#ro fanfic

[ronearoundblindly]

Your Dog, His Tricks

a Steve Rogers x Avenger!Reader tale set a little over a year after losing their virginity together and based on this ask.

Summary: Injured on a mission and MIA for days, you return to a very high-strung boyfriend who can't express what he's feeling until it boils to the surface.

Warnings: arguments and smut. MINORS DNI. WC 5.4k

You don’t know when it started, this sort of competition with your boyfriend, but at some point you and Steve became a packaged deal. Unfortunately, that package was labeled: Steve Rogers and his girl. You feel nameless sometimes, and you know you are better than that; maybe you aren’t super like he is, but you are (and were since before dating) a whole-ass Avenger in your own right. You are a stellar agent. You can bring home the top prize. You can finish this shit-show of a mission all on your own.

No help.

None.

You noticed a problem after months and months of fighting with Steve—no, that sounds wrong—beside Steve. 

Okay, maybe it’s not wrong-wrong to say fighting with him because you two do have the occasional argument. Just one argument, really. One argument over and over again about you fighting beside him, why it’s fine, why he should let it go. You are as safe fighting beside him now as you were before the two of you became this set, this lop-sided partnership. He still wants to protect you from shit you are trained to protect yourself from, shit you survived just fine without him, shit like the last three days.

He’s stubborn, and so are you.

You’ve had trouble getting him to back off. The Team is a team, and Steve does great, delegating all sorts of jobs when you are one among many. As soon as it’s you and him alone? He’s…overly helpful, over-protective, and generally over-the-top fussy. He is adoring and caring and competent. Apparently, those things make him feel capable of doing everything for you. It’s sweet until it’s not. Every time you start a project—laundry, cooking, organizing shelves, or leading an actual mission—Steve waltzes in and has to finish it for you.

Because he loves you. Because he’s trying to help. Because he can.

It makes you feel as if you can’t, or, at least, as if he thinks you can’t.

“Well, buddy, you can’t have this one,” you mutter outside of HQ’s gate, gripping your side and flicking open the phone you stole a few states back.

You’ve been gone for just shy of seventy-three hours.

At first, you truly had no way to contact the Team. You were on your own a thousand miles from home, fried comms and a spent weapon. You missed the rendezvous at the safehouse because it took twenty or so hours to find a vet office with the supplies to patch yourself up, and by the time you could have reached out, that ear worm wouldn’t leave you alone.

He’ll swoop in.

He’ll save you.

You’re his girl, so you need him. You can’t handle this without him. No one will believe you did once he gets anywhere near you.

Call it adrenaline. Call it blood loss. Call it shock. You can’t give up this glory, so you told yourself you needed radio silence to keep the recovered intel secure until back on Avengers campus. You told yourself the risk of interception was too high to chance a phone call.

Now, fifty feet from the infirmary, you need to get past one more obstacle.

You know Steve would jump from a third-story window to get to you, know he would scoop you right up into his arms and carry you over the threshold, know that would mean Steve wins.

No. Not this time. This is yours. You deserve the credit. You are crossing that finish line solo.

You jab the last of the epi-pens into your good leg, letting yet more adrenaline heave through what little of your blood volume is left and call the HQ secure line from the burner.

“Friday,” you start, standing at the bus stop, a blindspot from the Avengers’ surveillance cameras because the city already monitors it, “authorization Gamma-Lima-Four-Whisky. Do not declare connection. I repeat, do not declare this connection.”

The AI welcomes you back onto the grid politely.

“Thank you.” A bubble of pain bursts in your throat. “Give them a different location for this call, ok? Tell them it’s from the nearest functional payphone.”

Friday does as you say because why wouldn’t she? It’s not as if Steve is going to pause to question where the ping is—

—and he’s already out, on the bike, pushing that engine to its acceleration limit and narrowly escaping a shoulder check from the slowly opening gates.

You sneak right past, knowing he won’t look in his rearview, not with his eye on a prize ten blocks away, and you collapse just inside the garage ramp.

You wake prone in the Regeneration Cradle after surgery to a kind, smiling nurse monitoring your progress.

It’s difficult to focus. After a few blinks, you can see her features clearly, then beyond her are just eyes.

His eyes.

Piercing blue doesn’t begin to describe the intensity of Steve’s gaze, and his silence is deafening.

Each quarter-minute he inventories the room, and he exhales. That is the sum total of what he can manage to do right now. He’s attempting to keep it together until you two are alone obviously. Steve fails at very few things in life; this is one of them. You can see the outline of his teeth through his tight cheek.

“Doc wanted me to tell you you did a great job,” the nurse states softly. “If you hadn’t packed those wounds so tight, you’d have died for sure.”

Your mouth is too dry to respond, so you flash a wry smile. No one gets the Cradle without…extensive injuries. You’ve never had the ‘pleasure,’ not even for your through-and-through last year.

Steve huffs in frustration, keeping his huge body out of the nurse’s way even when you can feel him try to astral project himself forward to hand you ice chips. Instead, you swallow cotton.

“Captain Rogers,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. chimes from above, “your motorcycle has been cited for running five red lights with a further two dozen traffic violations. Shall I claim Official Avengers’ business?”

You croak ‘no.’ He says ‘yes.’

There’s a pause. “I will ask again later.”

Who says AIs can’t throw some serious shade?

Silence descends again as the spindling print needle moves on to a different wound. You’re lucid but wobbly trying to think, a combination of the waning anesthesia and pain meds.

If frowns could kill, your boyfriend’s would devastate the entire med bay.

This is what you hoped beyond hope to avoid, but it’s also why your endgame involved going solo.

“You’re making my point for me,” you sigh, your chest hurting more after surgery than it has in the past twenty-four hours. Clearly, your nerves are back online.

“And what point was that?“ he asks sarcastically, waiting in your own stubborn silence. “You gave me a heart attack.”

“Really?” You’re playfully shocked.

“No, not really! God.” He rushes closer. “What the hell were you thinking? If you had time to send me on a wild goose chase, you could damn well have called to tell me you were alive!”

The cradle’s lights shut off, job complete.

“Language, Steve.” 

He looks incredulous, engrossingly livid, anxious outrage contained by his one frayed thread of control left. 

“We found the intel,” he grits through a clenched jaw. “After power-washing your blood off it, everything was on the drive.”

You can’t sit up on your elbows yet, so you bite back, “good. It all worked out fine then.”

Wafting off him in thick clouds, Steve’s anger is near-flammable in the small room.

The nurse offers to step out for a second.

You say ‘yes.’ Steve barks ‘no.’

This isn’t the nurse’s first rodeo. “Alright, surgery went well. All debris and fragments removed. Your tissue is all intact now, too, but remember, this treatment doesn’t train new muscle fiber or nerve-endings.” She ignores Steve and pushes past to the other end of the table. “Rest up. Tomorrow, you can report to PT. They’ll work with you until you’re field-approved again.”

“She is not—“

“Both of you are ordered to rest,” the nurse snaps, nodding in Steve’s direction “—and make yourself useful by changing her drip when it runs out. If you can’t manage that, Captain, I will find a separate apartment or keep her here overnight.”

“No,” Steve breathes, visibly deflating. Like a scolded puppy, your boyfriend tucks his chin down, rings of grey settling beneath his dark sea eyes. It’s plain as day he hasn’t slept either.

The nurse calls for a wheelchair, and Steve dutifully helps you scoot off the table when it arrives. While he positions the IV to move in tandem, you attempt to push yourself by the huge rubber wheels and fail. Doc was not kidding about muscle weakness.

Steve says nothing.

You’re rolled back to your shared room by the grumpiest Captain America. 

He helps you dress in baggy, comfy clothes and silently reattaches the line of your drip. Not one touch is in a sexual, sensual, or even intimate way even though you are naked at some point.

You can’t remember what you expected; you’ve been so focused on completing the mission for so long. Did you want a desperate homecoming? Did you want him to grovel or worship at your feet? You think, at some point, you knew he’d push back, but you thought…maybe…he’d want you more.

Steve seems to turn his interest on and off so easily, which is great professionally but hard to read personally…or maybe you’re just struggling under the distracting hum of medication. It’s a white noise you can’t ignore, lulling you unconscious, so you can’t analyze the situation anymore. Maybe, you think, you try…but the thoughts don’t come.

He situates you on his side of the bed—to accommodate the cord and stand—and tucks himself quietly into the smallest corner of mattress that his bulk can fit on.

He falls asleep holding your hand. It’s the only place you two are connected. After nearly eighty-five hours apart, that’s still worth it. Maybe.

At some point, his hand goes limp and falls away.

Finally clear of mind, you keep watching Steve the next day. He doesn’t necessarily seem angry, and he doesn’t necessarily seem relieved either. He’s so robotic in his interactions. He won’t talk to you just at you. 

You understand why he was so standoffish last night, but you thought Steve would surely want you after that. You thought he’d start touching you again. 

You two waited so long for your first time, but after that, sex was relatively easy. Steve is an affectionate man when he’s allowed, when he’s in love, and you know he loves you.

Like the nurse said: all your tissue is fully healed. The only restrictions you have are in regards to field work, and the phantom jolts of pain—when you reach into a cabinet or take down a clothes hanger—aren’t real. 

Steve’s always an arm’s length away, just in case, meaning he is there to help you.

Always an arm’s length away.

No closer. No farther.

That afternoon you attempt to start talking about your mission, but that’s when he moves.

Steve practically sprints out the door with a half-baked excuse, so you go to physical therapy alone. You can go alone. That’s not the problem.

If you thought talking to Steve was difficult, you weren’t ready for how hard touching Steve would be.

You try to initiate even a cuddle that second night, and he jumps up claiming to have forgotten something somewhere else that he promised someone. Your boyfriend can’t lie worth beans. You don’t know why he tries.

You’re asleep before he returns.

The next night is exactly the opposite. You spend longer at the gym, slowly and painstakingly repeating every single exercise you know in order to streamline these new muscles. It’s an unholy pain in the ass, but you do it because you can—and will—get back in the field.

Even though the workout was mild, you’re awash with that runner’s high when you return to find Steve passed out already. He looks so peaceful, brow relaxed and lips gently parted. He also looks, well, good enough to eat, but you’ll start slow.

There was one time early on, before you two went all the way, that you woke him up by grinding on him in your sleep. You think now, perhaps, you can recreate that, catch him off-guard and dissipate some of this tension between you. This would be a good release. You don’t normally go this long. Obviously, Steve wouldn’t have masturbated while you were MIA and possibly dead, and every other second since has been accounted for.

He practically can’t have sex anywhere else except naked in a bed. He’s even told you, point blank, that he feels no need to touch himself since he has you. You are what he wants. That’s what he said.

Except he doesn’t wake up to your advances. He just rolls over like you’re disturbing him and softly snores.

For the first time, you wonder if you’ve really broken the two of you. How long will he be mad at you for doing your job? 

Steve rolls back over in his sleep, holding you close like nothing’s happened. He doesn’t even know he’s doing it, but it’s enough and so, so wonderful to imagine all is well.

About a week into your ‘recovery’ (which is sorta bullshit since you can do everything the same by now just with an occasional, faint twinge, no more than the strain of every workout, ever), Steve takes Sam Wilson up on his offer of 1-on-1 basketball for a while. The Team—minus you—has a raid planned in the morning, and there’s always nervous energy to burn off in anticipation.

Your boyfriend has been a nightmare grump, but no one wants to take on the hassle of convincing Steve that he’s being too Steve to Steve properly. He still won’t talk to you about anything other than the weather, food, or daily schedules.

You’re even considering taking a break from field work because this all has become too much. If Steve is gonna shut down after every dangerous mission—which is, in fact, all of them—then maybe it’s not worth the risk. You’re good, you’re great, but you aren’t super.

“Taste of his own medicine, I say,” Bucky mutters, sitting beside you on the bleachers between courts.

“Huh?” You were distracted, watching Steve and Sam squeak across the floor.

Steve sinks a perfect layup and doesn’t gloat. Do-gooder.

“He used to get so mad when I’d find him in an alley all beaten up,” Buck continues. “Thought I was being too protective. I trusted him, but he was puny and he did get sick all the time. He could take a punch, sure, but every mark took weeks to heal. Half the time, they were still yellow when some idiot landed fresh ones.”

Steve claps beneath the net, encouraging Sam, focused on not outshining anyone.

He’s been the same with everyone else but you, and the whole Team can see it. You shouldn’t be surprised someone is finally talking about it; you simply wonder how Buck drew the short straw.

“Didn’t wanna be babied,” Bucky snorts, fondly glowering at his century-long bestie, “while low and behold, he pulls that stunt with everybody, every day.” 

“Yup,” you pop, looking at the matte metal beneath your feet, knowing there’s a line between the ‘caring’ version and the ‘coddling’ version. Steve nose-dived right over that line this time.

“What he appreciated, though, was consistency.” Bucky swivels his hair around into a bun and ties it. “Punk is dedicated, and even if it was just him--the hund’ed pound soaking-wet guy whose only real talent at that point was getting back on his feet--he knew he’d fight anyway.

“Bit hypocritical to be mad at his girl for doing the same, don’t ya think?” Bucky muses, clucking his tongue.

The brunette watches you bristle slightly at the moniker. His girl. Not only is it what got you into this mess, it feels untrue based on that big, broad, cold shoulder you’ve received from the man racing back and forth in front of you.

Smiling, Bucky nudges you with his elbow. “I’m excited for you to get back on your feet,” he adds.

You’re stuck thinking about that long after Bucky jumps into the game.

It’s no surprise then that when the doctor gives you the all-clear the very next morning, you’re over the moon and ready to strike. You don’t hesitate for a second when the alarm sounds less than an hour later.

The Team needs reinforcements. Your Team needs you.

You hustle into the back of a quinjet with a dozen agents. While the others file out to where the main conflict is raging, you sneak around the perimeter to suss out the mission goal, a treasure trove of enemy tech hidden somewhere in what was thought to be an abandoned village.

Not so abandoned if it’s lighting up like the pyrotechnics show on an action film set...

The explosions rattle the ground, yet you know the Team have breached the main chamber. Those enemy forces still fighting are distracting from a retreat. The other agents can catch them just fine. Your mission is intel recovery.

To keep your approach stealthy, you don’t announce your movements over comms, and Nat doesn’t scan back down the dark hallway you wedge into as she carries out an asset. If you weren’t so far back, you never would have seen him.

An enemy agent slinks out from behind a floor-to-ceiling tapestry right in front of you. His silhouette is short and thin; he’s built for stealth, too.

Your heart thumps loud in your ears as you follow, and that bastard gets close—so close—to Steve’s turned back that the pistol’s muzzle nearly touches.

Not this time. Not a chance. None.

You land a roundhouse kick to the exposed neck above his kevlar, and that sucker goes down like a sack of potatoes.

