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ravenkinnie · 4 years ago

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ao3

Cass isn’t big on teams which seems to be uncommon in her family.

It’s not that she hates working with others, getting away from Gotham to go on a mission with Birds of Prey is a genuine joy. It’s more that… she knows Oracle and she knows Birds; they work well together. Cass is not sure if people who don’t know her are comfortable with how she works.

She thinks that worries Bruce. Well, Barbara thinks it does.

So, Cass is gathering her wits after being knocked off her feet by a metahuman build like a brick house; she thinks maybe, just maybe, Titans missions are not necessarily within her range when a sudden surge in energy somewhere around her almost knocks her off her feet again. She would be annoyed but then there’s a hand on her shoulder and Raven reaches out with her other hand and the metahuman who was about to rearrange her bones flinches away violently.

Raven looks at her, seemingly mindless of whatever visions she sent onto him. Cass is reminded of unclear wild lakes she used to make her home, how the seaweed would grab at her ankles sometimes, dragging her down, and her heart thumps inside her chest once, strongly, on beat and then the energy is gone and Raven with it, disappearing as quickly as she appeared.

Titans missions are not within her range. Cass has never backed down from a challenge, though.

***

Duke has his ribs broken. Cass thinks it’s kind of dumb for metahumans not to have healing powers. She doesn’t think he will appreciate her opinion so she stays quiet; Barbara would call it growth.

She just keeps her arm on his shoulder as he cringes through Raven’s attempt to assess the damage with her hands. “It’s extensive,” she says, and Cass doesn’t worry; Raven’s stoic demeanour doesn’t change with the realisation.

Duke’s breath hitches. He’s about to say something and then his muscles relax and he gasps in surprise. Her brother will be okay, the momentary tension in Raven’s torso tells Cass that.

“Okay, yeah… that’s incredible,” Duke smiles at Raven and Cass squeezes his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Raven stands up, looks up from Duke right at her. It’s a small gesture, a flicker but Cass feels like she needs to stand her ground against it. “It seems pointless to create superhumans and not let them heal themselves, doesn’t it?”

Cass laughs, no point in keeping that in, Raven would feel her surprise and amusement anyway. She laughs and she’s glad she does because Raven seems pleased, but she shies away almost immediately. Cass wonders if Raven blushes on her chest when she’s flustered like Steph does.

“So, she does hate me,” Duke states, his voice is light but Cass sees some hurt in the lines of his mouth.

“She really likes you,” it’s true, there’s some gentleness and newfound fondness in the way Raven pressed her palms against his bruised chest.

Duke accepts her words but his body screams doubt. It’s odd how often her family would rather believe their own versions than trust her expertise.

***

She doesn’t really have a reason to be here. Well, she does – Damian has been staying between the Tower and the Manor more and more lately. Cass would lie if she said she didn’t miss his strained, expressive presence by her side in Gotham. It’s good for him to train with others, Dick said, be with heroes his age. He’s probably right but something in her rears its head to ask if its’ wrong to want her family close. Sometimes Cass can’t ignore that.

She takes a peep from inside the control room over the training hall. One of the younger boys Titans took in (Cass has never been good with names) is talking to Damian, his hands outstretched in an open, teasing manner. Damian frowns but Cass knows him, there’s no malice behind the expression.

“Vic said someone came around,” she turns around and Donna leans in the doorway, smiles at her warmly. Cass hasn’t really had much contact with her but Dick’s features when he talks about his best friend tell her everything, so she smiles back. “You should come down, I’m sure Jamie –“ ah, Cass thinks, Jamie”- would love to watch you two spar.”

Cass nods and Donna leaves. She lingers around, wondering if she should ask but also… maybe patience pays off. She considers it for a moment, shrugs off her sweatshirt and heads out of the room, leaving it draped over the back of a chair.

Cass is sure Bruce would not be happy with her motives. He should be proud of making her a strategist.

***

Cass has her routine.

It comes naturally to her at this point, every step and jump and punch rehearsed and repeated and planned out years in advance. That’s why it works, there’s no room to calculate how to land, how to twist her wrist or tense her muscles to soften the jumps and the kicks. Cass can recreate it and focus on the burn in her muscles and the clicks of her joints.

Barbara thinks she gets it, the calming effect of repeating known movements. Cass isn’t sure she knows how to explain the pleasure in not just knowing but feeling her body has limits. She’s not sure she understands the push and pull herself.

She lands harder than necessary, sending shockwaves through her legs, when the air crackles with energy and she knows who it is before the figure materialises.

Raven has one of her hands in her coat pocket, the other one holding the sweatshirt Cass left at the Titans tower. She raises her eyebrow in tune with the hand holding the garment. “I thought I would drop this off.”

Cass can put on an act but there is no point, really. Not with most people, definitely not with Raven. “Good,” she shoots her a toothy smile.

Raven smiles back, Cass is sure it’s involuntary because she catches herself; her eyes travel around the cave briefly. Her hair is messy, the shorter pieces of her fringe must be tickling her cheek. Cass wishes she could tell if Raven notices that.

“So,” Raven says, looking back at her; the smile playing at the sides of her mouth looks voluntary this time. “I think you should invite me upstairs.”

***

So, Cass ends up on the couch with her brother’s teammate, their legs tangled together. She unbuttoned Raven’s shirt hastily, the gap in the material is small and uneven but Cass – Cass needed to see her hand against that smooth, pale landscape of skin.

Raven kisses her with purpose, her lips catching Cass’ own in tune with the hard thumping heartbeats in Cass’ chest; she thinks maybe there’s another tune coming from her, one only Raven can feel, one that guides her, one that says this is a good moment to pull away, that this is an even better moment to come back and catch Cass’ bottom lip with her teeth.

It’s a good rhythm, Cass very much likes that rhythm, especially when Raven tangles one of her hands in her messy hair and angles her head just enough to tease her lips with the tip of her tongue and her other hand travels down Cass’ back, her leg realigning between Cass’ own and oh-

-oh, that’s a very good rhythm.

***

Cass opens the door to the manor kitchen with her elbow and almost spills her iced coffee. She kind of hopes no one is around to see it but no such luck.

Bruce sits by the kitchen island, his face unshaved and a Tupperware container in his hand. He seems lost in thought when she walks in but blinks it away and says, “Morning, Cassie.”

“Morning,” she takes the seat across from him.

Bruce watches her carefully. He always watches her carefully. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes.” She woke up half an hour ago, but he doesn’t need to know that. Damian didn’t exactly ask her to make a day trip with him to an art gallery opening in Metropolis, but she could see how his body vibrated with pure excitement. As much as he tried to hide his hopes, he couldn’t quite crack it with her. Cass isn’t a secret fan of modern art but she is a secret fan of watching Damian talk about it with barely contained joy and passion.

Bruce probably knows it all anyway. “I’ll ask Alfred to pack you some leftovers.”

Cass is pretty sure that’s Bruce’s way of making amends. He’s probably not even sure what exactly he’s making amends for anymore but the drive is stronger. Cass remembers a brief argument she started at a patrol once, just to rile Damian up jokingly, about how much better honeydew melons were than cantaloupes. She didn’t think Bruce listened to any of their bickering but the next day she opened her fridge to find it filled with pre-cut honeydew melons.

Cass is pretty sure Alfred had nothing to do with it. The fact that she didn’t like raw vitamins bothered him too much to attempt that.

Damian bursts into the kitchen, his coat only halfway on, Ace right behind him. He snaps at her, tells her to hurry up and is out the door almost immediately so Cass gives Bruce a quick hug goodbye and skips outside right behind her brother.

It’s not until she adjusts her rear-view mirror that she notices a pink-purple mark on her collarbone, just above the hem of her shirt.

Well. Healing powers don’t mean anything if you don’t use them.

***

“That’s a lot of fruit,” Raven frowns at her fridge.

Cass is chopping vegetables through onion-induced tears, so she just signs “yeah” and tries to explain Bruce’s fruit-based love language. Raven checks on the stir fry on Cass’ barely used stove, frowning more through the story.

Raven detangled herself from Cass’ arms earlier that evening, declared her eating habits sad, and send her to the store while rummaging through the cupboards to find kitchen utensils. Cass doesn’t mind, really; her diet consists mostly of beef jerky and chicken ramen; she’s pretty sure Raven’s vegan.

“So, you have a fridge full of your father’s love,” Raven teases; her brow smooths and she points her spoon at Cass. “Something about you just makes people want to feed you, I guess.”

