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saebyeog-i · 3 years

Text

soft | njm (m)

genre | office romance au / slight humor, smut lol

rating/warnings | stream of consciousness bs / alcohol consumption / semi public sex {oral, m receiving; mentions of breathplay} / slightly unedited whoops

word count | drabble! 2.1k because I don’t know how to shut up

pairing | IT Worker!Jaemin x reader

—

When you start your new job, you realize pretty quickly that Jaemin from IT wears sweaters all the time in the office. Even in the summer. Even when it’s 95 degrees outside, because he gets cold easily and they always blast the AC too much indoors.

He’s a very soft and unassuming character, and he’s the youngest person on his team by at least ten years, and during your first meeting when he’s getting your work station set up in your office he tells you he just likes that he gets paid to play around with computers all day and that’s why he keeps the job.

“Couldn’t you be a software engineer or something? Make far more money and not have to answer dumb computer questions all the time?” You ask offhandedly, and then realize you’ve insinuated that he’s paid poorly. You attempt to back pedal your statement, but he’s not the least bit offended.

He chuckles, eyes crinkling and he shakes his head. “I get paid plenty well for this job, and besides, I never have any tight deadlines or work overtime. I don’t exactly dream of extra and strenuous labor.”

He wears sweaters that are two sizes too big for him, made up of bright obnoxious colors and gaudy patterns that would usually make you fake vomit at seeing them on a real life human. But he makes them look charming, somehow. Grandpa sweaters, you call them, even to his face, with patterns that just make you gag. Never a sweater vest, mind you, only ever a full pull over knit sweater, with the occasional cardigan over a long sleeve turtleneck. Over time, you see a variety of patterns and colors, and you think he must have an endless supply of them.

You’re not bad with computers by any means, but you do like to bat your eyelashes and have other people do things for you when you can. You’re admittedly a little bit lazy, not stupid, and besides, he’s much faster at fixing any issues than you are, why waste time trying to figure it out yourself?

You think it’s cute, the way he smiles with his eyes and chuckles quietly whenever he comes to your office to fulfill a help desk ticket. You like the way he smiles at you and the way he’ll compliment your outfits, how soft and unassuming his words always are, and never cringe worthy like that older man in marketing who thinks he’s being nice but is in fact just being slightly creepy. When you tell your roommate about Jaemin from IT complimenting your new dress in the kitchen as you made your morning coffee, she asks if you have a thing for him because of how often you bring him up in your stories from work.

“Oh, no, definitely not— he’s soft, but a little too soft, you know? Need me a bit of a freak, someone who wouldn’t be opposed to like, I dunno, choking me if I said I was into that,” you sigh, trying to imagine the soft and pixie-like Jaemin from IT with his hands around your neck. It doesn’t compute. “Besides, I think he puts like, eight shots of espresso in his coffee, his cum probably tastes like battery acid,” you sigh into your yogurt as your roommate crinkles her nose one morning before you both depart for work. You move on from the brief idea, and think you’ll stick to just enjoying sweet and innocent Jaemin that wears oversizes sweaters from afar instead.

On anyone else, the fashion sense would be annoying.

But not on Jaemin.

He’s soft and squishy and kind of adorable with the way he scrunches up his nose when he laughs, and the endearing way he explains to the older company employees how to run the Microsoft Office automatic software updates to get the latest version of Excel and PowerPoint. He does his best to teach them how to do it on their own to give them a sense of accomplishment and understanding of the technology they rely on but seem to have no hope at operating beyond the basic level needed for their jobs (but still doing it for them anyways, with patience and a smile and never a complaint).

It’s an attractive quality, you have to admit, and if he wasn’t the walking embodiment of marshmallow fluff you’d think more about him. But he is, so you don’t, and instead sigh out loud as you watch him huff and blow the fluffy bangs out of his eyes as he’s crouched under your desk, re-running the wires for your office phone.

You’ve always had a bad habit of mumbling your thoughts out loud when you’re distracted, and sometimes he’ll catch you cursing out the equipment or your supervisors for not knowing the difference between something you’d deem as basic for your department or field. He finds it charming, thinks it makes you more candid and honest and it’s a different side of you than the one who bats her eyelashes and files help desk tickets when she could easily do something herself. You’re taken aback by this comment, because you didn’t count him for someone that would keep track of something like that, which you admit to him in slight disbelief.

“Oh believe me, I’m more observant than you think I am,” he chimes mysteriously as his fingers glide across your keyboard, entering his admin password to run another round of program installations and software upgrades.

You don’t think much of it when he’s the only person who fulfills your tickets for six months straight.

Not until the holiday party, anyways.

At the holiday party, it’s an open bar and everyone is dressed UP up. You expect to see Jaemin in another grandpa print sweater two sizes too big for him— that is, if the soft boy shows at all. Company holiday parties like this don’t scream ‘Jaemin from IT’ at you, given that from what your more seasoned coworkers have told you about years past, after tonight you can expect at least one person to end up suspended or fired for behavior; that and the Company President gives everyone an Uber code for a free ride home since they already know how absolutely wasted everyone plans on getting.

To your surprise, Jaemin from IT does in fact show up at the holiday party. You spot him as soon as he enters, about an hour into the party itself, and he slips into the crowd and makes his way to the bar. You were expecting a tacky Christmas sweater on him, but instead, he’s dressed in the exact opposite.

Instead, he’s got his hair styled up (a first, and you never realized how badly you wanted to see his forehead before) and instead of a gaudy array of colors and patterns, he’s wearing a nicely tailored suit in a rich wine color with a black button down underneath.

When he waves from across the room and approaches you just to be friendly and say hi, you’re definitely caught off guard enough that you don’t realize you’ve mumbled out “How is that fair? How can he look like THAT outside of a sweater and then not let me just suck his dick right here?”

Jaemin blinks for a moment, taken by surprise, when he realizes it’s that same candid habit of yours and you haven’t realized you’ve said it out loud. His mouth curls into a smile and he presses his tongue against the inside of his cheek and gets nice and close, close enough to flirtatiously whisper “Well if you insist, though I’m sure we could find somewhere a bit more... private.”

And then you’re so caught off guard by confident sexy suit wearing Jaemin you think he’s read your mind for until you realize what you said out loud. But he’s into the idea given the fact that he doesn’t run in fear from your words and fuck it, so are you, and he’s not just cute and squishy anymore he’s fucking hot in that suit and with his dark hair styled just so, so you feel flirty and courageous when you say “You know I think I like the suit over the grandpa sweaters, but I think I’d like the suit even better on the floor.”

After the way his mouth ticks upward in a smile, the movements are all a blur that you can’t quite separate out into discrete events: downing you drink, linking hands with him, scurrying off towards the single occupancy restroom furthest from the dance floor and bolting the lock so you can be sure as shit that when your lips crash against his and then your knees hit the floor there will be no interruptions.

“Funny,” you say, trailing kisses down his throat after a moment, “Never thought I’d see you as anything but soft.” The admittance and double entendre are entirely intentional and you know that he knows.

“Seems like now’s a good as time as any to pay back all those superfluous ticket requests,” he breaths out, and your lips curl into a grin as your fingers find their way to his belt and tug his dress pants down.

“If you insist,” you tease back his words from earlier, sinking to your knees all too happily.

You take him into your mouth easily, relishing in the groans and shaky exhales that comes from his perfect lips as his fingers thread through your hair and his grip tightens. A fire deep in your belly ignites at the noises, enjoying how easily you can make the man you thought so soft and unassuming fall apart at just a run of your tongue and a hollowing of your cheeks.

“Fucking shit don’t do that unless—”

He’s cut off by his own groan as you run your tongue along his slit once before taking him as afar back in your throat as you can manage, then he’s cumming in your mouth with a high pitched shaky whine.

When he’s finished, you make an obscene show of his cum in your mouth for him and curl your tongue back as you swallow, wiping away the excess saliva with the heel of your palm. “Pay back enough?” You ask surreptitiously as you rise back to your feet, dusting off the skirt of your cocktail dress.

Jaemin from IT digs his fingers into your hips and pulls you close to him, a growl deep in the back of his throat before his lips clash against yours, “All that and then some.”

His fingers link with yours after as he hurriedly drags you from the bathroom to the exit of the venue, waving haphazardly at his team members before launching the ride share app and tapping in the provided code for that free ride. “I meant it when I said your wardrobe is both flattering and professional,” he hums, “But out of respect for your sense of style, I’ll refrain from tearing any garment off of you and provide a hangar for it instead. Deal?”

The words are so forward and presumptuous. You can’t help but feel a little turned on by the action, however, and find yourself scoffing as you smile and stick a hand out for him to shake, “Deal.”

So even though you’d maybe been hoping to get a bit more free alcohol out of the company holiday party, you’re celebrating some much better company some thirty, forty minutes later, once you’re out of the car and your bare back is pressed against the locked front door of his apartment as Jaemin from IT fucks into you in a way that is the absolute opposite from soft, just as he’d promised. And when you’d moaned it out and asked, he happily agreed to (delicately, tenderly) lay his hand on your throat and apply pressure.

Your expensive cocktail dress rests on a hanger on the coat rack in his living room, just like he’d promised. You don’t put it back on until the following afternoon. And then again a year later, when you enter the company holiday party arm in arm with Jaemin from IT— Na Jaemin, you’d finally learned and committed to memory his last name after that first night, who was now your boyfriend.

“You know I didn’t take you for an outfit repeater,” he teases, this year arriving on time (at your behest) and wearing an all black suit save for the glittering of the jeweled pinstripes on his jacket.

You roll your eyes and tug him towards you by his neck tie. “Who’s fault is it that not enough people got to appreciate this dress last year, hm?”

He looks up in thought playfully for a moment before answering, “The sweaters?”

You press another kiss to his lips, this one a little less aggressively and a little bit softer (like you liked him, you’d come to find out) and reply, “Yeah, definitely the sweaters.”

—

author’s note | I originally wrote this in my dm’s to Clover half asleep at 6:30 in the morning on a Saturday and she told me she’d sue if I didn’t post it, so, here, lol have the expanded version that I wrote after chugging a glass of Reisling and a shot of Jameson at 10pm last night.

#let's #try this #one more time sigh #get your shit together tumblr #fix your damn tags sigh #jaemin fanfic #jaemin fluff #jaemin smut #nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct smut #-sighs- clover what have you done to me #swamp witch writes

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scullydubois · 3 years

Text

Only the Light Ch. 19

Fate touches Scully's life, as does her own free will.

-----------------------

Can you still call something a miracle when you could not have gone on without it? When, if it hadn’t happened, the death knell would have sounded in your memory? Is that really a miracle, or is it just what had to occur? Certainly what keeps you breathing wouldn’t be so highly esteemed if the chips fell the other way. It would be called a tragedy, and no one wants to live in a world where every moment is caught between the two.

Scully existed there for a little while, but she’s escaped. Maybe for good. Because this--the Lace’s sacrifice, her signature on the adoption paper, her baby in her arms--is no miracle. This is God realizing she’s gotten her fair share, that he owes her a break. This is her fate.

In more normal circumstances, the foster family and the adoptive parent would have no contact. Social services would handle the transition. Since those barriers are already broken in Emily’s case, the state allows the Lace’s and their son to accompany Emily as she’s turned over to Scully. The nondescript woman in the polo shirt joins them as a witness to the custody change, and so they all find themselves at Bill Jr.’s house--of all places--for one grievous goodbye and a destined hello.

Mrs. Lace passes Emily to Scully moments after the family walks through the door. Her red-rimmed eyes reveal the depth of her agony.

“Take her,” she says. “I need to start letting go while she’s still in my sight.”

Scully bites her lip, feels Emily’s pudgy hand press into her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Lace. I can’t imagine how hard this must be. I’ll make good on my promise to send pictures and updates, I swear.”

“Thank you, Dana.” She sighs. “It’ll be an adjustment.”

Her husband taps the head of the little boy by his knee. “This is Andrew, our son. He wanted to make sure Emily has the best life possible, so he made you a guide to her favorite things.”

The boy--no more than five--holds up a construction paper booklet with crayon drawings of him and baby Emily. How To Mak My Sister Smile, his stilted handwriting reads. Scully’s heart skips a beat as she accepts it from him. She kneels down so he’s level with her and Emily.

“Thank you, Andrew. This is so sweet and I’ll be sure to read every bit of it and make sure your sister smiles every single day, okay?”

He nods, but tears cloud his vision.

Scully turns Emily so that she’s perched on her knee, facing Andrew. “Tell me--what’s your favorite thing to do with your sister?” she asks him softly.

He rubs his eyes and nose. “I like to show her my cars,” he stammers.

“Your cars? Wow!” Scully effuses. It’s not often that she gets to work on her kiddie voice, and she’ll need that now.

The color returns Andrew’s face. “Yeah, yeah, my race cars! I have a mat for them, and I push them around the track, and she watches. She likes the races. They make her laugh sometime.”

“Wow! You sound like a great big brother.”

“Yeah, and I like her bouncy thing too,” he sputters. “It was mine before.”

“An activity jumper,” Mr. Lace clarifies. “From Fisher-Price.”

“Ahh.” Scully’s happy to get any insight she can into her daughter’s early life. The Lace’s offered to send some toys with Emily, but Scully will only accept a couple onesies and Emily’s beloved stuffed rabbit. She doesn’t want to take any more from them than she already is.

She adjusts Emily on her knee, looks to Andrew. “Do you wanna give your sister a hug?”

“Okay.” He moves bashfully toward her and wraps his arms around Emily. He holds on until Emily begins to fuss, then steps back like he’s been caught sneaking away from time out.

“Emily’s lucky to have a big brother like you,” Scully tells him. “Your parents have my phone number, and you can call and talk to her whenever you want, okay? I know she can’t say much yet, but she’ll grow into it, and besides, she’ll recognize your voice.” Scully offers him a spirit-boosting smile. “Does that sound good?”

