#and even in the short time ive been reconnecting ive experienced it again and again | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

missmonsters2 · 5 years ago

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About You || Part VI

Gif by: giuliacommissions (please check her out if you’d like to commission her for gifs and other work 💞)

PAIRING: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader/OFC

Summary: Wanda had never known loss like she has until she lost Pietro. It’s debilitating. She can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t even leave her house. Life is fading fast, and she’s not sure if she even wants to hang on. Enter you, a stranger that reconnects her to the daily things that makes life beautiful.

Warnings: Deals with loss & grief and the spectrum of emotions and depression that comes with it. Please note there is no glorification in any of this. Loss, grief, and depression are nothing beautiful. Also, please don’t hesitate or reach out for help if you are in a dark place. Love you, lovelies 💘

Genre: Angst & Romance

NOTE: We are making HEADWAY

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V

PART VI of X

Count: 1500

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"So, it's been almost two months."

Wanda's eyes traveled to Steve for a slight second before she looked away.

"Yeah," she answers shortly.

"You're eating again. I mean, you won't eat dinner without her like a child, but you're eating," Steve points out as he washes the vegetables and starts cutting them.

Wanda pushes around the various spices laid out on the table, knocking some of them over before picking them back up again.

"I just happen to be hungry when she's eating too."

But Wanda knew she would rather starve than eat dinner without you.

Steve looked at his friend, smiling as he looked back down to finish cutting the vegetables.

"At least now, I know you'll keep her around."

"Why do you say that?" Wanda asks absentmindedly.

"Because you've been staring at the clock for her this entire time."

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You come in with Natasha, Clint, and Bucky in a flurry, grocery bags falling onto the ground as you heave a sigh.

"Sorry we're late. Someone," You squint at Clint, "Wouldn't let us leave until he compared all prices for the desserts."

"I saved us 5 dollars!" Clint indignantly replied.

Wanda's home becomes lively with everyone running around in the house with Tony being the final person to arrive with wine. There was laughter as Natasha almost burned the house down, and squealing as Clint tried to throw random things in the dishes before the two were kicked out the kitchen, and only Steve and Bucky left to cook.

It would've been much faster to have you help, but no one wanted to disturb you from your significant position in this household.

You saw how the second you enter through the door, Wanda's eyes fluttering with relief as she relaxed. You walked over to her and pulled her into a hug as you rubbed soothing circles on her back.

"I'm here," you reassured her because Wanda was someone who needed it constantly because she was scared constantly.

You stroke her head, fingers running through her hair as Wanda relaxes in her hold and whispers in your ear.

"I couldn't stop watching the clock."

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The rest of the gang walks home together, slowly reaching the point where they'll split ways.

"They're totally going to date," Clint says, holding the leftover containers in his hands.

"You think so?" Natasha asks. The night was pleasant. It's been a while since so many people were over at Wanda's place. Her home is starting to feel a little warmer, and that makes Natasha happy.

"Oh, yeah," Clint grins. He had been teasing Wanda about how she would wait for you to put her plate together and wait for you to start eating before she did. Of course, he stopped when he saw Wanda flush red in her cheeks and ears.

"Did you see the way Wanda looked at her the moment she came in?" Clint laughs.

Steve smiled, strolling leisurely along with the group as he looked at the ground.

"You should've seen the way she waited."

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Wanda liked that you went with the flow. Because even though Wanda would catch you staring at her with questioning eyes, you never said anything.

Perhaps it was selfish of Wanda to let you exist in limbo, even if you seemed to exist well in there.

She could tell your eyes were asking what it was Wanda wanted from you.

What did she want you to be for her?

But Wanda didn't know how to answer.

Because they weren't friends. Friends probably don't sleep together every night, wrapped up in each other's limbs in the morning. But they weren't...dating.

Wanda didn't know what she wanted if she were quite honest.

And so, Wanda didn't respond to your questioning eyes.

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It was warm.

A little too warm.

Wanda opened her eyes to find you pressed against her side in bed. Lying there, she thought about how much nicer it was to sleep together on the bed than on the couch.

Although, Wanda conceded that the couch did allow her to squish closer to you.

Wanda turned slowly, her legs still tangled as she lay on her folded arm on the pillow to look at you. She stared at the lashes of your closed eyes, down to the bridge of your nose, and even your slightly parted lips as you breathed in and out puffs of air.

And for a moment, Wanda swallowed, trying to distance herself from your touch, but you pulled her closed until your lips were pressed against her collarbone. Goosebumps erupted all over herself, a quiet thudding in her heart getting faster.

There were so many things Wanda could've done. She could get out of bed, she could've woken you up, she could've done anything, but Wanda didn't.

Like a small flame being lit within her chest, there was a small whisper of a confession inside herself.

Wanda wanted to be closer to you.

She was ready to risk the possibility of losing again.

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"I've got to head to work today, there are some problems. I'll see you later!"

You ran out the door, not even bothering to wait to hear Wanda reply as you were well aware of the fact she never bid goodbyes.

Wanda stared at the clock from the couch. Work was about 8 hours, and she sighed impatiently and forlornly. You would make it back for dinner, Wanda told herself to settle the discomfort in her.

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"Seriously, Wanda, just give it a try!"

Wanda rolled her eyes without looking at her brother.

"Why?" Wanda asked as she stroked her paintbrush across her canvas.

"Because I'm actually concerned you're going to die alone. I saw you looking at the cats when we passed by the shelter the other day. You can't get a cat...alone," Pietro leaned against the wall, admiring his sister's work.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," Wanda squints at her brother momentarily before returning to her work.

"Trying your hand at watercolor, finally?" Pietro asks as he comes up behind his sister.

"Yeah, I'm not sure why you like it, though," Wanda sighs, "I can see all the lines I drew underneath. It doesn't look perfect at all."

Pietro looks at his sister's hand to see a mess of colors all over her hands and fingers.

"Exactly," he says, looking at the pencil lines on the canvas, "it's truly a work of art."

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It was dark.

Much past dinner time.

In fact, it's been 10 hours and 32 minutes.

Wanda could not sit still. She couldn't eat or sleep.

She was experiencing an array of emotions that went from confusion, worry, anger, back to worry, and again to anger.

Why were you so late?

Why didn't you call?

You said you would see her later.

But then Wanda would agonize because later was so vague. There's no time stamp on that.

Was work just longer than you expected, or were you hurt?

Wanda groaned in frustration, slamming herself back on the couch as she leaned her head back, facing the ceiling with her hands over her face.

The helplessness she felt grew with each tick of the clock.

She looked again and groaned.

10 hours and 43 minutes.

And Wanda was all too aware that you made her feel too human.

The doorknob jiggled, and Wanda shot up.

"Hey, did you eat--"

"Where were you?"

You stood there, having just shut the door and keys still in your hand as you faced Wanda down the hall. Wanda has had plenty of time to stew in her anger, and with her lack of control lately, she was going to make sure you felt all of it.

"Why didn't you call?"

"I had an emergency patient--"

Your explanation is cut short, Wanda not even bothering to hear it as she lurched forward to pull you into her arms.

