deathofacupid

[deathofacupid]

it's always so strange to see conservatives on tumblr like do you know where u are? ur in enemy territory man. go back to reddit or something

[deathofacupid]

tumblr should come up with an update where changing the url doesn't requires me to change all the links on my blog

[deathofacupid]

[deathofacupid]

in parallel universe, your favorite fictional character is real and you are fictional and he is reading fanfics about you, kicking his feet in the air and giggling.

[deathofacupid]

I love ur clay Jensen work please it’s so fucking good 😭🫶🏼

Could I get a clay Jensen with a depressed reader ? Like she has a traumatic past and it gets triggered because liberty Highschool is never peaceful and clay basically comforts her? If you see this THANKS 😻🫶🏼

it'll get better | clay jensen

a/n: thanks for the req! i was in a huge writing spunk, and this got me out of it. also, i'm sorry this took so long! summary: liberty is a hard place to be in, but it's a little less hard when clay is there. warning: thoughts/mentions of su1c1de, depression, and death. overall, all thirteen reasons why warnings apply here. please don't read this if you aren't comfortable with this fic's contents, and you if, by and means, get triggered, don't hesitate to reach out to me! pairing: depressed!reader x clay jensen (no established relationship, but take it as you will!) word count: 1.1k+ words

you press the palms of your hands into your eyes, hard enough that you see colorful spots. outside, on the back stairs of the school, you finally feel like you're getting a break. like the whole world isn't yelling at you, isn't taunting or shaming.

you're so tired of your mind constantly reeling, and dumb kids, and the horrible, horrible thoughts. so tired of hearing her story over and over and over again. even if it's so selfish for you to think like that, you wish someone, anyone would look past it and take a break from her.

from the very second you stepped into this school, you've been surrounded by pain, and death, and- and it never stops. why does it never stop?

is it just you? are you the only one who can't stand hearing more? seeing more? living more?

first, it was jeff. and then hannah. then bryce. then monty. and you can't help but feel like it'll get worse, and worse, and never better. you hate that everyone's leaving, even if they're people you don't care about.

and you're sick of it. you're tired. and god, it's not the kind that sleep can fixed, because you've tried. you've tried sleeping more. too much, really, but then you drown in nightmares.

and after the nightmares, it's not like you can go back to sleeping. and you don't meaning going back to sleep after an hour, no, not at all.

you mean days. you mean weeks. you mean months.

people die, and die, and die, and they only mourn for days, it feels like, and then the horrid, horrid jokes begin.

you wouldn't even be able to die in peace, knowing that they'd ridicule you.

no, no, no, you don't want to be a spectacle. you just want... to rest, indefinitely. why is it so hard to do that?

no, hannah wasn't a coward.

she was brave.

and you never knew her, but you knew her. you knew her in the way no one else might ever, because you are her. in a sad, sad way.

and you never knew her, but it still hurt. it hurt because you knew she was good. she was joy, at least for everyone else.

and you never knew her, but you knew clay. and you knew clay saw that joy.

and you never knew her, but it broke something in you.

you can faintly hear the sounds of the creak back door opening, despite the loud beating of your heart in your chest. there's some shuffling of sneakers on the grainy concrete, and you hear someone take a seat beside you.

you don't feel like looking up. maybe if you don't acknowledge their existence, they won't actually be there. right? a soft voice goes, "hey."

it's clay. you know it's clay. you can tell by the quiet, yet worried, lilt in his voice.

"hi," you mumble back, face still buried in your knees, which are pulled into your chest.

his uncanny awkwardness suffocates you more than anything else, (un?)surprisingly.

"are- are you okay?" he tries.

"yes." it's a mumbled, half-assed reply.

"are you sure?"

"yes."

it's quiet for a beat. then he throws you for a curve when he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. he's warm and soft, and he smells like... tire grease?

what would he be smelling like tire grease for? was he at tony's? tony's garage, you mean? when would he have had time to be there? had he been skipping class, too? did he only just get back? but he came from inside, didn't he?

with clay, you should be used to having an plethora of questions, and tiny, quarter-built ant pile of answers.

you should be.

doesn't mean you are.

you would ask, but you're trying to avoid anything hannah-related. tony is definitely hannah-related. clay is hannah-related, too, but that's different. you could be by clay's side forever, and you wouldn't get sick of it.

it's really nice, just the two of you, pressed against each other in the cool autumn air. it's nice enough that you almost forget.

but you don't. you can't, not really. not when it's so predominant over anything else. that's what liberty high is. a place where all the bad things overpower the good ones.

when people think of liberty high, they think of death.

they think of unfortunate accidents. they think of suicide. they think of murder. they think of violence and violation.

and god, don't even get started on the tapes.

you hate the tapes. you hate the tapes more than you hate yourself, or more than you hate this terrible place. you hate the tapes more than you hate bryce, or monty, or any of those kids. more than you hate jessica, or alex, or tyler, or tony, or zach, or ryan, or skye, or chloe, or ani, or sheri, or courtney, or winston, or diego, or marcus, or cyrus.

and yes, you hate them, and yes, you know some of them don't deserve that, but no, you can't help it.

and you can't even just leave, because this will follow you around for the rest of your life and you'll never know what you did know - or maybe you did know.

and what truly, really sucks is that no matter where you go, all this follows you around. you've been surrounded by pain and hurt, and it never seems to get any better.

but if you told anyone any of this, they'd send you to a shitty ward, and that'd be it. and all your thoughts just keep going like this, around and around, like a twisted merry-go-round that keeps getting faster and faster. or like a spiral that never ends, but just gets tighter and tighter. and you don't even know if anything—

"will it ever get better?" you ask, a sort of shakiness in your voice.

"i don't know," he admits. "can it really get worse?"

it's rhetorical and you know it, but you answer anyways. "probably."

he then decides to change his answer. "it'll get better. it has to."

you hum, doubtful. he continues, "the way we treat each other. and the people who haven't been doing that right, they'll get outed. i know they will."

"how? what about the trial? remember that?" it's not supposed to be snarky, it's really just a genuine question.

"yeah. but he didn't really win. bryce got murdered. he got what he deserved." it's blunt, and you can't help but wince.

"what about the others? who hurt hannah?"

"they owned up to it, didn't they? they're okay with coming out with the truth, because they know what they did was wrong. bryce didn't. he took his win with stride, as if it was privilege."

"owning up or not, it doesn't change they fact that she'd dead," you murmur.

he's quiet again. "i guess not. but at least it won't happen again."

you think about yourself for a moment. "how do you know?"

"i don't. i just hope. because the better we get, the better things will get. there's always a reason to live. you just... have to look."

and so you do. you lift your head, and clay turns to face you. right into his deep eyes, and you know behind the demeanor he holds, they're full of love and compassion.

you look, and you see.

"okay," you say finally.

because maybe he's right. maybe things will get better. because you aren't alone, maybe not really.

and maybe you're allowed to acknowledge that it won't get better in just a day. or a week. or a month.

but there's a little bit of hope that it will get better.

and you have clay there with you. you trust him. you know there's truth in what he's saying. you know he'd never lie to you.

that being said, it'll get better.

[deathofacupid]

The worst part about Liam Payne dying is that people are posting about “the switch up is crazy”

Like no. He was an abuser and made horrible decisions, but nobody wanted him to die. He was getting hate for an INCREDIBLY valid reason, but we all recognized that he needed mental and physical help. He needed to go to rehab. He needed to get away from drugs and alcohol and improve upon himself away from the public. No one wanted him to die.

We’re not mourning the life of an abuser, we are mourning the part of him that we adored and looked up to for a massive part of our childhood/ teenage years. He was a huge part of how I was introduced to my love of music. And yes, he did horrible things and made horrible decisions and over the last few years has been anything but admirable, but none of us wanted this.

Maya didn’t want this. And everyone saying that it’s her fault can actually go burn in hell. She likely already blames herself enough. She likely already wishes she hadn’t spoken up about it out of the guilt that she likely feels. You guys commenting all over the socials about how this is her fault and “are you happy now?” Are actually horrible people.

A 7 year old boy just lost his father. A woman just lost her long term boyfriend. Two parents just lost their son. Several young children just lost their uncle. Show some fucking respect. Joking about it and hating on people who had nothing to do with what happened is not doing anything but twist the knife for the people who this has ACTUALLY effected.

[deathofacupid]

if a character means enough to me i will truly never stop thinking about them. i just retire them into a little back room in my brain and periodically bring them out to stare at them under a little light

[deathofacupid]

Hi hope you are doing well I was just wondering if you were going to continue the right next door series ? It’s so amazing

hi <3

okay, so, honestly? i was kinda planning on leaving it as it is because i couldn't really figure out what to do with it (pleaseee give me ideas for that i'd be so grateful)

but a lot of people have been asking and i'm a people pleaser so i'll do my best, but it's not really a top priority

that being said, if you do want it done i'll need some help on that... so feel free to send me suggestions fr

also, i have been on a "hiatus" if you may, but i'm back now and ready (mostly) to write!!

