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nomorelonelydays · 6 years ago

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kick your pretty feet up on my dash

Part 1 | Part 2

Two days after the Instagram account opens, Sidney unofficially gets put on naming duty.

The strawberry shortcake biscuit is named The Taylor.

The cream cheese-stuffed banana muffins, crusted with dark chocolate ganache, is The Fleury.

The slice of warm spiced peach cobbler (available for just two weeks), topped with a generous portion of thick, whipped cream and vanilla ice cream, is The Deidre.

He shares the account password with her, but she seems more interested in digging up her mom’s old recipes from an ancient box filled with yellowed index cards than photographing.

“I’ll leave that up to you,” she says, then passes him a card titled, ‘Cherry Layer Chocolate Cake.’ “I think I’ll make this for the holidays. What do you think?”

Deidre makes just one and a half cakes for a trial run (the other half, which had come out lopsided, is sitting in the back of Sidney’s fridge). It’s another instant hit.

Sidney watches a couple, two teenagers who are making it pretty painfully obvious that they’re on their first date, split a slice in a corner seat. She’s chasing the cherry around the plate with her fork, and he watching her like she hung the literal moon. He laughs a little too hard at her jokes, his eyes crinkling like Geno’s when he’s chirping Sidney. But with the way she’s beaming, it’s clear that she doesn’t mind at all.

He’s not jealous—or, at least, he doesn’t think he’s jealous. Having hockey and having a boyfriend have always been mutually exclusive. But now, with no obligations to the NHL, he’s supposedly free to do everything that he’s wanted to. He doesn’t dwell too long on it though, because the last thing he needs is to have an existential spiral in Deidre’s store over whether or not he’s missed his his golden hour to be happy the exact minute the Penguins drafted him all those years ago.

He finishes lettering the card for the cherry chocolate cake and slides ‘The Jack’ neatly into its proper holder.

Geno calls him on Thursday nights now, like clockwork. He’s grateful for the routineness of it, especially when he knows how much Geno lives on spontaneity. It’s always the same—updates on how the team is doing (good, the weather over in Pittsburgh (not so good), another dumb prank the rookies are trying to pull (hilarious, but slightly unoriginal with the shaving cream), even though it’ll never be as good as the ones Flower used to plan.

“How are you?” Geno asks one night, while Sidney is puttering around the kitchen to figure out what he wants to make for dinner. “Your tomatoes grow?”

“I think those are a goner,” Sidney grimaces. The entire plant had shriveled up weeks ago, despite Sidney faithfully watering them. “Guess I’ll just have to stick with the storebought ones.”

Geno is silent for a bit. Then, “Is quiet in locker room without you.”

Sidney pauses. “I doubt that’s true.” There’s plenty of rookies every year, eager to prove themselves on the ice and to establish themselves as a personality on the team. Besides, Sidney has never been the life of the party—that’s always been Geno himself.

“No, is quieter.” Geno sounds like he’s swallowing a yawn. “Different without you.”

Sidney’s heart flounders, and he has to blink a couple of times before his throat unclogs. “Maybe you should get to sleep. It’s pretty late over there.”

“No, I’m not tired,” Geno mumbles, sounding very drowsy. Sidney can almost picture Geno, hair-mussed and sleepy eyes about to close as he curls up on his mattress. “Want to keep talking.”

“I know you have practice tomorrow, G,” Sidney says. “You have the C now, you can’t get there two hours late anymore.”

“I’m never late,” Geno huffs. “You too early.”

“Get some rest,” Sidney says gently. “I’ll still be here next week, same as usual.”

“Maybe I call tomorrow.’

“I won’t go anywhere.”

“Wish you still here, Sid,” he murmurs. “Miss you so bad, some days.”

Sidney doesn’t miss a beat. “I miss you, too,” he whispers, because any louder and he knows his voice will crack. “I’ll be here tomorrow. And the day after, if you still want to call.”

“Okay,” Geno says. “Okay.”

Sidney’s restocking the brioche rolls when Deidre’s voice casually pipes up from the coffee machine, “You have a secret admirer, you know.”

“I know. It’s Samantha. PTA President,” Sidney says, trying to not sound exasperated. He only knows her name and title because she must’ve giggled it at him as a greeting every single time she’s marched in. “She asked me what the main ingredient was in the banana muffins and I told her banana like, three times.”

“She just likes to hear you say banana. And no, it’s not Sam.” Deidre makes a come hither motion with her hands and slides a napkin towards Sidney. “Yesterday afternoon, there was a young man, maybe around his 30s, who stopped by for a latte and he asked where you were.”

“Oh.” There’s something he can’t name fluttering in his stomach. The words on the napkin scrawled out, Jeremy, and a string of numbers. “What did you say?”

“I told him, ‘He’s a cute one, isn’t he? He’s the store eye candy, bringing in all the sales.’”

“Dee, you didn’t.”

“I did, and he went full red. It was adorable. And I told him that you pop in in the mornings and in the afternoon to help with opening and closing.” She leans forward, grinning. “I’m just saying, think about it.”

He thinks about it.

At night, he tells Geno, “I think I have a secret admirer. Or a stalker.”

Geno’s voice suddenly becomes infinitely more awake. “Have what? Someone stand outside your house? I read about this before, you need call police.”

“No, it was at the bakery. I got his number on a napkin. Well, the owner gave me his name on a napkin, so I don’t really know what he looks like. He could be 100. People in this town are usually…around that age range.”

Geno still sounds perplexed. “So say no.”

“What?”

“Say sorry, only go on dates with girls. But thank you.”

Sidney’s brain feels like it’s stuttering to a pause. “Geno, what the fuck?”

“What?”

“I don’t ‘only go on dates with girls.’ I—” Well, to be quite fair, he hasn’t gone on any dates at all. “You know this.”

