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scullydubois · 4 years ago

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Only the Light Ch. 13

As Scully copes with her diagnosis, Mulder joins her for the Scully family Christmas dinner. Plus, Melissa's girlfriend meets the family.

TW for disordered eating, cigarette smoking, references to abduction/medical rape.

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Self destruction is a natural impulse for Dana Scully, though she’ll try to deny it. Take one unexplained abduction, add a dash of premature menopause, and sift out time spent proving Mulder wrong, and you’ll get a struggling Scully.

She can tell she’s entering a bad mental state when food becomes a suggestion rather than a necessity. Every bite is either earned according to whatever trivial rules she’s set for herself in that particular moment, or is not deserved and therefore not eaten. It’s a game where she’s the coach, player, and referee, yet she still loses every time. Nourishment is both prize and punishment, feeding her hunger but vacating her control.

This habit started when she was a teenager and wracked with feelings her petite frame couldn’t contain. It felt much safer than the route her siblings had taken of sneaking out in the middle of the night or using fake IDs to buy alcohol or skipping church on the regular. As far as fifteen-year-old her was concerned, she wasn’t bothering anyone by foregoing some meals. Her mother disagreed and called her out every time, humiliating her into her second coping mechanism, smoking.

There were the times when Scully was really young and enticed by her sister’s cigarettes, but that was simple preteen rebellion. What developed when Dana was seventeen was something different entirely. A survival mechanism with poison inside, snuffing herself out while keeping her alive and sane. She would walk to the gas station and buy packs of Marlboros with coins from her piggy bank. The laws were lax in the 80s, the prices too. She would blow rings of smoke while walking home, then hide the pack in her bra and swish some mouthwash. She’d repeat the process to and from school, steadily acquiring a nasty nicotine habit. It continued until the summer before college, when she made herself go cold turkey so as not to take the habit with her. As far as she knows, neither her parents nor any of her siblings ever knew about it.

It resurfaces in times of stress, though normally for no more than a single pack. Lately she’s accustomed to keeping a pack and a lighter with her at all times. Her building is smoke free so she steps outside, but her car is off limits because she doesn’t want the smell to cling to her. It is a hassle, but then again, so are most things.

Missy knows about the poor eating habits--those are hard to hide from someone who shares the same space as you. Nevermind the fact that the scale shows six less pounds than before, and that adds up when the number’s not that large to begin with. Scully’s edges protrude now...that can’t be hidden.

Missy never says a word. She remembers Dana complaining about their mother’s condescending comments about her weight, and she knows the damage that does to a young psyche. Instead, she offers. Healthy meals, guilty pleasure meals, all her sister’s favorites. She cooks more than she ever has before, well aware that her sister will struggle to refuse her.

“I recognize what you’re doing,” Missy told her sister when she tried to turn away a caesar salad, of all things. “I’ve been known to do that too,” Missy admitted. “Eat. You’re hungry, you just think not eating will give you some form of control over your body, or your life...but wasting yourself away is letting the bastards win.”

And so she did, that time at least. Scully has enough shame regarding her habit to push it aside whenever confronted---that’s how she insists to herself that it’s not an eating disorder. She can stop on command. That makes it okay, right?

Getting back into the office helped her a lot---you can’t starve yourself and function as an FBI agent. Besides, she would dissolve into thin air if Mulder figured out what she was doing. He was the one who batted around the idea of Scully helping prep each case and supervising any tests he might need the crime lab to do while he’s in the field. He understood that in lieu of therapy, she needed something to take her out of her own mind.

It was as much for him as it was her; at this point, it’s almost incomprehensible to him that the X-Files had existed before her. Of course he was the laughingstock of the FBI! He had huddled in the basement by himself with UFOs and blurry Bigfoot sightings pinned on the wall like a shrine to his own delusion.

Her fall from grace was his absolution. He’ll make an angel of her, somehow. Even if it means he has to meet the devil.

Scully has no interest in becoming an angel, though she’d sure like to avoid hell, and that hasn’t worked out too well. Locker room jokes are one thing. Underestimation another. But assault? Rape? Trauma and torture because she is who she is doing what she does? She is not a quitter, and that is killing her.

Her barrenness haunts her because it was bestowed upon her as punishment, an implication that she only has worth as a walking womb. She wants to be seen as a person, not a pawn.

The arrival of the holiday season is another weight on her shoulders. It used to be Scully’s favorite time of year; now the sight of carolers makes her want to poke her eyes out. It’s the first Christmas without her father, and that is simply unimaginable. Her and Missy spent a quiet Thanksgiving with their mother---small portions and whispered thanks--in preparation for an elaborate family Christmas. Bill Jr. and Tara are flying in from California for the annual Christmas dinner and midnight mass. They will all try to move forward, pretend it’s just like any other year, but it’s not and it never will be again. Happy Christmases are over for the Scully family.

And yet, they will try to enjoy the moment. Missy told her mom that she’s bringing a friend, which is completely true. Trinity is her closest friend that she doesn’t share blood with. That said, she plans to use the occasion to introduce Trinity as her girlfriend, come what may.

Then there was the suggestion that their mother made, which caught her youngest daughter completely off guard. “Why don’t you bring Fox?” Margaret Scully proposed demurely during their weekly phone call. “I’m making a zoo’s worth of food, I could use another mouth to feed. I hate to see any of it go to waste.”

“Mulder’s spending Christmas with his family, I’m sure,” Scully had replied. “But I’ll pass along the offer.”

That was how Scully learned that Mulder’s family isn’t much for celebration, that he usually spends the holiday flipping between It’s A Wonderful Life and the 24 hour marathon of A Christmas Story, and that he has a particular fascination with the idea of midnight mass.

“I just don’t get it,” Mulder mused. “You believe that a jolly old man with flying reindeer leaves presents in your house, but you think he waits until after you’ve gotten home from celebrating Baby Jesus’ birthday? Didn’t you ever look for his sleigh in the sky on the drive home?”

“No, Mulder,” Scully sighed. “I just believed that he knew when we were tucked in bed. Santa’s all-seeing, you know,” she teased.

Mulder chuckled. “Kind of presumptuous to assume he functions on your schedule, huh?”

Ultimately, Mulder said yes. He figured attending the Catholic equivalent of Jesus’ birthday party would be another check off his supernatural bucket list, though he did not say this part out loud for fear of Dana Scully’s wrath. Besides, what else was he gonna do on Christmas Eve? Shake the shoebox of junk he stuck under his mini-basketball hoop so he felt like he was getting a gift?

And so the fateful day arrives. Mulder flips his Garfield page-a-day calendar to December 24th, chuckles at the comic strip of the orange cat eating all his owner’s Christmas cookies, and makes his way to his partner’s increasingly familiar doorstep. The sun has already slipped behind the trees by the time he arrives. It gives up easily in the winter.

He rings the bell and hears Scully’s dainty footsteps on the other side. She’s snuck up on him enough times for him to have developed a keen sense of her light footing--no more jump scares for him.

“Hey Scully,” he stammers as she opens the door. She had told him to look “festive,” so he donned his nicest green sweater (a gift from his mom from J. Crew...he had never worn it) and slacks. Scully rounds out their show of holiday spirit with a velvet red blouse and black trousers.

“You look lovely,” Mulder says reflexively, unsure when he started using such a word. Scully pulls at her shirt, obscuring the bit of cleavage that has revealed itself. “Thanks Mulder,” she mutters, ushering him inside.

He holds up the shiny silver gift bag he hastily stuffed with tissue paper. “Some candy canes I picked up at the gas station. I figured the whole family could enjoy them.”

Scully nods, amused by his feeble attempt at gifting. “I’m sure they won’t go to waste.”

A fire crackles in the fireplace. It’s so hot in the apartment that Mulder is surprised it hasn’t melted the snow outside on the sidewalk.

“Where’s Melissa?” he asks, hoping they will hit the road sooner than later.

“She’s picking up her girlfriend from the airport. She couldn’t get an earlier flight.”

“Dulles?” He sure hopes not. It’s all the way across town.

“No, Reagan.”

Whew. Much closer.

“She should be back any minute now,” Scully continues. “Trinity’s flight got in at 3:30.”

Mulder rolls his sleeves up. “So your family doesn’t know about Trinity?”

Scully shakes her head.

“Do they know that Melissa’s…” He gestures, unsure which word to fill the space with.

“Bi? No.”

“So she shows up with Trinity, and then what?”

Scully shrugs. “She introduces her as her girlfriend. Mom already knows Missy is bringing a guest so she’ll have a plate for her.”

“You’re not worried about how the family’s gonna react?”

“Well, I’m sure Bill is gonna be a dick about it, but that’s normal. We only see him once a year, so it doesn’t really matter.”

“Bill’s your brother?”

“Uh-huh. And Tara is his wife. They got married about a year and a half ago.”

Even as he pushes into his thirties, it still surprises Mulder that anyone close to his age could be married. He doesn’t even sleep in a bed.

“You think your mom’s gonna be cool with Trinity?” he asks.

“I think she loves her daughter enough to be.”

“Mmm.” Mulder sticks his hands in his pockets. If only he had dilemmas like this. He imagines him and Samantha speculating about their mother’s reaction to Sam’s nose piercing or dyed hair or...anything really. He would give so much to have someone to laugh about his uncle’s sideburns with.

His emotional deep-dive is promptly cut off by the entrance of Melissa and a brunette woman whose bangs graze her eyebrows, her hair falling just below her shoulder. “Hi!” she chirps, taking in the magnificence of Dana Scully. “Dana, I presume?”

Scully nods.

“May I hug you?” Trinity asks, hazel eyes shining.

“Sure,” Scully says, feeling the brisk air against Trinity’s coat as she’s pulled in.

Scully lets go first, and Trinity takes that as a cue to pull away. “You look just like Mel, wow,” she remarks, fighting the urge to run her fingers through Scully’s hair.

Scully smiles softly. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, it is,” Trinity assures, exchanging a gooey gaze with Missy. Next, her attention falls upon Mulder, who does an awkward half-wave. “Hello!” She points between Mulder and Scully. “Boyfriend?”

Mulder chokes. Scully picks up his slack--”Oh, no. This is Fox Mulder, my partner at the FBI.”

“Ahh,” Trinity smiles knowingly. “Yes, I’ve heard about you. I didn’t know you would be joining us for Christmas.”

“Christmas is not exactly my family’s cup of tea, so I figured I’d get an authentic experience with the Scullys.”

“Same! I’m looking forward to Mama Scully’s ginger snaps. I’ve heard fantastic things about them.”

Mulder elbows his partner playfully. “Damn, Scully! How could you leave me in the dark about ginger snaps?”

Scully rolls her eyes but smiles. “I apologize, Mulder. Though for the record, the fruitcake is better.”

“Says no one, ever,” Mulder teases.

She grins. Now this is Christmas.

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Taking a seat at Margaret Scully’s dinner table feels like existing inside a Christmas movie, in Mulder’s mind. Fancy china, green and red serving platters, paper mache snowflakes hanging from the ceiling, and a porcelain nativity scene; the dining room has it all. Not to mention the heaping piles of food there for the taking...if this is Christmas, Mulder wants in every year.

Scully does not share his cinematic fantasy. She knows better, having actually attended one of her family’s dinners before. Bill will get too drunk and start saying whatever comes to mind, their mother will laugh along like he’s still a five year old babbling about nothing (as opposed to the thirty-something spewing bullshit that he actually is), Missy will attempt to debate him to get him to shut up (which never works), and she will sit there and wish to be somewhere, anywhere else. And all without their father to hold the reins and keep a fight from breaking out.

The night has gone smoothly enough, Scully supposes. Missy introduced Trinity as her girlfriend in a very non-ceremonial way, forcing Bill and their mother to nod and accept it, in the moment at least. Mulder received a hug from Margaret and a pat on the shoulder from Bill, so pretty much the highest token of approval. Mulder’s candy canes earned a place in the center of the dessert table, which gave him way more satisfaction than it should have, and he couldn’t help but feel that if they were to vote on favorite man at the party, he would win. A room with Bill Jr. in it is probably the only place he would ever earn this honor, and he’ll take that.

Yet everything unwinds as Scully suspected. Bill waits until everyone has packed plates and full mouths to unleash his particular hyperfixation for the night.

“Trinity?” he questions, raising his fork diagonal across the table toward her. “Is that your name?”

Trinity smiles and nods, oblivious to what she’s in for.

“And you know Melissa how…?”

She pats a napkin to her mouth. “We worked at the same restaurant in Oregon.”

He chuckles gruffly. “What was it, one of those gay bar things?”

“No, an Italian bistro,” Trinity continues calmly.

Missy, however, is not so calm. “Gay people can go places other than gay bars,” she retorts. “We’re not segregated. Though I’m sure you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Bill sets a fist on the table, clanging his silverware. “Yeah, that’s what I said. Why the hell do you insist on being so politically correct all the time? I’d shoot myself.”

“Gee, maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Now Melissa…” Margaret Scully’s voice rises above the clamor.

“I have the right to defend my girlfriend and I against Bill’s thinly disguised homophobia,” Missy responds.

“You act like I give a damn what you and your friend do,” Bill sneers. “That’s not my business.”

“Then stop pretending like it is.”

“Oh boo-hoo, little Missy thinks the world revolves around her.”

“Bill, honey, I think that’s enough,” Tara says, laying a protective hand on his arm.

“You’re right.” He raises his can of beer toward Mulder. “Whaddya doin here, hot shot? Trying to seduce my sister?”

Scully frowns, but doesn’t say anything, pushing food around on her plate.

Mulder seems rather unbothered by Bill’s advances. He chuckles. “Actually, I think it’s the other way around.”

Bill snorts. “That’s a likely story.”

“You don’t think I’m worth your sister’s time?”

“I don’t think Dana thinks you're worth her time. You’re not her type.”

“I am sitting right here, you know,” Scully says, staring daggers at her brother.

“Then tell us Dana! Is hot shot here your type?”

Her eyes brush Mulder’s face. His cheeks flush, reddening like a stormy sunset. She wishes she could read his mind. The safe answer and the true answer are not often the same. “I think Mulder is a wonderful man. I’m very lucky to know him,” she answers stiffly, her annoyance aimed at Bill.

“Oh, the old run-around!” Bill scraps his fork against his plate. ”Typical.”

Scully grabs her now empty canned cocktail and sulks into the kitchen, leaving her chair pushed away from the table. Everyone watches her go, but Bill gives off the only visible reaction. He laughs. “Scared her away. Thought it would take more.”

