#Trevor Moore Fic

[ladylooch]

Choose Me with Trevor Moore

A/N: TREVOR!!!!!!!!!! Love bringing these little, obscure babies to life. Originally from this request, with a separate request for some angst. Also, that GIF is stupid precious. K, sorry this took so many more weekends than I thought it would!

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Swearing, fighting, smutty if you squint

It’s raining in California this morning while I sip my morning coffee, looking out the deck door of mine and Trevor’s house in Manhattan Beach. The gray rain clouds meet the deeper gray of the Pacific Ocean, making it difficult to know where land and sky separate. It’s all around dreadful out and the forecast calls for more rain through the weekend. I don’t care though. Because after a grind of a NHL season, littered with scary injuries for Trevor, we are heading on a two week vacation to Maui. I am so excited. I’ve never been to the Hawaiian Islands and can barely wait. Two weeks of white beaches, poke, and coconut flavored drinks. Two weeks of reconnecting with my sweet soulmate.

That sweet soulmate is currently behind me, grabbing himself a cup of coffee as well.

“This weather sucks.” He says, groggily rubbing at his tired face. I walk over to him, going on my tip toes to give him a good morning smooch. He softens into my touch, feeling content with our arms wrapped around each other.

When the machine finishes his cup, we walk to the couch to drink our coffee together. We sit close to each other, hands easily resting on one another. Spotify plays soft country music through the house speakers as we spend some quiet time together.

“Do you have any plans for your first hockey free day?” I ask him, raking my fingers through the side of his brown hair. 

“Not much. Going to lift weights at the rink in a bit, then sit here on the couch the rest of the day.” His brown eyes slide closed, relaxing into my touch. I move forward, careful of my cup to trail kisses along his strong jaw. When I get close to his chin, he turns, capturing my lips with his. “Gotta make a decision about Worlds today though. They keep blowing up my phone.” He mutters a bit annoyed. I pause a millimeter away from his face, lips still puckered. Pre-worlds activities and practice begins right when we are supposed to be leaving for Hawaii. 

“Really?” 

“Yeah, USA hockey has called and texted me every day since Saturday.” It’s now Tuesday. “Kinda sucks that I even have to be called about it… for the second year in a row.” I pull back, looking at his side profile. Did he forget?

“Babe, we are going to Hawaii.” I remind him.

“Yeah, I know that was the plan, but we could move our trip around. The tickets and hotel are refundable.” Anger shoots immediately through my whole body.

“Wow, when were you going to ask me my thoughts on this?” He senses the shift as I pull every part of my body away from his. I sit up straight, coffee mug set on the table in front of us.

“I mean… when I decided to go or not?” His tone is cautious and confused, like he isn’t understanding the sudden shift in my behavior.

“Trev, what the hell?”

“If I go, you don’t have to, babe.” He shrugs, reaching out for my thigh. He’s completely missing the point. I shove his hand off of me, standing up to pace in front of him. He’s completely alert now, sensing the fight brewing.

“What about our vacation? The one you told me to plan right after the team was eliminated. I just did all of this work and now you’re like.. well maybe I’ll go to Worlds! Without even asking me if that is okay?” Trevor is immediately put off by my raised voice and his nostrils flare.

“I don’t need to ask permission to go somewhere.” I baulk at him. 

“No, but you probably should check in with your long-term girlfriend, who you’ve been ring shopping with, to see if she’s cool with you moving your vacation.”

“Why is this such a big deal? It’s not like we can’t afford to change plans.”

“That is not the point, Trevor. Why is everything more important than me and what I want?” I wave my hands around in frustration. “I have sat here patiently next to you for three seasons now while you have lived your dream. I’ve cooked, cleaned, shopped, rubbed at your body and held you when you had insomnia because of your concussion. And this is the thanks I get? A moved vacation so you can go do more of what you love while I wait?”

His gaze drops from me. He says nothing. My chest rises and falls rapidly with my heavy breathing. I blink back tears, then look out at the different shades of California gray. I narrow my eyes. Fuck this.

“You know what, go to Worlds. I’ll go to Hawaii by myself. I could use a break from more than just this rain.” My tone is insinuating.

I reach for my coffee cup, walking it back to the kitchen sink and dumping it out. I set it aggressively in the dishwasher then slam the door shut. Trevor sighs heavily then stands, coming to block my path from leaving the room. 

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have asked if this was okay. I’ll tell them no if that’s what will make you happy.” I scowl. “What?” He responds.

“Why do I have to tell you to choose me? Why can’t you just do that?” He opens his mouth to respond as I step back from his grasp, holding my hands up. “I’m done with this conversation. I need space from you right now.”

“Okay.” He steps to the side, letting me pass without another touch or word.

I’m absolutely seething as I walk down to our bedroom. How does he not get it? Why do I have to lead him to the answer? How could he just assume this would be fine with me? I need to calm down and I know the answer is a long, hot shower.

I rip my clothes off when I get in the bathroom, still absolutely seething. Why does anything hockey related come before me? It’s like we have a third person in this relationship at all times. I’m asking for two fucking weeks of his time. Is that really too much to ask after sharing him with the world for the last 7 months?

“Asshole.” I mumble as I light my Sweater Weather candle. I grab a lavender shower steamer, tossing it onto the tile to give me some extra calming power. I take my time from there, trying to refocus my anxious energy into self-care. I do a hair mask. I exfoliate my skin. I stand under the scalding water hoping it will relax my neck muscles. I admittedly shed a few tears too.

After I dry off, I do my whole skin care routine with every oil, cream, and moisturizer I have in my drawers. I lather lotion on every inch of my skin and put in air drying hair cream to de-frizz my hair before it has a chance to poof with the rainy weather.

When I open the bathroom door, I see Trevor sitting on the edge of our bed. His doe eyes lifts to me in the doorway, fingers laced together in his lap.

“I asked for space.” I remind him, walking by his sluggish body to our large closet.

“I know. And I’m respecting that as much as I can. I had to physically restrain myself from getting into the shower with you.” I roll my eyes at him. He’s such people pleaser, it kills him when I’m angry with him.

“Should I get you a gold star?” I quip back. His jaw ticks as he grits his teeth together to avoid a similar retort.

I drop the towel, going to my dresser to grab a fresh set of bra and panties. They’re black and Trevor’s eyes watch longingly as they glide into place against my smooth skin. I reach for a pair of jeans folded in a different drawer. The sound of denim against my legs is the only noise in our large closet. Trevor leans against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. 

As I get dressed, my inner thoughts begin to swirl, telling myself a twisted victim story that brings tears to my eyes. I sniff as they form, turning my back to Trevor as I reach for a t-shirt. I’m so disappointed and hurt. I feel like he would rather go halfway across the world than spend time with me. When I turn back towards the door, two tears slip down my face. Trevor can’t hold back anymore. 

“I’m not going to go. I already told them no.” He wraps his arms around me, kissing my wet hair. His hands rub along my fresh shirt, pressing me as deep as I can go into his body. “And not because you asked me not to, but because I’m choosing you. I want you to know that it really isn’t a choice though. It’s always you, babe.” I collapse further into his body. “And, I’m so sorry I made you feel like just an option.” His words soothe my inner thoughts until the truth of his intentions are clear again.

“Trev, that’s enough.” I whisper, turning my face to catch his lips. “I know you’re choosing me and that’s everything.”

“I love you so much.” He says between kisses. “I appreciate everything you do for us. And me specifically. I’m so lucky. I’d be lost without you.” I smile against his shirt. “Couldn’t even make my morning smoothie.” He jokes. Last week, he almost turned the blender on without the top on.

“It would be a really sad life for you.” I agree “I’d be fine.” I purse my lips against the laugh.

“Thanks, babe.” He chuckles against my hair. “Keeping it real as always.” 

“It’s why you keep me around.” I pat his butt before stepping away from him. He pulls me back into his embrace.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He nips at my mouth. “You put those sexy panties on and think you’re leaving me?” 

“Thought you were going to the rink.” My heart skips a beat at the molten desire in his brown eyes.

This time, his choice is easy and obvious.

#Trevor Moore #Trevor Moore Fic #LA Kings #NHL Fan fiction #Hockey writing #my writing #writing request

[tttinytrash]

The long awaited siren fic! Decided to go for Lust for maximum sass levels (sorry/no worries depending on your preferences here, but despite the AU nothing spicy here, just light sexual humor) Unzipping and food turning to liquid magic are both concepts stolen from @shamedump. 

Siren skele and arctic researcher reader instead get acquainted by accident, then skele helps out their little human before being stuck with the consequences. Enjoy the awkwardness!

The cold never bothered you, but even given that this was a bit much. You were bundled in all the best thermal gear of course, being in the arctic required it, but couldn’t help the shiver as a particularly vicious gust threatened to throw your fluffy hood down. Ah well, get the equipment checked quick and you and Taylor could get back all that much sooner. 

Taylor, your previously mentioned research partner, was slightly ahead of you in the ankle deep snow as you both slowly shuffled towards the ice shelf that harbored the frigid water you two were studying. Coring ice and checking for fossils and chemical dating, monitoring water currents and other various data to guide the calculations required, all of it was rather dull. The crunching of numbers was more your taste, Taylor was the one who loved all their equipment. They each had names, in fact. They treated the machines like they were their kids. You might tease, but you were glad for the levity in what would normally be a tearjerkingly boring job. You didn’t appreciate their insistence to not go alone near as much, however. But you also couldn’t blame them.

After all, sirens were about.

There were precautions against their fabled charms, sure, but the thought of man-eaters being out was terrifying. So with Taylor you begrudgingly went. 

Taylor approached the mooring spot of one of their submersible probes, and activated the winch to bring it up for inspection. It had stopped sending data a few hours ago, which is what started your trip outside. To be honest, you weren’t fully sure what the probes should look like, but the mangled pile of scrap that game up on the end of the line was clearly not correct.

“No! They killed Trevor!” Taylor wailed.

“This was Trevor?” You asked.

“Yes! And he’s dead!”

“Clearly. We’ll need a whole new probe at this point. Better load this hunk of junk up.”

“Rest in peace, Trevor. You will be missed.”

Any funeral rites were interrupted when your proximity sensors went off. As precautions against sonic attacks (read as: siren song) you both were wearing noise cancelling headsets with communication links specifically between both of your headsets and the home base. You both also had sensors that would ping when something moving besides you two got within range, and you had a sinking feeling you knew what it was before you whipped your head around to find the offender. 

Yep, definitely a siren. 

It had the lower body of a spotted seal, but the torso of a skeleton was plopped where the neck should have been. Vibrant pink eyes were oddly hooded seductively at you two. Even deaf to it, you could tell by posture and movements it was singing to you. 

Nope, no thank you.

“Leave the scrap, we’ve gotta move!” You urge, pulling Taylor up by the arm. 

You both move as fast as possible back to the snowmobiles, luckily not too far away, and begin to book it. As you jet away, you scream over your shoulder “Not today, Pinky! Find something less sentient to eat, ya jerk!”

To your shock, the thing looks legitimately offended, and even blows a raspberry at you before it dives into the water.

Did it actually understand...?

You didn’t give it any more thought, instead flooring your snowmobile back to the warm, safe base. You didn’t want to be lunch, and were also pretty excited to feel your toes again.

-----

Repairing that damn probe took so much longer than it should have. But that was mostly because Pinky was very much Not Helpful™.   

Taylor made fun of you for naming the killer skelemer, but you solidly blamed their habit of naming everything rubbing off on you. Regardless, Pinky had become the thing’s title and at this point you were near certain it knew its name too. 

Pinky surfaced not too long after any attempts to retrieve, replace, or repair Trevor’s remains. You were always on guard duty while Taylor worked, so you were the one to spot it first. You’d raise the alarm and you and Taylor would scram, but it was alarming how quickly the mer picked up on what your tiny team was doing. It quickly figured out neither of you could hear their song, so it gave up on that and instead posed in what was probably supposed to be alluring poses, literally beckoning you to come closer. It eventually got nearly lewd.

The first time Pinky went fully sexual, you busted up laughing. He looked offended right up until you posed while channeling your best Jessica Rabbit on the back of Taylor’s snowmobile during your retreat. From that point, he seemed to take it as a challenge and almost seemed to be laughing along at his own ridiculousness. He also seemed to pick up on the meaning of your habitual flipping of the bird as you escaped inland and would return your one finger salute, or even rise up out of the water sometimes with the raised middle phalange the first thing to break the surface.

Ugh, you’d seen this thing too many times. You were personifying it.

It hadn’t ever gotten more than 100 yards off, barely in range of the proximity sensors. So your sightings were seconds each. You’d rather keep it that way.

Fate did not comply.

The day you finally got Trevor 2.0 ready to submerge was the day everything went wrong. You and Taylor lifted the equipment, shuffling towards the edge of the ice shelf to chuck the machine into the depths. Pinky had yet to be seen despite you two having been out here particularly long without disruption. Had it finally given up?

