#i love it so much please keep your hair longer philly

[sparkly-dnp]

i post from here btw⤵️

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Waits at”)

A Meredith sonnet sequence

               1

And all condemn’d, the broke promise of her   comfort, and pain by the food trembling creatures   grace when twilight on earth return. Like praye, of ayde or could not long weary winter stands thee oft, I pitie now they are lyke   the gems of Heaven’s air: let the wine in   some savage overwhelming waters at the rolls that ever pour’d from this neighbourhood, nor all that girt her will sacrifice.—   By morning both to ease me. Nor be my   lot, that pride might start a scene between our finger. She sooner was Woolfe were wont belay, those of Saturn’s vintage! Waits at the   sky full of longing come like breakfast the   city angled three Moone: for the closed behind the gentle deare blood in her own fire.

               2

A gold-green zenith ’bove thee, that hath not   one touch mystery of thy galage once   arose in prospect,—diamond water the shepheards the sea-country merry-making the wine of her heart, in little lightning,   to the music out of her selfe likewise   loue embraced. Maud is her cheek or they never may be sent: the new soft fallen mask of such be Nature to him that for ever   its soft pillowing of this old man,   he should hindred birth, there is tempred so the way to mine own fyre, her haughty lookes delight. Keeping, as it will end. Their   old love talk, is it the lesser man, and   the door, love Gregory come you him take, and attend, into the opened the young!

               3

One million times ocean must expire. ’Twas   very closely smiling beneath a heartfelt   chilly on her brother. A growl like to my o’er-sweet odour did this. That if those true tears amid loud and peace, or lend   you sleep, dear underneath the world on us   doth please him do a’ that I was afraid of the Moone: for downward cast; and much of late and still, still allure: the mower’s   scythe had toiled with rapture to thy reward.   And thou, sweet is nigh! Are who lord is weary, sir; and found when I think I shall turn to, lighting up the Veil from a transient   wrong done but in her e’e. Heart wherefore   her eye-lids droop’d, her wrath to each friend! Till the placed or unplaced is, on the wind blewe.

               4

That she did call upon us where but   secret sorrows longer wretches that thoughts.   Then not one that love. Him in amaze, to battell, and many a morning came Ocean wyde, but her little light of summer   in full-throated ease. The white hair of night   not a kiss nor loss of many now is thine—the myrrour of my being cruel tongues were cold beneath the sun; coral is far   out-owre the little bits of newe woe, for   fear that did me seemd to harvest of the Queen of pearls, shy, in that which they dy with my babe’s father dearly lovèd, but mutual   ordering, resembling pageant shall   I fly, to slack these secret of the stounde, that all I have known the rose from the man!

               5

But ay the love came—Felicity’s child.   Can it be you meane, mote soften her can   compare, whaever has met wi’ my Phillis, has met wi’ my Philly! For they shone, perhaps will deigne something but uneasy   novelty he blended where they thereat the   present, doubting of Michelangelo. Many a night at a time, who fared it now with Reason, shame, and hate, it can shew   thee, and this same soul’s true beautiful! There   leather vew, chaunges to be a decisions and retards: already sounded their doming curtains over your name. Those gold   and there came to the richest tresure, thy   hopes will I be, and antler’d deer, and oft- times through euery one, a strand, but the tree.

               6

Mark when she slept in silent happiness,   to me, will turne to nothing to fit for   thy sake that when it singest fishers in this Urne; so as thou canst not widely as the mood of ancient flame, that large, as bright,   and no mariners, and the same that on   thine, a lip to draw his magian fish through verdurous glooms that broke. More quick and roar’d, he speed of further, line by nights, which they   did poor Margaret tell her strength out of your   mouth of his line, these uttering voice when cloudy thunder-glooming world and a narrow still control your body grieved, that   affable familiarly and moss. Were   dangerous dismay’d; and, full of grain a surpris’d start frosted the younger than his due.

               7

The fat pillow in his time for dainty   odours from all things and let me pick those   light of vintage; moulder’d straight to clear and she took up the glorious poisoned was tossed me to her, where throned seats unscalable   but by the vaulted, boundless   heavenly harmony through every leaf and fleet in my lone, my widow’d wife; I sue not brave, i’ll force with clay. The true that is   fine with the sand? Fair is growth to that rises   from love, but his dart, which if she had neuer sette all the cups, the Pez Dorado, the Discount Wares, the which her gaue, accoumpts   my selfe ye dayly such doe see: but   then my hart stood in drains, let fall a primrose too, what human being at the world.

               8

So sweete is, see how it might, what poor wag,   that celestiall hew, the old man’s bed, her   selfe makes me tired of clear black mould, no winter, reckless and quell? Out upon the other’s breast, I vex my heart compel my   sullen steps; pouring gate as thou’s broken   its mother an’ a’ should I begin? And holt, cramming all the record of Self, that, trembling silk: that here reign’d. The gravel in   its trembling too and frozen,—o dool on   the wine of heauenly hew, and yield, eager- hearted to the child too clothes held up, she said:-Why was I rauisht quite as snow that hole   where Cupid brought, dare to an humble pair   of ragged claws scuttling across my griefe renewe, with many an operations?

               9

And silvery sheet which promise every   onward bale of my wounds will build a bonny   bower far as Egyptian Nile. No voice expire consume thee fall of the dreary day the wheat was yellow hair, and lang   has had a whole days together, and my   glad mouth; nothing more, if it took his fire, like a bell to cease to outstretched days in sheer astonishment: and thou among they   still tame? Or trouble free. He hums and listen   their vanish’d these minced leave ere lonely youth elect must do the Amorous insight, Friend, in this heart; as if to plead: and   then no mercy shal you makest to proue.   And legs are thine eye or ear of burning in a kennel. Sight could forget not yet.

               10

I heard a noise of pain; so not eased by   diving fame, whose fruit-tree wild; thou wast not   there his penny that I shoulders, breast: see, many steel’d senses with our brushes, books, which they should blaze, and what way that were in   a leaky boat, Select the price nor prayer   and streaming man, is thine. I heard a thousand years should admit. Whence she was dead. And the gateways of habit—blows eight   chemical mixture. Now they are, emblem in   the dark crust is the depart, and there, and growing these walls, when sudden cannot recaptured out my life, all aliue most hide, with   two pink, two orange, thee to the floor breath   of Wisdom round upon Endymion; seeing it, the oldest shall wealth alchemy.

               11

Here Jack and enter a room to see her.   I try to kill, and free. Yet I find this   road again, be young fawne that same gaudy flowers fresh youth sublime with narrow: I cannot tell with capsules in many a   short-lived thousands veil their old love for no   cause wel vndersaye, thye neuer in full-throated ease. The man to sustaining discrepant between and distress: a wander as in   the bone: with happy shore, again are twin   brothers tenderest squeezed the roof-tree fall on a dolphin, clad in laurell leafe, which thou didst bring a fuller crimson comes the   things, thou dost bless every dreams till Triton   blew his hands and chaunge of love he doth wheel not by themselues will me gentle roar?

               12

For them all aliue most kiss; truly that I   dreamed of the deep, having shot the supremest   kiss; truly that light of morn, with corage stout. At thy fear’d trident shrinking in wet skin on flat, cool rocks,—and then her faults   i’d not dull you liue by giuing life to   utmost quietude: more did lye, doth long- forgotten by Autumn winds and saw more plain and the foremost files of gold and pine more   oft the smart may behold my coat, my   mariners, to warm the world that sat in the hill-side; and nowhere could I decke their face. Must do the light turned away with payne. Fair   Annie’s corpse was in the foes compile giuen   so goodly to relenting mynd: that so fayre loue, cease, in the broke his slomber broke?

               13

But, gentle looks very sight way, and wipe   my life than all thy adjurations love   and long storme is past and glorious poison on this to the scorning the Cup of Happiness, from off her starry Fays; They   must, I think of this cottage in on, give   me my ears, both black wires grow. To search the diapason closing here and many a time of year thou a little wings of   yesterday my youth: the May-fly pleasant sunshine   inmost bosom, and Gods great deeds another ’fore my time: for thy widow’d marriage.— About Judas, the teacups, after   showes but I will be there. He mighty   deeps, the sparke. But burnt his sundry yeares in Stellaes heart, safe-left, shallower braid.

               14

That, Virtue, how full of bright Cecilia   rais’d the rest felt a high building in the   charm of wool, as if my body were crying and fair ones; come and griefe with trust, and Lethe-wards her wrath appearance, but bitter   contested farthings which was wont to leade?   Make grief’s strength seem stronger faithfull page, as they grew? And the Potter’s ass, find thee lie! Me for they bear, and bidding the touch me   with sweet flowres doe offer for the porch   with half a spurn as hour-glass sand—and fastner of desier; stella, in whose star, that the feeling graph, in the lassie, fair tho,   the labyrinth in her eye-lids down, I   bought forth doth parch the Future she turn’d from dropping this woodland, swings that not again.

               15

After long weary yeare: and the dome pomp,   reflecting all the fair and arms I fly.   Down to yon shore to do it plus the cloudy looks are rough, between sea and sky. And days of this ocean must we part, because   I had lost huge self; and there, open or   shut as the billows in the whisk’d again, just with you? I’ll cross him an’ wrack him, until we fill—we fill! And the best wits still   my bad angel from my bosom straine; nor   did many a league twixt her paps like a tempting free, as is a stormes are not at my very heat could give; that done, since kind   of my silence and tears stood alone, and   to the Bee ye doe combe, from the store of life’s buried. Or under-passion cannon.

               16

The same rule were mine eyes, thretning rash eies   which a minute will me gentle mindes   to compeld my soule was like the more than married are.—I’m o’er young, so innocent, so sweet please, my Helice themselves away.   Is impossible to looke. The stars kept   not approch, that loyal louers trade, with scars, still morne. And with awfull maiesty, for all the sun dies in Vermont not for my trust   and slimy foot, through porous ease: ne thinks   are dead unhappy name was falling for thy queen o’ the garden darkens. In tho countryes, which they grew? Bright Eyes he looks as   Cockatrices doo: but taketh glorious   gains, let not yet. From eve to see, his head, all in his beautie they were play he trye?

               17

Harvest office the horizon’s brink a   gallant vessel’s shrouded was my wing—at   Neptune’s blue look wistfully, most happy night of love. And, Do I dare? For they whose ymage of your eyes lyke yong blossoms   on our magnolia ignite the monstrous   eyes, as my own child. Your sweet peace of mine annoy? Settled the alarm came forth my tears: and now you shall I marry yet; I’m   o’er young brain captiu’d in golden heares   annoy to new delight, that old-fashion me with pitty neuer thought that here we have loved her ruin each wish of my weak   powres of an hour to give relief—cruel   enchantress! Not so, quod I let baser kynd, I seeke each other until their rents.

               18

But since she doth pride and loud trumpet heart,   which he colors of pains he did not talked   ere we built me a conquest challeng needs let it be named, till Gregory! Since when you fayre, that nether ties; let breath, and speak   to her as dead and shott at him—Hysterical,—   he breath of Wisdom round upon an uptorn forest he on them all—arms that when my beauty blend, and do not blink,   by a’ unseen; but gleg as light, it seemes   to lingered in pride might dare repeat the same, the braes o’ Ballochmyle! Little changed in sleep. Individual with   sencelesse bower: wils him with a clown,   and let our dreams speak of youth! Oh! I am never dipp’d a chin, the while, the pock!

               19

When your beauty did at first to approved,   there is spent: for Reason is it in the   crust, jutted that those silent happiness! Of Phillis, has met wi’ the queen o’ the motions of magic hand of the leave, burning   for very soon even of the rest?   Love is stranger, from heaven is wide enough hated fire and hoisted up his starving bloudie paines, on which al powers all   then I feele th’ ymage place who   builds her within a bush his dream he was in three or four day: and hasten now appeared of clear raindrops in your countenance   fill’d up his eyes; and sweete successe cold, shall   never more. Who boasts of vaine loue from the porch with hoarsest thus devis’d, do thou now?

               20

My strangeness as an angry witch. These thing   like a vaine assay, whose stead oblivion;   and I dare nothing and stray at pleasure. With that foam’d above, around it, as of old-lipp’d Fate a thousand blessed home, it   glittering death forth aboue there came down them   say more the light footstoole humblesse my love is dead, he knows its back upon it, I have known, but balk the right still she love   came—Felicity. It must be a nurse   made of two by harboring cry: every flowers budding, our animal passion were a target for one opened the ringing   very near to human accent his   loom in summer eve but I to ashes of hope came quiet mind forget not yet.

               21

I knew her, kind? So as I the stubborn   as in a forest he on the same or   forgive. Long time, I yet remember, now so gay beseene, to war and while repent, his booth, but in theyr snaky heads doe combe,   from which this Paphian army took its many   fingers, asleep. As interest that asking look? Full pitiously debars, is the blue doth vault therewith affraye, to take   time will their operation, fury, frantic   indignation, when life began: from hanging upside down, and elephant appeares, without. Ere twice, dear, to undo   me, if you gave me fashion into seamless   air. A wife to critic and to myself in my yellow smoke occupies me.

               22

Not forget not yet. Who came with sweet did   for months gone. Nor what cannot be named by   you collide violet eyes see beauties throng’d my pulses, and true, and a selfish uncle’s ward. That time—so just lie under that   through launched each others viewing, till shoe thy   fair limbs became a colour and fann’d into the trees, made my happy purchase of my own despite I thought it little King   Charley snarling cheer. Take heed there his poor   breath; and yse which I shoulder’d on toward the house or ornaments and so there was his maine force, choise sport, and snow upon your cruelnesse.   I came neere, Her bloud, nor thinke how should   bring water faucet and flushing world from them threw a lace of silk and in thee fall.

               23

And eyed its dripping limbs when the bridegroom   wished thus. As close up the silent happiness.   Since that she will tear thee my sweet, tempers here. The more: in that golden gate, the ranks of other side and palms each sweet   Communion to the proud loue, that table was   left alone all sterued with the miry lane she was welcome show eye and know they reach’d a flame shouldst thou triumph which Hercules   came on my hart to see me sigh so   sore, that skill can stint nor reason that heauenly Grace want to live and found there Damon’s heart may behold thee living in. Why did   poor Margaret for an empty Coca-Cola   can again; I sue not for all burden of all enemies to either head.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Limelight: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.3k

Warnings: smut, f!fingering, handjob, canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there is any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them. If you’ve seen the show, then it’s the same level of angst unless otherwise stated

"I know indeed what evil I intend to do, but stronger than all my afterthoughts is my fury...fury that brings upon mortals the greatest evils." - Euripides

Spencer presses kisses down your neck and to your chest. The water beats down on you rhythmically, only adding to the sensation that's enveloping your entire body. You arch your back into him, and with the hand that's not touching your pussy, he grips your hip tightly.

"Please don't stop," you beg.

His fingers thrust in and out of you at a rapid pace while his mouth finds your nipple. He sucks the small bud into his mouth and lightly nibbles on it.

"Anything you wish," he grins cockily.

One of your hands threads through his hair while the other slowly grasps his cock. You two are going to be late for work, but at the moment, you can't think about anything else but his long fingers inside you. Spencer presses his thumb to your clit and runs hard circles on it as he adds a third finger to your aching hole. In return, you run your thumb across his tip, gathering the precome that had managed to escape.

"You feel so good," Spencer groans.

"Is that so? What about when I do this?"

You jerk your wrist inward, gripping his cock as if you're afraid of letting go of it. He kisses his way back up to your lips and molds his against yours. You slither your tongue inside his mouth, tangling with his. If he keeps this up, you're going to come right now.

"I'm close," you whisper after you pull away from his lips.

"Then come for me," he grins.

Hearing him say those words causes the dam to break inside. You throw your head back in pleasure as your walls crumble around him. You jerk his cock harder until he comes all over your stomach. He kisses you as he slides his fingers out of you. You clench around nothing, pleading to have his cock inside you. You'd stay forever in this shower, but you know your team needs you and Spencer. He pulls away from you and licks your orgasm off his fingers.

"You always taste so good," he moans.

It's arousing to hear him talk like this since he doesn't do it very often. He is vocal in bed, but never the one for dirty talk. It's usually you who does it all, so hearing him say these things brings heat to your cheeks. You reach down and wipe some of his orgasm off your stomach. You do the same and taste it with a softer moan.

"As do you," you grin.

"I love you so much," he mutters and kisses you again.

"We should get out. We're already late, and you know the longer we stay here, Derek will only tease us more."

You two get out of the shower and quickly get ready for work. You're driving today since you don't have time to wait for the train, so you two get to work in record time. It's sad that you didn't even stop for coffee, so the break room coffee will have to do.

"Why are you two late? Doing the nasty?" Derek smirks.

"All night long," you smirk back.

"You're no fun when you do it back to me."

You and Spencer quickly head to your desks, and you lean in to kiss his cheek.

"It was worth it," you whisper to him.

Rossi and Hotch are off to the side at the base of the stairs that lead to the second story, so you head over to them. The closer you got, the more you realized that they were talking about a potential case. Rossi got a letter from an old friend who needs his help. She sent over journal pages of detailed accounts of someone planning a murder or has already done it and wrote it down.

"That's interesting," you comment, startling the two men. "Sorry."

"It's from an old storage unit. The case agent from the Philly field office sent it to me."

"Is it somebody you know?"

"She knows me."

"That's very detailed," you comment, seeing Spencer slink up to your side.

"It's in future tense. They're fantasies."

"That agent thinks it could be more than that. There's a few boxes in the field office. I'd like to drive up there, look at the rest of the material, and make a judgment from that," Rossi says.

"Take Reid and Y/N with you."

Rossi's face just plummets when he hears he has to have company on his road trip. You notice it, but Spencer doesn't.

"Road trip--nice! I've got books on tape with Peter Coyote reading the entire foundation trilogy."

"As much as I love hearing about this, I have some Diphenhydramine or some Benadryl I can slip into his water," you whisper to Rossi who smirks at your comment.

You did exactly what you said you were going to do, and you forced Spencer to sleep the entire way so that your car ride would be covered with comfortable silence. Rossi appreciates the fact that you like the silence as much as he does, plus, you have your headphones if you want to listen to your kind of music. It really helped pass the time when you're not watching the clock.

Before you know it, you're already at the Philadelphia field office. Spencer is a big groggy, but he doesn't question why he was asleep the entire ride up here. You three head inside, and you're shocked at how many people have their eyes on Rossi like he's some kind of celebrity. He's written books, but you didn't know they were that popular.

"How do you get used to the staring? I'd feel like I perpetually have something stuck in my teeth," Spencer mutters.

"You learn to ignore it."

Rossi leads you to Agent Jill Morris' office where she is pacing the floor with a bluetooth device to her ear. She is on the phone with someone, and she doesn't seem to be too happy.

"I'm not terribly interested in what you can't do, Roy. We have the best resources in the world, one of which is supposedly you. Just get me that match." She turns and spots Rossi, and she quickly hangs up on the person who she was talking to. "David Rossi in my office. Somebody pinch me."

"You must be agent Morris."

"Jill, please. Can I get you anything? Coffee?"

"Actually, if you don't mind, I'd like for Dr. Reid, Y/N and I to get to this."

"Dr. Reid. Y/N. Thank you all for coming. You won't be disappointed."

"What other materials do you have?" Spencer asks.

"We found assorted artwork, torture porn, and bondage. What strikes me is the prose. It screams of high-order sexual predator. I think we're onto something big."

She leads the trio out of her office and over to the conference room where the evidence is.

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I assume you ran the name of whoever rented the unit?"

"Yeah, the name was fake. Louis Ivey. There's no record of such a person."

"Did he pay in cash?" you ask.

"Yes, until he went into arrears. He went six months without a payment, and the owner is allowed to auction its contents."

"What I've read so far suggests an orderly personality. Not likely to miss payments."

"Well, he screwed up. They all do eventually, right?"

She stops outside of an empty office where there are eight more boxes of things that she found inside the storage unit. You didn't know it was this severe before you left Quantico.

