#definitely had to tamp down on the urge to be like ITS BAD OKAY | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scarsmood · 2 years

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i saw a post earlier saying that liking knotting in fanfic / kink is a gateway to being attracted to real life animals. i know i'm definitely not into that but now i feel guilty having this kink!

being otherkin and my species having knots, it is something i like but now i am unsure if i should even read stories about that content.

i am 100% against animal abuse and anything involving real creatures, but i can't shake this anxiety. does a hot werewolf with a knot really lead you down a slippery slope? is it inherently bad?

TW: mention and discussion of zoophilia and rape short answer, no. Long answer for explanation: Being into say zoophilia does not inherently make you a bad person. Being attracted to animals would label someone as a zoophile. which is a type of paraphilia. paraphilias are uncomfortable and scary to talk about understandably. We live in a culture that is very morally correct down to our thoughts since we post them online. It is a popular opinion it's not ok to engage with zoophilic content. I'd argue it is okay when you do so ethically and use it for management of your paraphilia. people often say "thats disgusting see a therapist" you know what the therapist says? "you need a healthy outlet so you dont fall into committing acts that are illegal or harmful"

petplay and fictional drawn content like feral furry porn are two outlets that are more ethically friendly. If you are paranoid about supporting beastalists which are people who have actually committed acts of assaulting animals do a background check on artists and pick a few "safe" ones you enjoy. Personally I enjoy red rusker as he touches quite a few paraphilias but seems to be pretty normal. Further more in my opinion when is it not ok to engage in your paraphilia? This is the guide I use for myself: -Is it addicting and making my paraphilia stronger not tamping it down? disengage. -Does it encourage/glorify real acts and "making it real". disengage. -Is the content made with real acts, taken from real acts, or mimiced from real acts (like a scene for scene real event). disengage. -am I in an echo chamber where it seems that everyone around me is just okay with all content that comes through and wants to "take it a step further?" leave that group ideally. When I engage in content for a few of my paraphilias im aiming to normalize my attraction within myself (not shaming or guilt tripping myself), not engaging in any real acts or wanting to as well as overtime working to decrease intrusive thoughts to act ideally to 0, giving myself the confidence that i can identify fiction from reality. CNC, petplay, and breeding with BDSM partners have significantly decreased my paraphilia urges to "do the real thing". Some of my paraphilias like zoophilia havent had an urge to "act" in quite sometime now. I believe i was 15 when I had the last one. While Rape (victim not perpetrator for clarity) for me is something i'm still struggling with since its happened to me so often. I genuinely consider it in my day to day and plan 'in case' it happens. tips for managing paraphilias and experiences, With my rape paraphilia i've had "encounters" as recently as last year. Which means i'm far and away from seeing it as just "acting". As a victim this translates to doing wildly unsafe things from jumping in a strangers car or sudden hook ups with sketchy people. Because it's so "fresh" my compulsions are high. I've turned to a harder lean on BDSM to get the impulses out and play them out in a safe space which has helped quite a lot. I notice the more intense the scene typically the more it helps my impulse and makes me get a sense of control that I chose to do these things and now has a safe resource to seek out these acts without harming anything or anyone. on the flipside with zoophilia I never had any direct interaction with sexual animal abuse. I have met and been encouraged by bestialists to play with them which can be traumatizing but isnt a huge deal compared to the former. (in my personal eyes these are my experiences of course im judging lol) So I dont have a huge urge for compulsions. Typically I'm just playing out attraction for my zoophilia with no compulsions. I do this in roleplay or BDSM play like petplay. This dynamic of no pre-existing trauma or enocunters is much more chill and easy to maintain. The only thing I have to worry about is if a partner is encouraging actual acts or wants to share porn of real acts to me and normalizes it. That would be where i cut them off and say "no thanks!" Find a safe space where you can ethically voice your wants. It is greatly encouraged not to "just hold it in" because when you snap it often means doing the hardest thing possible. similar to drug abuse. If you are of course worried about your compulsions seek professional help. It never hurts to get a second opinion!

#afterdark #erokin #otherkin #therian #asks

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voiceless-terror · 3 years

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I’m bad at prompts so I have an aesthetic vibe for a fic: dusty library, silver glasses, warm blanket, hot tea, cold voices.

Jon wants to get Martin’s attention. Daisy and Melanie have an unusual plan.

“I think he’s made it quite clear that he doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“I need...I need to make sure he’s okay. Daisy’s already tried and well, you-”

“Absolutely not.”

“Exactly.”

Jon sighed. He needed to trust Martin, he knew this. But how could he, when he faded more and more each day? When Jon couldn’t reach him, couldn’t know he was safe? He needed to touch him, make sure he was still solid, still there. That Jon still cared. And if Jon could just break through-

“He won’t let me talk to him. And I don’t know what to do.” The words came out more plaintively than he would’ve liked. Melanie gave him an unimpressed look, Daisy leaned back on the couch. He didn’t know why he’d suddenly decided to confess his feelings to these two, perhaps it was the leftover alcohol in his system from their afternoon drink. Basira was off on another lead and Daisy needed the distraction. They all did. And now they were back at the office, bored and lethargic, Jon dodging the paper balls Melanie lazily tossed his way.

“You’ve got to do something,” Daisy drawled, idly picking at her nails. “To get his attention. You’ve got to make him come to you.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” Jon groaned in frustration. “If I did, I would’ve done it already.”

“Wait.” Melanie sat up straighter, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “I know exactly what to do.” Daisy and Jon shared a glance as she broke into a smirk.

“And Martin won’t be able to resist you.”

____________

“Is this really necessary?” Jon asked, flinching back as Melanie applied the pink-coated brush to his cheek. “It seems a bit excessive.”

“Stop moving. And yes, if you want to look the part.” Melanie wielded the makeup brush like a weapon as Daisy followed with a critical eye. “Does he look pathetic enough?”

“Hmm.” Daisy leaned forward, uncomfortably close to Jon’s face. “I think he needs a bit more. Just a pinch.”

“Agreed.”

“This is ridiculous,” Jon snarked, leaning away from Melanie’s hands. “I don’t know why I agreed to this. It’s not going to work.”

“You agreed to this because you know it’s going to work,” Melanie insisted, dipping the brush in the compact. “Trust me, Martin won’t be able to resist doting on you if you look properly ill. When I came here the second time ‘round, he hovered outside the door the entire time. “Do you need anything, Jon? Can I get you some tea? Are you feeling alright?”

“That’s not what he sounds like-”

“That’s exactly what he sounds like,” Daisy smirked, settling back into the couch. “If you don’t like the makeup, we can always go with option two-”

“I am not letting Melanie punch me, thank you very much.” She still harbored a lot of residual (and rightful, in his opinion) anger from the surgery incident, and he wasn’t willing to be the outlet for it. “How do we know he’ll even see me?”

“He goes down to the library every Wednesday, sneaks in and out real quiet-like,” Daisy repeated for the third time. “Trust me, I know his patterns.” There was still some Hunt in her yet, no matter how much she starved it. Listen to the quiet. He didn’t say it aloud, but from the look in Daisy’s eyes he didn’t need to. “We’ll set you up there. Don’t worry, he won’t be able to miss you.”

“Whatever you say,” he grumbled, batting away Melanie’s hand. “Are you done yet?” She evaluated him with a scowl.

“That should do it.” She shut the compact with a definitive snap. “I was going to add a bit of purple eyeshadow under the eyes, but that might be overdoing it. You already look like a zombie.”

Daisy nodded appreciatively. “Powder did the job. God, Melanie. You’re a pro.”

“Thank you,” she preened as Jon rolled his eyes. “Now, for the finishing touch!” She leaned forward, yanking the scrunchie out of his hair and ignoring his yelp with an air of satisfaction. “Perfect!”

“I fail to see why that was necessary!” His head ached from the sudden pull on his hair, which was now falling down his shoulders in a tangled, ruffled mess. God, I must look insane. He lifted a hand to put it in some semblance of order when Melanie grabbed at it, stopping him in his tracks.

“No, you’ll ruin it!” she snapped. “Martin likes it when it’s down.”

“How do you know that?”

“God, he really is oblivious,” Daisy said with a disbelieving chuckle. “I may have only visited a few times, but even I saw the way he stared at you whenever you so much as touched your hair. It was sickening to watch.”

“C’mon, we’ve got to get you settled. We have to time this perfectly.” Melanie gestured impatiently for him to get up. “Daisy’ll take you up. I’ve got to grab something.” Jon didn’t trust her but in all honesty, what did he have to lose? The things we get up to when Basira’s gone...though I suppose this is significantly better than the Coffin Incident.

Daisy took his arm, leaning on him for a bit of support as they made their way up to the library. To anyone else it would look the opposite, that he was the one relying on her- Daisy was good at hiding her weakness. “There’s a couch by the front desk,” she murmured as they rounded the corner. “It’ll be right in his line of vision.”

“What if he isn’t paying attention?” Jon worried, watching as the other staff studiously avoided their gaze, side-stepping them in the hallway. The Archives were truly toxic, and no one wanted to anger the heavily-scarred, scowling Archivist and his rabid ex-cop friend. For the first time in his life, Jon was intimidating. He didn’t like it.

“He always pays attention to you,” Daisy insisted. “He just doesn’t want you to see it.” The words put a lump in his throat. He wondered if they were true. He opened his mouth to reply when Melanie scurried up behind them, her arms full of-

“No.”

“Yes.” Melanie pushed into him, impatiently urging them forward. “Trust me, it’ll work.”