"I'm sorry you keep looking at me and holding back your questions. I'm sorry I left you in limbo, but I don't know what I want from you," Wanda says in the crook of your neck. The words are rushed, and Wanda is holding onto you tightly with silent pleas.

Your arms are half-lifted in shock, but you slowly wrap your arms around Wanda in return. She was warm, such a wonderful quality that you adored.

You pull back, looking at Wanda briefly. You knew that Wanda was petrified. The fabric of your jacket rubbed between her fingers anxiously, and her eyes would flicker with bursts of emotions.

It was fear that Wanda constantly felt, and you know she would never make the first move. So, you moved closer, pressing your lips to hers, her bottom lip quivering as your tongue ran against it before drawing it in again between your lips.

You pull back, just slightly as you whisper against her lips, "You can want anything you want from me. It's okay if you want my time, my attention, and all my affections."

PART VII

#mm: my fics #series: about you #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x OFC #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #scarlet witch imagine #avengers reader insert #avengers au #avengers imagine #marvel reader insert #Modern Avengers AU

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ghostbustermelanieking · 6 years ago

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phantom weights chapter three

one, two

season 11, post my struggle iv. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

Summary: In the wake of their second encounter, Mulder, Scully, and Jackson reconnect (both by accident and on purpose).

---

The days were entirely too empty.

Scully hadn't gone without a job so long in years. Even when they were on the run, she worked as a waitress or cashier whenever they stayed in one place for long enough. She'd always been driven a little crazy by not working, ever since she was in her twenties; she thought that she and Mulder had similarly restless souls. Now, they had no jobs, nothing to do besides sit around the house all day.

Scully was fairly sure that she could get her job at the hospital back (or at a new hospital), provided that no one found out about the things she had leaked on the Internet. But Mulder had convinced her to wait until a few months after the baby was born, and considering it was a high risk pregnancy anyways, Scully couldn't argue much with that. She needed the rest. They'd already more or less determined that Mulder could just stay home with the baby once it came along—they’d talked about a teaching position at Quantico, but they weren't sure that the FBI had any goodwill left for the two of them. And besides that, he seemed to be okay with the idea of staying home. “I'm getting old, Scully,” he joked at one point. “I'll be a stay-at-home dad, take care of the kid. Maybe I can even get some writing done.” (He used to talk about writing, years ago, but he'd never gotten around to it. The idea of him taking up writing again made her incredibly happy.)

It wasn't really the lack of jobs that was the issue. It was the emptiness of the days, all the space to think about where their son was. If he was okay, if he was hurt or getting into trouble, if they'd ever talk to him again. It was enough to drive her crazy.

She tried not to linger on it. She told herself that knowing he was in Richmond was better than knowing nothing. She told herself they couldn't push, or he'd pull away. She told herself that she would have to just wait. And Mulder was saying the same things.

It was nearly agonizing, but they found little ways to fill the day. They read a lot. They found movies to watch or TV shows to binge. They lay in bed half the day, or made slow, lazy love in the middle of the afternoon. Mulder had off-kilter ideas for novels or short stories that he scribbled down on scraps of paper. He painted the baby's room while she advised on color from the hallway, not wanting to be affected by the fumes. They did every single thing they'd ever wanted to do, and things they'd never known they wanted to do. They tried, as best they could, to keep their mind occupied. Sometimes they succeeded. Sometimes they didn't.

They talked about the baby a lot, whenever they could. They speculated on gender sometimes; Mulder thought it was a girl. When she asked how he was so sure, he would just smile and shrug. “I just know,” he said mysteriously. He had name suggestions; she made a couple of her own.

He was in love with the baby already. He slept curled at her back, his hand often straying down to cover her belly. He'd talk to the baby sometimes, tell her stories or read to her from whatever book they were halfway through with. (It ended up being some book of accounts on the Loch Ness Monster, or a book on scientific theories or medical discoveries.) He loved fixing up the baby's room, even though the whole thing seemed a little premature. He was doing all the things he didn't get to do the last time, and she loved it. It was overwhelming as it was scary, the fact that they were doing this again, and she couldn't believe she was experiencing with him. She'd missed him so much with William, missed all the things he'd never gotten to do. She burst into tears at one point, unable to hold back the rush of grateful emotions.

The first time the baby kicked, they were both on the couch reading, Scully growing tired enough that the words were starting to swim around on the page, and she was about to suggest they go upstairs to bed when she felt a strange fluttering in her abdomen. She dismissed it as indigestion at first, until it happened again. And again. And that was when she realized what was happening, when she remembered this feeling from years ago.

Excitement suddenly sprung loose, in the pit of her belly, and she let the book fall to the couch, pressing her hand to the spot. She felt a little phantom foot push back against her palm. She smiled, unable to help it; that was their child in there. Their baby. Despite her guilt over what happened the last time she had a child, despite her fear that she would lose this baby, despite her regret that it had happened this late in life, she couldn't help but love this child tremendously. Couldn't help but be excited, just a little excited.

And Mulder. Mulder was here this time. She was alone the first time William kicked. The first time William kicked had been the night before Mulder’s funeral. She'd been crumpled in the corner of the couch, trying to think of what she could do next (how she was going to keep on without him), and then she felt it, the little flutter inside of her. She'd dismissed it at first until she felt it again and again. She ended up crying, almost as hard as the night she found Mulder dead, her hand pressed to her stomach as if she could tether herself to the baby, make him feel her presence. That was the first time in a long time that she hadn't felt alone. The last time this happened, Mulder was dead, and now he was here, he was with her, and the combination of grief and gratefulness bubbling up inside her made her want to cry.

“Mulder,” she said softly, hand still over the baby.

“Mmm.” He was still absorbed in his book, some new release about Bigfoot theories that he'd probably read to the baby at some point.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and nudged his shoulder. “Mulder, you have to feel this,” she said.

He looked up from his book, startled, his eyes immediately shifting to her abdomen. “Feel… is it… is the baby kicking?”

She nodded, with a little smile, and his eyes lit up. He reached out to touch her stomach, hand landing on the wrong spot, and she reached out to guide it to the right one. She could feel the baby kicking at his hand, and she really did want to cry now. The smile spreading across his face meant everything in the world to her.

“Oh my god,” he said softly. He leaned down and kissed the round swell, stroked the spot. She laughed a little, unable to help it. He laughed too, both hands there now. “She's kicking so much,” he said with awe. “Are they supposed to kick this much?”

Scully sifted her fingers through her hair, loving the feeling of his hands on her stomach. Years ago, she'd craved his presence madly, and now he was just unquestionably there. “It's perfectly normal,” she said, her voice warm with affection. “Although you might be disappointed when she turns out to love soccer instead of basketball or baseball.”

“I can learn to love soccer,” Mulder said, kissing the spot again. “Hi, baby,” he whispered, and she felt the flutter of movement again. “How you doing in there?” The baby kicked again in answer.

Scully grinned a little, rubbed her hand over her stomach. Mulder wrapped his arms tight around her waist, cheek against her belly. “I love you,” he murmured, and Scully stroked the top of his head again.

“Which one of us are you talking to?” she asked, amused.

He looked up at her, his eyes dark. “Both of you,” he said. “I love you both so much.”