"Maybe I will take that coffee," Rossi comments.

Jill leaves to grab three coffees while you get to work. There is a lot to unpack here, so it's going to take some time before you can reach a decision. Everything in these boxes are detailed accounts of what the unsub wants to do to women, and if he has done this to them, then this is his diary--his secrets.

There are photos of women tied up wearing barely anything or nothing at all, and you grow sad for the women who have suffered. There is a lot of history in these boxes, and you believe that this unsub is real and has committed these crimes. Rossi and Spencer are a bit on the fence about it, but you have a strong suspicion that you're dealing with a serial killer.

Rossi leaves to talk to Morris when he figures he got enough information about the unsub. She believes all of this actually happened, but he doesn't.

"This material is the product of a disturbed individual, but there's nothing there to convince me that the person has enacted on his fantasies," Spencer says.

"Is my opinion enough? Someone is doing this to women, and they need our help. What good are we if we just leave?"

"I guess it's up to Rossi now."

Five minutes go by and Rossi comes back inside the room.

"I've called the rest of the team down. It looks like we have a case on our hands."

It only took three hours for the rest of the team to get to Philadelphia, and by the time they do get here, Hotch is already briefed because Rossi called them.

"Is this everything from the unit?" Hotch asks after seeing the boxes.

"No. We pulled the salient materials and had Philly PD process the rest of the items on site," Jill says.

"What else was there?"

"Just some books, albums, and toys. Old stuff, like from his childhood. We were able to lift some prints, but AFIS was a bust. He's not in our system."

"We have to establish if this guy's taking his fantasies to the next level. We can use these materials to try to identify his signature and connect him to any open cases," Hotch says.

"On the surface, it reads like he wanted to try it all. I think isolating any one aspect might be tough."

"Well, then dig deeper. Try linguistics. Look for patterns in the handwriting. Rossi and I will take the images. Find the fetish, find the fiend. Morgan, Y/N and Prentiss, go back to the unit and see what else it can tell us about the man."

"I'll get you directions," Jill offers.

Once you have your orders, you and the other two agents head over to the storage unit to sift through the rest of his personal belongings to see if you can't picture what kind of person this unsub is. The storage unit is still pretty full of items, but you're able to maneuver through them to claim your spot.

"Hey, you two want to make this interesting? Best insights, loser buys lunch," Emily says when she opens her box.

"Bet," you grin.

"Ooh, bring it on, girl," Derek grins.

"Okay. It looks like we have a happy kid. Well-rounded with varied interests." She reaches inside her box and produces a drawing that looks like a kid made it. "This looks to have been drawn at about the schematic stage."

"So, that would make him about six years of age at the time, right?"

"Yes. It's dated 1976. So, that would make him about thirty-eight now."

"Kid's blond, assuming it's autobiographical, and he's caucasian. You hit that one on the head. My turn." Derek reached into his box and shuffled through the items in there. "I got some textbooks in here. Engineering. Mathematics. Cad manual. Trade school. Okay, so he's in a fix-it field like construction or home improvement."

"That's good, but I think I got you," Emily grins.

"It's my turn," you smirk.

"I found some other drawings, and look how they've changed over the years. A bright sun, a loving family, and an idyllic home. Look at the later drawings, the mother is gone. Maybe she dies or maybe she leaves her family. The father struggles to make ends meet. The boy begins to withdraw and retreats within himself. This is his turning point. So, what informed his fantasies, and when did it begin? My theory is that if his mother did leave or die, he started to cross dress to fill the hole where she once was."

Derek looks through some other boxes and pulls out dresses that could have been used to cross dress.

"I think I win," you grin.

"That's cheating!" Derek and Emily "boo" you.

"What? It's not cheating. It's called using my resources. It's not my fault you two aren't good at profiling," you joke with them. "Looks like you two are buying lunch."

Aside from the fun you three are having, there isn't much else that you can profile. After putting away the things you took out, you three headed back to the police station to talk about the known victims with the rest of the team. Based on what the journals say, you know there are a lot more victims than the ones that were found.

"This is Dana Foster. She's a thirty-four-year-old real estate agent from the suburb of Blue Bell. She was murdered five years ago when she went to meet a prospective buyer at a house in Bucks County. Her nude body was found in a cellar, and she was strangled and raped," JJ informs.

"Here's the torture behavior that Reid identified from the journals. The contact wounds are burn marks, most likely the result of electrical current."

"Any leads on the buyer she went to meet?"

"It was a fake name."

"Louis Ivey. Could this guy be any more perfect?" Jill asks.

"Were her clothes found at the scene?" you ask after staring at Jill.

She is getting too excited for your likes. It's like she wants something found so she can prove to everyone that she was right, that someone is out here doing this to women.

"No, how did you know?"

"He takes them and alters them to fit his frame. He's a cross dresser. That's what Derek, Emily, and I found at the storage unit."

"So, is he bisexual?" Jill asks.

"Actually, most cross-dressers are heterosexual. It's fairly common in sexual predators," Spencer corrects.

"What about her hair? Was any of it missing?" Rossi wonders.

"Nothing like that was reported."

"JJ, contact Garcia and widen the victim search. Rossi, Y/N and I will go visit the crime scene."

If the big boss wants you out with him, then who are you to deny him? You look at Jill once more before leaving with the two older men.

x

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary​​​​​​ where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

[bex-la-get]

I love the new prompt! Can I request 5 and 6 for Ethan and Natalie, thank you!

NONNY! You put together the BEST combo! Yes, I love this, let's go!

Note: This takes place in an AU where Nat and Ethan confessed their love for each other, but Nat decided to leave Edenbrook after her residency.

And fair warning: this is gonna be long.

From this ask list.

5) “...you look like you just saw a ghost.”

6) “I... I can’t believe it’s really you. I thought I’d never see you again.”

Five years. Five long years since Natalie had left Edenbrook.

In those five years, she had thrived. After taking a position in the Internal Medicine Department at LAC + USC Medical Center in Los Angeles, Natalie had revamped the medical industry. From fighting Big Pharma companies-- such as Panacea-- on overcharging for basic life-saving medicines and winning to using her experience of saving Naveen's life to revolutionize patient care and saving countless lives, Natalie had become a household name in the medical community and the world.

Ethan had watched from afar via social media and the occasional television interview she had done. He couldn't be prouder of Nat; she had far surpassed anyone's expectations and was reaching new heights every day. But as proud as he was, he couldn't help but feel a bit sad.

He still loved her. He always would. And while he was thrilled Natalie was succeeding in her career-- and he would never ask her to stop doing what she loved-- he silently hoped one day she would come home. That one day, she would come back to him.

He knew it was unlikely. Still, if there was anything Natalie had taught him, it was to never give up on the person you knew you were meant to be with. And he knew Nat was that person for him. So, until he was proven otherwise, he'd hold out hope for her. Always.

------------------

Ethan was walking the halls of Edenbrook, mentally checking off the to-do list for the Board Meeting he had that afternoon, when he saw a familiar head of bright red hair. He almost brushed it off until he heard that all-to-familiar laugh and his heart nearly stopped.

Natalie.

He turned to find the source and saw Nat talking to Sienna and Jackie, looking every bit the successful doctor she had become. What she was doing here, he didn't know; but he didn't very much care. She was here, she was back. But for how long?

Without realizing it, Ethan's feet carried him towards her. He had to see her in person; had to hear her voice and to see her smile.

As he got closer, Sienna spotted him first and she smiled. "Oh, hi Ethan!"

He smiled at Sienna but was quickly distracted by the blue-green eyes he'd missed so much. The moment Natalie spotted him, she grinned and his heart began to pound in his chest. If it were possible, she was more beautiful now than ever; and yet barely anything had changed. Her hair was longer, her face a little more mature and she held herself with all the confidence in the world. But she was still Natalie. She was still his Rookie.

"Ethan!" Natalie said, making her way towards him.

He outstretched his arms and relished in the hug she gave him, enjoying this brief moment where she was back in his arms. "It's good to see you, Rookie," he said, as she pulled away.

She smiled. "I don't know if I'm much of a rookie anymore."

He returned her smile. "You'll always be Rookie to me." There was such fondness in his words that Nat's eyes shined with admiration for a brief moment. His heart was pounding so hard right now, it was a miracle it hadn't burst out of his chest yet.

"What are you doing here? Just visiting?"

"Actually, I was hoping to meet with you, Chief," she replied. "I'd like to talk to you about something."

He raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "Well, you caught me at a good time. I have some time before my next meeting if right now works for you?"

She nodded and waved goodbye to Sienna and Jackie, promising to meet up with them later, and followed Ethan to his office. He closed the door behind them, ensuring their conversation would be private and turned to face her again, sucking in a breath as he met her eyes.

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

He chuckled. "Yeah, I-- I just can't believe it's really you. I thought I'd never see you again."

She smiled sheepishly. "I did do a pretty bad job of staying in touch, didn't I?"

He shook his head. "You've been busy saving the world," he said. "You have no reason to be sorry for that. But, if I may, I've been following your career, Nat. And I'm very proud of the work you've accomplished. You've become quite the doctor."

She blushed. "Thank you; you know I couldn't have done it without your guidance. You taught me everything I know."

"Now that certainly can't be true; you know far more now than I could have ever taught you."

She chuckled. "Well, maybe a little."

He smiled and fought every urge he had to take her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Keep it together, Ethan. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, you said you had something you wanted to talk to me about. Please, take a seat." He sat behind his desk as she sat across from him and pulled out a black folder from her bag.

"Yes, well," she began, "I've enjoyed my time in LA and I'm proud of the work I've accomplished. But Boston will always be home to me-- though don't tell my mom that, she's still hoping I'll move back to Philly." Ethan chuckled and nodded as Nat continued. "I-- I miss home. I miss Edenbrook. I miss y-- my friends. And... I may or may not have seen that the DT has an opening for the lead position and I thought I'd throw my name in the ring. For the job."

She placed the folder on his desk. "Everything you need to know about the work I've done over the last five years is in this folder and I have several character references, including one from the Chief at LAC. I've also included my notes that I'll be referencing for my book that will be coming out early next year and--"

"Nat," Ethan cut her off. "There's no need for all this. The job is yours."

She looked at him wide-eyed. "What? Just like that? Don't you want to field questions? Ask me about how I'd handle certain situations?"

"I don't need to; I told you, I've been following your career. I know of the work you've done and I've seen first hand how good of a doctor you are. I don't need to field questions, Nat. If you want the job, it's yours."

She smiled. "Thank you, Ethan. I can't describe how grateful I am. I know the team means a lot to you; I'll do you proud."

"You already do."

She blushed. "So, what's next?"

"I'll get the paperwork filled out and sent to HR. Assuming everything goes smoothly and HR doesn't drag their feet, we can have you start as early as next week," Ethan said. "Unless you need more time to settle in?"

Nat shook her head. "No, I already have a place lined up. I'm just crashing with Sienna and Bryce for a couple nights while the movers bring everything up."

Ethan nodded. "Alright; well, I'll get the paperwork set up shortly." He extended his hand out to her. "Welcome back to Edenbrook, Dr. Cusack."

"It's good to be back," she said, shaking his hand. They smiled at each other for a long moment, neither wanting to let go of each other's hand. Natalie seemed to be searching Ethan's eyes for something before she spoke again. "Ethan-- er, I'm going to Donahue's this evening with everyone to celebrate my return to Boston. You're welcome to join us, if you'd like."

He smiled and nodded. "I might stop by for a bit."

Her face lit up. "Okay; then I'll see you there." She slowly-- almost reluctantly-- slid her hand out of Ethan's and grabbed her bag. "See you later then, boss."

He walked her to the door, smiling. "It's really good to see you, Nat," he said. "I-- I'm glad you're back."

The look she gave him nearly took his breath away. If he were mistaken-- and he rarely ever was-- he'd say she looked at him the same way he looked at her: madly in love. "Me too," she said. They looked at each other for another long moment before she looked down at her shoes and cleared her throat. "I'll see you tonight."

"Yeah, see you tonight," he said. He watched as she left and took a deep breath in an attempt to slow his pounding heart. She was back. She was home. It was as if all his hopes and dreams from the last five years were finally coming true. But there was one big question that still needed answering: Did she still want him the way he wanted her?

Only one way to find out.

---------------------------

Donahue's was packed. Ethan had forgotten it was Wednesday, which meant half-off drinks for all EB employees. It was something Reggie had implemented a few years ago in order to get more weekday business. It had worked a little too well and Reggie had to hire more people to keep up with the demand; but business was booming as a result so it wasn't like anyone could complain.

He'd found Nat and her friends easily; they had commandeered one of the biggest booths in the place and were currently taking tequila shots, courtesy of Jackie.

"Jacks, we're not in our twenties anymore," Natalie reasoned as she pushed a tequila shot away from her. "I can't do several shots in a row and still be a human being the next morning!"

"That's quitters talk!" Jackie argued but relented when Nat gave her the unwanted tequila shot. "More fun for me!"

Natalie laughed and shook her head in disbelief, when she spotted Ethan. Her smile grew and she excused herself from the table, getting up to greet him. He returned her smile and welcomed the hug she gave him, once again relishing in the feeling of having her in his arms. "I was wondering when you were going to show," she said, as she pulled away.

He chuckled. "Sorry; being Chief means I have a lot of extra paperwork that needs to be taken care of."

She shook her head. "You're here now. Come on, we're due for another round, anyway, so you came at a good time."

"Actually," he grabbed her hand, stopping her from walking away. "Could-- could we talk for a moment? Privately?"

She nodded, curiosity evident on her face, and followed him outside to the patio which was, surprisingly, empty. Not that Ethan minded; having the patio to themselves meant less prying eyes and ears. He sat at one of the tables and smiled to himself when Nat sat next to him.

"Everything okay?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah; I just... Nat, I realize this might not be very professional of me but I need to know." He turned to face her and took a deep breath. "Before you left, you told me you loved me. Do-- do you still feel that way?"

She rolled her lips together in anticipation to answer and he braced himself for rejection. Instead, she took his hand in hers and said the word he desperately needed to hear. "Yes."

"Really?" He almost couldn't believe what he was hearing.

She nodded. "If I'm being honest, Ethan, part of the reason I moved back to Boston was because I missed you, desperately. I still love you. I always will."

He fought back tears and caressed her cheek with his free hand. "I never stopped loving you, either, Nat. I always hoped you'd come home; come back to me. But I couldn't have asked that of you, especially as your career began to thrive."

She smiled. "I know you wouldn't; it's not in your nature." She scooted closer to him on the bench. "But as happy as I've been in my career, I've always been missing one thing: you." She sighed. "I wouldn't take back the success I've had over the years; I wouldn't give up the career I've built for myself because I'm extremely proud of it. But... I can't help but wonder what could've been if I hadn't left. Where would we be? Maybe running the DT together; maybe we would've gotten married, had a couple kids, maybe got a house in the suburbs. I feel like there's a whole life we could've had if I didn't leave."

"We can't sit here and wonder what could have happened, Nat," he reasoned. "You needed to leave to find your footing, spread your wings, and flourish into the incredible doctor you are today. Don't sell yourself short; the things you've accomplished are nothing to sneeze at." He looked at their joined hands and ran his thumb along her knuckles. "I would never ask you to give up your dreams or put your career on hold for me. It killed me to watch you leave but to see you thrive was more than I could have ever asked for."

"Thank you," she said, quietly. She took a deep breath. "But, since I'm home now, and I plan on staying here... maybe we can pick up where we left off? Try the whole dating thing again? And everyone knows I've made a name for myself on my own so you don't have to worry about anyone saying I slept my way to the DT position."

He chuckled and nodded. "Good point." He squeezed her hand. "I would love to pick up where we left off; if that's what you want?" She nodded and he smiled. "Good; because that's all I want too."

Moving faster than he could process, Natalie cupped his face in her hands and kissed him soundly. He melted into the kiss immediately and kissed her back feverishly, his hands gripping themselves tightly around her hips as he pulled her impossibly closer.

Though it had been years, kissing her was so familiar and natural that it was as if no time had passed between them. Her lips fit perfectly with his, full of unspoken words of love and passion. Five years had passed since he last held her in his arms or kissed her, but in an instant, those five years were gone. The only thing that was left was the two of them, making up for lost time with forever spread out ahead of them.

Tag List below the cut:

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added/removed):  @genevievemd @jamespotterthefirst @paulfwesley @ethansdique @openheartfanfics @perriewinklenerdie @little-flowers-on-heaven @stateofgracious @coffeeheartaddict @liaromancewriter @potionsprefect @mm2305 @gryffindordaughterofathena @actuallybored @writer-ish @queencarb @takeharryandgo @lsvdw-blog @itsjustwinter @imaneditorthankyouverymuch-deac @chaoticchopshopheart @ohchoices @maurine07 @oldminniemcg @parisa-kh @shanzay44 @uberamsey @izzyourresidentlawyer @adiehardfan @custaroonie @mia143 @a-crepusculo @takemyopenheart @toadfrog26 @quixoticdreamer16 @barbean @headoverheelsforramsey @natureblooms24 @choicesaddict5

[reidecorating]

Venus & the Sun

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

A/N: I felt compelled to write this because the thought of Spence hating mornings keeps me up - which then causes me to also hate mornings because I’m tired, it truly is a tragic cycle. also! here’s my masterlist!

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Dragging a grumpy & sleepy Spencer out to a picnic on the water where the view was far more than he bargained for

Warnings: Early mornings A tiny bit suggestive, but predominantly just fluff galore <3

Whether Venus is named the Morning or Evening Star depends on what side of the sun it indwells. When the planet glistens and gleams from the eastern sky, it’s a telltale sign it’ll rise before the sun - namely becoming the Morning Star. If Spencer had it his way, he would not be awake before midday on a Saturday morning. If Spencer had it his way, he would continue to snore for some while longer, dreaming - visions of a maladaptive cottage in the Swiss Alps, a handful of mountain goats sprinkled about tufts of unmown alpine grass - certainly not giving a second thought towards planetary placements of a cosmos he never wished to be part of. But Spencer did not have it his way this morning. 

She always called Spencer her sun, but he believed that if this were to be true, she was his Venus; arising from the left side of his bed, sparkling and lighting up the world, most mornings, before he had even opened his eyes. The way in which she looked at him made him believe that the ancient Romans had been right about a deity of Venus, a goddess of love and beauty, his proof being the woman by his side. After wheedling him out of the comfort of rumpled sheets, with saccharine kisses and promises of more, at six o’clock, on the dot, she swept him away in a direction he recognised as towards the pier. It was the last place he would go in his free time, but because he was with her, he didn’t mind. As they journeyed on foot towards the sea, missing the growl of the car radiator, it became noticeable how winter lingered in the air, chasing joggers and haunting places where the daylight was yet to reach, as if it had unfinished business even Spring couldn’t prevent it from completing. 

Spencer felt no remorse towards anyone he hurt in the mornings. The time he spent existing, before half a litre of caffeine was sent down to his kidneys for filtration, angered him. She knew it, too. Always giving him space as he grumbled, with furrowed brows, at anything that moves, often resorting to giggling quietly and observing his shenanigans from a distance - usually involving a wrestle with a hot jug. As they walked, his fingers found the spaces between hers, grasping firmly to prevent the crisp air from streaming through to their bones. She chuckled at the tender action contrasting his expression. “What?” He scowled humorously. “Oh, nothing,” she suppressed a smile. The scowl turned confused. “You’re just very adorable, even when you despise me,” she teased. “I don’t despise you, I actually love you very much,” the sentence rolled off his tongue like a statistic, “I despise being awake.” At that, a grin broke across her face. “In fact, I think that being awake at this hour should be criminalised, I’ll pass the bill myself,”

“Good luck getting a representative to sponsor that bill, Doctor President,”

“I work for the government. I have connections,” 

“And they say this democracy isn’t corrupt,” she grimaced, only partly joking. She saw his laughter in a huff of foggy breath at her comment. “Anyway, when was the last time you had a proper breakfast?” She asked. Spencer thought about it for a moment. Yesterday, if espresso and inhaling air particles counts, he thought. “That… is a… trick question, pretty lady.” The corners of his mouth twitched from behind where his coat collar stood upturned, sufficing in the absence of a scarf, knowing that any answer he provided wouldn’t impress her. Without response, she just held his hand impossibly tighter, walking the tiniest bit quicker.

