#and schedule a nose job consultation in the morning

[lightyaoigami]

i should have washed my hair

#like ive put so much money into my face and hair and everything but it just fucking flops #dna skill issue i guess. #its really depressing. #even the cutest makeup looks cant really help *gesturing vaguely to entire corporeal being* #at least im funny though i have that going for me #oh well. it is what it is #i should go to sleep #and schedule a nose job consultation in the morning #i just. wish i was pretty. #oh well.

[stayconnecteed]

❪⠀🪐.⠀lipstick stains⠀𓏔⠀lee know⠀❫

☆ㅤlee know x afab!reader ( valentine's collab oneshots )⠀★⠀4.3k words

synopsys: minho hated many things. he hated talking for the sake of talking, and would often cut off conversation if it seemed insipid. he even hated make-up, with its sticky foundation and faux appearance. and he hated being kept waiting. at least until you came into his life, and suddenly he didn't care at all.

When Minho had got that job as a delivery boy, he knew he could be faced with some really exasperating situations. He wasn't the most patient person in the world, so it could have been a problem for him, but he hadn't done too badly either. At first he had been assigned to the food transport department. He had class in the mornings, the Practical Dance degree taking up his time from nine to two, and then he would eat what he had prepared the night before as quickly as possible to go to the establishments that the company's application ordered him to attend, picking up the order and driving to the destination.

It had been a great time. He had made good friends in the restaurants, the schedule suited him well enough, and he was well paid. He spent most of his shift in the quiet of his car, alone with his music, and usually people were impassive enough to take their food, pay and close the door, too busy with their lives to talk to him. There was no need, really. Minho hated talking for the sake of talking, and would often cut off conversation if it seemed insipid. At least until you walked in his life.

You had met in a lift. You had come home from a very busy day, but you had held the door for him when you had seen him running down the street on that rainy afternoon, and you had walked shoulder to shoulder to the lift. You had greeted him as soon as he had entered, your soft eyes welcoming him gently, and as the doors closed you had asked him which floor he was going to, his hands too busy to press the button himself. You had erased all traces of tiredness from your face, your lips curving into a welcoming smile, defined by the pretty gloss you had decided to put on that morning, one of the many ones you had.

And you had giggled, excited as a little girl, when he had told you the number of the flat, announcing with an adorable gleam in your eyes that it was the same one you were going to. Minho hadn't been able to stop you from consulting the order ticket, stapled to one of the paper bags he carried in his arms, muttering about how hungry you were when you read that what was inside was your favourite food, and if he hadn't been such a coward and you hadn't looked so tired when you thought no one was looking, he might have asked you if you wanted to go out to dinner with him.

But he hadn't mustered the courage, so he just nodded and asked you what other food you liked, making that small talk he hated so much, commenting on how bad the weather had been lately, raining non-stop, even though he couldn't really stop thinking about how pretty you looked with your hair wet from the rain, drops of water still sliding down your cheeks, falling from the tip of your nose, from the run he'd seen you take from the street corner as he picked up the order in his car. And when the lift stopped and you both stepped out, you bowing a little goodbye, he cracking a tiny smile and checking which flat to go to, you endured a strange dance as you both approached the same door.

Minho excused himself, letting you in first so you could open the door with your keys, and heard you mutter something about not having ordered anything for dinner, puzzled. You turned towards him once you were inside, sliding your boots to the floor, and begged him to wait a few minutes, leaving the door wide open, resting your bag on the small table just inside the doorway. You walked down the corridor, disappearing around the corner, your damp hair soaking your jumper, and he heard you shout someone's name, asking him to explain Minho's presence.

The few minutes he stood outside, waiting, he could see that you were a rather messy person 一not only the boots you'd just left lying in the middle of the hallway, but the hall wardrobe was open and Minho could see the chaos of coats and shoes inside一 and he felt like using your absence to go in and tidy everything up. The faint hints of the perfume he had smelled on you in the lift became more intense in the flat, a smell that was so soft and pleasant that it invited him to curl up in his bed on a lazy Sunday.

But then you came back, running a towel through your damp hair, and Minho stood still as you approached him, like a trembling gazelle cub being stalked by a lioness, your originally blue jeans almost blackish in colour because they were wet, clinging to your legs like a second skin, leaving nothing to the imagination. You smiled, this time with an apologetic tinge, and leaned against the doorframe, speaking to him with the most tender gentleness.

"Sorry for the wait, my roommate didn't let me know he'd ordered dinner" you'd whispered, taking the bags from him and putting them next to your purse. "Oh my god, you're soaking wet too, do you want a towel?"

Minho didn't know what to reply, too mesmerised by your presence, and at his lack of response you offered him the towel you had in your hands, assuring him that you had just taken it clean from the wardrobe. When he took it, soft, white, dry and totally yours, your scent enveloped him, and he felt his head dizzy, drowning in you. He feared it would be too much for him to take it to his hair, to his face, to dry himself, and that he would start thinking about you if he ever smelled that perfume again, but he feared more that rejecting your kindness would make you feel bad somehow, so he ended up caressing the fabric against his skin, trying to engrave in his memory all of what he was feeling.

"Do I have to pay you for the food?" you asked, once he handed you back the towel, his heart skipping a beat as he saw you put it around your neck, now that it smelled like him too. "Or do you want to come in and help us eat everything you brought? I don't want to let you leave with the horrible weather outside."

"You pay from the app when you order it," he explained, fiddling nervously with the zip of his coat pocket, "and I'm going by car, don't worry. Besides, I'm in the middle of my shift."

"Oh, right" you stammered, your knuckles turning white in your grip on the doorknob, as if you didn't expect the refusal. "I... I hadn't thought of that, sorry."

Your cheeks were coloured a lovely reddish colour, your confidence completely lost at his words, and you shied away from his gaze, an insecure state that Minho hated to see in you, unable to bear the knowledge that it was he who had forced you into such behaviour.

"But thank you," he added at the last moment, trying not to let his eyes reflect the shame he felt, "I would have liked to stay, in another situation."

Another situation? Really? Idiot, idiot, idiot. He couldn't believe he'd just missed such an opportunity. He stammered a farewell that he found pitiful to hear and before you could answer him or close the door, he had already retreated into the lift, safe from your pained gaze. He leaned against the mirror after pressing the button and closed his eyes, wishing he could go back in time and change everything he had done. God, he hadn't even asked for your number.

He walked past the mailboxes, looking for your flat, but the only name that came up was 'Yang Jeongin' so he assumed that was your roommate, the same one you'd called by a nickname moments before when he hadn't made an ass of himself yet. You were probably new to the building anyway. Another stroke of bad luck. He got into the car in a bad mood, checking the app to see where he was supposed to go, and spent the rest of the shift sulking, scowling at everyone and keeping his manners even though what he wanted more than anything was to scream in frustration.

His bad luck continued when his second semester schedule was changed from morning to afternoon, and he had to ask work to act accordingly, changing his shift as well. That was how he ended up 'in the morning delivery department. He would wake up at 8 a.m. to take the corporate van at 9 a.m., and drive around the streets of Seoul delivering online orders of local shops or those overseas companies that hired their services. It was relatively light work, considering that at the end of the semester he would quit in favour of the choreography job he had been offered and secured at that cool dance studio after seeing his talent in university projects.

But it pained him to know that the chances of never seeing you again were increasing, as your roommate constantly asked take out but you never went out to take it, instead Jeongin would greet him with a smile before grabbing his food, saying thank you and closing the door. Sometimes he would die of jealousy. He didn't know that boy 一not that he knew you better, but you had left a mark on his heart that Jeongin didn't一, and he had the privilege of not only knowing you, being your friend and seeing you every day, but also that you lived together. Minho wished he was in that situation.

What he hadn't counted on was your obsession with make-up. When he'd seen you, apart from your bubbly personality and that noxious tendency to invite strangers into your house, it was how good you looked in the gloss you were wearing. As far as he remembered, and he remembered it exactly because he wouldn't allow himself to forget, it was a soft, pale pink colour, and it made your lips shine in a way that made him want to bite them. To taste you, to find out if the gloss would taste of anything, to feel you react to his kisses, the noise you would make when he nibbled on you, if you would tremble under his touch.

It was recurring, the thought, and not exactly healthy. But it was all he had, and it was worth it to him that way. The first time he read on his new route your address, he couldn't disguise his joy. He knew that the chances of you not receiving it were the same as if you did, but you were still using the company he worked for as a method of package delivery, and that was all he needed to know.

He left the package for the end of his shift, and the morning felt like it took forever, but when he finally got to your street and parked in front of the building, he was overjoyed. He had to take the stairs instead of the lift because he couldn't stand still for those few minutes, he needed to move to get rid of his nerves. He knew he was overthinking the whole interaction you were going to have, which probably wouldn't be half as long as it had been that first time, but he couldn't help it. Ever since you'd crossed into his life you hadn't left his mind.

And when he finally rang the doorbell, the little packet of Sephora resting in his hands, his heart pounding in his chest, and you opened the door for him, he suddenly adopted that attitude that always took hold of him when you were in front of him. Your eyes widened in surprise, shining in recognition, and you greeted him with a smile, leaning against the door.

"You no longer deliver food," you stated, an irremediable fact to which Minho could only nod. "After we met in the lift you didn't come back, I thought I'd scared you off."

You hid the truth of your words behind a laugh, turning the sentence into a joke that neither of you found funny. He did not correct you, not when your words implied that you had wanted to see him again, and merely smiled, pretending that he had not asked his colleagues to always take care of orders from your address. You looked into each other's eyes for a moment, the intensity you shared making your breath catch, and it was Minho who cut the moment short.

"I'm hard to scare," he whispered, making you laugh. Maybe he wasn't being such an idiot that time, then. "You need to sign here."

He held out his company phone, the screen blank, waiting for your signature to acknowledge receipt of the package, and you took a step towards him, picking up the device in his hands, the pen too, your fingers tingling as they brushed against each other's skin, and you signed, a doodle as chaotic as your nature. Once you handed it back to him, you tilted your head, adopting an innocent appearance in his eyes, and flashed an enigmatic smile that made Minho blush.

"I just finished cooking," you announced, a comment released with apparent nonchalance. "Do you want to stay for lunch?"

And because he wasn't willing to be an idiot a second time, he accepted. He agreed to join you and your little pot of ramen carbonara, and unknowingly also accepted your way of snickering when the occasion was less propitious, your lack of cooking skills, your well-timed extroversion, your lazy introversion, the way your eyes widened in surprise whenever you looked at something you were curious about, your frown when watching a movie, the little crinkles that formed at the corners of your eyes when you let out a laugh. 

He accepted that waiting for a few minutes for you to get off work didn't matter because he knew he could see you later, and he accepted your flaws and quirks, learning to realise that to him they were just reasons to love you. And above all, he agreed to come to your apartement every week, even if you hadn't arranged to meet up, because you spent your days compulsively buying new make-up products from the ones you saw on TikTok. And whenever he saw on his route that he had to drop off a new package for you, he would finish his deliveries in record time, leaving yours for last, just because a few hours together were worth it.