She seized a handful of his t-shirt and pulled him up until they were nose to nose. Kissed him sweetly. “C’mon,” she said, pushing hair off of his forehead. “Let's go to bed.”

“I think I'm right, you know,” he said, getting up off the couch and extending a hand to help her up.

She took it. “About whether or not it's a girl?” she asked as he pulled her to her feet.

“Mm-hmm.” He smiled peacefully, wrapping an arm around her waist. “And you're coming around, too. You called her she, you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “You're delirious, Mulder,” she said, elbowing him in the side. “We're both exhausted. Let's go to bed, okay?”

“Skeptic,” he said happily, starting towards the stairs. “You did call her she.”

“Only because you did.”

“Sure.” He kissed the top of her head. “I'm working harder on convincing you on something, every single day. Someday, it's going to happen, and you're going to tell me I was right."

“Okay, Mulder,” she said patiently. “Okay.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek.

He rubbed a hand over her side, the two of them stilled on the bottom step, and whispered, “I hope she looks just like you.”

---

A couple of days later, they had a doctor's appointment. They went together, Mulder sticking to Scully's side the entire time, holding her hand. Scully's heart gave a little flutter of relief when the doctor reassured her that everything looked good, the same way it did every time. It was incredibly reassuring to hear.

They got home in the early afternoon, a nap already sounding appealing to Scully. She let Daggoo out in the backyard, dropping her keys on the counter and filling a glass with water as Mulder slipped back into his office, saying something about doing some research. She leaned absently against the fridge; it was early May, and already hot as hell. She put a wayward hand to her stomach and thought about the long, hot months ahead.

Mulder's voice emitted suddenly from his office. “Hey, Scully?” he called gingerly, as if he was concerned about her reaction to whatever he wanted to show her. “C'mere for a second, would you?”

She went, her brow automatically furrowing with worry, wondering why his voice sounded so strained. But he didn't look upset when she entered the office. He was standing over the answering machine, connected to the landline he'd never taken out, despite the both of them having cell phones. He turned to her and gestured her over. “Someone,” he said quietly, “sent us a message today.”

He jabbed at the button with one finger, and the machine clicked. The sound of their son's voice filled the room. “Uh, hi. This is Scully and Mulder's phone, right? This is, uh, Jackson. Jackson Van de Kamp.”

Scully made a little gasping sound, a hand over her mouth. Mulder was leaned a little closer to the machine, as if he wanted to be near the sound. The message kept playing. “I wanted to call, and, uh, let you know I was okay,” Jackson continued. “So you'd know… Oh, and I got a job. Two jobs, actually. Burger King night shifts and a day shift at a warehouse.” He laughed like he was nervous. “Um, anyways. I guess I missed you, but I hope you get this message. Hope you guys are doing okay.” He cleared his throat, the machine crackling. “Uh, bye.”

The machine beeped loudly, jarring Scully. She'd felt a little lost in the sound of her son's voice. She turned to Mulder, her nose stinging as if she was about to cry. “He called us,” she said thickly. She'd tried to be optimistic after everything, but part of her had thought that after buying the apartment, they would never see Jackson again.

“He did,” Mulder whispered, and he turned to wrap his arms around her.

She rested her chin on his shoulder, looking at the answering machine and trying not to cry. “He's okay,” she said muffedly, pressing her lips to his chest. “He wanted us to know he's okay.”

Mulder nodded, his hand cradling the back of her head, rocking her a bit, back and forth. She sniffled, wiping her eyes, and held him tight. He had called. He had called, and surely that meant he would call again. They didn't have him back, but they hadn't lost him either, and they had the potential to see him again. The possibility of it was more than enough.

She squeezed Mulder tight and let go, reaching out to press the button on the answering machine again. To hear their son's voice again.

---

Life was going remarkably okay for Jackson, considering that a few months ago, he had thought he'd be dead any day now.

His jobs kind of sucked, but it was nice to have something to focus on. And he needed the money. He'd made a couple of friends in both places; they were the type who knew where you could get weed and booze, which was helpful. Half the free nights he had, he spent with them, but he spent the rest at his home, sleeping on the couch more often than the bed and watching the Roku he'd bought with the money Mulder had given him. (He didn't need cable, but he obviously needed WiFi.) He relied on takeout a lot at first, but he was pretty sick of fast food after months on the road. So he went grocery shopping, pushing a cart around Food Lion and feeling like a parody of an adult. He could remember grocery shopping with his mom as a kid, looking at all the brand names and begging his mom to buy him the unhealthiest stuff imaginable. Whining that he was bored when she took too long to pick out fruit. Balancing on the end of the cart while his mom pushed until she asked him to please get down. He was tempted to do what he used to when his mom would let him push the cart, which was take one foot off the ground and propel the cart forward with the other, but he figured he looked suspicious enough without bringing that much attention to himself, acting like a dumb little kid. Sometimes he'd change the way others saw his face just for the fun of it.

He called Mulder and Scully exactly once, feeling a little bit of obligation. He knew they didn't want to push him away, so he probably could've gotten away with not calling. But he also knew that Scully kind of expected him not to ever talk to them again, and that made him want to call them just to prove that he wasn't a total ass. So he did it almost out of smugness. (And, if he was telling the truth, a little bit out of curiosity.) But at the same time, a strong part of him didn't want to do it, was scared to do it. The same way he had felt right before talking to them the first time. It took forever to get up the courage to dial the phone (a cell phone, also bought with Mulder's money), and once he finally did, he was relieved when they didn't answer. He left a message, and knew it was going to their landline—he could've called their cells, but there was a greater chance they'd answer, and he honestly didn't want to pick which one to call.

That should've been the end of it. He called, and left a message. It wouldn't be an issue unless they called back. But Jackson couldn't stop thinking about it. The message over the answering machine was old—he’d known that as soon as he heard it—and the sound of the voice on the other end was strange. It'd been her voice, saying, This is Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. Leave us a message, and we'll get back to you. But it was an old message. Her voice sounded different. But he knew they'd been living separately at one point—that was why he had this furniture… So why did they have a joint message that was at least five years old? And why had it never been changed?

It shouldn't have bothered him that much, but he couldn't let it go. It was niggling stubbornly at the back of his mind. As was some other things he'd truthfully been thinking about since last December, since the first time he saw them. He hadn't known much about Ginger (or his birth father) previous to that. In those couple days, he'd figured out a few things. They were in the FBI. They'd named him William. (They'd never stopped thinking about him. They'd loved him.) But there was a lot he still didn't know, a lot he was curious about. He hated to admit it, but he was. He was curious.

He got off of work past midnight that night, and went home to his couch, unable to sleep. He tried texting Sarah (who no doubt was asleep, and didn't always text him back anyways), tried flipping on the TV, but his mind kept wandering. He was restless, and so he picked up his phone and googled Mulder and Scully, halfway expecting nothing to pop up.

