#almost forgot the police logo on his uniform!!

[thestakeout]

For @whoophoney for kindly helping me out with something!!

He got a mysterious note :3c

[kjs-s]

Car chase

Pairing Steve Rogers x reader

Summary:  You do a favor for your boyfriend that you will regret later 

Prompts   “How’s my favorite customer? You getting the usual?”  and   “If there’s one thing I learned from tonight, it’s to never trust you with the keys to my car again.”

Word Count: 1264

Warnings: Mention of a car accident

A/N: This is my entry for @thranduilsperkybutt‘s 8000 followers writing challenge. Hope you will like it. 

@writing-journeyx   @sprinkleofhappinessuniverse @ohyesmarvel @agentpeggicarter  @buckys-fossil @romantichen @once-upon-an-imagine 

For the last three hours of your shift, you were bored out of your mind. The only customers that walked into the coffee shop were a couple of students that were writing a paper. You had already given them two coffees each and from their conversation, they seemed to be almost done with their workload for the day.

Knowing that next to nobody would be coming in next you decided to start cleaning. You had the smallest hope that your manager would let you leave early tonight.

After a while, the door opened and you could hear whoever had entered running towards the counter. You turned to face your boyfriend Steve trying to catch his breath.

“How’s my favorite customer? You getting the usual?” You greeted him in the way you were always addressing him.  You were wondering why we looked like he was running before coming to the coffee shop for his afternoon coffee and chocolate cupcake.

‘’ I would love to babe but I’m not here to order right now. I need to borrow your car keys. Please, darling, it’s urgent.’’ He sifted his weight from one foot to another and kept looking outside to your car.

‘’Are you kidding me, Rogers? Did you really think I would just blindly hand you my keys?’’ You took a glance at the time assuming that your manager was already about to call it a night anyway. ‘’Listen; give me a couple of minutes to ask permission to leave early. I am not having no for an answer, I am not going to let you take my car I might need it afterward.’’ The truth was that you were a little paranoid about giving your things away even to your loved ones. When you were in college you had given some of your books to a friend of yours and she not only never returned them but dropped out at the end of the semester taking your books with her.

‘’Fine, but be quick.  I just saw someone familiar walking by and I am almost certain he is a Hydra agent. We have to follow him; I noticed which way he turned. Also, I am going to drive because your over-cautiousness makes you a slow driver. I could joke that you drive like an old lady but that would be ironic coming from me.’’

Your manager let you leave but judging by how stressful Steve made you while rushing you to get to the car made you prefer to be back at work. At least being bored is preferable than being dragged to a car chase. Or most accurately chasing someone who was on foot with your car.

‘’So, are you sure the guy we are stalking is a Hydra agent? And what does he look like?’’ You asked your boyfriend since you noticed you were looking around for a person whose details you weren’t aware of.

‘’Yes sorry honey, I forgot to mention that part. He looked familiar from a file I wrote a while back. You give me that look (Y/N), you were working overtime and I was home alone. You know I spent my free time reading Shield files.’’ You shook your head at how much of a nerd your boyfriend can be.

‘’So back to the matter at hand. He is average height; picture him around Clint’s height. He was wearing a purple hoodie with jeans. And I think I saw a logo with a panther on the back of the hoodie but I’m not sure about it because I just took a glimpse at it.’’ He continues driving the car like he had stolen it.

Despite the tremendous effort on Steve’s part to catch up with the supposedly Hydra agent, you lost him. That of course came to no surprise to you. There was nearly impossible for you to assume the way he had headed off to, neither of you had that amount of luck. In the contrary, as that particular night proved, you two had the worst luck imaginable.

Your fast driving had caught the attention of a police officer who was following you around for almost three blocks. She had the serine on but both of you were too absorbed in the search for the guy Steve saw to notice her.

‘’I am so sorry officer; I know I was speeding and I will tell you the reason. Also, I will gladly pay any speeding ticket you give me.’’ Steve told her as he was rolling his window down. He respected law enforcement officers since they were risking their lives on the job. Also, he didn’t want them to think that he and the rest of the Avengers were undermining them.

‘’License and registration please.’’ The officer told the Captain before lifted her head and saw who she had pulled over.

‘’Oh my god, you are Captain America. I am so sorry I didn’t know it was you. I am a huge fan.’’ She put her notepad back in her uniform.

‘’Thank you for saying that, I appreciate it. And there is no need to apologize, you were right to pull us over. I was speeding in order to catch up to someone and I didn’t notice how fast I was going. Like I said I would pay any ticket you give me.’’ Steve smiled at the obviously nervous and starstrucked officer.

