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tricksters-captain · 3 years

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Weasley Twins/Cedric Diggory Imagines - Accidental Meeting - Part 9

AN: Thank you for all being patient with me! I hope you all had a Merry Christmas or a Happy Holiday!

Overall Summary: (Y/n), is a young witch who always kept her head down due to her complicated past; one day she bumps quite literally into one of the most popular boys in Hogwarts, Cedric Diggory, and that’s when (Y/n)’s plan of keeping her head down seems to go up into the air. Things only seem to worsen when two redheaded twins start to take notice too...

This Chapter: (Y/n) spends time with Cedric just before the Christmas break before getting a Christmas surprise...

(MASTERLIST HERE)

Pairing(s): Cedric Diggory x Reader, (Eventual) George Weasley x Reader, (Platonic) Fred Weasley x Reader, (Platonic) Oliver Wood x Reader

Word Count: 4,134

Warnings: None, lots of fluff

“Slow down, Lauren!” A couple of first years shouting at each other ran threw you and Oliver as you walked down the corridor.

“Got to love the Christmas excitement.” Oliver chuckled at their behaviour and you just rolled your eyes.

The whole castle seemed to be filled with excitement. Christmas was right around the corner and so was the upcoming Quidditch match between Ravenclaw vs Gryffindor.

“Meanwhile I can’t wait for this castle to empty out.” You admitted as you shifted your scarf tighter around your neck.

“You know, when everyone leaves for the holidays so does lover boy.” Oliver smirked, referencing to Cedric.

“I really hope Ravenclaw wins tomorrow.” You changed the subject to purposefully annoy the boy.

“That’s slander, you know. You could be kicked out of the house just for thinking that.” Oliver retorted.

“Oh calm down, Wood.” You linked arms with the boy to draw some of his warmth. “The game may be cancelled due to the heavy snowfall anyway.”

“That would be even worse.” Oliver frowned, turning his head to look past you at the falling snow.

You spotted Cedric up ahead and he smiled brightly at you to which you returned.

You were meeting up this evening to spend some time together before the Christmas break, not that Oliver knew that.

“Remind me to hide the mistletoe.” Oliver teased you as he caught the direction of your smile.

“You are worse than Fred and George and that’s saying something.” You pulled your arm away from the boy and he quickly relinked your arms laughing at your irritation.

“They’re still not over your last snow fight, you know?” Oliver reminded you of the snow fight at Hogsmeade and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Sore losers.” You chuckled, shaking your head at the memory of them drenched in snow.

Then just on cue, the twins came up behind you both.

“You excited for Christmas, (Y/n)?” Fred asked as he joined you and Oliver.

“I can’t wait. I won’t have to see your ugly faces.” You retorted to the twins with a wink.

“You’ll miss us.” George shook his head at you.

“Yeah! Just wait and see how boring it is around here without us.” Fred added.

“Did you mean how peaceful it’s going to be?” You teased the boys as you came to the Gryffindor common room entrance.

Inside the common room was crowded.

The snow and cold weather had driven everyone inside and with the holidays right round the corner, all the students were eager to spend time with each other before they have to leave for a couple of weeks.

“Where you off to, (y/n)?” George asked as you went for the girls dorm stairs.

“You really don’t want to spend the last few days of term with your favourite people?” Fred took hold of your arm to stop you.

“Haven’t you guys got practise for the quidditch match tomorrow?” You cocked your eyebrows at the boys.

“Can’t practise until the snow slows.” Oliver grumbled.

“It’s heaving out here.” You gestured around to the surrounding students.

“You’re not scared of a little social interaction, are ya, Seyler?” Fred teased you, pulling you towards some free chairs in the corner of the common room.

“(Y/n), not Seyler.” George nudged his brother, correcting him since you were in a large group of people.

“Thank you, George.” You pulled your arm away from Fred and linked arms with George instead.

“So, has your uncle sent your presents over yet?” Oliver changed the subject as you all sat.

“He sent a couple of owls over the past couple days with parcels. I’ve tucked them under my bed for now.” You explained.

“Wood won’t tell us what he’s got you.” Fred whined as he looked in between you and Oliver.

“Thinks we’ll tell you.” George laughed.

“You probably would.” You defended Oliver as you looked up at the red headed twin, his brown eyes staring straight back down at you.

George rolled his eyes and looked up over at his twin who wore a similar expression.

“Look, guys, it’s so loud in here. I want to get changed before supper too.” You rose from your chair and peered over at the stairs.

“Got a date or something that you’re not telling us about?” Fred wiggled his eyebrows and you shoved his shoulder lightly with your elbow.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You then excused yourself to go get changed.

You spent longer than you would have liked trying to pick something to wear. You ended up going to supper with Oliver and the twins as per usual and you walked back to the common room with them as you and Cedric weren’t due to meet until 8pm.

“Where are you running off to?” Oliver asked as you packed up your parchment and books. You had been studying with him in the common room as you waited for the time to pass.

“The library.” You lied quickly before you rushed to dump your stuff and leave.

You checked your hair one last time in the mirror before escaping the dorms and the common room.

“Hi.” Cedric smiled widely as the door closed behind you.

“Hi.” You smiled back.

“Come on... I have a surprise.” Cedric offered his hand and you took it, furrowing your eyebrows at him with curiosity.

“Where are you taking me, Mr Diggory?” You laughed quietly as he lead you forward down the stairs.

You felt yourself drop Cedric’s hand when you spotted a couple of young Gryffindor students coming up the stairs.

Cedric looked down at where he had lost your hand but didn’t say anything.

You walked slower behind Cedric as you carefully watched the students disappear.

“Shit.” You cursed as the stairs below your feet started to grind to move.

“Jump!” Cedric was already on the other set of stairs.

“What?” You scoffed in disbelief at the boy.

“Come on!” He encouraged you as the stairs started to move.

You were already in the air before you realised what you were doing.

Cedric’s hands caught your forearms as you felt yourself collide with the boy.

“I can’t believe you actually jumped.” Cedric chuckled in amusement as he held you against him to keep you sturdy.

“I trust you too much.” You groaned as you pulled away from him, your cheeks burning from the previous closeness.

“Good. Because I’m gonna need you to trust me tonight.” Cedric took your hand and lead you away before you could argue.

Cedric lead you outside the castle to which you were very confused by this time as it was dark and you knew you would both be in trouble if caught, prefect or not.

“I need you to drink this.” Cedric pulled out a small bottle from his pocket.

“Cedric, the last person I know who drank an unknown substance by the male species ended up blacking out and not remembering what happened.” You stared at him flatly.

“You said you trust me?” He rose his eyebrows at you before taking a swig himself then handing it over.

“What is it?” You asked, raising it to your lips slowly.

“It’ll let you see in the dark.” Cedric told you.

“Why do I need to see in the dark?” You asked.

“Why do you ask so many questions?” Cedric responded as he took the empty bottle away from you.

It felt weird as your eyes started to adjust and the night suddenly became much lighter.

That’s when you spotted the ice skates.

“You’re kidding right?” You looked at the frozen lake and then up at Cedric.

“Trust me.” He put on his own skates then watched as you slowly laced up your own with a worried expression glued to your features.

Cedric stepped onto the ice and started to glide with ease but you fell over the moment you stepped on.

“Steady there.” Cedric skated over and helped you up.

You were wobbly for the first few minutes but Cedric’s grip on you soon eased up and you could skate beside him without slipping.

“Are you warm enough?” Cedric asked as he watched your breath from your lips.

“I’m just lucky I decided to bring outdoor stuff with me.” You smiled through the night as you wiggled your gloved fingers at him.

“It’ll be strange. Not seeing you for a few weeks.” Cedric admitted as he picked up his pace.

“I bet you won’t even think of (Y/n) Seyler the moment you walk into your house.” You rolled your eyes but Cedric’s smile dropped.

“I was going to write you.” Cedric confessed as he came to a stop.

“It’s only a few weeks, Cedric.” You started. “You don’t need to write me. Just. enjoy the time with your family–––”

You shifted your weight wrong and your skate slipped under you, sending you crashing into Cedric’s arms. Again.

“Sorry!” You squealed as you gripped tight onto his coat.

You both stayed there, your hot breath tickling his cheeks and his yours.

You looked at his eyes. They were so bright in the moonlight.

That’s when Cedric started to lean towards you.

You pulled away immediately and skated to the side of the lake, trudging through the snow in your skates.

“Hey! (Y/n)! Wait!” Cedric raced after you as you fled.

You sat down on a nearby log and immediately went to put your boots back on.

“(Y/n), I’m sorry.” Cedric caught up with you and tried to apologise.

“I’ve never done this before.” You cut him off with your response.

“What?” Cedric was confused to what you were talking about.

“This!” You gestured between the two of you. “I’ve never done the boyfriend thing, I’ve never done this with someone, spend all this time together.... Except Oli, of course, but that’s different. I don't know what we are doing, Cedric but I don’t know how to do it!”

“Woah... Hey, hey, hey!” Cedric sat down beside you and searched your face as the words spilled out.

“I still don’t truly understand what this is. What’s going on - I - I...”

Cedric’s lips met yours to stop the word vomit.

All the anxiety and nervosa suddenly left your body as you tasted the mint from Cedric’s kiss.

His lips were soft, warm and it felt... right.

Suddenly, you heard someone clear their throat.

“Lumos.” It wasn’t hard to guess which professor had interrupted your first kiss as soon as they spoke.

You pulled away from Cedric and looked down in embarrassment.

“Miss Seyler. Mr Diggory.” Snape’s stare bored down at you both.

“Professor, it’s my fault.” Cedric stood as he started but Snape rose his hand to silence him.

“If it wasn’t so close to the Christmas holidays both of you would be in detention for all the rules you’ve broken this evening but instead 20 points will be taken from both Gryffindor house and Hufflepuff.” Snape explained as he looked between you both. “Now back to your common rooms. Now.”

You didn’t tell anybody about what had happened when you returned to the common room.

You laid awake longer than usual thinking about the kiss.

Your first kiss.

You shook your head and tried to stop smiling as you covered your eyes with your hands.

What just happened?

The next day the snow had stopped falling and the quidditch match was allowed to go ahead.

You wrapped up warm and followed the rest of your house to the stands to support the team.

George and Fred flew over to you on their brooms as the teams awaited the match’s start.

“You look happy.” George commented on your smile.

“That makes a change.” Fred teased you and you just stuck your middle finger up at the boy.

“Cheer us on, (Y/n).” George told you.

“If we’re lucky we may get a winning kiss, Georgie.” Fred smirked.

You felt the colour drain from your face.

They knew.

You suddenly realised they knew about the kiss.

Snape had caught you and Cedric, of course people knew...

How many more people knew that you and Cedric Diggory had been caught by the lake...at night...

You felt your happiness slowly fade as you tried not to look around you to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes.

The match went by agonisingly slow but Gryffindor fortunately won.

You immediately rushed back to the common room before the twins or Oliver could catch up with you.

“Hey (Y/n)!” Cedric caught you just before.

“Cedric, I kinda have to go.” You tried to leave but he caught your hand.

“I just wanted to apologise for last night.” Cedric told you. “Not for.. You know but for getting caught.”

“It’s okay, Ced but I really have to go.” You looked past him to see the teams colours through the crowd which meant they were close.

Cedric nodded and started to walk away.

You internally groaned at his sad face and tugged on his coat to pull him back round to you.

“I’ll see you later.” You kissed him very briefly before continuing your way to the common room. Hiding in your dorm.

“Fred sent me to tell you that you can’t hide forever as you need to say goodbye to them and explain how you lost the house 20 points last night.” Angelina entered your room with a smirk on her face.

“I’m sure everyone already knows, Ang.” You cringed at the thought of everyone talking about it.

“All I’ve heard is that Cedric Diggory also lost 20 points last night.” She replied with a wink.

“Sure.” You scoffed, folding your book over and sitting up on your bed.

You watched her gather her chest and a small bag from her bed.

“All I’m gonna say is you’re lucky this happened just before we broke up for Christmas. Hopefully this news won’t still be making the rounds when we come back in January.” Angelina tried to make you feel better but it didn’t work.

“Have a good break, Angelina. Merry Christmas.” You wished her farewell and she wished you a Merry Christmas back.

You finally gathered the courage to slip your shoes on and descend the stairs.

“Finally.” Both Fred and George said in unison.

“You’re lucky I even came down at all.” You told the two as you approached them.

“Then you wouldn’t have gotten this.” Fred pulled out a small brown paper package from behind his back.

“What’s this?” You looked between the two boys.

“Just something small.” Fred admitted.

“Ginny writes home to Mum and well, she’s mentioned you once or twice.” George started to explain as he took the package and handed it to you.

“He means he asked mum to make you one––” Fred was cut off by a punch to the side by George.

“She then wrote to us and asked if you wanted to stay for Christmas to which we knew you’d be here with Wood.” George cleared his throat, his face bright red as he spoke.

“That’s very kind but completely unnecessary. Tell her I thank her anyway.” You pressed a smile onto your face as you thought about the red headed older woman who could’ve raised these two.

Then again, you looked around the common room at Ron and Ginny saying goodbye to their friends. And even Percy...

You started to open the present to see it was a knitted sweater. You opened the jumper up to see your first initial knitted onto the sweater just like the sweaters you’ve seen the boys occasionally wear.

“You don’t have to wear it.” George laughed as he watched you study it.

“But if you ever meet our mother you do. Scary that woman is.” Fred laughed along side his twin and you just smiled.

“I love it. Thank you.” You embraced the boys and they hugged you back.

“No sarcastic comment?” George looked confused. “Are you feeling okay, (Y/n)?”

“It’s the honeymoon feelings. Got her all giddy after locking lips with pretty boy Diggory.” Fred immediately moved back as you went to swat him for his comment.

“Merry Christmas, (Y/n)!” The twins fled before you could throw any books at them for their teasing behaviour.

“You’ll be glad to get rid of them.” Oliver came up beside you as he watched the whole Weasley family leave and slung his arm over your shoulder.

“I have a terrible feeling I’m now stuck with them for the rest of my time in this Godforsaken school.” You leant your head on his shoulder and folded over your arms with a sigh.

“Let’s see if you can survive that long without cracking their skulls together.” Oliver smirked and you groaned playfully.

“Merlin help me now.” You looked up at the ceiling which only made Oliver laugh once again.

“Speaking of goodbyes though... Isn’t there someone you should be seeing before they leave?” Oliver asked.

You had almost forgot.

You excused yourself and rushed to the basement near the Hufflepuff entrance.

“I thought you’d show up eventually.” Cedric was leaning against his trunk when you showed up.

“I was seeing the twins off. I’m sorry.” You confessed.

Cedric said it was alright before pulling you into a hug.

The soft blue wool of his sweater was soaked in his scent and you breathed it in sweetly.

“Have a good Christmas, Ced.” You whispered as you held onto him.

“I’ll write you.” Cedric told you. “Even if you don’t write back.”

You pulled away from the boy a little so you could look up at his face.

“Guess we’ll see.” You shrugged, knowing full well that you were definitely going to write back.

Cedric peered up and down the corridor before planting a soft kiss on your forehead.

“You’re the best thing that’s happened to me this year.” Cedric admitted.

“What? Above becoming Quidditch captain and a prefect?” You rose your eyebrows at him with a smirk.

“Yes.” Cedric chuckled with a little shake of his head.

You reached up behind the boys neck with your hand and brought his lips to yours. Kissing him softly.

“Merry Christmas, Cedric.” You flicked your wand behind your back and a vine of mistletoe grew above you both.

Cedric kissed you once more before you pulled away and left. A warm glow on your cheeks.

A few more days went passed and the quiet bliss of the castle kept you in a calming spirit.

You and Oliver spent most of your time playing wizard chess or reading in the common room or even out on the quidditch pitch.

You didn't fly much but you helped Oliver with his batting skills.

On Christmas Eve, you both sat in front of the fire with hot chocolates and a mince pie each.

“I can’t believe this is my last Christmas at Hogwarts with you.” You sighed quietly as you nuzzled into Olivers side.

“You know I don’t die after I leave Hogwarts.” Oliver said as he took a bite of his pie.

“I know that but you’ll be working. You’ll be busy. You won’t have time for some school girl whenever she has an issue she can’t solve herself.” You pouted.

“(Y/n).” Oliver adjusted to look you in the eye. “You are one of the strongest and bravest people I know. I will always be here for you when you need me but I know you will survive here without me and you will finish Hogwarts just like me and you will enjoy it.”

“Oli...”

“I’m not disappearing of the side of the earth. I will still be here, I just won’t be here.” Oliver assured you as he gestured around the common room.

You just pulled him in for a hug.

“I know. It just scares me.” You confessed against his shoulder.

“I know.” Oliver stroked your hair before pulling away to drink his hot chocolate.

The night went by quickly and soon you were tiptoeing up the dormitory stairs in your fluffy socks to get some sleep before Christmas morning.

You had already placed all your presents underneath the tree the common room in a bag with your name on and you had put Oliver’s there too.

Your dorm was empty which meant you didn’t have to worry about anyone one else as you tucked into your bed and turned out the lights.

Even through the dark you could see the snowfall outside the window. The moon reflecting on the tiny snowflakes.

You don’t know when you fell asleep but you did know you wished you hadn’t.

Images flashed through your head of Christmas years ago. The alarms. The snow. You being dragged through a dark alley by your parents. Your cloak dragging behind you. You tripping. A slap. Screams. An inn. Blood. Darkness.

You woke up panting and soaked in sweat.

You didn’t know how you remembered these memories.

You were only 4/5 when it happened.

It was when your parents had escaped the ministry during a hearing about their crimes as Death Eaters a couple years after the Dark Lord had fallen.

They had broken into your uncles house and stolen you in the night. They didn’t bother with your uncle that night because they were without their wands but they managed to snatch you quite easily despite Demetrius’ efforts to keep you hidden.

You touched your cheek as if you had felt the slap all over again.

Outside the birds were chirping happily and a plump robin sat on the window sill without a care in the world.

You slipped out of bed and managed to squeeze in a shower before Oliver woke up.

“Merry Christmas, (Y/n).” Oliver wore his pyjamas and dressing gown as he engulfed you in a tight hug.

“Merry Christmas, Oli.” You returned the hug before lurching towards Oliver’s gift and thrusting it in his hand.

“I hope you like it.” You smiled as you fiddled with your hands nervously.

Oliver handed you your own present and then sat down to open his small gift.

You watched him open it carefully and this his eyes grow wide in surprise.

It was Oliver’s favourite Quidditch players autograph on a quaffle.

“How did you get this?!” Oliver asked as he jumped up to hug you.

“Demetrius has his ways.” You laughed as you winced from how tight his hug was.

“Open yours now.” Oliver sat back down, the quaffle sturdy on his lap with his hand on it.

You teared the wrapping paper back to reveal a small photo frame with an old moving photo inside of it.

“Oliver Wood!” You gushed as you realised it was a photo of you and Oli during your first year.

“Me Mam found it tucked away on an old photo album during the summer. I remember she took it during the Christmas holidays when you first ever visited mine.” Oliver explained as you watched the awkward yet undeniably cute photo move.

“Thank you, Oli. I love it.” You hugged him once more before turning to open the presents from your uncle.

There was only four small separately wrapped presents but you were extremely curious to find out what he sent you.

The first present was a photo album.

The second was some new socks which you and Oliver laughed at since it was so typical of your uncle.

The third was a dream catcher. He always seemed to know.

The final gift you unwrapped was a enchanted camera for moving photographs.

“Oli! Look! We can take a new one!” You felt your chest warm as you realised just how thoughtful a present this was from Demetrius.

You made a mental note to write a letter as soon as possible.

Oliver moved beside you and wrapped his arm over your shoulders.

He smiled widely as the photo was taken and ruffled your hair just as the flash went.

“Hey!” You squealed as you moved away.

“Anyway, Wood, what’d your mother get you?” You flattened your hair back to its original state as you nodded your chin towards the tree.

“Let’s find out.” Oliver knelt by the tree and pulled out his gifts.

You watched him unwrap his presents before you both decided to change and head to the great hall for a Christmas lunch.

You came down in the sweater the twins had given you and Oliver’s draw dropped.

“Are you really going to wear that?” He asked, his disgust shining through his accent.

“Bugger off, Wood. I think it suits me.” You shrugged, “It was a Christmas gift after all.”

“Next you’ll be moving into their home.” Oliver teased you about looking like a Weasley but you chose to ignore him.

The rest of your Christmas just seemed to fly by...

(NEXT PART SOON)

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#George Weasley x reader #Cedric diggory imagines #cedric diggory #cedric diggory x reader #george weasley #George weasley imagines #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred and George weasley #Harry Potter #harry potter imagines #Oliver Wood #James phelps #Oliver phelps #robert pattinson

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princesspiratecat · 3 years

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The Rise and Fall of the Shepard Family Part 16: Winter, 1082

Part 1& Part 2

Part 3 & Part 4

Part 5 & Part 6 & Part 7

Part 8 & Part 9 & Part 10

Part 11 & Part 12 & Part 13

Part 14 & Part 15

Frances did not return home that evening, even though he knew the next day was the 18th birthday of Gwendolyn. He had created a fire and slept under the stars, awaking several times due to the sounds of the forest and his own guilt. He could not bear to face her, although he knew at some point he would have to. He just had to figure out what to say, but he didn’t even know where to begin.

Meanwhile back at the estate, Gwendolyn was awoken by a servant, who brought her some bread and cheese, helped her dress and then began packing up her bags. Still groggy from her slumber, she could not make out what was happening for a few moments.

“What are you doing?” The servant’s eyes looked around guiltily, but she said nothing. Moments later Marcelle appeared at the door of her chambers. “Collect your belongings, we are leaving shortly.”

“Where are we going? Where is Frances?”

“You will see. Quickly,” he said, with a cold look on his features that she had never seen before. Stunned, Gwendolyn complied and began collecting things from her chambers. She did so in a daze, as everything to her felt surreal and strange. When she got to the door, he took her belongings from her and placed them in the back of a covered wagon, then he motioned for her to get inside.

The wagon was uncomfortable and the ride was a long and jerky one. There was no where to look, so Gwendolyn hadn’t any idea where they were going, or even in what direction. She wondered why she was being removed from a place she had begun to look upon as her home so suddenly and without warning. Did Frances no longer want to marry her? Why did he not say anything about any of this? Where was he? Surely there was an explanation. She tried to quiet the warning in her heart, but she could not.

After nearly two hours of being shifted around by the roll and tumble of the roads, they finally came to a stop and Gwendolyn climbed out of the wagon, determined to at least stretch her legs. They were at the edges of a large forest, filled with birch wood trees, the likes of which Gwendolyn had never seen before. There was a meadow on the other side, and in the clearing was a small, shabby cottage made of plaster, which looked as if it had long been abandoned.

Marcelle lifted her trunk from the wagon and walked into the cottage. Gwendolyn followed him. There was a firepit surrounded by stones, a small table with chairs, and what looked to be a makeshift kitchen with shelves and stone counters. Nearly everything was covered in several layers of dust and ash, and it smelled faintly of mold and dung. Gwendolyn wrinkled her nose. She had grown up in a similar cottage, but hers had been larger, well managed and much cleaner. This place was fit for peasants, and it was far cry from the comforts of the Squire’s estate.

The second room was not much better than the first. A single window was the only source of light and a shabby bed was in the center of the room, filled with damp hay. And it had the same dank smell but was colder than the main room. He had put her trunk down next to the bed, and her heart sank.

“My Lord, what is this place? Why have you brought me here?”

He sighed, as if the question gave him great pains to answer. “The engagement between you and my son has been called off. Until he has married, you will reside here. Once he has secured a bride and has wed, you may reside at the orphanage with your sisters, if you wish.”

Gwendolyn’s face grew hot with shame. “Cancel the wedding? Why?!”

He scoffed at her, and there was an air of disgust on his face that was plain to see. “You know as well as I that the match between you and my son was never a good one. So, I have remedied the situation and called it off. You would do well to cooperate with the plan, if you want to see your sisters again.”

“But we have been engaged for many weeks! Everyone knows of it! And you have accepted my dowry! You cannot just break it off!”

His demeanor changed from coldness to anger and his lips curled into an ugly smirk. “And who is going to stop me?”

Shocked by his tone, Gwendolyn grasped at anything she could think of. “Frances wants to marry me! He loves me! We love each other!”

“My son fell under your spell, and has forgotten the duty he has to his house and bloodline. Do you sincerely think you are good enough for the likes of my family?! I come from a long line of noble Fathers and Lords. You are nothing but a Shepard’s daughter.”

She could not argue with him on that point, but it angered her to hear him speak with such distain.

“And this, this little hovel is what you think I deserve?! I had no idea you thought so little of me!” She sat down on the chair in the corner and tried to wrap her mind around what was happening. Tears trickled down her face and even though she did not want to cry in his presence, she could not help herself.

“I have procured food and firewood for your stay here. I will send someone to deliver more in a few days time. There is a small stream out back for your washing and cooking needs, and a cook pot on the shelf. If you need anything else, please inform the servant when he comes and he will fetch it for you.”

Gwendolyn could say nothing to this, and Marcelle hastily left. She could hear a strong wind rattle the walls, and she forced herself to get up and light a fire.

Then she collapsed into a little ball and sobbed until all of her strength was gone.

#sims 2 stories #sims 2 challenges #New Foundations

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unmanageable-day · 3 years

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you can read the first part here but i think it’s not that necessary lol

Pairing. Mingyu x y/n x Wonwoo

Genre. angst / ugly break up, mention of accusing of cheating

Summary. Mingyu doesn’t want to be that person he hates the most, who regrets everything later and realizes how precious one is after that person is not within his reach anymore. Unfortunately it is probably already too late

a/n: i used to have the longer version of his in my draft but tumblr didn’t let me save it and it got lost just like that.

He had been declining your intention to meet in person. It had been 5 days since he got discharged and went back home. You sent text messages to him everyday, asking if you could come over. He kept making excuses, saying he wanted to rest or he didn't feel good. Frankly he never felt good since Wonwoo visited him in the hospital. He knew once he agreed to meet you, it would be over that instant. It was difficult to get a wink of sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, Wonwoo's words kept echoing in his ears.

It's now a waiting game. She wouldn't want to be associated with you. She probably regrets knowing a Kim Mingyu. It's now a waiting game. Enjoy while it lasts. Being Y/N's boyfriend.

One day, it seemed you had reached the peak of frustration and it showed in your most recent text. 'Mingyu, I don't know how to put it into words. But I really need to talk to you and I don't think I can hold it any longer. If we can't meet, then I think I should just tell you through text.' Even Mingyu could hear the way you talked.

Without thinking, Mingyu called you right away. He was afraid to receive more texts from you because he knew what you would say. The idea of being dumped through text was scarier than he thought.

"Y/N?" "How are you doing?" "I'm.. good, I guess." "Look, I..." "After lunch. Is that okay?" he asked weakly. "Okay. I'll bring your favorite bread pudding." "No need to. I'm good." Mingyu tried hard not to choke himself when he realized tears were ready to stream down his cheeks. "But still.." "Y/N?" "Yeah?" "I love you." It was odd even for him to say it now. "Oh.." You sounded taken aback. You paused, not knowing what to say. "Anyway, I'm hanging up first," Mingyu continued. He knew he can’t take it anymore.

He dragged his feet to wash his face. His mother was excited to hear that you would come over. She had no idea that you coming just for one purpose only; to end everything with her son. Mingyu had to force a smile and lie that he and you were fine.

Mingyu’s mother escorted you directly to the son’s room as you arrived. You found Mingyu sitting up on his bed, staring at nothing. His mother had to call him to snap him back to reality before leaving his bedroom.

You sat on the other edge of his bed. "Mingyu, I’ll just be straight to the point. About us..."

“Wait,” he interrupted with a weak voice. “I'll get you some cake Joshua brought yesterday. You'll love it.” Then he got up, leaving you in his bedroom for a moment.

You sighed. This should be easy.

Mingyu came back with a little smile, two plates of strawberry cake were on his hands. "Joshua is learning to bake. He's not on my level yet but the taste is not bad."

You smiled listening to him.

"Seungkwan just arrived from Jeju yesterday and brought some tangerines. I think my mom has prepared some for you too." He kept on going about his friends. Jeonghan finally going official with his girl friend. Seungcheol planning to go mount climbing with his gym buddies. Seokmin making new friends with some guys in the office. Until he was running out of his friends' life updates, Mingyu eventually slowed down talking.

"Can I have my turn to talk?" you asked, trying to read his mood carefully. He had been smiling a lot when he rambled about his buddies. You just didn't know—or maybe you just didn't care that much anymore that the smiley face was just a disguise.

No. Don't.. Mingyu now wore an expressionless face, his eyes locked on yours. He wished you could read his mind. He didn't dare to say 'don't say a word' right into your face.

"Mingyu, I.. I don't think we can, I can.. now it's just..." Why was it so hard to you to complete your sentence? It used to be easy with your previous boyfriends.

"Don't.." he mumbled.

"What?"

He shook his head slowly. His jaw was clenched, teeth gritted as he almost blurted it out. Don't continue. Don't speak a word..

Inhaling deeply, you continued. "Mingyu, don’t you think it would be better to end—"

"Y/N, please tell me we'll be alright," he cut in. His eyes looked desperate, searching for mercy while gazing deeply directly at yours. He gripped your hands, continuing, "I was wrong. We should have never fought. I messed up. The fault was all mine."