That love for makeup had surprised even Jeongin, who only sighed when he recognised the Sephora box on the hallway table on his return from university, and heard your laughter and the soft voice of Minho from the living room, who in a few weeks had gone from the stranger you'd met in the lift to a third roommate to be reckoned with. He knew that the TikTok excuse you'd told the delivery boy was just a way of hiding the crush you had on him, and how much you missed his presence when he wasn't with you, but he hadn't been able to ask you if it was also an excuse you'd made for yourself or if you'd done it on purpose. It wasn't clear to him that you were going to do anything about it either, so when weeks turned into months and your relationship stayed the same, he decided to give you a push.

He seized a morning he knew you were busy to order a new lipstick online, and make sure it had to arrive that day. Of course, Minho's routine didn't change, the van verging on the speed limit, delivering packages like an expert just to get it done as soon as possible and be able to spend the rest of the morning with you. He made sure to buy some groceries, deciding that he would cook something for you that day, and he didn't see Jeongin's smile when he opened the door, nor did he suspect when he told him you'd be there soon, that he'd be in his room, that at that point it was already like he was at his home. Your roommate had always been most kind to him, so a little extra sweetness wasn't going to surprise him either. That was what he thought.

What did surprise him was when he walked into your room, ready to leave the Sephora packet on your desk, as you always did, and saw a shoebox full of more lipsticks. Minho frowned as he read his name written on the box in a hasty handwriting that was undoubtedly yours, and picked up one of the lipsticks, recognising it. It was one of the ones you carried in your handbag when you went out partying. As he rummaged through the box he saw that it was a brand that was repeated quite a lot, always in that carmine colour that he had hated so much before he met you, but which he had found so delicious on your lips, and that there was also a crazy amount of gloss in pale pink, the one you had been wearing when he had met you. The fact that you had so many made him wonder if you were one of those people who were so cautious, who needed to have spares of everything. Although there were a large number of spares there.

And they were under his name. Was it because... you were saving them for him? You'd talked more than once about make-up being genderless. Especially when Jeongin invited your friends to the apartment, those two blondes who didn't mind being seen with eyeshadow and some gloss, smiling and flirtatious. You had joked more than once about lending him one of your lipsticks. You said he had beautiful lips, that it was a pity he didn't want to make the most of them, that he didn't see their full potential. You'd said it drunk, but you'd never lied to him. You'd talked more than once about how expensive they were. But because they were so worth buying, because you felt so pretty in them, Minho came back to you every week with a new box.

You had aroused his curiosity. When he saw you apply your lipstick, he always noticed the soft way the red stick left a carmine line on your lips, and he wondered what it would be like to kiss you. He thought about it even when you weren't wearing lipstick, but especially in those moments, when all he could see was the curve of your lips, highlighted by the intense colour, and he tried to look away before you noticed, praying that the blush on his cheeks wasn't as obvious as he thought it was. But seeing his name attached to that box, for the first time he had wondered if it would really suit him. He could try, couldn't he? You hadn't arrived yet. He knew where you kept the make-up remover, it would be quick. No one had to know. So he did it.

He left the box on your desk, where he had found it, and slipped into the bathroom, closing the door to avoid being caught. He looked in the mirror, but without making eye contact, and he knew he was blushing even before he saw it. It didn't feel wrong, just the adrenaline of something different. He hurried to take the plastic off the lipstick, and had to use some force to unscrew it. Five stars for the packaging, he thought, chuckling. And when he saw the red colour on the pad, and realised it was more like a matte gloss, he hesitated for a second. It wasn't what he expected. Maybe it was too liquid. Should he shake it first? You didn't do that, or at least he hadn't seen you do it. But there was no way that... Well, he had the make-up remover in the cabinet, so it was fine.

He applied a first coat to his lower lip, shivering as he felt the cool product against his skin, wetting it with red. He sensed he was applying too much, but it looked so pretty, so shiny, that he decided it didn't matter. He sometimes put vaseline on his lips, when they were very dry, but it didn't compare in any way. He felt gorgeous, and he wondered if you felt the same way, if girls put on lipstick just for that feeling. If so, he understood them. He could even buy one of your cute transparent glosses after that.

And just when he had finally been able to look at himself in the mirror, but in the eyes, his cheeks the same shade as his lips, admiring the view, he heard your voice in the hallway, greeting Jeongin. Shit. His eyes widening in panic would have been funny in another situation, but at that moment all he could think of was grabbing the bottle of makeup remover and looking for some cotton tissues. Only he couldn't find any cotton anywhere. His heart was racing, beating against his chest so fast he thought it would burst out, as he opened doors and lifted boxes of pads, but no sign. Could he use toilet paper? It would do, wouldn't it? Well, it would have to do. He took the roll of toilet paper and cut off a generous piece, sprinkling it with the make-up remover.

But before he could pass it over his lips, the bathroom door opened and when you realised what he was doing you were both petrified, the eye contact adding stress to a tension that was suffocating Minho. For a few seconds, a thousand different scenarios ran through his head, most of them where you were angry at him for taking things of yours without permission, others where you were making fun of him, and he couldn't take it. He averted his eyes, embarrassed, and mumbled an apology: "I brought another one of your packages and the box was on your desk, I was just curious, I didn't mean to... I'm sorry, really, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to take your things without permission. Because the box had my name on it, I thought it was for me and I didn't..."

"You're doing it wrong, pabo," you murmured, approaching him with soft steps, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder to turn him around, and calming his wild heart a little. "Oh, you took the tinted one, too."

"The... the tinted one?" he repeated, stunned, absorbed by the smile you exhibited, full of affection for him. How wrong he had been, thinking you were going to judge him.

"Yes, it's stronger than a normal lipstick. You're supposed to apply a little less and spread it out more, but don't worry: I have the perfect solution to get rid of what's left over" you explained, leaning against the sink, pulling him towards you by the shirt, as if you were going to tell him a secret. "Give me a kiss."

Minho's breath caught, staring at you with wide eyes, his lips suddenly dry, or maybe it was his mouth, or maybe he was actually salivating, he didn't know. All he could think about was what you had just suggested, what it would be like, images in his head of all the times he had imagined your lips on his.

"On your mouth?"

You looked up at his question, the words barely a whisper in the silence of the bathroom, and your heart stopped at the glint of hope in his eyes. Maybe he was being delusional, maybe it was all a dream he didn't want to wake up from, but he didn't care. Maybe that wasn't what you meant, maybe you meant a kiss on the cheek, maybe your friendship ended right then and there. But seeing the way you ran your tongue over your lips, as if you were thinking the same thing he was, suddenly hungry of him, made him think that he had just taken an important step. And when he heard you whisper, a breathy "yes" leaving your lips, then he rushed against you, cupping your cheeks in his hands, and kissed you as he had dreamed.

You gasped against his mouth, sliding your hands into his hair, and feeling the way his body pressed against the furniture behind you like an embrace you didn't want to escape. It was as messy as he had hoped, the way his painted lips crashed against yours, how his tongue caressed yours, those muffled sounds that left your mouth every time Minho bit your lip, and that had hunted him in his loneliest moments. And then he guided his kisses down your jaw, drinking in your sighs and whimpers as he left marks and bruises on your skin, down your neck. And when he broke away, your breaths mingling, and he watched his masterpiece, chaotic red stains on your neck, a smear of lipstick on your lips, he couldn't help but smile.

"The box wasn't for you," you muttered, mirroring his expression, as if you were meant to be like this, "it was because of you. I've been buying lipsticks for months just so you'd come back to me."

"Well, I don't plan on ever leaving." he whispered against your lips, kissing you again.

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#﹙ ★ ﹚ mars — writes. #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids fluff #lee know x reader #lee know fluff

[youwerenevermeanttofeelalone]

Tender | Damian Wayne

✦ pairing — older!Damian Wayne x female!Plus Size Reader with chronic fatigue

✦ word count— 3.6k

✦ summary— snippets of life with chronic fatigue while dating Damian.

✦ warnings— light angst, depictions of chronic illness/disability, mentions of food, nudity implied in a non-sexual context, mentions of meds and doctors, fluff.

✦ author's note— this fic was comissioned through donation.

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Rain hadn't made its appearance this month; worrisome for a city like Gotham where rain seemed to be a permanent fixture.

You couldn't remember a night without rain in the past three years, or such a hot morning for that matter. So this was a first in a long time, therefore you were somewhat unprepared.

It was your fault for not checking the weather app the night before and it was the climate's fault for not giving you a truce. Although if you were to go there, we all knew the actual people responsible for the changing climate — for most problems, to an extent.

You left the bed slowly, trying not to make noise. Damian was awake already, probably training, yet you didn't want him to know you were too.

His help was always welcomed, and treasured, and he gave it with joy and ease. You hadn't imagined he would be as thoughtful or patient — you knew him to be kind, definitely nicer than he pretended to be, but this was different.

He took it so seriously, too, consulting people whose actual job was to be caregivers had been his first move and you were a tad ashamed to admit it shocked you. A part of you had wanted him to do it, but you expected him to simply read a book and go from there. And read he did, but he didn't stop there; you didn't understand how at the time.

You understood why: he loved you. But the how was elusive with everything he had on his shoulders. It would have been so easy for him to simply pay somebody to take care of you and go on with his routine, but it seemed that the thought never crossed his mind.

Showers were a little easier now that you lived with him and got to use a bigger bathroom. You tried not to rely on the shower bench too much in the mornings, partially scared you would get sleepy too early.

Damian was back from training by the time you were about to choose a pair of shoes. His hair was damp and apart from his shoe-less feet, he was ready for work too.

"You should still take a jacket."

"I hate carrying things around."

He pinched his nose. "I will take it with me, then." At your questioning look, he added, "I will be picking you up from work today."

"You don't have to. Caroline likes driving me home."

Caroline was your favorite coworker and it wasn't just because she would eat lunch with you and drive you home from work. She was just pleasant to be around, never overbearing when it came to your symptoms, and the only one who kindly woke you up after your scheduled naps.

Damian sat next to you on the grey loveseat. He picked up the top you had decided against and folded it, something you had never been able to do without a surface. "I just want you to be ready for Friday."

"I am ready, Damian."

"Fine." He leaned to kiss the side of your head.

════════════════════════

You sometimes wondered if driving was really all that fulfilling. It seemed stressful from the passenger seat. Or maybe those were your nerves speaking.

Turns out you weren't ready for your medical appointment on Friday.

"Do you want me to go in there with you?"

"I think so."

You knew how lucky you were that you had a partner who was willing to do this, somebody who cleared his schedule for your comfort. Damian must have been aware that doctors took him more seriously than they did you, or that they only believed the things you said once he corroborated them or added more details.

He opened the door for you and offered his hand to help you out of the car. You took it without a second thought, not trusting yourself or the wonky pavement underneath.

Damian rested his hand on your lower back, steadying you as your wobbly legs carried you into the building.

Bouts of pain generally made their appearance when you had appointments. Out of stress, the doctor explained. It made sense, but along came drowsiness and you wished you could simply skip one appointment or two from time to time.

Of course you never said as much. It would be pointless, honestly; Damian would simply force the doctor to see you at home and the same stress, drowsiness, and overall tiredness would keep their chokehold on you.