Mulder and Melissa exchange a glance. She nods, granting him permission to play knight-in-shining-armor. Quietly, Mulder slips out of his chair and pushes it back into place. He catches the kitchen door as it swings closed behind his partner.

Her anger concealed from the rest of the family, Scully drops her can in the recycling bin with a bang. She ignores Mulder, instead opening the refrigerator and pulling out another cocktail, saying nothing.

“What is this, your fifth drink?” Mulder brushes his hand over her shoulder, and she recoils. “Leave me alone, Mulder.” She slams the fridge and tries to turn around, but he’s cornered her.

“C’mon Scully, Bill’s harmless. He doesn’t bother me.”

“It’s not fucking about Bill,” she fumes, alcohol fizzing through her bloodstream. She inhales, trying to keep it together in front of the man who has done nothing wrong to her. “Please get out of my way.”

“What’s wrong?” He frames her shoulders with his hands, creating their own little bubble.

“Don’t touch me!” she growls. Mulder knows as soon as hears it: he will never forget the pure anguish in her voice. As she retreats to the corner, he looks down at his palms, the stovetop that burned her...he would cut them off if he could.

Unfortunately, the commotion attracts the Scully’s like a dog whistle. Bill leads the charge into the kitchen, getting a full view of his sister hunched over by the back door while her partner stands by the fridge like an idiot. “Ooo, a lover’s spat!” he exclaims, only nominally concerned about Dana’s well-being.

“Shut up, Bill,” Missy hisses. To everyone’s relief, he does.

Mrs. Scully comes forward, maneuvering around Mulder to get to her daughter. “Are you alright, Dana?”

Scully keeps her back to the crowd. “I just need a minute.” She taps her pocket, confirms that she slipped her pack of cigarettes in. “I’ll be outside. Everyone can go back to dinner, please.”

She twists the doorknob and steps onto the back deck without waiting for any response. Mulder feels the tug of tears in his throat, like a dormant animal waking up in him. He is used to being hurt (though not by Scully, never her), but inflicting the hurt is a whole other beast. He doesn’t know what he’s done, but he doesn’t need to. The look in her eyes, put there by what he thought was a harmless touch, made his heart tremble. He is frozen in place, grateful when Melissa appears at his side as the rest of the party returns to the dining room.

“I didn’t mean to upset her, I was trying to make her feel better about Bill…” he laments.

“I’m sure, I’m sure. It’s not you specifically, she’s going through a lot right now--you know.”

Mulder rubs his neck. “I don’t know if I do.”

“She hasn’t shared her diagnosis?”

His eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. “Diagnosis?! Is she okay?”

Missy sighs. “I think you two need to talk. If she gets pissed, tell her I sent you.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Tell me if she’s okay.”

“She’s okay. It’s not fatal or anything.”

“She would tell me, if it was...wouldn’t she?”

Missy bites her lip. “I don’t know, Fox---Mulder. I would hope so, but I was under the impression you already knew about this, and you see how that’s gone.”

Mulder turns toward the back door, desperation living in his voice. “I’ve gotta go. I’ve gotta check on her.”

Missy nods. “Don’t let her weasel her way out of this one. I’m expecting a heart-to-heart, mushiness and all.”

“Aye aye, captain.”

He turns the back doorknob and slips through the door, trying to imitate his partner’s ninja skills. The old wood on the door frame shakes as he shuts it. He winces--so much for the sneak attack.

Mulder follows the arc of the deck, winter’s bite colliding with him. He didn’t have a chance to grab his jacket, and now that he’s thinking about it, Scully didn’t either. He can grin and bear it but she is all skin and bones, now more than ever. It scares him to see her like that, but it’s none of his business, he feels, to comment on her body. He can break her fall, but he must not provide an extra push.

The wind has no friends to protect nor foes to defeat, so it will give away anyone. It carries the unmistakable tarnish of smoke to Mulder’s nose, an ashy haze that has come to remind him of Skinner’s office and the shadow lingering in the corner. He almost expects to find him there with his Morleys and his sadistic laugh. Instead, he finds a redhead and her Marlboros shrinking against the December cold snap.

“Bum a cig, ma’am?” He scoots up to her, ready to retrieve his own smoke from her long, slender fingers.

“Mulder!” She pulls the cigarette away from her, holding her last puff captive in her lungs.

He wiggles his fingers like an impatient child. “We’re all gonna die someday, right?”

Her jig up, she rolls her shoulders back and releases the smoke with a great rise and fall of her chest. It mingles in the air with the chill of her breath, becoming one and the same as they leave the contours of her body. Head tilted back and lips parted, she is alive with nicotine’s ease and intoxication’s freedom.

It is better than porn, according to one Fox William Mulder. He’ll keep this observation to himself for now.

“Did your parents never teach you that sharing is caring?” he rambles. “C’mon, give me a light!”

“It’s a nasty habit, Mulder.”

“I’m a connoisseur of those,” he replies loosely. “Now, you’re not gonna make me put you in a headlock are ya?”

Scully rolls her eyes. She’s never felt less threatened in her life. “You’re exhausting, do you know that?”

“I’ve heard it a time or two.”

She pulls a cigarette from her carton and slips it into his fingers. They are warm; hers are ice-cold. “I wanted to be alone.” She hands him the lighter, watches as he generates heat from thin air.

He lights his cig and sticks the lighter in his pocket rather than handing it back to her. “According to my calculations, you should be very drunk right now. Other than your Oscar bait performance back there, you’ve got things pretty under control I’d say.”

Scully gestures at her cigarette smoking, teeth chattering self. “Yeah, I’m the picture of health.”

“Do you have some exceptional alcohol tolerance I should know about, because that’d make you very valuable in undercover work.”

Scully gazes out into the distance. She’d smile if she were to look at him right now, and that doesn’t feel right for the situation. “Those drinks have low alcohol content, Mulder. You can buy them at Dollar General.”

“You ever looked at their hand sanitizer? It’s like 95% alcohol.”

“Well, now I know where you go to get your fix.”

He chuckles. “You got me.”

She stuffs her hands in her pockets and he wishes, god he wishes, that he had grabbed his jacket. He’d take off his sweater if she wanted him to--stand there with his bare chest to the cold--but he has a feeling that would only exacerbate the situation.

He tries a more gentlemanly route. “Do you want me to grab your jacket? I won’t give away your trade secrets.”

She folds herself together. “No, it’s okay. It’ll make me get a move on at some point.”

They stand united in their rebellion, blowing smoke and freezing their asses off. Who needs Christmas cheer when you’ve got Christmas resentment?

Mulder sways a bit to keep his blood circulating. He is careful not to bump her. “You wanna tell me why you’re out-Scrooging Scrooge this year?” he prompts as gently as he can.

“In case you haven’t noticed, it hasn’t exactly been the best year of my life.”

“I gathered that, yeah.”

“And it’s the first Christmas without my father…” her voice warbles.

“Shit, right. I’m sorry,” Mulder murmurs.

“...So it just doesn’t feel very celebratory.” She takes a long drag. Mulder can tell that this secret smoking habit is not new to her, and he wonders when she picked it up, how long she has kept it from him.

He takes a deep breath, watches as it is written in the air. “Melissa told me you received a diagnosis, and I think we’ve already established that sharing is caring…”

Scully looks him in the eyes for the first time since he joined her. It has the sudden intensity of a black-and-white film, Scully the 1940s scarlet and he the leading man who pales in comparison to her. There is no one he’d rather be overshadowed by.

“It’s humiliating,” she croaks. “Missy and my mom are the only ones who know.”

“I’ve got the monopoly on humiliation in this partnership, so I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says, flicking some ashes to the ground.

“This is a particular form of humiliation you can’t experience, I’m afraid. Or at least, it wouldn’t impact you the same way.”

“Let’s hear it.”

She sighs. “My abductors removed all of my eggs, causing my menstrual cycle to shut down and me to enter perimenopause.”

His breath catches in his throat. “Jesus christ.”

“Uh-huh.”

He throws his cigarette on the ground and stamps it out, though it could have burned longer. “That’s fucking horrifying, Scully. You’ve got to inform the Bureau. We’ve got to catch these--whatever they are. We’ve got to make them pay.”

“No, Mulder. It’s too much. I don’t want to keep reliving it, I want to be able to move on with my life.”

“How can you move on when they’re still out there, probably doing it to more women?”

She shakes her head, feeling the snag of tears and holding them back for fear they might freeze on her face. “I don’t know, but I can’t think about it like that. It sort of...shatters everything, the idea that this could be a phenomenon happening to other women in secret. I wouldn’t believe it if it didn’t happen to me. I still don’t believe it.”

Mulder shudders. He can’t discern whether it’s from the cold or their conversation. “Do you think it was men who took you? Or do you believe Duane Barry?”

“It seems like a level of monstrosity that only man could achieve. It requires a certain understanding of society, gender roles...dehumanization that only humans could perpetuate.”

Mulder nods. Her reasoning tracks, but the thought of him failing to outsmart humans who stole away his partner is something he cannot fully process. It makes sense that he couldn’t find her if she was in space, but if she was on the face of the Earth, he had no damn excuse.

“You were just gone, Scully...you were just gone.” His aching is so palpable, his voice a cliff’s edge they could both tumble down.

“I know I was.” She takes one last puff, then lets her cigarette fall to the ground. She crushes it with her heel, her force premeditated and brutal. That pain is for the ones who took her, the ones who have obviously never loved a thing at all.

Head bowed, she moves toward the door, but not without grasping for Mulder’s elbow, assuring that he is following behind. He is and he will be, for as long as she lets him.

Inside, the home’s manufactured warmth hits them, unreal in comparison to the cold they have known. The kitchen is as quiet as it was before their ordeal, the dining room empty aside from Mrs. Scully clearing serving platters.

“Where did everyone go?” Scully asks, momentarily alarmed that she may have ruined the entire gathering.

“We’re going to drive around and look at lights before mass. Everyone’s getting ready.”

“Oh.” She looks to Mulder, as if to check that he hasn’t left her stranded. “I think I’ll stay here,” she tells her mother. “Make a cup of hot chocolate and relax for a bit.”

“Well, you’ll be missed. Fox, would you like to join us?”

He takes a leap, hopes he’s got the right idea. “I’ll stay here, but thank you.”

“As you wish,” Mrs. Scully says with a slight smile. Mulder had never noticed her resemblance to her daughter until that moment. It was like looking at a sketch of a famous painting; the lines are there but the colors missing.

Soon enough the crowd leaves and Scully and Mulder settle on the couch with mugs of hot cocoa. Margaret Scully’s tree forms the centerpiece of the living room, and it’s hard not to admire its gold and red decorations and the shiny angel on top.

“That’s gorgeous. Does she do it every year?” Mulder asks, ignoring the steam rising out of his mug and going right in for the kill.

Scully nods. “Every year since we were kids. There used to be a lot more homemade ornaments, but I guess she swapped those for a more elegant look now that we’re grown.”

“Well, it’s beautiful.” He looks at her, curled up with the glow of the fireplace falling upon her, and he feels warmth and safety like never before. It would be so easy to slip in “and so are you,” it is practically begging to be said. But she wouldn’t believe him if he said it now; she would think it was a pity compliment. Instead, he mouths the words, and she is not looking, and that is okay.

She snuggles deeper into the cushions, closing her eyes and letting her mind wander. She is the most at ease she has been in months--here in the house she lived in during high school with the fireplace crackling and her partner by her side--and that’s not what she expected from Christmas Eve. Heaven strokes her skin, and she blinks her eyes open to find Mulder tucking her in with her mother’s microfiber blanket. She smiles her soft Scully smile. “Thank you,” she coos, burrowing herself deeper into the blanket’s embrace.

“You’re welcome,” Mulder whispers into her ear. His fingers tangle in her hair as he pulls her toward him, his lips meeting her temple. She catalogues the feeling for her memory bank: chapped but carrying the hot chocolate’s warmth. She will spend the next while convinced that it was a dream, a fleeting image in the moments before sleep, but she will carry the feeling until she feels it again.

#in true x files fashion it's an angsty christmas with some fluff at the end #just pretend that christmas hasnt passed haha #guest starring: bill jr being a dick #and missy's gf <3 #if you continue to follow this I'm literally in love with you thank you #the x-files #only the light fic #txf #txf fic #missy and scully fic #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine

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alwaysmychoices · 4 years ago

Note

Would you be interested in doing a headcanon for MC and Ethans first holiday together?

Yes, I love this! I’m going to make a little series from Thanksgiving to New Year’s, so here is part 1: Thanksgiving.

Ethan and f!MC (Charlie’s) First Thanksgiving

This year, the holidays really sneaked up on Ethan and Charlie. There was so much going on – their new relationship, the drama with Edenbrook, and the normal hecticness that characterized their lives. By the time they even thought about it, it was almost Thanksgiving.

About 10 days before Thanksgiving, Ethan checked the call schedule and was horrified to see how many people had the next week off! Where were they going during such a busy time?

That morning, Charlie had been cornered by Sienna and Elijah asking for rides to the airport on the following Wednesday, and she gave a dumbfounded look at the request. It wasn’t until Sienna explained that she wanted to make it home in time to make her famous pumpkin pie did Charlie realize there was a national holiday the next week.

When she got to work, she met Ethan in his office like she did every morning. They liked to get together before the day started, drink their coffee, discuss their cases for the day, and have a moment of peace before their days pried them apart.

The second Charlie walked through the door, Ethan lamented about the call schedule and all the departures. Charlie felt quite smug as she reminded him it was Thanksgiving. Of course, she didn’t tell him that she also forgot.

“oh…” Ethan paused, “Are you going home?”

“No, I traded for Christmas,” Charlie felt a little strange she hadn’t told him that yet, but she wore a smirk as she asked, “I’m assuming that you’re also not going home.”

“Not according to the call schedule.”

“So, we’re both in Boston.”

“I guess so.”

That was all they said that day, but the lingering question hung in the air. Were they supposed to do something? As a couple, were they obligated to celebrate the holiday together? And if so, what were they supposed to do?

Luckily, neither had to answer any of those questions.

On Monday morning, Naveen made a visit to the diagnostics team to consult on a new patient. The second he heard that the couple didn’t have plans, he demanded they have a little Thanksgiving. Before either could object, Naveen had already volunteered Ethan’s apartment and offered to bring a nice bottle of wine.

Without much of a choice, Ethan agreed.

Admittedly, Ethan and Charlie were a little nervous. The holidays presented a new pressure on a relationship they were still building.

Along the way, the small Thanksgiving grew. Ethan invited his father, and after hearing that Jackie was also stuck in Boston, Charlie asked Jackie to join them.

