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mamaestapa · 6 months

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I Wish You Would

•pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

•series summary: Y/n Hubbard, the younger sister of Cincinnati Bengals Defensive End Sam Hubbard, finds herself in a difficult situation after a steamy hookup with her brothers best friend, who just so happens to be the quarterback for the Bengals. In just nine months their lives will be changed forever. How will Y/n and Joe manage to to go through parenthood together? more so, how will Sam take the news he is going to be the uncle of his best friends baby?

•chapter summary: Sam pours his heart out to you and Joe, hoping you two will forgive him and his behavior from the past six months...

•word count: TBD…it’s a very long chapter though (i was too lazy to put it on a google doc lol. i’ll fix it later today)

•warnings: pregnancy, pregnancy hormones, reader is extremely turned on by Joe (whos not? LOL), slight smut/more like allusions to sex, mentions of pregnancy loss, SAM, some confrontation, some angst, fluff, basically the basic daddy issues warnings lol

series masterlist

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May 21, 2023

6 months pregnant

You took a deep breath as you leaned against the counter, arms crossed over your chest and resting on your growing baby bump as you watched Joe prepare a protein shake after his workout. You huffed out a sigh as you watched the muscles in his biceps and forearms flex with each shake of the bottle. It was almost like they were teasing you, wanting you to grip them tightly as you and Joe...

"Y/n," Joe's voice snapped you out of your wandering thoughts, "You OK?"

You felt your cheeks flush as you looked into Joe's blue eyes, his gaze making butterflies swarm in your belly. You gulped slightly, hoping he didn't pick up on your body language. I'm OK, you thought, I'm more than just OK, actually..

I'm extremely turned on right now by your black compression shirt...

Your bulging and drenched in sweat arm muscles...

and don't even get me started on that ass...

"I'm great." You said with a small smile as you uncrossed your arms and adjusted the shirt that tightly hugged your body. Joe's gaze never once left you, making your body's excitement grow more and more.

Stupid pregnancy hormones. They've been raging recently, wanting you to pounce on your boyfriend at any moment and climb him like a tree. Joe could just glance at you and your body made you need him, all of him.

Joe furrowed his eyebrows as he looked at you. It seemed like he wasn't believing your response. He set his shaker bottle down on the counter and made his way over to where you stood on the other side of the counter. Joe stood in front of you, crossing his arms over his chest which of course made your eyes wander. Your eyes widened slightly as you took in the way his chest looked hugged by his compression shirt. Joe noticed your gaze fall to his chest. Oh. The lustful look in your eyes made him chuckle. Lovely pregnancy hormones.

Joe smirked as he uncrossed his arms and walked up to you, holding them out for you. "C'mere mamas."

The name had you practically melting into Joe's arms. You fell into his embrace, bringing your baby blue manicured hands up to his hard chest. You slowly ran your hands down Joe's chest and abdomen, your arousal growing as you felt each ab on your fingertips. You bit your lip slightly as your hands came back up settled on his sternum. Joe stood there as you felt his body, his arousal growing as you got up on your tip toes to kiss his neck. You started delicately sucking at the skin of his neck, making Joe groan softly. You kissed along his jaw line before going back to his neck, making sure to mark him up. Before you could leave a deep purple mark on his neck, Joe pulled away from you, making you whine.

"Joeyyy."

Joe narrowed his eyes at you. Already knowing the answer, he still decided to ask, "Why are you so..."

"Horny?" You finished for him. Joe chuckled at your bluntness, "Yeah."

You pulled yourself completely away from Joe and leaned against the countertop, "Well," you sighed, "I went to my doctors appointment a couple days ago." Joe nodded along as you spoke, interested to see where you were going with this.

"And not only are my hormones raging right now, but Doctor Montgomery said it might be a good idea to stop having sex once I reach the sixth month mark."

Joe's eyes widened slightly as his mouth formed an O. You sighed once again, bringing yourself close to your boyfriends chest again. "So Joe, please," you practically begged, "all I want is for your to slam me against this countertop and screw me like there's no-."

You got cut off by Joe's lips slamming onto yours. You instantly kissed back just as harshly. He pulled away, a small smirk on his face as he looked down at you. "Say no more..." he said, huskily under his breath. You let out a breath of anticipation as your smirk matched his.

Joe pushed you against the counter, wrapping his arms around your waist.

"Jump." He instructed.

You did as he said, jumping just enough so you could sit on the countertop. You straddled his waist, your fingers digging into his toned back. You threw your head back, moaning as Joe put his lips against your neck, sucking at the skin just enough to get a reaction out of you, but not enough to leave deep marks. You brought your hands up to his hair, pulling on strands of his dark blonde hair, "Joe, don't stop..."

He pulled your tight fitting white t-shirt off of your body, throwing it across the room. Joe bit his lip, observing your chest which has gotten significantly bigger since you've gotten pregnant. You grabbed his hand, placing it on your right breast. His palm instantly kneaded at the swollen skin. Joe's other hand traveled down to your waist band, his skilled fingers hooking under and slowly pulling them down your thighs. Both of your breathing was quickening as he traced the lace of your panties...however, as Joe's fingers pulled at the material of your panties, a sudden wave of guilt came flooding over you.

"Wait," you suddenly pulled away from Joe, making him remove his hands from your waist. "stop." you said, removing his other hand from your chest. Joe pulled away from you completely with a puzzled look on his face. "What's wrong?"

"I feel..." you trailed off, pulling your pants back up and gulping slightly as you made eye contact with a concerned and confused Joe, "dirty."

Joe's eyes widened slightly as he was taken aback by your confession, "D-dirty?" he chuckled, "Why d'you feel dirty, babe?"

You put your hands on your belly, "Because we have the little guy in here listening to everything, and it just feels wrong." You shuddered at the thought of the baby boy in your womb hearing everything.

"Babe, we've done it before with the little guy in there," Joe said, gesturing to your bump as he reassured you, "It's fine, really."

You shook your head, your hormones suddenly changing their minds. "I was only what, three months pregnant? I was barely showing, and he couldn't hear things. Now, I am really showing, and he can hear us, Joe. Do you really want our son to hear us having sex while he's in here?" You finished, pointing to your baby bump.

Joe laughed, "You- seriously?" You giggled, "Yes, seriously!"

"Y/n, baby, he's going to hear us when he's out of there, so he might as well get used to it now."

You gasped at Joe's words, lightly hitting his chest as both of you chuckled at his joke. He did have a point...but that didn't stop you from feeling guilty, nor did it change your mind at all.

"Maybe we should just wait to do this until after I give birth. I feel guilty if we finish..." You trailed off with a sigh. You looked up at Joe, smiling sadly as you looked into his eyes. He was just as turned on as you were...what a bummer. "I'm sorry, Joey."

Joe chuckled as he picked up your shirt and tossed it to you. "Stop. Don't be sorry." He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a warm embrace. He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead before he spoke, " It's fine with me, sweetheart. Whatever makes you the most comfortable."

"Thank you, Joe." You said quietly as a smile tugged at your lips. He was so patient with you and your pregnancy hormones. It meant a lot to you that he was so patient despite the raging hormones and mood swings you were experiencing. You pulled away from Joe, placing a gentle kiss to his lips which he gladly returned. You let out a soft sigh before you spoke, "It's probably a good thing we didn't participate in any...activities."

Joe chuckled at your use of the word "activities".

"Because," you continued, glancing at the clock, "we're supposed to meet Sam for lunch in forty minutes."

Joe's mouth formed a straight line as his shoulders dropped at the mention of your older brothers name. The brother you haven't spoken to since the day of your sister in-laws baby shower. The day that was supposed to be a happy and exciting day, turned into one of the worst day of yours and Joe's lives. Joe didn't want to see Sam, not after all the drama and hurt he caused you both emotionally and physically. Maybe he was being overdramatic, but Joe doesn't think he'll ever forgive Sam for being the reason you could have lost your unborn son.

"Joe," you said his name softly, pulling him out of his thoughts. Joe hummed in response. You noticed how he tensed up and how his jaw clenched at the mention of meeting up with Sam.

"I know you don't want to see him, but I think it would be good for us, all of us to hear what he has to say."

Joe just nodded at your words. You frowned softly as you said the next part, "And as much as I want to stay mad at him for everything he has done to us and our relationship. I really miss my brother."

Joe sighed softly as he snaked an arm around your waist, gently pulling you into him. He didn't want to admit it, but deep down he did miss Sam, too.

"I know," Joe said, "I miss him too."

You smiled sadly and pulled away from Joe, grabbing his hand and slowly leading him out of the kitchen, "Then let's go get ready." Joe nodded and followed you out of the kitchen and upstairs to get ready for lunch with Sam.

It was a day you were both dreading, but you knew it needed to happen sooner rather than later. After hearing how guilty and genuinely sorry he seemed, you realized you needed to let Sam talk and have the opportunity to apologize. You and Joe needed to hear where he was coming from. You may not always agree or get along, but he is your brother. What he did wasn't right, but you can't ignore him forever. While it may take some time and effort from all three of you, Sam does deserve a chance to make things right.

time skip

You and Joe walked into the restaurant you agreed to meet Sam at, both of you simultaneously taking a deep breath as you stepped through the entrance. It wasn't too fancy, just a local sandwich shop in Cincinnati, a place you and the other wags met up at often during the off-season. Sam made sure to have you all meet up when it wasn't super busy since you didn't want to be bombarded by fans. You also didn't want any speculation to start swirling around the league after you were seen sporting a baby bump while out with the star QB...

You knew you wouldn't be able to hide your unborn baby and his fathers identity forever, but you liked what privacy you and Joe had for now. You would tell the world about everything when you were ready, and right now is not that time.

As you walked further into the shop, you saw Sam sitting in a booth, staring intently at his phone. You took another deep breath as you looked at your brother. You could feel your heart race and your palms grow clammy as you realized it was finally time to have that conversation or should you say conversations you've been dreading. You and Joe agreed to go into this day with an open mind, wanting to stay as civil as possible. You’d only get confrontational with Sam he if he got confrontational with the two of you.

Joe could sense you tense up beside him, so he placed a hand on the small of your back, giving your hip a gentle reassuring squeeze. You looked up at him and smiled softly, giving him a small nod before the two of you made your way over to Sam.

As you grew closer to the booth he was sat in, Sam snapped his head up from his phone. His eyes lit up as he saw you and Joe standing in front of him. He didn't think you were going to show up.

Sam stood up, wiping his hands on his shorts and taking a deep breath before he spoke.

"Y/n, Joe," he said, sounding almost relieved to see both of you, "hi."

"Hi Sam," you said softly, giving your older brother a small smile, "it's good to see you." Sam smiled sadly at you, his blue eyes apologetic as he replied sincerely, "It's good to see you too, Y/n/n. I've missed you."

"We've missed you too." Joe answered, making your older brothers eyebrows raise slightly. He wasn't expecting that answer to come from Joe, and neither were you. You briefly looked up at Joe before turning your attention back to Sam, giving him a closed lip smile.

"You want to order some food and maybe get a table outside? It’s pretty nice out, plus it gives us some privacy." You said, voice growing quieter by the end of your suggestion. Your brother and boyfriend nodded, agreeing with what you said. The three of you proceeded to the counter to order your sandwiches before heading outside. After getting your food, Joe chose a table for you to sit at a few feet away from the entrance. Once you were all seated and settled, Sam spoke up.

"So how have you two been?"

"Really good," Joe said, glancing at you with a small smile on his face. You nodded, adding on, "I had an appointment last week, passed my glucose test and baby boy looks great." Sam smiled at that, "Good," he said , "I'm glad to hear that."

