Category: fanfic


Peter Quinn  ‖  John Book

If I was still writing Quinn/Carrie fanfic, this would make an awesome alternate universe fic. Peter Quinn is a cop from Philadelphia sent to investigate a murder witnessed by an Amish child – Franny – while traveling by train to Baltimore with her mother, Carrie. Quinn gets shot, of course, and Carrie and her father-in-law, Saul, help to keep him alive. (Carrie’s late husband and father of Franny is Brody.) Dar Adal is the bad police chief that is trying to take Quinn out for good.

In my story, of course, Quinn and Carrie definitely fuck and they end up “getting out” of Amish country together.

The Fucking End!

Chapter 19 of Little River Ledge

It‘ll be Christmas soon and Carrie and Quinn drive to Virginia for Carrie‘s reunion with Franny.



 **Please pay little attention to the past/present tense faux pas – I’m not Hemingway after all… 😉

 He had 24 hours. Nazir was dead and he had 24 hrs. to
himself. Estes had given Quinn some time before “Operation Brody” was back in
effect. He had a whole day and he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.
That morning Quinn slept. He woke up at 10:00am and couldn’t remember the last
time he slept that late.

The only thing he had planned that day was to replace the
Sports-coat he lent Carrie. He wasn’t about to ask for it back. His afternoon
melted away. Later that night, after ignoring yet another text from Allie,
Quinn decided to go out for a drink. He never went out by himself
but having had little or no contact with anyone outside of the CIA within the
past few months, tonight he felt it necessary.

With no intention, other than to prove himself a human
member of society, Quinn left his apartment. There was a little dive bar off
237 that he would frequent but tonight, Quinn decided to visit a nicer
establishment. It was a cocktail bar, not usually his speed but as he
walked in, it was more relaxed than he anticipated, as was he. He ditched his
dull fatigue button down for a navy crewneck sweater and darker pants. The
lighting was quiet, the music was soft. He ordered a drink and then looked

He saw her sitting at the bar, and he never, well hardly
ever, just went up to women in bars. She sat alone, or at least he thought she
was alone. He watched her for a minute or two, saying goodnight to her girlfriend
who left, then turned and proceeded to nurse her drink solo. She didn’t seem to
be in any rush and appeared to enjoy the solace and the last sips of her drink.
Her shiny hair cascaded well over her shoulders and she had a sweet, heart
shaped face and pretty, warm smile. Quinn, from walking behind her, noticed her
small waist which melted into a beautiful round bottom perched on the bar
stool. There was something about her that made him think “this may be worth it”.  

Quinn saw a small space between this woman and the other
stool and moved to stand by it. She had no choice but to look up at him. When Peter
Quinn stands by you, you look up.

Quinn narrowed his eyes at her and saw her face was sweeter
than he first thought. “Hi”, Quinn murmured
to her. She focused her eyes up and noticed his face, She appeared to be taken
aback. “Hi” she whispered back. What do you want?” Quinn asked. “Excuse me?”, she replied with a skeptical smile. “A drink”, Quinn asked again, “I’d like to buy you a drink.” Her
eyebrows lighten and she smiled slightly at his awkwardness. “Oh, ok…”, she nodded with a shared
understanding of what’s happening. Maybe
a Margarita?”,
she smirked
at him as Quinn handed her the bar list. She could feel his eyes on her as she
read, she looked up at him and smiled, they looked at each other for a little
longer than two people would, they almost seemed to be soaking each other in.

Her name was
Bridget. She ordered a drink and they talked. About nothing really but Quinn
found out why she was there, a friend’s birthday, and why she was still out,
because she rarely went out so she figured to make it worth her while. “What are you drinking?”, she asked Quinn
noticing a drink already in his hand. “A
Sazerac… some bougie cocktail”,
he answered with a smile. “What’s in it?” she asked with curiosity,
as if the drink would reveal something of the man. ” Rye whiskey, some sugar, lemon peel and bitters I think…” Quinn
replied realizing that he was a little nervous. “Ooohh that is bougie”, she looked at him with some side eye, Quinn
smiled at her comment and she continued, “I
thought it was a shot at first, your hands are so big that when you hold that
glass it looks really tiny.”

He grinned at her
comment. This is flirting, he thought. It didn’t come natural to him but it was
nice to flirt with someone who wasn’t a senior citizen working at a donut shop.
Bridget, now margarita in hand, raised her glass to his to cheers. “I’ve had this margarita before, it’s good”,
she took a sip and looked up towards him.
“Would you say the best one you’ve ever had?”,
Quinn asked her. “Uh…no, maybe… I’m trying to think…”,
she stumbled over his question with a smile. “Well I know where to find the best margarita…”, Quinn
boasted with a smirk. “Ok”, she
entertained him, “Where is that?”

