#b99 fics

If you have a fav fic or your own fic you want drawn comment or dm or suggest them🗿

If you have a fav fic or your own fic you want drawn comment or dm or suggest them🗿

She is by his side in an instant.

“Are you OK?” She squeaks, her eyes all wide and freaked out.

“Not really,” he groans. “Can you get these—.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” She lifts them off him before he can even finish his sentence, shoving the boxes to one side. She doesn’t even touch the evidence scattered all over the floor. Amy Santiago, the woman who’d once told him of a wild Saturday night organizing her sock drawer by thickness, then by color, ignores the mess, her eyes trained on him instead. And now he thinks about it, she looks kind of queasy. “Your shoulder,” she whispers, pointing to his left side.

He glances down at it and suddenly feels rather queasy himself.

“The bad news is that it’s definitely dislocated,” she says. “The good news is that basically all my brothers have done it before. You’ll be fine, even if it does mean another trip to the ER.”

“Oh, you mean my second home?”

“Why of course sir,” she plays along, putting on her fanciest voice. Then, normally, “hey, having a second home in Brooklyn must mean you’re rich rich, you Breaking Bad on the side, Peralta?” She nudges him teasingly.

“OW OW OW,” he screams out in pain.

“Sorry,” she winces, immediately dropping the act. “My bad.”

“No, my bad,” he sighs. “What was I thinking, climbing up there? I was supposed to be taking it easy.”

“The only time you have ever taken it easy is when you’re filling out paperwork or cleaning your apartment,” she reminds him. “It’s just not the Jake way.”

“Maybe it should be the Jake way.” His shoulder really is throbbing. And the back of his head kinda hurts, too. And his cracked ribs aren’t feeling too hot either.

Speaking of, where did he put those new painkillers?

Oh.

“Hey, Ames,” he says sheepishly, “I think I left my prescription in my car.”

“I’ll be back in five,” she replies without him having to ask. “Don’t move.”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on it,” he mutters. With every slight movement sending shooting pains through his body, he’s never felt less like moving in his life.

She returns three and a half minutes later, relief flooding through him at the sight of her.

“Speedy,” he says, slowly sitting up and popping the painkillers into his mouth, chugging them down with a cold mug of coffee she must’ve found at his desk.

“TITLE OF YOUR SEXTAPE,” she yells so loud, he might be deaf now, too.

He just rolls his eyes, deserving every sex tape joke that comes his way. Title of his sex tape?

“These are strong,” she says absentmindedly, holding up the little jar of pills.

“Yeah, well, I got hit by a car,” he deadpans.

“You’re gonna use that line forever, aren’t you?” She rolls her eyes back at him. “You’re not the only one to get hit by a car, y’know.”

“Um, what?”

“I said, you’re not the only one to get hit by a car.”

“I heard what you-.” He shakes his head. Doesn’t matter. “You got hit by a car?”

“Not recently.”

“Seriously, Ames? You were in a car accident?” His voice is near fever pitch. “Why didn’t I know about this?”

“Because it wasn’t a big deal,” she shrugs. “Plus, it was when you were undercover.”

He furrows his brow, piecing together the scraps of information he’s heard about when he was away, mostly from the slideshow Charles had produced for him. The slideshow. Of course. Now he thinks about it, there was definitely a photo of Amy in crutches.

“Charles told me you slipped on a sidewalk! Something about a late thaw, whatever that means. Doesn’t matter,” he points an accusing finger at her, ignoring the way it makes his shoulder throb, “the point is you made my best friend lie to me!”

“He didn’t want to worry you,” she says defensively. “Because of your obvious romantic feelings for me, or whatever.” Her voice trails off. She blushes — hard.

Jake feels his own cheeks redden in response. Because no matter how many times he tries to deny it, no matter how many phone numbers he wins in dumbass workplace competitions, or how many beautiful defense lawyers he dates, it’s still her he thinks about. He clears his throat, changing the subject. “So, tell me the truth, you go to the ER?”

“Eventually,” she replies, avoiding eye contact.

“Eventually?” He narrows his eyes. “The hell does that mean?”

She sighs. “You have to promise me you won’t get mad. It’s in the past.”

“Amy, come on. Just tell me.”

“Teddy. I called him, because we were still dating at the time. Obviously.”

He nods sagely, fighting back the familiar pang of jealousy that returns at the mere mention of her ex.

“Well, on the way to the hospital he stopped and met some of his friends for a beer.”

“He stopped on the way to the hospital,” Jake says slowly. “For a beer.”