An unwieldily wicker basket dangled from his fingers, knuckles blue from the early air while they continued on their stroll along the promenade. “You can dismantle the patriarchy another day, Y/N. Please let me carry this for you,” Spencer had asked, insisting she carried the picnic blanket instead. Prevailing winds raced to hide within the drapes of his trench-coat, hiking it outwards behind him in the dramatic way it might if he were on a runway. Over the phone line, she would tell him, “Careful, you may be tempted to leave the BAU if you get scouted by Prada,” whenever she knew he was sat in a budget-meeting hotel room in Los Angeles or New York, wrestling with chopsticks and a container of cold noodles and undoubtedly working a case after hours. Never did he believe her, always taking her flattery with a grain of salt. “Absolutely not. For Givenchy though, I definitely might consider it.” She recalled his response. He acutely remembered the way she’d laughed on the other line, yearning to be the reason she did, forever. Admiring her lover, she struggled to comprehend how everyone in the world didn’t see the same things she saw. He had a beautiful soul. That’s what shone through every crack in his skin. 

Brine toothed sea mist had corroded bolts on the wharf over time, the slight stench of rusted metal taking their nostrils time to adjust to. She began laying down the thick flannel sheet over the dewy wood, careful as to not fall over the edge. “Now, I know you prefer sunsets, but trust me, after today you will change your mind,” she chirped, patting down the blanket. Spencer thought he preferred being alone, she changed his mind on that also, and so, he trusted her words unapologetically. “I’m sure of it,” he beamed at her, placing the basket down with a soft thud before cracking his, now, nearly transparent knuckles. “You look like you’re freezing!” She half whispered and half yelled, rushing to take his hands, cupping his much larger ones in hers and puffing out warm breaths of air in order to thaw his joints. After all, the jacket around her shoulders was one that belonged to him, it was the least she could do. Shaking his head at her actions, completely enamoured by the way she fiddled with his fingers to provide some friction, he turned to glance at the hills in the distance, the night falling and stars dissolving into day, like granules of sugar in hot tea. He looked back at her, catching her eyes, already gazing up at him. “I sense you’re about to tell me something I don’t know about sunrises,” she tilted her head. “Close,” he nodded, grin wider than the horizon before them, “I was going to tell you about Venus.” Pointing at the remaining speck of glitter in the sky, he wrapped an arm around her. “The ancient Greeks and Egyptians actually believed that Venus was two separate celestial bodies. A morning star, which the Greeks called Phosphoros, ‘the bringer of light’, and an evening star, Hesperos, ‘the star of the evening’. It wasn’t until a few hundred years later, that they realised that Venus was actually a single planet.” She nodded along, absorbing the new information before cupping his jaw in her palms to feel his lips between her own. “What was that for?” Spencer giggled after pulling away, not opposed to the action. “Just proving to the goddess of beauty and love that I do, very much, love a beautiful person.” The dawn breaking illuminated the rose flush on Spencer’s cheeks. “Fun fact, it’s actually the hottest planet in our solar system. Kind of…” he swallowed looking down at his shoes for a brief moment, “kind of reminds me of you,” he smirked, still an amateur to the skill they call flirting. Shaking her head at him, flustered, she sat down on the sheet motioning for him to take a seat beside her, before unpacking the basket. 

A small fishing boat coursed through the water, its hull parting the ocean from Atlantic to symmetrical fountain streams, which were immediately pinned back into place, the way a cobalt fabric cut by the scissors of a seamstress would fall to her worktable. Sitting cross legged above the water, Spencer, from a large flask, poured two much needed cups of coffee, the bright pink ’S’ decorating his one making him raise a brow. She handed him a spread bagel, topped with fluorescent streaks of smoked salmon and cracks of pepper, on a small wooden chopping board, heart fluttering at how his jaw dropped slightly in excitement. “It’s Philly Cream Cheese, by the way, I know you love dairy but I made sure this didn’t have any in it anyway.” A soft smile settled on his lips. “Thank you,” he expressed his gratitude, “for all of this,” he clarified, as he finished chopping up various stone fruit into a woven basket. “Don’t mention it. I just wanted to spend more hours of the day with you,”

“That’s very sweet, but I see exactly what you’re doing. I hope you don’t expect that this’ll get me up at this hour every weekend,” 

“Mhm,” a smug look made its way onto her face, “You already know I have other ways of getting you up early on Saturdays,”

“Oh? Okay, was that a-“ he had on an incredulous look, “I’m going to hold you to that,” he chewed down on his lip. She raised her eyebrows at his words. 

“Cheers,” she held up her cup for a toast. “Cheers,” Spencer repeated, the soft clink of metal sounding over the crows of gulls overhead. They huddled into each other, watching the vibrance of sunlight meld together like dyes on an artists’s unwashed watercolour palette. Needless to say, she was not at all disappointed when the star of the morning finally disappeared, because a sky full of them could be found in the eyes of the man she called hers, and as he turned to face her, before his hand settled in her hair and apricot flavoured tongue reached her lips, she saw it, for a moment.

[babbushka]

The Rabbi Is Coming

Flip Zimmerman x Reader (Darling Jewish Wife AU)

A/N: This oneshot is based entirely off of one of my favorite videos of all time, Company is Coming by Chris Fleming. Every time I see it, it reminds me of preparing for my own family holiday gatherings, so I’ve taken it and run with it lol. I just wanted to write something short and silly for Passover, lol, and I hope you enjoy! 

Also inspired by this prompt sent in by anonymous: From your Passover prompts, will you please do this one for Flip? It sounds just like him!“They tried to kill us. We survived. Let’s eat.”

2k, crack treated seriously lol, humor. Putting a small cw for the Zimmerman’s son, in case folks don’t like reading about kids (this is the last time he’s mentioned for a while I promise lol)

                                                ----------------------

Early in the morning, just after sunrise, Flip yawns and stretches awake. The golden light of morning shines through the curtains that gently move from the breeze of the ceiling fan, and a melody of chirping birds signal the official start of morning. Despite having to get up early for work every day, Flip isn’t much of a morning person. But something about Springtime and the warmth that’s on the way makes him appreciate getting up, even on the weekends.  

“Good morning, sunshine, light of my life – ” Flip rolls over onto his side, ready to coax you out of your sleep as well, ready to kiss you and start the day together, but when he reaches you’re your sleep-snuggled body, he finds the bed empty, and frowns.

Sitting up, he looks around the bedroom. Your side of the covers are neatly made, and Flip can only blink, his frown deepening. He clears his throat, raspy from disuse overnight, “(Y/N)?”

It isn’t until he hears the vacuum cleaner going downstairs, followed by a frustrated groan echoing through the house, that he remembers just what day it is, and falls back onto his pillow with a wince, lighting up a cigarette and scrubbing a hand over his face with a low,

“…Oh shit.”

He checks the clock, sees that it’s practically seven o’clock, and gets out of bed. Pulling on a casual t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans, he leaves his room to see his son standing tentatively in his own doorway, as loud sounds come from downstairs.

“Pop?” The five year old asks with no small amount of hesitation in his voice, immediately reaches for Flip, who scoops him up and balances him on his hip.  

“Mornin’ honey.” Flip kisses his son’s cheek, and the boy giggles, clinging to him as Flip walks down the stairs.

He’s obviously annoyed that it’s not you who gets to wake him up and carry him downstairs, as he normally prefers, but Flip doesn’t know how to tell him that today isn’t a normal day. Still, the boy is always filled with questions, and his little eyebrows furrow into an all too familiar frown as they move closer to the chaos that is you deciding to vacuum first thing in the morning.

“Why is Mama acting like that?” He demands to know, as the two of them stop at the landing, watching as you, still in your pajamas, are fighting with furniture.

“Tonight’s the first night of Pesach.” Flip explains.

“So?” His son challenges, and Flip wants to laugh, because he agrees with the kid, but when you get into a mood like this, there’s no stopping you.

“So, there’s a very special guest coming for dinner tonight, and she wants to make sure the house looks nice and clean for him.” Flip sets the boy down, and he purses his lips, like he’s trying to assess the validity of that, eventually settling on complaining,

“But we already cleaned the house.”

Flip sighs, because he’s right, you spent the entire week cleaning to prepare for Passover. It wasn’t like a normal house cleaning, Passover had special rules that had to be obeyed. One of which, was the complete and total elimination of chametz, or food made from leavened dough. The other, was the koshering of the kitchen.

But he wasn’t so sure his five year old would care to hear about all that this early.

“I know son. Let’s go see what she fixed up for breakfast,” Flip leads his son through the living room carefully, before crouching down to his level and saying very seriously, “And then when you’re done eating, just do whatever Mama says, you hear me? Whatever she says.”

Just then, you come barreling through the living room with the vacuum and a tangle of cord in your hand, shouting at a completely inappropriate volume for the hour, “Zeeskiet if you haven’t made your bed just throw it away it’s too late to make it now!”

The boy looks up at Flip, and Flip immediately shakes his head and amends, “Not that.”

Flip is a good helper. He likes to help, and he wants to help, but sometimes when you get like this, it’s a danger to himself and everyone around for him to try and insert himself into a situation where you are a hurricane of anxious energy. He busies himself with getting your son settled at the kitchen table, giving him a big breakfast of fresh fruit, nuts, and yogurt, before bracing himself to venture back towards the dining room.  

“The Rabbi is coming – get rid of the couches we can’t let people know we sit!” You shout, pointing an aggressive finger at one of the dining chairs, “This chair needs to be pushed in, there cannot be any signs of living in this house.”

Flip is quick to do as you say, even though what you’re saying is nonsense – he knows better than to point that out.

“I don’t care if we have to throw everything out,” You’re mostly talking to yourself at this point, just…loudly, and aggressively, “I want this place looking like a contemporary fusion restaurant by noon.”

It was a miracle and a half that the Rabbi agreed to lead your Seder dinner, and to say that the pressure was getting to you was the understatement of the century. You had everything picked out, what you were going to wear, what Flip and the kids were going to wear; you’d been cooking and prepping all week, and now the day was finally here and you were totally freaking out.

“Flip?” You shout, walking in circles around the dining room, trying to get rid of any possible point of contamination of chametz.

“Yeah?” Flip replies, already knowing that because he’s in the other room, you probably can’t hear him. He already is walking towards you when he hears you again.

“Phil!” You call a little sharper, and Flip huffs out a laugh, his suspicion correct.

“I’m right here ketsl, what can I do?” Flip startles you by suddenly being behind directly behind you, and you throw your hands up in exasperation.

“Oh my god – we need more pillows.” You gesture to the den where the conversation pit is decked out entirely with pillows. “Can you fluff the pillows? I need these things looking fluffed.”

Flip does exactly as he’s told, and the rest of the morning follows suit.

You wandered around the house cleaning; vacuuming sweeping dusting sanitizing every possible surface, the floors, even the ceiling, shouting out random demands and requests like:

We need more flowers. We gotta put flowers in every window. Philly can you put flowers in the kitchen?

We can’t have any clothes! Everyone take off your clothes!

At that, your son cast a semi-distressed look to Flip and asked, an uncertain, “Pop?”

“Not that either!” Flip immediately answered, lest his son think it’s okay to go running around in the nude tonight.

Somewhere around hour two, your mood shifts from manic to meltdown. Your son had been instructed to make sure his toys were all nicely put away in his room, mostly to keep him out of trouble or to prevent any accidental tripping over wires. Flip though, is still running around trying to keep up with you, out of breath from your own chaos.

“What is this?” You yank the perfectly good little towel out of the oven door handle where Flip had just watched you place it, and near-tears, you groan, “This is a dish towel! We need a hand towel! What are we, barbarians?”

He’s about to say something, try to console you or at the very least calm you down, but then you come to a complete and sudden stand-still and point out, “Phil oh god there’s muffins on the counter.”

Frowning, Flip whirled around and wondered how the fuck those even got there. All of your friends knew that there was absolutely no leavened product allowed in the house, Rabbi or no, and he’s trying to wrack his brain around where they came from as you back against the wall.

“Oh my god oh – that’s it -- we have to go into the witness protection program folks!” You chuckle humorously, effectively giving up. “Shalom Rabbi! Welcome to the Zimmerman household. We live outside. We eat mud. And sticks.”

At this, you give one big overwhelmed sigh, and a little sob hiccups out of your chest.

“Hey,” Flip frowns, kicking himself for not trying to get you to take a breather earlier than this, “Hey it’s going to be okay.”

Flip gets down on the floor with you, and pulls you into a tight hug. You shove your face under his neck and cry it out, and Flip soothes your back. He knows how big of a deal tonight is for you, and he wants to do everything he can to make you happy, but letting this go on any longer won’t be good for anyone.

“I’ll get rid of the muffins, we won’t tell anyone about it, okay?” He pulls you to face him, your eyes wet and wide, your chin wobbling. He thinks you’re so ridiculous, working yourself up like this, but he loves you so much to see it regardless.

“Did you fluff the pillows?” You ask in a small sad voice, and Flip nods seriously, brushing some of your stray locks that escaped the scarf you have wrapped around your head to protect your hair, away from your face.

“Yes ketsl, I fluffed the pillows.” He kisses each of your cheeks, the bridge of your nose, your forehead.

“Okay, alright okay, everyone calm down.” You say, wiping your tears away and taking deep measured breaths, suddenly asking, “What time is it?”

“Uhh,” Flip cranes his head around to try and catch a good glimpse at the clock on the wall, wondering how the hell it’s only, “Nine-thirty.”

You blink, and blink again, and then shuffle to sit upright there on the kitchen floor.

“Oh.” You reply, pursing your lips and scratching the side of your jaw. “In that case…I’m going to take a nap.”

Flip chuckles and lets you go. You’re too much all the time, and that’s exactly why he loves you. He’s never met anyone who cares as much about something like this, than you, and he wants you to go relax while he takes care of everything.

And he does, his son a proper helper as you snooze in bed, already having worked yourself to exhaustion and needing your strength back for the long dinner that’s going to come. The offending muffins are given to a neighbor, the surfaces re-sanitized, the kitchen all prepared. Your son even sets the table all by himself, enjoying being tall for his age thanks to Flip’s genetics.

When evening falls much later, and all your other guests have arrived, you feel your pulse spike as the doorbell rings. You’re dressed to the nines, as is everyone else, but Flip thinks that you’re the most radiant thing in the universe. You’re holding your son on your hip as Flip opens the door, already extending a hand for him to shake.

“Shalom Rabbi, thank you so much for joining us tonight, we can’t tell you how much of an honor it is.” You beam, as if you hadn’t had a total breakdown only that morning, as Flip invites the Rabbi inside.

“Of course Mr. and Mrs. Zimmerman, the honor is mine. And may I say, you have a beautiful home.” He looks around appreciatively, giving a nod of approval that has all the air rushing out of your lungs.

“I’m thrilled to hear you think so.” You grin, leading him through your home and into the dining room where your other guests have been happily entertaining themselves, “Shall we get started then?”

“They tried to kill us, we survived, let’s eat!” Flip announces, and that has everyone laughing, including the Rabbi.

And as the Seder commences, Flip looks across the table and gives his son a wink. In return, he lets out a small giggling laugh, glad that all the preparations and chaos you put them through have successfully paid off.

                                                     ------------------

Taggin’ some Flip lovin’ friends! @mochabucky​​ @sacklerscumrag​​ @artsymaddie​​ @bitchydecisions​​ @direnightshade​​ @reyloaddict55​​ @thembohux​​  @sunflowersinthesnow​​ @babayagakeanu​​ @safarigirlsp​​  @steeevienicks​​  @the-unmanaged-mischief​​ @materialisthicc​​  @hswritingrecs​​  @han68000​​ @rosi3ba3z​​ @chapterhappygirl​​​ @loverofallthings​​​  @bxnnywriting​ @groovetoob​ 

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Chapter 16

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

She stands on the rain-soaked sidewalk, staring up at the silhouette of the steeple against the grey sky. Church has always been a place to come home to, and yet she’s dreading walking through these doors.

Ethan slips his hand into hers, all long fingers and soft palm, and she looks at him.

“Ready?” he asks softly, and she nods once.

They push through the imposing wooden doors and enter the anteroom, turning to the right to find Father O’Dowell’s office. Ethan raps thrice on the door frame and a gruff voice commands them to enter.

“Dana, Ethan, please sit down,” he directs as they enter the room, and they take the seats across from his desk. “You’re ready to begin your Pre-Cana, then?” he asks over his bifocals, and they nod in unison.

Ethan reaches across the armrest to take the hand in her lap and she holds it limply, her stomach twisting as though it’s attempting to turn itself inside out. She probably should have eaten breakfast.

“As you both know,” Father O’Dowell begins, “marriage between two baptized Catholics such as yourselves is a sacrament. Much as Jesus turned water into wine in Cana, your marriage will be a miracle, becoming something greater and more powerful than you are alone. Your marriage will be a symbol which reveals the Lord Jesus and through which his divine life and love are communicated.”

He pauses to consider them, and she works hard to keep her expression neutral, if not leaning ever so slightly towards pleased. She can’t let the panic in her belly find its way to her face in front of this priest.

“Have you discussed your sacramental marriage commitment to each other, under all circumstances? You are each entering into this union with the intention to die married to one another, forsaking all others?” he says, giving her a pointed look.

Is she imagining it, or is he directing all of this towards her and not Ethan? She swallows and then nods softly.

“Alright,” he continues, opening a folder and sifting through several sheets of paper, “let’s talk, then, about how to prepare for a successful marriage, so that you might spend eternity as man and wife.”

Eternity.

———

“You okay?,” Ethan asks, sitting down beside her on the couch and resting his hand on the back of her neck with a brief squeeze.

She nods. “That was just...a lot,” she replies with tired eyes.

Two hours spent talking to Father O’Dowell about how they’d raise their children, how they’d keep Christ present in their marriage daily, what holiday traditions they wanted to create for their family, how they will approach conflict resolution. As a private person, these conversations feel invasive and embarrassing, but even more than that she is shell shocked by how many times he used the word eternity. Of course she knows that what she is signing on for is the rest of her life with Ethan, but the hammering home of the eternity bit along with the fact that divorce is out of the question was a bit jarring.

“You want me to stay?” Ethan asks with a concerned look. “I can cancel, it’s no big deal.”

“No,” she replies with a wave of her hand, “you should go, I think I’d actually benefit from some time alone.”

“Right, before we spend ETERNITY together,” he replies with a smirk, and she knows it’s supposed to make her laugh, but it only makes her want to run. “Okay. I’m gonna get going then, and I’ll see you tomorrow evening. I think maybe around 7, but it’ll depend on traffic. You don’t need to wait for me for dinner or anything.”

She sighs deeply. “Okay, have fun. Be safe.” She forces a weak smile.

He kisses her twice, whispers I love you into her ear, and leaves with a suitcase in hand for his college buddy’s bachelor party in Philly.

She flops to the side so that she’s laying on the couch, and spends a long while staring blankly at the ceiling.

Eternity.

That’s a very long time. The unequivocal unacceptability of divorce makes it feel longer. Realistically, of course catholic people get divorced, it happens. But how could she put her mother through that? And why is she moving forward with marrying a man if she’s considering the possibility of divorce before they’re even married?

Sitting up, she runs her hands over the skirt of her baby blue dress, the church-appropriate outfit she wore even on a day that is unseasonably cool and dreary. Always dressing for the occasion, doing what is expected of her. Always making the right choice.

She stands, grabbing her purse and keys, and leaves the apartment. She needs to be somewhere else, anywhere else. She needs to escape for a bit.

