#also anon thanks so much I hope my cop out answer to your prompt is okay
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Hello. I am here to request Yandere Ozzie being overprotective of his sweet princess 🗣️ Perhaps she is kidnapped by someone in hopes of extorting Oswald and get more than a pretty penny out of him but him being the perfect man he is does not lose a single cent and gets his baby back but not before beating the crap out of the kidnappers for hurting her. Thank you and have a great day, friend 🫂
Rescue Me
Farrell!Penguin x Female!Reader, word count: 1.2k
what if i did that but made it two parts and i am incredibly slow at getting to the conclusion of things and i'm also very sorry about it anon but you should know that already because this request is from october (i am so sorry i knew this prompt was good so it needed to have justice done to it) 🥴💜🐧
request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist
minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: angst, threats, kidnapping, sad ozzie boo ;-;
“Uh huh. Sure. Uh-huh. And just so I know I’ve given you the benefit of the doubt, because I’m a nice guy. You know who you’re talking to here, huh?”
Two goons on either side of the office door watched Oswald as he tapped his fingers casually on his desk. He held the phone to his right ear, listening patiently. One of the men who watched had answered. Taken the brief message, and then followed the instructions.
“We’ve got your boss’ girl. We’re looking to exchange her for a reasonable sum, given that she’s tainted goods. You taking all of this down? Ok, go hand the phone to your boss and tell him we want to speak to him.”
“Oh, is that so? Ok. That’s all fine on my end. I’ll bring the money. You bring my girl. We’ll see how smooth things go. You better not waste my fuckin’ time neither.”
Oswald hung up the call, rubbing his face in his palms before he tossed the phone against the wall. He got up from his desk, grabbing his long leather jacket from the coat stand. A cigar, the metal briefcase from the safe in the closet, his own cell phone, and a handgun. That was all he was taking with him.
“You’re going personally, boss?”
“Course I am! And don’t neither of you two clowns follow me. I’m going alone.”
Brushing past them on his way out of the door, Oswald felt calm, collected, but he took a deep breath in before he started his car and began heading to the meeting point. He drove fast, but not fast enough that any cops would bother to interfere. He wanted to get there safe and sound, as quickly as possible. Your life wasn’t in danger, no one was that stupid, but he was still worried.
Pulling up to the farthest end of the docks, territory he felt safe in, Falcone’s territory at that, he noticed another car with dimmed headlights. With an air of confidence he didn’t need to muster up, he got out of his own vehicle, walking steadily towards them, making a concerted effort to conceal his limp as best as he could. He worried it made him look weak, like an easier target. Like he could be toppled over much easier than was likely.
A voice from the shadows, calling out to him. One he only recognised from the phone call, unable to place it to anyone he knew, or knew of.
“You actually came alone?”
“What can I say, I’m a man of my word.”
“Seems risky.”
“Should I be worried? This is business, chief. And I’d like to get on with it.”
“Not much for small talk, hm? What difference does it make how quick we commence the business? The damage has been done.”
Oswald narrowed his eyes, taking another step forward, hand reaching for his pocket, ready to grab his gun if need be.
“Listen, business is business. I’m a busy guy. I know how this shit goes. But I swear to you, if you touched a single hair on her body I will take everything you have and everyone you have ever loved.”
“Relax, Penguin.”
He flinched at the word. Fingers relaxing and tensing by his side.
“Toss the money over and you can have her. In exactly the same condition she was in when we brought her here.”
The briefcase landed with a metallic clunk on the ground, bouncing slightly before settling askew on the wet ground. The stranger took a few steps towards it, stopping when Oswald shouted out over the short distance between them.
“Don’t you touch that thing with your filthy funckin’ hands until I’ve seen her.”
Hands up, displaying his intentions, the stranger clicked his fingers and summoned two men from the vehicle, who dragged out another figure from the back seat. Clad in a large, ill-fitting stained shirt, no shoes, and with a bag over their head, they were walked over to the stranger who pushed them forwards, sending them stumbling into Oswald’s arms. He brought them in close, holding them behind him.
“Hey, you’re ok now, just keep quiet and follow my lead, kid.”
The stranger clicked open the briefcase, scoffing as they realised that there was nothing inside. But by the time he had glanced up towards Oswald, he was met with the handgun pointing at him.
“Shameful tactics, Oswald.”
“This isn’t my girl.”
Shaking his head, the stranger smiled, standing up slowly as Oswald traced his movements with the gun.
“Of course it isn’t. Looks like we both came up short on our ends of the bargain.”
“You bring her to me, or I swear to god!”
Oswald was shouting now, his voice breaking as he tried to conceal the raw emotion. Fear, rage, a deep sorrow, panic and worry.
“How about this time, you come to us. You bring the money to my warehouse, and we’ll give you what you want this time. Promise.”
He winked, a cruel grin briefly flashing over his up until now bland and neutral face.
“I don’t even know who you are or where you operate from. How am I supposed to find you?”
“Think of a way. You’ve got twenty-four hours.”
As he walked to the car, entering it as his men held the door open for him, he called back.
“And don’t worry about it, you’ll know who I am soon enough. Everyone will.”
As their car sped away, Oswald turned his attentions to the figure behind him. Peeling the bag slowly from her head, he stood back, giving her enough space to get accustomed to her surroundings. It didn’t take long, and before he knew it she had her arms around him, thanking him, sobbing into his jacket.
“It’s ok, hey. You’re fine. I recognise you, kid. You one of my dancers?”
“Y-yeah Mister Cobblepot, sir. I… I was coming out of work with your-”
“They took her too? You saw her!? You gotta let me know if they hurt her, ok?”
“They didn’t hurt none of us, she’s ok. Just… scared Mister Cobblepot. We all were.”
Sighing, trying to hold back the tears in a bid to remain the safe space for the girl he now held in the freezing cold, Oswald tried to think on his feet, willing his brain to move past the initial flurry of pain and anxiety that flooded him.
“Listen, sweetheart. I’ll get you home. We’ll make sure you’re safe, ok? I’ll get one of my guys on your door and he’ll stick with you till we have this creep dealt with. But you gotta help me. You think you can do that?”
“A-anything, Mister Cobblepot. I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me, kid. But I need to know where you were. Anything you can tell me.”
She started to speak but he silenced her with a gesture.
“Not right now, you need to be warm, safe, before you even think about doing anything else. You need a drink. We’ll go back to the club, ok?”
Nodding quietly, sniffling back some tears, Oswald’s new ward got into the back seat of the car, resting her head against the window as Oswald drove back to the club to formulate his plan.
Everyone would know who this stranger was. He’d be the guy that Oswald Cobblepot strung up in pieces across Gotham. They idiot who crossed the wrong man.
#finnie writes#penguin x you#oswald cobblepot#the penguin#batman fanfic#the batman 2022#colin farrell penguin#oswald cobblepot x reader#oswald cobblepot x you
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Khr for the 20 questions meme (you can choose the numbers if that’s a lot) Thank You!
Thank you for the request, my lovely anon! I didn't really manage to do all of them, though I explained why I couldn't do particular ones while answering and I hope you'll enjoy my thoughts on the ones I did do!
which muse is the easiest to write?
Honestly, I think I've answered this a couple times on this blog. But for those who might have missed those answers, the honest truth is that there isn't a single character left in KHR that I consider 'hard' to write about anymore. I don't think I write the best Reborn, Hibari, or Mukuro, but I do try my best. I will say, I do find Gokudera always naturally flows pretty well for me but overall, KHR is the easiest fandom for me to write about and I enjoy all the characters, in their own way.
which muse is most likely to go to jail?
Well, let's see. Mukuro, Ken, Chikusa, M.M., Birds, and the Bloody Twins are all canonically either currently in jail or they have been in jail. But if that's too much of a cop-out answer, Naito would definitely spend at least a night or two in jail here and there because he's an idiot and a loud one and gets himself into silly situations or causes a public disturbance. If it wasn't for the fact that they're protected by the Mafia and have so many resources at their disposal, the Varia should also be spending time in prison for multiple murders.
which muse would be the best parent?
That's a really hard one because, honestly, this cast is so huge, and there's a lot of characters I think would make excellent parents. There's no way to settle into best either, since I think they'd all have vastly different parenting styles. I will say, out of Tsuna's family, I think neither Gokudera nor Hibari want children, nor would either of them being particularly great parents, each for their own reasons. The only person in the Varia I see wanting their own children is Levi, though I also think Squalo could be a good parent if it did become a thing for him. Out of Mukuro's gang, I don't think Mukuro nor Chrome want their own biological children. They could all potentially be good parents, but out of them all, I do think Fran would make the worst parent, though even he has moments of being a really good parent.
what would your muses be the deities of? what are your favorite icons for each muse? what song do you associate with each muse? what sort of youtube channel would your muses have?
Okay, this is just an absolutely huge cast of characters, so I hope you don't mind that I skipped these questions, my dear. The resulting post, if I was to do the entirety of the cast, would take hours upon hours to write (and like I said, these prompts are supposed to be fun and fast in between the more serious waiting requests), and would be extremely long for any of these questions, though I'd be happy to do these with a narrower group of characters in KHR.
which muse would you most like to meet irl?
Oh, there's so, so many characters from KHR I do wish were real and were in my life. Shouichi, Spanner, Byakuran after the future arc, Yamamoto, Gokudera, Haru, Kyoko, Chikusa, Shamal, YamaPapa, Squalo, Skull, Enma…the list is literally too long to count.
which muse would be the MOM friend? DAD friend?
Mom friend? Both Bianchi and Kyoko definitely show signs of being mom friends to those in their lives, though each in their unique ways. I also do think Luce, Aria, and Yuni all are or were 'mom friends' and that, even before she became a mom, Nana was a 'mom friend' to those she was friends with. Now, I'll show myself as dumb here but I didn't really know what a 'dad friend' really meant, so I had to google it. I think Yamamoto and Reborn both have some 'dad friend' energy, as does Kusakabe and Romario, right off the top of my head. Of course, YamaPapa has the most daddest of dad energies though, just saying and is a father, so maybe that helps. I also think Timoteo was always a 'dad friend' to people, from the time he was a kid all the way until he becomes an old man, when he gains 'grand-dad friend' vibes.
which muses are cat people? which are dog people?
Okay, so again, this is a question that if I listed all the characters from the wide cast of characters that fit into both categories, the post would be very long and would take a very long time to write, so I'm just going to go with the first ones that popped into my head. Hibari would definitely be a cat over dog kind of person. While animals really love Hibari in general and he tends to get along best with animals rather than people, he's not really a fan of dogs, to be honest. They're too clingy and require too much attention. Gokudera, Chikusa, Julie, and Kikyo are all very much cat people too. However, Yamamoto, Skull, and Colonello to me are all very much dog people.
which muse would you want to have a sleepover with?
Of course, a sleepover with the girls (Chrome, Kyoko, Haru, Hana, Bianchi, and I-Pin) would be so much fun. I also think sleepovers with Byakuran would be a blast and though I know he's really unpopular, sleepovers with Naito would be hilarious and full of crazy stories for the ages.
which muse would try to befriend the others? which two muses would get along the best if they met? which two muses would immediately fight each other if they met?
Now, I'm treating all of these questions in terms of how I write the various characters in my crossovers and AU's. Again, if I was to write this thinking of all the characters, I could make each question a very long, thorough, time-consuming post, so I went with just my first thoughts. I would happily answer these questions more thoroughly, if anyone would like, with a narrower group of characters. In terms of the crossovers/multiverse AU's though, Tsuna is always the most accepting and the one to make the most friends. While not as outwardly extroverted and friendly as Yamamoto, there's this charisma to Tsuna that does draw people to him. Hibari, Byakuran, Mukuro, Gokudera, Bel, and Xanxus get into the most fights in these stories though.
which muse is physically the strongest? which muse would win in a fist fight against the others?
So, keeping this strictly in universe, the Varia are all considered elite assassins and fighters and I think most of them would survive a fist fight with any of the other characters to at least a draw. It's canon that Hibari is the strongest, battle-wise, of all Tsuna's Guardians, and the Arcobaleno are the absolute best of the best, with Skull in particular actually being known for his strength, something a lot of people seem to forget because honestly, canon and fandom does him a little dirty. In just plain out hand to hand combat, I think Skull can hold his own against anyone, even Hibari, if push came to shove. I'm also adding Knuckle and Ryohei to this category, as fist-fights are their specialities and something both really excel at.
what is a plot you’ve been wanting to do for [muse name]?
I mentioned this to a friend the other day in messages, but I honestly, if I had the time and artistic ability, would love to write light novel spin-off series for KHR, something that would never happen as those have to be approved, I'm pretty sure, by the original creator. But I would love to do light novels exploring so much - the Arcobaleno's individual pasts, how they each came to chosen, their experiences with the occasion that turned them into Arcobalenos, and the immediate aftermath of being turned into infants and how they adapt to life after that. I'd love to do light novels exploring all the prior generations of the Vongola Bosses and their Guardians. I'd love to do one exploring YamaPapa's past, especially his relationship with his sibling disciple of Shigure Soen and the creation of Shinotsuku Ame.
which muse would spend a night in a haunted place for $20?
Gokudera will do it for free. No kidding, legit, he might even pay for the privilege. I honestly do think Bianchi actually does share some of her brother's passion for ghosts and she would be interested in spending the night in a haunted house as well. Byakuran and Mukuro would both do it, just because it would amuse them, and both are enough of skeptics to not even be scared.
which muse would you not let into your house, under any circumstance?
Honestly, it's Kikyo. I do see him as being really judgmental, especially with anything aesthetic, and I do think he'd read my interior decorating skills and aesthetic to filth, despite how much I love my apartment and how it looks. I also don't think I'd much like Bel in my apartment…too much chance of me being murdered for my comfort, thanks.
which muse would investigate the scary noises? which one would hide?
Again, this is one where if I really focused on the full cast, putting them into the groups, I could create a post that would be very long, thorough, and would take quite a while to write, so I just went with my first thoughts. Lambo, Tsuna, Shouichi, Enma would all hide. Basil, Gokudera, Spanner, Byakuran, Mukuro, Hibari, Adelheid, Shitt. P, and Reborn would all investigate, some with less fear than the others.
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Prompt: Fave SC meet cute or you haven't tried yet 😉
Kara was a little bit too...well, jaded to believe in things like fate.
Or maybe jaded wasn’t the right word. Perhaps it was more stubbornness. Because look, if fate was real—if people and events were destined to be—then losing everything she’d ever known, every one she’d ever loved, was all part of a greater plan.
And quite frankly, that was the stupidest thing she could imagine.
(It wasn’t fate that destroyed her planet, but greed and selfishness and inaction. It wasn’t destiny that spared her and her cousin, just sheer dumb luck and a great deal of power afforded to her parents.
If things were meant to be, then the universe—the multiverse—was full of shit, and she wanted nothing to do with any of it.
Not that she’d ever say that aloud. Or even admit to thinking it.)
Kara chose to believe, every single day, that it was choices that mattered. Individual, ordinary choices. Choices to offer a smile instead of a dark look, choices to be patient rather than let loose one’s temper, choices to be kind or generous or to admit you’ve been wrong and change direction.
Choices. It came down to choices.
Choices, with everything it turned out, except Lena. Or rather, it was a little bit of both. Because loving Lena, being with Lena...it was an active choice, but Kara didn’t doubt for one moment that meeting Lena the way she did was just always meant to be.
She came to this rather world-shattering conclusion after their marriage, nearly a decade after they met for the first time, because Lena casually mentioned that the first time they met wasn’t actually the first time they met, and wasn’t that the funniest thing?
(The conversation went a little like this:
“Ugh, I can’t believe I used to wear fanny packs everywhere I went as a preteen.”
“Oh, I remember that.”
“Why are you laughing, and how do you remember that? It was more than a decade before I met you.”
“We vacationed outside Midvale every summer, I ran into you a few times.”
“That’s not possible, I would definitely have noticed you.”
“Oh, Kara, don’t worry. At that age, I wasn’t paying much attention to anyone but Lex. Besides, we also went to the same parties in college, and neither one of us noticed the other, so it’s fine.”
“Wait. What?”)
Again and again, she’d eventually learn. She and Lena would be in the same place, at the same time, and yet their paths would just barely not cross. Kara would enter a coffee shop just as Lena left it; Lena would go to a party that Kara had been invited to but felt too overwhelmed to go to; they’d both be walking down the same street, but in opposite directions—one of them preoccupied with their phone, the other rolling their eyes at the newest silly thing Sam had gotten caught up in.
Again and again, she’d find out. Again and again, she and Lena would not meet because one looked down while the other looked up. Seconds and inches had separated them; moments that couldn’t possibly have been engineered by anything other than a universe that was ridiculously preoccupied with ensuring they met on one particular day, at one particular time, in one particular place.
Fate, Kara thought. Fate, that she would walk past a girl sitting on a park bench, looking terribly distressed. Fate, that Kara would happen to have an extra pastry from the coffee cart (the vendor sneaking her a free one because he knew she had a bit of a sweet tooth and she’d seemed a little down the other day).
And a choice. A choice, that Kara would stop, offer the distressed girl her most brilliant smile, ask her if she wanted a pastry, and lend an ear to whatever problem the girl was having.
(And Lena, the scientist, clever as always, suggested an alternative take that Kara was quite partial to:
They were tied together, destined to always be in each other’s orbit, and all the missed opportunities to meet only temporarily delayed the inevitable moment they chose each other.)
#supercorp#fanfic#genuinely super impressed I've finished so many prompts in the past week#am I learning to write again???#also anon thanks so much I hope my cop out answer to your prompt is okay#what's my fave meet cute? all of them#all of the infinite possibilities lolll
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‘stache Stories - Chris Evans x reader
a/n - hey lovely people!! at last, a fic! behold this astounding feat of- well, i don’t really know, but i’m happy i finally wrote at least one of the requests i had😂 i promise i’m trying to write more but for a few different reasons i’m veryyyy late on stories and i hope the anon is still around to see this! also, i personally have a hate hate relationship with the mustache, so it’s kinda in there too hehe, but we all always love chris. enjoy!<3
for the first time in months, you were finally going to see your boyfriend
not only were you going to finally see him in person after a month of both of your jobs keeping you apart, but you were going to watch him perform on broadway!
you were so excited to watch him act on stage, you loved all of his movies and you were sure you were going to love the play just the same, if not even more
you texted chris you were there before locating the back door, telling your name to the security guard at the entrance
you asked him where you could find chris and he just pointed in a certain direction vaguely, so you looked around as you went in the direction he pointed in
you were trying to keep an eye out for chris, but you've never really been backstage in broadway before, so you couldn't help marveling at the hustle and bustle of people, and it was still nearly two hours until the show
you saw someone standing on their phone, and you assumed they'd be available enough to help you, since unlike all the other people who were walking around fervently, the man seemed pretty relaxed
"excuse me, do you know where i can f-"
he turned his face in your direction, and it took you a second before a gasp fell from your lips, and then you started giggling like a lunatic
"you made it!" chris grinned, enveloping you in a tight hug
you sighed contently in his arms, holding him back just as tightly, but when you broke away, you struggled to contain your laughter
"babe... you can't just-" you started laughing again, the mustache just as funny as it was shocking, "you can't just ignore That," you gestured at his face
"you don't like it?" he asked, but the shy smile on his face indicated he was aware of the... less than great mustache on his face
"i don't wike it," you confirmed teasingly and shook your head before pressing a kiss to his cheek
"well, the sacrifices we have to make for the craft," he said dramatically
"ah yes," you said, just as dramatic, "the craft. but, i gotta ask, how necessary was it? like is it super necessary or can you like... i don't know, shave it off tonight before we go out?"
"i didn't know it was that bad," he chuckled
"okay, okay, it's not that bad," you shrugged, "but, y'know, i feel like it kinda obscures the view," you pouted
"the view? what view?" he asks, a smug smile stretching across his face
"my very handsome boyfriend who has been tragically kidnapped by a wierdo," you said, your pout now entirely exaggerated
"i don't know is that was a compliment or an insult," he admitted with a chuckle
"best of both worlds," you smirked, prompting him to laugh
"so we're still on for tonight after the show, right?" he asked once his laughter died down
"obviously yes," you said, sincerity showing on your face, "i missed you," you kissed him softly, knowing you still had a ton of other people around, even if they were polite enough to pretend you two weren't there, it was probably a matter of time until someone came by looking for him
"great," he smiled softly at you once you parted
"see ya later luigi!" you winked at him
"that's... fair," he laughed, shaking his head
you went by to look around the area before you'd come back to see the show itself
after the show, you found chris backstage once more, after he already changed back into his normal clothes, and took his hand, ready to head out
you two were quick, slipping out before there were that many people by the door, and you made your way past whatever crowd was starting to form before you could start walking a little less briskly
"you were wonderful," you bumped his shoulder with yours, smiling
"yeah? you liked it?"
"i mean, i kinda hated you, but that's in the job description, i think," you giggled
"yes!" he pumped his fist in celebration
"wow, if i would've known that's how you'd react to me hating you maybe i'd do it more often," you teased
"i'd rather not," he laughed, before pulling you into a street corner, where you were barely seen from the traffic, and wrapped his arms around your waist
"i missed you," he whispered
your lips finally met properly, tongues exploring, eager to get reacquainted with a beloved landscape
"missed you too," you answered, your voice a bit breathy
you swallowed and then took his hand in yours, "c'mon, let's go to dinner," you smiled, dragging him back into the street
you loved the man, really didn't like the mustache, but it made him a little less recognizable, which you were both thankful for
sometime later, scott grew a similar mustache
when you first saw him as he opened the door for you and chris when you visited him, all he got was an "oh. so what's up?"
chris looked at you incredulously
"seriously? when i grow a mustache you call me a weirdo and when he does all he gets is an 'oh'?"