“I am not-” He was cut off by a surprisingly strong push from Daisy, landing him on the couch with an ‘oof.’ Melanie threw the offending object around his shoulders- a fluffy pink blanket Jon recognized from its place on Basira’s cot. He tried to worm his way out of it but Melanie gave him a sharp slap on the arm, ignoring his hiss of pain. He looked around, wildly embarrassed by the entire situation to find that the room was strangely empty, which was surprising for the time of day. I suppose everyone’s trying to avoid us these days.

Daisy froze, her eyes narrowing and posture straightening. “He’s coming.”

Melanie swore, running around the corner and coming back with an old, heavy tome she'd snatched off the nearest shelf. She grinned, an almost manic thing that Jon instinctively leaned back from. “The final touch,” she said proudly, not waiting for his answer as she opened the book with a flourish, flipping the pages in front of his face like a fan. He flinched back, utterly confused.

“Melanie, what on earth are you-”

_______

Martin heard him before he saw him.

The scurrying of feet across the hardwood was strange enough, but Jonathan Sims sitting on the library’s best couch, sneezing into a fluffy blanket and looking bleary-eyed and very exhausted was even stranger. Well, not the exhausted part. That was Jon’s normal state of being.

But there he sat, wrapped in Basira’s fluffy pink blanket with a flushed face, messy hair, and an ashen pallor that could only come from sickness. Martin had seen it before, back when he lived in Document Storage and Jon was working himself into the ground, much like he was doing nowadays. He felt that pang of worry that accompanied those long nights in the Archives, something he was trying desperately to tamp down.

Working for Peter was infuriating and isolating, just as it was supposed to be. He was constantly reminding himself that it was for the greater good, that he was doing something important, protecting his friends. Protecting Jon. But how could he protect him when he kept finding Martin, even though he promised to trust him? How could he protect him when he kept throwing himself headlong into any danger he could find? How could he protect him, when his biggest enemy was himself?

Another sneeze. Jon looked almost confused by it, maybe even offended that it happened. It made him want to smile, an urge he fought down as he tried to remember Peter’s promise to keep them safe if he kept his distance. He hazarded one last glance, sure that he wasn’t in Jon’s line of sight that he noticed one last detail- Jon’s sweater. Incredibly baggy, worn, light blue knit- a color he’d never seen on him before.

Martin’s sweater. And with that, he found himself walking over to Jon almost involuntarily, steps loud and purposeful as they startled Jon from his perch on the couch. And when Jon noticed him he smiled, so bright and happy and obviously extremely out of it if he was having this reaction to Martin. His face really did look flushed up close- he must have a fever, especially if he wandered up here in this state. Martin successfully resisted the urge to feel his forehead.

“M-Martin!” God, how could he not talk to Jon, when he said his name with such happiness? He fought to keep his voice level and cool as he responded.

“Jon. What are you doing up here?” Jon’s smile dimmed slightly, and Martin tried not to feel guilty. He did not succeed.

“I, um-” Jon stuttered, his usual sign of nervousness as he ran a hand through his hair. His hair, that was mused and tangled and falling in his face. Fuck. “I w-was reading.” He struggled to pick up a particularly heavy-looking book from where it sat on the couch next to him, its title obscured from Martin’s view. “It was getting, er, a bit stuffy down in the Archives.”

A red flag if Martin ever saw one. They rarely left the Archives these days, unless it was for a quick lunch and even then, Jon had to be dragged out bodily. He sighed, trying not to meet Jon’s pleading eyes. And still, he couldn’t help but ask. “Are you...okay?”

Jon looked down to his lap, the blanket half slipping off his shoulders as he fidgeted with his hands. Martin looked pointedly away. “Not feeling very well,” Jon murmured to the ground, looking strangely nervous, maybe even guilty. That didn’t make sense. He must be really ill, if he’s actually admitting to it. Martin hesitated, fighting between what he should do and what he really, really wanted to do. The cold evaporated just a little and Martin had never felt so seen.

He missed that.

And so, less reluctantly than he would have liked, he extended a hand down to Jon, who looked at it in shock. “C’mon. Let’s get you back downstairs, I’ll make tea.” Make tea. His solution for everything, he remembered Tim deriding. But Jon looked at him like he’d offered much, much more than that. Maybe he had. The hope in his eyes was too much to bear. So when Jon put a thin, scarred hand in his, he looked away, even as he helped him to his feet.

To his disdain and delight, Jon immediately leaned into his side, as if trying to leech warmth that Martin couldn’t provide. In fact it was now Jon who was the warmer of the two- the Eye would not accept the chill of the Lonely, and the fever probably didn’t help. He was like a touch-starved cat looking for a crumb of affection, and god did he want to give it to him. If it were the Martin of a year ago he would have blushed, stammered, maybe even squeezed him back. Now he can only offer him the shoulder, nothing more.

Jon didn’t say anything more than a muttered thanks as they made their way down to the Archives, as if he were afraid of spooking him. More than one staff member they saw stared; Martin had been AWOL except for a few official emails, and was now suddenly the assistant to the head of the institute. To see him with the dreaded Head Archivist must have been even more of a shock. He felt pity- what a pair we make.

By the time they arrived at the archives, Jon had leant almost all of his weight against Martin’s side, making it difficult to maneuver them both down the stairs. No one was there, and he wanted to scold the other three, wherever they were, for leaving Jon to wander in his condition. I’ll fix him tea, get him on the cot and then I’ll go, he promised himself.

Easier said than done.

He barely managed to pry Jon off of him, and only with the promise to return with a cup of tea did he let go. Never in his wildest daydreams did he imagine Jon to be this clingy, hanging off him like a limpet. As he made his way to the break room he drew the Lonely back to him like a security blanket, albeit a cold one. You can’t stay. You have to go. He looked blankly around the room he used to think of as a safe haven; it was no longer familiar, different mugs on the table, different food in the cupboards, a bag of makeup on the counter. He no longer had a place.

Jon was sitting up on the cot when he arrived back, cup of tea in hand. He pointedly didn’t meet his eyes as he handed it over, staring at his feet and ignoring Jon’s thanks as he turned to leave. Go go go-

“Wait!”

Damn it.

He turned. “What is it, Jon? I have to-”

“Will you stay?” His face was so open, so vulnerable it made Martin ache with longing. “Just- just for a bit.”

Martin sighed, trying to maintain his stoic façade. “You know I can’t.”

“I miss you.”

“Jon-”

“I know, I know,” Jon replied, voice going quiet. He thought dying would harden the man, but it only seemed to soften his sharp edges. “I’m sorry.” He held the mug between his hands, staring down like it was something precious.

“It’s fine,” Martin replied, though they both knew it wasn’t.

“Will you stay if I don’t talk?” Jon leveled that hopeful gaze at him again and Martin looked up to the ceiling for divine intervention that wouldn’t come.

“Jon-”

“Please.” He was begging. His eyes were bright, whether from tears or the fever Martin couldn’t discern. But what was he to do, say no? Not when he was like this, not when he was sick. Martin made excuses, none of them particularly convincing even to himself and they certainly wouldn’t be to Peter, but it didn’t matter. He’d already made his choice as soon as Jon said the word.

“Okay. For a bit.” That smile again. Jon said nothing as Martin tentatively sat beside him on that small, rickety cot. He would only stay for a bit, until Jon fell asleep. He had no one to look after him, after all. He would go back up and face Peter later.

For now, he let Jon rest his head against his shoulder. He let his fingers rise of their own accord and brush the hair from Jon’s face, eliciting a shiver. When he fell asleep, Martin didn’t move. He needs the rest. So he sat, reveling in the warm, heavy weight of everything he’d given up, everything he stood to lose, and knew he made the right decision.

Much later, when he’s faced Peter’s disappointed gaze and a mountain of extra work, he notices the strange, powdery cast on his sleeve from where Jon had laid his head. When he rubs at it, his fingers come back with hints of pink and white. It takes him a moment to put the pieces together- the footsteps in the library, the absence of Daisy and Melanie, the makeup on the counter. He wants to roll his eyes, wants to be angry.

Instead, for the first time in months, he laughs.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28581141

#my writing #prompt fill #tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #daisy tonner #melanie king #season four #lil bit of fluff lil bit of angst #i apologize if this wasn't what you were looking for but the idea grabbed me and i couldnt let go lmao #balanced-to-a-tea

