#solve it squad tickle fic

[amazingmsme]

A Good Golly Holiday Time

AN: Extremely loosely based on the squealing santa warmup prompt featherflake & basically just my excuse to write for The Solve It Squad/How the Grunch Cribbed Christmas. Ever since I first laid eyes on Scrags I knew he had to get wrecked. Hope you enjoy, merry Christmas & happy holidays to everyone! Really gonna try to pump out one more holiday fic but we’ll see about that won’t we?

Scrags... really wasn't having a good time. He normally tried to avoid the holidays because it only served to remind him of the family that didn't want him, and that fucking Maddie girl in his dad's reserved seat was just rubbing salt in the wound. He tried to keep his glaring to a minimum.

It seems his efforts failed because his friends very easily picked up on his sour mood, and it was obvious that they were walking on eggshells around him. They were in the craft portion of the planned activities, and it felt like his friends were coddling him rather than actually checking in. It was insulting damn it, he was a grown ass man! He didn't need their condescending praise about his crappy snowflake or the pitying looks they cast his way when they thought he wouldn't notice. Well news flash: he notices everything; he's a fucking FBI agent for crying out loud!

He heaved a heavy sigh as he glued a handful of feathers onto his snowflake. Keith walked behind him and off to the side, looking over Ester's shoulder at the iPad in their hands.

"So, what's the chat saying about me?" he asked, sweeping a hand through his hair. Ester rolled their eyes as they continued to scroll through the comments.

"Not much, they're all talking about what a sad sack of coal Scrags is being," they muttered, causing Kieth to furrow his brows.

"What? No way, Scrags is always high strung and snappy, they just don't know him like we do," he tried to justify. He glanced up at Scrags, his playful smirk falling when he saw the way their friend's shoulders sagged. He slapped a handful of feathers onto his snowflake in a messy, haphazard thud onto the table. "Okay yeah, he is being a classic Grunch, but it's not like we can cheer him up." Keith caught sight of a nearby camera and flashed a smile and wink.

Ester rolled their eyes. Keith stepped in front of her to be in the camera's full view and addressed the audience.

"Hey all you beautiful people at home! Our friend Scrags is having a little trouble getting in the holiday spirit, so we're taking suggestions on how to cheer him up!"

"Really Keith? C'mon, we got more important things to do! I need all you fuck nuggets at home to donate in my name, got that?!" Esther yelled, addressing the camera as they shoved Kieth out of the way. "Think of the children, first and foremost, but make sure I fucking win when you do!" they insisted, drawing the attention of Gwen and Scrags with the shrill pitch of their voice.

"Esther, try and keep it down, it's arts and crafts time and I do expect you to use your indoor voice," Gwen said in her classic cheerful tone with a dash of condescension and and a pinch of superiority. Thankfully, neither Esther nor Keith paid her any mind as they searched the comments for ideas.

"Wow you guys really have no sense of humor," Esther muttered as they scrolled past a few particularly bad holiday themed jokes. Keith grabbed their wrist and pointed at the screen.

"Hold up, go back I think I saw something," he said, not waiting for them to comply and snatched the iPad.

"Hey, give that back!"

"In a sec!" he said, scrolling until he found the comment once more. He froze and looked at Esther with an excited, sinister grin. "I think mrsclausgiantjuggs just gave us the solution to our problem."

"Ew, Kieth-"

"No, it's a username! Here look!"

"No I don't wanna-" they stopped mid sentence as they read the comment. A devilish glint flashed in their eyes. "Is Scrags ticklish? You guys should totally tickle him, I bet THAT will cheer him up!" They looked up from the screen and locked eyes with Keith. An evil chuckle slipped out as they slowly crept over to their gloomy friend.

"Gwen, your snowflake is looking picture perfect, just like you," Keith flirted, ever the suck up simp.

She flushed and giggled, "Oh stop!"

"Scrags, buddy! Yours is... coming along," he said, staring at the mess of paper, glitter glue and feathers.

"Gee, thanks. Gwen made me do this so she wouldn't be crafting all by herself," he teased lightly. "But y'know, I think it'd look better if you did it, Esther. Or even you, Keith."

"The hell do you mean "even me?" he asked incredulously. Esther smacked him from behind, reminding him they had a goal to accomplish.

“Scrags, I gotta be honest with you. You’re acting like a Grade A Grunch, and the chat’s picking up on your vibe. Now if you don’t change that, we’re gonna have to take drastic measures,” he warned/threatened. Scrags merely rolled his eyes.

“Sorry that I’m no happy enough to conform to your cheerful holiday standards,” he quipped, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly.

“Well that’s where we come in,” Keith said, sidling up next to him. Scrags looked him up and down skeptically.

“I’m not really in the mood for jokes…”

“Oh but this isn’t a joke!” Esther assured from his other side, making him jump. “If you ask me, this is a sure fire way to get your cheer meter filled all the way to the tippy top!”

Scrags scoffed, returning to his half-assed snowflake. He jerked away with a squeal when he felt something soft and fluffy flutter over his ear. He looked over to see Keith twirling a feather between his fingers, sporting a wicked grin. Scrags held his arms out in front of him as a weak defense.

“Dude, no, we’re live,” he practically pleaded.

“Uh, I know. This was a fan suggestion!” he chirped. Scrags choked on his own spit, sputtering and stumbling to his feet.

“Ex-excuse me? No, I don’t believe you!”

“Oh but it’s true,” Esther spoke up from behind him, making his blood run cold.

He stared at her, completely frozen for a solid few seconds before his brain caught up with himself. “What?” he reacted with his entire body, tossing his head around to look at her, placing his hands on his hips in his iconic sassy dad pose. “Who would want to see that?” he demanded.

“I think a better question is who wouldn’t want to see that,” Gwen joined in on the teasing, walking up behind Scrags and squeezed both his hips, making his twist out of her grip with a choked off giggle. “Great idea Keith!”

“Technically all the credit goes to mrsclausgiantjuggs, but I am the one spearheading this mission,” he bragged on himself, but still gave credit where credit was due. Okay, so maybe he wanted to say that username one more time.

“No, okay, I am shutting this down, it is not happenIIING!” his stern scolding morphed into a shrill squeal when Ester grew tired of waiting and dug their fingers in his armpits. He whipped around just in time to see their sinister grin as they wiggled their fingers in the air, getting ever closer. He desperately tried to fight off the smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Not once up to this point in the livestream had he been so aware of the multiple cameras trained on them. He continued backing away from the threatening fingers… Right into Keith’s outstretched arms.

Strong arms, that immediately trapped him in a very tickly bear hug. “GOTCHA!” he yelled as he pinched and kneaded his sides and ribs, launching him into a full fledged giggle fit. He squirmed around like a fish on a hook, swatting and shoving at his probing hands.

“Aww, I can’t remember the last time you looked so happy, Scrags!” Gwen cooed, placing a hand over her melting heart. She wasn’t even meaning to tease, it was a genuine observation.

“Ihihihit’s fohohorced! Gwen d-don’t just stahahand there, hehehelp me damnit!” he snapped through his laughter. Before she could answer, Esther interjected.

“Uh oh, someone clearly isn’t feeling the holiday spirit!” He shook his head, eyes wide with panic as they lunged for him. Their fingers prodded his soft belly, causing him to double over in Keith’s grip.

“Oh I’ll help you alright! Trust me, when we’re through with you, you’ll feel like a million bucks! Just like when we were kids, right Mr. Giggles?” she asked and okay this time she definitely meant to tease. It had the desired effect and had him turning a rather adorable shade of pink.

“D-dohohon’t call me thahahat!” he cried indignantly, twisting around in his friend’s hold to hide his face from the camera, and hopefully protect at least a few of his tickle spots.

He realized his mistake when Keith took a deep breath and planted a loud, sloppy raspberry on his neck.

“OHOHOHO FUCK KEITH THAHAHAT’S SO GROSS, GEHEHET OHOHOFF!” Scrags’s hysterical laughter nearly blew out his mic before it tapered off into a less earsplitting volume as Keith pulled away, wiping a hand on his mouth.

“Sorry, could’ve sworn you said you liked raspberries,” he said with a shit eating grin. Scrags rolled his eyes, still grinning from ear to ear.

“Yeah, the fruit you dickwahahad!” his insult lost its edge when Esther drilled their thumbs in his hips, sending him back into helpless laughter.

“Hey, this is a charity livestream for children, watch your motherfucking mouth!” Esther yelled over him. Gwen gasped at the outburst.

“Well that’s the pot calling the kettle black!”

Esther smirked, cocking their head to the side. “Sorry Gwen, pretty sure you’re not allowed to say that anymore,” they said, shaking their head with a tsk. Gwen scoffed.

“Oh you are so asking for it!” And with that, she set her sights on a new target.

Needless to say, the chat was going wild, and they were gaining view by the second. It was a rare glimpse of the fun, bright eyed detective group they remembered growing up, and that was the greatest non denominational holiday gift anyone could ask for.

[writer-akihiko]

IkeSen Boys + Cuddles With You

Some short, sweet headcanons about the IkeSen boys and cuddles. I still have one week of exams, so this isn’t as elaborate as I would usually do it but I might as well release some sweet headcanons before I release my yandere and angst fics~ 

Also to anyone who’s read previous notes, thank you for supporting me and my wife. 

Nobunaga, as the possessive man he is, he loves to keep you in his arms as he caresses your hair and he'd kiss the tendrils of your hair. He'd sit cross-legged as you sit on his lap, as you'd hear his heartbeat through his chest. You would try not to tickle his neck, but sometimes you couldn't help but tease him, especially after he teases you.  

Hideyoshi, how he loves to play with your hair when you two cuddle. Cuddles are a must in your relationship. Sometimes you'd have to restrain yourself from cuddling whenever he was working on his letters to his  vassals. To solve this dilemma, you'd lean on his back as you sew your works and he'd support your frame as he did his work. Once you two were done, it was mandatory for him to cuddle into your lap after a few eskimo kisses.

Mitsunari, doesn't really have a distinction between appropriate cuddling time, but it wasn't like you minded. You would usually be taking care of him throughout the day, by convincing him in the slightest to eat or rest but when it was cuddling time this man takes it seriously. You two are staying in the futon and not getting out and holding each other, just whispering words of affection to each other.

