Okay,” You say quietly, dragging one hand to the back of his neck so you can guide the angle of his head just a touch to one side.

His grip on your hips readjusts and tightens further, one of his clammy palms slipping beneath the hem of your shirt, and the warmth of skin on skin has you breathing out harshly in the sliver of space between your lips again. Your eyes flick slow between his, wide pools of scarlet-tinted whiskey watching you with rapt attention. Your mouth curves up with the hint of a smile, a soft breath of laughter falling into his parted lips as your fingers dig into the thick muscle of his neck.

“Close your eyes, weirdo.” You whisper fondly.

“Shit, fuck. Sorry, yeah. Eyes closed.” He rambles off quickly, eyes pinching shut immediately and hands squeezing your hips as if silently promising that he’s ready.

Endeared. You’re so fucking endeared your organs feel as if they’ve gone warm and syrupy beneath your skin.

Despite your admonishment of his eyes being open, you find yourself unable to pull your own away from watching every small tick in his features. Your hand on his shoulder tightens as you brush your nose across his and when the tight pinch of his eyes slackens and he takes a small nervous breath of anticipation, you finally press your lips to his.

It starts with just a small peck as your brain whites out for just a second. His lips are soft and chapped and plush against your own. You linger for a brief moment before you’re separating just enough to slot your mouths back together a little better.

His lower lip finds itself between yours and he gravitates toward you when you make like you’re about to draw back a second time, his mouth blindly searching for yours. He applies more pressure as he seems to become more sure of himself, one of his hands sliding to the base of your spine to drag you closer.

Impressed, you guide the angle of his head to tip just a hair further, your lips parting to exhale a hot breath into the gap between his own. A small sound rumbles from his chest as he tries to replicate the heat of your kiss on the next meeting. His lips fall open just enough that his breath mingles with your own and your brain goes a little heady with it, thighs tensing as blood rushes in your ears and heat pools in your gut.

You draw back and you’re forced to tangle your fingers in his hair to hold him in place when he tries to chase your mouth again. His eyes crack open to meet your own when he finds himself unable to catch you in another kiss and his pupils are blown a little wide, black overtaking brown until only a small ring of rich chocolate remains. You’re sure you don’t look much better, with the way our chest is threatening to heave with excitement, your fingers trembling where they’re gripping onto the muscle of his shoulder and woven into his hair.

“That was.. That was good.” You tell him after a moment, voice embarrassingly shaky, “What.. What’d you think?”

“Good.” He returns just as weak, “Great. That- Mhm. Awesome.”

His eyes are on your lips again and he looks downright hungry, but then, so are you.

“You’re a natural,” You praise breathlessly, eyes flicking between his rapidly as your fingers unconsciously tighten in his hair, “I’d never guess that was your first kiss – It was.. You learn fast.”

“We- You should probably show me more,” He insists, already leaning back in until his forehead finds your own, “That way I won’t end up like Mark, y’know? With pretty girls complaining to their friends about how wet and gross and bad it-”

“You think I’m pretty?”

He blinks at you as his lips curve up at the corners, the tip of his nose catching against yours to shoot sparks down your spine when he replies, “I think you’re beautiful.”

“Oh.” Is all you manage to get out as a smile tugs at your own lips.

“You want to maybe show me how to use tongue without, being completely repulsive and, like, drowning you or whatever?”

“Mhm,” You agree easily through a breathless laugh. You can’t quite help the quick press of your lips to his and you feel the relieved exhale that falls from his nose and fans out in a warm puff against your face. “Just for the record, though-” You feel the need to elaborate, “There is a time and a place for wet. When things are really hot and heavy and you’re in the throes of passion or whatever — a little too much tongue is great. It can be really, really hot. But- Like I said, time and place.”

The information leaves Stiles looking mildly overwhelmed and severely aroused, but he’s nodding dutifully, “Uh huh. Got it. Noted. I’ll remember that.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

His mouth is claiming yours again before the word is even fully out, the sound of it lost in your lips and what remains is smothered by your gasp of surprise. You let him control the pace for a moment before remembering that you’re supposed to be the one guiding him.

You bring one hand up to his face, thumb catching his chin so you can guide his jaw to drop open a bit further as your tongue teases against the inside of his lip. His groan meets your ears, the sound of it sending a shockwave through your body that you’re still reeling from as he repeats your action with truly startling ease. The warm wetness of his tongue has you feeling hot all over, and when it catches against the tip of your own before retreating, you nearly whimper in protest at the loss.

He effortlessly settles into the pattern of give and take, hot brushes of tongues broken up by soft pecks against slick lips. His fingertips dig into your skin like he’s afraid you might slip away into nothing if he doesn’t hold you tight enough and you find your own fingers scraping at his scalp in response.

You’re both making soft little noises between the quiet smack of lips, the leather seats creaking every time your weight shifts in an attempt to get closer.

The lack of oxygen has your head a little fuzzy at the edges when you finally pull back and each of your exhales mingle warmly in the small sliver of space between your mouths as you both fight to catch your breath.

“I, um. I don’t think you have to worry about your kissing technique.” You tell him breathlessly just to break the silence, “You’re all good. A, uh, a great kisser. Eleven out of ten.”

“Cool. Cool. That’s great, I, um-” He coughs quietly, nervously, as he leans back to put a bit more space between you, “Would you maybe want to do it again sometime?”

He’s looking at you with pretty brown eyes blown wide and bleeding earnestness. The hand around your back has fallen to your upper thigh, the grip of it tightening as if punctuating certain words as he speaks. It’s entirely possible that your brain sort-circuits, because a moment of silence passes before he’s barreling on.

“-because I, for one, would really like to do that again sometime. Maybe.. Maybe after a date? Or during a date — that part doesn’t really matter. I just really like you and I have pretty much since forever and now that I’ve kissed you-”

“You like me?” Is all you manage past the heavy thumping of your heart in your chest, your ears — Shit, you’re pretty sure you can feel every pump of it in each trembling twitch of your fingers.

“So much that’s borderline embarrassing, yeah.” He admits, throat bobbing as he swallows nervously.

A breath whooshes past your lips, filled with relief and surprise and elation.

“I like you too.” You say after a beat too long, “Holy shit. Stiles, are you kidding me? I’ve liked you since the fifth grade.”

“Really?” He looks mildly shocked.

A giddy laugh escapes you as you drag him forward again to bring your lips back together. The kiss is chaste, but filled with so much emotion it makes your head swim a bit.

“Damn,” Stiles mutters suddenly, the frustrated curse puffing out against your cheek, “Does that mean we could’ve been doing this the whole time? Like, years of kissing-?”

His words cut off when your lips find his once more and he gives in easily, his train of thought thoroughly derailed.

“I guess we’ve got a lot of time to make up for then, Stilinski.. You up for the challenge?”

Stiles nods wildly and he’s pulling you back in before you can say anything else.

Hello I have an idea for Tim x rookie reader.

They get a call that seems pretty normal and when they arrive Kid gets shot.

They end up in hospital ICU where Tim is sat next to kid saying how everything is his fault ect.

When Kid wakes up and hears Tim saying how it’s his fault she reminds him that is isn’t.

Thank you ☺️ x

Rookie down.

Tim Bradford x Rookie!reader [PLATONIC] — Ongoing series: Like Father, like Rookie.