The first thing that did was a movie with a suspiciously low score on Rotten Tomatoes. It was called The Lazarus Bowl, and the cover featured actors dressed up like FBI agents, the woman wearing a red bob. Jackson snorted loudly, biting back chuckles, and made a mental note to check that out later. He switched to the News section, and was surprised to see several articles pop up. Some organ-harvesting cult, some witch in Connecticut. Some more cases that made him raise his eyebrows in interest. He should've known they investigated weird shit, considering they got called in on his case, but he never knew it was such overtly weird stuff. He found an entire archive of cases, going back to the 90’s, that they apparently solved. The X-Files. Scrolling through all these cases, Jackson wondered how the hell he'd never seen this part of their lives before.

He stayed up for nearly three hours, reading about cases that sounded vaguely interesting, before he realized what he was doing. He blushed instinctively, his face hot, and closed out of the tab immediately. He couldn't be doing things like this. He couldn't be. It went against every single silent promise he'd made to his parents. The promises he absolutely could not break. He couldn't want to know about them because it was a betrayal to his entire childhood.

He halfway expected Mulder and Scully to call back after the message—Hey, we're so sorry we missed you, please talk to us!—but they didn't. He didn't hear from them for the next few days.

---

Jackson's seventeenth birthday was on a Sunday that year. He had the day off from work, incredibly, and he'd been looking forward to it at first, but now he hated the idea. He couldn't stand the idea of all that empty space, all the time to think about everyone who wasn't there. None of his new friends knew his birthday, so he didn't hear from any of them. Sarah was planning to stay up in Richmond an extra day that she'd spend with him, but he got a text from her that Saturday night saying she was sorry but she couldn't stay, that her parents were way too suspicious already. He told her it was fine. He couldn't let himself wallow. He felt pathetic even being sad about it; he was seventeen years old, and he still got mopey about his birthday like a little kid. He told himself that it didn't matter, it didn't fucking matter.

His mom and dad had given him a great birthday, every single birthday, no matter how much of an ass he was being. Thrown him a party, every year. They'd get him a cake and they'd eat it for breakfast, sometimes in his bed. This year, Jackson bought a cake at the store, but he couldn't find the brand they liked, and the replacement didn't taste nearly as good. Eating cake on the couch alone while watching Netflix wasn't exactly the same of years and years of cake with his parents, and he suddenly found it hard not to cry. He wiped his eyes, pushing his plate away. He felt very small. He realized he couldn't remember the last time he thanked his parents on his birthday, and he was suddenly disgusted by himself. He lay down on his couch, his cheek against the cushion, curled into a ball.

They'd done the cake thing every year for as long as he could remember. There was even a picture of him on his first birthday, smeared with chocolate in his brand new high chair. He'd been adopted at about nine months old, so his parents had spent every birthday with him except for the very, very first one. The one where he was born. The one he'd always been the most curious about his whole life.

Jackson winced, shutting his eyes and rolling over so he was lying facedown. He was thinking about Mulder and Scully now, if only inadvertently. Wondering what that first birthday was like. Wondering how they would've celebrated, if they would've celebrated, if he'd never been given up for adoption. He didn't want to think about it, but now that he was, he couldn't stop. He hated himself for it. He missed his parents so much.

He thought, more than once, about calling and seeing of any of his friends were available. But every time he almost reached for the phone, he chickened out. He still felt insecure around them, he barely knew them. He wanted to be with the people he loved, but he didn't know if he had any of those left. So he lay on the couch, eating cake and pizza and watching Netflix. It wasn't the worst birthday he'd ever had, all things considered—he had been bitten in the eye by a tarantula on his sixth birthday, and spent months in the hospital getting experimented on afterwards—but it sure as hell wasn't one of the best.

Towards the end of the day, Jackson was stretched out across the couch lazily, thinking about ordering some Chinese, when his phone rang. He scooped it up, halfway hoping to see Sarah's name, but that wasn't what was there. Instead, he saw an unfamiliar number that he recognized immediately. It was Mulder or Scully, on one of their cell phones. He knew it as soon as he touched the phone.

He could've declined the call, but he didn't want to. He was astonished to discover that, sitting there holding the phone: he didn't want to decline. He hadn't talked to anyone all day.

He answered the phone quickly, without thinking. "Hello?"

He heard Mulder's voice on the other end, overeager and cheerful and nervous. "Hey, Jackson! It's, uh, it's good to talk to you, buddy."

"It's, uh, it's Dana and Mulder," Scully added, and he could suddenly see them on the other end of the phone, crowded around it to talk to him. He wasn't picturing it; he could see it.

"Oh, yeah, I know," Jackson said, flushing red. He wondered if he should start calling her Dana instead of Scully. (Or Ginger. He thought of her like that absently, without even thinking about it too hard; it was what he'd done for sixteen years before he knew her name.) "Hi."

"Hi," Scully said, her voice soft.

Mulder cleared his throat, and added, "We, uh, we just wanted to call and wish you a happy birthday." He said it almost apologetically, like he needed to justify their calling.

"You know when my birthday is?" Jackson said, without thinking. He grimaced as soon as he said it, because it sounded dumb to his own ears, but it had felt like a valid question. They'd given him up; they'd never celebrated a birthday with him. Maybe they'd forgotten it. Maybe they didn't care.

But no, they hadn't forgotten. Of course they hadn't. He should've known that, remembering everything they'd said to him since the first time they met. The way they always acted around him, it should've been obvious they wouldn't forget. He felt embarrassed for even asking.

"Oh," Scully said in the softest voice, "sweetie, of course. Of course we do."

"Seventeen, that's a big year," Mulder added. "You can get into R-rated movies."

Jackson laughed automatically. "I can get into those anyway, you know," he said. "I can make myself look like anybody else, remember?"

Mulder laughed, too. "I guess so," he said. "But now you can do it without worrying you'll be found out."

"Yeah, guess so," Jackson said. He was smiling a little without noticing it. It was incredibly relieving to hear another person's voice, wishing him a happy birthday.

"We got your message," Scully added. "A couple weeks back. Thank you for calling."

"Oh, yeah." He caught himself smiling, and instantly felt ashamed. His head hung forward loosely. He chewed at the inside of his cheek. "You're welcome," he said quietly. He was looking at the cake on the coffee table and thinking that he wished his parents were here. His mom, who always sung Happy Birthday in a tone-deaf voice, and his dad, who would always have noisemakers and a party hat on even at six a.m. And then he was thinking about Mulder and Scully (or Dana), and how they would have celebrated his birthday.

He didn't want to think about it, but of course, you always think of the things you don't want to think about. He was wondering about his birthday, and then he thought about the first one. An image flashed through his mind, uncontrollably, of a younger Ginger screaming with the pain of labor, splitting cries, an infant being placed in her arms. Him, that was him.

Jackson shook his head hard to rid himself of the images, gritting his teeth. Mulder was asking him something, and he had to concentrate hard to hear him. "—how your jobs were going?" he was saying.

"Uh, yeah, yeah," said Jackson in a rush. "They're good, they're good. People can be real asses sometimes, but you know." He buried his face in his free hand, his eyes squeezed shut. He was seeing Ginger again, lying on the shell of a brass bed with him cradled in her arms, whispering to him; flashes of her and Mulder on what seemed like a helicopter, Ginger still holding the baby (him) and Mulder holding her, his arms around her and his palm cupping the baby's head… Was that what they were thinking of?