You smiled, "Thank you. He had us worried there for a while, but doctor says he's happy and healthy."

Sam's smile faltered slightly at the mention of how your baby's health had you and Joe worried for a bit. It took a lot of reassurance from Emma and the others that it wasn't his fault and scares like that can just happen, but Sam still couldn't help but feel guilty about the whole situation. He put so much stress on you and Joe during those early months, he knew it had to be his fault.

Sam gulped slightly, "Well I’m happy to hear that. You look great by the way, Y/n/n."

Sam's nickname for you made you smile slightly. While he's made you extremely upset and been quite a douche lately, you canto deny that you've missed him so much.

"Thanks Sammy," you replied, your nickname for Sam making him smile this time, “How’s Emma doing?”

“Good, her and baby girl are healthy. Em’s a bit uncomfortable though. Just ready to have the baby,” Sam chuckled, “but I constantly have to remind her she’s still got about eight more weeks left to grow.”

“It’s because she’s growing your big ass baby, Sam. How much more growing could she have left?” Joe said, joking with his best friend, “is she measuring ahead at all?”

Sam chuckled lightly at Joe’s teasing before answering, “Yeah she’s actually measuring two weeks ahead. We’re going in for an ultrasound in two weeks to confirm, but doctor thinks the due date will get moved up.”

“That’s great if it does,” you smiled, “Not only does it save her weeks of discomfort, but your daughter will be here before training camp.” Sam nodded at your words, “Oh yeah,” he agreed, “we’re hoping that’s the case.”

You and Joe nodded in agreement. You’re not at that point in your pregnancy yet where you’re extremely uncomfortable, but you know you’ll be feeling exactly how Emma feels in just a few weeks. For now though, you’re just thankful for how good you feel during the end of your second trimester.

For the next fifteen minutes or so, you, Joe and Sam ate your lunch in a mix of tense, yet comfortable silence while making the occasional small talk. It was obvious the three of you wanted to get into the reason why you’re meeting up today, but nobody seemed to be the one that wanted to bring it up.

You knew Joe wouldn’t bring it up. At all. And you didn’t necessarily want to be the one to start the conversation, but you also didn’t want to avoid the discussion anymore than the three of you already were. Someone just had to “rip off the bandaid” and finally start that conversation…

You wiped the corners of your mouth before folding your napkin in your hand and setting it down on the table. You adjusted your position in the chair you sat in, uncrossing your legs and sitting straight up. You cupped your bump and cleared your throat before speaking up, “I hate to be the one to bring it up…” you trailed off, eyeing the two men sitting with you, “but we do need to talk.”

“Yeah.” Joe sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his fingers through his grown out hair. Sam nodded as he too adjusted his position, “We do.” He confirmed, sighing softly after he spoke. Sam wore an apologetic expression as his eyes darted between you and Joe. He took a deep breath before taking a moment to spill his heart out to both of you. Months of pent up emotions would be spewing out in just a matter of seconds.

“I don’t even know where to begin. I just, I feel terrible. Terrible about how I’ve been treating you two and how I reacted to the baby—your baby. Terrible about what happened the day of Emma’s baby shower. If it wasn’t for me and my outbursts, you guys wouldn’t have almost lost your baby boy that day.” Sam’s voice cracked with emotion as he said the word “baby”.

You pulled your bottom lip between your teeth as you listened to Sam’s voice break. Joe brought his hand under the table and placed it on your protruding belly. He started to stroke the bump with his thumb, comforting both himself and you with the reassurance that your son was still safe and sound in your womb.

Sam continued speaking, “And don’t even get me started on the Ohio State situation. I had no right getting in-between the two of you like I did, even if it was for the best.” he sighed softly, as tears began to well in his eyes, “I, god, I feel terrible about everything I’ve done.”

You frowned as you saw how emotional Sam was getting. He did seem like he genuinely felt bad. You wanted to speak, but Sam wasn’t done.

“I understand if you never want to see me again—either of you. I wouldn’t want to see me ever again either if I were you.” Sam wasn’t one to usually show his emotions, but right now he was showing all of his emotions. His chin quivered as he spoke, “I am so, so sorry for all of the shit I’ve done and said to both of you. Not just with the pregnancy, but with your relationship. Neither of you deserve the shit I’ve put you through, and I am so sorry for that. I wish things could go back to how they were before between us. I wish I wasn’t selfish. I wish I wasn’t such an asshole. I wish you two would come back into my life again because…”

You and Joe stayed silent as Sam spewed out his jumbled apology. You were trying to process all the things he was saying to you, while also allowing him to have the chance to get everything off of his chest.

“I love you both so much,” Sam continued, his tone somber, “Y/n/n you’re my baby sister and Joey, we’ve been friends for so long that you’re not just my best friend, you’re my brother. I should’ve never treated you guys the way I did because as long as you’re happy, I should be happy, right?” He sighed once again, taking a moment to think of the right words to say next, “I’m genuinely sorry for the last few months. I’ve been overreacting like crazy, and if you’ll let me, I’d like another chance. I want to make things right.”

You took a deep breath as you took in all of Sam’s words, which was a lot to take in. Joe removed his hand from your bump, bringing it up to his hair. He wet his lips as he ran his fingers through his grown out hair. The air between the three of you was tense as Sam waited anxiously for either you or Joe to respond to him pouring his heart out.

“Sam,” Joe spoke, his voice quiet. Both you and Sam turned your attention to the blonde sitting next to you. “I understand why you reacted the way you did when we told you about the baby. I do, and I forgive you for that. But,” he sighed before continuing, “Why did you do it? If you love us as much as you say you do, if you want us to be happy as much as you say you do, why did you do it?” His voice was full of confusion and pain. You could feel the tears well in your eyes at the sound of Joe’s voice. You knew exactly what he was referring to…and so did Sam.

“I was trying to protect both of you.” Was all Sam said. Joe furrowed his brows and cocked his head to the side, “From what?”

“A lot. Protect Y/n getting her heart broken and losing the one boy she ever truly loved. Protect you from getting stuck at Ohio State and throwing away your whole career for my sister. Joe, I love you man but you and I both know things would’ve ended worse between you two if I hadn’t stepped in.”

“You were protecting us from eachother?” you asked, voice laced with so much confusion and emotion. It didn’t make any sense to you.

“Yes,” Sam confirmed, “I was protecting both of you from eachother.”

“But Why?” You and Joe asked at the same time.

“Because I knew it wasn’t going to work between you two at the time.”

You and Joe both furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “Why?” You asked, genuinely confused. Sam scoffed lightly, “If you’d let me explain, maybe it’ll answer your question.” You and Joe closed your mouths, your silence urging Sam to continue.

“Joe, you were in love with my sister since the day you met her, and Y/n, you couldn’t stop drooling over Joe after I let you spend the night at our apartment for the first time.”

You and Joe both blushed lightly at Sam’s words. Neither of you had realized he knew all along about the infatuation you and Joe had for each other as young adults.

Sam continued, “And as much as you loved each other, I knew it wasn’t going to work out at the time. Joe, if you stayed at Ohio State I doubt you would’ve gotten any playing time until it was too late. I knew for you to achieve your dreams, you had to go to LSU—even if it meant breaking my baby sister’s heart. And Y/n,” Sam turned to you as he spoke, “if Joe would’ve stayed in Ohio he would’ve held you back from getting that internship in Los Angeles that gave you your job for the Bengals. You needed that time away from him and he needed that time away from you.”

You hated to admit it, but Sam did have a point. If Joe would’ve stayed at Ohio State…would you even have your job with the Bengals right now? Better yet, would Joe even have his job with the Bengals? It all started to make sense now…

Sam didn’t make Joe break up with you in college because he didn’t want you two together…

He did it because he wanted you two to find yourselves before finding each other.

“I felt like an ass having that conversation with Joe, acting like I hated the idea of you two dating. I knew it had to be done though for both of you to have the futures you wanted. But, I knew it would all work out for you,” He looked at both you and Joe with a genuine glint in his eyes, “Because you two were so in love that I knew someday you’d find your way back to each other,” Sam smiled softly as he looked between you and Joe, “and look at you now. You’ve got your dream jobs, you’re in a happy relationship, and you’re having a baby. Now you can say I’m wrong all you want, but, it looks like you found your way back to each other after all.”

You glanced over at Joe. The corner of his mouth was pulled up into a slight smirk as he shook his head at Sam.

“Wow,” he said, a light laugh escaping his lips, “You, I don’t even know what to say.”

“You really were looking out for us.” You said, looking back at Sam. He nodded, “Could I have executed it better? Oh yeah. But did it work? I’d say it did.”

You smiled slightly at your brother as tears welled in your eyes. You were overwhelmed by everything Sam had just told you. He knew all along that you and Joe were sneaking around behind his back. He knew how much you and Joe have always loved each other. His actions in college weren’t out of spite against you two, really, he was just looking out for both of you all along. It was hard to stay mad him now, now that you found out the truth behind everything.

You stood up from the you were sitting in, walking over to the other side of the table where Sam sat. He stood up from his chair, and as soon as he was standing you wrapped your arms around him. The two of you hugged tightly in silence for a few moments before you spoke.

“I forgive you Sammy.”

Sam smiled and squeezed you gently. He pulled away from you, turning his attention from you to Joe, who was now standing. You stepped to the side, letting the two have their moment. Joe pulled Sam into a “bro hug”, the two not saying a word, just nodding and slapping the others back the way men do when they hug. After pulling away from each other, the three of you sat back down.

The air amongst you wasn’t as tense as before Things were finally starting to feel normal between the three of you again. You spent the next teeny minutes talking some more, all three of your sharing some more of your feelings. You and Joe both agreed to give Sam a second chance. Your son deserves to have great relationship with his Uncle Sammy.

"Do you guys want to meet Emma and I for dinner next week?" Sam asked before the three of you went your separate ways. You smiled at your brother, your smile only widening as you glanced up at Joe. A content smile was on his face as he nodded at Sam. He didn’t have to say anything. You and Joe both knew that this was his way of beginning to forgive Sam for everything.

"We'd love to."

"Okay, great," Sam replied with a smile, "Jeff Ruby's or Boca at eight?"

"We've never been to Boca." Joe replied for the both of you with a shrug.

"Boca it is then."

After months of you and Joe both not speaking to Sam and being on not-so great terms, after today, it's safe to say things might finally be starting to look the way they did before this mess. While it's still a work in process, you finally had your big brother back in your life and Joe finally had his best friend back in his life.

