#like i NEED a haircut its at that length where it just gets everywhere im tired of it

[andyridgeley]

getting a haircut in like a week and have no idea what to do but it'll take off my highlights 😔

[metalbuckaroo]

Hey, lovely! For your sleepover. How about...

“I desperately want to take you out for dinner and slow dance with you until the sun comes up, but I also want to grip your hair as I watch you writhing underneath me.”

Please feel free to ignore if you received this. 💖

Checking In

Summary// A hotel getaway with Bucky's favorite receptionist

Warnings// Lil angsty, some fluff, some smut, cursing, tiny mention of drinking, 18 plus only, minors dni

Note// I kinda love this request. I didn't use the quote, but its based off of the quote, this also got LONG and took sooo long.

My new masterlist and taglist will hopefully be done tomorrow night.

Im really hoping it doesn't flop bc I'm lowkey proud of it and also spent a lot of time on it

MASTERLIST

Moodboard by @commonintrest

This was the slowest Bucky had went with someone in a very long time. Three dates in and he hadn't even had the chance to see you naked. It was driving him crazy to say the least.

Anyone else wouldn't have gotten a call back, but for you; it made him want it even more. So, he came up with an idea to take that extra step.

Walking into the hotel you worked at, he gave a nod to the security guard and flashed you a charming smile; his hair much shorter than when you saw him last. "Like the haircut." You said, turning in the chair to look at him. "Feels more... professional."

"Checking in again?" You asked, leaning your chin on the base of your palm, reaching your other hand to card your fingers through the short hair.

Bucky shook his head and leaned his forearms on the desktop. "No. We are checking in somewhere else. Tonight, when you're off."

His eyes trailed down to the top of your blouse, looking at the few buttons that where open. "Buck, I'm not staying in a hotel with you." You smiled, shaking your head. "Come on, I'll sleep on the couch if you're too uncomfortable." He smirked.

You thought it over for a moment before sighing and nodding your head. "Yeah, ok." You agreed, letting him pull you in for a brief kiss by the back of your neck. "Fantastic. I'll be here at five to get you."

"I'll have to go get cl-" Bucky shook his head at you. "Won't need 'em." He said, turning to walk out. "Bucky, don't you dare."

"See ya tonight, pretty girl."

As promised, five o'clock hit and Bucky was pulling in front of the doors in his sleek black car; quickly getting out.

His usual suit was traded in for a more casual button up tee and dark jeans, the prosthetic that matched the shape of his right arm perfectly on display.

He rounded the desk and picked up your bag. "You can't be back here." You teased, making him roll his eyes. "Come along, babydoll. We have plans." He said, hand between your shoulder blades to guide you with him.

Bucky's plan would surely get that extra step at least jumpstarted. The heated make out sessions in his car when he dropped you off were starting to get to him.

He refused to call anyone else to handle the tightening of his jeans, the wait made him yearn for you even more.

So, he patiently waited as you changed into the lavender sundress he'd sent for, listened and talked over dinner on the patio of the motel, and just basked in your enjoyable presence.

"Dance with me." You said, hand laying on his bicep. He chuckled lightly and shook his head. "I don't dance, sugar."

You raised your eyebrows and cocked your head to the side, fingers tracing down the vein that ran the length of his arm and to his hand. "Well, you're going to, or you'll be sleeping in that room alone." You laced your fingers in his and he looked at you with an amused expression. "Oh, really now?"

"Mhm, c'mon. It's a slow one, so you won't embarass yourself." You teased, feeling his hands on your hips as soon as you turned your back to him. "I never said I couldn't dance. Just that I don't, babydoll." His gruff voice said in your ear, moving to stand in front of you once in the midst of the other couples enjoying their night.

"Couldn't say no to you if I tried anyways." He said softly as your hands rested on the back of his neck, his on the dip of your waist.

The Bucky who took you on dates was different than the Bucky who strolled in your lobby at least once every two weeks. He wasn't glowering when he looked at you; instead he had a smile that made the corner of his eyes crinkle and your heart flutter.

He hadn't smiled so hard and so much in years. He was addicted. To your voice, fiery attitude, and gleaming smile; and he couldn't even imagine how much more he'd crave once he finally got a taste of you.

"Gonna let me sleep in the bed, pretty girl?" He cooed, hands roaming over the swell of your ass. "Of course, Mr Barnes." You grinned, pecking a kiss to his dimpled chin. "Could dance with you all night if you wanted me to." He said, squeezing gently. "I wouldn't complain."

His lips slotted over yours, your eyes fluttering shut at the softness of them.

He suddenly lifted his head, bottom lip brushing the tip of your nose as you opened your eyes again.

Bucky's cold demeanor he usually had while walking through the lobby of the hotel returned, smile fading into a deep scowl as he looked at something behind you.

"Is something wrong?" You asked, worry lacing your voice as you cupped his stubbled jaw in your hands, feeling the muscle of it flex. "Just stay close." He murmured, pulling you closer to his front.

You furrowed your eyebrows at him, lips parting to say something, but the stern look in his eyes stopping you as they stayed glued on whatever was behind you.

"Barnes, didn't expect to see you here- like this." A voice that was slightly higher in pitch than Bucky's sounded from behind you.

Bucky tucked you into his side, hand on the small of your back as he stared at the shorter man. "Just enjoying my night. That a problem?"

You swallowed thickly and gripped onto the back of Bucky's shirt, crumbling the perfectly ironed fabric in your fist as your heart pounded. "Needa talk." The man said.

Bucky's eyes flicked to a group of men sitting at the corner of the patio before looking back to the man in from of him. "Go sit down. Order us some more drinks." Bucky said sternly. "Bucky-"

He finally looked down at you with an icy stare, making you shrink back slightly. "Now isn't the time to argue with me. Go sit down." The tone of his voice was one you hadn't heard before.

You nodded and turned to walk back to the table, picking at your nails as you took your seat again.

Looking to where Bucky was sat at the table with the group, you chewed your bottom lip. You knew what you were getting into when accepting that first date, you just didn't think it'd follow you everywhere.

He tried to stay patient, he was in rival territory and knew it was a terrible idea; but this was one of the nice hotels and he wanted the weekend spent right. Keeping his cool was the only way he was going to be able to do that.

He was barely even listening to half of what the men were saying, glancing over at your nervous posture as you picked the nails he had just paid to get manicured; even though you protested against taking his money.

Until one statement had his head snapping back towards one of them. "The girl seems... sweet. Make you happy?" It wasn't meant in a way a friend would ask when checking up on another friend. Bucky felt it burn through him like a threat.

"Yeah, well, she's got a mouth on her and I'm losing my patience. So, you men have a good night, you owe my girl an apology for ruining her night." He stood, teeth gritting together.

You noticed Bucky's tense stance and straightened in your seat as he got closer. "Rude bastards." Bucky grumbled, taking your hand in his and tugging for you to stand. "What did they want?"

Bucky thought about lying, but he promised you he wouldn't. "Talk business. Can't believe they'd interrupt me over stupid bullshit." He sneered, pulling you along with him back into the hotel. "Where are we going? They're going to bill you for those drinks." You huffed, picking up your pace to walk next to him. "Don't care."

By the time the two of you reached the door to your room, Bucky had you pressed against it; fumbling to swipe the key card as his lips attacked yours.

Your hands fisted into the front of his shirt to keep your balance as shoes were kicked off, Bucky backing you towards the bed with his large hands holding the sides of your face.

You fell back onto the bed when the backs of your knees met the edge of the mattress, taking him with you; Bucky's body parting your legs.

The kiss was hungry and desperate, sharing breaths as his hands gripped at your outer thighs and pawed their way under the skirt of your dress.

You pulled away from the kiss, breathless as he dipped his head to latch his lips on the underside of your jaw. "Bucky, wait-" You panted, pressing his shoulders lightly. "What?" He breathed, stopping all movements as he looked at you; eyes dark and lips kiss swollen. "I-"

"You're a virgin. We can wait, if so." He cut you off, face dropping slightly. "No, no. It's not that. I just haven't had sex in awhile." You said, gnawing at your tongue. "Want me to go slower?"

"I just don't want to take things too fast." You whispered, tracing the collar of his shirt with your fingertips.

Bucky took a deep inhale, warm hand moving to hold your chin. "Babygirl, listen. I'm not going to kick you out of my bed when we're done. You got me attached with this damn chase you gave me. Wanna take care of you. Okay?"

You nodded and pulled him back down to you, his tongue slipping between your lips as his fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt.

Gently pushing them away, you replaced his hands with yours to pop the buttons open as his tongue glided across every inch of your mouth he could reach.

You lifted your back off of the mattress for his hand to feel for the zipper of your dress, grazing your fingers down the tensing muscles of his chest and abdomen; stopping at the button of his jeans.

"Don't get shy now, take 'em off." Bucky mumbled against your lips, sliding the straps of your dress off of your shoulders.

The wetness between your legs grew as your tugged at his belt, whimpering into his mouth when he pressed his hips against you to show how hard he was.

Pulling away, Bucky sat up to tug your dress down your torso and legs; eyes drinking in the beautiful sight in front of him as he shoved his jeans off and palmed himself through his boxers.

"Take the shirt off." You panted, backing up the bed. A smirk grew on his face, metal thumb sliding back and forth in the waistband of his boxers as he looked at your glistening folds. "Ask nicely and I just might." He taunted. "Please."

You watched the way his muscles flexed with each movement, the shirt sliding off of his arms and to the floor; revealing the mess of scars Bucky hoped you'd ignore and a large tattoo on his ribcage.

Next were his boxer briefs, pooling at his feet as his cock twitched in the air; swollen tip red and leaking precum. "You're staring, babydoll." He said, voice low as he moved his body back over yours.

"Can't help it." You swallowed, the weight of his cock against your thigh as you felt the firmness of his back. His hand slipped between your bodies to guide himself to your heat, spreading your slick with his tip.

"So wet, barely even touched you yet." You whined at his words and gripped his shoulders. "Buck, please. Stop the teasing."

The smirk on his face grew before he brushed his lips against yours. "Hm, I don't know. Kept me waitin' so long, might just tease you a little more." He hummed. You bucked your hips against him, his tip barely pressing into you. "Fuck..." Bucky said in a low groan, a shudder passing through his body.

He made sure you felt every ridge and vein, pulling breathy sounds from you when he pushed deeper. Your walls so tight and warm around him, he already had to hold off his release.

"Look at me, sweet girl." He breathed, nipping at your bottom lip and rolling his hips into yours.

When you opened your eyes, the adoring look in Bucky's made your breath hitch. Hands wedging under your back as he sat up, holding you to him so you were sitting on his thick thighs.

"So beautiful." He groaned as his hands glided over the curve of your back to your ass, metal and flesh fingers digging into the skin.

Guiding your hips in a faster pace, he could feel you clenching around him, swallowing the blissed out sounds you made with a breath taking kiss as his grip on you tightened.

The soft ow that passed your lips made Bucky loosen his grip and move you in a slower pace. "Need me to slow down?" He panted, pulling away from you slightly.

You frantically shook your head, hands clinging to his shoulders; needing to feel his skin against yours. "No-no. Don't stop, please, keep going." You whined, bucking your hips along with him.

In a swift movement, your back was pressed back into the mattress. Your fingers laced with Bucky's as he pinned your hands at the sides of your head, his hips meeting yours in a faster, rougher pace that knocked the breath from your lungs and made your head spin; his cock sliding against every sweet spot, some that you didn't even know existed.

Salacious sounds from both of you echoed around the room, your eyes fluttering shut again and body arching into him so your front was flush to his as the coil snapped.

"There you go, baby. Feel so good, so worth the wait." Bucky moaned out, chasing his own release with shorter thrusts.

A whimper of his name falling from your sweet lips sent him over the edge, his hips flush to yours as he spilled into you with a guttural moan.