The morning of Thanksgiving, Ethan and Charlie both came in early for rounds. Their patients were stable, so pending an emergency call, they were free to go after they finished up. They met in the hall and awkwardly made their final arrangements about when to come and what to bring.

They were just about to part ways when Ethan suddenly stopped her.

Though he wouldn’t admit it, he had thought about asking her question all morning. He spent nearly his entire commute pondering whether or not he should even ask. Then, he spent another hour wondering what it would mean if he did.

Finally, he just did it.

“Do you know how to cook?”

“You know I don’t.”

That was true. Charlie once set a piece of toast on fire in his kitchen, and he hadn’t trusted her unattended ever since.

“Would you like to help me finish prepping anyway?”

Charlie was surprised by the question, “You want me to help?”

“You don’t have to,” Ethan clarified quickly, “And I’m not asking because you’re a woman and there’s a sexist assumption you should be cooking today.” The words rushed out of Ethan’s mouth too fast for him to appreciate the regret of that statement until he already said it, and he winced. “Anyway, I’d appreciate your help, if you’re willing. And we, um… could do it together.”

Charlie paused. Frankly, she was shocked he even asked, let alone that he wanted to turn a holiday like this into a moment for the two of them – not that she should have been surprised, however. They were together now, and despite some occasional missteps, Ethan proved he wanted to be around her.

“Yeah,” Charlie finally answered, “Sounds fun, actually.”

An hour later, Charlie walked into his apartment, armed with a spare pie Sienna left for the occasion. Ethan was glad to have her help and happy to be around her, even if they both squirmed slightly at the uncomfortable newness of their relationship.

It was … nice. Sure, it was new and awkward and went against everything Ethan ever said he wanted, but he appreciated the domesticity.

Ethan was increasingly amazed at how many boundaries Charlie pushed and how happy he was every time she did.

Naveen was the first guest to arrive, and Ethan caught his shining, knowing grin when he saw Charlie already there. Naveen, of course, had been convinced of Ethan’s undying love practically from the first conversation he’d witnessed between the two. Ethan naturally resisted his judgement and rolled his eyes whenever he could.

But today, Ethan refrained from hampering his old friend’s excitement. He gave no warning to behave or a half-hearted denial of his affection. Ethan said it was out of holiday cheer. Of course, it wasn’t. No one could ever accuse Ethan of having holiday cheer.

No, it was really because Ethan had a secret suspicion that Naveen had been right all along.

Dinner was awkward, at first. It was only natural. Even bold Jackie squirmed as she sat through dinner with two of her bosses.

But it settled into comfort.

And then, somehow, it even became enjoyable.

By the time dinner was over, no one really wanted to leave.

They were laughing and sharing funny stories, and Ethan and Charlie became increasingly comfortable beside each other. With Ethan’s arm slung around her shoulder as he leisurely leaned back into his chair, it felt right – normal, even.

Eventually, though, it had to end.

Jackie got called in to the hospital, and Naveen announced he needed to get going if he would make it to the cabin before it was too late. Charlie agreed to cover for Ethan while he drove his father back to Providence, and then it was over.

By the time Ethan got back to the city, the hospital was overrun with ridiculous accidents and various emergencies. As a diagnostician, he didn’t have to deal with the worst of the night, but he came in to the hospital far more than he hoped.

Charlie, for most of the mess, was by his side.

When the storm finally calmed and the patients under their care had been adequately treated, Ethan stopped by the diagnostics office before going home for the evening.

He was surprised to find Charlie already there, seated on the couch with laptop in hand. She was equally startled to see him and closed the laptop before he could see the Christmas movie on her screen.

“You’re still here?” Ethan asked.

“I’m observing a patient overnight,” Charlie explained, conspicuously scrambling with the headphones attached to her computer.

“Did I interrupt something?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“… I was watching a Christmas movie.”

“It’s still Thanksgiving.”

“It’s a family tradition to watch a Christmas movie on Thanksgiving night,” Charlie defended herself, “And if I’m stuck here, I thought I might as well.”

Ethan paused and then asked, “What are you watching?”

“Home Alone.”

“That’s a movie for children.”

Still, despite his apparent disapproval, Ethan asked if he could join.

And that was how their first Thanksgiving ended, watching a movie in the diagnostics office and patiently waiting when Charlie got a call to check on a patient and had to pause the movie.

Once, while she was off explaining a diagnosis to a family, Ethan thought to himself that they should really make an effort to have the night off for Thanksgiving next year.

Then he realized he was already making plans with her for next year…

And even more amazingly, that didn’t scare him.

#ethan ramsey #dr. ethan ramsey #choices #open heart #open heart 2 #pixelberry

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katehuntington · 5 years ago

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Title: November 2nd Author: Kate Huntington Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: Season 8/9 (before Mary comes back) Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader. (Sam, Castiel, John, and Mary mentioned) Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader Warnings: Angst, grief over loss of family, fluff, sad!Dean Word Count: 2276 words Summary: The 2nd day of November, the day Dean’s mother died, is always a tough one to get through. This time however, Y/N is by his side to offer him support. Author’s note: This is a sad oneshot, people. But on this day, November 2nd, the day when it all started, it’s more than fitting. Beta’d by @winchest09 & @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish

The two on the display of the alarm clock flicks into a three as minutes slowly pass. 8.03 PM, it's almost time. Troubled, Dean lets the air escape from his lips and returns his gaze to the ceiling of the bunker. He hoped that after an exhausting hunt like the last, he’d be asleep by now.

It took the hunters four days to track down a ghoul in Savage, Mississippi. Add a fourteen hour drive back home to that and you’d think he’d be out like a light before even reaching his bed. Unfortunately, it’s quite the opposite and he wishes they had run into another job on the way over to Lebanon, so that at least his mind would be occupied. But with no new cases lined up, he remains lying on his back motionless, sheets pulled up to his chest, one hand behind his head.

His jaw clenches as he thinks of the tragedy that struck so many years ago. After all that time it should be easier, right? It should be less hard to deal with days like these, time heals all wounds after all. But not this one. This wound is the foundation of all his illnesses, of all his problems, of his life.

He removes his hand from behind his head and settles back into his pillow, running his fingers through his hair. Again he glances aside at the neon numbers that tell the time. 8.08 PM now. He squirms a little, annoyed by the space he has all by himself. The bed is much cooler than usual, it seems bigger too. It’s because Y/N is missing from it.

He had withdrawn into his room a couple of hours ago and failed to invite her to come with him like he usually does. Now that he thinks of it, he has been giving her the cold shoulder for at least a week, so no wonder that she didn’t follow him to his chamber. Why does he do that? Why does he push everyone away who cares about him whenever life gets hard? He didn’t mean to ignore her on the ride home, he didn’t mean to snap when she adjusted the heater on the dashboard when she got cold. He didn’t mean to shove her hand away when she comfortingly laid it on his leg as a sign of support. Yet he did and he feels like an absolute dick. She is only trying to be there for him, to be the supporting girlfriend. But he can’t have it, he can’t accept it. If she witnesses how broken he truly is, why would she possibly want to stay with him? And yet treating her like dirt isn’t exactly delivering the message that he wants her with him either. Shit, he’s such an idiot.

Then the timepiece on the nightstand changes again, hitting 8.11 PM. His eyes linger at the display and he swallows back the lump that started to build in his throat. Eleven past eight, the moment the clock in Sammy’s nursery stopped ticking. The moment Azazel set foot in that room and fucked it all up. Dean averts his gaze away again and shuts his eyes. Four years old at the time, but he remembers so many details. He remembers the intense heat from the fire, his mother’s horrifying screams, the smell of burning flesh, his father handing baby Sam to him.

Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don’t look back! Now, Dean! Go!

That’s when his mission started, that’s when the four year old grew into an adult. That moment right there changed everything. That moment when his mother died.

Soft creaking of the door interrupts his vivid memories and when he opens his eyes he sees Y/N, peeking inside his room. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she excuses herself timidly. “Just wanted to check in.” “It’s okay,” Dean replies, voice raspy. “I’ll get my stuff.” Almost shameful, she moves into the bedroom and picks up her duffle bag, but Dean stops her. “Where are you going?” His questioning eyes are softer than they have been for the last couple of days. For the first time this week he seems genuinely worried about her and she ceases her actions. “I can take a hint, Dean,” she returns, fiddling with the handles of the bag. “Look, if you wanna end this, I get it. I'll move out.” “What? No!” He sits up, regretting every action or word that made her feel unwanted. “C’mere.”

He can see that she has been longing for his invitation. Despite her efforts to hide it, tears shimmer in her eyes and it’s only now that Dean gets how scared she was. It couldn’t possibly be that she thought that he was going to break up with her, right? Insecure, Y/N moves closer and sits down on the edge of the bed. Bruising has started to surface on her right jaw, visible signs of the fight she had with the ghoul. He didn’t even ask her if she was alright.

“I’m such an asshat,” Dean muddles, realizing the effects of his behavior as he grabs her hand and squeezes it softly. His eyes meet hers and beg for forgiveness, but that’s not what she’s after. All she wants is to understand what is going on in that mind of his, why he’s building this Berlin Wall around himself. “It’s alright,” she assures, glancing down at their locked hands as she moves her fingers over his battered knuckles softly. “Just… Please explain to me what’s wrong. If I did something to upset you, then I--” “You didn’t,” he promises, trying to soothe her by gently cupping her face. “You think I’m acting this way because of you?” She shrugs as her bottom lip begins to tremble. Unable to prevent her eyes from welling up, a single tear comes down her cheek, Dean wiping it away when it reaches his thumb.

To her, the signs were clear, though. He pushed her off, declined any affection and refused to talk to her. Maybe after being together for five months he got bored with her. Face it, Dean’s relationship track record isn’t very impressive; he hasn’t been able to hold on to a woman for very long. Why should she be any different? “Hey, look at me.” A pair of green orbs stare into her soul when she dares to meet them. The warmth coming from his dark pupils takes away some of the doubt, but not nearly all of it. “You are the best thing that happened to me in a long, long time. You couldn’t possibly do anything wrong. This is not on you, you hear me?” he tells her, remorseful. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”

His eyes bounce between hers before he comes closer and presses a soft and tender kiss on her lips. It calms her down in an instant and she answers him gratefully. It’s amazing how Dean is able to wash away her insecurities, but then again he always had that effect on her. The lack of his love drowned her in doubt so overwhelming that it caused her to question everything she stands for. But the presence of it, well… let’s just say he is able to make her feel so incredibly special, that she could take on the world.

When Dean opens his eyes again and creates a little distance, her smile that had faded over the past week is back. He mirrors the expression, but can’t prevent his heartache from showing too. Although he convinced her that she didn’t trigger his behaviour, it’s clear as day that he’s carrying a burden around that is forcing him on his knees. “Then what is it, Dean? Please tell me,” she asks again. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

He nods, but breaks eye contact nonetheless. Talking about the things that keep him up at night has never been his strong suit. He can’t even remember the last time he talked to anyone about his mother, except for Sam, who used to occasionally ask about her death when he was younger. Even then he wouldn’t waste more than a few words, too afraid it would surface emotions that he was glad to have buried so deep. But when he looks at Y/N again, he does the one thing he has never done with any woman: he opens up. “On November 2nd, 1983, my mom was killed by a demon,” he starts off. “Today is the anniversary of her death and it’s uh - it’s always been a tough day for me.”

He gazes away into nothingness as the warm light from the lamp on the bed stand shimmers into his teary eyes. She watches him, her mouth slightly opened in shock by this devastating unravelment, as compassion for her partner grows. “Birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas… They’re not really that much of a celebration when you barely have anyone left to spend it with,” Dean continues. “I was right there when it happened. Even though I was just a kid, I remember and… I-I don’t know, I just can’t seem to be able to let it go.”

As he tells her what happened that dreadful night, she folds back the covers and snuggles up next to him, filling the emptiness that was there in her absence. Turned on her side facing him, she listens to the story, leaning on her elbow as her free hand grips his. “The thing is… that if she hadn’t walked into the nursery that night, Azazel probably would’ve left her alone. She would’ve seen her kids grow up, Dad would most likely still be alive. Sam and I wouldn’t have learned how to fire a gun at the age of six,” he scoffs as he rubs his brow. “We would’ve had a childhood, a home… We would’ve been a family.” His voice breaks on the final word and he keeps quiet, knowing that anything else would come out shaky. He tries to focus on the ceiling light, hoping that if he does, he will be able to keep it together. As he struggles to stay strong, Y/N continues to run her thumb over his hand, not letting go of his grip.

“I know it’s a dysfunctional one, but you have a family, Dean. Sam, Cas, me… We’re in this together,” she speaks wisely, trying to comfort him. “And I didn’t have the pleasure to meet your mother, but I bet she’d be damn proud of you after everything that you have done for the people you care about, and not just for them. You saved the world, Dean.” He keeps staring at the ceiling, shaking his head. He’s not a hero. He started the damn apocalypse. He tortured souls in Hell. He did unimaginable things. After swallowing thickly, he dares to test his voice again. “This is not the life she wanted her kids to be raised in.” He knows. “It would make her so sad if she knew we're hunters…”

The tightness in his chest overwhelms him, it pushes the tears that were gathering in the corner of his eye over the edge, causing them to run down his temples. He doesn’t want her to see this side of him, this weak and vulnerable excuse of a man. But he can’t help it, he can’t stop himself from breaking over his mother’s death for the first time since she passed. He fights the shake in his breath, the tears that keep gathering. Even as a kid he would bury it, stuff it all down and hide it for no one to see. It was one of the first things he learned in order to protect himself. But tonight, he can’t keep his grief at bay.

God, he misses her. He misses hearing her voice when she sang ‘Hey Jude’ to him before bedtime. He misses how she smelled like spices and cinnamon whenever she was baking pie. He misses how she hugged him whenever he needed comfort. He misses her so damn much. He chokes back a sob, his free hand running over his face to cover it.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Y/N hushes. “It’s okay, Dean. Come here.” Y/N ushers him to roll into her, folding her arms around him. He lays his head against her chest, the steady metronome-like heartbeat coming from it calming him. It helps to steady his breathing, despite her tight cradle. He has never felt so safe with anyone except with the one person he is mourning over, and so he lets himself go. For the first time, he doesn’t feel the slightest uneasiness in their hug and at that moment he knows. He knows that whatever this is between the two of them, as long as Death doesn’t intervene, it is going to last. But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? Death always intervenes, Death always takes a hold. It’s only a matter of time, like it’s only a matter of time before November 2nd passes. And like every year, tomorrow it will be easier to look up, to get out of bed, to fake a smile. What is different this year, though, is that he has someone by his side who understands why.