“Well”, Quinn explained, “We’d have to
go to Mexico. Rosarito, Mexico. They put controy in it; it’s orange liquor,
lime juice shaken on the rocks, pretty tasty.”,
she narrowed her eyes at
him “Well that sounds really good”,
at that point she began to look him up and down.

“I’ll have to see when the next flight leaves”. Quinn’s own flirting game surprised him.
He’d been out of it for a long time and was pleased he still seemed to have
some semblance of charm. “Well I’m game”,
she smiled back at him. They clinked their glasses together and looked at each
other as they sipped their drinks. Quinn
sat down in the empty stool next to her, and after all of 35 minutes of small
talk, and more flirting, accompanied by some light touching, Quinn decided enough
time had gone by.

“Want to get out of
Quinn’s smile and gaze caused Bridget to exhale deeply. She looked at
him a bit surprised, but without any hesitance nodded and said “Yes. Now.” They smiled again at each
other and within minutes were off in a car back to her place.

She opened her front door and Quinn’s smile turned into a more
serious gaze. Then, with that same look of appreciation as before, they find
each other in a kiss. Her head is in his hands, they kiss now with a sloppy lust. Quinn
then pulls her head from his, they look at each other and she nods yes to him
and smiles. He quickly lifts her up around his waist, and she gasps. As she leans
in to kiss his neck, he looks around for the closest place to start. They go to
her sturdy kitchen table, he hastily sets her down and in a manic rush, it

Quinn reaches underneath her black dress and with urgency
takes off her underwear, at this same point she is unbuckling his belt, he
hitches up her dress and then quickly tears down his own pants and underwear,
he takes his hand and leads his dick into her with a warm, strong thrust, she
moans loudly in relief of his penetration. They stare each other in the eyes
and quickly smile, she gasps again, and he grunts. Her legs wrap around his
lower back and he pushes her knees up. Quinn drives swiftly and hard into her
and she holds on to the sides of the table as he does. They kept steady eye
contact as, like a rapid heartbeat, after just a few minutes or so, they
breathlessly come. They were both smiling while they softly laugh and kiss. “Shit”, Quinn whispered into her neck,
kissing her lightly there. She leans back to kiss him again, her tongue dipped
lightly into his mouth as his hands massaged her ass. They looked at each other
again. “I really don’t do stuff like this”,
she confessed with a small smile. “I
never do stuff like this
”, Quinn backed away a bit from the table to pull
up his pants. “Peter, this was great, I
she tripped a bit over her own words. “I’m not staying, it’s och…” Quinn said this with kindness as he leaned
in to kiss her cheek, “I know you have a
he told her with a nod. “I…What?”, she asked grimacing slightly. Quinn reassured her “I saw his shoes when we first came in, it’s OK”, he smirked towards her and she smiled back at him. “Well, it’s pretty complicated…”, she
added sliding off the table. Quinn reached around to hold her neck tenderly. “Oh trust me, I get complicated” he
said leaning in to kiss her once more.

Super hot!!🔥🔥🔥 For mature audiences only!

Thanks, @lizzyervs !!!

It makes me happy to think that he met a kind soul like Bridget and had some fun amidst all that drama. Sweet flirting game!




first law: write the fic you wish to see in the world aka goddammit do I have to do everything myself around here

second law: it’s going to be longer than you think. much longer. hahaha so long. why are you crying 

third law: the time spent writing is inversely proportional to the amount of smut present, dammit

fourth law: flesh out your secondary characters. make them real people. have them take over. oh god. put them back. somebody please help 

fifth law: the time spent researching canon is directly proportional to the amount of time you’ll spend altering your plot. that one person on the internet 

sixth law: the time spent researching in general will eclipse the time you spend writing. the nsa agent monitoring your internet search history is curled up in a corner. his boss wants to know if you’re a threat. “I don’t know,” the agent sobs. “I just really don’t know.” 

seventh law: at some point, someone will ask what your favorite hobby is. you will feign a heart attack to get away

eight law: cultivate your fannish friends, because someday you will need to know bedroom layouts in fifteenth century Estonian villages or the lyrics to that 80s garage-band song you heard twice, and Google will have nothing.

Calling on @blackkatmagic

So true. All of them.


A Comfort & Warmth

The morning Roya and her crew were busted, Quinn went on a coffee run. 