Steve turns around at the ready, stunned silent in the middle of his instructions to Bucky who is not visible from the other side heaped boxes. The papers still smoke where evidence was burned.

You salute at big, blue eyes. 

“On your six, Cap.” 

Steve looks at you, looks down at the man, and looks back up at you…pissed. 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

What the fuck indeed…

All you did was help your team. All you did was stop Captain America from getting his head blown off. In no small fashion, all you did was save your boyfriend’s life.

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

His grip on your arm is painful as he leads you all the way back to the jet himself, shoving you into the jump seat between other returned agents and shouting for you to 'stay right there.'

Bucky announces over comms that the rest is clean up. All but the specialized document interpretation and perimeter teams are moving out. 

Steve huffs, contemplates staying on a battlefield instead of going back with you, but decides to sit across the ship in silence again, fuming, making fists over and over in his fingerless leather gloves, bitterly sniffing as loud as possible the entire flight home. He refuses to answer a single person until the jet touches down at HQ. 

“Everyone off,” he bellows, “everyone except you.” 

You can’t stop it. Your hands fly up in exaggerated annoyance automatically.

“What do you want, Steve? I got the go-ahead this morning. I’m allowed to be here.”

“Stop doing that.” He rounds on you.

“Doing what? My job?!”

Chest puffed out, feathers ruffled, cheeks hot and red, Steve peels off his cowl. “Being insubordinate.”

“You’re not my superior officer,” you hiss, “we are equals, and if you think for one second I did anything wrong out there, go ahead and report me. From where I’m standing, I did the work, got cleared for duty, helped out the team, and stopped you from being shot.”

You poke a finger to his chest for each achievement listed.

“Fine," Steve shouts, crossing his arms, "but quit acting like a selfish coward.”

Them be fightin’ words. “A what?”

“You heard me,” he all but whispers.

It’s laughable, truly laughable how bad Steve is at hiding some of those wheels from turning in his head. This isn’t about today. This is the thing he buried the past week.

You roll your eyes. “If you’re gonna throw a hissy fit every time I get a scratch—“

“THREE BULLETS IS NOT A SCRATCH.” He tries—he visibly, painfully tries—to keep his cool one last time. “You weren’t ready,” he concludes, judge, jury, and executioner all poured into one star-spangled package.

“Say’s who?” You’re stepping closer, getting in his face because this is bullshit and unfair. “Last time I checked you’re not a doctor, and you should be thanking me for saving your ass—“

“It’s not your job to save me.”

“We have the same job, Steve! We are both perfectly capable of—“

“I know that,” he barks, hot breath mingling with yours.

“Do you? Because you don’t seem to think I can handle myself.” You push weakly at his chest, taunting, like it's a game. “Maybe you need to walk it off, buddy.”

His face cracks, an avalanche unmoored from a stable mountain.

Oh shit. You’ve done it now.

“Walk it off?! WALK IT OFF?!”

Steve charges like a bull seeing red, crowding you against the far wall, his own derisive finger pointed at your heart.

“You were injured. You didn’t make contact. You went dark for days, and you could have died. Alone. In the middle of nowhere. Who knows how long it would have taken us to find you. No—“ he cups your chin in a tight pinch “—you want to talk about the job? It’s protocol to check in. It’s common courtesy to let me know you’re alive, and it’s goddamn rude to ignore your own safety.”

A dark, hazy sheen layers over his sharp gaze. “Don’t make me keep you home.”

There’s a deep line of frustration carved between his brows. His nostrils flair as he waits, daring you to refute him.

“Well—” you purse your lips in defiance “—isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black.”

Steve lets go of you, smacked away by your cutting tone.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, whatever, Rogers,” you dismiss. “We both know you don’t have the authority to bench me.”

“Like hell I don’t,” he growls, grabbing your wrists and throwing your arms above your head, He weaves your hands through the cargo net behind you. The loops are tight and complicated in seconds, he’s so fast.

You can’t wriggle away.

“Let’s see how you like it.”

Steve roughly throws the zipper of your uniform down, letting the jacket hang open to show nothing but your sports bra.

“Feeling paralyzed—“ he dexterously undoes your belt “—exposed—“ your pants and underwear are yanked down to your ankles “—and afraid.” His last word thickens the air on the jet. 

How can this man launch you into unbridled lust in the space of two syllables?

Who. Fucking. Cares. How.

Steve’s fingertips teasingly glide over the swell of your breasts, brush down your belly, and tick their way in a casual walk between your legs. He retracts his touch the instant you let out a longing sigh, unable to restrain how needy you are. His fingers wander to perfectly clean and unmarked flesh…on your thigh, along one side, and a few inches below that. He’s tracing the bullet wounds he watched heal so quickly.

“Maybe I should leave you wondering how it’ll all play out?” he says absently, lost in thought, his thumb shifting to notch into the dip of your hip. “Maybe I should leave you wondering if we’ll ever—”

“Yes,” you whimper, no real idea what you’re saying. That’s not what answer you meant.

“How would you like three whole days of this feeling, huh? You think you’d fare any better than I did? Think you’d make it even five minutes?”

“Uh-uh.” Again, with no clue what you’re truly responding to, you buck your hips forward onto his long fingers.

The cords around your wrists get tighter while you struggle to set a pace. Behind you, the metal rings of the netting hit the hull with a soft clinking noise. 

“Not so fast.” Steve pulls his hand away just far enough to remove all friction. “Because three days, sweetheart, it was torture. Felt like an eternity right on the edge.”

“Please,” you beg.

One deliberate swipe of his fingers through your slick is enough to make you mewl.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Steve. Please, I need you.”

“Need me? You have an odd way of showing it, doll. You have to promise me—“ he thrusts his fingers in “—promise me you’ll never leave me.”

“I’ll never leave you,” you cry, convinced that it’s true for the sole reason: you never want to experience anything other than this Steve for as long as you live.

“You are so brave, and so…capable, and I know you can do anything, but you…can’t survive anything.” He takes excruciating pleasure in slow thrusts and teasing circles. “Promise me you won’t be so reckless. Promise, say it.”

“I promise.” Your weight sags into his ministrations, called to focus on nothing but where his hand disappears between you. “I promise I won’t be reckless.”

“That’s my girl.”

Your head falls limp against your tied arms. It sounds so good from his lips. Why did you ever doubt?

“I promise I’ll come back to you,” you manage out like a prayer.

“Yeah? That’s it. Is that what you want?”

“I promise. I promise, Steve.” You time your movements sloppily with his measured tempo. “Please, I need more.”

“I know. I know.” He’s strung out, too, listening to your pathetic whimpers after less than five minutes, exactly like he predicted.

You’re so over-wrought with desperation you can’t coordinate with his manhandling your legs apart—your knees, really, since your ankles are still caught in your pants. Instead of taking off your boots, Steve simply unzips himself and dives right into your wet, warm, and welcoming pussy.

Knowing he has a thing against anything naughty in his suits makes it sexier. You want his intensity—you’ve always been curious—and finally you have it: unhinged, untethered, super Steve Rogers. Your body makes room out of sheer joy.

“I know,” Steve coos, his face pressed to your chest as he adjusts. “Fuck, I know, honey.”

“Move, Steve.”

“No,” he says with a gentle kiss to your sternum. “You wanna come? Go ahead. You can do it all on your own. You can do anything you want, can’t ya?”

You groan in frustration.

You wanted this, an annoying voice in the muddled depths of your mind calls. You’re independent.

With a sob of both excitement and fury, your thighs weld onto that sturdy, I-beam beast. You brace your bent arms over your angled and hovering body, leveraging the cargo straps to hoist you up and down.

Your muscles burn, strained more than they were on your lone journey back to HQ.

Steve grunts and moans, the ghost of his wide spread palms beneath your back as a safety net.

“That’s it. That’s it, good girl.” 

Amidst your own noises, you can barely hear him. You’re not building to a climax, you’re falling into one at terminal velocity, flailing. Struggling to hang on and let go all at once, you do come, but it’s more of a plateau than a full release.

Steve’s unhappy and takes your ass in a bruising grip, finally pumping his thick length in and out, dragging the head of his cock across that perfect spot over and over.

“You can do better than that,” he snarls, hair wrecked and falling in his face.

Wave, undertow, and wave again, pleasures simply blend into the next. He gets handsy, keyed up and out of control, muttering “don’t you ever fucking leave me.”

You’d scold him for cursing if the air weren’t being punched from your lungs.

“Come on, sweetheart. Three for three.”

You’re almost disappointed he only wants you to come three times in payment for his days of torture. Even as a tear escapes the corner of your eye and your throat breaks in a hoarse “please,” you know you would give him more. You'd give him anything.

When you finally reach that shattering end, Steve is almost incoherently feral, one hand clamped at the back of your neck, the other anchored to the small of your back, slamming your ass to his leather-covered thighs like you are his mission.

“I promise,” you try to repeat, but you aren’t sure they sound like words.

Whether in response to you or as an errant thought, Steve’s own broken voice rattles at your sweaty neck. “You can take it,” he whispers gruffly. “You can take it.”

You’re floating by the time he comes, his hips stilling slowly. The buzz of your body now outdoes anything anesthesia or pain meds concocted.

Steve peppers your skin with lazy, light kisses until you remind him of your bound wrists, but then he’s overly apologetic and scrambling to free them.

He keeps himself inside you and maneuvers to sit with you on his lap.

You stay there for a while, your numb and sore arms folded between your chests. Steve only stops petting your shoulders to cradle your face, soft blue eyes roaming, adoring. He whispers concern that you’re okay, how are your legs, are you warm enough, you feeling good?

Yes, you think, you’ve taken care of your girl.

“I love seeing you like this,” he mumbles long after the pins and needles have abandoned their assault on your tired legs.

You tuck some silky hair behind his ear. “Like what? Fucked out?”

He’s floating too because he doesn’t chastise.

“Happy, healthy—“ he lets out a deep sigh “—home.”

“Speaking of home,” you say, inching ever so slightly higher to let him slide out of you, “wanna cuddle in bed all night and not get up until someone tries to break in the door?”

That knocks some of the glow off him. He drags a hand down his face. “Oh god, the poor people who have to clean this thing…”

“Let’s be honest,” you snort. “This isn’t the worst thing that’s been on you, but if it’s that big of a deal, we could go hose you down before handing our equipment in.”

He smiles, shaking his head in dismissal.

With his help, you climb off his lap and slowly shimmy up your bottoms, realizing he did truly make a mess of you both.

Steve looks down at his own lap, horrified. “Do I need to burn this?”

“That sounds like a challenge to make you filthier,” you consider, but maybe you should change into your civies before exiting the jet…

“Ya know,” Steve muses, passing over to the small locker of clothing overhead and grabbing a t-shirt and sweats, “I almost got shot in the head today, and you had three bullets fished outta you a week ago. I’m thinking we’ve earned a vacation.”

Workaholic Steve? Actively applying for time off? You’ll be damned.

“My my my, Captain Rogers…the real dirty talk begins.”

He huffs out a laugh and blushes.

“Well, I know we didn’t do anything more special than dinner for our anniversary, so…” He pulls you to his chest again, smelling of slightly musty laundry and pungent sex. “Let’s go on a fucking vacation.”

Your neck cranes to his height to see a soft smile. Oof, he’s good.

 “I missed you,” he adds like a prayer, “and you’re the badass who saved me.”

He giggles at your scrunched nose and watches you bask in that glory.

“Like I said, you’re welcome—“ you hug Steve, letting his warmth radiate through you, moving in time with his rising and falling chest “—and I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He kisses the crown of your head.

When you open the bombay doors, there’s a thermos left at the base of the ramp, a folded paper tucked beneath it. 

We should talk about how to better soundproof the jets. Brought you some refreshments. It’s hazelnut. ~Bucky

Tags: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @jamneuromain @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @brandycranby

A/N: I sincerely give up on editing this anymore, so I hope it turned out okay 🙇🏻‍♀️

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

#shy anon #ro answers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers x you #old dog new tricks #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers x reader smut #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america angst #captain america smut

[ohmyenjolrass]

take a chance on me | charlie dalton x fem!reader

summary: charlie dalton is obsessed with you and man up to ask you out on a date. you are secretly in love with him, but you can tell his intentions almost immediately.

pairings: charlie dalton x fem!reader

word count: 0.5k

warnings: none, but welton is a boys and girls school.

n/a: i was really looking forward to write something with charlie, and i am so excited for this one. i really hope you enjoy it. feel free to request anything! as always, english is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes, sorry in advance x

masterlist :)

"i'm gonna ask her out", charlie repeated for the thousandth time, staring at you from the other side of the common room.

"yeah, right.", knox teased him. "you always say the same thing but you never really do it."

"and also, what if y/n doesn't like you back?", wondered neil.

but charlie's ego was too big to break like that. and also, he had noticed how your eyes fixated on him when he wasn't looking, so, at least, you were interested in him.

"you can mock me all that you want, but i am going to do it.", charlie said, as he stood up. the rest of his friends stared at him in disbelief, with their mouths open.

you saw him approaching your group of friends and returned your sight to your latin homework, playing dumb. you knew your friends couldn't tell, but your heart rate was alarmingly fast as charlie was closer.

"hey, girls", he greeted you and your friends. "do you mind if i steal y/n from you one sec?"

you knew charlie wasn't asking for permission, he hardly ever did, so you stood up, closing your notebook. "what is it, charlie?"

"just a thing i wanted to ask you. come with me?"

you followed him to the corridor, which was empty, and waited for him to start talking. you and charlie weren't exactly friends, but you liked him. he was funny, and smart, and didn't have any problems to cause some trouble in school. he was also devastatingly charming, and every single girl in school would agree on that.

"so...", he started. "how was your day?"

"did you actually dragged me out of the common room to ask me about my day?", you laughed.

charlie fidgeted with the collar of his school shirt. "actually i wanted to ask you something."

"ask away, i'm not gonna bite you.", you said, jokingly.

"i was wondering if you had any plans this friday evening.", charlie said, and you flustered to your ears. your cheeks were so warm you even wondered if it was possible to be that red.

don't be an idiot, y/n. come on, woman up, you thought.

"um, no. i don't think so. why?"

"would you like to go out? like, with me?", he asked, and you could tell that he was blushing too. it was a rare sight to see charlie dalton blushing, but it was a very cute one.

"sure, yeah.", you replied, your hands trembling. you couldn't believe that. "anything planned?"

"i thought we could go to the cinema? if you're up to it."

"yeah. i love the movies.", a weird silence formed between the two of you, both too happy to say anything. then, you cleared your throat. "so, friday, 6pm?"

"perfect. i'll pick you up on your dorm."

you nodded, going back into the common room. a few moments later, charlie entered too, sitting with his friends. you could see his face between todd's and meeks' shoulders. he noticed you staring and winked at you. you lowered your head back to your homework.

and friday couldn't come fast enough.

