#inspired by brooklyn 99

[lurafita]

Magnus: "Rules are meant to be broken." Alec: "Rules are meant to be followed. Nothing is meant to be broken." Magnus: "Piñatas." Izzy: "The enemy's neck." Jace: "A person's mind." Alec: "… Magnus, good argument. Izzy and Jace, I'm making an appointment with a therapist for you two."

[scenecipriano]

Niffty: you can punch me, kick me, pull my hair.

Valentino: Oka-

Niffty: I am A-OK being stabbed! Biting and scratching are on the table!

Valentino begging mildly concerned: Oka-

Niffty: You CAN use fire.

Valentino: These are the fucking ground rules????

Niffty excited: Ohhh the bad boy has something sick planned? Don’t tell me, surprise me!

————

Valentino: Here take it back- *hands Al Niffty*

Alastor confused but happily: With pleasure!

[charliewrites99]

I think I could survive truly horrific media if I was shipping someone there.

[peskellence]

Thirium Blue Is The Warmest Colour

Some Fem!Reed900 because I am absolutely starved of wlw content. Meet Nina and Georgia 'Gia' Reed <3

[shesgotthebeststories]

like a tattooed golden retriever

a rosa x oc fic

“at dinner you take my ring off my middle finger and put it on the one, people put wedding rings on. that’s the closest i’ve come, to my heart exploding”

a fic where rosa can’t seem to figure out what she is feeling.

It was a late night after a grueling day at the precinct. Maddy and Rosa sat on the couch, the tension between them unspoken but palpable. Rosa was stretched out, her head resting on Maddy’s lap as Maddy absently ran her fingers through her dark hair, her eyes glued to the show playing on the TV. Rosa’s breathing slowed, and her eyelids grew heavy, the rhythmic motion of Maddy’s fingers lulled her to sleep.

-

Hours later, Rosa stirred. A random romance movie played softly on the TV, casting warm light across the room. She blinked a few times, trying to orient herself. The steady rise and fall of Maddy’s chest behind her drew Rosa’s attention. She shifted slightly, turning onto her back to watch Maddy. Her face was peaceful, lips slightly parted as she snored softly. A stray piece of blonde hair had fallen across Maddy’s face. She reached up, carefully brushing it behind her ear.

But something in her chest twisted. The intimacy of the moment hit her like a wave, and panic bubbled to the surface. She jerked her hand back as if burned, sitting up abruptly. Rosa ran her hands through her hair, her mind racing. What are you doing? She grabbed her shoes and jacket, slipping them on as quietly as possible.

Before leaving, she turned to look at Maddy one last time. But the knot in her stomach tightened, and she couldn’t bring herself to stay. Rosa rushed out the door, letting it close softly behind her.

-

The next day at the precinct was awkward. Rosa avoided Maddy, throwing herself into paperwork. Maddy noticed but didn’t push—at least not until late afternoon. Maddy walked into the evidence room, where Rosa was sitting at a desk reading through a case file. She leaned against the wall, watching Rosa.

“Hey,” Maddy said softly, trying to catch Rosa’s eyes.

“Hey,” Rosa replied without looking up, her voice clipped.

“So… you left pretty early last night. Thought you were staying over.” Rosa froze for a split second before continuing her task.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Something happened back at my apartment. Had to take care of it.”

“You could’ve woken me up. I would’ve driven you home,” Maddy offered, stepping closer and resting her chin lightly on Rosa’s head, her arms wrapping around Rosa’s shoulders, Rosa stiffening under her touch.

“Yeah, okay. Sorry, I should’ve,” she said hastily, shrugging Maddy. Maddy stepped back, hurt flashing across her face.

“Okay then,” she said quietly, her voice wavering. She turned toward the door, tears already pricking her eyes. Rosa sighed and rolled her eyes, standing abruptly.

“Maddy. Wait.” Maddy stopped but didn’t turn around until Rosa grabbed her hand, pulling her gently.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Rosa said, her tone softer now. “It’s just… been a long week. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” Maddy searched Rosa’s face before nodding, her expression softening.

“Okay. Dinner? At mine tonight?” Rosa hesitated before giving a small smile.

“Yeah. Yeah, that sounds great.”

-

The evening passed as if nothing had happened. Back at Maddy’s apartment, the two cooked dinner together, glasses of wine in hand, laughter bubbling up between them. By the time they sat down to eat, the tension from earlier had eased.

Their empty plates sat forgotten on the table as they leaned closer, their hands intertwined, trading quiet, affectionate words. Rosa’s thumb brushed over the gold ring on Maddy’s left middle finger. She studied it for a moment before slipping it off, her movements slow and deliberate.

“What are you doing?” Maddy asked softly, her heart skipping a beat. Rosa didn’t answer. Instead, she slid the ring onto Maddy’s fourth finger, the one people put wedding rings on. Maddy’s breath caught. She looked at Rosa, her heart swelling.

“Rosa…”

But she didn’t meet her gaze. Her expression shifted, her usual stoic mask sliding back into place. She pulled her hands back, rubbing them against her legs as if to erase the moment.

“I should go,” Rosa muttered abruptly, standing up and grabbing her jacket and purse.

“Rosa, wait,” Maddy said, rising from her seat, confusion etched across her face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Rosa said, her voice distant as she moved toward the door.

