Hello. I love your Keenler writing. Can you please write AU Keenler? Where Liz is pregnant with their first child, and she's having a cravings in the middle of the night. But she doesn't want to wake Ressler as he just got home. So she just went by herself and when Ress wakes up, he panics trying to find his beloved wife and when Liz home she have another cravings, this time for her husband. As she know how lucky she is for having Ress. Thank you.
It's the middle of the night, and Ressler wakes up and stares with unfocused eyes into the dark room. Slowly the room comes into view around him. The clock at his bedside reads 3:32am, reporting loud and clear he only has 2 and a half more hours before its high pitched alarm will jolt through his sleep. Unsure what's woken him, he turns to make sure he hasn't woken Liz. Only to find her side of the bed empty, with sheets tossed aside and the soft outline of her head in her pillow.
"Liz?" he calls softly, hauling himself out of bed. Checking the bathroom and finding it empty he then spies the light coming from under the bedroom door. Exiting their room, he pads down the hallway to the kitchen where the light is coming from. "Liz?" he repeats, sure by now that his pregnant wife is up munching on fried pickles or jellied Oreos or some such concoction. "You okay, sweetie?"
But the kitchen is empty. At the sight of a spilt yogurt on the floor, his heart rate quickens. "Liz? Where are you?" Voice raised, now he checks the living room, then goes back up the hallway past their room to the nursery. Or what will be the nursery, since all it consists of now are yellow walls and baby furniture still in packing boxes on the floor. He jogs back up the hallway to open the door to Agnes' room, just in case, but knows it's empty since she is with her father this weekend. Liz is nowhere in the apartment.
"Jesus…" he curses, turning back to his room and swiping his phone off his bedside table. He calls her number, not even caring that it's 3:36am. His call is immediately heard on her phone – on her bedside table. As her phone rings and lights up across the room from him, the pit of his stomach lurches.
"Shit." Where the hell is she? "Liz!" And he's at his closet, flinging it open to throw on jeans and a shirt. Stuffing his feet into boots, he quickly ties the laces, grabs his gun and makes for the front door. He doesn't know where she is, but he's damn well not going to sit around and wait for her at home. Grabbing his car keys from the bowl by the door, gun still in hand he's about to tear open the door when he sees the lock slowly turn. It stops, then turns again.
Spidey sense on full alert, his gun is drawn in the dark as the front door slowly opens. It's dark, but his gun is held on the intruder. "Don't move!" he yells, only to hear a familiar voice.
"Oh, my God! Ress! It's me!"
His gun drops immediately. "Liz! Where the hell have you been?!" he's demanding, quickly closing the front door behind his wife. Now he sees the plastic shopping bag. "You went shopping at 3:00am?!"
"I'm sorry! Oh, my gosh, I'm so sorry! But you got home so late and you were asleep and I didn't want to wake you and-"
"You scared the crap out of me!" he tells her, still panting hard, not letting her finish. His arm is around her, ushering her into the living room where he flips on the lamp before she sits on the couch. As he stands above her, he mentally checks her over to make sure she's okay.
"Well, then we're even, because you almost scared the crap out of me, walking into my home to find a gun on me!" she admonishes, motioning to his hand.
He looks down, almost having forgotten he still had his piece in his hand. "Oh, right, sorry," he says, exhaling heavily before placing the gun on the side table. "But don't do that again, okay?"
She doesn't answer, and soon her hand is at her lips as she tries to hide her smile.
"What, this is funny to you?" he asks, seeing the smile.
"No, it isn't. Of course not," she says, but the words are meaningless as her smile broadens and she can't hide it. "Okay, yes, it kinda is. I mean you have to admit. I go out for peanut brittle, jalapeno poppers and mango ice cream and come back to find my Boy Scout husband in full on combat mode." And at that she laughs out loud and attempts to haul herself off the couch. But her 6-month pregnant belly has other ideas as she flails about.
He reaches his hands out to help haul her to her feet, which she grabs gratefully. "You walked to the corner store at 3:00am, but you can't get off the couch?" he teases as she leans against him.
"Yeah, well I blame you for that. It's completely your fault," she says seriously, rubbing her swollen belly.
"My fault?" he asks, raising his eyebrows, knowing where this is going. "And how do you figure that one? Did I forget to add peanut brittle, jalapeno whatevers and strawberry-"
"Mango."
"-mango ice cream to the shopping list?" he asks.
She grins, placing her arms around his waist, which is no mean feat with their unborn child between them. "Poppers. Jalepeno wrapped in bacon with cheese inside," she clarifies.