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lubdubsworld · 3 years

Text

Better Man .

~~~~~~~~~~I wish I could forget, when it was magic~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taehyung x Oc

Rated 18 +

Post Divorce, Getting Back Together, Second chances, Angst.

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Chapter 4

How do you know you’re ready for kids?

Is it after you’re financially stable enough? After you’ve partied enough? Got all the wildness inside you tamed? After you’ve grown sick of the freedom that comes with youth and what it implies ? after you’ve grown tired of empty conversations that lead nowhere? sharing ubers with people you barely like because you’re too drunk to drive? When you just crave the comfort of people you truly love instead of strangers who grind up on you ? Or perhaps when you start preferring silence in the evenings to the thrumming bass in some dingy nightclub?

None of these really.

The truth is you’re never ready.

Hoshi had been planned. Taehyung and I had done our homework, studied everything from my ovulation cycle to the entire catalogue of some expensive breast pump , new in the market . Everything had been researched and planned and perfected : the wood the crib would be made of, the color he wallpaper in the nursery would be and the kind of diapers and wipes we would use.

But it still threw us for a loop....how unpredictable he was.

How unpredictable the pregnancy was.

What I wanted : Home birth. Mid wife . Taehyung by my side holding my hand.

What i got : Preeclampsia, a baby born six weeks early, Taehyung frantic on the phone in the middle of the night as he took his private jet from Japan where he was shooting a commercial. The pain of being induced into a labor that lasted for 16 hours only for my body to give up half way through.

A c section that left a scar and numbness that hadn’t faded even now , after four whole years. three weeks in the NICU....tears and terror after learning that the baby in the incubator right next to Hoshi’s didn’t make it. Aching to hold my son but being forced to stare at him through the glass, wires and tubes wrapped around his tiny torso.

And through it all, Taehyung.

Stronger than I had ever seen him. Calm and collected as he watched me pump milk for our baby, barely managing a few measly drops of it after thirty minutes of trying . His arms around me, holding me up as I tried to fight the sheer agony that came from my stitches, tried to stay conscious for the baby. Watching him carefully pour the milk into a sterile bottle to take down to the NICU .

Falling in love with him, over and over and over again throughout the day as he did everything for me.

Hoshi was loved and cherished , not just because he was an expression of our love for each other.

But a reminder of Taehyung’s love for me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“ He’s growing out of all his clothes. I’m going to take him shopping tomorrow.” Taehyung commented, watching Hoshi get on his tippy toes to point out the pastry he wanted from the display case, while a star struck cashier stared at Taehyung .

Taehyung’s body guards were right near the table and while a crowd of people stood outside, none of them came too close. I was used to the attention that came with Taehyung and his celebrity status.

“That’s a good idea. I have a couple of meetings tomorrow regarding the Christmas campaign and I may not be able to make it on the weekedn either. Is it okay if I pick him on monday evening?” I asked, cutting into the blueberry scon on my plate.

“How about I drop him off at your office. Save you the trip.”

I hesitated, before nodding.

“I spoke to the lawyer....she told me the papers should be processed by the end of next month. My company will make a formal announcement from both of us and we’ll say we don’t intend to answer any other media questions.”

I stared at him, watching his face carefully for something different. A sign that would explain what had changed between us because something had. I was sure of it.

“ Why now, Taehyung?” I asked softly.

He held my gaze for a second, eyes warm and honest. Taehyung could hide his emotions well, but his eyes always told the truth.

“Because I’ve strung you along long enough. You deserve to be free.” He said finally.

I swallowed, looking down.

“I ....you didn’t string me along.” I shook my head.

“I think you deserve to be loved right, without the shadow of my failures hanging over you. I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life in a limbo because of one wrong choice.”

Wrong choice.

Whose ?

His? When he chose to drink That night?

Or mine? When I chose to walk out?

Or the both of us? For handling the fallout so badly?

I had so many questions but I didn’t say anything.

They were question that had no answers.

“So we move on.” I stared at him intently.

“I will always love you. I will always be there for you.” He smiled, eyes glinting a little.

i watched him, the familiar body. He had been my first. My best. Taehyung’s body was as familiar to me as my own and I wanted to hug him, hold him close and press kisses to his lips again. It wasn’t emotional or even sexual it was just...this urge to let him know that he was loved too. that he was adored. That he would always be loved.

“But, “ he went on, “ yes. Its been two years.... so.... we should move on. Meet other people. ”

“Fall in love again ?” I didn’t mean to sound bitter but my tone certainly was. He gave me a very tired smile and I felt guilt bubble up inside me.

“I’m not going to be that greedy, Mia. I will settle for just feeling a little less alone.” He looked away and my throat closed up.

He stood up, moving to the counter to pay for the treats that Hoshi had chosen.

And that was it.

I watched the small tendrils of warmth, rising up from my coffee, gossamer strips of smoke mingling in the cold air and melting into nothingness.

Here one second gone the next.

Just like my marriage.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a little past seven when I reached my apartment, my phone ringing just as I dropped my coat and unwrapped the scarf from around my neck. I moved quickly to the bedroom, pulling my phone out of my handbag.

I picked the call, switching it to speaker before tossing my phone on the bed.

“Hello?”

“Jang Mi...its Jungkook. You ready?”

I swore, stripping out of my clothes quickly, fumbling with my bra and yanking my panties down.

“I’m just about to shower. Five me ten minutes!”

He didn’t reply and I frowned.

“Jungkook??” i called opening the closet to grab a hairband and shower cap.

“When you say you’re just about to shower...are you actually in the shower?” His voice sounded a little deeper than usual. Weird.

“What?” I was completely confused.

“Like are you naked in-”

Oh Christ.

I rolled my eyes, hanging up quickly. Sleeping with Jungkook, while extremely pleasurable had definitely been a little too much too soon. It made him take too many liberties, ones I wasn’t particularly comfortable giving him yet.

But I liked him.

He was, at the end of the day a nice guy.

A nice guy who had an actual interest in me. Those were rare to come by.

It was another fifteen minutes before I was ready, choosing a plain black jumpsuit in a flowy georgette material. It had nice flowy sleeves and i added gold jewelry at my wrists and earrings, just for a little bling. I stared at the dress at all angles. It definitely hugged my curves right but was also impossibly hard to take off.

So even if I got swayed by his good looks and made bad choices , by the time Jungkook undressed me , i would be able to come to my senses and stop myself from having sex with him again.

Groaning at myself, I grabbed the small black jeweled clutch from inside my dresser, slipping my phone in.

I steered clear of make up, choosing just a deep red lipstick.

The knock on the door came just as i finished slipping into black pumps .

I opened the door , only to have a dozen red roses thrust into my hands.

“Wow.” I whispered, glancing at him. He looked extra handsome, a blood red shirt clinging to his torso, a think black tie knotted at his neck. He gave me a devilish wink, eyes flitting all over me , licking his lips.

i tamped down the urge to back away, reminding myself that I was supposed to be moving on. Even if it wasn’t with Jungkook, he had asked me out on a date and I had agreed. I would enjoy myself tonight.

“Gorgeous. Ready?”

“Let me just put these in water...” I smiled at him, placing the stems into the cut glass decanter on the nearest table. I emptied the small bottle of water nearby into it , bending over to fix the petals when I felt him press right up against me.

Startling, i nearly spilled the water all over the floor, breath catching when his chest met my back . I felt myself trembling a bit because of how warm he felt, even with the inches between us and I could smell him, the subtle cologne that handsome men wear , just to drive women crazy.

The urge to lean into his body was so strong I had to clench my fists. Apparently, my body was very much on board with moving on even if my heart wasn’t. Jungkook made things worse by moaning into my ear, chin resting on my shoulder as he lightly gripped my waist, before reaching over with other hand, plucking one scarlet bloom from the bunch

I swallowed as he wrapped both arms around me in a backhug , holding the bloom up in front of my face.

“Do you like the scent of it?” His lips brushed my ear and I grinned. I hadn’t been flirted with , like this in years. I bent my head to lightly breath in the air near the bloom, enjoying the subtle scent. “It’s lovely.” I said honestly.

He casually broke the stem off, a couple of inches from the where the petals began.

“Turn around for me “ Jungkook whispered in my ear again. I turned around quickly, my lips inches from his, refusing to back away, staring right at him. He smirked, bringing the flower up to the small upknot on the side of my head.

I stayed still as he carefully pulled a single bobby pin out, sticking the stem into my hair before casually using his teeth to pry open the pin again and slotting it into my hair, pinning the flower in place.

Apparently, watching Jungkook pin a rose into my hair was winning brownie points for him in my brain, because my entire body went warm , my heart beating faster.

“I’m scared to ask why you’re so good at this...” I smiled and he raised an eyebrow.

“I have a daughter remember? Its a lot of ribbons and bows and pins.” He grinned.

The idea that Jungkook did his daughter’s hair for her, with ribbons and flowers was so ridiculously endearing I wanted to coo.

“There. Now we match.... A little.” he smiled.

I stared at him, the black tie on his red shirt and the red rose against my black dress.

“Smart. “ I nodded.

“Shall we leave?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I had fun tonight.” Jungkook hesitated .

The night had been so much more fun than I’d anticipated. Jungkook somehow convincing me to party crash someone’s engagement party near the pool with an open bar and ridiculous ninety’s party music. But I’d danced to my heart’s content, my hair coming undone half way through and I was only a little upset that I’d lost the red rose in the middle of people.

“I had a lot of fun too Jungkook’ah..” I smiled, honest .

