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safertokiss · 4 years

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Hate the Game, Love the Player

A/N: Let the fun times ensue! I really liked this prompt and a story kinda just wrote itself in my chaotic brain so here we are. I relate to this prompt greatly, I will admit, so it was extremely easy to channel. Anyways, thanks for reading and life’s a party.

Prompt: "spence i fucking hate chess. i just like spending time with you." (Anonymous)

Pairing: SPENCER x READER

Category: Fluff and SMUT

Word Count: 4k

ENJOY:)

~~~

MASTERLIST

~~~

Spencer Reid. Spencer Fucking Reid. What a man.

You had been pretty much in love with the resident genius since the second you stepped foot into the BAU for your first day over a year ago. You could remember your first meeting plain as day, the way he stuttered out an introduction while a bright blush covered his entire figure, the way he fiddled with his hands to stay grounded in the moment. You had found the whole interaction very adorable and had decided in that moment that your heart belonged to him.

You guys had hit it off almost immediately, surprising absolutely no one on the team, and a beautiful friendship quickly bloomed between the two of you. While you certainly loved being his best friend and colleague, you were stuck.

As more and more time passed with Spencer at your side, you couldn't stop the feelings you harbored for him from dramatically increasing. You had always read those stupid, sappy romance books that, more often than not, revolved around a close friendship being troubled by one half of the duo catching feelings for the other. Even worse were the stories where they didn’t end up together. You hoped that that wasn’t going to be the case for you and the doctor.

Of course the feelings weren’t just one-sided. It was blatantly obvious to pretty much everyone on the team, yourself included, that he felt the same exact way about you, and while the knowledge of his affection was encouraging, it didn’t amount to much because you knew he wasn’t the type to admit his feelings outright, especially to a female. Since there was no way in hell he was going to make the first move, you had been trying your hardest to make your advances as obvious and clear as humanly possible, hoping that at least one of them would finally lead to more. You had reached a point where you were so desperate you were willing to do the unspeakable for him. It was time to do the completely unimaginable.

“Hey Spence!” You watched his body jump slightly before swirling around in his chair to make eye contact with you, giving you a perfect view of his figure. He looked especially good today for some reason and you suspected that had something to do with your sudden willingness to go through with the one thing you had hoped you would never have to do. “Yeah?”

Oh boy here we go, now or never. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to maybe teach me how to play chess sometime? I’ve been meaning to learn how for quite a while now.” You certainly didn’t miss the way his face lit up with excitement at your question, quickly confirming that you had had the right idea and made the right decision asking.

“R-really? You’d actually want to do that? Oh wow, I’d love to teach you sometime! Maybe uh, if you want of course, you could come over tonight after work and we could start then. I’ll even um-I’ll even try not to win so you could have some fun! Oh um-uh not that you wouldn’t be able to win on your own, it’s just that-”

“Spence, slow down”, you said with a chuckle, unable to contain the smile that covered your lips. “Tonight sounds great. I’ll meet you at your place after we get out of here, ok?” The stupid childlike grin that spread across his face was intoxicating and made you somehow fall even deeper in love with him. It was honestly baffling that someone as seemingly perfect as him could actually exist. God, how you hoped the two of you would at last grow some balls tonight and do something, finally putting that built-up tension to rest. Well, hopefully not to rest. You certainly wouldn’t mind it sticking around forever, as long as he was by your side to ease the borderline torture whenever it reared it’s ugly head.

“Ok uh-yeah that sounds awesome! S-see you tonight then. Oh and don’t forget to bring earplugs for when you inevitably get tired of hearing me explain the complexities of the game for the thousandth time”, he shyly added at the end. You didn’t even attempt to stop the lighthearted snort that escaped at his words. Like you could ever possibly grow tired of listening to him? That’s a big, fat negative. Giving you one last wide grin, he spun back around and began working on his files again, leaving you vulnerable to the not exactly innocent thoughts swirling around in your head.

You were going over his house tonight, the two of you would be all alone. Sure, you had been over there plenty of times before for various reasons, but this felt significantly different for some reason. Maybe that was down to the fact that you fully intended on making some kind of move tonight, in turn, hopefully, making your intentions completely clear to him. You had no definite way of knowing how far things would end up going later, but you certainly had a preference of where you wanted things to end up. Too many days had been spent pining over the young doctor, and at this point it was the only thing you could think of that would satisfy your desires.

Would he even want to though? As close as the two of you were, the topic of sex or anything even remotely sexual never seemed to breech into your conversations, as much as that disappointed you. It wasn’t exactly that you were worried about him not being into that kind of stuff, it was more of a deep rooted insecurity that often made you question whether or not he would ever want to do something of the sort with you. You quickly pushed the thought out of your head, deciding that the only way you were ever going to know for sure was if you worked up the courage to make some sort of significant advance in his direction tonight.