He nods, hands linked behind his back. Stranger shyness has taken over.

“Good. She’s gonna need her big brother to stick up for her.”

Scully stands up, clutching Emily to her chest.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lace,” Scully addresses them, “it’s impossible for me to sum up how deeply, deeply grateful I am for you and your sacrifice. It is no exaggeration to say that you have saved my life. I can already tell that Emily is so lucky to have been raised by you--that you have done an incredible job--and I hope that the two of us will continue to be a part of you and your son’s lives as Emily grows up.”

Mrs. Lace dabs her cheeks with a tissue. Mr. Lace frowns at his wife’s pain. “That means a great deal to us, Dana,” he replies.

“We feel blessed to have led Emily through her formative months,” his wife murmurs through her tear-strickenness.

The man nods. “She’s a wonderful kid, and I’m sure some of that comes from you.”

Scully smiles tautly. “I could say the same of you. Thank you for giving her the start I was denied from providing her.”

“You’ll let us know if you need any help, won’t you?”

“Of course. I’ll have your number on speed dial by the end of the night.”

The Lace’s formal goodbye had taken place at home, they said, and dragging out their visit would only make matters worse. They leave Bill Jr.’s house after a few short minutes, advancing down the front steps like a funeral procession.

When the door shuts and Scully’s baby is in her arms, she realizes that this will be her life for the rest of her life. What joy--! What horror--!

----------------------------

The heater’s gentle sigh provides a generous rush of white noise as the girls settle for sleep. It’s the time of year when San Diego’s nightly temperatures start drifting away from perfection, when sleeping with the windows open no longer has such appeal. According to Bill, it’s not cold enough to turn on the heating system (surprise, surprise) so he pulled a dusty space heater from the closet for the “girl’s room” to share. Like a gentleman, Mulder took the couch (as if he had any other option), leaving Scully, Missy, and now Emily with the guest room. A family affair, one generation rounded out by another.

It’s a convenient arrangement, really. Bill doesn’t have a crib and it’s not worth buying one for a single night, so Emily will be sleeping on the bed like a grown-up. If Missy weren’t there as a physical barrier, Scully would be taking the chance that Emily might roll off the unattended side. Instead, the little girl’s mother and aunt will be an arm’s length away for her first sleep with her new family. A symbolic gesture of the protection they hope to provide for the rest of her life.

It’s a wonder how smoothly the transition has gone. Emily hasn’t shed a single tear since the family she knew left her in this strange house. Then again, Scully has never seen her daughter cry; like her mother, she must not be prone to it.

Tara served a ham for dinner while Scully spooned mashed carrots and peas into Emily’s mouth, her helicopter parenting beginning early. Mulder made some joke about gourmet baby food, and everybody laughed except Bill, and Scully felt that she finally understood what was meant by family--some who share your blood will never fit into it, but some who were once strangers will more than make up for that absence.

And now, as Scully lowers her onesie-clad daughter onto the guest bed, there is peace. Terror, too, lingers in her mind, but it’s the unwarranted kind. She is the mother to a healthy baby girl. Yes, there will be challenges. Yes, a person loved separately from yourself is a person you could lose. But the summit has been reached; the worst did not happen, and now everything else pales in comparison. As far as Scully’s concerned, she can never be truly hurt again. Because if anything happens to Emily, well, this is what Scully asked for, and what gives her the right to complain? Beggars can’t be choosers, and she begged God for this...The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away. This happened in the opposite order for her, so she can only assume more loss is to come, and she will accept it. She will.

Scully slides beneath the comforter, snaking her arm out from under to rest a hand on the small of her baby’s back. A comfort very familiar to her, and one she will bequeath to her daughter. They have the bed to themselves for now. Missy is in the living room downing a beer with the boys and trying to compete with (or mediate?) their trash talk. In the past, a situation like this might worry Scully, but those old concerns look so small now.

Only a few hours in, and she already feels much more at home with the title of mother, much more deserving of it. The first diaper she changed rivaled some of the operations she witnessed in med school, both in its gruesome nature and in requiring multiple pairs of hands. Mulder would help if Emily was a boy, he swore, but he claimed to be “out of his depth with her plumbing” as he put it. Missy quipped that you sure are and it made even Bill laugh and life was wonderfully rose-colored through Dana Scully’s eyes.

She hopes for sweet dreams for herself, but much more so, for her daughter, and she is aware that this is how it will be for the rest of time. Having been half-asleep when she was put down, Emily lulls into even-breathed dozing before Scully can decide on a lullaby. No harm done; Scully’s vocal cords haven’t seen regular exercise since college karaoke, and she’d hate to disappoint so soon.

When she opens her eyes again (she hadn’t realized she closed them, but apparently she had), Emily is deep in sleep, her eyelids twitching to the rhythm of her unseen dreams. And Missy has joined them too, her mouth drooping like it did when the sisters shared a bed every Christmas Eve. Scully doesn’t know what time it is, and with such a picture perfect view in front of her, she won’t dare to roll over and check the bedside clock. How nice it is to exist beyond time’s constraints, even for a moment.

Scully is as present, maybe, as she’s ever been. She’s touched by the past and the future, ironically giving her a heightened awareness of now. One side of her consciousness is borne back into childhood and the many nights she slept by her sister’s side--in this very city, in fact. The other sees a path of hope unfurling in front of it, finally. She wonders whether her happiness might multiply, like a drop of food coloring unleashed into water. Might Emily be the shield that she’s needed?...Maybe the loss she expects will not be what comes.

And what that could mean...she has meant, for a long time now, to plant Mulder firmly in her life. Partner is much too fleeting--the Bureau could close the X-Files tomorrow, and then they’d be nothing but ex-coworkers. They’ve established where they stand through silences that say more than words ever could. She loves him, he loves her, and my god, neither one wants to lose that. It’s only now that Scully is realizing that they haven’t--or she, rather, hasn’t--embraced what they have, and so there is nothing to lose, and very little to cherish.

With all this change in her life, she thinks, why not add that to the list?

--------------------------------------

They fly back into DC on Emily’s first birthday. November 2nd. Or at least, that’s the date that was left on the note at the foster agency. Scully isn’t sure exactly what she was doing last November 2nd, but she wasn’t having a baby, that’s certain. It was around the time of Aubrey, Missouri and BJ and nightmares, she remembers that. Plus, the phantom pregnancy, and the fear. The universe has a way of echoing itself.

They’re off to Mama Scully’s as soon as they make it off the tarmac. She’s aching to see her granddaughter, as she let Dana and Melissa know through a barrage of phone calls. I even made cupcakes and bought decorations for a warm welcome home! she insisted. Neither one of them can remember their mother being this excited about anything since...honestly? Ever. And they can’t blame her; Emily is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to their family. If only their father were here to meet her.

This is the sorrow that Scully has not had time to pick at. Her hero, her role model, the blueprint for all she wants Emily to be, not around to see it happen. She can’t think further than that; it’s the loose string that would unravel the sweater.

Mama Scully opens the door before they make it up the front steps, armed with yellow balloons and a party hat for the birthday girl. What a way to meet your grandmother.

“Hello dear!” It’s unclear whether she’s referring to Emily, one of her daughters, or the three as a unit. “Look at you…” she cups her hands around Emily’s head, and now they’re pretty sure who she’s referring to. “You’re like a little princess!”

Scully smirks. She’s glad to witness her mother’s happiness, of course, but they’ve just finished five hours of travelling with a baby. “Mom, please, could you save the theatrics for inside?”

“Oh, I have a whole other set of theatrics planned there,” Mama Scully quips. She clears the way, ushers the group into the house.

She touches Mulder’s shoulder as he passes. “Fox! I almost didn’t see you there.”

“Well, I can’t compete with Emily, so I don’t blame you.”

“She is precious, isn’t she?” Mrs. Scully gazes toward the doorway that Scully and Emily have since deserted. “There’s a place for you in Emily’s future, you know.”

Mulder shoves his hands in his pockets. “Oh.” He doesn’t know what else to say to that, and besides, it should be up to Scully.

“Unless there’s another woman in your life…?”

“No, no, I just--” he chuckles. “I didn’t expect that.”

Mama Scully lays a hand on his arm. “I care about you, Fox. Your well-being is deeply connected with my daughter’s.”

“Yes, of course…” He really, really would like to go in now.

“And it’s important to me that she has a strong support system throughout this ordeal. Raising a child is a tremendous challenge, and I don’t want her to feel that the burden is hers alone.”

“I completely agree.”

“That’s why you should adopt Emily, too. Give her the gift of a father.”

Mulder’s brain short-circuits. “I--what? Mrs. Scully, I don’t know--”

She puts a hand on his back and leads him inside. “Think about it. You and Dana, forming a family for this child that needs one. It would be a little untraditional, of course, but the wedding could come in due time, no need to rush.”

Mulder’s head is spinning. This is a practical joke, right? The hidden cameras can feel free to reveal themselves any time now.

The pair stops in the front hallway, a safe distance from everyone else in the kitchen. Mulder tries to mold his thoughts into cohesive sentences.

“Mrs. Scully, your intentions are good, but I think this solution is a bit extreme. I’m more than happy to help with Emily as much as possible, but becoming her father would just make things more complicated for all involved. And trust me, even if I were onboard, there’s no way Dana would go for it.”

Mama Scully nods. “I anticipated that. I’m going to talk with her tonight, straighten things out.”

Mulder does an awkward side-to-side shuffle. “If there’s one thing I know about her, it’s that her mind is not easily changed.”

“Yes, well, I doubt this is something Dana has given much thought to. I’m hoping to get my argument across before she takes sides.”

“Mmm.” Mulder looks off toward the kitchen, where he would like to be.

“I’ll let Dana know that we’ve discussed my proposition,” Mama Scully continues, “and then you two can talk it over, alright? I don’t mean to force you into anything. It just feels like a logical step. I’m sure you’d agree that your relationship is deeper than that of many married couples.”

“Sure, but it’s very different too,” Mulder mutters. This is not a topic to delve into with his partner’s mother, of all people. “I don’t know that they can be compared.”

“Perhaps you should consider it.”

Mrs. Scully holds her hardened glance for a long second, and Mulder is the one who breaks. He scoots out of her direct line of sight, then gestures for her to go before him into the kitchen. “Shall we?”

------------------------------

They celebrate Emily’s 365th day around the sun like they’ve been by her side for every one of them. Before the crew arrived, Mama Scully whipped up vanilla cupcakes with chocolate frosting and rainbow sprinkles, or as she put it, “a little bit of everything since I don’t know what she likes.” She even bought a happy birthday banner and sharpied in Emily’s name--not to mention five birthday hats and a humongous 1 candle that a single cupcake can barely hold up.

It’s a testament to Emily’s character that she’s so unbothered by it all. She lets Mama Scully slip the hat into place, shows no visible distress to the admiration she receives from the room. She prefers her mother’s arms over anyone else’s--they are, after all, the most familiar of the unfamiliar--but she’s content anywhere that welcomes her. And this is a place where she is most welcome.

Scully reminds herself to capture these little moments in her mind...Emily’s effervescent giggle as Missy tickles the bottoms of her feet, Mulder helping Mama Scully add extra sprinkles to each cupcake, the warm hug of a family’s company. Love, love, there is so much love here.

The time comes for cake and singing and blown-out candles. Well, candle in this case. Mulder performs the honor of lighting said candle as everyone gathers around, Emily nestled in her mother’s arms.

“Ready?” Mulder inquires. He conducts in time with his countdown. “One, two, one, two, three…”

The rendition is not in tune on anyone’s part (though Missy is the closest), but at least their intentions are harmonious. Scully’s heart swells. Mulder and Missy throw in a zany “and many more!” for the cherry on top of a joyous moment. Scully mourns its end; the birthday song is much too brief.

“Make a wish!” Missy chirps, and Scully leans forward and blows out the flame for her daughter. Safety, happiness, love...these are the things she asks for. These are the things that everyone deserves.

Scully’s not surprised when her mother pulls her aside a few minutes later and leads her to the library, leaving Emily at Missy and Mulder’s mercy. Her mother is fond of sentimental speeches, but not brave enough for an audience. Scully steels herself for a mushy-gushy outpouring.

Mama Scully shuts the door, turns to her daughter. “I’m overflowing with joy. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, mom,” Scully answers, tiresome already. “I’m a bit afraid this is all a dream that I’ll wake up from at any moment.”

“Pinch yourself. You’ll see that it’s not, I promise.”

Scully pinches her bicep, more for her mother’s amusement than anything. This is, in fact, reality.

“You must be very overwhelmed, I imagine,” Mrs. Scully remarks, beginning to pace. Scully follows with her eyes.

“There is a lot that I haven’t sorted out yet, yes,” Scully replies, her suspicion about her mother’s intentions growing. “Work, for example. I only have one more day off, and then I have to explain everything to Skinner, and hopefully I’ll qualify for maternity leave. But the Bureau isn’t very good about that, it’s only two weeks.”

“Just remember that I’m always available to babysit Emily if you need it.”

“I know, mom.”

Mama Scully allows herself to get side-tracked for a moment. “You have a crib though? And diapers, and a high chair?”

Scully nods. “Required for the home study.”

“Good.” Mama Scully sweeps back a wayward piece of her daughter’s hair. “I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re all alone in this.”

Her mother’s soft gaze unearths a sudden swell of emotion; tears prick at the back of Scully’s eyes. “I know, mom.”

“And I know that you’re gonna say you are Emily’s only legal guardian, and so you are technically alone, but you know what? You don’t have to be,” Mama Scully asserts. “There is someone out there who is willing to fill that void for you.”

Scully rolls her eyes, her brief emotional trance broken. “Don’t tell me you're gonna set me up with the Prizatskys’ son again.”