You both couldn't be happier.

hi loves!!!

omg long time no see, lol. i feel like haven’t updated this in such a long time! (it’s because i actually haven’t😂)

i’ve been dealing with college, writers block, a football funk, and having ZERO motivation to write for this series. it was tough for a while because i loved working on this series over the summer, but something happened (i don’t even know what) and i lost all motivation for this series. maybe it was because football season wasn’t feeling like football season or because i started watching hockey. i don’t really know why, but the good news is, i finally have ALL my motivation back!!🤍

and with joe being out for the rest of the season now, i’ll be keeping up with updates for this series because i know that’ll keep our “joe community” happy while our joey recovers from his injury :)

i apologize if this chapter is all over the place and if the conversation with sam makes absolutely ZERO SENSE. i wrote that at like 4am, plus, i had no clue how to write this chapter. i just knew i needed to get it done and published! the next couple chapters im so excited to write, they’re going to be so sweet🤍

thank you so much for all the love and support you all continue to show me. it means the world to me. thank you for your patience too, i know it’s not always easy waiting months for updates lol. you are all the BEST!😚🫂🤍

tags: @dandelionwrites8 @joeburreauxsworld @theflawedwriter @mrsshiesty @ann288 @ijustcrypretty @theoneandonlyfanz @wickedfun9 @venus-b @hummusxx @stainednailpolishremover @a-moment-captured @alternativemadchen @erinmartin1987 @sirlewisworld @kkrenae @unhingedfangirl @sublimemusic-rebel @meameagirl @ilovejoeburroww @hallecarey1 @j-worlds-blog @blinkloverx3 @jordyn14 @kristencochefski1125 @ryiamarie @unsaidjaelinrose @sinners-98-world @ozwriterchick @evernova @fangirl-madz @jackharloww @emherb10

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x you #joe burrow series #dad joe #daddy issues #guys this was probably the worst one yet.#i am SO SORRY LOL #don’t get your hopes up…i’m just a lil rusty

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poemaseletras · 10 months

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Richard Wagner

Ritu Ghatourey

Roald Dahl

Robert Schumann

Roy T. Bennett

Rumi

Ruth Rendell

Sage Francis

Séneca

Sérgio Vaz

Shirley Jackson

Sigmund Freud

Simone de Beauvoir

Spike Jonze

Stars Go Dim

Steve Jobs

Stephen Chbosky

Stevie Nicks

Sumaiya

Susan Gale

Sydney J. Harris

Sylvester McNutt

Sylvia Plath

Sysanna Kaysen

Ted Chiang

Thomas Keneally

Thomas Mann

Truman Capote

Tyler Knott Gregson

Veronica Roth

Victor Hugo

Vincent van Gogh

Virgílio Ferreira

Virginia Woolf

Vladimir Nabokov

Voltaire

Wale Ayinla

Warsan Shire

William C. Hannan

William Shakespeare

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Yasmin Mogahed

Yoke Lore

Yoko Ogawa

#frases #textos #citações #livros #autores #escritores #books

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 6 months

Text

Forgive These Bones I'm Hiding (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Serial Killer Marcus Pike x f!Reader (Reader is a police officer with the nickname “Cricket”)

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 6.8k

Warnings: This is a Spoooooooky fic for Halloween season. Please heed the warnings; this is not darkfic, per se, but it explores dark themes and contains elements of suspense and horror. The following subjects are mentioned in the context of cases that the reader deals with. I do not go into explicit detail about any of these themes and any violence is implied rather than seen, but please heed the warnings for: child abuse, domestic abuse, alcoholism, drunk driving, implied sexual assault, suicide, drug use, drug overdoses. Whew. Okay, for the story itself, please be warned that there is: derogatory language (someone calls reader a “bitch”), murders, body horror (corpses!), Marcus Pike being a bit unsettling, Very Enthusiastic Pussy Eating, unprotected PIV sex (this is fiction! use protection and also maybe don't fuck a serial killer!)

Summary: When five paintings are stolen from their frames, an unusual crime for your small-town precinct in Hannibal, Missouri, it's easy for you to project your insecurities about being a female police officer in a tiny, Midwest town onto the handsome FBI Agent from Washington who arrives to help with the case. But as your disposition--and the solid walls you've built around yourself--begin to soften, you quickly find you have bigger problems than the charming man you can't help but develop feelings for. One by one, bodies are starting to pile up. Bodies that all seem to share one connection… You.

A/N: This story is about Marcus Pike if he were a serial killer. If this concept gives you The Ick, please do not read this and then come to me telling me that you think it’s icky. You have been warned. Dead dove don’t eat, etc. I *have* taken pains to ensure that Marcus is not a bad man. He’s a murderer, yes, but he only kills the worst that humanity has to offer. He’s a serial killer AND he’s my perfect, unhinged baby. Cool? Cool. Thank you to @littlebirdsbookshelf for encouraging this nonsense, letting me scream about it on Discord from day one, and reading through it and helping me with the police procedural bits!

Masterlist

When the call comes to your desk at 8:30am on a Monday morning, you can’t deny that your initial response is excitement.

Who could blame you? Not much happens here in Hannibal.

The waver in the elderly museum docent’s voice reminds you to temper your eagerness. With a steady, even voice, you patiently repeat the information she gives you. You don’t bother pointing out that she really should have called 911, rather than the police station directly; she’s one of many older residents in this town who prefer to skip the middle-man, so to speak, and you don’t really mind being the first voice people hear after a crisis.

“Window broken… alarm power cut… five Norman Rockwells,” you murmur to yourself as you scribble down the details on a post-it. “CCTV nonfunctional… broken… cameras for show only… Yes ma’am. Yep, I know the place. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“What was that?” Your CO asks from his office, not bothering to get up from his chair and come out into the bullpen. If you could even call it that. You’re the only regular inhabitant.

“Mrs. Ingram from the Mark Twain Museum. Someone broke in last night and cut five paintings from their frames.”

CO Hubbard squints, taking off his reading glasses and perching them on top of his head and staring at you like you’ve grown an extra head.

“Someone stole from the Mark Twain Museum?”

“Crazy, right? I’m heading there now.”

The older man grunts and nods, placing his bifocals back on his nose and returning his gaze to the Hannibal Courier-Post’s crossword.

You don’t bother turning on the lights on your squad car. The streets are damn-near empty on a Monday morning. Most of the residents’ shifts began hours ago at the factories downriver, leaving the small town to appear almost abandoned. For being the famed birthplace of one Samuel Clemens, it sure doesn’t bring much tourist traffic to Hannibal, Missouri.

Julia Ingram has been the Museum’s curator, docent, and gift shop operator since before you can remember. Despite her age, it seems as though she’s hardly changed from the time you visited the museum with your school group as a child. She greets you over thick wire frames kept in place with a whimsical beaded chain. Like most residents of Hannibal, she calls you ‘Cricket’–the nickname that’s stuck with you since your youth on account of your habit of sneaking out at night to stargaze. It’s hard to have much authority with the older citizens when they all remember you as a knobby-kneed preteen with a wild streak and a wilder imagination.

You let her lead you to the gallery of Norman Rockwell art on the second floor of the old building. You walk past old editions of Tom Sawyer, a collection of Mark Twain’s childhood possessions, and a life-sized raft similar to what Huck and Jim might have used on their Mississippi River journey.

The Norman Rockwell collection consists of fifteen paintings done for special editions of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. Today, though, there are only ten. Five frames are empty; broken shards litter the floor where the thief bashed through the glass to retrieve the priceless papers within.

“Why did they have to go and break them?” Mrs. Ingram asks in a tearful voice as you snap pictures on your little point-and-shoot camera you take with you for cases.

“Takes up less space,” you shrug. “Framed art is conspicuous. The perp probably rolled the illustrations up for ease of keeping them hidden.”

Mrs. Ingram shudders at the mention of rolling up Norman Rockwell illustrations, and you give her a sympathetic look.

“I’m going to call in a forensics team from the St. Louis office,” you tell the elderly woman. “They’ll be able to dust for fingerprints. In the meantime, the museum stays closed. No visitors. And don’t go around touching anything, okay? I should be able to get a security guard to watch the crime scene until forensics is able to come in. If you need anything, you call me,” you tell her, handing her a business card with your cell number.

You rush back to the precinct with the intent of calling an old schoolmate in St. Louis to try and expedite the forensics team, but Sergeant Hubbard is out in the bullpen for once, and seemingly waiting for you.

“I promised Mrs. Ingram that I’d get a forensics team down there ASAP,” you say, trying to sidestep the man and get to your desk.

“This won’t take long,” the Sergeant promises. “And actually, you won’t be needing to send a team. I’ve got that covered.”

“You do?” you ask, frowning skeptically.

“This case is of National interest,” Hubbard explains. “The FBI has a dedicated team of Agents that specialize in art crimes, and the State has all but ordered that we go through them.”

“You’re going to involve the FBI?” You try to keep your voice calm and even, but you can hear the volume begin to rise in indignation. For once you’ve got a case that’s different, interesting even, and it’s slipping through your fingers after barely an hour of being under your purview.

“If we do this by-the-book–”

“I can handle this myself,” you can’t help but interject. “And since when do you give a shit about ‘by-the-book?’”

“No one is questioning your capabilities–”

“Oh yeah? Is that why I’m always being stuck with every domestic violence case that comes through the precinct while you always handle the bigger shit?”

“You need to watch how you speak to a commanding officer,” Hubbard growls.

“Like it or not, I’m the one with a personal connection to both Mrs. Ingram and the head of Forensics in St. Louis. The FBI is going to come here with all the subtlety of a jackhammer, and–”

“It doesn’t really matter what you think, because I’ve already contacted the head of the Art Crimes Department in Washington, D.C., and someone should be here tomorrow morning to take the case.”

Your mouth is a thin line, your jaw tensed, and your eyes dark. “Anything else, Sir?”

“The precinct is behind state quotas for speeding tickets,” Sergeant Hubbard says. “I want you to try and catch people coming from Illinois on I-72.”

“Understood,” you bite out through clenched teeth.

Armed with a coffee and bagel from Java Jive, you settle in one of your “favorite” hiding places along the interstate. After putting the driver’s seat as far back as it will go so you can stretch your legs, you take a long sip of your latte. You flip on your radar, but rather than watch for speeders, you instead scroll aimlessly through the news on your phone.

Everyone’s gonna be going the speed limit today, you’ve already decided it.

The Waterhole isn’t exactly a reputable establishment, but as the only bar in Hannibal, the options for getting a cold beer aren’t exactly pouring in. Every patron looks warily in your direction when you enter–it’s tough on your social life, being one of three cops in town–but you’re hardly in the mood for conversation. Everything about you says “Fuck off”: from your mud-covered work boots to the flannel you use mainly to take out the garbage in the winter. You can’t remember the last time you threw it in the washer, but there’s a chill to the air tonight, and everything else was either dirty or far too heavy for the weather. Your dour expression probably does most of the work, though. You scowl at the floor as you plod heavily toward the end of the bar and sit yourself on a rickety stool. The footrest is predictably sticky, and the bartop never looks clean no matter how many times the long-time bartender, Palmer, runs a wet cloth over top of it.

You hold up two fingers in greeting to Palmer, who nods cordially and hands you your usual.

The first sip is always the best–and dammit, you intend to enjoy it. You close your eyes, letting the liquid wash over your tongue before swallowing. It’s just cheap lite beer, sure, but this is the first moment you’ve allowed yourself to truly relax all day, and you can already feel your shoulders begin to relax and your jaw unclench.

Casting your eyes around the establishment (a habit you can’t ever seem to get rid of), you take inventory of the patrons. Just about everyone you’ve known since childhood. There’s Ellis and Danielle Hewitt, high school sweethearts from the graduating class just above you, in the corner sharing a plate of sad-looking nachos and twin Miller Lites. Tommy Blevins, the high school quarterback who, if you were a betting woman, was probably in the middle of telling his Tinder date about that big game back in ‘02 that cemented his reputation as a Hannibal ‘celebrity.’ Most of the men playing pool were fresh off a day shift from the oil plant in the next town over.

Yep, all of the usual suspects.

Plus one anomaly.

Once you see him, you aren’t sure how he evaded your notice from the moment you entered the bar. For one thing, he’s the only patron wearing a suit; everyone here only ever wears jeans. For another, he’s got that look of an outsider about him. You can always tell who’s from out of town: they have that subtle hint of insecurity with their surroundings that comes from being in a new place. His dark eyes look over the bar scene with a fresh, discerning gaze–seeing it for the first time, rather than for the three hundredth.

