#been gnawing on cold boys alone for months now please have this as an offering the terror camp... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jeonsjiddies · 4 years ago

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apodyopsis (m) | jjk

summary- apodyopsis (n.) ; the act of mentally undressing someone

alternatively, Jungkook is a nude model in your art class

rating- explicit / 18+ word count- 12k pairing- jungkook x reader genre- smut Warnings- daddy kink, slight degrading?, mild health concerns, very light bdsm?, masturbation, oral (female and male receiving), rough sex, kind of dom!jungkook, a little name calling?, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it bb)

a/n: our lovechild is born! We worked so hard on this, we hope you love it as much as we do. Currently thanking my lucky stars that @blkjmn agreed to collab with me, and that she saved my life with that glorious sex scene because I can’t seem to stop writing mushy fluffy smut. I love you so much thank you for being by my side and co-writing this with me. <3

“There’s one last thing we need to discuss before you are signed, Mr. Jeon. Do we need to backtrack for a moment to review, or shall we continue on?” The business contractor asked, using his thumb and index finger to push his glasses up further onto his nose bridge.

Jungkook wasn’t registering a single word that left the man’s mouth. His eyes were glued to the fine print on the page that described the job he’d be keeping for likely most of his (young adult) life, or at least until he was able to successfully rid himself of the guilt that's been resting on his broad shoulders for the last ten years.

He would never be able to forget the way his mother’s face fell every time he was discharged from the hospital. Not only did she have no answers and a still sick child to take home, but she also had a weighty hospital bill to add to the others that she received about once a month. She worked her ass off to take care of him as best she could, even with the gigantic debt she kept under her belt for the entirety of his childhood.

All of this was hidden from Jungkook until he was told he had celiac disease at the age of ten. His symptoms had gotten worse the longer his condition remained unnoticed, even though he would complain to his mother of constant pain everyday, tearful eyes locking with hers as if begging for her to give him any sort of relief.

“Mommy, my stomach hurts!”

“I’m not hungry! It makes it worse to eat!”

“Can you please make it stop, mama?”

He cringes every time he thinks about what he must’ve put his mother through as a child, and how she always managed to push a smile even though she was fighting to make ends meet.

Even after all of that, he was hesitating on signing this contract because he was too shy? Bullshit. He’d be selfish if he were to deny this opportunity because of his underlying fear of being seen naked in front of a large audience of people.

He knew he had no real reason to be afraid, though. After constant teasing in school for being extremely thin due to his illness, he built up the courage to get himself a gym membership when his condition became less overbearing.

He ate more often, built up more muscle, and managed to become more confident in himself and his abilities.

So, what did he have to be nervous for?

Jungkook no longer had any issues with stripping himself down. His body was sculpted perfectly, and he had a massive dick to accompany the figure he had worked for so many years towards.

Sure, everything was all set for him, but not for his mom. Jungkook knew that she barely managed to make her rent last month.

He needed to sign this contract.

“Mr. Jeon?” Jungkok’s glossy eyes were blown wide. He hadn’t moved an inch in the past minute.

“Mr. Jeon…” The man rolled his eyes, obviously knowing that it would take a bit more than calling the young man’s name to get him out of whatever trance he’d put himself in. He slammed his fist down onto the table, and Jungkook’s eyes crossed for a moment before he jolted to his senses.

He cleared his throat, and immediately began sputtering apologies.

“I-I’m so sorry. I’m not quite sure what came over me, I-” The contractor held his hand up, effectively silencing the boy as he picked up the pen that sat to the right of him while offering it to Jungkook with a raised brow.

“If this is something that you are not going to take seriously, then you may escort yourself out of my office. If you’d like to begin your career in this field, then take this pen and sign this contract.” Jungkook didn’t hesitate in grabbing the pen from the man, immediately apologizing for the way he snatched it out of his grasp.

He gnawed on his bottom lip, eyes scanning over the words on the thin paper as if he hadn’t been in this chair reviewing them for the past three hours.

This job paid well, and he had nothing to risk.

Except for the probable denial of any office job he’d try to apply to.

Why would he want an office job anyway?

Probably because--

“Any day now, Mr. Jeon.” He cast an annoyed glance toward the man. Couldn’t he see that he was contemplating on signing the damn thing?

He sighed, stretched his neck from side to side, and lifted the pen to the paper with a shaking hand.

The moment he finished signing, the crumpled sheet was ripped from under his fingertips, and tucked away into the desk of who Jungkook really hoped wouldn’t be his boss.

“It’s nice to have you along, kid.” Jungkook smiled nervously.

“You’ve got a great look, but of course, nude modeling is about what’s under the clothes.” His face instantly began to pale as he gripped the armrests of the chair he sat in.

Was this old dude asking to see him naked? Right now?

“You can step inside of the bathroom behind me to change. There should be a robe hanging on the door. Put it on, meet me outside, and we’ll take a few pictures for your portfolio.”

Jungkook sat still in the chair, staring at the man across from him with those adorable eyes widened in slight panic.

He was trying to pull himself up so he wouldn’t look like a fumbling idiot, but he couldn’t move a limb.

There was no turning back now, and he was fully aware of that.

“Am I… am I supposed to be naked for the f-first photo shoot?” Jungkook asked, his voice weak.

The contractor raised an eyebrow. It was normal for newcomers to be nervous, but he couldn’t understand why it was so difficult for him to follow directions.

In due time, he supposed.

“No, Jungkook.” The contractor sighed, pressing his thumb and middle finger against his temples in distress. Jungkook noted that this was the first time the man had addressed him formally as well, so it was probably in his best interest to go get changed if he didn’t want to get fired before he officially started the job.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He said, standing from the chair as he looked over the contractor’s shoulder to the bathroom. It seemed to be decently sized, and he could really use some time alone to get his nerves settled before he had to… well, pose naked for the camera.

Well, not naked. Not this time. That’s what the contractor said.

He looked toward the man one last time, before he began pushing himself in the direction of the bathroom. Upon approaching it, he could pick up the smell of lavender coming from the candles that were lit inside.

He opened the door, and immediately turned around to close and lock it.

He checked to make sure the door was locked before he pulled his shirt over his head and carefully pulled each of his shoes off.

He checked once more as he unbuckled his pants.

He checked one final time as he threw his belt to the floor.

Jungkook slid his thumbs in between his hips and the fabric of the jeans as he tugged them down toward the ground. He had no issue with this as of yet, seeing as he was still in his boxers.

He pressed his body up against the wall, giving himself something to lean up against as he took his jeans off and threw them toward the pile of his clothes he created on the floor.

The boxers were all that were left.

“Come on, man.” He whispered to himself, glaring at his reflection in the mirror as he began to get annoyed at his own anxiousness.

It was just a couple of pictures, and he’d be covered by a robe. He was acting like a wreck for no reason.

He closed his eyes and yanked the boxers down in one swift motion, knowing that if he hesitated, he probably would’ve just left them on.

Jungkook shivered as the cold air went straight to his dick, and he almost knocked one of the candles over and sent the bathroom up into flames as he lunged for the robe that was near the door.

It was soft and fluffy, and it also carried the faint scent of the lavender that engulfed his senses. It was warm as well, like a heated towel.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad, then.

He noticed that there were a pair of flimsy sandals sitting near the door as he prepared to leave. He was never told to put them on, or to mess with them at all, but he’d rather not walk around with his bare feet, so he slid them on anyway.

He checked his reflection once more, adjusting the robe a bit so it hung loosely around his waist, and so more of his chest could be exposed.

Sure, he was nervous, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t going to put on a good show.

He ran his hands down his sides, purposely brushing them over his cock as he considered giving it a few quick pumps before he made his way outside.

That’d be sure to leave a great first impression, which was what he was going for, but it’d be obvious that he was touching himself because his face would blush bright red.

He reached down to grab his clothes, folding them somewhat neatly. He grabbed his shoes and sat them on top of the stack of clothes he’d made.

Worry began to bubble in his stomach once he stepped out of the bathroom to find himself alone in the large office room, but he quickly remembered that he was told to meet the guy outside.

He hummed a small tune as he took quick steps toward the office door, placing his large hand upon the knob and opening it slowly, just in case his boss (Jungkook decided to assume that’s who this man was going to become. It’s better to wish for the worst anyway, right?) was right in front of the door.

Once he didn’t feel any force being pressed against the door, he opened it carefully and shimmied his way out of the office. He pressed his back against it to close it, and this small action caught the attention of his boss, who was sitting on a small bench a few feet away from the office.

“Great! You’re all changed.” The man smiled gently at him, clapping his hands together as he stood up and quickly approached Jungkook.

Jungkook stumbled back a few steps, confused by this sudden change of behavior. Was it because he was finally complying, or was it because he was about to be used for profit?

Either way, he didn’t mind. It’d be a hell of a lot easier to work in a less stressful environment, so he’d take what he could get.

“Uh, yeah… I wasn’t sure of where to put my clothes,” Jungkook began, holding up his clothes as he spoke, “so I decided to—“

“Ah, thank you for the reminder!” The man spoke, retreating back toward the bench he sat on to fetch an unmarked black bookbag from behind it.

He handed it to Jungkook, who took it thankfully and with a small smile.

“When do I return this to you?” Jungkook asked, not bothering to look toward his boss as he spoke as he was busy stuffing his belongings into the bag.

“It’s yours to keep, son.” Jungkook closed the bag and stood up, tossing it lazily over one of his shoulders as he raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Oh, thank you so much.” He smiled sincerely. He was especially thankful that it was unmarked, because if he were to wear the bag out in public, he’d hate for someone to actually read the company name and google it, only to find pictures of him covered with only a robe on the home page.

He shivered at the thought.

“The studio is actually on this floor, so we haven’t got far of a walk at all.” His boss began to walk, and Jungkook followed a few feet behind him as he began to survey his surroundings at each turn they took.

“Now, there will be a handful of people in this room with you. Other models, photographers, of course, lighting specialists, stylists, and a few possible employers.” Jungkook hummed as the man spoke, ignoring every word that was coming out of his mouth as his heart began to thud loudly in his chest.

He didn’t need this explanation, anyway. The average person knows a little something about how a photo shoot works.

Even though he was a considerable distance away from his boss, he was almost sure that he could hear the thudding in his chest.

“Every single one of the people waiting in this room are going to do their best to make you look good, so there’s no need to worry. Relax, and you focus on making the company look good.” He laughed throatily, and Jungkook laughed stiffly from behind him.

‘Make the company look good my ass,’ Jungkook thought.

He rolled his eyes, almost crashing directly into the short man in front of him as they abruptly stopped at a door tucked away into the corner of the hallway they were on.

“This is it. Do you have anything else to ask of me?” Jungkook hurriedly said no, his nerves being replaced by the excitement to show himself off a bit.

“Alright.” The man nodded once before he opened the door, and once again, Jungkook was slapped in the dick with a blast of cold air.

He raised his eyebrows in interest as he surveyed the few models that were scattered about the different sets that were spread apart in the room. One set was sexy and seductive, dripping in elements of crimson and black, another was a bit more fun, which used orange and yellow to contrast against the white, and Jungkook couldn’t even conjure up the words to describe the other sets.

He continued to watch the models pose as if this was natural for them, flinching every now and then at the bright light that would flash every time a picture was taken.

He also noted that all of the models were nude.

They seemed to be masters of their talents, so maybe Jungkook got to leave the robe on because he was an amateur?

“Shit.” Jungkook cursed under his breath. Another cool draft of wind ran through the room, and he scurried to look down and pull the robe over his thighs.

Jungkook heaved a sigh of relief once he successfully covered himself, and his boss quickly strolled over to him to grab the bag off of his shoulder. Jungkook immediately looked over to ask him what he was doing, but before he got the chance, he was being whisked away by a manicured hand.

Everything moved quickly, but this should’ve been what Jungkook was expecting. This wasn’t just about his money.

He was thrown onto a couch near the center of the room, which was white just like the walls.

As soon as his ass touched the couch cushions, there were at least four people crowding over him to add some blush to his cheeks, and add some hairspray to his hair.

He was startled, but he didn’t mind the chaotic environment. It reminded him very much of the hospital he frequented when he was younger, and the thought of him finally being able to help his mom out after so long brought a smile to his face.

After the clutter of bodies went away, Jungkook was left alone on the couch with a camera pointed directly at him.

He gulped, his mouth suddenly dry.

The man behind the camera snapped a few shots of Jungkook to test the quality of the photos, and once he was pleased with what he saw, he stared expectantly at Jungkook with a raised brow.

“Uh…” Jungkook began.

“Take your robe off.” He stated bluntly. Jungkook choked, and immediately looked to where he saw his boss last, but he was nowhere to be found.

That fucker.

“I—I thought that I—“

“You may want to be quick about it, too. Time is money, and the more pictures we take of you, the better your chances are at being promoted.” Jungkook sighed.

If there was one thing he needed, it was money.

Hell, that’s what he got the job for.

He slowly brought his hands down to the sash that was holding the robe together and undid it, tossing it next to him on the couch.

He smirked lightly when he heard a few of the women standing behind the photographer gasp, quickly scanning every one of their faces to see their shocked expressions.

Jungkook could read the women easily. They all bit their lips, winked, or waved flirtatiously as he made eye contact with them, except for one woman.

She smiled teasingly at him, although she was seemingly unimpressed with his level of confidence. She raised an eyebrow tauntingly, pretending as if she didn’t understand why everyone was reacting as if they’d never seen a penis before. Though her cool exterior radiated disinterest, Jungkook could see past her facade, her eyes gave everything away. He could see the desire in her y/e/c irises. Jungkook understood, he felt it too.

Jungkook returned the smile, oddly at ease by her presence. He absentmindedly licked his lips as he raked his eyes up and down the curves of her figure.

She wore a long sleeved shirt that hugged her frame perfectly, a tight skirt that rested a few inches above her knees, and a pair of black heels that made her legs look absolutely stunning from where Jungkook was sitting.

He was sure they’d still look delicious if he were to take a closer look, which he wouldn’t mind in the slightest.

His mind wandered, images of her naked body flashing behind his eyelids. He lost himself in his daydreams of kissing up her legs while she squirmed underneath him.

What the hell is wrong with him? He was made to be the one receiving suggestive glances, but here he was, blatantly checking out the cute girl that was just trying to make him comfortable.

The girl broke eye contact with him, and he immediately looked away as well, squirming slightly in his seat as he felt his cock harden between his legs.

He made no effort to hide it, but he did close his legs a bit to make it less obvious.

He did not just get a boner because he made eye contact with a pretty girl.

Well, on the bright side, he didn’t have to worry about getting himself hard in the bathroom.

He glanced over in the lady’s direction once more, pouting once he noticed that she was no longer paying any attention to him, instead scribbling something down on a notepad she held in her small hands.

Why did he want her attention so bad?

“Alright,” The photographer began, bringing Jungkook back down to earth, “Keep it natural. The more relaxed you feel, the better your photos will turn out.” Jungkook nodded, a bit more eager than he should’ve been to begin his first session.

“Perfect!” The photographer yelled, snapping one last photo of Jungkook before he closed the lens of his camera and began to pack up his equipment.

Most of the other models and workers filed out already, and Jungkook was overly thankful that it would be his turn to leave this room next.

Jungkook thought the shoot went very well, as it was very easy for him to… keep himself encouraged throughout, thanks to that pretty lady.

He relaxed from his position, in which he was leaned forward, his elbows propped onto his knees as he smirked cockily at the camera.

He wasn’t sure of what to do just yet, waiting for his liar of a boss to make himself shown again.

Especially considering that the man had his clothes and shoes.

Jungkook sighed and closed his eyes, pressing his back into the couch as he breathed in and out slowly. He continued like this for a few moments, until he could hear heels tapping against the floor in his direction.

He opened one of his eyes, taking a peek at who was walking toward him.

Jungkook immediately sat up upon noticing that it was the woman with the sexy legs that kept his dick hard through the entirety of his shoot.

She approached him with a friendly smile, and Jungkook returned her sincerity with a smile of his own.

“Could I take a seat?” She motioned toward the empty spot on the couch next to him. Jungkook nodded once.

“Of course.” He moved over a bit, his cock swinging against his inner thigh as he did so.

It was then that he realized that he was absolutely naked still, so he grabbed the robe that laid over the arm of the couch and threw it on, as if the woman hadn’t already seen everything he had to offer— and more.

“Thank you!” She smiled at him. ”I’m Y/N.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I’m Jungkook.” She chuckled at this. Jungkook was confused as to what she found funny, maybe his name?

He gripped the robe between his fingers, nervously running the pads of them over the soft material as he pondered over what could’ve made the tempting woman in front of him giggle so sweetly.

“Why’re you laughing?” She noticed his nerves return, a knowing smirk on her lips as she watched the way he shyly avoided eye contact with her.

“I already know who you are, Mr. Jeon.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. It’s almost as if she knew she was enticing.

“You did some great work today, you know?” She flashed him an adorable smile again.

It was something about the way that ‘Mr. Jeon’ rolled off of her tongue that was driving Jungkook up the wall.

“Look, I know this may seem a bit forward, but you radiate great potential.” Jungkook nodded, thanking her quietly, as she pulled out that notepad that she was scribbling in when she was too busy to give him attention while he was posing sexily.

“I conduct an art class at a community center, and I’d love it if you were to drop by and model for me a bit, since you’ve gotten the swing of things fairly quickly.” She giggled, as she ripped out the page from the small book and handed it to him gently.

“Please, feel free to decline if you’re uncomfortable, but if you’d like to give it a try then give me a call.” She eyed him carefully as he picked up the paper and read over it.

“That’s my personal number, so you can call me whenever you’d like.” Something about that sentence put an image into Jungkook’s head.

“Alright, I’ll get out of your hair now.” She stood up, collecting her belongings as she did so.

“If I never run into you again, then it’s been a pleasure, Jungkook.” She proceeded to walk away, leaving him on the couch alone.

Jungkook lingered just outside the door of the art room, his stomach twisting with nerves. When he’d first been approached about modeling, he’d laughed it off. It started off with easy stuff, brand deals and commercial advertisements. How did he end up here? Posing nude in front of a group of strangers to pick apart his body for their art? This was the best paying gig he’d ever been presented with… the small advertising gigs had been a couple hundred at best but this one would put a sizable dent in his mother’s debt, easing her misfortune. Jungkook had to do this. For her.

He held his head high and strolled into the room with a confident air, any trace of his uneasiness washed away. He glanced around at the unfamiliar faces, carefully watching his every move. He smiled in a greeting, until his eyes landed on you. His face lit up at seeing your familiar face and your heart clenched at the sight. Should Jungkook have found comfort in your deceptively soft eyes? No. Did he? Absolutely. Your sharp tongue didn’t phase him too badly, not when he could see the tenderness in your eyes.

“Good morning, Mr. Jeon.” you smiled, extending your hand in an invitation.

Jungkook reached out, enveloping your small hand in his own larger one, shaking it professionally. He reveled at how soft your skin was.

“Good morning, Ms. Y/L/N.” he greeted. “Good morning, everyone.” he addressed the rest of the room. “Please call me Jungkook.”

“Alright. Jungkook here is going to be our model. Long gone are the days of fruit baskets. Here is where the fun begins.” you smirked, sending a raised eyebrow Jungkook’s way.

In spite of himself, Jungkook blushed under your suggestive gaze.

“Now, don’t forget that this is for art.” you emphasized. “The human body is a work of art and I expect you to treat it as such. Take this seriously. Okay?”

Most heads nodded automatically, a few older women rolled their eyes or stole looks from each other, mocking you. You were placing a young, muscular man in front of them without clothes. How did you expect them not to ogle?

“For this particular piece, we’re going to be exploring how to use charcoal to get those little details. Don’t forget your shading!” you chimed happily. “Ready, Jungkook?”

“I think so.” he smiled.

“Show us what you got.” you grinned, stepping back and sitting at your own easel.

Jungkook’s hands trembled a bit as he unbuttoned his shirt, trying his best to 1. Not look like a total basket case and 2. Not make it super sensual. Deft fingers worked their way down his shirt and soon the material was sliding off his body in a way he felt was unceremoniously, but judging from the mouths hanging open around the room, might’ve been a bit more enticing than he’d intended.

Jungkook’s chest was absolutely flawless, in your opinion. You were one of the few who managed to keep your tongue inside your mouth for the show, but that didn’t stop your eyes from wandering over his toned physique. Sure you’d seen him at his photography shoot, but he was wearing a robe and you were trying to be professional. Now, hidden behind your easel, you were free to really take him in.

His chiseled chest, the deep ridges of his toned abs, the smoothness of his skin, the light dusting of hair that teased its way under his jeans. He was a walking wet dream. Your mouth watered as your gaze followed the lines of his V. Jungkook popped open the button of his jeans, tugging the zipper down as well. You’d never been so entranced by a simple movement in your life. The man radiated sexual energy.

He shimmied his hips free of the denim, his every movement captivating his audience. Firm hip bones, luscious thick thighs, deliciously tanned skin were all slowly revealed as he tugged the jeans off in one fluid motion. Maybe he should be a stripper instead of a model… You shook the thought away, but it lingered. Jungkooks movements faltered for a moment, his eyes seeking yours for comfort. You smiled reassuringly at him, and that was all he needed to tug his boxers over his delicious thighs and let his glorious cock free.

“Holy shit.” you heard from somewhere behind you.

“He reminds me of a lover I once had in Prague. I’d sneak him into my hotel room and we’d make love until the sun came up. I miss being young.”

Jungkook coughed and brought his arm up to cover the flush spreading across his cheeks at the older woman’s inappropriate comment. You bit back a laugh.

“Alright Jungkook, just make yourself comfortable and we’ll start drawing you, okay?” you instructed, attempting to take his mind off of the earlier comment.

“Okay.” he nodded, settling himself on the stool you’d set out for him, resisting the urge to strike a pose he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold.

The room grew quiet save for the scratch of charcoal on canvas as the class began attempting to do justice to Jungkook’s beauty in their renditions of him. You began by tracing an outline of his body, opting not to attempt any details yet. The pink tint that rested upon the apple of your cheeks was hard to ignore, and you weren’t sure you could handle trying to get details of certain areas just yet.

You did your best to ignore the effect Jungkook’s naked body was having on your own fully clothed one. He was ethereal, beautiful, the kind of man you could lose yourself in. He had charisma, a way about him that just drew people in. Or maybe it was just you. Every time your eyes locked with his, it was like he was the only thing you could focus on. Everything else was obsolete.

Jungkook held a power over you that honestly scared you a little, and he didn’t even know he did. He didn’t understand how magnetic he was. Sure, he was sexy and he knew it. He’d obviously spent hours painstakingly sculpting his body to perfection, but it wasn’t even just his flawless physique, it wasn’t just his gorgeous, greek-god-like face. His power was inside of him, his strength, his determination, that spark in his gaze.

Jungkook was different from the rest, whether he realized it or not. He was special. Everything about him invited you in and coaxed you to give all of yourself to him. You couldn’t stop your thoughts from wondering as you lazily sketched the outline of him. How would his skin feel under your touch? Heat flooded your veins as you imagined what his touch might feel like in return. You shook these thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand and trying to see Jungkook as nothing more than art you were depicting. You were going to make certain you got every detail correct. And for that, you needed to focus.

Jungkook forced himself to look anywhere but at the people who were gawking at his naked frame. He couldn’t stop himself from watching you though. He found himself wondering what you thought of him. He wanted to see what you were doing on your canvas. He wanted you to look at him. As if reading his thoughts, you lifted your gaze and faltered when you found his already upon you. When your eyes met and he bit his lip in a nervous smile, you knew you were screwed.

The next time you saw Jungkook was a week later. Your class had nearly doubled in size as word spread of the toned man with the impressive cargo. You rolled your eyes to yourself but greeted your new arrivals with the same professional smile. You couldn’t blame them, not really. Would you have passed up the opportunity to see him naked again? Hell no. He was already undressed when you’d arrived, running late after a meeting with the program director congratulating you on your ability to gain interest in your class.

“Sorry I’m late!” you announced to the class, then to Jungkook specifically with an apologetic look.

“That’s alright dearie.” one of the older women commented, and you sent her a gracious smile.

“So! For those of you who are new, you can partner up with someone and observe or you can find your own Canvas located on the tables in the back. If you need any help please let me know, since you weren’t here for the introductory lessons.”

“Does she really think we’re here just to draw?” you heard a whisper from the back of the room.

“I know. I didn’t believe Karen when she told me an asian boy with a giant dong was modeling for her community center art class. I had to see for myself.” another voice giggled.

“If I were 15 years younger, I would climb that boy like a tree. I may be old enough to be his mother, but I could still give him a run for his money.”

“Mmm.. I wonder what he can do with those fingers. I bet he has stamina for days.”

You glanced up at Jungkook, who was actively trying to hide his discomfort, shifting a little on the stool as he attempted to stay still. You cleared your throat, loudly, sending a pointed look to the two women in the back.

“I just want to remind our newcomers that this class is about art, not objectification. Please remain respectful. If you can’t manage that, I’m sure you can manage to find the door.” you nearly hissed.

They shrugged sheepishly and grew quiet. You huffed in annoyance, glancing back at Jungkook again, who sent you an appreciative smile. You nodded, focusing on your canvas in front of you once more.

Once class was over and the others had filed out, you walked up to Jungkook as he was buttoning his jeans. He looked up from his task and greeted you with a warm smile.

“Hey, Y/N.” he grinned, apparently forgetting he still needed to put a shirt on.

You used every brain cell you had to keep yourself from staring at his chiseled chest.

“Hey Jungkook.” you smiled. “Are you okay? Did those women make you uncomfortable? I can ask them not to come back.”

“Oh it’s okay!” he assured you, placing a hand on your shoulder, “I appreciate the offer but I don’t want to be a bother. It did make me kind of uncomfortable but they stopped so it’s okay.”

“Are you sure? They said some pretty inappropriate things.” you pressed.

“I don’t mind that what they said was inappropriate,” he explained, “it’s more that they were talking about me like I wasn’t even here. Like I was some sex doll or something. I don’t mind women finding me attractive, but I do have sustenance.”

“I get it. You shouldn’t be objectified while you’re doing your job.” you told him.

“Kind of hard to remind people I have dignity when I’m standing in front of them in all my naked glory. I can see how that might be distracting.” he winked playfully.

“Ah, there’s that cocky personality.” you threw back at him with a grin.

“Seriously though. Thank you for being on my side.” he told you sincerely.

Electricity shot through your body when he leaned in and gave you a gentle hug. You took a deep breath to steady yourself but that only resulted in breathing in the scent of him, musky and woodsy, yet sweet. It reminded you of cinnamon. It was intoxicating.

You desperately ignored the ache between your thighs and wrapped your arms around him to reciprocate his affections. His body seemed to relax against yours and the embrace lasted a little longer than a hug between mostly strangers should. He pulled away but held you at arms length to watch your features for a moment.

“See, now that’s the kind of look I don’t mind from a woman. Especially one as beautiful as you.” he smirked, turning and grabbing his shirt off the stool before sauntering away and shooting you a shit eating grin as you stand frozen in place.

You shot up, waking with a fright. Your chest heaved as you struggled to catch your breath. Images flashing through your mind once more. Your subconscious thoughts led way to the hottest sex dream you’d ever experienced, and of course the star was your male model. You couldn’t stop picturing his mouth on you, his hands on you. You shook your head to clear it. Alone in your bed, you couldn’t get that cocky grin out of your mind. You tried to fight it, you really did. You tried to redirect your mind anywhere but his plump lips, his perfectly sculpted jaw, the way his warm skin felt against yours when he’d hugged you…

Shrouded in shame but overcome with desire, you let your hand dance down your stomach underneath the elastic of your pajama shorts, your fingers finding their way to your slit. You closed your eyes, imagining it was Jungkook’s fingers inside you instead. You pumped them slowly in and out of yourself.

“Ungh… fuck. Jungkook.” you whined, writhing against your fingers, trying to find that spot that drove you crazy.

You picked up the pace, letting your fingers find a delicious rhythm inside of you, wondering what it would feel like if it were Jungkook inside of you instead. His cock was so pretty. It took everything you had not to stand up and start sucking it every time you saw it.

“Jungkook.” left your lips as your whines got louder, moving your attention to circle at your clit with your juices as lubrication.

You wished you had a picture of him to look at while you pleasured yourself to the idea of him, but you let your imagination take control, replaying images from your dream, and creating new fantasies about the model with the sultry eyes. You were close, and the closer you got to the edge, the louder you became. You swore you could almost hear the faint sound of Jungkook’s labored breathing along with your own, but it must’ve been your imagination running wild.

Your orgasm crashed over you, Jungkook’s name leaving your lips repeatedly, like he was the only thought you could muster when your brain turned off and your high took over. You fucked yourself through it, soft whimpers leaving your mouth as you pulled your fingers out. You padded your way to the bathroom to wash up, climbing back into bed not nearly as satiated as you’d hoped to have been. You drifted to sleep anyway, thoughts of Jungkook and the hope of seeing him again soon on the forefront of your mind when unconsciousness took over.

Jungkook was early today, you noticed as you walked into the art room. You were the first two to have arrived, you wanted to make up for being late the previous week.

“Hey. What are you doing here so early?” you asked, setting your bag down as you made your way over to him.

“Needed to talk to you.” he responded, voice low and husky.

“Everything okay?” you asked, concern filling your chest.

“No. Everything is not okay.” he hissed, trapping you against the wall.

You shivered at the sudden change in his demeanor, at his body so close to yours, at the dominating tone of his voice.

“I’ve been horny as hell all week.” he grunted, rutting his hips into yours.

“O-oh.” was all you could muster for a response, your body immediately reacting to his movements and sending moisture to your core.

“Imagine my surprise when I got a call from you late Saturday night.” he smirked, lips ghosting over the hollow of your throat, allowing his cool breath to fan against the area. He watched your skin flush crimson and felt your heart rate pick up.

Saturday night? You hadn’t called him. Saturday night you were… oh.

“Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you sound when you’re moaning my name?” he teased, rolling his hips and pulling them back before pinning you to the wall with them once more, his erection pressed firmly against your aching heat.

“I-” you began to explain, but he cut you off.

“Fuck, the way you sound when you cum… I nearly came too. Listening to you fuck yourself for me. Tell me, what were you thinking about when your fingers sunk into that pretty little pussy? Was it my mouth?” he questioned, letting his lips graze along the shell of your ear.

“Was it my cock?” he ground his hardened member into you once more. “Maybe it was my tongue.” he mused, licking a bold stripe from the swell of your breasts to your collarbone.

A whimper was forced from your throat at his ministrations. You were hyper aware of every breath Jungkook took, feeling his body move against yours. You were also aware that at any moment, people were going to start filing through the door for class.

“Jungkook.” you breathed, a warning.

Or was it a promise?

Jungkook groaned, biting down on the side of your neck and sucking a purple bruise into the exposed flesh, then blowing cold air over the injured spot to soothe it. Your entire body shivered. Jungkook’s head turned as he heard footsteps approach the door. With a pointed look directly into your eyes, he stepped back from you and put much needed space between his body and yours, just in time for the first arrival to walk through the door.

You must’ve been a sight to behold, flushed and breathing heavily while pressed up against the wall. You hadn’t been able to make yourself move after Jungkook stepped away. He looked unbothered, but you were about to burst. You could feel your arousal slipping down your leg. You cursed yourself for wearing a skirt.

Jungkook, however, was thrilled with your outfit choice for the day. Especially since once you’d taken your seat at your easel, he had a front row view of your white lacy panties. Jungkook had already stripped naked for today’s modeling session, having put all of his effort into calming his dick down so he wasn’t hard in front of everyone. However, his efforts were moot when he noticed the dark wet patch imprinted on the ivory fabric that covered your heat.

Jungkook bit down on his lip, nearly drawing blood as his eyes latched onto your core. You shifted in your seat, attempting to press your thighs together to find some relief, an action which made Jungkook smirk to himself. Until his cock started reacting. In front of everyone. Jungkook wasn’t sure if he was more turned on or more embarrassed when he noticed your gaze unwavering on his hardening member. Your mouth hung open slightly, drool pooling at the edges. Jungkook chuckled to himself.

The other members of the class were just as astonished as you were, but Jungkook paid them no mind. All he could think about was getting inside of you. He couldn’t stop picturing the way your pupils had blown out just at his words, the way your breath hitched when he touched you. He bet you’d be so responsive when his fingers came to tease along your folds. He wondered how tight you were, if you’d be as loud as you were on the phone or even louder? Surely he could make you scream if you’d been that loud with just your own fingers?

Jungkook gave up trying to control his raging boner the moment he saw your arousal pooled at your core on display for him. Suddenly, he saw your hand sneak between your legs and tease along the ivory fabric. His gaze snapped up to your face, your eyes alight with mischief when they met his own. Your fingers pushed the damp fabric aside and began circling around your clit. Jungkook was the only one who could see from his position at the front of the room.

You were putting on a show for him, torturing him when he could do nothing about it. His eyes narrowed as he glared at you, but your face remained impassive, the epitome of feigned innocence. But like always, Jungkook saw the real you behind your heavy lidded gaze. You couldn’t hide from him, he could read you like an open book. There was nothing innocent about the way you were licking your lips, slowly dragging the swollen flesh between your teeth teasingly.

Your fingers spread your folds so Jungkook had a perfect view of your clit as you began rubbing it in slow circles. Jungkook’s eyes were glued to your bundle of nerves and the way your fingers teased at it. You gathered some of your slick to coat your fingers and lubricate them so they slid along your cunt with ease. Your digits were shiny, covered in your arousal. Jungkook nearly came when he watched in agony as you inserted two fingers into your entrance, pulling them back out and twisting them so he could watch the light reflect off your wetness. You stuck them in your mouth and sucked your juices off seductively before going back to your sketch.

Jungkook could not wait to punish your naughty behavior. He couldn’t wait to wipe that satisfied smirk off your face with an expert flick of his tongue. You had an attitude now, but once he was balls deep inside that soaking wet pussy he was sure you wouldn’t be quite so eager to tease him. You weren’t going to cum until you were crying and begging for it, he’d already made up his mind.

The minutes ticked by excruciatingly slow, each passing second felt like an eternity as Jungkook waited for class to be over. It felt like his dick twitched every time the little hand on the clock did. No matter what he did, no matter what he thought of, Jungkook could not get his erection to subside. His thoughts only led back to the lewd way you’d sucked your own arousal off your fingers.

Jungkook thought he might cry tears of joy when you finally dismissed the class with a chipper wave of your hand and a sweet smile. The second the last person walked out the door, Jungkook shut it and you heard the click of the lock echo throughout the empty room. You swallowed nervously, bending over to grab your bag, earning a hearty laugh from Jungkook.

“Oh baby girl… you really think I’m just going to let you leave after the little show you put on for me?” he purred, advancing toward you quickly until his body was flush against yours, breath tickling the space below your ear. “So naughty, teasing daddy like that.” he tsked.

His fingers trailed their way up your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You shivered under his touch, though it was barely even there. His skin danced along yours, coming to rest at the curve of your breasts.

“Mmm… I think I’d like to taste these.” he grinned, suddenly yanking your tank top down so that both of your nipples were exposed to the bitter cold of the room.