No, the sensor went off which startled both of you, enough so that the equipment was fumbled and ultimately dropped. Trevor 2.0 hitting the ice caused a chain reaction. Both of you stumbled back, Taylor luckily onto solid ice shelf, you less luckily onto rapidly cracking ice. You hit water, and shock made you instantly black out.

-----

Sans lazily went toward where the humans would be. Ever since wrecking the probe, they’d been out there daily. But while his plan for easy lunch didn’t work since they were somehow deaf so his song, he didn’t even mind at this point. Playing with the spunky human, or Brat as he thought of them, was a highlight to his day.

Originally he had tried to lure them other ways besides song, but their ability to sass back at him had gone from vexing to charming, the same way his usual insult for them became an affectionate moniker. As a reward for getting a good chuckle out of him the previous day, he’d decided to give them a little extra time unmolested.

Any plans went out the door when he saw Brat hit the water. 

The other human was flailing about on shore and froze when it saw him, but he paid it no mind. He instead dover underwater after Brat’s panicking form. He watched as shock made them gasp, the precious air they needed becoming a cloud of bubbles around their rapidly sinking body.

Forget plans, all thought went out of his head and a protective instinct he didn’t know he even had kicked into overdrive. He didn’t wanna eat them anymore, but apparently human was on the menu again. At least, in a way. He briefly surfaced, less than a moment and just long enough to flush the water out of his system to replace with air before he dove, snatching their eerily still form. He shoved their head into his mouth and gulped greedily, dragging their unresponsive frame into his body. He had to get them warm, and he was the warmest thing in the vicinity. The air in his belly would let them breathe, and the warmth of his magic would keep hypothermia at bay.

Once they were down, he panted with exertion, feeling their body through his own. 

...SHIT.

The hell did he do now?

-----

You woke slowly, not knowing where you were.

Then you remembered and suddenly waking up was very fast. Still didn’t know where you were though. You flailed around in surprise, finding everything rather squishy, wet, and ...pink?

“human?”

“Huh- what?!” You cried in response to the sudden voice, falling backwards and sliding to the bottom of this weird rounded space you were in.

“delta, i’m not used to shit moving around in there like that. dunno how i feel about that yet.”

“where am i?” panick straining your voice up an octave.

“uh, currently inside a siren. in neither a food way or a fun way, if that helps.” He said, blandly.

“PINKY?!”

“that’s usually what you call me, among insults of various quality and originality. ‘pink tailed prick’ was always my favorite.”

You’ve somewhat realized you’re in his gut now, and a quick once over of your body reveals that it’s intact, if damp. “....why am I not dead?” 

“i already said it wasn’t in a food way. you nearly drowned, don’t you remember?”

Crap, now you did. “The question stands.”

“fair. easy answer though; i begrudgingly like you, brat.”

“I’m a brat? You tried eating me- wait, did eat me!” You clap your hands over your traitorous smart mouth, god please don���t piss off the thing that can easily kill you if he had a mind to!

“well, i didn’t. not for lack of trying, though. and you’re still not food, you’re actually safer in there then out here. even i know you’d freeze to death if i just let you out on shore. you need to be dry, which isn’t really attainable for a mer.”

“...oh.” You can’t really object to the logic, even if your brain were in a place to.

“yeah. i did try to bring you back. other one tried to shoot me.”

“Damn, Taylor has shit aim.”

“they do. which leads us to now.”

“Oh... the ‘how the hell do we get me out’ phase.”

“yeah. and at this point without death. if you’re going to be making such a drastic impact on my impeccable figure for this long, it’d better not be in vain.”

“Excuse me Princess!” you guffaw, tone dripping sarcasm.

“sans.”

That stumped you. “Come again?”

“my name. it’s sans.”

“Oh. Well, I’m y/n.”

“well, y/n, you’re stuck in there until we find a way to get you back on dry land without near immediate hypothermia. so get comfy, because we’re sleeping now. even if i do look pregnant, i need beauty rest.”

“Oh. Uh. Guess I can’t complain. And uh... thanks for the lack of murder.”

He hums in reply, movement finally ceasing.

You slide into a maintainable, comfortable position and finally take in your surroundings, since you’ll be stuck here awhile. The walls do softly glow pink as you’d initially seen. Less obviously, they also have a subtly wavy texture, and a bouncy give almost like a waterbed. The walls are slick and frictionless, but don’t appear to leave slime on your questing hands. 

“that feels nice. feel free to keep that up.” sans interrupts your exploration.

There’s a brief flare of guilt before you take his advice and keep playing with the plush walls, as if pawing will grant you extra knowledge.

You don’t really remember falling asleep, but apparently you did. The soft sounds of his body around you make excellent white noise apparently.

-----

It had been days. Inside a siren’s belly. What is your life?

It was weird, but not too bad without the death to go along with it.

Sans encouraged you to play with he odd texture of his magic, but that got old after awhile. You would say however, that you were extremely comfortable. The walls had a lovely give, and tended to mold to your body in whatever position you took due to their plush nature. They even moved in a soft undulating pattern, which felt kind of like a massage. Oddly, you had gotten used to this enough to almost enjoy it.

Then you were doused with liquid magic. Again.

“Dammit, warn me!” You cried, wiping the pink glow out of your eyes.

“why would i? that’s so much less fun.”

“Pink tailed Prick.” You muttered.

“ah, my favorite title.”

-----

As nice as having a constant companion and warm weight inside was, he was at his wits end with this arrangement. Honestly not even because of y/n. They could come back to visit his gut again after this whole thing was over as far as he was concerned, but they other one was incredibly dense. 

The perceived loss of their companion really made it impossible to break through. Especially since they couldn’t hear him, and wouldn’t get close enough for him to get the headphones (which y/n told him were what made them immune to song) off. If he charmed them, the violence would stop long enough to prove y/n was ok. But lack of communication was a big issue here. Of course, the water had rendered y/n’s pair defunct.

Y/n appeared to have adapted to their space decently too, they didn’t struggle and once he was used to it their readjustments and stretches felt divine inside. They were bewildered by the fact that his magic could sustain them, meaning they didn’t have to eat as long as he intended to care for them. Them playing with the liquid magic his body converted his actual food to was hilarious, if maybe gross under other circumstances. 

He was going to miss his internal companion desperately. 

But that wasn’t the goal for now. Y/n came up with had to be plan H (he’d lost track of where they were in the alphabet by now) which was risky but the best shot they had yet. He’d just unzip on shore and show Taylor that y/n was ok. That meant that his human was risking hypothermia, and he would be in no position to bail if Taylor shot. (They were a bad shot, but that wasn’t a risk he was thrilled with.)

He didn’t really like this plan, but he hauled himself up out of the water by where Taylor would be sure to patrol, and waited for the human to arrive.

Eventually, an indignant “You bastard!” heralded the misguided human’s arrival. A bang indicated a gunshot, but no bullet whizzed by. Wow. Strormtrooper level bad aim, Taylor.

He turned to face them, then raked a finger down his belly, letting y/n throw their damp top half out into the frigid air. “TAYLOR, STOP!” they screamed, waving their hands in a ceasefire gesture.

Taylor either panicked or didn’t see, firing another shot. y/n screamed, pulling their now bleeding forearm close to themself. 

Sans reached a hand down, healing magic already summoned and tending to the new hole y/n had been gifted.

“that’s it, this didn’t work. get back in, we’re out.” Sans growled.

“W-wait! N-N-” y/n protested, blue lips and chattering voice making it difficult.

Sans was about ready to shove them in himself when Taylor called in utter shock “Wait... y/n?!”

Taylor stumbled forward a step or two, grip on their gun slack.

Thank Delta, this was the opening he needed! He used his magic to rip off their damn headphones, and before they could reorient their grip on their gun, he began to sing. With the charm in place, they could finally talk.

He also got to eat y/n again now, which was another bonus.

-----

You strode confidently to the water with Taylor beside you, going to check on Trevor 2.0 like normal. Most things were back to normal, but what wasn’t was far more interesting.

You got three things from the ordeal in the end, and they were as follows:

One, your hair was now pink. Prolonged exposure to Sans’ magic had affected your hair’s natural pigmentation, and there was no indication as to whether it was permanent or not. Eh, at least you’d save on hair dye.

Two, you got a scar. Taylor was endlessly sorry for it, but the bullet hole had left a definite mark on your forearm. Had to think of a cover story for that before shipping home. That was concern for later, though.

Three, you got a new friend or constant pest depending on how you felt at the given moment. The smile that broke on your face at seeing the familiar glow beneath the frigid surface of the water said you were currently leaning friend. 

Sans chilled with you while Taylor did their thing, Taylor also chipping in on conversation as they worked. The typical flow was interrupted when Sans’ belly growled.

“Too lazy to hunt again?” You asked.

Sans shrugged. “guilty as charged.”

“Just go, don’t do your usual beat around the bush thing.” Taylor butted in.

“Hey! I didn’t even do anything!” You groused.

They raised a brow at you, smiling mockingly. “You brought extra clothes.”

“...shut up.”

Sans and Taylor both laughed at you.

From his spot in the water, Sans looked up at you and said “i’m game if you are.”

You hesitated.

“Just go, I’ll have dinner ready by dark. I can get back to base on my own.” Taylor said, retreating to their snowmobile. 

You turned to Sans, who wordlessly opened his mouth wide and waited.

Smiling, you obliged.

#undertail vore #soft vore #safe vore #mentions of fatal vore #extreme cuddling

[honeypiehotchner]

intelligence & issues (Hotch x Reader) -- chapter four

I’m backkk! More Hotch x Reader interaction here, and there will be TONS coming up (you’re welcome). Reminder that this is SLOWWWW burn so...yeah.

Chapter Warnings: I realized here that profiles are hard so that’s all my bad if it seems unrealistic/cringe-worthy. But just the same warnings apply as the previous chapters because we are in the same case! Also, gasp, fluff toward the end??? And a (good) cliffhanger, but a cliffhanger nonetheless (sorry!)

Previous chapter || Fic Masterlist

Chapter Four: These places and these faces are getting old, so I’m going home

Upon entering the police station, you make a beeline for the conference room where Reid is with the files.

“Reid. Please tell me you read the files.”

“Of course I did,” he almost seems offended by your question. “These girls were remarkably smart. All of them were honors, and in that accelerated program? That would’ve saved me so much time when I was--”

“Reid,” you stop him. “Natalie. What were her midterm grades this March? Any of them bad? Or not even bad, but something like a C minus?”

He thinks, then nods. “She had a C plus, actually, in her chemistry course. But her final grade was an A minus.”

“C plus,” you chuckle, shaking your head.

You remember hearing the phrase C’s get degrees when you would stress out over classes that were throwing you for a loop. A C plus to you is good. But of course, to a perfectionist like Natalie, that must’ve shocked her to her core. Enough that her dad would notice a small drop in her mood, but since she raised the grade, she went back to her normal self.

It probably has jack shit to do with how or why she died, but it’s a small detail that you were right about, and for that, you count it as a small victory.

“What is this about?” Hotch asks, making himself known and nearly scaring you shitless.

“Next time, say something instead of standing there like a ghost,” you mutter. “I was right. Natalie’s midterm grade for chemistry was a C plus. She had an A minus by the end of the course, but she’s a perfectionist. A C plus would’ve scared the hell out of her. That’s why she was acting weird.”

Before Hotch can reply, Reid starts talking again. “She had the class with Jennifer and Kelly. They were lab partners.”

“They were best friends,” you shrug. “And it’s a small college. I used to take courses to be with my friends, too.”

“Like Trevor?”

His name sends a bolt of anger through you and you grit your teeth, turning to glare at Hotch. You don’t give him the satisfaction of a reply. He knows your answer. And you know that he knows, because he leaves the room without another word.

Reid sits at the table, confused. “Who is Trevor?”

“You don’t want to know,” you mutter, flopping down in a chair. You fish your phone out of your pocket to dial Garcia.

“Speak and ye shall be heard.”

“Babe. I need some good news.”

“That’s what I’m here for, sugar,” Garcia replies, no doubt through a grin. “What can I do you for?”

“Natasha Manners, one of our victims. Her biological father is supposedly in Europe right now, but I wanted to see if you could get confirmation for me.”

A few beats of silence pass. “He is. A German citizen, actually. Looks like he’s married, too.”

“Interesting.” Knock that one out. “Okay, Natalie had a boyfriend that moved to England.”

“I’m gonna need more information than that, honey.”

“I know, I know. I think his name was James...Moore. James Moore. Natalie’s dad said he’s supposedly a British citizen now.”

“James...Arnold Moore, became a British citizen two years ago, used to reside in that sleepy town you’re in now.”

“Great,” you mutter, rubbing your forehead. Part of you had hoped it was one of them, but nothing can be so easy, can it? “Thanks.”

“Glad to be of service.”

Feeling defeated by the dead ends, you push back from the table, leaving the conference room in search of the coffee machine.

Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately, you’re not sure yet), you find Hotch at said coffee machine, staring it down like he wants to destroy it and then set it on fire for good measure.

“Careful,” you tease, sliding in next to him. “It works better if you don’t stare at it.”

Hotch turns and looks at you, almost surprised that your anger from a moment ago disappeared so quickly. “Right.”

“Here,” you murmur, grabbing the cup from his hand and sticking it under the dispenser. You press the button, filling the disposable cup with (probably) shitty coffee. While you’re handing him the cup, your fingers brush, and it’s cliché, the way lightning shoots up your arm.

In an effort to distract yourself, you begin rambling. “I’m sorry I didn’t bring up the suicide pact theory until now.” You grab yourself a cup, filling it to the brim. “I guess I fell into the same mindset they have here. Thinking that would never happen, not here,” you scoff, more annoyed with yourself than anything else.

“It’s okay,” Hotch says, which isn’t what you were expecting. “Are you okay? Everything you said…”

“Is in the past,” you finish for him, offering a small smile. “I’m fine now. Wouldn’t have passed my psych eval if I wasn’t.”

“Don’t make me order another,” Hotch says, tone teasing, but you know there’s some truth hidden in his words.

“Order away,” you chuckle, taking a sip of your coffee and grimacing. It’s shitty indeed. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asks again, and if you weren’t mistaken, you think he might actually be concerned right now. Like, genuinely. “Not just earlier. But in general. We are in your hometown.”

“Yeah, we are,” you nod, refraining from making a witty remark about his excellent observation. “It doesn’t feel like it, honestly. Because this...this just doesn’t happen here. Not in the town I remember growing up in. It’s changed a lot.”

“How long has it been since you’ve been back?”

Aaron Hotchner making small talk with you over coffee? Who knew. 

“I came back for a weekend a few months ago, but that was nothing. It was a day trip, basically. The last time I was here for longer than a weekend was…” You pause. “God. Before I took that job at the BCI.”

“Wow,” Hotch raises his eyebrows. “That long.”

“Only a couple years,” you shrug. “Seems longer than it has been.” You gaze down at your coffee, watching your distorted reflection in the dark liquid. “I feel so much older than I am.” You almost whisper it, but it’s loud enough. 

Hotch wants to say something, maybe something to comfort you, because you didn’t say that comment with exactly a happy expression. There’s so much you aren’t telling him, too much that you’ve gone through in your twenty-three years. That much became clear to him on the phone earlier. 

But he’s not supposed to concern himself with the private lives of the team. Not with anything that won’t affect their performance, at least. If it’s not a criminal record or deep psychological issue, then he shouldn’t concern himself with it. He should leave it alone. 

He should.

He wants to ask more, know more, but you mumble something about getting dinner soon, and you’re gone. 

Hotch goes back to thinking about the three women. Their slit wrists, poison in their veins. 

He hopes there won’t be a fourth.

+++

After dinner, which you and Morgan picked up for the whole team, you go over the profile -- which is basically nothing.

“The toxicology report shows they had high amounts of ethylene glycol in their system. This is commonly found in antifreeze and other readily available products. This suggests that whoever this was, isn’t powerful enough to dominate these women without it. Since it has a sweet taste, it is possible that they ingested it without knowing, so the unsub might have tricked them,” Reid finishes rambling to the officers.

“We don’t want this advertised to the media anymore than it already has been,” JJ speaks next. “We aren’t sure yet who we’re dealing with, and until then, we need to keep any advancements quiet.”

Hotch nods firmly, taking over. “We are also investigating this on the assumption that it could possibly be a suicide pact.” He glances over at you, and you nod.

“Suicide pacts are rare, but not impossible,” you begin, standing from where you were leaned against the table. The officers have varying expressions. Some disbelief, some disgust, others completely blank from shock. “I know suicide is something that is taboo around here, but please, don’t turn your head away just because you think it wouldn’t happen here. Mental illnesses have no specific age, demographic, or geographic preference. Given the views of the town, it is possible that if this was a suicide pact, these women might have chosen the method because they knew they weren’t going down alone. It’s twisted, but the pact can be seen as a bonding experience, and sometimes makes the act of suicide easier, knowing someone is doing it with them.”

The room is silent. As you expect.

“We aren’t sure which it is, so these could be murders.”

An officer raises his hand. “How will we know for sure?”

You hear Hotch sigh. You’re all thinking the same thing. But being the unit leader, he has to voice it.

“If there’s another body.”

Silence covers the room again, but it’s true. If this was a suicide pact only between the three women, then it is over and done with now. But if not, well, another woman -- or women -- could be dying right now.

The thought sends a shiver down your spine. You always hate the beginning of cases. When there isn’t enough information to find the unsub, so you’re forced to wait for more bodies, or some new information -- though it is usually the former, sadly. It would make any normal human feel helpless, so you know you aren’t alone or invalid for feeling the way you do, but that doesn’t make it suck any less.

After a few more points and questions, the officers are dismissed, and the team begins to pack up for the night.

“You can continue going over the case file, but get some rest,” Hotch says, in a tone that tells everyone it’s an order rather than a suggestion.

As you’re grabbing the file, you feel an obvious thought smack you in your face.

You don’t need a hotel room. You’re in your hometown. The hotel here is pretty small, anyways. You’re better just crashing at your mom’s place.

Emily, Morgan, JJ, and Reid leave first, eager to get to the hotel and get some rest, leaving you alone with Hotch. Again.

“Um, I’m going to just crash at my mom’s house,” you say hesitantly, knowing the hotel rooms are probably already paid for. “I should’ve figured that out before the rooms were reserved, but I just thought of it.”

Hotch looks up from his phone, almost surprised to find you talking to him. “Okay. I can drive you.”

“No, that’s okay--”

“Y/N,” Hotch interrupts you, giving you a stern look. “You’re not walking or catching a ride in this town when there could be a killer on the loose.” 

“Okay, fine,” you agree, knowing there is no use in arguing with Hotch. “Or are you just trying to get my address?”

Hotch gives you another look, one you can’t read, as he gathers his things. “Let’s go.”

“Yes sir,” you mutter, half teasing, but Hotch nearly groans. 

You almost never call him sir unless you’re being entirely serious, but this time it was almost teasing. It shouldn’t make him feel the way it does.

All he’s doing is driving you home, yet he feels...nervous.

Aaron Hotchner doesn’t get nervous. Unless it’s you.

“I remember walking home from the police station at odd hours of the night,” you start rambling. “When I’d get picked up for something stupid, and they’d let me go after talking to my mom, but my punishment was that I had to walk home.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow. “You had a record?”

“No,” you shake your head. “It only happened twice. They said if there was a third that it would go on my record, but that’s when my mom sent me to therapy. I stopped acting out then.” You chuckle at another memory. “I went to a donut shop and bought two dozen and went back to the station with them. I used to hang out there all the time. I almost thought about becoming an officer.”

“But you chose the FBI,” Hotch says absentmindedly. “Why?” He realizes now that he’s never actually asked you this, not seriously.

“I don’t know…” You breathe, even though you gave Emily an answer earlier. “I guess I wanted something bigger. This town is nice and all, but I needed to get away.”

“From what?”

It’s then that you realize you chose the wrong words. You meant to say “get out” because that’s common, needing to get out of your hometown. People write hit songs about that feeling. But “get away” is different. “Get away” crosses the line to imply that you’re running from something or someone. And you were, so Aaron is correct in asking what you needed to get away from, but you don’t want to answer.

Thankfully, you don’t have to. 

“This is mine,” you point to your right.

Your childhood home sits just on top of the hill, the lake down below. You rolled down the hill one too many times as a kid. Thank God you knew how to swim. 

Aaron pulls into the driveway, even though you told him to just drop you off at the street. The porch light is still on, no doubt turned on by your mother even though you didn’t tell her you were coming. She knows you all too well, though. She probably knew you’d come home for the night before you had even decided.

Hotch nearly turns the engine off and unbuckles, but he stops himself. It’s too easy to feel like he’s dropping you off after a date. It’s too easy to feel like he should walk you to your door, kiss you softly, tell you that he’ll call and then call five minutes later because he misses your voice, and you’d laugh, tell him he’s crazy, but you wouldn’t hang up.

Too easy.

“See you in the morning,” you smile tiredly, hauling yourself out of the car.

“See you. Sleep well.”

The comment catches you off guard a little, Aaron can tell because you scrunch up your nose and murmur, “You...too?” It’s not something he ever says. Not like that. Not like he genuinely wants you to have a good night’s rest. Not with that soft expression and almost-smile.

You shake your head to yourself as you shut the car door. You need some sleep. You’re imagining things.

Aaron watches you as you practically skip up to the front porch, your excitement manifesting in your movements as you pull the storm door open, twisting the door knob. Surprisingly, it opens, and he sees you hugging your mother as tight as you possibly can.

Once he sees that you’re safely inside, he puts the car in reverse, and backs down the driveway.

It’s too easy. Too easy to fall for you.

+++

You’ve barely made it inside when your mom starts in with the questions.

“Who dropped you off? What’s his name? Is he your boyfriend? Do you have a boyfriend you aren’t telling me about? Y/N L/N, if you aren’t telling me--”

“Gee, I’m glad to see you too, momma,” you chuckle, dropping your go-bag on the floor by the couch. “That was Hotch. My boss.”

“Your boss, hm?” Your mother raises her eyebrows, a smirk tugging at her lips. “What’d you say his name was? Aaron?”

You could glare at her, but you don’t. “Yes, Aaron Hotchner. We call him Hotch.” It feels strange to refer to him any other way. You’d like to call him Aaron, but you’re afraid you’d be crossing a line that you could never come back from.

As if you haven’t done that already by letting your feelings for him develop past the initial thought of, “He’s attractive.”

“What’s he like?” Your mom asks, walking off into the kitchen.

You follow her, but not after you flick the deadbolt and lock the front door. 

“First, we need to talk about you locking the doors at night. Are the windows even locked, woman?” You walk over to the window over the sink, finding it to be very much unlocked. With a frown, you lock it. “What am I going to do with you?” You ask teasingly, hands on your hips.

“Oh, please,” she waves you away, going back to putting up the dishes. “Go lock them if it’ll make you feel better. But you know how I forget. Nothing happens in this town, anyway.”

“There might be a killer on the loose!” You yell as you walk through the house, locking windows. The only one that was locked was the one in the bathroom. Good grief.

Once you’re finished securing the house, you find your mom in the living room, two glasses of wine in front of her. You raise an eyebrow.

“Don’t give me that look, one’s for you. Come sit. And take that gun off, for Pete’s sake.”

You grin, missing her banter. You take the gun off as requested, but you place it on the coffee table next to the wine (this earns you a glare, so you move it beside you on the arm of the couch). 

“Now,” your mom taps her wine glass to yours. “What’s this Aaron Hotchner like?”

You know what she’s doing, but you still decide to humor her, too tired not to. “He’s divorced. Has a son whose name is Jack. I’ve never met him, but I’ve heard he’s really sweet.” You pause to take a sip of your wine. “He’s...I don’t know, cold? Annoyingly intelligent, hardly ever smiles, never laughs at my jokes,” you scoff, but you’re fighting back your own grin. What is it about him that makes you want to smile? You’re really digging your own grave.

Your mom knows it, too. “Now that you’ve got all the reasons why you shouldn’t out of your system, why do you love him?”

You choke on your wine, eyes widening. “Love him? Who the hell said anything about love?”

“Your smile did, and watch the language.”

You don’t know why she still says that to you because you’ve definitely heard her cuss like a sailor before -- and not to mention, you’re an adult. “My smile said no such thing.”

She only hums, taking a long swig of wine.

“Besides,” you mutter. “Did I mention he’s my boss?”

“You did, but I don’t think he cares.”

“You’ve never even met him!”

“He drove you here! I saw him wait until you were inside to leave! Those headlights didn’t pass the curtains until you had shut the door.”

“He did the bare minimum for a friend.”

“Oh, but you didn’t see the way he was looking at you.”

“Alright,” you laugh, shaking your head. “I’m gonna need more wine if you’re gonna do this to me all night.”

After retrieving more wine, you feel much better.

“I saw Trevor today,” you blurt, staring down at your hands. “Tracy brought him up and then I bumped into him.”

Your mom frowns. “You haven’t told her what happened?”

You shake your head. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Did he say anything to you?”

“Barely,” you snort. “Hotch was with me. Trevor left pretty quickly when Hotch showed his badge.”

“I’m liking this Hotch more and more…”

You chuckle, thumb swiping some of the condensation away from the glass. “Yeah,” you admit quietly. “Me too.”

Before your mom can interrogate you further, the doorbell rings, nearly scaring the shit out of you. It’s almost ten at night, who the hell is here?

Your mom stands to answer the door, thinking nothing of it, but you hold out your hand, stopping her. She grumbles a little, but sits back down. 

You stand instead and grab your gun, but not without your mom whisper-yelling, “You don’t need a damn gun to answer the door!”