“Rosa, talk to me,” Maddy pleaded, following her. Rosa paused at the door, turning to look at Maddy. Her expression was unreadable, her dark eyes a storm of conflicting emotions. But she said nothing. Instead, she opened the door and walked out, leaving Maddy standing in the kitchen, the gold ring still warm on her finger, her chest heavy with unanswered questions.

(i have never done anything like this before, this being my first ever fanfic, but i’ve loved writing stories my whole life and my current hyperfixtation is b99. also this app is extremely lacking in the rosa diaz fic department so i took it upon myself :) hope you enjoy!)

[underkunimi]

[coldinpants]

The way Leonard sometimes (often) does things out of spite made me wonder what he's willing to do to prove to everyone around him how much he doesn't give a shit.

Imagine, during an argument with Mick, Leonard just sits in his chair and looks at him with a "you make a lot of noise, buddy" face. Angry Mick pulls out a gun and points it in Snart's face, but he remains unfazed. Barry doesn't have time to do anything when Leonard's parka bursts into flames.

Mick: Admit you were wrong! Or you'll burn like a pig!

Leonard: ... no.

Barry: You're literally on fire, Len, please!

Leonard: Whatever.

[babygirl-diaz]

Buck: After we disarmed that bomb, you flirted with me for 20 seconds and I became obsessed with you forever. Eddie: That wasn't flirting. All I said was, "You can have my back any day." Buck: How was that NOT flirting? And how I was NOT supposed to become obsessed with you forever? Eddie: Fair enough.

[witchyb-tchy67]

Aspiring to be like Amy Santiago

- WitchyBitchy, Canvas, Pinterest

[noodlenoises]

5 (More) Incredible Instances of Copaganda in Media

You can find copaganda in all kinds of media. Here, let me show you, with 5 (more) instances of copaganda in media.

We’ve done this once before, counting out some examples of copaganda in media. Now we’re back, and bringing you five more instances of copaganda in media. Before we begin, a quick reminder of what copaganda actually is. Copaganda, as I wrote it in the first installment of this series, is “propaganda that normalizes, valorizes, or otherwise paints policing in a positive light. More than that, it…

[artmill-danaan]

Brooklyn 99 - wushu style

🇨🇵 Inspiré de mon professeur et ami @remi_wushu qui m'a réellement apprit à parer ce genre de charge.

NB: la 1ere fois que c'est arrivé mon cerveau a promptement oublié ce que j'étais censé faire 😅😂

🇬🇧 Inspired by my teacher and friend @remi_wushu who taught me how to block that kind of charge.

NB: the first time he ran at me like that I promptly forgot what I was supposed to do 😅😂

[angstandhappiness]

LMAO

He’s just messing with you, Tim

or is he

[juniorjules]

I feel like we should talk about how Brooklyn 99 totally did a die hard reference paintball episode AND gave jake the “cool cool cool” thing.

[allforhee]

"𝐖𝐇𝐎'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐑?" (BLURB) | HAN JISUNG

୨୧ pairing — idol!han x stylist!fem!reader

୨୧ synopsis — being a hairdresser and stylist at jyp, you didn't expect to become han jisung's girlfriend. but with it, you now have yourself your personal wig to test out your hairstyles on. and han being your loving boyfriend, of course he won't say no. but when the members start noticing the different hairstyles at practices, they start to get suspicious.

୨୧ genre — fluff, strangers to lovers, forbidden romance

୨୧ warnings — secret relationship, stylist x idol, no mentions of y/n, hurt/comfort, han being a LITTLE insecure

୨୧ word count — 1678 words, not really proofread

୨୧ author’s note — first skz fic and new layout! this fic is dedicated to my favorite mootie; aika, aka @spiderhanzzz and to all my han girlies out there!!!!! i hope i did him justice hihi! inspired by brooklyn 99 6x06—where rosa shows up with a new hairstyle everyday of the investigation!!! this was so fun to write and i hope you all enjoy ;)

becoming han's girlfriend was something out of the ordinary.

you remember the days of interning for jyp's hairdressers and stylists, standing in the back and taking note of the different procedures that were done. you'd follow the main stylists around different shifts, from the female idols to the male idols.

you'd help by assisting the main stylists by giving them the scissors they needed, do a quick minimart run to buy some hairspray or hair ties that ran out, and maybe at some point bringing the used towels into the laundry.

as you followed around and practiced more, from an intern to a regularly paid hairdresser at jyp, you had progressed your skills in styling and cutting hair proudly.

you started doing your own shifts, starting off with groups like itzy and twice, before you decided to try out handling the boy groups.

fate had its own plans when you were assigned to style the hit group; stray kids.

meeting bangchan, known as chris, you'd learn to fall in love with styling them. but your heart would learn to fall in love with none other than their rapper and producer, han.

han would always start conversations with you while styling his hair, which you would happily reply to.

you knew falling in love with him was petty, when your only interactions were when you had to style his hair. yes, you may or may not have bumped into him once or twice in the hallways as you were on the way to style the next group, but a relationship? you were surprised yourself when he confessed he felt a spark between the two of you.