You always spoke more when Damian was there, and when you struggled to remember something, he filled in the blanks. He carried your tracker with him, and the diary he had started on his own for good measure. The doctor always asked if he was taking care of himself too — you used to hate the question, seeing it as a reminder that you didn't really do a good job taking care of him in comparison to what he did for you; it took a long tearful conversation with Damian for you to understand he would always ask for attention if you weren't doing a good job at providing it.

"We have different needs," he had said in that incredibly infuriating yet attractive matter-of-fact tone of his.

The elevator traveled up smoothly, barely rattling when it landed on your floor. Damian let you out first and as quickly as you crossed the doors, his hand was already back on your body. It was almost a reflex of his, he did it even when you weren't in pain, a simple 'I'm here'.

You sighed in relief as you kicked your shoes off. As comfortable as they were, they were still restricting. Damian put the keys on the console table and before you could sit on the bench next to the table, he wrapped an arm around you and coaxed you into your shared bedroom.

The sheets had been changed that morning. The faint aroma of fabric softener lingered just enough to avoid a headache. Your sleeping clothes were neatly folded on the bench in front of the bed, with the basket Damian always kept full of snacks and where he hid notes for you to find.

His notes varied from encouraging words to doodles. with fragments of poems in between both extremes. You had taken the habit of texting short messages to him in return, sometimes silly things when you knew he would have a stressful day; other times reminders of how much loved him.

Your text chain would be incomprehensible for anybody but yourselves. You liked them. You liked that despite everything, you had that silly thing to laugh about, something mundane just for you and him.

Eyeing the clothes, you twisted your mouth. Your back was killing you. "Would you... help me?"

Damian dropped his cell phone onto the bedside table, still unlocked, white glare signaling he was in the middle of drafting an e-mail. "Hold onto something."

You did so, letting him take care of the rest. Not only did he take your pants off, which was the most painful part of getting changed this particular day, but guided your legs into a pair of cotton sleeping shorts one by one. You didn't even ask him help with your top yet Damian gently sat you on the bed and instructed you to lift your arms so you could wear your matching set.

Both of you undid the bed, he let you arrange your pillows to your need and only went back to pick his cell phone back up once you assured him you were comfortable. He handed you the remote, placed a bottle of water near you, and sat on his desk chair to continue whatever it was he was doing.

Your eyes grew heavy about 10 minutes into an episode of a show you started the past week. You had hoped you would hold on a little longer, maybe until Damian had to go.

"I will be back soon," Damian announced softly, prescription in his hand. "Do you want me to bring anything?"

"Some kind of dessert?"

He approached the bed. You braced yourself for a chastising reminder that you ate too much sugar sometimes. Damian leaned in and kissed your temple. "Take a nap, beloved, get some rest. I will wake you up when it's time for dinner."

════════════════════════

Some days, a dull ache woke you up, and trying to move became a whole odyssey. Breathing exercises worked well enough to give you the drive to try it again, but that didn’t mean you were always successful.

Others, you left the bed just fine just to find yourself needing to lay down an hour or so into your day.

Today, the sun was up in full, threading into the bedroom through the only slither left by the curtains. You had already texted your boss earlier to let them know you couldn’t go to work. You didn’t know if they had answered already or not.

You could hear pencil against paper, meaning Damian was sketching near the window.

“You’ll be late,” you reminded him.

He didn’t stop sketching as he answered, "I’m not going. My girlfriend is more important than a stupid meeting."

“Bruce—”

The mention of his father made him sigh, interrupting you. “He wishes for you to feel better soon.”

You grumbled. Both of them were as stubborn and you weren't about to waste your energy on fighting either of them right now.

“Do you want to change position?”

“I want to pee.”

Damian dropped the sketchbook and the pencil onto the sofa and walked toward the bed. Wordlessly, he helped you up and off the mattress.

You slowly made it to the bathroom, turning the light on just to be sure you wouldn't fall.

“Don’t close the door.”

“I know, Dami.”   You had been here many times before. He was always helpful, if not a little overbearing when it came to movement which you understood and often made things genuinely bearable.

Back on the bed, you drank water from your bottle.

Damian gave you that look that meant he wanted to say something yet knew it wasn't the time. You decided not to ask and laid down once again.

He handed you the remote in case you wanted to watch something, but the only thing you wanted was to sleep for a day or two.

Such an urge wasn't new, but you were kind enough to yourself not to ignore it when you could barely leave the bed.

"You should eat something."

There it was.

"Later," you pleaded.

You could almost hear him deflate. Still, Damian kissed your cheek and went back to the sofa, letting you try and get some sleep.

He would insist again later, no matter what you did, and you would probably get away with just having a smoothie. But you kept that to yourself, not only needing sleep out of tiredness but as a manner to pass the time.

Damian knew as much, he also knew there was nothing more he could do right now to help so he and his stubbornness focused on the sketch and only paused to watch you breathe.

════════════════════════

Panic coiled in Damian's stomach. Waking up to an empty bed at 5:00 in the morning was not only uncommon and worrisome, but one of his worst nightmares.

He always feared you would wander around the condo in the middle of the night only to fall asleep in an uncomfortable place or position, perhaps in pain, or both.

He padded his way along the hallway and checked the home office first. Your untouched desk, still donning the big water bottle he got you so you wouldn't use homework as an excuse for dehydration, wasn't as good of a sign as he hoped.

You weren't in any of the other bedrooms, nor the training room. He considered calling your parents, and as if you had visited them in the middle of the night; it wasn't insane to think you would miss your family. Yet his stomach sunk at the mere thought.

Had he done something wrong? Everything had been just fine before he left for patrol, you had even joked you would be awake waiting for him this time even though both of you knew you wouldn't last more than needed. He never expected such things from you, he didn't need them, a part of him didn't even want them because they would mean putting your health in jeopardy.

Damian found you in the kitchen. Sat on your stool, with your head tilted to the side and your mouth half-open, you read something on your phone.

He cleared his throat, but it didn't have its intended effect and you jumped. Your tired eyes bore into his and Damian almost sighed out of relief.

"Is something the matter?" he asked.

"It's Nicole's birthday."

He hummed. "You told me yesterday."

"I'm making her a cake. We have everything I need. Well, that's not true, but I can order everything else when the store opens and—" you interrupted yourself, frowning. You didn't like the way he was looking at you. "What?"

Inhaling deeply, he leaned his elbows on the island. Your eyes were on him and he would rather die than admit he was scared of upsetting you. He should have been past it, but he didn't know what to do sometimes. He couldn't simply forbid you from doing things, no matter how easy it might have made some situations in the long run.

"Wouldn't it be too extraneous?"

"Damian." Your 'are you fucking kidding me?' tone did nothing to placate him. "We have a stand mixer."

Right. The bulky ugly thing in the corner. He didn't mind having appliances on the countertops, no matter how bad they looked, it made things easier for you and that was all that mattered. He just specifically found the stand-mixer ugly.

"Just don't lift the bowl," he said, doing his best to not sound defeated. Your face lit up like a child who had just gotten just what they wanted for their birthday. "Call me when you're about to pour the batter. I'll do it."

Damian heard you opening and closing drawers and cupboards as he trained and although he paid more attention to the changing sounds than to what he was doing, he ended up drenched in sweat.

On his way to take a shower, he caught a snippet of the song you were humming as you moved around the kitchen and he could only hope your good spirit could last at least until noon.

The difficult parts never bothered him, nor doing the bulk of the work around the place. It wasn't like he did everything, the cleaning service came three times a week and you always left things as tidy as possible. But even if he had to do it all, he wouldn't be bothered.

He felt normal like this, useful. He liked doing things for you just like he had liked doing things for his mother when he was a child. Back then he thought that was what a man was supposed to do, protect, and provide to an extent. He didn't seek gender affirmation anymore, and he knew now he hadn't done anything for his mother out of a manly instinct; he simply loved her.

Much like he loved you albeit in a different way. Damian couldn't fathom himself without loving you, without being there for you. He had been born to fight and he had been reborn to care for you.

It wasn't always easy, he was the first to admit it. He didn't know what it was like to be in your shoes, he had no idea the kind of pain you were in or how heavy the fatigue you had to bear on your shoulders felt. He just hated that he couldn't take any of it away, that as much help as he could give, there should have been something more to do.

He grew tired sometimes. And you were oh so sweet about it, telling him to get some rest, pretending you didn't need help to get out of bed in the middle of the night just so he would go back to sleep. But Damian only slept well when you were comfortable, when things were normal to the standards you both had accorded.

At first, he had planned on being as strict as possible, to take care of everything so you wouldn't have to do anything. It didn't last. He couldn't live with the guilt that washed over him every time your face fell when he stopped you from doing something.

Learning to compromise had been the hardest thing he had done. And now here he was, about to bake a cake with you because it was your best friend's birthday.

He would do anything you asked him. It was a well-known fact about him. That meant indulging you sometimes, accepting things his brain told him weren't a good idea.

The loud stand-mixer greeted him back into the kitchen. You had a spatula in your hand, attention solely on the rotating flat beater.

"What were you going to do if I weren't here?"

You didn't speak until the mix was fully incorporated and the mixer was off. "Use a spoon."

"A spoon."

"Yes. Scoop little by little..."

He chuckled. "You are precious."

════════════════════════

"Take a break."

Damian had already walked away from you when you lifted your head to face the doorway. It wasn't an uncommon interaction. If you could call it as such.

Before you could even think to stand up, he was back with an unbreakable glass full of water. He set it on your desk, knowing full well you got nervous when people handed you things.

"I'm never finishing this," you sighed in frustration.

He stared at you, then at the glass. Once you picked the glass up and took a sip, he spoke, "Is it too difficult?"

"I can't focus. I'm not even halfway into the stupid paper, but I feel weird."

"Weird?"

"Like there's static in my head."

He nodded as though he understood. You both knew he didn't, not really.

"When is it due?"

"Monday."

You knew what he was thinking, 'What kind of professor would ever do that?' and the answer was quite simple: your least favorite professor.

Instead of asking anything about the awful faculty member of your college, he said, "We could do it this weekend."

"I'm not letting you do my homework."

"I have no intentions of doing your homework. I will help you focus, you will do it yourself."

"I had plans for our weekend."

He looked at you as though you had grown a second head. Plans weren't really a thing for both of you, not in the strict sense — a routine was needed, and medical appointments were non-negotiable, but apart from that, the mere idea of making plans was avoided.

"That movie you said looked interesting is on VOD. I thought we could watch it."

He visibly relaxed. Crisis averted. "We can watch it once your homework is done."

"You have things to do at night."

"Before patrol, beloved." Damian put his hand on your shoulder, leaning into your personal space to rest his head on top of yours as he continued making plans, "We will do your homework then take a nap, have lunch, watch the movie..."

You welcomed his touch, pressing your back to the chair just to have him a little closer. "Yeah?"

He hummed, nuzzling into your hair. "It will be a good weekend."

════════════════════════

Damian ignored your greeting as he crossed the bedroom to enter the bathroom. You heard the water running and decided to let it go, going back to the notes you had taken earlier. You had a note-taking system now, after many trials and errors, but that didn't mean things always stuck.

