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thatbloodymuggle · 4 years

Text

the one with the slumber party

Tongue Tied (jj maybank) 3/?

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word count: 3.3k

warnings: cursing (but when isn’t there any)

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"That's what, a three-story fall to the deck? I give you about a one in three chance of survival."

Rosie watched from her spot on the wooden railing of the deck of the under-construction house as John B waved his foot off the edge of the roof.

John B hummed in contemplation, "Should I do it?"

"Yeah, you should jump," Pope held up a drill as if it were a gun, "I'll shoot you on the way down."

"You're gonna shoot me?" John B held up his hands to form the shape of a gun.

"Yeah"

Rosie laughed at her friends' banter and took a sip from her half-empty can of beer. Before John B could do anything stupid, Kie sauntered out onto the deck.

"They're gonna have Japanese toilets with towel warmers," she cried with a look of disgust.

"Of course they would, why wouldn't they?" JJ piped up from his spot on an elevated board. Kie continued ranting about turtle habitats, but was drowned out by JJ, "I can't have cold towels!"

Kie paused and gave John B, who was still teetering on the edge of the roof, a judging stare, "Can you please not kill yourself?"

"No no, let him. I believe in you, JB! Spread your wings and fly!" Rosie giggled, swinging her legs back and forth. John B shot her a devious grin.

"Don't spill that beer," JJ eyed his friend on the roof, "I'm not giving you another one."

As if on cue, John B nearly lost his balance and dropped the can of beer onto the deck below. The dark liquid spilled across the deck with a loud clatter, "Oh, shit."

"Of course you did."

"Smooth"

"Might as well jump now!"

"Dumbass"

John B groaned in distress as his friends laughed at him. He was saved from their torment by the screech of wheels against concrete.

"Hey!"

Rosie's eyes shot towards the driveway and widened upon spotting a familiar, plump security guard. She hopped off the railing just as Pope called out to the others, "Hey, uh, guys? Security's here!"

Pope, Rosie, Kie, and JJ all moved to clear out while John B lingered for a moment longer.

"Humpty Dumpy! Let's roll," JJ called out to grab his attention.

While the group of Pogues climbed down from their spots around the deck, JJ continuously taunted the security guard, Gary, drawing even more unnecessary attention.

"JJ, shut up," Rosie lightly shoved the blond to get him moving. "Let's go!"

The teenagers wove their way through the poles and wooden planks littered around the house, cheering the whole way. Rosie laughed as Pope nearly tripped over a pole. This time JJ shoved her to keep her moving.

The next 20 seconds were a shit show, to say the least. Sprinting full speed towards one exit, only to turn abruptly go to the next. Running into multiple security guards and escaping their clammy grip. Trying not to get caught, but also having fun doing so. The more the old men shouted after them, the more the teenagers laughed. They jumped one by one over a newly-constructed wooden fence. Rosie hauled up Pope, who fell face-first onto the grass.

John B's van pulled out into the street with perfect timing. JJ, Rosie, and Pope hopped into the large car one by one. They all cheered in victory once John B zoomed off, leaving the guards in the dust. But the moving van didn't discourage Gary the security guard, who continued to chase after them on foot.

"Check out Gary gunnin' for a raise," Pope laughed.

JJ stuck his head out of the door with a grin, "Come on Gary!"

"You're gonna give him a heart attack," Kie warned him, but couldn't contain her laughter.

JJ turned back to John B driving the car, "Hey slow down." The van slowed, allowing the old man to catch up, but not enough. "You're so close, you can do it!" JJ taunted him, and tossed him his empty beer can, "there you go!"

"Stop, JJ, Stop."

Kie yanked the blond boy back inside the van as she began to feel bad for the security guard.

"He's gonna go into cardiac arrest if you keep it up," Rosie added, sliding the side door of the van shut.

"Oh come on, that sort of initiative is just begging to be punished," JJ protested but let her close the door regardless.

Adrenaline still pumped through Rosie's veins. She subconsciously bounced in her seat in excitement. The teenagers fell into scattered conversation as John B drove through the Figure Eight. Rosie stared out the windows at the pristine white houses and matching boats. She often forgot that she had once lived the Kook life when her father was still around. It was so long ago now—nine years—that she tended to forget that part of her life ever existed. Slowly the white mansions morphed into wooden shacks and unmowed lawns.

The Cut. Her home.

"Where we goin'?" John B called out to his friends.

"The Wreck for me and Rosie," Kie replied.

Rosie sent her a soft smile. She was lucky to be working alongside one of her best friends, but Rosie knew that she'd have to start working full-time soon. The money she'd saved for the past few years was good for now, but certainly wouldn't last forever.

"Got it. Pope, JJ, how does touron-hunting sound?" John B glanced back at his guy friends with a devious grin.

"Perfect. They're just in season, too," JJ smirked, earning a slap in the gut from both Kie and Rosie.

"I mean, I don't have a choice, do I?" Pope laughed.

"Nope," JJ and John B spoke in unison just as the van pulled into Kie's dad's restaurant.

"And this is where we part ways," Kie slid the van door open and jumped out, quickly followed by Rosie.

"Don't do anything too stupid," Rosie added. She gave a pointed look to JJ, who raised his arms in surrender.

"Can't promise anything," JJ taunted before closing the car door again, effectively cutting them off. The beat-up van pulled out of the parking lot and drove off down the road—most likely towards the beach full of clueless tourists.

"Boys," Kie shook her head and laughed. The two girls entered the restaurant for their night shift.

The rather large restaurant was nearly empty apart from an old couple sitting in the far corner. But the peace and quiet didn't fool the two girls. 4:30 PM was the prime time to get ready for the dinner rush.

"You're late," Kie's dad peeked his head out from the kitchen with a glare. The teenagers made their way to the back of the shop and into the kitchen.

"Sorry, Mike, we completely lost track of time," Rosie put on her infamous puppy dog eyes. She grabbed her apron from the wall rack. "It won't happen again!"

Kie's dad scoffed, "Yeah. That's likely," he shook his head at the two. "Just finish up meal prep, and I might forget you were late."

As he walked to the table with the older couple, Kie turned to face her friend, "You are such a suck-up, Rosie. I don't understand how you do it."

"Years of practice with these babies," Rosie fluttered her eyes before widening them again to resemble those of a kicked puppy.

Kiara rolled hers, "Yeah, yeah. Might've worked this time, but they won't save us from my dad again if we don't start chopping tomatoes."

Rosie nodded in agreement and the teenagers set to work, chatting the entire time.

Dinner service went off without a hitch. Before anyone knew it, the last customers had exited the restaurant leaving the Carrera's and Rosie. As they got ready to close up, the previously boring news report on the TV suddenly became interesting.

"Hurricane Agatha is moving closer to the coastal Carolina's as we speak. Citizens are advised to take shelter and brace themselves for the storm. We'll likely see the worst of it tomorrow evening," the voice of the reporter reverberated throughout the restaurant. Rosie frowned and looked out the window to see that it was, in fact, raining.

"Well shit," Kie mumbled.

"That doesn't look good," Rosie added.

Kiara's dad redirected the teenagers' attention from the TV screen, "We're good to lock up now. Don't bother coming in tomorrow," he nodded his head from Rosie to the news report. "Do you need a ride home?"

Rosie gratefully accepted his offer to avoid a miserable walk through the rain. The rest of the night went by in the blink of an eye and before she knew it, Rosie was passed out face-first, still fully clothed, on her bed.

Rosie spent almost the entirety of the next day prepping for the oncoming storm, napping and reading. It was by far her most boring day in the Cut since she'd returned a few days earlier. The wind and rain were picking up rapidly, causing anxiety to erupt in her stomach. Rosie wasn't afraid of storms, but she'd never had to wait one out alone. She reached for her phone to call John B and ask if she could spend the night at the Chateau, but there was no signal. The girl tried to calm herself by picking up another book, but the howling wind and pouring rain made it impossible.

Frustrated, she slammed the book down and grabbed her dad's old raincoat from the coatrack. Rosie went to pick up her car keys but decided against driving. Her car was parked in a safe place now, and she certainly couldn't afford a new one if it were to get destroyed.

With an exaggerated huff, Rosie zipped the massive coat up to her chin and threw the hood over her head. The layer of protection proved useless as soon as she opened her door. The piercing wind blew her hood back and rain pelted her face and hair.

"You've got to be kidding me," she grumbled to herself.

It was difficult to see more than 10 feet in front of her, but Rosie forced herself to continue onwards. The thought of the Chateau and a warm set of sweatpants from John B motivated her to break out into a run. The sooner she got there, the better.

In just ten minutes, Rosie had reached the old fisher shack. She sighed in relief. For a moment, she thought she'd get blown away by the wind and never be seen again. The teenager broke into a sprint and didn't stop until she was at the front door. She took off her coat and swung the unstable door open.

Sure enough, there sat John B on the striped couch with his partner in crime, JJ.

"You can walk, Rosie. It'll be fine, Rosie. Don't take your car, Rosie," the girl strode into the room, "God, I'm so fucking dumb!" she cried. She tried to wring out the water from her soaked hair but to no avail.

"Hey, we actually agree on something!" JJ shouted with a stupid grin. He held up his hand awaiting a high-five, only for Rosie to swiftly hit him upside his head.

John B tried not to laugh at her drowned-rat appearance, but his attempts were futile. She really did look horrendous. "Here," he tossed her a nearby towel.

Rosie took it graciously and began to dry off her hair. "At least one of you is helpful. Do you have any spare sweatpants and a shirt I can borrow?"

"You're staying?" John B asked, only to get a smack upside his head like JJ.

"What, you'd rather me go back out into that?" Rosie screeched.

"What? No, I meant—

"Yes."

"—shut up JJ—of course, you can spend the night. I'll go grab you some clothes," John B rushed off to his room and away from the fuming girl.

Rosie huffed and turned to face JJ, who was still wearing a smug grin.

"Of course, you're enjoying this," she glared at the unfazed blond.