[deathofacupid]

I think you might have to redo all your links, I'm so sorry 😭 HELP

omg i literally caved and just went back to my old username because trust me ain’t redoing all them linksss 😭

[deathofacupid]

hi hi hi!! just wanted to let you know that the links on your masterlist aren't working. might be because you changed your username :)

UR KIDDING

NO

IM GONNA DIE

does this mean i have to redo all my links? or can i just change my username back?

[deathofacupid]

intellectual | peter parker

summary: you overhear something you weren't supposed to, but it shouldn't have been said in the first place. in result, you can't help but wonder if peter wants something different.

warnings: implied smut, mentions of sex, insecurity, use of y/n

pairing: bimbo!reader x frat!peter

word count: 3.0k+ words (my longest fic yet-)

a/n: in no way is use of "bimbo" meant to be a patriarchal stereotype. please do not take it offensively, this is a work of fiction.

M.LIST | RULES/REQUESTING | ABOUT ME

peter was totally smitten by you. really, he was. after all he's been through, it was kind of nice having someone who adores him as much as he does, even if you are... a tad bit dim-witted.

while he grew up surrounded by death, trauma, and more, you were raised sheltered, hidden away from all the bad things. and even though peter's been through some shit, he finds it to hold you so gently, like the pretty thing you are, as if you were stained glass; fragile, but so beautiful.

when he's holding you, all his soft, brown eyes can focus on are how your soft, manicured hands wrap around his rough, calloused ones. you're always careful not to hurt him with your acrylics.

even though you can be slow at times, it's almost impossible not to admire the way your clothes always hug your curves, glossed lips pulled into a pretty pout.

peter could have just about any girl he wanted on campus, but he didn't want any of them.

he wanted you, and only you.

maybe it's because you were different, and no, not in dim-witted nature. but because of how soft you were. you didn't know, and even if you did, understand the horrors he wittnessed out there everyday.

you were protected by a little (very pink) bubble that you lived in, so when he came home to you, it felt as if he was in a different world altogether. you were so damn good at distracting peter, and you didn't even know it.

you were in your own dorm room, watching a silly rom-com while peter was with his friends, he told you not to wait up for him, given that he would be up 'til the early hours of the morning. but you decided that peter and his goodnight kisses were slightly more important than your beauty sleep.

slightly.

you furrowed your neatly shaped eyebrows at something that one of the characters said, tilting your head.

ram-i-fic-a-tion? you thought, humming. pulling out your phone, you googled the word.

noun plural noun: ramifications

a consequence of an action or event, especially when complex or unwelcome. "any change is bound to have legal ramifications"

"legal ram-i-fic-a-tions?" you wondered aloud.

you skimmed the rest of the definitions, still confused. surely peter wouldn't mind if you gave him a quick ring? so you went ahead in did that, letting the sound echo in the room.

when he didn't pick up, you frowned.

"ummm..." you trailed off, calling one of his friends, spencer, instead. you weren't a stranger to him, but more of a mutual. after all, your roommate was dating him. actually, you'd ask alyssa, your roomie, but she wasn't here.

much to your happiness, spencer did pick up. "hiii, spence."

"y/n?" he said, slurring slightly.

"what does, like, ram-i-fic-a-tion mean?" you asked, careful to enunciate.

spencer was aware of... how your brain worked, and he wasn't a jerk about it (unlike some people). he was one of peter's closer friends, so you felt comfortable around him.

"ramification? oh, uh, it's like a consequence."

you frowned dumbly, "to what?"

"to an action. if you don't study for the final, you might not do well. that's a consequence to your action. a ramification."

"oh. oh! okay. thank you!"

he didn't disconnect right away, and you could hear one of his frat brothers, you were unsure who, talking. and of course, you strained your ears to listen.

"it doesn't get annoying or anything?"

you heard peter's voice come next, and instantly perked up. "what?"

"dude, be so for real. she's hot, but like, as dumb as a third grader. do you have to talk to her like that too?" he laughed.

oof, you thought, sucks to be whoever it was they were talking about.

"sometimes. she's good in bed, though."

wait. he was talking about you. your jaw dropped. i mean, you were stupid, but not this stupid. so this is what "saturday night with the boys" was all about?

you heard collective laughing. you did stupid things sometimes, but never had the mental compacity to be embarrased by them. this, though? this was different.

you trusted peter.

he was the only person who never, ever, spoke to or about you like that. in fact, it was one of the reasons you'd grown to like him so much. because he was patient, he was kind, and never did he once judge you.

well, that's what you thought.

but you were dumb enough to think that just because he never spoke about it to you, he never spoke about it all.

you immediately disconnected the call, dropping your phone. trying to focus back on the movie, you nibbled on a piece of popcorn.

but you just couldn't get over it. did it bother him?

all the questions? the dim-witted stupidity? all the pink?

reluctantly, you glanced the hot pink bowl that held your snack.

you didn't mean to be so... like that. you were just being yourself. did peter not like you being yourself? no, no, of course not. if he didn't, then why would he be with you?

a little voice in the back of your head rang out; "because you're good in bed."

maybe it wouldn't hurt to try and raise your iq?

you turned off the tv, hot pink popcorn bowl forgotten. alyssa wouldn't mind if you borrowed something, right?

you opened her room door, walking over to her bookself. wrinkling up your nose, you scanned her shelf. how could someone like reading so much?

it was so... gross.

oh, well. maybe peter was into intellectuals. and you had better become before he left you for someone like that.

your eyes paused at a book titled "the hobbit".

"what's a... hobbit?" you asked, not to anyone in particular. you skipped it, looking at her other ones.

"'twisted love', 'the fault in our stars'... what'd the stars do?" picking up the book, you read the back. "huh," you remarked, putting it back.

instead, you grabbed a couple self-help books, struggling to hold them with your acrylic nails, which, of course, were bright pink... accentuated with big charms; bows and hearts.

you went back over to your room, dumping them on your bed. checking your nails again, you drummed them against your palm to make sure they were intact.

you started reading the first one, curling up in a blanket, but you kept getting distracted. every five seconds, you look up to make sure your lashes were still in place, or that your skin wasn't to shiny, or that your hair was still perfect. and to be honest, you didn't really understand any of it.

like, who actually had the patience to read through all of it? how could a book cure all your crap?

and why would you read a book to feel better, when you could go to a spa, or a shopping spree.

credit cards were invented for a reason.

but you powered through, at the very least, you skimmed the words. there was no way you could read it word for word. but you wanted to try... for peter.

you wanted him to stick around, to love you, but not superficially. not for sex.

you stayed up until 1:30 (mostly reading, and you still didn't understand how people did this for fun), but didn't call peter. you'd talk to him tomorrow, maybe. first, you needed to get your facts straight. eventually, you got ready for bed.

this included showering, taking off your makeup, putting your hair in rollers, and your fifteen-step skincare routine.

you may have been half asleep, but you'd never skip a step.

peter came over around noon monday, when neither of you had classes. "jeez, babe," he groaned, you in his lap, "i've got so much to do. seriously, i'm never gonna get it done."

you twirled your hair, appearing nonchalant, "your mindset is either your best friend, or worst enemy."

you kept your eyes trained on your phone, waiting for peter to respond. looking up, you saw him blink. "uh... yeah. that was- that was very... un-y/n-like."

to be honest, you didn't even know what the saying meant. you just memorized it from your book. "was it dumb?"

"no, it was smart," peter replied, kissing your hairline.

"i'm normally dumb?" you asked, tearing up. lips pouted, voice moist, you made eye contact with him. you knew you were a little slow, but dumb? really?

"no! that's not what i meant. it just sounded- well, i- cause you never say stuff like that. you're my smart, pretty girl."

"oh, okay," you said, your nails tracing the curve of his back. you pecked him on the lips, but he brought you back for a longer kiss.

you giggled as he flipped your positions, peter on top.

"can i show you just how pretty you are?"

he didn't have to ask twice.

you were in the dining hall, sitting with some of your friends, mixed with some of peter's.

they were talking as you picked at your salad, leaning into peter.

"ugh," sarah, you kind-of friend started, "my boss gave me a premotion."

"what the fuck are you complaining about?" alyssa scoffed.

"because! it means that i have to do more...! like, i'll have to get up earlier. i dunno if i'll take it. it's cooler than the one i have now, but but it's not as comforting."

you spoke up, completely confident, "commit to change. either embrace the challenge of pursuing your destiny or shy way and live in regret."

collective "oohs" and "damns" were heard around the table, and you reveled in it.

"okay, girl, you go."

"parker, when did your girlfriend get a braincell upgrade?" you looked at peter, waiting for him to shoot something back, but he didn't. you frowned slightly, going back to the salad.

it went on like that, you would pipe in and offer self-help advice (not really knowing what it meant) hoping for peter's attention. sometimes you got it, and sometimes you didn't.

it was fine, you wanted him to notice you. after all, you weren't reading for fun. you were doing it for him, so... just, like, notice already.

you'd been focusing so much on the self-help books, your nails had grown out, leaving space between your nail bed and acrylics. deciding to take some time away from the books and all their un-understandable wisdom, you wanted to paint your nails.

nothing to big, but more simple. you were finding it hard to turn the page with the large charms on the acrylics you normally had to.

you found some 100% acetone in your bathroom, so you soaked your nails, waiting for the acrylics to come off. once they got loose enough, they came off easily.

you did some prepping, then picked out two different shades of pink. you were about to start when you heard two long knocks, then two short ones.