that's what started the courtship between the two of you. a spark. you knew it was forbidden. you knew it couldn't happen. what would the media say if it got out? "scandalous relationship between stray kids' HAN and random stylist!" oh you could see the headlines.

so when you started coming over to style han's hair more and more often, you had hoped that the other members wouldn't get suspicious of han's constant nagging of you being the one to style his hair.

to the point even you yourself would ask him if he could come over and let you try out a new hairstyle you've been learning. he'd asked you to be his girlfriend soon after. with it, you both had to learn to be more careful with the moves you took, as some of the dressing rooms had other stylists stationed to deal with other members. one wrong move and you'd be fired.

the first member to notice han's not-so discreet changes was none other than changbin. obviously they'd both practice together for shows to perfect their rapping technique, changbin begun to notice the different hairstyles.

to the point when han showed up with tiny little braids in his curly hair, was when he decided to ask.

"hannie-ya! your hair, that's interesting..." as he points at the little braids all over his hair.

han's surprised look signified something else, but his response just made it more suspicious; "oh- this? yeah, i'm trying out some things since my stylist came in late..."

"stylist? it's just practice? what would you need a stylist for?" changbin inquires, still curious.

"you know... curly hair is harder to manage!" he laughs, trying to brush off the topic.

changbin pats him on the back, knowing there was something more—but not wanting to interfere, "alright hannie, let's get to practice."

han let out a sigh, but even he knew he was slowly walking onto some thin ice. thankfully, changbin didn't tell the rest of the members of his suspicions.

but as time went on, the other members started picking up on his hair. his usual held back practice hair would turn into curls, braids, and even little space buns at one point.

by now, everyone knew of his constant changes of his hair. they knew each other well enough that they didn't need their hair styled if it was for a practice.

chan knew he had to confront him at some point, worried han was spending money on stylists he didn't need.

so during breaks in between practice chan approached him, a stern look on his face. "hannie, we need to talk about your finances."

han, obviously shocked at the question, responded with a quick "i'm an idol, what do you mean my finances?"

chan furrowed his brows, sighing. "han jisung, i'm serious. i don't want you running around the place spending useless money on stylists you don't need! if it was for fashion or clothing i would understand, but you have to understand that you don't need to go to a stylist everyday."

"i'm not spending useless money, hyung! so what i want my hair styled everyday?" han tried to defend.

"the thing is, you've been coming to practices late! you may not realize it and i may accept your tardiness once or twice, but it's getting too repetitive. what is it han? you have a secret girlfriend or something?!"

the entire practice room went quiet at chan's last statement. everyone else perked up and tried to focus on han's response. when han didn't respond and just hung his head low, everyone knew chan was right.

"hannie-ah, why didn't you tell us? we're your brothers." chan asked, trying to comfort him.

but before han could respond changbin cut with a "yah! i knew it! i knew you had a secret girlfriend! so who is she? is she a stylist or something?"

changbin's last sentence made him lower his head even further, lifting up the hood of his hoodie, only to hide his face in it.

"hyung? you have a girlfriend?" jeongin cluelessly asked.

seungmin gasps before he cuts in; "he does! wait, is it that one hair stylist you keep asking for every time we need to perform?"

all of them look to seungmin; "which hair stylist?" chan asked.

before han had a chance to respond, he pushed through the members crowding him as he ran out of the practice room. he opened his phone to find your contact pinned, and pressed call.

"jisungie? hello? what's wrong?" hearing your voice come out of his speaker made him calm down. your voice was like the light at the end of the tunnel.

"baby, i messed up. the members know." he confessed.

"know what?" you ask, confused. "about us?"

"yeah... i'm so scared they're going to find out, like what if they fire me... what if they fire you?" he questions to himself.

"sungie, stay where you are, okay? i'll find you. you need to calm down. what practice room are you at today?"

he sighs, "the usual, but i'm outside."

"i'm on my way." the line beeps as the call ends, as han grasps his phone hoping you'd come faster.

his eyes close as he tries to take deep breaths, hoping the awful scenarios he imagined would happen not come true. he then feels a soft hand on his shoulder, and as his eyes open, he engulfs the figure in a hug before he could even notice who it was.

"hannie? are you okay?" you ask him, hair clad in a claw clip after rushing from another appointment.

he stutters out a; "mianhae—mianhae—mianhae, i know you're mad at me, it's okay, i'll just have to live on the streets when they fire me and open a hair salon with you—"

he gasps as you cradle his tender face in your hands, shaking his head in disappointment. "what do you mean? han, now that your members know, we don't have to hide around anymore."

"i know that baby, but what would our label say? what if they find out?"

"that's not for your pretty head to worry about right now, for now we can enjoy the fact that you can be honest with your members. no more hiding around, no more late excuses to practices. come clean baby, it's okay." you comfort him.

han looks up at you, "you sure?" before you nod. he embraces you in another hug, before standing up and grabbing your hand, dragging you into the practice room.

everyone looks towards the doors that just opened, seungmin hurriedly standing up and cutting the silence with a; "hyung i'm so sorry i didn't mean to..."

that's when they see the two of you. han takes a deep breath before he starts speaking, as you clench his hand, signaling it's okay.

"guys... this is my hair stylist. my girlfriend." han confesses, looking into your eyes for assurance. everybody waves an annyeong to you, which you wave back. you were still in your stylist attire, an apron clad around your waist with different bits and bobs.

