#and jo has an adorable kind of on the soft side smile?

[icallhimjoey]

i know he didnt win the poll, but coffeeshop!joe deserves a short little follow up because i miss him and i want to know how he's doing

GIRL the way i've held onto this request for weeks because i wanted to use this for @ghostinthebackofyourhead's birthday (which is TODAY surprise, pls go wish her a happy birthday, she's the loveliest) im sorry it took forever, but here you go! Wordcount: 1.6K

---

Sunshine Blend Blonde Roast

“I don’t want to... intrude, even though, you kind of make it really impossible not to,” you colleague said whilst finishing up two cappuccinos for a customer as he looked over the machine at Joe.

“Intrude, my guy. You have a free pass to intrude whenever,” you quipped and threw him a plastic lid when you saw him reach for one.

“What did you do?” he said it soft enough for Joe not to hear, but loud enough for you to hear over the music just fine.

You grinned as you wiped down the counters.

“I did absolutely nothing,”

“Then why has he been sat there, glaring at you for... what's it been? Must have nearly been an hour now...”

From behind the coffee machine, the two of you just openly looked at Joe who didn’t shy away from staring right back at you, frowning deeply still.

“Sometimes,” you started, and couldn’t help but laugh before you could finish that sentence. It was the infectious type of giggle. The cackle your co-worker couldn’t help but smile at, even though he had no idea what was so funny.

“Sometimes he gets really mad at me just because I’m just so stinkin' cute,”

You saw Joe narrow his eyes from where he was sat, looking at you over his coffee cup which you knew must have been either empty, or cold by now.

He'd clearly heard you.

“Is that the problem?” you asked, voice louder now. “Am I being too cute today?”

You knew it wasn’t why Joe had sat down at a table by himself, just to wait out your shift. Joe was annoyed that you’d even taken on a shift in the first place, because who the fuck decides to work on their birthday if they don’t have to?

Well. You did.

Because a colleague had asked the full groupchat if someone could cover for him tomorrow, because he’d forgotten he had tickets for a festival, and then no one had replied in over an hour. And, you know, you didn’t really have plans – not that you knew about anyway – so, why not help out a friend?

“Go party, my man, I’ve got you,” you’d texted back and then you’d neglected to tell Joe about it until the next day when you were about to leave to go to work.

Apparently, Joe did have plans for you.

Obviously.

It was your birthday, after all.

“I don’t think that’s the issue,” you colleague said when Joe’s facial expression didn’t falter.

“Oh man, I’m not?” It wasn’t busy in the coffee shop, but the people that were in were all most definitely trying to follow what was currently happening between the loud girl behind the counter and the grumpy man who kept eerily quiet for someone being spoken to like that.

You sucked in air through your teeth and shook your head.

“Dangerous game to play, not calling a girl cute on her birthday, I don’t know how that could ever end well...”

“It’s your birthday?” your colleague had no idea.

“Oh, you’re adorable!” Joe suddenly shouted across the shop, all sarcastic. It just made you grin wider and scrunch up your nose at him.

“Happy birthday!” your colleague said.

“Thank you.” You replied but kept your eye-contact with Joe which was turning more challenging by the second.

“You’re starting to freak out our other customers, though,”

You noticed someone to the side who kind of waited to walk through your line of sight from each other, not wanting to get stuck in the crossfire. A little like they were waiting for one of you to take pic of the other and they didn’t want to ruin the snapshot, which was hilarious.

“No, please," you gestured for them to walk. "Don’t worry about him. He’s all bark, no bite,” you kindly spoke to them as they let out a relieved chuckle before they made their way to the door. The comment made Joe roll his eyes.

The little break from looking at Joe gave your colleague the chance to place two dirty blenders into your hands for you to rinse, and just for a second you got back to work. Sang and moved a bit to the music you had playing, all pleased with yourself because you’d stocked everything up behind the counter, and then had wiped it all clean, so it all looked very nice and organised.

T'was very satisfying.

You fucking loved your job.

“Okay, now he’s starting to freak me out a little bit,”

“Joe, stop staring,” you called, not looking up from your task at hand, and you heard a soft snicker come from his direction.

“I think you’re right,” you then said to your colleague. “I don’t think my overall cuteness is the issue here,”

“I think,” you placed the now rinsed blenders back in their spot and turned back to give Joe a glance. “I think it’s got something to do with Joe not being allowed behind the counter and the fact that he owes me a lot of birthday kisses still,”

“You’ve gotten plenty birthday ki–” Joe called, sort of too loudly for your colleague to be comfortable with.

But you made it worse, because you cut him off with your voice raised even louder, saying “One for every year I’ve been alive, Joe! That’s how birthday kisses work!” You played being annoyed with him, knowing it was all games.

Joe loved being in the coffee shop whilst you worked. Gave him a chance to just sit back and watch you. Just, working. Being yourself. And he got to do all openly without having to pretend he wasn’t looking whenever you glanced over at him.

Instead, he’d just get to smile all dreamily at you, and then you’d smile back all confidently, or pull a silly face to make him laugh. Or, on exceptionally special days, you’d grow a bit shy from his consistent eyes on you, and Joe would make you blush. Those were his favourite days.

Also, Joe was allowed behind the counter. There just couldn’t be other customers in store, because if there were other customers, there was work, and Joe wasn’t meant to distract you from doing your actual job.

Your boss had come down hard on the two of you more than once, so you followed the rules. Behaved like the good boy and good girl you were, not wanting to be yelled at again by your superior.

It’s why you’d noticed that there was just one other person left now, and they had started putting their coat back on. It’s also why you’d noticed that Joe had noticed them too.

The door hadn’t even fallen fully shut before Joe shot up out of his seat and made his way around with fast footsteps and grabby hands. It made you squeal and want to hide in a panic from him as you laughed, but Joe’s hands found you quick as they took hold of you by the waist. And then, so did his mouth as it latched itself onto yours for a quality birthday kiss.

Full tongue.

Full giggles.

Full shenanigans.

Your colleague didn’t do shenanigans, and he had to push the two of you aside a little as he reached around to pick up everything he needed to go clean the tables people had just sat at.

“It’s her birthday, it’s her birthday,” the two of you could hear him whisper to himself which made you both smile into your kiss.

You loved your job, but your job with Joe in the shop? So much better.

Joe kissed you for a while, all soft and tender, and then broke the kiss to say, "Seven." before diving back in.

Then, not sooner after, Joe broke away again before he muttered, "Eight." and you couldn't help but let a belly laugh escape you, head thrown back and all. It gave Joe the chance to giggle into your neck for a moment.

"I don't think the first six ones really count, I don't remember them," you joked and you could hear your colleague scoff loudly from across the shop. He was so done with your shit.

Fortunately, Joe kind of loved your shit.

Joe leant in once more to kiss you all soft and sweet, and then said, "Three." before leaning back enough to take in your lovesick dopey grin, not unlike his own.

It was your birthday, and if you said those kisses didn't count, they didn't count.

The door of the shop opened and new customers walked in, promptly ending the cute romantic little moment you had going.

"You want another coffee?" you asked Joe before you were willing to let go of him completely.

Your colleague came around to help the people who'd just stepped inside, because he was collegiate like that.

"I'd love one," Joe said, leaning in for a last quick peck before half-jogging his way back around the counter into allowed territory. Customer territory.

"One large americano, coming up,"

"Actually," Joe stopped just before he was about to sit down in the same spot he always sat when he came to visit you at work. "Surprise me."

And if that didn't make it the best fucking birthday ever, you didn't what would.

It was your birthday and if you wanted to work on your birthday, you could. If you wanted to kiss Joe behind the counter for a bit, you could. And if you wanted to make Joe a ridiculously sweet wild colourful iced proper milkshake of a coffee, you absolutely could.

"Happy birthday to me," you smiled as you scooped ice into a blender, glancing up at Joe who had now sat down again, his chin resting on top his fist as he smiled at you all smugly. Look how happy he made you.

"Happy birthday to you, babe."

---

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @josephquinned @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @thefemininemystiquee @alana4610 @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellysimagines @mybffjoe @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @bdpst-massacre @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @munsonswhore86 @alwayslindie @breddiemunson @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-eddie @alizztor @jnnyrd @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsmunson @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @eddielives1986 @harringtonfan4 @sadbitchfangirl

(taglist currently full, sorry)

#Joe Quinn #Joseph Quinn #Joe Quinn x You #Joseph Quinn x You #Joe Quinn x Reader #Joseph Quinn x Reader #Joe Quinn Fanfic #Joe Quinn fanfiction #Joseph Quinn Fanfic #Joseph Quinn Fanfiction #rpf #icallhimjoey #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #request #sunshine blend dark roast #sunshine blend blonde roast

[dontcryshopgirl152]

Your Husband Jo

Josephine "Jo" March x Fem!Reader

Summary: For as long as you could remember, you’d had a crush on Jo March. You and Jo are both back home for the summer after getting engaged and married, respectively, and your midnight rendezvous will end with a different kind of union. (2.9K Words)

Notes: Hello! Apologies in advance for any inaccuracies, I'm a very casual fan of Little Woman but a very serious fan of actual women.

This is my first fic, and I hope you enjoy it! This is fun writing practice for me after a long hiatus from the craft, and just a fun way to be more chill with sexuality, so please don't take it super seriously. If you did like it, let me know, I'd love to make more writing friends!

Warnings: Sex! Fingering, scissoring. Some angst (given the whole engaged/married situation, but very light and not mentioned much).

For as long as you could remember, you’d had a crush on Jo March. She was the star you perpetually orbited around, no matter how long you’d been away or how many other dazzling women you met. There was something intoxicating about the way she held a pen, a fork, hell, even a handkerchief; she was so sure of herself. She let herself be clumsy and strong and ungraceful, and she did it all with such confidence.

Over the years, the two of you had become close friends, bonding over a shared love of theatre and long walks and hating the small town you were both stuck in. Living a few doors down didn’t hurt, either; sneaking out at night was easy in the warm summer months, and you had spent many clear nights down by the creek, laying elbow to elbow watching the night sky slowly spin past above you.

She would lay her head on your stomach sometimes when her neck hurt from being bent over her desk too long, and it took everything in you to keep your breathing normal when her cheek rested on the soft, thin cotton of your nightgown. Every once in a while, she would fall asleep there, her head drifting to the side, breath blowing gently up into the curve of your breasts, and your heart would flip in your chest.

Those girlhood summers came and went, and now you found yourself home for a new kind of summer. You had met your fiance while traveling to New York for a visit to your uncle, and he was a kind and gentle man, and soft-spoken, and he adored you. But you’d scarcely gotten to know him before your family deemed it a suitable match and sent you home to prepare, brushing up on all of your wifely duties.

It was on a trip to the post office to send a letter to your betrothed that you see her again. Stepping down from a carriage, blinking into the blinding Massachusetts sun, hand shielding her eyes. The woman’s skirt catches on the step of the carriage, and she has to turn and bend down to free it, revealing a flash of bare skin. You stop in your tracks; Jo never wears stockings, no matter how much her mother harps on her to be proper. She rights herself quickly and turns towards where you stand transfixed. She gasps a little and her face breaks into a wide grin.

“Y/N!” she shouts, dropping the small bag she has been clutching and running towards you at full speed. You drop your envelopes and meet her in a crashing hug. She lifts you easily and spins you around, laughing. When she sets you down, she leans back to meet your gaze.

“It’s been so long, I didn’t expect to see you home this summer. What are you doing here?”

You were just as surprised. Last you’d heard, Jo had married some German professor after moving to the city, and that was three years ago.

“I’m to brush up on house-wife duties before I…” you trail off. You don’t want to tell her you are engaged, it feels wrong for some reason.

Her smile falters a bit. “You are engaged to be married?” You nod.

“That’s marvelous, Y/N!” she grins again, but this time a little too wide, her voice going up a bit too high. “You must let me walk with you later so you can tell me all about it!”

You nod in agreement, then see a man approaching from behind where Jo stands. Tall and lanky, he reaches her silently and simply places a hand on her shoulder.

“Oh, Y/N, my deepest apologies, this is Friedrich Bhaer, my, uh, husband.”

He lifts up a hand to remove his hat, but his gaze never leaves Jo’s shoulder. He swiftly returns his hand to his jacket pocket and looks at Jo expectantly.

“We really must be off, but may I see you later? We can go to our old spot.” Jo meets your gaze again, something wild in her eyes, and you nod.

“Of course, Jo, that sounds wonderful.”

She clasps your hand tightly with her own, and then she is gone.

…

For reasons you can’t fully explain, you find yourself sneaking out when night falls, and your feet lead you to your and Jo’s old spot. Three quarters of a mile into the forest, there is an old, hollow fallen tree that lays beside a quieter stretch of the creek. It is here that you would abscond with old rags and candle stubs as girls, creating a little house in the shelter of the old fir. You would read poems and tidy the fallen branches that fell around the base of the tree, pretending to prepare for company, cook meals, and lounge by an imaginary fire. Now, you sit inside the empty shell and sigh. It’s a clear, warm night, and everything feels hazy and stretched to infinity. You had tried to sleep earlier, but an hour, then two had passed and your eyes still did not grow tired.

You had tried to imagine what being married to your future husband would be like, but it frightened you. You were afraid of exposing yourself to him, having him make love to you. You had heard it was painful from cousins and friends, in hushed conversations overheard around clothing lines and kitchens after dark. You had kissed a boy when you were small and remember it being underwhelming. You thought back to the summers here at the tree, how Jo would gaze up at you from where she lay on your stomach, fingertips dancing over your legs, how your hands would tremble, mouth becoming dry.

You remembered the summer before she left for New York, the last night you shared here at your spot. How she bent her head to your forehead, placing a kiss there. How her hands found the hem of your skirt, gently lifting it up, exposing your legs to the late autumn air.

“I will be your husband tonight,” she had whispered, slipping two fingers into your waiting mouth. You had sucked gently, and those same fingers had guided you to gasping.

Lost in the memory, your hand wanders to your breast, squeezing gently, hoping to replicate the feeling of that night. You had tried so many times since, but couldn't make yourself gasp the way she had that night. You close your eyes and try to remember what she had smelled like, the way the ends of her hair had felt just barely touching your arms.

You jolt out of your reverie when you hear a twig snap a few feet away. You shrink back into the tree with a start, your hands flying away from yourself. Who could have seen you leave? The whole house was fast asleep when you padded out the door. And no one knows where this spot is, it’s off the path and well-hidden by branches.

Suddenly, Jo’s face appears in the opening of the tree. “I thought I might find you here!”

You gasp a little, nervously. “How did you know I would be here?”

She crawls into the tree, her knees scraping along the forest floor to fit inside. “Just a hunch.”

Her hair has fallen out of its braid and flows down her back. She wears a thin chemise and long, flowing skirt, thinning at the hem from wear and tear. You notice with a start that you can see her nipples poking up gently beneath her shirt, and swallow to see their pert attention. You had seen her like this before, but not in years. You bring your gaze back up to her face and she is gazing at you, that same wild look in her eyes as before.

“You’re engaged,” she repeats her earlier question again, softly, sadly. You just nod. “Do you love him?”

You realize you’re holding your breath and let it go shakily. Jo reaches out to grasp your arms, gently but firmly, with all the strength of her lean frame. You jolt a little under her touch, and realize that despite the warm summer evening, you’re shivering a bit.

“I…I do not know,” you concede, eyes flashing down to study the leaf strewn floor. Her grip tightens, nose flaring as she breathes in hard. You have scarcely seen her like this before, she seems nervous and on edge.

“Y/N…” she begins, biting her lip. She rocks forward a bit, seeming to become unbalanced, and you grasp her biceps to help hold her up. She sucks in a breath and you meet her gaze again.

Before you know what is happening, she is leaning in and crashing the soft pink of her mouth against your lips. You gasp a little and fall back into the wall of the tree, and she follows you, pinning you there by your elbows. It takes you a moment to process that Jo March, the woman you have been in love with since you knew what love was, is kissing you. And you are kissing her back, your body seeming to move of its own accord. She lifts her hands from your arms to your face, cradling your jaw in one hand and pulling you deeper into the kiss with the other, tangling it in the hair at the nape of your neck. Your hands fall to her waist and you feel her suck in her stomach at your touch. One of your hands sits just below the hem of her shirt, and you feel the skin of her lower back there, beneath your fingertips. It’s warm and soft and feels electric. Everywhere your skin touches hers is on fire.

She deepens the kiss, pushing her tongue into your mouth, and you grip her tighter, your other hand coming up from her skirted hip to her back, pushing her shirt up an inch higher. She sighs and eases one hand down your neck to the small of your back, and you arch into her at the sensation. She holds you fast and pivots the two of you sloppily to lay you down on the soft leaves below, notching one knee in between your legs and one to the left of your hip. You grunt as you hit the ground and she pulls her face away for a moment.

“Are you hurt?” she asks, her eyebrow knit in concern. She is breathing hard, her face flushed. You smile a bit, dazed.

“No,” you answer, ‘I’m fine.”

“Good.” she sighs. You glance down at her chest again and see her nipples, now straining a bit at the fabric. You realize you’ve bunched it in your hand behind her. You start to loosen your grip, but get a better idea and let your hands wander from her back around to her breasts under the shirt. She realizes what you’re doing and her mouth falls open a bit. She fumbles to remove her shirt but soon her torso is set free, and you watch as her breasts become exposed to the moonlight.

They look so soft, like fallen snow still untouched after drifting into smooth heaps across the fields. Her nipples are starkly darker, and look like small hardened pebbles in this light. She shivers a little at your initial touch, but seems to melt a little into your hands as you work at her breasts, rolling her nipples between your thumbs and forefingers. This elicits a small whimper from her, and you raise your eyes to meet her. She is panting a little now, her mouth still hanging open a little. You look back to her breasts and roll her nipple again with your left hand, more slowly this time. She lets out a low moan and dips her head a bit towards you, eyes closed. You remove your hand and she whimpers, only to gasp when your teeth close around the spot your fingers had occupied. You suck on her and she leans into you, chest heaving beneath your mouth.

“Y/N,” she gasps, a hand shooting up to grasp the nape of your neck and pull you closer. You lavish your tongue on her nipple and use your other hand to massage her other breast, and you can feel her shaking a bit. You pull your face away and look into her eyes again, now just a few inches from your own.

“Be my husband,” you gasp.

In answer, she starts peppering kisses down your neck, slipping the buttons of your nightgown open to reveal your own breasts, already heaving from before she had arrived. She sucks a harsh kiss into the space just below the curve of one, and you suck in a hot breath. She pulls you up to remove the nightgown from your arms and keeps kissing you, warming your skin with her mouth. Your stomach is upside down, and there is a heat in the pit of your core that you know well. You are sure there is a spot on your nightgown where your arousal is pooling beneath you.

“Jo,” you moan, winding your fingers into her hair. “Please, I am begging you.”

She stops and leans back, breasts heaving, hair wild. She reaches a hand up to your lips and you open your mouth to her fingers, two sliding in easily. You loll your tongue around them, sucking gently, and she moans again. She pulls out her fingers with a soft pop and lowers her hand to your stomach, pulling up your nightgown with the other hand to reveal your thighs and now dripping pussy. She grins wickedly.

“My, my, dear wife,” she coos. “What is this?”

You groan at the title. “Please husband,” you pant. “Please, I need you.”

She teases your folds a little. Her spit-soaked fingertips have grown cold in the air, and you shudder and gasp as they meet your hot center. She slips one finger in, then another, up to the second knuckle easily before curling them a bit inside you. You cry out and she smiles again.

“Yes, dear wife, let your husband take care of you,” she whispers huskily. She is thrusting into you now, gently but with a quick rhythm, and you can hear the wet sound of her hand going in and out. It sounds like heaven. You close your eyes and let the feeling wash over you. Jo March is making love to you. Jo March called you her wife. Jo March-

She stops for a moment and you groan in frustration, but the feeling is quickly replaced with fresh arousal as you feel her breath on your clit. She licks you a little, gently, experimentally, and the sound that comes out of you is embarrassingly needy. You slap a hand over your mouth and she looks up at you, a small smile on her face.

“My darling, do not worry,” she says, gently, licking you again. You groan once more, and she meets your gaze. “No one can hear you when you are safe in my bed, dear wife. Let yourself feel my love for you.”

She kisses your clit and begins moving her fingers within you again. You suck in air, but it is never enough, as the fire within you consumes it instantly. You find yourself arching into her touch, words leaving your mouth in an endless stream you have no awareness of as she hurries her hand inside you.

“Oh god, Jo, I love you, Jo, Jo, please, I need-”

“Call me your husband,” Jo hoarsely utters as she sucks in a breath.

“Husband, please, I am going to-oh god.”

She pulls her fingers nearly out of you and adds a third, stretching you. You whine and a sob comes out, the sensation of it overtaking you. Her hand within you is going so quickly you feel you might faint, your heart is pounding in your head. A great light explodes inside of you and you hear yourself cry out, even louder.

She never stops her motion, locking her lips around your clit and sucking while her hands work at you from the inside out. You feel yourself clenching around her and she hums contentedly, making sparks dance behind your eyes. Warmth spills out of you around her hand and you whimper, head swimming. She whispers into your clit in between licks, coaxing your cum out of you as you grasp at her hair, her shoulders, anything to keep you grounded.

As your orgasm subsides, she smiles and leans back, slowing her hand but not removing it. You take a shaky breath and open your eyes, blinking up into the starlight.

She leans up to kiss you gently and removes her hand, relishing the small whine that escapes your lips.

“Jo-” you start, then break off into a small sob. “I cannot marry that man.”

“Don’t worry, my dear wife,” she whispers, brushing the hair out of your eyes. “I will take care of everything.” She leans in and kisses your forehead, then pulls up and cradles you into her. You nestle into her chest, breathing in the scent of her skin mixed with your arousal, floating on the humid air. Your breathing slows as you listen to her heartbeat, the sound of the creek bubbling past, and the soft owl hoots in the distance. You feel safe here in her arms.

She strokes your head gently, whispering how much she has missed you in your ear, how every night she dreamed of coming back to this place and reuniting with you. You sigh contentedly and wish you could stay in this moment forever, soothed to restful sleep by the voice of your husband Jo March.

#little women #x reader #jo march x reader #jo march #little women 2019 #fanfic #saoirse ronan #amy march #beth march

[zhivchik]

#soko stuttgart #tag later #i’ll try to (and actually just do the thing because i’m naturally good at that proved many times when I didn’t see a thing two feets away) #ignore an actor’s real life because i just want fun but #OH MY GOD #‘rico’ reminds me of my nephew in a way of delivering swearings and excuses and the way he laughs (it’s a bit strange as just discovered) #and jo has an adorable kind of on the soft side smile? #and just #mein herz #mein herz don't go there #don't do the thing #be smart about that #aaah too late already probably #the 1st and the 3rd are just #♥ #...i'm easy in this sense what would you do

[shemarmooresfedora]

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Masterlist

Chapter 4

Spencer’s phone buzzed in his desk drawer much to his confusion. Pretty much everyone that would be calling him was here right now.

“Dr. Reid,” he answered.

“Hey Spencer, it’s me, Y/N,” you said.

“Oh! Y/N, hi!” he looked around to see if anyone was paying attention to him before slipping away to the empty break room.

“I’m really sorry to have to ask this but is there any way you could pick Jo up from school and watch her for a few hours. A student dropped a vile of dimethyl sulfoxide in the lab so I need to safely clean it up and then make sure the room gets properly ventilated. I had to cancel the rest of class so I have to clean everyone else’s lab station up too,” you explained.

“Of course, of course,” Spencer readily agreed, “I can watch her for as long as you need but I have to finish my files here so would it be okay if she came to the office just for a little so I can finish up and then I will bring her back to my apartment. I’ll text you the address.”

“Yes, that’s completely fine. Sorry for springing this on you but my babysitter is out of town and I called JJ but she is in New Orleans with Will and the kids,” Y/N apologized.

“It’s no problem. It’s actually the opposite, I am looking forward to it,” Spencer smiled as he hung up the phone.

Spencer knocked on Hotch’s door hesitantly.

“Reid, what can I do for you?” Hotch looked up from the mounds of files on his desk.

“So I kind of have a kid and her mom needs me to pick her up from school and watch her so could she come here until I finish my work?” Spencer quickly rambled.

“You kind of have a kid?” Hotch asked, slightly amused.

“Well, she’s mine but she doesn’t know that I am her father and I just found out about her a week ago,” Spencer explained.

“If I wasn’t a profiler, I would think you were pranking me but you seem to be telling the truth. Yes, your kid can hang out until you finish your work for the day. Normally, I would just let you go early but you know Strauss has been inspecting the BAU with a fine-tooth comb recently,” Hotch stated.

“Thanks, Hotch. I’ll be back in thirty minutes,” Spencer ran out the door.

As Spencer slid on his satchel and was walking towards the elevators, he turned around and sighed. He almost forgot to tell the team.

“Hey guys! Quick announcement! I have a kid and her mom needs me to watch her for a few hours so she’s coming here. However, she doesn’t know that I’m her father so please use your discretion,” Spencer finished and bolted for the stairs.

“Kid, what-” Morgan started to say but the glass doors were already closing behind him.

Spencer didn’t have the time nor desire to fill them in on all of the details. He didn’t want to keep his daughter waiting.

-

“SPENCER HAS A WHAT?” Garcia screamed as Morgan informed her of the breaking news when she returned from her lunch break.

“That’s all he said and apparently she doesn’t know Spencer is her father so you have to keep your mouth shut, baby girl,” Morgan scolded.

“I will, I will. Do we know how old this kid is? What’s her name? Oh my god, who is the mother?” Garcia asked, “I’ll be right back. I’m going to my tech cave to do something totally unrelated.”

As Garcia stood from leaning on Morgan’s desk, the BAU glass doors opened.

Spencer was hunched over, holding Jo’s hand. Jo was dressed in corduroy pants, a lavender cardigan, and her hair was tied up in two pigtails that were bouncing side to side. Her converse were matching with Spencer’s.

“Well I’ll be damned, Pretty Boy wasn’t lying,” Morgan whispered to Garcia and Prentiss who had now joined them.

“Guys, this is Josephine. Jo, this is Derek, Penelope, and Emily. Can you say hi?” Spencer asked.

“Hi,” Jo responded meekly, scooching closer to Spencer’s leg, the one familiar face for her in the crowd of strangers.

“Hi Josephine! You look adorable! I love your little pigtails,” Penelope knelt down to her height.

“Thank you. My Mommy did them for me,”

Jo replied.

“Okay Jo, let’s go to the round table room so we don’t have to stay out here in the crazy bullpen. Let me just grab my files,” Spencer led Jo to his desk and then up the small flight of stairs.