(it was peter's special knock, so you'd always know when it was him.)

"come in!" you called out, and you saw a head of fluffy brown hair peek in.

"hey," he said, slipping in your room.

"hi, petey!"

he came up from behind you, hugging your waist. "whatcha doing?"

you opened a bottle of nail paint, "painting my nails."

"cute colors," he kissed your cheek, and you leaned in.

"right? pink is so pretty," you gushed.

"what are these?" peter asked, and you looked over curious as to what he was talking about.

"oh, just, like, lyss' books."

"yeah, but why're they in here?" he read the back of one, raising a brow.

you continued painting your nails, trying to appear chill. "i was reading them."

he seemed to do a double-take, and you frowned, "what?"

"nothing- nothing, i just..."

"i know how to read," you said, shoulders sagging. "i'm smarter than a third-grader," you didn't catch the slip-up, but he did.

that caught him off guard there, "what?"

"what?" looking up, you finally met his eyes.

"you said you- well, yeah, i know. you just don't-" he paused, "self-help books didn't seem like your thing is all. oh, is that why've you been saying all that?"

"saying what?"

"all the-" he didn't want to hurt your feelings, but if he was right, he already had. "the, um, advice?" he stammered. peter didn't trip over his words often, and you knew that.

you were sure that he knew that you knew, but you weren't sure if he knew for sure.

you shrugged, "doesn't it sound smart?"

"no, yeah, it does." he's treading very carefully. it was quiet for a brief moment; "did you hear?"

"hear what?"

"the... the comment i made?"

"oh, that one about me being stupid, but good in bed?" you said it so casually, as if it didn't bother you at all.

but it did. he knew it did.

he sighed, "i'm really sorry, baby."

"for what?"

"for saying that."

"no, you're sorry you got caught. you wouldn't have said it if you didn't mean it."

"i didn't- i was drunk," peter tried again.

"drunk words are sober thoughts," something else you read, you aren't sure where.

he was starting to get really nervous. he didn't know what was going through your head, normally he had a good idea, but it wasn't anything like this. it didn't seem like you hated him, but he wasn't about to take advantage.

"no, i-"

"it's okay. i'm working on it," you said, trying to make him feel better. as if you were the one who'd messed up, not peter. the idea itself was insane to him, and it only made him feel worse.

"angel," peter started, "this is not your fault. please don't make it your fault. i'm the one who messed up, and what i said was not okay. it was a stupid, drunk joke, and i shouldn't said it."

you blew on your nails, blinking back your tears. mascara, the good stuff, was expensive. you looked up, shocked to see tears in his eyes. you don't think you've ever seen him cry before. well, maybe once, when you watched "titanic" with him.

peter wasn't one to get emotional, he still denied ever crying over that movie.

"it's okay," you repeated again. you were dumb, you knew that. it really wasn't his fault, you shouldn't have pushed him to feel like that.

"but it's not. and i know you know that, please tell me what i can do to make it better."

"but-"

"no, it's not," he said sternly, "and i cannot stress that enough. i'm really sorry, baby."

you capped the polish, you didn't know what to say. it wasn't your fault? okay, fine.

maybe he was right.

"i got really upset," you admitted.

"i know, baby," the tears are falling, he quickly wipes them away.

"did you really mean it?"

"no, no, no, of course not. i absolutely love you the way you are, and you shouldn't have to change yourself for anyone- especially not for me."

"so you don't think i'm only good for sex?"

"baby, no, baby, no!" baby, he used that word for affection; when he was guilty, trying to prove something to you... in this case, how sorry he was. "you are good for so many other things," he paused, "okay, that didn't sound great."

he took a deep breath, taking your freshly painted hands in yours, "don't mess up the polish," you warned, even though you were tearing up.

peter smiled slightly, that meant you weren't too upset, right? that he hadn't fucked everything up by great means?

"i haven't ever met someone like you, who loves me the same back. and i don't mean generally, but romantically. lots of people can't put up with me," he started, "but you do, and jesus, baby, i'm so greatful for that- and you," peter added.

"you are the bright pink light of my life. you're so different from other girls i've been with, you see me. you don't look at me, you see me. like, okay, maybe you aren't the greatest at math, but you don't have to be a s.t.e.m. genius to be smart."

peter was getting raw, he was getting vunerable. "i don't know how to use a curling iron for the life of me, i don't know the difference between mascara and eyeliner. well, i do, but i didn't before you."

you looked at him, opening your mouth to speak. you wanted to tell him he'd lost you somewhere along the line, but figured it was important for him to get this out.

"you've got a different mindset than me, and i love that. you're the biggest feminist i've ever met, and wait until you meet may. i think it's interesting that your entire personality doesn't revolve around your degrees and resumes, because, god, people like that are annoying. most of all, you're confidence is amazing. i never had anything like that in high school."

you knew that he was a nerd, kept his head down, shoulders sagging. "i just... i'm sorry. i don't know why i said it. i'm a huge insecure jerk that thinks he can get away with crap by projecting it onto his lovely, amazing, wonderful girlfriend. you're my favorite person, and i can't help but think you'll leave me one day. i thought that if i acted like i didn't care... i don't know. i- i don't... i'm sorry."

you took moment, that's the longest he's ever spoken to you, but he wasn't done, apparently.

"also, i don't care about sex. i mean, it's nice and whatever, but what's the point of it if i don't have you. what i'm trying to say is, i'd pick you over that any day, okay? it doesn't matter to me. i'm not with you for that."

"thank you," you said, it seemed appropriate. basically, he just compliented you a whole lot, and it worked; you seem to have a thing for praising. "and i forgive you. also, i hated those stupid books, and if they weren't, like, alyssa's, i'd burn them."

you shuddered, "i can't believe i read them."

"really?" peter asked, hopeful. you kissed away a stray tear, looking into his wet eyes. "we're okay?"

"we're so okay," you paused, "but you have to watch bridgerton with me."

he groaned, "fine." (you knew he liked it, he just wouldn't ever admit to it.)

"wait, so just checking, you aren't into, like, intellectuals or whatever?"

"i'm into you," he said, "whether not you idenify as one."

taglist: @whatsupstark @ell0ra-br3kk3r @idli-dosa @susvale @kdbsr-h @littlemsbumblebee @sflame15-blog @twinsunkithies @chocolateshepherddreamclod

[deathofacupid]

blind date | jake peralta

summary: jake takes a leap of faith with this blind date. warning: cursing pairing: fem!reader x jake peralta word count: 2.9k+ words

“alright, charles, why’d you blow me off this time?”

“aw, c’mon! you know it wasn’t like that,” he says, shrugging off his jacket to put on the back of his chair. “i never get to see her, and i don’t know how long she’s in town for.”

“i’m kidding, i’m kidding. but i have to say, i’m getting kinda curious. like, who’s this chick? you talk about her all the time, but i’ve never met her.”

“she’s from florida.”

“okay, first ick already.”

charles plops down in the chair next to jake’s desk. “no, no, no. she’s not ‘from’ from florida. she lives there.”

“that’s not better, dude,” jake shudders.

“she’s a family friend.”

“so, like, childhood bestie?”

“no, she’s much younger than me.”

“never a good sentence in any context.”

“oh, my— just let me finish. i used to babysit her when i was a teenager. don’t make it weird, jakey.”

“wait, wait, so how old is she?”

“mm, 27? maybe 28 now? something like that, i’d say.”

jake turns back to his computer, continuing to type. “okay.”

out of nowhere, charles gasps, “oh, my snickerdoodles—"

“nope.”

“what? i didn’t even finish!”

“whenever you start a sentence with ‘oh, my snickerdoodles’, i always end up significantly more uncomfortable than before.”

“this is a good snickerdoodles, i swear.”

jake groans, throwing his head back. “fine. what’s it this time?”

“okay, well, you know how you’re single?”

“thanks for reminding me.”

“well, she’s single too!”

“charles, i’m not—"

“you see, it’s perfect! and she’s not even that much younger than you!”

“a: lower your voice, you’re making me sound kind of like a pedo; b: no.”

“why?” he whines.

“no offense, man. seriously. but you kinda suck at this stuff. i mean, last time i went on a blind date you set up, i ended up with a peacock for a pet.”

“but this one’s so good!”

“dude. charles. you kinda… well, it’s just… you hang out with people like you. and that’s not a bad thing! i just don’t know if i want to date a… charles,” he winces.

charles is confused for a second, but then he nods slowly. “she’s not a me, whatever that means.”

jake, once again, winces. charles definitely took offense that, which is fair — jake didn’t exactly make what he said sound right.

“i mean, she works in home insurance! i could never deal with a job with that level of risk and responsibility.”

“‘risk and responsibility’?”

“oh, boy, yeah. she’s makes that good money, though.”

jake raises an eyebrow, “is the money thing supposed to get me to say yes?”

“…yeah. did it work?”

“a little,” he admits. “but not enough.”

“think of it as an early birthday gift for me!” charles claps his hands together.

“but your birthday isn’t for another 5 months.”