Before he could retaliate, John B came rushing back into the room with a pair of grey sweatpants and a tie-dye shirt.

"Here," he handed them to the soaking girl.

She snatched them and rushed to the bathroom to get out of her soaking clothes. The oversized pants were instantly warming as she slid them up her shivering legs. Rosie pulled the large t-shirt over her head and attempted to detangle her hair with her fingers. 'Of course, John B wouldn't own a brush,' she thought to herself. Once she'd deemed her appearance half-acceptable, she folded her wet clothes into a neat pile and exited the bathroom.

Now warm and dry, Rosie fell back onto the comfy striped-couch next to John B with a sigh.

"Better?" he laughed.

"Much."

JJ and John B carried on with whatever conversation they were having. Rosie let her eyes flutter shut and her body sink into the couch. She was just on the verge of sleep when John B's voice pulled her back,

"Oh my God, our 7th-grade yearbook photos were legendary. Pope had that huge zit that looked like a third eye, my head was shaved, you had that massive black eye, and Rosie was missing one of her front teeth!" John B and JJ howled in laughter as they reminisced on their past.

"Yeah, thanks to Blondie, over here. Do you have any idea how much money it costs to replace a missing tooth?" Rosie grumbled with her eyes still closed.

"That was one of my finer moments. Golf ball to the face? Genius. And it wasn't even on purpose. I'm just naturally that good," JJ praised himself as if 'unintentionally' injuring her was an art.

"Yeah, 'cause your black eye was so much cuter," Rosie scoffed, now opening her eyes to look at JJ. "Soccer ball to the face is fucking classic."

John B laughed at his bickering best friends. Having met the boys in 4th grade, Rosie had so many priceless memories with them. Rosie transitioned from a Kook private school to the Pogue public one after the death of her dad, and they were the first (and only) friends she made. Rosie didn't mind the transition—she and her mother had always been Pogues at heart with a Kook father and husband. But switching schools is never easy. Truth be told, Rosie, JJ, John B, and Pope hadn't changed much since elementary school. In part because they grew up together, but also because they still had a similar childlike inkling for adventure.

"How did your feud even start?" John B asked with an amused grin.

"He broke my arm."

"She broke my nose."

"Well yeah, we all know about that. But it started before then," John B laughed. His two friends both stared at him like he was crazy. "Like, JJ. Obviously you pushed Rosie off her bike and broke her arm for a reason," he tried to explain further.

"I dunno, cooties?" JJ shrugged.

John B rolled his eyes but dismissed the subject regardless. Instead, the group continued reminiscing on their favorite stories growing up together. The more they talked, the louder the storm raged and the darker the sky grew. The lights flickered before going out completely, leaving the three teenagers in darkness.

"I think that's a sign," John B sighed. "It's getting late anyway."

JJ and Rosie both nodded in agreement. Rosie suddenly realized how tired she was.

"I got spare room," JJ announced, walking off towards the room in the back of the shack.

"I'll take the couch then," Rosie yawned, searching for a blanket.

"Rosie, you can't sleep in here," John B said.

She furrowed her brows, "What? Why not?"

He gave her an incredulous look, "Um, hello? Raging storm? Room surrounded by windows and an unstable door? No way," he pulled her off the couch.

"Well, where am I supposed to sleep then?" Rosie frowned. A smirk tugged at John B's lips and realization dawned upon her. Her eyes widened and her mouth dropped open, "No. Absolutely fucking not. I will not be sleeping with JJ," she cried. Rosie ignored the muffled laughter coming from the bedroom JJ was in.

"Don't be so dramatic. It's a big bed, and it's just one night. You'll be fine. And if one of you kills the other, I'll take full responsibility," John B called out while walking backwards towards his own bedroom.

"Why can't I just sleep in yours?" she whined.

"Because my bed's a twin. Suck it up, buttercup. Sweet dreams!" John B laughed and shut the door to his room, leaving Rosie alone in the hallway.

The girl groaned, but trudged towards the spare bedroom, nevertheless. JJ was already underneath the covers in the middle of the bed with a dumb grin.

"Slumber party!" he shrieked in a feminine voice.

"You make sleeping outside in a hurricane sound more appealing," Rosie grumbled. She attempted to shove his body over to one side of the bed, but he wouldn't budge.

"Move."

"No."

"Move!"

"Ask nicely. What's the magic word?"

"Please move, you brainless fool."

JJ scooted a few inches to the right giving Rosie about 1/3 of the bed. She readied herself to physically haul him over, but was far too tired. Instead, she made a show of getting under the covers, making sure he could sense her displeasure.

"Bastard," she mumbled.

Rosie turned so her back was facing the boy and closed her eyes, hoping to fall asleep as soon as possible. They immediately shot back open as she felt an arm drape itself over her waist.

She violently slapped JJ away, "Absolutely not!"

"Aw, don't be a party pooper, Rosie. We're having a slumber party! You can't have a slumber party without cuddling," the blond laughed, tightening his grip around her.

"I don't cuddle with idiots," she hissed and attempted to push his arm away. He wouldn't budge, and she quickly grew tired of pushing. Rosie paused for a moment to recollect her strength, before trying to push JJ off again.

"Hmmph, someone needs to hit the gym," JJ mumbled into his pillow. Rosie sighed and gave up her struggle. She'd just wait for him to eventually move his arm instead.

But minutes passed, and JJ's arm remained around the girl's waist. JJ's heavy breathing soon turned into soft snores, and Rosie felt his grip begin to relax slightly. She decided to seize the opportunity and lifted his arm. Just as she began to move it away from her body, the boy shifted in his sleep. He subconsciously retightened his grip, this time pulling her even closer than before so that her back was against his chest as if she were a teddy bear.

Rosie stiffened, but the body heat radiating off of JJ and the steady beat of his heart against her shoulder were undeniably soothing. The tired girl gave in and relaxed in his grip. Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she felt herself slipping from consciousness. In a matter of seconds, Rosie was lulled to sleep by the sweet sound of the raging storm outside and JJ's soft snores.

And what a good sleep it was.

taglist:

@tangledinsparkles @lovelymaybankk @my--heroine @thelonelyumbrella @floretsoleil @flick24 @books-netflix-and-pizza

this chapter was mainly filler and def not my best work, but I tried to make it cute at the end :)

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iamthegaysmurf · 4 years

Note

18. walking home, for the soft™ prompts :)

36. giggling during sex

—–

Well, well, well. If it isn’t two months later, and I finally finished this last remaining set of prompts. I have no excuse for myself. Only apologies to @tinygay-haught and this anon, who have been waiting for this prompt fill for way too long.

I am so very sorry. :(

The good news is, my Angst-O-Meter apparently had enough time to reset, so your angst scale is set to zero for this one. It is 100% soft and gooey fluff.

((And also some, uh… other stuff… *clears throat* Let’s just say that this one is definitely not suitable for being read in the workplace setting. So, uh… Have fun with that.))

ANYWAY…….

I really am sorry it took so long, but I hope you’re still able to enjoy it anyway.

—–

Set during the nineteen-week time jump between the end of S2 and the beginning of S3. (On the 8th of September, to be exact.)

—–

“I can’t believe we already have snow by my birthday.”

“One of the perks of living in Canada.”

Technically, Nicole will admit that getting this much snow so early in September is a little out of the ordinary, even by Canadian standards. But she doesn’t really care. She still considers it a perk, anyway. She’s always felt like the first snow of the year seemed to hold some sort of magic.

And now that she lives in Purgatory…

Well. You never know.

Maybe it actually is magical.

“Ugh. It is not a perk,” Waverly whines, shivering a little when they leave Shorty’s behind and step out into the crisp night air.

Nicole instinctively lifts her arm, allowing Waverly to snuggle underneath it as they begin to walk along the deserted sidewalk. It may be the first snow of the season, but it’s certainly making an entrance, acting like it has something to prove. It hasn’t let up since it started yesterday morning, and there are places where the drifts are already halfway up the buildings.

The municipal workers have done their best to try and keep up with it, but truth be told, none of the departments were quite prepared for such dramatic weather to hit seemingly out of nowhere. With everyone in leaf-raking mode, they were still busy making sure the various burning ordinances were plainly marked around town.

Needless to say, there are several roads and sidewalks that haven’t been plowed and salted yet. Nicole makes a mental note to start working on a more advanced action plan so that they’re better prepared before the next time.

But in the meantime, she closes her eyes and listens to the untouched snow crunching under her boots and tries to fight the giddiness that creeps into her chest with every step she takes.

“Most definitely a perk,” she says with a grin, leaning down to kiss the tip of Waverly’s nose, barely visible beneath the giant scarf she has wrapped around her neck.

“Give me a hot summer afternoon any day over this,” Waverly grumbles, kicking out at a snowdrift that’s settled against one of the buildings they’re walking past. It explodes in a cloud of soft white powder, glinting in the streetlight like a wintery glitterbomb.

Nicole can’t help but giggle as it blows back in their faces, something warm spiking through her ribs when Waverly looks up at her, nose crinkled and freshly fallen flakes caught in her long lashes. She loses the ability to take another step for a moment as she stands there watching Waverly, the silvery moonlightcatching the flakes in her hair and her lashes and the soft wool of her coat, making her glow with an almost ethereal light, as though she just stepped straight out of heaven, halo and all.

“What?” Waverly finally asks, tilting her head slightly.

“Nothing,” Nicole mumbles, shaking herself out of her stupor. “You only like the summertime because ninety percent of your wardrobe is made up of crop tops and miniskirts,” she jokes as they begin walking again.

“Are you complaining?” Waverly asks, raising an eyebrow that tells Nicole she’d better be careful when choosing her next words.

“N-no…” she stutters, the red in her cheeks having nothing to do with the sharp cold in the air.

“Mmhmm.” Wavelry smirks and nudges Nicole in the ribs with her elbow. “Why do you like the snow so much, anyway? It’s so cold.” She shivers again, for good measure.

“It’s not about being cold,” Nicole laughs, bundling Waverly a little closer into her side. “Though, that certainly doesn’t hurt.”