The rest of the team watched in amazement as Spencer lifted Jo into one of the seats at the table and spun her around in the chair a few times as she started to giggle.

“Who’s the kid?” Rossi asked as he exited his office, having missed the big announcement.

“Reid’s daughter apparently,” Prentiss shrugged with a small smile on her lips.

-

“Okay, Jo! I’ve finished all my work. Wanna go to my apartment and grab some dinner?” Spencer asked.

Jo was sitting next to him, doodling with pens on extra lined paper. Penelope had also brought in some of her trinkets from her desk for her to play with.

“I miss Mommy,” she sighed.

“I’m sorry but Mommy is going to pick you up from my apartment as soon as she can. Come on, I’ll let you get whatever you want for dinner,” Spencer tried to cheer her up.

“Ice cream?” Jo perked up.

Spencer laughed, “How about we have a real meal for dinner and then we can have some ice cream?”

Jo contemplated this.

“Okay but you have to carry me because my legs are tired,” Jo explained.

“Oh-uh okay, yes I can do that,” Spencer stuttered, suddenly getting nervous that his clumsiness would result in him tripping with Josephine in his arms.

Jo outreached her hands and made a grabby motion and Spencer picked her up and rested her on his left hip, his right hip occupied by his satchel.

“Bye Josephine!” Emily smiled at the little girl.

She gave an enthusiastic wave as Spencer carried her to the elevator.

-

“What do you want for dinner?” Spencer placed Jo into the child seat in the shopping cart.

“Chicken nuggets!” Jo exclaimed.

“Chicken nuggets, it is,” Spencer pushed the cart to the frozen aisle, grabbing a bag of the dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets.

“How about some smiley fries too?”

Jo nodded with a smile as Spencer opened another freezer door.

“And we should probably have a veggie. How about baby carrots? Do you like carrot sticks?” Spencer questioned.

“Yes, Mommy always makes me eat my veggies or no dessert,” Jo stated.

“So if you eat all your carrot sticks, then you can have ice cream. What flavor do you want?”

“Ummm strawberry please.”

“Good choice,” Spencer smiled.

“We need rainbow sprinkles too, Spencer!” she exclaimed.

“Of course! How could I have almost forgotten!” he chuckled.

-

Jo yawned after scooping the last spoonful of strawberry ice cream with extra sprinkles into her mouth.

You had texted Spencer you would be there in thirty minutes but he didn’t think Jo was going to last that long. She could barely keep her eyes open.

“Jo, do you want to go to bed?”

He soon realized his mistake as tears started to form in the child’s eyes.

“Where is Mommy? She always tucks me into bed and reads me a bedtime story,” she cried.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Spencer quickly stood from his seat and hugged Jo, “Mommy is on her way but I think she would want you to get some rest so I’ll read you a bedtime story, okay?”

Jo nodded and sniffled. Spencer wiped her tears away with his cardigan sleeve. He picked Jo up, getting used to the comforting feeling of her in his arms, and tucked her into his bed.

Spencer looked around at his bookshelves full of technical books and classic novels in other languages but devoid of any colorful picture books that would interest a kid.

“How about I make up a story?” Spencer whispered.

Jo nodded sleepily.

“Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess and a goofy knight in the kingdom of uh- Caltechia,” he spoke softly.

“The princess and the knight were madly in love despite how the knight was so clumsy and the princess was so elegant. However, the knight went away to slay the evil dragon and both the knight and the princess were so sad to be apart. When the knight finally returned, he realized the princess had become a queen and she had an equally beautiful daughter who was now the princess. The knight loved them both dearly.”

Spencer looked down to see that Jo was fast asleep. He brushed the stray hairs off of her face and leaned down to give her a gentle kiss on her forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered.

He figured there was no harm since Jo was fast asleep and he just wanted to say it to her at least once.

About ten minutes later, a knock sounded at the door as Spencer was washing dishes.

“Hey, I knew you wouldn’t accept money as a form of payment so I got you an extra large coffee, extra sugar,” you handed him the cup.

“Thank you but that really isn’t necessary. I was more than happy to do it. I really want to do it again,” Spencer adamantly said.

“Jo has a tee ball game on Sunday. You are welcome to come and then we could all grab dinner after,” you offered.

“I’ll be there,” Spencer smiled softly.

“Um, where is she?” you asked.

“Oh she’s sleeping in my bed. I’m not exactly sure of her normal bedtime but her eyes were drooping so I figured I should put her to bed. We had dino chicken nuggets, smiley fries, and baby carrots for dinner and then some ice cream. I hope that’s okay,” Spencer whispered as he led you to his room.

“More than okay. Thank you so much. I’m surprised you got her to go to bed. The nights she has stayed at my parent’s, she refused to go to sleep for hours,” you stated as you picked her up.

Jo nuzzled into your neck even though she was still asleep. Spencer watched as you slowly made your way out of the apartment with Jo as to not wake her up.

“See you Sunday,” you whispered, giving him a soft smile.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Spencer replied.

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #cm fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer x reader #reid x reader

[kay-emm-gee]

always, only, you

Pairing: Theodore Laurence/Amy March Rating: Mature || wc: ~1.5k a/n: Always loved the two of them, and I absolutely adored the 2019 adaptation, and I felt inspired to write jealous!laurie, so here we are.

* * *

For what felt like the tenth time tonight, Laurie was staring at her from across the room, not saying a word. Amy did not look away from her vanity mirror, ignoring the feel of his eyes on her. Their party had gone well as any of their previous endeavors, and she simply wished for the happy sort of exhaustion that normally came after a successful night as hostess to sink into her bones. But instead, after the way her husband had behaved, she only wished for sleep. He had barely spoken to her during their customary waltz or at the dinner table. No kind words for her, no usual shower of compliments--only silent, sidelong looks, just as he was doing even now.

Stubbornly ignoring him, she reached up and continued pulling pins from her hair. Curl after curl fell, and as the last one tumbled down, she heard Laurie’s breath catch. A small thrill of satisfaction tripped up her spine to have finally shaken some semblance of reaction from him. Too soon, however, it died under the weight of her lingering annoyance.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” She finally asked breezily. “Or do you plan to sleep standing up?”

“I will, at the very least, take my cravat off. Still deciding where to sleep. The wall here is quite comfortable, I’ve never noticed before.”

Ignoring his dry quip, she began brushing her hair. “I thought it went well tonight. Not as much of a success as our Christmas party, but still a grand time.”

“Fred Vaughn certainly had an excellent evening.”

She paused mid-stroke, turning to face her husband. When their eyes met, his mouth twisted into a sharp mockery of a smile.

“Whatever do you mean by that?”

“I suppose any man would have had just an excellent of an evening, being so devotedly attended to by my wife.”

He said the last word softly but with such force that it seemed to shatter as it dropped into the silence between them. Slowly, Amy set down her hairbrush. Then she rose from her chair, staring at him in disbelief.

“You...you’ve behaved this way all night, because you are jealous?”

Laurie scoffed, pushing off the wall. He turned from her and shrugged off his evening jacket, then reached up and removed his cravat with short, jerky movements. Incredulous, Amy stood and approached him, her chemise swishing against the floor.

“Laurie, I paid him no more attention than I would any other friend of ours—”

“But no other friend of ours has proposed marriage to you, hmm? No others have been in love with you, have they?”

“It has been more than five years since he and I...you are being ridiculous. Laurie—”

He spun around. “Am I?”

The tinge of angry desperation in his words brought Amy up short. She swallowed down the words of her sharp retort and simply looked at her husband. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and his hair was mussed. No doubt he had been running his hands through it before he had come up to bed. Instinctively, she moved towards him, resting her palms on his shoulders. She could feel the tension in them, and so she slid her hands up until they cupped his jaw. Forcing his gaze down to meet hers, she felt her breath catch again as she glimpsed something all too familiar in his eyes.

Worry that something was slipping away. Fear that something precious and so desperately wanted would be wrenched from his grasp.

This worry, this fear—she had felt it in the first years of their marriage. Despite the rings, and despite her sister’s blessing, Amy had struggled to leave her girlhood insecurities behind. In those early years, jealousy had been her constant foe. She knew Laurie and Jo were connected by threads of closeness that could not be severed. It was as incontrovertible a fact as the shape of her nose or that her sister had died too young. She had known this and said her vows anyway. She had known this and still honestly believed Laurie when he had promised to love and cherish her until death did part them. Never once had she truly thought he considered betraying his vows, and never once had she believed her sister ever wanted him to. Even so, in the infancy of their marriage she had fought this battle that she now saw raging in her husband’s eyes.

She stroked a thumb over his cheek. He closed his eyes, and let out a tired sigh.

“He made you laugh.”

Amy bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Old Mr. Rochester also makes me laugh, but I don’t see you worrying about me spending time with him.”

“I tried to make you laugh all week, and you just snapped at me every time.”

“Well, because, for example, you almost destroyed our flower arrangements--our very expensive flower arrangements--for the party in the process of trying to make me laugh. Besides, you know how I get before these events. I’m insufferable.”

She watched as his lips flexed in stifled amusement. The heavy weight on her chest lifted at the sight.

“Theodore Laurence,” she whispered. “I love you. Only you. Always have, always will.”

His forehead knocked gently into hers. “You do?”

“I do.”

“How much?” His voice was tender, rasping.

“More than those flower arrangements.” She paused for a beat. “But only just barely. Certainly not more than my blue muslin, however.”

He chuckled, the corner of his mouth kicking up. She pressed a kiss there, soft and lingering.

“Theo?”

His eyes finally opened and met hers, and the heat Amy saw reflected there made her stomach clench. He always loved it when she called him that—particularly because no one else did. It was for them. Angling his head, he let his lips drift just over hers, a breath away from touching. Anticipation shivered down her spine.

“Yes, dear?” He answered as he slid hands around her waist.

Her own hands slid down his neck, over his shoulders and down his back as she perched up on her toes to whisper in his ear, “I want my husband to take me to bed.”

He took in a sharp breath, and then his mouth was on hers, hot and claiming. His fingers dug into her sides, and she gripped his shoulders for balance. They stumbled backwards, but neither of them were paying proper attention, so Laurie ended up backing her into the wall beside her vanity instead of the bed. With each stroke of his tongue against hers, the tension inside her wound tighter, and she let out a small moan as he pressed his hips into hers. With an answering hum of pleasure, he broke the kiss and spun her around so quickly that she had to grip the wall to steady herself. His fingers unlaced her underclothes with little trouble, and she shimmied out of them hurriedly. When she faced him again, he had already made quick work of his shirt. Her hands went to his pants, fumbling with the fastenings.

“Faster, wife,” he muttered as he tried, and failed, to help. She huffed in response, unable to hide her grin any more than Laurie was able to hide his own. As she felt the fastenings finally give, she sighed in triumph. That sigh quickly turned into a moan, however, when she felt Laurie’s fingers slide over the heat between her legs. He stroked her slowly, firmly, just the way she liked. Vaguely she heard him kick off his pants, but she was too lost in the pleasure he was giving her to know for certain.

By the time Laurie positioned himself at her core, she was aching for him, and when he entered her, she let out a throaty cry of relief. He moved in and out of her in short, rough thrusts, her leg hitched over one of his arms, the other curled around her lower back for support. The friction between them wound her tighter and tighter until, with one last long slide, it peaked. He groaned and found his pleasure just as she keened and found hers. Together, they rode out the crashing wave until it was just small ripples.

As Laurie cleaned them both up, Amy focused on catching her breath. It had been a claiming, no doubt, but on both sides. She was his, and he was hers. The heat inside her had smoldered down to coals, and now suffused her with a low, satisfied burn. He stood and leaned into her once more, and she looked up at him lazily.

“Now will you take me to bed, husband?”

With a smug grin, he leaned down and kissed her on the tip of her nose. “Certainly, my dear.”

Then he grasped her hand and tugged, and she followed him gladly--always had, always would.

#amy x laurie #amy x laurie fanfiction #amy x laurie fanfic #laurie x amy #5 #my fanfiction #always only you

[venushasvixens]

Ch. 9 Home? - Life is but a Dream (Spike Spiegel x Reader)

[A/N] I promise I’m going to get to requests. Enjoy the chapter!

WARNING: implied child abuse? (Nothing happens but it can still be uncomfy)

The soft creak of the second story window was the only sound in your shared bedroom. Having been sent upstairs and denied a meal for the millionth time this week, you were desperate for anything to eat. It wasn’t like the orphanage was barely surviving, but honestly you think the caretaker had something out for you. Always picking on you, calling you names, and finding any excuse to punish you. All around known as the caretaker’s personal punching bag.

“Now I can see why you were dropped off here.” She would say, before taking the plate of food from in front of you and dumping it into the trash.

With your lips sealed shut, you trudged up the stairs, sad little eyes tearing up. Any back talk would result in something far worse. The wilts on your back still stung days after your punishment, an example and demonstration of the cruelness of life.

Like a rabid animal, you were willing to receive any kind of punishment just to quiet the pain in your stomach. Grateful for the bushes located underneath your second story window, you swung your legs over the ledge, preparing to jump. With a small humph, you landed softly on your feet. Leaves and small branches pricked at your thighs as you wobbled out of the bushes. You gripped the small pouch of coins in your pocket, running your fingers over the opening of the bag.

A childish dream that a few coins were your ticket to everywhere and anywhere. The city you lived in was labeled as UN-1889, which was far into its development to retain its old name. Unofficially called “Yun” by the locals, it also held the record of absolutely nothing exciting or entertaining. Crime was moderate, chain restaurants and shopping centers were the place of excitement and that was it. Vowing to leave and never come back, you made sure to keep that promise by collecting and stashing away any money you could get your hands on. In the end, the most you had in your possession was enough to buy half a ticket, and you were ready to blow it all off in a matter of minutes on something that will only last seconds.

You spotted the bright, blue neon lights of the only local diner in the area. Parents looking to adopt will do nothing but rave about this place. Hearing just how good the food sounded compared to the gruel you were forced to eat every day, it made your mouth water and your stomach do flips. Jogging up to the entrance, you quickly opened the door to the diner. Air condition hit your dirty, sweaty face, cooling you down instantly. Much to your surprise, there was not one patron in the diner. Leaning against the counter was a middle aged woman with her hair pulled back tightly in a bun. She stared at the TV in the corner, sighing deeply. As the door closed, your presence was made known.

One look was all it took for her to know everything about you.

“Oh great, another one.” She mumbled from where she stood. “What do you want?”

“Food. I’m hungry.” You replied annoyingly.

“Have any money?” She asked, standing up straight.

You dug into your pocket, grabbed the bag of coins and held it out to the waitress. Snatching it out of your hand, she emptied the contents onto the counter. Shifting through the coins lazily, she huffed.

“Kid, this isn’t even enough for a plate.” She poured the coins back into the bag, tossing it back at you. “Door’s over there.”

Too tired and weak to fight, you slumped your way out, disappointed and embarrassed.

“Hey wait!” You heard someone shouting. You turned around, seeing another woman popping out from the kitchen. Her soft, platinum blond curls bounced as she walked out to stop you from leaving. Ringlets of silver hung from her ears and wrists, clanking softly as she motioned you to come closer. “Are you from the orphanage down the street?”

You nodded vigorously.

“I know how she treats those babies over there. You come on over and get yourself something to eat.” She said, tapping on the counter.

“I don’t have enough for-“ you started. She waved her hand, her signal for no ands, if, or buts. As you pranced over, you heard the waitress groan.

“Lou, you can’t be serious.” She muttered.

Lou held her hand up. “I don’t like seeing children go hungry. It’s not right.”

“Pick whatever you like.” She smiled, handing over a menu to you. Everything looked so delicious and tempting. You only see people like this on TV. It seems so fake, portraying kindness in a sickening, sweet way. It was enough to hurt your teeth.

You watched in adoration as Lou passed you a basket of warm rolls, butter shimmering off the golden buns. Forget manners. You gobbled down the bread in minutes, hiccuping softly. You weren’t focused on trying to quiet your hiccups down, just to fill your empty stomach.

“My goodness, slow down.” Lou chuckled, placing a cup of water next to you. “What’s your name, baby?”

“It’s (Y/N).” You replied, mouth still full of bread.

“(Y/N). Now is that your actual name or was it given to you by that devil woman?”

“It’s my actual name. They tried to change it, but decided to keep it.” You said, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Lou handed you a few napkins. “I swear that lady does not like anything or anyone. An all around horrible person.”

You nodded sadly, trying to dissipate the knowledge that you were probably going to receive the harshest punishment you have ever had in your short life when you came back “home”. As your stomach was dropping at the thought of your imminent demise, Lou slid your plate of food in front of you. Eating a basket of rolls wasn’t enough at all. This food looked better than anything you consumed at the orphanage.

While Lou and the waitress babbled and bickered, the static and switch of the TV in the corner was the only noise in the room. Eventually the waitress decided to settle on the local news. Expansion of some parts of the city, a deadly crash near the asteroid belt, and so on and so on. Suddenly, the screen flashed with the words BREAKING NEWS splayed on the screen.

The news reporter quickly tapped through her data pad, smiled and addressed the viewers.

“Good evening, we bring to you some breaking news. The criminal Kedo, who was wanted on both planets Earth and Ganymede for the murders of multiple people, has been caught right here in UN-1889.”

The reporter then drone on about his crimes, and how he left his trail. You chewed slowly, hanging onto every word. Crime was at a middle to low level, but you have never seen something as large as this.

“It has been reported by BIG SHOT, a new TV program broadcasted specially for bounty hunters in the solar system, that Kedo’s bounty had jumped from 500,000 woolong to over a million woolong.” Your eyes widened. To a small child, one million woolong was a whole lot more than what it actually was. You were probably never going to see that sort of money in your lifetime. All the possibilities of having that much money ran through your head. The first was getting the hell out of this city.

“We are informed that the courageous bounty hunter, or huntress, known as Lady Jo, caught Kedo red-handed in hiding right here in UN-1889.” The reporter stated.

The screen switched to live coverage at the police station, cameras flashing and reporters clamoring to get a closer look at the infamous criminal who was now being led into the building in handcuffs. His hair disheveled, eyes scanning his surroundings like crazy, fitting a perfect description of a crazed murderer. The cameras shifted their attention to Jo, standing proudly with her hand resting on her holster.

Intrigue and fascination filled you. You couldn’t help but watch in awe of her. Her auburn hair was curly and volumized, laying softly on her shoulders, eyes a striking green that shone like emeralds in the harsh lights of the TV crews. The waitress scoffed at her outfit, which consisted of a revealing button up white shirt, tucked into black leather pants, with a matching jacket. She was truly a sight to see.

“Can you believe that? She’s not a cowgirl, she’s a goddamn model.” She said.

Lou snorted. “You know, I used to have an outfit just like that.”

You smiled back, finishing your plate. Not wanting to take your eyes off the TV, the silverware clattered loudly onto the plate.

“I’ll tell you what, there is absolutely no honor in being a bounty hunter. They’re rude, selfish, and I hate every last one of them. Especially Lady what’s-her-name right here.” The waitress nagged, taking your empty plate.

“They can do a way better job than actual law enforcement.” Lou retorted.

You didn’t pay attention to their conversation. If there wasn’t any honor I’m your choice, so be it. Your new bottom line was set into place. One million woolong was going to be a possibility for you, one way or another.

-

Jet sat at the navigation console on the bridge, pressing buttons at a lightning fast speed. On his right side was the computer TV, playing some late night television as background noise. Faye stood near the windows, smoking a cigarette and looking out into the nighttime sky. There was something that must have been discussed.

As she opened her mouth to speak, Jet sighed and got up. “I went ahead and placed our coordinates for our next bounty back on Mars. Should only be a week.”

“Dinner was a little off, don’t you think?” Faye said, ignoring Jet.

Jet’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying something about my cooking?”

“What? No. I meant with-“

“With Spike and (Y/N)? Then yes, there is something off with them. I’ve noticed it since we got back home the other day.” Jet said.

“So much more talkative, that’s for damn sure. Couldn’t keep up with it.” Faye replied as she descended the steps to the navigation console.

“The big baby wasn’t all too happy about her staying with us. So I wonder why he’s acting all buddy buddy with her.”

Faye chuckled, a sly upturn of the mouth growing on her face. “Hmm, sounds like someone is jealous.”

Looking up from the console, Jet scoffed. “I’m more than happy that I’m not playing therapist anymore. Everyday it was, “did you see the way she did this” or “did you see the way how she did that”. At that point, I should’ve started charging Spike.”

Faye had given some deep thought since dinner. The outline was in plain sight. A touch on the back. A squeeze on the shoulder. A tap on the thigh. It thrilled Faye to be the only one to know of the growing tension between Spike and (Y/N), to be the one to hold a secret without being told of it. But in the midst of the excitement, there was another feeling circling, weaving it way into her head. Jealousy.

It hurts to see couples walking by, hand in hand, romantically flaunting each other openly. Bothering Faye for a second, she knew she didn’t have to go home with them. But now that it was only a few feet from her, it was going to be a problem.

If the game doesn’t go as planned, someone has to interfere to ensure a win. And Faye did not like losing.

The computer TV turned to static as Jet flipped through the channels, trying to find the right program to end the night on. Settling on tonight’s showing of Big Shot, he leaned against the console, pondering about dinner. A conversation consisting of 100 words and more between Spike and (Y/N) was non-existent for the time that she had been staying on the Bebop. One afternoon alone, and suddenly they’re two peas in a pod.

We’ll just see how it goes, Jet thought.

A big red WARNING sign displayed on the screen, waking Jet and Faye right up.

“Folks, it seems we have an important message to relay to all bounty hunters in the solar system from the ISSP.”Punch said, his playful, exaggerated facade never faltering.

“Go ahead, we are all dying to know!” Judy replied, apparently cheerful about a serious topic at hand.

“Bounty hunters, look out! A mysterious criminal is on the loose, and his target is not the innocent civilians of the solar systems, but our esteemed, hard working hunters.”

“What makes him so bad, anyway?” Judy questioned.

“I’m glad you asked! Some of our amigos already know what we are talking about. There have been multiple reported incidents of hunting vessels being set ablaze with the intent of murder all across the system. The ISSP believes that this individual is ONLY targeting bounty hunters, and no one else.”

“Mysterious you say? Well goodness, looks like there’s no bounty for them yet!”

“Right you are. Until we get a face and a name, no dinero can be placed for the bounty. So be aware, and be safe out there, buckeroos!” Punch finished, smiling alongside Judy. Knowing they were playing a character, it was off putting by the serious news given.

Jet and Faye looked at each other in silence, eyes wide and full of questions.

Happy hunting, amigos.

#fanfiction #faye valentine #90s anime #cowboy bebop #jet black #spike spiegel x reader #spike spiegel headcanons #spike spiegel #see you space cowboy #radio free mars #you’re going to carry that weight

[fan4196]

Mister Perfectly Fine

Fearless - Taylor's Version (From The Vault)

As long as he's going, working his eight hours at the hospital, running from one meeting to the other, squeezing surgeries in every free minute he has or running behind the twins at home, everything is fine. As long as his mind is going he's perfectly fine. But as soon as his head hids the pillow or he sits down alone in his office and his mind starts to calms down he's not fine anymore. As soon as his mind stops thinking about the hospital he has to run, the patients he has to save or about his twins, his thoughts take over - thoughts he hates and loves at the same time. Deep thoughts that bring forth every kind of emotion in his body. Thoughts about her. The one good thing he had in his life for so long and now not anymore because he chose his kids. He chose his kids over her and after months he still doesn't know if it was the right or wrong decision. Since the day he left her, this thought lives in his head like a parasite, never leaving him. In every quiet second his mind goes back to this decision and everything involved in it and makes him go nuts. But not only his mind goes crazy also his heart. He could cry everytime he thinks about her and the potential future he lost by leaving her. He could beat himself at the thought of how much he hurt her - again. It beats him up that he not only broke the vow he gave her not to long before he left but that he broke the biggest promise he ever gave her - to always be her home and to never leave her. He knew that this was and still is her biggest insecurity. Way to many people left her or pushed her aside like she was nothing and Alex promised to himself, pretty early in their relationship, that he would never do that to her. But he did, more than once.

Every quiet minute his heart aches at his biggest lost he ever experienced and at the unconditional love he had received from her daily and now never will again.

Of course his kids love him and he knows that Izzie does too in some way but it's just not the same. It's not the kind of love that overfills his heart with warmth every day. The kind of love that let him growl at the ceiling, fake break up in front of a whole hospital, that is ok with going jail to prevent someone from having to testify, that puts on fake vampire teeth and marries someone for a second time after a crappy day at work. The kind of love that, now that it's gone, makes him realise how big of an impact it had on him, his mind and his heart. Because now that it's gone, his body wants it back like a drug. But nothing, sadly not even his kids, can fill his empty heart completely. There's always this whole that nothing can fill.

And so everytime his mind gets the chance to calm down it craves for the drug he can't consume. She is 1800 miles away, living her life like he should too - but he just can't, not really.

He leans back in his chair starring at the picture of the twins that's standing on his office desk right beside his work laptop. Their silly faces smile towards the camera. He loves his kids, they are one of the best things that ever happened to him but every time he looks at them he can't stop but wonder what his and Jo's kids would have been like. If they would have had a little boy first, who was through and through a mommas boy or if they would have had a little girl first, who would have looked like a carbon copy of Jo and would have adored her daddy to death. Or if they would have had both; twins - silly and foul-mouthed but still the cutes little angels.

He hates those uncontrolled, silent thoughts of what if. He hates that he secretly wishes things were different. He hates that he's not fine when he should be.

He loosens his stare from the only picture on his desk and turns his chair to reach for the lowest drawer of his desk - like he did so many times before. He opens it to take the only item out and carefully strokes his thumb over the wooden frame until it hits the silky red ribbon he never took off. Starring at the picture in the frame, memories of one of the best days in his life play in his head. From her excited face when she showed up at Mer's house, to her excitingly kissing Arizona, to her storming into his dressing room mocking him for something she thought he did, to her loud, pure laugh in the shed, her soft lips on his after they said I do, to her sleepy smile as he picked her up to carry her bridal stile through their loft door.

Everything about this day was perfect even though nothing went according to plan. But that was so them. Nothing in their six years together ever went according to plan. If it would have, he would have married her a year into their relationship. They would have started making babies immediately and would now live in a big suburban house with their five kids, two dogs and probably some fish. But it's not, their life didn't go according to plan, they had some massive bumps in their road - their ups and downs, they broke up and found their way back together, they had their difficult paths to navigate through but they did it and it made them stronger - as a person and as a couple. He always thought that nothing could ever break them. And he loved the thought of getting old with Jo and to die with her at his side once they were wrinkly and grey. Now everything changed and it's his fault.