“well, then, you’ll be all set.”

“y’know what? fine. not because of the birthday thing,” he clarifies, “i’m still getting you something. i’m doing it to make you happy.”

charles grins, “oh, jakey, i knew you loved me! i’ll go talk to her! keep this weekend open!” he calls out, rushing back over to his desk.

as jake watches him, he chuckles quietly to himself. if charles cares that much, he’s sure it’ll be worth it.

for charles it’ll be worth it, is what he means. he doesn’t think anything’s going to come out for him.

jake gets four things later that day. a date, time, location, and most interestingly, a name.

your name’s really pretty, at least to him. it feels like a fresh start, things with amy hadn’t worked out. they’d gone strong for 2 months, but that was it.

worst part was, he really did like her.

again, however, there was nothing he could do. what happened, happened, and he was ready to move on from it.

saturday night, 7:30pm, shaw’s. he’s waiting, seated at a table for two. jake drums his fingers on the table, taking a sip of his water.

he’s not punctual either, but he got here early (early!) for charles. granted, it was just by 6 minutes, but still.

he checks his watch again — 7:36.

weird that’s he’s 6 minutes early, and you’re currently 6 minutes late.

“hi,” a voice snaps him out of his own head, “are you jake? peralta?” he looks up to see the, out of what he’s seen before, the most beautiful woman ever.

your hair falls in styled ringlets around your shoulders, which are exposed in the burgundy, spaghetti-strapped dress you’re wearing.

you’re so pretty, he finds himself repeating mentally.

your eyes are kind, and he can see the curve of your lashes. with those soft lips, he can’t help but wonder how they’d feel, pressed against his own.

“uh, yeah,” he confirms. “y/n?”

“yes, yeah. that’s me.” jake gets up to give you a quick hug as a greeting. and now he’s wondering if that was too much as he pulls your chair out.

“i’m sorry i’m so late.”

late? please, that’s normally his early.

not that he’s about to admit that.

“oh, no, you’re totally fine,” jake assures, pushing the chair back in. he then takes his own seat.

“i went to the wrong shaw’s,” you wince. “apparently there’s, like, 4? and i went… not to the right one,” you chuckle. “i haven’t been back for a really long time. and when i was younger, i never came here.”

“huh, so it’s your first time?”

you nod, “yeah.”

“better make it remarkable then,” he grins.

jake went into this date with the full intention of half-assing it. now? now he was going to make it the best he possibly could.

you laugh lightly, and it’s now his new favorite sound.

as soon as he thinks that, he’s recoiling at himself. what’s wrong with him? is he completely whipped for this girl he doesn’t even know?

well, another voice says, doesn’t even know yet.

a waiter passes by the two of you, handing out menus.

“just give us a few,” jake says. he hopes you won’t order anything expensive. he’s not sure his wallet can afford that.

you flip through it, small furrow in your brows as you think.

“i think i’ll go with the smoked salmon,” you decide. jake didn’t even notice he’d been staring at you. his eyes flicker back to his own menu, where he finds what you’re talking about.

it’s a decent price, and he’s thanking the lord. it takes everything in him not to order the chicken nuggets.

“sounds good,” jake notes. “i’ll have…” not the nuggets, he tells himself, “the same.”

he hates fish, but he’s nervous and doesn’t trust himself.

“cool,” you smile.

“cool.”

“um, so charles tells me you work with him?”

“ah, yeah. i do.”

you’re still looking at him, so he assumes you’re waiting for him to say more. “detective at the 99th precinct.”

“honestly, that’s so cool. sounds very interesting.”

“it is,” jake’s getting more pumped, “murder is so cool.”

you snicker, and it’s only then that he realizes what that sounds like.

“i mean, solving murders is cool. the… actual murder part is less cool. y’know, for the… murder-…ee?”

“‘murdered,’” you correct, “and no, no, it’s okay. it does sound cool. and, like, i’m sure it is. i work in home insurance.”

“oh, yeah, charles told me that.”

“it’s a snooze-fest, honestly. but at the end of the day, it keeps me off the street in a cardboard box. so— so i can’t really complain.”

“okay, well, if you could have another job, what would it be?”

you wince, “uhh… man, that’s a good question,” you fold your hands in your lap. “i actually don’t know. it’s funny because i have a master’s degree in psychology—“

“oh, so like a shrink type?” he asks, without thinking. “in a good way— because shrinks are awesome and hot and very helpful.”

you smile, unsure and continue, “maybe a therapist of some sort?”

“ohh, cool. cool, cool.” to him, that sounds worse that home insurance, but whatever floats your boat.

“what about you?”

“huh. i don’t actually know. i can’t see myself doing anything. i’ve always known what i’ve wanted to do, from a young age.”

“can’t relate,” you say. “i waited until the very last minute to pick something. and all that got me was being able to read emotions crazy good. and overthink basically everything.”

he chuckles, “but, hey, at least you’re in home insurance now?”

you groan, “i hate my job.”

“then get another one!”

“i seriously don’t think you know how much harder that is than it sounds.”

“yeah, probably. wait, so you don’t want to be a shrink? double wait, is it offensive for me to say that?”

you giggle, “i don’t take offense. but to the first thing, i don’t know. i mean, i never really tried with that.”

“so you worked your ass off to get that master’s… and then choose to do math all day?”

“to sum it up, yes. but enough about work. do you have any hobbies?”

before jake can answer, the waiter comes back over. you give him your orders, along with a request for a (cheapish) red wine.

he’s grateful for the extra minute to try and come up with a hobby, because aside from work, he doesn’t really have any. and it’s not like he can say die-hard binging is his hobby.

can he?

no, of course not.

but…?

no, no.

unless…?

“uh, i… knit!” he stammers.

“you knit?”

“yes, yeah. i knit. and, boy, do i love it.”

“huh.”

“what?” maybe lying wasn’t the best option here. you can clearly see through it, with that amused smirk of yours.

“nothing. you just didn’t seem like a knitter.”

“well, i am. gah, i’m not. not even remotely. knitting’s so stupid. what do you want me to do with those chopsticks?”

“you’re funny,” you say, after your laughter dies down. “why’d you lie, then?”

“because i panicked, also because i don’t have any. work is my hobby. i love what i do, so it’s not really a job for me.”

“y’know what would be fun? for our next date?”

his heart jumps at the mention of another date.

“what?”

“finding you a hobby! i think i have some things in mind that you’d like.”

“like… motorcycles!”

“what with motorcycles?”

he shrugs, “can’t see me as a teenage dirtbag?”

“teenage?” you snort. “yeah, you wish.”

“that does sound fun, though. i can’t wait,” he smiles softly. “you got any hobbies, shrink?”

“i read, mostly. it’s refreshing after having a basic 9-5 job where i do math all day.”

“oh, i read too!”

“what do you read? any favorites?”

“uh… sci-fi’s cool. occasionally, fantasy.”

“what’s that thing called? the skyfire circle, is it? you read that?”

“yeah, i did. it was okay,” he downplays.

“really? i hated it.”

“what?” he sputters, “how?”

you clap your hands, accomplished.

“i see what you did there.”

“you’re fun.”

“thanks.”

“fun fact,” you say, as the waiter sets down your food. you thank her quietly, then turn back to jake. “i have a minor’s in creative writing.”

“oh, my god. seriously?”

“yeah,” you laugh. “like i said, i really didn’t know what i was gonna do with my life.”

“next thing i know, you’re gonna be like, ‘i have a major in freakin’ bakery science’.”

you’re silent, and his jaw drops. “no way. you’re kidding!”

“no, no, i am!” you grin, “but your reaction was insanely funny. would that be crazy? if i did?”

“yeah, like fucking barbie.” did he just make a barbie reference? why?

why?

you cut into your food, and take a bite. “pretty good for as far as bar food goes. new york bar food at that.”

he takes a bite too, “mm. yeah. delicious!” he plasters a smile.

“didn’t i just catch you for lying?”

“…yes.”

“dude! what’s wrong?”

“this is disgusting,” he gags, spitting the fish back onto the plate. “honestly, the plan was just to swallow and not think. title of my sex tape,” jake adds, without thinking.

“sorry?”

“oh,” pink tinges his cheeks, “it’s just a thing me and my friends do. it’s like ‘that’s what she said’, but more ethnically advanced.”

“wait, wait, ‘ethically advanced’?”

“it’s original. what are we, 12 year old boys?” he snorts.

giggling, “i would believe it.”

he feigns horror, dropping his fork on his plate.

the rest of dinner is nice like that, where you go back and forth with playful banter. or as he would say, flirting. but banter sounds more ethically advanced.

he slides out his wallet, “i’ll pay.”

you make a face, “we’ll split it.”

“y/n, really, it’s fine. i want to.”

“so do i,” you smile.

“okay,” he says, giving the waiter his credit card, and then yours. “split it, please.”

“did you drive here?”

“no, i taxied. i don’t trust myself to drive here. looks scary. i need to adjust to that,” you chuckle.

“i’ll drive you home.”

“no, it’s—“

“as a cop, it’s my duty to protect/tell you that it’s dangerous at night in new york, taxi or not. as your date, it’s the bare minimum,” he winks.

jake grabs his stuff, and so do you. you adjust your dress accordingly, and leave with him.