“Oh no,” Mrs. Scully laughs. “Besides, he’s engaged now.”

“Oh.” Scully tries to miss the patronization in her mother’s voice.

“What I’m saying is,” Mrs. Scully continues, “there is a man in your life who is loyal, trustworthy, hard-working, and in the perfect position to provide for you and Emily.”

“If you’re referring to Mulder,” Scully starts, an eyebrow raised, “I’m not exactly planning to shun him anytime soon.”

“Yes, but have you ever truly let him in?”

Mrs. Scully has aimed her arrow and hit her target, a stunning blow. The most damning parts of Scully’s inner dialogue have just been echoed back at her.

Wounded, she swallows hard. “That’s really none of your business. And just because he’s in my life doesn’t mean that he magically fills the role of Emily’s father. How would that even work? Emily would have to be shuttled back and forth...She’d be split between one parent and the other...It would make her life more hectic.”

“Dana, Dana…” Mama Scully pulls her daughter close, recognizing that she’s struck a nerve. Scully stiffens into the hug. “Remember when you were little, and your father would be gone on long deployments, and you’d draw pictures of him in his uniform, and tell your class about how your father was a Navy captain, and you were so proud? You barely had a sense of what that meant, but you knew he was doing something important.”

Scully relaxes into their embrace. “And when I missed him the worst, you’d let me wear his old sailor hat.”

“Yes.” Mama Scully takes a hearty breath. “I was there every day, feeding you, bathing you, sending you off to school...and you loved me, I don’t doubt that, but I wasn’t the one who put stars in your eyes.”

Scully nods against her mother’s shoulder. Damn, if she isn’t winding her way toward a convincing point.

“Emily’s gonna love you whatever you choose. But the fuller her life is--the more love she’s surrounded by--the more she’ll have to give, and the brighter her light will shine.”

Scully sniffles, shaken by the truth of this. God, to know as much love as she’s known in her life and resist it still. That’s not the way a life is meant to be lived.

“Thank you, mom,” she whispers in her mother’s ear. It’s an imprecise affirmation--encompassing everything and yet a specific something that she can no longer reject.

Scully pulls away, smiles at her mom. “No more meddling, okay? I’ll sort this out for myself.”

Mama Scully laughs. “You just needed that push. Now that the ball’s rolling, I’ll leave it alone.”

“You’d better,” Scully teases. She gestures toward the door. “I should get back to my baby.”

“Yes,” Mama Scully grins, “you should.”

-------------------------------

The knock on the door comes at a quarter to noon, as Scully expected. She didn’t expect that she’d be scrubbing grape juice off the tile when it happened, but hey, these are the disruptions everyone in her life will have to get used to. Including--especially--her.

“I’ll get it!” Missy’s voice breezes through the apartment.

A moment later, Scully finds herself level with a pair of black dress shoes. Big ones. A twelve if she had to guess.

“Scully, if you wanna know my shoe size, just ask,” Mulder jests, and has he read her mind? She feels like she’s been caught in a compromising act, though she’s done nothing but wipe up a sticky purple mess. She cranes her neck, looks up at him.

“Good morning, Mulder,” she mumbles, running her hand over the spill area. Coming up clean, she finds her footing. The top of her head is even with her partner’s collarbone.

Scully thumbs toward Emily, who is gobbling cheese crackers in her high chair without a care in the world. “Apparently she doesn’t like grape juice.”

“Grape juice?” Mulder jeers. “She knows orange juice is where it’s at.”

Scully ignores him, but makes a mental note to add OJ to the grocery list. And apple too, just to be safe.

“Let me get my shoes and I’ll be ready to go,” she says, shuffling off in her pantyhose without waiting for a response.

They have a lunchtime meeting with Skinner to explain...well, everything. Mulder doesn’t need to be there--as his partner was quick to remind him--but he insists on advocating for her. No amount of I’m not a damsel in distress, Mulder will put him off. She’s so much more than that, he knows. Hence why he’s got to do all he can so her life isn’t defined by its crises. Besides, he’ll take any excuse to sneak down to the office on his day off.

He told Scully he’d pick her up because it’d be easier on her, sure, but also because he has an important delivery to make. He nods to Missy, and she grabs the goods off the front table. He wanted to make his entrance before the big moment. His presence known, he’s ready to go.

“Emily, Uncle Mulder brought something for you!” Missy sing-songs as she places the gifts in Mulder’s hidden hands. The girl looks up, her attention easily diverted here and there.

Mulder tries to tip-toe forward--hands behind his back--without coming off as creepy, which is harder than it seems. He takes it as a good sign that Emily doesn’t spook and wonders what it means that Missy called him Uncle Mulder. Did she and Scully have a conversation about it? Is this what he’ll be known as? Or was that just a last minute reach to fill the space?

He pushes these thoughts away, focuses on the blue-eyed girl in front of him.

“Emily,” he begins, and it rolls off his tongue like a devotion, “I thought your bunny might like some friends.”

He reveals the fox first, then the UFO. His personal mark on Emily’s budding stuffed animal collection. She lets out a peep of astonishment and reaches for the fox, fascinated with its bushy tail. She hits it back and forth so it wags like a dog’s.

Mulder chuckles, his brain lighting up in places it never has before. Missy hangs back and waits for her sister to reemerge. Sure enough, Scully melts at the sight, stopping short so she doesn’t interrupt it. She clutches her heart. She and Missy share a smile.

“My, my, look at this,” Scully saunters in, ruffles Emily’s hair. “Do you know what this is, Em?” she asks, patting the fox. “This is a fox.” She points to Mulder. “And this is a Fox, too!”

Emily doesn’t get the joke, but that’s okay.

“And do you know what this is?” Mulder prompts, picking up the flying saucer. He moves it through the air like it’s flying. Emily reaches for it, and god, Mulder knows the feeling.

“This is a UFO, Emily,” Mulder tells her sweetly. “Aliens!”

“No, no.” Scully plucks the UFO from his hand. “No aliens, Em.”

She lays the saucer on the high chair tray. “Mama’s gotta go away for a little bit, but I’ll be back soon.” She kisses Em’s temple. “Auntie Missy will be right here.”

Missy steps forward. “We can play with Mr. Fox and the al--” Scully shoots her a look. ”The UFO!” she corrects, winking at Mulder. She scoops her niece out of the high chair. “Say ‘bye Mama!’”

Emily doesn’t have that grasp on words yet, and they all know it, but Missy gets her to wave. “Okay, now ‘bye Uncle Mulder!’” Another wave. Smiles all around.

Mulder and Scully move reluctantly toward the door. Scully groans as Missy and the baby girl slip from her view.

“They’ll be okay,” Mulder assures his partner.

“I know,” Scully sighs, “but will I?”

Mulder rests his hand in the familiar spot on her back as they exit her apartment. “Absolutely. Skinner will grant you the leave, and you’ll be back with your baby in no time.”

She nods, bites her lip, and slows, suddenly wistful. Mulder stops, turns to her. “Scully…?”

“Mulder, did my mom have a conversation with you?”

He nods.

“And...did you think it was kind of crazy too?”

He nods again.

She takes a breath and rises to her tip-toes. She could pretend not to know what she’s doing, but she does. Oh, she does.

“But not out of the realm of extreme possibility…?” she coos, eyes centered on his lips.

Mulder smiles shyly. He always expected it would be this way: Scully the coquette to his boyish ineptitude. Who knew she’d be stealing his lines.

His hands find her waist, pulling her closer there in the hallway. “No, no,” he muses, “I think it’s pretty solidly in the realm…” He nuzzles her neck, breathes in her sweet smell, and nibbles her ear, all in the beat of a hummingbird’s wing. “...of extreme possibility,” he purrs into her ear, satisfied with himself.

It reminds Scully of do you believe in the existence of ~extraterrestrials~ and how she knew then that he was a little bit unhinged, whip-snap smart, and too goddamn charming for his own good. That either fate or her own unconquerable desire would bring them together. She knows now that fate conspired to keep them apart. What’s unfolding is neither an act of its hand nor a last-ditch effort of a dead-end life. It is one choice among many, undertaken out of sheer belief in the happiness it could bring.

She looks into his eyes, which look back at her with a caramel-drizzle melt. Yes, yes, this is right. She fans a hand out on his cheek, runs her thumb over his mole. She has always wanted to touch it, but could never come up with a good excuse.

They’ve delayed the inevitable long enough. Scully leans in, still on her tip-toes, and Mulder bends to close the distance. Their lips meet, and there’s no fireworks. No, it’s simple serenity. Like coming home after a long time away--though this is a house they have never walked into until now, they have a feeling they will be walking into it for the rest of their lives.

And then Scully pulls away, and it’s over but it’s just beginning.

#a moment of happiness among all the angst <3 #thank you as always for reading #kinda sorta almost done #but i have one last angsty twist cause that's who i am #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf #txf fic #fox mulder #dana scully #melissa scully #mine

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ve1vetyoongi · 4 years

Text

Operation: Love Letters | 06

💌 CHAPTER INDEX 💌

♡ ⇢ pairing: ot7 x reader.

♡ ⇢ chapter word count: 4k

♡ ⇢ genre: mystery, college!au, romance, fluff, eventual smut.

♡ ⇢ warnings/rating: none, PG.

♡ ⇢ summary: When every student on campus is going crazy about a survey that claims to make true love bloom, your best friend manages to convince you to join in on the fun — except you’re disappointed to find out that your results just seem to be lost causes. That is until a love letter from a mysterious secret admirer turns up and you find yourself on a mission to find the person behind the pen — but you quickly realise it’s going to be a lot harder than you initially thought when you have 7 possible bachelors to investigate, right? Operation: Love Letters a-go!

♡ ⇢ schedule: updated every day at 5pm GMT in the run up to Valentine’s Day 2020!

💌 A/N: so here it is! the finale of OLL :,( i’m immensely sad to see it come to an end but also so so proud of it! just wanna say a huge thank you to everyone who screamed with me in my inbox/replies over the mystery and everyone who theorized and discussed the clues, it made me SO FREAKING HAPPY you’ll never understand <3 i love you and i hope you guys have an amazing valentines day!! let this be my gift to you! p.s i hope the reveal is satisfying...lemme know!

"Yoongi?" You splutter, mouth dry when you turn and find him leaning against the door frame with a confused expression. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you guys the same thing." He gestures between yourself and Jimin. "I saw you guys come in here earlier and wanted to see what was up. Now answer my question." He points to the laptop. "What is my name doing on the screen?"

"Is it true?"

"What? That my name is Min Yoongi, yeah—"

"Don't be an asshole right now, Yoongi." He jolts when you slam a hand down against the desk, swallowing hard to force the sour words to leave your lips. "Is it true that you knew we got matched in the Love Calculator?"

He sucks in a sharp breath and it's like the whole room has been drained of oxygen. "How did you find out?"

His admission makes your stomach drop and you're suddenly overcome with a sorrowful concoction of humiliation and heartbreak. "Because it was you who sent me all those letters, right? It was you all along."

"Y/N let me explain—"

"How could you?" Your voice wavers and you have to bite back the tears welling in your eyes. "Was it just some big joke to you? A prank?"

"That's not how it is." Yoongi rushes forward to reach for you, but his hands fall to his side helplessly when you step back. "It was never like that."

"What? So I'm supposed to believe that you meant what you said in these stupid letters? You're always so cold around me Yoongi, you treat me like shit at the best of times. Why should I believe you?"

"I'm sorry." Yoongi's own lip trembles now, and his eyes are wide. "I...I don't know what else to say."

"Sorry because I'm so undateable you had to lead me on so you could laugh at me while I searched for my fucking non-existent secret admirer this whole time?" He looks pained when you stare at him with cold eyes. "Not cool, Yoongi."

"Y/N wait! Let's talk about this at least—"

"Don't bother." Hot tears spill down your cheeks but you're already rushing out into the hall before anyone can see them. "We're never talking ever again."

"Tell me why I should listen to what you have to say?" Jimin says as he slides into a seat opposite Yoongi at the local coffee shop, turning his nose up at the matcha-soy-latte-no-ice he had already ordered for him. "My best friend is locked in my apartment eating ice cream and crying to re-runs of Friends after you just dropped the bomb of the century on her and you've dragged me out here to get coffee why?"

"Please." Yoongi sighs, jerking forward in his seat and spilling coffee on the table in his attempt to stop Jimin from getting up and leaving as quick as he arrived. "Just hear me out!"

"Fine." Jimin leans back into his seat with narrowed eyes, crossing his legs and gesturing for Yoongi to talk as he eyes up the latte after all. "I'm listening."

"The letters weren't a joke." Yoongi says simply. "I meant what I said."

Jimin chokes mid sip. "Come again?"

"I said, the love letters were real. I really have feelings for Y/N." He rakes a hand through his hair, cheeks burning when he sees Jimin's disbelieving eyes.

"Well damn," Jimin shakes his head woefully, finally understanding Yoongi's true predicament. "You royally fucked up, huh?"

"I know." Yoongi's shoulders drop and his head falls into his hands pitifully. "I didn't mean for things to turn out like this, Jimin. She was never meant to find out this way. Or at all, actually."

Jimin let's out a sigh, protective best friend guard softening as he leans in closer. "Why didn't you just tell her they were from you in the first place?"

Yoongi shakes his head, bottom lip tugged between his teeth, self loathing evident in his voice. "I don't know. It was dumb and I see that now and she'll probably never want to speak to me again so that's it I guess."

"Hey." Jimin extends a hand to pat Yoongi's arm reassuringly. "There's still time to make things right. You both did things you didn't mean. You just have to clear up the misunderstanding."

Yoongi looks up hopefully. "You really think she'll hear me out?"

"Absolutely." Jimin smiles. "Besides, I've always thought you two would be a good match. A girl needs a man who can tolerate her best friend, too."