Summary: No amount of training could’ve prepared you for the moment you got caught up in an active shootout—and for Tim, no amount of stoicism could rid of the guilt.

a/n: I find it adorable how we’re just referring to reader as kid now. 😭💕

The call had come in like any other—routine, nothing out of the ordinary. A disturbance at a small corner store. Dispatch barely sounded concerned.

Tim had driven, you in the passenger seat, legs bouncing absently as you sipped at the coffee you barely had time to grab that morning. The other units were still a few minutes out, but this was just supposed to be a check-in. A quick look, a clear scene, and back to patrol.

You should’ve known better.

The second you both stepped out of the shop, everything exploded. Shots. A full-blown active shootout between two rival groups, and you and Tim had walked straight into the crossfire.

Instinct kicked in. Take cover. Return fire. Call it in.

You barely made it behind the patrol car before searing pain bloomed in your side, so sudden and white-hot that it stole your breath. You staggered, barely registering that you were going down until your knees hit the pavement hard.

Some part of you dimly registered Tim’s voice—loud, commanding—but the sound of gunfire muffled everything else.

You pressed a hand against the wound, and your fingers came back slick with blood.

Not good.

Your breath shuddered. You had been trained for this, prepared for it, but the sheer force of reality hitting you was different than a controlled scenario.

The pain wasn’t controlled. The fear wasn’t controlled. And despite every instinct screaming at you to hold it together, your vision blurred with unshed tears as your breath came in short, ragged gasps.

“Hey! Kid—stay with me.”

Tim was there, dropping down beside you, one hand pressing firm against the wound to slow the bleeding. His other hand gripped the radio, calling for an immediate medic response, voice sharp, commanding—desperate.

You blinked up at him, your body trembling violently from the shock. You tried to regulate your breathing, to not let him see the fear that had crept into your bones, but it was damn near impossible.

“I—” Your voice caught, breath hitching. Your lips parted, trying again, but all that came out was a shaky exhale.

“Hey. Look at me, kid.”

You did, barely able to keep focus on his face, but you tried. He was pressing harder now, trying to stop the bleeding, and it hurt. God, it hurt.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Tim said, voice steady. “You hear me? You’re gonna be fine.”

You nodded, a quick, jerky movement, but you weren’t sure if you believed it.

“I need you to stay awake, alright?” His grip tightened just slightly, the rare, vulnerable edge in his voice cutting through the panic clawing at your chest. “Just keep breathing, okay? Just like that. Slow it down.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to do as he said, but the pain was starting to get unbearable. Your head swam.

“I—” You sucked in a shaky breath. “Sir, I don’t—I’m scared.” You muttered between breaths.

Tim shook his head, shifting to cradle the back of your head, steadying you as you started to sway. “Nope. No, none of that shit. You’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna get you to a hospital, and you’re gonna be okay.”

He was holding it together, but just barely. You could see it in his eyes, in the way his jaw clenched, the tension in his grip as if he were forcing your body to stay with him.

He wasn’t letting himself break, not yet, but you could feel the desperation beneath his words. Tim was talking like he needed to hear the words more than you did. He was trying to convince himself, just as much as he was trying to convince you.

You wanted to say something, anything to make it easier, but you didn’t get the chance.

“Kid? Damn it, keep awake!”

Everything blurred into sirens and movement and then—

“Don’t do this shit to me! Please.”

Nothing.

The ICU was quiet. Too quiet.

Tim sat beside your bed, hands clasped together, elbows resting on his knees. He hadn’t moved much since they’d let him in, since they’d assured him you were stable, that you’d made it through surgery.

It didn’t matter.

This was his fault.

He should’ve clocked the situation faster.

Should’ve called in backup first. Should’ve done something different, something better, because now you were here, unconscious and hooked up to machines, your face too pale against the stark white hospital sheets.

It felt wrong to be in a room this quiet with you in it, like he couldn’t adjust to the absence of hearing you chew unnecessarily loud on a bag of chips that you made him pay for—or when you’d ramble on to him about something he could care less about.

He exhaled, running a hand over his face, fingers digging into his temples. “Damn it, kid.”

He wasn’t even sure if he was talking to himself or to you. It didn’t matter. Either way, the weight of it pressed down on him like a vice.

The soft beeping of the monitor filled the absence of the voice he knew.

Then, slowly, the sound of movement. A shift in the bed. A quiet, pained inhale.

Tim’s head snapped up instantly. “Kid?”

Your eyes were barely open, hazy with sleep and medication, but you were awake.

Tim sat forward, relief hitting him all at once. “Hey. You with me?”

You blinked sluggishly, gaze struggling to focus, but eventually landed on him. “…Sir?”

His throat tightened. “Yeah. I’m here.”

You took another slow breath, still visibly groggy, but the confusion was settling. Then, after a pause, your brows furrowed slightly. “…Why do you look like that?”

Tim scoffed, a quiet, breathless sound, but his expression was still tight. “Like what?”

“Like—” You swallowed, shifting slightly, wincing at the movement. “Like you ate the chocolate bar I hid in the shop.” You mumbled, managing to let out a weak and quiet laugh.

But when Tim didn’t laugh, or even roll his eyes at your half-assed joke and just stared with that same guilty look on his face, your gaze softened.

“Like me getting shot was your fault.”

Tim said nothing.

You exhaled, voice softer now, but still firm. “It’s not.”

Tim’s jaw clenched, gaze flickering away. The stubbornness in his eyes lacing itself with his guilt, “I should’ve—I should’ve secured the perimeter before we stepped out,”

“Sir,” you huffed in disagreement.

“No, kid. If I had done that, you wouldn’t have been fucking dying in my arms.” He muttered through clenched teeth.

You pushed on, despite the exhaustion settling deep in your bones. “This was never on you.” You mumbled, “Yea, I got shot. But I would’ve ended up actually dead if I didn’t have a T.O who took down half of them, and then called for backup and R.A.”

His shoulders tensed. Then, after a long moment, he let out a breath.

“…Get some rest, kid.”

You watched him for another second, then, finally, nodded, letting your eyes drift closed.

The tension in Tim’s chest didn’t ease. Not fully. But as he sat back, watching your breathing even out, some small part of him finally let go of the guilt just enough to breathe.

Should I stay or should I go? (Part one)

Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Spike x Giles!reader

Part one of four! Be kind please💖

Warning: reader drinks, difficult relationship with parents, especially dad!Giles, reader loses their home.

You had moved to Sunnydale a few years prior with your father, he had tried desperately to train you up as a watcher but you never listened, you hated following orders and ultimately, you failed your observation when the watcher’s council came into town to check on your progress.

It bored you and for the 48 hours that you had been in charge of Buffy, you had all gone to the Bronze and let an apocalyptic rift open in the heart of the town when you failed to investigate or do any meaningful research. In your defence, it was a very minor and basically harmless apocalypse. Well, it was after Angel contacted your father when he couldn’t get hold of you or Buffy and he came back into town.

You hated dusty research and telling people what they ought to be doing. You hated the weird pressure your father put on you to become a watcher just like him and sometimes, you even hated Buffy because of the way your father doted on her so. She could do no wrong, even when he was mad at her or telling her what to do he gave her a much easier time than he ever had with you.

You were a disappointment. You could see that clearly enough.

You stayed in Sunnydale though, for reasons unknown to yourself. You just didn’t have anywhere else to go. Nothing excited you, it seemed.

You had moved back in with your father after you couldn’t make rent. You had let another crappy job throw you out the door. You just couldn’t stick to their stupid pointless rules. They made no sense and they paid you next to nothing at that.