Eventually ignoring your raging inner thoughts and returning to the task at hand, you couldn’t help but check the clock every few minutes, anxiously counting the minutes until you were able to leave this place and get to his.

~~~

You had all but sprinted out of the office earlier once your shift had come to an end, rushing to get to your car so you could leave.

The excitement that had been pumping through your veins was intoxicating and made you question all the seemingly silly nerves you had felt building up throughout the day. What was there to be nervous about? It was just chess. However, as you pulled into his apartment complex’s lot, you realized that it was so much more than just chess and the nerves came rushing back through you like a fucking tsunami.

You didn’t even want to discuss the way you felt right now, perched directly outside of his apartment, dazedly staring at the wooden door. Was it too late to just turn around, go home and forget that this whole damn thing ever even happened. A lucid fever dream, that’s what this could be if you just left.

No. You wanted and needed this. Here’s hoping Spencer did too.

You cautiously raised your fist before gently knocking on the rough surface a couple of times. You were able to hear some slight movement from inside and just as you were taking a deep breath to try and calm yourself down a bit more, the door swung open, an equally nervous and excited looking Spencer now standing opposite you. God he was so pretty.

“Hi”, he quietly spoke, his eyes absentmindedly sweeping across your frame. You were easily able to detect the anticipation that radiated off of him in waves, the same feeling emanating from deep within you as well. “Hey Spence”, you breathily whispered, a shy smile gracing your lips.

After a brief moment of just silently staring at each other, Spencer snapped out of his apparent stupor and awkwardly angled his body to the side so you could come inside, gently shutting the door behind you. Immediately after entering his apartment your eyes drifted to the kitchen, noticing that he had somehow managed to cook dinner for the two of you in the very short time since you guys had gotten out of work, him leaving the office slightly earlier than you did. The kind gesture made you feel warm inside, the situation as a whole feeling amazingly domestic.

“Oh my god. Spence, you really didn’t have to do all this. It smells amazing!” You watched the young doctor ripen into a tomato at your words, feeling your desire for him deepen even further. He blindly followed you as you made your way towards the kitchen to investigate his hard work, passing by the fancy, little chess board you had always ignored before on the way. “It’s no problem at all Y/n, can’t have you learning on an empty stomach right?”, he teased as you let out a light giggle at his thought process. “I suppose you are the doctor here”, you answered with a joking tone. “Shall we then?” Suddenly feeling much more comfortable in each other’s presence, the two of you quickly ate, Spencer’s cooking completely blowing your mind.

“Ok as amazing as that was Spence, I believe it’s chess learning time!” You succeeded in portraying genuine excitement at your statement, simply opting to instead think about all the possibilities of what could happen, rather than the game itself. The evident excitement that exuded from his slim figure was more than enough encouragement for you to get the ball rolling and waltz over to the mahogany table, promptly assuming your position across from him. “All you Reid, I’m completely at your mercy.” You saw him swallow hard at your choice of words and found yourself slyly smirking at his reaction. Quickly clearing his throat, he jumped right into things.

“O-ok so basically to start off there’s um-six classes or ranks for the pieces. You have the pawns, the rooks, the knights, bishops, kings and queens and uh-each different rank has their own move set or “abilities”, if you will. Before every game there’s a specific order that they…”

You tried. You really, really tried to focus on what he was saying, but there was no stopping your mind from wandering to more pressing matters. For example: how unbelievably hot he looked rambling excitedly about one of the most boring things on the planet. He made you actually look forward to playing. In all honesty, you already knew how to play the dreadful game, thanks to years and years of mandatory family bonding time with your dad when you were younger. Spencer didn’t need to know that though.

Eventually his instructional spiel had come to an end, the two of you now having moved on to a couple practice rounds to get the hang of things. You hated fibbing to him about your previous experience with the game, but it was well worth it to see the way his face lit up with every word that fell from his lips. After engaging in several “practice” games, Spencer had deemed you suitable for the real deal, offering to still help you along the way if you needed it, for which you thanked him.

The first few trial games that you guys played through went by pretty smoothly and while you were nowhere near beating him, you were able to hold your own weight fairly well. Sure, you had had previous experience from your childhood, but it had been so long you found your skills were kind of rusty and they presented themselves as such. The longer you both played the more you remembered, reaching the point where you were actually rivalling him and giving him some sort of competition. You could see how impressed he was with you, but there also seemed to be some layer of pride boiling underneath the surface. While you loved his reactions to your “newly” acquired skills, things were going much too slow for your liking and you knew exactly what to do.

“How about we up the stakes a little bit, hmmm?” He looked up at your words, a curious look crossing over his features.

“What did you have in mind?” You watched him visibly gulp at the suggestive smirk that slowly adorned your face. Momentarily ignoring his question, you began to reset the board, the clinking of game pieces being the only sound filling the apartment, that and Spencer’s bated breath as he waited for a response.

“Ok, I’m sure you’ve heard of strip poker before?” You watched him hesitantly nod his head in agreement before continuing. “Well how about we play some strip chess, make things a bit more exciting, yeah?” The speed at which a blush overtook his features would’ve been alarming to anyone else on the planet, except for you of course, who found it utterly adorable.

“I uhh-I y-yeah, sure. Sure! We can do that. It sounds kind of...fun? What um-how would that work exactly?” You gave him a bright smile at the evident eagerness laced within his words before explaining your thought process on specific rules for the game.

“Well I’m thinking that we don’t have enough layers on to remove something everytime we capture an opponent’s piece...soooo..maybe every two pieces captured by the other person you have to take something off? Yeah that sounds like it should work. Good?” You watched him seem to mull over things quickly in his head before nodding with slightly more confidence than he had exuded before. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

Around twenty minutes later, the two of you were stripped down to the bare minimum, you in just your panties and bra, him in his boxers, both of you finally seeming to understand the weight of the current situation you were in. You certainly hadn’t expected to give Spencer this big of a run for his money, but you were glad you were able to best him at least a few times. However, depending on the next few moves, you guys were so close to crossing a line that neither of you could possibly come back from.

Unfortunately, while you were too busy worrying about what was about to happen, Spencer had cornered one of your pieces and captured it, making it his second piece of yours captured since the last article of your clothing had come off. His head jerked up towards you as he realized what his small victory meant. Shit. Were you really about to expose yourself to him, willingly at that?

Yes. Yes you were.

Spencer watched with wide eyes and labored breathing as you slowly reached behind your back to undo the clasps on your bra, the material falling forward slightly, until you removed the straps making the lacy garment come off completely, sending a shy smile in his direction. You swear you saw his eyes darken as they widened even further at your bold movement, his Adam's apple bobbing at the sight of your bare chest right there in front of him. Unable to think about it too long and suddenly emboldened by his reactions, you quickly made your next move while he was basically hypnotized by your tits. Maybe this could work to your advantage after all.

Realizing that the boy genius wasn’t planning on moving anytime soon, seemingly too invested in his personal peepshow, you snapped your fingers in front of his face to grab his attention. His eyes immediately snapped up to meet yours, embarrassment coating his face as he cleared his throat. “Oh I-um-sorry. I was a bit d-distracted”, he nervously chuckled, aware he had been caught ogling your body like a horny teenager, not that you minded in the slightest.

You could easily tell how frazzled the young doctor still was as he took his turn, making a move that there was no way in hell Spencer would have ever made with a clear mind. An excited smirk graced your face as you registered what he had just done. And based on the way his eyebrows furrowed, it seemed as though he had too. No fucking way.

“I uhh-uhh...shit. I-I um…”

Making sure to maintain steady eye contact with him, you slowly leaned over the table, your breasts pushing together perfectly to compliment the show you were putting on, and confidently made your final move.

“Checkmate.”

As the two of you sat there just staring at each other, you noticed his breathing becoming more and more labored, his eyes completely black with desire, yours probably looking the same.

Fuck it, let’s go.

The speed at which you shoved the board clean off the table and climbed across it into his lap was astounding, immediately smashing your lips together as you successfully straddled him. He moaned into your mouth at your eagerness and it only egged you on further, roughly tugging on his hair as your lips moved in synchronicity. Reluctantly prying your lips away from his, you stared directly into his black orbs, your chest heaving.

“I want you.” You watched his pupils dilate at your words, a low groan leaving his lips.

“I want you”, he reciprocated with sincerity in his tone. Moaning at his agreement and admission you desperately reunited your mouths as he swifty lifted you onto the mahogany table, stepping in between your welcoming legs so your bodies were as close as possible.

You both needed this. Badly. It was inevitable that at some point the two of you would finally snap, mutually ravaging each other in the most animalistic of ways. It was like a switch flipped inside the two of you, totally disregarding the way you normally acted on a day to day basis. Honestly you had no idea Spencer had it in him, this feral, primal side of him. But you fucking loved it.

As soon as he stepped between your legs and reconnected your lips, his large hands pawed at your chest, squeezing the pillowy flesh like it was his favorite hobby. The moans pouring from your lips only fueled him further, his grip becoming noticeably stronger. Letting his hands roam wherever they pleased on your body, you raked your own up and down his chest, bright red streaks left behind in their wake, making him groan uncontrollably.

“God Y/n, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this. Since the moment you walked in I haven’t been able to control myself around you. You drive me fucking insane.” His words only increased the veracity behind your moans as you reached down to palm him through his boxers, which weren’t doing much to hide his rather large excitement. He threw his head back with a groan, his mussed hair protruding in every direction possible. “Spencer pleaseee!”, you begged, desperate for him to touch you and give you more. You needed more.

Seemingly getting the hint, he immediately ripped your panties off before roughly thrusting his fingers into you, exploring your heat eagerly, moaning at the overwhelming warmth and wetness surrounding them. You cried out at the intrusion, instantly latching onto him, your nails digging into his back as your body arched into him. Your reactions drove him insane, his digits consistently pumping in and out of you, making your whole body tremble as you felt your release speedily approaching.

“That’s it baby, let go.” As soon as the words left his mouth, you felt yourself completely tense up before releasing all of the tension in a blissful moment, a high-pitched whine escaping your lips. “Spencer!” He watched with hooded eyes as he pushed you over the edge, evident pride rushing through his veins. The fire inside of you came rushing back, reigniting every inch of your body, craving for more.

You tugged on the hem of his boxers, trying to convey your desires, watching him get the hint fairly quickly and hastily remove them before stepping back between your legs. Surging forward you latched your lips onto his and wrapped your legs around his waist, effectively tethering himself to you and urging him to continue. You could feel him hot and heavy against the inside of your thigh, but it simply wasn’t enough, him seemingly thinking the same thing, soon feeling him position himself against your throbbing core.

Both panting with anticipation and desire, he looked up into your eyes, searching for any kind of sign that this was for sure what you wanted. You frantically nodded your head, a desperate gleam in your eyes. “Please Spence! I need you!”

Seemingly satisfied with your response, the young doctor let out a feral growl before thrusting his entire length into you on the first stroke. You both whined out at the feeling, latching on to each other like your lives depended on it. “Holy shit, Y/n. You feel so fucking good.” His words triggered an unnecessarily loud moan to escape your throat, feeling yourself unwillingly tighten around his cock. The pace he set was brutal as he pounded you into the table over and over again.

That stupid chess table. You could confidently say that this was worlds better than any of the many games you had both played earlier in the night. If things worked out your way the two of you would be doing this a lot more often instead of playing chess.

Even though the two of you had only been going at it for a fairly short time, you could already feel your climax speedily approaching and, based on the way he kept scrunching up his face, you’d guess he wasn’t very far behind.

“Spencer please! I’m so close, baby please!”

The guttural groan that escaped him was sinful and ignited your insides with a fire that you didn’t even know existed within you. As he roughly thrusted into you, your body slamming against the hard surface below you, you felt yourself quickly tumble over the edge, your vision going spotty at the intensity of your orgasm. The way you screamed out his name and clenched around his cock was too much for Spencer to handle, him following you closely behind and filling you up completely with his seed.

The two of you held onto each other desperately as you waited for your bated breaths to return to normal, a light sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies. Giving you a soft smile, drastically different from the man who had been inside you moments ago, he carefully removed himself from you before walking to the kitchen to get some towels. After cleaning the two of you up, he gently picked you up and carried you to his bedroom, both of you settling immediately under the sheets, clinging to each other.

As Spencer softly played with your hair in the comfortable silence, you could feel the two of you giving into the slumber that was calling out to you. However before you gave in, you needed him to know how you truly felt.

“Hey Spence?”

“Yeah baby?”

“I fucking hate chess. I just like spending time with you.” He chuckled softly before responding.

“I like spending time with you too.”

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#cm fic #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencerreidsmut #smut #fluff #cm smut #mgg #matthewgrayguber #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #mgg fic

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the--highlanders · 3 years

Text

Allergy

In which Jamie wants some advice, and Polly formulates a theory.

on ao3.

“I think there’s somethin’ wrong with me.”

Jerking her head up in alarm, Polly blinked at Jamie over the top of her book. “Why on Earth do you think that?” He looked healthy enough, she thought. As healthy as she had ever seen him, now he was beginning to look a little less gaunt, his movements less pained than when they had first met. And she knew him well enough by now to know that he would never admit to that sort of trouble out loud. Whatever was worrying him, it must be something else. She hoped it was not something worse.

He flopped down onto the sofa opposite hers, curling up to tuck his feet beneath himself, pressing his hands over the round, plush armrest. The movement was so fluid and easy that she could not imagine it was a physical pain that was bothering him, though that did little to settle the knot in her chest. “Ye know how,” he began, then paused to frown for a moment. “Ye know how some people are – they’re allergic tae dogs, or cats, or somethin’.”

Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it was not that. “Yes,” she said slowly. Then - “but there’s no dogs or cats on board the TARDIS, Jamie.”

The look he gave her was stern, but one corner of his mouth was twitching. “Aye, I know that. An’ I was never allergic tae animals back home, anyway.”

“Then what’s the matter?”

“Well, I was just – wonderin’, ye know, if it’s possible for someone tae be allergic to somethin’ that’s not from Earth.”

“Something that’s not from Earth?” It was her turn to frown now. “Jamie, you haven’t been messing around with the food machine, have you?”

“No,” he said hastily. “Nothin’ like that.”

“Then what -”

“More like...” Apparently realising he had spoken over her, he paused, picking idly at a loose thread on the sofa. Once or twice, he opened his mouth like he was about to speak, but no sound ever made it past his throat.

It must be important, Polly thought, for him to go to all this effort. Setting aside her book with the pages open against the sofa, she leant forwards, pressing her elbows down on her knees and clasping her hands together. And it must really be worrying him, too. That was the thing with Jamie – he would resist saying anything for as long as he could, so for him to be struggling so hard to spit something out… Well, it was enough to put a cold shard of dread into her chest, that was for sure.

“It’s more like bein’ around some – somethin’,” he said at last. “Ye know, like when you’re around an animal, an’ it makes ye sneeze.”

Perhaps, she thought rather hopefully, he was just musing. Wondering what would happen if he got hay fever from an alien planet, something like that. But no – he had told her that there was something wrong with him. “Do you think you’re allergic to something we’ve run into somewhere?”

“Dunno what else it could be.”

There was still something strange about all this. “Wouldn’t it be better to talk to the Doctor about -”

“No.”

“Oh.” Biting her lip, she tilted her head to look at him sideways, like that might make things clearer. “Right.” What would the Doctor do? she wondered. “When did it start?”

“Ages ago. No’ long after I first started travellin’ with ye.”

She had expected him to say a few days. Maybe a week. Then they would have run through all the places they had been, all the silliest things that he might have been allergic to, until she made him laugh. And then she would have snuck off to the medical bay to scrounge up whatever passed for antihistamines on board the TARDIS. But if it had been going on for so long… Well, no wonder he had finally decided to tell someone. “Do you think it’s something inside the ship?”

He shrugged. “’Spose so. It must be, mustn’t it?”

“What does it feel like? I mean – what happens, why do you feel like there’s something wrong with you?”

Another shrug. “It’s a wee bit strange,” he admitted. That was something, at least. “It’s no’ like I’m sneezin’ or anything – just like my face is warm, an’ my head’s all fuzzy, an’ sometimes I feel a wee bit sick.”

Odd, Polly thought. But if this was a reaction to something alien, it only made sense for it to be different to Earth allergies. “Does it bother you?”

“I wouldnae be tellin’ ye if it didn’t, would I?” That was true, of course. Sighing, she wracked her brains for what she should ask him next – but he asked a question of his own first.

“The Doctor’s no’ human, is he?”

The change of subject was so abrupt that it took a moment for Polly to reorient herself. “No,” she said, as gently as she could. Exactly why she was being gentle, she was not sure – Jamie had been here for weeks already. He knew as much about the Doctor as she and Ben did. That was to say, not particularly much, but there was precious little more that she could tell him. “No, I don’t suppose he is. I don’t know what he is, but I don’t believe he’s human. No human could – could change themselves like he did.”

“Mm.”

“I suppose it’s something he’s brought into the TARDIS that’s making you sick.” She shrugged. “Doesn’t mean it’s from wherever he’s from, though. He’s got stuff from – well, everywhere.”

At last, she had managed to pull a smile out of Jamie. “Aye, I know that,” he said, still grinning. “I’ve told him he should clean it up a bit, but he never listens to me.”

He said it with such frustrated fondness, his smile turning distant with the thought of some old conversation, and Polly felt the seed of a theory forming in her mind. It was small, and silly, and would be terribly embarrassing if she was wrong – but it made sense, in a funny sort of way. If she really thought about it. “Jamie,” she said slowly. “When do you feel sick?”

“Doesnae matter. Any time.”

If she was right, she thought – did he know? Was he just pretending to be confused, to save himself the embarrassment? But if he already knew, then why would he ask her in the first place? Surely he could not be so deep in denial that he really believed it was an allergy. And yet there was no flightiness in his eyes like he had been caught out, just genuine confusion. Maybe I’m wrong, she told herself. Maybe I’m wrong, and I’m just being silly.

“Yes, but – where are you?” She paused, still weighing up whether or not to speak her next words. “Are you with someone?”

She had half-expected him to look even more baffled, scrunching up his face as he wondered why she was asking. Instead, his whole face turned red. Briefly, she wondered if what he was feeling was anything like his ‘allergy’.

His response was mumbled, and she leant forwards to try and catch it. “What?”

“I said,” he forced out through gritted teeth, “it’s always when the Doctor’s around.”

It took all Polly’s self-control to stop herself from punching the air in triumph. I’m right.

Jamie was quiet for a moment, simply giving her a pained look. “He’s not human, is he?” he said again. “So I could be allergic tae him.”

She was dangerously close to bursting into giggles now. For Jamie to feel all that, and have his first thought be that he was allergic to the Doctor… Well, it was sweet in a way, she supposed. But he looked so earnestly distressed, like it had been worrying him for weeks on end, and when she met his pleading eyes she almost lost her composure. Only the sobering knowledge that she would have to be the one to explain things to him kept her from actually laughing.

“Only I’d hate to have to tell him,” Jamie was saying. “He’s been so – so kind tae me, I cannae just – turn around an’ tell him that I can’t stand bein’ near him, can I? Och, an’ it’s not that I can’t stand him, I like bein’ around him -” His face was growing redder and redder, his expression more and more desperate. “What am I gonnae say to him?”

Well, she could hardly just leave him like this. It came down to her to put him out of this misery. Straightening her shoulders, she sat up a little taller. “Jamie,” she said again, even more slowly. The slower she spoke, the more time she would have to figure out exactly what to say. “I don’t think you’re allergic to him.”

His babbling paused almost immediately as he brightened, looking up at her with wide, hopeful eyes. “I’m not?”

“I’m almost certain you’re not.”

Oh, and he was beaming now. There was no way he was putting all this on. He really, genuinely had no idea. “What’s the matter with me, then?” he asked.

Forcing herself to meet his eyes, Polly tried to fill her smile with as much reassurance as she could. It was not much, she was sure, but it was better than nothing. How was she expected to tell him, when he was standing there looking so earnest? And when she had no idea how he would react? He might be frightened off by it, or be angry at the suggestion, or just be even more confused. Maybe it would even be too much for him, and they would lose him entirely. He would be caught between the awkwardness he felt around the Doctor and her own clumsy attempts at helping, and he would slip off to some new life on a new planet at the first chance he got.

Don’t be dramatic, she told herself sternly. The last thing Jamie needed was for her to get herself worked up about all the ways this could go wrong. He needed her to be calm and sensible and comforting.

“Polly?” His voice was all but quivering with trepidation. “What’s wrong with me, then?”

“It’s – oh, Jamie, it’s just that -”

How on Earth could she do it? she wondered.

How could she look him in the eyes and tell him – well, tell him that he was in love with the Doctor?

#second doctor #two/jamie #fanfic archive #my writing

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spencers-renaissance · 4 years

Text

Don’t Be Scared, I Love You

Summary: JJ is shot and Emily's world stops spinning

Tags: whump, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, fluff, protective emily, NO mcd

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Jennifer Jareau

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Emily has always been skeptical of ‘slow motion’ disaster moments. She’s been an active government agent working in the field for over a decade — that’s to say, she’s witnessed her fair share of tragedy — and it’s never quite that dramatic. But when a bullet from an unsub’s gun embeds itself in JJ’s shoulder, for a split second, Emily is powerless to react.

She’s stuck in time: JJ falls slowly to the ground, her hair spreading behind her in a golden halo, and she barely registers the gunshot coming from Derek’s direction, the kill shot that takes down the man she hates the most in the entire world at this exact moment. Blood pounds in her ears as a sinking feeling of dread pools in her stomach, a cold kind of fear spreading through her body and freezing her joints, her muscles, her mind. There is only a singular thought circling through her head:

I can’t lose her.

It’s only when she hears JJ whimper in pain that she snaps back into action, protective instincts clicking into motion as she throws herself down at her fiance’s side, barely registering the impact the cold concrete has on her knees, only focusing on the beautiful woman fading in front of her eyes. Immediately, she lays her palm on the gunshot wound, applying deep pressure in an attempt to quell the bleeding. It’s the right thing to do, she knows it will save JJ’s life, but continuing feels almost impossible when JJ cries out in pain, her face crumpling.

“Jayje, Jayje, baby,” she says desperately, at a loss for words for a moment, “hold on for me, okay? Hold on. You’re doing so well. Oh, God, I love you so much. Hold on for me.” Vaguely, she hears Derek calling for a medic, but every iota of her attention is on JJ.

Deep blue, disney princess eyes meet hers. This is half a relief — JJ is still conscious, she can hear her, she hasn’t lost too much blood yet — and half a curse — JJ’s eyes have always been expressive. Right now they are conveying the pain of the worst agony one can inflict on another, and they are completely coloured with terror. Terror Emily has no way to diminish, no way to ease. How does one refute possibly the most rational fear there ever was?

She can feel herself crying. She vaguely hears the rest of her team around them, but right now her entire world has shrunk down to this moment, to the woman she’s going to marry next year, to the woman she longs to have children with. This is not altogether uncommon. Emily’s world frequently shrinks down to comprise only JJ: when they’re in bed together, small moments when they catch one another’s eyes across the bullpen or in a meeting, evening walks down the brightly lit streets of the city they love so dearly. It’s never as painful as this.

Derek has taken off his top and is moving Emily’s hand to place the balled material over the wound. He takes over applying pressure; Emily only notices this because it means she can focus the entirety of her attention on JJ’s face and not the profusely bleeding hole in her shoulder. The crimson blood dripping from her palm only serves as a reminder of how close she is to losing the love of her life. To being single again, a widow, a hopelessly miserable, never-to-recover, bereaved shell of a human being.

“Emily,” JJ whispers, and she’s crying, too. Her face is not hiding a single emotion raging through her, and while Emily usually finds JJ’s wobbly chin endearing, right now it’s purely agonising. “Emily, I’m scared.”

Emily has to bow her head for a moment and heave a single, shoulder-wracking sob that seems to tear though her throat with the same violence of the bullet that tore through JJ’s shoulder. She blinks the tears away and sniffs once before looking back up at JJ and offering her a watery smile, the absolute best one she can muster, and uses her clean hand to gently comb her fingers through her blonde hair, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead.

“Don’t be scared,” she whispers tearfully, brushing her thumb over JJ’s damp cheekbone, “I love you.”

“Don’t leave me,” JJ whispers back, tears still spilling down her cheeks, as they hear the sirens of the ambulance and a medic rushing into the warehouse, the floor of which will forever bear the stain of her fiance’s blood.

“I won’t,” Emily says through sobs she can no longer contain, “I won’t, darling, I’m here.”

“Promise?” JJ asks, visibly fading just as the paramedics arrive and ask Emily and Derek to make room.

“I promise, baby,” Emily cries earnestly, moving away just enough for the EMTs to do their job, just in time for JJ to completely lose consciousness.

⭐️

The hospital waiting room is warm, but Emily feels cold.

She stares blankly at the wall in front of her, a merciful sort of numbness taking over her body, leaving her far less frantic than the emotional wreck she was in the warehouse. It’s a kind of quiet far from peaceful, but she doesn’t have the energy to care. Her hands are so cold covered in JJ’s warm blood.

Spencer desperately tries to get her to come to the bathrooms and wash it off, but Emily refuses, just in case this is the last thing she has to remember JJ by. In which case, she has revolved to forever have a stained right hand as a permanent mark of her crippling grief. She will be branded by her devotion to JJ, and by the end that devotion came to.

Her only thought is of W. H. Auden’s poem Funeral Blues. It was read at her uncle’s funeral a few years ago. What a funny thing grief is: she could grasp the concept of such emptiness and utter misery filling your life after the death of a loved one, of course she could, but she’s never tangibly understood that kind of grief. She does now, and JJ — as far as she knows — is still alive. If she does lose JJ, though, she knows for an absolute fact that her life will forever lack meaning, lack purpose, lack joy.

Pour away the ocean, indeed, she thinks. Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.

Emily knows, academically, theoretically, the damage a bullet can do. The shoulder is a complex weave of nerves, muscles, bones, tendons, and arteries; really, it’s one of the most complicated pieces of human anatomy, so, naturally, a gunshot wound in that particular area is far from desirable.

Spencer tells her as they’re waiting that the amount of blood JJ lost indicates that instead of the bullet hitting the incredibly delicate network of blood vessels, which would have led her to bleed out in minutes, it instead shattered the joint. This is good news and bad news. JJ is still alive. But she will need reconstructive surgery. She may never regain full range of motion. She will need months, maybe years of physio. Emily doesn’t know if this is what she wants to hear or not, but she vaguely appreciates that Spencer is falling back on his academic knowledge of an incredibly emotional situation as a coping mechanism.

Not that anyone really doubted it, but Spencer is proved right by the doctor that comes to greet the family of Jennifer Jareau six and a half hours after they arrived.

“Ms Jareau’s humerus was shattered, and her clavicle and scapula did not get off scot free, either. Luckily, the bullet missed her large axillary vessels, which is the most consolation I can offer you at this stage,” the doctor explains kindly. “We’ve stabilised her condition through surgery in which we did our best to tidy her shoulder, but she will be needing a total shoulder replacement in the very near future. Though, I understand she resides in DC and is in well-enough condition to be transferred there for the major operation and ensuing recovery.

“I understand… Emily Prentiss is her next of kin?” she asks, consulting her clipboard.

Emily nods blankly, the reassurance that JJ is alive beginning to settle in, weaving its way into her heart.

The doctor smiles empathetically. “I can take you to see Ms Jareau now. Her sedation will be wearing off any minute.”

The world gradually stirs back into colour as Emily lays eyes on JJ, very much alive, blinking sleepily in her hospital bed. Her gown is carefully tucked around the bandage on her shoulder and the fabric sling her arm has made its home. She’s ever so pale, sweat beading on her brow from the pain, but she’s alive. Emily will not have to recite Auden in a Church built for a God she doesn’t believe in while the only person that made her believe in anything lies in a coffin. Alright, she thinks as she walks into the room and sits down next to JJ’s bed, the moon can be unpacked. The sun reassembled.

As JJ manages a smile, though, reaching her good arm out for her fiance, craving physical comfort and affection, Emily thinks that the stars don’t need to be relit. The one in front of her, broken as she might be, long as her journey to recovery is certain to take, is bright enough to put all of them to shame.

Emily can’t help but break down in tears of gasping relief as she clasps the hand JJ’s outstretched for her, gripping it tightly and bringing it to her face, kissing it gently before pressing it to her cheek as her crumpled eyes leak pitifully.

“Hey, don’t be scared,” JJ murmurs in her croaky, post-surgery voice as she echoes Emily’s words some seven hours earlier, “I love you.”

Emily can’t help but laugh happily through her relieved, messy emotion at that, leaning forward to press a warm kiss to JJ’s slightly chapped, pale lips.

“God, I love you so much,” she promises, so much sincerity behind her words that JJ tears up in response. “I’m gonna be here through every step of the journey ahead, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know that,” JJ whispers, as her face contorts, emotion twisting her throat in knots. “I never doubted it for a second.”

And, well. Doesn’t that just say everything Emily needs to hear.

Clasp me close in your warm young arms, While the pale stars shine above, And we’ll live our whole young lives away In the joys of a living love.

- I Love You, Ella Wheeler Wilcox

@strippersenseii @criminalmindsvibez

#my writing #jemily #jemily fic #jemily writing #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #jj #emily #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x jennifer jareau #emily prentiss/jennifer jareau

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quietkatie1864 · 4 years

Text

The Mistake

The Doctor made a mistake and now he must set things right.

10th doctor x female!reader

The Doctor made a mistake.

Now the Doctor usually doesn’t make mistakes, at least not any that he would outright admit to. He usually comes up with some complicated explanation as to how is mistake was not a mistake at all but a calculated plan. And sometimes plans backfire but that doesn’t mean that he was wrong.

But this time, this one time, the Doctor was horribly and inexcusably in the wrong. And he needed to fix it. He just didn’t know how.

He didn’t know if it was even possible.

He had made a promise. A promise to the most important person in his life. A promise to Rose. After the daleks and the cyberman, after the Doctor lost Rose, trapped in another universe that he could no longer reach, Rose made the Doctor swear to do one thing for her. Before this rift between universes open and was subsequently closed, the Doctor and Rose rarely, if ever travelled alone. Rose’s best friend, Y/N travelled with them more often than not. The Doctor and Y/N did not particularly like each other, but they tolerated one another for Rose’s sake. If she was going to travel across time and space, then she wanted her two favorite people right by her side.