He slowly rocked his hips into yours, riding the blissful feeling for all that it was as he looked over your blissed out face.

It was the moment your eyes peaked out, staring back into his lust darkened ones that Bucky knew. You were the one thing he needed to protect. To hold close and never let go.

A tender kiss was placed on your lips, a satisfied hum leaving Bucky as he slipped from between your legs to lay beside you.

You slowly moved off of the bed to grab a shirt and go to clean up, legs feeling wobbly with each step to and from the bathroom.

Bucky sat on the edge of the bed when you walked back into the adjoined room, legs still a little jelly feeling as you made you way back to him.

He laughed, an actual belly laugh that made your heart swell as he pulled you between his parted thighs. "I have some... unexpected business to take care of in the morning."

You nodded lightly and sat your hands on his shoulders. "I want you to stay in this room and keep the door locked. When I come back, we'll do something." He promised, gently massaging your sides. "Something, huh?"

A squeak escaped your throat when you were pinned back underneath Bucky, his hips pressing into you. "Oh, don't you get me started. I'll keep you up all night."

[kingofhearts709]

Prompt: bill and ted give each other haircuts

hello yes im sorry this is late but this is adorable and im happy to write this excellent prompt ❤️

A/N: SO! this came out SO MUCH LONGER than i expected. like i was just gonna cute-drabble it but then my brain was like "NO PERFECT CONCEPT MUST EAT IT." snd I'm very happy to have written it all. im setting this at like pre-excellent adventure.

anyways i hope you have a lovely day and to please enjoy this little thing 💓"

---

Ted blew his bangs out of his face for the fifth time since he'd sat down on Bill's bed, trying to focus on his comic and finding the ultimate difficulty in reading between the long strands. His hair almost reached past his shoulders, and Missy's abandoned scrunchies were starting to look most intriguing.

Bill was no better. Every time he ran his fingers through his hair, they wound up tangled. There was no way he'd be able to handle brushing it every single morning, but the habit of messing with his hair was too ingrained.

"Dude, we need haircuts," Bill grumbled as his forefinger caught on a twisty piece of fringe. "I'm gonna look like a seventies disco dude." Ted snickered at that, and Bill thwacked his chest lightly. "Shut up, Ted, I'm serious."

"Well, my dad won't even pay for a good haircut," Ted huffed, dropping his comic book and blowing his bangs away once more. "If he did, it'd be a buzz." He paused for a moment before suggesting, "You don't suppose Missy could cut our hair?" Bill let out a laugh.

"I would be most doubtful of her skills."

"Okay, well... How much do haircuts cost?"

"More than we can afford." Ted frowned and looked down. "My dad would probably just tell me to cut my hair myself if I asked." It went silent for a moment before a lightbulb lit up in Ted's brain, and he bounced on the bed with enthusiasm.

"...Well, why don't we?"

"Why don't we what, dude?"

"Cut our own hair!"

The idea thrown out to the wind sounded more than insane. Neither of them knew the first thing about cutting each other's hair, let alone their own.

But the thing about Bill and Ted was that, as long as they did it together, it was more than enough reason to say why not?

"Ted, my friend, your idea is definitely most forward-thinking!" Bill complimented, jumping up. "We both know what each other's hair looks like, so we'll totally be able to replicate it!"

The wide grin on Ted's face was enough to break it, jumping up with Bill and looking around.

"I'll go get hair stuff," Bill said as he rushed towards the door. "You get a chair set up." Ted nodded as Bill bolted from the room, going to the corner to grab an old twisty chair that they never used. It still twisted, and was just about the right height for cutting hair, it seemed.

Ted was testing the chair by spinning in fast circles when Bill came back in with a pair of kitchen scissors and two huge towels. He swayed a little as he regained his normal vision from spinning, seeing that Bill was also carrying a spray bottle filled with water, a brush and comb, and a tube of hair product.

"I grabbed some other stuff from Missy's counter, too," Bill said as he dropped it all down on the bed. He picked up the tube and read it, "Something called...'Gar-near Fruck-tiss.' The instructions say it makes your hair smooth." Ted gave an intrigued head tilt before giving a nod and a smile.

"Well, dude, smooth me!" Ted joked, and Bill gave him a look before they found themselves air-guitaring.

Bill wrapped one of the towels around Ted's neck and shoulders, making sure he pulled his hair out from underneath. Bill leant down to assess it, squinting to see if it would help him decide on a course of correct action.

"How short should I cut it, dude?" Bill finally asked. Ted brought up a hand and hovered it palm down before holding it right where his chin ended as reference, and Bill nodded, picking up the spray bottle and spraying Ted's entire head all over until his hair went damp through.

"Bill, you are most concentrated," Ted hummed as Bill ran the comb through his hair to measure it down. It was already frayed from whenever his last haircut had been, it seemed. "Do you actually know what you're doing?"

"Uh...," Bill hummed, shrugging. "I used to watch my mom get her hair cut before when I was a little kid, I guess. They always wet your hair and then do this trippy snippy thing."

Ted snorted as Bill snipped the scissors a couple of times in the air before diving into Ted's hair, holding the length to cut off between his fingers and slowly scissoring away.

It was quiet while Bill worked on his hair, Ted doing his best to keep still, even if he really wanted to turn his head and see exactly what was happening. The only sounds filling the room were Bill walking around him and the snip of the scissors.

As soon as Bill cut off the last edge of Ted's hair, he stepped back and studied his work, furrowing his brows before grinning.

"Dude, I totally nailed you!" he exclaimed, and the redness to Ted's cheeks caused him to add on, "Uh- Your hair, I mean. It looks most bodacious." Ted looked around the room frantically for any reflection, and jumped when Bill held up a mirror in front of his face.

Bill really had done an excellent job. His hair was back to its regular length, hanging right around his chin. His bangs were still a problem, though, and he looked over at Bill and gestured to them.

"Oh, dude, yeah," Bill huffed as he dropped the mirror back where he'd grabbed it and picked up the scissors again. "Sorry, Ted, I forgot your main problem is your egregiously long bangs."

"They're like curtains for my face, duder," Ted hummed as Bill began to separate the bangs from the rest of his hair. He cursed when he grabbed too much of Ted's already-trimmed sections before Ted spoke up, "Oh, dude, grab one of Missy's scrunchies!" Bill raised a brow before following Ted's gaze to the bedside table, where about four of Missy's scrunchies were sitting. How they got there, Bill personally didn't want to think about it. Regardless, he went over to grab one and handed it over to Ted so he could pull his hair back and let Bill have full reign on his bangs.

"Where do they usually end?" he asked as he eyeballed possible measurements with his fingers. His face wasn't unreasonably close to Ted's, considering the circumstances, but it still made Ted nervous.

"Just, like, enough so I can see okay, I guess," Ted said, and Bill nodded as he took the comb and brushed his bangs even before sticking the handle in between his teeth and bringing the scissors up.

At this angle, Ted could see Bill's entire process as he watched his hair being snipped off. The way his face was scrunched in concentration, his gentle movements to make sure he wasn't tugging Ted's head any direction.

He didn't realise Bill was finished until he saw his reflection in the mirror when it was held up.

He looked good, if not better than before, with Bill's handiwork.

"How'd I do, dude?" Bill asked, and Ted reached up to touch his already drying hair. "Want me to put the Fruck-tiss in it?"

"Uh- Yeah, dude, sure." Ted looked over to see Bill grabbing the tube and opening it up, squirting a generous amount into his palm. "Do I have to wash it out?"

"Uh...," Bill turned the tube in his hand and scrunched his nose, shaking his head. "It says to leave in for fifteen minutes and your hair will be, 'smooth and sleek.'" He looked up. "Ready?"

"Yeah, Bill."

After a moment, Ted felt Bill's hands and fingers running right through his hair, keeping away from his scalp as per the instructions on the tube. It was smooth and gentle and overall intimate the way Bill paid careful attention to Ted's hair, running his fingers through. He might've put too much product in, but they could always wash it out if needed.

"Alright!" Bill said when the product was more or less incorporated. "You have been fully transformed into your most authentic self, my friend!"

"Dude, excellent!" Ted said as Bill took the towel off of him, trying not to get the hair everywhere (it already was, but that was beside the point). "My turn, Bill!" Ted stood up and took an exaggerated bow towards the twisty chair, gesturing for Bill to take a seat. Bill bowed back before dropping down and smiling.

Ted mimicked his actions from earlier, draping the towel around his neck and grabbing the spray bottle. However, Bill's hair was curly and almost like a jewfro, and he briefly wondered how he was going to cut it down.

"Dude, I don't think water is going to help," Ted said as he looked around at Bill's head. "You do have one stellar mullet now, but the rest is growing up." Hesitantly, he ran his fingers gently through Bill's curly hair, feeling just how insanely tangled it was. Bill briefly shivered at the motion, telling himself internally to just relax.

He'd already cut Ted's hair, so he should know what to expect, but still, the shock of actually feeling Ted's hands and fingers gave him the most unusual of feelings in his chest. He wasn't necessarily sure if they were nerves or emotions, but either way, it sent a shiver down his spine every time Ted's skin connected to him.

Bill bit the inside of his cheek as Ted stuck his tongue out and tested a single lock of hair, snipping off the end before grinning, nodding as he started to continue.

"Dude, it's like trimming a bush!" he laughed as he went all around, mimicking Bill once more by holding each lock between his fingers. Bill's blond hair fell and separated with each snip that the scissors gave. Ted's movements were slow and calculated, his genuine care for making sure he cut Bill's hair in the most correct way making Bill feel a little more than special.

It took Ted longer than it took Bill to finish up, giving a lock one last cut before jumping back and grinning as he crossed his arms.

"Dude, how is it?" Bill asked, gesturing. "Gimme that mirror!" Ted straightened up as he remembered, turning in a couple of circles before picking it up off the the bed and holding it up.

Ted hadn't done a terrible job, he had to admit. He turned his head back and forth, his smile growing as he saw Ted show up behind him in the reflection. He took a hand and ran it through his hair front to back.

It took Bill a second before he concluded that Ted forgot to cut off his mullet, and he grinned with a scoff.

"Dude, you totally missed the back," Bill said, his hand flipping the hair in Ted's view. Ted frowned as he stood up straight and tilted his head.

"Did I, dude?" he raised his eyebrows, reaching down to move Bill's away and examine it. "Bill, if I might be totally honest, you have always had this mullet, though I will admit it's much longer than normal..."

"No way, dude," Bill rolled his eyes in response. "Gimme those scissors." He reached back to grab the utensil from Bill's hand, a most dangerous risk. Ted, however, held back the pair with a grin.

"Dude, you'll be a total mullet-head!" Ted laughed as he turned and jumped up on the bed, knocking a couple of the items onto the floor. Bill spun around in his seat and looked at the scissors clasped wrong-way-up in Ted's fist.

Bill eyed him for a long moment before bolting up from the chair in a lunge, a total disregard for all those 'safety with scissors' rules from grade school. Ted leaped off the bed for the corner, Bill chasing him there. They could only run around in the small confines of Bill's room, so there weren't many places for Ted to go, nor space to make between himself and Bill.

It became apparent when Ted got onto the bed again and Bill fully tackled him so he had him trapped underneath.

Ted was still laughing even when Bill had him pinned by the wrists and was currently looking down on him with the most fondest of looks, a huge smile gracing his entire face.

"Dude," Ted said through chuckles as he flipped his newly cut bangs away from his eyes, "you look definitively bodacious with your mullet. I think you should keep it." Bill tilted his head.

"Ted, my friend, there is nothing in your head that could ever convince me." Ted let out a laugh before he looked at it over Bill's shoulder, comtemplating.

"I like it on you, dude."

It didn't take long for Bill's brain to immediately agree with that statement.