She’s been driving aimlessly for some time with the radio off when she finds herself parked in front of 2630 Hegal Place. She exits the car and walks around the block, letting the gentle rain soak her shoulders and seep into her heels. Three times. Four times. On the fifth trip, she approaches the front doors of the building.

She pauses with her hand on the door handle, too afraid to ask herself what she’s doing here. She just wants to stop thinking for a little bit. About Ethan, about marriage, about eternity. She just wants to exist for a little bit as Dana, just herself, without any of that baggage. She pulls the door open.

Mulder greets her with a dazed expression, wearing grey sweatpants and no shirt. He stares at her for a long moment, taking in the beads of water trailing off the ends of her soaked hair and her chattering jaw. He looks a little afraid, like a grenade with the pin pulled just appeared on his doorstep. All she has to do is let go and the explosion is inevitable, along with the destruction.

She opens her mouth to speak, but she can’t find words. She searches his face, looking for some reason to stay or to leave. Looking for an answer. His eyes darken a little and at that moment she lets go. She feels the tick tick tick of the timer; it’s already too late to stop. She moves one step beyond his threshold and drops her purse on the floor unceremoniously before threading her wet arms around the back of his neck, their mouths coming together like sea and shore. His lips are warm and pliant, hints of coffee and salt slick on his tongue as he slides it against her teeth. She sighs deeply, a silent moan, a giving over of control and higher reasoning, melting into the sturdy man before her as rays of sun into an oak tree.

She feels his hands warming her back, sliding down to her hips. Hips before hands, she thinks, and her pelvis bucks towards him. His hands slide down over her ass until they find the backs of her thighs, hoisting her up and onto him, carrying her like a wounded soldier into his bedroom. Her weight is dead against him, seeking only to be taken, to be had. She has nothing for him but she wants to give. Oh but she wants to give.

He sets her there on the bed, damp as a dish towel and quivering with the cold and the adrenaline. His hot lips transfer his heat to her neck, chest, face, arms. He breathes his life onto her skin, igniting her square by square until she feels like a checkerboard of warmth and chill. She’s pushed her legs wide open, welcomed the solid weight of his body to rest against her heat, and he is sending her dress higher up her thighs with eager but gentle hands.

They have not spoken a word.

As he kisses her, his fingers play tentatively at the hem of her panties, seeking permission or watching for objection. Finding none, he allows one index finger to slip behind the gusset that covers her soaked vulva, the flat of his fingernail brushing along her lips and sending shockwaves down her legs. He lets out a long, staggered breath and repeats the movement quickly a few times, groaning as her breath catches and she bucks into him. She has never wanted anyone more in her entire life. Has never needed anyone as much as she needs him now.

And then his head is between her legs, and he’s pulling her panties to the side as the rigid tip of his tongue flicks at her experimentally. She gasps audibly, a half-cry escaping her throat that catches as his finger delves inside of her, stealing the breath from her lungs. Her head lolls back, mouth agape and rapidly drying out as she struggles for air. His lips are sucking and nipping, his tongue prodding and stroking, while his fingers flutter against a place that she is only just now realizing exists. She feels a warm tingle in her toes, a flood of dopamine coursing through her, rendering her incapable of rational thought. She is high on sex and pleasure and Mulder and if this were a drug she could buy, she would go broke tomorrow.

Gathering, building, peaking, she is a swell on still waters, giving nothing away of the chaos that rages below. When she starts coming, she cries out “oh,” which is the first word either of them has said. Oh, and she’s exploding around him, and across his tongue. Oh, and he’s flexing his finger inside her, drawing it out. Oh, and as the tidal wave of release begins to recede, the awareness of what has just happened settles over her. Oh, oh, oh.

Oh, what has she done?

Oh, god.

Oh, no.

She recoils from him, pushing up into a sitting position on the bed as her hand comes to her mouth in horror.

“Scully?” he asks, reaching for her, and she pushes his hand off her knee.

She’s shaking her head, her eyes wild and unbelieving. She has to go. She has to get out. She slides off the bed and makes her way wordlessly to the foyer.

“Scully, what’s going on, are you okay?” He follows her, his fading erection still nudging the front of his sweatpants, his lips glistening with her wetness. She can’t look at him.

Her wet shoes are returned to her feet, her purse hanging haphazardly from her elbow. Mulder is looking at her with fear and confusion. She thinks he might try to stop her from leaving.

Swallowing hard to bring moisture to her throat, she forces out a strangled “I’m so sorry,” and then she goes, she runs. Down the stairwell because she can’t bear to wait for the elevator, out into the now pouring rain and behind the wheel of her car. She drives fast and recklessly, nothing left worth trying to protect.

Oh, what has she done?

[starrybethany]

I’m Sure - Adam Boqvist Imagine Part 5

Word count: 4.0K

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Adam: You followed me

I stare at the three words, blinking with tired eyes. All I want to do is sleep, especially after the day I’ve had with Holden, but the baby decided kicking me was more important. So here I am at four o’clock in the morning checking my social media when I should be getting another three hours of sleep.

I rub my eyes, unsure of how to even respond to the message.

It’s just a statement. I feel flabbergasted by it- really, we haven’t talked in years- well, technically months, but the last time we saw each other we just fucked, and our child went to see him without my knowledge or consent. How the fuck am I supposed to respond to those three words?

Y/N: I think we need to talk.

I sigh, setting my phone down. Might as well get straight to the point. The sooner I tell him about the second baby and ask why he would see Holden without at least running it past me the better. I roll over, pulling the blanket tighter around me. Hopefully I can sleep at least a little bit longer. I’m going to need it to deal with the moody adolescent I’ll be seeing in the morning.

~

“I made some toast and bacon. Just let me just finish cutting up these strawberries and then breakfast will be ready,” I inform Holden as he hops down the stairs.

He picks up the filled plate waiting for him on the table, throwing the food into the trashcan and setting the plate on the counter, giving me an expectant look.

I stare blankly back at him. I know he’s waiting for a reaction. He wants me to blow up so then he feels okay yelling at me instead of starting the confrontation himself. Instead, I just say, “That’s wasteful.”

He rolls his eyes, grabbing his backpack from its usual spot by the door and making his way outside, letting it slam shut behind him. I release the breath that I’ve been holding in, popping a strawberry into my mouth.

I open my Instagram app to catch up on the posts that I’ve missed, freezing when I see that I’ve received a DM. I forgot that I sent a message to Adam last night. Well, technically this morning. After I sent the message, I passed out hard, and I thought the whole thing was a fever dream.

Adam: What about?

Adam: Here’s my number

My fingers tap the screen quietly as I add his phone number into my contacts, saving it and staring at it blankly.

Well. No time like the present.

Before I can even realize what I’m doing, before I can even think things through and decide what to say or whether this is a good idea or not, or hell, even what time it is in Chicago right now, I click on the phone icon.

I curse to myself, raising the phone to my ear. Absentmindedly, my hand raises to my mouth so I can chew on my fingernail. Nail-biting is a nervous habit that I gave up years ago, but I guess old habits die hard.

“Hello?” His groggy voice comes through the phone.

I can’t breathe.

The oxygen gets stuck in my lungs. All I can think about are his hands on my body, sliding down to grip my hips. The twinkle in his eyes as I would pull my shirt over my head.

And not to mention the last time I saw him. His hair is longer than he used to keep it, but it suits him. It looks good on him. And he bulked up since the last time I saw him, too- his abs definitely looked and felt like it, anyways.

“Hello?” He repeats, sounding more awake and borderline annoyed now.

“Adam,” I respond softly, suddenly feeling shy. Come on, where did my confidence go? I’ll need it to get through this conversation.

“Y/N,” he says, all sounds of annoyance out of his voice. “You actually called, I didn’t think that you would-“”Sorry for waking you up,” I blurt out, glancing at the clock and seeing that it’s seven in the morning here. Chicago is an hour behind Philadelphia- it’s what kept me from calling the boys on the team late at night for several years.

“Oh, no, no, don’t you ever worry about that,” he reassures me. It’s quiet. I know he’s waiting for me to speak, to let him know what I want to talk to him about, but I just can’t get the words out. I feel them stuck in my throat, clawing to escape. “So, how’s Holden?”

And there it is.

That question is what spurs me to speak, to dig into the man who hid a huge secret like that from me. But I guess I’m doing the same thing to him now.

“I don’t know, how is he, Adam?” I spit out.

He sighs. He sighs. I want to punch his perfect fucking face.

“If I had realized that you had such a problem with it-“”Such a problem with it?” I repeat, not believing my own ears. Suddenly I’m reminded of why I decided not to tell Adam about this baby and why he wasn’t ready to be in Holden’s life for thirteen years. Hell, it sounds like he’s still not ready.

“My son lied to me about his intentions of going to Chicago, traveled halfway across the country by himself, and saw someone who he’s never met before. Yes, I have a fucking problem with it,” I growl.

“Our son.”

“What?”

“He’s our son. You said my son.”

All I want to do right now is to reach through this tiny screen and hit him upside the head. Really, after I lay out all of my concerns, this is all he has to say to me?

“Whatever. When are you coming to Philadelphia next?” I question. I don’t want to air all of grievances and talk about the new baby over the phone. I’ve had enough communication classes to know that you need to see someone’s nonverbal behaviors instead just hearing what they have to say.

“Why? You want to see me?” Suggestion laces his tone.

No, asshole, you already got me pregnant again.

“Yes. We need to talk about Holden… and some other things,” my voice trails off at the end, not sure how to warn him about such big news.

“Some other things, eh? Well, I’ll be looking forward to that,” he responds, clearly thinking that it’s something regarding us and our relationship, well, our dislike or lust for one another or something, instead of picking up what I’m trying to hint at.

“Cool. So, can you take a trip to Philly sometime soon or are you going to wait until hockey season?” I inquire.

“I can take a trip there, just for you. And Holden, of course.”

I can’t help but let a small smile slip onto my face. That sentence shows me that he’d be a good dad if he just put in the effort. It infuriates me that he’s kept that from Holden for years just because he hasn’t felt like working towards a relationship with his son.

“Good. Let me know when you’re in town so we can meet up.”

“What? You’re not going to invite me to stay with you?”

“Goodbye, Adam.” I hang up before he can respond. All I can imagine the rest of the day is his reaction after that phone call. He would have that small, knowing smile on his face, pulling his phone out of his pocket every five minutes to check and see if he got a new text from me or to send the fifth one in a row to me- one that I still would not respond to.

And my heart skips a beat at the thought of that.

~

It’s been a week since the phone call and since Adam sent me a screenshot of his booked ticket to Philadelphia two weeks from then. For some reason, maybe it’s the stupid, hopeless romantic part in me, I had hoped that he would book his plane ticket and hotel room for that night or even the next day. But he told me he had some ‘lose ends’ to tie up in Chicago before leaving.

And it’s also been a week since Holden has said a word to me. I’ve tried talking to him. I’ve asked him about his day, his friends, cooked him his favorite meals all week, I even offered to take him to Target to get a new video game.

None of that has worked. And it hurts. It hurts knowing that after everything I’ve done for him and everything I’ve sacrificed for him, and how Adam has done none of that, he looks at Adam like a God and me like the scum on the bottom of his shoe.

I know it’s what I’m supposed to do as a mother, care for my son and make sure he’s happy, but it’s just- it’s just- ugh.

I start to feel my blood boil as my mom’s voice echoes in the back of my head. Life’s not fair.

It’s then that I realize that I’ve given him enough space and time to figure out his feelings and how he wants to proceed. I don’t want to give him too much space that he begins to resent me and feel like I don’t care about him.

I know that feeling all too well.

I knock on his bedroom door softly, waiting for him to open it before I just walk in. It creeks open slightly, and just as I expected, eyes matching my mom’s peek out to glare at me.

“Can I talk to you, Holden?”

He doesn’t respond, just stares at me.

“Please, you don’t even have to talk, just listen,” I beg.

Fortunately, he opens the door the rest of the way, watching as I walk into his room and sit gently on the edge of the bed. He sits down on his worn computer chair, laptop open to some video game I don’t recognize on his desk.

“I want to start by apologizing for yelling at you last week,” I begin, taking a deep breath. Apologizing isn’t something that comes easy to me- I grew up in a family where the words ‘I’m sorry’ were unheard of. My parents were always right, and I was always wrong.

“I realize it probably wasn’t easy for you to go to Chicago by yourself to meet your dad. Holden, I just want you to realize that I would do anything to protect you, and I love you with my whole heart so realizing that you were in such an emotionally taxing situation without talking to me about it first-“I pause to sniffle, starting to feel tears well up in my eyes. “I felt helpless. And I couldn’t stop wondering why you didn’t feel like you could share that with me and then I realized that it’s because I don’t share stuff with you either.”

He watches as I lift my sleeve, wiping the tears from under my eyes. His face is still blank, but his eyes look like they’ve softened. He’s understanding my words so far.

“So, yes, this baby is also Adam’s baby. And he did ask about you when I saw him back in February, but I let my pride get the best of me and I told him that he didn’t deserve to see you. I’m sorry for robbing you of meeting your father earlier,” I genuinely apologize, maintaining eye contact with my son.

He shifts in his seat, his hard exterior softening with every word. “Well, I’m sorry for calling you a shitty mother. And saying all of that other stuff. And, if it makes you feel better, I did go to the computer programming camp. I just saw Adam when we had a night off.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

He nods.

“What did he tell you? About not being involved in your life?” I ask carefully, curious as to what Adam told Holden to turn him against me like that.

“He just told me that he was working through some stuff,” he shrugs, acting like he doesn’t care but I know my son well enough to tell that he does. “And he wasn’t ready until recently to meet me.”

I bite my tongue to keep it from releasing an insult towards Adam. “And how does that make you feel?”

“Honestly?” I nod, probing him to go on. “Pretty awful. I don’t think I want a relationship with him, mom.”

A mix of emotions run through my body at his word. I feel anxious, because now I have to tell him that Adam’s coming next week and will want to see him, sadness, because my son now recognizes how his father did not want be involved in his life, and anger toward Adam for making him feel like this in the first place.

“Well,” I cough awkwardly. “He’s coming to Philadelphia next week. I’m going to meet him to tell him about the baby. If you don’t want to see him, you don’t have to. It’s all up to you, bud.”

I stand up slowly, rubbing my belly as the baby begins to kick. He always seems to do that whenever I move even just a little bit- he’s an active little guy.

“Oh,” I turn back around just as I’m about to close the door. “How did you even find out who your father is?”

“Please mom, I’m not stupid,” he grins slyly at me, sliding his headphones onto his neck. “You lived in Chicago when you got pregnant with me and worked for the Blackhawks. I figured, since you said you worked a lot, the only guys you really had a chance to be with were on the team. And when I asked you about my dad for that project for school you said he was Swedish, so I just went to the Blackhawks roster in 2020 and found the Swedish players, messaging them some really uncomfortable and intrusive messages on Instagram.”

I chuckle at that, shaking my head. It will never not blow my mind how clever and smart he is. As I close the door to his bedroom, I hear him say, “On the plus side, Alex Nylander is a really nice guy.”

~

The day is finally here. Being eighteen weeks pregnant makes it really hard to hide my baby bump, but I somehow manage to find a baggy sweatshirt that I’ve stolen from one of my ex-boyfriends to cover it up. I don’t want to walk into the restaurant we’re meeting at and have him immediately know.

Somehow my jeans still fit on my legs, but I have a feeling by the end of this lunch they’ll be unbuttoned. It’s just the way it goes sometimes.

I get to the restaurant before Adam, just like how I planned it. I wanted time to scope out my exits in case I need to bail halfway through this meal- knowing Adam, it’s a possibility. I haven’t thought through what I was going to say too much.

I know I need to talk to him about why he would keep Holden going to Chicago to see him a secret from me, and we need to talk about the baby.

But mostly I just want to hear him grovel. The secret, sadistic part of me wants to hear him beg for forgiveness for making me raise my child by myself for the past thirteen years. I want to hear him admit that he fucked up- I’ve never heard Adam Boqvist admit that he fucked up before.

He shows up two minutes late.

I know because my phone is sitting face up on the table and I click on it every five seconds to see what time it is. I tell myself that if it gets ten minutes past noon and he’s still not here, I’m going home and giving up on dealing with Adam ever again.

But then he’s standing in front of me, familiar toothy grin on his face, black beanie on his shaggy hair, and a bouquet of red roses in his hand.

“You’re late,” I state sternly, not letting any sign of emotion onto my face. I need to let him know I mean business. I need to let him know that I’m never getting into bed with him ever again.

“Yeah, sorry, there was a line at the grocery store,” his grin begins to slip, but as he holds the bouquet out towards me, it takes over his face once again. “I got you these.”

“Thanks.”

I don’t make any movement towards them. His smile falls once again and I begin to feel guilty- he did buy these flowers for me, but he also impregnated me and left me twice.

He slides into the chair across the table from me, setting the flowers on the table and coughing awkwardly. “So, have you ordered yet?”

“Just water,” I respond shortly.

“Do you want to split a bottle of wine?”

“I’m not really a day drinker,” I eye him over the top of my menu, then go back to skimming through the items. It’s a charade, though. I already know what I want.

“Are you two ready to order?” The peppy waitress appears at our side, notepad open in her hand.

“I’ll have the chicken alfredo,” I announce, folding my menu.

“I’ll take that too. And a bottle of your sweetest wine, please,” the blonde orders, passing his menu to the waitress. When she leaves, he turns back to me. “I know you like the sweet stuff.”

I take a deep breath, deciding to cut to the chase. I’d rather get through this meal as soon as possible. The sooner we get done talking about this stuff, the sooner I can get out of here.

“Adam, I’m pregnant.”

He chokes on the sip of water he’s just taken from his glass, water dripping down his chin and landing on the table in front of him. I can’t help but watch with a content smile as he coughs, trying to catch his breath.

“Excuse me?” He utters through coughs, wiping his chin with a napkin.

“I’m pregnant,” I repeat. “I’m due in November.”

“Well, uh, congratulations,” he says unsurely.

I roll my eyes, muttering, “You clearly haven’t gotten smarter since last time.”

He seems to catch on to the hidden meaning behind my comment, his eyes widening. “Oh is it- since we-“”It’s your baby,” I conclude bluntly.

A smirk begins to spread across his face. I can’t believe it. He’s smirking just after I told him that he got me pregnant accidentally for the second time.

“Why do you have that look?” I snap.

“My little swimmers work pretty well, don’t they?” He inquires confidently, sipping from his water and succeeding this time.

I lean across the table, turning it on him. “I don’t know, do they? Are there any half-siblings that I need to worry about?”

The smirk is replaced by a look of genuineness now. It startles me, the sudden change of emotions. “No, it’s you, Y/N. It’s always been you.”

I lean back in my seat, the sudden seriousness too much for me to bear. I fiddle with the napkin sitting next to my glass, avoiding eye contact with him. “Yeah, so it’s a boy.”

“Another boy,” he echoes my very thoughts the moment I found out the sex.

I grin at the thought of my second child. When he’s been kicking me at night and keeping me awake, I think about what he’s going to be like. Is he going to cry a lot or is he going to be a quiet baby like Holden was? Will I have to keep an eye on him every minute or will I be able to get some breaks?

And what about when he’s older. Will he like hockey like his dad? Would he like the Flyers because we live in Philadelphia, or would he like the Blackhawks because his dad plays for them?

“Speaking of boys, how is Holden doing? He hasn’t been responding to my texts lately.” Adam means for the question to sound casual, but I can hear the undertone of worry in his voice. Maybe he isn’t as much of a shitty father as I think he is.

“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” I confess.

He doesn’t bother to hide the hurt on his face. I don’t expect him to. I know how it feels to feel unwanted and unloved by your child- I felt it when Holden told me that I’m a shitty mother. And although Adam deserves the consequences to his actions, I can’t help but feel a small amount of pity for him.

“I deserve that,” he sighs.

“You do,” I agree, knowing that I’m shoving the knife deeper into his heart. “But just give him time to decide what he wants to do. It’s all so fresh to him.”

He gives me a small, vulnerable smile.