“Promise me you’ll take care of her,” and the Doctor did make that promise. He swore to Rose that he would take care of Y/N. And he broke that promise, even before he made it.

Now the Doctor knew exactly what Rose meant. She wanted the Doctor to continue to travel with Y/N, to show her all of the places that he had been planning on showing Rose. Rose always thought the Doctor and Y/N were good for each other. Y/N was always challenging the Doctors so called “superiority complex” and forcing him to explain himself instead of just accepting whatever plan he came up with. And the Doctor was so good at teaching, even if he did get tangential every so often, and Y/N absorbed every word that the Doctor said, not matter how improbable or how angry she was with him at the time.

But, before the Doctor had even reopened the breach between the two universes, he had already broken this promise. The minute he lost Rose, the Doctor just left. He walked right past Y/N, weeping and sobbing on the floor for she had just lost her best friend permanently, and left. It was horrible and selfish, but at the time he didn’t care. He didn’t care that he was leaving her alone and defenseless, far away from her friends and family, with no money and no way to get back to them. He was angry and hurt and heartbroken and desperately trying to find a way to bring Rose back to him. He didn’t care who else was hurting. Especially her. The girl who took so much time away from him. Who, in his mind, kept Rose away from him and kept them from becoming the couple they were truly meant to be. Now, the Doctor knows that all of this hatred and malice that surfaced for this girl was the product for his own self-loathing, but at the time he could not see past his despair. So, he left her.

Y/N was walking out of the small boutique that she worked at when she saw it. That big beautiful blue box that had been her home for so long that she almost forgot what a normal life looked like. For a second her heart swelled with joy. He was finally back. He came back for her. But that feeling quickly dissipated.

Three months.

He left her alone in a city she barely knew for three whole months. Without any warning, or explanation, or goodbye, he left. He didn’t care about her then so why does she suddenly think he’s changed his mind. It’s just a coincidence that he parked his stupid blue box right outside of her place of work. He’ll probably be embarrassed when he realizes this and run far away. Probably to the other side of the universe if he can. But she wasn’t going to let him do that. Not without telling him off first.

So instead of turning around and running in the opposite direction, Y/N marched forward, towards her former home. Before she could raise her fist to pound on the door, it swung open revealing him.

Y/N stared at him and he stared back. And then, the Doctor grinned.

And Y/N slapped him. Hard.

The Doctor reeled back and had the audacity to look offended for a split second. His face softened once it made hers. Y/N’s entire body seemed to be trembling from pure anger and sadness. Her lips were quivering, and her eyes filled with tears and threated to spill over. So instead of some indignant response or witty retort, the Doctor stepped aside and allowed Y/N to enter the TARDIS.

Still unsure of what to say the Doctor closed the door of the TARDIS and continued to stare at Y/N. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his jaw.

“I really deserved that didn’t eye,” Y/N gave a stiff nod, still refusing to speak. “Well then let me explain-“

“No,” Y/N snapped. “You do not get to talk your way out of this this time. You are going to be quiet a listen to what I have to say. And then I am leaving.” The Doctor opened his mouth to speak, but Y/N cut him off. “3 months. You left me here for three months. I had no money. I had nowhere to go. I was alone and you left me. And don’t even bother with the excuses. I know you lost Rose and you loved her, and you hate me so why should you have to worry about me when your hearts are breaking into a million pieces, but you forgot one thing. I loved her too! Rose was my best friend and I lost her too. And you didn’t even care. You didn’t care that I was hurting, because I was just a nuisance to you. I thought you would have at least had the decency to drop me off somewhere that I was familiar with, where I knew people. But no, you have to go sulk in your giant blue box and feel sorry for yourself. And now for some reason you’ve realized that what you did was wrong, and you’ve come begging for forgiveness. Well guess what? I don’t forgive you.” The tears spilled over Y/N’s face. She angrily wiped them away with the back of her hand. “Now that’s all I have to say. I am going to leave now, and I really hope I never see you again.”

Y/N wrenched opened the door of the TARDIS and almost walked out into the vast emptiness of space. She would have if the Doctor had not caught her by the elbow and pulled her back into the TARDIS.

“What the hell?” Y/N grumbled. I was ready to make a dramatic exit. She thought.

“I guess the TARDIS doesn’t want you to leave,” the Doctor mused, gracefully sitting down with his legs dangling outside the TARDIS. He wasn’t going to disobey the TARDIS. At least not until he had made his peace with Y/N. With a huff, Y/N sat down next to the Doctor at the doors of the TARDIS, knowing that what was the blue box wanted her to do. She stared out at the stars in front of her, waiting for the Doctor to speak.

“I’m sorry,” the Doctor finally said. “and I know an apology is not enough and I have no right to ask for your forgiveness, but I’m going to anyways. You were right about everything. I was being selfish, and I didn’t care about your feelings and I should have stayed with you instead of leaving. But I don’t hate you. I have never truly hated you. You get on my nerves occasionally, but you know what else you do? You make me better. You help bring my humanity back to the surface, something I thought I had lost long ago. I need you. I need you to stay. I need you to keep travelling with me. I need you to keep me in line when I start to go dark. And you have no reason to keep travelling with me because I treated you so poorly in the past, and it was wrong of me to do that. I was wrong.”

The Doctor paused, waiting for Y/N’s response. “Say that again,” she murmured.

“Say what again?” the Doctor asked.

“You know what,” Y/N said, finally turning to face with a slight glimmer of mischief in her eyes.

“I was wrong,”

“You were wrong and I was-“ Y/N prompted.

“You were right”

Y/N giggled. A sound the Doctor hadn’t realized he desperately missed. The Doctor grinned back at her.

“I’m still mad at you”

“I know,” “And I still haven’t forgiven you,”

“I know,”

“Good,” Y/N stood up and headed towards one of the TARDIS’ many hallways, towards her room, towards her home. The Doctor’s grinned widened as he watched her.

No, Y/N had not forgiven him yet. But this was a start.

#tenth doctor x reader #10th doctor x reader #10th doctor imagine #tenth doctor imagine #doctor who imagine #doctor who fic

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christinesficrecs · 4 years

Text

This is me being completely self-indulgent. Amy Rose wrote so many great fics and ficlets. If you don’t care for fluff you should probably skip this one but otherwise ALL of these are worth a read (re-read).

Possibly I Like The Thrill Of Under Me You | 12.2K | Explicit

It’s not that the idea of Stiles talking about him doesn’t make his stomach wrap itself in knots, it’s that it does just that. It makes him unbelievably uncomfortable and he doesn’t quite know why. He’s twenty seven years old, he pays taxes, he takes his mother out for lunch on Sundays; he is a grown up. But he’s getting weird butterflies when he glances over his shoulder to look at Stiles and a heat in his chest that feels something like what he supposes want must feel like.

Losers | 34.2K | Explicit

The one where Derek falls for a jock, Erica will cut you if you disturb her studying, and Jackson is a closeted romantic who pretends to hate everything.

Show Me The Way Back Home Baby | 14.9K

In which Lydia and Jackson produce the world's cutest baby, and the pack goes crazy-- the good kind of crazy. Except for Derek, who is afraid of tiny cute babies and Stiles who plans to be the best Uncle ever. Even if Danny called dibs on Godfather.

It's Always Been You, Dumbass | 11K

“Alright, cool, we should go,” Stiles says breezily, dusting off his hands as he stands.

“We should?”

“Yeah!”

“But… Do you even care about photography?”

“Not as much as I should,” Stiles plants both his hands on the table, bracketing Derek in, “You’ll have to correct my miscreant ways.”

warm shadows | 22K

“Fine,” Stiles spits back, “We’ll die together, it’ll be dandy.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” Derek snaps, “I’ll get some peace and quiet for once.”

Stiles grins suddenly, blindingly. There’s blood on his teeth, and his eyes are dark and desperate as he looks up at Derek, but he’s never looked more stupidly, infuriatingly beautiful.

never found a boy (to love me like you do) | 6.6K | Mature

Stiles sits down opposite him, long fingers wrapping round the vodka bottle’s neck as he drags it towards him. “Huh.” He’s practically caressing the lid as he unscrews it and Derek shifts in his seat, looks determinedly elsewhere.

every version of me falls in love with you | 9.5K

A little girl wearing a bright pink tutu flies down the steps and towards Derek. Derek has time to remember that according to Scott, her name is Rosaline, she’s five and that she’s Derek’s daughter, before she’s leaping into his arms. He catches her easily, breathes in her scent of milk and oranges and to his pleasant surprise, Derek, and someone else, too. Someone that smells good. She smells like home to him.

table thirteen | 8.1K

Where stiles has a series of disastrous first dates at the hale family restaurant, and derek pretends he's not wishing he was the one sitting opposite stiles, rather than serving him.

Game On | 6.3K

Derek first sees him from across the quad four days into fall semester. He’s sitting on one of the long benches, a marker pen in his mouth, grinning at something the kid lounging on the bench beside him is saying. When he laughs properly he pulls the pen out and throws his head back, his neck a long, lean line Derek is entranced by. He flicks the page in his book and highlights something, tossing the cap up in the air and catching it with his teeth.

5 ways cosmo can help you win your man | 5.7K

Where derek never had to work to get a date, he always had someone pursue him or ask him out. but when derek sees stiles, he waits and thinks stiles will stroll up and ask him out. everyone of his past relationships started that way, until stiles doesn’t. and derek is left with the horrifying possibility that he will have to make the first move and dare he think of it, flirt? and attempt small talk. and it turns out, he’s really bad at it. maybe he even tries cosmo tips and calls his sisters, both of whom are like 100% trolling him

awful, wonderful you | 16.9K | Mature

Truth be told, Derek was suffering from the mild delusion he lived in all summer wherein he actually thought this year might be different, and he might, perhaps, be able to bury the hatchet with Stiles and start over.

The superglue that’s destroyed a ninety dollar pair of pants, however, says otherwise. Derek knows how this play goes down; eventually, he’s going to have to climb out of the pants and trudge back to his dorm half naked. Stiles will gloat for a damn week; Derek will have to put up with constant remarks about Stiles getting him out of his pants... Dammit, he’s actually going to get Derek out of his pants, and it’s not even close to the way he pictured it happening.

big light | 4.7K

Stiles brandishes a bunch of daisies at Derek, “Saw these and thought of you.”

Derek looks down at the gas station flowers, lifts his eyebrows, “Because they’re dried out and a little wilted?”

Come Fly With Me (Or Don't) | 15.3K | Mature

Stiles is overworked and stressed out when his flight home gets delayed due to copious amounts of snow. He finds entertainment with one Derek Hale, whom he hasn't seen since high school but really doesn't mind getting reacquainted with.

Especially when it turns out Derek is surprisingly hilarious and will reluctantly play snap with him. And can walk on his hands.

i have always been the storm | 25.2K | Explicit

“I haven’t done weather since college,” Derek protests.

Boyd snorts again, presumably because he’s thinking back to the time when Derek and the weather last collided and he…. well, did the guy into the weather for a brief, wonderful, terribly foolish time. But, Boyd needs to shut up before Derek punches him on the nose.

But, Doctor! | 30.2K | Mature

“We had to splint a girl’s leg in a ditch,” Scott says excitedly.

“Bro, you sound way too happy about that,” Stiles complains, opening up his bag and pulling out a Twinkie.

Derek removes it from his hand silently and replaces it with an apple. Stiles scowls at him for a second then bites into it, regardless. Derek sits back and lets the group discuss the merits of dramatic lifesaving feats for winning over the ladies. Scott is convinced it’ll help impress Allison; Isaac thinks Scott’s a loser. Stiles—

Stiles is falling asleep on Derek’s shoulder.

#sterek #ficrecs #sterek fic recs #fanfic writers #fluffy fics #stilinskisparkles #classic sterek fics

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odd-birds-and-booksellers · 4 years

Text

Anything Like Christmas Wishes

It’s a very late and final “Tis the Damn Season for Two Dumb Bitches” from me and I’d like to once again express my hate for anything @doc-pickles talks me into and promise to never partake again. I hope you all had lovely Christmas and enjoy a little more of the Kit Kat universe, I never planned to write more than one oneshot for him and here we are so let me know what you think.

This is part of the Anything like series so if you haven’t already go check it out.

“Dad!”

Alex caught sight of Kit as he exited his friend's house, apparently, one of the kids in his class was born on Christmas Day which meant his parents always went overboard on the Christmas eve party.

Alex had been pretty bummed to lose half a day with Kit on their first Christmas together but he couldn’t let him down, especially when Kit had been so excited telling him all about this famous party. He had to admit the smile on his face had been well worth it. He’d only been in his life for a little over six months but Alex already felt like he’d known him forever, he’d made a point of knowing everything about him, what he liked, what he disliked, allergies, shoe size, favourite ice cream flavour, teachers names, anything and everything he could think of, he even quizzed Jo on her pregnancy when she let him. He was so desperate to not feel like the outsider looking in and the family he could've had.

“How was the party Kit Kat?” Alex asked as he buckled the young boy into his car seat, ruffling his hair affectionately before he shut the door.

“It was awesome...Jamie’s dad set himself on fire.”

Alex chuckles peering up to see Kits grinning face that was covered in chocolate cake still in the mirror. “Oh well, that sounds safe…”

“It was really funny…”

“I’m glad you had fun, are you excited for Christmas tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m so excited.” Kits eyes light up at the mention of Christmas as Alex pulls out onto the street. “Momma and I are gonna watch the Grinch and make lunch together, momma always burns something.”

Alex chuckles, catching Kit's eye in the mirror as he pulls up at red light, the miniature Alex falling into a fit of laughter as Alex shudders at the thought of Jo’s cooking. “Oh don’t I know it.”

“What are you doing dad?”

“I’m probably gonna go into work and check on my patients…”

Alex hears Kit gaps dramatically at his answer, making him furrow his eyebrows as he looks back at him. “You’re not...you’re not gonna see bista and El?”

Bista and El, Kit had accidentally called Alexis his bista instead of sister the first time they’d met and they’d found it so funny it had ended up sticking. It had been a great relief to Alex to see them all get along, Kit was so excited to have even more family and well for the twins Alex assumed they were getting used to surprise family members appearing every five years, plus they really enjoyed having a younger brother, someone to teach all the cool stuff they knew to and boss around.

“No, they're with their mom this year. We take it in turns. I saw them last year, so this year it’s their turn with her so I’ll see them the day after and then we’ll come to pick you up in the afternoon.” Alex forces a huge smile on to his face, hoping Kit doesn't pick up on the fact that it doesn't quite meet Alex’s eyes, he really hated spending Christmas without his kids, he hated more that he’d gone from the guy all alone on Christmas to the family man cutting the turkey and then back to being alone again.

“Oh…” Kits face dropped as they pulled up to Alex’s, looking down at his hands as he waited for Alex to open the car door for him. “So you’re all alone?”

“No no I’m okay buddy, I’ve got a lot of kids at the hospital that need my help.” It wasn’t a complete lie, he could go to the hospital, sure he wasn’t due to work but he’d definitely have something to do, he'd never wished a kid sick but he sure could use the distraction.

“You can come to my house.” Kit exclaims, throwing his hands up in excitement, sending sweets flying as they both kick their shoes off by the door, Kit tugging at Alex’s sleeve and he excitedly tells him his new idea. “Momma won’t mind at all, you can share my presents.”

“Thanks, Kit Kat, but you don’t have to worry about me, you and momma have your own plans.” He watches as Kit deflates once again, his little lip jutting out the same way Jo’s does. Alex hated this, he hated hurting his kids however inadvertent it was. It's clear a change in topic is in need if Alex is gonna rescue this KitKat and Daddy day. “Now...who wants to play Mario kart?”

The spend the rest of the afternoon playing as many games as they can, Alex may have gone overboard with the sweet treats, he was kind of a sucker when it came to spoiling his kids, it wasn't until Kit had begun running purposefully in the wall only to fall into a fit of giggles and go again that he realised he'd made a mistake one that he'd have to somehow explain to Jo.

“HI MOMMA,” Kit screamed the minute Jo opened her front door, his eyes wide as he raced past Jo, spinning around in circles in the hallway.

“Hi Kit Kat” Jo laughed bemused as she looked back at him before turning towards Alex who was sheepishly making his way up the drive with Kits bags in hand.

“He’s kinda sugar high” Alex mutters rubbing the back of his neck as Jo steps aside to let him, they’d agreed he’d have Christmas Eve with the Kit this year but Alex didn’t wanna lose any time with him so they’d decided he’d spend the evening with him at Jo’s so he could do the bedtime routine and Kit could still wake up with Jo. Jo had promised to make herself scarce already feeling bad Alex wouldn’t be with Kit on Christmas, much to Alex’s dismay who really wouldn’t mind spending time with her and Kit together, but Jo was pretty against the idea of giving Kit the wrong idea.

She’d insisted she’d be attending her hospital Christmas Eve party which is why she was standing there now, shaking her head as she crossed her arms over her chest, the deep red satin dress clinging to her body making Alex avert his eyes up to her face which wasn’t helping much because the red lipstick she’d chosen to wear really had his mind spinning as he stepped into her house.

“I can see that...Thanks for bringing him here, I don’t wanna ruin your time together I just thought it would be easier to put him to bed here.”

“Jo I get it you don’t have to explain it to me, I’m happy to do whatever makes you happy” Alex mutters carefully choosing his words as she closes the door leaving little space between them, making Alex shift uncomfortably.

“So you keep saying…”

“Well, I mean it, Jo.” Alex’s voice changes, sounding a life more serious as he peers his head around the living room door checking that Kit was alright, watching as their son every toy he could out of the toy chest in there. “So you're going to that Christmas party?” He asks looking back to Jo gesturing to her dress.

“Yeah...I wouldn’t usually, I mean if I’m off on Christmas I’ve always usually been with Kit but I...it’s only fair you have time with him but I can’t sit here on my own so the party’s a good distraction.”

“Well, you could’ve hung out with me and Kit.”

“No no, it’s your time I don’t wanna encroach.”

“Jo really it’s-“

Alex is cut off by another male voice.

“Jo...Hi” There standing in the doorway to the kitchen is a man Alex doesn't recognise dressed in a smart suit navy blue, that screams more expensive than one-months paycheck. “You must be Alex...Kit’s dad right?” The mystery man moves towards Alex, offering his hand out for him.

“Right.” Alex nods, his hand tightly clasping around the mystery man as he sized him up. He hadn’t seen Jo with another guy yet, he knew she’d been on a few dates the last six months but he hadn’t actually seen a guy with her, seen a goy put his hands on her. He’d assumed he’d be okay, so much time had passed since they’d been together but seeing this guy here now, in the house his son lived in, Jo dressed up to the nines to go out with him...it all made him feel sick.

That should be him, this man is in his place, in a life that should’ve been his but he’d ruined his chance a long time ago and he couldn’t really blame any guy for wanting to be with Jo.

“Sorry this is erm Dr Walker he’s the trauma chief at work.”

Dr Walker pulls his phone from his pocket as it pings, tutting at something before he begins to type away furiously. “We should get going.”

Alex withheld a growl that rumbled low in his chest as he watched Walker walk straight past Jo looking down at his phone as he grabbed his coat from by the door.

Jo looks a little uneasy as she checks her watch, glancing between the two men in her hallway before letting out a shaky breath. “Alex…”

“It’s fine Jo...go, have fun, you deserve it.” Alex shakes his head smiling at her, watching as she calls Kit to say goodbye before following the doctor out, glancing back at Alex as she heads down towards what he assumes must be Walkers car.

When Jo returns home later that night she’s pretty sure she’d never been happier to see her little yellow front door, waving goodbye to Dr Walker she heads up her drive, as she slips into the door she can hear the TV still on in the living room, poking her head around the door she spots Alex sprawled out across the sofa, one hand clutched on the remote, the other behind his head as he snores softly. His face is covered in Kits face paint in a pattern Jo could only describe as a drunken tiger, it made her chuckle softly as she stared at him. The relationship he’d been building with Kit made her heart soar, they were best buds and she was glad Kit seemed to adjust to his presence so quickly. It wasn't much of a surprise to her though, Kit had pretty much been a carbon copy of Alex since birth, even though Alex insisted he saw a lot of her in him.

A crash from behind her makes Jo jump as she whips around spotting those mischievous Karev eyes staring back at her. There Kit was standing on the staircase, dressed in his dinosaur Christmas PJs, his green teddy Link had bought him when he was born tucked under his arm, the Batman torch he’d dropped down the stairs lying on the floor by Jo’s feet.

“Hi Monkey...what are you still doing up?” She asks narrowing her eyes on him as she slips out of her feels making her way halfway up the staircase to meet him.

“Checking to see if Santa had been.”

Jo smiles, stroking her hand as across his cheeks as she sits on the steps, patting the space beside her for him to sit. “Well you know he only comes if you’re asleep, so you better run back up to bed.”

Kit squirms in her arms, protesting immediately making Jo frown. “But I need him to know I’ve changed my Christmas wish.”

“You have?”

“Yeah…”

“What about that remote control truck you wanted?”

“I don’t want it...I want dad to come for Christmas.” Jo opens her mouth, words failing her as her heart breaks a little, she hadn’t expected Kit to ask that she had never wanted to give Kit the wrong idea about doing things as a family it was the whole reason she'd not invited him, even though she'd questioned her decision every time she saw her boys together, having to remind herself each and every time that they both weren't hers, only Kit was. “He’s gonna be alone, I don’t want him to be alone.” Kit mumbles pulling at Jo’s hair as his eyes downcast to the living room doorway.

“That’s a really nice wish Kit Kat.” Jo smiles softly brushing back his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You know the good thing about Santa?...he always knows what your Christmas wish is, now back up to bed please.” She whispers, holding her hand out for Kit as she guides him back up to his bedroom.

Half an hour later when Jo managed to slip out of Kits room, happily convinced he’d finally gone back to sleep, she wonders if Alex had woken up at all.

She finds him exactly where she’d left him, sleeping soundly on the sofa, he looked so peaceful and she had to fight the urge to curl up beside him. “Alex…”

She tried to gently shake him awake as she kneels down on the floor beside him. “Alex.”

“Huh, what’s the time?” He croaks abruptly sitting up as he looks around the room frantically trying to get his surroundings.

“Just gone midnight.”

“Oh sorry,” he sighs, rubbing a hand down his face as he meets her eyes, making Jo’s heartbeat speed up as she realises how close his face is. “How was your night?”

There’s something that flashes through his eyes as he asks about her night and she knows he’s testing the waters, wanting to ask about the man he’d met earlier.

“It was okay,” Jo shrugs, smirking as he looks her up and down.

“Just okay?”

“Eh pretty stuffy, I hate these parties, don't even know why I bothered.”

“And that Dr Worker?”

“Walker.” Jo corrects, she has to bite her lip to stop herself from laughing as she watched the lines form across Alex’s forehead scowling after the thought of the man. “What about him?”

“How was he?”

“Fine...so was his wife, who I’m good friends with,” Jo mutters waiting for Alex to react as she fiddled with her empty ring finger. She hadn’t even worn her ring that long but she’d never got used to the empty space it left.

“Huh?”

Jo rolls her eyes he really was dum sometimes. “She got called into surgery last minute but I’d already agreed to go with them so I didn’t have to walk in alone and he wouldn’t take no for an answer, anyway she joined us there.”

“Oh I thought-“

“Oh, I know what you thought.”

“I’m sorry Jo, I know I have no right…”

“No, you really don’t.”

Alex sighs, for a second there had been a wave of relief flood through his body when she’d told him it wasn’t in fact a date she’d been on, but that was soon replaced with the reminder that she wasn’t his, and that he’d still be going home tonight alone. Slowly he rises off the sofa, grabbing the throw banker he’d laid out and haphazardly folding it up never meetings Jo’s eye as she rises from the floor in front of him, “I should get going. “

“Alex?” He’s just made it the doorway when he feels her slender hand wrap around his arm pulling him back towards her before he even has a chance to question it.

Suddenly she’s all he can see, her red lipstick a little faded from her evening out, her eyes a little tired but they still had the same beautiful sparkle they always had when they’d look at him, he honestly thought he’d never not see pain reflecting in her eyes when he’d bumped into her at the hospital six months ago but he was relieved to see that wasn't true.

He watched as her eyes flick up, pursing her lips as she tries to fight the smile on her face as Alex stares back at her dumbfounded still, his whole body set on fire from her simple touch.

Mistletoe.

Mistletoe hanging neatly with a gold bow from the doorway, Alex hadn’t even noticed it earlier this evening.

Jo raised her eyebrows at him in a silent question, her hand still wrapped around his arm as she leaned in closer her breath fanning across his face making Alex’s heart thump harder in his chest.

He wasn’t a shy guy, he didn’t get nervous kissing women he was attracted to but this wasn’t just any women this was Jo, Jo who knew him better than most people, Jo who he loved with everything in him...still even now. Jo who happened to be standing before him in a red satin dress that set his pulse racing with one glance and suddenly he was a teenage boy who’d never kissed a girl sitting in the nurse's office.

He’s hesitant as he leans forward, pressing his lips against her soft cheek. It’s a simple and sweet and over way too soon but it’s closest he’s been to her since they’d reunited and with every movement, Alex was scared she’d back off, turn around and tell him she hated him and she’d be well within her right to.

“That’s pathetic,” Jo whispers stepping closer to Alex, both hands tracing up his arms coming to rest against his shoulders. “How the hell am I meant to know if we still have something with a kiss like that?”,

Alex shakes his head confused for a moment, surprised as his hands wind around her waist as if they’d never stopped doing so, “You don’t know if we’ve still got something?” He asks in disbelief at how she could ever question their connection as he feels h er fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck and he lifts his lips in a small smile as she leans further into him.

“Well it wouldn’t be bad to confirm it…” she teases, her lips brushing over his.

Alex cuts her off, his lips pressing against hers, making Jo yelp as he pushed her against the wall tightening his grip around her waist.

“How’s that for you?” He mumbles nipping at her bottom lip gently. Smirking at the way her red lipstick is now smudged, his cocky boy self proud he’d been the one to smudge it.

“Good…but erm maybe we should check again?" Jo mutters little breathlessly, her thumb wiping her own lipstick from Alex’s lips as she leans back in pulling Alex’s head down so she could reach him as her lips find his again. “And again,” She whispers in between kisses. Now she’s started she can’t remember why they haven’t been doing this the whole time, maybe the pain she felt had been covering over the memories of him because right now she’s pretty sure nothing ever felt as good as this. “And again.”

The tiny groan Alex lets out, lets Jo know he's thinking the same thing as his hands slide higher up her waist.

When they break part in need of oxygen, Jo finds herself holding back a laugh at the absurdity of the situation, leaning back against the wall with Alex’s arms still around her. When she finally catches her breath she pushes off the wall untangling herself from his arms and for a moment he thinks she’s leaving but she surprises him as she reaches the bottom step when she turns around holding out her hand for him.

“Come on…”

Her words seem to act as cold water shaking Alex from his daze as he stops dead letting her hand fall between them. For a moment the fear they'd both read this all wrong creeps in.

“Jo I don’t wanna rush this, and it’s late and Kits asleep and I have no idea what this means or if I’m dreaming and then this means nothing at all but I know we should slow down…”

Jo wants to laugh because she’s never seen Alex Karev wanna slow down anything, he’d told her he loved her before they’d even kissed, he’d asked her to marry her before they’d been together a year. He had never taken things slow, not with her. She got it, he was scared, god knows she was but all she knows is that she spent most of her evening stood alone at that party tonight wondering why she wasn’t at home eating Chinese takeout with her two favourite boys in her pyjamas. And then she remembered she was too scared to, scared of being hurt again. Maybe this won’t work, maybe they aren’t destined for forever or maybe they are. Maybe if they just keep trying one day it will all work out, all she knew was that she didn’t wanna look back and think of how happy she could’ve been if she’d just been a little less scared.

“I think we’re a bit past the taking it things slow stage Alex...now come on there’s a little boy who’s Christmas wish for his dad to be here when he wakes up...you wanna make his wish come true? Maybe make my wish come true too?”

She grabs hold of his hand dragging him upstairs without a response, keeping her firm mom voice on so Alex couldn’t argue with her. They had plenty of time to sort it all out, right now she’d really just like to fall asleep in his arms again.

“Mom...mom he’s been, he’s been, he came...Santa came.” It’s Kits voice that wakes Jo up the next morning the little boy bursting into the room, stocking in hand as he clambers over Jo’s bed completely obvious to sleeping Alex he’d kicked in the stomach.

“He did…” Jo grins just about catching Kit before he falls headfirst off the bed, her whole face lighting up at her sons' excitement.

She watched as his little face twists up when he’d notices the usually empty side of his mom's bed is currently occupied, frowning as he peers over recognising the sleeping figure. Of course, Alex could sleep through all that noise.

“DAD” He screams leaping over Jo as he jumps onto Alex’s back making him groan as he shook him awake. “YOU'RE HERE” Kit squeals, hugging Alex's back tightly, as a sleepy Alex winces twisting carefully as Kit sits on top of him.

“Oh hey Kit Kat, good morning bud…” Alex smiles sleepily, rubbing a hand over his face as he looked towards Jo who was smiling beside him, her eyes watering slightly as she met his.

“Mom, dads here.” Kit whispers his little arms wrapping tightly around Alex’s neck as he hugged him close.

“Yeah, he is baby.” Jo’s voice cracks a little as she watched the two, turning away slightly as she wiped her own tears on Alex’s T-shirt sleeve that she’d thrown on at some point early this morning.

Alex tries to ignore the way his heart breaks knowing the reason for Jo’s tears as he watches Kit begin to rip open his stocking, he’d missed this, he’d missed their family he missed her. All this time wasted.

“Don’t…” she whispers from beside him softly as she snuggled into his side watching as Kit begins to line up some of his gifts. “It’s okay we have time now.” She mumbles against his neck as if she knows exactly what’s he thinking her hand tenderly reaching up to wipe the tears he hadn’t even known he was crying before he felt her wipe them away.

“This is the best Christmas ever.” Kit exclaims looking up at his parents completely unaware of their quiet moment as both their faces smile brightly back at him.

Alex nods wrapping an arm around Jo as he tugs her closer to him, pressing a kiss to the top of her head as Kit begs them to follow him downstairs to the rest of his presents.

“Yeah, it’s a pretty amazing Christmas...” Jo agrees as Kit crashes down between them, the little boy's laughter ringing out as Alex hoists him up ticking his side as Jo begins to smother him in kisses.

#jolex #alex karev #jo wilson #jo karev #greys anatomy #greys abc #greysanatony #justin chambers #greys #camilla luddington #jolex fanfic #jolex fanfiction

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let-it-raines · 4 years

Text

What a Wicked Game {15/15}

Killian met her in a pub on a rainy night in March. Going inside was only supposed to be a way for him to avoid the rain and fight off the demons in his head. It was a place for him to pass through, not stay. But then he was charmed by a blonde woman with a quick wit who had absolutely no interest in him or who he was.

That was a first. It was also the beginning of Emma Nolan helping to bring him back to life. It was the beginning of everything.

Five years later, with their worlds crumbling around them, Killian can’t help but wonder if this is the end of the peace they have known now that his family knows about his relationship. It wouldn’t be a problem if his father wasn’t the King of England.

rating: mature

a/n: thank you to @captainswanbigbang for running this event and letting me write this story, to @resident-of-storybrooke for plotting and listening to me talk and for reading this, like, four times while never complaining, to @captainsjedi for making all of the incredible art for it and writing the sweetest tags, and to @wellhellotragic for finding the original story over on ao3 years ago and supporting me then and still supporting me now ❤️

ao3: beginning | current

tumblr: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15

-/-

February 2021

His heart is in his throat.

It’s been that way for several hours now, and at some point, Killian should probably get that checked out by a medical professional who can assure him that he’s not going to die and that his heart will return to his chest and beat at a normal rate again.

He is in a hospital, after all, so there’s likely someone who can help him out.

“Killian, you have to stop clenching your fist.”

“I’m not clenching my fist.”

“Literally, look down at your hand.”

Killian blinks before looking down at his hands. His right is tangled with Emma’s, his grip stronger than it should be, while his left is, indeed, balled into a fist on her mattress.

Oh.