"You think so, dude?" Bill found himself asking, and Ted looked back to Bill's face, smiling with a nod.

"Most triumphantly." The words put a smile on his own lips, and the warm, butterfly-feeling in his chest was new but most definitely welcome as he squeezed Ted's wrists.

"Well, then, Ted, my most excellent and esteemed partner, I suppose I must keep it just for you."

[flowerbeom]

Double Pepperoni | LJB

Part of The Pleasure Chest | A GOT7 Cringe Collaboration

Lim Jaebeom x Female!Reader Genre: College AU, Crackhead Comedy Smut Rating: Mature. So very mature. Warnings: Bad puns, Swearing & Explicit smut scenes. Word Count: 4k

Concept:  to: cassandra.l@unisk.edu.com hey cass, its me. your best friend. or what’s left of her. remember that kinda hot but kinda gross pizza delivery guy? the one with the nose ring and always smelt of cheetos? yeh, he’s looking less gross these days. what?! don’t judge me. desperate times call for desperate measures. it has been 154 days since i’ve had sex. shit’s dire here man.

A/N: If you lean into how bad this is purposefully meant to be, you’ll really enjoy it. 

All GIF credits for this series go to @defsenses.

Day 97 

📧 to: cassandra.l@unisk.edu.com hey cass!  yes my phone is still broken, and i have no idea when im going to get a new one cause im broke from visiting you in another goddamn country - so just suck it up and reply to my emails like the good best friend you are.  fuck i miss you already! why the hell did you have to be smart and shit and get into that international program and go to college in Seoul of all places!  do you know how far away that is?! 16 hours cassandra! 16 fucking hours on a plane with no leg room, subpar food and a middle aged balding man snoring next to you the entire time so you get no sleep on a 16 hour flight AWAY FROM YOUR BEST FRIEND.  it was really good to see you though, can you thank mrs kim again for me - you really struck gold with that housing sitch you got - especially your roommate! that fine ass college freshman you DID NOT allow me to fuck!  yeh yeh whatever, i get it - how the hell are you meant to look mrs kim in the eye again when your childhood best friend who you talked up to be an angel fucked her only son on the fold out couch. yes i get it, stop rolling your eyes at me.  either way, its still the dry season down here. miss you, love you. bye. 

It’s funny how jet lag after coming home from a holiday feels almost identical to a hangover; it’s a painful reminder that something that was quite enjoyable is over. The headache feels almost the same, along with the cotton mouth, hunger, dehydration and utter disappointment and resentful emptiness that the fun you were having is completely done - but only one makes you hurl your guts out at the smell of orange juice. Condolences to those who are unlucky enough to hurl in both instances. 

Either way, that’s where you found yourself - Thursday night, half unpacked suitcase lay in the middle of your living room, eyes bloodshot and staring blankly at the television; an all consuming headache pounding between your temples. Lucky for you, you knew a sure fire way to get rid of it without painkillers. Insert Mr. Pene Falso. No literally, insert it. You didn’t call your vibrator Fake Penis in Spanish not to insert it. And in case anyone hasn’t caught on yet, an orgasm legitimately helps get rid of a headache. Try it next time. 

As ever, positioning is important - preparation is key. Sweatpants pushed down to your ankles, one leg completely fished out. Sideways lean, cushion under one elbow, completely bare leg propped up onto the couch; allow for maximum spread when those pre-orgasm hip rolls start. Set Mr. Pene Falso on one, there is no need to go hard straight away - ease into the session, let the endorphins build. You have been deprived of a real penis for a while, so you know you’re eager; but a little self control will yield the most delicious of results. 

You will run the long race to Destination Stimulation and you will bite that bottom lip as your eyes roll back into their sockets as your long awaited, slow built, easy increase of settings on Mr. Pene Falso brings home the most delectable of orgams. It will not be a dry night, no sir. So lower that beautiful vibrating, bright pink silicone wand onto your clit-- 

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK 

Who the fuck..? Your eyes snapped to the front door, your hand clenched around your vibrator just millimetres away from your clit. A small loosening of your grip dropped the angle and the tip of your vibrator dipped against your clit, sending shockwaves through your body. A gravely moan escaped you; your focus immediately brought back to the task at hand. Literally. 

Ignore it, it’s probably no one important. That’s what you told yourself, shaking your head and leaning back against the couch once again. You licked your bottom lip at the enticing notion of self-induced euphoria. Spreading your legs further than before, you corrected your grip and pushed Mr. Pene Falso into you. Your head dropped back involuntarily, your teeth marked your bottom lip and those pre-orgasm hip rolls started slowly. It felt devine, finally some release; a little bit of pleasu--

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK 

“Who the fuck?!” 

“Pal’s Pizza!” 

Tossing Mr. Pene Falso aside, you yanked on your sweatpants, wiped the one bead of sweat off your brow and stampeded to your door. 

“You got the wrong house, buddy!” Ripping it open, your rage was greeted with a face you had not seen in a long time. Your eyes blew wide, as the eyes of the man before you narrowed; complimenting the smirk etching across his face. The ever familiar smell of cheetos, weed and pepperoni of years passed filled your nostrils and nostalgia wasn’t a word you wanted to use in that instance, but repressed memories were being dug up nevertheless. 

A few moments of stone-cold silence passed before a subtle hum started to invade your auditory peripherals. Leaving your eye-line, Mr. Pal’s Pizza leaned sideways, throwing his smirk into the apartment behind you and directly onto the bright pink silicone wand still vibrating on your couch. All colour drained from your obviously stiffened face. 

He scoffed. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your alone time. Mind if I join you instead?” 

Day 106

📧 to: cassandra.l@unisk.edu.com hey cass did you know that there’s a woman in Georgia, who due to a rare disorder, experiences hundreds of orgasms a day? she’s just persistently aroused and will climax any time, anywhere - even in the most obscure of places. whereas I cannot even have one, in my own goddamn apartment.  because you will never guess who delivered a pizza to the wrong house last week. Crusty Jae. Yyu heard me. Fucking Lim Jaebeom from high school! Who by the way, still looks like a tryhard 2006 Skaterboi with his stupidly baggy jeans, Stussy t-shirt and bad haircut - or lack thereof who fucking knows.  AND he still smells like damp. No no, he doesn’t smell damp. He smells like damp. Like the idea of damp. but istg i could still cut myself on that jawline of his. and come to think of it, I haven’t had pizza in ages.  miss you. love you, bye. 

Day 114 

“Seriously dude, you need to stop ‘delivering pizza to the wrong house’. It’s getting pathetic.” You feigned irritation despite taking the box out of Jaebeom’s outstretched hand.

“Bruh, I am not. The guy’s next door never answered. So you--” He shook back his overgrown fringe and shifted all his weight back, angling his pelvis towards you. His eyes traipsed up and down your frame, saliva clearly pooling under his tongue. “-- get a free pizza delivered by this handsome mug.” 

You didn’t even try to bury the scoff that escaped you as Jaebeom dug two thumbs into his chest; a pungent smugness wafting from his stained Pal’s Pizza t-shirt. You practically laughed in his face. Yet he didn’t waver. 

“You’re still the same overconfident creep from highschool, Jae.” Jaebeom faked offense, a hand slapped on his heart - leaving a faint damp hand print. 

“And I still managed to nab all the ladies.” Sliding his tongue over his top teeth, he winked and you almost gagged. The fact that Crusty Jae, the school’s resident stoner, managed to have the highest body count by graduation is something that still baffled you. Something must have been seriously wrong with the girls who let that inside them. There were rumours of course, but you weren’t willing to explore any of them to prove if fact or not. 

Lifting the lid, you inhaled a glorious whiff of mozzarella and pepperoni but caught Jaebeom scratching his head from the corner of your eye; little flecks of dead skin floated to the ground and you couldn’t help but focus on the flakes of what looked like parmesan on the top of your pizza. Horror ensued, visible in the quiver in your voice. 

“You.. you don’t make the pizzas do you?” 

Jaebeom smirked, and ran a clammy hand through his greasy hair. 

“Nuh babe, I just deliver them.” He punctuated his statement with a wink and pucker of his lips. You were not comforted and turned away before he could see the grimace on your face. You dropped the pizza box onto your couch and fished a twenty-dollar-bill from your wallet and returned to the door to slap it into Jaebeom’s hand. 

“Nuh baby, it’s free.” He insisted with a stupid slanted grin. You shook your head, pushing the money harder into his hand and away from your door. 

“Keep the change.”

“Damn, thanks for the tip.” He smiled softly. Maybe he isn’t so much of a creep anymore. 

“Want a taste of mine?” 

You couldn’t have slammed the door in his face any harder.  

Day 129 

European. What about Lebanese? Kirby? No, too short. Continental? Way too long. But then again Kirby cucumbers have girth, and it’s not all about length. It’s how you use it. Would you go raw? Or would you wrap it? How sturdy are Kirby cucumbers? You’d obviously have to wash it first. Oh shit, could they poison you if it smooshes up while inside you? No, well you eat them so they can’t be too dangerous. How much lubrication would you need? 

“Little to none if you’re warmed up enough.” 

Cutting off your mental ramblings and ripping you back into reality, your head snapped towards the voice. Jaebeom’s voice. Of course it had to be Jaebeom. Why is he suddenly everywhere? 

“Excuse me, what?!” 

“Lubrication. You wouldn’t need any if you’re warmed up. Cucumbers just slide right in.” He said with total confidence as if speaking from absolute experience. If anything, the pompous smile was enough to tell you what he was saying was true. You tried to swallow and gasp at the same time, causing you to start choking in the grocery store. 

“Wh-wait-what, I was saying all of that out loud?!” You prayed it didn’t say all of it out loud. 

Are you really that delirious from lack of sex that your pathetically curious and completely comedic wonderings about cucumbers as dildos was said out loud in the grocery store?! Have you become that incapable of controlling yourself that you can’t even keep being a horny bitch on the inside?! Must you zone out in full stereo?! 

Jaebeom giggled. 

“Maybe. I heard from about ‘What about Lebanese?’.”

You froze, the hand gripping your shopping basket growing dangerously limp.

“So pretty much all of it.” Jaebeom laughed again and reached across you to pick up the thickest Kirby cucumber from the pile and dropped it into your basket. 

“Think of me.”

“What!?” 

His smirk thawed you completely, leaving you standing in a lukewarm puddle of distaste. “Later babe.” 

Seriously, you needed to find every girl who fucked him in highschool and just ask them “WHY?!” 

Day 147

📧 to: cassandra.l@unisk.edu.com hey cass he ran out of battery I have no spares I live in a wasteland of despair miss you love you bye

Day 165

ring-ring-ring

“Pal’s Pizza, can I take your order?” 

“Hey Jae, it’s me. The usual please.” 

“Stuffed Crust?” 

“No thanks.” 

“No probs. How about I stuff you?”

“Bye.” 

“See you in twenty minutes!” 

Day 167 

📧 to: cassandra.l@unisk.edu.com hey cass I think I’m living in a permanent fever dream today in my tech drawing class my professor told me if I lick the tip I’ll get better results so I asked him, if i let him lick my tip would I get extra credit? HE MEANT MY PENCIL CASSANDRA, HE MEANT TO LICK THE TIP OF MY PENCIL SO I GET THICKER LINES what the fuck is wrong with me?!  oh I know.  it has been 167 days since I’ve had sex ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY SEVEN DAYS and Mr Pene Falso still does not have new batteries.  miss you love you bye

Day 175

You had never felt more accomplished in your life. In one hand rested your brand new phone, shiny and in-built with all the things to keep your easily distracted brain entertained. No longer did you have to make calls from the decrepit pay phone outside your apartment building. No longer did you have to sit on buses and pretend to like reading. No, you were reunited with the technology of your generation and you were ecstatic. Full time college and part time employment didn’t always meet the needs of your demanding lifestyle, but you saved enough to finally get a brand new phone.