Like you, the man seems to instinctively people-watch. He’s not obvious about it, or anything, but you can see his pupils flitting from the Rams game to scan the crowd as if he’s looking for something.

Or maybe waiting for something.

Given this behavior, it shouldn’t surprise you when your eyes eventually meet. Embarrassed at being caught-out, you give him a crooked not-really-a-smile. He smiles back–a genuine one, that exposes a set of perfectly straight, white teeth and a small dimple on his right cheek.

Your manners are hard to come by this evening, but you manage a friendly, albeit stiff nod, raising your beer bottle in a silent toast.

The man’s smile widens.

A commotion from over at the pool tables draws both of your gazes to the group of men–now seemingly arguing about the score. The main agitator is, predictably, Bobby Pearson. You drain your bottle with a sigh, shoulders tensing automatically as you anticipate the inevitable way that this ends.

You can see the glassy sheen to Bobby’s eyes from where you are, the way he’s swaying slightly as he gesticulates wildly with the hand holding the pool cue. You don’t need a breathalyzer to know that Bobby is way over the legal limit. Hell, all you have to do is spend more than a week in this town to know that this behavior is the norm, rather than the exception.

You feel bad for the man, really. It’s no secret that he came from an abusive home. You remember the horrifying stories you'd heard about his father when you were his classmate in middle school. He was a nice enough kid-you remember him well–but when he grew up and got married, he wasn't ever able to escape the demons of his past. His erratic behavior was enough for his wife to leave with their two children. Last you heard, they lived in Maine. Probably about as far away as you can get from Hannibal without actually leaving the continental US. What he needs is therapy, but those types of resources are damn-near impossible to get out here. Everyone in Hannibal looks the other way as he drinks himself into a stupor every night.

Occasionally, though, there will be an incident, and Bobby has to spend the night in the holding cells. You have a feeling you’re about to witness one of those incidents right now.

The waving of the pool cue becomes more violent; he switches his grip, wielding the stick like a weapon as he continues to yell, spittle landing on his cheeks and his shirt as he slurs another insult.

Getting up from your stool, you carefully approach the scene.

“That’s enough, Bobby,” you state calmly. “I think it’s time to head home, how about you?”

“I think it’s time for you to mind your own fucking business, Cricket,” Bobby slurs back.

“Good one, Bob. Got anything else you wanna say to the off-duty cop?” You shouldn’t be taking the bait–you know it even as you say it, but you’ve had a shit day, and sometimes we all say things we regret, right?

“Yeah. I wanna say… maybe you wouldn’t be such a fuckin' bitch if you had a good dicking.”

Several of Bobby’s pool buddies back away, eyes wide as dinner plates.

“That’s enough. Go home. I don’t want to have to place you under arrest,” you say, trying to regain control over the situation.

“I could give it to you," Bobby sneers. "Give the uptight police lady a nice, hard, fu–"

With a heavy sigh, you retrieve your cuffs from the back pocket of your Wranglers and maneuver Bobby onto the nearest pool table. He's so drunk that he falls on his stomach without much effort on your part.

"Aw, fuck I was only jokin’," he mumbles into the green fabric.

"And it was real funny, Bobby. Hilarious even," you deadpan as you click the handcuffs into place. "Come sleep it off at the precinct, and you can apologize in the morning."

"M'shorry," Bobby groans as you manage to wrench him upright and guide him to the exit.

It's only then that you notice the newcomer at the periphery of the scene–standing back, not intervening, but making it clear that he's on guard should things go south.

"Are you okay?" the stranger. "Need help?"

His nosiness annoys you. "Got it handled, thanks," you snap with a little more hostility than you mean to.

It's been a shit day.

You wrestle Bobby into the car and slam the door. On the way back to the precinct, you glower at the road in front of you while the man in the backseat begins an ear-splitting rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. On tonight of all nights, you grumble to yourself.

He's asleep before he even hits the threadbare pillow in the holding cell. You nod to your nighttime counterpart, Evan, who gives you a sympathetic smile.

"What was it this time?"

"Some argument over pool at the Waterhole. Get him something substantial to eat when he wakes up, okay?"

"Always do," Evan replies. "You all right? He give you trouble or somethin'?"

"Just a shit day."

"Go get a drink and relax."

"'S'what I was trying to do," you gripe. "In fact–shit–I skipped out on my tab. I'm gonna go back and settle, and try again in the comfort of my own home. Dunno why I even go out."

“Beer’s cheaper at home, anyways,” Evan comments with a wry grin.

“Another excellent point,” you throw over your shoulder, giving him a crooked grin as you walk back out of the building.

Palmer is waiting for you with his hands on his hips when you return to the Waterhole.

“Not sure what you’re giving me that look for, Palm, you know I always settle my tab.”

“Better late than never,” he grouses.

You bark out a laugh. “You say that like it’s been a day, and not–” you check your watch, “–an hour.” You slide your debit card across the stained counter.

“Not gonna have another?”

“Nah, I’ve got better shit at home than the swill you serve here.”

You and Palmer stare each other down for a few moments. You aren’t sure who breaks first, but it’s almost always Palmer. The bartender chuckles and sticks his hands in his pockets.

“Shit, Cricket, you know you can’t stay away from the finest establishment in Hannibal.”

“It’s a good thing you’re the only establishment in Hannibal.”

“And it’s a good thing you’re a good tipper, or I would have banned you years ago.”

“Doesn’t seem smart to ban any of your customer base, considering the local population. It’s shocking you haven’t gone under.”

“Beer is always in demand,” Palmer says with a wink. “No matter what the economy’s doin’.”

“You’ve got me there.”

You glance around the bar. The crowd has thinned out quite a bit; day shifts start early, so the nightlife is pretty limited past eight pm. A few stragglers remain, including… him. The stranger.

The newcomer in the suit is watching your conversation with the bartender with an amused smile. When he notices you looking at him, he raises his glass in salutation and gets up from his stool to approach you.

“Buy you another?” he asks with a smile.

“I just settled,” you say evasively.

“On me,” the man insists.

“Surprised you’re still here,” you comment lightly. “Shouldn’t you be back on your way to St. Louis, or something?”

The man lets out a surprised, pleased laugh. “You’re observant.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure out you’re not from around here.”

He gives you another one of those wide, toothy smiles as he raises two fingers to Palmer, who nods.

“Well, you’re partly right. I’m not from around here, but I’m not from St. Louis.”

“Where are you from?”

“Let’s save that little nugget for later,” he suggests, sticking out his hand. “Marcus.”

You shake his hand, still feeling a little wary of the newcomer. If Marcus is bothered that you don’t offer your name right away, he doesn’t show it.

“...Cricket, right?”

You laugh in surprise. “That’s what everyone calls me ‘round here.”

“What can I call you?”

“Officer.”

Palmer sets two bottles of beer down on the counter in front of you, and you shrug and take one of them. Marcus gently taps his own against yours and takes a sip.

“To new horizons,” he says with a smile.

“To doing the same shit every damn day,” you respond with a wry grin.

“Do you do that every single day?” Marcus asks, jerking his head in the direction of the pool tables, referencing Bobby’s arrest.

You let out a huff of laughter and take another swig. “More than I’d care to, I’ll say that much.”

“He have a history of drunk and disorderly conduct?” Marcus asks.

“He’s got a history of that, and a whole helluva lot else,” you say with a sigh. “He’s mostly harmless, though. Doesn’t do much else but drink and cause trouble nowadays.”

“He did worse in the past?”

You shrug and wave Marcus off. “It’s a tale as old as time,” you say. “Grew up in an abusive household and then turned around and perpetuated it himself when he grew up. Pushed away his family, his wife, his kids, everyone really. But now the only one he ever hurts is himself.”

“He said some pretty awful things to you earlier,” he points out.

“If words had any effect on me, I wouldn’t have made it a week in the force,” you say. “Takes a lot more than that to rile me up.”

“Can’t really imagine you all riled up,” Marcus says, his eyes twinkling with playfulness.

He’s flirting with you.

“I save it for special occasions.”

“So what, you just arrest this guy over and over again, letting him sober up in the holding cells until he does it again?”

Your smile fades. Tipping your bottle back and draining it in three large gulps, you set it down heavily on the table and give the man across from you a stony look.

“I don’t know what big city you’re from, Marcus, but this town is different. We take care of our own, no matter how difficult they’re being. We’ve done everything we can–tried to get him into rehab, into therapy programs, support groups… it never sticks. At this point, he’s spinning out, and the most I can try to do is to treat him with kindness and make sure he gets a decent meal while he’s sleeping it off in the drunk tank. Enjoy your night.”

You get up, spin on your heel, and you don’t look back at the man again.

You don’t know how you didn’t put two and two together until this moment–the minute you walk into the precinct at eight am sharp to meet the FBI Agent assigned to this case–your case.

The suit. The discerning, assessing gaze. The bravado. The big-city attitude.

Marcus is the FBI Agent.

His eyebrows raise for a moment when you walk into the bullpen, but other than that, he doesn’t appear surprised. He introduces himself as Agent Pike, sticking his hand out for you to shake as if it’s the first time he’s done so. You give him your last name–and only your last name–and grip his hand a little more forcefully than usual.

It only causes his smile to widen.

You exchange a quick conversation with Evan, who fills you in on the rest of the night (uneventful) and lets you know that Bobby is already out of the drunk tank and back at home.

“Did he say anything?” you ask.

“Like what?”

“Like an apology.”

“Should he have?” Evan asks. “Did he do something last night?”

You shake your head. “Nah. It’s fine. He probably doesn’t even remember, anyway,” Turning to look at Marcus, you add, “Ready to head to the museum?”

He takes up all the space in the passenger seat of your squad car and then some. You do your best to ignore him as you drive, but your eyes keep returning to his dark, slightly mussed hair and the way his broad shoulders fill out that suit of his. It’s hard not to notice how attractive he is.

"So. Washington."

"Huh?" Marcus looks at you, questioning.

"That little 'nugget' of information you said you'd save for later. You knew, didn't you. You knew I was the cop on this case."

"Well, it wasn't hard to guess when I had a copy of the Hannibal city directory and there was only one female officer on staff."

"Guess you've got us all figured out, huh," you mutter irritably, and the car returns to silence.

“Mark Twain Lighthouse,” Marcus reads from a road sign, breaking the quiet. “Mark Twain Memorial Library, Mark Twain Museum.”

“Bet you can guess what this town is famous for,” you quip.

“How many guesses do I get?”

“I mean, I’d hope you already knew about our claim to fame, if you read even one sentence of the case file we sent you.”

“You mean the case about the five missing original illustrations by Norman Rockwell from Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn from the Mark Twain Museum?” Marcus says wryly.

You scowl at his nonchalance. You knew it; you knew the FBI would send some big city asshole who didn't give two shits about the town's heritage.

"I'm sorry," Marcus says, suddenly looking concerned. "Did I say something wrong?"

"This was my case, you know," you mutter, keeping your eyes on the road. "Finally, something besides domestic disputes handed to 'Officer Cricket,' and I have it for less than twenty-four hours before some Washington bigwig comes and takes it off my hands."

"Wha–hey, hang on a second. That's not what this is," Marcus insists.

"Isn't it?"

"No. No, it's not like that. I'm here in a consulting role. You still get credit for being the lead officer on the case, but it'll be our forensics team and our analysts providing support. That's it."

You look sidelong at Marcus. His expression is open and unguarded, and you can't detect any dishonesty in his body language.

"That's it?" you repeat cautiously.

"Is that what all the animosity was about?" Marcus asks, without any malice in his tone.

You mumble something about having a chip on your shoulder, and Marcus chuckles beside you.