It takes a full ten seconds for Geno to crackled back to life on the line again. His voice is hesitant. “You only bring girls to events. Like Halloween, or—”

“They’re my friends, I’ve told you. I’m not going to bring a guy in front of you guys,” he exclaims, then reigns in his voice. His heart is beating like a jackhammer boring straight through. “Hey, listen, I have a pretty early day tomorrow, I’ll talk to you next week, okay?”

“Sid, wait—”

He hangs up and puts his phone face down on the nightstand. It’s not his proudest moment.

I’m sorry(((, the text reads. The timestamp indicates that the message had been sent at 2 AM. You should go on a date with secret guy. Maybe he’s secret Ryan Reynolds.

Geno’s texts are never longer than five words, usually cryptic versions of a yes or no, accompanied by eyeless smilies. Sidney wonders if he’d been painstakingly worrying over each word since Sidney hastily ended the conversation.

I don’t think he’s Ryan Reynolds, Sidney sends back. Besides, no one in this town knows hockey. That’s gonna be a problem.

Geno’s reply is instantaneous, as if he’d been waiting.

Picky)))))

More messages follow in quick succession, before Sidney can even start typing.

But always best for u. Deserve the best only.

He laces up his shoes and heads to Dee’s.

It snows a little mid-December.

He helps Deidre with the decorations, hanging up tinsel and little snowflake cutouts on the window. She has a box of Christmas lights stored away in a dusty box from the attic, which definitely looks like they haven’t been disturbed since the 80s, but the one of the bulbs dies with a sad fizz the moment Sidney plugs it in. So they have to make do with the other nonflammable options.

The store looks nice. ‘Well-loved’ is a better word for it, with its mismatched decorations and ancient garlands. He snaps a photo of the mini tree on the counter for Instagram before he goes to help Deidre frost the rest of the ornament-shaped sugar cookies.

There’s commotion on the streets from all the tourists and families coming back for the holidays. He thinks about flying to Nova Scotia for the holidays, but then he realizes that none of Deidre’s children will be coming to Cardwell Point.

“They’re busy,” she shrugs indifferently, but she turns her back to Sidney as she busies herself with rearranging the shelfs. “It’s alright. That’s what Skype is for, right? Besides, I have to watch the store.”

He thinks about Geno, who’s probably headed to Florida soon to escape the onslaught of winter chill that he absolutely abhors, no matter how much he loves the city. He could Skype Geno, or Facetime him. Except Geno would always have the angle wrong, and Sidney’s sure he’d just get an on-brand mugshot of Geno’s nostril from the bottom up for the whole conversation.

He did ask Sidney if he wanted to go to Florida, except the way he had asked had felt like a given tagged with a question mark at the end (Florida w me this year?). Nonetheless, Sidney had been tempted.

But he also wonders if he’d feel even more homesick when Geno is physically standing in front of him again, all tall and loud and too big, too much, too many years of his unrequited love staring at him and making Sidney think that he has a chance. He doesn’t want to go to Florida to watch Geno pick up strangers at a club.

“I’m not going anywhere, either,” he tells her.

She looks over, finally, pursing her lips like she’s trying to hold back her smile.

@DeesBakeryandCafe

Season’s greetings and a happy New Year to our wonderful customers and families here in Cardwell Point. Hope everyone is spending time with their loved ones this holiday season.

Winter refuses to go. The clouds hang over the streets stubbornly, and each days trudges on like it’s dragging its feet.

He misses skating.

He misses Geno. Especially as it gets closer to February and teenagers and adults alike start coming to the shop in twos, their gloved hands clasped together as they squeeze through Dee’s tiny corridor when it’s really much easier to be in a single-file line.

He’s not jealous. He is not.

But he is lonely. And really fucking cold.

He serves up at least thirty slices of The Jack, which is apparently the most popular item these days thanks to Instagram. Deidre switches up the decoration, so the cherry-glazed design in the middle forms a big, gaudy heart. The Internet completely eats up. Sidney doesn’t understand it.

“It’s like a Titanic reference, right?” a customer asks, as he picks up the cake for his wife. “Like, an ‘I’ll never let you go,’ kind of thing. Jack and Rose?”

“Sure,” Sidney says. It’s really for his first childhood crush, but he can work with the Titanic.

The moment Deidre fills her last custom order of The Jack (and there had been plenty of those, for anniversaries to birthdays to just becauses), she tells Sidney that she’s figured out how to make her mother’s cheesecake.

“Finally worked out how to stop the goddamn filling from clotting,” she says, cutting him a slice. The cake has a brownie bottom, and the inside is perfectly creamy and smooth and dotted with dark chocolate chips. “What do you think?”

“I’m biased,” Sidney says, trying to not scarf down the whole thing like an animal. “I love cheesecakes. This one is my favorite so far.”

“Good,” she tells him. “You can name this one, then.”

His fork stops mid-air. “Weren’t you going to call it ‘The Lily’?”

She pats his arm affectionately, not unlike the day she did when Sidney told her why he ended up at Cardwell Point. “I figured she wouldn’t mind. This can be our second February special. God, I’m sick of The Jack.”

The next week, Sidney carefully slides The Geno in its display cabinet.

(Deidre doesn’t ask about the peculiar name. She never does, and Sidney is grateful.)

After over a decade in the NHL, he’s well aware of what he can and can’t have. But lately he’s been feeling selfish. He snaps a photo of the cheesecake and sends it to Deidre.

It’s a good photo.

“I got invited to a neighborhood potluck yesterday,” Sidney mumbles into the receiver, when Flower asks him how retirement is treating him. “I don’t know what to bring. Maybe I’ll bring something from the bakery.”

“Do you officially work at the bakery or are you just there because the owner is blackmailing you? Does she know who you are?”

“I just help out when I can. And no, I told you, it’s not a hockey town. They do have competitive knitting here. It’s a thing.” Sidney doesn’t have much to do these days, aside from working out and catching up on reading, which means that he does end up doing most of the latter in the café. Maybe he should take up competitive knitting. “I started an Instagram for her shop. We just hit 200 followers.”