He rubs her back, resting his chin on her hair. "Sounds utterly disgusting. No wonder I didn't buy them," he tells her, feeling her chuckle against him.
"But it's your fault because of this bump that's between us, giving me cravings for this stuff instead of spending my night sleeping like normal people," she smiles. "All because you put this inside me," she adds, rubbing her belly and looking up at him with a gleam in her eyes.
"Did I now?" he asks, smiling and cupping her belly with his large hand. "As I recall it's not all I put inside you, and you were a willing participant at the time."
She folds into him, laughing as she stands in his arms. "Facts. See, it's always about facts with you."
"Just the facts, ma'am," he smiles, kissing the top of her head. "And here is another fact. If you're going to eat that mango ice cream, I suggest you do it quickly before it melts."
"Oh crap, I forgot about that! And the jalapenos will be getting cold!" she says, leaning up to kiss him before she grabs the plastic bag and makes her way to the kitchen. He shakes his head, watching her waddle away. He adores the little waddle, but he'll never tell her that because he doesn't want her self-conscious about it. He'd seen it when she was pregnant with Agnes 3 years ago, and now loves it again. He follows her, then grabs a few paper towels to wipe the floor.
"What happened here? Yogurt knew it just wasn't going to cut it so it committed suicide?" he asked, wiping the floor clean of its slippery spill.
"Well, it almost made the cut, but I dropped it and well, I…" she stops, biting her lip and smiling.
"The baby wouldn't let you bend down that far," he finishes, standing behind her now with his arms around her middle, resting his hands on his child.
"Exactly," she agrees, unwrapping the jalapeno poppers from their foil tray. "Still warm," she says and holds one up to him behind her as his chin rests on her shoulder.
"Okay, I'm game," he tells her, opening his mouth and eating it from her fingers. He's surprised at how good it is, but isn't going to take food from his pregnant, craving-struck wife. "Just as I thought, utterly disgusting," he says, smiling as he moves from her to put the ice cream in the freezer.
"No, don't put it away, I need that too," she says, before eating another popper.
"Of course, how silly of me," he says, before grabbing two bowls from the cupboard and placing half melted mango ice cream in each. Placing hers before her with a spoon, he leans against the kitchen counter and eats his ice cream while she alternates between hers, peanut brittle and the jalapenos.
"Not bad. Now this, I could add to the shopping list," he says, taking another mouthful of the half melted mango ice cream and licking his spoon.
As she finishes her 4:00am snack, she's looking at him. And he knows that look. It's entirely responsible for why they're now having their first child.
"You got something else you're craving?" he asks, placing their bowls in the sink as he turns back to her.
"I don't know," she says, sidling up to him and leaning on his chest. "I thought I might have me some dessert. I mean, I'm pregnant and I do have all these unmet cravings," she says cupping his cheek with her hand.
"Well, far be it for me to deny a pregnant woman," he says, then leans down and kisses her nose. "I'll get you some more ice cream," he teases.
"Oh, ice cream's not going to cut it this time, babe," she says, leaning up and planting a long kiss on his lips.
He breaks free, runs his tongue over his bottom lip and pulls her closer to him, despite the baby bump against his own stomach, dropping his head to whisper in her ear. "What did you have in mind, then, if not ice cream?" he teases, kissing her neck.
She giggles, and he smiles, knowing she both loves and hates it when he kisses her neck. "My ticklish wife," he whispers, and continues to kiss her neck, before moving up and placing a kiss on her lips.
She moves back from him as he steals another kiss before she drags him by the hand. Flipping off the kitchen light he follows her back to their bedroom, his hand firmly in hers. And he smiles, because despite being married for over a year, he sometimes can't believe she is his. Closing the bedroom door behind them, he follows her into the room, tosses off his boots without untying the laces and stands before her.
"Oh, now this just won't do," she teases, turning back to him, unbuttoning his shirt and unzipping his jeans. "Far too many clothes here, babe."
"Funny, I was thinking the same thing," he murmurs, removing her sweater, then catching his breath as her hands find his undershorts.
"Food isn't the only thing I crave," she whispers, leaning against his now naked body, biting his bottom lip gently as his arms encircle her, dropping her remaining clothes to the floor.
He lifts her up, baby and all and gently deposits her in their bed. She reaches up to him as he descends over her, mindful of her bump as his hand traces her swollen belly and moves downward.
"You realize, this is how we got into this predicament," she smiles, cradling his head by hers, running her fingers through his short hair.
"Wife, you talk too much," he whispers, planting his mouth on hers, ending all conversation. Because he might not be the one who is pregnant, but he fully understands cravings.