"oh my god, i almost forgot about your mustache," you said, bursting into laughter, "god, that was terrible, wasn't it scott?"
scott laughed and agreed with you, ushering you and a grumbling chris inside
"honestly scott, if i wasn't his girlfriend back then and i saw him on the street, i would run," you said, "and i hate that i need to clarify this, but not into his arms - i would run away," you teased, watching a red tint spread on chris' cheeks from the corner of your eye
"you got a point there," the two of you laughed
"but he has a mustache as well! right now!" chris half-whined the words
"yeah, you do," you snickered at the man in question. "well, you could probably do that crime movie you've always wanted, cop or criminal," you laughed
"where was this energy when i had a mustache?" chris chimed in again
"well, maybe it's because i don't have to date scott," you retaliated
"you never had to date me too," he pointed out
"no, i really think i did. see, charming, wonderful, smart guys aren't that easy to come by, so really i had no other choice," you shrugged
"at this point you'd think i'd be able to understand if you're insulting me or complimenting me," chris huffed out a laugh
"does it matter?"
"nope, i love you anyway," he wrapped his arm around you
"awww. love you too," you leaned into his side, "but please don't grow a mustache ever again. i'll do whatever you want"
"ooo, whatever i w-"
"may i remind you there are children in the room!" you cut him off, gesturing at scott, and the three of you laughed together, "so whatever you were gonna say, spare us"
"fine," he rolled his eyes, "but i still think i looked better than him with a mustache"
"mmmm, debatable."
i couldn’t help referencing the mustache scott has now at the end, especially after the intereview with both of them yesterday (i love them so much omg), and as always i love hearing your thoughts!!<3
Taglist: @horny-nd-bored @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds @wintersoldierslut @iceebabies @sleepingpapermouse @steverogerswasalwaysworthy @holtzkinnon @angelicl-y @stydia-4-ever @thatoneperson5000 @fangirlfree @kaitcordx25 @bequeening @steve-barry-damon-logan @itscrazycherryblossomcollection @hollandxmarvel @stargazingfangirl18 @readsreblogsfics @onetwo3000 @beritmetal @harrystylesholland @jazbot2000 @anobscurename @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @peggycarter-steverogers @evansphnx12 @starlightcrystalline @procrastinatingsapphictrash
if you wanna join / be removed from a taglist, comment/message me! much love <3
#chris evans x reader#chris evans x y/n#chris evans x female reader#chris evans x you#chris evans x wife!reader#chris evans fluff#chris evans imagine
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Leave Your Lover
Anon asked for a fic based on the song used in this fanvid (which is awesome btw): https://youtu.be/RCT3_rkHj8A
Lucy sat across from Tim, sipping a large glass of red wine. They were at their local bar, a place they now met fortnightly for ‘unofficial check ins’. Tim had told her to meet him here for the first time a week after she graduated. All he had said was that he wanted to check West wasn’t rubbing off on her. When she had arrived, she had expected a sort of Tim test, a reminder that he was always on her back, even now. Or perhaps a threat of sorts, or maybe a warning. Instead, she’d found him sipping a pint, with a glass of her favorite red waiting on her and she had known what it really was: an excuse. He missed her too.
And so, they met every other Friday as long as their shifts permitted it. He would have a few beers, she would have at least two large glasses and they would chat about the calls they had faced that week. Tim’s composure usually lasted for about the first hour. He would spend that time grilling her over each choice she had made, checking that her protocol was spot on. He even allowed her to criticize his own work, claiming that it was good practice to be aware of how other cops were working too.
Inevitably, however, the conversation would move on. One of them would bring up Kujo, or The Dodger’s game, or an episode of television they had been lucky enough to catch. And they wouldn’t be a newly graduated Rookie and ex-TO anymore. They would be friends. Just them.
Lucy looked over at Tim, slouched back in slacks and a light blue Henley, a smile dancing on his lips as he told her about the call he had faced earlier that day. They had almost run through all of them and Lucy was looking forward to the conversation slipping onto something else.
“The neighbors cat caught the guy can you believe it?”
Lucy knew she should have been listening, that it was important, but she was almost finished her glass and Tim was looking at her in a way that lit up his eyes, eyes that didn’t need a Henley to draw her attention to them.
She scolded herself, let the laughter slip from her lips and tried to cover up her daydream by sipping the wine again.
Lucy didn’t know what made her say it. The switch to casual was usually a lot smoother and carefully navigated. But the words left her before she could stop them. “So, how’s things with Rachel?”
Tim stiffened immediately. She hadn’t been expecting such a response at all. The glint in his eyes disappeared and it was his turn to hide his reaction by taking a long, slow drink. Interesting.
Rachel had seemed fine last Lucy had spoke to her but that had been a few weeks ago now. Time difference and shift work made things tricky.
Tim swallowed and lent forward slightly, tilting his head to the right in the way he did when he was about to challenge her, “Will you be telling Rach my answer?”
Lucy frowned. “No,” she replied immediately. “I won’t. You’re both my friends and I won’t take sides.”
Tim didn’t falter at her use of the word friends and she couldn’t help the little skip her heart did. No. Lucy told herself. He’s your ex-TO. He’s dating your friend. You’re in a relationship!
“Things are fine,” Tim replied. He sat back in his seat to regard Lucy. He thought back to the empty house he was returning to for the hundredth time that night. Sometimes his relationship with Rachel felt just as fractured as his one with Isabel. Sure, there were no drugs involved, he liked to think there weren’t many secrets either, but they also barely talked and she was never there. When she first left, they had video called almost every day, and texted frequently. Now? His phone weighed a tonne in his pocket as he thought about the last time he had actually heard her voice. It had almost been a week. Time difference and shift work had been punishing them of late, but he had been off tonight and so had she.
And yet he was here instead.
“What about you and Emmet?” he threw the question at Lucy, watching as she turned away from him.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice you diverting the question,” Lucy replied and then she sighed. “Still taking things slow.”
“His choice or mutual?”
“Why wouldn’t it be mine?”
She looked hurt. But that didn’t make any sense, “Because you’re the one sitting here looking all down about it?”
Lucy sighed again, tracing the stem of her glass absentmindedly. “Its mutual. I don’t think Emmett is looking for anything serious right now and I-” She paused and looked up at him, “I don’t think I want anything more.”
Tim could tell what she wasn’t saying. She didn’t think she wanted anything more with him.
Looking for an excuse to break the awkward silence that had now befallen them, Tim rose to his feet. “Think we need another round.”
Lucy looked at her empty glass in surprise before she nodded and gave him a small smile in thanks.
Tim clenched his fists as he placed them on the bar. Lucy being unhappy in her relationship should not have been good news to him.
He turned to causally look back at her when he noticed that she was talking to someone. A small man, probably not much taller than Lucy, was leaning on the table chatting to her with a friendly smile. She laughed at him and shook her head. Tim tensed immediately. That laughter had been real. Lucy wasn’t uncomfortable. She wasn’t in any danger. She was fine. And yet he had the strongest urge to drag the man away from her.
“Stop it,” he didn’t realize he had said it out loud until the bar man cleared his throat.
“What was that, sir?”
Tim turned to look at him and hoped he wasn’t as red in the face as he felt. “Same again,” he replied, slamming his wallet onto the bar.
The barman started pouring and Tim forced himself not to look back at the table. She was your Rookie, you’re dating her best friend.
He grabbed the offered drinks and made his way back to the table telling himself he wasn’t relieved when he realized the man had left.
“Did you know him?” Tim asked sitting down in his seat again.
Lucy smiled and shook her head, “No, he was asking if I was alright, checking that my date was going well and that I didn’t need saving.”
Tim snorted, “Did you correct him?”
Lucy laughed, “I told him it wasn’t a date and then, just as I could tell he was getting excited, I revealed that, even if it wasn’t going well, I’m a cop and I could have handled it. He left pretty quickly after that.”
They shared a laugh.
Lucy watched Tim and wondered what made her the worse person: the fact that watching her ex-TO laugh made her want to ask him back to hers, or the fact that she felt that way about her best friend’s boyfriend, or that she was thinking that about a man that wasn’t the one she was currently dating.
You sure know how to pick ‘em, she told herself letting the laughter fade into the comfortable silence that they usually shared between them.
They could leave their lovers. In fact, the chances of that seemed inevitable.
But that didn’t mean they could be with each other.
I am still open for Chenford fic prompts so feel free to send them my way!
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I can tell from your wonderful fics that you have many AU ideas for Natasha and Bucky. Any ones that you've thought of, or would like to see? Do you prefer to write mainly MCU, or would you be interested in writing more 616 based ones, say in their happier days as a couple? I hope this isn't too forward, but I wanted to ask it, and let you know your writing is always welcome and appreciated.
Hey anon, that’s such a nice ask! Yeah, I have a lot of AU ideas, (un)fortunately :D I can’t talk about it abstractly so I’ll give you the concrete ones I’m thinking about/working on:
My vampire AU, Blood and Stone (obviously)
An AU where Nat is a cop working on organized crime and Bucky is a veteran and they’re both navigating their sad traumatized lives while annoying the fuck out of each other. This actually came from a prompt about them fighting about the last piece of gourmet chocolate (that I could swear I posted on here but I can’t find it right now edit: found it) and I got so hooked on their dynamic in this specific AU I wrote over 50 chapters of it (still not finished). Probably the most intense and hottest dynamic I’ve ever written for them and the Natasha&Sharon relationship is honestly wonderful but the plot needs... work.
College AU! Nat is a grad student struggling with her thesis (projecting much?), strung incredibly tight, academic, ambitious, and Bucky is on the football team, confident, a total flirt, much more demonstratively relaxed. They once again annoy the fuck out of each other (Bucky goes to the Russian literature class Nat is teaching just to have a transparent excuse to see her and Nat gives him awful grades) though they get closer over the semester buuuut then the term is over and Nat has to go back to Russia for family/professional reasons and they just have a few days of being really together before losing touch (because I’m cruel and I like sad endings). Really can’t remember whether I posted the first part or not, can’t find it right now.
Also writing a soulmate AU for Marvel Trumps Hate where I use all the tropes.
There’s one fic lying around where Sam is a Christian king in Central Europe in the 9th century CE and Bucky is his brother who is arranged to marry the only daughter of the leader of a pagan tribe they’re (at least nominally) christianizing. Except the daughter is Natasha and she has no intention of going along with that, so she first takes Bucky hostage (during their wedding night) and threatens to kill him so she can escape, then comes back and nominally goes along with the arranged marriage so her tribe is left alone. Of course, that’s only lip-service and she constantly blackmails Bucky into enabling her pagan rituals and Bucky just... doesn’t really resist. I don’t really know where this goes but I was really obsessed with it for a while.
I was gonna write a lockdown AU because I read an article where the government of the Netherlands advised singles to find one lockdown buddy to have sex with in order to limit contacts, and that felt very courtship-like to me because you have to determine the one person you want to spend the next months (or year) with but you don’t really get to get to know them personally and once you’ve picked one, you can’t redecide. This also didn’t really go anywhere story-wise.
Somebody asked me for a Russian mafia AU a while back and my head produced this: Bucky ended up as the hitman/enforcer for some Russian mob group because he needed money to pay for Steve’s treatments which didn’t even really work, and now Steve is dead (or being kept hostage by the Russian mob or something, not sure on that yet) and Bucky doesn’t care about anything anymore, so much so that he develops a reputation as a completely cold and scary guy who’ll just do as he’s told and is famously not interested in anything (drugs, women, money). Natasha is the mob boss’s trophy girlfriend, famous ballerina, underwear model, international socialite and partygirl, the whole shebang. Then there’s a gang war and Natasha has to be protected and brought to safety (roadtrip!) and the mob boss decides Bucky is the only one to be trusted to do it (read: won’t sleep with her). Of course, it doesn’t go that way. I havent written a word of this but it already has a noir-style playlist.
I think that’s it? I hate that everything where Natasha is ALIVE is technically an AU these days so I didn’t include all the more canon-divergent stuff (plenty of those lying around).
Writing this made me realize how many of these are about them annoying each other :D It’s just that that helps me make the main plot them getting together, if there was no conflict between them, it’d either be a one-shot or I’d have to think of an actual plot and we can’t have that xD
I know I pretend on here to have read comics but I actually haven’t, all I know is from meta and second-hand accounts. Which is not a problem if I write AUs because then I can just take pieces from Natasha’s 616 background (for Blood and Stone, fighting the Nazis, Ivan, Alexei) and twist them, or if I write oneshots where I don’t need to know storyline details. So it’s not that I purposefully write MCU based AUs, that’s just what I know more about, and I do take 616 elements as well.
Re: AUs about their happier days as a couple, it’s those two things: if it’s happy couple stuff, I’ll need to think of other stuff going on (and I’m not that good at plot), plus I tend to start mentally from MCU canon. I mean, if you have something more specific you’d like to see, feel free to ask! (No promises, though, because I already promised way too many people lol)
Long reply... I hope that answers your questions! Thanks for asking, always love talking about WIPs and story ideas :)
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Hey...I am AN ABSOLUTE jercy TRASH like A HUGE JERCY FAN and I was wondering if you could like a one shot of jealous percy...I have seen a lot of jealous jason fanfics but never really saw a jealous percy!!! Thank you and I LOVE YOUR BLOG SO MUCH...
Hello darling Anon!! Adore that you're #jercytrash (is there really any other way to be????) and I'm so happy you enjoy the mess of content i have🥺💙all the heart eyes
Anyway I loooovvveeeeeddddd this prompt and this is evident by the very many words I couldn't help but write! I do hope you love it as much as I loved writing it☀️please excuse any mistakes it's like 3am here and Ciara be tired as hell
Masterlist
"Are you coming to the party tonight?"
"Gods no," Percy shivers, face pulling into a look of distaste.
"Why not I heard Annabeth is gonna be there," Leo's eyebrows waggle, earth eyes sparkling.
He wants to laugh, to cry a little too. If only that is the blonde he is so infatuated with.
"Nah bro those parties always end up much wilder than they need to be and nine times out of ten they're shut down by the cops."
"That's half the fun Jackson!" Leo's smile widens.
"I'm good thanks, my idea of fun is sitting here playing Playstation and gorging myself on M&Ms."
"Will you at least promise to come on the trip this weekend?"
"I don't know man," He shakes his head, "I've got a psych test to study for and there's like three assignments due by the end—"
"Oh excuses, excuses Jackson you haven't gone out once since we started. It's gonna be winter break soon and we won't see each other for at least a month." Those brown eyes are puppy wide.
He sighs, half-ready to give in, "Who's gonna be there?"
"The usual gang. And Jason finally gets to come this year! His dad is on a business trip so he isn't spending the weekend for once."
Percy's ears get hot and he hopes they don't look flushed, "Oh that's nice I guess. If you leave me alone tonight I'll come on the trip."
Leo's answering whoop is enough to make him laugh. When he collapses on the couch, after waving goodbye to his friend, there is a warmth blooming in his chest.
Three hours, five packets of M&Ms and a stream of curse words at the TV later, he finally decides to head to bed. But as he's shoving on a pair of sleep shorts there's a knock at his door. He frowns, considers ignoring it but his mind whirls with all the possibilities.
What if someone got hurt? What if someone needs his help? What if someone is....oh gods he doesn't want to think about it. He brushes his fingers against the wooden headboard, rubs at his head, grabs his elbow and then he takes a deep breath and opens the door.
"Peerrccccyyy," A slurring, smiling Jason Grace stumbles into him.
"Jason?" He grabs hold of the blonde's arms and pulls them both into his apartment, "What are you doing here?"
"I came over because–" Pearl white teeth flash, "Wow you're so pretty." Those golden hands grab Percy's chin, pulling their faces together until there is nothing but tension and breath between them.
"What are you doing?" He swallows.
"Has anyone ever told you your eyes look like emeralds glistening at the bottom of a river?"
"Uh no can't say they have," He wants to laugh but Jason's lips are so close and his hand is still on Percy's face and oh gods he needs to move before he does something he shouldn't.
"Have we kissed before? No I'd remember that." Eyebrows scrunch, "I think you have a beautiful mouth."
"I think—" He inhales sharply as Jason's fingers dance along his collar bone, "I think we should get you to bed."
"Aw," Full pink lips pout, "But we are having so much fun."
"I think we'll have more fun when you're sober."
The blonde giggles, "I'm not drunk silly. I only had like... fifteen shots of vodka."
"Jesus Grace how are you even standing?"
"When you're this tall it takes forever for the liquor to do its thing and you need a lot of it otherwise it all goes to your toes and you never get drunk."
Jason is frowning again and all Percy wants to do is kiss the crease in his forehead and pull him closer. Instead he tugs him by the hand and guides him to the bed.
"Where will you sleep?"
"I'll take the couch." He pushes the blanket aside and let's the blonde fall into the sheets.
"Are you sure? You can always stay with me?" Those blue eyes are bright and big and so full of, of, of... "I promise I won't kick you. I stopped doing that in first grade."
He can't hold in his laugh this time but when he recovers enough to reassure his friend he'll be fine he is greeted by the peaceful sight of a sleeping blonde. He shakes his head softly, allowing himself a moment to take in the scene. Tangled white sheets, golden hair, soft deep breathing, a tiny splattering of freckles, and the wonder of tomorrow carried on the wind that stirs the chiffon curtains. This moment will live within his soul for the rest of his life. Of this, he is certain.
***
The treadmill beeps incessantly indicating the end of the session and the end of Percy's day. He's about ready to pass out from exhaustion and he couldn't be happier. The days are long and blurry and he would do anything to escape the weight on his chest. A blue-eyed, golden-haired weight. He snorts at the innuendo. If only the actual person was sitting on his chest, entertaining each other. But no it's just the feeling, the emptiness, the lack of anything weighted. His eyes shudder closed as he steps into a red-hot shower and let's the memories of his last meeting with the blonde wash over him. There is a time, mere months ago, where Percy would have scoffed at these feelings. Would have told himself it was ridiculous and stupid and there were much more important things to be focusing on than some boy. But every interaction with Jason Grace feels like the middle of a fireworks display, feels like crawling into the sun, or falling off a cliff only for the water to catch you. Every interaction feels electric. And he cannot help but overanalyse each touch, smile, lingering look. Are they for him, or for the world? Jason had always been easy. He could make you feel like the most important person in the world just by glancing at you. It was beautiful, magnetic, but it also meant Percy never really knew if anything they did was genuine. If the extra squeeze when they hugged was as a friend or something more. If those blazing eyes over the campfire was a trick of the light or... But tomorrow it's their annual WastedWinter trip and at the very least he can look forward to a few nights of bad decisions and sinful delights.
The day dawns bright, cloudless, and icy cold. He breathes in the fresh winter air and lets the sting travel through his lungs. There are few things as lively as the winter morning air. With a look through his apartment window to see the birds flying and the wind shaking the trees awake he ducks into the shower and gets ready for the trip.
At exactly eleven a knock echoes through his apartment. He clicks submit on his assignment and races over to throw the door open.
"Good morning Jackson! You're looking especially radiant this find day."
"Must be the seaweed face mask I put on last night."
"Oh," Annabeth Chase frowns, "And here I thought you got down and dirty with someone."
He snorts, stepping aside to let her in. "No such luck Princess, I'm down and out on laundry."
She smacks his arm, grey eyes sparkling, "I hope you know you're driving for most of this."
"Is this because I'm the only one who can be trusted to get us there in one piece,"
She gives him an incredulous look and then turns her nose up, "No Jackson it's because the rest of us want to get wasted and you don't drink."
"Ah, glad to know I'm of some use to the group."
"Oh you're plenty useful," She winks.
He laughs at that, mind flashing to the fling they had at the start of their undergraduate years. Both had realized pretty early that life was leading them in different directions and it would be better to stay friends. But tumbling in the sheets with her had been fun while it lasted.
"Alright who's in our car?"
"We got me, you," She starts tapping her fingers, "Leo, Jase and Rey,"
"Great so I'll be talking to myself for most of this trip." He rolls his eyes.
"Why do you say that?"
"Well Leo and Reyna will fall asleep about five seconds after we start driving and you and Jason will talk incessantly about gods knows what, which leaves poor old me."
"We will not!" Annabeth's ears go pink as she glares at him.
"Mhmm okay Princess."
"Shut it." She grumbles, shoving him.
Some minutes later they're all piling into the car: Percy driving, Reyna in the front, Leo at the back on the left, Annabeth in the middle and Jason on the right.
"Hello everyone ready to roll?"
"I didn't get nearly enough sleep last night," Leo mumbles and then he's fluffing his pillow against the door and closing his eyes.
"What was he doing?"
"Engineering project," Jason grins, "He forgot and had to sit up all night to submit before we left."
"I'm also out," Reyna throws up an uncharacteristic peace sign and settles into her seat, eyes already shut.
"And her?" He asks, a little sore his right-hand passenger is ditching him for dreamland.
"No idea," The two blondes shrug.
Percy refrains from rolling his eyes and puts the car in gear. With a final check to make sure everything is in its place he pulls onto the road and starts the long journey to Lakeside Lodges.
The music is soft, some pop song that everyone is raving about, and the city is alive with the lunch hour rush.
"Jason," Annabeth starts, "What are you doing for the structural—"
Percy tunes them out, content to let their university talk become background noise. He glances at the rear-view mirror and sees shining blue eyes staring intently into serious gray ones. He looks away, focuses his attention on the road.
Sometime later they leave the city behind, the sound of cars and sirens and endless people fading into calmer, more lilting noises. The quiet of the empty road, and the crackle of the radio, and the soft chatter from the backseat. He cannot help but feel at peace, feel as if the world is balanced just right.
Annabeth giggles, catching his attention and he watches in the mirror as Jason lays a hand on her thigh and laughs into her shoulder. Quickly he adverts his eyes, swallowing the sinking feeling and turns the music up to distract his thoughts.
"Percy," At tap on his shoulder. "Pers?"
"Yea what's up?" He smiles and it feels like surgery with no anaesthetic.
"Did you hear what Jase said? It was such a stupid joke I said you'd appreciate it."
He shakes his head, "Wanna tell it again?"
