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bests-mistakes · 4 years ago

Text

hey you / i'm going

summary: your memories with shinichiro sano and how they brought you here.

word count: 2,241™

warnings: swearing. some sad things.

notes: shinichiro and reader are 17. i love the sad chapters. this can be considered a filler. shinichiro sano 4 life. i don't know much about post-secondary (i'm in high school).

many good things have come of the end of high school. unlike the two-week break all japanese citizens receive after completing a school year, most get a break until mid-august to early september, when college begins.

this gives you and shinichiro much time to spend together, and with the end of his leadership of the black dragons, even more. most of your days are spent studying for the entrance exams of the colleges you've been accepted into, and in shinichiro's home.

he's taken up a recent devotion to his academic life, but because of his late admission, not many options are open to him. he's also re-discovered his love for motorcycles and a new love for their construction, beginning to study the in's and out's of one for a chance of receiving an apprenticeship.

he's also ditched that ridiculous gelled-up hairstyle, which you are ever so grateful for, and also gives you much more opportunities to play with his hair.

much of his worries about going your separate ways after high school have alleviated, mostly because you don't go half a week without seeing him or receiving some kind of contact from him.

as happy as you are, not all of the changes in your life are positive. your schedule is busy, filled with work, studying, and shinichiro, who is starting to become less of a priority to you.

you wonder if that's why he starts smoking.

you remember being invited over to his house, the morning after he declares that he’ll no longer lead the black dragons. it’s early, you still wonder if he's slept the night previous to your meeting.

you find him outside on the balcony attached to his room, presumably watching the sun rise as a strange smoke hovers over his head.

you decide not to greet him yet, and instead you’re greeted with shinichiro and a marlboro cigarette in-between his lips when he turns around. you know because you hate the smell, and he knows.

you almost turn around and leave, had he not grabbed you by arm and closed the door that led you inside.

you don't say anything, and neither does he. you watch as the ashes of the cigarette crumble away with each drag of it, until less than half remains. shinichiro taps at the edge of it with expertise, knocking off the remainder of the used up cigarette.

it reminds you of when takeomi smokes, but it looks much worse when shinichiro is the one doing it. he throws the cigarette over the balcony, landing on the apartment complex's entrance where many other cigarette butts reside.

"they don't know." he finally says, referring to his family, and letting out a shaky exhale. you feel his body reverberate along with it, through his grip on your arm. "i'd rather you not tell them."

you don't know what to say. shinichiro has never kept anything from you (not for long, anyway), but it seems that you know much less about him than you think you know. much less than you used to know, and what you know of him now seems to grow littler.

"how long have you been...?" you can't bring yourself to finish your sentence, but you know he'll understand what you mean.

"not very long," he says, avoiding your eyes. "just a few weeks."

you want to ask why. you want to ask how. you wonder if takeomi is behind this. you can't open your mouth to ask anything.

first, it’s him stepping down from the black dragons and acting weird because of it, and just when you think you’re getting somewhere with him, you catch him doing something like this.

"i couldn't think of any way to tell you, i didn't want to keep it from you for long."

your mind can't comprehend or put together any words to answer him with.

"are you mad?"

you look up at him, finally looking back at you. he looks sad. his eyes are tired, highlighted by the eye bags underneath them (and the reflection in his very glossy eyes). his hair is messy, ruffled and looks like it hasn’t been touched in days.

(he's beautiful, you note, but now is not the time; you hope to have the rest of your life to look at him like this).

you lean forward to hug him, embracing him softly as your arms squeeze him impossibly closer to your body. you feel a few tear drops fall onto your shoulder, his chest heaving, and his arms reciprocating the action of yours.

"i want to be mad." you mumble at a tone that only he can hear. "i really want to be. but it feels impossible."

you feel him move back, but press him closer. "it's so hard to be mad at you, shin. i want to feel angry, i want to lecture you, i have so many questions. why it's only you who makes me feel these things, ask these things.

"i've never had someone like you in my life, something i'm not used to and no matter how long we've been friends, and will be friends, i won't be used to. i don't want you to leave me.

"i want to be by your side for the rest of our lives and after that, so please, don't push me away." you reference the promise you made almost eight years ago, on his birthday before mikey was born, almost recreating the scene as you both now have tears falling from your eyes.

shinichiro doesn't say anything in return, and somehow, you feel happier this way. happier that the full weight of your words, your somewhat-confession has not dawned upon you both, that things can go back to the way they were.

(things will never go back to the way they were, and you know that now. still, what's the harm in hopelessly reminiscing the old days and what it'll be like to relive them?)

"i still owe you that ice-cream." he says, reminding you of your promise to him from yesterday.

"i was the one who-"

"my treat." he smiles, one that finally reaches his closed eyes.

you can't say no to him, so you decide to tag along with shinichiro to get ice cream at seven in the morning.

he picks an ice cream parlour all across tokyo, around forty-five minutes away from your current location if you include traffic, stating that it's the best you'll ever taste. the ride on his motorcycle is short, consisting of both of you catching each other up on what you've been up to, discussing plans, and revealing some new information about yourselves to each other.

you don't know that shinichiro's left the black dragons for you. you don't know that he's been making all of these changes in his life to be with you. studying, finding a job, getting one step closer to a life with you; the cigarettes are like a stress relief, making up in the ways you cannot.

(that's what he convinces himself, anyway, a way to justify why he's started smoking. that you’re unable to reciprocate his feelings just like the last girl who rejected him is, and that he’s doing this in an effort to keep you in his life, not make you a part of it. he'll never tell you these things, of course.)

he doesn't tell you about the date he has tonight, his supposed "hit or miss", the one that takeomi claims will end his rejection streak. "20th time's the charm," the bad influence said.

he doesn't want to know why he needs to see you before this date, why it feels forced to go to the date, why his heart picks up its pace when you smile, why he finds himself happiest with you; he tells himself that's just the way it is.

so when six o'clock rolls around, he's dressed in a crisp button-up and his nicest pair of pants, in a waft of old perfume passed decades down to his grandfather. he tells his grandson to cheer up, and that maybe this time, she'll be the one (deep down, they both know that's not true).

he picks her up earlier than planned, wanting to get the date over as soon as possible and get on with his life. he's too busy thinking about tomorrow that he forgets today, and comes to his date empty-handed, but she doesn't seem to mind.

another thing you don't know about shinichiro sano is that he's been meeting up with this girl for weeks, and she seems to like him. she lets him pick the restaurant, like every week, and they sit at the same table as she tells him about her day.

he tries to pay attention, unaware that he daydreams of you in her place, drinking too much water and eating too little of his food. he'll excuse himself for a smoke break, and she'll offer to come with, and he'll sigh, letting her tag along.

they go back inside, pay the bill, and she asks if she'll see him again. he asks what time will work for her, and they decide on 6:00 PM, every time.

this time is different. her smile is different, hollow, something that is not meant to be genuine. she doesn't ask to see him again, and when he begins to show interest in why, she tells him he's lying to himself.

she admits in being interested, but not wanting to be with someone who is destined to be with someone else. he furrows his eyebrows, restating that he's single, and she laughs. he doesn't get it.

he doesn't see that he looks through her, not at her. he doesn't see that he's only ever interested when his "distraction", her, begins to stray away from him. how can he, when he’s so blinded by a love he refuses to realize?

she tells him, again, that she doesn't want to be with someone who’s already someone else's, and leaves shinichiro to take his smoke break, alone.

shinichiro sano doesn't tell anyone that his twentieth and last rejection is on account of his own disinterest, not of the one who rejected him.

EXTRA

when takeomi calls him, he’s half undressed and sulking on his bed. you’re probably asleep right now, he thinks.

shinichiro picks up the phone, prepared to answer his friend’s many questions. “so, how’d it go?”

“i got rejected.” he sighs, and he can hear takeomi’s poor attempt at stifling his laugh through the phone.

the on-going joke of shinichiro never getting one of his confessions accepted is one he himself often laughs at, but recently he’s beginning to feel that it will no longer be a joke.

takeomi’s laughter is much shorter than usual, “because it’s not her, right?”

his heart picks up it’s pace at the mention of you, even if it’s not by name, and he moves his free hand to feel it’s beating.

he doesn’t know what to answer takeomi; he thinks of how he can never bring himself to ask you out, you’re on different planes of existence and it’s already a miracle that you’re friends. he values your friendship and doesn’t want to forsake it because of his unreciprocated feelings.

he decides to vocalize these thoughts, “ever since (Y/N) and i have become friends, it feels like we’ve been competing in a race. we started on the same line, but somehow, she’s always ahead of me. sometimes i stop to catch my breath, but she keeps running towards something greater. there are times i catch up, almost passing her, but just when i do, she impresses me with something amazing, new and unexpected, and she’s back to being ahead of me.”

he doesn’t get a response from takeomi, but he doesn’t expect to. just when he’s about to hang up, does his friend speak.

“do you hear yourself, shin? this is completely different from the shinichiro i know, the one who unites people no matter where they come from, fights for what he believes, and doesn’t let anyone get in his way.”

he sighs, “i’m not like that anymore.”

“you can’t just throw away everything you love for her.”

“i haven’t thrown away everything i love, and as long as she’s here, i won’t!” he exclaims, realizing his volume is much louder than intended.

“then is she that one thing that you love, hm?” takeomi teases, everything going according to his plan. “took you long enough, you know. i didn't even say "(Y/N)", i just said "her". you're really in love.”

shinichiro is much denser than he thinks himself to be, but after finally accepting the one thing he’s been denying for ten years, he thinks he’ll be alright.

(he knows he loves you now, but he’s convinced you don’t love him back. that’s an issue for tomorrow, one he can’t be bothered to think about now, because shinichiro sano loves you, and he’ll do anything to keep you by his side. he’s stopped denying that now.)

EXTRA 2

the next morning, shinichiro calls you to inform of what he told takeomi the night before. your reaction is similar, minus the realization-of-love thing his friend caused.

he can't help but feel irritated with you, feeling that he can't compare to someone so perfect and that you'll never notice him because of it. you're too glad that he's telling you things again to notice.

"after six years and twenty rejections, you finally decide to give up?" you laugh.

"if love wants to find me, it'll have to knock on my doorstep." he grumbles.

(you contemplate knocking on his door.)

"your lack of endeavour is surprising." you remark instead.

he cuts you off before you can laugh again, "so, there's this wedding..."

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utterlyinevitable · 5 years ago

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Doctor D’Ora

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x MC (Becca Lao) x Ethan Ramsey x OC Word Count: 2.3k Warning: angst angst angst Summary: Becca spots Ethan with a new lady friend. This takes place in OHSY about a month after Ethan returns from the Amazon.

A/N: This was meant to be a chapter in the Trials & Tribulations series but I didn’t think it fit anymore and wanted to post this fic as-is before I destroy it.

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He met her on location. The long brown hair, inquisitive green eyes, long legs that held her frame in perfect posture, and a faint minimalistic dove tattoo on her wrist. In another life Dr. Alessandra D’Ora could have been a model. She was brilliant and supportive - a great companion in the lonely Amazonian nights. Just like him she was in her late-thirties, and worked at a private practice in Ontario, Canada. Ethan Ramsey was grateful for her company every one of those sixty lonely nights on location - Alessandra was the perfect distraction from his thoughts.

And now here she was in Boston.

Two weeks after the end of their mission with the World Health Organization she was sat at the table across from him, describing her newest adventure; She’s spending a month guest lecturing on socialized medicine at Harvard Medical.

Dr. Rebecca Lao passed by the window of Alessandro’s and saw the two - her boss and sometimes lover sharing a meal with a stunning woman over delightful conversation two tables away. She stopped in her tracks. They looked so comfortable together. At ease, even. Becca noticed the way his shoulders curved in relaxation much like when they were alone together all those times ago.

There in the damp August evening her heart broke. Ethan was smiling, the crows feet around his eyes on display for everyone to see. Ethan rarely smiled. If she didn’t know him better, she’d be convinced he didn’t have any cracks in his features and his life was devoid from any sort of happiness. But there he was in that navy sports coat, its only purpose to compliment his gleaming eyes, smiling with someone else, laughing at her jokes. He was happy with someone else.

How long have they known each other? Is this new?

Becca ripped her gaze from the deceiving window and pushed the thoughts away just as quickly as they infiltrated her mind. Ethan had abandoned her without a trace all those weeks ago, she didn’t owe him another thought. He made the executive decision to sever their intimate relationship, so she made the decision to keep him away from her life outside the hospital.

Becca headed home, abandoning her takeout mission. If he had moved on so could - should she. She pulled out her phone and rang the second most used number in her contacts recently.

He picked up on the second ring.

“Have you eaten?” Becca asked without pleasantries.

“I could go for some dessert,” she could hear the megawatt smile through Bryce’s playful remark.

“I’ll be over in ten.”

***

Becca started spending more time with Bryce outside of his apartment. They weren’t necessarily hiding their relationship, they just didn’t know what to call it. They were casual. They were friends. Friends who had intimate benefits at the drop of a dime. It wasn’t a secret, but also no one bothered to ask about their title. Bryce hated labels anyway, they didn’t fit with his go-with-the-flow demeanor.

They started spending more time outside of the bedroom and the comfort of the walls around them that let them simply be. With every passing day Becca and Bryce grew closer and bolder in their advances. They’ve played footsies in the cafeteria, kissed for hours on the grass in the park, shared plates at Don Luigi’s, and intertwined their hands at the coffee shops by the hospital.

Today they were sitting in the corner of Derry Roasters, Becca’s go-to for a caffeine fix. Cuddled close together on a half-booth with their backs to the wall and shoulders touching. They were specifically sat right under the overhead speaker which drowned out the world around them and made Bryce’s whispers even more erotic. He’d gotten cocky in the last few days, slipping his hand up her thigh, whispering all the ways he wanted her with hundreds of passersby around.

This time his whisper brought a chill up her spine, it wasn’t what she expected to hear during their brief coffee break.

“Hey, look. Dr. Grumpy’s on a date,” Bryce called her attention to the attending sauntering in.

Becca’s deep brown eyes watched his every step carefully, silently hoping he’d look over to her deep in Bryce’s embrace.

He never did. His eyes were solely fixated on his companion.

Dr. Ethan Ramsey glided over to the table Dr. Alessandra D’Ora had been sat at. She rose when she felt his familiar presence not too many footfalls away. He gave her a hug and Becca unnaturally stiffened under Bryce’s arm at the sight.

“They look friendly,” Becca whispered.

Bryce’s eyes were still dissecting their movements. It was a sight to behold - strict and lone Ramsey was joined by someone and not just anyone, an absolutely stunning woman. “Do you think they’re friends or friends?”

“Et- Dr. Ramsey doesn’t have friends.”

“Hm… looks more intimate than just a business lunch. Wanna find out?”

Bryce rapidly stood up, grabbing Becca’s hand and dragging her briskly through the seating area. They were moving so quickly Becca couldn’t keep her shorter legs in pace with him, when her hand slipped from Bryce’s she felt off balance and collided into the corner of an empty table with a thunk! Bryce spun on his heels to make sure she was okay and backed right into Dr. D’Ora waiting for her order.

Once he was positive Becca wasn’t in any imminent danger he turned back to Dr. D’Ora. “So sorry about that,” he apologized as he steadied himself and the unknown doctor. “You okay?”

Alessandra expertly took in his green scrubs and badge as Bryce flashed her his most flirty smile. “Quite alright, Doctor…?”

“Lahela. Bryce Lahela.” Bryce ran a hand through his hair, a move he was well aware most women couldn’t resist. Becca came over to the pair and he winked at his favorite accomplice, “Should really watch where you’re going, Becks.”

Becca rolled her eyes.

With a sparkle in his kaleidoscope eyes Bryce sent his most charming of smiles to the stranger, “I didn’t catch your name?”

“Dr. Alessandra D’Ora,” she placed her wallet under her arm to free up her hand to shake his outstretched and waiting one.

“Pleasure to meet you, Dr. D’Ora.” He gave her hand two good shakes before letting go and pointing to the awkward doctor beside him. “This is my girlfriend Dr. Rebecca -”

He didn’t get to finish the introduction.

Ethan’s deep authoritative baritone voice rang like warning sirens in her ears. “Rookie. Dr. Lahela. Don’t you have patients to attend to?” Her cheeks began to flush in mortification.

“Just on a break, Dr. Ramsey,” Bryce smiled, “Who’s your friend?”

Alessandra looked between the three of them, noticing the unaddressed new tension between her friend and the doctor he’s spoken about on many occasions. “You must be Dr. Lao,” she outstretched her delicate and manicured hand to Becca. Out of courtesy Becca obliged. “Ethan told me about your excellent diagnosis of Dr. Banerji. Well done, you must be very proud.”

“I’m just happy Naveen’s alive and well,” Becca smiled before tugging on the back of Bryce’s scrubs, “We should get back.”

“Bye, Doctors. Enjoy your date!” Bryce called over his shoulder as Becca all but dragged him away.

Once they were safely out of the eatery Becca let herself relax and her freckles break free of the blush. “I can’t believe you,” she laughed uncomfortably.

Bryce laced his fingers with hers and tugged her closer. “Hey - we learned that Dr. Ramsey has a hot lady friend and he talks about you.”

“And that I’m your girlfriend?” She thought they had an arrangement, they were meant to be a carefree and no-commitment zone. Introducing her as his girlfriend was a shock.

“Well, yeah,” he shrugged. “You’re a girl and you’re my friend. If you were a man you’d be my manfriend.”

Becca rolled her eyes, “Uhuh.”

“Take it however you want, Becks. I’m just happy you choose to spend your free time with me,” he pecked her temple before they entered back into Edenbrook and went their separate ways.

***

Later that day as she was packing up her things to leave the office after the mid-week diagnostics briefing, Ethan called behind her;

“Lao, a word.”

Becca’s eyes went wide. Her and Ethan really haven’t been on the best of terms since he pushed her away the last time they kissed. The closest they’ve gotten to their past level of normalcy was when they were doing a house search for the Lamar Stevenson Case - he held her when she slipped and then with both their knowledge and a bit of banter they solved the case.

With arms folded and a critical eye he inquired, “What was that back there?”

Becca decided then and there that the best way to avoid this awkward conversation was to play coy, “I don’t know what -”

“Whatever you and Scalpel Jockey were doing, don’t,” he defensively interrupted her lame excuse. “My personal relationship with Dr. D’Ora is not hospital gossip.”

The way his shoulders were squared, all his walls were on display and the way he was talking down to her burned a fire deep in her core. “Who is she?” she mimicked his stance and tone.

“A friend.”

“You don’t have friends,” she challenged, folding her arms over her chest.

Ethan let out a long sigh, knowing he’d have to give her something. He didn’t want to fight with Becca anymore. He owed Becca some sort of explanation. He didn’t know why but he felt he needed to tell her.

He rubbed his hand down his face as he said, “We met on mission. Friendships happen when there aren’t any bars around.”

Becca took a second for his words to settle, piecing the puzzle together out loud. “You met her in the Amazon... When you were trying to forget your feelings for me...” she tried to mask the betrayal forming in her throat and creeping up into her features as best as she could. “Did it work? Did she help you move on?”

The tension was built up so high around them that neither could move from their positions only four footfalls away from one another.

“What are you doing with Lahela? Don’t think I haven’t noticed your… closeness,” he spat back. “Are you his girlfriend?” Ethan’s brow was raised high to the sky and blue eyes clouded over with a storm of regret.

“Whatever we are isn’t of your concern. You made that decision for us. You pushed me away.”

“I sure as hell didn’t push you into his arms!”

“No. But you made it explicitly clear I can’t find solace in your arms,” she bit back. Becca’s chest began to heave. Her mind was telling her she needed to pace to muster up the courage to say all that needed to be said, however her feet were stuck there in that spot. His intense gaze paralyzed her, and just looking at his face she adored so much arguing back at her, Becca internally screamed at herself. She assembled every ounce of courage in her frame to retort, “I can’t believe you. You’re meant to be holier than thou, the epitome of a moral compass. Why are you such an ass?”

Ethan’s nose flared and eyes hooded at her words.

They stood in bitter silence staring one another down. He was a statue boring down at her shaking and rageful form. The world of emotions coursing through her veins evident in the way she balled her fists, callusing the skin of her palms with her fingernails. Her brown eyes squinting trying to keep tears from falling and giving her a much-needed release. The loose strands of hair at the crown of her head are the only thing moving with the natural rotation of the earth.

Ethan broke the trance first going to sit down on the couch.

Hunched over with his head cradled in his hands he breathed ever so softly, “She has a private urgent care practice in Canada.” Tugging at the roots of his hair he tried to keep his voice level and calm. “We were on mission together. She’s guest lecturing at Harvard Medical. We’re just colleagues.”

Becca was rightly skeptical, “Like we’re just colleagues?”

“No. Strictly professional.” Ethan finally looked over at her. If Becca stood closer she could see the faintest marks of red in the whites of his picturesque eyes. “Her wife is really supportive of her work.”

Becca’s mouth dropped.

Ethan watched as the woman ten years his junior slumped into the seat next to him, letting her knee brush against his as her hands followed suit to cover her face in embarrassment.

“God. I’m an ass,” she sighed.

Ethan’s shoulders loosened as he involuntarily let a small chuckle slip through his lips. “Yes, yes you are,” he agreed with a smile and shake of his head, placing his hand on her thigh and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Sorry,” Becca mumbled.

He was mesmerized by the feeling of her heat under him, taking him back to all those times he held dear. “I’m sorry… for everything.”

Her hand found his. “I know…”

They couldn’t catch a break. Everything between them was always so complicated. For another moment they let themselves sit in silence, a more comfortable silence where they could simply be Ethan and Becca, not attending and fellow. Just two people finally being honest.

Ethan was the one to shatter the comfortable bubble they’ve found themselves in.

“Are you dating Lahela?”

Becca shook her head to herself. “We’re friends. Really good friends.” It was the truth. Bryce was her best friend, they did everything together. “I should get going,” she gave Ethan’s hand a squeeze before removing it to rise up from her position.

She was halfway towards the door when Ethan spoke, “I’m going to Evelyn’s art exhibit tonight. Do you want to come along?”

________________________________________

Taglist: @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @aylamreads @binny1985 @ramseysno1rookie @interobanginyourmom @queencarb @perriewinklenerdie @rookiefromedenbrook @eramsey28 @choicesficwriterscreations @heauxplesslydevoted @schnitzelbutterfingers @purpledragonturtles @ramseyandrys @ermidc @mrsdrakewalkerblog @doilooklikeiknow @overwhelminglyaquarius @drethanramslay @edgiestwinter @rookieoh @lucy-268 @mvalentine @lilyvalentine @starrystarrytrouble @angela8756 @pitchblackstars @custaroonie @ezekielbhandarivalleros @sanchita012

#open heart #open heart fanfic #choices open heart #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #bryce lahela x mc #bryce lahela #bryce x mc #choices oph2 #choices fanfic #ohsy #oph #oph ff #ff

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years ago

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The Convenient Groom: 12/14

I am so excited to finally get to this chapter because parts of it were some of the first things I wrote for this fic! This is where we earn our M rating, folks. We've got sexy times here that walk a thin line between steamy and smutty. However, that doesn't mean the angst is going anywhere. If anything, we're about to dial it up. You've been warned on all fronts. @spartanguard, I hope you are still enjoying your present. You deserve all the good things!

Summary: Killian Jones just happens to be there when Emma Swan gets the phone call that changes everything: her fiance is leaving her at the altar. The thing is, it could also mean the end of her career. Convenient that Killian has nothing better to do that day. Convenient that he’s secretly in love with her. Not that Emma has to know that. Written for @spartanguard .

Rating: M

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @xsajx @itsfabianadocarmo

The weeks of August slipped by, and as they did, Emma came to feel more and more comfortable with her “temporary” arrangement. She no longer felt the need to put distance between them in the bed. She sometimes woke to find Killian’s arm around her and his nose buried in her hair, and she found she didn’t mind. She had told him she wasn’t a cuddler, and she wasn’t - he was. The thing that surprised her, however, was how comforting it felt. She didn’t feel the need to slip quickly from his arms or squirm away. Quite the opposite, actually. She usually drifted back to sleep for a few more minutes with a contented smile on her face. Come to think of it, she was sleeping better than she had in years.

Her days were simpler here than they had been in New York. Walsh had been concerned that they would miss the excitement of the city, but she didn’t miss it at all. She liked the slower pace of her days, the leisurely meals with Killian, and the lazy evenings of Netflix and hot chocolate. Even when they walked across the sand dunes to join Killian’s family for dinner, it was relaxed, ending with all of them gathered around the fire pit as the stars twinkled overhead.

Kristoff and Anna moved out mid-August, settling into a quaint Cape-Cod style house a few streets over. They closed on the house just in time as tiny Lukas - seven pounds, eight ounces, 18 inches long - made his appearance on August 20th at a little past two o’clock in the morning. Emma and Killian had been awakened from a deep sleep with the news. They had tumbled out of bed in excitement, throwing on clothes, then racing across town to Storybrooke General to see their nephew. It was amazing to Emma how easily she thought of the baby boy that way as she held him in her arms. Technically, he wasn’t even Killian’s nephew, but Anna said technicalities didn’t matter - family was family.

Mary Margaret and David had become family too, welcoming them for dinner often as well. Leo was always excited to see “Uncle Killy” and “Aunt Emmy.” It was a nice change, too - not having to put on an act, since MM and David knew the truth. Although Emma had a harder and harder time telling what was an act and what wasn’t.

August melted into September with barely any change in the weather but a slightly cooler breeze off the water. It was still creeping into the high 70s during the day, though Emma knew that by the end of the month, those would drop about ten degrees. She wondered what their daily runs would look like when the weather really got cold, but she didn’t ask Killian. She didn’t want to think too far into the future these days, and she certainly didn’t want to bring it up in conversation.

They were out for a walk along the water’s edge one evening after dinner when everything changed. They were enjoying the colors of the sunset in silence, tossing a stick leisurely to Smee as they went along, when Killian suddenly got more personal than Emma had wanted.

“Emma.”

“Yeah?” She turned into the wind to see his face, and her hair blew across her eyes so she couldn’t see his expression. By his tone, she imagined his jaw was clenched.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Emma swallowed nervously. “Um . . . sure, I guess.”

He turned and stepped closer to her. He reached out and brushed her hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ears.

“Where is your family?”

His words were gentle, his brow furrowed in concern. This was a topic that she avoided like the plague. She had made it clear in interviews that her past was private. As a matter of fact, as popular as she was on social media, she worked hard to keep her content focused on her work and not her personal life. The only reason her marriage had gotten entangled in it was the nature of that work.

Emma searched Killian’s earnest face and realized that it wouldn’t be fair to him if she refused to answer. He had shared his most vulnerable memories of Milah, after all. She let out a shuddering breath and closed her eyes for a moment, gathering her courage.

“I don’t have one.” She raised a hand to stop his protests. “I mean, obviously I had parents. I have no idea who they are, though. I was a baby when they dumped me on the side of the highway.”

“Surely an adorable baby like you was adopted right away?”

Emma nodded. “Yeah, I was. By a couple in their fifties who were unable to have kids of their own - the Baxters. Thing is, I don’t remember them either. Unfortunately, Mrs. Baxter died suddenly of a heart attack, and Mr. Baxter just couldn’t cope. Family services got involved and took me out of the home on multiple occasions due to Mr. Baxter’s many problems.”

“Problems?” Killian asked softly.

Emma shivered as a breeze blew past, even though she was wearing a sweater over her long sleeved tee.

“Neglect. Substance Abuse. Child endangerment. I’ve read the files. All I really remember is this intimidating man who sat in his La-z-boy drinking beer all day long. I ping ponged between him and multiple foster homes. He didn’t relinquish custody until I was eight, and by that time, no one wanted me.”

“Don’t say that, Emma,” Killian told her in a strained voice. He drew closer and cupped her face in his hands. “You’re wanted.”

She shook her head. “Not then. No one wanted to adopt me by that time. I was too old. Everyone wants a baby or a toddler. I wasn’t . . . enough.”

A single tear slipped down her cheek, and Killian caught it with his thumb.

“Liam and I . . . our dad took off when we were kids. Mum died when I was thirteen. Then it was just us. Foster care didn’t even try to keep us together, but when Liam aged out, he found me.”

“I didn’t have a Liam.”

“You’ve got me now.”

His hands were warm against her face, his breath caressed her lips, his nose brushed hers. The look in his eyes was too much, and she looked away, over his shoulder and across the horizon. Living by the water all these months, it wasn’t the first time she had seen rain moving across the sand and water like a sheet, but she gasped and stumbled backwards anyway.

“Rain’s coming,” she said in answer to the hurt in his gaze. Before he could say anything, she turned and ran down the beach, back towards the house. Smee thought it was a game and ran with her, letting out happy barks. She couldn’t run fast enough. Killian called after her, but she just ran faster. Smee bounced happily across her path, playfully nudging at her heels, and she tripped over his furry body. She didn’t go down at first, pinwheeling her arms and digging in her heels. But the rain had already started to come down, and the sand was slick. Her heels slid forward and she landed on her rear end. Killian was at her side almost immediately.

“Are you alright?” he asked as he helped her up.

“I’m fine,” she snapped, shaking herself from his grasp. She knew it wasn’t fair, but her nerves were raw.

“What were you running from?”

“The rain!” She had to shout as water poured from the heavens in sheets.

“It’s just rain,” he shouted back, “not a storm.”

“I didn’t want to get wet.”

“We’re already wet!”

They were. His hair was flat against his head, and hers was stuck to her cheeks and neck. Emma’s sweater felt like lead across her shoulders, and Killian’s t-shirt was like a second skin, accentuating every muscle.

“You!” she shouted through the downpour.

“What?”

“I was running away from you!”

His gaze was bewildered as he struggled to blink the rain from his eyes. She didn’t know how else to say it, so she acted instead. She grabbed him by a fistful of his soaked shirt and yanked him to her. This wasn’t a kiss for the sake of appearances when there was an audience. This was unadulterated passion - messy, with clacking teeth, bruised lips, and tangled tongues. When she could no longer breathe, Emma pulled back. She had to grasp his shirt tighter as she stumbled in the sand. Killian steadied her, then reached up to peel strands of hair from her cheeks.

“Let’s get inside and dry off,” he told her.

She nodded dumbly, not sure what to say after she’d pretty much humiliated herself. First by running from him like a lunatic, then kissing him like a desperate woman. She released him and turned towards the house. Killian wasn’t far away, his hand hovering a little awkwardly first at her back, then at her shoulder blades.

They made their way up the back porch steps and through the screen door. Luckily, they kept towels there for drying off Smee after he’d been in the water. They scrubbed themselves wordlessly. Smee shook himself, sending water flying all over the porch. Killian scrubbed the dog next, and Emma kicked off her shoes before going inside.

She stood there shivering in the kitchen, water dripping from her sweater and pooling all over the floor. With shaking hands, she discarded her sweater. The loss of its weight felt nice, but the cold air against her did not. The door banged shut, and she turned to see Killian enter with Smee at his heels. His brow furrowed in concern when he looked at her.

“You need to get out of those clothes, Swan, before you freeze to death.”

He had discarded his t-shirt on the porch and stood there bare chested, his skin glistening with rain water, his dark hair hanging tantalizingly over his eyes. She swallowed thickly as desire pooled in her belly.

“I’d like you to get me out of them,” she replied. She meant to say it with playful flirting, but it came out with crackling, straining tension instead.

“What?”

Emma crossed to him in one stride, pressing her palms to his wet chest. His skin was warm and rose and fell with each breath. Time seemed to slow as her gaze met his, then sped up again as she surged closer, sliding one hand behind his neck to yank his lips to hers. He didn’t hesitate, kissing her back with aggression, wrapping one arm around her and tangling his other in her wet hair.

He backed her up against the opposite wall, pressing his wet body to hers. Emma let out a sound that was part moan, part desperate pant as her head dropped back against the wall. They were both frantic now, their hands roaming and grasping. Killian traced her jaw, then the column of her neck with his tongue. As his teeth lightly nipped at her earlobe, his hands found her waist and began pushing the wet fabric of her shirt up her torso. She raised her arms, moaning at the loss of contact with his body as the shirt was pulled over her head. As soon as the garment landed with a wet plop on the floor, Killian assaulted her mouth again, swallowing her groan of pleasure with his tongue. His hands skimmed up and over her chest, leaving fire in his wake. His fingers found one of her bra straps, and he slid it with aching slowness over her shoulder, following the path with his lips. Emma dug her fingers into his hair and thrust her hips forward. He groaned as he lifted his head and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“Emma,” he whispered on a ragged breath, hot against her skin. “I want you so desperately, but are you sure?”

Emma yanked on his hair, forcing him to look at her. His blue eyes were darkened with lust.

“Take me to our bed, Killian.”

“Our bed?”

She answered with an aggressive kiss and another thrust of her hips. Killian’s hands slid up her back, and he unclasped her bra. He broke their kiss to trail his tongue once again down her neck as he slid her bra off and tossed it aside. She panted at the thought of feeling his lips on her breasts, but instead he pulled her flush against him as he claimed her mouth once more. The feel of wet skin against wet skin and the feel of his damp chest hair rubbing against her sensitive nipples sent heat skittering across every inch of her body.