#ro writes things #charlie dalton #charlie dalton x reader #dead poets society #dead poets society x reader #dps x reader #charlie dalton x fem!reader #charlie dalton fluff #charlie dalton imagine #charlie dalton fanfic

[ro-written]

Only You - C.San

Tags/Warnings: Boxer!San, kinda sorta tsundere!reader if you squint but not really, best friends to lovers, fighting/violence, blood, fluff, yall this was supposed to be less than 1k….and this is so not proofread but fuck it we ball

Word Count: 3.5k

Playlist:

“Are We Still Friends” by Tyler the Creator “Baby Boy” by Kevin Abstract “only you” by karri

You watched with bated breath as San went to the corner of the ring, blood and a dark bruise gathered at the corner of his mouth. Your nails dug into your palms as you clenched your fists in anticipation. You knew that he could take care of himself, he’s spent years learning various martial arts, has been in the ring more times than you could count. 

So why are you always on edge when you watch him fight? Why does your heart race with every punch?

Wooyoung sprayed water from the bottle he had on the side right onto San’s mouth, using a towel swung over his shoulder to dab at the sweat and blood on his face. San tilted his head back, resting against the post behind the stool he was spread on. Woo tilted in to whisper something into San’s ear, something that caused his eyes to blink open and scan the crowd. Eventually, his eyes landed on you, and you saw his lip twitch a bit, before taking a hand and moving Woo off his shoulder, never leaving your gaze. You gave him a little nod, a small semblance of motivation, and put a fist up. It was your silent way of telling him to get up and kick his ass.

And so with your encouragement, San stood back up, body relaxed and you watched as you knew what was to come next. You had seen this move a hundred times by now to know exactly what to look for in his bodily movements. 

The opponent steps forward with a cocky grin, ready to continue his onslaught of punches. But San simply looks at him, eyebrow raised, before swinging his body around, launching himself into the air. It was all so quick, yet it felt like time stopped as his foot collided with his opponent’s face.

The crowd silenced for a split second, everyone holding their breaths. That was until Wooyoung jumped into the ring, stack of cash in hand, and went directly to the opponent, counting down on his fingers right in the man’s unconscious face. After three counts, with no sign of fight from the opponent, the crowd went into an uproar.

You jumped from your chair, and yelled out San’s name, cheering him on from your seat. You could see the tiredness in his eyes, but his excitement overshadowed it. You watched as Wooyoung took San’s hand and raised it up, crowning him the champion of the match. Eventually, people pushed up onto the mat and crowded around San, leaving Woo to leave and collect the betting money from all the losers. However, before he stepped away, San grabbed his collar lightly to hold him back, leaning in to whisper something into his ear. Woo simply nodded, waving his hand at his friend, before walking away, still collecting the money.

You observed as San gave his signature smile to everyone surrounding him, even with the busted lip and bruising at the corner of his mouth. His eyes curved into crescents, dimples appearing as he talked to his fans and signed whatever they were jutting out in front of him. It made your chest flutter, seeing him go from this scary and cold rough boxer to your warm, kind-hearted best friend. 

“Hey,” a voice called out to the side of you, hand landing gently on your arm. You jumped at the feeling, before relaxing once you realized it was Woo. A smile cracked across your face. “Hey Youngie, how’d yall make out?” You gestured your head towards the cash in his hand. He looked down and smirked, slapping the stack against his hand.

“Not too terrible, I’d say. I still have to make some more rounds before people try to sneak out on me, but hey, Sannie said he wanted to see you in the back.” He looked over at the man still in the ring talking to people, now signing some man’s arm. It made you chuckle as you watched the various people fawn over him. But you could see something. It was a split second, but you caught it nonetheless. As someone’s hand came down to pat his back, his face winced, but he quickly cleared it up before anyone could notice.

Anyone but you and Woo, of course.

“Please check on him,” his eyebrows were taut, worry written across his face. “You know how he can get after fights. Make him rest.” His eyes found yours, and his usual playfulness wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“I’ll try. If he actually listens though is the thing.” You offered up a half smile as Wooyoung laughs out.

“Please, only you could tell him to fight a mountain lion with one hand tied behind his back and blindfolded and he would do it in a heartbeat, no questions asked.” His playful smirk was back on his face as you rolled your eyes. You wanted to poke at him and tell him to not overexaggerate so much, but you couldn’t. It was true, and you knew it. You were one of, if not the only, person San would listen to no matter what. Perks of being his best friend for such a long time.

“You know how to get to the back?” Woo pointed over his shoulder to a door with a red sign on it. Staff Only. You nodded, having been back there a handful of times before his matches to wish him luck and give him a hug. Woo nodded, giving you a quick one-armed hug, before leaving off to get the rest of his and San’s money. 

You shouldered your way through the bustling crowd, trying to keep a straight line toward the door. Finally reaching it after what felt like forever, you pushed it open, slipping through and ensuring no one followed behind you. The last thing you’d want is San being mobbed in the locker room while he was trying to have his own time.

The locker room wasn’t like the typical locker room you had in school. You remembered how surprised you felt when you first walked into it. It was a smaller square room, the left wall lined with cubbies for people to put their items away in. One of them was filled with San’s belongings, while the others remained empty, save for a medical kit. On the right was a long couch that took up most of the wall, and two rolling chairs sat near it. In the corner next to the couch was a small refrigerator for people to put away the water bottles and any other items they needed to keep cold. The walls were covered in red brick, and the flooring was a black Berber carpet. Probably so no one could see the stains…

You made yourself comfortable on the couch, not knowing when San would be able to peel himself away from his fans. Picking at your nails, you could only think back to the way San looked at you before he ended the match. Something in his eyes seemed different, an emotion you don’t remember ever seeing in him. You couldn’t quite place it though, and it was frustrating. You knew him like the back of your hand, knew what every face, every quirk of his eyebrow, every curl of his lip was saying. You wondered if you were simply overthinking it. Maybe he was just trying to find some sort of encouragement outside of Woo. Maybe he was just making sure you were watching his signature move so he could ask you later how cool you thought it was for the millionth time.

You shook your head, trying to clear it of his sly smirk and pretty dimples.

Suddenly, you heard a click at the door, and your eyes shot up from where they were staring at your hands. You watched as San walked in, hair wet and a new set of clothes on, turning around to lock the door behind him to keep from being pestered while trying to rest. His shoulders sagged from their usual position, something that had you quirk your head to the side. He took a lot of pride in having such a perfect posture, so you knew he had to be beyond tired at this point. He rested his forehead against the door, giving you a chance to take note of all the various bruises not hidden by his clean white tank that had already formed or were forming along his arms and back. You could see a cut on his shoulder that had blood slowly forming around the edges.

“Sannie,” Your voice called out quietly to not startle him. He lifted his head off the door, turning around to see you. In an instant, his face brightened up, a smile gracing his features for a second before the pain took over and his bruised hand came up to his lip. You stood up and walked over to grab his arm, leading him over to the couch. He let you push him down against it gently before you moved over to grab the medical kit and come back to him. You sat down next to him, opened the kit, and guided his head to face you. The cuts and bruises littering his face made you tsk and shake your head a bit, before letting his chin go.

“Well hello to you too.” He smirked and winced again at the pain. You rolled your eyes at him, but couldn’t help the smile playing on your lips at hearing his voice full of playfulness.

“You’re an idiot, letting him get this many hits on you.” You murmured, eyes looking through the kit to find ointment and alcohol wipes.

“Wow, not even a congratulations?” He feigned hurt, grabbing at his chest as his eyebrows furrowed together.

“You don’t need a congratulation from me, San. I knew you were going to win from the start.” You pulled out one of the wipe packets and started dabbing at the cut on his arm lightly, letting him get used to the stinging sensation of the alcohol before pressing any harder. You felt goosebumps stick up on his arm as you held his arm to keep steady. One side of his mouth quirked up in amusement, showing a bit of his teeth.

“You knew I’d win?”

“Yes, San. I always know you’re gonna win.” You grabbed one of the ointment packets out and ripped it, pushing a bit of the paste on your finger. You gently spread it across the cut until it was fully covered.

“And why’s that?” You looked up to see his eyes fixed on you, watching every movement. Your body froze under his intense eyes, face heating up. But you shook it off quickly, setting the ointment packet down to grab one of the bandaids from the kit.

“Because,” you split the bandaid wrapper. “You’re the best there is.” You placed the bandaid that wasn’t quite the honey tone of his skin on top of the cut to keep it clean. It wasn’t a lie, there was no one else you could think of that fought with the intensity and precision he did. You looked up again to see his eyes were still trained on your face, his ever-present smirk still there.

“Yeah?” His tone was cocky, and you had to remind yourself that you were in the middle of bandaging him up to tear your eyes away.

Something was different. Typically, even when it was just you two, you would playfully flirt, not ever meaning anything serious about it. You had been best friends for years, and you were comfortable with each other. You told each other everything and nothing ever felt off or awkward. So why did you feel so tense right now? Why did it feel like all your senses were turned to 11? You let out a breath as a way to bring yourself back to the task.

“Yes. Now, stop talking so I can take care of these cuts.” You gave him a pointed look, a look he was definitely familiar with when you were trying to get his stubborn ass to do something. He nodded with a hum, and you grabbed your wipe again, making sure you had a clean part of it, before wiping at the cut on his cheek. The position was awkward, having to slightly contort his head and neck so that you could reach it.

“Why don’t you– Just– Here.” He never fully finished his sentence before he was grabbing your waist and pulled you into his lap, causing you to let out a sharp inhale at the sudden shift. Your body was frozen yet again. Both of you had been close before, especially with how touchy San could be, always wanting to have skinship. You had even woken up a handful of times after sleepovers (aka you both had too much to drink after partying and you refused to let him leave out so drunk) with his arm wrapped around you. But you had never had this before. Sitting in his lap, faces inches away, his hands still resting on your waist.

“This okay?” He asked, searching in your eyes for something. You realized you had been staring at him with your hands frozen in front of you, and you finally moved after you processed his voice.

“Ye–ahem–Yeah, this is good. Better.” You got out, getting back to work and patching his face up. Your wipe moved from the cut on his cheek to the bruise at the corner of his mouth, gently dabbing at it to clean up the dried blood he managed to miss in his shower. Luckily, you didn’t find a cut there and used your thumb to move his skin around a bit to make sure you didn’t miss anything before grabbing the ointment again and using your finger to spread it out on the cut on his cheek. 

You tried not to think too much about how you could smell the refreshing scent of his body wash. Or how his hair smelled a bit like peppermint. Or how warm his hands felt still holding on to your waist. How you could see and feel his eyes watching you carefully as if he wanted to say something. You grabbed a smaller bandaid from the kit and placed it across the gash to make sure it healed well.

“Done.” You stated with a shaky breath as you gathered up all the trash and moved off his lap. You turned around to find the trashcan and didn’t catch the slight slump of his shoulders when the pressure and warmth of your body on his was gone. You tossed the trash and came back over, grabbing a rolling chair to bring in front of him and sit in.

“It was a pretty intense fight, Sannie. You let him get a few good hits I know you could have blocked. So…why?” You propped your legs up on the couch next to him, careful to not accidentally kick him with your close proximity. He leaned his body back to rest against the couch, arms coming up to drape across the back of it, and his legs extended on either side of your chair. You couldn’t deny that you felt something twist in your gut at the sight of him, but you were focused on his answer to your question.

“Woo and I talked before the match about that. He says that if I get my ass kicked around a bit at the beginning, people are more likely to bet against me in higher amounts, especially if they haven’t seen me fight before.” He huffed out, eyes closed to give them a rest from the ceiling lights. You nodded and tried to look anywhere besides his bobbing Adam's apple. 

“I guess it makes sense. But…I’m just…worried I guess. With how much you let the other guy rough you up. I’ve seen you in some pretty harsh shape but this, San? This is brutal.” You waved your hand in front of his body as if he could see.

“Ah, it’s not the worst. You remember when I got my ribs broken?”

“That was because you were still trying to figure out how to properly do your crescent kick and fell flat on your side, dumbass. Not the same thing as letting someone else beat you black and blue.” He quirked up an eyebrow at that and shrugged his head a bit. You went quiet, a question on the tip of your tongue but you struggled with how to word it. You looked back down at your fingers again, picking again at your nails. 

You didn’t realize how San opened his eyes and raised his head at your sudden silence, watching as you let your nervous habit take over. He leaned over to grab at your hands to keep you from picking at them anymore, and you looked up to once again see his concerned eyes.

“What’s on your mind?”

It never failed that you would be amazed at how well he knew you.

“When or maybe why did you decide to quit letting him hit you if you and Woo knew that you were making money?” Your eyebrows furrowed together as the question finally left out. His hands loosened up around yours and his eyes widened a bit at the question, face slightly flushing. “There was a moment when I saw you and you changed entirely. Why? Did Woo say something?”

He pursed his lips and looked down at where your hands were still connected, his brain jostling around with how to answer you. Eventually, he nodded, jaw clenching and unclenching, and he raised his head to face you.

“I guess it’s best if I just tell you now,” he huffed, making you even more confused. “When I’m in the ring, I have to calculate everything, have to constantly watch for everything that the other guy is doing. And there are moments when it feels…pointless. Like it’s all for nothing. Like I should just give up and let them lay me out, you know?”

You took in everything he was saying, trying to process his words and the emotions that came with them.

“Wooyoung wanted me to throw the match more so he could collect more bets. But…when I looked out and I saw you…I needed to make you proud.” He was ultra hesitant with his words, cautiously scanning your face to gauge out your reactions. It was funny how this man, someone who’s been said to have a cold heart in the ring and iron fists you would never want to meet, is instantly turned into a nervous mess when it came to you. Your heart was beating in your throat now, watching him back with wide eyes trying to understand what he was exactly saying.

“God, it’s just–...I don’t–...fuck, I guess it’s just–...” He keeps cutting himself off, the words he wished to say not forming right in his mouth. Sensing his frustration, you rubbed your thumb over the bruised knuckles, a soothing tactic you knew helped him. And it did, as you saw his face relax from the way it was scrunched up.

“It’s okay Sannie, take your time.” You spoke as gently as possible, not wanting him to feel rushed at getting the right words, or even feel pressured to say them at all. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath through his nose, before opening them back to level with you.

“When I’m in the ring, and all these thoughts get to my head, all I can think about is you. Only you. How you encourage me to keep going, your smile and your voice telling me to finish the match. All I can think about is how your eyes light up when I finally win.” 

You felt completely frozen at his confession, thumbs having stopped their movements since. It felt as if your brain had been slowed in its comprehension skills, and you had to repeat every word he said in your head five times over for it to truly sink in.