It takes a while before Dean’s respiration calms, before his eyelids stay closed. Finally, he’s asleep, but she won’t let go of him and continues to stroke his hair, pressing a soft kiss on his head every now and then. She won’t let go until it’s November 3rd.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Follow Forever tags: @adoptdontshoppets @akshi8278 @angelsandwinchesters @atc74 @bandobsession98 @books-wands-swords-impalas @caligraphee @canadianspnhunter @chumi-la-chula @coffee-obsessed-writer @cookie-dough-lova @dawnie1988 @dillpicklesunflowerseed @fangirl-and-medstudent-help @flamencodiva @hannahindie @heartsaved @hennessy0274-blog @hyperella @idreamofhazel @just-another-busy-fangirl @kathaswings @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @mariekoukie6661 @mogaruke @mrswhozeewhatsis @myheartbeatsjustforyou @notnaturalanahi @pisces-cutie @rainqueen @risingphoenix761 @sammyssupersmile @sheepdogs33456 @soupornatural @spiritofoblivion @spnimag @sunskittlex @supernatural-girl97 @super-not-naturall @theyaremyveryownthoughts @tranquility-or-chaos @trashforwinchesters @ultimatecin73 @unlikelygalaxygiver @uzum4k1-uch1h4 @vvishous @vxxn128 @winchest09 @winchesterxtwo

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madpanda75 · 5 years ago

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“A Wonderful Life with You” Romantic Series

A holiday story featuring Rafael x Reader from my Romantic series back in their Harvard days for @thefanficfaerie‘s Christmas OTP challenge.

Prompt 18: Holiday movie

You ran across the quad, snow crunching underneath your feet. It felt like the weight of the world was lifted off your shoulders. Finals were over and winter break had just started. You couldn’t wait to get back to your apartment and veg out in front of the TV, watching holiday movies, drinking cocoa, and eating junk food.

“Becks, I’m home!” You announced when you walked through the door. Your roommate must’ve been planning for your arrival. The apartment looked so cheerful, decked out with Christmas lights and a small tree in the corner of the living room. There were Red Vines on the coffee table and the most incredible aroma wafting from the kitchen. You set down your book bag and peeled off your coat and hat. “Becks, are you cooking? Should I grab the fire extinguisher? Remember when you nearly burned down the apartment when you made peanut butter and jelly last month?”

You plopped down on the couch and kicked off your boots when you heard Rafael’s voice. “Who knew that peanut butter could burst into flames.”

You whipped your head around to see your best friend standing in the kitchen doorway, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Rafi!” You jumped up and hugged him. “What are you doing here?”

“Becks let me in. She went to a Christmas Party tonight. I wanted to surprise you,” he said.

You had been studying day and night for your finals. Wanting to do something special for you, Rafael called his abuela and asked for her recipe for chuletas fritas y arroz con frijoles negros. She happily walked him through the steps on how to make the dish. She also gave him a few romance tips, knowing that her grandson had a soft spot for you. “Just be yourself,” she reassured him over the phone. “You’re handsome, sweet, and brilliant. How could she not fall madly in love with you.”

You walked past him into the kitchen where you saw two plates on the counter and a pot simmering on the stove. “You cooked?”

“Yeah, I thought we could celebrate the end of the semester together. I also went to Blockbuster and rented a movie.”

Your heart fluttered at the thought of Rafael going to all this trouble. “You mean, you did all this for me?”

Rafael blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well I figured you should be eating something other than leftover pizza.”

“This coming from the man who lives on ramen noodles and coffee,” you teased and went to the fridge to grab two beers, handing one over to Rafael. You held up your beer bottle. “Here’s to our last fall semester as undergrads.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Rafael clinked his bottle against yours and took a swig of his beer. Setting his bottle down, he grabbed some potholders and brought the pot over to the kitchen table. “Let’s eat!”

*****

Dinner was delicious. You had no idea Rafael was such an amazing cook. The two of you enjoyed your meal, chatting at the table about your holiday plans. Rafael was in domestic bliss. He couldn’t help but wonder if this is what life would be like if you were a couple.

After cleaning up, you both made your way over to the living room. Rafael had rented, “It’s a Wonderful Life.” It was your favorite Christmas movie but he had never seen it. You both lounged on the couch, drinking hot cocoa, and eating Red Vines.

While watching George Bailey contemplate what life would be like if he never existed, Rafael could feel you shivering beside him. “Are you cold?”

“A little,” you replied.

He grabbed the blanket beside him and laid it over you both. “Better?”

“Much better. Thanks,” you said, scooting closer to him. Rafael rested his arm on the back of the couch behind you. It took all his strength not to wrap his arm around your shoulders and hold you close.

Glancing your way, he watched as a smile danced on your lips while George was telling Mary how he would lasso the moon for her. Sitting so close to you, Rafael couldn’t help but study your delicate features— the gentle slope of your nose, your soft pink pout. Your hair was up in a messy bun, exposing the elegant curve of your neck, a few tendrils framing your face. There wasn’t any part of your body that he didn’t want to worship. Even your earlobes were adorable.

Just then you turned towards him as if you could sense his eyes on you. “Rafi,” you softly said.

Rafael’s breath hitched. He could feel his pulse quickening, his face close to yours. “Yeah.”

“Red Vine?” You asked, holding up a piece of licorice.

“Oh..umm no thanks.” Rafael smiled and focused on the movie, occasionally pulling his attention away from the screen to look your way.

*****

You turned off the movie after ZuZu Bailey told her father that every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings. “Well, what did you think?” You looked back at your best friend and noticed he was sniffling. “Are you crying?”

“No,” Rafael lied. “I just had some dust in my eyes.”

You softly laughed to yourself. Rafael was sentimental and a hopeless romantic. It was one of the many things you loved about him. “Guess Becks and I should clean this place up more often,” you said with a wink and placed your hand over his, giving it a tight squeeze. He turned his palm up and intertwined his fingers with yours. A spark shot through your body, starting right where your hands were joined.

You quickly moved your hand away, trying to ignore the lingering sensation in your fingertips. “Presents!” You announced. “I almost forgot I got you something for Christmas. Stay right there,” you commanded and went into the bedroom.

While in your room, you leaned back against the door, trying to control the butterflies flying around in your stomach. “Get it together, Y/N,” you whispered to yourself. “Rafi is your best friend. Nothing more. Stop reading into this.”

“Everything ok in there?” You heard Rafael call out.

“Uh-huh. Be right out.” You grabbed his present from the bed and headed back towards the living room. Sitting back down on the couch, you handed Rafael a small velvet oblong box with a red bow. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” he said.

“I wanted to,” you replied, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater, your cheeks turning pink. “Go ahead, open it.”

Rafael opened the box, revealing a brilliant, shiny gold pen. “Wow,” he breathed.

“I know it’s not much, but I thought you could use it for law school next year,” you said with a shy shrug. “Maybe it’ll bring you good luck.”

“It’s perfect,” he said, running his fingers across the writing utensil. “I promise I’ll use it for every case. Thank you.” He reached behind his back and pulled out a present. “I have a little something for you too.” The gift was horribly wrapped. It almost looked like a car ran over it. But knowing how much time and thought Rafael had put into this present made you smile.

You tore open the paper and gasped. There in your hands was your favorite childhood book, Little Women. It was the same edition you had as a child. The same one that your father would read you every night. Sadly, you lost your copy when you went to Harvard. You never thought you would see it again.

“I know how you’re always looking for that edition at used bookstores,” he said as you lovingly touched the cover. “Finally found a copy when I went home for Thanksgiving.”

A few tears slipped down your cheeks as you wrapped Rafael in a tight embrace. “Thank you so much, Rafi,” you whispered. “I love it.”

Pulling away slightly, you found yourself getting lost in his green eyes. With a tentative hand, Rafael reached up and wiped away a stray tear with his thumb. You could feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears. The tension in the room suddenly shifted. It was the same tension that had been building up between you two for the past four years.

Rafael licked his lips and glanced down towards your mouth. He leaned forward, his nose barely brushing yours when Becks burst through the front door, returning home from her night of partying. She looked at you, then Rafael, and rolled her eyes. “Unbelievable. I leave you guys alone for a couple hours and you still haven’t hooked up. Can you guys please just have sex and get it over with. Jeez, senior citizens move faster than you do.”

You snorted a laugh. “Good night, Becks.”

“Remember no glove, no love,” she called out while walking to her bedroom.

Rafael’s face turned beet red. “It’s getting late. I...uh... guess I should be going.”

“Yeah. I guess so,” you said with a sigh.

Rafael said his goodbyes, which were made even more awkward after your roommate’s comments, and left your apartment. He hadn’t gone too far when he heard you call out his name. You ran up to him and before he could even react, your arms were wrapped around him.

Rafael hugged you back, a surge of warmth spread throughout his body, seeping into his veins. He hugged you so tight that he lifted you off the ground before reluctantly letting go. “What was that for?”

“Just cause.” You blushed and playfully tugged on his scarf. “Merry Christmas, Rafi.” You kissed him on the cheek and walked away.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N,” he replied, touching his face where your lips once were.

Rafael stood there, alone on the sidewalk. He looked up towards the sky and saw there was a full moon out. Closing his eyes, Rafael silently made a wish. A wish that someday he would get the chance to lasso the moon for you. That someday he would have you as his own. Because with you by his side, it truly would be a wonderful life.

@glimmerglittergirl @southern-magnolia @sweetcannolicarisi @delia26 @obfuscateyummy @sass-and-suspenders @eclecticminded @thatesqcrush @katmstanton @amirightcounsellor @beltzboys2015-blog @letty-o @sonnysdoll @lyssa1385 @sweetsummertime99 @burningsorr0ws @gibbs274 @izzythefanfreak @riodallas @babypink224221 @livxrafa @esparza-army @obsessionprofessional @ottosuricato @melsquared79 @dreila03 @frenchiefoxy @tropes-and-tales @thecraziestcrayon @goodluckfindingone

#rafael barba #rafael barba fanfic #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba fic #rafael barba x reader #barba #barba imagine #barba fic #barba fanfic #baby rafi #law and order svu fic #law and order svu imagine #the romantics #barba x reader #christmas otp challenge

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excindrela · 5 years ago

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12 Days of Demon Ayno - Day 5 (M)

Supernatural AU

Pairing: demon! Ayno (Noh YoonHo) VAV / Female reader

Genre: A touch of Fluff/ a dash of soft Smut/ and A N G S T

Warnings: occult, fingering, unprotected sex (be safe people!), implied sex

Word Count: 3352

AN: Welcome back to the 5th Day of Demon Ayno’s holiday! This one got away from me and turned out way longer than I expected. I love feedback- so if there’s something you like, or something you want to see- tell me!! Thank you to everyone who has continued to read this, and especially to those who have re-blogged! There is no way I will have this finished by Christmas, but please stay tuned for days 6-12!

Demon Ayno: Summoned | Thanksgiving | 12 Days: Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7 | Day 8 | Day 9

On the 5th Day of Christmas: You & Ayno Got Out of Town

You were doing the dishes on Wednesday night as Ayno sat at the kitchen island reading to you from the community newspaper.

“The culinary school is going to have weekend baking workshops. Perhaps I should go since baking seems to not go well for me. This Saturday is Christmas stollen…whatever that is.” Ayno said.

“It’s a German bread that has fruit in it”, you laughed. “Sounds fun, but we can’t go. We’re going to be gone this weekend.”

“We are going somewhere? Together?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes. We are going to Caston Marshall’s engagement party. I’ve known her since pre-school. Her wedding is June 15th, but it’s here in downtown. The engagement party is at The Sugar Pines – it’s a posh ski resort in the mountains a few hours drive from here.”

“So, we will go to the mountains on Saturday?” he confirmed.

“Actually…I thought it seemed like a nice getaway…and I wanted to spend time with you, so I’m taking Friday off work. We can drive up Friday morning and spend half of Friday and all Saturday morning enjoying the resort – and each other- go to the party Saturday night, and come home on Sunday after brunch.”

Ayno came up behind you and gave you a full body back hug and turned your face to his so he could kiss you softly. “First vacation together! Thank you- looking forward to spending time with you somewhere new.”

* * *

The resort was lovely with lots of warm wood and brick, open gathering spaces, large fireplaces and huge windows overlooking the ski runs. You didn’t have a particularly fancy room, but it had a king size bed with high thread count sheets and a down comforter; and a 2 way fireplace- one side faced the bed, and the other side faced the giant sunken oval bathtub that dominated the bathroom.

After getting settled in, you went for a walk to check out what the resort had to offer. The concierge got you a window side table for 2 for dinner that night in the restaurant at the top of the runs, and you rented snowshoes for Saturday morning from the winter sports desk.

You found Ayno out on the terrace watching riders going down the tube run. “Do you want to try?” you asked him.

“We can ride that?” he asked excitedly.

“Yep! Let’s go get tickets!” you said, grabbing his hand to jog down the stairs to the hut with the tubes.

You spent an hour riding up the hill on the magic carpet and then sliding down in the candy colored donuts, over the rolling bumps to the bottom, over and over again. You loved watching Ayno’s blonde hair float and fly as he bounced his way down the tube run and hearing his shrieks of joy and laughter the whole ride down. It was so much fun, and his childlike enthusiasm made you sorry when your time was up.

You went back to the room and changed to dinner clothes and rode the gondola up to the top of the mountain to have dinner. Your table overlooked the ski runs and the lodge below, and between courses you admired all the colors the setting sun cast on the white mountains and then the beauty of the stars emerging in the dark above the lights adorning the resort as they winked on.

Considering Ayno’s background, you were surprised at how well he adapted to romance. He held your hand all through dinner, gazing at you adoringly. After dinner, you moved to a love seat by one of the fireplaces; where you sat drinking Bailey’s & coffee with Ayno’s arm around you while you talked softly with each other and Ayno occasionally left soft kisses on your temples and cheeks.

You ended your night the way you’d hoped ever since you saw the room: with the fireplace blazing, in a hot bubble bath with Ayno. You had started out relaxing seated between his legs, leaning back against his warm smooth chest. But wasn’t long before your hands were stroking his thighs, while he kissed your neck and his fingers worked inside of you while his thumb teased your clit. He knew how to push you over the edge so easily, that in no time he had your fingers digging into his thighs, whimpering his name as your toes curled and you saw stars.