And in the other hand lay two beautiful AA batteries. You know perfectly well what they were for. You were equally as ecstatic. But for some reason there was one person you wanted to talk to about it. 

Your fingers dialed the number almost on their own; muscle memory taking over. It rang six times. 

“Hello?”

“CASS!” So excited to hear your best friend’s voice you tripped on the corner of your rug; your body colliding with the couch. 

“Holy shit, you finally got a phone. Took you long enough.” 

“Shut up, I’ve been busy.” Rubbing the part of your shoulder that managed to miss abundant cushioning on the couch and hit the tiny piece of wooden framework beneath it all. 

“Sure. Busy trying to get yourself off every chance you get.” 

The fingers trying to unscrew the bottom of your vibrator halted; your bottom lip folded between your teeth - a pout formed in your silence. 

“I--” Lost for words you resumed unscrewing the cap, placing one battery into each slot. 

“You’re probably gonna go masturbate after you get off this call.” 

The last battery dropped in with a clang, albeit muffled by Cass’s muffled laughter. 

“You know I’m messing with you right?”

“..Yes.” 

“Good. So how’s Crusty Jae?” She continued to laugh as you groaned.

“Dude, can you please explain how he managed to pull so much in high school?! Please! Am I the only one who doesn’t get it?!” Suddenly incredibly frustrated, you screwed on the vibrator cap with so much gusto that your grip accidentally turned it on; the abrupt buzzing ripping out a quiet yelp. 

“You know his nickname used to be Double Pepperoni.” You scoffed so hard, you felt it in your ribs. “Nuh apparently he was packing.”

“What? Like what, like he always had slices stuffed in his pockets?”

“No, like p-a-c-k-i-n-g.” 

“I highly doubt that flat-ass McGee is huge.” You smirked while Cass tried to stop herself from choking on laughter. “And even if he was, dude, I still don’t understand how that seemingly unhygienic mess can score so much.” 

“Bro, I don’t know either. But from all the girls I’ve ever talked to about him, they all say that whatever he did to seduce them or whatever - their reactions were purely carnal.” You made a pathetic noise, like a dying car horn to highlight your skepticism. “Like apparently, he would do something or they would see him do something and they’d just snap. Fuck him once, have a great time but then refuse to ever bring it up again. Except to me.. Cause after all, it was Crusty Jae.. But that’s beside the point.”

“They’d just ‘snap’?” 

“Yup. Like a fresh green bean.”

“Weird metaphor.” 

“But you got it.”

“Sadly. I’m going to go now.” 

“Happy Orgasm!” 

“Fuck you.” 

“Miss you.”

“Love you.”

“Bye!” 

From putting down one electronic device to picking up the other, you settled into the couch cushions with Mr Pene Falso in hand - recharged and ready to go. Yes, you were obviously going to prove your best friend painfully correct by getting off as soon as you hung up that call, but honestly - fuck it. You deserved it. 

Remember, preparation is key. Sweatpants pushed down your ankles, one leg completely bare. Hair pulled up into an overeager and messy as ever bun. Sideways lean. Mr Pene Falso, setting one. 

It’s not meant to be pretty, the faces you pull while masturbating. And the sounds one makes, equally as carnal. But who the fuck cares. You’re doing this for you. And as those pre-orgasm hip rolls get more and more intense as your clit is vibrated right down to Destination Stimulation, you moan in pleasure for you know you are finally getting what you’ve wanted for so lon-- 

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK 

“Hey it’s me!” Your head snapped so fast to the door it cracked every bone in your neck. 

“Jae!?” 

“Yeh, can I come in please?”

“Oh come on, what the fuck!?” Fury swallowed you whole, Mr Pene Falso slamming into the ground in a fit of rage. “What do you fucking want, Jaebeom?!” 

“Please, I need--” Jerking your pants back on, you charged at the door; ripping it open. 

“Need what?!”

“-- to use your bathroom.” Sheepish eyes met your own; blown wide and shaking. Jaebeom stood before you, pizza delivery bag hung loosely in his hand; completely soaked from head to toe. 

“Sorry, it’s fucking pouring outside and I delivered next door and I just want to dry off a little, that cool?” 

His usually loose shirt clung to his body, every inch of his torso outlined. His hair, normally shaggy and overgrown, was completely pushed back off his face; slick and saturated to show every carved line of his face. Was his eyes always this piercing? Or was it only because it was in context with the rest of his beautiful face? 

“So..?” Jaebeom reeled you back from your slow descent and you shook it off violently. 

“Uhh yeh, that-that way.” Throwing a thumb over your shoulder to show him the way, Jaebeom slinked past you; a marginal waft of damp weed followed behind. 

What has gotten into you? This is Crusty Jae we’re talking about here. You are not meant to find him attractive. Nothing about him is meant to be attractive. But there you were - standing in your hallway, dumbfounded as you watched Jaebeom take off his shirt and wring it into your sink. You tried to tear your eyes away from how broad his shoulders were, or how all the muscles around his waist tensed as he squeezed all the water out of his shirt. You couldn’t even fight off the shiver that crawled down your spine when you watched his triceps flex when he pushed his hair off his face. You swallowed hard when that shiver landed right between your legs. 

“Like apparently, he would do something or they would see him do something and they’d just snap.” 

He didn’t see you come up behind him but he felt the hand you placed in the middle of his back. Turning to face you, his eyes were as dark as yours were crazed.  

“Sup.” His cheeto breath didn’t deter you.  

“You’re a pal, right?” You swore you couldn’t sound any more desperate. 

“Says so on my shirt.” You couldn’t quite figure out if it was Chipotle or Flamin’ Hot cheetos. But it wasn’t the time or the place. You had needs. 

“Be a pal then.” Jaebeom quirked a lewd and curious brow. “Get me off.” 

The speed of which he had his hands under your arms and lifting you onto the benchtop was frighteningly fast. Your shirt was pulled hastily over your head and thrown aside, your pants were torn down your legs equally as fast. You had no time to question, no time to doubt - not when Jaebeom’s mouth was on yours, his tongue rolling over your teeth as if searching for hidden cheetos in your cheeks. But with the way his thumb circled over your clit through your underwear, you weren’t going to complain. Go on, fish for those cheetos baby. 

Through wet and messy kisses, your hands tracked down his chest; stopping at his belt buckle. Of course, you thought, it was one of those snap closure canvas belts - ridiculously too long and matched his ridiculously baggy jeans. Nevertheless, you snapped open the buckle, fished it out of the loops and his pants fell instantly to the ground. 

Jaebeom broke away from your mouth, leaning back to make room for his hands to pull off your underwear; just to have his lips crash back into yours the moment the lace garment hit the floor. 

“Conmg-do. Cone--. Con-” You mumbled against his mouth. Strong hands pushed against his chest; disappointed eyes flashed for a moment, before turning devious at the sight of your naked breasts. 

“Condom.” He nodded and you swung around to grab one from the medicine cabinet. Rounding back to face him, you saw his underwear was on the ground, his very erect penis greeting you fully. Double Pepperoni…  

He ripped the wrapper open with his teeth, slid the condom expertly onto his length and caged you against the mirror in one fluid movement. He waited, paused for effect if you will and you weren’t having any of it. One hand scratched into his hair, the other pulled on the chain around his neck.

“Oh, you want me to stuff you do you?” Said with total hubris. 

“Like cheesy crust.” Who have you become?! 

Jabeom’s heavy hands found themselves on your hips, pulling you down onto his dick. He filled you wholly, deliciously; throbbing against your walls so achingly good that you didn’t even care that you could feel crumbs of garlic bread that did not belong to you in your mouth. 

He pounded you roughly; each thrust making you bounce on your porcelain sink. His hair, still wet, dripped onto your shoulder and down your back as his teeth marked your neck. Your bathroom began to fill with lewd and erotic noises, squelches and squeaks of wet flesh against wet flesh and some against hard surfaces. 

Jaebeom snapped his hips harder and harder into you, moans tumbled from your mouth as the orgasm you have craved for finally rounded the horizon. He was merciless, relentless, completely determined to drive you home. 

You yanked harder on the fist full of hair in your hand, ripping a loud and gravely groan from Jaebeom. Not one to be upstaged, Jaebeom shoved his hand into your hair, tangling his fingers into your bun and pulling down to expose more of your neck to him. His pace had not slowed down at all. 

He marked your neck, sucking and biting on your flesh so gloriously that you began to mewl - high pitched and needy, and it’s what sent Jaebeom over the edge. His hips snapped harder, forcing his dick deep into you; hitting spots you had forgotten about completely. 

Different colours were flashing behind your eyelids and you were close, so close. 

And as Jaebeom neared climax, he tore his hand out of your hair. Though in his earlier fervour, got so much of it tangled around his fingers and stuck under his ring, that your whole body was torn sideways and off the bench. 

Landing on the floor, shocked eyes watched Jaebeom ejaculate all over your sink as your own orgasm retreated away; shrivelling up into dust and blown away in the wind - his hand still stuck in your hair. How the fuck, wasn’t he wearing a condom, you thought, only for you to reach down and find it stuck inside your vagina, half hanging out. There was literally nowhere lower you could go. This, this is rock bottom. 

“Haha, holy fuck. Sorry babe.” Jaebeom leaned down and carefully untangled his fingers out of your hair. Towels were passed around for hygiene purposes and you almost vomited when you saw cheeto crumbs wedged between Jaebeom’s butt-cheeks. 

You weren’t really sure what happened after. You think Jaebeom said something crass. Or maybe he said thank you. In a crass way. Either way, he eventually left and the two hour shower you took still didn’t make you feel clean. Especially not after finding a half-dried pearl of cum on your toothbrush. 

But there was one thing you knew for sure. You totally snapped. 

Day 0

📧 to: cassandra.l@unisk.edu.com hey cass in the interest of our friendship and for the purposes of full transparency it has been 1 day since ive had sex and we will never speak of it again

[mulderspice]

have you ever watched an episode of the Emmy award winning sci-fi drama, The X Files?  Maybe you’ve read my original post and yet you’re still wondering where the hell Fox Mulder got all those strands of hair on his jumbo gigantic head.  I am back and here to help you find the answers to some of your burning questions; as we celebrate the hard work and triumphs of the hair and makeup department on the Fox Lot and team up with my big huge brain and my New York State Cosmetology license to give the people what they want once again: another top ten guide to Mulder’s fucking hair..

upon making this post a second time (rip 😔), I realized that just about every episode (yes, every. single. one. even the ones without Mulder and the latest season where he has to share headspace with [redacted]) has its own important and iconic hair looks... You may recognize that some of these are slightly repeated from the last post but that’s ok! What I'm here to do is enforce! So lets get started..

#10 s6:e21 Field Trip: Here again we begin our journey into cosmetic superstardom with a personal favorite of mine.  Mulder rolling with the times by getting a haircut fresh off the FTF wave left our nation in fucking shambles. Can’t imagine going to see a major motion picture in theatres jam packed with Mulder’s most supreme hair looks only to come back to my tv screen to see it all gone away.  For students reading this post for educational purposes, this caused a worldwide walkout on popular salon franchise Supercuts in the year 1998.  However, a haircut didn’t necessarily mean Mulder forgot how to take care of his hair.  The precision and placement as each strand of hair perfectly outlines his jumbo head is revolutionary and inspiring.  Mushroom induced drug high? K. Lemme still grab my teasing comb and my hairspray and make sure I look presentable for when my partner walks into my apartment screaming abt “where's Mulder” and wanting “answers”.  The answer is this: this look is about giving people like myself with big heads rights and looking fuckable while doing so. 10/10 for inspiring hope.