Raven put on her oversized men’s flannel and left the buttons undone so Cass can trail down the hollow of her throat, through the valley between the slopes of her breasts, down the line of her stomach to the waistband of the boxers she also stole from Cass.

“I guess,” she repeats.

Turns out cilantro tastes like soap. Cass washes the aftertaste out between Raven’s thighs.

***

Whatever they have going on between them, whatever it is that they settle into at the end of the day - it's unlike any other relationship Cass experienced before.

She's not unfamiliar with friendships. Her and Steph build a camaraderie based on incessant picking each other up and pushing and pulling and laughing and crying for each other and together. Cass knows what it's like to settle into couch cushions with Steph, pretend like neither of them is enjoying the horrible, cheesy movie they put on and mock all the parts that actually pull on their heartstrings. She knows what it's like to fall asleep to a TV playing and wake up with her face pressed into Steph's shoulder

She doesn't know if she can describe what settling on the couch with Raven feels like but it's nothing like that.

They stumbled upon a random channel in Albanian one night; Cass isn't fully sure why she has that one or why Raven speaks Albanian well enough to understand the movie; she chooses not to question some choices. Cass lounged on Raven’s chest lazily, listening to her running commentary, the light from the TV flirting with the darkness behind her closed eyes. She’s pretty sure she could feel Raven’s hand caressing her naked back at some point. Pretty sure.

Cass fell asleep with her face pressed into the rise of Ravens chest and woke up against her cushions, Raven already gone.

Cass knows dating and she knows sex. This isn’t dating, she thinks, and granted – her track record of that might not be the best. There was Kon who just didn’t feel right in the end, and there was Zero who was nice and sweet and that was all he was and there was Brenda who… there was Brenda and they never got a chance.

She knows what’s supposed to be there, though. She knows what Barbara really says when she asks Dick to check in through the comm. She knows what Tim meant when he offered to help Steph with one of her classes. This isn’t dating because neither of them offers and neither of them asks.

This is sex and it's physical and that's odd because nothing about the way Raven moves is physical. It's odd because sex is a conversation, it can be a tense one, full of awkward silences or bitten back comments, it can be a teasing back and forth. Cass knows that better than most, she knows that what is being said is more important than how it's said.

She wants to focus on how Raven says it, though, she wants to focus on how Raven found the sensitive spot on her shoulder immediately, on how she catches Cass' earlobe with her lips and pushes her legs apart just as the wanton wave in her chest starts to rise.

Because the problem is, for the first time, Cass isn't sure what is being said.

That makes her uneasy. But she thinks she would miss it if she were to wake up with her face against the cushions again.

***

The world almost ended; it feels like the world is trying to end itself every other week so there's always work for Cass to do.

She's pretty sure the work caused her internal bleeding, though, and Raven seems to agree. Her hands feel cold and delicate and Cass' head is swirling like Alfred put it through a blender, her chest, her stomach feeling like they caved in after years of unnecessary and unexpected pressure.

The stony weight in her chest dissipates, it tingles away, pins and needles in her stomach and chest until she can breathe again. Cass opens her eyes and three figures hover over her, their concern heavy in the tension of their muscles even through hard panes of their costumes. She swats her hand at Bruce and Duke, she doesn't dare extend the gesture to Raven. Cass rarely can make out clear lines of her body like she can now; Raven is worried and she's holding it back.

She opens her mouth to reassure them, them or her, but Raven tugs the top of her costume down over her stomach, covering the skin that should be bruised and mauled. She lays her hand there momentarily, meeting Cass' eyes and before Cass can take her in, she's up and she's away, checking on someone else's injuries.

Bruce helps her up while Duke blinks in disbelief. He doesn't have to clarify what he means when he says, "You are unbelievable."

Bruce thinks he means the stunt she pulled to get her stomach smashed in and launches into a longish telling-off. Cass lets him. There's only love and concern in his stance.

Bruce checks on her later and tells her to take the pilot seat in the Batplane.

"You know, Cass," Dick pipes up from somewhere behind her and if he comments on her piloting again, she might throw something at him. "It's nice to see you get along with Titans, you could make some good friends there."

"It's true, Cassie," Bruce agrees.

Cass can't turn around to look at Duke, but she can imagine his face. "Unbelievable," he sighs like he's in pain.

Her family really should trust her intuition more. Theirs barely ever works.

***

People in Gotham wind up scared to death and it's not Scarecrow so Cass takes Dick's expertise and goes to the best source she knows. Bruce grumbles about metahumans in Gotham so Dick tells him "you can tell her that yourself" which shuts Bruce up. Cass thinks it's funny because Raven makes her ask for straws in restaurants.

"It looks like Phobia," Raven frowns at the Titans computer with Batman's files displayed. She's not worried or anxious, there's a bit of a weight in her shoulders, some disappointment in the realisation that someone else might not have caught but Cass can see it from where she's perched on the conference table. Raven looks sad and even more so, she looks human and Cass thinks she hasn't thought that about Raven before - not with both of them clothed.

There must be a story there, Cass might not know the details but she thinks she understands the emotions behind it.

"I'm sorry," she doesn't mean it to express her guilt because she has no place in that story. Cass heard it said this way before instead, the way that invites to share the burden or says that you already have and she's not sure why she wants to say it like this but - she does want to. She hopes she knows how, that the words sound correct.

Raven turns around to look at her and Cass knows she understood. She grips the edges of the table hard as Raven's hands slip over her own, opens her legs apart to let her slot herself in that space. Her stomach is tight, wounding itself up in knots and she touches Ravens cheek, her jaw, her lips with her fingertips like she's trying to read her. Maybe she is, because Cass can't figure out what Raven is saying by letting her breath warm up the air between their faces, breaking their eye contact by pressing her cheek against Cass' own like she doesn't actually want to be seen but Raven’s hands move away from her hands and slide up Cass' thighs, underneath the hem of her hoodie dress and Cass thinks oh.

Oh. She offered. She's not sure if Raven asked but she offered and this isn't sex, Cass thinks as Raven's hand slides to her inner thigh and up and through one of the fishnet holes.

This is comfort, this isn't her just offering comfort, this is both of them seeking it out. This is companionship and this is blood rushing to her head even before feeling Raven’s careful, delicate touch and this is her heartbeat seeming uneven and her hand resting on the back of Raven’s head and her other hand grabbing onto Raven’s sweater before the thought of it enters her mind.

Oh, they are really in it now.

***

It's not unfamiliar but it's different. It should make Cass feel more uneasy. It should make her feel uneasy that she can't read Raven well enough to know why she responds, just how she responds.

Some bodies are confusing, she knows that, they move according to whatever inner logic they construct and Cass doesn't always know how they tell themselves these stories and they don't always make sense to her but they are always consistent. They follow the internal storyline and she might not understand the world-building but she gets the plot points.

Ravens storyline feels and looks... fragmented, broken up, like she put together different pieces that lack context, that don't follow the same storytelling rules. She lays next to Cass, her body soft and pliable and then she will doze off and tense in her sleep like she's keeping watch but Cass knows nightmares and she knows Raven doesn't have those. Sometimes Raven whispers into her skin but Cass never understands the language, she's not sure if Raven is even speaking to her because it feels private, it feels like Raven’s confirming something for herself only. They will head out to grab food and Raven will fix her jacket collar, brush her fingers across Cass' face and move away, her body devoid of meaning.

Cass can't understand the narrative but the scenes she catches onto, the lines and settings she grabs onto because it feels impossible to just let them hang there - it carves itself in her bones, it makes her feel like the energy that enters the room with Raven is thrumming through her fingertips, her nerve endings. There's the power and there's Raven; Raven is the power but she's also the delicacy and the phone calls she misses just to search the number and the reality shows that she doesn't like but they still make her laugh and the passionfruit allergy Cass only knows she ignores because she can taste the tartness on her tongue.

She knows the story is there but she can't access it. She's not sure if Raven can or if- or if she just doesn't want Cas to do so.

Cass should be concerned but the pit in her stomach isn't concern. It's worse.

Raven is in Gotham now; she's not so much chasing a hunch but rather following her gut and so Cass decides to follow her own on a different matter.

So, she throws herself into patrolling the west side because she knows Raven and Dick are on the east side. Gotham picked tonight to rest, it's a quiet patrol which is unfortunate as Cass would love to punch her feelings out. She mopes around on a gargoyle, considers calling Oracle and hiding in her holo-room instead but then there's a flash of yellow and Duke lands lightly on his feet in front of her. He looks extremely unimpressed.