“We should do this again. Since we never got to actually talk. It was just you getting progressively drunk and dancing like you wanted to pee.” He teased and I pouted.

I reached out and pressed a palm to his face...his skin smooth under my skin and I felt myself swaying just a little, lethargic and a little aroused from the scent of him.

“Wanna get another drink?” And then because I was completely gone and had no filter, “ If you come inside....maybe I’ll let you cum inside. if you know what I mean.....” I drawled, waggling my eyebrows.

Jungkook’s face morphed into one of absolute shock, lips parted and then he laughed so hard he choked, coughing.

“Wow. You are drunk.” He shook his head, looking amused. “ How about this.... I’ll come in and tuck you into bed and if you drink a couple of glasses of water for me, I will not tease you about this tomorrow.” He offered.

I pouted.

“You don’t wanna come inside...?”

“Oh baby , you have no idea how bad I wanna come inside.....but not like this” He brushed the hair off my brow, kissing my forehead...” Ask me again when you’re sober and we’ll work something out. Now let’s get you into bed.”

I groaned as he dragged me into the bedroom.

The moment my head hit the pillow, I fell asleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~!~

Author’s note : Not me falling in love with the second lead in my own story ugh. He’s gonna get a separate story. I’m gonna write a whole entire fic for CFO! Jungkook , adorable single dad of cute little girl.

I don’t have a tag list for this fic so please do let me know if you want to be tagged !!!

#taehyung smut #taehyung fics #taehyung fanfic #bts au #bts fanfics #bts smut

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nelllraiser · 4 years

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bela lugosi’s def not dead | nic & nell

LOCATION: the drive-ins. PARTIES: @bountybossier and @nelllraiser. SUMMARY: stab ? stab!! TIMING: sometime in March

Nell had been staring for...probably much longer than was socially acceptable, squinting into the darkness towards the truck a few spots over to see if it was, indeed, who she thought it was. She hopped off her motorcycle as the movie continued to play on the drive-in screen, passing annoyingly in front of those that were trying to enjoy the film. As they grumbled about her getting in the way, she could see the vaguely familiar outline, and wasted no time in popping up next to the truck, her eyes barely managing to clear the side of it as her hands gripped the edge, her feet on tiptoe as she said in a horrendous attempt at a whisper, “Sam Hill- is that you?”

The hunter had to do a double-take when he saw the drive-in theater on one of his nightly drives. Romance wasn’t exactly for Nicodemus and classics were fine, but what really caught his eye was the horror double-feature on Sunday: The Wolf Man and Dracula. What better way to forget about the shit of reality than to immerse himself in what humanity thought was actually going on? One large water bottle and bag of popcorn later, he was posted in the back of his truck and watching the opening credits of Dracula. He snuck a sip of his flask and reclined back against a bag of salt. He hadn’t heard the whisper at first, or maybe his subconscious chose to ignore it. He only looked over when he felt eyes on him. It was her. Nell. To keep from loudly swearing and interrupting, he shoved a fistful of popcorn into his mouth. He squinted and whispered back. “You here for the movie or are you stalkin’ me?”

Perhaps Nell had a similar reason for being here. It was simply amusing to see what twisted tales of the supernatural had managed to leak into humankind, and then see how they thought how it could make a better story if they just entirely messed it all up. Nevertheless, she still enjoyed the movie Practical Magic. Not that this was that film. Dracula was always a good way to unwind as she perhaps laughed a little too loud at the parts that were meant to be...well...scary. But it was ridiculous! Nevertheless, her bottom lip jutted out as he seemingly ignored her. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said stubbornly when he posed his own query. In another moment, she’d clambered over the side of the truck and into its bed, apparently inviting herself. “Can it be both? I choose both. Except you’d have to be cool enough to stalk.” He was definitely cool enough to stalk, she just wouldn’t admit it.

Nicodemus watched in quiet resignation as she clambered over the side of the truck like a child at the play area of a McDonald’s. “Well, fuck I’d hope it’s me,” he muttered in response as he looked between her and the screen. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he shook his head. Honestly, a run-in at the movies was the least troublesome encounter he’d had in the last, what, three days? His sour mood sweetened some, not by a lot, and he tipped his head. “Sure, it can be both.” He paused and squinted at her. What, was he not cool enough to stalk? Why was he even entertaining that thought? Lugosi was supposed to be entertaining him. “Oh, me being not cool is the reason you’re here? Good to know, I’ll remember that.” With a grunt, he jutted the popcorn bag at her and looked away. “...I ain’t gonna eat all of it.”

Nell’s amused grin was already sliding into place at his response, settling into the truck beside him as she folded her knees up near her chin. “That’s for me to know, and you to not find out.” She wasn’t exactly in the business of telling bad-ass bounty hunters her rather...lengthy history of latching onto people she found undoubtedly cool. But she hummed for a moment as he seemed to give in a bit to her tease, and she figured she’d give him a little something. “Alright fine- it’s both, then.” Nell looked down as she said the words, fixating on the popcorn in case his reaction to her admission was negative. Hopefully, her tone might have been joking enough to pass it off as no more than a joke if need be. As the popcorn came her way, she wiggled a bit in her excitement, always quite thrilled to have food at her disposal. “Thanks!” Her exclamation was perhaps a tad too loud, earning a replying ssssh from another drive-in goer a car over. Without hesitation, she stuck her tongue out at them before turning back to Nic. “So you a horror guy?” she asked before taking a healthy handful of buttery goodness and popping it into her mouth.

Instinctively, Nicodemus shoved himself to the other side of the truck like a socially awkward dog at his first day of daycare. He took a long drag of his water bottle as he side-eyed Nell. It was troublesome trying to figure out why she seemed so keen on following him lately. And even more so, trying to figure out why it didn’t piss him off as much as he initially figured it would. He huffed and leaned his head back. “Give it time, kid, I ain’t bad at sussin’ shit out.” A snort followed at quick addition. “Annnd that was quick.” He took a massive handful of the popcorn and held it on his lap. The hunter didn’t mind her outburst, but the car over did and Nico picked his head up to stare at them. The next person that shushed them was getting a knife in their tire. His head tilted at her question before he nodded. “It’s either this or historical romances,” he said, completely deadpan. “There’s no inbetween.” Bela Lugosi stalked across the screen, cape drawn. Nic squinted. For all his night vision was worth, it didn’t help much with a giant screen behind it. It looked like someone was mimicking Lugosi just a few rows ahead. “Was this a costume showin’ or what?”

It was impossible for Nell not to notice Nic’s apparent aversion to where she’d sat in the truck, though she did her best to brush it aside. Maybe he just didn’t like sitting next to people. She tried not to take it personally. Besides, she was too wrapped up in her popcorn eating to take any prolonged notice of anything he was doing, far too pleased to have something to eat in front of her. “You don’t get that one,” she replied stubbornly. “You didn’t ‘sus’ anything. I just decided to tell you so it doesn't count.” She wasn’t sure what to make of his reply about movie preference, but tried her best to tamp down the excitement that came with the thought that they might have something in common. “What like...Gone With the Wind and stuff? The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society?” But she finally looked up from her precious popcorn at his question, joining him in squinting into the night. A light snort dropped from her. “No- it looks like maybe someone’s just really into Lugosi. Their cape isn’t even that good.”

"Nope, I sussed it with keen precision," Nicodemus said, hands slightly splayed at his sides. The slight annoyance in her face was enough to spur him on and he damn near cracked a sly grin, gaze sliding to the corners of his eyes to look at her. He adjusted in his seat, sat pretzel style, and leaned forward with his elbows in his knees. "Yup, secret of mine. 'Spose you earned it, but frankly my dear, I don't give a fuck." Proud of himself for his own spin on a line from a film he finally watched about five years ago, he tipped his head at her. Shattering his senses to make himself useful outside of his grandfather's idea of demon hunting had him constantly on edge, but there was something about the drive-in that particular night that had his teeth tight. "Fuckin' cosplayers." Except, the man ahead looked eerily like Bela Lugosi but stiffer. Like something pretending to be a human-shaped person and he was lurking close to cars, trying to snatch at something. Someone. He sat up and reached into his jacket. "That ain't a cosplayer, Nell."

Nell gave a soft eyeroll, the corners of her mouth upturned as her amusement grew. “Sure you did, old man. Just keep telling yourself that.” But her slight grin turned full force the moment he confirmed their mutual taste in films, along with a laugh that tumbled into the air with his doctored quote. “Okay, but do you watch-” Her excitement and smile were cut short as she watched the strangeness of the supposed cosplayer unfold, eyes straining to see what was going on with a bit more fervor as she leaned forward. Crawling towards the tail of the truck, she frowned, that strange sense of something being not entirely right crawling up her neck. Shit. Nope. Definitely not a cosplayer. Nell was already making her way out of the truck to go confront the Lugosi wannabe when she hesitated a moment later, looking back over her shoulder at Nic. Sure, he was a badass bounty hunter amongst other things. But she’d rather keep him safe from any supernatural shenanigans. “You know, I’m just gonna- go- talk to them. You just uh- stay here. Or leave. Leaving would be better. Or you know actually, I think we need more popcorn. Maybe you should go get some. Please.”