“You know how to do that?” Flower asks, because he’s a little shit. “I’m kidding, I know you’re not actually a senior citizen.”

Sidney rolls his eyes. “I haven’t checked it in a while though. I let Deidre handle the posting now. It’s her shop, anyways.”

“What’s the handle?”

He tells him. Flower is quiet for a bit as he searches through the page. “Pretty cool, eh?”

“Yeah,” Flower says, his voice slightly off. “Yeah, it’s—it’s good. Looks like the real deal.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Of course it’s the real deal.”

Flower makes a noncommittal noise. “Nothing. Cheesecake looks good. Does Geno know?”

“No,” Sidney says. “I mentioned the bakery once or twice. He didn’t ask. Not, uh—not after I told him about Jeremy.”

“Secret napkin man?” Flower remembers. “You didn’t go on that date?”

“No, I didn’t go on a date with ‘secret napkin man,’” he mimics. “I don’t think he’d care.”

“I think he’d care.” Flower always sounds so sure when he wants to be serious, and it’s one of the things Sidney missed most when he left for Vegas—there’d been a metaphorical hollow within the team for a good few months following his departure, and that void never quite got replaced no matter what.

“Maybe.”

Sidney can only hope. But he’s a little too old for hoping these days.

Foot traffic is slower when they hit March, but Deidre promises that it’ll pick up when Cardwell Point’s 11th Annual Theater Festival starts in the middle of the month, because that’s apparently the other big thing aside from the 4th of July Carnival Bash. Sidney has just packed up another dozen of red velvet cupcakes for Samantha the PTA Queen when the front bell jingles.

“Hello? I’m look for—”

Sidney heart leaps to his throat.

“Sid,” Geno says softly. He looks like the wind knocked him in (it probably had), mismatched Frakenshirts and all. “Hi, Sid.”

Samantha may as well not have even walked into the store at all.

“How are—“ He must be imagining things. But Geno takes another step, until he’s right in front of the counter and Sidney can reach out and touch just how real he is. He hasn’t changed much--still the same eyes, the same nose and lips, and maybe his hair is a bit thinner but he still makes Sidney’s chest feel too small and too big all at once. “Where did you—how are you here?”

“Fly,” Geno says sheepishly. “Wanted to see you.”

“What about—”

“No games until Friday.” He’s staring at Sidney like he’s looking his fill and he can’t get enough. “I—I see your post, and I just—buy ticket.”

“What post?”

Geno pulls out his phone and flips through it until he lands at a familiar Instagram account. He passes it over to Sidney, his hands warm as it brushes against Sidney’s fingers.

@DeesBakeryCafe

‘I love you’ tastes a lot like our chocolate chip cheesecake, The Geno.

“Oh,” Sidney breathes. “Oh.”

#retirement fic #sidgeno #okay!!! getting closer to the final part #probably wont be any posting during the weekday because need to do Real Job things #but hope you guys enjoy #wish i knew graphic so i can like...make a graphic header

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peraltasames · 6 years ago

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christmas eve will find me where the love light gleams

Nochebuena, the night before Christmas, has always had a special place in Amy Santiago's heart.

read on ao3

1992

December 24th

Outside a big white house in a small suburban community in New Jersey, snow is falling peacefully on the ground and creating a scene that looks like something out of a painting. There are two sensible, fuel-efficient cars in the garage and one cheap pickup truck recently purchased by the eldest Santiago boy parked haphazardly in the driveway. At eight o’clock that evening, the front door was locked until the following morning when dozens of extended relatives will pile into the home, three generations of family members spending the better part of twenty-four hours together.

Inside, the scene is less calm - an eight year-old Amy Santiago is excitedly begging her father to tell her and her seven brothers another story, some of whom are arguably too old for story time but begrudgingly sitting around the fireplace with the rest of their family.

“It’s almost time for bed, mi amor,” Victor tells Amy firmly, yet with ever-present kindness in his eyes.

“Please, Dad. It’s nochebuena!” Amy pleads, her cozy plaid pajamas sliding against the hardwood floor as she shifts closer to her father on her knees, hands clasped together.

After a shared look with his wife, Victor sighs and admits defeat - he’s incredibly partial when it comes to the little girl before him, his one and only daughter.

“Oh my god, can I go call Jen now?” Nic exasperatedly asks his parents, throwing his head back in annoyance when Camila shakes her head. “Mom, I’m seventeen.”

“You have to wait until story time is over and we put cookies out for Santa, those are the rules,” Amy demands, crossing her arms and looking up at her older brother.

Nic opens his mouth to say something, but a pointed glare from Victor stops him before any sound can come out. Knowing the argument is already lost, he settles back into his chair with a small sigh.

With the satisfaction that she’s gotten her way, Amy curls up next to her mother and waits eagerly for her father to begin one of the many Cuban fables and fairytales that she loves so much. The one he tells tonight is new to her, a story about a beautiful girl and a handsome prince that ends, as many of the stories do, with happily ever after.

“Mama?” she mumbles sleepily as she’s being tucked into bed a few minutes later, eyes already closed. “Am I gonna find my prince one day?”

Camila smiles, her fingers combing through her daughter’s soft, dark curls.

“Of course, honey,” she promises, earning a content smile from Amy. “He just might not be exactly the type of prince you’re expecting. Your father certainly wasn’t royalty, but he’s always been my true love.”

“So I should marry a police officer like daddy?”

Camila laughs, shaking her head. “Not necessarily, my love. What’s important is that he treats you with respect and makes you happier than anything in the world.”

“Happier than cookies? And books?” Her mother nods. “Even happier than nochebuena?”

“Even happier than that.”