A smirk played on his lips at the gasp that snuck its way past yours. His head dipped, and you thought he’d immediately take one of your nipples in his mouth, you were salivating over the thought of his warm, wet mouth on your perky buds. Instead, his pillow soft lips found yours, his tongue roaming along until you parted your lips and granted him access.

His tongue danced with yours as he brought his hips closer to grind into your aching center. You had never wanted anyone as badly as you wanted Jungkook. The man pressed against you had you brainless and ready to do anything he asked with a simple roll of his hips.

Jungkook decided he didn’t like being the only naked one, and pulled your shirt above your head. Were you shivering from the cold air or Jungkook’s predatory gaze? Hell if you knew. Jungkook’s nimble fingers had your bra unhooked in a suspiciously short amount of time but you paid that no mind. He flung it across the room and his mouth was on your breast in an instant. Slick tongue working against your erect nipple while the other was massaged by his large hand. Every movement of his tongue, every playful pinch of his forefinger and thumb against your sensitive skin was sending lightning bolts straight down to your heat.

Jungkook’s mouth left your breast with an audible “pop!” since he sucked the flesh as he pulled away, switching his efforts to the neglected side, this time mixing it up by grazing his teeth ever so softly along the most sensitive part. Soft whimpers left you and you effectively became putty in his hands... and mouth. His tongue darted out to give a final flick against your sensitive bud before his hot kisses descended south. He kissed along the expanse of your stomach, slowly working his way down, sucking and nibbling as he went to leave small bruises dotted over your skin. He flipped your skirt up, exposing the lacy white panties that had been taunting him for hours, and the dark wet patch where your arousal soaked through them. Jungkook let out a growl, ripping the ivory fabric from your body and tossing it aside, revealing your pussy to him.

“So fucking beautiful. Better than I’d imagined.” He praised.

Without warning, his tongue darted out and swiped along your folds. Your knees buckled but Jungkook’s strong arms held you up, hands on either of your hips to keep you still and pressed against the wall while he worked his tongue along your slit then against your throbbing clit.

“Shit!” You cried out, body jolting forward and hands coming to rest on his shoulders when his plump lips wrapped around the sensitive bundle and sucked harshly.

Jungkook showed no mercy, devouring your cunt like it was his death row meal, the final wish of a man with nothing to lose. He lapped at your juices as if it were the last thing he’d ever do. Your entire body was thrumming, shaking violently as your orgasm was wretched out of you with no warning.

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, or a curse, you weren’t sure. The only thing you could focus on was the blinding white euphoria his tongue had shoved you headfirst into. You would’ve collapsed if Jungkook hadn’t held you up, allowing you to slowly sink to your knees to meet his posture as your body twitched and shook at the aftermath of your mind blowing high. Your breathing ragged and your eyes wide, you watched the satisfied smile appear on his angelic face. Cocky bastard. Sexy, skilled, ridiculously beautiful cocky bastard.

“Still feeling like a tease?” Jungkook asked, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip as he raised an eyebrow at you. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly, and all of his words sounded like another language at the moment.

“What?” You asked, causing him to laugh a bit at your clearly fucked out state of mind. Although the both of you were stripped down to almost nothing (save your skirt) and on your knees in the ground, it was clear who held the power between the two of you.

“You wanna taste yourself on my tongue?” He offered, already beginning to lean forward as he reached his arm out to pull your body closer to his, but you shook your head, an idea playing in the back of your head as you quickly conjured up a plan that’d have him weak and panting instead.

“I’d rather taste you on my own. Stand up.” You ordered.

He raised an eyebrow, surprised by your cute attempt at telling him what to do as if he hadn’t successfully put you in your place a minute or two ago. He stood nonetheless, vaguely interested in whatever you had up your sleeve. His goal was to make you suffer, but he supposed you could have a bit of fun before he fucked you brainless over that desk that sat a few feet away from the two of you.

You shifted yourself around a bit, as did he, so he now had his back pressed against the wall. You sat submissively under him, although Jungkook was anything but while he had ravaged your sweetness with his tongue.

“You’re pretty with your thighs around my face, but there’s just something about you on your knees.” Jungkook teased, his cockiness never failing to make an appearance as he ran a hand through your hair in appreciation.

You hummed to thank him, a sly smile of your own playing on your lips as you slowly lifted your small hand up to his cock. This small action alone had him tensing up completely, hissing quietly as you squeezed your hand loosely against his length repeatedly until he had to intertwine his fingers with your locks and pull your head up.

“You’d better stop unless you want to walk out of this room with my cum dripping down your face.” He warned.

You shrugged, leaning forward a bit, placing your free hand on his thigh while you stroked his cock slowly, your eyes honing in on the clear liquid that leaked from the tip of his length. You licked your lips at the thought of swiping it away with your tongue, but you weren’t supposed to give in this easily. This wasn’t a part of your plan, but you’d give anything just to keep seeing the expression of pure ecstasy on his face.

You continued to stroke him with your hand, purposely digging your nails into his thigh to see if it’d bring a reaction out of him. A shiver ran from his spine to the tips of his toes as you did this, and you couldn’t help the giggle that slipped past your lips.

“You like a little pain?” You teased, narrowing your eyes at him in defiance as you stuck your tongue out, pressing it slowly against his shaft.

You licked a stripe from his balls to the angry tip, looking up at him through your lashes as you swiped the precum away like you originally intended.

It was just as salty as you expected it to be, but you didn’t mind at all. You closed your eyes as you brought your tongue back into your mouth, pressing your lips together and swallowing slowly as you allowed the taste of him to burn down your throat.

“You taste just as good as you look.” You commented seductively, pressing a chaste kiss to his cock head and swirling your tongue around it once more before you began to spread your lips over the expanse of his cock.

Now, you’d definitely had your experience with this sort of thing once or twice before, but Jungkook was big, and there was no way you were fitting your pretty mouth over all of him, no matter how desperately you wanted to. As much as you were dying to get all of him in your mouth, for your own safety and wellbeing, you opted to use your hand to continue to apply some relief to what you couldn’t quite reach with your mouth.

“Oh, shit. That’s so good, baby.” You weren’t sure if he was just in the moment, but your heart fluttered a bit at the pet name.

You hollowed your cheeks as you struggled to take more of him into your mouth. You gagged a handful of times, but Jungkook didn’t seem to mind. He even pulled all of your hair into his hands, using it as a sort of makeshift leash as he pushed you further down onto his cock, wanting to hear you gag on him again.

You worked quickly with your mouth, alternating the flicks of your wrists with your hand to keep Jungkook guessing. He had pressed his weight fully against the wall behind him, his leg twitching occasionally whenever you ‘accidentally’ dragged your teeth along the underside of his dick, not enough to cause any real harm, just enough to ignite a spark.

“Oh my God…” He whimpered.

You did yourself the favor of looking up at him while your mouth was stuffed full, your pussy spasming at the sight. His mouth was hung open in a silent moan, his eyes were screwed shut in pleasure, and a few of his sweaty black locks were stuck to his forehead. You figured you could make him cum just like this, but you’d rather be his personal cumbucket. Was it a bit selfish? Maybe, but you couldn’t care less at the moment. He looked absolutely delectable above you.

He cracked his eyes open just as you slid his cock out of your mouth, gathering up the saliva that built up while your lips were stretched around him and spitting it back out onto his manhood. You were deliberately slow with this, wanting him to feel it the moment it made contact with his head. You watched his face as your saliva spilled down onto his shaft, using this as lubrication as you continued to pump your fist against him.

You sank down further onto your knees, only able to give his balls a few licks with your tongue, and a short lived massage before you were yanked backward, head first. Your immediate reaction to this was a rough squeeze to his cock, since it was the only thing in your grasp at the moment. You let out a strangled groan as he clenched his jaw while looking down at you, cock standing at attention as he debated his next movement.

“Get the fuck up.” He commanded you, although he pulled you up off of the ground by the grip he had on your hair on his own.

He pressed your back to his chest, ensuring you felt every ripple of his muscles pressed against your naked skin. Making a path with his hand from your stomach, in between your breasts, then finally to your neck, he held you firmly against him, so you had no space between your flushed bodies. You felt every rise and fall of his toned chest, his breathing just as ragged as yours.

“I’m going to bend you over that desk there, alright?” He whispered into your ear, his cool breath fanning over your cheek as you nodded eagerly, just wanting him to follow through with his plan instead of telling you the process. After all, actions do speak louder than words.

“When I let you go, I want you to walk over there like a good little slut and bend over. Flip that skirt up and show me your cunt. Can you do that for me?” You felt his cock twitch against your inner thigh, and you nodded again with a quiet moan.

“Go.” He let you go with one word, watching you swiftly walk over toward the desk as he took his length in his right hand and stroked it quickly while approaching you with loud, threatening footsteps.

You weren’t sure how that was possible since he didn’t have shoes on, but it only excited you further. You complied with his orders easily, pressing your cheek against the cold surface of the desk. You hiked the skirt up a bit around your waist and wiggled your ass teasingly as you waited for him to come ravage you.

“You’re cute, but you’re so annoying.” He grunted from behind you, slapping both of your ass cheeks with his heavy hands, massaging them afterward before delivering two more harsh slaps.

“You work me up in front of a room full of people, and then try to collect your stuff afterward as if you weren’t practically begging me to use you? Bullshit.” He spanked your ass again, relishing in the way you hissed after every hit and gripped the edge of the desk tighter.

“I’m going to make a mess out of you, you know that?” He pressed his chest against your back, pushing his weight onto you as he whispered into your ear.

You nodded, his eyes scanning over the expanse of your back as his long fingers momentarily kneaded your muscles.

“What’re you waiting for, then?” You quipped, although your voice sounded a bit flat because of Jungkook’s body weight. He laughed as he pulled himself up off of you.

Silently, he grabbed his cock and lined it up with your pussy as he pressed the head against your tight hole. You moaned at this, inhaling sharply as he just barely slipped himself inside of you. You whimpered in defeat as he pulled out quickly afterward, not wanting to give you the time to savor the feeling of being stretched out by his length.

“I swear, if you wait any longer then I’m going to fuck myself on your dick.” You threatened shakily, to which he smirked at.

“Is that so?” He let go of his cock. “Be my guest, then.” He shrugged, although you couldn’t see him.

You turned around swiftly, beyond irritated at whatever game he was trying to play. You were turned on, and you wanted to be fucked silly, but he was acting like a brat.

“You know what? Fine, I will.” You challenged, looking over your shoulder at him to see the intrigued smile on his face.

You rolled your eyes, roughly grabbing his cock and pushing yourself back onto him hastily. Jungkook disapproved of this, landing a sharp slap to your right ass cheek he gripped your hips roughly. He held you securely, preventing you from sliding back any further onto his cock.

“You’d better slow down, sweetheart.” He warned shakily, his nails leaving small imprints on your skin as he moved his hands down to your ass. “I haven’t cum yet, and your little hole is so inviting.”

You gulped, although something about his threat to cum inside of you was one step closer to pushing you over the edge.

“Take it slowly. Take me in slowly, so I can feel you.” With this he let go of your ass, watching with lidded eyes as your arousal coated more than half of his manhood.

He licked his lips at this, loving the way your juices spilled onto him, and onto the desk. Perhaps he’d make you lick his cock clean afterwards. That’d be a sight to see.

Your hips stuttered before you could take the last few inches, which sent a gigantic boost to Jungkook’s ego. Of course, he knew he was big, but something about seeing you struggle to take him in fully even after you talked all of that shit previously was egging him on.

“You at your limit, baby?” He mocked you, and as soon as you tried to respond, your voice cracked.

He hummed, chuckling slightly as he slid his hands up from your ass to your back, scratching his stubby nails at your flesh before threading his fingers in your hair once more. He roughly yanked your head back with a malicious smile. Your body jolted at this, which sent the rest of his cock plunging into you in one go.

“God, that’s fucking it. Look at you, swallowing Daddy’s dick like a good girl. You look so pretty stuffed full like this.” You were incomprehensive, your entire being filled with thoughts of Jungkook pummeling your pussy out of existence.

“Not so eager to use that fucking mouth now, are you? Hm?” He asked, pulling your head back a bit further.

Your back was so arched that you could see the ceiling and a bit of his face, and this new position made it so much easier for his cock to brush against that spot that made you a mumbling mess.

“You should be ashamed, really.” He said, dropping his head down to look at your ass as he slowly began to work his hips against it. “Have you got anything to say for yourself?” You were taking him so well, but he couldn’t let his unbothered persona falter just yet.

“Well?” He let go of your hair, and you immediately dropped your head forward, your eyebrows furrowed in pleasure as you struggled to hold yourself up on your elbows while he ruthlessly fucked you.

“You’re s-so fucking big.” You mumbled pathetically, causing Jungkook to twitch inside of you.

“I know. You like Daddy’s big fat cock inside that tight little pussy. Tell me, baby. Tell me how much you like it. Tell me how good you feel.” He pushed one of his hands down against your back, silently telling you to press your breasts against the desk. You obeyed, hissing as your nipples hardened instantly after making contact with the cool surface.

“I like—o-oh, oh shit.” Your jaw fell slack as Jungkook began to pick up the pace of his thrusts, his expert hips moving with such sharpness that you could feel it each time he pulled back a bit to fuck himself into you again. Although you didn’t do what he asked of you, he didn’t pressure you any further, his only goal to use you as his cute little cocksleeve.

“Spread your legs for me.” You immediately moved to follow his request, unable to balance yourself on your feet now. This was no problem, as Jungkook easily took a secure grip around your waist to keep you pressed against the desk.

“You feel so good around me like that, oh shit.” Jungkook whimpered, his tongue hanging out of his mouth slightly as he jabbed his fingers into your sides and pulled you onto the tips of your toes. You were startled at the sudden change, although it allowed for him to drive deeper inside of you.

“Put your hands on the edge of the desk now. Do it right fucking now.” He growled like some sort of feral animal. You scurried to follow his orders, just as he began to slam his cock so powerfully inside of your cunt that your hips banged against the metal desk with every other thrust, and you knew there would be bruises.

“F-fuck!” You screamed, and Jungkook responded quickly by throwing his hand messily over your mouth to quiet your moans.

“Shh, Y/N. We can’t let you get caught being a little slut.” He chuckled breathlessly, short moans and growls leaving the back of his throat as he continued to piston his hips in and out of you, your ass slapping against his abdomen every time the two of you connected. You were teetering over the edge, desperately wanting to lose control underneath him.

“I’m cumming, I’m gonna c—JUNGKOOK!” You yelled out in frustration as he slipped his cock out of you.

He grunted, pushing some of the clutter on the desk away before picking you up and setting you on top of it, so he could see your face.

“One,” He said, his voice raspy which caused you to shiver, “You’re not cumming unless I get to see your face when you do. Two,” He continued, slipping himself back into you with ease due to how fucking soaked you were, “You’re not cumming until you beg for it.” He reached for one of your legs and placed it over his shoulder, gripping onto it as he sustained the rapid pace of his manhood plunging into your inviting heat.

“I-I wanna cum, Daddy.” You whispered in defeat, a twinkle in Jungkook’s eyes as he was beginning to finally get you where he wanted you. You weren’t begging just yet, though, which was unfortunate for you because you wouldn’t get an orgasm, and Jungkook was going to cum inside you either way.

“You do, Princess?” He whispered back, still holding your leg while his other hand moved to the back of your head. He pressed your forehead against his, your noses bumping as Jungkook fucked you. You nodded, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes at having to hold your orgasm back.

“You aren’t begging for me, baby. Beg me to give you permission to cum on this dick.” You cried out weakly, knowing that you’d have to give in to his rules in order to achieve that sweet release. It was right in the tip of your tongue.

You placed your arms around his neck, hanging them there loosely as you gazed into his eyes, which were full of lust and carnal desire.

“Can I cum o-on your c-cock—a-ah!” You failed miserably to finish your sentence, as Jungkook began pistoning his cock inside of your cunt with such force that the desk began to screech against the ground a bit, knocking at one of the metal racks behind it.

“I’m so close to cumming, pretty girl. Talk fast.” He warned, thrusts quickly becoming unorganized. You nodded.

“Please let me cum! I-Iv’e learned my lesson, I swear I have! I’m so close Jungkook, p-please!” He grunted his approval, nodding once and delivering about a dozen more thrusts before he dropped his head into the crook of your neck, biting down on the skin there as he began to shoot rope after rope of his cum deep inside of your greedy cunt.

You came with him, your body tensing up for a few moments before your release smacked you like a bus, heavy and unapologetic. Due to the wild fuckfest the two of you had, though, a few utensils hit the ground, and a can of paint was wobbling on the edge of the rack that the desk was smashing against a few seconds ago. Jungkook finally lifted his head up, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. He placed one final kiss to your forehead before locking eye contact with you.

“I know for a fact that was the best fuck of your life.” You laughed, shaking your head at the fact that his cocky attitude would never settle. Not even after using up (what you assumed was) all of his stamina.

You didn’t mind it, though. In fact, you were starting to grow fond of it.

“It certainly was, but look at all the—“

The can of paint gave way to the pull of gravity, and tumbled to the ground with a deafening crack, the contents of the can flying out and splattering directly onto you and Jungkook. You knew what it was as soon as it hit your skin, and you immediately wondered why someone would leave a damn can of open paint on the top shelf.

It was brief, a big splash, so neither of you really had time to react to it. When you finally lifted your head up, Jungkook’s chest was covered in black paint, as were your legs and skirt. Seriously, the one fucking day you decide to wear pink?

“—Mess. Look at all the mess.” You finished your sentence with a giggle, thankful that you kept towels in the room during your classes. It’d never come out of your skirt, but at least you could wipe it off of your skin.

Your gaze met Jungkooks and you both burst out in a fit of giggles. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lit up when he laughed, the polar opposite of the domineering man who’d just rocked your world minutes before. This Jungkook was soft, open, lighter. His laughter was the most beautiful melody that had ever graced your ears and you wouldn’t have minded listening to it for a very long time. His joy was contagious, and you couldn’t stop the goofy smile from spreading across your lips as he wrapped his arms around you in a playful hug.

Though his touch still sent electricity through you, this was different. It was sweet and gentle. You let yourself melt in his embrace, drinking in the way he made you feel so secure, so wanted. You sighed happily. You grinned mischievously then, collecting some of the paint off of the surface of the desk and wiping a thick stripe of it across his cheek. He froze in shock then glared at you, a hint of a smile playing on those gorgeous lips.

He reached out to grab you, but you were too fast, shrieking in delight as you ran away from him. Jungkook chased you around the small art studio, his laughter floating through the air like your favorite song. His arms snaked around you and he pulled you close, rubbing his cheek against yours to spread the paint over your skin. Your giggles dissolved as he placed a tender kiss to your lips.

Pulling away and placing a peck on his nose, you began pulling your clothes back on. Jungkook watched you, admiring the way your body moved, how much sweeter you were once your attitude had been properly taken care of. You smiled at him over your shoulder, and he couldn’t recall a time when he’d ever seen such a beautiful smile on any other woman. He couldn’t recall seeing another woman who even compared to you.

Then realization brought a similar smile onto his own lips, and Jungkook thought to himself, that he just might have found the one.

#jungkook smut #bts smut #jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook x you #bts jungkook #jeon jeongguk

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 4 years ago

Text

This Ernest Hemingway Thing

PART FORTY OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: major discussions of parent death/death in general, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 5.4K

Summary: Ella struggles in the wake of her father's death.

“If you don’t shut up about this bar...” Jess warned, shooting daggers at Chris over the top of his book.

It was a slow day, and the three of them sat in the common area of Truncheon. Jess read his Sylvia Plath novel as he sat atop the welcome table in the front of the store. Chris was on a rant about why they should buy up the vacant space down the road and open a bar, while Matthew rolled his eyes. Snow fell in thick blankets, the coldest of the winter so far. Jess had opted to drive to work, rather than trudge through the crunchy, icy layer caking the sidewalks. The storm had blown in the night before as a bit of a surprise, leaving the city little time to salt the roads. The lack of customers at the book press was no shock. The large, ornate clock ticked slowly over the door. Only a few more minutes, and it would be time to close up for the day. Jess was glad; he’d be home to Ella soon enough. No matter how much she insisted she was fine, he couldn’t help feeling antsy when he’d left her home alone in the morning. His bottom lip was beginning to feel chapped from how much he had been gnawing on it.

Chris sighed heavily, throwing his hands up in exasperation. He was wearing a maroon cardigan over a pullover sweater, and Jess wondered how he wasn’t suffocating underneath all the wool. Chris took another sip of his disgusting chai latte before he continued.

“But it wouldn’t be just any bar! It would be Cedar Bar Redux!” he exclaimed.

Matthew rolled his eyes, not bothering to look up from the inventory sheet he was reviewing. “Just saying the name over and over isn’t gonna convince us.”

“Listen, we’ve already got this Ernest Hemingway thing going here,” Chris said emphatically, gesturing to the room around them. “Now, we can have a Charlie Parker thing down the road. We’ll play only jazz music there, and only serve drinks with whiskey. It’ll be super classy. Super hip.”

“Please don’t ever say ‘hip’ again,” Jess deadpanned, his eyes back on his reading.

Chris grinned confidently. “One day you’ll stop and think, ‘Wow, Chris has been a genius all along. Why did I ever doubt him?’”

Jess scoffed doubtfully.

“Sure, man,” Matthew said with a mocking nod.

“Hey, you’ll see, guys. Just you wait,” Chris said, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting at their dismissal of his idea. “If Ella was here, she’d agree with me.”

Shaking his head a bit, Jess snorted a laugh. “No, she wouldn’t.”

“I think she’s just pretentious enough to get behind it,” Chris argued, shrugging flippantly.

“Actually, I think she’s just pretentious enough to call you out for being a poser,” Matthew countered, his voice dejected as ever as he continued scouring the inventory sheets for any mistakes he might have made on them earlier in the day.

Chris narrowed his eyes at Matthew, getting ready to rebut. However, Jess spoke up first. He rose from his seat, stuffing the Plath book in the back pocket of his jeans and going to grab his coat and scarf.

“Speaking of Eleanor,” he said, “I’m going home. It’s closing time, boys. Have fun with the marketing pitch, Matthew.”

“Thanks, Jess,” Matthew replied sarcastically, still not looking up. On inventory day, he was basically a robot, glued to his paperwork. Not like Jess could blame Matthew, though, considering Jess would have run the business into the ground during the first week had Matthew not been there to deal with the numbers.

“What do you mean ‘speaking of Ella’?” Chris asked, his interest piqued.

She hadn’t been around much recently, and he missed her, despite their occasional bickering. It had been over a month since her father died, and she had hardly let them know how she was doing once she got back. He could count on one hand the number of times they’d seen her. It wasn’t as though he didn’t understand; she could take as much time as he needed. But Jess wasn’t exactly helping to ease his (and Matthew’s) concern, offering little more than an assurance that she was fine and just needed time for herself. It was hard for Chris to imagine Ella coping by isolation, but he had never known her in tragedy.

Jess shrugged on his coat, and began tying his scarf around his neck. “She stayed home sick today. I wanna make sure she at least eats dinner,” he explained shortly. They were all familiar with Ella’s bad habit of skipping, or forgetting, meals when she was stressed or upset.

“She okay?” Chris asked.

Finally, Matthew looked up from his sheet, patiently awaiting an answer. Chis wasn’t the only one who had noticed Ella’s recent absence. She had quite a presence, after all. He and Mabel were beginning to worry. Leo, too.

Jess shrugged, evasive. “Yeah. She’s fine. Just a winter bug or something.”

Chris nodded skeptically. “Okay.”

“Tell her we hope she feels better,” Matthew cut in diplomatically, hoping Chris got the hint that he should let sleeping dogs lie.

“Just call me a carrier pigeon,” Jess quipped, smiling thinly, before he excited the shop into the frigid evening air.

. . .

Eyelids heavy, Ella focused on her breathing. The falling snow twinkled in the soft light of the cloudy evening, and she watched it. Flakes floated down haphazardly, sometimes tossed along the wind. Watching it made her feel mindless, but almost in a good way, as she laid on her side. The pain in her head had numbed, though an ache still throbbed dully in her skull. She was just too tired. The kind of fatigue which comes with a fever, though she knew she didn’t have one. She just needed to sleep. Sleep and sleep, she told herself, until the pain went away. After a good rest, she hoped, she would awake renewed and inspired. Her sketchbook sat closed on her nightstand, not used since the night before her father died, the night of Jess’s publishing party.

In her worst moments, that night came back to her in flashes. Not because it was bad, but because she had been just so happy. Tipsy and in love and hopeful. The naivety almost made her want to laugh out loud. How could she possibly have thought she would have the chance to patch things up with her father? Life didn’t work that way. It never did. She didn’t know when she had lost sight of her realist views, but she was reminded why they were important. Always planning for the worst meant no disappointments and no ugly surprises. She drifted in and out of vague dreams, almost unsure of when and if she was awake. She felt sweaty and stale beneath the blue quilt, but she still snuggled into it deeper. It made her feel safe in some innocent, childish way she wished she could hold onto. She knew when she got up again, she would feel cold. And she would have to continue on as normal with a new, unwelcome tightness in her chest.

At the sound of the doorknob to the bedroom turning, she shut her eyes completely. She pretended to be asleep, breathing deeply and making her expression go slack, as Jess came in. Better to have him believe she was actually resting, rather than staring off into the middle distance feeling sorry for herself. Ella didn’t know quite what time it was, but she thought he was early, judging by the light outside. She knew he was worried about her; she could see it, even if he never said it out loud. But she was just so tired. She simply lacked the energy to reassure him, or to reassure herself. She could hear him quietly take off his shoes, his watch.

Then, he exited the room again. She heard him put on an album by The Cure at a low volume. It made her want to smile, almost. The apartment felt better when he was in it. She felt less claustrophobic. Maybe since he was finally there, she would actually get some sleep. But sleep never came, and she knew why. She’d been lying in bed all day, in a zombie-like state. In the two weeks since returning to work, she’d come home every day exhausted. And, worse yet, angry. Not in a yelling and punching the walls kind of way, though. Instead, she would cry hot, frustrated tears at the smallest mistake in her work. She would feel the urge to go smoke or drink, though she hadn’t given in. She felt like she was crawling out of her skin, but she couldn’t do anything about it. She could only sit back and watch as she struggled tiredly through her lectures and bit her nails ragged.

But the worst part was not the anger. The worst part was the inability to truly feel it. She knew she was angry, and she knew why, but she couldn’t get it to sink it. She couldn’t work through it or make it better, she could only feel it in the moment. When it passed, she would go back to her sleepy, sluggish state. And the storm of emotion would sit dormant in her belly. She tried to think about her father, and tried to cry for him. She couldn’t. She could only wait for the random bursts of emotion at meaningless moments. When she thought of her father’s death, or even her mother’s, it was like she could feel the key turning in the lock on her heart, and the switch flipping off. Not since the night Jess had held her on the Gilmore porch had she been able to shed a tear about any of it.

Staying home had been both a necessity because of the migraine she’d woken up with, and an attempt to wake herself up. Maybe if she could sleep off the constant fatigue she had been feeling, she could sleep off the hazy fog in her brain as well. But, as the day began to come to a close, she could only lie in her bed feeling defeated. In a way which was familiar, but still so new. When her mother had died, it had been such a shock. It had been more cut and dry. She had loved her mother, and her mother died. But her father was a different story. And he had been her only parent left.

After a few minutes, the bedroom door creaked open again, and she heard Jess’s soft footfalls on the carpet. The other side of the bed dipped down as he sat, and placed a gentle hand on her back, beginning to rub circles there.

“Elle?” he asked. “Hey, honey, wake up.”

Ella took a deep breath in, feigning slight surprise as she opened her eyes and rolled over, away from the window to face Jess. He had a small smirk on his face, but it didn’t reach his eyes as he looked down at her. With a light touch, he brushed the stray strands of hair away from her forehead.

“Hey,” she said, her voice slightly hoarse and groggy.

“Hi,” he replied.

She was pale and exhausted. It was as though her face had drained of all color the moment her father had died, and it had yet to come back. He couldn’t make her blush like he used to. Some sort of elemental lightness had left her, one which he hadn’t noticed she had until it was gone. And he was more or less at a loss about what to do. She was going about her day, going through the motions, but she was still somewhere far off in her mind. Unable to deal with anything that didn’t lack all emotion. He was beginning to wonder if she was ever going to snap out of it, or if a part of her was missing that could never be replaced. But, he was trying for her. He was taking care of her in a way he had never gotten a chance to before. Not from sickness, but from sadness. She had always been the one to patch him up emotionally, when things fell through with his father or he had a panic attack or he couldn’t get the dark clouds to lift from above his head. She was not exactly a ray of sunshine, but she wasn’t one to wallow either. She was an expert at getting through, attacking life the way it attacked her, picking herself back up. This time, he thought, maybe she just needed a hand.

“How’s your head?” he asked quietly, his thumb caressing her skin.

In the morning, she’d barely been able to open her eyes, her migraine was so bad. He wasn’t surprised though. She hadn’t taken a day off since going back to work. Everything was bound to catch up with her eventually. She was trying to hold it all back again, but he didn’t know why. Maybe because she’d had a bit of time; she wasn’t in shock anymore. She had more control over her emotions, maybe too much.

She shrugged. “A little better.”

“Good,” he said, leaning down and pressing a long kiss on her forehead.

When he pulled away, Ella took in a deep breath through her nose. She let her muscles release tension she didn’t know they’d been holding. She was glad he was home, even if she was embarrassed at his seeing her lying around.

“I made some green tea. You wanna watch a Stephen King movie with dinner? Or do your eyes still hurt?” he asked.

She felt her stomach do a flip. She didn’t deserve him. And his tenderness made her feel squirmy, like at some point he would realize how lazy she was being, how pathetic. Even one day off of work was making her feel so useless. She cleared her throat, averting her eyes from him.

“I’m actually not that hungry,” she said sheepishly. She hadn’t eaten all day, but she just couldn’t bring herself to want anything.

Jess sighed. “Elle-”

“No, I know,” she cut him off. “I promise I’ll eat later, really. Just not right now.”

Biting at his lip, Jess seemed lost in thought for a moment before he finally nodded. “Okay.”

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. “Did you finish that Sylvia Plath?”

“Not yet,” he said.

“You wanna come lay down and read me what you have left, James Dean?” she asked, tone lighter than it had been.

He let a smile ghost over his lips. “Always, Daria.”

Swallowing thickly, Ella muttered a thanks to him as he left the room again. She rolled over and stared at the ceiling, so blank and dull white. Like a canvas she wanted to paint. But just thinking of the empty pages in her sketchbook made dread rise up in her throat. She shook the thought away as Jess came back into the room with two mugs of tea and a book under his arm. As they drank their tea, he told her about his day, about Chris and Matthew, how slow it had been. She laughed at the right moments, nodded at the right moments, smiled when she should have. But her heart wasn’t in it. She didn’t add anything, she barely even looked at him. He wanted to ask her what was wrong, and he almost did. But she looked so tired. He decided to wait until at least the morning. She needed rest more than she needed an interrogation, he figured. When they were done, cups on nightstands, he laid down next to her, warm under the covers as the snow kept falling in sheets outside, the light of the streetlamps making the flakes sparkle. The approaching darkness was almost gloomy, though, and he wasn’t particularly sure why. She laid her head on his chest, as she often did when he read to her. She liked to hear the vibrations of his words against her ear.

As he began at the page where he stopped, she felt warmer. His voice and the feeling of his body against her made it easier to breathe, easier to get her mind to shut up for a moment. But it lasted not for long, as a quiet thought whispered in the back of her mind. Then, it was louder and louder, until it became a shout, a scream. Someday, she would end up like her father, like Fiona. Losing the person you loved most in the world destroyed you. Ella didn’t know why, but all of a sudden she felt certain she would lose Jess. He would die, and he would die suddenly. As soon as she let her guard down again, she would lose him. She would lose the person she belonged to, the person who belonged to her.

The love she felt for Jess was unlike what she had felt for anyone else before, and some part of her knew she would never feel that love for anyone else again. And she felt like she understood her father better than she ever had before. He’d lost her mother in the middle of the night; the person he belonged to. Ella had been able to move on, but she thought that maybe her father’s life had been over the moment her mother died. And it would happen to her, unless she did something about it. The thought was so jarring and terrifying, for a moment, she felt like her throat was closing up. But she tried to handle the pit in her stomach as it formed and sat coldly in her core.

Jess was so sweet to her, always had been. Even when he was an angry tenager who was lost and acted like he didn’t need anybody. When she’d thought she couldn’t love anyone. He was smart and thoughtful and he knew her better than anyone else ever had. She could smell his familiar scent of pine and must, which had never worn off even long after he moved out of Luke’s. She listened to his voice lilt over the words of a book she owned, which she’d given him in high school. He was rereading the copy which contained their notes to each other, back when they were still falling in love without knowing it. A glance up at his face, and tears stung her eyes. Jess with his kind brown eyes and the dark shadow on his jaw. Jess with the faded scar on his left palm, which she’d watched get stitched up. Jess with the strong arms that held her in the ocean in California. The person she’d been in love with since she was sixteen. He was beautiful, in every sense of the word. A deep, awful regret filled her. She’d let herself fall so completely in love with him. She never should have. What was she going to do when he was gone?

Before she could stop herself, she began to cry silently. Jess furrowed his brows, feeling her tears wet his t-shirt. It was Plath, after all. A pretty sad novel, but he’d never known her to cry at a book. Or at much of anything, for that matter. He stopped reading immediately, lowering the book and bringing one hand to touch her freckled arm gingerly.

“What’s wrong?”

She sniffed and cleared her throat, wiping beneath her eyes. “Nothing, Jess. Just keep reading.”

“Eleanor-”

“Jess, please just keep reading,” she said, voice shaking and broken.

His breath caught in his throat, the words dying before he spoke them. She sounded helpless. He couldn't ignore her pleas, no matter how much he wanted to. Not when she sounded like that. He kept reading.

. . .

Gnawing on her nails, Ella sat alone in the cold morning light. The world outside was sparkling with snow in the sunlight. But soon, the grime city would corrupt it. The soft mountains of white would grow dull and gray, caked on the side of the road. She could only think about the melty gray slush as she looked outside, at the beauty the storm the day before had left in its wake. Her hands were slightly shaky, her elbows on her knees. She couldn’t remember the last time she had woken up so early, unable to fight wakefulness anymore as she packed a bag in the early darkness. The day had since brightened, from a deep blue to a warm orange and then finally, a bright yellow. But Ella still couldn’t bring herself to wake Jess up.

Instead, she waited. And she didn’t have to wait as long as she thought she would have. Jess emerged from the bedroom in his pajamas, rubbing tiredly at his eyes, at around half past six. His brows were furrowed at her empty spot in bed before he even saw her in the living room, sitting on the couch fully dressed with a packed suitcase on the floor next to her.

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” he asked, stopping in his tracks in surprise.

Ella ran an anxious hand through her hair before she looked up to meet his eyes. “I think...I think we should take a break for a little while.”

“What?” he said incredulously.

She sighed through her nose, looking down into her lap. “Jess, I just don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be together right now.”

“Eleanor, what are you talking about?” he continued, as though he simply couldn’t get her words to make sense in his head.