“For a Pilsner, yes.”

“He kills for the pills,” they say in unison.

“Yeah, well,” she clears her throat, “that’s part of the reason we broke up.”

“Teddy sucks, dude,” he says simply.

“Does this make you feel superior?”

“Kinda,” he puffs out his chest, immediately regretting it. Clutching his shoulder, he stares at her earnestly. “You know, if you were in an accident I wouldn’t stop for a beer. Wouldn’t even stop for a red light. And I wouldn’t have to! Pop that siren right on!”

She laughs, tucking her hair behind both ears. “I wouldn’t stop at red lights either.”

He gasps dramatically. “Amy Santiago, Miss Never Had a Traffic Citation In Her Life, would drive through a red light for me?”

“Shut up,” she groans, holding out a hand for him anyway.

He takes it, gingerly pulling himself up. “Thanks Ames,” he says once he’s back on two feet.

She nods, then turns around to leave.

“No, really,” he grabs her hand back and spins her so she’s facing him, “thanks for not laughing at me back there, and helping me out, and, you know, for the thing you said about the red lights. You’re a really great partner.”

He hikes the duffle bag higher on his shoulders and lazily fumbles with his keys to his apartment. Apparently, the curses of Doug and Trudy Judy had enough power to ensure that Jake did have an awful flight. They didn’t even have his favorite plane pretzel brand. His eyes feel heavier than usual thanks to the zero sleep he got, and the disappointment of possibly losing Doug Judy’s trust forever. 

After unlocking the door, he pushes it open with his foot, the door letting out a strained creak. The duffle bag drops to the floor with a thunk as he kicks the door closed. Right now, he just wants to lay in his bed and sleep. No, take a shower and then sleep. No, brush his teeth, then take a shower, the-

“Oh. My. God.” Jake whips his head to the source of the noise to see his wife on the couch. She must have been waiting for him to return, a blanket is hanging off her shoulders and the TV is playing reruns of Jeopardy. But he frowns at the look on her face; mouth dropped open and her eyes full of mirth. He’s missing something for sure. “What are you wearing?”

Oh. One look down at himself confirms he’s still wearing the bachelor party outfit. The one that screams Miami and possibly not appropriate for him to wear in the first place. Amy raises her eyebrows in expectation and he can tell it’s taking everything in her not to completely lose her shit. 

“Oh. It’s, uh, Doug Judy made me wear it for his party,” he says, pulling at the hem. 

“In Miami?”

“Yes.”

“Of course.” She releases a choked laugh and covers her mouth with both her hands. Her voice is cracked and an octave higher since it’s laced in laughter. “You look like my Tio Jorge.”

“What? No! Not Tio Twink!”

“Stop calling him Tio Twink,” she says, finally letting out the cackle she’s been keeping in. Head thrown back and hands clutching her belly (in which he remembers that their child is in there). “Wait, wait don’t move. I gotta-”

She scrambles her hands on the couch and blanket until she pulls out her phone, fumbling to open the camera feature between giggles. Despite this being a very embarrassing moment, especially after the day he just had, he would do anything to continue seeing that delighted smile, her flushed cheeks, and hear those giggles. So when she points the phone in his direction, he just smiles and holds his hands out to display the outfit.

“I’m totally sending these to my brothers later,” she says. He’ll even endure teasing from her brothers too if it makes her happy.

“Oh wait! I just remembered!” he says and runs over to his duffle bag. He takes out the rumpled hat he shoved in there at the airport and smooths it out. 

“Oh no, there’s a hat!” He places it on his head and she takes pictures of him in rapid fire. 

“Yup, there’s a hat.” He strikes several poses, all ridiculous and way too big to be effective. 

“Ay, que guapo,” she teases. 

“I bet this is making you super horny right now, isn’t it babe.” She tosses her phone on the couch cushion next to her, stands up from her place on the couch, and walks over to where he stands. She places her hands on his chest and he feels like such a teenager for the way her touch almost takes his breath away. She unbuttons the top two buttons and opens it up so the skin of his chest is on display. 

“There, now it’s making me super horny,” she says in a low voice and with suggesting eyes, but it disappears almost as quickly as it came. “You look like the Cuban husband my mom always wanted for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, your mom hates me,” he says, but there’s no real hurt in his words. Amy smacks his chest and leans up to give him a slow kiss. 

“C’mon Andy Garcia, it’s ud o’clock.”

“You see, I knew I looked like Andy Garcia.”

“I was being generous.”