"Mingyu.."

"I'll do anything. Anything for you to forgive me. I will not ask anything about you and Wonwoo anymore. If you want to hang out with Wonwoo on weekends, you can go and I won't say anything. If you guys want to have your exclusive movie night, or game night, or even sleepover, it's okay, I won't question you anymore." He put his head down as he started to sniffle.

‘Seriously? You never got jealous over Chaeyeon just once?’ Mingyu asked one day, fascinated by the fact that you were his first girlfriend that never questioned about his best friend who was a girl.

‘Why should I?’ you chuckled. ‘I also have Wonwoo, remember?’

‘We’re definitely the coolest couple,’ he cheered happily.

Both Mingyu and you had been understanding about your respective best friends. You had no problem with Mingyu going out with Chaeyeon even when it was just the two of them. Mingyu also used to be fine when you had to cancel your dates because Wonwoo needed you. Until it didn’t work that way anymore one day.

"Mingyu, don't be like this."

"I'm sorry," he sobbed harder as he squeezed your hands. "If I have to beg on my knees, I will. So, please, let this stay in the past and we'll start anew."

You stayed still, feeling uneasy as you watched Mingyu weeping his eyes out. He kept mumbling 'I'm sorry's and 'this is all my fault's desperately.

"Mingyu, stop crying. Your mother will think I'm being violent to you." You reached out your thumbs to wipe off the tears all over his face. Contrasting the affectionate gestures, your tone sounded cold and your expression was dull. Or maybe irritated. That was what he thought judging from your frown.

Mingyu held your hands cupping his own cheeks. "Y/N, please?"

You quickly pulled your hands away. "Mingyu, let's give ourselves some more time to think, okay?"

—

"Mingyu?" You were flustered to see him in front of your door. More than a week had passed and you hadn’t seen him again to finish the last hanging conversation. You never expected him to come to you first like this.

"Y/N.." A smile—a bittersweet one—slowly crept up his lips, showing off his canine. He didn't look as content like he used to. His eyes couldn't even hide his sadness and he looked unsure of what he was doing. But from the way he called your name, there was a longing feeling in his voice.

"I'm sorry but you should go home, Mingyu," was all you could say.

He should know better that his presence was unexpected and probably unwanted. "I don't want to. It kills me inside to be home alone. It feels like dying to think that you're not within my reach, that you're so distant from me. Y/N, if you want to despise me, you can. If yelling at me can relieve your frustration, yell at me and I won't talk back. Y/N, please, just hate me for the rest of your life but please don't be like this. I can't stand this cold shoulders, it's torturing me. I just want to be a part of your life, as a person who can have all your trust, as a person who will always believe in you and be by your side, as a person who loves you with all my heart."

A cynical tsk was suddenly heard. Without making a sound, Wonwoo was approaching your side with his light steps just like a cat. "You finish with your words?"

"Jeon Wonwoo.. what—" He choked on his own words, effectively stopping himself from doing what he used to do; questioning your intimate friendship with Wonwoo. A train of memories of you and him arguing in a big fight suddenly slipped across his mind.

'What is exactly your relationship with Wonwoo? You often ditch me for him. Is he really that important and I'm not? I'm your boyfriend, Y/N.' 'Are you seeing him behind my back? Are you fucking him?' You thought you could hold it in, but not with him accusing you like this. 'Mingyu, you sound crazy, do you know that? Are you hearing yourself?' you snapped. 'I sound crazy right now? How about you always saying 'Wonwoo this' and 'Wonwoo that', when I am literally your boyfriend who puts you, my girlfriend, on top of my priority list?' 'Do you know how many times I have to hold myself back, because I don't want to be that insecure bitch saying 'don't go with Wonwoo', 'do you have to go with Wonwoo?' and 'I don't like it when you go out with Wonwoo'?' 'Are you playing with me now? Am I just a toy?' 'Is it fun two-timing me over your so-called best friend?' 'Two-tim— Mingyu, you—' That was the first time you raised your voice to him that you wanted to slap him hard. But you didn’t. 'Okay. Let's do this. Is it me or is it Wonwoo?' 'Mingyu, you're out of your mind!' you almost shrieked. 'I ask you one more time, is it me or is it Wonwoo?' 'I really can't do this. Fine if you really want to hear my answer. Sorry, Mingyu, good bye.' It hit him. 'Y/N! You didn't mean it, did you?' 'Sorry, Mingyu.. Wonwoo and I value our friendship in a way you will never understand. Wonwoo it is,’ you told him as you started to walk away. It hit him hard. He quickly reached your arms. The last thing he would want was regretting his decision and realizing how precious one is after losing her. 'Y/N! No, no, no. Forget what I asked. I can't lose you like this!' A heavy sigh escaped your mouth along with tears streaming down your cheek. 'Mingyu, I'm tired. I don't want to hurt you anymore. You're tired of that too, right?' you weakly said as you wiped your tears. With him not saying anything anymore, you left him without turning back.

Mingyu recalled one of the ugliest fight between you. It was painful to remember all the following parts when you gave up talking to him. When you chose Wonwoo over him. When you said you were tired of hurting him. When he just realized what he did wrong when you disappeared from his sight.

"If your business is done here, you should go home. Or are you going to ask why I'm here?" Wonwoo cooed.

Mingyu tried to ignore him. He turned to look at you, but you still looked unfazed, looking away as you crossed your arms. "I.. didn't know Wonwoo was here.."

A mocking chuckle escaped his mouth, scratching another wound to Mingyu's pride. "I am her best friend. I am here all the time. As a matter of fact, we were fucking. But you disturbed us."

To be honest, you were shocked to hear Wonwoo talking like that. On a normal daily basis, he was calm and speak nothing but good words. He never got himself involved in a cat fight. Except, when it comes to you, he will never hesitate to throw hands at anyone who dares messing up with you.

"No need to be surprised, right?" Wonwoo continued. "You said it yourself. You asked Y/N once, right? I guess you were very curious about whether she and I fuck each other. We do, Mingyu. We do."

You remained silent. Partially it was because you were taken aback at Wonwoo's odd behavior. He didn't usually get mad easily. You knew he would always take your side. But at the same time, maybe Wonwoo being like this would help to make Mingyu go away.

Mingyu was trembling on his spot. "Y/N, please say something," he weakly pleaded. At this moment he couldn't even tell if Wonwoo was just talking bullshit or it was actually the truth. Back in the days, when he confronted you about it, you immediately said no. For now he just wanted to believe what you said weeks ago.

Your mouth was sealed. Your eyes travel to take a glance at the tall guy just to flash him a dark, cold expression of yours before looking at the ground again.

“Y/N, please..” He was on the brink of crying.

You looked up and found his teary eyes. “You didn’t believe me when I said no. So what makes it different if you do now? It won’t change anything anyways.”

"The real question is, Mingyu, what are you doing here?" Again, Wonwoo retorted, smirking, folding his arms on his chest. Surprisingly this gesture made him even more intimidating despite his slim figure. His victorious, confident smile definitely was what made him look superior. “Oh, right!” he continued, chuckling—mocking, “After a lot of things happened, I almost forget you’re still Y/N’s boyfriend. Or are you not anymore?”

You noticed how uncomfortable Mingyu was standing before you. At the same time, you were also reminded how he doubted your friendship with Wonwoo, how he always suspected you and Wonwoo, until he wrongfully accused you. Then you remembered what he said days ago, about him not saying anything about Wonwoo anymore. It turned out you still have a heart to not let Mingyu break down completely. The big, tall guy clearly had no idea what to do, or what to say. He was tense, nervous and restless, knowing that his presence unwanted. Even the habit of brushing his fringe back was only done once since he came; usually he did it thousands times and you used to mimic him on behalf of his friend, Seokmin.

You softly asked Wonwoo to go back to your kitchen to check on the scone you two made, and thankfully he obeyed you. Even when he left you, his victorious smrik wouldn't disappear as he kept eyeing the taller guy.

"Mingyu, it's not healthy for us—for you, to keep it this way," you uttered. "You should stop apologize too. It's already in the past. Even I won't bring it up again. You will be forgiven, I promise, but not now. For now, I think it’s best for us to go on our own."

"Please, give us another chance," he sobbed, his voice cracking.

You heard Wonwoo calling your name, followed by an unclear mumbles. But you sure did hear that your scone was failing.

"Mingyu, I'm sorry but I'm running late for Wonwoo's mom's birthday dinner." You looked concerned, but definitely not apologetic.

All energy in Mingyu's legs felt like vanishing totally. His stomach was filled by lots of emotion—mostly anger to himself, that he felt sick. He wasn't sure if he could support himself to stand straight and walk properly. Why did he even pick up a fight with you and vomit hurtful words, that you can't bear with him anymore?

"You see, there are some of your stuff here, and I should give it back to you but it's a mess right now. I'll have your stuff delivered to your house tomorrow."

Eventually Mingyu went down on his knees, still crying.

Wonwoo just shouted your name again. "Coming!" you exclaimed.

“What are those?” he asked between his sniffles, rather in horror as he noticed a box filled with various things. What he saw there shook him even more.

Confused why he suddenly talked about anything else, you looked at the box as if it was nothing. The only thing visible to your eyes was an old scarf that Wonwoo unintentionally burned one day. So you assumed it was just a pile of useless stuff he found in your house. “I don’t know. Wonwoo has been decluttering the whole day. I think he’s going to throw them away.”

Mingyu’s heart sank again. How can you not see what was in that box? A snow globe he got for you when he traveled to Japan. A couple bracelet that he made it himself. Mini photo frames that had him and you in the pictures, smiling so happily. There were still other small stuff that he noticed which were gifts from him. And you said so easily that they were going to end in a dump.

"Mingyu, please?" Squatting down to be in the same eye level with him, finally you looked at him in the eyes, hoping that he would get it that him leaving was one thing you were expecting at the moment. "If there is any other way, I would look for it. But if it means I have to cut Wonwoo off, I can't. I hope I have made myself clear, Mingyu."

"There must be some other way and you don’t have to cut Wonwoo off. Let's look for it, together. Please?"

Shoulders shrugging and head tilting slowly at your side, you looked unsure with your brows furrowed. "I don't think so, Mingyu," you said, shaking your head. "You said it yourself, that we were a mistake."

"That— I don't mean—"

"Mingyu, you should never repeat the same mistake. You don’t want to get hurt for the second time."

#seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen au #seventeen drabbles #seventeen angst #seventeen mingyu #mingyu imagines #mingyu angst #seventeen wonwoo #wonwoo imagines #seventeen fics #post by yourblinkies

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e-milieeee · 4 years

Text

haunted

Summary: When Gabriel goes a step too far, Plagg has decided he’s had enough.

Meanwhile, Gabriel Agreste has discovered that his house may or may not be haunted, because a vengeful spirit certainly seems to be after him.

Notes: basically plagg being a little gremlin and trolling gabriel like he deserves. ft. gabe’s 3 remaining braincells. based on this post by @hamsternamedmarinette and @snail-noir im sorry its so crappy lol

haunted

“Well,” Adrien is saying as he trudges inside the room and kicks the door shut. “There’s that, then.”

Plagg flits out from his shirt. His face is set in an angry mask, tail sticking straight up. “That’s that?” he echoes. “No, that’s absurd! Your father’s absurd! He should come back here and I’ll give him a piece of my mind and—”

Adrien squeezes his eyes shut. “Plagg, it’s fine. Forget it.”

Plagg makes an angry noise in the back of his throat. “So you’re just gonna take that? For weeks? He has no right.”

In his hand is the piece of paper—now crumpled—that his father had shoved into his fingers before he stormed off: the schedule for the fashion show. It runs for a week, but there’s also a terrifying amount of preparations to be done two weeks prior—all of which his father had decided he needed to be present for.

“I can’t risk making father angry,” Adrien settles with.

Plagg folds his arms. “Fine,” his kwami says curtly, in a manner of speaking that Adrien always finds hard to argue with. “Hypothetically speaking, then, if your father found out his plans had been cata—destroyed, would you be allowed to go out?”

“Plagg, I’m not going to break into my father’s study as Chat Noir to cataclysm his work just so I can go out with friends.”

Plagg smiles at him. It’s the smile Adrien had often gotten before he’d discovered the toilet paper in his washroom all scratched up and littering the floor. “Don’t worry,” comes the reply. “You won’t have to.”

***

Gabriel Agreste’s study is locked, but that doesn’t prove a problem for the small black shape that slips through the doors like they’re made of nothing more than mist. It’s dark, but cats have always seen better at night anyway.

There, on the top of his desk, lies the designs for the first set of clothes that are to be showcased. Meticulous notes. Fabric samples. Timing and schedules. Signatures and contracts.

The small, black cat picks the folder up with two paws. Then it crumbles into dust.

***

“Nathalie, did you touch the folder on my desk?”

It’s been a long morning—Gabriel had been up at 4 AM in an attempt to see if he could get an edge on Ladybug and Chat Noir. It had been horrendous to find someone to akumatize so early, and by the time he’d pinpointed his victim—forty five minutes later—he had nearly fallen asleep. He’d been pummelled by Ladybug and Chat Noir. Absolutely pummelled. And then, as if the situation couldn't help but get worse, Audrey Bourgeois had called him at six (just when he was about to go back to bed) and told him she couldn’t make it to the fashion show.

That woman had no regard for timezones. And no regard for him, either, because part of the marketing for the fashion week was Audrey’s attendance.

Gabriel was considering akumatizing himself when he realized the manila folder on his desk—that had been there when he left the night prior—was nowhere to be seen.

He searches through all his files. Crawls under his desk. Checks his lair. It's gone.

“Nathalie!” he bellows again, and she comes barrelling through the door to his office.

“What is it, sir?”

Gabriel takes a deep breath. “Have you seen the files for the fashion show? It was in the folder on my desk when I left.”

“Sir, I haven’t been in your office since last night, and I’m certain I saw your files there. Are you sure you haven’t misplaced it?”

Misplaced it, yeah. That’s what it was. Probably.

Now, what he needed was a nap.

***

The files do not turn up. Gabriel sends Nathalie to print them out again. The most important stuff is stored on his computer, but there are signatures he’d spent weeks getting.

He locks the files in his drawer the next time he gets it.

***

Tuesday morning finds Gabriel Agreste feeling much more refreshed. He even joins Adrien for three minutes during breakfast.

He walks into his office to find his favourite coffee mug in smithereens on the ground.

The files are still stored safely in his drawer. But there is a big, ugly tear across the dress he’d been working on for the past three months.

Gabriel screams.

***

Gabriel Agreste isn’t a fan of security cameras in his office. Especially because anyone with some hacking ability could possibly get their hands on the tape, and the last thing he needs is someone seeing him descending into his lair, or opening the safe behind his painting. Really—there’s simply too many sketchy things he’s done in the office for him to trust putting a camera there.

But he installs two of them nonetheless. His coffee mug could be an accident. But that rip on the dress? No, the only explanation is that it was intentional. But how?

Gabriel thinks of possibilities until he gives himself a headache.

***

“Father seems stressed lately,” Adrien notes to Plagg. There’s not much time for himself between busy schedules, but the moments in between he catches to talk to his kwami. The past week, stuck alone in his room with barely any interaction with his friends, has been draining. He cherishes the precious minutes he gets to spend with Plagg.

“Does he?” Plagg asks in a tone of practiced disinterest. “Well, he does have that really important fashion week thing coming up.”

“He asked me if I’d broken into his study a day ago, but he always locks his study. I think some of his files were missing.”

“Oh?” Plagg replies. “That’s terrible misfortune.”

“Father says he thinks a thief snuck in in the middle of the night and stole them, but we have security cameras all around the house and nothing happened.”

“Spooky.”

“Plagg…”

Plagg only shrugs. “Perhaps your house is haunted,” he replies disinterestedly. “Good thing you’re not scared of ghosts, Adrien.”

***

The house is haunted, and Gabriel cannot sleep.

The most terrifying part of watching the footage is that he sees nothing. There is no movement. No nothing. But then, the next morning, his files inside the locked drawer have disappeared.

Nathalie asks him about the dark rings around his eyes. He drinks two more cups of coffees in response.

***

Gabriel’s eyes are burning, but he’s determined to stay awake.

He likes to think himself neat and meticulous, but even he has his breaking point—his desk is littered with coffee cups, and he’s resorted to drinking energy drinks to keep himself awake. There’s less than ten days until the fashion show starts. It’s been so heavy on his schedule that he’s barely found time to akumatize three three people the past week.

Ladybug and Chat Noir must be having a field day while he’s sitting miserably in his office, waiting to catch the thief, too exhausted to summon up more akumas.

The clock ticks past midnight. Gabriel nearly faceplants into a coffee mug.

Another cup of redbull.

By the time it’s two in the morning, nothing shocking in particular has happened. Every time the flashing light of a car drives past the front of the house he starts, sits back down, and struggles to keep his eyes open.

It’s 2:04 when a crash sounds outside of his office.

Like a madman, Gabriel scrambles up from his seat. He knocks over a half-finished mug of coffee in the process, but that doesn’t matter. The door of his office slams open. He trips on a rug. But he gets up and runs like he’s never run before.

With all the force he can muster, he slams his palm down on the light, and the once-dark staircase and hall become bathed in golden light. The chandelier flickers twice and he stares down at the hall with half the mind to wonder if he’s going to finally see the ghost.

Gabriel is the only one in the hall.

He checks once more. Then again. Then again. But there is no one there, no source of the crash—

Oh, no.

The painting he’d bid at an auction twelve years ago—one that had cost a fortune—has fallen off the wall and face planted into the floor. The sight of it physically hurts Gabriel, and he’s scrambling towards it in a mixture of fear and anger when another noise sounds in his office.

In the months of being Hawkmoth, Gabriel Agreste has felt a generous range of emotions. But never has he felt such bone-chilling fear.

He heads back up the steps with robotic movements numbly. Down the corridor. Into his office.

There is no one there, and the mess that has been made is moreso his fault than of the invisible thief—or ghost—but then Gabriel sees one of his locked drawers open and the contents inside dumped unceremoniously on the ground.

The next day, when Nathalie finds him out cold on the ground, he attributes it to the exhaustion and the amount of coffee and energy drinks he’d consumed. But deep down, Gabriel knows that it’s the terror that’s finally caught up.

Either way, he faints.

***

Gabriel is confined to bed by a very concerned Nathalie. She usually heeds to his instructions, but the rare insistence from her and his own fatigue lands him out of commission for the day. It doesn’t stop him, however, from giving her a set of instructions.

“First, my office,” Gabriel croaks. His throat hurts—he must’ve caught a cold as well. “Please clean everything up and reinstall the locks. And then… and then…”

He thinks of the missing files—three times—and grits his teeth. “Cancel the fashion week.”

Nathalie’s jaw drops open. “Sir—”

“I know,” Gabriel mutters. “I just… I’m left with no choice. I’ll reschedule. Make up some excuse.”

She dips her head. “Noted, sir. Is that all?”

Gabriel gives her a miserable nod. She’s halfway out the door when he remembers.

“Nathalie!” he yells. “Get me a shaman, too.”

***

“The fashion week is cancelled.” Adrien looks up from practicing piano. “Father is sick, I think, which might be why. Nathalie looked super stressed when I saw her before my lessons.”

“Cancelled?” Plagg echoes dispassionately. “Huh. That’s too bad, I guess.”

“No, that’s good! I mean, it’s not good that my father is sick and Nathalie is stressed, but… at least I won’t be hounded about preparations. I even got permission to go out today.”

“Huh,” Plagg replies. He settles himself into his wheel of cheese. “I guess you’re lucky after all, then.”

Notes: yeah idk what i wrote but master fu is the shaman they hire and he finds out gabriel is hawkmoth and arrests him and the end if u wanna know what happens next

Here’s my fics masterlist!

#miraculous ladybug #gabriel agreste #plagg #adrien agreste #ml #nathalie #hawkmoth #plagg is mvp n i dont take criticism!#mlb fic #my writing #tag this gabenath and i hunt u down

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the-queer-observer · 3 years

Text

The TOXICITY of straight dating culture: Do you even realize what you teach?

A few months ago, a straight teenage girl explained her crush to me with the sentence “He’s so toxic.”

I know a 17-year-old girl with a little to no clue of how a non-toxic relationship should look like.

I started noticing a certain pattern online and in my real life too.

Now it’s a time for my first disclaimer: I am not straight myself. Nope. Not at all. Perhaps that’s why I see through it.

To this point, all I have done about this is that I have complained to some friends, got over it and went on with my life.

Today, a girl, no older than twelve, has told me about her crush on a “bad boy” and we talked about him for a second. He really did seem like what the definition of a bad boy is for tweens.

I snapped.

And here I am, writing my first tumblr post ever on this very topic.

I want to make clear, this is not an attack on those girls. This is an attack on the society, what it taught them and what it failed to teach.

The youngest girl and me, we talked about music. She said she liked “dramatic” songs and played me some of her favorites.

Disclaimer number two: I did know both the artists, but I don’t actually listen to them. The closest to mainstream music my playlists get is Take me to church by Hozier, the rest being a wide range of songs, interprets and genres from pop punk to death metal and everything in between.

I was actually surprised. One of the two artists she played for me was Billie Eilish. The beginning of the song went:

Don't be cautious, don't be kind

You committed, I'm your crime

Push my button anytime

You got your finger on the trigger

But your trigger finger's mine

The second song was by Maroon 5.

It was even worse:

So what you trying to do to me

It's like we can't stop, we're enemies

But we get along when I'm inside you, eh

You're like a drug that's killing me

I cut you out entirely

But I get so high when I'm inside you

Yeah you can start over you can run free

You can find other fish in the sea

You can pretend it's meant to be

But you can't stay away from me

I can still hear you making that sound

Taking me down rolling on the ground

You can pretend that it was me

But no, oh

I am not going to argue about whether it’s appropriate or whether she understands the lyrics the way I do. It doesn’t even matter. She understands the drama in the song. She understands it enough for me to be concerned.

There are other songs like that. There is a whole culture teaching pre-teen and teenage girls, that “they can’t get away”, romanticizing toxic people and toxic relationships, blurring the lines of consent and guess what? The girls believe it’s the way it’s supposed to be.

I texted my girlfriend and we spent some time looking for straight love-songs, celebrating healthy relationships. None of them were mainstream, but we found things like:

That the world is ugly

But you're beautiful to me

Are you thinking of me

Like I'm thinking of you

I would say I'm sorry, though

Though I really need to go

I just wanted you to know

I wanted you to know

I'm thinking of you every night, every day

(My Chemical romance)

And

Desperate for changing

Starving for truth

I'm closer to where I started

I'm chasing after you

I'm falling even more in love with you

Letting go of all I've held on to

I'm standing here until you make me move

I'm hanging by a moment here with you

Forgetting all I'm lacking

Completely incomplete

I'll take your invitation

You take all of me now

(Lifehouse)

First of all: Those are 4 extracts of songs, chosen by me to demonstrate my point and they may or may not reflect the reality, you (the reader) see: those two songs might be just an exception, but in that case this post is still not canceled, because there is enough of other correlations and causation for me to have a reason to write this.

Those songs are “dramatic”, but the drama shifts from the relationship itself and its toxicity to the circumstances and environment. My girlfriend even recommended a punk song called Ne touche pas moi (Do not touch me), which is entirely about consent.

I am not explicitly saying that the songs she played for me are bad. It’s not for me to decide.

But all Billie Eilish’ fans I ever met were in the age range between eleven and fourteen, so I am supposing that’s her target audience. As for Maroon 5, I have no idea. However, music influences us. The girl is old enough to know what kind of music she likes and wants to listen to and with the peer pressure going on there, her parents do not really have a say in what she listens to and they are not to be blamed for this.

It’s the culture.

Toxicity is not a positive trait to look for in a potential partner. Even if he is a good looking one.

Enough of music.

Do you know who the toxic crush was?

Draco Malfoy.

One of the most famous of all characters in media, famously portrayed by Tom Felton in the Harry Potter film series.

Disclaimer number four: I have a problem with the books and movies and I also have some issues with the author.

Still, I see a fandom celebrating the love of Severus Snape for Lilly Evans Potter. Except it’s not love and it’s not a crush either. It’s an obsession. One that has become so iconic, the word “Always” is one of the main symbols of Harry Potter.

It shouldn’t be.

It should have never happened.

Draco Malfoy is quite the same thing. He is a racist, a bully. He is raised to be one, sure... That’s not an excuse. He doesn’t actually have a canonical redemption arch (not counting the deleted scene from the last movie and the Cursed child). If he came up to Hermione, acknowledging his mistakes, apologizing for his behavior, then maybe. Perhaps... That’s another story though. My point is, Rowling fails to actually depict problematic characters as actually problematic, they are romanticized by her, the filmmakers, the fandom and the wider audience.

Girls are taught to be the ones to make the redemption arch happen, irl or in fiction. They are supposed to date whoever is into them, regardless of whether they like the person back, and it’s unbelievably often I see them crushing on villains and problematic people like Draco Malfoy, because they are taught, he would change for them or that they could change him.

Toxicity is not a positive trait to look for in a potential partner. Even if he is a good looking one.

Those together result in a complete lack of knowledge of how a healthy relationship should look like. That’s the case of the third girl I mentioned. Being best friends with both her and her current boyfriend, I had three points of view on their relationship. It’s only been the past few weeks, not more than two month it has shifted to a more positive, healthy relationship.

It’s not the girl’s fault. They learn what a healthy relationship is the hard way, mostly after going through a toxic one(s).

WHY?

The sentence: “I always fall for the bad guys.” lacks the essential: “because the society taught me to” part.

It’s so common.

It’s too common.

It’s not even that we wouldn’t talk about it: we do. But you celebrate it. And that is not okay and that is the reason I am typing this.

Disclaimer number 5: The gender roles in this post are based off of my observations. I do acknowledge the fact that girls can be and sometimes are the toxic person in the relationship and that the lesson boys are thought is no way better (more freeing perhaps, but not right either) . It might not be specific to the straight culture either, but again, my observations were.

I was about thirteen, when I figured out I was gay and I had to learn everything on my own. How the relationships should work out, what is healthy and what is not... I had to learn on my own because the society failed to teach me anything. I am yet to decide whether that’s better or worse than teaching the wrong one.

#lgbtq #spilled thoughts #punk #music #culture #society #feminist #teenagers #relationship #toxic is toxic #toxicity #gay girls #queer #random observations #harry potter #draco malfoy

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nitewrighter · 3 years

Note

would you ever write a drabble for the MEKA squad? Happy holidays!

Tfw you really want to give Overlord they/them pronouns (because nonbinary characters aren’t just robots, Blizzard!!) but the Wiki is he/him, so you’re like “Okay he’s he/they.”

...this originally started out as a one-off gag and then mutated into this. Have fun.

------

It had been a long day of being slumped behind desks while government officials bickered through translators for the Meka squad. They were in Russia for what was supposed to be a “Joint Defense” conference discussing the applications of sharing Meka and Volskaya technology to better defend against the Gwishin and the Siberian Omnium, but communication had quickly broken down. Russia, it turned out, didn’t take too well to Korea granting citizenship to Omnics with only a handful of the EU restrictions (”and not even the UK restrictions!” one politician had blustered.) The Meka squad itself had been scoffed off as “celebrities” and “mascots” and so the day was ending with D.Va, D.Mon, and Casino standing around the hotel lobby. D.Va was scrolling through her phone next to a roaring fireplace while D.Mon stooped over her shoulder, and Casino leaning against the hotel bar, examining some vodka in a shot glass and ready to pretend it definitely tasted like something other than burning to impress the cute bartender. The three of them perked up at the sound of the lobby elevator dinging and Casino knocked back his drink and suppressed a wince as a blue-clad figure waddled out of the elevator and into the lobby.

“Woah,” D.Mon blinked a few times as she and D.Va walked over.

“What--woah,” said Casino, still blinking a few times through the vodka still burning the back of his throat.

“What?!” muffled the waddling shape in blue.

“Is...uh... that really you under there, Seung-hwa?” D.Va tilted her head, trying to hold in snickers.

“I have a low cold tolerance,” Overlord’s voice was muffled through their scarf. He was a veritable sausage of a long puffer jacket, and apparently heavily layered even under that by the way his arms were spread away from his torso, and clumsily thudding around in heavy boots. A fur-lined trapper hat virtually swallowed their head and nearly all of their face was covered by a scarf.

“You’re T-Posing,” said D.Va.

“I’m not T-posing!” muffled Overlord indignantly

“...I wanna try something,” said Casino, stepping forward.

“Don’t be mean,” said D.Mon, furrowing her brow.

“I’m not,” said Casino.

“What are you doi--” Overlord started but Casino put his hands on the outsides of Overlord’s arms and pressed down, trying to push Overlord’s arms to the sides of their torso. Casino pulled his hands away and Overlord’s arms sprang back to their previous spread position. Casino snorted.

“Ooh! Let me try!” said D.Va, quickly walking up and pressing Overlord’s arms down to their side as well and letting them spring back into place.

“Okay that’s enough--” said D.Mon.

“We should get some selfies in--!” said D.Va.

“Can we just get going?!” said Overlord.

“Can you walk?” said Casino, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes I can walk,” said Overlord.

-----

“Waddled” was a closer word for it.