You were sitting on the lid of the toilet as Buffy fed your newest houseguest blood from a novelty mug.

“Willow may have had a very helpful idea. She seems to be coping better with Oz’s departure, don’t you think?” Giles asked walking back into the bathroom, directing his words at Buffy rather than the rest of the room as he walked in. It was like you didn’t exist most of the time.

“Well, she still has a way to go but, yeah, I think she’s dealing”

“What, are you people blind? She’s hanging on by a thread” Spike stated, muttering to himself after and rolling his eyes. Buffy just scoffed and left the room, taking the blood he had been drinking away with her as your Dad followed her out.

You had just been about to say something similar, but in a perhaps more conversational format rather than accusatory.

“You’re quite astute really, aren’t you” You said, scanning Spike’s face. He used to creep you out a bit back when he was trying to kill you and all that. Not that you would admit it.

You had never really studied him this closely before. But looking at him now, he just looked so normal. Apart from the shackles and the almost painfully pale complexion… and the fact he had blood crusting at the corners of his mouth.

“It’s no talent, pet, a man walkin’ in from the street could read the lot of you like a book”

“I like to think I’m not that predictable”

“Don’t you all. Humans, you’re always thinking you’re so original, but you’re all a copy of the last”

“I guess when you’ve been around a thousand years everything gets sort of old… apart from the, uh, obvious” you sort of gestured vaguely at his face, a little glint in your eye as you teased him.

“Watch it” He warned, his shackles clinking against the tub as he pointed to accentuate his words. You waited for a moment in silence, watching the tap slowly drip beads of water into the cool porcelain. You waited about seven drips before you spoke again.

“Don’t you get bored? I get bored of the days here sometimes, it’s always a demon or a spell or some dumb melodrama with Dad’s little protegees”

You were surprised at the way this admittance casually tumbled from your own mouth. You weren’t sure why you were speaking to him like this, perhaps you were seeking some kind of connection. It was very you to try in such a stupid place.

“No” he shrugged turning away from you and staring up at the ceiling.

“Come on, I’m trying to open up here”

“Well close back up again” He shrugged, his eyes still fixed upwards. You shrugged, standing and leaving him in his bathtub. You hoped boredom consumed him for the rest of the day.

You left for a bar and returned late at night, having missed another eventful Sunnydale evening. By the morning when it had all calmed down, Willow had showed up to apologise again to Giles and caught you brewing your morning beverage.

She explained animatedly about your father going blind, Buffy and Spike getting engaged and Xander being a demon magnet. You tried very hard to focus on her words and gasp in the correct places whilst your head spun and you gripped the handle of your mug.

Willow was your favourite out of the Scoobies, she was a sweet kid and you made the most effort with her as you got the sense she knew what not being listened to felt like. You were glad you had missed the evening’s events, not that sitting alone at a bar and nursing a drink was much more interesting.

A few weeks later, Spike had been allowed to roam more freely by this point and he was lying on the sofa in your living room. You had a snack in your mouth and had carried a steaming mug of blood in one hand and a box of Weetabix in the other.

You gestured with your head for him to move his legs and he just stared at you for a moment before moving and snatching the mug and the box from your hands. You settled in beside him in front of an episode of Passions, trying, once again to speak to him but he was cold with you. Not even a thank you for the blood. I mean, he was evil, but did he have to keep it up all of the time?

You had tried talking to him, asking him questions about his past but he only really gave short sentences in reply. Today you were unceremoniously told to shut up so that he could watch Passions in peace.

You huffed but stayed beside him, weirdly drawn in by the stupid show. You missed his eyes lingering on you briefly as you glued your eyes to the set.

Truth was, Spike had a little soft spot for you. One that had grown even slightly since he had become a hostage in the same house you lived in. He tried to keep a distance from you, not directly look you in the eye as if you were some kind of love-inducing gorgon that would turn his resolve into a stone that could so easily crumble.

But he wouldn’t give anything away.

By the time Spike left, you were relieved that you could use your bathroom in peace. You knew trying to talk to him had been a waste of time but he interested you and, more to the point, you had found yourself being incredibly lonely.

You had been distracted lately, trapped inside your mind. You felt like you were missing something. So much so you had maybe accidentally skipped a couple of shifts at your new job. You had been sneaking back into your house when Giles caught you. You winced at his voice, knowing you would have to fess up.

“Shouldn’t you be at the Magic Box?”

“Oh, right, about that…” You began, unsure how to explain what had happened the day before. You had been avoiding your Dad ever since. You didn’t have to say anything, he already knew.

“You really are a bloody-”

“A what? Go on, say it!”

“A liability” He stormed over and poured himself a whiskey.

“It’s not exactly surprising is it, being told I couldn’t even visit my mother, left only with a man like you as a father, hey Ripper?” You don’t know why you said it. Truly, he wasn’t a terrible father. He was just bad at hiding his disappointment which made you feel, in a word, terrible about yourself.

He went very quiet for a moment. The temperature seemed to drop before he finally spoke again.

“I suggest you leave”

“What-?”

“Pack up your things and leave” he repeated, pronouncing each word crisply.

“You can’t mean that!”

“You can’t support yourself, Y/n, and I certainly shouldn’t have to”

“Where am I supposed to go?!”

“I suppose you will have to begin by figuring that out for yourself” He stared through you, downing the rest of his scotch before thundering up the stairs to his room and slamming the door.

You were ashamed to admit that as soon as he slammed the door, you broke down into tears. You knew you had been fucking everything up. You just wanted something more, you couldn’t describe it.

You packed a bag, slung it over your shoulder and walked out of the door, not once looking back. To this day you still don’t know how long you walked for, but by the time that you could see the sun threatening the dark skies through your blurred vision you had found yourself in a graveyard.

You had nowhere else to go and you weren’t above sleeping in a graveyard, you soon discovered You were so exhausted you could barely move another step. You ducked into some old mausoleum, kicking away some dust from the corner and laying out your jacket as a sort of mattress and you bag as a pillow.

You curled into the corner and screwed your eyes up. You had finally began to drift into a fitful sleep when heavy footprints came towards you.

“This ain’t a bloody hotel, bugger off would you-!” He stormed, reaching down to grab your shoulder before he recognised you, “Y/n?”

You bolted up, relaxing only for a moment when you noted you weren’t in any immediate danger before descending straight into embarrassment. You would really rather he hadn’t caught you sleep-crying on the floor of a crypt. Then again, it didn’t really matter what he thought, you reminded yourself quickly. He scanned your face, finding pain written there and seemingly making a decision before he turned away.

You stood up, noting an old couch had been pushed into the far corner of the tomb. You sat on it, bringing your bag with you and noting that it was only marginally more comfortable than the floor.

“Here” Spike returned, offering you a half empty bottle of  liquor. You took it, nodding your thanks and taking two large gulps. His eyes bulged for a moment before pulling a face of slight approval, until you looked back at him and he hid any evidence of expression from his face.

“Why are you being nice?”

“You take that back. I’m not bloody nice”

“No, I know, you’re evil and all that. I’ll admit, I felt a little shiver when I saw you first until, I uh, remembered you couldn’t…” You tailed off, “Not helping my case am I?”

“Liquor’s the cheap stuff so you’re doin’ me a favour by getting rid of it” he shrugged. Spike was secretly pleased for the company. He had felt so alone of late.

You watched his lips, eyes scanning down to his neck and over his leather-clad torso. The way the dim light accentuated his features, the curve of his jaw, that sparkle in his eye, that smirk that was never far from his lips.