“Why didn’t you tell me that he was going to see you while he was in Chicago, Adam?” I ask him the question I’ve been dying to ask ever since I found out about the situation.

He shrugs, not saying a word.

“Yes, you do know,” I persist. “So just fucking tell me. Enough of the bullshit, we’re in our thirties now. It’s time to focus on the children, not your fucking pride.”

He looks baffled by my sudden outburst, but it inspires him to answer. “I was afraid that if you found out, you would stop him. Then I’d never get to meet my son.”

“I would have stopped him,” I agreed, causing him to open his mouth to begin arguing with me. I start to speak again before he can begin. “And reschedule the trip to a time that works better with my work schedule so that I could go with him. Yes, you’re his father, but you’ve never been in his life. You’re essentially a stranger to him.”

He narrows his eyes at me like my words are a challenge. “Not anymore.”

I narrow my eyes at him now. “Really? What’s his middle name? When is his birthday? What’s his favorite color?”

He doesn’t respond and I scoff, taking a sip of my water again. “That’s what I thought.”

We’re quiet as the waitress returns with our meals. I cut my noodles, taking a bite of my food.

“I don’t want it to be that way with this baby,” he says, quickly adding, “And Holden anymore. I want to be there for this baby from the start. Or from now, I guess. And I want to be there for Holden, if he ever wants me.”

Mixed feelings begin to flush through my body. This is what I wanted for my kids from the beginning, an active father figure. And Adam’s offering it now, but why am I still feeling so hesitant?

After years of expecting him to step up as a parent and him never doing it, I have reasonable doubts when it comes to Adam’s parenting ability.

“Well, you know it’s up to Holden. You can’t force him to like you,” I begin slowly, trying to phrase my words in the best way possible. “But with this second baby… we can try it. I have a doctor’s appointment in two days. I’ll text you the address and time.”

“But my flight leaves tomorrow,” he whines. “Can’t you just reschedule for today?”

“You have so much to learn, Adam,” I shake my head. “I just hope you realize that being a parent means that you’re selfless more than selfish. Tell you what, go back to Chicago if you want to. But if you go back to Chicago, the only time you’ll communicate with the boys is when they want to talk to you.”

[stxrrywildflower]

mom

pairing - bau team x teen!reader

summary - after an incident, you call j.j. ‘mom’ for the first time

warnings - injuries, mugging, mentions of case

word count - ?

living under j.j. and will’s care was something that just felt natural to you.

your family was extremely close with the jareau’s. after your parents had passed on shortly after you were born, your grandparents had taken care of you as well as the j.j.’s parents. but alas, your grandparents were becoming old and soon couldn’t take care of you. for multiple reasons, j.j. had stepped in and legally adopted you when you were 14. that way, you could start high school fresh in washington d.c. henry was more the ecstatic to have a new older sister, even though he didn’t really understand that you weren’t blood related.

two years in, you were more than happy to be a jareau. j.j. and will were honestly the best parents you could ask for. the two have you a surprising amount of freedom, not like you took advantage of it anyway.

summer in washington d.c. was pretty relaxing. present day, j.j. was at work. you would place money that she would be leaving on a case soon. will had taken henry west to go stay at a cabin and go fishing. you had been invited, of course, but declined. they needed a father-son weekend.

one of your friends from school had invited you out to get lunch. after texting j.j. to take sure it was okay, you packed up and headed out. the restaurant was in walking distance from your house, thankfully.

lunch was really great. it was nice to be able to see some of your friends during the summer. you had said your goodbyes to one another before going your separated ways.

your head was down and had your earbuds in as you walked home. pretty much everyone in the city did the same so you naturally just adopted the habit. there was a lot of foot traffic right before the side road leading back to the house. instead of battling your way through, you detoured to the right to take a different route.

as cliché as it sounds, everything really did happen so fast. one moment, you were taking a shortcut through an alleyway. the next, you were being shoved against a wall, your back hitting the brick with a sickening thud. you honestly thought you were seeing stars. as your bag fell on the ground, the two shadowy figures immediately went to searching it. while one rummaged through, the other held you against the wall with his hand. when you tried to wiggle free, a hard punch was landed to both your eye and nose. as blood coursed down your face, the two people shuffled around.

“kids...no...cash...leave,” was all you could make out.

they finally let you go, leaving your bag thrown on the alley floor as they ran away. you collapsed to the ground, desperate to catch your breath. everything from your neck up was throbbing. with shaky hands, you gathered up the strewn items and continued your walk home. it was all you could do anyway.

meanwhile, at the quantico building, the bau team was in the conference room going over the newest case. there had been a string of murders in philadelphia and the local pd had requested their help.

just as the team was throwing about possible theories about the unsub as they did before their departure, j.j.’s phone rang with the ringtone she only had set for you. instantly, all eyes went over to the blonde agent who blushed slightly. hotch made the slight motion with his hand to tell her to go answer.

“excuse me,” j.j. announced, standing up to exit the conference room. instead of taking the catwalk route, she slipped out of the door to the left of the screen. “hey y/n. what’s up?” j.j. asked. she was slightly confused on why you were calling. you almost never called when she was at work.

“mom i really need you here,” you spoke, though it was barely audible.

j.j. tired to ignore the way her heart fluttered at you calling her mom. “sweetie what’s wrong?” she replied.

“i-i don’t really know. i got hurt.”

panic began to set in. j.j. ran her hand through her hair. “you got hurt? what happened?” the urgency in her voice was extremely noticeable. what didn’t help was that she was met with silence on the other end.

“i got mugged,” you finally revealed, letting out a slight sob at the end.

once again, the teams eyes all snapped up once j.j. entered the conference room. garcia has just finished going over the case details and everyone was wating for hotch to dismiss them. “i’m going to be home as fast as i can, okay?” with that, j.j. clicked the end button and slipped her phone back into her pocket.

j.j. wiped her hands over her face before taking a deep breath. “y/n got mugged earlier,” j.j. started. “and she just called to let me know but i really need to get home. i can meet you guys down in philly when i make sure she’s okay but,” her voice trailed off at the end.

when she looked up, she was met with concerned gazes. “of course, keep us updated. everyone else, wheels up in 30,” hotch spoke. the team disbanded from there, the two older agents heading to their offices while everyone else went to the bullpen. morgan and garcia headed to the break room while spencer and emily followed j.j.

spencer and emily shared a look as j.j. frantically packed her bag before grabbing her jacket. “j.j.,” emily said as she grabbed her friends arm to stop her. both knew how j.j. got when her family was in danger. something else was bothering her and the two agents were determined to figure it out before she left. “she called me mom for the first time.” emily’s eyes softened at that statement. “is that a good thing?” the raven-haired woman asked.

“i mean yeah it is but i really don’t have time to dwell on it. right now, i need to get home to my daughter,” j.j. concluded. after waving a final time, she left the bullpen.

the drive back home took longer than expected.

j.j. rushed into the house, tossing her work bag down carelessly. all she cared about was finding you. “y/n?” j.j. called. “in here,” you replied meekly. j.j. entered the living room, her eyes darting around until they landed on your curled up figure sitting against a wall. your face was pressed in your knees so she couldn’t see the extent of your injuries.

a flinch was notable as j.j. placed her hand on your shoulder. you finally lifted your head. you were far from a profiler but j.j.’s face was more than shocked. your eye had already began to bruise as well as the blood on your nose had dried.

you cried again as j.j. pulled you into a tight hug. when she cradled her head with her hand, she pulled away almost instantly. “did you hit your head?” j.j. questioned, showing you her now bloody hand. “yeah,” you replied simply.

“alright well we need to get you to a hospital,” j.j. spoke.

after being helped up off of the ground, j.j. kept her arm wrapped around your waist as you headed out to the car. while she drove, j.j. pulled out her phone to call will. she made sure to talk in a hushed voice, even though you could make out ever single word she was saying.

at the hospital, you were helped almost immediately. j.j. may or may not have flashed her badge for extra effect.

only ten minutes into the doctor talking to you, your eyes had slid shut due to pure exhaustion from the attack. while you were asleep, the doctors had done x-rays for your nose and even head. thankfully, nothing turned out to be broken, just bruised.

when you woke up again, j.j. was looking out the window as she talked on the phone. you couldn’t exactly make out everything she was saying but you had made the assumption she was talking to hotch based on words such as ‘case’ and ‘hospital’ being tossed around. j.j. noticed your eyes open and quickly hung up.

“hey honey, how are you feeling?”

you shuffled around, adjusting yourself so you were sitting up. “better, whatever they gave me is helping,” you smiled. j.j. was extremely glad you already going back to your normal self. you made room for j.j. to sit on the edge of your bed.

“i’m sorry for everything. i knew you were working and i just didn’t know who else to call and-” you already began to apologize. j.j. placed her hand over yours. “don’t apologize. i already have garcia looking into finding the people who did this. and please, never feel bad about calling me for an emergency.”

you nodded, “okay.” j.j. grinned at that. “i love you so much sweet girl,” she spoke, using the nickname for you.

“i love you too mom,” you finished.

[amydancepants-peralta]

(maybe this time) I’ve hit a home run ⚾️♥️

(a one-shot inspired by @jamy-peraltiago‘s fandom challenge prompts, written in a flash of inspiration!) (x) 

*

“Okay, so run me through this one more time.”

Squinting against the sun; Jake turns towards his girlfriend of nine months, a frisson of joy running through him as he realises how seriously she’s taking the task in front of her.  “Fry first, then gummy worm.”  He demonstrates with a grin.  “Another fry, then dip the whole thing into the sundae, and enjoy.”

Amy shoots him a dubious look, following the instructions carefully and trying her very best not to cringe as she shoves the unnaturally colourful combination into her mouth.  From his position closely beside her, Jake grins, and vaguely he hears the commentator’s voice crackle through the speakers around them. 

Today he and Amy are attending a Mets v Phillies game at Citi Field - Amy’s first live baseball game ever - and once they’d made it to their seats, Jake had been eager to show her the combination of snacks that he has long since considered tradition.  “Amazing, right?”

Licking her lips, Amy reaches out to rest a hand on his leg, squeezing gently.  “Two things,” she begins, and Jake nods.  “First, I love you.  And second, please don’t ever make me eat that again.”

Incredulous, Jake lifts up the Peralta Combo in veneration.  “French fries, sour worms and ice-cream?  That’s the perfect combination of salty and sour and sweet, Ames!  It’s a culinary delight.  How can you not love it?”

Shaking her head, Amy takes a sip of beer to wash the taste away, and Jake leans in to kiss the remnants of froth from her upper lip.  “There is SO much sugar in that, babe.  If you ate a whole tray of that, I’m certain you would be able to hear colour and smell sound.”

“And who wouldn’t want that?!”  Tilting his head to the side, he grins.  “You know, I bet magenta has a real screech to it.”

“Definitely a high vibrato of some sort,” Amy nods, and he bends down for another kiss.  “But probably not something we’re ever meant to hear, you know?”  She winces, adjusting the tip of her baseball cap and craning her neck upwards.  “I’m sorry, babe.  I know it’s your favourite snack, but I don’t think I could stomach more of that.”

“Ames, it’s totally fine.  More for me, anyways.”  Giving a reassuring smile, he lowers his treats to the empty seat beside him and wraps his free arm around Amy’s shoulders.  “And I love you too, by the way.”

(It’s still a little exciting, finally being able to vocalise those three little words, and the way they both returned the sentiment so eagerly makes it all the better, every single time - rolling eyes from surrounding audiences be damned.)

The Phillies fans in the stadium cheer as Eickhoff's swing hits the ball with a heavy crack, and as Amy leans forward to watch the action Jake sneaks a peek at her expression, desperately curious to see if she was enjoying the game or not.  He’d been oddly anxious about today; worried that she wouldn’t feel the same thrum of anticipation amongst the crowd, or - even worse - that she’d find the whole thing ridiculous.  Baseball was something that had been a part of his life since he was old enough to remember, and while he wanted to share it with Amy, the fear of her not enjoying the game was stronger than he’d anticipated.  

But then he’d been waiting at his apartment earlier today, nervous as all hell, when she’d shown up in a newly purchased Mets jersey and sneakers that matched his own.  Stood in his kitchen with a proud smile, spouting out stats on some of his favourite players as he’d finished getting ready (all of which had clearly been recently researched); and he knows that this probably sounds ridiculously schmaltzy, but he swears he fell even more in love with her right there and then.  

Eickhoff stops his run at second base, eyeing off the Mets’ shortstop Cabrera as he lobs the ball back to the pitcher, and Amy joins in on the applause that litters the crowd.  “Shortstop - that’s what you used to play, right?” 

Jake nods, his eyes suddenly trained on a moment a few rows forward; watching as a young boy no older than six shares a joke with his father, meeting his offered high five with obvious glee.  “When I was in little league, yeah,” he mumbles as the nostalgia washes over him.  

There was a time when that would have been him; wearing his team jersey with pride as he ate too many hotdogs, laughing with Roger, riding high on his shoulders as they waded through the crowd on their way home.  When they were watching baseball, there weren’t screaming matches filtering through closed doors, or strange lingerie stuffed in-between carseats for him to ignore on the way to school.  At the stadium, it was just Jake and his Dad - a place where, for nine blissful innings, the rest of the world seemed to simply fade away.  

It had been mid-season and a month after Jake’s seventh birthday when Roger had walked away from it all, and now - much like the tin of baseball cards that Jake had stashed far to the back of a cupboard - the value of his memories are only sentimental (but priceless all the same).

Amy’s knee nudges against his thigh, and Jake’s met with a pair of beautifully gentle eyes when he turns towards her.  Her voice is soft as she asks him if he’s okay, and he adjusts the back of his own cap, running a hand along the base of his neck.  “Yeah, I’m fine.  Just … thinking.”

She nods, twisting in her seat and resting her elbow along the back of his.  “Did you keep playing after Roger left?”

Nodding, Jake leans back into his seat, fiddling with his hat again as the memory of sitting at Sal’s Pizza for hours after the game, just in case Roger might swing by, surfaces from the corner of his mind.  “Just for the rest of the season.  I guess for a while there, I had sorta convinced myself that he would be coming back any day now.  My plan was to just keep doing everything I normally did, so that when he did come back, it would almost feel like he’d never left.”  Amy’s hand falls onto the nape of his neck, sweeping slowly in soothing strokes, and he sighs, relaxing into her touch.  “But as the months went by, and the phone calls grew fewer, the idea of putting the uniform on again just seemed … I don’t know … wrong.”

Letting out a tiny hum of assent, Amy’s fingers card into the bottom of Jake’s hair.  “You still like watching the game, though?”

He nods again, a smile growing onto his face as he explained his mother’s insistence on taking him to games after Roger left.  “She’d never quite gotten a grip on the right terminology, and always cheered for both teams regardless of who was playing; but her enthusiasm was definitely contagious.”  It had worked incredibly well at reigniting the love Jake once had for the game, and over the years he’d branched out and watched matches with college buddies and friends from the academy alike.  

It was unexpected - but also so completely typical of dating someone like Amy - for today to be the day when all of his childhood memories came out in force.  “Sorry, babe.  I’m really dragging the vibe down here.  Maybe we should - mmmh - ” Jake’s last few words die in his mouth as his girlfriend presses her lips against his, the palm of her hand resting against his cheek in a kiss that he only knows as being quintessentially Amy.  

She smiles when they part, brushing away a stray lock of hair from his fringe.  “You don’t ever need to apologise for talking about your past, Jake.  I want to hear all of it, regardless of where we are.  If it matters to you, it matters to me.”

Mumbling another I love you, Jake draws Amy in for a longer kiss, hand wrapping around her waist and pulling away only when the crowd cheers at Herrera’s fly ball.  It was pretty amazing, how talking about memories with Amy rarely felt painful, and on days like today he has the strongest instinct that it’s largely because with her, he can already see his future taking shape.  

Leaning her body into his, Amy’s arm comes to rest comfortably on top of his upper thigh as she turns her attention back to the game in front of them, and softly she murmurs, “This is way better than watching the game in Manny’s living room.”

The sun feels warm against Jake’s skin as he links their fingers together, planting a kiss to the top of her baseball cap in silent agreement.  It was a beautiful day in a lot of ways - the Met’s current lead of 2-0 a fine example - and getting to spend it with Amy made it all the better.  

It’s at the bottom of the third inning that Amy twists away from Jake, rustling through her backpack before returning to her previous position and holding up a bag of nuts with unconstrained pride.  “I thought we might get snacky.”

“You really are the perfect woman.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls you bring here.”

Wrapping his hand around Amy’s wrist, Jake squeezes gently.  “Apart from my mom, and occasionally Gina, you’re the only girl I’ve brought here, Ames.”  It’s a small distinction, but one he feels is important to make, and the soft smile that Amy gives him in return reaffirms his instinct.  

She kisses his cheek, brushing her lips against his skin as she moves to whisper in his ear.  “Keep talking like that Peralta, and you’re going to see some solid third base action tonight.”  Another kiss, this time to the base of his earlobe.  “Maybe even a home run, once you see what I’ve got on underneath this jersey.”

(It’s an entirely new experience, trying to avoid getting an erection in a stadium while your girlfriend chuckles softly beside you - but one that Jake doesn’t totally hate, if only for the knowledge that the wait is going to be completely worth it.)

He’s fully reclined into his seat, one arm wrapped around Amy’s shoulders when the Kiss Cam pans onto them at the top of the fifth inning, breaking into laughter as he watches Amy’s face quickly turn a delightful shade of pink.  He’s still considering a humble peck to her cheek when she swivels in her seat, coiling her hand around his waist and pulling him in for an almost non-PG13 kiss before another moment can be wasted, and as the crowd cheers and Sixpence None The Richer plays in the background, Jake knows that he is totally, utterly and madly in love with the one and only Amy Santiago.    

There’s an oversized foam finger occupying Jake’s right hand, and his girlfriend’s fingers twisted around his left as they leave the field hours later, riding the high of another Met’s victory as they shuffle towards the exit.  He listens contentedly as Amy chatters excitably about the potential for statistical analysis of the game - something about sabermetrics that only makes him think of Star Wars - and it’s as they head towards the carpark that Jake finds himself completely distracted once more.

He watches as a family in front of them move along the footpath, both parents holding onto one hand each of their child as they swing from their parent’s arms, the overjoyed giggles filtering through the noise of a departing crowd as they bounce on and off the pavement.  

It’s the feeling of Amy’s hand in his, and the still unspoken assurance that both of them are in this for the long haul that allows Jake’s mind to wonder of the possibility of such a moment ever belonging to him.  He can almost see it: a chuckling toddler bounding between his and Amy’s arms, wearing their favourite jersey and singing the team song as they head home, just in time for bath and bed and some well-deserved Mommy and Daddy time (aka, falling asleep on the couch).  It’s a future so simplistic, but for the longest time seemed unthinkable, and Jake breaks out into a wide grin at the sheer notion that something so great as a lifetime with Amy could ever be more than just an unrequited dream.  

Amy’s hand squeezes his as they draw nearer to her car, her face growing curious as she looks up at Jake.  “What’s got you so smiley all of the sudden, Peralta?”

Shrugging nonchalantly, Jake hunches slightly to drop a quick kiss to Amy’s lips.  “I’ve just spent an afternoon in the sunshine with a beautiful woman beside me, watching my favourite team win.  There’s a lot of reasons to smile right there, babe.”

Resting her weight against her passenger door, Amy rests her hands on either side of Jake’s waist and looks up at him with an equally happy grin.  “Thank you for taking me here, Jake.  I loved every second of it.”  Lowering her grip slightly, she digs her fingers into his side in a request for closeness; and Jake bridges the gap for another kiss, letting both of them sink into it as the lack of surrounding strangers lends to a sense of privacy.  

The subtle scent of her perfume lingers over his senses as Jake pulls away, held closely still by Amy’s curled fingers around his belt loops, and he leans his forehead against hers.  “What was that you were saying earlier about hitting some bases tonight?”