“...are they still behind us?” said D.Va as she, D.Mon and Casino walked down the sidewalk.

Casino gave a glance back to Overlord practically duckwalking, their arms bouncing slightly at their sides since it apparently took physical effort to move them from their positions in a normal walking manner.

“He’s still behind us,” said Casino, smirking slightly, “Kind of reminds you of those penguin documentaries, March of the Mek--” He got elbowed by D.Mon.

Admittedly as they walked through the streets, all three of them had flashes of jealousy towards Overlord for being so bundled up. Russia had a cold that sank deep past the skin and made them starkly aware of every injury they had ever received in the Meka program, feeling old fissures in bones. It was past Christmas but not yet New Year’s, and lights and decorations still hung on some buildings. The city was a hodgepodge between stately old pre-crisis buildings, more modern skyscrapers, and several massive industrial-looking defense bases armed with massive long-range anti-aircraft turrets. The massive Svyatogors stood sentry at the city’s borders, surveying the city and beyond it with a sort of lumbering casualness that made you believe they were simply fully living giants rather than piloted mechs. D.Va watched as one turned its head slowly.

“...kind of glad the deal fell through,” muttered Casino, following her line of sight, “Can you imagine those ugly things in Busan? Gross.”

“...I could see myself piloting one,” said D.Mon.

“You would,” said Casino.

It wasn’t too long of a walk from their hotel to the park, and King was waiting for them at the wrought iron gate marking its entrance. He was scrolling through his phone while backlit by the blue, white, green, and pink lights being diffracted through the massive ice sculptures dotting the park behind him. The park was noticeably more crowded than the streets, a mix of locals on dates and tourists admiring the ice sculptures.

“What took you guys--” King started but then glanced at Overlord plodding along behind them, “Nice coat.”

“Thanks,” muffled Overlord.

Despite the crowds, the Meka squad’s walk through the park was quiet, pausing to look at different ice sculptures, getting hot smoky tea with a hint of orange peel from a little kiosk. Aside from Casino, who was only wearing earmuffs over his sleeked-back white hair, the five of them pretty much blended into the crowd. The subject matter of the ice sculptures ranged from whimsical and natural forms such as narwhals and giant flowers with real petals and blossoms suspended frozen inside them, to more technically impressive architectural forms of famous buildings from around the world and reproductions of classical sculptures, to a large collection of propagandistic figures of Svyatogors, fresco reproductions of posters, and Omnic crisis heroes. D.Va paused to see a line had formed next to an ice sculpture of a heroically flexing Aleksandra Zaryanova, glowing in pink, with tourists and locals alike eagerly posing and flexing next to it.

“...maybe you’d get a statue if the deal hadn’t fallen through,” D.Mon spoke next to her.

D.Va huffed. “I don’t know if that’s what I want people to remember me for,” she said quietly.

“Mm, yeah saving the city multiple times is nothing compared to the rush of gaming tournaments,” D.Mon said teasingly.

“...gaming tournaments mean everyone’s safe,” said D.Va and the teasing expression on D.Mon’s face was wiped away. Wordlessly, D.Mon slipped her arm through the crook of D.Va’s elbow and pulled her close.

“I know they’re wrong, here,” D.Va went on, “I know the omnics who live in Busan aren’t like the Gwishin--they aren’t the same---but what if the Gwishin finds a way to control them, somehow? There was that incident in Giza...” she shook her head, “But then I feel like a big jerk for thinking that! Like that’s not fair!”

D.Mon just leaned her cheek on the top of D.Va’s head. “I wish I could say there’s an easy answer for it. Most of the time I just worry about flying and keeping the team alive and let everyone else sort that junk out.”

“...we saw how they sort it out,” muttered D.Va, “They don’t. One side wants to put them all in a trash compacter and the other side wants to treat them like people so it all gets broken down country by country, but no matter what we’re all scared. And--I remember being a kid--and my dad taking me down to the basement when the air sirens went off, and giving me his old Fujita-Via with his pirated Starcraft port, and his noise canceling headphones that were too big for me, but I could still feel the house shaking--”

“Hana--” D.Mon squeezed her arm slightly.

But if I kept playing... it felt further away,” said D.Va, “Playing used to make it feel further away.”

“...and now we play to keep them away,” said D.Mon, quietly, “...you’re not alone, you know,” she added.

“I know I’m not--” D.Va started.

“But you’re not the only one who’s gone through stuff like that--that’s literally why we’re all here,” said D.Mon.

D.Va blinked a few times.

“I’ve been talking to Dae-hyun,” said D.Mon and D.Va gave an exasperated huff, but D.Mon pushed further, “He’s worried, too. That night when you overclocked your reactor---”

“I had it handled!” D.Va said quickly, before catching herself, “We--we had it handled. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without--”

“Without Dae-hyun,” said D.Mon, “And I know it’s different with him, there’s no stupid pro-gamer egos, he’s not in the field like we are---But... is it that unfair of me to ask you to trust us like you trust him?”

D.Va glanced down.

D.Mon pressed her lips against D.Va’s snowflake-flecked hair, more of a nuzzle than a kiss, before gently pulling her along to the next ice sculpture. “At least hang out with us more. We have pit crews, you don’t have to keep pulling late nights tweaking Tokki.”

“Yeah, but I’m--”

“Picky,” D.Mon smiled, smoothing snowflakes away from D.Va’s hair with a smirk, “I know.”

D.Va sighed and leaned against D.Mon, “...I’ll try,” she said, quietly, then thought for a second, “I’ll make it a New Year’s resolution! Hang out with you guys more! Get away from the garage...”

They were making their way to an art nouveau-looking sculpture of a woman holding a pouring out swirling water when their comms buzzed. D.mon pulled her comm from her pocket.

“Guys, we need to regroup,” Casino said on the other end.

“What’s going on?” said D.Mon, “Call from headquarters or--?”

“Casino lost Overlord and we accidentally kidnapped a small Russian lesbian,” King’s voice sounded flatly on the other line.

“You lost Overlord too!” Casino argued.

“What--” D.Mon stammered, “How did you--”

“Just meet us back at the narwhal,” said Casino, before clicking out of the call.

D.Va and D.Mon exchanged glances.

“We don’t have to--” D.Mon started.

“Yes we do,” said D.Va, squeezing D.Mon’s arm and dragging her through the crowd. The narwhal sculpture was back towards the front of the park, and the crowds made it slow going, but they were able to find Casino, King, and what looked like Overlord’s heavily-layered t-posing figure next to them.

“What do you mean you lost Overlord?” said D.Mon, “They’re right--”

The figure, with some effort given the thick layers of their clothes, took off their trapper hat to shake off a shaggy asymmetrical bob and pulled down their scarf to reveal a convex nose.

“Not Overlord,” said D.Va.

The girl with the shaggy bob said something in Russian and pointed at Casino.

“We got into a really dense crowd back at the svyatogor sculpture,” said King, “My audio translator app says she thought Casino was her girlfriend from behind.”

“It’s mistranslating ‘girlfriend,’” said Casino, flatly.

“It’s really not,” said King.

“...which means Overlord must be following someone he thought was Casino!” said D.Va.

“Stunning powers of deduction,” said King, adjusting his glasses.

“Well, where was the last place you saw your girlfriend before?” said Casino, looking at the girl.

King rapidly tapped something into his phone. “G’dyeh te pahsled--” he started reading before going, “Fuck it--” and hit a button on his comm. The phone fired off a phrase in Russian and the girl shrugged. She paused, then said something questioning in Russian and pointed at D.Va.

“Can you say that again?” said King holding his phone up to her.

The girl repeated her question more slowly and the phone translated the phrase, “Is that D.Va, from the holos?”

“...uh...” D.Mon seemed hesitant to reveal their identities after such comfortable anonymity but D.Va cut in.

“Yes, I’m D.Va, do you know where our friend is?” she said, and the phone translated for her.

The girl almost squealed but managed to control herself and cleared her throat. “Big fan,” she managed in thickly accented english, gesturing at herself.

“Look just text Overlord and we’ll get this mess cleared up,” said D.Mon, looking at King.

“We’ve been texting them. No answer. I don’t think they can feel the comm buzzing through that coat,” said Casino.

“Look, I’m sure he’s already figured it out and is on his way back to us,” said D.Mon, “Overlord pilots the most complex mech out of all of us, he can control the movements of 27 airborne mini-drones simultaneously, I’m pretty sure he would notice pretty quickly if he was following some Russian chick and not Casino.”

All of their phones buzzed at once and they flipped them open to see their groupchat.

0verl0rd: HELP.

0verl0rd: ON A TRAIN.

0verl0rd: RUSSIAN LADY WASN’T CASINO.

0verl0rd: DON’T KNOW WHERE I’M GOING.

DeeVaaaaaa: WHY ARE YOU ON A TRAIN!?

K1ng_Soo: Literally when did we say we would get on a train.

0verl0rd: I DON’T KNOW I WAS JUST ROLLING WITH IT.

0verl0rd: NOT CASINO LADY IS YELLING AT ME IN RUSSIAN NOW.

Casi_no: How did you not notice they were speaking Russian before?

0verl0rd: THIS HAT IS REALLY THICK AND IT WAS HARD ENOUGH KEEPING UP.

Yuna-Mon: Okay just stay calm and stay where you are.

Overlord: AGAIN I’M ON A TRAIN.

The Meka squad glanced up from the group chat and looked at Overlord’s thick-coat look-alike, whose phone suddenly buzzed. Through the thickness of her own coat it took her some effort to pull it out and answer it. They watched as she argued in Russian for several minutes, then turned to talking very quickly in Russian for another, minute, then laughing, then she gave a glance to the Meka squad, cupped a mittened hand over her mouth and spoke into the phone a bit more quietly and excitedly, before apparently reaching a satisfying conclusion, peppering in what sounded like a dozen pet names, and then ended the call. She gestured at King to hold his phone up to her and spoke Russian into his translator app.

“My Nadenka and your friend are heading to Vasily’s--our usual spot in Dumskaya,” the translator app’s automated voice made her easy tone sound much more halting, “You can pick him up there. Maybe grab drinks, yes? Big Meka fans! We love D.Va!”

King was apparently feverishly web-searching Dumskaya but D.Va said, “Great! Lead the way!”

The girl patted her mitten against her thick coat, “Uliana,” she said,

“...Hana,” said D.Va.

The girl made another high-pitched sound but caught herself, cleared her throat, and managed to get control of herself again. “Come on!” she said, waving them across the park. D.Va and Casino followed, but King and D.Mon hung back, slightly.

“Sounds like a recipe to wake up in a bathtub full of ice,” muttered King under his breath.

“I’m sure they don’t need ice with all this snow,” said D.Mon with a slight smirk. “It’s going to be fine.”

“And if it’s not?”

“Well I guess there will be a messy international incident concerning the ransoming and eventual brutal murders of Korea’s primary anti-Gwishin defense force, is that the conclusion you want me to jump to?” said D.Mon.

King opened his mouth, then furrowed his brow and readjusted his glasses.

“We grab Overlord and get out,” he said firmly.

“Mm-hmm,” D.Mon nodded her head.

-----

Vasily’s was a dive bar but it wasn’t a dive bar. It was warmly lit, had a handful of floral-patterned Slavic tchotchkes, some granny-chic doilies that suggested the place served lunch and tea, and a long garland of fake pine dotted with pink ornaments trailing along the wall. There was definitely a lived-in feeling to the place, but it was offset by an almost persnickety cleanliness. As King pushed the door open, he readjusted his glasses, finding the bar brighter than expected. It was virtually empty, but Overlord was sitting at the bar, having shed his thick coat with the trapper hat in his lap. He was apparently gesturing with several overturned shot glasses on the bar counter and talking to... Casino?

King gave a quick glance to Casino, who was still standing next to him, then glance back at Overlord and his bleach-blonde companion and snorted as she turned her head.

“She does look like you from behind,” he said to Casino.

“Shut up,” said Casino.

“Nadenka!” Uliana called out and then excitedly pointed at D.Va before unzipping her own thick puffer coat and hurrying over for a pecking cheek kiss from Nadenka.

“Sorry for mix-up, Meka Squad,” Nadenka looked over at the four of them.

“You speak english?” said King.

Nadenka made an ‘eeehhhh’ gesture with her hand, “Not very good,” she said with a shrug, and then elbowed Uliana, “Better than this one, though. She didn’t tell you?”

“Ah!” Uliana scoffed, “Hey!” She admonished her in Russian but Nadenka just gave her a smug smirk.

“I was telling her about that amphibious gwishin mech back in the fall, remember that?” Overlord swung around on their barstool, eyes bright, “The crawler?”

“Yes, we all remember the crawler,” King said quickly, “Now, we should get back to the hotel, before you wander off after another random woman who looks like Casino from behind--”

“But I’m not finished yet!” said Overlord.

“Is true,” said Nadenka, “I want to hear rest of story. I think little blue guy should be D.Va, yeah?”

Uliana gasped as if her girlfriend had just spoken blasphemy, but Overlord just beamed smugly and D.Va snickered a little.

“...we can stay for the story,” said D.Mon.

“What?” said King, “But--”

“And shots,” said Casino.

“Shots!?” King repeated.

“They got snacks, here?” said D.Va, “Kind of want something salty.”

“Hana--!” King was pressing his fingertips to his forehead but Uliana was already flagging down the exhausted looking bald bartender and feverishly talking to him in Russian. D.Va was able to make out the words ‘D.Va’ and ‘Meka Squad’ in her rapid rant. Within seconds shot glasses and little doily-skirted opened mason jars of pickles were being set out on the bar. “...this isn’t happening,” muttered King, but D.Mon just bumped her shoulder into him.

“Come on,” she said, “Think of it as... ‘regional immersive research for the Meka program’s future collaborative efforts.’“

“...I’m writing all of you up to our CO,” said King flatly before Casino held out a filled shot glass to him and he sullenly took it.

“Is this that glitz and glamour you guys are always heading off to?” said D.Va, pushing herself up onto a barstool.

“It might be,” said D.Mon grinning and taking a barstool next to her, “If you came with us more often.”

“New year’s resolution,” said D.Va, crunching one of the bar pickles.

#meka squad #dvamon

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tomiokai · 4 years

Text

Drunk Words, Sober Thoughts || Spencer Reid

Masterlist

A/N: This is a fic I have wanted to write for a long time, and I have read this concept a whole bunch of times from different fandom so it isn’t my original idea. Kudos to whoever made this idea first, I love it, but I did want to write one with my own twist. So yeah, enjoy. I don’t drink so bare with me. Maybe a happy part two, possibly.

Please don’t copy my works, but if you do want to use it as inspiration please give me credit, at least tag me. I do read a lot and when I see my ideas getting stolen and then turned into new stories it really hurts me.

Summary: After Y/n and Spencer’s one-sided breakup, Y/n gets drunk on their breakup anniversary and calls Spencer and admits that she still loves him and that she is mothering his child. This is after prison Spencer so he isn’t as nice!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Angst

Warnings: Angst. Not a happy ending, I really wanted it to be a happy ending but life sucks so whatever. Alcohol obviously. Have your tissues ready if you are sensitive. Swearing.

Word Count: 3.2k

“I’m sorry Y/n but I don’t love you anymore. Everything about us is just so complicated. We’re always fighting and arguing, and my job is very stressful and time-consuming, our fire burned out a long time ago and we just don’t belong together anymore. I just can’t do this with you, I’m sorry and I hope you’ll find someone else and please forgive me one day”

Those were the words that ended our 2-year relationship. Spencer didn’t love me anymore. He left me standing there in the rain outside of the BAU, 10 o’clock at night, in the dark, alone. He walked away from me, from our child that he didn’t even know about, I was going to tell him but he left before I could. And I knew that if I told him about our child I would burden him with our child. With me.

Of course the team was devastated when they were informed that we had broken up.

Garcia, JJ, Emily, and I still hang out regularly, we would go to nightclubs, and bars and all sorts of fun places together, we never lost our connection with each other. Spencer was a topic that was never brought up when we hung out, but when he was the whole mood would be killed.

Rossi and I would meet up every second Saturday of the month and we would have a nice dinner together and talk, nothing romantic, only a father-daughter relationship. He was also the godfather to Spencer and I’s child. And of course Penelope was the godmother, it was a tough decision between the girls, but since Penelope had the least dangerous part of the job she was the best choice.

Henry Y/l/n Reid was the beautiful baby boy I had given birth to on October 31 weighing 7.6 pounds. A coincidence to say the least, it was on Spencer’s favorite holiday. He took up almost all of Spencer’s facial features, only leaving Henry with my y/h/c hair, and plump lips. He looked too much like Spencer, anyone who looked at Henry would immediately assume he was Spencer’s. When I was in labor, practically the whole team came rushing to the hospital leaving Spencer alone at the BAU for a few hours. I had made everyone keep it a secret to not tell Spencer until I decided too and so when they had gone back they all had their own excuses. It has been two years since our breakup, I had raised him myself, along with the girls, and Rossi. It was hard being a single mother, 2-year-old Henry had definitely inherited Spencer’s genius brain and had on multiple occasions asked where his daddy was. Every time the answer would be, “Daddy has a very busy job and doesn’t have time, he travels a lot, but he’s coming back really soon”. And that was how it went every single day for two years.

On many occasions JJ would suggest I tell Spencer but every time I would decline and say, “not yet”.

All this time I was still madly in love with Spencer. Every night I would cry myself to sleep knowing the person I loved the most other than Henry didn’t love me back. He had moved on, on several occasions Emily would come to tell me about the girls she would see Spencer flirting with. It wasn’t something I wanted to know, but I needed to know. A very small part of my heart suggests that if I had told Spencer the night I found out about Henry he would have never left me, but Spencer had stopped loving me long before that and telling him would burden him to me. I loved him, so so much, and it was all my fault he didn’t love me back. Rossi, every time we met up would tell me it wasn’t my fault that Spencer had fallen out of love with me, but deep down inside of me it felt like it was. Maybe it was because of Maeve, maybe not.

Laying in bed crying, that is exactly what I was doing right this moment. The tears spilling out of my eyes staining the plush white pillow under my head, my body curled in the fetal position. Trembling, shaking, coldness, and the choked sobs from my lips filled the air. Henry completely oblivious of what's happening, was sleeping in the room next door. Whenever Henry saw me cry he would wrap me in a tight long hug, his small arms squeezing me tightly, his cheek on my shoulders, he never said anything, just hugged me. He truly was a smart little boy.

Tonight's tears were different. They didn’t just come out of my eyes, they poured out. Today marked the official 2 year break up anniversary, two whole years knowing the person you loved the most probably had someone else on their mind.

‘He never loved you.’

‘He’s too good for you.’

‘He hates you.’

‘He loves someone else.’

‘He wants nothing to do with you.’

‘He left you alone.’

‘YOU WEREN’T GOOD ENOUGH, THAT’S WHY HE LEFT YOU.’

‘YOU'RE A WHORE.’

‘YOU'RE UGLY.’

‘YOU DON’T DESERVE LOVE.”

The voices never stopped, slapping at my brain. The pounding just got worse whenever I tried to ignore it.

That's it. I bolted up from my bed and started walking towards the kitchen. Wine, Vodka, Beer, all those sounded great right now. And you know what that’s exactly what's going to happen. To get wasted. I’m never this reckless, but tonight, tonight was an exception, it hurt too much, the pain jabbing at my heart was too much to handle.

I stomped quietly down the halls of my apartment and swung the kitchen cabinet door that held the booze open. Nothing.

Plan b.

Grabbing the skimpiest dress I owned I threw it on and taped up on some light makeup. The dress I had on looked so slutty I almost decided to just cancel my plans, the dress was a deep dark shade of emerald green, it had almost the thinnest straps, a plunging neckline, and a skirt that stopped at the top of my thighs. For makeup a smokey eye with gold and blood-red lipstick. I grabbed my long y/h/c hair and pulled it into a slick, tight ponytail at the top of my head and turned to the bathroom mirror. I looked like a desperate whore, I had thought to myself as I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. The jabbing was not going to let me rest so I threw my stupid thoughts about being a whore out of my head and called Rossi.

David picked up on the third ring.

“Y/n why are you calling me at 10:30pm?” David’s voice came from the other end.

“I’m so sorry David for waking you up so late but could you please please please come to my apartment and watch Henry for a few hours? He’s asleep already! All you have to do is listen for him.” My voice pleaded, sounding more desperate than the time I begged Spencer to come back.

“Fine, but you owe me a coffee tomorrow,” David answered shuffling around his apartment for a coat and his keys. “I’ll be there in 3 minutes.

“Thank you, see you,” I said into the phone and hung up.

Three minutes passed and as Rossi promised he showed up.

I swung the door open as soon as I heard the knock on the door.

Rossi just stood there looking at me with a disapproving look on his face. I could tell he already knew what I was up to. After all he is a profiler.

I stepped aside so David could step in.

“I’m only doing this because I know you need this,” Rossi said stepping in.

“Thank you,” I said a small smile on my face.

“Be safe okay? And don’t do anything you’ll regret.” David said, taking off his coat and sitting down in the armchair by the tv.

“Okay. I’ll be back in a few hours and the guest room is always open.” I said grabbing my purse and closing the door.

I called a cab to take me to the most popular night club. The more people the better. The driver kept eyeing me throughout the entire car ride, and I get why, I did dress like a lady that wanted nothing but attention.

When we stopped in front of the club, I jumped out and threw my money to the driver before he could say anything and walked away and into the club.

The club was crowded as I had suspected, this was good this way I blended in.

As I made my way to the bar part of the club, I felt insane amounts of prying eyes on me, but I chose to ignore all of them.

“I’d like the strongest drink you have here,” I said to the bartender as I slapped down a few bucks.

“Break up?” The bartender asked as he picked up the money.

“You can say that,” I said holding the tears back.

I waited as the male bartender, Elliot I had read on his tag, prepared my drink. All around me were couples dancing and grinding against each other. Jealousy. that's what I was feeling right now at the moment.

The bartender brought back my drink and I downed it in a matter of seconds. What came afterward hit strong. The drink made my mind fuzzy and fluffy. That’s good. I wanted to feel the clouds. Right?

“I’ll take three more of these.” I slurred already dizzy.

“I’m sorry miss but you can’t have more than three of these, they are very strong.” The bartender said back.

“I’ll pay double,” I answered.

“I’m sorry miss, but it's against policy, and I have a good idea how you are feeling, and it may seem like a good idea right now, but it’ll suck later,” Elliot responds back.

“Fine, two more than,” I said handing him more bills.

He took the money without any words and walked to the back to prepare the drinks. I may be no profiler but I can sure as hell tell he thinks I’m psychotic.

Elliot brought back my drinks, and I gave him a quick thanks. I grabbed my second glass and stared around me again. Happy couples everywhere. Ugh. I downed my second glass as an attractive man approached me.

“Hey pretty lady, mind if I take you home for tonight?” The man asked.

I thought about it. I really did. But I loved Spencer way too much. “No thank you,” I answered.

“Come on.” The man said, grabbing my hand roughly. His face dangerously close to mine that I could smell his disgusting breath.

“NO THANKS,” I repeated trying to pull my wrists away.

His hand tightened against my arm. “Come on you whore! You're basically asking for it by the way you're dressed.” The man spat.

I started struggling and pulling but the man wouldn’t let go one bit.

“Hey let her go, the lady said no,” Elliot said approaching the counter towards us.

The man looked at me in disgust and let go of my wrists and walked away stomping his feet.

“Thanks,” I said as tears started spilling out of my eyes.

“Yeah no problem, be safe okay?” He asked.

“Yeah okay,” I answered as I chugged my last glass of alcohol.

I stood up, wobbling, and tried my best to make my way out of the club.

I could still hear the music as I walked out of the club. It was pouring rain outside. Great. My stupid ass didn’t bring a jacket. I saw a phone booth a few feet away and I quickly made my way to it, tripping and stumbling a bit. Everything around me was spinning and I felt like I could be flying right now. I closed the door to the phone booth and just clutched to the wall as I tried to sort out all my thoughts.

Then an idea struck me. Call Spencer Reid.

If I wasn’t drunk I wouldn’t have done it, but now it was too late, the numbers were already dialed, and the phone was already against my ear.

On the fifth ring he picked up. He picked up. Picked up. He actually picked up.

“Hello?” Came Spencer's angelic voice, although he sounded pissed.

“Spencer? Is- Is that you?” I slurred stuttering like crazy. I already knew but I had to make sure.

“Y/n is that you? Why do you sound drunk?” Spencer’s voice came.

“Of course dummy I’m drunk, why else would I be calling.” I laughed, bubbly hiccups erupting my mouth.

“Why are you calling me y/n, it's one in the morning and I’m kind of busy.” He said, definitely pissed. “Wait are you outside?”

“Y-yes,” I answered back.

There was a long pause.

What I said next was not something I would have said if I wasn’t pissed drunk. “I really miss you Spence. And, and I love you so much and I hate that you left m-”

“Stop Y/n I don’t want to hear it. I told you two years ago that I don't love you.” Spencer stopped me.

“Spencer please, please, please. I’m s-s-sorry for whatever i- I did.” I sobbed tears, definitely pouring out of my eyes.

“I’m sorry Y/n. I told you a million ti-.” Before he could finish, a female voice came on. “Hey babe who is that?”

CRACK. That was my heartbreaking.

“I’m not your babe Amanda.” I barely hear, my choked sobs were stopping me from focusing on anything.

“Is-is that a woman?” I clocked out.

“Yes it is, I told you I was kinda busy.” Spencer spat.

That’s it. That’s when I snapped. “THAT’S IT IF YOU’RE GOING TO SLEEP WITH OTHER WOMEN, I WON’T LET YOU MEET HENRY, YOU BASTARD,” I screamed into the poor phone.

My eyes immediately popped open in horror as I realized what I just yelled. I slapped my hand to my mouth in horror. Tears definitely still pouring out my eyes.

“Who’s Henry?” Spencer asked.

“NO. NO. NO. NO.” I screamed on the phone, still in denial.

“Get dressed and get out of my house. GO!” I heard Spencer from a distance. “I’m coming to pick you up,” Spencer said to me.

“Why would you fucking do that?” I cried.

“Because obviously you’re bat shit drunk Y/n. And plus if I left you to die in a random phone box somewhere. Rossi’s going to strangle me. Where are you?” Spencer exclaimed.

“I-I’m on third street in front of the club,” I answered calming down.

“Okay bye.” He said and hung up.

“BITCH!” I yelled into the deadline.

Oh god I’m going to throw up. I ran out of the phone booth and thankfully my hair is already pulled back. I basically threw up everything I ate for dinner. I rubbed my lips with my arm and saw that my red lipstick was rubbed on my arms which only meant one thing it was rubbed on my cheek too.

I stood by the side of the road both hands in front of me holding my handbag, drenched in rainwater, Mascara running down my soaked cheeks, lipstick smudged. And that’s exactly how I looked when Spencer pulled up on the side of the road.

Spencer pulled the door open from his seat and motioned me into his car. I climbed into the car and grabbed the seat belt to fasten it but my head was so spiny it was impossible. Spencer grabbed the seat belt from my hands and roughly shoved it in.

“God you look like a cheap whore,” Spencer stated as he pulled away from the crib.

“I KNOW YOU DON’T HAVE TO RUB IT IN,” I yelled, frustrated.

“Jesus women calm down I’m just saying,” Spencer said calmly, eyes never leaving the road.

I sat there in silence frustrated as hell.

“So who’s Henry? Your new boyfriend?” Spencer sneered.

On any other day when I’m sober I would have played along with it, but no.

“No,” I answered staring straight ahead.

“Then who is he?” Spencer asked, turning his head to me.

“No one.” I spat, making eye contact with him.

“You can’t just bring a random guy up and not tell me!” Spencer said, clearly frustrated.

“YES I CAN,” I yelled.

“JUST TELL ME JESUS CHRIST.” He yelled back.

I bit my lip as I started balling my eyes out.

“Just tell me.” Spencer urged.

“HE’S YOUR TWO-YEAR-OLD SON. OKAY NOW DROP IT!” I snapped.

His eyes widened in surprise. I looked at him in horror, slapping my hand to my mouth.

“I have a son?” Spencer asked, amazed, but also looking angry. “And you didn’t tell me for two years?”

I just nodded covering the rest of my face crying into my hands.

“When were you going to tell me?” He asked.

I didn’t answer.

“WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME?” Spencer yelled.

I looked up at him and his face was all red and he was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles were turning white.

“I don’t know.” I choked out.

We neared my apartment building and Spencer parked his car. “Get out, I’ll call you when I’m less pissed at you.” Spencer managed between clenched teeth.

I just sat there cause I really didn’t know what to do.

“I SAID GET OUT OF MY CAR NOW!” Spencer yelled, his hands in the air now.

“OKAY, BYE,” I screamed back and got out of the car and slammed the door shut. Spencer immediately drove away, no hesitation, and never looked back.

I climbed the stairs to my apartment, tears still pouring out my eyes, dress still soaked, and makeup all over.

When I opened my apartment door Rossi stood up and looked at me. With one look Rossi knew and ran towards me to wrap me in a very tight hug

I dropped my bag onto the floor and hugged Rossi back, crying into his shoulder as he patted my wet hair.

Part two?