Killian reached around, grasped her by the ass, and hoisted her up. Emma wrapped her legs around his waist. He walked her deftly to the bedroom without breaking their kisses. He deposited her onto the bed and slid both her wet shorts and wet panties down her legs in one deft movement.

Emma was bare before him, and she felt nothing but eagerness. His gaze caressed her, and she had never felt so desirable. She trembled all over as he discarded his shorts and boxers. Up to this point, everything had been frantic and greedy, but now Killian took his time. There wasn’t one inch of her body he didn’t worship, coaxing multiple orgasms out of her before he even entered her. When he did, she was writhing and begging for him, something she never did. She expected him to smirk or laugh at her gasps of “please, please,” but he didn’t. He sank into her slowly, a look in his eyes she had never seen in a man during sex before.

There was a lot about him in bed that shattered everything she thought she knew, and she didn’t know whether to be awed or terrified.

************************************************

The first thought Killian had when he woke up the next morning was that he was colder than he had been before he fell asleep, and he reached out for Emma before he had even opened his eyes. His arms met cold sheets, and he opened his eyes then, puzzled for a moment. Then he heard the shower running, and he relaxed.

A little, anyway.

A lazy smile curled his lips as he thought over the previous night. After making love and cleaning up, Emma had bounced out to the kitchen in nothing but one of his t-shirts, full of energy and flushed smiles. He, on the other hand, was boneless and spent, his chest still heaving.

Emma brought an armload of junk food back to bed, and they had eaten their fill as they talked and laughed. That had been followed by kisses which led to swollen lips, which led to more sex. The second round was rougher than the first, Emma on top, her hair wild and glorious all around him.

He groaned as he buried his face in his pillow, feeling his arousal. He toyed with the idea of joining Emma in the shower, but the water shut off, and he heard the glass door open and shut. As he waited for her, his arousal was replaced with worry as he thought again of last night. He probably shouldn’t have whispered, “I love you” into her skin as he made her come, but she was so bloody glorious, she made it difficult to think straight.

Emma stepped out of the bathroom in her tiny sleep shorts and strappy tank top, rubbing her long hair with a towel to dry it. God, she was gorgeous!

“Morning, love.”

“Good morning,” she said tightly.

He frowned and reached for her. “Come back to bed.”

She shook her head. “I’ve got a lot to do today.”

“On a Sunday?”

She kept her back to him as she tossed the towel to the floor.

“I’ve got that radio interview coming up, remember?”

He sat up, letting the sheets pool around his waist. Emma’s cheeks warmed when she turned back to him, and he gave her his most charming smile.

“Not much you can do to prepare for that.”

She tilted her chin. Uh-oh. “I beg to differ.”

He leapt from the bed before she could reach the door, and he gently grasped her elbow. He drew her close, and she didn’t resist, placing a palm against his bare chest. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, his lips brushing her skin. He could feel her shudder at his touch.

“How about breakfast in bed?”

“I said I’m busy,” she snapped, pushing him gently away and turning to the door. “And put some damn clothes on.”

Killian snatched up a pair of boxers and almost tripped in his haste to put them on. He followed after Emma, finding her filling the coffee pot in the kitchen.

“Emma, we need to talk about last night -”

“I think that was a mistake.”

Killian blinked in shock as he watched her turn away from the sink and pour the water into the coffee maker. Unsurprisingly, she wouldn’t meet his gaze.

“A mistake?”

“Yeah,” she said with a shrug as she opened a cabinet to retrieve a mug. “We’re both adults with sexual desires, and last night we succumbed to them.”

He shook his head. “Are you saying it meant nothing to you?”

Cold dread snaked through his bloodstream as Emma pressed her lips together in a thin line. She set the mug down on the counter, filled her coffee mug, and took a leisurely sip.

“Well,” Killian finally said, his voice thick, “it may not have meant anything to you, but it did to me. I meant what I said last night. I love you, Emma Swan. You can run from that, you can ignore it, but you can’t change it. It’s how I feel about you, and I won’t apologize for it.”

He turned away from her then, mumbling about needing a cold shower. When Emma heard the bathroom door slam, she set her mug down with trembling hands, hugged her middle, and wept.

**********************************************

Emma set herself up on the back porch with her laptop to prepare for the radio show she would be on in the next week. She’d been surprised when Regina set it up, thinking of radio as out of touch with her typical audience, but this show was national and its interviews were also released as podcasts. Emma tried to concentrate on the information Ruby had compiled on the show’s host, but she was distracted by the sounds drifting down the short hallway. The house was so small, she could detect each sound and knew what it meant. Killian just shut off the water in the shower. Now he’s closing the glass shower door. That’s the sound of the handles on the bureau as it opens, so he’s probably getting out new boxers and a shirt. Now he shut the bureau . . .

She set down her mug of coffee and wearily rubbed her head. She was far too aware of him, and far too rattled by their fight. She’d only told the truth. They were adults, they were both attractive. This was bound to happen sooner or later living in such small quarters. It didn’t mean anything.

So why was her heart aching?

It may not have meant anything to you, but it did to me . . . I love you, Emma Swan.

Emma groaned. She could tell herself all day long that it was just sex, but Killian had laid all his cards on the table. And she’d promised Mary Margaret she wouldn’t break his heart . . .

“I’m going to the workshop,” Killian muttered as he came out of the bedroom, his hair still damp from his shower.

“Okay,” Emma said hesitantly. He never went in on Sundays. She wondered if she should try to smooth things over, but before she could even gather her thoughts, the front door was slamming shut.

Emma chewed on her lower lip as she turned back to her laptop. It was a beautiful day with a pleasant breeze blowing off the water and the sun warming the porch. She wanted to soak up every moment of it before the weather turned chilly. Yet it may as well have been freezing cold and stormy for the sinking feeling in her chest. She rubbed her eyes as she rose from the patio table. She wandered back into the house, feeling slightly lost.

She noticed her wet clothes from the night before still laying in the middle of the kitchen, so she scooped them up and took them to the laundry room. Then she went into the bedroom to retrieve her shorts and panties and Killian’s shorts and boxers. His t-shirt and all the wet towels were still in a heap on the back porch. Killian was more pissed at her than she’d thought. He usually never left messes like this. Smee seemed to think the laundry gathering was some sort of game, and he followed her around the house barking. Emma dumped all of the clothes, still slightly damp and sandy, into the washing machine.

Looking down at their jumbled, damp clothes, flashes of the night before assaulted her memory. There were images of bare skin, sweat, and moans of pleasure, but there were memories that were more difficult to process. Blue eyes looking at her with such intensity; words whispered against her flesh. I love you.

Emma slammed the lid of the washer shut, then swore aloud when she realized she forgot the damn soap. She opened it again, dumped in some detergent, then started up the wash cycle.

She was just walking out of the laundry room when a knock at the door made her jump. Smee started to bark threateningly, though Emma knew he would be useless if there were an actual intruder.

“What are you gonna do, huh?” She teased the dog. “Slobber them to death?”

Nevertheless, it was comforting to have Smee at her side as she approached the front door. A fall wreath that Elsa had hung the day before blocked Emma’s view out the door’s small window, so she opened it hesitantly. When she saw who it was, she let out a sharp, loud gasp.

“Walsh!”

“Hi, Emma,” he replied in a tone that sounded halfway apologetic.

Emma’s eyes narrowed and her lips pressed together in an angry line. “Are you crazy? Get off my front porch before someone sees you!”

She reached out and practically yanked him inside. Once she had shut the door and turned to face him, his expression had turned to gleeful satisfaction.

“Afraid I’ll blow your little charade to pieces?”

Emma glared at him. “What the hell do you want?”

“What do you think? I love you, Emma. I wanted to marry you! I still do.”

Emma crossed her arms over her chest. “Really? I thought you were in love with Zelena. Remember her? The woman you left me at the altar for?”

Walsh shook his head. “I was a fool -”

“We can agree on that at least,” Emma snorted.

“Can you just hear me out?”

“I don’t owe you a damn thing, Walsh!”

After Emma shouted, everything went downhill in a blur. Walsh reached out and grabbed her arm, and a second after that, Killian burst through the door. Later, Emma would realize how it must have looked to him - her shouting and then running in to see Walsh grabbing her - but in the moment, it was jarring. One moment Walsh was grabbing her, and the next Killian was flinging the man against the opposite wall.

“Don’t you lay a finger on her!”

“What the hell!” Walsh cried.

“Yeah, what the hell!” Emma protested. “I was about to punch him myself!”

Killian glanced at her, his eyes wide with admiration, his mouth twitched up in appreciation.

“I just came to talk, for God’s sake!” Walsh shouted.

“Get out of our house,” Killian growled.

Walsh adjusted his sports jacket and glared at both of them. He looked first at Emma, then at Killian with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“So you’re fucking him. I wondered.”

Emma lunged forward, but Killian beat her to it, landing a left hook to Walsh’s jaw. The man fell to the ground with the force of the blow.

“I said. Get. Out,” Killian seethed between clenched teeth.

Walsh scrambled to his feet, a hand to his swollen jaw, his jacket askew again, and his hair falling in his eyes like a coward on the playground. He yanked the front door open, but before he walked out, he turned to Emma and sneered at her.

“I’d watch out if I were you, Emma. The truth is going to come out. Sooner rather than later.”

Emma opened her mouth to ask him what he meant by that, but he hurried out the door, slamming it behind him before she could speak. She heard the wheels of his sports car on the gravel drive, then heard the engine rev as he drove away. In his absence, a lead weight seemed to fall between her and Killian.

“Why was he here?” Killian finally asked in a wounded voice.

“The hell if I know!” Emma snapped. “You think I invited him?”

“I don’t know what to believe,” Killian bit out. “I certainly misinterpreted things last night. Now I show up and your ex is here -”

“That’s not fair!” Emma interrupted. “I didn’t ask Walsh to show up, and for that matter, I never asked you to . . . to . . . develop feelings for me.”

“Love you,” Killian clarified boldly. “You never asked me to love you.”

“Okay then!” She shot back, her voice rising. “I didn’t ask you to love me!”

Killian searched her gaze for a moment, and then his shoulders sagged and his head fell forward.

“You’re right,” he finally said quietly. “You didn’t.”

He turned and walked right back out the front door. Emma hugged her torso and wondered stupidly why he’d come home to begin with. She glanced at the clock and saw it was a little past noon. He’d come home for lunch and found Walsh here. She groaned and rubbed her forehead wearily, then she sank with a thud to the couch.

As she buried her face in her hands, she realized with a wave of sadness how much easier it would have been if Killian had kept yelling. Anger was so much easier than this ache in her heart.

#cs ff #cs modern au #cs marriage of convenience #slow burn #humor #and some angst #for spartanguard

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ourplaceinthecosmosphff · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 26. The Heart Wants What It Wants

'chaos is only understood when it is loved by the wild, not the weak’ - Zachry K. Douglas

I wondered, briefly, if my parents were as nervous as I was about that day. None of us had planned on me being back in England anytime soon, but there I was anyway. I suppose I should thank Adrien for continually attracting scandal and, therefore, needing me to distract the media from his wild American adventures.

In May, soon after my sister had returned to her previous insane schedule of ice skating training, there was a report from TMZ, of all places, that Prince Adrien of Savoy was now dating Sienna Lapa, a wannabe singer who’d come in second in X Factor a few years prior. This, we came to find out after asking Adrien what was happening, was the friend who had helped him find an apartment in New York when he decided to relocate there.

My parents and Adrien’s mother deemed it a ‘completely inappropriate choice’. Adrien’s sister, Natalie, seemed to be trying to keep an open mind -- she was and had always been her brother’s biggest defender, after all. Lourdes immediately pulled up all the videos from her X Factor journey to show anyone who’d listen, but that only made our family hate the girl more, as most of her performances involved her with too much energy and very few clothes.

“You can all be so close minded…” my sister complained, rolling her eyes, as Natalie watched the video over her shoulder with furrowed brows when she and our aunt came over for tea after the news broke. “We’re just looking out for him.” Our cousin told her. “So you’re on their side now?” Lourdes asked her. Natalie shrugged, defensive. “I think if Adrien likes her, she must be nice.” Her mother scoffed. “We all know your brother’s record with women is not stellar, chérie.” “He dated Faye!” “Exactly.” My father sentenced. “Maggie, what do you think?” Natalie asked.

As they all looked at me, expectantly, I took a moment to ponder how much this had been happening lately. I had been used to speaking softly before, to remarking carefully on things, in case someone would hear me. But as the Crown Princess, my opinion mattered in more ways than I had immediately realized. It wasn’t just the press that suddenly cared about me, my family, too, seemed more invested in my thoughts. As if my verdict could make or break anything within the family just because I was bound to be queen one day.

“I… I don’t think being an artist should mean she will inevitably ruin this family.” I said. My mother shook her head, and my Aunt sighed, but nobody disagreed.

After tea, my father asked me to stay behind as the others left, and sat me down to remind me, sternly, that being the heir – and, one day, the Monarch –, meant it was my duty to safeguard our family from anyone who, purposefully or not, my damage it.

“You think this girl will damage us?” I asked, suppressing an eyeroll. “Papa, she’s just a girl.” “She’s American. They don’t understand monarchies.” He replied. “Not to mention she belongs to an industry that thrives on scandal and notoriety, things that do not have a place in this family.” “We don’t even know her!” I said, smiling, amused against my better judgement. “We know she wants fame.” He replied, seriously. “That doesn’t have a place here.” “We don’t even know if it’s true.” I argued.

Unfortunately, it was. I texted Adrien after this conversation, and he was as frustrated as we were, but for other reasons. ‘Its so new’, he said, ‘we just wanted to enjoy each other before inviting the whole world into it and now here we are’.

According to him, it ‘just happened’. They’d been friends for a long time, she was really supportive after his breakup and helped him adapt to New York. He moved into the same building she lives in, and they started spending more time together; before they knew it, it was more than friendship.

He also made clear he knew perfectly well how unsuitable the relationship was: ‘she’s been trying to establish her music career for a long time, so her future lies in America’, he said. ‘She also has pink hair and a lot of tattoos… can you even imagine her in mass with the rest of the family?’

I could not.

The world couldn’t, either. Press and public alike had a lot of opinions on this relationship, which became everything anyone could talk about. It wasn’t just me that gained notoriety with Louis’ death, Adrien did, too, and, with him, any girl he could one day turn into a princess.

And that was the main reason I was sent to England. An invitation for Royal Ascot was issued every year to our family, we tended not to go simply because it was far and we had other commitments. But we needed to change the conversation, so if it took putting me under a hat and in the same picture as the British royals, so be it.

I could see my parents’ tension about this plan in the way they exchanged silent glances while we talked it through, but they didn’t voice any of it. Of course, they couldn’t. Not if they wanted me to do as I was told. So, they didn’t mention Harry, and I didn’t bring him up, either.

Regardless of this, he was very much in my thoughts essentially 100% of the time, even before the Ascot plan was born. All I had to do was just keep that to myself and, if my parents did the same, we could hopefully hold onto the lie that the issue was over.

So, on that day in mid-June, I took the train early with Cadie and Auguste and my security, headed to England, with a fancy outfit safely packed away in a weekend bag, which I changed into before we arrived.

I was wearing a salmon pink, wide-legged jumpsuit that my mother had deemed ‘too modern’, with my hair styled in vintage waves under a flowery disc fascinator.

The Royal Ascot races were a society event, with the actual races taking a backseat to… pretty much everything else: the fashion, the high profile guests, the arrival of the queen and royal family later on… honestly, it was everything but horses.

As a guest, I didn’t arrive with the other royals in a very much televised carriage ride into the main front lawn, and I was glad to be able to skip it, hoping I might be able to go straight to the viewing area, free of press. Unfortunately, that was the opposite of the goal.

So, even though I arrived privately, I was then escorted to the entry lawn for socializing before the race started. Though Cadie didn’t seem to think it was necessary – which I tended to agree with –, Auguste made sure to find me a pin with my name on it, a must-wear for every guest no matter how high ranked.

“A drink would be actually helpful.” I told them. “Not until the enclosure, I’m afraid.” Cadie replied. Auguste leaned in closer. “Though my colleague may have a different view, ma’am, I feel being seen with alcohol might not be the best course of action for what we’re here to do.” “Boss.” Cadie whispered his way, rispid. “I’m your boss, Mr. Authier. Not colleague.” “Is it appropriate to discuss that at this time, boss?”

I sighed, walking further away from them and into the crowded, sun soaked lawn. One thing I hadn’t grown used to yet was the looks. Every step taken through a public area, particularly one with such a high concentration of high class people, was the target of laser focused glances from almost anyone around. I was forced to develop the ability of confidently aiming my eyes at something abstract, so I was seen as being busy, but didn’t accidentally lock eyes with anyone. It was a perfect recipe for disaster. Which is why I should have expected it.

I didn’t bump into him, that kind of thing didn’t happen at highly planned events like this, especially when you had a large entourage of people with you whose job it was to make sure you went to the right place at the right time to meet the right people. It was more accurate to say our eyes bumped into each other.

There I was, walking slowly through the crowd, avoiding one pair of eyes after the other. First using the far away stands as a distraction point. Then using the awkwardly placed decorative flowers as a distraction point. Which led to using the one very weird hat as a distraction point, as its owner was standing right next to it. But then the hat was so weird I had to see the face of the person wearing it, but she was already looking at me, so I felt awkward and looked away as quickly as possible and, in my hurry, didn’t think too much about it, so instead of a safe distraction point, my eyes found… Harry.

“Ma’am,” Cadie leaned closer, “shall we go greet the president of the Ascot association?” “What? I–” I stuttered, barely able to take my eyes off of Harry. “Sure.”

Heaving a sigh, I allowed myself to be walked around to meet the people it was important for me to meet, doing what I had been doing every day since the last time I had seen him: smiling politely, making smart, appropriate conversation, representing an entire country. All things that were painful reminders of what kept us apart.

I woke up early, I worked hard every day to hold myself accountable to my new role, keeping busy the best I could, but every night when I closed my eyes to sleep, it was his eyes that I saw. It was his voice saying ‘don’t marry him’, the tap of his hand on mine above his heart as he told me ‘it’s yours’, and every time I thought about it my whole body shivered with joy and I wanted to cry of frustration, sadness and anger that I couldn’t just embrace something that was meant to just be a happy thing.

“Yes, my parents were so sad they couldn’t make it.” I told a trustee of the event, sustaining a neutral smile as though my entire body wasn’t shaking.

Sometimes, hypocritically, I wondered why Harry hadn’t reached out, either. I knew, rationally, that it was better that he didn’t, but he had made a point of saying he didn’t have to listen to his advisors when they told him to stay away from me, but he had. Whenever I started to feel sad about this, I reminded myself it was better this way. Safer. Healthier. Then I googled him to make sure he wasn’t dating anyone new, ‘just in case.’

But now there he was, in Ascot. Because of course of the five days of this event we would both go to the same one, believing differently was something only my parents did to help them sleep at night. On my end, I knew it was going to be this way.

It’s like I was fated to always run into him after weeks or months of absence, just to remind my heart of what it was leaving behind. Destined to try and forget him just to see him again, the man I could see, but not feel. Love, but not have. At arm's length, but worlds away.

As I turned away from the U.N. Ambassador, assuring him I would transmit his best wishes to my parents, I startled.

“Harry.” He startled, too; looked me up and down, closed his eyes in frustration, and sighed. “Damn, Mary, really?” He asked, sounding tired. “Wh-what?!” I asked, nervously, drying my sweaty palms in the pants of my jumpsuit. I’d been nervous all day they were a choice too ‘out there’. “Where do you find the audacity to look this beautiful?!” He asked, seriously.

It took me maybe two seconds to understand this flattery, and that he wasn’t actually criticizing my fashion choices, and when I did I was washed by such a deep wave of relief I was almost angry.

“Seriously?!” I slapped my handbag playfully against his arms, rolling my eyes, and turned away to walk into the building, leaving him as well as my team to catch up. “What?! It was a compliment!” He said, hurrying after me, suppressing a chuckle. I was smiling in spite of myself. “Maybe, but your tone was very misleading.” He smiled. “I apologize about my tone, Mary. May I try again?” I blinked, slowly, grinning now, and he went on. “You look beautiful.”

His second attempt was all that it shouldn’t have been: intense, yearning, full of a double meaning only we seemed to hear.

Bashfully, I gulped. “Thank you… I wish I could say the same.” “Ouch?” He laughed, taking a step back. “It’s not your fault, coats and tails is just not flattering on anyone.” “Well, that’s it.” He took off his hat and immediately started unbuttoning his vest. “What are you doing?” I asked, laughing. “I will go naked before I let you see me in something unflattering.” I took one step closer and stopped his hands with mine. “Oh, my God.” I said, looking around. “Stop!”

The main building was guests only, no press, so we were pretty safe there. But there were still guests around.

“What? You started it.” He chuckled but, at least for now, stopped undressing himself. Someone behind him cleared his throat. “Sir, you should probably button up before we go upstairs.” Harry nodded, serious. “Of course. Thank you, Edward.” He subtly buttoned his shirt while I looked around; some people had their eyes on us, but nothing too out of ordinary. “My secretary.” He explained. “Trying to keep me from trouble is literally his job, so I try to listen to him sometimes, throw him a bone, you know how it is.” “I hope you pay him enough.” I told him, teasing. “Sounds like an impossible mission.” “Touché.” Harry giggled, the sight making my stomach flutter.

We exchanged a long look, the whisper of our smiles still holding on to our lips dreamily.

“So, how have you been?” He asked, clasping his hands behind his back. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Good. Well. Merci.” I nodded. “You?” “Awful, thanks for asking.” He smiled, so it was tough to know if he meant it or not. “Oh?” “Nothing that we can fix, I’m afraid.” He shrugged. “Should I escort you upstairs?” “Oh. Uhm. Sure.”

He led the way to the elevators, our team right behind us. With our security, we crowded one elevator with no room for anyone else. Though this was a pretty safe environment, I didn’t feel safe enough to inquire about what he meant.

“So, how’s Lourdes?” He asked, upbeat. “Pretty good.” I said, nodding. “She’s skating again.” “Nice!” He broke into such a huge smile it was hard not to smile as well. “I want to see her skating, do you have any videos?” “More than I need.” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll–”

I was about to say I’d send him some, when I stopped myself.

“You have her number, right? You should ask her, trust me, she’ll be delighted. She loves showing her routines to people.” He nodded, “I will.”

Though it was a very big building, the elevator stopped on every floor, where both our security alerted people it was crowded before the doors closed again. We were headed to the last, highest floor, the Royal Enclosure, which was the best viewing point for the races. It was also highly exclusive and invite only, and a person could online invite someone else after attending for four years. Divorcées weren’t even allowed in until 1955.

So the elevator ride took a long minute, which may be what gave me the courage to surrender and lean in closer to him to ask:

“Truth or dare?” He smiled to the ground, biting his lower lip, but leaned in to me as well and whispered, “Dare.” Smiling in return, only slightly annoyed I’d have to wait to ask why he said he’d been ‘awful’, I went through my head for a good dare idea. “Let’s see….” “May I remind you we are in a very public, heavily press-present event?” He whispered, still close. “Sounds like something you should have thought of before choosing dare.” I shrugged, whispering back. “Okay… get someone in this elevator to slap you.” He leaned back. “What?!” “Go on.” “How?” “I don’t know.” “Mary… I–” He sighed, looking around. His eyes paused on every person present, my staff, his staff, the security… and then it paused on the tall, slender man who he had referred to as his secretary before. “Hey, Edward, I need a favor.” “Yes, sir?” The man replied, while I suppressed a giggle. “Slap me.” The whole group looked at them for a moment, before looking away, pretending not to be overhearing. “S-sir?” “It’s not a big deal, just slap me. It doesn’t need to be strong.” Harry insisted. “Sir, I–I don’t understand!” “It’s a long story,” Harry lied, “I’ll explain later, but I need you to slap me now. Go on, I promise I won’t mind.” I bit my lip strongly to stop myself from laughing. Edward looked truly concerned, and Harry sounded increasingly more desperate. “Harry, no!” Edward said, shaking his head.

The elevator stopped in place with a melodic ‘ding’, and Harry sighed as the others filed out before us – Edward leading the way.

“Any chance you’ll slap me?” He asked, making me laugh. “Ask me again later.” I said, walking out. “But then I’ll have already lost.” He lamented. “Well, then you’ll have to live with the defeat.” He groaned, following me to a table of drinks and appetizers. There were no cameras in this enclosure, and no one else I had to be formally introduced to. As I didn’t know anyone else, this left me free to grab a drink and something to eat.

Harry, however, waved a quick hello to a handful of people as soon as we walked into the room, but continued to follow me.

“Okay, rematch.” He started. “Give me another dare, I must redeem my honor.” “God, men… it must be so exhausting feeling you have to prove yourself constantly.” He grinned. “We both know you’re judging me for not doing a dare. Go on, give me another one.” I giggled, and sighed. “Alright, remember you insisted… I dare you to…” I thought about it deeply, looking around.

There was a couple of girls a few meters away looking at us – more particularly, at him – with jealousy and desire in their eyes. I smiled in spite of myself, feeling oddly powerful.

“To improvise a poem.” He looked so confused it made me smile again. “A poem? Like, like poetry?” “Yes.” I nodded. “Take your time.”

As I took a sip of my sparkling wine, he put his hands in his pockets, looking around. I could see his mouth silently moving as he talked quietly with himself. It was an amusing sight, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t notice how handsome he looked deep in thought like this.

“Okay.” He nodded, seriously, approaching.

He removed his hat, brushed his hair to the side with his hand and stood unnervingly close to me.

“You're a vision in pink, I might need a drink…” He risked a look at me, but his cheeks were reddening, so he looked away again. “And I might pass out, if you gave me a wink…” I tried to suppress a giggle, as I thought any sudden movements might dissuade him from this dare. “Every day I remember, when the leaves were ember… In blue, you breezed through… your skin, warm and tender, In all of your splendor…” he looked at me again, still pink in the cheeks, but with renowned intensity in his eyes, “Waking up with me, your legs between my knees. I woke up desperate to please, and tease, with ease…”

His eyes locked on mine, intense, he recovered his color just as I felt my cheeks heaten up. He said each word slowly now, over-enunciating double meaning into each syllable.

“And squeeze, your hills, give you chills, thrills, until… Your daisy became daffodils… Asleep and awake, three days of bliss, give and take… Slow, sweet, fast or rough. Forever wouldn't be enough.”

His eyes hovered over my face, slowly lowering towards my lips, pausing there for the longest minute as I felt breathless. To the silence, I realized it was over, and struggled to think of something teasing, light-hearted enough to say to this. How to hide the way his voice – his words – made me feel?

I bit down an embarrassed grin thinking of his words. Walking in wearing blue when the leaves were ember? That was when we met last fall. Waking up with my legs between his knees? When I ran away to his home and we slept in the same bed. ‘Squeeze your hills, give you thrills, slow, fast, or rough, forever wouldn’t be enough’? That, that was… an alternate reality that felt the more tempting the more he continued to look at me.

“I don’t want to break the moment, because I feel there’s a moment here… but that was really good, right?” He asked, sounding honestly shocked.

It made me laugh out loud.

“Oh, my God, did I… write that?” He added, looking around, seemingly astonished with himself. “Did I maybe hear this somewhere? Did I accidentally plagiarized someone?” Laughing, I held on to his arm to steady myself. “Honestly, it was very good.” I managed to say. “I know! It was incredible!” “I mean, it started just okay… but it got… really interesting in the end.” “Interesting?! I think I’m a poetry miracle!”

I laughed again; throwing my head back, I had to hold on to my hat so it stayed in place.

“I need a pen and paper to write that all down before I forget it!” he added, patting his pockets. “Oh, my God, shut up.” I begged, still laughing. “Alright, alright…” He smiled. “My turn. Truth or dare?” I sighed, “Dare.” He grinned, surprised. “Oh, wow. Okay… I dare you to…” He considered it for a few seconds, looking around the room.

Silently, he grabbed my half-drank wine glass and moved to the drinks. He picked a bottle of whisky, and poured some into my glass.

“Hey!” I protested.

He did the same with the scotch, the vodka, the mango liquor, and every other bottle in the table until my glass was almost full to the brim.

“I dare you.” He said, handing me the glass. “Are you s–? This is so unoriginal.” “Just drink it.” He grinned. I smelled the contents of the glass, which smelled oddly of citric coca cola, and took a quick sip. “Oh, my God.” I complained, trying to remind myself not to yell in disgust. “You can do better, come on.” “No, I think this is enough.” “What? You drank nothing!” “Yes, but you never said I had to drink a lot, just that I had to drink.” I shrugged. He closed his eyes, and smiled, annoyed. “Wow. Such a lawyer.” I laughed. “My turn.” “Fine. Truth.” He said, rolling his eyes. I gulped, placed the disgusting concoction in my glass back on the table, but kept the smile in my lips as I asked, “Why did you say you were awful before?” His smile faltered. “Oh. You know…” He shrugged, nonchalant. “No, Harry… I don’t.” I said, softly. He avoided my eyes, but his lips sustained a humorless, emotionless smile. He took in a long breath, and looked at me. “Do you maybe have another question?” “What? No. Harry…” I shook my head, confused. “That’s the question.” He sighed. “It’s just work.” “Work?” “Yes, Marie. Work. I have a lot to do to get Invictus ready for September…” “Okay. Is that all it is? Because your tone says differently.” Still smiling coldly, he looked around, and brushed a hand through his hair, nervously. “Speaking of work, how’s your work?” He asked. “Is royal work as an heir any different?” “Harry.” I insisted, seriously, now feeling my heart beating increasingly heavier in my chest.

Finally, something snapped. He bit his lip, avoiding my eyes, then closed his eyes, muttered ‘hallway’, and walked off without affording me a second glance.

Chilled to the bone, I waited a couple of seconds before following him out, strategically avoiding Cadie and Auguste’s worried glances from nearby.

We walked out of the enclosure to the elevator hallway. It was emptier now than when we had come in, but still had a couple of people in it. So Harry passed them towards other doors, where it was emptier.

He stopped by a window, hands in his pocket, and heaved a sigh, brows creased, eyes pained. My heart ached just to watch him.

“Look, I–” He started, avoiding my eyes still. “I…” He laughed, humorless still. “Harry,” I tried, softly, “you’re worrying me.”

He closed his eyes, painfully. After a couple of seconds he opened them and stared right into mine. When our blues connected, I felt again that old chill down my spine; that feeling of being seen for all I was, that chill of knowing there was a lot being said, even if we weren’t speaking.

“Work is hard, yes, but–” He licked his lips, pausing. “I can handle it. What makes it harder, though, is that I can’t go very long without thinking about you.” I gulped. “W-what?” He smiled, a little more honestly now. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Mary. I know that sucks to hear. I just…” He sighed, heavily, and took a step closer to me. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” Feeling my stomach do a cartwheel inside, I gulped. “I… W-what?!” His smile grew now, amused. “I look around my house, and all I can think is I miss having you there. I miss waking up with you, cooking with you, talking with you all day long...” He took another step closer, now in a way where his smell was all I could breathe; still the same citric L'Occitane smell I could never forget. “I think about you every time I open my bathroom cabinet and see the toothbrush you forgot.” He shrugged. “It’s pathetic. And even now as I say it, I know it’s pointless. I know just looking at you that it’s a lost cause. And it’s not your fault, even if sometimes I wish it were. It might be easier if I had a reason to be angry at you… But you didn’t ask for this. Neither did I. I just…” he shrugged. “I can’t stop thinking about you.” I sighed, breathless. “Harry. I…” “I know.” He nodded, staring at the ground. “I understand better than most. You have a duty. You have rules to follow and a huge number of people around ready to remind you why this would be a terrible idea, and I get it. I have the same. Lower stakes, maybe, but I do, and I hate it.” He smiled, in a sad, desperate way; eyes full of yearning as they looked at me. “The truth is I think about that kiss every day.” He whispered, gently. “The truth is I think about that date we never had every day, and about everything that could have been different… The truth…” He sighed, longingly. “The truth is I think I’m falling in love with you.”

My mind was both completely blank and going a thousand miles an hour. I felt my hands… shaken. My legs felt weak. I thought of Louis’ funeral again, of trying to kiss him at the worst of times, of how much it hurt when he pulled away, of when he told he didn’t want to be something I might regret.

I remembered sleeping with Chris right after, getting back together with him without even realizing it. Of the proposal and the yelling and the months of headlines about it.

If my brother was still here, Harry and I might have been just a complicated, unique love story. But he wasn’t, and because of that everything was such a mess. I was such a mess.

And yet, here he was: loving me anyway. In spite of it all. What was the universe thinking?

“Maggie?”

My fragile, already shaken up heart went cold. I looked back to find…

“Christopher?

--- ---- ---

Royal Ascot Outfit

[A/N: I know what you’re thinking, ‘how dare you not post for 2 weeks and then leave us with a cliff hanger????’. Guys, I’m SORRY! In my defence, 2020 was a hell of a year, I had to move, the holidays were a lot, I had a guest over, and I GOT A DOG! So...........a lot has happened! But things should calm down now, so I promise to try my hardest so this doesnt happen again! Spoilers: the story is going into its next phase! Secret-relationship-angst kind of next phase. But anyway, enough about me... how have YOU been? Tell me all about it, oh and also your thoughts on the chapter? hopes for the next ones? notes? criticisms? I’ll take it all! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND STICKING WITH ME AND FOR YOUR PATIENCE! PS: Lola, my fur child, is a 2 years old rescue, loves munching ice and guilting me into petting her instead of writing/working. I also accidentally scard her out of going to the bathroom where shes supposed to so now I’m slowly moving a pet-mat through the apartment back there. Tips? LOVE YOU HAVE A GOOD WEEK! BYE!