“So…you–”

“I like you,” he blurted out, face and neck turning pink. “A lot. More than as your best friend. I like every little detail about you and it just drives me insane not being able to tell you, so I am now. And if you don’t feel the same, well then we can just sort of forget this whole–”

“I like you too, Sannie. More than as a best friend as well.” You interrupted his rant, hands moving from his to grab his face, making sure he hears you. “I’ve been so confused for so long about these emotions I’ve had for you, but I think I’m starting to realize that they haven’t been platonic for a while.” You could feel your ears heating up at your admission, and this feeling of anxiety in your chest relaxed as you were able to tell him your feelings confidently.

And as he smiled at you, eyes twinkling and full of pure love for you, you start to wonder how anyone could see this man as a fighter with a cold heart. In the end, he would always be your Sannie.

---

This was written by @/ro-written and is not to be plagiarized, translated, or distributed anywhere else. Copyright Ro-Written 2023.

All comments, reblogs, and likes are always welcome!

#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #choi san #choi san x reader #choi san fluff #choi san ateez #choi san fic #san ateez #san x reader #*ro written #san fluff #san fic #san fanfic #choi san fanfic

[railingsofsorrow]

wish I had a group of friends that would cry and laugh and freak out about the marauders with me

#i feel lonely after i finish a work of art (fanfic) and there's no one to share my sorrows with #ros speaks; #like besties... i read a quote from choices that broke me #wolfstar #jegulus #starchaser #rosekiller #i need rosekiller fic recs btw! #marauders era #the marauders era

[latinokokonoi]

do you ever try to search a ship on ao3 but 70% of the fics have bad grammar or are just smut and barely any fluff

#this is happening to me with frobin and it’s frustrating #ro speaks #archive of our own #ao3 #fanfic rant

[spitinsideme]

Okay okay so I know I mostly run a train blog but AUGHHH you draw Ragatha so good it is just

Too good to put into words because SHE

I am a big fan of your ragapom stuff! I actually wrote one of the first fanfics about them on Ao3! It's called "Ticking"

And I really love the relationship you give them its so juicy and yummy and oughhhh I love these gals

WOOO GOT AN AO3 AUTHOE WHO LIKES MU ARR !!! HELLO !!! IM GLAD YOU ENJLY THE WAY O DRAW RAGATHA I DO MY BEST !!!!! i love drawing her .. shes literalally so hot .. and bwaitofil .. and amaizng ... truly the best woman AND I THINK K READ THAT FANFIC ?? i dont remebe rive read rvery ragapom fanfic that wasnt angsty so i probably have ... all ragapon fanfics i have read werw amazing, so im sure what you wrote was absolutely delightful and i was gigfling and kicking my feet becayse ragapoam fanfics are beautoful and we are unfortunately running low on them 💔💔 not enoigh lately .. someone needs to change that ...

BUT IM GLAD YOU LIKE THE RELATIONSHIP I GIVE TJEM !!!! i think i make pomni way too loser but it seems that peoole enjoy it so i keep on doing it and i am happy that uou like them !!! i do my best ❤️❤️👍

#someone should start writing ragapon fanfics .. #i woukd but unfortunately i cannot write #i am terrible with words !!!ro you see my ask reponses !!! #i get distracyed too easily and do very long paragaohad aboit something complly different #i write a story and itd over 10k words but it makes no sense and theres too much going on #theres this one ragapom fanfic that is called sunshine that is very good #it updates monthly but it is worth it very nice fanfic

[rottingsam]

Scenic Route

Castiel was relatively new to the whole Dean Winchester experience. Not entirely new, of course not. It’s been years since he put God’s righteous man back together atom by atom, he’s had plenty of time to get familiar with all of Dean formalities and quirks alike. However, there’s no denying how up close and personal his experiences with Dean Winchester have been in the past few months.

Pairing: Castiel/ Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Tags: Road Trips

Read on Ao3

#destiel #deancas #casdean #dean winchester #castiel #destiel fanfic #ro writes

[highrepubliczine]

✨Contributor Applications are EXTENDED!!!✨

In order to allow more people to apply to be part of The High Republic zine, we're excited to share that we have extended the application deadline!!

You now have until March 24th at 11:59pm PST to apply!!

We are looking for the following creators to join our zine:

🌌 Page Artists 🌌 Comic Artists 🌌 Writers 🌌 Merch Artists

✨️APPLY HERE!!

✨️Read our FAQ here!

Shares are greatly appreciated!! 💛

From the Core to the Frontier, from No-Space to Starlight Beacon, this zine will include all manner of characters, settings, and events introduced in PHASE ONE of The High Republic saga.

We can't wait to view your application!!

#zine #fanzine #star wars the high republic #star wars zine #the high republic #fandom zine #star wars #starlight the high republic zine #contributor applications #contributor apps #writing #art #fanfic #fanart #comics #merch #avar kriss #elzar mann #stellan gios #marchion ro #lourna dee #bell zettifar #vernestra rwoh

[nonbinary-punk-art]

I wrote a fanfic, check it out if you want.

#disco elysium #harry du bois #harrier du bois #kim kitsuragi #fanfic #disco elysium fanfiction #harrykim #ro talks

[donnydamakkk]

𝐔𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐎𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐉𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐭 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐎𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞. 𝐅𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬.

NEW FANFIC PAGE FOR UPDATES N FC DETAILS

🆄🅽🅸🆅🅴🆁🆂🅴 🅽🅾🆃🅴🆂

Jennifer Jareau is a lesbian.

Story timeline starts the same day the team wraps the Jones case so back to 2007. Story picks up from then on.

Henry and Michael will exist, eventually but for obvious reasons, they won't look like the same Henry and Michael we know. They also won't be JJ's only kids.

JJ isn't the carrier for any of her kids.

That's all for notes. Anything else would be a spoiler.

𒆙 🆄🅽🅸🆅🅴🆁🆂🅴 🅾🅲🆂

𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬: 𝐀 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐉𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞. 𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐠𝐨 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐝𝐮𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐣𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐉 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫.

Ⅰ  Ⅱ  Ⅲ  Ⅳ  Ⅴ

#ro presents: under the new orleans stars #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau imagine #jennifer jareau x you #jennifer jareau x black!fem!oc #jennifer jareau x fem!reader #jennifer jareau x oc #jennifer jj jareau #jennifer jareau #jj #emily prentiss #derek morgan #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #david rossi #jason gideon #luke alvez #matt simmons #tara lewis #penelope garcia

[ronearoundblindly]

For your Valentine's ask game: #7 Jake Jensen x reader, idk why but it seems fitting 😂

Shut Up, Jensen, one of my Valentine's Fics for 2024!

Oh, this poor, poor, awkward perv. He's pervy until there's a naked lady around and then 😳 "...when I was four, I shoved pennies up my nose..." Seriously, boi, shut up!

Warnings for spice, i.e. a setup to smutty times, but mostly suggestive. MINORS DNI, just to be safe. There's plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this one is not for you! WC 1042

You’ve always had a soft spot for nerds, and now, that’s translating to a damp spot on your fanciest panties you wore for this date.

Jake Jensen goofy-grinned his way through the entire evening, making you almost snort a tequila sunrise through your nose, and he never let up. The humor made you comfortable. It’s endearing to see his nervousness right on his graphic-T sleeve as opposed to being ‘manly’ and aloof.

It’s so, so refreshing to hear someone say, “I’m having a great time,” “I don’t want the night to end,” and know deep down in your bones that they mean “spending this time with you has made me happy” instead of “I’ve done enough to get laid now, right?”

Unsurprisingly, it does mean Jake’s done enough to get laid.

You give him your address so he could park his Jeep outside your building. There are parking meters, but tomorrow is Sunday when they’re free. No big deal. You left the bar (which was after the restaurant, which was after the coffee shop) a minute or two before in order to meet him at one of the open spots and walk him in. He can’t meet you at your door because there is a locked gate to your courtyard, and then a keypad for your building, and then about three corridors to navigate. It’s just easier to show him the way.

You can hear that fucking car coming a mile away.

Jake smiles and waves as he parallel parks—with extreme precision, you note—then hops out, gesturing to the meter questioningly.

“Don’t worry about it,” you shrug, jumping to the edge of the curb before he steps up so you can use the height for a kiss on his cheek.

It’s adorable how flustered he gets at just that tiny bit of affection. Though it’s dark, it’s obvious he blushes ferociously, rubbing at the back of his cropped, short hair, racing to gather his thoughts.

“Did you know there are almost three hundred ways to make change for a dollar? Two hundred ninety-three to be ex—woah—“

You grab his hand to lead him inside.

At the gate, you have to pause for the magnetic lock.

“I’m surprised those things even take change anymore,” Jake muses quietly, courteous for the neighbors’ sake, “because physical money only makes up 8% today’s currency…in the whole world.” He slides past the thick steel grating. “Thank you, digital banking.”

He follows behind you in the maze of concrete paths to the next entry.

“People leave like half a million dollars worth of loose change at airport security. That’s a little shocking,” he whispers when you motion for him to take a left, “think you’d splurge for some decent toilet paper with that kind of dough, or maybe some more cup holders in those row-seats? They could, I don’t know, offset the cost of making pennies. Shit cost two cents. Is worth one. Wild…

“Meanwhile, a dime has 118 ridges on the rim of the smallest circumference.”

Doesn’t even matter what he’s saying, the more his plump pink lips move, the more insanely turned on you get. You have to crowd him through your own doorway before you start stripping in the middle of the hall.

You peel your blouse off the instant your keys clatter onto the dinette table. You spin around to grab him by the screen-printed emblem of his t-shirt.

“There are 1.4 billion $2 bills in circulation.”

He gives a little oof sound when his back hits one of your bedroom walls, and there’s a barely audible whimper as your hands snake up under soft, well-worn fabric.

Holy shit, is this boy cut!

Your thumbs actually catch on the deep ridge of his Adonis belt. Dimes got nothing on you, Jake Jensen…

His breathing has changed significantly. “Did you know they—“ he gasps and swallows “—still make those?”

Ok, why is it hotter when he’s not even trying?

“Fun fact: if you went to Zimbabwe, guess which currency you’d…use?” The neckline of his shirt has to pop over his glasses before he fixes them. “The U.S. Dollar. Seriously! Same damn mon—EH.”

His belt buckle is tricky to navigate from this angle and in the very low light of your bedside lamp. You give up on his pants to unzip your skirt at the hip and let it fall.

Jake stands perfectly still with his hands half-raised.

“You’re…really fucking pretty—sorry—really pret—sexy, not that I—but beautiful. You’re really—”

He sucks in a breath as you step within inches of him again, reaching up to carefully pull his glasses over his ears and place them by the lamp.

“Fuck…”

Your index finger tucks into the elastic of his boxers where they peek out above the belt.

“Yeah, so I’ve been—I’m—I don’t have a—what I’m trying to say is—“ he squeezes his eyes shut and wiggles his fingers higher in the air, searching for the right thought “—the most commonly printed bill is actually the one-hundr—“

“Jake,” you interrupt, gently smoothing your hands over his thick shoulders. He is so ripped, what the hell? You guess there are nerds and then there are nerds, wow…

“Do you want to continue?”

He nods super fast, eyes growing wide in panic.

“Good.”

You smash your lips to his, hauling him down and you up by the sturdy tower of muscle he is.

“Condoms are in the drawer,” you mutter between breaths.

He lets out a high, choked whine before clamping his huge, warm hands to your waist, melting into you and your touch.

You coax the both of you toward the bed, swatting at his belt as a signal for him to help, and he does, though he’s not the greatest multitasker. He huffs and smirks, breaking the kiss so he can unlatch, unbutton, and unzip.

Then he looks up at you. 

“So you like movies…?”

You cup his jaw in your hand and pinch, a gentle peck on his lips as encouragement to focus. “Less talking, more fucking, Jensen.”

He opens his mouth, clearly running through a series of replies, but thinks better of it and  pushes down his pants and boxers all at once.

Lloyd Hansen and a kiss on a place of insecurity ⬅️ ➡️ Steve Rogers and a kiss on a scar

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @spectre-posts @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @peyton--warren Y'all getting sick of me yet???

#jake jensen fanfiction #jake jensen x reader #jake jensen x you #jake jensen x y/n #jake jensen smut #jake jensen fluff #ro answers #valentine's day fanfic #valentine's day prompts

[ohmyenjolrass]

can i call you tonight? | andrew clark x reader

summary: after spending all saturday together and sharing a kiss with andrew clark, you would not imagine that he would talk to you on monday at school

warnings: none, just andy being a sweetheart <3

pairings: andrew clark x fem!reader

words: 696

n/a: so i just rewatched the breakfast club and i love andy so much i could die. i wanted to write something about him. sorry if there are any mistakes, english is not my first language :)

Masterlist

________________________________________________________________

Monday, March 26th, 1984.

After spending a Saturday in detention and enjoying it way more than you expected, it was time to return to reality. You got off the bus with one thing and one thing only in your mind.

Andrew Clark kissed you on Saturday.

You didn’t know how was the situation between the two of you. You’d grown fond of each other after spending all day together in detention, and even though you would never admit it out loud, you had always had a little crush on him.

You entered the school and walked straight to your locker. You had no time to think about your feelings, with your focus on the Chemistry class you feared you’d fail. You noticed someone standing by your side as you left the stuff you didn’t need and picked up what was necessary for Chemistry class.

“Hey, Brian. What’s up?”

The blond smiled shyly. On Saturday, he said that he considered you his friends and that he would say hi to you in the corridor if he saw you. You thought that was truly sweet, and it just showed how much of a good person Brian was.

“Hey. Just wanted to say good morning. How was your Sunday?”

“It wasn’t bad. I attended a family brunch. What about you?”

“I didn’t do anything interesting. Studied a lot.”

“Good.”, the bell rang. “Hey, I gotta go. I cannot be late for Chemistry again. Mrs Wilson will kill me. Catch you later?”

“Sure. Bye!”, you waved as you fled through the corridor. Luckily, you arrived just in time, a minute or two before Mrs Wilson entered the room. She started explaining something about the Periodic Table of Elements that you couldn’t understand no matter how hard you tried.

“Psst, y/n.”, someone whispered behind you. “Y/n.”

“Sssh, I’m trying to understand this.”, you whispered back.

You started feeling little taps on your shoulder, which were kind of annoying. You turned around. “What?”

Behind you, Andrew smiled broader than ever. You blushed a little before turning back around. You really needed to pay attention to class, and you had been enough times in detention for speaking too much in class.

One hour later, when the class finished, you took your things and went back to your locker. Then, you went up the stairs for your next class.

“Y/n, hey!”, you heard Andrew somewhere in the corridor. “Wait up!”

You froze in the middle of the stairs, not knowing how to react. You haven’t spoken to him ever since he kissed you last Saturday and you weren’t sure about his feelings towards you.