At eight years old, Amy can’t quite grasp the concept of true respect or someone being “the one”, but she promises herself that she’ll wait for a prince that makes her feel as full of joy and peace as she does while falling asleep in her cozy bed, dreaming of presents and sweets and happiness.

2014

December 24th

“You look like you could use a drink.”

Amy’s snapped out of her thoughts the moment her brother begins his sentence, looking up from her phone for the first time since she sat down on the couch opposite the tree a few minutes ago.

Her parents are in the kitchen preparing food for tomorrow’s celebrations, her brothers and their wives and children dispersed through every room of the house, occupying nearly all the space the six-bedroom home has to offer.

She reaches out to accept the large mug of Cuban hot chocolate. Her older brothers let her in on the magical secret ingredient - their father’s expensive, 100-proof rum - around her sixteenth Christmas Eve.

“Thanks, Alec,” she mumbles, taking a long, very much needed sip of the warm beverage in her hands.

Her brother plops down next to her, folding his arms behind his head. “Are you bummed about the breakup with Freddy?”

Amy narrows her eyes. “It’s Teddy, but...no.”

Frankly, she should probably have been a little upset about the end of an eight month relationship, but the absence of Teddy Wells in her life is far from the greatest worry whirling through her troubled mind.

“Then what’s got ya down, sis? You love nochebuena.”

She knows she hasn’t been herself tonight, and she saw the worry in her mother’s eyes when she didn’t want a second helping of pork and the exchanged glances between her brothers when the smiles while playing with her nieces and nephews didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“It’s, um...a different guy, actually.”

She realizes the moment she’s said it that she’s never actually talked to anyone about Jake before. She’s always been dating Teddy and too consumed by guilt to admit her feelings for another person. Even Jake (and Teddy and Sophia, unfortunately) currently believes her feelings for him to be a thing of the past, and is blissfully ignorant of the fact that said feelings are eating her alive at any given moment of every single day since he told her he liked her and left for a six-month undercover mission.

“Who is it?” Alec raises an eyebrow, looking at her intently.

She braces herself for the reaction as she says, quietly and a little embarrassed: “Jake Peralta.”

His mouth hangs open, eyes widening a little as he processes this revelation.

“Your coworker, Jake Peralta? Like, the one that eats candy for breakfast and has only read fifteen books in his entire life?”

Amy laughs humourlessly and takes another gulp of hot chocolate, the rum burning her throat. “That’s the one.”

She doesn’t know when the innocent crush on her partner spiralled into a full-blown obsession, prohibiting her from successfully dating anyone else, but she despises that he’s somehow able to ruin her night even when she’s in another state. Although, technically he didn’t ruin her night - she blames that on the unfairly adorable picture Sophia just posted of the two of them skating at Rockefeller Centre.

“So, what’s his deal, married or gay? Because there’s no way any sane man would pass up my little sister.”

“Neither,” Amy answers, fiddling with the hem of her sweater. “But he has a girlfriend. She’s beautiful and smart and…I missed my shot with him. It’s my fault.”

“That’s not necessarily true. Maybe they’ll break up.”

Amy doesn’t reply, staring down at her mug. She refuses to spend any more time praying that her friend’s happy relationship will come to an end just in case she’s maybe able to work up the courage to tell him how she feels.

Alec shifts a little closer to her and places his hand on her arm. His deep brown eyes - the same shade as hers - are wide with unexpected sincerity.

“Look, I don’t know much about this guy, but I know that you never pass up seconds of mom’s cooking. Like, not even when Ryan broke up with you. Not even when you lost the sixth grade spelling bee to Elizabeth Beeker.”

“Any idiot could’ve gotten prospicience, it’s hardly a winning word-“

“Ames, trying to make a point here,” Alec cuts off a ramble that likely would’ve lasted an hour - Elizabeth Beeker really was a bitch - and resumes his serious expression. “If you really like Jake, don’t miss your shot next time. If you get the chance, just tell him.”

The possibility of telling Jake, which could lead to the even more frightening possibility of dating Jake and falling in love with Jake, is just about the scariest thing she can imagine. In all her years of police work, all the boys she’s admitted her feelings for, all the chances she’s taken - this is by far the greatest risk (and, she supposes, the greatest potential reward).

Her phone buzzes with a text just before she can brush off the conversation to go attempt to help her mother in the kitchen and inevitably get turned away.

Jake Peralta

hey ames, happy notchabueno (def butchered that sry) hope ur having fun with the fam. see u back at work on monday :)

“Is that him?” Alec inquires, raising an eyebrow.

Amy nods sheepishly, her eyes lingering on the display picture he set of himself making a goofy face.

“I bet he doesn’t text all his coworkers on Christmas Eve.”

She doesn’t let herself dwell on her brother’s (probably true) statement, simply shutting her phone off for the remainder of the night and hoping to enjoy some time with her family and discuss a plethora of other topics not concerning her love life. In perfect timing, one of her nieces comes running in asking for Amy’s help braiding her hair.

As she obliges and gets to work on the curly dark hair of the young girl in her lap, she tries not to think about what next Christmas Eve could be like if she only had the courage to swallow her pride and take a leap.

2015

December 21st

The first few moments Amy’s awake, the only thing she’s able to register is how cold she is, how annoyed she is that it’s so cold, and the imminent importance of making herself less cold.

She seeks the nearest source of warmth, pulling the blankets further up her body (naked other than underwear and a loose t-shirt, not helping her temperature) and then moving on to the second source, the warm body only a few inches away from her. As always, he’s somehow abundant with warmth despite his bare chest being completely exposed to the chilly air of his apartment.

Her head nestles into his shoulder, her arm wraps around his waist, and it takes only a moment before his arms are subconsciously circling around her and pulling her into a tight embrace. She smiles contentedly, pressing a little kiss to his warm skin and falling into a state of complete relaxation, enjoying the few minutes until they have to get up for work-

-until her eyes land upon the window across the room.