"I think Batman likes to brood on the west side gargoyles more. You should try those," he's teasing but she thinks there's some truth to that.

"I'm not brooding," it sounds weak and Cass can't even blame her disability on that.

Duke looks at her sceptically and then really looks at her. Cass wants to grab her grapple gun and swing away from his gaze but he speaks up quicker than she expected him to. "You're actually not. Oh wow. You're really in it now."

Cass loves her brothers more than anything; there's nothing she wouldn’t do to stop any harm coming their way. That doesn't stop her from half-heartedly throwing one of her Batarangs at Duke.

She knew he would dodge it.

***

Cass can't hide from Raven, not really, maybe she doesn't want to. Raven finds her in the Batcave and she doesn't have to say that Gotham is getting to her, this time the tension in her body is clear.

So, she lets Raven whisk them away. The metaphysics of Ravens travel isn't Cass' favorite but she can forgive it. The sand under her naked body feels nice and cool, goosebumps rising along her arms and legs and she stretches out to uncover more skin.

Cass looks to the side and Raven seems lost in thought, her thumb going over the material of the jacket Cass threw over her shoulders. The small bonfire Cass lit to sooth the goosebumps on Raven’s legs illuminates her but doesn't add any warmth. It casts shadows on the few exposed bits of skin; Cass wants to piece together a story from the shapes playing out.

"We just try to change it, but it always seems to bounce back," Raven says, lips glistening in the warm light; Cass doesn't know the world-building, but she catches the plot point.

"Then we do it because it makes sense," Cass says, stumbling over the words only a little, and Raven looks at her, really looks at her, and the goosebumps on Cass' skin have little to do with the breeze and the ocean roars in her ears.

She thinks Raven is piecing together her own story from the shadows behind her words and the pit in her chest tightens but maybe she wants to push through that-

-but then the jacket drops from her shoulders and Raven has sand on her skin and she tastes like Cass.

***

Dick swings on the bars like his joints have no limits on the angles they can take and Cass copies the moves, Steph following suit. She tends to neglect stretching and flexibility part of her training sometimes but her muscles start to burn quickly, reminding her why it's not optional.

Dick lands steadily, takes a look at the clock on the gym wall and grabs the towel Barbara throws at him. "Gotta go. I'm taking Raven to lunch, she can't leave Gotham without trying the vegan Nightwings."

"She doesn't like them," Cass says automatically and chokes on her water when Dick turns to her puzzled.

"So, that's why I barely see you anymore," Barbara teases as Steph laughs hard and Cass puts her hoodie over her head to pretend she's not there.

When she emerges again, Dick looks like he's investigating the case of his lifetime. "I didn't even know Raven was gay."

"She could be bisexual, " Steph throws her arm over Cass' shoulders. "I get it, she has that whole mysterious Victorian ghost shtick going on, like you just want her to hold your face and recite Charlotte Brontë," she stops, freezes a little in her confusion. "Am I bisexual?"

Dick's puzzlement turns into full shock. "Wait, we thought you knew."

"Listen, Cass," says Barbara firmly. Cass has to focus on her words through Steph's rambling right next to her ear, "however you feel, she knows. And she's still here."

Barbara doesn't read people like Cass does but she does know her.

The narrative straightens itself in the tiniest way. Cass thinks that's enough.

***

Maybe Raven is haunted by emotions like Cass is haunted by bodies. Maybe they are both haunted by narratives.

Maybe Raven is haunted by the power the way Cass is haunted by the delicacy.

Maybe it's offering and asking and along the way they both stopped asking.

***

Raven brings Phobia down with her and Duke is there to catch her; he checks Phobia’s pulse and her breathing and Cass let's him, her body is loose and her breathing is shallow but it's steady. It's not her priority and it doesn't have to be.

Raven feels and looks drained and Cass is there to fall with her, cushion her knees when they hit the floor, hold her back steady with her arm. She reaches up to brush Ravens hair off her face; she will tell her later to stop leaving it down when costumed because that's just not safe but maybe Raven's perception isn't affected by such earthly things and so maybe she will ask instead-

-and Raven looks at her as Cass' fingers brush her temple and her chest blooms instead of tightening under Raven's steady eyes, so Cass follows her gut and tilts Raven's head up to meet her lips with her own.

"Guys, not right now," Duke groans behind her.

"You knew?!" Cass isn't sure when Dick found them but she doesn't care, not with how Raven hides her face in the bat on her chest because now Cass knows that Raven does blush on her chest when she's embarrassed.

She hides her own face in Raven's hair and it smells like sandalwood. It smells like Cass' own shampoo.

***

Cass sneaks through the Manor halls with purpose until Bruce steps in her path while leaving his office. He stops so she follows, even though it takes him a moment to come up with words. It's okay, she knows the feeling.

"I didn't know you were seeing anyone," he offers; he looks awkward and embarrassed but his voice sounds steady.

Cass meets his gaze. "Kon," she says; it's enough to make Bruce cringe with understanding.

He doesn't need to offer apologies, he's been trying to do so for years and now her fridge is full of honeydew melons. They stand there for a moment; Cass can see Bruce is piecing together the shadows. "That girl from Blüdhaven-"

"Brenda," Cass cuts in; the sting is there but it doesn't linger. "I really liked her."

Bruce nods. "Ask if she'd like to stay for dinner. Alfred will make her anyway but it's polite."

Cass smiles and sneaks past him, squeezing his arm briefly.

***

Cass slips inside the guest bedroom Raven took during her stay, closes the door behind her.

Raven is sitting at the foot of the bed, her cape in one of her hands, a sewing needle in the other, mending a hole she must have accidentally ripped at some point last night. Cass is sure Alfred would take care of it if Raven left the cape here but maybe that's too close to asking for her. Or maybe Raven likes to keep parts of her to herself just that much. Cass will be sure to ask later.

She sits next to her, loops her arm around Raven's back to keep herself up while she drops a kiss onto Raven’s shoulder. "Stay for dinner?"

Raven smiles, sets the needle and the cape aside carefully.

***

They are late for dinner, Raven thinks cantaloupes are superior, and Bruce looks like he has a headache.

Dating is nice, Cass thinks.

#cassrae #cassandra cain #raven #this is so rusty my god #my writing

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serenelystrange · 5 years ago

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Lemon Vampire-Repellent

A fluffy family-feelsy little Leverage fic written for AslansCompass as part of @leverage-secret-santa-exchange 2019!

Summary: Parker catches the cold from hell and fluff and caregiving ensue! I hope you like it!

Rated G. Parker/Hardison, Parker/Hardison/Eliot family feels, Gen.

“The key ingredient,” Eliot explains, “is exactly one fourth a cup of lemon juice.”

Continue to Read on AO3 or under the cut!

Hardison nods along, only half listening, watching with wide eyes at the seemingly random pile of foods and herbs that Eliot has been adding to the bubbling pot on the stove for the last hour.

He snaps out of it when he notices Eliot is directing Bitch Face # 4 at him.

“Wait, what?” he asks, long passed being scared of Eliot’s face.

Eliot just sighs and repeats the question.

“Where are your lemons?”

“Umm,” Hardison says, stalling as he pretends to look around the kitchen, knowing full well that he and Parker do not possess any lemons.

“We might have one of those plastic bottles in the fridge,” he finally says, shrugging and giving Eliot his most innocent expression.

“Who doesn’t have lemons?” Eliot asks, shaking the wooden spoon he’d been stirring with at Hardison in exasperation.

“Who just has lemons hanging around?!” Hardison counters, smirking.

Eliot stops himself before he can be baited into yet another dumb argument with Hardison, and takes a deep breath.

“Dammit, Hardison! Just go to the store and get me a bag of organic lemons,” he says, grudgingly adding on a ‘please’ at Hardison’s raised eyebrow.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Hardison says, pausing for one more glance at Eliot’s suspiciously cauldron looking pot. “Before you turn me into a frog or something.”

Eliot just waves the spoon at him again before turning back to stirring the pot as Hardison leaves.

“This’ll fix you up,” Eliot says a few hours later, concoction perfected after Hardison had finally come back with the lemons.

“I’m fine,” Parker says, weakly.

She’s propped up against her and Hardison’s bed, surrounded by pillows and practically buried in blankets.

“You are not,” Eliot says, calm but stern. “Drink.”

“It smells like a lemon vampire repellent,” Parker complains, wrinkling her nose as he brings the mug closer to her.