You saw him climbing up the stairs to meet you, and you couldn’t help to smile a little bit.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“You really ignored me in Chemistry class.”, he laughed.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Chemistry is hell for me, I really need to pass the subject.”, you said, smiling. “So, what did you want?”

“Oh, yeah.”, he opened his notebook and ripped out a tiny piece of paper. “Write your phone number there.”

“What for?”

“That way I can call you tonight.”, you noticed how Andy’s cheeks turned softly pink. “I mean, if you are okay with it.”

"Yeah, of course.", you scribbled your house phone number and gave the paper back to him.

Andrew smiled proudly as he pocketed it. Then, he looked back at you. "So, can I call you tonight?"

"Sure. 7 o'clock?"

"Perfect.", he smiled one last time and kissed you on the cheek, only to run down the stairs again. "Look for me at lunch! I want to eat with you!"

You stayed in the stairs, watching him go back to the corridor and smiled to yourself like an idiot.

"So you two are going serious? Damn, I never thought you would end up with a sportsman."

You looked up only to see Bender smirking at you. You gave him the finger jokingly as he laughed.

"Fuck you, Bender.", you said, going past him.

"Oh, you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

You laughed soundly as you went to your classroom, hoping it would pass quickly so you could see Andrew again.

#ro writes things #the breakfast club #the breakfast club x reader #andrew clark x reader #andrew clark fanfic #andrew clark fluff #tbc

[ro-presents-under-the-nola-stars]

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐈

𝐅𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐰 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭

𝐏𝐆

𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞. 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱. 𝐑𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞. 𝐑𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧.

𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐉𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐮 𝐱 𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐚 𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐱, 𝐎𝐂

𝐉𝐉 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐚'𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬. 𝐓𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐮𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐉𝐉'𝐬 𝐝𝐲𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐜.

𝟏𝟏.𝟕𝐊 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬

Excitement doesn't do it, if you were to ask Jasira what she felt about her impending, final performance as a dancer. Excitement is not nearly strong enough. Anxious doesn't quite feel like it encapsules what she feels. Whatever she's feeling, she's set ten alarms for the morning, both at home and at her dad's house. They have to be in Baton Rouge by three fifteen in the morning; the bus her dad helped the team rent leaves at three thirty, and she wants to cook breakfast for herself and her dad before they have to get on the road, so she's doing what needs to be done to wake up on time.

Not that it particularly matters.

She isn't awakened by the sound of one of her loud, obnoxious alarms, but rather, the sound of the ringtone she's recorded from one of her diary entries and set for JJ. Jasira, who can sleep through natural diasters (and has done so before), wakes up -- every morning -- to the sound of this ringtone with a sense of urgency similar to when she heard those levees break. Only, she wakes up with a feeling of peace instead of fear when she hears that ringtone. In any case, she wakes up, now, just as quickly for JJ as she does when her life is endangered. It's a thing she's actually taken note of, but not really thought long enough about to figure out if it means something. Or, what it means.

Sitting up, she rubs her eyes with one hand while reaching for her phone on the night stand with the other hand. When she answers the phone, she peeks at the time, eyes widening when she sees the time.

"It's one in the morning." She grumbles.

"Yeah, I know," JJ answers, "but during lunch you seemed worried about being late, so I set an alarm for you."

Jasira smiles to herself. She didn't even realized she'd seemed that anxious at lunch or anxious at all, but of course, JJ noticed. Maybe because of job or she's just naturally attentive, but JJ seems to notice everything.

"You didn't have to wake up just to wake me up, Bluejay." Jasira speaks, softly. JJ has to be up herself at five. It's an unnessary break in her sleep. "What if you can't go back to sleep after this?"

JJ snorts, smiling to herself at the concern in her girl's voice, but not at all concerned herself. She hadn't exactly planned to go back to sleep, "You ever just say thank you?"

"I'm appreciative," Jasira insists, standing to stretch; JJ can hear her cute little groan. Truth be told, there was no hassle in waking up for this. In about seventeen hours-- give or take, her girl will be in her arms, assuming she doesn't get a case between now and then, and it'd been on her mind so much she could hardly sleep. "I'm just sayin' you shoulda slept the whole night through 'cause," she says, going over to her alarm clock, unplugging it, "I had my alarms, my daddy coming over and everything, legit any minute now. You didn't have to wake up for me."

"Thank you," JJ repeats, spoon feeding Shy the words she wants parrotted back to her, ignoring her concerns.

Jasira sighs with a lighthearted eyeroll; JJ is kind of bossy, and she kind of likes it, "Thank you, Bluejay, you so sweet."

"You are very welcome, Shy, anything for you," she says back, tossing her feet over the bed and pushing herself out of it. Since she's up and she's got zero plans of falling back asleep, she figures she may as well find something to watch. "What can I watch on TV at this hour?"

"You really not gon go back to sleep?"

"Nope," she enters her living and plops down on the couch. She grabs the remote, and turns on her television.

Jasira looks over at the time before answering, "Martin reruns might be on MTV."

JJ looks for it, and Shy was right. So, JJ leans back and enjoys the sitcom, she had only been introduced to through her girl. Even so, it's becoming one of her favorites. It's one of those few sitcoms or anythings that make her laugh until her sides and her back hurt. Jasira turns her television onto the same channel so they could watch together.

"Do you have your laptop on you?"

JJ sits back up, "Do you want to Skype?" She asks, though, she's already standing to go back to her room, "Because I can go get it."

"Please," Jasira asks, sandwiching the phone between her shoulder and her ear, grabbing her own laptop and walking into the kitchen to set it up, "Cause I'm finna need both of my hands." And, within mere moments of looking through her things, JJ's got it and the charger in her hand.

They each log into their Skype accounts, getting on with each other. Upon seeing each other's faces, they each hang up with cellphones. Hands free, now, Jasira dives into her breakfast preparation. Watching Jasira, JJ forgets all about Martin on TV. Jasira's wearing one of those tight, midriff cropped tanks that she sleeps in with a pair of red and white daisy dukes. Jasira's pretty much tunnel visioned on her task, so JJ tries to keep up, tries to pick up on what she might be making. But, she's not altogether sure, so she just breaks down and asks, hoping that she isn't the cause of disturbance. And, it's a baseless worry because Jasira doesn't stop as she answers.

"It's just a breakfast bowl and beignets. I wanna eat real food before I have to eat fast food all the way to DC."

JJ had to bite her lip to keep from smiling at the sheer mention of Jasira being in her space, soon. Not soon enough. Soon enough would be immediate, but soon.

"Speaking of real food," Jasira mentions, glancing up into the camera before turning around to put grease on the stove to heat. She comes back to camera, "You good on groceries?"

JJ's ears go red when she chuckles, and Jasira always thinks she looks cute flustered. Even cuter how the most random of things seem to fluster her. Shy goes to get the dough she'd prepared before she went to bed out of the refridgerator, to give JJ some relief.

"I was going to go grocery shopping when I got off work, I didn't want you to come over to nothing but takeout that I won't even finish."

Jasira shrugs, cutting her beignet dough into shapes, "We can just go together when I get up there."

And, JJ is more excited to do that than she is for any date she's ever been on. The two of them continue to talk, here and there as Jasira cooks. Mostly, JJ just asked questions about the process and before they know it, she's giving JJ a mini lesson and a promise that she will teach her more extensively when they're together.

Any moment, now, Jasira had told her. Her dad would be coming over any moment now. Still, she's not prepared for the sound of the front door being tinkered with. And, given her situation, it immediately makes JJ nervous and scared for her. But, Jasira just looks at the time, assures her that she knows it's just her dad. Tells her he's probably just changing her lock before he comes inside, and this is how JJ founds out that Jasira's locks gets changed ever week, at random times. Apparently, it's helpful to keep him from getting inside. Because, apparently, when she keeps the same lock for too long, he creates a mold and uses it to get a key made. And, Jasira says that so nonchantly, it's insane -- to JJ -- that she won't let her get involved.

Jasira's calmness, though, does nothing for JJ, because she won't believe it's not Jasira's big bad monster until she sees her dad's face.

Not, that she wants him to see hers. She knows she's not ready for that; meeting some of the kids over Skype had been nervewracking enough, but her father? It's a whole other thing. She and Jasira have talked about him at length, and JJ wants feel prepared to prove herself when she meets him. She knows she'll have to. She's good with parents, usually. When she was in relationships where it didn't matter too much to her whether or not she was liked, where her girlfriend's weren't quite so family oriented. When she was in relationships where they at least had some sort of common ground that wasn't the girl she was dating. But, now, being with Shy (though, they aren't together), she's stepping into a different world here. And, from the way Jasira talks about her family, talks about her dad, JJ doesn't think they have any common ground except Shy. Which is horrifying, and JJ isn't sure how she would fare.

Furthermore, she's worried about if Jasira will stay on Skype with her or not when he comes inside. Because if she hangs up, it saves her the interaction, but if she hangs up then what does that say about how she sees this? But, if she doesn't hang up, what will she say if he asks questions? How will she define this? Because they aren't ... together. But, this feels like something .. that means a lot. So, maybe they don't have a label, really, but there is definition, and will Shy recognize that, if her dad asks? Does JJ want her to?

"Mommy!" Cuts JJ right out of her thoughts, but it drops extra weight on her fears. She sees the woman enter the frame and wrap her arms around her daughter, closing her eyes as she squeezes.

After a moment, still in the embrace, blue eyes meet blue, and she and Jasira's mother are just staring at one another. Her mother squints before pulling back, and when she does, she doesn't speak English. She speaks that language that JJ's only heard Jasira speak a small amount of times, that language that sounds something like French but not. Certainly French influenced, but certainly not French. JJ doesn't know what the hell they're speaking about but when Jasira glances at her with this look that can only be compared to that of a nervous teenager, she knows for sure they're talking about her. Maybe she's catastraphizing because they aren't speaking English but knowing she's being spoken of has her that much more nervous.

Almost as if she can hear JJ's thoughts or feel her feelings, Shy looks over at her with soft eyes and smile. When they pull away from one another, Jasira gestures to the screen, still talking, body language becoming more and more defensive as her mom's becomes tone becomes more tense. There's worry in her voice. If it's on thing JJ knows, it's a mother's fear. She calls for Shy's father, in English, walking away from her daughter towards her husband as she switches back to her native tongue. Jasira huffs before giving her attention back to JJ, the confusion on her face unmissable.

"Mommy knows I'm staying with you in DC, and she is," she sighs, looking over her shoulder, watching her parents go back and forth. Each of them tossing her a glace every now and again, "not happy about it. She doesn't trust my judgment, and she thinks it's a stupid reckless thing to do because we haven't know each other long. And, now, she is telling Daddy, and I'm finna catch hell."

"Did you tell her I'm an FBI agent? I mean," JJ chuckles, "Who else could you be safer with?"

Jasira nearly cackles, drawing looks from both of her parents yet again, "You want me to tell my black ass parents, who have both -- in some way -- been victimized by law enforcement on both a systemic and interpersonal level at various points of their lives and general lineage, that I, their baby, am gon go stay in another state with an FBI agent that I have only met and fucked once like two months ago? If you don't wanna see me ever again in life, Bluejay, just say that. I won't be offended."

"So, what're you going to do?" JJ asked, chewing her lip. Her stomach is swirling a bit. Sure, Jasira is an adult. She could technically do what she wants, but also, she's close to her parents. She holds what they say to her chest closely, JJ can tell by the way she talks about them. Not only that, but her father pays her bills, which gives her more reason to be obedient to him. She can't help but worry that their plans may be affected by this. Sure, even if Shy doesn't stay in her apartment, they can still see each other, but she's been looking forward to this. She would hate for plans to change.

Jasira huffs as she continues to cook, "Ima come see you. They can just be mad. They not gon trust my judgment no matter what so I ain't finna keep explaining myself." The confirmation that Jasira is still planning to stay with her, no matter what, relifts her spirits and wipes away her anxieties. Jasira, continuing to knead her dough into the shapes she desires, adds, "Ima try to keep the conversation in English, but if my mom does all the talking then it prolly won't be successful, and depending on how things go, it might switch again."

"How many languages do you speak?"

Shy's face scruches up as she thinks, mouthing off the various languages to herself as she counting them all. Her hands slow to a stop, now, just holding the dough in her hands. "Um, if I'm remembering all of them, six, I think," she says, obviously still thinking. She starts mouthing again, "Kouri Vini, Cajun French, ASL, BASL, Spanish, English..." she nods, to herself; she thinks that's it, but she's not completely sure; she shrugs, giving up on her thought before saying again to JJ, "Yeah, 6. Four verbal, two signing, I think."

JJ's eyes widened. She thought she would be used to linguistically inclined people, having spent so much time with Reid and Prentiss. Still, she's impressed, more now than she was with them. Because Reid is Reid, and Emily is an aristocrat. It just makes sense for them. That said, she doesn't know if she knows any normal, every day people who are gifted in such ways. Furthermore, she's never known anyone who spoke languages who weren't common or widely known. There are two of the six that JJ knows for fact she's never heard of. She doesn't think either of them sign, and yet Shy signs. To say she's impressed is an understatement; mindblown fits better.

"How have you found the time to even learn six languages? Much less be fluent in them. You're only, what, twenty-two? Languages take a long time to learn, no?"

Shy just shrugs, "I guess? I mean, I can't say. I ain't an expert, I just always been like this. I learned real young so I dunno anything different," she tells her before going over to check the heat of her grease. She sprinkles some flour into it, just to see. Satifised, she goes back for the dough. She's still thinking about JJ's question. At the astonishment in her tone, really. She's never really given it much thought before, her relationship with different languages. She's certainly never dicussed it with or explained it to anyone. So, she rarely thinks about it, the origin of her tongue. She never really needs to, but she's sure JJ has follow up questions, and she's just quiet as if she's waiting. Shy's memories are catching up to her and she shares as she thinks, "I mean, I remember learning English. That was hard. I remember when I was like, three, only recongizing my dad's voice, but not understanding anything he was saying. I remember, like, if my parents were fighting or something, they would always argue in English because I didn't speak it. I didn't understand it. I started to, pick up on it a little bit when I was like, 4. But, I didn't actually start to for real learn it until I was, 5, or 6, maybe? Whenever I moved to New Orleans and started going to school. So, yeah, like, 6 or so."

JJ squints, "I thought you were from Louisiana?"

"Yeah."

JJ's head tilts just a bit as she asks, "So, then, how did you not speak English?"

"Well, 'cause," Shy starts, but then, her eyes trail off in the direction of her parents as they approach her. She's so still watching this that JJ groans, thinking her computer has frozen. That is until she broke out into a smile and greeted her father, "I'm making breakfast for you."