Mitsuhide, oh how his cuddles are not without teasing. He would tune it down a little, especially if you needed it. He would appreciate any touches you give on to him, especially his heart warms when you'd run over his wounds with your hands. The care he'd felt from you was enough to him to heal internally as he'd press a kiss against your forehead.

Ieyasu, as the resident sweet tsundere, doesn't give out signs when he craves cuddles but if he does he'd never let go. He'd cling to your waist as you pat his head, letting him relieve all the stress that was needed. He loves to press his forehead against yours in those intimate moments and just stare into your eyes as you rubbed his sore hands.

Masamune, of course loves to cuddle. He even cuddles you during the war council but he doesn't listen to Hideyoshi's complaints. He keeps you on his lap during councils, and whenever you stroll through town, he loves to lift you up and twirl you around. When you two are alone, he does get more intimate, especially kissing around your jaw.

Ranmaru, he loves to cuddle as close to you as possible. Where it be nuzzling your neck, head or anywhere just to smother you in his affection. He would most definitely try to cuddle you when he does his paperwork. He would also try to sit next to you whenever there was a warlord council, but much to Hideyoshi's scrutiny, he wouldn't do anything affectionate; just sit next to you.

Kenshin, this man will order all the fluffy coats available if it means covering you in them. It all started when you got cold and the moment he saw your head pop up from the furs, he wished to hold you in his arms and keep you there away from everyone. Of course, your little sniffles when you get sick don't make him turn away despite you berating him to not get sick too.

Sasuke, he isn't much for cuddles. However, when you two do, it's the best. Most of time, cuddles always come from emotional moments. Like the one time when Sasuke's squad didn't return like he was supposed to. When he did, he held you and never let go throughout the night, combing your hair with his fingers and whispering promises to you as your tears soaked his shirt.

Shingen, he LIVES for you swaddled in a blanket. Mornings are hard to get out from, since he completely locks you in his arms. Your hair spread out, the blanket up to your chin and your fingertips stuck out. He will cuddle you and trap you in his arms.

Yukimura, he craves cuddles a little too much. You could always tell his mood by cuddles. Hugging from the back? He doesn't want to talk about it. Hugging from the front but his face is past yours? He's going to burst into tears. Holding you by the midriff and kissing your hair? His way of "I'm too in love with you."

Yoshimoto, he loves to cuddle from waist. Your waist is just a perfect fit for his arms. As he encircles his arms to your waist, he would rest his head to your hair. His hairs would tickle your neck, but he doesn't care. All he needs is to feel you close.

Kennyo, he wasn't too upfront that he wanted cuddles but this man loves them to death and back, especially from you. You would cuddle him every chance you get, nuzzling yourself into his broad chest as you would stare into his eyes. He loves receiving cuddles, and appreciates the feeling of your palm cupping his cheek.

Motonari, is not really one for much cuddles. He can't really cuddle without making some kind of sensual comment. He doesn't say it but he likes receiving cuddles from you. He especially loves it when you pet his head. He'll eventually give in to the hug, but it's mostly going to end with you in his arms.

[zoennes]

I appreciate that some people are trying to make sense of the mess that is Zoenne’s storyline this season but I honestly can’t wrap my mind around it.

At the beginning, with the whole partying thing, I thought it would be about Senne sabotaging himself/their relationship, because the Senne we saw in s2 wouldn’t be leaving Zoë alone to go partying. He could always go to a party or two without her, don’t get me wrong. That’s healthy, they can have their separate lives/have fun without each other. While Zoë was always going out with the girl squad in the previous seasons, in s3 apart from ep 3 they were never with Zoë, which made me feel even more the weight of Senne not being there with her. Plus, when one of them was with her it was to make her feel insecure: Amber telling her Senne wasn’t missing her, asking if they’re in an open relationship, etc. 

The partying was never shown as normal behavior, though. It was always implied this was an issue. It was brought up every time we saw them: Zoë saying “see you tomorrow” when he said “see you tonight”, the way he was always out and she couldn’t sleep ~because~ of it, so much so she locked their bedroom door and he had to sleep on the couch when he got home so she could sleep for a whole night. 

Making him not reply to her messages was so ooc, when would Senne do that? That whole Halloween week was a nightmare. She was stuck with the idea Amber planted in her head (that he might have been cheating) while he didn’t care to reply to a message she sent saying she wished he was there and to the other messages she sent him that weekend. On Halloween night she was also checking her phone and looking disappointed, which makes me believe he wasn’t keeping in touch during that whole week. Also, why didn’t he go with her? (At least for the weekend.) Why wasn’t he home the night she got back from the trip? Oh yes, he was partying! 

Ok, this was a recurring drama that so far hasn’t been properly addressed, they don’t talk about it, Senne seems to think this is all okay and Zoë doesn’t want to make a big deal out of it even though it bothers her.

Then, to make things worse, the Zoë-is-not-testifying storyline came along.

To see this character testifying was something we always wanted.

It was realistic to show how women feel like it’s better to ‘forget’ what they’ve been through than relive it all going to court and having to tell strangers about it. The shame and guilt sa victims feel even though what happened wasn’t their fault at all is very real, unfortunately.

From what we’ve seen of s2 Zoenne though, they always talked. It could begin as an argument but 1 minute later they’d be understanding each other’s point of view/reasons for acting a certain way (most of the time). Plus they were going through extreme circumstances. And now they LIVE together, I imagine they would be able to talk and understand what the other was feeling much more instead of screaming at each other or leaving slamming doors. Zoë wouldn’t be throwing at his face this is her problem and he has nothing to do with it, because deep down and being the empathetic person she is she knows he feels very guilty about what happened to her. Senne would talk to her in a way that would make her feel better, feel she can count on him always, like he did many times before. 

Notice that she said Senne was being pushy in s2 when he was talking about them meeting with Viktor, that only happened because she was super nervous about his offer and he couldn’t have guessed why, he wasn’t really being pushy. Now she’s feeling just like that again. After 382 fights Zoë suddenly decides to testify, letting him know she’s doing it for herself and not for him. He seems pretty happy and okay about it. (As he should!) He just wants his brother to pay for what he did to her. It’s complicated af, but to them I feel like it wouldn’t be this complicated, you know? Because they were always very honest, I believe he would end up talking about feeling guilty again and she would assure him it wasn’t his fault. She would tell him it hurts to remember it all and he would hug her and make her feel a bit better. They would come to an agreement after all, even if their opinions diverged.

Yesterday was the last straw for me. I couldn’t even cry because I was so shocked. I couldn’t and I still can’t believe they did that to this important part of Zoenne’s story. I loathed this clip.

Their whole argument was bullshit. So unecessary. So hurtful. S2 Senne would have been preparing her for this day through the whole week, all of them would, actually, but he’d be spoiling her, and his support would give her the extra strength she needed. Not because a woman needs a man but because we feel stronger when we have someone we love supporting us.

Making Milan convince her to go in 30 seconds of conversation... makes 0 sense and it’s definitely not the way I thought this storyline would end. I’m heartbroken that that’s what they decided to do. Milan is very important to Zoë, he’s a great friend, but this was supposed to be a Zoenne moment. They were Viktor’s victims, Senne should have been the one going with her, YOU CAN’T CHANGE MY MIND.

Their chat gave me a minute of peace but... for how long?

The partying thing is still there, this Viktor nightmare needs to be worked through (maybe both of them should go to therapy together, it’s that serious, yes) and the saddest thing and the main reason why I don’t understand the point behind giving them more than 1 difficult problem to deal with during these past few months is: it’s not their season anymore. We won’t be seeing the way things unfold, we can’t be with them when they’re enjoying each other’s company, we mostly got to see the ugly parts. Why give them more shit to get through if they’re not the main focus of the show anymore? How can we be satisfied if we can’t watch them working through all this? If they keep them together, that is... 

Just imagining Zoë being miserable around the girl squad in s4 (either because Senne is acting *OOC* or because they aren’t together) while Amber talks about how wonderful her boyfriend is... it makes me sick. (Nothing against Amber btw, I’m just using it as an example of how unfair the story goes when it comes to this pairing. They went through hell to be and stay together while for other people it’s so easy and uncomplicated.)

It makes me sick because s2 Zoenne is wonderful. And powerful, and passionate and intense but also full of love and patience, even if both of them are extra when it comes to being dramatic. (They had their reasons, let’s be real.) They love each other so much.

I wish they had respected Senne’s growth (the fact that he EVOLVED!) during the course of the previous two seasons instead of giving him the party guy crown this season among other stuff that made it look like the promise of not wanting to be a jerk anymore isn’t being taken seriously, and I wish they had shown us how they were getting over the obstacles s2 threw at them and making their new relationship status aka living together work, even if it’s not always easy. I didn’t want perfect, I wanted normal problems that could be solved with talking and tickling and kissing. It’s enough drama for a lifetime, what they went through in s2. No one likes to see their OTP suffering during an entire season!!! I wish we had had a few more cute parallels to s2 or new cute breadcrumbs every 30 seconds they would appear in a clip. I’m so beyond salvation that I see a couple that moved in together being happy in a movie or something and I feel bitter, I sigh deeply and think “that could have been Zoenne, if only...”

My wishes are worthless, I know.

But that’s what I hoped and it will always be the way I see them and I know a lot of people would agree with me.

Let’s put our clown make up on and wait for what’s coming. 

One thing I know: I won’t ever stop loving the characters I got to know so well. I will probably write lots of fics to cope until they come back to us, the OTP we fell so deeply in love with last season. I still hope this will happen and that it won’t be just a thing that happens when the show is ending, I want to see them happy and enjoying each other’s company with no ghosts or stupid storylines to make them suffer. I don’t want an endgame only, I want and could watch them washing dishes and walking holding hands in parks for the rest of my life.

I’m counting on you to not leave me alone in this. Zoenne deserves our love, they always will.

[bonernas]

A Song of Bobs and Berts

Part 2/7

Word Count: 4,270

Disclaimer: This is a crackfic about the different Bobsonas, based on actor Robert Downey Jr. and his questionable fashion sense. It also includes some hints on other people and things related to the MCU. For more info about the Bobsonas and their respectful creators, please check the link below!