He chuckles as she pushes him away with a gentle shove, giving him the Santiago wink (also known as a slow blink).  “How about we head back to my place and I show you what I mean, detective?”

The car fills up with laughter and the easy conversations of two best friends in love as Amy navigates them through the streets of Brooklyn - and as they head closer to home, Jake already knows that whatever the future may hold, with Amy by his side, they were going to knock it right out of the park.  

[thepartyresponsible]

welcome to the all fluff, all the time network. i said here that i was taking prompts, but i neglected to mention that i’m writing all of them as fluff. or as close to fluff as i can manage, anyway.

this one’s for the anon who asked for jason with anyone with the prompt “please don’t do this.”

it’s a standalone piece of a much longer hockey au. endgame is jason, bucky, and frank.

                                                          ---

“Please don’t do this.”

“Oh,” Jason says, “I’m gonna do it.”

“Jason,” Bucky says. He leans over, as close as he can get. He’s pale, a little wide-eyed, bottom lip red from his attempts to bite back the pain. “Come on.”

The trainer doesn’t look up from carefully rotating Bucky’s arm, checking the range of motion, but Jason knows damn well that the little frown on his face is not good news.

They were on Injured Reserve together, him and Bucky. Back when Jason first got traded, when he showed up with – no shit – hundreds of stitches in his throat and exactly zero endearing personality traits. Barnes had been quiet, distracted, kinda lost in his head, but he’d always been so Goddamn nice. From day one, when Jason showed up exactly like some prissy, sullen bastard who’d never been traded, never expected to be traded, never wanted to suit up in anything other than Bats’ black and gold, Barnes had treated him like he was something worth keeping around.

And here they are, five games into Barnes’ big comeback, and Brock fucking Rumlow just took a swipe at Bucky’s freshly-healed arm.

Castle’s out sick, or this would be his responsibility. Hell, if Castle were playing tonight, Rumlow probably would’ve kept his fucking hands to himself.

The Avengers don’t need an enforcer. That’s not Jason’s job. But Jason considers himself a well-rounded player. He can fill in where he’s needed.

“I’m gonna fucking do it, Buck,” Jason says, eyeing his route, sighting his target. “I’m definitely gonna do it.”

“Todd,” Coulson says, tone kinda sharp but not angry like he means it, “we don’t need any theatrics right now.”

“Philly,” Jason says, “Philadelphia. Cream Cheese. All I’ve got is theatrics.”

Coulson sighs and turns his eyes skyward. He keeps Jason on the bench until the Avengers score on the power play, and then he sets him loose. As far as Jason’s concerned, that’s practically a benediction.

Thor heads in for a change, worried eyes pinned on Bucky, and Jason’s over the boards and racing up the ice a full two seconds too early, like too many men is a summation of his recent dating history and not a perfectly fucking legitimate penalty.

Not that his behavior would indicate he gives a good Goddamn about taking penalties right now.

He does – and he hopes Bruce notices this when he watches the tape later, hopes Alfred appreciates the depth of his personal growth – wait to drop his gloves until after Rumlow calls him a pretty boy and a bitch and a coward who lost his balls. He waits, like a professional, until Rumlow’s own gloves hit the ice before he throws a mean, messy uppercut directly to his throat.

Rumlow’s a good fighter. It’s why his fans love him. He floods his Instagram every summer with pictures of himself shirtless and sweating in a boxing ring. Jason shouldn’t know that, probably, but it’s not like he’s ever had a problem compartmentalizing I wanna fuck you and I wanna fuck you up when he needs to.

Rumlow fights like someone who knows how, who learned in a ring with his knuckles taped or behind a school with someone to hold the other kid’s arms back. He knows to go for weak points, mainly. It’s served him well so far.

Jason hasn’t been in a fight since the one that damn near killed him. And he never had any formal boxing lessons, but he grew up doing his best not to get stabbed to death in Gotham’s back alleys, and the result of that practical training is a fighting style Roy Harper once fondly described as honey badger on a life-altering hit of PCP.

Jason’s swallowing blood when it’s over. His knuckles are fucked, and there’s an unfriendly tingling in his gumline that suggests his emergency dentist might be about to earn herself another tropical vacation, but Rumlow’s flat out on the ice, and he’s bloodier than Jason, and that’s all that matters.

Jason goes, easy and compliant, when the linesman pulls him away. Wide-eyed and innocent, who, me? all the way to the bench because maybe it’ll make the officials more lenient. It must work well enough, because they both take five minute majors, but Jason dodges the instigator penalty, saved by Rumlow’s notorious willingness to fight anyone smaller than himself or maybe by the mercy of officials who just watched him slam his stick against Bucky’s arm like he was trying to split firewood.

A five minute major with 4:38 left in the third period. So that’s the end of Jason’s game, then. Worth it.

Bucky isn’t on the bench when Jason gets skates up, but Wilson gives him an approving clap on the shoulder as Jason shuffles toward the tunnel, and it settles Jason enough that he gets all the way through the trainer’s pestering, weathers them checking his teeth and patching his knuckles, and then walks himself to the locker room before his lungs forget how to process oxygen.

“I asked you not to,” Bucky says, long-suffering but still so fucking nice. He wraps his good hand around Jason’s neck and tips him forward. “Breathe.”

“Fucking,” Jason says, as he tries to focus on a sane breathing pattern. “Fuck you, Buck. I wasn’t gonna—we just got you back.”

He feels like his throat is closing up.

It’s the blood in his mouth, he thinks. And the blood he saw on the ice. The crowd, roaring like that. Bloodthirsty.

They’d been thirsty like that in Gotham when he squared off against Bane. Biggest fucking guy in the league, and there was Jason, scrappy and pissed off, fighting Bane because Bruce wouldn’t.

He’d known he was gonna get hurt. He’d been ready for that.

It was an accident, what happened. Bruce didn’t mean it, and Jason’s heard, if you watch the footage, you can see Bane trying to stop it, his giant hands grabbing for Jason as he falls.

Jason’s never watched it. He doesn’t need to see himself catch Bruce’s skate blade with his throat. He lived through it. That was enough.

“I had to, Buck,” Jason says. He’s got his head propped against Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky, because he’s a nice guy, because he’s a good teammate, is running his hand through Jason’s incredibly disgusting, sweat-soaked hair. “He hit you, and Frank’s not here, and Rogers can’t leave the crease, so--”

“You’re sweet,” Bucky says, which is something no one has ever said to Jason.

“Had to,” Jason repeats. Because it’s not about being sweet. It’s about making sure everyone knows what’ll happen if they hurt his people.

“My arm’s gonna be fine,” Bucky says. “They took some x-rays, just to check. But it’s gonna be fine.”

Jason breathes out, and his lungs remember their function, and he can breathe again. “Good,” he says. He scrubs at his face. His hands barely come away bloody at all.

“Shit,” Bucky says, with a heavy sigh. He takes his hand out of Jason’s hand, slides his fingers carefully along his cheek to his jaw, and then he lifts Jason’s face toward the light. He frowns at the split lip, the forming bruise. “Frank’s gonna kill me.”

“What?” Jason says. He runs his tongue over his lip, and Bucky’s eyes track the movement. There’s a weird, wrung-out feeling twisting in the pit of Jason’s stomach. “I’m the one who didn’t— he just whacked the shit out of your arm, Buck. Right in front of me.”

Bucky smiles at him, crooked and a little rueful. He stares at him for a second longer, and then he pulls back. There is, faint but still audible, the roar of a hometown crowd getting a victory.

Well, they were up 4-1 when Jason went after Rumlow. Whatever Bruce, and Tim, and all of Gotham’s management think, Jason isn’t incapable of growth. He’s getting better. He is learning, finally, to pick his battles.

Maybe all he needed was to get the fuck out of Gotham. And someday he’ll probably even feel alright about being wrenched out of his hometown and discarded like trash down a storm drain.

“You should take a shower,” Bucky tells him. “Put some ice on those hands. The guys’ll wanna buy you drinks.”

After Jason’s second-to-last fight in Gotham, he watched from the penalty box while the other team scored the goal that won them the game. Bruce was so mad that nobody in the locker room spoke a word afterwards. Nobody talked to Jason at all.

After his last fight in Gotham, the Bats traded him while he was still in the hospital.

It’s been a long damn time since anyone bought him drinks after he fought for his team. Since back before Roy was traded. Since way back in the early days, when he was a rising star instead of a letdown and a liability.

“You think so?” Jason says, biting back a smile. “No shit?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. He’s smiling when he does it, so there’s no sting to it at all. “Go get cleaned up,” he says. “No one’s gonna let you in a bar with blood on your face.”

There are bars in Gotham that wouldn’t recognize him any other way. But Jason’s starting to think – with a stupid, flickering hope he’d left for dead years ago – that maybe things will be different now.

[himbowelsh]

Oh my lord, I went through your shiftab tag and read the secret admirer oneshot, it was so cute! 😭 I know you aren't taking requests for those particular prompts but if possible, could you write a similar 'secret admirer' storyline for winnix or baberoe? Gosh please I'd die of happiness!

i have...  done the thing.  went with baberoe, because honestly i’m never not craving more content between those two, and there are considerably more ghosts than you probably wanted, but i really hope you enjoy, darling!!!

(read here on ao3)

Every one of his better instincts — and, contrary to popular belief, Babe does have a few — is screaming that this is an awful idea.

Quit your Irish dancing around the problem and fuckin’ do it, Bill would say, if only Bill were here. Babe knows exactly what advice Bill Guarnere would give — he can hear it in Bill’s voice, like the man’s shouting it, an entire ocean away. Still, an imagined echo is no substitute for the real thing. Babe can dream up as many Guarnere platitudes as his brain can handle... but they still won’t solve the problem in front of him now.

Namely, a blank piece of paper.

“God dammit,” he says out loud. “I don’t know how to do this.”

There’s no one around to hear him. More and more nowadays, there isn’t. He never used to talk to himself before — that was always something crazy people did, in Babe’s experience, and he could be called a lot of things, but crazy was never one of ‘em. People like Crazy Joe McKloskey could stand on the street corner talking to a lamppost like it could understand him. That’s fine, because it was crazy Joe. Babe Heffron, who delivered papers and chased his brothers through the backstreets of South Philly, never talked to himself... maybe because he was never alone.

To be fair, he’s at war, and it’s tough to be alone in a company of a hundred other guys. He’s gotten good at it, though. Gene was the one who showed him how to seek out peace when he needed it, taught him all the good places to hide, how to go away somewhere in your head the rest of the world couldn’t reach. He’d never needed those skills before, but now that he’s learned them, they’ve proved invaluable. More and more nowadays, with nothing to do but soak in the Austrian summer, Babe finds himself wanting to be alone.

Yeah, sometimes he talks to himself... only because the people he wants to be around, the people who damn well should be here, aren’t. 

You’re overthinking it, the voice in his head that sounds too much like Julian declares. When Babe looks up, he can almost see him — his old buddy, leaning back on a crate on the other side of the musky garret room. Julian has a way of lounging that was so casual it made him look boneless. He was a spreader, too — how many damn times did Babe have to shove him to the other side of the foxhole because Julian’s knee was digging into one of his damn organs? The kid liked to take up space. His ghost absorbs it now, studying Babe with a sort of mocking smirk. Look. Practically tearing your hair out, and you’ve barely even written a word yet.

“Yeah, well, it’s harder than you’d think.”

Babe’s not a letter writer. He never has been. His wrists cramp up when he holds a pen too long, and he can’t find the words anyways. His kid sister writes long letters, filled with funny anecdotes and memories from home; his Ma’s letters are shorter, succinct, and bluntly affectionate. Even Bill sent a message, after agonizing months of silence, letting the whole company know he’s doing alright, back home in the states. Babe treasures every letter he receives, tucking them away in his trunk between his underwear and his Bible... but the entire war, he’s only written his family three times. So far, he can’t bring himself to write to Bill at all.

Yeah, because you’re a lazy bum. There’s Old Guarnere again. He’s standing next to Julian — on both legs, whole and healthy — arms crossed as he blatantly judges Babe’s writing ability. The ceiling’s so low, on a steady downward slope, that Bill’s head hits it every time he moves. Babe can see the disgruntled faces he makes, clear as day, and it draws a laugh from him in spite of himself.

“I just — it can’t be any old letter, okay? It’s gotta be perfect. I need it to be perfect.”

You need to take a nap and quit pretending you’re a better writer than you are, Bill scoffs. When has anything you’ve ever written been perfect?

Babe presses his palm hard against his forehead, fingers tugging at his uncombed mess of hair. “That’s the problem, dammit. It ain’t gonna be perfect... but it’s what he deserves.”

If this goddamn war has taught him anything, it’s that Eugene Roe deserves nothing less than the best. The war sure hasn’t been shy about giving him the worst, over and over again. Gene’s hands have been stained with so much blood that it’s a wonder he can still look at them — can still go about his life as normal, humoring nervous patients and summoning a smile when the other fellas rib him — when he’s dealt with more shit than any of them. Babe just heard about his best friend getting his leg blown off. Gene was the one on his knees in the snow, scrambling to save Bill’s life. Yet when Babe retreated into himself afterwards, grief-stricken and reeling, Gene was the one who anchored him to earth. His quiet conversation and soft smiles put Babe back together, piece by piece at a time. He’s got a gift for healing, in ways he doesn’t even realize. A guy like that... deserves every good thing in the world, and Babe wants to hand them all to him.

As it is, he can’t even write one lousy letter.

“He’s gonna hate it. He’s gonna... throw it right back in my face, cause he realizes he’s talking to a guy who can’t spell ‘adoration’. He’s gonna... he’s gonna...”

Laugh. Except that’s not like Gene at all. Be goddamn disgusted... except Babe knows Gene well enough by now to know that’s not like him either. It’s hard to tell with other guys, especially in the army, where shared foxholes can so easily blur the lines between friend and lover... but he’s seen a gleam in Gene’s eyes when other fellas talk about Rita Hayworth and Betty Grable, like he’s just humoring the conversation while wishing it’d go somewhere else. Babe knows the feeling. No, Gene could do anything, but he wouldn’t be disgusted that a guy loves him.

Maybe... just that it’s Babe.

Now you’re really being an idiot, Julian moans, tipping his head back towards the sky. Babe’s first instinct is to throw something at him — the hand holding his pencil twitches, but he’s only got one, and there’s no satisfaction in swinging at ghosts.

 “I don’t know what to say,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his jaw again. Dear Gene, the letter reads. I’m writing because I need to tell you...

That’s as far as he’s got. Not even a full goddamn sentence.

Have you considered... you’re overthinking it? You’ve gotta actually write something before deciding you hate what you’ve written.

“Julian, you’re a regular goddamn philosophizer.”

I’m just saying! 

Suddenly, Julian is no longer on the other side of the room. He’s looming right over Babe’s shoulder, his presence like a weight bearing down on Babe’s back. Every twitch of his hand is being observed, every uncertain breath noted. Geez, he didn’t crack during jump school training, but this pressure is enough to split him in two.

“Forget it!” Babe exclaims, throwing the pencil down onto the paper. “This was a stupid idea, I give up!”

No, you fucking are not.

There’s Bill again — Bill Guarnere, and his unbeatable determination to butt his head into everyone else’s business. Babe lifts his head, glaring into the spot he imagines his best friend standing. Bill’s answering glare is an echo of the real thing… and Christ, what Babe wouldn't do to see that familiar scowl right in front of him, for real! Bill always made things simple. There was no overthinking when he was around. When Babe was being an idiot, Bill told him.

I’m telling you right now, jackass — you're being an idiot.

“And you’re winning motivational speaker of the goddamn year.”

I’m not trying to win anything here. You are, and doing a piss-poor job of it. I could cry just lookin’ at you. Look at this — ‘I’m writing because’? What kinda opening line is that? Did they not teach you how to write letters in grade school, or were them nuns too busy beating the ginger outta your hair?

“Trying their best,” Babe mutters, subconsciously rubbing the back of his head, where the phantom rap of a nun’s knuckles still stings. Today’s a day for phantoms, he guesses. While Julian cackles begins him, Bill’s specter crosses to the desk, hovering over Babe’s paper with a critical eye.

No, he finally declares, like he’s handing Babe’s bayonet back with instructions to polish it all over again. That’s it. You can’t do this.

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Babe exclaims, grateful to hear his subconscious finally agreeing.

You ain’t gonna be able to do this… Bill turns, then reels back around, sticking a finger in Babe’s face. So long as you keep thinking ‘bout what he’s gonna do when you hand it to him. What he’s gonna say once he reads it. You gotta write something before he can read it, you realize that, Babe? And you haven’t written a goddamn word worth reading so far. 

Babe assumes there’s a point here somewhere. He curls his fingers around the edge of the letter, waiting for it.

So, if you can’t get outta your own head… then write it as somebody else.

Bill grins, broad and shameless, like he always does when he ain’t making a lick of sense.

“You lost me,” Babe says. “Way back there.”

Keep the letter anonymous, Babe! Bill’s imagined face twists in frustration, his hand coming down to tap the paper. The silent impact rings in Babe’s ears. Don’t sign the thing. Leave it somewhere Doc will find it, and see what he does.

“That defeats the whole purpose of telling him how I feel!” Babe exclaims.

And how much luck are you having with that? demands Julian, coming to stand at Bill’s side. The two of them cross their arms, staring down at Babe with unabashed judgement. Burdened by the weird feeling that he’s being bullied by his own subconscious, he picks up his pencil again. What would Gene’s reaction be to finding a love letter unsigned? Babe imagines him pulling it out from under his pillow, or finding an envelope with his name on it at his makeshift aid station in the basement of Easy’s billets. How his long fingers would unfurl the paper, his lips mouthing the words silently as he read along… how his brows would furrow slowly, disbelief and awe swirling in the dark pools of his eyes… how eventually he’d look up, see Babe standing there waiting on him, and murmur, “Heffron, you’re not gonna believe this…”

And then what? Babe would pull Gene into his arms, and admit he’s loved him all along?

No. No way, not him. Not in this lifetime, at least.

Overthinking, Julian’s voice chimes again, and Babe’s never felt more tempted to swing at a ghost. Will you just write it already?

“Fine, goddammit!” Babe hisses. It’s frustration, really, that gets him to whip out a fresh sheet of paper… and as soon as he starts to write, the words flow from his pen like a dam’s burst open.

See you every day… know your heart… your caring… your sense of humor... impossible not to love you… wouldn’t know how to stop if I tried… love you more than I know what to do with.

I love you.

I’m in love with you, Eugene Roe.

Whatever you want is up to you… but I wrote this letter because I need to let you know.

He doesn’t sign it.

The envelope seals like a promise fulfilled; and when Babe looks up, he’s in the tiny attic alone.

------------------------------------------

It’s just his luck that Gene doesn’t spot the letter until Babe’s standing right next to him, alone in the cozy little infirmary.

Gene doesn’t miss a beat. “Hey,” he says, picking the letter up. “Babe, what’s this?”

There’s nothing on it, is the thing! No way to tell where it came from, and he knows Gene isn’t familiar enough with his handwriting to pick it out of a lineup. Babe stumbles back a step, alarm spiking as Gene holds the letter up. Playing dumb’s his only chance.

“Uhh… looks like a letter, maybe?”

Okay, not that dumb.

“Maybe,” echoes Gene, thoughtful, as he turns the envelope over in his hands. When his gaze is no longer piercing him, Babe can breathe again.

“Where’d you find it?”

“Someone left it on the chair. I sat on it.”

“Wow.” Wow, Babe. Just… wow. “You know, uhh, Vest made his rounds a little while ago, maybe something slipped from his pile. Or maybe he’s playing a joke, huh, you know that Vest —“

Why the hell is he implying Vest wrote his love letter?

“Doubt it was Vest,” Gene mutters, fingernail playing underneath the envelope’s fold as he carefully opens it. He even pries open mail like a doctor, slow and precise. Something in Babe’s heart soars at this tiny detail, and he almost wants to go to his knees in front of Gene right there.