Mulder was saying something about working in fast food, and he was holding the phone too tight. He screwed his eyes shut tighter and thought furiously of his fourth birthday, of his mom holding him and his stuffed bear, bouncing him on her lap while the family sang Happy Birthday. He hoped they could see it. He was thinking, This is what you missed out on. He was overwhelmed by the memories they were showing him. If you were so happy when I was born, he wanted to ask, then why the hell did you give me up? Why could you not spend one single birthday with me?

"I-I should probably go," he said suddenly, and he realized he couldn't remember the last thing either of them had said. He wondered if they'd seen the memory, heard what he was thinking. He flushed red, feeling like an ass. They remembered his birthday, and they'd called him, and they'd cried the day he was born, but they'd given him up, and this was the first birthday they were here for, and they weren't even physically here.

But they probably wouldn't be here even if they wanted to be. Because they thought he didn't want them to be. He bit his lip hard.

"Oh," Scully said, and he could hear the hitch in her voice that alluded to what he'd tried to show them. She had seen it. "Okay. Well, it's good to talk to you."

"Happy birthday," Mulder added.

"Thank you," Jackson mumbled. He felt like such an ass. He missed his parents. "Thank you for calling," he blurted in a rush, and hung up the phone quickly. He dropped it on the coffee table like it was a live, red-hot thing.

Another thing fucked up, he thought to himself. More people to drive away. More things to ruin. He clearly didn't know how the hell to handle anything. Couldn't stay away from his birth parents like he promised himself he would, couldn't be around them without hurting them. Maybe, he thought to himself, this was a signal to stop trying. He should just fucking forget it.

He called in an order of Chinese takeout. He ate another piece of cake. He dug some beer he stashed out of the fridge and started drinking.

Later that night, he was mostly drunk and mostly asleep, sprawled out on the bed in the bedroom for one of the first time since he moved in. He turned over with effort in bed, pressing his face into the mattress, and that was when he felt the prickly feeling on the back of his neck. The feeling of another mind melding with his. She was trying to show him something.

It was a hospital room, considerably nicer than whatever place he had seen before. He was there, wrapped up in a blanket with a little blue beanie on his head. His eyes were blue instead of brown, and he had absolutely no hair. And she was cradling him in her arms, just lying there with her eyes half closed and humming a little under her breath. Rocking him back and forth, so slightly you could barely even tell.

The emotion in the scene hit him like a freight train, an immense amount of it. He quivered slightly on the mattress with the weight of it; he wouldn't say what emotion it was, wouldn't acknowledge it, but he could feel its power.

He heard her voice, the voice he always wished he could hear as a kid. I'm so sorry for everything, Jackson, she told him. But I wanted you to know… seventeen years ago, the day you were born, was one of the best days of my life.

---

The days grew longer and hotter cyclically. They were still working on fixing up the bedrooms. The guest rooms, they had always called them; there was one that Maggie used to stay in when she visited, and another that Bill and Tara had slept in exactly once, on a pullout couch. They'd moved the couch down to Mulder's office, intending for that guest room to be the baby's room. Mulder had painted the room a muted green that reminded Scully a bit of the sea the month before. They'd ordered a crib that Mulder set up when it arrived, as well as a bookshelf and a changing table. Stuffed animals. A blanket that Tara had sent.

Scully pointed out that they were still several months out from her due date, considering it was only June, but Mulder told her it was better to be prepared earlier than later. (She agreed with that sentiment to a point, but she was still worried, just a little bit, that she wouldn't make it to term. She tried to put those fears at bay, reassured herself that everything was going well, that she and the baby were both healthy, but the fears still lingered at the back of her mind. She was terrified that something would go wrong. But she tried to focus on the hope that it wouldn't. Every time she felt the baby move, it was a reassurance.)

They worked on the other room too. It didn't need much, considering it already had a bed and they had no real idea what Jackson would want, but she wanted to put in some effort to personalize it. They bought a little TV to put into the room, as well as some books. Some DVDs. They didn't know what he might like, so they guessed, feeling guilty nearly every time they guessed. They wanted to have it ready for him.

They hadn't talked to their son since the night of his birthday. He called, several times, and left a message when they were out, which made Scully suspect that he was trying to call when they weren't home. He always called the landline, never their cells, and the messages were almost always the same. Wanted to let you I'm okay. Hope you're doing okay. It seemed so calibrated, so planned, that Scully was legitimately beginning to think that they might never talk to him personally again. She appreciated Jackson checking in with them, appreciated the amount of caring put into that—she had halfway expected him to never call at all—but she couldn't shake her sense of hurt that he was trying so desperately to avoid them. She wouldn't push the subject, but she wished desperately, at times, for a moment with her son.

Her wish came true, in a way, one day when Mulder drove into the city for a talk someone was giving. "Research," he called it, "for that novel I'll get around to writing someday." He'd invited her to come along, and offered to stay back when she opted out, but she reassured him that she would be fine. She'd lay around the house, relax, enjoy the quiet. He kissed her goodbye at the door, hugging her tight and told her to call him if she needed anything. She promised she would.

She spent the morning taking Daggoo for a walk around the property. He was eager, jumping at her legs, running for long stretches when she let him off the leash. When they returned, she went into Mulder's office and lay down on the pull out couch with her book. Secretly, she loved to be in Mulder's office when she was alone; it was a nice room to sit in, surrounded by his books and papers and pictures tacked up among newspaper clippings. (He'd cleaned it up a bit since she moved out and back in, but it still reflected the hectic nature of Mulder's office. It still felt like his own place.) There were pictures of the two of them, pictures of Samantha and of himself and Samantha with his mother, a picture of William as a baby, and the picture Mulder had taken from Jackson's room, the one where he was playing baseball. She felt right at home.

Scully was engrossed deep into her book when the phone rang, sitting on the desk. She jolted in place, startled, before she realized it was just the landline. And then something clicked together in her head: nobody called the landline anymore, besides Jackson. Besides Jackson.

Scully dropped the book and got to her feet as quickly as she could. She rushed to the desk and picked up the phone, saying, "Hello?" in a rush.

She was breathless until she heard her son's voice on the other end, his deep, serious voice. "Hi, Dana," he said. From the sound of his voice, he'd known that she was going to pick up.

Scully smiled unconsciously. The baby kicked furiously as she sunk wearily into Mulder's desk chair. "Hi, Jackson," she said. "It's so good to hear from you."

"Uh, it's good to hear from you, too," he said on the other end. He was nervous; she could hear the hitch in his voice. She could remember the conversation they'd had on his birthday, the tension there. "How, um, how are you doing?"

"I'm good," she said, leaning back a bit in the chair. "Uh, your fa—Mulder is at a lecture in DC, so I'm just lying around the house."

"Oh. That's cool," he offered. "You enjoying all the quiet?"

"As best I can," she replied, amused. "What about you? How are you doing?" In any other situation, she might've loathed the trite pleasantries, but she was so happy to be talking to her son in any form that she'd take this. Turning the desk chair a bit, her eyes fell on the picture of William as a baby, and she had to bite back the influx of tears. She honestly wasn't sure if they were happy or sad tears.

There was a bit of a pause before Jackson said, "I'm okay." He cleared his throat. "I, uh, have the day off work, and I've been killing time by watching TV."