Again, she sighed in frustration. Without thinking about it, she rose and began to pace. Jess watched her with a worried gaze. She wasn’t behaving like herself at all, and just looking at her suitcase packed and ready to go made him feel sick to his stomach.

“Look, Jess, I just...I think we need to take a step back from each other for a while. Get to know ourselves when we’re not with each other, you know?” she said, her excuse flimsy and her voice uncertain. But she told herself this would be the hard part. Rip the bandaid off and leave, to get rid of the constant dread inside her. Without Jess, without anyone, it would simply be safer. More practical. And hadn’t being practical always worked out for her in the end?

Jess shook his head slowly, trying to get a handle on his thoughts. “That’s bullshit. We’ve already been apart from each other, and you and I both know that doesn’t work. What’s this actually about?”

“I just need a break, okay? I’ll call in sick again today. Fiona said last time I called that she needs me to clean out my room before she puts the house on the market. I’ll get back to town on Sunday,” Ella said, speaking quickly, flatly, wanting to get the words out and get them over with.

“And on Sunday?” Jess asked, eyebrows raised askance.

After a moment of tense silence, Ella could only shrug. “I don’t know. On Sunday...we regroup. Think about things.”

Jess ran a hand over his mouth. “You can’t be serious, Eleanor.”

“I am,” she replied simply.

“You honestly wanna break up? After everything?” he asked, sounding as though he still hadn’t quite been able to process what was going on. He’d known something was wrong, of course. Especially after she’d wept her way through his reading of Sylvia Plath, eventually falling asleep with her face still pressed against his t-shirt, her cheeks damp.

“Not break up!” Ella said immediately, raising her voice. “Not...forever.”

Again, Jess shook his head, voice matching her volume when he spoke again. “This isn’t like you, Eleanor. You don’t just run away like this. That’s my move, and it’s a fucking bad one. What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing. I told you, Jess, I just-”

“Need a break?” Jess interrupted finishing for her, with hints of both anger and fear in his tone.

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. He looked so crestfallen, so quickly. She wanted to throw her arms around him, cry into his shoulder, let out the tears she hadn’t been able to release. To tell him what she’d been feeling, the constant pain rivaled only by the strange, unexplainable numbness. But she bit at the inside of her cheek, hard, to snap herself out of it. She had made her choice. And she had to stick to it.

“Yes.”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, taking a deep breath, choosing his words carefully. “Please. Just tell me what’s going on. Whatever it is, we can figure it out.”

“Nothing’s going on,” she repeated, finding it hard to keep her voice from cracking.

“Is this about your dad?” he asked. They’d been dancing around the conversation for weeks, as he watched her retreat within herself. Finally, he couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t tell himself she needed space, couldn’t just tell himself she was grieving the way she needed to. The truth was, she wasn’t grieving. Not really.

She heaved a sigh. “Jesus, Jess. It’s not about my dad, okay? Can’t I just need a break from us? From all this?” she asked as she gestured around them to the apartment, to the life they had started to build together. She sounded angry. But anger was better than nothing. Jess kept going.

“No, not when you started crying last night and wouldn’t tell me why, not when you keep forgetting to eat, not when you’re tired all day, even after like twelve hours of sleep, not when you don’t even want to draw anymore,” he said, in vehement disagreement. “I can talk to my therapist and see if she knows someone who’s covered by the University insurance. I bet she knows a lot of grief counselors.”

“Jess, stop,” she said, refusing to make eye contact with him as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Trust me, Eleanor,” he continued, almost pleading. “You’ll feel so much better if you talk to someone about all this. About your dad, your mom, your brothers, Fiona. I’m sure you could think of a few choice words to say about me too.”

She shook her head at his attempt to joke. She wasn’t having it. More tears stung her eyes, and they only made her angrier. She was so sick of needing to cry and not being able to, of dealing with her family’s bullshit, of everything. Of being afraid of everything.

“Van Gogh must have had hundreds of hours of therapy in his life, and you’ve seen his paintings. I really think it’s all gonna be okay if-”

“Stop it, Jess!” she shouted, reaching for a necklace she hadn’t worn in years. An old tic Jess hadn’t seen since high school. Seeing her fingers go instinctively to grab at a small key pendant made his heart ache in such a deep way, so fundamentally, he almost wanted to cry. “Stop being so fucking nice to me! Stop trying to take care of me! Every time I tell you that, you never fucking listen!”

“Elle, what-” he began, eyes widening at her outburst. But she was on a roll, and hardly noticed when he spoke.

“I mean, it’s like you can’t even hear me sometimes,” she continued, pacing furiously and gesturing around again with her hands. For a moment, she was worried the neighbors would complain about her yelling at such an early hour. But she forgot about them as the emotions bubbled up in her throat, words spilling from her mouth. “You just keep doing whatever the fuck you want! Reminding me to eat, and reading to me, and kissing me, telling me you love me, and I just can’t fucking do it anymore, Jess! Not when you’re just gonna be gone someday!”

“Eleanor, I’m not-”

“Yes, you are!” she interrupted, finally facing him again. A fire burned in her eyes, cold and green and devastated. “Whether you like it or not, you’re gonna have a heart attack or crash your shitty fucking car or get struck by lightning! And I can’t keep doing this when one day it’s all just gonna be gone! It hurts bad enough calling it quits right now!”

Taken aback, Jess sighed. His face softened. He wanted to take a step forward, to go to her, but he fought the urge. Instead, he spoke in a calm, soothing voice. “Honey-”

She let out an infuriated scoff at the affectionate nickname.

“I know you’re scared,” he began, but she cut him off again.

“No, you don’t!” she countered, voice more venomous by the second. “You don’t know! Jess, I know your parents aren’t exactly perfect, but guess what? They’re alive. You didn’t wake up one day and figure out they were fucking dead! You can still talk to them whenever you want. You didn’t have to watch-”

She paused as her voice broke, clearing her throat before she went on. “You didn’t have to watch your dad fucking destroy himself because he missed your mom so much. And you don’t have to watch your stepmom go through the same thing!”

“Eleanor-”

“Don’t ‘Eleanor’ me, Jess! Please don’t. I...I love you. But I just...I just wish I didn’t.”

She was crying now, big, childish tears rolling down her skin as she spoke. Jess felt his heart drop into his stomach. Of course, he’d known she was in pain. Her father had died, after all. But he didn’t know she was scared. He didn’t know she was absolutely terrified. Not when she’d always seemed fearless. Before he could stop himself, he went over and embraced her. His hug was tight and warm, one arm encircling around her waist and one hand in her hair, cradling her head. And for a second, she relaxed into him. She let his touch soothe her and heal her. But then she snapped out of it again. Back to reality. She remembered how badly it hurt when she lost good things. She disentangled herself from his hold.

“No,” she said. “Please...don’t touch me right now.”

Her words sounded so defeated and final that for the first time it occurred to Jess she might actually be serious about leaving, about breaking up. The thought was so heartbreaking, a lump instantly formed in his throat.

“Just wait a second, Elle. Can we...can we talk about this more? Please?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper. His own eyes began to grow shiny.

She shook her head, grabbing her suitcase and making for the coat rack. “I have to go, Jess.”

“But you don’t! You can stay and we can figure this out!” Jess said, following her to the doorway.

Her face was stoic and guarded again as she donned her coat, hat, and scarf. “I need...I just need to be alone. I’ll be back on Sunday.”

He ran a hand over his mouth again. “Do you promise you’ll be back on Sunday?”

“Yes,” she said after a moment, opening the door. She stood there awkwardly for a moment, unsure whether to say goodbye, if it was a goodbye at all.

Jess sighed heavily, relenting to her leaving, as begrudgingly as possible. “Just…please be safe driving up there.”

“I will.”

“I love you,” he said, not being able to help himself.

A tiny, sad smile passed over her lips. “Right back at ya.”

On any other morning, he would have laughed at her response, a joke at the expense of his own shyness. But instead he stood motionless as she went out the door and shut it softly behind her. He was unsure if she would ever truly come back, if she was already gone, if she had been for weeks. Jess was crying before she made it out the front door of the building.

#gilmore girls #gilmore girls fanfiction #gilmore girls au #jess mariano #jess mariano fanfiction #jess mariano au #jess mariano x oc #gilmore girls xoc #original character fanfiction #fanfiction

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melonkooky · 6 years ago

Text

ocean [hwang hyunjin]

not requested

word count: 3719

genre: some fluff, a lot of angst, high school!au

author’s note: i’ve been reading stray kids one shots recently and i really wanted to write one myself. the song is ocean by martin garrix and khalid. i was imagining this one shot as a fanmade/fanedit music video for otps, you know? anyways, tell me what ya’ll think. i don’t know how i feel about this one... (edit: this post looks better online because mobile tumblr is dumb, the lyrics are bolded and italicized but for me on mobile, they look like normal text.)

please do not copy my work. but please like and reblog it. thank you!!!!

masterlist (in bio, sis)

tell me what you're crying for i'll wipe your tears, oh love

you should’ve listened to your best friend, hwang hyunjin, when you first met your ex. you really should have. but the thing was, he was nice, and polite at first. you truly thought he was sweet.

- flashback -

you gently gnawed on your bottom lip as you practically raced to your locker. about a week ago, you had started finding little notes in your locker. you anticipated today’s note. you arrived at your locker with a shy grin. you quickly opened your locker and there, a pink piece of paper folded in half. you reached inside and grabbed the paper. it read, ‘your eyes were sparkling like stars today.’ someone would probably find notes like these weird, but for you, it felt like the start of something new. someone was finally interested in you. this was your chance to finally get a boyfriend.

you jumped at the sound of hyunjin’s voice, who had casually appeared out of nowhere. “what’s that?” he asked.

you squealed and held the note close to your chest, heart pumping wildly from the scare. you glared at your best friend, who grinned proudly, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the locker next to yours. “it’s-it’s nothing.”

“is little y/n getting love notes?” he teased.

your cheeks reddened and you glared at hyunjin. “shut up!”

hyunjin leaned closer to your face. “what did it say?” he asked.

you hesitated before a wide grin came across your lips. you pulled your best friend closer for more privacy. then, you opened the note and showed it to him. hyunjin read it before looking deep into your eyes. “hmm, i don’t see any stars in your eyes.”

your smile dropped instantly. you glared, once again, at hyunjin before smacking his arm. “why can’t you be a normal, supportive friend?” you exclaimed. “this is my first chance at a boyfriend.”

“ah, i’m sorry.”

you huffed. “no, you’re not. you’re laughing.”

“okay, okay.” hyunjin forced himself to stop, and you could see how hard he was trying to stop from smiling. “do you have an idea of who it is?”

you looked at the note, giving a thought as to whom it could possibly be. “you know, i actually never thought about it.”

hyunjin looked around the hallway, before grabbing your locker door. “well, let’s get out of here. fried chicken is cheaper on fridays.”

you rolled your eyes. “fine, but you’re paying.”

- a week later -

if your soul is aching love i'll comfort you for sure

you were walking to your class alone, as hyunjin was sick. poor boy. while you were walking, a hand grabbed your arm. “y/n.” a voice said.

surprised, your eyes widened and you turned around. you met the soft eyes of one of the most popular guys in high school. it was safe to say, you were bewildered. “y-yes?” you replied.

he smiled, and you felt your heart skip a beat. he was adorable. “i’m song junho.”

you blushed a bit as he introduced himself. “i’m y/n.”

he chuckled. “i don’t mean to sound like a creeper or anything, but i know.”

you felt your cheeks heat up even more than before. “what do you mean?”

“um, how do i say this? i’m the one that’s been leaving little notes in your locker.” he explained, his hand scratching the back of his head.

your mouth formed an ‘o’ shape. you stared at him for a second. “o-oh.”

“i felt that, maybe, you would like to know who i am now.”

you smiled. “it’s nice to meet you.” junho smiled happily. “do you want to go somewhere after school? i know of a great ramen shop near the school.”

you were about to think about his offer, but it seemed like your mouth ran faster than your brain. “yes, i would love too.”

junho grinned. “great. i’ll see you at school.”

you went on that date with junho. he made you laugh constantly, until your stomach couldn’t take it anymore. he complimented you when you admitted an insecurity to him. he truly made you smile, and you could feel yourself falling for him. you were skeptical the moment he told you his name, given that you had seen him with the group of boys that make girls swoon. you didn’t know his name, but you’ve seen him. and you assumed he was like the others, like a fuckboy. but you were wrong.

if we're caught in a wave i will carry you over

that night, directly after the date, you hurried to hyunjin’s house. his mom let you in, asking you if you could bring him some soup. although you were in a hurry to tell hyunjin everything, you grabbed the bowl of soup and carefully climbed the stairs to his room.

entering the room, you noticed the mess hyunjin had made since being sick. tissues scattered the floor and his desk, some of his bed sheets were tossed around and bundled up, probably because he gets either cold or hot. he was playing a game on his tv when you walked in. “y/n!” he grinned.

you quickly placed his bowl of soup down on his desk next to him. you sat down. “boy, do i have something for you.” you began.

hyunjin eyed you suspiciously, his eyes narrowing. “is it homework?”

you shook your head. “it’s something way better.” you leaned closer to him, despite him being sick. “i found out who’s been leaving me notes.”

hyunjin’s eyes widened. “what?”

“i know.” you took a deep breath to calm yourself down. you were so excited about everything, it was hard to contain it all. “it’s song junho.”

hyunjin’s smile immediately fell. “song junho?” he repeated.

you nodded happily.

hyunjin began to shake his head. “that’s not good. nope.”

“what do you mean?” you asked.

“do you not know who he is?”

you eyed him. “trust me. i was skeptical at first. i knew who he was. but then he took me out on a date-”

“he what?” hyunjin exclaimed, his voice raspy.

you glared at him, “i don’t see what the big deal is.”

hyunjin looked at you. “he’s only the biggest fuckboy in all eternity!”

you rolled your eyes and stood up from his bed. “hyunjin, i’ve talked to him. you have it all wrong.” hyunjin shook his head in response. you sighed and sat down in your spot on his bed. “listen to me. he’s really nice, and kind, and he makes me laugh. i know you’re worried about that.”

you looked at hyunjin, who was now staring at his tv. you could see his jaw clenching. he was annoyed or angry. “just, please be open minded. he might be my very first boyfriend.” you admitted with a sad, hopeful tone.

hyunjin finally looked at you. he knew how sensitive you were about your love life. you haven’t had a boyfriend yet, and you were growing desperate throughout the years. after all, it’s your senior year. he sighed, “fine.”

you met his eyes, a wide smile growing on your face. “ah! i want to hug you.”

“no, don’t do that. you’re already exposed to my cold just by being in here.” hyunjin laughed, lightening the atmosphere.

you grinned before noticing the steamy bowl. “oh yeah, your mom wanted you to eat some soup.”

- end flashback; a month later -

it don't matter where you are i'll run to your front door

you sighed as you looked at your boyfriend, who sat across from you at the table. he wanted to take you out to lunch, seeing as everyone was finally on a short break from school. how to explain this particular date…

you and junho had been dating for six months. the school was talking about it because he was one of the most popular guys in school. and the girls were jealous. but you felt happy, so you ignored them.

and you thought things were going great. until this very date. you had arrived at the restaurant at the time that you and junho agreed on. he was late by fifteen minutes. you wavered any negative thoughts, as your mind immediately jumped to conclusions as each minute passed. when your boyfriend arrived, his hair was slightly disheveled, and his clothes were wrinkled. you asked him about it, and his response was that he had just got out of a shower. you believed him.

but now, a few minutes after he arrived, late, there he sat in his spot, on his phone. you were growing angry and impatient, not to mention that you were hungry. you were beginning to grow moody. “hey, what do you want?” you asked, gesturing to the menu.

he shrugged. “whatever.”

you rolled your eyes. “what are you doing on your phone that’s much more important than your own girlfriend?”

he finally looked at you, but his face didn’t show any guilt or stress. he looked annoyed, which only added to your own feelings. “none of your business.”

you clenched your jaw, before reaching into your purse to grab your phone. right in front of your boyfriend, you dialed hyunjin’s number. “hello.”

“hey, hyunjin.” you said loudly, staring straight at your boyfriend.

perhaps you were being petty, but you didn’t care. your boyfriend watched you with cold, angry eyes as you called hyunjin. “what’s up?” he asked on the other side.

“do you want to meet me somewhere? i’m hungry.”

“sure! the ramen shop?”

“sounds perfect.”

“alright, i’ll see you in ten minutes.” he said.

“alright, bye!” you hung up and began to gather your things.

your boyfriend looked betrayed. “where the hell do you think you’re going?”

hearing his voice, you glared at him. you paused before saying, “none of your business.”

he scoffed, just as you grabbed your purse and left the restaurant, feeling pretty good. you arrived at the ramen shop after hyunjin did. he had already ordered. you sat down on the barstool next to him, placing your things on the chair next to you. he sipped on his boba tea, while handing you your own boba tea, eyeing you carefully. “why are you dressed up?”

you groaned and covered your face with your hands. “i was supposed to be on a date with junho.”

hyunjin turned his body to you, “spill the tea.”

you laughed and removed your hands. you didn’t feel that bad abandoning your boyfriend like that. “it’s not very strong tea. basically, he asked me on a date. okay, let me reiterate that he was the one that called me and asked if i wanted to eat somewhere.” you met hyunjin’s eyes, and he nodded along. you continued, “so i get there at 11:00, we both agreed to meet at that time. but this boy, my boyfriend, arrives fifteen minutes late, his hair was disheveled and his clothes were a mess. i was suspicious, but turned out he had taken a shower. so i let it go. but then, the entire time he was on his phone, doing who knows what. i was angry, and annoyed, and on top of it starving. so i decided to just, let it go and go eat with you.” you explained.

hyunjin stared at you. you could practically see the gears turning in his head. he cleared his throat before speaking. “so, did you guys break up?”

before you could answer, you faced the window and sipped your boba tea. you sighed, “no.” you fidgeted with your hands. “i think i’m just going to go to his place later and apologize.”

hyunjin looked away, turning in his seat. he became abnormally quiet. “hyunjin, are you okay?”

he nodded. “yeah, of course. just, hungry.”

you smiled. “me too.”

- a few hours later -

when my head goes in different directions you know my heart's never on the move

after you and hyunjin ate at the ramen shop, you and him walked around the city for a bit. he felt bad, and a little mad, about the way your boyfriend was treating you. so he thought that he could get your mind off of things for a while.

it was growing dark when you and him began to walk back to the neighborhood where you and him lived. “well,” you said, “i’m going to junho’s house. i feel bad for what i did.”

hyunjin nodded. “do you want me to come with you?”

you shook your head, looking down at your shoes as you kicked a small rock around. “no, it’s okay. everything will be fine.”

hyunjin sighed. “i don’t want you walking alone in the dark.”

you looked at him and smiled, “his house isn’t far from here.”

you were persistent, there was no changing your mind. hyunjin pulled you into a tight hug. “text me when you get home. and let me know how everything goes, okay?”

you pulled away and smiled at hyunjin, “okay.”

he then sent you off. he waved as you walked away, before heading in the opposite direction.

you felt anxious; nervous as you made your way to your boyfriend’s house. the entire five minute walk, you were finding ways to apologize, or rather asking him as to why he was not talking to you. this was going to be a more formal talk, probably resulting in your first argument with him. you were going to avoid that, though. you didn’t want that.

you arrived at junho’s house. the lights were on inside. taking a deep breath, you approached the door and rung the doorbell. there was no answer. you peeking into the window after a few minutes, finding no one inside. you didn’t want to intrude, but you felt yourself reaching for the doorknob and turning it. it was unlocked.

and in the dark times you don't have to question if i'm 100 with you

you opened the door, looking around. “mrs. song? mr. song?” you called. “guess they’re not home.”

you looked around before turning towards the stairs. your heart stopped when you saw a shirt on the ground, particularly, a crop top. you knew for a fact mrs. song doesn’t wear those. you could feel your heart ache, and your stomach twist. your mind was racing. as if the crop top wasn’t enough evidence, you felt yourself ascending up the stairs. on the fifth step, you found the exact shirt junho was wearing during your “date”. you gulped hard. you wanted to turn around and leave, already drawing conclusions. you knew the signs, you could see the clothes strewn on the floor. but you kept going.

you found a pair of booty shorts near junho’s door, and when you looked up from the floor, you saw that his door was cracked. that’s when you began to hear the sounds. you could hear the smacks emitting from their lips as they made out. you crept closer, cautiously. praying that you wouldn’t step on a creaky floorboard. you reached his door and peeked through the crack. they were almost naked. the girl - you didn’t recognize - began to moan as junho went for her neck.

you felt your heart crack, just as junho turned enough to see his face.

tears sprung in your eyes. you brought a hand up to your mouth so that you couldn’t make a sound. finally, after seeing plenty, you forced yourself to turn around. you hurried down the stairs, almost tripping on his shirt on the way, and escaped from the house. you slammed the door closed behind you. you didn’t care if they heard.

you could put an ocean between our love, love, love it won't keep us apart

you sprinted away from the house, turning on the hyunjin’s street. you hurried towards his house and knocked on the door. you felt restless and heartbroken. you felt like you could sprint for miles, all while feeling heavy and lifeless.

you tried to take deep breaths to calm yourself down. you didn’t want to look like a complete wreck. finally, the door opened, revealing mrs. hwang. she looked at your state, and immediately felt sad. she looked at you with worry in her eyes. “y/n?” she reached out and grabbed your shoulders, leading you into the house. “what’s wrong?”

you sighed. “i’m sorry to intrude, mrs. hwang.”

she frantically shook her head. “no, no, it’s okay.”

you hiccuped as more tears fell down your cheeks. every time you closed your eyes, you could picture your boyfriend all over that girl. you couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“do you want anything? do you want me to call your mom?” she asked, rubbing your shoulders reassuringly.

you shook your head. “no thanks.”

she looked at you before yelling, “hyunjin!”

perhaps he was the one that you came for. he was your best friend, he was more than that probably. “what?” he yelled back. you could hear the annoyed tone in his voice.

you heard his come down the stairs. you looked at him just as he rounded the corner into the living room. his annoyed expression quickly dropped. he hurried to you, looking between you and his mom, to you again. your mom stepped away so that hyunjin could stand in front of you. “y/n, what’s happened?”

you shook your head, trying hard to stop the tears from falling anymore. they had slowed down now, but they wouldn’t stop. “come on.” he said and grabbed your hand.

you followed him up the stairs and into his bedroom. he led you inside before closing the door behind him for more privacy. then he walked to you and pulled you into a tight hug, rocking your back and forth. he gently stroked your hair as you began to cry into his chest. “it was junho, wasn't it?” he asked.

you could build a wall, I would run it up, up, up just to get to your heart

you nodded, pulling away from him.

hyunjin gently dabbed tears off your cheeks with the sleeve of his long sleeve shirt. you looked up at him, “you were right. i should’ve listened to you.”

hyunjin pulled you over to his bed. you climbed onto it and sat down, crossing your legs underneath you. you grabbed one of hyunjin’s pillows and hugged it, resting your head on his. hyunjin sighed before placing a hand on your leg. “what happened?”

“well, i went to his house, but i thought no one was home. his parents weren’t. and, i found that the door was unlocked so i went inside, and i found pieces of clothing throughout his house.” you could feel yourself on the verge of a breakdown as you relived your experience. “i walked upstairs to his bedroom, and he was ch-cheating on m-m-me.” you finally got out.

hyunjin felt angry. he forced himself to remain calm for you, but all he could think about was plummeting the guy. he knew who he was. he knew that he wasn’t good for you, that you were way out of his league. but you felt like he truly loved you. he trusted you, and now your heart was broken. and he felt completely helpless.

hyunjin looked at you, “do you want to stay the night?”

you looked at him, nodding your head. hyunjin smiled before standing up, “let me tell my mom then. in the meantime, you can change into anything you want. i’ll be right back” hyunjin smiled at you.

if we're caught in a wave baby, we'll make a way

you blushed slightly, remembering all the times you’ve tried to steal from hyunjin’s wardrobe. you’ve warn his clothes before, seeing as you and him were best friends who shared almost everything. but something about now was different. after hyunjin closed the door behind him, you got up and opened his closet. you picked out a tshirt and found a pair of sweats in one of his drawers. you changed into them, feeling slightly better. hyunjin came back minutes later, holding a few snacks and drinks in his hands. “so, your mom said you can stay. she was ready storm over here when my mom told her that you had came here crying.” you smiled slightly.

you were feeling slightly better. hyunjin looked at you and smiled. “i knew you were going to go for my sweatpants.”

you looked down at them. “they’re comfy.

hyunjin smiled before turning on his tv and shutting off the lights. “what are you doing?” you asked him quietly.

hyunjin moved towards his bed and unmade it, throwing the covers way from him. “we’re going to binge watch a drama.”

you looked at him as he prepared his bed for two people. you felt your heart lighten as you watched your best friend. you felt much more loved with him than you ever did with junho. of course, you and hyunjin loved each other. but something was different.

you could put an ocean between our love, love, love it won't keep us apart

finally, he stood up. “ta-da!” he said.

you laughed lightly, standing next to hyunjin. you got into the bed first, hyunjin sliding in next to you. “so i brought, popcorn, chocolate, chips, and soda. which do you want first?”

you eyed the food. “chocolate.”

hyunjin handed you some chocolate before picking a drama and playing the first episode. you ate the chocolate and watched the drama, but halfway through the episode, you found yourself stealing glances with hyunjin. he seemed intrigued with the show, but you were more fascinated by him. perhaps you were just overwhelmed with emotions at the moment, and perhaps you weren’t thinking clearly, but you felt yourself drawn to hyunjin. “thank you, hyunjin.” you said suddenly.

hyunjin turned to look at you. he couldn’t meet you eyes. “of course.” he replied cheekily.

you smiled before leaning into him. hyunjin blushed slightly and hesitantly wrapped his arm around your shoulder. he was in love with you, he knew that now. but he didn’t want to push things, not after what you had just experienced. he knew you weren’t ready for another relationship, not yet. but hyunjin was willing to wait for you. he knew there was something more between you and him.

loves, between our love

#stray kids #stray kids one shot #stray kids imagine #stray kids scenario #stray kids hwang hyunjin #stray kids hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #hyunjin one shot #kpop #stray kids angst #stray kids fluff

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angrylizardjacket · 6 years ago

Text

drowning in honey, stingless {Roger Taylor}

Summary: Giselle’s life is a series of sensations and struggles, more often than not, alone.

Disclaimer: ‘drowning in honey, stingless’ is a quote from Evelyn Waugh

A/N: 1631 words. Please do not ask me what this is I do not know, just read it and enjoy it if you please. Warning for drug use.

[And All The Queen’s Men ‘verse]

Sometimes it’s like moving through a haze, through a dream, everything melts away when she asks, everyone around dances to her heartbeat; the world waits for no man, but she is no man and it would come to a grinding halt at her insistence. Not that there hasn’t been push back, not that her reputation, her skin colour, her gender, hasn’t garnered her scorn in a day and genre popularised by pretty, white boys; her life wasn’t handed to her on a silver platter, but she still manages to act like it was. Sometimes she forgets it’s an act.

The choice comes when she’s nineteen; she deludes herself into thinking it’s not nepotism, that it’s not favoritism, that she can’t see the shadow of her father’s influence puppeteering the executives offering her a contract, the chance to make something of her future and of herself. They pry her from her last name, as if the world won’t know where she came from, whose legacy she stands in the shadow of; they monetize her isolation for themselves, build her brand around Giselle alone. It’s easy to act aloof and detached, to build herself up on her own merits, and bury the memory of who she once was.

Over the years, best friends were replaced with ‘yes’ men, doing anything to make her smile, anything to keep her singing. She got friends, of course she’s still got friends, but she knows they love the idea of her, they love her name and the fame it garners, more than they love her. People from university, people from high school, people from before all of this, all of whoever she is now, they turned fickle, or they disappeared. Except John, but things are so different now. They’re not nineteen anymore.

And perhaps sometimes when she looks at bands, looks at friends, looks at the way real people actually seem to care about each other, there’s a gnawing sensation at her heart, a loneliness she can’t quite put into words. There’s a bubble around her, and everyone else likes to pretend that she can’t see out, can only see the world as gold as they’ve tried to tint it, to keep her ignorant to the critics who are cruel for the sake of being cruel, or even those who offer genuine critique amid their criticisms of the things she cannot change. She still sees the world, it’s hate and love, in equal measure, but they want her drowning in honey, stingless, alone.

A new choice comes when she’s twenty four- reach out. It’s easier now than it was when she began; she wasn’t a pushover then and she’s not a pushover now, but it still takes work. To reach out professionally was the easy part, the shallow business transaction of ‘I want to cover your song’ being as simple as it sounds, easier still when she’s told to go direct to them, to ask without preamble. Except she’s met with four smiles, well, three genuine smiles and whatever Roger’s doing with his face, and the salt crust on her slowly calcifying heart might just begin to crack.

The mask she puts on for the world, as shiny as diamond and twice as cold, is a familiar discomfort, an itch she’s used to, and she feels naked without it, speaking to these people like friends, like those who understand, at least in part, her position. It’s hard to let them in, but the world sharpens around her like it hasn’t in years, she still makes herself see a haze of rose gold but she feels awake like she hasn’t in a long time, touch starved like she can’t bring herself to admit out loud. John is proud, prouder than she expected him to be in the face of all she’s left behind of herself from when he knew her; around him, and only around him, she can face who she once was, admit that she misses it. Can admit that she misses it, and still smile.

Freddie’s there, filling the cracks in her heart with glitter for grout because he knows, he knows, that critics think that humanity and weakness are one in the same; he’s seen Giselle’s real smile and he’ll help her hide it if it means he’ll get to see it again.

And Roger? She knows she’s competitive, knows she’s brash and loud and far too human, and he seems determined to pull those qualities from her with both hands; he makes her feel alive, makes her feel human, and she hates him for it.

When Brian looks at her, he sees her, unbiased, unflinching, doesn’t know her like John, love her like Freddie, dismiss her like Roger. He sees her, eye to eye, as a musician first and foremost; her value lies in her work and in greatness she’s earned. Somehow he sees not who she was, not who she wants the world to see, he sees her for her work, he sees who she is. Through her golden haze of fame, the legacy she’s left behind and the one she’s still building, amid her icy veneer and the cracks of her touch starved heart, he sees Giselle Jones, twenty four, alone on the precipice of legendary; he, along with queen, agree to step up beside her.

Barely at twenty seven and she’s free falling, gathering stardust as she crashes back to Earth, to remind herself she’s human. So she puts her hopes and fears into her music, and the crowd sing along to the soundtrack of her spiralling, thinking it’s for them - it’s not, it never was, her music is hers; selfish and self indulgent, she’s at least earned that.

If she goes too far it doesn’t show in papers, in the real world, in the world outside of Bowie’s laughter, Elton’s feather’s, and oh, oh, oh whatever Roger’s doing with his mouth. She won’t remember it as anything more than a happy, hazy blur the next morning, but she feels alive right now. Since the beginning she’d been thrown in the deep end, a spectacle to watch as they make bets on whether she’ll sink of swim; she’s left EMI, moved to a new company that won’t keep her on a leash. She’s got free reign, unafraid of falling, of sinking, of crashing, so long as she can pick up the pieces before the paparazzi catch on.

They don’t. Her crystal veneer sits safely on the shelf the nights she goes hard, invites big names with bigger personalities into the safety of her home, away from the prying public. Star studded and exclusive, the dinners she hosts are just a chance to let loose amongst those who understand. She’s forgotten more life changing moments than most other people ever hope to have, concerts and faces of people she once idolised, singing her praises, bottles of champagne that could probably pay some people’s rent for a month, little white lines of powder that make the world as hazy as it sometimes feels, like syrup, like dreaming; this time drowning in honey of her own accord. Not alone this time, just lonely.

Maybe she swings too fast between nothing and everything.

Maybe they can’t keep up.

Maybe the world melts when she asks it to, and when she’d come back, when it had reformed, nothing was the same.

Maybe because she thought she was falling, thought she was crashing, though she’d reached new heights without even meaning to; the top of the world is lonely.

“Don’t be so dramatic.”

In this light, he’s golden too.

“What? I didn’t even say anything.”

He takes her hand where she’s sitting up in bed, the sheets having fallen away where she’s watching the sunset through the window, it’s like they’re the only ones left in their quiet corner of the world. When his skin touches hers, it’s startling for her to realise they’re alone, but she doesn’t actually feel lonely.

“Yeah, but I know that look.”

“What look?”

She wonders idly, that when, amongst her blur of memories for the past few years, that the person who was once the bane of her existence managed to crawl into the cracks of her not quite calcified heart.

“Of course you have a look; like you’re just coming down from a really good high but you’ve realised that something about the music isn’t right and you start spiralling.”

“I don’t remember that happening.”

A lie. She just doesn’t remember him being there. The music’s never right, the guests are too loud, the high too fleeting, but no-one else seems to realise; or maybe they can’t hear her for the haze… it’s not gold like it once was. ‘Yes’ men dropping off like flies; she doesn’t need their approval among the oceans of adoration each concert garners; the people paid to love her leave eventually.

Roger, by her side, laughs.

“You worry a lot when you’re sobering up. It’s cute.”

“I do not!”

“‘Zelle, I’ve been there, believe me.”

“It’s kind of shitty that you think my worry’s cute.”

“I think everything about you is cute.”

“You’re taking the piss.”

“Usually, yeah, but not this time.”

Pulling her back down to him, he grounds her. He doesn’t say it, but he understands, at least in part. He pushes back, but it’s a reminder than he’s there, pries apart her glitter-stained heart without meaning to, without realising. It takes time to learn to float without drowning amid the chaos of her life, but Roger seems to have one of those inflatable pool chairs, metaphorically speaking, and he helps her aboard.

Queen’s here, she makes herself remember, at the top of the world, by her side.

And Roger? He makes her feel human, and she’s pretty sure she loves him for it.

#roger taylor #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x oc #freddie mercury #brian may #john deacon #queen #bohemian rhapsody #borhap #bo rhap #borhap imagine #bohemian rhapsody imagine #and all the queen's men #the angry lizard writes

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fragilevixenfic · 6 years ago

Note

#19 and #61 for the angst/fluff prompts

I certainly hope that you love it! Tagging @monikafilefan @country3living @karinanic @reasonandfaithinharmony @agntstarbuck223 @allthingsxfiles @leiascully for a little extra love

Title: Shout

Category: Fluff/MSR/Post Season 11

Prompts: 19. “How are you feeling today?” & 61.“Did you need something?”

Summary: Saturday morning and Scully needs to makea solo trip to the grocery store, leaving Mulder alone with their seven monthold baby girl, Katie—what could possibly go wrong? What could Scully come hometo? (Takes place in EARLY Spring)

9:15 AM

The Unremarkable House

“Ileft a note on the fridge with emergency numbers just in case, for any reason,you can’t get a hold of me while I’m out,” Scully’s voice was unusually franticas she feverishly wiped the remnants of spit up off of her collar whilegathering her coat. “She’s been fed, burped, and changed…the only thing shemight need is a nap?”