It was in part three of Amy’s family planning binders (of which there were three thick binders). Part one and two of the first binder were pretty simple, finding a good OB, researching preschools and getting onto said preschool waiting lists. This part was probably the most expensive part of their list, apart from actually having a baby and paying for everything that baby needs for the first eighteen years of their life. 

Trading in his old, crappy car to get a new, shiny, and hopefully, cool family safe car was a big deal. This was all a big deal — they were making a baby. Jake wishes he could take the DeLorean for a spin just to let young Jake know to get ready for the wild ride he would be in for once he joined the ninety-ninth precinct. 

Are DeLorean’s kid friendly? Probably not.

A quick google search proves his hunch to be correct, but god, that would have been awesome. He wishes he could say he’ll miss this car, but trading it in for a car with actual windows that weren’t shower curtains (because he was still too lazy to get it fixed) will be nice. They had done far too much research into a good car for Jake to be upset about something new and fresh.

Jake briefly wonders what it’ll be like when their kid is born — Boyle hadn’t failed to tell him something great about having kids everyday since he found out they were trying — so now Jake knew all about how good newborn babies smelt. It was weird, but he definitely wanted to compare the new car smell with the newborn baby smell when he could.

He was really turning into Boyle with how excited he was about it all. Amy hadn’t pointed it out since that day in the elevator, but now he could really hear how cringy saying mischief managed was after sex.

Jake wasn’t going to miss the window that wouldn’t roll up properly, or the weird smell coming from his trunk no matter how many times he cleaned it. There were many memories connected to this beaten down car, mostly tied to Amy — but just like proposing to Amy, and deciding to start their family together — there was no doubt in his mind that it was time to give up this car. 

If he still had his mustang, it would be a whole different story. Not that Jake wouldn’t give anything up for Amy and their family in a heartbeat; if he still had the mustang today, the goodbye would be way more bittersweet. Jake already had his cry about it when he sold it so he could payback Terry years earlier, but just remembering the car that changed his life brought a tear to his eye. 

It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that his second day on the job, the day he pushed that perp against his car, had changed his life. Eleven blocks he ran after the guy, and he remembers the feeling of pride encasing him all while the guy called him a pig and told him to rot in hell. Jake doesn’t think he could pull off an eleven block chase today, as much as he hated to admit it, he was entering the older side of adulthood. It makes him shudder to think that he would soon be entering the middle aged man phase. 

It was definitely one of the best days of his life, despite it triggering his crushing debt for years to come which he had barely just recovered from. So yeah, that car changed his entire life — it was essentially where he fell in love with Amy. 

He was hardly speaking metaphorically. Their first date, even if it was only for a bet, was in that car. Jake had his first real conversations with Amy that night, and he had the time of his life. Nothing happened between them for a long time after that, and by the time he told Amy that he loved her for the first time, his mustang was long gone. But it still held that special place in his heart for the beginnings of his relationship with the woman who was now his wife and now the future mother of their children. 

This was a story he couldn’t wait to tell their kids about. Jake was really going to be that dad who told their children stories about their parents relationship just because he was so in love with Amy. He thought books were overrated compared to the stories he could tell about him and Amy — his stories would well and truly trump any story about a dumb turtle and bunny race. Alas, Amy was his amazing Amy, and had already started adding children’s books to their Amazon wish list because they would 100% be giant book nerds. 

The anticipatory anxiety intensifies as they pull up to the car dealership. Amy seems just as nervously excited as he is, but Jake suspects that she’s mostly thrilled to get rid of the piece of junk he calls a car. They aren’t getting much for the car, only a small fraction of the price would be cut off whatever new car they choose. Savings were savings, so they wouldn’t say no. 

He’s not particularly emotional when he does say goodbye to the car — most of his feelings in the moment were related to picking a new car for their family. Not to mention the swell of emotions that came every time he thought of them having a real baby.

Even if Jake could really go to the past to tell past-Jake all about his future, he knows his past self wouldn’t believe him. Being at a place in his life where he was confident to become a father, and with Amy of all people, is something he never thought he would achieve. Not long ago he had felt the same, that he was too damaged from his own experience with his unreliable father to be a good dad himself. Everyday since they had decided to start trying, Jake was doing everything in his ability to prove that he wasn’t going to be like his father, Jake would be better than that. He was still afraid now, at the idea of becoming a father. But with Amy by his side and his epic skills handling Pam and the bomb — it was now a fear he can tackle head on and know he’d be okay in the end. 