He waves off the greeting, "What happened to ya lil plan?" Her jaw goes slack a bit, as if she were going to respond, but she's not given a chance. "I thought you was focusing on yaself, I thought you was healing. You said outcha own mouth you don't needa be dating nobody for a few years while you getcha yaself together," Shy's mouth opens again, "I thought you had a good head on ya shoulders, I thought you was thinkin' straight. But, it ain't even been a full year. You barely got you figured out and you already tryna shack up with the next nigga. You don't know that nigga from a worm on the sidewalk."

"Okay, well, first of all, she's white." Jasira corrects her dad, like it matters. It's really the only thing she can retort because he's not exactly wrong. Meeting JJ and deciding to explore beyond the one night stand with her was derailing her plan a good bit. Granted, they weren't exclusive as she wanted to keep her freedom for a while, but she and JJ were a big deal. She hadn't planned on really spending any kind of a time with one person, in the way she does with JJ, until she was at least twenty-seven. The amount of time she dedicates to JJ a day, the dreams she finds herself having about what could be to now going to spend ten days in JJ's home, it all feels like a slippery slope for her. Except, she's long slipped, and she hasn't quite found her footing yet again, doesn't matter how many other dates she's been on, doesn't matter how hard she's tried to not focus her everything on JJ. JJ is threatening to become an all consuming faction in her life, and she's trying to remain in control. She wants to entertain her, but she is determined to focus on herself, and she will. There's already difficulty in balancing it all, she's finding, and they've not even seen one another but once. But, she's holding herself back. The easiest thing, most simple thing to stay on track would be to cut ties, but she doesn't want to do that. Not with that nagging feeling in her gut that she would absolutely regret if she did manifesting as nausea every time she gives the idea any real consideration.

Moreoever, she can't pretend she isn't nervous about staying with JJ, either. Sure, she wants to spend as much time with her as she can while she's in DC, and sure, staying in her apartment would be the absolute best way to do that (unless she got a case), but that doesn't mean she's ever been able to shake her worries away. She could take JJ, probably, if it came to that, but she doesn't want to be with anyone where it would ever come to that again.

On top of that, her father is right. She doesn't know JJ from Eve, not really. She feels like she does, mostly. Sure, JJ doesn't talk about herself that much. She doesn't really talk about her upbringing or anything; Shy doesn't even know if she has family. But, she knows how JJ attentive she is, how patient, how kind, how intelligent. How funny, in a quiet, witty, quippy sort of way. She knows her core, she knows her heart.

She thinks.

She thought she knew Bryce, too, but well, Bryce was demonic. And, every time she gets to thinking about how great she thinks JJ is, the immediate after thought is, what if she is also like that? She tries not to compare, tries to tell herself that she was a kid when she met Bryce, and the writing was on the wall. She often tries to tell herself that she is older now, she has experience with that sort of thing; she tries to tell herself that she would see the signs next time so that there wouldn't actually be a next time, but would she?

Being fussed at by her parents is so annoying because they're only giving voice to all the concerns that sometimes keep her up at night. She wishes it was as simple as them merely wanting to control her. At least, if that were the case, she could fight back better.

She also doesn't want to be the only want with a flame under her ass and when she glances over at JJ, who looks extremely uncomfortable as is, she feels a twinge of guilt because the next thing she does is open her mouth to say, "And, Daddy, you embarrassing me in front of her," while motioning to the laptop screen. Jasira hates to throw her to her father, especially without heads up or prompting, but she's watched JJ's press conferences on the internet. She knows she can handle herself, and her own anxiety is spiking, so she's kind of tossed JJ in traffic a bit, but not quite under the bus.

JJ straightens her back at the direct mention of herself. Jasira's father looks down at her, and JJ smiles. It's involuntary; she's so uncomfortable. She imagines this is how the boys she went to high school with felt when they would drench their homecoming suits in sweat just before meeting a girl's parents. Jarelle pulls out the kitchen chair.

"Get this out my way," he says, motioning to the food on the table as he sits down. Shy and her mom both get to moving things around. Shy avoids her mom's eyes as she mom stares her down the entire time. Jarelle leans back in the chair, getting comfortable. JJ doesn't know if she should speak first or not. She's great at work. With grieving parents, high stressed witnesses. During press conferences. Hell, in her past relationships, she was even good with parents. She even got one of her ex's homophobic father to really like her. But, this? Her dad is staring at her the way Derek stares at child molestors, and it's taking everything in her to not squirm under his gaze. But, she's not going to. She refuses. She's never been one to cower, and her job has done nothing but reinforce that part of her. "How you meet my daughter?"

JJ's brain short circuits as certain flashbacks replay in her mind. The wrong kind of flashbacks for her to be having right now. Jasira's head turns around so fast, she hears it crack. JJ's eyes shift upwards and meet Shy's. Meanwhile, Jasira's mother is hawkeying her; Shy can feel it. Then, Jarelle lifts his chin in a way that says don't look at her, look at me, and JJ redirects her attention back to Jarelle. Jasira goes back to cooking with her mom.

JJ's mind is kind of racing. She can't exactly say, "Well, I saw your daughter gyrating across the street and then went and fucked her in the back alley." She vaguely hears Shy's mother say something to Shy in what she assumes to be Shy's native language. The look Shy gives tells her that she's just been asked the question JJ is trying to answer, diplomatically. She hasn't even really said anything yet but she already feels like she's in a minefield. Which is striking, because usually when she comes face to face with a girlfriend's parent -- the dad's, in particularly -- there's this certain air of relaxtion that comes with discovering that she's a woman. In the past, she's dated a lot of bisexual women, and she knows that when people just hear the name JJ, they assume guy. So, they're typically disarmed by her not being a guy. Being a woman makes her less of a threat. But, no. That isn't happening here. Jarelle is responding to her the same way boyfriends are responded to; it's the same aggressive weariness. It is an oddly satisyfing but equally nerve-wracking thing.

"She and I met at a bar on Bourbon Street a couple months ago, sir."

Jasira freezes because the location of where they met definitely did not need to be mentioned. She may as well have told her dad that they met in Soddom and Gamorrah. Not to say her parents purists; her father has father twenty-five children and the two of them share a girlfriend, but she's basically told them that they've slept together, even without saying it. Which is just going to give them more a reason to not trust her judgement. Now, they're going to think she's overly romanticizing things. Aurelie squints at her daughter and asks if they've slept together. Jasira turns around towards her dad rather than answering, and it just confirms what her mom already felt in her bones.

"Daddy, do you think we should load the car?"

He glances at his watch, "It ain't time, and I'm talking to ya lil friend right now."

"Mkay," she answers and swiftly turns back around. She continues to make the loaded eggs for the breakfast bowls while her mom does the beignets.

"You seen her since?" He asks.

JJ shakes her head, "No, sir, we just met that one time."

He sits up a bit, "What went down that night that you so pressed to see her again that she just gotta spend her whole trip up under you?"

But, he knows. He's got twenty-five children; he knows better than anyone the power of sex. How overly sentimental it can make people. Sex can be fun, but it can also be messy. This can be messy. His daughter's current life is messy enough with this foolish additive. He wouldn't have a problem, if this was just fun, but he's been hearing little things from his boys -- sons and grandsons. And, Shy's been different. Floating and walking on sunshine, different, and he's weary about not just her safety but her heart. Surviving everything she's survived just to turn around and have your heart broken could be devasting. He wants her joy to be hers, purely hers and uninfluenced. Joy that is your own can't be crushed.

"Well, sir, she doesn't have to do anything. She's an adult, and I'm not in the business of controlling people," JJ redirects because, again, she's not going to mention the sex thing. It's not just an uncomfortable topic of conversation, but it's also only she and Shy's business. Jasira winces a little bit continues cooking for herself and her parents. Her father clenches his jaw and JJ continues on, "To answer your question, though, we've talked and skyped every day since then, several times a day. So, yes, we've only ever physically been together that one night, but I don't feel we've ever really been apart. I just enjoyed sharing a space with her, and I am fond of her so, yes, I jumped at the chance to do it again."

She puts on one of her most disarming smiles to try and cut some of the tension. It often works at work, but she's not confident in it working now. Not when she's in her home, in her most comfortable state. It works at work because she's super feminine and pretty at work, she knows that. But, now? At almost two in the morning, in her home, there's nothing feminine about the way she presents or carries herself. She's got on boxers, a sports bra that makes her chest look almost completely flattened and a muscle shirt. She looks boyish, she knows that, and she knows that it isn't doing her any favors. Which is why she doesn't dress that way not just at work but in public.

She adds, "I understand your concern, sir, given all that she's gone through already, but I assure you, I have nothing but the best of intentions for your daughter. I promise, I won't let anything happen to her while she's here. If it would make you feel better, I can give you my address, all of my contact information," she lets out a breathless, humorless chuckle, "Hell, I would even be open to giving you the contact information for my superiors at my job. Whatever to ease yours and your wife's minds," she tells him.

Jarelle's father nods, considering her words, "Whatchu said ya name was?"

"Jennifer," JJ answers, clarifying, ignoring the fact that he hadn't ever actually asked, "Jennifer Jareau. JJ, if you'd like."

"You seem real smart, Jennifer," he tells her, "You talk a good game, you real," he pauses, trying to find the right word.

His wife cuts in, "Diplomatic," she says, fixing him a bowl to eat and bringing it over to him before doing the same for herself.

He snaps his fingers, "Yeah, that."

"Thank you, sir."

He shakes his head, "Not a compliment, 'cause you saying all the right shit, makes me trust you even less, understand? I got five grown princesses. Lotta niggas know exactly what to say, but still be foul as a mangy dog. So, yeah, Ima need allat information you just offered up 'cus this knucklehead gone come see you no matter what I say, and I already barely sleep at night. I needa be able to at least take naps," He turns sideways in his chair, "Shy, Ima just tell you this: I think that plan you made to be free and find yaself, alone, was the best thang for ya. I feel like you being stupid and you slipping down a slope you gon regret. Don't fuck around and ruin ya life 'cus you feel like you needa be up under somebody." He says, and Shy rolls her eyes, with her back still to him, of course. Because, look at the pot calling the kettle black. She wouldn't have twenty-four siblings, if he didn't always feel like he needed someone. He turns back to the laptop, and the two of the exchange numbers.

Once JJ has his, she texts him all the information she promised. Her mother spares JJ a single, almost passing glance that reeks of disapproval before before she and her father go to have their breakfast in the living room.

Shy fixes herself something to eat. JJ just smiles. It's not a big one, there are no teeth or anything. She looks tired.

"Thanks for that." she tells Shy.

"I'm sorry, I am so sorry. I felt bad like throwing you to him, but like, he was in one them modes where me just cryin' wasn't gon do shit, and I be watching ya press conferences so I knew you could handle fire."

JJ felt herself smirk as pride overtook her being, "You watch my press conferences?"

"They on youtube," she shrugs like that was just obvious. Which is wasn't. Because JJ had no idea that they were. Hell, JJ doesn't even use youtube. She wasn't really aware that anyone did. Jasira continued on, "Sometimes I just like to here you talk."

"Ah, so this is why I deal with all this," JJ chuckles and shakes her head, "I must really really like you."

Jasira perked up with that wide, cocky grin that JJ has come to always look forward to, "Well, I'm me," she says, posing with her hands under her chin. Even the way she drops her hands can be described as nothing, but princess like. "Of course, you like me."

JJ melts. It takes her back to the first time she had an uncomfortable conversation with yet another fiercely protective person in Shy's family. She remembers how nervous it made her to meet or talk to anyone else, but how talking to Jasira again, for even two seconds, made it seem worth all the grilling and discomfort. Here she is, again, thinking of how right she was to be nervous after talking to Kutty for the first time, because God. Jasira talks about her dad, often. Her mom, too, and there is no doubt at all that they are the head and neck of the whole body of Boudreauxs. She understands Jasira's little brother so much more now, but moreover, all she can think is, if they reacted in such a way, she doesn't stand a chance with everyone else. She's going to have to really prove herself.

If this was some past version of JJ or if Shy wasn't Shy, it would be in this moment that she would cut things off. She'd tell herself that work was too much as is, and she doesn't need the added headache. She'd be lying if she had she hadn't considered that now, but this is the first time in her romantic life that she hasn't wanted to wonder what if with a girl. So, she lets go of that idea almost as quickly as it comes, and she allows Jasira to catch her attention once more.

Jasira goes over the travel iternary again, for the millionth time it seems like these past few days. She's gone over so much that JJ knows it like the back of her own hand. She even has it in her blackberry. Still, she lets Jasira go over yet again. Until her mom calls for her. Not in English, of course, and now, because of how they reacted to them seeing one another, JJ feels nothing but worry in the pit of her stomach. As she's talking to her mom, her eyes glance back towards her computer screen and catches JJ's eye, shooting her a quick wink. JJ's feels butterflies dancing in her chest and belly, and Jasira refocuses solely on her mom, again. When they're finished talking, Jasira looks back at her screen.

"Okay, my Bluejay, we finna leave so see you later." She says, and they say goodbye to one another. Jasira closes her laptop once the call has ended, packing up her laptop to go before her parents could rush her anymore.

Her father is outside, leaned against the passenger door with a black and mild between his lips, waiting for her, when she finally makes it out of her front door. At the sight of his daughter, he stands upright, opening the passenger door for her. She hurries, trying to be considerate of his time. He notices the quickening in her pace and squints.

"Slow down 'fa ya fall," he warns her, "Princesses don't rush, take ya time. Me and this car gon be here when you get here."

She smiles to herself, softly as she slows her pace like she was told. He takes long swigs from his black as she walks, wanting to finish the rest of it before she makes it to him. Sure, he doesn't want her to feel rushed, but they are on a time schedule; they can spare the few extra moments it will take for her to get to the car, but they can't afford to get pulled over. Which is exactly what will happen if he doesn't finish his black and mild; they'll accuse him of smoking a blunt. When she's closer, he's ashes what he has, not satisfied, but not dwelling. He holds his hand out for her to grab, and she easily takes his cue. He guides her into the car, waiting until she's settled and comfortable to close the door behind her. He walks arounf the hood of the car and gets in himself.

He puts a mixtape Jasira made him for Father's Day back in '98; she'd said it "captured his essence". He listened to it all the time, but especially if he was around her. When she heard the first few seconds of the beat, she smiled, recongizing it and thus the tape immediately. It helped her breathe easier, knowing he wasn't mad at her. They sang along to Curtis Mayfield's Pusherman together, and everyone now and again, she would feel him look over at him, but he wouldn't say anything. His mind was filled with thoughts about that young woman his daughter seemed to interested in.