Sighing, Killian unclenches his first before loosening his grip on Emma and leaning forward to press his lips against her knuckles. “I’m sorry, love. I - fuck. I really don’t mean to be so dramatic, but you fainted out of nowhere just as we were about to leave to go home, and I’m terrified that something awful is wrong with you.”

Emma’s hand pushes into his hair, scratching at his scalp, and he shouldn’t be the one who is being comforted right now. He should be comforting Emma. She’s the one who is in a hospital bed waiting on the results of all of the tests they ran on her, and while he knows she likely had low blood sugar and a lack of sleep from the hectic schedule of their tour, he cannot help but think of all of the horrendous things that could be wrong with his wife.

He loves her in sickness and in health, always, but God, he hopes she’s alright. He can’t live without her, which is so damn selfish to think, but this is where they are now.

(And he can be selfish when it comes to wanting Emma to be alright.)

It’s nothing. It has to be nothing.

“I’m fine,” Emma promises, but he knows she doesn’t actually know, not yet. “It’s been a crazy week with no sleep, and I skipped meals, which was stupid. It’s probably low blood sugar or exhaustion or something else I can fix when we get home and have some time off.”

“But you don’t know that.”

“I mean, I could be dying, but I didn’t think that’s what you wanted me to say.”

“Swan - ”

Emma huffs and rolls her eyes at him. “I’m fine until the doctor says otherwise because I pretty much refuse for something to be wrong with me.”

Killian nods and leans down to press his lips against her knuckles once more. He understands. He refuses for something to be wrong with her too. They’ve already spent too much time in their lives with Emma in a hospital, and he doesn’t want to keep doing this.

“Good afternoon, Your Highnesses,” Dr. Roberts sing-songs as she walks back into the room. He has no idea if this woman is always this peppy or if maybe this is her way of saying there’s nothing wrong with Emma before she actually says it. If there is something wrong, Dr. Roberts really has to work on how she speaks. “So, I have some good news.”

Killian perks up, while Emma stays sitting as she was, her thumb rubbing over his knuckles. “What is it?”

“Well, you’re fine,” Dr. Roberts continues, her smile bright as ever, “and so is your baby.”

“Oh thank God,” Killian sighs, leaning forward again. He’d truly convinced himself that something awful was wrong, but Emma is fine. She’s fine.

“I’m sorry,” Emma mumbles, “did you just say I’m pregnant?”

What?

“I did.”

Pregnant.

“I cannot be pregnant.”

Emma is pregnant.

How did he not hear that part?

“You are most definitely pregnant, Your Highness.”

How is Emma pregnant?

“You just told me I apparently have a baby in my uterus. You can call me Emma.”

Is he going to be a dad? Is Emma going to be a mum?

Killian’s head shoots up from where it’s buried against Emma’s hand to quickly look at her and her slack-jawed expression before looking at Dr. Roberts.

The doctor nods before looking between the two of them, and Killian stops staring a hole into her eyes to turn to look back at his wife who is apparently carrying their child. He feels like the biggest asshole in the world because he can’t seem to form coherent thoughts and should probably be having some kind of poetic thought about what this is going to mean to him, to the both of them.

Killian may be a little shocked.

The fact that Emma is too makes him feel a hell of a lot better.

“Emma,” Dr. Roberts sighs, “I think I’ll give the two of you some time to yourselves to talk since I seem to have shared some rather big news. Just know that both you and your baby are fine, but you need to make sure that you’re not overexerting yourself. You fainted because of a lack of sleep, proper nutrition, and your pregnancy.”

“Thank you,” Killian manages to mutter out while his thumb caresses Emma’s knuckles and Dr. Roberts walks out of the room. The moment the door closes, Killian leans down to kiss Emma’s hand before looking up at her. “Penny for your thoughts, love.”

“I’m really scared that my feet are going to get bigger.”

Killian barks out a laugh and rises from his chair in order to get closer to Emma, dipping his head down and kissing her because he can’t think of a single reason why he shouldn’t be kissing her at every available moment.

Especially now.

Especially always.

“I believe that means you’ll simply have to get new shoes. I think that can be arranged.”

“Never did I think there would be a day where you were encouraging me to get more shoes.”

“Well, you do have to throw out the old ones, of course.”

Emma’s chuckle is small, but it’s there, and Killian rests his forehead against hers while Emma’s hand comes to rest in his hair, toying with the little strands at the nape of his neck.

God, that feels good.

They’re having a baby.

“Killian,” she whispers, “how am I pregnant?”

“I don’t think I really need to explain the concept of sex to you.”

“Shut up.”

“No, I’m serious. When we are having sex, or making love if that’s your preferred term, and I reach my - ”

“You’re being an ass.”

“Wrong part of the body.”

“Ten years from now, when we think back on the moment I found out I was pregnant, this is what you’re going to have to remember.”

Emma is pregnant.

They’re going to be parents.

Bloody hell.

“I love you, darling,” he whispers, pulling back from her so that he can tuck her hair behind her ears and see the beautiful green of her eyes. They’re wet with tears, and he imagines his are too. “And I don’t know how this happened. I assume...I don’t know. I don’t know how this happened, but I do know that I’m happy. Are you happy?”

Emma nods while tugging on her bottom lip. “I’m happy, but I’m scared. I mean, we’ve talked about wanting kids, but talking about it and actually knowing that I’m pregnant is - ”

“Nerve-wracking.”

“Pretty much,” she laughs. “I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby. I don’t think we know how to have a baby.”

“I imagine we’ll figure it out.”

“I guess we will.”

-/-

Killian is flooded with joy for the first week of them knowing Emma is pregnant. She’s only eight weeks along now, so they haven’t told a soul yet, but he’s itching to, if only because he desperately needs to talk to someone about it.

Someone who isn’t Emma because right now, he’s feeling like a piece of worthless scum on the sidewalk for some of the thoughts he’s having.

There are so many damn emotions that come with Killian knowing Emma is pregnant - happiness, elation, joy, terror, anxiousness, excitement - and as much as he fluctuates between all of them, there’s only one that creeps into the forefront of his mind in the middle of the night after a day wandering around knowing that their lives are going to keep changing every single day.

Uncertainty.

And it’s rubbish because he’s not even sure if uncertainty is an emotion, but it’s also rubbish because he’s feeling uncertain not because he doesn’t want this baby, but because he’s terrified that he won’t be a good father to their child.

Killian has a piss poor excuse for a father, and as much as David has filled in for that role, it’s not the same as having a good example for his entire life and seeing year-by-year proof that children can grow up to love their dads and not resent them or be hesitant to even be in the same room as them at family gatherings. He doesn’t love his dad, and he hates that he’s consumed by that. This is supposed to be one of the happiest times in his life, and all Killian feels some days is that he’s already a failure.

(It’s been a week. How is he already screwing up after a week?)

If he didn’t know that Emma is going to be the most incredible mum on the planet and make up for all of his shortcomings, he’d be fully convinced that he couldn’t do this and that fatherhood simply wasn’t for him.

Which is utter bullshit. He’s been in love with Emma for nearly a decade, has known he’s wanted to have children with her for most of that time, and Brennan should not still be able to take up so much space in Killian’s head.

Not anymore.

He’s fighting those demons and dealing with them in his counseling and every time he has to deal with his father, and Killian is determined not to let him taint this.

He can’t.

Not when the woman in bed next to him might as well be an angel sent to him from above, and not when the almost invisible curve of her stomach resting underneath his hand can be felt. They weren’t prepared for this. It wasn’t planned, and it’s apparently the result of the two of them thinking that the month of December was some kind of sex parade where birth control was sometimes optional.

(Emma found where she had skipped birth control pills after they got home, and he thinks she stared at the package for an hour at the very least.)

They were so stupid.

But he doesn’t regret it. Killian can’t. If they’d waited and tried some time from now, the baby growing in Emma wouldn’t be this baby. It would be a wonderful baby he and Emma both love with everything in them, but it wouldn’t be the same. Maybe next time, if they’re lucky enough, the pregnancy will be a result of months of careful love-making and a pointed attempt at trying, but to him, it doesn’t matter.

He’s scared out of his mind about being a dad, doesn’t know how he’s going to do it, but he wouldn’t change a thing. Not when he has Emma.

“You’re thinking too much,” Emma mumbles, twisting in the bed.

He lays his hand flat over her stomach. “You’re talking in your sleep.”

“I’m awake. Your thoughts were so loud.”

“If you can hear my thoughts, I feel like you need to explain quite a few of the fights we’ve had.”

“Don’t wanna,” Emma mumbles sleepily. Killian huffs into her hair before twisting around her and allowing her to stick her freezing cold feet between his calves while his lips brush over her cheek. His hand flexes over her stomach again, feeling the proof of a decade of love and heartbreak and everything in between. “You’re a good baby daddy.”

(He rather despises that term, and Emma seems fit to call him that this week. Hopefully that will die down, but he really can’t complain when Emma has just become fraught with morning sickness as of yesterday.)

“Am I?” he whispers into her hair, trying not to laugh. She’s not going to remember any of this in the morning. She has a habit of waking in the middle of the night, having a conversation, and then forgetting about it the next morning.

“Mhm. You’re sweet, and you’re also really hot. I like that about you.”

“Oh, well, I’m glad I can be of service for you in that way.”

Her breathing starts to even out after that, slowly returning to how it was, and Killian keeps moving his hand over the small, almost swell of her stomach, something that he knows is a comfort to both of them already.

“Killian?”

“Yes, love?” he whispers so quietly the ceiling fan drowns out the noise of his voice.

“You’re going to be a good dad.”

And even though she’s mostly asleep when she says it, Killian knows that Emma thinks that. She has so much faith in him even when she shouldn’t, and her words settle the beating of his heart and the worry running circles in his mind.

It’s not everything, but it’s a start.

(And technically, Emma having faith in him is everything.

It’s all he’s ever wanted and far more than he deserves.

But he’s glad for it.)

-/-

“What the hell are you wearing?”

“What? You don’t like it?”

“It’s rather beige.”

Emma huffs and tugs at her bra, pulling it out and gathering all of the excess fabric there. “My mom thought it would be appropriate to buy me nursing bras, but this isn’t even close to my size. Like, I understand I’m going to balloon up in every way imaginable, but this is gigantic.”

“We told your parents about the baby two days ago. How has your mom already sent you new bras?”

“Express shipping, babe.”

Killian laughs and walks toward her. She’s standing in front of the bathroom mirror in nothing but her knickers and this massive bra that he can’t ever imagine Emma properly fitting into. Apparently, she can’t imagine it either. It hangs far off her back and over her breasts, and if she lets it go from her grasp, it falls to expose her nipples.

She looks ridiculous.

But also rather lovely, and when she turns around to face him, bottom lip jutted out in a pout, he steps up to her and places his hands on her hips, fingers inching up over her sides. “This is the sexiest you have ever looked.”

“Shut up,” she laughs, slapping his stomach.

“What? Can I not talk about it? This bra is so much better than everything you have in your closet.”

“You’re being dumb.”

“Oh, always.”

He leans into her and brushes his scruff against her neck, knowing that it tickles her, before doing the same with his fingers against her sides. Emma is squirming away from him, or, at least, trying to, but he doesn’t let her, backing her up against the counter as he keeps moving against her while she gasps for breath and laughs.

In between calling him an asshole, of course. That’s her favorite name for him.

“K-killian,” she gasps, leaning away from him as he kisses her neck and moves to kiss her jaw. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“In an hour.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

“Aye,” he promises before kissing the corner of her lips until she’s turning to him so she can move her mouth over his, soft and slow and absolutely perfectly. As always. “But I think I might have some time to spend with you first.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm.”

“Can I take this damn bra off?”

“That was kind of the plan.”

-/-

They’re having a boy.

Killian was convinced that they were going to have a girl, as was Emma, and while it’s definitely a shock despite the equal odds, it doesn’t change anything about their excitement level or any of their plans going forward.

They’re having a boy.

And they can’t decide on a name. Everything in his head and on the list on the refrigerator were decidedly more feminine names, and while David, Liam, and Graham all cheekily suggest that their son should be named after one of them, Killian isn’t too sure about that.

(Ruby says their son can and should be named Ruby because she simply cannot wait until they have a girl for her to have a kid named after her.

When Emma suggests she have her own kid - “pregnancy is a bitch,” Emma mumbles - Ruby raises her hands in defeat and says they should name the kid whatever they want.)

It’s not that simple.

For as much as he and Emma push back on the traditions of his family and some of the inane rituals, they do want the name to fit. However, they want it to fit both them as a couple and his family. It’s a mixing of lifestyles and opinions, and the debates seem to rage on and on. Killian’s mum tells him she’s happy with whatever name they choose because it’s their family, Killian’s father makes a rare comment just to tell them how much he’s still pissed over Emma saying she won’t pose for photographs the day after giving birth, and Emma can’t seem to decide on anything.

(Except that she’s still not going to pose for photographs and expose their child to the wildness of the press after twenty-four hours of life, and he supports her wholeheartedly.

The press has tried to ruin them time and time again, emotionally and physically, and Killian will not stand for it for his wife or their child.)

Killian has his preferences, but he’s trying to narrow down her choices on the massive list that seems to keep growing and growing each day.

The name debate wages on as the weeks pass by and Emma’s stomach continues to grow. Killian never spent a lot of time imagining what this period in his life would be like, but overall, it’s mostly the same as he expected it would be. At least for him. Emma has gone through highs and extreme lows as her hormones attack her and change her body, and all he could do was support her and rub her back when she was vomiting.

And make every food that she wants, no questions asked. Though, surprisingly, her cravings are not at all what movies make them out to be. They do follow along with a lot that he’s read in the books and articles he’s consuming.

“There is literally no reason to read ten different books on the same thing,” Emma mumbles as she pulls her up into a bun. “That’s got to be information overload.”

“It’s varying opinions, love,” he insists, taking another note and sticking it to the page in his book. “I want to know as much as I can so I’m not caught unaware, and I needed a break from looking at cabinet handles for the new house.”

“Babe, you’re going to be caught unaware. It’s going to happen. Not even you can completely prepare for this.”

“Aye, but I can try.”

And he does try. He tries as he reads his books and looks at articles online so that he can at least be the tiniest bit more prepared than he would be. Emma reads books as well and is always looking to see his notes and what he knows, but she’s definitely the more relaxed of the two of them.

At least he thinks that.

She’s six and a half months pregnant and in a wonderful phase of constantly wanting him no matter what they’re doing when he realizes that Emma doesn’t like to constantly talk about the baby because it is all anyone talks to her about. When she does engagements, it’s what people mention. When they go out to dinner, even the servers mention their impending parenthood. When Emma talks on the phone with his mother, Allison is constantly talking about gifts for the baby and plans and asking if Emma has looked into some of the classes Allison suggested. Everyone means well and simply wants to share in their excitement, but their life isn’t all about this baby.

Their life is greatly enhanced by him and will change because of him, but at the core of it all, they’re still Emma and Killian who have been having conversations for nearly a decade about things other than a baby.

And Emma is still Emma, and she wants people to ask her how she is or what books she’s read lately or any conversation that would have been had before she was pregnant.

Late at night, though, when they’re lounging in bed with his hand on her stomach and his chest pressed into her back, sometimes she likes to whisper her thoughts and her fears, all of the hopes that she has for this future that keeps getting nearer and nearer to them.

The road to getting here was full of sharp wrong turns and dark corners full of heartbreak, and while they may have gotten a little lost along the way, they’re here now. That’s absolutely all that matters.

It always has been.

“Babe,” Emma calls out on a sunny day in June. They’ve been home all day, neither of them changing out of their pajamas, and he imagines from the look of it, Emma hasn’t combed through her hair. To be fair, he hasn’t either. “Do you know where the peanut butter is?”

“We had that entire box shipped here for you. It should be in the cupboard.”

“I don’t see it.”

“Have you checked the bottom shelf?”

“Yes.”

“Did you really?”

“I’m going to slap you.”

Killian sighs and puts down the letters he was responding to in order to get up and walk toward Emma and the cupboard. When he steps inside the room, he immediately goes in search of the box of jars of peanut butter he ordered for Emma only for it not to be there.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

“That’s kind of an extreme reaction to not being able to find the peanut butter.”

“How did we lose an entire box of peanut butter?”

“It can’t be lost. It has to be misplaced.”

“Lost, misplaced. Whatever, love.”

He squats down to look over all of the bottom shelves before scanning each and every other one, shifting around containers and boxes and every other insane organizational tool he decided to buy when he wanted this room to be contained and not a mess.

Except he can’t seem to find anything.

Mostly this damn peanut butter.

“You know what,” Emma sighs, “it’s fine. I’ll eat something else.”

“Darling, I will find it.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’ll find it.”

“Killian,” Emma huffs, tugging on his wrist until he turns around to look at her, “it’s fine. We have those smoothies I like in the fridge. I’ll drink one of those instead.”

“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.” She tugs on his wrists again until she’s pulling him out of the room and back into their kitchen. “It wasn’t important.”

“I simply don’t understand where the peanut butter could have gone. I mean, I suppose it could have been moved, but I - ”

Emma loops her arms around his neck and presses up on her toes until she’s gently sliding her lips over his in a slow kiss that has his heartbeat quickening and gooseflesh rising over his skin.

“Stop worrying about it,” she murmurs as they sway back and forth with her stomach pressed tightly against his. “I don’t want a repeat of the blueberry muffin incident.”

“Dammit, don’t - ”

She kisses him again, insistently pressing her lips into his, and Killian presses back, pecking her lips once before doing it again and again and again. He kisses her fleetingly all the while continuing to sway the both of them. The wood is cold against his bare feet, so he’s sure Emma’s feet are literal icicles, but he’s not focusing on that as Emma begins to laugh, a small melodic sound that carries with the music that’s playing over the speaker on his phone from where he was listening to it when he was working.

But the laugh grows louder as Killian’s mouth moves away from hers and more toward the corner of her lips so that his scruff brushes against her skin, tickling her in the same way that his fingers are scratching against her sides and over the edges of her belly.

“You’re the only one I want to make laugh, truly.”

Emma’s laugh quiets at those words until she’s tightening her arms around his neck and nuzzling her face into his neck. There’s a sharp inhale of her breathing him in, and Killian kisses the top of her hair.

“You’re a romantic, my love,” she whispers.

“That’s what I strive to be.”

“I know. It’s why you practice all of those lines in the mirror.”

Killian scoffs. “I do not do that.”

“If anyone asks, it’s your word against mine, and well…”

She lets the words trail off, obviously waiting for him to fill in the blanks and continue their banter, but he doesn’t. He can’t, because the song is changing, and it’s been ages since he danced with her in the privacy of their home. Everything lately has been in suits and dresses with Emma’s heels making her nearly his height, but it hasn’t been the two of them in pajamas with messy hair and the ghost of missing peanut butter cascading over them.

So he keeps moving them, a gentle sway that turns into more, and they traverse the space in the kitchen, their feet quickly moving as Killian whispers in Emma’s ear words of affection that flow from his heart. It’s moments and times like these in the sanctity of their kitchen when it’s just the two of them and no one and nothing else that he thinks of how grateful he is that they fought for their love and won. Nothing about this was ever guaranteed or predestined, but they figured it out.

“I love you.”

Emma hums. “I love you, too.”

She pulls her head back until he can see her eyes, the beautiful glint of blue wrapped up in the green, and her smile is so bright that he can’t imagine not kissing her. He can’t imagine not kissing her as often as he’s able and not kissing her every day on a multitude of occasions. So he does.

And he hopes not to ever stop having that desire.

He won’t.

Emma is his wife and the mother of his child, of this one between them now and any ones in the future, but most of all, he thinks, she’ll always be his closest companion.

His best friend.

“Hey,” Emma whispers after they’ve been silently dancing for at least two songs.

“Yeah, love?”

“I think I’ve finally decided what name I want for the baby.”

Killian chuckles and tilts his head to the side to press his lips into her hair once more, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and everything that he’s grown accustomed to over the years. “And what’s that then?”

-/-

Their son is born on September twenty-third, a few days after Killian’s thirty-second birthday.

They name him Andrew Killian Phillip Jones.

He always goes by Andy.

-/-

Any of my Second in Command (the original version of this story) will recognize Andy. He was, like, star of the show for that crazy long epilogue/sequel I wrote, and I really wanted to include him here. The main reason, though, was to show that even though some parts of Emma and Killian’s story changed, that they went through more of a wild ride this go round, that they still get to have the same happy ending...wait, I think I have to say “happy beginning” here 😉

Thank you all for the INCREDIBLE support! I hope you enjoyed this story!

@mrtinski @klynn-stormz @jonirobinson64 @snowbellewells @therealstartraveller776 @thejollyroger-writer @sherifemma @shardminds @captainsjedi @galaxyzxstark @galadriel26 @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @teamhook @spartanguard @searchingwardrobes @itsfabianadocarmo @owlways-and-forever @jamif @shireness-says @ultimiflos @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @onepunintendid @bluewildcatfanatic @397bartonstreet @killianswannn @carpedzem @captainkillianswanjones @mayquita @jennjenn615 @onceuponaprincessworld @a-faekindagirl @scientificapricot @scarletslippers @xellewoods @ultraluckycatnd @stahlop @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @singersdd @tornadoamy @captainswanbigbang

#what a wicked game #cs fic #cs ff #cs fanfic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan fanfic #csrt #captain swan #captain swan rewrite a thon

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mrsdr-ethan-ramsey · 5 years

Text

Rookie (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Y’all, I couldn’t stop myself from writing this at like 12:30 last night. I literally fell asleep writing, but I needed to feel more angst. Honestly my biggest fear is that Ethan will start calling someone else Rookie. Plus it was an excuse not to do homework. I hope you all like it! (Also if you have any ideas or requests with Ethan, I would be more than excited to try to write them!)

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x MC (Parker Kennedy)

Summary: When Parker hears Ethan call another intern Rookie, she can’t stop herself from confronting him.

Warnings: Angsttttttt, cause I love and hate how much Parker and Ethan hurt right now

Word Count: ~2500

‘So far, so good’ Parker thought as she maneuvered through the familiar halls of Edenbrook. She was off to pick up her intern, Esme Ortega, after delivering the results from the diagnostics patient she tested early today. She felt like she was on autopilot as she thought back to her discussion with Dr. Ramsey.

“We’ll be okay. We’ll make it work.”

Her heart still stopped as she thought about those words. To anyone else it would sound like they were talking about work; about their professional relationship. But they weren’t. He held her hand as he told her those words. His thumb rubbed the back of her hand so lightly that if she hadn’t looked down she probably would have missed it. Was he talking about their work relationship? A little bit. Was he talking about their personal relationship? She hoped to some greater being that he was. Needless to say, she felt like she was on top of the world.

Once she reached the nursing desk, she found Esme talking with Jackie and her intern, Molly Addison, adamantly. Parker put her best smile on her face as she came over.

“Hey all! How were rounds? Sorry I had to miss it Esme.”

Esme looked over at Parker, obviously not enjoying her peppy attitude. “It was fine.”

“Oh my gosh, no it was amazing!” Molly squealed. At this, both Jackie and Esme cringed. Parker hid her slight annoyance for the young red head as she gushed about all the ‘super cool!’ things they had seen! Parker only slightly regretted asking her about rounds, but she was happy that the young intern was enjoying her time at Edenbrook.

“I’m glad you’re finding your place here!” Parker smiled, “But I’ve got to talk to Esme about a couple things. We’ll see you guys later!”

Esme quickly followed Parker whispering a small ‘Thank God’ as Jackie sighed, being left with the human version of sunshine and bubble gum.

***

After a couple hours of showing Esme the ropes and watching her present her case, she finally found herself back at the nurse’s station. She was about to congratulate Esme on her stellar performance so she could see her roll her eyes again before she heard a deep voice call down the hall.

“Rookie!”

Parker’s head immediately snapped to the familiar voice, ready to go help with Dr. Ramsey with whatever he needed. Just as she was about to head over, she watched Molly skip over.

“Yes Dr. Ramsey?” She asked sweetly, her voice dripping with desire.

Parker couldn’t hear the rest as her high from earlier quickly died. He obviously called her that before because she came right over and he started talking to her. When did he start calling other people Rookie? That was her nickname! Right? Although, he did seem reluctant to call her Rookie when she saw him at Donahue’s…but that doesn’t matter. The point is, he had only ever called her rookie. Now suddenly this beautiful intern was Rookie?

“Woah, Parker. Don’t think too hard. There’s going to be smoke coming from you soon,” Elijah called, snapping her out of her internal panicking.

Parker turned to see Elijah and Sienna coming up, their interns following close behind. They seemed good, not overly excited like Molly but more open to conversation than Esme.

“Second year doctors meeting only,” Parker said quickly, tugging Sienna and Elijah some ways away from their interns.

“What’s up P?” Elijah asked.

“That!” Parker whispered angrily as she gestured towards Dr. Ramsey and Molly talking down the hall. “He called her Rookie!”

At this, both the doctors’ eyes widen.

“Seriously?!” Sienna exclaimed. She wouldn’t be happy to beat up Dr. Ramsey, but if Parker needed her to she would happily kick his ass back to the Amazon.

All three of them turned their eyes turned back to Dr. Ramsey and the intern. He must have felt their eyes on him, because his attention immediately turned and shot them a little glare. In panic the three quickly ran off with their interns, hoping to avoid the wrath of Dr. Ramsey.

***

Parker tried not to think about how betrayed she felt. She really did, but it always seemed to be nudging her in the back of her mind no matter where she was. She bumped into six different people because she had been so distracted about it. That’s how she ended up wide awake in her bed at 2:30 am. Her body rolling around under the covers, hearing Ethan say Rookie only to have the young intern bounce up to him happily. She was pretty, Parker did have to admit that. Her hair was naturally red, layered with different shade of red and orange that made it look like flames. She was small with a near perfect figure. Parker, on the other hand, was scrawny right now and slowly starting to gain weight now that Sienna was making sure she ate three meals a day. While Parker had brown-green muddy eyes, Molly’s eyes were crystal blue. Seriously, how could a man resist a girl like Molly?!

Maybe it was the lack of sleep, or the desperation to know what was going on, but Parker found herself climbing out of bed quickly. She pulled on leggings and a baggy sweatshirt before she called an Uber. Tip toeing through her apartment, she was glad Landry was no longer there. If he had, she wouldn’t be surprised if he was up ‘getting ready to go to the hospital’ as this time. She rolled her eyes at this thought before slipping a pair of shoes on and hurriedly leaving her building.

The ride was short without the normal traffic of the busy city. 2:45 was an excellent time to drive through Boston, Parker thought as she stared out the window at the lights flying by. The towering buildings were a dramatic change from her Midwest home, and she loved it. She was meant to be here; she could feel it deep within her.

Once at Ethan’s apartment, she thanked her driver and tipped her generously for driving her at such an awful time. Parker than moved towards the familiar building, pressing his apartment number praying the buzzing would wake him up. After a bit with no response, she repeatedly hit the button over and over (she knew this would annoy him awake).

“I swear if this is a prank I will call the cops,” she heard Ethan’s familiar voice crackled angrily through the intercom, Jenner barking in the background.

Quickly, she hit the speak button and said urgently, “Ethan! It’s Parker! I need to talk to you, now!”

“Parker?” He sounded confused, and tired.

Before she could reply, she heard the lock click. She didn’t waste any time getting into the building, hitting the number for his floor. The elevator shot up, brining her closer to a sleepy (and more than likely pissed) Ethan Ramsey. When she was outside his door, she hesitated. Was she really going to barge into Ethan’s apartment and demand to know why he’s calling Molly, Rookie? This was crazy! She was crazy! She should just go home, and if Ethan asks her just deny, deny, deny. She could convince him it was a dream, right? Ugh, who was she kidding. Ethan’s too smart to fall for that plan, she thought. Instead, she stood at the door; petrified as she lifted her hand and knocked gently against the wood.

Ethan had never been a heavy sleeper, so when he heard his buzzer go off the first time he thought it had been someone hitting the wrong number. After it keep going incessantly and Jenner started barking, he forced himself out of his light sleep to scare the kids ringing his buzzer shitless. He had been more than surprised to hear Parker’s voice and quickly let her into the building, assuming that something had happened. He couldn’t think of another reason as to why she’d come 3 am. He swung the door open, preparing for the worst, but was surprised to see her completely fine.

“Parker, what’s wrong?”

Hearing his voice, heavy and low with sleep she lost her train of thought. All she could think about was how she had woken up to that voice before. How he kept her in bed as long as possible, knowing that when they left her room it’d be over. She just hadn’t expected him to replace her so quickly.

“Did I mean nothing to you?” she whispered, barely audibly. Tears threatened to stream, but she refused to cry in front of him. She already felt like a child compared to him, if she cried in front of him it would be the icing on the cake. But Ethan could easily see through her, so he opened the door wider to let her in. He wouldn’t let her cry in the hallway.

As she crossed into his space, Ethan’s brows furrowed in confusion, “What are you talking about?”

“Rookie.”

Ethan’s face flushed. “You heard that?”

Radio silence. Neither knew what to say to make this situation better. There was an invisible wall between the two and neither were quite sure how to take it down. Parker had tried that first night at Donahue’s when she kissed him, only to receive the nicest rejection she had ever gotten. She had hoped that seeing her and kissing her again would remind him of what they had before he vanished. Unfortunately, he had a much better resolve than her. So now she didn’t know what to do. She had no backup plan on how to win him back over.

“If you weren’t interested in me, you could have just told me…if you just wanted someone prettier you could have just said, you didn’t need to string me along for two months and then flirt with another girl in front of me to make that point.”

“I wasn’t flirting with her Parker. Christ.” He ran his hands through his bed head. How had she gotten that from one conversation with an intern whose name he couldn’t even remember? Did she really think that he’d try to get with an intern when he just told her that they need to keep a professional relationship? Did she really think that low of him?

He locked eyes with her. “I didn’t know her name and couldn’t be bothered to ask.”

Parker looked back at him, begging his deep ocean eyes to tell her the truth. She saw that he was actually hurt that she had thought he was flirting with another intern. She felt stupid for jumping to conclusions, but it had hurt to hear him call another person ‘Rookie’. If he was looking for a sure way to drive her crazy, he found it without even trying.

“I…I guess I had always thought I was your Rookie. I didn’t think you’d drop it as soon as you got back…”

“Parker,” he said gently, “You’re not a Rookie anymore. You’re a skilled doctor who earned her way onto the nation’s top diagnostics team. I assumed you wouldn’t want me calling you that anymore.”

He was right, as usual. Anyone else listening in would probably find the nickname degrading, not endearing like she did. She couldn’t fight his rationale behind the name change, so instead she looked down at her feet like a child caught stealing a cookie. Ethan looked at her small frame, finally analyzing her. She seemed a little off than what he had remembered her being two months ago. She seemed a little duller, not as wide-eyed and hopeful as she did when she first walked through Edenbrook. He hated that she lost her sparkle under his watch; he had no one to blame but himself.

Parker made her way to the floor to ceiling windows, looking out over the bay as she crossed her arms protectively in front of her. She was putting up a barricade around herself, hoping to ease the pain. If the wall between them wasn’t coming down, she’d simply put one around herself to stop her from trying to scale or break it down to get to him. “You still have the best view in all of Boston.”