Waverly swats at her again, but Nicole just catches her hand and uses it to twirl her around before pulling her back in.

“I don’t know how to explain it,” Nicole says, closing her eyes and turning her face up into the falling snow while she thinks. “I guess it’s like…” She looks back down at Waverly again. “Like a clean slate. Sort of a fresh start.”

Confusion knits Waverly’s brow as she waits for Nicole to continue.

“When there’s a fresh snow on the ground, still untouched by animals and footprints and salt trucks, everything just seems so… pure and white.” She shrugs one shoulder, a little embarrassed, but Waverly is listening intently, so she tries to keep explaining. “Everything is so… muted. And it’s like… It’s like the world is standing still. Like there’s no monsters or curses or shitty childhoods. Just… everything is calm and peaceful, and for just that one moment, the world is a better place.”

Nicole is about to ask if that makes any kind of sense, but before she can get a word out, Waverly grabs her by the scarf and drags her down into a heated kiss. It lasts long enough that they end up against the nearby wall, Nicole’s hands flat on the bricks with Waverly bracketed between her arms, clutching tightly at the lapels of Nicole’s navy blue peacoat to keep her close.

Nicole finally pulls away, her chest heaving, thick puffs of white smoke curling up around her face like some kind of ice dragon.

“What was that for?” she asks, breathless.

“Just for being you,” Waverly whispers back, struggling a bit with her own breath.

Nicole leans in and kisses her again, both of them lost in their own little world as the snow falls silently around them, completely forgetting that Nicole is pinning Waverly to a brick wall right out on the main street.

That is, until a voice rings out from a few blocks down, echoing through the empty night.

“Can’t you horndogs even wait ‘til you get home?”

They jump apart, like a couple of teenagers who just got caught by a teacher while making out behind the gym, both of them stuttering in unison.

“It’s not what it–”

“We were just–”

“Yeah, I know what you were just…” Wynonna cuts them off, cackling. Her words are slurred, but her tone is playful rather than harsh, clearly drawing enjoyment from their discomfort.

“Okay, Earp. That’s enough,” another, deeper voice joins hers. “Let’s leave them alone now,” Dolls says, stepping out through the doorway of the saloon.

“Awww…” Wynonna pouts, sticking her bottom lip out like a petulant child. “But it’s so fun to watch ‘em squirm!”

“I know.” Dolls smirks and looks up at Nicole with a wink. Her blush deepens, and she wonders if there is actual steam rising off of her face in the cold night air. “But it’s time to get you home now.”

He begins trying to herd her toward his massive SUV, parked across the street, but she twirls away out of his reach and starts heading down the sidewalk in the opposite direction, stomping her feet through the deep snow like a kid pretending to be an abominable snowman.

“Earp. What. Are you doing.” Dolls lets out an exasperated sigh and trudges after her.

“I’m walkin’ home!” she replies, like it’s the most obvious thing in the goddamn world. “Flatfoot over there can’t arrest me for DUI if I’m not drivin’ anything!”

“No, but I could still get you for public intoxication!” Nicole calls after her with a grin, finally finding her voice again.

Waverly laughs brightly, watching Dolls try to wrangle Wynonna while she continues to weave and totter just out of his reach. She rests her head against Nicole’s shoulder and slips her hand into Nicole’s. It’s more like a paw than a hand, really. A giant woolen paw. Nicole has wondered many times how Waverly is able to pick up or hold anything with her hands inside those ridiculously huge woolen mittens.

Dolls eventually catches Wynonna, wrapping his thick arms around her middle and trapping her arms against her waist. He lifts her entirely off the ground frombehind and starts hauling her toward the cab of his vehicle, while she kicks her legs and curses at him through intermittent bouts of giggles.

“Happy Birthday, Little Earp,” he calls back over his shoulder once he has her safely inside, and then climbs up into the driver’s seat next to her. Waverly raises one of her woolen paws and waves as he pulls the door shut.

He pulls away, his powerful four-wheel drive churning through the ice and snow of the unplowed street with no trouble at all, and the two of them stand there and watch until the red of the taillights finally fades in the distance.

“So,” Nicole breathes, turning to face Waverly. There’s a smile on her face that lights up the entire street. “Where were we, Miss Earp?”

“I believe you were taking me home, Officer Haught.” Waverly waggles her eyebrows playfully and begins tugging Nicole forward again.

“It is pretty cold out here,” Nicole says, her feet remaining planted. “I think Coop is on dispatch tonight. Do you want me to call him and have him send one of the boys to come and give us a ride?”

Waverly stops pulling on Nicole’s arm and seems to consider this.

“As nice as the party for my birthday was that you and Wynonna insisted on planning…” Waverly pauses for a moment, and Nicole notices a shadow of something pass over her face. But then it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, and Waverly is focused on Nicole again. “I think I’d rather just enjoy the peace andquiet with you after all of that, instead of dealing with Lonnie right now.”

“You sure?” Nicole asks, running her hands up and down Waverly’s arms, trying to make sure she’s warm enough.

“As long as you don’t mind walking me home.” Waverly smiles up at her and loops her arm through Nicole’s. “And if you promise to be my bonus blanket when we get there.”

Home.

Nicole knows that the homestead will always be Waverly’s true home. As it should be, considering the protection the ammolite bedrock provides. Nicolehas been spending more and more time at the homestead, and there’s even been some recent talk – most surprisingly from Wynonna – of Nicole moving some of her things over there after what happened with Widow Mercedes at her house just over three months ago.

But every time Waverly casually refers to Nicole’s place as home, whether she realizes she’s doing it or not, Nicole can’t help the warmth that spreads through her limbs.

Waverly considers it her space, too.

She thinks of me as home.

Nicole shakes her head when she realizes Waverly is staring at her with an amused look on her face. She must have been zoning out for a few seconds, and failed to respond to Waverly’s question. Her cheeks burn, and she feels the falling snowflakes melt against them as they fall.

“I’ll be your bonus blanket any time you want.”

I’ll be your bonus blanket for the rest of our lives.

Waverly beams and squeezes her arm, and together, they start off down the street again.

“So, you’re twenty-two now. How do you feel? Any different?” Nicole asks as they walk down the sidewalk at a leisurely pace, kicking at piles of snow as they go and ignoring the cold, focusing instead on the warmth that they draw from each other.

“Not really,” Waverly snorts, shrugging.

She’s quiet for a few minutes after that, and Nicole can tell that she’s contemplating something, so she gives her the time to work through it, just continuing to hold on to her arm like a steadfast escort.

“It’s weird,” Waverly says, apropos of nothing.

“What is?” Nicole asks, curious to see where this will go.

“Last year, I was just a girl working in a bar, obsessed with a curse that may or may not have been the figment of a six-year-old’s imagination. My family was dead, my sister was gone, Shorty and Curtis – and Gus, of course – were the closest thing to family I had left. I was stuck in a loop of living the same routine day in and day out, dating a boy-man, and wondering if anyone would ever truly see me.”

Nicole stops and turns to face Waverly, her gloved hand coming up to cup Waverly’s cheek gently.

“And now?”

Waverly leans into Nicole’s touch and huffs out a short laugh.

“A year ago, I was blowing out a candle on a cupcake that I made for myself, up in my apartment above the bar. Alone.” She reaches out and bats absentmindedly at the end of Nicole’s scarf with her mitten-paw. “But tonight, I had a birthday party – the first real one I’ve ever had in my entire life – and everyone came.”

Nicole strokes her cheek and waits for her to continue.

“Shorty and Curtis may be gone, and Gus may be away with Alice, but now I have a new family. Jeremy and Dolls and Doc. Wynonna is back home, and we’re a team, and we’re the kind of sisters I always used to dream about being when I was little.”

Waverly’s paws climb up the front of Nicole’s coat and over her shoulders, until they’re draped behind her neck.

“And you,” Waverly says, tugging Nicole down until she can reach her face. “Now I have you, and I never want to be without you again.”

Nicole sinks forward into the kiss that Waverly pulls her into, but her mind spirals off in a thousand different directions. She knows Waverly isn’t ready to say theactual words yet, but she’s also smart enough to know what these words mean. Waverly is telling Nicole that she loves her in the only way she knows how to right now, and Nicole will never get tired of hearing it.

“I may not know what I am…” Waverly whispers, ducking her head a little when she pulls out of the kiss. She swallows hard a couple of times and then finally looks back up at Nicole. “But I think I finally know who I am. And that’s thanks to you and Wynonna.”

Her expression goes softer, and Nicole melts a little at the earnest look in her eyes.

“So, even though we’ve had to deal with a bunch of shit-tickets and… and a bunch of other crappy stuff…” A bit of sheepishness creeps into her voice,but she ignores it and pushes up on her toes to press a quick kiss to Nicole’scheek. “I think it’s still been a pretty fudging good year.”

Nicole can’t contain herself any longer. She sweeps Waverly up into her arms and twirls her around, kissing the snowflakes off of her nose and cheeks andeyelashes.

“I think it’s been a pretty fudging good year, too,” she says, setting Waverly down carefully and then kissing her properly. It lingers, turning into something deeper and more urgent, until they both pull away, panting in the cold air.

“Nicole,” Waverly whispers, hot against her ear, still a little breathless. “Take me home.”

“As you wish,” she whispers back, and Waverly’s eyes shine. Nicole never gets tired of seeing this kind of reaction any time she quotes Waverly’s favorite movie.

The final few blocks to Nicole’s house pass by in a haze of longing looks and roaming hands and stolen kisses that have no trouble warding off the winter chill. The falling snow continues to blanket the ground around them, and Nicole feels a little bit like one of those picturesque happy couples destined to live an eternity inside the happiest moment of their lives, captured inside the safety of a snow globe’s protective bubble forever.

Waverly waits impatiently behind her as Nicole fumbles with the keys at her front door. Her hands are cold, but her insides are burning, and there are too many sensations at once for her to keep her fingers steady. She pauses and takes a deep breath before tugging her gloves off and trying again without their bulkiness adding to the difficulty.