In all honesty, you were doing your best not to fall asleep. Between the sound of the water and the cozy blankets you were under, the words started to jumble. Your heavy eyes were begging to close and you almost gave in, but the bathroom door opened and Damian caught your attention again.

He sat on the bed, glanced at your notes, then turned to the side to put his phone to charge.

"Bad day?"

"Terrible."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No." He laid on his back, facing the ceiling.

You couldn't help the sigh that escaped you. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Just be here."

You removed your notes from the bed. "I'm here."

He shifted to rest his head on your shoulder. The conversation was over. The awareness that came with living with him was different from anything you had experienced before, and his vulnerability was different than anyone else's.

You didn't think he was scared of it, not when it came to you, but he wasn't fond of it either. It wasn't difficult to see why. But you liked how it manifested, almost as second nature.

You almost cried the first time he swallowed his pride and admitted he couldn't understand what you were going through. He saw it, he paid attention to it, but he couldn't feel it. And it was so worth it, enough for you to understand truly what you meant to him.

If Damian was somebody else, or if he loved you any less, that would have been the first and the last time he admitted to not knowing everything.

You took his hand, bringing it close to your face. You kissed his bruised knuckles, careful not to move the bandage.

He sighed. Damian shuffled on the bed to lay on his side, head on your shoulder as he let you hold his hand for as long as you wanted.

Putting your free hand on the back of his head, you buried your fingers into his damp hair. He nuzzled into you, barely humming to assure you he was comfortable.

For the first time in your entire relationship, he fell asleep before you.

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x plus size reader

[forever-fixating]

The awaited ask, the prompt for yall to chew on:

Austin is always impeccably dressed, but at the SAG awards his suit was Gucci (as were many other stars' outfits). Him and his red suit? Lordy this is an excuse to describe it in detail. I triple dog dare ya.

This is a Gucci designer!reader, and I think it'd be nice if she worked on the House of Gucci film set, has been papped with some actors (in which her 60s/70s style was commented on) before as well as been to some award shows relating to that--maybe has Gaga's number, play with it how you will. She's famous adjacet: her job is to make others look pretty.

Her purview is mainly in being an archivist for Gucci's collection, and her personal design and style leans more towards vintage, as mentioned. So when Gucci dresses the new Elvis? They need some 1970s inspiration, and they send Austin Butler to her. Cue reader lowering massive shades down her nose and commenting on his tiny waist.

Author’s Note- Okay, as soon as Mother Monster was mentioned, I fell down a research rabbit hole about one of her stylists, Marta del Rio. The reader doesn’t work for Gucci (sorry!), but I did tie that into her backstory. Del Rio, Erin Parsons on TikTok, and Raissa Bretaña from Glamour are the primary inspirations for this character. I hope you enjoy all the same!

 Y/N Y/L/N is a fashion historian and celebrity stylist. Born in Florence and raised in Los Angeles, she developed her love for fashion under the tutelage of her legendary mother, one of the significant archivists for Gucci. She grew up on her father’s film sets and fell in love with all things Hollywood. Known for her vintage style, quick wit, and extraordinary kindness (a rarity in the fashion industry), Y/L/N can be seen on TikTok and her YouTube channel, sharing her love for all things fashion and Hollywood with her audience of millions.

-Blurb from The Bella Rosa Agency

You walked into your office that morning more than a little frazzled. Even under the best conditions, traffic in Los Angeles was hell to navigate, and you had the misfortune of getting stuck behind a massive pile-up. The Italian in you could not understand the American need to rush everywhere. Wherever a person was going would still be there, no matter how fast or slow they drove. You gave your assistant Kitty a grateful smile as she held out your usual coffee order: a latte with very little foam, a double espresso, and two pumps of hazelnut.

“You are a lifesaver,” you said as you sipped the drink. “What’s on the schedule for today?”

Kitty followed you into your office with her iPad, saying, “There’s the Q & A for your YouTube channel at noon and the phone interview with Paper at four. And your consultation with Zendaya got pushed to next week. She’s still filming for Dune and won’t return until Tuesday.”

“That’s too bad,” you said, sitting at your desk and booting up your laptop.

“But Stefani’s in town,” Kitty continued, “and wants to do dinner. Your choice!”

You grinned. The two of you had met when you were hired to work on House of Gucci due to your mother’s work with the brand. They had initially reached out to her, but she put them off. Her marriage to your father had soured her on Hollywood. You, however, jumped at the chance when she recommended you in her place. You adored her music and outrageous style and became fast friends during filming. Working with Lady Gaga (or Stefani, as she insisted you call her) was a dream come true.

“Fantastic!” you replied. “Call her and ask her the day and time. Providence has a table for me on standby.”

You began reading your e-mails when you noticed Kitty hadn’t left yet. Embarrassed, you asked, “Sorry, was there something else?”

“Zendaya was wondering if you could help out one of her costars,” Kitty said. She looked at her iPad, reading, “Austin Butler, the guy that used to date Vanessa Hudgens? He’s starring in the new Elvis biopic and needs red-carpet looks for the upcoming awards season.”