“Katie Mulder, I don’t think shetrusts us by ourselves,” Mulder was on the edge of the couch, half bouncing thecherubic, pink cheeked, auburn locked doll with shockingly hazel eyes on hisknee while she squealed and kicked her legs wildly in response, giving her thatquestioning stare. “My God, Scully, you’re just going to the store…not leavingfor a week.”

Scully pursed her lips togetheras she tilted her head, looking at his already stained with pumpkin bananacarrot baby food tee shirt, before rolling her eyes at the identical, quizzicalexpression from Katie as she drooled onto three of her fingers in her mouth.“Don’t give me that look; you’re supposed to be on my side, young lady.”

“Nope, while you are gone, ironlungs and I are going to destroy the living room and blame it on the cat,”Mulder was completely in love with her chubby, perfectly rounded cheeks eventhough he knew she’d eventually lose them as he gave each a quick kiss, much toher chagrin, as she wailed in his ear. “You’re worse than your mother.”

“Mulder, we don’t have a cat andI thought you liked it,” Scully smirked and slid her purse strap across hershoulder, pulling him close for a loving kiss while the precocious infantmanaged to coil all of her fingers around her pinky, squeezing it tightly untilshe looked down at her between them. “Well, hello, my love…did you needsomething?”

“She needs Mommy to stop beingneurotic and get her buns to the store so she can come back and watch a moviewith us on this lovely Saturday,” Mulder adjusted his grip on Katie’s backsideand coaxed a loud snort and giggle combination in the process as he tickled herperfect little rolls on her side. “Isn’t that right, little one?”

Katie’s highly responsive babblingwas perfectly timed, complete with the shimmer of drool down the center of herbottom lip and chin that only highlighted her rounded features, and where shegot each one—the hair from her Mother, the eyes from her Father, the nose thatseemed to bridge the gap between both in the sweetest of ways, and the hint ofpink along her nose and cheeks that foretold a story of her future freckles.Scully took a deep breath as her eyes hovered over the man who had held herheart for so long and the little mystery that arrived out of their love, regretfullymissing the boy that had once been situated comfortably between them like amissing puzzle piece that had been found. It was bittersweet as she could stillremember him tinier than her, snuggled in a blue blanket and milk-drunk, thepowder scent of his skin against his little fingers as she snuck a quicksmooch.

She didn’t want to dwell on the fairness of not raising him—of Mulder notraising him.

Scully was truly conflicted in her soul as she felt that little sting inher heart that her nearly perfect family picture was missing one of the membersand she could still feel his presence like a feather gliding across the back ofher neck. The sadness was always met with a little bit of happiness, however,as she always seemed to feel the reassurance that it wasn’t the last time she’dsee him or be able to put her arms around her son—in spite of what had beentold to her, to them, he belonged to them and he came from love, from a lovingplace. He was loved and it wasn’t just by the family that held him the firsttime he fell off of his bicycle or flunked a test, it was by the two peoplethat risked their lives to try, to love him, even if it was only for the mostfleeting of moments that they couldn’t hold onto for long enough.

They both knew it, in their heart…and somehow, she knew that he felt it,too, wherever he was at any given moment of the day.

Mulder reached out and squeezed her hand, knowing exactly where her mindhad wandered off to and winked at her as she forced a smile out and held thetears back like she had been doing far too much as of late. “You’re thinkingabout him again…I am, too. It’s ok to miss him and hope that he’ll change hismind. I do it at least twice a day.”

“Once in the morning and once as sleep starts to catch you,” Scully wipedher eyes and looked at her watch, sniffling a little as she laid a little kisson Katie’s pristine forehead, taking a moment to get a whiff of that vanillacrème and baby bath scent that before meeting Mulder’s loving gaze. “I betterget going so I can get back in time before you two go setting fire to thehouse.”

“Love you,” Mulder pulled Katie close and offered her a toy while hiseyes were on Scully as she stood in the doorway for an extra moment.

Scully could still see the man in the basement office from twenty-sixyears earlier as she grinned at him, holding the loveliest product of so muchpassion in his arms to remind her of why it was all worth it. “Love you…both ofyou.”

10:20 AM

Mulder’s parenting skills weredefinitely being put to the test as Katie’s first tooth was completely rearingits ugly head within thirty minutes of Scully walking out of the door. He knewshe was slightly behind the average baby in terms of timing but had hoped thatmaybe, just maybe, that the iron lungs were going to be a little less of afactor as they started to jab through her gums like little assholes. Hecouldn’t have been more wrong as he held a screaming, nearly red in the face,drool saturated little redhead as he desperately dug through the freezerlooking for the last set of gel rings that Scully had put away the nightbefore. He slid his hand along the door cup and pulled the only one that wascooperating with his grip out, wiggling it toward her as she cried against hischest, gnawing at his wet with tears and drool shirt. She was less than pleasedwith his slow response time and the viscous, overly warm drool pouring out ofher was only making her mood worse as she flailed both arms desperately towardthe cold air coming from the freezer.

“I know, I know, I know, you’rereally mad at me right now,” Mulder eased the frozen ring along her gums untilthe wailing subsided gently. “There we go…That’s my girl.”

The living room was in absoluteshambles, as predicted it would be, and the sound of “Come a little bit closer”by Jay and the Americans was playing on the turntable in the corner, just loudenough that the beat was fully distracting the grumpy and pain inflicted infantin his arms. He carried her into the room, doing a little spin until he heardanother snot, spit, and drool filled giggle against the ring and his shirt,which earned the biggest of grins from him as he looked down at her cute,bright pink cheeks as she looked up at him. He wiggled his eyebrows at her andwiggled his hips, giving her a gentle shake until the laughter was a littlelouder behind the teething ring, soothing away the irritation with his best“Daddy is an idiot” dance. It seemed to be doing the trick as he did anotherlittle twirl toward the window, carefully avoiding the land mine of toys thatwere strewn about on the floor.

Mulder stopped at the window andlooked outside at the little bits of snow still left over the decking from theupdraft of wind that had carried it toward the swing and snorted at the loudsqueal from Katie as she saw a pretty, gray cat lapping at a puddle near theedge. She certainly was an observant little thing but she spotted that cat themoment Mulder stood still enough to be aware of it. He held her against thecurve of his arm a little better and rocked her softly while pulling thecurtains open so she could see it better as he turned his head toward them whileher squealing became a series of grunts and cooing while she squeezed Mulder’sfinger.

“Well, look at that…and Mommy says we don’t have a cat…pfft…looks like wehave a cat,” Mulder kissed the top of her head.

11:00 AM

Scully pulled back into thedriveway and exhaled loudly as she pulled the grocery bags from the back of theSUV before carrying them up the steps. She looked a little worse for the wearas she reached for the door, making a face as she heard the rather loud musiccoming from inside. She opened the door as gracefully as she could with herhands full and stepped into their modest, in desperate need of another coat ofpaint, little home just in time to hear “Shout” coming from the living room.Scully set the groceries on the table and came around the corner in time to seeMulder, clad in a bedsheet toga, with Katie in his arms, dancing to thematching scene from Animal House. Shelooked over at the table behind the couch and spotted the Polaroid camerasitting next to the photos of family in a line. Scully picked it up and held itwith it aimed at them as he had his back turned, the sweetest of giggles fromher baby girl nearly inciting laughter from herself as she readied the camerabetween her fingers.

“Mulder, say cheese,” Scullywaited until he had spun completely around with Katie before she pushed the redbutton and set the flash mechanism going as the photo came spitting out of thecamera.

“Hey, you just violated rulenumber three…no photographic evidence, Scully,” Mulder’s eyes widened as hewatched her shaking the picture back and forth while he stood in the toga withKatie still cheese grinning in his arms. “Mommy is trying to embarrass us.”

“Rule number three is forupstairs only, not downstairs,” Scully took a peek at the developing photographand then looked at Mulder, her eyebrow elevating. “Are you wearing pants?”

“Wait, so, are you saying thatyou’re game for downstairs photographic evidence?” Mulder was blushing as heheld his daughter in his arms, the edge of his basketball shorts hanging outfrom underneath of the sheet. “Mommy came back from the store in an awfullygood mood, punkin.”

“Looks like I don’t need reallyneed to ask, Mister Toga, but, how are youfeeling today?” Scully came up to him, sans the camera, and wrapped her armsaround him, giving his butt a fairly firm, yet playful squeeze before kissinghim quick.

The sweet little lip lock didn’tget to last long as Katie was tugging eagerly at Scully’s shirt, giving her anot so subtle hint that she was both hungry and tired as she whined and gummedat Scully’s exposed skin from the little bit of cleavage that was showing.There would be time for finishing where that conversation seemed to have beengoing, they both were certain, but the life in their arms held precedence inspite of the playful awakening that had just begun. Mulder’s lips drifted toScully’s forehead as they carefully exchanged Katie from his arms to hers,exposing the sheer volume of drool that she had been dripping as he saw theline across the white bedsheet. Scully didn’t waste time in getting Katiestraight to nursing, wincing just enough as the cutting tooth was making itspresence felt against her while Mulder wiped a few stray strands of hair out ofScully’s face, returning her expression to that soft, contented smile she hadearlier.

“I never imagined that I’d bethis okay being drooled on, again,” Mulder smirked as he started picking upKatie’s toys and stuffed animals, meeting her gaze as she leaned against thearmrest of the easy chair.

Scully chuckled and rubbed thecenter of Katie’s back while she rocked her, looking over in Mulder’sdirection. “You’ve been ok with a lot of things from her—and I’m so glad thatyou are. I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.”

“I wouldn’t have it any otherway, Scully,” Mulder laid a couple of sweet kisses along her hairline andrubbed the back of her neck as he lingered there. “Maybe later, when this oneis asleep, we could revisit that whole downstairs no rule number three?”

“Mulder,” Scully smirked andlooked up at him, “I’ll think about it.”

Quickreferences – “Shout” by Otis Day and the Knights

Animal House – If you couldn’t pictureMulder in a Toga before, this should’ve helped.

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moonstone-writes · 6 years ago

Note

I was wondering, could we get a ficlet of the gang finding Sly at last, only to discover he’s dead? Only if you allow the angst.

I am publishing this with ask attached so that when people ask me ‘Moonstone why????’ I can honestly say ‘I am only giving what was asked for.’

It had been the longest year of Carmelita Fox’s life, months of tears and stress and searching. Of endless days and sleepless nights, of frustration and fear and a gnawing, growing sense of hopelessness. But now it was so nearly over.

Carmelita watched Bentley gently unwrap the ancient kopesh (she had tactfully decided not press about how he had obtained it).

“You’re sure this will take us to him?” She asked.

“If I’ve done my math right.” Bentley nodded. “This will take us to exactly when Sly was dropped in Egypt.”

“Good.” Carmelita stared at the sword, an odd thing to rest all your hopes on. A weapon. But perhaps it was fitting, she thought looking at the curved blade that reminded her so much of Sly’s cane. She climbed up into the van. “Are we ready?”

“The Murray is as ready as he’ll ever be.” Murray, already strapped into the driver’s seat slammed a fist against his open palm. “Let’s bring Sly home.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself Big Guy.” Bentley fiddled with a dial. “We’re good here. Punch it Murray.”

Murray threw a lever on the dash. “Hang onto your lunches guys. Next stop the past.”

The van began to pick up speed, Carmelita held onto her seat and closed her eyes against the flash of light that heralded a jump.

The three of them were on their way.

They were going to bring Sly home.

The desert sands of Egypt sprawled before them, on the distant horizon Carmelita could see the pyramids, gleaming white and brand new under the sun. A few hundred yards off from where the van had landed was what looked like a stand of small, square houses made of mud brick.

“I’m not picking up a signal from Sly’s binocucom.” Bentley muttered, his own was in his hands and he was flicking through read out screens.

“Maybe the battery is flat?” Murray suggested.

“It shouldn’t be… I built the battery packs in these to last y’know. Hmmm…” He hummed for a minute. “Maybe it broke?”

“Maybe.” Carmelita said as she looked at the houses. Cooper hunting 101: find the high ground. “I guess we’ll just have to find him the old fashioned way.” She pointed. “I think if I get up on top of those houses I’ll be able to get a pretty good look at the area.”

Bentley tucked his bincocucom away. “Good idea Inspector.”

It didn’t take much to get up on the rooftops.

Murray waiting below had given Carmelita his binocucom to use. She pulled it out to scan the surroundings and almost immediately realised that she didn’t need it.

“Guys?” Carmelita said. “I think I know where Sly is.”

“You do? That was quick.”

“Yeah, looks like he left us a pretty big calling card.”

On top of one of the houses was the stylised image of a raccoon face.

Sly’s insignia.

Carmelita was already running. “I’ll meet you at the front door.” She said.

“Roger Carmelita, tracking your position.”

The flat, close rooftops made for a short dash and Carmelita leapt down in front of the little house.

The door to the house was open and there was a young black hat sweeping and humming absently in the doorway. She dropped her broom, mouth open in shock at Carmelita’s sudden appearance.

“Sorry.” Carmelita said holding up both hands. “Sorry I don’t meant to frighten you but I’m looking for someone…”

Blinking, eyes wide the girl turned back over shoulder calling into the house. “Grandmother, Grandmother they’re here. Grandmother it’s them!” She looked past Carmelita at the approaching figures of Bentley and Murray. “I never thought… I… didn’t think… Oh.” She gave a little gasp. “Forgive me.” She stepped aside. “Please come in.”

“You were expecting us?” Carmelita asked, slowly stepping inside.

“Grandmother certainly has been.” The girl answered.

The interior of the house was small, Carmelita could see two other rooms leading off the main space. A small cooking fire burned in the grate and another black cat, sat at the low central table. This one was older, her sun-bleached hair and fur lightening to grey and her face weathered by the years looked up at Carmelita with an expectant fondness, like she was about to greet an old friend.

“You must be Carmelita. Please sit.”

“I am.” Carmelita said. At a loss for anything else to do Carmelita sat, mirroring the old cat’s position.

“Miriam was right. It really is you. Are Bentley and Murray with you?”

“They are, they’re right behind me.”

“They’re coming now Grandmother.” Miriam said from the doorway.

Well, they were certainly in the right place. “You know about us?”

“Of course, Sly spoke of you often. But I think perhaps explanations should wait until you are all here.”

Carmelita supposed Sly must have stayed here for a time, told some stories, probably flirted with Miriam. How long had he been gone? She wondered, how much of a headstart did he have this time?

A confused Bentley and Murray were ushered in.

“Where’s Sly?” Murray asked.

“Not here anymore I don’t think.” Carmelita said.

The old cat beckoned to her granddaughter and whispered something, Miriam nodded retreating to one of the other rooms.

“Well now.” The cat looked at them each in turn her eyes crinkling. “To think I would finally get to meet you all. I should have known really, Sly always said you would come. I am Esther.”

The boys murmured polite hellos.

“I am glad you are here, I am glad that I can finally give you this. He wanted you three to have it.” Esther offered them a gentle, slightly sad smile.

Miriam reemerged carrying something delicately wrapped in cotton. She laid it on the table.

“He used to say…” Esther continued, “that one day you would come but if you did not then my children’s children and their children too should keep this and maybe one day take it to Paris. The place from his stories. But you are here now. This is as it should be.” She unwrapped the bundle.

Sly’s cane lay on the table before them.

Carmelita went cold, Sly would never leave his cane behind. She looked at Esther. “I don’t understand… where is he?”

Esther’s smile faded, “oh child.” She said softly, pityingly. “I am sorry… I thought you knew… I thought you would have known… he has died.”

“Dead?” Bentley choked out. “When? How?”

Carmelita braced herself, trying to stay upright. It couldn’t be right, it had to be a mistake, a trick… something. She looked at the cane on the table, it was no fake, it was definitely Sly’s cane. Older and more battered but definitely his.

“He passed shortly after the last harvest.” Miriam explained. “He was so old, I think it was a blessing.”

“He was… he was what?” Bentley didn’t sound like he was processing any better than Carmelita.

“Old.” The girl repeated. “Older than Grandmother.”

“How… how is that possible?” Carmelita looked at Bentley.

“There… there must have been an error when I was carbon dating the kopesh… I don’t… I’ve…” Bentley dragged his hands down his face.

Murray meanwhile had picked up Sly’s cane and was cradling it across the palms of his large hands. “How long was he here?” He asked softly.

“Many years.” Esther confirmed. “All my life at least. My mother found him wandering in the desert and she brought him home. When she married my father a few years later, my father adopted Sly as his brother so that Sly could remain as part of the household. He was our uncle, he doted on my siblings and I. I think he may have had a particular soft spot for me, perhaps that was because I never stopped believing his wonderful stories.

Carmelita couldn’t breathe. Decades. Sly had been alone here for years. A full generation. How lonely he must have been. Had he waited and waited day after day for the three of them and they had never come. Had he felt forgotten? Abandoned?

“Was he happy?” Murray asked, sniffling.

“I think he was.” Esther nodded. “I know he missed all of you, he spoke of you often and with such love but I think he grew to love us too. This became his home, he was a hero to many of us. There was a famine when I was a girl, the local priests had grown corrupt and claimed the poor harvest was a sign of displeasure from their gods and refused to lend aid. Sly stole from the temple granaries, he kept our whole valley fed. He saved us all that year.”

“That sounds like Sly.” Bentley croaked out.

“I am sorry, truly I am.”

“Thank you.” Carmelita said rising. “We should... we should go.”

“Carmelita?” Murray looked at her.

“Are you sure child? You may stay here if you require rest and you are welcome to break bread with us. It is the least we can do.”

Carmelita shook her head, she needed to get outside, needed to leave. “No thank you. We should... we should go.”

Esther nodded, “as you will. I wish you a safe journey home.”

As Carmelita stumbled outside she heard Murray thank the old woman, for taking care of Sly.

Carmelita walked across the sand as far as she could from the house until her knees gave way and she collapsed to all fours. They were too late, too late, he was gone. They’d failed. No, no, no, no.

“Carmelita?” Bentley called, his modded wheelchair moving quickly over the sand.

Carmelita took a deep breath, getting back to her feet. “We have to find him.” She said.

Bentley shook his head, looking up at her. “I... I don’t know how... This is all my fault.. he’s gone...”

“What good is a time machine if we can’t change that? We need to go back and find him sooner. The kopesh wasn’t what we needed so we find something else here. Surely we can find a... pot or some jewellery or... or something that was made within the last few decades and then we go back and we find Sly before all this happens.” She flung out an arm.

“You... you’re right.” Bentley took off his glasses to wipe his streaming eyes. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Guys...” Murray said quietly. “Are you sure?”

“What do you mean?” Carmelita demanded.

“Sly was happy here, he had a life. He was part of a family.” He was looking at Sly’s cane still in his hands.

“We’re his family.” Bentley interrupted. He put his glasses back on and raised his chin. “Carmelita’s right. We just need to try again and this time we’ll get it right.”

#anonymous #sly cooper #bentley and murray don't have last names #carmelita fox #my writing #ficlet

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lykegenia · 6 years ago

Text

The Things We Hide Ch. 22

The Southern Water Tribe stood for a hundred years against the Fire Nation, indomitable until Sozin’s Comet tipped the balance in Fire Lord Ozai’s favour. Now, as planned, the South is decimated, Chief Hakoda is a puppet on his throne, and Princess Katara is a political prisoner held in the Fire Nation capital to ensure his good behaviour. But Ozai has little time to gloat. A vigilante masquerading as the Blue Spirit is causing unrest among the people, rebel ships still hound his navy, and right under his nose the South’s most powerful waterbender waits with the patience of ice to strike at the very heart of his empire and bring it crashing down.

Chapter 1 on AO3 This chapter on AO3 Masterpost here

Zuko woke somewhere dark. As his awareness grew, the first sensation to come back to him was pain, a sharp ache at the back of his skull and a dull throb down the left side of his face that he knew would only get worse. Whoever had knocked him out had left his mask on, and it did nothing to relieve the feverish itch of his skin. His hands were chained above his head; the metal clinked when he tried to move. He drifted off again, falling between wakefulness and unconsciousness so that even with his ability to sense the sun, he couldn’t tell how much time passed.

Eventually, he heard footsteps. One set steadily approaching, echoed by another running to catch up. They stopped beyond the shadow he presumed to be the door of his cell.

“Food for the prisoner.”

He shifted, tense, the guard’s muttered response lost in the pop of joints that hadn’t moved for hours.

“Katara, are you sure this is a good idea?” The Water Tribe boy. “You know –”

“I know what I’m doing, Sokka.”

Sokka sighed. “Just be careful.”

She murmured something Zuko couldn’t hear, and then a key turned in the lock and the door swung open on the groan of old hinges. He turned away. Her footsteps carried her through until she halted, and the door slammed shut again, and the scrape of her boots over the packed dirt floor came with the smell of hot food and the glow of a candle.

“Zuko?” she called, with a wary, muted quality to her voice that grated on his nerves. She sighed and crouched down next to him. “How’s your head?”

“Spare me your false pity,” he snarled, unable to help the way his fists clenched.

“It’s not false pity. I’m going to take your mask off now. Even if you won’t admit it you’ll be more comfortable with it off.”

He watched her hand reach for the ties behind his head but didn’t move away, knowing that to do so would be useless, and token shows of resistance were beneath his dignity besides. Even so, he hissed when she pried the mask off him, flinching away as the bandage over the left side of his face stuck to the wood and broke the scab. He had hated her for months – a lifetime – but somehow, it was her gasp on seeing the ruin of his face that formed the hard lump at the back of his throat.

“Don’t touch it,” he snapped as her hand stretched out again.

Her fingers curled in on themselves. “What happened?”

“Why do you care?”

“I care,” she replied. “Zuko, this is infected, let me help you. I can heal –”

“Get away from me!” He jerked upwards, calling fire to his fists so she had to flinch away. “I don’t need anything from you. You did this to me.”

“No, I didn’t.” Her gaze held something inscrutable, like a riddle she was on the cusp of solving, but he was glad when she didn’t reach out to touch him again. “Why are you here?” she asked instead.

He bared his teeth. “Why are you here?”

The only answer was another sigh as she pulled a ring of keys from a loop on her belt and rose on her knees to unlock the shackles above his head. His wrists were still bound together, and the rush of blood back into his hands made them sting as they dropped into his lap, but he nevertheless had to bite back a sigh of relief.

Katara was already standing. “You should eat something.”

He hadn’t noticed her place the bowl next to him. It was mostly rice with only a small amount of some thin, gristly broth soaking around the edges, but at least it smelled edible, and as his watering mouth and rumbling stomach reminded him, it had been at least a day since he had eaten.

“There aren’t any chopsticks, I’m afraid,” she told him. “It was decided you might try to escape – which I wouldn’t recommend, by the way. I managed to convince them to bring you down here without taking off the mask, but everyone knows who the Blue Spirit is now, and the Prince of the Fire Nation is a valuable prisoner to have.”

“I won’t help you,” he managed, because of all the retorts crowding on his tongue, that one was the safest.

“I wasn’t asking for your help,” she replied coldly. “That was a warning. There’s more than one person here who would love the chance to avenge family killed in the war. By your people.”

“Are you one of them?”

She turned away from him, and was nearly at the door before she threw her answer over her shoulder. “My quarrel isn’t with you.”

The door groaned open at her knock and as she stepped through a shadow detached from the wall and reached out for her. She paused, but ignored the touch and kept walking, leaving Sokka an instant to glare through the darkness at the prisoner in the cell, before the guard blocked the sight and slammed the cell closed once more.

When it opened again, dawn was not far off, but the air was more bitterly cold than before. Zuko had managed a few hours of fitful sleep after Katara’s visit, the food palatable but nowhere near enough to fill the hunger that gnawed deeper into his gut whenever he thought about it. He had never had to go hungry, not even on the ship. At some point, someone had left him another candle, with a bowl of salted water, clean bandages, and a pot of ointment to treat his burn. Though he tried to ignore the offer, without anything else to distract him the itching on his face became unbearable, and before he knew it he was reaching for the small stone pot and all but whimpering with relief as the thick, herby salve cooled his fevered skin. He had applied the new bandage as best he could without a mirror, but he left the mask lying where Katara had dropped it. He had no use for it now.

A guard stood before him, one of the ones in deep blue and white. Close to, he noticed a floral pattern embroidered into the hem of the quilted robes, and over the white mantle that draped the man’s shoulders, a heraldry that he’d never seen before.

“On your feet,” the guard snapped.

Prisoner he may be, but Zuko was still a prince. People did not talk to him with such disrespect. “Why?”

“Because I’m authorised to make you if you won’t cooperate.” The man grinned. “Don’t worry, you’re too valuable to haul off to the execution block.”

“Then where are you taking me?” Zuko asked, deciding to stand. His legs wobbled from being cramped for so long, but he didn’t stumble.

“The Grand Master wants to see you.”

Another two guards joined them beyond the door of the cell and together they led their prisoner through a maze of tunnels. He was blindfolded, and though he tried to keep track of all the turns as they took him through the maze of corridors, the construction of the temple was disorienting, and all he could tell was that they were climbing up into one of the towers, the steps worn and uneven beneath his feet. Draughts whistled down the spiral staircase, cutting through his thin clothes and dousing his inner fire until even shivering was too much effort, but perhaps that was the point, a way to make him less dangerous.

Eventually they reached a landing. One of the guards opened a door that creaked on old hinges, spilling warmth and the familiar scent of jasmine out into the corridor.

“The Grand Master will see you shortly,” someone said as he was pushed forward onto thick carpet. The door slammed behind him. For a moment he stood, cautious of his new surroundings, suspecting a trick of some sort because while he was still manacled, nobody had said he could take off the blindfold. When he was sure he was alone with only the howl of the wind for company, he reached up and peeled away the offensive layer of cloth.

The place was plush, well-appointed. Scrolls of artwork decorated the walls and artefacts from every nation filled blank spaces in the shelves that lined the room. The airbenders had little use for fire outside of cooking, so there was no hearth, but someone had installed a stove in one corner of the room, and it blazed with a lively fire while an iron kettle heated water on top of it. Zuko edged towards the only window only to find it locked, the sheer drop on the other side added discouragement to try and escape. As he looked around for another opportunity, his gaze was drawn to the centre of the room, where a low table was laid with a Fire Nation tea set on a lacquered tray.

He started when the door opened. And stared.

“Prince Zuko.” The man who surveyed him was squat, old, his jowls sagging and his brown eyes framed by deep wrinkles at the corners. He too wore one of the blue and white uniforms, but his beard was carefully trimmed in the fashionable Fire Nation style, and though he was balding, his wiry grey hair was pulled back into a topknot with a golden general’s clasp.

“I am afraid if you were looking to find a way out of here, you were wasting your time,” the Dragon of the West said as he ambled towards the stove. “Please, have a seat.” He gestured to one of the large cushions by the table.

Zuko, numbed by shock, forgot his defiance of a moment before and tottered to where he was directed.

“I suspect you have questions,” Iroh continued, turning away to busy himself with the kettle. “I do as well, but that can wait. First, we must be comfortable. How about we share some food and a pot of nice, warming tea?”

#zutara #Zuko #katara #zuko x katara #katara x zuko #blue spirit #avatar #avatar: the last airbender #a:tla

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rakuraiwielder · 6 years ago

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it was never about that

Nothing could have prepared her for the lurch in her chest when the intercom clicks open with buzzed static and familiar screaming. Post Volume 6 reunion.

RWBY, Blacksun.

Also on A03

Foreword:

breaks my 1 year writing hiatus with the underdog ship ahahah AAA im back bABEYY

go easy on me please I worked on this with only post vol 4 spoiler knowledge and a-not-so-accurate world map so have some au content for events that have yet to transpire(?)

They had barely made it to the command room before the alarms blare again; red and fire illuminating the cold marble of the corridors. Blake stiffens, pushes away the echoing screech of Grimm ringing in her ears as she eyes the ominous lights, frowns minutely as the building gives one ominous shudder. Beside her Yang tenses with teeth clenched, and she drops her shoulder in response to cover her, ignores the throbbing of her knees and wrist as she fingers over Gambol Shroud.

Their ragtag group huddles further into the cold, ruined room amid burning cinders and shocked circuits, but she has little time to make sense of it all before Ruby was calling her name and the screens over the shattered glass overlooking Atlas flares to life.

Nothing could have prepared her for the lurch in her chest when the intercom clicks open with buzzed static and familiar screaming.

“-is a distress call from- cuos, --overru- -e Grimm are- , if anyone can hear me-“

“Neptune!” She wasn’t aware she had waded up to the front of the monitor until she sees Ruby retract her hand from the buttons, shooting her a concerned look. She swallows, feeling pain wreck the expanse of her throat, wasn’t aware of the crack in her voice until the pain persists.

A two-folded attack, and Salem still three steps ahead of them.

Blake’s ears fold back as the roar of cannon fire in the background swallows the muffled sounds of battle, feels anxiety spike when Neptune yells for a Captain to be careful. The bad feeling only pools further when she picks out a pained groan through the static.

Another groan behind her, and Blake tries to close her ears to Weiss’s sob as her father struggles to stand.

“Ru- y? Bla-? W -need reinforcements, please, NDGO and BR- -wn. – is here! Can’t ho-“

“Neptune!” Weiss’s exhausted shout goes unanswered as the feed cuts off, leaving the static screen smoking with fried wires.

No one says a word as dread hangs in the air.

“No..”

Blake can feel her team’s gazes on her as she shuts her eyes, holding the grimace at bay. Panic comes first; springs free from her eyes when she turns to face them. If Neptune was there, then that would mean…

“Blake?” The room was silent, stray sparks crackling as Ruby shuffles closer.

“We have to help them.” She says, feeling helpless even as the words leave her mouth. The threat to Atlas had yet to be fully neutralised; as it were, the ramifications of the destruction must be answered for and the crew were short of hands. The nation of Atlas must know. But more importantly, more importantly…

Blake bites her lips and swallows a curse, clamps down the tremble that runs down her spine as every instinct of her body screams otherwise. Those were her friends out there, comrades who fought beside her as Beacon burned with cinder and ash all those months ago. People she refused to desert again.

Her eyes find Yang unconsciously, sees an unknown emotion flit across the blonde’s face as she presses her lips into a grim line. Guilt stems from her conscience, unconsciously; she hunches her shoulders even as lavender looks steadily at her. This was not her decision to make.

Never again. She had made a promise.

The nauseous feeling persists.

“Then you must go.”

In the hushed silence of the command room Yang’s voice rings clear, her soft grunt of admission that follows carrying a hint of her usual cheer. She levels a look at their leader, who looks equally surprised at the declaration. Blake’s axis stutters to a stop; disbelief clouds her mind, for it was Yang; Yang whom took her departure hardest, whom she strove so hard to mend her relationship with; Yang, whom she blamed herself most over.

Yang, whom was trusting her to leave.

It is relief that hits her first after the shock, and Blake cannot help but feel guilt at that too. She feels wronged somehow, like she had gotten a free pass at something she was never meant to have. So muddled in her thoughts she missed the unspoken exchange that passes between the sisters, darting to attention only when Ruby chuckles and Yang breaks away with a resolute grin.

“Yang,” Weiss sighs tiredly. “you know that’s not possible, there’s still things we have to-”

“I know. Which is why you and I will be staying here. Ruby and Blake will head to Vacuo.”

“Are you sure?” Blake says again, sees the grin curl into a smile as Yang levels her with a stare that spoke volumes.

“Yes, go to them.”

A weight eases off her shoulders even as she tries to smile back, blood rushing through her ears in waves.

Things are a blur after that; from running down the decks of metal grates to the roar of an engine taking them to the skies. (There is an airship bounded for Sasus, I’ll have them adjust coordinates-) There was no time for long goodbyes -the four of them barely had time to trade quiet glances-, and before long the team had split again. (Don’t worry kids, got some unfinished business to do here. But then I’ll be right behind you. We all will.) She doesn’t feel any better when the clouds part and the guilt leaves.

There is an itch under her skin, emphasized by her own worry. It gnaws at her, bit by bit at the crevice of her mind that she actively tried to avoid. It is not long before she cannot close her eyes without seeing a mirage of a dimming tower within the harsh desert smothering with flame and ash.

The memory of a shrug, an easy-going grin, (Me? I’m going back to Vacuo./You are with who you need to be with now./Hey…I’m sure we will see each other again soon.) haunts her behind closed eyelids; grows stronger with each passing day they take to reach the far ends of the sea.

She would be lying if she said she hasn’t thought of him. It had been months long, but in her mind the culmination of her journey to and from Menagerie longer still, and he had been there, every step of the way, wading through the darkness of the White Fang beside her. He had been by her side so long until he wasn’t, and the first few nights after their parting she wakes up disoriented at the absence of an earnest voice and golden hair.

She misses Sun, she thinks, but under no circumstances did she want to see him again this way. The faunus boy who never failed to come to her aid, who offered and offered selflessly and gave himself to see her smile, whose homeland now burned under the eye of the cruel witch. She hopes this time she can be strong enough to return the favour.

Sun and his team were strong, she has no doubt about this, strong enough to give them a run for their money if they so wished. But then she thinks of confident Neptune; voice frantic and laced with pain, of what might have caused him to sound that way, and her instincts continue to spark something unpleasant in her gut.

The nightmare drags on, reveals fallen bodies both civilian and Hunter, a thousand possibilities that led to stark-white skulls glowing within burning destruction. A sinking sense of déjà vu comes over her when a limbless creature emerges from the inky blackness, morphs into tormented human.

Her throat closes with a sickening feeling.

Think positive, Ruby says, but even Blake can see the searing conflict beneath her eyes.

“This time, it won’t be too late.”

She surprises herself by placing a hand over her arm, and the smile that lights Ruby’s face makes her feel better too. She returns it, feeling a twinge of amusement at how hypocritical they both seem to be.

Sun used to do that; ground her back just as her thoughts spiral off into tangents that had her want to pull her hair in blind panic and frustration. She always had a penance for the worse-case scenarios; one would think he would get sick of it. But he had always grasped her shoulder and shot back a what-if, juggled Jingu-bang and Ruyi-bang with a goofy sort of confidence in a way he knew she would rib him for.

She had not realised the first few times, but he had made her forget. Ebbed her stress away until the darkness in her eyes left.

And for just those few moments, Adam’s hold on her was no longer as potent.

Her mouth twitches and furrow. She was thinking of him again.

She would have been blinded not to see it, and that was why she tries not to dwell on it at all. There was something there, small and rooted and growing, distance only putting a temporarily halt to the slow culmination of what she suspects, what she fears, would be a finite end she would have to face. Sun had gave, but he had also taken; nudged and prodded and tagged along with a stubborn refusal to leave her alone until he had cemented himself as a trusted companion.

He had become important to her. Important enough to warrant the odd clench in her chest at the thought of him incapacitated.

But Blake knows herself; knows the gentle inkling festering underneath all those layers of doubt and deceit she placed around her wary nature could possibly be more.

And that, above all, scares her more than anything.

She thinks back to a moonlit night of him lying on a cold concrete roof with a wound through his chest and feels a surge of aching so strong her breath rattles through her lungs. It was no longer just an eye for an eye, of give and take, of being there to catch him the way he had for her.

She gasps, snaps her eyes open and lunges from her seat when Ruby calls for her from the Captain’s bow.