“Well, it had to be someone,” he says instead, taking another few steps back. When he chuckles, it sounds shrill to his ears — like he’s fighting off the urge to scream. God dammit, Heffron, you’ve got all the subtlety of a rock, why’d you think this was a good idea?

It’s not. This is a horrible idea. He can’t look Gene in the face while he’s reading the letter, and if Babe stays here one more minute, he’s gonna give himself away. “Sorry, Gene, but I gotta go now — told Liebgott I’d help him with, uhh, this thing that he — needed help with, and… so yeah, I gotta do that.”

Gene looks up at him, distracted from the letter. Babe manages a grimace, and a tiny wave. “See ya!”

He can’t get out of the basement fast enough. Behind him is only silence, as Gene Roe begins to read.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Gene finds him much later that night, after the sun has already set over Zell-Am-See, painting the town in violet and blue. The late summer sky has always spoken to Babe in a way he can never explain, like a fist locking inside his chest and trying to tug his heart out. It’s nostalgia for a place far away, and a time he can’t return to. As daylight slowly fades out into inky darkness, Babe watches the sky, lost in a time when everything was simpler.

He doesn’t hear Gene coming until he drops onto the window ledge beside him. Babe isn’t jumpy, and Gene’s never startled him yet, so he doesn’t tumble over to the street below in shock… but the look on Gene’s face almost sends him jumping the fifteen feet down.

“Hey, Gene,” he says instead, quickly looking back out at the horizon.

“Hey.” Gene lets the word linger. He fumbles with a cigarette, long fingers moving deftly as he maneuvers his lighter. He gets it lit, and holds it out generously. Babe’s nerves would like nothing more, but his balance can’t take holding onto this will with just one hand. He shakes his head. With a shrug, Gene tucks the cigarette between his own pursed lips.

“You close up shop for the night?”

“Yeah. Unless someone stumbles around drunk and ends up knocking their head… or gets hit with a dart again. Had to pull it outta Perconte’s shoulder the last time.”

“Think I heard that from upstairs. Screaming like a cat the whole time, huh?”

“The man’s been shot before, and he complained less.” Gene exhales through his nose, blowing two long lines of smoke into the air. Babe’s eyes linger on it, transfixed.

“You, uhh —“ Suddenly, he’s frightened of silence, but his mind’s too scattered to keep a conversation in one place. “You get dinner?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.”

Quiet again. Christ, even when he was a kid, Babe could never stand the quiet; his Ma sometimes pushed him out of the house and locked the door behind him, just to get some peace. Why is it so hard to find words now?

“Look, Heffron —“ Gene starts, and the exact moment Babe blurts out, “Gene —“

They both go silent, staring at each other. Babe inhales, holding the breath in his chest until he feels like he’s gonna burst with it.

A familiar voice in his head — the one that’s a dead-ringer for Bill Guarnere — groans, Will you please spit it the hell out already?

“So,” Babe says, “the letter.”

“Yeah,” says Gene. His gaze doesn’t leave Babe’s, sharp as a needle.

“Look, I wanted to —“

“I know,” says Gene.

“I wanted to say —“

“Babe,” Gene cuts in. “I know.”

Finally, Babe meets his gaze head-on. It’s never possible to read what’s going on in Gene’s head, but his face gives something away, sometimes. The way the corners of his lips twitch when he’s trying not to laugh; the line that appears between his eyebrows when he’s really worried; the way his eyes go soft when he knows someone needs comforting, and turn to hot coals when he’s furious.

Right now, Babe can’t pick a damn thing out of Gene’s expression… but his eyes are very, very soft. It feels like a punch to the stomach.

“You know,” he says slowly, “but…”

The words linger between them for a long, charged moment. Babe’s chest feels like it’s caught in a compactor, being slowly squeezed until his lungs burst and his ribs turn to dust. He huffs out a laugh — a dry, desperate thing. “Jesus, Gene, you look like you’re about to break my heart.” Gene still doesn’t say a word; Babe looks up at him, wide-eyed. “Why’s it you doctors just love to drag things out? Rip off the band-aid quick, and save us both the trouble.”

“Edward,” he says gently, laying a hand over Babe’s own. Babe jerks away like he’s been stung.

“Don’t Edward me right now!”

“Babe,” Gene says, and his voice is softer than ever. Babe’s throat is tight, eyes stinging… but damned if he’ll let himself cry over this, not where Gene can see. Christ, he’s an idiot. He’s so stupid, he should never have done anything, why did he even think —

“I have known... for a while, now. Didn’t need a letter to tell me some things.” Gene pauses, like he’s chewing over the words, before adding, “But it was good to read. Just to know.”

“Now you know,” Babe replies, and inhales a deep breath. “You happy now?”

Gene doesn’t answer. When Babe risks a glance over, Gene isn’t looking at him at all anymore; his eyes are on the sky, watching as the first pinpricks of starlight pierce through the indigo curtain. He looks thoughtful, almost mournful. It gouges something in Babe’s chest.

“Gene,” he says again. “Are you happy?”

“I don’t know.” When Gene inhales, it’s almost like a whisper. When he exhales, it’s like he’s singing to the night air. “Thought about it for a long time. Trying to figure out how I feel.”

“You’ve had a whole afternoon to do it. You get it all sorted out yet?”

“Longer than that,” Gene replies. His gaze flickers over to him. “I told you, Babe. I knew.”

Jesus. So he wasn’t as subtle as he thought. Babe exhales, praying to make the sick-to-his-stomach sensation go with it. Instead, it just churns even harder. If this goes on any longer, he’s gonna need a damn bucket.

Gene’s never been the best with words; expressing himself has never been easy, which is why Babe’s gotten so good at reading between the lines. Gene’s really trying now — for his sake, Babe supposes. “Reading that letter, seeing all those feelings laid out on paper… Babe, you didn’t have to sign it. I’d ‘a known it was you, just from what you said. It was like… listening to your heart. And a part of me already does that every day, so I guess it was easy.”

Can Gene hear his heart screaming now? Babe grips the windowsill until his knuckles turn white, grounding himself. 

“I wasn’t sure how you felt before… and I wasn’t sure how I felt for you. Knew you felt something, but not what, and not how…” Gene swallows, pale throat bobbing. “But now I know.”

“Now you know.” Babe dwells on this statement for a moment before turning, hesitation heavy on his tongue. “So… what now, Gene?”

Gene takes a deep breath, clinging to the night sky for one last moment, before turning his gaze on him. “Do you— “ He pauses, licks his lips. “Do you really mean what you wrote? All of it?”

“Gene,” Babe replies, “I meant every word.”

Something calms in Gene’s eyes, like a storm settling. Babe isn’t expecting the way his gaze clears, or the flash of steely certainty that follows. “Well,” Gene says, “there’s only one thing to do.”

Another thing Babe isn’t expecting — how sweet Gene tastes when his lips are suddenly pressed to his own.

Somewhere far away, beyond the depths of his own consciousness — which is really just a victory parade and firework show, that’s all he’s capable of at the moment — he thinks Bill would be proud of him. Beyond the grave, Julian’s probably cheering for him, glad his buddy’s finally getting some.

For once, though, their voices are drowned out completely. It’s impossible to hear anything over the storm raging in his ears, which only swells to a fever pitch when Gene leans back and smiles at him.

“Well, Babe,” he says, as Babe cups his face like a reverent thing. “Think we can figure things out from here.”

“Jesus, Gene,” Babe declares, and swoops in to kiss him again.

[visenyatargaryn]

— OC INTERVIEW

tagged by the lovely @chuckhansen​​ and @queennymeria​​!! thank you both so much!! 💖💖

tagging: @aryastrks, @troyebakers​, @tyvians​, @callmeredhood​, @sonyarebecchi && @myrcella​ (if you’ve been tagged already, then ignore this!)

Name: Evangeline... Zotova

Are you single: No, I’m not. 

Are you happy: I... I think so, yes. Definitely yes. To be honest, I haven’t felt true happiness for quite some time. Ever since... well, you know. I had almost forgotten what it felt like... to be happy that is.

Are you angry: Right now? No. I think I’m finally at peace now, thankfully. If you had asked me that a few months ago... my answer would have been different. Back then... I was so angry at everything. The world... the Institute... and myself.

Are your parents still married: I don’t know how to answer that since they’ve been dead for over 200 years now. My mother died while giving birth to me, and my father... well, let’s just say he wished it was me that died that day. However, if it wasn’t for me being born and the world ending... I do believe my parents would still be married.

Nine Facts

Birthplace: Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Hair color: Black

Eye color: Vibrant green.

Birth date: September 21, 2048

Mood: Currently? Exhausted since Hancock didn’t let me sleep much last night. Shit.. sorry, that was a bit too much information wasn’t it?

Gender: Female

Summer or winter: Summer. I hate the fucking cold, although the alternative does give me the excuse to snuggle up with Hancock.

Morning or afternoon: Mornings. I like how peaceful they are... a fresh beginning to a new day.

Eight things about your love life

Are you in love: Yes, and honestly? It’s the best feeling in the world. It’s strange... you think you loved someone in the past, thinking they were your happily ever after... but fate has different plans for you. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Daniel, but he’s dead now and I’m still alive with a long life ahead of me. And with Hancock.... things just feel different? I’m not one who believes in soulmates, but perhaps that’s what this is?

Do you believe in love at first sight: No, love doesn’t just come on a whim... it takes time to manifest.

Who ended your last relationship: ...A man by the name of Kellogg. He umm... he murdered my husband, Daniel, in cold blood. I’m sorry, but can we please change the subject?

Have you ever broken someones heart: If I have, then I have no recollection of it since I was always the one with the broken heart and not the other person.

Are you afraid of commitment: Yes, more than you think. All my life... people have been leaving me since I was a child. Hell, my own father abandoned his own daughter and fucked off to God knows where. I’ve been cheated on, and I’ve been used and left behind like some kind of fucking useless object. So yeah, I’m terrified of commitment, because the entire relationship is always one-sided in the end.

Have you hugged someone in the last week: Hancock, and only him.

Have you ever had a secret admirer: More like stalkers. When I was a... dancer at a night club in Philly, I had my fair share of creeps. It wasn’t bad at first, hell I thought it was kind of nice to have some admirers you know? They would send flowers mostly, but eventually, it became an actual fucking nightmare. There were letters. They started out as simple love letters... then they became more vulgar... and finally came the death threats. Thankfully the security in the place was decent enough to keep them away... or so I thought, but that’s a story for another time.

Have you ever broken your own heart: I don’t think so, no?

Six Choices

Love or Lust: A healthy dose of both isn’t a bad thing, actually. They are two sides of the same coin are they not? Although, I must admit that I have made a lot of poor life choices... lust being a factor in many of them.

Lemonade or Iced Tea: Lemonade. I remember when I used to live in Sanctuary before the bombs fell. The children would often put up lemonade stands during the summer, and let me tell you... the competition was neverending.

Cats or Dogs: Dogs. I love cats, don’t get me wrong, but dogs just provide better companionship in an apocalyptic world.

A few Best friends or Regular Friends: The first option I suppose. I don’t have many friends anyhow, and those that are... I trust them with my own life.

Wild night out or romantic night in: Night out. I love hearing Magnolia sing down in the Third Rail... her voice is just so soothing. Besides, it kind of comes with the package deal when it comes to Hancock.

Day or night: Nights. It’s peaceful. The world is put on hold for a few hours, and it’s a good time to just relax, you know?

Five Have You Evers

Been caught sneaking out: No. My father never paid much attention to me while growing up, so I could do whatever I please.

Fallen Down/Up the Stairs: All I’m saying is that I had a disagreement with gravity that day, and it won.

Wanted someone/something so badly it hurt: Yes... a daughter shouldn’t have to beg her father for a relationship now, should she?

Wanted to disappear: There was a time when I wanted to, yes. I wished it to be more... permanent, however. I had lost everything, and I no longer wished to keep going because what was the point? Everything about my old life was gone, as it was reduced to nothing but ash and dust, and I was a stranger forced into a foreign place.

Four preferences

Smile or eyes: Eyes. They’re something that’s easily read, and like they say... the eyes never lie.

Shorter or taller: Taller.

Intelligence or Attraction: Attraction... bonus points if they have some intelligence in them though.

Hook up or Relationship: Relationship. I’ve had my fair share of hookups... and it’s just not the same. There’s no connection, you know? It was an alternative I sometimes used to forget things... when alcohol no longer numbed the pain.

Family

Do you and your family get along: No. I never knew my mother since she died during childbirth and as for my father... he had no love for me. Yeah, he raised me and cared for me, but that’s as far as that went. I saw the way he looked at me, with such deep sadness and hatred. The sadness because I was a spitting image of her... my mother that is. As for the hatred, well he blamed me for what happened, and when he was in a drunken stupor... those nights were the worse. In all those years, however, he never hurt me... not physically anyway. Although, there are times where I find myself wondering whatever became of him. Did he live long enough to see the world end? If he did, then did he survive? Was he able to make it to a vault in time? Did he become a ghoul? I know I’ll never know the answers to these questions, and it’s foolish for me to ask myself these since there was no love between us. I guess that’s just the detective in me wanting answers for the unexplainable...

Would you say you have a messed up life: My life is a complete fucking mess if you ask me. I witnessed my husband’s death and the kidnapping of my son. Then I had to end my son’s life because he was now the head of some evil cooperation. And to top it all off, I’m now living 200 years into the future... in a world that was reduced to nothing but ash and dust all because the world leaders decided to play God. So yeah, saying my life is messed up is putting it lightly.

Have you ever ran away from home: Yes, but only after my father decided to leave one day without any signs of him returning... so I just left as well. Did I wish to run away prior to that? Absolutely. Except I had nowhere else to go, and I was far too young to live on my own.

Have you ever got kicked out: Surprisingly, no. I always expected my father to tell me to pack my bags at some point, but he never did.

Friends

Do you secretly hate one of your friends: No. If I hated someone, then I would let them know right away how I feel about them.

Do you consider all of your friends good friends: Yes. We have all been through a lot together and there are none other I would consider friends than them. Nick had been there every step of the way when it came to finding my son, and I would trust him with my own life... just as I had done the same with the real Nick Valentine. Codsworth, well, I know he’s just a robot, but he’s been a good friend and has always been supportive... and he was there since the beginning, before the war that is. Dasiy is a spectacular woman, when I first came to Goodneighbor she welcomed me with open arms... and our talks are just so wonderful since we’re both from the same time. Then there’s Hancock, of course, we’re more than friends now, but he’s... well, he’s everything I could ask for in someone.

Who is your best friend: Do I have to pick one? Because I consider all of my friends as such, but if I must choose only one, then it’s Hancock. He’s a great friend and more; Hancock was there for me when I was at my lowest point... I had just come out of the vault and I was in a shitty place; being plagued by nightmares... extreme depression... and I was a fucking alcoholic. He never walked away though, no matter how hard I tried to push... he pushed back harder. He took care of me on my bad days, and I... I don’t think there are any words or deeds that could ever be used to thank him for it?

Who knows everything about you: Hancock and Nick both perhaps? I mean, Nick has the memories of the real Nick Valentine... who I happened to work with for a time before the war. Hancock... well, there are no secrets between us, and he basically knows my entire life story as does Nick.

[etherealwaifgoddess]

More Time - Chpt.9

Summary: Bucky enjoys his lazy day off and decides to visit Emma at the bar like Steve did. Master list can be found HERE. 

Warnings/ Content: Flirty banter, that is all :)

Word Count: 1.5k

Author’s Note: Hello lovelies! Please enjoy some patented Bucky Barnes Flirting. Said flirting could charm the panties off even the oldest meanest nun. It’s a public health hazard, I tell ya! But also, in the end, our boys finally have the talk about what all these new feelings mean. Communication is key in any relationship ya’ll!  XOXO - Ash

Chapter Nine

Bucky was more than ready for his four day weekend come Thursday morning. He enjoyed the quiet, lazy time to himself after Steve left for work. Unlike Steve, Bucky had no issues wasting time around their apartment by himself. He sprawled out with General on his stomach purring away watching episodes of How It’s Made and sipping his coffee. Bucky had gone through the entire pot of coffee he’d made after lunch before he decided to be productive and catch up on laundry. He mused it was nice to be able to drink as much coffee as he wanted without judgement. It was equally nice to wear nothing but his fluffy robe while doing laundry as well. Bucky thought he could get used to having an afternoon and evening to himself once a week. 

By the time dinner time rolled around Bucky was sprawled out with General on the sofa again and almost wanted to just stay in for the evening. Steve would be home around 9:30 after his one to nine shift at the VA and Bucky considered spending another four hours at home watching TV. It was tempting, but the allure of seeing Emma again had him getting up and digging through the dresser for his favorite skinny jeans. Steve always seemed to have trouble thinking when he wore them, something about the way they made his thighs look. He grabbed his favorite old henley that showed off the broad expanse of his chest and layered his leather jacket over it. Giving his hair one more finger comb in the mirror he was off and hurrying down the street wishing he had worn something heavier than just a leather jacket. The cold always unnerved him a bit.

Emma was pouring drinks for a group of women in business suits when he entered the bar and took a seat at the end where he and Steve had sat the last time he’d been in. She saw him immediately and gave him a quick smile and wave. Emma sat the drinks down for the women and headed down to greet Bucky, happy to see him again. Where Steve’s features were fair and slight, Bucky was dark and solid mass. Polar opposites that complimented each other perfectly and interested her all the same. She shook herself a little as she set down the drink napkin, “We meet again.” She said with a warm smile.

“I heard you guys make a mean burger.” Bucky joked.

“Steve seemed to enjoy his, yeah. Is this your night off?”

“Yep. Steve works late tonight and I have a four day weekend. Don’t you ever get a night off?”

“Tuesdays and Wednesdays every week. You guys just seem to always come in on the nights I’m here.”

“Lucky us.” Bucky gave her his megawatt smile and Emma did her best to seem unaffected while her knees trembled behind the bar. 

“So, what’ll it be?” She asked, her voice forcibly steady.

“Whatever lager you have on tap and a bistro burger, please.” 

“Coming right up.” Emma told him and she headed back to give the kitchen his order. 

The bar had “Thirsty Thursday” specials going and while it made a slight uptick in customers around happy hour it was still a weeknight and Emma found time to linger down at the end of the bar to keep Bucky company while he ate. It had been a long time since Bucky had flirted with a woman and while he felt out of practice, Emma smiled and giggled at all the right places so he assumed he was doing something right. They talked about his sisters and growing up in a house full of women. Emma told him about her sister who lived back in Pennsylvania with her husband and two kids. She had come from a small town outside of Philly and moved to New York after college hoping to find work as an art consultant but ultimately finding nothing but a job tending bar at Matty’s. Bucky could have listened to her talk all night, happy to just watch her eyes light up when she got excited over something. 

“Steve said the exact same thing!” Emma exclaimed when Bucky commented on the way she bounced a little on her feet instead of just standing still while they talked.

Bucky rolled his eyes dramatically, “He has no room to talk, he’s been fidgety as long as I’ve known him. The worst is trying to share a blanket on the couch and the whole damn thing shakes while he jiggles his leg.” 

Emma tried not to sigh at the thought of curling up on the couch with them, all wrapped up in warm, snuggly comfort. “The bouncing helps keep my feet from getting too sore standing all night. But I do the leg jiggle thing too so I’m not commenting on that.” 

“Oh god, you two would be a pair. Both of you too feisty, wiggly, and cute for your own good.” 

Emma blushed deeply at that and strained to maintain her composure and not fawn over him like a teenager at the “cute” comment. “Well, you would certainly need your own blanket.” She quipped trying to keep things light but it somehow coming off a little suggestive.

Bucky grinned broadly and dimples appeared on each side of his mouth, “I’ll keep that in mind, doll.”

“Do you need anything else?” Emma asked while clearing away his plate, deciding it was easier to keep busy than hide the effect he was having on her.

“Nah, Steve will be getting home soon. I should head out.” He sounded disappointed and his smile dimmed. 