You pulled up Chrome on your laptop and Googled the actor. He was gorgeous. Sandy blonde hair, a Cupid’s bow pout, long legs, and sun-kissed skin. The textbook definition of a California golden boy. You looked back to Kitty and said, “Sure, could be fun. Reach out to his people.”

~~~~~

Your meeting with Austin came a couple of days later. That gave you some time to research the actor’s style up until that point and compile some ideas for looks. It was a nice change of pace for you. Men’s fashion wasn’t simple by any means, but it was far less scrutinized when compared to that of women. One of your goals with any celebrity you worked with was to ensure they didn’t end up on a worst-dressed list following a red-carpet event.

Your outfit for the meeting was inspired by an article you read recently on mod fashion: a mini sweater dress paired with a wide studded belt and brown suede calf-high boots. It was very comfortable while looking fantastic on you. Sure, you were showing a little more leg than you usually would for a meeting with a potential client. But there wasn’t any harm in being comfortable, right?

You were in the middle of a phone call when Kitty messaged you to say that Austin had arrived. Ending the call, you stood up, adjusting your dress, before talking to your door. He stood at Kitty’s desk, talking with her. God, he really was a tall drink of water. He turned his gaze toward you and said in a voice like velvet, “So you must be the famous Y/N Y/L/N. I’m honored to meet you. Zendaya and Flo sang your praises constantly on set.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Butler. You’re too kind.” You shook his hand, pleasure blossoming in your chest.

“Austin, please,” he said, squeezing your hand.

“Austin,” you repeated, gesturing inside your office. You looked at Kitty. “Could you bring us some water?”

The two of you sat down in front of your desk. You grabbed your iPad off your desk and tapped through your files, searching for the folder you had created for him. As you searched, you took a couple of sneaky peaks at Austin. He wore jeans, a blue flannel over a white t-shirt, and black boots. Simple but sexy. Your cheeks heated up, and you scolded yourself. Even though you were going through a dry spell in your personal life, that was no excuse to ogle a client like a piece of meat.

“So,” you said, finally finding the file and tapping it, “since you were in Elvis, I thought we could go in a slightly vintage direction for some of your red-carpet looks. Really channel that King of Rock and Roll energy. To your comfort, of course.”

You moved your chair closer to his and showed him your ideas. He hummed his approval on a couple of looks, saying with a grin, “If anyone would know about vintage style, it would be you, Miss Y/L/N. I like this look with the waistcoat here.”

“Y/N, please,” you replied, pleased with how your name sounded coming out of his mouth. “And I was hoping you would pick this look. You have such a narrow waist; hiding it would be a sin.”

“Been thinking about my waistline?”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. “From a stylistic standpoint, yes.”

Austin was full-on smirking. “Of course.”

“Anyway,” you said, determined to remain professional during this meeting, “I was thinking burgundy for the suit. I’ve looked through your red carpet history, and it’s a lot of blacks. To quote the great Nathan Lane, one does want a hint of color. With your skin tone, burgundy would look stunning on you.”

“I bow to your expertise, ma’am,” Austin replied. He turned his body toward yours and said, “Stop me if this is inappropriate, but I would really like to take you out to dinner. You seem like such a fascinating and unique person. I read up on you; you’re my age, but you’ve worked with some impressive people. It seems like there’s a story there.”

Your cheeks heat up at his words. The utter destruction of your parents' marriage showed how messy mixing business with pleasure could be. You grew up around celebrities and prided on your ability to remain professional and keep the two separate. But…where was the harm in a simple dinner with a man who clearly seemed interested?

“There is,” you replied finally. You took a breath and connected with his too-blue eyes. “Normally, I would say no, but as long as we remain discreet, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

You grabbed a pen from your desk and took his hand in yours. You wrote your cellphone number on his palm, saying, “Just text me the time and place.”

A/N- This was a lot of fun to write. Ask me nicely and maybe I'll write a part two? ;)

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #asks and replies #i don't even know what to call this

[spacequokka]

Pairing: ceo!Baekhyun x Reader Genre: CEO AU Rating: G Summary: You don’t know the first thing about running a business, so you enlist the help of an investor to help you save it. Word Count: 1.3k I can explain Warnings: mentions a deceased parent

Inspired by this post. This is actually part of a larger work I’ve been sitting on titled Gossip Man. I’ve wanted to write something in the style of Kdramas (tropes and all). Depending on the reception, I’ll release it next year or so.

You fidgeted with your clothes, running your trembling hands down the front of your soft cotton t-shirt. Were you dressed too casually? Should you have picked out your job interview ensemble? The email hadn't given you any clue one way or another. You hoped it didn't matter — everything you had depended on this consultation. If it ended badly because you’d chosen denim slacks over the black pencil skirt, you’d seriously consider jumping from the nearest bridge. ‘Calm down, girl. Get it together.’ You inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly through your nose, summoning calm and control of your nerves.

You needed this consultation like you needed air. The old bookstore had meant the world to your mother, and you would do everything in your power to keep it open and operational. Okay, so maybe you didn't know jack shit about running a business. It was also possible that you used a little over half of your inheritance from your mother's life insurance policy to buy the bookstore from the lovely old couple who had put it up for sale. Just as it was more than likely that you would have to use the rest of your savings — all of it — to make the necessary repairs and update the place to be able to compete with other bookstores in the area that offered new modern services like online sales and ebooks. That's why this meeting was so life threatening. If the best investing company Seoul had to offer didn't see a way to save the store, all of your attempts to save it would have been in vain and would leave you in debt. Worst of all, you would lose the one thing your mother treasured and hoped that her grandchildren would be able to visit in the future. You wanted to keep the bookstore open as your way of honoring the woman who brought joy to so many others.

The front door opened smoothly, setting off a high chime of the wind catcher that hung near the door. This is it. You took another deep breath and turned around. A tall, slender man stood there with his hands in his pockets, eyes taking in his surroundings. He looked so out of place, all dressed up as if he were going to a cocktail party or some red carpet affair. He made the dusty, run down store look worse just by existing. As if he could hear your thoughts, his eyes fell on you expectantly, lips curved into a gentle smile. “Ms. Davids, I suppose?”

He extended his hand, but didn’t budge from his spot. Your jaw moved as you tried to find the voice to speak, to answer his question, but your brain had shorted out for a second. “Y-yes. That’s me. Call me _____, please.” You moved around the counter and took his hand, not too surprised by the strength in his grip. Of course, he’s strong. He probably can afford a gym trainer if his suit was anything to judge by. “I was under the impression the agency was sending over a woman, Mrs. Howard?”

Mr. Suit’s eyes were fixed on you now. “She was supposed to come, but I found myself with an open schedule this morning and decided to take the consult. She’s due to have her baby soon, so I thought she’d like to rest her feet.” He glanced at the store, then returned that piercing gaze to you. “Besides that, I’ve been keeping tabs on this shopping center.”

“Y-you have?” You swallowed hard and fought to stand your ground. It felt like he was crowding you, even though he was standing a bit more than an arm’s length away. His presence was so…overwhelming.

He nodded and took a step away from you, examining one of the bookshelves that stood near the register. “Of course. Real estate is one of my areas of expertise. The shopping center has always been a hot commodity since the university opened up. Personally, I’m impressed the owners of the various stores have been able to keep the corporate companies at bay.”

You fought to keep up your friendly smile. “We’re a family here. We help each other out. Selling out to those hounds wouldn’t help anybody.”

“True.” He mused, slipping a book off of a shelf and thumbing through its pages. “But then again, business has been down since the bidding war began, right? What happened to the couple who owned this store before you? The Choi’s?”

You looked down at the ground between you, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “Their health isn’t the best right now. With the cost of health care, they couldn’t afford to keep the store open. I bought it from them to keep it open and away from the bidding war.”

“I see. Smart decision, seeking help from an investment firm. My name is Byun Baekhyun, by the way.” He nodded his head towards you, stuffing his hands back into his pockets as he leisurely made his way through the store. You followed behind him, keeping your distance while wringing your hands with worry. He didn’t say much, occasionally asking questions about things he spotted, like holes in the ceiling, cracks in the wall. He even noticed things you hadn’t seen before or thought to look at. It was clear that an inspector would have to come out and thoroughly check the building out. By the time you’d reached the back of the store, the look on his face wasn’t promising. “Let’s sit down and talk about this, shall we?”

Baekhyun extended a hand to allow you to pass by him. As you did, his hand lightly touched the small of your back as he guided you back to the register and prompted you to sit down on the stool behind the counter. He stood in front of you on the other side, resting his elbows on the counter and clasping his hands together.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” You asked.

He exhaled hard and nodded. “Yeah, it is. I’ll be honest with you, _____. I don’t see how this place has been operational. There are a number of issues I can see, so there’s no telling how much more will be uncovered with a proper inspection.”

“I have money saved up. I’m willing to do whatever is necessary to save this place.” You leaned forward and looked him in the eye. “Please, this place means the world to me.”

He held your gaze for what seemed like forever until he stood up straight. “I’ll arrange for the inspector to come and assess the property. If the repairs needed are reasonable, I’ll have someone set up an appointment with you to get things going.” He looked around the store. “I can’t guarantee that things will go your way, though.”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip. “I understand.”

Baekhyun studied you a moment longer, then took a step forward and placed a hand on your shoulder. “This place has a lot of charm to it and it’s in a great location. Don’t lose hope just yet, okay?”

You looked into his eyes and were startled by the gentleness you found in them. You’d come across a slew of men in suits with kind smiles, offering to pay top dollar for the property if you and the other store owners agreed to sell. Baekhyun’s smile was the first genuine smile you’d seen in a while. You weren’t sure if you should trust him, but it wasn’t like you had much of a choice. “Okay.”

⟨⟨ Series ML || Group ML ⟩⟩

#exo-writers-net #exo ceo au #exo as rich kids #exo imagines #exo scenarios #exo drabbles #baekhyun x reader #baekhyun x you #ceo!baekhyun #look #i'm obsessed with him #kvanity

[we-love-imagines]

Sunday Sniffles

Valentine’s Event: Day 4

Prompt: Rohan + Domestic

Ao3 Link

Author’s Note: Hi! This one is a bit of a sick fic, but it isn’t very gross, just a little fever. I’m so excited for the Rohan ova to go to Netflix, I haven’t gotten the chance to watch them on my own so I’m super excited. I love Rohan so much, he’s so fun to write for! Expect a lot more Rohan content soon!

As you opened your eyes, groaning softly as you woke up, you noticed the man that was beside you when you went to sleep was long gone. To most people, waking up to an empty bed would be upsetting, but you had grown used to it. You and your fiancé, Rohan, were busy people, and there wasn’t much time for early morning cuddles. There was coffee to make, pages to draw, and work to be done. 

However, you both had the tendency to run yourselves ragged. As you rolled out of bed, your legs felt like jello, and your sinuses were extremely sore. As you headed to the bathroom, chills ran up and down your spine as you sniffled and coughed, your head pounding as every step felt like a mile. Realization hit you, however, when you entered the bathroom and flicked the lights on. Your paled cheeks and reddened nose gave it away- you had gotten sick.

After washing up a little, you hoped the icky feeling that coated your body would disappear so you could get some work done; alas, it did not. You slung a blanket over your shoulders, wandering down the hall to your fiancé's office on shaky legs.

“Rohaaaaaan,” you called, your voice hoarse,  before opening the door, “I’m coming in.” He always got a little miffed when he was interrupted, but he was used to you stopping in around this time to say ‘Good Morning.’ Not noticing the weak warble of your voice, he didn’t think to take his eyes off his work.

“What is it, (Y/n)?”

“Babe, I think I’m sick,” you told him, before sneezing, “I don’t think I’ll be able to look over your pages today, I’m sorry.”

Setting down his pencil, he turned to face you. The moment he laid eyes on you, he could definitely tell you weren’t bluffing- you looked like death. While Rohan could certainly overdo it at times, your job as a manga editor had you working yourself to the bone a lot. You not only checked for continuity and general errors in a multitude of mangakas’ manuscripts, but you also were their main consultant, bouncing around ideas with them whenever they seemed stuck. While you were the editor for Pink Dark Boy, Rohan was very self-sufficient, so he never needed much from you. However, as of late, the other mangakas under your care were getting quite needy, putting a little too much on your plate for the past week or so.

“Let me take your temperature,” Rohan stood up, taking your hand and dragging you into another room. He pulled out a little thermometer, placing it in your mouth- just as he expected, the temperature rapidly rose.