‘’No please, you are an Avenger, I’m sure you don’t have any priors. So I will just let you go with a warning. I will give you a ticket the next time it happens again.’’ She then asked for a picture with Steve and the two of you headed off.

The thought that you would go back to your home to have dinner crossed your mind but it got disturbed by Steve hitting the drakes once more. Apparently, he saw the agent again and decided to start chasing him.

The last time Steve spotted him it was near the Columbus Circle running towards 9th Avenue. Since you were facing the other way, the only thing Steve attempted to do a U-turn. Unfortunately, Steve’s impulse made his brain stop working and not only didn’t he reduce the speed of the car, he stepped on the brakes. That led to the car performing a doughnut maneuver and crushing the rear side on a utility pole.

You stepped outside unharmed but a little shaken up.

‘’(Y/N) are you ok? Are you in any pain?’’ Steve was more concerned about you than himself.

‘’I’m fine Steve. And from what I can see you are too. Thank God the street is empty and we didn’t cause any other damage.’’ You inspected the area and made sure the only damage was to your car. You tried to turn it on but you failed.

‘’Can you call a tow truck to came pick up my car? I will call Sam to come over so he will drive us home. And Steve, don’t worry about the agent we will locate him again. I will send any information about him to Jessica so she can go after him. He was stupid enough to run towards Hell’s Kitchen.’’

As you were waiting for the tow truck to come you kept drumming with your fingers.

‘’I am sorry about your car (Y/N) I promise it won’t happen again.’’ Steve sounded sincerely apologetic.

‘’Don’t worry Steve I’m sure it won’t happen again. And you know why? Because if there’s one thing I learned from tonight, it’s to never trust you with the keys to my car again. ‘’

[initiala]

this idea hit me while driving to work. I blame weird logos for unrelated businesses and binging on Brooklyn 99. an Outlaw Queen surprise for @idoltina  

A chime sounded somewhere in the back of the store, breaking the otherwise silent gun range. Regina took a breath to calm her nerves, then squared her shoulders and marched to the counter. No one seemed to be manning the desk, but she figured -- hoped -- that the door alarm had signaled whichever slacker was working today to take her business.

“Sorry, sorry --” A British accent cut through her thoughts, somewhere in a back room. “Be right there!”

Regina allowed herself to drum her nails against the glass case once before distracting herself by inspecting the guns for rent. She didn’t bring her own -- wasn’t allowed to have hers back until she passed the requalification -- and it irked her to have to borrow one that would likely be too... unpolished. Battered. Uncared for.

Having a firearm was not a particular favorite of being a detective, but the one she did have was regularly cleaned, adjusted, and fit in her hand like an extension of herself.

She looked up as a man came out of the back room, apologizing all the while. She took him in as she might a suspect in a case -- medium height for a man, sandy brown hair, blue eyes, scruffy beard, dressed for the outdoors -- and waited for him to stop speaking. “I need to rent time on the range,” she said shortly. “Nine mil should be fine for now. And I need a spotter. I’m on limited time, so I don’t need someone chatty or who thinks they know how to fire a weapon better than me. Are we clear?”

The man raised an eyebrow, giving her a skeptical look before nodding once and picking out a Smith & Wesson for her, slapping a box of ammo down next to the case, and then beckoning her to the unusually quiet range.

Regina had deliberately picked mid-morning on a Tuesday for this, knowing the range would be decently, if not completely, empty. People worked, after all. And since she was practically being ordered to start preparing herself for a return to field work, this counted as working.

Even if it was the last thing she wanted to be doing right now.

She stalled for time, inspecting every inch of the handgun and doing everything short of taking the damn thing apart and reassembling it herself to get a feel for how it was put together. She was careful loading the magazine, careful putting her protective goggles and earmuffs on.

She was careful as she took the proper stance, gun pointed downrange at her target, and did nothing.

Panic did not claw its way up her back the way it had six months ago when she’d tried this last. She did not have flashes of memory, didn’t see Henry’s face in place of the unfamiliar children she’d been trying to recover from their estranged father a year ago. She didn’t smell smoke from the dumpster fire the man had started as a distraction, she didn’t have any of the signs of the post-traumatic stress that had kept her from being shifted from desk duty back to field work.

But she couldn’t fire the gun.

She didn’t know how long she stood there before she abruptly flicked the safety back on, discharged the magazine, and set both handgun and ammo on the shelf. She stepped back over the line as she took off the earmuffs and slid the safety goggles up on top of her head, taking several breaths.