“That would be the garlic,” Eliot says wryly.

“Come on, babe,” Hardison says from where he’s leaning against door frame, looking on in concern. “You won’t let us take you to a doctor, at least let Eliot feed you his witches brew.”

“Not witches brew,” Eliot corrects mildly, completely unsurprised when they both ignore it.

“It’s just a cold,” Parker says, stubbornly.

“You’re feverish AND shivering,” Hardison fires back.

“A bad cold, then,” Parker says, chin set stubbornly even as her head thumps back against the padded headboard in exhaustion.

“C’mon,” Eliot tries again. “It’s easier if you just drink it all at once. But not too fast, you don’t want to throw it all up and have to start over.”

“Oh god, I’m not doing this twice,” Parker says, finally pulling her arms out from her blanket pile to reach for the mug.

“This better work,” she threatens, glaring at Eliot and Hardison both for good measure.

“It’ll help,” Eliot promises, smothering a grin as Parker’s face scrunches up in distaste as she sips the drink.

“There we go,” he says once Parker has drained the mug and mostly stopped glaring at him.

“Thanks, El,” Hardison says as Eliot passes him and heads back towards the kitchen to clean up.

“’course,” Eliot says, clapping Hardison on the shoulder as he goes.

“That was gross,” Parker mumbles from the bed, already falling asleep again.

“I know,” Hardison soothes, coming over to settle her down horizontally again and tuck her back into her blanket cocoon.

“Don’t,” Parker says sharply, flinching away from Hardison.

“What is it?” he asks, surprised and no small amount of worried.

“Just don’t want you to get sick too,” Parker whispers, burrowing into her pile of pillows.

Hardison just laughs gently.

“I’ll take my chances,” he says, and pushes Parker’s messy hair out of her eyes, rubbing her scalp in a light massages as he does.

“Yesssss,” Parker sighs, leaning into the touch like a cat.

“Get some sleep,” Hardison says. “If you feel better later, we’ll have ice cream.”

Parker smiles but is asleep again before she can actually reply.

“I hope that stuff really does help,” Hardison says to Eliot when he joins him in the kitchen again.

“It should,” Eliot says, “but I’m leaving all the ingredients in your fridge in case I have to come back and make more.”

“Thanks,” Hardison says again, “I’ll keep an eye on her, make sure it doesn’t get worse.”

“If it does,” Eliot starts, but Hardison cuts him off before he can finish the thought.

“I’ll carry her to the car and bring her to hospital myself,” he promises, laughing internally at the thought of buckling the Parker Blanket Cocoon into her seatbelt.

“Damn right,” Eliot replies.

“Go home, man,” Hardison says, kindly. “I’ll call if I need backup.”

Eliot puts his hand out for their complicated handshake and grins.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” he says, and heads out, leaving Hardison alone in a kitchen that is definitely cleaner and shinier than it has any right to be after only a few minutes with Eliot.

“Freaking cleaning ninja,” Hardison whispers to himself, looking around in awe.

“Haaardison,” Parker calls out the next morning, frowning at the empty bed around her.

It takes him a minute to untangle from his blankets on the couch, but Hardison appears in the doorway, still half asleep.

“You ok?” he asks, voice rough and eyes mostly closed.

Parker reaches her arms out towards him and gives him her best puppy eyes.

“Carry me to the shower?” she asks, in a way that is more demand than anything else.

Hardison is moving before his words catch up to his brain, and it’s not until he’s scooped Parker up that he pauses to consider the request.

“You hate asking people for help,” he says, snickering softly when Parker shoots him a dirty look for calling her out.

“You’re not people,” she says, clinging to Hardison like a sloth. If the sloth was tall and blonde and suffering from the dumbest head cold in the world.

“Aw,” Hardison says, teasingly, but also actually kind of touched. “You’re not people either.”

“People are the worst,” Parker agrees, clinging a little tighter as Hardison heads towards the bathroom.

“Will you even be able to stand in the shower?” Hardison asks, shifting Parker’s dead weight in his arms.

“Hmm,” Parker says, apparently not having considered the concept of gravity versus muscle weakness.

“Carry me to the bathtub!” she amends, kicking her feet weakly in a ‘giddy-up’ motion.

“Woman, I swear to god, watch those feet!” Hardison scolds even as he’s laughing.

When they finally make it to the bathroom, Hardison sets Parker down on the closed toilet seat so that he can fill the tub up with the fancy peppermint bubbles she’d stolen from a snooty department store they’d passed through a few months ago.

Once it’s hot and bubbly, he helps her out of layers of cozy clothes and into the tub, arranging her hair over the edge of the tub as she settles against the fancy bath pillow that Hardison had swiped from that same snooty store for his own cozy bubble-baths.

“Just yell if you need me,” he says, ready to leave Parker to it.

“Don’t go,” Parker says, reaching out one arm blindly to try and grab him.

“I don’t think you’re well enough for that kind of bath,” Hardison retorts, but takes the offered hand in his own anyway.

“Just sit and talk to me?” Parker asks, uncharacteristically plaintive in her request.

She continues before Hardison can even reply.

“I haven’t heard anything geeky in days,” she laments. “Tell me what the geeks are angry at this week, Hardison. What’s new with the birds who play that game? What’s Doctor Who up to?”

Hardison laughs in delight, and grabs some towels to pad his seat on the tile floor so she can sit and lean against the tub, letting Parker take her hand back and settle fully into the water.

“The birds are still playing,” he says, “and the Doctor is on hiatus until New Year’s Day.”

“She travels in time,” Parker argues, “it might already be next year wherever she is.”

“Take it up with the BBC,” Hardison says, turning his head and shifting so that he can watch Parker’s face. Her eyes are closed, face flushed from the steam, and there’s a playful smile resting easy on her mouth.

God, he loves her.

“Oh!” he says suddenly, startling Parker enough that she cracks one eye open in mild alarm.

“What?” she asks.

“I have two words for you,” Hardison says, pausing dramatically for effect before continuing.

“Baby. Yoda.”

Parker opens both eyes at that, face shining with excitement.

“I need him,” she says, resolutely.

“You haven’t even seen him yet,” Hardison laughs.

“Irrelevant,” Parker says, settling back again and smiling to herself.

“I’m gonna steal him,” she says.

And Hardison knows that if anyone could actually manage to steal a fictional alien from the clutches of Marvel, it would be Parker.

“Of course you will,” he agrees.

They talk about nothing until the water goes cold, and then fill it back up with hot water and start all over again.

“I live!” Parker cries out triumphantly a few days later, as she and Hardison meet the others at Nate and Sophie’s.

“Glad to hear it,” Nate says, looking up briefly from his coffee and honest to god Sunday newspaper before getting back to the crossword he’d been working on.

“Such an old man,” Sophie teases him gently before focusing on Parker.

“Good to see you up and about again,” she says. “Nate’s found us a new job, and we didn’t want you to miss all the fun.”

“Ooh, crime!” Parker says in delight. “I’ve missed crime!”

Hardison and Eliot share an eye-roll over her head, but can’t deny how good it is to have Parker back to her normal self.

“Hell yeah, Team Crime,” Hardison agrees, squeezing Parker’s waist before settling on the couch next to Sophie.

Parker’s already hovering around Nate’s tablet, trying to get all the information before he can even begin his presentation.

“A passcode, Nate, really?” she asks.

Nate slowly lifts the newspaper to hide his laughing face and says nothing.

Parker just huffs and goes about figuring out the latest code with gusto. It really is good to be back.

The End

#Leverage #Leverage fic #leverage secret santa 2019

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loverontheleft · 6 years ago

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Ready to Leap (Chapter 11.1)

AU with B as a band teacher and reader as an English teacher. Fluff and smut anticipated. Chapters 1-10 can be found on my Masterlist.

Brendon x reader. Warnings: language, sexual content.

Song referenced is linked in text.

Switches POV but it’s noted.

Word count: 3.4k (this part)

-||-

Your alarm goes off and you shoot out a hand to mute it. You aren’t going to fall back asleep; you just don’t want to wake him. Carefully, you slip out of bed and pad into the kitchen, turning the stove on and opening the fridge.

You’re almost finished, you’ve moved the pan from the hot surface to a cool one and turned off the stove, when you hear him coming down the hall and you turn, inhaling sharply. He’s slipped into his jeans but has left them unbuttoned and unzipped, and that’s all he’s got on. His hair is mussed and he probably wants to shave, but he looks so sexy right now. He blinks a few times so his eyes focus on you.