“uh, this one’s mine.” he pulls open your door, and helps you in before doing the same.”

you give him your address, and he puts in the gps.

“i like your car,” you say, mostly to break the silence. “…is that— toothpaste? and a toothbrush?”

“if i deny it, will it make it better?”

you laugh, “you late a lot?”

“constantly. but it’s not late, it’s, like—“

“if you used ethically advanced again—“

“ethically advanced.”

“how does that even apply here?”

“i don’t know. but i shouldn’t have to tell you. it’s not ethically advanced.”

“oh, my—"

“it’s not! i’m just being honest,” he shrugs, taking a turn. “hey, you live really close.”

“you wouldn’t believe. i went to the other side of the freaking city, because i got the wrong shaw’s!”

“for real? the other side?”

“basically. i literally left half-and-hour early, so i wouldn’t be late.”

“hah! that’s funny.”

“it was pain. i’m gonna kill charles. i asked over the phone! i was like, ‘is it the one on 11th?’ and he was like, ‘yeah.’ i should’ve known he was too excited about this to actually be a normal person.”

“like i said, funny. charles says he’s known you for some time.”

“yeah. he used babysit me. wouldn’t get payed, obviously, because he’s a family friend.”

“y’know, i thought you’d be more like him, that’s why i was hesitant to do this.”

“i know what you mean. trust me, i’ve dealt with those ‘i love yous’ my entire life. they’re the bane of my existence.”

“what, you don’t like constant affection, like at every waking moment? but that’s living the dream!”

you give him a look.

“charles was a great sitter though. he was such a pushover, he’d let me do anything. like, once, he sneaked me into a bar through the bathroom window. we were both underage! it was crazy. well, aside from the part where i got grounded for, like, a decade.”

“what? charles hasn’t told me about any of this stuff before!” he exclaims, pulling into your driveway.

“really? i have so many stories.”

“well, i can’t wait to hear them all.”

as you go to open the door, he stops you. “wait, wait! don’t open that!”

“why?” you ask, panicked, “is it going to explode?”

“huh? why would it-?”

“i don’t know. you’re a cop. maybe… i don’t know.”

“i was gonna say that i’m on a gentleman-y streak here. gotta finish strong. oh, did you notice that, by the way? like, with the doors and chairs?”

“yes, i did,” you smile. “and it’s very hot.”

he does a small fist pump. “i’ll walk you.”

you chuckle, “it’s, like, 10 feet.”

“yeah, but what if someone abducts you?”

“in that 10 feet?” you ask incredulously.

“i’ve seen it happen before,” he shrugs.

“yeah, okay. walk me to my front door, fuzz.”

“what?”

“the fuzz. y-you know, cause you’re a cop? a police dude? smokey the bear? barney? …po-po?”

“we’re good here,” he cuts you off. after he walks with you to the front door, he stops you.

“tonight was really fun. like i said, i was skeptical, but i clearly had no reason to be. you’re smart, and funny. 8/10, overall.”

“only 8?” it’s a teasing tone.

“would’ve been at least a 12/10 if you’d seen die-hard,” he mutters.

“we can add that to our next date option list. i mean, assuming you’re open to one?” it comes out more of a question.

“yeah, no, of course. that sounds awesome. seriously, can’t wait.”

“okay, well,” you feel shy, “cool.”

“cool.”

jake decides to be a little risky, leaving a kiss on your forehead.

“bye, y/n,” he says, as you close the door. as he takes a seat in his car, he pulls out his phone, sending a message to you.

jake 12/10

sliding the key into the ignition, he makes a mental reminder to thank charles for this blind date.

it’s his finest work yet.

taglist: @deathofapiano

[deathofacupid]

stupid | jake peralta

a/n: apparently gina's character has haters...

summary: he's an idiot, and you can't help but worry for him.

warnings: cursing, petty y/n (sorry in advance)

pairing: fem!reader x jake peralta (enemies but lovers)

word count: 2.5k+ words

"no, because you're an idiot!"

"i had him!" jake argues back. look at him, thinking he's all smart and crap.

"you quite literally did not," you throw your hands up, exasperated, "he would've blown off your head!"

"he wouldn't have! i would've talked him down!"

"oh, yeah, because you're just so charming," your voice oozes with sarcasm.

"i'll have you know that i am, in fact, quite charming."

"i don't want to even know what your definition of charming is."

"it's-"

"i said i don't want to know. and that's not even the point. how did we get here?"

"because you claimed-"

"it was rhetorical! the point is that you were being stupid and reckless!"

"what about you? is there, like, no trust in this relationship? fine, i might've been a little... but- but it doesn't matter! i could've got him! he wouldn't have shot me."

"yes, he-"

"nuh-uh!"

"yeah!"

"nu-"

"look, peralta. for once in your life, think with your head, not your junk."

he paused, squinting an eye, "uh, spontaneousness is... hot?"

"having my partner bleeding out on the ground, and i hate to break it to you, is not hot."

"subjective."

"it's really not."

"that's also subjective."

"what's also subjective?"

"your opinion on the subjectiveness is subjective, 'kay?"

you pinch the bridge of your nose. "jacob-"

"'jacob'?" he whines. "that's never good."

"-it's not even about your stupid, rash decisions. i'm your partner for this case. you can't just- just go off without me. we work together, you know that. storming into an active crime scene - mind you, with armed shooters-"

"well, if they're shooter, aren't they already armed?"

you give him a look (the millionth one that day). "jake, i am not kidding. and honestly, you shouldn't be either. this whole," you vaugely gesture to him, "childish personality was cute at first, but i'm getting real damn sick of it. grow. up. everyone already has. it's your turn," you jab him in the chest with your finger, jaw clenched.

"okay, wait, so it's not hot?" he calls to you as you storm out. he wasn't really expecting an answer, but jake was disappointed anyways.

you do your best to avoid him the rest of the week, and yes, the silent treatment is petty, but he needs to know you're being legit about this. otherwise, he'll never get it.

you don't want him to get over-confident and pull crap like that. up until now, someone's always had his back.

but what if one day, they just don't?

"mm, i'm thinking there's a little trouble in paradise," gina says, pointing at you, then jake from across the bar.

another case had just been solved, and it was a big one. and who doesn't like to get shit-faced drunk?

not many people, actually.

and, hey, maybe this is what you need. a chance to loosen up, and just for once, not think about that fight.

a chance to loosen up by sulking alone is what you mean, not gina prodding you about your relationship problems.

"okay, well, you go take that big brain of yours and think somewhere else."

"or - and hear me out - you tell me what's going on. i think we should go with the latter."

you sigh, is there any way you're getting out of this? you peer over her shoulder, trying to find amy.

"it's no use, my friend," she says, "we are offically on drink three amy."

"aw, man." from past experience, third drink amy was not helpful amy. you think you like helpful amy better.

much, much better.

especially now.

"now, spilll."

"ugh, fine," you say, as you down another two shots. if you're gonna talk about this, you're gonna need some background help.

"ooh, and she's going down from there," gina whispers.

"jake was being stupid, i got mad at jake for being stupid, jake is mad at me - because, and get this, he thinks i'm the stupid one!" you scoff, "i mean, come on! like, sorry i saved your ass, my bad. won't happen again!"

when you look over at him, he's talking with terry. completely unaffected! it's like, how dare he.

"oh, my god. gina, do you see that? look. at. him." he's laughing with terry and charles, as if nothing ever happened. you did not spend an entire week being petty for nothing.

you grind your teeth and turn back to the bar.

"i'll be honest with you, i have a feeling he doesn't realize you're mad at him."

"i've been avoiding him... all week."

"uh, you might have to step up your game."

"or don't do that," rosa says from beside you, making you jump.

"when did you even get here?" you splutter.

"i'm a good cop."

"or just a really scary ninja," you mutter.

gina tilts her head, "yeah, but if you're over here, who's watching amy?"

rosa blinks, "jake, i guess."

you've never almost snapped your neck that hard. you narrow your eyebrows, "four drink amy."

"is she..." gina pauses, "dirty-talking him?"

"she's drunk," rosa reminds you, to which you nod. "yeah, duh, of course. i can see that. um, very well."

gina cackles, "now, it's how jake responds - that's what matters."

"this is the saddest thing thing i've seen all day."

you shoo her, not looking her direction, "shhh, rosie." she swats your hand away, but you're too busy to notice.

"y/n, he's literally getting her water."

"damn him for being such a gentleman," you mutter.

"jake? gentleman? isn't his sense of humor literally just poop jokes?" you ignore gina's remark too.

you watch charles gently guide amy to a booth in the back, and then your attention is back on jake.

jake and the hot blonde beside him.

gina nods, "and the plot thickens."

"god," you scowl, "look at her with her prada. i hate rich people."

diaz snorts, "think you might be projecting there?"

"definitely," you tell her.

"it looks like small talk, y/n."

"who's side you on, diaz?"

she puts her hands up in mock surrender. "no one's. i'm just doing you a favor by not feeding into your delusions."

"where's sober amy when you need her?" you groan.

"what would you need her for?"

"lip-reading, duh."