Why couldn’t she do this?

She didn’t say anything as she packed everything back up, and blessedly neither did the range master, even as she paid him for something she didn’t use. He almost refused her money -- she saw it in his eyes -- but she silently insisted and he took it without a word, handing her a receipt.

The only thing he said was “Have a good afternoon, ma’am,” as she left, her back still straight and her shoulders still square.

Still, something compelled her to go back there the next week, and the week after that, and the week after that.

She’d gone to a few different ranges over the last year, every venture a failed attempt at regaining her right to own a firearm and her ability to use one for her job, but something about the quiet acceptance at On Target made the whole harrowing experience less embarrassing. The range master said nothing, offered no judgments, as she returned week after week and basically threw her money in his face to stand in a bunker like an idiot for thirty minutes. Lucky this was work-related and the station counted it as work expenses to compensate, but part of her scolded herself for throwing away hundreds of dollars every month that could otherwise be used for her son’s school supplies or replacing the school uniform that she swore he grew out of every other week.

But something about this place made it easy to return to, even as she failed to discover why exactly she couldn’t accomplish what she’d come to do.

One Tuesday, about six weeks into this futile exercise, the range master was waiting for her at the counter. “I have something I want you to try,” he said, beckoning her to follow.

It was the first thing he’d said to her in weeks. Curious, Regina followed him to the outside range; curiouser was the fact that he handed her a bow and indicated a case full of arrows. “I’ve been pondering this for some time,” the range master said. “Perhaps the key is not to keep beating yourself against the wall in hopes of breaking it down, but learning how the wall is built, brick-by-brick.”

Regina raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by his analogy and annoyed that he was putting her off track. “What, exactly, does playing Cowboys and Indians have to do with walls and gunfire?”

The range master grinned. “Well, I would have you start with throwing spears or slingshots, but neither are weapons I am qualified to teach. Instead, we start with another primitive firearm. From what I’ve observed, you’re quite comfortable with the weapon in your hand, but it’s the act of firing that’s causing you to freeze up.”

“I do not freeze up,” Regina snapped. Her patience was almost gone, thin already from the shoddy police work her beat cops were doing on a case. “Look, I don’t know who you think you are, but I am not paying you to teach me how to play with twigs and string, nor lecture me on how I’m supposed to figure out my own idiocy. I am paying you to let me try and fire a damn gun.”

“My name is Robin, Detective Mills, and with all due respect you’re paying me to waste both of our time when we both could be doing more valuable things with it.” At her stunned look, he nodded at her belt. “Badge, ma’am, and you answered your phone once on the way out the door with your name and rank. And you pay with a credit card. I may run a simple shooting range, but I work with a lot of police officers and I am not simple.”

Regina closed her mouth, staring at him hard for a long moment. Something in her shifted, as if a puzzle she’d been trying to piece together was shifted and suddenly the pieces started to fit. It had never occurred to her to ask his name, though he was there every week and had done as she asked every time. It did occur to her, however, that she should probably feel ashamed of her behavior, but at this point in her life she could only summon a small amount of contrition. “Fine,” she said, her voice softer in concession. “Robin.”

He nodded, one corner of his mouth quirking up, then proceeded to explain. Apparently, his line of thinking was that she needed to get comfortable with shooting projectiles first. Arrows were not nearly as expensive as bullets and were reusable; they were also more finicky than bullets, requiring more concentration and easily taken off-track by the wind.

It was enormously frustrating.

Robin was trying not to laugh, she knew it, but his voice was calm as he stepped in close. “May I correct your form?”

He was warm, practically radiating heat along her back as he placed his hands on hers to fix her grip. Regina was aware of his breath on her ear as he quietly explained why her hand needed to grip here and how she should pinch the arrow between her fingers like this. She stepped with him when he nudged her feet, correcting her stance, and stood with her as she drew the string back, letting him bring the string to rest against her cheek.

Everywhere their bodies touched tingled with warmth and awareness.

They loosed. The arrow flew. It struck one of the middle rings.

Regina laughed, a gusty whoosh of air from her lungs that felt like the first time she’d laughed in a year. Giddy with the success, she forgot about the warmth and the tingling awareness of bodies too close, and she turned to find Robin’s face too close to hers. She was warm again, her cheeks this time, and her eyes flicked from his down to his lips and back up again, but he apparently paid no notice to their close proximity. Instead, he grinned and told her to do it again, this time without his help.