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds angst #mgg #mgg imagine #mgg x reader #angst #dr spencer reid smut #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #mgg fluff

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salvejoon · 3 years

Text

Life is Beautifully Ugly (At Times) - pjm | 04

⇒ Warnings for this chapter: Cursing and Jimin almost getting his ass kicked.

⇒ A/N: oaisfjasio this chapter is chaotic, I’m sorry

Your phone rang and when you looked at the clock, you groaned but picked it up, “Why the fuck are you calling at ass o’clock?”

A tiny hand smacked your shoulder, “No bad words, Imo.”

“Ah shit, sorry Hyejin.”

The girl shook her head and rolled over to her side as you got out of bed, “Good morning to you too.” Jimin said.

“Fuck off.” You whispered into the phone and exited the bedroom, “Seriously, it’s like 6.30 AM, Jimin.”

“And?”

“And it’s Saturday. You know… Weekend. A day off. Something that you are in desperate need of.”

“Hm.” With a hum, he brushed you off, “Do you have plans this Monday?”

You raised a brow, “No, why?”

“Good, then I won’t have to ask you to cancel them.”

“Planning to ask me out?” You teased and you could almost hear how hard he rolled his eyes through the phone.

“Not in a million years.”

“Hey, I’m a catch.” You protested.

“Yes, a catch of STDs.”

“No, that’s you.”

Jimin sighed and cleared his throat, “I’ve just spoken to my father-”

“Ugh.”

“I’ve heard from Han and Charlotte’s lawyer and he requested a meeting. A meeting my father will attend. He wants to know if they have a testament.”

“They do and they sure as hell didn’t include him in anything.” You huffed as you entered the kitchen, looking for a mug, “He’s going to be disappointed. It only concerns us and Hyejin.”

“I don’t want to argue with you. Just be there at 10 AM and don’t be late. You know the address for our office building, yes?”

“Of course I do, it’s that tall fugly building.”

He sighed heavily before speaking, “Bye Y/N.”

Monday rolled around and you got up early and got dressed. You opted to go for a simple pair of dark jeans and a white tee. Nothing special. You wanted to be as comfortable as possible while you were in the lion's den. You were already nervous as hell, not need to add to that concerning yourself with how you look.

Namjoon came over half an hour before you were about to head out and Hyejin immediately latched herself onto his leg, “Do you want to watch One Punch man with me, Boon?”

He smiled down at her and picked her up, “I wish I could but Imo and I have to go to a very important meeting soon but when we get back, I’ll watch it with you.”

“You promise?”

He picked her up and kissed her forehead, “I promise. If your Imo lets me, I’ll even sleepover tonight.”

You chuckled as you walked over to them, fingers poking Hyejin’s ribs gently, causing her to giggle, “Boon can stay over if you promise to go to bed when I tell you to.”

Some whining and a pout later, she was in your arms as you invited Mrs. Shin inside the apartment and kissed Hyejin goodbye, telling her to be nice to the older woman.

The drive to the office building had your nervousness rising. Namjoon noticed instantly, of course, “Don’t be nervous, Y/N.”

You swallowed, “But this is it, Joon. I have to sit in a room with lawyers and Jimin and his father and I have to be an adult and I have to think about Hyejin’s future not to forget I’m scared shitless if Han and Charlotte have included that wretched family in the testament.”

“That’s why I’m here. I’m your lawyer and have Hyejin’s best interests in mind.”

You turned your head and smiled at him, “I still need to know what I have to pay you.”

He shook his head, “Absolutely nothing, Y/N.”

“But-”

“Concentrate on driving, sprout and I’ll concentrate on the big decisions.”

Namjoon leaned in and you felt his breath against your ear, “And please try to keep your temper in check.”

You huffed, “I have no idea what you mean.”

“Y/N.”

“Fine, I’ll let you do the talking.”

He nodded satisfied and put his hand on the small of your back, leading you into the meeting room. All eyes fell upon the pair of you, several men dressed in suits looking at you enter the room. You noticed Namjoon inclining his head to some of the others, no doubt some of his acquaintances. You let him lead you to the table but you paused, “Jimin isn’t here.”

“He’s probably a little late.”

You snorted, “And he told me not to be late.”

Your best friend checked his watch, “It’s only 9.55 AM. Calm down.”

You crossed your arms, “Fine.”

Namjoon smiled at you before one of the other men tapped his shoulder and he excused himself for a moment. You stood by the chair, debating with yourself if you should sit down or if it would seem rude. Not wanting to risk anything, you kept standing. You could still feel some eyes on you and you cursed softly under your breath. It was making you anxious. You wanted to leave the room.

A commotion made you turn your head towards the entrance to the room and you saw Jimin enter, his eyes landing on you as the first and he nodded towards you. You nodded back and watched as he greeted the other men in the room. Then his father entered the room and you felt shivers run down your back. That man had a commanding presence, you had to give him that.

Jimin’s attention was on his father the moment he grabbed his shoulder and you could see how they whispered to each other, his father bitching about you being there, no doubt.

The man you guessed was a mediator of sorts greeted all the people in the room and asked them politely to please sit down. Namjoon was at your side in a flash, pulling out the chair for you before sitting down himself. You kept your hands in your lap as you listened to the guy explain the purpose of the meeting.

“As Mr. and Mrs. Park’s lawyer, I believe I should go first.”

“That’s their lawyer, Harris Wong.” Namjoon whispered to you and you nodded. Harris pulled out his briefcase, opened it and pulled out a small stack of papers.

“I have their testament right here.” He said and put on his glasses as he began to read out loud. Some legal stuff that didn’t really concern you at first, it was only at the possessions section that your ears perked and listened.

All of their savings were to be transferred to a bank account in Hyejin’s name, as well as the money from the apartment and cars after they’ve been sold. Other personal belongings with emotional value were to be given amongst family members if they wanted something.

So far you were relieved that Hyejin at least had her adult life settled with money. She would have the account unlocked once she turned 18 and it was approved by her guardians.

“Speaking of guardians, there’s the matter of their daughter, Hyejin Park. Han and Charlotte have written their wishes down to ensure that their daughter would continue to stay with family.”

You fisted your shirt in your lap as you listened, “They wished for Han’s brother, Park Jimin-”

Your heart fell. Namjoon put his hand above one of yours in comfort. You had hoped that you would become the guardian of your niece but if it was what they wished then you’d have no say in it.

“And Charlotte’s sister, Miss Y/N Y/L/N, to become the child’s guardians. Equal parental rights.”

At this, Jimin’s father stood up from his chair and glared at Harris, “This woman is to become the guardian of my grandchild?”

Harris took off his glasses, “It’s what they wanted and has taken legal action to make it happen.”

“She doesn’t even have citizenship!”

“I’ll make sure she gets a permanent resident visa, Mr. Park.” Namjoon said, his voice stern and professional as he leveled the older man with a hard stare.

“She doesn’t have a steady income! How will she afford schooling, tutoring-”

“Your son is also guardian to your granddaughter, Mr. Park, as thus it is also his responsibility.” Harris countered.

“I believe it would be in the child’s best interests if I should become her sole guardian. I can provide her with the best tutoring and-”

“Absolutely fucking not!” You stood up with a slam on the table, “I will not let my niece become just another asset to earn some money on. Sure, you can probably provide her with the best of the best but what about love? Care? Will you come into her room at night when she’s crying for her parents and console her? When she gets older and asks about her mother, what will you say? ‘Oh, I didn’t bother to get to know your mother because I hated her.’”

“You will watch your tone.” Mr. Park warned but you didn’t care. He could try to use his intimidation shit on you as much as he wanted to.

You were a little scared of him under normal circumstances but certainly not when it was your niece’s future that was at stake.

“I will do no such thing. You don’t scare me, old man. You are really out of your damn mind if you think you could do a better job. I’ve been there every step of the way with Hyejin. I was there at her birth and every single birthday. I watched Han’s heart break every time Hyejin asked about her grandfather. I was there when he cried because you had called him a failure and a disgrace to the family simply because he fell in love with my sister. I saw the mental damage you gave him over the years. I’ll be damned if I let her go with you and be raised by a fucking nanny! The audacity you elitist fucks have-”

“Y/N, that’s enough.” Namjoon said, pulling you down to your chair, “My client has nothing else to say.” And he kicked your shin under the table as you opened your mouth.

Jimin sighed quietly. He didn’t know if he should be appalled by your behavior, his father’s idea of thinking he would be a better guardian or by the fact that you left the room in anger, Namjoon tailing after you, excusing the both of you. What an absolute circus.

His father turned to him as soon as the door closed, “Who does that woman think she is?”

“Hyejin’s guardian, sir.”

“There has to be some way to get her to relinquish the guardianship. The child would best be off in my care. Perhaps we should offer her money. That sort of woman wants money above all else.” His father continued and Jimin had the feeling that his day was about to get worse.

“I told you to keep your temper in check!” Namjoon, ever calm and calculated, a patient man, your constant rock the last decade, was currently yelling at you.

He had never raised his voice towards you before.

You must’ve really fucked up.

“J-Joon, I’m sorry but that old fucker just-”

“I don’t want to hear it. God-fucking-dammit!” He kicked the wheel of the car and you winced when he yelped in pain.

“Please don’t hurt yourself.” You said but he shot you a glare so intense, you lowered your head like a child being scolded.

“You, no, we will be lucky if he doesn’t drag this to court to try and prove you unfit to be her guardian, Y/N. You do realize that he can hire the best of the best in the field without batting an eye.”

“But you’re the best of the best, Joonie.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere right now, woman.”

You huffed and crossed your arms, leaning against the car, “Fine! I’m sorry, okay?! Just please don’t be mad. I know I fucked up royally and-”

“Royally would be an understatement.”

“I never thought I’d see the day where you two would be having a fight.” Came Jimin’s voice as he approached the two of you. You glared at him, stomping up to him and with a finger, poked his chest hard.

“You were of absolutely no help in there, you ass! Why didn’t you say anything?” You chided, growing angrier at his passive face.

“I didn’t want to get involved more than necessary in this mess. I don’t control my father.” He said cooly.

“Well, you’re in deep seeing as we are now the guardians of Hyejin!”

“Unless you say yes.”

“Say yes to what?”

“Say yes to money and give my father what he wants.”

The silence stretched for more than a minute and you simply stared at him until you saw red and grabbed the front of his suit with one hand and formed a fist with your other hand, “YOU ASSHOLE!”

Namjoon had to move quickly before your fist connected with Jimin’s jaw. He grabbed you tightly and moved you backward away from Jimin, who looked a little surprised at your sudden aggression.

“Let me go right now!” You trashed against him, “I’m going to beat him into a bloody pulp!”

“You’re out of your mind.” Jimin spat.

“The second I get free, I’ll make sure to show you just how much!”

“Calm down!”

“Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down, Namjoon! This motherfucker really thinks that he can bribe me with money to give up Hyejin to his sick fuck of a father!”

“I don’t believe any of the sort, woman! I simply passed on what my father planned.” Jimin said and you stopped moving in Namjoon’s arms, “I know no amount of money will get you to give up Hyejin but my father thinks so.”

You looked like you thought about it for a second but then, “Or it’s just so you can get out of it!”

“I will respect my brother’s wish of taking care of Hyejin.” Jimin countered as he stepped closer to you, ignoring Namjoon’s warning gaze, “Don’t you dare insinuate otherwise.”

“You were certainly quick to suggest otherwise and now I’m supposed to believe you meant something else? Fuck off!”

“My father is in no way shape or form able to take care of a child. He doesn’t realize how big of a burden-”

“Oh! So now she’s a burden?!” You began thrashing again and Namjoon groaned loudly, “Let me go! I’ll rearrange your fucking face, Park Jimin!”

“I think the pair of you will make excellent guardians for Hyejin.” Namjoon said quietly to himself, while still struggling to keep you caged in his arms, “What a fucking mess.”

#jimin x fem!reader

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httpjeon · 5 years

Text

— 05. bunny blues: betrayal | yoongi & jungkook

yoongi/reader/jungkook | angst, fluff | hybrid!au

wordcount: 2k

contents: crying, mild arguments, protective!jk, lightly implied abandonment, namjoon is mentioned yay, implied to mxm relationship, implied reference to sex toys

― synopsis: while snooping in yoongi's room, you find something that turns things completely upside down.

note: now it's yoongi's turn to fuck up yay

blog masterlist ɪɴᴅᴇx: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 06 | 07 | 08

"Are you sure you'll be okay?" Yoongi pressed, scratching your soft bunny ear, making you smile. "I can ask Hoseok or Jimin to—"

"It'll be okay, Yoongi," You reassured, taking his hand in yours. "I can be home alone, I promise!"

"Alright," Yoongi sighed, sliding his shoes onto his feet. "If you need anything, my cell number is by the phone okay?"

"And there's leftovers in the fridge, okay Bun?" Jungkook smiled, patting your head as you nodded.

"I know," You weren't really surprised by how difficult it was to get them to leave. They weren't exactly keen on letting you be home all by yourself. However, Yoongi had received a call that your dresser needed to be picked up. As it was heavy, Jungkook offered to join and help carry it. Since they would need to put the back seat down in Yoongi's car to fit the dresser, you didn't have a place to sit.

Thus, they came to the decision to leave you home alone for the first time.

Once they were gone and the house was quiet, you decided to sit and watch some TV. You sat and watched some cartoons Jungkook had introduced you to, letting the hours tick by quickly as you became engrossed in the colorful pictures and silly shenanigans of the characters.

However, when the good shows went off and something boring began to play, you got curious.

You were allowed in Yoongi's room and you had ventured in there whenever you helped with laundry or you needed to wake him up. But you hadn't ever been in there to really look around — you were almost scared you'd get in trouble. Though, deep down, you knew those feelings were unfounded. Yoongi had claimed numerous times what was his was yours and he wouldn't punish your natural curiosity of the space you lived in.

So with Yoongi and Jungkook gone — it was the perfect opportunity to have a look.

You almost felt like a spy as you crept into the bedroom.

You peeked through his night table, finding a little bottle of clear liquid with a label that said 'water-based lubricant'. Shrugging, you put it back where you found it and closed the drawer.

Next you began to snoop through his dresser — which resulted in nothing. So you decided to search his closet, touching his various work clothes before pausing when you lay your eyes on a box. It was sitting inconspicuously in the back of his closet and you were immediately curious of its contents.

Kneeling down, you unhooked the snaps that held it closed and opened it.

Inside, you were shocked to see an array of...toys, maybe? They were in different sizes but they all resembled the same cylindrical shape. However, there was also a collection of bulbous things and some had pretty gems on the end. You also found a few bandanas, pieces of rope, and even a pair of handcuffs.

You hummed, closing the box and leaving it alone — deciding to maybe ask Yoongi about it later if you could work up the courage to reveal your snooping.

The next place you had your sights on was his work desk — nestled in the corner of his room with a chair that you happily sat in. There was a laptop and a phone there that matched the one in the kitchen. Sometimes Yoongi would answer it from his desk when it rang. There was a file organizer that was similar to what Joonie had on his desk, you remember accidentally knocking it over one time which made Namjoon mad.

He'd hurt your feelings by yelling at you but immediately felt bad and took you out for some ice cream to apologize.

As you looked through the files, you found one with your name on it that was next to a similar one with Jungkook’s name on it. As much as you'd like to read what Jungkook's said, you were more curious to know what your file held.

When you flipped it open, you found an overview of your previous doctors appointments with your breed, height, and weight. It also contained the papers Namjoon had given Yoongi as a guide for your care. They had become worn and a little torn in some places from Yoongi, no doubt, diligently going over their contents numerous times. However, when you flipped past all of that you came across what appeared to be an advertisement.

'Looking for a good home for hybrid.

Breed: Holland Lop — Rabbit Hybrid

Name: _____

Sex: Female

Very loving and affectionate. Gets along well with other hybrids. Rehomed at least once prior.'

You stared at the paper, your picture plastered on the front of it — taken from your official papers you had to get renewed every year to remain a valid hybrid-citizens. Your eyebrows came together in confusion as you flipped past the page and found a list of names and numbers; people who were interested in adopting you. Yoongi had crossed out some names with little comments claiming a home ranging from 'too disorganized' to plain 'unfit'.

Your breathing began to speed up at the realization that Yoongi was looking to re-home you. Tears began to prick at your eyes as you felt a rush of emotions crash through you. You were sad, hurt, confused, angry and disappointed all in one. It was painful, made your chest hurt.

You didn't understand! You thought everything was going so well! He bought you so much stuff, he was out getting you a dresser so you could have even more clothes and belongings. Jungkook had accepted you as part of them, had shared his story with you.

All the while they were just planning on getting rid of you? So why go through all the trouble of making a room?

Perhaps Yoongi had found another hybrid to adopt — someone cuter, prettier, more well behaved, or someone Jungkook liked more than you.

You felt jealous and betrayed. You didn't realize you had crumpled the paper in your hands through your anger and tears.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang and you jumped. Throwing the papers on the ground without a care, you stormed out of Yoongi's room to the front door.

You expected to see the two of them standing there and you were ready to yell at them. However, when you threw the door open, you were shocked to see a young man and woman standing there. They both looked as stunned as you felt. Though they had a perfect reason to feel shocked as a crying, angry bunny opened the door to greet them wearing an ugly frown.

"I-I...Are you okay?" The woman cooed, mouth dropping open in concern at your tears.

You halfway hid behind the door, sniffling pitifully.

"What do you want?" You muttered, trying not to sound rude though you did want them gone as soon as possible.

"Are you _____?" The man asked and you merely nodded.

"Is Min Yoongi here? He was supposed to visit us about your adoption..." The woman trailed off when you let out a little sob. “He didn't show up so we—”

"He's not here!" You snapped, ready to just slam the door.

"We—"

"What's going on?" A familiar voice growled and both the human's heads whipped around to see Jungkook standing at his full height — completely on guard, shoulders squared, at the sight of strangers and you crying. "What the hell did you do?!"

"Us?! We didn't do anything!" The man snapped, looking like he was going to approach Jungkook but froze when the hybrid snarled in response.

"Whoa, hey!" Yoongi finally jogged up, freezing when he took in everything that was going on. "And you are?"

"Park Sunhi and Kang Sangmin...you never showed up for the adoption consultation so we came to the address you gave us to see for ourselves!" Sunhi quickly explained, wanting to diffuse the situation as much as Yoongi.

"Adoption?!" Jungkook snarled, turning to glare at Yoongi who looked horrified.

"She just came to the door sobbing, my god," Sangmin snapped. "It's a good thing you're putting her up because you obviously have no idea how to care for her!"

"How dare you!" Yoongi was fuming now, not appreciating the accusation.

"She's not up for adoption!" Jungkook added, finally going inside to pull you against him where you began to cry once more.

"That's not your decision to make, mutt!" Sangmin argued, an insult which tore another growl from Jungkook.

You'd never seen the happy pup so angry before. His whole body was trembling against yours and his teeth were bared in pure aggression — like he was ready to attack the man at any moment. If looks could kill the man would be 6 feet under at that very second.

"P-Please calm down," Yoongi sighed, stepping in to block you and Jungkook from the strangers view, though Jungkook still towered over him from behind. "It was a mistake on my part. I forgot to inform you that she is no longer eligible for adoption."

"This is ridiculous! We drove all the way here from Gwangju!" Sangmin snapped.

"I-I know I'm sorry...it completely slipped my mind to cancel..." Yoongi explained, trying his best to diffuse the situation. "I'd be happy to compensate you for the money you spent to get here but—"

"Save your fuckin' money, asshole," Sangmin's hostile words had Jungkook growling again, pulling you deeper into his body protectively as he also reached to grip the back of Yoongi’s shirt ready to protect his owner as well.

"Honey—" Sunhi didn't have a chance to finish before her husband was pulling her away angrily.

Yoongi heaved a huge sigh before slowly closing the door. However, if he thought he was going to get a moment of reprieve, he was wrong.

"What the fuck, hyung?!" Jungkook cried, finally letting you go. You were shocked — it was the first time you'd ever heard him cuss or raise his voice in anger at Yoongi. "You were going to put her up for adoption?! How could you do that?"

"I-I'm sorry, Jungkook...____," Your name had you looking at him through teary eyes.

"Y-You don't want me?" You whimpered, tugging anxiously at your ear that flopped over your face sadly.

"Oh baby," Yoongi sighed, breezing past Jungkook to cup your cheeks in his hands. "The exact opposite."

"Th-Then why..."

"It was when you were depressed," Yoongi began to explain, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. "I thought you were unhappy with me and Jungkook. I thought that you'd be happier in another home so I was looking to find you someone you could live with..."

"B-But I wanna stay here!" You sobbed, bottom lip quivering. Jungkook moved forward again, burying his face in your neck to nose to scent you — trying to comfort you. Your shoulders relaxed in response as his spicy scent wafted around you, making you sniffle.

"I know that now," Yoongi squatted down at your feet, taking your hands in his and looking up at you. "And that's why I've actually been looking to officially adopt you."

There was a beat of silence before you were throwing yourself into Yoongi's arms, effectively knocking him over. He laughed, hugging you tightly with both arms around your waist.

"You mean it, hyung?" Jungkook asked, grinning as he kneeled down beside the two of you on hand on the back of your head with the other on Yoongi’s shoulder.

"Absolutely, I love you both to bits," Yoongi admitted and you gasped.

It was the first time he had told you he loved you!

"I love you too, Yoongi!" You squealed, rubbing your cheek against the soft material of his shirt. "And you too Kookie!"

"I-I love you guys too," Jungkook admitted, finally joining in on the group hug on the floor. His voice was a little watery as he held back tears but neither you or Yoongi mentioned it.

Not that Jungkook would admit getting emotional anyway.

Later on, Yoongi would come out of his bedroom flustered — cheeks and ears pink.

"_-_____ did you go through my closet?" He asked, which had Jungkook stiffening as well.

"Hm? Oh yeah!" You admitted carelessly, popping a raw carrot into your mouth.

"D-Did you look in our-my box?" He asked, looking like he was going to pass out when you nodded your head.

"Say, what are all those funny things in there anyway?"

Beside you, Jungkook choked on a chicken nugget.

3K notes · View notes

aloysiavirgata · 4 years

Text

Henry Compilation

@perplexistan is an outstanding human who compiled all my little Henry ficlets into one document for me. So here it is, for your perusal. It all began with this:

Anonymous asked: Would scully consider remarrying if she wouldn't work it out with mulder in season 11? ;)

@kateyes224

As long as Mulder is around, I don’t know that she’d be willing to start from scratch. But that makes me very sad for Scully. If she and Mulder did decide that they couldn’t be together, I would want for her to find someone who loved and appreciated her and made her feel completed, even if that person wasn’t Mulder. I just think the ways that she and Mulder have been rent apart by this life mean that their torn edges fit together in a way that makes them as whole as they can possibly be.

AV:

She gets the younger two out the door in time for the bus, backpacks bouncing as they run down the block. Their sister had left well over an hour ago, driving herself to school for early lacrosse practice. Scully shuts the door once Alice and Simon join the cluster of children trooping along the sidewalk. Everyone knows there is safety in numbers.

The dog, a half-grown keeshond, trots over in response to the breakfast noises. “Here, Wicket,” Scully says. “It’ll make your coat shiny.” She scrapes leftover eggs into his dish before fitting the greasy plates into the dishwasher.

Footsteps on the stairs, and Scully smooths her hair back.

“Morning,” Henry says, grabbing a nectarine from the bowl. He wears only striped pajama pants. “Thanks for getting them out the door.”

“Mmm, not a problem. You almost never get to sleep in.” She smiles, tips her face up to his.

He kisses her, and Scully tastes toothpaste and Listerine. “You’re an angel,” Henry claims.

Not me, she thinks. But Joan is. Henry’s first wife, the mother of his children, the lover of keeshonds, the gardener of exotic bulbs, is dead and beyond reproach. Scully finds her harmless, though occasionally irritating. The children find her flawless.

Henry pours them each a cup of coffee, fixes hers exactly how she likes. Scully settles onto a bar stool to savor it.

“Good?” he asks.

“Perfect.”

Henry beams.

She watches her husband as he putters around the kitchen, dumping coffee grounds into the composter, putting frozen fruit into the Vitamix. His back is broad and muscular in the buttery morning light, his silver-flecked hair gleaming.

“You eat?” he asks, after his smoothie has been whirred to perfection.

“Eggs with the kids.”

“They love you,” he says happily, if not accurately. “Can you believe we’re coming up on a year, Dana?”

She cannot. The wedding had been small. Quiet. Family attended, some of their friends from work. Joan’s parents, uncomfortably.

Mulder had sent flowers for her, gifts for the children.

Scully takes another swallow of coffee. “Paper anniversary, Henry. Hot date at Barnes and Noble?”

He walks over, wraps his arms around her from behind. Scully leans into the heat of his chest, her head on his bicep. She sighs with contentment as he noses her hair.

“I was thinking plane tickets,” Henry murmurs, nuzzling her neck. “Paris. Rome. Somewhere decadent. Between work and the kids you’re running yourself absolutely ragged, Dana. Joan’s parents can take the younger two, and Vivian can stay home by herself if she wants.”

Paris. All she has seen of Paris is the airport, eating overpriced pain au chocolat while Mulder argued with the ticket agent in his lousy French. They barely made their flight.

“Paris,” Scully muses. “I could do Paris.”

“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi?” Henry asks, purring in her ear.

She rolls her eyes. “So predictable.”

“I’m a tax attorney, Dana. I’m supposed to be predictable.”

She laughs a little. Predictable. Solid, predictable Henry with his beautiful children and his beautiful house and his beautiful wives. She has never heard him say a truly unkind thing about anyone. He is a charter Rotarian and a sucker for the wounded animals Simon brings home. He’s been unfailingly gracious to Mulder on the few occasions they’ve met. He’s a wonderful dancer.

“Predictable is good,” she assures him. Henry would never ditch her in strange motels or mix her up in a global conspiracy. Henry calls when he’s running late.

“You have time for a run before work?” he asks.

“I wish I did. I’ve got a consult with a family in about an hour.” Scully turns the bar stool, looking up at Henry’s green eyes. She takes his face in her hands, thumbing his jaw. “Paris sounds lovely. I’ll talk to Gwen about my schedule today.”

He kisses her palm. “You deserve Paris.”

Scully holds him close and doesn’t tell him how rarely anyone gets what they deserve.

***

From @mangokiwitropicalswirl

[I could NOT stop thinking about your short brilliant painful take on Scully’s marriage to Henry, and I woke up needing to write this. If you think it fits your vision of things in that universe, feel free to share!]

***

Note from AV: There are not WORDS to describe what a compliment this is, my goodness. <3 Thank you, @mangokiwitropicalswirl

***

On the morning Scully marries him, she takes a long look in the mirror as she smooths her hair and touches up her makeup. It goes without saying, without thinking, that she wishes her mother were here. Maggie would have cried to see her in the ivory dress, would have coddled the step-grandchildren, would have joined her elbows-deep in topsoil in his garden.

Everyone believes the day that you get married you’ll feel uniquely whole, blissfully free from uncertainties. Happy.

And she is. She catches her own gaze in the mirror and knows that she’s the only one who’d see the wistful mote of resignation in her eyes. But not a resignation of defeat, it’s one of understanding. She better understands at fifty now than she did at thirty that there are choices. Always choices.

Someone told her once that love flows through us like water, softening our edges the way water wears down sandstone, or even granite. It carves out space for itself inside of us, making us larger, widening the heart.

Mulder’s love had been a tumult, a raging river, a flood. It had opened her like a canyon, revealed a grandscape of dizzying heights and crevices inside her. It had split over into corners she herself had not explored. Together, their love had flowed and thrashed and roiled, until she was hollowed out like a deepend cavern, like a riverbank destroyed by sudden flood.

And then it had receded, slowly, like the bitter end of a geologic age.

The thin ribbon that still trickles through her even now was not enough to fill the newly-barren spaces. As years went on, the heart crumbled like loose rock, eroding like a monument to a long forgotten era.

Contrary to popular belief, love is not all you need. Sometimes you need therapy. And meds. And sometimes you need to let it go.

On the little card that came along with flowers there was just one word, “Always.– M”.

There were years she would have bristled at the word, hearing in it all the codependency and desperate possession that were the hallmarks of their bond. But she hears it now the way she knows he means it, with the openness of someone who will always be her friend. Before all of it, at the very heart of it, he had been her dearest friend.

When Henry came into her life, it crept up on her like the warm waters of a bending river. His love curled and soothed and nourished until she felt green and young.

In the mirror, she smiles the half-smile of a woman blessed to find there’s more of her to give. And more to know. She dabs perfume on each wrist and behind her ears, between the shadowed valley of her breasts. Beneath them in the hollow of her chest, she’s wider now and knowing, surprised and grateful she is able to bloom again.

***

Anonymous asked: So even though Scully and Henry have this perfect life, which I love, what kind of things do they fight about? Is Scully relieved it's not about conspiracy or monsters in the dark? How do they handle arguments and disagreements? Also, I love Mulder dearly but Henry is kind of perfect....which is a little scary but awesome at the same time.

They really don’t fight much. They disagree (Henry’s a bit more liberal than Scully) they annoy each other on occasion (he constantly fails to put his laundry in the hamper and she moves all the papers he leaves on the kitchen island) but fights? No, no fights.