Warnings: rated T, no Bobs were harmed in the making of this fic, mentions of (use of) drugs, swearing, this is a mobster fic set in the noire genre so blood, weapons and violence might become a thing, skipped the typical homophobia and racism tho but a lot of people use roids and crystal

Summary:  When Bobster Di Seta, one of Twunky Town’s most feared mobsters, finds out that Boberto Laineux, brother of Bobster’s arch enemy, Robert “The Bobfather” Laineux, was elected the city’s new mayor, he needs to put an end to the reign of the french mafia. To infiltrate the Laineux family and increase the sales of his own drugs, he orders his handsome underling, Steeb, to seduce the only heir of the Bobfather: Bobling Laineux, the doe-eyed billionare playboy. But just when Steeb discovers that there’s more to the young mobster than good looks and sassy one-liners, their blooming romance is put to the test by a cold-blooded murder. Will the only unbribable cop of Twunky Town’s police force solve this case before the city falls into war? Or will the rivalry of the two mobster clans turn everything into ashes?

A Story based on the RDJ spectrum

Part One | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

Chapter Two - A Clash of Hunks

Unlike Steeb, I went home alone that night. Not even a whole bottle of fine scotch could wash away the bitterness of watching my fellow detectives goof around with Twunky Town’s mafia elite, joking like they were old friends from college. None of them even batting an eye on the vivid fluctuation of happy pills, most guests way too tipsy to even try and be discrete about it.

This remained the schedule for the next couple weeks. Robert Laineux baiting vice squad with fancy venues and parties, my colleagues shutting their eyes and ears for the sake of free booze and an occasional tête-á-tête, and me occupying the most secluded table for me and my bitter thoughts. Why I still showed up even if I had no intention to become one of the Bobfather’s footmen? Well, because the reward for openly declining the french mafia’s generosity is a tailored pair of concrete boots, and I’m more the slipper kind of guy.

One cold and damp morning in April I woke up even more hungover than usual, dragging myself to the PD to let this city drain some more of my mental stability. My colleagues were already at their desks, chatting gleefully. We would be off for another day of surveilling people that weren’t a real threat and doing anything but our actual work; maybe arrest some poor fella who tried to mess with the wrong mafioso, but that’d be it. Or so I thought.

When chief Prime entered with a stern face and two men in suits at his flank, I couldn’t help to feel somewhat hopeful.

 Steeb woke up to something soft tickling his cheek. He blinked sleepily and got confused for a second. Right, this wasn’t his tiny downtown apartment. He hadn’t slept in his own bed all week. In fact, he had spent all his nights in the largest bedroom of a neat little townhouse owned by the city’s most feared mobster, trying to seduce his son. On behest of his boss, the mobster’s fiercest rival. Well, way to start the day, Steeb.

Early April sun found its way through a small gap in a pair of heavy royal blue curtains and illuminated the pristine features of Bobling’s face resting on his chest. A sheepish smile snuck on Steeb’s lips as his fingers gently combed through his sweetheart’s tousled locks. The younger man sighed and cuddled deeper into Steeb’s side, his breath warm and soft on bare skin.

Steeb remembered their first night together, almost two months ago. From the ride home in Bobling’s crimson red Bentley to waking up tangled in silk sheets and feeling pleasantly sore, it was nothing but heated, sensual and passionate. And staged, so that Bobster Di Seta could outsmart the Bobfather.

But to be honest, Steeb thought while placing a soft kiss on his beau’s temple, he began to savor waking up with the young mobster next to him. On their first few rendezvous’ Bobling was ridiculously enchanting, flirting shamelessly with him, perfectly aware of his effect on the blonde. He only learned about his softer side on their sixth date, when Steeb took his sweetheart for a nightly stroll through the park and Bobling fawned over a kitten that crossed their way.

Watching the heir of the Laineux family kneeling on the pathway in slacks worth a small fortune, cooing and speaking softly with his new furry friend, it did something with Steeb. When they returned back to the townhouse that night, it was the first time that he forgot the purpose of his charade and just indulged in the touch of soft lips caressing his neck and the sensation of delicate fingers tracing his hip bone.

While Steeb was still fighting to admit how smitten he was already, Bobling woke up, gaze slowly focusing on the bare chest he was resting on. He stretched with a small yawn and placed a sloppy kiss on Steeb’s lips - or at least he tried.

“Mornin’”, he mumbled against the blonde’s cheek. He felt Steeb shift, harboring him in his big and strong arms. Definitely something Bobling could get used to.

“Morning, sleepyhead”, Steeb chuckled. He left a small trail of pecks on the mobster’s jawline and was just about to nuzzle his face into soft brown curls when a loud knock on the door made both of them jump. The person outside didn’t deem it necessary to wait for being asked in but just rushed inside with large, urgent steps.

“For God’s sake, Barney, didn’t your maman teach you any manners?”, Bobling yelped. Barney Bucket, head of his security guard, strode over to the windows as if he hadn’t heard his boss. He opened the curtains with a resolute tuck before he turned around and faced the two men, completely unimpressed by their bewildered state and lack of clothes.

“You have to get up, Sir. Your father needs you in his office as soon as possible. The chief of the TTPD called half an hour ago; I’m afraid it’s something serious.”

Bobling sighed and crawled out of the huge four poster, scurrying over to his walk-in closet. The moment he went past his guard, Barney turned and shot Steeb a disapproving look. The blonde already had a hard time untangling the sheets to cover at least some of his exposed skin, and the other man’s piercing glares didn’t make it any easier. He felt like an intruder. Well, technically, he was, or at least he was supposed to be one.

Bobling returned fully dressed and ruffled his hair a few times to get rid of his bed head. He rushed to the door, followed by Barney, but came to a halt abruptly to turn back to Steeb. 

“Love, I’m sorry, my father’s not the kind of person you keep waiting. Feel at home and ask Barney if you need something. He’s gonna get you some breakfast and will drive you back home. I’m afraid this is going to take some time”, the young mobster said with a resentful look. Steeb flashed him a smile and nodded.

Barney didn’t seem all too pleased with his new task, but remained silent until his boss left and hurried down the hallway. With the sound of Bobling’s steps fading, he turned back to Steeb, casually leaning on the door frame and piercing the blonde one with menacing stares.

Steeb tried to not take it personally. He got up, holding the sheets awkwardly draped around his hips with one hand, and picked up his clothes with the other. Barney seemed to have no intention to leave; he just stood there and watched Steeb’s every move. Only when he finally found the other sock and headed over to the roomy walk-in the guard switched positions, now leaning in the closets door frame, forcing it to remain open. Steeb sighed, dropped his clothes on one of the chairs and turned back to him, one brow raised.

“Care to wait outside while I change?”

“Why? Got something to hide, golden boy?”, Barney snarled. Something in his tone told Steeb that they were not talking about inches.

“Actually, yes. I don’t know what your problem is, but last time I checked this wasn’t a cabaret. So mind your own business, please.”

“Oh don’t worry, I do.” Barney snickered, but his brows remained furrowed. “It is my business to keep Mr. Laineux and his family safe, to protect them. Especially from scum like Bobster Di Seta and his beefy little henchman here.”

Steeb gulped. Who was this guy and how did he know about his connection with the Di Seta family? He tried to keep his pokerface but the brunette must’ve seen him flicker for a moment. Barney left his spot at the frame and closed the distance in two slow, calculating steps.

“D’you have any idea how easy it’d be for me to just kick in your pearly whites and make it look like an accident? You’re not the first piece of trash I dragged out of this room. You’re by far not the first labagiu trying to get to Mr. Laineux through his son’s pants, and I’ve had enough of it. Put your clothes on and get the fuck out of here.” With this he turned to go back to the bedroom, but Steeb wasn’t having any of it. 

“Listen here, Freundchen, I don’t know why you’re so obsessed with your boss’ love life, but miss me with the bullshit. We’re both two grown men and so is the guy who, by the way, gave you an order. I don’t care for the people that were here before me and especially not for you and your paranoid conspiracies. I’m here for Bobling because I want to, not because I was ordered, and if he’d ask me to, I’d leave and never come back. But until then, I’ll come if he wants my company. And if you’re still so bitter about my presence here, go and tell him your cute little story, let’s see how funny he finds it.”

Barney didn’t move an inch, didn’t even blink. Steeb had dropped the sheet when he strode over to Bobling’s guard, stopping only inches in front of him, using the height difference to tower over the brunette menacingly. His nudity did his intimidating appearance no harm - in fact his bare muscles flexing made his speech even more threatening. Barney’s face remained stern and unmoved, and without a word he turned around and left the bedroom, closing the door a tat too harsh to pass as relaxed.

Steeb took a deep breath. That was close, way too close. He wondered if Barney actually believed him, or if he would tell Bobling about his suspicions anyway. However, he had to get dressed and back to report to his boss, so he skipped the shower and just slipped back into his clothes, giving his reflection in the gold-framed mirror a quick scan before heading out for a cab. Orders or not, he wouldn’t let Barney drive him anywhere. The guy would probably crash into a bridge pier just to get rid of him.

While the cab driver navigated through the lazy morning traffic, Steebs thoughts kept wandering back to what just happened. He straight up lied about his true intentions to the french mafia’s head bodyguard. Didn’t feel like a lie, though. There was no point in denying that he felt oddly close to the heir of Laineux family, and that Bobling was quite fond of him, too. They went from passionate, light-minded nights to morning kisses and cuddles so fast, and just thinking of holding the handsome beau in his arms, reveling in the sweet scent of his skin, made it hard for Steeb to focus on what he was about to do: Meeting Mr. Di Seta for further instructions on how to fool the man he obviously had fallen for.

 Robert Laineux’ office was decadent, to put it nicely. The dark, noble bookshelves looked like someone spent all day to polish them; a neat little fire burnt in a fireplace the size of my car, covered in ornaments. His desk made a king-sized bed look like a cot, and I’m convinced you’d need two people to lift one of the leather-covered armchairs scattered all over the room.

Chief Prime and I followed Mr. Laineux’ butler to the head of the room, where he already sat with who must be his son, Bobling. The latter remained in his seat, eyeing us suspiciously while Chief Prime shook the Bobfather’s hand.

“Bobtimus. I did as you said and asked Bobling to come as fast as he could. Now if you’d please tell us why we’re all gathered here? On the phone you sounded as if someone died.”

“Well, that’s because someone did”, Chief Prime answered with a grim expression as soon as the butler had left the office. He took a seat and gestured me to do the same.

“Robert, your brother Boberto has been found dead this morning in the mayor’s office. The coroner assumes it was a heart attack, but given his young age and fit condition I have my fair share of doubts. I had a forensics team secure evidence in his office and ordered the department to treat every aspect of this with the utmost confidentiality before I called you. With your approval, I’d like to run an autopsy and have Detective Bob Downey here investigate the case.”