Oh God, no. You didn’t… did you?

Sliver Spoons & Plastic Tubes

Posted:02/06/24

Title: Sliver Spoons & Plastic Tubes

Felix Catton x GN Disabled Reader

Summary: Felix learns that the new student he has a crush on is disabled.

[Reader uses a feeding tube due to a damaged esophagus and using a wheelchair because of scoliosis]

Author's note:

Word count: 2,947

Saltburn Story List/ Master List/ Requests Here

Warnings: language

🔞18+ page due to dark and adult themes. Minors will be blocked 🔞

"Make sure you write this down. This will be on your finals." The professor says while aggressively writing on the board. As quiet as you tried to be your desperate attempt to control your breath exposed you. " Mx L/n you're late... again." Your grumpy elderly Professor says without turning from the board. In heavy breaths, you try to form words. "Ran across campus... back pain -" She cuts you off and harshly whips around. "You are not more special than the rest of us, Mx l/n. We all have to get around campus in a short amount of time. So figure it out." You nodded, embarrassed, and found a random seat as she began speaking in the lecture once more. "I wouldn't take it personally. She is a bit of a bitch to all of us." A smooth voice says in a hushed tone as you pull your notes from your bag. "Pardon?" You turn to see the handsome brunette sitting next to you. Often, he would sit a few seats away, but this is the first time you can recall that he was directly next to you. "I said I wouldn't take it personally." You nodded. "Wasn't planning on it." His smile was sweet and honest. "I'm... I'm um Felix." He holds out his hand under the desk. Shaking it, you introduce yourself, only making his smile widen. "Y/n l/n..." Your name rolls from his lips. "I'm glad to finally put a name to that pretty face." He whispered with a wink. A soft, playful scoff failed to cover your fustiness. "I have to focus on the lesson." You say, turning away.

The class was over, and for the last time of the day, you'd have to run a marathon to get across campus in ten minutes for your last class of the day. Rushing out the classroom door, you begin to speedwalk. Running wasn't an option because of your spine. "Y/n! Wait up!" Felix calls from over the crowd. "Can't! Late!" All your energy was going into moving your feet as you dragged your wheeling backpack across the rough stone paths. "That's fine. I just thought I could give you a copy of my notes since you were late to class." His long legs kept up with your slow speedwalking with ease. "It was only 8 minutes. I'll be fine." The pain of your twisted spine forces you to keep your head as you walk. This kind of walking was taking everything in you. "Oh yeah, right..." He replies, almost disappointed. "Oh!" Felix exclaims as if a light bulb went off. "My friend is throwing a party tonight, and I think you should -" Frustrated by having to waste stamina on a pointless conversation, you abruptly cut him off. "I'm good." Taken back, he tries again. "A-are you sure? It'll be a lot of fun." The idea of fucking up your already messed up body with cheaply homemade alcohol, not being able to eat any of the finger food/ pizza, and being unable to fully dance with others was not what you had in mind for fun. "No." One word said with edgy cut Felix deep. "R-right. Yeah. No. I get it. Maybe some other time." He stops walking and watches you do your best to speed off believing you were trying to get away from him. Felix watches you wheel your bag away and wonders if he's offended you.

The embarrassment of watching you during class for the first half of the semester and then fucking up his first conversation with you took a toll on his mind. Convinced he offended you, Felix begins to be over-completed with suffocating kindness. "Y/n!" He whispered shouts as you here in late again. Only by 5 minutes, he noted. Felix pats the seat he saved you watching you scrabble to sit down. "You look great today." You fish for your notes, not fully hearing him. "Uh? What? Oh, um, thank you." You respond still not hearing him. Felix frowns, realizing you aren't paying attention. Day after day, you gave him the cold shoulder. There is never much knowledge of his presence in class and always rejecting his offers to hang out at the pub or a party. Until poor crushing, Felix saw the chance to finally get to know outside of class. Partner assignments. "So there's no fighting over who's with who's you'll all be working whoever you're currently sitting next to." The class mixes with grunts and cheers. "Looks like it's me and you," Felix says when the professor informs pairs to start conceptualizing. "Yeah. Do you want to go ahead and exchange phone numbers?" His phone warms. "You want my number?" Felix asks with a cheeky smile. Confused, you nodded. "Yeah? So we can meet up for homework." Mentally smacking himself, you trade phones to make contacts.

Felix wasn't sure why, but you'd asked to meet at a public library off campus. There were plenty of places to work and study on campus, so why go out of the way? Whatever the reason, it's what you said would be most comfortable for you, at least for your first meet-up. Felix wasn't going to complain he was just excited he was finally getting to hang out with you. "Felix!" He hears you whisper and shout. Looking up, he sees you in a wheelchair and his heart drops. He's quick to stand. "Holy shit! what happened? Are you okay?" You chuckle at his panic. "I'm fine. I just use a wheelchair to get around sometimes." Tilting his head like a dog showed his confusion as he watched you stand and park the wheelchair next to the study booth. "Why?" He asks. "Because my scoliosis makes it painful to walk long distances... and sometimes short distances." Being inquisitive, Felix's questions just keep coming. "Why don't you use it to get around campus?" You chuckle at the frustrating memories. "Because the school rather care about the well-being of the old bricks and stones of Oxford than the well-being of their students, so they refuse to make it wheelchair accessible." Felix nods along, understanding that. "Is that why you're always late?" You nodded. "Also why I never want to go to parties. I can't exactly dance my heart out." The handsome brunette frowns. "I-I'm sorry I didn't realize..." You hold up a hand stopping him. "It's fine. Really. You didn't know. I wouldn't have expected you to." Even then, he still felt bad, but then it hit him. You haven't been cold or dismissive of him. You've just been struggling with pain.

Felix takes your hand in his. "If there's anything I can do. Anything at all. Please tell me." He smiles sincerely. You blush as his thumb starts to brush against your skin. "Oh, um, okay. I will..." There's a moment of silence as you both stare at your hands. "Then I guess you should also know that I can't eat food either..." Meeting your eyes, he waits for you to continue. "I can't swallow solid food because a part of my esophagus is damaged. So I eat through this feeding tube." You pulled your hands away to lift your shirt, revealing the g-tube. Felix moved to sit next to you, getting a closer look. "Damn..." He whispered to himself. "Can I touch it?" You blushed. "Um sure, I guess..." Slowly, his huge hand reached for your tube. Two fingers touch the top and bottom. "Does this hurt?" He whispered. You shake your feelings a little too shy to speak. "Wow... that's fascinating." And he meant it. As you got together more often closer, you became. Felix is constantly asking if you're doing okay and bringing you smoothies.

"The hell is a g-tube?" Farleigh asked. "It's this cute little thing that sticks out of their stomach. It's how they eat." Felix explains. "Anyway, y/n said they have it because they can't eat solid food." Farleigh chuckles. "What? What do you mean they can't eat solid food? That sounds like bullshit. Not gonna lie." Felix clenched his jaw. "It's not bullshit, dude. They didn't tell me why, but they said their esophagus is damaged, and that's why they can't eat." Farleigh rolls his eyes. "Yeah, and they use a wheelchair but only off-campus. Isn't that convenient?" He takes a puff of his cigarette as Felix starts to get mad. "What the hell is wrong with you, Farleigh? These are serious issues." Again, Farleigh rolls his eyes. "They just sound a little fake to me, is all." Farleigh never even meets, but he's also never met someone with disabilities like yours. Why wouldn't his judgmental attitude get in the way of his compassion? Pissed off Felix storms out of the pub, not wanting to scream at his cousin.