"so, she's your stylist? you gotta hook me up dude!" hyunjin teased him, which earned him a slap on the back from han. you laughed at the gesture, showing his protectiveness for you.

"she's my stylist, stay away!" he'd whine, hiding you behind him.

"so he's been getting his hair styled for free?!" felix asked you, which you nodded. "man we suck... we should all get stylist girlfriends."

"i have my cats... i think we're okay yongbok." minho chuckles as he puts his arm around him.

chan smiles at the interactions happening, seungmin and jeongin appalled by your presence, felix and minho arguing about whether or not they should follow han's footsteps into getting a stylist girlfriend, and changbin and hyunjin teasing han for getting someone like you.

you didn't mind the chaos, seeing chan smile at you signaling you've been welcomed into their little family.

looking at han's red face, trying to keep his composure, you quickly peck his cheek to make sure he's okay. he looked at you with a nervous smile, but you know everything's going to be fine. as long as he's by your side.

"yah! i knew it! oh ever since those little braids in your hair, i just knew it hannie-ah!" changbin laughs, han blushing at his words.

yeah. you've got han, and he's got you.

taglist; @riekiss @sesameoil721 @desistay @spiderhanzzz (crossed out = i can't tag you)

back to my masterlist?

© 𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐇𝐄𝐄, est. 2024 | do not plagiarize, modify, translate, or repost my works on any platforms.

[morganbritton132]

Hi, I binge read the entirety of your EMTTS and i absolutely love it! I wanted to thank you for your dedication and for how much you made me laugh. It's really great to find a saga that's funny and also gut-wrenching and written by someone who's a) very talented and b) clearly loves the characters and makes them very well rounded even in little snippets of life. So thank you!!

I also can't stop thinking about the initial "is Dustin a person or a dog" confusion and how much it reminds me of that episode of B99 where everyone's asking subtle questions to their coworker to understand if Kelly is his wife or dog, like "did you two go on any nice walks recently?" and i can see someone like David trying it and failing

Thank you so much for so many kind words and I’m glad that you’re enjoying the series because I am too! (Also, super impressed you got through it because it’s a lot!). I love that cold opening of Brooklyn 99 and it was the inspiration for that tag.

Also, I love the idea of the first-year teachers trying to figure out if Dustin is a person or a dog. That’s brilliant!

And what’s funny is that David’s not even wrong in this situation.

He is like 99% sure that Dustin is the name of Steve’s brother, but he’s been wrong about literally everything else, so this debate continues into its third week at their table in the teacher’s lounge.

David argues, “I’ve heard him refer to Dustin as a kid.”

“People call their dogs their fur babies all the time,” Marissa argues back. “He’s had that dog for a few years, right? Certainly not a baby anymore so, kid.”

It is not helped by the fact that none of them have any memory of ever hearing Steve address his service dog by name. They’ve heard him call him ‘buddy.’ They’ve heard him say ‘c’mon, pal.’ There was even an unenthused ‘Ozz-some’ last week when Ozzy alerted Steve to an impending seizure during his lunch break.

Have any of them thought of looking at the dog’s collar? No.

They haven’t even considered asking a student.

They are in the middle of this debate when Steve comes into the teacher’s lounge to refill his coffee mug for the third time that day. If he notices that the room goes quiet every time he walks in, he doesn’t make any indication of it when he smiles tiredly, “Hey, guys.”

They murmur their hellos and give each other significant looks, daring the others to ask the important questions. No one asks. No one actually says anything until Steve yawns.

“Long night?”

“Yeah, definitely. Dustin had me up ‘til two in the morning,” Steve yawns again. He doesn’t notice how everybody perks up at that. “Poor guy gets so anxious this time of year.”

“Oh, really?” Marissa asks, giving David a look that says ‘see, dog.’. “Because of the homecoming fireworks?”

Steve hums in agreement and shakes his head like he sometimes does when he’s shaking a memory loose. He’s speaking more to himself when he adds, “I think I’m going to take him to the park after work. Get some fresh air, some exercise. He’s been cooped up for too long.”

“Anyways,” Steve says with a smile, tipping his coffee mug to them. “Gotta get back to grading papers.”  

[maya-caffrey]

hi hi hi writing request if you're up for it: can i get a neal caffrey x reader where they're undercover posing as a couple and things get too real too quick? fluffy angsty whatever, full creative liberty. thank you x -🌻

anon i would love to

This ain't the Chelsea hotel

pairing: neal caffrey x fem!reader words: 4.3k song: I'm writing this inspired by ttpd as you can tell, specifically the lyric "At dinner, you take my ring off my middle finger And put it on the one people put wedding rings on And that's the closest I've come to my heart exploding" summary: an undercover mission brings up some unresolved feelings a/n: this is sorta inspired by johnny and dora from Brooklyn 99, and there's sort of an angst ending i am sorry but it will get better soon i promise

"Neal and (Y/n), you’re going in as a couple.”

Peter’s voice was calm, authoritative, as if he’d just assigned them to file paperwork instead of infiltrating a high-society gala crawling with millionaires, con artists, and, somewhere in the crowd, an international art thief.