You rolled over to straddle him, taking his hard length and running your hand up and down it a few times before guiding it inside of you. You loved the way Ayno’s body fit inside yours: he filled you completely, but not uncomfortably. The feeling was always pure bliss- like something that had been missing was replaced and you were whole again.

He brought his lips to gently suck and lick your nipples while he rolled his hips beneath you. You sighed and ran your fingers into his hair.

“Are you happy now that I am inside you? Do I please you?” he asked as he worked kisses up the column of your throat.

“Mmmm yes...I love this feeling”, you confirmed. “You always please me Ayno.”

He smiled contentedly, “I know you want more, but you will have to give up this bathtub for me to give it to you, otherwise you will need a kayak to get to the toilet later.”

You had to laugh. He was right, you desperately wanted to feel his hips bruising your thighs, his hands at your throat, but you hated the idea of un-joining your bodies for even a moment. As though reading your mind, Ayno smiled and said “Don’t worry baby, I’ve got this. Hang on.” You wrapped your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck; and in one strong graceful movement he leaned forward and undid the tub stopper before standing up and wrapping a towel around your bodies. You moaned softly at the sensations the new angle created, and from the feeling of him inside you as he walked. “Mmmm…going to have to remember to do this with you again…” he said as he laid you down on the bed to finish what you had started.

* * *

Room service delivered your coffee, pastries & fresh fruit right on time at 8. Ayno eyed the cheese danish dubiously, and it took a good 10 min to convince him to take a bite. Once he did however, you were glad that you liked plain croissants with butter because the rest of the cheese danish along with the cherry and chocolate ones disappeared with lightning speed. Then you introduced him to fresh squeezed orange juice, and by the look of ecstasy on his face your grocery bill was going to be going up.

At 10 you picked up your snowshoes from the winter sports desk and made your way to the south lodge to catch the snowcat out to the back country where the show shoeing and cross-country ski trails were.

You reached the cat stop and waved good-bye to the skiers as you followed the trail into the woods. About a half mile later you emerged on the other side in a small meadow. Ayno looked around at the field of snow, brightened up and said, “In the meadow we can build a snowman!” You laughed, “This does seem like the place for it!” “How?” Ayno asked. You put your hands on your hips and surveyed the drifts. “Well, you look for the hardest, most frozen snow you can find, and you make the biggest snowball possible, and then you start rolling it through the snow patting more and more onto it until it’s the size you want. Then you do it again, and stack that one on top of the first one and do it again and make that one the head. Then you decorate it!”

“Ok!” Ayno said as he got to work. You decided to start making the body piece. A couple minutes later, you realized that Ayno was just standing there.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

“I am having a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” you asked, concerned.

“This” said Ayno as he reached down and scooped up a handful of snow. You watched as it rapidly melted and ran through his fingers.

“Oh.” You said, realization dawning, “You’re too hot. You’re more than 40 degrees hotter than the average human and your hands don’t get cold. You actually melt the snow before you can pack it.”

He looked disappointed and irritated. “It’s ok Ayno” you soothed “At least I know I will never freeze to death with you. How about if I build it and you can decorate it?”

“No, it is too much to do alone.”

“Ok, how about if we make a mini snowman? We can use the piece I started as the bottom.”

He considered this for a moment before agreeing.

An hour or so later, you had a very fine, very small snowman. Ayno had found rocks for eyes and a mouth, a pinecone for a nose, and twigs for arms. When you were satisfied, you both laid in the snow next to it and Ayno’s long arms captured your snowman selfie.

You headed off down the trail, when a mischievous idea hit you.

You formed a snowball and pelted it at Ayno. “Hey” he yelled ducking as it hit his shoulder. You made another one and fired again, this one connecting with his back. “Not fair!” He yelled as he tried to run. You laughed and chased after him, scooping up snow and making ammunition as you went. He yelled and ran, as you made several snowballs you began pelting him with.

“Ahhhh!!! Noooo! Stoooop!!” Ayno laughed and whined.

“You know, for a minion of evil with red leathery skin and black wings, you’re awfully soft.” You teased him.

Ayno whirled around and stared at you, his eyes already glowing a bright pink color…he was irritated. “Who told you my wings were black?!”

You arched an eyebrow at him. His irritated overreaction to your teasing was irritating you.

“WHO?!” he demanded, his eyes slowly turning to a deeper shade of hot pink with anger.

You remained unfazed. “Ooohhh…so you have wings.”

Ayno realized that you had just tricked him into revealing something about his demon form, and he growled in anger and turned away from you again. This was getting ugly fast.

Suddenly your buried resentment with Ayno’s unwillingness to be open with you bubbled to the surface. “What else do you have? Horns? Fangs? Forked tongue? Spikes down your back?” you pushed.

Ayno turned and stared at you with eyes turning magenta and anger visible on his face. “Why are you asking these questions?! Why do you even want to know?!”

Although he had raised his voice, the pitch and timbre had dropped- he no longer sounded like Ayno…more like The Beast from Beauty and the Beast.

“Because?! I’d like to know something about you! Anything! Who are you really? You tell me you’re a demon, you say that I choose your appearance…well, you must’ve looked like something before I got ahold of you! I’ve never seen a demon before, so show me the beast! Go on Ayno- turn! There’s no one out here- nobody but me will see! It’s not like you’ll be cold…”

He was horrified at the suggestion. “NO! NEVER! This is not for you to see! Ever!!” he raged, his eyes burning almost red, and his voice now 3 octaves lower and with a slight echo – it sounded like something straight out of a horror movie.

You were emboldened by your own frustration and anger, and you knew you should be afraid of him like this; but you were too fascinated at the change these emotions brought about in Ayno.

“Aren’t you bound to me? Don’t you have to do my will? Show me your true form Ayno”, you said authoritatively.

Ayno fixed you with a cold look of defiance. “I have virtually no control over my existence. My Master, my Patrons – you all command me, and I am forced to obey. But this- this one thing- I have control of. And under no circumstances will I show you my true form!”

“Why not?! You realize that I know virtually nothing about you, right? You came into my house through a mirror! And I let you stay…I trust you- although I have no reason to- I just let you into my life. You know things about me…you have met my family…and yet you will tell me nothing about yourself, or show me who you really are”, you spat your words at him as you turned away.

Ayno slumped down on a fallen tree and put his head in his hands. You watched him for a few moments before coming over and sitting near him. You sat in strained silence- still angry, but wanting so badly to reach out to him- to touch him and bridge the gap between the two of you. It felt like an eternity passed before he spoke, but you were relieved that his voice was almost normal when he did, although he continued looking at the ground.

“In my life, I have often been made to look handsome or rugged, but I have only been ‘beautiful’ a few times. You have made me so beautiful. I see the way people look at me- how they smile, and respond to my smile, treat me favorably …I hear heartbeats quicken and smell pheromones surge when I get near. I like this feeling… I like being pretty and well built. But more than this, I like the way you look me. There is kindness, tenderness and affection in your gaze and your touch. My true form is hideous and frightening – I am supposed to be like this- it is appropriate for a demon and I am not ashamed of it – but I am so afraid that it would be something that- how do you say it? You could “not unsee it”? …and you would never look at me the same again. I do not want you to look upon me with fear and pity, and to shrink away and refuse my touch. I …I think that might break me… I do not know how I would recover…” He dropped his head to his elbows and wrapped his forearms around his head.

There was a long silence where the only sounds to be heard were the wind in the pines, and the stuttered breaths of Ayno’s soft sobs. You weren’t sure what to say or how to comfort him: you felt badly for making him hurt like this, but not sorry for forcing the subject into the open.

“I’m sorry Ayno. I didn’t mean to hurt you or make you angry.”

Finally, he spoke again, “I am not angry with you. I understand that you have almost no knowledge of my kind or the place from which I come. I know you are curious, and just want to know and understand me. Thank you for this – I appreciate that you are interested in me and want to learn.” He paused, “I am sorry that I yelled at you. I was…frightened. Asking questions about my appearance caught me off guard; and made me afraid that you had been visited by someone- or something- else.” He took a deep breath and turned to face you, “If you will promise never to ask me to show my true form again, I will promise to truthfully answer any questions you have; with the understanding that if I tell you I cannot or will not answer, it is not because I am keeping a secret, it is to keep you safe.”

You nodded. “I can live with that.”

“Can you still live with me?” he asked cautiously, his eyes not meeting yours.

“Oh, Ayno…” you said gently as you climbed into his lap and wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tightly. You lifted his puffy tear stained face to look at you. “Of course I want you. Yes, ok, you are a demon- but you are my demon, you are my boyfriend. Every relationship takes work because every relationship has issues…ours are just a little unique. It’s still about both parties caring so much for the other person that you are willing to talk, and compromise, and find solutions instead of just giving up. …and I am not giving up.” Your heart was pounding in your ears- you were sure he could hear it. “I want this Ayno. I want you…I want us.” Your admission terrified you…you thought of all your failed relationships...and that he had never actually had one.

He pulled you back into his arms and held you tightly. “I am scared too. But in my whole existence, I have never wanted anything more than I want to be with you.” You squeezed him tighter. You sat like this for awhile, letting the last of your anger dissipate and allowing the weight of your admissions to soak in.

Eventually you reluctantly broke away from each other and decided to head back down the trail to the cat stop so you could return to the lodge and get ready for the party. As you walked down the trail hand in hand, Ayno took a deep breath and asked, “What do you want to know?”

You thought for a moment. “Do you really have black wings?”

“Yes.”

“Are they big? Can you use them – like can you fly?”

“Yes, and yes.”

“Really? That’s cool.” You paused as you assimilated the knowledge. “Do you have horns?”

Ayno hesitated slightly, “Yes.”

“What are they like?? Where are they??” you asked in wonder.

“Medium? They are smooth, and black, and they have a twist. They are on my head, where else would they be?”

You gave a small laugh “Well, yeah, but top? Side?”

Ayno stopped walking, took your hands and placed them on his head looking at you meaningfully. “Am I touching your horns??” you asked.

“Yes. Your fingers are resting on them.”

“Can you fee-“

“Yes. Everything is still there- you just can’t see it…it morphs to fit inside my human shape”, he explained.

“Oh. So, is this your normal height?”

“No. I am about…” he looked up, muttering softly in a language you did not recognize as he did mental calculations, “roughly 10 ft tall.”

“Really? Wow.”

He shrugged. “Like I said, I am big and scary. I think I am rather attractive as demons go, but I am still generally considered hideous to humans.”

“Not this one. I think you sound pretty awesome.”

Ayno just chuckled and shook his head at you.

* * *

When you got out of the shower, Ayno was still laying naked in bed, wrapped in the tousled sheets, drawing something with a ball point pen on the hotel stationary. You stood towel drying your hair, looking at his work. “What is that?”

He looked up at you and smiled faintly, “Self-portrait.”

You took the paper and examined the rough sketch. Nodding you said “Very nice! You have a tail? Where do you put that?”

He looked up at you and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. You burst out laughing.

“I see! Well, I think you look menacing and foreboding. I have clearly landed myself an excellent demon.”

He laughed and pulled you down onto the bed, pinning you in place with his torso as brought his mouth to yours in a passionate kiss.

“Stop that!” you laughed against his lips “I just got out of the shower!”

“But I find that I like make-up sex…”

“We already had make-up sex. You only get make-up sex after a fight. This would just be sex”, you laughed.

“Hmmm. Then I will be happy without make-up sex, because I do not like fighting with you.”

“Agreed. C’mon- let’s get ready. We can do this as much as you want after the party.”

“Ok. …I hope it is a short party…” he murmured.

You couldn’t agree more.

#ayno #vav ayno #noh yoonho #vav angst #vav fluff #vav smut #demon #kpop fanfiction

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oh-ranpo · 6 years ago

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All I Want This Christmas

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x Reader Summary: Sometimes the best presents can’t be found under the tree. Word Count: 906

It had been a long month. Harrison had either been gone or busy for most of it, resulting in neither of you spending much time together aside from your occasional 1am phone calls. You had tried to bury yourself in holiday preparations - going Christmas shopping, baking cookies, and running endless Christmas movie marathons - to hold you over until he was home again.

It was now Christmas Eve, and snow had started falling outside your window. There was a Christmas movie playing on your television, but you weren’t paying much attention to it. Harrison had texted you over an hour ago telling you that he would be there soon. It had been over a week since you had seen his face and almost two days since you had heard his voice. To say that you were impatient to see him was an understatement.

You rubbed your hands nervously against your warm mug filled with hot chocolate. You had made it just a few minutes prior, hoping that Harrison would have arrived before it was ready. You were afraid that it was going to go cold before he got some.

A jolt of excitement shot through your body when you heard a knock on the door. You quickly set your mug on the coffee table and rushed over to answer it. A wide smile spread across your lips as you flung the door open and your eyes met his. His face lit up when he saw you, and you immediately pulled him tightly against your chest in a bone-crushing hug.

“I missed you,” he whispered against your hair, his own arms wrapping around your waist tightly. You smiled against his shoulder, and tilted your head up so you could see his face.

“I bet I missed you more.” Harrison shook his head adamantly, moving out of your grip just enough that he could lean down and press a kiss against your lips. His skin was cold from being out in the snow, but you didn’t mind. When you pulled apart, you took his hand and led him over to the sofa, closing the door behind the two of you. The sofa was situated close to the fireplace where you had just built a fire and you both took a seat.

“I haven’t had a chance to get you a Christmas present yet,” Harrison admitted sheepishly, as he gazed at the wrapped parcels under your tree. You tucked your legs under you and leaned against his shoulder, a soft smile on your face.

“You don’t have to get me anything. You are the present.” His head turned towards you, and his lips turned up in another smile. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer into his side. You took a minute to admire his profile, his hair glistening slightly from the melted snowflakes, his cheeks still rosy from the cold, London air. Every time you went multiple days, even weeks, without seeing him, when you got back together it was like you were seeing him for the first time. You were always taken slightly aback by just how handsome he was.

You were broken out of your trance when you remembered the drink that you had prepared in the kitchen.

“Oh yeah! Hot chocolate!”

You quickly stood up from your place on the couch and made your way into the kitchen to fix Harrison a mug. When you returned, you saw that he had taken his jacket off and had pulled one of your fleece blankets over his shoulders. You smiled at the sight of his curls poking out over the top of the fabric as you rounded the edge of the couch and extended the hot drink towards him. He smiled gratefully up at you as he wrapped his hands around the warm drink and you took your seat next to him. You grabbed your own mug back up off the coffee table and took a sip.