“Jake!” she exclaims, slapping his chest probably a little too hard and sitting up abruptly, gracelessly jerking his arms away from their hold on her.

“Babe, what the hell-“ Jake grumbles, rubbing his eyes.

“It’s snowing!” Amy’s grin is wide as she walks over to the window and feasts her eyes on the beauty of the streets of New York covered in a sheet of white for the first time that winter.

“You grew up in Jersey! It snows every year!”

“Yeah, but it’s the first time this year!” She turns back towards him, still beaming with joy, and his initially irritated and confused expression melts in an instant. She’s aware of her effect on him at this point, but she still relishes in the look he gives her after she’s kissed him or laughed at one of his jokes or, in this case, woken him up fifteen minutes before his alarm because of snow.

The cold of being out of bed quickly catches up with her, and she crawls into his side of the bed and pulls the blanket back over both of them, draping herself over his chest. His hands rub up and down her goosebump-covered arms, transferring warmth to her.

“So, I never asked you, do you have any plans for Christmas?” She tilts her chin up to wait for his response.

“Probably the usual, Die Hard and takeout. Maybe I’ll go to the bar with Charles and Gina if they can escape Boyle family Christmas after dinner.”

It’s not that he seems upset by these extremely underwhelming plans, and she understand that the holidays have never been as significant a part of his life as they are hers, but there’s a part of her that despises the idea of Jake sitting at home alone on Christmas.

For a brief moment, she considers inviting him to her parents’ house, but she quickly reasons against the idea. He hasn’t met any of the Santiagos aside from Lucas, who showed up at her door unexpectedly while he was in the neighbourhood and she was in the shower, leaving Jake to talk to him for a solid fifteen minutes only a few months into their relationship. Luckily, they hit it off immediately and now text what she considers to be disturbingly frequently. A week into an ongoing text discussion about cool cop stories, Luke being the only other one of her siblings to follow in their father’s footsteps, Amy’s brother texted her something along the lines of mom told me you were dating another white dude but i didn’t know he was a COOL white dude this time! nicely done sis.

Regardless of his stamp of approval from one of her seven brothers and neither of her parents, though she thinks her mother is just happy she’s finally found a man she really, truly likes (loves, though the word has yet to be uttered aloud) she’s still skeptical of introducing him to her family at an event as crazy and hectic as Christmas. Ideally, Jake’s interpolation of the Santiago family will be gradual, painless and one family member at a time.

“What’s your mom up to?” Amy asks after a few seconds of quiet contemplation.

“I think she’s having dinner with some friends. I was there for Hanukkah last week, we haven’t really done anything for Christmas since my dad left.”

Again, there isn’t any real indication in his tone that he has a problem with his plan of watching Die Hard alone in his little apartment, by definition a perfect night for Jake Peralta. Her idea of the holidays, however, involves spending time with loved ones, and she’s come to realize recently that she loves Jake more than nearly anyone else in the world.

Her mother, to her surprise, is not upset in the slightest when Amy calls and says she’ll be coming on Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve this year.

“You’re not mad?” Amy says, voice low enough that Jake won’t hear her from the shower.

“Of course not, mi amor. I know how much you love nochebuena, I’m happy you’ve finally found someone you want to share it with.”

Three days later - December 24th

Jake’s fingers are tightly interlocked with hers the whole way home in the backseat of Captain Holt’s car. Since the unprecedented display of affection she initiated upon spotting him outside the store after an agonizing twenty minutes spent unsure of his safety, she’s been trying to reign it in a little, but maintaining some form of contact is vital for her breathing to remain steady.

He kisses her temple halfway between the crime scene and his apartment, burying his nose in her hair for a few moments before continuing the conversation between Rosa, himself and Charles while Amy and Holt remain mostly silent.

They eventually make it home and walk upstairs hand-in-hand, as they probably would have around this time even if he hadn’t been caught up in a hostage situation and nearly killed.

“Please tell me you’ll consider watching something other than Die Hard considering you just lived it,” Amy pleads as he lets her go to unlock the door.

He pauses to think. “Hmm, I could probably be talked into Die Hard 2.”

“Not really what I meant, but-“

He pushes the door open, revealing his apartment in a state in which she’s never seen it before - clean. There are a few other key changes, too, like the string lights hanging around the kitchen, the table already set for dinner with a bottle of Spanish wine in the center, and a crockpot she’s never seen him use on the kitchen counter.

“Oh, shit,” Jake blurts out before she can say something. “I completely forgot, between Charles’ gift and then the whole, ya know, situation…”

“What is all this, Jake?” Her eyes are glimmering with awe as she follows him into the kitchen.

He opens the lid of the crockpot, cursing as he realizes whatever he’s left in there is definitely burnt well beyond the point of being edible.

“Crap, I really wanted - I just, I felt bad that you were missing Christmas Eve with your family because I know it’s, like, your favourite holiday and it’s a big part of your childhood and your culture and everything. So I called Luke and asked what you guys would normally do at home so I could try to recreate it. I mean, it wasn’t gonna be perfect - does your mom really cook a whole pig?” Amy nods, still staring at him with complete reverence, leaning back against the counter across from him. “Well, anyways, the closest I could get was pulled pork. Which is totally ruined now.”

She closes the space between them and grabs his face, kissing him much more slowly than earlier that night. His hands, once again, come to rest on her waist over her NYPD windbreaker, pulling her up against him.

“Babe, that was…so sweet,” she murmurs, pecking his lips one more time. “You’re amazing.”

His smile, the adorable, relieved grin of which she’s the world’s biggest fan, compensates a million times over for the ruined dinner. Honestly, she isn’t even hungry. After the events of the last hour, she just wants to be close to him and relax. She’s even more grateful now that she’s not in New Jersey; the moment she received Jake’s texts that evening, getting to him as quickly as possible was a priority she was willing to brave freezing cold waters for. She’s not sure she could’ve handled a two-hour drive.