(Y/n) froze, mid-sip of her coffee. “I'm sorry, what now?”

Neal, of course, leaned back in his chair, smirk firmly in place. “I mean, it makes sense. Look at us—irresistible charm, devastating good looks—who wouldn’t buy it?”

“You forgot insufferable ego,” she shot back, slamming her cup on the table. It was aggravating to be around Neal Caffrey, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t love every second of it.

Peter held up a hand, cutting off the argument before it could spiral. “Enough. You’re the best fit for this assignment. The mark likes power couples, people who look like they’ve got secrets. Neal’s the smooth-talking art expert, and (Y/n)—you’ll play his fiancée, a curator from an old-money family.”

(Y/n) groaned, glaring at Peter. “You know this is going to go to his head.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Peter said dryly. “But you’ll manage. You always do.”

Neal turned to her, his smirk widening. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll go easy on you.”

"That's okay baby, I can handle you." No, she can't. This could end badly.

"Oooh, competition? you're gonna lose, you, know?"

"Hey, if I'm going down, I'm taking you down with me, Caffrey."

"Right, and one last thing. (Y/n), try not to fall in love with me."

"Won't be a problem."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"And you're promising, that this is strictly work?"

"I swear, Moz! It's not like that," Neal replied, pacing the length of his apartment, the small box in his hand feeling heavier than it had any right to.

"It's hard to believe that when you're holding a real diamond ring in your hand," Mozzie argued, incredulous about Neal's intentions in this case.

"It's for authenticity"

"Right, because the suspect would definitely notice if she wore a cheap American zirconia."

"Mozzie. It's not like that."

"I believe you"

"I don't think you do."

Mozzie didn’t respond, simply giving Neal a pointed look before taking a long sip of his wine.

Neal let out a sigh, his grip on the box tightening. He was done trying to convince Mozzie, who always had a knack for cutting to the heart of things Neal would rather not think about. Because as much as he repeated the words it was just for the case, a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t.

His gaze dropped to the ring, the glint of the diamond catching the light. It was just for authenticity. No ulterior motives.

Right?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Alright. The moment we enter that room we're on high alert. Peter and the team are in the surveillance van two blacks away to remain inconspicuous. He's usually after wealthy power couple types so we need to be really convincing. Got it?"

“Uh-huh. Yes,” Neal replied, nodding a little too quickly. His words were automatic, half-hearted at best, because his attention was decidedly elsewhere.

She looked stunning—more than stunning, really, though he would never admit it outright. The soft glint in her eyes caught the streetlights at just the right angle, making them sparkle for a fleeting moment before fading again. The dress she wore was elegant, understated, but perfectly fitted to the role they were about to play. Neal found himself momentarily mesmerized, the lines between the act and reality blurring just a bit more than they should have.

(Y/n) shot him a suspicious glance. “Neal. Focus.”

“Totally focused,” he said, his trademark grin sliding into place to cover the fact that he had absolutely not been paying attention to anything she’d just said.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but after a beat, she turned back toward the building looming ahead. “You’d better be. The second we step into that gala, we’re in character, and I’m not carrying this assignment on my own.”

“Of course not,” Neal quipped, following her lead, his voice taking on the smooth confidence he wore so well. “I’ll be the perfect fiancé. You’ll swoon. Just wait.”

She shook her head in surrender and walked towards the door before she felt a delicate hand pull at her wrist.

"Wait, I almost forgot," he said, taking out the velvet box that made his pocket weigh heavier than it should have.

"What?" she asked, completely oblivious.

"This," he said, flipping it open to reveal the princess-cut diamond ring inside. The sharp sparkle caught the light between them, but it was nothing compared to the flash of surprise in her eyes.

Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.

He swallowed, his heartbeat thrumming loudly in his ears as he took her left hand in his, the warmth of her skin making him falter for just a moment. His fingers brushed hers, gentle but deliberate, as he slid the ring onto her finger.

No break in eye contact.

Her gaze locked with his, questioning, searching, unsteady. The seconds stretched long, heavy with something unspoken, as his thumb brushed against the band, settling it into place.

Still no break.

The moment lingered, charged, as if the world had shrunk to just the two of them under the streetlight. His breath hitched, his confidence—usually so bulletproof—wavering under the weight of how utterly real this felt.

Neal shifted, suddenly nervous, but he didn’t step back. His eyes flicked to her lips, then back up to meet hers again, the line between fiction and reality blurring with dizzying speed.

Finally, he broke the silence with a soft, almost uncertain laugh, a hint of tension bleeding into his words. “For authenticity, right?”

(Y/n) blinked, the spell broken. Her lips curved into a small smile, but her voice was quieter than usual when she replied. “Right. Authenticity.”

But neither of them moved for a moment longer, caught in the fallout of something they couldn’t quite name. If this was just pretend, why did it feel so real?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They entered the grand ballroom arm-in-arm, the weight of their roles pressing against them. Neal’s hand rested lightly at the small of (Y/n)’s back, his touch electric even through the layers of fabric.

“You’re tense,” he whispered, lips brushing her ear, sending shivers down her spine. She instinctively closed her eyes and let it linger before remembering she had to respond.

“You try wearing a dress and pretending to be in love with you all evening,” she shot back, her voice sweetened by a practiced smile for the benefit of their audience.