Just as the key turns in the lock and she’s about to push the door open, something thumps against the back of her head, exploding in a cloud of white powder around her face. Less than a second later, clumps of slushy snow begin to slip beneath her collar, slithering down the bare skin of her back. She yelps and wiggles clumsily, trying to get it out, but it’s no use; the ice is trapped underseveral layers of clothing, and Nicole has no choice but to tough it out.

The giggles coming from behind her cause her to spin around on her heel, but before she can even take a single step, another snowball hits her right in the chest, splattering flecks of snow across her cheeks and nose. She squints through the flakes caught in her eyelashes and spots Waverly, doubled over with laughter, about ten feet away, in the middle of her front yard.

Leaping off the front porch, Nicole skips over the steps entirely and lands in the knee-deep snow beneath, weighing her options in the moment. She could easily retaliate by scooping up handfuls of snow and hurling it back at her girlfriend, but then her eyes land on the snowdrift that’s piled up around the nearby tree – several feet deep and only a few steps away from where Waverly now stands.

Waverly immediately freezes, her eyes going wide and her lips parting with an audible gasp.

A deer caught in the headlights.

Prey.

A positively wicked grin curls Nicole’s lips as she begins to stalk forward, and Waverly throws up her bare hands in exaggerated surrender. She must have shed her woolen paws in favor of packing a more perfect snowball.

Nicole continues to advance, and Waverly stumbles backward a couple of steps, the quiet of the night broken by a shrill litany of no, no, please, no muffling out through her bunched up scarf.

But it’s too late. Her fate is already sealed.

Nicole lunges forward, and Waverly doesn’t even come close to dodging in time. She wraps her arms around Waverly’s body, giant puffy coat and all, and then gravity seems to shift, tipping them both sideways as they topple into the mountain of powder with a soft squelch.

It’s almost drowned out by the squeals and peals of laughter.

Almost.

Waverly twists and bucks, but Nicole allows the length of her body to work to her advantage, keeping Waverly pinned easily despite the amount of snow she’s flinging about with her flailing arms.

She can feel the cold soaking in through her jeans, and her gloveless hands are numb, but Nicole doesn’t care, because Waverly Earp is beneath her and her laughter sounds like angels singing and she can see her entire future reflected back at her in those gleaming hazel eyes.

Overcome with a swell of emotion, Nicole dips her head and finds Waverly’s lips, cold and wet and eager to meld with hers. Waverly’s squirming stills, and her flailing arms come to rest around Nicole’s neck, desperately pulling her in closer.

Nicole gets so lost in the kiss – and all of the thoughts racing through her head that involve far fewer layers of clothing between them – that when Waverly arches up against her, Nicole willingly allows her to flip them over in the soft bank of snow. Waverly continues to kiss her for a few moments, deliberately grinding down against her hip, but then the next thing Nicole knows, two giant handfuls of snow have been scooped up over her face and Waverly’s weight hasdisappeared.

She sputters for a second, spitting out mouthfuls of snow, and wipes at her face as she hears Waverly’s boots thumping across the wooden planks of the front porch before disappearing into the house, her giggles still echoing in the night.

Big, fat flakes continue to fall overhead, coming to rest on her peacoat and her scarf and her jeans that are soaked through. Nicole watches them gather for a few moments, thinking about everything that has happened since the last time she experienced a “first snow of the year.” Before learning about the Curse. Before finding herself a new family. Before she had Waverly.

It feels like a lifetime ago, and Nicole doesn’t know how she ever thought she was alive without all of these things in her life – both the good and the bad.

She wouldn’t give it up for all of the normal in the world.

Once she feels like she’s given Waverly a big enough head start, Nicole pulls herself up out of the snow and begins making her way into the house, unsure of what she might find there.

To her delight, she’s greeted by a trail that starts with snow-packed boots that were discarded on the rug by the door and continues all the way up the stairs, one article of clothing at a time.

Nicole grins and pulls off her own boots after making sure the door is locked and the keys are safely on the hook that hangs next to the coatrack.

Two can play at this game.

By the time she makes it to the top of the stairs, she’s lost her coat and scarf and hat and sweater and socks along the way. She reaches the door to her bedroom wearing only her damp jeans and bra, and she’s about to stroll inside with a swagger in her hips and a quip on her tongue, but what she finds waiting for her steals the breath right out of her lungs instead.

Waverly is completely naked.

Sprawled out on her bed, propped up on her elbow with her head resting in one of her hands and the other hand trailing up and down her hip and thigh, her fingers dancing over the goosebumps left in the wake of the light touch.

Completely naked.

Nicole can’t do anything but stare.

“Finally decided to join me?” Waverly practically purrs. Her voice is low and warm and filled with the promise of so many things to come.

When Nicole remains frozen in place, her mouth hanging open dumbly, Waverly chuckles softly and rolls off of her elbow, sprawling more fully across the rest of the bed. With fire in her eyes and a deliberate motion, she crooks a finger at Nicole, summoning her to the bed like some kind of siren’s song.

The spinning gears in Nicole’s brain finally catch and click into place, sending it whirring into overdrive. She hastily unhooks her bra and yanks it down her arms, not paying attention to where it lands. Her jeans prove to be more of a challenge, still soaked from the snow and clinging to her damp skin. It’s all she can do to keep her balance as she struggles to peel them down her legs until she can eventually kick them the rest of the way off.

Finally bare, a shiver works its way out through her limbs and all the way down to her numb fingertips. It could be the chill in her bones working its way out as her clammy skin tries to catch up to the soft warmth of the room around her, though Nicole thinks it’s far more likely the result of the smoldering look being leveled in her direction.

But the reason isn’t important because the only thing that matters right now is Waverly.

Waverly, Waverly, Waverly.

Muscles pulled taut with anticipation, rippling slightly beneath smooth bronze skin. Wavy hair cascading around her shoulders and across her chest, rising and falling rapidly, her breasts swaying with each breath, nipples tight and standing proud. Spread open before her, glistening with need, desire hanging thickly in the air between them.

Truly a vision to behold.

Nicole tries to say so, but her mouth is so dry, the words stick in her throat. She licks her lips and tries again, but her tongue is too thick and too clumsy and the words trip over it on the way out, falling from her mouth in a jumble.

Before Nicole can remember how to take another step closer to the bed, Waverly’s hands begin to roam over her own body.

“Well, if you’re just gonna stand there and watch all night…” she trails off with a smirk as her fingertips dance lower and lower down her abdomen. She gasps softly when they finally dip into slick folds, and Nicole feels so lightheaded she actually stumbles forward to steady herself against the footboard.

This time when Waverly invites her to join in, Nicole’s limbs remember how to move on their own, and she crawls up the bed until she’s hovering over Waverly on her hands and knees. Just as she dips her head to find Waverly’s lips, Waverly lets her hands slide up Nicole’s ribs toward her breasts.

Nicole immediately yelps and jumps backward, unfortunately forgetting just how close to the edge of the bed they were to begin with. The world is suspended for a brief moment in which Nicole suddenly understands what the coyote must feel like when he holds up his sign that says “$#!+” – she half expects to hear a smug *meep meep* coming from Waverly – followed by a loud thump as she hits the ground in a heap of tangled up limbs.

“Oh, my god! Are you okay?” Waverly scrambles to the edge of the bed, peering down at Nicole with wide eyes and a creased brow.

One of Nicole’s feet is still up on the mattress and the other leg is folded awkwardly, half under her body and half under the bed. There’s an arm thrown up over her head, covering part of her face, and the other is bent at the elbow where she tried to break her fall.

“Nicole…?” Waverly calls again.

Nicole groans in response, choosing to stare at the ceiling instead of looking at Waverly.

“What the hell, Nicole…” Waverly demands, now that she knows Nicole is okay.

“Your hands,” Nicole groans again, still staring at the ceiling, dramatic and forlorn. “Are so cold.”

The silence stretches out long enough that Nicole begins to wonder if she’d actually answered out loud, or if it had only been in her head. Swallowing down her pride, she risks a glance in Waverly’s direction.

Waverly is gaping at her almost comically. She looks down at her hands where they’re curled around the edge of the bed, her fingers still glowing red after handling the snow without her mitten-paws on, and then back at Nicole.

Their eyes are locked as the seconds tick away, and then the tension abruptly and definitively breaks when Waverly snorts so loudly that Nicole actually jumps a little. The embarrassment of her predicament slowly ebbs as mirth begins to dance in Waverly’s eyes, the amusement contagious.

Before long, they’re both overcome with a fit of giggles so strong that Waverly has to flop over onto her back in order to breathe. Nicole tries to untangle herself, but with her foot still up by Waverly’s head, it’s not exactly the easiest of tasks. Especially while she’s laughing so hard that there are actual tears in her eyes.

Waverly eventually takes pity on her, helping Nicole ease her leg down from the bed without it getting caught on her other knee. They’re both still hiccupping with giggles, despite Waverly making a comment about mourning the loss of the view Nicole had inadvertently gifted her with. That makes Nicole’s face burn, the heat radiating out to the tips of her ears and down her neck where it blooms across her bare chest.

Nicole finally pushes herself up off of the floor, crawling over to the bed on her knees and grabbing Waverly’s radiant face in her hands. She pulls Waverly forward until she can swallow her laughter directly from her lips. They both continue to giggle for a few seconds, but they quickly settle into the kiss until it becomes something more, Nicole’s hands beginning to drift down from Waverly’s cheeks to play across the warm skin of her shoulders and her back and her hips. Waverly twitches and jerks and eventually pulls away from the kiss with a squeak.

“Your hands aren’t exactly hot and fresh out of the oven either, Officer,” Waverly pouts when Nicole raises an eyebrow.

She laughs and kisses her again, and this time when Waverly pulls away, it’s to whisper hotly in Nicole’s ear.

“How about if I help you warm your fingers up?”

Nicole swallows hard and nods, rising to her feet so she can crawl back onto the bed and drape herself over Waverly’s naked form, but Waverly stops her with a hand to chest. Nicole pauses, frowning with confusion, but Waverly just shakes her head and scoots over before directing Nicole to lie down next to her.