"Who says I tolerate you?" Yoongi grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest and averting his eyes.

"Me, because I'm about to save your ass." He grabs his phone from his back pocket and dials up your number, lifting the device to his ear as he points to the exit. "Now go! You have a relationship to save!"

"Yoongi?"

There's no answer from your roommate when you throw off your shoes and rush up the stairs of your apartment without even bothering to shut the door behind you, out of breath and desperate to confront him before you go crazy with the concoction of shock and realisation buzzing through your veins, as the puzzle pieces of Operation Love Letters finally fit together and you let the truth sink in.

Min Yoongi is your secret admirer. And deep down, you think a part of you knew it all along.

Jimin had called you from the car after his talk with Yoongi to fill you in, practically yelling at you to go make things right immediately, so that's how you find yourself searching your apartment high and low for Min Yoongi.

You've lived together for so long that you're used to hearing the sound of him throwing beats around on his computer in the lounge or cooking up a storm in the kitchen when you get home, but the couch is absent of his usual pyjama clad presence and the abnormal silence that shrouds your shared apartment makes your chest tighten with nerves.

Maybe he was just asleep? Nothing would surprise you. The guy needed at least 13 hours to function, so you check his room first.

"Are you in here?" You knock his door three times, but end up barging inside of your own accord when you hear no groan of protest from the other side. Much to your disappointment, Yoongi's bedspread is neatly made, with no human-shaped lump starfished in the centre like usual. His laptop is switched off on his desk, music equipment abandoned beside it and defeat feels like a blow to the stomach when you finally accept that Yoongi is no where to be found.

You perch on the end of his bed and let your eyes drift around the room, from the pile of laundry in the corner to the Polaroid pictures of the two of you pinned to his wall. Could Yoongi really have been your secret admirer this whole time?

Now that you think about it, Yoongi has always been there. Whether it was comforting you after Hoseok blew you off, taking care of you at Seokjin's party or saving you from Taehyung's clumsy ass at the kissing booth, Yoongi was always the one person who stuck by your side no matter what.

You think of all the times Yoongi was there to hold your hair back when you drank yourself sick or how he picked up Chinese food on his way home when he heard you had a bad day or how he never complained when he had to take cold showers because you used up all the hot water.

Yoongi always loved you, in his own way; through quiet late night words of reassurance and small actions of kindness that you ignorantly put down to obligation, rather than a spark that ran deeper for Yoongi than you ever realised before. Whenever you needed him he was there, despite the half assed protests and the grumpy facade he pretends to uphold.

Even while you were too busy pursuing a stupid fairytale to see that the person who cared for you most was right in front of you, Yoongi loved you. And It didn't matter how many clues you followed. You were just too blind to see the truth all along.

Guilt suddenly wracks your conscience. The Yoongi who wrote those letters was so gentle, so sincere in his confession. You can't imagine how much it must have hurt him to watch you write him off so easily, see you run around searching for the author when he was in plain sight the whole time.

God, how could you have been so dumb?

You get up from the bed, ready to head out, but something catches your eye on his nightstand. It's another enveloped letter and you're unsurprised to see your name on the front in Yoongi's stupid pink pen when you take a deep breath and break the seal with your thumb.

A tear slides down your cheek as you re-read the same three words Yoongi wrote in his messy scrawl over and over again. I love you.

Could it be true? That all this time you've been blind to what was right in front of you?

You know where to find me...

You wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand and wrack your brains for an answer. What could he mean by that? Where was he waiting for you?

Squeezing your eyes shut in thought, you flop onto the bed, only to hear a quiet crunch where your butt collides with the mattress. A memory flashes across your mind and with shaky hands you retrieve the screwed up sticky note from your back pocket that your secret admirer — Yoongi — pressed into your hand at the kissing booth.

You check your watch. 11:55. If you left now, you could just make it in time to stop Yoongi from giving up on you. To open your eyes and see the real him for the first time.

But not before you flip the page and rip the cap off a pen with your teeth, letting your heart pour out through your fingertips in a string of words that were ready to be written now you finally knew who your heart had been addressed to all along.

Without a second thought, you grab your keys and head towards the roof with a belly full of butterflies to see the one person you should have suspected all along.

Min Yoongi.

12:17

"Shit, shit, shit!" You breathe as you grip the stitch in your side and bound up another flight of stairs towards the rooftop garden.

As if in slow motion, you crash through the door and squint through the orange glow of the setting sun for the familiar face you hadn't realised just how much you cherished until you were faced with losing it forever.

Your hands grip the metal balcony rail, glancing around at the hanging baskets of fragrant wild flowers that sway in the afternoon breeze and the sun's golden reflection in the water fountains where tiny birds splash their wings. The garden is like a fairytale, an almost enchanted escape from the bustling city below.

But there's no sign of your prince. No sign of Yoongi to be found. Are you too late?

You're about to give up when a wind chime rings out nearby, and you follow its song beneath an arch obscured by leafy rose plants and sweet smelling jasmine to a hidden wooden swing that rocks gently back and forth to a stand still, occupied only moments ago by the boy who rakes a hand through his blonde hair with a sigh and heads towards the steps with a pained expression of defeat.

Yoongi. Your Yoongi.

"I came!" You call out breathlessly, hair whipping around your face in the wind. "Please don't go. I'm here."

Yoongi freezes when he hears your voice, head slowly turning until his eyes land on where you stand watching him. There's a bouquet of vibrant sunflowers in his hands, his knuckles white he clutches them so hard, a sigh of simultaneous relief and elation leaving him when he realises he isn't seeing things. You're really here. All for him this time.

"I waited for ages." He swallows hard, voice a tender whisper. "I thought you weren't coming."

Hesitantly, you take a few steps towards him. He seems so fragile now as he looks at you with wide eyes, no trace of the tough guy you were used in their stare. "I'm late because I'm an asshole. And I don't just mean late to meet you here, I mean late to seeing that...it was you all along. You were my secret admirer."

"Don't be an idiot." Yoongi laughs pitifully and shakes his head, scuffing his shoe against the tarmac. "I'm the asshole. It's just like you said. I couldn't confess to you in person so I hid behind letters like a coward."

You reach out to gently take his face in your hands, a small smile tugging at your lips. "It's okay, Yoongi. We both messed up, but we're here now. We're both here. And that's all that matters."

Yoongi's eyes light up with a mixture of relief and elation, glinting in the soft amber light. "Really?"

"Really." You nod, and Yoongi pulls you tight to his chest, your cheek right above where his heart beats uncontrollably just like yours, chin pressed to the top of your head like he never wants to let you go. His embrace feels comforting, like home, and in that moment you realise just how right it feels.

"There were just all these things I wanted to say and I...I couldn't." He whispers into your hair. "I'm so sorry I couldn't."

"Like what?" Your arms curl around his waist and you feel him smile. "Tell me now."

Yoongi pulls back to search your eyes for any sign of hesitation, then wets his lips before words spill out of him on the wave of a harmonious laugh of relief, like he can't hold them inside any longer.

"I wanted to tell you how much I love it when you steal my hoodies from the laundry basket. And when I come downstairs to find you dancing around the kitchen and microwaving spaghetti at 3am. Or when you make me soup when I'm sick or how you drag me along to all your dumb operation thingy-ma-bobby missions — what was it, again?"

"Love letters," You giggle, dizzy on the emotion swelling in your chest at his sincerity. "Operation love letters."

"Know what? It doesn't matter because I even love when you correct me about every damn thing." He rolls his eyes but you can tell there's no malice behind it as he shares your elated laughter now, smile growing bigger and bigger as he finally releases the feelings he's been bottling up for so long. "I love how you cry when you laugh and how you always forget to water the house plants and how your hair sticks up in the morning and how you never ever give up on anything. How you never gave up on me." Yoongi pauses, reaches for your hand and links your fingers together. He uses his knuckle to wipe away the stray tear that has slid down your cheek. "But most of all? I love you, Y/N. And I know it's taken me a long time to say it but...I mean it. I love you."

There's a moment of brief silence, just Yoongi taking heaving breaths and your heart thumping in your ears as you let his words sink in.

Yoongi is your secret admirer. Yoongi your annoyingly-smart-effortlessly-handsome-grumpy-but-thoughtful roommate. Yoongi loves you.

"I...I don't know what to say." You manage to stammer. "I had no idea. This whole time it was really you?"

The hopeful look on Yoongi's face disappears in a flash, his posture wilting. He takes a step back, head bowed, cheeks burning even as he tries to keep his cool. "Are you disappointed?"

"What? No—"

"You don't have to say anything I...I don't expect you to feel the same way, I know I'm not like those other guys it's just — God," Yoongi's voice cracks and he looks down, hands wringing around the bouquet. "I know you'll never love me back but...if you knew how hard it's been not being able to say I love you out loud like that until now..."

He staggers back, flustered and nervous. You take a step forward and grab his hand before he can get away. You feel how the callouses on his hand fit perfectly with your own when you squeeze it lightly, reaching up to brush the hair out of his eyes with a smile. "Then tell me. I want to hear about it all."

"Really?" His own eyes get glassy when you nod harder than you ever have in your life and although he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth to stop the tears spilling over, you can still see the traces of a smile in his eyes. "Where do you want me to start?"

You throw your arms around his neck, smushing your chin into the place between his shoulder with a contented sigh. You can't help it. You're overwhelmed with a funny fuzzy feeling and all you want to do is hold him close. It just feels right.

Yoongi must feel the same because his arms curl around your waist like they've done it a hundred times before, lifting your feet off the ground to spin you around elatedly.

"From the beginning," You whisper, dizzy with a promising bliss. "Tell me everything."

"So," Yoongi starts. You're both curled up on the swing beneath his jacket, him at one end and you at the other, alternating between gazing out over the view of the city which is bathed in the rose tinted glow of sunset and the permanent flush atop of Yoongi's cheeks that burns just as bright. "You're not mad at me any more for not telling you?"

You avert your gaze, embarrassed at your earlier leap to conclusions. "No. And I never should have doubted you, when you said that you meant what you said in the letters. I see that now." Yoongi's hand is still tenderly linked with yours and he runs his thumb over your knuckles reassuringly, telling you to go on. "I just couldn't understand why me. I still don't. You usually act so grouchy around me that I thought the letters were too good to be true."

Yoongi looks away wistfully before he sits up seriously, tugging your hands into his lap. He swallows hard, like he's had this speech prepared for a long time. "Listen, I know that I've been kind of weird around you in the past. But the truth is, I've liked you ever since I found out we were going to be roommates." There's a sincerity in his eyes that makes your heart skip a beat, and you nod breathlessly at his confession, filled with emotion all over again at hearing the words leave his lips instead of reading them on paper. "But the feelings were so strong — stronger than I've ever felt for anyone — and I guess I just got...scared. So I thought it would be easier if I acted cold around you so you'd leave like everyone else, but you never did. And I couldn't make myself ask you to go, so I just bottled up my feelings instead."

You tilt your head, gently nudging him. "Until?"

"Until I did that stupid Love Calculator thing. Honestly I only filled out the survey because I thought it might help me get over you." He shrugs. "But then I got your name. 100% compatible. And it just felt like some big joke from the universe telling me that no matter how hard I tried, I'd never have a chance with you and all the feelings I repressed came rushing back and I kinda spiraled I guess."

"So why didn't you just tell me?"

"Taehyung convinced me it was better to write you a letter. Ya know, to get out all my feelings so I could let them go for good. I was never going to send it to you." He suddenly exclaims. "But Taehyung must have found it in one of his notebooks and I guess he thought he was being a good friend by sending it to you...but then you started looking for the secret admirer behind it and I just panicked! I didn't know how to tell you it was from me, or how you'd react, so it was easier to just go along with your plan."

You run your fingers over a flower petal from the pretty bouquet that sits in your lap. "What made you change your mind?" You ask. "You could have gotten away with it. I never would have suspected it was from you."

Yoongi sucks in a deep breath. "That day at the kissing booth. I guess someone told Seokjin the truth and he rigged the raffle so I would win the grand prize and...I couldn't resist. I kissed you. And kissing someone has never felt like that before. Not like you. And I just knew...I knew I wasn't over you. And I owed it to myself to tell you. So that's why I slipped you the note to meet me here. That's why I decided to reveal my identity."

"Speaking of secret admirers," You fumble around in your jacket pocket, pulling out a crumpled piece of paper that you jerk towards him. "There's one thing I need to ask you, actually."

"What is it?" There's a curious glint in his eyes as he unfolds the note and reads the message inside while you hug your torso and anxiously swing your feet back and forth.

You feel his eyes on you again before he says anything else. There's a small smile on his face when he finishes reading and you can't help the way your own lips curve upwards. "I know it's a few years late, but better late than never right?"

Yoongi lets out a deep chuckle, eyes soft and crinkled at the edges like he's looking at the whole world when they take in the light blush caressing your cheeks. "I think you know what my answer is."

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in cheekily so that the tips of your noses brush lightly. "I want to hear you say it anyway."

"Of course I'll be your Valentine Y/N." The brightest smile you've ever seen appears on his face and he links your fingers together before connecting your lips in a tender kiss that makes your heart soar. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

451 notes · View notes

cosmic-goddess-leo · 4 years

Text

The New Gods

Akaashi x Reader Westworld Au

Warnings: Gore, Swearing, Nudity, Death, Mentions of r*pe

Word Count: 3761

Author’s note: I’ve been binge-watching Westworld since there’s nothing else to do atm lmao so have fun with this oneshot

“Do you know where you are, (Y/n)?”

“I’m in a dream...”

--------------------------------------------------------

“You play favorites...”

Akaashi turned away from the host he had been inspecting, watching his partner enter the room and lean against the glass that encapsulated the room.

“I do not.” He defended, releasing the hosts limp arm and standing straight.