Scully was still looking at the picture. She remembered the day she had taken it, the day that William crawled for the first time. He'd giggled with delight that first time, grabbing at her carpet and anything else he could reach with his little hands, grabbed his bunny and mouthed at its worn ears. She still had that bunny, upstairs somewhere in a box; she'd slept with it on and off for the first year since she gave him up. She wondered if Jackson could see what she was thinking about.

She blurted suddenly, without thinking about it, "Let me take you to lunch."

Jackson was silent on the other end, pausing with an air of surprise. "Lunch?" he repeated, with an astounded air.

"Yeah," said Scully, feeling impulsive. She suddenly thought of Mulder, wondering if he would mind, but she didn't want to take it back. She wanted to see her son. "I'll drive up, meet you wherever you want. Your choice. What do you think?"

"Oh, uh…" She could feel his hesitance on the other end, practically see his sheepish shrug. "Okay. Sure," he said. "That might be… fun."

Excitement rose in her stomach, rolling with the movements of the baby. She sniffled, trying her hardest not to cry audibly on the line. "Okay. Great," she said softly. "I… I'm looking forward to it. Just text me where you wanna go, and I'll meet you there."

---

She called Mulder as soon as she could, on her way out to the car with her purse hanging off of one shoulder and her keys looped around her fingers. She leaned against the car as she talked to him, the heat of the car biting through the fabric of her shirt, her heart pounding. She was apologetic and guilty—the last thing she wanted was to leave Mulder out of this process, especially after everything he had missed out on—but he reassured her immediately. "Don't be ridiculous, Scully," he said gently when she tried to apologize. "You deserve this. You deserve time with your son, alone. You don't need to apologize to me."

"I don't want to take away opportunities for you to see him," she whispered, clutching the phone too hard.

"You're not taking anything away," Mulder said gently. "Go have a good time, honey. Drive carefully."

So she went, her guilt melting away into nervousness the closer she got to the city. Mulder's support had reassured her greatly, but she was still apprehensive about spending time with Jackson. Especially considering that she'd been the one to suggest it. He had agreed to it, but how much of it had been out of a sense of obligation? But he'd called when she was at home, and he didn't seem surprised when she picked up, which meant he'd probably called intentionally while she was home, which meant he probably wanted to talk to her. Or maybe it meant nothing of the sort. She turned the subject over and over in her mind until it felt old and tough and she wanted to forget it. She told herself that he could've made up some excuse if he didn't want to come.

At the restaurant in Richmond, she sat in the car, jumpy with nervous energy. She couldn't tell if he was there yet, and she didn't want to go in, for fear that he wouldn't show. But she didn't want to leave either. She stayed in the car, jittery, her knee bouncing and the baby moving restlessly, until a car pulled into the parking lot and she gave a little sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging. She knew immediately that it was him, even before she saw the make and model of the car.

Once he had parked, she got out of the car and crossed the parking lot to meet him. He seemed to see her as he climbed out of his own car, shielding his eyes with his hands, and he lifted one hand in a wave. She could see the exact moment he noticed her pregnancy; he squinted, as if he hadn't seen right, and then his eyes widened with astonishment. She touched her stomach self-consciously, suddenly embarrassed. She'd been afraid for weeks, months, that Jackson would be hurt when he found out about the baby. If he'd think she was trying to replace him. She couldn't get a read on him, couldn't tell what he was thinking. He smiled at her when she approached, although it was a tight smile, and shrugged. "Hi, Dana," he said quietly.

"Hi, Jackson. Thank you for meeting me," she said. She realized she still had her hand on her stomach, and removed it immediately. "Do you want to go in?"

---

Inside the restaurant, Jackson ordered a tremendous amount of food. A couple of appetizers, a large entree, dessert. Scully honestly didn't know if it was out of typical teenage boy hunger or so he would have leftovers to take home, but she was starving herself. They ate horrible, greasy food that she normally would have rejected, but that she made an exception for. She'd been having strange cravings lately, and Mulder indulged her with an affectionate and devoted amusement.

It was a struggle to find things to talk about, at first. But then halfway through their order of chili cheese fries, Jackson set down his glass and said solemnly, "So I googled you guys."

Scully burst out laughing. She couldn't help it. It was exactly what she would've expected out of Mulder's son. She laughed so hard her stomach hurt, and when she could finally breathe again, she wiped her eyes with the corner of her napkin and said, "I'm afraid to ask what came up."

Jackson, who'd looked a little concerned up until this point, seemed to relax with relief. He said, "Yeah, um, what the hell is up with that Lazarus Bowl movie? Is that some sort of coincidence?"

So Scully told him the story, of Skinner's friend whose name she couldn't remember, and Sister Spooky and the Lazarus Bowl, and teaching Tea Leoni to run in high heels. That gave way to several more stories, mostly prompted by questions Jackson had about files he had found online, since Skinner had archived the entirety of the X-Files. (Scully wasn't sure whether to be upset with him or thank him, but this encounter pointed to the latter.) Telling stories about her and Mulder's heyday was extraordinarily easy, as long as she avoided the harder periods of time in her life, the deaths and the illnesses and the danger and the injuries. But there were plenty of good stories as well.

They talked for longer than she ever expected, Jackson asking questions about the X-Files and Scully answering as best she could. She felt guilty all over again that Mulder wasn't with them; he would've loved this. ("You'll have to hear Mulder's side of things someday," she told him more than once. "I'm sure his version is different than mine.")

They talked for so long, through lunch and past dessert, that they somehow got off on the subject of her family. She was telling a story about a prank that she and Charlie had played once, and she was talking about how Bill was involved when Jackson sat up straighter, interested. "Your brother's name was Bill?" he asked. "Like, as in William?"

"Oh." She was caught off guard. Miraculously, she'd gotten semi-used to thinking of her son as Jackson, and hadn't expected him to bring up his birth name. "Yes," she said, fiddling with her napkin. "He was named after my father."

"Seriously?" Jackson laughed, a crow of disbelief. "So… I'm guessing you named me William after them, right?"

"Yes," she said again. "And after Mulder's father. He was named William, too."

Jackson laughed incredulously again, yanking his fingers through his hair. "What the fuck? You both had fathers named William? And also a brother?"

"We thought it was appropriate, considering," said Scully with a small smile.

"Goddamn." Jackson rested his forehead in his palm, shaking his head with a sheepish grin. "That's so weird. That means I was named after three different grandfathers."

Scully blinked. In the moment, she'd completely forgotten that Jackson had another family. "Your adop—your parents named you after a grandfather?" she asked, clumsily skating over her mistake (adoptive parents) and hoping he didn't notice.

From the slight flinch, she guessed that he had. "Yeah," he said. "Jackson Harwell Van de Kamp, but everybody called him Jack. Which is why, uh, nobody calls me Jack." He rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. It was a Mulder gesture all the way, and the sight of it made Scully's chest hurt. "He died while I was a kid."

"Oh," said Scully, thinking of her own father, the grandfathers who Jackson would never meet. If she understood anything, she understood losing someone. "I'm so sorry."

Jackson shrugged, his face hardening a little. After a silent moment, he motioned to Scully's stomach. "So who are you gonna name the, uh, the kid after?" he said in a stilted voice.