"...right," rosa blinks.

you whine, "holdling grudges are so hard."

"they really aren't," diaz shrugs.

"why can't he just be not dumb? do you know how much easier that would make my life. hint: much, much, easier. like, scale out of to ten; 12, easier."

"terry has a wife, right?"

"is that rhetorical? or are you really asking? because he never shuts up about his wife and kids."

"do you think-" you start.

"that he could help you figure out what's happening between the two of you?" a deeper voice says.

"god!" you exclaim, "you guys just come out of nowhere!"

"well, terry would love to help you."

"okay, first, i was gonna say 'help me by talking sense into him', not have a couple's counseling."

"i think you should talk to him," terry says.

"no, no, you should talk to him. he totally started this."

"what happened?"

you frown, "n-"

"nothing is not a valid answer. because, trust me, everyone at the precinct know it's something."

"everyone?" you squeak.

"everyone," he confirms.

"i second that," rosa adds, "you guys are normally on top of each other."

"...yeah," gina winces, recalling the storage room incident.

"you really think i should just talk to him?"

"i do."

you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, debating this. "i just... i feel like if i talk to him... he'll automatically think i'm okay with it. like i'm letting it go or something."

terry gives you one of those looks, "maybe that's why you should talk to him."

you pause for a moment longer, before deciding he's right.

ignoring him has done nothing, which is the opposite of what you're intent was. you want everything to be okay again, so maybe the silent treatment isn't the right thing.

you have to try somthing else.

and, by the looks of it, it's talking to him.

you slid off the barstool, playing with the end of your hair as you approach him.

maybe if you'd gotten up a little earlier, as his girlfriend, that stupid blonde wouldn't think it was okay to shamelessly flirt with him. you raise an eyebrow as she rest a hand on his bicep, and he does nothing to stop her.

does he not realize she's clearly feeling him up?

you turn back to your small group of friend, giving them a look that says "what now?".

before any of them can respond, someone taps your shoulder. "jesus! what's with scaring the shit out of me today?"

you except it to be hitchcock or scully so you can let some hot air out by screaming at them. it is not in fact either of those to.

standing in front of you is the literal definition of tall, dark, and handsome. "i'm a good cop!" you blurt.

"sorry if i startled you," oh god, he's british too.

if you weren't dating jake, you'd be all over this guy. but honestly, he doesn't hold a candle to your boyfriend.

but... does he know that?

you put on a polite smile as you shake your head. "no, i'm all good."

"cool, then," he remarks, leaning against the slab of the bar. okay, okay, slick. "one kamikaze, please." the man turns to look at you, "mind if i get you something?"

"sure," you brush a strand of hair behind your ear. "i'll have..." you scrunch up your nose, "the same thing."

"it's a margarita. just vodka instead."

"pft, i knew that."

he laughs, and it feels so... practiced. like he's done it a thousand times before, nothing but for stage presence. your eyes flit over him, and by his watch, you can tell that just might be the case.

"vincent, by the way." man, rich person name too.

"y/n," you say, shaking his hand. "nice to meet you."

"wow, pretty name for a pretty girl."

you pretend to giggle, squeezing his arm gently. how cliched was that line?

"you're so sweet." you can see jake seething at vincent, and you give him nothing but a petty look.

his attention is clearly not on the girl anymore, and it's just the way you like it.

you decide to indulge in this further, "where you from, pretty boy?" wait, was that too much? too late.

he chuckles, "london, sweets."

"oh, wow. what're you doing all the way over here?"

"ah, just work things."

"really? what's your job?"

"v.p. for a finance company. you?"

"nypd," you say.

"interesting."

you blink, "why?"

"i just- well, you don't see too many female cops. it's more of a... male-dominated thing, you know? and for good reason, i bet," he laughs like it's this insanely funny thing, and you follow along.

"hey, baby," jake comes up beside you, arm around your waist.

"oh, so now i'm 'baby'."

vincent looks from you to him, then back at you.

"you've always been 'baby'!"

"have i? because you looked like you forgot that, over with that blondie."

"are you serious? i wasn't even-"

"great," vincent mutters.

"she's was flirting with you!"

"she really wasn't!"

you give him a look. "okay, so maybe she was, but i swear i didn't know. like, she asked me about that dimond heist! and it's the coolest story to tell!"

"c'mon, you really didn't know? you always know!"

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"it means you can't keep it in your pants and, for some reason, you're proud of it!"

"what about you? you, and i know for a fact, were all giggly with this guy!"

"i think i'll be heading out-"

"don't you dare even move, vinny."

"seriously? vinny?" jake scoffs.

"and i was only over here because i thought you were flirting with her!"

"so it's some stupid, petty, misunderstanding?"

"stupid? oh-ho, you want stupid, jakey? what's stupid is trying to take on an armed criminal while unarmed."

"god, this again? i told you i had it!"

"guys!" you call to rosa and boyle, "enlighten us - him - did jake really 'have it'?"

neither of them respond. in fact, charles finds the rim of his shot glass very interesting.

"that's what i thought," you say, finishing your shot and slamming it down.

you march right out, and it's not until you make it out that you realize you rallied the attention of everyone in there.

a part of you feels really stupid, but another part is just mad. why doesn't he get that his actions have consequences?

"y/n?"

you quickly wipe away your tears.

"go away. i'm going home," you rummage through your purse for keys. you may have forgotten that you drove here.

"no, you're not. you're intoxinated."

"fuck off."

"it would've been so much cooler if you said 'fuck you'."

"wh- oh, my god."

"sorry, sorry! look, you're right. i didn't want to admit it before, but you are."

"because of your hero complex?"

"i don't- oh."

"yeah," you sniff.

"hey," he says, pulling you in for a hug. he smells like jake, like home. not your house, your home. resting his chin on the top of your head, you're tucked into his neck. "i didn't even know she was f-"

"jake, it's not about her. you know that."

he sighs, "i just don't get it. i mean, it's my job. and my job is dangerous."

"yeah, and you're right. the hostage thing was dangerous, but it didn't have to be that dangerous. if you would've given me just two minutes, i would've been there. i could've helped. you didn't need to do all that."

"what if in that two minutes, they hurt someone?"

"they were so obviously busy. they wouldn't have done anything. they were... dumb. and you just wanted to make your 'cool enterance'."

"okay, yeah, that was part of the reason. but i needed you to trust me."

"and i needed you to keep me in the loop. you just went, i mean, i didn't even find out until you were there."

"alright, i'm sorry. but i'm okay. i'll always be, right? because i've got you," he pauses, "that was cute, right?"

you pull away, "i might not always be there. you got lucky! jake, you... you could've died." your voice breaks, and you don't do anything to conceal it.

"aww, hey," he coos, bringing you back in. "i'm... i'm sorry. seriously, i really am. i didn't know you were worried about that. i thought you were just mad at me for keeping you... in the dark, a little."

"of course i was worried, jakey. you're my boyfriend, and i love you. i don't- i don't know what i'd do if you died out there. so, maybe in hindsight, dating my co-worker wasn't a good a idea."

"i'll be more careful from now on, i promise. it won't happen again," jake finishes, kissing your forehead. "and i love you too."

"okay," you sigh, content.

"does this mean we can have hot, angsty make-up sex?"

"why would it be angsty?"

"is that a no?"

ask to be added to the jake peralta tag-list!

[deathofacupid]

tomorrow 😏🤭😁🤫🤐😶

[deathofacupid]

this flopped and it flopped hard tf-

family | tom holland

a/n: erm idk how i feel abt this one there's like no active plot- wrote this a while back um i might take it down

summary: for the first time, tom meets your family.

warnings: cursing, mentions of sex, indian aunties

pairing: indian!fem!reader x tom holland

word count: 2.2k+ words

you shuffled through some more of your makeup, touching up your hair at the same time. diwali was held annually at your parents' home, where many relatives would take time off to see each other. during diwali, people would wear their finest clothes, illuminate the interior and exterior of their homes with saaki (earthen lamp), diyas (candles) and rangoli, perform worship ceremonies of Lakshmi, the goddess of prosperity and wealth, light fireworks, and partake in family feasts, where mithai (sweets) and gifts are shared.

it was also the first time that tom would be attending with you, which may have been the reason you were nervous. every since a young age, your parents had kind of expected you to marry someone of your own nationality.

after all, your two sisters did that, as well as your brother. your parents had met tom a couple times, but seeing as he was busy filming, they hadn't gotten to know him that well, despite the fact it was almost a year that the two of you were together.

you stepped out of the bathroom, picking up your dress slightly to keep you from tripping. pulling open a draw in the cabinet, you picked up a nice kurta set for tom, one that you'd gotten him last week. it was a pretty navy blue, one you knew would complement his warm eyes.

"oh, hey, love, you all ready?"

you couldn't help but nod shyly, most of your attire consisted of sweatpants, so him seeing you dressed up made you blush a little.

"you look really pretty, y/n," he kissed your cheek. "i love the traditional look on you."

"thanks, tommy. now go put this on, i don't wanna be late. can't make a bad impression, now can we?"

he rolled his eyes playfully and took the items from you, before changing. in front of you, making you blush a bright red.