The Bobfather and his son sat there motionless, faces blank. No one spoke for a solid minute. Chief Prime shifted in his seat, probably thinking he went to far with his precautions. When the Bobfather finally moved he just tilted his head, eyes resting on me, piercing me with an intensity that it felt as if he looked right through me. Now it was my turn to shift nervously.

“Detective Downey, you said? Well, Bobtimus. My brother’s dead and you come rushing in here telling me you believe it’s a bloody murder and that you started collecting evidence before even telling me. And now you want me to sign off the case to a cop that doesn’t even work in homicide and, on top of that, still refuses to work with me?”

Well, that’s one way to say I didn’t let your drug money make me docile.

“Robert, that’s exactly why I picked him. Not only is he one of my finest detectives, he’s also the only one you could possibly trust to actually find out the truth. The rest of the bunch is more interested in their own benefits, and that was fine until now”, the Chief proclaimed, “but something’s fishy about Boberto’s death and I wouldn’t want anyone on that case who took bribe before.”

“Everybody’s got their price”, muttered the young Laineux and we all turned our head in surprise. He looked me straight in the eye and proceeded: “What’s your price, Detective Downey? What could be in for you to help your enemy?”

“I wouldn’t call you my enemy.” Oh yes, indeed I would you little brat. “But frankly said, we’re not on good terms either. I joined the police because I believe in justice and want to do what’s right. And if Mayor Laineux died by someone’s hand, then I’ll find out who did it.”

“Fine”, Robert said after the two of them eyed me up and down once more. “Go and see what you can find out. If someone killed my brother, I want his head. And Bobtimus”, he snarled, glaring at Chief Prime, “I want to be the first one to know when there’s even the slightest bit of new info on this case, you got me?”

“Of course, Sir”, the Chief hurried to answer. The Bobfather didn’t respond and just dismissed us with a small nod.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Chief Prime walk that fast.

 “Goddammit!”, Bobster yelled for the third time this day. Steeb had an odd déjà-vu, standing on the patio and watching the alpacas slowly moving away from his furious boss. Mr. Di Seta paced up and down the railing, brows furrowed and deep in thought. Only minutes before Steeb had arrived at the mobster’s manor, a little bird had brought the news of Mayor Laineux’ death. At first the blonde deemed those great news for the Di Seta family, but Bobster’s reaction taught him otherwise. Now he just waited nervously for the mafioso to calm down and give him further instructions.

“Okay boy, here’s what we do: You keep that little game of yours up.” After what seemed an eternity, Bobster finally stopped and talked to Steeb. “If we retreat now, it’ll look suspicious. But we can’t make any more moves either. Not until we have more detail about Boberto’s death. Just keep it calm, fly below the radar until things get sorted out a bit more.”

“Alright, boss. But-”, Steeb hesitated, “may I ask why you’re so upset? Shouldn’t it be great that the mayor’s office isn’t occupied by the french anymore?”

Bobster huffed. “Steeb, there’s so much more to a dead brother and mayor than to a son sleeping with the enemy. My goal was to either estrange Robert from his son by finding out about your little affair in the worst case, or to manipulate the Laineux through your influence on the little dipshit in the best. I never wanted war. I just wanted my fair share of clients and income. Boberto as mayor wasn’t an ideal situation for us, that’s true, but a murder investigation is way worse.”

 And murder it was. The coroner called me the next day to let me know how the autopsy went. Chief Prime was correct: Boberto could’ve lived up to a hundred years, his organs were in great shape. But he found some herbs in the mayor’s stomach and ran a few tests. Turns out someone added a rare pufferfish poison to his favourite tea, making it look like Boberto’s heart just failed. Without the leftovers to be tested, nobody would’ve ever found out.

So we knew it was definitely murder, and we had the murder weapon. Two days later I was going through files of possible culprits when the phone on my desk rang. The head of forensics called to inform me about the fingerprints on the tea box. They belonged to no other than Baebert Ullen, Robert and Boberto Laineux’ stepbrother.

 “Oh Steeb, I’m so glad you had time”, Bobling exclaimed as he opened the door to let his sweetheart in. He rose to his tiptoes and pressed a quick kiss on the blonde’s lips before they went inside. Steeb followed him through the hallway into a light-flooded living room.

One of the broad velvet sofas was occupied by two men, one of them reading to the toddler in his lap. The other one looked up and immediately hopped to his feet when he spotted Steeb and Bobling. Equally amused and bewildered Steeb recognized the man’s pants as Lederhosn, something he hadn’t seen since he had been deployed in Germany. It oddly fit the aesthetic of dark rimmed glasses and a plaid button down in powder pink. Taking a second glimpse at the three men and the toddler, Steeb also noticed that big, dark eyes and curls the colour of coffee seemed to run in the family.

“Bobling, honey. Is that your boyfriend? My, he’s handsome. Isn’t he handsome, Bobbo?” The man referred to as Bobbo looked up from the book and gave Steeb a curt nod. Steeb had no time to repay the gesture though. The man in Lederhosn, without a doubt Bobling’s uncle Baebert, grabbed his face and pressed a kiss on each of Steebs cheeks.

“Pleasure to meet you, son. Bobling told us so much abou-”

“Uncle, stop. And he’s not my- just... just stop”, Bobling interfered. Baebert smiled knowingly and gave Steeb a quick hug before he clapped his hands.

“Whatever you say, darling! Anyway. Bobbo, can you fetch Bobbae’s jacket? We should leave those two lovebirds to themselves. And Robert said the attorney would be at his place around five, so we should get going anyway. But it was so nice to finally meet you, Steeb dear.”

Steeb got pulled in for another hug and round of kisses and before he could even think of an appropriate response, the three of them were already at the door. Bobling let them out before he sank down on the couch next to Steeb with a small sigh.

“Sorry”, he mumbled against Steeb’s shoulder, “uncle Baebert is a bit.. special. Loves to kiss each and everyone. Quite a hugger. Bit eccentric from time to time.”

“He seemed lovely”, Steeb chuckled as he pulled the brunette into his arms and lay down with him, his thumbs rubbing small circles into Bobling’s skin. The younger man hummed in approval.

“Thank you for coming over. The last few days were nothing but crazy, I didn’t even have the time to give you a call.” The mobster wrapped his arms around Steeb’s waist and nuzzled into the crook of his neck before he spoke again. “First they tell me that my uncle died, then they find out he was murdered, now they’re trying to arrest my other uncle for said murder. You just met Baebert. Does he seem like a murderer to you? Something’s off with this story. Father always had been on great terms with both of them. They think uncle murdered Boberto because he was only their stepbrother and therefore no heir to the Laineux family, but father said none of them was ever bitter about that. And Bobbo is a famous architect, he practically designed half of Oslo. There’s no need to go after Boberto’s money. D’you think uncle Baebert would kill someone? He’s got a kid and a husband. I think he has better things to do than murdering his own, let alone a mobster’s brother”, Bobling mumbled into the hem of Steeb’s shirt before letting out a small sigh. “I’m sorry, love. You sure got better things to do than to listen to me ramble.”

“No problem. Isn’t that what boyfriends are for?”, Steeb asked with a saucy grin. Bobling’s cheeks went as pink as his uncle’s shirt and he tried to hide at Steeb’s shoulder, but the blonde cupped his face with both hands and gently forced his sweetheart to look at him.

Bobling held his gaze for a few moments before his eyes fluttered shut. Slowly, almost shy, he leaned into Steeb’s touch, pressing a little kiss on the taller man’s wrist. Steeb’s thumb ghosted over his cheekbone, down his jaw and traced the outlines of his bottom lip. And when Bobling opened his eyes again, there was nothing left of the frivolous, flirty beau, just a tired and sad boy asking for comfort.

“Care to stay with me tonight?”

And when Steeb bent down to place a kiss on the spot his thumb just marked, there was nothing lustful, nothing passionate to it. No faked feelings, no ulterior motifs, just a lovestruck idiot longing for his dear one’s touch.

“I’ll stay as long as you want.”

 Will Baebert be arrested for murder, or his fashion sense? Did the author discover that there is a Bavarian Wikipedia while looking up the correct spelling of Lederhosn? Will Steeb and Bobling establish a healthy relationship or will their romance turn to dust? Will the author ever not get carried away by fluffy Dorito boy pining for his beau? Will the author ever get tired of using the word beau? Did the author accidentally create a new Transformers AU while writing? And why do Americans refuse to use the accents on french terms? Find out in the next chapter!

A/N: (labagiu is Romanian for wanker according to Google, Freundchen is basically friend in German, but is mostly used to address someone in an angry, disrespectful way, like you sometimes do with buddy or pal. I figured that both Steeb and Barney went to war and that they learned some phrases there that they now used to look cool and eloquent to the other. They both failed, obviously)

[amyscascadingtabs]

i’ll take your hand when thunder roars

He’s a snivelling, close-to-bawling mess hugging her tight and whispering in her ear how he missed her so much and she strokes his close-cropped hair and says she missed him more and he thinks impossible.

Coming home after eight weeks in prison turns out to be not quite as easy or smooth-sailing as Jake had thought. Luckily, he's not alone.

read on ao3

(a.k.a the post-prison hurt/comfort fic i’ve been thinking about for months and talking about for like a week is finally here)

Considering he hasn’t seen his girlfriend since the latest visiting day was cut short and he only just escaped being stabbed and castrated by Romero’s gang by a hair’s breadth, Jake figures it’d be best of him to perform some super romantic gesture when they finally reunite for the first time. For example, he could give a lengthy, poetic speech containing declarations of love so well-formulated they’d be right at home in a Nicholas Sparks novel. He could propose to her right then and there, completely ignoring how he’s both still ring-less and can think of more idyllic or meaningful places to pop the question than outside a correctional facility. He could lift her up and spin her round while kissing her to imitate the classical Hollywood happy ending. He could even do all three of these ideas following each other.

He ends up not doing any of them.

Because the moment he lays eyes on her sitting on a chair in the impersonal waiting room, biting her nails and staring coldly at the floor, he bursts into tears.

They’re not even cute tears, such as the kind you dab away with the back of your hand and pretend your eyes didn’t tear up at all to the end of the eighth Harry Potter movie.