“Merry Christmas, Ames,” he whispers, forehead resting against hers.

“Merry Christmas, Jake.” She wraps her arms around his waist underneath his jacket and presses her cheek to his chest. “I really was worried about you tonight. If something happened to you...”

He tightens his grip on her, one hand leaving her back to stroke her hair. “It’s okay. I’m safe.”

She allows herself another minute to breathe him in and remind herself of the beating of his heart, just below the stretch of hoodie her ear is pressed up against.

“I know,” she finally says, pulling away to look at him with a bit more composure than before. “Thank god for Charles yippee-kayaking the crap out of those other buckets.”

Jake’s smile fades. “That is still not funny to joke about!”

She laughs, releasing him to grab an ice pack for his concussion and drag him to the couch so she can continue warming herself up under several blankets and with his arms wrapped around her.

2016

December 24th

They don’t make it through the entire Christmas carol before Jake, much less concerned with politeness than the Boyle family is, is begging them to spare their ears. Charles, in turn, invites them all inside for a drink to escape the subzero temperatures.

Somehow, the whole squad fits into the small living room, though Amy ends up sharing an armchair meant for one person with Jake to conserve space. She’s annoyed for a split second until he pulls her onto his lap rather than leaving her squished beside him and circles his arms around her.

They exchange stories of the night, leaving out some details for the benefit of Nikolaj (“the criminal could only sing when he had a lot of, um…hot chocolate”; “the guys that had the only Captain Latvia in the city also had a bunch of packages of…candy?”) and drink some weird wine Charles made at home that tastes surprisingly good and is dangerously strong.

“We should go home,” Jake mumbles against the back of Amy’s neck, sending a familiar shiver down her spine, after Genevieve has gone to put Nikolaj to bed, Scully and Hitchcock have departed for the diner around the corner, Terry and Holt have left to spend time with their families and only Rosa, Charles, Gina and themselves remain seated around the coffee table.

She agrees instantly, bidding their friends farewell as she finally gets to her feet and realizes she’s a little tipsy, relying on his hand on her back to keep her upright.

“Babe, it’s so much colder out here,” Amy groans as soon as they’re back out on the stoop.

The roads are now lit only by the street lights and the overarching glow of the skyline, the snow still falling on their shoulders as they begin the two-block trek to her apartment.

His hand tangles with hers and her other arm wraps around his, her cheek leaning against him while they walk at a pace a little slower than they normally would. They’re both enveloped by the postcard-like scene, she almost feels like she’s the protagonist of a horribly cheesy lifetime movie (it doesn’t matter to her that it’s cheesy, she refuses to apologize for being the happiest she’s ever been).

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” Amy asks, her voice a little muffled by his jacket. Although she’s more excited than anything else, a part of her is nervous for Jake’s Christmas at the Santiagos’ - mostly because she hopes it’s the first of many.

“So ready. All of your brothers and your mom love me.”

She brought him to a family dinner shortly after the Thanksgiving fiasco with her father, instructing him firmly to just be himself. To Jake’s surprise and her relief, that plan actually worked.

“My dad will come around too, he just hasn’t realized how amazing you are yet.”

Jake kisses her head, conveniently located on his upper arm, and she can feel his smile. “Babe, you’re sappy on Christmas.”

She kisses his cheek in return and resumes their walk at a slightly increased speed, the warmth of her apartment tantalizing her as the building comes into view.

When they’re curled up on the couch in pajamas ten minutes later, she braces herself for the horrified gasp when the Netflix title she selected begins to play on the screen of her television.

“Love Actually? Babe, it’s Christmas! What about Die Hard?”

She sighs in her spot next to him, lifting herself out of his arms.

“This is much more a Christmas movie than Die Hard is,” she argues. “Besides, we watched that last year. And, like, every other week since then.”

“But...it’s tradition.”

“I know, Jake, I just thought...we’re making new traditions, right? Together?”

He pauses, and her heart aches for a split second, but the warm smile that graces his face a moment later eases her worries.

“Yeah, okay,” he concedes, his tone softened. “Now get back over here.”

She settles back into him with one arm wrapped snugly around his torso and revels in being able to enjoy her favourite Christmas movie for a change, hoping it makes the cut to become an annual thing.

The look on Jake’s face when Hans Gruber shows up (and as a bad guy) makes her think she may just get her way.

2020

December 24th

Amy Santiago on maternity leave means a lot of things: their apartment is always immaculate, their laundry is always done, there’s always some food prepared in the fridge to varying degrees of edibleness. With no work and a newborn baby who is surprisingly easy to take care of at this stage of her life, she has way too much time on her hands, which also means their apartment is decorated to the nines for the holiday season.

There’s a huge Christmas tree that Jake and Charles struggled to carry up the narrow staircase, dozens of presents underneath from Amy’s many online shopping binges. Garlands and menorahs and wreaths and dreidels cover every inch of space available for decor. There’s a lingering smell of pine and peppermint in the air at all times, the faint sound of popular carols constantly playing from a speaker in the kitchen.

Jake doesn’t comment on the fact that coming home is the equivalent of going to the Macy’s at Herald Square during December, or that it’s all kind of pointless since they’re going to her parents’ for the entirety of the Christmas holidays as they have every year since their engagement (Amy’s aware of these things too, she’s just really bored).

It turns out her efforts aren’t completely futile, as Christmas Eve brings the worst snowstorm on the east coast in twenty years. Perhaps in previous years she would have risked the drive to visit her family, but neither she nor Jake are willing to take their baby girl out of the safety of their apartment as long as the storm persists.

“Okay, she’s asleep-“ Jake pauses halfway through the living room. He really thought he had seen the last of the insanity of Amy wrapping their daughter’s presents, yet the floor in front of the tree is once again littered with wrapping paper, tape and ribbons. “What’s going on in here?”