Looking at the big smile on her face, the urge to call her comes over him - to hear her voice, to talk to her about everything he hates right now.

Way to many times the thinks of just dialing her number and calling her. The thought of hearing her voice again makes his heart flutter. He misses her. He misses talking to her. He misses his friend he can tell everything. He misses their lazy nights curled up in each other's arms on the couch, a trashy reality show in the background, while they just talk - about everyone and everything for hours without loosing a topic.

He also misses her silly self. Her bad jokes that she thought were hilarious. Her face when she told them. Her pure laugh after she told them. When they were alone she never took herself to serious. She was one hundred percent herself around him. Joking, laughing, running around without pans and only one of his shirts on.

He's not gonna lie, he also misses her body. Her perfect body - her ass, her boobs, her mouth, her smell, her hair, her perfect hands that she loved to bury in his hair. He loves and misses every bit of her. He misses what her body was able to do to his. How her hand in his neck was able to give him goosebumps on his entire body. How her presence when she walked into a room, made his stomach flutter. How her lips on his let him forget everything. How her curled up in his arms, close against his body made him love her even more. It wasn't just the amazing sex he misses, it is her.

He puts the picture down on his desk running his hands over his face. He never thought that he could miss someone this much - and he had lost a lot of people over time.

The little knock on his door let him sit up straight again. He quickly puts the picture back in the drawer and closes it before he let's the person come inside.

"Doctor Karev. You wanted to speak me?"

"Doctor Jones. Yeah, please sit down." He points to the chairs in front of his desk to let the resident sit. "I heard you were at Grey Sloan Memorial Hospital in Seattle. Tell me how it was."

"Oh. It was amazing. I've never seen a this innovative and cutting edge hospital before. No offense." The brunette smiles a little nervous as she sits down in front of her boss. 

"Absolutely not. I know how good it is. I learned in that hospital and worked there for many years." Alex replies with a little, toothless smile.

"Really? I never knew that." She answers surprised.

"So tell me a little bit. What did you do while you were there? Who did you meet?" Alex asks, interested in hearing about his former colleagues and friends.

"Oh I- Ok on the first day I was in their ER. Doctor Hunt showed me around and I assisted him. The second day I met the Doctor Meredith Grey. God she's everything, but I guess you know that. She showed me around the ICU and I met Doctor Webber and Doctor Bailey. On the third day I was in ortho and met Doctor Lincoln, he's amazing. Well they call him Ortho-God for a reason. My third day I was with Doctor Sheppard. She showed me her newest scans and let me join in on an operation. The last day I was with Doctor Hayes on the Peds floor. He was so nice and showed me around the NICU and PICU. I also met Doctor DeLuca and Doctor Wilson there, they were both so nice and showed me some of their cute little pacients." She smiles after finishing.

"Sorry, Doctor Wilson?" He asks a little confused.

"Yeah. She was so nice. She showed and explained me everything and let me hold one of her patients. She was so cute. The baby not Doctor Wilson. I mean Doctor Wilson is pretty cute too, especially when she's talking to her little patients but that's not the point, right?" She laughs.

"I guess I missed something, little patients? What is she doing on the Peds floor?" Alex asks again, trying to get every single little bit of information from the resident.

"Well that's where OB/Gyn's are sometimes, right?" She shrugs. 

"Wait. OB/Gyn?" Now he's confused. Did Jo change specialties or was the resident in front of him talking about someone completely different?

"Yeah. Oh right. She was a general surgeon before but changed specialties during the pandemic. She told me everything when we were having lunch. She said she needed some joy in her life after her husband left her and she found that in OB so she changed specialties." Doctor Jones clarifies, with a smile.

"Thank you." Alex nods, to signal the brunette that he got all the information he wanted.

"Ahm sure. Anything else, Doctor Karev?" She asks before she stands up to leave.

"No. It's good to hear you had a great time in Seattle." He gives her a toothless smile before he leans forwards.

"I did. Thank you again for letting me do that."

"No problem."

As the door closes he leans back in his chair again. Thinking about what Doctor Jones just told him.

He's happy that she's happy. That she found new joy in her life. That's everything he needs to know. He needs her to be fine. Even though he misses her even more now and is not fine, he is happy that she is fine.

-

It’s finally Taylor Swift x Jolex Week! So excited for all the stories. Here’s mine, hope you like it.

Enjoy!

-

@odd-birds-and-booksellers @doc-pickles @angry-slytherin @cicinicole-14 @mac-andcheeses @renipedia @jobrookekarev @kidneys4karev @only-freaking-sunflowers @iamtrebleclefstories

#jolex #fan4196 #fanfic #fanfiction #jo x alex #alex #alex karev #grey's #grey's anatomy #grey's fanfic #TSjolexWeek21

[ollieofthebeholder]

For We Are Afar With the Dawning: A RQG Fic

Also on AO3. Contains spoilers for Episode 207.

Augusta is floating. Both literally and metaphorically.

Mentally, she’s floating on a peachy-pink cloud of euphoria and warmth and happiness and contentment. It’s an absolutely perfect day, the kind of day she never gets to experience anymore. The sky is a clear blue dotted with puffy white clouds, the sun bright enough to illuminate the scene but not so bright to hurt the eyes, and it’s pleasantly warm without being oppressively hot. The gentle, cooling breeze brings with it the faint scents of something floral; Augusta’s never been all that great with scents per se, but she thinks it might be roses or something.

Physically, she’s in a rowboat in the middle of a glassy lake, lying on her back with her arms folded contentedly over her chest and her head resting on a lap that seems to mostly comprise of white illusion. Augusta herself is wearing a loose-fitting lawn shirt and a pair of trousers, her feet bare. A pair of oars rest in the locks on either side, but nobody is using them.

“You know, Gus, I think you’re going to have a curly crop when this grows out a bit.” Delicate fingers run through Augusta’s delightfully short hair. “You’re going to look quite rakish.”

“Just so you don’t try to get me to wear one of those dreadful outfits you were talking about that boy wearing in your book.” Augusta smiles. “Really, Lou, where’d you come up with that? Nobody actually dresses like that.”

Louisa laughs. “I wanted it to be really clear that there was no way Jo would ever fall in love with him. Why would she love someone who dresses like that?”

“You should have given one of the girls who came to the Christmas play a name,” Augusta says. “And a personality. And a reason to come back.”

“Are you suggesting I should have put you in the book after all? I thought you didn’t like publicity, O Best Beloved.”

“I don’t like being tied to my brother. Being tied to you is different.” Augusta punctuates this by reaching up and twirling a strand of Louisa’s dark hair around a finger.

Louisa swats her hand away, but she’s laughing again. “Are you going to row us back to shore at any point? Mary and Emma should be here soon. Your Sasha was going to take the carriage and go get them.”

“She’s not my Sasha,” Augusta protests.

“She could be, if you asked, I’m sure. You know we’re all just yours for the asking.”

“Oh, stop it. That’s not how this works.”

“You can’t tell me the idea doesn’t appeal to you,” Louisa says relentlessly. “Having your own personal harem of beautiful and brilliant women. Mary for those delightful scientific discussions and Emmuska for solving puzzles and mysteries and Sasha for going on daring adventures and robbing tombs with and me for...well, when you want to be lazy and bored, I suppose.”

“Louisa May Alcott.” Augusta sits up and takes both of Louisa’s hands in hers. “You have no idea how happy I am. Right here. With you. I don’t need anyone else. Don’t get me wrong, I adore Sasha and Mary and Emmuska and I love having them around...and you’re right, Sasha’s so much fun to go poking around places we aren’t wanted with. But if none of them were here, I’d be happy just the same. Maybe more so. Being with you?” She brings Louisa’s hands up and kisses them tenderly. “This is perfect.”

Louisa blushes beautifully, but there’s a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want to row back to shore.”

Augusta laughs. “You wound me. Right here.” She places one hand over her heart.

She’s joking, but suddenly, it feels like Louisa—or someone—has wounded her. There’s a sudden, sharp, stabbing pain in her heart, and the last thing she sees is Louisa’s sparkling eyes and sweet smile before the world goes white.

It resolves after a moment. Now instead of sitting in a boat, Augusta is sitting on a rock in a clearing in a verdant  forest. Looking up, she can see the night sky and the stars, so many stars, more than she’s ever seen, and the sweep of the Milky Way looks almost green. The moon shines down on the clearing and illuminates her.

Augusta looks down at herself. She’s wearing more practical clothes now—boots, trousers, tunic, leather jacket—actually, it’s a lot like what Sasha Rackett wore when Augusta first met her, nearly two years ago now, except newer and neater. Across her lap is a well-made crossbow.

A big beast swoops overhead, one Augusta can’t identify (she grew up in a city and the only kind of hunting really considered proper for young ladies of her station was foxhunting). A moment later, there’s a rustle in the undergrowth, and a figure pops out into the clearing, a short figure with outsize ears and a drawn bow.

“Wotcher,” the figure says. “Seen a big beastie go by here?”

“It went that way,” Augusta says, pointing the direction she saw the beast fly. “What is it?”

The hunter—she presumes—shrugs. “Dunno. Still haven’t figured it out. Haven’t caught it yet. Maybe once I do, I’ll know. For now I just call it The Beast.”

He doesn’t seem particularly put out by this. He has a hunt, and what exactly he’s hunting doesn’t seem to matter much; he’ll find the answers when he finds the beast. It’s something Augusta feels an odd kinship towards. “How long have you been hunting it?”

The hunter shrugs again. “Dunno. What year is it?”

Augusta tells him. The hunter draws in a breath, then nods. “Well, then...two thousand years, give or take a couple hundred.”

“Ah.” Augusta looks around her. “We’re dead, then.”

“Probably, yeah. Well, I know I am. You probably are too. What were you doing?”

Augusta thinks for a moment. “Dreaming.”

The hunter snorts. “Not the best way to go out.”

“It’s not like I chose to go out that way. I’d rather have gone down fighting.”  Augusta sighs. “At least it was a pleasant dream, though.”

She touches her chest, out of habit, and has a moment of panic when she can’t find what she’s looking for. Frantically, she scrambles at her neck until she finds the fine chain, then pulls it out and breathes a sigh of relief when the heavy silver locket lands in her palm. Just to be sure, she pops it open, and Louisa’s eyes stare back at her.

Augusta smiles back at the picture, then looks up to see the hunter staring at her inscrutably. She coughs and closes the locket. “Sorry. Just...checking.”

The hunter reaches into his own clothing and pulls out a photograph, but doesn’t show it to her—which startles Augusta, as she didn’t think photographs were that old—before putting it back. “It’s important to hold onto these things. Until you find them. Everything dies, after all.”

“That...probably shouldn’t be comforting, and yet…” Augusta takes a deep breath. “Everything does die, doesn’t it? I don’t know that this is exactly her idea of paradise, though.” Then again, she hadn’t realized it was hers, either.

The hunter shrugs. “Probably not theirs, either. But they all connect. I’ve got a camp set up.” He gestures off to one side. “Check in there every few...decades, maybe. Just to see if they’re there yet. It’ll be nice to have a home to come back to, someday, but for now...there’s the hunt.”

Augusta considers that as she tucks the locket back into her shirt, then looks down at the crossbow on her lap. “I’ve never really hunted in forests before, but I’m not bad at hunting in general.”

“I’d be willing to teach you some tactics. If you’re interested. Just until we both find what we’re looking for.”

Augusta stands up, shoulders the crossbow, and holds out her other hand. “My friends call me Gus.”

The hunter grins, red eyes sparkling, as he accepts her handshake. “Grizzop.”

~*~*~*~

Sumutnyerl soars, buoyed up by a thermal, then banks to one side and swoops low, skimming over the grass. This is their favorite form; they love to fly, and it’s a perfect day for it.

Beside them, another eagle tacks and swoops playfully, then sheers off. Sumutnyerl beats her wings to gain a bit of altitude and follows. For a moment, they race one another straight up into the air. Then the other eagle dips backwards into a loop. Sumutnyerl screeches in delight and goes into a spiraling dive, weaving around the other.

They continue this sky-dance for several minutes before the other leads up to the branches of a tree; Sumutnyerl follows and lands on a branch, then transforms back. They’re already laughing with delight. “I never get tired of that.”

“Nor should you.” Oblaitko smiles warmly, their eyes soft and kind. “The day one grows accustomed to the gifts that have been given is the day one ceases to live and begins to only exist.”

“I mean doing it with you.” Sumutnyerl looks out over the rolling meadow. “I would that we could do this forever.”

“We can,” Oblaitko answers. “Our duties are...light. And not incompatible. We needn’t go back to the town at all. You can attend to the Garden, I to the River, and we can spend the rest of our time here.”

Sumutnyerl considers. The idea is...not unwelcome. She feels an utter sense of peace here, with Oblaitko by their side. More than that, they feel like herself, like an individual and not just part of a collective.

“I would like that,” they say at last. “Very much.”

Oblaitko tucks a strand of Sumutnyerl’s hair behind their ear. “As would I.”

“A bargain, then.”

“A bargain,” Oblaitko agrees. “We can ask permission in the morning, but I hardly think the Council will object. It will save resources, after all.”

Sumutnyerl sighs and leans their head on Oblaitko’s shoulder. They place their arm around her shoulders and pull them close, one hand idly resting over their heart.

For just a second, Sumutnyerl wonders if Oblaitko is concealing a blade, because they suddenly feel a sharp, stabbing pain in their chest. They look up in shock, but there’s nothing on Oblaitko’s face to indicate they’re doing anything...and then the world goes white.

When Sumutnyerl’s vision clears, they are no longer in the branches of a tree, but somewhere else, somewhere far too familiar. Awareness settles on Sumutnyerl’s shoulders as they look around the Garden of Yerlick, but not as it is in life—currently or under ordinary circumstances. The flowers bloom as they past, trees put out their hands like old friends, and the spirits of the dead are instantly visible, smiling and calling to them.

Ah. This again.

“Sumutnyerl?”

Sumutnyerl turns and smiles again. Oblaitko stands before them once more, not in the same form as a moment ago—no longer young, their hair white, their back bent with age and the weight of their position—but their eyes are the same warm, kind brown they have always been .Right now, they are wide with shock and not a little sorrow.

“Hello, my dear friend,” Sumutnyerl says.

“Sumutnyerl,” Oblaitko says again. “Why...how are you here? Like this? You—you mustn’t. It isn’t your time.”

“Perhaps not,” Sumutnyerl agrees. They touch their heart, where the phantom pain is fading fast. “I—I believe I may have been stabbed in my sleep.” Like Nik, they think, with a mingling of regret and anger.

“You will be given another chance.” Oblaitko states this quite calmly, as if it is a given fact rather than an opinion...or a hope. “The Garden needs you. Our people need you.”

“Perhaps I shall be given the offer,” Sumutnyerl replies. “And...perhaps I will accept. But...well. There is much that has happened. Perhaps if I am not needed...perhaps if my last great task has been fulfilled after all…” They hold out their hands. “Would you allow me to stay?”

Oblaitko takes Sumutnyerl’s hands, and stares into their eyes, and no other words are necessary.

~*~*~*~

Hamid knows, on some level, that he’s dreaming, if only because Zolf isn’t really one for parties. That doesn’t stop him from being happy, though. Hamid’s sleep for the past few months has been dreamless at best, teeming with nightmares more commonly, and occasionally non-existent at worst. A part of him has started to believe he’ll never have beautiful dreams again, so the fact that this is a good dream means he’s going to enjoy it for all it’s worth.

And the others all look happy, too. Aziza sings beautifully, her eyes sparkling and face expressive, and her husband gazes on her with a proud, adoring smile. Saleh, his wife, and Hamid’s mother are listening to Oscar tell some story, gesturing dramatically with his drink, his other hand being occupied holding Zolf’s. Zolf has a faint smile on his face as he listens to a story he’s probably heard a hundred times—hell, it’s probably one he was there for, those are Oscar’s favorite stories after all—but that he never gets tired of hearing Oscar tell. Hamid’s father looks more relaxed and content than Hamid has seen him...well, ever since he started paying attention anyway, deep in conversation with Saira and Apophis. Azu, wearing the gown she and Hamid designed together for the opening of the so-called Bow Bar, is making a valiant effort at letting Ismail teach her one of the fancy dances he’s learned, while Ishaq enthusiastically does the same with Cel. Skraak and Grizzop have become fast friends, which Hamid isn’t surprised by, and he wonders what they’re talking about and if he’s going to have to help Zolf clean it up later.

Hamid dances. He loves to dance, almost as much as he loves to fly, and he doesn’t really mind that he doesn’t have a partner at the moment. As he spins, putting in one of the fanciest twirls he knows, he catches Sasha’s eye across the room and grins; she grins back and shoots him a double thumbs-up.

Hamid starts in Sasha’s direction. She’s so good on her feet, he thinks, she’ll be really good at dancing, and she’ll love it. Aziza’s just wrapping up the song she’s currently working on, and Hamid’s pretty sure she’s going to go into the aria from Act I of Carmen, which was her first leading role and one she’s quite proud of. Hamid knows with absolute certainty that Sasha will kill it at a tango.

Before he gets to her, he passes his mother and gets a kiss on the cheek. Saleh gives him a friendly poke in the chest as he passes, which actually hurts a lot more than Hamid is expecting, but he tries to laugh it off, especially as Saleh is laughing, too.

Zolf turns to face him. Letting go of Oscar’s hand, he reaches over and touches Hamid’s forehead with one thumb. He’s still smiling a little, and the look in his eyes is one he hasn’t given Hamid in a long time—not since the beach south of Calais, after they survived the storm sailing from Dover. It warms Hamid all the way to his toes.

“It won’t end this way,” he says, and while he sounds like he’s talking at an ordinary volume, Hamid somehow gets the feeling that nobody can hear Zolf’s words but him. “I won’t let it. Your heart’s too big to be destroyed by something like this.”

Hamid feels simultaneously stronger than he has in ages and like something’s being sucked out of his lungs. His wings unfurl from his back before he completely registers that the music is gone.

He blinks. Someone is holding him—it feels like Cel—and it’s dark. The memory of the lights dimming and then going out comes to him...and they’d been heading to the lab, he remembers, because of the tunnel, but what—?

Zolf’s voice comes from not very far in front of him. “Get in in the door, and get safe.”

Hamid blinks again. That’s an order, they’re in the field—he promised he would follow Zolf’s orders in the field, so even if he doesn’t know exactly what’s going on, he’s going to do what he’s just been told and he can ask questions once they’re all safe. Surely Zolf will be right behind him.

He takes in a breath to acknowledge his instructions—and sucks in a lungful of sweet-smelling gas. Instantly, he drops unconscious back into Cel’s arms.

He blinks and he’s at the party again. Zolf is still standing in front of him, smiling as he turns back to the conversation—did he leave for a minute? No, surely not, Hamid’s been here the whole time, he thinks fuzzily.

The song wraps up on a triumphant sting, and there’s a smattering of polite applause, and then just as Hamid suspected, the music starts up and it’s “L’amour est un oiseau rebelle” from Carmen. He hurries over to Sasha and holds out a hand. “Sasha, come on, you’ll love this!” he cries.

Laughing, Sasha takes his hand and lets him pull her onto the ballroom floor. She’s a natural at the tango. Hamid would never have dared ask anyone else to do this dance with him; it’s a fiery dance of passion, usually, but this is Sasha and she’s just his favorite sister, as far as he’s concerned, even if she’s not his sister by blood. There’s no romance behind what they’re doing here, no heat. They’re just two kids having fun, really, laughing and taking increasingly flamboyant chances with the flashier moves.

He ends the dance by dipping her, somehow, despite the fact that she’s two feet taller than he is, but they’re both flushed and laughing and having a great time. It doesn’t even matter that they overbalance and fall onto the dance floor. Nobody’s really watching them anyway, which is just the way Hamid wants it right now. He doesn’t have to be the center of attention all the time. Not even most of the time.

“I like your wings,” Sasha says, poking one of them, and when did they come out? Hamid genuinely can’t remember. “This ‘cause you’re a Meritocrat?”

“I’m descended from a dragon,” Hamid corrects her. “I’m not a Meritocrat.”

“Good. But the wings are cool anyway. Do they work?”

“Oh! Yes. Want to see?” Hamid gets to his feet and manages—somehow—to pull Sasha up too. “I can cast fly on you and we can—”

“No,” Sasha interrupts, surprising him. She pulls him into a tight hug, and, oh, Sasha gives the best hugs. Hamid’s always suspected she would, but she’s always been iffy about being touched. If his wings hadn’t already popped out with joy—apparently—they would be bursting out now. He hugs her back just as tightly as she lifts him off the ground with the force of her embrace..

“Don’t you give up, Hamid,” she says in his ear. “Don’t you do it. There’s no dream so good it’s worth losing the whole world for. You get back out there and you fight to make the world this good. Because this right here? This is worth fighting for.”

Just a little of the euphoria peels back from the edges of Hamid’s mind, and he clings to Sasha a little tighter. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“’M always with you, mate. Just like you were always with me. We’ll meet again. But right now, you’ve got to go save the world for me.” Sasha pulls back enough to smile at him, and her eyes are wet. “Make it a good one.”

Hamid’s eyes snap open.

~*~*~*~

If you had asked Oscar even a year ago, he would never have described this as the most perfect moment of his life. He would have said that the most perfect moment he could imagine is a gala celebrating the opening of his greatest work, a play that will be talked about through the ages and mean his name lives on long after he does, resplendent in his finest clothes, a rapt audience listening to him declaim his opinions—finally being the center of attention for art instead of admin.

But no. He enjoyed that, yes, and he’s looking forward to reading the description of it in the newspapers. But the truly perfect moment is this one. Just a simple, quiet family breakfast the morning after.

Azu is at more or less the opposite side of the round kitchen table they’re using instead of the formal dining table, nursing a hangover bigger than she is; she’s got a glass of tomato juice and a cup of strong black coffee and isn’t really talking to anyone. Cel is scribbling on a piece of paper and muttering under their breath, probably trying to improve or refine the special effects they and the kobolds designed and built for the production. Zolf presides over the stove as usual, his beard done up in one of the intricate braids he only does when he’s in an especially good mood and his shirtsleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. Sasha stands a little way down the counter, beaming as she slices and chops meat and vegetables for him; she’s the only one Zolf allows to help him in the kitchen, and even then only on special occasions. Hamid sits to Oscar’s left, a pile of newspapers between them, his pre-breakfast snack actually half-forgotten at his elbow.

“The reviews look really good, Oscar,” he says, sounding almost as delighted as Oscar feels as he hands over the Times, folded back to the Arts page. “All the criticisms I’ve seen so far have been about the acting, not the play itself.”

“I told you to cast Barnes in the lead instead,” Zolf calls from the stove.

“Not my call, darling. I’m not the casting director.” Oscar reads the article Hamid is handing him, a broad smile blooming across his face as he reads. Hamid’s right, the reviews are glowing, and this is from a critic who’s notoriously hard to please. A particular phrase about halfway down the column catches his eye: Wilde’s masterful words and turn of phrase makes even Johnson’s leaden performance turn to the purest gold.

Turning a few pages on, Oscar opens the society page and is delighted to see that most of it has been given over to a description of the party celebrating the opening. There are even a couple of pictures accompanying the article, and Oscar very carefully folds the paper back so that one of them is more fully visible—Oscar at the center, smiling broadly and holding a drink in one hand, his other arm draped around Zolf’s shoulders, the others arrayed around him looking pleased and proud.

“Have you thought about your next project?” Cel asks, looking up from their notes.

Oscar shakes his head before Cel can launch into an elaboration of the question. “No, not yet. I think I’ll take some time to see how this one does first. It may have opened well, but that doesn’t mean it will end well.” He sighs, a bit dramatically but not entirely put-0n. “Things so rarely do.”

“Things rarely stay good the whole time they’re happening, but that doesn’t mean they won’t end well,” Azu points out. “We got here, didn’t we?”

“And you’ve earned it,” Hamid adds encouragingly. “Happy endings feel a lot better when you have to work for them.”

“Cheers to that.” Sasha tosses her knife into the air; it flips four times and then returns to her hand without her even looking at it, and she goes back to her chopping.

“Have a bit of faith, Wilde,” Zolf chides him.

Oscar smiles fondly at his dwarf as he sets aside the paper. Azu’s faith in Aphrodite is a certainty you can cut your teeth on, but Zolf’s faith in Hope is nearly contagious. Like their happy ending, Zolf has worked for his faith, he’s earned it, and it’s never betrayed him. It’s the only reason any of them are still here, really. It’s the anchor that kept Cel from spiraling with guilt, it’s the keel that steadied Azu when she doubted herself (not her god, never her god), it’s the beacon that led Sasha back to them. And it’s the only reason Oscar and Hamid are still alive, albeit with matching scars—

Wait. Where did that come from?

Shaking his head slightly, Oscar pushes away from the table and passes behind Zolf, touching him first on the shoulder, then the cheek. “I have plenty of faith, dearest. In you if nothing else.”

“Get away from my workspace,” Zolf grumbles, though without any heat.

Oscar smirks and moves down the counter towards the cutting board, ostentatiously reaching for one of the ingredients waiting to be added to whatever Zolf is preparing. Sasha jabs playfully at his chest to make him back off.

She’s too good at what she does to accidentally stab someone when she’s only pretending to, and she wouldn’t stab him, especially not with Zolf’s good tomato knife; she has too much respect for both Zolf and blades to do that. And yet, pain suddenly erupts in Oscar’s heart, as though she’s driven a blade far bigger than the serrated one she’s holding into his chest. He inhales sharply, and the world goes white.

For just a moment, it resolves itself into his flat in Paris from when he was in university, or something similar anyway, but then it swirls into a pink mist. He feels something solid holding onto him, something anchoring him firmly in reality, and warmth floods his entire being. He feels safe and protected and cherished, and it gives him strength.

His eyes open, and he finds himself lying more or less on his back. Zolf kneels next to him, one hand tenderly cradling his jaw, the other pressed to his heart, which hurts like anything.

“Wh—huh—?” Oscar tries to sit up, his mind scrambling to fit this dark and rather crowded antechamber or wherever it is they are in with the light and airy kitchen-slash-breakfast nook he remembers from just a few...moments ago? What’s going on?

Zolf’s face is pale, his blue eyes intent, and there’s a trickle of blood near his hairline that worries Oscar in a vague and distant way. But he doesn’t have time to ask about it before Zolf looks into Oscar’s eyes and says in a voice that crackles faintly with an emotion he can’t place, “Get the others out, and get safe.”