He was never really one for telling his kids what to do, especially when it came to their love lives; had any of their mother listened to their own fathers, none of his miracles would exist. But, with Jasira, things were different. She wasn't the first child, the first daughter of his to go through trying times with a shitty partner. He had put his hands on a few men or their fathers and he'd held his sons as they lived through despair from a woman. His own big sister had been killed by her boyfriend, and still, with all that experience, nothing had, could have ever fully prepared him for the sinister nature of that damned Bryson Wallace. He carried a darkness within him that words didn't exist for, and his little girl had spent four years in the clutches of Satan on his account.

They'd only been broken up for what, nine or ten months or something like that. Maybe a full year now. He couldn't be sure exactly, but he knew it wasn't long. Not nearly long enough for him to be hearing about this mystery person who had captured all her attention. A pretty blue eyed lady, his little boy Jabari had mentioned, a pretty blue eyed lady that Shy talked to through her computer all the time. She did that, instead of having the dinner she cooked for them, like she used to. It surely did a lot to explain this newfound, two month old glow she carried all the time. It explained what he thought was a change in her ringtone, only to discover that it was only one specific number that rang to the tune of Brandy's Sittin Up in My Room. She'd been skipping Sunday Family Fundays or spending all of it, on the phone or hiding somewhere with her laptop. Few weeks back, she'd made a new mixtape, of love songs, reminscient of something a teenager would make for their first boyfriend or something. She's not said anything, but she don't have to. Nobody in the family is stupid, he sure as hell isn't stupid. Not when it comes to relationships.

He hadn't meant to go as hard on her as he did back in the house. It was just, he and Aurelie had been pillowtalking their worries for weeks. So, when they pulled up to the house, and the source of their worries was just right there, they reacted. No thoughts at all, just pure emotion, and he had tried his best not to do that. He was successful only about half the time, but he always tried to make up for his failures.

It was several songs later, when they reached the causeway that he reached over, turned his radio down.

She felt her stomach turn at the newfound silence. The slight turn shifts to full on nausea when she hears him sigh.

"Breakfast was good, I appreciate ya makin' it 'fa me." He says, easing into it conversation with her.

"It was the least I could do," she said, shrugging off the compliment, "I mean, you rented us a tour bus and hired us a driver, so.." she trailed off.

He shook his head, "Y'all don't never owe me shit. I'm ya daddy, I owe y'all everything. Me renting that bus is just me being ya daddy." She hummed in response. Her dad didn't really accept outward thank you's, so she wasn't going to argue with him. It was quiet for a beat before he cleared his throat and ask, "So, uh, about ya lil friend," he says, and it's her turn to wince. She opens her mouth to defend herself yet again, but he cuts her off, "Tell me about her." She looks at him, jaw falling a bit slack. He's so much calmer now, but she can see the struggle in his face. The struggle to be neutral, but he's trying. So, that means a lot. "What's she like? Whatchu see in her?"

"She's cool. She real laidback, even when she being funny. It's more witty than like goofy."

His eyebrows furrow as his forehead creases, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. He cuts her off, "What witty mean?"

She doesn't miss a beat, "Quick, keen intelligence. So, she's like real quick with her jokes and like clever. She makes me laugh. She pays a lot of attention to me. Like, she woke up so much earlier than she usually would to help me wake up on time today 'cause I was worried about it. She's really sweet. She listens to me, she lets me teach her stuff, and she don't treat it like I'm insulting her. She's got that strong, silent thing about her that I really like. She protected me from Bryce when we first met. "

"What she do for a living?" She hesitates. He repeats himself.

"Um, she does, like, press conferences and like, handles media stuff."

"She a journalist or sumn?"

She squints, "Uh, not exactly."

"So, what she do press conferences for?"

She lets out a soft hmph. There really is no way around this. Especially not since she actually gave him the number to the Quantico. She didn't tell him anything about her profession, as she was doing so, but he could just go over their heads to call and ask. Which wouldn't be optimal.

Shy was actually hoping for them to like her before she told them that she was a fed. She thinks they would get along, and she's in a season of life in which she wants to have fun and experience joy. She's been dividing her time between her family and JJ, which directly conflicts with the joy thing. Despite not having anything serious in mind, she's tired of sacrificing time with her family to sort of spend time with JJ, so she does plan on having JJ around everyone. It would just make things easier, for when JJ has time to come visit her.

That said, JJ is going to have to win people over, and to be honest, with Jasira's relationship history looming over everyone plus them having to come to grips JJ being white was going to be difficult enough a thing for JJ to go through, but to fight through that plus fight their perception of her on account of her being a Fed just felt crushing. It wasn't giving her a fair chance at all.

"For the FBI," she forces out, and her father swerves a little bit, unintentionally, before gaining control again. She pushes herself to continue, "But, it's not like that! It's, she," she finds herself stuttering because her father's grip on the steering wheel is so tight, Jasira fears his bones might rip through his skin, "She doesn't do, like, RICO charges and that type of stuff. She and her team travel around the country and chase serial killers, that's it."

All Jarelle hears is that she would know exactly how to murder his baby girl and get away with it. He also hears that she has the connections necesary to cover it up, and he fails at concealing his emotions yet again as he roars, "That 'posed to make me feel better?!" She jumps a bit at the tone and volume of his voice so he forces it down and sighs, shaking his head. "Ion know 'bout this, I think I needa just come witchu."

"You gotta trust me at some point, Daddy. I'm sorry that y'all have to deal with Bryce because of me, but I was so young when I met him." She says, knowing they're thinking of two different ages. But, 14 and 18 are both babies, so it applies, either way.

"You only twenty-two now. You still young as hell."

"I'm sayin' an experience like that teaches you stuff. It ages you. I can handle myself. If I'm right about her, you have nothing to worry about. If I'm wrong about, well then, if I can handle Bryce, I can handle her, and I will always call you."

He sighs, "I'm jus' sayin' that love carries a lot of weight, and it's a dangerous thing. I don't want you to fall in love so fast that you lose yaself all over again. Losin' yaself in somebody don't jus' look like whatchu was going through. It also look like you wakin' up one day and realizin' you living a life to please somebody else instead of whatchu actually wanted. I don't want you rushin' makin' big choices based on how you feel. I don't want you waking up twenty years from now, feelin' like you didn't experience shit 'cause you had that nigga then jumped straight into this and didn't look back."

She huffed, face palming as she shook her head. She picks her head up, "Who said anything about love? Why you thinkin' so deep into the future? I don't wanna rush either, and I'm not going to. I'm just havin' fun, and I think JJ is a lot of fun, and I feel safe when I think about her, when I'm talking to her. That's all. You make it seem like she's put a ring on my finger or something."

"Okay, if it's jus' fun then why you blowing ya family off?" He asks and she shrinks into herself in the seat because he's pulled her card with that one, "Or, what, you thought it was too many of us to keep track of each other to peep game. Kutty nem said you don't even much eat dinner with them like you used to, say you ain't took them out on weekends like you used to. Y'all jus' chill at the house and you be on Skype all day. That sound like courting. Sound like y'all building on somethin', don't sound like pure fun to me. But, if it's jus' fun, what's up with the CD?"

She thinks of the tape she's been playing in her car obsessively for the past couple weeks or so, but she shakes her head. "I don't know whatchu talkin' bout."

"You must think I'm Boo-Boo the fuckin' Fool," he says, releasing a sharp breath from his nose he checks his mirrors, turning onto Southern's campus, where the girls' are meeting up to get on the bus, "So, you gon sit over there and pretend that Ion know that you make CDs to express yaself instead of keeping a diary? You think we ain't peep that lil puppylove mixtape that you won't stop listening to? The one witcha lil bluejay drawing on it," and she winces at the mention of it. She hadn't even made that about JJ on purpose, it just happened. "Slow the fuck down, is all I'm saying. You jus got free. You had the perfect plan to be single and do you, do that. Stick wit it. You need that."

He doesn't say anything more as he parks the car, and neither does she. As soon as the car is out of motion, he gets out, not wasting any time. She waits for him to come around and open her door, and he does. It's the first thing he does, actually. He even waits until she's out and a few feet away from the door to close it before her, and it is only then that get goes to the trunks for her bags.

She takes a moment to collect herself before she puts on a bright, excited smile to approach her girls with. A smile that they eat up. Everyone is so hype for Nationals, and they're also so excited to see her dad. And, she pretends to be shocked that they try to show their appreciation for the bus by flirting with him, even though, she's fully expected them to do that, as often as she hears stepmom jokes from them. As her father tries to field through his popularity by feigning flattery and joking back with them, Jasira sneaks away from the noise and goes to explore the tour bus. She stakes claim on a lower bunk and takes the moment to plug in her laptop.

She sends a text to JJ to see if she's still awake. About an hour and some change has gone by, so she doesn't really expect her to be. But, she hopes. Still, though, she doesn't recieve a response, and off the clock JJ is a relatively quick texter, so she's sure she's asleep.

She turns over then, curling up and closing her eyes. She'a not even been awake long and she's already exhausted. Her mind is going ten miles a minute, and she just wants after thing to stop and quiet down. She can't wait until the competition starts. Literally just yesterday, the primary thing on her mind was dance. She yearns for that to take back over.

She doesn't know how long she's been in the bus before it's filled with the commotion. Above the joyous voices of her girls, she hears her dad calling after her. She sticks her arm out of her bunk and he walks over to it and bends down, sticking his head under the curtain she's hiding behind.

"I ain't tryna control you, Princess," he mutters, "I jus," he sighs, "I don't want you to go through whatchu went through twice, and with Vaughn being..." he tries shakes the unshakeable feeling of overwhelming sickness and despair that's been living in him since his son went missing, "You being in another state with somebody I never met is scary, knowing I can't always protect you fucks me up. I jus want you to be good."

"I know," she says, reaching for her father, lacing her arms around his neck. The hug is awkward, given their positioning, his chin is resting on her forehead and her face is uncomfortably in his neck, the tip of her nose against his Adam's Apple. He kisses her forehead. She mumbles, "Ima call you every day, and if you get Kutty to teach you how to use Skype then we can have dinner and you and Mommy can have a proper conversation with her."

He pulls back with a smile, "A'ight, now, Ima hold you to that. You miss a day, and Ima send an army. Call me when you make it to DC." He leaves one last kiss atop her head before closing the curtain and standing upright, straight out the slight strain in his back so he doesn't have to suffer the ache later on. He turns around to be greeted with an audience and flashes that charming grin of his. "Aight, y'all, Ima head out, good luck witchall's competition." He says, wiggling through the group of girls, gently removing hands frrom his torso that belong to his daughter's friends. Not wanting to offend them, but still wanting to not be touched by them. He ain't a young man anymore, and the attention they gave him was flattering to know he was still handsome, but it did make his skin crawl a little bit. "Gotta get home to my women."

"You want another girlfriend, Big J?" Monica asked, only kind of joking. She tells Shy she's joking about it all the time, but she knows deep down that if Shy's dad ever tried anything, she'd let him do whatever. So, that question from her makes Jasira stick her head out the curtain. She ignored most of their jokes, but Monica was.. Monica. She got around, and she wasn't above older men. She was fucking a professor older than her dad last year, and Jasira thinks they might even still hook up from time to time. Shy doesn't judge her for it, but it definitely makes those I wanna fuck your dad jokes a little less funny coming from her. She doesn't think her dad would stoop that young, especially not with a friend of hers, but she still feels a twinge of worry because it is Monica. Even aside from her history, she was fine as silk. Jasira doesn't like girly girls, really, but if she did, even she would go for Monica. And, her dad is a whore, she'd never had an illusions about that.

"Nah, I'm more than satisified with my two very grown women," he laughed, backing away from the young ladies, "Bye." And, Jasira gets completely back in her bunk. She falls asleep to the sounds of the girls gushing over her dad.

A few hours later, she awakes and the bus is just as loud as it was when she had fallen asleep. She reaches for her phone, dials JJ's number. It's about the time JJ would wake up for work on a regular morning. A little after, actually. So, she should be getting ready, but instead, the phone goes to voicemail, and Jasira has to call three more times.

When JJ finally answers she doesn't say any actual words, but she says no words but mumbles lowly into the phone. Jasira doesn't even revel how adorable she thinks she sounds because all she can think about is how it is her own fault that JJ has overslept. How, if she had just slept the whole night instead of worrying about her, she'd be awake already. So, calls JJ's name with a soft sterness and tells her what time it is.

On the other end of her phone, JJ's eyes shoot wide open. She grabs her remote, presses the guide button and looks at the corner of her screen, and shit. She's about twenty minutes behind her usual schedule. She doesn't even rememeber when she'd fallen asleep. The last thing she remembers is hearing short La-la-la of Daria's theme song.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," She grumbles, sandwiching her phone between her ear and shoulder as she hops up from the couch, dashing to the bathroom. "I'm gonna be late."

"I'm sorry," Jasira responds. Even though, JJ typically gets to work so early that even in her being late, she'll still technically be early. Closer to on time, but still early. Jasira hates that she's caused disruption to her schedule.

JJ stands upright, "Why?"

"You shouldn't have waken up for me. You would be on time, if you woulda just stayed sleep."

JJ frowns, shaking her head, "I thought we got past that. I wanted to wake you up, that was my choice. You don't have anything to feel bad about. Case closed." She grabs her tooth brush and turns the water on running her the brush under the water before pulling it out and running a strip of toothpaste over before putting it back in the water.

"But--"

JJ doesn't let her continue, "Case closed. I would do it all over again, for you. Even dealing with your father," and she starts brushing her teeth. Jasira doesn't say anything more because JJ often lets her have her way, but when she's set on something, she's really set. She doesn't even argue, it's just done. Not that it happens super often, but this is clearly one of those times, and Jasira doesn't really feel like she has much fight in her anyway. So, she just murmurs a nearly inaudible okay. JJ frowns at the sound of it, and rinses her mouth. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Something is. You're never this quiet."

"I," she's got their relationship or whatever this is on her mind, and she doesn't really think she's been completely clear about where she is mentally or what this is, what this can be. Everything this morning really pulled her back of the mind thoughts to the forefront, and a talk needed to be had between the two of them. She didn't think she could do it over the phone, though. "The gravity of this competition is really hitting me. This my last one ever. I'm just nervous about losing."

JJ rolls her eyes, fondly, "You're going to leave DC with a first place trophy, I am sure of it."

It makes Jasira smile. She opens her mouth to respond when her curtain is snatched open and she's met with the faces of Kyren and Christine. Christine stands up straight. "I told y'all, I told y'all when she woke up, she wasn't gon fuck wit us. She over here on the phone wit her lil boyfriend."

Jasira grits her teeth, "Not my boyfriend. Lemme talk on the phone in peace."

"Noo," Kyren whines, "This a girl's trip. You done already ruined our slumber party plan by going to stay with that nigga. So, this bus trip has to be all about us."

"Exactly, now hang up the phone." Christine demands, not really giving her a chance to do so on her own or deny the request, ripping the phone from her hands. "She'll see you when we get there, bye!"