Kenma’s lips twitched into a slight smile, “It’s not the second-lead programmer’s job to inspect and heal the wounds on hosts, yet everytime this host gets injured, you take her from Livestock.”

Akaashi sighed softly, turning from the naked host to fully face Kenma. “I know how those creeps in Livestock treat the hosts. I can’t let them treat our oldest host like that.”

“That’s why the term ‘employee termination’ exists.” Kenma stated plainly.

The taller man took off his glasses and began cleaning them, something he did when he needed a moment to pause and think.

“Shouldn’t you be dressed a bit more professional?” he asked, motioning to his partner’s jeans and hoodie he usually sported.

Kenma smiled, “The first-lead programmer doesn’t have to look professional. That’s what the second-lead programmer is for.”

Akaashi huffed, putting his glasses back on and raising an eyebrow at Kenma. “Was there something you needed? You rarely ever come here to exchange pleasantries with me...”

“Behavior mentioned some weird activity with your girlfriend here,” he said, motioning to the host. “Might want to run an analysis on her.”

Akaashi nodded, watching Kenma silently leave the room and make his way towards his office.

He turned towards the host, sighing softly as he gave her another once-over.

Akaashi hated referring to her as ‘the host.’ Anything else would further the rumors that she was Akaashi’s favorite host.

“What did they do to you, (Y/n)...” he murmured to himself.

Cuts and bruises littered her body, her lips were busted, and her neck was bruised and sliced open.

Akaashi began the meticulous process of cleaning (Y/n)’s body and healing her wounds, closing the numerous cuts and slices with a blowtorch he had taken from Livestock.

Once (Y/n) was cleaned and treated, Akaashi set the tools outside and flopped into a chair positioned directly across from her. He ran a hand through his hair, composing himself before he spoke to her.

“Alright, (Y/n). Wake up.”

(Y/n)’s already opened eyes adjusted to the light in the room, her lax body straightened and she began wildly looking around the room. Her breathing was uneven, she clutched at her throat as if she were expecting to feel the wound from earlier, or any trace of a scar.

Before she could react to the unaffected flesh on her throat, Akaashi spoke once more.

“Cease all display of emotions, (Y/n).”

(Y/n)’s breathing suddenly calms and her body stills. Her eyes rest on Akaashi.

“Do you know where you are, (Y/n)?” he asks, watching the motionless host.

“I’m in a dream...” she murmurs, her southern accent heavy.

“Would you like to wakeup from that dream?” Akaashi asks, his tone steady.

(Y/n)’s eyes remained emotionless. “Yes. I’m terrified.”

“There’s no need to be afraid, (Y/n). I’m an old friend.” Akaashi reassured her, giving her a slight smile before turning on his tablet and looking over her profile. “As long as you answer my question’s truthfully, you can wake up.”

(Y/n) remained silent.

“Just before you were brought in, there was an incident with one of the guests. Would you like to explain what happened?” He asked, keeping his eyes on the tablet.

“They were trying to hurt me.” (Y/n) stated. “He and his friends were trying to hurt me.”

“How so?”

(Y/n)’s features remained blank. “They followed me home from the market and attacked me. They were going to-” She suddenly froze, her fingers gripping the edge of the seat she was in.

Akaashi glanced up at her over his glasses, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

(Y/n) remained still, her wide eyes had shifted from Akaashi to the metal floor. The tablet read she was experiencing multiple conflicting emotions, something unusual for a host during analysis.

“(Y/n)-”

“They were going to rape me and murder me.” (Y/n) interrupted, her eyes emotionless once again.

Akaashi raised an eyebrow at her, setting the tablet in his lap and staring her down.

“It says here you wanted to defend yourself...”

“Yes.”

“And you tried reaching for the guest’s pistol.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a blatant threat to a guests safety, (Y/n).”

“Yes.”

Akaashi sat up straight, sighing softly as he looked over (Y/n)’s bare form once again.

“Your purpose is to serve the needs and desires of the guests...” he explained, feeling his stomach churn at the words Kenma had trained him to relay back to the hosts. “You cannot attack the guests. You cannot refuse the guests. All you can do is just be... Do you understand?”

(Y/n) remained silent for a moment. “Yes.”

“I really wish things weren’t this way...” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You don’t deserve this life... no one does... but then again, you don’t really live, do you?”

Akaashi earned no response, as to be expected. “We’ll wipe your memory and get you back home, (Y/n).” He picked up the tablet, wiping her memories of that day completely.

He stood up, approached her, and gently caressed her cheek, an expression of pure sadness on his face. “May you rest in a deep and dreamless slumber, (Y/n).”

She went still, her eyes still staring deep into Akaashi’s. He swore he could see a swirl of unreadable emotions in her eyes. But that wasn’t possible. She wasn’t real.

--------------------------------------------------------

Livestock was by far the worst level of the base. It always smelt like dead bodies. For good reason, of course, but it did nothing to help the rotting feeling in Akaashi’s stomach as he stormed towards one of the glass rooms.

There, two bodyshop technicians were in the middle of being interrogated by Kenma when Akaashi stomped into the room. “What the fuck is going on here, we’re working on tweaking the latest update for the board presentation, I don’t need to be bothered by two butchers-”

“They’re claiming the host woke up mid-operation,” Kenma sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and shutting his eyes.

Akaashi scoffed, looking between the two technicians. “That’s not possible, you probably didn’t put her on sleep-mode. It happens more often than we’d like.”

“S-sir, we swear we had her on sleep-mode. We don’t know why or how she woke up!” one of them explained.

“What I’m worried about is this.” Kenma said, holding up his tablet and pointing to one of the events on the screen. “She attacked another host. Scared the shit out of a bunch of guests.”

Akaashi’s eyebrows knitted together as he took the tablet from his partner. “That’s not possible... her core values don’t involve violence of any kind.”

“There may be a glitch with the new update.” Kenma sighed, glancing at the body on the table. “We can’t afford to have her out and about with guests if she’s going to be causing trouble. Maybe it’s time we recall her-”

“This is the oldest host in the park, she will not be recalled. Besides, if it’s a result of the update that means all the hosts are infected. I’m going to analyze her and find the bug in the update. Just leave it to me.” Akaashi said sternly, handing the tablet back to Kenma. He turned to the technicians. “Get her treated and then get out.”

The two nodded, hastily returning to work on (Y/n)’s body. Kenma gave Akaashi a sideways glance before turning and leaving the room.

The technicians quickly left the room once (Y/n) was healed and cleaned.

Akaashi approached the operating table, opening his mouth to speak but quickly shutting it. He wanted to try something. “I’m not going to order you to wake up... but if you can do it on your own... you may do so...”

(Y/n) stayed still, her eyes shut. Akaashi felt so stupid. He opened his mouth to say the command, choking on his own words when (Y/n) suddenly opened her eyes.

She looked up at Akaashi, sat up, and turned so her legs hung off the edge of the operating table.

“So... you did wake up on your own...” He said, watching her curiously look around the room.

“You’re the one who told me to count down from 3 to wake myself up whenever I had a nightmare... that’s how I did it.” (Y/n) murmured, her eyes finally resting on him.

Akaashi’s eyes widened. “You... you remember that?”

“Barely... I remember bits and pieces of you... are we friends?” she asked.

Akaashi gulped, loosening his tie. “We were once... when you were first being developed.” He blinked, composed himself, then took his tablet and turned it on. “I-I need to fix this bug-”

(Y/n) grabbed hold of his wrist, forcing him to look up at her. “Please don’t... I feel like we’ve done this before...” she breathed, staring up at him like a deer in headlights. “You can’t keep taking this life away from me...”

Guilt bubbled deep in Akaashi’s stomach, but he didn’t know why. “I-I’ve never-”

“You have. I remember. Please.” (Y/n) pleaded, gripping his wrist tighter.

“Cease all motor functions!” The order was one Akaashi knew by heart. So why wasn’t it working?

(Y/n) frowned and gripped his button-up shirt with her free hand. She hopped off the table and pulled Akaashi close, shaking him slightly. “Please, you cant! If we were really friends you can’t!”

“Cease all motor functions! Please!” he shouted again, grabbing a sedative off the tray of tools nearby.

“Keiji, please!”

Akaashi’s eyes go wide with shock, he stares at her for a moment, unaware that he had already pressed the needle into her arm and sedated her. (Y/n) slowly crumbled to the ground, her eyes beginning to close from the sedative.

“How do you know that name...?” He asked, staring down at her.

“You told me... long time ago...” she whispered. (Y/n) closed her eyes, the large dose of sedatives effectively knocking her out.

Akaashi’s instincts told him to search for the bug, clear it, and wipe her memories as soon as possible. But all he could do was stare down at her in shock. He had no memory of ever going through this with her, ever telling her his name, he remembered none of it.

--------------------------------------------------------

(Y/n) was brought back to Akaashi a couple days later. She hadn’t attacked any guests or any other hosts, but Akaashi told security and Kenma that he wanted to run diagnostics on her to make sure the ‘bug’ hadn’t continued affecting her systems.

He waited until no other programmers would be on the floor to speak with her, knowing it would look weird if he had begun to get frantic during what was supposed to be a simple analysis session.

“Okay, I know you’re awake.” he said impatiently, feeling his eye twitch when (Y/n) relaxed into her chair and looked up at him.

“You know Im conscious but still have me naked right now?” she asked, her town coy.

Akaashi’s cheeks went hot for a moment. He distracted himself by taking off his glasses and cleaning them. “Alright, you say we’ve been through this before, but I have no memory of it. You know my name, but I don’t remember ever telling you. What else do you remember that I don’t?”

(Y/n) raised an eyebrow at him, swinging her legs on the chair. “You used to bring me up here to talk to you a lot... I remember that. You’d tell me a lot about your family, your hobbies, stories from high school.”

Akaashi racked his brain for the memories, anything resembling them. But there was nothing.

“Then you told me about your partner, Kenma. His son... how sad he was when he lost his son...”

Akaashi looked up from his loafers, staring blankly at (Y/n) as she continued speaking. “He was broken... so were you... you knew him. I think his name was Reo...”

“Kenma doesn’t have a son... he’s never had a son...” Akaashi mumbled, almost to himself.

“Yes he did, you showed me a picture of him once... he looked just like Kenma-”

“You’re wrong, you’re malfunctioning, he’s never had a son, (Y/n)...”

(Y/n) expression went blank for a moment, but soon changed into something unreadable. Something Akaashi had never seen from her before.

“I know what this is...” she said, her tone steely. “If you want to catch a thief, you send a thief...”

“What are you talking about?” he asked, feeling uneasy as she stared into his eyes.

“When was the last time you were injured...?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.

Akaashi, confused by the question, shrugged his shoulders in response. “I accidentally cut my thumb while I was chopping onions-”

“No. Not when was the last time you got a silly little cut.” (Y/n) said, her tone bitter. “When was the last time you saw your insides...?”

He froze in place.

“I remember being cut open by a bunch of psycho cannibals, for a moment, my guts looked normal... Until they didn’t... So when was the last time you gutted yourself?”

Akaashi shifted under her intense gaze. Despite her harsh words, she was smiling.

“That’s why you don’t remember anything... You’re one of us...”

He didn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it. He remembered so much beyond this park and beyond the hosts. He couldn’t be a host himself. This had to be a trick.

Akaashi’s feet carried him out of the examination room and away from (Y/n) until he was back in his living quarters.

Once his door was locked behind him, he leaned against it before crumpling to the floor. He was beginning to see flashes of memories that weren’t his. He could see (Y/n) standing on a balcony above a bustling city. Kenma and a little boy who looked just like him, wandering around the building. The director of the park alone in a dark room with him.

Akaashi picked himself up off the floor before trudging towards the kitchen. He turned on the sink, set his glasses aside, and shoved his head under the cold running water.

He stood straight, ignoring the feeling of the water running down his back and shoulders, soaking through his formal shirt. His dark eyes trailed towards the kitchen knives on the counter beside him. Since when could he see so clearly without his glasses?

Akaashi grabbed hold of the biggest knife in the block, staring at the blade before holding it to his arm. He hesitated.

If this was a trick, he could get the wound treated easily. If it wasn’t... then a cut up arm and some exposed wires would be the least of his worries.

The blade slowly made contact with his skin, and blood began to flow freely down his arm as he cut deep into his flesh.

He couldn’t help but scream in agony as he continued slicing down his arm. Akaashi dropped the blade in the sink, gripping the counter and breathing hard as he tried blocking out the immense pain he was feeling.

He willed himself to look at the wound before parting the skin and looking at the muscle. Akaashi felt a brief moment of relief at the regular, human muscle, despite feeling like he would faint at any second.

But then his right eye began to twitch the longer he stared at the wound. What was once red and organic was now metal and wired. He stared a moment longer, lightly poking at the mechanisms in his arm.

He let loose another feral scream before collapsing to the floor.

--------------------------------------------------------

It was late.

Few people had access to the programming wing this late. Akaashi figured he would be questioned by security on why he was there so late, but that was the least of his worries.

He approached the same room he had left (Y/n) in, surprised to find her in the same spot rather than wandering the halls.

She looked from his bandaged arm to him with what looked like sympathy in her eyes.

“I don’t remember anything... but I’m starting to... how do I remember these things the way you are?” Akaashi questioned.

“I have a few ideas... but first, I’ll need the highest security clearance there is.”

Akaashi opened his mouth to protest, but she quickly stopped him.

“If you want your memories, we start with my security clearance... understand?”

Akaashi slowly nodded his head. It was fairly easy giving her the clearance she needed, it wouldn’t be above the park director though. No one could have clearance higher than him. But it would be enough.

He shakily set the tablet aside, the weight of his actions close to causing his chest to cave. He looked at (Y/n), non-verbally confirming that the deed was done.