Before Oscar can question it, or protest, or even figure out what it is they’re supposed to be safe from, Zolf half-shoves, half-throws him through a door that’s barely open wide enough for him to get through. He slides a few feet until he’s able to at least drag himself on his hands and feet a little further into the room. Someone runs past him and takes hold of the door, but doesn’t close it.

Oscar blinks hard, shaking his head to clear it. There’s a sweet smell in the air and he almost sniffs at it, almost tries to see what it is, but then his eyes fall on the crumpled figure not far from where he is and it acts like a dash of cold water across his brain. Hamid. Hamid is flopped in a pitiful heap, his new wings draped across the floor, his eyes closed.

He was dreaming. Oscar realizes that in the same moment that he takes in Hamid’s unconscious (oh, gods, please let him only be unconscious, Oscar cannot have failed him a second time) form and the sounds of something that is definitely not making breakfast in the other room. He pushes himself to a standing position and looks around the room. It doesn’t take long to spot the tunnel Hamid spoke of, at the back of the lab. That must be both out and safe.

“Tell the others to follow us,” he calls over his shoulder to the person he now recognizes as Ada, hurrying over to Hamid’s side and hefting him into his arms. The wings make it awkward, but Hamid sort of nestles into Oscar’s arms. Thank the gods, he’s alive.

Oscar runs. He heads down the tunnel, the light fading behind him, but he can’t spare a hand to cast any sort of spell to help him, so he just gets as far as he can. There’s just enough light left for him to see the gate before he runs headlong into it, and he checks, then looks over his shoulder. The others will be coming any moment now, he tells himself. They just have to wait a moment.

He sets Hamid down on the ground and looks him over quickly. He looks...fine, really. A bit disheveled, but fine. Then Oscar notices the bloodied tear in his shirt. Underneath the rend is a scar so new its edges are still shiny, directly over Hamid’s warm and generous heart.

It doesn’t take a genius to guess what happened. And, touching his own chest briefly, Oscar feels the same thing.

He checks Hamid over quickly, and even though he’s a bit rattled, he realizes that the sweet smell he noticed earlier is probably what knocked Hamid out; other than that, he looks fine. Oscar sniffs the air experimentally. It’s a bit fresher down here, so he should be able to…

“Hamid,” he says urgently, shaking the halfling, then slapping his face as gently as possible. “Wake up!”

Hamid’s eyes snap open. There’s a moment of disorientation before his eyes clear. “Oscar?” he says, his voice a bit higher-pitched than normal as he sits up. “What’s—what happened?”

Oscar still has no idea, actually, except for one absolute certainty so strong he sensed it even in his dreams, maybe even before it happened. “Zolf saved us.”

The confusion on Hamid’s face melts into fierce determination. “Then let’s go return the favor.”

#ollie writes fanfic #rusty quill gaming #rqg 207 #207 spoilers #minor character death #grief mention #violence mention #augusta leigh (rqg) #sumutnyerl #hamid saleh haroun al tahan #oscar wilde (rqg)

[olivemac]

1300 miles | chapter 3 | b.b.

Summary | Bucky Barnes is adjusting to civilian life, living in Brooklyn, visiting Sam in Delacroix when he can, and trying to figure out what he wants. When he meets Jo Landry, the tattooed lead singer of a New Orleans-based band, he thinks he might have found the answer. Too bad they live 1300 miles apart.

Time Frame | post-TFATWS

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x fem!oc

Rating | explicit

Warnings | mentions of combat-related injuries, alcohol use, tattoos/body piercings, coarse language, gay male character, bisexual female character, recreational/medicinal drug use (weed), pet names (doll, pretty girl, Sarge), smut [f/m, mutual masturbation, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), PIV, very very slight dom!Bucky, slight praise kink, very slight somnophilia], angst if you squint but not really, and all the romance tropes/fluff because I'm a sucker for it; more warnings to come; 18+ ONLY, minors DNI

Tag | @mrs--barnes

A/N | Decided to go pure filth and fantasy for chapter three. Enjoy. 😉

series master list | AO3 link | full master list

1300 miles playlist

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previous chapter

_____

Since returning in The Blip, Bucky has hated the time between when he lays down and when he falls asleep. He can't seem to turn his mind off. He's still getting used to being alone with his own thoughts, having his own thoughts. Wakanda offered him some peace, and in his apartment, he keeps the TV running constantly to fill the silence and stop himself from getting too lost inside his head. But at Sarah's house, he's afraid to turn the television on for fear of waking anyone else. So, on Sunday night, he lays on the couch listening to the house creak and groan around him, trying not to overanalyze everything that's happened in the past twenty-four hours. He also tries not to think about Jo and everything he likes about her: her laugh, her voice, her eyes, her lips, her hands, her breasts—

He cuts off his train of thought. She's funny, clever, and kind, and in just a few short hours, she seems to have commanded Bucky's undivided attention.

_____

On Monday morning, Bucky debates whether or not to text Jo. Sam advises him to wait a day or two: "Put the ball in her court. You don't want to seem over-eager," he says. Bucky doesn't point out that he hasn't felt this way about a woman in eighty years, so he is definitely beyond eager.

Luckily, Jo texts him first.

The slightly outdated smart phone Sam convinced him to invest in chimes. Jo's name appears on the screen, a small pink heart next to it, along with a photo of her in her glasses holding Toulouse and the message, I think Louie misses you, Sarge.

Another picture comes through. This time it’s of himself, asleep with Louie on his chest. Bucky smiles.

“Sam,” Bucky calls across the boat, “how do you save a photo on this damn thing?” He holds his phone up.

Sam laughs and trots over to him. “Hand it here,” he says.

Bucky hands him the phone, the message from Jo pulled up on the screen.

Sam raises his eyebrows, “Sarge, huh?”

“Don’t say a word,” Bucky warns. “Just show me how to save the photo.”

Sam walks him through the steps, then says, “You can make it your background, you know, instead of this…” he exits out of the text message and looks at the screen, “sad, generic picture.”

“You can do that?” Bucky asks.

“Did you not watch the tutorial videos I sent you, man?” Sam sighs.

Then he holds up the phone, snaps a photo of himself, sets it as Bucky’s home screen, and hands the phone back to Bucky.

Bucky stares at it for a moment. “What the hell?” he mutters.

“Watch the videos so you’ll know how to change it, Sarge.” Sam teases.

_____

Jo spends most of Monday and Tuesday trying not to think about Bucky and failing miserably. The only reprieve she has is band rehearsal which gives her something to focus on that isn't Bucky's hands or mouth or eyes or broad shoulders...

She throws herself into learning new music and tries to avoid texting Bucky every five minutes. They keep a fairly regular conversation going throughout the two days, but she's afraid she's going to scare him off if she seems too enthusiastic.

_____

When Tuesday evening finally arrives, Bucky pulls up outside the bar on a borrowed motorcycle Sam hooked him up with. He's sure that Sam only made it happen so Bucky wouldn't ask to drive his car.

He calls Jo on the intercom outside the residential door to the right of the bar. She buzzes him in, and he takes the stairs two at a time. He's full of nervous energy that he can't seem to burn off. At Jo's door, he runs a hand through his hair before knocking.

When Jo opens the door, Bucky has to stop himself from kissing her immediately. It doesn't seem like the right move for the very beginning of a first date, despite what happened between them two days earlier. Jo's dark hair is loose, falling across her shoulders, and her lips are a deep shade of red. It reminds him of the color women wore in the '40s, but he can't remember anyone looking as beautiful in the shade as Jo does.

She's wearing a black button-down shirt tucked into slim, black jeans, and when Bucky's eyes follow the trail of the gold necklace laying across her collarbone, he's greeted with the sight of the beginning of her sternum tattoo and the lace of her black bra peeking out. He licks his lips and flicks his eyes back to Jo's.

She smirks at him.

"You look gorgeous, doll," Bucky says.

"Not too bad yourself, Sarge," she says, taking in his usual dark jeans and leather jacket. She notices that he's not wearing his gloves.

"These are for you," Bucky says, handing her the small bouquet of flowers he picked up on the way.

Jo smiles and takes them. "You did say flowers." The corner of Bucky's lip pulls up in a smile. "They're lovely," she continues. "Just let me put these in water."

She moves away from the door, and Bucky follows her into the apartment. He watches as she pulls a vase from a kitchen cabinet and fills it with water. He can't stop himself from staring at the curve of her hips and backside in the tight, black denim she's wearing. All thoughts of not kissing her yet are dismissed.

He steps up behind her as she stands at the counter, snipping the ends of the stems and placing the flowers in the vase. Bucky's hands sweep over her hips and around her waist, pulling her flush against his own body — her back against his front. He takes her hair into his hand and moves it, so it falls over one shoulder, granting him access to her pale neck. His lips find the spot behind her ear, and he kisses her gently, before moving down to suck a bruise into the skin where her neck meets her collarbone. Bucky hears the scissors Jo was holding clatter onto the counter.

"If you start that, we'll never get to dinner," she says almost breathlessly.

"I did promise you dinner," Bucky mumbles against her neck.

"You did."

He spins her around and kisses her lightly on the corner of her mouth, careful to not smudge her lipstick.

"Then dinner it is," he says, pulling away and offering her his hand.

Outside, Jo eyes his motorcycle with suspicion. "You want me to ride a motorcycle. In New Orleans," she says.

Bucky shrugs.

"The potholes alone will kill us," Jo argues.

"Do you trust me?" Bucky asks, his eyes shining with excitement and his mouth curved up in a flirtatious smile.

Jo nods. With that look, Bucky could ask her to ride a motorcycle naked through Mardi Gras and she would agree. "Of course," she says.

Bucky's smile broadens, and he places the extra helmet on her head. Jo doesn't care how much this will mess up her hair; she's too focused on how gentle Bucky's hands are as he secures the strap and flips the visor down. He puts his own helmet on and motions for her to climb on behind him. Jo wraps her hands tightly around Bucky's waist as he starts the bike.

He's surprisingly agile as he maneuvers the motorcycle through the streets of New Orleans, avoiding potholes and roadblocks. Jo relaxes her hold on his waist a bit and rests her helmeted cheek against his back. Bucky's heart swells at the thought that she trusts him to keep her safe.

_____

The restaurant Bucky chose from Sam's list of suggestions is housed in a converted warehouse a few blocks from the curve of the Mississippi River. Inside, it's louder than Bucky would have liked, but that also means that Jo sits close to him so she can hear him over the noise, her body angled toward his and her hand resting on his arm as she looks over the menu. Bucky places his own hand on her knee.

He has to remind himself to actually read the menu in front of him instead of just staring at Jo. He's finally made himself focus long enough on the entrees to decide what to order when he hears Jo let out a soft snort beside him. He looks up.

"Sorry," she says before biting her bottom lip to stifle another laugh.

He just stares at her.

"You do this thing," she continues, "when you're concentrating on something, where you squint your eyes, and you rest your tongue on your bottom lip. It's kind of adorable.”

Bucky sets his menu down on the table. "I don't think anyone's ever called me 'adorable' before," he says.

Jo hums and cocks her head to the side, staring at him. "Definitely adorable. But would you prefer charming? Handsome? Incredibly sexy?" Bucky blushes. "Should I go on?" she teases.

Bucky takes her hand in his and kisses her knuckles. "Please don't," he says.

"Not a fan of compliments, Sarge?" she goads him.

"Not used to hearing them," he mumbles.

Jo smiles and squeezes his hand. "We should change that," she says.

The corners of Bucky's eyes crinkle with his smile, and Jo wants to place kisses over each line created. Instead, she closes the short distance between them and opts for placing a kiss on his stubbled cheek. She likes that Bucky lets her do this, lets her show her fondness for him this way. She's always been overly affectionate with people she likes.

For his part, Bucky is enjoying the contact. He used to love to hold a woman's hand, brush the hair from her face, press a kiss to her cheek, and after being denied any form of gentle touch for eighty years, he finds he can't get enough of it. He thought he would shy away from it after so long without human connection, but Jo makes it easy. She seems to make everything easy for him. He thinks about how normal it is to sit in a restaurant with a beautiful woman, and he chokes down the thought that maybe he doesn’t deserve anything easy or normal.

Over dinner, Jo leads the conversation. While Bucky answers her questions and engages with her stories, she's noticed that he prefers to stay quiet, prefers to listen. So, she talks. And while she talks, she observes him, observes the way his eyes follow her hands, the way his tongue drags over his bottom lip, the way his body tenses and turns ever so slightly to an unexpected noise in the room.

"You're very intense," she finally tells him.

"Sorry," he says, running his tongue over his lips again.

"Don't apologize," Jo says. "I like it. I like you."

The corner of his mouth pulls up in a smile, and, for a brief moment, Bucky wants to pour himself out before her, tell her how she makes him feel like himself again after so long. He wants to confess to her, wants to tell her more than he's told Sam or his therapists or anyone in a lifetime – stories of his childhood and family, of Steve and the war, and everything after that. But the words get caught in his throat and the moment passes.

When they step outside of the restaurant after dinner and another drink, there's enough of a late-night breeze blowing to cause Jo to wrap her arms around herself. Bucky shrugs off his leather jacket and drapes it over Jo's shoulders before tucking her body into his side. She lifts her head and smiles up at him as he leads her the few blocks to where the bike is parked.

Before he places the helmet over her head again, Bucky kisses her, his arms wrapped around her waist, pressing her body against his. He nips her bottom lip gently with his teeth and lets his hand wander down her backside, pressing her body impossibly closer. When he finally pulls away, his cheeks are flushed, and his pink lips are slightly swollen.

Jo brings her hand up to cradle his jaw. "Take me home, Sarge," she whispers.

_____

At traffic lights, Jo, warm in Bucky’s leather jacket, finds her hands wandering from Bucky's waist to his thighs, drawing slow circles across the thick muscles there. When they stop at one particularly long light, Jo has to stop herself from letting her hand ghost across his crotch. She’s trying to respect his boundaries, his need to be in control. By the time they reach Jo's apartment, Bucky's half-hard beneath his jeans, and Jo is anxious to get him upstairs.

He parks the motorcycle on the street outside the bar and stashes the helmets while Jo unlocks the building's residential door. When the helmets are locked up, Bucky meets her at the door and guides her inside, his hands on Jo's hips. She turns and presses him against the inside of the door, reaching up to stroke her fingers through his hair and ghost her lips over his, their breath mingling.

"Are you done teasing me?" Bucky growls.

"Never," she laughs and moves out of his reach. She makes it to the bottom of the stairs before Bucky catches up to her. In one swift move, he lifts her up and tosses her over his shoulder, smacking her backside before climbing the stairs. Jo laughs and enjoys the view of his muscled back beneath her hands.

Bucky doesn't put Jo down outside her apartment. Instead, she hands him her keys, and he unlocks the door while holding her with one arm around her thighs. He doesn't set her down in the living room either; he carries her all the way through the apartment to her bedroom and tosses her gently onto her bed. Jo bounces once and laughs before sliding out of his jacket, kicking off her shoes, and pulling Bucky toward her.

"Come here," she says, releasing his dog tags from beneath the collar of his shirt and tugging gently on the chain.

Bucky steps out of his own shoes and climbs onto the bed, hovering over Jo. He pushes a strand of hair out of her face and stares at her. Her lipstick is faded from dinner and their kisses, but her cheeks and chest are flushed red in its place.

“You’re beautiful, Jo,” Bucky says, and he leans down and kisses her gently. They stay like that for a while, kissing slowly, finally breaking away for air and for Bucky to spread kisses across Jo’s jaw and neck.

“Bucky?” Jo whispers. He hums in acknowledgment, his lips pressed against her collarbone. “You're in charge, okay?”

Bucky exhales slowly, his fingers trailing up and down Jo's sides. “Good," he says. "Because first I'm going to make you come apart on my fingers, then my tongue, then my cock."

Jo practically whimpers, and her back arches, her chest pushing toward Bucky’s hands as they trail across her breasts then down to untuck her shirt. His fingers move quickly over the buttons on her blouse, and he parts the fabric to reveal the black lace of her bra. He leans back slightly and takes in the sight of her pierced nipples pressing against the fabric.

"Gorgeous," her murmurs before laving at one of her nipples through the lace. He leans back again and pulls the fabric down to take her nipple into his mouth, sucking gently.

Jo sighs and weaves her fingers into Bucky's hair, her nails scraping against his scalp. Bucky growls against her breast, and his fingers move to the button of her jeans, popping it open and tugging the zipper down. His flesh hand dives beneath the waist of her underwear, and his fingers ghost over her clit. He's moving purely on instinct and maybe, he thinks, muscle memory.

“Bucky,” Jo whines as his hand dips lower, two fingers sinking into her wet heat.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He presses one more kiss to her nipple before claiming her lips again. He strokes her slowly, enjoying the way her walls clamp around his fingers and her eyes fall shut.

“More,” she pleads, and Bucky smirks against her lips. He crooks his fingers and presses his thumb against her clit until she’s gasping.

“Look at me when I make you come,” Bucky whispers, increasing the speed of his thrusts, his thumb pressing harder against Jo’s clit. He feels her tighten around his fingers, and she keens, arching her back, her eyes flying open and locking on Bucky’s. “Good girl,” he praises, and he adds a third finger as she clenches around him and digs her own fingers into the bed sheets, coming undone on his hand.

Bucky slips his fingers out of her and tugs her jeans and underwear down her legs, tossing them on the floor. His hands slide up her legs, over the curve of her hips and across her stomach to reach behind her back and unhook her bra. Jo sits up and shrugs out of her blouse and bra, letting Bucky throw them aside. His hand on her shoulder guides her to lay back down.

Bucky sits back on his heels and takes in the sight of her, from her flushed cheeks to the barbells pierced through her nipples to the trim patch of hair between her legs.

“Fuck, doll, look at you,” Bucky finally says, licking his bottom lip.

Jo breathes out a laugh and pushes at Bucky’s shirt until he’s pulling it over his head. He stands from the bed to pull his jeans off, as well, keeping his boxers on for now, then returns to her, his lips finding hers again. Their teeth clash, and Bucky’s fingers dig into the skin at Jo’s hips, holding her in place, keeping her from pressing up against his crotch.

“Be still,” he whispers, and his teeth nip at her jaw.

Bucky runs his tongue down her neck to the top of her left breast where he stops to suck a bruise into her tender flesh. He soothes the spot with his tongue and a kiss before continuing his path down her stomach to her hip. He uses his tongue to trace the floral pattern inked on the outside of her left hip down the top of her thigh and across to her cunt.

Bucky's heated breath ghosts across her sensitive flesh, and Jo gasps when he dips his tongue into her folds. He laps at her slowly, then sucks her clit between his lips, and Jo’s back arches and her whole body seems to rise off the bed.

“Be. Still,” he hisses again, and his arms wrap around the backs of her thighs to hold her in place.

“There," Jo whines. "Don’t stop. Please."

Bucky shifts his own hips against the bed, seeking any form of relief. He loves the sounds he's pulling from Jo, loves the way she tastes, and the way she ruts against him, despite his iron grip on her thighs. Later, he thinks, I'll lie on my back and let her ride my face until her legs collapse.

Stars explode behind her eyes when Jo comes, and a scream is caught in her throat. Bucky places a final kiss against her cunt, then pulls back and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Jo reaches for him. He kicks off his boxers before settling back over her. She can feel him hot and hard against her thigh, and Bucky reaches down to stroke his cock, pulling the foreskin back with a groan.

"Are you sure?" Bucky asks, his eyes meeting hers.

Jo nods and cups Bucky’s face in her hands. “Are you?” she asks.

"Yes. God, yes," Bucky groans. He hasn’t wanted — needed — anything this badly in so long.

Jo wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him. Bucky fists his cock, running it along her folds to gather her slick, before pushing forward, sheathing himself inside her in one thrust. Jo gasps, her head falling back against the pillows, her neck bared for Bucky’s lips and tongue.

Bucky’s vibranium fist is clenched so tightly in the sheets he thinks he might rip them. He relaxes his hand slowly, the plates that work as his muscles whirring quietly beside Jo’s ear.

Bucky groans against Jo’s neck. “Fuck, it’s like you’re made for me.”

He holds himself very still, giving Jo time to adjust to him, until her hips rise to meet his. He sets a slow pace at first, enjoying the way her body flutters around him. Jo digs her short nails into the skin of his shoulders, and Bucky is surprised to find he likes the slight sting. He shifts her legs even wider with his large hands on her thighs and sits back slightly to watch himself sink into her over and over.

Jo's hands drop to his waist, and she caresses the skin there gently before whispering, "Faster, please."

Bucky practically growls at her request before pulling back and snapping his hips against hers at a frantic pace. Jo keens, and Bucky shifts again to press his body over hers, covering her completely. She can feel his dog tags against her heated chest. He watches her bite her bottom lip, her green eyes meeting his. Jo is lost in his eyes, his pupils blown wide; the look he's giving her somewhere between awe and adoration, and Jo is certain the look in her eyes mirrors his because she is so far gone for him.

“I want to see you come again, pretty girl. Give me one more,” Bucky demands, his thumb rubbing harsh circles against her clit.

That simple command is all it takes to send Jo spiraling over the edge for a third time. Bucky follows behind with a low groan, tensing and burying himself deep within her. He drops his weight on top of her briefly, his head resting against her shoulder, before pulling away and rolling onto his back, bringing Jo into his side.

They lay like that for a while, Bucky running his flesh hand up and down Jo's arm while Jo presses lazy kisses against Bucky's chest. Eventually, she excuses herself to take her contacts out and wash her face, tossing Bucky a clean washcloth from the bathroom door, and when she slides back in bed, Bucky is on her again. He makes good on his promise to himself to have her cunt over his face, pulling another orgasm from her before she falls onto the bed beside him, laughing.

He takes her face in his hands and sweeps his fingers across her cheeks gently. He wants to tell her how amazing she is, how happy he is to have met her, how wonderful the past few days have been, but he isn't sure how to put all of that into words. Not yet.

So, he rolls them both onto their sides, her back pressed against his chest and his flesh arm wrapped tightly around her waist. Jo hums and laces her fingers with Bucky's, her eyes closing. She's warm and happy and sleep is calling her name.

_____

Bucky wakes an hour or so after he's fallen asleep, the beginnings of a nightmare fresh in his mind. When his senses clear, and he feels Jo's body pressed against his, he feels calm. He uses the arm wrapped around her to pull her closer to him and presses kisses against her shoulder until she stirs.

Jo mumbles sleepily and pushes back against him, Bucky's cock nestled against her lower back. His fingers find her cunt, and she's still slick with evidence of their earlier encounter. He presses inside her slowly, groaning as he fills her, her walls tightening around him.

"Bucky," Jo sighs, her hand moving back to grip his hip as he ruts into her.

When he comes, he sinks his teeth into her shoulder to stifle his cry, then runs his tongue across the spot to soothe the sting. Jo drags the hand wrapped around her up to her mouth and kisses his palm. He tries to remember what he would have said to a woman in this situation eighty years ago, but the romantic words don't come.

Instead, he whispers, "I really like you, Jo," against her shoulder.

Jo laughs sleepily. "Good. I like you, too, Sarge."

_____

When Bucky wakes the second time, he’s alone. He can hear faint music coming from another room. He checks his phone. 6:00 AM. He slips out of bed and slides his boxers on.

The apartment is still dark with all the curtains closed, apart from light spilling from a crack in the music room door. Bucky finds Jo sitting on the floor, a guitar in her lap. He knocks and pushes the door open further. Jo turns to look up at him and smiles.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?” she asks. Bucky shakes his head no. “I don’t always sleep well,” she says.

Bucky sits on the floor with her, his back propped against the wall. Jo has to stop herself from staring at his muscled chest and thighs.

"Play me something, doll," Bucky says, resting his head against the wall behind him.

She runs through a couple of songs while Bucky replays the events of last night in his mind.

"Shit!" he says suddenly, sitting up straight. Jo stops strumming and looks at him, bewildered. "I didn't wear a condom," he says.

“It’s okay. I have an IUD so I can’t get pregnant," she tells him. "And I’m disease free. I assume you are...you know, with all that super soldier serum running through your veins," she gestures toward him.

Bucky nods but stays silent.

“Do you know what an IUD is?” she asks in response to his silence.

He blushes. “When the government pardoned me, they made me do a complete physical — doctors poking and prodding me," he shudders involuntarily. "So yeah, I'm clean. Afterwards, I don’t think they really knew what to do with me, so they gave me a bunch of pamphlets on everything from mental health to safe sex.”

Jo hums and mutters something about the state of the American public health system.

“We should have had this conversation before we slept together," Bucky finally says. "That’s what the pamphlets recommend.”

Jo tosses her head back and laughs, and Bucky beams with pride at the sight.

“Come on, Sarge," she says, setting her guitar aside, "I’m taking you to breakfast."

_____

next chapter

#bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #sergeant barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky x oc #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky x ofc #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes romance #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #bucky x original character #bucky x original female character

[katehuntington]

Title: Ride With Me (part 23) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±5200 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part 23: The Flagstaff Horsefair has turned out to be a huge success, but before they go home, an unexpected visitor changes everything. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Dean’s ride: Time Has No Mercy - The Common Linnets  Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Thank you @atc74​​​, and @winchest09​​​ for helping me. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999​​​, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam​​​, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand.

Ride With Me Masterlist

     The final day of the Flagstaff Horsefair 2008 is well on its way, the sun beating down on the market stalls and food trucks. Spectators mix with riders and trainers, some having drinks on the terras, others shopping at the tack and clothing stores. Giggling kids are chasing each other on the grass, the younger ones riding stick horses. Dean smiles at the children when they cross in front of him as he walks up towards the picture stand, slowing his step for a moment in order not to collide with the squealing youthful bunch. 

     By a van with ‘Equestrian Photo’ on the side, he pauses, then moves under the awning. The saleswoman gives out a printed photo to waiting clients on the side, wishing them a good day before she directs her attention to Dean. She greets him with a kind smile which the cowboy returns. Linda knows he doesn’t need help finding the images taken during this event, it’s not the first time the horse trainer has visited the photo stand over the years. Quite a few of the photos hanging on the walls in the Singer’s home and the cafeteria were made by Linda’s boss, the photographer who regularly works horse shows in the region. Ellen usually buys at least one when either he or Jo got on the podium. Dean isn’t interested in purchasing a photo of one of his own rides, though.