"Nah," Jason mumbles, "Won't be as funny the second time."
"Aw come on Jase," Annabeth pouts, "For me?"
He watches from the mirror as those blue eyes light up, "What do you mean for you? I thought I was telling the joke for Mr Driver?"
She giggles, shoving at his arm, "That's what I mean."
Percy isn't sure he can't take anymore of their whatever it is so he clears his throat and asks them for a pack of Sour Patch Kids.
"Oo I love those!" Jason gasps, rummaging around in their snack bag. A packet drops into the cup holder and he thanks the blonde.
"Jase throw them at me, let's see if I can catch!"
The six gummies shoved in his mouth turn bitter as he watches the two giggle and joke and share space. By the time Jason throws the last gummy Annabeth is practically in his lap to catch it. Percy wants nothing more than to get out of this damn car. His skin is hot and he's sure his blood is about two degrees away from boiling. The stones in his stomach are stacking up like rock scultputres. Pretty but destructive. Nothing can get passed but nothing can leave either. And the heavy, sinking feeling certainly doesn't seem to be going anywhere. Finally though they arrive at the lodges and after check in he practically vaults himself out of the car and disappears into a bathroom.
There staring in the mirror he can see his misery reflected back at him. His green eyes are stormy, and there seems to be a permanent crease in his forehead. His mouth is down turned and his hair is in a state of complete disarray. Tugging at it when he's frustrated is an unbreakable habit.
He stays in the little bathroom for longer than he thought because he is sharply pulled to the present by a rap on the door.
"Percy?"
"Coming," He sighs. He straightens his back, attempts to tame his hair, and plasters a smile on his face.
"You good?" Frank frowns when he walks out.
"Yea sorry, drank one too many slushies."
His friend laughs, "Tell me about it. I think my tongue is going to be stained red for a month."
"I mean that's your fault. Blue is clearly the superior slush."
"Blue is the worst flavor," He scrunched his nose, "It isn't even a flavor. They somehow managed to give colour a taste."
"Well red is nothing but iced medicine."
"Hey guys," Frank waves their friends over, "Percy thinks blue slushies are the best flavour, care to tell him he's wrong?"
There is a pause amongst them and then everyone is talking at once.
"No,"
"I mean I kind of agree."
"Green is obviously the best."
"There is no way, it's red all the way."
"What about-"
"Okay!" Annabeth shouts, "Let's settle this WinterWasted style,"
Leo rubs his palms together, a gleam in his eyes.
"Everyone who says red stand on one leg, everyone who says blue stand on anything but the floor."
They all shuffle around, pushing each other over and generally causing chaos but soon they're in their spaces. Everyone observes the room.
"That's four to red and three to blue." Leo announces.
Jason, Percy and Hazel are standing on the couches and counters. Piper, Annabeth, Leo and Frank are on one leg in the middle of the lounge.
"Yes! We won." Frank smirks, "Alright losers you know the drill."
"No!" Percy yells, "We're missing a person. If Reyna joins us then we're even and we go into death round."
"Okay Jackson, I see you can't take the loser title sitting down so we'll get Reyna's opinion. But if she chooses us you guys have to drink and jump." Frank's black eyes sparkle with mischief.
Percy narrows his own, pinning his gaze on his friend, "Deal Zhang."
Just then Reyna walks in and seeing the odd scene sighs heavily. "What are we trying to settle? We haven't even had lunch yet."
"First of all it's six o clock so it's a little late for lunch and secondly are you Team Red Slush or Team Blue Slush?"
She scoffs, looks over them and grins, "I'm Team Purple because grape is obviously the only valid flavour."
Everybody groans, cursing her.
"Grape is the absolute worst Arellano." Leo gives her a look of disgust.
"Mhmm," She simply smiles.
"Well if you had to choose between blue and red which one?" Percy asks.
She taps her head for a moment and then looks to the ceiling in exasperation, "Guess I'll choose Red."
"Hell yes!" Frank whoops, laughing as the blue team groans. "Guess who's doing the BigFalls jump tonight!"
Percy grumbles but there is a light in his eyes and as he swats away a hand ruffling his curls he decides it was worth it, even if his friends are wrong.
That night they all stumble to the GreatCliff, an area that had witnessed many a fall, kiss, and confession. Most importantly a place that held some of their favourite memories.
Percy, being the only fully sober one, constantly counts his friends, making sure none of them have gone over-cliff or landed in a ditch somewhere. Soon enough they make it to the clearing and lay down the picnic basket and their towels.
"Alright losers," Piper smirks, "You ready for this?"
Hazel pouts, "Do we have to?"
"Yes!" Annabeth exclaims, blonde curls bouncing as she jumps up and down in excitement.
Jason whispers something in her ear and she dissolves into giggles. Percy looks away, refuses to let their closeness ruin his night, weekend, forever.
"On the count of three," Frank starts.
Reyna takes off her sarong and settles down on the blanket with a smirk.
"One..."
Hazel bounces nervously.
"Two..."
"Don't get hypothermia," Piper laughs.
"Three!"
Jason, Hazel and Percy are sprinting, racing for open air. With a yell they jump and then they're free falling, flying, screaming.
Percy hits the water in a neat dive, barely flinching at the icy temperatures. When he comes up for air the world is noisy with laughter and cheering. He waves to his friends at the top of the cliff and checks to make sure his fellow jumpers are okay.
Hazel is grumbling about being fully sober again and Jason's teeth are chattering but there are smiles on their faces and stars in their eyes and Percy knows the weekend has just begun.
They all swim up the stream and climb all the way back to the cliff where a small fire is crackling and their friends are dancing sporadically to a bawdy ukelele tune being played by Leo.
"Oh gods," Jason groans, "How are we already at this stage of the night."
"Whatever Pipes put in the punch is going straight to our lungs," Annabeth giggles.
Reyna shakes her empty glass in confirmation and request. Soon everyone is hopping and bouncing and singing badly around the fire. Percy settles into the blanket and watches his friends. They are full of life and magic and he can't help but tear up at the love he has for them. Even Reyna is joining the revelry, laughing bright and beautiful at something Hazel says.
His attention catches on the twirling figure of Annabeth. And then Jason grabs her mid spin and pulls her to him.
"Dance with me,"
"Of course Mr Grace," She bows.
They draw together, his hands on her hips, her head on his chest, swaying slowly. Annabeth mumbles something and Jason's shoulders shake with laughter. She looks up, their eyes meeting. Percy can't stand to watch anymore. Abruptly he gets up, throws the blanket aside and stalks into the trees.
"Pers?" Someone calls. He doesn't bother to respond.
He hears scattered conversation and then footsteps are running towards his retreating figure.
"Percy wait!"
He manages to hold in a groan as he realizes who followed him.
"Pers slow down, what's going on?"
"Nothing," He grits, "I just needed some air."
Jason laughs, "We are literally in the middle of a forest how much more air do you need?"
They're still stalking through the woods, dead leaves cruching under their feet.
"Come on, what the hell happened? You just up and left?"
Percy stops in his tracks, whips around to face the blonde, "I'm surprised you noticed."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You've been so wrapped up in Annabeth all day I wouldn't be surprised if you forgot to breathe unless she told you to." He spits.
Jason's face crumples, "What the fuck are you talking about?"
Percy instantly regrets his words but he can't take them back, "Just nevermind. I'm going to the cabin. Be careful walking back." He turns to walk away but a golden hand on his arm yanks him back
"Um no, you're going to explain right the fuck now because this isn't like you at all."
"Isnt like me?" He laughs sharply, "What isn't like me?"
"This," Jason motions up and down, "You walking away, being angry with us? What is going on?"
"I'm just tired," He sighs, "Can we drop this?"
"No Percy. I've seen you tired. I've seen you so exhausted you couldn't even see straight. I've seen you sad and angry and frustrated and happy and excited and calm but I have never seen you so... volatile. So just tell me—"
"I'M JEALOUS OKAY!" He yells, "I. Am. Jealous."
Jason reels back, lightning eyes blinking, once, twice, widening, "You're jealous?"
"Yes," He breathes, "And I'd appreciate it if we stopped talking about this."
"Oh," Is the blonde's intelligent reply.
"Yea oh," He scrubs at his face, running a hand through his hair.
"You're jealous of me? If you liked Annabeth why didn't you just say so? I wasn't flirting with her, we were just being dumb. I've had a few too many tequilas and she's hilarious and gods I'll back off I swear I didn't mean to hurt you. I'll even hype you up to her if you—"
"You are such an idiot," Percy growls and then he grabs the blonde by the t-shirt, pulls him in and sears their lips.
Jason tastes like the sky, like winter breezes and lightning storms and home. He tastes like home.
When they break apart Jason is gasping, mouth opening and closing.
"Do you get it now?"
"You- and I- and we- and Anna- and just- and-"
"Are you speechless because you don't know how to let me down easy or because I took your breath away?" Percy winces.
He needs to know. Needs to understand if this is a one-sided thing, if he's been dreaming up their dynamic all these months.
"Do that again," The blonde breathes.
A slow smile spreads across his face and then Percy Jackson cups Jason Grace's cheek and comes home at last.
#I had THE MOST FUN#Jealous Percy#Jercy#Jason grace#Percy Jackson#Jason#Grace#Percy#Jackson#Baby fanfic#Baby fanfic series#PJSSG Fanfic#PJSSG asks#Ciara's Convos#She speaks#Anon requests#Not edited
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Alone in the Ashes {5}
A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfction, characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Modern au. Revolves around Nesta x Cassian, Feyre x Rhysand, and Elain x Azriel. Other characters appear throughout. Based on multiple prompts sent in by anons tbr below.
Warning: Mature content. Alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, sex, language, eating disorders.
For summary & chapter index, click > Alone in the Ashes {Acotar}
Word Count: 4.9k
A/N: Dinner at the Archeron’s, part 1.
Comment to tell me what you think, or to be tagged! x
“Let me tell you this: if you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it's not because they enjoy solitude. It's because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them.” ― Jodi Picoult, My Sister's Keeper
Azriel sat on a bench in the middle of the courtroom.
Mila was with Rhysand, out for breakfast, before he had to go into work.
It had been a long week. After Amarantha had shown up at his apartment after being released from the hospital, she enlightened him that she would have a hearing, and was not expecting good news.
You fucking overdosed, again. Mila found you, couldn’t wake you up, and went to your neighbor’s house...A four year old! Azriel had spat at her. You have fucking drugs in a house with a toddler! It’s not your fucking four year old’s responsibility to save your ass.
Amarantha hadn’t said anything back. She simply nodded, and brushed it off.
They’re going to send me to jail, Az. To prison. For a long time. Amarantha almost seemed guilty at that, but the haunted look in her eyes didn’t last long. She was shaky, jittery, unnerved. Her mind wasn’t really there. Her mind was still on whatever it was she was recovering from.
Now, he watched as Amarantha sat before the judge.
He didn’t feel guilty, felt no remorse, as she was charged.
Possession. Distribution.
When I get out, she’s going to be a young adult, at the least, Amarantha had told him as they sat around his kitchen table, four days earlier. Believe it or not, Azriel, I do love my daughter.
Azriel shook his head, but had nothing left to say.
I want you to take her, Az. Care for her. I have told them as much, social services, through my lawyer. That you are her only relative, and that she’s close to you.
She was selfish, cruel, and Azriel had been forced to put up with way too much of her shit over the years.
But he couldn’t have Mila going into a home.
“Twenty years in the Velaris state prison,” the judge said, at last. “You will be detained straight from here. Mercifully, I will give you a moment to say goodbye to your family.”
The judge dismissed the courtroom, and a pair of burly cops followed Amarantha to where Azriel stood.
“You didn’t bring my daughter?” she asked, brows raised.
“As someone who just lost twenty years of their life, you don’t seem too bothered,” Azriel muttered. “And, no, I didn’t think she should have to watch her mother be dragged away. Again.”
Amarantha shook her head. “At least bring her to visit me?”
Azriel didn’t respond. “I have to go meet with cps and make sure Mila isn’t thrown into the system.”
Like we were.
Much to Amarantha’s protests, Azriel turned his back to her and walked out of the courtroom. He didn’t know why he hated Amarantha more: because she was a selfish bitch, or because she reminded Azriel of his mother.
It was an addiction. Azriel understood that. It was called an addiction for a reason, it was hard to shake, hard to stop, hard to get rid of. But, it still pissed him off. It all pissed him off, unbearably.
Azriel had been eleven when he got home from school and found his mother, unconscious on their living room floor, again. Only that time, she hadn’t woken up. After that day, he was forced into the foster care system, tossed around from home to home and eventually placed with a couple, and Amarantha, none who could care less about him.
All because of that damned, selfish addiction his mother had.
That Amarantha had.
His meeting with cps hadn’t lasted long. Amarantha had told them about him, she was honest about that. Perhaps in some way she did care about Mila, even if she didn’t show it.
They did a background check on him. The only thing they found was a few speeding tickets and that one time he spent the night in jail, at seventeen, because he’d had too much vodka at a party.
“Look,” Azriel said, once they said they had heard enough and would give him a call. “I love my niece. And she needs me. She knows me, she trusts me, she’s stayed with me for half her life. You can’t put her into foster care. I was in foster care, it’s...you can’t put her into foster care.”
The woman behind the desk smiled softly at Azriel. “I’m just the interviewer, but I will pass the case along, and they will give you a call soon, I promise. You’re Mila’s only relative, aside from your foster parents, but they don’t wish to have a part. You have no criminal record. You have your own home. I see no reason why they would not leave Mila in your care. When they do call, and they approve of her staying with you, there will be paperwork to fill out. We will have you back in the office at that time. Until then...comfort that child. She just had her mother taken away.”
Again, Azriel added, silently, for the hundredth time that morning.
“Thank you,” he said, attempting a smile as he stood and left the office.
Azriel made it to his truck and shut himself inside. His eyes closed in the silence. Deep breath in, slowly let it out. Repeat once, twice, three times.
He had to go get Mila from Rhys so that he could go to work. Azriel had to get to work himself, work on the garage at the Archeron’s.
All he wanted to do, though, was sit in silence for a minute. Five minutes. Ten.
Fuck addictions.
Fuck substance abuse.
Fuck it all.
Azriel leaned his head back against the truck seat and ran his hands through his hair. He thought of his mother, then realized he could barely remember what she looked like. He remembered the dark hair, like his, the hazel eyes….he could also remember she always had dark shadows beneath her distant eyes, that she was way too thin. He remembered the way her hands shook.
He couldn’t remember what she looked like when she smiled.
Azriel put his car in reverse and left the courthouse.
He kept the radio off.
~~~~~
“You’ll be there tonight, right?”
Nesta had said yes every day since Elain asked at the beginning of the week. “Yes. Seven?”
“Six, I thought we could have drinks while dinner is being made,” Elain beamed. “Oh, Nesta, I’m so excited. So is dad. Feyre’s bringing Rhys along. Oh! Is Tomas excited? We can’t wait to meet him.”
Nesta froze. Tomas. She had completely forgotten. “Oh, I-”
“You’ve never brought a boy home,” Elain continued. “I mean, this is monumental! He must really be special.”
“About that-”
“I hope he likes chicken. He does like chicken, right? I mean, everyone likes chicken. What’s his drink choice? Bourbon? Rum? Or, is he just a beer kind of man?”
“Elain-”
“Oh, I’m so happy, Nesta. This house deserves a little party. For once, it won’t just be me and dad.” Elain sighed. It was the first time Nesta had heard her become excited in quite some time. “I’ve got to run to the store. I’ll see you at six, right?”
Nesta’s eyes shut. “Right.”
“Okay, bye!” Elain beamed, hanging up.
Nesta was left sitting in her apartment, groaning. “Fuck!”
Tomas had left. To go where? Nesta had no idea. He hadn’t called, but he texted a few days before saying he was leaving town. Even if he had been in town, the chances of him going to a family dinner were slim. He wasn’t the family dinner type.
Nesta dug through her purse for a cigarette, but the box was empty. She had to make a drug store run before she completely lost her shit.
There was one on the corner that she made it to in five minutes, and after fueling the tobacco industry, which even she didn’t happily endorse, she was walking back home, a cigarette between her lips.
“Do you ever have a good day?”
Nesta twirled around.
Cassian was walking toward her, sweating, his dog on a leash.
“You look pissed,” he went on, “literally at all times.”
“And you have a way of sneaking up on me when I don’t want you to,” Nesta drawled. “Which is always.”
Cassian chuckled. “Well, whatever it is today, hope it gets better. The drink offer still stands. Come over if you wanna get hammered.”
A thought entered Nesta’s mind, but she quickly pushed it away. No. She would not become desperate. She would go to dinner, alone, and tell Elain and her father that there was no Tomas, not anymore, that even Nesta drove away a worthless bastard like Tomas Mandray.
She would endure their disappointment and answer all the questions they had. She would absorb their sympathetic glances and be told, Don’t worry, a man will come along some day by her father, just as he did when she was in high school.
The thought made her want to vomit.
“You’re free tonight, then?” Nesta blurted.
Cassian stopped midway up the stairs, on the landing. He turned around, brows raised. “Coming for a drink?”
“Eh - no. I was wondering if you wanted to go to dinner,” she grounded out, attempting to sound pleasant, but fully realizing she was not.
Cassian blinked. “Dinner? With you?”
Nesta nodded, slowly.
She needed a shot.
Or two.
Cassian grinned, hazel eyes glowing. “Yeah. Alright. That sounds...interesting enough for a Friday night.”
Nesta scowled. “Be ready at five-thirty.”
Cassian’s grin widened as he nodded, turned back around, and walked his dog up the stairs.
Nesta had a feeling she should go back to the drug store and get a bottle of tequila.
Which is exactly what she did.
She would need it.
~~~~~
“Mor and Amren will both be here tomorrow afternoon,” Feyre called from the bathroom, where she had just finished drying her hair and was applying her makeup. “We should all go out tomorrow night.”
“Yeah,” Rhysand agreed, his voice quiet from his bedroom. “We should.”
“Have you heard anything else from Az?”
“No,” Rhysand said, and she could hear him sigh. “I can’t believe Amarantha….what a bitch.”
Rhysand had his own reasons for hating Amarantha, on top of her putting Mila in harm’s way. They had dated for a little while the summer after high school, even though Amarantha was a few years older than them. She was a bitch then, too. Amarantha moved on from Rhysand fairly quickly, her drug problem got significantly worse, and then she got pregnant.
“Poor Mila,” Feyre agreed, putting on a pale, pink lipstick. “At least she’s got Az.”
Rhysand agreed and met her in the threshold of the bathroom. He looked impressed, eyeing the gray sundress she wore. It reached halfway down her thighs, the fit loose, but hung low enough across her breasts to catch an eye.
“You look nice,” he smiled.
She shook her head, unable to stop a smile of her own. “You say that like I hardly wear anything cute, ever.”
When Rhysand didn’t answer, she punched him in the shoulder, and he laughed, and that tingly sensation filled Feyre to her very core. It had been happening more within the last week. She would catch Rhysand, watch him when he wasn’t aware, and find him attractive, want to run her fingers through his hair, across his skin. She would lay awake at night, pleasuring herself, and it would be his body, that chest covered in ink, that she would picture.
And he had no idea.
And she would keep it that way.
“I do prefer you in your scrubs and sweatshirts, yes,” Rhysand grinned, eyes mischievous. “But, the dress looks good.”
“Thanks for coming with me,” Feyre said, zipping everything back up into her makeup bag. “My dad always liked you.”
Rhysand nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets, humor fading. “Of course.”
Feyre pushed past him, her shoulder brushing along his arm, as she hurried into her room. “Should I wear sandals?”
“I assume they’ll come off the minute we walk through the front door, so does it really matter?” Rhysand asked, following her and dropping himself onto the side of her mattress.
“Yes,” Feyre said. “It does.”
Rhysand chuckled. “Fine. Yes, sandals.”
“Brown or white?”
Rhysand pretended to think about it for a long time. Too long.
“You are the worst at helping a woman get ready,” Feyre laughed, bending down to observe the shoes in the bottom of her closet.
Rhysand snickered, but he didn’t deny it. His eyes lingered as he watched her bend over. “Wear the black ones.”
Feyre gave him an intrigued glance before pulling on her black sandals and looking at herself in the floor length mirror.
She turned to Rhysand, brows raised. “Good enough to impress my father, whom I haven’t spoken to in months?”
“Well,” Rhysand began, eyes soft, “I think you look beautiful. Who cares what he thinks.”
“You’re too nice to me.” Feyre meant it as a joke, but her voice came out quiet. She had a feeling her cheeks were turning pink, but she hoped that they weren’t, or that he didn’t notice.
He was watching her, his gaze unwavering.
And then he sucked in a breath, stood, and smiled. “Well, ready? We should get going.”
Feyre nodded, that feeling still flying about wildly in the pit of her stomach. “Ready.”
“Alright. Let me get my shoes and my wallet.”
He left, and Feyre finally let out the breath she felt she’d been holding.
The way he was looking at her…
She didn’t think she was imagining it anymore.
~~~~~
Elain had a long list of things to do that day and she had managed to get through them all. Now, she was at her final stop, a flower stand outside of the grocery store. Her reusable bag was tossed over her shoulder, full of goods that would make up their feast. Now, she needed to arrange a beautiful centerpiece.
“A dozen tulips,” she smiled, once the owner had asked what she would like. “Pink and white, please.”
He nodded and gathered a bundle before wrapping them up and handing them over. Elain paid, thanked him for the beautiful flowers, and stepped to walk away.
“Lain!”
Elain spun around, smiling at Mila, who was running toward her, Azriel close behind.
“I didn’t see you today,” she said, wrapping her arms around Elain’s legs. “I missed you!”
Elain had spent every day for the last week playing games with Mila while Azriel worked. She was a great kid - kind, funny, polite. Elain enjoyed her time with the little one.
“I’m sorry I was gone. I had a lot of errands to run today. My sisters are coming over for dinner tonight. It’s a big dinner.”