It got easier, even as she found her back suddenly cold even on this balmy spring day. Robin fixed her stance or her grip here and there, but never again in such an intimate way.

At the end of their time, Robin declared her sufficiently competent. “I won’t be giving you a bow hunting license anytime soon, particularly as moving targets are quite difficult, but you’re a fair shot.”

Regina ducked her head, tucking her hair behind her ear to hide her smile.

They did bow work for another week before Robin presented her with a new challenge: crossbow. “Packs a punch to the target, so we’ll give you a longer range to work on. There’s a slight kick when you pull the trigger, so that should be familiar to you.”

It was, in a startling sort of way. He only had to show her once how to load and how to hold the crossbow for her to understand. Between her old familiarity with guns and her new familiarity with arrows, it wasn’t difficult at all to pick it up. Robin moved her to longer ranges and she felt his eyes on her as she slowly mastered each target. Once, she looked up and caught his gaze; it was startling enough to see him smiling at her so softly that she didn’t hesitate to return it.

“So what’s next?” Regina asked when all of her bolts had been fired downrange. The archery butts had an employee to collect the arrows from the targets, leaving Robin and Regina free to pack up the crossbow and head back inside. “Another week on this, or are you moving me to muskets and bayonets next?”

Robin chuckled and Regina found it interesting how he found her comments funny rather than irritating; all of her partners at work had made pointed comments about it at one point or another, her brothers dealt with it by trying to out-snark her until they all hated one another, and her son was entirely too sweet-natured for her to be particularly snippy at -- unless he left his shoes on the stairs again. “No, unless you want to pay for double the time and extra for unpacked gunpowder. It takes bloody ages to load those. No, we’ll go for a shotgun or rifle next, reacquaint you with gunpowder and bullets, and after that we’ll see how you adjust to handguns again.”

Regina nodded, vowing to ignore the sudden return of anxious gnawing in her gut. Robin hesitated a moment, then put his hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be fine, Detective. I promise.”

She resolutely refused to rub the spot his hand had touched as she left.

It was not fine.

Well, not at first. Regina loaded the shotgun, familiar with the two-barrel system and the need to reload often, but when it came time to actually fire...

She didn’t freeze, no matter what Robin said. She just didn’t pull the trigger.

However, it shocked her that he just up and left the range. Shocked, and a little hurt if she was being honest with herself for once. It felt like he was giving up on her, like he’d finally decided that she wasn’t enough, that she wasn’t worth seeing through to the end -- Regina shook her head. No, she was allowing herself to be fanciful. She was paying him to let her use this space, to practice and hone her skills. Robin had taken on more of an active role than a passive one, and she was grateful for the help he’d offered, but she didn’t need him to babysit her. Though she’d asked for a spotter, he’d likely send in another employee -- he was decent as a range master in that way.

She resettled her stance and stared down the barrel at the target, trying to use her conflicting emotions as fuel to pull the trigger. Her finger settled on the metal and she willed herself to pull...

Regina dropped her stance in disgust, hating herself for being unable to jump over this hurdle.

Movement caught her eye and she looked over at the door -- shock returned, and a warmth in her chest she couldn’t put a name to. Robin held a shotgun in the crook of one arm and a box of ammo in the other. She moved the earmuffs off of one ear to hear him say, “We’ll do a few rounds -- first one to fire twenty shots into the target wins. Second round will be clusters, a challenge with these guns. Third will be timed kill shots. Come on, Detective, where’s your competitive spirit?”

Regina barely got her earmuffs back on in time before Robin got into position and fired downrange. He glanced over at her, giving her a clear, challenging look, and fired again.

Well, Regina was hardly one to back down from a challenge.

He graciously allowed her two shots, and from there it was a race to finish. Regina let herself fall into a familiar, comfortable competitive mindset, focusing on nothing else but the goal at hand -- beat this man who somehow knew every trick in the book to get her over herself.

Even her brothers couldn’t get into her head this much, and Liam was her twin.

Robin still won the first round, but Regina took the second. She prided herself on her ability to cluster-fire. The third they had to declare a tie; they had another employee in with a stopwatch and they went one at a time to see how quickly they could fire six rounds into the head and chest of the target, but the time was so close that the fractions of fractions a second were too minuscule to really matter.

Regina felt better than she had in ages. She wasn’t sure how the handgun would go, but just being able to say she’d come this far exhilarated her. Her shoulder would ache from the shotgun’s kick and it was absolutely worth it. “I’d say I should buy you a drink in thanks, but with all the money I’ve given you I probably can’t afford it,” she said as they walked back to the front.