“I was thinking that you should come with me to my parent’s house tomorrow for Christmas,” Harrison spoke softly. You felt your heart race. This was the first holiday that you and Harrison had spent together, and since your move to London from the United States, you had been feeling a little down about being away from your family. You had been able to travel home for Thanksgiving, but it just hadn’t been feasible for Christmas.

“Oh, Haz. I would love to!” You squealed excitedly, causing Harrison to laugh. You loved Harrison’s family, and got on really well with his sister. You had been hoping for a while now that he would ask you to join him, but with having a relationship that was only a few months old, you didn’t want to make him feel weird about it.

After a few more minutes of drinking your hot chocolate, the two of you set your empty mugs on the table and you cuddled into Harrison’s side. He placed a kiss against your temple, and you snaked your arm around his waist and rested your head on his shoulder. Between the warmth from the fire, the internal warmth from the hot chocolate, and having a blanket wrapped around both yours and Harrison’s shoulders, you had never felt comfier.

“I have a feeling this is going to be one of the best Christmas’ yet.” You smiled at Harrison’s words, and nuzzled into his side even more.

“I couldn’t agree more.”

#harrison osterfield #harrison osterfield fluff #harrison osterfield request #harrison osterfield x reader #harrison osterfield imagine #harrison osterfield fic #christmas fic #imagine #fic #story

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xturtletrashx · 7 years ago

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Devil’s Dance Floor - Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don’t own Uncharted, blah blah blah, you know how it goes. I do own my OCs though and the plot. This fic in its entirety can be read on AO3 here or you can find the other chapters here.

Sorry again for the huge delay between this chapter and the last. Life got crazy af.

TW for non-graphic abuse mentions

Graphic and title pic was made by me, all other pics aren’t mine. If one belongs to you, please let me know and I’ll either credit or remove.

Chapter 14 - She Was a Fiery One

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

It was a sentiment that Sam had always had always thought was bullshit. For most people the pain of being away from someone faded enough to only surface once in awhile, like a joint that only ached when it rained, but for Sam it lingered. It wasn't an infection, festering and growing worse, but rather a cancer that had slowly eaten away at him a bite at a time. In his experience, absence hurt, but then over time that hurt scabbed over and the pain became bearable.

It was different this time. Maybe it was because he was free or because he knew that Simone was coming back to him, but over those few months, Sam found his heart growing fonder indeed.

Theres a dog tied to the street light outside.

I want to pet it

But I can't leave my post

By the time i'm off duty it'll be gone

Doggone it

LOL :p

Simone texted the way she spoke, random little bursts of nonsense or stream of consciousness that often had Sam grinning down at his phone. It annoyed the hell out of Rafe, who took every opportunity to huff and sigh and roll his eyes whenever Sam's attention was diverted to the vibration of his phone. He ignored it because no matter what Rafe thought, Sam looked forward to every moment he got to share with Simone - even from countries away.

You should steal it, he typed back.

Is that your solution for everything Sam Drake?

He chuckled. I am a thief

"Are you done?" Rafe asked, deadpan.

Sam glanced up, amusement still sparkling in his eyes, and he wrapped his hand around the phone, screen to palm so he wouldn't be tempted to look at it again. "Yeah, I'm done," he answered, reaching for pint sitting on the pockmarked table in front of him.

Rafe gave him a long look, his annoyance made all the clearer by the subdued sigh that expanded his chest. "So what do you think?" he asked, making a vague gesture with his nearly empty glass.

Shit. What had Rafe been saying? Something about estates . . . ? "About what?" Sam asked after a beat of expectant silence.

"Christ Samuel," Rafe snapped, his pint landing back on the table with a dull thud. "Could you maybe focus a bit? You've spent half of dinner staring at your goddamn phone."

Sam couldn't stop his eyes from rolling but he did manage to stop himself from looking at his phone as it vibrated in his hand. "I'm here," he fired right back. "I'm listening."

"Bullshit!" The word was punctuated by an open-handed slap to the table, their forks rattling against empty plates and drawing the curious eyes of every patron at Allanach's.

Rafe and Sam were hardly unknown faces at the hole-in-the-wall pub but aside from some polite back and forth with the regulars - or sitting through the occasional long-winded tale from the barkeep - they tended to keep to themselves. They'd come down every other week or so, have dinner and a few pints, talk quietly at their corner table and then be on their way and while Sam's conversations with Rafe often got a bit heated, this was the first time his partner had exploded under this roof. Oddly enough, it wasn't something Sam wanted the regulars to have to witness, but he wasn't sure if it was for their sake or Rafe's.

"Rafe," Sam started, warning in his tone. "I'm listening."

"She's becoming a distraction, Sam," Rafe continued, leaning aggressively over the table and ignoring the attention they were drawing. "You need to end it and get your head back in the game."

Was he fucking serious? Sam wasn't going to end things with Simone just because Rafe wanted him to! His eyebrows drew downward, offense tightening his posture, but he pulled in a steadying breath and rose to his feet. He lifted the pint to his lips and drained the last of it, then set the glass back down and announced, "I'm leaving."

"Samuel!"

He didn't stop walking though, weaving his way through the tables and heading straight out the door. The night was cool but the humidity had mist hovering just above the cracked cement, swirling around Sam's booted feet as he crossed the street and ducked into the nearest alleyway.

Rafe was a fucking asshole, Sam silently fumed, trading the phone in his hand for his lighter and cigs instead. His head was just as much in the game as it ever was - even more so now! Now he had a plan for his cut of the treasure, which mostly involved buying something nice for Simone, like a ring or something. They could live in her little beach house in Durban and use the money to travel all around the world. Maybe he could get Nathan and the wifey to go with them sometimes too . . .

But . . . he couldn't deny that Simone complicated things. He'd always planned on ditching Rafe once he had a solid lead on the treasure, but that meant ditching Nadine, and he had no idea how Simone would feel about that. Would she leave her sister behind and go with him? Would she convince Nadine to walk away from this?

He hadn't intended it when he'd left the pub, being more focused on getting out of sight before Rafe paid the bill and followed him, but his feet had brought him back to the beach where he and Simone had ended up the first night they'd met. He hopped down off the seawall and into the sand, remembering the way the rain had dripped down the freckled curve of her nose, how her fingers had felt brushing along the sensitive skin below his belly button, and the now familiar taste of her as he'd pressed his face between her thighs . . .

She was coming home in less than a week - just in time for their one year 'anniversary' - and Sam couldn't help but wonder when Scotland had become home? When had Simone become home? She was though. She was the warmth that drew him in, like a moth to a flame, and maybe it was time he admitted it?

Sam exhaled a long stream of smoke, his eyes on the waves as he made his decision. He wasn't sure what his next move was where Rafe and the treasure were concerned, but he was sure that he was going to tell Simone that he loved her, that he wanted to marry her, that after they found Avery's treasure they could settle into a normal life: paying bills and Thanksgivings shared with Nathan and Elena and maybe, someday, kids . . .

It wasn't a future he'd ever imagine for himself, but in prison it had been hard to even imagine standing on a beach and smoking a cigarette. It had been hard time imagine having someone like Simone in his life and it had sure as hell been hard to imagine being free again because Sam had never expected it would happen. But here he was.

And there he stood, until the last evening light faded from the sky and the stars twinkled into existence and he'd run out of cigarettes.

***

Sam had been counting down the days, the hours, the minutes, until Simone's plane would touch down in Scotland. He was eager, his stomach fluttering with butterflies as he waited and he figured that this must have been what kids felt like on Christmas morning when they didn't have a completely fucked up home life or were living in an orphanage.

Those three months alone had felt like forever and the need to touch her skin, smell her hair, had consumed him like a junkie needing a fix. And when he spotted her wild red curls, her freckled skin, the tiny sundress in every color of the rainbow, there was no stopping his feet from moving forward, every step bringing him closer to his perfect drug.

She met him halfway, dropping her grip on her bags to throw her arms around his neck and literally leap into his arms. Sam had been ready for it though. He'd played his moment over and over in his head non-stop, imagining every possible scenario for their reuniting, but always this was the one that felt right. It was just so very Simone.

He allowed himself to be overwhelmed by her, savoring every kiss and the feel of her body pressed against his. Her bare thighs wrapped around his hips had him wanting to pin her to the nearest wall, to be so close he was inside her.

And he wasn't the only one cultivating those thoughts because just then, Simone moaned against his lips, "God Sam. I want you so bad."

A small noise of longing escaped the back of his throat, but as desperate as he was to be inside her, they'd both have to wait. "Think you can wait 'til we get back home?" he asked, eyes focused on those full lips that he was longing to kiss again.

Simone's nose wrinkled and those pretty lips twisted into a pout as she whined, "Do we 'ave'ta?"

Yes, they did. But first Sam indulged her for another minute, holding her close and kissing her breathless, before pulling back with a laughing, "Hold on. Wait a second. I have a surprise for you."

Apparently that was a suitable distraction because a wiggle of hips proved she was ready to be lowered back to her feet and she fixed him with a delighted smile. "Oh really?" she wheedled, pressing closer and slipping her arms around his middle, "What sorta surprise?"

"It's in the Jeep," Sam said, fingertips brushing a curl back from her face.

Her eyes lit with excitement. "Well, let's go then!"

With bags in hand, Sam led the way out of the airport and he found he had trouble keeping his eyes off of Simone. Everything about her was captivating, from the brush of her dress against her upper thighs to the bounce of her breasts under the thin material, to the way the sun highlighted her burnished skin and the sparkle in her eye as she caught him looking. God, she really was beautiful and as eager as he was to get her into bed, he was just as eager to simply share space with her, and especially to give her the present he'd gotten her.

"You're lookin awfully pleased with y'self, Sam Drake," she challenged, bumping him playfully with her hip.

"I have good reason," he said with a smug smile.

Simone's eyebrows lifted, "Ja? Is that so?"

He looked past her to where the Shoreline Jeep was parked and she turned to follow his gaze. Sam watched as her brown eyes widened, her mouth falling open only seconds before her hands flew up to cover it and she let out a delighted squeal. The noise was answered with a high-pitched yip! from the puppy waiting on the driver's seat, buff-colored paws hooked over the half-door and a tail wagging wildly enough to shake his entire body.

"You got me a puppy!"

Abandoning her bag, Simone skipped toward the Jeep, hands reaching eagerly for floppy ears as she was met with messy kisses. He'd tied leash was tied to the steering wheel to keeping the pup from escaping the Jeep, and Simone quickly unclipped it so she could scoop the puppy into her arms. "Oh Sam, he's perfect!" she gushed, whirling to face him as he reached the Jeep a half step behind her.

There was something so pure in that moment, as Simone stood there cradling the wiggling puppy to her chest, and if there had been any doubt in his mind before, it was completely gone now. He wanted this woman. He didn't care that she was - arguably - too young for him, or that she was literally a soldier for hire, or that she was the one thing truly keeping him from seeking out his brother. He wanted her. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

"I love you, Simone."

The words passed his lips without consent, coming out with a somber earnestness that he'd have been embarrassed about with anyone else, but Simone's face was softening, her lips parting as she tipped her head and asked, "F'real?"

Sam laughed, his hand coming up to brush fingertips along her cheekbone, "Yeah, for real. I told ya that you'd be the first to know."

She smiled and leaned into his touch. "Ja, ya did. And I love you too, Sam Drake."

***

"Vriend."

Sam's eyebrows lifted in question, "Hm?"

"That's his name," Simone explained, nodding to the Cocker-Border Collie mix trotting along at their heels.

Sam wiped the beads of sweat off his forehead with the back of his wrist. "Friend?"

Simone chuckled, "No, Vriend."

"With a V?"

"Mhm. It's Afrikaans."

"Oh," Sam answered. Well that made sense. "So it means 'friend'?"

Simone laughed, "Anyone ever tell ya you're a smart one?"

"Every now and then."

He ran his hand idly along the stones of the St. Dismas cathedral as they walked, his gaze drifting upward to the towers stretching into the sky like broken fingers. It was familiar by now, every crag and crack, and Sam found that he'd grown fond of the structure; it was as much as a part of home as the little cottage where he and Simone had just spent a solid day getting reacquainted.

"We should climb it," Simone announced, beckoning Vriend closer so she could clip the leash back to his collar.

Sam's eyes went to the dog, then to Simone. "Now?"

"Ja." She looped the end of the leash over a broken wooden post - likely part of a fence that hadn't survived the centuries - and then turned to him with an expectant look. "Unless ya scared?"

Sam's eyes narrowed. "That," he said, "sounds suspiciously like a challenge, Ms. Ross."

She shrugged one bare shoulder as she backed up, critical eyes studying the wall in front of them for a suitable handhold. "Unless ya not up for it," she cajoled.

"Ha!" Sam's eyes went to the wall as well, immediately spotting a broken stone that he could without a doubt reach. "Not up for it, my ass!" Without waiting for her, Sam jumped and caught the handhold, levering himself up to the nearest lancet before glancing back down to find her shimmying up behind him.

"Filthy cheater," she joked as she reached his side. "C'mon then, let's keep goin'!" And, without even a hint of fear or hesitation, she jumped for the string-course above.

By the time they reached the top of tower, both were sweating and coated in a film of dust and Simone was sporting a bruised scrape on one bare knee, but their smiles proved just how much they'd enjoyed the physical activity - and the ensuing adrenaline rush when either chanced a look down.

They settled on the pinnacle, shoulder to shoulder and legs dangling off, and for a moment neither spoke, out of breath from the climb and speechless from the view. And what a view it was, with the mid-morning sun reflecting off the ocean in shimmers and sparkles, and the sky a brilliant blue. From their perch, Sam felt as if the horizon stretched on forever and all he'd have to do was squint to get a glimpse of eternity . . .

"You're pretty spry for your age."

Sam turned his head to find Simone staring out over the waves, her lips pursed in a teasing smile. "I'll have you know," he said, feigning offense, "that this is not the first tower I've climbed."

She looked at him, pleased that her ribbing at gotten a reaction, "Oh no?"

"See, climbing sort of . . . runs in the family," he explained, shifting his weight so he could pull out his pack of cigarettes and shake one to freedom. "Nathan could climb anything." He popped open the lighter and touched the flame to the cig, eyes cutting toward Simone again as he inhaled. "Ever since he was a little kid. Bookcases, the kitchen cabinets, the towers of cardboard boxes that our shit was always packed in," he shrugged. "Anything he could climb, he would."

Simone was watching him carefully, like she always sort of did when he brought up his brother, and her question was a gentle prompt, as if afraid she'd spook him and he'd shut down. "And you 'ad to keep up with him?"