“I’ve learned to appreciate it more,” Ethan said with a sad smile, thinking about how Parker had pointed the view out to him the first night they were together. That felt so long ago. He studied her shrunken frame. She looked at home in his space. He loved that, but he knew he shouldn’t get used to it.

Ethan heard her let out a small yawn, reminding himself of the time. “Why do you get a little rest before your shift. You take my bed; I’ll take the couch.”

At the offer, Parker turned back to look at him. “Oh, you don’t need to do that. I’m fine on the couch.”

“Nope. My house, my rules.” He insisted, as he lead her into his bedroom. He made quick work ordering Parker to take off her shoes and get in the bed. Once she was laying down, he pulled the covers up around her.

Parker let out a yawn as she looked up at Ethan sleepily. “Thank you.”

“You’re always welcome here Parker.”

As she closed her eyes and flipped onto her stomach, Ethan couldn’t stop his heart from going wild. Seeing Parker Kennedy back in his bed made him wish that he could wake up to this view every day. He wanted nothing more than to climb into bed next to her and pull her into his chest, whispering sweet nothings as she drifted off. Fuck, he had never been a romantic before she came barging into his life. He hated that she did this to him, but loved it just the same. Fighting every urge in his body to get into the bed, he walked out to the living room and sat down on the couch. Flicking on the lamp, he slid his glasses on and began to read a new medical journal as Jenner slept happily at his feet.

***

The morning had been weird for Parker and Ethan, but they maneuvered it as gracefully as they could…like a baby giraffe learning how to walk. They stumbled around kitchen making coffee and toast. He even offered to give her a ride to the hospital. As they walked in, they saw Baz walking in as well, so Ethan (ever so smooth) made the comment that ‘He and Dr. Kennedy had met early to discuss her role on the team’. Parker couldn’t help but smile at this as she went off to find Esme and start the day.

Late in the afternoon at the nurse’s station, Parker caught a glimpse of Dr. Ramsey talking to Molly again. Her stomach flipped and she tried not to listen in to the conversation…but she really couldn’t help herself.

“Dr. Addison, I expect the results on my desk by 6. And your patient better not be dead.” He said sternly, leaving Molly with a shocked look on her face.

As Dr. Ramsey stormed off, he met Parker with a soft smile. He may not call her Rookie at work, but he knew he couldn’t call anybody else her nickname.

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moonbelt · 5 years

Text

»worth the wait

↳ soulmates au | somewhat bootleg coffeeshop au

pairing » jeon jungkook | reader

genre » soft angst + fluff + sexual themes

word count » 9.280

» on Earth V12 everyone is born with half of their emotions – the other half is safely kept within the soul of their soulmate. however, its been a few wee years and it’s safe to say that you don’t have one. or at least you dont think so. but the universe cant possibly hate you so much as to leave you without your emotions for the rest of your life, or can it?

authors note » yeah yeah, it’s been a while. but soulmate aus are literally the only thing that give me joy and hope about love so.... hope you enjoy it!

The doctor at the local health clinic tells you that there's no use in holding out for a soulmate. Giving up is the best way to ensure less heartbreak, she diagnosed. It’s much better that way.

You've already passed the age criteria to find one, she said. Typically, a year or two after nineteen is the maximum time it takes for you to find the one, she'd told you with a tone of neutral candor. Your doctor probably felt sad – pitiful almost, at that fact. But she was careful to not let it show. That although there was nothing biologically wrong with you, the hard-cold truth remains that you can't feel what she does, what other seven billion people in the world feel — emotions. Or at least a subset of them.

To emote, you believe, is a privilege that not everyone receives. However, history and biology books taught you, just like it did to everyone else on Earth V12, that once you came of age you earn that right. That once the universe believes you've merited it, you get to experience the wild, wide and boisterous range of emotions.

You've read about it. Oh, how much you've read. Huddled and bundled up in thousands of blankets on the window seat in your bedroom back at your family home. Even now in university, in between study breaks and long hours of researching on metaphysics. You read to feel but you don't know exactly what you should be feeling. You read to understand, to know the differences between being sad and being upset. Am I sad that the Universe has decided I'm not worthy of a soulmate? Or am I upset that I believe I need a soulmate to begin with? You don't know. Like a thousand other things that simply just do not make any sense.

They told you not to worry. After all, everyone has a soulmate. It's unfathomable to believe otherwise. That's just the way things are. The way things have always been. The beginning and the end.

You watched, a little wide-eyed, disoriented and mystified as your closest friend and associate, Taehyung, became a different person in the five seconds after he met his soulmate, Eden. It was like a dam had been bust open right before your very eyes. It's a little hard to explain, even now that it's been a couple of years, you'd never quite seen anything like it.

The books say that eons ago gods, back in the time when they walked amongst us, granted wishes. But they also took gifts away. And one day when a fight broke out between two demigod children which resulted in one of them dying, the Sun god came down from his place on high and decided with a few other gods that the human emotions within us — the ones that spark hate and contempt and love and weakness — were to blame. Emotions, the god argued, did not play into reasoning or knowledge. And hence they needed to be earned back. Or at the very least, we needed to recognize their value.

But he couldn't just hoist billions worth of people's emotions into thin air. Instead, what he stripped from one he placed in another. The very essence of soulmates. By splitting the emotions people carry and making them search for The One with their other half, the god decreed that he had made the most beautiful creation. The Sun god ruled this as a magnificent feat, tooting his own horn about his generosity to break humans apart.

To take something apart and then put it back together again, just as you found it — perfect in all its nature, is something you long for. Something you yearn to understand. How is it possible to place jagged pieces back together and get something so phenomenal in return? To get something whole?

To experience Love the way the novels and books you devour describe it. To feel that Sadness that can cause people to cry rivers. You want to know this whole other world that everyone seems to get but you. You have Apathy — loads of it. You understand what it's like to be Disinterested; very much so. Frightened and Scared, you know. However, Hope and Serenity, you do not.

It's a struggle because it makes you insensitive. You simply can't understand what others are going through if you've never had an inkling to what they feel. And you have no idea what to say to comfort them because everything you say comes out wrong, everything you try to emote comes out forced and makes you feel like a bad liar.

"I just don't get why anyone would do that, you know?" Taehyung sighs loudly and over-dramatically before he takes a sip of his macchiato. "Like I hate when people take my stuff without asking. It makes me absolutely livid."

Eden nods in agreement. "It's the principle of the thing."

"Exactly!" Taehyung cries out in joy of being understood. Of being related to. "I swear I can't wait to move out and get a place with you. Everyone in that frat drives me up the fucking wall."

An odd third-wheel is what you feel like. So out of place next to your friends that you've known for years. You don't quite get why Taehyung is so mad at his frat brothers for borrowing his stuff, typically if he told them not to, they wouldn't. That's just how communication works. But nah, Taehyung is livid. And Eden agrees. He’s been livid before too.

"You could always tell your roommate to not touch your stuff," you say, interrupting Eden and Taehyung as they throw around other instances when people took their shit without asking. "I would do that."

Taehyung rolls his eyes, not in a condescending way like the other people in your university, but it still very much rubs your spine the wrong way. "The thing is; I have told him. Repeatedly. He’s got like, I don’t know, cement filled in his ears or something. He never listens."

Every soulmate pair is different in their mannerisms and the way they flow into each other. For Taehyung and Eden, it's like they complement each other and always have to add on to what the other says. Like a sign that they are there, and they've got their back. You guess it's adorable, in the same way little cats pawing at your ankles is adorable.

"It's like common decency," Eden tries to explain, his mop of ashy-white hair haunting over his eyes. "People generally just don't like other people touching their shit without permission."

And see, this is where your problem lies. You understand the principle of the act; you understand why someone would get theoretically mad at it. It's an inconvenience at best and rude at worst. But is it worth getting absolutely angry over? You're not sure. You're not even sure how someone can get angry with it. That's the big distinction between the people with soulmates and the people without.

Taehyung looks at you with pity swimming in his light brown irises and smiles. But it's without humor, without the type of light he reserves for Eden, without feeling. "Oh, you just don't understand."

There was a time when you understood your friend and he understood you. There was a time that both of you scoffed at the imperfections of the soulmate enigmatic system. And for a moment it leaves you in a state of disarray with how far he has evolved from you. How different the two of you have become.

You spend the rest of the hour focused on your hot chocolate and reading your Mythology and Folklores That Absolutely, Factually, Most-Definitely Happened book. You leave Eden and Taehyung to discuss whatever it is they discuss about. You so clearly can't simply understand what they go through, it makes no sense to dawdle in their conversations then.

It's the last week before the university closes for winter break but the snow has been piling up for months now. Hanging out at cafes felt like a good idea at the time, what's not to like about baked goods and the smell of heady caffeine? But now you wish you'd never come at all. Or at the very least, that you'd come alone.

So, when Taehyung and Eden start packing up – they have work to get to – you don't budge. You look them in the eye and tell them that spending a few more hours in the cafe sounds like something you're craving. It's been a while since you left your apartment for something other than school and volunteering.

Taehyung scrunches his nose and pouts his lips. "You're coming out to the party tonight though, right? It's the last one before break and it's time you had some fun. Today is your birthday, after all. Maybe you'll find—"

Before he can finish that sentence, you force a grin onto your face and a pep into your voice to try and drag him off that course. You're desperately tired of remembering your own birthday. Nothing good ever comes out of it. And you doubt the ripe old age of twenty-one would do anything different. "Don't worry, I'll be there. Your fraternity is the one hosting, yes?"

He nods his head as he slings his messenger bag across his shoulder. "Yeah. Don't be late, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll see you guys then." You long for them to go already and leave you to your lonesome. You have a very interesting book to get back to. "Bye Eden, have fun in the studio." You wave them off on their way out and hope to the gods that they do not drag this outing any longer.

Once they are gone and the chatter around you falls into a nice subliminal background noise, you peel open the pages of the myth and folklore book and begin to read again.

Ah, yes, the Sun god. The creator of soulmates and the one that cursed all humanity. You wonder now if the god regrets his decision. What about the people like you? The ones that seemingly never find that other half. Are you just supposed to swagger through life with one leg oddly bent? Did the god merely not give a flying crow-shit? How come it was so easy for Eden and Taehyung to find each other whereas it's become exponentially hard for you? Are you not worthy of your own emotions? Are you not worthy to experience that all-encompassing love? Is it simply just an haute club that you could never even dream of barging into?

You sigh and lean back in your chair. The book gives you more questions than it does answers. In fact, it barely gives you any solutions. All it does is relay what happened ages upon ages ago in hopes you will understand. But you don't. These days it feels like you don't understand a thing.

You were meant to have found your half exactly three years ago and nothing of that sort has even thought of happening. Sometimes you feel little bursts, like your half was feeling so much intense emotions that it filtered through the cracks into your side. But nothing to write home about. It leaves you with a lingering sense of hoping for something… more.

Maybe it's because you're not paying attention — after all, you're too busy lamenting on your disproportionate life — that you don't notice the chime of the bell as the café door is pulled open. You don't notice the swells of oohs and ahhs that erupt from the shops teenage companions like they've witnessed the second coming of a god, or better yet some YouStreamer.

You do not notice the slow, creeping feeling of madness that is seeping into your bones. No, you could never notice that when it feels one and a part of you. You don't notice anything really, not until a voice above you lets out a sound of admiration and awe all laced into one exhale.

"Oh," the voice says. "That's a good book."

Your body isn't made to be twisted around but you do it anyway. Testing the limits of how far it will go. And when you crash into deep, soulful brown eyes that look to you like they hold all of the world's greatest mysteries, you freeze. And even though you know time is a theoretical construct and there's no way to actually stop the passing of it, you believe that in this tiny secluded café, time with all its boundaries, halts.

Academically, you know this isn't true. The world still turns, and as much as you wish it, it does not revolve around you. The snow still falls softly to the ground outside, the graceful music pumping through the coffeeshop's stereo is still playing. Nothing truly stops, but something inside of you does.

It takes all you can give to break forth from the haze cast upon you to speak. Speak, dammit! But you're in awe, mesmerized by a sight you've never sensed so well before. You've met countless people, some conventionally attractive, others more idiosyncratically beautiful but none have made you feel like this.

Taehyung describes attraction as something that is either there or it is not. The books describe attraction as a feeling that can make you desire somebody. You've never felt attraction, not like this. You've felt the vague need to be intimate with another but never like this. Like you crave something – someone – you don’t even know.

The person is tall with hard, crystal cut angles and visible confidence. It's with the way he holds himself like he knows his place in the world. Like he never has to question it. It draws you in. Makes you examine him thoroughly from the tip of his fluffy black hair to the heel of his patent leather boots.

He cocks an eyebrow and for a shy of a second, you are highly embarrassed by the fact that you've spent gods-knows how many moments just ogling him. You never ogle. You've quite literally never ogled in your life… until now that is.

You clear your throat and attempt to come off as blasé. Which is hard considering the awkward positioning of your body and the rigorous pounding of your heart in its cage. "It's not a good book. It's a great one. Probably why I read it so much."

"Debating the existence of the old gods, are we?" His voice is laced intrinsically with mirth and amusement.

"More like debating the existence of my life, really."

He chuckles, a sound that fills all the jagged crevices of your soul and body. He moves and you do the same, shifting from your oddly angled position to look at him better. You don't really know how to explain it, this feeling coursing through your veins. Like you know everything there is to know about him, even though you clearly have never met him before.

You clear your throat and will your mind to stop. This is honestly atrocious, outrageous and, frankly disconcerting. It feels like some random spaz has possessed your body and is making you mewl and purr like some damn cat on the street.

"I'm Jungkook, by the way," he finally says when you find the courage to look back up at him. You respond with your name, pronouncing the syllables clear enough so that he doesn't mess it up. But he gets it. And then he tries the name aloud, twisting it around on his tongue. "It is a good day to question our existence, isn't it, __?"

You smile up at him, a different smile from the one you gave Taehyung and Eden earlier. This one comes easily, and it tilts the corners of your lips without feeling faux and fraud-like. You don't even have to try.

"Depends," you say. "Do you consider a cold as shit day in the middle of Winter to be a good day?"

The tips of his lips upturn into an uncanny lopsided grin. One that feels like he's withholding more than he lets on. "A little."

The line in front of him moves and you find yourself watching the way his body propels forward almost gracefully to order a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and extra salted caramel drizzle. It's then that you turn your head back to your table and busy yourself with fiddling with your fingers.

You feel something nudging your chest as if begging you to listen for a hiss in the wind – of a window or door being carefully opened. But you push that away. You have no idea what it means. And now, you're too busy focused with reeling your cheeks back to a substandard level of hot. You're not sure why basic communication with this dude has you channeling the same emotes as one of the schoolgirl children in the movies you watched when you were younger. You're an adult for seven heaven's sake. You are better than this!

Your cheeks and your ears do not agree. Instead, they inflame themselves hotter than ever. What is it about Jungkook that has you willing to sell a piece of your soul just to talk to him? You've never felt like this. Like nothing you say could surprise him, mind the fact that you just met him.

This time you are aware when he strides over to the seat that had Taehyung had previously occupied. You look up at him, into those deep russet eyes that hold flecks of something so beautiful and then you feel it. The magnetic pull of someone enigmatic. Someone that holds simply more. Maybe not for others, but to you.

His backpack loosens around his shoulders and his veiny hands clutch the Styrofoam cup with an ardent need as he speaks. "Would you mind if I sit here?"

Normally you would be repulsed by the question. What would ever possess someone that you don't know to act so familiar? But you don’t think as you motion for him to take it. After all, it wouldn’t feel right to just send him away. There’s a thin thread tangling and stretching between the two of you and you would be damned if you cut it on your own accord.

Jungkook finds himself lowering his body nimbly into the chair in front of you. And then you find yourself discussing more with Jungkook than you’ve spoken with anyone else in years. It feels relaxing — freeing. But also like a cruel joke from the Sun god. Here’s someone that makes you feel somewhat whole but there’s no indication that the two of you are even meant to be. How sad.

He talks as if his mind has no filters; effortlessly switching between topics. Do you play any sports? Piano is about as rigorous an exercise as you can handle and Jungkook laughs as he tells you that he’s Vice-Captain of the Baseball team, although now they’re not participating in any tournaments. The air in your lungs turns frigid when you ask if he attends the same university as you and then the air is goddamn stolen from your lungs when he responds with a yes.

“No way,” you cry. “I would have seen you on campus.”

Jungkook sends you a lazy grin. “You would’ve but I doubt you take your head out of your books often.”

You concede. “Okay… maybe a little. But still, isn’t our school defending champions or something? I’m pretty sure I’ve heard of the team doing well before, just not you in particular.”

“Ah, I get it. I’m not popular enough.” He jokes. “Perhaps I need to print out a flyer of my face and paste it around school?”

“That’d be fun. There’s no way I’d miss you then.”

He laughs, a loud sound that expands the more seconds pass. He laughs as though you’re the funniest person in the room, which you doubt. But you laugh along too.

“So, what do you do for fun?” Jungkook asks.

“Other than the obvious reading and playing the piano?” You tilt your head to the side and scratch the nape of your neck before you continue on. “Well, I’m studying Metaphysics and researching the fundamentals of soulmates. Why some find theirs and why others don’t.”

“That’s fun?”

You shrug, a small smile playing on your lips, but you refuse to apologize for your interests. “To me. I guess it just helps me understand.”

Jungkook seems to soak in your answer, his eyes drifting from your eyes to the top of your head, down to your gray turtleneck and glitzy star-shaped earrings. And you take your time to truly examine his face. How perfectly in line his nose is with the rest of his bone structure. How perfectly his jaw and cheekbones accentuate his physical beauty. And how for some reason he reminds you of what you believe the children of gods looked back when demigods were a thing. His face makes you think regal and heavenly all at once.

“What’s your theory?” Jungkook finally breaks you out of your ogle match.

“My what?”

“Theory,” he repeats. “On why some find their other half and others don’t.”

You bite your lip. Not sure if what you say might offend him. There’s no sign that he has found his soulmate or not and you don’t want to be increasingly insensitive. You do not want to hear another ‘Oh, you just don’t understand.’ Especially not out of his lips. You reckon you won’t be able to bear it. At least not today.

“It’s simple, I guess. It all boils down to has the person merited it? Earned it? The Sun god split us apart because he believed we needed to find the value in our feelings. I guess the ones without soulmates simply haven’t attained that understanding yet.”

Jungkook frowns and your heart thrusts itself into a deep panic. See, now you’ve gone and done it. This is why you hate talking, hate speaking. You ruin people’s moods (much like you do your own) without a second thought and honestly, now that you think about it. This must be why you have yet to find your one. You barely understand the emotions you do have; how can you possibly comprehend others?

After a minute or maybe three, Jungkook takes a big sip out of his drink before he focuses his attention back on you and you feel yourself burning. A light excavating through the muggy mess that is your mind.

“Have you merited it? The other half of your feelings, I mean.”

Is he asking you if you’ve found your soulmate?

“No. Not yet.”

“Oh.” Is all he says but you hear the unsaid meanings. “Personally, I think the god did something terrible by rupturing us apart. What good has it really done anyone?”

You don’t answer. Not only because you don’t have a good response but also because the topic of soulmates has you on edge already. Someone like Jungkook obviously has all his emotions and has found his half, you think. You doubt the two of you are even on the same wavelength on the matter. So, instead of answering you change the direction of the conversation to him and his collegiate baseball career.

And everything after that clusters into a ball of yeses. When he asks you for your number, when he asks you if you’ve heard of Beta Tau Sigma, and subsequently when he invites you to Beta Tau Sigma’s end of the year party later today even though you already promised Taehyung you’d be there.

Suddenly, you wonder if Jungkook and Taehyung are friends, you guess they should be since they are frat brothers, but he never mentioned his name before. So now you wonder if Taehyung has separate friendship circles for those with and without soulmates. You don’t get mad or angry at the thought. But your mood dampens anyway.

“Wanna know what I think?” Jungkook speaks up just as the two of you are packing your stuff from the table. He doesn’t wait for you to say yes; he presses on almost immediately. “There’s no time limit on soulmates. And to believe so is to believe there’s a time limit on life itself. Our whole lives we’ve been told that the old gods exist and that the old gods did this and that and blah, blah, blah. But then they tell us that if we don’t find our other half by eighteen, better yet seventeen, there’s something wrong with us?”

Jungkook laughs but there’s not a shred of sparkle in it. “Us… the people born out of the happenings of gods? Okay, riddle me this. If we are so clinically incapable of finding our soulmates, then why do we long for them anyways? Why would there be pieces of my very soul that feel so incomplete?”

You’re dumbstruck by him. And again, you feel the little tilt in the wind that sounds to your ears like someone is knocking on a door that you can't see. But this time even though you do not have an answer for him, you force yourself to spit something out.

“If I were to find my soulmate this very second, I’d believe you.”

He smiles down at you, the one where his eyes fold into deep crescent moons and again you think that he’s holding out on you. Holding onto a secret that only he knows. “Won't that be amazing.”

The day goes by without you paying attention to much else. You meet with your philosophy professor on the advancement of your thesis paper even though you have no idea what you want to base the paper on. Almost every relation between soulmates and reality has been explored and at times you find that your professor and you clash on too many issues. You grunt through the meeting, walking on thousands of eggshells before you finally head back to your apartment but once you put your feet up on the couch, you get a text from Taehyung.

TAE » Remember, you promised!!

You » ...

TAE » Don't tell me you've forgotten Beta Tau's party slash your birthday bash? You promised!!! People might start thinking I made you up L

Although you know deep in the deepest crevice of your heart that Taehyung doesn’t mean anything harmful by his statement, it makes you squeamish.

You » What's that supposed to mean? Now I'm the token soulmate-less? Bragging about all my deficiencies to your fraternity brothers that I've never met? Be my guest.

TAE » Oh fuck. You know that's not what I meant __. I'd never do that. I didn't mean for it to come off that way.

But it did.

And you’re not sure where this surge of despondency is coming from. Almost like a switch in your psyche has been flipped. Some part of you acknowledges that earlier today, you would not have read that message as anything but harmless. But the situation has changed. It’s like your body is thrumming with unshed resentment. Resentment at who? You don’t know but Taehyung seems to be on the receiving end of it.

It’s this feeling of deep antipathy that propels you into getting dressed for the damn party. Not the fact that it is your birthday, not the fact that there is a slight possibility of finding your soulmate at the wretched place. No. You get dressed because there would be free booze and people stupid enough to pick a fight with you in your current state. Well, maybe not a real fight. But there’s a thrumming in your veins and you don’t know how to curb it. You’ve never felt anything akin to it before. Oh, and maybe the small huge chance that you’ll see Jungkook again.

By the time you get to the Beta Tau Sigma house lined up on Greek Row you are quite literally ready to burst at the seams. The weather is cold as fucking shit and although it stopped lightly snowing, the breeze has you tightening your hold on your navy jacket. What is up with everyone today and being a major dick to you? First, it was your professor, and then it was your neighbor that stopped you on your way out of your apartment to pity the fact that you hadn’t found someone on your twenty-first birthday.

Fuck off, you almost screamed at her. Leave me the fuck alone and go shag your boyfriend in the back of his termite-ridden Honda!

But you’d smiled through it, bearing the stinging of your cheeks as you stretched them past your limit and fisted your palms so hard that you created crescent shapes into your flesh.

And gods, you’re tired of smiling through it. Tired of being told that you’re not allowed to feel anything other than your predisposed emotes. Exhausted with having to always be passive. Nothing is supposed to hurt you. At least not emotionally. But you feel a swelling in your chest like your heart is about ten beats away from finally asphyxiating itself.

You push through the frat house and find Taehyung almost immediately. And you watch with a hint of simmering hatred as he cracks joke after joke and his brothers and friends laugh and you feel more and more isolated between their world and yours. And then the hatred comes to a boiling point when you catch two lovebirds giggling and making out on the sofa next your foot.

You blink and blink and blink again. Coming here was a bad idea. To be surrounded so much by the one thing you desperately want but can't have. The irritation and animosity that’s been brewing within you transforms into something more solemn. Dimming itself down to a feeling of major disappointment. At yourself, at the world, at the cursed Sun god.

The second you're about to pivot the fuck out of there, a pair of eyes to the side of the room fixes on you and you are stunned into a halt.

His eyes say a thousand things at once and you hear it deep in your soul. His eyes rake over your entire body as if looking for the source of your imminent distress but when he comes up short, his pretty lips squeeze together and form words that you suddenly want to be etched onto your very being.

“You okay?”

No one – and you mean this without irony – has ever asked you that in all seriousness. Not your parents, not your friends, and certainly not you. Your parents try, you guess, they know how hard it is to not have a soulmate, but they found each other early and never had to question themselves. Never had to question the essence of their souls.

And that’s when you feel it; a quiver in your lips. You open your mouth in an attempt to say something – anything – but nothing comes out and you close it, only to repeat the motion with no improvement.

Jungkook crosses the room in long strides and before you know it, he is everywhere around you. All black. Black tee-shirt, black cargo pants, black sneakers. You didn’t realize how big he was before but now that you have, you can un-see it. Lean and lithe but strong and sturdy. A walking contradiction. Especially with the light shining from his eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He asks as he puts his hands on your shoulders and centers you.

You hate, absolutely despise, how watery your voice sounds when you say “Nothing. This party is just so lame that I’m feeling a little off.”

The both of you know how bad your lie is but for some reason, he rolls with it. “Yeah? I was thinking the same thing actually. This has to be the worst thing Tae has ever put on and to think he said it’s supposed to be a birthday party. I could do much better.”

And now you feel utterly terrible. You’d been so ready to rip Taehyung a new one, assumed his prejudice against you for what? Awful. You’re so awful as a person that of course, you haven’t earned the right to find the other half of your emotions. Of-fucking-course.

You’ve never felt so out of your own body before. Who is this impostor that has possessed you and when can you get your body and appropriate feelings back? You need it back before you completely annihilate all your relationships.

“I’m sorry. I don’t usually act like this.”

“Why are you sorry?” He seems genuinely confused.

“I… You probably wanted to have fun with your brothers and all. And here I am just – “

Jungkook squeezes your shoulders hard which forces you to raise your attention from staring at your shoes to gazing at his face. It’s a much-needed distraction from the wobble in your voice and the feeling of cotton in your throat.

“You need some fresh air?” He poses his statement as a question, but you don’t really have a choice in the matter anyway because he slides his warm fingers into yours and although you feel a momentous spark, you let him drag you through the house.

Taehyung notices you then and begins to rush towards you. Perhaps he’s glad that you still came out tonight even though you had a fight with him earlier. Perhaps he’s relieved that you don’t utterly hate him. But you attempt to give him a watery smile that is both apologetic and reassuring, but his eyes fly down to you and Jungkook’s conjoined hands and he pauses.

And it’s not the smile he usually gives you. No. This one closely resembles the ones he reserves for Eden. Like maybe you’ve found your sanctuary. Maybe you’ve come to finally understand.

You scoff at the thought just as Jungkook snatches two Margarita cans from a cooler and pulls you up the stairs and through a hallway that leads to a balcony. When you're outside, he motions for you to take a seat on one of few white benches. Without saying a word, he passes a can to you. You clasp the cold drink between your fingers and revel in the iciness sipping through your flesh.

You've never experienced this feeling of tranquility meshed with a creeping sense of foolhardiness with another person in your life. And you're struggling with how to process it.

“Wanna talk about it?” Jungkook finally breaks the silence, sitting right beside you. The warmth emanating from his body warms you down to your toes and you revel in it.

No. Yes. Fuck. “I don’t know. I’m just being stupid, and it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“I know you're not stupid and it does matter. It matters a lot.”

Great, you think. One more person in the grand universe that you're destined to disappoint. You sigh and stare out at the starless sky. You always hold your feelings in check and rigorously work to not let the few emotions you do have to get the best of you. To not cloud your judgment. But during the course of this whole day, you’ve felt like you're on a ledge. On the precipice between falling and drowning. Like your mind is waging a war against itself.

You are not a crybaby. But even as you think this, you feel wetness at your eyeballs and a stinging in your cheeks, and you blink and blink to try and push it away. But it feels like your body is burning with never before experienced sensations and it scares you. You open your mouth and the choking feeling from before returns, it muddles everything else and you panic. You refuse to cry in front of Jungkook. Not now when you feel so downright weak.

“P-pieces of my –” Against your will your voice cracks. “Pieces of my very soul are so incomplete.”

The corners of your eyes fill up more with tears that you desperately do not want to shed. And it takes everything in you to not raise your hand to swipe the madness away.

Stop! Stop, goddammit! Stop this very instant! You’re above this. Better than this. You didn’t cry when the doctor told you that there was nothing biologically wrong with you, you didn’t cry when your group friends slowly diminished as they found oneness with their partners and others more attuned to them. You didn't cry then, so why are you on the verge of it now of all times and days?

And even though you're trying your damn hardest to not have a full-on breakdown, you feel your body heave and then sniffle. Gods this is so embarrassing. You turn your face away from the sky and instead focus it on the cold can in between your fingers.

You pushed away your feelings until they were stuffed in the darkest parts of your mind and now it seems, they are breaking out without a care in the world about the consequences.

“Remember I told you that my theory has to do with some of us earning the privilege of someone else? I haven't earned it. Heck, I haven't earned anything. I'm passive. I try not to be but investing myself into others has never worked in my favor. All the emotions I do have feel so negative that when I'm around people I can't help but not connect. Because I don't understand half of what they are saying or feeling, and I hate it. I hate it so much.”

You're a piece of work, __, your ex-partners had said. You've dated around before; scavenging for love in uncanny, dim places with people destined to be with others until they finally realized that you were not theirs.