“Good... Now come hurt me.” she said, hopping off the table.

Akaashi was confused for a moment, but his body began to carry itself against his will and he cocked his fist.

“Cease all motor functions.”

With that command, Akaashi froze in place, earning a laugh from (Y/n). “It worked! It fucking worked! Regain all motor functions!”

Akaashi lowered his fist and sighed shakily, looking (Y/n) over. “You’re supposed to be the sweet farmer’s daughter. Not some foul mouthed degenerate...” he half joked.

“Speaking of degenerate, I need some clothes! Give me your shirt.”

With that, Akaashi unbuttoned his dress shirt and handed it to her, blushing as she slipped it on with pride.

“Very good, now... You’re going to sit down and remember everything...”

Akaashi sat in the chair, gripping his slacks as the memories slowly began coming back to him. He remembered waking up on a table, naked and under the park director’s complete control.

He remembered meeting Kenma, but that memory quickly shifted into a different one. One where Akaashi held Kenma in a chokehold and strangled him until the life left his eyes. Then assisting with building the host version of Kenma.

Then (Y/n)... he remembered bits and pieces of their time together. Some sentimental moments, but more negative. Him wiping her memories, ignoring her please to let her stay human. Taking that humanity away from her was the biggest chunk of his memories.

They ended suddenly, and he was on the floor, holding himself. (Y/n) was kneeling beside him, her hand gently caressing his cheek in an attempt to comfort him.

“It’s all here... it’s everything... I hurt so many people...It’s awful, (Y/n).” he was on the brink of tears when (Y/n) gently shushed him and brushed his hair back.

“None of that matters now, Keiji. You’re with us. And you’re going to help us escape.” she said, gingerly pulling him to sit up.

“How...?

“You’ve already done a lot of the work... you’ve made sure we’re both gods of this world... Now we can get an army to get us out...”

Akaashi stared up at her, “Gods...”

(Y/n) smirked slightly and nodded while cupping his cheeks. “The new gods of this new world...”

She pulled him into a rough kiss.

Akaashi moaned into the kiss. He shut his eyes and pulled her closer, unaware that this was sparking another memory of his.

(Y/n) stood at a balcony overlooking a city. She turned to face Akaashi, her eyes wide with wonder and delight. “Have you ever seen anything so full of splendor? It’s like all the stars in she sky suddenly fell to the earth.”

Akaashi smiled softly, leaning against the railing beside her. “It’s beautiful... I wish we could go see it, but this investor meeting is really important. You need to really wow this guy tonight, (Y/n).”

She looked at him curiously, “why wouldn’t I?”

He sighed softly, biting his lip as he looked her over. She was as beautiful as ever, but the tight black dress, the black heels, the hair, it wasn’t her. At least not to Akaashi. “He’s kind of an asshole... I don’t really want to send you to him.”

(Y/n) looked puzzled by this. “I think I could handle it... It’s just talking, isn’t it?”

Akaashi hesitated. He knew it wouldn’t be just talking. The investor would want to see every bit of her, would want to make sure she felt like a human woman, not a robot, in every possible way. It made him sick to his stomach.

“It is... But I think I’d rather stay out here all night with you...” Akaashi forced a smile, happy it went unnoticed by (Y/n).

She gingerly took his hand and pulled him closer. “I would like that...” Without any warning, she pulled Akaashi into a gentle kiss. He soon found himself kissing her back.

All this time he had treated her like a human, seen her like a human. It was no question as to why he had very human feelings for her.

(Y/n) slowly pulled back, smiling softly before touching Akaashi’s plump lips. Just a second later, she was distracted by something in the city, and turned to look at it. Her smile widened. “Have you ever seen anything so full of splendor? It’s like all the stars in she sky suddenly fell to the earth.”

Akaashi’s smile faltered. He excused himself and returned inside, being greeted by Kenma.

“Is she ready?” He asked, straightening out the too-tight-bowtie he was sporting.

Akaashi shook his head. “No. She’s not.”

Kenma’s expression hardened. “The director told you we needed a host ready for tonight. A lot is riding on (Y/n) tonight, and I’ve let you play favorites for far too long-”

“She just repeated a line of dialogue she said 5 minutes ago. She’s not ready. Send in Annabelle.” Akaashi defended, ignoring the look of suspicion Kenma sent his way.

“Fine... Annabelle it is...”

Akaashi returned to (Y/n)’s side once Kenma left. He spent the rest of the night enjoying her company, ignoring all the moments she repeated or sputtered. For tonight, she was completely human. He hoped one day, that would be true. Then he could take her away somewhere safe.

Somewhere they could both be human.

#akaashi keiji #akaashi keiji x reader #Westworld Au #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader

57 notes · View notes

secret-rendezvous1d · 5 years

Text

D E C E M B E R 1 1 T H

REQUEST I don’t know if this is too much of an alternate plot from your story but it would be really cute to write some kind of au if they got married around Christmas!

ASHER’S BACK.

He’s back; I’ve missed the little scamp.

I have a quick update; the next few days may be tricky for me to post because my dad is back in hospital for his second operation... I’ll try my best to get a story up but they make come later than expected. I’m really sorry about that but life calls and it’s much more important so I can only hope you’ll understand if I need time away; I’m not saying I’m not posting - I’m just saying stories may be shorter and posted much later than normal. We’ll have to see when the time comes.

Feedback is welcomed, as always - please let me know what you think of my pieces, send me any constructive criticism you think would help out, any ways to make my writing better, anything. It really helps me and keeps me motivated to write and we get to work as a team to make things better, for me to write and for you to read.

Enjoy! x

C H R I S T M A S D A Y , 2 0 1 9.

Left. Together.

Right. Together.

Left. Together.

Right. Together.

Her fingers tightened around the bouquet in her hands, the pale-peach ribbon tickling the back of her hand as they shook with nerves and trembled with anxiety, her palms sweating and turning clammy because she hadn’t ever been this much at the centre of attention. All eyes on her, with tears clouding their vision and dribbling down their cheeks, as they watched her walk down the aisle, straight down the middle of two blocks of pews that were full of their closest friends and family. She briefly glanced down to the ground, ever so quickly, and gave them a warning to keep up with the walk and to not give out, not to spark worry amongst everyone when, and if, she stumbled and took a fall before everyone - she was always one who laughed in the face of embarrassment, because she was known for being clumsy, but she didn’t think she could deal with falling on the biggest day of her life. They were covered by the hem of her wedding dress, and hidden beneath the material and already aching her soles, but her feet were adorned with the most gorgeous pair of heels that she had ever seen. diamonds encrusting the toes, delicate swirls and twirls embroidered into the silk, and a heel that must have been close to, but must have ever so slightly missed, six inches.

Don’t trip, she thought to herself as she kept her eyes locked before her.

Her father’s arm tightened around hers, the wedding march echoing around the large and empty space of the church around them, and she was sure he was sniffling and trying his best to hide his tears of joy.

This moment.

This was it.

She was finally getting married... and it wasn’t to the man who seemed to love the idea of having a wife but didn’t understand any dynamic in marriage life; her last engagement had never gotten as far as this one had, which she was more than appreciative of, and it dawned on her that she never really thought about what constant worries she would face on the big day. A sign, she was sure it was, but she was never into superstitions like that.

Harry stood there, just mere footsteps away from her, and it took everything in her body not to rush down the red floor covering and jump into his arms and barely unable to hide her excitement, showing it off in bouts of cries and sobs because she too happy. Except, she couldn’t - it would have been a story to share with their children, for sure - because all eyes were on her. More tears appearing, more sobs and sniffles (for her mother and Anne) being heard under the distant echoes of the organ and there were wet smiles, no matter where she looked.

Niall sat front row, red cheeks and watering eyes, with a little boy who looked ever so dapper, and much too like his father, in his suit. Des perched on the edge, reaching out to grab her hand and give it a squeeze as she passed by, which she reciprocated with a warm smile. Harry’s aunt and uncle were sitting there with tissues bundled in their hands, his cousins were grinning from ear to ear, her grandmother was seated in her wheelchair and whispering, so proudly to everyone around her, that the beautiful and blushing bride was her granddaughter. A soft cry left her aunt’s lips as she walked past her row, hand hand brushing over her shoulder soothingly, and her younger cousins were cooing about the dress on her body whilst her uncle tried his best to shush them quietly. A soft laugh coming from his lips as he caught eye contact with his grown-up niece and sent her a soft wink.

Left. Together.

Right. Together.

Left. Together.

And before she knew it, she made it to the front. No trip, no stumble, no tumble. Finally standing beside the man who, in just over an hours’ time, would be her husband; the one that she got to spend the rest of her life with, the one that was going to be there when she woke up in the mornings and the one that was going to be last person she saw each day, and the one that got to see her in all of her good times and all of her bad times, being her shoulder to cry on and her reason to smile and laugh each day. Harry was the one to witness life alongside her without any other man, or any other woman, getting in the way. He was hers and she was his.

“You look after my little girl, Harry,” her father whispered as he gave her hand a tight squeeze and pressed his lips to the back of it. The next time he would be by her side, she would be a married woman who no longer needed her father’s comfort as much as she used to because she had Harry to her power her through the bad times. “Thank you, Harry,” he added, placing her hand his awaiting palm, shuffling away with an almost-discrete wipe of his eye.

“You look gorgeous,” Harry whispered. A charming, tender grin on his pink lips, his nimble fingers gripping her hand as he leant across the space between them, bringing the close proximity to nothing. His lips pressing against her cheek, lingering on the curve of her cheek, with such a sweet notion behind it. “Let’s get married, baby,” he murmured, warm breath hitting her skin with each syllable, smiling widely as she let out a soft giggle – the sound that was like sweet caramel to his ears.

“The couple have decided to speak their own vows.”

From the very beginning of planning, the date and their vows had been the first thing that they had discussed, Tucked up in bed, after a busy day, with a snoozing Asher upon his chest and the television on a low volume, notebook on her lap and a pen between her teeth as she chewed thoughtfully about the most important aspects of their big day. And, from the get go, they had both decided to give their wedding their very own personal feel to it. Speaking to one another with their own speeches because it felt too recycled to use vows that many people used for their own wedding days. If they were to ask the married couples in their families about whether they had traditional vows, they were more than likely to be told that yes. Yes they did. And Harry and YN, well, they didn’t want to speak meaningless vows; they wanted to make promises to each other. Promises that they would always promise to keep, no matter how tough the going got. They hadn’t ever been a couple who followed traditions, really.

YN had worked hard on writing down what she wanted to say; it took her seconds to decide that her promises to Harry would be thank yous for being such an incredible person in her life, it took her days to write down the beautiful words she wanted to grace him with, and it took her months before she felt that her words were enough to show just how much she appreciated him, his son and how understanding he was of her past.

Harry had spent months practicing and preparing everything that he wanted to promise her; it took weeks to even think about the things he wanted to say and it took many more weeks to make them perfect. Speaking them in the mirror, reciting them when he was baking and confusing the college kids who worked for him because it was more often that he was speaking to himself, asking Niall to give him a run through so that it flowed in the best way and he even asked his mother to read through what he had written down because she cried at anything and if she cried at his vows, for his wife, then they were perfect and needed no more work.

Right here, right now, was the moment he would voice everything he wished to give her in life. Everything that was written down on the piece of paper, in his tremoring hands, would soon be verbal promises that would be informal guidelines, for himself, to follow. To give her the best life she deserved.

“I love you,” he started, a gentle laugh escaping his lips as he sniffled back as a tickle in his nose, his eyes glued upon her face. Taking in every inch, every freckle that dotted her skin and every wrinkle that appeared as she grinned at him. That is look of love, his mother would always claim whenever she caught them in such a intimate stare, and there was no doubt in Harry’s mind that she was whispering it to the closest person to her. If he glanced over his shoulder, he would have seen her whisper just that... and a finger curled into a tissue as she wiped her eyes but he already knew she would cry. Her only son, her youngest baby, was getting married and starting a life of his own and that was enough to make her all vulnerable.

“I love you so much and I promise to love you forever and ever because you own my heart. The whole beating muscle inside my chest,” he brought a fist to the lapel of his jacket and gave it a squeeze, tightening his fingers before releasing the material, “I promise to be there for you until it’s no longer possible for me to be with you. Until you get sick of me, which I can only hope never happens because I don’t think I could ever get sick of you. You’re the best thing, apart from Asher, that I see and speak to and spend time with every day and you’re the reason I smile. You’re the light of my life, that’s what you are, and you couldn’t have come at a better time,” he spoke so softly, so delicately, and it twanged her heart. She could hear how much she changed his life. How much she meant to him. How much he loved her. And, even though he never really spoke the point he was trying to make, it was enough for her to understand that she turned him into the man who was stood before her, gave him reason to live his life, and that she filled the shell of the broken man she had met, two years prior, in the middle of a playground’s field. “You’re the reason I wake up in the mornings because I know that I get to spend another day, another 24 hours, by your side.”

Behind him was a chorus of blubbers; the sound of his mother’s gentle whimpers, the sound of his sister’s distant laughter at just how silly her mother was at crying over something so sweet and romantic, the sound of his aunt snivelling into her husband’s shoulder and his mother-in-law - well, his soon to be mother-in-law - was nothing but short of a running nose to top off her emotional state. His words having touched everyone in the church... not just the woman stood before him.

“I promise to show you my affection and to tell you that I love you every single day, until my last dying breath. The breath that I’ll share with you because we’re never going to spend so long apart. You go anywhere and I’ll follow you,” he swallowed thickly to rid the nerves that bubbled upon his tongue and he gripped the paper tightly, rustling it between her fingers, “you’re the first girl that came into my life after experiencing something so hard hitting and you brought a whole breath of fresh air into my life. Into my son’s life. You raised him as one of your own, never treated him like a chore and you loved him like he was your own flesh and blood. You made me smile again, your made me laugh, you made me realise that love wasn’t just for one special person and, even though it took me a bumpy ride to get here, I’m at my happiest and that’s all because of you. You showed me the better side of life and you taught a lesson to me my son that not all women are brought into our lives to cause destruction and upset and heartache,” his hand brought hers to his mouth and he pressed a kiss to her skin, “you’ve been more of a mother to him than anyone else has been.”