No, this is full on ugly crying. And it won't even stop. He’s a snivelling, close-to-bawling mess hugging her tight and whispering in her ear how he missed her so much and she strokes his close-cropped hair and says she missed him more and he thinks impossible, because it should be.

His hand rests on hers as they drive to the airport, his thumb rubbing close circles over the soft skin while they chat. South Carolina is passing by outside the car windows, and he makes a promise to himself never to re-enter the state while Amy recaps the events of the last two months.

Gina’s only weeks away from having her baby. Nikolaj is doing great in his new year in school and Charles won’t stop talking about it. She worked a serial arson case she knows he would have loved. She went to dinner at Holt and Kevin’s house one night, which she says was the highlight of her time without him even though her allergies made her spend half the occasion sneezing. When they weren’t working to bust Hawkins, their lives moved on while his stood still, diminished to a reality of bright orange jumpsuits, inhumane guards and food worse than the time Amy tried to make a pulled pork stew by herself. He refrains from telling her how much it hurts to think about, opting instead to gaze at her while she drives and thank every single higher power the Universe could possibly hold that he’s back in her presence.

The first meal he has out of prison is an airport BLT from a plastic carton. It’s still the best meal he’s eaten in weeks. It’s made even better by the company, of course - chatting away almost nervously next to him, continuing to tell him stories and only sometimes going silent to let him know she missed him with a gentle squeeze of his shoulder - their secret code. He smiles then, meets those dark brown eyes he hopes their eventual children will inherit and tells her repeatedly babe, there is no way you missed me more than I missed you.

Both of them fall asleep during the two hour flight back to New York, Amy’s head a relaxing weight on his left shoulder and his left arm wrapped around her. Every now and then he presses kisses to her hairline while their jean-clad legs stay tangled together, only because he can finally, finally do that now.

“Your beard tickles”, she mumbles half-asleep one time, and he wonders aloud if it bothers her.

“No”, she says quietly then. “Not as long as you’re here.”

A cab ride through hectic Brooklyn traffic later, he’s back in their apartment again. They only have an hour to spare there before meeting the rest of the squad for an obligatory celebration at Shaw’s, an hour during which he spends twenty minutes walking around their shared living space while Amy showers. Everything is near the same; there’s a six-pack of orange soda in the fridge, one of his hoodies hangs slumped across a chair (except this one smells like Amy now) and the mornings’ only half-solved crossword puzzle has been left on the dining table. Most of all, it looks and feels like home, like comfort and privacy and being blissfully safe and together with his girlfriend again. As if this is just another Friday afternoon getting ready for a few drinks with the squad at Shaw’s. As if nothing has changed.

Except it has, because the moment he thinks about closing the bathroom door to shower he gets nervous. The heart beating faster, funny feeling in his stomach, head spinning kind of nervous. He barges out still fully dry with the towel around his waist to ask Amy if there’s any way she could stay inside the room while he cleans himself up, and even though she does gives him a concerned, examining look he doesn't like, she quickly nods.

He showers to the sound of her solving the rest of her crossword puzzle sitting on the bathroom floor. She reads the clues out loud and hums almost exaggeratedly while she works, and it's a blessing.

Closed doors and silence remind him of solitary now.

They’re leaving in ten minutes when he asks her the one question his mind refuses to let go of.

“Ames?”

“Mm-hmm?”

“What do you think about the beard? Honest? Is it everything you dreamt of?”

“Oh.” She blushes, thumbing at the hems of her pink sweater without meeting his eyes. “It's great, Jake.”

“You don’t really think so”, he prys, knowing her too well to be satisfied with the first answer.

“If I’m being honest, it doesn't really look like… you?” Her suggestion is doubting and accompanied by a small grimace. “Maybe? It’s up to you, but… I liked you without it.”

The smile he gives her is one of relief. “I was thinking the exact same thing.”

They’re the first ones to leave the bar that night - even earlier than Terry, so eager to get home to his kids - and Charles gives them a meaning look as they do, his eyebrows pumping as he tells them to have a good night. Amy promptly shoots him an unappreciative glare, but the fervor and eagerness with which she kisses Jake the moment they’re alone outside makes him wonder if his friend just might have had a point there.

And yeah, fine, it's been eight weeks. More, since they didn’t exactly have oceans of free time before the trial. It's not like the thought doesn't cross his over-exhausted mind when they stumble into the bedroom to change into their respective oversized grey NYPD t-shirts and crawl down under the covers. But he’s tired, he’s so mind-numbingly all-consumingly tired, and their mattress is actually comfortable and the duvet is actually warm and his pillow smells like their detergent and a faint trace of Amy’s shampoo, so he decides the fantasies he entertained himself with in prison can wait a little while. Luckily, he also fantasised about falling asleep next to her, legs intertwined and an arm around her waist for optimal closeness when pressing sleepy kisses to her lips and nose and forehead, and that fantasy he gets to fulfill.

The sound of Amy’s quiet breathing and the warmth her exhales leave against his neck is infinity times better than his cannibal bunk-mate’s snoring and accidentally waking himself by moving his forehead to close to the cold wall in his cell.

Waking up is better outside prison, too. Not even the jubilant joy flowing through him the mornings of visiting days even begins to compare to what he feels opening his eyes after a night of decent rest only to find his girlfriend looking back at him, coy smile and an offer about going out to the bagel shop around the corner to get breakfast. He agrees to it, and even though he’s devoured far too many pizza bagels in his life to be able to rank them all in a fair manner, he’s still pretty sure this one gets first place.

“This is the best breakfast of my life”, he declares when he puts his plate down on the floor and grabs the takeaway cup to chug the last of his coffee. “No pizza bagels in prison. Absolute worst thing about it.”

She raises an eyebrow, taking another bite of her no-pizza whole wheat cream cheese and scallion bagel. “Really, huh?”

“Must be, yeah.” Jake drags his thumb and index finger under his chin, pretending to contemplate what he missed most during his eight weeks of hell even though he knows the answer clear as day. “Can’t remember anything else I missed in there. Total blank. No search results found.”

She rolls her eyes at him the same way she’s done practically since the day they first started working together, the sight of it so familiar and heartwarming by now, and he budges immediately.

“Fine. I missed you. A lot. Like, a lot-a lot. All the time. Even more than pizza bagels.” He gives his grease-stained plate a longing look. “Ouch. That hurt to admit.”

“Well, I was planning to tell you I missed you too, but you just practically compared me to a pizza bagel. So no go.”

“I said you were better than a pizza bagel! That’s some serious stuff”, he argues, giving his best attempt at a moping face. “I can’t believe I didn’t win you over!”

Amy grins then, laughing and kissing him on the cheek before returning to today’s New York Times puzzle. “You already won me over, Pineapples. Pizza bagel love declarations and whatnot.”

They spend most of the day talking and napping together in bed, only moving to the couch around lunchtime for a few of the many DVR’d Property Brothers episodes he’s missed. They facetime Gina for a solid two minutes before she falls asleep and they call Charles instead, order pizza for dinner and don’t change out of their pajamas for the entire day. It’s the least eventful and most wonderful day Jake’s had in months.

It only grows better when the evening draws closer and the light, flirty teasing which has been a recurring theme for the day finally escalates. No fantasies or mashed potato portraits could ever compare to the sight and feel of her on top of him, and she makes sure he remembers it.

Yeah, the first part of Jake’s second night at home after prison is as sublime and faultless as it gets. It's the second part of it that bothers him.

Much like the first night, they fall asleep holding each other. It’s a reminder to themselves about how their eight weeks of hell are finally over, and it’s a little sweaty and impractical, but it still beats the remaining alternative of waking up to find the other gone. Even when they drift apart as the night moves on, Amy has a hand on his chest right over his heartbeat and he one on her shoulder, a physical closeness grounding him and serving as a protecting charm against the nightmares.

It works until it doesn’t.

It takes a while before he realizes it’s a nightmare. Only when Romero’s bearded face and beading eyes appear on the plasma screens earlier showing a first-rate Taylor Swift concert does Jake understand, his first thought being the simple notion that he didn’t even get to see the popstar perform Shake It Off yet.

“If it isn’t the beef baby”, the sly voice reverberates through the cell he’s suddenly back in. “Back so soon… Should’ve known better than to think your little friends would actually get you out.”

“I was innocent”, he tries to argue, but his voice deserts him and out comes only a meek whisper holding little to no self-persuasion. “I knew they would…”

“That wasn’t what I heard in the trial”, says another voice he hoped never to hear again. This time it belongs to Hawkins tall frame, towering over him where he’s crouched on the concrete floor. “It sounded more like… Guilty. On all charges.” She imitates the judge’s severe tone, then snickers. “Oh, yes. It was a true pleasure watching all your little friends panic like that. Fifteen years in prison… The perfect punishment for a dirty cop.”

“I’m not dirty”, he whispers again, only for her to imitate it back in a taunting voice.

“You always were a crack-up, Peralta”, he hears before everything goes black, and the next thing he knows is that he’s dying.

He’s not sure exactly how he knows he’s dying, but he knows. It’s the only plausible explanation to why it feels like someone’s tied a rope too tight around his chest, stripping him of the chance to draw breath in his lungs at a normal pace and speeding his heartbeat to worse than the time he tried running intervals with Rosa. He went to sleep in a bed with the perfect temperature and now he’s boiling under the covers, sweat dripping down his forehead and arms and he’s dying. He’s going to suffocate or get a stroke or simply lose consciousness for good, and some distant part of him still aware of his surroundings notes that he is crying. Great. He’s not even going to die in a dignified way, but instead a weeping, blubbering victim. Part of him can still hear Hawkins’ malicious laughter echoing - she must be watching him somehow - and nothing is real except the darkness in their unlit bedroom and the sound of his pounding heart and wheezing breath as his body fights to keep him alive.

A table lamp turns on somewhere, its illumination stinging in his eyes, and a voice is saying his name.

Not Hawkins voice. Not Romero’s. Amy’s voice.

His breathing eases marginally, but it does. Slowly but surely there’s a little more air in his lungs, giving him enough air to breathe even when the panicked fear remains prevalent.

“Jake”, she repeats, equal parts worry and composure in her tone. “Jake, I think you’re having a panic attack, okay? It’s going to pass. I promise. It’s okay, you’re okay...”

“Nightmare”, he manages to communicate, feeling the worst waves of panic die down with her continued promises assuring him he’s not in prison anymore, he’s here in their shared apartment and he’s perfectly safe. “Bad one.”