N.B. Before anyone messages me to say how boring that sounds, let me explain that I have been with my husband for upwards of 17 years. In that time, we have had 2 fights. Like, ugly unpleasant ones. Lots of arguments and disagreements, but two fights. Our relationship isn’t boring, and I refuse to even entertain the validity of the notion that relationships need drama to be exciting.

One of the things I love best about Iolokus is that Rivka and Sally show Mulder and Scully figuring that out, that conflict isn’t necessary for intellectual stimulation.

***

Anonymous asked: So I know Mulder and Henry aren't hanging out playing poker together every Thursday night, but are there any occasions where they do find themselves in the same room? What was that first size-up like from either guy's perspective?

Scully has scheduled the dinner at a restaurant so it isn’t on anyone’s turf. Besides, Mulder’s house would be torture and she finds Henry’s elaborate kitchen somewhat daunting. She agonizes over reviews and menus, trying to eliminate as many variables as possible. Henry had tried to help, but her snippiness drove him off in short order. She is nauseous for a week beforehand, asking Henry if she had lost her mind and should cancel, asking Mulder the same.

“I want to meet him,” Henry says, passing her a glass of wine. “He’s part of you, so he’s important to me.”

“If this is to get my blessing, Scully,” Mulder says over the phone, “you already have it. But yeah, I’d like to meet the guy wonderful enough for you to ignore the fact that his job title contains the words tax and attorney.”

***

She puts on a black sheath dress, then decides it looks too much like the one from their movie premiere. My god, the movie…has Henry seen it? Or Viv? She is afraid to ask, and afraid not to know. She pushes the thought from her mind for now, pushes her and Mulder and that limo away. Scully rummages through her closet with increasing anxiety, finally settling on a burgundy pencil skirt and fitted navy sweater. Her hair is being impossible, and after half an hour with the curling iron, she opts for a French twist. She keeps her makeup light and tosses back a handful of Tums to quell the acid tide in her stomach.

Henry’s in jeans and a blazer, drinking coffee with Viv and her girlfriend. There’s a heated argument about Iron Man taking place. “You look great,” Henry says. “Ready?”

“No. But let’s do it anyway.” She plucks at invisible fuzz on her skirt.

He takes her arm and they head to the garage.

“Have fun at the circus, kids!” Viv calls after them.

***

They are seated at a table for four, Henry and Mulder facing one another, herself between. She holds a multigrain roll from the breadbasket in her lap, using her nails to pull out every tiny piece of millet, extract every last pumpkin seed. She drops them to the floor like daisy petals.

“I read your book,” Henry says. “Really impressive research. I recommended it to some colleagues.”

Mulder stirs his drink. “Thanks. Spend a lot of time on the dark web between billable hours, Henry?”

Scully kicks him lightly under the table, nostrils flared.

Henry chuckles. “No, I’m just a dilettante.”

The silence is thick and heavy as they peruse their menus, and Scully curses herself for this egregious decision. The back of her neck prickles, her face is hot and itchy. Moments stretch like saltwater taffy on a summer day.

“So, uh, Henry,” Mulder says at last, rubbing the side of his face.

Henry looks up. “Yep?”

“My, uh, my finances are pretty complicated due to some trusts and inheritances, plus my pension. The accountant I’ve been using is retiring. You think you could recommend anybody trustworthy?”

“Oh, absolutely. I’ve got a great guy in Alexandria,” Henry says. “He’ll save you a fortune.”

Mulder nods thoughtfully. “”I’ll put it towards my post-apocalyptic underground bunker. To which, of course, you’re all invited when the end times come upon us.”

Henry’s eyes crinkle at the corners, Scully sees, and her chest loosens. “We’ll bring a pie,” Henry says.

Mulder smiles. “Don’t let Scully make it. Great cook, lousy baker.”

The waitress comes for their orders, and they are chatting easily by the time the food arrives.

***

Henry sits outside on the porch, staring up at the sky. He names the constellations to himself as he sips a tumbler of Macallan. Dana perches on the arm of his Adirondack chair, knees drawn up to her chest.

“I like him,” Henry says at length. “Very funny guy.”

Dana nods slowly. “He is.”

Henry crunches an ice cube. “He’s still in love with you.”

“Does it bother you?’

He looks at her, ethereal in the moonlight. He is afraid at times that he will awake to find she has disappeared, burned off like the mist. “I want everyone to love you.”

She shakes her head, smiling. “Henry.”

“You love him too,” Henry says.

She hunches her shoulders, glances down. “Does that bother you?”

It might, he’s not sure. He felt the ineffable thing between them, but he understands the weight of history. “Love doesn’t have to be a zero sum game. Is there space in you for both of us?”

“It is impossible for more than one object to occupy the same space at the same time,” she says. “There are different spaces for each of you.”

Henry considers this. “Why’d you leave, Dana?”

She cants her face to the sky, eyes wide. “There’s a…a recklessness in me, Henry. A self destructiveness you haven’t seen.”

Is this where his gentle doctor ends and Mulder’s sure-shot partner begins? “Scully,” he says, trying it out.

Her eyes slide closed. “Don’t.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t…please keep going.”

“That part of me blooms with him. It thrives. And I knew, I know, I couldn’t live like that. I couldn’t survive it another year. And I…I ripped it away and left it behind. That’s the place in me for you, Henry. That wound. You and Viv and Alice and Simon; you heal me there.”

He hears the thickness in her voice, feels it rising in his own. “Dana,” he says roughly. He knows about wounds and empty spaces. A piece of him went into the dark earth with Joan.

She turns her head to look at him, a slice of her lovely profile. “If that’s too much, I understand. I do. It’s a lot to ask.”

He shakes his head. “I’d rather share you than lose you,” he breathes. “If I….if I can make you feel whole, that’s a privilege.”

She makes a small noise, a hiccup or a sob, and crawls into his lap.

“It’s okay,” he says, arms wrapping around her. He kisses her temples, her eyelids.

She curls tight against his beating heart.

***

They don’t bother with the superfluity of hellos. She calls, he answers, they talk.

“I liked him,” Mulder says, bouncing a basketball. “I didn’t particularly want to, but he seems like the kind of person people just like.” Mulder finds this a kind of character flaw of its own, but does not mention as much.

“Yes,” Scully says, her voice soft. “He is.”

“A tax attorney though, Scully. Ouch.”

“Mulder, please.” The note of actual pleading in her voice startles him.

“I’m sorry,” he says, sincere. “I know this isn’t easy.”

“It’s okay.”

He shoots the ball into the hoop at the end of the driveway. “Three-pointer,” he tells Scully.

“The crowd goes wild.”

There’s a long silence, just one another’s breathing.

“Listen, I don’t know if you know this, but I have a bit of a background in psychology and behavioral science.” He makes a foul shot.

“You don’t say.” There’s a smile in her voice.

“Truth. So I want you to know that my impression of Henry is that he, um, he knows the value of what he has. With you.” It hurts to admit this to her. To himself.

“Oh,” she breathes. “Mulder, I didn’t exp-“

“No, I just, let me finish. And he, um. He’s really a good guy. His life is, you know, well. Your life, really, I guess. It’s good. It’s what I wanted for you and I’m just, you know. I’m sorry I couldn’t give it to you.” His eyes sting.

Silence.

“Scully?”

“I’m here.”

He hears tears in her voice. “Okay. Okay, good. This is hard, but we, um. We’re always friends, aren’t we?”

“Of course. Always.” She sniffles.

“I feel like Henry, he understands that. He seems like he really wants you to be happy, that he’s not the jealous type.” Shit, shit why did he say that? “Not that he should be jealous, I don’t mean to imp-“

“It’s okay. And you’re right. He knows that I’m…that we…he knows how we are.”

Mulder swallows hard. “How we are,” he repeats.

They never say goodbye, either. The silence grows and drifts, then she finally disconnects the call.

***

Anonymous asked: What would you do if Henry rocked up in season 11 (other than sue)?

Wait for him to die, I guess. That’s Chris’s MO.

***

Anonymous asked: I love Henry. I know it's sad that in this fictional world she's not with Mulder, but as much as they deeply loved each other, I must admit it's lovely to read a world where Scully is appreciated in the day to day. I'm sure that perhaps Mulder did, but we didn't see too much of that. It felt like it was only when she was kidnapped or in hospital with cancer that he realised how much she meant to him. Henry is what she deserves, and it seems to make Mulder step up too. I'm on board for this.

I feel this way too. Listen, I am diehard MSR and was a shipper before fandom had even settled on the term! I am here for Mulder and Scully hobbling across that bridge like everybody else. 94% of what I write is MSR, either set within canon, or trying to give them a happier AU. Even in this story, their love is still palpable. I don’t think it works otherwise.

But the challenge of trying to create this unconventional AU in a way that is relatable to people is really enjoyable to me as a writer. MSR is inherently easy. It exists. It’s fun and satisfying as a fan, but it’s not a hard sell. This is really pushing me to approach the characters in a new way. I’m just immensely surprised it has gone over so well, and endlessly grateful to everyone who has been willing to engage in the narrative. Especially to @kateyes224 for the idea and @mangokiwitropicalswirl and my 10/13 anon for fleshing it out.

(10/13 anon, got your message. Just developing an answer in my head.)

—

Anonymous asked: How would Henry cope if Scully's cancer returned? And how would Mulder? OR... how would Scully cope if something happened to Mulder, but she isn't free to drop everything and go to him? Would she want to, or would she have closed the door on that reaction? How would Henry deal with that? #TeamHenlly

Henry paces the hallway outside her room, one hand to his forehead, the other holding his phone. “Pick up, pick up,” he mutters.

Mulder does, finally. “Henry?”

“Yes. Yeah. Listen, this isn’t easy, but I’m at the hospital with Dana and I’ve got some, uh, some bad news.” He is proud of his steady voice, his steady hands.

“Is she hurt? Is she sick?” Mulder sounds almost accusatory, as though Henry has been derelict in a simple task.

“She’s sick. They…” he runs his hand through his hair, circles around the vending machine again. “They found a mass in her sinuses, Mulder.”

The silence on the other end goes on too long. “Mulder, are you there?”

“Do you know her medical history?” The words are clipped.

“She told me, told the doctors this isn’t new. But she said something about a chip, about that scar on her neck. What the hell is going on here, Mulder? I’ve never pushed her about her past, but I’m seriously in the dark here.”

There’s a heavy sigh on the other end. “It’s not my story to tell you.”

Henry, his frustration peaking after hours of obfuscation and obliqueness from Dana, slams a fist into the wall. “She’s my wife, goddammit! Whatever you two have, Mulder, whatever it is, I never pried. I trust her and I trust you and I accept it. But you need to tell me, right fucking now, what I don’t know.”

People are staring, but he doesn’t care, he feels righteous and productive.

“Henry, I-”

“You tell me,” he growls, “or I will drive over right now and beat the living shit out of you. I have a lot of impotent rage I’d like to direct somewhere.” He’s not entirely sure he can make good on this, but he thinks adrenaline will give him an advantage.

Nothing.

“Mulder.”

Breathing.

“It’s medicine,” Mulder says slowly. “The chip in her neck is some kind of medicine that stops her cancer.”

Henry is appalled, “That’s it? That’s the secret you couldn’t share? Am I losing my goddamned mind? Call the fucking manufacturer right now and get another one, for Christ’s sake!”

“It’s not that simple,” Mulder says, his voice soft. “It’s, ah, not on the market.”

“You’re telling me you know of a medicine that treats cancer effectively and you can’t get it? Is it foreign? Illegal?”

“It was a sort of custom design,” Mulder says.

“Give me an answer, a real answer. You two and your doublespeak, I swear to god…” He’s gripping his hair by the roots.

“Fine, Henry. Here it is.” There is anger in Mulder’s voice now, and Henry finds it satisfying. “Her cancer was specifically engineered to manifest if she ever took the chip out. The chip is a tracking device. I don’t know why it stopped working, but before you come over and kick my ass, you have a lot of fucking questions to ask your wife.”

Henry’s mind is reeling. He leans against the wall. “A tracking device?” he repeats. “Engineered cancer? How do you engineer cancer? Why do you engineer cancer?” He can’t process this, not this and Dana asleep in the hospital bed with a demon behind her eyes.

“Shit,” Mulder breathes. “Goddammit, Henry. How bad is she?”

“She’s weak, very thin. She kept saying it was the flu, you know how she is. But she had a few nosebleeds and went in. And here we are.”

“Yeah, I know how she is,” Mulder says, and Henry hears the pain in his words.

“There’s a man,” Mulder says. “Who knows about the chip. He might, uh, he might arrange a deal.”

Henry is baffled, but tries to swim with the current. “A deal? Why would an- never mind. Call him. I’ll pay whatever he wants, no questions asked.”

“Oh, I don’t think you can pay what he’ll want,” Mulder says. The words are measured, heavy. “But I can.”

The line goes dead.

***

Anonymous asked: In the Henry universe, how does Scully react when Mulder finds someone else?

She’s sorting lunch components for the twins into plastic bins in the refrigerator; bags of chips and carrot sticks and foil-wrapped triangles of pizza. Her phone rings as she picks up a webbed bag of clementines.

“Hey,” Mulder says, his voice a warm pulse.

Scully lets the oranges slump back onto the counter. “Hey.”

“I’m, uh, I’m headed up to New York to talk to my publisher this afternoon,” he tells her.

She can hear the noisy old dishwasher going in the background, imagines Mulder fidgeting at the kitchen table. There’s a chair with a wobbly leg he likes to rock in. “They still talking about the miniseries?”

“Yep.”

Scully chews her lip, considering. She tucks the phone against her shoulder. “That’s not why you called, though.”

A long pause. “No.”

“Okay.” She shuts the fridge and begins assembling sandwiches on the counter. Teasing information from Mulder can take a quiet, steady patience.

“I met someone,” he says at last.

Scully sets the knife down, knuckling the cool granite. “Did you?”

“I just, you know, I wanted to call you. You were very open about Henry so I thought I should extend you the same courtesy.” In the background, the squeak of the chair leg.

“Mulder, that’s great. I’m happy to hear it.” She is, she is, she doesn’t want him alone.

He coughs. “Thanks. Um, well, I guess that’s it, really. I should go pack.”

“No!” she exclaims. “Mulder, I need some detail.” As a friend. As a concerned friend who is wary of his general taste for women who will betray him.

“Oh, Scully, you don’t have t-“

“Really, I do. Let’s have the 411.” She hopes she sounds casually interested, and begins spreading peanut butter on a slice of bread.

Mulder guffaws. “The 411? Scully, let me tell you about the internet.”

She blushes, waves her hand. “Whatever. Details, something.”

“Ummmm…”

Scully imagines him pacing now, tossing and catching an invisible baseball. “You know, it’s okay, I don’t want to pressure you.”

“No, hey, I’m sorry. Just trying to generate a quick dossier. Uh, well, her name is Elizabeth. She works for the EPA, coastal ecology.”

“Science nerd, huh?” she says, and immediately wishes she hadn’t. She swallows, stabs a spoon into the jam jar.

“Yeah,” Mulder says. “She does something with zebra mussels and ship ballast water that I need to brush up on.”

“Probably invasive species in coastal communities. I’ll give you a crash course if you like.” She picks up the sandwich to tuck into a plastic bag.

‘It’s okay. I’ll Google it; you remember that internet thing I mentioned before. It’s got lots of stuff on it.”

She is stung, and words sticks in her throat like lumpy oatmeal. “Oh,” she manages. “Okay, then.”

Mulder coughs again. “I just figured you’re pretty busy, with work and the kids and everything.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it’s pretty crazy.” She toys with the jam jar, rolling it in her hands. It is cool against her palms “Well, you know, enjoy your research. Look up copepods too.”

“I will.”

Seconds tick by on the kitchen clock.

“When’s the second book out?” Scully asks. She picks up the sandwich, zipping and unzipping the plastic bag.

“Around Thanksgiving, I think. You want an advance copy? I’ll sign it for you.”

She laughs. “No, don’t give them away. I want to buy it, boost your sales.”

“In that case, stock up and send them out with the Christmas cards. Even mine.”

“I’ll pre-order on the….what did you call it? The in-ter-net?”

Mulder chuckles. “Have them shipped right to your house, or take your velocipede down to the book-seller to fetch them.”

“Okay.”

A lengthy pause, but they don’t hang up.

Scully finds that the sandwich in her hand has been wadded into a dense ball, peanut butter and jam squeezed all over the inside of the bag. She hastily shoves it into the trash can. “Mulder, um, when you get back in town, why don’t you give me a call? We’d love to have dinner with you and Elizabeth.” She says it so smoothly she believes it.

“Oh,” he says. “That sounds nice, that sounds really good. Yeah.”

“Okay.” She squeezes her eyes closed, her stomach sour.

Mulder breathes for a long moment. Then he says, “Well, hey. I’ve got to get going, but thanks for listening. I know how busy you are.”

“Yeah,” she says. “Sure.” She holds back this time, doesn’t say she always has time for him.

An empty silence now, the call disconnected.

Scully sits on a bar stool, hands clasped beneath her chin, elbows on the breakfast bar. She sees the absurd expectation she’s held onto, the cruelty of it. Mulder like a sundial in the garden of her life, static and reliable as she moves through the seasons around him. Ticking off her hours as she spends them.

Scully goes to the sink and slaps cold water on her face. She sees Elizabeth in her mind’s eye. Lanky and brunette, of course. Long legs and khaki shorts, probably lots of trips to REI. She assigns her a sporty dog too. Maybe with a bandanna.

She says a prayer for his happiness, and leaves it to God to sort out what exactly she means by the idea.

***

Anonymous asked: 10/13 Henry anon here, dearest Mrs. Virgata and mangokiwimagicswirl, either or both of you please feel free to flesh it out. It delights me my little something could turn into a bigger something. I'm not above begging. *begs*. Look what you all did, my MSR heart really does belong to MSR, but I can carve a little spot out for Henry/Scully/Mulder. Mulder is earth, Henry is the stick, Scully is Archimede's point bc we all know she makes the choices and drives the consequences.

A Saturday in late September, and Henry and Scully sit on the back porch watching the twins lob lacrosse balls at Viv. She catches them expertly, flicking her wrist to send them flying back at her younger siblings. They dodge them, squealing and chasing one another and Wicket, who makes off with one on occasion. He exposes his preposterously fluffy belly in hope of scratches.

Scully pours herself a glass of sangria, pours Henry another two inches of Macallan. She is pleasantly buzzed, work blurring out of her mind’s eye. Henry is somewhat more than buzzed, she suspects. Joan’s parents had been over, which exhausts him.

“There’s, ah, there’s something I want to discuss with you,” Henry says. “And with a bit of liquid courage, there’s no time like the present.”

Anxiety rises in her like a barometer. “That’s quite a lead-in,” she says, keeping her tone light while her stomach churns.

“Sorry,” Henry replies. “It’s not, it’s nothing bad.”

“Let’s have it, then.”

“Mulder’s birthday dinner,” Henry begins. “I know what he…I know that you two are…dammit.“ He trails off in frustration.

The anxiety is now constricting her throat. “Henry?”

He shakes his head, still watching his children. “What I’m mangling here is that if you, um, if you ever felt a need to, you know, take a night off from all this-“ here he nods at the yard, “I’d not hold it against you.”

Comprehension begins to dawn, and Scully is aghast. “You’re not suggesting that I….no. Henry, no.”

Henry shrugs. “It’s not a moral failing, okay? I asked you once if there was a place for both of us in you and you said there were two places. And I said I’d rather share you than lose you. I know a marriage is a compromise, and I’m, you know, I’m trying to figure out what that looks like here. You took on three kids and a guy with some heavy emotional baggage.”

Scully’s cheeks burn. “So your solution is that I offer myself up to him as a birthday gift? Is this some kind of magnanimous man-to-man gesture, sharing your woman as a show of friendship?”

Henry turns to her now, mouth open. “Oh god, oh….shit. I had no idea it sounded that way. I’m sorry.”

Scully drains half her glass in one gulp. “This is the life I committed myself to, Henry. It’s not a job I need a sick day from, and you and the kids aren’t baggage, for heaven’s sake.”

Henry stares into the yard, watches Wicket play tug of war with Viv’s lacrosse stick. “I’m terrified of losing you,” he says. “Partially because of Joan but partially because…” he shakes his head.

“Because what?”

He swallows the rest of his Scotch. “Because there are these dark places in you I can’t see, places that have been redacted. And I told you I wouldn’t pry, and I won’t, but I have this fear of them. That they’ll swallow you one day, and you’ll just disappear. I guess I hoped that if I offered you a night to visit, so to speak, you might not feel tempted to run away to them.”

Her sinuses burn. “Henry…”

“I wasn’t trying to offer you to Mulder as a birthday gift, Dana, that’s really fucking sick. But I was trying to offer you a night in the parts of yourself you haven’t let me go to yet.”

She reaches for his hand and grips it hard. “I’m sorry,” she says.

“A vacation home,” he says, smiling weakly at his own joke. He squeezes her hand back.

“I don’t need a vacation,” she assures him. She tugs Henry closer, pulls him down so that his head is resting on her lap. His legs dangle over the armrest of the wicker settee.

“I just want you to know I meant it,” he says.

She nods. “I do. But you can’t keep me by giving me away.” She traces his face with her fingertip, his eyelashes and tragus and philtrum. She etches him deeper into her heart.

***

Anonymous asked: Original 10/13 anon here, I suppose i'm down for consummation of free pass too. Heck, you can do both versions for all I care!

aloysiavirgata:

Oh @perplexistan and @kateyes224…

A continuation of this

***

It’s sticky outside, a mid-Atlantic fall day not fully committed to the reality of October. A late season hurricane has been stirring up the ghosts of summer off the Carolinas, the air close and heavy. Scully steals hairpins from Viv’s vanity to help tame her bun, and is reasonably pleased with the results.

It’s just Mulder, she tells herself, zipping up her navy dress. It has a boatneck that shows her clavicles to good advantage, cap sleeves that feel feminine but not frilly.

It’s just Mulder, she thinks, choosing beige kitten heels that lengthen her legs, swiping Lancome’s Perfect Fig across her mouth. She skips perfume.

The sky is thick with shaggy clouds, the sun slipping away nearly undetected. Scully slides behind the wheel of her car, and leaves tire tracks on the grass when she swerves backwards down the driveway.

***

The restaurant is new and well reviewed, with nothing served in Mason jars or on slate tiles. She asked when she made the reservation, as these things leave Mulder snarky and cross.

Mulder arrives at the table a few minutes after her, wind-whipped, mud on one of his loafers. They embrace, a quick kiss on each cheek, and she breathes shallowly. It would not be good to inhale the scent of him.

“Happy birthday,” she says, settling into her chair, napkin spread across her silken lap. “I’m sorry the weather’s so ominous.”

“I blame you entirely.”

She smiles. “I should have e-mailed Holman Hart, called in a favor.”

Mulder peruses his menu. “Next time. I’m just glad you got to come out and play for an evening.”

Scully frowns. “This isn’t the fifties, Mulder, and I’m not a kept woman. Don’t make it sound like that.”

He is taken aback, but nods. “I’m sorry. You’re right.”

Scully sighs. She doesn’t want to begin like this. “It’s fine. I’ve had a long week and I’m a bit snappish. I just don’t want things to be strained between us because of….well. It’s your birthday, Mulder.”

A waitress comes by with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. She sets it on the table, handing them each a flute.

Scully looks at her in confusion. “I didn’t order this,” she says.

The waitress nods her head towards Mulder. “The gentleman called earlier, ma’am.”

The gentleman denies this, and the waitress furrows her brow. “Sir? Someone called earlier and ordered this for Dana Scully’s table. For a birthday celebration.”

Scully blushes, twists her wedding ring around her finger. “It’s fine, thank you,” she tells the waitress. “Just a misunderstanding on my part. Sorry for the confusion.”

“Shall I open it?”

“Please.”

The cork makes a wonderful popping sound, the champagne golden and sparkling as it flows into their glasses. The waitress tucks the bottle back into the ice before she leaves.

Scully stares at the silver bucket, the frost of condensation on it, the mounds of crystal ice. She runs a fingertip along the rim of her flute, making it squeak.

Mulder raises his glass in a toast. “Many thanks to Henry,” he says, without a trace of irony.

***

Mulder is clacking his empty mussel shells like castanets. The champagne is gone and so is half a bottle of Sancerre. The candle on their table has burned low.

Scully is laughing helplessly, her napkin pressed to her mouth.

“I can’t believe you never told me this,” she manages. “The Spanish ambassador, how could you?”

He drops the shells back into the bowl, grinning. “It’s was university and I was an asshole. Plus my girlfriend was semi-psychotic. Phoebe,” he clarifies.

Scully groans. “Oh, God. Phoebe. She was a mess, Mulder.”

He laughs. “Gorgeous though. My main requirement at the time.”

She wipes her eyes. “I’ll grant you that, yes. I was a little intimidated, I won’t lie.”

“You were looking pretty good too.”

Scully wrinkles her nose in reply.

A boom of thunder comes suddenly, making the chandeliers rattle. Seconds later, a jagged fork of lightning splits the sky. Gasps come from the other diners when the lights go out.

Mulder dribbles wine onto the candle, extinguishing it. “Pouring one out for my homie Zeus.”

***

They make a mad dash to their cars in the rain, Scully nearly diving into her SUV. She slides on the wet leather, blasting the air to dry herself off.

Across the lot she spots Mulder’s car, his battered old two-tone Land Cruiser 70. It has not been started. Worried, Scully drives over, hydroplaning on the slick asphalt. She parks parallel to him, oriented nose to tail.

She sees him through the downpour, scowling at his phone. She waves to get his attention and he frowns at her, shrugs. A round of hurried texting reveals that the car won’t start and he’s got at least a 2 hour wait per the AAA app.

Scully reaches behind her seat for the huge wood-frame golf umbrella she keeps there. Opening the door, she unfurls it into the storm. The wind nearly drags it from her hands. She makes it to her trunk before Mulder sees what she’s doing and leaps from his car.

“Are you out of your fucking MIND?” he yells into the wind.

“JUMPER CABLES,” she shouts back. “YOU CAN’T STAY HERE FOR TWO HOURS!” Scully rummages around, then hoists them victoriously.

Thunder crashes, and the hail begins.

Mulder shoves her into his open driver’s door and she clambers into the passenger seat so he can get in. Hail the size of quail eggs bounces in with him.

He slams the door, panting. “You have a degree. In physics.”

She twines the cables around her hands, shamefaced. “I know.”

Mulder starts to laugh. He rests his head on the steering wheel, shaking with laughter while hail rattles around them.

Scully glares at him. “Let’s agree it wasn’t my finest moment, okay?”

He catches his breath. “No, it’s fine. It’s good. I appreciate the laugh. But we picked the wrong car for this little adventure.” He clicks the useless ignition to demonstrate.

Scully groans. “My phone’s in mine too.”

Mulder peels his jacket off, his shirt mostly dry underneath. “Scully, you’re soaked. I’d offer you my jacket, but…” He holds it up, letting it drip water onto the floor.

“I’m good,” she says. “Just turn on the - oh.”

“Yeah.”

She folds down the visor, inspecting herself in the mirror. She looks like the undead prom queen from a slasher flick, straggling hair coming loose, smudged rings of waterproof mascara.

She snaps the visor back up.

Mulder brightens. “I think there’s a blanket in the foot locker. I’ll climb back and get it.”

She waves him off. “I’ll get it, I’m smaller.” Scully turns, her silk dress clinging like wet paper as she wriggles. She and Mulder studiously ignore her hip against his shoulder. Her shoes drop beside him to the floor.

She squelches into the back, feeling clammy and uncomfortable. There is loose grit on the floor, which hurts her knees. She tugs a quilted moving blanket from a folded-up seat onto the floor, then opens the foot locker. Inside is his old Navajo blanket. She touches it, smiling.

“You find it?” Mulder asks.

“Yeah, thanks,” she says. Scully unfolds the blanket and wraps it around herself. It smells of dry wood and motor oil, GoJo hand cleanser. “I forgot how much room there is back here with the side seats up.”

He adjusts the rearview mirror to see her, and they hold one another’s eyes for a beat. Scully looks away, watches the storm shred leaves off the trees. She twists her wedding ring.

Mulder climbs through the seats, grunting, then sits next to her on the moving blanket. “I texted Henry,” he says. “Let’s him know you’re safe, just waiting out the storm. Thanked him for the champagne.”

“I appreciate that,” she says, touched

“I’d want him to.”

Scully pulls the blanket tighter.“I’m sorry your birthday is going like this,” she says.

He looks at her, surprised. “Good dinner, great company, spooky storm. You wanna tell ghost stories and creep each other out?” He bumps her shoulder.

Scully smiles. “I’m don’t think we can surprise each other anymore,” she says softly. “We’re like two magicians trying to show each other card tricks.”

“You can always surprise me,” he says.

She holds her left hand out for his inspection. The diamonds reflect scraps of yellow streetlight. “This?” she asks.

Mulder shrugs, looks away.

Scully touches the rings. “He told me to go home with you tonight if I wanted. He said he would understand, like shore leave. That it wouldn’t change anything.”

Mulder swallows, closes his eyes. The air is becoming steamy with evaporate, the windows fogged. The smell of damp silk, damp wool hangs about them.

“I told him I couldn’t, that I didn’t need it anyway. And that I certainly wasn’t going to offer myself to you like a gift from the lord of one manor to another.” She reaches out to touch his face, to turn it towards her.