"Oh." Self-conscious, Scully looked away. "I don't think we're going to name the baby after anyone in particular," she said. "Although we've been discussing some ideas…"

"Right." Jackson's knee bumped against the table leg. "I didn't, uh," he said with a nervous laugh, "I didn't know you and Mulder wanted kids."

Her face grew hot, hurt rising in her throat thickly. "I've wanted kids for a very long time," she blurted, before she could think about it. It might not have been the best thing to say, all things considered, but she needed him to know. "Mulder and I… we both did. We both wanted kids."

It was definitely the wrong thing to say. She could tell what Jackson was thinking even without the connection they sometimes had: Then why did you give me up? "Oh," he said.

Scully looked away again, down at the table where someone had written their name in jagged pen marks. The baby kicked again, a little foot, and she put her hand over the spot. "This one was a surprise," she said quietly. "We… we didn't plan for it. But we're happy about it."

Jackson cleared his throat. "Yeah," he said stiffly. "Kids are cool."

"They are." Scully stared at the pen marks at the table, at her neatly folded napkin. She suddenly wished, desperately, that Mulder was here with her, to ground her.

Jackson cleared his throat again, started to say some sort of pleasantry, but she cut him off. "I never wanted to give you up," she said, feeling like it might've been the wrong thing to say again, but not willing to not say it. "I-I didn't think I had any other choice. I thought you were in danger, and that sending you away was the only way to protect you, and it would be selfish to do otherwise. But I hated every minute of it. I hated myself. And I—" Her voice broke a little. "I have missed you every single day since."

Jackson blinked, as if he didn't know what to say. Scully cleared her throat, dragged a fingertip underneath her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I just… wanted you to know."

Jackson sighed, his head falling forward into his hands. "Thank you," he mumbled. He got to his feet, not meeting her eyes. "Thank you for lunch, Dana… I've got to go. Say hi to Mulder for me, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered.

He was already walking away; he looked over his shoulder and called, "See you later." And then he was gone.

Scully had folded her hands on the table at some point during their discussion. She looked down at them now and noticed the quiver of her fingers. Everything had been going so well.

She tried to tell herself that his response hadn't been the worse one in the world. That he hopefully knew now how much she'd regretted losing him, if he believed her. But it felt like little comfort. She knew that this wouldn't be easy, but she hadn't expected it to be so hard.

She sat there, her hands shaking, until the waitress brought the check. She paid the bill and left, pulling out her phone to call Mulder on the way out to the car.

---

Jackson couldn't believe it. Even back in his apartment, he couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe he'd agreed to go to lunch. Couldn't believe that he'd actually had a good time. Couldn't believe the things he said at the end, couldn't believe her response. Couldn't believe that he hadn't known about the baby already. She was clearly months and months along; how had he not seen it?

The really fucked up part was how much he had always wanted a little brother or sister. For years and years. His parents had tried to adopt a couple times—once when he was three, and once again when he was eight—but it had always fallen through. He'd always wished it'd worked out, though; he'd always wanted to be an older brother.

#anyways this is gonna be too long #xf rewatch #xf fanfic #i wrote this

105 notes · View notes

kpurereactions · 8 years ago

Text

New Heart

Type: Smut

Pairing: Junmyeon x Reader

He's always had feelings for you. Since the day you ran into the S.M building to get out of the unexpected rain just as he was leaving. His heart hurt for you as you explained your boyfriend who was supposed to pick you up canceled last minute and as you were walking home you got caught in the rain you hand prepared for. As the two of you exchanged names and numbers and he drove you home he wouldn't be able to hide his feelings towards the boyfriend. Especially when you were left with no other choice but to call him for other things he had stood you up for.

He'd keep his thoughts to himself though. Even though you knew he didnt like the boyfriend he wouldn't tell you to break up with him, it was your life and if you were happy most of the time then who was he to tell you to end it. Even if he did know you would be much, much happier with him.

It was raining again. He knew how much you hated the rain and he couldn't help but to think about you as he watched out the small window of their practice room. As his name was called he closed his eyes and hoped that your boyfriend was with you. That you weren't stuck alone again to endure the storm. As Chanyeol called his name again he turned to see him holding his phone, the screen lit up in indication that there was a call coming through.

He bit his lip and smile sadly at your name on his screen. He answered to hear your small voice and he instantly knew that you were home alone. You didnt even have to ask him before he was grabbing his coat and leaving the building, not caring if he had agreed to participate in the extra practice Kyungsoo asked for.

Driving to get to you seemed to take a lot longer than usual. The traffic was bad, there was accidents all over and half of the main road he used to get to your place was blocked off from construction. But still he made it work, texting you to reassure you that he was coming and to wait for him. He knew so much about you and your personality that he didnt need to wait to knock on the door, he pulled your hidden key out of its spot, unlocked it and made his way in.

His heart dropped at the sight of you. You were sat on the couch, legs curled up against your body and head resting on your arms that were folded over the arm rest of the couch. You moved your gaze from the rain falling over the glass and over to him, your eyes red and puffy from crying so much. Your hair was wet and as you used the sleeve to wipe the tears that had started again off of your cheeks you stood, walking quickly to busy yourself in his chest. He sighed and wrapped his arms around your tightly, his cheek resting on the top of your head.

You had started to sob again and all that he could think of was how he was going to kill the bastard that did this to you. He sat you down and listened as you explained how he had left you again making you walk home in the rain and when you had gotten home you found him in your bed with someone else. Hearing that sent a pang of hatred through is chest and he knew he could do nothing but hold you closer.

He listened sadly as you babbled on about how you should have ended it sooner. How you were so stupid to believe that he actually cared for you and how it was your fault that this happened to you. Every time you blamed yourself his heart would break again and again. He shifted, sitting in a way that he was completely facing you, one hand now resting on your thigh as the other rested above your shoulder on the back of the couch.

He couldn't take it any more. You were too precious to him and to hear you going down on yourself made desperate to try and get you to stop. he called your name a few times, softly at first than slowly getting louder when you continued to talk over him. You weren't listening, you were too caught up in your own world of blaming yourself to realize what it was he was pleading for you to hear.

In one swift movement he took your cheeks between his hands and forced you to look at him, his thumbs gently moving across your cheeks to end the tears that had continued to roll. You opened your mouth again to ask him how you could be so stupid, but before you could get more than half the sentence out his lips pushed onto yours.

Your eyes fluttered shut as your hand reached up to find his, your heart melting at how soft they were and how much love were behind them, something that you never experienced before. Just as you were about to deepen the kiss he pulled away, his thumbs still grazing your cheeks softly.

‘Stop blaming yourself, y/n. This isn't your fault. Please just stop.�� He said biting his lip.

Your hand trailed up to his and you held onto it. You looked at him and saw something so different than what you usually saw. Your friend had become your hero. The sweet shy boy had become a man who protected you and all you could truly think about was the feeling of his lips on yours.

The gaze you had on him made his heart flutter and he couldn't help but chuckle softly moving is gaze down to the space in between you two. His hands relaxed, one of them landing on your thigh and the other that was still shielded by yours ended up intertwined with yours. The sound of you whispering his name made his stomach flip as he looked back up to you, his eyes soft as he noticed you had stopped crying completely.