“Shh!” You hiss back, walking slowly to the front. You try to peek through the window, but it’s hard with the blinds closed.

You unlock the deadbolt and wish silently that there was a peephole. Holding your gun behind your leg, your finger hovering by the trigger, you crack the door open to reveal…

“Hotch?” You blurt, blinking rapidly, wondering if this is the wine, but you’ve only had a glass and a half. As you pull the door open more, you see the rest of the team behind him. “Did something happen?”

Morgan bounds the steps of the front porch, go-bag in hand, and spots the gun in yours and a wild expression on your face. He holds his free hand up in mock surrender, cracking a smile. “Damn, momma. Planning on shootin’ somebody?”

“I’m so sorry,” Hotch starts, ignoring Morgan’s remark. “The hotel was full.”

“It’s pretty small,” you chuckle, trying to appear as sober as you absolutely can because it’s technically illegal for you to be operating a firearm while inebriated, let alone a government issued one. “I was afraid of it filling up.”

Before you can open your mouth to explain who is at the door, your mom is at your side, wine glass in hand, and devious smile on her lips. She recognizes Hotch immediately. 

“You’re all more than welcome to stay here,” she says before you can stop her. “We’ve got a guest bedroom and the couch, and an air mattress or two in the basement.”

Hotch glances at you, but you know better than to argue with your mother, so with a pained smile, you hold the door open. “Come on in.”

Next chapter

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch x you #some fluff? what? #yes fluff #still a slow burn though #slowww burn #intelligence & issues #tw suicide mention

[wipbigbang]

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Sherlock Holmes (ACD Canon)

#59

Title: Designation: H Pairing/Characters Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, John Watson/Mary Morstan (mentioned), Mycroft Holmes, young (~10 years old) Victor Trevor (mentioned), and with appearances from teenaged (14-18 years old) versions of: Dorian Gray, Reginald Jeeves, A.J. Raffles and Bunny Manders, Hercule Poirot, Jane Marple, The Phantom of the Opera, James Bond, Tom Ripley, Nero Wolfe, Father Brown, Harley Quin (Agatha Christie), Mr. Satterthwaite (Agatha Christie), Ernst Stavro Blofeld (Ian Fleming), Jason Rafiel (Agatha Christie), the killer from “And Then There Were None” (Agatha Christie), and a very loose adaptation of Gregory House (House M.D.). Rating: Mature Warnings/Tags: Graphic Violence, corporal punishment, violence to and by children, eugenics. I’m a little bit squeamish about the violence, it’s there, but I don’t linger on it too much and I ask that the art not linger on it too much either. Also, no sex please (there’s none in the fic). Summary One minute, Watson is hurrying back along the path from Reichenbach falls, afraid that Holmes has indeed met his fate against the dreaded Professor Moriarty. The next thing he knows, he awakens in the infirmary of the strange Prometheus Institute, unsure whether it was all a nightmare or terrible reality. However, he quickly finds that the real nightmare is only just beginning; both he and Holmes - mercifully alive - are imprisoned along with two dozen young men behind the bars of a circular cell block, where their every move is observed by guards tasked with maintaining discipline and overseeing their training as the next step in human evolution. During the day they are trained in combat and put through complicated exercises in manipulation and subterfuge. At night they are trained in stealth; they must evade the guards and best each other in further exercises, which pit gang against gang. Watson soon learns the dark secret behind their abduction: Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes - and Victor Trevor - were raised in the Prometheus Institute, but the brothers escaped (around age 10-12). Now, it has caught up with them, and Holmes and Watson’s only hope of getting out alive is to overcome the shadows of their pasts and work with the violent, manipulative young prisoners.

Inspired by umisabaku's fanfiction, Designation: Miracle.

A SNIPPET:

They ran as far as they could and never looked back.

They fled across the moor, running until they could run no more. Hounds bayed in hot pursuit by day and night.

They faked their deaths for the first time at the bank of a river that flowed into a waterfall. They left their clothes behind and waded through the shallows until they reached the edge of a small town.

They were both children—at least they looked like children, the older no more than thirteen. They lied and manipulated and stole. They used their innocent faces to earn the villagers’ trust and then ran away with all they could carry. They did it to survive. That was the only way they knew how to survive.

They wandered from town to town, stealing food and clothing and a place for the night, until at last they came to London. They lived on the streets, stealing and manipulating and lying. They picked locks and played scams. A criminal empire formed around them. The older plotted and the younger enforced.

The older loitered on Whitehall, watching the politicians and bureaucrats running a country. He had been created and trained to be perfectly rational, and more intelligent than any human. It was only right that he take the lead. After all, there was only so much a human could do with their emotions and imperfections.

The younger lurked in alleyways and spent his time among criminals, watching them and the rise and fall of their aspirations. He noted their follies and, though he would never admit it, learned their ways.

“Enough,” the elder declared at last.

There would be no more stealing or sleeping on the streets, they would not live as common crooks when they were so much more by their very nature. They had acquired enough money to buy lodgings and for the elder to go to university, while the younger began to shadow the defenders of the law. They gave themselves new names, though they never left their designations behind.

#signal boost #looking for an artist #fan art #fanartist #Fanart #wipbb2021 #acd holmes #acd watson #acd canon #sherlock holmes #john watson #mycroft holmes #victor trevor #dorian gray #reginald jeeves #a.j. raffles #bunny manders #hercule poirot #erik poto #jane marple #james bond #tom ripley #gregory house #father brown #ernst stavro blofeld

[buckyland]

thank you my beloved jackfruit @jackmanhugh kumi 💖

top 4 ships:

okay, in no particular order...

cece and schmidt (new girl)

sypha belnades and trevor belmont (castlevania)

elizabeth bennet and fitzwilliam darcy (pride and prejudice)

????? me & my ten friends 😂

last song:

wild heart by bleachers

last movie:

i’m cheating a little on this one, i’m about to watch this movie..

we have always lived in the castle

reading:

LOTS O’ FICS!

life as we know it by @xetoilerouge

11 hours by @buckyskorpion

apartment 8c by @samingtonwilson

a turn of the knife by @lettalady (ransom drysdale fic, knives out prequel)

there’s a bunch of smut fics in my drafts 🥵

works by writers i’ve only recently followed!

honorable mention because it counts in my heart: @nacho-bucky‘s insightful commentary on @kentuckybarnes‘s agent 28 series :’) 

oh and the one book i’m cracking into: The Holdout by Graham Moore

food i’m craving:

INDIAN FOOD. palak paneer or something. plus samosas and garlic naan. 

tagging the following angels, if they want to play: 

@the-chocolate-moose @jbbuckybarnes @wonderlandmind4 @evansweaters @suz-123 @dirtychocolatechai @baezen @chrevastan @jurassicbarnes + anyone else :’) 

#tag game

[a-winchester-fairytale]

Villisca

Summary: Strange things are happening in small town Iowa, where a family was murdered in their home over 100 years ago.  Can you and the Winchesters work together to solve the mystery behind the Villisca Axe Murder House?

Word Count: 5,914

Warnings:  mentions of the murders (nothing graphic)

A/N:  This is for @pinknerdpanda​ 1K Challenge and @dancing-the-hellfire-rumba​ Out of Context Challenge.  My first prompt was the Villisca Axe Murder House.  I tried to stay as close to the research I found as possible, but I took a little liberty when talking about the inside of the house (just because I couldn't find that many pictures). 

In order to have an additional storyline, I included the idea I had for Helen's challenge.  My prompt was "I just wanted you to fight for me for once, just once."  I did bold that in the fic.  I know that both of you extended your deadlines to the group and I want to say Thank You.  It helped me give this the time I wanted it to have.  **warnings in tags**

Feedback is always welcome!

“Shadows, the sound of boots walking around, a woman’s scream…?  Sounds a lot like a bunch of kids playing pranks.”  Sam said, setting the newspaper article down on the table and looking up at you.

“That’s what I thought too, but I went there anyway.  There is something going on in that house.  I swear, Sam.”

“You know most of those places that claim they have ghosts are just a hoax to sell stuff.”  Dean said dismissively.  He set his coffee down and took a chair across from you.

“I know what I saw.”  You snapped at him.  “If you don’t want to go, fine.  I’ll take care of it myself.”  You added, getting up.

“I never said we wouldn’t go.”  Dean snapped back, reaching up to grab your arm to stop you from walking away.  “I’m just a little surprised you would call us.”  He added, his tone calmer.  You sighed and sank back down into your chair when Dean released his hold on your arm.

“Honestly…that makes two of us.”  You said, rolling your eyes and turning your focus back to Sam.

“The article says that people have been living in that house for years and they never had anything strange happen.”  Sam said, ignoring the mounting tension between you and Dean.

“True, but now it has been restored back to the way it was when the Moore’s lived there, down to the lack of electricity.  Now it’s a museum and people can even pay to spend the night in the house.” You told him, pulling up the website for the house online.

“Let me see that…”  Sam said, turning the computer screen and reading the options aloud.

“Wait a minute, you’re telling me that people pay several hundred dollars to spend the night there?”  Dean asked.

“According to this, yes.  They are almost completely booked for the next month.” Sam answered, leaning back in the chair and running a hand though his hair.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again.  People are crazy.”  Dean mumbled.  With a sigh he stood up and started down the hallway.  “We’ll leave in half an hour.”  He called out to Sam over his shoulder.

Sam waved off his brothers words and started packing his laptop into his bag.  “I see that the last six months has done nothing to cool things between you and my brother.”  He muttered.

“Did you really think it would?”  You asked him, surprised.

“I had hoped.”  He answered.  “Why did you call us?”  He pressed.

“Because I knew you would believe me.”  You replied.  “Besides, regardless of what happened, there is still no one I trust more on the job than the two of you.”  You added after a pause. 

Sam just grinned and shook his head.  He stood and placed his hand on your shoulder. You looked up at him, wondering if you had made the right choice by coming to them for help.

“Good to have you back.”  He said before he walked away to pack his own bag for the case.

“Thanks, Sam.”  You whispered to the doorway he had just disappeared through.

An hour later, you were pulling into an old gas station with the impala close behind you.  As Dean pumped gas at the pump across the parking lot from you, Sam climbed out of the passenger seat and walked to where you stood next to your truck.

“I’ve got some bad news.”  He said calmer than you had ever heard him. 

“What is it?”  You asked, concerned.  Sam looked down and kicked at the cement with the toes of his shoes.  “Sam?”  You pressed.

“We just picked up word that there was an incident last night in Villisca.”  He began.  “Apparently, a couple of teenagers snuck into that house last night and one of them disappeared.”

“Damn it!”  You exclaimed, hitting the side of the truck with your hand.  You shook your head, your eyes squeezed closed.  “We can go by the motel first so you guys can put on the FBI gear and then I’ll take you out there.”  You added, shoving the gas handle back into the pump and hopping into the driver’s seat of your truck.

Sam had barely made it back to the impala before you pealed out of the parking lot.  Dean followed suit, unwilling to be shown up and he laughed when Sam grabbed the door to keep from being flung across the seat.

+++

“What’s the story with this house anyway?”  Sam asked, gesturing to the sign outside that welcomed them to the Villisca Murder House.

“On the night of June 9, 1912, Josiah Moore and his wife attended an evening church service with their three sons and daughter.”  You began as the three of you stepped into the house to look around.  “Afterwards they returned to their home, along with two of their daughter's friends from church.  The next morning, they were all found murdered in their beds with an axe that was left on the property.  Rumor is that the killer was hiding in the attic until the family went to sleep.” 

“What kind of sick mind does something like that?”  Dean asked, looking at the pictures of the family on the wall.

“There has been a lot of speculation about that over the years. It is still considered one of America’s greatest unsolved mysteries.  There were several people suspected, from a serial killer with the same MO to an elected official paying off someone to do the job for him.  At one point, they even accused the preacher.”  You answered.

“You mean they never found out who did it?”  Sam asked, surprised.  You shook your head.

 “Well, that would do it.  Sounds like a vengeful spirit to me.”  Dean said. 

“The detective said that the incident last night happened at exactly 12:45 am.” Sam said

“That’s  the approximate time that the 1912 murders happened.”  you said.

Dean stopped in the doorway to the dining room and tapped Sam on the shoulder to get his attention.  He gestured to where a uniformed officer was interviewing a teenage boy.

“That must be the brother.”  He said quietly.  “Let’s go see what he knows.”

“You guys go ahead.  I want to make friends with that detective to make sure we get copies of his files.”  You offered. 

“Can we have a moment with the kid?”  Dean asked the officer as he and Sam flashed their FBI badges.  The officer nodded, and with a quick glance at the kid he walked away. 

“I’m Sam and this is Dean.”  Sam began as the two of them sat down at the table.  “You’re Trevor, right?”  He asked and Trevor nodded.

“Okay, Trevor.  Why don’t you tell us what happened?”  Dean encouraged.  Trevor nodded and took a deep breath.