Amy made sure to not let go of his hand the entire time at the car dealership, pointing out every back seat to remind him that’s where their baby would sit. As if Jake could forget, he could imagine it clear as day. 

The medium sized champagne coloured sedan isn’t what he expected. They’d done their research on safety features and what-not, but he really hadn’t imagined what the car would look like. The test drive goes perfectly — even there, Amy’s hand is still present on his knee and squeezing whenever she felt overwhelmed by it all. Jake could definitely relate, but he had to stick to squeezing the car wheel. 

The colour and make of the car did make him feel a bit older than he really wanted to feel, but Amy was so set on it by the time they got back to the dealership so he knew it was a done deal. It had all their preferences when it came to safety features while still including heated car seats which, Amy had insisted to the saleswoman, was a necessity. The lady had been confused when Jake agreed with a hearty nod; there was probably no woman in the world more passionate about keeping her bottom warm during the winter than Amy Santiago. 

Jake would get used to the lameness the car radiated, because soon enough, the baby inside it would make it much cooler. Besides, the more he thought about it, it was really rebellious car being the colour of an alcohol. This car was cool. 

It seems wherever she is (somewhere in the back of the precinct in this very floor, he’s pretty sure, like either the evidence lockup or the bathroom or something) she’s at least partially aware of the effect her anxiety is having on Jake - he can feel her familiar attempts at tamping it all down, probably the result of her doing a breathing exercise he’s coached her through in the past. It works, if only a little; he can feel his own head clearing, his racing thoughts slowing, until the blurriness to his vision sharpens and he can hear himself breathe over the blood pounding in his ears.

He’s not even fully aware of his own thankfulness until he feels Amy’s bewilderment - and of course she’s bewildered, why wouldn’t she be bewildered at his thankfulness invading her mind like alien baby chest-bursters.

His newly-cleared vision lands on a slightly crumpled post-it taped to the bottom of his computer monitor - get a grip tonto, it tells him in Rosa’s scrawl - and he inhales deeply through his nose, letting the words reverberate around his skull. Get a grip, get a grip, get a grip.

It’s probably more of a reflection on him than it is on her that, despite his somewhat-diminished sense of world-ending panic, he can’t quite get the unevolved caveman part of his brain to stop replaying their first kiss. It’s not his fault - Amy Santiago is a good kisser, even under all the duress and pressure of an undercover mission seconds away from going sideways. She’s a good kisser when she’s sporting a gruesome black eye, a good kisser when she’s out of breath, a good kisser when she’s falling, a good kisser at the bottom of one of the nastiest dumpsters Jake’s ever had the misfortune of smelling in his life. Even if nothing else ever happens and he spends the rest of his life replaying this one memory on a loop, he’ll get it tattooed to his forehead:

Amy Santiago is a good, good kisser.

But, the fact still remains: he never asked for this.

He definitely hoped for this, but he never asked for it.

He kind of asked for it.

It’s not his fault.

It was a natural reaction - anyone who was in his place would have done the same thing, dammit! She’s his partner and she was in danger - and, okay, maybe the only reason he knew that in the moment was because he felt her sudden spike of shock and fear more than he heard knuckles connecting with flesh and her responding gasp of pain in the room he’d just crept out of. But the fact still stands - he would have gone and thrown that jerk off of any of his fellow detectives.

He would have gotten just as much savage, feral pleasure at punching that perp’s lights out. He would have yanked any of his fellow detectives into a bone-crushing hug. Just as Amy would have pulled any of the other detectives into a panic undercover kiss upon hearing their other perps coming back toward them at the commotion.

Right.

Amy Santiago is a good kisser, even when she’s unwittingly establishing their soulmate connection and feeling every last ounce of his emotion flood her nervous system for the very first time.

(He tries not to think about the fact that she’d gasped into his mouth or that she’d gone stiff as a board in his arms for all of one-second - tries to chalk it up to the sound of their perps storming in somewhere behind them and wolf-whistling at their display, too distracted by them to notice their companion out cold on the floor at their feet.)

And he really tries not to think about his stupid, fumbling attempts at leading them out the back door into the alley behind the warehouse before the perps caught on - about how he’d misjudged the distance, sending them both toppling over the edge of the loading dock and straight into the open dumpster below.

(And the weight of her settling over them even as they’d both grunted on impact - how she’d pulled back for a second, eyes blown wide, before leaning back in - how he’s still not sure if the desperation he’d seen in her eyes was case-related or them-related.)

It was messy, and stupid, and so completely and utterly them - and the fact that they managed to make all of their arrests gives him hope that someday, they might be able to laugh about this.