Their ship doesn’t stick the landing, deterred by tumultuous windstorms and cascades of sand. The weather barrier had enclosed much of the inner city, disrupting any radio waves or signals honing out. Their Captain risks it, crash-dives the ship over the rapid beatings of murky black silhouette. The Nevermore plunges to its death, carrying the airship with it as it breaks through the sandstorm.

Ruby draws Crimson Rose just as the shutters shatter and the ship makes its crushing presence known, and then they were off at touchdown, a trail of rose petals and nifty shadows cutting a path to the city centre.

Staggered groups of survivors spot then first. Then the automation soldiers. Then rogue Hunters. Ruby blazes through a pack of smaller beasts in a flurry, throws her scythe open as she starts to fire. Blake darts into an opening she makes, curls Gambol Shroud into whip form and lunges. Her semblance ripples in frozen apparitions, dancing around and leaving the faintest trace of a cat-o-nine-tails.

She snatches the Grimm away from cornered bystanders as she advances further, clicks Gambol Shroud into position as the distorted monster tugs and struggles under her grip. Leaps. Then, a flash of red hair and singed clothes as someone lunges from the air toward her.

Her blade slashes pass the Grimm’s neck just as a cutlass cuts through its opposing side.

Blake lands just as red eyes flicker grey and white skull dissolves, turns back with widened eyes to the sight of Scarlet panting and speechless.

“You came.” He looked weary, but the surprise on his face soon wore off into a pleased grin. “Neptune really pulled it off.”

“Not all of us.” She says just as Ruby runs into view. Relief soothes a little of her rattled heart to see him standing. He was fine. That would mean the rest of SSSN had to be too.

“It’s fine,” he says with bravado as they turn their backs to face three lumbering Deathstalkers. “You two are probably all we need.”

Blake watches him huff at the corner of her eyes, sees him catch her looking and gestures to the path forward. A hand on her elbow; she glances back to see Ruby raise the ends of her rifle, hears the clicking of bullets load in wait even as her leader smiles at her with a wild, determined sort of look that held fire.

“Go. We will take care of this.”

“Be careful.” Her smile does not come fast enough for either of them to see; gone in a flicker as her shadows snaked right into the path of a striking stinger. She twists, and feels Gambol Shroud slice through flesh cleanly, side-steps the creature’s thrash of pain and hurries on deeper into the wreckage.

Fires burned hotter the longer she heads straight, and she pulls a few trapped civilians from smoking debris before her ears pricked at the noises of nearby snarling. Screams. She runs against the rushing crowd, sheathes her blade and flicks out the single leather whip. She emerges into the square to see Grimm breaking out of the back alleys at the other end.

Returning fire causes her to look up, and in the distance she sees him, a figure restless as he swipes at an offending mouth with his staff. An inaudible click as he knocks the Grimm on its stomach, and Jingu-bang swings free, metal chains leading trajectory as bullets rain from its other end. Ruyi-bang follows its lead, aims at the opposite direction as Sun spins in a wild circle. Blood stains a little of his shirt, but the agile way he moves gives the creatures no quarter to strike at weakness.

It had been months long and they were in the middle of the heat of battle, but to see him now; Blake feels something unravel within her chest. Her mind, usually so full of denial and second-guessing, was suspiciously clear. No growing warmth, but a flood of something tingling down her nerves that made her want to smile in the bleak situation, despite herself. This at least, she knows. She was living a moment.

She does not falter as she leaps down the stairs.

Flashes of semblances leap around the square in golden wisps, illuminating the darkening sky every time one is torn apart. She dashes past them all, gold eyes sharp as she throws Gambol Shroud forward to intercept the downward plummet of a claw. The leather cord catches and holds tight; she slips around its leg, the cock of a revolver as the mechanism shifts into a gun. Blake fires, uses the force of the Grimm’s backward collapse to slide under the group of them, fingers cracking the trigger as bullet lands mark after mark.

Her Semblance makes no lasting illusion as she crotches down and springs forward, and she reaches Sun just as the last bullet leaves its place. A nudge of her elbow against his back pushes him away from immediate range, causes him to lean forward in surprise, tilting his head back with an unsteady hand to see her sink her katana up the lower jaw of a Beowolf in mid-strike.

“Leave him alone!”

Her blade slashes through its mouth as she pulls it free, its howls quick extinguished by a volley of dust-enhanced bullets. Blake struggles to stand upright, brandishing Gambol Shroud as the smaller Grimm start to back away. The moments where she hears nothing but ragged breathing behind her felt like an eternity.

Then, finally-

“Blake?” His voice; wrecked with disbelief.

The feeling comes loose within her, and this time she cannot help the quiet free-fall of her heart as she turns to face him halfway. He looked as rough as that first night back in Menagerie, but no worse for wear. A shallow cut on his chest reveals a scabbing wound, but that was as much she could see before his gaze catches her again.

Shock, swimming in silence from spluttering lips as he remains at a loss for words. But amid it all, a familiar fondness in his eyes as he tries and fails to hide his spreading grin.

It truly feels like they had reversed roles from their meeting on that ship in the distant past. She can’t help it; the slight curling up of her lips.

“It’s nice to see you again, Sun.” Her hand reaches for his shoulder, tries to remember the way he used to hold hers. She only realises she was shaking when her fingers clench his sleeve too tight.

Ragged silence as Sun stares at her almost reverently. She has half a mind to pull away before he laughs, a breathless sound as he shifts Ruyi-bang aside and fumbles to place his hand clumsily over her own.

His smile was radiant when he looks at her, mirrors the relief that reunites them both.

“My hero.”

A/N

don’t you just love this pair and their dynamics and how amidst all the divergent story arcs post-pyrrah roosterteeth still managed to craft a fascinating faunus side plotline for blake and have!! sun be a constant presence throughout it all hOO BOY i’ll be damned if I don’t see the reverse happen soon with imminent Vacuo arc

#rwby #rwby blacksun #blake bellodona #sun wukong #writing #Property of the Rakurai #enjoy the good food guys this fandom is parched #hAH the one fandom I can get back into writing for and it’s the one known for ship toxicity man I just know how to pick and choose don’t i

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kyloren · 7 years ago

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Mileven post-S2 fanfiction recommendation list: PART VI

To compensate for the long wait, part VI is extra long. For past rec lists please see instalments I, II, III, IV, and V. If your fanfic isn’t featured, apologies. Message me and we’ll amend that grievance in the next rec list instalment.

* marks the ongoing stories.

canon:

chain reaction* by FourthHorse: “Old ghosts come back knocking, and growing up was never meant to be easy.”

what makes you different by cali-chan (girls_are_weird): ““I wish you could see yourself like I see you,” he breathed out almost subconsciously. “Because then… you’d know.””

+ its sequel: we are not alone by cali-chan (girls_are_weird): “And just like that, the library at Hawkins High had become a war room, a strategy session where all the members of the party devised a plan to protect one of their own. Because that’s what friends do.”

i wanna dance with somebody by @eleventhemage (richiewheeler (jormaperalta): “Eleven is popular. And mike feels insecure about it (she gonna chose being popular over him) but she chooses him.”

a year in the life by @jeeno2: “Four times Mike and Eleven don’t kiss and one time they do.”

eleven things* by Socalledfriend: “Eleven returns, but things don’t just go back to the way they were. It’s not clear how she managed to get home, and meanwhile Will’s sickness is only getting worse. Some things never change though, and while she’s back, Mike manages to teach her at least eleven things about the outside world.”

the rules by Strange_Archivist: “Hopper lays down the rules for Mike.”

what’s in a name? by @isaksredscarf (wordsarelifealways): “It’s been about a fortnight, and El wants to share her real name with Mike.”

day 21 by kittenCorrosion: “It’s not the first day, day one, but it’s the first day she hears him. The first day she realises how much he misses her. The first day she remembers just how much she needs him.”

return to me* by AdelaideElaine: “Eleven reappears as suddenly as she left, and although she wants to stay with Joyce Byers, it’s decided that it would be best for all involved if she lives at the Wheeler house. Karen tries to teach her to cook, Mike tries to teach her to dance, and Nancy is charged with the task of trying to teach her how to be a Normal Girl — even if having Jonathan Byers back in her life means that she has less understanding of what that means than ever.”

are you gonna be my girl by cali-chan (girls_are_weird): ““So,” he whispered in her ear, dropping a kiss on her cheek that she leaned into, “what do you say? Do you want to be my girlfriend?””

jane, pt. 1 by EvieSmallwood: “El tells Mike her real name.”

jane, pt. 2 by EvieSmallwood: “Love is a funny old thing.”

time together by JoMo3: “Mike and Eleven have a sleepover.”

+ its sequel: more than like by JoMo3: “Mike and El have the “l word” talk.”

understand by DBSean: “Mike Wheeler and Chief Hopper have a long-overdue discussion about their favourite person.”

christmas with the wheelers by luxuriousvoyage11: “On the first week in December, nerdy stuttering Mike Wheeler had done his routine visit and bashfully invited El and her adoptive father over for Christmas dinner.”

contact by sporadicallyceaseless: “Before, El didn’t know any good people, or things she liked, or touches that didn’t hurt. Things are much different now. Much better.”

safe by DBSean: ““El?” Mike asked, now fully awake, his concern and confusion quickly overriding any remnants of sleep or exhaustion he may have been experiencing. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Eleven nodded, and Mike saw for the first time that there were tears in her eyes. “Not safe.””

11 months by @eddiesghost (thewolfmoon): “Eleven’s gone for 353 days. Mike struggles through each and every one of them.”

like a distant star by someone.else.before: “Now that Mike knows El is alive, he’s not going to let even the scariest police chief in the world get in the way of seeing her again.”

first christmas by Browneyesparker: “Mike and El celebrate Christmas together.”

crying in the rain by DreamersMyth27: ““I miss moments like this more than anything,” Mike sighed. El looked at him curiously and tilted her head to the side slightly.”

the first summer* by Kiddo7: “It’s the gang’s first summer all together, and Mike can’t wait to show El all that it has to offer.”

sugar cookies & snow days by Browneyesparker: “Mike and El have a snow day, and bake some sugar cookies together.”

the first outing by pathvain_aelien: “Eleven goes bowling.”

+ actually pathvain_aelien has a lot of interesting stories that you should check out.

perfect summer day by AR357: “It was a sunny summer day in 1984. Mike had been looking forward to this day for a while. With each breath of crisp summer air, he felt more and more invigorated. With each hill he crested, he felt his heart thumping away. But then again, maybe he was just thinking about what the day’s events would hold.”

things you said* by Brown Eyes Parker: “a collection of one-shots revolving around Mike & Eleven and things they say to each other.”

things you said, alternate stories* by Brown Eyes Parker: “Original and alternate or continuations of stories in my “things you said” series.”

cold, helpless, fragile as glass when i shatter, i will find you* by janeelevenives83: “Mike and El Wheeler had never expected their life to be normal. One little stick at 4am on the bathroom floor changes that. But when old ‘friends’ come back to play, they leave with not only their ultimate goal, but a piece of Eleven that leaves a gnawing hole in her. And Mike won’t stand for it…”

raspberry breeze by urdearestmom: “Sometimes she stays up with him, and she calls him ridiculous. How don't you fall over when you get up in the morning? She asks. Pfft, I don’t need sleep! Who do you think I am? He says, but then he smiles and her heart melts, she’s never been able to be angry at this boy for more than a few minutes.”

alternative universe:

lost in translation* by cosmilk: “For a whole year, the Wheelers are going to live with a foreign exchange student. Little does Mike know he’s going to get pretty attached to this girl.” foreign-exchange-student!El AU.

(all i wanna be is) somebody to you* by sinclairsmax: “Elle Hopper never thought that she’d win American Idol. Then again, she also never thought Mike Wheeler would fall in love with her. Behind the cameras, everything is turned upside down.” YouTubers AU. [I AM FREAKING OUT. I AM FREAKING OUT.]

inked mesmerisms* by apathetical: “Twelve year old Mike Wheeler isn’t sure what to make of things when the numbers ‘011’ suddenly appear upon his wrist one day.” Soulmate AU.

infinite, undying* by @eleventhemage richiewheeler (jormaperalta): “When Hawkins Lab and Department of Energy officially decided to merge, it was discovered both factions had been experimenting on children in order to create super spies. 011, a tekekinetic, was from the Hawkins Lab side. “Mike,” a fire manipulator, was from the DoE side.” Mike is also an experiment AU.

mixtape* by @elevenseggoobsession (frankiethebard): “Mike & Jane hook up at a party, then discover their parents are engaged to be married. Can they put their attraction aside, or will it be too strong to ignore?” High School AU.

greyscale by @trash-the-tozier (littleboxesofstars): “Soulmates are what make the world vibrant, colors getting brighter and brighter the closer a pair of souls get to one another. In usual cases, the world starts off black and white and changes as a person travels, but for Mike, colors have always been there. Faint, but there, and that doesn’t change until the night his friend Will goes missing.” Soulmate AU.

you ain’t nobody until you got somebody* by lovelysarcastic: “What if soulmates aren’t good for us? What if that so-called soulmate, the one that supposedly is so good for you, instead of loving you right, destroys you?” Soulmate AU.

no remedy for memory by runawayrunt: “At 23, Mike Wheeler is going for broke. Having quit college on his sophomore year, he traded the diploma for the dream. At 18, Jane “Eleven” Hopper is ready to leave her entire life behind. She took a bus ride from Sacramento to Los Angeles on a hot day. The chorus of the cicadas sounded off like a farewell hymn.”

all sorts of far away* by BinarySunrise: “Eleanor Hopper is a quiet, pretty cheerleader with more than a few mysteries in her past. Mike is a nerd with a secret crush on her. She has more walls in place than the popular crowd cares to tear down, and he’s more than a little paranoid about reaching out to girls like her, but fate still finds its ways of pushing them together.”

reality in motion* by AkaiaOwl: “It hurt her to listen to the ruthless voice in her head, but, as much as she hated to admit it, El knew it was probably right. It had happened countless times before. Well, actually two. Two times in which El found herself feeling funny and giddy and hopeful about someone, only to be disappointed. It always ended that way. She was destined to be alone and it was probably for the best.” College AU.

things change* by untiltheyfindtheperfectgirl: “Two years have passed since Eleven went missing. A distraught Mike has pulled away from the party and made friends with his middle school bullies. What happens when one day in sophomore year a mysterious character from his past resurfaces?”

karma by reddieforlove: “Mike didn’t fully understand the meaning of instant karma until a small hand came out of nowhere and whacked him in the face with enough force to blind him for several moments.” College AU.

all for one* by PaladinofFarore: “1985 was going to be a wild school year.” Time Travel AU.

blind date by reddieforlove: “Mike is a waiter. Eleven is on a terrible date.”

crossover:

a happy thought by midas_touch_of_angst: “The Party tries to summon their Patronuses. El seems to be having the hardest time.” Hogwarts AU.

+ bonus: wherein The Party is featured prominently once again:

a different kind of monster by @bananannabeth: “Billy Hargrove seems to have a habit of getting Karen to answer the door in nothing but a robe. Unfortunately for him, she’s noticed that he also seems to have a habit of beating his step-sister.”

love (and other weird things) by cali-chan (girls_are_weird): “The Wheelers travel to New York to spend Thanksgiving 1987 with Nancy, and Mike is having trouble going two days without speaking to his girlfriend.”

a gift for mike by PureShores: “Lucas, Dustin and Will come up with the perfect Christmas gift idea for Mike. But giving it to him might be a little more complicated.”

raising peter rabbit by @paradiamond: “After the Gate closes, Jim and El kick off their better start.”

the wild youth (reckless) by dumbledore_93: ““He looks really bad,” Dustin croaks. “There’s a lot of blood.” Mike steps over cautiously. There is a lot of blood.”

kids these days by apollos: “Between fighting monsters and catching her little brother doing that with his girlfriend, Nancy would rather have the monsters.”

and then there was one by @timetravl (dustingspace): “In which Dustin is the last remaining party member to believe in Santa Claus; and the rest of the party has to debate over whether or not to tell him the truth.”

you’re not alone* by Playfulelectrode: “This is right after El closes the Gate. We start with Mike, and what it’s like while he waits for Hopper to come back with El. There will be an exploration into the world as El tries to not only figure out where she belongs, but also who she is.”

after the gate closed* by insomniacwriter17: “Jonathan doesn’t know how to deal with all the people staying in his house after the events of the night. Luckily, he’s not the only one.”

finally (i don’t care about tradition) @eleventhemage richiewheeler (jormaperalta): “I don’t care about tradition, you try and get me to kiss you under the mistletoe and I will punch you.”

you are in love* by @upsidedownpromises (rainingcatsandkisses): “Little moments that make Eleven realise that she’s in love.”

sometimes a family is* by merrymegtargaryen: “Just some domestic fluff with only the vaguest inclination of a plot.”

someone to turn to by Val-Creative: “El finds meaning in her new identity and home and a relatively peaceful existence. When things don’t go the way they should, she’s grateful for Mike sticking with her. Max attempts to befriend her one last time, for the sake of their friends and themselves.”

a girl is the strongest thing you can be by @timetravl (dustingspace): “She thinks about the Demogorgon and the MindFlayer and part of her wonders if she’s the same girl now that she was when she defeated them. People don’t treat her like she is.”

the importance of thinking happy thoughts by selkieskin: “Eleven didn’t want to be angry any more. So when she was alone in the cabin during the day and she tried to use her powers using an emotion other than anger, she just kept on thinking of how much attention Mike was paying to Will, not her, and anger kept welling up anyway.”

i’m gross? by untiltheyfindtheperfectgirl: “An unexpectedly eventful snow day...”

so i could kill them for you by valancysnaith: “Max deserves so much better. The party is there for her.” [this one is…odd, to say the least.]

time’s just holding me down (i’ll tear up this town) by jormaperalta: “The Snow Ball is this weekend, and the Demogorgon is back. Thankfully, so is Eleven.”

an even stranger connection by untiltheyfindtheperfectgirl: “Mike looked down at Eleven, his eyes wide. Was he really hearing Eleven in his head?”

P.S. I’m trying out a thing where I tag the author’s tumblrs if I find them. With that in mind, if anyone knows the authors I featured in previous instalments, would you please tag them. Thanks. 🌸

#mileven #mileven fanfiction #mileven fanfiction recommendation list #mileven fanfiction recommendation #character: mike wheeler #character: eleven #pairing: mike x eleven #ship: you made a slow disaster out of me #tv: stranger things #fanfiction recommendations #in this tag resides fanfiction #♔: victrix #*

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seventeen-central · 7 years ago

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An Ocean Apart- Wonwoo Angst

Request: Hey can i request a wonwoo imagine about a long distance relationship. The girl is an overseas college student in america (currently taking international relations) and wonwoo's an idol so they barely have any time for each other. Thanks

Word Count:1.6 k

Group/Member: Wonwoo of SVT

Summary: Long distance relationships are not like how they are portrayed in the movies, but you found this out the hard way.

Author: Admin Cloud

A/N: I’m really sorry I have not been posting, guys. Band camp is getting super intense and I just never have any free time that can be filled with writing. Please, just stay with me and I promise I will try to post at least once a month!

“I promise I’ll call you when I land, now I have to go Wonwoo!” You tried to pull your sleeve from Wonwoo’s firm grip for the hundredth time.

“Just let me have one last hug, Jagi...” He pulled you into his broad shoulders, using his chin to tuck your face into his chest. You felt him inhale; the sweet, floral scent of your perfume filling his nostrils as he tried to memorize the way you smelled.

“Flight 206 to Boston, Massachusetts is boarding now. Passengers, please head to the entrance with your boarding pass ready.”

Stiffening in Wonwoo’s arms, you forced your unsteady voice to leave your throat as you attempted to push away from him.

“I love you, Wonwoo. See you soon, Babe.” Your voice shook, but you blinked back tears and grabbed the handle of your luggage before planting a soft kiss on Wonwoo’s waiting lips.

He was quiet as you turned towards the gate and walked through the cramped doorway, only letting a small sigh out of his mouth before regaining his composure and beginning to somberly walk out of the airport.

“Andddd... this is my dorm room!” You held up your laptop to the best of your ability so that Wonwoo could see your new home. “I’m alone at the moment, but my roommate should be home in an hour or so to show me around campus.”

“What is it like in the US of A?” Wonwoo chuckled, pausing to rub the sleep from his eyes. “Does everybody have trucks and shotguns?”

“Surprisingly, no. Everybody seems pretty nice, and a group of my classmates even volunteered to help me take my luggage up to the dorm.”

Wonwoo nodded before releasing a drawn out yawn. His body was slumped over a pillow with his head daintily resting on his right hand. “I miss you already, Baby.”

“I know, I miss you too Wonu~ Just wait for me, I’ll be home by Christmas.” The smile you put on your face was obviously fake, but you didn’t want Wonwoo to witness how truly vulnerable you felt in this strange new country. “I guess I’ll let you sleep now. I love you, Babe.”

Wonwoo repeated your words in a jumbled mess of words before pressing the ‘End Call’ button, leaving you on your own once again.

Well, I guess I better get used to sleepy Skype calls...

“Hey, Y/N, let’s go to that Frat party tonight!” Lily, a girl you had met in your Foreign Studies class, bounded through the front door and fell onto your couch. “I wanna meet some cute boys, and it’s not like you have any homework left since finals just ended.”

Chewing on the eraser of your pencil, you nervously weighed out your options; You could go to the party and socialize, or you could have a Skype date with Wonwoo. Lily’s offer was appealing, but you knew that you would have to take any opportunity available to speak with your boyfriend.

“Sorry, I have plans for the evening. Maybe I’ll go bar hopping with you next week, though.” Lily pouted, before sulking towards the door and heading back to her dorm.

5:00 PM. Yawning, you reached your arms over your head and looked at your outstretched hands. They would look a lot more normal if Wonwoo were here holding them in his...

Seething did not even begin to describe how upset you were. It was nearly midnight, and Wonwoo had not even sent you a text to say whether he would still call you or not. Deciding that enough was enough, you led the mouse across your laptop, quickly finding Wonwoo’s Skype and clicking the ‘call’ button.

It rang for a few moments, before a buffering symbol alerted you that he had accepted your call. You expected to see Wonwoo’s face, but you were instead greeted by a smiling Seungkwan that was angling the webcam towards eleven other boys. Wonwoo was clearly not among the group, causing you to wonder where in the world your recently absent boyfriend was.

“Hey, Y/N! We haven’t seen you in forever!” The boys hummed in agreement and waved towards the camera. “Why are you calling us?”

“Well, Wonwoo and I were supposed to have a Skype date but he never called me. I was just wondering if he had forgotten about it or if his internet wasn’t working, but that is clearly not the case considering you were able to answer. Where is he?” Seungkwan glanced nervously at the boys, and you felt pressure beginning to build up in your chest. “He is with you guys, isn’t he?”

“Well, you see... Wonwoo is out eating lunch with the Stylist-noona’s. There is nothing going on, though! He just wanted to take them out to celebrate the end of promotions!”

Your face must have visibly darkened, as the boys seemed to thinking very hard about what to say next.

“We haven’t heard about how you are doing in school yet, Y/N. You aren’t failing any classes, are you?” Jeonghan launched into his motherly-instinct driven conversation, effectively changing the subject to something lighter.

“Oh, you would not believe the week I have had...”

Wonwoo ruffled his hair, slipping his shoes off with ease.

“I brought leftovers if anybody wants something to eat!” As soon as he stepped into the kitchen, twelve pairs of eyes burned into his head.

“Why didn’t you call Y/N?” A chill passed through Wonwoo’s spine, emphasizing the guilt that was now gnawing at his stomach.

“Oh god, that was today! I forgot about it completely. I’ll go call her now.” He sprinted to his room, patting his pockets in search of his phone. He clicked the phone application, and patiently waited to hear your voice signal that both of your phone lines had connected.

“Hey, this is Y/N. I can’t make it to the phone right now, so leave a message after the beep and I’ll be sure to call you back if I care enough!” beep.

“Oh, um... it’s me. I mean, it’s Wonwoo. I’m super sorry that I forgot about our Skype date. I promise, I will make it up to you. Call me back soon, baby.” He clicked the red button, dropping his phone onto the empty side of his mattress.

After hearing the message Wonwoo had left on your phone, you felt the need to call him back as soon as possible. You dialed his number, and the phone only rang a single time before your boyfriend’s anxious voice broke through the obnoxious sound.

“Y/N? I’m sorry-”

“Look, Wonwoo, this hurts me a lot but I really need to say it. This, us- it’s just not working. We never talk, and I feel lonely all the time. Do you know how hard it is to see other couples at the campus Christmas parties and have to go back to my dorm while avoiding my roommates and their boyfriends?” The sound of sniffling arose from your side of the line, making Wonwoo’s ears perk at the hint of sadness that was lacing itself through your voice.

“Y/N, I’ll try harder, I promise. I can’t live without you, baby. I can get you a plane ticket to come back for a bit, and we can make this work.”

“Wonwoo, we are not breaking up, this is just me taking some time to myself. Just... let me breath!” You sobbed, hanging up the phone and sliding down the edge of your bed onto the carpet.

You glanced out the window, watching small snowflakes form large hills on the ground outside. The dorm was empty besides you, so you had spent the evening watching old Christmas movies and drinking hot chocolate. What a way to spend the holidays; alone and sad...

A knock on the door interrupted your bout of self-loathing, causing you to rise from the couch and slip on your fuzzy slippers before going to open the door. The doorknob was freezing when you touched it, but you pushed onwards nonetheless. On the porch sat a large box with a single rose on top.

“Hello?” Nobody answered your yell, so you simply shrugged and went to go pick up the box. It was surprisingly heavy, and you quickly realized it would be smarter to open it up on the porch and move it in little by little. You stepped back inside to grab a knife and quickly returned to unseal the top of the large vessel.

When you pulled up the cardboard flaps, it was revealed that the box held... two suitcases? A bright green tag was tied around the larger suitcase’s handle, so you turned it over to see what information you could gather. ‘Look up.’

You peered up into the distance, instantly noticing the familiar brown head of hair that was now sticking up from a pile of snow.

“Wonwoo?” You shook lightly, partially from cold and shock, before dropping the rose and running towards your loving boyfriend.

“It’s me, Jagiya. I couldn’t leave you alone this Christmas, especially considering that you have the part of my heart I need to be happy.” He laughed as happy tears ran from your cheeks onto his shoulders.

“Thank you, Wonwoo. I love you so much!” He rubbed your shoulder, providing warmth to your smaller body as the two of you made your way inside the dorm.

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jhopesjawline · 8 years ago

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A Sorry Situation

Request: an angsty oneshot with Yoongi. like he had a super bad day cause he couldn’t finish a song or smtg and u just wanted to talk to him and give him some food because he’s been hours locked in his studio and he lashes out at you. But super fluffy at the end?

AN - I changed the original request a little bit, I hope it’s okay ~ The idea of Yoongi actually lashing out at anyone is so heartbreaking though… I hope you enjoy -Kaitlin

Genre: Angst | Fluff Members: Yoongi x Reader Word count: 2,894

Masterlist

Blood pounded in your ears as you approached Bangtan’s dorm. Your nerves getting the better of you as your shaky hands knocked on the door. You’d shown up to surprise your boyfriend, but ended up a little disappointed when he wasn’t there to greet you. The other members seemed excited by your visit, greeting you with kind smiles as they let you inside.

They explained that Yoongi was busy working. He’d been in his studio all morning, coming out only once to shush the noisy bunch.

Great. The first time you show up unexpected, your boyfriend is busy locked away in his studio…

Namjoon was kind enough to enlighten you on Yoongi’s current projects. Yoongi could lock himself away for hours, hardly eating and only leaving for bathroom breaks. The boy blushed when he admitted that he himself did that on occasion. It was simply the creative process that worked for Yoongi, even if it didn’t seem too healthy in your mind. Brushing it off, you opted to occupy yourself until Yoongi finished.

Seokjin was sitting at the kitchen table. The large mug in his hand most likely full of hot tea if you’d learned anything about him in these last few months. He loved tea. He always said it was good for skin and it kept you healthy, the refreshing taste being a simple extra in his mind.

“Hey, Seokjin Oppa.” You greet, entering the room and taking the seat next to him. You liked Seokjin, and you especially liked the way he would offer you bites of the food he was eating, regardless of the meal. He did the same with beverages, never hesitating to pour you a drink so you could join him.

“Oh, hey Y/n. I didn’t know you were here… Did you want some tea; I just took the kettle off the stove?” He asked, and you smiled at his handsome face, nodding as you silently accepted his offer.

As he strolled over to the cupboard to grab you a mug, he inquired more on your surprise visit, “Is Yoongi working?” Once he poured out the tea, he spooned in some sugar and returned to the table where you sat.

The woodwork of a table was sticky and stained, but it still looked presentable if you didn’t get too close. The chairs were old, and squeaked as you swayed back and forth in your seat.

“Yea, the guys said he’s in his studio. I don’t wanna bother him, so I’m waiting until he comes out.” You answered shyly; you’d never been stuck in the dorm without Yoongi around. Though you were quite comfortable in the dorm, you couldn’t help feeling out of place without your boyfriend’s reassuring arm around your waist.

“He might be in there for a while still, you could be waiting out here all day.” Seokjin warned, getting up for his second cup of sweet tea.

“You’re welcome to stay out here with me, I’ve got a crossword i haven’t finished yet.” He suggested, taking his seat once more and pulling over the bunch of papers from the other place setting.

Scooting closer, you eye the puzzle. Word games were never your strong suit, and by now it was becoming apparent to Seokjin as well. He penciled in answers like nobodies business, while you sat there and ogled his quick mind at work.

You took slow sips from your drink, savouring the strong flavour and wondering how Seokjin could make such a damn good cup of tea. The puzzle was almost finished, and you still hadn’t participated, merely offering a “hmm” or “ahh” whenever Seokjin filled in the correct answer.

After the crossword was done, Seokjin placed his pencil down and shuffled the stack of papers back across the table, offering you a kind smile. You scooted back to your own spot and let the atmosphere calm itself from your intense puzzle solving.

The room was quiet for a few moments, the metal spoon clanking inside Seokjin’s cup being the only thing to break the silence. He seemed to be mulling over some unknown thought in his head.

“You know,” he started, “You could always bring him a snack, I’m sure he’d appreciate the effort.” He offered you a sweet eye smile as he listed off some different foods Yoongi enjoyed. The idea intrigued you; what better way to surprise Yoongi than with food?

“But, I don’t want to interrupt him.” You said, nibbling on the inside of your cheek.

“You have to see him at some point, and I doubt he’s coming out of that studio any time soon.” Seokjin reasoned, collecting your empty mugs and heading over to the sink. You followed and eagerly suggested a few of your own food ideas for Yoongi.

The two of you gathered some ingredients, and whipped up a light lunch for your hardworking boyfriend. Seokjin proved to be more than a pro in the kitchen. You thanked him for his help with a friendly hug, and took the cold plate with careful hands.

Why were you getting so anxious? Was it because you were seeing his studio for the first time? Or, was it because you’d already been here for a good hour without him knowing? Either way, you couldn’t help the way your palm were sweating as you approached the intimidating door to Min Yoongi’s studio.

Readjusting your grip on the plate of food, you reach out and tapped on the heavy door. The noise seemed louder in your head, spiking your anxiety flushing your cheeks a pale pink.

You waited a few seconds, not sure whether he heard you or not. Preparing for a second knock, the sudden jerk of the door caught your breath in your throat. You were met with the tired face of your boyfriend, his pale skin and dark eye bags contrasting with each other.

He scowled at you for a moment, opening his mouth to spew vulgar curses at whoever was interrupting him. Taking a moment to recognize your nervous features, his scowl ceased and relaxed into a small smile.

“Oh, Y/n. I didn’t know you were coming over…” He started, what were you doing here? “What, um- is that for me?”

You followed the travel of his eyes and landed on the small lunch you had prepared for him, you nodded and replied. “Yes, Seokjin Oppa helped me make you some lunch. You’re probably hungry, I hear you’ve been in here all afternoon.”

You smiled at the way face softened as he opened the door a little wider for you. You stepped inside with caution, fearful that too much noise could offset the entire room. This was Yoongi’s space. You were in Yoongi’s space…

“How, uh… how long have you been here?” His gruff voice tore you from your thoughts. You set the small plate down the edge of his messy desk before replying.

“A few hours. I thought I’d surprise you, but you were busy. Then I figured I’d wait it out, but you were taking so long so I-” His eyes weren’t focused on you anymore. Yoongi’s eyes travelled back to his computer, even though he was too far away to read anything on the screen. “Yoongi?”

“Hmm? Yeah?” He shook his head as he let his eyes drift back to you. “Sorry, I’m just tired.”

“You should take a break then, Yoongi. It’s not good to be cooped up in here.” You walked across the room and leaned over his desk chair.

Catching a glimpse of the symbols and words on the computer, it wasn’t long before a hand reached out and switched the screen black. You turned towards your boyfriend, raising your eyebrows before backing away from the swivel chair.

“Sorry,” he brought his calloused fingers to his face and rubbed his brow line as he spoke. “I don’t like people seeing my work.”

You couldn’t help the twinge of sadness that gnawed at your insides and stung the back of your throat. Sure, you hadn’t been together very long, but to have him classify you with every other casual that came into his life was disheartening.

“Well, maybe I could help you out a bit? Like, inspiration or something.” You offered, hoping it might ease his creative process somewhat.

“No, it doesn’t really work like that. It’s better if I’m alone.” His last words hung in the air like noxious gas, threatening to swirl its way deep into your lungs and choke you. Did he want you to leave? Had you spent hours outside that door waiting for him to tell you to simply leave?

“Yoongi,” you start, “I’ve been here all afternoon waiting to see you. Couldn’t you just, I don’t know, take a break? I want to spend some time with you before I head home.”

His body visibly tensed as he avoided your gaze, choosing instead to focus on the darkened screen of his computer.

“I don’t need a break, Y/n. I need to be left alone.” He mumbled, the words barely audible, but you heard them as clear as day. He wanted you out.

“I’m sorry I’m in your way then, Yoongi.” You snapped back, and you couldn’t help the sharpness of your tone as the tears prickled the backs of your eyes. How could he say that to you? You were only trying to help, and here he was ushering you out as quick as he could. Yoongi’s head shot up, eyeing you carefully before he spat out his own reply.

“You’re not in the way, you just picked a bad time.” His tone was harsher than usual, sparking a sudden anger in your chest. He was getting mad at you?

“I was trying to be helpful. I thought you could use a break, why are you so annoyed?” You questioned, your confusion and hurt showing on your features as you held back the fresh tears that pooled in the corners of your eyes.

Yoongi couldn’t do this, not today. His day so far had been nothing but stressful, and bickering with his girlfriend was icing on the bitter cake that he never wanted in the first place. Was it so hard to understand that he needed to be alone? This wasn’t some sort of personal attack, this was business. He had to do his job, and he couldn’t do it properly with you sitting there watching every move he made.

“You should leave… Please.” He held his gaze to the floor, avoiding the way your face twisted with hurt. “We’ll talk later, Y/n.”

You didn’t move. Too rigid to shuffle your feet in the direction of the door, you stand still. The tension in the room was almost unbearable, and you wanted nothing more than to turn and walk away.