“Don’t,” he rasps.

“Mulder, look at me.”

He shoves her hand away, stares at her. “I’m getting in your car,” he says. “Before we do something really stupid.”

Scully drops the Navajo blanket to the floor. She unpins her hair, lets it fall down her sticky neck to just past her shoulders. She sits back on her heels, wet dress like seaweed. “Mulder.”

“One of us needs to get the fuck out of this car,” he whispers, his voice ragged. He doesn’t move.

She unzips her dress, but it doesn’t fall away like she’d planned. It clings to the tops of her arms, the tops of her breasts, the back gaping open. Gooseflesh rises.

“I thought I could get out of the car,” she says. “ But maybe a joyride every so often isn’t such a bad idea. Henry says it’s not a moral failing, Mulder. And I’m quoting directly.”

They stare at one another, her face tipped up, her mouth swollen. Mulder gazes down at the shadow between her breasts.

Scully runs her tongue across her top lip.

He reaches forward, slides his hands down her shoulders, scraping the ruined silk away. His breath, his heart, are louder than the thunder.

She is bare to the waist now, her chest heaving, her dress a puddle between her hips and the quilted grey blanket. Her nipples ache.

Hail smashes against the windshield, and the wind howls.

She unbuttons his shirt, her fingers trembling, and his chest is deeper, broader than she remembered it. His scars are just as she left them.

Scully moves closer, her breasts grazing his skin when she kisses his neck, bites at it. He shudders, fingers tangling in her hair.

She cups his erection through his trousers.

“I thought you said…” he gasps, hands sliding down to plane her back.

“I thought I meant it,” she mumbles, unbuckling his belt, unfastening his fly.

“I wish you had,” he groans when she pulls his boxers to his knees.

Scully lays back on the blanket, her dress still rucked around her abdomen like a painting of Venus. She reaches beneath it to pull her underwear down, kicks them away.

Mulder is on top of her then, his hands on either side of her head, his shirt tenting her torso. He moves one hand against the hot skin between her thighs, comes away slick from even so little contact.

She whimpers as the storm roars, and he presses his wet fingers to her mouth.

“Scully,” he says, his eyes searching hers. “We can’t undo this, you know that.”

She knows, she knows, she saw what happened to Daniel’s family, what she had done.

“Please,” she says, raking her manicured nails down his back, her pelvis arched against his. “Please.”

Mulder is not her conscience, and enters her in one thrust.

He cries out to her god.

***

It’s past one when she stumbles into the kitchen, past one by the little clock above the sink.

Henry jumps up from the ladderback chair. “Dana, thank God,” he says. “Mulder called about 45 minutes ago, said you’d left, but I couldn’t reach you.”

Scully holds up her phone, the screen black. “Ruined in the rain,” she says. She slumps into a chair, drained. “And the hail cracked my windshield.”

Henry watches her, concerned, then takes his robe off. “Look at you, you’re soaked.” He tucks the thick cotton around her, smoothing her hair out of her eyes. “Dana?”

She leans up, kisses him. “I’m sorry, the roads were awful and I’m exhausted. I don’t remember a storm like that since Sandy.”

He runs his thumb over her cheekbone, smiling at her freckles. ”I’m just glad you’re safe.”

Scully nods, pressing his palm to her face, to her lips. She’d stood outside in the rain, after the storm burned itself out, to wash the yeasty scent of sex from her pores. She’s afraid, somehow, that it has lingered. That she is marked, tainted forever.

“Probably too much wine, too,” she admits ruefully. “I drank more than my fair share and my head hurts.”

“I got his text,” Henry tells her. “I’m glad he liked it.”

Scully looks back at him, her heart aching with how much she loves him, how much she despises herself. “Oh, yes,” she replies. “He loved your gift.”

—

For everyone who asked.

***

He rattles up the driveway, the rattling a function of his automobile rather than the O'Keefes’ smooth asphalt. He parks under the basketball hoop, blocking the garage.

Fallen branches litter the yard. A shutter is down from one of the dormer windows, and the landscaping looks threadbare in places. A Japanese maple is split down the center.

Henry is gathering this debris from the storm, hauling it into a large pile in front of the house. He wears a Princeton sweatshirt and jeans, a Nationals cap pulled over his hair. He pauses in his work to greet Mulder. There are wet leaves on his hands.

“Didn’t expect to see you,” Mulder says, stepping over a rake to shake hands. “I was planning a drop-and-dash.” He holds out Scully’s wooden umbrella, her jumper cables.

“Well, you can just, um, set that stuff on the bench I suppose. Dana’s in surgery all day, but I can put it in her car when she gets home.” Henry jams his hands in his pockets, rocks back on his heels.

“Okay,” Mulder says. He lays the items on the bench, then surveys the yard with a kind of awe at the destruction. “Hell of a mess.”

Henry sighs. “I know they were calling for it, but I guess I wasn’t prepared for what we got. You know Dana has a big crack in her windshield.”

Mulder’s eyebrows go up, as this is news to him. “She okay?”

“Oh, she’s fine, but she was pretty shaken when she got home last night.” He studies Mulder carefully. “Must have been a rough drive home, huh?”

“Must have been.”

They are silent for a time.

“You need any help cleaning up?” Mulder asks. “It’s the least I could do after you were nice enough to buy me birthday champagne.”

Henry shakes his head. “No, thank you for the offer though. Glad you had a good night despite the weather. You’re hard to shop for, though Dana said you wouldn’t want a gift.”

Mulder looks away. “I don’t need much.“

Henry picks the rake up, leans on the handle as he presses the tines into the soft earth. “I love my wife,” he says. “And so do you. Some people might say that puts us at odds, Mulder.”

Mulder meets Henry’s gaze. “It would be an understandable, if incorrect assumption.”

Henry shifts. “I don’t want to be at odds with you. You….you’re her friend. You represent a part of her life I can never fully understand. When I lost Joan I thought I’d…well. I know we all have our ghosts.”

“Nothing happened last night, Henry.”

Henry stiffens. “Pardon?”

Mulder holds his hands out, open. “I feel like I need to just say it, okay? Nothing inappropriate happened. My battery was dead and we realized we both had too much to drink, so we waited the storm out in my car. Her phone got wet and ruined so she couldn’t call. She adores you and your kids and that Ewok of a dog.”

Henry closes his eyes for a long moment, then opens them. “Thanks for bringing her things back. I’ll tell her you came by.”

Mulder nods. He gets into his car and backs down the driveway, navigating fallen limbs as he does. On the radio, Tom Petty’s singing about his last dance with Mary Jane. Mulder turns the volume up and sings along.

***

Anonymous asked: We can just blame love for the Henry saga. Loved fucked all of them over. In Victorian times, after the free pass, Scully would've killed herself, Henry would remain unmarried for the rest of his life and refuse to talk about Dana, and Mulder would go on some stupid quest as penance and probably get himself killed.

I think I saw this movie and Gillian was very good in it.

***

Anonymous asked: I beginning to feel like eventually Henry is going to realize Scully's connection runs so deep emotionally that he's just not going to want to deal with it anymore. He says he's fine with how things are, how Scully doesn't tell him much about her past, that she is still very close to Mulder and gives her a free pass, but eventually he'll want more for himself in a relationship and leave her. In my mind, Scully want want that life and deserves it, but she unintentinally sabotages it.

I think you’re right. Scully has a deep self-destructive streak that rears its head on occasion. I think there’s a part of her that doesn’t feel like she deserves familial happiness after William, and that she doesn’t deserve Mulder or Henry. She’s almost created a perfect storm for herself where she can lose them both by capitalizing on their feelings for her.

***

Anonymous asked: How did Henry and Scully meet?

She wore navy peau de soie and nude stilettos, a beaded bag on her wrist. Her hair hung in sculpted waves just covering her collarbones.

She chatted, she mingled, and she ducked into the kitchen with unnecessary frequency to check the flow of the food.

“Everything’s fine, Dr. Scully,” the staff assured her each time. She pursed her lips, scanning the bison tartare and vol au vents. She sampled a grilled shrimp, nodding tersely.

Scully calmed herself with a third vodka tonic, a poor decision, she knew, but the bar was open and her nerves jangled.

“It’s perfect, Dana,” her intern said, a glass of white wine in her manicured hand. She was a child, scarcely old enough to legally consume her drink. Her father was Someone.

Scully smiled, thanked her. The crowd was too dense, the room too warm, and the talk too loud. There was drunken laughter, cloying perfume. She longed for home, for the reliability of solitude.

Next to her, a man in a grey suit ordered a 15 year Macallan, neat. Scully appraised him out of habit, saw the fine tailoring and coordinating pocket square. The haircut was good, the shoes excellent. She sensed funds for her pet project.

“Dana Scully,” she said, holding out her free hand.

He took it with his left. There was no ring. “Henry O'Keefe,” he said. “You’re on the committee, aren’t you?”

Scully blinked in surprise. “I am,” she said. “Have we met?”

He shook his head. “My firm’s the title sponsor and I recognized your name.”

She smiled in the way she knew people liked, all her teeth on display. “Impressive. Have you checked out the auction items yet?”

He nodded. “There’re a few things I’d like for my kids, I put in some bids. Quite a variety this year.”

“It’s much appreciated. I hope you win them.” She left a tip for the bartender, turning to go.

Fingers at her back, and she sucked in her breath at the ghost of a memory.

“Dr. Scully?”

She turned back to Henry O'Keefe. “Yes?”

He looked into his drink, then at her. “It’s a very good cause.”

“Yes.”

“Perhaps…perhaps you could tell me more about it. About how you got involved. It would be nice to hear from someone with passion rather than just a calculation for client endearment.” He offered her a hopeful smile.

Scully set her empty glass on the bar. “I’d love to,” she said. She rested her hand on his offered forearm, and waded back into the fray.

***

Anonymous asked: Henry story: if Mulder and Scully were asked to consult the FBI on a strange case (and a once only basis), what would happen?

She’s got a stack of patient files next to her, dog-eared, the corners grubby. Scully dutifully logs their contents into her computer, wishing the hospital would spring for software upgrades. Her phone rings, startling her from the mind-numbing task.

“Mulder?”

“There’s a case.”

She pecks at the keyboard. “I’m sorry, but the person you’re trying to reach is no longer available. Please hang up and try your call again.”

“I’m not kidding. You’ve gotta make arrangements, you’ve gotta-”

“Mulder, slow down. What the hell is going on? What case, why are you freaking out like this?”

A pause. “It’s Skinner.”

***

“I realize the government is slow with the red tape, but they are aware that they no longer employ you, correct?” Henry’s fingers tap his forehead as he paces the kitchen.

She traces her nail along the grain of the kitchen table. “Strictly consulting,” she says. “All behind the scenes. Probably no longer than a week.”

“Forgive me, but why you two? Why now?”

She looks down. “It’s classified.”

“Of course. And where will you be going? Can I know that at least?”

“Classified,“ she whispers, still not meeting his eyes.

Henry throws his hands in the air. “Of course. Of. Fucking. Course. Your whole life is classified, why shouldn’t this be too?”

Scully squeezes her eyes shut. Any other case and she would have said no. Anything else and she would have hung up on Mulder, gone back to her filing, eaten Viv’s outstanding lasagna, and gone to bed.

“Are you allowed to say no, even? I mean, you’re a civilian, right? They can’t force you to do anything.”

“I have to,” she says, heartsick. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. But I have to.” Her throat is tight.

Henry knuckles the counter, his back to her. “I have never asked you anything, Dana. Not a single goddamned thing. I agreed to leave the past behind and move forward, but it seems to keep popping up. Flying off with your ex husband to your ex job? I’m supposed to be fine with that when I know…” He shakes his head.

“When you know what?” she breathes, nauseous. She is afraid he will say it, even though she knows he knows.

Henry turns, his eyes hard. “Enough, okay? I know enough.” He considers her. “What would you do if I said no?”

She is taken aback, this possibility not having occurred to her. “I didn’t think we forbade each other things, Henry,” she says slowly.

“The requests are getting pretty one-sided. So what would you do?”

She presses her trembling hands flat to the table, palms cool against the lacquered wood. “I’d go anyway,” she says. “Not for anyone else, but for Ski-” she bites off the end of her sentence, furious with herself.

Henry sits across from her at the table. “For whom?”

She remains silent, shaken.

“Classified,” he says, with faint contempt. “Right.”

Scully chews her lip until the inside of it bleeds. Experience has taught her that there are reckonings, crossroads past which a life can take on an entirely new direction. She does not want this to be one of them.

They look at each other for what seems like a very long time.

“Henry,” she says carefully. “What I’m about to do is completely illegal, all right? I’m putting your life and my life in danger by telling you this. But you’re right; I owe it to you. To us.” She reaches across the table for his hand.

Henry nods. “I understand.”

He doesn’t; he can’t possibly, but she plows ahead before she loses her nerve. “FBI Director Walter Skinner has been taken by a militia group called the New Spartans. We believe he’s being held inside their compound, located near Casper Mountain, Wyoming.”

Henry gapes. “The Director. Of the FBI. Has been kidnapped?”

“So it would seem.”

Henry shakes his head, appalled. He withdraws his hand from hers to run through his hair.“Why isn’t this national news, why isn’t the, uh…who? The SEALS or the Army Rangers all over this? Why are they pulling two agents out of retirement to deal with a huge fucking disaster? Were you hostage negotiators, what?”

“No. But we….um. We, along with Director Skinner, have dealt with this group before. Mulder infiltrated them undercover at one point. August Bremer, their former leader, spared Mulder’s life at one point.” She looks at him sadly, reminding herself of all that he doesn’t know.

“Shouldn’t they be making demands, on TV or something, I don’t know…. Bragging?” Sweat beads on Henry’s brow, and he wipes at it with a paper napkin.

Scully shakes her head. “Maybe in a Bond flick. These are not people who want attention. They see themselves as the last true patriots and this is symbolic for them, for their followers. They don’t want to cut a deal with the federal government. They’re anarchists, and see no difference between the FBI and the KGB, Henry. This is a power move.”

Henry, dazed, shreds the paper napkin into minuscule fragments. “How the hell did they get him, anyway?”

In for a penny, in for a pound, she figures. What’s a little more treason between husband and wife? “A member of the group had been leaking plans to the Director for about eighteen months, all of it credible. The source claimed that the New Spartans had been working with anti-federal groups overseas to plan an attack that would take down power grids in 20 major US cities. Based on our prior dealings with the group, the Director found this consistent with their MO. He agreed to meet with the source to obtain satellite footage of the other groups’ headquarters. But it turned out to be a setup, an ambush. Four agents were killed and the Director was badly injured.”

Her husband looks ill. “My god,” he mumbles. “And you’re wading back into this? And I’m supposed to just nod and wave like it’s fine?”

“Just consulting, Henry, I promise.” She speaks softly, like she does when the twins wake up from nightmares they can’t remember. “I’m past fifty, and hardly in peak form. Intel only.”

“But why, Dana? Can’t someone else do this?” His voice is pleading.

“I owe him my life, Mulder’s life,” she says. “He risked himself to save us. And when I had no one, nothing, he was there.” She shrugs. “It’s a debt I never thought I could repay.”

Henry frowns. “No one and nothing? Dana, what happened to you?”

And now, Scully knows, now is the crossroad. She gulps air, takes her husband’s hands again in her own.

“I have a son,” she says.

***

@perplexistan asked: I need something from the Henry-verse. Something happy, though. Maybe Scully finally divorcing Henry and going back to Mulder. I know that's not the point of this AU, which I truly do love, but I just want it. Sue me.

You are asking a lot of our friendship. Can’t I just send you cookies?

***

Anonymous asked: Who is being eaten up by the repercussions of free pass more Mulder or scully?

Scully for sure. I think that, particularly post IWTB, he’s stopped taking responsibility for her decisions. I have a line in there where I say that Mulder is not her conscience, and I think he really feels that way now. She’s a grown woman capable of making her own choices. I think he knows what they did was wrong, but Scully isn’t some wide-eyed innocent anymore.

***

Anonymous asked: Does Viv know about Emily and William? Has she met/seen Mulder?

Henry doesn’t know about Emily and William. Viv has met Mulder twice. She thinks he’s a compelling, charming weirdo but, given her stepmother’s tendency to organize closets by color and make spreadsheets for every conceivable topic, she’s baffled that they were together as long as she’s heard they were.

***

For all the anons who have so sweetly asked after Henry, here’s a little intersection with Ghouli.

***

Simon and Alice run squealing from the living room, slamming into Scully when she comes around the corner from the kitchen.

She staggers back under their combined weight, bumping into the dog. “What’s wrong?” she asks, steadying herself against the counter.

Viv stalks in behind them, waving her phone. “I told them it was too scary,” she says. “But they hid behind the couch to read over my shoulder, and now they’re all freaked out.” She punches Simon in the arm. “Serves you right.”

“We’re never sleeping again,” Alice asserts, cuddling against Scully.

“Ever,” Simon adds, punching Viv back.

Scully rubs Alice’s small back, running her fingers through her thick hair. The irrational squabbles of children are still hard for her to follow, but she tries. “What was too scary?”

“Ghouli,” Viv says, crunching into an apple.

***

Scully is curled up on the chaise longue in her bedroom, lost in reading, when Henry comes in. He’s shed his suit for pajama pants and a Georgetown sweatshirt. Scully smiles at his mussed hair, an untidy silver haystack from wrestling with the twins. The nails of his left hand are painted with purple glitter polish.

“You get them settled?” she asks.

He rubs his face. “Yeah, finally. Alice is good, but Simon’s still pretty sure this Ghouli thing is coming to eat our family.” He sits at the edge of the chaise, reaching out to massage Scully’s neck. His hands cover her shoulders, thumbs meeting at the base of her cervical spine.

“Mmmmmm,” she says, rolling her head forward. “You’re going to distract me.”

“That’s the plan,” he says, trailing butterfly kisses along her jaw, then stops when he notices what’s on the screen. “What the hell is that?”

“Ghouli, apparently. Viv showed me the site. it’s pretty well done, actually. I can see why they’re freaked out.” The drawing of the monster has the clean, architectural lines of a scientific sketch.

Henry stretches out on the chaise, wrapping himself around her. Scully tucks herself into the solid warmth of his body and adjusts her laptop so that they can both see. Late night cuddling over images of cryptids brings back memories that she shakes off.

As though reading her mind, Henry says, “So whatcha thinking, Agent Scully? This is your former wheelhouse, right?”

She shrugs. “Not exactly It’s fascinating from a cultural standpoint, I suppose. I was talking to Viv about it. There’s an internet phenomenon called ‘creepypasta,’ kind of like urban legends with a paranormal bent. Some of them have taken on a sort of folk-tale quality.”

Henry tucks her head beneath his chin. “Is this that Slenderman thing? Those two girls in Wyoming?”

“Wisconsin,” Scully corrects. “Yes, like Slenderman.” She switches tabs, pulling up a new post. “Ceci n'est ce pas une pipe,” she reads, in her bad French.

“This is not a pipe,” Henry translates, musing. “What the hell does that mean?”

Scully taps her lips. “It’s a reference to a painting by Rene Magritte. He did, um, a painting of a pipe with this phrase below it, as a reminder that the symbol of the thing is not the thing itself. The map is not the territory. It’s a semiotic concept addressed by Alfred Korzybski.”

Henry kisses her temple. “You didn’t even have to Google that, did you?”

She, grins, admits that she did not.

“So hot,” Henry says. “Anyway, so what? Some emo kid who’s read too much Sartre decided to make some of this, uh, creepypasta stuff.”

Scully scrolls around some more. “Probably. It’s just impressively complex. Like, here. Look at this. It’s got a Baconian cypher, it references atomic bomb tests,it’s got sketches of RNA…which. That’s odd, actually.”

“Hmmm?”

“Well, the post with the RNA base is by a user named K/OMouse. I’m guessing it refers to knockout mice. Those are mice whose DNA has been altered, so why include RNA nucleotides instead of DNA? And an RNA nucleotide shouldn’t contain a diphosphate, but there are two phosphate groups here, plus that terminal oxygen should be double bonded to this carbon, or be a hydroxyl, or at least have a negative sign.” She doesn’t notice that her voice has grown agitated.

Henry has. “Uh, Dana? I think maybe you should avoid this site with Simon and Alice. Go play Neko Atsume for a while, hmmm?”

Scully takes a deep breath. He’s right, of course he’s right.

It’s nothing.

She closes her laptop, laughing a little. “I guess I’m Rever’s target audience.”

Henry grins. “I’ll try to distract you again.”

She ignores the little itch in her amygdala, in her entorhinal cortex, and follows him to bed.

***

It’s two AM and Henry is sleeping, bare-chested and peaceful on the other side of the room. Wicket, dense and furry, is sprawled like a wolf pelt over his feet. Their breathing is even and steady, a lulling hum in the back of her head. It steadies her like a heartbeat. Like the sea.

Her eyes flit back and forth between tabs, her face bathed in the blue glow. She looks at the post by K/OMouse again. The alien head, the RNA.

Alien head, RNA

RNA, virus.

Viral replication occurs via mRNA.

Something tickles her brain again, that little itch.

A virus.

An alien virus.

Purity control.

She grabs a notepad to organize her thoughts.

Baltimore classification?

Two phosphate groups = diphosphate nucleoside? Or non-terrestrial?

It is not the pipe - it is not the territory - what does Ghouli represent?

She looks at KO/Mouse’s post again, copies down the code he’s written. She begins working on it before seeing that user Elizabeth has helpfully done this work for her.

weseeyouwilliamvandekampweknowwhoyouare

andifweknowthentheyknowwhichyoushouldknow

crossroadswasonceanatombombandnowitisyou

WilliamWilliamWilliam pounds in her head.

Her vision is black, suddenly. And just as suddenly she sees a farm, idyllic and flat beneath an Ansel Adams sky.

Back to her room in a flash, gasping for air. Back to Henry dreaming in the safe warmth of their bed.

It’s 2:37 by her watch, but time is only a human construct. She pads out to the hall and down the stairs. She dials, and he answers on the third ring.

“Mulder, it’s me.”

#my fic #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf revival #au #henry

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wherevermyway · 4 years

Text

step out! do what you want (chapter ten)

pairings: reader/bang chan/han jisung, bang chan/han jisung side pairing: seo changbin/lee minho (referenced) rating: explicit | 18+ warnings (read please!): big fat warning for ambiguous HINTS of suicidal ideation, character deaths, mental instability, post-traumatic stress, profanity, use of firearms, graphic depictions of violence (fist fight, gunfight), blood, lots of smoking this chapter, mentions of sex, mentions of drug use, angst, drug dealer!au/organized crime!au. also, don’t drive this fast on the highway. word count: about 9,300 also on my ao3 here chapter/series navigation

chapter ten: je vois la fin avant le début | i see the end before it starts

recommended tracks: black swan by bts, can’t you see me? by tomorrow x together we go by stray kids, 777 by joji, the end/undead by hollywood undead and zero 9:36, simon says by nct 127, turn back time by wayv, begin by bts, tôt ou tard by eli rose, ew by joji, another day by stray kids. playlist can be found here.

note: I can’t believe this is almost done (thank god). I’m gonna warn you one more time: this story is dark as fuck and, if you thought chapter nine was bad, ten is also bad, and eleven is worse. eleven is going to have really triggering content (very explicitly labelled in several places) in it so please don’t hate me. I’m also turning off taglists for these last two chapters because I’m not comfortable tagging people due to the content.

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

side note: for the love of minho’s cats, don’t mix party drugs or drugs with alcohol.

It would seem that, even though you’re back in the real world, returning to reality is proving to be difficult. Since returning to Christopher’s apartment, you’ve had a couple of panic attacks that you felt made both Christopher and Jisung questioned their relationship with you. Most of the time, things were fine, but there were moments and entire days where they treated you like you were a fragile piece of pottery with a big, neon warning label slapped on it that said “Danger! Will shatter if mishandled!” in fat, ugly, blocky, black characters.

After screaming and crying at your therapist for an hour and a half, you decided that you wanted to be alone and would take an alternative route home, sneaking out the back door so that Christopher didn’t see you as he waited out front in his car. You peeked through the glass front doors, seeing his car parked there, right on time. It was hard to make out details from so far away, but it looked like he was staring at his phone, mindlessly scrolling along.

Perfect.

You smiled to yourself as you turned away from the front door. The last time you were here, you recognized a service entrance towards the back of the building that appeared to be unlocked. Timidly, you make your way towards it and jiggle the handle. The door popped open with ease, and you walked through, quickly bolting through the alleyway and make your way towards the Mojeon bridge in Cheonggyecheon.

The walk to the bridge wasn’t very long, so you took the long way, weaving in and out of various backroads and alleyways. You loved taking in the environment of small shopping stalls and the scurrying of busy folk. What you had enjoyed the most was the ambient noises of the city life around you. It was night and day in comparison to the past five or so months had been like, trapped in the hospital, then trapped in Christopher’s apartment, leaving only to go to your thrice-weekly therapy appointments.

It made sense why you felt so lonely. Christopher had been keeping himself busy, constantly coming to bed not long before the sun came up. You knew he wasn’t purposefully avoiding you or Jisung, but something about it didn’t sit well with you, likely because it felt like he was just avoiding handling the loss of Changbin, now stuck with all of the stress of dealing with the family.

Jisung had to have been feeling it, too. Neither of them were going out on collection runs or handling deals; they had left it to Seungmin and Jeongin, as well as just sending jobs back to the hyung-nim. Jisung would occasionally spend a few late nights in the studio with Christopher, and he would always come back to bed more frustrated than he was before he went to go assist his superior.

There was one night a few weeks ago where you went to lay down early, settling into a book that you weren’t really committed to reading, but what the fuck else did you have to do, cramped up in this apartment? All three of you were tense from being cooped up inside, save for your therapy appointments. Jisung and Christopher were arguing about something, their voices travelling through the open studio door, bouncing around the open living room and kitchen, finally making its way in through the bedroom door.

It was impossible to completely make out what they were arguing about, but you really didn’t care at this point. Everything was all about hierarchy and other bureaucratic nonsense that had been completely upended with Changbin’s death. Jisung came angrily padding into the bedroom, a scowl on his face as he grumbled and flopped down on to the bed face-first. He let out a long, drawn out, frustrated groan into the blanket.

“You gonna be okay, Sungie?” You put your book on the nightstand, adjusting your position so that you’re able to run a calming hand through the younger man’s hair. “Sounded like you two were disagreeing about something again.”

Jisung huffs, then rolls over onto his back. “I'm never gonna be cut out to be a leader, am I?” He turns his head slightly to look up at you. “Chan-hyung has a hard enough time, and I never wanted to do this, but now I don’t have a choice.”

You roll your fingers through his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp, and smile at him. “You would be a good leader if you wanted be, but I think this entire situation has been stressful on everyone.”

A scoff leaves Jisung’s lips as he turns to face you full-on. “You’re starting to sound like a therapist.”

“Go figure,” you sarcastically grumble as you roll your eyes.

“You’d be good at it,” Christopher’s voice travels through the doorway, startling both you and Jisung. He walks into the room and worms his way around both of you on the bed. “I’m sorry,” he sighs out, “I’ve been so stressed this week with all of the exchanges of power and sheer amount of work that needs to be done. Jisung,” he sits up on his heels, draping his face over his junior. “I’m sorry if I made it seem like I was mad at you. There’s no excuse for that kind of behaviour and I’m sorry.”

Jisung softly smiles, grabbing Christopher’s face with both of his hands. “You can be a real jerk sometimes,” he croons softly, “but I know you don’t mean it, that you’re not taking it out on me, y’know? It’s been a long, chaotic few months. We’ve all had our moments of panic, and you’re unfairly shouldered with handling the family almost completely by yourself. “

Christopher sighs, turning his head to look at you before he grabs you by the waist and pulls you into an embrace, both of you unceremoniously flopping onto your sides. “How about I ignore all of the stuff with the family tomorrow,” he says, pulling you up against him tightly with one arm, reaching out to Jisung with the other. “We can have a day with just the three of us. Get some bad takeout, watch horrible movies, just kind of have a lazy day around the house?”

“I like that idea,” Jisung excitedly nods, then turns to look at you. “What do you think, bunny?”

You were happy with the idea, but you couldn’t find yourself to share the same level of enthusiasm that Jisung did, like you would in the Before Time, as your therapist coined it. Before, you would have jumped at the thought, with both you and Jisung likely driving Christopher somewhat mad. But now, things were just muted and toned down. Mellowed down, like food you would eat when you had the stomach flu. Everything now just emotionally felt like lukewarm, runny juk, when you were used to explosions of flavour and texture on your emotional palette.

“You okay, baby?” Christopher sits up, turning to look down at you. The expressions on his face and Jisung’s face fall flat with concern and nervousness. “Are you going to that headspace again?”

Suddenly, you come back to your senses. You couldn’t have them worry about you, after all. There was already enough, much more important stuff for them to worry about. Honestly, you were just some woman who got strung along for a wild ride, and now had to deal with something a bit more difficult than a modelling shoot being cancelled. You could handle this.

“I’m fine,” you say with a fake smile plastered on your face. That was one good thing that came naturally to you because of modelling: faking emotions well enough, for a short period of time, faking it so well that anyone would believe you. “I just got distracted with thinking about what we could do.”