#9 s1:e9 Space: Imagine you’re a few episodes into a show, the core plot is developing right before your eyes and you’re beginning to get to know The X Files three main characters; Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and Mulder Hair Strands #1-3.  All is well except, you still have no clue how crucial, and critical Mulder Hair Strands 1-3 will become to the show and to your life and I am here to tell you that you are in for a very rude and bold awakening.  This message goes out to all the haters and all the people who didn’t believe Mulder’s hair was valid prior to season 4. He is here to tell you he DID know how to use dry shampoo and even the occasional blow dry oil and you can suck a dick abt it. Bold of you to assume he wouldn’t pull the round brush and the biosilk out the drawer to impress a visit to fucking NASA. 10/10 for involving science.

#8 s4:e6 Sanguinarium: I sit here writing to you today as the song ‘Handmade Heaven’ comes on shuffle; strikingly fitting for this raw and ethereal image of straight up beauty and wonder and magic and heaven in hair. This special, freshly washed and air dried smells like strawberries and sandalwood and fuckability. The look reaches through your TV and wraps its hands around your neck and sucks the life right out of you.  Are you gonna let it happen? You sure are.  Lucky for you, I just so happened to be there when the angels hand sewed each strand of hair onto his head and here’s what they had to say about it:  this is everything and more and the way Mulder has just washed his hair with fresh mountain water droplets hand collected like nothing else mattered. Put his clothes back on and went on his merry way. Can’t imagine being in Scully’s shoes ready to walk on in her partners room unannounced to go over serious case related matters and theories.  Woulda went bonkers. This truly is a handmade heaven.  Hand crafted by Mulder for Scully and for the good viewers of the globe. 10/10 for embracing me in its arms.

#7 s4:e3 Home: A look from one of primetime TV’s most notorious banned episodes.  Viewer discretion IS advised not only for the horrifying and cringeworthy content displayed in this episode, but for also making it painfully blunt to the viewer that Mulder’s hair follicles are happier and healthier than anybody else's will ever be in their lifetime.  In fact, I can feel my own hair falling out and being respawned onto HIS head as I type this and I’m sure you can too. The way the sun glistens off his golden brown strands makes me want to walk into oncoming traffic.  You might also notice how effortless this look was, as it probably only took a quick run thru with his fingers, and Mulder’s passion and need to look sexy at any time of the day at all times. It’s obvious that this kind of thing comes naturally to him, which just comes off as insulting to men everywhere. 11/10 for striking fear into men’s hearts.

#6 s4:e20 Small Potatoes: Genuinely took every bone and nerve ending in my body to not put this look in the top 5 even though it so clearly deserves it.  Here at mulderspice we believe in diversity, meaning it wouldn’t be right to make my top five greatest hairstyles ever produced on The X Files just of Mulder’s iconic and revolutionizing middle part (though really who is stopping me..). This screenshot in general has me up in arms at how perfectly the blue background matches his eyes, and how it accentuates his hydrated skin and lips.  But you’re not here for that. It’s the hair particularly that really pulls the shot together, as Mulder took the time that morning to spray it with some tinted dry shampoo that most defiantly and absolutely smells like chocolate.   This look feels like a warm hug on a frigid winter day. I feel EMBRACED and I feel CARED FOR thanks to the wonderful staff and team @ Mulder’s head and hair follicles. What the fuck could be better than this. 16/10 for making me feel some type of way.

#5 s4:e8 Tunguska: Currently you may not think anything of Krycek to the left of this image though ill have you know he plays an extremely vital part of this look and all the words I’m about to speak to you directly. So listen up: Krycek may have heroically slayed Mulder’s father in cold blooded and justifiable murder, but we thank him for this, as it caused Mulder to lash out in the best way possible: through looks. “Un-shun: Krycek do you think I’m good to bring my Redkin Rewind 6 styling paste with me or will the Russian TSA think of that as contraband? :Re-shun”.  A sweaty, manly and highly illegal treck through a Russian testing facility and a stint in a violent foreign PRISON surely was not going to stop Mulder from keeping his hair properly hydrated, styled and parted. That’ll really ruffle Krycek’s feathers and make him feel sorry for what he did…. The sexiest way to avenge the death of your deadbeat father. 24/10 for you know why.

#4 s1:e6 Shadows: In the year 1993, Mulder steps onto the scene, young, fresh faced, bright eyed and ready to give men around the globe what they (so desperately) needed: the encouragement to care about their hair.  Any backstreet boy you may know have this scene to thank directly, as this is what encouraged them to reproduce Mulder’s hair onto their own heads time and time again.  What I would give to see with my own eyes Mulder length times width times height his head to equal this perfectly proportionate look of volume and sexy. And who can I write a warrant out to for allowing this shot to take place.  Oh to be the various and expensive hair care products in Mulder’s bathroom …… 899/10 for starting a movement (-1 for making us do equations).

#3: s1:e10 Fallen Angel: The biggest regret I’ve ever had in my short little life was not adding this moment to the last post.  And tumblr deleted it in order to give me this opportunity to present this to you today.  By the way, that absolutely is in fact a choir of angels singing as you view this image. Go ahead and try to think of something on this earth that could be better than this tossled bed headed im-stressed-becos-my-partner-of-2-weeks-isn’t-seeing-the-big-picture-about-how-we’re-all-key-pawns-in-an-ongoing-government-conspiracy hairstyle hand crafted by Mulder all while holding his head in his hands hard at work trying to break through to the truth.  Scully [insert photo of Scully with her eyes popping out of her head here] and I both wanna rip our own hair out and throw it in the garbage. 2000/10 for making our hearts ache..

#2: s4:e10 Paper Hearts: Behold- the image I’m slamming down on the desk at full force when I finally get myself a therapist. I need a licensed professional doctor to help me understand the various angles that this purposeful shot affects my life health and well being. In a paranoia induced out of body experience Mulder took his pinky finger and parted his hair down the middle, took a protractor to perfectly round the tendrils falling ever so gracefully on his forehead and ran out of his apartment and through the woods of DC.  Doesn’t matter if he’s crazy? Doesn’t matter if its fuck all 4am? Who knows if the discoveries of this night is finally going to answer the heartbreaking questions regarding Mulder’s baby sister? Fuck it we’re just gonna make sure Scully has something to look forward to after being awoken yet again in the middle of the night and asked to come wrangle and control this stupid idiot.  This just makes me unhinged.  50000/10 for waking up in the middle of the night and doing the most for us all.  

#1 s4:e3 Teliko: This one will remain number one for as long as I shall live.  I’ve dedicated my life to this cause and I’m ready to make you painfully aware of it. Grab a pen and paper and get ready to do some heavy math with me because this look right in front of your eyes is the equation to happiness and sexiness. Can barely find the words to describe to you how this picture makes me feel. Each strand of hair is personally reaching down and wrapping his head in one big giant hug of protection and solitude.  Unbelievable that Scully didn’t head back to her hotel room and scream at the top of her lungs right after this. There’s no way she went about her day as normal without wanting to kick the shit out of him and then put him back together with soft feathery kisses.  What you are witnessing here is the very turning point of the show where Scully looked into into the very center point of that part and said “guess I have no choice but to fall in love with him 🚶🏽‍♂️”. Chris Carter’s idealistic version of Mulder and the one we actually ended ups seeing as viewers were so drastically different that it’s blatantly clear that he had absolutely no idea the cultural implications that were about to rock the world to its core and tip it on its axis when David Duchovny showed up on set looking like this. I could write a thesis about this. I could conduct research and studies about this.  I got kicked out of college because I cared more about this than I did actual schoolwork. I feel like I’m in a very sexy chokehold. Wish I could live forever in one little square pixel of this image.  Nothing means more to me than this.  1000000/10 no further comments.

and the honorable mentions go to....

s8:e16 Three Words: Dead? Did you die? Did you die and miraculously defy god by rising from the dead and coming back to life? Just got home from the morgue? Think nothing is the same? Left guessing if you’re a soon to be 5 minute father? Did you just fucking die? He’s lost his family and his job and the world just went on without him like it was nobody’s business.  Walked out of the morgue right to his apartment and what did he have left? His expensive array of hair styling and finishing products that’s what the fuck he had left.  Being an all around reject from society didn’t at all stop him from taking his fingers and dipping it into that Big Sexy styling pomade and fluffing his head to high heavens. As a personal fuck you to god and to John Doggett too.  He’ll never let you know the emotional hellstorm going on in his life in that moment but he WILL make it known to you that despite being 8 feet under ground for 6 months he’ll never give up on his hair. For the PEOPLE. Try and go through the nightmare of death and then rejected fatherhood and see if you come out of it with any hair at ALL.  An itty bitty glimpse into what would have been Untitled Mulder Abduction Story (2001)....

I Want To Believe (2008): Here you will see the sluttiest moment in major motion picture history.  Shh im not using this opportunity to show you this screenshot for the 800th time I’m trying to keep you educated.  BREAKING NEWS; Man hiding in home office for 6 years fully off the grid has FULL head of hair and is getting regular sex *not clickbait*. So what if Mulder has gone fully unhinged and off the walls bonkers he’s also gone FULL slut and it shows in that sexy thick voluminous head of slut hair.  If you ever for a second thought prior to seeing this movie for the first time that Mulder would show up a full on son-less wreck and a half think the fuck again babes.  He’s managed to hold on to every single little strand ever grown on his head even well into his middle aged madness and its about time we give him the credit he deserves.  (PS. Please know I wrote this entire spiel without even viewing the shot shown here. Its just permanently etched on the inside of my forehead so its there when my eyes roll back into my head.)  For this we say…..; Whore rights.

s11:e3 Plus One: Incase you were unaware, I have been going through a very slow and painful process of erasing Season 11 from my brain completely.  Its been a long road but its achievable and the end result will save me from a lot of future heartache and trauma.  This however, is a moment I will cherish forever and though you may think its for the hot sex (which is like maybe 30% the case) its actually because it puts together everything I’ve ever loved and believed about the show in only a few thousand pixels. How old is Mulder here? 30? 31? Still has hair and still has an unbelievable amount of love to shower Scully in for as long as they both shall live (which lets face it, she deserves one million times over.)  What this has taught me was to hang up my “Mulder deserved…” hat for good and just be thankful for what I’ve got. I ended up with no son or happy dreamy ending where Mulder gets to die with a family he’s never had in his life, but here we are left with the little things.. Like Mulder and Scully’s unconditional love and most importantly .. The hair on Mulder’s head. Its called growth and acceptance and I am learning it.  Also I just wanted to show you what it would look like if you were like 57 and sexy and still had all ur hair. That’s it :-)

[let-it-raines]

Second in Command (Epilogue - Part Seven)

Summary: Life as the “spare to the heir” isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be when you’re the supposed screw-up of the family, but people don’t know what really happens behind closed doors.

Rating: Mature

A/N: You guys are totally going to be annoyed with me for how I left it on a cliffhanger when I totally didn’t have to except to show some character growth and how things change...which I guess is exactly the reason I ended it that way :D

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

Tumblr Chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14| 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

Epilogue Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 

Tag list: @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @wellhellotragic @ekr032-blog-blog @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615@a-faekindagirl @mayquita @captainsjedi @captswanis4vr @kristi555 @teamhook @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @branlovesouat @dreadpirateemma @alys07 @andiirivera

“Can I come in, son?”

“Yeah, of course,” Killian answers automatically, the shock of his father just showing up at his door stunning him for only a moment. It’s not like he never visits. He usually just calls or texts first. “I didn’t know you were coming over, dad. Why didn’t you call?”

“Oh, I was visiting the kids and thought I’d drop by since I knew that the two of you had returned home.” His dad steps inside, squeezing his shoulder before leaning down to pet Indy. “Hello, darling,” he then greets Emma, kissing her cheek before wrapping her up in a hug. “How are you feeling today?”