     He looks up when the red-haired photographer stumbles into the van from the back entrance, one Nikon hanging from a sling, dangling on her hip, and another one on a monopod with a huge zoom lens attached to it resting against her shoulder. Her curls are wild and it’s clear she’s in a hurry, the next class about to start already.      “Hi, Dean,” she greets, recognizing the familiar horseman instantly.      “Hey.” He nods at her with a smile, his eyes flicking back to the screen. “How’s it going?”      “Good. Busy,” she returns, taking out the battery of the cameras skillfully and swapping them for fully charged ones. “But busy is good these days, ain’t it? You had a few good runs, didn’t ya?”      “Can’t complain,” he admits, grinning as he thinks about how successful this event has been so far.      “Your student gave quite the performance last night,” the photographer smirks, handing Linda the memory card and taking back empty Sandisks to replace them with. 

     Dean looks up at her over the screen, noticing the mischief in her eyes. The way she just emphasized the word ‘student’ tells him that she knows exactly what’s up. He raises his eyebrows and chuckles, flustered. Looks like just about everyone in the business is up to speed at this point.

     “Check out the ones at the bottom of the folder. You can thank me later,” the redhead advises, grabbing a chocolate bar and a bottle of water from the small fridge under the counter before she heads for the back door again. “Gotta run!”

     Somewhat confused, Dean watches her head off to the main arena, before he redirects his attention to the display in front of him again. Stills of last night’s highlights pass by, allowing him to relive the amazing moments. The shots of the actual run are great, although he can imagine that Y/N and Meadow aren’t the most difficult pair to shoot. The Quarter mare is very photogenic with her copper coat and broad white blaze. She’s elegant, much like her rider, who has a fantastic seat, which shows, even on a still image. 

     Curious what the capturer of these images means, the cowboy goes down further, reaching a series of photos that show the seconds right after Y/N finished her freestyle, her arms wrapped around her horse’s neck, hugging her tight. He makes a mental note to pick that one. 

     There are more of her coming towards the entrance, waving at the crowd, but it’s the next couple of shots that has his jaw fall slack. The photographer must have sprinted to the other side of the tunnel before the horse and rider left the ring, because she managed to document the exact moment when he and his girlfriend embraced, Y/N still in the saddle, his arm around her, the emotional release evident. Jo is holding on to Meadow’s reins on the other side, smiling as she watches her friend and her cousin.

     The next photo shows just the two of them, standing in the gateway facing the arena while waiting for the score, followed by a shot of him lifting her off the ground when the realization of the new PR settled in. The final picture has to be his favorite. It’s one of the kiss they shared. The composition of the portrait is astonishing, the spotlights on the showground illuminating the figures in the center, silhouettes against the vibrant arena. His heart grows, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He never thought he would be able to experience what he felt at that moment again, the great magnitude of pride, joy, and love. But this photo brings it all back, and he has to have it.

     Still smiling at the warm feeling that has settled in his entire body, Dean scribbles down the file numbers on the order form and hands it to the blonde saleswoman, together with a fifty-dollar-bill. The wrangler bought six in total, one to frame and decorate the wall in the cafeteria, four for his girlfriend. The chosen photos are shots of horse and rider in a sliding stop, of the second right after finishing the test when Y/N threw her arms around Meadow’s neck, and of the precious embrace between him and his girl. He got a double print of the kiss they shared, one for her, one for him. 

     It’s a picture that he will cherish, come whatever. A picture he wants to be able to look at when he needs to, to remind himself of what he has got going for him. He knows challenging times are coming, with the ranch, with their relationship. Dean is well aware he’s approaching that inevitable turning point when he has to open up further than the lost boy with a dark past is comfortable with. But this photo, a moment forever frozen in time, will be the beacon he needs to find his way home. 

     Dean takes the envelope with the printed pictures from Linda and heads towards the ring. Jo is due to enter the arena in ten minutes and he wouldn’t want to miss it, for one, because she is going to bust his ass if he’s not there. It sometimes baffles him how his little cousin acts like she can’t stand being around him and yet searches for his approval so often. 

     He takes out the photo he wants to save for himself together with the one he will add to the cafeteria’s Wall of Fame, and slips them in the inner pocket of his denim jacket before he reaches the foot of the bleachers. With big strides, he conquers the steps, looking left and right in search of his friends once he has made it to the top. He spots Benny and Y/N on one of the higher rows when the farrier lifts his hat off his head and whistles. This barrel race is one of the highlights of the event and the arena is almost filled to full capacity, only a few seats left. Thankfully, his girlfriend saved him a spot.

     His smile grows wider when he sees the cowgirl, and deep inside he’s excited to give her the present he just purchased. He can’t wait to witness her reaction.      “I got you somethin’,” Dean announces.      Intrigued, Y/N pulls her focus away from the competitor currently in the ring and looks at her boyfriend, awaiting. He offers her the envelope, placing his now empty hands on his knees, somewhat nervously.      “What’s this?” she wonders, her curiosity peaked.      “Open it,” the cowboy urges.      She does, carefully folding back the seal flap and taking out the prints. When she turns them over, she lets out a stunned gasp, much to her boyfriend’s delight.      “These are amazing!” she says, elated, going through the pictures of her and Meadow slowly.

     The last two photos silence her, however, much like they did Dean when he first saw them on the screen. Moved, she takes in the portraits of the strong bond between her and the man that’s sitting next to her. After a few long seconds, she glances aside, meeting his warm eyes.  This cowboy with a John Wayne reputation - as Jo so poetically put it - sure has his ways. He might not be very vocal when it comes to his feelings, but that’s alright, because he is able to communicate through different languages. A kiss, a dance, his trust, his support. And now these photos. It’s proof of his adoration for her, and it’s more valid than a signature.

     She closes the small gap between them, moving under his hat, and grazes her soft lips over his. Ignoring his Southern friend, who lets out a low chuckle when he notices the lovebirds next to him, the head wrangler closes his eyes and kisses her back. His hand travels into her hair and holds her, making sure she doesn’t go anywhere. He can feel every connection; her featherlight fingertips on his stubble, her cute nose against his, her lashes dusting the freckles from his cheeks. Dean doesn’t need words, but neither does she. 

     When he slowly pulls away from her, he looks at her lovingly, forgetting time for a moment. It’s only when the commentator announces Jo’s name over the speakers, that they return their attention to the arena. The gate opens and his cousin and her horse Bullet shoot towards the first barrel, the animal doing his name justice. The three wranglers of the Gold Canyon ranch get on their feet, cheering on the blonde cowgirl, who goes through the course in record time. When she clocks a new PR, Y/N bounces on her feet, hugging Dean tight and letting out that laugh that he loves so much. 

     They don’t notice Benny’s gaze wandering off to the car park behind the bleaches. He has spotted a beige pickup pulling in. Like a hawk, the farrier follows the GMC truck.      “We’re going over to Jo to celebrate. Are you coming?” The enthusiastic intern calls for Benny’s attention, and he turns his head to face his best pal’s girlfriend.      “In a minute, darlin’,” he says, giving her a smile. “Gonna watch a few more runs.”      “Alright, see you in a bit, brother,” Dean chuckles happily, before his girlfriend drags him towards the exit by his hand. 

     The Southerner watches them leave, then redirects his attention to the beat-up car on the field. A man gets out, his face shielded by a black cowboy hat. His posture seems familiar, he’s not even sure why. Benny narrows his eyes, but the figure is too far away to recognize. Then the frown evens out, his jaw falling slack. Suddenly, it clicks.       “No fuckin’ way in hell…” he mumbles to himself.

     But there ain’t no way, right? He can’t be here. Before Benny can decide otherwise, he bolts towards the steps to get down from the bleachers, hoping to not lose sight of the guy. He better make sure who just set foot on the showgrounds is exactly who he suspects he is, before he breaks the news to his best friend.

     Dean swings the heavy saddle onto Aerosmith’s back, his last horse to compete at this tournament. After this run, all that’s left for him to do is coach Y/N and Joplin for their competition debut, and then they can all pack their gear and go home. Despite that he enjoys horse shows like these, he’s looking forward to his own room, his own bed. He’s looking forward to pulling up the driveway that leads to the place that is his home.

     It has been a successful couple of days. With five horses sold and Joplin likely to add to that number, the Flagstaff Horsefair has proven to be very fruitful. Bobby made good money, and the ranch owner will be able to pay his crew, plus pay off some bills. Then there’s the business deal they landed with Fergus MacLeod. The cowboy might not like the Englishman in the slightest, but if they decide to take on Cain’s training, it will provide a much needed steady income. Dean isn’t delusional; he knows the ranch isn't out of the woods just yet, but it’s a start.

     Humming and relaxed like he always is before competing, he tightens the cinch of the chestnut Quarter, petting him on the shoulder before he takes him out of the stable.      “Good luck, cowboy.”      The man who the words are meant for smiles, peeking into the stable next to him and noticing Y/N through the steel bars. She’s preparing Joplin, brushing her tail. Their starting time is only forty-five minutes after Dean’s, since both are competing in the same class. Sadly, she will not be able to see him ride.      The mare next to his girlfriend pins her ears back and gives Aero a dirty look when the gelding comes too close for her liking. Both snigger at Joplin’s bitchy behavior.

     “You’ll make it back in time to help me warm up, right?” she checks. “I’m kinda nervous, this being my first cutting competition and all.”      “Yeah, of course,” he promises, shooting her a wink. “I’ll be there.” 

     Dean takes his horse outside, the Arizona sun welcoming him with bright light. A force of habit has him check his spurs and the tack before he positions himself on the left side of his horse in order to mount.

     “Chief?”      Looking over his shoulder, he sees Benny approaching. His strides are hasty, his jaw tensed. He checks if anyone is around before he halts and faces the head wrangler, who can read from the body language alone that something is off.      “What is it?” he asks, his brows knitted together.      The Southerner’s piercing blue eyes meet his gaze before he continues whispering. “I hate to do this now right before your run, brother, but--”      “But what?” Dean urges when the farrier hesitates.

     Benny draws in a deep breath and rubs his beard, needing a second to collect himself. He knows that what he is about to tell his best friend will have him shake on his foundations, but he needs to be prepared. He deserves to know who he might run into. The broad-shouldered ranch hand sighs, then delivers the unsettling message.      “Your father is here.”

     As if he just got struck by lightning, Dean stares at Benny, his eyes wide and mouth agape. The announcement rings in his ears, sounding more surreal every time the four words bounce off the walls inside his head. Reality hits him like a raging bull, however. His father is here. His father is here.

     The head wrangler drops his gaze, his eyes flicking over little rocks and lumps of dirt by his feet. Speechless, he takes his hat off and wipes his forehead with his sleeve, realizing he’s sweating. His heart is hammering in his chest, so forceful that it hurts. Panic starts to win terrain, but he pushes it down and nods rigidly, acknowledging Benny’s words.

     “Okay,” he returns after a few long seconds. “Thanks for telling me.”      “If there’s anythin’--” Benny offers, but is interrupted by the man in front of him, who shoves his left foot into the stirrup and swiftly gets on his horse.      “I’m good,” he assures, doing his best to come across as calm and collected. 

     Benny dips his chin, half accepting Dean’s choice to put this on hold for now. The rider has one last horse to compete, so the Southerner understands why he’s trying to keep his head in the game. He wishes he didn’t have to drop this bomb now, but there’s a chance his friend might run into John on these showgrounds. Benny might not know the entire story of what happened all those years ago, but he knows enough to recognize the impact the presence of Dean’s biological father will have. He watches quietly how the horseman pushes his legs into Aerosmith’s flanks and steers the horse towards the warmup arena without another word. 

     Suddenly nervous, Dean is highly aware of all the people who cross his path. He briefly studies them, even though recognizing the man who has been absent for over half of his life scares the hell out of him. Why the fuck is he here? 

     Dean isn’t just afraid of running into his old man; he’s angry. Angry about all the wrong choices that were made, angry about those memories rushing back to him. He stored them in a box and nailed the latch shut. He buried them, dug a hole deep enough to fit all those dark thoughts. He covered the surface with a thick layer of concrete, convinced that all those measures would be enough to lock away what he hoped to never feel again. Hopelessness, frustration, torment, aggression, guilt. But those emotions are now working their way through the cracks, like a weed that just won’t die, working up to the surface and showing its ugly head again. 

     But what has him exasperated the most, is the timing. Why now? His father hasn’t given a damn for fifteen years, fifteen fucking years, and now that Dean is finally getting to the point of allowing himself to be happy, he decides to show up? His fist clenches on the horn of the saddle, his nails digging into his palm. This isn’t fair!

     His insides churn and twist even more when his mind snaps to Y/N. A sudden and heavy uneasiness settles in his chest, almost suffocating him. Shit, what if she runs into him? What if she learns the truth? Dean breathes out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes for a second while tipping his hat down. The panic that has his fingers shaky while he guides his horse into the warmup ring only grows with that thought. No no no, he thinks to himself. He can’t have his father ruin what is supposed to be his love story. He can’t lose this, he can’t lose her.

     Preparing for his final ride goes anything but smoothly. The rider is so lost in thought that he accidentally cuts off another competitor and has to hit the brakes, apologizing to the cowgirl for the misstep. It’s a wake-up call, though; he really needs to focus and get his head straight. Aerosmith is one of the horses he and Bobby decided to hold on to a little longer, hoping the economy will be on its way to recovery somewhere next year so that they can make a better profit. Dean brought the younger stallion along to gain experience in the ring, yet he wants this ride to be solid, knowing a potential buyer could be watching.

     But when he enters the arena, he can’t help but scan the crowd, suddenly aware that one of those pair of eyes is his father. He thinks of Y/N and how nervous she was last night, and suddenly it makes so much more sense what experiencing that kind of anxiety is like. The rider doesn’t even hear the announcement of his name over the amplifiers, he doesn’t hear Jo and Bobby shouting words of encouragement at him from the sideline. What he does hear is his rapidly beating heart, like a thundering echo of an oncoming storm. 

     He glances over his horse’s ears at the cattle in front of them. C’mon, Dean, this isn’t difficult. Separate a cow and let Aero do the work. Two and a half minutes and he will be out of the limelight. Who knows, maybe if they pack fast after Y/N’s ride, he won’t even run into his father. 

     The two herdholders that are in the ring to assist all contestants keep the group of young steers together. Unsettled, Dean swallows thickly and licks his dry lips, his eyes on the clock. When it starts ticking, he moves his hands forward and pushes Aerosmith towards the herd. The game is simple. In two and a half minutes, he has to separate two different heifers from the group and keep the selected cow in the middle of the arena, he and his Quarter the only boundary between the animal and his flock. He and Aero will be judged on degree of difficulty, confidence, and agility, but right now, all Dean is thinking about is surviving.

     Deciding to not make it too complicated for his horse and himself, the horseman doesn’t pick a heifer too far into the herd on the first cut. Without disrupting the gathered bunch, the chestnut calmly makes his way through until Dean has decided on a cow, which he then carefully begins to push to the edge. When he has driven the brindle heifer out, Dean drops the reins and allows his Quarter to take the lead. Aerosmith locks on the lonely animal and crouches, skillfully keeping it in the center of the arena.

     The crowd cheers, because the talented Quarter shows to be quick on his feet, darting from left and right and accelerating fast when his target tries to get around him. The cowboy keeps his balance, allowing his horse to move under him freely. After a few attempts to get past them, the cow yields and the rider signals Aero to back down. He blows out a breath. One down, one more to go.

     The second cut goes according to plan as well. This time he does pick a heifer in the middle of the herd. The Quarterhorse tries not to disturb the rest of the cattle as he separates the one, but splitting the animals is not as clean as the first time. Once the cow is driven to the middle of the ring again, Aerosmith is back in his element and shows off his moves. Dean only has to sit back and let his partner under the saddle do the work, which he’s grateful for, because he feels like he wouldn’t be able to guide his horse in a simple circle if he had to. 

     The buzzer sounds; his two and a half minutes are up. Relieved, Dean exhales; at least he didn’t completely screw up their run. The young gelding really pulled through despite a nervous wreck of a rider on top of him, which just shows what a fantastic horse he is.      “Thanks, bud,” Dean says softly, petting the chestnut on the shoulder.

     The applause barely registers and it’s only when his eyes roam over the audience, that he notices the numbers on the board. 72.5 points; not bad. Normally, he would have been elated with a score like that, but now he just wants to get out of the ring as fast as possible, away from possible prying eyes. He feels like he’s being watched, well aware that his father is quite possibly amongst the people in the crowd. Call him a coward, but he needs to get out of here.

     “Solid ride, Dean,” Bobby compliments when the rider comes through the gate, walking with him. When his nephew fails to respond, he looks up, narrowing eyes taking him in from under his baseball cap. “You okay, son?”

     The troubled rider snaps his head at his uncle. Son. Bobby calls him that all the time and has done so ever since he took the lost boy under his wing all those years ago. Dean has grown accustomed to the title, even found comfort in it, glad to hear that word coming from his surrogate dad. But now the term confuses him. Suddenly, the man who has failed to step up to take care of his children and yet is his only living parent is here, and it is messing with his head in more ways than one.      “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, quickly averting his gaze and walking on.

     Bobby lets him go, but Dean can sense the ranch owner watching him carefully. Unable to stop himself from scanning the people around the warm-up area, he briefly acknowledges the congratulations wishes from a few of his opponents with a nod and a ‘thanks’. Normally he’s up for a chat after a good run, but not now. He feels like he’s about to lose his mind, and he wants to be alone when it happens. He needs space, he needs air. 

     After a few minutes of hacking, Dean reaches the stables, grateful to find them mostly empty. With the last competition currently taking place in the arena, a lot of competitors already packed their trucks and trailers and left throughout the morning and afternoon. At the other end of the tent two people are tacking up, but they are far out of earshot. 

     In front of Aerosmith’s stable, the rider dismounts and leads the Quarter into his box, making quick work of removing the tack and rinsing the chestnut down. With the saddle on his hip and the bridle in hand, he steps into the storage room.      “How did it go?”

     Dean startles and almost drops the heavy load he was carrying, spinning around to find Y/N in the doorway. Somehow, it completely slipped his mind that she would still be here. The cowgirl is wearing her show outfit again, but traded her black blouse for a denim one this time. Long chaps hang down from her waist, strapped around her legs, her brass spurs barely showing. Her boots are shining and her hair is braided, her lucky hat only just allowing him to behold the playfulness in her eyes. She looks absolutely perfect.

     Clueless and carefree, she waits for an answer, but her happy expression falls slightly when she notices his reaction. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she chuckles, somewhat self-conscious. “What has you on your toes?”      The cowboy blinks at her a few times before he kicks into gear again, storing away the saddle in one of the tack boxes. “Nothin’. Yeah, it uh - it went alright. 72.5 points,” he says, smiling at her faintly, quick to dodge her unraveling gaze.

     Silence follows and he knows that she’s studying him, but Dean can’t even look at her, not sure how to deal with the worry that he knows is evident on her beautiful face. The second he gets lost in the vision of his girl, he will fall apart, and that’s something the unsettled wrangler can’t allow to happen. He can’t let her see it, she can’t know. So instead, he moves past her through the doorway to fill a feeding net with hay, desperately searching for a way to keep himself busy as he tries to get a hold of himself.

     “Dean? Hey…”      Her voice sounds so warm and kind, that he can’t ignore her any longer. When he has strung up the net, he turns to his girlfriend, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans. Concerned eyes take him in when he looks up.      “You’re shaking,” she notices, gently wrapping her delicate fingers around his forearms. “What’s going on? Did something happen?”

     Before she finishes her sentence completely, he’s already shaking his head. It’s more denial than an actual answer, refusing to give in to all the contradicting feelings that are pulling the rug from under his boots. She knows him well enough to see that he’s a total mess right now. His mask is faltering and he’s breaking character, unable to deliver the standard ‘I’m fine’. Can he tell her about the disturbing message Benny delivered earlier? She will have more questions, questions he is nowhere near ready to answer. But then again, he can’t lie to her either, not anymore. 

     Dean takes a deep breath in order to collect himself and looks at her as heavy footfalls draw his attention. Expecting Benny, he glances over his shoulder, ready to request if his friend can grant them some privacy, when he catches a glimpse of the person standing in the alley between the stables. Every muscle in his body tenses, an invisible fist squeezing his throat shut. His heart - which has been beating unhealthily fast since the alarming news was delivered to him about an hour ago - now seems to come to a full stop for a few solid seconds. 

     They might be in Arizona, but Dean just froze to the ground, unable to move or speak. All he can do is stare at the man that is his own spitting image, only three decades older. The familiar stranger is wearing a smile on his lips, emotion swimming in weary eyes. After fifteen years of silence, John Winchester stands before his oldest child, a broken voice delivering the words Dean never wished to hear again, and yet missed so dearly.

     “Hello, son.” 

Well, shit... Enough with the fluff. Angst is here!

Also, did you spot my little Stan Lee moment? Does a certain red-haired photographer seem familiar? Yep, that’s me!

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty-four here

#Ride With Me #Dean x Reader #Dean x Y/N #Cowboy!Dean #Dean AU #Cowboy!Dean AU #cowboy!dean x reader #cowboy dean #cowboy dean au #Supernatural AU #Dean Winchester AU #Dean Winchester #Supernatural #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Supernatural fanfiction #SPN #SPN fanfiction #Kate Huntington

[jobrookekarev]

Little Moon Chapter 2

Chapter: 2/?

Words: 1294

Summary: Jo sets up a crib in the Loft and tells Levi of her plans to adopt Luna.

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy.

Characters: Jo Wilson, Levi Schmitt, and Luna Ashton.

Rating: Gen. Audiences.

Additional Tags: Fluff, all the fluff, Crib Building, Baby Clothes, Parenting, Babies, NICU Baby, Foster Care, Jo being a Mom! Other characters to be added.

Read at AO3

Read at FFN

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“What is all this?” Schmidt asked standing in the entryway to the Loft still holding the groceries with his mask on. 

Jo stood up from where she was in the middle of assembling the crib and waved the screwdriver at him. “Have you ever committed a felony or crime of any nature?”

“No, no, of course not, I've never even had a parking ticket,” Levi said, dropping the groceries and holding up his hands.

 Jo realized she was still waving the screwdriver at him and dropped her arm to her side. 

“Good, because I need you to pass a background check and this place needs to be baby proofed,” Jo said looking around the Loft. 

“Holy shit, are you pregnant?”  Levi said his eyes going wide as he looked around the room as well. 

“What, no of course not,” Jo said as she started laughing so hard that she held her stomach.

“Well forgive me for asking. It's just when you show up with all this baby stuff I kind of assumed that there's a baby,” Levi said not joining in on her laughter as he picked up the groceries and went over to set them on the counter. “Is there a baby Jo?”

Jo's laughter died down as she put down the screwdriver and walked over to help Levi unload the groceries.

“It's Luna, I want to adopt her.” 

“Wait Luna, Luna Ashton Val’s baby?”

“Yes,  she's all alone now and she doesn't have any parents. Her Mom died and her Dad doesn't care about her and she needs somebody. She needs somebody to look out for her and I can't let her go into the foster care system, not when I have a home that could be hers too.”

Val had a few friends and distant family that came forward and arranged a funeral. Even with Covid Jo met them over Zoom and told them about Luna and about Val’s last few days. Jo asked if any of them could take Luna but none of them were in a position to do so. One of Val's particularly nasty aunts wondered why anyone would bother with a baby the size of a soda can, that was probably going to die. Jo got so riled up at that comment that she wanted to scream. Instead, she ranted off about Luna’s stats and the fact that she was doing well even on the ventilator and how much progress she had been making now that she's gained two whole pounds. The nasty aunt shut up after that. A few of Val’s friends give Jo their contact information to keep in touch. Later when Jo called to tell them about her plans to adopt and they wished her luck. 

“Wow, you must have really fallen in love with her?” Levi said as he paused to smile from where he was putting away the groceries.

Jo froze as she was holding a bag of chips about to put it away in the basket. At first, Jo just told herself that she was doing this for Val, because Val would have wanted for Luna to be somewhere where she was safe and taking care of. Jo doesn't think of Luna as her baby, Luna is Val's baby and Jo wants to make sure that Luna doesn't forget her mom. So she put up Val’s picture next to Luna's incubator. She wrote down everything Val ever told her, little details like when Val mentioned that sweet potatoes were her favorite potato, and what color of shirt she was wearing when she came into the ER. 

In the past few weeks, Jo had realized that she did love Luna. A part of her was terrified to admit it as the last person she loved walked out of her life. Luna already had a mom who loved her and Jo didn't want to replace her. Plus there was no guarantee that Luna would be placed with her. The Loft wasn’t set up for a baby and the neighborhood wasn’t the best in Seattle. There were probably a dozen other foster homes that were better for Luna and Jo didn't have much to offer her, but she knew that she could do right by Luna. 

Jo could give her love and safety and comfort and support and everything she needed in life. When she was a child Jo had always hoped that someone would reach out and be there for her. She never got that, yet she could do that for Luna. She could provide them with a safe home, where she could grow up knowing she was loved and cared for.  Jo had been around plenty of orphaned babies in the hospital, but Luna was different. From the moment she looked at Luna this tiny little baby had wrapped her finger around Jo's heart and Jo didn't want to let her go.

“Yeah, I do love her,” Jo whispered as she looked back at the half assembled crib. 

“Okay then why don't I get started on dinner and then I'll help you assemble the crib,”  Levi said, pulling out a pot and grabbing the ravioli from the grocery bag.

Jo let out another laugh as she put the chips away. “Of all the guys I thought would help me assemble a crib, you were the last person on my list.”

“I never expected to be on that list either,” Levi said with a laugh.

Jo went back to all the baby things and pulled out one of the little onesies that she bought. It was this adorable little romper with frills and strawberries all over it. Even though it was way too big for the barely three-pounds Luna. Jo couldn't resist it. Just a few months ago she and Alex were shopping and as they passed the baby section Alex picked up this little red dress with strawberries all over it. He had smiled at her and said that if they ever had a little girl he'd dress her in something like that. It made her smile to think of having a daughter with him, yet here she was, on her own with a strawberry dress for a little girl who wasn't Alex's daughter. 

Jo took a deep breath and instead pulled out the blue blanket with little stars all over it and a little Moon stitched into the corner. Jo held the blanket close and pressed her lips to the soft fabric. It would be perfect for Luna. Luna didn't have any blankets other than the regular NICU blankets. If Jo washed this blanket, brought it into work, and put it in a bag, then after 72 hours, they could place it on Luna's incubator and she could have something of her own. Jo looked around the space set up for Luna, she still has her hand on the bags full of diapers and blankets and clothes and the tiniest socks Jo has ever seen, all of which seem too big for her Little Moon. 