Jisung flushes, clearly misinterpreting your intention. “Oh yeah,” he breathes out, “it’s been a while since the three of us…” his voice trails off as he alternates looking at you and Christopher, the blush on his face deepening as he awkwardly shifts around.

The blond-haired man rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Yeah, but,” he sighs, “that’s okay. It’ll happen naturally when we’re ready for it to happen, right?”

Luckily for you that night, the three of you were able to share an intimate moment together for the first time in literal months. It was fine and was fun, albeit muted like everything else lately, nowhere near how chaotic it was at the beginning of your relationship. At least you could get them off of your back for a little while longer.

As you reached the touristy area of Cheonggyecheon (when did you get here?), your phone buzzed twice in your pocket and pulled you from your hazy daydream. Nervously, you pull the phone out of your pocket, giving it a quick glance. Nearly all of the texts on your phone are from Christopher, unsurprisingly. There was nobody else, only Christopher and Jisung. Those were the only people you had now; everyone else either abandoned you, hated you, were outside of Korea, or had died.

16:47 | Running late? Figured you’d be done by now. 16:58 | Where are you? it's been a half hour 17:05 | seriously baby where are you?

His texts start to seem more panicked, his texting habits clearly more frantic.

It’s been over an hour since your appointment ended, and your phone won’t stop buzzing. You jam it back into your hoodie’s pocket and continue to ignore the barrage of calls from Christopher. He clearly got a hold of Jisung, because you’ve also started receiving texts and phone calls from him. A smirk creeps up on your face as you reach the Mojeon bridge. You quietly pace up to the middle of the bridge and poke your head over the railing.

It happens without even thinking. Almost mechanically, you take your phone out of your pocket and drop it down into the stream below you. It was almost ironic, honestly, that this was right above the spot where you got shot during Changbin’s funeral. It was a good area for your phone to die alongside where your sanity did.

You can’t help but cackle at yourself, earning some choice stares from passersby. There was no rhyme or reason to why you were doing this, but it felt good. The rushing water beneath the bridge was oddly calming as you stared at it over the railing. There was always something about the water that helped you feel grounded and calm. With all of this chaos around you, you needed something to stay constant.

As crazy as it sounded, the thought of jumping into the stream and letting it carry you out to the Han river did pass through your brain, but you managed to talk yourself out of it. “No,” you say aloud to yourself, “I couldn’t do that.”

The screeching of tires from the street adjacent to the walkway pulls you out of your thoughts. You turn your head towards the noise and see Christopher jump out of his car, haphazardly parked halfway on the sidewalk. He runs to you, yelling your name a couple of times, a horror-stricken expression on his face.

Your heart is about to explode out of your chest as you see him running at you. Part of your brain is telling you to run, but it would appear that your muscles have forgotten how to operate themselves.

Christopher slams into you, causing you to take a couple of steps back as you narrowly avoid being knocked down on to the concrete. His arms wrap around you so tightly, you’re afraid he’s going to pop your lungs. “Oh my god,” he cries out, “oh my god, where the hell have you been?” He puts a hand on the back of your head, gripping your hair, lifting his head to kiss yours with several small pecks, and you can feel his body twitch as he starts to cry.

“A walk,” you manage to quietly squeak out, “I wanted to go for a walk.”

Christopher pulls back, releasing you from his embrace and taking a step backwards. “A walk?” His bloodshot, glossy eyes open wide, his face red as tears streak down his face, and he shakes his head. “Why didn’t you just tell me? I would have -“

“I’m smothered,” you flatly say, not really able to allow yourself to process any emotions. “You and Jisung both have both been treating me like I’m just going to fall apart if you even look at me.” Christopher stares at you in disbelief as the pedestrians around you pointedly avoid getting close.

“Lover’s quarrel?” A hushed whisper travels on the wind.

“Youth always out here with their petty drama,” another whisper follows.

You and Christopher stand there, staring at each other for a while. He eventually runs his hands through his hair, turning to look down the stream as he wipes the tears off of his face. “A walk,” he whispers, repeating back to himself. “Smothered.” He sighs heavily and turns back to you, his brows furrowed in frustration.

“I thought you had been kidnapped, or that you ended up dead somewhere. Do you not understand that there are people out there that want us to suffer or, god forbid, kill us? You were shot right here the last time we were here, for fuck’s sake.” The tears continue to fall down his face as he puts his hands on his hips. “I don’t want you to feel like this anymore. I don’t know how to help you with that, but,” he pauses, dropping his hands from his hips as he takes a step closer to you, “if I could take away all of your pain, I would do it in an instant, even if I had to take it all on myself.” He pulls you into his chest by your hips and wraps his arms around your waist, a bit more gently this time.

“I can’t do this without you. You, me, Jisung: we’ve all gone through so much shit in the past six months and we need each other.” His phone starts ringing, but both of you deliberately ignore it. “Once we’ve dealt with Minho and Hyunjin, Jisung and I are gonna leave the family. I’ve got some connections in Australia that would make it easy for us to move there. Nobody would know us. We can get out of all of this and leave this behind. How does that sound?”

A hint of a smile creeps up on the corner of your face. “It's a good idea, Christopher, but,” you say, staring at a confused police officer standing over Christopher’s car, “you’re about to get a ticket and you might wanna deal with that first.”

“What?” Christopher gasps, pulling away from your embrace as he grabs your wrist and turns to look at the scene unfolding. “Oh, goddammit,” he whines, pulling you along as he walks towards his car. “C’mon, let’s deal with this and go home.”

The encounter with the police officer is uneventful. Christopher uses his charming charisma to talk his way out of it, even name-dropping some high-level official that he knows. Once the two of you are back in the car, he makes his way to an open parking spot and parks, pulling out his phone. He taps the screen a couple of times, and Jisung’s voice comes through the speakers of the car.

“Did you find her?” Jisung panics over the speaker, sounding as if he was nearly crying. “She isn’t answering my calls or my texts and I’m worried and I haven’t seen anything out here and I -“

“Sungie,” Christopher says, calmly, interrupting Jisung’s panicked word-vomiting, “I’ve got her, it’s okay.”

“I’m so sorry, Sungie,” you say, not really sure if he can even hear you.

“Oh my god, bunny,” he exhales, “are you okay?”

You open your mouth to say something, but Christopher interjects. “She’ll be alright. Go back home, and we can talk about it when we get back. We’ve got some things we all need to discuss.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jisung says with a deep sigh. “I love you, both of you.”

“We love you too,” Christopher smiles as he says it. He presses a button on the steering wheel, hanging up the call, then turns to you. He embraces your hand with one hand and grabs your chin with the other. “Do I need to take you back to the hospital?”

You shake your head.

“Okay, but if that changes,” he pulls you closer to him, and he rests his forehead against yours, “I need you to tell me. I can’t lose you, too. Promise me that you’ll tell me.”

“I promise,” you speak with feigned confidence. Liar.

“Good,” he tilts your head up with his hand, then gently kisses you on the lips. A repetitive chime comes from the centre console of the car, startling both of you, and Christopher rolls his eyes, letting go of your jaw and reaching out to press another button on his steering wheel. “Jisung, I swear, we’re -“

“Hyung,” Felix’s voice comes through the car’s speakers, cutting Christopher off. “Minho-hyung knows where we are. I don’t know if he’s coming here, but he knows where we are and I know he’s found out about Hyunjin and he is beyond furious.”

“Shit.” Christopher’s expression instantaneously sours and his brows furrow. “Did you call the hyung-nim?”

“Yes, hyung. He’s the one that told me. Can’t spare any extra bodies to protect us, though.”

“Alright,” Christopher tightly grabs his face and runs his thumb against his jawline. “You’ve got enough gear there? I’ll pick up Jisung and bring Seungmin and Jeongin with. We’ll be there in a little over three hours.” He lets go of your hand to grasp the gear shift, shifting out of park and into drive, merging his way into traffic.

“I do.”

“Understood. Call me if he shows up before we get there. I know there’s another group connected to the family that’s somewhere in Daegu that can probably help you out, but it’ll be the nuclear option and I don’t want to do it unless we absolutely have to.” Christopher deeply sighs, looking into the rear view mirror for a moment before focusing back on the road. “Hyung-nim’s already mad enough at us as is, but I’m not losing another brother today.”

“Will do,” Felix says with confidence, then cuts the line.

Christopher has a serious look on his face as he focuses on the traffic. He pushes yet another button on the steering wheel and tells the AI of his car to call Jisung. The trilling of the connecting line fills the car and everything feels tense.

“Hey, baby, what’s up?” Jisung’s voice comes through the speakers.

“We’ve got a problem with Felix and Hyunjin,” Christopher says calmly, but clearly concerned. “Minho knows they’re in Daegu and I’m assuming he’s on the way there.”

“Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” Christopher grits his teeth and exhales with force. “I’m on the way to pick you up. Call Seungmin or Jeongin. Have them both meet us at the apartment, alright?”

“You got it.”

“I don’t want her to come with, but,” you hear Jisung whispering to Christopher in the studio as Jeongin and Seungmin grab a few things from the studio and bring them out to the kitchen counter.

“She ran off, Jisung,” Christopher quietly bites back, “I can’t spare any of us to stay out of this just to watch her. You know that Minho is -“

Jeongin interrupts your eavesdropping as he sits down next to you on the couch. “It’s a nice view, isn’t it?” Part of you is upset that you’re socially obligated to socialize now instead of eavesdropping, but at the same time, you didn’t want to know how much you were inconveniencing Jisung and Christopher.

“Yeah,” you honestly agree, turning your head to look out the window. “I’m not sure how Christopher managed to get a property out here, but it’s impressive.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve chatted with each other.” Jeongin turns to look at you, a slight frown tugging at his lips. “Hyung had mentioned you were having a hard time coming to terms with everything. I know we don’t really know each other well, but you can always reach out to either me or Seungmin if you need to talk to someone different for once.”

“It’s true,” Seungmin perks up from the kitchen, walking into the living room and popping a couple of grapes into his mouth before he sits on the chair opposite from you. “We’re more fun than them, anyways.”

You smile at their words, continuing to stare out at the skyline. How was it that they had gone through all of this and came out seemingly alright? Why was it just you that had difficulties coping with everything? Why did you have problems with every little thing lately, but everyone else was doing so much better than you?

Christopher and Jisung come out of the studio, both of them visibly frustrated, but Jisung at least tried to hide it as he walked into the living room. Christopher grumbles something under his breath, darting off through the kitchen and into his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Hey,” Jisung awkwardly says as the door slams, closing his eyes tightly and sighing. “Are you all ready to go? We’re running a bit behind, so Chan-hyung is a little frustrated.” You knew that was a lie, that Jisung was just trying to keep the peace.

Seungmin lifts his eyebrows and cocks his head towards Jisung. He smirks, almost like he wants to make some sort of comment, but he shakes his head. “Yeah, I think we’re fine.” He turns to look at both you and Jeongin, then looks back to Jisung. “Hyung gonna be alright, or…?”

Jisung rolls his eyes, waving his hand dismissively in the air. “Yeah, you know how he gets. He’s just,” his eyes subconsciously dart to you, then to the floor as he stumbles over his words, “he’s got a lot to deal with right now. You know?”

Jeongin turns to look at you, gently placing his hand on your knee. “Are you ready?” You take a second to catch your breath, then timidly nod your head and he stands up. “Alright. I think we can get out of here.”

A loud clattering comes from Christopher’s room. The four of you exchange panicked glances with each other, and Jisung takes a step toward the bedroom, stopping as the door flies open. Christopher steps out of the room, now wearing a button up shirt and a thin tie, both in black. You notice he has black gloves on as he adjusts his necktie. There’s also an unlit cigarette in between his teeth, which you knew was a bad sign. He doesn’t bother looking at anyone before he grabs his car keys off of the island in the kitchen and making his way to the front door, slipping on a pair of black loafers. “Grab the shit and let’s go.”

Christopher chain-smokes for nearly the entire way to Daegu. He specifically asked you to sit in the passenger seat next to him, and you believe it’s so he could anxiously hold your hand. For the first forty or so minutes, until you get past Icheon-si, the air is so tense, nobody says anything. The bright LED of the dashboard reflects on Christopher’s face, illuminating the panic he’s trying to suppress as he takes another drag off of his third cigarette.

152km/h. That’s what you see when you turn to look at the big, bold digital letters reflected on the console. It felt much faster than you anticipated, and now you knew why, since the speed limit was 100. “You’re speeding,” you quietly say without thinking.

“Felix needs us,” Christopher says, his voice terse. “I don’t give a fuck about the speed limit. Nobody’s on the road right now.”

“Chan-hyung,” Jisung perks up from the back seat, pulling himself up with your seat to be in between you and Christopher, “you should probably slow down a little, at least. 150 is really fast.”

“Not happening.”

“Hyung,” Seungmin chimes in, “I don’t mean to overstep, but Jisung is right. We’re going to be no help if we -“

“Would all of you shut up?” Christopher shouts, letting go of your hand, flicking the end of his cigarette out of his window as he grabs another one from the open pack and the lighter in the cupholder. The speedometer slowly ticks up to 160 km/h, and the numbers change from blueish-white to yellow. “Nobody else is dying today, not if I can help it. We’ve lost too many people already. One person was enough. Changbin was enough.”

He lifts the cigarette to his mouth and his hands tremble as he flicks the black lighter a couple of times before the flame comes to life. The cigarette smoke always smelled terrible at first, until you got used to it about a minute in, but it wasn’t something you were overly fond of. Maybe once all of this was over, you could convince Christopher to stop smoking for good.

His left hand takes the cigarette from his mouth and he leans his elbow against the door, nervously rubbing his fingertips against his forehead. “Fuck,” he whispers under his breath. There’s another awkward silence as you feel Jisung let go of your seat, relaxing back into his spot. Jeongin whispers something that you can’t quite make out, and Christopher holds down a button on his steering wheel. “Call Lee Felix,” he says as the AI chirps at him.

“Calling, please wait.” the AI responds.

175 km/h. The numbers are now orange.

Christopher grips the steering wheel harder and harder the longer it takes for the call to go through. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he grumbles under his breath, eyes nervously darting between the centre console display and the road. “Fucking pick up, Felix.”

180 km/h.

“Yes, hyung?” Felix’s voice fills the car and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank god, you picked up,” Christopher loosens his grip on the steering wheel just a bit, bringing the cigarette to his mouth and taking a drag from it. “Any word yet?”

“Not yet, hyung.”

“Good,” he exhales, and a cloud of smoke leaves his lips and is violently pulled out of the car through the window. “We’re on the way there, just drove past Icheon-si.”

“Icheon-si? Hyung, that’s…” Felix starts to say with a hint of concern in his voice.

“Don’t worry, I’ve been going a bit over the speed limit,” Christopher scoffs, “as it was kindly brought to my attention. Should be in Daegu in about two hours at this pace. Call me immediately if anything changes, understood?”

“Yes, hyung, but -“

“If you’re about to scold me, I highly advise against it.”

190 km/h.

There’s a momentary pause over the line. “Understood, hyung. My apologies for stepping out of line.” Felix’s voice sounds slightly dejected, but it’s barely noticeable.

“See you soon.” Christopher curtly ends the phone call by pressing the button on the steering wheel again.

200 km/h.

The display is bright red and there is a soft ding that brings Christopher’s attention to the dashboard. “Fucking shit,” he says, and the car slows back down as he moves his foot off the gas pedal. “I’ve never gone that fast before. Holy shit.”

You look at him, reaching a hand over to his hair, brushing it back behind his ear. It had gotten shaggier and curlier over the past few months, his dark roots starting to show more and more obviously as time went on, but it didn’t bother you. In fact, part of you was curious to see what his natural hair colour looked like.

“It’s going to be alright,” you softly whisper, rubbing your thumb against Christopher’s temple. He grabs your hand with his right hand and smiles.

“Thanks, baby,” he doesn’t look at you, but you know he genuinely appreciates the little ways you remind him that you care. He pulls your hand down from his face and gives it a quick kiss before he returns it to your lap, only letting go so he can hold the steering wheel when he ashes his cigarette.

145 km/h. That was tolerable.

It takes maybe an hour and a half to reach the safehouse in Daegu. The building is old, like it had been abandoned a while ago. Siding had started to peel off of the side of the building, making it look dilapidated.

“I recognize that vehicle,” Seungmin says with concern as Christopher parks the car.

“I do, too,” Jisung chimes in, and reaches for his phone. “Nothing. Have you heard from Felix?”

Christopher pulls out his phone, glancing at the screen as he turns the car off. “Shit,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening his door. “Minho just got here. Let’s go.” The five of you get out of the car, Christopher and Jisung out in front of you, hands on their pistols as Seungmin and Jeongin are on either side of you.

“Stay behind us,” Jeongin whispers as you go up the stairs of the building. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you, but Minho gets violent very quickly. He’s unpredictable; not to mention, he’s got to be exceptionally angry, given the severity of the situation. Both he and Hyunjin are good shots, so try to stay out of the way.”

You approach the top of the stairs, the sounds of shouting coming through the slightly ajar front door. Christopher throws his hand behind him, and everyone stops moving. He cranes his head around the doorframe, then walks in.

“Minho,” he says, as Jisung follows him inside. “You need to step back.” Seungmin and Jeongin follow their superiors inside, and you can’t help but poke your head into the doorway.

“Oh, of course,” Minho turns around at the sound of Christopher’s voice, laughing sarcastically. “Channie has to show up and save the day. What a hero, right? Or is it that maybe you wanted to have a little revenge on Hyunjin for taking away our Changbin?”

The way that Minho spoke made your stomach turn. Something about it made you feel like you were watching a dark psychological thriller film, like you needed to take a shower.

“We decide together,” Christopher calmly says. “Trust me, I understand how angry you are at him, I really do.” Minho takes a couple of steps towards Christopher and his eyes widen, almost like he’s ready to throw a punch at his superior. The three men around Christopher take their pistols and aim them directly at Minho as Christopher tucks his pistol back into its holster and lifts his hands up. “Changbin was my best friend. I’ve known him for almost half my life at this point. Trust me, I get it.”

Christopher turns his head, looking at Hyunjin, who wavers a bit where he stands. “I’d want to make him suffer, too,” he turns back to Minho, “but you know that Changbin wouldn’t want that.”

Minho scoffs, closing his eyes and shaking his head, tilting it down. “Yeah, I know. Changbin was always the level-headed one out of all of us when it came to the family.” He lifts his head back up and a dark expression covers his face. “Changbin isn’t here anymore, though. So, if you and the boys don’t mind,” he turns his head back towards Hyunjin, “I’m gonna get revenge with my fists.” He lifts one of his hands in the air, “Don’t shoot me, though, I’m just gonna beat some sense into him, mano a mano.”

Christopher sighs, turning his head a bit back towards the men behind him, waving his hand dismissively to indicate that the guys should holster their pistols. “Let him,” he simply says, then moves to adjust his necktie. “If it gets bad, we’ll step in.” A part of you didn’t believe that Christopher was being sincere. With how much he cared about Changbin, it was likely he wanted to see Hyunjin suffer, but didn’t want to be the one to deal with it.

“No the fuck you won’t,” Minho snaps as he walks towards Hyunjin. “Pretty boy is mine to deal with.” He grabs the collar of the younger man and shoves him up against the wall. Felix takes a couple of steps around the men, walking over to Christopher and whispering something unintelligible from this far away.

“You know this is your fault,” Hyunjin says with a cocky look on his face. “If you never fell for Changbin after Shanghai, you know we’d be at the top now.”

Minho takes one of his fists and brings it to Hyunjin’s cheek, it slamming against his cheekbone with a thump. “If you hadn’t gotten so goddamn cocky,” he grips the collar of Hyunjin’s shirt again, shoving him into the wall a little firmer, “we wouldn’t have fucked up that deal. The Triads were fucking pissed at you and that’s on you. I wouldn’t have gotten shot if it wasn’t for your shitty fucking bravado.”

Hyunjin scoffs, drawing his head back a bit and colliding it with Minho’s with a heavy thud. Minho lets go of Hyunjin’s collar and grabs his head, moaning out in pain. “Fucking hell,” he grumbles with a slight slur.

“You were such a coward. Still are,” Hyunjin says, grabbing his forehead as he knees Minho in the stomach. “Temporarily left the fucking family because your precious Binnie was so worried about you. You really thought you were just gonna leave, go somewhere and start a happy family?” He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “As if. No one makes it out of here sane or alive.”

Minho growls as he reorients himself upright. He draws his arm back and literally leaps at Hyunjin, his fist colliding against his face again. This time, however, they land on the floor and throw fists back and forth until their faces and knuckles are bloodied. “If you never got involved with that fucking Triad girl,” Minho spits blood down onto Hyunjin’s face in anger, “we would never be here. Changbin would still be alive, the two of us would be out, then you could have had it all. But you went and flew too close to the goddamn sun, you fucking traitor.” Minho pushes himself to his feet and reaches for his pistol.

A chill runs through the air as Hyunjin calmly stands up, drawing his pistol in response. “It’s not my fault,” he says coolly, then turns to glare at you. “If it wasn’t for her,” he nods in your direction, then turns back to Minho, “Changbin wouldn’t have died. All I wanted to do was to give him a little warning shot so Minji and I could get out of there. But, you know your precious Changbin. Always had to be the brave, strong hero.” He squints his eyes and cockily smirks. “You loved that about him and you know that.”

Christopher tenses, sensing the shift in tone, and he grabs his pistol, motioning for you to get back, but it’s clearly too late to intervene.

It happens in an instant, time slowing down like the time that Christopher got shot in front of you. You see Minho’s arms raise up, aiming his pistol at Hyunjin, who responds in kind by aiming his pistol at Minho. However, he’s a bit too slow.

Minho fires his gun once, square into Hyunjin’s shoulder. The younger man shrieks and recoils, but manages to fire a shot into Minho’s stomach before he collides into the ground. The older man falls forward, crashing into the floor like a rag doll. Blood flies everywhere, painting the room and the men in splatters of deep crimson.

Hyunjin weakly coughs a couple of times. “Idiot,” he groggily whispers before his head rolls away from you.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” Minho coughs out, thick blood coming up from his throat. Felix immediately moves towards Minho, but the older man shakes his head once. “Let me fucking die.” The younger man stops in his tracks, nods, then moves to Hyunjin. He pores over the long-haired man, reaching up to his throat, letting out a deep sigh, shaking his head.

Minho lazily rolls onto his back, staring up to the ceiling. “I know you never would have wanted me to get revenge,” he scoffs, more blood coming up and spilling down his cheek, “but you knew me better than that. You were always the, ah,” he coughs a couple of times, “always the wiser one out of the two of us. I might have been older, but you were smarter.” He closes his eyes and lets out a shaky sigh. “I love you so much. You made me so much better. Sorry, baby. Hope you’re there on the other side. Heh. Hope there’s an other…”

A creaky groan comes from Minho, and that’s the last noise he makes. The room falls silent and nobody moves for a while. A few tears fall down your face. Minho may have been flighty and impossible to understand sometimes, but he showed you nothing but compassion and kindness when he first met you.

“Hi, I’m Lee Minho,” the memory of his introduction replays in your head. “Changbin’s probably talked about me by now.” You remember the way he softly smiled as he offered a slight bow to you. The way he looked at Changbin while he was half-drunk and high off of ecstasy, the way he whined at Changbin and pulled him into an embrace when he was half-asleep the next day. “Cuddle me and make it better.” There was no way he was truly a bad person, not by all of his interactions with you. He just loved Changbin and didn’t know how to appropriately act about it at times.

Your knees painfully collided into the ground and you just started sobbing. Sure, Minho had moments where he was absolutely insane, but the memories you had with him physically hurt as they passed through your head.

Daegu. You were in Daegu. You probably weren’t far away from where he and Changbin were for the Colourful Daegu Festival a long time ago. How happy they must have been when they were tripping on acid and listening to music. God, how much they must have loved each other. All of the happy memories they had, only to end in pain and misery and literal fucking death.

“Don’t let Channie intimidate you,” you remember him telling you the day that Christopher came home from the hospital, not long before Changbin brought him home. You were both on the couch, aimlessly talking about life as Jisung took a nap in the bedroom.

“What do you mean?” You had asked, turning to look at Minho.

“He’s a little intense sometimes,” he continued, folding his hands together and bringing them to the back of his head. “but he cares. Once he gets close to someone, he gets protective and it’s endearing. It’s usually just a bit intense at the beginning. I mean, you saw how he got when he found out you and Sungie had been together, but he cares. and just doesn’t know how to show it sometimes.”

You cocked your head to the side and mumbled in agreement.

“I remember when he found out that Changbin and I were dating. Wow,” Minho sighed as he rolled his head up to look at the ceiling. “Man, was he pissed. He yelled and yelled and totally reamed me. ‘First, you get shot for him,’ he said to me, ‘now you’re in love with him? With my best friend?’” Minho smiled at the memory. “That’s how I knew he really cared about Binnie. He wasn’t mad at me, he was just protective of his best friend.”

“Huh,” you mumbled out, then leaned back up against the couch, staring up at the ceiling with Minho.

“He gave me his blessing eventually,” Minho continued, “but he told me that if I ever broke Binnie’s heart, he’d break my kneecaps in two and make sure nobody found me at the bottom of the ocean.”

Your eyes widened and you turned to look at Minho in terror.

Minho tilted his head towards you and smiled. “Real charmer, ain’t he? Very endearing type. He falls fast. Probably loves you already, just doesn’t know how to say it. Be ready for it to come completely out of the blue.”

You run your hands through your hair, rocking back and forth as you sob so hard that your throat started to ache. Someone takes a few steps towards you, then bends down, pulling you into their arms. “It’s okay,” Jisung’s voice whispers in your ear, “it’s gonna be okay, bunny, I promise.”

Liar. Everyone was a fucking liar.

“I’ll take care of this,” Felix quietly says to Christopher as you and Jisung sit on the middle of the staircase. “Don’t worry about it, hyung.”

“You sure?” Christopher flatly questions, his voice devoid of emotion. “I can call the hyung-nim and -“

“Hyung,” Felix presses. “Do you know how many bodies I’ve dealt with over the years? All the time in nursing school? It’s fine. It’s just another part of the job. Besides, the hyung-nim is still pretty miffed at us. Can’t imagine how happy he’s gonna be to hear that two more of us are gone.”

Christopher sighs, and you hear them slap each other on the back. “Thanks, Felix.”

“Not by blood,” Felix starts.

“By the code.” Christopher finishes their pact with a deep sigh. “I want you to come back up to Seoul when you’re, ah,” his breath hitches as he speaks, “when you’re done. Alright?”

“Understood, hyung.” Felix says. “You’re buying the drinks, though.”

Christopher lets out a strained chuckle as he comes down the stairs. “Yeah, yeah.” He slowly approaches you, sitting down on the stairs behind you and Jisung. “I’m sorry you both had to see this. I’m sorry this went so badly so fast.”

“Chan,” Jisung turns his head over his shoulder, looking up to Christopher. “Are you going to be alright driving back to Seoul tonight? There’s the other safehouse, or I can drive down to Busan; it’s only an hour or so from here.”

“No,” Christopher says, probably shaking his head like he did when he pretended he wasn’t bothered by something. “I don’t mind. Just gotta stop somewhere, get an energy drink and another pack of cigarettes and we’ll be fine.”

You lift your head up from your hands, staring off into the horizon as the sun starts to come up. It felt like you had been here for an eternity. A burning, gnawing sensation burned in your stomach as you mentally pictured Minho laying on the floor, blood spilling down his face. A cold sweat broke out over your skin and your body started to tingle everywhere.

Oh, shit.

You were going to be sick. You bolt up to your feet, running down the last couple stairs and prop yourself up against the railing as you spill the contents of your stomach on the pavement, painting the ground in a disgusting shade of green.

“Ah, baby,” Christopher whines, coming up behind you as he rubs his hand on your back, pulling your hair back in a loose fist with his other hand. “It’s gonna be okay, I promise.”

Liar. Everyone was fucking lying again.

Footsteps trail up the staircase, disappearing into the building as you hear Jisung say something to Felix. Your stomach retches again and searing acid comes up and splatters onto the ground, causing you to cough in a panic as it felt like your throat was closing. The cycle repeats itself a couple of times, and by the time you’re almost sure you’re done being sick, Jisung is on the other side of you, rubbing your lower back and handing you a cold bottle of water.

“It’s okay,” he lies, because everyone’s lying. Nothing was going to be fine. Nothing would ever be fine ever again. “When you can, take a drink of this. We can take as much time as you need.”

You snatch the bottle out of his hand with disgust, standing upright and breaking the seal of the bottle, taking a swig of its contents. The pH of stomach acid fluctuated between 1.5 and 3.5, you randomly remember from your university days. Water was neutral at 7. The way the water burned going down your throat made it feel like it was at a pH of 1.

Everything felt like battery acid. The way the stomach acid burned as it came up, the way the water felt as it went down, the way that everyone was lying to you, the way that life seemed to absolutely abhor your guts - literally and metaphorically. Even though you knew that Christopher and Jisung were doing their best at just trying to console you, their hands felt like battery acid burning into your back.

You sighed as you tilted your head up to look at the sky. The sun was coming up, but there was still a deep shade of violet far off in the distance, white spots spattered against the technicolour backdrop. A single red spot in the distance caught your eye. Huh. Wasn’t that supposed to be Mars if you saw a red star?

A red star. A red spot.

Wait a second.

Oh shit.