“Good, good,” Emma insists, her eyes still blown wide as if she’s actually been shocked. He knows she’s still a bit rattled from the flight and her nausea. The same thing had happened when they went out sailing the morning of their anniversary, before the disaster of the rest of that day, and even though he had been wary of it, Emma insisted she was fine. She never said she wasn’t, but the green of her face told him otherwise. “How are you?”

“Kicking pretty high for my age.”

“You are not old,” she laughs, tugging on Indy’s leash. “Do you mind if I take Indy for a quick walk? Let her run around a bit. She’s been told she’s going outside, and I’m afraid she’ll freak out if she doesn’t get to go.”

“Of course, dear. I’ll chat with Killian, and the second you two come back inside, I want to hear all about how you’ve been since you left us to go holiday in the warm sunshine. I swear it’s rained for the past week.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Emma takes a step over toward him, leaning up and kissing his cheek, whispering that she’ll be right back before taking a step outside with Indy and leaving him with his dad.

“Do you want something to drink? Eat?”

“I’m fine.” His father begins walking to the living room, settling down into the recliner he prefers when visiting all while Killian sits down on the couch next to him, only a side table between them. “So how was your holiday?”

He almost chokes on his own saliva thinking of all of the things he absolutely cannot tell his father about their holiday as well as wondering if he should bring up the privacy issue just yet. He doesn’t know, is never truly sure about these types of things. He could have a nice, normal conversation with his father or it could turn into another tense, stressful one. He’s had enough of those for a lifetime, but he also knows that he doesn’t have all of the time in the world to fix this. He’s got fewer than four months, really.

“It was wonderful,” he finally answers, his lips ticking up on one side. It really was wonderful to get away with Emma and only have each other for awhile despite the disaster that was their anniversary. It got better, though. It wasn’t completely bad. They had the sailing trip and the takeout meal that was better than anything else they’d eaten if only for how comfortable they both felt. He felt his son move for the first time, which was bloody brilliant and most definitely his new favorite thing. “It’s a gorgeous island. Emma mentioned something about asking you to make our beaches like that.”

Brennan barks out a laugh, the wrinkles on his face all gathering together while his gray hair shakes the slightest bit. If Killian was a betting man, he’d guess his dad is getting his hair cut in the next two or three days, keeping up with his lifelong schedule of haircuts. “If only I could. That would be bloody wonderful. But I like the way she thinks.”

“She’s definitely a brilliant dreamer.” He trails off toward the end of his sentence, looking down at his hand and twisting his ring around his finger, his constant physical reminder of his lifelong commitment to Emma, as if he really needs one. “Can I talk to you about something, dad?”

“Of course.”

“I know, well, I know that things were different when I was a kid, that technology wasn’t as advanced, that I was a bit of a surprise child and that you were on the older side when I was born.”

“Well, why don’t you just call me elderly then, Killian? And you have absolutely no proof that you were a surprise child.”

His dad laughs when he speaks, but Killian isn’t finding a lot of humor in it, knowing that he’s likely going to upset Brennan with his words.

“What I mean is, I know you weren’t really, truly involved in my life. And I’m not blaming you or trying to make you feel…upset, but I need a very particular kind of advice that really only you and mum or Liam and Abigail can give. And I’m honestly not even sure you can give it.”

“What’s wrong, Killian?”

He takes a moment to collect himself, hundreds of words on the tip of his tongue but none of them feeling quite right. But he has to say something, so he might as well speak the truth.

“How the hell am I supposed to be a father in a world where I can’t protect the privacy of my wife and my child? There were, um, photographers who rented out a house and used scopes to take pictures of us on the beach. And Emma and I got into a pretty nasty argument about it. She’s worried…I’m worried about Andrew’s privacy. We want him to live a life as normal as possible. We don’t want photographers following him to school or to the park, and I just – I don’t know how to fix it.”

He’s been clenching his fist all while he talks, the tenseness in his hand almost painful while hot tears form in his eyes, every fault and every insecurity he’s had long before the fight with Emma coming back and assaulting his senses, making everything a dark, cloudy blur.

Brennan looks calm, secure, the blue of his eyes not changing while his eyelids rapidly blink, his brows furrowing and the lines on his face increasing. Has he said too much? Shown too much emotion? Asked for the impossible?

“The fact that you have very obviously beaten yourself up about this proves that you are a better dad than I ever have been.”

“That’s not what I meant, dad. I didn’t – ”

“I know, Killian. I’m not taking offense to anything. I was a poor excuse for a father for the majority of your life. I was focused on Liam, on my job, on the protocol and the way that my father raised Albert and me. All I knew was that fathers were not supposed to be close to their children, and as much as that hurt me as a child, I stupidly believed it. The fact that you have forgiven me is something I still can’t believe.”

He leans over and places his hand on Brennan’s knee, patting him before leaning back and wiping at his eyes. “I did it for me, but with the way you’ve worked to change, you deserve it.”

“Thank you, my boy.” His father smiles, settling back into his chair and crossing his hands together in his lap. “But this is not about me. This is about you and your family. So you don’t want Andrew in the public eye? At all? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I mean, we haven’t discussed it in serious length, but yes. I’m sure that Emma will be okay with releasing the occasional photo or having him join us when we go overseas so we don’t have to be apart from him, but I think we’re going to have to take a step back in traditions. And when he gets older, I think we may need to move somewhere much more private.”

The front door opens then, the alarm beep sounding at the same time that he hears the click of nails and the squeak of sneakers as well as Emma’s voice. He straightens up, fixing his hunched back and sitting against the couch in as much of a relaxed position as he can.

“Go find, Killian, girl, yeah,” Emma coos, her voice getting louder the closer she gets to the living room. And then she’s in view, Indy running in first and jumping up on the couch before getting down once she spots Brennan, less familiar people always more exciting than him. Emma walks toward him, sitting down in the seat Indy just vacated and reaching around him to tangle her fingers in his hair, stroking the strands. “What’s wrong? Your shoulders are tensed.”

How the hell does she always know?

“Killian and I,” his father answers for him, seemingly understanding that Killian wasn’t sure what to say, “were simply talking about how you two seem to be suffering from some privacy issues and are worried about your child’s future, that you want Andrew to lead a more private life than normal.”

“Oh,” Emma gulps, her hand stilling in his hair before beginning again, “well, yeah. I know that we all grew up differently and that my childhood isn’t really an option, but that’s what I want, what we want. We want him to be able to be a kid, you know? I don’t want him to be used to cameras everywhere he goes. I don’t know how we’d fix that, but that’s definitely my top priority right now. And forever probably.”

His hand finds Emma’s knee, thumb running back and forth over the material of her leggings while she speaks. He’s here with her, for her, consistently, and he hopes that she knows this.

“Why don’t you two give me some time to think things over? I’ll meet with security. We’ll work out some plans and ideas. You two should probably talk to Liam and Abigail. It’s not, well, it won’t be exactly the same. You have more freedom than them, and they’re not quite as private as the two of you. But they do have experience in all of this.” “Thank you, Brennan,” Emma sighs, leaning back into the couch and scratching at his neck, his eyes fluttering closed for a quick moment.

“Of course, but at the end of the day, above everything else, we’re a family. How you two feel is far more important than any sort of duty and tradition we have, even if I do ask that we stick to the important ones.”

“Actually, I have something else that I want to talk about.”

His head snaps to her, eyes searching for what she has to say, but she’s not looking at him, her gaze trained on the wag of Indy’s tail while her fingers tap over his on her leg, the hand in his hair having stilled.

“What do you want to talk about, love?”

She looks at him then, the smallest of smiles on her face that comforts him the slightest bit, before directing her gaze to Brennan. “I don’t want to walk out of the hospital all made up hours after giving birth. Kudos to Abigail. She is a badass woman for that, but that’s not what I want. Andy doesn’t need to be exposed to so many people as a newborn. I don’t need to be all dressed up when I’ve just given birth. I don’t care about tradition when it comes to this. This is what I’m doing, and I really feel like it’s the first step in taking a stand about him not being some kind of public property.”

He didn’t know she felt that way about any of that, nearly every word she said news to him, but he gets it, supports it. If that’s what Emma wants for this, that’s what they’ll do. He’s never quite understood that tradition anyways, and he likes the idea of a more private celebration with just them and their families while Emma heals and they adjust to the terrifying process of being parents for the first time.

“I’m not sure we can do that, dear.”

“What?” His head snaps over to his dad, trying to process the words. “You literally just said that how we feel is more important than any duty we have.”

“But that we need to stick to the important traditions, yes. New family members are an important tradition.”

“Brennan,” Emma grits, her voice strained as she tries to keep it friendly, “I respect our family and all of the traditions we have, but I am not some kind of human machine who’s only here to produce babies. Yes, of course this is a big deal, but it’s a big deal for us as a personal family, not as some part of the institution. You can still put the sign up, make any and all announcements you want. Hell, I’ll release a picture if we have to, but all I’m asking is that we’re allowed to leave and travel home in peace.”

“I agree, dad. I mean, really. Of all of the things we break and bend, of all of the things we change, surely you can let this one thing go? It’s not hundreds of years ago where people are faking pregnancies and paternities to keep the line intact, which was ridiculous then. I think letting family be family is the most important thing, don’t you?”

“Aye, it’s just…you’ll have to forgive me.” Brennan runs his hand over his face, visibly warring something within himself, the lines on his face stressing. “You were right earlier when you said things are different now. These are not things that I really went through with you, not as prevalent as you. Emma, dear, I’m sorry. I don’t…I shouldn’t have ever considered making you do something you’re not comfortable with. I love you dearly, and you and Killian know what’s best here, not me.”

“I don’t want to disappoint you,” Emma says, getting up from the couch and sitting down on the edge of the coffee table so that she can squeeze Brennan’s hand. “You are so brilliant, and you uphold this family so well. I know that I’m different, that it was difficult to accept me, but change can be good, you know?”

“I know.”

Brennan stays for a little while longer, hashing out a few more details with them before accepting a cup of tea and some food, finally listening to them talk about their holiday all the while scratching behind Indy’s ears, her eyes closed in bliss the entire time. It’s peaceful, relaxing, and he feels his shoulders loosen the longer the conversation goes on, Emma’s laughter and joyful voice sounding throughout the room. In the back of his mind, though, he keeps replaying the conversation, thinking of everything he said, everything they all said, and he’s amazed it all went as smoothly as it did, surprised that his father acquiesced to their private exit from the hospital so easily. He had no idea that Emma wanted that, and he wonders how long she’s been toying with the idea, how many late nights she’s spent worrying about bringing it up. He knows she didn’t just think of it now, that it wasn’t spur of the moment, and he tries to remind himself to ask her about it later, to make sure that there’s nothing else she’s hoarding inside.

She goes through enough, has gone through enough over the years, and she shouldn’t feel like she has to hold things back from him.

But he saves his thoughts for later, letting his dad leave and letting Emma take a nap, her eyes falling shut without her even laying down on the couch. He wakes her before she can get into too deep of a sleep, though, knowing that it’ll hurt her back, and helps her go upstairs to their room, ignoring the curses she’s muttering under her breath about him waking her up. While she sleeps, he goes downstairs to his office, answering emails and clearing out his inbox that he left alone while they were in Spain.

Summer is normally a slow time for them, June and July full of engagements while August is usually taken off to spend in Balmoral. Emma’s due in September, though, a few days after his birthday, and she’s not working after August begins. He is, though, doing his regular work and making a few short trips, making sure never to never travel more than three hours away in case he needs to be home.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have things to do now, organizing his files and reviewing the financials for Kidding a Goal until Indy comes walking into his office, her nails clicking against the wood until she’s staring up at him with her mouth wide open, tongue practically falling out of her mouth. He checks his watch and sees that it’s far past seven. He’s surprised she didn’t come and get him two hours ago.

“You ready to eat, my girl?”