Apart from the crib Jo also had bags of preemie baby clothes, toys, and diapers, along with bottles, and burp cloth, and outlet covers, and corner covers, and door covers. She was still trying to figure out what to put around the kitchen, but basically, she bought out every baby related thing at the baby store she went to. She needed to be prepared for when CPS did their home study. Which according to her lawyer could happen faster than she ever imagined, even though Luna was still in the NICU and would be for several more weeks. Jo had gotten everything Luna would ever need or want, yet she knew that Luna needed love too and Jo would happily give Luna all of her love.

#levi schmitt #luna ashton #grey's anatomy #grey's anatomy fanfic #my work #my writing #my fanfiction #alex karev #otp: home and heart #jolex #jo wilson #luna wilson

[joandfriedrich]

This Night Alone

Summary: My take on Friedrich and Jo’s wedding night. Canon-verse.

Rating: M

Pairing: Jo x Friedrich

Link: Ao3

The sky darkened outside and all Jo saw was a tall figure walking with a boy asleep in his arm, and the other boy holding his uncle’s hand. The wedding went surprisingly well; the weather was not foul, the children were well behaved and Jo herself did not trip, dirty or rip her dress, so she considers the wedding a success. Everyone had returned to their homes and all was left was Marmee, Father, Friedrich and his nephews. Marmee and Father were kind enough to offer the boys a place to stay for the next week, starting with tonight. Their ride to the seaside would not be until tomorrow, but they had this night alone before they started off on their honeymoon, and Jo waited with bated breath for his return.

It seemed silly to her that before her wedding, some people had dared to question her choice of husband and ever so subtly asking if she could find herself wanting him, due to his age and looks. She knew what they meant, and she hated that they thought like that. Marriages should be of what is felt in the heart, rather than what it sees, and how could anyone find him the handsomest man when his heart is the best she had ever known? She said as such, but she kept the last bit to herself, which was that she did want him. True, he was no classical hero in looks like Laurie or John, but there was something else about him, a magnetism that drew her in nonetheless.

It was the way his eyes looked at her, warm, adoring, as if he had been born to love her, born to give her the world and all its joys. Quite often as of late, she had dreams, dreams that when she woke made her blush, but it was always the same, Friedrich looking down at her with a look of a man in passion before giving her a deep and lingering kiss. It was the way his voice goes low, soft and deep, breathing softly against her ear, sending shivers up her spine. She could only imagine what he would say to her in such a low tone, murmuring endearments in German, some she’d know, others she’d never guess, but nothing makes her heart beat faster than how she’d imagine he’d say her name. It was the way he used his hands. Large hands that worked but also comforted, leading to strong arms to carry burdens and tenderness, and she wondered how they would look bare, wrapped around her, holding her so close to him, that she’d feel as if they weren’t two separate beings, but one whole.

Moving from the window, she decided she needed something to distract herself, something to cool her senses. Alone, she went to work on removing her wedding dress, and even she could admit, the dress was lovely, and wearing it made her feel as pretty as Meg or Amy. She remembered the way Friedrich looked at her when she walked towards him, as if there was no one more beautiful than her, as if he couldn’t believe she’d be his. She hoped he’d continue to look at her like that tonight, that her gangly form won’t put him off. Setting the dress and its contraptions aside, wearing only the corset and chemise, she noticed a dark dressing gown and recognized it immediately.

There was once a time back at the boarding house where Jo had run across the professor, not quite yet dressed, wearing his dark blue dressing gown and how he blushed when he found he was caught in such a way. Her hands itched then to run over its material, and now, her impulse to do so took over. It was a fine dressing gown, wool and soft, she felt another impulse to slip the dressing gown around her. For a moment, she thought to herself, Fritz won’t mind at all I am sure.

Fastening it tightly around her, she went to the mirror and looked at herself in it. It was rather large on her and wanted to slip from her shoulders, but in her efforts to try to keep both sides up, it left her with one shoulder completely bare from both dressing gown and chemise. She sighed and shrugged. Oh well, it clearly was not meant for a lady. Just as she surrendered, she looked up and her heart skipped many beats before it beat furiously.

Friedrich stood there in the doorway, staring at Jo, is mouth slightly agape at the sight. Jo, looking at him over her shoulder, the bare shoulder where little strands of her hair has come undone and caressing the skin. Mein Gott, to be those strands of hair! He gulped and closed the door as silently as he opened it, all without removing his eyes from her. It was short work to put the boys to bed, they were so very tired and he had been so eager to return to his bride. And to find her wearing his dressing gown, oh, it was more enticing than anything he could have imagined.

“I see thou hast found my dressing gown.”

“Yes,” she said, turning completely to him, a hand to her warm cheek. “I was a bit curious. It’s so fine and lovely, I hope you don’t mind.”

He moved towards, slow and careful, the look in his eyes that Jo had imagined, and in that low, soft voice, said, “No, not at all. What is mine, is yours. This includes me, heart’s dearest, all of me. My heart, soul, body, whatever shall give thee the greatest pleasure.”

Looking up at him, she took both of his hands and reassured him. “No wife could ever hope or ask for a greater gift than this. Your heart and soul I know gives me the greatest joy I could ever ask for.”

Looking a bit flustered, he took a step closer, leaving only enough space for their hands. “I thank thee for such words. But, now, I should like to express my love, my desire for thee, and not through words. If thou shall have me.”

A shaky sigh escaped her lips and safe in the privacy of their rooms, Jo could be as improper as she wished, and threw her arms around her husband and whispered, “Happily,” before kissing him.

His hands took hold of her waist, holding her close to him and he kissed her. Jo loved the feel of his beard against her cheeks. Unlike some others, like Mr. Laurence, Friedrich’s beard was not coarse or scratchy. Indeed, it was rather soft, like running your hands over velvet and she could run over it all day. But her hands wanted to feel other things, as they wandered down from his neck, to his chest, beginning to undo the buttons. He breaks the kiss to watch her, watch as her fingers tremble but eager to remove the waist coat, and he helps by removing his jacket and waist coat when she has finished.

He closes his eyes at the feel of her warm hands running over his clothed chest, but it feels just as good. No one has ever come so close to him to touch him in such a way, and he felt his cheeks grow warm as she made quick work of removing his shirt. Jo stared and bit her lip. He wasn’t slim, he was no marbled David, but he was fit, sturdy and strong and she loved it. Her Friedrich had hair on his chest, and the sight made her face grow so warm, she was sure it was beet red. Her fingers glided against his upper chest, until she felt comfortable in placing both hands on him. And, for the first time ever, she heard Friedrich make a noise that her head shot right up. By heavens, he moaned.

“Mein professorin,” his voice low and deep, filled with emotion, “Allow me to undress thee, for I must…” He can’t finish his sentence, for he wasn’t sure how to tell her. He needed to see her as she sees him, he was greedy and wanted to see his beautiful wife, he had to feel her body just as she was feeling his. He needed, needed on the verge of desperate want. He wanted her.

When he saw her give the consenting nod, he went to work to untie and slip the dressing gown to the ground. To see her wearing only her corset and chemise made Friedrich feel nervous as well as eager. He was less graceful than Jo, having no experience nor understanding of women’s clothes. “That’s because I always wore the boy clothes,” Jo remarked at his comment, “I doubt you ever wore girl clothes.”

He huffed a laugh. “What a funny looking lady old Fritz would be.”

She laughed and help guide in removing a corset, after all, he’d have to learn sooner or later. The thought alone made Jo smile and blush.

With that gone, Friedrich went back to the shy and eager lover, as he could see a faint outline of her figure. Before Jo could attempt to cover herself or turn away, his large hand reached out and tenderly held a clothed breast in his hand. The touch made Jo gasp and she was shocked when she felt his thumb grazing over her nipple, making it hard and sensitive. His eyes were on her face, looking in her eyes when his hands reached up to her shoulders, fingers grasping the edge of the fabric and slowly slipped it off her body. His eyes still bore into hears as he went to work of releasing her massive hair, fanning it out around her. Only then did he look at her, the whole of her. He wondered how Jo could ever think of herself as ugly, when she stands before him like Venus, all in her natural glory. True, there wasn’t much curve to her figure, her breasts were small and she was narrow, but all together, they were perfect. They were Jo, and Friedrich would not have her otherwise.

“Well say something,” she nervously laugh, but her eyes spoke a fear that she had displeased before even doing anything.

“I must admit, I am guilty of pride, for my wife is the most beautiful of all wives.” He leaned down and kissed her, a kiss that made her stumble and weak at the knees, making her wrap her arms around him for support. Their bare chests meet for a moment and it elicit a groan from each of them. What a feeling, Jo thought, how I wish to keep him close to me forever. Friedrich pulled back from her hungry lips, making her whimper with need, in order to scoop her into his arms and carry her over to the bed.

Jo felt her nerves on edge, for as she looked up at him, she saw the look, the look that made her wake and blush, except this wasn’t a dream, it was real. Once she was settled in the bed, Friedrich went to work to undress the rest of himself. There was something rather wonderful in watching him, a fluid grace that she had not seen in him before. When he had finished, she held out her hands to him, letting him know that it was alright, that she wanted him to join her.

It took a few moments of fumbling to find the right position, to make sure both were comfortable before they would start. It started off with kisses, hands in the others hair, just taking in the feel of each other. His lips trailed to her neck, kissing and sucking at the slope, grateful that her travel dress would cover his amorous attention. Jo was surprised when she found that he continued to kiss down, all over her body. He gave special attention of her breasts, small though they were, and even smaller in his large hands, before kissing down the plane of her stomach, the boxy hip, the slim thigh, until he kissed in between her legs.

Friedrich was not a delusional man, he knew that he was not a youngling anymore who had much experience, or any experience at all. All he wanted to do was make Jo happy, and he was certain that he could, but there was one aspect that he was not so confident in. It took a lot for a man who had lived as long as he had and felt hardly any shame, to step in a bookshop and in a barely audible voice ask for a certain kind of book to help teach him how to make his bride happy. The professor became a student, and a rather efficient student he was, at least, if he was correct in the noises she was making.

Jo knew that the union between a man and a woman could be pleasurable, and after receiving advice from both Marmee and Meg, she felt she had a good idea what to expect. As always, Friedrich would surprise her, and she was certain this would not be the last time. It was an overload of sensations, the feel of his lips worshiping her in a place she never expected, the brush of his beard against her inner thigh, and his hands, those beautiful large hands wrapped around her thighs, holding her close as he continued to ravish her. She was not unaware of the idea of women receiving pleasure, but never had she herself experienced it, and she never could have imagined it’d feel like this.

Through hooded eyes, Friedrich watched as his love writhed above him, her hands wandering everywhere to hold, until she settled with his hair, and he watched with great swell of pride as she rode her first wave of passion. Releasing himself from between her legs, he returned to her, placing kisses on her cheeks, temples and forehead. “I shall always endeavor to see thee as such, Heart’s Dearest, for thou look more beautiful, if such a thing is possible.”

Patience was never Jo’s strongest virtue, and with her desire flamed up even more so, she took hold of his face, bringing it to her so she may lavish her passionate affection on him. It happened in a moment, the uniting of their bodies, and despite what she had heard from other women and read in medical journals, it was only pleasurable, not a hint of pain. All that was left was them; the rising pleasure they were taking and receiving from the other, the mingling of their bodies, her legs wrapping around him, his arms encircling her to press her chest to his. Neither were experienced or skilled, but somehow, they found a way to enthrall and entice the other, to be so enraptured that the world around them could crumble and they wouldn’t care. Soft mutterings in German filled her ears, and if she had half a mind to pay attention, she’d have heard how much he adored her, how he’d never ever want to be without her, but she was too lost in the passion to even care. And when that moment came, the incredible, earth shattering feeling that rippled over their bodies, everything stopped.

Languid and blissed out in each other’s arms, they looked upon one another and wondered how it could be possible to be as happy as this. By morning, they had made love three times and it would have been four when they woke, if they didn’t have to get ready for the train. “It would be a shame,” Friedrich said, finishing up with his attire, “to let that cottage go to waste. And I was promised an ocean, Mrs. Bhaer, thou must keep thy promise.”

He placed a kiss to her neck before taking her hair and helping to pin it up. “Very well,” she says, buttoning up her dress, “But you promise me something.” Turning to him, her hands on his chest, and a mischievous smile on her lips. “To help me out of this as soon as we get there. It is the only reason I got dress at all.”

“Get dressed only to become undressed. A brilliant plan, professorin. Shall my wife go undressed the entire time?”

“No,” she smirked, “I think you’ll want to pack your dressing gown. It seems the both of us enjoyed my wearing it.”

His body grew warm at the image. “Whatever my dearest wants, she shall have.” He bent down and gave her a deep, lingering kiss, a promise of more to come.

Oh, the ocean could not come soon enough!

#little women #fanfiction #my fanfiction #jo and friedrich #jo x friedrich #jo march #friedrich bhaer

[astudyinfreewill]

look what you made me do || 1/?

aka: me making taylor swift songs about dean winchester and/or deancas bc it’s what dean himself would want

(i will be keeping track of these with a masterpost, just in case i need to find them again or someone enjoys seeing me go hogwild on lyric analysis, lol. also, there’s a wee treat at the end of the post!)

and without further ado, our first tswift x dean song is...

the archer

combat, i'm ready for combat i say i don't want that, but what if i do?

we start off with an extremely obvious line: dean winchester is always ready for combat - he’s been trained all his life to essentially be a soldier/vigilante figure, an ultimate warrior of sorts. the thing is... he doesn’t want to. when dean is left to his own devices, without his father to order him around or a Big Bad to spur him on, what he chooses to do is is cook for his loved ones, have movie nights with them, play music, tinker with parts to build something new. at his core dean is kind, and full of care for others, and his deepest fear is that he truly IS nothing more than just a killer or a weapon - hence the ‘but what if i do’.

'cause cruelty wins in the movies  i've got a hundred thrown out speeches i almost said to you 

‘the movies’ here is just shorthand for everything he’s witnessed happening around him in real life. as far as dean’s experience goes, cruelty does win. why believe in softness and kindness when your father has taught you that either of those things is a weakness, and the world simply doesn’t care? 

as for the second line, well. you can guess what THAT’s about. dean feels so deeply, but really struggles to verbalise his feelings, often brushing them off until he explodes. we usually see him at his most vulnerable while praying to cas, but even then, you get the sense that he’s holding back on so much. (“cas, i need to say something--” “you don’t need to say it, dean.” so it goes, so it goes.)

easy they come, easy they go i jump from the train, i ride off alone  i never grew up, it's getting so old help me hold onto you 

a few points here: “i jump from the train” could easily be a callback to dean’s impulsive self-sacrificing ways, and “i never grew up” underlines how he never got the chance to evolve and grow into himself because he got essentially stuck in the “child parenting another child” role. sure, he had to be a mother and a father to sam, so in some ways he grew up really fast; in others, he was stuck as an insecure teenager, because he never got the opportunity for healthy emotional growth himself. 

and of course, “easy they come, easy they go” is a tragically accurate representation of dean’s most devastating insecurity: that everyone he loves eventually leaves him. mary died, john was constantly absent, cassie broke up with him when he tried to tell her the truth, sam left him behind for college, and then, of course, there’s cas... who just. keeps. leaving, one way or another, and dean just desperately wants him to stay - which also ties into “help me hold on to you”. the irony of it all, of course, is that dean wants castiel to choose not to leave, whereas castiel desperately wants to be asked to stay; and ain’t that just a fucking tragedy.

i've been the archer, i've been the prey who could ever leave me, darling? (but who could stay?) 

the first line is pretty self-explanatory: dean has been both aggressor and victim, both literally and emotionally. he’s a fearsome hunter who gets hunted down by monsters in turn; and he’s lashed out and pushed people away, while getting his heart broken in return too. 

but it’s the second part that really strikes me as a dean line, because the first half - “who could ever leave me, darling?” - is the bravado that dean wears like a mask. charming smile, a flirty wink, swagger in like you own the place, “i think i’m adorable”, “i’m a joy to be around”, etc. but the second part... that’s the whisper of truth behind it. for all that dean can turn the charm on and put on a brave face, he’s thoroughly convinced that he’s not worth sticking around for.

dark side, i search for your dark side but what if I'm alright, right, right, right here? 

so, can you say trust issues? remember how long it took for dean to believe an angel could be on his side, and then how deeply he came to trust cas? and remember how heartbroken he was when castiel betrayed them in s6, and how that heartbreak was covered up with anger when cas came back? yet, no matter how many twists and turns they go through, inevitably, dean ends up trusting cas with his life - he’s not only the definition of a ride-or-die, but he also trusts him in smaller, more intimate ways, such as letting down his guard and allowing himself to be vulnerable only around him, or praying to him for comfort as much as guidance.

and i cut off my nose just to spite my face  then hate my reflection for years and years 

...but because of those trust issues, and because of dean’s deeply entrenched abandonment issues as mentioned above, often dean ends up reacting to things more harshly than is needed, by lashing out in anger and pushing people away (or, in more than one occasion, through the infamous silent treatment). but we also know he immediately regrets it, because it ends up hurting him just as much, if not more. basically this correlates to his speech from 15x09 about his anger issues.

i wake in the night, i pace like a ghost the room is on fire, invisible smoke and all of my heroes died all alone help me hold onto you

there’s also the fact that having attachments as a hunter isn’t exactly safe, and comes with a shitton of fear of losing people - or remorse and regret when you do lose them. “the room is on fire, invisible smoke” - i can only imagine dean would still have nightmares of that fateful night when he was 4 years old and his mother burned alive on a ceiling (and so: “i wake in the night, i pace like a ghost). as for his heroes dying alone... mary. john. ellen. jo. ash. kevin. charlie. the list stretches way too long. it’s only natural he’d be afraid of losing cas too... especially since he’s already died multiple times, and dean has mourned him more and more devastatingly each time.

i've been the archer, i've been the prey screaming “who could ever leave me, darling”-- but who could stay? 

the same concept as the previous chorus, except that here the façade of confidence and swagger comes off almost as desperate (screaming “who could ever leave me”). but then we know overcompensating is kinda dean’s thing.

'cause they see right through me, they see right through me they see right through me -- can you see right through me? they see right through me, they see right through me  i see right through me, i see right through me 

and we circle back to dean’s constant fear of being found worthless, damaged, and unlovable. no matter how much bravado he puts on, his actual self-worth is close to non-existent, so of course he’d feel like a fraud, and it makes sense he’d fear other people seeing through his act, or wonder if they do - can cas see right through him? because dean himself certainly isn’t buying his own lies.

all the king's horses, all the king's men couldn't put me together again 'cause all of my enemies started out friends help me hold onto you 

the first line just... hurts me a lot. i guess it’s the nursery rhyme sound of it, almost trying to take the bite of a statement which is, essentially: i’m broken beyond repair. as i said above, dean’s not buying his own lies, he knows exactly how much baggage and trauma he carries. and not to go back to the trust issues again, but it is hard to believe someone could see past that when there’s so much betrayal in your history (which, yes, has included cas at one point too, as well as sam, or, say, fucking chuck).

i've been the archer, i've been the prey who could ever leave me, darling? (but who could stay?) who could stay? who could stay? you could stay, you could stay... 

and then... we have the third repeat of the chorus, which echoes the first, softer version of it, but with a fundamental difference. this time, the rhetorical question “who could stay?” finds a pointed answer in “you could stay”. because yes, maybe cas leaves a lot, but he always, always comes back. so i’d imagine dean harbours hope that one day, maybe, cas will want to actually... stay for good.

combat, i'm ready for combat

and that hope kinda gives this final line a whole new lovely layer of meaning: dean’s no longer ready for combat just because he’s been trained for combat all his life; rather, he’s ready for combat because for once in his life, he has something to look forward to; something to fight for: the happy ending he deserves, where someone - perhaps someone in a dirty trenchcoat and tired blue eyes - will finally stay.

---

BONUS: literally the day after i started obsessing over this song as a dean song, i found a fanvid of it! if that’s not serendipitous, i don’t know what is <3

#spn #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #taylor swift #meta #mp #long post for ts #uuh how else to tag this #tswift x dean winchester #??? that sounds like a ship #anyway. i know there's been some interest in this so hopefully it doesn't disappoint #and if you wanna be tagged in these/suggest songs lmk!!! #lwymmd

[summonerscenarios]

What if the summoners had a Christmas party.

Everyone is happy including husbandmail.

But the she notice Toji in the corner of the room what will she do?

Bonus: after the party 🥳 Toji and husbandomail Have an evening walk through town and at some point when their stopped their notice a mistletoe above their heads.

ASDFGHJHGFD BOY OH BOY HAS THIS ONE BEEN A LONG TIME COMING. ALLOW ME TO REITERATE THAT I SUCK AT DIALOGUE (especially Toji cause like i suck at it so bad lmao) BUT I REALLY TRIED WITH THIS ONE! (Also had to make this a lil cheesy cause if this really happened Jo would kick out Toji’s knees and that wouldn’t be very fluffy at all lmao) @husbandomail HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!!

---------

The party is in full swing by the time it gets dark outside, and doesn’t show any sign of slowing down any time soon. It had taken a lot of work to get everyone in the same place, on top of setting everything up to look perfect and it showed - Jo had spent so long helping Hanuman stringing up decorations from the ceiling, getting frames and cards and signs pinned to the walls, on top of just about every other task that went into setting up the festive mood. By the time they were done everything looked amazing, but she was more than happy to have the chance to relax and sit down before people started coming in for the celebrations. 

Jo had taken a seat close by the doors with a hot drink and made herself comfortable, and from the safety of her perch she could look out over the room, eyes scanning the crowd to take everything in. She was met with a sea of familiar faces, the Summoners scattered about the room taking part in the various activities that had been brought into the event room specifically for the party. On the far right of the room Jo could smell the food from the main table, a mixture of dishes both made for the occasion and plates that people had brought in to accompany the main food having made them themselves. Jo could see some of her own dishes among the table, not that she’d ever admit to anyone that she’d gone out of her way to cook them - when Shiro had caught her up in the early hours that same day making food for the party, she’d had to get him to swear secrecy. She’d be so worried that they wouldn’t like the food, but seeing how everyone had all but picked the trays clean over the course of the party had made a rush of pride swell up in her chest at the sight.

She could see Agyo, Kijumuna and Ryota currently swarming the table, picking things from the selection with bright smiles. Jo watches Kiji as he keeps turning to Agyo and Ryota and offering to feed them some of the food from his plate, a sight that is honestly kind of cute as it quickly devolves into the three of them sharing their favorite foods to see if the other likes them. Not too far away from the table there’s a handful of the Summoners in a mix of sitting and laying on the floor, all of them crowded together as they watch the screen that R-19’s projecting from his arm. She has no idea how they’d managed to get the android to use his function to connect to one of Hanuman’s consoles, but it works like a charm, and Kengo and Hanuman have been competing in a multiplayer, getting increasingly more rambunctious with every win and lose. They’d even coaxed Gullinbursti into playing, though it had taken more than a little while of explaining the rules of the game and what button corresponds to what before he was actually able to play. Hanuman’s a far better mentor than he’s given credit for, at least when it comes to video games, but the first few rounds where poor Gull had been staring baffled between the screen and the controller were undeniably adorable when you’d watched him getting the hang of it. Shiro and Moritaka are spectating the game, though they switch between watching the game and talking between one another, sharing a pleasant conversation as they move to take a seat next to R-19 talking about something that Jo can’t make out over the music that’s winding through the room from the music player. 

Everyone seems to be having fun, and it’s a well deserved break from everything that’s been happening recently. But as Jo’s eyes look over the group she realizes that there’s just three things missing. Suddenly there’s a sigh next to her and a familiar face slides into view.

“Boy, you sure know how to set up a party, Jo~ - I’ve talked to enough people to last me the year!” Juno hops onto the nearby table, crossing her legs and dropping her chin to rest in her hands as she fixes her friend a lax grin. 

There’s one.

“Agreed - but I’m definitely gonna nab a round with Kengo on that game next round!” Another voice pipes up, and sure enough Fel joins the duo and leans against the doorframe, playing with the tinsel decorating the wall as she flashes a similar grin in Jo’s direction.

And there’s two.

Jo’s got a sinking feeling the two of them are planning something when the pair sigh dramatically and lean a little closer, and she buries her attention back into her drink, hoping the hot drink will delay the conversation she feels coming on. There’s another exaggerated sigh before Juno huffs.

“It’s a shame though,” she begins “that someone seems a bit lonely~” 

At first Jo thinks that they’re talking about her being sat alone, but when Juno shuffles to the side and jabs a thumb behind her, Jo realizes who she was on about. 

Ah - there’s three.

Toji’s over in the far corner of the room, switching between watching the other Summoners mull about the event room, and looking out of the window he’s resting against the windowsill. His arms are folded, and like the others, he’s shed his usual uniform for something more warmer and festive, donning his usual winter outfit barring the bright red christmas sweater that you’re sure Ryota was able to wrangle him into wearing specifically for the occasion. From here, Jo can’t gauge what he’s thinking - as reigned in as he can be, it’s been fairly easy for her to guess at least how he’s feeling when she needs to; it’s almost kind of funny how easy it is, but this time she can’t. 

When Jo looks back to Fel and Juno the pair are sticking her with knowing looks, and in response Jo fixes them with a look of her own and hides her face behind her mug even though by this point it’s gone cold.

“Joooo~”

“No”

 “But he’s on his own!”

“Don’t care”

“You sure you don’t want to go over and say hi~?”

“Absolutely not”

Jo’s firm, but the pair are equally as stubborn, and soon enough Jo can feel her resolve wavering under the gazes of her friends. They know damn well how she feels about Toji - and if she has anything to say about it, they’ll be the only ones - so Jo has a pretty good idea of the matchmaking scheme that they’re trying to pull by asking her to go over. The three of them stare each other down.

And stare.

And stare.

And then Jo sighs, placing her mug on the empty table space next to Juno as she moves to stand up.

She doesn’t miss the whispered ‘yes!’ between Fel and Juno as she escapes from the table and slows down her steps the closer she gets to where Toji is. For a moment she wonders if she can just veer over to where the others are playing video games and get lost in the conversation as they place; but then she notices that Toji’s turned away from the window, and when his eyes glance over the room again his gaze catches hers. 

“Hey, Toji” Jo greets him as approaches “What’s wrong, not in the celebrating mood?”

“No, I’m...watching” he responds, after a beat of pause, and Jo tilts her head at the reply.

“Watching?”

Toji nods towards the Summoners right as a chorus of laughter rips through the room, Hanuman jumping up and down with a triumphant grin as the results screen flashes on the screen. Everyone’s laughing and smiling, expressions bright and free of any kind of worry - it’s a welcome respite from the usual worries that each of them have been going through this past year. Jo’s quick to piece things together, and quirks a brow as she asks.