“You don’t have to talk about it”, she whispers. He finds the self-control to reach for her hand and squeeze it, the pressure when she squeezes it back grounding him further. His surroundings are slowly becoming real to him again, damp sheets clinging to his sweaty skin in an all but pleasurable way and he feels bad realizing this means Amy will probably want to change them tomorrow. He should offer to, he thinks.

The last thought merely passes by before the dread still lingering in his guts changes into another, more pressing sensation. He practically throws himself out of bed, making it just in time to the bathroom to lean his head over the toilet bowl and cough up yesterday’s dinner.

The possibility of anyone being willing to follow him in this repelling moment didn’t occur to him during the few seconds panic-sprinting out of their bedroom took, but he hears the unmistakable sound of water running from the faucet and realises his girlfriend - this in his eyes surrealistically loyal girlfriend, still not entirely disgusted by him - is there, too.

“Ames.” He can both feel and hear the raspiness in his voice. “Come on, you don’t have to see this.”

“Jake.” She’s pressing a pleasantly cold towel to his forehead and neck, dabbing at the beads of sweat still forming there. “I feel like you should know by now there’s no telling me what and what not to do. You had a panic attack, you got sick when it calmed down and I’m going to wait here with you until you feel better.”

“You should go back to sleep.”

“I literally just told you to stop telling me what to do”, she says resolutely and although it should be impossible he can practically hear her rolling her eyes. “We’re waiting here. Until you feel better.”

It takes a few minutes, but eventually the most intense queasiness passes. He dares to flush, rinses his mouth with water from a plastic cup Amy holds out to him, and finally relaxes against the wall attempting and succeeding at catching his breath.

“I don’t know if I can go back to sleep”, he admits when his head is resting on her thighs and she’s combing her fingers through his hair. “Tonight.”

“That’s okay. I won’t make you.”

“You still should, though.”

“There’s the telling me what to do again.” She sighs, shakes her head. “You need to stop it. Seriously, Jake.”

“Okay”, he tells her, but his guilty conscience isn’t agreeing.

His conscience does not get lighter as his third day as a free man progresses. His own exhaustion doesn’t bother him - there’s real coffee outside of prison, after all - but he sees Amy yawn and it tugs at his heart knowing he’s the cause of her fatigue. If it weren’t for his worthless head and stupid panic attack, she’d be well rested and not have to groan in disappointment upon discovering they’re almost out of food and have to go grocery shopping.

He decides it then and there, when she grumbles over being too tired to make a decent list; he can’t wake her up like this again.

There are no nightmares the next night. He doesn’t let there be.

To cut the explanation short, Jake Peralta doesn’t let himself fall asleep the next night. Sleep can lead to nightmares, nightmares can lead to panic attacks, panic attacks can lead to Amy waking up and she doesn’t deserve it. She’s spent too many sleepless nights at the precinct during his absence working with the others to bust Hawkins, mentioned it briefly in one of the many conversations they’ve had since he got home, and whilst she never says it outrightly he can feel how he’s ruined her life, being an inconvenience and a nuisance without even being there.

He has to make it up her. Although he’s not sure where to begin, he knows waking her up in the middle of the night cannot be the right way to go.

So when she falls asleep, first nestling her head into the crook of his neck and then shuffling a bit further away from him a short moment later, Jake stays awake.

There is one problem with staying awake when no one else is, though, one he quickly discovers. It means no one is there to distract him from his own thoughts.

Contrary to his initial reaction when he was left in solitary, his thoughts aren’t very awesome at all. They’re filled with fear of Hawkins and Romero and prison guards, of insistent loneliness and being deprived of a single hour of conversation with his girlfriend and best friend, of hoping but never knowing if the squad would get him out before fifteen years had passed. They’re riddled with guilt over once again having had to leave Amy and Charles and the squad behind without barely any contact, over how he once again missed his girlfriend’s birthday and over how he left her even after promising Florida would be the last time. They’re stubborn and repetitive and they don’t leave him alone no matter in how much detail he attempts to plan out his dream plot for Die Hard Six on a cruiseship.

Yeah. Jake’s thoughts suck. Repeating them to himself over and over in a dark bedroom feels unbearable, which is why he carefully makes his way out of the bedroom, out into the living room and onto the fire escape, grabbing a blanket from the couch as he goes.

Brooklyn streets are very different from prison, he finds. It makes them an effective antidote for someone who wants desperately to stop thinking about orange jumpsuits, concrete floors and meth-infused soaps. Time moves quickly on Brooklyn streets, with cars zooming by in a rush despite the late hour and inebriated club-goers laughing as they make their way home. Bright street lights illuminate his view, making clear how the buzzing volume and brightness and pure life of everything he sees from here is everything prison was not.

He spent eight weeks away and coming back is already proving much more of a challenge than he’d thought. Everything's the same, from the sullen grocery clerk manning the checkout in their nearest store to the way his definitely meth-less body soap smells to how Charles never texts him less than twenty pictures of Nikolaj in a day, but he’s not the same anymore. Two months have gone without him being there to witness them, two months in which life simply continued for everyone else while his stood still.

He doesn’t want to think about what coming back after fifteen years would have been like.

His thoughts are interrupted when the window opens again and three more blankets, two pillows and one Amy join him out on the uncomfortable metal structure.

“You weren't in bed.” Jake hears the distress and fury in her tone before he sees her. She’s bundled up in the dark blue wool sweater she usually saves for mid-December, and together with the sleep-ruffled ponytail it’d be a cute look on her, were it not for the fact that she’s clearly been crying and is now staring him down using her most no-nonsense glare, the one usually reserved for asserting dominance during interrogations. “I woke up because the bed was cold and you just - you weren’t there.”

“Sorry, babe.” He shrugs, a tad sheepish. “Didn’t want to wake you up.”

“Oh, yeah, you didn’t want to wake me up. Clearly.” She snorts before placing one of the three blankets down on the cold metal beams and wrapping herself in the other two. “So it just didn’t occur to you at all that while you were gone, I might have spent a few evenings crying myself to sleep because the bed was empty and I had no idea for how long? You didn’t consider all the times I woke up in the middle of the night, trying to move closer to you because I was cold, only to realize you weren’t there because you were in prison possibly getting threatened to death and I couldn’t do anything about it? You just didn’t think about that, huh?”

“Amy-”

“Shut up!” She yells it loud enough for it to echo, tears falling again. He wipes them away for her, still unsure of what to do or how to react to his girlfriend’s sudden outrage except for listening. “You didn’t think. You didn’t think about how when I woke up because the bed was getting cold, my first thought was about how you were still in prison and these last few days with you must had been some kind of mirage, some dreamlike fantasy I had hallucinated to deal with you being gone for god knows how long. You didn’t think about how I tried to repeat every single detail about our case against Hawkins in my head to tell myself we were getting you out. You didn’t think about how I for one awful, awful second thought I’d lost you all over again.” She’s panting, gasping for breath when she finishes the angered monologue.

“No.” He’s looking at his feet, suddenly too flustered to say much more only because she’s right. “I guess I didn’t.”

“You’re a real idiot sometimes, you know that?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

She takes a deep breath and links her hand with his. “You’re my idiot, though. But I’m still mad at you.”

“I just - you were so tired today, after I couldn’t go back to sleep last night, and I hated how it was my fault. You shouldn’t have to stay up with me or babysit me. It’s not fair to you.”

“Do you know how many sleepless nights I had when you were gone?”

“No?”

“Me neither. I lost count.” There’s a second of nervous laughter there, despite the message not actually being funny, a second where she moves closer to him to lean her head on his shoulder. “Like, fully lost count. I was running on caffeine and energy shots for the first two weeks, because every time I closed my eyes I saw the judge declaring you guilty and Hawkins and you and Rosa and then you behind prison bars, you being beaten up... I was practically expecting Captain Holt to call and tell me you were dead any minute.”

“You went to prison and came back safe”, he interjects.

“I went to prison undercover with constant supervision meaning I was never in any real danger and it’s not pertinent to the point I’m trying to make here.” She shakes her head. “I would much, much rather you wake me up ten times a night than having to wake up wondering if you’re okay. Because I already did. For so many nights. And I would like it to stop now. I really want it to stop.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, okay.” He puts an arm around the blankets covering her, knowing she’s most likely chilly despite them. “I’ll do it next time. Promise.”

“Good.”

They’re silent for a moment, watching the cars go by without speaking before she asks.

“Why were you out here, anyway? What were you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

“I’m not buying it, babe.”

“Fine”, he sighs. “I was thinking about all the things I’ve missed. And then I began thinking about all the things I would have missed if I’d been gone for longer. Like, if I were in there for fifteen years, we would’ve been fifty when I got out. I would have missed you making Sergeant and Lieutenant and Captain, and we’d be too old to have kids, and you would probably have fallen out of love with me and you’d be someone else and I’d be someone else. I’m already different. I already feel like I’ve forgotten how to be me.”

“You’re still you, Jake”, she whispers back without missing a beat. “You’re still the joking, uniquely intelligent, impulsive, sometimes slightly annoying but always entertaining Die Hard-nerd I love so much. I promise.”

“But I’m different. I feel different. I wanted things to be normal and they’re… they’re not. Because I changed.”

“So did I”, she admits, still seeming unbothered by his reveals. “It’d be strange if you didn’t change after what you went through. And it’s gonna get easier, and yes, maybe you’ll never be the exact same, or normal if that’s what you want to call it. But maybe you’ll find a new normal. Maybe we’ll find a new normal.”

He doesn’t answer her directly, just kisses the top of her head from where he can reach and draws her closer into him, revelling in the sweet bliss of having her close again.

“God, Ames, I don’t deserve you, do I?” The words feel cheesy, more emotional than he’d planned, and the way his voice cracks at the honesty surprises him. Post-Prison Jake cries in front of his girlfriend, apparently. So that’s new.

“Honestly?” She laughs again, and even in this anxious enervation it is still the very best sound in the world, made even better when she lifts his head to kiss him softly. “Probably not. But I’m here anyway.”

“I love you”, he manages to get out behind tears. “So much.”

“I know”, she says confidently, and despite the conversation they just had, it makes things feel exactly what he worried he’d never find again; normal.

The next few nights, he wakes her up to let her know where he’s going even if it’s only to the bathroom. If he leaves the apartment, she follows him, no questions asked.