That gets her tail wagging before she takes off, running toward the kitchen at such a pace that she’s probably there before he even gets up from his chair. Sure enough, she’s already waiting next to her bowl like the most well-behaved dog in the world, which is not something he expected when he and Emma decided to get a dog last year. But she’s done well, their training working most of the time, but Indy does have the tendency to lick his face when he’s sleeping. He’s not a fan of that.

But she’s his best bud and a constant companion on his runs, so it all evens out.

After feeding her, he hears footsteps coming down the stairs, Emma wandering into the kitchen with sleep-rumpled hair and pillow streaks on her face, her pajama top falling off of one shoulder. She immediately heads toward the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and some yogurt before settling down on a barstool.

“How’d you sleep?”

She grunts in response, opening her yogurt and eating a large spoonful. “I hate being pregnant sometimes.”

“So not well then?”

“Nope. I felt like my guts were all being squeezed out, but do you know who’s not moving now that I’m awake and out of bed?”

“Andy.”

“Yep.”

She keeps eating her yogurt, quickly finishing it up before getting another carton. He should probably fix something for dinner so she doesn’t consume the entire yogurt supply in their fridge.

“Hey, sweetheart?”

“Yeah?” she mumbles, pulling her spoon out of her mouth and looking up at him, her hair deflating the slightest bit from when she came down.

“You want to tell me what that was earlier? With my dad. When did you decide you didn’t want to do the public announcement?”

“Oh, um, I first thought about it a few weeks ago, but it was really driven home after last week. Why? You have an issue with it?”

“No,” he laughs, leaning down across from her and propping his elbows on the counter. “I think it’s bloody brilliant, that you are brilliant. I like that you want to do things your way…our way. It’s very sexy.” “Oh boy, if you’re looking to get laid right now that is not happening.”

“Well damn. Now I have no reason to compliment you.”

“Shut up,” she groans, tossing her spoon over into the sink, the metal clanking. “But seriously, you’re okay with all that, right?”

“Of course. I want you to do what makes you comfortable. I’m not the one giving birth.”

“Damn right. I think I’m going to give your dad a heart attack though.”

“Aye, definitely. I know he’s trying and he’s being accommodating, but I could practically see the fear of breaking traditions rolling off of him in anxiety-filled waves. But he’s seventy-three. Some things just aren’t going to change.”

“So basically we hit the jackpot today?”

“Yep.” He walks over to the fridge, opening it up and seeing what they have left over from before they left. “What do you want for dinner?”

-/-

“Bloody buggering hell,” he curses, bringing his thumb to his mouth and soothing where he just jammed his finger on the wood.

Building a crib should not be this difficult, but it apparently is. He’s been following the instructions exactly, making sure that each piece is doubly secure, and he’s not sure how it’s taking this long. He should be finished, this crib should be made, and he should be able to move onto the shelves or Emma’s glider that she was insistent on them getting.

He’s spent more time in this room in the past month than he has in any other room in the house, June somehow running away with itself all while he’s been hidden away within these four walls. It took a month and a half for he and Emma to decide on a simple light gray, one that he’s pretty sure is also in their bedroom, but honestly, once they both agreed on the color (likely because they have agreed on it once before), he wasn’t going to say anything else. He did pick out the gray-ish blue that’s on the wall with the shelves (or at least where they’ll go once he gets to them), so he’s pretty proud of it.

Neither he or Emma are much one for designing, though they have gotten a bit more into it since the remodel of the apartment, but he’s pretty proud of how Andy’s room is shaping up, even if the lad will stay in the bassinet in their room for awhile. It’s a simple room, clean lines and clean colors. All of the furniture are different shades of white and warm browns, woods really, with natural accents. Abigail gifted them a large wooden giraffe along with some leaf and animal prints, so those are sitting in the corner waiting to be placed after all of this furniture is built.

His favorite part, though, is definitely going to be the little sitting area by the shelves and the changing table. He’s not under any impression that this is going to be a calm room, a place to relax, but he figures there have to be times when he’s rocking Andy back to sleep in that very spot, the shelves filled with colorful children’s books that’ll become routine reading one day as well as being filled with several stuffed animals and photo frames that he can’t wait to update with pictures. Of course, the cabinets below will be filled with the essentials, the things no one likes to talk about like diapers and nipple cream (that was something Emma did not want to know about, and he honestly doesn’t blame her), but they’re definitely still in the dreamy, picture perfect nursery phase where the messiness of a child isn’t quite a factor.

Really to him, as much as he knows this is real, as much as he sees the physical proof, feels the physical proof (which holy shit is it incredible to be able to feel his son move), it’s still difficult for him to comprehend that in two months he and Emma will have a child. It’s something they’ve talked about for years, something they were planning on, but it’s difficult to put into words just how much love he has for his son.

And his wife.

She’s a rockstar in every sense of the word, and if he doesn’t mention it enough, Emma sure as hell will. He loves her fiercely, and that love is another thing that he can’t quite put into words. He honestly doesn’t understand men who moan and groan about their wives constantly. If anything, he finds it disgusting. Yes, you’re going to have disagreements with your significant other. That’s natural when you decide to spend your life with someone who has their own wants, needs, and opinions, but at the end of the day, his wife is his best friend. If there’s anyone he wants to spend time with, it’s her. No question.

If the answer to who your best friend isn’t your spouse or the person you’re marrying, he doesn’t understand why the hell you’d bother getting married. His mates are great, but they’re not Emma.

Maybe he is a bit of the cheeseball that Emma always claims him to be, but he likes it that way.

He’s definitely going to embarrass his kids. All of the time. He can’t wait. He’s got a few years, but he can’t wait.

“You know we can hire someone to do this, right?” Emma asks, a bit of laughter in her tone that makes him roll his eyes. His best friend, most definitely. The teasing is just a small part of that.

“Aye, but I’ve started it, and I intend on finishing it.” “Okay, but the crib doesn’t need to fall apart while there’s a baby inside of it, and the glider doesn’t need to fall apart while I’m sitting on it. That’s, like, a double disaster, and I know you lived by yourself for a long time, but I’m pretty sure you’re not capable of that anymore.”

“Oh, really? Because I was just going to make them as unsafe as possible so that I could live by myself again. I miss being able to stretch out in the bed.”

“You’re so funny,” she teases from the other side of the nursery where she’s putting away the washed clothes in the closet, organizing them by size. He swears they have enough clothes to last Andy for the first two years of his life, and that’s not counting the piles of things he knows David and Mary Margaret have at their house. “I think I may have bought him too much stuff. I don’t even think I own this many things.”

“You don’t mess your clothes up multiple times a day.”

“Good point.”

“I tend to make those.”

“Eh. Debatable.”

“Not at all debatable.” He turns back to the crib, looking at the instructions to see if he can remember where he left off before Emma distracted him. “Shit, this is impossible.”

“I can call my dad, babe. It won’t be a problem. He’s a bit handier than you.”

“Please, I am plenty handy.”

“Okay, well being handy with me is not the same as being handy when it comes to building things.”

“If we call your dad, he’s going to take over. I want to do some of this myself.”

“I will tell Dad just to help. Come on, babe, you love spending time with my dad.”

“Only now that he doesn’t give me the scary speeches anymore.”

“Yeah, I bet those were a lot of fun.”

“I mean, it’s been a solid half a decade since I’ve gotten one, but he still shakes me to my core.”

He hears Emma laugh, snort really, before she makes her way over to him, slowly settling down on the floor next to him and waving her hand until he gives her the instructions. She looks over them while looking at the crib, her eyes continuously darting between the two.

“You put part G in backwards. That’s why nothing after that is fitting.”

“Bloody hell,” he curses, reaching over and taking the instructions from her hand and checking to see if she really did just solve his problem, “how did you see that when I’ve been staring at it for the past hour?”

“Fresh eyes, my love. Fresh eyes.” She leans forward and kisses his cheek before falling back against the wall. “And that’s exactly why calling my dad and asking him to come over in the morning will be a great idea. I bet Mom will want to come too, and she does a mean job with a power drill.”

So Emma calls her parents who agree to come over in the morning. On top of moving, they’ve also begun to change around the hours of the pub, opening it earlier and letting Will close it out at night. And it’s because of this that they show up at eight in the morning, he and Emma both still asleep when their doorbell rings. Emma groans when she hears it, burying her face into his chest and making it impossible for him to get up without disturbing her. He can feel Andy summersaulting around in her belly, and he smiles to himself knowing that she’s going to have get up. She can’t sleep when he’s moving around like that.

He can’t sleep when Emma’s basically running marathons in bed, but that’s not something he’s going to voice out loud. He can get up and sleep in a guest room if he needs to. Emma can’t get up and walk away from the person who’s running marathons in her stomach.

There’s two human feet inside of her. That’s pretty weird if he thinks about it too much.

Okay, so really weird.

Slowly but surely he gets out of bed, letting Emma flip over into his spot, and heads downstairs to open the front door. David and Mary Margaret have a key, but they never use it, always waiting for either he or Emma to open the door for them, which he appreciates after one too many times having them walk in on he and Emma.

“Hi,” he greets, opening the door and ushering them inside. “Emma’s still asleep, but I’m sure she’ll wake up soon. Do you guys want some breakfast?”

“We ate at home, sweetie,” Mary Margaret greets, giving him a quick hug before David does the same. “So Emma said you guys were having some issues in the nursery.”

“I believe that it was more like Killian not being able to put together a crib in under three weeks.”

“So funny, Dave,” he bites, rolling his eyes and locking the door. “I did eventually figure it out. I just think this mid-July heat is obviously getting to me. Or maybe nerves. I’m not too sure.”

“Well, let’s go help then. We’ve got to be at the pub at two, but I think we should be able to get things done.”

After he fixes himself some coffee, not nearly as wide awake as David and Mary Margaret, they head upstairs and begin working in the nursery, assembling the shelves and drilling them into the walls in half the time that it would have taken he and Emma had they done this by themselves. So maybe help isn’t all bad. Before Emma even wakes up, they have the shelves installed and pictures securely nailed on the wall. There are books already being stacked, stuffed animals and knick knacks being placed, and all of the fun nipple creams and breast pumps being placed in the cabinet.

They’re working on the glider when Emma finally wanders in, her hair falling out of its band so that half of it spills down her back while the other half is piled on top of her head, and she’s got her glasses on, something she only does when her eyes feel too puffy to put her contacts in.

“Hey, sweetheart,” David greets, finishing tightening the screw he’s working on before getting up to embrace Emma. “How are you feeling?”

“Rough today. I think the little dude’s a giant or something because he crushes my lungs and my bladder at the same time. So I can’t breathe, and I have to pee. So, yeah, it’s fun.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks, dad. It looks fantastic in here. You guys have done so much. I feel like we’re not going to have anything to do in the next two months if we finish all of this.”

“That’s kind of the point, love.”

“Yeah,” she yawns, covering her mouth, “I know. Mom, do you want to come and rest with me in my room? My back hurts today, and I just can’t sit on the floor in here with you guys.” “Of course, hon,” Mary Margaret answers, walking away from the closet and stepping over to Emma before she rubs up and down her back. “Are you sure you don’t want Killian to join you? David and I would be fine to work on our own.”

“No, it’s fine. I bug him all day, and I’m kind of thinking that you can paint my toes for me or we can watch movies or something. It’s been awhile since we’ve done that.”

“Text me if you need me, love,” he tells Emma, his eyes tracing over her in a bit of concern. It’s difficult watching her be uncomfortable or miserable on some days when he literally can’t do anything about it.

“Yeah, babe, I will.”

Emma and Mary Margaret walk out of the room, their voices fading away as they walk into their bedroom one room over, and he’s left with just David who promptly gets back to work finishing building the chair. Music plays in the background, an eighties’ playlist he thinks, and it doesn’t take longer before the chair is completely together and he’s sitting in it testing it out. It’s comfortable, probably one of the best seats they have in the house, and he can definitely understand why Emma insisted on this one after shopping around a bit.