"I wasn't always from Washington, you know," he says.

"No?"

"Little town called Bastrop."

"Bastrop?" you laugh. "Never heard of it."

"Little place just east of Austin," Marcus says, letting a little bit of southern drawl slip into his voice.

"You're from Texas," you say, surprised.

"Yes ma'am," he answers playfully. “I worked out of the FBI field office in Austin for almost ten years before getting promoted to HQ.”

“Congrats.” You give him a small smile as you pull into the museum parking lot. “This is it.”

Marcus charms Mrs. Ingram immediately, which doesn’t really surprise you at this point. The man seems to be made up of mostly charm, with a side of goofy jokes. The FBI’s forensics team won’t be at the museum for another hour, so Marcus takes inventory of the crime scene, snapping a few photos while you chat with Phil, the security guard.

When Marcus’s team arrives, the scene is a flurry of activity. Evidence is bagged, frames are dusted, and more pictures are taken. True to his word, Marcus defers to you, letting you run the scene despite clearly having a relationship with most of the team.

The day is a busy one–after spending the entire morning at the museum, you head back to the precinct to complete all the paperwork. Marcus buys the precinct lunch, and as you eat, he ends up launching into an informal, unintended lecture about art preservation, restoration, and how important it is to properly care for stolen art that his team has recovered. It makes you see him in a new light–not simply a representative of a faceless, uncaring organization that’s coming in to take over your case, but the leader of a team who cares deeply about every item they’re tasked with recovering. The man himself is painfully competent, every sentence out of his mouth demonstrating his level of experience and his love for the field.

Despite not knowing much about art yourself, you find his enthusiasm addictive. You can’t help but engage with him–asking about past cases he’s been on and listening intently to his stories, which range from the mundane to the incredibly dangerous.

“...so a couple of us ended up going undercover and smuggling our own recovered artifacts back across the border,” Marcus is explaining, waving the remains of his sandwich in the air as he smiles fondly over what sounds to you like a harrowing escape from a Mexican cartel.

You know you’re hanging off of every word, although you try very hard not to look like you’re hanging off of his every word. Still, the lunch break runs long, and suddenly you remember you were supposed to be back on patrol an hour ago.

“Shit,” you hiss, checking the time, making Marcus wince sympathetically.

“Listen to me, rambling on and keeping you from doing your job,” he says self-deprecatingly. “Seriously, tell me to shut up next time.”

He stands when you do, offering his hand for you to shake.

“Here,” you say, handing him your card instead, which has your work cell on it. “Just in case there’s any issues.”

“Thank you,” he says earnestly, looking into your eyes. “Thanks for entrusting this case to us–I know there’s always a level of territoriality that comes with involving the FBI, but I’m here to promise that the whole point is to work with you–not to come in and take over.”

You nod, and finally accept his hand, shaking it firmly. “We got off on the wrong foot, but I’m glad you’re here. You’re obviously more than knowledgeable about the field–more so than any of us–and I know I can speak for all of us when I say we appreciate the extra support.”

Marcus’s hand is warm against yours. The handshake might be firm, but it still feels as though he’s cradling your hand gently–as if he’s holding something delicate and precious in his palm. His eyes are endless; you feel as though you could read every emotion within them if you looked long enough. As you look, the corner of his mouth pulls up in an adorable, crooked grin.

“It was good to work with you today,” he says with finality. “See you bright and early tomorrow.”

You aren’t expecting the call that comes in the next morning–before you can even show up at the precinct to work with Marcus on the art theft case.

Bobby Pearson’s landlady, barely understandable through her hiccuping tears, explaining that she usually lets herself in to give him his mail, found the man hanging from the ceiling fan in his living room.

Your heart hammers dully in your chest as you notify the coroner and drive–lights on, this time–to Bobby’s place, with Sergeant Hubbard in tow.

“Cricket,” his landlady sobs as you get out of the squad car.

“I know,” you say soothingly, putting a hand on her shoulder to provide what little comfort you could.

“It’s awful. Oh, God, he’s just hanging there, and–”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it. Why don’t you stay out here and wait for the Coroner while we go in, ‘kay?”

You take a deep breath to center yourself, then open the door to Bobby’s little duplex apartment.

“Jesus,” Hubbard mutters behind you.

You swallow hard at the sight of the man suspended from the ceiling fan. The inherent wrongness of witnessing a dead body never ceases to unsettle you. You think you could do this job for five hundred years and still never become desensitized to death. It’s the stillness that disturbs you the most; no one realizes how much bodies move until they aren’t doing it.

You glance around the room, taking in the toppled chair a few feet away. Fuck. You knew Bobby was spiraling, but you had no idea it was this bad. You think back to the other night–were there signs that you missed? Something that could have alerted you to the fact that he was in crisis?

The flash of a camera lights up the dim room, and you flinch.

“Sorry,” Hubbard mumbles. His face is grim as he snaps a few more pictures–the rope, the chair, Bobby’s puffy, swollen face–

Feeling nauseous, you look down at your shoes.

Somewhere in the apartment, something beeps.

“Fuck was that?” Hubbard wonders.

“Sounded like it was coming from the kitchen.” You move further into the house to investigate. In the kitchen, nothing immediately stands out to you, until you realize the microwave timer is blinking the word “END” in perpetuity, alerting an occupant who can no longer hear that his food is ready.

Frowning, you open it, taking in the reheated frozen dinner sitting–cold, but unfrozen–on the turntable.

“That’s weird,” you mumble.

“What’s weird?” Hubbard asks behind you.

“He made dinner, but didn’t eat it. If he was planning on killing himself, why make dinner? Why leave it in the microwave without eating it?”

Hubbard shrugs. “Forgot, I guess.”

Your frown deepens as you stare at the colorless potatoes and rubbery salisbury steak. Awareness tingles at the base of your spine–a little nagging voice whispering This isn’t right.

The sound of the front door opening again makes you jump.

“Hoooo, boy…” the Coroner breathes upon entering. “Dammit, Bobby.”

In your years as a cop, you’ve already learned that dealing with a body is an all-day affair. The day seems to pass you by as you deal with the fallout–phone calls, paperwork, and of course, the solemn affair of cutting Bobby down from the fan in the most respectful way possible. You don’t even remember to look at your phone until just before your shift ends–so the text message from Marcus that reads, “Time to jump on a quick call re: forensics?” is hours-old by the time you see it.

You tap out “Sorry, had a work thing come up that occupied the whole day. Connect tomorrow am?”

The reply is almost instantaneous. “Buy you a drink after a rough day?”

Your thumbs pause over the keypad. On the one hand, going out for drinks with Marcus makes you feel uneasy. There’s a mutual attraction there, you can tell that much, and you don’t trust yourself not to indulge in a little stress relief if Marcus tries to initiate it.

And you have a feeling he might. Try, that is.

On the other hand, coming home to an empty house with nothing to keep you company but the image of Bobby Pearson’s oddly dangling feet that’s branded on your eyelids makes you physically recoil.

“I’d ask where, but I think we both already know the answer.”

“I’ll be there around seven,” comes Marcus’s response.

At home, you turn the knobs in the shower until the temperature causes steam to fill the entire bathroom. The water burns your skin, but the pain is welcome, and you aren’t sure how long you remain unmoving under the stream until the hot water abruptly runs out. Yelping in shock, you hastily squirt some body wash onto a rag and frantically rub it up and down your body, then spin around under the stream three times as fast as you can to remove the suds before turning off the faucet.

Shivering and dripping wet, you suddenly start to laugh.

Marcus is already seated at the bar of the Waterhole when you arrive. The suit coat is gone, his sleeves rolled up to the elbows as he nurses a whiskey. You’re suddenly conscious of the fact that you’re dressed quite a bit nicer than you were on the night you met him–you even wore the non-muddy boots… and the jeans that you know make your ass look good.

“Hey,” you say by way of greeting, sliding onto the barstool next to him.

Marcus slides an identical cocktail glass over to you. “Thought you might need something a little stronger than beer,” he comments.

You snort. “How did you know?”

He shrugs, a faint glimmer in his eye as he watches you take a sip and wince at the burn in your throat.

“Had a hunch,” he offers.

“Well, it was right,” you sigh. “Might need a few more of these tonight.”

“Must have been one for the record books.”

It’s your turn to shrug. “Not really. Just another fucking day.” You take another sip, and the burn is more welcome this time. “I think the fact that it’s so common is what so fucking depressing.”

Marcus doesn’t ask you what you mean, and for that, you’re grateful.

“I don’t know what’s worse,” you grumble to yourself. “Suicides, or Fentanyl overdoses.”

Your companion is quiet for a long time. You aren’t in any shape to try and steer the conversation, so you take a few more sips of whiskey and stare into the middle distance.

“What made you want to become a cop?”

You snort again, even more unattractively this time. “Ten years ago I would have told you it was to help people and keep the community I grew up in safe.”

“What about now?”

Only one more sip remains in your cocktail glass, so you throw your head back and drain it, setting it down heavily on the counter. Palmer glances in your direction, a question in his eyes, and you nod.

“I don’t fucking know,” you sigh. “Ask me tomorrow, maybe I’ll have a better answer then.”

Palmer brings over the bottle of Crown and pours another finger into your glass.

“What about you,” you ask, only because it seems like the correct way to continue the conversation. “What made you join the FBI?”

Marcus grins, showing those perfectly straight teeth of his. At this distance, it seems less friendly and almost… predatory. You blink rapidly, shaking your head to dispel the thought.

He tips his glass against yours, then drains it himself. “To make the world a better place, of course.” His smile is wry as he signals Palmer for another.

“How’s that going for you?” you ask. The question is tinged with sarcasm.

“Depends on the day, I suppose.”

“Ha. Fair.” You take another sip. “Guess it’s the same for me. Some days it feels like I’m making a difference. Other days it feels like I’m filling speeding ticket quotas so that the town gets enough fucking tax revenue for the year.”

“Hey now, getting the funds to fix potholes is a noble and worthy cause.”

“I dunno where it fucking goes, but judging by the state of 36, it ain’t going there,” you chuckle.

“I happen to think you’re making a huge difference,” Marcus says soberly. “You get to do real, concrete things to help real people. One of the things I had to get used to in DC was that I didn’t feel like I was helping individuals anymore. It’s so much more high-level, sometimes I feel like all I do is send emails and have meetings. That’s why I like consulting,” he says, grinning at you. “I get to go to towns like this and actually talk to people.”

You pause with your glass halfway to your lips. “I… I guess I’ve never thought of it that way before.”

“You do good work,” Marcus tells you softly. His voice is full of sincerity; his eyes are deep, endless pools, and it feels as though they’re drawing you in. Licking your lips, you can feel the effect of the whiskey already by the way the skin of your tongue tingles slightly.

“Thanks,” you say quietly. You aren’t sure what else to say.

Your second glass is emptier than you thought. Had you really drunk it that fast? You huff a small laugh out of your nose, and swallow the last mouthful of whiskey. It barely even burns anymore.

“‘Nother?” you ask, blinking hopefully at your companion.

“If you like,” Marcus replies, giving Palmer a polite wave.

“Ain��t nothing at the bottom of the bottle,” the bartender teases, refilling both of your glasses. “You two seem to be convinced otherwise, though.”

You ignore him and quickly take another sip, making Marcus laugh.

“They say there’s only two kinds of people,” he says. “Those who drink to remember, and those who drink to forget.”

“If you’re about to ask me which kind I am, then you haven’t been paying attention to the conversation we’ve been having,” you tell him.

“You drink to forget,” Marcus supplies. “You’re right, I don’t need to ask to know that.”