The hunter lost track of their initial conversation, far too focused on the Lugosi that he couldn’t quite get a read on. Fucking damn it. Nicodemus just wanted to watch the movie, not have to deal with stabbing or shooting shit for at least twelve hours. So much for that idea. It was back in one of Dracula’s coffins. His fingers skirted along the stake held up tight in his jacket but he didn’t move. Damn it. She didn’t need to get involved in this but then there she was, urging him to go get more popcorn. He shot her a look. “You’re gonna go talk to ‘em?” He shook his head twice and pulled up into a crouch before he threw himself over the truck bed. “How about you go get the popcorn? You seem more about it than me there, Nell.” The utterance of please confused him. Was she...worried about him? He looked between her and the fake Lugosi. He had already placed himself between her and the approaching figure, a subconscious action that he’d think about later. “I’ll go talk to ‘em, alright? Get this shit sorted.” He bit at the corner of his lip. “Alright?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna talk to them!” Nell insisted, a frown furrowing her brow. Couldn’t he just go get the dang popcorn? The longer she waited, the more squirrelly she got thinking that something unsavory might be occurring only a few cars away. “No!” She insisted stubbornly, perhaps even stomping a little with the word. “You- it’s- gentlemanly isn’t it? The guy gets the popcorn? You’re from the South, right? You know!” What the hell was she even saying? This was almost as bad as telling Kaden that her biting him had been performance art. Her frustration only grew as he seemed to block her path, and she bent to look around him towards whatever was still going on with the Lugosi character. “No, I’m talking to them! Look just- please just- don’t go over there, alright?” Nic getting hurt was something she certainly wasn’t willing to risk, and her features grew a little less intense as she spoke the request. And then she was doing her best to step around him and in the direction of the disturbance, jogging her way over there.

“Well maybe I wanna talk to ‘em too, huh? Ask ‘em about their...cape an’ shit.” Nicodemus didn’t have time for this. Fake fuckin’ Dracula was getting too close for comfort and he still wanted to watch the fucking movies. At her mention of him being from the South, he let out a loud, annoyed sigh. “Oh yeah, because if there’s anything I am, it’s a southern fuckin’ gentleman.” If she meant to distract him by having him go into a Cajun French rant, it almost worked as she started to slip around and away from him. Why was she so damn keen on dealing with it alone? He grunted and spit off to the side as he took off after her. “Fuck that, we’re both talkin’ to ‘em. Just get behind me if they do anything fuckin’ weird.” He said it with finality and he looked at her as they neared the stranger. “Hey, fuckass, what are you do--” Fake Lugosi rounded on him and Nicodemus was prepared for the lunge that followed, arms up as the body hit him. He maintained balance and shifted on his feet, grabbing the back of Lugosi’s jacket to flip him over. Thankfully, he was parked off to the side to avoid people. Sans Nell, apparently. If no one noticed a goddamn thing, it would be for the better.

Damn, the Cajun French rant bait hadn’t worked. “Or you could get behind me!” Nell replied stubbornly, in much of the same tone that this entire conversation had been spoken within. Nevertheless- it was...nice that he seemed to care. But she didn’t want him to get hurt by some lame-ass vampire! The conversation slipped away as she watched the fight already beginning to unfold, and a simple exclamation of “Nic!” fell from her. The single word was mixed with worry and annoyance, not at all pleased that he was being put in this situation. She quieted quickly, though— not wanting to draw even more attention to the little scuffle that was happening over here. With reflexes that were a little too fast, Lugosi was back up, and lunging once more. “Stay down!” Nell growled between gritted teeth as she took her own turn, dropping to sweep a leg out to kick Lugosi’s feet out from underneath him. He didn’t look feral, not having that sort of crazed aura about him that vampires generally did when they were starved which meant...was he simply hunting for sport? Or just shits and giggles at a vampire movie?

The hunter’s eyes shot to look at Nell. Jesus, she was concerned. That was a funny thing that Nicodemus would seriously wonder what the fuck was about later. The vampire didn’t seem to care that there were two people actively trying to put his ass down. Nic grunted and watched, impressed, as Nell put the vampire’s ass to the dirt again. He pressed a hand against Fake Lugosi’s cold neck and pressed his face into the dirt, fanged mouth open and full of mud. “Alright,” the hunter murmured as he shifted on his heels. “Don’t know what your fuckin’ deal is but this ain’t the fuckin’ place for it, sharptooth. Don’t try it again.” The vampire hissed, or tried to, with a mouth full of dirt. He glanced up at Nell, then over to the cars not that far away. His ears picked up someone talking, whispering about what was going on over there. There being where Nic, Nell, and the vampire were. He grumbled. “Just doin’ security, keep watchin’ the goddamn movie,” he said, voice raised by a thin margin. His grip tightened on the back of the vampire’s neck as he tried to pull him up by the scruff like an angry cat. “Nell, got a feelin’ he might bolt. I ain’t got a stake. You?” The vampire went rigid at that and threw his head back, clocking Nic right in the face. His grip faltered enough for the vampire to shrug him off and do just what he said he would: bolt. Right for her.

People were watching. Which meant that magic wasn’t really an option. Nell had been trying to use less of it in situations like this even moreso than usual, all to aware of how Miriam was slinking about these days. Plus….she didn’t exactly know Nic’s opinion on witches, and wasn’t entirely sure if she was ready or not to discover it. Nevertheless, she was somewhat amused by the picture of Nic holding the pitiful creature. If it hadn’t been clear that this particular piece of trash was...exactly that, she might have fought the mention of a stake. Instead, she simply shook her head. “Not on me.” Next thing she knew, the thing was charging her, and brown eyes widened as it grew closer. A snarl curled her own lips as it closed in, and she dug in her heels. What she did next wasn’t the most graceful of fight techniques...but raising a foot to harshly kick the vampire in the privates certainly proved effective enough as he doubled over. Then she was darting towards a nearby, empty car to duck behind it under the guise of searching in the mud. Taking the chance to perform a bit of clandestine magic, she summoned a wooden stake from seemingly thin air. “Found one!” she called out before making sure she muddied up the weapon that had been sitting in her room at home not seconds ago .”Catch!” With that, she was launching the piece of wood towards Nic, for she was no longer in stabbing proximity.

Nicodemus realized the absurdity of the question right after he asked it. Right, most people didn’t normally carry fucking stakes on their persons at any given moment. Even he barely did. Only when the situation called for it. Needless to say, he didn’t expect fucking movie night to be one such situation. As he shook off the headbutt, he looked over in time to see Nell handle it about as tactfully as he would and tried very fucking hard to not grin. It failed and it lit up his face, just by a slim margin. Then she was running away and that grin faltered. Was she about to fucking leave his ass after they’d shared some shitty popcorn? The audacity. As she returned, stake in hand from who knows where, he was glad to be proven wrong. He reached up and caught the stake. In as smooth of a motion as he could, he pivoted and went weight, plus stake, first into the Bela Lugosi wannabe. The vampire gasped for a second before the burst into dust, which Nicodemus promptly blocked with his body as a couple curious humans glanced over. “Part of the show, folks. Regular fuckin’ mindfreak,” he said gruffly. Maybe it was the tone but it was enough to get eyes back on the screen that the real Lugosi stalked across. The hunter looked at Nell, forehead furrowed and eyes squinted. “Don’t you say it. Don’t you dare say we make an alright team.”

Nell couldn’t even begin to describe how beautiful the scene was while Nic caught the stake and promptly turned the vampire to dust. There might have been fireworks. The mayor might have been there promising the pair of them keys to the city for being such upstanding and badass citizens. Either way, her fists punched into the air in tandem, a wide smile on her lips! “Yes! Amazing! We kicked ass!” But didn’t this mean...apparently she wasn’t the only bounty hunter around who did other forms of hunting on the side. After all, he was the one who’d asked for a stake. “Yeah, nothing but a loser!” she called out after Nic finished his own explanation. “I’m helping,” was the only explanation she offered. Her grin had already been wide, and it wasted no time in looking as if it might split her face, eyes crinkling in a way that was also a telltale sign of being up to absolutely no good. “I wasn’t gonna say that.” Nell bent at the waist, retrieving the stake from the pile of dust, and pressing it back into Nic’s hand. “I was gonna say we make an awesome team.” With that, she began to lead the way back to the truck, intent on finishing the movie. “Do you think the popcorn’s still there?” Then, because she never knew when to stop, shit-eating grin and all, “And next time you get to be the one getting behind me. We’ll take turns.”

#// please pretend that this happened...a while ago THANKS #chatzy #bela lugosis def not dead #wickedswriting #ch:nicodemus

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siobhom · 6 years

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Fic: Five times Captain Santiago calls Jake Detective Peralta

Pairing: Jake Peralta/Amy Santiago

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 3741

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Summary: He watches the clock, fingers tapping, knee now bouncing. The new captain will be here in five minutes and Amy still hasn’t arrived. He texts again. ‘Do you need me to stall? I will totally run into the lobby like a crazy person and spill coffee all over the new captain for you.’

Jake taps his desk anxiously- he’s being ridiculous- Amy isn’t even due in for another twenty minutes. Except they’ve got a new captain starting today and Amy’s always at least thirty minutes early on those days. There’s nothing in the schedule she could be running late from and she definitely wasn’t sick that morning. Jake can’t help imagining car crashes or vengeful perps.

He turns towards the sergeant’s desk for the fourth time. The chair’s still empty. Amy hasn’t silently snuck in in the two minutes since he last looked. He turns back to his phone. The new captain will be here in fifteen minutes. There’s no good reason Jake can imagine for Amy not being here. His gut is twisted in fear. He decides to send a text.

‘You okay babe?’

Before Jake can even start to worry about why she’s not answering, she replies.

‘I’m fine. My shift starts at 09.00’

‘I know. The new captain starts today.’

He feels dumb sending it. This is not information Amy would forget.

‘I know. I’ll be there on time. Don’t worry Pineapples.’

The bad twist in his gut unwinds slightly but still remains. Is something wrong? She wouldn’t lie about this. Unless she wants to make sure he doesn’t make a bad first impression and she’s waiting to tell him later. She’s probably fine. Still, he doesn’t think he’ll calm down until he sees her.

He watches the clock, fingers tapping, knee now bouncing. The new captain will be here in five minutes and Amy still hasn’t arrived. He texts again.