☆

"Come to Saltburn..." Your new best friend offers. "What?" You asked, surprised. "Come home with me for the summer. Come to Saltburn." His eyes were big and innocent like the puppy he was. "I-I don't know Felix. My disabilities-" He cuts you off. "It won't be a problem. I promise my home will be accessible and my cook will make you the best soups and pudding... please y/n I want to spend my summer with my best friend." You blush at the thought. "... I guess I'm not doing anything else this summer." Felix smiles. "Yes!" He cheers before hugging you tightly and kissing your forehead. "You'll love it, I promise!" You can't help but smile at his eagerness. "With you there, I will love everything~" Felix blushes but tries his best to play it off.

☆

Nervously, you take in the view of Saltburn as a footman retrieves your luggage from the escort while another footman assembles your wheelchair. "Here we are." He says, grabbing your attention. "Oh, thank you." You replied, sitting down and placing your cane in your lap. With a nod, he begins pushing you down the long gravel road leading up to the house. At the entrance was a grand door with stone stairs. However, a ramp was installed clearly for your benefit. The hash contrast of the centuries-old stone clashing with shiny metal made that abundantly clear. As you were rolled up the ramp, the doors swag open. "Welcome to Saltburn Mx L/n. Master Felix has had us working diligently for your arrival." Greets and intimating butler. "Please do come in." He instructs like there wasn't a footman pushing you. "Wow." The extravagant architecture took your breath away. You were guided into a large room with gold on the walls and old artwork hanging from it. "Y/n!" Felix cheers from the other side of the elongated room. Your smile matches his. Standing, you wait as he rushes to engulf you in a tight hug. "I missed you so much~" He kisses the top of your head. "I missed you too~" Let's go tell his scary butler to take care of your bags. "Do you want me to push you around while I give you the tour?" Shaking your head, you show him your cane. "I'll just use this for now. If that's fine." He grins," of course. Take the wheelchair with their bags." Felix compared before taking your arm like a gentleman and began guiding you around the house.

☆

After the tour, you finally got to meet the family. "To think the poor thing can't eat anything. How unfortunate and not to mention the scoliosis -" A woman says before Felix can be heard cutting her off telling her she's being rude. You knock on the halfway-open door while pushing it open. Felix's face brightens. "Hello..." You shyly wave. Seeing an older man, Farleigh, Felix, an orange-haired woman, and a blonde woman who stands to greet you. "You must be Y/n. I'm Elspeth, Felix's mother. It's so lovely to meet you. Felix was very eager to have you come stay with us - oh and you ARE stunning." She praises. "I told you." Replied Felix. His mother rolls her eyes. "Yes, well, you're kind to everyone. You can't be trusted." You blush at her forwardness. "Thank you." Pulling you to the couch, she shows off the orange-haired woman named Pamela. "You know I've never heard of a g-tube before. I was very fascinated when Felix told me about it. May I see it?" Felix immediately jumps in. "Mother!" "What?" She asks innocently. "It's rude." "Oh ignore him." You smile at Felix before turning back to his mother. "It's alright." You lift your shirt to reveal the tube in your stomach. "Wow. How adorable." That's probably the strangest reaction you've gotten to it. "It's also called a button." You inform her, which makes her awe again. "What a fitting name~" Elspeth goes on to tell you of the accommodations the house has made for your disabilities. The many ones being Wheelchair ramps installed almost everywhere and especially made liquid meals. "That's so kind of you." You praise. "Oh, it's nothing, really. Not to mention, Felix was very adamant about your house being assessable. He even wrote most of the meals for your meals." She says, sipping her champagne. You look to Felix, whose face is pink. "It's an important thing to be adamant about..."

Dinner time rolls around, and you dress in the clothes Felix kindly provided for you before nervously making your way down to join everyone. "Wow..." Felix breathes when seeing you. "You look great." He compliments hugging you. Pulling out the chair next to him, he gestures for you to sit. "Thank you.", "Of course~" The large table was filled with food and decor you couldn't begin to name. "For you, Mx y/n." A footman grabs your attention before seating a silver tray with a matching silver dome over it. He lifts it with grace to reveal a gourmet soup. The footman gave you a quick overview description of the meal that you hardly understood. "Thank you!" He nods before leaving. You were quick to try a bite with a shiny silver spoon. The mouth-watering warm soup was full of flavor. "Mhm!" You moan at the taste, causing Felix to chuckle. "I take it you like it?", "Are you kidding?! This is the most delicious thing I've ever tasted!" Felix almost forgot about his food due to watching you devouring and praising the soup. One of the many things he'd picked out for you.

The summer is filled with newness. New food, new state-of-the-art electric wheelchairs, new people, and luxuries. Of course, your best friend Felix was at the center of all of this. Showering you in affection. For the first time in your life, you could see your value in someone's eyes. When he looked at you, you weren't a sick kid or a fragile patient. You were his equal, and that radiates through his actions.

Today, he wakes you up in the middle of the night to have root beers floating on the roof of his mansion. The stars were clear due to being so far from the cities and towns. A few garden lights here and there created their star-like lights down below, giving the view a high-heaven feeling. As if you were high up in another world looking down to earth. The root beer floats enhanced the moment with sweet coolness and cheap sparks.

"You know..." He starts. "You could have this forever if you wanted..." You frowned in confusion. "I don't think drinking root beer floats forever is a good idea." He laughs, shaking his head. "No, love. I mean... this." He gestures to his over-the-top home. "The luxury of saltburn... you could eat gourmet soup every day and have people wait on you. You could even have a home doctor if that's what you want or the best-trained service dog..." This feels random. "Felix... where is this coming from?" He sighs. "I... I love you so much, y/n, and I know this is bonkers, but... I wanna marry you." Your jaw drops thinking this has to be a joke. "It doesn't have to be anytime soon, but I want to call you mine someday and share my life with you." He pauses to gauge your reaction. Frozen, you almost spill your drink. "Wow, Felix..." He becomes shy, embarrassed by the confession. "I know it's crazy. I just... I just need you to know that." You blink trying to come back to the moment. "Well... haha... I uh... I'm flattered." The young man looks at understanding. "I don't know about marriage, but... a date sounds nice." His eyes light up. "Really?" The question comes out with a squeak of excitement. You nodded. "Holy shit." Exhaling a breath, the weight of the world disappeared. Felix pulls you into a strong hug, scared to let go. "Fuck. Really? Are you sure? You don't have to say yes just to spare me." You giggle. "Yeah, I'm sure." In a blink, Felix pulls you into a passionate kiss before quickly pulling back. "Shit, sorry. I should've asked.", "you can kiss me when you want, baby -" He blushed and cut you off with a deeper kiss. The natural puffiness of his lips tastes like sweet vanilla ice cream and cheap soap. "I can't wait to take you out, doll.", "I'm glad I know a good place to eat." He kisses your forehead. "Come on, love, let's go get to bed.", "Only if it's the same bed~," you flirt with a wink. An innocent bashfulness causes him to turn pink in the moonlight. "Your wish is my command~" He kisses you before hands, and you both almost empty cups and waits for you to sit in your wheelchair before pushing you along, back to your new home.

Overcoming Fantasies

Pairing: Brian Cole (Fantasy Island 2021) x fem!reader

Summary: After Brian leaves you because he loves being a survivalist more, he finds himself on Fantasy Island. While he learns that there is more to life than surviving, you chase a pipe dream involving a second chance you'll never get.