“Ah, Rhys mentioned that,” Azriel said, taking Mila’s hand to keep her from straying on the busy sidewalk. “We weren’t there too long, today, anyway. Had some stuff to get done this morning, unfortunately. Took longer than expected.”
Elain nodded. That may have been the most he’d said to her at one time. Azriel was distant, she noticed, not having to speak unless spoken to. He hadn’t said a word to her all throughout high school; but, then again, she hadn’t spoken to him either.
They were from two different circles, two different worlds.
“Well, I hope everything is okay,” Elain replied, quietly.
“I like your flowers,” Mila’s little voice popped up, before Azriel could respond. “They’re sooo pretty.”
Elain smiled and knelt down so that she met Mila at eye level. “Which ones do you like better? Pink or white?”
“Pink!” Mila said, then stuck out her foot. “They match my shoes.”
Elain laughed, softly, as she nodded. “You’re right, they do.” She pulled a pink tulip from the bouquet and handed it to Mila. “Bring this home with you and put it in a nice big cup of water. Make sure it gets sunlight, too.”
Mila’s eyes went wide and she threw her arms around Elain’s neck, who laughed and patted her back, trying not to lose her balance.
“I will,” Mila promised, smiling at the flower, her flower.
Elain stood back up to find Azriel watching her, curiously.
“Well,” Elain began, cheeks heating. “I’ll see you on Monday, then?”
Azriel nodded.
“Okay,” Elain breathed. She turned back to Mila. “Bye, Mila.”
“Bye, Lain,” she smiled.
As she turned to walk away, Azriel called out, “Elain?”
She turned around.
He was rubbing the back of his neck. “Thanks. For the flower. And for watching her, too.”
Elain nodded. “You’re welcome.”
She walked away, wondering if he was watching her walk away, but too nervous to look back and find out.
On the walk home, her mind wandered. She wondered what their story was, why Mila was staying with her uncle. They seemed to have a strong bond. She wondered what had happened to Mila’s parents.
Azriel didn’t seem like a horrible person, either, no matter how intense he seemed to be around her. She remembered the first conversation they had, when he told her that he remembered her from high school, and what he remembered her for. Cheerleader. Valedictorian. She was perfect, goody-goody Elain Archeron, top of the totem pole.
Oh, how far she had fallen on that totem pole.
She wondered what Azriel thought of when he looked at her, wondered if he truly got to know her what he would think of her, then. But she wanted to know him, wanted to dig inside of his mind. He was mysterious, a notorious rebel - at least, he had been. She didn’t think much had changed since high school. He was still mysterious, still unreadable.
And utterly handsome.
Elain got home and started marinating the chicken before finding one of her mother’s old vases and setting the flowers inside with water. She set it in the middle of the table, took a step back, and smiled.
Even with one pink tulip less, it was breath-taking.
~~~~~
Nesta pounded on his door at five-thirty.
When a second passed and he didn’t answer, she pounded on it, again.
“Hold the fuck on!” he shouted, then she could hear his heavy footsteps.
The door swung open and she rolled her eyes. He’d yet to put on a shirt, but he was wearing jeans and his boots. His hair was tied back and his eyes were amused.
“In a hurry?” he asked.
“Yes, we have to be at my dad’s in half an hour,” she muttered.
He lifted a brow. “Already meeting your dad, am I?”
As he went to grab his shirt off the couch, Nesta sighed, “Look. I’m not….on the best terms with my family right now, and my sister has been going through a shit time. She was excited about me bringing my boyfriend, but he bailed a few days ago. I couldn’t tell her that I’d be coming alone, because that would just open a huge can of disappointment, which is basically what I’m known for in my family. So, I asked you to come along and take his place.”
Cassian watched her while the words poured out as he buttoned up his shirt. “I see. So...I’m your boyfriend, then?”
“Pretend,” Nesta added. “Obviously.”
Cassian tilted his head. “And here I was, thinking you had finally come around and wanted to spend time with me.”
Nesta snorted. “Don’t come if you don’t want to. You know what? This was a mistake-”
She turned to leave but Cassian beat her to the door. He leaned against it, crossed his arms, and grinned. “Say you want me to come, and I’ll come. I’m great with parents.”
“What?” Nesta asked, exasperated.
His grin grew. “Say you want me to come, and I’ll come.”
Nesta shook her head. “I’m not saying that.”
The dark barked from the corner, sensing her tone from where he laid on his bed.
“Down, Bryaxis,” Cassian ordered, eyes still on Nesta’s. “Say it.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’ll please you,” Nesta snapped. “And I don’t want to please you.”
“Fine, then I’ll stay here, me and Bryaxis will have a drink or two…”
He stepped away from the door and opened it up, gesturing for Nesta to leave. She wanted to slap him in the face, punch him in the balls, but all she managed to do was stomp toward the door, eyes narrowed.
And then she imagined Elain’s disappointment and her father’s endless string of sympathetic questions.
She stopped at the threshold and looked at Cassian, seething. “I want you to come,” she whispered.
“What?” Cassian asked, pointing to his ear. “Sorry, can’t hear you.”
“I hate you,” she mumbled.
“Hmmm?” Cassian crooned.
“I want you to come,” she said, over-pronouncing each word. “So grab your fucking keys.”
Cassian’s hand flew to cover his chest, right over his heart. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
“Fuck off,” she mumbled, before exiting his apartment, her middle finger raised high in the air.
Cassian’s laughter just pissed her off more.
They got into his truck and he drove, the radio on a random rock-station. The sun was bright, although it would be going down soon.
“So, if I’m playing the part of your lover, I should probably know a little bit about you.”
Nesta sighed. “Fine. What do you think is important to know?”
“What did you do after high school?” he asked, eyes still on the road.
“Worked,” Nesta said.
And when she didn’t say anything more, Cassian looked her way. “Mind telling me where?”
“Odd and end jobs, mostly. The last few years I was a bartender, but I got fired this week.”
Cassian was quiet. Then, he said, “Sorry to hear that.”
Nesta shrugged and looked out the window.
“What do you like to do for fun?” Cassian asked, hoping to take on a lighter tone.
“Read,” Nesta said. “Drink.”
“Together?” Cassian asked, brow raised.
Nesta snorted. “Everything is better when you drink.”
“Agreed,” Cassian smiled.
“I prefer we keep my current lack of employment a secret for the night,” Nesta mumbled. She didn’t want to give her father any fuel.
“I can do that,” Cassian agreed. “Anything else I should know? How did we meet?”
“At the bar,” Nesta suggested.
“At the bar?” Cassian asked. “How romantic.”
“Trust me, no one will be surprised,” Nesta said, under her breath. “Up here, first house on the right.”
Cassian pulled into the driveway and parked behind Rhysand’s car.
It was going to be an interesting night.
~~~~~
Elain was a natural planner, she was completely in her element.
Feyre caught her eye every now and then and smiled. It had been a long time since they all were under the same roof.
The front door opened and Nesta stepped inside.
She wasn’t alone.
“Cass?” Rhysand asked, looking back and forth between him and Nesta. “The hell are you doing here?”
Cassian smiled, arm flung around Nesta’s shoulder. She tensed, but quickly relaxed. No one could say anything more before Elain hurried in, carrying a tray of cut fruit.
“Hi! You must be Tomas,” she smiled. “I’m Elain.”
Feyre opened her mouth to say something, but when she did, she came up speechless.
“You can call me Cassian,” he said, smiling in that charming way of his. “Tomas is my middle name, and Nesta prefers it. Apparently, Cassian is a shit name.”
Elain blinked. “Oh, well, nice to meet you, Cassian.”
“You, too,” he said, before walking into the room and taking a seat by Feyre.
As Elain went to finish up dinner, Feyre turned to face him. “What the fuck?”
“Long story,” he muttered. “Play along and I’ll fill you in later.”
Feyre had met Tomas before and she was perfectly aware that he and Cassian were two very, very different people. She also knew that her sister didn’t know Cassian that well, so asking him to come was her being desperate.
Feyre had never known Nesta to be desperate.
Nesta sat, too, although she didn’t acknowledge Feyre. Feyre didn’t care, didn’t think anything of it. Her and Nesta had hardly talked in years.
Her eldest sister stayed quiet while the others chatted and ate Elain’s fruit platter. Half an hour passed before Elain appeared, once more, and invited everyone into the dining room.
“Where’s dad?” Nesta asked, the first words she had spoken.
Elain’s smile faltered as they all took a seat. “I’m not sure. He said he would be here-”
The front door burst open, and through the opening of the dining room, they could see Isaac stumbling inside.
His brown eyes were wide when he looked up and met everyone’s stares. “I’m-I’m sorry I’m l-late.”
Feyre’s shoulders fell as she looked over to Elain.
He was trashed.
Her eyes were wide, her lips parted at the sight of their father, clearly disheveled, clearly drunk. “Dad, it’s family dinner night, remember?”
“I know, I know, yes,” he said, hurrying into the dining room and taking a seat. “I-I said I’d be here. This looks delicious, Elain, you did wonderful.”
Elain cleared her throat and tried to smile. “Well, let’s dig in, then.”
Feyre loaded her plate with chicken and vegetables, looking around the table as she did so. Rhysand had moved closer to her, as if sensing her discomfort. Nesta was staring at her plate, empty. Elain was picking at a pile of broccoli. And Cassian didn’t know what the hell was going on.
“You must be Nesta’s boyfriend,” Isaac said, looking at Cassian. “What was your name?”
“Cassian,” he provided.
Isaac shook his head. “N-No, I don’t think so.”
Cassian took a bite of corn. “Pretty sure my name’s Cassian.”
Isaac looked confused, but he shook it off. “Nesta, I-I’m glad you came. I-I didn’t think you w-would.”
Nesta’s mouth tightened.
The table fell into silence as everyone picked at their food.
“What have you been up to?” Isaac asked, looking at Nesta, then to Feyre. “What have any of you been up to? I don’t hear from either of you anymore.”
“Just work,” Feyre said, so Nesta wouldn’t have to. “I broke up with Tamlin a while back. I’m living with Rhys in the city.”
Isaac looked at Rhysand, eyes wide as if just realizing he was there. “Finally a couple, are you? That’s-That’s great. I always kn-knew you two would end up tog-g-gether.”
Rhysand paused, but continued eating a second later.
“Just friends, dad,” Feyre said.
Isaac scoffed. “Whatever you say. We all know w-what’s really going on.”
“Dad,” Elain breathed. “Could you not?”
“And what about you, hmm?” Isaac said, eyes on Nesta. His fork had a piece of chicken stabbed on the end, but he wasn’t eating it. “Are you living with this...Cassian?”
“No,” Nesta answered, shortly.
“Still scared of commitment?” Isaac asked, leaning over the table on his fist. “She always had trouble with that. Never trusted anyone, pissed off at the world.”
Nesta said nothing.
Her plate was still empty.
“I think she’s doing just fine,” Cassian assured him.
Feyre was still looking at Nesta, on the way she concentrated on the white porcelain disk in front of her. She couldn’t remember the last time they were all together, especially in the same room as their father. Nesta and her father never gotten along, but it had really gone down hill after their mother passed.
“Still making drinks for a living?” Isaac asked, as if Cassian hadn’t said a word. “That’s what I hear you do. M-make drinks.”
Nesta didn’t answer.
“You always get so angry that I’m not there for you,” Isaac slurred. “But here I am, as-asking about your life, and you’ve got nothing to say?”
Nesta slowly looked at her dad. “You’re drunk.”
Isaac’s eyes narrowed. “I am not.”
Feyre shook her head, and just as she was about to speak, Nesta beat her to it.
“You really think we don’t know when you’re intoxicated?” Nesta laughed, humorlessly. “We’re not children. And we’ve seen you drunk plenty of times. Elain tried to prepare this nice dinner and then you come in here acting like a teenager who snuck into his dad’s liquor cabinet!”
Isaac shook his head, finally setting his fork down.
Elain looked like she was about to cry.
“You c-can’t talk to me that w-way,” Isaac said, voice quiet. “I am your father.”
“Dad-” Feyre began, but Nesta held up a hand, cutting her off.
“I am a grown ass woman,” Nesta said, with a deadly calm. “You’re an embarrassment.”
“Me?” Isaac asked, brows shooting up into his hairline. He looked to Cassian. “Run now, son. This one is going nowhere with her life.”
“Please,” Elain breathed. “Stop.”
Rhysand had his hand on Feyre’s knee under the table to keep it from shaking.
“I think you should go up to bed, dad,” Feyre said, lifting her chin. “Sleep it off.”
“No,” Nesta said. “Let him say what he has to say. Drunks always tell the truth.”
Isaac stood and wavered on his feet. “Your mother...good thing she didn’t wait to see how you turned out.”
Elain gasped, and Isaac turned to leave.
But as he did, he fell to the ground, out cold against the hardwood.
The room was met with silence.
“Help me get him upstairs,” Feyre mumbled.
Rhysand nodded.
Elain was in tears.
Nesta was fuming.
Cassian was sitting in his chair, perfectly still.
Feyre grabbed her father’s legs as Rhysand lifted him up from under his arms. As they carried him up the stairs to his bedroom, Feyre felt like she was in high school all over again.
Family fights.
Taking care of her drunk, passed out dad.
Isaac telling Nesta that their mother would be ashamed.
Yeah.
Just like high school.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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@negativenesta
@argentumstella
@itsme-malin
@flora-and-fae
@feyrethedarklady
@starryandbooks
@gingerglides
@gloriouspaintercreatorbandit
@6255igntm
@littlehoneyybee
@the-regal-warrior
@awkward-avocado-s
@aelin-rowan-whitehorn
@julemmaes
@regular-nessian-trash
@ugh-avila
@superspiritfestival
@the-dark-swan
@girlgotattitude448
@eversincebeirut
@midnightrose-reader
@lord-douglas-the-third
@thestarguidingyouhome
@empress-ofbloodshed
Prompts:
{ “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever met that asshole” - Feysand } -anonymous
{ “How about Nessian needing to fake date when they go home for the holidays?!” } - anonymous
{ “could u pls do like an elriel fic where azriel is like this mysterious bad boy and elain is a goody two shoes lik aaaaa i cant get that image out of my head” } - anonymous
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hii! i hope i don’t sound annoying by asking this, but i love your writing so much! i know you did a deaf race angst story a while back, i loved it so much and deaf race is probably my new favourite hc so, if you don’t mind, could you do some more deaf race hcs please? thank you!
Okay, first of all, I get a lot of you guys apologizing for sending asks and I just need to send out a PSA real quick:
Ya’ll are never annoying. I love the questions. Every time I see a new ask I literally can’t help but smile. As long as you aren’t spreading hate, I’m here for all the questions and prompts and everything because I LOVE THEM!
ALSO! I know this took me a long time to answer, so I’m sorry for the wait! (I currently have about 45 asks, so patience is much appreciated!)
Okay, Anon, so yes, deaf!Race is one of my favorite modern HCs. I haven’t written anything with it in a long time and I miss it.
So here we go…
In modern era where Jack and Race are brothers…
Race was born deaf.
Their parents love him so much but are a little upset by this fact, though they learn sign language.
Jack learned sign language too. He’s very excited about it, but he’s more excited to have a baby brother.
Jack and Race are seven years apart in age.
Growing up, they’re happy
Race is homeschooled by his parents. He has no idea that people outside of their house don’t use their hands to communicate.
But when Race is six, his whole family gets into a crash. Mother dies on impact, father dies upon arriving at the hospital and Jack is in critical condition and is kept in the hospital for a month before he’s released to social services.
During this time, Race realizes that people expect him to be able to communicate and talk to them. He tries but no one knows his language.
It takes three days for Race to get an interpreter. Since he’s not seriously hurt, no one sees it as a priority and even though it’s bad to not get an interpreter immediately, Race can’t argue with them. He’s only six. And no one else knows him or is willing to fight for him.
Once Mr. Kloppman gets there, he tears the staff a new one for not getting this kid an interpreter immediately and then sits with Race in Jack’s room, realizing that this little boy was all alone and didn’t even really know that both of his parents were dead.
Growing up in the system is hard. Jack’s right arm broke in the crash. He has to learn to sign with his left for a couple months so that he can talk to Race.
The first few homes are group homes. No one knows Sign. So Jack and Race are often outcast. The other kids don’t want to bother trying to talk with Jack because Jack refuses to talk without signing so Race can understand.
Their foster parents are already overwhelmed so they don’t cater to the boys at all, thinking they’d just figure out how things worked.
The longest they stay in one home in the first year is a month.
When Race has to start going to school, he realizes that sign language isn’t something that most people just know. Jack and him have to go to different schools and no one understands him. So he often sits alone and doesn’t bother trying to make friends. It’s easy because a small kid like him gets ignored often.
Outside of school Jack sticks to Race like glue, knowing that at some point, someone’s going to try and separate them and Jack can’t handle that. He knows that it’ll just make it worse for Race too.
Eventually, a year after the accident, they end up at the home of a William Snyder.
Race knows immediately that he doesn’t like this home. The man hit Jack on the first day.
Snyder doesn’t like it when Race signs. He says it’s not normal.
He’s the reason Race can read lips.
It starts with just a small slap anytime he’d sign but quickly escalated to getting his hands tied down
Jack and him are forced to sleep in different rooms for the first time in their lives.
Snyder goes hard on Jack because he knows that Race won’t hear Jack screaming. And when he beats on Race, he makes sure so gag him somehow.
Jack teaches Race English anyway he can, trying to help his brother escape the beatings and getting his hands tied down. Snyder hates it when he can’t understand.
Snyder has them for the money.
Race isolates even further into himself because Jack isn’t allowed to sign with him.
At this point, Jack is only fourteen. He can’t do much to stop it other than things that aggravate Snyder even more, like fight back.
On an unrelated note, there’s locks on all the cupboards and the fridge so Jack and Race can only have food if Snyder unlocks them.
Also, if Race can’t sign with Jack he likes to put a hand on Jack’s chest or neck to feel him talk to him
Anyways
Jack and Race are with Snyder for almost a full year before someone notices the bruises on Race realizing for the first time that he’s deaf and mute.
After that, Race and Jack are fully separated.
This just about breaks Race. He’s only almost eight and the one constant he’d had in his life was ripped away from him.
He falls into a depression. Even though his foster parents are kind and know sign, he doesn’t talk to them. He usually just lays around in his room on his bed, not wanting to move.
Meanwhile Jack is in a home with Miss Medda and a boy already adopted by the woman named Charlie.
Race grows up thinking he’s broken after his parents die. He believes that no one can really love him because he can’t hear and no one else that he meets is deaf
He stops signing for a long time because he and Jack can’t see each other for a few months. And when they get a meeting time and a promise to be able to see each other once a week, Race just goes to Jack and cries.
Medda tries to take Race in but their social worker sees no reason to move Race, especially when his foster parents know sign and Medda doesn’t.
His foster parents start to get irritated with him when he won’t sign or even try to communicate with them. They’re nice people, but even nice people have their limits.
His foster mother would push him into a wall one night.
Race would run away.
They’d call the cops and Medda who would tell Jack. Jack would immediately go out to find him.
He’d find him sitting alone in a park with a single newspaper for warmth.
Jack wouldn’t try to talk to him. He’d just sit there with him and Race would lean into him, not understanding why the world had chosen him to be so different.
Eventually, he just starts hanging out at Medda’s a lot anyway, because his foster parents realize that after he spends time with Jack, he’s happier and more relaxed.
Medda would teach Race how to play the piano and the guitar.
While Race never could hear what he was playing, feeling the vibrations and reading music would calm his nerves.
By this time Race is about nine. Jack is sixteen. And Jack’s foster brother, Charlie, is eleven.
It takes a long while, but eventually, about three months after Race runs away, Crutchie sits down next to him. Race doesn’t think anything of it at first, but Crutchie eventually turns to him starts signing to him.
It’s the first kid close to Race’s age that even makes an effort to try and communicate with him.
Him and Charlie are fast friends after that.
For two years, Charlie is Race’s only real friend.
When Jack turns eighteen, he adopts Race immediately.
They move down the street from Medda so Race can go to the same school. One that Race hates. The teachers never go slow enough for him to understand, his classmates call him stupid and constantly bully and belittle him. He’s often roughed up by other kids who take his backpack and dump out its belongings and then throw them everywhere while they make sure Race is on the ground.
It isn’t until Race is almost twelve that another boy comes to the school. Albert.
Albert isn’t deaf. One of his brothers is and his father is. So he knows sign language
Much like Race, Albert didn’t know that the rest of the world communicated verbally until he was forced into public school
While he does know English, he’s not very good at it, but he realizes that Race struggles to keep up with the teachers so he does his best to help him understand.
Albert and Race are inseparable from that point on.
And as we all know, Albert and Race love to cause trouble wherever they go.
As they get older they grow closer together and they love to tease bullies.
This eventually leads to a very bad fight between them and Oscar Delancey, a boy they can’t stand, where Race ends up with a broken wrist
Needless to say, it’s a bit too close to being back with Snyder and being tied down.
This happens when Race is fourteen.
He falls back into a short depression, not wanting to go to school which prompts Albert to break in through his window to talk to him.
That makes Race happy because at least he has a friend this time.
A certain football player in high school has a crush on Race.
Yes it’s Spot.
Yes he begs Albert to teach him sign so that he can talk to Race.
And that’s what I’ve got.
Let me know if y’all wanna see more deaf!Race or a deaf!Race scene or whump scene or anything!
Thank you so much, Anon!