‘Do you need me to stall? I will totally run into the lobby like a crazy person and spill coffee all over the new captain for you.’

‘No babe. Calm down. I’m right where I need to be.’

Jake frowns at the response, turning again towards the empty sergeant’s chair. Maybe Amy’s waiting downstairs, planning to meet the captain there and discuss the squad in the elevator ride before introductions. He shrugs to himself and tries to relax. Two minutes left.

The elevator dings. Jake turns. The elevator opens and Jake’s jaw drops to the floor.

Amy Santiago is standing there in a captain’s uniform.

She strides into the bullpen purposefully to applause and cheers. She allows herself only a brief grin before settling into a professional smile. She’s making a speech but Jake’s too busy being excited (and stopping himself from pulling her into a celebratory kiss that he’s sure Amy wouldn’t appreciate right now) to really hear what she’s saying. Amy continues into her office, calling one of the detectives in with her.

Amy calls in each detective one by one. Jake is half-tempted to push in-line and sneak in there. But he’s not going to undermine her authority on her first day. He does frown slightly as Hitchcock is called in before him. Then again, maybe Amy doesn’t feel the need to have whatever conversation she’s having with the others given that they’re married. He can’t help but feel a little left out.

“Detective Peralta.”

Jake absolutely doesn’t knock his chair over in his rush to the captain’s door.

Jake shuts the door behind him, he can’t stop grinning. “Congratulations!”

Amy grins back. “Thank you and no. We’re not doing whatever crazy celebratory scheme you’re concocting.”

“There’s no scheme. I have no scheme.”

Amy gives him a knowing look. “Uhuh. Sure.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”

“I couldn’t tell you before everyone else. That would be special treatment.”

Jake’s grinning so wide his mouth hurts. “Of course.” He leans in for a kiss.

Amy pulls away. “We can celebrate tonight, at home. And we need to meet with HR again.”

Jake groans. “Didn’t we already do all the stuff when you became my sergeant?”

“Yes, but now I’m your captain, there are more forms.”

“But we’re married!”

Amy raises an eyebrow. They’ve both been cops long enough to know that being married doesn’t stop people from being shitty to each other.

“Okay, when are we meeting with HR?”

Jake watches Amy arrange things in her new home office. She’s clearly making it an exact replica of her captain’s office. It’s so perfectly Amy and Jake can’t help but find the whole thing adorable. He has tried to help a few times but has been shooed back out. So he just stands here.

Until she calls, her voice hard and stern, “Detective Peralta.”

And he realises that the office set-up was for him too. And oh, he loves her so much.

Jake quickly enters.

“Sit,” Amy orders, tone cold, and he does so eagerly.

She walks behind him, leaning down to whisper into his ear, “Remember your safe word?”

Jake nods. That’s their only discussion of the scene, and Jake loves the anticipation.

(There was a time when Amy would insist they discuss any scene in meticulous detail before starting and they still had an A2 chart denoting the intricate details of every yes, no and maybe. But it’s been long enough now that they know what each other enjoy).

Amy picks up a case file (likely filled with blank pages- there’s no way she’d bring an actual case file home) and idly flips through it.

“I’ve been looking at your latest report. It’s very disappointing. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“I’m sorry captain; I’ll do better next time.”

“Next time? When I’ve already given you so many chances? Hmm. I don’t think so. See Peralta, you’re a useless detective. A disgrace. Which is why I’m demoting you back to beat cop.”

“Just give me one more chance, I’ll be better, I promise.”

“I doubt that. Having you as a detective is no use to me, but maybe you could be useful to me in other ways.”

Jake’s already half hard and he has to fight the urge to just rip his clothes off right then. “What do you mean?”

Amy steps towards him, undoes the top two buttons on his shirt, and runs a finger down his chest. “Convince me of the advantages of keeping you in your current position.”

“What? I don’t…I don’t think that’s…”

“Or maybe I’ll just fire you all together.”

“No. Please don’t. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Then maybe we can come to an arrangement. Here are the rules: you are mine now, to use as I please. You obey me unconditionally; do exactly as I say without argument. And only speak when given permission. Does that sound like something you can do?”

Jake swallows. “Yes.”

“Good. You better not fail me Peralta. Or you can kiss your gun and badge goodbye. Now get on your knees.”

Amy isn’t too worried about being Jake’s commanding officer. Starting out commanding the young uniform cops downstairs, there were a few Jake’s she had to deal with. And she did so well. Except it’s been less than a week of being Jake’s commanding officer before she realises it’s going to be a lot more like dealing with an Amy. Except a bad one, who has never been an Amy before and therefore has no idea what he’s doing.

(“So does anyone have ideas for the new filing system?” Amy asks, standing at the front of the briefing room for the first time as a captain.

“We could do it alphabetically,” Jake says.

And she’s about to give him a look for his glibness before she realises it’s a sincere suggestion. Amy has to tamp down her usual competing-with-Jake-response – alphabetically by what, suspect? What if you don’t have one? By victim? Then what if it’s a drug bust with no victim. By type of evidence, that’s just a mess. At least if you had said numerically by case file no. that would be something. Alphabetically, that’s terrible- she’s his superior officer now, they’re not competing anymore. So she merely nods and asks for more suggestions.

And it continues over the next few days. Jake keeps making suggestions for all sorts of things that are either ridiculous or completely insane. And he’s also spending forever on his paperwork trying to make it better- even though Holt already got Jake to make it the best he could, and now he’s just over-reaching. He’s also got a bet running with the squad that he’s going to beat his personal best in felony collars for the year. He’s doing great work. Until Amy finds him sitting at his desk at midnight looking like he’s on the brink of burning out and she has to tell him to calm down and stop trying so hard.)

She’s quickly reminded of the first year of their marriage where Jake was so ridiculously desperate to prove he was a good husband.

Jake has never cared about his captain’s approval; sure he’s cared that they think he’s a genius, but not their approval. He does care about Amy’s though.

Amy has an incredibly complex and detailed system when it comes to assigning cases, one she’s honed over the past five years of being a sergeant. It considers fourteen variables for each detective: skill-set, strengths, weaknesses, current emotional well-being, current mental well-being, current physical well-being, situational relation to the case, case-specific experience, case-specific knowledge, potential bias, time between last similar case, case preference, current case-load and her gut instinct. A set of twenty-two variables for each case, sorted into twelve sub-categories. And a time-table balancing different level cases.

(And each of those variables has its own myriad of considerations. For example, if a case falls under the weaknesses of a detective, if appropriate she may still give it to them as practice, but not give them one if they already have a similar case or are not in optimal emotional and mental condition, to avoid a potential slump.)

So she knows the accusation of bias is a vindictive one. And she explains this with a power-point laden with detective performance statistics and case-assignment spread-sheets and precinct rate of completion pie-charts and scatter-graphs. Yes, she does give Detective Peralta some of the best cases; it’s not a dis-proportionate amount considering he’s one of the best detectives the precinct has. It doesn’t take more than a cursory glance at his stats to prove this.

And her superior officers give her sympathetic smiles and tell her this is the way of the world. There are people upset that the rising star of the NYPD is a Latina woman and those people are determined to do something about it. This is the only opening she’s left them. And they tell her it would be best if she deals with it before it becomes a serious issue.

“What do they want you to do?” Jake asks that night.

“Not give you any big cases.”

“Well you could just do that.”

Amy scrunches up her face. “Okay, first of all, that’s a completely inefficient and irresponsible waste of resources. And secondly, would you even be okay with that?”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

“I can transfer,” Jake offers.

“No. You shouldn’t have to. It’s my problem to deal with. If I give in now it will just be worse later.”

“Maybe you should just be really strict and harsh on me at work. Then they’ll have nothing to pounce on.”

Amy raises an eyebrow, thinking back to Jake’s Amy-tendencies with her. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“You take that back! It’s a brilliant genius idea. And I am a brilliant genius for suggesting it.”

Amy rolls her eyes. “And you would be okay with me treating you like that?”

Jake smirks. “Of course. I’ll know it’s not real. And you know I enjoy it when you denigrate my poor detective skills.”

Amy stares at him. “So you’re suggesting I treat you like I would in our bedroom to make me seem less biased?”

“Come on. It will be fun.”

“Jake…”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

And, despite making a very long list, she actually doesn’t. So she agrees.

Amy’s almost certain it will be a disaster. So much so that she almost makes a bet with Jake. She’s doesn’t though because she’s a great captain and knows that it will likely increase said disaster ten-fold.

Jake’s a mix of amused and anxious the first time Amy calls him out. He thinks it’s just because it’s the first time and he’s not used to Amy being that way. But over the next few times it just gets worse. It’s not fun like he thought it would be. But he hides his true feelings well. He doesn’t want one of them to have to transfer.

At home Amy repeatedly asks him if he’s sure he’s okay with the whole thing and he jokes that she’s reaching mother-hen levels of concerned and that he understands the difference between real and fake. She still tells him he’s a great detective and that makes him feel a little better.

As the first week of the plan draws to a close Jake finds himself triple and quadruple checking to make sure everything’s perfect. Amy always manages to find something to nitpick though, that’s kind of the point. It’s stupid, he knows it’s fake. But the whole thing has him on edge. She hasn’t even pulled him up that many times. He’s had previous captains who were on his case way more. But there’s no one’s opinion he cares more about than Amy’s and having her say these things is beginning to bring him down.

“Detective Peralta.”

Jake tenses.

“One minute!” Jake says, in what he hopes is a stable tone as he runs to the bathroom.