“Found one that I forgot about buried in our closet,” she mutters, busily wrapping the rectangular box. “Last one, I swear.”

Jake sits down on the floor next to her, his hand reaching for her back to rub small circles while she works. He’s been incredibly sympathetic while she’s on leave, understanding firsthand how difficult it is to be away from their job for that long. She’s an amazing mother, but that much time alone with an infant would take a toll on anyone.

“Babe, you know we’re the ones who will be opening these gifts right? And she won’t remember what they look like?”

Amy shoots him a brief glare before returning to the task. “I know, Jake. But Christmas was always perfect for me when I was growing up and I want Abby’s to be perfect too.”

“It will be.” He puts his finger down on the centre of the box so she can tie the ribbon, well-versed in assisting her after six years of Christmases.

Finally content, Amy places the gift under the tree with the rest of them and her shoulders drop with relaxation.

“There. Perfect.”

Jake takes her in, dark hair cascading in waves over a bright red sweater and face lit up by the coloured lights on the tree. She’s glowing with warmth and joy. He previously thought it to be impossible, but he thinks he loves her a little bit more now.

“You’re perfect,” he says with a smile, leaning in to kiss her forehead. When he pulls away, her eyes are wet with tears.

“Babe, you know I’m too hormonal for you to be that cute!” she exclaims, hastily wiping her cheeks.

Jake laughs, tugging her hand until she climbs into his lap, her back against his chest as they look up at the tree she spent eight hours flawlessly decorating.

“Merry Christmas, Ames.” He breathes the words into her hair, her hand covering his squeezing as he speaks.

“Merry Christmas, Jake.”

They’re interrupted by the sounds of their daughter’s cries - they’re both able to identify it as her hungry one, so Amy scurries off to get her. After a few minutes, Jake can faintly hear the sounds of Amy speaking in Spanish from the next room over. He understands very little of it, but he thinks it might be a bedtime story.

Later, when he asks his wife about it while they’re curled up in bed, she tells him it was her favourite fairytale growing up.

“What’s it about?” he asks, absentmindedly tracing her skin.

“A princess.”

“Let me guess, she lives happily ever after?”

Amy beams at him, kissing him softly on the mouth and shifting even further into his embrace.

“She does.”

#merry christmas y'all #b99 fic #otp: you're not allowed to fall in love with me #peraltiago #this is hella cheesy #and equally festive #myfics

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ryans-shaniac · 7 years ago

Note

Can I request a part 2 to prompt 75?

remember when i said i’d accept writing prompts for 100 followers? me either. (not to use exam stress as an excuse or anything but exam stress kicked my ass)

anyway i originally wasn’t going to do this because i’m not good with writing sequels to my writing but i actually had a burst of creativity so HERE WE GO BOYS

read me first!

Ryan hadn’t been at school in a few days and needless to say, everyone was worried.

His mom and dad didn’t know what to do, Ryan barely told them anything. They put it down to stress and let their son have the rest of the week off. Back at school, Shane had been near mute as well. He was constantly checking his phone to see if Ryan had messaged him or tried to call him. Obviously there was nothing new.

He stared down at his lock screen for the fifth time in 2 minutes. It was a photo of him and Ryan at the abandoned warehouse down the road from their local mall. Ryan had dragged Shane and their friend TJ along as one final adventure before TJ moved to Florida. The photo was taken in front of defaced rusty shipping containers. Both of them were laughing and pointing at the giant dick that had been graffitied on the side of one of the containers in bright yellow.

Shane smiled at the memory, almost chucked, before being bought back to reality with Sara nudging him.

“If he hasn’t talked to you since Wednesday, he’s not going to text you now. Put your phone away and try to relax.” Sara had a sad smile on her face and Shane knew she was right.

“Yeah I know..I just..I’m so worried about him. He was so torn up after school, I can’t stop hearing his sobs in the back of my mind. They were my fault. But why? Maybe I should’ve spoken to him more. L-let him know I’m never gonna leave him. Maybe if I had just been a better friend then maybe-“

Arms on his shoulders stopped him spiralling. Shane had been spiralling a lot lately. All he could think about was what he could’ve done to do better and what he would say to Ryan if he were here.

Shane turned around and saw a concerned looking Andrew.

“Dude you have to calm down. None of this was your fault. Ryan’s clearly working through some shit and we just have to wait for him to feel cool enough to tell us what’s going on. Let’s just go to lunch and meet with the others, maybe someone has spoken to him.”

Shane wanted to protest. Tell Andrew if Ryan was working through anything, then he would know about it because they don’t keep secrets from each other. But instead he just nodded solemnly and followed him to the cafeteria, Sara smiled and told him she’d speak to him later as she went off and joined her friends.

Their table consisted of Ryan, Shane, Andrew, Steven, Jen, Ella, Zach, Keith, Ned and Ned and Keith’s girlfriends, Ariel and Becky. Sometimes Sara and a couple of her friends (Eugene, Quinta, Freddie and Kelsey) would join them but that was rare, due to the fact that Eugene would try to pick a fight with Ella a lot. No one knew why but Eugene would always find something to argue about, especially if Zach was involved.

Everyone else was already sat down and Shane took a seat next to Jen who rubbed his back and gave him a sympathetic look. Why was everyone giving him sad looks today? Were they meant to make him feel better? The sad looks aren’t going to make Ryan talk to him or come to school.

There was a whisper on the other side of the table as Zach handed his phone to Steven, who then sighed and nodded. The phone was then passed to Ned and Ariel who both gave knowing looks to everyone else.

“Hello? You know I can see you guys, right? What was on Zach’s phone? Zach what did your phone say?” Panic struck Shane’s voice.

Everyone went silent and looked anywhere but Shane’s gaze. Shane felt the anger boiling inside him and before he got up and left, Zach passed his phone to Jen and nodded to her.