#newsies#newsies musical#newsies live#jack kelly#racetrack higgins#much love#modern era#modern au#warden snyder#todd kloppman#medda larkin#crutchie morris#albert dasilva#spot conlon#angst#tw child abuse#tw character death#minor character death#foster care#foster system#deaf!race#anonymous#Anon#anon response
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Шепотом | in a whisper
один | One
Pairing: Alexei x Bauman!Reader
Fandom: Stranger Things
Warnings: swearing, that’s probs it
A/N: Thank you to @thatlittlered and two lovely Anons for your fab plot ideas! I’m gonna try my best to mash them all into one. I also named the reader as it just makes it a little easier than using Y/N fillers. I hope you guys enjoy the first instalment of this series! I’m gonna make a playlist after this chapter is up and its totally gonna be filled with Sergey Lazarev songs
A pounding knock on the rusting metal door pulled you from your Italian phrasebook. Language learning was the most exciting thing you could do when you lived off-grid with your father. He was interested in it too, so it was a good way to spend time with him.
“Gina? Can you get that please, I’m busy!” Murray called from another room in the converted warehouse, prompting you to shut your book and haul yourself from your bed.
“I got it.” You called back, grabbing your keys to unfasten all of the locks that were still on before cautiously peeling open the door, sighing in relief when you saw a familiar face. “Jim Hopper? How can I help you?”
Your gaze wondered to his comrades, the woman you recognised as the Byers kid’s mom, and the handcuffed scientist-looking guy you didn’t recognise at all. He was cute, though, so you gave him a soft smile which he returned, as did Joyce. “We could use you and your Dad’s help. Please.”
Opening the door wide so they could all come inside, you made sure it was shut properly before calling for your father. “Dad! Jim Hopper’s here with-”
Murray appeared in the living room, greeting Jim and Joyce warmly before his gaze shifted to the scientist. “Who the hell is this?”
“Smir-”
“Alexei.” Joyce cut in, smiling apologetically at you and your father. “Let us explain.”
So they explained, and the further their explanation went the more irate you could see your father becoming. “So you bring a Russian into my home, wanting our help to translate? How do you know he’s not some sort of-” He paused, gaze falling back to Alexei. “коммунистический ублюдок” Communist bastard.
“Dad!” You nudged his arm, eyes wide with protest. You weren’t no cop, but this guy definitely wasn’t going to do you any harm. If Jim could trust him, you could too. “He’s here to help. He’s cool.”
Murray seemed to calm down at your words, patting your shoulder affectionately before motioning to Joyce and Hopper to follow him to the couches.
You held back and smiled apologetically at Alexei. “извините за него” I’m sorry about him. “Кстати, я Джина.” I’m Gina, by the way.
Alexei smiled at you, walking by your side as you led him to the couches. “Все в порядке. Ты выглядишь слишком мило, чтобы быть его дочерью.” It’s okay. You look too pretty to be his daughter, though.
“Hey! Stop flirting in Russian, I can understand both of you. Business first, making out second.” Murray pointed at the both of you, causing you to go red-faced and sit yourself down next to Joyce, who gave you a knowing look.
“Ask him how we can get him to talk.” Hopper asked your father, eyeing all three Russian speakers curiously.
Your father asked and you listened intently, smiling when you heard his answer, turning to Hopper you tired to suppress a laugh. “He wants a cherry slurpee and a burger.”
Adorable, you thought to yourself.
After what seemed like an eternity interrogating, arguing, almost losing Alexei over a slurpee and drawing plans on burger wrappers, the conclusion was finally reached to head to Hawkins. Hallelujah.
Sitting in between your father and Alexei in the backseat, your hand found the Scientists’ after a short while, and he shot you a smile that made you grateful you weren’t standing up because your legs would’ve been jelly.
“Jesus,” Murray breathed out, meeting Hoppers eyes in the rear-view mirror. “How much longer do we have? Feel like I'm fifth-wheeling all of you guys.”
Ignoring the comment, Hopper sighed. “Its just up this road here. Joyce is gonna go find the kids, I’m gonna see if I can find any of these bastards and Gina is gonna make sure neither of you two do anything stupid.”
“I mean, I do that on a daily basis anyway.”
“What’s that meant to mean? I’m your father.” Murray put his hand on his heart in mock hurt.
“We live in a warehouse.”
“Touche.”
Hopper parked up and everyone jumped out, Joyce making a beeline for the festival to find the kids and Hopper looked at the three of you. “Keep your eyes peeled for any Russian hitmen, alright? One of them looks like Arnold Schwarzenegger, they all dress in black.” He pulled something out of his pocket before giving it to you. A gun. “Use it if you need to.”
Nodding, wide-eyed and scared, you watched as Hopper ran off in the other direction. Your father put a hand on your shoulder, nodding towards the food stands. “I’m gonna grab some corndogs, don’t go too far.”
“We won't.” As you walked away, you felt Alexei tugging your hand as he led you towards the festival. You took a moment to study his face and your heart swelled. The childlike wonder on his face was too cute, and you let him lead you towards some games.
“Они сфальсифицированы?” Are they rigged? Alexei asked you as he eyed the various stalls and booths, his fingers still firmly intertwined with yours.
“Большинство из них. Хотя все еще интересно попробовать.” Most of them, though it’s still fun to try. You laughed as he led you over to the balloon popping, and you quickly checked over your shoulder to see if your father was still in sight. Satisfied he was, you turned back to the game as Alexei prepared to take his first try.
You clapped and cheered after each balloon popped, and when he finally hit the last balloon and got his prize, you held his arm and looked up at him. He stared back down at you with he biggest, most adorable smile you’d ever seen in your life. He took the push Woody Woodpecker from the guy behind the booth and gave it to you, slowly leaning down to press his lips firmly to yours.
The only thing you could hear was your heart beating at a million miles per hour, the butterflies in your stomach wreaking havoc as you kissed back, finally pulling apart when you needed to breathe. Smiling from ear to ear, you took his hand again and began to walk back in the direction of your father, but someone caught your eye.
Arnold Schwarzenegger. Not the real one, of course, the Russian one. He was headed straight for Alexei, and was that a gun?
Your eyes widened and you tried to signal to your father but he was looking away. Shit.
Time seems to slow as you started fumbling in your jean pocket, you pulled out the handgun Hopper had given you and aimed it as he aimed at Alexei’s chest. Shoving yourself in front of Alexei you pulled the trigger and hit the bastard in the stomach, the gunshot thankfully masked by a firework.
Alexei grabbed onto you, turning you around to face him. That’s when it hit.
The searing pain in your side began, your hand flying down to cover it and attempt to stem the bleeding. Alexei carefully picked you up, making a beeline to the back of the corndog stand where Murray was, trying to flag your father’s attention as he passed.
It was the most pain you'd ever felt in your life, whimpers and cries escaping you as Alexei set you down on the ground carefully, Murray hot on his heels.
Murray took off his shirt, balling it up and giving it to Alexei to press onto your side. He kneeled beside you and took your face in his hands. “Gina, sweetie, I’m gonna be back in a second, okay? I’m gonna find Joyce and get help. Stay awake, I won’t be long, I promise.” He kissed the top of your head before bolting off to find Joyce, leaving you with Alexei.
“Я так виноват. Это моя вина.” I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. Alexei whispered, still holding Murray’s shirt against your side as he cradled you against him.
“Я не мог позволить ему убить тебя.” I couldn't let him kill you. You replied, tears rolling down your cheeks as you gave him a weak, watery smile. Your eyelids felt like they weighed a ton and you was fighting to keep them open.
“Пожалуйста, бодрствуйте” Please stay awake. Alexei whispered, brushing hair out of your face, his hand coming to rest on your cheek. Your eyes were closed now, he lowered his ear to your mouth and you were still breathing. “Джина?” Gina?
Alexei silently prayed in his head that Murray wouldn’t be any longer getting Joyce’s help. He knew one thing for certain, and that’s he couldn’t lose you. He’d never believed in love at first sight, but now he did.
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Part 1- Hi! (Feel free to ignore I don’t want to bother you) your lost answer to anon got me thinking about an old headcanon I could never get str8 (Jate’s my lost otp & I love suliet to pieces). In “LaFleur”, sawyer says Kate’s face is gone from his memory, 3y’s enough to get over someone. But as soon as she’s back, he keeps glancing @ her as to figure out if he believes his own words. Except from the obvious writers’ ambiguous trick to keep the “square” alive for a bit longer,
Part 2- I thought it was some sort of leftover tenderness they shared toward each other (that Jack/Juliet didn’t get) cause despite their incompatibility, I believe they genuinely loved each other. So my question really is: do you think, post “the end” S & K find à way to accept that they care about each other, help each other get over their losses, learn to belong even if it’s just in each other’s lives (as friends or more) ? Sorry for this novel and thanks.
hey @clarissemcc!
so my headcanon for how things turn out with kate and sawyer post-island is definitely on the angsty side.
i’ll tuck it after the “keep reading,” just to be safe.
___________
as the final on-screen events of the original timeline in the series finale take place, jack has made the decision to remain behind on the island (where he soon dies), and juliet is already dead, meaning that both kate and sawyer return to civilization faced with the prospect of going through the rest of their lives bereft of their respective soulmates.
both of them undoubtedly mourn.
both of them undoubtedly suffer.
but, ultimately, kate is better equipped to cope with her loss than sawyer is his.
that’s not to say that things are easy for kate, of course.
when she is finally reunited with jack in the flash-sideways universe, the sheer yearning in her “i’ve missed you so much” admission implies that she has likely spent years on years---a full lifetime---in the ot grieving him.
losing jack after just having reconciled with him for the first time since their falling out in the wake of their broken engagement and after everything that they had been through together both on and off of the island most certainly leaves her heartbroken and reeling.
she probably never really gets over mourning him and wondering “what if---?”
i honestly don’t see her ever getting in another long-term relationship or marrying after him; if she was going to “settle down” in that way, he was the one person she was going to do so with.
that said, i do think that, overall, she is able to face that grief (however long she has to) because she has a sense of purpose in leaving the island.
she’s going to help claire raise aaron.
and i tend to believe that having someplace to go and something important to do helps her endure a life without jack.
that’s where she encounters whatever healing is available to her and “learns to belong,” like you talk about.
before crashing on the island, she is a fugitive runaway with nothing good or lasting in her life, but afterward she has two people who are looking to her to provide stability for them; she has a family, a home, and, most significantly, a reason to stick around.
not so with sawyer.
before the island, he is placeless---a traveling con man, in and out of prison, lacking a solid identity, much less a sense of purpose.
on the island, and particularly during the 70s in dharmaville, he finally gains grounding, becoming a super competent leader under the guise of jim lafleur and finding a partner---in every sense of the word---in juliet.
and had he been able to leave the island with juliet and marry her, as per his plan, i think he would have continued in the upward trajectory we see from him in s5 and s6. he would have listened to his better angels.
but in the wake of losing juliet, i’m not sure he can---and not just because she’s gone but because he blames himself for her death.
for as gut-wrenching as leaving jack behind on the island is for kate---and particularly knowing that he is badly wounded and possibly close to death---she can at least take solace in the fact that jack makes a choice for himself, and she can honor his willing sacrifice by taking care of his sister and nephew.
sawyer knows no such comfort.
he blames himself for juliet’s death on multiple levels: because he asked juliet to stay with him on the island for “two weeks” which turned into three years (see episode 05x08 “lafleur”); because his behavior around kate after she returned to the island eventually prompted juliet to sign on for jack’s plan to blow up the jughead (see episode 05x16 “the incident” pt. i); and because he literally couldn’t hold onto juliet and dropped her down the shaft (see episode 05x17 “the incident” pt. ii).
though one could try to argue with him that juliet exercised personal agency both in remaining on the island with him AND detonating the bomb, his guilt and self-loathing would never accept such appeals.
in his mind, he killed the only person he ever truly loved.
and without her, not only does he have nowhere to go and nothing to do post-island, but he also carries with him the sense that he doesn’t deserve to get to go anywhere or do anything.
he doesn’t want to carry on in her absence.
he wants to suffer for his sins.
he wants to experience every moment of agony rightly owed him for his actions.
filled with guilt, pain, and the impulse to self-castigate, i just can’t imagine him faring well.
though kate might try to convince him to not give up, i don’t think he’d listen to her or accept any attempts by her to take care of him---and particularly not because he knows that part of what persuaded juliet to blow up the warhead was her assumption, however erroneous, that he would eventually choose kate over her (“i changed my mind when i saw you look at her”).
even just being around kate as a friend would trigger his guilt in the extreme.
and while he wouldn’t blame kate---as he says he doesn’t, per the scene on the pier---he would still blame himself.
he would always blame himself.
hate himself, even.
and a self-hating sawyer is a dangerous one.
i mean, self-hatred is what underlies his jerky, bullying, posturing behavior during the early seasons of the show, right? and, by comparison, that self-hatred is of a more “garden variety,” rooted in his sense that he has become someone despicable, rather than an extremely personal sense of loss (and fault).
so much more extreme will be his bent over juliet---and so much the worse his self-sabotaging behavior as a consequence.
the pre-show sawyer is an outlaw who lives dangerously, but he ultimately possesses a self-preservative instinct; he is a consummate survivor.
that’s part of what makes him and kate so similar.
and him and juliet, for that matter.
but this sawyer---the one who feels responsible for getting the woman he loves killed---won’t care what happens to him anymore.
so he won’t do himself in all at once---not when he has a very strong sense that he deserves to suffer for what he has done for as long as possible---but he will drink and smoke himself sick and pick barfights with guys twice his size and run cons where he’s almost sure to get caught and then pull his gun on the cops who show up to arrest him; he’ll be a fucking mess, the likes of which would make even bearded, pill-popping, oceanic-six, los angeles jack go, “oh shit.”
and without any sense of grander purpose, i don’t know that sawyer would be able to pull himself out of the spiral.
kate might try to argue that he has an obligation to take care of himself if not for his own sake than for clementine’s, but he’d probably say that his daughter’s only interaction with him being by way of the trust fund he left for her is for the best.
honestly, i don’t think his story in the ot has any kind of happy ending.
and i don’t think he lasts as long as kate does.
just based on the way i understand his character, i doubt that sawyer allows himself to find any sort of refuge with kate post-island in the ot, either friendly or romantic, even if she tries to offer it to him. he also probably eschews company of any kind from anyone, including their other friends from the island.
for my money, there is just too much hurt and guilt in him, for which he cannot permit himself any sort of peace, so he strikes out on his own (“some of us are meant to be alone”) to disastrous effect.
while kate undoubtedly worries about him, i think that at some point, probably sooner rather than later, she makes the conscious decision to focus her energies on claire and aaron, resigning herself to the fact that sawyer doesn’t want to be saved, and particularly not by her.
ultimately, i think their paths diverge.
she learns to live again after the island, and he doesn’t.
all of this postulation given, i’m certainly not harshing on your headcanon! it’s way happier than mine and, frankly, a whole lot nicer to think about.
lest i end on a super negative note here, i’ll finish up by saying that i find it highly significant that in the flash-sideways, kate once again finds purpose in helping claire with aaron, while sawyer is searching---not only as a detective for his parents’ killer but literally walking around with a big, yellow sunflower (his bloom of choice for juliet), trying to find where (or rather to whom) he belongs, hopeful for the life he has always wanted to lead with her.
though he doesn’t get any kind of happy ending in the ot, at least by my estimation, he does eventually find what he’s looking for in the flash-sideways, and that reunion with juliet is so healing for him.
anyway, i’m rambling here.
thanks for the question! feel welcome to send another any time.
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if ur taking prompts 16 18 or 44 w stozier would be sweeet! love ur writing!
thank you so much anon! i have no self control so i kinda combined 18 and 44 into one idea. i hope you like it! i tried very hard to make it short and failed miserably i’m sorry for the delay
length: 2.9k | ao3warnings: none (attempted breaking and entering?)prompts:18. Fake dating AU44. I’m your new neighbour and I got locked out, help!
send me a cliche prompt (list here: x) and a pairing and i’ll write a drabble!
Stan had been living in New York for a solid three days. He’d moved in on Wednesday, spent Thursday unpacking as much as he could, and started his new job at an Accounting firm today, Friday. Not wanting to seem too antisocial to his new coworkers, he’d agreed to go out with them for a Happy Hour of sorts, and was now coming back home, exhausted and just ready to fall into bed. He made it up the four flights of stairs to his apartment, placed his hand on the handle, and tried to turn it.
The door handle wouldn’t budge.
Frowning, Stan tried it again. The doorknob had been a little sticky, sure, the lock sliding out and clicking in a couple of times, but it was nothing a little jostle with his keys couldn’t fix. Stan began digging around in his coat pockets, rooting around for a couple of minutes for his apartment key before stopping, cursing, and letting his head fall back.
He hadn’t updated his key ring yet. The only thing on the ring that he still used were his car keys; the house key and mailbox key still on the ring were for his old place. He’d been juggling his new keys around for the past couple of days, but he hadn’t gotten around to replacing them yet, and he knew, just knew that his apartment key was sitting on his kitchen counter next to the cold cup of coffee he’d also forgotten that morning. Stan was locked out.
Dusk had fallen hours ago, and it was cold out with the sun down. Stan was so tired, not at all feeling up for calling someone--who, the police?--to help him into his apartment. The possibility of renting a hotel room for the night did cross his mind, but it felt incredibly idiotic to spend the money that would take when he was already here, standing outside his apartment door and mere feet from his bed, but unable to get inside.
After jostling at the knob for a little longer, Stan decided he needed a new plan, glancing around for inspiration. He had neighbors on both sides, and on the left was a couple that frankly, going by the things Stan had heard through the rather thin wall of his living room, were terrifying people. He didn’t want to wake them up for help, even if they were home.
The apartment on the right, as far as Stan could tell, was empty. Over the three days that Stan had been here, the room next to his had been completely silent, and he hadn’t heard or seen anyone going in or out. Despite that though, it had all the signs of a tenant living there; mail in the mailbox, a doormat that said ‘WIPE YOUR FEET, STUPID’ in front of the door, and… Stan’s eye caught on something, causing him to frown.
There was a fist-sized and obviously fake rock sitting by the front door. Stan recognized it immediately as one of those ‘hide-a-key’ rocks, and almost laughed out loud; it would have blended in well, sure, if this person had a front yard. But the plastic rock was just sitting outside the door of an apartment building, and much more obvious than if this person had just slipped the key under the rug.
Stan began weighing his options. On the other side of the building, each apartment had a tiny balcony, separated only by a rail he could easily jump over. Stan knew for a fact that his own balcony door was unlocked, and he’d never seen hide nor hair of anyone else living in the apartment next door. He could use the key, slip through this stranger’s apartment as quickly as he could, then jump over the balcony railing and get into his own place.
Sure, that might be breaking and entering, but he wasn’t going to take anything. And did it really count if nobody actually lived there? Before he could talk himself out of it, Stan opened up the fake rock, got out the key, and got to work.
Almost immediately, a loud voice came floating up the stairs.
“No Mikey, I’m telling you!”
Stan resisted the urge to jump away. Those tenants probably didn’t know him, and didn’t know what apartment was his; he would just look like someone trying to enter their own apartment, as long as he didn’t act too dodgy about it.
“Richie, I’m not trying to embarrass you.” Came a second voice, quieter and more placating than the first. “He’s nice, really! I met him at the library, I think you would like him.”
“Well, I don’t need any more of your pity set-ups, alright? I’ve got a boyfriend, thank you very much.” The first voice--Richie, must be--said loudly.
“You somehow got a boyfriend between this week and last week, when you complained to me about how desperately single you were?” The “Mikey” guy’s voice was heavy with doubt.
“I did. I did! And he’s way cuter than all the dumb book club guys you’ve been matching me up with, so you should just stop trying to--”
A disbelieving silence. The apartment door clicked open, Stan stooping to replace the key into the little rock thing when he realized that the two guys that had been climbing the stairs weren’t talking anymore. He whirled around, and froze like a deer in the headlights.
There were two men standing behind him. One of them, a guy with a thin face, square jaw, and thick glasses had an arm outstretched, keys in hand, staring at Stan with incredulity. Stan knew an expression like that could only mean one thing, his stomach turning. Whoever this guy was, he was the person that lived in this apartment. The apartment than Stan was currently breaking into.
The second guy was looking between Stan and his friend, his face one of expectant caution. Stan didn’t know if he should just begin running, or if that would make the situation worse. Then, to Stan’s complete confusion, the first man’s face broke out into an incredible smile.
“I didn’t know you’d be here!” He exclaimed. By his voice Stan could tell this guy was the one named Richie, and he was absolutely beaming, hurrying close. “You didn’t tell me you were planning on stopping by tonight!”
His arms were open for a hug, and Stan simply let the hug happen, unsure of what to do. The man didn’t smell like alcohol, so he probably wasn’t drunk. What was going on? It wasn’t until the man whispered in Stan’s ear that things began to make sense.
“Please just play along with this.”
Oh. Oh. Richie, the entire walk up to the apartment, had been telling his friend about a new guy that he was dating. A guy that, apparently, was fake. A guy that Stan was supposed to pretend to be.
Well, Stan thought. It was better than being arrested, so he figured he might as well go with it.
“I wanted to surprise you!” Stan answered, reaching up to hug Richie back, and Richie pulled out of the hug, shock all over his face, possibly from the fact that his request had worked. Then he gave Stan a grateful--if not slightly mischievous--smile, and Stan felt something in his chest catch at the sight of it.
Richie turned back to his friend, his arm still around Stan’s shoulders, and Stan figured it was time to go all in. If luck had his back tonight, he would be able to use Richie’s apartment to get into his own after all.
“Hi, I’m Stanley Uris.” He said, holding out a hand. He didn’t even need to fake the slight embarrassment in his voice at his next words. “I’m, uh… I’m Richie’s boyfriend.”
“Mikey” reached out in kind, shaking Stan’s hand. “Mike Hanlon.” He said. “It’s… It’s nice to meet you, Stanley.”
“Stan, please.” Stan amended, Richie using his free hand to open his now-unlocked apartment door.
“Want a cup of coffee, Mikey?” Richie asked, but it didn’t seem like much of a question, and Mike didn’t even have time to answer before Stan found himself fully dragged into Richie’s kitchen, Richie flicking the lights on as he went.