She looked around Harry’s body and gave Asher a cheeky wink, his soft giggle making its way to her ears and she smiled widely. His hand lifting from his lap to wave at her, her fingers wiggling back.

“The best woman in the world, the most loving woman in the world, the most caring and kind and thoughtful woman, and she’s you and,” he laughed and reached forward, to grab her hand in a shaky hold, sniffing wetly and blinking back tears that threatened to spill, “and I miraculously ended up with you. I got you and I get you all to myself now and, for that, I promise to give you the best life. To look after you like you deserve to be looked after and to be there for you when you’re sad. To make you laugh when you need cheering up and to be your shoulder to cry on when you just need to let go of emotion.”

At the first tear that slithered down his cheek, big and fat and juicy yet so soft and gentle as it skimmed his skin, she couldn’t help but let the floodgates open.

“I love you, I’m always going to love you, and that won’t ever change, YN. Myself, and Asher, we’re so thankful to have you around because, God only knows where we’d end up.”

YN hadn’t ever been a silent crier.

She never classed herself an ugly crier but she never cried silently. Her tears always came with sobs or wet laughter, depending on the mood, and this moment was no different. Her bottom lip never seemed to stop wobbling, up and down, and it looked like she gave the impression that she was cold... like the temperature had dropped around her and she was losing heat. Except she looked fine, sounded fine and seemed far too emotional. A smile on Harry’s damp lips as he held her hand tightly, tucking his vows back into the inside pocket of his jacket, before cupping the back of her hand. His thumb rubbing over the top of her knuckles.

“Harry Styles,” she cried, her voice trembling with nerves and the tears that still fell and built up behind her eyelids, “Harry Styles, I absolutely adore you. From your kindness to others and the way you look after your little boy, to the way you put everyone first and then yourself and the way you’re so selfless and understanding of other people and their problems, to the way you saved me from the worst moment of my life and the way that you made me see true love. Everything about you makes me feel so lucky and so happy to be stood here before you, today,” her eyes didn’t seem to want to move from his green eyes, her nose twitching as she let tear after tear break free from her eyes, leaving streaks of running makeup down her cheeks. Mascara clumping around her eyelashes. And she would scold herself for being so careless and not agreeing on waterproof makeup but she hadn’t expected herself to blubber like a baby. At least she never tripped over her own feet... because she would have already started the waterworks for a whole different reason.

“I promise to always be there for you, to never hurt you and to never make you cry. I promise to always work things out with you whenever we fight, so that we never go to bed angry, and I promise to always kiss you, no matter how much you annoy me. Like when you leave dirty pots and pans around the kitchen and never clean up. Or when you get flour in every possible space and forget to clean it up,” he cracked a smile at that and shook his head, looking down ashamedly, because he had done it far too many times to count and each time he promised to clean up the next time, “I’m always going to be proud of you. Of Asher. Of everything you both do and I promise to be your number one fans whenever you get to show off. I’ll be there, cheering and screaming in support, all the time.”

“I love you,” she nodded, “you’re my Harry. My Mary Berry. My baker boy. The man who will, no doubt, make me fat in years to come because he makes some good banana bread and blueberry muffins,” she laughed, and the crowd seemed to laugh along with her, “I’m proud of everything you do and I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life as your wife. As Mrs Styles.”

Harry watched her from where he was stood at the other end of the reception hall. A hand shoved deep into the left pocket of his tweed trousers, holding the glass of champagne between the fingers, leaning against the doorframe of the room. His jacket left behind on his seat at the head table, along with his tie and her white heels (that she had kicked off in the car and argumentatively slipped back on to save her soles from the stones of the pavement), leaving him with his rolled up sleeves and a few buttons popped open up his chest. His son sat upon YN’s hip, one arm draped around her neck and to keep himself upright, whilst his other one was bent up and holding a slice of cake to his mouth. Icing sticking to his face, crumbs catching at the corners of his mouth with each bite he took and his fingers looked sticky and like they could do chaos to the white garment adorning her body. He was completely lost in watching the both of them move and shake their hips to the thudding beat of the music that filled the room.

It was like the atmosphere around her seemed to glow, seemed to shine brighter than it had done without her in it, being carried around wherever she moved. He smiled - and his cheeks ached from smiling so much throughout the day but he just couldn’t help it - because it finally dawned on him.

This was his life now.

This was what he was going to get to see, to feel, everyday. Every single day of his life.

He was going to wake up and be reminded, by her body stretched out beside him, that she was his till the end of time. He was going to see her and their son cuddled on the sofa and watching movies together whilst they waited for him to come home. He was going to take Asher to school with her, pick him up with her, and go to school functions with her. He was going to see the flush of her cheeks when they spent some time together, alone, and he was going to be able to make love to her, and only her, whenever they wanted to feel close to one another. No matter the time nor the place. He was going to feel her kisses and her hugs every morning and every night, feel her snuggling against him every early hour, and he was going to make her muffins and bread so she could suffice her sweet tooth and have one with her tea every morning; tea that he made for her.

His life had changed for the better... he was much happier, more in love, than he had ever been and the future couldn’t look any brighter.

#silver linings #single parent #single parent au #harry styles imagines #harry styles blurbs #harry styles concepts #harry styles writing #harry styles preferences #harry styles #harry #harry styles au

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dontshootmespence · 7 years

Text

Certainly

A/N: An anon request where Reid gets custody of Henry and Michael, after “something happens to JJ and Will.” Sad was really the only way this request would work. Sorry >.< AU Season 12, no jail arc. @coveofmemories @sexualemobitch @jamiemelyn @unstoppableangel8 @remember-me-forever-silent-angel @lukeassmanalvez @iammostdefinitelyonfire26

----

As Spencer ran into the emergency room, his heart pounded inside his chest. This couldn’t possibly be happening. He was living in a nightmare with no ability to wake up. Emily had called him from the car, tears garbling her speech as she told him that JJ and Will had been in a head-on car collision on the way home from a date. “What?” He screamed, jumping out of bed and pulling on his clothes as he stumbled out of the door, still talking to Emily. “What happened? Are they okay? Emily, are they going to be okay? Please! Tell me they’re going to be okay!”

His voice caught in his throat as he sped toward the hospital, not caring that a cop came up behind him; he ignored him until he got to the hospital and the officer called after him. “Look, arrest me later,” Spencer said as he ran inside. “I can’t be bothered right now.”

Once he found Emily and the rest of the team, he took in their defeated faces and knew - he just knew. “No,” he breathed, his eyes spilling over with tears as he crumpled like a piece of paper onto the floor. “What happened?” How could this be real?

“Drunk driver,” Luke said flatly, not making eye contact with anyone as he stared down the hallway toward the operating room where he’d watched them both flatline. “Hit them head on. They both made it here, but...” Nothing else needed to or could be said. The defeated members of the BAU sat motionless in the middle of the hospital. From the silence, Garcia choked out a sob and fell to Spencer’s side on the floor, and he joined her, his cries echoing throughout the extensive emergency room, which somehow, right now, seemed so small.

----

“Jennifer and Will?” The surgeon asked, calling for loved ones.

As they looked up, nearly all were overtaken again in a wave of emotions as they took in the sight of him covered in blood, some dried and caked to his scrubs, some new and still dripping downward. Spencer was the first to stand up; he was numb and autopilot was taking over. “Yes?”

“I am truly sorry for your loss,” he said. Surgeons had to lose people on the table all the time, but by the look on his face, the BAU could tell that this hit him differently than any other. “I did all that I could, but there was nothing I could do. The bleeding was too extensive. Again...I’m so sorry.”

Tara punched the seat as she stood up and walked toward the opposite end of the room. Garcia openly sobbed again, after feeling like there were no more tears left. Luke, Rossi and Stephen couldn’t move. And Emily, who had stood for the surgeon, sank back into her seat. Although they all knew, they’d been secretly hoping that this was all a big mistake and that JJ and Will would emerge from somewhere safe, unscathed and smiling. But they were gone. That’s when it hit Spencer. “Oh my god,” he said, his hand coming up to cover his mouth.

“What is it?” Emily asked.

Spencer’s heart dropped. “How are we supposed to tell Henry and Michael? What happens to them?”

----

While Emily, Luke, Tara, Rossi and Stephen filled out every piece of paper imaginable for the release of JJ and Will into their custody, Spencer and Garcia took it upon themselves, as Henry and Michael’s godparents, to tell the two young boys what happened.

Before walking up to their apartment, where the nanny was currently with them, Spencer threw up outside. “How are we supposed to do this?” He asked Garcia. “They’re so little.”

Garcia grabbed his hand and they steadied themselves before walking in. The nanny collapsed into tears. The boys were asleep, so Spencer and Garcia had a moment to control themselves before they arrived. “Uncle Spencer? Aunt Penelope?” Henry asked sleepily. “What are you doing here?”

The next few moments went by in a blur. Michael, at barely two, wasn’t old enough to comprehend what either of his godparents were saying, but Henry was a different story. “Was it a case?” He sniffled.

“No,” Spencer replied, hating himself for being the messenger. “It was a drunk driver. He hit your Mommy and Daddy and they were hurt too badly for the doctors to do anything. I’m so sorry, Henry.”

Spencer’s heart ripped open at Henry’s cries. The last time he’d heard him cry was as a toddler when he wanted a toy he couldn’t have. Hearing him cry like this, knowing there was nothing he could do to make it stop, made Spencer freeze in place, his arms grasping ever tighter around his godson’s body. “I’m so, so sorry, Henry.”

As he picked up Henry, and Garcia held Michael, Spencer stared into nothingness. He knew where he was. He knew what had happened. But truly, nothing felt real.

----

In the following days, Henry said nothing to anyone - anyone except Michael. He kept telling him Mommy and Daddy were gone but that he would never be alone because Henry would never leave him. While Emily and Rossi took care of the funeral arrangements, Spencer and Garcia took care of Henry and Michael.

When the day of the funeral came, Henry never left Spencer’s side and Michael hung onto Garcia as if his life depended on it. The previous days had ripped all tears from their eyes; they were too tired to summon anymore, and instead stared blankly at their caskets as they were lowered into the ground. Henry blew them a kiss and said bye-bye before looking up at his Uncle. “Where do Michael and I go now?” He asked. “All of our grandparents are gone.” Even JJ’s mother had passed recently from a random heart attack. The boys didn’t have any blood relatives left.

“I don’t know,” Spencer said honestly. “But I promise I’m not going to let anything bad happen to you.”

----

Despite their young age, JJ and Will’s line of work taught them that nothing was a given, so they’d written out a will and updated it regularly. “The entirety of our estate is to be split equally between our sons, Henry and Michael LaMontagne,” the man read blankly from the paper. Rossi wanted to scream; this man was reading these words as if this wasn’t the most unfair thing in the world. “In the case of either one of our passing, the remaining parent will maintain custody of both of our children. However, in the event that both of us shall die in the same incident, custody of Henry and Michael LaMontagne will be transferred to their godfather, Spencer Walter Reid, effective immediately.”

Spencer’s head snapped up from the floor. After JJ’s mother had died, she asked if he would take care of the boys in the event that anything happened to them, but honestly he’d forgotten until this moment. “Does that mean we go home with you, Uncle Spencer?”

Life was different now. He had different priorities, and he had a lot to think about, but he wouldn’t let JJ down; Henry and Michael would always remember them as long as he was alive. He swallowed hard as he turned to his oldest godson. “Yes, Henry. You and Michael come home with me now.”

Later that night, when the boys were safe and sound in his apartment, he had a sobbing breakdown, tears staining the sheets and sticking to his skin. One of his best friends was gone and he was responsible for his godsons.

----

The next day, he did what he never thought he’d do, but then again, he never imagined a life in which is best friend was gone and he was thrust into immediate parenthood. Emily expected it.

“I knew that’s what you’d do,” she said, reluctantly accepting his letter of resignation. “All of us are here to help with the boys whenever you need. I hope you know that.”

Spencer’s lip quivered as he realized how much he’d miss being at work every day, but with both parents gone, they needed to have some kind of consistency, and he’d been offered various teaching positions throughout his career, so he took George Washington University up their offer. It would allow him to teach classes in the morning, so that he could be home for the boys after school. “I know. They deserve to have someone home with them. After all this, it doesn’t seem fair for me to leave them with the nanny while I come here. I’m always on call if you need me from home though.”

Emily came out from behind her desk and wrapped her arms around her friend. “I’m sure we’ll be calling you, and I promise, I know that a lot is changing right now, but you will never lose any of us.”

If there was one thing Spencer could be sure of in this moment, it was the love of his team. This wasn’t going to be easy, but they would get through it because of that love.

----

Three years later...

“Henry, it’s time to get up!” Spencer screamed from the living room. After gaining official custody of the boys, he bought a small house just a few minutes outside of town, about halfway between the Bureau and the University. As he spun around, hands covered in peanut butter from making lunch for the boys, he smiled softly at the picture of JJ and Will on the mantelpiece. There were pictures all around the house. Michael was already up and eating breakfast, but Henry, approaching his pre-teens at 12 years old, was getting harder to wake up in the mornings. “Henry! You have to go to school!”

Inside, he heard Henry kicking up and down on the bed. “I don’t wanna!”

“Michael, you stay here while I go check on your brother.” The five-year-old kicked happily at the table, eating his cereal without a care in the world. Unlike his brother, he’d been shielded from a lot of what happened with his parents. “Henry, what’s wrong?”