PS 2: I PROMISE I’LL COMPRISE ALL THE CHAPTERS INTO A MASTERPOST LIKE ONE OF YOU ASKED ME TO, I JUST NEED TO FIND THE TIME BUT I WILL! Thanks for the suggestion <3 ]

#Princeharryff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #princeharryfanfiction #Princeharryfanfic #prince harry #brf #modern royalty au #modern royalty fanfic #fanfiction #OPITCphff #chapters

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onisiondrama · 4 years ago

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"The Onision Coverup Exposed (Onision Tells All)" April 9, 2021, Speaks - Summary Part 2

James (Onision) says he thinks James Charles is deeply guilty of being an idiot. He doesn't know about perversion, but he thinks he's stupid. He says James Charles obviously needs to keep his stuff in his pants. Says James Charles went in front of a camera and admitted it. James Charles needs a lawyer.

He says Trisha Paytas is attacking James Charles, yet she celebrates Elvis who married a 14 year old. He says people don't want to talk about that. He says he was going to say Elvis and Priscilla had a successful marriage, but he just looked it up and they were only married for 6 years. He says if you had a successful marriage, it proves you weren't with them for their age. If you break up with them it shows you used them and got rid of them. He says it would have been smart for Elvis to marry someone 5 years older than him right after his divorce.

James says he loves reality shows like The Real World because you can see psychopaths in their natural state.

Someone points out Michael Jackson married Priscilla's daughter. James jokes in a Michael Jackson voice that he knew her mom would be cool with it because she married Elvis at 14. He says he doesn't know any of the details about Michael Jackson other than the first episode of the Neverland documentary. He says he stopped watching because it was fucked up. He didn't want to hear people talking about the gross horrible shit they went through. Someone said Michael Jackson was murdered. James says that was probably a relief for him. James says MJ seemed like a really nice guy, but he was doing it for a reason, he wanted something.

James says in an article it says Elvis cheated with a 15 year old. He asks what the age of consent was back then. Someone lists the ages of consent. James says then it was super fucked up for him to do that. He says you shouldn't go under what the age of consent is in your country. He personally doesn't see the problem with 17 because it's right next to 18. He says it also depends on your age gap.

He says an 18 year old recently paid for the contact Onision perk and asked him to do an Only Fans collaboration. They said they make over $200,000 a month and wanted to share a cut with him. He thought it was like prostitution with a camera. He says he told her she was too young and he was too old. He says 35 and 18 is fucked. He says he could almost be that person's father.

James asks how old the person was who the 8 year old got pregnant? He says he constantly thought about how he wanted to bang all his teachers when he was young. He says he wasn't thinking that way until he was 10.

Someone says the youngest person to give birth was 5. James says he discourages people wishing death upon each other because they don't know the full story, but getting a 5 year old pregnant- there's no story there.

James asks about Sarah telling him there was nothing on the laptop she turned into the FBI and only turned it in because of pressure from the public? (The nudes Kai allegedly sent to Sarah were said to have been on the phone Sarah handed in, not the laptop.) He says in Washington state he can't record a conversation unless it's clear it's being recorded. She repeatedly asked if he was recording. He said it would be nice if he could. He says she told him it's legal in Michigan. He jokes that he'll ask her to send him a copy if she recorded it. He says they spoke for 9 hours and her sister snatched the phone. He says he told her it was abusive to take someone's phone away and she should give it back. She yelled at him and hung up. He says when he spoke to Sarah she seemed relatively reasonable, but completely brainwashed by the public. He says in the first livestream she said nothing was going on, then later she started jumping to extremes. (This isn't true. I've been watching a ton of Sarah and James' statements on the subject recently for a video project and she was extremely consistent. James on the other hand changed his stories dramatically from the beginning of 2020 to mid year. A small example is when he would talk about the 5 days he lived with Sarah after they broke up. At first he said he slept in a garage for one night because he was afraid of her anger, but he would still watch movies with her and go out to eat before she flew home. By August he was saying after they broke up he slept in the garage every night because he was avoiding her. So far I've gone through 72 videos and 10 livestreams.)

James says he went to see if Sarah said something, but her Twitter is private. A fan says she privated because a commentary person was talking about her in a livestream. James asks if it happened around January 23rd, when he had the call? The fan says it happened late January. James says she probably did it because of the call.

James says Sarah was surrounded by people who dehumanized himself and Kai. He says when he talked to her, she heard the person she knew before maybe realized she fucked him over for no reason and went behind his back. He says in one of her livestreams she said he cut ties with her because she sexually extorted her. He asks his fans if they remember her exact words? They said she admitted it. (She said she joked about getting what she wanted when she was asked to sign the NDA, but they knew she would sign it anyway.)

James asks what happened to the 4th documentary episode? Says it should have been out already. James says he made videos on his Speaks channels proving the episodes wrong. He says it's crazy a multi-billion corporation ignoring obvious stuff. Someone said the R Kelly tapes on Netflix are inaccurate. James says there is a video of R Kelly peeing on someone so it's open and close. Someone said people get paid to get peed on. James says apparently this was someone who couldn't consent. They talk about how R Kelly is in jail awaiting trial.

James says it should be illegal to make a documentary to ruin someone's life. He says it should be for informing people. James says the documentary would say "actual tweet" or "actual text," but wouldn't show the actual tweet or text.

McFly asks if James is waving his white flag about Shane Dawson? James says if someone punches you in the face and you want justice, but a mob beats them to death, are you still mad? He says he's not mad at Shane because worse shit happened to him than what he did to anyone else. He paid the price. James says Mike Tyson went to jail for raping someone, but he's back to being a celebrity. He says people aren't mad anyone because he served his time. James says he thinks Shane should have went to jail for a little bit because of the way he touched someone who was nowhere near the age of consent. He says someone sitting in a cell waiting for trial counting as time served is the equivalent to what Shane went through. He says it's one thing to go to jail, but it's another to have your whole career destroyed, get fired, publicly humiliated, shamed, and called horrible things like a predator. He says most people would choose jail over that.

They start talking about someone, but I can't make out the name. James says he saw a clip of him talking about how he used to be terrible and was a chronic cheater. He says he's not sure if it was an apology video because he just said he was a monster. James asks if this person admitted to being a terrible person, why would he trust what he has to say?

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myownsuperintendent · 5 years ago

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New Fic: “All A Family”

At the beginning of season five, Mulder and Scully successfully attempt the IVF. When they then discover Emily, they must all work towards being a family. Rated M for sexual content. AU, fluff, lots of tropes. Also here at Ao3.

...

Mulder tells Scully on the first day, when she comes home from the hospital. He has to, because she’s smiling and alive and full of plans. “I should get a new comforter,” she says, when she’s set her things down in her room; he’s hovering in the doorway. “And I was thinking—maybe I’ll take a trip soon. Somewhere I haven’t been.” And later, when they’re having coffee at her kitchen table, “Do you think I could learn to dance?” So he tells her about the eggs.

He’s almost sorry he’s done it, at first, because she’s not smiling anymore; she looks hurt, pained, in a way he hates seeing on her face. But there’s determination in her voice when she says, “I want a second opinion,” and then he’s not sorry. She’s still making plans.

And then he’s a part of those plans, in a way he didn’t expect but maybe should have, considering how long it’s been since they had anything even vaguely resembling a normal relationship between co-workers. Which is overrated anyway. When she asks him to be her donor, he asks for some time to think about it, but that’s mostly because he doesn’t want to come on too strong. He wants to do this for her, and he tells her that, and he tries not to think about what it might mean for him.

He waits for Scully to come back after her appointment, trying not to pace a hole in her apartment floor. He tries to gauge her face when she comes in, but he can’t read it, can’t figure out if it’s yes or no, and then he admits to himself how much he’s invested in this, how maybe he should have actually used that time to think. But it’s too late to take things back now.

“Scully?” he says cautiously, tentatively. They should have made more plans, together.

She looks at him. “I’m pregnant,” she says. She’s smiling and she has tears in her eyes, and it really is too late to take things back, and that’s even before he steps forward and kisses her. What should I say now? he thinks, frantically, but that’s before she kisses him back, slowly and sweetly and more than once.

He sleeps next to her that night, under that new comforter (it’s light blue, with darker blue dots), holding her close. They don’t do anything beyond the kissing and lying next to each other, and they don’t talk about it. But it feels different from the other times they haven’t talked about things. They’re savoring being on the same page at last.

Over the next couple of weeks, they start a new routine. They almost always have dinner together—Mulder puts himself in charge of finding things that Scully will like and that won’t make her feel sick—and he usually spends the night at her place after that, although they still haven’t taken things very far. There’s been a lot of cuddling, a lot of kissing. And they’re going to have a baby together. That too.

They talk about plans, now, but they’re usually for the immediate future, things like him coming to her doctor’s appointments with her. She showed him some pictures of car seats and went through a rundown of the safety features, and he helped her narrow down the list. Mulder wonders if he’s going to be here when the baby comes (at the end of August, which simultaneously feels very close and very far off), if he’ll consider this their apartment instead of hers. From the way she’s been looking at him, kissing him, smiling when he wraps his hands around her middle, he thinks he will, and he really hopes he’s not reading things wrong. But somehow he doesn’t want to ask. He likes what they have now, uncomplicatedly happy, feeling like things have fallen into place for once. When it’s something that just is, rather than something they have to think about, something they have to decide.

“I’m going out to California for Christmas,” Scully reminds him in mid-December, as they’re looking through some files in the office.

“Oh, right,” he says. “Are you…is that good? For you to fly?” He’s been reading some books, but it seems like there are a truly dizzying array of things that might be dangerous for pregnant women and that no one can agree on what they are.

“It’s fine. It’s still so early,” Scully says, but she smiles, like she does whenever they bring up anything related to the baby. Their baby. She pauses then, rearranging the pens on the desk. “I was thinking…would you like to come with me?”

Of course he would. He’s never liked being apart from her, and right now, he likes it even less. “That sounds…that would be great,” he says. “Are you sure it’s all right, though? I don’t want to get in the way of things with your family.” He knows she hasn’t told her mom about the baby yet. He wonders if she’s planning on doing it over Christmas.

“You wouldn’t be in the way, Mulder,” Scully says. “Of course it’s all right. You’re my…” He watches as she searches for a word; he can’t blame her, not sure what word he’d pick himself. She finally comes out with “my friend-person.”

“Your friend-person?” he asks. “Did you just make that up?”

“I mean…you’re a person who’s important to me,” Scully says; her voice is soft, and she’s fiddling with the pens again. “And I’d like it if you’d come.”

“I’d like it too,” he says. He touches her hand, stills it.

...

“I hate this,” Scully informs him, sitting back down next to him on the plane; she’s just returned from the bathroom, where he assumes, based on the expression on her face when she leapt up from her seat, she threw up. “I never got sick on planes before. Never in my life.”

“It’s the first trimester,” Mulder says. “It should stop by late February.” He realizes he doesn’t sound very comforting.

Scully doesn’t seem to think so either. “Don’t give me that shit,” she says. “Just because you’ve been reading some books, you think you know everything.”

“Do you not want me to read books?” Mulder asks.

“No. No, that’s good, that you’re reading books,” Scully says. “It’s the least you can do. After you impregnated me.”

He loves the way she words it, so carefully clinical, and he loves that it’s true. “You asked me to.”

“I know,” Scully says; she settles back in her seat and takes out a mint to suck on. “And really—I can’t tell you how much that means. That you said yes. I’m just mad because I can’t keep anything down and that bathroom looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the Carter administration.”

“Understood,” he says. “You’re entitled to be.”

She manages a smile. “There’s another thing,” she says, after a moment. “I thought I’d tell my mom about the baby this week. How does that sound to you?”

“It sounds fine,” he says. “It’s really up to you, though.”

“Not just me,” Scully says. “You’re a part of this too.”

He doesn’t know what that means, exactly, and this is one of those moments where he doesn’t like the uncertainty. But he doesn’t want to push her, here in the airplane where they can’t just leave if the conversation doesn’t go according to plan. Instead he says, “Well, she’s your mom.”

“Still,” Scully says.

“Well, it’s fine with me,” he says again. “You’re going to tell her how it happened?”

“I don’t think I could get away with not telling her,” Scully says. “But don’t worry. I don’t think she’ll bug you about it.”

“I wasn’t worried about that,” Mulder says. “Just wondering.” He wonders if he should tell his mom. He wonders if he should ask Scully about that. Maybe if he did ask her, they’d wind up talking about what exactly their plans are.

They don’t talk about it that night, at her brother’s house, but they sit next to each other on the couch. They don’t share a bed either, but when they part for the night, she says softly, “I thought I’d tell my mom tomorrow,” and he nods.

He doesn’t know how she planned the conversation to go, because by the next afternoon things have changed. That’s when they find out about Emily.

...

The next couple of weeks are a blur. Mulder’s worried about Emily, and he knows Scully is too, and he’s worried about Scully worrying, about her running around nonstop. And he’s worried that if he tells her that, she’ll punch him. He tries to concentrate on what they can do to help Emily, on taking as much as he can off Scully’s shoulders. And it’s not just for Scully’s sake. Emily’s a sweet kid, shy with them, but he can tell she’s got a big mind like her mom’s. And eyes like hers too. He doesn’t like to think about her being sick, being scared. He thinks a lot about the baby when he’s with her. He wants them all to be all right.

But the drugs they find seem to have an effect: Emily gets better, after they try them, in a way that surprises her doctors, who Mulder would guess haven’t seen half of the things that he and Scully have. They go to visit her in the hospital, bringing coloring books and crayons, and the doctors say she’ll be discharged tomorrow. When she starts to fall asleep Scully kisses her forehead and smooths her hair. Then they go.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, as they walk back to the car.

“I’m going to get to work,” Scully says, “on the adoption case. I haven’t been able to think about anything but whether she’s going to be okay…but now that she is, I really need to get everything together.”

He should tell her he’ll help her. Whatever she needs. Instead, he says, “What about the baby?”

“What do you mean?” Scully asks. “I know…this isn’t what I envisioned, in terms of timing.” She says I, not we. He wonders if she’s sorry now that she asked him, that they started the IVF, that they got involved in this way. The kind of way they usually try to avoid. “But I’m going to make this work. They’ll be close in age, and that’ll be a good thing—”

“You’re going to make this work?” he asks. “By yourself?”

She’s quiet for a minute, and now he really wishes they had actually talked, in those couple of weeks before they came out to California. He wonders if she’s trying to work out how to let him down easy, if this is just too much too fast without adding him to the family. “I didn’t…I wasn’t thinking it would be by myself,” she says finally, softly. “But I don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything.”

“I don’t feel like that,” Mulder says.

“Because I know we haven’t talked about it, with the baby,” she says, barreling on, “and that was before Emily, too. I’m not trying to make you move in with me and get a white picket fence. You don’t have to—”

“I said I didn’t feel like I had to,” Mulder says. “And I think we should get one of those thick hedges. They’re more imposing.”

She stares at him. “Mulder, I’m trying to be serious here. And you’re talking about thick hedges?”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m not sure what I should talk about.”

Scully shakes her head. “It’s okay. I’m not sure either.” She pauses. “But we don’t have a lot of time to figure things out. Emily’s here right now, and there’s not even that much time until the baby. So, if you have any ideas…”

“We could get married,” he says. He’s not sure that he planned to say it, but it makes sense, once it’s out of his mouth. He knows he loves her, has known it for a long time. And if they’re going to be a family now, why should they wait?

Another pause. “That is an idea.”

“We don’t have to,” he says, quickly, wondering why this conversation is so full of qualifiers. “But I would. If you would.”

“I just don’t want you to feel—”

“Scully, I don’t know what I have to say to get you to believe that I don’t,” he says. “I want to do this.” She says something, very quietly. “What?”

“I want to, too,” she says.

...

They get married at the courthouse. They bring her mom, who asks a series of “You’re doing what?”, “The two of you did what?”, and “You were planning to tell me when?” questions when they fill her in on the IVF, the baby, the plans for a fast wedding. But she smiles during the ceremony, at least, and Scully does too, a little shyly, and Mulder knows he does, in a way he can’t contain.

They spend the afternoon visiting Emily and talking to her case worker and the night kneeling on the bathroom floor while Scully throws up; her morning sickness is unpredictable in its timing. She looks incredibly pissed off when she lifts her head. “Ugh.”

“Anything I can get you?” he asks, brushing her hair back from her sweaty forehead. “I could run downstairs and hunt for crackers or tea or something.”

She shakes her head. “No thanks. I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because we got married today,” Scully says, as if he’s missing something very obvious, “and now I feel disgusting and I look disgusting and you’re not going to want to fool around with me.”

“First of all,” he says, “it’s a little weird that you describe it as fooling around. Since, as you point out, we are married.”

“I just emptied out the entire contents of my stomach,” Scully says, “and you are going to fight me on my word choice?”

“Well, that’s what I mean,” Mulder says. “I don’t know what to say. If I say I do want to fool around, I look like an asshole who doesn’t care that you’re sick. And if I say I don’t, I look like an asshole who cares too much.” He does want to, of course, but then he has for so long; one more night won’t make a difference, if she feels that sick. “It’s really your call.” He squeezes her hand, next to his on the bathroom floor. Looks at their matching rings.

“I want to in theory,” Scully says, “but I feel like crap.”

“That’s okay, then,” he says. “We…we probably don’t want to do this here, anyway. Your whole family is down the hall.”

“Yeah,” she says after a moment. “Good point.”

He helps her to their bedroom, but only to sleep. They lie against each other. He wonders what she’s thinking. What she’d do if he told her he loved her.

They’re very busy over the next month, working on the adoption. They go to see Emily every day, and they sit on the floor and draw pictures together. They tell her a little bit about Washington, but not too much. (“Just in case,” Scully says to him. “I don’t want to make this harder for her if…” He thinks she doesn’t want to make it harder for herself either. He tells her the adoption will go through, and she squeezes his hand.) Emily still doesn’t talk a lot—mostly in response to direct questions—but recently she’s started smiling and running over to them when they arrive, which Mulder takes as a good sign.

What’s less of a good sign is that he and Scully still haven’t fooled around, to use her term, and he’s starting to wonder if it would even be possible to bring it up. He thinks maybe she took him too seriously when he said they didn’t want to do it with her family down the hall. It would be a little awkward, but he wouldn’t mind, really. But it’s not just that, anyway. It’s a lot of things, but mainly that they’re both so tired, especially Scully. They’re working hard during the day, and now that Tara’s had the baby, they don’t always get a good night’s sleep. “Do you think we should go?” he asks Scully, one night when they’re awakened. “We could get a hotel. Aren’t we kind of in the way?”

“That’s what I thought!” Scully says, eagerly. “I was even looking for places. But then my mom and Bill said we should stay. Because we’re family, and we can help out with Matthew, and they can help us out with Emily.”

“Wait, are we supposed to be helping out with him?” Mulder asks. “I haven’t been.”

“Just if anyone needs anything, my mom says she’d feel better,” Scully says. Another wail from Matthew; she sighs and burrows her head into the pillow. “I guess this is good practice for us.”

“You’re not supposed to be practicing when you’re pregnant,” Mulder says. “You’re supposed to be getting sleep.”

“I’m okay,” Scully says, yawning. “It’s not for too much longer.” But she looks exhausted, circles under her eyes. He’s seen her taking extra care with her makeup, before they go to meet with the caseworker.

“Here,” he says, “I’ll cover your ears for you.” She gives him a look, half-amused, half-tired, but she leans against him, one ear pressed to the pillow, the other under his hand. He puts his other hand on her stomach. He thinks she sleeps. In the morning, when they’re driving to see Emily, he pulls over at a drugstore and buys them both the strongest earplugs he can find.

And then, the next week, they have their hearing. And then they are parents. He knew they were going to be, but somehow, he’s still surprised.

...

Emily’s quiet as they approach Scully’s building—well, their building, now. Mulder’s in the process of working on his move; he’s given notice to his landlord, and he’s planning to go this weekend to see about his stuff. “Are you excited to see your room, sweetie?” Scully asks Emily. They ordered things from a catalogue—Emily picked a bright yellow comforter and a nightlight covered in stars—and had them delivered; Scully had her friend Ellen help out.

“I think so,” Emily says.

“All the things we picked out will be there,” Scully says. “Remember?”

Emily nods. “And can Elinor live in there with me?” Elinor is a very ratty stuffed rabbit; they rescued her from Emily’s old room, and since then she’s rarely left Emily’s arms.

“Of course Elinor can live there,” Scully says.

“We wouldn’t want her to live anywhere else,” Mulder says.

“Okay,” Emily says, softly. They’ve pulled into the parking lot now. She squares her small shoulders, looking very much like Scully, as Mulder unfastens the buckles on her car seat and helps her out of the car.

The place looks clean—Ellen must have helped with that too—and they go down the hall to Emily’s room. She looks around at everything. Goes over to the bed and leans Elinor against the pillows, carefully.

“Are you tired, Emily?” Scully asks.

“A little,” Emily says.

“Maybe you and Elinor would like to rest for a little bit before we have supper,” Scully says. “And Mulder and I could read you a book.”

“Okay,” Emily says. “Goodnight Moon, please.” That’s not a surprise, since it’s one of Emily’s favorites; they even brought it with them on the plane, just in case. They all settle onto the small bed—Mulder, Scully, Emily, and Elinor—and they read Goodnight Moon, Mulder and Scully taking turns with the pages.

They make spaghetti for supper. Elinor sits at the table beside Emily; one of her ears is trailing in the sauce, and Scully gently moves it aside. “Careful, sweetie,” she says, and Mulder watches them.

After supper, they get Emily ready for bed and read another book. This one is Madeline, Emily’s other favorite. She sits and listens while Mulder reads to her, an expression of concentration on her face. He wishes they could make her smile, but it doesn’t seem to be happening today. It makes sense, he knows, since she’s in a new place, one that’s bound to be a big adjustment. The whole situation is a big adjustment for him, and he’s not a three-year-old. But he hopes she’ll be happy.

“We’ll be right across the hall,” Scully tells Emily. “And we’ll leave the door open, in case you need anything.” That also makes sense, under the circumstances, although it means a continuation of the status quo for the two of them. Married, parents, with another baby on the way, without doing much more than kissing.

But it’s the right thing to do. “We love you, Emily,” he says. “Good night.” They each kiss her on the cheek, and then she asks them to kiss Elinor, which they do. They say good night again and go.

“Do you think Elinor could make it through the laundry machine in one piece?” Scully asks him, as soon as they’re out of earshot. “She is not clean.”

“That’s your number one question right now?” he asks. She does have a point, though; Elinor has a distinct smell, if you’re within kissing distance.

“Well, we need to take things day by day,” she says, defensively. “So yes. Right now, that’s my immediate concern.”

“Maybe we could hand wash her?” Mulder says. He’s not exactly an expert in the care of stuffed animals. Although maybe it’s a field he should start getting better acquainted with.

“Worth trying,” Scully says. “Or see if we could find a backup. I had two teddy bears who were the same, when I was her age. Brownie and Brownie Two.” She smiles. “Very creative, I know.” He tries to imagine three-year-old Scully with her two bears. He wonders if she looked like Emily. He wonders if their baby will look like that too.

They see Emily twice more that night. The first time she comes padding into the living room in her bare feet, Elinor in hand. “I couldn’t sleep,” she says. “And Elinor couldn’t sleep.” They take her back to bed, and Scully strokes her hair while he sings— “Yellow Submarine,” because he can’t think of any lullabies, but Emily’s eyes close, anyway. The second time is just as they’re getting into bed, when they hear her crying.

“I don’t want to be by myself,” she sobs, when they rush into her room. “And Elinor doesn’t.”

“You don’t have to be by yourselves,” Scully says. “I can stay with you for tonight. Okay?” But she looks so tired herself, and Mulder doesn’t want her to have to squeeze into a three-year-old-sized bed.

“Or maybe the two of you could come in with us,” Mulder says. “How does that sound?”

Emily seems to like the idea. She gets out of bed and takes his hand when he holds it out. They make their way across the hall and settle in together, Emily’s little feet cold against his leg.

He knows this isn’t a permanent solution, that it will be better for Emily if they get her comfortable sleeping in her own room. But for right now, this makes sense too.

...

They’re busy in a way Mulder’s never experienced over the next couple of weeks, and that’s with taking time off work. This must be why they usually give you nine months to get ready for a kid, he thinks: because once the kid is present, things never stop.

Emily’s still pretty quiet with them. She likes when they read her books, likes coloring together. Elinor’s always at her side, and Elinor has a lot of anxieties. She misses Emily’s old room. She doesn’t know if she’s going to like the playground near their apartment. She misses the Sims, but she doesn’t want Mulder and Scully to leave her alone, either. Emily tells them all of this in a matter-of-fact voice.

Mulder knows it’s very normal for a kid this age—especially a kid who’s been through what Emily’s been through—to vocalize her feelings through someone else, whether it be an imaginary friend or an increasingly dirty stuffed rabbit who, Emily tells them, does not want to be washed. He goes along with the Elinor stories, hoping that he can reassure Emily through her. He feels silly at first, though, and it’s a little disconcerting. He wants to tell Emily that she can tell them how she feels herself, that they’ll always be there to listen. But when he tries telling her it’s okay to be scared of new places, she says, “I’m not scared, but Elinor is.” She’s very stubborn like that. He doesn’t have to wonder where she gets it from.

It's worse at night. They’re having her stay in her own bed now, but that means one or both of them sitting with her until she falls asleep and going to her when she starts awake most nights, when they hear her crying. He wishes he could make things better for her right away. He wishes he knew the right way to take care of her.

He wishes he could take care of Scully, too, but that’s a tricky path to navigate; she tells him she’s fine, that she has to get up with Emily too and that it’s not right for it to only be him. “She needs to know we’re both there,” Scully says, “so she can feel safe with us.” He knows she has a point, but he’s worried about her not getting the rest she needs. He does everything he can, sometimes in a sneaky way, going out to do the grocery shopping before she has a chance to, not waking her up when it’s time to get Emily’s teeth brushed in the morning. He reads the nutrition chapters in the pregnancy books and makes dinner for her. He watches her a lot, trying not to let her catch him staring. She’s still not showing a lot, but she looks different, somehow. He’s not sure if he should tell her that, even though it’s a good kind of different. She’s always been beautiful, but there’s something about her now that makes it hard for him to look away, even when she turns her head and sees him.

Mostly he tries to be there for them both—to navigate on the fly, which at least is something he has experience with. When Scully falls asleep on the couch after dinner, he whispers to Emily that they have to be quiet. “Even Elinor,” he adds. “Can you ask her? I know she’ll listen to you.”

Emily giggles. “We have to be quiet, Elinor,” she whispers, holding one of the rabbit’s long ears against her mouth. “Dana’s asleep.” She looks at Mulder. “Why is she asleep so early?” she asks. “I’m not even asleep yet.”

They haven’t told her about the baby yet, since it’s early. “I think she’s just tired,” he says. “How about you? Are you tired?”

Emily shrugs. “Not really.”

“How about we go in your room and I read to you for a while, then?” he asks. “You and Elinor.” Emily nods—she makes Elinor nod too, by pulling on her ear—and they go.

He reads her Madeline, then Goodnight Moon, then Madeline again. It helps that the books are short. He gets her ready for bed, tucks her in, and turns off the light. “Will you stay with us, Mulder?” Emily asks.

“Yes,” he says. “Yes, I’ll stay.”

It doesn’t take her too long to fall asleep, and he tiptoes out of the room, hoping it’ll stick. When he gets back to the living room, Scully is still asleep, but she stirs when he sits down next to her. “I’m not asleep,” she mumbles.

“Yes, you are,” he says. “But it’s okay.”

“Where’s Emily?”

“She’s asleep too,” he says. “With Elinor. I read them a bunch of books.”

“Thank you,” she says. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says. “You need your rest. Both of you.” He puts a hand on her belly, lightly, and leans down and kisses her cheek.

She doesn’t say anything, so he’s pretty sure she’s asleep again. But she’s smiling.

...

He should call his mom, Mulder realizes. They’ve been so busy that he’s forgotten, but he’s married and a family man now, which seems like something you should tell your mom about.

He calls her one evening while Scully’s giving Emily a bath. “Fox!” she says when she answers. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that,” he says. “There’s been…well, a lot going on, to put it mildly.”

“With work?” she asks.

“Not work, actually,” he says. “It’s…well, first of all, I got married.”

He’s not sure how she’s going to take it, and her voice doesn’t give him much of a clue. “You got married,” she says. “Anyone I know?”

“Yes, actually,” he says. “You know Scully. My partner, Scully.” He sounds idiotic, he thinks. He’s married to her, she means more to him than anyone in the world, and he’s calling her my partner, Scully.

“Yes, of course I know her,” she says. “Well, this is new. But she seems nice.”

She’s still not giving him much, but he grasps at what he gets. “She is. She’s great,” he says. More idiocy. Time to move on to the next announcement. “And we have a little girl. Emily. She’s three.”

A pause. “Well, that’s new too.” Another. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” he says. “Well, we found out about her at Christmas. She’s Scully’s…she’s ours now…well, we adopted her…it’s complicated.”

“Sounds like it,” his mother says. “I’ll be honest—none of this is something I imagined you doing.” He can’t tell if it’s a criticism or just an observation. “But it’s nice to hear,” she says, after a moment. “It’s not good for you to be alone all the time, you know.”

He thinks about pointing out that he wasn’t alone all the time before, either, or that there are a lot of reasons he didn’t have much of a family, and that she was involved in some of them. But he doesn’t. “Well, I’m far from alone now, anyway,” he says. “Never a dull moment with a kid around.” He wonders when he started talking only in trite phrases. “And we’ll be even busier soon. We’re…we’re going to have a baby. In August. Scully’s pregnant,” he adds, even though that was probably obvious, from the rest of what he said.

Another pause, a longer one. “Oh,” she says. “Is that why you got married? So suddenly?”

“Mom, no. No,” he says. And then he’s barreling on—he might as well put it all out there with her. He doesn’t have anything to lose. “That’s not why. I married Scully because I love her. That’s the reason.”

“Well, that’s good,” she says. “There’s no need to get upset.”

“I’m not upset, Mom,” he says. “I just want you to understand. Emily, too. And the baby, already. I’m…I know you’re surprised. But I love her.” A noise behind him; he turns. Scully in the doorway of the living room, staring at him. Somehow this doesn’t surprise him. Somehow it feels right, that it should happen this way. But he wants to make sure there’s no room for error, no lack of clarity now, so he says, “I love Scully,” again, into the phone.

“I understand, Fox,” his mom says. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t. It’s all right,” he says, as nicely as he can, because Scully is still staring at him, and he really wants to get off the phone. “So that’s what’s been going on here, anyway. How have you been?”

“No news to match yours, I’m afraid,” she says. “I’ve been reading. Taking walks.”

“That sounds great,” he says. “I should…I have to go, Mom. Scully needs my help with something.” She smiles at him, from the other side of the room.

“Yes, I’m sure you’ll be very busy,” his mom says. “But call again, Fox, won’t you? If you have time.”

“Of course,” he says. “Goodbye, Mom. Take care of yourself.”

“You too,” she says, and then they hang up.

And then he turns to Scully, feeling a little shy. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” she says, and she sounds shy too; she’s looking down at her feet, clad in her old slippers. She should have new ones, he thinks, soft and fluffy and comfortable for when her feet hurt. He should get some for her. He can do that, now.

“You heard that?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says. She walks over then and sits down next to him on the couch. “I heard.”

“It’s true, you know,” he says. “I do love you, Dana Scully. So much.” That’s all he can say.

She reaches out to take his hand; he can see tears in her eyes. “I love you too,” she says. “Mulder, I love you too, and I have for a long time…” She stops, then, because she’s really starting to cry, but she smiles at him too, and he knows there’s never been anyone more beautiful.

“Good tears?” he says. “Right?”

“Good tears,” she confirms. “And it’s not the hormones, either. It’s us.”

“It’s us,” he echoes, and he leans in and kisses her. And kisses her. There’s no reason to stop.

She sniffles and wipes her eyes. “I want to make love with you,” she says. “Finally. After we’ve put Emily to bed.”

He loves her for her mixture of romance and practicality, even if he wishes at this moment that they’d already put Emily to bed. “Where is Emily?” he asks. “Sorry. I got a little distracted.”

“It’s okay. So did I,” Scully says. “She’s in her room. I told her I’d come get you so we could both read to her.”

As if on cue, Emily appears in the doorway too, wearing her pink pajamas. “Dana?” she says. “You said you and Mulder would come read me a book.”

“We will, sweetheart,” Scully says. “Mulder was just talking on the phone.”

“Here we come,” Mulder adds, getting up from the couch, extending a hand to Scully to help pull her up too.