“Y/n, I said leave.” Yoongi’s strong voice grew impatient as he crossed the room towards you. He reached out for your arm in hopes of gently ushering you out of his studio. Stepping a little too close, he crashed into you, sending you backwards onto the hard ground.

Your back hit the floor with a loud thump, knocking the wind from your lungs and leaving you gasping at the sharp pain. You reached a hand around and rubbed the tender bump welling up on the back of your head, wincing at the pain as you struggled to right yourself.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hit you like that!” Yoongi cried out, shocked at what he’d done.

You sat still on the floor of Yoongi’s studio, not daring to look up as you choked back a sob that wretched your shoulders. The tears began to spill from your weary eyes, running down your cheeks and dripping from your jaw. He hit you.

Your body bolted upright as you pushed past Yoongi, ignoring his apologies and slamming the door to his studio behind you. Nothing could stop you as you tore through the house, heading straight for the front door.

You got into your car and wiped away the tears that dampened your cheeks. Grabbing a tissue and dabbing at your puffy eyes, you could at least make out basic shapes.

The constant buzzing of your phone knotted your insides into uncomfortable tangles. They twisted to the point where you began to feel nauseous, the bile rising up in the back of your throat. You struggled to choke it back while you sped home.

You unlock the door to your small apartment and hurry inside, shutting the door with a loud bang. You plop down onto the soft cushions of the couch and curl up against the arm rest, still ignoring the buzz of your phone.

The tears poured from your eyes, making your skin cold and clammy as you tried to wipe them away. Tucking your face into the crook of your elbow, you hid your tears from the chilly air and wept.

Your thoughts swirled in your tired mind, thinking of the worst possible outcomes of this. Would he want to break up? If he didn’t think you could handle a fight, then why bother staying with you?

The sudden burst of your front door surprised you, the loud bang halting your heartbeat for a split second. You looked up to find a worried Yoongi stepping into view. His eye bags looked deeper than before, and his cheeks were pink from the cold air outside.

The silence hung in the chilled air like delicate icicles, ready to snap at any moment.

You didn’t say anything. You let him stare at your dishevelled appearance, wiping the dried tears from the apples of your cheeks. The way his eyes bore into you sent a warm flush up the back of neck and heated the tips of your ears.

Yoongi was the first to speak, “I’m so sorry, Y/n.”

He came forward, kneeling in front of your spot on the couch and resting his warm hands on the fabric of your jeans. You turned your head away in a lame attempt to avoid the sadness in his deep eyes. Raising his rough palm to caress your damp face, he placed a single digit under your chin to turn you back to him.

“Listen,” he started, pushing the fly-away hairs away from your face and behind your ear. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you, Y/n. I don’t know what happened, I was trying to- God, I don’t know what I was doing. But I’m so sorry.”

His head lowered onto the flesh of your thighs as his arms wrapped around your waist. A fragile Yoongi lay curled in your lap, and your lips quirked up into a sad smile. You ran the tips of your fingers through the dry hairs peaking out from under his black beanie.

“I’ve never shared my work with anyone before. You surprised me earlier and I didn’t know what to do.” He mumbled against your legs, his warm breath sending a chill of gooseflesh down your bare arms.

“I didn’t mean to get in your space, Yoongi. I promise I won’t go inside your studio unless you really want me there.” Salty tears continued to trickle from the corners of your eyes. He hadn’t done this on purpose, he was stressed and you didn’t give him the space he needed.

His head lulled up until his brown eyes locked with your own, licking his dry lips before he began, “I always want you with me. I just don’t know if I’m ready to show you everything.”

Seeing him like this was heartbreaking, and you wanted nothing more than to pull him up into a proper hug. You cupped his pale cheek in the palm of your hand, resting your forehead against his and gazing deep into his eyes.

“I can wait, Yoongi.” You whispered, your warm breath fanning over the expanse of his features.

“Thank you.” He breathed out, leaning forward and capturing your lips between his own in a tender kiss. Your hand tucked itself into the crook of Yoongi’s neck, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss. You closed your eyes, and you could feel every emotion pouring from his lips, everything he couldn’t say.

He pulled away, lips brushing yours with a gentleness that flushed your cheeks pink. He nudged your nose with his, pecking your lips and tightening his hold around your waist.

“I love you.” His quiet voice was barely a whisper as he melted back into the kiss. A warmth rushed up your spine and heated your face.

“I love you too, Yoongi.” You kissed him back with a neediness that must have shown. He crawled onto the couch with you, cradling you against his warm chest and placing soft kisses across your bare forehead.

You still had a lot of things to learn about your boyfriend, and he’d open up to you with time. Your relationship was a journey, and you wouldn’t want to have this adventure with anyone other than Yoongi.

The two of you laid together for what felt like hours, Yoongi fully abandoning his work to be with you. You stayed curled in his arms, happy to stay there forever.

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laurabelle2930 · 8 years ago

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It Was Always You ~ Olicity Fic Part 8

So....

I started this fic last year and as one does I lost my way. I recently pushed through my writer’s block and chose to revisit this fic.

If you haven’t seen this one before read it on AO3 from the beginning. If you have then you can skip to chapter 8 by clicking the link below.

Thanks again for all your continued support it means the world to me!

Chapter 8

Facts

1842

Truth and trust both take time, that’s the moral of any long lasting story; in Oliver’s case murder and marriage were arranged events. He stood there near the aging stone frame; his broad chest sloped inward with each exacerbated sigh he managed to create. Moira’s eyes fell over her son’s troubled brow with varying degrees of concern. Their circumstances were grave, their blight was bleak and, her options were few…

“Oliver would you please just reconsider what we’re actually asking you to do...She’s at least an attractive woman so bedding her shouldn’t be completely stomach churning.”

Oliver glanced over at her with anger and hatred coursing through his darkened glance. “Mother I don’t care if she’s breathtaking I won’t marry that man’s daughter...I won’t bed the daughter of the man who killed my father and put us into this situation...I don’t care what impact it will have on the lower cities...”

He knew the battle he was fighting was a losing one but, he’d fight nonetheless. The marriage was an arrangement born out of obligation and limited options. Moira knew it and so did he; Thea was too young to be sold like chattel on the open market and, Moira was the grieving widow. She’d gone through most of her mandatory mourning period and, still she had another six months to appear shattered and, distraught. Oliver on the other hand was a male in his mid to almost late twenties. His refusals of other eligible women within the ten neighboring kingdoms was legendary, his stubbornness was as well. The truth of the matter was simple. Oliver’s family was a dying breed. His father had been born a nobleman and his mother was a duchess from an equally noble household.

They’d been wed to unite a nation at war...

They’d been married to stop him....

Quentin Lance. An odd man to be sure, with a name that even the history books would someday mock, was born to a household with no name, no claim, and no lands to speak of. His kingdom had been won by violent acts of war and bloodshed with the body count rising by the day. He’d sliced through the elder Queen’s neck as if it had been made of melted butter. He’d fallen to the ground at his son’s feet; his bloodied neck seemed to stare grossly at his disgusted son. Oliver still felt sick when the memory of his head rolling down the dampened, blood tinged streets crept into his nightmares. Those horrific images had played on like an endless symphony since that stormy night less than two moons ago. The sting of that memory haunted Robert’s son both night and day.

“Oliver, he’ll come for us next. He's already made alliances with every household that had been loyal to ours.” She came closer reaching out to gently apply her hand over his thin white tunic. Her hands were shaking as they’d been since he’d come through the family gates...his father’s dead body laid over his aching, blood soaked arms. “This is our only way out...Oliver please I’ve already lost my husband, my good name, and our families lands, please don’t make me watch as he kills you and Thea both.” Her voice was on the edge of pleading at this point so Oliver turned into her light grasp and looked into her worried eyes. His stomach knotted when he recalled a time when her gaze showed nothing but, a mother’s unconditional love.

“Send the courier...I’ll marry the whore one moon cycle from now.” She smiled tightly. It was her silent way of thanking him for his sacrifice. She left him soon after she lowered her slight hand and, moved with an unshakable grace towards the darkened candlelit hall.

She’d sent the message with Abraham that night...

By dawn only his horse with a simple message was returned. The offer was accepted but the price for making them wait was Abraham’s life. Oliver shuddered to think about what he’d have to endure once Quentin’s rail thin Princess was his lawfully wedded wife.

Oliver being pragmatic waited for the few remaining candles to flicker before slowly going out; it was ten when he quietly crept down the long stairwell that lead from his room down to the stable yards. Abraham had been a good friend...but he’d also been a good man. Oliver tried but failed to close his heart to the soft cries of Abraham’s wife and daughter. He’d held their shaking white hands while the words of their loved one’s fate fell numbly from his tongue. The words he recalled fell forth like lava from a volcano. The gnawing guilt made Oliver’s heart bleed. The memories of the entire scene left him cold and alone in a world that was set to destroy him. He’d taken on the task of telling them to ease his conscience but, all it did was make the suffering worse. Oliver felt his death was his fault, he died Oliver believed because of foolish, stubborn pride. The guilt from that knowledge alone had Oliver pacing the halls once the castle around him finally met the angels of dreams and sleep; for him those angels never came…

To divert his mind he often visited the stables. He found peace in the presence of those whose souls had yet to be tainted by shed blood. He was about halfway to his own horse’s padlock when he heard a small and very feminine voice speaking from mere inches ahead. He slowed his usually fast and rugged steps then leaned further into the wooden walls of the various empty padlocks. Standing just out of sight of the faint glow from the half lit torches he spotted what was possibly the strangest but, also the sweetest exchange he’d ever have the chance to see.

“Don’t worry, you’re master won’t leave you alone forever...well I hope not at least I mean he’s under a lot of stress right now you know with the wedding coming up and all...” She was thin but strong with a stature of about 5′5 or maybe 5′6 if she stood on her tiptoes. Her dark tresses flowed freely from around her shoulders in light soft looking waves. Her face was hidden by an endless veil of darkened curls but, her voice allowed his mind to wander as she stroked her small delicate hands over his horse’s strong sturdy neck. “Don’t worry boy he’ll come soon...He wouldn’t leave you behind I promise...”

Oliver was so enraptured with the small beautiful creature before his very eyes that he’d failed to notice when her melodic voice paused...

“Your...your highness?” His eyes snapped forward as she attempted to lower her lithe form to the ground. Her knees were almost to the ground when Oliver finally regained the used of his voice.

“No...NO you don’t have to do that...” She quirked her head at him slightly but still remained in her crouched position as she hovered dangerously close to the ground. “Please...you don’t have to bow...please just...” he sighed as his hands slicked over his head. “Just get up, there’s no need for you to get all dirty on my account.” She looked at him curiously while she slowly stood; her body sadly started going backward until she hit the door of Goliath's stall.

“Ouch...” he chuckled by mistake making she mutter, “How gallant the future king scoffs…” Her back had hit the door with quite a bit of force so the ouch wasn’t exactly unexpected, but her forceful whisper was. Oliver feeling off kilter managed a slight, “You’re the one that decided to back into a hard wooden door not me.”

She huffed when she reached behind her frame and, rubbed gently along the small of her now slightly bruised back. “Well you’re not the one who was just caught talking to a horse by none other than our future King now were you?”

Oliver couldn’t help but smirk, she was funny...although he wasn’t sure if she was even vaguely aware of it. “Do you do this often?”

She quirked her head while she began gently patting down her black now dust covered pants. His humor filled gaze watched her with vague amusement as her hands came up to the black and red tunic that all the stable hands wore. He kept his face passive while she again attempted to remove the dust and debris. In a moment of silence he wondered if she’d even heard the last comment. His answer came when she finally responded with her face pointed down toward her feet.

“Do what exactly? Talk to your horse or just talk to horses in general?” She’d found a spot of something on her black boot so she was leaning down to remove it.

Oliver remained still but continued leaning further into the lone wooden pillar along the front edge of the stables entrance with his arms folding across his chest. “Take your pick.” She glanced up and to his utter surprise gave him a slight smile.

“I talk to Goliath every night but only to him.” She stood up to her full height as she brushed her hands slightly together. He saw her lithe body tremble a bit when her hands fell together gently across her lower stomach. “May I ask you a question, Your Highness? Her tone he could have sworn was a teasing one so Oliver moved a bit closer. She to his utter surprise didn’t take a single step back.

Marveling at her apparent disregard to his rank he teased back. “Yes...but on one condition...”

She smiled gently again and advanced forward with a few timid steps. Her hands were now joined behind her back, he was marveling at her bravery when she slowly gazed into his darkened eyes. “Name it...” she implored softly with humor.

“My name is Oliver, use it please.” He answered with an odd sense of fear. He stepped forward once more; her eyes were close enough for him to see the bright blue that glowed beneath the low glow of the fire just above their heads.

Her small reply sounded affected but also a bit intrigued. “Fine,” she agreed while her skin flushed. “ Oliver, may I ask you a question?” Her smile was still small but perfect since he could fully see her pale cream colored skin. Her lips were full and pink as they shifted from one surprised emotion to the next.

“Ask away...” He started before his mind blanked at this charming woman’s name. He grabbled for moment, his eyes danced from one edge of his vision to the next. She let him falter until it dawned on him to ask, “What’s your name?”

Her eyes were lit from within. Oliver felt his shame ebbing when she politely answered, “Felicity, my name is Felicity.” Her sweet, innocent smile shifted into one of danger and intrigue, “Now Oliver,” she queried gently, “what are you doing down here in the middle of the night?” Oliver’s smile was growing wider and wider with each passing minute as he stepped closer and closer. He didn’t even realize he hadn’t stopped until her body was just within his aching fingers reach.

“Well I was thinking about taking a midnight ride but now...” he paused wondering if he could truly answer her question honestly.

“Now what?” She pushed lightly with her body inching closer to his. Her hands were still tightly bound behind her back as she swayed from foot to foot in smooth easy motions.

Oliver licked his lips and, breathed deeply. Felicity too took a long breath and waited for his next foolish choice. He reacted slowly with care as he leaned forward. He felt her soft breaths over his rough skin, he could smell the light scent of hay upon her skin, he could feel her surprise at the unexpected moment. He moved until their noses could practically touch before responding; “Now I’m talking to you...”

Oliver didn’t know it then but within a few short weeks his entire life was about to drastically change.

The memory for both would be hard to endure but, time as always for the two of them once again was not on their side. She pushed for separation but, Oliver had endured enough emptiness to beg for her soothing touch. She relented of course; he smiled and laced their fingers while he chose were they would be when the truth was revealed. She would have opted for the kitchen stools; he however wanted a space for them to touch as they talked. The couch wasn’t what he hoped for when he daydreamed of this moment but, he marveled that the reality of her touch was so much better than the dream. Both were seated against the back of the couch. He unlaced their fingers; she in turn shifted along the cushions until her legs were over his lap. He grinned in delighted shock, “I thought you were opting for distance?’

She let her soft lips curve, “I changed my mind,” she giggled softly in reply. His smile grew when her fingers were tangled in his close cropped hair; his own drew small patterns along her bent knees. He was leaning into her soft touch when she broke the small moment of silence. “When did your visions start?”

Oliver hesitated and she of course noticed, “I can go first if that’s easier?” she offered as she had when they were children.

“No…” he frowned then continued softly, “I’m just scared to break through the magic of it all…”

Felicity knew exactly what he meant, “Like if we find the source of the connection we’ll shatter the beauty of our enduring love story?”

“Exactly,” he agreed quickly with the innocence of a man who’d just realized he’d fallen in love.

She rubbed her steady fingers along the nape of his neck before again pushing them both into a very uncomfortable subject, “You know if we don’t figure this out in six months we’ll both be dead…”

His heavy sigh made his own heart bleed, “Well that answers that…” he croaked.

She nodded grimly, “When did you realize that time was against us?”

Oliver kept tracing along the soft lines of her skin, I’m not sure I want to answer that question yet,” he admitted a bit too eagerly.

She respected his fears as she always had and, slowly withdrew her fingers from his skin. Oliver recognized her patterns and, showed her the same courtesy in return. She mumbled, “Thank you,” when he wordlessly placed his fingers along her ankles.

His chest faltered when he sighed heavily, “I’m scared of being alone again…”

She nodded in solemn agreement, “Me too…”

Oliver felt the comfort of ignorance sweeping over him. The past was hard, it was messy and, most importantly it was the key to their survival. He managed to croak first, “I don’t know when my visions started exactly but, if I had to guess I’d say it was around the second or third year...what about you?” Oliver watched her closely; her body teemed with raw nervous energy. She bit at her bottom lip and, gulped fearfully.

“I’m not sure either.” He was about to accept her words but paused when she began tapping her fingers along her wrist.

“Baby you wanted honesty,” he reminded her softly.

She gulped roughly, “I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

He stayed his hand and let her decide how much physical contact she wanted. Her eyes blazed with worry, “What if we can’t accept each other?” Oliver remained frozen; she’d done this for years. When she panicked she began to question everything including them. He knew she’d work it out but, still at times the process could be daunting. Thankfully tonight she’d decided to move forward. She prattled on with frozen lungs, “If I was with you physically…” she swallowed roughly, “Like you know “with” you,” she clearly emphasized. “Then the visions would be painful, and I don’t mean like a toothache.”

“So when we had sex…” he gulped almost uncomfortably, “then…”

“Yes,” she nearly screamed. “I would relive one of our previous moments.” He nodded understanding that while they’d both been keeping secrets they were now finally willing to be completely honest with the other.

“What if we just talked?” he asked quietly.

She hid a small smirk, “Normally nothing traumatic, I might see something but nothing that left a lasting mark. How about you?”

Oliver bit his tongue until his mouth filled with rust, “Same we had sex and I saw our history; we didn’t and I generally saw nothing too detailed.”

“You’re biting your damn tongue again aren’t you?” she asked when his face wrinkled in preventable pain.

His glare was meaningless against her soft, concerned gaze. “This is hard,” he countered. “It’s hard accepting that once we have sex we’ll probably both die from the damn memories.”

Felicity’s eyes fell in shame, “We won’t die Oliver…” she whispered.

He mumbled, “We both know more than we’re admitting don’t we?”

She kept her blue eyes frozen on her knees, her small frame shook, “We can’t just blow past this Oliver, we have to do this one horrible step at a time,” she sadly confessed. “We have to…” she repeated before brushing her fingers through over his cheek.

He leaned into the timid touch. His skin burned with both happiness and instant regret, “I love you…” he breathed painfully.

She shook her weary head and echoed the sentiment, “I love you too but…”

“But we have to do this,” he replied with ice forming through his breaking heart.

He felt her fingers over his three day old scruff, his eyes crinkled at the sides when he finally opened his heart, “My memories go back to our very first day…”

Her fingers froze along his upper cheek, “Tell me?” she whispered euphorically.

He smiled with his eyes before they slammed shut, “I’d accepted my mother’s plea…” he felt his entire world expanding around him as his mind pushed the dormant memory out into the vastness of his battle weary heart. “We met in the stables I was there trying to escape my obligations and you were there talking to my horse.”

Felicity’s thumb brushed against his skin, “You were supposed to marry Laurel?” she queried as he breathed slowly.

“I was but that night I met a stable hand who stood her ground and made me smile.”

Felicity trailed her fingers along his jaw then gently requested that he open his eyes. He did as asked; she smiled and cocked her head until her blonde hair was resting over the couch’s edge. “I can get to corsets,” she started earnestly, “but not much further and even then the images are hazy like my mind is distorted or the full image is blocked.”

Oliver grinned, “You were awfully tempting in a corset I’ll admit…”

She grinned and brushed her thumb over his smiling upper lip, “Yeah, yeah…” she laughed honestly before sobering enough to ask, “So how did you get to our first moment anyways?”

“Well you won’t like the direction this goes,” he teased as her pale skin flushed.

“Oh…” she mouthed.

He nodded in reply, “Yeah our first time actually is what allowed me to reach that moment.”

She flushed even more, “So…” she coughed almost uncomfortably, “When we have sex you get to see a collection of our greatest hits?”

“You have a way with words,” he chuckled.

Those blue eyes rolled, he tapped his fingers along her ankle bone while she moved her roaming fingers down to his shoulder. He felt her picking at an imaginary thread when she asked, “What else have you seen?”

He heard the wonder in her voice; but he also heard the resentment as well. She’d been tortured and he made it sound like he hadn’t. He brushed his thumb over her ankle and placed his lips over her knuckles, “It wasn’t all sunshine and roses Felicity. I have one memory that left me broken for days.”

She inched closer while he placed soft kisses to her blanched skin; “Care to share?” she pried with interest glowing in her bright eyes.

He smiled over her skin then whispered into a soft kiss, “I thought for a moment that I wasn’t asleep…”

“Oliver you can’t save me...it’s too late...please it’s too late....”

Her voice was becoming weaker and weaker as the blood began to pool around the cheap white dress she’d borrowed for the day. Laurel had stormed through the front doors screaming and wailing with the gun held tightly in her right hand. I tried to shield her from the impending strike of the hot metal as it screamed through the chapel’s expanse. Sadly she’d had the same thought. She’d grabbed the lapels of my jacket and pulled me toward her shoving me out of the bullet’s path as it found a home within her chest.

Shocked and dazed I stumbled over on my hands and knees to gather her shaken form into my lap, my hands were brushing rapidly along the sides of her pale face.”Why...why did you do that?”

She coughed suddenly...small specs of bright red blood came forth as they lightly stained her rapidly paling lips. “Because I love you...I’d do any...any...” She began to cough even harder as her words became caught in the blood that was rising from her chest.

“Felicity please rest...we’ll find help...you’ll be fine...baby you’ll be fine do you hear me...”

She attempted to laugh but her condition was getting worse as her body slowly began to give way. “If I die protecting you then it was worth it...” She coughed up more blood as she reached for my hands...

“Promise me...promise me you won’t die with me...not this time please not this time...”

“Felicity it doesn’t work that way, your heart stops, my heart stops you know the rules...” Her eyes were beginning to slam shut. I feared for the last time so I leaned down placing my lips to her chilled sweat laden brow kissing her skin before I uttered what would be our last thoughts. “I’ll find you...It’s always been you...from that first day in the stables it’s always been you Felicity only ever you...” I brought my lips down to hers as she found the strength to kiss me one last time.

“I love you...” she whispered like a prayer, “I’ve loved you since you asked for my name,” she declared with her last breath. Just like the many times before her words were said over my lips. I felt the familiar pull of the noose upon my neck. The rope practically burned along my trachea as the building around us burned. I heard the cracked bells in the rundown church, the flames licked our skin and, just like before moments after her heart stopped mine followed suit. The last person I saw before my vision went black was Laurel’s tear stained face. She fell to her knees and placed her gloved hand lightly against Felicity’s face. “Figure it out before it’s too late next time...please stop me before I have to kill you both all over again...save me...Felicity save me...” Her words were the last one’s I heard in that life as I clung to Felicity’s limp hand, the pressure of our wedding bands left my heart aching for just a few seconds more...

“Wow...” she lowly exclaimed. “So you’ve seen one of our wedding days...”

Oliver laughed lowly, “Yes I’ve seen about three and each time they end quite poorly.”

Felicity seemed to sober a bit but she continued her questioning nonetheless. “Do we ever make it past the I do part?”

“I think maybe once but, I’m not sure,” he breathed honestly with his chin over her knuckles.

She remained mum for mere moments before her confused voice echoed throughout the room, “So if I’m understanding this correctly then whatever happened in our first life is what cursed us in our next ones?”

Oliver chuckled briefly then asked, “Now that I’ve shared a moment can I hold you now?”

She nodded eagerly, “Yeah I’d say revisiting one of my deaths earns you a cuddle.”

“Thank you,” he teased as she inched herself fully into his lap. She nestled beneath his chin; her nose was pressed along his shirt collar while he found his fingers ached to be tangled in her hair. He slowly undid the high ponytail then slowly used his fingers to separate the bunched tendrils. Felicity shook her head lightly while his other hand drifted slowly up and down the length of her arm. He felt her fingers along his chest before her voice made his lungs vibrate, “So again we always die?”

He chuckled sadly then pressed his lips to her temple, “Yeah we always die…”

She seemed to accept their fate but, he knew her body language better than that. Her fingers rolled along his shirt with fretful movements, her lips brushed over his collar as she sighed heavily. He soon couldn’t resist the urge to break through her not so silent musings. “Felicity just ask your question before we both bust…”

His light request was honored by a dull, “Why would Laurel ask me to save her?”

He lowered his chin to her crown and sighed heavily, “You’ve hacked your way into every one of my systems and this is what you don’t understand?”

“We’ll cover Julie and Digg later on don’t you fret but for right now I’m more interested in why Laurel wants to be saved,” she countered with sarcasm dripping through her steady tone.

If he wasn’t so content he would have raised his arms in surrender. “How far did you get into my business dealings?” he asked in evasion once more.

“Some of your earnings are deposited to the families of the men you killed in service of the Bratva as you already know and yes I’m aware of your other issue with Alexi.” He kept his thoughts on pause because once she’d taken a deep breath she added, “Now answer my question so we can drudge up other uncomfortable subjects.”

Her voice felt strong even when her tone was light. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze while the hand he had within her hair trailed down to rest upon the nape of her slender neck. He queried once more, “Are you sure you want the truth?”

She nudged his collar bone with her cheek in silent reply. He took another of many deep breaths and spoke tenderly, “Once I saw how we met I became fascinated with the time period. I visited an older library in Moscow when I had time during a business trip and found about three books…”

Felicity’s low smirk of humor made his chest burn, “You willingly read a book?”

Oliver pinched her elbow but, all she did was snuggle closer. He massaged her neck slowly and continued in earnest. “So… as you can imagine I was dismayed with the books were all written in Gaelic.”

“Please tell me you tried to translate it?” she snorted loudly.

“Are you going to let me finish or not?” he scolded lightly with no intention of ever seeing the threat through.

She pressed her lips to the hollow of his throat and mumbled, “So once you had some very kind person translate the books what prey tell did you find?”

“Quentin had three daughters, and my would be wife was the oldest….” He let his tone fall flat when her body suddenly went ice cold.

He could hear the cogs in her head moving, hell he could hear her heart beginning to break when she lightly babbled in complete shock, “You said I was a stable hand…”

He felt her hair rustling over his chin when she moved her forehead back and forth over the line of his trachea. “This isn’t possible…”she rambled, “This can’t be true…” she exclaimed. “This….” She again sputtered, “This has to be a mistake!”

Oliver moved his hand to her spine, “Sorry honey but Laurel in 1842 according to the books was your sister and, according to the books we took off the night before she and Quentin arrived for the wedding.”

If his heart could have broken for her he would have ripped it apart himself. He felt her shudder in his arms while her soft whispers fell over his shirt, “We left and somehow ended up cursed because you what married the wrong woman?”

“No I married the right woman…” he protested almost angrily.

Felicity’s soft snuffles made his stomach ache, “Then why did this happen? Why did we end up cursed to find each other just so we could die?”

“The books didn’t go that far, hell they didn’t even get past the night we ran,” Oliver swore, “but we both know how to find the answer…” he pushed perhaps a bit too soon.

He felt her pushing him away but, it wasn’t the way he thought she would. He felt her slide her forehead against his parted lips, he kissed her skin almost involuntarily while she pressed her palms to his chest. He adjusted his stance so she still felt comfortable within the tender embrace. “While I personally can’t wait to actually have sex with you we both know there’s another option…” her suggestion made his body freeze.

“No…” he glowered darkly. “You almost died the last time you let her put you under Felicity…”

“Yeah but I also found out that Laurel was alive,” she countered quietly with her forehead still placed along his parted mouth.

“You say that like I should already be aware,” he muttered contritely.

She simply whispered, “Julie and I’ve hacked your servers so don’t think I didn’t see the note to Diggle about my condition after the accident that night.

Oliver paled, “I’d rather discuss that at a later time…”

She mimicked his tone, “Fine we’ll discuss sex then…”

He gulped but whimpered, “Fine…” knowing he’d have to discuss both Julie and Laurel before long.

Felicity’s skin brushed his lips each time he spoke but, he didn’t count on how he’d feel when she confessed to knowing he’d been there all along. “Well you know what happened after we had sex I assume?” she broached uneasily since they technically hadn’t been together in this life.

“Yeah after that night I woke up enraged because I’d woken up at all,” he confessed quickly. He felt her lean into his touch, her forehead slid back down to his throat as her lips traveled down his bobbing Adam’s apple. He gulped greedily when her lips fell over his pulse point, “I spent three days tracking down anyone crazy enough to listen…”

“Yeah I can only imagine,” she giggled when she once more snuggled deeply into his chest. He wrapped his arms around her happily while she pressed her fingers between the folds of his shirt.

He laughed softly, ��Anyways once I’d exhausted the nearby options I turned to the less logical ones…”

“Yeah Julie having her medical license being suspended would make her an easy target,” Felicity agreed quickly.

He replied sharply, “Exactly so swaying her corporation took no time at all. Anyways once I explained our situation and she confirmed I wasn’t insane she agreed to contact me if you ever became endangered by your efforts.”

He felt her pulling away again so before she could squirm free he quickly added with a note of shame, “My life wasn’t stable, being with you then would have gotten you and possibly your family killed.”

He felt her relax within his arms once more. He shrugged off the feeling of fear when she murmured, “You’re going to explain that fact at a later date sweetheart…”

“I planned too,” he allowed before his story continued. “Anyways when you came to her home with bloodshot eyes she of course felt compelled to help.

Felicity rolled her tongue over her lips and sighed, “I’d been dreaming about Laurel…”

“Yeah but it was the wrong Laurel,” he interceded.

She huffed, “I wanted to feel peace and since I couldn’t bring her back I guess I wanted to solve the mystery of us.”

He allowed her grief to consume her then but he’d be damned if he let it happen again. He swallowed his pride and nearly wept with guilt when he said, “When Julie told me you’d taken the cocktail for deep hypnosis I’ll admit I was scared. I’d been tortured, destroyed and made into a killer but none of that compared to how it felt when I heard her stammering voice over the phone. Nothing in my life prepared me for seeing you lying on the ground with Laurel’s slim body shielding you from an oncoming car…”

“You were the one who kissed my forehead weren’t you?”

“Again I couldn’t risk being seen outside of Russia so once the EMT’s arrived I forced myself back into the shadows, he mumbled swiftly to plead his case.

She patted his chest lightly, “Oliver remember I’ve hacked your system I know more than you think I do…”

He bit back a sharp reprimand and let his feelings cloud his judgment, “Then I’ll cut to the chase.” He felt his heart shattering within him as she remained almost frozen in his steel like arms. “We had sex and after that I moved heaven and Earth to find you…” he felt her lips move so he spoke first. “You remember my training and you’ve seen my files.” She nodded but remained quiet as he continued to weave his tale. “I took the life of my trainer; I took his home, his business and his seat among the other Bratva Captains. I became the monster I feared as a child…I became the hatred he hoped to install within my heart but you were the flickering candle in the window of my soul. You were my salvation and, the very idea of exposing you to that darkness made my soul darken.”

She spoke swiftly, “You were in town because of Victor’s son weren’t you?”

“I was,” he answered blandly. “He’d come to form an alliance with the lone American family. I came to prevent that alliance and, that’s when I got the call…” he finally admitted. “I was outside the warehouse when my phone buzzed. They were simply talking so I checked the ID, I listened to her frantic words on the message and, seconds later I was hopping off the window ledge until my feet were on the ground.”

“You’re still evading my real question,” she realized almost silently. “You saw her in that room with Victor’s son didn’t you?”

Oliver swallowed a gnarled plea, “Felicity please don’t make me say it…”

She gulped but remained snuggled to his chest, “Then I will. My mother married the Bratva captain in the states and, that means he’s allied with Alexi, which means…”

“I have to kill him yes.” he interceded coldly. “I have to kill him and if Laurel was with them then…”

“Then you’re going to kill Laurel too,” she whispered with ice in her voice.

He expected her to run, hell he wanted her to run but she stayed, she did what John had claimed….

Felicity stayed but her faith came with conditions.

“When is there next meeting?” she asked suddenly as Oliver refocused his addled brain.

His eyes fell to the ceiling of the hotel room with exhaustion, “Seven days from tomorrow why?”

Felicity began push away, he panicked until she whispered, “Relax Oliver you’re story just reminded me of something…”

He released her somberly as she stood to retrieve her planner. He sat there with his palms over his weary face. He could almost feel the tension of his body flowing through him until her soft voice broke silence around him. “You said seven days right?”

He mumbled against his palms, “Yeah why?”

He heard her footfalls over the area rug; he felt the air around him shift when body pushed the stale around his broad shoulders. He parted his fingers and glanced down when he felt her planner land open faced over his lap. His lips twitched with the beginning of a very broad smile. His rough voice sounded almost joyful when he mumbled, “It’s a full moon…”

Felicity nodded in complete understanding, “Yeah and since we’re together I think we should use that to our advantage…”

He lowered his palms until his fingers were along the edges of the small book, “Did you explain this particular theory to her during a therapy session?”

He saw her bite her bottom lip at his posed question, “No but I think it has merit,” she boasted proudly. “Think about it,” she implored with raised arms. “Our visions are stronger during full moons, our encounters were always deeper, and our impulses stronger so now that we’re in the same place why don’t we try out our theory?”

His mouth fell, “You mean the dream sleep thing don’t you?”

She nodded energetically, “Julie has access to the drugs and you have the money if she can’t get them…”

Oliver blanched, “You almost died…”

She brushed it aside with a hand wave and flippant tone, “Almost and this time we’ll be together…”

He cocked his hand and traced along the nearly empty page, “We still have a lot of ground to cover Felicity. We still haven’t discussed how I know Diggle and even the facts surrounding Laurel or Alexi,” he gently noted with concern. “We still don’t have all the facts,” he stated, “We still are getting to know each other,” he admitted even though deep down he knew her better than himself.

She dismissed him easily, “Yes but we also have a death sentence so what’s more important playing twenty questions or saving our lives?”

He eyed her cynically as she stood before him with crossed arms and a glare. “This could end badly,” he offered cryptically.

Her glare deepened, “Worse than death?” she questioned tightly.

His eyes swept around the room looking for another source of inspiration to strike. She remained steadfast as his heart pounded. The time table was set, the task was simple, and the players were known. He sighed then cleared his throat, “All for one?”

She smiled at their old parting sentiment and sighed, “And one for all…”

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#arrow #arrow fic #olicity #olicity fic #au #soulmate fic #soulmate #across time #cursed #fated #past lives #oliver and felicity

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allyinthekeyofx · 8 years ago

Text

Impossible Choices

AllyinthekeyofX

Summary:

Mulder is returned and Scully is offered a choice. But when does a choice become an impossibility? An alternative ending to the show. Seasons 8 + 9 are just a bad dream! The story is set a few months after Requiem.

Notes:

I wrote this in anger at how everything turned out and because of a lingering sense that the characters I came to know and love were sold down the river. But the passing of time gave me perspective and a greater appreciation of what came after. So, after sitting on it for 16 years I decided to polish it up and to unleash it finally on an unsuspecting fandom. I still wish that CC had given them an ending they deserved, but they weren’t. I can live with that now.

One

“Georgetown Memorial. Go there now Agent Scully.”