“Alright.” Richie said before Stan could even speak, whirling around to face him and leaning against the counter. “If you’re gonna rob me, could you at least wait until my friend goes home? He was only going to stop in for a cup of coffee. Won’t take long”
“I…” Stan didn’t know what to say to that. “I don’t know what’s going on.” He confessed.
Richie sighed a little, pursing his lips, and Stan watched him, feeling like he shouldn’t find the annoyed expression attractive, but embarrassingly, something about it was.
“My friend Mike, he’s great. Love him to pieces. And he thinks I’m lonely and sad, which is true--” the offhand omission had Stan raising his eyebrows, but Richie didn’t even slow down; he began getting coffee together, fussing with the Keurig on the counter and placing a mug under the spicket-- “and he keeps trying to set me up. His intentions are good, but he’s shit at it. But the thing is, he won’t stop. He thinks I have to be dating someone, which I get, because he just won the goddamn nerd lottery and his librarian ass is engaged to a world famous horror fiction writer, but still. He won’t let me just be sad and lonely in peace.”
“Wait, who is he engaged to?” Stan asked in interest, trying to ignore the fact that this was, quite possibly, the weirdest conversation he’d ever had.
“Bill Denbrough.” Richie said with a wave of his hand, and Stan felt his jaw drop. He’d definitely heard of William Denbrough. He had a number of Denbrough paperbacks on his bookshelf.
“The Bill Denbrough?” Stan asked back, and Richie leaned back in exasperation.
“Is every guy I meet in the vicinity of Mike going to be a goddamn groupie?” He asked. “Bill isn’t even cool. He’s a fucking nerd. But I tell you what.” He fixed Stan with a look. “I’ll get you his autograph if you just pretend to be my boyfriend until Mike goes home. Deal?”
“Yeah.” Stan didn’t really need the extra incentive--the fact that Richie had hugged him and invited him in instead of calling the cops was reason enough for Stan to play along--but he would take it. “Sure. Deal.”
The Keurig stopped, Richie grabbing Mike’s coffee with one hand and extending the other out to Stan. So Stan took it, entwining their fingers together--again, something embarrassing in his chest jumped at the touch, but Stan forced it down--and they reentered the living room.
Richie, Stan was quick to learn, was a very touchy person. They sat next to each other on the couch, so close that if either of them moved an inch they would be in each other’s laps. Richie was very animated when he spoke, and he spoke a lot, so he was always moving, but whenever there was some sort of lull--usually Mike talking, or Stan finding something to contribute that wouldn’t raise any suspicions about just how much of a stranger he was--Richie’s hand would rest on him in some way, over the back of the couch and rubbing a small circle on his shoulder, or playing absently with his fingers, or feather-light on his knee. And while Stan would normally be annoyed by something like that, he found he didn’t mind. It made him feel noticed, and paid attention to when he spoke. Even though it was fake, it made him feel adored.
They talked until Mike finished his coffee, Stan finding out through context clues that Richie’s apartment had seemed empty because for the past couple of days it had been, Richie part of a friend group that took a trip together to celebrate Mike and Bill’s engagement. Stan rather liked Mike by the end of the interaction; he was a kind, sensible, good-natured guy who seemed very welcoming and interested in whatever Stan had to say.
Stan was finding that he liked Richie, too. He was loud, with huge nerdy glasses and a floppy haircut, but he truly was funny, and tall, with wide warm hands and an attractive amount of scruff. Stan blamed his exhaustion on the passing desire to feel the stubble burn that the barely-there beard would leave against his neck. It felt nice to have Richie’s hands on him.
“I won’t overstay my welcome. I’m sure you two want the rest of the evening together.” Mike said, getting to his feet. He went to the kitchen, washed out his coffee cup, and returned with his hand outstretched in Stan’s direction. “It was really nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, you too.” Stan said as he shook Mike’s hand, finding he meant it. Richie stood as well to give Mike a hug, and then he was out the door.
As soon as he was gone, Richie got a stray napkin and pen from the coffee table, writing IOU 1 Bill Denbrough autograph on it in a messy scrawl and handing it over to Stan.
“Let me know when you want to collect.” He said. “You know where I live. Hell, you did such a good job pretending that you like me that you can take one thing of value out of my apartment and I won’t even call the cops.”
Stan figured it was about time he explained something.
“Richie, I’m not trying to rob you.” He said. Richie frowned at him.
“Then what the fuck were you doing? Because you looked real fucking guilty when I walked up.” He said. “Breaking in for the thrill of it?”
“I… I live next door.” Stan said, pointing to the left wall of the living room with his thumb. “I just moved in, and I locked myself out of my apartment. I thought your apartment would be empty--because for the past couple days, it had been--and I thought that maybe I could just let myself in and climb over the balcony. I didn’t want to take anything.”
Richie stared him full in the face for a solid five seconds. Then he burst out laughing.
“You--you locked yourself out?” He gasped. He had a hand on his chest and was leaning back, his eyes closed, his nose scrunched, his voice high in amusement. “And you, you were trying to--god, the look on your face when you saw me, I really thought…” He faded into laughter again, Stan unable to do much more than stand there.
“Well, I’m glad you find it so funny.” He said, and Richie looked at him, his eyes alight with so much joy and amusement that Stan felt that twist in his chest a third time and decided it was high time for him to leave before he did something dumb, like kiss his stupidly cute next door neighbor.
Richie led Stan out to the balcony, Stan able to jump the rail easily. He checked his balcony door, just to make sure it was unlocked--it was--before turning back to Richie, putting the IOU napkin in his pocket.
“This has been the weirdest night of my life.” He confessed, and Richie grinned.
“That’s what happens when you live next to Richie Tozier.” He said, winking, the wink so cocky that it was sexy. “When am I going to see you again?”
“Well, I mean…” Was that an implied pickup line, or was Stan’s brain messing with him? “We’re neighbors, so it’s bound to happen sooner or later.”
“Yeah, but I was hoping for something a bit more concrete than that.” Richie was stepping closer to the railing, and Stan felt himself step closer too. “Like… I don’t know, coffee tomorrow at noon?”
“Noon?” Stan asked back.
“Yeah, I don’t really wake up early.”
“You’ll have to walk me there; I don’t know where any of the good coffee places are yet. I just moved here.”
“Exactly! It would be a crime if I didn’t welcome you to New York.”
They were very close now, Richie’s face illuminated only by the moon and the light streaming out through his kitchen. Richie only seemed to be a couple inches taller than him, but Stan still had to tilt his chin up a bit to look him in the eye.
“A crime?”
“Yeah. Someone’s gotta show that pretty face around.”
Richie grinned a bit, and Stan gave up on his--admittedly, weak--attempt at restraint, leaning in to kiss him.
Stan felt Richie take a surprised breath in through his nose, then was kissing him back, hands reaching out to touch him, one falling to his waist, the other on the side of his neck. Richie’s palm was a bit rough, and he smelled nice this close, and he was so warm that it was all Stan had not to melt against him. He pulled back instead, Richie making a small groaning noise in the back of his throat at the lost contact, which tugged a bit of a grin onto Stan’s face.
“Save it for tomorrow, alright?” He said. Looking reluctant, Richie pulled his hands away. “Night, Richie.”
“Goodnight, Stan.” Richie winked again. “Be sure to dream of me.”
“Fuck off.” Stan told him, turning to go inside, hearing Richie laugh as he did. Stan got ready for bed, the breath of the kiss still on his lips, now very excited for tomorrow morning. Or, tomorrow at noon.
#stozier#stan uris#richie tozier#stozier fic#it 2017#it 2019#it fic#myfic#asks#it's been a while since i've written these boys#and I haven't tried an adult dynamic before#so I hope my characterization doesn't suck too much!#Anonymous
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Homework and hobbies for the prompt list???
the one where Jake gets a warrant that Pilsners are boring indeed
#34. Hobbies from this kids prompt list
This is far from my best work (sorry about that *hides*) but even though the idea was clear in my head from the moment I saw this request the words just wouldn’t form and this one has been in my inbox for so long I had to get it out of my system. Hope you enjoy it anyway, Anon! :) Thank you for sending the prompt 💕 it turned out silly but I like it :D
Thank you so much @cheddar-the-dog for beta-reading and your words of encouragement 💖💖
Special thanks go to @rosalitadiazz and @vernonfielding for being my information sources on this one, your help is very much appreciated! :D 💕
read on ao3
“Isn’t it weird our 17-year-old son is spending his Saturday with his Nana?”
Jake asks his wife one day, getting suspicions after few weeks of Atlas staying all afternoons at Karen’s on work days (Amy responds that she finds it endearing, and hopes her own future grandchildren spend so much time with her when they’re teenagers). Jake’s totally aware of his son’s special bond with his Mum and is very grateful for it but still, call it 6th sense or work-related bias after so many years being a cop, he can’t help but feel something is off.
Sure, Atlas and Karen’s bond is truly special, especially given the fact that he’s a teenager and kids his age are not mostly known for spending an awful lot of their afternoons with their Nana. But they have just so much in common, Karen being the only competent person supporting his love for cooking and helping him with developing his skills making with him all kinds of weird foods only Uncle Charles seems to enjoy.
(At a very early stage of his life it turned out cooking is Atlas’ passion and since his parents aren’t very talented in that area, it was Jake’s mum who’s helped Atlas to discover his skills. As he grew older, he started making more sophisticated dishes, he learned to bake and make all sorts of pickled vegetables. He even made some jams one summer and the amount of jars full of sweet substance was so enormous, the whole family still has their pantry packed with it, even after a giveaway to the whole Nine-Nine squad). And his Nana was there throughout it all - such victories as the first batch of well-done pierogis for Mother’s Day one year, or a 5-level birthday cake for Jake. But she was there for the failures as well, like when a whole box with jars of pickled beetroots gone bad and Atlas, being a sensitive boy, cried all afternoon because of it.)
Eventually, Jake convinces his wife to visit Karen later that day. “What do you say we pay my mum a surprise visit this afternoon?” To which suggestion she agrees eagerly, realizing Karen might appreciate them doing groceries for her.
Jake knows he’s been right seeing the unpleasant surprise on his Mum’s face the moment she opens the door, seeing him at her porch with bags in his hands.
“Jake?” Karen’s bewilderment, showing in her eyes being wide, is priceless.
Busted.
“Hello Karen!” a muffled shout comes from his car, where Amy is picking up the rest of the groceries they got for her. Conspiracy visit or not, his mum still is an old lady, who needs help with basic chores (even though she has a hard time admitting it).
Jake gives his - still a bit in shock - mum a quick kiss on the cheek and heads straight to the kitchen, for one to leave the bags there and for two to get over with this mission on catching his son red-handed as soon as possible.
The problem is, the kitchen is empty.
“Amy, my love, Jake - would you like a cup of coffee? And cake?”
“Oh, yes please!” his wife obliviousness of the situation really taking place (Karen trying to distract him from finding his son) is annoying, but Jake couldn’t clue Amy in, because she’d call him obsessive and would made an awful lot fun of him.
“Mum, where’s Atlas?”
He goes past her, ignoring her attempts to distract him from going further the hallway (while Amy’s still blissfully unaware of her husband and mother-in-law’s game, cheerfully asking about Karen’s well being).
There’s no sign of Atlas all over Jake’s childhood’s house so the only place left for Sergeant Peralta to look for is the garage. And that’s where he finds his one and only son doing a thing he would never accuse him of, startling Jake and filling his heart with horror, simultaneously shattering it to pieces.
HIS SON IS BREWING BEER.
For a moment Jake thinks he’s having a heart attack, his legs suddenly too weak to hold him and Amy seeing him in that state rushes to his side and only then she notices the source of her husband’s sudden deterioration. There is a million thoughts going through her mind but there is one that is especially loud ‘HE’S UNDERAGE, HE’S NOT SUPPOSED TO DRINK ALCOHOL NOT TO MENTION MAKING IT’ but also a quiet one ‘How did my son turn into my boring ex-boyfriend?’ .
She orders her son to go straight to the car and as Jake starts to feel better they all go home in a suffocating silence. Jake feels heartbroken seeing that his son shares a passion with his wife’s ex-boyfriend (especially when only last month Atlas confessed to him that “only the first Die Hard movie is good, Dad”) and doesn’t utter one word even when his wife makes a long and loud lecture to their son once they arrive at Santiago-Peralta household. In the spur of the moment she bans Atlas from making any more alcohol which results in Atlas shutting himself in his room for the rest of the evening.
Mr. and Mrs. Santiago-Peralta spend the rest of the day questioning all their parenting choices, wondering when did they put him on this road to being a boring person. Especially Jake can’t see a moment when everything went wrong - his son has made so many explicit “Title of your sex tape” jokes ever since he was 13, he and Ana team up every year for a Halloween Heist, not failing to fool their old parents for 3 years straight now and they go together to the waterpark every year (just the two of them, some quality father-son time) -in Jake’s eyes Atlas is the most fun person he knows (but don’t tell Amy that).
Their self-pity party gets interrupted by their 22-year-old daughter Ana, who enters demanding answers as to why everyone is acting so weird today. After telling her the whole story of the staggering discovery at Nana’s, she tells them how Atlas has been afraid to tell them about his new hobby for the longest time, knowing of their weird prejudice towards beers that are not Blue Moon (or Corona if they feel fancy).
(Actually it was Ana herself, gutted by her parents taste in beers, who convinced them shortly after her 21st birthday - discovering there is more to adult alcohol-drinking-life than the cheapest beers in her parents’ fridge - to switch to Dos Equis (her personal favourite), so that the policy of ‘not drinking anything that doesn’t taste like piss’ is no longer on the table. Their resentment towards trying anything new beer-related was obvious and weird to their kids even.)
Ana’s revelation actually makes them even more sad - to know their son kept a secret from them, being anxious of their reaction feels like a true parenting failure for the Santiago-Peralta couple. Sure, their interaction with Teddy has been traumatic for the both of them, the memory of it still giving Amy a Pilsner-TSD. But they see now so clearly it should have never influenced their behaviour towards their son.
“He has foreseen you might react this way so he decided to keep his mouth shut. And Nana was his partner in crime because she’s just the best, obviously.”
And they reacted in the worst way possible. Especially Amy seems to have huge regrets regarding her outburst.
She has tears in her eyes, cursing herself for being so harsh before, and she’s overcome with the strongest urge to just hug her son and never let go (well she has this urge constantly from the second he was born but sometimes this need gets just unbearable just like in this moment) so she sprints to his room, apologizing and hugging him until he’s all abashed from the sudden affection coming from his mother ( “It’s okay Mum, I’m not even angry anymore. Could you let go, I can’t feel the half of my body, you’re crushing me.”).
“We owe you an apology, Atlas. We should have trusted you with this instead of being so close-minded when it comes to beer.” Once Amy finally lets her son breath again, loosening her grip on him, Jake takes a seat next to him.
“Where is your animosity towards beer coming from anyway?” Their son’s question catches them off guard and there’s no way for them to hide it, as they start to mumble incoherent excuses.
“It’s... just that at one point your Mum was really sick of it.”
“Title of your sex tape, Dad!”
After Jake high-fives his son and his wife rolls her eyes with a fond smile forming on her lips, they make a promise to Atlas to never ever react that way to anything happening in his life and he assures them he will not drink his own beer (Jake doesn’t believe this promise for a second but Amy seems to be satisfied with his answer). As Amy makes a move to leave, Jake stalls, almost insecure and tries to make an attempt to fix what once was an unbreakable bond with his son (before he stabbed his back with the Die Hard confession and start this new “a-lot-like-Teddy” hobby) asking him about his new interest.
(Of course he’s being overly dramatic - such a silly thing would never jeopardize his relationship with Atlas. Still, Jake can’t help but feel a bit left out, jealous even, of not sharing Teddy’s knowledge of beers so that he can impress his son and engage in this new passion of his.)
“So, what is it you’re brewing there, buddy? Some good ol’ pilsners?” Jake’s knowledge about beers is really limited and he has never even tried expanding it, what he mildly regrets right now.
“Pilsners, Dad? Really? Who do you think I am? Some old, boring Czech guy? Pilsners are like the worst type of beers! There’s nothing fun about them. They’re BORING. I brew Ales and sometime Weizenbiers but NEVER Pilsners!”
His son is so indignant and almost offended Jake would think he has anything to do with THE MOST BORING type of beer his heart warms and he becomes overwhelmed with a wave of affection towards his son, resulting in him grabbing Atlas' round face in his palms and planting a very manly kiss on his forehead. They spend most of Sunday talking about Atlas’ new hobby (Jake actually learning a lot of new and surprisingly interesting facts about beer brewing).
(Jake’s the first person honored to taste the first sip of next batch of Atlas’ beer and is pleasantly surprised finding out he actually likes it. When he pats his son on the back, showing his appreciation, a giant beam appears on Atlas’ face, the one, as Amy says, that makes him look exactly like his father.)
#b99#b99 fic#b99fic#peraltiago#peraltiago fic#jake x amy#jake x amy fic#peraltiago kid#jake peralta#amy santiago#my writing#mine#kids prompts#brooklyn nine nine#brooklyn 99#ofc i didn’t want to offend any czechs#😂😂😂#i love them and their beer <3#kasia writes
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if you're still accepting prompts, I might have an idea that could be fun to write. A newly recruited agent curious about capwidow if they're a couple or not + two children running around suddenly around the compound and finds out theyre capwidow's children.
hello anon! thanks for the prompt – you’re right, THIS WAS REALLY FUN TO WRITE!! i got carried away and the fic became longer than i thought it would be. hopefully this is what you were looking for!
Title: you just have to be at the wrong place and wrong time
Relationship: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff
Summary:
A newly recruited SHIELD agent can’t help but to think there’s more to Agent Romanoff and Captain Rogers’ relationship as Avengers.
post-Endgame, based off my post-Endgame HC (where Nat is very much alive) that they eventually build SHIELD back up, with Hill as the director and Steve and Nat are still involved in it somehow. and they have a family. and sam babysits for them
Also on AO3!
“All of you are here because you advanced from the most rigorous process of recruitment - the one that ultimately tested your physical and mental capabilities,” Natasha said, addressing the 15 new SHIELD recruits in front of her. “However difficult that experience may have been, that is the easiest thing you’ll ever had to go through here. It will only get harder from now on,” she raised her eyebrows at them, scanning all their faces - which remained passive.
“Now, as your commanding officer, I expect all of you to always be on your best behavior,” she continued. “This means I expect nothing but the best from all of you. I also do not want to hear anything from anyone that my recruits are misbehaving. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am!” they answered promptly.
Natasha let a hint of a smile play on her lips. “At ease.”
She watched them change into a laxer position, as did she, and lowered her voice. “Now, as you know, there is another group of new recruits, led by Captain Rogers. In two months, all of you will take another test that would give you the opportunity to level up as an agent.” she declared, already feeling a hype-sort of energy from her team, judging from their smiles and glances at each other.
“I don’t want to pressure you, but,” she let on, and all their eyes snap at her, “for the past two years, not all of the new recruits in my team got this promotion and I wish I can say the same about Steve’s- I mean, Captain Rogers’ group. But I have a good feeling this time around - I think you guys will be the ones to break my unfortunate streak.”
She smirked to herself, a playful gleam in her eyes, as she saw her agents smile to themselves as she dismissed them. She can feel that this will be the team that would finally make her win this year’s bet against Steve. He’s been getting too smug about his 100% pass rate for two years already and it’s about time she changes that.
–
“Hey why do you think Agent Romanoff wants us to beat Captain Rogers’ team? I mean, aren’t we all new SHIELD recruits here?” Paolo Crawford, a member of Natasha’s team, asked his friend.
Avery Steele, also a new recruit but in Steve’s team, just shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe it’s just a friendly competition, you know? I mean, with them being The Avengers and everything, they must be real good friends or something.”
Paolo knitted his brows together, genuinely curious. “But there was something in her eyes when she mentioned Cap’s name…” he trailed off.
Avery blinked at him. “I know you have a habit, but please, please tell me you’re not thinking of what I think you’re thinking.”
“Okay, but hear me out-”
“Paolo, stop! They are our commanding officers, let’s not think too much about it.” Avery scolded, standing up to leave him alone with his sandwich. He just pouted and continued to eat lunch by himself.
–
Well truth be told, Paolo’s been trying to figure out what was up with Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff. If there’s anything between them, that is.
His interest was piqued when he went to his first orientation as a new SHIELD recruit - and the two of them were there to personally assess everyone. After getting over a fanboy moment of being in the same room as two Avengers, Paolo noticed something. The way Steve and Natasha worked together was fascinating.
But like Avery said, they are the Avengers, and most of all, partners. Of course, he expected them to be in sync and coordinated, but seeing it up close was… unreal. One of the things Paolo prides himself on is his meticulous attention to detail, and wow, those were some details he noticed from his commanding officers!
First of all, whenever Natasha would talk or address them, Steve gets this look in his eyes, and some sort of fondness takes over his face, a ghost of a smile always on his lips. It’s as if he’s mesmerized with what she’s saying, despite him for sure hearing it around a hundred times already.
And then there was a demonstration of some sort from the two of them – different types of fighting styles that the new recruits should practice for their assessment. There’s just something about seeing them “fight” in person that Paolo couldn’t take his eyes off – they looked like they’re dancing, with each of them knowing exactly how the other moves. It was truly captivating. But besides that, the way the two of them looked at each other while doing so – Natasha’s smirks and Steve’s smug grins – was just a tad bit too flirty to be platonic, in Paolo’s most honest opinion.
Well. If there isn’t anything but partnership between Rogers and Romanoff, Paolo can’t say he’s not disappointed. That would be a serious waste of chemistry.
–
A month and a half passed quickly, and suddenly, the acceleration assessment is only two weeks away. All the new recruits are feeling the pressure and the exhaustion from trainings and drills. Their schedule is packed with different kinds of things every day, right from the moment they wake up. They only get an hour and a half lunch breaks, and dismissal at 6pm.
This particular Friday, exactly two weeks from the assessment, all 30 new recruits just seemed so defeated by lunch time that Steve took Natasha aside to talk about them.