"What is y'all's problem?" Shy huffs, swinging her feet over the bed. Kyren grabs one of her hands and Christine grabs the other, pulling her completely out of the bunk.

And, on the other end of the phone, JJ feels like she has whiplash. It takes her a minute, for a her brain to catch up so she just stands there, blinking slowly for a moment before actually setting her phone down and getting ready. After a few moments, her phone buzzes. She's got a text message from her girl, apologizing for the behavior of her friends. JJ accepts the apology with ease. It's not like she doesn't get it. She's not really spent any substantial time with her friends, either, since she and Shy started talking. Garcia's been whining into her into her voicemail for a while now, and Emily keeps asking if she's okay and telling her that she's there for her, a kind but unnessary gesture. She imagines Shy's been in a similar position. Plus, she is derailing their original plans, stealing their captain away from them. Leaving Jasira alone for the rest of her trip -- save for a few check ins here and there -- is really the least she can do.

She speeds through the rest of her routine, wanting to make a decent time still. She wears slacks and a dark blue button up with her hair pulled back today. She's not sure how late she'll be working tonight, and she doesn't want Jasira to first see her in a skirt, in the event that she leaves her job and goes straight to the hotel, which will be the likely event. The commute feels longer than usual. In part because of the silence that she was once accustomed to but isn't anymore, in part because she's already behind. She can only remedy one of those things so she presses play on her stereo, ushering in the beautiful melodies of the tape that Jasira had given her when they'd first met. It picks up somewhere in the middle. As she sings along while she drives, the commute seems that much quicker.

When she pulls into the parking lot, she pulls up next to Hotch and curses to herself before pulling her key out of the ignition. She's not much in the mood for conversation, with her coworkers in particular. It's part of why she tends to come in so early, so she doesn't have to engage with her team first thing in the morning. She wonders if she can wait him out, wonders if she doesn't call attention to herself and doesn't get out of her car, will he just get out and go inside before he notices her. She looks down at her watch, and unbeknowst to her as she does this, Hotch reaches over into his passenger seat for his briefcase and looks right at her.

When she picks her head up, checking to see if he's gotten out of his car yet their eyes to lock. She forces a smile to which he nods, politely before he gets out of his SUV. She hopes that the silent exchange would be the end of it, but it is a fruitless hope because Aaron lingers in the parking lot. She clenches her jaw upon realizing that she'll have to get out and speak; she drags her feet doing so. After she gets out and locks her car, she heads towards the building, and it is only then that he begins to head in the same direction, right along her side.

"Good morning," she says with her usual work friendliness.

"Good morning," he replies with his usual stiffness, "Late night?"

Her head snaps in his direction a bit too quickly, "I'm sorry?"

"You're tend to show up much earlier than I do, earlier than any of us."

She sighs, "Oh, right. Uh, yeah, I, uh, I guess I was more tired when I left work last night than I realized, and I slept through my first alarm."

"I have a deep respect for the amount of time you dedicate to your job. I admire how much you care," he says.

"Thank you, sir."

He continues his thought, "But, you don't have to put in as much time as you do. You're young, you should enjoy a night out some time. You don't want to wake up so deep into your career that you realize everything has passed you by."

"Oh, I don't mind the hours, sir," she assures him, "I have a good work-play balance, don't worry." She tells him and the conversation ends there, thankfully. The elevator ride is a bit uncomfortable, but it goes by quickly enough. The two of them go their separate ways upon reaching their office. She doesn't often hope for this, but she hopes that she doesn't find any urgent cases on her desk. At least, not any case that they would have to travel for. She can't think of a worse day than today to have to leave the state. She sits down at her desk with a sigh and immediately starts sifting through the files on her desk.

At some point, as she works, she glances up out of her window and sees Morgan and Prentiss coming in, laughing together. Her eyebrows furrow, not having realized that much time had gone by already. It makes her look at her clock. Seeing how much time has passed, exactly, makes her chew her lip. She wonders if now would be a good time to call Shy to check in. She doesn't want to disrupt her good time, so she sends a text instead.

Back on the back, the girls have not just awaken Jasira but completely turned her mood right side up and pulled her out of her shell. Monica's made them drinks strong enough to make the girls almost see double. The volume of the music does a damned good job of keep their driver on his toes. The tour bus has been converted into a full on party bus.

Jasira's bent over, hands on her knees, grinding against Kyren's pelvis; Karen's hands holding a healthy grip on Shy's waist while Leia waterfalls Monica's mystery concotion down Shy's throat. Jasira can't lie, she's missed this. Missed hanging out with her girls like this. She absolutely needed to be dragged out of her bunk and separted from her phone. With her father's words creeping back up in the back of her mind, she finds herself remembering all the times she's been invited out with them but ended up passing the chances by to curl up with her laptop with JJ on Skype. She's trying to think of how much of her has gone incongito over the past couple of months, and truthfully she hadn't realized she had devoted so much of her time to one person. She did need to slow down, and they do need to spend less time together.

"I missed y'all," she exclaims with a bit of rue in her voice, as well as a bit of a slur because they've been drinking for a while now. Pulling herself away from Kyren and sitting on the couch, it only then hits how dizzy the alcohol has made her. Aisha turns down the music a little bit before darting out to the kitchen area of the bus for snacks. Kyren sits on side of Shy, snuggling into her while Christine sits on the other side of her. The rest of the girls sit wherever they fit.

"I bet," Isabella says, "You been so wrapped up in that new boyfriend of yours, we don't see you at all outside of practice."

"And during, you distracted," Leia mutters, just over the music.

"I thought you was supposed to on ya hoe shit." Monica reminds her.

And she was. That was her plan. Not necessarily be all the way out there, but be open. That's what she was doing when she met JJ. That's why she fucked JJ. Well, it's why she was open to having sex that night; she was planning on it; she'd been trying to overcome her fear for sex for a few months. JJ was chosen, not just because of how she made her feel when they spoke, but because she was the complete opposite of him. Not even just energy wise, but visually. It wasn't even just about her being a girl.

She'd tried to sleep with other people before— girls, mostly —but every time, she'd feel heart pound in her chest so hard that it hurt, and when she'd search for eyes in the dark that weren't his, she'd see brown eyes and freak out. She found that it didn't matter who they belonged to sometimes. The eyes weren't the only hold up. If it wasn't that it was the similarities of their hair, their complexion, their physique. Bryce was everywhere when it came to intimacy, even when he was nowhere to be found. She'd been growing sick of it, but so many people that shared his complexion. She, as much as she loves men, also hasn't gotten to a place where she can even imagine having sex with them without her eyes tearing up, at minimum. There are so many things you can do with a woman, but with a man, there's just dick and trying to mentally disassociate penises from pain was difficult. She hates the stain Bryce has left on her, and how every (non platonic) interaction she has with a person reminds her of it.

JJ was the first person she found interest in where none of those physical reminders existed so she could actually go through with sleeping it. It was supposed to be a one time, conquer your fear of sex thing. But, then, they actually had sex and there was.. she didn't even know what. Everything felt so electric but also so comforting, so peaceful. The whole experience, felt like, a beautiful song. It was so strange. It made her understand the women in her life that much more. It made her understand why people centered so much of their beings around sexuality. If that was sex, it all made sense. Moreover, that magical feeling that JJ created within her didn't even just extend to sex. She felt it the morning after. She feels it every time they talk, that quiet storm of magic and comfort, of safety.

"I was," she says but corrects herself, "I am, but JJ is just so," she fails to find the words, "JJ makes me feel safe and we have a good time together. I got kinda caught up, but it's not like we together. I can still pull back a little bit."

"Right," Raynesha rolls her eyes, "You in the same single crew I'm in," referencing her relationship that isn't actually a relationship, but is just as restrictive.

Shy frowns at the comparison. Chuckie, the guy she's seeing, refuses to make her his girlfriend, so he can fuck everything under the stars, moon and sun but flashes out whenever she so much as smiles at another man. It isn't like that. Not that she gets a chance to defend herself.

"Since you already ruined this trip," Alicia starts.

"It's not ruined. Ima still be with y'all all day, damn."

"Since the trip is ruined," Alicia repeats, because the best activites were gonna be at night, anyway, "Don't let ya lil boyfriend ruin our travel plans after graduation."

Jasira kind of winces at their repeated use of the word boyfriend. They don't really know that she likes girls, and she's only ever referred to JJ by her name or Bluejay, mostly by Bluejay. She's not really sure how that would go over. Some of the girls have experimented, and she's fairly sure Kyren is fully lesbian and just hasn't accepted it. But, sometimes they say things that make her wonder if they would react to her genuinely liking women. So, she lets them continue to call her that until they get to the hotel. Aisha comes back to where everyone is carrying her weight in snacks.

"Bobby," referencing their bus driver, "says we finna stop for gas soon." Aisha tells them.

Jasira gets up, realizing that a considerable amount of time has passed. She stands a bit too fast because she almost can't find her footing. But, Kyren steadies her.

"Where you goin?" Nique asks her.

"I'm finna go update my daddy," she says because she knows it's an answer they'll accept. It's also the truth. She just has to text JJ first.

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ NEXT CHAPTER

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ TABLE OF CONTENTS

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━ PREV. LONG DISTANCE

#CHAPTERS #RO PRESENTS: UNDER THE NEW ORLEANS STARS #jennifer jj jareau #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau x oc #jennifer jareau x fem!black!oc #jennifer jareau x black!oc #jennifer jareau x fem!oc #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #jennifer jareau x reader #jennifer jareau x fem!reader

[wanderingaldecaldo]

I have written 1000 words in less than twelve hours. 🫠

With one hand she tilts Myers’s head to the left for better access, her fingers lingering on the soft skin and downy hair at the base of her neck. Her eyes move to the mirror to see her face in the reflection. She is still focused on V and holds her gaze. The smirk is gone, replaced with a look that she can’t decipher but it makes her stomach churn. She looks back down at her hands on the president’s neck. “Might sting. Need to get in there and clean it out.” Myers grunts and V takes that as a signal to proceed. The wound has stopped seeping but it hasn’t started to close yet. V squeezes a few drops of rubbing alcohol into the gash, and Myers immediately sucks her teeth but says nothing, and her eyes squeeze shut in the mirror. Her left hand still cradles Myers’s neck, and she can’t help the way her thumb trails across the tender skin in a soothing caress. With her other hand, she carefully dabs at the wound, gently pulling the skin back so she can clean the dirt from inside. Between the crash and the tromp through the sewers, there’s no lack of opportunity for infection, and V’s not about to let the president leave her care in such a state. She can feel the muscles tense under her fingers as she probes the wound. She looks up at the mirror to check on Myers and finds grey eyes waiting for her. “Doin’ alright?” she asks softly.

#rosalind myers #madame president #valerie vermilion #milfguard #myers x v #aka president's merc au #wlw ship #cannot stop thinking about soft moments for ros #esp after the day she's had #cyberpunk fanfic #cyberpunk 2077 #phantom liberty #wash's writing

[danyayeni2]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖๋ ࣭ ⭑ — Do you remember?

Soft Yandere! Platonic! Scarlet Orozço x GN! Reader

⟡ The family doesn’t want you to leave, so they give you a small, vague reminder on what happened to you. ⟡

⋆˙⟡ Scarlet Orozço is my oc, also this is basically a mini Drabble, just an fyi! ^^ ⟡˙⋆

⋆˙⟡ Anyways, I hope you enjoy! ⟡˙⋆

Anyways, sometimes I imagine that during a capulet party, where everyone is distracted, Y/N tries to run from this crazy family, but at the end of the corridor, they see a shadow shaped like the devil, and smells cigarette smoke, and they realize that not *all* are distracted. 

      And so, the devil asks, “What are you doing here? We have an extravagant party out there. Do you not like it?” And Y/N replies, “I-I like it! I like parties-“ “Then what don’t you like? Is it the noise? I can get Valentine to turn it down for you.” “No, it’s just-“ “Is it the colors? Oh, I knew we should’ve went with pink and gold. Or, blue, and silver?” “No, it’s not the colors, it’s-“ “It’s the fact that you want to leave, don’t you?” 

And he walks closer, and it’s like sparks erupted each time his shoes clicked on the marble floor. “I know what you want, Y/N. But, I’m afraid we can’t have that happen! You’re very precious to us, and we don’t want you hurt, and-“ “Scarlet, enough”, Y/N commands, “I know it’s you. I know you want me to stay.” And sure enough, Scarlet shifted into her own form. “So why won’t you? You can have everything you want! And we all love you!” “You love me, but you won’t free me!” “For a good reason!” Scarlet held up her hands to calm Y/N down. “Look, you’re being targeted! If you’re not here with us, you could be in severe danger! And you know we’d protect you!” “But I’m not! Everyone in Verona likes me! And even if they didn’t, it’s not like they would show it!”

“Mhm, maybe. But what about the other mafias? And, I don’t mean the Montagues. I mean the Gambinos. The Maranzanos. They like nice people too! But they don’t treat you like how we do. In fact, you interacted with one of them, right? The one Alonso and Petrucchio saved you from?” “..mhm.” “Now, you were so sweet! You even helped them! And, how did they retaliate? Surely not nicely, right?” “..no.” “Exactly! But us? We’d never hurt you! We only care for you!” Scarlet walked closer to Y/N and caressed their face. “We love you, Y/N. We love you dearly, okay?” “..Yeah.” And with that, Scarlet smiled, kissed her cheek, and took off her boyfriend’s black and white-striped blazer, and put it over Y/N with a smile. “Now, shall we party? Or, do you wanna stay here?” “We can party.” “Good girl!”

#romeo + juliet 1996 #rambleslol #Scarlet Orozço #Scarlet Orozço x reader #tw yandere #soft yandere! Scarlet #romeo and juliet 1996 #ro #romeo + juliet #demmie’s fics #Demmie’s fanfics

[violettashinekotlcfan]

Im a huuuuuge fan of Keeper of the lost cities and team Foster-Keefe, and i found this fanfic: "After unlocked a SoKeefe fanfic", it's by "soccerbadger" (on wattpad) and it is sooooooooooo goood!!!!!! It's written sooo beautifully!!!! The plot twists, team Foster-Keefe moments and everything is just🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻🤌🏻

So yup, I HIGHLY RECOMMEND THIS FANFIC!!!!!!!!!!♡♡♡♡♡

#kotlc keefe #kotlc funny #fosterkeefe #kotlc #kotlc stellarlune #keefe and ro #kotlc ro #kotlc fanfic #kotlc fandom #kotlc fanart #kotlc shannon messanger #kotlc sophie #kotlc sokeefe #sokeefe #keefe sencen #sophie and keefe #sophie foster #keefe #incorrect kotlc quotes #kotlc incorrect quotes #k€€fe x $o₱hi€ #keeper of the lost cites fanart #koltc #team foster keefe #keeper of the lost cities