Of course, the fact that she did not speak one word directly to him and studiously avoided his gaze the whole way back to the precinct gives him severe anxiety.

It’s two-o’clock in the morning and his connection to Amy is a living, breathing entity - what was a soothing glimmer as delicate as spider’s silk glows bright an overwhelming now, rearing up and glittering like ocean waves beneath a setting sun. She’s everywhere, she’s everything, and he’s certain now that he won’t be able to live without her, and maybe that’s not the best thing to be thinking at two o’clock in the morning when he smells like a dumpster and there are half-finished arrest reports strewn about his desk, but it doesn’t matter.

Because the hailstorm of emotions originating from Amy suddenly taper off into a quiet and firm kind of resolution - and Jake’s stomach bottoms out at the feeling. He can’t tell around his own stupid anxiety if she’s happy or sad or angry or anything other than calm - it’s the exact opposite of the way he feels, only more so when his phone buzzes with a new text.

Will you please meet me in the evidence lockup?

She doesn’t have to ask if he’s still at the precinct, he notes with a certain amount of trepidation as he pockets his phone and slowly stands from his desk. She’s only felt his emotions for a matter of hours, now, and already she can read them well enough to deduce that he’s been paralyzed at his desk since they got back.

It would be comforting, if he wasn’t so freaked out.

She’s tucked toward the back of the evidence lockup when he slowly edges inside, leaned back against the shelves, arms crossed loosely over her chest. She straightens a little when the door squeaks on its hinges; he winces, both at the sound and at the fact that her face is entirely unreadable. She’s pulled her hair up into a low, loose bun in the time that has passed since he last saw her - a move he recognizes from her previous panic attacks, a half-conscious effort to allow cool air to touch the back of her neck. He forces himself to keep moving toward her for as long as he can stand it - all in, he stops about five feet short from where she’s standing, hands jammed so deep in his pockets he’s at risk of ripping holes through the seams.

Amy stares at him for a long moment, the only sound in the room the quiet mechanical whir of the precinct’s computer servers against the wall to his left. He tries to hold her gaze, really - it proves to be too much, the way the blinking server lights reflect off the molten brown chocolate of her irises, seconds away from piercing the very foundation of his soul. He focuses instead of her hands - on the way her fingers twist around her grandmother’s ring, knotting together in a way that reminds him of the knots in his own stomach. He inhales through his nose, holds it for a beat, and slowly releases it through barely-parted lips.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice is soft, curious; not an ounce of accusation colors her words. His heart leaps unbidden at the sound of her voice and her eyes practically double in circumference. “Jake, I…” she trails, her fingers pressing briefly over her heart. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He rocks back on his heels, fighting his flight instinct urging him to shrug. “I don’t, um…I just, I didn’t want you to, y’know, feel…obligated.”

Her swell of affection is undeniable; he peers up at her through his lashes to find her gaze soft and a little bit sad.

Boldness sweeps through him.

“I mean, you were right about all of this - the choice part of it, I mean. I knew you were my soulmate the day I met you, but -”

He’s nearly knocked breathless at the sudden punch of disbelief from Amy. “Eight years?” she whispers, and he bites the inside of his cheek. “You’ve known for eight years?”

“Uh-huh,” he curls his fingers inside his pockets, twisting the fabric of his jacket between his nails. “I mean, it was rough at first - we weren’t exactly best friends, remember? And I thought I was wrong for a while, too, but I - I wasn’t. And, I dunno, I was starting to come around to the idea of telling you about it when -”

He stops, drops his chin, stares at the fraying seams of his sneakers. “When, what?” Amy prompts him after a moment.

“You were right that morning in the break room,” he says quietly. “When you were talking about, uh, the nature of free will. I didn’t realize how important it was to me until after we talked, but -”

“The morning my brother found his soulmate,” she interrupts suddenly, understanding washing through her. “Oh, Jake,” she says softly, “I was such an ass about it -”

“No, you were right,” he insists. “I had never really thought about it that way. It made me rethink a lot of things, actually. I realized I had been planning my whole life around - well, around you. But I didn’t even know you. It’s like you said, some cosmic force just decided that that’s how things were gonna be for me, and I never questioned it. But after we talked that morning, I realized that I wanted to want this. I wanted to want you. Not because someone else said I should, but because I chose to. And I - I wanted you to, uh, choose me. So…” he sucks in a deep breath, and Amy’s chin ticks up a degree. “You don’t have any obligation to me, Ames.” he says, pleasantly surprised to find his voice unwavering. “If this isn’t what you want, I…I get it. Really.” He tries to ignore the sharp ache in his chest as the words leave his lips, but based on the way her face crumbles he’s certain he’s done a terrible job. “Okay, eventually. I’ll get it eventually.” A half-smile quirks the corner of her mouth upward, and he feels himself steadying. “But if…if this is something you want…I’m yours. I want you. I choose you.”