“Like this,” she whispers and then climbs on top, straddling Nicole’s hips with her own.

“Anything you want, baby,” Nicole breathes, her temperature instantly rising as Waverly takes her hand and raises it to her chest, directing it down between her breasts and over her stomach and past the line of her hipbones. She never takes her eyes off of Waverly’s face as she guides Nicole’s hand further down, hissing slightly as Nicole’s cold fingers finally make contact with wet warmth.

Nicole would normally take her time. Tease a little and work Waverly up, building to the moment when she finally gives in to Waverly’s desperate pleas. But Waverly clearly knows what she wants tonight, and Nicole would never deny her that, so when Waverly pulls at the back of her hand, Nicole doesn’t hesitate to bury two fingers deep inside of the scorching heat that’s so ready for her.

Waverly’s head falls back, moaning Nicole’s name into the suddenly warm room, and it echoes in Nicole’s chest before settling someplace a little lower.

Time nearly stops, slowing down until it can be measured in their heartbeats.

Three heartbeats. Waverly opens her eyes, looking down to meet Nicole’s, and the amount of pure want she finds there makes Nicole’s head spin.

Eight heartbeats. The arch of Waverly’s spine eases as she loses her grip on Nicole’s hand and leans forward, her own hands falling to Nicole’s hips to steady herself.

Twelve heartbeats. Nicole flexes her fingers inside Waverly, testing, and watches as her breath trips and stutters, her fingers digging deeper into Nicole’s hips.

Fifteen heartbeats. Waverly knows exactly what she wants, and she’s ready to take it.

Waverly gasps Nicole’s name again – a plea, a prayer, a promise – and the spell is broken, the world rushing in around them as time catches back up to their overwhelming need. Waverly begins to roll her hips, setting a greedy, deliberate pace, and Nicole curls her fingers against the walls that clench around them, matching her timing with Waverly’s movements.

Planting her feet against the mattress, Nicole uses the extra leverage to add the strength of her hips behind every thrust, long, deep, determined strokes that cause Waverly to shudder and gasp, her rhythm briefly faltering until they fall back into sync again. The need in Waverly’s eyes smolders, and Nicole can feel it burning through her, every place that their bodies touch.

Her arms begin to shake with the exertion of holding herself up, and Waverly eventually falls forward until she’s hovering just above Nicole, her elbows bracketing Nicole’s head around the pillow. The pace never slows, but the change in angle causes her to cry out, her clit dragging roughly across Nicole’s palm now as Nicole’s fingers reach new depths with every thrust.

She moans her pleasure loudly, directly into Nicole’s mouth, and Nicole thinks it’s the sweetest thing she’s ever tasted. She can tell Waverly is getting close by the way her movements are becoming more and more erratic, the desperation sharp on her tongue.

“Don’t stop,” she pleads in Nicole’s ear, breathless. Before Nicole can assure that she’ll never stop, Waverly lifts her head just enough to look Nicole in the eye, her hair falling around them, forming a curtain between the two of them and the rest of the world. “Don’t stop fucking me, Nicole,” she pants.

Waverly very rarely swears, especially like that, but something has lit a fire inside her tonight, and Nicole is more than happy to let the flames consume heruntil she’s nothing more than ashes at Waverly’s feet.

“I won’t,” she promises when Waverly’s eyes continue to bore into hers.

As if to prove her dedication to the task at hand, the fingers of Nicole’s free hand dig into the flexing muscles of Waverly’s ass. With every buck of her hips, her fingers push into Waverly with more and more force, and she uses the tighter grip to help pull Waverly down against each thrust with increased strength. Waverly wails her approval, followed by a hissed yesss and so close.

Nicole’s wrist aches and the muscles in her thighs and ass burn from pushing up off of the mattress so rapidly for so long, but none of that registers right now. The only thing Nicole can focus on is Waverly.

Waverly, Waverly, Waverly.

The way Waverly’s breath is hot and ragged against her ear and her cheek and her lips. The way Waverly’s eyes are bright and lustful and wild. The way Waverly’s breasts drag against her own with every bounce.

The way Waverly’s walls ripple and flutter around her fingers, and the way Waverly’s hips jerk out of rhythm every time she curls them forward at the apex of a stroke.

This is it.

On the next thrust, Waverly’s entire body seizes up, clenching down around Nicole so tightly that she’s forced to leave her fingers buried deep for the time being. Her eyes are squeezed shut and her face contorted in concentration, almost giving off the appearance of pain, but Nicole knows better.

She counts the silent heartbeats she feels pounding against her fingertips, and then Waverly’s eyes snap open, her jaw going slack as a violent tremor wracks her entire body. Her hips begin to stutter again, and Nicole makes sure to press harder with her palm, applying extra pressure directly to Waverly’s throbbing clit.

A strangled sort of whine builds in the back of Waverly’s throat, until eventually, variations of Nicole’s name fall from her lips in a series of sobs and sighs as she shudders and shakes her way through her powerful orgasm. Nicole continues towork her through it until the trembling subsides, and Waverly collapsesforward, mumbling strings of nonsense against Nicole’s chest.

Nicole draws lazy shapes on Waverly’s back while she catches her breath again, and then playfully flexes the fingers still buried deep, causing Waverly to jerk and swat at her shoulder with a groan.

“What’s gotten into you tonight?” Nicole asks, grinning happily when Waverly finally tilts her head to look up at her, cheek still pressed to her chest, just over her racing heart.

“Last time I checked,” Waverly says, deliberately squeezing down around Nicole’s fingers, “it was you.” Nicole huffs out a laugh, surprised –and delighted – by Waverly’s boldness. “At least your fingers aren’t cold anymore,” Waverly adds, waggling her eyebrows.

Nicole rolls her eyes with a snort as she carefully withdraws, easing Waverly through the loss and kissing her nose to chase away the pout that follows. She wipes her hand on the blanket before bringing it up to cup Waverly’s cheek and draw her in for a proper kiss.

Waverly sinks into it immediately, and Nicole can taste the desire, still thick and heavy on her tongue. She’s quickly reminded that her own body is still tense and sensitive, muscles twitching under Waverly’s fingertips as they begin to roam – down her side, over her hip, and back up again.

“Waverly…” Nicole mumbles, voice broken, as Waverly’s lips trail away from her mouth and down her throat. Her tongue traces random patterns against Nicole’s heated skin, along her sternum and across her breast, until it eventually swirls around a tight nipple. Nicole’s hips buck involuntarily, despite the fact that Waverly is still straddling them, pinning them to the bed.

“Easy, baby,” Waverly coos, smirking up at her before taking the nipple back into her mouth again. Her hands continue to dance over the exposed planes of Nicole’s abdomen and ribs and pelvis, but where her touch may have been meant to soothe, instead it leaves a molten trail in its wake.

Shifting above her, Waverly settles between Nicole’s legs rather than straddling them, and Nicole can instantly feel her arousal hot and wet against Waverly’s stomach. She moans loudly as the slick friction ramps her up even further, her pulse thundering wildly between her thighs. She wonders if Waverly can actually feel it against the toned muscles she’s rolling against Nicole’s heat as her kisses begin to trail lower and lower.

“Wave…” she groans out, her brow furrowing. “Waverly… Baby, wait…” Nicole pushes up on her elbows as Waverly’s tongue dips briefly into her navel and then continues its descent.

She looks down, trying to force her hazy eyes to focus, but that proves to be a mistake when she finds Waverly nestled further between her legs, peering up at her from beneath her lashes as her mouth hovers dangerously close to Nicole’s folds, spread open and swollen with her need.

Nicole’s brain short-circuits, completely derailing the train of thought she was trying to follow.

With a devious grin, Waverly drops her head to place a single, chaste kiss right on the tip of Nicole’s aching clit, never once breaking eye contact in the process.

“Baby…” Nicole whimpers, her entire body trembling with desperation for release. “You don’t have to do that. Let– let me take care of you,” she manages, her voice thin and strained. “Tonight is supposed to be all about you.”

“This is about me, baby.” The smirk spreads wider across her face as she continues to look Nicole in the eye. “It’s my birthday. And this…” she drags her tongue, broad and thick, in a deliberate stroke from Nicole’s entrance all the way up to her clit, collecting as much arousal as she can along the way, “…is the present that I want.”

Nicole chokes on her own tongue.

She fists the sheets in a death-grip to keep from pushing herself up into Waverly’s face.

Jesus fucking Christ, Haught. Show some goddamned restraint.

Swallowing thickly, Nicole searches Waverly’s eyes for a moment. When she’s met with nothing but burning desire, determined and hungry, she nods once and then squeezes her eyes shut tight and lets her head fall back against the pillow.

Before she can even draw a full breath, the warmth of Waverly’s lips and tongue envelopes her, and this time she can’t stop herself from pushing further into Waverly’s mouth. She feels Waverly snake an arm up over her hips, holding her down against the mattress while Waverly licks and sucks her way into oblivion.

They’re always enthusiastic about doing this for each other, but tonight, it’s as though Waverly is starving and Nicole is the only thing that can sustain her. She tries to focus on the movements of Waverly’s tongue, flicking at her clit and pushing inside her and dragging along the length in between, but the sensations are too overwhelming and everything narrows to one single thought.

Waverly, Waverly, Waverly.

She must be calling her name out loud, because the hand that’s not holding her hips down reaches up and pries her fingers loose from the sheets, lacing their fingers together instead, offering an anchor to the here and now.

I’m here, it says.

I’ve got you, it tells her.

You can let go with me, it promises.

Nicole squeezes Waverly’s hand in response, grateful that they’re so in tune with each other that Waverly always knows what she needs and when she needs it. Because she sure as shit can’t ask for it right now. Not with the things Waverly’s mouth is doing to her at the moment.

The muscles in her thighs and abdomen, and even across her shoulders, begin to quiver and quake as the fire in her belly threatens to spill over.