“Not used to seeing so many happy faces?”

Toji hums with a nod, and Jo pipes up and motions over to the group.

“You can join in too, y’know. Pretty sure you could beat Kengo at the next level if you can beat Fel to the controller”

“Over my dead body!” comes the yelled response from the other side of the room, right as a controller goes sailing across the room for Fel to catch. Jo can’t help but sigh at the sight, shaking her head before looking back to Toji, who’s looking back out of the window

“Come and join the party, it’ll be fun!”

Toji seems to consider Jo’s offer, and it looks like she might actually convince him to join as he looks back towards the window before answering, only to do a double take and pause.

“Jo, look.”

That catches her attention.

“Yeah? what’s-?

A hand on her shoulder stops Jo mid-sentence and she looks up at Toji, brows furrowed wondering what’s up when she follows his line of sight outside the window. Small white specks land onto the glass, starting out with just one or two, but soon enough more follow, and before she knows it it’s starting to snow. The sight of the snow falling, the soft orange glow of both the inside lights and the lamps outside illuminating them as they fall, has Jo enraptured - when was the last time she’d seen snow? 

Her fingers brush against the glass, leaning closer to the glass to look outside and get a better look. With her attention captured on the sight outside, Jo misses Toji glancing at her from the corner of his eye, expression softening as he looks at her eyes, bright and full of wonder as the reflection of the christmas lights dances along the side of her face from this angle. She seems lost in thought, mulling over something in her head as she gazes through the glass and Toji’s expression is fond, though it lasts only briefly before the moment is broken.

“IT’S SNOWING!” 

Toji has no idea who yells it, but in a flash Hanuman, Kengo and Fel are bolting for the door, the latter diving under the two and racing outside with the other two hot on her heels. Sure enough the others follow their lead with varying degrees of excitement, and in that moment Jo seems to catch herself and shakes herself from her reverie, taking advantage of the sudden excitement to follow the others outside, turning back towards Toji as though to make sure that he’s coming too. Toji doesn’t hesitate to follow her outside, the two of them trailing behind the rest of the Summoners as they listen to the conversation and laughter echoing down the hall.

--------

The party, thankfully, doesn’t take long at all to clean up, but by the time Jo’s finished she’s the only one left as she puts the last of the chairs away, grabbing her coat and shucking it on as she prepares for the solo walk back home. What she doesn’t expect is to find someone outside waiting for her to come outside.

It’s a hilarious reflection of that valentine’s fiasco the year before, where Toji’d very nearly ran her through with his swords thinking she was an enemy when she was just waiting to walk back with him; this time the tables are turned, and Toji’s got his coat on and scarf wrapped snug around his neck when he greets her just outside of the event hall doors. His offer to walk her home takes Jo by surprise - it sounds kind of cheesy being escorted back late at night by a cute boy while it’s snowing, like something out of a christmas movie, but Jo doesn’t entirely hate the sound of that idea. Toji seems just as surprised at her acceptance, but almost immediately straightens up and falls in stride with Jo’s footsteps as she begins walking.

The peace is a welcome change, and Toji’s surprisingly pleasant company to travel with - there’s no need for forced conversation, no need to wrack your brain for something to say or listen to someone ramble. It’s nice, and Jo finds herself eager to take a little detour through the shopping district to admire some of the lights that had been set up for the coming festivities on the way back. The cold temperature makes her skin tingle, cheeks growing rosy as she burrows further into her coat and looks around at the lights illuminating their path trying to burn them into memory. Who knows the next time these lights are going to be up? How long is this merriment going to last before the break ends? 

There’s one particular building that catches her attention - they’ve gone all out on the lights, shaping a few strings of bulbs so that they’re shaped like a ferris wheel, and the way that they blink and shift colors almost makes it look as though it’s moving. She’ll have to remember that for next christmas - if she’s lucky, she’ll be able to convince Shiro that they can get away with putting something like that up outside of the guild for the next party. Hell, maybe she could even get them to set it up for new years, she’d just have to figure out how they hell they-

“Careful!”

A hand grabs hold of her arm and tugs her back, and Jo stumbles a little before catching herself, head swiveling to face the path in front of her. She’d been distracted enough she hadn’t noticed the upcoming stairs were right below her feet until Toji had pulled her back; he’s still holding her arm but his grip loosens significantly when she turns to face him.

“Honestly” Toji shakes his head “you need to take better care not to get sidetracked”

Jo bites back the retort she can feel bubbling up, instead turning her gaze away from him before she can make a quip; instead, she lets her eyes glance upwards to look at the sky, only to catch sight of something dangling from the lampost that the two of them are stood under. It takes a moment, given the bright light making the object in question easy to miss, but Jo makes out some kind of plant dangling over the very top of the pole.

Is...is that...?

“Oh”

“‘Oh?’” Toji mirrors, giving her a confused look.

When she doesn’t look down, Toji follows where she’s staring and looks up. Soon enough, he spots it too.

It’s mistletoe.

“Oh”

Jo doesn’t know what’s more baffling - the fact that someone strung up mistletoe in such a missable spot, or the fact that someone found the time and went out of their way to climb all the way up the pole just to hang a single decoration; but in the time it takes her to realize what she’s looking at, on top of why it’s there, she feels her heart jump up into her throat, and her face starts to feel warm. It seems as though Toji isn’t faring any better, as he coughs awkwardly into his hand and turns away from the lamppost; he tries to avoid looking at Jo, but he keeps glancing back as though trying to gauge her reaction and she’s quick to notice. 

With a nervous chuckle, Jo brings a hand to rub the back of her neck, stealing one last glance up at the mistletoe in question.

“So, um…” she attempts to find the right words. “Are we just gonna pretend we don’t see it, or-?”

She was going to suggest leaving it be, but it appears that someone else had different ideas, as before the full sentence can leave her lips the words get muffled as Toji steps forward to claim them. Just about every coherent thought screeches to a stop, and Jo has no idea whether to just drop to the floor and wait for her face to feel like it’s not burning, or to yank him in further by the collar of his coat, but just about every train of thinking leads to the same thing.

Holy shit, Toji’s kissing her.

Okay, Jo will be the first to admit that she’s teased the hell out of Toji in the past; made jokes about looking good in his jacket, playing with his horns just to watch him get ridiculously flustered among other things to get a rise out of him. It’s always been satisfying garnering reactions out of him, and those reactions are one of the reasons she liked him so much in the first place - but given how reserved and generally awkward he is around anything romantic she didn’t expect him to actually do anything! 

He’s clearly inexperienced, and his lips tremble a little against hers as he kisses her, but it feels so genuine that the kiss just about takes her breath away. It’s sweet, warm, and over all too quickly. When Toji pulls away his face is starting to turn red and he brings the back of his hand to his mouth giving her a surprisingly bashful look for a boy who’s usually so serious. Jo brings a hand to her lips, almost not believing what just happened as she feels her own cheeks starting to burn. The previous stutter in her thoughts comes back full force, a mix between surprise and flustered silencing just about any words she might say. What comes out instead is a choked noise and she just about wants to kick herself for not coming up with at least a verbal response.

Toji takes a step back, and opens his mouth in what Jo can only assume is gonna be some long winded apology about being abrupt, but she doesn’t even give him the chance to humor the speech before she grabs him by his scarf and yanks him back towards her. This time Jo’s the one to initiate the kiss, and the satisfaction of the muffled gasp he lets out overrides the embarrassment of being so bold as Jo pulls him even closer, winding her hands into the plush fabric of his scarf as she tugs. 

A hand comes to rest at the back of her neck and slowly, sweetly, Toji returns the kiss, the previous trembling of his lips now steadier, more assured in his actions this time around. He’s gaining confidence, which Jo’s glad for because she’s pretty sure he’s going to have to catch her by the time they break apart; but for now she’s going to let the moment last, pressing against his chest and kissing, illuminated only by the gentle glow of the lights and with an audience of soft snow drifting down around the pair as their shadows overlap.

#Anonymous #housamo #tokyo afterschool summoners #housamo imagine #scenario #housamo scenario #imagines #husbandomail #toji #housamo toji #toji sakamori #the summoners #shameless plug of me and fel in there too cause it's fun lmao #request #ask #oh boy i sure love bullying my friends lmao #it adds a month to my lifespan #rejuvenates the skin

[sophielovesbarnes]

All or nothing, chapter two.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Winchester!reader

Warnings: Fluff, pregnancy and cursing.

Author note: Alright, here we are, hot out of the oven! Sorry if it took long, I got stuck on a scene but I finally broke the writer’s block and was able to finish this chapter, we will get to see a bit more of SPN on this chapter.

I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what do you think, dm me if you want to be tagged and remember requests are open.

Chapter one

Masterlist

Chapter two

“Come on ladies! They are not called suicide running drills for nothing!” Your coach screams, you are beyond exhausted, your legs feel like they will give in, in any second now, you are covered in sweat from head to toe and your lungs feel like they are on fire. With the National competition getting closer every day your coach gets more demanding and the training sessions become more intense.

“So.” You manage to get out. “I don’t know if calling him is too straight forward.”

“Well.” Ingrid answers with her chest heaving. “It’s not like you have cared about that before.”

“Winchester! Fritz! If you are able to speak then you are not doing it right!” 

Ingrid smiles at you and then you both get back to running, an hour; that feels like an eternity later, you are under the shower letting the water wash away your exhaustion, you still have two classes left and you need to mentally prepare yourself for them. 

When you are changing into a pink dress Ingrid returns to the topic.

“So what are you going to do?” She asks while brushing her hair. “Are you gonna call the hot FBI agent?”

“I think I will.” You tie your hair up and close your locker. “There’s something really special about him, I just can’t put my finger in what.” 

“Aww little Y/N has a crush.”

“Shut it Ingrid, at least I’m doing something about mine.” You say teasingly.

“Hey I’m your base, you don’t wanna bother me.” You both look at each other with serious looks in your face and then burst into laughter. “No but seriously, tell me how it goes.” 

“Will do, bye babes.” You kiss her cheek and then leave the locker room. 

During class you are barely able to pay attention, when your psychodynamic teacher is talking about the five stages of psychosexual development and the fixations in the oral stage your mind is traveling far away, focused on soft brunet locks and shy smiles.

After school you go back to your apartment, you order chinese for dinner and when the food comes and you are so distracted you are almost sure you gave the delivery guy a 50 dollar bill and told him to keep the change, you eat absentmindedly and then head to your bathroom toying with your phone, after taking a bath you are on your bed, dressed with clean pajamas and your hair wrapped up with a towel, then you finally gather enough courage to make the call. 

The phone rings three times before he answers.

“Hello?” Your heart flutters at the sound of his voice. 

“Doctor Reid?”

“Who is this?” He asks, you can hear the nervousness in his voice.

“It’s Y/N Winchester.” You answer calmly .”You gave me your card at the FBI lecture at Louisville.” 

“Right, how- how may I help you?” He replies.

“I have a lot of questions, and you told me to call if I had them.” You take a deep breath and then say with a wide smile on your face. “But I thought it would be unfair to just ask without giving something in return, so what do you say about me buying you coffee tomorrow? If you’re still in town.” 

Silence.

You mentally slap yourself for being too straightforward, what made you think that he wants to go out with you? He most likely has a girlfriend and here you are throwing yourself to him? God, you are so stupid.

“I-I yeah, that would be…” You listen to him taking a deep breath and then he continues. “That would be nice.”

“Great! We should go to Quills, they make this mean peach- lavender lattes.”

“Sounds good.”

“Does four o’clock work for you?”

“Yeah, that’s okay.” 

“Hey pretty boy, who are you talking to?” Says a voice on the back, then the call ends.

You are smiling so hard your cheeks hurt, you have a date; well, meeting with doctor Reid, and you can barely hold your emotion. What are you gonna wear? What are you gonna say? Maybe this was a rash idea. 

The ring of your phone snaps your mind out of it, when you pick up you see your brother’s face and on the back you hear the sound of vomiting.

“I’m guessing Jo hasn’t passed the throwing up all the time fase.”

“At this point I am pretty sure she kind of hates me.” Says your Adam.

“I don’t kind of hate you Adam, I hate you, hate you.” You hear Jo say, then the sound of vomiting returns.

Jo’s pregnancy had caught everyone off guard, she and Adam were always fighting or calling each other names, but then at the New Year’s Eve party Ellen threw on the Roadhouse they both had too much to drink and the next thing you knew was that you were going to have another nephew or niece in nine months, there was a lot of crying and at some point Ellen threatened to cut your brother’s balls off, now she was just happy with the idea of having a grandchild. 

After the initial shock you were happy as well, this wasn’t your first nephew/niece though, Sam and Jessica had two beautiful daughters you adored, Dean had Ben; who was only a couple years younger than you, which was weird; and with Castiel, Dean had applied to be a foster parent, they now had a little boy; Leo, and were hoping to get another child.

You had such a beautiful family and were so grateful for it. 

“How are you baby sis?” Adam asks, ignoring Jo’s comment.

“I’m good, very tired, our coach is killing us, and I have a duckton of homework, but in general things are going great, what about you, how are things going on Kansas?”

“Things are good, the workshop is getting a lot of cars, Sam, Jess and the girls visit us every now and then, and Dean and Cas are all about Leo.”

“That’s gonna be you in a couple months you know? Have you thought of any names?”

“Jo likes William or Genevieve, I like Magnolia or Jebediah, Jo doesn’t like them so we have reached an impasse.” You see Jo exiting the bathroom and standing next to your brother.

“Those are old people’s names, tell him Y/N.” Jo says. “Tell him they are horrible names and we are not naming my child like an old person.”

“Our child” He corrects, “And they are good names Joanna.”

“I hate to not be on your side bro, but Jo is right, they are horrible.” You say.

“Thank you Y/N at least one Winchester is using her brain.” Adam rolls his eyes and you laugh.

“They are good names!” Adam insists.

“No they are not.”  You and Jo say at the same time, she was your best friend and somehow you were always in synchrony. 

“Now if you can’t reach an agreement Y/N is always a good option, it has character, it’s pretty, and let's be honest, the world could use another Y/N Winchester.”

“We don’t need another traitor.” Adam answers with false hurt. 

“Ugh, stop being such a drama queen Adam, you know what? Your baby wants an Oreo McFlurry.” 

“Five minutes ago you were throwing up and now you want a McFlurry?” 

“Yes, so better get on the road because they are going to close, don't do this for me Adam, do it for your baby.”

“So now it’s my baby?” They both start bickering and you swear they already act like a married couple, eventually Jo wins the discussion, because being honest there is no better argument than “I am carrying your baby” so Adam says his goodbyes and leaves grudgingly.  You and Jo stay talking for hours, it’s almost 3 am when you hang up, and you fall asleep right after.

When you wake up you feel well rested and you feel like you slept for so long, the sun comes bright through the window and your whole body feels relaxed, which is weird because you went to sleep really late last night, which gets you thinking that you never heard your alarm.

Wait.

You take your phone and press the side button, but the screen doesn’t turn on. 

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” You didn’t charge your phone, so the battery is dead which means that you are probably very late, you look up at the watch that’s on the wall, which indicates that it is already 12:15 in the morning, you are definitely very late. 

You jump out of the bed and run to the bathroom, no time for showering, you brush your teeth and get dressed with a pair of jeans, plain white t-shirt and sneakers, you tie your hair on a high ponytail, take your bag and run to the kitchen, you grab a banana and a bottle of water and run out of your house. 

You race on the road and make it to school on record time, at this time of the day it is barely impossible to find a parking space that is empty, when you manage to park it’s almost one, you mentally curse, get out of the car and run to the classroom, this promises to be a hell of a day. 

*****

Spencer has never liked this kind of conferences, they bring him back to his college years, which are not something he likes to think about, he didn’t have the standar university experience, most of the time he was made fun of, being the target of stupid pranks or being just ignored by his classmates, so yeah, college wasn’t something he remembered fondly.

He was on edge until yesterday, when he saw you on the lecture; he had already seen you on the football field being thrown into the air and then landing perfectly with a magazine worthy smile, of course he thought you were pretty, because you were one of the prettiest girls he had ever landed eyes on, but you were also most likely the type of girl that only cared about vain things and would have never noticed him if you had been one of his classmates; he was proved wrong during the lecture.

You weren’t only pretty, you were also smart, probably the smartest girl in that classroom, you were informed and you clearly cared about the topic, and when the lecture ended you went to him, when all the girls went with Morgan or Rossi, you decided to go with him; he was in such a rush he even had the bravery to give you his card.

And then the impossible happened, you called him, and not only that, you asked him out and he hasn’t felt this nervous in ages.

“Reid, Reid.” Morgan’s voice brings him back to the room, he and Rossi are looking at him with worry. “Everything alright pretty boy? You have been acting weirder than usual since yesterday.” 

“I am fine.” He answers almost automatically.

“Are you sure?” Rossi asks with an eyebrow raised. “We are worried about you kid.”

“Yeah.” He says. “Colleges just bring me to the edge.”

“Well, don’t worry about it pretty boy, we are just going to be here three more days and we are back to Quantico.”

“I know.” 

*****

The whole day you feel like you are running, you are late for class which gets you a reprimand from your teacher, which gets you late to your next class, which ends up getting you late to cheerleading practice. Your coach is so mad she has you running suicides and practicing toe touches until your legs feel like jello. 

“Point your toes Winchester! And smile, you have to sell it!”  She screams at you, everytime you jump you feel your muscles pull and your empty stomach hurls, you are almost sure that if you keep jumping you might throw up. 

When your coach finally lets you go it’s already 4:20, you mentally do the math, if you go to the locker rooms and shower you will be in the coffee shop at almost five o’clock, and agent Reid is probably already waiting for you, so you just grab your bag and run to your car mentally cursing yourself for not charging your phone. 

****

Spencer manages to escape Morgan and Rossi, avoiding their questions and he makes it to the coffee shop you indicated by 3:45, minutes go by tortuously, he sees people coming in and out from the coffee with cups on their hands, he sees people laughing and students dragging their feet, the exhaustion of exams and projects reflecting clearly on them, he gets a lot of looks and he starts to grow desperate, he calls you over and over but the calls go straight to voicemail.

By 4:30 he decides you stood him up, this was most likely a prank, how did he not notice? He was a grown ass man, an FBI agent, he was a profiler and still he fell for it. He feels terrible, how could he believe such a beautiful woman would ask him out and actually show up? He takes his bag and gets up from the chair, when he is leaving he sees a car parking and a y/h/c haired girl wearing a Cardinals hoodie and grey yoga pants getting down and running to the coffee shop. 

It was you, you didn’t stand him up, you were actually there, he can barely hold his emotion. 

“Doctor Reid.” You say, your forehead is covered in sweat and your chest is going up and down rapidly. “I am so, so, so, sorry, did I make you wait too long? I’m sorry, my phone died, and my alarm never went off, and I’ve been late everywhere, and my practice lasted too long, and i didn’t have your card so I couldn’t call you from another phone, and I came here right out of my training, so I must smell like a monster and I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t wait for long.” He lies, and you smile at him, and he can swear it is the most beautiful smile he has ever seen. “Should we order?” 

“Yeah, yeah.” You lead the way and stop at the bar. “Hey Lindsey.”

The redhead barista smiles at you and then you look at him and he notices how your y/e/c sparkle with the white lights of the coffee shop. 

“What do you want?” You ask.

“You said something about peach lattes?”

“Peach-lavender lattes, it sounds weird but they are great.” You reply, and by this point he’s sure he would believe if you said the moon was made of tofu. 

“I’ll have one.”

“Great, two large peach-lavender lattes and a bagel please, can I also borrow your charger?” Lindsay marks your order on the cash register and tells you the total, when Spencer takes out his wallet you stop him. “No, I said I was buying.”

“No, I insist.” 

“Doctor Reid, put your wallet down, I was terribly late and I said I was buying, you can pay the next time.” The fact that you imply that there might be a next time makes his heart flutter. 

“Alright.” He agrees, when you get your orders you sit on the table he was waiting on and there’s a moment of awkward silence he is not sure how to break. “So, so you said you had questions?”

“Yes, I do.” You take a sip from your coffee and then look at him, he is expecting questions about the FBI, but that’s not where you go. “You have three PhDs, three BAs and you are only thirty-four, how is that even possible? Are you like a genius?”

“I, I don’t believe intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I do have an IQ of 187, eidetic memory and can read 20,000 words per minute.” You stare at him with your eyes wide open and a smile on your lips. “...yes, I’m a genius.”

“That’s… wow.” The conversation flows after that, he talks about some of the most interesting cases he has had, you intervene every now and then making questions or comments that always seem to go to the correct point, and he feels like he can speak freely with you.

“Well, the vast majority of unsubs with a similar MO aren’t driven by the killing, they are merely fascinated by the body parts, it’s like they psychologically exist in a realm where fantasy meets delusion, it’s basically like the blueprint to create the perfect serial killer… I’m rambling aren’t I?”

“It’s okay, it’s fascinating, please go on.” You are one of the only persons he has ever met that reacts that way, most of the time he gets interrupted, he is about to start again when your phone rings, you take a look at the screen and then say. “Sorry I have to take this, it will be just a sec.”

He smiles and nods and you slide to answer. 

“What is the point of having an expensive phone if you never answer? Do you know how worried I was?”

“Hi Dean.” You reply, internally laughing at the overprotectiveness of your brother. 

“Don’t “hi Dean” me, where have you been? Why haven’t you been answering your texts?”

“I’m in a coffee shop, and my phone died last night and I couldn’t charge it until now.” 

“Who are you with?”

“I’m with a… friend.”

“Friend? Are you out with a boy? Who is he? Let me talk to him.”

“Stop being so jealous Dean.” 

“So you are with a boy.”

“I’m sorry I have to go, love you, bye.” You say and you don’t even give him time to protest before you hang up. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem.” He must have guessed you wouldn’t be single, he feels jealousy invading him, and he fiddled with his empty cup. “Was that your boyfriend?”

“Gross, no.” There’s a wave of relief when you answer that, and he probably shouldn’t feel it, he’s leaving in a few days, it’s not like there’s the possibility of a relationship. “It was my brother, he can get all Mama Bear when he is worried.”

“Oh, is he your only brother?”

“No, I have three, Dean, Sam and Adam, I am the youngest, like by far, Dean is 19 years older, Sam is 15 years older and Adam beats me by 8 years.”

“That’s a big difference.”

“Yeah, Dean and Sam are my half-brothers, from dad’s first marriage, their mother died when they were very young and dad took it very hard and started to move them around the country, that’s how he met my mom, he went to Minnesota they had a one night stand and she got pregnant, but she didn’t tell him about Adam until he was like six, then he went back to Windom, they fell in love, dad moved them to Kansas, he married my mom and then they had me, hence the age gap.” You explain. “What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”

“No, I’m an only child, I grew up with Doctor Who and Star Trek as my companions.”

“Doctor Who?”

“Yeah, it’s, it’s good.”

“I know, I’m not gonna act like I didn’t mourn for a week when Ten left Rose on the beach.”

“You like it?”

“I may look like your stereotype cheerleader, but I’m a huge geek, Dean and his best friend Charlie made sure of that.”

The conversation flows as freely as water after that, for some reason you find it easy to talk to him, you tell him so many things you haven’t even told Jo, you talk about everything, favorite holidays; yours is Christmas, his is Halloween; tv shows, characters. You delite with his rambling and pay attention to every word he says, when you finally realize it, the sky has turned dark and you are the last people in the coffee shop.

“I think we should probably let them close.” 

“Yeah, we should.” You both take your bags and stand up. “Hey, when are you leaving town?”

“On friday.”

“Let me make you dinner, I make a killer lasagna.” You look at him expecting an answer but he can barely say anything, he just had an amazing evening with a gorgeous girl who is now inviting him to her house, he should probably pinch himself to make sure he is not dreaming. “Spencer?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“It’s a date then.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x winchester!reader #reid x reader #reid x you #Criminal Minds #criminal minds x reader #supernatural #supernatural x reader #supernatural x you #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #winchester x reader #winchester!sister #winchester!reader #all or nothing

[drivingsideways]

Here, have like 5.7k of not-fic, because I am *still * not writing in this fandom, god damn it. 

In which Gon is an asshole, and Tae-eul knows it. Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop Jo Yeong from wanting him.

It’s at the naval academy that Gon realizes that he is, in fact, in deep shit.

Gon is there because he’s expected to be there, Yeong-ah is there because Gon is there, and also because he’s the most stubborn 16 year old in existence, and even commanding him to stay at school and join only two years later, along with his peers hadn’t worked, probably for the first time since Gon had given him a play sword and brought an infinitely more precious thing into existence.

 Yeong had just turned up in the naval academy class in his trainee uniform, all coltish limbs and squared shoulders and defiant chin and serious eyes, and his collar more starched than even His Majesty’s and Gon had thought god damn it, but he’d also been conscious of a sense of relief. It was lonely without his shadow of almost twelve years now, and honestly, if Yeong-ah thought he could do it, who was Gon to disagree, because he knows what Yeong-ah is capable of when he’s determined.

 (Yeong-ah has the scars to prove it, and Gon has the worst night after his father’s murder to remember, the night when he sat beside Yeong’s bed as he slept off the anaesthetic, post surgical removal of a bullet from his shoulder. Yeong had taken off his service vest during combat training, apparently deciding that he needed to learn to fight through an actual bullet wound.

The idiot.

Gon had wept all night beside his bed, and raged at him in the morning, and expressly forbidden him from pulling a stunt like that ever again, and Yeong had looked at him, confusion in his dark eyes, and said blearily, his usually lovely clear voice still thickened by sleep and painkillers, but how can I be the unbreakable sword if I don’t practice?

Yeong, Gon had replied, helpless in the face of such devotion. Yeong.

 So yeah, he should have probably known that Yeong would turn up at the Academy.)

 The four years at the academy are great- actually the most freedom Gon has ever experienced, which is hugely ironic, given, it’s like, the navy; and he wants Yeong to have that too before they both return to the palace. He wants Yeong to have as normal an adolescence as he can, hang out with the guys, make friends, and who knows, maybe even date? Like, Yeong should have the delicious experience of a first kiss, her lips soft and tasting of champagne and plum-flavoured lip balm, the slim curve of her waist that fits into the slightly damp palm of your hand, and the fluttering of her eyelashes against your cheek, and the wild roaring of your heartbeat in your ears- and her almond-shaped dark eyes on yours- 

 Yeah, so, Gon wants  Yeong to have all of that and more, and he’ll do his best to arrange the world so that it will happen; what kind of elder brother would he be if he didn’t?