“Holy shit baby, what are you wearing?” He reaches out for you and you step into his arms. You’ve slipped your panties back on and grabbed his button-down off the floor and have the middle button closed. He runs his hand down your side appreciatively. “I’m guessing this is why I couldn’t find my shirt,” he muses, and you nod. He fingers the one closed button, looking over you. “And no bra and those panties I got off you with my mouth, hmmm?” You nod again and he kisses you hard. “So sexy.” You lean into the kiss and he slips a hand inside your - his? - shirt to thumb over your nipple. When you finally break, he blinks slowly. “Something smells really good.”

You grin, and turn back to the stove, sliding the pan’s contents to a large plate and grabbing a fork and knife. You pass it to him and he groans. “Please tell me this is-“

You cut him off with a smile. “Bacon-stuffed French toast? Yes.” His whole face lights up. “Come on Urie, back to bed.” You set off for your room and he trails after you.

“Aren’t you worried about syrup and stuff in your bed?”

You shrug. “I’ve gotta do laundry anyway.” You laugh a little to yourself. “Last time one of us said that, I ended up making you come in your pants.”

He sneaks a bite of French toast and moans. “I wouldn’t rule out a repeat performance, honey. This is amazing.” You smile and you both settle back into bed, his arm around your shoulders. The plate in his lap, he stabs a piece and feeds it to you. You spend the next 30 minutes feeding each other, whispering and giggling between syrupy embraces.

At one point, when the plate is technically cleared, he leans over to check the clock and looks at you longingly. “We’ve got a few minutes before we have to shower,” you tell him and he rolls over on top of you, unbuttons the single button, and, after dragging his index finger through the plate, coats both of your nipples and drags a sugary path down your stomach.

“That’s what I was hoping you’d say.” His mouth is on your neck and he slots a thigh in between yours, knowing what you want. As his tongue slides down your neck and chest, you grind wantonly on his upper thigh, gasping as his lips close around your nipple, sucking hard. “Yeah, baby, make yourself feel good,” he whispers, switching to your other sticky breast and pushing his thigh up against you.

Your room is silent except for the suckling sounds of his mouth and your soft moans of pleasure. Regretfully, his thigh leaves your grasp when he moves to lick over your stomach and you cry out in frustration, hips still moving, searching. “Don’t worry honey, we’ll finish this in the shower.”

And finish you do. He backs you up against the wall and drops to his knees (you’re proud of yourself for getting that foam bath mat), tongue tracing between your folds and flicking out over your clit. You cry out and he looks up at you, the question in his eyes. “Fuck, Brendon, fingers,” you whine and he winks before sliding two fingers into you roughly while his other hand grips his leaking cock and starts stroking hard. You look down at him, on his knees, pleasing both of you, eyes shut in concentration and bliss, and you can’t help it; your climax rocks through you and you come hard on his fingers and tongue.

With a groan, he gives one last thrust through his fist before his own orgasm is spurting over and dripping down his fingers. “Fuck baby, hope that wasn’t too fast,” he whispers, kissing your thigh and you shake your head.

“It was perfect.”

By the time you’re both cleaned up and out of the shower, it’s only 5:30. “Fuck, if waking up early means I get to start my day like that, count me in,” he mumbles as he kisses your cheek.

As you’re getting in your separate cars so he can go home and change, a roar of thunder rips through the air and the sky opens up. He texts you - “looks like we’re not going to have band outside today.”

-||-

Brendon’s POV

The storm has been raging all day but the thunder has nothing on your drumline. The kids are exhausted from practice yesterday - it was extraordinarily hot for September, and they worked hard, so you decide to take a break from show music.

“Alright guys, grab a seat real quick.” They settle into their chairs and look at you expectantly. “I want to work on sight reading, so I’m going to pass out some unmarked music to each section. The parts are labeled; the pieces are not. It’s your job to work as a section and figure out a) what piece this is, and b) how to make it sound right.” You pause. “And yes, there is a prize for the section that can get their part right the fastest.” You hold up your hands to ward off questions. “All prizes revealed after winners are selected.”

The kids waste no time dividing the room into domains, huddling with their sections, fingers flying silently over instruments and eyes squinting in concentration. Even Marissa has joined her original section, the trombones, and is studying the piece. Everyone is deeply invested, except Emily, who is sitting with her flute across her lap staring into space. You catch her eye. “You okay?” You mouth, and she shakes her head and bursts into tears. Fuck. “Come on,” You gesture and she stands up, setting the instrument down and crossing the room. You open the door and gesture for her to step out. You follow and, leaving the door cracked, sit on the floor. “What’s up?”

She sighs, crossing her arms and sitting down too. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid, you’re upset. You’re allowed to be upset.”

She sniffles and looks up at you. “This is embarrassing.” You look at her steadily. She takes a deep breath. “Okay, so David and I have been texting a lot and I thought he liked me because he sat with me on the bus coming home from Invitationals and Friday he bought me a cookie at lunch and NOW -“ she cuts herself off with a tight sob, “he’s ignoring me and sitting with - with - with JASMINE.” She looks at you desperately, tears streaming. “I told you it was stupid.”

You shake your head. “And I told you it isn’t. You like the guy and you thought it was mutual and now he’s giving you mixed signals. Who wouldn’t be upset?” She sniffles and shrugs. “Emily, listen to me.” She looks up at you, eyes watery. “I’m not gonna say anything bad about him because first, he’s my student too, and second, you don’t need my thoughts and feelings in your head. So listen. You are a smart, talented, beautiful young lady. If he doesn’t see that, that’s his loss. Honestly. I know it hurts now; I had my fair share of emotional distress in high school, but I promise, you’re going to be just fine. I survived, and I’m not half as great as you.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re just saying that.”

You shake your head. “I’m not. I got out of high school with a 2.5 GPA and it was music that got me through. I had like 2 close friends I hung out with regularly.” She frowns a little, considering. “Seriously. You’ll be great. Now, you can call David out, just please not during class, or you can let it go, but either way, you’re gonna go back in there and be fine. Don’t let him get to you. And remember,” you pause to make sure she’s listening. “High school boys are dumb. They’ll catch up to you, maturity-wise, in about 4 years. Tolerate them for now, but focus on what’s important. Graduating and college. Yes?” She nods with some confidence and you pat her on the shoulder. “Good. You ready to go back inside?” She nods and you both stand.

Before you go back inside, she stops you. “Thank you Mr. Urie. You’re a good listener. Ms. Milton’s lucky.”

You stop and look at her. “What do you mean by that?” Your voice is cautious. She laughs a little.

“We all think you’re together. I mean, we can’t prove anything but...I don’t know. We all think you should be, if you’re not already.” You think about this.

“Who is ‘we,’ when you say ‘we all think’?”

She shrugs. “Everyone in band. Except some of the freshman girls but,” she gives you a knowing look. “You know how they are.”

You can’t help it, you start laughing. “I really don’t.”

She looks at you with wide eyes. “Mr. Urie, they’re like in love with you.”

You snort. “Yeah, okay Emily.”

“They are! But yeah the rest of us think you’d be super cute together.”

You grin. “Let’s go back inside.”

“Why are you grinning? We know you guys had dinner together last night. Why are you grinning?? Did something happen? Did you kiss? Ohhhhh I bet y’all kissed.”

If she only knew. Your mind wanders back to the night before, being tied down in her bed, licking over her - no. Focus. Not the time. You walk back into the room where the trumpets are getting close to figuring out the melody and the drummers have given up and are throwing their sticks at the ceiling.

“You guys look done. Are you done?”

You built Emily’s confidence up too much. She looks around the room. “Show of hands, who thinks Mr. Urie should ask Ms. Milton out again?” You protest and she gives you a look. “I’m proving my point.”

You groan and are surprised when almost every hand in the room shoots up, except for, as Emily essentially predicted, a cluster of freshman girls in the flute and clarinet sections. She looks around the room again. “Why?”

Josh raises his hand. “Because when he’s with her, he lets us go home early.”

Marissa rolls her eyes. “Great leadership attitude Josh,” she teases. “But really, because she’s nice and pretty and you always look happy when someone talks about her - like right now.”

Emily has uncapped an expo marker and is listing people’s reasons on the board behind you. “...looks...happy. Okay what else?”

You groan. “Really guys, this is how you all want to spend class time?”

The drumline gives a resounding “yes,” and you give up.