“You have a fever, my dear,” he sighed, looking over your weak form, “Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” To most people, Rohan seemed like a heartless bastard; Hell, when you first became his editor, you thought so too. However, after getting to know him better, you quickly found that he could be rather sweet if he wanted to. After years of going out, you discovered that said kindness seemed to only be extended to you and a few close friends. Whenever he’d call you little pet names, or hold you like he was right now as he walked you back to your shared bedroom, you reminded yourself of why you fell for that heartless bastard in the first place.

Tucking you back in under your covers, he sat you up on some extra pillows, grabbing some extra blankets from the closet to warm you up even more.

“Tea?” he asked, rolling up his sleeves.

“Babe, you don’t need to baby me,” you told him, prying off some excess blankets, “Go back to work, I know you’re busy. Besides, I have a few calls to make-”

“No, no (Y/n). You’re not doing any work today,” he protested, taking the blanket you were trying to get rid of and putting it back on top of you, “The more you try to do today, the longer your fever is gonna last. You’ve been working too hard lately, anyways. It’s probably the reason you’re sick.”

“But the other mangakas need me, at least let me call them-”

“Dear, they’re creative people, they can manage for a few days while you recover,” he cut you off, making a snide face. He never liked how busy those other mangakas made you- they always seemed to rely on you too heavily for ideas.

“Until then, you’re staying right here. I’m going to make you some hot water for your throat- would you like to read something?”

“Again, babe, you don’t have to fuss over me,” you chided, shooing him away, “I won’t go into work today, but I can make my own tea. You have pages to finish.”

“I know I have pages to finish, but I’m ahead of schedule. Is it wrong of me to ensure my fiancée is well taken care of?” Rohan rolled his eyes, a cocky little grin on his face. He knew you hated when he was right. “What if I wanted to fuss over you anyways, hm? We’re both so busy, I don’t have the time to properly spoil you like I should.”

“You sly dog,” you smiled back at him, sniffling in between words, “You’ve been waiting for something like this, haven’t you?”

“Guilty is charged,” he chuckled, rolling up his sleeves before placing a box of tissues on your nightstand, “I’ve been wanting a nice, easy day with you for awhile. While your condition isn’t optimal, I’ll take any chance I get.”

Without another word, he rushed downstairs to fetch you some warm water as you reached for the drawer in your nightstand, pulling out a book you’ve been meaning to finish. Rohan came back to your room, not only with some hot water and a variety of tea bags to choose from, but with a large breakfast, too.

“You’ve got to drink lots of warm water and eat right so you can get better, okay?” he instructed, setting the tray of food deftly on your lap. You also noticed his ‘go bag’ of art supplies slung over his shoulder. He always carried that bag around when he was out of the house in case inspiration suddenly struck him, so he could draw whole pages of manuscript then and there. He set it down, gently, in the corner of the room; if this bag was with him, it meant that he was staying by your side all day.

Sitting on the bed next to you, Rohan made conversation with you while you ate, cleaning up soon after you were done. He spent the whole day like that, lying beside you, making sure you were okay.

“Rohan, you shouldn’t cuddle me,” you weakly argued, trying to push the man currently spooning you away, “I could get you sick!”

“I don’t care. It’s been too long since we’ve gotten to just lay around together, Dear,” he shot back, nuzzling into you. While you wanted to protest further, the warmth of his body and the endearing pet-name made you complacent. Soon enough, you found yourself drifting off in his arms.

Seeing as you were ill, you had a hard time staying asleep, but Rohan would always lull you back down, comforting you like a mother singing to a baby. While part of you wished he was getting his work done, it felt so nice to finally spend some quality time with your future husband. Your little chats in between naps actually included a lot of wedding planning- something you were both too busy to think about since he popped the question. Also, even though you felt a little bad about it, it felt really nice to be doted on like this. Rohan was being so sweet and gentle with you, which was a very nice change of pace compared to his usual prickly personality.

Suddenly, you found yourself waking up, the electric clock on your nightstand showing that it was the early evening. Did you just spend all day in bed? Despite the frail feeling in your limbs, or how gross your face felt, it was so nice to lounge around all day. 

Behind you, you heard a little snore coming from Rohan. Carefully, you turned over to face him, making sure to go slow enough not to wake him. As you settled back in, you saw how peaceful his face was, all of the tension in his body gone as he slept.

It felt nice to wake up to his face again. From here on out, you two would make sure to save some more time for each other.

#jjba #jjba x reader #rohan x reader #rohan kishibe x reader #rohan #rohan jjba #jjba rohan #rohan kishibe #jojos bizarre adventure #JoJo no Kimyō na Bōken #Valentines Day event

[makaylajadewrites]

Coffee-Stained Sweater

Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid Characters: Spencer Reid, Derek Morgan Additional Tags: Sweaters, Fluff, Drabble Word Count: 1408

Summary: “You look really cute in that sweater.” In which Morgan finds himself liking Reid's new sweater enough to build up the nerve and ask him out. 

Read on AO3

“You look really cute in that sweater.”

Waking up that morning, Derek Morgan never would have thought that those words would be the ones he started his day off with. He was almost as surprised as Reid was when he heard it, and the younger man simply blinked but smiled and glanced down at himself as if checking to make sure that it was really his sweater that he was referring to.

“O-Oh, thank you, thanks,” he stammered bashfully, smoothing a hand down his chest over the front of it. It wasn’t anything special; warm burgundy in color, it was made of wool with a cable knit pattern. It was very warm, thankfully, since winter was in full force and poor Reid was no match for the East Coast weather. It hung off of his slim frame though, oversized, and his hands barely peaked out from the sleeves. Morgan found it adorable though, and the more he looked at his coworker, the more difficult it was to look away.

“Sorry, that was, um... That was weird. Let me try again; Good morning, I like your sweater,” Morgan said dismissively, his face heated up as he swallowed almost nervously,Reid didn’t let this go unnoticed either, because even though he himself was flustered, Derek Morgan was never embarrassed after giving compliments. He did it to Garcia all the time, and the banter between the two of them lasted through entire cases. What was it about him that was so different?

“Good morning, Derek. And thank you,” Spencer said, playing along and offering a small smile as he stood up from his desk to go to the break room. He was already on his third cup of coffee, and if Morgan knew, he would probably scold him for being so unhealthy. But given their job and its unpredictable schedule, it wasn’t exactly easy to maintain healthy eating habits. 

Derek settled himself in at his desk, watching Spencer go and knowing his eyes were lingering on the young doctor for far too long. His feelings for the other had already been under the radar for quite some; nearly a year and a half now. He didn’t know how much longer they could be kept restrained, because every fiber of his being wanted nothing more than to wrap Spencer Reid up in his arms and hold him and his oversized sweater. He eventually built up the nerve to follow after Reid into the break room, seeing him standing in front of the coffee machine with a faraway look in his eyes. 

He approached slowly, and only when he said his name softly and laid a hand on his shoulder did Reid react - quite violently too. He jerked out of his daydreaming, the half filled mug splashing on his sweater in its descent to the floor, where it shattered in a dark puddle. “Oh god, Reid, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” Morgan said, pulling back from the other and looking back and forth between his stained sweater and the floor.

Spencer looked both surprised and confused, lashes fluttering in his shock as he looked down at his now stained sweater and felt the burning in his abdomen. “I will be after I recover from my third degree burns,” he said, a pained expression on his face now. Morgan was filled with guilt and he immediately began to panic in fear that Reid was actually injured. The young doctor muttered something about going to the bathroom and scurried off quickly, waddling like a penguin with his arms extended from his soaked midriff. Morgan watched him go before cleaning up the mess that he had inadvertently made, sweeping up the broken glass and disposing of it before heading back to the bullpen in search of Reid to make sure he was really okay. But when he didn’t see him at his desk, he immediately realized he must still be in the bathroom, and that concerned him.

Collecting Reid’s go bag which sat on the ground beside his desk, he headed towards the bathroom down the hall and immediately saw Spencer in front of the mirrors, shirtless and wiping off his thin abdomen and was he always that pale?

“S-Sorry, man, I just brought your go bag... For a change of clothes,” he said, looking away as he thrust it towards the other man. If it were any other man, he most likely wouldn’t look away like that, but it was Spencer and he knew how shy the genius was. Spencer didn’t seem to notice though, because he took the bag offered and began to ruffle through it, only to look up and see Morgan with his head turned, eyes averted.

“Thank you,” Spencer said, slipping a button up shirt on over his shoulders and looking towards Morgan with a fond smile. 

The rest of the day went by as normal, but the tension between the two men did not go unnoticed by Emily, who continuously looked back and forth as if searching for an explanation. When she realized she wouldn't get one though, she gave up and focused on her work. As was usual, Reid ended up finishing his files before the other two, but he hung around and typed away at his computer, consulting on other cases that requested an expert’s help. 

When six o’clock came, the group began to pack up, but Morgan purposely stayed behind until it was just him and Reid, and he made sure to walk out with him too. He made it look as natural as possible, but luckily that was not difficult to do because even though Reid was an excellent profiler, he was not the greatest at reading social cues. They stood in the elevator side by side, Reid fidgeting somewhat nervously with the strap of his messenger bag while he waited for the doors to open. But somewhere between the fourth and the fifth floor, Morgan built up the courage to speak. 

“I meant what I said, you know,” he said, his voice low as if there were others around who could hear them, even though it was just the two of them. Spencer looked at him in confusion, tilting his head.

“What?”

“What I said this morning... About your sweater,” he filled in awkwardly, and the smile on Spencer’s face was enough for his heart to skip a beat, radiant and practically sparkling.

“Th-Thank you,” he said, flattered and flushed again, but he was much more comfortable with the compliment now than he was that morning.

“Maybe... Maybe I can make it up to you, for that dropped coffee,” he said, and Spencer’s nose twitched slightly at that, as if his confusion caused a physical reaction. 

“What do you mean? We get coffee all the time,” he said, and Derek felt himself grow more nervous than he had anticipated. Right... Reid wasn’t good with typical social interactions. He really had to be specific about this. “Just last week we went to get lunch together.”

“No, I mean... Like as a date,” Morgan explained, and Reid’s expression could have been comical if it were any other situation. His hazel eyes went impossibly wide and his lips parted just slightly, and it seemed as if the young doctor’s brain had short circuited. “Reid?...”

“A-A date?” he stuttered, tongue flicking out across his lips as he swallowed nervously. “You... me... date?”

“Yeah, I mean... It doesn’t have to be anything fancy. We can go to that cafe that you like, the one with all of the different flavored syrups,” Morgan said, suddenly growing aware of the very real possibility that he could be rejected. But instead, a small smile grew on Reid’s lips and nervously, he bobbed his head in the affirmative.

“I’d like that,” he said softly, and by then, the elevator doors had opened and the two men were left standing inside now facing each other while exposed to the parking garage. 

“Good... Good,” Morgan said, and Reid glanced down at himself before looking back up to meet Derek’s gaze.

“I’ll wear the sweater. Since you liked it,” he said bashfully and Morgan wasn't sure if this boy could be any more precious. The two eventually parted ways for the night, and Morgan was left feeling more fulfilled than he had in awhile. He never thought a coffee stained sweater could be the gateway to a date with Reid.

#drabble #idk what this is #I was bored and needed something lighthearted #criminal minds #cm #Spencer reid #Derek morgan #moreid #criminal minds fanfiction

[cannibalmukbang]

Initial Consultation

Wrote this to share with my fellow freaks in the Duke Simp Server. It serves as a real introduction to my self-insert, Colette.

Roughly 4k words. Completely safe for work but full (I hope) of sexual tension.

Enjoy.

Colette was alerted to the presence of a customer in the shop, not by the bell on the door but by the sudden and overpowering scent of cigar smoke coming from the shop floor when she returned from the back room.

The apprentice tailor had been left alone for the day when a family emergency had called Thea away from her work suddenly that morning. Normally Thea wouldn't have trusted Colette with the responsibility, but with no other choices and only one meeting scheduled for the day, she left her with full reign of the shop. There was always the chance of a walk-in, but those chances were slim. The town centre of Montfaucon was hardly the Paris high street, especially not on a Wednesday afternoon. There was the 2:30 meeting, and other than that and some light re-organising, that was all Colette was going to have to worry about for the day.

She recalled Thea's exact words regarding her 2:30 appointment- “He hasn't been in to see us for a long while, since before you worked here. He pays well. I think you'll like him, Colette- he's odd, like you.”

She still didn't know whether to take that as a compliment or not.

Thea had also said “Just try not to be too intimidated,” but that had been seconds before walking out the door to take a call from her sick aunt, so Colette hadn't had a chance to get clarification on what, exactly, would be potentially intimidating about him.