It’s fine. Everything’s fine. It’s just that he’s disappointed Amy again. And he can’t do anything right. And he’s always disappointing her. He’s a terrible husband. And she’s going to divorce him. And he’s going to lose the best thing he ever had. And now he’s crying. He holds his hand over his mouth, wipes the snot coming out his nose. He’s being an idiot. None of this is real. It’s a plan, all fake. Amy loves him and knows he’s a great detective. He knows this. But it still feels like the world is ending. Like maybe Amy’s taking this chance to tell him what she really thinks. And he can’t get control of himself. He’s terrible and useless and pathetic. And Amy will be better off without him. And he’s trying to calm down but failing. And maybe he’ll just die right here in this bathroom. Pathetic.

Then there are hands pulling up his shirt, fingers sliding underneath around his waist. Amy. And just like that the dark spiral mellows. And he’s fine. Amy’s here. She hasn’t left. Everything’s okay as long as she’s here.

Jake finds Amy sitting on the floor of their living room with papers spread all over the place.

“What’s this?”

“I’m trying to come up with a new rota system that both does what the brass wants and still works.”

“What happened to the plan of riding me? It’s going perfectly. Everyone is convinced.”

“Jake, I found you crying in the bathroom.”

“I wasn’t crying. I’m fine. That was allergies.”

“Sure it was,” Amy looks back at all the papers, “This is impossible.”

“Why don’t you just make a rota based on who hasn’t had a similar case the longest?”

“You want to give Hitchcock and Scully the same cases as everyone else.”

“I obviously meant excluding Hitchcock and Scully.”

“Yeah, I know, that’s an extreme example, but it still doesn’t work, if I’m not going to pay attention to what’s the best for the cases and what’s the best for the detectives working them, then what’s the point?” She stares forlornly, “I think I’m going to have to transfer.”

“No you’re not, I’m going to get you an appointment with Holt.”

“Jake I can’t just go running complaining to Holt every time I have a problem.”

“You don’t have to complain. Just talk to him okay, he’s awesome at advice.”

Holt says, “Ignore them.”

“I can’t just ignore my superior officers!”

“Your methods are beyond reproach and your spread-sheets demonstrate this. No one can penalise you for this.”

“No one cares about my spread-sheets! They said people will say I could’ve twisted the stats, even though I discussed possible multi-colinearity and showed them the analysis both with and without outliers! They said people are going to look at the situation and make up their minds and not care about anything else!”

“It’s unfortunate and it’s hard. I can’t tell you what to do. But if you give in and transfer, people will always find something to pit against you. But I have managed to get to where I am today, despite several clashes with the brass, because I do my job well and I do my job right. Just keep doing what you’re doing; do your job well and right and you will be fine.”

“Thank you.” Amy sighs, she knows he’s right.

So Amy stands tall in front of the precinct and assigns cases as she knows they should be.

And when Jake closes a big case, she smiles and says, “Good job Detective Peralta, well done.”

“I’ve decided to take the sergeant’s exam,” Jake says.

“Really, but you love being a detective. This isn’t about the whole issue the brass has with us is it?”

“Well, that’s what got me thinking about it in the first place…”

“Jake you shouldn’t have to…”

“BUT… I was going to say, but the more I thought about it the more I wanted it. I really want this Ames.”

“Really? That’s great.” Amy grins and playfully punches his shoulder.

“Yeah, I was never going to be a detective all my career, I always knew I would move on eventually, when I was older, but I guess I’m growing up.”

The sergeant’s exam is so hard. Jake is so lucky Amy’s helping him study otherwise he would be totally screwed. They’ve just transitioned to the ‘week of exam’ binder and, even though they’re both exhausted, he grins as she quizzes him. He’s so nervous. He didn’t think this would matter so much, it’s not like there won’t be another exam to take if he fails. But the idea of being a sergeant has sunk deep in his bones and he can’t remember the last time he wanted something so bad.

Amy hugs him. “Stop overthinking, you’re going to do so well.”

Amy flicks through the pile of sergeants exams that she still has to mark. She’s about half way through, thirty left to do and a meeting in two hours. She can do this. Amy opens the next exam paper and immediately slams it shut again. It’s Jake’s. Of course there’s no name or other identifying information but she recognises his hand-writing straight away. This shouldn’t have been sent to her, it’s clearly a conflict of interest. She puts it aside and brings up the exam marking guidelines, so that she can quote them accurately when she sends the exam back unmarked. Amy doesn’t want Jake to get penalised for this stupid mistake someone made.

She reads the entire guidelines and then the handbook twice. There’s nothing. It’s apparently perfectly within the rules for her to mark her husband’s exam paper. Amy still intends on sending the paper back though; just to be completely above board. But there’s no harm in having a quick look to sate her curiosity.

She leaves her pen on the table and reads through the paper, keeping a mental tally of his marks. Amy deducts two points for grammar and adds them back. She knows she’s harsher than most examiners when it comes to this. Amy then deducts them again. Every examiner has areas they are harsher on and areas they’re lighter on. If she doesn’t do this accurately then the entire hypothetical exercise is pointless.

If it’s an obvious pass she’ll send it off to be marked by someone else without another thought. Amy isn’t sure what she’ll do if the opposite is true. It’s not something she gives her mind room to consider.

Amy stares at the paper when she’s finished. One fricking point. He’s going to fail by one point. Except there’s nothing in the rules saying she can’t mark it herself and it’s only one mark that needs fudging which would be the easiest thing in the world. She could just deduct one point instead of two for grammar. No one would need to know. It would be beyond rebuke. It’s insane that she’s even considering this. But she knows, oh she knows how much this means to Jake.

But the rules are everything to her. The making of her core. Without rules there’s just chaos. And this, who gets to achieve a new rank, this is something important. It’s what she stands for. Can she really compromise herself in this way? She has to, for Jake, she has to. She loves him so much and he needs this, badly. But it will haunt her, devour her, take her apart from the inside. Amy can’t lie here. This is who she is.

She hates this. The thought of doing this to Jake, her Jake. She sends the paper back, unmarked. And hopes Jake won’t come to resent her for it.

She tells Jake of course, she has to, words tentative and gentle and nervous. And he’s upset of course. Not with her, he says, he’d never want her to compromise herself for him. And he wouldn’t want to cheat his way to being a Sergeant. And everything’s fine. But she knew he’d say these things and she isn’t worried about today or tomorrow. She’s worried what happens six months or a year or two years down the line.

When the results letter comes, Jake discards it unopened onto a pile of papers like he doesn’t care. Amy knows that’s his important stuff pile though. Amy itches to open it, but she understands his need to prepare himself. That is until it’s still sitting there two days later.

“I doesn’t matter,” Jake says, “I know I haven’t passed.”

“Detective Peralta,” Amy says, voice soft but firm. “Open the letter, that’s an order.”

Jake swallows, shutting his eyes as he pulls the sheet of paper out of its envelope. Before finally, dramatically, looking at it. He grins. “I’m going to be a sergeant.”

#peraltiago #jamy #jake peralta #amy santiago #brooklyn 99 #fic #my peraltiago stuff #my brooklyn 99 stuff

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voiceless-terror · 3 years

Text

Of Deadlines and Drama

For @jontim-week Day Three: Late

Rating: T

Words: 2.5k

Summary: Jon’s has trouble with his expenses. Tim helps out.

“Late again? Really, Jon?”

“I know, I know!” Jon types as fast as his shaking hands will allow, but it’s no use. It’s Wednesday and its half past twelve, meaning Rosie will not be accepting his expense report under any circumstances. She’s a stickler for deadlines- at least, when it comes to Jon. They’ve never been on the best of terms, but ever since what Jon has deemed ‘The Incident,’ she’s been downright unpleasant.

“I thought you set an alarm this time!” Tim says, coming over to lean against his desk. Tim has an alarm for everything - waking up, eating, exercising, going to bed. Jon doesn't know how he stands it. “I didn’t hear anything go off.”

“I might have told you I set one,” he winces, avoiding Tim’s eyes. “And then forgot to.”

“Jon, Jon, Jon…”

“Don’t triple Jon me!” he snaps, attempting to focus on the meaningless numbers in front of him. “I’m stressed enough as is. God, Elias is going to kill me…”

“Why are you trying to impress him?” Tim plops down in the chair beside him and props his feet up on Jon’s desk, raising an eyebrow. He looks infuriatingly handsome in his button up and sweater, a look that Jon has tried to emulate, only to achieve ‘overworked librarian.’ “The only person you should be trying to impress is me. Your boyfriend. The light of your life, the reason you get up in the morning-”

“The reason these are going to be even later than usual,” Jon snaps and knocks Tim’s feet off of the desk with a sharp elbow. Tim yelps and throws Jon a hurt look that he tries and fails to ignore. “I’m sorry. You did tell me to set an alarm. It’s just...these things get away from me.”

“I know.” Tim’s face softens as he scooches his chair over and leans forward, resting his arms on his thighs. “How can I help?”

“You can convince Rosie to accept these. You’re very persuasive.” He turns and gives Tim his best doe-eyed look, though he already knows the answer.

“I am persuasive, aren’t I?” Jon ignores his preening. “But that’s not going to work. You know as soon as she sees your name…”

Jon sighs, resting his chin in his hand. “Yes, I know.”

“What did you do to her, Jon? Run over her dog? I know they scare you, but still...”

“They don’t scare me,” Jon lies, pointedly looking away. “I just...would rather not have them near my person. And you know I can’t drive.”

“What then?” Jon says nothing, focusing instead on chipping away at a small scratch in the wood of his desk. The whole thing’s rather embarrassing, and he’s gone this long without telling anyone. Tim moves his chair even closer, nudging it against Jon’s and squishing him into his desk. He’s effectively trapped.

“C’mon. Pleeease?”

Jon sighs at the wheedling tone. “I...may have snapped at her.”

“You do that with everyone, though. Unless you said something especially heinous...” Another nudge to his chair.

“And then... stumbled.”

“...okay?”

Jon closes his eyes. “And spilled my tea all over Elias’s mail.”