He’s never been more thankful this is the woman he’s going to marry.

(With the engagement ring - in its box, carefully sealed in a plastic bag as to not accidentally spill something on it - hidden in the back of his locker at the precinct, Halloween truly couldn’t feel close enough.)

[lucifers-trash-stash]

Hot Chocolate

A/N: Hey guys! It’s been a while since I’ve posted a fic, so I’m excited to post my entry for @simons-thirst-squad Simon’s Advent Calendar Day 18: Hot Chocolate. Also big thanks to @genevievedarcygranger for betaing this fic for me and being all around awesome and supportive <3

Word Count: 1283

Warnings: Sugar sweet fluff

A violent shudder passed through your body from the cold. You shifted the weight between your feet in quick succession, hoping that the movement would help warm you up. If anyone was watching you right now, they’d probably think you were dancing. At this point, you were so cold that you didn’t care if you were seen.

Late night fence duty was always rough, but even more so now that the cold weather was setting in. The only sounds during the night you could hear was the sound of the walkers and the chattering of your own teeth. Luckily you had gotten warm socks, boots, and a heavier jacket from commissary to try to solve this issue, but it was still downright freezing at night. What you wouldn’t give to have a pair of hand warmers to keep your fingers from trembling.

“Looking a bit frosty over there,” a voice called out behind you. You jerked your head around at the source, ready to give them hell for teasing you. After seeing it was only Simon walking up to you, you relaxed a bit.

There was something about Simon that could never make you upset at his teasing. Maybe it was because you know he never meant it in a mean spirited way like the other Saviors sometimes did. He seemed to have a sixth sense for knowing when people needed to be cheered up, and you were thankful for it. Of course there was a part of you that found him handsome, but his cheery disposition always won you over every time.

“So you decided to come out and freeze with me too? You’re really taking a bullet for me,” you said with a smile.

“What can I say, I’m a glutton for punishment,” Simon said with a grin. “Besides, I come bearing gifts.” You hadn’t noticed what he was holding when he walked up to you, but when he lifted up two travel mugs you couldn’t help but let a wide grin spread over your face.

“Ohhhh coffee, for me?” you asked as you reached out for one of the mugs.

“Not coffee, hot chocolate. Hot chocolate is just better tasting this time of year. ‘Tis the season and all,” Simon said as he clinked his mug against yours.

You smiled and took a sip, relishing in the rich chocolate flavor on your tongue. Your hands were finally starting to warm up a little from holding the mug. The warmth began to flow over you now, in a way that only a hot beverage on a cold day could. It reminded you of the holidays before all of this, when you would curl up under the blankets on the sofa with a warm mug of whatever you wanted that day and glancing out at the falling snow between turning pages of the book you were reading that afternoon. You really missed it all.

Your gaze turned back to Simon as he let out a satisfied and dramatic “ahhhh” after taking a sip. There was a part of you that wished you could stand just a little bit closer to him. Something about the moment just set your heart aflutter. You were always interested in him, and this moment seemed almost too romantic to pass up. But what would you even say? What if he was just being friendly and didn’t want to pursue anything?

“The only thing that would make this better is if we could use milk instead of water,” Simon mused as he took another sip.

Torn away from your thoughts, you tilted your head down and took another sip. “Oh definitely, it’s a lot creamier that way. I miss a lot of food,” you lamented.

“What kind?”

“Pretty sure the universal answer is pizza,” you said, Simon softly chuckling beside you. “Tacos too. And I doubt we can find any oranges or pineapples around here.”

It took you a moment to notice as you were rambling on that you and Simon had somehow moved closer together as the conversation went on. Your shoulder brushed against his arm slightly, and you felt self conscious of his presence all over again. He was probably being friendly to you and he didn’t have any deeper feelings. Even as you told yourself this, you couldn’t move away from him. Even in the cold you could feel the warmth radiating from his body and personality.

You couldn’t help the shiver that went through you again, as you were just standing still and talking instead of moving around. Without meaning to, you bumped Simon’s arm with yours as you shuddered.

Before you could apologize to him, Simon suddenly cupped your cheek with his free hand, his palm practically covering your face. Your breath froze in your throat, unsure of how to respond. If anything, your cheeks began to heat up at the contact.

“Shit honey, you’re practically freezing,” Simon said. His thumb brushed along your skin gently before his expression changed to an apologetic one. He took his hand away and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Sorry, that’s probably too much, isn’t it? You probably think it’s kind of weird and out of nowhere,” he added with a laugh.

You smiled shyly and chuckled. “Simon, I don’t find it weird at all. I, uh, actually liked it,” you said. Something about his confident action in the moment made you want to try to go for it. Let him know you were open to whatever he felt for you.

He hesitated briefly, staring into your face as if trying to read you. It was this moment that you really got a chance to stare into his eyes, his warm brown eyes, as dark as the hot chocolate the two of you were drinking. There was a part of you that found it funny that the heat of the cup in your hand couldn’t match the feeling that Simon’s gaze made you experience right now.

The hand that Simon held his hot chocolate in wrapped around you slowly, as if giving you the chance to change your mind. You smiled and leaned into his chest to urge him further. It was almost cute seeing Simon acting a little shy himself. Taking your cue, his free hand cupped your chin again, spreading warm tingling sensations across your cheek.

Simon dipped down, grazing his lips against yours softly before pressing on. You found your free hand reaching up to the back of his neck, pulling him in closer. His lips still tasted of hot chocolate, and you wanted to savor it all. His kisses were firm, confident, and yet sweet and tender all at once. Not only that, but his mustache was rather soft, tickling you gently as if trying to get your attention too.

The two of you parted for a brief moment to catch your breath, which had turned into visible puffs in the air. Unsure of where to go from here, the two of you simply watched each other’s expressions, trying to gage your next moves.

Simon suddenly grinned, making you smile in response. “Wow!” he said, making you burst into giggles. He pretended to pout for a moment before saying, “I’m serious! You’re incredible.”

“You’re such a goof,” you said, blushing a little. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Really now?” Simon said, his eyebrow quirking up. “If that’s the case, then maybe after your shift we could warm up with some more hot chocolate. If that’s alright with you.”

“I couldn’t think of a better person to warm up with than you, Simon,” you said before standing on your tiptoes just to capture his lips again.

One more kiss could never hurt.

Thank you all for reading, and if you want on or off of my taglist let me know! <3

@superprincesspea// @vizhi0n// @ladylorelitany// @kijilinn// @the-angle-of-depression// @multi-villain-imagines// @squid-from-mirkwood// @notice-me-senpai-sama// @ofdragonsanddreams16// @uniquewerewolfsuit// @lucilepiewhiskey// @i-am-negan-trash// @superwholoki// @purplemuse89// @yondu-gonna-do-about-it

[emmanette]

A LOT OF SKAM QUESTIONS!

I was tagged by @skambane thanks for tagging me! :)

I’ve been away travelling so this is a bit late and I feel like everyone’s already done this while I was gone so I won’t tag anyone... But if you haven’t done this and want to do it, consider yourself tagged!

FAVOURITE SQUAD: It’s probably a tie between the girls and the boys.

FAVOURITE CHARACTER: I love them all so much, and depending on when you ask me you’d probably get different answers, but if I have to choose: Eva, Isak and Sana, I think.

LEAST FAVOURITE CHARACTER: Uhm, not sure I really have one, like I said, I love them all for different reasons, but maybe the Elias that was in s1 (not Sana’s brother Elias)?

MOST GOOD-LOOKING PERSON: All of them? I’m sort of kidding but also not because they really do all look great.

CHARACTER YOU’D LIKE TO KISS: None of them, really. I’m too much older than the characters.

CHARACTER YOU’D LIKE TO CUDDLE WITH: I wouldn’t want to cuddle with someone I didn’t know really well so again that kinda means none of them, but ignoring that fact for a minute, I think maybe Even? He seems to be great at cuddles (this answer may or may not have been influenced by @littlespooneven ‘s fic “Things look different in the morning”).

CHARACTER YOU’D LIKE TO HAVE AS A BEST FRIEND: I think maybe Eva or Jonas.

CHARACTER YOU’D LIKE TO LIVE WITH: Eskild and Linn, basically I just want to live in Kollektivet, haha.

CHARACTER YOU’D TAKE WITH YOU ON A DESERTED ISLAND: Sana. I think we could be resourceful and solve our situation.

CHARACTER YOU’D HAVE TICKLING CONTESTS WITH: I feel like Yousef is the only one childish enough to get involved in a contest like that. Who am I kidding, they’re all quite childish sometimes haha, but yeah... Yousef!

CHARACTER YOU RESEMBLE THE MOST: Personality-wise probably Sana, but in terms of her story I’d say Eva (minus the cheating and boyfriend drama). But I can see different sides of myself in almost all characters.

FAVOURITE FRIENDSHIP: Isak and Jonas or Isak and Eva. Also Isak and Sana.

FAVOURITE ROMANTIC PAIRING: Isak and Even. 

NOTP: Emma and P-Chris. (Unpopular opinion maybe but that was my least favourite part of the final clip - so much cringe. :/)

FAVOURITE HAIRCUT/HAIRSTYLE: Noora’s hair, I think. 

FAVOURITE OUTFIT: I love pretty much everything Noora wears

FAVOURITE LOCATION: Kollektivet. Or the courtyard at Nissen.

FAVOURITE SEASON: Three. But all seasons have a special place in my heart.

LEAST FAVOURITE SEASON: Probably season two.

FAVOURITE EPISODE: This is so difficult! I don’t know? I have a bit of a soft spot for s3 ep2 which is basically the episode that made me discover Skam, so lets go with that even if I might come up with a different answer if I gave this some more thought.

FAVOURITE SCENE/CLIP: Oooh, too many, but “Mekke øl” is definitely one of them.

MOMENT(S) THAT MADE YOU CRY: I hardly ever cry so Skam has never really made me cry-cry, but I’ve teared up a few times. Like when Isak breaks down sobbing in the middle of the street in 3x05, when he talks to Sonja in 3x08, when Isak starts crying while talking to his dad on the phone, during “O helga natt” and during the final clip of the show, to mention a few.

MOMENT(S) THAT MADE YOU LAUGH: So many! I couldn’t possibly list them all, but for example Eskild almost always makes me laugh.

[amazingmsme]

Loved your solve it squad tickle fic! Not a request, but do you think Gwen and Keith team up on Scrags and Ester a lot?