Emily picks Madeline that night, and they read it to her, this story of a brave little girl with red hair who has to go to the hospital but is okay in the end. It doesn’t take an advanced degree to figure out why Emily might like it, why Mulder’s already lost count of how many times they’ve read it. He’s glad of that now, though, because he can’t fully concentrate on reading. Not when Scully’s smiling at him like that.

They tuck Emily in, kiss her and Elinor, say good night. It’s all the same as yesterday, but everything feels completely different. They turn out the light, and then they’re crossing the hall to their own room. Scully closes the door, carefully, deliberately.

And then she’s kissing him again, like she’s never kissed him before. He’s breathless with it. “Bed?” he manages, and she nods, and they fall back together, still kissing, their hands all over each other. He cups her breast through her shirt. “Is it okay if I…?”

“Yes,” she says. “Just not too hard.” He caresses her, just lightly, but her eyes flutter closed, and the sounds she’s making are frankly erotic. “Mmmmm…. everything’s more sensitive now.”

“You’ll have to show me what you like,” he says.

“You too,” she says.

“You’re what I like,” he says, and she flushes, and it’s beautiful, and he wants to see it happen a lot more. She starts to unbutton her shirt then, but she stills when she’s halfway down, and her face looks more serious all of a sudden. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says. “I just thought…when I imagined this, us, I didn’t think I’d be pregnant the first time.” Her hands are folded in front of her, over her stomach.

It takes him a moment to figure out what she’s worried about, maybe because he’s so caught up in everything, but then he gets it. “Hey,” he says. “You are absolutely beautiful, you know. All the time. But now especially.” She looks like she might be about to protest, so he goes on. “I mean it,” he says. “Looking at you and knowing you’re going to have our baby…” He kisses her again. “I’m a lucky guy.”

She lets him help her take her shirt the rest of the way off then, and her bra, and he kisses, caresses, her full breasts, the swell of her belly. He whispers that she’s beautiful again. He watches her face and listens to her breathing.

When they’re making love, finally, after years of longing and working their way towards each other, he looks up at her face, concentrates on her eyes to reassure himself that this is real. “Scully,” he says, “Scully, Scully,” and she gasps out his name when she comes. He’s found something so extraordinary, and in that moment, he believes.

They hold each other close afterwards, for what might be seconds or minutes or hours, and then she says that they should get dressed, in case Emily wakes up and comes looking for them. He stands behind her while she brushes her teeth, one hand on her abomen, the other holding his own toothbrush.

“Next week will officially be the second trimester,” Scully says. “Do you know what that means?”

He’s been reading the books, but he still thinks it’s a little unfair to give him a quiz now, in the midst of postcoital bliss. He tries his best. “Reduced risk of miscarriage,” he says. “Right?”

“That’s one thing,” Scully says. “And it’s a very good one. But what else?”

“Um…we can find out if it’s a boy or girl,” he says. “If you want to. Do you think you want to? We haven’t really talked about it yet.”

“I’m not sure,” Scully says. “It might be nice to be surprised. But I wonder if it would be easier for Emily to know whether she’s getting a brother or sister.”

“Do you think that makes a difference?” he asks. “It’s a newer thing, finding out, after all.”

“True,” Scully says. “I just thought it might be easier to talk about it with her that way.”

“You still want to wait a while, though,” Mulder says. “Right?”

“Right,” Scully says. “I think we should hold off with Emily for as long as possible. Until I’m really starting to show. There are still some risks, even now, and I don’t want to have to explain to her…” She trails off, and he holds her close.

“Baby will be fine,” he says. “We’ve got good luck.”

She laughs. “Since when?”

“Since we found out we were having a baby together,” he says. “Since we found Emily. Since I asked you to marry me. Since tonight. Since all those things.” He’s not usually one to trust in luck. But after hearing Scully say she loved him, he can’t help trusting just a little.

“Maybe you’re right,” she says, squeezing his hand. “You made me feel lucky tonight, anyway.” She smirks at him in the mirror. “Which reminds me. You still didn’t say what I was thinking of. For the second trimester.”

“Um…I give up,” he says. “Just tell me.”

“I’m probably going to want sex a lot,” she says; her voice is matter of fact, and her face is absolutely wicked. “That’s one of the effects. You think you can help with that?”

He spins her around and kisses her again, which seems to be enough of an answer.

...

It seems like the right time to tell Emily about the baby, the most propitious. She’s seemed much more settled in the past few weeks: she hasn’t been waking up in the night anymore, and she’s stopped saying that Elinor misses California. In fact, she goes so far as to tell them that Elinor likes it here, now. “She likes the playground,” Emily says, “and my room. And she likes when you read to us. And when you make French toast.”

“How about you?” Mulder asks her. “Do you like those things too? Or just Elinor?”

Emily gives him a look. “Me too. Of course.” And she starts to go back to her coloring then, but Mulder and Scully both have to hug her first.

So she’s doing better at home with them, and she’s doing all right in preschool too; they have her in one for children of government employees, in the mornings. Of course they’ll be on leave again in a few months, but they thought they should get Emily started now so that she’d have a chance to get used to it. She says she likes all the books they have there, and playing with the other kids, and doing art. Art seems to be the main thing they do at preschool, and dried macaroni glued to paper seems to be their main medium. At the moment it’s taking up a lot of real estate on the fridge.

Mulder knows that Scully’s still worried about how Emily’s going to take their announcement, afraid it will set back her sense of security and leave them where they were before. But they can’t really wait any longer, even if they wanted to; Scully’s starting to show too much to hide, no matter what she wears, and if they don’t tell Emily themselves someone else is bound to blurt it out. So they go over their plans when they’re in the office in the morning, before they pick Emily up. “I think she’ll be fine,” Mulder says. “Lots of kids get younger siblings.”

“I know,” Scully says. “I wouldn’t be worried if that was the only thing. It’s just with everything else…” She shakes her head. “But you’re right. And we can’t just never tell her. It’s better to do it now.”

“I don’t remember my parents telling me much of anything,” Mulder says, trying to think back to the years when they were a seemingly normal family. “Before Samantha was born, I mean. I remember sulking about it at first. But after that I liked her.”

Scully squeezes his hand. “I bet you were cute together,” she says.

“We were damn cute,” he says. “How about you and Charlie?”

“I barely remember him being born,” Scully says. “And I was the same age as Emily. But we did okay. We’d play together a lot.”

“See, she’ll be fine,” Mulder says. “Great, even.”

“I hope you’re right,” Scully says. “I just want her to—” Her eyes widen. “Mulder, quick!”

He moves to put a hand on her belly, knowing what she means. In the past week or so, she’s felt the baby moving a couple of times, but it’s always been light, and he’s never been able to catch it before it stops. He doesn’t feel anything this time, either. “Did it stop?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Scully says, shaking her head. “It’s still really light. Next time, I hope.” She rests her hand on top of his for a minute, before they straighten up, gather their things, and head out.

They wait until they’ve gotten Emily home and given her a snack before they break the news. “Emily, honey,” Scully says, “Mulder and I want to tell you something.”

Emily eats the last bite of her graham cracker. “Okay. What?”

“In a few months,” Scully says, “you’re going to be a big sister. We’re going to have a new baby.” Her voice is calm, but Mulder can tell how hard she’s trying to do this the right way.

Emily stares at them. “Where will you get the baby?”

“Well, right now,” Scully says, “the baby’s growing inside of me. Right here.” She pats the bump. “Until the baby’s big enough to be born.”

Emily’s still staring. “But I wasn’t inside there,” she says, after a minute. “Right?”

Scully shakes her head. “No, you weren’t,” she says. He knows it takes an effort for her to say that calmly, to not let Emily pick up on how she feels about what was done to the two of them. “There are lots of different ways to make a family. This is just one way.”

“Why?” Emily asks.

Scully looks a little flummoxed at that, and Mulder can’t blame her. He tries to step in instead. “Because what matters is wanting to be a family,” he says. “Dana and I wanted to be your mom and dad, and we want to be this baby’s mom and dad too.” He stoops to give Emily a hug, and from the look on Scully’s face, he guesses he’s said something right.

“Will the baby live here?” Emily asks.

“Yes,” Mulder says. “The baby will be very small at first, but later you can play together.”

“That’ll be fun for you,” Scully says. “And next week, we’re going to find out whether the baby’s a boy or a girl. So you’ll know if you’re getting a brother or a sister.”

“How do you find out?” Emily asks.

“From my doctor,” Scully says.

“Do you have to be in the hospital?” There’s a quaver in Emily’s voice. Mulder hadn’t thought about this part.

But Scully keeps her own voice cheerful. “Not to find out. But when it’s time for the baby to be born, I will go to the hospital for a little bit. But it’s for a really good reason, so the doctors can help keep me safe and we can all meet the baby.”

“So is having a baby like being sick?” Emily still sounds unsure.

“No, it’s not like that,” Scully says. “It’s a very natural thing.” Of course, it hasn’t exactly been that for them so far, but Emily nods and seems to accept it.

“Will you read to me?” she asks, after a minute, and Mulder tells her that they will. And they start in with Madeline, and she doesn’t ask anything more about the baby right then.

“That went okay,” he says to Scully in an undertone, while they’re making dinner and Emily is playing in the living room.

Scully nods. “She doesn’t seem too upset. Maybe next time we go to the library,” she says, “we can get her some books about being a sister.”

“Sounds like a plan,” he says.

They put Emily to bed that night, and once they’re out in the hallway Scully’s lips are on his. “Bed,” she murmurs. “I’ve wanted you all day…. I can’t believe my self-control.”

He chuckles against her as they make their way to their bedroom. “Good things come to her who waits.”

“What I was thinking,” Scully says; she’s already in the process of undressing. “Come being the operative word. I want your mouth on me. And after that I want you inside me.”

“I want that too.” He has to stop and kiss her first though, maybe just to steady himself. Hearing her tell him so openly what she wants—and that what she wants is him—still feels like it might be a fantasy sometimes.

Even looking at her feels like a fantasy. Especially in moments like this one, where she’s leaning back against the pillows with lust in her eyes and absolutely nothing on. He loves seeing the changes in her body—maybe he’s just being a typical guy, because her breasts are definitely getting bigger and it’s breathtaking to say the least, but he’d like to think there’s more to it than that. He likes knowing that it’s because of the baby, their baby who they created together, who they’re going to meet in a few short months.

“I love you,” he tells her.

“I love you too. Now get moving,” she says.

He doesn’t dawdle with the foreplay, because he can tell that wouldn’t go over well, but he does kiss his way down from her mouth. His head is between her thighs when he feels her start. “Wait,” she says, and she presses his cheek to her belly.

And he feels it this time—a little flutter, barely anything, but it’s there. That’s their baby moving.

“Oh my god,” he says. “Oh my god, Scully.”

“I know,” she says, almost laughing. “It’s crazy, isn’t it?”

“Completely crazy,” he agrees, pressing a kiss to the spot where he felt the baby move. “There’s a person in there!”

“Our baby,” she says. “It feels so funny, doesn’t it?”

He nods. “Hi, baby,” he says, his face still against the bump. “It’s your dad here.” Mere months ago, he couldn’t have imagined himself saying anything like this. “You know we’re so excited about you?”

“So excited,” Scully says. “We can’t wait to meet you.” They lie like that for a minute, taking it in. Then she says, “Mulder?”

“You want me to get on with things,” he says.

“You know me so well.”

He’ll do anything she needs to take care of her now—rub her back or bring her extra pillows or make a run to the store for whatever she’s craving—but none of it is as pleasurable as taking care of her like this. She tastes amazing, and she’s so responsive, and he makes her come twice with his mouth in quick succession. She comes again when he’s inside her, his hands on her hips, looking up at her as she moves, and he follows her, moaning her name.

“I’m not sure whether to chalk it up to the pregnancy or the amazing guy I’m with,” Scully says afterwards, when they’re lying there with her head against his chest, “but I’ve never come as much as I have these past few weeks.”

That does things for his ego, he won’t lie. “Maybe you could chalk the pregnancy up to the guy you’re with,” he suggests. “Kill two birds with one stone.”

“Good idea,” Scully says. “You get all the credit, and I get my eyes rolling back in my head. Not a bad bargain.”

“Credit’s not all I get,” he says. “God, Scully, you were amazing.”

She flushes, and she’s leaning in to kiss him when they hear a voice. “Dana? Mulder?”

Scully yanks the sheet up with a speed he wouldn’t have believed humanly possible but for which he’s very grateful and turns to look at Emily, who is standing by the bed, clutching Elinor, with an anxious look on her face. “What is it, sweetheart? Do you need something?”

Emily looks at them for a minute, and Mulder hopes she didn’t see too much. But her question, when it comes, has nothing to do with their state of undress. “When is the baby coming?”

“In August,” Scully says. “That’s four months from now.” She’s managing to sound remarkably unflustered.

Emily pulls at one of Elinor’s ears. “When the baby comes,” she asks, “will I go away?” Her lip is trembling.

“No,” Scully says. “No, of course not.”

“We’ll all live together,” Mulder says. “We’d never want you to go away. We’re a family.”

“Is there something that made you think you’d have to go away, sweetheart?” Scully asks. She’s still got the sheet pulled up to her chin, but she reaches out with one hand to touch Emily’s cheek.

“I don’t know,” Emily says. “Will the baby sleep in my room instead of me?”

“That’s your room,” Scully says. “The baby will probably sleep in here with me and Mulder for a little bit. And then she’ll have the room at the end of the hall. But no one is going to take away your room.”

“But you got me,” Emily says, “and now you’re getting the baby instead.”

“Not instead,” Mulder says. “The baby’s just another person. Like I’m one person, and so are you, and so is Dana. There’s no instead.” He feels terrible, looking at her sad little face.

“We love you so much because you’re you,” Scully says, “and we’ll love the baby a lot too, but in a different way. Because the baby will be a different person. And that will never, never mean that we love you any less.”

“Dana’s right,” Mulder says, but Emily still looks so sad.

“Do you want us to come and sit with you?” Scully asks, and Emily nods. “Okay, sweetheart. Will you go back to your room and wait for us? We’ll come in a minute.”

“Why aren’t you wearing shirts?” Emily asks.

“We were doing something private,” Scully says, and Mulder can’t believe how quickly she had that one ready. He salutes her. “Go and wait for us, okay? We’ll be right there.”

When Emily nods and goes, they hurry into their clothes and follow her. She’s sitting on her bed, her arms wrapped around Elinor. “Want us to tuck you in?” Mulder asks. She nods again, and he wraps the blankets around her, gently. “You don’t have to worry about anything,” he tells her. “We love you and we always will.”

“That’s a promise,” Scully says, kissing Emily’s cheek.

She clings to their hands. “Stay,” she says, and they do.

...

There’s still so much to get done, and today they’re packing it in: first they went to a childbirth class, and next they’re going to the doctor’s office, for Scully’s check-up. They’re going to find out if they’re having a boy or a girl today, and when they left the house Mulder was excited about that. Now, as they leave the class, he has other things on his mind.

“You look green,” Scully informs him as they get into the car.

“I feel green,” Mulder says. “Do you think that video was completely necessary?”

“It’s a childbirth class, so yes,” Scully says. She looks remarkably unfazed. He guesses autopsies will do this to you. But at least autopsies don’t involve that much screaming.

“It was…intense,” he says, unable to come up with a better word.

“That’s what it’s like,” Scully says. “Are you going to be okay with this? Because I’m going to need you there. And after all, you won’t be the one who’s—”

“That’s the point,” he says. “I don’t like to think of you hurting.”

“Oh, Mulder,” she says. She’s smiling, though, when she squeezes his hand. “I’m sure it’s not going to be fun. But it’s normal. And we’ll have a baby at the end of it. You don’t need to worry about me.”

He squeezes her hand back. “Well, I’ll do my best to not be squeamish,” he says. “And I will be there for the whole thing. You can count on that.”

“I know it,” she says, and she’s still smiling as they drive to the doctor’s office.

She’s smiling again when they leave the doctor’s office, on their way to pick up Emily. They got copies of the ultrasound, and she’s holding them in her hand, looking down at them every few seconds. The baby still looks like a blur to Mulder, but their blur, which is enough. “Hey, little girl,” Scully says softly, one hand on her bump, the other on the picture. “You’re awake, huh?”

“A girl,” Mulder says, savoring it. He really didn’t have a preference until the doctor told them they were having a daughter, when he became convinced that had been his preference all along.

“Are you excited?” Scully asks.

“Of course,” Mulder says. “Two daughters.”

“We should start thinking about names now,” Scully says. “Do you have any ideas?” And then, softly, while he’s thinking, “Do you want to name her after Samantha?”

He hadn’t thought about that either, but he knows the answer. “No,” he says quickly. “Thank you for asking, Scully. I mean it. But it would be too much…it would mean she was gone.”

Scully nods. “I understand,” she says, and he knows she does.

When they pick up Emily, she shows them a picture she drew. “It’s the three of us,” she says, thrusting it at them. “It’s for you.”

“Thank you, Emily,” Mulder says. “It’s beautiful.” He notices she doesn’t make any mention of the baby, which doesn’t surprise him. She’s been clingier than usual since they told her last week; he supposes it’s a good thing, in a way, since it means she’s grown attached to them, but he wishes they were able to reassure her better. When they try talking about the baby casually, about the things that all four of them will do together, Emily looks upset still; she’s been asking them a lot of questions like, “Will we still go to the park when the baby’s here?” and “Will I have to share Elinor?” and “Do we have to have the baby?” They do their best to answer her (yes, no, yes but we think you’ll like the baby), but they can tell she’s not yet on board with the idea.

They let Emily tell them all about her morning before sharing the news. “Guess what we found out today, Emily?” Scully says. “We found out that the baby is going to be a girl. A little sister for you.”

“Oh,” Emily says. “Okay.”

“Do you think you’ll like that?” Mulder asks.

Emily shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“Do any of the kids you go to school with have sisters?” he asks her. “Any of your friends?”

She appears to be deep in thought for a minute. “Sarah and Hannah are sisters,” she says, eventually.

“And do they like to play together?” Mulder asks.

“Yes,” Emily says. “They’re twins,” she adds, which puts a bit of a damper on things. No getting used to a new baby there.

“Would you like to see a picture of your sister, Emily?” Scully asks. “We got some pictures at the doctor’s today.”

“I thought we couldn’t see the baby yet,” Emily says.

“We can’t see her just looking at me,” Scully says, “but they have special tools at the doctor’s.” She holds out one of the ultrasound pictures, and after a minute Emily goes over to look.

“That doesn’t look like a baby,” she says. “I don’t see anything.”

“It does look a little funny at first,” Scully says. “But see, there’s her head…”

Emily looks worried. “Will she be funny-looking?”

“No,” Scully says, kissing the top of Emily’s own head. “Don’t worry about that. It’s just the kind of picture they take. And she’s not done growing yet. But when she’s here, she’ll look just like any baby.” She looks thoughtful for a moment, and then she says, “Emily, do you know what you looked like when you were a baby?” Emily shakes her head. “Would you like to see?”

They found the photographs when they were going through things at the Sims’ house; they’d been placed in albums with clear care. There weren’t any of Emily as a newborn, but they started pretty far back. “She must be around two months here,” Scully said, staring at one photograph with an unreadable expression. She had to be feeling a lot of things all at once, Mulder knew, and he didn’t know what to say about it. So he just sat there beside her while she turned the pages of the albums, putting them all into the pile of things that they planned to take with them.

Scully gets the first album now, and she sits back down next to Emily on the couch, opening it to the first page. “See?” she says. “That’s you. Look how tiny you were.”

“Really?” Emily asks softly.

“Really,” Scully says; she pulls Emily close with her free arm and gives her another kiss. Mulder sits down on the other side of Emily, to look at the pictures with them. He knows Scully’s sometimes angry that she missed seeing these moments in person, and so is he; like he told her this morning, he doesn’t want her to hurt. But he can tell, from the tone of her voice and the look on her face, that she’s also grateful to be sharing today with Emily.

...

Scully ordered several name books, and they look through them during their spare moments, which aren’t many. There are so many names that it’s kind of fascinating, but it’s hard to know which is the right one. “Maybe she’ll go by her last name,” Mulder suggests. “A lot of people like that, I hear.”

Scully makes a face at him. “She doesn’t think that’s very funny,” she says, rubbing her belly.

“Moving around again?” Mulder asks, and when Scully nods he moves closer to her, putting his hand there too. Their daughter’s movements seem to be getting stronger by the day; he doesn’t have to strain to feel them anymore, but it’s still the strangest, most miraculous thing. “What do you want your name to be?” he asks, and even though he doesn’t get an answer, he listens.

“Hey, Emily,” he says one Saturday afternoon, when they’re all sitting around the kitchen table, “do you have any ideas for what your sister’s name should be?” The look Scully is giving him now suggests that she’s simultaneously pleased that he asked and unsure whether this is a decision best made by a three-year-old.

Emily looks up from her coloring. “Why?”

“We’re trying to pick a name for her,” he says. “I wondered if you knew any good ones.”

“She doesn’t have a name yet?”

“Nope,” he says. “We get to choose that ourselves. Pretty neat, huh?” Emily shrugs. “Are there any names you like?”

Emily colors in the sun in her picture, the expression on her face showing that she’s concentrating. “I like Madeline,” she says.

“That’s pretty,” Scully says.

“Like in the book,” Emily says, as if there might be some doubt.

“It’s a good name,” Mulder agrees.

“So will that be her name?” Emily asks.

“We’ll put in on our list,” Mulder says. “We probably won’t decide for sure until closer to when she gets here.”

But he likes the sound of it, Madeline Mulder, and he thinks Scully might too. And Emily is smiling, which she doesn’t usually do when they talk about the baby. When Scully says, “Oh, she’s moving. Do you want to feel her kick?” she puts her hand on Scully’s belly and laughs.

...

“Are you feeling okay?” Mulder asks Scully. They were out at the park all morning, pushing Emily on the swings, and it’s a pretty hot day, and she looks tired.

“I’m all right,” she says. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Want to rest for a little bit before lunch?” he asks. “I’ll get everything ready. Emily can help me. Can’t you, Emily?” She nods enthusiastically.

“That sounds good,” Scully says. “Thanks.” He kisses her cheek before she walks slowly in the direction of the bedroom.

Emily is putting their plates on the table when she says, “What will the baby call you and Dana?”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“When the baby is here,” Emily says, “will she call you Mulder and Dana? Or Daddy and Mommy?”

He can tell this is a big question, and he wants to give Emily the right answer. “Well, when she first gets here, she won’t call us anything,” he says. “Because she won’t be able to talk yet. But when she gets a little bigger…she’ll probably call us Daddy and Mommy. But—”

“Oh,” Emily says. “Do I call you that too?”

“That’s up to you,” he says. He doesn’t want to pressure her, even though he would love that, and he knows Scully would.

“You said me and the baby would be the same,” Emily says. “And you would love us the same.”

“And that’s true,” Mulder says. “Of course we will.”

“Then we should call you the same,” Emily says. Her lips are pursed, as if she’s thinking very hard.

He stoops down so he can look her in the eye. “Dana and I would like it a lot if you wanted to call us that,” he says. “But nothing will make any difference to how much we love you. Okay?”

“But I want to call you that,” Emily says. “Because you are my daddy and my mommy. Right?”

“Of course we are,” he says, and he hugs her then, and she hugs him back, clinging to his legs. “So that’s all settled then.”

“All settled,” she repeats, nodding vigorously. “All settled, Daddy.”

Scully almost chokes on her sandwich when Emily calls her Mommy during lunch, and then she stops eating to hug her too. The smile on her face that afternoon is a beautiful thing.

“I’m so glad she feels…she feels that way about us,” she says to Mulder that night; they’re lying in bed, his arms around her.

“Me too,” he says. “And just in time, too.”

“Mmm,” Scully says. “One more month.”

“One more month,” he agrees, pressing a kiss behind her ear, holding her while she drifts off to sleep.

...

They’ve planned for Maggie to stay with Emily while the baby is born; as Scully’s due date approaches, she assures them she’ll be on call. One Saturday morning, Emily’s flipping through picture books on the living room rug when Scully beckons to Mulder from the bedroom and hisses, “I think it’s time,” into his ear.

“For the baby?” he says.

“Yes, for the baby. What do you think?” She sounds a little irritated, but he probably would be too, if he were about to push a person out of his body.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

“The contractions are still pretty far apart,” she says. “But I’m going to call my doctor. And you call my mom, okay? We don’t want to be in a rush.”

They make the calls. They pick up the bag that Scully has painstakingly packed. They kiss Emily, tell her they love her, and let her know they’ll see her tomorrow. And then they go.

They’ve been in hospitals many times together, but this one feels different. Nothing’s wrong. After everything, it’s something good.

He gets Scully ice chips, strokes her hair back from her face, holds her as she braces herself against him. “You’re doing so well,” he murmurs to her. “Almost there.” She doesn’t answer him in words, but her hand finds his, squeezes it tight.

They lose time. He doesn’t know how long they’ve been there when he finally hears it. Their daughter’s cry, full-throated and her own. “Let me hold her,” Scully demands, and then they’re both bending over their baby. She’s tiny and she’s perfect and she has wisps of red hair on her head. “Hello,” Scully whispers to her. “You don’t know how happy we are to see you.”

“So happy,” Mulder adds, touching one of her tiny hands. He can’t believe this has happened, that this is what has come of what they did together nine months ago, before they even knew…

“Madeline?” Scully says, turning to him, when the nurse asks if they’ve picked out a name yet.

“Madeline,” he confirms. It’s the right name for their second daughter, for another brave red-headed girl.

“She’s amazing,” he tells Scully, when it’s just the three of them. “And so are you.”

Scully smiles. “I think she’s pretty perfect too,” she says. “God, Mulder, I can’t believe she’s here.”

“I know,” he says, holding them both close.

“Will you call my mom?” she asks him, when Madeline is asleep and she’s close to following. “Tell her to bring Emily in the morning?”

“Of course,” he says, kissing her cheek as she settles deeper into the hospital bed.

They’re there as soon as visiting hours start the next day. When Emily steps into the room, she looks a little shy. “Hi, sweetheart,” Scully says. “We missed you.”

Emily’s staring at the bundle in Scully’s arms. “Is that her?”

“That’s her,” Scully says. “Did Grandma tell you what name we picked?”

Emily nods. “Madeline,” she says, sounding very satisfied that her choice was accepted.

“Do you want to come over here and meet her?” Scully asks. Emily shrugs.

“Well, I think she’d like to meet you,” Mulder says. “She’s been talking and talking about it.”

Emily gives him a look. “She has not. You told me she couldn’t talk yet.”

“Okay, you got me,” Mulder says, grinning at her. “But I think she’d like to meet you anyway. And your mom and I would like to give you a hug.” Emily finally makes her way across the room at that, settling onto the bed next to Scully. He hugs her tight.

“Emily,” Scully says softly, “this is Madeline. Madeline, this is your big sister, Emily.” Mulder watches Emily a little nervously. While she’s seemed to accept the idea of a baby sister more recently, she still hasn’t been over the moon about it.

But she looks fascinated by Madeline. “She’s so little,” she says. “Can we talk to her? Even if she can’t talk?”

“Sure you can,” Scully says. “Why don’t you say hi?”

“Hi, Madeline,” Emily says. “You’re so little.” She touches Madeline’s forehead gently. “You’re my little sister,” she says. “And we’re all a family.”

“That’s very sweet, Emily,” Scully says. “You’re going to be a great big sister. I can already tell.”

He wants to say something similar, but he can’t speak for the moment; there’s a lump in his throat. So instead he watches the three of them together, and he’s glad.

#my fic #the x files #msr #emily sim #alternate universe #fluff

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patagucci34 · 5 years ago

Text

Unbelievable

Warnings: some swearing and mentions of sex

Word count: 3000

Alex and I have a complicated relationship…we've known each other a long time. Our parents were friends when the Nylander's lived in DC, and because of that, we spent a lot of time together. After the Nylander's moved on from DC, we would see them a few times a year. Once Alex and I got older our relationship matured as well. We never dated because of the distance but whenever we got to see each other we had lots of fun together…

When I graduated high school, I moved to Chicago and attended Northwestern University. Alex and I kept in touch, when he played in Chicago we usually met up, and of course, over the summer we usually saw each other a few times. After graduation, I got a job and stayed in the city. I remember being at work and getting a call from Alex, which was kind of unusual. It was over the summer, and because I stayed in Chicago, we hadn't seen each other yet. I let the call go to voicemail and not a minute later I received a text from him,

hey, call me when you can.

That kind of text made me nervous coming from him, so I decided to text him back,

I'm at work, and I’ll call you when I get a break. Is everything okay?

I put my phone back down and went back to work while I waited for a response. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed and I picked it up to look at it.

Yes, just have some really exciting news XXX.

I rolled my eyes at his use of "kisses," most likely intentionally using three x's for its sexual meaning. Now he has me curious, but I tried my best to push him out of my mind so I could get work done undistracted.

Unfortunately, I didn't end up getting a chance to call Alex during the day, but when I got out, it was the first thing I did. It rang a few times before he picked up.

"Hey, babe." He said picking up the phone.

"Hi, Alex. So what's your exciting news?" I asked impatiently.

"Ah, always so impatient…" He teased.

"Alex, seriously, it's been killing me all day."

He chuckled before finally telling me the news, "I got traded to the Blackhawks."

"Oh, shit! That's awesome!!" I said excitedly. Although, I'm not exactly sure why he's so excited to tell me. Alex's reputation with women is no secret, and I'm sure he'll continue when he moves to a new city.

"I'm moving there at the beginning of August, but I'm coming in a few days to see the city. I'd love to see you."

"Yeah, of course, work has been busy this week, but just let me know when you have some free time."

"I will. See you soon, babe."

"Bye, Alex." I said and hung up. I sighed as I put my phone in my pocket and continued my walk home.

~~~~~

August approached very quickly. Seeing Alex when he came to visit was nice, but I started wondering what it would mean for our relationship. Would we hang more? Would we hang out less? Would it be hard to see him with other girls? Don't get me wrong, I knew what our arrangement consisted of, I definitely hung out with other guys too, we just have never been in close proximity since we were kids. To make matters worse, or better I guess, he was living with a teammate whose apartment was a five minute walk from mine.

Alex reached out the day he got here. I went over and helped him unpack some stuff and then we went and got dinner. He came over a little bit after, but figured he should probably stay with his teammate his first night here.

We didn't see each other much during training camp because he was so busy, but once or twice a week he would make time to come over. As the season officially started, he was coming over a few times a week, but not usually the weekends because I only assumed he was taking girls home he met out the clubs. That was the thing about us, I was never invited out, never invited to team stuff, which was fine, we aren't dating, but we are friends. We go to dinner sometimes but usually we just order in and have sex.

This arrangement went on for a few months before some things started to change. When Alex had first gotten here we had talked about what our relationship was. He had decided we were just "having fun." I was fine with that, I liked having my options open and would be lying if I said I was ready for a relationship.

However, one night, in mid-November, Alex had texted me asking if he could come over. His phrasing was different from his usual 'hang tonight?', so I was a little worried about what he wanted. When he got to my place, he was acting a little awkward. It took a while for him to finally spit out what he wanted. We were eating at the time and I almost did a spit take in response to his question.

"So, um, I need a favor." He asked softly.

"What kind of favor?"

"I need a date to a team event."

This was where I did my spit take. "I'm sorry, what?"

He looked taken aback at my response. He was at a loss for words so I kept going. "For months, you keep me away from all of that stuff, and now you want me to go because you can't find another date?"

"Oh come on, Y/N. It's not like that…I just, please. I need a date. You have to come."

"No way, you're the one who labeled this as 'just fun'. I don't have to do anything."

"But we're friends too. Please, Y/N. I'd really appreciate it."

"Why do you need a date anyway? I'm sure people go solo."

"Yeah, but it looks better."

I rolled my eyes. "Fine, but you owe me."

He smiled big and gave me a big hug and kiss. We finished eating and moved to the living room to watch some TV.

I was lost in my thoughts, this is the kind of stuff that I really wanted to avoid. Even though I'm okay with how our relationship is now, I'm worried about treading into those waters because I feel like I already have underlying feelings that I have been able to push deep down and I'm worried they will start to come up. I was interrupted from my thoughts by Alex waving a hand in front of my face.

"Hey, spacey, you there?"

"Yeah, sorry," I said coming back to reality.

"I think I'm gonna head out, thanks for dinner."

"Alright, I'll see you later."

I'm glad he left, I really wasn't in the mood to do anything, especially with him.

~~~~~

A few weeks went by, I went to the event with Alex and it wasn't as bad as I thought. He introduced me to everyone as an old family friend. I decided I was okay with that because hopefully it would help suppress feelings. I mostly just stayed by Alex's side that night, making conversation with some of the WAGs when the opportunity arose. A few of them pressed about the status of our "friendship." But luckily I was able to convince them we truly were just friends, which is what we are.

One Saturday night, I went out with a few friends from work. Unfortunately, they picked a club that the Blackhawks frequent. I was hoping since they lost their game that night, they wouldn't go out, but I knew that was wishful thinking. I was 4 vodka sodas deep, trying forget the stressful week at work. I had met a guy at the bar that had been occupying my time on the dance floor. We had been making out on and off and when he let go of my lips for a brief second I looked over and saw Alex staring us down. He looked angry, and that made me mad. I knew the look in his eyes, he was going to come over and interrupt us. Just a few minutes later, we were making out again, and I felt a hand grab my arm and pull me away. Sure enough, it was Alex.