I blink my eyes in response to the cold, hard voice that rings menacingly in my ear through the telephone handset I have fumbled for in the dark just seconds earlier.

“Who is this?” I demand.

I don’t expect an explanation. I’m just asking out of habit more than anything else. Falling back on my years of investigative training, unconsciously slipping in to the mode of an Agent of the FBI.

“Georgetown Memorial Agent Scully. He’s waiting for you.”

A click as the connection is severed, leaving me half leaning out of the bed as if bringing myself closer to the phone will make the mystery caller miraculously reappear. He doesn’t though, and after a few seconds, the sound of the dialling tone is replaced with a high pitched whine that urges me to replace the handset.

I can’t seem to move though. It’s as though those four words have turned me to stone. I understand their hidden meaning immediately. I’ve been waiting to hear them, every second of every minute of every day for over seven months now. I’ve heard them in my dreams so many times. Been forced from the arms of sleep by the sound of Mulders voice in my head, only to be confronted by an empty room that is darkened by the shadows of night. Darkened by the fact that he isn’t here. I have found myself living my day to day existence hidden behind a wall of steel. Allowing no one to see or understand my innermost feelings. It’s been hard enough just coping with the whispers that follow me along the halls of the Hoover building. Head held high, I have retreated within myself. But it has hurt so much.

Special Agent Dana Scully MD. Pregnant with Spooky Mulders baby. The fact that he is missing has made little impact on my peers. If anything it has become a great source of amusing speculation for them. With Mulder gone I have finally slipped effortlessly in to the role of Mrs Spooky. A name Tom Colton christened me with so long ago, but one which hadn’t really stuck. Until now that is.

His nameplate still graces the thick hardwood door. His handwriting still categorises the filing cabinets. I have changed very little in the layout of the office. It’s an office I have, these past months, shared with a ghost. The ghost of the man I refused to mourn. So sure was I that he would return. I never stopped believing.

And now, as I stare dumbly at the phone, I realise with a start, that it is finally over.

It’s enough to galvanise me in to action. The extra weight of the baby inside me makes moving quickly difficult at best, but for the first time in weeks, I manage to swing my legs over the side of the bed and get to my feet in one fluid movement. My back protests just for a second but the pain is quickly forgotten as I grab my robe from the hook at the back of the door and exit the bedroom.

Heedless of the lateness of the hour, I hurry over to the sofa where my Mother sleeps, wrapped in a heavy quilt to protect her against the chill winter air. I don’t notice the cold though. Because he’s waiting for me.

“Mom?”

She awakens before I have even closed my mouth. Instantly alert as she struggles in to a sitting position.

“What is it honey? Is it the baby?”

I realise my mistake as her eyes widen in anticipation. She has been here in the apartment with me for almost a week now. Insisting that, as I grew nearer to my due date, that I shouldn’t be alone. Not once did she suggest that I should be the one to move in with her. I didn’t need to explain my motives for remaining here for as long as possible. She just knew. She immediately understood that I needed to be here for when Mulder returned and I loved her for it.

Seeking to reassure her that I am indeed okay I lay a hand on her shoulder and squeeze it gently.

“No, Mom, I’m fine. But I need you to drive me to the hospital. I……..I got a call……and….”

I feel the tears rush to my eyes as I stumble over words that stick in my throat like glue. I’ve waited for this for so long, and now the moment’s here, I can’t bear to acknowledge it. I can’t bear to tempt fate by speaking his name aloud. Because I’m afraid that if I do, I will wake up and realise that this is all a cruel trick of my mind.

But she understands immediately, grasping my hand even as she rises to her feet before me, enveloping me in an awkward hug that calms me immediately.

“It’s Fox isn’t it?”

I can only nod shakily against her shoulder as the tears begin to flow. So much sorrow, so much hope, so much disappointment. I’m not sure I can bear anymore. Not sure I can bear it if this turns out to be a hoax of some kind. But her touch calms me marginally.

“It’s okay sweetie. I’ll get dressed.”

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

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 3:41a.m.

I head through the automatic doors in to the foyer of this vast building. It’s a building I know all too well. Too many visits over the last few years have made it as familiar to me as my own apartment and I skirt around the edges of the humanity which are milling around within its confines in an attempt to get to the admissions desk with as much haste as possible. It’s Sunday morning and the aftermath of Saturday night is still pressing down heavily on the hospital’s resources but despite this, the desk, when I finally reach it, is clear of people.

The nurse behind it raises his eye brows questioningly as I stand before him, his gaze flickering over my burgeoning belly. The fact though that I am seemingly alone, fully dressed and exhibiting all the calm I can muster reassures him immediately that I am not in labour. That my business here is unconnected with the tiny new life I am growing within me.

“Can I help you Ma'am?”

I feel a hand rest gently on the small of my back as my Mother finally caches up with me. With typical practicality, she has been parking the car in the designated long-stay parking area. Like me, she is already sure that one way or the other, this will be a long night. Her presence gives me the courage to open my mouth. Flipping my little used FBI identification out of the pocket of the long, black jacket I wear I hold it in front of him.

“My name is Dana Scully. I have reason to believe that my partner may have been brought in here at sometime during the night.”

The nurse is obviously more in awe of female government Agents than my own work colleagues are because he immediately snaps in to action, tapping a few words in to the computer terminal beside him.

“Okay Agent Scully. I have admissions up now. Can I take the name of your partner please?”

I close my eyes, praying silently to myself even as I feel my baby kick impatiently inside me, almost as though he is urging me to make haste. To take him finally to his father.

“His name is Fox Mulder……….but he may not have been in a condition to give his name. He……….he has been missing for a long time……”

The nurse shakes his head, cutting me off abruptly.

“I’m sorry Agent Scully. No one of that name has been admitted tonight…….it’s been a crazy night though…..I could check descriptions of any John Does though if you wanted….”

I manage to flash him a grateful smile despite the worry that is gnawing away at me.

“Yes, please if you would.”

His fingers fly across the keys once again and out of the peripherals of my vision I see a list of figures flash up on the screen in answer to his query. He doesn’t look up at me as he quickly asks me for basic descriptions. Age, height, approximate weight, hair colour possible nature of injury.

I answer quickly, stumbling over his final question and I have to admit to him that I have no idea. Injury could be as insignificant as a cut finger, as mind numbing as a fatality with every possible scenario in between.

Finally, he looks up at me, smiling reassuringly, no doubt in response to both my condition and the fact that I am now gripping the edge of the admissions desk hard enough to whiten my knuckles. No doubt my face is similarly devoid of color.

“Okay Agent Scully. I have four males who have been admitted to the ER in the past twenty-four hours. Two suffering from gunshot wounds…….I’m sorry, but they were pronounced dead shortly after arrival. The other two - both IC one males in their late thirties/early forties, approximately six feet tall are still in the hospital. One suffering from minor concussion and apparent memory loss is unable to furnish us with his personal details at this time. The other……….”

He frowns suddenly as he skims his eyes over the details on the screen.

“The other was admitted three hours ago. But there must be a glitch in the system somewhere. It says here that he was discovered on a gurney. Unconscious and apparently physically unharmed. No admitting information aside from that……….I’m sorry, if you hold here for a minute I’ll try….”

I raise my hand slightly to cut him off.

“That’s him.” I insist ignoring the way his eyes widen in response to my tone and I realise how it must sound. Of course he has no way of knowing that I have more insight in to this than they can ever imagine in their worst nightmares.

“Could you please tell me where he is?”

He shakes his head apologetically.

“I’m sorry Agent Scully. It’s standard procedure in cases like these to first ascertain some kind of connection between the John Doe and the relative…….I’m sorry, but you don’t fall in to the criteria of relative……now if you could perhaps furnish us with the details of his next of kin so that a proper identif……”

I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Seven months of waiting. Seven months of heart wrenching uncertainty only to be now held up by bureaucratic red tape. But I have a final card hidden deep within my sleeve, one which this eager young man couldn’t possibly have imagined. FBI Agents or not, we have a connection that will slice effortlessly through the bureaucracy.

“If you would care to check Agent Mulders past medical records you will see that as from January 1997 *I* am listed as his next of kin.”

His expression hovers somewhere between a new kind of respect and out and out disbelief. I’m sure he’s heard the same proclamation a hundred times in the past from desperate individuals searching for their loved ones.

“That might take a couple of minutes to check up on Agent Scully. If you’d like to take a seat for a few minutes, I’ll have someone come down and speak to you.”

I follow the direction in which he waves, seeing row upon row of hard, uncomfortable leather backed chairs. No doubt I would be more comfortable standing, especially now that the baby weighs so heavily on my frame, but I don’t want to make waves so I acquiesce and allow my Mother to lead me away from the admissions area.

We sit, not speaking. I’m not sure that I could at this point. Anticipation has stolen my voice from me. My mouth is dry, my head beginning to throb with the suppressed tension that has been threatening to burst free ever since my telephone rang, tearing me from sleep. It was less than an hour ago. It feels like centuries. But I’m okay. I can get through this. I have to. For Mulder I will remain calm. To start shouting now would only delay what needs to be done in order to see him. Out of a desperate need to do something with my hands, I begin to gently trace circles over my belly with my palms, feeling the solid, reassuring presence of my baby’s tiny rump through my taut skin. Like magic, my breathing slowly returns to normal.

I have waited for so long. I can wait another few minutes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my Mother’s hand reaching across for mine, but instead of grasping it, she simply covers it with hers, smiling gently at me as she too feels the tiny boy who lays, protected within. Not once in the last seven months has she allowed herself to voice the fears she must surly hold. Fears for what might happen if my stubborn assurances that Mulder would indeed return should prove fruitless. Not once has she berated me for not admitting to the intimate relationship Mulder and I shared in those last weeks before he was taken. Not once has she questioned my choices. Not once. She is of course, in the minority.

My eyes are still locked on to the vision of our two hands caressing my baby when the voice cuts in to my thoughts.

“Agent Scully?”

I get to my feet immediately finding myself face to face with a man that I recognise from so long ago.

“Doctor Daley?” my voice must be bordering on incredulous, because he smiles reassuringly at me. Extending his hand which I grasp briefly.

“It’s good to see you Dana,,,,,I was about to ask how you were…..but I see you are indeed blooming. Literally.”

“Thank you. Doctor Daley……..Can you tell me? Is my partner here?”

He releases my hand. Becoming all business once again. But his expression is troubled. I see it clearly in his eyes.

“I’m not sure Dana. When I received the call a few minutes ago telling me you were here, asking after him, it immediately fell in to place. There had been something bothering me about the way we found him, no admission paperwork, no notes on how he came to be there. Just like you were found….but I confess, I never really thought to make the connection. Five years is a long time in a busy hospital Dana…….it’s been a crazy night and…..”

I shake my head. Waving away his apologies.

“It’s okay. I understand, really I do. But I need to see him. Please. Can you take me to him?”

I am holding on to my composure by just a thread now and I know that if he refuses, I will simply push past him and search this damn hospital until I find what I am looking for. The potential consequences of those actions mean nothing to me. Maybe he sees that, because he nods carefully. But there is caution in his tone as he grasps my arm.

“I’ll take you there Dana. But understand that it might *not* be your partner.”

I swallow heavily. Chasing away the tears that have suddenly gathered in the corners of my eyes.

“It’s him.” I whisper. “It has to be.”

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

Two

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 4:01a.m.

I’m a little surprised when I realise that Daley isn’t actually heading in the direction of the ICU. I guess I had been expecting Mulder to be in pretty bad shape. Certainly needing a level of care that could only be found in that most specialised part of the hospital, but I find myself following him along one of the many standard corridors that house the many patients in need of basic nursing.

“I’m sorry Doctor Daley….”

He stops dead at the sound of my voice. The uncertainty is evident even to me as I hear myself questioning him.

“I thought…..I mean, I was told that my partner was unconscious when he was brought in…..I just assumed he would be in the ICU….”

I can clearly see that it’s on the tip of his tongue to remind me that this man *might* not be Mulder, but he swallows the words and instead tells me what I need to hear.

“Yes that’s right. He was indeed unconscious when discovered. But pulse, respiration and temperature were all normal. The ECG came back clear although it’s too early to ascertain if there are any anomalies in his blood work. His condition hasn’t changed since then. We saw no reason to subject him to the rigours of the ICU unless his condition should worsen. We’re monitoring him carefully and so far it hasn’t.”

His explanation should soothe my fears, but inexplicably just hearing it causes my heart to begin hammering painfully in my chest. I have a terrible feeling about all this. It’s a feeling that has been building from the minute I replaced the receiver in my apartment. Maybe it’s a combination of the numbing fatigue I have been feeling lately and the fact that I so badly need all this to work out *right*. Whatever it is, I am scared. So scared right now that I am tempted to spin around and head right back to where I have left my mother. I had wanted, had *needed* to do this alone and she had remained, ensconced in a small, comfortable room specially put aside to house worried relatives. Now though, I wish more than ever that she was here by my side.

But I don’t. I simply nod slightly and drop my eyes from Daley’s. My action prompts him to continue walking and I try to keep pace as best I can. He is a fairly tall man. Not as tall as Mulder, but even so, his strides are worth two of mine.

Finally, he comes to a halt outside a plain, hardwood door. No different from any other door we have passed during this journey. But of course it *is* different. Because behind this door lays an answer that has the ability to lift me skywards with joy or to plunge me back in to the depths of despair. I’ve been waiting so long for this moment and now it’s finally here, I am almost afraid to discover which one it will be.

There have been so many disappointments. So many journeys like this one. A roller coaster ride of anticipation and disappointment. But this time is different. Something deep within me senses it. If pressed, I couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t explain how I just *know*.

Daley reaches for the door knob, but before he can close his fingers around it I reach out and tug at his arm slightly. He freezes at my touch, but his eyes when they turn to me are clouded with concern.

“Agent Scully?” “I’m sorry. But I need to do this alone.”

He hesitates for just a beat before dropping his hand back to his side. He understands I think. Maybe it’s because of our previous connection. Or maybe he sees the yearning that I am sure is shining in my eyes right now. By allowing me to enter the room of what might be a stranger to me he is breaking Hospital protocol. It’s a fact that hasn’t escaped me. But equally he seems to understand in some small way what I have been through and it prompts him to nod his head slowly, stepping back to allow me access.

I grasp the door knob, the metal cold in my palm but before I turn it I briefly close my eyes. The final step. The final few seconds of waiting. It’s both exquisite and excruciating. But the moment passes quickly and I open the door, stepping over the threshold as I simultaneously open my eyes.

The room itself is shrouded in half light. Dark enough to allow the patient within to remain undisturbed. Bright enough to allow the medical personnel to go about their business. Certainly bright enough for me to see him. The figure on the bed is tall. Eyes closed he appears for all the world as though he is simply sleeping. His breathing is evenly spaced, serene even, his lips slightly parted. Relaxed. But the man on the bed is thin. So painfully thin that I have to look twice to be sure. But then I see it. A glint of gold in the darkness that catches my eye.

The waiting is over. One way or another my desperate search is over. Because it really is him. No more disappointment. He’s been returned to me. In what condition remains to be seen. But he is back and right now I can’t think beyond that.

The image before me blurs and for the first time I am aware of the tears that are streaming down my face. Whether they are of joy or sadness I can’t be sure. Because as I get closer to him I can see what all this has cost him. His dark hair, the same hair I had enjoyed running my fingers through after we made love is now tinged with a smattering of grey. There is evidence of bruising on his face, bruises that, even in the half light, lend an unhealthy tinge to his skin. And he is *thin*. So damn thin. I can see the deep hollows in his cheeks, the way his skin seems to be stretched too tightly across his face. But it doesn’t matter. Because he is there before me. And to me he will always be beautiful.

“Mulder.”

I don’t know why I speak his name. I don’t expect him to respond. But something deep inside me needs to hear it. If only to reassure myself that he is really here. I reach him finally, standing above him, watching my tears fall on to his pale skin until I kneel awkwardly, curling my hand around his as I lower my head to his chest. I hear his heartbeat in my head. Strong and regular it blocks out the sound of my gasping sobs. Until finally, something within me is set free. Something that has held my heart in it’s iron grip for so many long months and I am able to finally cry the tears I have suppressed for so long.

Because he is *here*. Finally I have found him. Finally it’s over.

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

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 9:18a.m.

“Agent Scully?”

The familiar voice pulls me from the arms of sleep and I am immediately aware of a piercing pain that slices across my back when I try to straighten up.

Skinner hovers above me, his face twisted with anxiety as he recognises my discomfort. It’s an expression I have come to both recognise and appreciate in the months since Mulder was taken. Blaming himself needlessly for Mulders abduction, he has remained by my side, supporting me throughout this time. He has become far more than simply my superior agent. Much more than that he has become a trusted friend. I remember vividly the night he came to my apartment. A little over a week after Mulder disappeared, he had returned from making his report to the OPR revue committee that had been hastily assembled in response to happenings in Oregon. Questions had been asked of Skinner. Demands made that he should explain his actions that night. Veiled threats that he would be held solely responsible.

In response to their questioning, Skinner had calmly recounted the details as he saw them. With no regard for his future position within the Bureau he had placed an official stamp on the work of the X-Files department. He had spoken of things that, only weeks ago he would have dismissed as being fantastic, events that would hold him up for ridicule for the remainder of his career. He had laughed bitterly when he had told me that part. I think we both knew that, whatever the outcome of the revue, his career was now effectively over. They hadn’t believed him of course. This assembled group of respected senior agents had dismissed all but the very basic details of his report. Accused him, as they had accused me in the past, of becoming enchanted with Mulders passionate beliefs, of becoming drawn in to a web of misplaced loyalty and an almost comical paranoia that *they* were indeed out there.

Mulder was officially listed as missing, presumed dead by unknown method. No more to add. No more to say. Skinner had come to me that night a broken man after being forced to retract his statement in order to keep his position within the bureau. Weighed down by an all consuming guilt that he had failed us once again. For the second time in the space of a week, I had seen him weep and the bond between us had strengthened never to be broken as I had held him in my arms, whispering assurances that he hadn’t failed. That I understood his reasons. That, more importantly, Mulder would understand his reasons.

He retained his position as Assistant Director if not his reputation, and in doing so, ensured that I kept my own place within the X-Files. He had handpicked me a new partner who I tolerated out of a sense of loyalty towards this man who had risked everything for Mulder and I. He had allowed me to retain my position even when, officially, I should have been on mandatory maternity leave. Perhaps more importantly, he remained the one person who truly understood what I have been through these past long months since Mulder was taken.

So, to look at him as he stands here now seeing the concern for me radiating from him does not surprise me.

In answer to his unspoken question I attempt a smile which I am pretty sure doesn’t quite come off and finally straighten the kinks out of my back sufficiently to sit up. I notice that my hand still covers Mulder’s. That even in sleep I was unwilling to let him go.

“I’m fine.” I assure him. “I don’t think final trimester pregnancy and bedside vigils really complement each other. I’ve been getting a lot of back pain recently that’s all. It’s normal at this stage of pregnancy.”

I feel Skinner’s hand rest gently against the back of my neck, beneath my hair that has grown longer, softer, over the last few months. It’s now almost the same length it was when I first met Mulder. Longer than I have worn it in years. Like a child who relies on silly superstition, I made a decision not to get it cut until Mulder was returned. Stupid really. Even I don’t understand it. I close my eyes against the pressure of his palm on my skin. This simple gesture of concern and protection that causes my breath to catch in my throat. He has slipped effortlessly in to the role of Father figure. Determined not to fail me as he perceives he failed Mulder, he has hovered on the fringes of my life to ensure my constant well being.

“You shouldn’t be here Scully.”

I nod. I know he’s right. I am in no shape to be doing this. Maybe six months ago I could have handled the physical and mental strain of watching over my partner as he lays before me on the bed, but now, with less than two weeks to go until my due date I should be resting. I should be concentrating all my energies on preparing for the birth of my baby. Of Mulders son. Of bringing him safely in to this world. But the advice that the pragmatic, sensible medical doctor part of my brain gives me is currently far outweighed by a much greater need inside of me. It’s a need that comes straight from my heart and one that I refuse to ignore.

“I know” I answer simply, flicking my gaze back to Mulder for a second before I continue. “But I can’t leave him. Not now.”

The pressure against the back of my neck increases slightly and without even looking around, I sense he understands. My belief is only compounded when he immediately switches his attention to Mulder, choosing not to get in to a discussion he knows he won’t win.

“How is he?”

Now there’s a question if ever there was one. I’ve been asking myself that very same question all night and in the cold light of day I am none the wiser. I have endlessly questioned the medical personnel who have drifted in and out of the room during the hours I have been here. Read the charts that hang from the end of the bed so many times I almost know them by heart.

Temperature normal. Pulse normal. Respiration normal. Blood work normal. Brain patterns normal.

Everything about him is so *normal* I could scream with frustration. If there were a reason for this I could accept it. But there is nothing to go on, nowhere to turn. He is slightly dehydrated. Malnourished. But those things are slowly being rectified with the insertion of canulars in his arm that are feeding him a steady dose of high dosage glucose. I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, whether desperate hope is clouding my medical judgement, but it seems to me that just the tiniest hint of color has returned to his skin. But still he sleeps. On and on. Unmoving. His pupils react to light stimulant. His reflexes are alert and active. He flinches slightly when subjected to localised pain. But that is where it ends. I have talked constantly to him throughout the night. I believe he can hear me, can recognise the sound of my voice, and I have told him of our son, my voice breaking as I implore him not to give up. That he has so much to live for now. Maybe he hears me. Maybe he doesn’t. It doesn’t matter. Because I have to believe that he does. But still he continues to sleep.

So I find myself unable to answer Skinner’s question. How can I explain this to him when I can’t explain it to myself. So I just shake my head numbly.

“I don’t know. There is no medical explanation for why he should be like this. All we can do is wait.”

A cloud passes across Skinner’s face and my eyes narrow slightly at the sight. It’s a look I have come to recognise well over the years. It’s the same look he used to unsuccessfully try to hide when confronted with a dilemma in the way he managed Mulder and I. A look that suggested he was wrestling with his conscience over giving us information that might spell disaster for all of us and the sight of it causes a cold shudder to work its way down my spine. I feel like someone has dumped ice water in to my bones.

“What is it?”

He works his mouth slightly, pulling at his lower lip with his teeth as he regards me in front of him. The silence stretches between us, the atmosphere in the room becoming charged, crackling almost as if laden with electricity. I feel the tiny hairs on my arms prickling as gooseflesh chases away my warmth. And I am suddenly scared. So scared of what he is about to say to me. Even more so as his eyes involuntarily drop to settle on my belly. Almost unconsciously my free hand goes there. Fingers spreading as though in an attempt to protect the child within.

“Sir?”

Until finally, he speaks.

“I received a call. About Mulder. About *you*. They…..they want to make a deal.”

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

Three

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 9:06a.m.

My eyes widen as the true meaning of Skinner’s words settle over me like a death sentence. It’s so quiet in here. Only the sound of Mulder’s breathing suggests that there are people in here at all. I don’t think I’m breathing right now. I’m not sure I’ll ever breathe again. Time is standing still. Before me, Skinner remains, his impenetrable gaze is locked with mine as he allows me a moment to process. But how can I possibly process this? I had thought it was over. Have I really allowed myself to become so naive as to think that they were finished with us? That they would allow us to live out the simple pleasures that others take for granted? So stupid. I’ve been so stupid for so long.

“Who?”

My voice is barely above a whisper now and I am sure that under normal circumstances, Skinner would have a hard time catching the single word. But the room is quiet and it cuts through the silence to hang between us like a swirling leaf caught in an autumn breeze. I don’t know why I’m even asking him. I already know the answer.

Admittedly I don’t know their names. These shadowy men who have ruled Mulder and I for so long. The men who have taken away those that we love as though they were simply pawns in a game. The most precious parts of our lives as expendable and insignificant as a fly caught in a trap.

“You know who Dana.”

Skinner drops on to his haunches beside me. His face only bare inches from mine I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. His voice is so gentle I could weep. Or scream. Or both.

I close my eyes against the sight of Mulder. And for the first time since I entered this room, I pray that he can’t hear me. Because the thought of him hearing my words that before had comforted me in some small way, now fills me with horror. So I struggle against the fatigue, as I attempt to get to my feet, shrugging off Skinner’s hand as he offers unspoken assistance.

“I can do it myself!”

For a second I feel guilt as hurt briefly flares in his eyes. But I don’t want his help. I hate feeling this weak, this vulnerable. I want to be back to the way I was before all this. I want to be back to laying in Mulders arms as we made whispered plans for the future. Watching him sleep, his face tinged golden by the coming of dawn as he lay in my arms. Comfortable. Safe. *Protected* And for the first time in so many years we had allowed ourselves to believe that somehow, together, we might make everything right again. Like children we had *believed*. And like children, we had come to realise once again that life can never be what we want it to be. That there is always danger lurking around corners. Oh yeah, we had become vulnerable. We had made ourselves vulnerable. Our new found happiness had opened doors for them once again. We should have known. *I* should have known.

I reach across and trace my hand along Mulders jaw line, down his neck until I reach the thin strand of gold that encircles it, fingering the delicate cross that has remained with him through all this. I had been surprised to find it there. If only because the hospital had allowed it to remain. But when I questioned one of the nurses regarding its presence she had simply smiled and shrugged. He had appeared at the hospital with nothing. Naked beneath the blanket that had covered him as he lay on the gurney, they had thought it only appropriate that he should not be severed from the only item that might be a comfort to him. And so they had allowed it to remain. Bright and vibrant against his pale skin.

I lay the cross back down slowly. Arranging it so that it touches the hollow of his throat and slowly, with difficulty, I bend down to press my lips against his own. His lips are dry, chapped, but to me it is the most wonderful feeling in the world. I remain there for as long as I dare. Conscious of both the pain in my back and of Skinners eyes boring in to me. Finally, feeling the tears gathering in my eyes, I straighten up once more. Turning to face my superior I know that my face is set. Determined. Unfeeling. I effortlessly rebuilt my walls. Walls that Mulder had begun to chip away and I wonder now if I will ever let them crumble again.

“Let’s go.”

I pick up my discarded jacket, pulling it on even as I sweep past Skinner. I exit the room without looking back because I know that to look back now would spell disaster.

***********

Arlington Virginia 11:08a.m.

“Why have you brought me here?”

I turn my horrified eyes towards Skinner as he coasts the car to a gentle halt in front of the red brick building I know so well. Following Mulders disappearance I found myself drifting here at odd times of the day and night, drifting through the rooms within his apartment. Inhaling his scent. Consumed with memories as I just sat on his couch, staring in to space. I guess if someone were to push me, I would have to admit that back then, I was suffering from a low grade depression. But no one ever did. I hid it well I think. I doubt even Skinner could have imagined the depths of my despair. He would no doubt be horrified to learn that I had spent many hours here with helpless tears streaming down my face as I was forced to admit to myself that no amount of investigation, no amount of searching was going to bring Mulder back. I played a waiting game. It was all I could do. All they had left me.

But I haven’t been here for weeks. Not really out of choice. There have been nights were I have yearned to make the trip over here, but as my pregnancy progressed I found the simple act of driving more and more difficult. Misplaced pride prevented me from asking my Mother to drive me over here. Not that I thought she wouldn’t understand. I think maybe she would understand better than anyone else, but I didn’t want to admit the need to her that I just wanted to be near to him. In whatever way I could.

So, I have stayed away. Relying on my memories of him to see me through. Until now that is. And despite my need to walk those empty rooms again I don’t want to be here. Not like this. *Never* like this.

Skinner kills the engine and sits for a few seconds, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel lightly. The sound cuts through the silence like a knife.

“I was directed to bring you here.”

I wait for him to elaborate, to explain further. But the silence stretches between us, engulfing the cramped interior of the car and when I can take it no longer I twist angrily in my seat to face him.

“Why here? Why now?”

My voice is harsh, the words ragged and I realise angrily that I am once again dangerously close to tears. Skinner’s expression crumples slightly at my tone and I know that I am wrong to be taking this out on him. He’s become a pawn, just like me. Following orders to stay alive. Allowing himself to used as they have used us all along.

“Don’t you know?” He questions softly.

And I blink, because of course I know. They’ve summoned me here because it is where I will be at my most vulnerable. Surrounded with memories of Mulder I will be more easily manipulated, more willing to agree to their demands. It scares me to realise how well they know me. How well they know us both.

“What do they want?”

Skinner shrugs, dropping his eyes from mine for the barest of seconds. It’s enough to tell me that his next words are a lie.

“I don’t know”

A lie to protect me maybe. To prevent me from directing him to turn the car around and head back to Mulder. My touchstone. The one who I have always relied on to make everything right. Whatever his reasons, I am astute enough to realise that there will be no more information forthcoming. We’ve reached a dead end. Nothing more to say. Nowhere else to go. Everything that has occurred in our lives over the last seven years has been heading to this point. More than ever I am sure of it. All along they have known they would win. That one way or another they would get what they wanted. My baby kicks inside me, the movement causing me to catch my breath as a wave of nausea passes over me and a voice inside my head screams out at me to stop this while I still can. To refuse to follow this thing through. To go far away from this place. To keep my baby safe. The vision of Mulder though is pushing at my heart, crowding the space that has been empty for so long and I pray that I am strong enough to do this thing right. Because deep down I know what they want. I think I have always feared that there will be no happy ending for us. No fairy tale vision of a cosy family inside a warm, safe home.

Oh no. A scenario like that belongs to other people. To *normal* people. But not to us.

So, instead, I square my shoulders as best I can. Preparing myself to confront the unimaginable that I am sure is waiting for me inside that warm brick building. To face my demons this one final time. To confront my fate.

I nod my head, the movement almost imperceptible and lock my eyes with Skinner’s. My voice, when it reaches my ears, seems to belong to someone else.

“I’m ready.”

**********

I use my key to let us in to Mulders apartment. I ignore Skinner’s raised eyebrows as I fit it in to the lock. I think maybe he was expecting me to knock. To request permission before entering. It’s something I absolutely refuse to do. Maybe it’s out of defiance towards the men who have controlled my life for so long. It’s childish I know, but just for a second I feel a sense of satisfaction that they haven’t cowed me completely.

The satisfaction though, is short lived. Replaced quickly by a sense of repulsion so strong it overwhelms me. The vestibule of Mulders apartment is fogged with a hazy layer of acrid blue smoke. It catches the sun’s rays which stream through the window at the opposite end of the room. A swirling haze that assaults my senses and brings tears to my eyes.

And then I see him, rising to his feet in the fog. A shambling figure dressed in a sharply pressed grey suit he smiles benignly at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that reminds me absurdly of the kindly rat in the wind in the willows books from my long ago childhood. But beneath those wrinkled folds of skin his eyes glitter dangerously. Grey, cold, unfeeling they pierce me to my core. He exhales, sending a stream of cigarette smoke in to the already clogged atmosphere.

I’m aware that my mouth has dropped open as I stand there stupidly. Because whatever I was expecting it wasn’t this. Not even in my deepest nightmares could I have imagined I would ever have to face this man again. I was told he was dead. Naively I had believed. Had rejoiced in the passing off this man who has stolen so much from me.

He takes a step forward, then another, coming closer as it becomes obvious to him that I have no intention of moving. And he’s still smiling. Smiling as his gaze rests on my belly. It’s an absurdly paternal expression, and just seeing him causes bile to burn in the back of my throat. He comes to a halt just inches away from me, bringing the cigarette once again to his weathered lips, drawing deeply before exhaling. I want so much to hold his gaze, return his gentle smile with all the hate I can muster. But almost involuntarily, I turn my head away from the deadly poison that streams from his slightly parted mouth. Protecting my baby. The notion seems ironic now.

“Dana. It’s good to see you again. You look well……….or should I say blooming?”

His words snap me sharply back to reality and before I can stop to think of the potential consequences I bring up my right hand and deliver a stinging blow to the side of his face. He barely flinches although anger briefly flares in his eyes. A faint, red blush spreads across his cheek where my hand made contact but he doesn’t falter. He remains there. Standing before me until finally he chuckles. The sound cuts through me like a knife and it scares me to know that if I were carrying my gun I would have no compunction in pulling it out and blowing a hole straight through the bastard’s eyes.

“Not exactly the welcome I was hoping for.” He offers, his tone tinged with a trace of the anger I had recognised briefly.

It’s mingled though with such condescension that I find myself clenching my fists by my side in an effort not to strike him again. Only the feel of Skinner’s hands that settle on my shoulders prevent me.

“It’s okay Scully. It’s okay.”

I shake my head numbly.

*Okay?* How is anything ever going to be *okay* ever again? It’s unthinkable that this is heading anywhere other than towards heartbreak. Surly he knows enough to realise that.

The smoking man chuckles once again.

“Well, well, it would appear that the two of you have become rather closer than we envisaged. I’m surprised at you Dana. What would Agent Mulder think?”

This time, it is Skinner who stiffens. I feel his fingers dig in to the skin of my shoulders. Pain flares briefly as he attempts to hold on to his composure. Later on I will undress and see the evidence of his anger in the form of perfectly formed bruises. But right now I barely acknowledge it.

“What do you want?”

I am more than a little surprised when I hear my voice. It comes out strong. Steady. determined. I have no idea where I am drawing this facade of calm from. Because I am as tense as a tightly coiled spring. Ready to shatter in to a million pieces right in front of him.

He gestures his hand towards the living room he so recently vacated.

“Let’s sit shall we?”

I hold my head up high. Attempting to grow in stature. To bring myself more on a level with him, folding my arms across my chest as I sweep past him with all the grace I can muster. Grace doesn’t come easily now. Not now I am so weighed down by the final stages of pregnancy, but for once I am able to retain my posture. Ramrod straight I swing around to face him once more.

“I’d rather stand.”

He shrugs.

“As you wish Dana. I hope though that you’ll forgive me if I take my own advice. Agent Mulders couch is…..comfortable. But then you already know that don’t you?”

And then it hits me. Like a bolt from the blue I understand. He knows *everything*. He is privy to the most personal aspects of my life. He has known from the very beginning when Mulder and I finally answered the need inside of us to turn to each other. Did they watch us through impassive eyes on grainy, low resolution surveillance tapes? Listen to the murmured words we had shared during lovemaking? Reducing our love in to something sordid. Rejoicing at the fact that they had found something else to use against us. The thought sickens me. It sickens me to think that they have known all along.

He watches me shrewdly as the emotions course through me even as I try my hardest to cloak them from him. Refusing even now to let him take anything more from me.

“What do you want?”

I finally throw the demand at him. Anticipation at his answer already prompting a light tremor to run through my body. But instead of answering, his eyes take on a far away look. When finally I think I can bear it no longer, he begins to speak softly.

“It was never meant to happen this way Dana. Like so many things in life it didn’t turn out the way we planned. Another one of life’s ironies. So many ironies don’t you think? We planned so carefully but once again Mulder prevailed, thwarting our efforts unknowingly.”

I shake my head. He isn’t making sense to me.

“I don’t understand.”

“No. But then you wouldn’t. I barely understand it myself. The power we wield has long been a mystery to me. I am a small part in a much larger plan Dana. Smaller than you can ever imagine…”

I cut him off then. Throwing cheap insults that provide nothing other than a brief feeling of satisfaction.