“Then what was the point of… of the thing you said?” you ask, frowning in confusion.

“I drink to remember,” Marcus says quietly, staring soberly at his glass.

“Remember what?”

“People. Old loves, old friends.” He takes a small sip. “The living, and the dead.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. Your tongue feels thick in your mouth.

“What else do you want to forget?” Marcus asks gently.

“So I dunno if you are aware,” you say, swaying slightly in your seat as you gesticulate, “but female ossifers–officers–uh, they’re often handed sexual assault cases, domestic abuse, fuckin’... fuckin’ child neglect, that kind of shit. And I’ve had… I’ve–” you break off with a shudder.

“Had your fair share of those, huh?” he says, covering your hand in his.

“Mmm, ’s'warm,” you remark, closing your eyes and basking in the feeling. “It’s… it’s the ones that weren’t brought to justice that keeps me up at night,” you whisper, eyes still closed. “Sympathetic judges who give rapists light sentences. Wives whose request for a restraining order went ignored. Kids who–” you let out a tiny sob, “–kids who are spending their childhood in foster care because both of their parents overdosed in front of them. I… I fucking tried. I fought hard for them, and in the end, does it matter? Does it matter, when they’ll be fucked up for life anyway?”

“It matters,” Marcus says, his voice suddenly firm. “It fucking matters, Cricket.”

“Every time they walk free, it eats at me,” you continue, emptying your third glass.

“Tell me,” he demands softly as Palmer automatically pours you another. “You’ve been carrying their names with you for years, maybe this is how you let it go.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfiction #pedro pascal

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rainedragon · 2 months

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Saturday's consignment store find. A miniture teacup designed by C Ahrenfeldt in Limoges France for the Crowell & Hubbard Co in Cleveland ohio.

From what I can find, Crowell & Hubbard Co took on that name in 1879 [source]. C Ahrenfeldt was active in Limoges from 1884 until 1969 [source]. Based on the markings I found on other items from the 1950s, and based on the age of other items from the same collector which ended up at the considgnment shop, I believe this is most likely from sometime between the 1890s-1930s, but I'm far from an expert! Most of my tea cup collection is Japanese or English. I think this is my first piece of French porcelain.

#Crowell & Hubbard Co #C Ahrenfeldt #C Ahrenfeldt limoges #Limoges #antique china #tea cups #minature tea cups #demitasse #cottagecore

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filmnoirsbian · 1 year

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Hi !! I was wondering if you had any book recs/favorite books? Things that you think of as inspiration or just plain like? Genuinely curious. <3 im in love with your work btw i spent the other day binging your patreon

Some favorites that deeply impacted me from a young age up into teenagedom: the Animorphs series by K. A. Applegate, Where the Sidewalk Ends by Shel Silverstein, Oddly Enough by Bruce Coville, The Little Prince by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Little Sister by Kara Dalkey, The Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C. Wrede, The Tale of Desperaux by Kate DiCamillo, A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket, The Chronicles of Prydain by Lloyd Alexander, Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury, the Septimus Heap series by Angie Sage, Piratica by Tanith Lee, the Inkheart series by Cornelia Funke, His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman, Holes by Louis Sachar, The View from Saturday by E. L. Konigsburg, Shizuko's Daughter by Kyoko Mori, The Sea-Wolf by Jack London, Walk Two Moons by Sharon Creech, Criss Cross by Lynne Rae Perkins, Everything on a Waffle by Polly Horvath, Surviving the Applewhites by Stephanie S. Tolan, The Last Book in the Universe by Rodman Philbrick, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle, Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg, The Iliad and Odyssey (allegedly) by Homer, The Táin by many people, Harlem by Walter Dean Myers, Esperanza Rising by Pam Muñoz Ryan, The Wall and the Wing by Laura Ruby, The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkein, The Hainish Cycle by Ursula K. Le Guin, Till We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis, The Ethical Vampire series by Susan Hubbard, The Howl Series by Diana Wynne Jones, the Curseworkers series by Holly Black, The Turn of the Screw by Henry James, Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater, Frankenstein by Mary Shelley, The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep by Philip K. Dick, Android Karenina by Ben H. Winters, An Autobiography of Red by Anne Carson, Beloved by Toni Morrison, A Stir of Bones by Nina Kiriki Hoffman, the Mistborn series by Brandon Sanderson, Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente, World War Z by Max Brooks, This is Not A Drill by K. A. Holt, Fade to Blue by Sean Beaudoin, Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu, The Moth Diaries by Rachel Klein, Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman, Crush by Richard Siken, Hopscotch by Julio Cortázar, The Hunchback of Notre-Dame by Victor Hugo, Devotions by Mary Oliver, The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Some favorites read more recently: The Expanse series by James S. A. Corey, Engine Summer by John Crowley, Lovecraft Country by Matt Ruff, The Princess Bride by William Goldman, Heart Berries by Terese Marie Mailhot, My Best Friend's Exorcism by Grady Hendrix, Reprieve by James Han Mattson, House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski, Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn, Kindred by Octavia Butler, Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi, Station Eleven by Emily St. John-Mandel, The Crown Ain't Worth Much by Hanif Abdurraqib, The Refrigerator Monologues by Catherynne M. Valente, Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata, Tender is the Flesh by Augustina Bazterrica, The Girl with All the Gifts by Mike Carey, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson, The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison, She had some horses by Joy Harjo, Bright Dead Things by Ada Limón, The King Must Die by Mary Renault, Books of Blood by Clive Barker, Rosemary's Baby by Ira Levin, Cassandra by Christa Wolfe

Plays: The Oresteia by Aeschylus, Electra by Sophocles, Los Reyes by Julio Cortázar, Angels in America by Tony Kushner, August: Osage County by Tracy Letts, The Bald Soprano by Eugène Ionesco, The Trojan Women by Euripides, Salome by Oscar Wilde, Girl on an Altar by Marina Carr, Fences by August Wilson, The Glass Menagerie by Tennessee Williams, M. Butterfly by David Henry Hwang, Our Town by Thornton Wilder, Sweeney Todd by Christopher Bond

Graphic novels: The Crow by James O'Barr, DMZ by Brian Wood and Riccardo Burchielli, Eternals (2021) by Kieron Gillen and Esad Ribić, Watchmen by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons and John Higgins, My Favorite Thing is Monsters by Emil Ferris, Maus by Art Spiegelman, Tank Girl by Alan Martin and Jamie Hewlett, Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi, Through the Woods by Emily Carroll, Anya's Ghost by Vera Brosgol

#watchmen is difficult to recommend on account of the misogyny but beyond that it really did change my life lol #asks #an open window #book recs #also i know technically eternals isn't a graphic novel it's a comic run directly related to the avengers and such at large BUT #it is sooo so good and u don't really have to know much abt what the avengers losers are up to in order to understand it #i didn't include any other favorite comic runs bc they require other things to be read for context. ur welcome.

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happinessismusic · 2 months

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Sawyer Brown's Mark Miller has something to say about Blake Shelton, but he knows Shelton isn’t going to like it.

"He’s absolutely brilliant," Miller, 65, tells PEOPLE from his home studio in Nashville of the country music superstar. "Blake has this ‘Jethro Bodine’ part of his personality that's just kind of goofy, and he wants you to think that, but he’s really smart and he has this incredible memory. He can blow me away with the recall he has of records and songs, especially from the '80s and '90s."

It’s this recall and memory that made itself known as Shelton joined with his musical heroes Sawyer Brown to produce their brand-new album Desperado Troubadours.

"Blake is such a historian of the band and such a fan,” says Miller of the '90s hit-making band also made up of Gregg “Hobie” Hubbard, Joe “Curly” Smyth and Shayne Hill. "He's also got great instincts. To be a producer, you have to have the instinct in the studio to be able to lead and navigate through a song."

xxx xxx

Not only was Miller impressed with Shelton’s talents, but also with his incredible work ethic during the making of Desperado Troubadours.

"We used to tease him that he used to get there and let the help in because he was always the first one at the studio and he was the last one to leave,” says Miller, who recently authored the book The Boys and Me: My Life in the Country Music Supergroup Sawyer Brown.

xxx xxx

“Blake and [his wife] Gwen [Stefani] flew in from Los Angeles, and we just literally camped out in the studio for three or four days,” says Miller, who also worked with co-writers such as Mac McAnally, Cody Jinks and Tennessee Jet on Desperado Troubadours.

#blake shelton #gwen stefani

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grudgegolem · 1 month

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"Introducin' the Conagher-brand all-purpose engineering wrench - drop-forged, heat-treated, and put to good use on a daily basis by yours truly. This little number's just what you need for erectin' dispensers, constructin' a teleporter, or just givin' that last little tweak of perfection to a rocket-spittin' death machine.

This fine implement's also been field-tested with 100% accuracy at shuttin' up dang-fools. You just shove this mean mother hubbard up his keister sideways, and mark my words, he'll quiet down right quick. Remember: If it don't leave a mark, it ain't no Conagher."

youtube

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #thinkgeek

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loukaiitis · 5 months

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Today marks 11 years since the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting, which took the lives of twenty children and six adults on December 14th, 2012.

Rest in peace,

Rachel D'Avino, 29

Dawn Hochsprung, 47

Anne Marie Murphy, 52

Lauren Rousseau, 30

Mary Sherlach, 56

Victoria Leigh Soto, 27

Charlotte Bacon, 6

Daniel Barden, 7

Olivia Engel, 6

Josephine Gay, 7

Dylan Hockley, 6

Madeleine Hsu, 6

Catherine Hubbard, 6

Chase Kowalski, 7

Jesse Lewis, 6

Ana Márquez-Greene, 6

James Mattioli, 6

Grace McDonnell, 7

Emilie Parker, 6

Jack Pinto, 6

Noah Pozner, 6

Caroline Previdi, 6

Jessica Rekos, 6

Avielle Richman, 6

Benjamin Wheeler, 6

Allison Wyatt, 6

#loukaiitis #tcc #true crime #adam lanza #adam #my post #sandy hook #sandy hook shooting

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cinemaocd · 2 months

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Jenny's ongoing list of films watched 2024

February

January list, here.

Inland Empire (2006)*** It took three attempts to get through this long, confusing film. Like Mulholland Drive or the Season Three of Twin Peaks, Lynch films improve on repeat viewings even if meaning remains elusive. That is part of the joy-- sometimes you just vibe with it.