He was surprised when you lent forward to his him again, but he took no time in lettings lips move with yours. It was everything he thought kissing you would be. He imagined it to be heavy, desperate in the way that this feeling had been put off for so long and finally the two of you were being allowed to express yourselves.

He was surprised, but not complaining at all as your arms hooked around his neck. His hand found your back and as you pulled him down with you his hand supported you. He'd hovered over you, his hand moving up to brush your hair back before trailing back down to hold your thigh that had moved up and pressed against his side. He wanted that moment to last for ever. Just you and him, the rain outside and the couch that helped press you closer to him.

He pulled away again, his forehead pressed against yours for a second before he looked at you, cheeks now flushed because of him and lips slightly parted and pink as if they waited patiently for his. He pushed more hair to the side, his fingers going back to hook around your thigh.

‘Where have you been this whole time?’ you wondered out loud, wondering how you could possibly over look someone like him.

‘Ive been right here waiting for you.’ He smiled, reading forward to kiss you gently.

‘Im not going to make you wait anymore. I woke up.’ You said pulling at his neck again to make him reconnect your lips. You could feel his smile against you which made you smile. Your hands tightened around his neck as he sat you up and brought you to straddle his lap, his arms hooking tightly around your waist as he held you close, your lips never breaking pace.

You shifted over his lap and chuckled when he pulled away from you again, his head falling to the back of the couch as you rotated then one more time. He'd sigh again as you lifted yourself off of him to meet his mouth making him smile again into the kiss. You trailed your lips down his jaw and to his neck causing a light groan to come from his mouth and his hands to grab onto the backs of your thighs.

You sat back down and smiled as your lips trailed back up to his, you have never felt this powerful before, this wanted or this needed. His hands squeezing to your butt as you reconnected your lips made him feel the same way. It was the feeling that the two of you have been together forever. That you were meant to be together that made this okay. That mad you reaching under his shirt to pull it up and over his head okay, and that him doing the same to you was okay.

He groaned into the kiss agains as your hips began to grind against him and his hands began to travel across your skin. Your own fingers hooked together behind his neck again, your body letting him push and pull you as he liked until something in him snapped.

You giggled and held onto him as he flipped you to your back, but making sure you weren't going to hit your head on anything before his strong arms finally let you go. He playfully kissed you though your giggles, whining for you to take him seriously as his kissed all over your cheeks nose and lips. it just ended with him not being able to hide his own giggles. He pressed his forhead to yours and sighed catching his breath before you tapped his chin to make him look up, just so you could pull his neck softly and bring his lips to yours once more.

He fall back into kissing you, so intently that he didnt realized your hands and wrapped to grab onto his belt until you were pulling at it as if to silently say you wanted him. You wanted him completely.

He'd agree by deepening the kiss and running his hand down your arm, his breath once again heavy as you slowly undid his pants to release his throbbing member. You laid there as he sat up to strip himself and as he turned to you you couldn't help but blush at his chiseled body. He'd blush at you looking at him, but to keep himself from feeling self conscious he'd turn to you and pull the thin sleeping shorts you had on off of your body.

He'd come up your body again, kissing you desperately as you pulled at his back, the feeling of his skin against yours sending fireworks through your body. You almost lost your breath at the feeling oh his hand running up the inside of your thigh and for the first time since you had been under him you realized just how hot he made you. How wet you were becoming.

You pulled at him harder, not wanting nothing more than to just feel him, but when he broke the kiss you felt it was over, that he realized he was about to go all the way with someone who hours ago had just ended a relationship, even if the relationship was already over.

But instead he looked at you with a smug grin and rose an eyebrow as you squirmed slightly. He bent forward and kissed you softly smiling slightly as you rolled your body again to try to find him.

‘You are so eager.’ He said puling at your lip with his thumb playfully.

‘I just... please. I really need you. Only you.’ You whispered, immediately biting your lip, scared that he was going to reject your boldness.

But he smiled at you, pushing your hair out of your face slightly before dipping down to kiss you again. You gasped suddenly when the tip of his member touched you slightly, making you chuckle in victory. as much as he wanted you he couldn't help but to tease you. The small sounds that were coming out of you were to good to loose sight of and he held onto those noises as long as he could. Until you gasped his name, that is. The moment his name left your lips in a breathy moan he felt himself already on the verge of exploding form the anticipation. It was no longer a game to him.

He used his hand to guide himself into you, almost a little to fast. He pushed into you so far he hit your weak spot and pulled a gasp from you and a cocky smile from him. He moved his lips back to yours and kissed you softly, pushing in and out of you slowly as he stretched you. He couldn't help but groan at the feeling of how tight you were, and after you had begged for him to go faster he wasn't sure if he could, you just felt too good around him.

But he did, and within seconds he had you a moaning mess under him with the way he would curl and push his hips into you. Your hands gripped to his thighs as his hands pushed yours up by your cheeks. He'd find your lips every chance he got to kiss you and when ever he did your heart would flutter, wanting nothing more than to be as close to him as possible. As his pumped quickened and his breath grew shaky you gasped as his had reached down to circulate your clit, One leg now pressed up and against his chest as the other fell off to the side.

Your hand clenched to the back of his neck as he watched your eyes close and your body stiffen. Every time you moaned his name he'd move faster, now adjusted to the tightness of you around him and getting to the point where he wanted nothing more than to just pleasure you to all ends.

With his body slapping against yours and his fingers sending rockets of pleasure through your body your toes began to curl and your breath became uneven. It happened three times where you've met the top and held on, the last thing you wanted was for it to be over. But as he moved harder in you and in new ways that hit new corners you couldn't hold on any more.

Seeing you unravel around him brought a chuckle to his lips and he couldn't help but push into you you even harder as he waited for his turn to cum. You moaned holding tightly to his wrist and as you came you couldn't hide your shaky breath as he kissed you softly.

You reached up and gripped tightly to his neck again as his own breath became uneven and sharp hisses left his throat as he pulled out quickly. This time it was your turn to watch him as his eyes shut and he came over you. He laughed as you pulled him in to kiss him gently, his hands brushing themselves into your hairs as he sat you up slightly.

You broke the kiss and scooted out from under him. As he watched you half jog into the nearest bathroom he couldn't help but fall back on the couch and kick his feet once. He couldn't believe that he just slept with the girl of his dreams. He came to his senses and started to dress himself, sure that you would be ready for him to leave. But as you left the bathroom now wrapped in a thin robe you called his name, almost a little offended that he was up and half way dressed.

He stopped and looked at you before putting his shirt on, his stomach flipped as you nervously bit your lip and opened your mouth ready to say something.

‘I thought id head out... I don't want to push my luck.’ He whispered walking up to you and taking your cheek in his hand.

‘I was kind hoping that you would want to stay.’ You looked at him and smiled as he sighed in relief.

You laughed as he threw his shirt off to the side and returned to wrap his arms around your neck and walk you backwards into your room.

#exo scenarios #exo smut #Junmyeon #junmyeon scenario #junmyeon smut #suho scenarios #suho smut #suho

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