Because everyone eventually did. Realize the oddity of not being empathic. There's something defective about you. You can't seem to find anyone willing to be around you for two weeks talk less of forever. But everyone you'd been with magically happened to find theirs. The stars seem to gravitate away from you like you exude such a power that is so repulsive.

And it hurts. It hurts so fucking much. Like hot coal sliding down your spine and marring flesh. But you can't stop your mouth from speaking, the words tearing the edges of your lips with each choked up sound you exhale. "A part of me doesn't care if I don't have a soulmate, I mean, my life shouldn't be dictated by whether or not I have someone tied to my arm. But the other half of me desperately wants it. I get this ridiculous chasm of sadness when I think about every emotion that I can't experience because I'm not worth it. I've never been worth it."

Your throat is burning. Your eyes are burning. Every part of your body is aching madly but Jungkook doesn't say a thing. Your chest begins the act of carving in on itself and if you didn't know any better you would reckon that your heart is cracking into two halves.

Gods, this is pathetic. You feel so pathetic. All your life you've never felt like the world had conspired against you until this very moment. Like the Sun god had taken a special hatred on you and dumped all these folds of resentment into your soul. You wanted to claw it out.

And for some reason you will never understand, you keep going. As if the cracking of your voice and the upheaval of your shoulders wasn't enough, actual tears started to slip and slide down your cheeks.

“Why the fuck does our society bank on soulmates anyways? What's so great about them that everyone acts like if you don't have one you've been done a great disservice? Why me?" A whole bunch of unfiltered anger bursts inside you and propels you from the bench and a graver sniff infiltrates your voice. "Seven billion people on Earth V12 and you would think that I would be able to find someone in this mess of a world but no. I've wasted twenty-one years of my life without knowing anything. Without feeling anything. I can't do it anymore. I don't want to do it anymore. I want to feel something. Anything. I'm tired of being like –”

Oh, seven hells, you feel like you are dying. Decomposing to dust on the balcony of a fraternity house in the middle of winter in your favorite jeans and so-so high-tops.

It feels like every section of your body is withering away. Rotting. Falling apart and there's nothing you can do to stop the trajectory. Tears pool beneath your chin before they cascade into the neck of your shirt. Your lips quiver so badly you're afraid they might never be the same. If this is what sorrow feels like you hope you never experience it again. It makes you feel gutted.

Your vision becomes so blurry that you can barely make out the dark sky in front of you. Can barely even think. And try as you might, the tears just keep rolling.

You’re not sure of when Jungkook stands up but you feel him wrap his arms around you – tentatively, all-encompassing and fully, and rest his chin on the side of your head. He doesn’t say a word, and maybe it’s because he doesn’t need to. You feel him. The budge on the window sill that leads to your soul. You feel him there. But you want him to let go. There are certain things you acutely feel like you do not deserve, and he is one of them.

“Let me go,” your voice sounds like two trains grinding against each other and it makes you pull away from his embrace. But Jungkook’s arms stretch around your torso.

“No.” Is the soft reply that weighs on your ears. His body is warmer than you want it to be because it's making you feel at home.

“I –”

“It’s okay. You can let it out.” In some kind of way, he feels even closer than before. Like he's impressing himself into your lungs. Like he's giving you the very air that you so desperately need to breathe. Like he's forcing you to bloom and he doesn't care if he has to be the one that solely weeds away at all the nonsensicalities in your chest to make sure it happens.

And maybe some part of him just knows that a part of you is desperate to run away from the unknown because he hugs you harder, tighter, and firmer. So much so that now you can't breathe for different reasons. You don’t know what to do so you let him.

“You don’t need to prove your worth to anyone. Not me, not the gods… no one. And –” You make a move to interrupt him but Jungkook cuts himself off. “Do you feel it?” He asks with his torso pressed against yours and your heart syncing along with his.

“Feel what?” You croak out.

“I can't explain it, that’s why I need you to feel it. It’s every around us you have to, I don’t know, listen.”

You don’t want to, but you do it. You squeeze your eyes shut and wrap your fingers around the Jungkook’s shirt and wait. You wait for the madness in your mind to calm down. You wait for the apprehension in your heart to subside. But nothing happens and you feel worse than before.

“Jungkook,” you start.

“Don’t.” You swear you hear a slight tear in his voice. “Just listen.”

Listen, he says, but what are you even listening for? Here you are, miserable than ever and being told to listen. To the universe? Or listen for that goddamn hiss in the wind again? But all you hear is the sniffles that your chest is releasing and the slight exhale of Jungkook’s hot breath against your cheek. And you don’t know how to explain it. But it is then when you are doubtful and least expect to hear – talk less of feeling anything, that you identify it.

And it’s a beautiful thing. Like two halves of a comet melding into each other to crest a dynamic explosion into your very being. Something that lifts the burden weighing down on your heart and helps you to finally breathe. Breathing in through your nose feels better. Feels easier.

The thread you’d felt before in your mind that had been so tangled and messed up that you could barely discern what it was suddenly fizzled, expanded and stretched out and when you feel for the force at the other end of the cord and come in contact with an aura that reminds you so much of the person in front of you, you are shocked. Better yet, surprised.

You don’t know to explain it. Heck, you’ve never experienced such a colorful array of emotions in your life that for a minute or maybe three, it leaves you dazed and disoriented. It feels like your body is in a vacuum and is receiving dangerous sensations at the speed of light.

It’s burning. Oh, how it's burning. It’s burning through every fiber of your existence but unlike before, this burn doesn’t make you want to choke up and die. Instead, it revitalizes you.

“Do you feel it?” Jungkook asks again.

This time you have an answer that you don’t have to scour for.

“I feel it. I feel it so much. I feel it everywhere. I –” you don’t know whether to cry even harder or laugh at the oddity of the situation and that leaves you in an awkward limbo of both. “Oh, gods. It’s you.”

All the haphazard sensations you’ve been feeling all day. The anger – no lividness –at your neighbor, the overwhelming sadness, the uncharted pettiness at Taehyung with a bare minimum reason to be. It all finally starts to make sense. Everything – or at least, all of that – happened after you’d met him. After you’d been exposed to someone akin to a livewire.

This is nothing like the books said. You’d gone your whole life thinking, believing, that when you met your other half, you’d instantaneously know. Like the skies would crack open and some kind of bell would resound. Now you realize how ridiculously absurd that would be, but it had made sense at the time.

Words lose their meaning in an effort to explain what you feel. Your body is being put back together again. Pieces that you hadn’t realized were even missing suddenly fit into each other. You welcome the tingling in your veins and instead of ignoring the sparks igniting beneath your bones, you embrace it. And oh, it is magnificent.

In this loud, beer-infested fraternity house with slovenly college students pushing against each other downstairs and on the day you turn a striking twenty-one, you find someone that the history and biology and mythology books could have never predicted.

Jungkook’s voice is much softer than before. Is that possible? But it is. And he holds you tighter, holding you like you’re unbreakable.

“To me, you're the moon, the sun – the whole fucking galaxy. I’ve always known you existed, and I’ve waited to find you for a long time. I carried your half with me for so long, how could I not? In the depths of my mind and when I really concentrated about it, I could feel you. Somewhere close but sometimes distant. I held out for you… always. So, you’ll forever be worth it. And you don’t need to earn me, you already have me. You’ve always had me.”

The stain of his words etches itself onto your soul and becomes a part and parcel of you. They quiet the chatter of your heart and bring subliminal teardrops to the crooks of your eyes but this time you don’t mind it. How could you ever mind it?

“So, you’ve always known then?” You don’t sniffle or sob and your voice doesn’t pathetically crack. Instead, you maneuver your face away from his chest so you can see his eyes. In the process, your bodies disentangle and you miss his warmth but this is really happening. And you’re desperate.

He smiles. It's blinding in its glory and it blitzes straight into your core. “Always. It's destiny; you and me.”

You and him. Him and you. You like the sound of that.

“Even though we had to wait for so long.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes like he’s tired of you thinking about time as some enormous continuum rather than the now. “We have the rest of our lives to be together. I don’t think knowing you a bit earlier would change that. It is what it is. And even if I had to wait five years, fuck, even ten. I wouldn’t give up. Not on you, __. Not on my other half.” He spits the last words out so vehemently you don’t have the audacity to doubt it. “What we have is more sacred than anything in the world. I’d be stupid to let that go without trying.”

“You’re not stupid.”

“And you’re not unloved by anyone in this world so stop thinking that.”

“I was not –”

He sends you an exasperated look, one that you immediately identify because the bond the two of you have defies all logic. One that says that he knows you. He knows that the tears that sprung to your eyes earlier were not simply because you were overwhelmed by everything in the universe but also because you felt like you had lucked out of the love train. Watching your friends find havens with their other halves and seeing that couple giggle on the couch like it was the end of high school all over again, it made you feel desolate. And Jungkook felt that. Somehow in some way, he knew.

“I love you. I’ve only met you and I know that much. So, what about your friends? Your family? They love you too albeit in different ways than what I'm feeling. But no matter how much the Sun god split us apart, I, you – we – have always known that we were made for each other. So, yes. I love you.”

You’re pretty sure your mind all but blows up into a tiny clusterfuck of a mass because you can’t even hear what Jungkook says next. You’re hyper fixated on what he had just said. He loves you? How does he even know that? What was this? Had your brain and ears finally imploded on themselves? Was this alternate reality?

“Do you need me to repeat it?”

What? Huh? What?

“I don’t know what to call it. Maybe love at first sight?” He carries on like you’re not having a self-induced heart attack right before his eyes. “Never believed in that before but then I saw you and gods, you’re the most beautiful person I've ever seen in my life. I sure hope when you saw me it was the same because I have no idea how to describe what you do to me.”

But you understand what he’s saying because you did feel it. You felt so much when you first looked at him and you still feel it now.

“Like everything suddenly made sense. The whole craze about finding soulmates finally made fucking sense. I finally understood.”

You blink and blink so fast that you fear your eyelids might not keep up with the action. You never thought your other half would be a huge, spectacular talker and that they would know just how to steal the breath from your lungs away. But Jungkook knows. You're finding a lot of new things this night and one of them is that Jungkook is a hopeful romantic. It almost makes your body bring on another set of waterworks.

“I love you.” He says the soul-breaking words again. “And I already know that love is malleable but what I feel in my bones is for forever.”

In your bones, transformed out of what had laid dormant you felt Love. All around you love. Like you could mess up, you could do the oddest thing in the universe and the love would still be there. You want to shout it out. For the first time in your little life, you feel love and you want it always. And you want to give it always.

And you don’t know how you know but you know that he’s about to kiss you. Oh, gods. He’s about to kiss you right after –

“I love you too.” You hurl out fast enough and it slows down Jungkook’s advancement towards you. “And I have no idea what I'm doing but I'll do it with you. I don’t trust just anyone but what we have is bigger than trust. Like you said, it’s life itself.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I would wait forever for you too.”

“I know,” he says and you don’t run away when he steps closer to your body. And his fingers reach for a set of yours. You raise your free hand to his chest and feel the rapid, erratic beating of his heart in its cage.

“And I've never done this before. But I'll do my best I –”

“We don’t graded,” he cuts you off with a laugh. “And I know.”

He knows.

His free hand cups your cheek and you almost hyperventilate. Almost. But you’d rather die than miss this. So, you take deep, long breaths that inflate your system with the mix of sandalwood, earth, and hope. And then his lips press onto yours and give you a happy death. His lips crush yours with a force reserved for rocks and specks of dust breaking away from comets. His kiss wakes you up. And you love it.

Before you can even push further, his lips move to the side of your cheek, barely-there before it cascades to the other. And then his mouth is on your brow bone, a light presence that feels heavenly beautiful and nerve-wracking all at once before his lips rest on the middle of your forehead.

Jungkook’s lips came back to yours and kissed one corner of your mouth and then the other. Oh, seven hells, you can’t think. You don’t want to either. Instead, you open your mouth and kiss him back with more fervor. You lithely raise on your toes and kiss the apples of his cheeks, his temples, his brow bones, beneath his lips and right on his chin. Gods, it feels like you kiss him everywhere.

The hand on his chest feels how frenzied his heart is pounding and it makes you smile because you’re sure your heart is doing the same. You close your eyes and wrap your arms around his neck. You don’t need to say anything in this moment because what needs to be said is all around you and under your skin. He reached forward and kissed you again. This time harder, and more frivolous and you gave and gave and took and took. And when the two of you finally break apart for air, you feel a tingle of cosmic goodness down your limbs.

Fuck.

He grins, actually no, he does more than that. He momentarily lights up like a firetruck and pulls you impossibly closer. And you think he has the most beautiful smile in the universe. You want to keep that on his face forever.

“You’re worth it,” you tell him, breathless.

“Worth what?” He asks smugly, his smile turning cocky as he acts like he doesn’t know.

You roll your eyes, your shoulders shaking as you laugh. A genuine one that warms your belly. “Worth the wait.”

a/n » hooo my god, this is the first thing i’ve written in about a year? and it feels so good to write and even better to pour my soul into this soulmate au. i really hope y’all loved it!! and please do tell me what you think!

⇢ masterlist

©️ 2019 kai, moonbelt [aka high-on-food]

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mileycyprus-hill · 5 years

Text

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The time has drawn closer to the end of your term, as Dr. Birner calls it. You ride to his office with Arthur driving the wagon, since it has become too difficult to ride a horse in your condition.

During your ride, you struggle to rid your thoughts of the last conversation with Dutch. The excitement of a new member born into the gang had worn off the moment Dutch called you and Arthur to his tent.

The mood was bleak when you both entered the privacy of Dutch’s spacious and ornate little home. The pair of you sat on Dutch’s cot, awaiting his arrival after he asked to meet you there. The sound of his boots against the wooden planks of his floor nearly made you jump with each looming stride. Arthur may not have known why Dutch called you both there, but you already had a suspicion.

Dutch sat himself in front of you both, leaning forward, resting his forearms on his knees. He was always a hard man to read, that Dutch. Years of living on the streets as a wanted criminal has blessed him with the gift of manipulation. He’s not a bad man, as he’s always treated you with kindness and respect. Unlike many other men in this country, he has never raised a hand to you. For too long, you had lived under the tight fist of a hateful father and the burning stare of a distant mother.

But Dutch? He has always treated you like you were his precious daughter, giving you support when you needed it and independence when you wanted it. When you came across him and Hosea in the open country years ago, you quickly realized they were the first men you could trust. However, the older you became the more you realized you still don’t truly know Dutch yet. Perhaps you never will know the real Dutch, but only an impression of him.

“You know why I called you both in here?” Dutch asked, slowly moving his gaze between the pair of you.

Instinctively, you laid a hand on your belly. It seemed the baby inside you sensed your worry and began to wriggle in the womb. It had grown so large now that you can barely carry its weight. The most miniscule tasks became difficult, even breathing.

Arthur sensed your worry next to you and answered, “If this is about us and...the baby, believe us,” Arthur leaned forward on his elbows, mimicking Dutch’s posture, “We can handle it.”

“You think you can handle bein’ on the run with an infant child in your arms?” Dutch asked, “Will you raise it as an outlaw? Teach it the life of a bandit? Robbing...and scamming people for money? Running from the law? Killing?”

You both sat confused. Dutch just described how he had raised you both, and now he believes you can’t do the same?

Why? Was the life of an outlaw finally wearing down on him? Was he looking for a way out for your unborn child? To prevent it from being subjected to a life of violence and mayhem? Clearly, there was much more you and Arthur had experienced with this ‘family’. It’s not all robbing and killing. Looking over to Arthur, you could see him focusing.

Arthur responded with uncertainty, “But Dutch, you was the one that told us that there’s more to life than just money. And we don’t kill people who don’t deserve killin’.” He continued, “You always said we’re a family. We help those who can’t help themselves. That’s what you and Hosea taught us.”

Dutch only hummed in response, as Arthur was right. The gang only takes what they need to survive, to live comfortably away from civilization. Anything left over from scores, they give to those less fortunate than them.

You watch him ponder for a moment while he hesitates to speak, thinking of his words before articulating them.

Finally Dutch states, “I’m only thinking about what’s best for your little one,” he points to your rounded stomach. “Having a child is a big responsibility. The moment it arrives, your life will change dramatically. Can you give it what it needs, hmm?”

He raises a brow at you, gesturing with his open hands, “Will you be there for it when it needs you?”

Hand still pressed on your stomach, you tightly gripped the cloth of your skirt at his words. They made your chest constrict from their impact, like the sudden blare of a horn from a passing train. They shook you to your bones.

He continued talking, bringing an odd positivity to the conversation, “Y’know, there’s plenty of people out there who can’t have children of their own. And they would be more than happy to give it a proper home.” Dutch reaches to the drawer of his end table and pulls out a fresh cigar, pointing to the outside of the tent with one end. “You have to think about what’s best for the gang. We need you two now more than ever.”

He lit the cigar that was now clenched between his lips, “We can’t afford any slip-ups.”

Slip-ups?

Dutch holds up his hands, palms facing you, “Now I ain’t askin’ you to make a decision right now...but soon you’ll have to. Just think about it. Hosea and I both agree this is the best option.”

Now Arthur is the one with white knuckles, balling his fingers into a tight fist. He’s so confused and his mind is running with a hundred questions. Hosea agreed to this idea? How? Arthur wonders. How can Hosea completely change his mind? After all those things he said to Arthur?

Perhaps Hosea realized how hard it would be on both of you. Life was hard for him and Bessie, and even harder now that she’s gone.

Now Arthur is left with no idea on what to do. His guidance appears to have been split.

————

Dutch’s words still lingered in your ears long after that meeting. On the steady ride to Dr. Birner’s office, you both pondered over his words. What could he have possibly meant by what he said? Could he not trust you two to raise a child? Was he worried you’d leave the gang? Would you slow them down?

You must admit, as much as you didn’t want this pregnancy, the thought had never crossed your mind to give it up. Everybody back home seemed so accepting of the idea of a baby, including Arthur. He appeared to warm up to the thought of being a father. The first few months were rough, though. You’d wake up early in the morning to the sound of him hastily chopping wood, or stacking hay bales in an angry manner. He was tense. One day he was cleaning his rifle and you thought for sure he’d bend the barrel when he forced the pieces back in place. A piece had gotten jammed and his temper was flaring. Frustrated, he slammed the gun on the table and stormed off, hissing out curses along the way while you calmly walked over and put it back together for him. Things had gotten better the further your pregnancy went along. Arthur had calmed down and eventually asked that your tent be moved next to his, just in case. For the first time in months, you felt happy and he seemed at ease.

But now, the sense of impeding doom was seeping back into your heart. You’re left anxious and undecided as you make your way inside the doctor’s office.

The routine inspection goes quickly and without issue in Dr. Birner’s office. As it draws to a close, Dr. Birner turns to you from the sink in his examination room. He wipes his pale hands dry and continues to fiddle nervously with the damp towel.

“So, what are your plans for the child?” he asks hesitantly.

Tucking your oversized shirt into your trousers, you ask, “What do you mean?” noticing the uncertainty in both his eyes and Christine’s.

He answers, stumbling upon his words, “I mean...uh,” he pauses until he manages to gather his thoughts, now scratching the top of his head. “Do you both...intend on raising the child yourself or...?” He waits for you to finish the sentence for him.

Furrowing your brow, you look to Arthur who appears to be just as confused as you.

You ask, “You mean, give it up?”

Dr. Birner answers with a tense sigh, “Yes. Now, I know it’s a big decision, but I--I mean--we wanted to let you consider the option of...” He looks over to Christine. She sits calmly in her chair near him, waiting for him to finish.

You follow his gaze over to Christine, who’s reached across to hold her husband’s hand. His once always calm demeanor has changed, as if he’s afraid to ask you this question. Christine’s soft voice chimes in to finish what he struggles to say.

“We’re willing to adopt your child. Should you decide.” she says.

Stunned at this offer, you now find yourself stuttering and stammering, struggling on what to say. Arthur’s hands suddenly find yours and holds you gently.

Arthur speaks, “We uh--ahem,” he coughs, “We appreciate the offer, miss. But uh...”

“It’s a lot to ask of you, we know.” Dr. Birner interrupts, a palm raised in capitulation. “We know that having a child can be tough, and many people find themselves unable to provide them with the support they need...We just wanted you to know that we are more than willing to welcome your child into our home. To raise it, and love it as our own. Should you find yourselves unable to.”

Your heart pangs at their charitable gesture, knowing how they’ve suffered heartbreak numerous times times from lost opportunities. You feel this world has been far too cruel to them: to deny an honorable couple the one thing they truly desire, something others would view as simply a burden. And now, here’s an opportunity for you to grant their wish.

But can you give it to them?

Breaking the tight seal of your lips, you tell them, “Thank you. Thank you both.” A deep, painful breath fills your chest and you answer, “We’ll let you know when we make a decision.”

You’re met with synchronized nods of understanding and the room is left in an awkward silence. You desperately want to leave the room as quickly as possible.

Deep down in your heart you know you can’t give up your baby that easily, as much of a surprise it’s been these past several months. As much as you’ve cried yourself to sleep every night, you can’t possibly bring yourself to do it.

Arthur silently walks beside you as you make your way back to the wagon, both of you weighing your options. The slow ride back to camp was eerily quiet. The only sounds comes from the creak of the wagon wheels and the horses huffing. A growing tension wedges itself between you two. The dry leather of the reins in Arthur’s hands become soft and saturated with the sweat of his palms as he grips them tightly. He waits, pondering on what to say. He’s afraid he’ll say something wrong.

A nervous cough breaks the silence next to you, “Y’know...They might be right.” Arthur tells you, stopping the wagon at the edge of camp. The top of Dutch’s tent is in view; always the tallest shelter out of the rest. Like a church steeple in the center of town, no one would dare exceed its height of authority.

“About what?” you ask, wrapping the shawl around you tighter. You don’t feel cold, just...vulnerable.

Arthur cocks his head at your feigned ignorance, knowing full well what he means.

“About us raising the baby,” he answers. “Think about it. Are we really fit to raise a child?”

Your heart rate rises at Arthur’s sudden change in attitude. It appears that Dutch could really change Arthur’s way of thinking if he wanted to. It was effortless for him to do. And now with an eligible couple in the equation, the solution for him is simple.

“But...we got the gang to help us out,” you implore.

“We’re outlaws, (Y/N),” he interjects. “This kind of life ain’t right for a baby. Do you really think the gang would help? This is a chance for us to make things right.”

Make things right? you wonder. Or a chance for him to be free, should a certain someone come calling?

First Dutch, then the Birners, now Arthur. You feel as if everyone is pitting themselves against you. The safety net beneath you is beginning to fray and snap, leaving an open pit below, and now you’re being pushed further and further to the edge with no one to grab you from falling.

The familiar panic in your heart has returned, gripping it tightly as it beats frantically. Your mind races to come up with a solution but alas, you cannot. The panic is now paired with anger that seeps from your heart into your lungs. That familiar feeling that you haven’t felt in so long has come back.

Betrayal. You haven’t felt that way since you were left by your parents. Sent to live with your grandmother all alone, an old woman who could barely take care of herself. You were left all alone when she died. Left with no money to pay for a plot in the church cemetery. Left to drag her to the hole you dug in the pasture, with only the help of a sympathetic altar boy. Left all alone to wandering bandits and misfits who came across that lonely house.

“I dunno, Arthur.” You reply meekly. You can’t help but feel betrayed by his words, shocked by his new attitude towards the growing baby within you. It wasn’t long ago he gave you those words of comfort: that things would be alright, he’ll be there by your side, you’ll both make it work.

Empty promises, I guess. You think to yourself.

The familiar sting in your eyes return as tears begin to swell. A sharp breath escapes you, making it difficult to keep your composure as your muscles tremble violently.

His heavy hand rests on your shoulder, but you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Your voice cracks in a mix of sorrow and regret.

“I can’t do it,” you whisper, staring down at your feet.

“Yes you can,” he says. “Think about the life it can have. Think about what the Birners can give it that we can’t.”

The aged wood creaks beneath Arthur as he shuffles in his seat. He continues, “Dutch is right. We won’t always be there for it when it’ll need us...it ain’t fair.”

The heat of anger is boiling within you now, and you cannot hold yourself back.

“Oh, ain’t fair?” You ask bitterly, your is jaw clenched so tightly your teeth could crack. “You wanna tell me about fair? Huh?” The voice of reason trying to hold back your fury is gone, and the venom spews out of you like an angry snake.

“Was it fair when I was left alone to rot in that old house? Was it fair when I had to kill that stranger who came in to take me for his whore? When I had to run with nowhere to go? I was a child, Arthur. Was that fair?” You spit.

That is why you can’t bring yourself to abandon your child. You refuse to do the same as your parents did: drop you off as someone else’s responsibility because of the inconvenience. You didn’t want it to be left all alone like you.

The bile of your words had spilled and there was no turning back. Fueled with outrage, you continued to let the running train fly on the tracks.

“Was it fair when I fell in love with you? Only to watch you run after someone else’s heart? Was it fair to run and find you after you’d leave every fight with Mary? Was it fair when I had to tell her myself that you were sorry? To be the damn mediator between you? Was it fair when I stayed to pick up the pieces after she broke your heart, after you had broken mine?”

The speeding train is nearing a sharp corner, and there’s no one around to slow it down.

“Was it fair when I finally got what I wanted, I ended up with this?” You snarl, gesturing to your stomach with both hands.

The train has derailed. The heat flushed to your cheeks, red as the hot coals that fueled the steaming locomotive. Your glassy eyes stare at him with blurry vision, but you refuse to blink away until he speaks. The words you spewed were so harsh, it hurt you to say them.

His hand on your shoulder drops to his lap and the muscles of his jaw twitch as he tries to hold his tongue.

“You forget I was alone too,” Arthur responds plainly, attempting to hide the wound you opened in him, and he steps off the wagon. You’re left there on that high perch of the wagon seat, watching him walk the rest of the way to camp. He turns to his horse, unsaddled, and readies her to leave.

The dust and flames of the derailment settles around you, but the hot coals still burn. You were speaking in such anger that you had essentially blacked out in your hot fury.

What just happened?

Left alone again, the sobs sputter out of you. You sit with your head in your hands, sobbing uncontrollably. Afraid and alone, the feeling of dread washes over you and you can’t shake it off. Arthur refuses to look back at you while he mounts his horse and rides out of camp, his chest constricting.

Both of you are afraid, and neither of you know what’s the right thing to do.

————

I ran away like a coward, again. Only this time, I really am afraid.

(Y/N) and I got into a fight. Lot like the fights me and Mary would get into.

I still miss her. Guess I always will. But now I feel my heart is torn in two. Mary holds one while (Y/N) holds the other. I never thought I’d feel love again after what happened with me and Mary.

But (Y/N) told me she loved me and now I’m afraid. More afraid now than 9 months ago when she told me she was pregnant. More afraid than knowing the baby’s gonna come any moment. What am I gonna do? Will I screw it up again like I did with Mary?

Do I love her? Guess I always have, in a way. I just don’t want our baby to end up like us.

Our baby.

I don’t want to lose it, but I know Thomas and Christine will give it a much better home than we ever could. I hope (Y/N) can see that.

It had been a few days since you’ve seen Arthur leave. It was common for him to run off from camp to stew and fester on his own. It happened quite a bit when he’d fight with you, John, or even Mary. But this time you felt you truly hurt him.

You stand at the food supply wagon mindlessly chopping vegetables. While Grimshaw ordered you to stay on bed rest until the child comes, sitting around and waiting has made you stir-crazy. You didn’t want to be left alone to your thoughts. So, you decide to busy your anxious mind by doing the most mundane of tasks.

Your shoes lay abandoned on the ground nearby and you stand barefoot on the soft, dry grass. Your feet had become so swollen, that wearing your boots had become quite too painful. Walking barefoot gave you the slight relief you needed.

That relief was short lived due to the sudden wetness you feel trickle down your legs.

Good god, am I peeing myself? You wonder. The book Grimshaw gave you did warn you about bladder leakage. But this didn’t feel like a leak, it felt as if your bladder burst.

But that’s strange, it didn’t feel like you had to pee. This felt...

Oh no.

Your underthings are now soaked and you stand there, dumbfounded with a knife in your hand. You don’t even notice John walking towards you. He saw your vacant expression and wondered if you were alright, considering you’re standing there gripping the blade handle tightly as if you’re possessed.

He leans to one side, examining you just beyond arm’s length.

“(Y/N)? You alright?” John asks.

Your mind grows blank and your lips move involuntarily, “Get Miss Grimshaw.”

————————

“Arthur!” John’s voice calls through the trees. Birds fly above the branches into the sky and squirrels run up to the safety of the trees, all avoiding his thunderous yell.

A large buck in the clearing jerks its head up in response, followed by his brood of does behind him. The herd of deer quickly turn and prance away as John’s horse rumbles through the woods in search of Arthur.

“Dammit,” Arthur hisses, lowering his rifle from behind a tree. “What, Marston?” He yells behind him, ready to give him an earful on how long it took him to stalk that buck.

John abruptly slides his horse to a stop when he finds him, both he and his steed pant heavily.

“It’s (Y/N),” John answers. “Arthur, it’s happening.”

Arthur’s eyes grow wide and dart across John’s face nervously, “What?”

He knows what John is insinuating, but he has to know for sure that it’s time.

“Didn’t you hear me?!” John shouts, “It’s happening! Dutch, Hosea, and Grimshaw are takin’ her to the doctor’s place. Everyone else is waitin’ at camp. Dutch sent me to fetch you.”

“Shit,” Arthur curses, looking around for his own horse. Despite his shrill whistles, his horse is nowhere to be seen.

“C’mon, Arthur. We ain’t got time!” John beckons, reaching a hand out to help him onto his horse.

———————-

“Breathe, honey. Breathe,” Miss Grimshaw soothes you in the back of the covered wagon. You lay on top layers of soft blankets and pillows to comfort you on the ride to the doctor’s. The contractions come by surprise every ten minutes, and you struggle to breathe through the pain.

You hear Dutch speak in Hosea’s ear, “I just don’t think it’s safe for her to be traveling like this. She should have stayed in camp.”

Before you can speak up, Miss Grimshaw shouts from above your head, “Do you wanna deliver this baby, Dutch?! ‘Cause I have just as much experience in this as you do!”

They never ceased to argue from the moment you all had left. Dutch was too worried to let you move, while Miss Grimshaw implored that you needed to see a real doctor to help with the delivery. Poor Hosea was stuck in the middle while you whined in pain, helpless.

Since the first contraction started, you were in a daze. You hardly remember sliding off the back of the wagon, or walking through the front doors of the office, or Dr. Birner and Christine leading you up the stairs to the large bedroom on the upper floor.

You’re laying there on the soft, goose-feather bed, following their orders and breathing through each head-splitting contraction. It was a pain you had never felt before. Sweat was beading down your forehead, occasionally dabbed away by a damp, cool cloth.

It was agonizing. How long could you endure this? Dr. Birner stood at the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on his watch to time your contractions. Each one felt like it lasted longer than the other. You felt them everywhere: an electric shock from your lower back, down your thighs, and circling back up towards your stomach.