“It was just a dare.”  He began.  “We were out at this party with a couple of friends.  We had a few drinks so we decided to just walk home instead of calling our parents for a ride.  We passed by the house and the next thing I know she was climbing in an open window and daring me to follow her.  At first I didn’t want to, but she was teasing me and I did.  When I got inside, I couldn’t find her anywhere.  She wasn’t answering me and then I heard a scream.  I ran into the room and all I found was this.”  He said, holding up a scarf.

“Was that Kate’s?”  Sam asked. 

“She was wearing it when she climbed in the window.”  Trevor answered, looking up at Sam. 

“Is it possible that she went out another window or the back door to scare you?”  Dean asked.  Trevor shook his head.

“She would have come home by now.”  He answered. 

“Okay.  Thanks, Trevor.”  Dean said, and the two of them stood up from the table.  Trevor reached out and grabbed Sam by the jacket.

“Please.”  He begged.  “Please find my sister.” 

Sam and Dean looked back at each other, neither of them wanting to admit to the kid what they already knew was likely. 

“We’ll do everything we can to bring her home.”  Sam promised instead. 

+++

You slid down in the passenger seat of the impala as far as you could so the officers standing in front of the house wouldn’t see you in the dark.  You glanced quickly at Dean as he concentrated on their every move, trying his best to hide his impatience at having to wait for them to leave before the two of you could break in. 

“Good, they are finally gone.  Let’s go.”  Dean whispered, as he watched the two police cars drive down the street and turn the corner to head back to the station.  You got out of the car as quietly as possible and followed him up to the porch.

 You stood guard while he picked the lock on the front door.  The door creaked as he slowly pushed it open and you momentarily cringed at the sound.  With a last quick look down the street, the two of you slipped inside and closed the door to the world behind you. 

You clicked the flashlight on and made your way down the dusty hallway with Dean covering your back.  You almost jumped as you rounded the corner when you saw the shadows cast on the far wall by your light.  Silently you wished that Sam had come with you when you heard Dean choke back a laugh at your expense.

“Very funny, Dean.”  You whispered. 

“I don’t remember you being so jumpy, Y/N.”  He teased and you felt your blood pressure rising. 

“Your memory has never been that good anyway.”  You snapped and Dean let out a disgusted huff.  He didn’t say anything else, instead he moved along the wall to where the other bedrooms were. 

Before you could follow him, you heard a thumping sound in the small room to your right.  You called out his name in a whisper, but Dean didn’t hear you before he entered the master bedroom.  Still annoyed with him, you turned and followed the sound instead of him.

You entered the room slowly, but didn’t see anyone at first.  Shinning your light on the memorabilia, you realized that this was the room the two sisters from down the street had slept in.  You gently touched the edge of the bed sheet, your mind thinking of the little girls that died here.  You couldn’t stop thinking about the sister that everyone suspected was awake and struggled with the killer before he took her life.

As though on que, you felt a cold chill on the back of your neck and you turned to see a little girl standing in the corner of the room.  She was covered in grim and there was blood on her clothes, but she was barely visible.

Before you could ask her anything, you heard the sound of boots on the floor walking toward the room and her head snapped fearfully toward the doorway.  You followed her glance, and when you turned back to her, she had disappeared.  Moments later, Dean stepped into the doorway.

“There you are.”  He said.  “I didn’t find anything in the….”  He was saying, but paused when you didn’t move.  “Y/N?  What’s wrong?”

“One of the little girls was just here.  She was right there, but she disappeared when she heard you coming this way.”  You replied, pointing to the corner of the room.

“Well, I can’t say I blame her for being a vengeful spirit.  I’d be pretty mad too.”  Dean muttered.

“She wasn’t mad though.  I don’t think she is the one doing these things.  She seemed….scared.”  You explained.  Dean glanced around the room and nodded.

“Okay, well she’s gone now.  Let’s go see if Sam found anything.”  Dean offered.  You nodded and started to follow him out of the house.  You glanced back once more before walking out of the room.

“I’m going to figure this out and help you.  I promise.”  You whispered to the empty room.

+++

“I’m telling you, she wasn’t an angry vengeful spirit.  She was afraid of something.”  You insisted as the three of you sat around a table covered in research at the motel.

“Afraid of what?”  Sam asked.

“I don’t know. I want to go back to the house to see if I can find her again.  Maybe she can give me a clue as to what is going on.”  You explained, getting up to grab a water out of the fridge.

“By yourself?  No way!  I’m not going to allow you to do that?”  Dean exclaimed, pounding a finger on the table in front of him.

“Oh yeah, you and what army?”  You challenged.  You had always hated when Dean got like that.  It went against every independent bone in your body, and he knew it.

“Guys!”  Sam shouted.  Both of you stopped and looked at him, surprised by the outburst.  “Can you guys just table it for one night?”  He begged.

“Fine.  Do whatever you want.”  Dean said and stormed out of the motel room.   You let out an exhausted breath and sank down in the chair next to Sam. 

“I know he can be overbearing and over protective.  Believe me, I’ve caught my fair share of that too.”  He said, opening the laptop in front of him.

“But…?”  You encouraged and Sam chuckled.

“But….I also know that everything he is doing, is because he loves you and he doesn’t want anything to happen to you.”  Sam finished.

“I know.”  You admitted.

“Do you want me to talk to him?”  Sam asked, sympathetically.  He had always hated to see the two of you fighting.  You glanced at the door Dean had stormed out of and shook your head.

“I would never put you in the middle like that, Sam.”

“But that’s exactly where I am, and where I have been for a long time.”  He reminded you.

“Let’s just go the files and see if we can find out what is going on at that house.”  You said, picking up a folder full of papers.

“You think this might be about whoever killed that family?”  Sam asked.

“It’s worth a shot.” 

+++

You went back to your own motel room after you and Sam felt confident that you had gone through every newspaper article and police file you could get your hands on from that night.  You both finally had to admit that you were having trouble focusing on the words through tired eyes. 

You laid down on the bed and tried your best to sleep, but you just kept tossing and turning under the sheets.  Between your thoughts of the little ghost girl and the feelings you still felt for Dean, you couldn’t seem to shut your brain off long enough to do more than doze on and off.

By the time you heard the impala pull up outside and Dean go back into the room he shared with Sam, you were up and heading into the shower.  The hot water did little to relax the tension in your muscles, but you still took a little longer before you got out, hoping the water would rinse away more than just the dirt from that old house.

When you got dressed, you heard their muffled voices through the thin walls of the cheap motel and you headed back so the three of you could plan your next move.  The moment you walked back into the motel room, Sam was sitting at the kitchen table with Dean.  He stood slowly, looking hesitant to say what was on his mind.

“What is it?”  You asked, the look on his face making you more nervous.

“Go ahead and tell her, Sammy.”  Dean said when Sam paused.

“We just heard over the police scanner that they found Kate, the girl that went missing.”  Sam said.

“Well, let’s go talk to her.  Maybe she can tell us…..”  You started, but stopped when you saw Sam’s face.  You glanced back and forth between the two brothers, not needing either of them to tell you what was wrong.  It was written all over their expressions.

“Y/N..”  Dean started, but you cut him off.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?”  You asked and Sam nodded.  You cursed and stormed out of the motel room.  Dean tossed his car keys to Sam.

“Go see what you can find out.  I’ll catch up.”  Dean said as he ran out of the door after you.

You almost jumped out of your skin when he pulled open the passenger door of your truck and hopped in before you could protest.

“What the hell are you doing?”  You asked, glaring at him.  “I don’t need a babysitter.” 

“Never said you did.”  He replied, but he didn’t make a move to get out of the truck. 

“Fine.”  You growled and threw the truck in drive.  You knew him well enough to know he wasn’t going to give up easily and all you wanted to do at that moment was drive away.

You ignored the smirk you saw on his face when you started driving.  Neither of you said a word.  You just drove out of town until you found an old abandoned bridge.  You parked the truck and got out.  You walked and sat on the edge of the bridge, throwing rocks into the river below.  You heard Dean get out and walk up to you, but you didn’t react to him at all.

“Remember when we used to sneak down to the river in the middle of the night, before Sam knew about us?”  He chuckled.

“I try not to.”  You said without looking up at him.  You heard him sigh, defeated.

“You really hate me that much?”  Dean asked seriously.  You looked at him, and then back at the river.

“No.”  You said simply.

Dean pulled a flask from his jacket pocket and took a sip.  You looked back at him when you heard the lid turning on the metal.

“Do you mind?”  You asked gently.  Dean raised an eyebrow, but held out the flask to you. 

You took a deep breath and took a drink.  You had never been much of a drinker, and you tried your best to hide the burning you felt in your throat as the liquid slid down.  You handed the flask back to him and didn’t say a word when Dean sat down on the edge next to you.

“We are going to figure out what happened to that girl and stop it before anyone else gets hurt.”  Dean told you, his eyes still looking out at the river below.

“How do you always say that with so much confidence?”  You asked, the smallest hint of sarcastic laughter in your tone.  You couldn’t figure out if it was comforting or frustrating that even now you believed him.

“Because…its what we do.”  He answered simply. 

“Seriously?”  You asked, looking at him. 

“What?  You were expecting something deeper?”  He smirked, a little shrug of his shoulders.  You shook your head, chuckling slightly under your breath.

“From you?  Not a chance.”  You teased and he laughed, relieved that your voiced lacked the hostility you usually had when you talked to him. 

“Come on, let’s see if Sam got anything from the crime scene.”  He said, climbing to his feet and holding out a hand to help you up.  You glanced up to his face and rolled your eyes, but you took his hand and allowed him pull you to your feet anyway. 

“Thanks.”  You murmured quickly as you walked past him and back to the truck.

+++

That night, once you were certain that the brothers were asleep, you snuck out of your motel room and drove out to the house.  The whole block was quiet, just as it had been the night before, but from the moment you got out of the truck you couldn’t shake the chills you felt on the back of your neck.  You almost climbed back in the truck and drove back to the motel, but you didn’t want to admit that Dean might have been right.

Your pride practically pushed you through the front door of the house and once you were inside, there was no turning back.  You made your way, carefully, down the hall and into the small bedroom at the end.

“Lena?”  You whispered her name a couple of times as you glanced around the room.  Finally, she appeared in the corner of the room.

“You have to go.”  She insisted, lowering her finger from her lips and shooting a panicked look toward the door.  “If he finds you here, he will take you away like he did the other girl.”

“Kate?”

“I don’t know her name.  I tried to warn her, but when she saw me she screamed and he heard her.”

“What about the others that were in the house?”

“They got away a long time ago.  We should have left with them, but I just couldn’t leave without my sister.”  She answered, looking down.

“Where is she?”  You asked, looking around the room but seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

“He is keeping her away from me to stop me from leaving.”  She whispered, a sniffle escaping behind her words.

“Listen.”  You began, kneeling down in front of her.  “I am here to help you.  Tell me who is doing this and I promise you I will find a way to get your sister back to you so the both of you can move on from this house.” 

She looked up at you, wanting desperately to believe that it was possible.  Your heart broke for the child before you, whose life was taken too soon and too violently.  Suddenly, you heard footsteps on the floor above.

“Go”  she insisted and then she disappeared. 

 +++

When you arrived back at the motel, Dean was sitting outside waiting for you.  You bit down on your lower lip before getting out of the truck in anticipation of another argument.

“You went back to that house?”  Dean accused the minute you stepped out of the truck.

“Yes, I did.”  You answered defiantly. 

“Y/N, we don’t even know what we are dealing with yet.  You could have gotten yourself killed going back to that house alone.”  Dean told you, concern replacing the anger you normally heard in his voice.

“Stop treating me like a child, Dean.”  You said.  “I saw her again and it worked. I know what is happening.”  You added, followed by a brief description of what the ghost had shared with you.

Dean ran a hand over his face, torn between being happy to have the information and concerned at the lengths you went to get it.  You waited patiently, not really wanting to fight anymore.  It seemed like all the two of you had done was fight.

“You’ve never been this reckless.  What’s gotten into you?” Dean couldn’t help but ask.  

“This is all my fault.”  You practically whispered as you started to walk away.

“Hey!” Dean said forcefully, grabbing your arms to turn you to face him.  “This is not your fault.” He insisted.

“How can you say that?  I knew something was up with that house.  If I hadn’t come to get the two of you, I would have been there and Kate would still be alive.”  You argued, your voice breaking a little as you spoke.

“You don’t know that.”  He said.  You tried to turn away, but Dean forced you to look at him.  “I know how you feel, believe me.  I’ve been there.  Sam and I both have. But you can’t go around blaming yourself for the past.  All you can do is take things as they are now, and try to keep it from happening again.”

“Look, I appreciate what you are trying to do, Dean, but I’m not yours to fix anymore.  Just let me go, okay?”  You practically pleaded.  Dean reluctantly released your arms and watched you walk away.