"what, darling? we literally have sex all the time," tom snickered.

"yes, yes, i-i know. shut up and hurry," you said, getting over your embarrassment and shamelessly checking him out. 

"you're not very subtle."

"i don't need to be. we're dating, 'member? you're my boyfrienddd. and we have 'sex all the time,'" you mimicked. not giving him time to respond, you walked over to him, making sure it fit right. "this isn't tight or anything?"

damn, was he hot in that.

"nope. snug as a bug in a rug," and you couldn't help but snort at his childishness and the silly rhyme.

"cool, now say 'croissant.'"

"ouch, babe. so mean."

"mhm," you kissed him, and he caught you off guard, his tongue slipping in your mouth. it got slightly heated before you pushed him away, remembering you had things to do.

"woah, there, keep your dick in your pants just a little while longer."

"nooooooo," tom drawled, groaning teasingly.

"i didn't take all this time getting ready for you to wreck it in five minutes. you wouldn't believe how difficult it was to get this dress on."

"i bet it'll be easier to take off," he wiggled his brows suggestively.

"you can test that out once we get back home."

he helped you downstairs and to the car, as you terribly struggled to walk in the heels. after sitting you in the car, he got in himself.

"okay, tommy, when we get there," you spoke as he turned on the engine, "don't drink, they'll ask you if you want vodka and you refuse, cause it's a trick, got that? and, um... stay away from my aunts, well, actually, greet them, but not too much. because if you start talking with them, they'll make you spill things you wouldn't have said otherwise, it's kinda manipulative, but... in a good way. ooh! be funny, but not too funny, because then they'll think you're too funny, and we don't want that. and don't curse too much, they don't like that. but don't be uptight, y'know?"

"wow, okay, first off, angel, breathe. why are you stressing out so much? it's just your family, right? i've met them before."

"this is different, though. because it's diwali. and before it was just casual, and it wasn't for long. plus, that was just my parents. this is everyone. why aren't you panicking? you went crazy the first time you were about to meet them."

"'cuz if i panic while you're panicking, we'll be a huge panicky mess. only one of us can panic at a time. that's the rule."

you laughed.

"besides, they'll love me," he started as he looked over to you at the red light, "i know you do," tom murmured, leaning in.

"the light's green."

"aw, come on, y/n, you totally ruined the moment!"

"it would have been ruined anyways, angry drivers honking at us isn't exactly romantic, babes."

"yeah, yeah."

soon enough, with some giggling and talking, time went by and you reached. getting out of the car, you straightened up and smoothed your hair. "tommy?" you asked, glanced at him as you stood in front of the front door.

"yes, my love?"

"my family, they, um, they can be a lot, okay? they want what's best for me, they just don't know that it's you," he took your hands in his and opened his mouth to say something, but you interrupted him. "promise me something," you murmured.

"yeah?"

"they aren't going to break us apart. because i love you so, so, so, so, so much, and you mean the world to me."

"well, darling, you are my world, and i solemnly swear," he put one of your hands on his heart playfully, "that they won't break us apart. nothing will. and i love you, too," he leaned in to kiss you, but you heard laughing and shrieking inside as the door opened. it was your niece, raja, or your sister priya's son. he was 8 and the most chaotic gremlin you knew, aside from tom.

"ewwwwwwwwww! they were kissing!"

we weren't kissing, but we would have gotten around to it if you hadn't interrupted, butthole.

tom leaned down to greet the kid, ruffled his hair slightly. "hi, raja, i'm peter," he said, changing his accent. you were slightly surprised that he remembered, last night you'd showed him pictures of your entire family, explaining who was who (you had a big family).

"spider-man!"

"shhhhh, you can't tell anyone! or the bad guys will get us!" raja giggled, and you gently moved him to the side, kissing the little boy's hair. it was the sweetest thing ever, seeing tom interact with the kid that way, and it made your love and admiration for him grow.

"amma! we're here!" your mom and dad greeted you by the door, and you bent down to touch your mother's feet, before realizing that you didn't share this detail with tom. but as you looked over, he was doing the same, and you wondered how he'd known. you did the same to do your father and he did the same to your mother.

your mom looked over to your dad, clearly impressed.

"hi, beta. andar aa jaa. sab aa gae, tum-he aakhiree ho. (come inside. everyone is here, you are the last.)" she gave you a kiss on the side of your head and you moved over to hug your dad as well. "hi, tom," she smiled.

"h-hello," he stammered as your mother gave him a hug, and visibly, he was surprised. you held in a snicker. tom moved over to shake your dad's hand, and the older man inspected him before giving a curt nod and smile.

you took his hand and squeezed it gently, kissing him on his cheek to calm him down slightly.

"there you are," your sister beamed, "didn't know if you and your hotshot boyfriend would show."

you rolled your eyes and gave her a hug. "love you, too," pausing momentarily, "tom this is d-"

"dia," he smiled, "it's nice to meet you. i've heard a lot." dia was your younger sister, age 23, she'd found the one last year and gotten married to him just 8 months later.

"all good things, i hope?"

"mostly," you chimed in.

a man appeared next to dia and you hugged him briefly, too. (there was a lotta hugging.)

"hey, tom, i'm prakash. nice to finally meet you. big fan, by the way."

you felt a need to interrupt, "me too. he's my celebrity crush."

tom rolled his eyes playfully, adding, "i better be. and it's nice to meet you, too, mate."

the four of you sat down on the couch, joining everyone else.

"priya," your older sister introduced, grinning. "raja's mom. and this is aditeya, my husband." adi leaned over to shake his hand and tom greeted him verbally as well.

"siddhant, my younger brother, but everyone calls him sid." not to mention, very overprotective. (and your favorite sibling.)

sid gave him a once-over and reluctantly reached over for a handshake. "hey, thomas," he nodded, unamused.

"relax," you mouthed, "he's just protective."

you went on to introduce him to all your aunts and uncles, and then finally, have some snacks.

"we adjusted the spice level," priya said.

"and there's milk," you added.

"nah, don't worry, i love spicy food," he waved his hand nonchalantly.

you resisted the urge to roll your eyes, considering that he couldn't eat any indian food you made, you always had to lessen the spices for him, but it made a funny first date, for you, at least.

he took a bite of the samosa andhis eyes widened as he swallowed it down. 16 pairs of eyes  looked at him expectantly, waiting for a reaction."

"i-it's very good," he choked out.

"babes, you want milk?" you asked, knowing very well that he did.

tom forced a smile, "no, no, i'm good."

"okay..." you drawled. "enjoy then!" then you took a bite and beamed.

"i'm thirsty," you declared, to anyone willing to listen. then you stood up and strode into the kitchen, grabbing the milk from the fridge.

"you like him?"

you yelped and whipped around, seeing that it was just sid.

"shit, bro, you scared me! what the hell?"

"tom. you like him?"

"well, duh, why else would i be dating him?"

"how serious are you?"

"what is this? 20 questions?"

"just answer," he insisted.

"siddie, you don't need to worry," you said, knowing the childhood nickname would soften him up.

"i know, but-"

"no, look, trust me, he's... i think he's the one. he's been there for me like no one has. tom's so different, and not just a brainless actor. i know he'll keep me happy, and i also know that to him, i come before acting. he's made that a priority and showed that to me."

"i- okay. i trust you. and i'm happy for you," he leaned on for a hug, and once you broke apart, you poured the milk into the cup.

"who's that for?" sid asked. "you? did you think it was spicy?"

"no," you snorted, "it's for tom. he just won't admit he needs it." you walked walked out of the kitchen and back into the living room, taking back your seat. you set the milk in front of you, taking a sip first.

the second you put it down, he grabbed it and chugged the glass, resulting in some stares and odd looks casted toward him.

"i- uh, i really, really love milk," he blushed.

"definitely breastfed," your mom said.

"is he really the one if he can't even handle the samosa?" one of your aunts chimed in.

someone got to it before you did, another aunt, "shut it, rashmi. always talking."

"oi, chup, (shush.) i'm looking out for the girl."

"how about you look out for yourself? oh, wait, you already did. and see how that went with akash?"

they went back and forth bickering, but you smiled, considering this as a win. who cared about what they thought? their judgement? yes, they were a lot and they were your family, but tom was, too.

you loved your overbearing family, and you loved tom.

[deathofacupid]

family | tom holland

a/n: erm idk how i feel abt this one there's like no active plot- wrote this a while back um i might take it down

summary: for the first time, tom meets your family.

warnings: cursing, mentions of sex, indian aunties

pairing: indian!fem!reader x tom holland

word count: 2.2k+ words

you shuffled through some more of your makeup, touching up your hair at the same time. diwali was held annually at your parents' home, where many relatives would take time off to see each other. during diwali, people would wear their finest clothes, illuminate the interior and exterior of their homes with saaki (earthen lamp), diyas (candles) and rangoli, perform worship ceremonies of Lakshmi, the goddess of prosperity and wealth, light fireworks, and partake in family feasts, where mithai (sweets) and gifts are shared.

it was also the first time that tom would be attending with you, which may have been the reason you were nervous. every since a young age, your parents had kind of expected you to marry someone of your own nationality.

after all, your two sisters did that, as well as your brother. your parents had met tom a couple times, but seeing as he was busy filming, they hadn't gotten to know him that well, despite the fact it was almost a year that the two of you were together.

you stepped out of the bathroom, picking up your dress slightly to keep you from tripping. pulling open a draw in the cabinet, you picked up a nice kurta set for tom, one that you'd gotten him last week. it was a pretty navy blue, one you knew would complement his warm eyes.