Sam smiled, chest puffing out a bit as he boasted, "I was the only one who could! I taught him everything he knows." Mostly, anyway. Until Sully came along and smooth-talked his way into their lives.

"Sounds like you were close," Simone commented, absently wiping a bead of blood from her knee.

"We were all we had." Again, until fucking Sully showed up. He glanced at Simone again and asked, "What about you and Nadine?"

"What about us?"

There was no hostility in the question, though; nothing that gave Sam the impression that she didn't want to talk about it, so he pressed on. "I know she's a lot older than you and things were sort of weird when you moved in with her and your father . . ."

Simone was quiet for a minute, as if deciding how much she wanted to share, and Sam was beginning to think that he'd read her cues wrong but then she broke the silence. "Things're . . . complicated with Nadine," she started. "We love each other, course, but I think she blames me for what 'appened to our dad and why Shoreline is in the mess it is now."

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand," he admitted, feeling like he was only getting half of the story.

She sighed, eyes drifting out to the horizon again as the wind picked up, sending her curls in every direction. "I've made a lotta mistakes, Sam. Made lots of bad choices . . ."

"You're not the only one," he said with a wry smile. "But what do you mean about Shoreline? And how does it have anything to do with you? You're just a contractor, right?"

She nodded, "Yeah, but it was 'cause of me that we lost one of our biggest contracts." Her hand drifted her her ribs, pressing just under her breast, "Dad beat me bloody for it."

Realization came quickly and with it, searing hot anger. "The scar on your ribs?" Sam asked, the words coming out harsh, almost demanding. "That's from your father?"

"His belt buckle."

Her voice was soft and her freckled cheeks red with . . . what? Embarrassment? Shame? He wasn't exactly sure and it was hard to hazard a guess when she wouldn't even look at him. "What happened?" he asked, but she was shaking her head.

"I don't want to talk about it, Sam."

He wanted to talk about it though and he wasn't even sure why; it wasn't like he could do anything about it. It was in the past. Hell, her father was dead. He had a pressing need to understand though, because all of these puzzle pieces Simone was sprinkling around them were building up to a picture of who she was and, despite their love for each other, that picture was still frustratingly unfinished. So he made one last plea before giving up and allowing a topic change, just a simple, "Are you sure?"

"I know it may not seem like it, but what 'e did was actually a good thing."

Bullshit. Was she trying to convince herself?

"He was helpin' me, in his own way."

Sam was shaking his head though, refusing to believe that there was ever any sort of justification for beating the hell out of your child with a fucking belt. He knew because he'd been on the receiving end of that same sort of treatment before being dumped in an orphanage.

Simone ignored his silent protest, instead continuing with a vague explanation. "I was eighteen and I had gotten into trouble - remember those mistakes, I mentioned? - and after that, I wasn't in trouble anymore."

It didn't make a lick of sense and Sam opened his mouth to tell her as much, but she was turning critical eyes on him, "How 'bout this? You tell me why you went to prison and I'll tell you what 'appened with my father and Shoreline?"

Sam blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in focus from her past to his. Did he want to know that badly? Yes, but telling her what Rafe did could open a can of worms he wasn't ready to deal with. Not yet. "I was innocent," he said after a moment, and he could tell by the surprise on Simone's face that she hadn't expected him to say anything. Or maybe she didn't believe that he was actually innocent. "Someone else did something really bad and I did their time."

A line appeared between Simone's brows, "But how? Were you protecting them? Was it your brother?"

Sam shook his head, "No. Well, sorta. Nathan was there; he was a part of it but he wasn't the one who committed the crime. I wouldn't've taken the fall for this person, except that I didn't have a choice." Now it was his turn to touch his abdomen, where three dimpled scars resided.

"Because you got shot," Simone finished.

Sam nodded. "I got shot and they had to leave me behind, so I got saddled with the prison sentence."

"That's awful," she said, and there was no faking the sympathy on her face or in her voice. "I'm sorry, Sam."

He shrugged, "It is what it is." Then he bumped her lightly with an elbow, "Your turn."

She was quiet for a minute, her teeth worrying at her lower lip as she clearly considered her words, but when she spoke it wasn't a confession, but rather a plea: "Please, Sam? Please just let it go?"

Forgotten in his hand, his cigarette had burned down to the filter and Sam flicked it into the air, sending it spinning toward the ground a hundred feet below them. There was an unmistakable annoyance to the action; hadn't they had a deal? And he was ready to argue that point with her but there was a vulnerability to her posture that had that resistance fading.

"Alright," he acquiesced, lifting both hands into the air in surrender. "Alright, I'll let it go." Could he though? His lips pressed into a firm line, "Just--"

Simone sighed, "Sam . . ."

"Just, if you ever want to talk about it, I'll listen, okay?" He reached for her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and coaxing her closer, "I won't judge or anything. I'll just listen."

"What if I never want to talk about it?" she asked, settling in under his arm. "What if I just want to forget it ever happened?"

It would bother him, Sam knew, not ever having the full picture, but he could respect it. It wasn't like he'd told her the full reason of why he'd gone to prison and there wasn't a chance in hell he'd ever share the details of his time in Panama with her. Those details were his burden to bear, his demons to wrestle with, and maybe Simone felt the same about her father. Whatever her reasons, if Sam wanted Simone then he'd have to live with her silence.

"Then we won't ever talk about it," he assured her, pressing a kiss to those copper curls.

"Thank you." Simone tipped her head back so she could see his face, "How'd I get lucky enough to find you?"

Sam smiled, the hand draped over her shoulder sneaking its way into her tanktop. "Karma," he decided with a decisive nod. "And my raw masculine magnetism."

"Ha!" Simone laughed, pulling his hand down further to cup her breast. "More like I took pity on ya."

"Pity?" Sam repeated, affronted.

"Ja, pity." She nodded, "I took one look atchya and I could tell you 'adn't been laid in ages!"

"Ouch, babe."

#sam drake #uncharted 4 #devil's dance floor #simone #samone #OC #my writing

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unhappyclient-blog · 6 years ago

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John M Edwards from Madison Indiana

John and I started dating in June of 2012. We met through a dating website (POF) and he looked like the perfect guy. We texted all day and talked on the phone for hours every night. He was so sweet and even though we lived 4 hours apart, he surprised me at the most adorable of ways by sending me flowers or stuff like that. In August I moved to west lafayette since I began attending Purdue University. Between him working full time and having drill a weekend of this month (because he is in the military NG), and me going to school all during the week and working on the weekends, we only saw each other one weekend out of the month. But then, things were great. We constantly had the best time together and shared wonderful memories. We would go back and forth composing every other long sweet texts professing our love for each other and it was like a fairy tale. But I discovered it started to stop sometime in january. And when I brought this to his attention, he'd say it was because he had been busy hanging out with a friend and hed send one afterwards, or he fell sleep and forgot. In March of 2013, I found out that I was pregnant. He was supposed to be set up to Egypt that June, but the day after I discovered, his installation was cancelled and I thought it was destiny. I finished out the session and we have an apartment together May in his hometown (4 hours away from all of my loved ones and friends). I moved down there to be with him and begin our family together. I found an excellent job within 2 weeks and things were going great. Then I began to notice changes. He went out every weekend to the bars with his friends, leaving me home alone with nothing to do and nobody to hangout with or talk to. I couldnt go if I wanted to because A) I was only 20. And B) he didnt need me out in crowded public areas because theres a great deal of dumb drunk idiots out there and somebody could bump into me and god forbid it caused any harm to the baby. Well I started becoming suspicious because he would stay out in the bars until 4am, yet they closed at 3. (and in addition, he got a DUI in July after blowing a .15 and had his license suspended for a month and was put on probation for the next year, yet still went out and drank in the pubs anyways because his best friend was a cop) He'd conceal his phone and take it with him when he went to shower or poop. He kept a lock on his telephone that I constantly had the code , but then he began altering it and any moment I'd ask for this, hed get defensive or make up and explanation. And when I figured it out, hed change it again the following moment. One night I had figured out the passcode to his telephone and I unlocked it. I found he had a snapchat from some girl, so I viewed it, and it was a photo of her VAGINA. Not full blown, however, it was a straight shot of her pants unzipped with panties on. Obviously my mouth dropped and I woke him up right then pissed off asking questions (bad thought. Always stay cool and get your ducks in a row first). Nicely he course played it off and stated that she had been just a an ex girlfriend of one of his buddies and he had no clue why she'd send him something like that and that hed obstruct her. Well I knew better, but of course gave him the benefit of the doubt. He then got another part time job to help save extra cash before our daughter was born and had gone to see him one night and the women were quite friendly with me and knew we were together and expecting a child except ONE girl. Well I discovered they were friends on facebook and she too was shot with a kid. Well I added her and she never approved. Then I saw text messages on his phone between the both of them as if they had been attempting to get to know each other (such as you do when you first start talking to somebody asking for pictures, etc). He told me it was his friend in the office texting her from his phone bc his was broken. I knew that was probably bullshit but when we hung out with this friend one evening, I asked him when john had gone into the restroom and he confirmed it, so I let it go. (turns out that he was covering for him) oh and also the best part was that after I finally found out this, I found out that this particular woman lived in the same neighborhood as us, just a street over!! Well he quit that job soon after because he said he didnt like it there and got yet another part time job working in video. (he had worked there before and left on good terms so they hired him right away). Well he worked up until a few days before our daughter was born and then just stopped showing up and finally got fired bc he didnt need to have to work for thanksgiving. Nicely November 2013 comes and I have my girl, the most beautiful little girl in the world. He was right there with me every step along the way, through the 16 and a half an hour of labour. I had her and he remained there with me that the whole 3 days we had been in the hospital. He seemed so filled with love and security (like a father should have) that I thought maybe hed realize that a household is more important than anything or anyone. He'd taken another week off of work so he could stay home and be there with us I had been on paid maternity leave for 6 weeks from my job. He came straight home from work daily and could stay home every weekend (except the evenings he had drill). Well one day his buddys girlfriend (who'd become my very best friend) told me that her boyfriend (johns BEST FRIEND) had informed her one night which John had cheated on me with a woman named Olivia at the Family Video shop where he used to work. That he was shutting one night and she came and watched him and they had sex in one of the temptations (aisle 4 or something as it had no detectors ) and this happened like a week until my daughter was born. Well I was angry since this was the SAME GIRL that'd befriended me months ahead, and we had actually hung out a few times and she came over to our apartment one day after our daughter was born. I thought it was strange how he sat there on his xbox enjoying his game and hardly ackowledged her, and the way she had been absolutely fine with thumping her boob and breastfeeding her 3 month old daughter (Yes, she had a girl, was a year younger than me, and her babys dad wants nothing to do with her or his child ). That his buddy would never state anything like that and that it never occurred. Well, Christmas time comes along with his buddy (the one whos a cop) articles a standing on facebook stating hes drinking with a friend of his and invites john over. John comments on it and says no he cant (because we were sitting there watching a movie) and his friend comments back and says that his hitler-ette had to calm down and quit controlling him. So I awakened on his buddy and he explained that the only reason john was was because I got pregnant and if I was brighter and had used birth control then I wouldnt even be here right now. So john went on his buddy and actually stood me up and I told him I want nothing to do with him at all and that he is not permitted over at our home or to visit our kid. He complied and his buddys title wasnt brought up again and they never hung out (even though they'd made up with eachother and still texted occasionally). Well in february, this exact same friend of his has been caught red handed cheating on his girlfriend (my now best friend) with some girl for the previous 2 months. Well things happened between those who I say, but now instead of being a police officer, hes sitting for the next 8 years and can have no contact with either of his daughters or his ex girlfriend (my buddy ). Well the night this all occurred, I wake up into a text message saying we had been perfect. They were cheating with (so and so). So I wake john up and tell him what she said and he said that she had been making s*** up to try to break us up since her connection was about to ***. And since I had no evidence, I let it all go. Well I had posted a standing about cheaters and a week later I get an anonymous letter in the mail at my WORK, addressed to me personally, stating (in badly disguised sloppy handwriting) they saw my status and know for a fact that john had cheated on me with atleast 3 different women, and gave titles. And that they thought I must know (and one of the girls names was Olivia, from earlier in my story). This time I didnt mechanically show him my evidence and accuse him. I played it cool and wished to collect everything. So I figured out the password for his verizon accounts and looked in his telephone records and saw a number continuously popping up on there. I printed everything! That night, iIwake around 1 because my daughter started crying and I started to feed her so she could go back to sleep. I discovered it vibrate, but it didnt light up. (he's an iphone) therefore I click on the home button, and it doesnt show anything on the monitor. (keep in mind his phone is also secured, so I cant test it fully because I dont know the password). Well then it goes back, but it was a different vibration than previously and the telephone really lit up this time. I seem and its some remark notification for facebook. So right then and there's when I knew that he had blocked the alarms for texts so I couldnt see (since it shows that the first portion of the message onto the lock screen) so I waited till he finally awakened at 5:30 that morning and went to check his phone, like he does every morning. And I told him to waitand that I needed to sit behind him as he assessed it. He immediately asked why and I said since somebody texted you at 1:30 in the afternoon and the notification did not show on the display so I wanna understand who it is. He immediately got defensive and said no! That he wasnt going to continue doing so s*** and that I have to trust him. That Saturday nighthe went out to the bars and got really drunk, and for the first time in the past year and a half, I went to a bonfire with my pal and two of her woman friends. It was just the four people plus her friends husband and his friend. I requested Johns mother and sister to babysit for a couple hours so I could hangout and have a wonderful time, and they were happy to. Well once I was there for about an or two, johns sister calls me and informs me john found they were babysitting and got really pissed off that I wasnt house with our daughter. So I advised her id be home soon and she said that he was already on his way home. Well then I get a call from john who asks me what Im doing, I tell him Im at a bonfire and he flips out on me and says could O pawn off our kid to somebody else (if it was his mother and sister) and that I was a horrible mom. (yet he had been the one who was piss ass drunk). So I push instantly home and hes sitting on the sofa with his friend, and his mother and sister are sitting on the other end of the sofa with my daughter. I walk in, since the door was unlocked and he gets up and goes into the bathroom (where he began puking his guts out bc thats how drunk he was the same guy that blew a .15 and believed he was absolutely fine to push and hadnt drank so far ). Well his sister and I go out and she explains to me exactly what happened when he got home. He flew into a rage and began screaming stuff and saying how I was nuts if I thought I was going to have the ability to come in the home and blah blah blah. Nicely his sister told him into the stfu and said shes a mommy. shes going to call the cops. Youll go to prison! Stop being an idiot and calm down! . Well we didnt say a word to each other the rest of the night and his friend passed out, and I slept on the sofa. After that day, one of his own friends had called me and asked what had occurred between us bc he saw we werent together on facebook and I told him why and he explained that was actually cheating on me with this one girl, the one he maintained was texting his friend through his mobile phone. And how he bragged about it to him saying oh this woman is texting me and sending me these pics and what not all happy about it. So that next Saturday, while he was at drill, my parents and my cousin came down with their 12 passenger van and pickup and they moved all of mine and my daughters things back to fort wayne to my parents home. He freaked out on me initially and posted a lot of bullshit on facebook to get sympathy from people who had no idea what actually happened, and I filed that Monday for child service and we had our court in july because he didnt wish to agree on more than $200 a month to get support when Im paying $500 per month daily care alone. _Ùªâ I'd post the women that he cheated on me with, but to tell the truth, I dont know all of their names because there were too many to count. They knew we had been hell the whole town did because its a very small city, nevertheless still fIIked around with him. But the moment I began to get suspicious about one, hed drop them and move on to the next. So hes the actual HOMEWRECKER within this story and he deserves to be here and these chicks will get whats coming to them as will he _Ùªâ The one thing I am thankful for throughout this whole mess was my lovely daughter, along with also the fact that besides his lying adulterous ways, he's really a fantastic father to her. Read the full article

#JohnMEdwards

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verifiedcomplaints-blog · 6 years ago

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John M Edwards from Madison Indiana

#JohnMEdwards

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dallasyhan108-blog · 6 years ago

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The The golden state Grill on the 15th flooring of Disney's Contemporary Hotel is a guaranteed emphasize for any connoisseur of sophisticated food. The immense windows present an unequalled scenic view of the Magic Kingdom as well as the 7 Seas Shallows and on many nights picture-perfect views of the Wishes fireworks show. From pristinely fresh sushi to the outstanding New American Food to mind-blowing desserts as well as the superior California wine checklist, this location has everything.