“Alright, I give. Convince me why I should date this woman.” The class is arguing loudly now about ranking her qualities and you wander back into your office to shoot her a quick text. “Come to the band room after school. I’ve got something to show you.”

She replies immediately. “Is it your dick? Kidding. Kind of. I’ll be there.”

You walk back out and are stunned. Marissa has joined Emily and together they’ve almost filled the board with the class suggestions that are being yelled out at random. “Wow guys, you’re really putting in work on this,” you laugh and they nod enthusiastically.

“We really like her.” I really like her too. “What would you do if we brought her down here to see this list?” Emily looks a little smug.

“Don’t do that.”

Marissa folds her arms and makes a frustrated sound. “Fine.”

The bell is about to ring and they start packing up when Emily grabs the eraser. “No, don’t.” You stop her and she turns to you with a grin.

“You’re gonna bring her down here yourself, aren’t you?”

“No. Maybe.” She claps her hands ecstatically and grabs her bag and flute case, bolting from the room.

“Aghhh! Yay! Good luck!” She throws open the door and comes up short. “Oh hi Ms. Milton! I was just leaving. Bye!!” You hear Emily’s feet flying down the hall and Y/n laughing.

“What was all of that ab- what is this?” She stops, staring at the board. You hold out your hand and she crosses the room to take it. You pull her into your arms, her back against your chest, and kiss her cheek.

“These are all the reasons my students think we should be together.” She gasps a little and steps forward to read them. You watch her pace the board and she turns to you, eyes brimming with tears.

“This is incredible,” she whispers, hugging you tightly.

“You’re incredible. And they see it. They see how wonderful you are and how happy you make me.”

She stands on her toes to kiss you and you wrap your arms around her, holding her tightly. “You are wonderful,” she whispers into your neck, “and you make me so happy too.”

You smile, breathing in the scent of her hair. “I’m going to take you home now,” you tell her and she nods, slipping her hand into yours and letting you lead her out the door.

-||-

You’re curled up on the couch, dinner plates on coffee table, her head in your lap. Your hands are stroking her hair and she lets out a soft sigh before sitting up and flipping around so she’s facing you. “My ex and I were together for five years,” she tells you, taking your hands. “He was the first guy I dated who treated me well and was nice and I thought that meant he was the one. We had a lot of issues but I brushed them aside because he was nice to me.” She looks up at you, voice shaking. You pull at her hands lightly and she crawls back to your lap, resting her head on your chest. “He was gone a lot of the time, and he didn’t put our relationship first. I spent a lot of time alone, defending him to my friends and even to myself. He didn’t spend time with me, he was rude to my friends, and he told me I was stupid for teaching. He’s the one who ended it. He told me I was emotionally manipulative, that he felt trapped by me and stifled and crowded. He had wanted to leave for a long time but didn’t know how to tell me so he just went through all of the motions until one day he just snapped and started screaming at me. It was over after that; I moved out and after maybe 2 weeks, he wanted to get back together. I couldn’t though. I couldn’t be with someone who had said those terrible things to me. I thought I was okay when I moved from Austin, but like I said, he started showing up and hanging around and I told him I couldn’t, I just couldn’t and wouldn’t be with him. He called me horrible things, a tease, a slut, a manipulative bitch - and I just couldn’t stay. So I ran again.” Your grip around her tightens; you’re furious. “So yeah. That’s my ex, and that’s why I’m, deep down, weird about relationships and commitments. I’m sorry, I just - seeing that board made me realize how strongly I feel about you and you deserve to know about the last guy who had an impact on me.”

You take a deep breath and kiss the top of her head. “First of all, I’m proud of you for leaving; for not going back to him. I know that was hard, especially after he felt like a safe person, the first safe person, for so long. Second, you know you’re none of those things, right? You’re not any of those horrible things he called you. He’s insecure and afraid of his own flaws so he’s projecting onto you. Finally, you’re not weird about relationships or commitments. Not as far as I can see. You openly refer to yourself as my girlfriend and we’ve spent many nights together, each of them magical by the way. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re perfect, okay?” She lifts her head and you kiss her softly. “You’re perfect and you’re safe and I’m not going to hurt you. You mean so much to me. I hope you believe that.”

She nods. “I do believe it.” She sniffles a little and hugs you tightly. “Can we watch a movie and have a drink?”

You laugh, kissing her forehead. “Of course baby. I’ll grab the wine if you want to pick a movie.” You come back into the room, two bottles in your hands and glasses hooked into your fingers, a bar of dark chocolate wedged between the glasses. She looks at you in surprise and you laugh a little. “No, we’re not drinking both of these - unless you want to. I just didn’t know what you were feeling.”

“I think the red. Is Dirty Dancing okay?”

You nod. “Absolutely.” And with that, you uncork the wine, pour your glasses, and settle back into place, breaking off bits of chocolate and passing them forward for her to pluck from your fingers with her teeth.

The movie ends and she’s drowsy in your arms, but she stirs when the credits roll. “Mmmmmm. I feel much better,” she purrs, stretching and arching her back. “You should take me to bed.”

“Yeah?” You nuzzle the spot behind her ear and she melts back into your arms, nodding and turning her head to kiss your neck. “You sure?” You whisper and she nods again, her lips ghosting over your skin. “Okay then.” You both stand and she willfully allows you to scoop her up and head for the stairs.

She’s clinging to you, and you’re halfway up the stairs when she starts kissing you fiercely, moaning and whimpering against your lips and tugging at your hair. Suddenly she pulls back and looks at you. “You have an office here too, don’t you?” And when you nod, she grins. “Let’s go in there.” You can’t say no to her; you’re nudging open the door and she gasps, looking at you. “I didn’t know you played piano!” You shrug modestly.

“A little.”

“A little! This is a baby grand! No one who plays a little has a baby grand. You play a lot. Play for me?” Her face is flushed and her lips are stained from the wine and you look at her, captivated.

“Yeah, okay.” You find the keys and start, eyes focused on your fingers as you sing softly. “The day I first met you, you told me you never fall in love,” she elbows you playfully, and you wink. “But now that I get you, I know fear is what it really was. Now here we are, so close, yet so far...Haven't I passed the test?” Her head is resting on your shoulder, and you pause, finding her eyes. “When will you realize, baby, I'm not like the rest?” Your hands still as she kisses you softly. You whisper against her lips, “don't wanna break your heart, I wanna give your heart a break,” and she moans into your mouth and crawls into your lap, kissing you harder now and cutting the song short. Your lips part as her tongue slips into your mouth and you grab her hips and pull her closer against you. “Should I take you to bed, honey?”

“No. We should stay right here.”

“Do you want me keep playing?” Your hands curve over the keys, waiting.

“Only if it’s your tongue playing with my clit.”

Sweet Jesus.

11.2

#brendon urie #brendon urie imagine #my work #brendon urie smut #ready to leap #work in progress #brendon urie x reader #fanfic

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johnny-and-dora · 7 years ago

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oh, what a beautiful morning

jake and amy's egg-cellent morning adventure - or the one where jake falls asleep to the sound of amy sifiting through paperwork and wakes up to the sound of her making him breakfast, much to his great amusement and only minor heartbreak. (early season 2 fluff) read on ao3

The first time Jake Peralta wakes up in Amy Santiago’s apartment, he wakes up to sunlight streaming through floral pattern curtains, a mildly concerning burning smell heavily permeating the air, and a string of loud expletives coming from the kitchen.

For a second, as his vaguely familiar surroundings swim before him, he thinks he could be back home - he’s lost count of the number of times his mom has started their mornings together by burning every breakfast item imaginable, as if she’s got some kind of arsonist agenda he should probably arrest her for (although, to be fair, it was a blessing in disguise when she accidentally singed off his ponytail in high school).

But then his brain finally shifts into gear and, with a jolt, he realises that it’s Amy’s voice fiercely arguing with various kitchen utensils next door. It’s Amy’s usually delicately folded guest blanket that is haphazardly yet somehow also carefully draped over him - and it’s Amy’s couch that he’s presumably been sprawled all over since he fell asleep midway through working that seemingly impossible case with her last night.

The case. Right. Definitely the only reason he would ever want to wake up in Amy Santiago’s apartment to Amy Santiago making him breakfast. After they spent the night together working a case, because they are respectful and professional police colleagues and will never be anything more.

Not that he’s ever thought about being more, obviously, right? Not like it’s basically consumed every waking thought he’s had ever since that stupid bet, every second of being undercover, every weird moment they’ve shared since he came back. Not at all.