Warnings: angst, injury (broken leg), spoilers for 1x07 of Fantasy Island, very brief soulmate connection thing, fluff and reconciliation

Word Count: 2.3k+ words

A/N: I finally wrote Brian. His smile has been in my head for months and this idea forced its way out tonight.

Brian inhales deeply, taking in the serenity and beauty of the island.

“Welcome,” someone calls, “to Fantasy Island.”

“Hi,” he greets awkwardly, turning from the plane to face the beautiful woman welcoming him. “I’m-“

“Brian Cole. Did you come alone?”

“Yes. Was I not supposed to?”

The woman laughs, then explains, “It’s an island, Mr. Cole, there is often more than one visitor.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. No, it's just me.”

“I’m Elena Roarke,” she introduces, offering her hand and a warm smile. “You can leave your backpack.”

He drops her hand and then sets his backpack in the sand before he follows her. A white beach house sits between palm trees, and the curtains on the large windows flutter in the salt air breeze.

“Tell me, Mr. Cole, what is your fantasy?” Elena asks, gesturing for Brian to sit.

He lowers onto a light-colored sofa and fans his shirt gently. It’s humid but not uncomfortable. Despite his history as a survivalist and the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity on the island, Brian is nervous face-to-face with Elena. Suddenly, he wonders if the people who said his fantasy would kill him were correct. If you were right. The last time you spoke to Brian, you had tears running down your face as you begged him to tell you why his obsession with surviving was more important than you. Why he would rather die than come home to you.

“I want the ultimate physical and mental challenge there is,” he answers, looking out at the waves to forget about you. “I want to know if I can overcome it.”

“Why?” Elena inquires. She gestures to the other side of the house, where a large sliding glass door reveals a grassy clearing surrounded by tropical foliage. “What about the outdoors and the dangers it holds makes it a fantasy for you?”

“I’m a survivalist,” he explains. “It’s part of you I am, and the uncertainty makes me feel alive. My… my ex called it an obsession, accused me of having a death wish and loving it more than her.”

“And you’re here to prove her wrong?”

“I’m here to be tested in ways I haven’t before. I want you to put me through the worst so I can show myself I can do it.”

“The island knows your fantasy,” Elena says. “When you exit this door, you’ll be where you want to be.”

“Don’t- don’t send any help. I have to do this alone. There can’t be rescue,” Brian says quietly.

“Of course, Mr. Cole.”

Brian nods and wipes his hands on his pants as he prepares to exit the beach house. Without his backpack, he’s more unprepared than usual. It’s the ultimate challenge, the survivalist fight he’s dreamed of for years. So, without thinking of you or the life he’s leaving behind should anything happen, Brian steps into the grass and the world changes.

“Hey, my friend wants to go on a hike this weekend,” your favorite coworker says. “Do you think Brian could recommend a trail?”

“He’s not into hiking,” you explain. “Dangerous survivalism is more his thing.”

“Oh, wow. That’s intense. It doesn’t concern you?”

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, and when she tuts and moves closer to rub your back, you admit, “I think my concern is what made him leave.”

Brian moves through the forest, gathering items he can use as supplies. The multi-purpose tool and knife he keeps on his person serve useful, and by the time the sun dips behind the trees and sends long shadows across his path, he’s prepared to make camp for the night. In a clear space against a rock, Brian builds a small bed of leaves and stacks several dry branches to build a fire. He isn’t hungry, so he decides to find food later.

Something moves in the trees nearby, and Brian calls out, “Hello?” No one answers, so he tries, “Elena?”

The forest silences; only the wind in the branches answers him. He chalks the noise up to an animal and returns to work, determined to make a safe camp for the night.

When you get home, you try to forget the reminder of Brian and his obsession. Losing him hurts, and you think it always will. With a warm drink and a new book, you hope to move forward with your life, starting tonight. By the end of the second chapter, you can’t focus because you’re still thinking of Brian. You don’t know where he is, if he’s okay, or if he thinks about you. The first tear falls onto the page, and you slam the book closed. Brian loves to save himself, and you owe it to yourself to do the same.

The following morning, after a small breakfast of double-checked and properly identified berries and a cooked fish, Brian climbs a tree to get a better understanding of the forest around him.

“Does it feel better up here?” a small voice asks.

Brian looks down quickly. He barely catches himself on a nearby branch when he sees the young boy sitting beneath him.

“Who are you?” Brian demands.

“If you’re not going to use the knife, can I have it?” the boy inquires.

“No, it’s mine,” Brian argues.

“Then it’s mine too.”

“You’re saying that you’re me, what? 20 years ago.”

“Gosh, you’re old.”

“Watch it, kid.”

Brian looks away, convinced that he’s imagining his younger self.

“Are you married?” young Brian asks.

“No.”

“Have a girlfriend?”

“I did.”

“But you messed up? Why?”

“Shut up. I can’t answer your questions and get out of this jungle.”

“Apparently that’s not all you can’t do.”

“Okay, fine, I messed up!” Brian snaps. “I lost her, is that what you want to hear?”

His younger self watches him, then says, “I’d like the hear what you’re going to do about it.”

Brian doesn’t have an answer, but that realization doesn’t bother him as much when his foot slips from the branch, and the rock that gave him shelter last night seems to rush up toward him.

You wake a few hours later with a sharp pain shooting through your leg. Standing quickly, you wait for it to pass, then notice that the sun is rising, so you open your back door and sit on the porch to watch the day begin, entranced by its beauty.

Brian groans, clutching the top of his thigh before he cries out in pain. He looks down hesitantly and immediately knows he won’t walk away from this.

“Now the hallucinated company disappears,” he groans as he uses the rock to pull himself into a seated position. “Okay,” he grunts. “Compound fracture.”

After he looks around, he calculates how much time he has. He estimates six hours before sepsis sets in, and doesn’t doubt it will progress rapidly in the heat and humidity.

Brian closes his eyes. He doesn’t know how much time passes before something rests against his shoulder, and a featherlight touch trails up his arm. He mumbles your name, and a fleeting memory of a sigh answers. The touch and the weight disappear on a gust of wind, and Brian opens his eyes. Elena stands before him, frowning at the sight of his broken leg.

“Have you changed your mind about being rescued?” she asks.

“No,” he answers immediately. “You sound like my ex.”

“She was concerned about your death wish. Why are you really here?”

“Being trapped is the purest state of being,” Brian states. “This is how life is supposed to be.”

“Dying alone because you refuse to let people close?”

“You don’t understand.”

“Sounds like I’m not the only one. Good luck, Mr. Cole.”

Brian blinks, and Elena is gone. His younger self returns, carrying fruit and boiled water.

“I wasn’t this resourceful at your age,” Brian says.

“Why do you put yourself in dangerous situations over and over, then?”

“When I was a little older than you are now, I was abandoned in the woods with nothing. It was cold, and I couldn’t do anything but walk. A hiker found me; that’s the only reason I survived. I thought I got over it, and refused to feel that weak or lost again. Maybe I just buried that humiliation. My need to be out here, to survive, is what drove the only woman I’ve ever loved away.”

“The same girl I like?” young Brian asks hopefully.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Brian closes his eyes and expects a sarcastic reply that doesn't come.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he assures. “I’m sorry I was harsh earlier.”

“The secret’s safe with me,” young Brian says softly, wiping tears with the back of his hand. “I’ll be fine. You will too.”