Death of Stalin (2017)**** One of my favorite films of the last two decades. A harried farce with the bloody-mindedness of Macbeth. Like the Scottish Play, we know how its going to come out, but the fun is in watching the articulate villain, played with delicious malice by Simon Russell Beale being outdone by a team of bumbling, petty bureaucrats and one very bad ass soldier. The Boyfriend (1970)*** Ken Russell's surreal tribute to the burlesque musical genre makes the most of its setting in the 1920s by putting his star Twiggy in iconic psychadelic reiterations of the flapper dress. If you opine the fact that drop waist dresses come back into style every 15 years or so, then this movie is as much to blame as anything. Poor Things (2023)*** Emma Stone gives a wild and convincing physical performance as Bella, a baby's brain in the body of her dead mother and Mark Ruffalo as typical 19th Century Rake Getting His Comeupance iscasting I didn't know I needed. I loved the yearning Godwin (Willem Defoe in truly amazing Frankenstein's monster makeup) and though I haven't read the book, I was drawn into the grotesque, ai generated world of the film. The aesthetics of this movie are as engrossing as the story and characters. Adventures of a Dentist (1965)** The Soviet version of the live action Disney comedies of the 70s, where a humble person is given magical power. Here a dentist is given extraordinary, almost magical abilities to perform dentistry without pain. He becomes a celebrity and his fall from grace involves him giving in to the decadent trappings of being a popular dentist. The humor has a darker edge than Disney though I wouldn't go so far as to call it a black comedy. Adolf Hitler: My Part in His Downfall (1973)** This Spike Milligan film plays like a double episode of Dad's Army, not least because of the presence of Arthur Lowe who plays practically the same character here as he does on the tv show. That is not the end of the world however and this is easy to like farce with Milligan's ascerbic, anti-authoritarian bent that is grittier than anything on the sitcom. The Master (2012)** I had high hopes for this, one of Phillip Seymour Hoffman's final films and his last collaboration with director Paul Thomas Anderson is loosely based on the origin story of Scientology. Joaquin Phoenix plays a shell shocked veteran who drifts into the path of the cult leader played by Hoffman. Amy Adams gives a chilling performance as his much younger, controlling wife who is the real power behind the cult. I think I would have an easier time with this film if Anderson hadn't gone around giving interviews saying that Scientology and it's founder L. Ron Hubbard had "helped a lot of people." Of course, this is PTA and Phoenix's character isn't helped at all and he makes the cult worse by being a violent enforcer for the leader's enemies. The levels of whitewashing involved in making a deeply misogynistic cult into a secret matriarchy is just...ugh. However, the homoerotic tension between Hoffman and Phoenix makes the film worth looking out. Murder of Quality (1991)** Made for TV adaptation of John Le Carre's second novel. Denholm Elliott plays Smiley as more doddering and anti-social than Alec Guinness' iconic version of the character. This early Smiley story is more a traditional English village murder mystery, ala Miss Marple, with Glenda Jackson playing Ailsa, Smiley's war buddy that runs a women's magazine. Christian Bale plays one of the students at an elite prep school that forms the economic backbone of the town. Le Carre is merciless in his portrayal of the toxic, petty characters, the wealthy and wannabe wealthy swamp dwellers who run rings around the local constabulary until Smilley steps in and withstands their slings and arrows long enough to solve the case.

The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (1970)*** Sometimes you sit down to watch a movie with such low expectations that you are pleasantly surprised that it doesn't totally suck. The excitement of things not being as bad as you feared can blot out some of a movie's excesses. At the end of the day this is Billy Wilder, physically incapable of creating a boring movie throwing the whole bag of tricks at this faux biography of Holmes starring Robert Stephens and Colin Blakely. There's farce and physical comedy, verbal gymnastics and exotic locations. Holmes' possible homosexuality is tastefully hinted at and attempts to create a sensationalist account of his drug use, amount to little before the mystery gets rolling. One of the big delights is Christopher Lee as Mycroft whose scenes with Robert Stephens are bitchy queen pissing contests. Genevieve Page does a turn as a would be damsel in distress who turns out to be a worthy opponent to Holmes similar to Irene Adler.

Irma La Duce (1963)*** For some reason between this and Poor Things I ended up watching two movies about Parisian brothels this month. Billy Wilder based this pastiche of 1950s travelogue adventure films like To Catch a Thief and Charade on a French stage play. A strange attempt to weld the success of the Apartment with Some Like it Hot, reconfiguring a Marilyn Monroe vehicle as a reunion of Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine. Like the Apartment, Irma LaDuce is tinged with melancholy while avoiding a lot of the cliches about sex work that wind up dating so many films on this topic. The main complaint I have about Irma LaDuce s that it's about 45 minutes too long, a common complaint about many films of this period. (Damn Lawrence of Arabia and all who sail in her).

Witness for the Prosecution (1982)*** A made for tv adaptation of the classic courtroom drama, which credits Billy Wilder's screenplay of his film version. Ralph Richardson and Deborah Kerr star in this remake and honestly their chemistry is just off the charts and we're left to wonder how they never managed to make a film together before. Wendy Hiller, Diana Rigg and Beau Bridges round out the amazing cast. Lacks the tension and edge of Wilder's film but I'm having too much fun with Ralph to care.

The Major and the Minor (1942)**: Billy Wilder's first film as writer and director has some of the hallmarks of his later, greater works: farce, trains, mistaken identity, and queer themes in the form of a lesbian coded sister of Ginger Roger's romantic rival. That all the fuss is about fairly bland Ray Milland is easy enough to overlook as Wilder makes the film about toying with Rogers image as sophisticated, sexy, dancer. Typical Wilder inside jokes about the film industry abound, such as a craze for Veronica Lake hairdos among the tween set and swipes at Hollywood actors like Charles Boyer Rogers' childish masquerade to avoid paying full adult fare is preceded by a series of calamities where she's pursued and objectified by a lot of nasty older men. Hoping to escape their advances as well as the ignominity of turnstyle jumping, she maintains the charade through a long weekend with a lot of handsy tween boys until Milland's fiancee is discredited as a controlling social climber. There is a bizarre side track into her home town where Rogers also impersonates her mother before revealing her grown adult self to Milland. No one ever accused Billy Wilder of being restrained I guess.

The Children's Hour (1961)**** This classic of queer cinema was necessarily a scorched earth tragedy at the time of its release. William Wyler's dreamy, restless camera drags you into the warm, cozy life of this female partnership between Shirley Maclaine and Audrey Hepburn that seemingly has the potential to be a romantic partnership. When nasty gossips and spoiled children start a rumor that they are a couple, the scandal destroys their business and standing in the community. Terrorized by the homophobic townspeople, they are eventually "cleared" of the crime of being gay for each other, just when Maclaine's character comes to the brutal realization that she really is in love with Audrey Hepburn's character. It's hard to watch her grief and shame as she admits that the bullies have discovered a truth about her that she didn't know herself. A fact so many queer people can find relatable. The film is based on a play by Lilian Hellman which used the topic of homosexuality to expose the cruelty of female narcissists who bully their way into power. There is much in common with Hellman's The Little Foxes in that way, but the film, perhaps owing to Wyler's inherent romanticism has more of a Romeo and Juliet quality than the play. One feels that Audrey Hepburn has perhaps realized the truth in the lie, just a few moments too late.

Sweet Charity (1969)*** Directed by Bob Fosse, starring Shirley MacLaine and Sammy Davis Jr and Chita Rivera this classic musical combines the best of Fossee's signature choreography, sixties pop show tunes and the psychadelic aesthetics of the late 60s. This and the Boyfriend have a lot in common, though I think the music in Sweet Charity is more solid and the contemporary setting makes it a tad edgier. MacLaine plays yet another flavor of sex worker, a dancehall hostess and paid companion who seeks to be elevated out of her life into respectability through marriage. The fiancee here is uptight and lacking in appeal and when he finally just flakes out in the final reel it's no great loss to the film.

Thief (1981)** Atypical heist film starring James Caan and Jim Belushi, directed by Miama Vice creator Michael Mann. You can see the beginnings of that iconic 80s TV show, in this movie which favors long scenes of action being edited to music with sparse dialog. Caan squares off against Tom Signorelli a local mob boss who dares to threaten Caan's wife played by Tuesday Weld.

#february 2024 #Jenny's Film Odyssey

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mamaestapa · 9 months

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Late Night Talking

•pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

•chapter summary: Pregnancy cravings hit you late at night, and Joe takes the opportunity to help satisfy your cravings and tell you something that’s been on his mind for months

•word count: 3.2k

•warnings: pregnancy, pregnancy cravings, slight angst, mentions of the OSU situation, and lots of fluff

series masterlist

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April 25, 2023

5 months pregnant

Huffing out a sigh, you turned onto your left side once again. You fluffed your pillow as you tried to get comfortable in bed. You’ve had a restless sleep all night, only getting maybe two hours at most. You just couldn’t seem to get comfortable, plus, your pregnancy cravings were hitting you pretty hard right now. You let out another sigh as the baby in your belly started to grow restless too. Your eyes were wide open as you laid on the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

You tried to fall back asleep, but your want for french fries and chocolate ice cream was much greater than your want for sleep.

You were now a little past 20 weeks into your pregnancy, which means you’re a little over the halfway mark. Which means, you have roughly 20 more weeks until you and Joe get to meet your sweet baby boy. Since your midway through the second trimester, your morning sickness is now completely gone, the headaches have eased, and the mood swings aren’t as bad. However when old symptoms disappear, the new ones start. You’ve now started to experience insomnia, more growing pains, and your favorite, pregnancy cravings.

For the past couple nights, you’ve been sneaking down to the kitchen around 1 am to get yourself and the baby a snack. You soon discovered that once the craving hit, it wouldn’t go away until yourself and the baby were satisfied. So as long as you were craving something, there was no way you’d be able to sleep anytime soon.

You reached over and grabbed your phone from the nightstand as you pulled the covers off of your body. You were sleeping in one of Joe’s t-shirts which went to your thighs, so it covered your panties. However, you thought you’d still slip on a pair of sleep shorts just in case you were caught by Joe. Joe has yet to catch you down in the kitchen satisfying your late night cravings, but you never know when he could come downstairs.

You cautiously left your bedroom, making sure to stay quiet as you slowly walked down the hall and down the staircase. Once you were successfully downstairs with minimal noise, you walked into the kitchen. It was almost as if your unborn son knew you were going to satisfy his hunger because as soon as you stepped foot in the kitchen, he was doing what felt like somersaults in your belly.

Chuckling softly at your sons movements, you turned on the lights above the island. Once the kitchen was lit up just enough for you to find your snack, you opened the freezer, looking for your chocolate ice cream and french fries. However, you had no luck finding either. The freezer was pretty much empty except for the usual: frozen chicken breasts, frozen fried rice, a few popsicles, and a couple other items of yours and Joe’s. You frowned deeply as you shut the freezer door. No ice cream and french fries for you. Looks like it’s going to be a sleepless night…

You sighed and put your hands on your belly, rubbing it softly as you spoke to your son, “Sorry little man, no ice cream and fries for us tonight.” The boy kicked the side of your belly gently, making you smile. His movements were something you’d never grow tired of feeling. You took your hands off of your bump and crossed them over your chest as you walked over to the pantry, finding a different snack to enjoy since you knew you’d only be able to go back to sleep once you ate something.

Your eyes scanned over the pantry, lighting up when they landed on the jar of salted pretzel rods. You grabbed the jar with one hand, while reaching for the container of peanut butter with the other. You shut the pantry door with your foot and walked over to the island, setting your late night craving concoction down on the marble countertop.

Grabbing a spoon from the drawer and smiling happily, you began to prepare you snack. Just as you were about to put the peanut butter covered pretzel in your mouth, you were interrupted by a brighter light being turned on in the kitchen. You whipped around at the sudden change of light, eyes falling on a sleepy, messy haired, Joe. He squinted his eyes as he looked at you.

"Y/n, what are you doing?" Joe asked, yawning tiredly. “Your son was hungry..." you trailed off, keeping eye contact with your baby daddy while you took a bite of the pretzel covered in peanut butter.

“At one in the morning?”

“Yup. Pregnancy cravings.”

Joe rubbed his eyes and stretched his arms, a groan escaping from his lips as he walked over to you. He furrowed his brows and grabbed a pretzel from the jar, covering it in peanut butter. You watched Joe with raised eyebrows. You were shocked to see him prepare the same snack as you. During the day, Joe would never indulge in your cravings with you. He claimed he couldn’t put all of that “junk” in his body after all the hard work he’s put into his body and health during the off-season. But here he was now, indulging in these cravings with you at one in the morning.