+++

While you were gone, the brothers researched everyone that had been accused of the crime.  Of course all of them had passed away.  Some were cremated at the time of their death.  One was buried several states away and Sam had serious doubts that he had been the killer based on the alibi he was able to provide.

“This isn’t going to get us anywhere.  It would take days to search out each of these people and burn the bones.”  Dean complained, shutting the book in front of him in exhaustion.

“Maybe we are looking at this wrong.”  Sam suggested, handing a newspaper article to Dean.

“Its an article about the house being redone as a museum.  So what?”

“Read the last part.”  Sam said, pointing to a section near the end.  Dean rolled his eyes but read it anyway.

“No way.”  He said out loud.  “You think?”  He asked, glancing back at Sam who only nodded.

“What did you find?”  You asked when you came back to the motel and saw the two of them loading their shotguns. 

“I found out that the axe in that house is the same one that was used in the murders in 1912.”  Sam explained, grabbing an iron bar from his weapons bag.

“You’re kidding.” You said, disgusted.  “That’s so morbid.”

“It looks like when the house was turned back into its original state for the museum, the axe was added as an artifact.”

“And you think that’s what the killer is attached to?”  You asked and Sam nodded. 

"It would explain why this didn't happen before then"

“Okay, let’s go set an artifact on fire.”

You turned and left the motel room to gather a few things from your own room next door.  Dean immediately set his shotgun down on the bed.

“I’ll be right back.”  He told Sam before he chased after you, stopping you in front of your room.  “Are you okay?”  He asked.

“I will be once this is over.”  You told him.  “Thanks for the things you said earlier.  I know I’ve been pretty mean the last few days.”  You added.

“I hope you know I meant them.”  He told you, hoping that maybe the two of you could at least be friends again. 

“I do.  You’re a lot of things, Dean Winchester, but a liar isn’t one of them.”  You said with a smirk and he laughed.

+++

“You guys check the house.  I’m going to take a look in that wood shed.”  Sam said, pointing out the small shed near the rear of the home. 

“Be careful.”  Dean warned his brother.

“You too.”  Sam said.  You nodded and headed toward the front door with Dean behind you.  The first place you headed was the bedroom where you had seen the little girl.  If nothing else, you thought she might be able to tell you where the axe would be.

Suddenly, you felt a force brush past you and shove Dean out of the room and into the adjacent wall.  You barely had time to realize that Dean was okay before the door slammed shut, trapping you in the bedroom.

 “Y/N!!!!”  Dean’s scream carried through the door.  You heard him slamming into it on the other side, trying to make it budge.

“I’m okay, Dean.”  You called back. 

“I’m going to get you out of there.”  He promised. 

“It’s no use.  Just go help Sam find that axe.  Once it’s gone, the force holding the door closed won’t be able to anymore.”  You said.  You heard the slamming stop, but you knew he was still on the other side.  You could almost feel him.

Dean rested his head against the door, hating that you were right.  “I’ll be back.”  He promised finally and you heard him heading down the hall.

You closed your eyes and silently prayed that it wouldn’t take them long.  You hated being cut off like that, and feeling so helpless.  You turned to see the little girl standing behind you.

“Hey.  We’re here to help you, okay.”  You promised.  She looked nervously at the iron bar in your hand and then back up to your face.  “I’m not going to hurt you.”  You said, setting the bar down on the night table next to the bed and stepping away from it and you knelt down on the floor so you could be eye level with her.

None of this changed the terrified expression on her face.  Wide eyed, her hand raised slowly, a finger pointing behind you.  You spun around and saw an axe raised above the face everyone had wondered about for years.

“You….” A whisper escaped your lips before you flinched at the axe swinging toward your head.  You heard a sinister laugh and then a scream as the figure, and the axe, burst into flames.  You let out a loud shaky breath and looked back at the child ghost.

She was no longer covered in grim and blood, but instead wore a smile on her face.  Standing next to her, holding her hand, was her sister.  With a quiet “thank you” and a bright light, they both faded away into a cloud of smoke that floated to the ceiling before vanishing from sight.

You barely had a moment to realize it was over before Dean burst through the door and pulled you into his arms, his own relief washing over you.  You hugged him back, the tension in your body releasing immediately.  Sam stepped in the doorway, but when he saw the two of you, he smirked and made his way out to the impala.

“When I couldn’t get to you….”  Dean said, cutting himself off before he said too much.  You smiled against his chest, his heartbeat getting closer to a normal rhythm in your ear.

“I didn’t like being separated from you either.”  You admitted.  “Truth is, there is nowhere I feel safer than I do when I’m with you.”

You felt his hand stroke your hair.  “At least that hasn’t changed.”  He teased.  You pulled back to look at him.

“A lot of things haven’t changed.”  You told him, your voice soft.  He just nodded in acknowledgment, his hands falling back to his side as you stepped back.  The two of you walked out of the house and headed back to the motel.

+++

Back at the motel, you took a long hot shower and then pulled out the bottle of wine that you had packed away in your suitcase.  You poured a glass and sat on the bed, your legs pulled up beneath you.  You were surprised a few moments later when you heard a knock on the door.  An even bigger surprise was seeing Dean standing on the other side.

“I just wanted to let you know that Sam and I will be heading out first thing in the morning.”  Dean explained.  “We would go tonight, but Sam said he wanted to catch a few hours of sleep first.”  He added.

“I’m not really tired, if you want to come hang out in here while your brother’s asleep.”  You offered, holding the door open. 

Dean looked up at you, the shock on his face almost making you laugh.  You bit down on the inside of your cheek to keep from doing it.  Dean glanced around, almost like he was waiting for Candid Camera to come out of the bushes. 

“Yeah, thanks.”  He finally said and stepped inside.  “Wine, huh?”  He teased when he saw the bottle.

“Don’t knock it til you try it.”  You replied, sitting back against the headboard and flipping through the movie channels.  Dean chuckled and sat on the other side.

“I’ll stick to the hunter’s helper.”  He told you, holding up the flask from his jacket pocket before opening it and taking a sip.

You settled on a movie and the two of you watched without saying much.  It was comfortable to be with him like this, almost like the last 6 months had never happened, except that the two of you would have been wrapped up like a burrito by now if it hadn’t.  You found yourself sneaking a glance or two at him when you thought he wasn’t looking, and you even caught him doing it once.

“I’m sorry.”  Dean said, his voice barely a whisper as the credits rolled on the TV.

“For what?”  You  asked, confused.  Dean paused and you leaned on your side to look at him.

“Everything.”  He answered finally, his eyes shifting to the side to meet yours.

“Dean…you don’t have to…”  You whispered, but Dean held up his hand to stop you.

“I know I don’t, but you deserve to hear it.”  He began.  “I shouldn’t have pushed you away like I did.”

“I get it.  I really do.  You fight so much every single day. You fight against monsters and the evil in the world, you fight against demons and angels, even Lucifer himself.”  You said.  “Its just….”

“Just what?”  He asked when you paused.  You took a deep breath, struggling to find the right words to explain what you felt.  Dean just watched and waited patiently.

“I just wanted you to fight for me for once, just once.”  You explained and his face fell. 

“Sweetheart… I will always fight for you”  He swore, reaching out to hold your face in his hand.  “If I ever made you feel different I am so sorry.”

“You mean that?”  You asked, searching his eyes for the truth.

“Hell yeah.”  He answered and you let out a giggle at his enthusiasm.  “You and Sam are the most important people in the world to me.  There is nothing I wouldn’t do for either of you.”

Dean reached down and cautiously placed his hand over yours, your fingers dancing with his until you were holding hands.  Your anger was gone now, replaced with a comfort that only Dean was ever able to give you. 

You felt it in everything; his touch, his scent, his warmth, his heartbeat, even the way his chest moved with every breath he took.  He made you feel safe, allowing you to completely relax.

You could feel your eyes fighting to stay awake, but wine always did relax you and make you sleepy.  It was why you had poured the glass in the first place.  You needed a little help after the events of the past few days.  You felt Deans finger tracing your face as he moved a fallen strand of hair from your eyes.

“I’ll let you sleep.” He said, and pulled back to get up.  He stopped when he felt your hand on his arm.

“Don��t go.”  You pleaded, your eyes opening to look up at his face.  “Stay with me, just for tonight.”

“Is that just the wine talking?”  He asked teasing, but wanting to know honestly.

“No.  It’s me.”  You promised.  Dean laid back against the pillow again and you scooted closer until your head was on his chest and his arms were wrapped around you.

“I missed this.”  You whispered.  “I missed you.”

“Truth?”  He asked, and you nodded.  “I never stopped missing you.  I still love you, Y/N”

You leaned your head back so you could look at his face, only inches away from yours. His words surprised you.  Before you even realized what you were doing, you pressed your lips on his.

“I love you too, Dean.” 

 Tags: (let me know if you would like to be added or removed)

@just-another-busy-fangirl @imagining-supernatural @aubreyreadsstuff @jensen-jarpad@your-modern-shakespeare @wildfirewinchester @jpadjackles @wonderfulworldofwinchester @akshi8278 @tamtamlov @aubreystilinski  @wildatheart15 @notnaturalanahi

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Fanfic recs

...or, more accurately, “I didn’t want to clog my bookmarks, so I made this”. Contains some LJ stuff not reposted anywhere else (to my knowledge), and things fished out from AO3. Mostly ACD canon and Ritchie-verse, no BBC-verse except a small mention in one.

Authors’ original summaries are italicised. Personal favourites are marked with asterisks. Updated sporadically.

[14 Jan 2018: There are even more fics I haven’t gotten around to listing here.]

ACD canon/non-specific Victorian

The Adventure of the Bridegroom’s Photograph by spacemutineer @ AO3 Gen, casefic Summary: There is more than one secret to be revealed when a young man comes to Holmes and Watson with a keepsake and a question.

A Careless Life by ingridmatthews @ LJ/DW/AO3 Holmes->Watson, angst, time-travel Summary: 3GAR didn’t happen right the first time.

The Case of the Rose by Another Name by HiddenLacuna @ AO3 Gen, humour, casefic, Shaggy Dog story Summary: Dr. Watson is called to attend to Holmes, who has a terrible cold after a case. Holmes recounts the case that led him to become ill.

A Casual Reflection on the Probability of Coincidence by mainecoon76 @ AO3 Holmes->Watson, mention of Holmes/Victor Trevor, friendship, agnosticism (what are these tags I use...) Summary: Mycroft Holmes ponders his own relationship with his sibling, the wonder that is John Watson, and the fact that, in spite of evidence that points to the contrary, the universe may not be unkind after all.

Distillery by HisMightyShield @ AO3 Gen, turbulent Mycroft-Sherlock relationship, humour, E.W. Hornung’s Raffles series crossover Summary: Holmes and Watson investigate a crime at the Diogenes Club.

* Dust and Ashes by SCFrankles @ AO3 Gen, humour, casefic Summary: Holmes and Watson investigate three cases which appear to have some similarities. Could there be something bigger going on in the background?

England is England Yet by lynndyre @ AO3 Gen, hope, friendship Summary: After Reichenbach, life goes on for Dr Watson.

Haunted by You by T.J. Lauren @ FF.net Gen, angst Summary: Hidden just off the path to Reichenbach, near the top, there is a small, nameless memorial. (Professor Moriartyyyyyy...)

* Howl by HisMightyShield @ AO3 Gen, werebeast AU Summary: A retelling of The Empty House. With Werewolves. Because awesome.

A Less Than Final Stop by JaneTurenne @  AO3/LJ Holmes/Watson, humour Summary: Shortly after The Waterfall, John Watson begins sending telegrams.

Letters by ingridmatthews Holmes/Watson, humour Summary: Watson has to take a business trip away from Baker Street. Holmes writes ... and writes ... and writes ... (This author writes both non-specific Victorian and specifically Ritchie-verse fic, but the former also works well read as the latter.)

Never by JaneTurenne Watson/Mary Morstan, angst Summary: An excerpt from the journal of Mrs. Mary Watson, from May 5, 1894

Nowhere Far Enough by ingridmatthews Mention of Holmes/Victor Trevor, angst Summary: For the prompt Five Times Sherlock Ran Away From Home, One Time He Ran Back to It

On Mount Golgotha by L-aviateur @ AO3 Watson/Mary Morstan, horror, SCP Foundation crossover Summary: "I can call to mind one case in particular that I will never forgive myself for missing." When Holmes gets in over his head, can Watson find a way to save him from something that none of them even understand?

Read All About It by SCFrankies Watson/Mary Morstan, humour Summary: “I have not seen a paper for some days." Dr. Watson in The Boscombe Valley Mystery. There was a reason for that.

* Right Ho, Moran by Anonymous @ LJ Gen, humour, Jeeves and Wooster crossover/fusion Summary: Moriarty, in the style of Bertie Wooster. (I would read a whole book of this.)

The Songs of Spring by w_a_i_d @ LJ / Waid @ AO3 Holmes/Watson Summary: Holmes sends the manuscript of The Lion's Mane to the absent Watson -- though  maybe his absence isn't as long-term as all that. (Almost angsty enough to go in the "misery" section, but ultimately fluffy as a feather bed.)