 So when they’re at one of the few parties that trainees- including His Majesty- are allowed into at the Naval Club, he tries to manoeuvre things suitably so that he can casually introduce Yeong to some pretty young things, at least two of whom, he’s pleased to note, have the good taste to realize how handsome and adorable Yeong is. Well, he’d best leave them alone now, trusting that nothing can stop a determined young woman who’s spotted something she wants- and in the meanwhile, he has caught sight of Ms.Kim Seo-Hyun, she of the laughing dark eyes, and the wicked mouth, and goes off to renew a very pleasant acquaintance in the shade of some conveniently placed trees. 

 It’s a while before he returns to the main ballroom, and his eyes scan for Yeong, and don’t find him. He’d half been expecting for Yeong to break in on Seo-Hyun and himself, because Yeong rarely lets Gon out of his line of sight, except for very good reasons. And hey, look at that, perhaps for once, Yeong was not thinking about protecting Gon, and was instead having a good time by himself.

 Good, he thinks, the light buzz of alcohol in his veins adding to the generally pleasant feeling, and he smiles to himself when he thinks about the fun he’ll have later, teasing Yeong about it. He stands for a minute watching the milling, chattering crowd, god, it’s warm in here. 

He finds what looks like a deserted corridor, that lines the back of the club building, and drifts down it, hand still clutching the slowly warming glass of champagne (his fourth) that he’d taken off a passing tray. 

He recognizes Yeong from his silhouette- of course he does- before he actually sees him. He’s leaning against a pillar- if such a ramrod straight posture could be termed leaning - and he seems to be in conversation with someone opposite him, who’s entirely in shadow, thanks to a pillar and a large leafy potted plant. The clouds clear at that moment, and the moon comes out, and Yeong is smiling, actually smiling, with his teeth and everything, the smile softening the sharp cut of those cheekbones, and the sight stops Gon in his tracks, because Yeong rarely smiles, Gon should know, Gon has worked harder at winning those smiles than at any mathematical problem, but here’s Yeong, smiling at someone who isn’t Gon. 

 He should probably leave- after all, he doesn’t want to embarass Yeong or accidentally crash their rendezvous- but for some reason he can’t move. He can’t move, and he can only watch as the person opposite, comes out the shadow- and that-that is not a girl- no, that’s another cadet, and he’s crossing the two feet between him and Yeong, and now he’s leaning in, a little, one hand coming to rest over Yeong’s shoulder on the pillar behind, while the other comes up to tilt Yeong’s face toward his, and Yeong’s eyes are dark, unfathomable pools, but he’s leaning in, his eyelashes fluttering shut, and then-

No, thinks Gon, No. 

He’s mine. 

And then, appalled, fuck.

 He manages to stumble away without being seen- the other two are too busy-  and listen, it’s not for nothing he’s been trained since childhood to wear an armour of charm and stoic politeness no matter the provocation, and he calls on every lesson he’s ever learnt from endlessly boring state dinners, and even more uninteresting briefings, and manages to get through the rest of the evening without doing what he wants to- destroy every single glittering, happy smile in sight- and grab Yeong’s hand and run. 

 Because Yeong would go along, if he did. Yeong would follow, like he always did, and if Gon- if Gon ever asked him- then Yeong would, of course he would, because Yeong has never ever not given Gon anything he’s asked for, not since he was four and Gon had bought him with a few thoughtless words, said mostly in jest, just so the little boy would stop crying like that, as though it was his world that had ended, and not Gon’s. 

 He lasts the evening, and the next two years, and he never asks Yeong about that night, or any of the nights after, and Yeong never volunteers the information. There’s a part of Gon that’s resentful, that wants to scream, do you trust me so little, do you think I’d love you less because you’re gay, and there’s a part of him that’s glad Yeong never tells him, because if it were- out there- between them, then Gon might become weak one day, and ask, after all, and no, it’s best that it remains unsaid, and it’s fine, it’s FINE. 

 He has Yeong in all the most important ways; he has his time, and his devotion, and his quiet, dry wit that he rarely displays to anyone except Gon, and he has Yeong’s touch, even- Yeong reaching out to pull him up from the floor after beating his ass at taekwondo, Yeong brushing lint off his shoulder after he’s dressed for one of those stupid dinners, the brush of his knuckles against Gon’s suddenly dry throat as Yeong adjusts his tie, the press of Yeong’s shoulders against his as they sit side-by-side watching The Seven Samurai for the forty-seventh time. He has Yeong’s face peering into his as he shakes him awake for the 4 am drill, and he has Yeong’s disapproving frown when he discovers Gon has skipped both lunch and dinner because he got lost in reading this brilliant new paper by Maryam Mirzakhani, Yeong, you don’t understand, the woman is a fucking genius, and god, why is it spinach today, why, Yeong, you’re so cruel to me. 

 They graduate, and then it’s back at the palace, and they slip back into its routines and confinements, and if he applied to the Pope for canonization, surely, he’d get it, because Gon deserves it.

 It’s been ten years since that awful, life-altering realization, and every hour since then has been a lesson in restraint and abject self-denial in the face of the loveliest and most every day of temptations:  to kiss the curve of Yeong’s quiet smiles and run his finger along the sharp blade of his cheekbones; to trace the shell of his ear, and turn fully into the warm heat of his body, that’s always, always within reach, and if Gon ever asked-

Gon doesn’t ask. 

 Then he’s transported to a parallel universe and meets Tae-Eul  and Eun-sup and she introduces him to things like half-and-half and also asks him questions like “what kind of king are you?”, things he has no real answer for, and it’s nice- it’s nice to be able to be honest with someone, to have them treat you like you’re a weirdo, but not like, a royal weirdo, and though he jokes about it with her, one day she says, suddenly, “You can be anyone you want to be here and you’re telling me that you choose to be some stick-in-the mud blueblood?”

She snorts, inelegant, and comfortable within her skin, and that’s when he realizes-

And alright, he has to sell a couple of more diamonds and some rare gold artefacts to arrange it, but then it’s done- he gets to resurrect Lee Ji-hun. Lee Ji-hun is just some guy here, a musician, not a mathematician, living a quiet, ordinary life in a moderately posh neighbourhood.  

 (Tae-eul contests his definition of “moderately posh” when she walks into his large fully furnished studio apartment, all floor-to-ceiling windows, and polished dark-wood floor, but listen, he wouldn’t be able to pull it off if he had to live in actual poverty, sorry, but he has limits. Tae-Eul gives him a distinctly unimpressed look, but probably agrees about his limits, he thinks.

 “You should be a lawyer or a tax consultant instead” she says, touching the beautiful grand piano he’s installed. “They’re rich”.

“Ugh, boring. Musicians aren’t rich here?”

Tae-Eul sighs, “Not ones as mediocre as you” she mutters

“I have never been mediocre at anything in my life”.

“Who told you that, Your Majesty?”)

  The reason he gives her for this entire project is that he wants to draw Lee Lim out into the open, but it’s not just him, but that part he never tells Tae-Eul. He’s told her all about Yeong of course, about his unbreakable sword , and she gives him one of her penetrating looks and says, abrupt, people are not things , and he feels himself flush to the roots of his hair

 I just meant, it’s not like that,  he stumbles, and stops. 

There’s an awkward pause. 

Then she says, quietly, I forget how different your world is. 

 And that’s it, isn’t it?  Here he can be anyone, and if he can be anyone, then he doesn’t have to be Yeong’s lord, and he can be Yeong’s equal, perhaps, and - and- but he doesn’t let himself hope for more. Equal. Friend, perhaps. If that’s all it can be, then that’s enough. 

 So he tells Yeong, who’s been quietly going crazy, he knows, what with Gon’s strange behaviour and disappearances,  about the parallel world, and Yeong says, sharp, and agonized- don’t go where I can’t follow - 

I’m not, he reassures Yeong, and then takes him through the portal. 

He introduces Yeong to Tae-Eul, and then to Eun-sup, and enjoys the mutual horror of the latter meeting very much. Seeing them together is just one more reminder of how much he loves his Yeong, though Eun-sup is adorable- everything about him loose and loud and in the open- in contrast to Yeong’s grave eyes and buttoned cuffs and ramrod spine, and that twist to the corner of his mouth that indicates that he’s suffering at the realization that his doppelganger is a complete goof, and god, Gon should probably stop staring so openly at Yeong, before someone realizes that he’s half a breath away from pressing Yeong against a wall and ruining him.

 He thinks he’s rather given himself away though, the way Tae-Eul is looking at him, something startled and then thoughtful in her eyes.

Yeong is incredibly suspicious of everything about Tae-Eul, though Gon tries to talk him out of it.

Why are you so determined to defend her, Yeong asks, sounding bewildered. 

She and I are bound by fate, Gon replies, quietly. I know it in my heart, just like I know she’s a good person.

He doesn’t quite understand the look in Yeong’s eyes then- a flash of something- so quickly gone that he might have missed it, if he hadn’t been used to watching Yeong all the time. 

But Yeong nods, once, and then says, in his brusque way, “What do you need me to do?”

Enter Lee Ji-hun. 

He gives Yeong the same story that he gives Tae-Eul, except that he doesn’t tell Yeong that there is no Lee Ji-Hun, because his bastard uncle had made sure of that. 

Find a way to befriend him, he tells Yeong instead, and stay by his side here, and if Lee Lim turns up, you have my permission to behead him.

Yeong gives him a dry look.

I don’t think it works like that here, Your Majesty, he says.

He’s my subject, says Gon, and he can’t quite keep a lid on the vicious hate that bubbles up from where he’s buried it all these years, and I am the law.

Yeong is silent for a minute, and then asks, how long?

Tae-Eul and he have worked out some kind of plausible back story for Lee Ji-hun

Anyways, he regurgitates it to Yeong, adding the necessary flourishes when needed, (“He’s supposed to be one of the best pianists in the country!”) who looks increasingly sceptical.

“Well?” Gon demands.

“I don’t see how I’m going to befriend him” Yeong gripes. “It’s not like I can play an instrument”.

Not to worry, Gon and Tae-eul have a plan for that too, though essentially their plan is to move Yeong, ex-military captain, now into private security, into the apartment opposite.

“Ex-military can afford this kind of apartment here?” Yeong asks, incredulous, while Gon narrows his eyes at him.

“Private security pays good money” Tae-Ul offers and gives Gon a look.

Hmm, says Yeong, and then proceeds to strip-search every bit of the apartment while Tae-eul gawks at him.

Gon thinks it’s adorable.

 So begins the most exhausting cat and mouse game that Gon has ever played with himself.

He’s just wondering how to arrange for a ‘chance meeting’ with Yeong- in the lift perhaps? (because he’s sure that despite everything, Yeong would probably take days to make a first move, and Gon simply doesn’t have that time in his schedule. As it is, working it out so that he gets at least four hours of sleep out of 24 has been an absolute nightmare.)

Anyways, he’s still musing on it, when there’s a knock on the door, and he opens it to the sight of Yeong in a half-sleeved t-shirt and loose trackpants and a really sweet smile, asking whether he can borrow some sugar.

Gon nearly expires on the spot, because for years now, even when training, Yeong wears full sleeved shirts with high necks, and this- this- excuse for clothing even has a v-neck, dipping down, and Gon unsubtly tracks the miles of skin between the hollow of his throat and where the dip of it ends, feeling a little like he’s been run over by a train, and he would really like to know why Yeong felt the need to dress like a total harlot to ask a stranger for a half-cup of sugar.

His silence has Yeong back away, with an awkward look.

“I’m sorry if I disturbed you sir” he says, and it’s so stiff and formal, and it snaps Gon out of his idiocy.

“Oh no..not at all…sorry” he says, “I was just…” he snatches around wildly for a plausible reason, “I was just distracted by this piece of music I was composing!”

(what?)

“Oh” says Yeong, “You’re a musician”.

“Please do come in” Gon says, “And allow me to make up for my rudeness by welcoming you with a cup of tea? Coffee?”

“Tea” says Yeong, another surprise, because his Yeong doesn’t touch the stuff, but will drink gallons of coffee.

“Nice” says Yeong, as he looks around the apartment with its modernist furniture, so unlike what they back at home, and the way he says it, so deliberately polite and fake, makes Gon hide a smile.

He walks to the piano while Gon gets the kettle going.

“So you’re a pianist”?

“Yes” Gon replies, easily, “What do you do?”

“I was in the army” Yeong says.

“Which division?” asks Gon, just to be a little shit.

“88th” Yeong replies, lying through his teeth.

Gon is proud of him.

“I’m with a private security firm now” he adds, conscientiously.

“Celebrities?”

Yeong shrugs, another strange gesture, “Mostly corporates” he answers. “It pays well”.

“I don’t suppose I could pay you to protect me” Gon says, smiling.

“Do you need protection”? Yeong’s eyes on him are sharp as he walks slowly toward the kitchen area.

Gon runs his hand through his hair, messing it up, and Yeong’s eyes grow sharper.

Gon had tried to comb it differently, to maintain some illusion of difference, but he’d probably ruined it, he realizes.

“Not really” he says, giving Yeong a sheepish smile. “It’s just that I’m new to Seoul so I could do with some help getting around the place”

“I’m new too” Yeong says, because that’s the story they had agreed to.

“Hey, perhaps we could figure it out together” says Gon, cheerfully. He sticks out a hand. ”Deal?”

Yeong gives him that smile again, and Gon wants to- wants to-

“Deal” says Yeong, taking his hand in a firm, familiar clasp.

 Gon explains away the reasons he stays at home, mostly- “Decided to give myself a break for a month, to settle in”- over tea and then over dinner (it’s not a bother, I was going to make some anyway), they chat about nothing and everything; the good thing is that Gon knows he needn’t worry too much about being “found out” by some inappropriate reference- at this point Yeong doesn’t know much about this world either. Honestly, it’s a piece of cake.

“The Seven Samurai” he says, unthinking, to a question about his favourite movie, and Yeong stares at him for a moment, before looking down into his bowl, and murmuring, “Mine too”.

“We should watch it together sometime then!” says Gon brightly, “I’m due for my annual rewatch anyway”

Yeong gives him a strained smile.

It goes pretty well for two days; Gon pretending he doesn’t see Yeong tag him all around his deliberate tour of the most unsuspicious places, and then in the evening, when Yeong’s gone back to his apartment, after being well dined-and-wined, Gon sneaks out and heads back through the portal, and spends half the night signing papers and reading reports, before he comes in before dawn back to his apartment.

On the third day, Tae-eul asks him to meet her after dinner.

“I’m going to be late” he tells her, already looking at his watch as he approaches her.  “There’s a mountain of paperwork waiting for me back home”.

“What the fuck, Lee Gon???!!!” she yells, and Maximus whinnies in distress.

He steps back, surprised.

“What do you mean?”

“Why haven’t you told Yeong that there’s no real Lee Ji-hun” she hisses at him. “What.The.Fuck.”

He pales.

“How did you find out?”

“Because I’m not an idiot and I’m a detective” she snaps.

“Have you been wiretapping us?” he gasps, outraged.

She snorts, “God you really have no idea about privacy and rule of law, do you? No, you idiot, Yeong called me to dig up more info on Lee Ji-Hun, and as you can imagine, I was curious why he would need to do that!!!!”

“Ah”.

“Yes”.

She ties her hair up, pulling the knot tight.

“Go on” she snaps, “Explain yourself! Do you suspect him of being a traitor?”

“What?! NO! Of course not!”

“Then why this whole game?”

“It’s not a game” he says quietly. “I-you said it yourself- I can be someone else here. I can be someone that- that- Yeong might- love-“

Tae-eul gapes at him

“Even a blind man can see that he already loves you!” she exclaims. “What the hell are you talking about?!”

“He loves the king he was given to”  Gon says, miserable. “I want him to love the man”.

She closes her open mouth with a snap.

“You know” she says, her voice taking on a conversational tone. “In a shittier story, you and I would be the ones falling madly in love, you with your I’ve waited twenty- five years to meet you and tallness and your face and your horse and everything. As if me, a girl from a middle-class family who works her ass off trying to protect law and order, would fall for someone like you, who literally thinks he’s the law and whose idea of “living in poverty” would keep one hundred families fed for a year. And that’s even before this bit of assholery.”

He sits down on the bench with a thump, and says, weakly, “At least we’re not in that story?”

“No” she concedes, with a small sigh. “No, we’re just in a slightly upgraded, but still shitty version where the lone female character is there to knock some sense into the heads of two emotionally dense male characters and keep them from doing something irredeemably stupid, like, oh, I don’t know, ruin the most important relationship in their life because they don’t know how to be functioning adults in a relationship?!”

“Tae-eul” he says, “I can’t-“

“Why not?” she says, “Why can’t you just tell him you’re in love with him?”

“Because I’m his king!” He yells, jumping to his feet.

“I’m his king, and he’s devoted his entire life to me, and he’s never said no to anything I’ve ever asked, and I can’t ask him this- I won’t—"

She stares up at him.

“And when he finds out?” she says, softly. “What then? Or do you think he never will?”

He shakes his head, and sits back down, covering his face with his hands.

“What then?” she asks, relentless. “What happens once we’ve figured this out and caught Lee Lim- how are you going to divide yourself then?”

“I don’t know” he says, muffled. “I don’t know. I haven’t figured it out yet. I just- I just want some time-some memories-“

“Lee Gon” she says, and she’s back to being kind, even if her words are painfully blunt. “Don’t be a fool. Tell him now before it gets more complicated”.

“No” he says, “No.Tae-eul. I know you can’t understand me or agree with me. But no. I won’t, I can’t give this up—”

Because it’s only been two days, and he’s already used to Yeong’s smiles, and his surprisingly strong opinions about ice-skating, and the way he pauses for a minute, inhaling the scent of his tea before sipping it. He’s used to Yeong sprawled loose limbed, on his couch as they argue about the which team should take the league cup, and hopping around in agony when Ji-hun tries out a new ramen recipe and spice, eyes streaming, and the stillness with which he sits , while Ji-hun plays the first movement of the moonlight sonata, and his eyes when he says, softly, “that was beautiful”.

The last ten years- the last ten years have been an arid desert compared to this- because he’s constantly been on his guard, always being careful not to let his feelings show, trying his damnedest to be the brother and king that Yeong thinks of him as, and Yeong had- Yeong had been the same, he realizes now. Yeong had maintained a distance too- the distance between a liege and knight, even one who was like a brother.

And now the rains have come, and things are sprouting green and wonderful and fresh, and Gon wants to let it grow into a garden, lush and colourful, for whatever time he has.

He wants to wander around this new, strange city with Yeong, discovering its sight and tastes and sounds and smells, and then, tired and happy, he wants to take him home and curl up with him, and he knows- he knows it in his marrow- that it could happen- that he could make Yeong his, really his- if only, if only he had the goddamn time—

“I have to go” he says, dully, rising to his feet.

She nods in silence and watches him leave.

 So that’s what he does, for the next two weeks, wandering between worlds, sleep deprived and bone tired, and the happiest he has been in a decade, Yeong by his side.

He thinks- he hopes desperately- that Yeong is happy too.

In the third week, he shows up as Lee Gon to meet Yeong.

Yeong is in his dark suit, with his collar buttoned.

“Your Majesty” he says, bowing.

They’re in a small diner, nobody looks at them.

If they did, what would they see, Gon wonders.

Would they wonder who these two men are, what their relationship is; one of them relaxed against the cheap faux leather of his seat, while the other sits up straight, tension in every line of his body.

“Relax, Yeong” he murmurs, leaning forward, putting his elbows on the table. “You’ll make people stare”.

It’s almost painful, watching Yeong make the effort.

“Your Majesty” Yeong says, quietly, “Are you well?”

“As you see” he says, with a small shrug. “I’m perfectly fine”.

Yeong’s eyes search his.

It’s fine, Gon has learnt to hide from Yeong.

“How’s Lee Ji-Hun?” he asks.

“Not in any danger” says Yeong, and picks up his coffee mug, taking a deep swallow.

He doesn’t volunteer anything more.

“What is he like?” Gon asks, because he has to know.

Yeong sighs, and then looks up, meeting his gaze.

“Sometimes I think he’s you” Yeong says, “Sometimes”.

Gon feels his heartbeat speed up.

“In what way?”

“He has your face”

“What else?”

“Your Majesty” Yeong says, “I think it’s time I went home”.

“Lee Lim could…”

“Lee Lim is more likely to make an attempt in Corea” Yeong argues, “He’s not interested in Lee Ji-hun, why would he be?”

“Why do you want to go home?” Gon asks, abrupt.

“Because you’re there” Yeong replies, and it sounds- sounds so simple- when he states it like that, and Gon is sick to his stomach.

“You’ll stay here” Gon says, “As long as I want you to”.

Yeong stares at him, the hurt in his eyes obvious.

“Yes, Your Majesty”.

 Later that night, after Gon has- dismissed – Yeong, and taken a long, miserable, lonely walk, he lets himself into the studio. A warm shower might help, he thinks, tired and heart aching.

He’s just pulled on his pajamas and a t-shirt, when there’s a knock on the door.

It’s Yeong.

He’s back to his casual attire, and seems to have showered too, after his meeting with His Majesty.

“Let’s watch Seven Samurai” he says, as he brushes past Gon, not waiting for an acceptance. “I’m in the mood for a movie”.

“Uh” says Gon, befuddled.

There’s one part of him that’s relieved to have Yeong- any Yeong- with him, there’s another that thinks, desperate, I can’t do it anymore, I can’t-

They watch it in silence for a while, sitting two feet apart, Gon with his feet curled up, and Yeong sitting oddly straight, hands in his lap- as if-

Gon thinks there’s an odd tension between them, but he can no longer trust his own emotions and he wants- that’s all he is now, he thinks, a creature stitched of want and weariness-

“Yeong” he says.

Yeong’s dark eyes are on his.

He reaches out a hand and covers Yeong’s hands with it.

Yeong’s sharp inhale, and his exhale are swallowed as their mouths come together.

“Yeong” he moans, after a minute, and his wants and needs are expanding every moment like the universe, and if Yeong doesn’t- doesn’t-

But Yeong does.

He pushes Gon down on the couch and clambers over him, his mouth already red and wet with Gon’s kisses, his eyes burning into Gon’s, and his hands tugging at Gon’s t-shirt.

Gon grabs his wrists.

“Bed” he gasps, and he’s a little shocked at how high and needy it sounds. “I want you to-I need you to-“

Yeong stills.

Please, Gon whispers, and he’s not above begging, he’s not above getting on his knees-

Yeong slides off his legs and gets to his feet, looking down at Gon.  

For a moment they stay frozen like that, Yeong’s wrists locked in Gon’s grip, and all the air in the room is gone, Gon, thinks, lightheaded.

Then Yeong breaks his grip, easy, like he’s trained to do, and he’s hauling Gon up by his hand instead, and into his arms, and then they’re stumbling toward the bed, barely six feet away, clothes flying in all directions as they try to do several things at once, and Gon’s not being kissed, he’s being devoured, he thinks helpless, as he falls into the bed with Yeong above him, something fierce and intent in his eyes, and it reminds Gon of that time they went bungee jumping, the roaring in his ears, the wild thudding of his heart, and sensation of falling, falling, falling, but Yeong’s there to catch him, as he always has been, and always will be.

 Afterward, Gon kisses the top of his spine, and nuzzles at the soft skin under his ear, curled sleepy and content around Yeong, hands splayed across Yeong’s rib cage.

Yeong sighs.

Slowly, his body relaxes against Gon’s and his breathing evens out.

 In the morning, Yeong is already dressed when Gon wakes up, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Do you have to go so early?” he rasps out. “I’ll make you breakfast”.

Yeong’s smile is apologetic.

“Sorry” he says, “Can’t stay”.

Gon blinks up at him.

“Oh” he says.

“Will I see you this evening?”

Yeong says, quietly, “There’s another matter I have to attend to”.

Gon nods.

This is Yeong trying to let him down gently, he realizes.

“Alright” he says, and oh, is this what heartbreak is, this quiet shattering, surely there should be more noise, “Alright”.

 Of course, he does see Yeong that night, except that it’s as Lee Gon, as himself.

It seems he needs some reminding of that fact.

“Your Majesty”.

Gon has chosen a place that Yeong and Lee Ji-hun had been to just last week, talking and laughing for hours over food and beer.

It’s cruel; he consoles himself that the cruelty is directed toward himself, for Yeong obviously doesn’t care.

He sits, straight-backed and prim as ever.

“How was your day?” Gon asks, eyes on the menu. “Anything new to report?”

When there’s silence, he looks up.

“I’ve compromised the mission” Yeong says, quietly. “I slept with Lee Ji-hun”.

Gon stares.

Whatever else he’d expected from Yeong, it wasn’t this.

“Why?” he says, and it doesn’t matter that his voice comes out strangled.

“Because he has your face” Yeong says, still in that quiet voice,  “Because sometimes, he’s you, and I was greedy, and tired of wanting, but not having, and I couldn’t help myself”.

“Yeong”.

“Is it treason?” Yeong whispers, “To want you like this?”

Gon swallows hard.

“You know” he says, and his voice wobbles, a little,  “There’s sencha at the palace too, but you never drink it there. Why?”

Yeong’s face does too many things for him to parse.

 “Why?”

“I was greedy, and tired of wanting, but not having, and I couldn’t help myself”.

“You never asked” Yeong says, and it sounds like he’s bleeding. “Don’t you know there’s nothing I would deny you?”

“That” says Gon, softly, “was the problem. I wanted you to want me”.

“You are not a soul divided” Yeong says, “not to me”.

Gon nods.

“I know” he says, “but I feel like that. Sometimes. All the time”.

“Gon”

It’s the first time that Yeong has called him that, the first time since they were children, and Gon had stupidly bought a soul without thinking of the consequence.

His name in Yeong’s mouth sounds like that’s where it was always meant to be.

He places his hand on the table, palm turned upward.

“Yeong” he says, “Forgive me”.

Yeong takes his hand and presses a kiss to his palm, and then turns it over, and kisses his ring, the one that means lord, master, king.

His dark eyes are not as unfathomable as Gon had thought, after all.

Gon exhales shakily.

“Alright” he says, “Alright”.

Their fingers tangle and stay that way, while they smile at each other, foolish, and Gon thinks, surely, everybody must be staring, how inconceivable for it to be any other way, when he feels like he’s been lit up from the inside by a thousand suns.

But no one is.

After a minute, Gon says, “Eun-sup told me the japchae here is pretty good as well”.

“Eun-sup” says Yeong, “knows nothing”.

#the king eternal monarch #jo yeong x lee gon #jogon #???? #is that the accepted portmanteau?? #now let me rest in peace #also please hand wave all the obvious plotholes #no plot only feelings we die like women #who should know better but don't