Brian nods, and the sun shines brightly above him when he opens his eyes. Only there are no trees to block the light. He sits up quickly, shocked to find himself on a cliff with no broken bones. Brian stands and follows the sunset through the forest and toward the beach. He smiles and runs faster when the air smells like the ocean again.

The plane descends as you near the destination of the one-day trip your friend insisted you take. Waves lap onto the sand as the sun glints beautifully off the water.

“What is this place?” you ask the pilot.

“Anything you want it to be. That’s why people love the island, I hear,” he replies.

You nod and sit back. After the plane lands, you pull your bag onto your shoulder and open the door.

“Welcome to Fantasy Island,” a woman greets as you drop into the sand. “I’m Elena Roarke.”

You say your first name, wondering who the woman is.

“Your friend tells me that you have a wish no one can grant,” she continues. “This island has a way of doing things like that.”

“I doubt it can do what I want,” you argue.

“You never know. Follow me.”

You walk through the sand as she leads you to a beach house. Inside, you run your fingers across the linen curtains.

“Has the island ever given someone a second chance with a person who doesn’t want one?” you ask. When in Rome - or on Fantasy Island, you think as you hint at your deepest desire.

Elena looks down the beach and then asks you to excuse her. You nod, and she walks out. Alone, you stare out at the ocean. Maybe you should have tried to be more adventurous instead of asking Brian to be less so.

“Welcome back,” Elena says, smiling as Brian emerges from the jungle. “And ahead of schedule.”

“Thank you,” Brian responds. “Thank you for showing me.”

“It’s the island. What now, Mr. Cole?”

“I’m going home. I’ve got… I have to apologize to someone.”

“Good luck.”

Brian hugs Elena as he thanks her again, and he feels complete now that he remembers why he started living like this and realizes that life isn't the same as it was back then.

“Before you leave,” Elena says, “stop in the house. There’s one more thing I think you should see before you leave.”

Brian nods and makes his way toward the coastal building, smiling as he takes his time, enjoying the beauty without thinking about how to use his surroundings for survival.

You hear footsteps, so you turn away from the photos displayed on the shelves beside the couch. When the approaching person steps through the door, you freeze.

“Hey,” Brian says, his smile dropping as his eyes widen in surprise.

You swallow and look at his muddy pants before you say, “Hi.”

Brian watches you as you pull your hands behind your back. He has so much to say that he doesn’t know where to start.

“I should… go. I don’t even know why I’m here,” you murmur.

You step toward the door, toward Brian, but he moves forward to stop you. Looking into his eyes, you wonder why he’s suddenly acting like he doesn’t want you to leave.

“You asked if I loved it,” he begins. “That night you asked if I loved going out on these adventures more than I loved you.”

“And you didn’t answer,” you remind him.

“I was running,” Brian interrupts. “I’ve been running since I was a kid, but keeping that from you, letting it get between us, was the worst mistake of my life.”

“What are you saying?” you whisper.

“I do love it,” Brian says. “Because it makes me feel in control. But I don’t love it more than you... And you shouldn’t believe me.”

You watch Brian, but his eyes are steady on you. He seems genuine. Yet the reminder of how much he hurt you eats at you.

“I messed up, too,” you confess. “I should have accepted it as part of you.”

“No,” Brian argues, shaking his head as he lays his hands on your forearms. “You are part of me. I’ve never told anyone this but the survivalism was a response, a way to feel strong and in control after a terrible experience and abandonment. It’s not an excuse, but it’s a reason.”

“I didn’t want to lose you,” you whisper. “I lived in constant fear that you would die and never come back to me.”

“I’m back,” he insists. “It took me too long, but I’m here now. As long as you want me, I’m here, and if you don’t want me, I understand.”

You raise your hand to Brian’s face and wipe a streak of dirt from his cheek. He leans into your touch, and you move closer to him. Tipping your chin up, you kiss Brian.

He pulls back when he feels a tear hit his thumb. Wiping your cheeks, he matches your smile. You can see it, feel it, and you wholly believe Brian when he says he loves you. This island deals in fantasies, you realize, but not always in the way you expect.

“I keep making you cry,” he murmurs.

“Do you want to go to the beach with me?” you ask.

“I’ll go anywhere with you.”

Elena watches Brian help you into the plane. He seems like a different man when he turns and waves at her before he joins your side.

“I’ll teach you to spearfish when we get there,” Brian says.

“Oh, no,” you reply, laughing before Brian cups the back of your head and kisses you.

“Another satisfied visitor,” she muses.

Party Favors, Bribes, and Sharks

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x shy!(goth!)fem!reader

Summary: When Tim finally invites you to meet his friends, it takes more than party favors and promises to convince you to go.

Warnings: fluff, brief depiction of anxiety/nervousness, teasing

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“What are you wearing?” Tim asks, frozen in the open doorway.

“A shark,” you answer softly. “It’s a hammerhead.”

Tim presses his tongue against his cheek and nods. He’s seen you in nearly every outfit imaginable over the last year, except for bright colors… or, as it seems, sharks.

“I didn’t know your fascination had extended to clothing,” he mumbles as he finally closes the door.

“It’s a hooded blanket,” you explain. “And it was on sale.”

Tim nods again, unable to take you seriously with the plush hammerhead pulled over your hair or the patterned sleeves your arms are in. He drops his bag and sighs as he sits beside you. It’s been nearly a week since you saw him. As you offer him one side of your shark blanket, he smiles.

“We solved the case,” he says, laying your blanket over one of his legs.

“I knew you would,” you murmur, looking at his neck rather than his face.

“And we decided to have a little get-together to celebrate.”

You hum, straightening the edge of the blanket along Tim’s thigh.

“You should come,” he adds, placing his hand atop yours.

Frozen, you pinch your brows and consider what he said. You’ve been dating for about a year but haven’t met any of his friends or coworkers yet. For good reason, you think.

“Funny,” you whisper, looking away from Tim.

“I’m serious,” Tim assures. “I’m inviting you to the… Lucy’s calling it a party. You can meet everyone.”

You look at the television screen, the rainy night ambiance video threatening to weaken your resolve. “Tim,” you begin. “I’d rather eat my own eyes."

Tim tips his head back and laughs, not at you or your shyness, but at your graphic response. You’re all things darkness, but Tim knows the softness and shyness lying underneath.

“C’mon, you have to come with me.”

“No, I don’t.”

Tim sighs before he turns toward you and places his hands on your sides. “If you come with me, I’ll get you fresh strawberries from that farmer’s market in Santa Monica you love so much.”

Your eyes widen at the idea. Those strawberries are the best things you’ve ever had. Unconsciously, your hand raises to your neck, and you toy with the strawberry charm tucked beneath your other jewelry.

“We can go this weekend and buy as many as you want,” Tim continues. “Maybe even eat some on the beach.”

“I… Tim, I can’t just go,” you argue softly.

“Yes, you can. Listen, I promise that everything will be completely fine. This isn’t a huge thing, it’s casual, you can be yourself.”

You scoff and look down at Tim’s arms.

“I’m serious,” he says firmly. “They’re going to love you. So, if you’re just nervous about them not liking you, that’s not enough of a reason to say no.”

You purse your lips to think. It’s not fair that Tim knows you so well or is willing to use your love of strawberries against you.

“Fine,” you whisper. “But if it doesn’t go well, I stand by my eye-eating comment.”

“I have no doubt of that.”