Seeing him in the shop, Colette got her answer.

“Ah, there you are. You must be Mademoiselle Colette. I hope you don't mind me smoking in here.”

Thea's 2:30 was immaculately dressed, though his dark grey three-piece suit looked about 120 years out of style. It had to have been custom, either designed by Thea or someone else, because there was no way any off-the rack clothing would have fit him. He was massive, his body taking up most of the pink couch that was there for customers to sit on while they waited to pick up their clothes. He already would've easily been the largest man Colette had ever laid eyes on, but then she realised- he had seemed to be average height at first, but that was only because he was sitting down.

Still, she was going to take Thea's advice to heart and remain firmly un-intimidated.

“I suppose you're my 2:30,” she responded dryly. Colette was a competent seamstress but her customer service definitely needed work. “So, are you picking up or dropping off, Monsieur-?”

“Duke.” He corrected.

Colette blinked. He spoke French like a native but she was fairly certain there were no Dukes left in the country.

“Of what?” she asked

He extinguished his cigar and pretended not to hear her.

“You come highly recommended, Colette,” he said. “So I'm going to give you a chance, as a courtesy to Thea. I need you to do two things for me.”

Colette couldn't help but scoff at the idea of Thea, or anyone, really, giving her a glowing recommendation. She had graduated from Paris Fashion Institute with middling grades, the collection she designed being called too much like costume by most of her professors, whose advice she had frequently ignored out of spite. This wasn't to say she was bad at her work, only that she wasn't the easiest person on earth to work with.

“Alright, Monsieur le Duc,” she said. “What would those two things be?”

The Duke smiled thinly in response to the slight sarcastic edge to her voice.

He had a face that would've looked at home on one of the paintings of angels that hung in the Musee D'Orsay, with bright eyes, full lips and rosy cheeks. He could've been 25, he could've been 50. It was impossible to tell.

“A suit for me, for starters. Then, well, I have an associate who, after seeing Thea's work, wants to commission a new evening dress.”

“Will your associate be joining us as well?” Colette asked.

“No, unfortunately she can't,” the Duke responded. “But you getting the dress commission will be totally contingent on if you do a good job on the suit. I've been told you're good at thinking outside the box when it comes to design, so I'm excited to see what you come up with.”

He gave her a pointed look. The dress she had on was definitely indicative of an outside-the-box thinker- it could best be described as 'Siouxsie and the Banshees meets Marie Antoinette'. Not something that was ever meant to be worn off the runway, but Colette stubbornly insisted.

“I've been told as much, many, many times.” She smiled and nodded, with a demure laugh.

She had started this interaction ready to dislike the Duke- he'd startled her when he came in, smoking a cigar when he really wasn't supposed to, barefoot despite being well-dressed from the ankles up. She was ready for him to be entitled, act like he owned the place, but he didn't give off that air at all. He was relaxed, soft-spoken, with a voice like crème caramel, a sharp contrast to how she imagined someone his size would sound.

She might even enjoy this consultation, she thought. But then Colette stopped, hit with a sudden realisation.

Oh, God, she was going to have to take this man's measurements. There was a knot forming in her stomach at the idea, but it wasn't out of dread. Not entirely, at least.

She swallowed the feeling and took a breath before crossing the shop floor to sit across from her customer.

“So- what kind of suit did you have in mind, Monsieur le Duc?”

Colette was leaning forward, eager to discuss things, her elbows resting on her knees. In contrast, the Duke was leaning back, casual as anything, like some decadent Roman emperor, his pose only serving to accentuate the belly that took up most of his lap. Colette caught herself staring and hoped he wouldn't notice.

“Oh, please, that was my father's name,” he chuckled. “Just 'the Duke' will do.”

“The Duke of what?” Colette asked again.

He seemed to think it over, fidgeting with one of the many rings on his fingers.

“I'm looking for something stylish, but comfortable. You know, suitable for day or evening. Not too ostentatious.” He flexed his fingers and looked at his nails “Like what I have on now, but lighter, for spring.”

“How do you feel about red as a colour?” Colette asked.

The Duke lowered his hand, resting it on his stomach.

Colette was staring again, and this time he definitely noticed. He tilted his head to the side and raised his brows, silently reminding her that his eyes were up here. Embarrassed, Colette cleared her throat and pushed her glasses up her nose.

“I don't actually think I have anything in red,” he mused. “Could be a nice change. But I realise the potential limitations- if you don't have enough of the red, I'll understand.”

“I can always order in more.” She laughed, a little uneasily. “But I'm sorry to inform you that if I have to do that, I will then have to charge you extra.”

“I can afford it.” The Duke didn't miss a beat.

“Good to know.” Colette smiled, tapping her fingers on her thigh. “I'll make a point to run up the price as high as I possibly can.”

“I didn't say you could do that,” the Duke said. “Not that you could. I'd simply talk the price back down. I'm an exceptionally good haggler.”

Colette stood up and cocked her head back, just so she could give him a smug smile and look down her nose at him.

“I'd like to see you try and outwit me, sir.”

Her confidence was entirely false, affected solely out of a desire to keep the back-and-forth going. Colette was famously terrible with numbers. She could do basic accounting, but when it came to actually conceptualising what numbers (be they costs or measurements) represented in real life, she was hopeless. She still thought 15 euro was a lot of money.

Regardless, her bravado got a laugh out of the Duke. In any other circumstances being laughed at would make Colette angry. Maybe it still did, but maybe the anger was just outweighed by the fact that the Duke had the most fantastically genuine and joyful laugh she'd ever heard.

She wanted more than anything to keep making him laugh.

Colette waltzed over to the desk, so she could grab her notebook, pencil and measuring tape from a drawer under the cash register. The whole time he was watching her with interest, almost as if she were the thing he'd come here to buy.

“Did you make those clothes?” He asked, tone completely innocent. “They're very nice.”

Colette looked down at her own outfit and shrugged. Her top was a puff-sleeved roccoco-esque number in cream white and royal purple, while her skirt was a pencil skirt made of shiny faux-leather. Her tights matched the top, her boots matched the skirt.

“The shirt, yes,” she answered. “The skirt, no. Vinyl is difficult to work with- you need a special needle for it.”

“I can't imagine it's comfortable.”

“You'd be surprised.” She dug around in the drawer, grunting in annoyance. “Give me just a moment, please- I'll get something from the back, then we can get on with this fitting.”

She ducked behind the privacy curtain, the one that kept the shop floor separate from the mess of fabric, mannequins and sewing machine thread. It took her seconds to find a measuring tape, but she couldn't help but wonder if it was going to be long enough.

When she came back out to the shop floor she had to suppress a very undignified yelp. She had heard no footsteps or movement of any kind, but the Duke was on the other side of the shop when she returned. She had to remind herself that he was barefoot, so, theoretically, capable of walking without making sound, but the time between when she last saw him and now seemed incongruously short. That and the fact that he was so tall. She knew he had to be, but there was a difference between seeing him sat on the couch and actually seeing him at full height. He was taller than any of the mirrors he was standing by, and if he'd stood too far to the left he'd run the risk of his head knocking the hanging chandelier.

Colette made a point to close her mouth- she was sure it had been hanging open. The Duke, for what it was worth, seemed amused more than offended at her reaction.

“Well, Colette?” He asked, only sounding slightly impatient.

“Oh, of course.” She shook her head and pushed up her glasses. “Sorry, sorry, I guess I'm just-”

“223 centimetres,” he said, interrupting her floundering.

Colette furrowed her brows, cocking her head to the side.

“That's how tall I am,” the Duke said, plainly. “I could just tell you were about to ask, so I felt I may as well get it out in the open.”

“Thanks,” Colette said. “Well, now that you've told me how tall you are vertically, let's get measuring all your other...various...directions.”

“What?”

“It sounded better in my head.”

“It could hardly have sounded worse.”

Colette gritted her teeth. Thea had told her not to be intimidated by him, and she wasn't, but she was definitely flustered.

“I'm going to start with your inseam,” she said, regaining some of her professionalism and composure.

“Very well, have at it.”

They looked at each other for a moment, but that was all it took. The smirk on his face was all the proof Colette needed that he was fully aware of his effect on her. Not only was he aware of it, but he thought it was hilarious.

Remaining stone-faced to spite him, Colette took a knee in front of the Duke and stretched the measuring tape from the inside of his ankle up to his inner thigh. Inevitably, her hands brushed against him, and she forced herself to not think about it.

She took his leg length down, then stood up, briefly adjusting her skirt where it had ridden up her legs slightly.

Wanting desperately to keep her mind on her work and not on the Duke himself, Colette cleared her throat.

“So, tell me about this mysterious associate of yours.” She made note of the length of his arm. “Where is she now that's so important she couldn't come with you? You could've made a day of it.”

“She's in Romania,” the Duke answered. Colette moved the measuring tape away and he lowered his arm.

“And there's nobody local who could have made the dress for her?” Colette smirked. “Not that I oppose the idea of taking her money, I'm just curious.”

“Well, there used to be a village seamstress,” he answered lightly. “...Until she was unceremoniously devoured.”

Colette, assuming it was a joke, laughed.

“By vampires, I presume?” she asked.

“Naturally,” The Duke said, silvery-blue eyes glinting. “The whole village is overrun. Why do you think the Lady couldn't join me today? The sun's still up, and she can't leave her homeland unless she's in a coffin. She's even taller than me, too, so that makes her a nightmare to transport.”

Colette started measuring the Duke's back. His shoulders were well above her eye level.

“If she's a vampire, what does that make you?”

The Duke was silent for a while while Colette noted the measurement. He shrugged.

“I prefer a good foie gras to human blood, let's just say that.”

Colette looked up from her notes and gave him a look.

“You're very cryptic,” she said.

He smirked.

“I'm so glad you noticed.”

She looked at her book, mentally ticking off all the measurements she'd just gone through. Of course, she still had to do the chest and waist measurements. She looked over the Duke's form, so large that the mirrors couldn't hold all of his reflection at once. Her brain was at risk of short-circuiting trying to logic out how she would be able to reach all the way around him. She thought about trying to reach around him, see how far she could get her arms, but maybe that was just because she thought he'd be nice to hug.

“Alright, raise your arms up.”

He did as instructed, and Colette clicked her tongue, looking him over.

“You're sold on red for the colour?” She asked.

“Yes.”

“And what about the dress for your lady friend?” She asked. “Not to get too ahead of myself here, I just need to know if you want to match.”

“No need to.” He waved his hand dismissively. “We're not showing up to places together. She is just my friend, if that.”

Colette smiled, because that implied he was single.

“She doesn't go for bigger guys, then?”

He shook his head.

“She doesn't go for guys, end of sentence.”

“Fair.” Colette held one side of the measuring tape under his arm. “Hold this here for me.”

He did what he asked, leaving both of Colette's hands free. She took the other end of the tape as far as it could go, which was just about to the other side of his chest. She looked up at him, over the rims of her glasses.

“What about you, what's your type?”

He narrowed his eyes, looking up at the ceiling, thinking about it.

“Well, I'd say it depends, but right now...” He looked at Colette and gave her a wry smile. “I find myself very interested in leggy brunettes who wear tight skirts and large glasses.”

“You have terrible taste.” Colette joked, noting down the measurement as well as a pre-emptive plus sign for when she'd have to add a second measurement onto the first.

“Clearly,” the Duke laughed. “What about you? Would you say you have a type?”

Colette took the tape and started circling around the Duke's back, humming thoughtfully.

“Gentlemanly. Fashionable.” She made some notes and did some quick addition. “Heavy-set. Approximately 223 centimetres tall.”

“I think your taste in men is impeccable.”

“You're biased,” she said flatly. “One more measurement, then you can go and I can start patterning.”

“It will be a shame to have to leave.”

“You will have to come back at some point,” Colette responded. “I mean, you know... once for the fitting, then another time to pick the suit up.”

The Duke nodded, like he was taking what she was saying very seriously.

“Naturally.”

Colette circled back around to the front of the Duke and raised her measuring tape again. She started chewing her bottom lip while she looked him over, eyes lingering again on his belly. It was truly unbelievable that the Duke was as big as he was and still able to stand. Yet here he was, standing. He must be really strong, Colette thought.

Just another one of many admirable traits that he apparently had.

Colette took his waist measurements in piecemeal, the same way she did his chest. Looking at the notebook in her hands as she added numbers together she noticed that her handwriting had been getting markedly worse the longer this appointment had gone on.

Her hands were getting jittery.

“I have to say, your restraint is admirable,” the Duke said. Colette felt her face go red.

“Sorry- I thought I was being covert, but I guess I'm not.” Colette gave a self-effacing laugh. “You're very eye-catching.”

“You don't need to apologise, pet,” he assured her. “I've been drawing stares for longer than you've been alive, I'm utterly numb to it at this point.”

Colette raised a brow.