Only a few minutes would pass until another contraction would arise. It felt endless.

Dr. Birner clasps his pocket watch shut and leans down close to you, his wife Christine dabbing your forehead with the cloth.

“Now, (Y/N),” he says gently, “When you feel the need to push...you push. Ok?”

This can’t be happening, you think to yourself.

“I can’t.” You cry. “No, no, no. I can’t do it.”

“Yes, you can. Trust me, dear. Breathe...and push.” Dr. Birner replies.

—————

John’s horse gallops as fast as her short legs can carry her. Oh, how Arthur wished he had taken your horse König with him instead. That magnificent thoroughbred could tear through the topography of the land and make it to town in record speed. But alas, he sits behind John on this little mare as it huffs and puffs along, trying its best to carry this weight and sprint across rocky creeks and leap over dead trees.

The horse barely slows as Arthur makes a desperate jump to the front door. He bursts through, nearly shattering the glass window as the door slams against the wall. He’s greeted with fearful looks from Hosea and Dutch, who sit and wait.

“Where is she?” Arthur asks, his chest heaving and skin covered in dust and sweat.

Neither of them answer. Hosea points a finger towards the stairs to Arthur’s right. A sudden scream of agony follows from above the ceiling. Without a word, Arthur bounds up the stairs, stopping at the oak wood door which shuts him out. Another louder scream cuts from behind the door, then suddenly a hushed silence. With heavy breaths, Arthur presses his ear to the door. He can’t make anything out. He hears frantic words from familiar voices, and an agonizing silence.

————

Dr. Birner grasps at the front of your knee and orders you to stop pushing, “Hold on, (Y/N).”

He examines and realizes something’s wrong. He orders Christine next to him and they feel your lower stomach. You feel a hard pain in your lower ribs, the pressure builds up as they massage around the area.

“The baby’s breech,” Dr. Birner states quietly, “We have to move it.”

Oblivious to what he means, you cry meekly, “W-what does that mean? Breech?”

“It means your baby’s upside down, and we need to move it before it comes out,” he replies, nodding to Christine. She answers with an identical nod and moves her hands to your belly.

With an unwavering focus, Christine massages your belly. Her pressure is so deep it’s borderline painful and you struggle to hold back a wail.

————

Arthur paces from outside the door, the heel of his boots quietly thumping against the floor. Another agonizing scream breaks the silence and echoes from inside the bedroom. He jumps in surprise, holding himself against the wooden bannister. He stares at the dark grains of the wooden door, as if trying to see through it to what’s going on.

How long have you been in torture like this? He wonders.

The process becomes a cycle while Arthur waits helplessly outside the door. A few minutes would pass while you huff and puff to ready yourself, followed by intense grunting through clenched teeth. A loud, long cry of pain opens your lips and pierces through the air. Arthur can sense your pain through your choked, muffled sobs that soon follow.

Another insufferable silence follows the relieved breath you take after the final push.

From inside the room, there’s no sound. No infantile cry, no sighs of joyed relief. Nothing.

—————

“Doctor?” You ask from your spot on the bed.

Christine is kneeled beside you on the bed. “Thomas?” She asks, hoping for an answer.

He holds the child in his arms and his face pales.

Why haven’t you heard anything?

The images of your nightmare flash back to memory. The black blood, the lifeless body.

Please, God. No.

Christine quickly hands him a cloth to wrap it in. Its skin is coated in a mixture of red and purple viscera that’s barely visible in the evening light.

“C’mon. C’mon...” Thomas mutters. “C’mon, breathe.” He holds the baby, but still no sound of the life-giving breath of air. He turns it over on its stomach, resting on his forearm. Thomas draws the blanket away from its bare skin and rubs its back vigorously.

You see your newborn’s mouth gasp open as if trying to breathe in the life-giving air, but it struggles.

Please, please.

“Thomas,” you sob. You clench your eyes shut and hope this is just another bad dream. Another realistically painful bad dream.

——————

Arthur presses against the door, desperate to hear any sign of positive life from inside the room. He struggles to hear past the hammering of his heart within his chest. Again, he can only hear quiet muffles coming from the three of you.

Suddenly, a new voice breaks the silence. A small, wet cry is greeted with sighs of relief and joyful laughs. Arthur’s heart flips with delight at the sound of your voice alongside the cries of your newborn child. He throws a fist into the air, maintaining his excitement silently outside the door and running his fingers through his damp hair. He returns to the door, pressing his forehead against the cool wood and letting out a deep sigh with a smile.

He nearly falls forward onto whomever opens it.

It’s Dr. Birner. He greets Arthur with a surprised chuckle and abruptly closes the door behind him. Arthur only gets a glimpse of the child in your arms, bundled in white cloth and held against your chest.

“Congratulations,” Dr. Birner tells him with a toothy smile. “It’s a boy.”

Arthur’s legs suddenly feel weak, and his knees nearly buckle under his weight. He looks to Dr. Birner with wide eyes.

“A boy?” He repeats with shining eyes. The doctor confirms with a simple nod and a grin.

Arthur clasps both hands against the doctor’s shoulders firmly, “Thank you, doctor. Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” he chuckles. “And please...call me Thomas.”

“Thomas,” Arthur repeats with a shaky voice. “Can I...can I see them?” He asks.

Before Thomas can respond, the door opens once more. Turning their heads, they see Christine poking out from behind the door.

“Ah, Arthur. Just the man she wants to see.” she says cheerily. “Go right on in.” She steps out to let him pass through the dark doorway.

Arthur quietly closes the door with a creak and tip-toes into the room, his footsteps slow and quiet.

You look to him in a daze, eyelids heavy from exhaustion. “Hey there, cowboy.” You jest weakly.

He partially lays onto the bed beside you, his feet hanging off the side.

“How you feelin’?” He asks, placing an arm around your shoulders. You lay your head back on his arm, his large, solid bicep providing extra support.

“Everythin’ hurts. But holding him makes me forget it all.”

The babe in your arms has yet stirred, sleeping contently in the wrapped comfort of your arms. His face and body now clean and you breathe in his newborn scent.

Arthur slowly reaches a hand to your baby’s face, gently caressing his soft head. He lightly runs a thumb across his supple cheek and the baby gurgles at his touch.

An awed question reaches his lips, “Have you uh, given him a name?”

“I’ve thought of a few,” you whisper. “Thought you could help me with that.”

He scoffs, “Don’t think I’d be much help. Can’t think of anythin’ good.”

You scoff at his remark. “Well, we could name him after someone. Like...your grandfather or mine.”

“Ain’t hardly known my grand-pappy. And I ain’t too keen on the name Alfonso from yers.”

You laugh, which leads to a sharp twinge of pain in your lower region. Like a sharp needle being poked into you, making you hiss. With your eyes clenched, you don’t notice Arthur going into a small panic.

“You alright?” He whispers, scootching closer and gripping you tighter.

Eyes still cinched tight and your lips pursed you nod, “Mm-hmm. I’ll be fine.”

“Ya sure? You need me to get ya anythin’?” He inquires.

“I’m fine. It’ll get better, in time...’s not like I can go right back to work after pushin’ this little guy out.” You point your chin at the little bundle.

“I know. I just—I worry ‘bout ya.” He confesses. “I wanna help.”

A small silence lingers between you and you’re left wondering to yourself if he truly wants to help you.

A tiny hush brushes past Arthur’s lips, “I’m sorry...for everythin’. I shouldn’t have left you like that.”

Watching your son sleep in your arms, you reply, “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have said all those things. It’s just—I’m afraid.” You finally turn your head to look up to Arthur, who looks at you with such pain in his eyes. So much confliction lies behind those blue lights that sparkle in the moonlight.

“I know,” he says, “Me too.”

The two of you spend the next hour doting on your little man, thinking up names on what to call him. While you did have some already in mind, it became harder than you thought it’d be. Suddenly, those handsome names you picked out just didn’t fit him right. He’s too stunning for such names. He needs a good fit—a strong name. You had narrowed it down to two before Christine walked in to check on you.

“You look like you could use some rest,” she states, walking over to your side of the bed. “How about I take him? And you get yourself some sleep?” She asks.

You hesitate, worried about leaving your baby alone. You do trust Christine, but you’re afraid to let him go.

“Trust me,” she consoles, “You’re going to need it...the both of you.”

Nodding your head in agreement, you lift your baby to her and transfer him to her arms. As you finally lay back into the pillow, the exhaustion takes full effect. You struggle to keep your eyes open as you watch her walk out the door. The long white blanket hangs from her arm until she disappears behind the door.

Arthur’s left conflicted with whether he should leave you alone to sleep, or stay by you. The decision is made for him though, as you curl up next to him and sleepily throw an arm across him. He looks down at you with a loving smile and watches you fall asleep. Your lips are slightly parted and a soft snore rumbles from your nose. He takes in the sight of your messy hair. Lucky for him, you didn’t see yourself in a mirror, otherwise you would’ve refused his visit, thinking you looked a mess. But he thinks you look beautiful: hair disheveled and cheeks still rosy from the exertion of labor.

He wiggles himself free to remove his dusty boots and dirty clothes, leaving him with his union suit. He draws the covers and slips in next to you, while you haven’t moved an inch in your deep sleep.

“Isaiah.” You mumble against Arthur’s shoulder, nearly startling him.

“Who?” He asks.

With closed eyes, you repeat, “Isaiah Morgan.”

Arthur’s lips stretch into a satisfied smile as he ponders the name.

“Isaiah Morgan.” He recites. Leaning his head back on the pillow, his eyelids quickly fall shut and the soothing weight of sleep envelops him.

—————

A/N: Apologies for the umpteenth time for taking so long with this, and thank you for staying with me! I know Chapter 4 was waaaay back in August. But I had a tough time getting back into it from school and work and other things. A big “thank you” goes to @arthurmorganstolemyheart and @historianwithaheart for helping me get through this and reading it for me!

#Mistakes #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan #rdr2 #fan fiction #red dead redemption 2

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i-am-out-of-my-vulcan-mind · 4 years

Text

To Forgive and Forget - Chapter 9

Hello all. I finally managed to write this chapter. Only 3 months bloody later 🤦🏼‍♀️ anyway for those who are still with me, thank you for this journey.

This is the last chapter, though I will post an epilogue soon.

Thank you @lurkingwhump for your patience with me 😂 I know this has been a long time coming.

Please let me know what you think… again sorry it took so long.

Jane settled back against the pillows, trying to find a more comfortable position. The humidified oxygen was still being delivered through the nasal cannula. It itched her nose and she wanted nothing more than to yank the darn thing out and throw it across the room.

She was nervous about the conversation they were about to have… but it needed to be done. They needed to heal from everything that had happened - though she suspected Kurt needed her forgiveness more than she needed his - that’s not to say she didn’t want his forgiveness, she just knew that having literally watched her die, the guilt would be eating him alive.

She watched him blow out a lungful of air, clearly nervous.

“Kurt…” she said, starting the apology. “I’m really sorry for-”

Kurt shook his head.

“You have nothing to apologise for Jane…” he said, cutting her off.

“Yes I do…” Jane said weakly. She was fading fast so she knew they needed to have this conversation quickly, before she passed out again. “I shouldn’t have rung Clem without talking to you first.” she said, staring deeply into his eyes. “And I should have been more understanding about how the case had made you feel. It hit pretty close to home.”

“For both of us…” Kurt added, leaning forward and taking her hand. “I’m so sorry for the way I treated you… what we saw in that basement… I knew how much it affected you, but I was so caught up in my own demons… I wasn’t there for you.” He hung his head.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did about Clem…” Jane continued. They needed to get everything out in the open.

Kurt met her gaze and he could see only truth to her words. Her eyes were big, her bottom lip quivering. He didn’t think he had ever seen her look so vulnerable before.

“I’m sorry for bringing up Mayfair.”

Jane closed her eyes at that one. Mayfair would forever be a sensitive subject. She had never forgiven herself for what happened, and she could honestly say she never would. It caused her physical pain every time someone so much as said her name. To hear Kurt apologising for bringing her up, did cause her a little relief.

“Did you mean what you said?” she asked in a quiet voice. “That I make everything about myself?”

Kurt shook his head vehemently. “No, Jane!” he leaned forward, trying to get her to look at him. “You are the most selfless, caring person I’ve ever met… out of everything that was said that day… that is the one I regret most.”

Jane looked up at him with wide, watery eyes.

“This last week, I’ve been wondering if you took your vest off to save the rookie because of what I said… and then I realised you would have done it anyway. You weren’t trying to prove a point to me… you were just doing what is so deeply ingrained in you.” He reached up and stroked her cheek softly.

“I would never have slept with Clem if I knew I could come home.” she said quietly. She knew this was the part that had hurt him the most. In order to truly forgive and forget, they needed to address everything.

Kurt sat back in his chair, swallowing thickly.

“I know.” he said quietly. “I just wished you had at least apologised for it.”

Jane hung her head.

“I should have… and I am truly sorry… I know it’s probably a little late.” she finished quietly, picking at her fingernails.

“It’s ok, baby.” He tilted her chin so she was looking at him. “From here on, we look forward. Clean slate.”

With those words, Jane burst into tears. All the anxiety she had felt before she had been shot, surfacing all at once.

Her sobs quickly turned into a coughing fit, her body screaming in protest. She cried out in anguish.

“Shhhh… Jane… you’re ok… just breathe baby… calm down…” he had helped her sit up and was rubbing her back.

Alarms started blaring at her distress, sending a wave of medical staff into her room. Doctor Thompson was the doctor on call. He strode into the room, injecting painkillers into her IV, before standing over her. He lifted her right arm gently, placing a pillow between her elbow and rib cage.

“Jane I know it hurts, but you need to stop fighting the cough. Just let it out. Try and control it, but don’t hold it in.” he instructed. “Use the pillow for support.”

Jane did as she was told, allowing her body to cough in loud hacking barks. After a short while, the uncontrollable urge to cough started to dissipate and she was able to take some deeper breaths.

Kurt rubbed her back, overwhelmed from seeing her in such anguish. Once she had gotten her breath back, she sagged against him, totally spent. He helped lay her back against the pillows, softly brushing the curls off her face.

Her eyes were heavy and he knew she wasn’t going to stay conscious for much longer.

“Get some rest, Jane.” Doctor Thompson said. He motioned for the nurses to leave the room. “If you need anything, just press the buzzer.”

Kurt continued standing over her, stroking her head softly.

“Oh baby…” he whispered, grief filling his heart. “I can’t believe I nearly lost you…”

Jane managed to crack her eyes back open.

“I’m here.” she rasped, her throat hoarse from coughing. “I’m here.” she repeated.

He leaned forward and kissed her gently on her forehead.

“Sleep, my love.” he murmured against her skin.

“We will talk more soon.” she slurred, as her eyes fell shut. Within seconds she was asleep, the pain lines on her face smoothing out.

“Yes we will.” he replied quietly, thanking the heavens that he had the opportunity to have this second chance with her. He would never take anything for granted again.

0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0

Jane slept the rest of the day and through the next night. It wasn’t until mid morning that she started to shift on the bed. Kurt smiled from the seat beside her, bringing her fingers to his lips.

“Morning sleepy head.” he said softly.

Jane cracked her eyes open, returning the smile weakly.

“Morning?” she replied, a little disoriented. “How long have I been asleep?” she lifted her free hand to her face groggily, trying to wipe her eyes without bumping the nasal cannula.

“Forever.” Kurt replied dramatically.

Jane rolled her eyes.

“I’m still so tired.” she complained. “This is going to be a long recovery, isn’t it?”

Kurt looked at her adoringly “Hey… at least you will recover.” he murmured.

Jane caught his eye, scrunching her mouth up sympathetically. “Kurt…”

He hung his head, hiding his face behind her hands.

“Talk to me… please.” she pleaded.

He sighed, refusing to look at her. This was a subject he wasn’t quite ready to broach. She reached out and brushed his hair on the side of his temple.

“I don’t… I don’t know if I can…” he said sadly, the images of his bloodied, unconscious wife flashing through his head.

“It’s ok… you don’t have to talk to me… but you need to talk to someone.” she replied softly. She could see how much this last week had affected him. She had been to hell and back, and he had been right along with her.

He finally met her gaze, her green eyes were wide in concern for him. He exhaled sharply through his nose, trying to school his emotions. He swallowed thickly, choking back the tears that were threatening to spill over.

“I just… ah… I just keep replaying the image of you coding in the chopper, over and over again in my mind… the moment we landed it went from manic activity, to just silence when they had taken you away…” He cleared his throat, swallowing again. Closing his eyes, he continued. “I didn’t know if they had revived you for what felt like hours… and then when they told me you had pulled through… I felt like I could breathe again.

“Oh Kurt…” Jane said softly.

Now that he had started, he couldn’t help the words from pouring out.

“And then you coded again… you started bleeding internally and they took you away again. At that point, all I wanted was for you to wake up. I just wanted you to wake up and be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you.” was all she replied. “I love you so much…”

Kurt could no longer contain his emotions. Relief literally poured out of him as he began to sob. He leaned forward, resting his forehead on the bed, while she rubbed the back of his head. He was relieved that not only had she pulled through, but also that she had forgiven him.

They stayed like that for a while, the top of Kurt’s head coming to rest against her thigh. She continued to stroked the back of his head, just letting him get the emotional release he so desperately needed.

0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0°0

The doctor came by a little later, genuinely ecstatic to see her awake.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, opening her chart.

“I’m ok.” she replied weakly. This was the longest she had been awake in over a week.

“Any pain?” he asked.

Jane nodded. “It’s worse when I cough.”

“That’s to be expected.” Doctor Thompson replied. “Coughing is a really important part of your recovery though. It will help expand your lung and clear any nasties out. Use the pillow for support if you need to.”

“Ok.” Jane replied in a small voice. She hated the idea of having to cough like that, but if it was a part of her recovery, she would do it. For Kurt.

“How about nausea? It’s fairly common for patients to feel quite sick after such an ordeal.”

“Yeah my stomachs a little queasy.” she admitted.

The fact that she had confessed that, made Kurt frown. It wasn’t like his wife to disclose discomfort. She had to have been feeling pretty unwell to actually tell someone.

“We can set you up on some antiemetics if you need them.” the doctor replied. “We would like to try and start introducing some food within the next day or so, so I would be happier if you had the medication on board before then.”

Jane nodded again, the thought of vomiting with the pain she was already experiencing, sent waves of anxiety up her spine.

“Do you have any questions?” Doctor Thompson asked.

“Yeah… how long am I going to be this tired? I’m sick of sleeping.” Jane asked.

Both the doctor and Kurt couldn’t help but chuckle at that one. Sobering at the serious look on her face, the doctor replied.

“Your body has been through an ordeal Jane. Sleeping is the best way for you to heal.”

Jane sighed slowly, not wanting to aggravate any of her injuries further. She was only a couple of days in and she was already fed up with the recovery process. She just needed to keep reminding herself how lucky she was that they had managed to bring her back.

“Any problems, just press the buzzer. I’ll get the nurse to come and give her something for the nausea soon.” Doctor Thompson said, before stepping out of the room.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling sick?” Kurt asked almost immediately.

Jane shrugged.

“With everything that’s going on inside of me, I kinda figured it was a given.” she explained.

Kurt frowned.

“Please don’t keep me in the dark.”

“I wasn’t trying to!” Jane retaliated. “Kurt… please. I can’t tell you every feeling I have…”

“I nearly lost you.” Kurt murmured quietly, cutting her off. “You died… and then we got a second chance. I need you to tell me everything… because it reminds me that you're alive.”

Jane’s face softened at that. “Ok Kurt…” she whispered. “If that’s what you need, then I’ll tell you.”

She reached out for him, taking his hand and bringing his fingers to her lips.

“I’m ok…” she hushed. “I’m tired and sore and my stomach is churning. I have a headache. My nose itches from this darn thing...” she said pointing to the nasal cannula. “And I’m sad. I’m sad for everything that you have had to go through.”

Kurt shook his head, looking at his wife in wonder.

“You feel that unwell… and yet your main concern is me?”

Jane nodded.

“Physical ailments I can handle… but seeing you like this… my heart is breaking.”

Kurt leaned forward and kissed her on the forehead.

“As you’ve said, everything will be ok. We will get through this… just like we have with everything else.”

“Yes we will.” she agreed. “I can do anything, so long as you’re here with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” he said adamantly. “I’ll be here every step of the way.”

Jane smiled softly at that.

“Good.”

#blindspot #blindspot fanfic #jane doe #kurt weller #jeller

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poptod · 5 years

Text

Trouble Won’t Let You Forget (Snafu x Reader)

Description: Snippets of life from the viewpoint of a nurse. (Gender neutral reader)

Notes: Soulmate AU where your soulmates name appears on your wrist after you say their name after you've met them. So some people are very open with their name, others consider it the key to everything private about them. I also wrote this one a while ago.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20948660

Word Count: 5.3k

It’s interesting how dreams change. As a small child, you wanted nothing more than to be an artist. A year later, you wanted to be a dancer, then a singer, then a writer, followed by a farmer, a doctor, a veterinarian, and so many other things that your parents couldn’t keep up.

How, out of all those choices you ended up being a medic in the military was beyond you. You could’ve been a doctor, or perhaps a fighter (though nobody would see that coming), or you could’ve been a cook. But no, you went to med school and finished as a nurse. Through more procedures than you could count you ended up drafted into the military, ending up on some faraway island whose name you didn’t care to remember.

These days, you didn’t seem to care about much.

You’d learn the names of patients with gunshot wounds, and forget them a second later when another soldier was shot. When someone happened to survive, they’d come up to you to thank you, and you wouldn’t remember them. In the chaos, they didn’t ever seem to mind.

It wasn’t always like that, of course - the first time you were embroiled in conflict, you were scared, full of emotion and completely blanking out. You saw one man dying in front of you and your heart wept, and though tears flew heavy from your eyes you could not see them. Just another tear in the mesh of mud, filth, and blood that you crawled through.

Pleasant experience all around.

There was one man you knew. He made sure of that, reminding you of his name every single time he annoyed you. He loved doing that - pestering you - it seemed to be the only thing that entertained him, constantly egged on by his friends. He seemed to be under the very unfortunate belief that the two of you were soulmates, always asking your real name and always giving his, despite the fact that he always said he hated it.

His friends called him Snafu. He’d kill him if they called him his real name, which he insisted only you use.

Merriel. You actually loved the name and would’ve gladly used it if you didn’t want to piss the hell out of him.

You were one of very few remaining medics after a particularly gruesome shootout, as your friend liked to call them. What with a touch of femininity lost, or as you liked to call it, ‘emotion,’ soldiers were a bit desperate for someone to talk to. A therapist. A lover. Neither of which you were. Still, they came to you with issues.

“I’ve got a rash on my hands and I don’t know what to do, I can barely hold my gun,” one said, holding out his blistering, red, and bleeding hands.

“Wash them off in the river. Come back and I’ll apply somethin’,” you told him, noticing that it was most likely a stress rash. Those were a bit harder to get rid of.

“I can’t stop having nightmares,” another said, his voice quiet in the dark of night when he spoke to you. You hadn’t any idea what to say - those were common. They wouldn’t go away till, most likely, he went home, and that was no guarantee. But truth wasn’t what those seeking comfort were looking for.

“Breathe deeply before you sleep. Remember that you’ve got a whole platoon looking out for you,” you told him instead. He seemed to relax, and as small as the movement was, it made you feel a little better about yourself.

“I’m getting stomach pains, no idea why,” someone complained, clutching his stomach rather dramatically as he came to you. You twirled to face him.

“Have you been eating?”

“… not much. Haven’t got the appetite.”

You sighed, beckoning him closer and getting level with him.

“I know the food here sucks ass but you need t’ eat, even just a little every day. Alright?”

He nodded, and left.

It was one of those quiet days, where the sun shined and the world seemed to seep into a paradise, if it wasn’t for the guns and all that. A new arrival of ‘fresh meat,’ as everyone seemed to call it, was coming that day, not that you cared much. The biggest thing was that there was more supplies coming in.

And as always, the new people seemed to be fascinated with you. In their world of complete masculinity, you were gentle. You wouldn’t consider yourself feminine by any standards, but you were kind. Understanding. This new interest in you would pass in a few days. Unfortunately, along with this fascination came the new need to flirt with you, for whatever reason.

“Could - could you tell me where I am?” A sweet faced, innocent looking kid asked you, looking like he belonged more on the streets of a rich southern town than there. A whole lot of kids looked like that.

“No idea. Didn’t care to ask. Need anything?” You said, turning from your new boxes of supplies.

“No, I’m alright… thank you. You’ve been the most helpful here so far. I’m Eugene,” he said, holding out his hand. Not many people here gave their real name.

“You can call me Bugs. Most guys here do,” you replied. You weren’t one to give your name easy. It felt too private for you. Still you shook his held out hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he said with a sweet smile, leaving quickly after to try and find out where he was supposed to be.

Ointment, bandages, plasma…

The checklist in your head was one you memorized long ago. One of the few things you remembered. Thus you made sure to remember it well.

“Hope you don’t forget ‘bout me, what with all the new boys comin’ in,” a far too familiar voice came, a teasing rhythm as he spoke.

“What makes you think I’d forget you?” You asked, voice dull. You pointedly did not turn around.

“Y’ tend to forget most things. Like my name,” he said, coming up and standing beside you, leaning against a stack of boxes.

“I can assure you I remember your name quite clearly.”

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

“If you need to be reminded what your own name is, I suggest seeing a specialist. I treat bodily wounds, not the mind,” you replied, flicking his forehead for emphasis.

“C’mon doll, don’t be like that,” he laughed, growing increasingly closer to you.

“I fuckin’ hate that name,” you grumbled, turning back to your boxes.

“Y’should give me your real one then.”

“Not a chance, bwana.”

He sighed, relaxing into your seat, legs kicked up on your supplies. You narrowed your eyes, but payed him no mind as you continued.

“So, uh, you meet the new guys?”

You nodded.

“Any thoughts?”

“They’re certainly here,” you said plainly.

He relaxed further into your seat, enjoying the shade in the blistering heat of the day. The salt of the ocean made sure your hands stayed dry as you continued unpacking, him nearly falling asleep in the peace of the day. Behind you, you heard him sigh deep as he let sleep consume him.

Turning around you let yourself scan over him, making sure he was fully healthy. In situations as your own and his, ailments came at any and all times in all sorts of ways.

Before you could properly avert your eyes he opened his, just a sliver, enough to see you and to smirk dirtily at you.

“Checkin’ me out, cher?”

“In your dreams,” you hissed, whipping back around.

“You are a dream,” he laughed, standing up. “Don’t forget, the names’ Merriel.” His hands wrapped around the upper part of your arms, leaning over your turned shoulder and planting a kiss against your temple. You couldn’t react in time, couldn’t explode in your own anger before he was already gone.

Asshole.

Two weeks.

“Again?”

“Yeah… sorry,” he mumbled, holding out his arms. If you didn’t know better you’d consider him manic. Scratches covered his arms, and no matter how many times you patched him up he came back all covered in his own blood again.

“Gotta stop doing this, Patch.”

How affectionate and creative a nickname his friends had given him. Named after the patches you always gave him.

“I know, I’m trying,” he insisted as he sat down on a spare cot.

“You’re wasting supplies,” you chided, pulling out bandages nonetheless.

Why he did this, you had no idea, and if you cared, you probably would’ve sent him to a better hospital. But he never requested to go, and no one ever asked, so you didn’t bother. Hardly ever crossed your mind, except when supplies were running especially low.

With careful, well taught hands you wrapped him up, making sure to keep it tight so he wouldn’t scratch the bandages away in the night.

“Thanks Bug,” he said with a smile, bowing his head thankfully as he left your tent.

One and a half weeks.

“You’re absolutely sure I have to eat this?” The man who had complained about stomach issues asked you during lunch.

“Yes. And,” you stopped him before he could continue. “If there’s anything moving, eat it. Protein’s good for you.”

You turned before you could see him gag. With your own filled up plate of sustenance (food didn’t feel like the proper word for it) you sat in your regular spot, on the ground with everyone else, apart from any major groups. Still, whether you wanted it or not, trouble always found you.

And trouble had a name.

Trouble wouldn’t let you forget his name.

“Hey there Bug,” he said with another one of his cocky smirks, sitting too close to you as always. He was far too comfortable with such public displays of affection.

“Hiya,” you responded in the most bland voice you could muster. No matter, it never seemed to deter him.

“How’s the doctors office today?”

“Not too busy.”

“And you?” He asked, leaning in and chewing obnoxiously in your ear.

“Better in the quiet.”

He laughed, leaning back onto his hand as he continued eating without care for how it tasted or looked.

“Good luck getting quiet here,” he snorted.

“Bugs,” Eugene said simply, his greeting for you, and your absolute savior.

“Gene! How goes it?” You asked, quickly diverting all your attention to your friend.

“‘Bout as well as it can,” he joked, sitting down in front of you and a rather undignified Snafu.

“So that’s how it is?” Snafu asked, turning to you with an almost sad expression.

“Vamoose, chuckles,” you said, pushing him away.

“Whatevah.”

With Eugene, you got your quiet. He hardly ever spoke, and when he did, he was kind. Soft spoken and intelligent, calm and collected. No screws loose and no live wires like his counterpart, now his bunkmate. After that meeting and short conversation Snafu left, grabbing his tray and leaving with a curt nod to each of you.

“He always like that?” Gene asked, his shoulders noticeably tighter after a recent skirmish.

“Only around me. He’s convinced we’re soulmates. We aren’t of course, I can’t stand the guy,” you sighed, rolling your eyes. It was inconceivable.

“What if you are? Soulmates, I mean?”

“… Please,” you muttered, ending the conversation with a pointed look down at your food, nearly flat out ignoring your friend.

“Just thought I’d ask,” he chuckled, getting your point.

Two days.

Life was hell. How achingly painful it was to always be searching, never exploring, never being able to take in the beauty of your surroundings in the hate and violence that swarmed around the camp, penetrating through every kind and peaceful thought, bashing every spoken ideal of happiness.

How tiring it was to always be on edge, to always be waiting for the shot that belonged to you. The bullet meant to pierce through you, meant to pierce through your friends. It was your job to save people from stray bullets not for them, not meant to kill them, because it simply wasn’t meant to be - these were children. The longer you looked the younger they got. Battle hardened gazes were also the faces of kids on their first date, with leftover baby fat in rosy cheeks that were supposed to be being kissed by pretty girls in their hometown.

Time wasn’t real. Maybe one day was one week. Weeks felt like minutes, and you no longer trusted yourself. You couldn’t trust the clocks either, the sun, or the moon in the sky.

Ocean water had grown tiring after a while, the spritz of it, the smell of rotting seaweed that had washed up from the depths, swarming with flies. But on this small patch of sand it was pure peace, stars reflecting on the stillest waters you’d ever seen.

Life was hell, but you’d always have yourself. Your peace, a small bit of yourself that had just barely escaped corroding by the beatings of war.

The smell of salt wafting off the still ocean was calming if you stopped to appreciate it. A part of you knew, anxiously pacing in your mind, that night wasn’t safe. That you needed to get back to camp, where there was protection, where there were guns. You felt as though you weren’t controlling yourself, allowing yourself to be vulnerable to attack like this. Despite this panic contained in your head you did not move from your spot atop a large piece of driftwood.

“Nice night, ain’t it?”

You jumped, turning to face the voice that had so violently ripped you out of your thoughts. It was, of course, Snafu. The man couldn’t seem to leave you alone, but he didn’t look like he was there to bother you. While he was shirtless as usual, carrying a gun slung round his back, he was smiling in this sort of gentle way, almost nostalgic, as though he knew what to do for once.

“.. Yes… nice night,” you finally replied, scooting so you could become smaller. You turned back to the ocean.

“Didn’t peg you for the, uh, daydreaming type,” he said, grunting as he sat next to you. To your own surprise, he gave you your space.

“It’s nighttime,” you responded, knowing your comment was smart aleck but not caring.

“Fuck, y’know what I mean though,” he chuckled, punching you lightly on the shoulder. You laughed, head hanging between your shoulders as you closed your eyes, sighing as you finished.