Neal leaned closer, the humor in his tone giving way to something deeper. “You’d be surprised how easy that could be.”

"The dress or-"

"The last part. Obviously the last part."

"Just making sure," she responded, stifling a laugh. Remembering why they were here in the first place, she quickly scanned the room, she found their mark in the middle of the dance floor.

"Neal, 2'o clock, dance floor."

"Yeah, I see him. You ready?"

"Do, I have an option?"

Neal extended his hand, a devilish glint in his eyes as he slipped seamlessly into his role. “In that case, (Y/n), may I have this dance?”

(Y/n) smirked just for a moment, his outstretched hand a reminder of the precarious game they were playing. She placed her hand in his, his fingers warm and steady as they led her toward the dance floor. “Let’s get ourselves a criminal,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

The music swelled, slow and haunting, wrapping around them as Neal’s hand slid to her waist. His fingers pressed against the fabric of her dress, firm but careful, like he was afraid to break something fragile. His other hand cradled hers, his thumb brushing the back of her hand with maddening lightness.

“You’re holding on a little tight there, don’t you think?” she teased softly, her voice catching when his eyes locked on hers, warm and unflinching.

“Just making sure you don’t get away,” he replied, his words playful, but his tone laced with something heavier.

They moved in sync, the world around them dimming until it felt like the music existed just for them. Each step brought her closer, the space between them dissolving until her chest almost brushed against his. His breath was warm against her temple, and her head tilted slightly, just enough for her to catch the faint, intoxicating scent of his cologne.

“You’re good at this,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

“It’s just part of the job,” she whispered back, though her words wavered under the intensity of his gaze.

“Right,” he said, his hand slipping a fraction lower on her waist. “Just the job.”

Her pulse quickened as his fingers tightened slightly, drawing her closer still. Their faces were mere inches apart now, his eyes flicking to her lips for the briefest of moments before returning to hers. The tension between them was almost unbearable, charged and unspoken.

(Y/n) swore he was about to say something—something real, something that would tip this balance they always stalled on—but his gaze shifted over her shoulder.

“(Y/n),” he said abruptly, his tone cooling as his eyes fixed on something behind her.

(Y/n) blinked, the spell breaking as she followed his line of sight. Their mark stood on the edge of the dance floor, watching them with quiet intensity.

“He’s noticed us,” Neal said, his hand loosening its hold on her waist.

“Good,” she replied, her voice steadier than she felt. “That’s the idea.”

And just like that, they were back in the game, palpable tension vanishing into thin air.

As the song came to an end, the mark stepped toward them with his date, a woman dripping in diamonds and disdain.

“Charming performance,” the mark said smoothly, offering a practiced smile. “You two must be new faces around here.”

“Guilty as charged,” Neal said with a grin, slipping effortlessly into his persona. “We’ve just been admiring the company.”

“Why don’t you join us on the rooftop?” the mark offered, gesturing toward the glass doors that led to a private terrace. “It’s quieter. Easier to talk.”

Neal and (Y/n) exchanged a quick glance before following. On the way, Neal caught her glancing at her hand, her thumb brushing lightly over the diamond ring he had slipped on earlier.

“Admiring your fiancé’s taste, sweetheart?” he teased under his breath, his voice tinged with both humor and something sharper.

(Y/n) jerked her gaze away, her cheeks warming. “Just making sure it looks convincing,” she muttered, but the way her hand lingered over the ring betrayed her words.

Neal leaned closer, his smirk softening. “It looks perfect. You look perfect.”

The heat in her cheeks deepened, but before she could respond, the doors opened, and the crisp night air swept over them. They stepped onto the terrace, the stakes of their mission suddenly more palpable than ever.

The mark led them to a table on the edge of the terrace, a private spot where the city lights shimmered below. He took a seat, his date following suit, and Neal and (Y/n) joined them. The air was cool, and the tension in the space was almost tangible. The mark’s eyes flicked between them, his gaze assessing, calculating.

“So,” he began, his voice smooth, “tell me, how did you two meet? I’m always curious about these stories."

Neal leaned back in his chair, putting on his best charming smile. “It was one of those chance encounters, really,” he began. “I was at an auction, looking at some early Renaissance pieces when she walked in—just like that.” He snapped his fingers, his eyes glinting. “She had this aura about her—class, confidence, and this fire in her eyes that made me want to get to know her. I knew the moment I saw her, I’d never let her slip through my fingers.

Y/n) raised an eyebrow, a little taken aback by how smooth he was. “Not exactly how I remember it,” she replied, her tone light but sharp. “He was chasing after a piece of art that had already been sold. I caught him, and after some back-and-forth, we ended up negotiating a deal. And well, the rest, as they say, is history.”

The mark chuckled, intrigued. “So, love at first sight then?”

Neal and (Y/n) exchanged a glance, both knowing that this was the moment they had to sell it. Neal leaned forward, his voice dropping a notch as he spoke to the mark.

“There’s something about her. Something that keeps me coming back, you know?” he said, his eyes never leaving (Y/n)'s face. “She’s strong, sharp—doesn’t take crap from anyone. And that’s something you don’t find every day.”

(Y/n) turned toward him, her heart beating a little faster at the raw honesty in his words. She wasn’t sure if it was part of the act or something real underneath it, but the heat between them flickered for a second.