He gets up, immediately feeling like a jerk for being here in the first place - shoving down a pang of guilt for so rudely taking up her couch like that and invading her privacy. She should have woken him up and let him shuffle back to his lumpy mattress and mail tub in peace; now she’s making him breakfast and he’s inevitably going to find some way to make it awkward for them for the rest of the day. Great.

Between the brick wall he’s hit this week trying to crack this case (literally, one of his perps actually threw him against a brick wall the other day) and...other things on his mind, he’s been basically narcoleptic for the past few days and now – well, now, Amy’s going to be scrubbing the Jake off of everything in her living room for weeks.

At least he hasn’t stained or broken anything – yet.

He thinks about leaving quietly, not wanting to intrude any further – but she draws him to the kitchen anyway, because he woke up in Amy Santiago’s apartment, and he’s going to enjoy every second he can get of her shouting match with her stove before she can notice him.

And right, okay, cool, Amy is still just as beautiful as usual when she’s wearing sweatpants and an old NYPD t-shirt, that’s cool. That’s fine.

And, of course, she’s still just as breathtaking when she’s becoming increasingly frustrated with the pan of char-grilled scrambled eggs she’s currently close to either arresting or unceremoniously flinging (he theorises, making a mental note not to piss her off so much that he has to peel the great egg monstrosity off of his face later) but that’s fine. No big deal. He can deal with that.

He has to deal with that. There’s no alternative to solving this mess he’s gotten himself into with this dumb crush. That’s all it can be - she’s with Teddy, and they’re probably going to get married and have loads of nerd children and live happily ever after. Even if she wasn’t, why would she ever want to be with him?

But for now, just for this one tiny barely significant moment, he indulges himself in a stare he can’t normally risk with Charles lurking around; leaning comfortably against the doorframe, unashamedly drinking every inch of her in.

Just for one moment.

And then he ashamedly forces himself to look away, because that’s creepy and unprofessional and definitely not something just a police colleague should ever do. As beautiful and chaotic Amy is at – he checks his watch – 7:30 in the morning (an ungodly hour, might he add) he finally decides to clear his throat, stepping into the kitchen.

“Are you...making me breakfast?”

She jumps slightly at the sound of his voice, whipping around and wielding a frying pan with such force and anger it might as well be a lightsaber. For a fraction of second Jake’s genuinely worried she might split him in half before he starts to laugh and she relaxes slightly, letting her weapon drop to her side as she casually tries (and fails) to look nonchalant, leaning back against her kitchen counter.

“No! What? Maybe...I, erm, felt bad for leaving you on the couch.” “Awww, Ames – was I just too adorable that you couldn’t bear to wake me up?” “No, I just didn’t want to go anywhere near your drool.”

“Oh, ew. Gross.” Jake runs a hand through his hair, suddenly achingly aware of how much of a mess he must look – at the same time as Amy realises she’s still wearing her pyjamas and her cheeks flush a light shade of pink.

So really, he’s nailing the whole not making it awkward thing. Score.

“Sorry for...umm. Yeah. Falling asleep. Didn’t mean to intrude.” “Oh, it’s fine. You were kinda out cold and I figured you could use the rest. This case has been kicking our ass.”

“Yeah. So, anyway, what did these eggs do to you to deserve this? Must be a serious felony.” Jake gestures to the pan Amy’s been wrestling with for the past ten minutes and she rolls her eyes, smiling in the way that always catches in his chest.

“Shut up, Peralta. I was trying to do something nice.” “Are you sure you don’t want me to call in Major Crimes to make this bust?” “I will force feed you this if it kills me, and it will probably kill you.” “Should I file a report for police brutality?” “I swear to God-“

“Okay, okay, I’m done.” He holds up his hands in mock defeat as she turns the stove off, wafting the air in an ineffectual attempt to get rid of the lingering smoky scent. He’s only quiet for a minute, though, before he just can’t help himself –

“Really, I think you’re an egg-ceptional cook. I’m not egg-aggerating at all.” “...I will destroy you with this frying pan.”

“C’mon, Santiago, that’s a bit egg-streme. I’m egg – “Before Jake can even finish, she’s chasing him around the kitchen, whacking him while he half laughs, half cries in pain. They both almost collapse in laughter on the tiled floor, every inhibition or awkward moment forgotten; and yeah, it hurts that maybe they’ll never be more than police colleagues in that way.

But the way his stomach aches from laughing shows that they’re definitely friends. And for this morning, that’s enough.

It’s more than enough, really. Enough doesn’t even begin to cover how grateful he is to find someone who’ll let him sleep on their couch and make him breakfast and still enthusiastically belt him within an inch of his life with a kitchen utensil.

He’s lucky to have her. He’s way too uncomfortable with emotions to ever be able to let her know that, but he is.

“I was going to say sorry! I’m egg-sorry!” “Do you want breakfast or not, because at this point I’m more than willing to just let you starve.” “...I’ll eat the rest of the pizza if you make some coffee?”

Amy sighs and shoves her blackened amalgamation of a breakfast into the trash, wrinkling her nose in disgust as Jake helps himself to the rest of last night’s leftover pizza.

She pours herself a bowl of cereal and makes them both coffee, and it’s...nice. It’s surprisingly natural, actually, as he sits on her kitchen counter, swinging his legs back and forth and making fun of her parchment scroll length itemised shopping list tacked neatly to the fridge. Like he belongs there.

He sifts through the files that are still strewed haphazardly on the coffee table as Amy gets dressed – showing up two days in a row to work in the same clothes is pretty normal for him anyway, so he doesn’t have to worry about that. They’re both ready for work by the time Jake’s alarm normally goes off, and for once he can guarantee that this time he’s not going to be late.

He can’t wait to see the look on Holt’s face.

“Ready to go?” “Yeah. Um, thank you. For, y’know. Breakfast.”

“That’s okay.” She smiles warmly at him and he can practically feel his heart bursting out of his chest. God, he’s such an idiot. They just sort of stare at each other for a moment before her face lights up.

“Oh, by the way, sleeping beauty – I totally solved the case while you were out.” “What? No way!” “Uh huh. It was the contractor’s wife; she used two fake ID’s, a Mexican passport and the bread knife we found in the dumpster. Want to help me make the arrest?” “The wife! I knew it! Obviously I was so close, really I was just sleeping to give you a chance to –“

Her pointed look cuts him off, and she rolls her eyes as he gives her a dorky grin.

And, just for this one tiny barely significant moment, his stupid crush on Amy Santiago isn’t so overwhelmingly, well, crushing, and everything between them is so, so good.

Even if the smell of smoke around them is still lightly suffocating, and his heart still starts beating way too fast every time he looks at her, and Amy will be scrubbing the orange soda stains off of her couch for weeks.

(Of course, the next time he wakes up in Amy Santiago’s apartment it’ll be in her bed, with Amy Santiago sleeping softly beside him, and everything between them will be better than he could have ever possibly imagined.) (But he doesn’t need to know that.)

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.”

#my writing #i actually posted a full fic on here for once!#yay!#i honestly have no idea what this is #but i've been dying to write for months now #and this was all my poor tired brain could produce #so i hope you like it #b99 #brooklyn nine nine #brooklyn 99 #peraltiago #b99 fic #amy santiago #jake peralta #fluff for the soul #and a bit of pining because #i can only ever write pining #shut up sian

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cj-rogers · 7 years ago

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locked,

[ Stage had been spying on their daughter for nearly the whole day.

The moment Charlie Jo stepped off the bus, she seemed as if she were a completely different person. She was reserved. She barely said hello--Stove under the impression that she was still mad at her parents didn't blame her. She gave the customary hugs to each her mother and father, and walked past them, placing her things in the trunk of her own car, because they expected their daughter to want to drive her own car????????

Nope. Cj was not in the mood to do much of anything. Smiling was at the top of that list, followed by talking. Sage had questions like: How was camp? How was the bus ride? Had she been getting any sleep? Had she been eating alright? Why didn't she write? Did anyone else write to her? Did she make any friends there? All of which were suffocating questions to not only Charlie Jo, but her father, as well, as Charlie Jo only answered in "Mhm"s "Yeahs" or other short one syllable sounds.

So once they made it home-- like once Charlie Jo stepped into the house, she expected them to pull her into the living room for a discussion. She almost waited for one of her parents to speak, but the moment they didn't she retired to her room because the bus ride was actually hell and she needed to lie the fuck down.