"You know," Joe said, taking a bite of the pretzel, “this actually isn’t too bad.” You nodded in agreement as you too munched on another peanut butter covered pretzel. As you chewed and swallowed the crunchy pretzel, your face turned to a look of disappointment and slight disgust. This was not satisfying your cravings whatsoever.

Joe must have noticed the turned away look on your face because he put the lid back on the peanut butter.

“Not hittin’ the spot?” He asked, a light chuckle following his words. You sighed, frowning begrudgingly, “Not all. We don’t have what baby boy and I were craving, so I thought maybe this would satisfy it instead,” you said, gesturing to the concoction on the counter, “but it didn’t, at all.”

Joe frowned slightly as he looked over at you, “I’m sorry,” he sighed softly, “what sounded good tonight?”

“Fries and ice cream—chocolate ice cream,” you gasped, “Oh! Like a frosty from Wendy’s…”

Joe shook his head, chuckling softly. “Y/n, it’s one in the morning.” He pointed out, “Wendy’s isn’t open.”

“I know,” you sighed in exasperation, “it just sounds so good.” You looked down at your swollen tummy, putting your hands on your hips as you spoke to the baby, “Doesn’t it peanut?”

The baby boy kicked in response. You looked up at Joe, a smile pulling at your lips, “He just kicked, so that means he agrees.”

Joe just shook his head at you. He didn’t feel like going anywhere at one in the morning, but he knew once a pregnancy craving hit you, you wouldn’t be able to do anything until that craving was satisfied. Joe wanted you and his baby boy to be happy, so he decided to suggest an idea to you. Something that would satisfy your craving and potentially give him the chance to do something he’s wanted to do for a long time…

“What if I take you to Mcdonald’s?” he offered, “I know it’s not the same, but at least you’ll get your fries and ice cream.” You smiled at Joe’s offer, nodding your head as you replied, “I’d love that. Thanks Joe.”

Joe smiled at you as you reached out to grab his hand. You placed the palm of his hand gently against your belly, the two of you smiling wider when you felt the little kick. Joe pulled his hand away from you as he sucked in a breath. His thoughts ran wild as his heart swelled when he gazed down at you. There were many things that Joe wanted to say to you, but he didn’t know how.

He hid his hesitation with a smile as he gestured for you to follow him, “C’mon, let’s go get you your fries mama.”

~time skip~

Joe drove through the empty drive through line, ordering a large fry and chocolate shake for you. He thanked the worker and pulled up to the window, doing his best to conceal you. The public still doesn’t know that you and Joe are having a baby together. They know that you’re expecting, but they don’t know that your expecting with their beloved quarterback. As Joe drove up to the window, you reached behind you and grabbed a sweatshirt that was laying on the seat. You placed the sweatshirt on your lap, hiding your growing belly from the McDonald’s worker.

As soon as the window opened, the guy at the cash register gasped as he noticed who his customer was.

“Oh my god, you’re Joe Burrow!”

Joe chuckled and handed the guy a 20 dollar bill. “That’s me.”

You leaned back in the seat, trying to hide yourself a bit behind Joe as you listened to him and the young man at the register exchange a few words.

“What are you doing out here man, it’s almost two in the morning.” The worker asked, handing Joe his change. “Just a late night.” He said with a smirk, pushing back the workers hand, “You keep it, bud. Have a nice night.”

“You too Joe! Can I get your autograph?” The young man asked with lots of enthusiasm. Joe smiled, “Sure.”

The worker handed him a cup, a sheepish smile on his face, “It’s all I’ve got.” Joe chuckled and signed his autograph on the plastic cup. He handed the cup back to the cashier, “What’s your name?”

“Jace.”

Joe gave a curt as he spoke, “Have a great night Jace.”

Joe pulled up to the next window, the workers at that window having the same reaction as Jace did. You were a bit worried they’d seen you, but everyone in that McDonalds was too starstruck by Joe being in the drive through to even notice you sitting in his passenger seat. Joe waved goodbye to the workers after grabbing the bag of fries and your shake from a blonde college student (who was definitely drooling over Joe the whole time). You couldn’t help but smile at Joe as he drove away from the McDonald’s parking lot. The way he interacted with his fans of all ages warmed your heart. Joe is such a kind and genuine guy. He always has been—it’s what you love most about the quarterback. Your baby boy is so lucky to have Joe as his dad.

Joe pulled into the parking lot of Kroger, putting the car in park and leaning back in his seat just a bit as he looked over at you.

You furrowed your brows in confusion as you looked at the empty parking lot.

“What are we doing here?”

“I was going to park in the McDonald’s parking lot and let you eat your snack there like old times.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the words like old times. You immediately knew what he meant by that. You lost track of how many times it was, but when you were in college, late night McDonald’s trips were a must. So many nights, you, Joe, Nick, Sam and Emma would always stop for food at McDonald’s after a late night out. Sam would drive and order the food for you all, while Emma sat in the front. You, Joe, and Nick piled into the back of the little car. After you got your food, Sam would pull into a parking spot and you’d all eat your cheeseburgers burgers, fries, and chocolate shakes at 3 o’clock in the morning, in Sam’s car, in the McDonald’s parking lot. What good times those were.

“But,” Joe continued, “too many people around, figured this would be better.” You nodded in agreement as you took the wrapper off of your straw and put it into the chocolate shake. You took a generous drink of the shake, moaning at the delicious, rich flavor. This was already satisfying your cravings.

“Hit the spot?” Joe chuckled, watching you take the lid off of the shake and dip a few french fries into the chocolate cream. You nodded, “This is the best thing I-,” you gestured to your bump, “We, have had all day.”

“Good,” Joe said, a warm smile on his face as he watched you indulge, “I’m glad.”

Some time passed, and as you were eating your fries and shake to satisfy your cravings, Joe’s thoughts ran wild. He first thought about the college days. All of the stolen glances, sneaking kisses, and hiding it all from Sam. Joe deeply wishes he never let Sam influence him into breaking your heart before he left for Louisiana. He then thought about seeing you for the first time since college when he got drafted by the Bengals. You looked a little more grown up, as did he. But you still had that sweet smile and those beautiful eyes he loved so much.

You were still the Y/n he fell in love with as a 19 year old.

Joe’s mind then wandered to the rekindling of your friendship. It took some time and few tries on both of your ends, but eventually your friendship became what it once was before. Joe began to seriously think about his feelings for you. The feelings he’s always had for you—the love he’s always felt for you. Joe has been in love with you for years, and now that you’re pregnant with his baby, that love has grown even stronger. He knows he can’t hide from his feelings anymore. He wants you to be his like you should’ve been back in Ohio State. Joe knows you feel the same way about him as he does for you. He knows he can’t push these feelings away anymore. It’s time to finally ask you what he’s been wanting to for almost six years now…

Joe sat up in the drivers seat, turning his body a bit so he was facing you. A smile grew across his face as he watched you smile into the bite of fries you just took. You looked up from the container, face dropping as you wiped at your mouth.

“Is there something on my face?” You asked, wiping at your chin and the corners of your mouth. Joe shook his head, “No, no. I’m just,” he let out a deep sigh, “I need to ask you something.”

You put the fry container down on the center console, giving Joe your full attention. He sounded pretty serious when he said he needed to ask you something. You furrowed your brows slightly as you looked into his blue eyes. What is it that he wants to ask you?

“Sure,” you nodded, “What is it?”

Joe sucked in a breath as he fiddled with the bracelets on his left wrist. Here goes nothing…he thought to himself.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said as he continued to fiddle with his bracelets, “I want our boy to have both of us around all the time.” You nodded along to what he was saying, brows furrowing slightly.

“He will Joe, what do you mean?”

“I mean that I want us to be together, Y/n.” Joe blurted. He was worried how you were going to react to his confession. Your mouth dropped slightly in shock. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Joe really wanted to be with you? Joe sighed before he continued.

“I want us to be together, as a couple. I have for years now.” Joe confessed, his voice quiet. “I was thinking and, our baby boy deserves that relationship when he comes into the world. Y/n, you deserve that relationship. After the shit I did to you in college…” he trailed off, taking a deep breath, “I want to make it up to you. I want to show you how much you mean to me, every single day. I want to be the one that gives you the love that you deserve. I should have never left you the way I did all those years ago. I love you Y/n. And If you’ll let me,” Joe reached out and grabbed your hand, squeezing it gently as you laced your fingers with his. “I’ll prove it to you every day.”

Your eyes welled up with tears as you listened to Joe’s confession. These were words you wanted to hear for quite a while now, and now that you were hearing them, you were feeling overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with joy. Overwhelmed with hope. And most of all, overwhelmed with love. A small smile made its way onto your face as you uttered those words you’ve wanted to say for years.

“I want to be with you too, Joe. I want us to be together.”

“You do?” Joe asked, his voice quiet yet hopeful. You nodded, a small smile pulling at your lips as you confirmed your answer further.

“Yes. I’ve always wanted to be yours Joe…” you trailed off, looking into his blue eyes that showed nothing but happiness and unconditional love. He leaned over the center console, leaning in and cupping your cheek gently as he slowly and sensually smashed his lips against yours. You deepened the kiss, your hands reaching for his dark blonde hair. The two of you smiled into the kiss knowing what this meant for you and your relationship.

Joe pulled away, smiling softly at you, “Y/n,” he said, watching the smile grow on your face as he popped the important question, “Will you be my girlfriend?”

You nodded, grinning happily up at Joe. Your voice was quiet as you responded, “Yes Joe. I’ll be your girlfriend.”

Joe’s grin matched yours as he leaned in once again to place a sweet kiss on your lips. Both of you were on cloud nine, feeling happiness and bliss you haven’t felt in a long time. You were finally together. After years of being apart, after years of unspoken feelings, and after months of working through things together for your unborn baby, you and Joe were finally a couple. You and Joe can both agree: It’s been a long time coming.

You pulled away from Joe, a small smirk on your face as you teased him.

“This isn’t our first date, right?”

Joe chuckled, bringing a hand to your thigh and squeezing it gently, “No. I’ll take you out on a date that doesn’t include McDonald’s french fries.”

“But that’s just like old times remember? You and I, sharing fries in the back of Sam’s car.” You said with a light laugh, making Joe chuckle once again.

“That’s good for maybe a fifth date,” he smiled warily at you as he continued, “but I’m going to take you on a real first date. One that I should’ve taken you on years ago.”

Joe took his hand off of your thigh and placed it on the center of your belly. “But now I get to take both of you, so that’s even better.” Joe’s actions and words made you grin so wide that you didn’t think you’d ever be able to stop. You placed your hand over his, looking into his blue eyes and speaking wholeheartedly.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, pretty girl.”

You and Joe spent the next 20 minutes talking about date ideas, how you’d break the news to everyone that you’re dating, and how ecstatic you both are to finally be together. All while sharing your McDonald’s french fries and chocolate shake, just like you did as young college kids.

hi loves!!

first of all i apologize for how all over the place this was. i’m not the greatest when it comes to writing love confessions and being asked out lol

so y/n and Joe have made things official! how do we feel about that? how do we think SAM will feel? we haven’t heard from him in a bit…

i know a lot of you are happy about the fluff in this chapter😉 however, my angst girlies, don’t you worry because it’s coming👀

thank you all so much for all the love on this series and my blurbs! i appreciate it so much. all of the kind words, likes, and reblogs definitely keep me motivated to keep pushing out all of this content for you. so thank you🤍

you’re all the best and i hope you have a great week! another update coming tuesday, could be super fluffy or it could be angsty…i’ll let you find out for yourself😉

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow x y/n #joe burrow x you #joe burrow fan fic #joe burrow series #daddy issues #dad joe

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