"What the hell, man?" The guy said to Alex.

Alex ignored him and continued pulling me away. He walked us to a quieter corner by the bathrooms.

"What the hell, Alex. What are you doing?"

"You don't need to be dancing with him like that." He said with a dark look in his eyes.

"Oh really, and why not?"

"You don't know him, and he was looking at you funny."

"So what if I don't know him? You go home with random girls all the time." I said before walking away, however, I was stopped once again, by Alex grabbing my arm and pulling me back to him.

"That's different, I just don't want you dancing with him."

"I can do whatever I want, Alex. We're not dating." I said trying to shrug my arm out of his grip, but it only tightened. "Let me go."

"No."

"Alex."

"Y/N."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want you to not dance with that guy."

"Not gonna happen."

"Then I'm not gonna let go of your arm."

"You're being ridiculous."

Before he had time to retort, his teammate Kirby had come over.

"What's going on over here?"

We both looked over at him and I was able to get the first word in. "Nothing, I'm going home." I said finally being able to release myself from his grip. I stalked off to find my friends and tell them I was going home. I walked out front to wait outside for my Uber and I could feel the presence of the annoying blonde I had just escaped near me. I looked over to see him escorting a girl out the door and get into an Uber.

"Unbelievable," I muttered under my breath as I got into my Uber and went back to my apartment.

It had been a few days since our encounter in the club and I hadn't heard from him. I wasn't really surprised but I guess part of me was hoping he would reach out and apologize. That part of me never got the satisfaction because it took four weeks to finally hear from him.

A guy from work, Wyatt, asked me on a date, it went well. Although we were trying to take things slow, we were texting quite a bit and hanging out a lot, and I was starting too really like him. I was realizing that Alex had been holding me back in that department. When he was around, I wasn't allowing myself to explore relationships.

I'm not sure how Alex caught wind of my new friend, but I was sure to find out when he came banging on my door. It startled me, but when I looked through the peephole to see an upset Alex standing outside my door, I got angry.

I opened the door and he pushed right through me and started pacing around the apartment.

"What is your issue?" I asked.

"My issue? How come I have to find out you have a boyfriend through your friends?"

"Excuse me, what? 1. Why were you talking to my friends? 2. I don’t have a boyfriend, and 3. Why does it matter to you if I did? You haven't spoken to me in 4 weeks."

He didn't respond to me, instead got redder in the face when my phone dinged and he saw it was from Wyatt. My eyes widened when Alex grabbed my phone and started to unlock it. I went to grab it out of his hands but he stepped back and put it up higher in the air.

"Alex, give me phone back!"

He started down the hallway and I quickly followed, trying to grab for my phone. He picked up the pace and darted into my room. I tried to push on the door but he was too strong for me. The door latched and I heard the lock.

I started banging on the door, "Alex, stop! Open the door." I heard nothing so I kept banging. "Please, Alex. I really like him, don't mess this up for me."

A few seconds later, the door swung open and he handed my phone back with a triumphant look on his face.

My face fell when I saw the text that Alex has just sent to Wyatt. Hey, I'm so sorry but I can't keep talking to you, it’s just not the right time for me to start a relationship.

I looked up at Alex and couldn't stop a tear from falling.

"Why would you do that? You had no right to do that." I said with the tears starting to roll.

He looked guilty and at a loss for words.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it would make you this upset."

"Get out," I said pointing at the door.

"Y/N, come on. I didn't think tha--"

"Stop. You don't get to barge in here, not after ignoring me for four weeks because of what you did at the club. You don't get to decide who I talk to, or hang out with. You made that very clear when you said we were just having fun, and you only reach out when you want to have sex."

He looked at me with sad eyes, wheels turning in his head as he's trying to figure out what to say. He opened and closed him mouth a few times before speaking up, "I'm sorry, y/n/n, I, I just, I guess, I don't know what to say."

"And yet you're still here." I looked between him and the door and after what seemed like hours, he nodded and walked towards the door. He turned the handle and paused looking back at me. I looked away and he walked out the door. The tears streamed down my face as I watched the door close. I went to my bedroom and cried myself to sleep.

Alex tried reaching out a few times in the week after that but I didn't respond to him. I had smoothed things over with Wyatt at work but figured maybe it wasn't a good time to explore a new relationship with all of this Alex garbage going on.

About two weeks after our fight, I heard a knock on the door. I looked through the peephole and saw Alex with take out in hand. I contemplated whether or not I was going to open the door.

"I see your shadow…" he called out. I sighed and opened the door.

"What?"

"Will you please talk to me, I brought Chinese," he said holding up the bags of food.

I stepped aside and let him walk by me. He walked to the kitchen and put the bags down and grabbed plates from the cabinet. He fixed us both a plate and brought them to the counter where we sat down and ate in silence. Once we were both finished he took our plates and put them in the sink. He came back over and sat down. We sat in silence for a little bit longer before he spoke up.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I really am. I shouldn't have come over here and done that. Not after how I have been treating you. You're right, I had no right to do that." He paused to look at me, I looked down to my lap because I didn't know what to say, so he kept going. "I don't want you to be with other guys, it's selfish, I know. But I can't stand the thought of someone else getting to spend time with you. I never have been able to, that's why I kept you so separate. I didn't want to have to see or hear about you with other guys. I'm realizing now that that was unfair to you."

At this point, tears were rolling and I couldn't stop them. He has stopped what he was saying and wiped away some of tears. I didn't protest but I also wasn't sure what to think of all this. I think he sensed my hesitation and wrapped his arms around me in a tight hug. We stayed like that for a few minutes. "I'm not letting you go and we both know you don't want me to either."

I relaxed in his arms after he said that. He was rubbing circles in my back.

We had stayed like that for a while before I pulled away and wiped my face

"So, what does this all mean?" I asked.

"I guess we need to figure that out. I want you in my life, y/n/n. I can't imagine my life without. I truly am sorry that I have treated you so poorly. I want to make things right and I want this to work."

"What do you mean, you want this to work? You want what to work?"

"Us, I want you to be mine and I will be yours. I'm realizing it's what I have wanted for a long time, I'm just sorry it's taken me being a dick to realize…"

I looked into his eyes and could tell he meant everything that he was saying.

"So, what do you say? Can we do this?" he asked with a hopeful look in his eyes.

I smiled, "yeah, let's do this."

He smiled and wrapped me in a hug. We went to bed and just cuddled up with each other. I could hear his soft snores as drifted off to sleep, I smiled knowing I'd wake up and he'd be there, and we were finally happy together.

#alex nylander #alex nylander imagine #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction

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bitterxweetencounters · 5 years ago

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~5 months later~

Ok I lied. I’m not going to talk about my Japan trip in this post. Instead I’m going to provide an update on what’s been going on in my life for the past 5 months since my last post. Lol.

Okaaaay. So we ended up having a second wave. Hahah..aha..hah. A very intense and overwhelming one, at that. There was a day I believe when the number of new covid cases reached almost 800? It happened around mid this year. I remember it being a really devastating and disappointing period of everyone’s lives. It would seem like the number of new cases would only get worse everyday. I would be so put off from watching the news or reading about anything related to covid ‘cause it would only make me depressed.

Today is a notable day to write this post ‘cause today’s the first day, since this second wave started, that VIC reached 0 new cases and 0 new deaths. 4 stages of lockdown (plus an extension) later, we're finally here! Everyone up until this day had been feeling it - despair, restlessness, anger, hopelessness - at this lockdown that seemed would never end. But today we got the news that VIC will be re-opening again (1st stage) this Wednesday (it’s a Monday today), then even more on Nov 8. The glimmer of hope we’ve been waiting for, for literally months now.

Now for the non-covid related updates. Lol.

It’s tempting sometimes to overgeneralise 2020 as “the year wasted”. “Nothing happened this year” (besides covid of course). But there have been a few new things I’ve experienced this year which I think would be worth noting. And a few thoughts I’ve been having lately that I really need to deposit somewhere before I forget them.

Ever since I became single early this year, I’ve received some interesting dm’s via Instagram. One of the first ones was from this guy from Canada, who sent me one of my posts via my DM then proceeded to comment “cute haha *monkey covering it’s mouth emoji*”. I got this message while I was showering, at like 3am, so it was pretty unexpected. This was the beginning of a very strange friendship (?) thing. Long story short, and around a month later, I found out him to be a very strange guy. He was cute, seemed like a catch at first. BUT he gave off major player vibes and also, he was basically 4-5 years younger than me, and didn’t live up to the maturity he claimed to have (emotional maturity mainly). He would make it seem like he was after a relationship with me sometime in the future but also kept implying that he wasn’t necessarily after a relationship right now, and just wanted to “go with the flow”. He was always complimenting me, always wanted to FaceTime everyday, and would sweet talk me with things that were nice to hear. But I couldn’t shake off the feeling that he was bad news and wasn’t really serious about any of this (I even kept telling him I was thinking this). I should mention he was asking for a selfie and wanted to FaceTime from the very first conversation we had (after only exchanging a few messages). We didn’t even know each other yet?? Lmao. After a few weeks of talking to him I eventually caught him in a lie, and yeah. That was one of the biggest red flags. I had a weird feeling about him from the get go, but I guess I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt (and also what threw me off a lot is that he told me that he told his Mum about me - but I’ll never know if that was just a lie too). He also told me that he was going to visit here from Canada in August (it’s October now) and kept going on about how he wanted to spend a whole week out of the two weeks he was going to be here, with me, and how I’m so chill and fun to talk to that we would have so much fun spending time together. Lmaooo. He told me he’s dated a lot of older girls (I’m not sure if this is a fetish of his), but every time I asked him how many exes he’s had, it would always be a different number (which is hella sus ‘cause it seemed like he was lying then). He tried to do some weird sexual stuff as well which I never entertained and pretty much shut him down straight away whenever he tried. Not sure if he was just joking, but it was disturbing nonetheless. I won’t go into detail ‘cause this isn’t the place for it. It eventually got to a point where I was decided on the fact that I couldn’t take this guy seriously and didn’t want to waste both our time so I started replying less/later to his messages, basically friend-zoned him by calling him “man” and “dude”, and teased him about other girls saying that he had potential with them. I think he eventually got the hint ‘cause one day he just stopped texting me “good morning” everyday. Lol. But anyway, yeah that was more or less the main stuff about guy #1.

Guy #2 was from London and it started with one of my girl friends messaging me and asking me if I was talking to someone at the moment. I said I wasn’t and she proceeded to tell me that one of her boyfriend’s friends found me really pretty and wanted to follow me on Instagram. She then sent me a few photos of him (screenshots from his IG account), asking if I would be interested (I felt like I was on a dating site for a moment lmao). While flattering, I remember thinking this was so bizarre. To be honest with you though the guy wasn’t my type (looks-wise). My friend said he was “a real sweetheart”. Even though he wasn’t my type, I gave it a chance and told her that I don’t mind him following me. We both agreed that the guy and I had nothing to lose, and if anything we’d just become international friends. Lol. So soon enough the guy follows me on IG and then starts a convo via DM. He introduces himself, seemed like a nice/decent guy. Very articulate, and well versed. He would comment on my stories here and there and try to get a conversation going, try to get to know me better and try to share things about himself. I think I recall him saying he thought I lived in Japan ‘cause I had a lot of posts from Japan. Lmao. It would get to the point though where he would write massive paragraphs, but the energy wasn’t called for, and didn’t feel mutual. I think I found it a bit overwhelming and felt like he wanted to take every opportunity to write an essay about his views on everything. There was a particular time I did an IG story post where I was venting about something, and he replied to it with like two long paragraphs worth of his thoughts, and then said he would be there for me even though we didn’t really know each other that well yet etc. Which was really sweet - yes. But also felt too early, premature. It almost felt like he was trying to forge an emotional connection too early on in a relationship which wasn’t even at the friends stage yet. We’d only been talking for like 2 weeks or so. I couldn’t help it, but I think my neutral and short replies gave off a hint, and he commented less and less on my stories. Till eventually he stopped altogether. Lol. Also I think I may have accidentally called him “man”....on purpose. I feel like a horrible person. There was a point early on though that I looked through his IG profile and tried to find things about him that I liked (I basically tried to convince myself that maybe the guy wasn't so bad). But I think that wasn’t successful. And yeah, it was hard to hide that fact for long I think.

Guy #3 is this random guy that just followed me out of no where and liked a bunch of my photos on IG all at once. He then started commenting on my stories quite a lot. He would leave brief comical comments, and tried to get me to play animal crossing with him. Lol. He tried to start a convo one time but I didn’t reply to it for a few hours, and then found that he deleted it. Lol?? He would then like a few more of my IG pics. He was a bit strange. I wasn’t quite sure if he was trying to show that he was interested, or if he was just bored and wanted more friends. But yeah he doesn’t comment on my stories much anymore. Now that I’ve gotten those out of the way, just thought I’d go on about my recent thoughts. So lately I’ve been feeling really stuck. I have a quarter-life crisis pretty much every day. I feel like I’ve plateaued, and I’m not really growing much right now. I feel like I need new experiences, new company. Most of the ones I have at the moment aren’t serving me well or helping me become a better person, if I’m honest. And I’m not happy. The company I have right now aren’t encouraging me to level up, or helping me expand my thoughts and horizons. I’ve noticed that a lot of the friends I was close to pre-covid have changed a lot, and so have I, so we’re not really offering much to each other. I’ve become so low energy lately that I find myself trying to avoid or escape dealing with people or situations that I feel aren’t worth my energy. Which I want to start doing more of from now on. I want to be more selective of the people I chose to surround myself with. I also want to find my community or a new community which I can be part of and grow from. Not sure how or where I will find that, but it’s something I’m keen on delving into more as time goes by. I want to be more myself, I want to change up my look, my fashion. I want to expand my knowledge, expand my vocabulary, expand the diversity of ways I talk/present myself or respond/reply to situations. I want to feel like I have something to offer - not only to my future partner, but to the friends I make in this lifetime. I feel like I’m too basic and uninteresting. I feel like I’m also too careful, too slow, too afraid to make mistakes. Too afraid to take risks. I want to stop “complaining about things, but doing nothing about them”. I want to be confident in myself, no matter what I feel that I am. If that makes sense. I want to speak more clearly, slower. I want to be able to speak Filipino fluently. I want to find the career that I love and work in it. I want to work with people that I can genuinely be friends with, not just colleagues or “fake friends”. I want to not care about what people will think about me, and just do me (especially on IG). I want to be unapologetically myself. But before that, I want that self to be the kind of self I aspire to be. Can you want to be different, but also want to just be yourself at the same time? Can someone confirm this?

#personal #update #coviddays

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laylacooke · 5 years ago

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The Cat’s Meow (Pt. 1) || Ariana & Layla

timing: Mid August parties: @letsbenditlikebennett & @laylacooke summary: Meow meow. Meow meow meow. (Something’s off. Like way off.)

After getting smacked in the face by a two headed dildo, Layla’s nose and head ached all night long. Dreams plagued her mind. Strange dreams that made no sense. Words ran together and became harder to understand. Soon her body ached and burned. The constant sounds of meowing and hissing filled her ears and by daybreak, Layla had woken up in a cold sweat. She was panting hard and fast and longed for water. As she noticed the sun peeking in through a small slit in from the ruffled-up blankets, she poked her head out, but something felt off. Something felt...wrong.

The world seemed different as if she were looking through new eyes. Things were brighter and seemed less sharp. While her wolf senses already gave her perks over just being a human, even those felt different. And scanning the room left her heart beating a little harder than before, when she noticed how high up the bed seemed from the floor. It was the low growl coming from nearby that finally alerted Layla that something was really off.

Indy, what are you growling at? It’s me, Layla. Addressing her dog came as a shock when not words, but meows cut through the silence of the room. Indy! Indy!!! The meows were filled with more panic as she tried to speak. But they were soon cut short, when she noticed her dog lunging after her. Without thinking Layla hit the floor and took off scurrying out of the bedroom.

Ariana!!! ARIANA!!! She howled out her best friend’s name, only to have louder, shriller meows fill the quietness of the house. The orange tabby leaped up onto the back of the couch as the small dog barked ferociously below. Layla’s heart was beating loudly as confusion and fear ran rampant through her now, tiny cat brain.

The sleep Ariana had been in had been far from restful. Her dreams still seemed odd and not entirely her own while still somehow having Celeste’s dead body haunt her. The dream she was currently in led to her finding Ace dead and she had been near hysteric in her dream when a shrill sound pulled her back to reality. She groaned as her eyes flickered opened and adjusted to the light. It was entirely too bright in her room, but she rubbed her eyes anyway. What was that sound? The dogs were both barking, and she heard… a meow? What the hell? Did Layla bring a cat home? She rushed out to the living room and saw tabby cat sitting on the back of the couch. That was… new. She rubbed her eyes again, making sure she was seeing things straight before rushing over and scooping the cat up in her arms. “Shh, Indy it’s okay. Now, sit,” she commanded the small dog as she cradled the cat. “How’d you get in here little kitty?”

When Layla spotted Ariana coming through the door, a huge wave of relief washed over her tiny cat body. Looking up at her friend with huge round, terrified eyes, she let out a pitiful meow hoping the girl would understand her words. Tears filled her golden eyes realizing Ariana couldn’t process cat speak into words, and she let out another sad meow. If Ari didn’t recognize her how the hell was, she ever going to get out of this? Was she going to be stuck as a cat forever? Maybe she was dreaming. That’s what it had to be right? A dream. That witch...woman or whatever she was at Pandora’s Boxxx surely didn’t have the power to turn people into cats, right? Pushing into Ari, she rubbed her head fiercely against her friend.

The cat seemed to be particularly attached to Ariana and she wondered when she became the cat whisperer. Moira must have started a trend, but something smelled off about this cat. It was familiar even though she’d never seen this cat before in her life. She examined the cat in her arms, and it sniffed it tentatively. It smelled more like Layla than cat and it seemed like it was trying to talk to her with its meows. For a moment, she kept sniffing and it smelled more like Layla. Realization dawned on her. “Layla?”

Yes. Sniff me! Never in her life had she wanted to be sniffed more than she did now. If Ariana could figure out that it was her maybe she could help. Continuing to rub against the girl, she began to purr. She felt safe in Ariana’s arms. Nothing could hurt her. Not even the two barking dogs on the floor. It was hearing her name that got more meows out of the orange tabby. She recognized her! Ariana knew that Layla was a cat! Help me! Please help me, Ari! She meowed even more forgetting that her words would not translate.

Ariana was positive that her brain had to be short circuiting. How could Layla be a cat? Okay, the answer to that was fairly obvious. Magic was a thing. But who would turn her into a cat? She knew the girl didn’t exactly make friends during the fidget spinner incident, but a cat? She tried to comfort her friend with a few pets before muttering, “How the fuck are you a cat, Layla?” Maybe Winston could help with this somehow. There had to be a way to turn her back to normal. She couldn’t just be a cat forever. What would happen on the full moon?

Some bitch hit me in the head with a fucking cursed double headed dildo! That’s how the fuck I’m a cat! Help me! Continued meows escaped Layla’s small snout. This was getting ridiculous. Between Indy and Luna barking and the only things coming out of the ginger cat’s lips being meows, she was beginning to get a headache. Could cats get headaches? This one could, and without thinking, she let out a hiss towards the two barking dogs trying to get them to stop making noise. I swear once I get my paws on that witch! She let out a low growl of frustration.

It was obvious to Ariana that the cat was trying to communicate with her. Outside of general distress, she couldn’t really figure out what Layla was saying. She did know it had to be magic. The dogs wouldn’t stop with the barking, so she commanded, “Sit.” They stayed in their place as she slowly backed away to the bedroom with Layla in her arms. After the door clicked shut, she set Layla down on the bed. “We’re gonna keep you in here to avoid any altercations with the dogs and I’m gonna see if Winston or another spellcaster knows how to fix… well, this.” She gestured to Layla’s cat like form.

Being out of the room with two ridiculously loud barkers, Layla found relief. However, being out of Ariana’s arms and sitting on a bed that was almost four times as big as she was re-confirmed everything, especially when the wolf mentioned Layla’s new body. Letting out an exasperated sigh, tail swishing back and forth in annoyance, she finally gave up trying to force human words out of her cat like mouth. It was never going to work. She was going to have to rely on motions and gestures, just like one long game of charades, except she was forced to have paws, a tail, and fur 24/7. Making a small circle on the bed, she laid down and pulled her long, orange tail in close to her small cat body. Her eyes went straight to Ariana as she listened to what she had to say.

It was apparent that Layla couldn’t possibly be of much assistance in figuring out what actually happened to her. Ariana couldn’t speak cat and she was sure she’d need a spellcaster to get close to even figuring this one out. She suppressed a groan and paced around the bedroom. The idea of leaving Layla home alone with the dogs wasn’t entirely comforting, but she’d have to. She lowered her gaze and explained, “I’m going to consult a couple of spellcasters. I’ll close you up in here, so the dogs stay away. I’ll be back, though, okay?” She didn’t expect much of an answer outside of a meow she wouldn’t be able to understand, so she gathered her bags and headed out towards Winston’s.

Ariana was right. All Layla could give her was a meow. The idea of staying home alone with the dogs wasn’t ideal, but at least she’d be safe in here. Or so she thought. As Ari left the room, Layla noticed the door hadn’t clicked shut. She was depending on that click and with the information that the door was still open, she started to yowl and meow loudly, but it didn’t work. Ariana was already out the door. And in all her commotion, she had also drawn the attention of Luna and Indy. Oh shit.

It didn’t take long for the two dogs to come bounding into the room yipping and barking. Indy, Layla hadn’t been too concerned about, but as soon as Luna was through the door, the large dog made a leap onto the bed. FUUUCK! Scurrying off the bed, Layla hit the ground harder than she had expected, feeling a jolt being sent through her body. But she had no time to recover. Running out of the bedroom, she scanned the area as quickly as she could spotting the small window in the bathroom open, and without hesitating, the orange tabby leaped onto the toilet across to the sink back onto the towel rack which had wobbled back and forth, before pushing herself through the window, losing some fur and skin in the process.

With a hard thud to the ground, Layla yipped in pain, but continued running as fast as she could not sure where her feet would take her.

#para: the cat's meow #pt. 1 #letsbenditlikebennett #wickedswriting #saga: a little catty

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chilling-seavey · 5 years ago

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Anything But Mine (d.s.) - Chapter Thirty-Two

A/N do you have your popcorn ready? 😉

Saturday, August 29th, 2020

Florence was worried about what the new school year would bring. Having Callum back permanently was an absolute blessing, but she was only hoping that school wouldn’t put another strain on their relationship. With school starting in a few days, frats around the university were throwing huge parties to celebrate and their own little group gladly decided to get together to have a little party of their own. They weren’t like their crazed neighbours who had alcohol constantly pumping through their veins but they liked to have fun for a night sometimes.

Clementine and Penelope were supposed to be taken care of by the Clifford’s but their late work schedules kept the children with their mother for a bit later than planned. No one really minded, though, it only meant Florence couldn’t drink until later. Michael and Luke said they would drive over to pick them up on their way home.

Zach paired his phone with the Bluetooth speaker and playing some arguably trash music, but everyone had agreed that he could be in charge of music so they were stuck. Even still, they managed to tune it out, focussing on their drinks and good company.

Of course, Cayleigh was over as well, finding her usual place on Daniel’s lap with a beer in her hand, her low-cut shirt not leaving much to the imagination. Florence had to elbow Zach multiple times to get his eyes off her chest. Corbyn kept a steady round of drinks going, exchanging someone’s empty for a full can every time he saw one. It was amusing to Florence to watch her friends slowly fall under the influence of the alcohol, the four-week-old fast asleep in her arms despite the music and chatter that was filling the room. Clementine was sat with Jack, which wasn’t unusual, and was the smartest choice anyway since he was the best at handling his alcohol. Every time he got a new drink, he got her to ‘cheers’ with him using her sippy cup of apple juice, making her giggle.

As usual, the conversation got turned to Cayleigh and Daniel’s relationship, Aidan saying a casual, “Well, Cayleigh, you’re here so much you basically live here. I’m guessing things are going well between you two then?”

“How can you tell?” Cayleigh squealed, squishing her face against Daniel’s. He laughed lightly, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Florence watched them with an expressionless stare, and he caught her eye, his smile faltering before he turned away again. Florence looked down at the baby in her arms, rocking her gently, holding the pacifier to her mouth.

Cayleigh, now being brought into a conversation about herself, continued, “I mean we’re so great and there’s still no action but he’s not a virgin. He told me.” She tisked lightheartedly and bluntly, the alcohol clearly hazing her filter.

“You’re not?” Florence couldn’t stop herself before she asked, furrowing her eyebrows at her once so trusting and now seemingly distant best friend. Daniel looked back at her blankly, refusing to give any hint to her through his facial expression that the proof of that fact was sleeping in her arms at that very moment.

“Apparently not!” Cayleigh shrugged, pausing to take a sip of her drink, “I wanna know who the lucky bitch is but I guess I’ll never know. Dani is a bundle of secrets.” The clueless girlfriend slid her arm around his middle, curling into his side as if they could get any closer.

The room fell into awkward silence except for Zach’s techno music playing in the background. Callum stared at his sister who was back to looking at the baby in her arms, eyebrows furrowed with confusion and the slight hurt that always came to the surface when it came to the distance between her and Daniel.

“Well that girl from the bar and I are still going strong.” Jonah said after a moment. “Thanks for asking, guys.”

“Wait, really? You never talk about her.” Corbyn questioned.

“I guess I’m a bundle of secrets too.” Jonah chuckled.

“I’m still pathetically single!” Zach threw his hands up.

“Join the club.” Jack rolled his eyes.

No one noticed the look that Callum and Aidan shared just as the doorbell rang. Clementine’s eyes went big as Jack pushed her to her feet and got up to get it.

“Is that Mikey, Clem?” Florence giggled as the toddler went running after her best friend. When Michael was in sight, Clementine ran right into his arms, gladly being scooped up. The young mother joined them as well as Aidan, greeting the two men happily. Luke took sleeping Penelope, listing to Florence’s gentle instructions even though he knew exactly how to take care of a baby, slinging the diaper bag over his other arm. With a quick goodbye to her daughters, Florence was handed a cooler and helped Jack and Aidan grab some snacks. The rest of the group in the living room was busy chatting away, the three in the kitchen were on their own.

“How’s my brother treating you, Ai?” Florence asked with a smirk, jumping up to sit on the island.

“Fine.” Aidan blushed, avoiding looking in her direction.

“Do you feel the same rush from high school?”

Jack chuckled, glancing between the two of them as Aidan gave her a little shove over teasingly invasive questions.

He answered regardless, “Well it’s easier without someone beating us up every day.”

Florence’s smile faltered and she took a sip of her drink.

“I mean…I just…Matt left us alone after graduation so it was fine by then…when everything changed with you and Clementine…fuck, I’m sorry.” Aidan ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s okay. I get it. I really do.” Florence shook her head through a humourless laugh. “That asshole is gone anyway.”

Jack laughed at that statement, pushing the newly filled bowl of chips in her direction. She thanked him and took one.

“Anymore news from the doctor?” Jack asked casually. Aidan sent him a discreet glare.

“Nothing after the original meeting.” Florence sighed. “Honestly I think they just messed up. If I don’t hear anything soon I’m just going to call a stalemate. I mean she looks a lot like Emilio. The dark hair, light eyes, her little nose. At this point, I just want some form of a steady boyfriend and between him and Grayson he’s the most likely to not hate my guts.”

“Wait, you’re just going to lie and tell Emilio that Penelope is actually his?” Aidan gaped.

“No! God, no. I’d just be honest and tell him I can’t just be friends.” Florence mumbled, staring at the drink in her hands. “He’s always on my mind all the time and he’s so gorgeous and so sweet and I miss the way things were before the baby.”

“I feel like we’re on an episode of the Bachelorette.” Jack said.

“Welcome to how I feel 24/7.” Florence scoffed.

“I’m glad I’m gay.” Aidan mumbled, making the other two friends laugh.

The Bluetooth speaker beeped mid song to indicate that the batteries were low. Florence hoped off the counter and picked it up. “Do you guys have another speaker? We don’t want it to cut out while we’re listening to Zach’s amazing music choices.”

“Yeah, Daniel has some in his room. Top drawer I think.” Jack said.

“Ok, I’ll be back.” Florence headed for the stairs, cooler in hand.

It had been a while since she had been in Daniel’s room, but it was no different than she remembered it. The same dark blue sheets pulled tight over the neatly made bed, the row of his two guitars and cello lining the opposite wall and his music producing equipment leaving little room on the desk. His well used notebook sat on top of his closed laptop and she couldn’t help but glance at the door before flipping it open. The pages were crinkled and worn, the notebook being well used throughout the last year or two and every line was filled with scribbles and notes. It was Daniel’s most personal and prized position and he kept everything he wrote in complete secrecy so Florence felt a touch of guilt by flipping through it, but she couldn’t help it. Each page was filled with love songs or angsty ballads, some written in perfectly straight lines across the pages and some with many scratched out lyrics and notes in the margins.

Not wanting to take too long away from the group, she closed the notebook without getting whatever answers she so desired and made her way to the dresser. She pulled open the top drawer to find a mess of headphones, microphones, drumsticks, guitar picks, and a few speakers.

Sighing, she shuffled through it to find a Bluetooth speaker, placing a few items on the top of the dresser to clear her view. Her finger hooked on something soft, a vast difference from the constant wood and metal that occupied the drawer, and she pulled the item out from the back of the drawer slowly. The black lace panties made Florence drop them back into the drawer quickly, taking a step backwards. When she got over the initial shock, she slowly picked them back up by her thumb and forefinger, holding them a good distance away from her face as she analyzed them. She would recognise her favourite pair of underwear anywhere; the pair that had gone missing after Corbyn’s birthday celebration. When she got home the next morning, they weren’t on her. Why the hell were her used underwear in Daniel’s bedroom drawer?

Florence could feel her heart racing in her chest as she descended the stairs, the underwear hidden in her fist, and her drink forgotten on the dresser. The whole world felt like it was spinning as she walked ever so slowly into the living room. Her friends greeted her casually and she barely comprehended Jack asking where the speaker was. Florence stopped in front of the couch where Daniel sat with Cayleigh still draped over his lap. The two looked up at her, the room falling into silence except for the music still playing in the background. Daniel’s glance fell to her hand, the black lace peeking out from her white-knuckled grip. The colour drained from his face and he slowly looked back up to her expressionless stare as she spoke darkly,

“We need to talk.”

#oooooo #daniel seavey #wdw #why dont we #college!wdw #daniel seavey fanfic #daniel seavey imagines #wdw fanfic #wdw imagines #why dont we fanfic #why dont we imagines #limelight #jonah marais #corbyn besson #zach herron #jack avery #writing #anything but mine #daniel seavey fic

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ectodog · 5 years ago

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it’s the 4th anniversary of the premier of vld which of course means i have assembled a rough timeline for my descent into voltron special interest hell. it goes something like this:

- june 10 2016: vld season 1 premiers. i am none the wiser

- january 20 2017: season 2 comes out. this fact is irrelevant to me

- august 4 2017: season 3 happens. still not entirely sure what a “voltron” even is

- mid-august 2017: one of my friends cosplays keith. that’s cool. who’s keith?