“I’m–” Nicole stutters, struggling to suck air into her burning lungs. “I’m gonna–”

Waverly squeezes Nicole’s hand tighter and focuses the point of her tongue directly over Nicole’s clit, indicating that is exactly what she wants to happen.

Nicole’s head sinks deeper into the pillow, her back arching high off the bed, stiff and curved and displaying her breasts beautifully for Waverly’s pleasure as she works to push Nicole the rest of the way over the ledge.

She remains suspended there, a marionette of her own making, while Waverly expertly manipulates the wires, easily bending Nicole to her will. Waverly continues to tug at them, stretching and pulling until the wires eventually snap, and Nicole tumbles back to the bed, a trembling mess wrought with incoherent babbling.

Her hunger seems to fade into something a little more tender, and Waverly eases Nicole through her aftershocks, never once letting go of her hand. When Nicole finally remembers how to breathe again, her body heavy and still, she feels Waverly pressing soft kisses along the insides of her thighs and across the dip in her pelvis.

“Wave…” she rasps, hoarse, as she reaches out with her free hand to gently touch the top of Waverly’s head. She strokes her fingers through the loose strands of hair and urges Waverly up. “C’mere,” she mumbles.

Waverly wipes at her mouth and chin haphazardly with the back of her hand and then crawls up the length of Nicole’s body, settling on top of her and tucking a flyaway lock behind Nicole’s ear with a pleased grin.

Nicole knows she should be sated and satisfied after the ecstasy Waverly just put her through, but there’s something about seeing Waverly gazing down at her like this – with flushed skin and glistening lips – that leaves Nicole’s blood still boiling just beneath the surface.

When she tastes herself on Waverly’s kiss, the slow simmer hits a flashpoint, flaring up until it overtakes her.

She flips them over in the blink of an eye, her body easily covering Waverly’s smaller frame beneath her, carefully slotting one of her thighs between Waverly’s, and making sure that one of Waverly’s also rests precariously between her own.

“Tell me you want this,” she murmurs against Waverly’s lips, rocking down into her with purpose. It doesn’t matter how deep in the throes of her own lust she is, the sexiest thing Nicole will ever experience is still Waverly’s consent.

“Yes,” Waverly groans, sucking Nicole’s bottom lip between her teeth. “I want it. I want you.”

Nicole slides her hands up Waverly’s arms until their fingers lock together, and then she raises them above Waverly’s head, pinning them in place against the bed. Waverly gasps and arches up against Nicole, squeezing her hands tighter, but doesn’t make a move to fight against being held down by her lover.

“Okay?” Nicole checks again, sucking on the spot just beneath Waverly’s ear.

“God, Nicole.” She rolls her own hips up to meet Nicole’s. “Please.”

Dropping any remaining pretense of teasing, Nicole begins to grind against Waverly in earnest. The sound Waverly makes in response echoes against the roof of Nicole’s mouth, and she swallows it down, chasing after the source with her tongue. Waverly lifts her thigh just enough to match Nicole’s pace with her own hips, and soon, they’re both chasing after their pleasure in a mess of slick heat and muscle.

It doesn’t take long until they’re dangerously close, both of them high on lust and need and pure, unadulterated want. Nicole breaks the kiss to lick and nibble her way along Waverly’s jawline, and Waverly pants encouragement in her ear, a breathless string of don’t stop and oh, fuck and just like that.

Nicole’s grip on Waverly’s hands tightens as their crescendo builds, and Waverly squeezes back, walking the same razor’s edge.

“Are you…?” Nicole grunts, knowing she won’t be able to hold out for much longer.

“Yesss,” Waverly hisses, her eyes screwed shut. “Keep going. I’m– I’m–”

Waverly spreads her wings and leaps off of the cliff they’ve been barreling toward, pulling Nicole over with her at the last minute. It’s more like smoldering embers rather than the consuming flames from before, but it’s still every bit as intense, knowing that they’re sharing it this time.

Nicole releases Waverly’s hands, sliding her arms under Waverly’s shoulders instead, and Waverly’s arms immediately move to wrap around Nicole, clutching desperately at her back. They ride out the waves together, holding each other close and sighing soft affections into the warm spaces between them, until all that’s left is sated bodies and muted breaths and two hearts beating in time as one.

“Nicole…” Waverly eventually whispers after several long minutes of silence broken only by their rhythmic breathing.

When she doesn’t follow it up with anything after a few seconds, Nicole raises her head from where it’s been resting in the crook of Waverly’s neck. Waverly’s eyes are bright, brimming with unsaid words, but the fear creeping in around the edges doesn’t allow them to spill over.

Not yet.

But that’s okay.

She knows it will happen when Waverly is ready.

And until then?

Well.

Nicole certainly isn’t going anywhere.

“I know, baby,” Nicole whispers back, wrestling one of her hands free from underneath Waverly and bringing it up to stroke her cheek gently. “It’s okay. I know.”

Waverly searches Nicole’s face earnestly for a moment and then breathes out a quiet sigh of relief, nodding once and then tipping her chin up toward Nicole as her eyes flutter shut. Nicole doesn’t hesitate to cover Waverly’s lips with her own, and Waverly kisses her like a lazy Sunday morning, soft and slow and unhurried.

The kiss finally breaks, and Nicole rests her forehead against Waverly’s, lost in the feeling of their bodies still pressed together, limbs entangled and hearts entwined.

It startles her enough that she actually flinches when Waverly starts giggling out of nowhere a few minutes later.

“What?” she asks, frowning down at Waverly, confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Happy. Birthday. To. ME.” She waggles her eyebrows dramatically.

Nicole snorts, amused by Waverly’s brazen smugness.

“You’re insufferable, Waverly Earp.” Waverly’s giddy mood is infectious, and Nicole can’t help but catch a case of the giggles right along with her.

Waverly pinches at Nicole’s side, and Nicole rolls off of her in a huff, flopping over onto her back and swatting at Waverly’s hands. The playful wrestling continues until Waverly yawns widely, swallowing up her laughter.

“C’mon, birthday girl,” Nicole chuckles. “Let’s get cleaned up and tuck you into bed.”

She grumbles and pouts, but crawls to the edge of the bed and takes the hand that Nicole holds out to help her to her feet. She stumbles into Nicole’s arms, where she fits like she was made to belong there, and they stay that way for a few minutes, Nicole swaying them gently and stroking her fingers through Waverly’s hair.

“You can go first,” she finally says with a kiss to the top of Waverly’s head, and then shoos her off toward the bathroom door on the other side of the bedroom.

Waverly only closes the door part of the way, and Nicole can hear her humming something softly while she stands at the sink. It’s too muffled for Nicole to pick out the individual notes, but it makes her smile just the same as she rummages through the closet until she finds a clean set of flannel sheets.

The evidence of their love is painted all over the bed, and Nicole’s cheeks redden as she strips the old sheets off to replace them with the new ones. The room smells like sex and happiness and the future, and it kindles something warm inside her chest that winds up past her ribs and through her spine and settles around her heart.

She hears the toilet flushing just as she’s gathering up all of the clothing from the floor to deposit in the nearby hamper, and soon Waverly emerges, still naked and still gorgeous in the soft lamplight infusing the room. Nicole’s heart stuttersdespite itself, and Waverly smirks as she saunters over to take Nicole’s facein her hands and kiss her senseless.

“Wow…” Nicole breathes. Her lips and tongue tingle from the minty toothpaste Waverly had just used.

“Youuur tuuurn,” Waverly sing-songs, pulling Nicole out of her stupor. She takes the bundle of sheets and clothes out of Nicole’s arms and pushes her toward the bathroom.

Nicole handles her business quickly, moving through her nightly routine on auto-pilot, and when she returns, Waverly is flitting around the room, blowing out the candles she had apparently let burn for a few minutes, filling the room with a warm lavender and vanilla scent.

“I think there’s still a pair of your pajamas in the top drawer of the dresser,” Nicole says, handing Waverly a scrunchie so she can try and tame the wild mane that’s definitely screaming Sex Hair right now. “If not, you can wear something of mine,” she adds with a dreamy look in her eyes.

“No need,” Waverly says airily, waving a dismissive hand after pulling her hair up into a messy ponytail. “I’ve already got my birthday suit on.” She grins over her shoulder and crawls into bed defiantly, stretching her exhausted muscles like a cat before curling up on the fresh, warm flannel sheets.

Nicole nearly chokes at the blatant display.

“W-won’t y-you…” she stutters. She blinks a couple of times and clears herthroat and tries again. “Won’t you be cold?”

“You’re the only bonus blanket I need,” Waverly says softly, patting the space in the bed next to her.

“Yes, ma’am,” Nicole murmurs, scrambling over to the edge of the bed. She clicks the lamp off and slips in behind Waverly, reaching down to pull the covers up around them, tucking them carefully under Waverly’s chin.

Waverly immediately settles back into her with adorable little grunting noises until she’s situated just right to be Nicole’s little spoon. Nicole wraps herself around the warm body pressed tightly against her front, her arm moving protectively over Waverly’s waist. Waverly immediately laces their fingers together, pulling their hands up to rest securely against her chest.

Silence settles over them like an extra blanket, and Nicole watches the snow still falling against the window, enormous flakes almost glowing with the silvery light of the moon behind them.

For just this one night, they’ve been free of the burdens weighing all of them down like shackles. No sorrow over missing Alice. No betrayal over Rosita turning on them at the last minute. No anxiety over the lack of leads on Bulshar’s whereabouts. They can worry about all of that again tomorrow, but tonight, there had only been room for family and joy and love.

She thinks again of the power a first snowfall holds; the fresh start and the childlike wonder and the promise of hope.

It truly is magic.

Just as the lassitude of sleep is about to overtake her, Nicole ghosts her lips across Waverly’s bare shoulder.

“I love you, Waverly Earp,” she whispers into the night.

She’s not expecting a response, Waverly’s breathing having already evened out into a slow, steady rhythm. When one comes, it’s mumbled so softly Nicole has to strain her ears just to make it out.

“Best birthday ever.”