Christ he was tired. What a fucking night. After a phone call Quinn hadn’t expected, he now knew he was completely made by Saul and then to top it all off, the pressure from Dar Adal made him feel sick.

That morning Peter Quinn woke up with his sleeping bag on the floor. He must have kicked it off during the night and not realized. He woke up at 5:30am, almost 2 hrs. before his alarm was supposed to go off. “Fuck it” he thought and clambered out of bed. Quinn slept shirtless the night before with a pair of fairly worn grey jogger pants, he now regretted that choice as he was already sweating, but it easily could have been a cold sweat from a shit night’s sleep. Even sweaty, he still smelled good. Peter Quinn’s smell was consistent. It was pure; clean clothes, clean sweat, an understated scent of his deodorant, and sometimes he might smell a little smoky, but not this morning.

After a quick shower he mindlessly dressed in his uniform as of late – navy pants, a dull, fatigue linen button down and his worn pair of loafers where the back almost didn’t exist.

It wasn’t even 7am and he was out the door. In much need of his 1st(of many) caffeine fixes of the day, Quinn was headed towards the Tim Horton’s off Massachusetts Ave. He didn’t have a “go to” coffee place, but there was something special about this Tim Horton’s that brought him in more frequently than other coffee chains. And she was standing behind the counter.

“What’ll it be gorgeous?”… Donna, thank God for her. Donna, who Quinn was fairly certain was older than Tim Horton himself, greeted him the usual way. Donna had to be at least 70. Her over processed blond hair was always up, her blood red nails curled around the buttons on the register and the way she peered over her glasses at Quinn always made him smile. “Morning” he said flashing his dimples at her. “Oh my God this face”, Donna exclaimed talking with her hands, “I could look at that mug all day”. Quinn laughed and ordered four coffees, three with milk, one black for himself. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint it but there was something about this older woman, who obviously had lived a life well before his existence, well… there was something about her that brought him comfort, a comfort and a warmth he couldn’t quite figure out.

Quinn waited for his coffee.

His eyes still felt heavy as he stood at the counter. Deep in thought, a squeal shook him out of the sleepy trance he was in. To his left a young boy, 4 years old – if that- just dropped what looked like a hot chocolate all over the floor of the Tim Horton’s entrance. The young boy became hysterical, as any child would dropping the liquid gold that is a hot chocolate. From the corner of his eye, Quinn watched his mother dip down to him. She comforted this little creature as if his dropped hot chocolate was understandably the worst thing that has ever happened to a human. Quinn’s heart felt tight and he was brought back to his phone conversation the night before. Taking another quick glimpse at this crying boy, Quinn realized that he would be around his son’s age. Did his boy do things like this? Did he cry over a spilled drink? Or was he tougher than that? Did he suck it up, knowing he’d get another one?

Will I get to see you again this week handsome boy?” Donna asked in a sing song voice, interrupting Quinn’s thought. “Of course you will” Quinn smiled at her and walked out with his tray of coffee.

As he arrived at headquarters he handed off the coffee. One was for Saul, who was unappreciative as usual when Quinn placed it in front of him.

Quinn was in work mode now. He let any thought he had from the night before, or even from this morning dissipate quickly, as he often did. He pushed through that tight feeling and realized his loafers felt soggy and shapeless. As he watched the footage from Roya Hammad’s condo entrance, Quinn thought to himself “Maybe it’s about time… I invest in a pair of boots.”

That pulled so many heart strings. Love Donna. What’s wrong with me that I enjoy watching Quinn waiting for coffee?


What Quinn Did…

To the zero followers I have, and to the 5-10 followers I may have one day, please take all that I am about to write with a grain of salt. A thick, chunky grain of pink himalayan salt.

I often think Peter Quinn. And by often, I mean every waking hour of every waking day. I think about Quinn the hero, Quinn the lover, but I also think about the Peter Quinn we never got to see.

Yes, I imagine the exiting bits about his past personal relationships, his secret black op missions, and of course, his relationship (or lack there of) with Ms. Carrie “I’m always scoffing” Matthison. But I’m also obsessed with the Quinn we never had a chance to see. What did Quinn eat? What did he watch on tv? Where did he buy his business-casual neutrals?

Those questions and hopefully more will be answered in “What Quinn Did…”

That screams “Write fic” to me, Lizzy! I am here for it.

Happy Birthday @inchbyinch68 ! Your present is here:

Off To Camp, Part II


You find it here.

Sorry it took me a while but to make up for the delay it’s a loooong chapter.

Chapter 17 Little River Ledge:

I am back! Hope you all had/have a great summer!

This made me laugh!