- october 17 2017: season 4 arrives. that’s fine i guess

- march 2 2018: season 5 has entered the building. i am vaguely aware that i have known people who watched it at some point. the fandom is apparently “terrifying” but i survived homestuck, so i scoff at the concept and go on with my life

- june 15 2018: season 6 drops. i see a bunch of cool gifs and pretty fanart. coupled with the hype i have absorbed from the lead up to it, i wonder if i should give the show a watch

- june 16 2018: i start watching vld. two (four) episodes in and i love it. i can already tell i’m a hunk kinnie, and this brings me no end of joy

- june 28 2018: within two weeks, i have caught up entirely. i am thriving in the post-s6 hype

- july 20 2018: at sdcc, the Big Reveal happens. shiro is gay. he is a disabled main character of of colour in a wildly popular show for kids, and he is kind and brave and the pinnacle of masculinity, and he is gay. no matter your shipping opinions, this is incredible news and it’s hard to Not ride the high, so why bother trying? they show a trailer and announce the release date for season 7, and within hours a bunch of booted recordings of s7e1 are floating around online

- july 23 2018: my interest level has gotten to the point where i need to make a separate twitter for it, so i do. (fun fact: as of today, less than 2 years later, said twitter has over 7300 posts on it. my main, 4x that old, has ~30k)

- august 10 2018: season 7 is online at 1am my time. im selling at an artist alley all weekend, starting the following morning. i binge half the season anyway before passing out, and completely avoid the internet until i can watch the rest later that day

- october 5 2018: at nycc, the trailer for s8 and release date are revealed. i immediately book the announced day off work because i know i will want to watch the entire thing at once the second it’s out

- mid-october 2018: “leaks” of s8 start appearing online. pretty much no one in the fandom believes them, because no one Likes them. they seem ridiculous. people start making “leakverse” fanworks to feed some of the finale anticipation into, including me. no one really thinks they’re plausible at all

- december 14 2018: season 8 airs. i post a quick but heartfelt fanart before gearing up for 1am. it starts, and i cry. the first time they form voltron, i cry some more. things keep happening, and i keep getting tears on my screen, and i have to pause and start it over and over, but i live tweet the whole thing anyway. the leaks were... real. i come out of it unsure how i feel, exactly, but i am exhausted from the marathon and so immediately pass out

- the same day, after some sleep: im upset and confused as to why the finale season was so hollow. i see im not alone. it’s a rough week, feeling like something i love so deeply let me down so much. i realize it’s only been 6 months since i got into it - but, clinging to a deep sense of betrayal, i cry some more anyway

- the immediate aftermath: there are petitions and accusations of censorship and conspiracies about where the “real” s8 is. it’s hard not to get caught up in, or at least dragged down by, the lack of hype. no one who worked on the show says anything for days, weeks, months. fix it fanwork starts cropping up, and i surround myself in them. none of the excitement from before is there, not the same way it was. i start a new and highly ambitious piece of art out of spite. it’s left unfinished

- january 2 2019: lion forge releases the third volume of vld comics. no one really cares. i certainly don’t

- the intermediate aftermath: it becomes clearer by the day that the season was, simply put, a failure and a flop. no one liked it. kids cried over it and parents had no idea how to explain it to them. the fandom and community dim for a while, but i keep immersing myself in the trove of fanwork that already existed, and i start trying again to make some of my own

- may 29 2019: lion forge comics announces that they are not renewing their license to make more vld comics. that, coupled with the abysmally rated final season, seems to be the nail in the coffin for this iteration of the ip. there won’t be anything else official for vld. somehow, this sparks a renewed interest in me. despite everything, im more dedicated than ever before to preserve and proliferate my good experiences. i know this won’t be a blip in my history as a fan, so i’m determined to be happy with it, as best i can be

- the rest: is, as they say, history. as of now, i have something like 20 fanworks of my own in progress for vld. my ao3 bookmarks number in the 100s, and my to-read list is at over 250. ive made a concerted effort to be more active and engaged in the fandom, because it came so close to fizzling out, for me and maybe for everyone, but it’s brought me so much goodness that i cant and Won’t let that happen, not without a fight

it’s been just under 2 years since i decided to watch voltron on a whim. and it has honestly become a central part of my interests and identity in that time - but for the majority of it, it’s been because of fandom and fanworks, and that’s maybe what made it stick so well to begin with: the creative, varied, amazing parts of it that no network mandate could have offered on its own

this started as a way to catalog my journey into and through vld but honestly it kind of became a love letter to the fandom (at least, my corner of it). that’s what’s made these last years so special - what’s made them simultaneously fly by and feel like a solid constant. a dedicated, talented fan base who are capable of so much more than the constraints of the source material

it’s amazing to look back on, and incredible to keep looking forward to. we’ve all been told - “go, be great”

we have been, and continue to be. like the stars, and like my love for vld, it’s inevitable

so thank you all for the years of “great”. 🖤

#this got so far away from me im so sorry #but i really wanted to write it out so! there you have it #voltron #vld #long post

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foxtophat · 5 years ago

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hahah well here i am back on my 10k word bullshit

promise the next chapter is way shorter, john is just so fucking over the top that i spend so much time just trying to organize his thoughts for you guys lmfao. what a chad, right?????

anyway, i hope you guys enjoy nick and john bitching at each other, because that’s pretty much the theme of this chapter. i really enjoyed writing it, which should tell you everything you need to know about how bad a day john is about to have

as usual, i hope that you enjoy! if you do, please consider throwing me a bone in the form of a kudos, comment or reblog -- i eat those up like turkish delight, nom nom nom

also as usual, i got the fic text beneath a readmore for my friends who like to stay on one page. no matter what your reading experience, i will try to accommodate for you!!!

i hope you guys are all having a good day and that it continues to be good even after i’m done giving you fic to read!! that’s... all that’s all i got

John had known offering his help was a mistake as soon as he'd done it. Suggesting that he knew where hidden supplies might be was obviously setting himself up for colossal failure, but he'd had to think on his feet. He hadn't wanted to build up Kim's hopes, or encourage her to talk to Nick about it. All he'd wanted was for her to go back upstairs so he could sneak outside without her haranguing him for it. Then he'd seen how much it had reassured her, and the obligation to follow through had set in. Now, no matter how obvious a failure the endeavor may become, he has no choice but to push forward with the plan.

That's why John doesn't protest when Nick suggests they go sooner than later. He probably should, because it's been too hot to dig for the past week already, but the sooner he disappoints Kim, the less disappointment he'll incur. None of them will have time to blow things out of proportion. The cache he has in mind had been buried by Jacob a little under a mile outside of town, in some unused patch of farmland. They'll be back before sundown, and the sting of returning empty-handed won't last too unbearably long.

Of course, when the morning comes to go look for the cache, John can barely manage to drag himself out of bed. If he'd thought yesterday's heat was unbearable, then he doesn't know what he'd call today. The sun has barely risen and it's already baked his room, leaving him tangled up in sweaty sheets. Summer has always been John's least favorite month, even before the Collapse, but there has to be something wrong for them to be going through a second week of a heatwave. At least blaming the nuclear apocalypse for their shitty weather makes him feel slightly better.

He can't tell if he managed to sleep, but from the way his head aches as he slowly rises, John is willing to bed he failed that task yet again. God, what he wouldn't give for some fucking Ambien. Even a good, stiff drink would help, but John's shot tolerance hasn't recovered from his last encounter for post-apocalyptic liquor, so that's out of the question. Just his luck — he's going to have to suffer a whole day around Nick without much keeping him upright.

Even in the relatively cool shade downstairs, John finds himself blinking sweat out of his eyes. It's a struggle for him to focus on anything besides how miserable he is. If only he could blame it on trauma — but no, he's just never handled prolonged heat well. Montana might not have Georgia's overwhelming humidity, but the temperature climbs twenty degrees higher, and summer out here never seems to fucking end . That, combined with his pitiful heat tolerance, is probably why he's running on maybe two hours of sleep.

There are a handful of raw carrots on his plate, next to a few strips of old jerky that even Nick is leaving for last. It's going to be a long, long day, and he's not going to be getting much else until dinner, but John can't scrounge up any sort of appetite. He hasn't been hungry for what feels like days now, and his stomach barely tolerates anything more than water.

"Hey," Carmina asks, leaning into John's peripheral vision, "Can I have that?"

John doesn't know which part of his meal she's eying, but he slides the plate her way regardless. Kim watches him do it, openly frowning at him because she's also seen him picking around his food at every meal. So far, she hasn't said anything to him about it. Why would she? His lack of an appetite means that Carmina gets to have more. She can't possibly complain about that.

Nick is more vocal about his concern, furrowing his brow as he asks for the second time this morning, "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes," John replies once again. He's too tired to be exasperated, but he wishes Nick would knock it the fuck off, at least until after they leave. The last thing he needs right now is for Kim to hold some sort of intervention. Just in case, he qualifies his yes , choosing the most honest excuse he can this early in the morning. "I'm exhausted," he says. "I didn't get much sleep."

"Do you really wanna do this today, then? I mean, you said this thing was buried, and I don't wanna get stuck digging it out myself."

"I won't be any better rested tomorrow," John sighs, suppressing the yawn that tries to follow.

Nick doesn't look pleased, but he relents with a shrug. It isn't like they're going somewhere particularly dangerous, and even if they do happen to run into trouble, Fall's End will be within eyesight. The wildlife won't be much of a problem, and drifters are more common in the eastern part of the county, moving in from the 94 and occasionally trying to bully their way through. John's confident that they won't run into any trouble, even if he winds up passing out mid-dig.

John lets the rest of breakfast wash around him as he counts the minutes until they leave. He feels distinctly separated from the moment, the Rye family nothing more than white noise going in one ear and out the other. Silently dissociating around their idyllic family unit is still the norm, of course, but at least today he can blame it on too much heat and not enough sleep. Maybe he'll be able to get some rest in the truck, assuming Nick doesn't decide to test the suspension over every goddamn pothole.

Nick reluctantly says goodbye to Kim after breakfast, repeating it two or three times as Kim and Carmina see him off from the porch. John doesn't remember Nick as an anxious person; he doesn't know if there had always been long, uneasy goodbyes on the porch before work. The Collapse has turned most everybody into a paranoid mess, but maybe John just never knew Nick very well to begin with. He doesn't want to ask.

"Okay," Nick says once they're both buckled in, the windows cranked down. "You said we're looking for a silo outside of town?"

John waits until the truck lurches into drive to respond. "The silo was a convenient marker, but I doubt it's still there. I know where to look, though — assuming the landscape hasn't changed too dramatically."

"Well, let's hope so. I don't want to dig around for nothing."

"We both know who's going to be doing the digging."

"I thought it was gonna be you, until you nearly passed out at breakfast. Probably gonna leave me with the hard work like the selfish prick you are."

"I'll be fine," John replies, yawning unabashedly. He rests his head next to the open window, closing his eyes against the hot wind. "I've done more with less energy."

"Yeah, sure," Nick says, rolling his eyes hard enough that John can hear it in his voice. He waits a few beats for John to return the gentle banter, but John can't muster up the energy. He needs to save it all for the dig. It's going to be hard enough on Nick, who manages to sleep at night. John isn't expecting to have much left for anything else once this is all over. It'll be a miracle if he makes it back home.

Quickly figuring out that John isn't in the mood to talk, Nick falls quiet. There isn't a radio station to listen to, so he hums under his breath occasionally, gently swerving along the cracked asphalt to avoid potholes. He's usually happy to bounce through them, but John knows better than to think it's for his sake.

John opens his eyes briefly, just in time to see the washed out turn that once led towards the Ranch. He hasn't been back yet. He doesn't think he could bear asking the Ryes for permission, let alone see the place rotting in a field. Despite repeated assurances to Joseph that he didn't care about his stronghold, he had hand-picked the furniture, the paint, the bedding — all of it — and he had spared little expense. Now, all of his pride and poorly spent money has been abandoned, probably picked clean by scavengers over the harshest years. After all, the security systems he had dropped thousands of dollars into hadn't been able to stop a cop wielding a shotgun — he doubts they would do much to deter anybody now.

He should have listened to Jacob when he'd said it was a waste of time. Of course, John hadn't paid much attention to anything Jacob said unless it was directly related to the Project. Part of him wishes he'd made more of an effort to connect with his oldest brother, but he doubts that he would have made it to this side of the Collapse if he had.

Once he starts thinking about Jacob, it's hard to stop. It's not much of a surprise that his oldest brother is on his mind, considering how often his dreams are haunted by Jacob's presence. Thankfully, with the sun in the sky and the wind on his face, John's more inclined to remember him for who he was, instead of imagining him as the specter of his nightmares. There are no dark corners for him to lurk in, and for once John imagines him as the quiet, withdrawn man he was.

It might have been almost ten years ago, but John can still remember riding along in Jacob's truck, listening to him hum along with the radio. The heat had broken late in August that year, so while the heat had been awful when Jacob had picked him up, it hadn't wiped John completely out. Not that it would have mattered — Jacob had no patience for John's distaste of heat, and he would have forced the issue regardless.

He'd gotten a brisk call fifteen minutes before Jacob showed up at the Ranch, telling him to be ready. John hadn't known what to be ready for, but he'd stopped asking questions by this point — when Joseph or Jacob arrived unannounced, he would only follow after them and do whatever they asked. As long as he did that, they would mostly leave him to his own devices. It had been more freedom than John had ever had in his life.

"You're positive nobody saw them," Jacob reiterates from the driver's seat. The memory of his voice bounces like an echo in John's skull.

"Of course I am," John remembers saying. He remembers being exasperated. Frustrated that even Jacob didn't trust him with menial tasks anymore. He had understood Joseph's distrust, had it explained plainly to him, but Jacob wouldn't even give him the chance to earn back the trust he'd somehow managed to lose. "Not that it matters," he remembers adding. "What can they do? It's our property. We could bury a plane there and they wouldn't be able to stop us."

Jacob's heavy sigh belies his irritation. "That's not always going to be the case. We don't know how the Reaping will go. Or the Collapse. You don't know what will be the last straw."

He'd been stressed. In two weeks, the Reaping would begin, but for now, Jacob's only concern is maintaining a steady flow of willing and able soldiers. He'd been irritable all the time, ever since he and Eli had fallen out, getting short with everybody, even Joseph, who allowed Jacob to be openly insubordinate even while punishing John for the same crime. The main problem in the weeks before the Reaping had been the slowing influx of soldiers making it through the trials. Lots of people had made it through at first. Nowadays, the conversion rate has dipped significantly. Jacob says it's because the people aren't strong enough, but John has a suspicion that it might have something to do with the Bliss, which has become more potent and arguably more toxic since Rachel's arrival as Faith. John hasn't brought up his concerns yet, because nobody has bothered to ask for his opinion. He will never get the chance to find out if he was right.

"John," Jacob's voice calls from the far away driver's seat. He sounds deeply, strangely concerned. "I'm trying to save you."

The words aren't right at all. John's body feels heavy in his seat, the hot air scratching at his face through the window. Where is he? They're on their way, but where?

The next thing Jacob says is achingly familiar, down to his tired inflection. "Joseph is worried about you," he says. "He still worries about your commitment."

It had been a warning, clear as day, and at the time it had filled John with a deep dread. But now, John feels nothing. Let Joseph be disappointed in him. Let him regret ever bringing John back into his life. John hopes it's a bitter pill he chokes on.

John had been on the defensive that day, scoffing loudly and snapping, "And yet, I'm the one converting the faithless." But the defensiveness is missing in the words. The people he'd been using like points against his brother are all dead now, and bragging about the things he'd done only roils his stomach.

"I don't think it's about converting people." Jacob reaches for the rear-view mirror, checking it for the umpteenth time as the truck trundles towards the distant silo. "Forget the religious bullshit for a minute. What we're doing, what's going to happen — we can't afford mistakes. We have to be prepared for every possibility. You understand that, don't you?"

"Nobody saw them," John sighs. "I promise ."

"Good," Jacob mutters. He takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out.

"Honestly, though. There are caches all over the county. I don't remember you being so particular about the last dozen drop points I organized."

At first, Jacob hadn't responded. John had thought at the time that it was because he was tired of having to explain his every move to someone as soft and short-sighted as John. He'd figured, as he always had, that Jacob saw him as nothing but the PR arm of the Project, kept around out of blood loyalty and nothing else. He would grimace whenever John mentioned atonement, mentioned his hard work, and John had suspected he thought it was beneath him.

But now John wonders if that's all there was to it.

"I'm trying to cover for every possibility," Jacob says. "That's all. It'd be good if you could help me."

"I did help," John retorts. "I do help. I do everything Joseph asks me to, and I don't complain about it. I don't complain when you order my men and me around, either, even though that was never part of the deal."

Jacob clicks his tongue against his teeth. He's checking the mirrors again, all of them. John remembers him checking the glove-box during their conversation, but he doesn't do that now. It hadn't mattered — there hadn't been anything in there — but John remembers it being very, very strange. The glove-box hangs open for a moment in his memory, as he looks through the windshield and spots the tall, bright red silo down the road.

"I wish you would plan ahead for yourself," Jacob says at last. "Stop taking orders and start taking initiative."

John huffs. "You've seen how well Joseph responds to that."

"Yeah," Jacob replies. John had been too arrogant to realize at the time that Jacob was commiserating with him, leaving him feeling deeply guilty now.

"He's convinced that the Reaping is going to begin any time now," John continues, ignoring Jacob's visible-in-hindsight unease. "Do we really have time to be burying barrels of ammunition? Or is this your newest plan to stick it to Eli?"

"It's for after the Reaping," Jacob says.

"A whole lot of good it does us this far from the bunkers."

Jacob had a real response for John, once. It had even satisfied him, at least enough to stop his complaining. But John doesn't remember what Jacob's reasoning had been; all he has is his exhausted brain struggling to stitch together the memory.

"There's so much you don't know. That you'll never find out." Jacob reaches out, his hand resting on John's shoulder, but there's no physical connection. John can't feel the weight of his hand, and for a dizzying moment the world around him turns smudged and blurry. There's a distinct melancholy in the words that Jacob never exhibited. "You know that I didn't believe any of it."

The weight on his shoulder comes out of nowhere, startling John awake as Nick calls his name. He kicks the dashboard as he jolts upright, and Nick leans back as he flings his hands out to steady himself.

"Shit," he gasps, grabbing the door handle. One disorienting glance is all John needs to realize where he is; Nick has pulled up just past the church, and the late summer heat of the apocalyptic landscape reasserts itself as reality once more.

"Sorry," Nick says. "I just, uh... need some directions from here."

"Yes," John replies. The urge to bolt from the truck is overwhelming, but John clings to the door and manages to stay in his seat. "Of course."

They sit for a minute before Nick awkwardly prompts, "Uh... Well?"

John desperately attempts to reorient himself, still stuck in the fog of his dream. "There should be a left turn up ahead. The silo was in a field on the right side of the road, just before the turnout before Larry Parker's house."

"God, talk about whack-jobs," Nick mutters as he pulls ahead. The intersection is mostly washed out now, barely distinguishable from the dunes that have formed over the fields, but Nick has a local's muscle memory. "I mean, I believe in aliens as much as the next guy, but Jesus . You hear what happened to him?"

"Not specifically. I assumed he was killed in the Reaping or the Collapse." Despite himself, John finds his curiosity piqued. "Why? Was I wrong?"

"I mean... I guess it's up to your interpretation." Nick doesn't bother to ease around the potholes now that John is awake, bumping them down along the cracked asphalt. "So, the way Dep told me, they went to go check up on Larry, y'know, make sure he's okay. Larry's got his weird-ass machines going, and he's talkin' about aliens and shit, as he usually is, and Dep keeps going, 'Larry, there's no time for aliens, there are cultists coming for you!' But, of course Larry pushes the point until Dep caves, like, 'Fine, let's fix the generator first, then we can run from the cult.'

"Except the cult rolled up right on top of them before they could patch everything up. Of course, Dep manages to clear them out, and Larry gets his machine working in the meantime. He says, 'help me get to Mars, Deputy!' and they figure, 'hey, might as well humor him.' I mean, what else can you do when the guy you're trying to evacuate insists he's got a fast pass to outer space?"

"Is this honestly what the Deputy was dealing with while we were in the middle of seizing the Valley and its resources?" John asks. He probably shouldn't be surprised, but really . Larry Parker's life couldn't possibly have been worth all the effort involved.

"I guess," Nick shrugs. "People were asking them to do all sorts of weird shit. So, anyway, Larry says so long to Dep and to Earth, and tells Dep to flip the switch. Dep decides that the sooner Larry realizes this isn't going to work, the better, so they turn the machine on the way Larry told them to, and, well, long story short, I guess the thing vaporized the poor guy."

However the story was supposed to end, that hadn't been what John expected. His disbelief is momentarily overwhelming, and he can't help but choke out, " Excuse me?"

Nick shrugs. "I mean, that's what Dep told me later. They were real bummed out about it, too. I guess that makes sense, since they felt responsible. But, at the same time... he said it was a teleporter, right? So maybe he wasn't vaporized at all. Maybe he really did get zapped to Mars."

"The choices are 'vaporized' or 'teleported to Mars'? Are you serious?"

"I guess Dep could have been bullshitting me, but it fits with what I remember about the guy."

John frowns. "I suppose either option is better than what happened to the rest of us," he says, "Although realistically, the man was one paranoid delusion away from assassinating a government official. I don't think he was nearly as technologically savvy as he professed himself to be."

"He wasn't that bad," Nick says as he shakes his head. "He was just some kook who believed in aliens more than people. And, well... I mean, if he really did make it to Mars, then we probably look like a bunch of assholes from wherever he's sitting." He sighs, then admits, "I wish I could've gone to Mars. I bet Kim would like it there."

" Why ?"

"I dunno, she always wanted to go on foreign trips and stuff. Can't get much more foreign than outer space." He hums thoughtfully, then says, "I guess she would've been pregnant, though, and if you can't fly with a pregnant lady, I bet you can't vaporize them either."

John takes a deep breath through his nose before he responds, reminding himself that he owes Nick his life. "That's a logical assumption," he manages to say, proud of his nearly-neutral delivery.

"Oh, shut up," Nick snaps, although he doesn't seem particularly upset by John's back-talk. "I'm just saying, if that's what would happen. It's not like I'm gonna go hot-wire the thing and test it out now ."

"I certainly hope not. There's no way I'm explaining that to the bloodthirsty mob that comes for me after you've disintegrated."

They've nearly reached the end of the road. John can see the T-shaped intersection coming up ahead, but he doesn't immediately recognize the right-hand field. A copse of pine trees have put down roots, and although John can see the skeletal framework of the hay storage, there's no sign of the silo that once marked the spot. John doesn't know if it was destroyed during the Reaping or in the Collapse. It doesn't really matter — everything it held has long since rotted away.

"Here?" Nick asks as they roll to the end of the road. John remembers Jacob slowing along the empty field; he had barely come to a stop to investigate the location. It had been around here that Jacob had checked the tilled soil for any hint at what lay underneath. He'd seemed content with how John's people had handled it, leaving the field as unassuming and untouched as they had found it.

If there had been any hint left behind in the silo or the hay storage, it's been wiped from the face of the planet. Long, sun-bleached panels of what used to be a silo lay scattered across the ground, weather-beaten past their use. Some pieces are pinned in place by the nine-year tree growth, never to be moved again. It's a struggle for John to envision the spot as it used to be, but there's no doubt that this is the right place.

"Yes," John says. "This is it."

Nick puts the truck in park and climbs out of the cab. John waits a moment longer, hoping to spot some hidden bump or curve that would indicate where to dig, but of course nothing reveals itself. He should have paid more attention. At the very least, he should have paid more attention to Jacob's diatribes about preparedness. Maybe he would be able to determine exactly where to start if he had.

John's nerves ease as he steps out of the car and stands at the edge of the worn-out road. It doesn't matter if he doesn't remember the exact spot — there's always been an element of gut instinct in understanding Jacob's methods, and John has plenty of that to rely on in lieu of real information. If he has to waste his time out here, then he might as well try to waste it productively.

He meanders a bit along the shoulder, then takes ten paces onto the field. Instinct has him go another twenty steps, until he's halfway between the truck and the hay storage. "Here, I think," he calls out to Nick, who's wandered ahead to explore the wreckage.

"Are you sure?" Nick asks as he passes John, returning to the truck for the shovels. "I don't wanna be digging holes all day like some kind of Stanley Yelnats."

" I'll be the one digging," John replies tepidly. "I don't need your help."

"What else am I gonna do, sit around and watch you all day? C'mon, let's get to work."

Really, John had expected as much. Nick can't leave things alone, and he can't resist giving whatever help he can. Long ago, John had figured it was a sign of Nick's obsessive need for control, something dark to be manipulated hidden under a folksy veneer. He had never considered that Nick's stubborn helpfulness had really been a coping mechanism for some long-standing anxiety. Even now, knowing full well that Nick's biggest worry is seeming unhelpful, John struggles to accept it. It still rubs him the wrong way when Nick insists on giving him a hand on some menial task that he ordered John to do in the first place.

Digging a three-foot hole is easier with two people, though, so of course John doesn't argue. The two of them hit a rhythm pretty quickly, although John's lack of sleep is slowing him down. Normally, the beat of manual labor is the only thing that helps empty out his mind, getting him as close to meditation as possible these days. For the first few months with the Ryes, it had been the only tangible comfort he had. He could disengage mentally while performing simple tasks with visible results, then ascribe to them penance for any one of his crimes. Even now, John can't help but wonder which sin he's paying for as he buries the spade into the ground.

They dig three feet down before John calls it. "Okay, fine ," he hisses through gritted teeth. "It's close to here. Maybe..."

John ignores Nick's theatrical sigh as he takes a few paces to the left and begins all over again. Of course, it doesn't take long before Nick joins back in.

"Maybe we should hunt down a metal detector," Nick suggests when the second hole reveals nothing.

"Sure, Nick," John snaps, "Add that to the other rational shit on your wife's shopping list."

"Jesus, it was just a joke."

John is far too hot, tired and sweaty to handle any jokes right now, much less from somebody he's trying to help. If Nick thinks John is digging around under the blazing sun just for his own enjoyment, then he can go fuck himself.

Even with John's attitude tanking rapidly, Nick continues to help him dig another hole and a half. His help only makes the defeat sting worse when John has finally had enough. He has no energy left, which makes flopping down on the dirt as easy as giving up. He buries his sweaty, sunburned face into his dirty hands, unable to hold back a groan.

"God damn it."

"What, that's it?" Nick huffs, pushing his hat back to wipe at his sweating forehead. He's using his shovel as a prop, and no amount of bravado can hide how much John's wild goose chase has worn him down. "You're just giving up?"

" No ," John spits, despite that being exactly what he's doing. "I just need a fucking break ."

There was a time when Nick would have punched him for being so miserable, but he doesn't even comment on it today. Somehow, it manages to make John feel worse, as though Nick's pity is fueling his fiery self-loathing. Nothing helps, especially not when Nick jabs his shovel into the dirt and offers John an excuse. "Probably need something to eat," he says. "Some water, or something. Look... just stay there, okay? I got a canteen in the truck, it'll just take a second."

The most response John can offer up is an affirmative grunt. He drops his hands from his face, watching Nick retreat to the truck before turning his eyes on the derelict storage in the opposite direction. He should have known better. He should have known that it would be impossible to find the cache without Jacob's help. Other than a set of probably mis-remembered coordinates and a gut sensation of being so close , John is flying completely blind. Why the hell hadn't he known any better? He could have saved them the time, gas and disappointment, if only he'd just kept his stupid mouth shut.

He guesses it must be progress that he's blaming himself and not Kim, whose insomnia kicked this whole thing off. It doesn't feel like much to show.

The wind changes direction, finally sending the few clouds in the sky drifting past the sun. The breeze picks up, sending a ripple of noise through the young pines. Pink-flowered vines creep through the roots of the trees and up the metal legs of the shed, twisting and choking the rest of the weeds just like they do everywhere else. Despite them being a mysterious, invasive species, they soften the landscape, lending a pink sugar-coating to the wasteland. John watches the blossoms bob in the breeze and thinks that Joseph might have been wrong about a lot of things, but he hadn't been too far off in declaring Hope County a promising garden.

The flowers look so much like the ones that had decorated the hem of Faith's dress that it's impossible not to think about her. John remembers the silk blossoms stitched onto lace, trying to conceal the ripped hem. There had been a dozen women who had tried to take on the mantle left behind by Joseph's wife, but now the only one John can imagine is Rachel, dancing in the sunlight. Even now he sees her swaying along with the wind, although he only has to blink for the vision to fade. A dozen women hadn't made the same impression that Rachel had. They hadn't been as proactive as her when it came to the Path, and they couldn't hold a candle to her wide-eyed understanding of the Bliss. None of them had adopted themselves as a sister into the family, turning quickly into the golden child that Joseph could praise over all others. They'd tried to fill the shoes of a dead woman that they couldn't hold a candle to. Rachel had been much, much smarter than that.

After all, none of those women haunt the landscape the way Rachel does. John, tired as he is, can almost hear her playfully humming on the breeze. She would sing in his bunker, vibrant and full-throated hymns written by dead followers, but now he only ever imagines the quietest tunes. Faith always seemed to be everywhere at once, thanks to the Bliss, but now she only seems to exist where John's memory allows.

Although the music fades as quickly as it came, John feels it echoing inside him. He closes his eyes against the bright afternoon light, but that doesn't do much to ease the pounding headache that's swiftly developing. He can feel his pulse against the hard-packed dirt when he drops his hands to the ground. Faith's laughter in his mind is quiet and playfully condescending as he's overwhelmed by the urge to stagger to the safety of the trees.

Nick abruptly appears in front of John, his worried face hidden under his hat. "Let's get you into the shade," he says, his voice warped by the blood rushing through John's ears. Nothing improves as Nick helps him to his feet and drags him under the shady pines. His head pounds as he collapses against one of the trees; when Nick puts the canteen in his hands, he takes a few grateful pulls of warm water until the headache begins to recede.

"Goddamn it, John," Nick says. "You have got to knock this shit off. You can't keep pushing yourself until you get sick. What am I supposed to do if you get heatstroke? Do you think we have unlimited supplies to keep dealing with your bullshit? I can't keep taking care of you."

"Whatever," John croaks. "I'm fine. I just need a minute."

"You can't seriously think I'm going to let you keep going. You must be delirious."

Taking one more long drink of water, John finally drops the canteen into his lap. "You don't understand," he rasps. "I'm not — it's here. I know it is, I just..."

Nick waits a beat before he takes up where John trails off. " You need to rest. You think Kim and I don't notice you're not eating or sleeping again? Hell, even Carmina notices, and she doesn't give a shit about you. How exactly are you supposed to be any use to us if you're like this all the time?"

John scowls, but he doesn't respond. How can he? Nick is right.

When all he gets is silence, Nick finally heaves a tired sigh and crouches down to John's level. "Look, we'll compromise, okay?" he suggests, with a tone he usually reserves for Carmina. "You're gonna rest here for me, and I'm gonna go dig another hole for you. If I don't find anything, we'll go back home and try again once you're better prepared."

He should resent Nick for treating him like a child, but John can only surrender with a weary nod. "I promise it's here," he says, hating how audible his misery is. "I know it is."

Nick scratches his brow. "I believe you," he says, although John doubts his sincerity. "We're gonna find it — maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but we'll do it. You, uh, want me to keep digging where we were, or..."

John sighs, slumping against the tree. "Yeah," he rasps. "Sure."

It's a miserable feeling, knowing that he's sending Nick on a wild goose chase, but John doesn't stop the other man from heading back out into the sun. He watches Nick pick a spot at seemingly random, drifting in and out as he waits for Nick to give up. He wouldn't even have to dig a full three feet before writing the whole thing off as one of John's delusions. John wishes Nick were that kind of man.

There's nothing there. That much is obvious when Nick finally stops digging, knee-deep in the hole and scrubbing furiously at his forehead. John knows just enough about Nick to suspect he'd genuinely hoped to find it — which just makes the defeat that much worse. John is used to disappointing himself, but letting Nick down stings.

"It's fine," John rasps when Nick returns, not waiting for platitudes or empty reassurances. "Let's just go."

Nick helps John to his feet again, and to make things worse, he keeps making suggestions. "Maybe we can find a tractor that still works. I bet there's probably a back-hoe somewhere in the county we could fix up. That might make it easier, right?"

They cut through the trees to reach the road, and John covers his eyes as they move back into the bright light. He turns back to look at the empty holes they've left behind — and for just a second, he can clearly see the bright red silo where it once stood. It's only a fleeting glimpse of the past, but it's as clear as if he were staring at it from Jacob's truck, enjoying the air conditioning while ignoring Jacob as he says, "So long as we're prepared, we can always start again."

"Wait," John says. "Hold on."

"Come on," Nick groans loudly, "It's hot, I'm tired, and this is getting depressing ."

John rolls his eyes, grabbing one of the shovels from the truck before Nick can stop him. "Fine," he says, "Go home, then."

"For God's sake..."

John ignores Nick as he takes five quick paces forward, turning and staring at the nonexistent silo. It hadn't been here, it had been...

The spot is mostly random, but as John drives the shovel into the dirt, he feels suddenly vindicated . He'd been thrown off by the trees, and it's hard to see just where the road ends these days, and of course he doesn't have the silo's long shadow to guide him. But now he knows better, and he isn't going to make the same mistakes again.

Nick pitches in, because of course he does. Even worse, he does it without complaint. Still, John needs the help; his burst of adrenaline has faded, leaving him to rapidly flag behind until Nick is picking up his slack. They don't talk as they dig, even as time wears on without any indication of them being in the right place. John doesn't think he has the energy to chat, and Nick probably just wants to yell at him, so silence is their best option. This hole could be as pointless as every other one they've dug today, but blind faith pushes John on to dig just a little deeper, just a little longer.

They hit three feet without finding anything. John twists the shovel between his palms, the tip churning the dirt.

"Okay, now are you satisfied?" Nick asks, flopping to the ground beside their latest waste of time. "Are you ready to wrap it up for today, or...?"

John shakes his head, not even realizing he's doing it. He doesn't even know what he's rejecting — the idea of giving up, or the idea that they might come back out here? Why the hell should they? Just because John thinks he might remember a cache of weapons Jacob buried a decade ago? What good would it even do, finding it now? Kim's already made it clear that they don't want more weapons. They want food, they want peace of mind, they want things to be the way they were . There is nothing that Eden's Gate could possibly give them that could help.

Nick slides closer, brow furrowed. "John," he says."

"I know ," John snaps, "I'm sorry . This was a waste of time. Forget it."

Picking up his abandoned shovel, Nick jabs the scoop into the hole, aiming for the wall beneath John's feet, and the motion is met with a metallic thunk . As John steps around for a better look, Nick taps the shovel upwards, until the scoop slides between the flash of half-hidden metal and the undisturbed earth above it. There's no mistaking the green enamel barrel that's revealed as the dirt falls away.

Dropping into the hole, John takes Nick's shovel and begins to heave the dirt away, scraping the scoop along the sides of the metal container until it's half-exposed in the ground. John can't help a triumphant shout as he reveals it, like a paleontologist discovering an unknown species.