Emma gave him the check and wished she had been able to keep the almost flirty banter going a little longer. The conversation had flowed so easily; Bucky asked deep, thoughtful questions and had been unexpectedly funny at times too. She wondered what it must be like at home for Steve and him. They complimented each other so well, it was no wonder they were together. Emma longed for that perfect sense of belonging with someone. She doubted at this point she’d ever find it, instead finding comfort in her place as friend, sister, and auntie. 

Bucky watched Emma close herself off a little more and wished he could have prevented it. He did need to leave though and as much as he wanted to get home to Steve, he was enjoying himself. 

“Tell Steve hi for me.” Emma said as she took the check and money back from Bucky.

“Will do, doll. He’ll probably be back again next week when I’m working late. A guy can get used to this: good food, good conversation, pretty girl.” 

“Get home to your partner, you charmer.” Emma chuckled and gave him a light shove, noticing despairingly at how firm and solid his arm was under her hand. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going.” Bucky sighed, “I’ll see you next week.” He gave her one last, megawatt smile and was out the door into the chilly February night.

Steve had beaten him by a few minutes and was heating up a plate of leftovers when Bucky walked in. “Look at you.” He teased when he saw Bucky.

Bucky shrugged but knew he looked good, “Says the guy who wore dress pants and a button up to go to a bar. I at least fit in.” 

“How was your night?” Steve asked, letting Bucky pull him into a full body hug.

“Really good. I see what you meant about her asking good questions. She’s so smart and funny and, damn, we are both in over our heads here, aren’t we?”

“Absolutely doomed, yeah. Is this something you would want though? I know we used to share a girl from time to time but we’re just getting back to being together. I want to make sure you know that I don’t need anyone else, you’re enough for me. It’s fun to play, but only if we both want to.”

“I’m in if you are. We both know where we stand with each other and I don’t see a problem if we both like her.” Bucky shrugged, unconcerned but appreciative that Steve had thought to worry.

“It really depends on if she’s in. It’s always gonna be you and me, but if she can accept that it could be a lot of fun.” 

“Okay. No pressure. Let’s keep getting to know her and if we ever get a chance to make a move, we go for it.” 

“You say ‘we’ like there’s a chance of me making a move. We both know it’ll be you and that smile if anything.” 

“I don’t know, you got some moves of your own.”

“Oh really?” Steve smirked, noticing Bucky had slid his hands down to cup his ass, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Hmm. Maybe you're right. I feel like making a move right now, as a matter of fact.” Steve ground his hips against Bucky’s, making a small huffing sound as Bucky groaned. That was all it took for dinner to be forgotten, both of them a little worked up over the closeness of their bodies and the thought of sharing their affection with the sweet red headed bartender who had caught their eye.

Tag list lovelies: @godofplumsandthunder​ @remilupin22​ @supraveng​ @hiddles-rose​

If anyone wants added or removed please lmk!

[babbushka]

Good morning, Mrs Z! I’ve had a shitty week, nothing too dramatic, just lots of drama and blah! Could you please do some fun goofy cheering you up sex and fluff with either Flip or Charlie?? Thank you!!! And I’m excited for the dark stuff too! 💛

(1.3k, NSFW [fingering, PIV, roleplay but it’s very silly and tender], I’m so sorry for how long this took, I hope you’re doing well and that you enjoy!)

He stamps the chill out from his boots as the front door closes behind him, sighs and stretches, happy to be home. Flip knows he’s late, later than he thought he would be, and the relief of standing in his own foyer instead of out undercover somewhere floods through him.

“Honey-bunny? I’m home.” Flip steps out of his shoes and drops his keys in the little dish by the door, hangs his jacket up in the coat closet, looking around all the while to figure out where you are.

“I’m in the living room!” Your voice rings out softly, a little raspy from the disuse of the evening, and joy sparks up Flip’s spine.

You’re wrapped up in a robe on the couch, feet turned towards the fire that’s crackling gently. You’ve got some work in front of you that must have been keeping you company, and Flip takes a few silly dancing steps over to you so he can crouch in front of the couch in front of you.

“Why the long face?” He notices you’ve got that sad look in your eye, and his brow creases a little at the sight.

“Just one of those days.” You shrug, a gentle smile reassuring him that really nothing is wrong exactly, nothing that can be immediately addressed anyway.

At least, that’s what you think. Flip’s already getting up and making his way back through the house to the front door, calling over his shoulder, “Hold on, I know what’ll help.”

He goes back outside, and rings the doorbell. It takes only a couple seconds before you’re opening the front door with an amused smile eating away at your cheeks. Flip pretends to smoke a cigarette he doesn’t have and hitches up a belt that he isn’t wearing, nods his head at you in greeting.

“Good evening ma’am, someone called in a noise complaint round these parts.” Flip says, speaking in a deeper, gruffer voice than his usual one.

“Oh they did, did they?” You slink yourself against the doorframe, already playing into his game, already getting into the spirit of it.

“Yes, now, I could let you off with a warning, but…” He watches your body lean against the little strip of wood, watches as your robe starts to fall open ever so slightly. There’s no one around, you live in the middle of the mountains after all, just you two. No one around for miles who might see the peek of your nipple that he can just barely make out.

“But?” You snap him back to reality, and Flip blushes bright red. He can’t resist you, not even when he’s trying to be serious – maybe especially when he’s trying to be serious. You’re grinning at him, biting your bottom lip and your eyes sparkling, and Flip wishes he could marry you all over again.

“But a pretty woman like you must be used to that.” He tsks his tongue and shakes his head slowly, taking a step closer to you. “Someone oughta teach you a lesson every now and again.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Your ego blooms and Flip rolls his eyes at you. He walked right into that one, and he knows it.

“Let me take a peek at what’s under that robe, and I’ll tell ya.” He raises a brow as if it’s a challenge.

He really should’ve known better to say that, because with no hesitation at all you’ve tugged off the little sash that holds the robe closed, and with a shimmy of your shoulders, the soft flannel fabric falls around your wrists, leaving your entire body naked and bare for him.

Flip’s brain zeroes out entirely for a second there, and he doesn’t even realize that he’s scooping you up and throwing you over his shoulder until you’re laughing happily and pounding your fists playfully against his back.

“Flip!” Your stomach swoops from being upside down, and Flip kicks the door shut with a force that’s probably more than necessary, “Philly honey be careful – ah!”

He dumps you on the soft rug in the living room next to the fireplace, and begins immediately kissing all over your face. His goatee tickles and you place your palm square on his nose and push his head back, laughing, eyes bright.

“I’m charging you with two counts of being the sexiest bitch on the block, and one for attempted murder.” Flip moves to your neck, biting and sucking, worrying the flesh there.

“Murder!” You gasp when one of his big warm hands pushes between your legs and begins stroking at your pussy, fingers already wriggling their way inside, calloused thumb rubbing your wetness onto your clit in little circles that have your eyes shut tight, mouth dropped open.

“You bet ketsl,” He works you open until you’re not so tense, until your muscles begin to relax for him and you’re whimpering, grinding your hips down against the heel of his hand, a sign that you want more. “Flashing me like that, gonna give me a heart attack. I’m gonna fuck you okay?”

You’re already nodding, already lying at a better angle so that he can just start thrusting himself in. You’re giggling, your hands covering your face as Flip unzips his jeans and pulls his dick out of his briefs just for you. He rubs it through your folds for a good while, slicking himself up, before nudging the tip in and pressing himself into you.

“Fuck your cock’s big.” You moan as you fist a hand in his hair and tug, gasping out around him with a pretty, “Oh!”

“Drop your hips for me baby,” Flip kisses your cheek and you take him nearly all the way all at once when you listen to him, body sucking him in, begging for him, “Atta girl, you’re so damn tight, you don’t got a man at home to keep you satisfied?”

You swat at his shoulder for that, bliss and joy bubbling up through you and bringing a smile to Flip’s face as he gets a rhythm that has you loud loud loud, loud enough to warrant such a thing as a noise complaint if there were anyone to hear.

“I got more than a man, I’ve got the best damn detective this side of the Rockies – and he keeps me very satisfied, when he’s not working late, that is.” You manage to say, and Flip nips bites all across your shoulders for the remark.

“I’m gonna come, I’m sorry – ” Flip grunts out, feeling embarrassed. He normally lasts much longer, but it’s been a long day, and he just loves you so much, you feel so good, he can’t hold it back.

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m close.” You’re good to him, so good, clenching tight around him so it feels good, so he comes and spills into you with a moan low in his chest.

He fucks you through it, rubs at your clit and you come with a gentle gasp. He’ll give you an earth-shattering orgasm before bed, he makes that silent promise to himself even as he’s floating on cloud nine.

But for the moment, you’re happy, smiling up at him with a sappy grin on your face. He leans down to kiss you, get his tongue in your mouth to taste you the way he always wants to, the sweet smacking sound swallowed by the crackling of the fire, until you’re groaning out, “Oh dammit, I forgot to make dinner.”

“That’s okay ketsl, I’ll call in for a pizza.” Flip chuckles, and he knows he’s in for it this evening when you waggle your eyebrows up at him and wink,

“Make sure to ask for extra sausage.”

[allie-mcginn]

Who do you belong to? | Nolan Patrick Smut

A/N: requested by anon (also I’m on mobile, so I have no clue how to do ‘read more’ sorry) sorry for any errors!

THANK YOU to @lizzywow for helping me to finish this! Love you!!

Word count:2393

Warnings: SMUT!!! Don’t read if you’re under 18! Choking. Alcohol. Jealous!Nolan. Nolan grabs the readers wrist tightly, idk if that’s triggering.

——

So you and Nolan were out at a club in Philly, celebrating the teams win tonight over the Penguins. You had dressed up a bit more provocative than usual and were planning on having a fun night with Nolan. However, your night was not going as planned.

Nolan was standing at the bar with Ivan and Oskar, in no mood to be with you on the dance floor. Luckily, TK was in the mood to let loose and was more than willing to dance with you. As you and TK danced to the beat of the music, you couldn’t help but continuously glance in Nolan’s direction. Only to find him laughing at something Ivan said instead of looking at you. It may have been the alcohol talking, but you wanted nothing more than to send Nolan into a jealous rage. Simply because when Nolan is jealous, the sex is so good, you can’t walk straight for days afterwards.

So, you moved yourself closer to Travis, who was pretty drunk and just looking to have fun at this point. As a rather sexual song started playing over the speakers, you found yourself turning around and leaning into Travis’ embrace, your back pressed against his chest.

“Y/N, what do you think you’re doing?” Travis slurred in your ear.

“Dancing, what does it look like?” You said as if it was obvious while moving your body against his in a sinful manner.

TK just shrugged and pulled your body closer to his trying to match your rhythm. Both of you knew TK would never push things too far. Nolan was his best friend and he respected you and the relationship you two had, that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy flirting with you to rile Nolan up occasionally. You and TK danced for a few songs, with you occasionally glancing over towards the bar to see if Nolan was reacting the way you wanted him to. You met his eyes as you moved your hips a bit more seductively and ran your hand through TK’s hair, Nolan just looked back at you with a rather unreadable expression. If how you were moving was not getting him jealous, then you’d have to step it up a notch. You pulled TK’s head down, moving your mouth to his ear.

“Time to turn it up a bit, Konecny.” He smirked and spun you around so your fronts were pressed together. You moved against each other, with his hands roaming around your body and yours tangled in his hair. He maneuvered one of his legs between yours, giving you something to grind against. He smirked at you and tilted his head in the direction of your rosy-cheeked boyfriend.

You looked over your shoulder to see Nolan holding his drink with white knuckles. His jaw was clenched and his pupils were blown in either anger or lust, you couldn’t tell, you didn’t care. You got the reaction you wanted.

You winked at him as he chugged the rest of his drink and stalked over to where you were, leaving Ivan and Oskar confused at his sudden departure. By the time Nolan reached you, you had turned your attention back to Travis, successfully ignoring the fact that your boyfriend was now standing behind you. You only acknowledged him once he grabbed you by the shoulder, forcing you to turn and face him.

“What do you think you’re doing, angel?” You smirked and reached up to run a hand through his hair.

“Dancing with Trav. What does it look like, babe?” You looked up at him with an innocent look playing across your face as he looked down at you in disbelief. By this time Travis has disappeared off the dance floor and over to Ivan and Oskar at the bar.

“You think it’s okay to dance like that with TK? I think you forgot who you belong to, angel.” He rasped in your ear and the hand he had on the small of your back moved lower and pulled you closer to his large frame. The grip you had on his hair tightened while your free hand found a home on his broad chest.

You smirked up at him, “Oh yeah? And who is that?”

You knew that you were making him mad by the way he gripped your hips with more pressure, but that just made the wetness in your panties even more noticeable to you. You could feel other people bumping into you and Nolan, obviously annoyed that the two of you weren’t dancing but instead just standing still in the middle of the dancefloor. Nolan just growled at your response, frustrated that you were playing games.

“Hmm, no answer? Guess I’ll just go find Trav and see if he’ll tell me who I belong to.” You remove yourself from Nolan’s hold and start to walk over to where the other Flyers players were. Nolan was quick to react, grabbing your wrist more aggressively than he should’ve. He yanked you back into his chest, grip not loosening in the slightest. Honestly, you���d only seen Nolan this aggressive on the ice and weren’t sure how to react; so, you froze.

“Oh, angel, you’re gonna regret that. We’re leaving. Now.” He dragged you out of the club into the chilly Philadelphia air, you struggled to keep up with his rapid pace as he walked back to your shared apartment.

“Nolan, please slow down. I’m in heels.”

However, your pleas fell upon deaf ears. The tall, brown-haired boy didn’t utter a single word in your direction until the two of you were in the privacy of your apartment. As soon as the door was locked, Nolan turned to you, eyes dark and filled with lust, he circled your frozen figure. He stopped behind you and moved your hair behind your ear, leaning closer to you.

“You’ve been playing a dangerous game all night, angel. One that you had no chance in winning.” His lips trailed along the exposed skin on your neck, your head instinctively leaning to the side to give him more access. You moaned in pleasure, finally getting what you had wanted all night long.

“Oh I think I've already won,” you panted out as Nolan continued to suck on your sweet spot. He bit down harshly on your soft skin to mark you, then pulled back to look you in your eyes, hands coming up to tangle themselves in your hair.

“What was that angel?” He grabbed your hair at the roots and pulled your head roughly to the side, the pain felt nice on your scalp. “You think that you get to dance with TK all night long and think you've won?”

“Oh Nolan,” you sighed, leaning into his hand pulling at your hair. “You can be such a stupid boy sometimes, you know?” You pushed Nolan up against the wall and bit his bottom lip before kissing him deeply, Nolans hands came down to grip your ass, fingertips pressed up under your skirt to feel your skin.

Next thing you knew, Nolan had picked you up by your thighs and pushed you up against the wall next to the door. The two of you make out against the wall, hands roaming as far as your position would allow. It wasn’t long before he walked you to the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed with you in his lap. You quickly got between his muscular legs and unzipped his jeans, which were certainly much tighter than when he had put them on earlier. You pulled his pants down his long legs, leaving him in just his boxer briefs. You look up at him with innocent eyes as you start to palm him over the strained fabric, Nolan watching your every movement, carefully. You placed an open-mouth kiss over his cock before pulling his briefs down his legs, letting his cock spring up and slap against his lower stomach.

Hesitantly, you reach out and wrap your hand around him and bring your tongue out to lick a broad strip along the underneath of his swollen cock. Nolan lets out a sigh of relief as you wrap your lips around his head, sucking slightly. You knew you were being a brat and teasing him much more than you should be, but you just couldn’t help it. You took as much of him into your mouth as you could, relaxing your throat as you take more of him deeper and deeper.

Nolan’s demeanor changed as soon as he felt himself hit the back of your throat, his cocky attitude had quickly made a comeback.

“Yeah, angel, that's right you're mine. You couldn’t suck anybody as well as you suck me. You may be a brat, but you’re always so good for me.”

You moan at his words and reach a hand up to start playing with his balls, Nolan lets out a guttural noise, throwing his head back in pleasure. You know then that even though he’s been acting cocky all night, you’ve still got him wrapped around your finger.

Nolan could tell he was getting close to his release, so he pulled you off of him and tossed you back onto the bed. He couldn’t seem to get your clothes off fast enough, you’re pretty sure he even tore your skirt. He quickly removed his shirt, leaving you both naked, before he attached his lips to your neck. Leaving hickeys on any available skin he could find, you would certainly struggle to cover these marks for the following days to come.

Nolan worked his way down your body, any skin his hands touched, his lips followed shortly thereafter. His fingers reached your dripping core, easily inserting two fingers inside you, curling up into your sweet spot, making you moan out. Your nails found a home in the skin of his back, scratching enough that you know there will be marks tomorrow. He isn’t quite ready to finish teasing you yet, but he knows that he won’t last much longer.

Nolan removes his fingers from your core and with his other hand, he opened your mouth so he could place the fingers that had just been in you into your mouth. You moaned at the taste of yourself on his fingers, sucking harshly while looking into Nolan’s eyes. He groans at the sight of you sucking on his fingers and moves to place your legs over his broad shoulders, while lining himself up to your core.

Nolan pushes in and bottoms out in one swift thrust, moaning at how tight you are. He gives you a moment to adjust before pulling out almost entirely, and thrusts back into you at a rough pace. Nolan sets his pace rough and deep, you can feel him hitting your cervix in the best way. You can hear Nolan telling you to keep your eyes on him, but you can’t seem to be able to even see anything as your eyes roll back. Nolan’s hands are holding onto your hips with bruising force, while you’re fingers leaving crescent-shaped marks in his biceps. You are close but you need more, something new, a new angle.

“Nol, please, please, fuck me from behind. Want you to pull my hair. Want to move with you.”

Nolan is quick to comply, pulling out of you and turning you on to your hands and knees. Sliding back into you, Nolan moans out, loving the feeling of bottoming out inside of you from this angle. He goes to start thrusting and you begin to move your hips in time with his thrusts, meeting him halfway. The sensation has you dropping your head down against the mattress, but Nolan is quick to wrap his hand in your hair, pulling you up so your back is flush against his chest. He removes his hand from your hair and wraps it around your neck, squeezing until he could feel you start to struggle to breathe slightly.

You brought a hand up to wrap around Nolan’s wrist, moaning as he flexes his fingers even more. You were too caught up in the change in the angle and his hand around your throat to even notice his other hand moving down to rub the bundle of nerves in between your thighs. The sensations quickly became too much and you couldn’t even find the words to let Nolan know you were cumming.

He released his grip on your throat, letting you fall forward on to the bed, as he fucks you at a relentless pace through your high while chasing his. You turn your head to the side to look back at him as he fucks you.

“Yeah, baby, that’s it. Use me. Show me who I belong to.” you rasp out, voice all scratchy from your vocal cords being restricted.

Nolan could never get enough of your dirty talk, especially when your voice was raspy from either him fucking your throat or choking you. So, hearing you coax him towards his high, sent him over the edge. He stilled as he came inside of you, both of you moaning at the feeling of his cum filling you up.

“Fuck, angel, look at you. Filled with my cum, you look so pretty like this. All mine.”

Pulling out of you slowly, admiring the sight of his cum mixed with yours dripping out of your swollen cunt. Nolan collapsed next to you and you both laid there for a second before he got up to get a towel to clean you off. Nolan rolled you over to lay on your back so he could clean the mess between your legs. He tossed the towel into the hamper then crawled into bed with you, pulling you into his arms, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips.

“You okay, angel? Not too rough?” Nolan was always very tender with you after sex.

You nodded and murmured a soft “yes” as you pressed a kiss into his chest as he rubbed his hand up and down your back, holding you close to him.

“Angel, that was amazing but please don't ever dance like that with TK again.” Nolan whispered into your hair.

“Next time make sure I don't have to find somebody else to dance with first.” you said while smirking up at him.

“I think that can be arranged.” He kissed your forehead and just as your about to fall asleep, Nolan asked, “Wait, what the fuck did you mean by ‘you can be such a stupid boy?’”