“I’ve never imagined you to be anything other than *small.* Don’t flatter yourself.”

He smiles at my embittered words.

“You still have fire Dana. I admire you for that. I always have…..it’s why we partnered you with Mulder. Even back then we knew that we had made the right choice. Of course it took a little longer than we anticipated for you both to come to recognise the need between you we had always hoped for. But we were content to wait. Ultimately, you didn’t disappoint us.”

“What? What are you talking about?!”

To the side of me I see Skinner shift his position slightly. Obviously uncomfortable as to where this is leading and *then* I understand. He knows. He’s always known. The betrayal I feel is so acute that I am having difficulty remaining in a standing position. But I won’t crumble. Not now. I will see this through to the bitter end.

“Don’t you see? Don’t you *understand* yet? Pairing you with Mulder was carefully orchestrated. We needed someone with whom he would feel he had found a kindred spirit. Someone he would learn to trust….learn to love. Someone he would gladly give his life for. As I said, it took a little longer than we envisaged. But eventually our patience was rewarded.”

His eyes drop once more to my belly.

“In more ways than one, we were rewarded.”

Pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, he pauses as he fits one between his lips. Watching as he thumbs his lighter in to life I find that I am suddenly fixated on the bright orange blaze of light as it ignites. Like a moth I find myself drawn to the flame. He settles back on the couch and draws deeply before continuing.

“Do you have any idea how precious the offspring of Fox Mulder is to the project Dana? Do you have any idea? The *potential* for mankind such a child would broker is beyond the rational thought of most men. We’ve known for a long time that Mulder might hold the key to unlock the secrets of a conundrum that has puzzled us for years. His father knew it of course. That’s why he refused to surrender his son to the project. Why he chose Samantha instead.”

I hear his words, but I can’t make sense of them. I don’t understand. I hear the blood pounding in my ears, making it difficult to concentrate. What he’s suggesting is impossible. To suggest that I was partnered with Mulder in the hope that one day we might come together to provide them with a child who might provide all the answers is ridiculous. I am staring across at the man who, along with others, conspired to take me from Mulder more than once. Giving me a disease that almost took my life. Leaving me barren in their pursuit for the greater truth as they took what was most precious to me. I am almost afraid to answer him. That by doing so I may be throwing myself open to even greater hurt.

“That’s impossible. What you’re implying is ridiculous. I was led to believe I was barren. *You* did that to me. During my abduction. We have documentation to prove that….medical records. Reports……”

“Then explain your pregnancy to me Dana. You’re a medical doctor after all. Explain it to me so I can understand how an infertile woman can be standing in front of me nurturing a new life as you are doing……..”

“I can’t!”

My head is throbbing now. Perfectly synchronised with the rapid beating of my heart I feel it like a hammer with every pulse. I feel sick and I just want to flee back to Mulder. I want him to wrap his arms around me, to whisper assurances that it’s going to be all right. I want to block all of this out. To pretend it’s not happening. But my prayers go unanswered as he continues. On and on I hear his voice.

“I *gave* you that baby Dana. We came to understand that our hopes would come to fruition only by turning back to natural means. So much science at our finger tips, and yet we suffered failure after failure. Children that lived a few hours, a few months…even, on a few occasions, *years* before they withered and died. *Your* children Dana. Yours and Mulder’s. Until we came to understand that what was required would never be found in a laboratory. That the missing link was *you*…….but make no mistake - that baby belongs to *us*…….”

The room begins to spin as the full meaning of his words slam in to me with the force of a runaway roller coaster. This is a nightmare. Please God let this be a nightmare. I feel the tears streaming down my face, the sight of him before me blurring, melding his features together like running tallow.

This can’t be happening.

A *plan*? A game from the beginning? The outcome assured?

“You’re lying” I finally manage through the hitching sobs that threaten to wrench me apart. I want so much to shout at him, but the words come out as little more than a strangled whimper.

There is sympathy in his voice now and I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to block it out.

“Why would I lie Dana? What could I hope to gain? I already have what I want.”

I take a stumbling step backwards in a futile attempt to get away from him. But there is nowhere to run and through the fog that has invaded my vision I see him rise before me. He is still smiling, holding his hands out in a gesture of surrender.

“I come to you today Dana to offer you a choice. To give us willingly what we would otherwise have simply taken. A final act of patriotism towards a country you have already given so much to. In return, we will allow you and Mulder to simply walk away. To continue your lives. To rebuild all that has been torn away from you. A final price to pay before gaining release…….”

I slam my palms to cover my ears. A gesture so desperate, so violent, that I almost lose my footing. In the peripherals of my vision I see Skinner heading towards me as though in slow motion.

“NO! I will never let you take my baby…….”

Another step towards me, his lips stretched across yellowing teeth. For the first time I notice the ragged, puckered circle of flesh at the hollow of his throat.

“I don’t expect you to make your choice now of course. Before you decide I think it only prudent to let you know what you’ve been missing these past months. What you *will* miss should you make the wrong choice… I’m sure after speaking with Agent Mulder you will make a balanced decision………”

It is growing darker now. A dizzying sense of vertigo taking me over. Sickeningly, the room begins to spin as I feel the ground slipping beneath me. My last conscious thought is of Skinners arms around me as I begin falling towards nothingness.

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

FOUR

12:13p.m.

I fight against the darkness that consumes me. I am aware of gentle hands against my face, stroking softly as my eyes flutter open. For just a second I allow myself to imagine that the touch is Mulders. That the voice I hear, drawing me once again into consciousness belongs to him.

“Mulder?”

I blink rapidly, struggling against the hands that are now restraining me firmly, refusing to let me rise up in to sitting position.

“Ssssshhhhhh Scully. It’s okay. Don’t try to move.”

Not Mulders that voice.

I am disorientated for a few seconds, unable or unwilling to understand why I am laying here on the hard, cold wooden floor. More confused still by the sight of my superior’s hovering face me as he kneels beside me. And then I inhale deeply, feeling my throat close up as the lingering scent of acrid smoke invades my senses. *Him*.

Despite Skinner’s restraining hand I struggle in to a sitting position, glancing wildly around the room. A room that now appears empty.

“Where is he?” I demand. I’m not surprised by Skinner’s response.

“He’s gone. He left a little over five minutes ago. He said he would contact you this evening……to further discuss…….to discuss……”

He falters then and I can clearly recognise the strain in his voice. The tears that linger dangerously close to the surface pushing their way through his normally strong facade.

“I’m sorry Scully. I’m so sorry……”

I allow him to help me to my feet. Not because I want his help but because I know that I would never make it up there by myself. Finally, I face him accusingly.

“You knew? All this time you knew?”

His eyes widen with horror as my accusation sinks in and he involuntarily backs up a couple of steps. Widening the gap between us until it seems as wide as a ravine. I watch as he gropes for the right words. Does he really believe that mere *words* can make this right?

“In the beginning. I admit I knew in the beginning that they wanted a distraction for Mulder……"

He gesticulates helplessly, his hands waving in the air as he implores me to believe him.

”….but I never knew the reasons *why*. I swear to you Scully. I swear I never knew about *this.*……..“

I am in no mood to listen to him though. My head is still pounding and that, coupled with a spreading feeling of nausea has left me feeling used up and vulnerable. I don’t want to hear his pathetic excuses. I only need one thing from him now.

“Give me your keys.”

“What?”

I take a step towards him, extending my hand in front of me, palm up.

“I said give me your fucking keys.”

“Scully *please*. You’re in no condition to drive. Let me help you…….”

There is such hopeless yearning in his voice that I almost falter. I *believe* him you see. I believe that just like me, he has been played in all this. And maybe one day, I will draw from deep inside myself and forgive him. But that day isn’t here yet. Right now I can barely even bring myself to look at him.

“You want to *help* me?” I laugh then, the sound ringing hollowly in my ears. “I think *sir* that you’ve helped me enough. Now give me your keys.”

His eyes take on a peculiar sheen as they become moistened with unshed tears. But in his defence he is big enough not to allow them to spill over. And for that I silently thank him, because I know that I couldn’t bear to see him weep again. He’s shed enough tears to last him a lifetime. We all have. He doesn’t speak again. He simply reaches in to his jacket pocket and removes the keys, dropping them in to my outstretched hand without ever meeting my eyes. I, in turn, close my hand around them, feeling the jagged edges of metal digging in to my palm. I welcome the pain. It reminds me I am still alive.

“*Thank you*”

Without another word I spin around and head for the door, trying in vain to ignore the sound of Skinner’s harsh breathing as he tries in vain to hold on to his composure. He doesn’t follow me though. He wouldn’t dare.

My cel phone begins to trill even before I have completely exited the apartment. I hardly need to even answer it. I already know what the news will be. But, I go through the motions, depressing the send button as I continue along the corridor towards the elevator.

“Scully.”

“Dana honey…..it’s Mom. Where are you sweetie? I tried you at home but there was no answer….”

“It’s okay mom. I’m on my way back to the hospital now. Is there something wrong?”

I ask this redundant question out of a need to play by the rules. But as my mother’s joyful voice crackles across the airwaves I am filled with despair. It has invaded every corner of my being. All consuming in it’s ferocity as I close my eyes against her words. Knowing that the news she sends me is a cruel deception.

“Dana? Dana honey? Did you hear what I said?”

I snap back in to the here and now.

“Sorry mom, you broke up back then. Say again?”

She is laughing now.

“Oh Dana! It’s Fox…he’s awake….and he’s asking for you.”

“I’ll be right there mom.”

I look at the phone held in my hand, clenched tightly enough to whiten my knuckles as though it alone is to blame for all this, and suddenly, the fury builds in me. Boils up to the surface, refusing to be suppressed any longer.

There is a splintering crash as I hurl the phone against the door of one of Mulders neighbours. Small pieces of black plastic fly through the air as the phone disintegrates with the force of my anger. But it feels good. So damn good to destroy as we have been destroyed. I half expect someone to appear in the hallway in response to the sudden noise. But it remains empty. It’s the middle of the day after all. There is no reason for anyone to hear the effects of my fury. Nonetheless, I am conscious that to be confronted now would mean more delay. I can’t afford delays now.

Not now that Mulder is waiting for me. Not when I have no idea as to how long.

**********

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 12:56p.m.

I don’t know really how I managed to get here in one piece. I have no recollection whatsoever of the drive over here. Thankfully, some inane sense of preservation must have taken over, because I made the trip without mishap.

I am almost afraid to be here. To see Mulder, to share precious time with him, only to have him taken away from me again is almost impossible to bear. But I *am* here. I hear the sound of my footsteps reverberating around the corridor as I make my way to his room and they comfort me in some small way.

I have decided, subconsciously on the way over here, that I can’t tell him of what I have learned. To burden him with this is both unfair and essentially futile. Of course, there is a small voice inside of me that reminds me constantly that the real reason I refuse to share this with him is that I am afraid of what he will say. Deep down I know that he will choose the life of his child over his own. The choice, that for me seems an impossible one, will become starkly simplistic to him. To him there will be no choice to make. And I am afraid that he will persuade me. As he has persuaded me of so many things in the past.

I pause outside his door. Breathing deeply as I attempt to arrange my features in to an expression of calm serenity. Preparing myself to face him. To lie to him as we have been lied to so many times before. I hate myself for it. For what I am to keep from him.

But finally, I am able to push open the final barrier that separates us, stepping over the threshold until I am standing in the brightness of the room. Sunlight streams through the open blinds, glaringly bright. But I have no trouble seeing him. It takes the tinniest fraction of a second for our eyes to find each other, locking together with such intensity it takes my breath away. He looks so pale, so thin, so frail as he watches me from across the room. He is slightly raised on the bed. Not sitting up exactly, but not laid flat like he was earlier. It allows me to see his face. To evaluate what I see there and my eyes fill with tears as I see the wonder in his face.

My mother, who is currently keeping a vigil by his bedside, rises suddenly, bending slightly toward the man beside her as she touches his arm gently. She murmurs something to him that, from my position across the room I can’t make out. But Mulder tears his eyes from mine for just a fraction of a second to acknowledge her words before turning them back to me.

I feel my Mother’s hand on my shoulder as she squeezes gently on her way out. Leaving us alone to make this most precious of reunions with no distraction. No onlookers.

And then finally he speaks. His voice reaching me like a sweet summer breeze.

“Scully.”

Just hearing it, that same voice that has tortured me through long, lonely, desperate nights, allows me to finally move across to him. I am unaware of the journey. Unaware of anything until I feel his arms around me. Embracing me fiercely as he holds me against him as I half stand, half kneel beside the bed. We don’t speak. Not for the longest time. It’s enough for me to listen to the sound of his heartbeat against mine. To inhale the familiar scent of him that, despite his time here, the hospital has not managed to completely eradicate. Nothing exists for me now except him. I never fully realised how incomplete I was without him until he was taken from me. Never realised that without him by my side I am only half a person. A pathetic excuse for a Human being. And I shudder as the full weight of my choice hits me once again. It pierces my heart, invades my very core, because how can I choose? How can I live without him?

The thought is chased away for a minute as Mulder pushes me away from him, cupping my face tenderly in his two hands until our faces are level, inches apart. He slowly brings me back towards him and presses his lips to mine, hesitantly almost, then more urgent and I gasp as snakes out his tongue to trace a line across them. Opening my mouth to allow him access I relish the feel of him inside my mouth as we finally become one again.

It is so excruciatingly painful I could scream. To be allowed this one glimpse of what I have - of what could be between us, stops my very heart beating. I actually feel it cease in its steady rhythm, and I know Mulder feels it too, because he pulls his mouth from mine, kissing his way up my face before drawing me on to the bed beside him. I am turned slightly away from him, at an angle that now makes it impossible for him to see my face and for that I am thankful, because I feel his palm press against my belly as he feels his child within.

“I didn’t believe them Scully. I’m sorry. I should have believed.”

His voice is so full of childlike wonderment that I can’t hold on to the tears any longer, and I lace my fingers over his as he holds me against him. I feel his other hand reach up to cup my head, resting it against his shoulder as I curl myself in to him. he buries his face in my hair and I feel his breathe against me, warm and soft as he whispers soft words. Comforting words.

“Ssssshhhhh Scully. It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

His words though, instead of comforting me, only cause to intensify my pain. Because I know that nothing will ever be okay again. To hear his voice, to feel his touch against my skin is like torture. Because I know that whatever happens, we will never be the same again. How could we be?

So I don’t answer him. I simply bury my head further in to him, shaking it slightly as I do so.

“It’s all right Scully. It’s okay. There are other ways.”

My eyes fly open at his whispered assurance. Did I speak the words aloud? Did I allow myself to voice my fears despite my promises to myself? I already know the answer though. It goes against everything I believe in, but I realise suddenly that the words did indeed remain unspoken. I twist around to face him, drinking in the image of him before me, frowning as a tiny smile graces the edges of his beautiful mouth.

“There are other ways Scully.” He repeats as he brings my hand, still entwined with his, slowly upwards until it rests at the back of his neck.

My fingers come to rest on the tiny, ridge of puckered tissue. Just the tiniest bump beneath. I know what lurks beneath it. A chip. No doubt identical to my own. Controlling him. Controlling and cataloguing his every thought and feeling. His every action. Just as it controls mine.

A ticking time bomb that can never be diffused.

But what he is suggesting is unthinkable. To remove it would bring about a death sentence on him. A slow, lingering, painful death. I know. Oh yeah. I *know*.

I shake my head.

“Mulder no. We’ll find another way……”

He continues to smile even as he runs a finger down my cheek.

“Do you trust me Scully?”

I don’t answer him. I don’t need to. He already knows.

“Then you have to trust me on this. I’ve seen things. I understand now where I didn’t before….and whatever they say to you, whatever they try to do, you have to *trust* me……”

His eyes are beginning to droop slightly and my heart twists painfully as I realise that our time together is short. He realises it too I think, because his words become faster, laced with an urgency I recognise so well.

“You have to remove them Scully. You have to remove *both* of them………”

“But……”

“No. I know what you’re thinking. But you’re wrong. You can save us Scully….you can save all three of us.”

He presses his hand once more to my belly, and I feel my baby kick, as though he is responding to the feel of his father. An invisible connection already established. Flesh and blood. Mulders son.

He is becoming heavy in my arms, slipping towards sleep again, slipping away from me and I have to lean in close to catch his final words.

“Go to Skinner. He knows what to do……..trust him Scully. trust him as you trust me…….”

Tears slip down my cheeks as once more, he closes his eyes. They roll unchecked down my face, crossing to Mulders pale skin where they glisten softly in the light. He is heavy. So heavy and I am not sure for how much longer I can remain here, holding him in my arms. But before I lay him down I press my lips to his, feeling the cool softness of him as I murmur my assurance to him.

“I trust you Mulder. I’ll always trust you.”

Finally, I lay him against the pillow again. Allowing myself the luxury of watching him before I get shakily to my feet. I know what to do now. The choice has been made. Mulder has made my choice.

I only pray it is the *right* one.

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

FIVE

It’s all happened so quickly. Even I have been amazed by the speed in which Skinner has allowed things to happen.

I left Mulder at the hospital and sought him out. He was surprised to see me. I could see the relief shining in his eyes as I stepped over the threshold of his apartment, my shoulders set with a new kind of determination. Don’t get me wrong - I found it hard to trust him. The hardest thing I have ever had to do. But the choice was made for me. Mulder had, with just a few words, allied my fears and brought everything in to focus.

We didn’t speak of anything more than inconsequential things in his apartment. Skinner isn’t stupid. He knows all too well the lengths these men will go to gather their information and is all too aware that what we all once took for granted is now an impossible luxury. He has his apartment regularly swept for bugging devices. It has become as normal for him as taking out the trash and I know the last time he ordered the sweep, his apartment came up clear.

But how long does it take to plant a surveillance device? A minute? An hour? It’s a risk we weren’t prepared to take.

So we left. In the great tradition of a million bad cop shows we ‘took a walk’. I watched our breath combine in the freezing air as we planned. Or rather, I should say, Skinner furnished me with the details of *Mulders* plans.

He hardly paused as he told me of the measures he had taken to keep us safe, to keep *me* safe should anything ever happen to him. I was both touched and a little afraid by the amount of trust my partner had placed in this man, but as Skinner spelled it out to me I slowly began to draw closer to him once again. Past digression forgotten as he drew me down beside him on a bench when I began to tire of our constant motion.

Two years ago, Mulder had come to him. Had furnished him with the details of an elaborate plan that would thwart even the most determined efforts of the men who sought to destroy us. Did he know even back then their true purpose? Had he seen things I couldn’t imagine even in my worst nightmares? So many questions that pounded at my skull. Questions I couldn’t possibly hope to answer.

And I learned so much that day. Learned things about Mulder I had never suspected. Not even for a second could I imagine the secrets he stored away in his heart. Secrets designed to protect me. Sitting on the bench with Skinner I learned that Mulder is a wealthy man. Not simply comfortable enough to furnish his life with the material possessions of the rich. No. That day I learned that my partner of seven years - the man who lives his life in a shabby apartment, the man who occasionally aims a well placed kick in the general direction of a video recorder that is less than reliable - is wealthy enough to have put the wheels in motion that, should this day ever come, we could be taken care of.

A house in Canada. Set in acres of it’s own grounds. Far enough away from the scrutiny of nosey neighbours but close enough to major amenities to make our lives easier.

A bank account with enough resources to ensure that, should we choose, we will not have to work for a living for the rest of our lives.

To hear Skinner quietly spelling it out to me was overwhelming in itself. To know that Mulder has been secretly putting the wheels in motion to ensure our survival was enough to bring a lump to my throat. And overwhelming as it was, his next words had shaken me to the core.

New identities. New lives.

A *safe* life.

But the cost is enormous.

To leave all that which is most precious to us. To walk away never to return. Because I know we can never return. To do that would spell disaster. A year, five years, *decades* from now they would still be waiting for us. Waiting to claim our baby for their own.

But we would have each other. Together we could weather the heartache such action would bring. I know it. Mulder knew it. Even before we admitted our true feelings to each other he was astute enough to realise that our hearts and minds entwined a long time ago. Enough to know that we could do this.

So, just three short days ago, I allowed Skinner to bring Mulders plan to fruition. He refused to allow me to return to the hospital. Instead, he immediately rented a car and drove me to a small cabin in the Virginia countryside. He left me there, in front of a fire he insisted on lighting to keep me warm before turning on his heel and exiting this small, safe oasis in the middle of a forest. I sat, unmoving, watching the flames dance in the gloom of the winter evening, casting orange shadows on the rough log walls of the cabin. Occasionally I would lean forwards, just enough to add more fuel to the fire, to keep the fire bright. To warm my partner when Skinner finally brought him to me.

But I was scared. So scared. Because before he left he handed me a thick file of papers. The deeds to the house. The paperwork necessary for me to follow Mulders plans through. Everything I would need to simply take my baby and disappear. I knew his reasons even if he didn’t voice them to me. Simply, he gave me a salvation, somewhere to run to should he and Mulder not make it here. And despite the warmth of the fire I felt chilled at the prospect.

But my fears, this time at least had proved groundless. Because as the darkness had cloaked the tiny cabin my prayers had been answered.

Three dao which now seem like a lifetime.

Lost in thought, I stand, looking out in to the forest, watching the sunlight rays filtering through the trees. The sunshine though is an illusion, because last night the temperature dipped, the air cold enough to cause a thin sheet of ice to form across the cabin’s windows. I woke up this morning to a view of the surrounding area that was cloaked in a thick frost. So beautiful it took my breathe away and I was heartened that I could still appreciate the beauty around me in the face of so much heartbreak. I still am.

I tense suddenly as I feel a presence behind me. I wait for his touch. To feel his palm at the small of my back. I am not disappointed. I know him. I know his every action, his every thought. Not in a literal sense maybe, but more in the way we have come together again. And I know his next words before he even has time to utter them.

“It’s time to go Scully.”

I turn then to face him. Scrutinising him for signs of fatigue. For signs that his recovery is not as complete as I hope it is. But I see nothing there. My fears, so far are groundless. He has slept a lot these last few days. I have held him awkwardly in my arms and watched him sleep. The nightmares I have been afraid will invade his slumber have so far remained dormant. I pray that they always will.

He refuses to speak of his incarceration. Shaking his head slightly every time I attempt to question him. Maybe one day, far in to the future he will open up to me. But for now it doesn’t matter. Because he is here with me. Still too thin. Still a shadow of his former self. But everyday I see signs that he is becoming stronger. That he is recovering.

Twice a day I remove the small square of gauze that covers the fresh wound at the back of his neck. Scrupulously cleaning it to ward off the threat of infection. He is still so weak and infection would spell disaster for him. And when I am done, he returns the favour. Tentatively at first until I assured him that he wouldn’t hurt me. That he needed to cleanse a wound that is healing slowly.

I had managed to persuade Skinner to perform the removal of the chip from the back of my neck. But he had balked visibly at the prospect of stitching the edges together. But the wound isn’t deep. It will heal well I think.

He stands before me. Casually dressed in blue jeans and a thick chocolate coloured sweater. It’s a colour that brings out the richness of his deep hazel eyes. The sweater bulks him up and I can almost imagine him the way he was before all this. But he will heal. We both will. Already, some colour has returned to his pale skin. In just three short days Mulder has begun to come back to me.

He reaches out a hand and gently brushes a strand of my hair away from where it lays against my cheek and tucks it behind my ear. He doesn’t remove his hand though. He leaves it resting against my cheek and almost unconsciously I press my face against it. Revelling in the warmth. Revelling in the feel of him.

“Scully?”

“I know. I’m ready. I was just thinking.”

He nods then. He understands. He’s always understood. So he remains silent, drawing me to his side where he wraps an arm around my back and it comforts me in some small way. Gives me the strength to do what I am about to do.

Together we walk across the room, leaving the bedroom and crossing over in to the living room. She is waiting for us there and her face lights suddenly with a gentle smile at the sight of us. But beneath it I can see the tears, glittering in her fine blue eyes. Dangerously close to the surface as she prepares herself to say goodbye. To let go of her daughter this one final time.

But there is no accusation in those eyes. Just a deep abiding love that pierces my heart as she holds out her arms to me. And like a child I allow her to wrap me in her warm embrace, holding me tightly against her as she transfers a lifetime of love in to me. It’s not enough time. There’s not enough time to say to her all I need to say. I feel tears, hot on my cheeks as I remain there but as my shoulders begin to shake, she draws away slightly, bringing up her palms to rest at each side of my head.

“No Honey. No more tears.”

Even as she utters the words I hear her voice crack as she struggles to hold on to her composure. She swallows heavily as she smoothes her hands over and over against me, finally speaking once again, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Your Father would be so proud of you. *I’m* so proud of you Dana. Never forget that. *Ever*. Do you hear me?”

I nod shakily.

“I hear you Mom………”

My words are lost as once again I begin to sob. Huge wracking sobs that make me ache inside and just for a second she pulls me once again to rest in her arms.

“I love you so much my baby girl.”

The words are only for me. Murmured softly in my ear before she steps away finally, turning her attention to the man who stands behind me.

“Take care of her for me Fox.”

He doesn’t answer her. Instead, he steps towards her and embraces her briefly. I am surprised to see that his eyes are moist with unshed tears. But perhaps I shouldn’t be. He is saying his goodbyes to a woman who has been more of a mother to him than his own ever was.

His words are soft, but they reach me without difficulty.

“You know I will. Always.”

He releases his hold on her and she laughs. That peculiar sound that comes from people who are battling with both happiness and despair. The laughter simply a way to hold back the tears.

“Now go. The both of you before I change my mind………..”

But I can’t move. No matter how hard I try I just can’t make my feet co-operate.

“Mom………..”

Until I feel Mulders hand grasp my own. Lacing his fingers through mine he breaks the spell. So I simply nod as I allow him to turn us away from her. We don’t say goodbye. We agreed. No goodbyes. At least not spoken ones. To say goodbye would be to admit that this is forever. And through Mulder I’ve learned never to say forever.

And together we walk away. To where Skinner is waiting for us. Towards the future.

**********

Epilogue

As I stand on the balcony of this graceful house, watching Mulder as he plays with our son, I can barely believe how much time has passed.

Two years almost since we made our last desperate bid for freedom. For normality. It seems like only yesterday and it reminds me once again how rapidly time slips through our fingers.

Time has passed so quickly and together, we have watched our son grow from a tiny baby in to the sturdy toddler who squeals delightedly as he tries in vain to catch hold of the ball Mulder tosses gently to him in the golden light of late summer.

I remember the look on Mulders face as I finally pushed our son in to the world. The look of wonderment as he held him, a tiny, squalling bundle of fury in his arms that night so many months ago. There were no hospitals that night. We couldn’t take the risk, small as it was, that news of his birth would somehow reach across the miles and alert them to our presence here.

So instead, I gave birth here in this house, just five days after our arrival, aided by a kindly, shrewd looking doctor. A friend of the Gunmen, he asked no questions of us as he hovered in the background, giving me the encouragement I needed. Mulder had been assured of his silence and we had to believe that he was friend not foe. So difficult to trust anyone. It still is I suppose.

But our faith has been rewarded. So far, we have been able to live our lives here enjoying nothing more obtrusive than the occasional raccoon that snuffles its way through the garbage much to the amusement of our son who claps his hands with delight when confronted with one of these creatures.

We named him William after Mulders father. It took us almost a week to reach the decision. Around the same amount of time it took the Gunmen to put together a false record of his birth. Nothing about our lives now is true. Different names. Different birth dates. Our true identities have been erased so completely it is as though we never existed at all.

But here, we are still the people we once were. Here, in the safety of our own little fortress we can be ourselves.

The gunmen have been, and remain, our salvation. Our one connection with the past. Mulder insisted on it. He believed that to cut ourselves off completely would be as dangerous as remaining in plain sight. So, twice a week he sits down at the computer and sends correspondence across the miles. He has to trust that the precautions taken by the Gunmen are enough to keep us safe. A high tech, state of the art scrambler device is fitted to the terminal. It makes tracing the e-mail impossible. Because even the Gunmen are unaware of our exact location. It’s the only way to keep them safe.

I think we realised that fully for the first time only when, six months after our arrival here, we received word from Frohike that Skinner was dead. The victim of a random shooting as he shopped for groceries in a small store just a hundred yards or so from his apartment. A robbery that went tragically wrong. But we know better. We know that there was nothing random about it. Just as we know the reasons for his death. Mulder brought me the news as I was laying Will down for the night.

White faced and shaking, he had handed me the crumpled piece of paper that he held in his hand. I read the printed words and for the first time appreciated what this man had been prepared to sacrifice for us; His two renegade agents who he had held in a high enough regard to die for.

We cried that night. Bitter tears as we mourned the passing of a man who had saved us in so many ways. Comforting each other as we lay together, watching the first rays of dawn streak the night sky until finally, the hurt had lessened and we were able to carry on. For the sake of our son we carried on.

It hadn’t taken us long to realise just how enormous the stakes had become. Mere weeks passed until we realised the true extent of what our son is. Of what he can be.

It started slowly at first. And for a long time I refused to believe that this tiny baby, who could gaze up at me with his china blue eyes that seemed to delve in to my very soul, might one day be the salvation of all mankind. There is no doubt though that he is special. This rough and tumble little boy who can chase away my tears with a smile can also reach out a pudgy hand to an injured bird and then watch with wonder as it rises once more in to the blue sky. The little boy whose brow creased with concentration only days ago as Mulder came in to the house, his face pinched with pain as he held a broken wrist against his chest, the result of an altercation with the barn door that had slammed shut when a sudden gust of wind caught it.

I didn’t need an x-ray to tell me that the bones were out of alignment. The ugly swelling that marred its smooth shape was evidence enough. Will had been playing quietly on the floor when his father walked in. But immediately, he had pushed himself to his feet and toddled over to where Mulder stood, reaching out his arms to him until Mulder locked eyes with me and hunkered down on his haunches until he was level with his son. And I watched in wonder as Will placed his baby hands over the ugly mottled flesh, heard the click as Mulders bones knitted back together. It was perhaps the first time that we fully realised what our son can do.

He was absurdly pleased with himself and waited expectantly for Mulder to acknowledge him. In response, Mulder had picked him up and covered him with kisses until his son squirmed in delight.

But later, when Will was sleeping I had felt a dread creep up on me that blotted out everything else. A dread born out of a love for my son that is so intense it is blinding. Because I know now why they want him. Why he is so precious to them. Mulder felt it too. Because despite the fact that I tried hard to hide my fear he immediately recognised it, wrapping me in his strong arms. Whispering assurances to me as together, we watched our son sleep. He kissed away my nightmares in much the same way I have occasionally kissed away his.

He still hasn’t ever spoken of what they did to him during the months he was missing. I think the memory is just too painful for him to share it with me. Wanting to protect me even now from my own demons. Part of me yearns for him to open up to me while at the same time a part of me is grateful he doesn’t.

I love him so much now you see and I’m not sure I could ever really recover if I learned how they had hurt him. It would crack a piece of my heart to hear him speak of the suffering I am sure he must have endured at their hands. But the only evidence is the occasional bad dream that surfaces in the dead of the night. When he awakens, shaking and sobbing until I reach out for him and soothe him back to sleep. He remembers nothing of the nightmares when he awakens the next day. Or at least, if he does he chooses not to mention them again.

The nightmares though are lessening. For both of us. My dreams, that were once haunted by the sight of Mulder, laying in a hospital bed. Pale, thin, hollow eyed as I was forced to watch him die a slow, painful death, are now blissfully trouble free.

I understand now why he was so insistent about the removal of the chips. Knowing in some unfathomable way that the consequences I feared would result from such an action would never come to anything more than a handful of frightening nightmares.

Because not since William was born have Mulder or I suffered from so much as a cold.

I don’t pretend to understand it. But I accept without question that our son holds a power within him to keep us safe.

I don’t know what the future holds for any of us. I have learned to take things one step at a time. Tiny steps forward to what we both hope will one day be a normal life. But it has been hard. So hard to leave those we loved behind. But I recognise that to keep them safe, sacrifices had to be made by all of us.

The gunmen have somehow managed to find a way to keep my mother in touch with our lives. I receive regular messages from her, that in the beginning would bring tears of yearning to my eyes. Mulder would watch me from across the room as I tried unsuccessfully to keep my anguish from him.

But he knew.

He always knows.

And then came a day, not so long ago, when Mulder insisted we took a drive. He refused to give me any information as we wended our way along roads lined with pine trees. Laughing at me as I became more and more frustrated by his apparent secrecy. Until, finally, he came to a halt in front of a small rustic cabin. Much like the one we had fled on that frosty day almost two years before. He had smiled softly at me as I had silently questioned him, taking Will from my arms before guiding me into the cabin where my mother was waiting for me.

The risks such a reunion might have brokered melted away as I threw myself in to her waiting arms and cried tears of pure joy. We stayed together for just three short days. But it was enough. Enough time for me to say all the things to her I wanted to say. Enough time for her to get to know her grandson. But much more than that, she finally got to know Mulder in the way I had always hoped. No government conspiracies, no tragedies. Just the three of us sharing time and space as we finally put our demons to rest.

The sun is warm on my back as I stand here thinking. Watching the man I love with his son. Marvelling at the bond they share. And not a day goes by that I don’t thank God for bringing them both together. To have to live without either one of them is an impossibility now and I will never forget the choice I was almost forced to make. Nor the choices I *did* make.

But I have learned now that no choice is an impossible one. That our lives are made up of different roads. Some easy, some hard, but none are impossible. We travel the road until the day we die. Making choices every second, every minute that we live on this earth, always in the hope that we will somehow make it through and out the other side.

I smile as William runs ahead of Mulder, climbing up the stone steps that lead to the balcony until he is able to straighten up and toddle across to me expecting to be picked up. Right behind him Mulder follows. Shaking his head in amusement as he scoops up his son in strong, tanned arms. I’ve never seen him happier or healthier than he is right now. He glows with a vibrancy that takes my breath away. The lines have all but disappeared from his face. He has filled out again. Well muscled from hours spent in the small, purpose built gym attached to the side of this rambling house he makes my heart contract painfully every time I look at him. His hair is still tinged with grey. But it has slowly been replaced with his original deep brown colour. Until, now, all that remains is a faint sprinkling. As though he has dipped the strands in white paint. The next time he gets a haircut, they will disappear forever.

Oh yes. Here in this idyllic piece of paradise we have healed. We have healed in ways I couldn’t even have begun to imagine during those frightening years when our very existence was, in itself difficult to hold on to. He drops a kiss on to the crown of my head and pulls me towards him. Still cradling Will against him as he lets his free hand come to rest on the gentle swell of my stomach, feeling the new life within flutter against his palm.

A baby girl this time. I am sure of it. Although I couldn’t explain how I know if I was questioned on the fact. A baby girl with deep blue eyes and a shock of blonde hair that will slowly turn darker with the passing of each year. I know this already. I know it because I met her once. For the just the blink of an eye I was allowed to hold her in my arms as she slowly slipped away from me.

But this time will be different. The final healing act that will allow me to finally move on. To allow us all to move on.

The future is still uncertain. There will be more choices to make. Some hard. Some easy. But no *impossible* ones. Not anymore. Because we have, in some unfathomable way, fought the future and won.

End

#impossible choices au my fic they deserved happiness x files msr

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