“Just..Just show him. He told me last night that I could show him.” Zach mumbled.

“Wait, I’m sorry what? Is this Ryan? You’ve spoken to him? Zach, what the fuck you promised you would let me know if-“

The phone was thrust into Shane’s shaking hands before he could continue. Everyone at the table had read this text except for him. He exhaled and looked down.

‘Ryan Boogara (11:10am): fuck all of this??? like dude tf?? feelings?? they r the biggest load of bullcrap i have ever experienced. remind me to never get them again. also remind me to go to the doctors and ask if they can surgically replace my tear ducts because mine have been run dry. there are no more tears to let fall. i can’t believe shane was so oblivious but also i can’t believe that i wasn’t more forward with how i felt. if i had been maybe this could’ve worked out nd we could b the high school sweethearts i dreamed abt. how do people DEAL WITH THIS!!!!!!!! HOW DID NED AND KEITH DO THIS???? HOW DID STEVEN DO THIS???? AT LEAST THEY WERE ALL LUCKY!!!! THEIR INTENSE PINING GOT THEM A RELATIONSHIP!!! BUT ME??? LITTLE OL RYAN STEVEN BERGARA GOT NONE OF THAT!!!! ALL I GOT WAS HEARTACHE AND HURT!!!! why do. straight people exist? CHALLENGE ME THAT KORNFELD why do they exist an d why does the one (1) man i love have to be one of them. read that with a lot of spite. this was dumb from day one and you told me it wouldn’t have been worth it but i didn’t listen. and then i told jen and i didn’t listen to HER anD THEN I WENT TO E U G E NE L E E YA N G FOR ADVICE YESTERDAY ON HOW TO GET OVER IT AND HE TOLD ME TO DRINKMY FEELINGS AWAY AND HERE I AM!!!! dude im wastED. all of my feels have intensified so much. its only 11am. WOOwee. if i ever see shane madej again I’m gonna punch him in the face and then kiss his lips better. i love him zachy. i love him. sso much

Me (12:00pm): dude are you okay? literally no one has heard from you since you ran off and shane is such a mess he is not handling anything well

Me (1:30pm): hey man remember drink some water and take painkillers

Ryan Boogara (9:00pm): jesus fuck i just woke up

Ryan Boogara (9:00pm): i’m sorry you had to deal with that

Me (9:03pm): no it’s alright are you okay?

Ryan Boogara (9:04pm): yeah i have a massive headache and i miss shane. a lot.

Me (9:04pm): he misses you too

Me (9:04pm): he’s acting like you’ve died

Ryan Boogara (9:04pm): i feel like i’ve died

Ryan Boogara (9:04pm): can you tell him i’m sorry and i love him

Ryan Boogara (9:05pm): i’m over lying to him

Ryan Boogara (9:05pm): you know what, just show him this i’m done

Ryan Boogara (9:05pm): at least then he has the weekend to process my shit and can decide on monday if he still wants to be my friend

Me (9:06pm): are you sure you’re not still drunk?

Ryan Boogara (9:06pm): yeah just do it

Ryan Boogara (9:06pm): im gonna try and go to bed gnight zach

Me (9:06pm): goodnight ry get some rest’

Shane couldn’t do anything except stare at the phone. He reread the message over and over. Ryan…had feelings for him? Since when?

Shane didn’t notice he was crying until he felt Jen’s arms wrap around his side. Next to him, Keith rested his hand on his shoulder. Shane missed his friend so much. And now his fears were confirmed that it was his fault, the guilt ate him up even more than usual.

Shane stumbled over his words, “I have-I’ve got-Ryan I need to see him-I want to tell him-I’m..”

Shane pushed himself up from his seat. Despite his friend’s protests, he just kept walking. Out of the cafeteria and out of the school grounds. Ryan’s house was a 20 minute walk from school and although taking an uber could’ve been quicker, Shane refused to waste any time, he knew he had to get to Ryan.

A sweaty and out of breath Shane pounded on the front door to the Bergara’s and when no one answered, he managed to break in with his debit card, a trick he learnt off Mike, a kid in his forensic science class. Shane marched upstairs and without knocking opened the door to Ryan’s room.

Ryan was lying in bed, his back to the door, completely oblivious to the man standing in the doorway.

“Why?”

Ryan sat bolt upright in bed and turned to the voice. He was a sight to behold, it seemed like he hadn’t slept in days and he smelt of vodka. Ryan’s face paled and he looked like he had seen a ghost.

“Shane? I-what did Zach show you the text?” Fear seeped into Ryan’s voice.

“Why?” This time Shane’s voice cracked. He could feel the lump in his throat rise.

“I’m sorry.” Ryan croaked.

Shane walked towards the bed and pushed Ryan down and kissed him. Both of them were surprised at the taller man’s actions but neither made an effort to stop. Shane climbed on top of Ryan, their lips not breaking apart. Ryan tasted like alcohol and Shane like mint. Their mouths worked together and Ryan released a low moan.

Since when did Shane want this? Maybe he always did, subconsciously, but never let himself think about it. Thank God he had called off the date with Sara until this whole thing with Ryan blew over.

The two boys pulled away for air, both of them crying, their tears mixed together on each others cheeks. Shane let out a breathy laugh.

“I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

“Good. You should be.”

Ryan grinned and sighed contently, “I really like you, Shane.”

“I don’t know how I feel, but I do know that I really liked kissing you.”

“Then kiss me again.”

#I JUSTHAD THE BIGGEST CREATIVE BREAKTHROUGH #FOR THE FIRST TIME IN 3 WEEKS #IM SO SO SORRY THIS TOOK A MONTH #THE OTHERS WILL COME SOON I SWEAR #long post!!!!#originals #bfu #buzzfeed unsolved #shyan #skeptic believer #ryan bergara #shane madej #shane x ryan #ryan x shane #shyan drabbles

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