Ideal Amusement Park Dining Establishment

In Epcot's France Pavilion is Bistro de Paris, a charming Belle Époque dining-room with an air of exclusivity. Loaded with gilded mirrors and also crimson banquettes, its billowy white drapes structure windows that ignore the World Display Lagoon. Web servers with delicious French accents present spectacular recipes prepared with just the best active ingredients. Afterward buy a treat of crepes prepared as well as Disney World Holidays flamed at your table while remaining over cordials and also coffee in expectancy of the nighttime Illuminations spectacle.

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Each night considerable amounts of site visitors leave from the docks of Disney's Boardwalk Inn and Disney's Luxury yacht Club headed for Epcot where, from a prime position under the bridge in between the United Kingdom and also France, is a view of the Illuminations fireworks spectacular that can not be beat. Cruise ships are provided nightly with your choice of either a pontoon boat seatsing 10 or a gorgeous recreation of a 1930s Chris Craft suiting 6-7 individuals. Although reservations could be made up to 90 days ahead of time, they occasionally sell out on the initial day. Call 407-WDW-PLAY.

Finest Means to Spend a Careless Mid-day

When your muscular tissues are aching and also your body is yelling for remainder after days at the parks, sooth your jangled nerves at Disney's Grand Floridian Health club. Immerse on your own in luxury with one or two feel-good therapies guaranteed to revitalize and also promptly obtain you back on your feet and ready for another long day of walking. For the utmost in romance think about the Grand Enchanting Night where, in a candle-lit couple's room, each person obtains an aromatherapy massage.

Most significantly reduce down and take pleasure in the magic. Resist need to see every little thing at breakneck rate. You can not potentially cover all of it, so consider this as your very first trip to Disney, not your last. There will certainly be time to grab all the things you missed on the following go-round. Be spontaneous. If something catches your eye, even if it's not on your day-to-day list of things to do, quit and explore otherwise you may miss out on something terrific.

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pennyforyourblog-blog · 7 years ago

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Thanksgiving

Call me old-fashioned, but you’d be wrong. I love hand-written journals as much as the next person, but honestly isn’t there something more efficient about typing? Perhaps I’d document my life more effectively if it didn’t take so long to get it all on paper. I don’t allocate enough time to myself in that way. I write occasionally and never make a habit of it; I get absorbed in the day-to-day. I’ve come to an impasse. I desperately need therapy. That’s not readily available, however, and I simply cannot do nothing. Perhaps regularly and thoughtfully articulating what I’m feeling, and committing more time to listening to myself will be an adequate, albeit temporary, substitute.

The events that transpired on Thanksgiving weigh heavily on my heart and mind. Do you know the story of the frog in the boiling pot? The anecdotal tale is an unfortunate one. Imagine a frog resting in a pot of cool water. Someone’s just turned the stove on, and the water gradually warms. The frog, rather than wasting energy hopping from the pot, instead decides to allocate its energy to adapt to the warmer water. By the time the water grows too warm to adapt to, the frog has already expelled the energy required to exit. Unable to escape, the poor creature perishes.

My family, collectively and as individuals, have slowly been raising the temperature. I kept asking myself “Why do you subject yourself to this treatment? Why don’t you simply leave? Surely you did nothing to warrant this,”. I continually tried to make it work. I thought if I could just learn to enjoy the scalding water, all would be well. I so badly wanted unconditional love, I allowed the mistreatment to continue. I shouldn’t be so hard on myself. Being excluded is an awful thing, and it does often drive the victim to try all the harder to be included. This often just perpetuates and exacerbates the issue. What an awful cycle.

I do sometimes like to imagine myself holding the child that endured this into adulthood. I imagine myself smoothing her hair, and kissing her temple. I wish I could tell the small girl who couldn’t understand it all that it wasn’t her fault. That she is worthy of love, though not a soul at the time did. She was absolutely deserving of love. Rather, the people she loved so fiercely despite the way they treated her were unworthy.

I remember that little girl wondering why her cousins and half-sisters met so often with the whole family, and why she and her brother weren’t invited. I remember the moment she realized her family would be missing her high school graduation for a weekend at a cabin they owned; although it was her graduation weekend, she also wasn’t invited to stay at said cabin. I remember when she went to brunch one Sunday and happened upon her family having their meal in the banquet room. I remember that little girl looking around the room as Christmas presents were distributed, and realizing she had only a card and a paste, clearance necklace. Some relatives had so many gifts, she could not even see their person. When she became embarrassed and hurt, she was lectured about maturity and being ungrateful. Unfortunately, the list is far from complete.

This little girl began to reclaim her happiness. It wasn’t a straightforward journey and involved a lot of pain. However, she worried less about what they thought and began to do as she wished instead. Christmas 2016, she traveled to Datil, New Mexico. Her aunt, Lisa, was furious and called her to leave aggressive voicemails. The trip itself wasn’t great, and that winter was a difficult time for her. She’d lost her job, her health, and her boyfriend cheated on her. It was a lot to deal with, and in comparison, her aunt being angry was of little consequence. Call it a rebirth, but that little girl shed other people’s expectations, molted and grew, and became the woman I am today.

Carrie Fisher died on December 27th. It was unexpected and devastating. She was and still is a hero of mine. I took to Facebook to share my grief. Lisa’s husband, Joe, commented. It wasn’t to comfort me or empathize. No, he felt it was an appropriate time to demand I contact Lisa and explain my behavior. Can you imagine demanding a woman you barely know, to do something under a post about bereavement? This entitled behavior “adults” exhibited in the family initiated the chasm between they and I. I use quotations here to emphasize the them-and-us mentality they have towards the eldest cousins. While adults in our own right, we were treated as children.

It was an easy decision to remove all family members from my Facebook. I also elected to ignore my uncle’s demand until I was ready to speak with Lisa about the holidays. We intermittently spoke throughout the year. I updated her on my health progress, job search, and mental capacities. Anxiety and depression can be quite debilitating. They don’t believe in mental disorders. How silly to think this important organ is exempt from illness, while any other can be afflicted with many. I do believe she tried to be understanding, but at the end of the day, her internalized views overpowered her love for me.

I’m still trying to understand what happened just days ago. It’s like trying to remember a car accident. There are snippets, select words, and phrases I can recall. Some of the exchange is lost to me. Like with a lot of trauma, the core incident won’t ever be forgotten.

I don’t believe Seth ever understood my apprehension when it came to family events. He’d seen firsthand how awful my mother could be. But my dad’s side seemed normal. Coming from such a loving and welcoming family, I don’t think he had the capacity to truly understand. Unable to deprive him of the opportunity to see his family, we decided to try and go to all three events. We started at his aunt’s home and enjoyed it. I’d been anxious throughout the morning, and dreading 2/3 of the day. That soon past, and I had hope for the rest of the day.

We arrived an hour or so after Lisa had said food would be served. I knew this and resolved myself to eating at my mom’s later. Although I was hungry and was sure Seth was too, I made no indication of this. While most families on Thanksgiving would never let a mouth go unfed, no matter how late their arrival, I knew better.

Lisa made this clear as she tupperwared the leftovers around me, “I hope you’re eating at your mom’s later.”

I confirmed this and continued to answer my grandparents’ usually inquiries about my life. I received the down-low on the cooking crisis: a dish that set off the fire alarm. Light and small conversations, just how the Hanson’s like.

“Did you eat at Seth’s Family’s?” Grandpa Denny inquired kindly.

“We snacked, but haven’t eaten yet. That’s okay, we’ll be eating shortly at my mom’s.”

My answer, of course, didn’t matter. My grandparents are kind people. They understand that Thanksgiving is a day about family and full-bellies. It was unacceptable to them that I wouldn’t have a full meal until 6 pm. I don’t recall who said what to who, but soon it became clear that Lisa was angrily pulling things out of the fridge to make us a plate.

“It’s no big deal,” I tried once again to nip this in the bud.

Of course, she misconstrued this and growled: “No, it is a big deal.”

She continued speaking, and although I don’t remember her exact words, it dawned on me that she thought I’d demanded a plate. That I’d told her, essentially, that coming late and adding to her workload by asking for food was not a big deal. I do feel that given the circumstances, even if that’s what I had done, it shouldn’t have escalated as far as it did. It was doubly concerning that her perception of what was happening wasn’t even correct. I was being accused of something I hadn’t even done.

“I find it very rude that you show up late and demand food like this. I felt the need to say that,” She finished her verbal attack by throwing paper plates our way.

I was stunned, and tears brimmed. This is something I detest about myself. When I’m hurt, or yelled at, I cannot help but cry. Especially when I know it’s unjust. I can’t breathe and it’s terribly embarrassing. It makes me feel weak. People often say it invalidates any argument I present. Somehow, being emotional detracts from the validity of what I say.

“I feel the need to leave then,” I collected my sweater and made quick work of making my way to the door.

“Of course, you do,” she retorted.

I wish she had just let me leave. I wish she had simply started talking after I excused myself and realized her mistake. Instead, she trailed behind me. She demanded I stop. I told her adults make decisions for themselves, and I was making the decision to leave. My dad followed too, and both overcame me just outside the front door. She demanded I act like an adult and needed to calm down. My dad was kinder and instructed me to breathe. Like I said, I often forget when I’m upset.

The conversation continued. Or rather, her demands continued. She demanded I not swear. She demanded I stay. She demanded I become calm. All the while, she refused to let go of me. I protested this several times, and she refused to oblige. It did become clear to her that it wasn’t me who had asked. It didn’t matter. I was set on leaving, and I think she knew I’d never return. Her mistake had cost her a lot.

When hurt, people do funny things. She was probably hurt I was late. She was probably hurt that she didn’t get much help, and never does. She probably hurts often, and a lot. I recognize this and would be her most likely champion in this fight. Her beliefs and rigid traditions would never allow her to recognize this. Instead, she took her frustrations out on the easiest target.

To regain control, she finally exclaimed: “Get off my property!”

I obliged. It was, after all, what I’d been trying to do all the while. My dad called me, and I refused to slow down or look about. I was locked out of our car until Seth came with the keys. My dad approached me, and Seth was there moments after. Seth clasped my hand and my dad surprised me.

“She was wrong,” he said so matter-of-factly.

I informed him of my feelings. I intended to cut ties. I intended to omit my presence from future family gatherings. I’d be made to feel unwelcome for too long, and this was too much to forgive. They’d be excluded from my wedding, and wouldn’t be involved with any potential children. They refused to acknowledge how lonely they made me feel constantly, and while they decided things like my graduation weren’t important enough to attend, they were now investing in me to be the first to wed and provide them with the things they were so looking forward to.

He remained calm. He validated my feelings of exclusion. He was surprisingly helpful. He let me talk, and did what he could to offer advice. The things he suggested weren’t worthless, but they weren’t relevant. While “don’t make definite decisions while upset” is a solid tidbit, deciding to cut ties wasn’t a split-decision. I’ve been mulling this over since I was young. I’ve been sitting in the boiling water for too long. If I don’t leap now, I’ll die. There isn’t anything to further deliberate.

Perhaps to some, a yelling match between niece and aunt about leftovers seems silly. It would be a strange thing to emancipate one’s family over. It’s just another temperature shift in an otherwise inhospitable environment. It was no worse than any of the other things that transpired. It just happened to be the last thing.

I wonder if I’m being overdramatic. I do not understand why I’m expected to tolerate such great abuse, only to be called too emotional when I react. I think given the circumstances, I’m acting very appropriately. Yet, my mother teased me for it. She’s mocked me since and tried to invalidate what I was feeling.

“It’s always something with you,” she flippantly remarked.

My aunt’s reaction was the same.

She said to both me and Seth several times during the exchange “Everybody has their problems.”

She appears to be under the impression that I believe my burdens outweigh all others. Often, my mother has the same perception of me. Managing my illnesses involves a high level of self-care, and unapologetically doing what I need to feel my best. I think their generation misconstrues that as being selfish and narcissistic.

I think what’s truly narcissistic is displacing your own failings and expectations onto another person, and becoming frustrated when they don’t do what you expect.

As it stands, I keep feeling the need to reach out to her. I suppose I’m hoping for a reconciliation and fairy-tale ending. I understand that won’t happen. I’m still uncertain about to what extent I’ll interact with the family. The idea of never seeing my grandparents again is too much. I do understand seeing them will require meetings outside of the holidays they usually visit for. I also know it’ll require discussing what happened, and rebuffing them imploring me to reconsider.

Perhaps I’ve just leaped from one pot to another. Perhaps I’ll never be free.

#family #acceptance #journal #love #thanksgiving #disowned #struggle #politics #trumps america #fight #frog #abuse #emotional abuse #abondonment

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