rodrikstark's headcanons (part 4)

j. jensen + grumpiness

"alohomora!" you wave your soldering iron, laughing.

jake glares. meanwhile, you melt a bead of metal into the fractured temple of his glasses, which are clamped securely to the edge of the sturdiest desk you could find. "not even close."

"okay, nerd. what's the spell, then?" with suspended breath, you carefully reattach the broken piece.

"oculus—" he pokes absentmindedly at the reel of your soldering wire. "whatever. never mind."

once satisifed, you wave air over the repair to cool it. "i don't know why you thought you could beat cougar." you dig out a strip of sandpaper with your other hand.

"i didn't think he'd kick it that hard." jake frowns. "or aim for my face."

the current mission—your third one since signing on with jake's team a few months ago—is a dud. most nights, out of boredom, you and aisha walked into the city to shop and eat. other nights, you kicked jake awake each time he nodded off, monitoring the painfully uneventful comms.

so, once you noticed the old, netless soccer goal in the backyard of your temporary safehouse, you bought a shitty little ball, and cougar immediately proposed a friendly competition.

you're just glad the lens didn't break; you wouldn't know how to fix that. "he didn't aim for your face, he's a marksman. you're just a terrible goalkeeper."

he scoffs.

"how's that face, by the way?" you ask, some genuine concern bleeding through the question. "you need a new ice pack?"

he lowers the plastic bag. "i think the swelling's going down."

definitely better than it was an hour ago. "still as cute as ever." with your fingertips, you check the glasses for any leftover residue or roughness. "but, the pièce de résistance..." you motion your grumpy boyfriend to lean down, fixing the bridge over his nose. "there's my jake."

he flushes under your attention. "thanks."

jake makes final adjustments to his glasses while you replace the tools inside your kit. now that he can finally see you properly, you have to politely ignore his hands grabbing at your hips and encouraging you to stand.

"i bet your niece could've blocked that ball," you muse, spinning in face him. his exasperated look makes you giggle. "kidding!"

"you're such a dick."

you hum thoughtfully at his comment, a single finger at his sternum coaxing him to claim your chair. "i think you need some cheering up, jakey."

his back straightens, his throat working. "yeah?"

you kneel at his feet, crossing your arms over his knees and tilting your head toward the laptop on your bed. "how does a harry potter marathon sound?"

he wrestles you onto his lap, a yelp leaping from your mouth. "so fucking annoying."

his glasses have fallen a bit. you nudge them up with your nose and finally earn that smile you wanted from him.