#prompt fill #wayhaught #wynonna earp #my fiction #ask and answer #tinygay-haught #anon #writing #mine

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theyearoftheking · 4 years

Text

Book Forty-Nine: Black House

“Here is a true American loner, an internal vagrant, a creature of shabby rooms and cheap diners, of aimless journeys resentfully taken, a collector of wounds and injuries lovingly fingered and refingered. Here is a spy with no cause higher than himself.”

After almost fifty books, The Talisman still stands at the top of the leader board as my favorite Steve book. It’s richly layered, full of memorable characters and horrible villains, with a satisfying conclusion. It’s the type of book fantasy and horror lovers alike are eager to escape into.

It’s sometimes hard to embrace the sequel to a book you love so much... I mean, I can be bought, but my criteria are stringent:

Consider setting the book in Wisconsin... perhaps the beautiful, sad, remote, desolate western part of the state right along the Mississippi river.

Maybe a Dahmer reference?

Scratch that. Instead, go with an old-school serial killer no one really talks about anymore. How about... Albert Fish? He’s pretty gross.

On second thought, reconsider a Dahmer reference. Maybe an evil spirit that links Dahmer and Fish together?

TONS of Dark Tower references.

If Steve and Pete were to consider writing a follow up to The Talisman with all these elements, I might consider reading it.

Spoiler!

Dark House contains all this goodness, and more.

It’s so fucking dark, y’all. I don’t think I’m ever going to be able to drive past a long-term care facility and NOT think about an old man inside wanting to eat the buttocks of small children.

Oh hey, trigger warnings for cannibalism, and violence against children.

So, Dark House is set in fictional Coulee County, Wisconsin (not a place). But Steve and Pete (I need to start giving Peter Straub some shout outs as well) describe the western part of the state magnificently. Not too long ago I had a sales job that required me to travel the entire state, and I always loved my jaunts west. I’d park right along the Mississippi, eat my lunch and just soak up the isolation. I’d much rather make the drive to Pierce county than the Quad Cities, which my current employer is asking of me. *Silent scream for help*

Despite Coulee being fictional, the actual Wisconsin references are thick:

De Pere (where we recently found out Steve spent a few formative years)

The Brewers

Miller Park

Kingsland Ale- while fictional, it’s a nod to Wisconsin’s rich brewing history, and favorable climate for microbreweries

Dahmer (several times, actually)

Racine. Y’all. I have no idea what Steve’s obsession is with Racine... it comes up in multiple books. It’s really not that great. Take that from someone who spent a brief period of time working there. Honestly, my favorite thing about Racine is the authentic Thai restaurant right in downtown, Sticky Rice. If you find yourself in Racine, please go check them out... their red devil curry is amaze-balls.

So, yes... lots of Wisconsin. Also, lots of Dark Tower:

Eye of the King

Crimson King

The Tower

Red roses

Breakers

Little Sisters

Gunslingers and their weapons

Roland and the ka-tet

Monos! Blaine and Patricia

Chief Breaker Brautigan- who allegedly tells hilarious stories about his escapes. I miss him already.

I have questions about how Steve convinced Pete to include so many Dark Tower elements into this book...

Steve: “Pete, bud... I know you might have a different vision for how this book plays out. Buuut what about if we make it part of the Dark Tower universe?”

Pete: Stares for a long minute. “Um, I thought that series was dead in the water. Do we really need to use Dark House to resuscitate it?”

Steve: “Remember the car accident? You know, the one that almost took my leg?”

Pete *Oh fuck, he’s bringing up the car accident as a bid for sympathy, and to convince me to make this a Dark Tower book...* “Of course I remember!”

Steve: “Well, it shook some things loose. I’m about ready to finish the series. I just thought it might be fun if we make this book a lead-up to the finale”

Pete: “It’s intriguing, but I’m not really sure it’s the direction I want to go in. I was thinking more-”

Steve: “I ALMOST DIED IN THAT ACCIDENT!”

Pete: “Cool, Dark Tower book it is!”

I should write fan fiction. I’ve obviously got a gift.

Black House is told from a birds-eye narration view. Literally... there’s this fat, evil crow named Gorg flying all over town, giving us the lay of Coulee County. Bad stuff has been going on: little children have gone missing, and only a few of their bodies have turned back up mutilated and broken.

The chief of police, Dale Gilbertson, knows he’s in over his head, and keeps trying to convince his pal, retired police detective, Jack “Hollywood” Sawyer to come consult on the case.

Jack isn’t having it. He retired young and moved to Coulee County from Los Angeles after tracking down and arresting serial killer Thorny Kinderling. The majestic beauty of western Wisconsin caught him by surprise, and he happily invested in reasonably priced (read: cheap) real estate with a view.

Upon moving to Wisconsin, Jack befriended Dale’s blind uncle Henry Leydon; who voices several radio programs, including The Wisconsin Rat, which plays indy screamo bands and has plenty of shock-jock antics. The two hang out together, listen to jazz music, and sometimes Jack reads to Henry. Henry was able to use his elevated senses to study Jack’s speech pattern and figure out Jack’s mom was THE Lily Cavanaugh; the Queen of the B’s.

While Jack and Henry are reading Bleak House, Charles “Burny” Burnside is wandering around the Maxton Elder Care Facility, pretending to have dementia, and dragging children into The Territories for Lord Malshun to either use as Breakers, or for Burny to snack on if they have no Breaking skills. So, Burny’s a bad dude who did some suspicious things in Chicago; but an evil spirit (the same one who invaded Albert Fish and Jeffrey Dahmer’s bodies) is what’s causing his kidnapping and cannibalistic urges. I know I say this every ten books or so, but Burny might be the worst King villain ever. I was not upset later on when his intestines were violently ripped from his body.

A sweet little boy (with strong Breaker powers) named Tyler Marshall goes missing outside the Maxton Elder Care Facility. While he was being pulled into the bushes by Gorg who kept repeating his name; his mother, Judy receives a taunting package and letter from The Fisherman, which sends her over the brink, and she’s institutionalized.

Tyler’s disappearance really amps up the town outrage, and Jack agrees to help the police department out. He’s starting to suspect there’s some Territories nonsense going down, and he can help.

From here, the book goes at break-neck pace and includes everything from micro-brewing bikers, a dog bite that causes one to dissolve into a foamy puddle on the couch, our old friend Speedy Parker showing up as a gunslinger, the world’s most annoying newspaper reporter, plenty of flipping between worlds via the creepy old black house hidden in the woods, and a happy(ish) ending. Honestly, there’s a warning at the end of the book, which allows you to choose your own ending. You can stop reading five pages before the end, and enjoy a happy ending where the good guys win; or you can get the real world ending. Both are satisfying... I recommend reading all the way to the end.

So, just a few quotes for you...

“Wolf died of a disease called America.”

This line gutted me. I didn’t realize how much I loved Wolf as a character, until I had to read a follow-up that didn’t include him. His soul was too clean and beautiful for a fucked-up world like the one we currently live in.

“He doesn’t like the cell phone to begin with- twenty-first-century slave bracelets, he thinks them...”

No explanation needed.

“Why must life always demand so much and give so little? Parkus answers her question with a single word: ka.”

Again, no explanation needed.

Was this book as good as The Talisman?

No.

Did I want more?

Absolutely.

But was I satisfied with the end?

You bet your (un-chomped on) ass.

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 33

Total Dark Tower References: 50

Book Grade: A-

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

The Talisman: A+

Wizard and Glass: A+

Needful Things: A+

On Writing: A+

The Green Mile: A+

Hearts in Atlantis: A+

Rose Madder: A+

Misery: A+

Different Seasons: A+

It: A+

Four Past Midnight: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

Bag of Bones: A-

Black House: A-

The Wastelands: A-

The Drawing of the Three: A-

Dolores Claiborne: A-

Nightmares in the Sky: B+

The Dark Half: B+

Skeleton Crew: B+

The Dead Zone: B+

Nightmares & Dreamscapes: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon: B

Storm of the Century: B-

Cycle of the Werewolf: B-

Danse Macabre: B-

The Running Man: C+

Thinner: C+

Dark Visions: C+

The Eyes of the Dragon: C+

The Long Walk: C+

The Gunslinger: C+

Pet Sematary: C+

Firestarter: C+

Rage: C

Desperation: C-

Insomnia: C-

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Gerald’s Game: D

Roadwork: D

Christine: D

Dreamcatcher: D

The Regulators: D

The Tommyknockers: D-

Now I move onto From a Buick Eight. I’ve had an advanced reading copy since the book came out, but never had the urge to actually read it. That should tell you everything you need to know about my level of enthusiasm right now. I’m hoping it’s not a Christine 2.0.

Until next time, Long Days & Pleasant Nights, Rebecca

#black house #the talisman #the dark tower #stephen king #peter straub #constant readers #ka #wisconsin #albert fish #dahmer

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stunudo · 6 years

Text

Infiltrated: Part 9

A FBI Agent reader thrusts herself in the middle of the Reaper investigation, leaving the BAU questioning if they need her. Foyet unleashes another layer to his manipulation of Aaron Hotchner and his team. Is this consulting agent trustworthy? Something about her tells Hotch that this case is just as important to her as it is him. Can she work both sides of the law to meet her means? A salacious series of smut and betrayal…. Spotify playlist

Setting: Season 5

Series

A/N: If you haven’t seen episode 100, you’re not going to understand the leaps in this chapter. Go watch it, bring tissues. I didn’t want to do an entire episode rewrite as it is phenomenal and shouldn’t be touched. But I added some dialogue to continue the suspense of our reader’s fate. xoxo Stu

Warnings: Blood, violence, moral repugnancy, and general unsub behavior. Major Character Deaths. This is the definition of angst.

Aaron Hotchner had stepped down as acting Unit Chief after he felt pressured from his superiors to do so. As he looked Derek Morgan in the eye and admitted that he had been sleeping with a woman who had an unhealthy connection and possible vendetta against George Foyet, he finally saw that his judgement had been compromised. He was not fit to lead his team like this.