Nick grabs the second shovel and pitches in, making short work of the dirt John can't reach. The steel drum is two feet tall and a foot or so wide, and John recognizes it from the Bliss packaging plant. Thankfully, it doesn't have a tight-head lid that implies the cannister is full of drugs. It looks utterly untouched, save for a few scratches from their shovels; the rubber sealant sprayed around the lid hasn't even cracked.

"Well, shit," Nick says, staring down at the barrel in open disbelief.

"I told you," John pants, vindicated. "I told you."

"Yeah, you sure did," Nick agrees, bobbing his head. "So... uh, what now? Do we open it up here, or take it home?"

John runs a hand over the glossy paint. As much as he wants to open it now, he can't help but remember Jacob's paranoia, reminded momentarily of how he had checked over and over for any spies or tails they might've gained while driving.

"It might be best to take it somewhere... less open," John points out. "We have no idea what's inside."

"Oh. Yeah, you're probably right."

It takes some finessing, but the two of them manage to wrestle the barrel out of the hole and, eventually, into the truck bed. Nick cranks the air conditioning as soon as he turns on the car, and John thankfully slumps into his seat as the cold air washes over him. After making a loose U-turn that narrowly misses the hole, Nick shakes the canteen in John's direction.

"Kim's gonna be pissed if she finds out I left you out in the sun like that," he says. "Try to get a hold of yourself before we get back, okay?"

Nick is terrible at sounding callous, but John isn't going to tell him as much. "Don't worry," he sighs. "I don't want her to know any more than you."

The drive back is mostly free of potholes, thanks to Nick's careful driving. John can't help but reaffirm the cache's existence every few minutes, checking the rear-view mirror to ensure it hasn't fallen out or disappeared like so many figments of his imagination have. He wonders what's inside. Certainly ammunition and weapons, but what else? Jacob had always been prepared for disasters, so it could have emergency kits or expired food rations. There will probably be money, too, although that won't help them now.

If Nick is also wondering, he keeps it to himself. He's relaxed in his seat, one arm hanging out his window, fingers occasionally tapping aimlessly against the door. He'll probably be satisfied no matter what Jacob decided to squirrel away, so long as it's not rotten food and Project propaganda. If that turns out to be the case, John will burn the contents himself.

The sun has half-set by the time they return to the Rye homestead. Nobody is waiting anxiously for their return, but it doesn't take long for Kim to come around the side of the house. She whistles appreciatively as the two men maneuver the barrel out of the bed.

"You guys actually found it!" she exclaims. "I thought it would take at least a few days."

"We got lucky," Nick replies. He doesn't mention how many holes they had to dig, or how rough the going had gotten near the end. John hopes that he looks better than he feels, at least to keep Kim from lecturing them.

Even though the cache is only about eighty or ninety pounds, it takes some careful footwork for the two men to carry it inside without dropping it. By the time they set the barrel down next to the table, Carmina has claimed one of the chairs, standing on it for a better look. Nick doubles back to the truck and returns with a crowbar, which will hopefully be enough to pry off the lid.

"What's inside?" Carmina asks, grabbing the back of the chair as she cranes forward.

"Well, hold on," Nick sighs, "Let me figure this out."

Unlike the barrels John remembers, this one isn't sealed with a tight-head valve at the top. Instead, it looks as though the lid had been hammered down into place, and then sprayed with rubber sealant to prevent gaps. It takes Nick a few tries to bury the crowbar's teeth under the lid, but he's rewarded by a satisfying groan of metal. The seal finally gives as part of the lid warps under the force.

Nick peels the lid back and John's heart leaps into his throat. Part of him expects a cloud of Bliss, or some kind of bomb, or a countdown to a new Armageddon. But there's no bomb, no Mist, no doomsday clock. Instead, John finds himself looking down at a bundle of nondescript green canvas, packed tightly alongside a cylindrical nylon bag.

" Well ?" Carmina asks.

John glances at Kim and Nick, only to find them staring back at him. It's as much an order as a request for help, and John steels himself before reaching in and grabbing the fabric. He recognizes the generic duffel bag as soon as he pulls it out — they had been ordered in bulk for the Project before they'd even reached Montana. While it isn't full, it definitely carries most of the cache's weight, and John has to adjust his grip as he sets it out on the table.

With the pack out of the way, Nick is less cautious about poking around in the remaining supplies. He takes the nylon bag out next, rattling the contents thoughtfully. "I think we've got a tent, here," he says, pulling open the drawstring to check. "Yeah, poles, stakes and everything."

There are two cardboard boxes inside, and Kim pulls out one at a time. "I think these are... rations?" she suggests, setting the boxes down next to the unopened bag. "That's what the packaging says, anyway. And this one, the heavier one? It's completely taped up."

"Could be dangerous," Nick suggests as Kim goes back to check for any remaining contents.

John stares at the duffel bag, his fingers feeling clumsy on the zipper tab. None of this feels right. Just how many times had he seen Jacob take bags like this one to his truck? How many of those had been full of supplies for a back-up plan he had never been made aware of? There's no sign of the Project so far, but John can't imagine that will last. What is he going to do when he reveals a bag full of propaganda in front of Carmina? There's no way Kim and Nick will believe he didn't know.

Careful not to rip the fabric, John steels himself with a breath and yanks on the zipper. He expects guns and ammunition, or copies of Joseph's book, or intel that would have been vital for rebuilding after the Collapse. Instead, John finds silver mylar bags, packed nearly to bursting, each one labeled in permanent marker. One reads "RICE (3LB, KEEP)," while another says "POTATO (.5LB, KEEP)" — and still another bag, this one with one clear side, has two cartons of instant coffee sealed inside.

There are guns, too, although not nearly enough. John is careful as he sets out the two .45 pistols tucked into the canvas, along with two boxes of matching ammunition and a few more boxes of miscellaneous shells that might come in handy. He inspects every box for any sign of the Project, but everything is utterly nondescript. Jacob might as well have picked these supplies up at a sporting goods store.

He keeps pulling things out until the bag is empty and the items are laid out across the table for the Ryes to see. Not only does John find more food, but he also finds a crank flashlight and a pair of binoculars, two bundles of paracord, a roll of unused duct tape, two sealed cartons of cigarettes, two pristine hunting knives and a deck of playing cards. The biggest surprise is the fact that Jacob risked packing away two bottles of unlabeled alcohol in a dry cache, but then again, Jacob had always had a soft spot for liquor. They'd been wrapped in plastic wrap and taped up tight, so if they leaked, it hasn't affected the other supplies.

There's more food than ammunition, John realizes. Rice, sugar, instant coffee, dry beef stock, not to mention the miscellaneous array of military rations that have been packed into every nook and cranny. It's hardly a cache. It's more like a squirrel's stockpile for a long winter.

"Did you guys see this?" Kim asks, leaning over Carmina to lay a small nylon pack on the table. She opens it carefully, revealing a tri-folded emergency pack stuffed with medical supplies. One use antiseptic wipes, gauze, bandages and more, all still in its factory packaging. John remembers seeing them stocked at Lorna's ages ago. It's the kind of emergency kit that tourists would buy once they realized just how unprepared they were for rural Montana.

"I thought this was supposed to be for the cult," Nick says, frowning at the supplies spread out on the table. "But most of this is stuff you'd get at the store. There's not even one of those fake Bibles in here or anything ."

"That's what he told me it was," John replies, although it feels uneasily close to a lie. "...At least, that's what I assumed. He had my people handle it, he shared its location with me... It had to be for the Project." Saying it aloud doesn't make him feel any more certain, but he can't imagine what else Jacob could have been planning. "What does it matter?" he quickly deflects, gesturing towards the eighty-some pounds of supplies. "Who cares what he was planning. It's yours now."

Unlike her parents, Carmina doesn't need to be told twice. She immediately drags the box of military rations closer to her chair, eager to devour any new literature, even if it's nutritional information and website reviews. Nick takes one of the knives and uses it to slice open the heavily taped box that they still haven't investigated. John can't imagine that it could be anything dangerous, given the rest of the cache's contents, but that doesn't mean he's any less on edge.

"Uh... huh," Nick says once he finally cracks the box open. "It's just more of the same. 'Two pounds rice, barter.' 'Two pounds sugar, barter.' But didn't he already pack some rice in the bag?"

Carmina points her finger at the offending bag. "It says 'keep' on it."

"I thought you guys were going to be the only survivors," Nick wonders, frowning heavily at John. "I mean, those weirdos have been keeping to themselves since they came back. And I got the impression that you weren't gonna be friendly neighbors ."

"There weren't supposed to be neighbors," John replies. "Anyone outside of the Project who survived were our enemies. This should have been..." He gestures helplessly, unable to figure out what Jacob should have squirreled away for the end of the world. "It should have been weapons. Project intelligence. None of this would have mattered if things had gone the way they were meant to. I don't — I don't know what he was planning with this."

Or maybe, he hadn't been listening when Jacob had talked about starting over.

"This... is too much," Kim says, tearing John away from that horrible thought before it can take hold. "Right? This is too much for us. We can't possibly keep it all."

"Excuse me?" John asks, unable to mask how deeply the comment offends him. "You're joking . I went through all of this for you ." He points at the sugar, the salt, and says accusingly, "These were on your list!"

"That's not what I mean, John."

John is getting sick and tired of being treated like a child today, but that doesn't mean he appreciates it when Nick takes the opposite route. "Don't be a baby," he groans. "You know what she meant."

"We'll keep what we need," Kim offers, "But we can't keep everything . It wouldn't be fair."

"And it'll look bad if we're the only ones who benefit," Nick adds. "They'll know it's because of you, and the cult, and they'll get the wrong idea. They might've shut up for now, but we don't know how long that'll last."

It's hard to fight the urge to run from the conversation, if only to keep himself from saying something stupid, but John manages to stay rooted to the spot. They're right, after all. They can't expect other people to turn a blind eye to anything beneficial John provides. Hell, he has no doubt somebody noticed them driving today. Somebody had to have seen them out in the dirt. It would only take a quick trip to find the holes they'd left behind.

"Yes," he mutters at last. It comes as a relief, followed immediately by his own admission. "You're both right. I know that."

Nick clearly expected more of a fight, if his relieved expression is anything to go by. "Good. Okay." He grabs one of the mylar bags as he sits, which holds two cartons of instant coffee. For a moment, he only stares at the red plastic through the clear side of the bag, and then he sighs. "Of course, now I wanna keep it all."

"We can keep the coffee," Kim says. "Or, well... we can keep some of it. We should probably give the rest up..."

It seems that doing the right thing in this situation has left the Ryes at a loss. Really, it shouldn't be a surprise. Even for a small cache, these are a lot of supplies, and there are no clear benefits to divvying it up in any particular way. On top of that, there had never been much structure to the Valley's resistance — unlike the Whitetails, people in the valley had relied on guerrilla tactics and appropriating the cult's infrastructure for their own use. The fight here had been over before they'd had time to organize.

"Well, I guess we give away whatever says 'barter' on it," Nick finally says. "And... I dunno. I mean, Jacob was meticulous as hell, right? Wouldn't he have known what to keep? Why did he only want to trade this stuff?"

"I don't know ," John snaps. "It isn't as though he planned for this. I have no idea what he would have done. I don't know why he thought to bury this shit in a field! If this was going to be a backup plan, then there should be money, passports, blackmail — something to help him get out of trouble. Not — not cooking supplies and playing cards . This isn't what he was supposed to be doing with his time!"

The realization that John had never really known Jacob cuts deeper than he'll ever admit. John breathes hard through his nose, trying desperately to grab hold of his ballooning anger. He'd known Jacob hadn't taken the religious aspect of the Project seriously, but that hadn't meant he didn't believe in the Project's end goal. He'd been more integral to their success than John, for God's sake! The bunkers had been his idea!

But Jacob had been pragmatic. If he had felt even a twinge of doubt, he would have made plans to account for it. But if that were the case, why would he have shown his hand to John like he had, when John had been so deeply entrenched? Why risk Joseph finding out? Why not play this as close to his chest as John had played all of his own secret betrayals?

"I don't know what he would do," John manages to say. There's a tangled knot of emotion balled up inside his chest, but like so many other things, he forcibly sidelines it. "It doesn't matter what he wanted. He's dead now. All of it is yours."

Kim hears his voice catch, it's clear from her expression, but she thankfully doesn't comment on it. "Well, let's think about it logically," she says. "For one, I think Grace could use some of the ammunition. She might appreciate some coffee, too, Nick."

"Yeah, I guess," Nick says mournfully. "There are two boxes, after all."

Kim chews thoughtfully on her lip, then pivots towards John. "You had to deal with directing resources, right?" she asks. "I remember all of the deliveries coming in and out of the Ranch."

"They won't trust any decisions I make," John replies, trying to cut the suggestion off at the head.

"I'm sure they wouldn't, but I'm not asking for you to make a decision. Just... You know more about this than we do, and I want your input."

John frowns, looking towards Nick for an objection. Unfortunately, Nick doesn't have one, although he doesn't look happy about Kim's request.

Sighing, John considers the groups they need to satisfy. Between Grace, the town, the trailer park and themselves, it's unlikely they'll have much to store, but a surplus would be ideal in case they need to bargain with people coming in from the west. John doesn't like the idea of giving the weapons away, but they would be an easy way to ingratiate the Ryes to anyone still upset at them for taking him in. He wants nothing more than to keep the alcohol and cigarettes, but those would be better as bargaining chips.

He starts by breaking the ammunition up, followed by the mylar bags, until the random array on the tabletop begins to separate out into four distinct piles. Seeing the resources shift in real time is the easiest way to ensure things are balanced, but John remains fully aware of the three sets of eyes on him as he begins to take over the table. While Kim and Carmina move to give John more space, Nick remains seated the entire time, his arms crossed and his eyes on the food that John is moving from one pile to another. He's clearly worried that the family will wind up with too little. He probably feels guilty that he wants to take more from others who could use the supplies.

When he's mostly finished, John has five piles organized across the table — one for each group, plus one comprised of larger bags they'll need to separate. Hopefully, they won't comment on how much he's chosen to keep for them — if they disagree with his decisions, they can wait until he escapes for the night to argue about it.

Kim had been right, though. John had been the one to schedule deliveries, redirect supplies and organize Reaping trucks; hopefully they can appreciate his choices, even if they decide not to listen to him.

"Here's what we have," he says. "The ammunition is split between everyone, as well as the rations. Given the town's location and size, they'll be better off with basic ingredients. They already have hunting equipment and usable cookware. We haven't seen the trailer park, but it's in hostile territory, and I don't think they dedicate time to cooking, so we give them more rations to make up for it. The cigarettes will be a gesture of goodwill, and they can use the sugar more than any one group. At the very least, it means they won't be ingesting straight ethanol for a few days."

Nick sniffs loudly, but neither he nor Kim interrupt, so John pushes forward. "You keep the components," he explains, "But give Grace the knives and whatever ammunition she needs. We can split the rice evenly, but it won't be very much. It would be better to keep it for ourselves, or else give it to one group alone."

"Still seems like a lot is left for us," Kim points out.

"Then you give the rest of it away," John says through gritted teeth. "I did what you asked me to do. This is what makes sense."

Kim nods. "You did, and I appreciate it."

John wishes she would appreciate what Jacob did instead, but he holds the comment back. It's his exhaustion talking, or the long day, or the lingering headache from the heat. None of those things are worth risking the shred of goodwill he's garnered with the Ryes. And the longer he hangs around here, the more likely it is that Nick or Kim will do something to really upset him.

"If that's everything, then it's been a long day. I need some..." Space , he wants to say, but he can only tiredly commit to, "I need some air."

"Sure," Kim says. She tries to mask her pity, but there's no hiding it. "Just don't go too far. Dinner's almost ready."

As if John is going to eat anything. But he keeps that comment to himself as well, knowing that it'll just start a fight that he's too tired to win. Besides, watching the Ryes go through Jacob's supplies and divvy them out the way they'd prefer might be too much for him to handle right now. He needs to put some distance between himself and his brother, even if it's only the short walk to the front porch.

#fc5 #fcnd #john seed #nick rye #far cry new dawn #far cry 5 #p sure its only the first few tags but fuck it #also i actually love turkish delight so that's a legit comment #not just a reference to dumb narnia #my fic #mercyverse

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sugar-petals · 6 years ago

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Potions and Reverie (m)

↳ In which you receive a fortunate letter that leads to sex with your submissive husband Jimin.

Word Count: 2.3k

Genre: hurt & comfort, angst, smut | domestic au | one shot

Warnings: spanking, mommy kink, thigh riding, impregnation kink, slapping, choking, neglect, sexual healing, avoidance, depression, infertility issues

A/N: Requested by anon. Reupload!

Red pines creak and bend outside. Last time you checked, the alley had been deserted with no car or person in sight. Jimin’s not home yet, you’re waiting.

He promised to be back around eight or so, now it’s nine with little sunlight left. Just heavy, mourning clouds. Endless rain comes gushing down with thunder’s angry boom from the distance. It must be hell in the mountains. Seoul is so unkind these days.

Unkind, and too humid. The current festival in Itaewon is as good as spoiled, the poor people. No text message gets a fast reply like it normally would, your phone just falls abnormally silent. There’s no point in trying again and again.

The storm keeps raging and whirring between the pines, leaving much debris and puddles on the street. You’re giving up on ordering pizza for tonight, the microwave will do. The fridge is entirely raided, so you take the small wooden steps down to the icy-cold cellar. A few convenience foods are still left in the freezer, but your tormented stomach feels like ramen is the better alternative. There are two packages left, you pick the spicier, stronger one.

You’re glad to be fast with warming it up because electricity shuts down at roughly half past, leaving you with candles and “goodbye TV” on the couch. You’d be outside if you’d know where he actually is, even in that weather. The impatience is like venom, you wish you wouldn’t have it.

It’s quarter to ten when the key turns. You rush to the front porch to haul in Jimin as he opens, soaking wet and gloomier than ever. He apologizes in a grumpy tone, no eye contact. The heavily kinked umbrella just gets cast in a corner. Jimin later slouches down next to you on the couch with your oversized bathrobe on.

Downtown he had gotten himself at least some fries and visited the drug store to fill up the fridge in a last effort. Most of the paperboard packages and vegetables got horribly wet and squashed in his backpack because the rain just didn’t want to come down vertically, and Jimin just stuffed them in without care. At least one time you see the value in thick plastic wrappings. You don’t even know if that crumbled mess is still useful in any way, but he thought about everything you’ve written on the grocery list in the kitchen.

Jimin hardly speaks while he’s trying to get his hair dry with a towel, rubbing and chafing it aggressively at the back of his neck. There’s no answer why he took so long and didn’t answer the phone, none. He’s been like that since the doctor proposed the diagnosis this summer.

You have a hard time telling him that you received the important, long anticipated letter from the clinic today. But you didn’t open it yet. You told yourself that this was something you’d have to do together. It’s hard. His face turns more somber when you mention it but he won’t protest when you bring out the plain envelope. The dismal gleam of the candle barely suffices to read, it flickers too much.

A darker wall of clouds outside has you pulling out your phone to shed at least a bit of light on the dreaded paper. It’s the result from October’s final check-up. All the numbers and paragraphs are just blurry. As you finished reading, passing over the letter you just say to read it twice. You didn’t get the majority of the words, or perhaps you’re too nervous. Maybe just in disbelief. The only thing you understood was that they charged a whooping lot. Jimin does have to read it twice. He puts it down, the first eye contact follows.

“You’re okay?”

“I’m… okay?” You don’t know what he means. That you’re fine, or that the diagnosis states you’re fine. Jimin angles the letter to you and points at a bolded part. “It says the result turned out negative. They tested for “infertile, yes or no”, not for “fertile, yes or no”. Infertile — negative. And below,” he points toward the end, “it says we could try it.” You practically rip the letter from his hands. It makes sense now, it really does. There it is.

We can encourage you to carefully commence again around designated week 2 and 3. The first investigations in August merely pointed towards a temporary and then more complicated medical terms follow, ending in an explanation how the error just didn’t hold true because of this and that, measures were just approximated, and so on. So it’s true. You are okay. You’d still punch each and every doctor with their fertility potions in the face for all of this. No cure was ever needed, neither was abstinence. Jimin looks hopeful and teary.

He’s suffered the most the last months because you’ve really wanted to follow through. But he couldn’t help if his life depended on it. It left him immobile at the thought he couldn’t make you happy, and he really admitted to that in September when things got worse.

Jimin isolated himself more, even if he did spend time with you. He tried to please you in bed in every way you could think of, he pursued all the duties he had around the house. The ideal husband. But at some point, you had just lost faith. Only the last bit of love held you together, a string that could rip any second. Like the pine branches bursting apart outside.

Giving up was the only thing to do after the final blow despite you having feverishly tried it all. He still couldn’t get it up after everything they said at the screening, with the trauma of your reaction in mind. The way he’s facing you, it seems impossible to erase all denial again, and embrace what’s real. The hug is uneasy, the damned letter forgotten on the floor. “Is it week two” you ask, “it must be.” He sniffles.

“Around start of three, I don’t know. Fuck it, honestly… They’ve been playing us with that since forever. It should work anytime mid-cycle. We’ll just try, I think it’s possible,” he clears his throat, leaning back from the hug. “It’s not meant to be otherwise. Whatever their instruments say.” You undo the belt of the robe. “So, now?” you test, making sure to sound pulled together even if the letter left you more aggravated than the turmoil in the streets.

“If you still like me… I’m disappointing. I look weird now, too,” Jimin shifts in his seat, sort of spaced out again. The robe hardly closes at the front. “Fool, I want you,” you get on his lap, moving the towel from his hands to the table.

“If a bit of water turns you ugly all of a sudden, my taste in men must be horrendous. I’m not blowing up your phone just because. I was worried! And I’m in love with you, that hasn’t changed.” The rain is unstoppable outside, drumming, threatening to hammer in your windows. “I love you, too,” he muses, though overshadowed by the roaring thunder somewhere above Incheon. Perfect day to make a baby.

“They said we can do it, you should be confident,” you pinch at his tiny nose. He turns as red as the slushy tomatoes from his bag. Clumsy sweetheart, so cute. It makes you horny. “You too,” Jimin cocks up his head, provocative. “Hey, I’ll show you.” The doc can suck your ass, you’ll make this count.

Jimin’s robe comes off completely. It’s difficult to be gentle even if you know that Jimin longs for a tough grip. There’s something about so many dull weeks that makes you ravage him. Maybe it’s not right to overwhelm him and yourself just now. But the yearning is too strong. He’s so hot with the damp hair. Yes, you want him bad.

His dick grows sturdier under the fleeting rub of your hand, and wet with warm spit added. Very wet. As does your underwear turning slick with his fuck-me thigh between your legs. It’s. So. Damn. Big.

You nibble at his chest and shoulders with the prospect of leaving faint marks and gyrate against his leg on repeat like a bolting mustang going berserk. Jimin abides the shake until all friction has spurred and lubricated you enough. It’s not taking long until your panties are gone, and Jimin’s hand slips right in their former place to get you off.

While he keeps jerking his fingers, you sink down on his shaft and brutalize him with more bites at the neck, not thinking about tomorrow. He’ll have to deal with it. You’re not meek with the thrusts today, either. Soon he jitters at your hips with his hands, trying to mimic the movement. You’re ecstatic. It riles him up. The eternal rain pounds against the window glass like you do against his lap. It’s pitch black outside. “Slap me!” he cries the more you cram him in, “I deserve it. Please!”

Your hand comes down ringing, the echo numbed by the rain. Jimin is left wincing. He begs you drooling to beat him more, harder, the other cheek. Your left is not as strong, so the slap is messy and unpredictable in its impact. But you don’t miss the spot. He’s getting stiffer inside you making the plunge times easier. A third strike and his hips buck up from underneath. Mustang number two has entered to mate, it seems.

He keeps pleading for more, but after a fourth time, you refuse. Jimin doesn’t need to get his jaw dislocated in a frenzy. Not in this position anyways. He’s digging him a bit too much, that’s when he gets carried away. Instead, both of your hands find a solid grip just below his larynx. His neck is already swollen and pulsating. “I’ll punish you my way,” you put a slight bit of strain on your thumbs, “ready for that?” The following nod is eager, eliciting a greedy look in his eyes. So this is what he likes about confidence.

Jimin, forever obsessed with your hands. You make sure to press the right spot, loving how his cock throbs while he’s thrashing out with his feet. Oh, it’s been over half a year since Jimin had you choke him out. Missed it bad. He does remember to keep his palms flat against the sofa. No matter what. That’s the silent command that you challenge him to fulfill. His arms don’t move even one bit even if you give his throat a harder, but short squeeze before releasing.

Jimin sucks his first breath in with his tongue out, veins popped minuscule in the eyes. His palms still stay in place. That’s a reflex control worthy of being a father. Your perfect man.

There are not many more thrusts until he catches himself and starts squirming. “Won’t last longer,” he coughs, apologetic. For a first time after such a sexual drought, his stamina isn’t half bad though. Jimin’s actually amazing. You’ll let him know later. Urgent matters first.

“Come on, roll over. It has to stay inside of me.”

Jimin, out of breath, can hardly catch up so you have to position him yourself above you on your back. “I think I’m ready,” he quivers, thrusts abating between your legs spread apart. Indeed he is. You lower him balls deep with your hands on his supple ass, firmly in place. “It’s like my birthday. Lovin’ the gifts.”

A brisk smack on the left cheek and he’s coming with a little whimper. Finally. It drops inside of you like a small stream of liquid silver, turning gold reaching the spot where you want it. “I’ll make you a baby daddy,” you lock his hips tight with your legs around him, “all mine, mine, mine.”

There’s no mercy for him now, and no place to go. No hours outside to escape in the rain, sulking and lonely with his depressive thoughts. No friend’s home to spend the night avoidant instead of in the bedroom here, afraid to disappoint, or having to survive your wistful hours ad infinitum. That’s gone now. A bitter summer. There’s always hope for autumn. You’re stealing a kiss and every last thread of semen that he has for you.

The pressure from your thighs hooks him in the spot with no inch of liberty. A bit more and he’d snap in half like a pair of chopsticks. The ceiling lamp flashes up, blinding and bright against the bedlam outline of his locks. Fucking electricity’s back. You can feel the last bits of sperm trickle down inside to breed you, but won’t let him go just yet.

“I’m yours, mommy,” Jimin last exhales struggling. He falls down into your arms closing around him stalwart like a cage. It feels like the only pressure left on him. What you see on his face is no more heavy gloom and doom.

The thunder continues haunting Seoul, but it doesn’t matter. This is your dream come true. You let him pull out when a tired strain replaces the strength in your legs, and he kneels. Everything that has spilled over he proceeds to sip and lap up obediently, it’s good for his skin. Unlike what’s pending flaccid between his thighs, Jimin’s tongue won’t get worn-out all too early, carrying you through a nascent high and bringing you down again.

The curve of his lips swipes gently up and down your labia, picking up the chaos of his and your cum, dips it back in with his ruby tongue when you finished your orgasm. He’s lost the tension in his brow, his eyes are peaceful. A last charming nip at your clit and he retreats, replacing his mouth with the massage of two fingers.

Before the overstimulation comes, you guide his wrists toward your breasts to go on there. You’ll drag him under the shower later, to draw out the relaxation deeply needed. Tomorrow you’ll try right again after going to the festival, to mingle with the dragon spectacle for good luck with your baby daddy.

“That’s for sweet milk hm,” you fondle at his glowing cheeks, “we made it, Jiminie.” - “Sorry that it took so long since then. Are you happy?” - “I’m very happy. And our child will be so beautiful,” you brush a finger against his lashes. Albeit exhausted, he’s cheerful under the touch. “Then, I’m happy, too.”

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cherrybracelets · 6 years ago

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anniversary [steve harrington x reader]

warnings: heavy angst, mentions of ptsd, depression, death, drinking, and drug use; 18+ for adult content

requests are open | please check out my masterist, or my fic silver linings!

You started dating Steve Harrington shortly after the Summer of 85. The summer after everything happened. You met him around mid August, and he asked you out only days later. It only took a few dates for the two of you to be completely head over heels in love.

Part of dating Steve was understanding his past, which you really tried to do, but sometimes it went over your head. Steve never seemed bothered by the things he went through. You tried to talk to him about things, to see if he was okay, but he always assured you he was fine, and it was just apart of his ‘crazy journey of life’.

So you let it go, mostly because talking about the scary monsters and Russians and psychic children freaked you out. You didn’t understand how he was just so, okay with everything. How he just continued to live every day knowing the things he knew. He was the strongest person you knew, because if you were in his shoes, you honestly didn’t know if you could leave the house.

But months went by, and he was fine. There were times where you would catch him staring off in the distance for a moment too long, or see him drink a little bit too much on a work night, but he would always assure you he was just tired or stressed. And you didn’t want to push him, he would come to you when he was ready.

But all of it started to fall apart in June of 86. That was about a month ago, now. It was small things, at first. Things you wouldn’t regularly take a second glance at if it hadn’t been for his past. He was slowly turning away from himself, and going somewhere in his head, somewhere far away from anywhere you could go.

The nightmares started coming about a week after he started acting different. You woke up in the middle of the night to him thrashing and screaming, drenched in sweat and tears. You shook him awake, trying your best to avoid hurting him. He woke up terrified, grasping on to you and squeezing you tight.

“What happened?” you whispered, kissing the top of his head and rubbing his back.

“I don’t know... I was just... I don’t know.” He was breathing heavily into you, shaking slightly. You sat in silence with him for a few moments, before he fell back asleep in your arms. You stayed up the rest of the night watching him, hoping to God whatever came to him in his sleep stayed far away.

It happened again the next night, too. It took longer for you to wake him up this time, and by the time his eyes were finally open yours were filled with tears. You were losing your best friend right in front of you, and it seemed like there was nothing you could do.

You called Nancy after the third night of nightmares in a row. You waited until Steve had gone to work, not wanting him to hear you talking about him.

“I just don’t know what to do, Nance. I’ve never seen him like this...” you felt yourself tearing up again, your brain filled with fear and exhaustion.

“It’s been about a year since everything. I mean, with PTSD, it can get worse around the anniversary of the event. He may not have even felt traumatized until now. It’s normal, I promise.” She sounded sincere, but there was a tinge of worry in her voice as well. She knew Steve much longer than you had, and you trusted her.

“Thanks, Nancy. I appreciate you being here.”

“Always. Call if you need anything at all, and I mean that.”

You hung up the phone and sat down in your kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee that lost its heat ages ago. You thought about calling Steve at work, just to check up on him. Maybe even visiting. But for some reason you stayed glued to your chair.

‘He doesn’t need me, I can’t help him with this,’ you thought to yourself. And you were right. You had no idea what he had been through. You only had a vague picture of what he told you, and that wasn’t a lot. There was nothing you could do except hold him when he cries and drink with him when he needs to forget.

When Steve came home that night, he was visibly upset from the moment he walked through the door. He walked loudly into the kitchen, where you were cooking dinner, and slammed his stuff down on the table.

“I need a fucking drink,” he groaned, running a hand through his hair.

“Is everything okay?” You asked, walking closer to him.

“We hired this new kid at work... he shows up twenty minutes late and acts like a brat the whole time I’m training him. I mean... this kid acts like he knows everything but he knows nothing... if he knew the things i’ve seen he wouldn’t have such a smug little smirk all the time. I wouldn’t mind to punch the smile right off him...” Steve poured himself a large glass of Bourbon and drank it in two sips.

Steve wasn’t one to get angry at his employees like that. He knew what it was like to be a stupid, ignorant teenager and usually let stuff slide. You’d never seen him this angry before. You walked over to him and put a hand on his arm, hoping to calm him down.

“Don’t act like you know, either. You have no fucking clue what I’ve been through,” he yelled, shaking your hand away from him and walking into the living room. You stood silently for a moment, unable to speak. It felt like someone had just punched you in the gut, and if you opened your mouth all of your insides would come flying out.

You walked into the living room slowly, hoping Steve had calmed down. He was just sitting on the couch, staring aimlessly at the wall. His leg was shaking, and the drink in his cup was almost empty again. You decided to just walk away, continue making dinner and not bother him anymore, when his voice disrupted your thoughts.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, lately.” He started at the ground with a blank expression, avoiding you.

“It’s okay, Steve. Just know if you need to talk, I am here. Or if you don’t want to talk to me, we can find you someone.” You leaned against the wall, breathing slowly, trying to stop yourself from yelling or crying, or both.

“Do you need any help finishing up dinner?” He asked, standing up on his feet quickly, as if forgetting everything that just happened.

“No, go ahead and relax. I can handle it.” You smiled softly at him, before turning around and finishing cooking. There was no nightmare that night, but you still woke up every few hours to check on him.

Luckily, the next day you had work. And you loved your job, so going in for a few hours helped take your mind off of everything. You were talking to your friend, Lucy, on your break, when she mentioned Steve.

“I’d love to have you two come out with me and Dominic sometime! Double date or something!” She smiled, her ignorance of the real world showing brightly on her face. How nice it must be to be them, you thought.

“You know, now is not the best time. Steve is... going through something, I guess. Dealing with a traumatic event. That’s all I can really say. It’s personal,” you said, trying to avoid eye contact.

“I understand. Dominic dealt with stuff like that after he came home from the Army a few months ago. It’s PTSD... there’s not much you can do except be there during the hard times.”