“How does someone so small have so much stuff?”

“My child is twenty-eight years old, we don’t even live in her childhood home anymore, and I swear things of hers still pop up all of the time.”

“That’s likely because Emma leaves everything all over the place.”

He folds his hands behind his head, closing his eyes and rocking back and forth while Cherry Bomb plays in the background, which is definitely not a nursery appropriate song. Or maybe it is. Who needs Mozart when you can have The Runaways?

“So is Emma like that every day?”

“Like what?” he asks, popping an eye open to look at David who’s sitting against the shelves, which can’t be good for his back. God, how old is he getting if his first concern is for someone else’s back?

“Exhausted.”

“No, not every day. She’s usually got a hell of a lot of energy, even if there’s always a nap. I think she had a restless night. She’ll tell me like it is, though. If she’s having a bad day, she’ll let us know.” “What about you?”

“Well, I don’t have a baby crushing my lungs and my bladder.”

“True,” David laughs, running his hands through his short hair. Killian swears it’s gotten more gray in the past year, the blonde nearly disappearing. David is only fifty-two, so he’s not exactly older. Hell, if it weren’t for the wrinkles on his forehead and the gray hairs outnumbering the blonde, he’d look much younger. “But I remember being a dad for the first time. It’s terrifying, so you’re allowed to be scared.”

“I am. It’s…” He reaches up and scratches behind his ear, his hair getting long enough that he knows he needs to get a haircut soon. “Emma and I try to make sure that we keep up our normal routines, that we have our normal conversations without talking too much about the baby, but it’s kind of hard, you know? It’s like we’ll be talking about going out to eat and two minutes later we’re making a list of middle names or speculating if he’s going to look more like me or Emma.”

“I know. But it’s an exciting time, Killian. There will never be anything like it, and if you want to talk about the fact that you’re having a kid, you should. You and Emma have been together for so long, and I really don’t think your relationship is going to struggle if you’re not sitting around making references no one else understands for hours on end.”

“Oi,” he protests, resisting the urge to pick up the toy elephant next to him and throw it at David, “that is your daughter you’re mocking, and she can still kick your ass.”

“Trust me, I know. Who do you think raised her to be like that?”

“Mary Margaret.”

“You’re walking a thin line.”

He winks at David, his lips ticking up on the right into a smirk. “I know. You and Mary Margaret did such a good job, still do such a good job, and even with all of the times you’ve messed up – ”

“ – which is a lot more often than even Emma has probably told you.”

“I just…you’re a good dad, Dave. To Emma, to me. I hope I can do half as good as a job.”

“You’ll be great, Killian.” David smiles at him, something genuine, and Killian’s reminded of how much David really has impacted his life in all of the best ways. “I promise. And as much as I love you, I do love my little girl more, and she’s going to be amazing. She’s always…she’s never been too open to a lot of people, but the people she loves, she loves so fiercely, you know? And she’s already doing so well at being a mom. She’ll call me at nights, and I can just hear the happiness and excitement in her voice. At the end of the day, that’s all you want, you know? For your kid to be healthy and happy.”

“Yeah, I know.” He smiles to himself, thinking of how happy he is. “Also, how dare you imply that you love your own daughter more than me. I thought I meant more to you than that. I thought we had something special, man.”

“I can still give you hell. I’d watch yourself.”

He and David finish up in the nursery for the next few hours until David and Mary Margaret have to go to work, leaving after the three of them eat lunch down in the kitchen, Emma staying upstairs for a nap. When the Nolans are gone and he’s finished eating, he heads upstairs, bypassing the nursery and walking into their bedroom where Emma is sitting up on the bed watching TV.

“Your toes look nice,” he compliments, grabbing onto her big toe and moving it back and forth. “Do you feel any better?”

“Yeah,” she sighs, twisting onto her back and scooting up the bed, “it’s just one of those days, you know? I’m not usually this miserable.”

“I know, but it’s okay to have bad days, love.”

“Come here,” she tells him, crooking her fingers and motioning toward him before she turns on her side and wraps her arms around her pillow. He does as she asks, kicking off his sneakers and crawling up into the bed, the mattress moving against his weight until he’s pressed up behind her, his knee stuck between her thighs and his arm wrapped around her waist while the other rests above her head. This is how she’s been comfortable lately, and he can’t say he minds. “Did you guys get a lot done?”

“Aye, it’s almost all finished.” He moves her hair off of her neck, placing a kiss there before resting his chin on her shoulder. “It just needs your finishing touches, I think.”

“And we have to unpack all of the boxes that are in the guest room and put them away in the closet.” “That too, but we’ve got time, Emma.” She hums, and he can feel the vibrations as well as Andy moving around under his touch, the movements following how he taps his fingers. “Has he been active today?”

“Not since I woke up, but he always responds to your voice.” “Yeah, he recognizes me?”

“Of course, you talk so damn much. How could he not?”

He turns his head and presses a kiss against her jaw, biting a bit just to tease her. “You are not a very nice woman, my love.”

“Oh please, I’m, like, the seventh nicest person you know.”

“Seventh?”

“I figured it was conceited to put me at number one.”

“Possibly.” He moves his hand against her stomach again, snaking his fingers up under her pajama top so that he can feel the warmth of her skin. “So he really does get more active when I talk?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty weird to think about, but it’s true. He likes when you talk. I think it’s because you’re a much better story teller than me.” “I mean, obviously.”

“And that he’s probably just glad to hear someone else besides me. Imagine being stuck with someone for nine months. Good God.”

“Well, I’m stuck with you for forever. Good God.”

She groans and curses him under his breath before she scoots over and turns in his arms, slowly but surely moving to face him. “Don’t be an asshole. Also, so I was talking to mom today, and she wants to be called Mimi. I think Dad wants to be called Papa, which I like as long as that’s not what you want. I know that’s what some kids call their dads.”

“Aye, it’s what Lizzie calls Liam, which is weird since Alex doesn’t do that. But I’m okay with dad or daddy, so David can be called Papa.”

“Yeah, I kind of like it. Mimi and Papa. And then your parents are Gammy and Grandpa, right? That’s what Alex and Lizzie call them.”

“Aye, but I know Mom didn’t want to be Gammy. It’s just what happened. She says it makes her feel old.”

“Your mom is not old.”

“I know, but considering your parents are barely fifty while my parents are in their sixties and seventies, it doesn’t help.”

“I’ll tell my parents to get older then.”

He smiles at her before closing his eyes and settling into his pillow, letting his head sink down into the softness. It’s calming in here, the lights turned off and curtains closed while the ceiling fan hums a steady rhythm above them. He could fall asleep like this even if he’s not the biggest fan of naps, always somehow ending up groggy when he wakes up, and it doesn’t help with the way that Emma is playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, her fingers scratching into his scalp.

“Are you working tomorrow?”

He pops an eye open, looking at Emma and smiling when her nail hits a particularly sensitive spot on his neck. “Aye, I’ve got the Investiture ceremony at ten. Why?”

“Just wondering. I was thinking we could go somewhere. Just us. Maybe take Indy to Berkshire and let her run around, spend some time outside.” “We can do it in the afternoon, if you want. I think the weather is supposed to be nice.”

“Yeah,” she sighs, leaning forward and sliding her lips over his for a brief moment, “I think that would be nice.”

The next day after he’s finished with the ceremony, he hurries home, changing out of his suit and into shorts and a t-shirt, slipping a baseball cap onto his head and grabbing something to eat for lunch while Emma does the same, her hair falling out of the back of her hat in a long ponytail. They’ve got all day, but the afternoon’s weather is pleasant enough that he’d like to go now so they can stop by a café for dinner, even if that’s the absolute last thing that Thomas will want them to do.

They want their privacy, but they should be able to go out to dinner.

So he and Emma load up into his car, letting Indy sit in the backseat with the window rolled down so she can feel the mid-July breeze blow through her fur. It doesn’t take long to get to Windsor, pulling into their parking garage less than thirty minutes later, and instead of going inside like they’d usually do, he hooks Indy up to her leash while Emma grabs some water bottles and they head to the private gardens, avoiding the visitors wandering around on tours.

As much as he prefers the spring, mild July days are near the top of his list of favorite things. Everything is brighter, more pleasant. The grass is actually greener, the flowers contrasting against their background to create a landscape of whites and shades of purple, while everything is covered in a clear blue sky, only a few white clouds scattered throughout. New life blooms, and he gets to be the one to appreciate it, to revel in it. England can be so dreary sometimes, the weather somehow reflecting the moods of most people on their morning commute to work, so he appreciates when it’s not. He’s always loved the outdoors, and if there’s any complaint he has about his home, it’s the small private garden that they have to themselves. He’d like something larger, more space to run around, and sometime in the future, he and Emma plan to spend more time in Bucklebury so that they have the privacy.

That’s what they’ve decided on since returning from Spain last month. There’s been more lengthy, draining discussions with his parents and their security team than he’s ever wanted, and as much as he feels like they haven’t really accomplished anything, he knows it’s a slow process. Of course, there are drawbacks to every positive. They’re still going to have to spend most of their time at Kensington. It’s closer to their work, to their families. Hell, Emma’s parents just bought a house so that they could have the ability to spend time with their grandchild, and now they’re going to move away from them. It’s less than an hour drive, but it’s not nearly as close as they currently are.

But everyone understands, and they don’t plan on moving any time soon, not until Andy’s a bit older. They want to be near all of their loved ones when he’s younger, and they’ve spent so much time working on their home, making it exactly how they want. It’d be difficult to leave full time, so it’ll be nice to have the option of both.

It’ll be even nicer to give Andy the most normal life that they can possibly give him.

Emma whistles next to him, her fingers between her lips, while Indy runs back to them from where they let her loose. She was about five seconds away from jumping into a pond full of fish, and as much as they’d usually let her swim, they don’t need to have a wet dog with them for the rest of the day. So she runs back to them as quickly as she can, her legs leaping in the air with her black and white fur bouncing the slightest bit. He’s convinced that she shouldn’t be able to be that quick, but she’s still just a young dog, less than a year old, and though her legs will get longer, he doesn’t think she’ll ever be full of this much energy again.

If she is, he and Emma are definitely in over their heads.

With the dog.

He’s going to choose to not think of what it’ll be like with a toddler than can run and a dog that he can run after.

After she calms from her almost pond dive, Indy walks along in front of the two of them, occasionally wandering off the stone path to sniff around in the plants, nearly tearing up several flowers until they call her back to keep walking. They stay wandering for a little over two hours, not caring where exactly they’re going or if they’re circling back around in the same spots. Indy and Emma get tired around the same time, so they settle down onto a stone bench with a patio cover that’s next to another small pond.

In the distance, he can see the Chapel where they were married, the steeple rising up above the other buildings and stone walls, and he smiles to himself thinking of that day. In the grand scheme of things, he knows that when it comes to he and Emma, as important as it was, they had so many smaller, inconsequential days that he holds just as fondly in his heart.

But that was a pretty damn good day.

He stretches his arm out over the back of the bench, wrapping it around Emma’s shoulder and tangling his fingers into the ends of her ponytail while she leans her head on his shoulder, the bill of her hat hitting him in the chin for a brief moment. He’s glad she suggested them getting away from London for a little bit, for suggesting that they change up the routine and spend a day enjoying summer, especially since they’re missing out on Scotland with the rest of the family.

A month in the same place as everyone is likely a bit long, anyways. He loves his family, but that’s a lot for anyone.

“I love you, you know?” Emma asks out of nowhere, her gaze never falling away from the rippling of the water in front of them, a fish leaping up out of the water while the lily pads float around.

He squeezes her shoulder, rubbing up and down her arm and kissing her head even if she can’t feel it through the hat. “I know. I love you too.”