Robin looked at her with a raised eyebrow, that lopsided smile on his face. “And considering you’re paying me for a service, it’s likely inappropriate, but the sentiment is appreciated anyway, Detective.”

She inclined her head, a concession to that bit of truth. “Still, I’d probably still be standing there like an imbecile if it wasn’t for you. I don’t give thanks or praise easily, so I would cherish this if I were you.”

“You just needed the proper motivation, that’s all. I find that appealing to one’s baser instincts often helps.”

His words tripped her up slightly -- a slight hesitation in her step, allowing his longer strides to propel him to the door faster and giving her a moment to watch the way his vest hiked up and showed the plaid shirt underneath twisting its way to freedom from his well-worn jeans as he pulled open the door. “Indeed it does,” Regina murmured, following him inside.

“You’re not taking the qualifications here then, are you?” Robin asked on her second week with the .9mm.

Regina shook her head. Last week had been difficult, but he’d insisted on competing with her again to get her used to the feeling again. She’d gone three rounds with him before asking if she could take some shots by herself.

This week, she’d begin and end alone.

“We have a facility,” she explained. “It’s too... much, though. For this. I like the space to practice, to get used to things again.”

“No one watching too closely,” Robin suggested.

“Present company excepted.”

He chuckled at that and Regina slid the earmuffs on. The weight of the gun in her hand felt more comfortable now, the knowledge of what came next less unsettling than it had been in previous weeks.

But though her finger tightened on the trigger, she couldn’t pull.

Hot fury burned through her, angry at herself and her choices and her lack of conviction. Though she fumed, trying to psych herself up for it, she felt Robin’s presence behind her and didn’t jump when he laid a hand on her shoulder. She set the gun on the ledge and removed the earmuffs. “What?” she asked, her voice quiet in self-defeat.

“Deep breaths, Detective. You don’t have to prove anything today. You haven’t signed up for a test. It’s just practice.”

“But I do,” she said. “If nothing else, I have to prove to myself that I can do this, that I can get past--” She broke off. She hadn’t told him -- anyone, save for her captain and the precinct’s shrink -- why she’d been pulled from field work. She took a breath. “A year ago, a man kidnapped his own children. He didn’t have custody. I had the lead on the case, tracked him down. He got violent -- with us, not the children, but used them as human shields. The boy was my own son’s age, so pale and scared... I froze up. Someone else took the shot, took out the father, and they got the kids out relatively unharmed. I don’t... generally my line of work doesn’t deal with many children. Special Victims gets the brunt of it. This was a special circumstance, and I think realizing that my son is just as likely to be hurt, or that I could leave him an orphan again...”

“It got to you,” Robin said.

Regina nodded. “I adopted Henry when he was just a few days old. It’s been just me, though my brothers help when they can. It’s good for him to have male role models in his life, though I question Killian sometimes. I know they’d care for him if something happened to me, but I’d rather not have to put my son through the loss of a third parent.”

Robin’s hand was warm on her shoulder. “I understand. My wife died in childbirth several years ago, complications. I would do anything -- fight my way back from the seventh layer of Hell -- to ensure my own son isn’t left alone in the world. It’s commendable that you’re even trying this. I’m not sure I’d be able to.”

“I’m practically being forced,” she admitted. “But I admit that I’ve been getting bored sitting at a desk all day. I’d do a lot more good by being in the field again, and I wouldn’t have to threaten junior officers every other hour for missing steps in policy and procedure.”

She felt Robin’s soft chuckle more than she heard it, a soft vibration just behind her. He was close enough that she could easily detect his woodsy scent. “Funny, you seem the type to enjoy threatening someone.”

Regina smiled wryly. “On occasion. Though it loses its enjoyment after too much use.”

“I see. Well, then to preserve what good is left in the world, I suggest you buck up, Detective Mills. The bad guys won’t arrest themselves, and perhaps after this I’ll let you buy me that drink,” Robin said, and he stepped back.

Regina looked behind her, raising an eyebrow. “After I arrest someone, or after I empty this magazine?”

He gave her what could only be described as a cheeky grin. “Whichever happens to come first, Detective.”

Her other eyebrow went up and she couldn’t help but smirk. “Well, if I’m going to be buying drinks, you’d better start calling me Regina.”

She settled the earmuffs over her ears once again and hefted the gun. She raised it, lining up the sight with her target at the far end of the range.

She took a deep breath, and fired.