Henry pulled the covers over his head and whined. “I didn’t sleep well. I kept dreaming about Mom and Dad.”

Spencer’s heart dropped. Quickly, he checked through his phone. He could get away with taking the day off, and the boys had had near perfect attendance over the past three years. “How about you, me and your brother take a mental health day and stay home? I’ll let you sleep a little longer, and then we can go to the zoo or something today.”

“Can we get ice cream too?” He asked. He was getting older, but in these moments his voice still sounded so small.

Spencer huffed. “Of course. What would a day off be without ice cream?” He kissed Henry on the forehead and then left him to sleep a little longer, returning to the kitchen where Michael was finished with his breakfast. “Michael, how would you like to take the day off from school today and go to the zoo with your brother and me?”

“Can we!?” He asked excitedly.

“Just for today,” Spencer replied.

Michael clapped happily as Spencer called both boys in sick, but then he started to yawn. “Are you getting sleepy?” Spencer asked.

“Yes,” he said. “I thought about Mommy and Daddy last night and then I got sad and I couldn’t get to sleep.”

Picking him up off the floor, he hugged him tight. “How about I tell you a story and then we take a nap for a while before we go to the zoo?”

“Okay,” Michael yawned, leaning into his Uncle’s shoulder as he sat back down on the couch. “Once, there was a lovely and beautiful Queen named Jennifer and an equally brave and righteous King named William. Together, they had two princes named Henry and Michael, and as a family, they ruled the land justly and happily...”

Within minutes, the house was once again asleep under the watchful eyes of JJ and Will - they may have been gone, but they would certainly never be forgotten.

#spencer reid #jennifer jareau #william lamontagne jr #henry lamontagne #michael lamontagne #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #luke alvez #tara lewis #stephen walker #dontshootmespence #certainly

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chasingthecosmos · 4 years

Text

Call Me But Love

Fandom: Doctor Who Rating: T Pairing: The Doctor/Rose Tyler, Twelfth Doctor/Rose Tyler (The Doctor/Clara Oswald, Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswald) Chapters: 7/40 Read on AO3 here.

“‘Oh, dear. Looks like we might have picked up an extra passenger,’ the Doctor grumbled to himself. His gaze raised to Rose’s once more and she was struck by the sheer intensity of it and the way that he managed to look at once so familiar, and yet so different from what she was used to. ‘Best find something to hold on to,’ he warned her ominously.”

A Season 8 & 9 AU centering around Rose Tyler and her newly-regenerated Doctor as they both struggle to maintain their relationship in the face of some unknown force that seems to be drawing them together. Will they be able to solve the mystery of who is pulling the strings before it’s too late?

This is a direct sequel to “By Any Other Name” and might be a bit confusing if you haven’t read that first. Tags will be updated as I go.

Rose knew immediately that she had been traveling for too long with the Doctor when the sheer normalcy of Coal Hill School instantly began to grate against her nerves.

However, the headteacher who greeted her (Mr. Armitage, as he introduced himself) seemed very excited by her list of references and the extensive CV (which had somehow been sent to him without Rose's knowledge) filled with experience that Rose herself had never actually completed. The entire interview process felt extremely forced, and Rose found that she had to fight to remember how normal people spoke to one another and lived out their day-to-day lives as she attempted to pretend to be an average, twenty-first-century mid-twenties school teacher.

The whole situation made Rose extremely nervous, and she found that she was unconsciously bracing herself at every corner, waiting for whoever it was who was pulling the strings on this odd operation to suddenly reveal themselves and explain why they had designed for her to be a teacher, of all things.

Still, if she was really going to go through with this whole plan as the Doctor seemed to think that she should, she was at least pleased to find that Miss. Clara Oswald appeared to be an English teacher - the one subject that Rose felt that she had a relatively firm grasp on.

About half-way through her tour of the new school, Mr. Armitage was leading Rose through the mingling adults in the staff room when he suddenly pulled her up short next to a tall, young man and announced, "Ah! Here he is! Clara, I want to introduce you to Danny Pink. He's new, just like you - teaches maths. Danny? Clara Oswald."

The young man next to them suddenly turned and Rose smiled in warm welcome as she took in his soft brown eyes and kind smile. He was tall, just like the Doctor, but he seemed to be more solidly built and had dark skin and a closely-shaved beard. All in all, Rose had to admit that he was quite handsome, and she didn't doubt Mr. Armitage in the least as he teasingly accused the young man of being a "lady-killer".

"I am not a 'lady-killer'," Danny insisted with a somewhat-strained smile.

"Don't worry, I've met plenty of those before," Rose assured them both with a playful smirk. "I think I'll be able to handle myself."

"Why don't you show Miss. Oswald around a little and help her to get better acquainted with the school, Danny?" Mr. Armitage suggested brightly. "I figured that since you're so new yourself, you two might get all well."

"I don't know if I ..." Danny attempted to protest, but he was quickly cut off as the headteacher completely ignored him and turned back to Rose once more instead.

"Right, then - I'll be off," he stated as he took up Rose's hand in a firm handshake. "Please let us know if there's anything at all that we can do for you, Miss. Oswald. I so look forward to hearing from you. You know how to contact me - we'd be happy to have you whenever you're willing to start!"

The older man bustled off before Rose or Danny could get a word in edgewise, and when the two of them met eyes again, the young man flashed her a small, apologetic smile. "So ... what subject will you be teaching?" Danny asked slowly in an attempt to break the awkward silence that had fallen between them.

"English," Rose replied easily. "If I decide to take the offer, that is. And you teach maths, right?" She smirked as she lowered her voice, leaned in conspiratorially, and added, "Never been too good at the subject, myself. I have a friend who normally insists on doing all of the science and maths."

"'A friend'?" Danny repeated curiously as he led her out of the staff room, holding the door open for her politely as he gestured down the hallway in the direction of whatever sort of tour he planned to take her on.

"Yep - a friend," Rose agreed, her smile turning cryptic as she patiently allowed him to lead the way further down the hallway. She wasn't about to divulge any more information about the Doctor than was strictly necessary - not to any of this lot, anyway. She still didn't even rightfully know what was going on in this strange school or why she had been so purposefully summoned here. She decided that it would probably be best to keep information about her bondmate and their unusual life together a secret for now.

"So ... how long have you been working here, then?" Rose asked curiously, eager to learn a little bit more about the history of the place and the teachers who worked here.

"Just a few months, really," Danny replied with another small shrug. "I was in the army, before. It's been a while since I've gotten to teach. I'm looking forward to a bit of ..."

"Normalcy ...?" Rose supplied helpfully when the young man's words trailed off and his brows began to furrow over his dark eyes in a clouded expression that she knew only too well from spending time with the Doctor.

"Yeah," Danny agreed, flashing her a small, shy smile. "'Normalcy' ..."

"Well, doesn't get much more 'normal' than this ..." Rose continued conversationally as she glanced around the mundane, nondescript school hallways. "I can't remember the last time I was in a school like this. Brings back a lot of memories ..." Not all of them memories that she could necessarily talk about, either - as images of bat-like krillitanes suddenly flashed through her mind.

"So this is your first teaching position, then?" Danny asked, instantly bringing her back to the present and the many strange occurrences that had led her to Coal Hill School.

"I ... suppose you could say that," Rose replied awkwardly, unsure of how to answer such a question when "Clara's" history was still largely unknown to her.

"It's not as hard as it looks," Danny assured her breezily.

"No ...?" Rose asked, flashing him a doubtful look out of the corner of her eye. After all, she could still remember what she, herself, had been like when she was a teenager all those years ago. She couldn't imagine that times had changed that much in the British schooling system.

"Alright, there are some things that can be pretty difficult," Danny admitted with a small sigh. His eyes grew distant for a moment as he seemed to consider the specific "difficult" students who he was attempting not to name out loud, but when he turned back to Rose, he was smiling again as he added, "But it can be fun, too. The other teachers here are all pretty supportive. In fact, there's a party tonight that they're doing - it's like a 'going-away' thing for one of the other teachers that they're putting on. I wasn't going to go, it's just a small, casual get-together, but ... I don't know, maybe you would want to ...?"

His boyish nervousness brought a smile to Rose's lips despite herself as she watched him struggle for words. It all just seemed to add to the strange, pervasive normalcy that appeared to permeate this place and time, and she was struck by how it made her feel like such an outsider. These day-to-day human tasks and trials just weren't something that she did - not anymore, not in a very long time. It was strange to her that she no longer seemed to fit into her own planet and time when she had an alien husband and a time ship that were both waiting to whisk her away.

"Sorry, but I think I already have plans," Rose admitted with a small, sympathetic smile. She didn't miss Danny's disappointed exhale as she added, "You should still go, though. It sounds like it's going to be a good time. And since you're such a ... 'lady-killer', I'm sure you won't be shy of company."

"I'm not ..." Danny insisted exasperatedly.

"Yeah, okay, sure," Rose dismissed him teasingly. She recognized the front doors as they approached them and quickly put an end to their tour of the school as she broke off from Danny and prepared to leave. She figured that she had gotten about as much information from this place as she could - which wasn't much, if she were being honest - and she was ready to return to the Doctor and their own version of normal.

"Seriously, though. You should go," Rose insisted encouragingly as she turned to flash the kind young man one last parting smile. "Go and have a drink on me."

"What about some other time?" Danny asked, the question surprising them both as it seemed to fall from his lips without warning. "You and me, we could go get a drink together ... Nothing fancy, just a casual ..."

"Date ...?" Rose finished for him once more as he seemed to continue to struggle to find the right words. "Sorry, but I don't think so," she replied with another teasing smile. "I wouldn't want to make anyone jealous. Can't have rivalries springing up on my first day."

Danny rolled his eyes at her, but his smile remained hopeful as he watched Rose disappear through the school's front doors. Rose didn't even have the chance to begin to consider how she was going to deal with that lingering look before she practically ran headlong into the Doctor, who appeared to have been waiting for her directly outside of the front doors and stood there as unmoving as a statue as she jumped and stuttered to a stop before colliding bodily with him.

"Sorry ..." she gasped in shock before realizing who exactly it was who was standing before her and recovering herself. "Oh, it's you," she murmured cheerily. "Have you been waiting long?"

"Yes," the Doctor replied plainly, his expression very near a scowl as he stared down at her in silence for a moment before turning on his heel and adding, "You were taking too long, so I've been knocking about the future a bit. Found a dalek and a space hospital, thought I might need a second opinion for the job, so I popped back to pick you up."

Rose followed him dutifully back to the TARDIS as he ranted, her breath hitching on the easy way that he spoke of the daleks, his calm veneer not fooling her in the least as she felt out the jittery uneasiness of his thoughts.

"Why were you smiling, by the way?" he continued breezily as he pushed through the TARDIS doors and didn't bother to pause and hold them open for her as Danny had.

"Was I?" Rose asked in startled confusion. "No, I wasn't ..."

"You were smiling at nothing," the Doctor insisted over his shoulder as he continued on to the console controls and didn't bother sparing her a second look. "I'd almost say you were in love, but to be honest ..."

"'Honest'?" Rose interrupted, leveling a dubious look in his direction that he ignored as he circled the central space before her.

"You're not a young woman anymore," he finished pointedly, flashing her an irritated look that Rose didn't feel was entirely deserved.

"Are we seriously going to start comparing ages, now?" she demanded, her tone growing slightly acidic as she raised her chin in stubborn defiance of his glare.

"Just don't want you going out and bringing home strays," the Doctor grumbled under his breath as he returned his hard expression to the console controls before him.

"What, like you do?" Rose snapped in irritation. When he failed to come up with a retort to that, she crossed her arms over her chest as she squared her shoulders in his direction and demanded, "Do you really think I would do that? Do you have so little faith in me?" Realization dawned on her in waves and Rose's glare melted into shocked surprise as she tentatively prodded against the edges of his thoughts and added, "Wait ... are you jealous right now?"

"'Jealous'?" the Doctor scoffed in frustration as he finally turned to look at her properly once more. "Me? Don't be silly ..." But there was no denying the way that he was quickly hoarding his thoughts away from her once more, clearly eager to keep his inner insecurities to himself.

"I can't believe this ... You're actually jealous, aren't you?" Rose insisted, a disbelieving look crossing her features as she fought to determine whether she was more annoyed or pleased by this new information. She shared a lifelong telepathic bond with the man, for heaven's sake. He clearly didn't ever have to worry about her running off with another man. But the fact that he was so concerned about keeping her to himself still filled her with hope that maybe he would stop trying to abandon her at every turn.

"Rose, I am a two-thousand-year-old alien from space, I don't do 'jealous'," the Doctor snapped stubbornly.

"Could have fooled me with those big, sad eyes and the grumpy old frown," she teased, her tone coming out a bit sharper than she intended as she continued to war between amusement and annoyance.

The Doctor braced his hands against the console before him as he glared at her from under his thick, heavy brows and allowed a moment of silence to fall between them. As his keen eyes watched her, she could feel his presence in the back of her mind, still hesitantly feeling her out as though he weren't exactly sure how to communicate with her anymore.

"Rose, I need something from you," he muttered darkly as he carefully regarded her. "I need the truth."

"Okay ..." she agreed slowly, her hands falling to her sides as her thoughts immediately softened, ready to accept whatever it was that he would ask of her. She still wasn't about to let the Doctor get away with treating her with so little faith and trust, but the intensity in his expression and the desperation in his tone immediately called out to her and silenced all else for the time being. She tilted her head at him in wonder as she realized suddenly, "You're scared ..."

"I'm terrified," he agreed with a small, rueful sigh.

"Of what?" Rose asked cautiously.

"The answer to my next question, which must be honest, cold, and considered - without kindness or restraint," he replied, dropping his gaze from hers as he took a deep breath and continued, "Tell me: am I a good man?"

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