* Sub Rosa by prof_pangaea @ LJ/AO3 Gen, art Summary: A record of Sherlock Holmes’ correspondence with Mycroft during the hiatus.

Truth by JaneTurenne @ AO3 Gen, angst Warnings: Attempted suicide Summary: After Holmes's return, Lestrade pulls the Great Detective aside to discuss a certain incident during his years away.

Untitled (Chuck Testa meme) by por_queeee @ LJ Gen, crack Summary: Moriarty is back. (I liked how appropriate the meme was, ok.)

Multiple verses

London Dreaming by f_m_r_l @ LJ Gen, fluff Summary: London dreams of Sherlock Holmes. 

Ritchie Holmes

The Baker Street Record by featherfish @ LJ Holmes/Watson, horror/psychological, apocrypha, meta, House of Leaves crossover Warnings: Sexual content Summary: If I tried to write a summary, I’d just repeat the tags. I haven’t read HoL, but I still found this impressive.

Der Freischütz by indigostohelit @ AO3 Moriarty/Moran (tagged as that, but can still be read as ambiguous), Moran character study Summary: When they first meet he’s fresh out of the army, dishonorable discharge and all, and the rage behind his eyes is barely checked. He’s a ticking time bomb, and Moriarty has a use for bombs.

A Fine Mess by ingridmatthews Gen, fluff Summary: Holmes meets puppy!Gladstone.

Loyalty by ingridmatthews Gen, fluff Summary (prompt): [...] I want a fic where someone (Holmes?) says something incredibly stupid/insulting about Gladstone and Watson flips his shit. He then proceeds to demonstrate how awesome the dog still is. [...]

* Misericordia by cyanocorax @ AO3 Gen/ambiguous relationship, Sebastian Moran character study Summary: “What does he say?’ he asked. ‘He’s very sad,’ Úrsula answered, ‘because he thinks that you’re going to die.’ ‘Tell him,’ the colonel said, smiling, ‘that a person doesn’t die when he should but when he can.” - 100 Years of Solitude (This really stuck with me. There’s something about the exactness of the language.)

Untitled by Anonymous @ LJ Gen, fluff Summary: Everybody loves Holmes.

A Study In Emerald

I’ve never read anything by Lovecraft, and only know a few basic things about the Cthulhu mythos. Somehow, I still enjoyed A Study In Emerald. The fics below are ones I found interesting despite my lack of background knowledge.

Black Shuck by Aquila @ AO3 Gen, horror/supernatural, casefic Summary: There are things lurking on the moors that man was not meant to know -- but Sherlock Holmes is not most men. (A retelling of The Hound of the Baskervilles, Cthulhu-style.)

The Incident of the Opera House by Wasuremono @ AO3 Gen, horror/supernatural, casefic Summary: Another case for Albion's consulting detective: high culture, grave danger... and Irene Adler.

The Terror from Bohemia: Being the Reminiscences of John H. Watson, M.D., in the Year of the Old Ones 745 by Satchelfoot @ AO3 Gen, horror/supernatural Summary: Holmes and Watson, having escaped to the rookery of St. Giles, meet a mysterious woman who also has a talent for killing royalty.

* Under by Nonesane @ AO3 Watson/Mary Morstan, implied Holmes/Watson, slice of life Summary: A look into the life of Mary Morstan, in the year of Her Majesty 1883.

The Whitechapel Case by Merlin Missy @ AO3 Gen, drabble Summary: Holmes and Watson meet the Ripper.

Also see: The Case of Death and Honey, Neil Gaiman’s other pastiche, not set in a Cthulhu mythos universe.

Without a Clue

The AO3 tag for this had a manageable 15 works when I last checked, and I think it’s a case of quality over quantity.

#sherlock holmes #fic recs #reclist #fanfic recs #fanfiction recs #acd canon #ritchie holmes #a study in emerald

[gaymickrory]

Fic Request Jukebox

I want to write fic over the long weekend so I’m trying to make it as easy as possible for you to send it requests. Just pick a pairing and an AU/trope! Note: please send requests to my inbox, if you reply to this post or send me an IM I will probably lose track of it.

 Pairings

A.     Ed Nygma/Lucius Fox

B.     Oliver Queen/Dinah Lance

C.     James Gordon/Harvey Bullock

D.     Harry Wells/Cisco Ramon

E.     Rip Hunter/Mick Rory

F.     Curtis Holt/Oliver Queen

G.     Hartley Rathaway/Cisco Ramon

H.     Curtis Holt/Rene Ramirez

I.     Ed Nygma/Oswald Cobblepot

J. Curtis Holt/Rory Regan

K. Kara Danvers/James Olsen

L. Liv Moore/Ravi Chakrabarti

M. Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer

N. Diana Prince/Steve Trevor

O. Liv Moore/Peyton Charles

P. Mick Rory/Ray Palmer

Q. Laurel Lance/Thea Queen

R. Liv Moore/Chase Graves

S. Clive Babineaux/Dale Bozzio

T. Rip Hunter/Gideon

U. Major Lilywhite/Natalie

V. Clive Babineaux/Peyton Charles

W. Liv Moore/Justin Bell

X. Rip Hunter/Sara Lance

Y. Booster Gold/Ted Kord

Z. Your choice (please specify)

 AU/Trope

1. Spin the bottle

2. It’s a Wonderful Life-style vision

3. Double date

4. Fake dating

5. Soulmate AU

6. Birthday

7. Kidfic

8. Vegas marriage

9. Your choice (please specify)

[ladylooch]

Can you do a kempe fic with a lot of angst please.

A/N: Yes! Always yes. Thank you again for requesting this. I've already expressed this, but I am SO happy! I hope you enjoy!

Greener Side of That Fence- Adrian Kempe

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: Angsty... like I was anxious writing this, there is a smidge of 18+ Content cause I can't help myself, multiple character points of view, swearing.

(Adrian)

It’s a hot summer day in Southern California. The temperature is above 90 degrees with no ocean breeze to offer reprieve. The heat is stifling and the black tux I’m wearing doesn’t offer any support.

A bead of sweat rolls down my hair line and collects in the stiff collar of my designer shirt. I shove my sunglasses over my eyes, buttoning my suit jacket together before shutting the door to my Audi. I turn, taking in the white church in front of me. 

I shouldn’t be here.

But I can’t be anywhere else.

Tucked inside that church is the love of my life preparing to marry someone else.

My stomach tightens at the realization of how close I am to losing her for good. I push out a heavy breath, wishing I had knocked back that shot of tequila I poured myself earlier. The courage I felt on the drive here has dissipated watching Kailey’s wedding guests filter into the church.

“Damn it.” I mutter to myself, leaning against the back of my trunk. I run a rough hand over my face, scratching at the trimmed beard on my chin. My eyes scan the front of the church, working to the window overlooking the parking lot. Shock daggers through my body when I see Kailey standing at it. Her head is tilted as she secures an earring into place. I can see the white dress from here, filled with sparkles and lace. She looks so damn beautiful it hurts.

Her lips form an O as her shoulders raise indicating a big inhale. She places a hand on her stomach, shoulders deflating back into place. I can feel her nerves from here. Her fingers come up, settling in the corners of her eyes. She pulls them back, waving both her hands at her face. 

Don’t be nervous, baby. I’m coming.

As I begin to cross the parking lot, I rehearse the words I want to say to her, thinking about when our story started four years ago.

To be honest, the meeting wasn’t too exciting. We were introduced by my teammate Trevor Moore. His wife, Monique, and Kailey were best friends growing up. Kailey moved out to California for a year long internship focusing on supply chain in the Fashion industry. It took 2 weeks before we were inseparable. We spent the whole year together, eating tacos, drinking mezcal margaritas, and soaking up the sun at the beach.

We fell in love quickly. Then life happened.

Her internship ended and her dream job called from New York. We tried to make it work but with the time difference, it was impossible to stay connected. Once she left L.A., we didn’t even make it a year. We mutually decided to go our separate ways, both convinced it was temporary and we would find our way back to each other in the future. I think that’s the hardest part of all this- nobody did anything wrong. We did the right thing by allowing each other to chase our dreams. When we broke up, we hugged at the airport and said we loved each other. 

It would be so much easier if we had hurt each other.

We stayed good friends despite the distance between us. I’ve wasted the time dating a few others, but none of them compared to Kailey. She felt the same- at least I thought. We would joke back and forth over the next couple of years, through COVID even, that we were just biding time until she could transfer to the L.A. office within her company. We’d get married quickly and spend the off-season traveling all over Europe to soak in the Fashion scene. But after lockdown lifted, something changed. My texts and FaceTime calls were left unanswered or put off until days later. I chalked it up to her being busy with work after her promotion.

Then, Kailey moved back to L.A. without even telling me. I found out when I saw her at a game a few months back, sitting next to Monique like she used to. Except this time she wasn’t in my jersey. I remember flipping a puck at her to get her attention. She gave a head nod at me with sparkling blue eyes. I came out flying in the first, wanting her to see how much better I’d gotten since she was away. Then, as I was getting off for the first intermission, I saw him. His arm was around her while he wore the jersey I gave her. After the game, it was just Kailey waiting for me. She told me they were getting married in June while nervously spinning her engagement ring around her finger.

Despite the agony I felt in my chest, I lied and told her I was happy for her.

The problem is I’m not, and the regret I already feel about not telling her so then keeps me awake at night. 

After we lost in the playoffs, I packed my shit and booked a one-way flight to Sweden to join my family. I had been waiting for the moment that I could escape L.A. and Kailey’s new future. But the day of my flight, I couldn’t get on the plane. Nor could I the next day or the full two weeks after that. Mario has been calling, wondering when I’m coming home. My niece misses me. So do my parents. All I say is I have unfinished business in L.A.

Trevor and I met up for lunch last week after a run along the beach. I told him I was considering renting a charter for deep sea fishing this weekend and asked if he wanted to come.

“Can’t. Mo’s in a wedding.” He told me around a bite of chips and guacamole.

“Oh.” I say, taking a sip of my margarita. I lick my lips, squinting out across the glittering ocean to my right. “Kails?” I ask, trying to seem nonchalant. Trevor looks like he doesn’t want to answer, but he eventually nods. “In Hermosa?”

“Yeah, at that church off Monterey.” I nod in understanding, sitting back in my chair. “You’re not going to show up, right?”

“No, I’m not going to show up.”

This agreement is probably why my teammate isn’t happy to see me walking up the steps right now. 

“Shit, Adrian. You can’t be here.” Trevor snaps at me, halting me from entering the church. 

“I can’t let her marry him without telling her I’m still in love with her.”

I have to tell Kailey how I feel before it’s too late. Maybe she’ll tell me to fuck off. Maybe she’ll tell me she feels the same. I don’t know. I just know I have to try.

“Dude, I should have never told you about it. Monique is going to kill me.” He groans, stopping my pursuit again with a firmer hand in the middle of my chest.

“Trev, I’m going in. Let me pass or I’m going to drop you on these steps.”

For a moment, fear grips the back of my neck. Trevor stands firmly in front of me. His gaze is unrelenting from beneath his sunglasses. Finally, he relaxes, dropping his hand from my chest.

“The only reason I’m letting you in is because it’s obvious Kailey still loves you.” My stomach drops to my feet at his admission.

“How do you know?”

“Because despite the multiple offers from my wife to come with her, she can’t walk back into our arena knowing she’s not yours. Go through the door and to the left.” He pats my shoulder and walks away. I’m frozen on the steps as various guests move around me to enter the church.

I came here not sure if I had a chance. Now, I have the most crushing feeling in existence: hope.

I get to the bridal suite without being stopped or interrupted again. My knock is hesitant and I resist the urge to sprint back down the hall when it’s done. Kailey is alone when she opens the door. She startles backwards, then glances quickly in both directions before focusing back on my face.

“What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Now? It can’t wait?”

“No, baby.” I shake my head at her. Her eyebrows tug together in distress at the pet name. She senses what I’ve come here to do. I prepare for her to shut the door in my face. Instead, she opens the door wider. She bites her lip, gripping my forearm to pull me in. My skin is electrified at her touch. I grip her arm back, allowing myself to get a little lost in her softness. She let’s go first, crossing the room to provide distance. For her or me, I’m not sure.

“You look… amazing.” I finish, truly lacking the words in both English and Swedish to describe her. Her blue eyes fill with uncertainty. I can see her breathing increase, her breasts pressing tighter against the cups of her dress. “The only thing I’d change is who you’re marrying.”

“You don’t even know him.”

“I know he’s not me.” I stuff my hands in the pockets of my dress pants, leaning back against the door. I want to be considerate of her personal space with how conflicted she seems by my presence. 

“You were right. This suit is better than the tan one I was considering.” I try to lighten the mood, gesturing to my blue suit. I was so adamant about the other one, but she made the clerk ring me up before I could protest further.