“Whatcha thinkin’ bout that’s got you so down?”

Could you really tell him? Your thoughts weren’t very nice thoughts. They were also emotional, and these guys didn’t tend to like emotional things.

A better question was if you could trust him. If you told him, had you any promise he wouldn’t go tell everyone?

Though, who would he tell? What would he gain? All he really wanted, as far as you knew, was to know your name.

“Everyone here is so young,” you murmured, keeping your head low and eyes closed.

“Not everyone,” he said quietly, obviously referring to some of the much older men. You chuckled humorlessly, agreeing.

“But you understand, right? They look so… innocent, coming in. I feel bad for not sending them back, like I have a choice in the matter.”

“Aw hell, this about Sledge? ‘Cause he -“

“No, no it’s just… never mind, it’s just these melancholy thoughts goin’ round my head an’ I can’t help it. I guess I overthink.”

“Nuttin’ bad ‘bout that, boo. Shit, this place’ll get to anyone given the chance,” he said, and though you didn’t look at him, he kept his eyes on you. You always had an innate feeling of when you were being watched, and his eyes were by far the most intense upon you.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, lifting your head to watch the stars.

They seemed endless without the lights of cities and towns you were so used to. From your tiny point in the vastness of your galaxy you could see the whole of it, spreading out in glittering expanses of comets and faraway stars, shining in their eternal light.

“I like stars,” you announced in a quiet voice, an observation you just made. In your time as a civilian, you hadn’t payed much attention. You could barely see them after all, just a few lights in the sky like the nightlight in your bedroom. During your time on the island, you hadn’t really stopped to think about it. Now you did so, feeling the inconsequentialness of your life and situation.

“They’re nice,” he said in thoughtless agreement, gaze drifting upwards to the bright belt encircling the night sky.

“Sort of make you feel small,” you said.

“A little,” he said.

“I don’t know if I like it or not,” you said.

“That’s alright too,” he said.

Eight hours.

“Where in the hell were you last night? I woke up and you weren’t there and I was worried sick, thank god you showed up when you did else I would’ve alerted someone,” your friend chastised you right as you entered your tent, rambling on and on about safety as he paced.

“Jesus, you sound like my mother,” you rolled your eyes, sitting on your cot and pulling off your boots.

“Did you even take a gun with you? A knife? Anything?” He asked, ignoring your comment.

“No, but… I was - I was with someone, he had a gun. I was fine,” you grumbled, paying closer attention to your aching feet than to your worried friend.

“Who was it?” He asked, seeming to finally calm down slightly as he leaned against the boxes of supplies.

“That fuckhead that won’t stop pestering me, Snafu,” you hissed, completely dissing the peace you’d found with the man only hours earlier.

“That guys fuckin’ annoying, I dunno how you stand him,” he sighed, head tilted upwards.

“I barely do,” you grunted, pulling your boots back on.

Another hot, blistering day in hells’ paradise.

“I’ve got a headache that won’t go away,” a man came up to you, eyes drowsy with the pain he experienced, hands clutched tight around his head in an embrace that looked painful.

“Relax, take these pills,” you said, handing him a few strong painkillers. Those were supposed to be used for any awake surgeries, only used if patients were so weak they’d die under anesthesia.

“I - I can’t stop shaking?” Another man said, his legs weak and practically vibrating, dripping in sweat. You felt his forehead, finding it cold.

“How’s your vision? Okay or a little blurry?”

“Blurry,” he stammered out, clutching his arms around himself like it was freezing.

“Headache? How’s your appetite?”

“I - uh, I, please, uh, I’m hungry,” he stumbled over his words, trying to concentrate to find the right ones.

“Alright, I’d say eat something now. Small, frequent meals are best, and if you keep feeling like this, I’ll send you to a better hospital, okay?”

He nodded, leaving your tent into the light of day. Through the mesh material you could watch as he tried to act normal.

“I’m having these night sweats,” a man came to you, his fingers tapping nervously on the side of his leg, the movement seemingly unconscious.

“How often?” You asked.

“I dunno, twice a week?”

“Come back if it gets more than that. You’re fine right now,” you said, sending him off with a smile.

Three days.

Things tend to change quickly in your life. For what seemed like forever, there was a stagnant peace that set everyone on edge, just waiting for the next conflict, the next order, begging for the anxious wait to be over. Now that it was, multiple skirmishes happening within the timespan of a few days, the same people begging for war were now begging for rest.

Through sheer will and horror of the events you blocked out your memory of those days, only coming back to earth when there hadn’t been the sound of a gunshot for a good seven hours.

You had woken up from a nap in the middle of a pit, stirred by your friend.

“I think… it’s over,” he whispered, voice careful, eyes in a flurry as he looked from place to place, jumping at any small movement. He wasn’t able to go on autopilot like you were.

“Let’s haul ass,” you grunted as you got your bearings, looking for anyone that needed more intensive care back at the medical tent.

Men who were more fit, who could physically stand it, helped carry back bodies, or those more injured. You, and your friend, weeded out who could walk, and who needed to be treated right that instant.

Among those more heavily wounded was Snafu. In mindless worry you ran to his side, pausing as all thought escaped you in a panic.

“Hey boo,” he mumbled, his speech slurred from the blood he’d lost. He didn’t seem to be bleeding any more, but he was certainly in no condition to move.

“I’ll keep going,” your friend said to you, leaving you alone.

“Snaf,” you breathed out, scrambling for your kit as you realized what you needed to do. Clean up the wound, try and remove the bullet, sew up, bandage, try not to loose more blood.

“How ya doin’?” He asked weakly, his voice fading in volume as he continued.

“Not important,” you muttered, getting him to swallow painkillers made especially for these situations. Though you could feel yourself shake with the intensity of your harrow, your hands steadied as you worked away at the bullet wound in the far right of his torso. It hadn’t hit any organs, not even near to it, but you still felt anxious as all hell.

“Thanks,” he breathed out, voice barely even a whisper.

“Don’t talk,” you mumbled, acutely aware of your own stress that seemed insurmountable, though it was soon over. You wrapped the bandage around his stomach, a splotch of blood seeping through the first few layers before disappearing. In that time, he’d fallen asleep, his breathing even and deep.

“That was intense,” came a voice from behind you. You turned, seeing Eugene looking tired and almost angry.

“I -“

“Don’t ever say you can’t stand him again. I saw the fear in your eyes. You probably care more ‘bout him than you care ‘bout yourself,” he said, standing from his position in the mud to help you carry him back to his tent.

“Don’t tell him,” you requested weakly.

“I won’t.”

One day.

You sat beside him. Sat, and beside, being loose terms, as you actually sat on the ground beside his bed as he slept, eyes open but drooping, kept wide only by your own anxiety. Eugene insisted that you sleep but even when you tried, you couldn’t. Fortunately for your own health, he woke not long after being put to sleep.

“… Bugs?” He asked, voice quiet and hoarse. Immediately you turned around, handing him a flask of water.

“Hey, try not to talk,” you said, trying to get him to sit up just a little so he could drink easier.

“I see nothing’s changed,” he grumbled, drinking nonetheless.

“Shush. I need to change your bandages now,” you mumbled, mostly talking to yourself and trying to ignore Eugene staring at you, obviously amused by your antics.

“I can do it m -“

“It’s safer if I do it, I don’t trust you,” you said quickly, not meeting his eye as you grabbed another white roll of bandages, setting it on his cot.

“Bugs -“

“Shush.”

Gingerly you removed his bandages, crumpling them up and putting them on the ground before cleaning the wound. Soap and water, then ointment, you rehearsed to yourself. Then the bandage.

You followed your own steps easily once Snafu shut up, letting you work without complaint. For once you felt socially nervous, with both of the boys staring at you. To be fair, you were most likely the only entertainment in the tent.

“Bugs, I -“

“Alright that’s it, bye!” You said quickly, packing up and leaving before you could embarrass yourself further. Long ago you wouldn’t ever have considered compassion and caring an embarrassment but you’d spent so long building up the idea that you disliked him, that to be so blatantly caring was uncomfortable.

Before you made it back to the safety of your own tent, a hand tugged your arm back, forcing you to turn back. Eugene stood there, looking more annoyed than anything.

“No use tryin’ to keep up this game the two of ya’ have. Secrets out, you like him,” he said, chuckling at the end.

“I don’t like him. He’s just an idiot and if I don’t take care of him he’s going to end up dead,” you practically spat.

“Didn’t seem to bother you before,” he said, releasing you.

Did it?

Two days.

As night crept up on you, just as last night, you couldn’t sleep. Reckless, far-fetched thoughts swarmed your head, blocking out any hope of rest. So, in your tired yet anxious stupor you left your tent, finding solace in sleeping next to Snafu’s bed. You curled up, back to his cot, leaning against a box he kept as a sort of nightstand.

To your luck no one awoke as you did all these things, but some time later, Snafu awoke, sitting up slightly to find you beside him.

That’s odd, he thought to himself, eyes bleary with sleep. He collapsed back onto his cot, his arm hanging out and around you. Though he couldn’t see you, his eyes trained on the ceiling, he felt your cheek press into his arm, your breath light against his skin.

You woke up before dawn, before him, paying little attention to the arm wrapped around you, attributing it to nighttime tossing. You set it back onto the cot, slipping away before anyone could notice.

He awoke alone, on the one night he expected not to.

Five days.

“Ow.”

“Stop moving then,” you hissed, trying to remove his stitches.

“You’re the one pulling at ‘em like they killed ya’ father or somethin’,” he grumbled, looking down at you. He sat on his cot, feet planted on the ground, you kneeled between them. It was a rather lewd position you didn’t like being in, but he didn’t want to lie down, and this was as good as you could get.

“Hey, Bugs,” he said after a moment, the last stitch almost removed. It would’ve been finished faster if he didn’t keep jerking, and if he chose a better time than evening.

“Yes?” You asked, gritting your teeth.

“Say my name. I know you wanna,” he joked, no malice behind it, but this whole joke of his clearly wasn’t over.

“Jesus fucking Christ Snaf, I thought we were done with this,” you sighed, yanking the last stitch out.

“Ow! How could I be done with it? You’re my soulmate,” he grumbled, rubbing the palm of his hand over the side of his stomach, attempting to massage away the pain. You paused, noticing the lack of humor as he spoke.

“Wait... you’re not joking,” you said, tone serious as you looked him in the eye.

“Yes? Haven't been since I started, boo,” he chuckled incredulously.

Oh. Now all those times you’d insulted him, brushed him off as an asshole, they all came back in a rush of embarrassment. He, despite his tone and choice of words, was being honest. The poor guy actually thought the two of you were soulmates. And you, in your stupid empathy, felt sorry for him.

“… My name’s (Y/N),” you said quietly, leaving quickly. Almost jogging you left the tent on a beeline for your own tent, and still yet, you were stopped with a harsh tug to your arm. In the cool of night you whipped around, almost scared as you looked up at him.

“That’s a nice name, y’know,” he murmured, grabbing your hands and pulling you closer to him.

“You’re really going to do this now,” you asked, eyes darting around for anyone who might see you.

“Yeah,” he said, leaning in.

“If you must,” you looked up at him, rolling your eyes. “Not here.” You wrapped your fingers around his wrist, pulling him towards the beach, where, God willing, you’d get some privacy.

“I like how you think,” he said, a flirtatious lilt in his voice as he smiled coyly. You pressed your lips together in a thin line, continuing to drag him to the shoreline. When you at last reached the sand, after weaving silently through paths and tents, you let go of him, continuing to walk away from him. You felt hard of breathing.

“Bugs, wait up!” You heard him call you from behind, and his running steps till he caught up with you.

“You okay, cher?”

“Not really. I - I thought you were joking, I didn’t… I didn’t think you were serious. God I would’ve done stuff so different if I knew you were serious, I’m so sorry,” you practically blubbered, unable to truly face him as you kept your eyes averted.

“There is one way you can make it up to me,” he said, holding your hands in his once more. You were silent, so he continued.

“My name’s Merriel.”

“And mine’s (Y/N).”

You couldn’t initiate it. You couldn’t be the one to break his heart when he realized you weren’t his. He’d have to say your name first - you’d never get the courage to say his first, so you didn’t bother trying, teasing him along the way.

“Please?” He asked one more time, entreating with a begging, soft voice. You shook your head tightly, already knowing you couldn’t.

“So bold, till it comes really comes down to it, huh (Y/N)?” He said mellowly, leaning in closer to you. His hand around your wrist let it go, coming up to your cheek and pulling you in for a kiss softer than anything you were expecting. In all honesty, you thought he’d be harsh, commanding, domineering, but he wasn’t - instead, he seemed in desperate need for you to take control. Still, you didn’t. It seemed cruel to reciprocate only to say no the next minute.

When he pulled away from your unmoving lips, he looked down at his wrist, seeing your name in pastel print upon his skin, etched into him for as long as he may live.

You choked on your own breath.

Now that wasn’t what you were expecting in any scenario.

“Told ya,” he said with a smirk, holding his wrist up proudly for you to see.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, covering your mouth.

This idiot was your soulmate?!

“Oh my God,” you gasped out again.

“I know, aren’t you a lucky doll?”

“Oh my God.”

“Jesus, I know I’m great and all, but my name’s Merriel, not God,” he joked, grabbing your waist and pulling you into him. Stumbling a little you fell onto his chest, your hands now pressed instinctively on his chest.

“Oh my God, Merriel,” you breathed, finally looking up to meet his eyes. Affection and revelry swirled within them, dancing with the absolute euphoria he was experiencing. He was right, you were wrong. Distantly, you felt a small tingling on your left wrist.

“See? Not that hard,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss you again. Just as before, soft and adoring, just pressing against you, waiting for you to move. This time you did, pressing into him and holding him close in the most tender of embraces.

“You’re nothing but trouble,” you mumbled between kisses, your lips still against his as you spoke. He laughed, almost nodding before he swooped in for another kiss.

“I guess I am.”

#snafu x reader #snafu shelton #the pacific #rami malek

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hermajestykaje · 3 years

Text

Prologue

Julie Ann Sarif sat in the chilly examination room, one bare foot dangled above the freezing tiles, the other sat flat on the pullout stand. She wore one of the ugly paper dresses but she felt naked. Dr. Morgan had excused himself to take a call, but before she left, she had told Julie Ann that her blood pressure was high and had kindly asked why. This was why Julie Ann felt naked; always a private person, sixty seconds with a cuff around her upper arm had revealed that Julie Ann had had one hell of a year!

As she watched her dangling foot bounce, she realized she did not have to say anything at all. Dr. Morgan was her doctor, not her therapist or her friend, but Julie Ann was so desperate to unload everything on somebody anybody. Maybe that was why when the doctor returned a simple, “Now where were we?” Turned into an hour in that room that stank of disinfectants, with tears running down her face and the other woman hugging her awkwardly.

When Julie Ann left, she felt a lot better, but that did not stop Dr. Morgan from giving her a prescription for a half-dose of blood pressure medicine. Julie Ann was fifty-one years old and had never had blood pressure issues; then again, she had had one hell of a year!

Christmas was the prologue to the Hell Year.

“Nah, this doesn’t feel right.” Julie Ann had said to her husband Ahsan that morning.

“What?” He asked, she covered his mouth with her hand when she saw his lips begin to form the words you worry too much. He was right, Julie Ann always worried, but there was always a reason to worry. Ahsan was in the military, as soon as she got comfortable they would have to move, Julie Ann felt like they had dragged their poor children all over the damn world and back again. They had been in Florida for a long while, Julie Ann had started to get comfortable, she had started working at a bank again and could feel the promotion to manager coming when Ahsan walked into the kitchen and announced that he would be moving back to West Virginia. For a brief second Julie Ann had considered beating her husband to death with a skillet. He had promised that this would be his last assignment.

“I want to retire at home, Ma and Pops are old, I want to be near them.”

Once again her eyes fell on the skillet, maybe she wouldn’t kill him but bringing the pan upside his head would make her feel a hell of a lot better. “You want to move me from sunny Florida, to Wasteland Virginia int the middle of Winter? On top of all that you want me to be with crazy Miya?”

“Come on JuJu.”

“Don’t you JuJu me you son of a bitch!” She snapped and stormed past him, skillet still in hand. Ahsan was six feet, six inches and nearly three hundred pounds of pure muscle, she would have to jump to reach his bald ass head and he would easily avoid the blow.

“JuJu…”

“No Ahsan, you said this would be your last assignment. You said once the kids were grown you’d retire and we could finally start taking those vacations. You said Florida was cool, especially after Daddy died, you know how I feel about Momma being by herself. You always promise me things.” She gasped, “You’re selfish!”

“I am not selfish.”

“Yes, yes you are.” She rounded on him, “Stop following me.”

Ahsan took two steps back, hands up, eyes on the skillet. He had tried her once or twice before.

“It’s not the middle of Winter.” He muttered weakly.

Julie Ann flung the skillet at him, and he had the nerve to catch it! She spun on her heels and stomped upstairs, “Mind your damn business.” She shouted at their eldest, Nia on her way to their bedroom.

Her children and their alliance with their father was another source of irritation. Ahsan could do no wrong in their eyes.

Julie Ann sat on the bed and pouted. It would be nearly a week before she would speak to Ahsan again, and another week before he was allowed back inside their bedroom. He had spent time in the living room and in the nursery with their grandson. Julie Ann had told him to go to West Virginia by his damn self, yet when the time finally came for him to leave, she followed.

Looking back, Julie Ann had to admit that things were not as bad as she thought they would be, in fact, they were not even close to the way she imagined it. Ahsan did not have to live on base, and they got the gorgeous three-bedroom home in Magnolia Park, with the stuck-up neighbors and the pool in the back.

“Oh, your boyfriend’s here.” Julie Ann had said when they were moving in and Silas Johnson swung into their driveway. “Is he why we moved back here?”

“Stop.” Ahsan grumped and kissed the top of her head. The pair had been childhood best friends and Julie Ann hated Silas since the day she met him. There was something about him, he was cocky and every time Ahsan got into serious trouble, Silas was right there by his side. Not to mention Silas was a whore!

“Goddamnit, Ahsan.” She huffed when the passenger door opened and Silas’ new wife Grace. climbed out.

“Please be nice.” He begged.

Julie Ann was nice, and to her surprise she found that she actually liked Grace. The woman was the same age as they were but looked so much younger, she was tall and shapely; a dancer’s body! Grace was quick to smile and was an all-around pleasant person. Pity. Julie Ann had hated this woman for years without actually knowing her. When Julie Ann met Ahsan, Silas was already married to his first wife Esther. The two were close friends and most of their children were the same age. Silas’ daughter Sonja was two years older than Nia; his second daughter Amore was two months older than their second daughter Rayne, and their son Amir was two hours older than Silas and Esther’s daughter Zion.

Poor Esther had struggled during her last pregnancy, she had finally found out about Silas’s whoring ways and the stress had drained her. Silas had a daughter who was a few months older than Zion, but by the time the girl was born Silas had already moved on to Grace.

It was through Grace that Julie Ann joined Mamas & Mimosas, a small women’s club for mothers. She made new friends who helped with her transition. Julie Ann also started her home-based craft business and with the help of the Mamas, the business took off online and grew to something lucrative very quickly.

Julie Ann also stressed often about Rayne because of her crazy boyfriend…also named Rayne. She lost sleep over that relationship. “He’s going to kill her,” was what Julie Ann lamented a lot. She knew she was driving Nia crazy always calling and asking if she heard from her sister. On the other hand, “Amir is going to kill him.” He son was as big and buff as his father, it took a lot to make Amir mad, the boy was some kind of saint—but at the same time Amir had a temper and once triggered he became a beast.

“Rayne is grown.” Ahsan would remind her, but she had heard him threaten to kill boy-Rayne on more than one occasion.

That situation resolved itself when one morning, Ahsan opened the door on his way out to work only to find Rayne standing there with a suitcase. “Yeah, I nearly killed Rayne.” She announced and strutted into the house like she owned the place. “What’s for breakfast Ma?”

Ahsan was on her heels, “What happened? Did he hurt you?”

“That nigga cheated on me—again, and had the nerve to swing on me when I confronted him about it. I defended myself with a rolling pin. Anyways, I’ve got court in January.”

“Your sister and brother already know about this don’t they?” Julie Ann questioned.

“Amir posted my bail and Nia drove me to the airport.”

Julie Ann and Ahsan exchanged a look, their children always screamed that they wished each other was not born but would protect each other feverishly.

Rayne had always been the most daring of their children, so she often found herself in sticky situations. She was also the most hot-headed and provoking so she usually started fights with her siblings. She was closer to Amir than she was to Nia, although the pair were always at each other’s throats. Nia was the most stable of the children, she married her high school sweetheart Timothy and the pair had a son, TJ, together. Amir was a chaotic neutral, he was the most affectionate and shared a close relationship the entire family. He was the one who convinced Julie Ann to move with Ahsan. “I’m in this weird traditional phase with work, so I still have to go up to Louisiana all the time. I’ll keep an eye on Gran’Mere for you Honey.” Amir never called Julie Ann Mommy, or Ma, or Momma because Ahsan always called her honey, so somehow, he thought that is what he was supposed to call her.

Nia, Tim and TJ came up the week before Christmas, Amir was not sure if he would be able to make it since the Coast Guard had finally transferred him fully to Florida and people tended to be idiots during the holidays. When the front door flew open and Rayne strode in from her shift at the bar Christmas morning with her brother behind her, rather than feeling excitement, Julie Ann’s feeling of dread grew worse.

“Something’s going to happen to my baby.” Julie Ann told Ahsan when she caught him away from the children.

“Is this about the psychic thing?”

“You know my feelings are never wrong.” Ahsan did not believe in—as he puts it—mumbo-jumbo, but he had to admit that these strange inklings Julie Ann got were never wrong. She knew something was going to happen to his older brother, and not long after he ODed. She knew Nia was going to have a baby and a year to the day she told her, TJ was born.

“Let’s not focus on that. Let’s just try to enjoy the day with our family and friends, okay?”

“Yeah…”

All in all, it was a good day. Two year old TJ was his usual, dramatic self being the center of attention. He wanted to go swim in the pool since he did not understand that water froze in the Winter. He was usually attached to Tim or Amir’s legs and would rather play dominos with his Papa and the men than with the mountain of toy he received as gifts. There was an awkward moment when Esther passed by for some food and met Grace and the Mamas at the house. “We’ll get brunch on the weekend, okay?” Julie Ann said as a way of apology.

Silas disappeared for about an hour and the girls grilled Grace on where their father could have gone but she just smiled.

“Oh shit, that boy done brought his girl here?” Ahsan’s father Armand said.

Amir laughed, “Come on Pops, you remember Zion.”

Armand’s eyes bugged out of his head, “That’s Lil ZiZi? Got damn!”

“Stop.” Ahsan slapped his father on the arm and tried to swallow his laugh. The other girls swarmed their sister, there was a lot of giggling and squealing.

“Look at that fool.” Amir grumbled when Rayne pushed her way through the Johnson girls. When they were little and Rayne was mad at Amir, she always told him that she wished Zion was her sister instead of Amir being her brother and he would cry every single time.

Ahsan chuckled, “It’s so good to have my family all together in one place.”

Julie Ann felt his eyes on her.

Two days after Valentine’s Day, Ahsan came home early from work looking terrible and Julie Ann wondered if he was sick. He made her sit on the couch and took a seat beside her. “We’re going to Florida. Tim called. Something happened…with Amir…”

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docholligay · 4 years

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These are messy, disorganized, and ANGRY thoughts for Holocaust Remembrance Day (Israel) .I don’t get sad about this, I get fucking angry. If there’s anyone I could insult, or blame, that would hurt your feefees, I highly, highly recommend you not click on this. I am not responsible for how you feel. Got it?

Given the preamble I feel I shouldn’t have to say this, but do NOT reblog this, I’m not having this conversation with some 21 year old with an anime icon who’s never met me.

There’s a cloud over every Jewish head, and it’s always the goddamn crematorium.

Today is Holocaust Rememberance Day. I light a yahrzeit candle every year, and I say Kaddish, every year, and I always do it alone, because I think if God wanted me to have minyan to say it with he shouldn’t have let so many of us die.

One third of the Jewish population on earth was murdered. Think of three Jews you know, if you even know of three of us, and imagine that one of us, gone. Imagine your friend’s Jewish family of six, and imagine knowing that soon it will be four. Imagine.

It was worse in some places. In Poland, it was ninety percent of us. A family of ten, with one left, that was the story of the Polish Jews, told over and over again.

But get over it. It’s fine that we’re talking about the collective trauma of an indiscriminate virus, of the idea of losing ten percent of us, but losing one third of your people is something that you shouldn’t be pulling out anymore. Never mind that we were directly targeted, never mind that this was not the first time and will not be the last that the call to arms is against us specifically. Jews just love to complain. The trauma should be long past.

And I think the numbers were inflated anyway, and other people were killed too, it wasn’t just the Jews. Never mind that the numbers probably are inaccurate as some of us were mowed down into ditches in Poland by the side of the road, and who knows how many there were, never mind that in Russia they lacked equipment and hired farmers to drown us by hand, and they happily took the money. Never mind that I sat in a second grade classroom as we passively discussed how people wanted to murder me, and how my teacher reduced it to a few hours where kids with brown eyes weren’t allowed to use the water fountain. Never mind that they burned us, against our laws.

“Jews never stop bringing up the Holocaust” but my great grandmother only ever said of Ukraine, “There is nothing left.” I knew she meant no one, but that to say that was too hard. Better to think of the buildings, of the oxen.

People love dead Jews. Dead Jews can be exactly the pawn you need them to be, proof of whatever it is that you’re saying is right, and it was the way the other guy thinks that killed the Jews. It’s so easy to make someone the big bad, to remember Jews as weak and simpering mice who simply went to their deaths. That’s how people like us, weak, and dead, a cliff note in history. Something to be used.

They accuse us of relying on the Holocaust, but I’ve spent my whole life watching goyim trot it out whenever they fucking feel like being dramatic. Poor Anne Frank is never going to know rest, the spectre of a child who never got to discover who she was and so is the most convenient Jew of all. Her father was criticized for stripping out parts of her diary that contained sexual thoughts, but he knew what I know, that to make Jews worth protecting, we must be stripped of inconvenience, or complication, or difficulty. As long as we keep burning, there will always be something to keep them warm. So long as we can be refined to the pile of ash they can mix with any material they wish to build their argument.

Live Jews are inconvenient. They are a messy and complicated and difficult people. They can still fuck up. They can, and will, disagree with you, with each other, and they won’t be quiet about it. Sometimes, we’re unkind to each other! I more than once have accused another Jew of being judenpolitzei, of siding with those who would let us be destroyed for their own ends. On both side of the aisle. We don’t behave. Supporting us doesn’t give you enough points.

I can hear the crackling, the burning. It’s been in my chest since I was a child,

I’m so angry, all the time. Anger has been my bondage for years and years, and I try to remind myself that anger can itself be a form of idol worship, and that anger can cause us to become something we don’t want to be.

Besides, Jews aren’t allowed to be angry. We’re supposed to be quiet and agreeable and patient, and nod along with however the right or the left wants us to be. We have to have the right opinion on Israel, on the mining of our culture, on Anne Frank, on the Holocaust and its causes, on what is Anti-Semitic, and these are the same for the right or the left. All these topics, a goy will tell you how you should think, and Jews that agree with them are the good Jews to protect, and Jews that disagree with them are the bad Jews. I am fucking tired of only deserving protection when I’m agreeing with someone.

I remember a few years ago, Giles Coren, a Jewish English food writer of Polish extraction, getting into trouble for saying, essentially, “fuck the Poles’. Essentially but also, literally. I remember reading that, and how immediately I thought that he had told one of our secrets, and it was terrifying and gratifying all at once. I’ve been in Jewish groups more than once where someone quietly admitted “I don’t care what happens to Poland,” the names of every family member they would never know unsaid. I remember feeling pride at how hard Coren went, how he got nasty, how he was angry, how he brought up that the Holocaust was so successful in Poland because Poland already hated Jews. It my first time ever seeing that bitterness, that desire to hit back, to be filled with that flame. Not making it a quiet secret. I went and found the direct quote from the whole thing that stuck with me forever, because I knew it was true, and I knew it was what would happen when the whole thing started. "I wrote in passing that the Poles remain in denial about their responsibility for the Holocaust. How gratifying, then, to see so many letters in The Times in the subsequent days from Poles denying their responsibility for the Holocaust." He was so angry. People hated him for it.

I remember being afraid, too. Shut up, Giles. This is going to come back to bite us in the ass. We aren’t allowed to do this. We aren’t allowed to hate the people that murdered us, even though some of them are still alive, even though Poland murdered the survivors who came back. We aren’t allowed to be angry about it. We have to be good Jews. We have to say we forgive them, oh how they fetishize survivors who say they forgive. Please, don’t tell them about that burn inside of us, like whiskey in your chest. Don’t tell them my great grandmother watched Russia’s horrors unfold with a smile on her lips. Don’t tell them she said they got what they deserved. We aren’t allowed.

Don’t get angry about America sending a ship full of refugees back in 1939, don’t get mad about Ireland only letting in refugees who agreed to convert, calm your fury about Jewish children being taken into Catholic homes, never to be returned to Jewish communities. The British government stopping a trade that would have saved a million Jewish lives. Of course it’s tragic. But there’s no need to be angry. There’s no need to yell. There’s not need to shame anyone over their culpability.

We have to cry about what happened to us. We are not allowed to rage about it.

Besides, if it’s everyone against you, you cannot be mad at the whole goddamn world, Holligay.

There’s a part of Indecent, a play tumblr and facebook reduced to “lesbians!!” while completely missing the point of what it was about, about Jewish identity and struggle, the search of legitimacy and the role of stories. Sholem, the writer, goes into a deep depression, and is sitting in a doctor’s office, while all of them are acting like this is so clinical, and he snaps. How can he not be like this, in a world where to be a Jew is to be like this? I felt that same flush, that acknowledgment of fury, of the world never getting it.

Even writing this, I feel I’m letting some secret out. They’ll hate us if they know. They’ll hurt us if they know. Smiling Anne Frank, who believes people are truly good, that’s what we have to be. Shut up, Doc. This is going to come back to bite us in the ass.

I light the yahrzeit candle and realize there’s no match in my hand, that somehow it has been kindled from my own anger, from my own white-hot hate. It burns me, too, and the pain of it pricks my eyes with tears. I do not often generalize, about Jews. This is because I actually know them, and we evade an easy box to be put in. We are an asterisk of a people. But I guarantee damn near every Jew you know has this burn inside them, that they might not even themselves understand. Maybe it’s quieter in Jews who got out early, whose families don’t carry the burden of knowing there’s a burnt patch of earth where your family stops. But I don’t think so.

I think we all know it could happen to us, at any time. And every goy who thinks they are so brave would do nothing in the face of true danger. They would turn you in without a second thought, because that’s what their families did.

I guarantee some of y’all reading this have your back up right now. Why is she so angry at people who could not have themselves done it? Isn’t she just as bad? Shouldn’t she just let it go?

Exodus tells us that children and their children will be punished, to the third and fourth generation, and if all God can scrape up is my anger as a punishment,

My rage is inconvenient to me, too. I tell myself things of all the Jewish philosophers I’ve read, about how we must love mercy, about how the world is desperate need of our loving attention, about how rejoicing in someone’s pain and failure is to spit in the face of what God has made us for. I tell myself these things all the time. I want to find a place where I can hold the truth of this anger, and not let it burn those who hold the community shame of the past. I want to use this fire to warm, and not to burn.

But I will also be honest with you.

I do not want to hear a single solitary argument against my anger from any Non-Jew.

You set me on fire. Now you have to let me burn.

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