“Nat, we should give them the rest of the day off. Let them have an early start to their weekend,” he said, moving out of earshot from the common room by turning to a corner.
“Hmmm, I guess they’re still recovering from their full-day drill yesterday,” Natasha winced at the memory. They set out a field with targets, traps, fake shooters – the works – so the recruits can experience what the assessment will be like. They all did well, which was great, but she has to admit, even she got tired from just watching them.
“And that will also give us the rest of the day off,” Steve reminded her, grinning as he put his hands on her hips.
She smirked, “Oh? Got plans, Rogers?”
“I might have a few.”
“Okay, well, let’s actually dismiss them before we start your plan and forget about them,” she chuckled, standing on her tip toes to swiftly peck his lips. His grin got wider when he turned around and she slapped his ass as he was walking back.
“Hey guys,” Natasha tried not to roll her eyes at the way Steve addressed the room. Okay, she knows it’s lunch and they’re bringing good news, but this guy is just so nice to them. It’s always like Good Cop, Bad Cop with them – she can tell that the recruits fear her, out of respect of course, but she can also tell that they adore Steve. Well, who wouldn’t?
“We know you had a tough day yesterday and this morning,” he continued, everyone’s eyes fixed on them. “So, Agent Romanoff and I decided to let you guys go early today. You’re dismissed when you’re done with lunch. See you all on Monday!” he ended with a bright smile, which was received with applause and cheers from everyone.
Steve turned around to smirk at Natasha, who just shook her head at him, and placed a hand behind her back as they turned and made their way back to the elevators. Once she was certain no one was behind them, she snaked her arm around Steve’s waist and slipped her hand in the back pocket of his jeans.
–
“Avery I’m telling you, they’re together, together!” Paolo all but hysterically screamed at his friend after telling her to meet him out that night.
After getting dismissed by their COs, Paolo was going to catch the elevator back up to his quarters to take a nap since he was done eating anyway and he wanted to rest. He was checking his phone as he was walking, not really looking ahead of him since by this time, he practically knows the layout of building by heart. The sound of laughter made him look up – half in curiosity and half in fear – because that was Agent Romanoff’s laugh.
He froze in his step. In front of him were his COs, talking in low voices while very cozily waiting for the elevator.
Feeling like he witnessed something he shouldn’t, he swiftly turned the corner and just hoped that neither of them saw him. It’s not like he’s stalking them – he really isn’t – but he’s sure Agent Romanoff won’t appreciate him seeing that.
Taking a deep breath, he sprinted for the stairs on the side and decided to go through there instead, not really wanting to chance the elevator. He didn’t stop running up the stairs until he reached the floor of his room and shut himself in.
After hearing this from his, Avery tried very hard to push it aside, but she has to admit, even she’s getting intrigued. She sighed and swirled her drink with her fingertip.
“Interesting. I’ve been hearing some, well, gossip about Captain Rogers. You know, from other recruits…”
“And…?” Paolo prompted.
Avery spoke after taking a sip of her drink. “Well, they also have suspicions on him being with Agent Romanoff,” Paolo’s eyes widened, but she continued talking, “though the two of them are known to be best friends, so it might really be just how they are with each other,” she added with a shrug.
Paolo pouted. “I just want to know the truth,” he sighed and downed his drink. Avery looked at him with something akin to pity in her eyes.
“Why don’t you just go ask them? Agent Romanoff seems to really like you, she might want to chat with her favorite recruit.”
“Do you really think I’m her favorite?” Paolo asked cheekily, to which Avery rolled her eyes fondly at. “And no way! That’s just wrong in so many levels!”
“I don’t know what to tell you then.”
–
Paolo decided to come back to the HQ that night to get some workout and training in. Although he’s grateful for having the rest of the day off, he felt… guilty somehow that he didn’t feel worked out enough. Besides, the gym and most of the compound should be empty given it’s a Friday night – most are either out and about or too tired to be up. Before heading to the gym, he went to the kitchen first to get some water.
When he got in, there were two children – a girl and a boy – sitting on one of the tables, drawing on a piece of paper, and a sandwich and juice box in front of them. Paolo stared at the two, not quite comprehending what he was seeing. As far as he was concerned, there were no children living at SHIELD’s HQ, nor are random children randomly permitted to be there. SHIELD doesn’t start them young… right? No, no, no. That can’t be.
As if sensing that someone was staring, the boy – which looks older of the two – smiled and waved at him. He has golden-blond hair and a toothy grin, and he somehow looks familiar although Paolo was certain he’s never seen this child before. The little girl with him, noticing he was looking at someone, looked up and mimicked the boy – waving and smiling at Paolo as well. She has strawberry-blonde hair, as if the two colors are mixed together to get that shade.
Huh.
Not wanting to seem like a creep, he smiled back at them and gave a little wave, turning to the fridge to get a bottle of water. He still can’t fathom who those children are and what they were doing at SHIELD!
He was about to speak out and talk to them when someone beat him to it.
“Hey… what are you guys doing here?”
Crap. That was Captain Rogers’ voice.
Paolo couldn’t see him from where he was standing at the fridge and he stood very still, not wanting to move nor show himself if possible. But he knows it’s not because he hears footsteps approaching the tables – his way – and knows Steve will see him very soon.
“Uncle Sam brought us here because he said Auntie Maria called him to come here and that you and mommy are here too!” the boy babbled on.
Hold on.
Uncle Sam and Auntie Maria??? The Falcon – Sam Wilson and Director Hill – Maria Hill? You and mommy??? These are the Captain’s children???
The Captain has kids??? Is he married??? The only quarters in this part of the HQ are Steve’s and Natasha’s – who else could be here? The little girl has more of a red hair than blonde-
Paolo’s brain was going a hundred miles a minute. He’s trying to process what was happening around him like it’s a bunch of puzzle pieces that he has to put together.
“Your uncle’s here?” he heard Steve ask again, voice louder, indicating he’s almost to where Paolo was at. In an attempt to hide himself, he opened the door of the fridge and stared at it, like he’s watching the most fascinating movie while scanning its contents. They have an awful lot of milk and cheese, he noticed.
“Yeah!” he heard the boy exclaim. “Where’s mommy?”
“Well your mom and I…” Steve trailed off, his voice right behind Paolo, no doubt catching sight of him. “Agent Crawford?” he asked, voice laced with confusion. Paolo’s hand on the milk carton froze and he almost dropped the bottle of water he was holding.
He spun a very clumsy 180 degrees, feeling heat creep up into his neck. Said Captain was only wearing a robe and pajamas. And his hair was in disarray. Oh. He’s hoping that he doesn’t look like the tomato he just saw inside the fridge.
“Yes, Captain?” he really hoped his voice was steady to Steve’s ears because it sure as hell didn’t for him.
“What are you doing here this late on a Friday night?” Steve asked, smiling at him. He didn’t look mad – if anything, he looked surprised and amused. “Isn’t everyone else out? Or you know, resting?”
Paolo nodded. “Yes, Captain. I just thought I needed more training and I was going to work out down there,” he pointed downwards, as if Steve could see the gym from underneath his finger.
Steve let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it, Agent Crawford. Get some rest. Nat, uh, I mean, Agent Romanoff is very happy with your performance. Trust me.”
Before Paolo could respond, the little boy tugged on Steve’s arm. “Daddy, I’m sleepy,” he pouted. Steve laughed and mussed up his hair.
“James, Mommy has to stay here tonight. If you want, I can go home with you two and she’ll come home tomorrow. Or… just sleep in Mommy and I’s bed here for tonight.” Steve explained.
Paolo knows this is a personal moment and he’s basically been dismissed by Steve which means he should probably leave. But alas, he felt frozen in his spot, still holding onto the fridge’s door and peering inside it while stealing glances at the three.
“With mommy!!!” the little girl squealed out. Steve grinned and leaned down to pick the little girl up in his arms. The boy – James, it seems – nodded and stood up.
“Crawford,” Paolo’s head snapped up to meet Steve’s eye, “like I said. Nat likes you, and that’s no easy feat. Take it easy. Though don’t let her know about this,” he winked, a mischievous smile on his lips. And with the girl on his right arm, Steve held out his left hand for James to hold on to.
“Y-yes, Captain.” He answered. Steve nodded and walked with the two to the elevator, finally leaving Paolo alone to slump on the floor.
Well at least his question was answered.
But what did he mean by not letting her know about “this”? That Steve told him he was her favorite or that he found out about their family?
Huh. So, Black Widow and Captain America really is a thing. And they have children. Paolo shook his head and smiled to himself. At least he shipped the right couple. He stood up and walked to his quarters. Although he was dying to tell Avery about it, the moment between him and Captain Rogers felt so… personal that he knew he can’t just talk to other people about that. Not without the consent of either of them – he knew it wasn’t his place nor his story to tell.
–
The day after the recruits’ assessments was a very tense one. The two groups were told to meet their COs first thing in the morning to learn about their results.
Steve and Natasha stood before the 30 anxious faces of the recruits, holding a piece of paper with the results. They shared a glance before Steve spoke up.
“First of all, I want to tell everyone: good job on your assessment. We were very pleased with the results.”
“Yes, I have to say, each and every one of you exceeded our expectations,” Natasha continued, to which she was met with shocked faces.
Steve observed the recruits and let out a chuckle, looking at Natasha and raising an eyebrow. The corners of her lips lifted, and she nodded. “To answer the question in your minds: Yes. All of you are now Level 2 agents. Congratulations.” He smiled and clapped his hands, which was followed by cheering and clapping from the newly-appointed agents.
After a while of celebrating, Natasha put her hand up, to which they silenced as she began to talk. “Now, as my group knows, this is the first time in two years that I had a hundred percent pass rate. Well, Captain Rogers and I have this bet – if one of us achieves that perfect rate, we’d owe the other a dare. Since we both achieved that this year, then we both owe each other a dare.” She heard the crowd go “Oooooo” and smirked.
Steve looked at her, puzzled. Natasha stared back at him and grinned. “And I want to redeem my dare right now.”
Steve’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh? What might that dare be?”
“Kiss me.“
Silence.
The agents looked at each other, shocked. Did they hear that correctly?
Steve stared at Natasha, blinking slowly, as if she might as well have told him that she was Loki in disguise.
“Come on, Rogers, you heard me,” Natasha prompted, crossing her arms over her chest and raised a challenging eyebrow at him.
The agents are looking at them back-and-forth, like it was a movie unfolding. It took Steve a while to recover. He stood up straighter and smiled at her. “Why, do you want to make our new agents uncomfortable?” he asked, putting his hands on her waist. She let out a laugh and shook her head.
“I’m actually aiming for the opposite.” She unfolded her arms to hold onto his shirt, standing on her toes to meet Steve’s lips as he leaned down. Gasps and Awwwws erupted from the group as their lips met, which made Natasha smile as she playfully bit Steve’s lower lip before pulling away.
She turned back to the agents, waiting for someone bold enough to ask them the question. One brave soul in the back raised her hand. Natasha nodded and the agent spoke up.
“So, does that mean you and Captain Rogers are dating?”
Natasha chuckled, shaking her head. The agents looked puzzled. All but one.
“Agent Crawford, you didn’t tell them?”
All eyes snapped to Paolo, who almost jumped at the mentioned of his name. “N-no, ma’am,” he merely squeaked out, feeling flushed at getting singled out. Steve gave him a thumbs up in return. From the other group, he saw Avery shooting him a looking that’s half-glaring, half-confusion.
“Nice work. I appreciate that.” Natasha told him. “No, Steve and I aren’t dating. We’re married.”
“And we have two kids,” Steve added, smiling at everyone. They stared at them, speechless. Who would’ve guessed?
“You might be wondering why we’re telling you this now,” Natasha spoke up after a few seconds of silence. “Now that all of you have Level 2 Clearance, we can tell you this and you’ll also be seeing more of SHIELD, like getting access to more places in the HQ and such. This is just a heads up that you might see our kids, James and Sarah, roaming around. They’re usually in the higher floors and lounges so if you see them, don’t freak out. They’re used to this environment so please just say hi or something.”
“So,” Steve clapped his hands together, “that’s all for now. Once again, congratulations. We may not be your direct CO anymore, but feel free to chat if you see any of us. We’re here as your mentors to support you. Dismissed.”
–
“How dare you not tell me!” Avery whispered a bit loudly at Paolo while they were in the newly-accessible lounge.
“Captain’s orders.” Paolo grinned sheepishly, waving at the little kids who just entered the room accompanied by their father. Steve caught his eye and winked at him.
#romanogers#fanfic#i really liked this#pls send me more prompts; it's still summer hahaha#stevenat#post-endgame#fluff#steve rogers#natasha romanoff#black widow#captain america#avengers#endgame#avengers endgame#marvel#mcu#stevetasha#capwidow#captasha#asks#fic#anon#anon ask#fic prompt
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For bad things happen bingo (if you’re still taking requests! if not no worries) - worked themselves to exhaustion with 911 LS (and tarlos?) :)
Thanks for the prompt, Anon! As always, please keep prompting me. If you’ve seen a fandom on my blog, chances are I’ll probably write for it! :-)
@badthingshappenbingo prompt: Worked Themselves to Exhaustion
Fandom: 9-1-1: Lone Star
ao3
T.K. wouldn’t call himself clingy. He doesn’t need to be around his boyfriend 24/7; besides which, now that he’s dating Carlos, it’s harder than ever to find time together. They both have hard jobs with long hours, and T.K.’s okay with that. But he hasn’t seen Carlos in three days and he’s starting to worry.
More concerning, he hasn’t heard from Carlos at all today; at the very least, he usually gets a quick check-in at some point. It was something they agreed upon when they first started dating, a reassurance that they’re both okay.
But the firehouse has barely had a moment to rest all week, and T.K. can only assume it’s been the same at the PD, so he tries to think nothing of it. Call after call has been coming in, and the past 24 hours have been an uphill struggle that not even Mateo could smile through. When the shift is over, they’re barely able to mumble a goodbye before heading to their respective homes, looking forward to the following day off. T.K. would do that same, but it’s still radio silence from Carlos even though T.K. knows his shift ended half an hour ago.
So, instead of heading home with his dad, he orders an Uber and heads straight to Carlos’s, concern mounting as he sees the Camaro is missing from its usual spot. He tries calling again, but gets sent straight to voicemail.
He wants to go inside to make sure Carlos isn’t asleep - though that seems unlikely given the blinds aren’t drawn - but he doesn’t have a key yet so T.K. has to settle for peering through the windows and hoping the neighbours don’t call the cops on him.
There are no signs of life, as expected, but the thing that concerns him isn’t Carlos’s absence, but the stack of dirty dishes next to the sink. Carlos is meticulous about keeping his space clean and he always washes up after every meal. The stack looks to be at least two days’ worth - something’s definitely wrong.
He sits down in front of the door, watching the road in case Carlos suddenly appears, but there’s nothing. Nothing, either, from the phone, and the ball of anxiety in his stomach grows.
T.K. tries to keep calm, telling himself that if something truly bad had happened, then he would know, but it’s not convincing. They haven’t been dating that long and, besides, he’s not even sure if he believes in any of that stuff anymore.
The minutes crawl past into half an hour, and then a full hour, and it’s official - T.K.’s panicking. He’s desperate enough to try calling Michelle, begging her number off his dad, which had been a conversation he’d rather have avoided.
(“What do you need Michelle for, are you hurt?”
“No, Dad, I’m fine. I just need to talk to her about Carlos.”
“Carlos is hurt?”)
She picks up on the fourth ring, just as T.K. is beginning to despair of an answer.
“Michelle, hi, it’s T.K.”
“T.K.?” she answers, voice bleary and, fuck, T.K. had forgotten how late it is. “Is everything okay? Is something wrong with you or your dad?”
“No, we’re both fine. Sorry to wake you,” he says awkwardly. “It’s, uh, actually it’s about Carlos.”
“Carlos? Is he okay?” She sounds more awake now and, guilty as he feels, T.K.’s glad she’s there.
“That’s actually what I wanted to ask you,” he tells her. “I just - I haven’t heard from him at all today, and it’s been a while since I’ve seen him, and I know you guys are friends, and I was wondering if he told you anything?”
“Anything about what?” she asks.
T.K. grimaces. “I… About anything? Like, has something come up at work, or…” he trails off, helpless and shrugs, sighing. Michelle is silent on the other end, and T.K. wonders if he’s just overreacting and she’s going to tell him to damn well leave her alone, though that doesn’t really seem like Michelle’s style -
“Carlos hasn’t told me anything but I’ve heard through the grapevine that they’re dealing with a pretty big case,” Michelle says, and T.K. could have wept with relief. “Maybe he’s pulling some overtime?”
T.K. almost laughs, then. Because of course he’s been sitting here worrying that something dramatic has gone down when it’s probably just a bit of overtime. He hurriedly thanks Michelle and cuts the call, sighing deeply.
And yet, a little bit of overtime still doesn’t explain why they haven’t seen each other for days, why Carlos still hasn’t replied to the text T.K. sent nearly six hours ago. And it’s knocking on one am, pretty much two hours after Carlos’s shift ended - not even an important case can warrant that much overtime.
He has to see Carlos, he decides. Has to know that he’s okay.
The station isn’t too far from Carlos’s place, so T.K. forgoes an Uber, opting instead to sprint there, the exhaustion from earlier all but forgotten.
As luck would have it, Carlos is walking - or, more accurately, stumbling - out of the station just as T.K. gets there. He frowns as soon as he spots T.K., but before he can say anything, T.K.’s pulling him into a hug, relief filling him.
“What’re you doing here?” Carlos mumbles.
T.K. pulls away, examining Carlos’s appearance. He looks terrible, face pale and dark bruises underneath his eyes. He seems to be swaying a little, too, and T.K. doesn’t want to let go of him lest he fall over.
“You didn’t answer my text,” he responds, not even caring about how whiny he sounds.
“Sorry, it was just so busy, and -”
“It’s fine,” T.K. interrupts. This isn’t supposed to be a guilt trip; he’s just relieved to see Carlos is okay. “Come on, I’m taking you home.”
“You don’t even have a car,” Carlos points out. “I can drive myself.”
T.K. raises an eyebrow. “You can barely even walk,” he says. “I’m driving, give me your keys.”
Carlos sighs, but doesn’t protest, which is testament to how exhausted he must be. He’s threatened T.K. no less than four times over touching the Camaro; for him to let T.K. drive it is something that would only happen when he’s too drunk or tired to say no.
Carlos is asleep almost as soon as he gets in the car, and T.K. hates to wake him when they get back to his house. He also has to help him undress before they both crawl into bed, T.K.’s own eyes starting to get heavy at this point. He steals Carlos’s phone before he falls asleep, turning off all of his alarms for the next morning and silencing any notifications that could wake him. Smiling to himself, T.K. wraps his arms around Carlos and closes his eyes, finally succumbing to sleep.
*
T.K. wakes before Carlos the next morning. He gets up, careful not to disturb him, and pulls on some boxers, tip-toeing out of the bedroom, though not before snapping a picture of his sleeping boyfriend.
He heads into the kitchen and begins clearing up, washing and putting away the dishes, and picking up the odds and ends that are lying around the room. When he’s done, he sets about making breakfast; T.K.’s no cook, not like Carlos is, but he can manage breakfast.
The smell of bacon must finally wake Carlos, because the next thing T.K. hears is a bang coming from the bedroom, followed by a stream of swearing. He grins and heads over, leaning casually against the door frame as he watches Carlos scramble to get ready.
“What the fuck, T.K.?” Carlos says once he spots him. “Why didn’t you wake me? My shift started hours ago!”
“You don’t have a shift today,” T.K. says, grin widening.
Carlos stares at him as though he’s grown an extra head. “Uh, yeah, I do.”
T.K. shrugs and walks over, reaching out to grab one of Carlos’s hands. “I may or may not have stolen your boss’s number from your phone,” he says. “And I may or may not have told him that you were sick and couldn’t possibly come in today.”
“What the fuck?” Carlos repeats. “T.K. you can’t do things like that! Besides, I’m fine!”
“Yeah, because you actually slept last night,” T.K. counters, suddenly serious. “Look, you were dead on your feet when we left the station. Can you honestly tell me you’ve had more than a couple hours this whole week?”
Carlos opens his mouth as if to argue, then relents, sighing. “Alright, you’ve got a point. And I suppose I could do with a day off.”
“Glad we’re in agreement,” T.K. says, nodding triumphantly. “Come on, I’ve made breakfast.”
Carlos raises his eyebrows, then sniffs. “It’s burning,” he says, and then it’s T.K.’s turn to swear, running out of the bedroom to attempt to salvage the blackened husk of the bacon.
Carlos’s laughter follows him, and T.K. suddenly realises how much he’s missed this. And even though it’s only been three days, it was three days too long; he wants to spend every moment he can with Carlos.
And he’s got a few ideas for how they can make up the lost time.
#bad things happen bingo#911 lone star#911 lone star fic#tarlos#tarlos fic#tk strand#carlos reyes#michelle blake#tk x carlos#911ls#lone star#fanfiction#my fanfiction#writing#my writing#anonymous
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Cliche prompts - 1, 27, 36 or 49 (i really wanted to narrow it down but this list is gold and i'm indecisive so i leave the choice to you :D )
Prompt time! For this one I decided to combine two of my favourite options - 27 for ‘Help me I’m being hit on at a bar please be my fake boyfriend for a second’, and 16 for ‘I need a date for this wedding’.
It’s a little longer than I’d intended for a one-shot, but I hope you enjoy! It’s also on AO3 if you’d prefer to read longer fics there :D
Kasia & Anon, I hope you enjoy! xx
Suddenly (I’m in love with a stranger)
There was nothing about this particular Friday night that seemed to set it apart from all the others. Jake had met Charles at their favourite bar, Shaw’s, and over the course of the night had managed to confirm his title as the Dartboard King of Brooklyn (Shaw’s Edition).