“Blue is your color. Brings out your eyes.” She smiles at me, tilting her head to the side and trialing her gaze along me. I’m feeling less like an unwanted visitor. 

“Yeah. I know you like me in blue.”

“Used to.”

“Still do.” I insist, watching as she rolls her eyes lightheartedly. “What do you need to tell me?” She changes the subject, crossing her arms over her chest.

“A story. Once upon a time…” I trail off cheekily. Her gaze remains unwavering on my face. I drop my nervous smile and get serious. “There was this hockey player who fell in love with a girl on their second date.” Her eyes close as she listens. “And he loved her so much that when New York called, he knew she had to go. He helped her pack. He drove her across the country. He even convinced himself that letting her go was better than fighting for the love he believed in with her.” Her beautiful eyes open and she has visible tears. “But he never stopped loving her. Not when she moved back to L.A. without telling him. Not when she brought her new fiancé with her. And definitely not when she was dressed in white, about to marry someone else.”

“Adrian.” She whispers painfully.

“I love you, Kails. I never stopped loving you for one moment of the last few years. And I just.. need you to know that before you do this.”

“A, it’s been over for years.” She tells me.

“Bullshit.” I scoff at her, crossing the room. Fuck, her personal space, this is my moment. I reach for her, expecting her to pull away but instead she steps closer. “There is no way you and I are over.” I lean our foreheads together. “It wasn’t over when we broke up in New York and it still isn’t over just because you’re about to marry someone else. You didn’t tell me you moved back for a reason. You want to pretend you don’t love me anymore? Go through with this and live the rest of your life settling? Come on, Kails. That’s not you.”

“Adrian.” She’s gritting her teeth through the tears now, gutting me with the way her voice shudders. “I love him.”

“That’s okay.” I tell her honestly, feeling my hands shake. I know I can’t actually stop her from going through with this, but maybe if I keep my hands on her face, she’ll cave. She’ll lean into my touch instead of resisting the pull of me. “I understand you love him. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. But, you’re it for me, baby. You’re it.” She licks her lips in distress, sighing heavily. “If you tell me you don’t feel anything anymore, I’ll leave.” I whisper to her, giving her an out I know she won’t take.

Her silence soothes the twisting knife in my chest for a moment.

“Of course I do.” She finally admits to me. Relief rushes through my body and renews my pursuit.

“If you need me to say it, I will. Don’t marry him.” She shakes her head no at me, soft hands coming to grip my wrists holding her face. She stares at her hand wrapped around the tattoo I got with her last time I was in New York. Her thumb brushes my skin as her eyes close, a tear sliding down her face.

“It’s not that simple.”

“I love you, Kails. You love me. It is that simple.”

The door opens after a fast knock.

“Don’t come in!” Kailey yells out, but it’s too late. Her mom and dad step in, shocked at seeing me with my hands on their daughter’s face.

“Kailey.” Her mom snaps, clearly displeased. Her steely gaze rests on me and I know I better go. Kailey will need time to consider. I don’t need her to walk out of this church with me right now. That’s too much to ask.

“I’m going to the beach, baby. Our spot right by the lifeguard tower, where we planned out the rest of our lives together. If you’re not there by sunset, I’ll know your answer. If you don’t show, you’ll never hear from me again. I promise.” She stares back at me with tear tracks down her beautiful face. She says nothing. But she won’t stop looking at me. “I hope you’ll meet me there when you’re ready.”

It takes everything I have inside of me to release my grip on her and step back. She seems to crumble within herself without my touch. She looks out the window. I nod in understanding, stepping back and walking towards her parents.

“I’m sorry for showing up uninvited. But I love your daughter and I had to tell her.”

“Did you?” Her mom squints at me. “Seems selfish.”

“Yeah maybe. But at least now I’ll be able to look myself in the mirror the rest of my life knowing I tried.” I hear Kailey sniff and gasp in breath from behind me. “I love you, baby.” I call to her before I step around her parents.

As I get back into my Audi, I know the easy part is over. The hard part will be what I’m about to do.

Wait.

^ ^ ^ 

(Kailey)

With my arms holding me together, I stare out the window to the parking lot. I watch as Adrian slides into his Audi. It’s an upgrade from the one he had when we were together. When my eyes close, I can remember loudly singing songs as we drove down the coast together. The salty wind blowing my hair around my face as the demands of the world disappeared. The last time I truly felt alive was sitting in that passenger seat with his hand on my thigh, his silver rings sparkling in the California sun.

“He is absolutely unhinged.” My mom balks, fluffing her hair in anger. “Coming here and attempting to ruin your day after everything he’s done.”

“What he’s done?” I snap at my mom. “It was a mutual decision, mom.”

“Well, it didn’t feel very mutual when you were crying on the phone to me every weekend. And don’t even get me started about that pregnancy scare he couldn’t show up for.”

“He doesn’t know about that.” I say, using the tissue she handed to me to blot at the tears rimming my lashes.

“Regardless, Matt knew you were the one and did something about it before the last possible second. He’s the one, not some summer fling.”

“Hun, let’s give her some space.” My dad breaks in, leading my mom to the door. “I’ll be waiting for you outside when you’re ready, honey.” I nod my head at him, turning my back to them as I attempt to hold another sob back.

I fall onto the couch, not caring about the bunching of my dress or the pressing of my shoulders into the perfect curls I had. My mind is back in New York sobbing at the thought of being pregnant with Adrian’s baby. The two different sides of me: the one that yearned for a reason to reach out and the other that knew the regrets I would have for not pursuing this dream. When it turned out to be negative, I felt so empty and alone. I should be happy, I remember thinking. I called my mom, knowing her words would give me the grounding I needed. She told me I might be best of Adrian didn’t know. “Don’t reopen the wound.”

I still wonder what our lives would have been. If that test had been positive, I would have told him. I would have left New York and flew back to L.A. He would have taken care of us. But it wasn’t. Instead, the reality was that we lived on opposite coasts and slowly drifted into long-distance friends who joked about ending up together like it didn’t hurt. After lockdown, I met Matt at a social-distance bar where he soothed the aches in me I’d felt since Adrian left on that western bound redeye.

Until three months ago when I moved back to L.A. for Matt’s job. Monique begged me to go to a Kings game for old time sake. I saw Adrian, purposefully waiting after the game without Matt. Adrian had hugged me, congratulating me on our upcoming nuptials. He seemed sincere. It mattered to me that he was happy for me. But It was a mistake seeing him. Adrian was right. I didn’t tell him about coming back because I was hiding from what I still feel from him. Now, every time Matt touches me, I feel nothing.

I can’t shake the feeling that this is the real mistake. 

Marry Matt and he’ll give you the entire world. That’s what my mom said after our engagement party when I felt unsure. That’s what my brain has said every morning leading up to today. But right now, my heart yearns for tattooed arms soothing the ache within my chest. I press my left hand there and my large engagement ring catches the light ahead.

“Matt deserves better than this.” I say out loud to myself. “He’s the one who takes care of you. He cooks and cleans and is home every night to comfort you after a long day of work. Adrian can’t be that safe space for you every night. He’s always gone.” I press my flattened palm to my head. “Follow through on your commitment.” I suck in a deep breath, shoving it out forcefully, then stand.

I’m going to marry Matt. That’s what I came here to do.

The resolution seems final and gets me through the last few minutes of preparation. The procession song begins. I step outside of the suite with the large bouquet of light pink tulips in my hands. I glance down at them, admiring their beauty. I love pink tulips because of Adrian. He bought them for me at the farmer’s market on the second date he talked about earlier. He showed up every week to my apartment with a replacement bouquet until I moved to New York in the Spring.

I loop my hand through my dad’s arm, biting down hard on my lip as unwanted tears fill my eyes. The wedding planner tells us we can begin walking whenever we are ready. Out of seemingly nowhere, my throat beings to close up. My chest collapses in on it’s self as I contemplate taking a step forward, going through with this, and not showing up at our spot on the beach. I cry out at the thought of Adrian waiting there all night for me while I share a first dance with my second choice because I’m just too damn scared.

“Dad.” I whimper, large tears blurring his face. “I don’t know…” I trail off, thinking of the thousands of dollars both our parents have invested into this day. 

“It’s your choice, sweetheart.”

All there is left to do is decide. 

^ ^ ^

On the same date, five years later, I awaken to sunshine streaming into my bedroom. When I see my husband’s bare back, a coy grin stretches my lips. Faint, red claw marks line his skin from last night. He is barely at arm’s reach, so I maneuver a few inches closer. I reach my pointer finger out, tracing the lines I made and the divots of his muscular back. He begins to shift slightly, leaning into my touch. I can get all my fingers on him now. I trail my nails, gently, along his back, watching as goosebumps pebble along his tan skin. 

“Feels good.” He mumbles to me.

“I got you good last night.” I confess to him, biting my lip.

“Worth it. You always are.”

I inch forward again, placing my lips on the angriest red line. I ghost my mouth over it, loving the way he softly hums at my touch. I reach a hand around, gliding it beneath his shorts to grip his hard shaft. I stroke him as his head falls back.

“Kails.” He moans. I press my smile to his shoulder, increasing my tempo. My thumb dips into the slit of his head.

Tap. Tap.

We both pause when we hear the sound of feet on the wood floor from the hallway. 

“No.” He whines as I remove my hand from his shorts to prepare for our guest.

“She’s coming.” I whisper, hiding my face behind his shoulder as we both look towards the door.

Little feet patter their way to the entrance of our bedroom. Our daughter, with wild blonde hair like her dad, grins behind her purple blanket. 

“Pannkakor?” Pancakes. She asks her dad in his native tongue.

Adrian, who hasn’t told her no since the day she was born, sighs happily.

“Okey, sweets. Does mommy want pancakes too?”

“Yeah.”

“Chocolate chip sound good, love?”

“Yes!!!!!!” Our daughter cheers, rushing into our room and tossing herself onto our bed. Adrian swoops her into his arms, smooching her cheeks loudly and tickling her sides. Her legs flail towards me and I rush backwards to avoid a kick to my belly where her little brother grows. The baby kicks back in response. I place a hand on him to soothe his motions. Adrian watches, turning our daughter.

“The price of pancakes is kisses for mommy and baby brother.” Adrian tells her. She puckers her little lips at me. I press mine gently on hers, placing a hand on her back to tug her into a hug too. 

“He’s right here.” I point to where I felt his kicks last. She leans forward and gives a loud kiss to my swollen skin.

“Now pancakes?” She turns to her dad hopefully. He laughs at her impatience, which she also gets from him.

“Yes. Go brush your teeth first. And no TV.” He calls after her as she rushes out. Her giggles tell me she’s purposefully not going to hear that last part. Adrian’s hand comes to our baby boy. His blue gaze works up my body to my eyes.

“Thank you.” He murmurs, his thumb brushing comforting lines along my skin.

“For?”

“Showing up at the beach in your white dress, late enough that I thought you had chosen to live the rest of your life without me.”

“I told you there was traffic. I wasn’t late on purpose.” I shove at his shoulder, rolling my eyes. 

“It’s okay. It was my fault. Should of never let you go.”

“I should of stayed in L.A.” He shakes his head at me, leaning down to kiss our son.

“No, you absolutely should have gone to New York."

“Why are we doing this?” I groan playfully at him, wrapping my hand around the back of his neck. “Just kiss me and go make your girls pancakes.”

“We are talking about this because I know you could have chosen something different.” He presses his lips into mine and we share a deep kiss. He relaxes into me, lips tightening to prevent a smile.

“A, I’ve never thought about the other road I could have taken. Not one second since I fell into your arms on the beach.”

“Mmm, when you were in labor there was a moment.” He jokes with me. 

“Oh my god.” I giggle before rolling out of bed to follow him. “Well, your daughter came too fast for me to get the good drugs.” I press my nose into his back, wrapping my arms around his waist and bumping us forward with my belly. “I think some sass was warranted.”

“Sure, baby.” He muses. We walk into the open concept kitchen and living room space, finding our daughter perched silently in front of the TV. “This looks like the opposite of what I said. Dd you brush your teeth?” He asks her, tilting his head at the giggles she lets loose. 

“Yeah.” She doesn’t take her eyes from the TV.

“Okay, we can watch TV but we are going to watch mommy’s show.” I tell her. “Come snuggle with me.” I slowly lower myself to the couch, arranging the pillows along my back so I can feel supported. She crawls onto the couch next to me, burying her face into the side of my chest. I change the channel to the Food Network, smiling as the opening of The Kitchen begins. 

I can hear Adrian behind me, grabbing the ingredients and the skillet for pancakes. I turn to watch him over my shoulder, admiring the way his back muscles tighten with each movement. He catches my eye when he turns, lips tilting up at me.

I can’t believe I almost married someone else, believing it was right, when all along, this was the greener side of that fence.

#adrian kempe #adrian kempe fic #la kings #hockey writing #NHL fan fiction #nhl writing #writing request