“What if the hard times are all the time?” You asked, letting out a small laugh. Lucy put her arm around you and squeezed.

“You’ll get through it, you guys are strong. I know it.” You smiled at her, thanking her for being there, before heading back to work.

When you got home that night, you walked into your house completely destroyed. Papers were everywhere, the couch torn apart, lamps broken and crushed.

“Oh my god,” you yelled, figuring someone had robbed you. “Steve!” You yelled, running around the living room in shock.

You heard footsteps running down the stairs at full speed, and you reached for your pepper spray in your purse, until you heard Steve’s voice.

“I can’t talk right now, I have to find it!” He exclaimed, running in circles and looking at every odd and end of your living room.

“Find what?” You yelled, standing away from him, not sure who the man in front of you was.

“The bug! They bugged this place, I know it (Y/N)... I know you think I’m crazy but they’ve done it before...” He grabbed you by the shoulders and looked you in the eyes. His face was inches from yours, and you could see pure fear washed over him.

“Steve...” you whispered, reaching out to him and placing your hand on his cheek. You felt yourself crying now, although you were trying your best to hide it. Steve let go of you quickly and turned away, anger taking over.

“If you don’t believe me then just go! I don’t need you here, anyways! You’re nothing!” He screamed, his face red with anger.

“I just want to help you...” You felt hopeless, like speaking to a brick wall. You were sobbing, now, choking on your words as tears filled your mouth when you tried to speak.

“You can’t help me, okay! You don’t fucking understand... you’re just wasting your time, and mine. I want you to go!”

You watched him closely as he spoke, and your heart shattered. He truly felt this way, he truly didn’t think you could do anything. You just shook your head silently, unable to put words together to respond. You walked out the door and to you car without saying a word. You sat in your car for a moment, not sure what to do or where to go. He was your whole world in there, your whole heart. But you weren’t his.

You started driving, not really sure where you were going to end up. You just let your body take you where you needed to be. And it did take you there. You ended up in front of Jonathan’s house, which was absolutely the best place for you to be. You walked up to the door and knocked shyly, tears still flowing down your face.

Jonathan opened the door and his face immediately dropped when he saw yours. “What’s wrong?... NANCY!” He yelled behind him. She came out of the kitchen and then quickly towards the door towards you.

“It’s Steve... something wrong,” you muffled. You came inside and explained everything that had been going. Nancy was holding your hand tight and listening intently. When you finished, Jonathan had a small smile on his face, which made you concerned.

“(Y/N)... I check my house for bugs once a month,” he said, laughing.

“Seriously?” You asked, a sigh of relief escaping your mouth.

“I swear. This is normal for... what he has been through. I know it’s weird because it’s the first time it’s happened to him but...” Nancy placed a hand on your knee and squeezed.

“Can you come talk to him?” You asked, hoping they could say to him what you were unable to.

“Of course.” Jonathan and Nancy followed you back to your place, the thought of them with you and on your side making you feel a thousand times better. When you got there, you got out of your car and motioned them to follow you inside. The place was even more destroyed than before, and the same feeling of dread came over you when you saw what was happening.

“Who’s here?” You heard Steve yelling, walking quickly down the stairs. “Oh... guys, what are you doing here?”

Jonathan walked over to Steve and asked if they could talk alone for a minute. Nancy followed them into the other room, and you sat on the couch alone. Your heart was beating through your chest, unsure of what was happening with them. You kept telling yourself things would be okay, but you honestly didn’t know. You could lose him forever.

You sat for what felt like hours, listening only to the hum of your AC, biting slightly at your nails. You wanted a drink, or a smoke, maybe even something more, but you couldn’t get yourself to move. Your body was frozen, stuck to this spot. Stuck waiting for him, waiting for answers.

Nancy finally came out from around the corner, followed by a paranoid looking Steve. She shook her head slowly at you, staring at the floor. Your heart dropped. He was gone... he had finally succumbed to his trauma. You stood up and walked over to him, slowly, trying not to upset him more.

“When you are ready... when you need me... I will always be here for you. I am always on your side, Steve Harrington.” You kissed him on the cheek slightly, and smiled at Nancy. “Thank you. Take care of him...” You walked out of the front door and towards you car, planning on staying with your parents for the night. You’d come back tomorrow for your things.

You were almost at your car when you heard a voice shouting behind you.

“Wait! Please...” Steve was at the door, desperation pasted on his face. “I’m sorry. Wait for me... I’ll get better one day... please just... wait for me.”

“I’ll wait as long as I can.” You smiled at him, got into your car and drove away, away from Steve.

#stranger things #joe keery #steve harrington #stranger things spoilers #stranger things 3 #st3 #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #angst #taylorwrites

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mirkwoodshewolf · 7 years ago

Text

My boys are my family; Queen x reader

Hello all, I am so sorry for the lateness of this chapter but I was in a bit of a writer’s block, thought I could do some requests but I hit a road block there too so I came back and I have for you a brand new chapter of the Rock Angel series YAAAAAAA. And after seeing BoRhap for the 3rd time I saw the sing along version (which I was a bit disappointed, did it show the lyrics for any of you who went to see it, cause they didn’t for mine. But I still enjoyed the movie either way even it if was just me, my dad, and 2 strangers who didn’t even participate in the thing but my dad and I sure as hell did lol) Anyways taglist is always open so anyone interested just send me a message or comment below.

WARNINGS: ANGST. Fluff, family abandonment, bit of violence and abuse, swearing, this chapter is pretty intense towards the end so just be warned against slurs and abuse but I promise the FLUFF will prevail!

Taglist *open*:

@onebigfangirlworld

@phantom-fangirl-stuff

@mr-badguymercury

@labessieisallama

@starswin

@naturalswifty89

@dj-lowkey

@isabella-bby

________________________________________________

*November 19th, 1982*

Ahhh home sweet home. It feels good to be back in jolly ol England once more. It’s especially good to be back home in my flat. Now that I’m on holiday break of my tour after just beginning my first European tour back in mid-August, I am thrilled to relax for a bit before resuming it. Even though it’s only 2pm, I have major jetlag. I swear once I get inside I am going into bed and sleeping until the end of the week. I set my bags down for a second and unlocked my door and opened it up and carried my stuff inside.

But once I passed my living room, I soon heard a chorus of male voices greeting me with ooh and awes. When I looked up it turned out that it was my boys, Freddie, Brian, Roger and Deacy. I raised my arms in the air giving the rock and roll symbol as my boys greeted me.

“There’s our lovely angel.” Freddie praised. Since I had asked Dominque to keep an eye on my flat since I lived so close to them, Roger probably asked for the spare key and called the guys knowing that I was going to be home today from my first European tour.

“You guys waited up for me?” I asked as I put my over bag down.

“Of course we waited up for you love, we wanted to hear everything about your first solo tour.” Answered Brian. I smiled at them grateful that my boys were willing to wait up in my flat just to welcome me home.

“So come on tell us, how did Europe treat our girl?” asked Roger as he patted down on the open space of the couch between him and Deacy. I walked into my living room and sat down between them and I said.

“Like her royal majesties.” I said speaking about the boys. “I mean I remember the tours I went with you guys but now being the star of the concert…..It was completely mind boggling.” I praised still trying to wrap my head around things.

Roger gently pushed me down so that my head was resting in his lap while his fingers stroked through my hair and I looked up at him. I respected Deacy’s space by keeping my legs down on the floor, but bless him, he took my legs and had them lay across his lap. He even untied my boots and set them down on the side of the couch.

“I never thought in my wildest dreams that I would ever reach this point. I mean yeah Japan gave me goosebumps at seeing them love my music but never would I think that all of Europe would love my music too.”

“That’s because you are a star darling, you deserve to be among us.” Freddie stated as he lounged on one of my chairs.

“So where was your favorite place during your tour?” asked Deacy.

“Ohh wow well I really loved Greece. But if I had to pick my favorite place of the tour, I really loved Budapest. They welcomed me like I was the Queen of their country, was given a boat tour and got to see the Parliament building. And apparently Budapest was the first city to sell out for my concert in less than 24hours. Can you believe that?”

“Wow, that’s amazing love. We’re so proud of you.” Said Roger as he continued to stroke through my hair, his fingers gently scratching my scalp.

“But you know what the most memorable thing of all was?” I asked as Roger kissed my forehead.

“What’s that?” asked Brian.

“It was when I toured the countries that didn’t speak a hint of English, much like that show you guys did in Rio back in the late 70’s, when the entire audience was singing your songs back to you. I was….almost about to break down in tears on stage when they sang the bridge to ‘Set it all free’.”

“It is defining but it’s wonderful when you know your music can touch so many people.”

“And to think once I get done with my second album, I get to do it all over again. Although I wish the next tour is the Rock Angel and Queen. I’ve missed my boys too much while I was touring.”

“Aww and we missed you too darling.” Cooed Freddie.

“(Y/n) love you look exhausted; did you get any sleep at all on the plane?” Roger said. I turned back towards him and looked up at him and said.

“Yeah, it’s just the jetlag you guys know how bad it gets for me. Plus all the other times I’ve had to fly throughout the tour, guess my jetlag has tripled for the three months.” I explained.

“Well why don’t we get you upstairs to your room and into bed?” he suggested. I sat up and stretched myself out and nodded in agreement. It was then Roger suddenly picked me up bridal style and just before we left the living room, my phone rang.

“Wait, wait I need to get that.” I groaned tiredly.

“We can take a message for you.” He told me.

“No, no Roger put me down. It could be Miami asking me about the rest of the tour dates.”

“He can wait, you cannot.” Brian then picked up the phone and said.

“(Y/n) (l/n) residence,” there was a pause and he continued, “No I’m sorry she can’t come to the phone right now, may I ask who this is?” I had Roger stop because if Brian didn’t say Miami’s name then who the heck was calling me. “Yeah, okay….sure….I will relay the message to her. Thank you.” Brian then hung up my phone and I asked as I was still being held by Roger.

“Who was it?”

“That was Glenfield hospital…..(y/n),” he took a pause almost like he didn’t want to say anything.

“What is it Brian? Spit it out already this involves our girl so what’s happened?” asked Freddie worriedly.

“(Y/n) your uncle suffered a heart attack this morning.”

My heart stopped and my body tensed up.

I turned away and patted Roger’s shoulder wordlessly telling him to put me down. He gladly obliged and I placed my hands at my hips turning away from the guys so they wouldn’t see me cry.

“(Y/n)….” Started Deacy.

“Is he dead?” I asked in a sharp tone.

“No, not yet. They wouldn’t tell me anything else beyond that unless you were at the phone.” Answered Brian. I nodded my head for a brief moment and wiped my cheeks, not understanding why I was acting like this.

“Ohh I see. So even when he suffers the worst way possible he still manages to hang on. Typical of him, he was always as stubborn and pigheaded as an ox.” I muttered icily.

“(Y/n) darling, are you okay?” asked Freddie. I turned to them and each one of my boys looked at me with pure concern. I exhaled shakily and said.

“Fine yeah I’m fine. Hell I don’t even know why I’m getting so emotional right now I mean…..I told you guys about what he and my aunt did, so there’s no need to get upset around him, right? Right. I just…..” without another word I raced the stairs and headed straight for my bedroom and slammed the door shut before pressing my back against it.

I then slowly walked towards my bed and just collapsed in it and took one of my many pillows and buried my face in it and let out a scream.

*3rd Person POV*

The boys all stood there in silence and Roger said.

“Why would they do this to her?!”

“It’s not the hospital’s fault Roger. They were just doing their job.” Stated Deacy. Roger slumped back down on (y/n)’s couch and said.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s just that she was finally happy for a change and now they had to go and ruin it for her!”

“Well it can’t be avoided any longer my darlings. It’s happened and….we need to put aside our profound hatred towards her aunt and uncle and be there for her. Come on let’s go check on her.”

“Hold on Fred,” stated Brian. “It’ll seem like we’re trying to gang up on her if we all go. Let me talk to her, I know firsthand at what she’s going through.” Freddie nodded in understandment and he said.

“Alright Brian, we’ll stay down here if you need help.” Brian nodded then he went up the stairs two at a time and headed towards (y/n)’s bedroom.

He stopped right at the door and first listened to see if he could hear anything going on. When he didn’t hear anything, he softly knocked on the door.

*My POV*

After screaming in my pillow till my voice went hoarse, I merely just lay there curled up in my bed. I soon heard a knock at my door.

“Not now guys okay?”

‘(Y/n) it’s just me love, may I come in?’ Brian’s voice was heard from the other side of my door. I sniffled softly and wiped my tearstains away and I said.

“Come in.” He opened the door and stepped inside before closing it behind him. I felt the bed softly dip and soon I felt Brian’s hand on my arm.

“Love are you sure you’re okay?” he said as I felt his thumb gently stroke up and down my arm.

“No.” I sat up and adjusted myself so that I was now facing Brian and I told him, “How am I supposed to feel when the man who kicked me out of the house at age 17 is now apparently laying on his death bed. I should feel joy and relief knowing that he’s gonna die but….but why do I feel so emotional when for over 9 years he’s done nothing but belittle me and tear me down along with that psychopathic bitch he calls a wife? Brian I’m just—so confused.” He gently tucked my hair behind my ear and stroked my cheek gingerly wiping away the tearstains from my face as he said.

“Because they’re still your family. Believe me love anytime I get a message from my mum telling me that dad had a serious accident or something, I’m frantic with worry even though it hurts to remember all the times he told me that going for a music career was a waste of my potential. We can’t help but worry for our family, even when we don’t like each other.” I sniffled and asked him desperately.

“What do I do now?” Brian sighed heavily and said.

“If I were you, I would call the hospital and get the rest of the details. Then I’d go see him one last time.”

“But what if I don’t? Would you and the guys be mad at me if I chose not to?”

“He’s your uncle (y/n). We cannot force you to go see him, you’re an adult and it’s your choice in the end. We’ll still support you in any way we can, whatever you choose. Just be sure that whatever you choose in the end, you won’t live to regret it.” I looked down solemnly.

I then slowly crawled towards Brian and lay my head against his chest and held onto him. He wrapped his arms around me stroking down my head and rubbing and every now and then patting my back.

“But you don’t have to decide anything right now darling, you’ve just got back from a 3 month tour and a long 14hr flight. Take some time for yourself to get recharged and then you can make the decision, okay?” I nodded softly. After staying in his arms a little longer, Brian then tucked me in my bed.

Once I fully tucked in, he stayed by my side for a moment brushing the hair out of my face before gently cupping my cheek against his palm and his thumb gingerly stroking my cheek.

“Brian.”

“Yes, what is it?”

“Will you and the guys stay here when I wake up?”

“I promise love, we won’t leave you. Do you want me to call them up here?” I shook my head no.

“No, I—I just want you here with me for a while, until I fall asleep. I just…..don’t want to wake up remembering today’s events and end up being alone.”

“That’s understandable love. We’ll be here for you when you wake up. Nor will I leave you until you fall asleep.” He wrapped his arm around me as he lay his head right in front of me stroking my shoulder with his thumb. His forehead gently touching mine and as he softly pecked my nose, I succumbed to the embrace of sleep and the last thing I heard from Brian before I fully fell asleep.

“Good night (y/n), sleep well my bright star.”

When I woke up, I found myself alone in my bedroom and the smell of eggs and bacon filled the air. I changed out of my clothes from the other day and put on some fresh, clean ones before heading downstairs to see the boys all around my kitchen arguing as usual while Roger was at my oven cutting something up.

“I swear Roger were not getting into this argument again. And if you lock yourself up in (y/n)’s cupboard, we’re just gonna bolt it shut with chains this time.” I heard Brian say.

“The song was great, people ended up liking it. It deserves a spot on our Greatest hits album!” Roger snapped.

“Roger even (y/n) agrees that the song is weird. And she has good taste because of that.” I heard Deacy say.

“Children please, we could all murder each other but then who’d be left to decide what goes on our Greatest hits vol.1 album?” Freddie said as he set down his mug probably filled with coffee since he can never function properly without a good cuppa. I then made myself known and that’s when Freddie said. “There’s our rock n roll angel.”

“Morning guys.”

“Morning love.” They all chorused back to me. I walked over to my table booth and sat down.

“How you feeling love?” asked Roger as he leaned up against my island.

“Much better. How long was I out?”

“Two days.” Answered Deacy. My eyes widened and I said.

“And you guys just stayed here.”

“We promised we wouldn’t, and when it comes to you, you know we’d go to hell and back for you.” Answered Brian. I looked at my boys with the warmest smile and said.

“You guys are too much. I just hope I didn’t cause Miami or your wives to get peeved at me.”

“Of course not darling, we called them and explained what was happening and they’ve agreed that you needed us more than they did. Miami’s even agreed to give you a paid leave of absence for personal reasons.” Answered Deacy as he came up to me and placed his hands on my shoulders giving them an assuring squeeze and rub.

“Okay that’s it I’ve giving that man whatever the hell he wants come Christmas. He spoils me too much, he’d never would’ve done this had I stayed his intern.”

“Oh don’t be ridiculous darling, you deserve to be spoiled.” Answered Freddie in a tone that sounded like he was giving a King’s commandment. I playfully rolled my eyes and that’s when Roger came up to me with a plate of my favorite breakfast; scrambled eggs, pancakes, 2 strips of bacon and precisely 10 cut up pieces of sausages with a tall glass of orange juice.

“Your breakfast milady.” He gestured with a dramatic bow. I shook my head at him softly giggling and I said in my poshest voice.

“Why thank you kind Mr. Taylor.” Then I began to eat my first meal in 2 days.

Once I was done, I was now in my living room with the guys. I was sitting by the window while the boys mainly gathered around the center of the living room still discussing their Greatest hits vol.1 album about which song should go into it.

Meanwhile my mind was bouncing off between going back to my hometown of Leicester and confronting my aunt and possibly saying goodbye to my uncle for the last time, or just staying out of it and obeying their final wish which was they never wanted to see me again for as long as they lived. I sighed heavily but silently because I didn’t want the guys to notice me right now.

And it was then I finally came to a decision.

“Hey guys.” At the sound of my voice, they stopped talking and they turned to me and Brian said.

“Yes love, what is it?” I took a deep breath and exhaled softly and I said.

“I’ve made my decision.”

“On what?” asked Deacy confused.

“I’m going to see them.” At that statement, the boys looked at me gravely.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea (y/n)?” asked Roger with nothing but utter concern.

“Look I’ve been driving myself crazy because of this, at any other time at the mention of my aunt and uncle I would’ve turned away and done what they wanted of me, which was to never even see me again. But you were right Brian. If I wake up the day after I get the official message that my uncle is dead. Then I’m going to regret it for the rest of my life, and the press will eat me alive calling me the abandoner and not the victim. I want to show them, both of them that I’ve proved them wrong. That all the years of belittling, verbal abuse before finally tossing me out onto the streets like trash, didn’t keep me down.”

“Then let us come with you.” He said.

“No, no. I…..I need to do this on my own. I need to prove to myself that I can do this without you guys.” There was silence in the room and that’s when Brian came up and said as he cupped my cheek in his hand.

“Just know that we’re a phone call away should you need us.” I nodded. I then went over to my phone and dialed the number for my driver, Louis. It rang a couple times before I heard his voice.

“Louis it’s (y/n). I’m sorry to call on such short notice but I need you to drive me somewhere.”

Within 15minutes, Louis came with the limo and I had on a dark grey pea coat gifted to me by Roger, a hand-knitted scarf made by Veronica and given to me by Deacy, some large sunglasses gifted from Brian to hide my face and a red French flat cap given to me by Freddie. And Louis was driving me back to my hometown.

As we drove the 2hr and 21min. back to my hometown, I clutched onto the coat trying to get the strength from my boys from each article of clothing I was sporting as well as trying to draw up my own courage they’ve helped instill in me for the impending doom that would soon happen.

And it seemed that the weather was matching my mood because all the way there, it was raining and the skies were dark. I leaned up against the window, each breath of air I exhaled fogged up the window screen and Louis said.

“Any particular reason you didn’t want the boys joining you Ma’am?”

“Personal reasons Louis, just drop me off a mile away from the hospital if possible.”

“You sure? I can drop you off right by the hospital. You don’t have to walk in this weather.”

“Trust me Louis, if people found out a limo was parked outside the hospital, they’d call the press and soon my arse is all over the tabloids claiming I’ve slept with one of the guys and could be pregnant. Or find out my family drama and exploit me as some guilty whore begging for forgiveness.”

“Understood ma’am.” He said and there was no more conversation after that.

When we finally reached my district home of Glenfield, suddenly a whole bunch of memories were coming at me. As we drove along, we even got to pass by the very street where I lived when my parents were still alive and I allowed a few tears to unconsciously slip out as memories of my parents came back to me.

Once we were about a mile from the hospital, Louis parked on the side of the road and I got out and opened my umbrella to protect me from the cold rain.

“Now you’re sure you don’t want a lift straight to the hospital dear?” I smiled and said.

“I’m sure. Listen it’s gonna be awhile so why don’t you get yourself a cuppa to warm yourself up. There’s a café nearby here. Just take the first right then go straight for about a mile and a half then you’re gonna turn on Kingston dr. the café will be third building on the right. I’ll phone the café once I’m ready to head back to London.”

“Alright, good luck miss.” He said as he rolled his window back up and took off driving. I sighed heavily and then continued on foot.

The rain dripping off my umbrella, my high-heeled boots stepping into puddles every now and then, and the coldness of the November air chilling me to the bone, even with the support of Roger and Deacy on my back. As I passed a few people walking the streets, I didn’t even know if they were to recognize me, even if they didn’t it’s for the best.

Don’t want the press getting wind of this after all. I’ll never forgive them for calling me a ‘Bitch at Queen’s beck and call.’ Claiming that I was only using Queen to get more fame. God I really don’t want to relive that story, that was the ugliest part of my story.

Finally after what felt like forever, I finally stood at the very hospital where my parents were taken and died and where my uncle was at in his comatose, if not deathbed, but one can only pray. I took a deep breath before finally across the street and entering the hospital.

I entered inside and shut my umbrella back up before walking inside toward the front desk. A female receptionist sat there and she said.

“May I help you ma’am?” I then lowered my sunglasses just an inch under my eyes and the moment she looked at me, she knew who I was. “Oh my….” I placed my finger over my lips and I said as I handed her my ID confirming legally I was (y/n) (l/n).

“I got a call 2 days ago telling me that one Graham Norrington is here. He’s my uncle and I’d like to know face to face how he’s doing. And I would also like to be kept in privacy as to not let the public know that I am here.”

“Of course Ms. (l/n), but may I just say that I’m a huge fan of your music. Your song ‘Set it all free’ really got me out of a tight spot with my boyfriend.”

“I’m glad it did for you dearie, now I would like to speak to his doctor and know where my uncle is being kept.”

“Of course. He’s in room 203 it’s just down that hall. I’ll inform his doctor you’re here.” I thanked her and went to find my uncle’s room. I managed to find a chair just outside my uncle’s room and I sat down at it and waited.

Eventually the doctor came in and he explained to me personally what had caused my uncle’s heart attack. Apparently he had it during work at the construction site, probably from yelling at everyone since he was the boss of all his workers. I didn’t say a word and just let him talk.

There’s also a chance that due to the severity of the heart attack that my uncle had suffered, there was a high possibility of him dying, especially since there had been no activity and a few close calls since the day he was admitted in.

Once we were done talking, he asked me if I wanted to see him. I debated heavily in my mind, but knowing that he was in a coma I didn’t have to deal with his bullshit nor his rage. So I nodded silently and he allowed me inside the room. After giving me some privacy, I took off my shades so that I could fully look at him with my own eyes.

He looked like a sleeping corpse already. He was definitely older than when I last looked at him, his hair and tache a pure white instead of grey. His wrinkles definitely showed out more and he was as fat as ever, if not fatter.

“Thought you’d never see me again, huh? Bet your subconscious is riling up right about now hearing my voice huh?” I set my coat and scarf aside at one chair before pulling up the second chair right by his bedside. I put my sunglasses on the top of my flat cap. “You know normally I would be screaming at you right about now, because of all the pain you’ve caused me. Kicking me out like I meant nothing to you, hell I wouldn’t have even bothered coming here to see you. I would never have even wanted to come back here to Leicester if I could help it. But….it took some friends of mine to help me gain the courage and the confidence to get where I am right now. To tell you……that I forgive you.”

I know shocker right? Now I know what you’re thinking. He kicked you out himself and has told you time and time again that you are a disgrace. Why in the hell would you forgive such a man? Well because I’m done.

I’ve been holding onto so many emotions against this man for so long. Anger, fear, sorrow, regret, for years I had to live in fear of disappointment towards both my aunt and uncle. But I’m no longer a child, I’ve worked my way through college without them, I went through my first breakup without them, and I reached my dream and became a Rockstar without them. I managed it, all on my own before I had known the guys, and it wasn’t until I gained the support and guidance from my boys that it was the last step I needed to become the Rock Angel.

Suddenly I heard the door open and there standing at the door looking at me in stoic shock was my aunt Joanna.

Her blonde hair was still as blonde as I remembered, and her icy blue eyes that could make you shake in fear stared daggers at me as she told me.

“You have no right to be here!”

“Legally I do. The hospital called me two days ago and told me what had happened.” I told her calmly not looking for an argument. But I should’ve known that once my aunt starts on her riled up tantrums, there’s no stopping her.

“Oh so just because now you’re some famous Rockstar you came here out of guilt? It’s all your fault he’s like this anyways.”

“And pray tell how is it my fault exactly? Last I recall you were the one who told me to never step foot into your lives again. And last time I was here was over three years ago.” She glared down at me before storming up to me and taking me by the arm and forcefully dragging me out of the room.

I cried out in pain as I could feel her nails digging into my skin of my arm as she forcefully tossed me out into the hallway. She shut the door and she came up to me and said.

“You’ve always been a disgrace to this family. I don’t even know why we even took you in in the first place. My sister was a foolish hippie music loving freak. Never sought anything out and not once did anything for her life.”

“Don’t you talk about my mum like that!” I snapped.

“And you’re no different from her. Just because you’re now famous doesn’t make you any less than the trembling little girl I was forced to take in. Because that’s all you’ll ever be.”

“That’s quite enough of that madam.” My heart stopped. We both turned around and standing just a few feet away from us were Freddie, John, Brian and Roger.

My boys had come to Leicester.

“You never change do you, you have to always bring in others because you never could fight your own battles. The tabloids were true, you really have made the band Queen into your little pets.” My aunt sneered.

“The only thing right about that statement madam, is that like pets we have one thing when it comes to our girl. Loyalty. Something that a shrilled up shrew like yourself wouldn’t understand. Now I can see firsthand that I am correct.” Freddie answered once more as he light up a cigarette and blew out the smoke.

“You four have no right butting into a family matter.”

“Well I think you’ll find we have every right. She’s family to us, and last we recall you had just told her that….remind me again Roger.” Stated Brian before turning towards Roger as he now finished.

“Quote. You’ve always been a disgrace to this family. I don’t even know why we even took you in in the first place. End quote.” My aunt stormed up to them and said to them.

“You four think yourselves gods compared to everyone else? A silent, mute guitar player? A playboy blonde who sleeps around with anything in a skirt, probably even slept with my niece had you gotten the chance she became big?” At that statement, Roger nearly punched my aunt but Brian held his arm back as she continued her insults, “So getting a real degree for your astrophysics wasn’t enough for you? You just decided to throw away your dreams and become some guitar player as well? And you,” she then walked up to Freddie and sneered right in his face, “Don’t think I know the suspicion about you. The pictures of you walking around drunk or sick.”

“Which one ill or drunk?” Freddie sassed. My aunt only grinned maliciously as she continued.

“You are above all else a sin to this earth. Freddie the Fag Mercury.”

“Not. Another. Word!” I found myself growling.

Finally after dreaming of this moment forever, I stormed up to my aunt and with all my strength I pulled her back into my uncle’s room not wanting to cause another scene out in the hallway.

I pushed her in the room and as the boys came in, I shut the door and locked it before coming up to her and snarled.

“Don’t you dare say another word to my boys, you understand?”

“‘Your boys’?” She mocked

“Yes. My boys. You can insult me, you can insult my dad hell you can insult my mum, your own little sister for as long as you want. But say another word to my boys again and I promise I will scar your face up so hard and deep, that not even your plastic surgeon will know how to fix it.” I threatened.

For the first time, I saw a flicker of fear in her icy blue eyes.

“These boys have given me more love and support in just 3 hours of meeting them than in the 9 years that you and Graham ever gave me!” I turned to my boys and walked up to Deacy first and said to my aunt. “Sure Deacy is quiet and shy when you see him, but his actions speak louder than his words. And he’s shown me in more ways than one of how much he cares for me. He’s like the big brother I wish I had, but I am glad to have met him this way in the end.” As I spoke, I felt Deacy’s hand at my shoulder and I gave his hand a squeeze.

I then walked up Freddie next and he wrapped his arm around my neck as I glared at my aunt and continued.

“Freddie here has been like the true uncle that I needed. He’s given me the confidence and the courage I needed to shine brighter than any star. Even when I feel like I’m not worth it, he makes me feel beautiful inside and out.” I left his side and went to Brian next. I took his hand and he gave it a gentle squeeze as continued, “Whenever I felt like I wasn’t worth it. Whenever there were doubts in my mind, the insecurities that you have instilled into me all my life. It was Brian here who became my voice of hope. He’s shown me that I belong in this world and that my talents are worth it, that I am worth it. He knows exactly what to say that will bring me up, and never tear me down.”

And last but not least, I stood in front of Roger who immediately wrapped his arms around me and leaned his head on top of mine. Even from behind his prescription shades, I knew he was glaring at my aunt as I finally finished.

“And yeah he maybe a playboy and sometimes a hothead, but he’s my hotheaded playboy. Because I know that in the end, I’m his number one girl. Roger Meddows Taylor is caring, protective and he’s always there for me whenever I need him. No matter what time of day, rain, snow, sleet, hell even a bloody hurricane. He’s always there for me. And there was only other man I knew in my life who had as much love as Roger has, and that man was my dad.” I slowly left Roger’s arms and he allowed it as I now stood before my aunt.

I stared her down, for once finally feeling like the bigger person in this confrontation for once.

“And if you want to go to the tabloids and claim a story of how the Rock Angel came and ditched her sick uncle for fame and fortune. Go ahead. But just know that not only do I have four eye witnesses to your claims of verbal abuse, I’ve got physical evidence of physical abuse which you so helpfully gave me.” I said as I pulled up my sleeve to reveal the four deep incisions from my aunt’s nails that now showed small amounts of smeared blood.

“But you did the same to me!” she argued.

“True but unlike you, I didn’t ruin my manicured nails and penetrate skin.” As she went to check her arm to reveal no traces of nail marks. “So in the end, it’ll be your word against yours.” I stated as Roger grabbed my scarf and coat and I put on the scarf while he helped me with my coat.

I walked up to the door and took hold of the handle and said one final farewell to my aunt.

“Farewell Joanna Norrington. And I hope your husband has a dry martini for you downstairs when it comes your time.” And with that I left the room.

As my high heeled boots clacked along the silent hallways, I could feel my boys following behind me like four protective bodyguards. I walked back up to the front desk and told the woman.

“When it comes time for Joanna Ethel Norrington’s death. I want my name off the records. Legally I am not her niece anymore. She wants nothing to do with me, and it should’ve been that way from the beginning. I want nothing to do with that family anymore.” I said not another word but walked towards my boys who grabbed their umbrellas.

As I was close to Deacy, he wrapped an arm around me and the five of us walked outside into the pouring rain towards Terry, Freddie’s driver, car. John opened the door and I entered inside first and then Brian and Freddie came n and sat in front of me. John came and sat to my left while Roger sat to my right once he opened the door from that side.

“Take us home, Terry.” Freddie said as he pushed the speaker button. The car then began to drive us back to London. The car ride was silent as I sat between Deacy and Roger and that’s when Brian broke the ice.

“We’re sorry we came (y/n), but we all wanted to be sure you were going to alright. I know you told us to stay out of it, but from what we just saw…..we’re glad we did. We’re sorry you had to go through losing your family again.” I remained quiet for a bit before I finally said proudly even though tears were filling my eyes.

“I didn’t lose my family today. I protected it.” I took my shades off and looked at my boys and smiled softly. I felt Deacy’s arms wrap around me as he leaned his head against mine. Roger wrapped an arm around my waist while both Brian and Freddie took each of my hands in both of theirs. “For the remaining half of my life, Joanna and Graham wanted me to choose between being a miserable everyday person, or feeling sorry for myself because I wasn’t perfect. Adam in a way was the same. But you four were the only people in this whole world who thought it was okay to just be me.”

“Because that’s who our Rock Angel is.” Roger said softly. I turned toward him and smiled down at me softly before kissing my forehead.

“We’re so proud of you darling, let’s get you home and celebrate on your greatest accomplishment of all.” Freddie said. I nodded softly as my boys put me at the center of a group hug each of them giving me praises of proudness, softly crying tears of happiness.

I was finally free. I had finally said what I wanted to say to both of the people that made my life hell growing up, although things with Joanna were rough, I’m glad my boys came when they did, cause I doubt I would’ve gotten the strength to finally tell her off for all that I’ve wanted to say after all these years.

Now I get to go home with my real family.

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