Tim guffaws, as expected, and Jon can feel his face warm. It certainly wasn’t his proudest moment, he can still hear Rosie’s screeching and his own stammered apologies. “That’ll do it! God, I wish I’d seen that.”

“It was incredibly embarrassing, and I’m glad you didn’t. Elias wasn’t in, thank god.”

“You could’ve gotten it all over one of those posh suits he wears.” Jon shudders at the thought. Elias is fastidious about his appearance, he would’ve been fired on the spot. Starting to feel claustrophobic, Jon pushes back against Tim’s chair to give himself breathing room and tries to refocus. He’s dawdled long enough.

Tim hums. “Hmm, maybe…”

“Maybe what?” He tucks his head over Jon’s shoulder, probably eying the obvious errors in his report. Jon’s never been good with numbers.

“Rosie doesn’t accept expenses after twelve, that’s true. But…” Tim trails off, definitely relishing in the small twitch in Jon’s eye when he does it. He enjoys riling him up, and he’s very good at it. Jon contains the urge to elbow him in the stomach.

“But what?” He’s starting to sound like a broken record.

“But she doesn’t actually give them to Elias until three or four.” Tim smirks at his affronted gasp. Jon’s never been that late, but Rosie’s always going on about ‘deadlines being very important to Mr. Bouchard’ and ‘I’m sorry I just can’t accept these so late, I’ve already given him the pile.’ Jon’s wallet has paid the price for this on more than one occasion- he counts on those reimbursements, and it often leaves him short on cash for the rest of the week. Tim will pick up the check on those days, waving off Jon’s protests and trying to assuage his guilt. Before he can start raging about the newly-discovered arbitrary deadline, Tim cuts in.

“But if I distract her, you can slip them in her little pile and she’ll be none the wiser!” Tim gives him a cheeky grin. It’s...not a bad plan, but Jon’s hesitant at the thought of pulling one over on his boss’s secretary.

“Or I could just wait until she goes to the bathroom and do it then.” Tim’s face falls at the suggestion.

“Or I could distract her.”

Ah. So that’s what this is about. They haven’t been on an investigation in weeks, and he always gets restless when they’re cooped up in the institute. And a bored Tim is a dangerous Tim.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun! This way we can control the scenario, make sure you have enough time to get in and out.”

Jon raises an eyebrow. “And what if she sees through your antics?”

Tim gives a dramatic gasp, rearing back in his seat and just barely missing a passing librarian. “Are you doubting my acting skills? I’ll have you know you aren’t the only theater kid in this place. And I didn’t want to bring it up, but...you owe me.”

Jon’s heart drops. Of course. Jon can’t coast along on his boyfriend’s paychecks, that’s asking too much. It’s his fault he’s in this predicament, and honestly, he should be thanking Tim for even offering.

“For bailing on that stakeout.”

Jon pauses, and promptly dismisses his guilt. “I was sick! From a cold you gave me, might I add-”

“Technicalities.” Tim waves a dismissive hand. “C’mon. Do me a favor. Let your boyfriend save the day. Please?” He does his best impression of a kicked puppy, and Jon’s almost afraid he’ll go down on his knees to complete the look.

“Fine,” he sighs, ignoring the answering cheer. “If you must. But how are you going to-”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” Tim winks, jumping up from his seat and throwing his bag over his shoulder. “Leave it to me. Finish those up, and I’ll be back before you know it.” He’s already halfway through the door before Jon can say thank you, and only pauses to call back “Have Sasha check for typos! Love you!”

Jon scowls at the snickers that follow this statement, and turns back to his screen. The numbers blurred together, and he’s pretty sure he’s subtracted when he should’ve added. It’s a wonder he ever gets these done at all.

“Sasha? Can you look at this for me?”

_________

Tim promptly comes back with coffee (which Jon knows he hates) and cronuts, dropping one off at Jon’s desk. “She won’t be able to resist,” he promises with a peck to Jon’s cheek. “When you see us in the hallway, that’s your cue!”

In spite of himself, he starts to feel a little excited. Tim’s exuberance is contagious, and while not as thrilling as an investigation, Jon’s not above a bit of petty revenge. Not even revenge, really, more justice for the pain and suffering of his bank account. And not ten minutes later, Tim and Rosie are chatting amicably as they walk past the library, cronuts in hand. He feels the slightest bit of envy at how easily Tim can make friends, but tamps it down as he tiptoes up the stairs and over to Rosie’s desk. Elias’s door is thankfully closed.

And her desk is...empty. Immaculate. Nothing but a tiny notepad and her usual knickknacks, not a paper in sight. Fuck. Had she already given them to Elias? Is Jon too late? Did Tim waste money on coffee and cronuts for nothing? Calm down, he tells himself, willing his heart to slow. Just...have a look around.

He tries not to feel too guilty as he rummages through her mail trays and under her place mat. There’s nothing too personal, though he averts his eyes at a list entitled New Year, New Intentions. It’s when he finally turns to the drawers that he sees it- the corner of a file folder, sticking out of the bottom drawer. Please be it, please be it. He tugs it out, wincing at the small tear it causes and aha! He’s found it. A pile of neatly clipped expense reports is nestled inside, and all he needs to do is stick his in the middle where she can’t see and he’ll be fine-

“Jon?”

The voice startles him so badly he lets out a little yelp, the folder flying from his hands and papers littering the floor around him. He puts a hand on his chest to calm his racing heart and turns around to find Elias, who’s just caught him snooping through his secretary’s desk like a little thief. Jon didn’t even hear the door open. Oh god. I’m fucked. I’m fired.

“I-um, h-hello! Elias.” He gives an awkward little wave and immediately curses himself for doing it. It’s like he’s suddenly forgotten what normal people do with their hands. “I was just...looking for a pen. T-To write Rosie. A note.”

“A note.” Elias raises one eyebrow, and it’s clear he doesn’t believe a word coming out of Jon’s mouth. To be fair, Jon wouldn’t either. When put on the spot, Jon can’t lie to save his life. “And this file…?” He bends down to pick up the folder clearly marked ‘Expenses’ in bold, black print. Jon winces.

“It...fell out?”

“Oh, Jon.” Elias tuts, and Jon refrains from full body flinching. He has a particular hatred of being scolded, and especially by Elias, of all people. The man he’s desperate to impress, who holds his job in his hands. “There’s no need for the ruse. Deadlines aren’t exactly your strong suit, are they?”

“No,” he mumbles, the words barely audible as he struggles to meet Elias’s eyes. He loves having his flaws pointed out to him. Loves it. “I’m sorry.”

“However, you do fine work.” Jon blinks and there it is- a rare, indulgent smile. It’s incongruous with those strange, cold eyes, but it makes Jon feel better all the same. “You’re one of our best researchers. But if you want to move up in the world, timeliness is of the utmost importance, yes?”

“Y-Yes,” Jon stammers, nodding his head up and down like a puppet. Move up in the world? Jon’s never considered himself ‘promotion material,’ but the thought that Elias thinks it possible fills him with excitement. You do fine work, he said. Fine work! “I’ll do my best.”

“Of course.” Elias offers the folder to Jon’s trembling hands, and gives him a conspiratorial smile. “This, however, can be our little secret, hm? I believe I saw Rosie and Mr. Stoker in the break room, but I think they’ll be back any minute. Best to tidy up before she notices.”

Jon can’t help the beam that spreads across his face. “T-Thank you, Elias. Really. It won’t happen again-”

“I know it won’t.” Elias gives him a brisk nod, suddenly all business, and turns back to his office, shutting the door briskly behind him without another word. Jon takes that as his cue to scurry across the floor, grabbing up the papers as frantically as possible while taking care not to crumple them further. It takes him a few moments, but he manages to get them in order and tucks his own into the pile. He places it carefully in the drawer he found it in, corner sticking out just as before. No Rosie in sight. Thank god.

With that, he bolted. Best not to be spotted anywhere near the scene of the crime.

______

“Did it work?” Tim rushes into the library, talking entirely too loudly and plopping down on Jon’s desk, sending pens flying. Jon chooses to ignore this. “I brought Rosie her favorites, gave up my choicest gossip to get her out of that seat. Told her if Elias overheard he’d go mental.” Tim pauses to consider this. “Actually, that might’ve been true. It involves a copier and a certain someone-”

“It worked,” Jon quickly cuts him off. He doesn’t need any more info on whatever...that was. “Thank you. But Elias caught me.” Tim looks at him incredulously, as if surprised he survived the encounter. “And he was...okay with it? I mean, he told me it couldn't happen again, but he said ’it’s our little secret.”

Tim blanches at the words. “What?”

“He also said I did fine work,” Jon admits shyly. “I didn’t know he paid attention to me, but-”

“Hang on, ‘our little secret’? Fine work!?” Tim shrieks and Jon hurriedly shushes him, looking anxiously around the library. No one pays attention, used to their antics by now. “What’s that supposed to be, a euphemism?”

“A euphemism? What on earth could that be a euphemism for?”

“I don’t know!” Tim waves a hand around dramatically, and he actually looks a bit put out. Is he...jealous? Jon can’t help the small smirk and Tim notices it right away. “Don’t give me that! I don’t like the way he looks at you. Sasha’s noticed too. It’s downright creepy.”

“The grey is a bit disconcerting, I’ll give you that.”

“It doesn’t match his face! Weird, right?”

“Anyway,” Jon says, eager to cut off yet another tangent. “Your plan worked.”

“Not really.” Tim pouts, kicking his feet out like a toddler and turning away with his arms crossed. Only Tim can manage to make the petulant look work on a twenty-eight year old man.

“Yes, really!” Tim doesn’t turn around and Jon internally rolls his eyes, albeit fondly. “Look, I’ll get my check next Friday with everyone else. And then I’ll take you out to dinner. How does that sound?”

That did it. Tim tilts his head towards him, gives him a playful smile. “Gonna romance me, Sims? Pull out all the stops?”

Jon returns it. “All the second-rate sushi you want.”

“You’re a prince among men.” Tim hops off his desk and gives his forehead a kiss. Jon’s partial to those kisses and he can feel himself melting at the touch, even as his smile turns wicked.

“I could ask Elias if he’s free as well-”

He doesn’t manage to dodge the pen that flies his way, but he doesn’t mind. Jealousy’s not a bad look on Tim.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30103509

#my writing #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tim stoker #jontim #jontimweek #precanon #established relationship #is this ridiculous and dumb? sure #do i care? no!#we need some low stakes alright #this podcast stresses me out enough #no warnings here i believe

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