"oh, hey, love, you all ready?"

you couldn't help but nod shyly, most of your attire consisted of sweatpants, so him seeing you dressed up made you blush a little.

"you look really pretty, y/n," he kissed your cheek. "i love the traditional look on you."

"thanks, tommy. now go put this on, i don't wanna be late. can't make a bad impression, now can we?"

he rolled his eyes playfully and took the items from you, before changing. in front of you, making you blush a bright red.

"what, darling? we literally have sex all the time," tom snickered.

"yes, yes, i-i know. shut up and hurry," you said, getting over your embarrassment and shamelessly checking him out. 

"you're not very subtle."

"i don't need to be. we're dating, 'member? you're my boyfrienddd. and we have 'sex all the time,'" you mimicked. not giving him time to respond, you walked over to him, making sure it fit right. "this isn't tight or anything?"

damn, was he hot in that.

"nope. snug as a bug in a rug," and you couldn't help but snort at his childishness and the silly rhyme.

"cool, now say 'croissant.'"

"ouch, babe. so mean."

"mhm," you kissed him, and he caught you off guard, his tongue slipping in your mouth. it got slightly heated before you pushed him away, remembering you had things to do.

"woah, there, keep your dick in your pants just a little while longer."

"nooooooo," tom drawled, groaning teasingly.

"i didn't take all this time getting ready for you to wreck it in five minutes. you wouldn't believe how difficult it was to get this dress on."

"i bet it'll be easier to take off," he wiggled his brows suggestively.

"you can test that out once we get back home."

he helped you downstairs and to the car, as you terribly struggled to walk in the heels. after sitting you in the car, he got in himself.

"okay, tommy, when we get there," you spoke as he turned on the engine, "don't drink, they'll ask you if you want vodka and you refuse, cause it's a trick, got that? and, um... stay away from my aunts, well, actually, greet them, but not too much. because if you start talking with them, they'll make you spill things you wouldn't have said otherwise, it's kinda manipulative, but... in a good way. ooh! be funny, but not too funny, because then they'll think you're too funny, and we don't want that. and don't curse too much, they don't like that. but don't be uptight, y'know?"

"wow, okay, first off, angel, breathe. why are you stressing out so much? it's just your family, right? i've met them before."

"this is different, though. because it's diwali. and before it was just casual, and it wasn't for long. plus, that was just my parents. this is everyone. why aren't you panicking? you went crazy the first time you were about to meet them."

"'cuz if i panic while you're panicking, we'll be a huge panicky mess. only one of us can panic at a time. that's the rule."

you laughed.

"besides, they'll love me," he started as he looked over to you at the red light, "i know you do," tom murmured, leaning in.

"the light's green."

"aw, come on, y/n, you totally ruined the moment!"

"it would have been ruined anyways, angry drivers honking at us isn't exactly romantic, babes."

"yeah, yeah."

soon enough, with some giggling and talking, time went by and you reached. getting out of the car, you straightened up and smoothed your hair. "tommy?" you asked, glanced at him as you stood in front of the front door.

"yes, my love?"

"my family, they, um, they can be a lot, okay? they want what's best for me, they just don't know that it's you," he took your hands in his and opened his mouth to say something, but you interrupted him. "promise me something," you murmured.

"yeah?"

"they aren't going to break us apart. because i love you so, so, so, so, so much, and you mean the world to me."

"well, darling, you are my world, and i solemnly swear," he put one of your hands on his heart playfully, "that they won't break us apart. nothing will. and i love you, too," he leaned in to kiss you, but you heard laughing and shrieking inside as the door opened. it was your niece, raja, or your sister priya's son. he was 8 and the most chaotic gremlin you knew, aside from tom.

"ewwwwwwwwww! they were kissing!"

we weren't kissing, but we would have gotten around to it if you hadn't interrupted, butthole.

tom leaned down to greet the kid, ruffled his hair slightly. "hi, raja, i'm peter," he said, changing his accent. you were slightly surprised that he remembered, last night you'd showed him pictures of your entire family, explaining who was who (you had a big family).

"spider-man!"

"shhhhh, you can't tell anyone! or the bad guys will get us!" raja giggled, and you gently moved him to the side, kissing the little boy's hair. it was the sweetest thing ever, seeing tom interact with the kid that way, and it made your love and admiration for him grow.

"amma! we're here!" your mom and dad greeted you by the door, and you bent down to touch your mother's feet, before realizing that you didn't share this detail with tom. but as you looked over, he was doing the same, and you wondered how he'd known. you did the same to do your father and he did the same to your mother.

your mom looked over to your dad, clearly impressed.

"hi, beta. andar aa jaa. sab aa gae, tum-he aakhiree ho. (come inside. everyone is here, you are the last.)" she gave you a kiss on the side of your head and you moved over to hug your dad as well. "hi, tom," she smiled.

"h-hello," he stammered as your mother gave him a hug, and visibly, he was surprised. you held in a snicker. tom moved over to shake your dad's hand, and the older man inspected him before giving a curt nod and smile.

you took his hand and squeezed it gently, kissing him on his cheek to calm him down slightly.

"there you are," your sister beamed, "didn't know if you and your hotshot boyfriend would show."

you rolled your eyes and gave her a hug. "love you, too," pausing momentarily, "tom this is d-"

"dia," he smiled, "it's nice to meet you. i've heard a lot." dia was your younger sister, age 23, she'd found the one last year and gotten married to him just 8 months later.

"all good things, i hope?"

"mostly," you chimed in.

a man appeared next to dia and you hugged him briefly, too. (there was a lotta hugging.)

"hey, tom, i'm prakash. nice to finally meet you. big fan, by the way."

you felt a need to interrupt, "me too. he's my celebrity crush."

tom rolled his eyes playfully, adding, "i better be. and it's nice to meet you, too, mate."

the four of you sat down on the couch, joining everyone else.

"priya," your older sister introduced, grinning. "raja's mom. and this is aditeya, my husband." adi leaned over to shake his hand and tom greeted him verbally as well.

"siddhant, my younger brother, but everyone calls him sid." not to mention, very overprotective. (and your favorite sibling.)

sid gave him a once-over and reluctantly reached over for a handshake. "hey, thomas," he nodded, unamused.

"relax," you mouthed, "he's just protective."

you went on to introduce him to all your aunts and uncles, and then finally, have some snacks.

"we adjusted the spice level," priya said.

"and there's milk," you added.

"nah, don't worry, i love spicy food," he waved his hand nonchalantly.

you resisted the urge to roll your eyes, considering that he couldn't eat any indian food you made, you always had to lessen the spices for him, but it made a funny first date, for you, at least.

he took a bite of the samosa andhis eyes widened as he swallowed it down. 16 pairs of eyes  looked at him expectantly, waiting for a reaction."

"i-it's very good," he choked out.

"babes, you want milk?" you asked, knowing very well that he did.

tom forced a smile, "no, no, i'm good."

"okay..." you drawled. "enjoy then!" then you took a bite and beamed.

"i'm thirsty," you declared, to anyone willing to listen. then you stood up and strode into the kitchen, grabbing the milk from the fridge.

"you like him?"

you yelped and whipped around, seeing that it was just sid.

"shit, bro, you scared me! what the hell?"

"tom. you like him?"

"well, duh, why else would i be dating him?"

"how serious are you?"

"what is this? 20 questions?"

"just answer," he insisted.

"siddie, you don't need to worry," you said, knowing the childhood nickname would soften him up.

"i know, but-"

"no, look, trust me, he's... i think he's the one. he's been there for me like no one has. tom's so different, and not just a brainless actor. i know he'll keep me happy, and i also know that to him, i come before acting. he's made that a priority and showed that to me."

"i- okay. i trust you. and i'm happy for you," he leaned on for a hug, and once you broke apart, you poured the milk into the cup.

"who's that for?" sid asked. "you? did you think it was spicy?"

"no," you snorted, "it's for tom. he just won't admit he needs it." you walked walked out of the kitchen and back into the living room, taking back your seat. you set the milk in front of you, taking a sip first.

the second you put it down, he grabbed it and chugged the glass, resulting in some stares and odd looks casted toward him.

"i- uh, i really, really love milk," he blushed.

"definitely breastfed," your mom said.

"is he really the one if he can't even handle the samosa?" one of your aunts chimed in.

someone got to it before you did, another aunt, "shut it, rashmi. always talking."

"oi, chup, (shush.) i'm looking out for the girl."

"how about you look out for yourself? oh, wait, you already did. and see how that went with akash?"

they went back and forth bickering, but you smiled, considering this as a win. who cared about what they thought? their judgement? yes, they were a lot and they were your family, but tom was, too.

you loved your overbearing family, and you loved tom.

[deathofacupid]

i have a tom holland fic i wanna post... but i'm scared 😭😭😭