It’s strange - up until now, he thought he’d felt every single one of Amy Santiago’s emotions. This one - this swelling, morphing mass of something - is entirely new to him, though. It’s bubbling up and folding in on itself, growing faster than he can comprehend, intensifying tenfold with each slow, tentative step Amy takes closer to him, and now her molten gaze has him pinned in place all the moisture in his mouth evaporating in an instant -

Her hands are warm and steady where they brush against his jaw and curl around the back of his neck, firm when they tug him down two inches, soft where they gently skate up into his hair. Her lips are pliant against his, coaxing and inviting, moving with him in perfect synchronization.

Amy Santiago is an excellent kisser.

But above everything else, Jake feels radiant acceptance swelling like a warm hug around his tripping heart. She wants him, too, it’s in her hands and her lips and her steady, steady heartbeat. He all but melts against her, releasing an involuntary hum as the tension leaks from his joints and his hands slide up the gentle slope of her spine. She lets out a little hum of her own when his fingers spread and flex over the space between her shoulder blades, and he tucks the sound away, fully intent on figuring out exactly how to make her do it again.

She pulls away first, pressing a hand to the side of his face when he momentarily strains to follow, and for a long moment they stand foreheads flush together, trying to catch their breaths. Her left arm flexes where it’s wrapped around his neck and he slowly curls his fingers around the curve of her waist, smiling at her quiet, breathless laugh.

“You really meant that, didn’t you?” she whispers.

He swallows thickly, reveling in the warmth of her skin seeping through his shirt, ignoring the now-distant ache in his chest at the thought of her not wanting this. “Yeah,” he breathes, and it’s the strangest thing - it’s like his conviction is echoing back to him.

She pulls away to look him in the eye, though her grip around his neck never falters; he bites back a smile at the feeling of her fingers curling into the material of his hoodie. “This is - it’s - a lot,” she mumbles, eyes briefly squeezing shut. “Like, a lot to process - is it usually this intense?”

“Never,” he says quickly. “I mean, like, sometimes if emotions were running high - like if you were really pissed off about something, or, like, having a panic attack - but that was before you could - I mean, that was when it was just me. I don’t - I don’t really know what happens now.”

She nods slowly, eyes darting down to his lips for the barest second before meeting his gaze again. “I…really want to find out,” she whispers.

It takes all of one nanosecond before the joy comes blazing in - a tsunami of it, all-encompassing and all-consuming. He yanks her back to him sharply, her responding laughter little more than a muffled buzz against his lips and a pleasant simmer in his belly. Fear and dread and panic are nothing more than distant memories now, and through it all Jake finds himself wondering why on earth he didn’t do this sooner.

“Jake -” he cuts her off with another kiss, earning yet another muffled laugh, pressing against her over and over again until he’s effectively smothering her. “Jake - Jake, let’s - Jake!”

He’s laughing when he pulls away, biting his lip, reaching up to touch the tendrils of hair fallen from her bun. “Sorry,” he mumbles, not sorry at all, “I’ve just been waiting for a really long time to do that -”

“I’m not saying we have to stop,” she says, “just - let’s go somewhere, anywhere else. I don’t even care where, just - together.”

“I smell like a dumpster, so -”

“Me too.”

“- shower? And then somewhere? I can pick you up at your apartment -”

“Or we could just…both go somewhere that has a shower.”

There’s mischief in her eyes and excitement in her veins and he can’t tamp down the grin on his face if he tried. “I think I know a place,” he says pseudo-thoughtfully, and this time it’s Amy pressing her lips to his to smother his laughter.

“Let’s go together,” she says when she pulls away too soon. “We can come back for the other car tomorrow, but let’s go together.”

“Yeah,” he says, an absurd hitch in his voice. “Together.”

She steps back and the loss of her heat against him is jarring until her fingers lace through his and gently squeeze; her affection and adoration is an undeniable hearth in his heart glowing in her eyes. “Together,” she whispers, chin briefly touching his shoulder.

There’s an urge somewhere deep to tack something stupid like ‘forever’ on the end, but he ignores it in favor of a broad, blinding grin.