mango's bakery

⊹˚. ♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖ a/n: hi friends this is going to become a series and i will like. do proper formatting and naming and whatnot once the semester is over! 🐻 with me pleaz

307 was open.

that was odd. 307 wasn’t usually open. it was vacant. had been since sammy had moved here six months prior.

the divorce had been rough. sure, he'd been upset with tammi, but part of him was so desperate for a girl to come home to that he'd almost stuck around. trying to fix things with her would’ve been a self-insult, though, and sammy was too full of himself to ever stoop to the level of staying with a serial cheater.

once she'd taken off, he'd turned to alcohol for a bit, then realized how pathetic his life had become — all alone, just him and his jameson in a now-too-big castaic house — and got a decent flat in LA. closer to work, no memories of his ex-wife attached. a fresh start.

but now it was 10:03pm and the hallway was quiet and dim. the same overhead light was flickering as usual, the same doormat in front of the unit two from the right of his own. the only thing out of place was 307. ajar, just a few inches, with the lights on inside.

maybe the landlords were doing maintenance for a new tenant. maybe something was being renovated, or new appliances were being put in. maybe he could take a peek inside, shut the door in case the property managers had left it open accidentally.

he stepped closer, brain cataloging as it always did. his hand was almost on the doorknob, when there was a noise behind him, at the top of the 3rd floor stairs.

well, multiple noises.

a few rushed footsteps up the last few stairs, a thump, and an oof.

when he turned, there was a pile of things on the floor at the end of the hallway. two baby-pink duffle bags and a white backpack with a teddy bear keychain hanging off of it.

and you, grumbling and trying to gather the dropped baggage.

sammy just stared for a minute, because, jesus. you were cute.

cute in a baby deer way, so flustered at the spill of your bags that you somehow didn’t notice the police officer standing a few doors down. oversized cardigan slipping off of one shoulder, the laces on one of your chucks untied. with eyes trained on the floor, you hurriedly tried to gather the set of cookbooks that had come out of your half-zipped backpack.

he blinked, slow. like something in his head needed a minute to boot back up. one beat, two. the hallway hummed with that fluorescent flicker and he still hadn’t moved, brain reeling.

admittedly, seeing his coworkers at the PD flourish in their marriages and have kids (or, at the least, have wild one-night stand stories to share over beers after work) had gotten him a little down. last week, sergeant hill had brought in cupcakes. “from my wife,” he’d grinned.

sammy wanted a wife who made him cupcakes. instead, he got one who tried to nab half his pension and took off to fuck her artsy fartsy, wannabe-camp photography friends.

some luck.

after the critical error warning had flashed in his brain, and he had hit reboot, he was striding over, gathering the two pastry compendia that had fallen further away from you.

the sight of you scrambling to get your cookbooks off the ground made him feel a dangerous cocktail of fondness and possessiveness. he mentally swatted at it, like a dog trying to steal his shoe.

that’s when you noticed him.

you jolted, a little, clearly not having expected someone in the halls while you moved in at 10 o’clock, eyes locked on the man a couple meters away. heavy pants spilled from your lips, the effort of hauling so many trips of boxes catching up to you.

his initial baby deer assessment of you was correct, because you stood there, crouched amongst the mess you’d made on the floor like a fawn in headlights. he broke the silence.

“...you want some help?” he asked, one eyebrow cocked.

you started to say no. he watched the contemplation, the sleepiness, the annoyance all swirl around on your expression. your nod was tight, awkward, like a hinge that needed oil. he huffed a half-laugh through his nose and lifted the corner of his mouth. almost a smile.

“yessir,” you mumbled, voice hushed and eyes already back on the carpet as you bent down to gather your backpack. he grabbed both of the duffles, barely-audible protests dying halfway out of your mouth. in his periphery, he noticed your sleepy eyes actually look at him properly. catching on the badge, the patch, the holster. your mouth didn’t say a word, but your eyes got a little wider.

cute.

“307, yeah?” he asked, straightening up from the floor and stepping towards the open unit. another quiet, muttered yessir had him glancing back over his shoulder.

“i’m not gonna bite you, kid,” he snorted, striding over and hip-checking your front door wide open. “you got more of these downstairs? i can get ‘em if you’d like,” he offered, putting on his best chivalrous front. it was an enigma, really. everyone at the station had called him a dick.

multiple times.

to his face.

you trailed behind him, both arms around your backpack (because it felt stupid letting him do all of the carrying, and you felt more useful with both arms around the jansport).

“no sir, i, um... that’s it,” you murmured, pattering behind him into your entryway with so little confidence it looked like he’d invited you into his place, not the other way around. sammy placed the duffles with the annapurna-sized mountain of boxes you’d already brought up.

he dusted his hands off dramatically, like all men approaching silver-foxism did after a job well done, before turning to look at you properly.

and... christ almighty. your backpack looked like it was about to tug you over. your sleeves had swallowed your hands. you were standing like you were worried about taking up space in your own rental.

LA would eat you alive. fuck, he would eat you alive.

“i’m sammy,” he said, walking over and tugging a pen and little notepad from his uniform pocket. “310, right across.”

you just nodded. you didn’t want to seem rude, so you made pseudo-eye contact with his nose. close enough to the eyes that it looked polite, while not actually locking you into his firm gaze.

he clocked that immediately, shifting down about two centimeters so his eyes were where his nose had been. his brows raised a bit, teasingly, in a “hey. i’m up here,” manner, jotting something on his paper without looking down. he ripped it off, closing the gap between the two of you.

“text if you need anything,” he said, refusing to let you duck his eye contact as he looked down at you. his voice was all gentleness laced with something else. a... pedagogical patronization of sorts that made your heart rev like an overworked generator.

(the cadence a friend’s hot dad used when you were over for dinner, asking how your classes were going. the tone your father’s buddy spoke with when he prodded about your love life, insisting that a cute girl like you surely had a boyfriend.)

his eyes stayed locked on yours, brow expectantly cocked. it only lowered once you nodded weakly with a “thank you,” swiping the paper from his hand like a skittish bunny nabbing a treat. poised to bolt at the slightest movement.

“i mean it,” he said insistently. his boots fell heavy on the floor as he strode to the doorway and leaned against the frame, one arm braced above him like he owned the place. “it’s a rough area, kid. looking like that’ll get you mugged as soon as you step outside,” he hummed, head tilted a few degrees. you were too entranced to even speculate on what he meant by like that.

another hurried nod and he was retreating into the hallway with a small smile to himself– which was absolutely not fitting for the occasion, because he was over the fucking moon. this was going to be fun.

“text me so i have your number,” he called, loud enough to carry the few paces across the hall and into your flat, his door thudding shut before you had a chance to slip in another word.

⊹˚. ♡.𖥔 ݁ ˖ a/n contd: sorry this is so boring i swear it'll get better. i just needed to set up the story and this felt like a better use of time (loud incorrect buzzer) than studying for my computer architecture exam

sammy nation pioneers i love u so much pls send me ideas for cute interactions for sammy and his new fawn next door!! or other sammy thoughts!!!

also i am so new to writing for fun and a big part of this series is how fawn is like. horrendously shy. which is me self projecting. so sorry if that isn't your thing, tell me so in my inbox and i'll write for other tropes!! big scary cop x cutie patootie just felt too right here