“Don’t we need to go to a convenience store?” You say, turning to Christopher, trying to sound as calm as possible as you do some mental calculations.

“Yeah, how come?” He responds, tilting his head in confusion.

“I’ll grab the stuff for you. I wanna grab a snack and some things to drink for the ride home.” You lie, a fake smile plastered on your face. “It’ll let you and the guys talk about family stuff for a minute without me, you know? Not like I can run away if you’re right in front of the store, right?”

Christopher’s face falls into a frown and he shakes his head. “I guess that’s fine. Jisung’s going with you, though.”

Shit.

“Chan,” Jisung says with a scoff, “I’ll just wait outside. She’ll be fine.”

Christopher glares at Jisung, then turns away, rolling his hands in the air. “Fine, fine,” he sighs, walking towards the car, “if she runs, you’re going after her.”

Jeongin gets off from the trunk of the car, shoving Seungmin’s shoulder and startling the poor man. Must’ve been nodding off. “C’mon, Seungmin,” he quietly says, “looks like we’re getting ready to go.”

“Is something wrong?” Jisung says as he steps in front of you, calculatedly avoiding your artistic addiction to the pavement. “Something doesn’t seem right.”

“It’s just a lot to process,” it’s a half-truth, really, “figured you guys could use a minute to yourselves and I could use a minute to myself.

“You’re not gonna run, are you?” Jisung sounds concerned as he tilts your chin up to look you in the eyes.

“I’m not, I promise.” For once today, you were telling the entire truth.

Jisung doesn’t really pay attention to you as you wander around inside the convenience store. You grab a couple of snack foods off the shelf, not really thinking or caring about what you grabbed, too busy focusing on the real reason you were there. You walk around the store until you reach the more household-like items. Nervously, you roll your eyes up, checking to see if Jisung was still staring off into space.

Luckily, he still wasn’t paying attention. You eye a box, snatching it off of the shelf, then spin on your heel and grab a few drinks from the cooler behind you. As you walk up to the counter, you ask the clerk for whatever stupid brand of cigarettes that Christopher smoked, trying to hide the box from Jisung’s line of vision.

The clerk eyes you with judgement and shakes her head. She rings up all of the items, saving the box for last, but you grab it from her before she can place it in the bag and you shove it in the pocket of your hoodie. She cocks her head in confusion, then decides it must be too early to really question anything. “₩21,050.” You pull out a few bills from your pocket and slip them to her. She hands you some change then asks, “need the washroom?”

You turn to look at Jisung, who’s staring at you now. “Y-yeah,” you stutter out, “lemme just give this stuff to my boyfriend real quick.”

“First door in the back, to your left. Good luck.” The clerk scoffs, then goes back to her coffee.

You take a couple steps to the door, opening it and passing the bag off to Jisung. “Gonna use the washroom, be back in a second.” He opens his mouth to say something, but follows you into the store.

“I trust you,” he lies, otherwise he wouldn’t be following you, “but you know that Chan would kill me if I didn’t follow you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you tuck one of your hands into your front pocket and open the door. “I get it, just give me a minute.” You slip through the door as Jisung stares at you in confusion.

06:32. You make a mental note of the digital display as you get back into the car and slide your seatbelt on.

“You look a little pale, baby,” Christopher says as he rubs his finger on your face. “I know today has been a lot, but are you alright? You sure you wanna go back to Seoul today?”

“I’m fine,” you lie, swallowing down some of your panic. Subconsciously, your eyes dart to the clock again. “I’m just tired. It’s been a long day. Long month. Long year.”

Jisung sighs from the back seat. “You can say that again.”

Christopher leans in to kiss your cheek, then unwraps the plastic from the pack of cigarettes in his hand. He pulls one out of the package, lifting it to his lips as he rolls down the window. “Everyone ready?”

Nobody really says anything, so Christopher shrugs his shoulders, lighting his cigarette before shifting the car into drive and making his way through the streets of Daegu. He takes in a long drag from his cigarette and lets out a sigh.

06:34.

“What a fucking year,” he says, not really expecting anyone to respond. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do if something else happens to us. I just wanna get out of the family, you know?”

Jeongin chimes in, “Yeah, I think I’m about ready to call it quits, too. Maybe go back to school and get a degree in something. Be a productive member of society instead of whatever this is.”

Seungmin laughs. “I feel you on that. Kkangpae isn’t really a marketable skill on a resume, is it? Imagine how that interview would go. Yeah, I have some good business skills, sir, but you don’t wanna know how I learned them. I can tell you how much a single dose of molly will go for on the street, though. Did I get the job? When do I start?”

The guys laugh, but you offer a polite smirk as your keep your eyes trained on the clock. 06:36. Why was it that when you wanted time to pass faster, it always seemed to go slower? Why was life so paradoxically cruel sometimes?

“Chan-hyung and I are pretty good at music,” Jisung perks up, “maybe we could become some idols or something? I’ve got the face for it.”

Christopher snorts and rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like that would ever happen. I don’t want that kind of life, sounds too busy. Besides,” he looks over at you, then back to the road, “I don’t think they’d take too kindly to the fact that I’m already dating not only one, but two, people. Really wouldn’t like the fact that one of them is another dude.”

06:38.

“Good point,” Jisung says, probably rolling his eyes. “Life is a cruel mistress, isn’t it?”

“I just don’t get it,” Seungmin says, “like, why is it anyone else’s business what people do in the space of their own homes? If it doesn’t hurt anyone, who cares?”

Jeongin scoffs. “You’re just saying that because you don’t want people to find out about your collection of -“

“Shut up!” Seungmin pleads with a whine, cutting off the younger man. “Why the hell do we live with each other again?”

06:40. Good enough.

You tilt your head to the side, pulling out the piece of plastic, pretending you’re looking at a piece of string. Your face falls when you eyes see a bright pink cross staring back at you, as if it were another way for life to slap you in the face.

“You alright?” Jisung’s voice startles you as you jam your hand back into your pocket.

“Y-yeah,” you sputter, “just thinking about how life really is cruel sometimes, you know?”

You were pregnant and you were definitely not okay with the idea of that.

“It’ll be okay, though,” you say as you stare out the window.

Everyone’s fucking lying.

a/n: surprise! i literally cried writing this chapter too. chapter eleven is probably about halfway done as i post this, so hopefully you won’t need to wait too long for it. just a heads up, there will be triggering content in the last chapter, and it will be clearly labelled. the epilogue, step out! see you in the next life will briefly cover part of the ending of chapter eleven if you’re curious but don’t want to read it. thanks for sticking around for this wild ride. can’t wait to see you next chapter.

edit: mano a mano means hand to hand, not man to man btw. just found that out lol.

#tw: suicidal ideation #tw: death #tw: mental instability #tw: mental health #tw: ptsd #tw: firearms #tw: violence #tw: blood #step out do what you want

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ofxwordsxandxletters · 4 years

Text

Worship

Series: Wynonna Earp

Disclaimer: The pairing and plot are mine in this work of fan-made fiction off of which no money is made.

Pairing: Hollirey

Rating: Explicit overall

Choosing to wear something lacy for Doc’s pleasure, Bobo Del Rey is not expecting just how things turn out...and to be fair neither is Doc Holliday...

Author’s Note: So in re-posting this, I decided to go ahead and put both parts together and do some editing so there is more to this story then the separate parts posted before. I hope that it is still as emotionally satisfying, however. This is probably one of my favorite Hollirey Fics.

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Worship

He’d decided against giving any indication of what he was planning mostly because after thirty minutes of typing, deleting, typing again only to delete on his phone told him there was no way he’d go through it if the other knew something was up. As it was, he was pretty sure everyone knew he was feeling some sort of way. Good thing the Revenants in the compound knew better than to either point it out or heaven forbid ask him about it.

Bobo is sort of wondering when he’d lost his mind enough for what he was planning and knew that at anytime he could change said plans. That was also a perfect reason not to warn someone; then you don’t have to cancel and explain yourself.

Somehow, he makes it through the day without needlessly making someone bleed or having a nervous breakdown (not that he’d ever admit to being close to the second) as well as not changing before he heads out. He knows the Revenants know where he’s going; it’s not a secret between either groups but no one says a thing (mostly because the last person who questioned his activities ended up outside the line for five hours). “Don’t kill anyone who won’t regenerate,” is his parting warning before he heads in the direction of Shorty’s.

And one John Henry Holliday.

Except the closer he actually gets the more he can tell it’s nerves and he’s almost turned around four times before forcing himself to park in the parking lot fingers tight around the steering wheel. “God fucking dammit,” he mutters, “This is hardly the most surprising thing I’ve managed to do so why is this so fucking difficult?” Deep down, he knows why. It’s a sort of vulnerability that tended to get him hurt by others. “Guess here’s the point of no return, huh? Let’s see how in you really are, John Henry Holliday.”

He could survive losing the man. He could. Because it wasn’t anything close to being love. It wasn’t. It was not.

It still takes ten minutes before he steps out of the car and heads for the door before managing his familiar swagger inside. “Evenin’, Waverly,” he greets watching her freeze behind the counter like a deer in the headlights before calming by increments.

“Bobo,” she says before managing a small smile (a hard won victory for him) and adding, “I’ll go and get Doc.”

“Take your time, I’m in no rush,” he answers simply as he takes a seat at the bar ignoring the way the material shifts and rubs as he makes himself comfortable. This was not something he was used to; what lay hidden beneath the tight jeans and he was really and truly beginning to wonder if he should just slip back out and leave citing some emergency before the other got into the main room because…

“Well, look who it is. They were startin’ to take bets on whether or not you were actually coming in.” Doc’s voice is light and teasing but he still feels his tension coil tightly.

“Long day,” he manages, “Was debating not giving them the pleasure of my company and then decided that it would be a shame to deprive them of it.”

“Just them, huh?”

Bobo finds himself slowly relaxing into their easy banter. “Why, John Henry, is that you admitting that you might actually like my company?”

The male makes himself comfortable on the stool beside him before reaching and pulling him towards him without preamble. The feel of his lips against his has Bobo groaning low in his throat at how easy the other male makes it seem to just touch him in public or at all actually but that was insecurity rearing its ugly head and he tries to push it away as he leans forward to deepen it letting himself reach and grip the other’s arm.

Breaking it, he finds himself watching the other’s eyes fill with heat like the promise of a coming storm. Bobo knew how it was that most everyone got trapped by this one’s gaze. He wants to say something but the male reaches out to lightly brush his fingers along his jaw and he finds himself chasing the contact leaning into the touch.

He’s quite a bit distracted by the gentle, soft touches so he nearly misses when in the midst of leaning to kiss at the corner of his mouth a finger undoes the button on his pants and slips in.

He feels Doc freeze immediately and tries to keep his fear to a minimum. “Are you…” The finger shifts slightly making Bobo fail to keep from squirming slightly and pray no one was seeing this but the breathed, “You are” has his full attention.

“Y-yes?” It comes out as a question loaded with too many ways this could go wrong. And he feels the other withdraw panic starting to take hold. “Henry…”

His face is cupped and he’s pulled back into a kiss; just as gentle and sweet that has his toes nearly curling. It was this soft sweetness that tended to leave him breathless and strangely pliant for the other to do with as he would and Bobo was strangely addicted to the way it felt. “Let’s take this somewhere more private,” he murmurs as he rises and extends a hand eyes holding heat and wicked intent.

He’s almost embarrassed by how quickly he takes the offered hand and lets him tug him for the stairs. Being brought into the other’s room is nothing knew; but there was something heavy in the air as Doc shuts the door and locks it before turning towards him. “You are wearing lace?”

He feels the heat spreading along his skin. “Yes,” comes the reply and he struggles to keep the sharpness out of his tone mostly from how much he was regretting this if the other disapproved, “Look, it won’t happen again I just…” He’s pulled forward again and kissed before he can get through whatever the rest of the defense would be.

And it’s while he’s kissing him that Doc maneuvers him in the direction of the bed and releases before giving a shove that sends him sprawling more out of surprise than anything. “John Henry…”

“Quiet,” the other commands as he moves so that he’s straddling over top of him, “I want to see what you’ve deigned to wear for my viewing pleasure.” There is something warm in his tone, almost hungry that has Bobo slowly letting himself relax against the mattress.

Doc shifts back before tugging him up enough to divest him of his coat and shirt beneath it letting his fingers run down his chest and abdomen taking his time to undress him, almost unwrapping him. He crouches down and removes his shoes and socks letting his fingers brush along the arch grinning at the sharp intake of breath and the warned, “John Henry…”

“I do love how you growl my name,” he murmurs before shifting up and lightly drawing the zipper down before shifting it open to reveal light blue lace stretched over his skin. “Well, now this is a surprise. His fingers lightly brush over the material and Bobo’s head lolls back as his breathing sharpens. “Definitely like that, too.” He tugs the material down before tugging him up so he can get the pants down and off before he lets his gaze fully take him in standing in nothing but the lace underwear.

Bobo has never felt like he’s on display in such a way before and he watches the male take him in slowly, leisurely before gazing back up at him, eyes tumultuous now more than before. “Somethin’ like this begs to have time taken since you did make yourself so very pretty for me, Robert.”

There was a time he would have snapped at the man for daring to call him that but that was before he’d learned to crave the way it rolled off the other’s tongue especially in that low, husky tone. That mixed with the compliment has him very willing to let the man do what he wanted. Any and everything the man wanted.

It was dangerous and he knew better but he wants it more than he wants to argue or worry so he merely lets himself get comfortable on the bed splayed out before beckoning him towards him. And that would be all it would take for Doc to rejoin him, his knees on either side of him as he leans and presses another hot kiss to his mouth. It is brief, almost too brief but it’s made tolerable when the dark haired male moves down kissing lightly at his jaw and tracing his lips and tongue over his throat which is bared willingly for the other. His breathing hitches when the male’s mouth finds all the spots he knows to be sensitive and he lavishes slow attention; the soft brush of lips, the light nip of teeth, and the soothing moist heat of his tongue and mouth map him out slowly, lazily. He takes special care and time on his nipples until Bobo is squirming and whining and he can feel the bastard’s smirk against his skin as he continues playing him, winding him up.

And then he’d move lower; abdomen and stomach getting the same treatment; leaving reddened marks that would most likely fade by the morning before he ends up kneeling between the other’s spread thighs and he gazes down at him, lips curving. “Beautiful,” he breathes softly, “You, Robert, are more beautiful than a man has the right to be.” His fingers lightly brush over the thin fabric stretched taut over his straining cock. His lips curve, “You should don such things more often as they look incredible on you.”

He swallows thickly. “W-wasn’t sure you’d approve…”

Doc’s eyes meet his and his grin widens. “Oh, Robert,” he murmurs huskily before bringing one of the man’s hands to his pants and pressing the palm there, “Oh, I approve most emphatically. You are stunnin’. Hell, the next time you should wear a pair and just your coat.”

Color dusts more across his skin before he manages, “A-as much as the ego stroking is nice...could you, maybe, you know, stroke something else?”

“You always were so impatient. Some things deserve time to be taken. And some people deserve to be savored.”

“Henry…”

“Robert,” he murmurs as he reaches to allow himself to at least remove his pants and boots this time before he rejoins him on the bed letting his body press down so he can rock his hips slowly making the other groan and arch to meet him. “Mm, like that. Such a beautiful, needy thing you are tonight. I approve,” he breathes before nipping at the male’s neck and continues, “So just trust yourself to me and let me show you what you’re truly worth.”

Months ago, Bobo Del Rey would have known better than to allow it; a life of lessons to never let another man have him vulnerable or open. But that was months ago and somehow this unrepentant bastard had managed to undo decades of his own walls with little more than a smile and the way he treated him. Maybe it was desperation or the need for contact...or maybe there was enough left of Robert Svane to be still ridiculously romantic…Whatever it was, he chooses to jump head-first off the ledge and hope for the best. If he was wrong it wouldn’t be the first time he’d plunged to his emotional death and he’d probably survive it. Probably.

Forcefully telling the fear that it had nothing to do with this man or this place, he manages a quiet, “I think that you are overstating my value here, John Henry.”

“No,” comes the firm response as the other brings his fingers along his face again, “I am surely not, Robert. You are worthy of so much; friends, family, a home, even love.”

“And you?” He cannot believe he asks this because it was so stupid, so desperate sounding, too honest, too presumptuous, too...

“If you want me, Robert, you have me. I’m all in when it comes to you and I will not fold no matter how bad it gets.”

He has to close his eyes a moment at that. The words are balm for some of the more broken pieces in him. He takes a slow, deep breath before opening them hoping that there wasn’t too much showing even though he’s sure that’s a useless want at this point. “I...do...want...that.” You, was the correct albeit unspoken word. But he can see in the softened smile and the way the other leans to press his forehead against his that he hears and understands the truth of the statement.

“Mine,” comes the quiet claiming he so desperately needed, “You, Bobo Del Rey, you Robert Svane, are mine. And I am a possessive and territorial man.”

Bobo wants to protect himself with some snarky remark about him getting to possessing said territory but that could come later. For the moment he merely brings his arm up to loop it around Doc’s shoulders and shift slightly so that he can kiss him and ignore the fact that his eyes were hot and wet because there might be tears. Actual tears.

Of course John Henry breaks the kiss too soon for his liking and lightly brushes his thumbs along the damp skin. “You deserve the world.”

“D-don’t say such things or we’re not getting very far tonight.”

“We have the time, Robert. We have all the time it takes for me to prove you deserve good things. The very best things.”

“Henry…”

“Robert,” he murmurs softly letting his hand slide between them to brush over the thin fabric making him squirm and breathe sharply, “You will believe me one of these days.”

“F-fuck...c-could we just...a-ahh...o-ohh...do-do that,” comes the groaned out plea as he applies more pressure to his groin. It has Doc chuckling gently as he curls his fingers as best he can and stroke slowly making him rock and his arms tighten as he presses his face in the crook of his neck as he pants and moans against his skin.

“Such a lovely reaction, darlin’. I do so love how you respond to me.”

He wants to get more demanding and less pliant but there is something about the affectionate praise he gets when he lets the other go at his leisure that Bobo is far more addicted to and so just closes his eyes and rests back against the bed beneath him. He’d offered himself up for this anyway.

And John Henry Holliday, much to his immense surprise, had yet to disappoint him so he’s very sure the man will make it worth his while to just let him take his time. And maybe he could let himself have this without protest; let himself be savored in this way without making too much of it. Without wondering too much about what it might cost him in the future. He wasn’t Wyatt Earp. Thankfully, his wandering thoughts are corralled very quickly when Doc’s next move is to slide his fingers under the very edge of the lace and brush against hot skin that has him jerking as pleasure jolts down his nerves and a sharp, ragged sound escaping followed by a choked, “Please, fuck...please…touch me...” “Oh, I have every intention of doin’ just that,” comes the reply, “Trust that above all else; that I have every intention of making you know that every bit and every part of you is mine, Robert Svane. No one else’s. No one else gets a chance at what’s left of you because it belongs to me and I will guard it most fiercely. And guard you as well.” He wants to tell him not to say things like that because it was ridiculously sentimental at best and a lie at worst but he can’t speak through the fact that his goddamn throat is tight with everything he’s feeling at the moment, everything this man makes him feel and more than that; makes him want from him. “Henry…” The word comes out in a mix of warning and plea and he cannot rightfully figure out which or what it was currently asking for because it was all he could manage to force out.

And John Henry Holliday, damn the man, smiles that goddamn soft, tender smile that broke every wall and failsafe he’d tried to make so that he was never in his life foolish enough to let some fool man mean something to him like this with all the force of dynamite before murmuring “I’ve got ya, darlin,’” as he finally draws the lace off of him leaving him bare against the bed.

His breathing sharpens and he lets himself splay for the other’s view. It wasn’t like Doc hadn’t had him naked before but there was something about how he felt tonight of all nights that made it more intimate in some ways that he felt more exposed and vulnerable. But even though he’s not sure he likes the way it makes him feel; the way Doc’s eyes drink him in and the sheer approval in those dark blue eyes is more than worth it.

“You have seen me naked before,” he finally gets out something untensing at the way the other just gazes over him.

“Yes,” comes the easy agreement, “It’s one of my particularly favorite activities as it were; staring at the sheer expanse of you.”

“I would much prefer if you touched more and looked less.”

Doc chuckles at that. “Oh, I am sure you do. But as I said; there are things and people who are best savored. This and you are definitely in that category, Robert Svane.”

He lets his eyes close at that and slides his arms behind his head in a silent show of surrender. Bobo had always preferred sex to be fast and somewhat rough; less emotions more baser needs. Doc had learned that it was because gentle, loving, and intimate affairs tended to leave him open and terribly raw.

Hence this entire situation, he supposes. Doc could always read what he needed to hear, to have done to him better than anyone he’d met. If there was a talent here; it was that John Henry Holliday could read someone too goddamn well. And what was more was that he clearly likes finding all the secrets he still held like it was some great discovery. And honestly, it reminded him that he was still very much Robert. And he still very much wanted to be important to someone. In fact, he wanted to be important to this man above all else. So if fate or whatever celestial asshole was out there making a mess of things for no damn reason could just give him this small favor, this tiny thing: it would be to keep John Henry Holliday.

It could not be too much to ask at this point.

The bed dips as Henry rejoins him making himself comfortable between his spread thighs. His fingers lightly brush over the length of him, lips curving into a look of satisfaction as he squirms and arches wanting more friction, more of something against hot skin. “F-fuck...c’mon...would you do more than that?”

There is that moment when he knows his partner could continue; John Henry made teasing a man a sport and was very, very good at it. However, he sees the moment the other knows now is clearly not the time to do that and his fingers tighten just enough to have him arching as a groan slips past his lips. It’s halting almost rumbling as want is very much getting the better of him though he’ quite displeased when his partner’s next move is to withdraw the hand completely. Light blue eyes, more gray than blue, blink at him and he goes to make something of a demand of the other when he watches him shift so that he can settle himself between his thighs, Bobo’s legs resting over his shoulders. His lips part as he’s very much not sure what the other thinks he’s doing and his thoughts come to a screeching halt when he feels the male’s lips against his skin again. It’s an almost embarrassingly squawking breath that escapes him as he tries to wrap his mind around what Doc’s actual actions are.

He’s pretty sure he’s told him, numerous times, something along the lines of “kiss my ass” but he’d never actually taken a moment to wonder how that would go in a literal sense. “He-Henry,” he struggles to get out, “Henry, wh-what the fuck are you…” The tip of his tongue flicks out and his head nearly snaps back at the fleeting of it pressing against the rim of his ass. That’s what he was doing. His breathing staccatos sharply and his fingers grip the sheets as he tries to decide if this was way too much or just right and he watches blue eyes glint mischievously before the other presses his tongue in deep and has his back arching as a sound escapes too close to a wail for his own liking and he presses his palm over his mouth because there was no way he was trying to explain that sort of noise to anyone who might hear it. The chuckle against his skin doesn’t make him feel any better about the situation though the fact that his hips shift towards the bastard instead of away gives him up for enjoying it. Warm fingers cup his hips as he presses closer, licking at him deeply.

Bobo soon finds himself unable to get a good rhythm as Doc alternates from deep satisfying presses of his tongue to light, teasing licks at the clamping opening and it’s as maddening as it is pleasurable. Finally, he rescinds his hold on the sheets with one hand and brings it into the male’s dark hair. “F-fuckin’ eat me out l-like you mean it,” he demands voice more plaintive whine than growl, “F-for fuck’s sake...H-Henry…”

The other of course has to withdraw enough to murmur, “What part of me savorin’ you makes you think this is gonna be done at your pace, darlin’? If I want to spend the rest of my night eatin’ you out just like this then you’re just going to have to accept that.”

He wants to argue, protest, or tell him where he could stick his intentions (whatever those may be) but can only choke because at that moment Doc leans before lewdly sucking at his rim and shoving his tongue in deep in a certain direction that has him rocking violently. His fingers tighten in the other’s hair breathing sharp and reedy. Damn this man and all the ways he used to just wreck him.

That he delighted in finding them was something else for him to think about at some point because he is not used to someone being this giving in pleasure or this interested in what he liked enough to experiment. The next slow lick has him panting and squirming. "H-Henry...f-fuck...please..."

Of course Doc ignores him clearly enjoying the way he was responding to him. Bobo is sure all it would take is a sharp jerk on his hair to get the other to change his tactics but there is too much of him that wants him to keep doing this: to keep touching him in such an intimate and tender manner so he releases his grip and returns his fingers to gripping the sheets.

The coiling heat and pressure intensify the more Doc learns where and how to press his tongue, lips, and to lightly drag his teeth and Bobo is taken off guard when an orgasm peaks violently from this alone leaving him momentarily breathless. Doc gives him a satisfied, pleased look murmuring, "Now this is definitely something I need to do to you more often."

He feels his face flush from the husky tone and slight embarrassment. "W-was that strictly necessary?"

"Maybe not," comes the easy response before Doc would make a show of drawing his fingers along the spatters of semen decorating Bobo's skin and then licking the digits clean. The Revenant let's his eyes fall closed with a soft groan.

"Henry..."

“Robert,” he teases back before his tone would go serious again, “You deserve to be treated to everything a man can enjoy being done to him. Ain't nothing wrong with it.”

“You do realize…”

“He,” Doc interrupts knowing just where this was going, “was the selfish sort not particularly concerned about what things any of his bedmates would have wanted nor would he have been willing to change that. I'm not him. Not even close. So I'm going to teach you how a man should be to someone important to him.”

“But what do you get out of it?”

Doc chuckles softly. “Darlin’, I get to feel you squirm and hear you whine and taste you so deeply that I know I’ll be the only one with that pleasure. Trust that I get a lot out of finding what you enjoy havin’ done to you.”

Bobo is pretty sure he's flushing at the words and tries not to be embarrassed though the fact that he still could be embarrassed is a new one to him. The orgasm has him more pliant and he merely watches as Doc moves to grab a familiar jar and returns to him. Half-lidded eyes watch as he unscrews the cap and dips his fingers inside before settling himself so he can start to slowly open him up. The familiar pressure and stretch has him groaning low in his throat as he lets his eyes close to enjoy the sensation of being stretched. His breathing sharpens and he arches fucking himself on the male's fingers deeply. “Hnn...fuck...there!” he pants out as Doc's fingers crook stroking his prostate. The process would be slow as Doc makes sure he's more than ready before withdrawing his fingers which Bobo doesn't particular like but as he opens his eyes, he's granted the sight of Doc undressing fully. His tongue flicks between his lips at the sight of all of him. “See somethin' ya like, darlin'?” “You know it.” Doc chuckles softly as he climbs atop the bed and lightly spreads his legs wider for him to settle between. “Good to know,” he murmurs voice going husky as he shifts and presses into his heat, “Ahh, Robert...” Fingers interlock with his own, their palms pressed against each other as Doc pistons his hips dragging a ragged sound from between his lips as all the right spots within him are hit. “A-ahh...f-fuck...y-yes...like that…”

Doc’s lips curve upwards clearly pleased with his response though the sharpened breath he takes is just as satisfactory for Bobo himself to hear. “D-Definitely like the way you feel ‘round me, darlin’; hot and tight and perfect,” comes the low approving groan from the other as his blue eyes go half-lidded in pleasure.

A low, pleased rumble escapes him as he presses his hips up to meet the other’s thrusts delighting in the feeling of being stretched and filled as the heat coils in his lower stomach. He lets his eyes close, inviting the sensations to intensify until it’s all he can focus on; the feel of John Henry laying claim to him.

The shifts of his partner’s hips go from the mix of slow and gentle and fast and sharp to almost desperate as he feels him shake and knows that the same coiling heat intensifying in him is doing the same in the other. He shifts his hips upwards pressing himself as tightly against the other’s body despite the angle because he wants this; wants to feel him reach his peak.

There is something so satisfying to Bobo about making him lose that much control. And it is that and more when he feels the male start to shudder and the breathing is harsher, reedy. And it's not long until a sharp exhalation proceeds the feel of him spilling in him, fingers tightening reflexively as he does so. It's enough; the hot spill, the harsh panting and the jerking spasm that has Bobo hitting another orgasm himself. He lets his eyes flutter as he feels the other slip from him and withdraws from the bed. While Bobo dislikes the loss of warmth and closeness, he is sure that it'll be worth it because he does not like the thought of falling asleep sticky as he was no matter how pliant and nearly sleepy he is. So of course, he's not surprised to see Doc with a washcloth as he returns to him.

The cool rag feels amazing against his skin and he gives a low sound of contentment, eyes fluttering. The soft smile isn’t missed before John Henry joins him on the bed at his side, fingers lightly stroking along his stubbled jaw. He nuzzles against the touch content and happy to just be here with this man. “Thank you,” comes the soft murmur, “For showing me this side of you, Robert.”

Reaching, he brings the others hand close and presses soft kisses along the digits in response with a soft hum reverberating in his throat. It earns a chuckle before John Henry would settle at his side arm curled around him.

It’s when he knows the other is asleep with his evened breathing and the low snore that he murmurs to the dark, “I should be the one thanking you for taking this so well. For handling me so well. I do love you. So much. Don’t you change, John Henry Holliday.”

Maybe, one day, he’d tell the man all of this aloud.

#Fanfic: Wynonna Earp #Hollirey #Bobo Del Rey x Doc Holliday #Bobo Del Rey #Doc Holliday

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