“And what do you see in him?” the mark asked, his tone now laced with genuine curiosity.

(Y/n) hesitated for a moment, unsure how to answer without giving away too much of her own feelings, but when she looked into Neal’s eyes, something clicked. They were here together, playing a part in a dangerous game, but the way he was looking at her made her forget that for a second. She could feel the weight of his gaze, the vulnerability he was letting slip, just for her.

“I see someone who challenges me,” she replied, her voice softer than usual. “Someone who pushes me to be better. And, you know, someone who’s got this charm that… well, it works on me. I’m not proud of it.”

Neal’s grin spread, his eyes flashing with something unreadable. “Works on me too,” he said, his voice lower now, as if the words were meant for her alone. “We balance each other out. When I'm with her, I feel complete, you know?”

The mark seemed satisfied with their answers, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You two really are a convincing pair. Almost makes me believe in the whole ‘love at first sight’ thing," he laughed. His date, lost in her phone, barely seemed to notice, leaving the moment to hang between them.

Neal glanced at (Y/n), an almost imperceptible shift in his expression as he studied her. There was something different in the way she held herself tonight. She was usually the composed one, but now… he couldn’t quite read the look in her eyes.

“So, what happens next?” the mark asked, his voice smooth, as he leaned back in his chair.

Neal tilted his head, his smile never faltering. “Now? Now we enjoy the view.” He gestured out toward the city lights that sparkled beneath them, a million possibilities flashing in the distance. “What’s a good evening without a little bit of beauty to go with it?”

(Y/n) nodded, her fingers tracing the edge of her wine glass absently. “And a little danger, I’d say,” she added, her voice laced with a quiet challenge.

The mark raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Danger, huh? What’s dangerous about a couple like you two?”

Neal chuckled, but it was a touch colder this time, more calculated. He turned his eyes on (Y/n), watching the way she tilted her head, as if she was on the edge of saying something important. Then, with a glance that felt almost too intimate, he spoke again. “We’ve got a history, you know? We don’t talk about it much, but we both know... some things you don’t just walk away from.”

(Y/n) blinked, her breath catching at his words. She hadn’t expected him to go that far with the act. The sincerity behind it—whether it was all for the mission or something more—hit her unexpectedly. But she kept her face neutral, answering with equal weight. “Yeah. Some things... they follow you.”

The air between them thickened, the words hanging heavy in the space. The mark watched them, an unreadable expression on his face as he exchanged glances with his date. It wasn’t quite suspicion, but something deeper. Curiosity, maybe. Or recognition. But before anything could be said, the mark stood, taking a step toward the edge of the terrace.

“You two are something else,” he said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m going to grab another drink. You stay here.”

Neal and (Y/n) exchanged a glance, one that said everything without needing words. As soon as the mark and his date were distracted by the bar, they slipped away. It wasn’t much—just enough of a gap for them to make their move. They walked quickly, low and quiet, blending into the flow of people.

They passed a row of velvet curtains and slipped behind them, into a hallway that led to the back stairwell. The sound of voices echoed from the main room, but it was the sound of a briefcase being handed over that caught Neal’s attention.

There he was—the mark, shaking hands with someone in a dark suit. The transaction was swift, almost too clean. Neal’s eyes narrowed.

“Something’s off,” he whispered to (Y/n), barely audible.

But before they could pull back into the shadows, a shift in the mark’s posture had him looking their way. Neal froze, his gaze locking with the mark’s. There was a flicker of recognition in the man’s eyes, followed by a narrowing of his gaze.

In that moment, they both knew they had been spotted.

Neal didn’t hesitate. He grabbed (Y/n)’s wrist, pulling her in close. “Trust me on this,” he muttered, his breath warm against her ear.

Before she could even respond, his lips found hers in a kiss that was far from gentle. It was urgent—desperate, even, and as their bodies pressed closer, the danger of being caught only made it more intense. Their kiss was a cover, an act. But damn, it felt real. The mark was approaching them now, too close for comfort, but Neal barely registered the thought. He pushed her against the nearest wall and "got carried away" as he traveled towards her neck. Her hands found his hair, gently playing with them, for the act, of course.

(Y/n)’s heart raced as the world around them seemed to blur. They were acting, but in that moment, there was a sense of something more—something raw beneath the surface. He left her neck and locked her yes in a gaze, before returning back to her lips. Her pulse thudded in her ears, and when Neal pulled away, her lips felt like they were still burning from the kiss.

The mark was now standing just a few feet away, his brow furrowed in confusion but not yet suspicious enough to call them out. Neal, ever the charmer, quickly recovered, a half-smile spreading across his face.

“Sorry,” he said, voice low and teasing. “Got carried away. But you know how it is, right?” He gestured to (Y/n), his hand slipping possessively around her waist as he spoke directly to the mark, hoping his calm demeanor would sell the story.

The mark studied them for a beat, a silent assessment passing between them. Finally, he shook his head, smirking. “You two really are something else, huh.”

Neal’s grin stretched wider, eyes flicking to (Y/n) for just a moment, as if to say: We’re good.

They turned, following the mark back into the chaos of the night, but the weight of what just happened settled between them—unspoken, but palpable.