He had been on his way to the bar, a spring in his step from his newfound title when a cloud of dark hair, brown eyes and curves had run up to him, throwing her hands around his neck and shouting “BABE! I’M SO GLAD YOU’RE HERE!”.
Arms wrapping around her as he absorbed the impact of her body crashing into his, Jake’s brows had furrowed in confusion as the Mystery Woman twisted her head towards his, whispering into his ear - “There’s a guy over there that won’t stop hitting on me and I told him you were my boyfriend, please please PLEASE go along with it!”
Her breath had felt warm against his skin, and her body fit perfectly against his. And without a second thought, Jake had tightened his grip around her, loudly answering, “Uhh .. hey babe, hey! So glad you found me!” In an instant, he can feel the tension leave her body.
She tucks her head into the base of his neck, giving the illusion of a tender kiss to his shoulder, and Jake turns his gaze to the bar in front of them. A greasy skinned man with overlong hair is watching the two of them, lips curled in contempt as he stared. Jake takes the opportunity to glare back, narrowing his eyes in a silent threat as he tightens his grip again, turning his head to whisper into the woman’s ear - “Just stay where you are - I’ll give you the all-clear when he’s gone.”
He feels her nod against his shoulder, and Jake pulls his eyes back to Mr Creep. He’s shaking his head this time, the eye-roll obvious even through the crowded bar, and he skulks off in search for the next prey.
Jake’s hands move to the woman’s waist, pulling away slightly as he speaks, eyes still trained on the room. “Okay, you’re good. He’s moved on.”
A voice filled with gratitude cuts through the white noise of the bar, louder now that she isn’t tucked into his neck. “Thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver.” His eyes turn to the woman still in his arms, and in an instant, he feels his heart stop. She was beautiful.
When he was younger, Jake had picked up a book that once belonged to his mother, long since ‘borrowed’ by Gina. The cover had been adorned with a vivid illustration of a muscle-bound man clad in a ripped shirt, hovering next to a woman that, even years later, could only be described in his memory as a siren. Dark flowing hair, soft supple lips, and eyes that pierced through the cover. To the teenage minded Jake, this character had become the Ultimate Example of the perfect woman - the kind of beauty drawn only from the imagination of an author - never to be discovered in real life.
(The book’s contents, on the other hand, had made him gag with its overly sappy words. How Gina read them, he would never understand.)
There had never been the expectation that one day Jake would meet such a woman. But, hand on heart, he would swear on his life that such a woman had appeared in front of him tonight.
And he was definitely staring.
She raises her brows, eyes beginning to turn wary, and he realises that his arms are still around her. He can feel the heat begin to burn his skin as he flushes, pulling away with a start and running his hand across the back of his neck in embarrassment. Part of him can still feel her tucked into his side, and he feels strangely empty now without her there.
“Uh, sorry … I just … ahh … are you okay?” Why is talking suddenly outside of his grasp?
She smiles, revealing a row of perfectly white teeth, and Jake’s heart skips a beat. “Yeah. I’m fine. Seriously, thank you. I don’t normally do that, but he wouldn’t stop talking to me. I could feel him watching me when I got up and I saw you and I just … “ her hands flail in the air, trying to find the words to describe her situation. He nods, and her hands lower again.
“Anyway. I’m sorry if I startled you. You were really good, though. At playing the boyfriend. I hope I haven’t disrupted your night too much.”
“Not at all. I just hope your actual boyfriend won’t mind me walking in his shoes for a minute there.”
She shakes her head in a rapid motion. “No, no boyfriend. I’m not here with anyone tonight.”
Jake’s heart skips another beat.
“Wow. I answered that really quickly, didn’t I?” she continues, pulling back her hair as her face begins to blush. “I just meant that I was supposed to be meeting my friend Kylie here but I think she’s flaking on me, and I was watching this thing on Dateline the other day about how there are some men who seek out the single woman at the bar as their ultimate prize only the prize isn’t anything except the woman’s naked body being dumped in the woods somewhere so you’ve probably just saved my life for real and oh god I’m rambling aren’t I?”
He laughs, instantly terrified that he’s hurt her feelings, and visibly relaxes when she begins to laugh with him. It was an amazing laugh, too. The kind he could listen to forever.
(Wait …. when did FOREVER come into the picture, Peralta? Who’s the creepy guy now?)
Clearing his throat, Jake runs a hand through his hair before speaking. “Listen, you’re more than welcome to come and hang out with me and my buddy Charles for the night. No strings, I promise -” he interjects as he watches the hesitation form in her eyes. “We’re just two guys playing dartboard. We’re both detectives for the 99th precinct, shooting off some steam from a case, and to the best of our knowledge we’ve never been put in the Creepy Guy Category.”
Her eyes light up, and it’s his new favourite thing to watch. “You’re a detective? I’ve just joined the academy. I’d love to hear some pointers!”
He beams. “Right this way, m’lady.”
* * *
The Mystery Woman, as it turned out, was called Amy. (Amy. How had he never noticed how beautiful the name AMY was before?!) And she had just completely robbed him of his title of Dartboard King.
And the thing is - she hadn’t just beat him at the game. She’d annihilated him. Completely kicked his ass. And he’d be lying if he’d said that he didn’t find it incredibly sexy.
“Alright Jake, hand over the title!” Amy declared, hands raised in victory as she smiled over at him.
Slumping his shoulders, Jake hung his head briefly, trying to hide his smile as he reached towards the nearby booth. Quickly grabbing something and hiding it behind his back, he returned to Amy, no longer attempting to conceal his joy.
“Wait a minute, I just beat you. You shouldn’t be smiling. Why are you smiling? Charles, why is he smiling?”
“Your majesty,” Jake announced before Charles could interrupt, “I present to you … your crown.” He releases his hands with a flourish, revealing a gaudy gold toy crown.
“Wait … what? How? You actually had a crown this whole time?”
“Nah. Those guys over there are having a bucks night, and I managed to convince one of them to give me theirs.”
She looks over at him, eyes wide with wonder, and for a moment he forgets his own name. “Still. That was really sweet of you.”
Truth be told, he’d been hoping to wear it when he’d beat her at the game, to take a victory lap and remind her of the rightful King. Turns out, it had belonged to the Queen this whole time. He shrugs his shoulders, not ready to admit how happy it made him to see her so happy, holding out the crown with two hands as he places it onto her head.
Amy beams up at him, proud in all her splendour, and Jake never wants the night to end. He never thought he’d be grateful for the presence of a creepy guy at a bar, and yet … here he was.
It didn’t help that she had the kind of warm brown eyes that drew him in, regardless of the conversation. It didn’t help, that her smile always seemed to settle in the surprise location of right beside his heart. And it certainly didn’t help that within twenty minutes of them hanging out, Charles had leaned over to Jake and loudly whispered - “This is it, Jakey! She’s the one! Your dream girl! I can tell!”
He’d shrugged his best friend off with a vehement shake of his head, because everything that he had said was completely insane (except that maybe it wasn’t). She was beautiful, yes, and incredibly intelligent. In the last hour she had repeated more NYPD codes than he and Charles, the actual cops, knew put together. They talked and laughed and drank and danced as though they had known each other for years, not hours, and he found himself watching her lips as she spoke, wondering if they would feel as soft as they looked. Or if her hands would curl perfectly against his own.
But still, he hesitated. The whole reason they’d even met was so that she could escape being hit on by another guy. Hitting on her now would be a total douche move.
“This has turned into the BEST night, you guys. Seriously, I can’t thank you enough.” She smiled over at him, crown slightly askew as she takes another sip of her drink, and Jake looks at the tiny flowers that run along her blouse. He would find a garden filled with the same, and pick them all for her, if it meant he’d see that smile again.
She continues, unaware of Jake’s musings. “You totally saved me from that dude. If there’s anything I can ever do to return the favour, you name it and I’ll be there.”
He’s already in the process of shaking his head at Amy’s kind offer when Charles interjects, putting on a coy smile as he calmly states - “I have an idea.” He turns his head sharply to his best friend, eyes wide with concern at what kind of hare-brained scheme was about to be unleashed.
“Wait … this isn’t going to be some weird dare situation, is it? Because I swore to myself that I would never streak through the bar. Not after last time.”
Jake’s head turns back towards Amy, picking up on what she’d just admitted, but before he can even begin the line of questions forming, Charles pipes up again, this time announcing “No, nothing like that. Jake is going to a wedding next Thursday, and he doesn’t have a date. You should do it. You should be his date.”
Swinging his whole body back to Charles, Jake nearly ends up with whiplash as he stares his friend down. “Charles. Don’t be crazy. Amy, you don’t have to do that.”
“But … I want to do it.”
He turns back towards Amy, starting to feel like a spectator in a tennis match, and sets his gaze solely on her. “Seriously. You don’t owe me anything.”
Her eyes widen, and the tips of her ears begin to turn read as she takes a step back. “Unless you don’t want me there …”
“No. Wait. That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s okay, Jake. I get it. You’ve probably got someone …”
“He doesn’t! He’s totally single.”
“Charles!”
His heart begins pounding, and tries not to take hope from the smile that has returned to her face. Biting her lip, she shrugs. “Jake, let me help you. It’s just a wedding. It kinda sounds like fun. If all else fails, there’s always the open bar.”
He watches her intently, trying to determine if she was still offering only out of obligation. Truth be told, the idea of spending another night with her, regardless of the circumstance, was incredibly appealing.
“So, it’s decided!” Charles interrupts, stepping between them and throwing one around each of their shoulders. “Dianetti wedding, here we come!”
“CHARLES!”
* * *
Amy pulls in another breath, wincing as her ribs groan in protest. She honestly couldn’t remember another night where she had laughed as much as she had tonight. And it was entirely Jake Peralta’s fault.
Okay, technically, it was probably hers. She had been the one, after all, that had run all batshit crazy into his unsuspecting arms, babbling about creepy guys and fake boyfriends. Without that, their paths probably wouldn’t have ever crossed. But oh, how glad she was that they had.
As they had left the bar she had been complaining about her shoes – still too new to be worn all night (a rookie error on her end) - and Jake’s offer of a piggyback ride home had been met with more laughter. Until he had lifted her, and that feeling of safe and home washed over her again, and before she knew it she was being carried home in her very own chariot. His hands never strayed from the back of her knees, ever the gentleman holding her tight as he walked down the street, and when he laughed the vibrations ran through his back and straight to her heart.
He had just been such a shiny beacon of hope in that seedy bar, and his arms had felt so warm around her. So willing to help a stranger, and so welcoming afterwards. He was handsome, with his distinctive profile, and had a smile that made her a little weak. And for the past hour, she had been trying desperately not to think about what it would be like to kiss him. They had talked all night, about everything and nothing, and Amy couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the start of something much bigger than themselves. She wanted to get to know him, in any way that he would let her, and the sheer insanity of going to a wedding of two people she didn’t even know, just to spend another night with him, didn’t escape her.
He’s nearing her apartment now and she leans down to him, cheek brushing against his as she moves. A countless number of tingles run straight down her spine, and she takes a deep breath in, absorbing his cologne with a soft sigh. She was starting to feel more than a little bit smitten with this stranger. Mistaking her sigh as one of disapproval, he cranes his neck slightly to catch her from the corner of his eye. “Oh, my cologne is probably a little too strong. Sorry.” His hands lower slightly, releasing his grip as he squats down, letting her feet hit the pavement before straightening.
“No! Don’t be. It’s good.” She stammered, averting her eyes as she fights the urge to blush. Again. Really good, actually. Amy rests her hand on his arm as she steadies herself, and as she turns back to him she can see him take in a deep breath. In a moment of confidence, she keeps her hand there. “I know I’ve said this already, but thank you for tonight. You made it so much better than I could ever have planned.”
He nods, smiling so softly that all the other thoughts she’d been trying to cloud her mind with disappeared. She feels the mood shift, and finds herself shuffling closer to him. It’s moments like these that make her grateful that telepathy isn’t a thing, because if it was, all he would be able to hear right now was kiss me kiss me kiss me … oh please, kiss me.
“Hey listen, you need to know - I didn’t mean to sound like I didn’t want you to come with me to the wedding back there. I want you to be there. If you do, that is.”
She nods, not trusting herself to speak, and he smiles down at her (she doesn’t even mind the height difference, she’s such a goner). Amy cranes her neck upwards, mirroring his smile with her own. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me. They draw closer.
A car carrying drunk guys (that sound suspiciously like the group of bucks they just left behind at the bar) drive past, honking the horn as two lean out the window, singing Bohemian Rhapsody at the top of their lungs. Jake pulls back with a start, and just like that the moment is gone.
No!
The regret is obvious in his eyes, but still Jake takes another step away from her. “Ah, I guess this is goodnight, Amy. I’ll text you about the wedding, okay?” Before she can even speak, he’s turned in the other direction, and she remains standing on the sidewalk with only her confusion for company.
What the hell just happened?
* * *
It had been six days since that evening at the bar, and Amy sat at a well-decorated table at the wedding reception, hands fiddling with the handmade jewellery each guest had received as favours.
She was fairly certain that she had just born witness to one of the most elaborate - and fabulous - weddings in history. A perfect combination of sugar and spice, which appeared to be the best way to describe the newlyweds Gina and Rosa. Jake had given her a quick rundown of their history as they had made their way to the ceremony earlier today, and Amy could tell from the pride on his face as he spoke that these two women were very important to him.
Dropping the jewellery, her hands reached for her cellphone, swiping through to her photo album and stopping on the selfie that her and Jake had taken earlier that evening. Her intention was to post it, adhering to the ‘Don’t Forget To Tag #dianetti In All Your Pics’ rule that had been posted at every table. Instead, she found herself staring at the photo of the two of them, eyes raking over Jake’s smiling face.
Over the last few days, her phone had become filled with endless conversations between her and Jake. She had been relieved, to say the least, that the ease between them had not been a result of alcohol. Instead, they were fast becoming friends.
The thing was … she didn’t want to just be friends. Not with Jake. His handsome face filled her thoughts whenever her day grew quiet, and when she closed her eyes, she could still remember the feeling of his warm arms around hers. He made sense to her, which was completely insane. He made her laugh. But the craziest part, out of all of this, was how much she could feel herself falling for him already.
A now familiar voice breaks into her thoughts, calling out “Ames!” and she looks up with a bright smile. Ames. His nickname for her, born somewhere between day three and day five, and absolutely her new favourite way to hear her name.
His face was flushed, fresh from giving each bride a turn on the dance floor. His smile, as bright as hers, made her heart skip several beats, and she wondered if her infatuation was as obvious as it felt.
“I’m going to grab a drinks for the both of us, and then you and I are going to tear apart that dance floor. Sound like a plan?”
She nods quickly, praying that her makeup holds strong against the blush that was beginning to spread across her face, and throws him a steady smile. Oh god, he was going to see her dance. This was going to be over before it even begun.
Somehow, he reads her reaction, casting a dismissive hand towards the crowd. “Don’t worry about them, Ames. You and I are going to DANCE.”
Okay, yeah. She was definitely falling for him.
* * *
Jake waits patiently at the bar, fingers tapping absentmindedly against the wood panelling as he waits for the bartender to fill his order. He was beyond impatient to head back to Amy. There hadn’t been any mention of another night after this (hell, he wasn’t even sure if this was a date or not), and he wanted to spend every possible moment with her.
Out of his peripheral, Jake watches Charles approach. Work commitments had reduced their chances to speak to each other for the past week, and Jake knew that his friend had been dying to know the details of him and Amy.
“So? Did you guys kiss, or what?” Good old Charles, always known for his tact.
Already regretting his answer, Jake looks over at Charles before shaking his head.
“What!? Jacob!” he shouts, slapping a heavy hand against his chest bone.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“You save a beautiful woman, a literal damsel in distress, flirt with each other all night then walk her home, and you DON’T end up kissing her? You’re a lost cause, Jake.” This time a punch to the shoulder.
“This feels a little uncalled for. And for what it’s worth, Amy has never been a damsel in distress.”
“No way. You’ve got something amazing in the palm of your hands, and you know it. And I’m not going to stand by and watch you let it slip away. Not a chance.”
Jake rolls his eyes, shaking his head as he turns his attention to the glasses the bartender had just placed on the bar in front of him. He had no idea why he’d run away so quickly the other night. He’d wanted to kiss her, more than anything. Heck, it was almost a week later, and he was still dreaming about kissing her. She was everything that he could hope for in a woman, and for some inexplicable reason she wanted to hang out with him.
He turns, leaning his weight against the bar as he faces the reception hall, zeroing in on the woman in question. Watching her walk towards him earlier today, in that little red dress of hers, had nearly given him a coronary. She was literally the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he’d been so proud to walk into the wedding with her beside him. His arms itched to hold her, and he’d daydreamed doing so several times already today. He was definitely falling for her. And it completely terrified him.
“The stakes are through the roof for me on this one, Boyle.” It was the truth. She made him feel things. And not just sexually (although, those feelings were definitely there). It was more than that. She was kind, and brilliant, and made him feel like even his most baseless conversations were worth listening to. He felt important with her - and even though she was still technically just a line above a stranger to him, he was finding it difficult to imagine a life without her in it. It sounded insane, but he simply didn’t care.
“It’s just … what if I screw this up? This girl is amazing. And if I end up doing something stupid …”
“Jake. You have to stop assuming that everything is going to fail. Sometimes, things just work out. And you’re never going to find out, if you don’t give this thing a try. She looks at you like you hung the moon. Trust me.”
Jake nods, heart somewhere up near his throat as he takes in Boyle’s words. Maybe he was right. Maybe, this time it was his turn to find happiness.
* * *
The lights are soft, and an inexplicable cloud of smoke begins to surround the two of them as they circle the dance floor. Jake smiles as his eyes take in the scene - it wouldn’t be Gina Linetti’s wedding if there weren’t several smoke machines involved.
A hand shifts on his shoulder, and Jake turns back to the woman in front of him. The woman whom (no offence to the two brides, but facts were facts) was easily the most beautiful woman in the room.
Amy smiles at him, that soft shy smile he’d been greeted with the night they met. His heart was beginning to feel like a hummingbird’s wings, and he had no interest in slowing it down anymore.
“You know, standing here, dancing to all these songs … I can’t help but feel like I’m a character in every rom-com I’ve ever seen.”
“Ah. Yes, that would be Rosa’s doing. She has a not-so-secret love for all things Nancy Meyers.”
“Rosa, my love for you is sharper than my favourite knife, Rosa?”
He laughs as Amy quotes the woman’s vows verbatim. “Yep, that’s her.”
She giggles, a sweet sound that he wants to hear forever, and it occurs to Jake that the risk of losing her was greater than any risk that came with taking a chance.
His forehead drops to hers, both of their feet simply shuffling against the beat of the music as the act of dancing becomes second priority. Her arms, now looped around his neck, tighten imperceptibly and he reciprocates by pulling her waist just that little bit closer to his. She hums, taking in a deep breath, and whispers within their close proximity, “I’m really glad I came tonight.”
“I’m really glad I came tonight, title of your sex tape.”
She laughs, tucking her head into his neck as her shoulders continue to shake. “Oh, how you make me laugh, Jake.”
He rests his cheek against the side of her head, closing his eyes in contentment for a moment before breaking the silence. “Hey, Ames?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m really glad you came tonight, too.”
She raises her head, skin brushing against his as she refuses to widen the gap between them. Her gaze looks onto his, eyes big and bright, and if it wasn’t for his steady breaths Jake would be certain that his heart had completely stopped beating.
Moving one hand from her waist, Jake cups her face in his palm, keeping the touch feather light as his thumb brushes along her jawline, tipping her mouth towards his. Her breath hitches, and before he can scare himself away, he leans in to brush his lips against hers.
She sighs softly against him, breath warm against his lips, and when he begins to pull away she pushes her face towards him again, capturing him in a kiss that threw all doubts out the window.
This was The Kiss. The kind of kiss that people wrote songs about, or wrote about in fairytales. It was the kind of kiss that you held onto, for years to come, the memory of it never fading. It was the kind of kiss that spelled out forever, and it was killing him that he could have had this six whole days ago, if he hadn’t been so damned chicken.
Her fingers card into his hair, feeling as though they’ve belonged there the entire time, and he moans softly into her mouth as their tongues begin to tangle together, both still so shy but so very eager for more.
His hands begin to roam, sliding up and down her back as he pulls her impossibly closer, breathing in her perfume as the feeling of Amy in his arms settles all the nerves that had been building inside. This was it for him. He can’t explain how he knew, but he knew.
“I swear to God herself Jacob, if you upstage me at my own wedding with a porno on the dance floor, I will never forgive you.” The unmistakeable voice of Gina Linetti pulls him from the trance of Amy’s kiss, and Jake pulls away reluctantly, rolling his eyes at his oldest friend as she glares over at him.
“Not one for the dramatics are you, Gina? Relax,” he continues as she stares him down. “No porn on the dance floor. Got it.” His tone is dripping with sarcasm, one arm wrapped around the back of Amy’s neck as her face remains tucked into his shoulder, clearly mortified at being caught mid-makeout. Gina throws him another withering stare, raising her eyebrows before being pulled away by her newly-wedded wife.
“The coast is clear,” Jake whispers into Amy’s ear, fingers tangling into the curls at the base of her neck as she stays tucked into his side.
“Hmm, this feels a little bit like deja-vu,” she answers, leaning forward to land a soft kiss on his lips before pulling back with a smile. Her arms drop from Jake’s neck, sliding against his jacket until her hands are resting on the lapels, toying with the button on one side. She looks up at him with a coy smile, and if Jake wasn’t already in deep, it would have sunk him completely.
“So, given the rules just laid out to us …”
“Wanna get out of here?”
She nods, a cascade of giggles bubbling out of her chest, and Jake leans in for another kiss.
“Absolutely.”
#mine#my fic#b99 fanfic#peraltiago#cliche post prompts#fake boyfriend#wedding date#all the good stuff#god I hope I pulled this off#b99fanfic
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