Not to mention the appearance of her mother had changed a little too much for the girl to even think about asking. Was that a tumor growing on her mother's stomach or did she gain that much weight during her time away? We'll answer that question later--

How did Charlie Jo feel being back? Miserable. Because she didn't want to be in the same town-- same house as the people she'd let down the most. She didn't want to share any air with her two parents either. No matter how wonderful it was to her-- the smell, the atmosphere, the freedom. She didn’t like being back. No.

So, up to her room, she went--the door placed back on its hinges, and she walked as if she were on egg-shells, both metaphorically and physically. The room was in a much better condition that she left it in. Her bed was made. Her shelves well kept and dusted. The room had a nice tidy, guest room feel to it because it honestly hadn't felt much like her room anymore. It was funny how much could change in a matter of two months.

And her parents didn't bother her-- well not outright. Stove kept finding chores around the house that led him to a passing of the girl's room, but it was quiet, a nice quiet home for a couple of hours. This is what it would be like with a well-behaved child? Great.

So ya hours had passed. A disco nap happened. Dinner had been made-- or rather thrown together. Charlie Jo was called downstairs. And she knew better than to not show up when she was called after.

It was time. Time for the lecturing. Time to hear what a fuck up she was. And it was time to actually apologize and mean it, right?

She may as well tiptoed down the stairs because her parents barely noticed her footsteps as they were still fussing with soup and sandwiches.

And when her eyes met the kitchen table, at her spot was her set of car keys, her phone, and a card with her name on it.]

What's this?

I hope you don't mind, but we took the liberty in opening your mail...

[ Charlie's already got her hands on the envelope, and she's sliding the card out carefully as to not give herself a paper cut. Her eyes scan the card.]

Your friends have decided to throw you a surprise welcome home party.

[There's a scoff from Charlie Jo, and under her breath "what friends". ]

Since it is a party half- thrown in your name, we expect you'd like to attend.

[ Charlie's taken a bite of her grilled cheese because again, these are the best parents in the world and even if their child has spent the last two months at military boot camp, they made her favorite food for dinner and they have considered letting her attend said party. aW.]

What do you say, Charlie?

You kinda ruined the surprise, didn't you? But no, I didn't know today's Winnie's birthday. [a nonCHALANT SHRUG.] I would have gotten her something.

Your attendance would be a nice present, don't you think?

[ There's a nod from Charlie Jo, but she’s not sure how to respond, or if they’ll let her go. Like maybe it’s a trap-- she asks to go and they say fUCK no Charlie Jo you’re a terrible daughter and we can’t trust you out by yourself.]

But first we'd like to discuss some new boundaries now that you're back.

Of course.

[She's perked up her spine. Because lay it on, parents.

Literally, lay it on her. She hadn’t heard it a bILLION TIMES ALREADy. What’s once more? Tell her she’s a disappointment. Tell her she’ll never amount to anything. Tell her that she should be ashamed of herself. Tell her that her behavior has been unacceptable. Tell her she’ll go back after one more infrACTIon.

But they didn’t.

And they went on, taking turns about boundaries. Not once did the two parents reprimand their daughter. They held reasonable tones as they explained that Charlie Jo had a curfew, she had chores around the house, she had homeschooling packets to complete every single day, and if she complained about boredom they'd find her something to do like mow the lawn etc.

There would be an arrangement with the Bravo's over the car she wrecked, and she would be apologizing to Maddox and Merry-- but she'd avoid that at all costs.

She had specific days that she would be allowed to spend with friends only if she was caught up with her new homeschooling, and if she passed the weekly home drug tests she would be issued-- she tried not to laugh at that one.

She, also, had to start helping out with dinner once a week, and she was expected to spend most evenings, if not studying, in the family room with her parents for family time.

Did she have any questions?

Yes, but she didn't feel it necessary to ask her parents about the repercussions should she disobey, because she sure as fuck wasn't ready to be sent away again... so soon.

So she nodded and agreed to all these stipulations.

She also apologized for what a shit daughter she had been-- and in the middle of that apology, Sage burst out in tears, because Charlie Jo was convincing in her heartfelt, pre-rehearsed apology. Because she had two months to plan out what she would be saying to her parents, and she didn't have it in her to fuck that up. She also thanked them for their patience, guidance, and love. It was sweet. Really. It was a nice Stage family moment, and everything seemed like it would be okay.

So there were hugs, through gritted teeth and head shaking going on because, "Mom, Dad, get a grip", and a brush against the BUMP and it freaked Charlie the fuck out tbh. There is definitely a flinch from that...

So it seemed like they were done now, right?

Grilled cheese sandwiches had been eaten, tomato soup all sipped up, and dishes to be done.

And Charlie, understanding her new rules, gathered plates and utensils because she had every intention of spending Winnie's birthday with her. Duh. But those parents of hers... they were ready to drop the bomb. In 3-2----]

Charlie, wait.

[ So the daughter, placed that kitchenware back in front of her, as Stove wore a face to say take your seat back child. And it seemed a little too serious. She was expecting a lecture on parties. She was expecting to hear that she would be dropped off and picked up-- which would be SUPER LAME.

Because it wouldn't be that simple, right? Her parents would not let her off that easily-- If you could call her current situation being let off easily---]

We have some news.

[ And that smile from her mother was a duplicitous one. It was a preGNANT smug smile. Slimy and untrusting.]

K...

[ Charlie crossed her arms over her chest, and she's sinking into her chair, but her old posture is a little hard to slide into. You know milITARY TRAINING AND SUCH.

So she's un-comfortably sitting in that dining room chair. The parents are looking between each other. And maybe they'd already planned on how they were going to tell their daughter but that plan seemed to be derailing because Charlie Jo is dumb as fucking paint and can't even compute the obvious change in Sage's appearance.]

What's your news? By the look on your faces, I'd guess we won the lottery while I was away and we get to move to Colorado or something? Because I'd actually be down for leaving this place in the dust. [A shrug.]

Not quite. Though we do feel as if we've won a lottery... so to speak.

[ A smug eye roll because CJ is cLEARLY misuNDERSTANDING.] I'm not a completely new person. I’m glad we can go on with this forgiveness thing, but let's not assume that I'm perfect now, it'd be deceiving. [The family of three laughs one of their final laughs forever.]

But there is a new addition... [ It's said through one final giggle. And what's that? Sage is beaming at her husband and at Charlie Jo and she is rubbing that tuUMOR oN HER STSOMACh. but get this Charlie Jo is STILL not understanDing.]

We can't get a dog. That's just a pile on of more chores for me to do. [a gROAn.] And it's a little late for that sentiment if that's what it is, I haven't wanted a dog since I was like 12. They're borderline annoying to me, nowadays, anyway. You have to like feed it, and walk it, and bathe it.

[ Sage frown.]

Not a dog, Charlie Jo. [ Stove can't help but laugh.] A human. [He's wiped his brow.] Your mother is-- we're [ As if to include charlie jo in this decision.] expecting. We're going to have a new family member in May.

[ And freeze frame. Record scratch, and Charlie Jo's eye ZOOM TF to her moTHER who is SHOWING A LOT MORe NOW in her brain. And she's let out an involuntary grunt, which has turned into a nice big HUMORLESS FIT OF LAUGHTER. But it's not fucking funny. She's not laughing because of a nice joke. No apparently SHE'S the JOKe.]

Come again? [ Because she wasn't hearing this right, right?]

You're going to have a baby brother... or sister. Isn't that exciting?

[ Charlie Jo could all but rub her forehead as she's starting to feel one of those familiar stress headaches that she gets when she's told bad news. It had been so long that this had happened... she didn't welcome the feeling at all. And is that a growl from her? Yep.]

Charlie, we know it's a little sudden for you to be hearing this but we've known for a while now.

[ She's quiet, but her head was already screaming at her parents. Something like a "NO SHIT" but she doesn't scream at them. She nods her head. She stifles her emotions for once, and she congratulates them both with a smile.]

No, that's great. Awesome. Congrats

[ Does she mean that? fU-hUCK NO. SHE LIKES BEING A SINGLE CHILD. SHE LIKES QUIET HOUSES. SHE LIKES NOT SHARING PARENTS. AND SHE LIKES HAVING THESE DAYS TO HERSELF AND NOT BEING STOLEN BY ROBBIE ROGERS.

But anyways.

She's back to gathering used plates because we have places to fucking be, and we’re done with that conversation.]

#locked #post malone number 1

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