The sound of pounding footsteps echoed through the terrace as the FBI moved in, swarming around them with practiced efficiency. Neal felt the brief rush of adrenaline still pumping in his veins, but now it was mixed with something else. He and (Y/n) had done their job, the mark had fallen into their trap, and the briefcase—the one they’d been waiting for—was in his hands, a key piece of evidence that sealed the deal.

But then, there was that kiss.

It had been... unexpected. Real. No longer just an act.

The team moved quickly, surrounding the mark, taking him into custody. Peter gave Neal a brief, knowing nod before he led the mark away. He didn’t say anything; the job was done. The mission was complete. But Neal’s mind wasn’t on the bust. He was focused on (Y/n), the way her breath had caught when their lips met, the look in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place.

Once the area had cleared and the sound of distant voices faded, he turned to her. (Y/n) was leaning against the railing, her arms crossed tightly as she stared out over the city, the glow of the streetlights flickering in the distance. There was a cold distance in her posture that wasn’t there before, a wall he hadn’t seen her put up.

Neal swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. “(Y/n)...”

She didn’t look at him right away. When she did, her gaze was unreadable. “We did our job, Neal. That’s what matters.”

There was a tightness in her voice, the way she was shutting down again, retreating behind the walls she always kept so perfectly in place. It made his chest tighten.

“I know,” Neal replied, his voice softer. “But that kiss…” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. He was a conman, a man who lived in deception. But that kiss—that had felt different.

(Y/n) sighed, pushing herself off the railing and turning to face him fully. “It’s part of the job, Neal. You know that. It’s always part of the job.”

Her words were clipped, but her eyes betrayed her. They were too wide, too vulnerable, like she was trying to convince herself as much as she was convincing him. Neal didn’t buy it. Not this time.

“Is it?” he asked quietly, his voice low, almost hesitant. “Because that didn’t feel like part of the job to me. It felt like—” He stopped himself, trying to find the right words. “Like something real.”

Her expression flickered, just for a moment, like she was considering telling him something—something more than what she was letting on. But she quickly masked it, her gaze hardening again.

“It wasn’t real, Neal,” she said, her voice sharp, like the edge of a blade. “It was a job. You know that.”

Neal’s breath hitched. “But what if it was? What if it wasn’t just the mission? What if we’re both—” He cut himself off, staring at her, his chest suddenly tight with a feeling he couldn’t quite shake. “Look, I don’t want to make this more complicated than it has to be. But I can’t just act like that kiss was nothing. I can’t pretend it didn’t mean something.”

(Y/n) took a step back, her jaw clenched, clearly struggling with something she wasn’t ready to face. “You’re just confused, Neal,” she said, her words laced with frustration. “We’re good at what we do. We can sell this. We can sell anything. But that kiss? It doesn’t mean what you think it does.”

Neal shook his head, his frustration matching hers. “Why do I feel like you’re trying so hard to convince me of that?”

She stepped forward, her eyes locking onto his. There was no hiding now. “Because I don’t need you to start thinking that this is something more than it is,” she said, her voice shaking just a little. “I don’t need to feel like I’m... I’m letting you in. I don’t want that. We can’t have that.”

“Why not?” Neal asked, his voice quieter now, softer. “Why can’t we have that?”

For a moment, (Y/n) didn’t say anything. She just looked at him, as if trying to find the words to explain something she couldn’t. She wanted to—he could see it in her eyes—but something held her back, something she was afraid to admit.

“Because I can’t,” she finally said, her voice trembling with something raw, something real. “Because I can’t let you in, Neal. I can’t let myself... care. I’ve spent too long keeping everything at arm's length. It’s easier that way. It’s safer that way.”

Neal felt his heart twist. He had no answers, no solutions. He couldn’t fix this. He wasn’t sure if he even wanted to.

But as the silence stretched between them, he couldn’t just let it go. “So, what happens now?” he asked quietly. “Do we just go back to being... partners? Nothing more, nothing less?”

(Y/n) looked away, biting her lip as she thought it over. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I don’t know if we can just go back to what we were before. But we have to try.”

Neal didn’t argue. He couldn’t. There was too much at stake. Too much left unsaid.

“I don’t think either of us can walk away from this without something changing,” he said, the words coming out as more of a confession than a statement.

Her eyes flickered to his again, softer now. “Maybe that’s true,” she murmured. “But that doesn’t mean we can act on it.”

Neal took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I don’t know what’s happening between us, (Y/n). But I don’t think I can just pretend it’s nothing anymore.”

She nodded slowly, her gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before meeting his eyes one last time. “Neither can I,” she said quietly, as she took off her ring and placed it in his hand.

And then, before either of them could say more, Peter’s voice echoed from behind them, sharp and thunder-like.

“Jesus Christ, what happened in this mission?” Peter inquired, leaning against the doorframe, clearly amused.

Neal shot him a glare, but there was no real heat behind it. Peter was just being Peter. But as the moment lingered, both Neal and (Y/n) knew the truth. They had crossed a line. They’d let the job get too close. And now, whatever happened next… they couldn’t go back to pretending it was just a mission anymore.

a/n: I hope you liked it, this was my first request so I got carried away T_T, I'll make a part 2 for closure if this does well <3