Thank you! I absolutely loved how the grunch cribbed Christmas & it reminded me about how much I adore all of them & I NEED Scrags to get wrecked! So I absolutely think they’d gang up on the most lovable dorks! Especially after Scrags lost Cluebert & stopped acting like himself, they’d try their best to cheer him up & see a glimpse of the fun loving guy they remember. Now that they’re adults & he’s got a serious job, he doesn’t laugh near as much as he should & they really miss it. & Esther gets overwhelmed easily & Gwen & Keith have decided that tickling them gives them a much needed break from their constant brain overload. Not to mention that both Keith & Gwen are stronger than Scrags & Esther & they’re the more touchy feely, affectionate friends in the group & are in general more playful. If you haven’t guessed, I have a lot to say about them, lol

[amyscascadingtabs]

please don’t say I’m going alone

He hates the Universe because he has a single hour left of hugging a girlfriend who is now asleep by pure post-crying exhaustion, an hour left of trying to memorize every little detail about her. He hates the Universe because there's only a month left until their one year anniversary and now they won’t get to celebrate it together, because she just spent all too much time away from him undercover in prison in Texas and now they're being separated again, because her face is puffy and pink from crying and he thinks his might be as well.

Or, what went through Jake’s head before he said goodbye to Amy for Florida.

This was actually kind of a semi-prompt from @alwaysandbeyond who wondered aloud in the tags why Jake chose the selfie of Amy he has with him in Florida and prison and said that someone should write a fic about it. Truth be told I’ve always been curious about this so I… wrote the fic. Hope you like it and apologies in advance for the feels

read on ao3

Jake has two hours before the first of four cars that will take him and Holt to witness protection in Florida arrives. He spends them both at Amy’s apartment. There’s no use in packing if he’s not allowed to bring anything with him; no use in anything but hugging his girlfriend so tight he fears he is squeezing her small frame to pieces, all while telling her repeatedly he loves her and won’t forget about her. Not a great promise, considering he has the memory of a goldfish. But he remembers emotions. He remembers anything that caused a strong emotional response at the time or still does. So yes, he’ll remember the woman who has made him feel love in all its different kinds - from aching, unrequited infatuation to the effortless and tender-hearted commitment they’ve reached after almost a year. He’ll remember the fierce but quirky, competitive but lovable detective who just told him she loves him so much and wants to move in with him until he’s old and gray-haired and rotting away in a retirement home in Coral Palms. “They’ll get you out of Witsec”, Amy keeps on repeating for their first ten minutes of their two last hours together, while Jake can’t stop imagining the nightmare scenarios of never getting home again. “We’ll get you out. We’ll catch Figgis. You’ll come home. You have to come home.” He agrees with her. Both of them know nothing's for sure and maybe they really will never see each other again, but last hours are better spent pretending than accepting brutal realities. There will be plenty of time to do so in Florida, he assumes. Amy cries. Long, heaving sobs shake through her body and her tears dampen his t-shirt when she’s pressed tight against him, the two of them together on her bed for the last time in a long while. He tries not to think about how her bed would have been their bed someday soon if Figgis hadn’t called when he did. We should move in together. Haha, said the Universe. Very funny. Jake officially hates the Universe. He hates the Universe because he has a single hour left of hugging a girlfriend who is now asleep by pure post-crying exhaustion, an hour left of trying to memorize every little detail about her. He hates the Universe because there's only a month left until their one year anniversary and now they won’t get to celebrate it together, because she just spent all too much time away from him undercover in prison in Texas and now they're being separated again, because her face is puffy and pink from crying and he thinks his might be as well. He knows he won’t forget her, but he also knows he cannot possibly remember everything, because there's so much to notice about Amy Santiago he’s discovering new things every single day. Some days it’s the cutest constellation of moles at the small of her back, some days a brand new meal she can actually cook without burning the kitchen down or poisoning them both, and one day she even tells him the back-story about a tiny dot in white ink on the foot; a relic from one of the few times she got drunk at a college party and wanted to know what getting tattooed felt like. Other days he discovers how the shape of her eyebrows change marginally sometimes because she claims it’s impossible to fill them in exactly the same every day, or how the sparkling gleam in her eyes when he tells her he loves her is different from the one she gets when she’s really excited over a case, but not all too different from when she’s truly engaged in re-reading the Harry Potter novels for the umpteenth time. (Jake’s not yet sure if he should take it as an insult or a compliment to mean roughly as much to her as he’s discovered those seven books do. From the amount of Ravenclaw or Hogwarts-stamped paraphernalia he keeps finding in various places over her apartment, he’s hoping for the latter.) No photograph could capture the all-consuming focus in her expression when she watches Jeopardy or how melodious her laugh sounds when it's untamed and authentic. Her quick-witted comebacks or the adorable way she scrunches her nose when Hitchcock says something distasteful couldn’t ever be framed into a picture, no matter how skilled the photographer. He knows he’d find every single one perfect, but they still wouldn't capture enough. Maybe he should follow the orders someone gave him and abstain from bringing anything personal to Florida. On the other hand, maybe it could be helpful to have something physical there to ground him. Something to look at to know she’s real and exists somewhere out there, something to remind him she’s more than an intricate and hyper-realistic daydream, might help during all the months and maybe even years he’ll be stranded without her. It’ll have to be a photograph. A picture won’t capture any of her intelligence or humor, but there’s a chance it could capture a sliver of the ethereal beauty she is and right now a chance of a sliver is all he needs. The question is simply which one. He has a ton of pictures of her in uniform or with other members of the squad, all unusable. A picture of her at work would be too difficult to explain should someone see it. No cop pictures. There are even more dorky selfies of the two of them together, making funny faces or even trying to hold the camera up and kiss at the same time, but right now only seeing them so free and happily unknowing is an all too painful sting. And a picture of him with a girl would be even yet more suspicious if he got caught; there’d be no way for him to deny ever knowing the woman in the picture and he’d be screwed. No couple pictures. It doesn't leave him with much. For a moment he’s scared no picture on his phone lives up the necessary requirements, until he swipes far enough to reach a collection of shots he’s nearly forgotten. The pictures are from approximately two months into their relationship, back when everything was still new and a little intimidating. They’re taken in his apartment, and if he closes his eyes, he remembers the moment clear as day. ~ nine months earlier “There are so many Die Hard pictures in your camera roll. Honestly, Jake - aren’t some of these identical?” Amy’s on his couch, taking up most of the space with her head on one armrest and her feet in his lap. They’re looking through each other’s phones for some trivial reason mostly to do with boredom; it began with Jake needing help to spot spelling errors in a text, and now they’re having too much fun looking at pictures in the other person’s gallery to stop. “I don’t know that for sure and I’m not deleting any of them until I have proof!” He tickles her left foot with his free hand, the corners of his mouth twitching when it makes her giggle.  “And you have way too many pictures of laminated documents to get to tease me about Die Hard.” “I’m confident I could prove some of these are the same. And lam' jobs are important! I have a blog!” “And I follow said blog! Because I’m an awesome supportive boyfriend!” “Then where are all the pictures on your phone of me, huh? The ones you show your college buddies when you’re having a beer together and bragging about the attractiveness of whatever girl you’re hooking up with?” He can tell she’s trying to fake seriousness, but she keeps interrupting herself with fits of laughter. “Isn’t that what all white heterosexual cis men do when they meet up?” “Amy Santiago, how dare you assume I’m straight?” He’s the one laughing now, his grin growing wider from the sight of hers. “And I have plenty of pictures of you. I think. I had to delete some because I was running out of space for Die Hard stills.” “Maybe I should solve the issue. I’m deleting all the Die Hard stills I know you have doubles of and replacing them with selfies.” “Real mature, Ames.” His eyes light up when an idea hits him. “Ooohh, wait - will there be selfies of you in just a bra? Without one?” “Yeah, I’m the immature one of us two right now”, she scoffs, but the smile on her lips lets him know she’s not really mad. “And no, there won't, because I’m classy. And afraid of you leaving your phone on your desk and Charles somehow finding them.” “You know he’d just be ecstatic I had them.” “That makes it worse. Now, I need to get to work.” She sits up straight and holds out the phone a little bit in front of her so it captures part of the wall behind her as well. “This is serious business.” Jake lets the camera click once, twice, before he dives forward and into the frame. The sudden impact of his weight against her makes Amy fall to the side, and the next few shots come out blurry as he attacks her with a little sloppy but mostly playful kisses. “You’re ruining the pictures”, she whines. “Nah, I’m making them better”, he claims then and puts the camera app on timer before pressing another kiss to her lips. “Now I can show my hypothetical college buddies pictures of me kissing you, so they’ll know you’re for real.” “That would be an issue?” “Oh yeah, they would never believe I was actually dating you. You’re way too pretty.” He swipes through the collection of pictures of them kissing they’ve taken now, showing her the few of them that turned out reasonably sharp. “You’re way too pretty!” “You’re prettier.” “No, you are - oh god, we really are that horrible lovey-dovey couple everyone hated in high school, aren’t we?” Amy hides her face in her hands. “What have we even become?” “Doesn’t matter, because these pictures are hella adorable. I won’t even delete them for more Die Hard stills.” ~ He desperately wants to take one of those cheesy pictures with him to Florida. Even in the less sharp ones, it’s evident to anyone with a functioning pair of eyes how happy they are, and it makes Jake curse silently when he remembers that happiness is being taken from them now, picked up and dumped right into a coursing river of destruction by Figgis. (He should’ve just become an accountant or something equally mind-numbing because at least then he would never have to leave her.) But a picture of the two of them together is too risky and too revealing of his past, so he options for the second best thing - one of the few selfies Amy captured before he joined her. She looks considerably more serious in this picture than in the next one, her lips more a shy smirk than the wide grin she has in the pictures with him, but she looks gorgeous enough for him to want to look at it forever. More importantly, it’s a reminder the next pictures exist. It’s a fragment of a memory of better times, and it’s all he’s brave enough to bring. There’s a buzz from the Bluetooth printer on the desk in Amy’s bedroom as the picture begins to print. Her head shifts a little from where it’s resting on his chest, startled by the sudden noise, and he very nearly starts crying again, because in fifty minutes he’ll be separated from her with nothing more to keep than the selfie he already knows he’ll be staring at until he’s memorized every inch. He’s not going to forget her.