“What about Y/N?” Hotch asked Morgan after he went over everything that Garcia had compiled.

“Withholding evidence, impeding an investigation and accomplice to murder, for starters,” He replied, waiting for Hotch’s rebuttal. A lawyer always has to have the last word.

“You’re going to arrest her? She’s the best link to Foyet we’ve got!” Hotch was on the edge, his brain trying to keep up with the taste of copper in his mouth, he had been chewing the inside of his cheek as he had read the chat logs and looked over some grainy surveillance stills.

“Okay,” Morgan’s voice was calm, yet challenging. “How about we try it your way? Huh? Wine and dine her into handing over the unsub?”

“Morgan, that’s not what this is about.” Hotch started. “We need to set up a trace on her, she’ll draw him out without even realizing she’s helping us.”

“I think we both know that she’s better than that,” Morgan gave Hotch an indifferent head shake. Just then JJ rushed into Morgan’s office with a look of revelation on her face.

“What if Foyet was supplementing with over-the-counter meds?”

The thrill of it all, that’s what he was going to miss. Not the mindless hours of stalking his prey from afar, but the moments when sheer ingenuity paid off. Haley Hotchner fell for his distressed Marshal routine like a drunk prom date. Soon he would be rubbing Hotchner’s face in the mess that his self-righteousness had made. George had a few stops before he would be bringing the little family together again.

He couldn’t wait to see the look on Hotchner’s face when he showed up.

You hadn’t gone home since the night with Aaron, deciding to go for a run before reassessing how you could track down Kassmeyer and eventually Haley and Jack. Your burner rang in the glove compartment before you were out of the parking spot near the park fountain.

“I thought we were done with this game.” Your tone impetuous.

“I thought you should know your little buddies at the BAU caught my scent. Might want to watch your back.”

You swallowed, hard. The sweat from your run freezing down your neck and locking onto your spine. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Always so hostile the morning after? I guess Hotchner doesn’t know how to give you the release I can.” You shouldn’t have been surprised, but it still triggered your defenses.

“What are you going to do?” You changed the subject, not wanting to think about last night and what it meant now that the BAU were on George’s tail.

“Is that concern Agent Turner? You should probably look into keeping those emotions in check. We’re almost to the finish line.”

You felt it, the inevitability of trying and failing to control a force like the Reaper. He remained ahead of you, the FBI, the Boston PD and the US Marshals. You were truly frightened for the first time in a long time.

“Uh-oh, that’s my other phone. Sorry doll, but I think its your boyfriend on the line.” Without any formalities, the call went dead.

“After I finish you, I’m going to find that little bastard son of yours. And I’m going to show him both of his dead parents and I’m gonna tell him that all of this was all your fault.” George taunted and Hotch sprung back at him.

Each punch landing on the face of pure evil, each impact satisfying fuel to his grief and guilt. The rage of his father surged through him and he let go of his years of restraint.

“Oh, shit. You got me. I surrender,” George almost smiled up at him. Hotch was done listening. Each thing that this man had taken from him and others flashed through his mind as Hotch’s fist connected over and over to Foyet’s battered skull.

“Turner was right about you, Hotch. You’re no boy scout,” George groaned, that cocky smirk sneaking up as the life left his body. Before he even heard the sirens, Derek was pulling Hotch off of Foyet’s corpse. And he crumbled.

Hotch had never felt relief like this before. He found Jack, safe, in the cubby beside his desk in the home office.

“I worked the case just like you said,” his innocent voice was a choir of angels.

When Jack was firmly in JJ’s arms, Hotch lost his composure again. The gratitude and loss sending shock waves through his body. His feet took him back upstairs, finding Derek holding Haley’s lifeless hand. He drew her body to his chest and let it go.

“Get out of here, go see if they need help downstairs,” Derek’s deep voice spoke to someone behind him. Hotch’s sobs shook his entire being. Derek let him be, but all too soon, the scene needed to be cleared for processing.

“I don’t understand if Haley was killed in the front room and brought up to the bedroom, why is there so much blood in the pantry?” Emily asked quizzically to Rossi and Reid as they slowly walked out of the house.

Hotch hadn’t caught the details when he stormed inside, searching for his family and for Foyet. “How much blood?” His throat was raw.

“At least a quart,” Reid replied. Rossi froze and looked at Hotch, something inside them both told them Foyet wasn’t done yet.

Derek moved to the techs immediately, “I want this blood analyzed asap, we might have another victim out there.”

“Is there someplace he would take her?” Emily looked at Hotch concerned. “Would he have had time to kill her and move the body?”

“If he had killed Agent Turner while he waited for Haley to meet him, he would have.” Reid suggested.

“Wait, would she have known where he was taking Haley?” JJ asked.

In unison, Derek, Rossi and Hotch confirmed with a tense, “Yes.”

Emily and JJ shared a confused yet weighted look.

“We can’t be sure this is Y/N’s blood. Let’s send teams to search her place and mine. Derek, put out an APB and get a hold of Garcia to see if Y/N has somehow turned up to work today.” Hotch doled out instructions, over Derek’s authority.

Emily and Rossi led their team of agents up to the small apartment on the fourth floor. The old carpeting soft under their increasing footsteps.

“There’s no way he could have dragged her up here without someone seeing him.” Emily said in disbelief.

“Well, maybe we’ll get lucky and we’ll get to arrest her instead.” Rossi snipped, the weariness laced through his voice. With the key they got from the super, they entered the large living-dining-kitchen combination. Splattered over every reachable inch of the main wall were photographs, maps and charts. Rossi grimaced as his team members’ faces squinted into the distance of surveillance shots scattered before him.

“Holy-” Emily stepped back.

Rossi didn’t reply, he just dialed his phone. “Garcia- send a full evidence collection crew to Y/N’s place. We need to find her before she’s too far gone.”

“Gone? As in dead gone or off the grid gone?” Garcia squeaked over the speaker phone. Emily glanced over to Rossi, “I’ll get Reid over here.”

You had wiped the dingy studio where you had first been with Aaron. Trying to remain calm, you pulled into your regular apartment, where George had spent the most time with you. This would take a bit more effort to clean up, but you figured the BAU had their hands full today. You had missed the SUVs on the curb since you entered from the underground parking lot. But the peons in blue windbreakers sent you back down the stairwell in a single motion. You were out of time.

You were walking along the quaint downtown street in a daze, your arms lolling at your sides as you hopped over the cracks in the sidewalk. Your belly was full of cotton candy, the remnants sticking between your little fingers. You were six years old.

Jumping out of the truck you waved behind you, trying to sneak in past curfew through the side door in the kitchen. The ceiling fan light whirred to life as your mother’s unamused face met you from the breakfast table. You were fifteen.

Your dad barked at the ump, the Sox were down by two. You had saved up your babysitting money all summer to buy an official jersey to wear on the first day of senior year. You couldn’t believe you were almost an adult and out in the world on your own.

Running into the police department with your waitress uniform still on, your eyes burned with tears. You had heard that the FBI wasn’t able to find the bastard, but you weren’t going to let them quit, not yet. A younger agent asked you to calm down in a low tone, you balked at him. His dark eyes framed with impossible lashes which only made you more angry that he got to stand there looking pretty while you were a fuming mess.

George’s eyes lingered on you whenever Colson took notes. There was something hypnotic about them. You had learned to channel your anger into your studies, graduating early and moving on to the academy had happened in a blur. Life as an FBI agent wasn’t as glamorous or dangerous as the movies had people believe, but it got you where you wanted to go.

You hadn’t expected that playing a part in this saga of violence would have you falling in love with the very agent who had turned his back on your parents’ murders. You hadn’t expected the control you had given George over your body would have been a grounding force for your tortured mind. You had lost your mission and therefore your redemption. It was time to leave the past in the past.

You got up from the bench in the library foyer and moved on.

Walking into headquarters you held up your hands, the security guards had their weapons raised as soon as they spotted you. The few agents checking in for their shifts backed them up accordingly.

“I’m here to turn myself in, but I need to see Agent Aaron Hotchner on the sixth floor first.” The head of security nodded and a heavy set man from the cyber crimes stepped behind you, locking your hands behind your back in a cold biting pair of cuffs.

The elevator ride was stuffy and filled with bitterness, your arresting agents’ comm units buzzing over your circumstances. You wanted to make a joke, but they didn’t deserve your charms at the moment. The called floor dinged and the doors spread open to their bullpen. You inched forward with the weight of the agent’s pudgy fists on your back.

“Hey, guys, sorry I’m a bit tied up at the moment. Hotch around?” You kept your head up and waited for JJ to sprint up the stairs, pass the chief’s office and duck into the round table room. Morgan and Rossi emerged followed quickly by Hotch, who was holding Jack as the gentle smile fell from his face.

You exhaled, letting the bruises and despair of Hotch’s face tell you what you needed to know. Haley was dead. But Foyet hadn’t won, not completely. Hotch stood tall and the little boy remained untouched.

“I, Y/N Y/L/N would like to make a formal confession of my crimes, Agent Hotchner. But only if you will hear me out.”

@benedictcumberbatchstolemyheart @a-unique-girls-heaven @gummiishark @rottendaisies @sunnygubler @lovebodymindstuff @archaic-zugswang @darkheartednerdwithglasses @mikri-oneiropola @princesswagger14 @justwinchesterme96 @profiler-in-training @kennybud @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed @conversations-with-you-61065 @dontshootmespence @moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown @cynbx @cherry-loves-fanfic @hotchnerfuckmeup @illegalcerebral @omallieallie @creativecody16 @kandii395 @tiny-potato-lives @april1535 @gabriellewritermua @daisydukes34 @fandomsxo @sonhadoraativa @nea90sweetie @mimiashton @thespaceprincess @emeliapondraggedymanfan @hgal @yellow-goddess @kindlekix @shawtygonemad @praisethetalos @fand0trash03 @sweetmurder12345 @etp666 @briannavillian @heartsaved @beingbluntlyblount @musicalglitterunicorn @burningmusicmachine @whatwhatwhat

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