The day of Mid-Wilshire’s celebratory party, you’re a mess. From the moment you wake up, you’re stressing about every little thing and growing more nervous. You peruse your closet, then turn to Pinterest for outfit ideas, but you keep questioning what Tim meant when he said casual. His casual and your casual are very different, and you don’t want to wear the wrong thing and make the night even more nerve-wracking or awkward than you’re sure it will already be.

“Breathe,” you remind yourself.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and exit your room. After a break in which you have a snack, watch a short shark documentary, and wave to your neighbor’s cat out the window, you return to your closet. This time, the outfit seems to jump out at you.

As you lay a pair of baggy jeans on your bed, the rest of the look falls together effortlessly. You choose a black sweater with a skeleton made of stars, black Converse with colorful jewels on the laces, and your daily rings and necklaces. The strawberry charm Tim got you on one of your first dates gets lost among the dark, gothic jewelry, but you know it’s there.

With an outfit picked, your heart rate slows, and your nervousness eases slightly. There’s plenty you could be concerned about, but your question will be answered soon enough.

“Worst case scenario,” you murmur as you straighten your outfit in the mirror. “They hate me, and Tim leaves me.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Tim says, suddenly behind you. You turn quickly, and he pulls you into a hug. “You’re perfect, and everything is going to be fine.”

“You can’t know that,” you complain against his arm.

“I brought you something to help convince you.” Tim steps back and pulls his backpack off the floor. “I’ve been holding onto this for a special occasion, and this seems like a good time.”

You watch as Tim pulls a stuffed animal out of his bag. You want to make a joke, but then you see what it is. The shark plushy is colored like a strawberry; it combines your two favorite things in the world. Things that Tim knows make you melt. Your shyness and worry are forgotten as you hug the strawberry shark to your chest.

“This is like Halloween!” you cheer.

“You mean Christmas?” Tim counters.

“I mean my favorite day of the year.”

Tim nods, kisses your forehead, then steps around you to get ready. As you wait with your shark, you allow yourself to be distracted. When Tim returns a few minutes later, you reluctantly set the stuffed animal on your bed and pat its back.

“Thank you,” you tell Tim. “I love him.”

“Is that why he’s in my spot?” Tim inquires with a knowing smile.

You smile and look down, clasping your hands together behind your back. Until you get to the party, you won’t know what to expect. You’ve heard Tim talk about everyone in attendance, but that’s different than meeting them, seeing them face-to-face, and allowing them to judge you. These people mean something to Tim; they’re his family, and if they don’t like you, there might be a risk of losing him.

“Are you ready to go?” Tim asks, offering his hand.

“Is it down to that or eating my eyes?” you question.

“Yes, and I happen to like your eyes.”

You grumble under your breath and take Tim’s hand. He leads you to his truck and whispers that everything will be fine. You try to believe him.

Halfway through the drive, your leg bounces so hard that the entire seat shakes. Tim turns, then places his hand on your knee, brushing his thumb over your leg. He has seen you nervous, but never like this.

“You’re fine,” he promises.

“What if they-“

“They’re going to love you.”

“But I don’t want to-“

“We’re here.”

You look up from Tim’s hand and sink in your seat. He squeezes your knee gently, opens his door, and rounds the truck to help you get out.

“Tim,” you whisper.

“I got you,” he promises, smiling despite your obvious concern. “Trust me, and then we’ll go get strawberries.”

“I like my rocks better than you,” you complain quietly, sliding out of the truck.

“Remind me who found your favourite rock.”

You huff, unwilling to acknowledge that the rock that looks like it’s covered in raindrops is your favourite or that Tim found it in your backyard. He takes your hand and leads you to the door. When you step behind him, Tim allows you to pull his hand with you, reaching behind his back to comfort you. Although, he knows you won’t need a buffer.

“Tim! You made it!” a woman cheers as the door opens. She gasps and drops her voice to add, “And you finally brought her!”

Tim lifts the hand not trapped in yours toward her, and you assume he motions for her to take it easy on you. Your eyes are on his back muscles, visible through his shirt, rather than anything or anyone around you.

“I was beginning to question if I’d see a night off,” another voice says.

“Tell me about it! Especially when Oscar called.”

Everyone groans, and you look up, still hidden behind Tim but able to see some people in the room. They’re dressed casually, you notice, and one of them is wearing an outfit similar to yours, minus the skeleton design.

“What?” Tim asks.

“Nothing, nothing,” the woman who opened the door answers.

You step to the left and raise your chin, accidentally locking eyes with her. She smiles but doesn’t move toward you or speak. You appreciate it and return her smile.

“Thanks for letting me come,” you say before introducing yourself.

After you say thanks, she moves to your side and pulls you away from Tim. Away from him and the others, she directs you to sit with her.

“I’m Angela, and I’ve been waiting so long to meet you. When Tim slipped and told me he had a girlfriend, I, well, I didn’t believe him at first, but I’ve never seen him like this,” she explains. “He’s been so happy with you! He refused to show me pictures, but you’re even prettier than I expected.”

“Thank you,” you reply softly. “Sorry, I’m not great at, uh, anything interpersonal.”

“Then you’re perfect for Tim.”

You laugh at her friendly teasing and are surprised when you fall into a short but easy conversation with her about how you met Tim.

“Give her some room, Lopez,” Tim calls from the doorway.

“It’s okay,” you tell him.

“Yeah, Timothy,” Angela replies. “It’s okay. It won’t be once she meets Nolan and Lucy, but I’m her new best friend, so you need to watch your back, Bradford.”

Tim rolls his eyes as he nods. He waves for you and Angela to join the others when you’re ready, then retreats around the corner again.

“I’m still nervous,” you admit to Angela.

“Well, now you have me. Just remember these two things: one, Nolan never shuts up, but he doesn’t actually say much.” She pauses as you chuckle, then raises another finger to add, “And we all tease each other, but there’s nothing except respect and care between us. You’re going to fit right in, I promise.”

“As my best friend?”

Angela loops her arm through yours after you stand and replies, “You understand already.”

You sit between Tim and Angela at the table, and less than ten seconds after she joins you, Tim's friends begin asking questions.

“Guys,” Angela interrupts. “Okay, this is Lucy, Nolan, Wade, Nyla, her husband James, and my fantastic husband, Wesley.”

“Why did he get a fantastic husband?” James challenges.

“You heard me.”

“Okay, how did you meet Tim?” Lucy inquires.

“We just ran into each other,” you answer nervously.

“Did he ask you out?” Nolan adds.

You nod, and they continue taking turns to better understand your relationship with Tim. A few minutes into the conversation, your answers are louder and contain more words.

“What’s your favorite animal?” Wade asks in the first lapse of silence.

“Sharks,” you and Tim answer together.

“Tim!” Lucy exclaims, clapping her hands together.

You laugh and realize at that moment that Tim was right. His friends are chill, open, and seem to like you.

“I don’t get why you’re with Tim,” Nyla tells you on the way out, “but I’m glad you came tonight.”

“Me too,” you answer. “I’ll see you around.”

“Count on it!” James calls.

Tim helps you into the truck and then reaches into the backseat. He passes you the new strawberry shark, and you clutch it tightly.

“Your friends are great,” you tell him.

“I tried to tell you,” he responds lightly. “And they’re your friends now, too.”

“I like that.”

Tim nods and murmurs, “You didn’t like it before I agreed to get you strawberries and watch Halloween movies.”

“We’re watching Halloween movies, too?!”