“'Longer than you've been alive' sounds like something a vampire would say.” She narrowed her eyes and pointed the end of her pencil at her. “I thought you said you weren't a vampire, hm?”

The Duke gestured to the mirrors, which were reflecting as much of him as they possibly could. Colette shrugged.

“Alright, that's a compelling counter-argument.” She tapped her pencil on her notebook and scrunched her face up, mulling over the numbers. Predictably, they were very large. She flipped the page and started sketching a rough approximation of his body shape on which to build a design. “So, you can take a seat if you like. That was all I needed from you for now.”

“Of course.”

Colette looked up from the page, eyes wide. His voice sounded too far away when he'd spoken, and when she raised her eyes her suspicions were confirmed- somehow, impossibly, he was already sat on the couch again. Colette had been known to lose herself when she was focused on her work, but she couldn't have had her eyes off him that long, could she? She had half a mind to check the clock on the wall, just to make sure.

He smiled at her, eyebrows raising for a second. Oh, so he was messing with her now, the bastard.

“Alright, that's enough,” Colette said firmly. “Whatever that was, don't do it again.”

“Do what?” He asked, feigning innocence.

Colette raised two fingers towards her eyes, then jabbed them accusingly in his direction.

“How do you feel about a single vent, Italian style, four-by-two jacket in red twill with black lining?” She asked.

“Perfect,” he answered. “I'm more than willing to defer to your expertise on any further details, just so long as you don't go too le Roi Soleil with it. That era did not suit me.”

Colette smirked, because once again, she assumed it was a joke.

“Not everything I make looks like this shirt, you know,” she explained, slightly indignant. “I have range. And I'm surprised- I would think you suited the Louis the 14th look.”

“That's because you weren't there.” He held up a hand and motioned for her to come closer. “Show me what you've been drawing.”

“It's not finished.” She clutched the notebook to her chest defensively.

“Please?” He clutched his hands together, pleading. “Come on, Colette, don't be one of those people.”

“Those people?”

“Yes, the kind of people who make art but refuse to share their progress.”

“It's not art yet,” she argued. “Not until I copy it onto the good draughting paper and add colour and everything.”

“Da Vinci probably used to say the same thing,” the Duke said, “And his sketches still go for millions.”

“That's only because Da Vinci has been dead for a very long time.”

The Duke, unmoved by her argument, kept looking at her with an eager look on his face and his hands clasped under his chin. Colette groaned and slumped her head forward.

“Alright. I concede,” she grumbled as she approached him, her grip relaxing around the notebook.“Here.”

The Duke took the book out of her hands and she made a small noise in protest.

“It's a bad likeness, but-”

“The suit looks good,” he interrupted. “I'm excited to see it in colour.”

Colette smiled, nodding dumbly. It took her an embarrassingly long time to respond

“Yeah?”

He nodded and handed the book back. She closed it and slipped it under her arm.

“You know, it's funny,” he said. “Thea told me you were a little standoffish, but I think you're perfectly charming in person.”

“I can be, under the right circumstances.” Colette shrugged. “As long as you don't do anything to piss me off.”

“I'll try my best not to.”

“I'll hold you to it.”

After a brief silence, the Duke stood up, finally confirming to Colette that he was capable of moving by methods other than jump-cutting from place to place.

“So if there's nothing more you need from me,” He straightened his jacket lapels. “I've got other obligations this evening, and if you don't mind-”

“Oh, by all means.” Colette held one hand up, shaking her head. She left a pause, taking the time to consider what she was about to ask. She was starting to blush a little bit again. “Would it be totally weird if I asked for a hug before you leave?”

“Yes,” he said, his tone deadpan. “But I'll forgive you, considering you seem to just be weird in a general, holistic sense.”

Colette smirked.

“Thanks, so do you.”

The Duke put a hand on her back and pulled Colette into a hug, causing her notebook to drop to the floor when she instinctively opened her arms to hug him back. She let her head rest on his chest and took a deep breath in through her nose. Her nose wasn't good enough to identify the base components of his scent beyond the wool his suit was made of and the lingering scent of the cigar he'd been smoking earlier, but whatever else he smelled like, it was comforting. She was reminded of libraries, museum cafes, places she used to hide away to quietly get her work done when she was in college. It was nice.

“I should probably go write you a quote, shouldn't I?” She asked, finally letting go.

“Of course.”

Colette picked up her notebook and pencil off the floor and skittered over to the cash register desk, where she grabbed a calculator and receipt book.

“Alright- so, with the cost of the fabric and lining, plus the buttons, you are looking at...” She drew out the 'a' in 'at' while she punched numbers into the calculator. “Somewhere in the ball park of-”

Feeling a strange pit in her stomach, she looked up.

The Duke had vanished. 

“Five hundred and sixty-four...for the materials.” She sighed, her eyes narrowing at the shop door. “Bastard.”

She was about to call Thea and complained that the Duke had stiffed them, but then she saw the stack of cash on the desk next to her. She picked it up and thumbed through.

Five hundred and sixty-four euros. Plus a tip.

Thea hadn't been lying about the man paying well.

#My writing

[ampleappleamble]

—

Stubborn and haughty, it read. Dismissive of the soul sciences, as befitting his Aedyre heritage. Very rude and difficult to work with.

"Unbelievable," Aloth spat.

Upon leaving the sanitarium, the group had jointly decided that perhaps their trip to the expedition den could wait until the following day. However, there were still a few loose ends around town to tie up, and a few more hours of daylight in which to do it. Nevertheless– and despite his objections– Axa insisted that Aloth stay behind and rest at the inn, give his nerves a brief respite after all he'd been through that day while the rest of the party tended to business. And so now he sat in his room at the Charred Barrel, alone with his thoughts.

And with Bellasege's research notes.

How relaxing, he thought, glaring hatefully at the little stack of papers.

Most of the document was utterly unintelligible to Aloth, consisting of either overly technical animancy jargon or Vailian hen scratch, but what little she'd bothered to scribble down in Aedyran only asserted what he already knew– that this woman was a charlatan, a sensationalist hack more interested in reinforcing her own harebrained assumptions than in helping anyone. Least of all him, considering she evidently knew exactly what his fellow Aedyrans thought about animancy and the Awakened and yet she still intended to publish his full name and home province along with her ludicrous excuse of a diagnosis. All she was after, as he suspected most animancers were, was fortune and glory, and his reputation was apparently a sacrifice she was willing to make in the pursuit of that goal.

He had known since the instant the woman had started transcribing his very personal, very private memories that her notes would somehow have to find their way into his hands, so as soon as he'd seen his chance, he'd taken it– and as soon as he'd secured the notes and slipped them into his cloak, he'd seen Axa watching him. Not expecting to be caught in the act, he'd frozen in horror, silently pleading with the little woman to turn a blind eye– and he'd been pleasantly surprised when she'd done exactly that, glancing furtively at Bellasege and then back at him before turning her back on them both and heading for the door, the barest hint of disapproval in her eyes.

Part of him couldn't help but think that that was why she'd left him here by himself– because she was disappointed with him for betraying Bellasege's trust like that, promising her her long-sought prize only to rip it away immediately afterwards, and right under her nose to boot. But he reminded himself that Axa wasn't the kind of woman to practice punitive shunning like that, and if she'd had a problem with what he'd done, she'd have discussed it with him, probably even called him out right there in the animancer's office. After all, she had to know that it had been her who had truly helped him, not Bellasege. So what would she care if that fraud no longer had anything to show for her so-called efforts?

"'Be ever honest, forthright, and true'– fye, yer a fine auld piece o' work, laddie."

Iselmyr had been uncharacteristically quiet ever since her outburst in the sanitarium, her appetite for bickering seemingly sated until now, and Aloth jumped at her sudden resurgence in his mind. "Maybe you'd be perfectly fine with word of our condition becoming common knowledge back home," he retorted, recovering quickly, "but I would rather keep our private matters private. Besides, I didn't hear you objecting at the time."

He was expecting more of her usual sharp-tongued impudence, but was surprised when Iselmyr only scoffed softly in his mind instead. "Naught t' object tae. Fer once."

Iselmyr not sassing him was one thing, but Iselmyr actually agreeing with him was quite another. Stunned into silence, Aloth could only blink stupidly as Axa's words back at the sanitarium popped into his head– "Try it her way, let her in"– when there was a knock at the door, and, grateful for the interruption, he bid his visitor enter.

Axa stepped in slowly, carefully, only cracking the door just enough to allow her inside before shutting it behind her. "Hey," she smiled, rubbing at a fresh bruise on her forearm as she crossed the room. "Just got back. The others are downstairs having a late dinner. How're you holding up?"

"As well as can be expected," he replied breezily, shifting position to face her, frowning as he gestured to her wound. "Looks like you had an eventful evening despite my absence. What happened?"

"Oh, nothing serious," she sighed. "Helped an old man find and free the soul of his long-dead lover from a necromancer... gave an orlan who'd found himself on the wrong side of the law a second chance at life... exorcised a lighthouse by striking a deal with some pirates... The usual, you know." She grinned up at him briefly before thrusting her chin at the sheaf of paper in his hands, clearing her throat. "Still figuring out what you're gonna do with those, are you?"

"Oh, I know exactly what I'm going to do with them," he sneered, twisting the notes into a tight little tube in his hands. "I was just looking though them first for any information that might actually be useful to me. I'm sure it'll surprise you to learn I found nothing." He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "She didn't even get the color of my hair correct. You wouldn't happen to need a light for your pipe, would you?"

Axa laughed and declined politely, and so Aloth narrowed his eyes at the animancer's notes, gesturing with his free hand and whispering a few arcane power words, and in a few seconds the papers were ablaze, quickly crumbling into ash on the floor. Another gesticulation, a few more muttered words, and seconds later even the blackened remains were swept away into the aether, leaving nothing behind but a gray smudge on the rug.

"Well, that's that then." Axa sighed, shaking her head as she stared at the smokey spot. "Shame you two couldn't have helped each other more."

He looked away, crossing his arms over his chest. "More? She didn't help me at all. She pointed some contraption at me, humiliated me with prying questions, and when she couldn't even be bothered to put together her own conclusions, she relied on you to fill in the gaps. If anything, my destroying her ridiculous notes is evening the score."

"I know you've not much love for animancers, Aloth, but Bellasege really was trying. Whether it was to help you learn about yourself or to further her own knowledge of the soul sciences, I can't rightly say, but still." The orlan planted her fists on her hips, regarding him cautiously. "Personally, I think she was in over her head a bit. But how can we expect animancers to improve any or to advance the craft as a whole if we don't cooperate with them every now and again?"

"That would be fair enough if their methods were ever anything approaching sound," he retorted. "But you heard her. Black bile? My spleen? Drivel. Quackery. And publishing my identifying information like that is entirely irresponsible. What if someone from home were to see it? I'd be ruined." Color had crept into his face as he'd spoken, and he paused a moment to collect himself, but only succeeded in winding himself up further. "The only reason we figured out anything about my condition from that farce in her office is because you and I have half decent educations and a modicum of common sense between us. Imagine your average kith– Hel, your average Dyrwoodan going to a woman like Bellasege for a consultation. Big words and shiny gadgets are all most people need to believe just about anything a con artist like her can conjure up."

The little woman raised her eyebrow at him. "You do bring up some good points, I'll grant you that. Question is, what's to be done about it? As it is now, the only authority anyone seems to want to exert over the practice is to either let animancers– or anyone who calls themselves animancers– go totally unchecked, or to ban animancy completely. Is there to be no middle ground?"

"It's not our political leaders' jobs to understand animancy's deepest nuances so they can legislate it 'fairly'," he sighed, gently massaging his temple. "They've enough to contend with without having to study an experimental new branch of science, particularly in the Dyrwood."

"Then why not make animancers the ones who decide? Or, at least, give them the chance to advise those who do the deciding." Axa's eyes brightened as she argued, reminding Aloth uncomfortably of Kana. "A council of well-respected animancers, perhaps, selected from among those most trusted and revered in their fields."

Aloth's lip drew back in a grimace. "Let animancers legislate themselves? That's a recipe for disaster if ever I heard one."

She shrugged. "Just tossing out ideas. We'd all probably fare better that way than we do in the chaos we have now."

"I don't see how, but... seeing as it's coming from you, the idea might be worth considering." The words were out of his mouth before he really realized what he was saying, and he jolted slightly to hear himself say them.

She laughed. "Don't go around pinning all your trust on any one person or institution completely, Aloth. Not even me. You'll regret it, trust me."

He smiled at his feet, cheeks and ears growing warm. "As you say, Lady Mala. What's on the schedule for tomorrow, then? I'd join you and the others and discuss the matter over dinner, but if I'm being honest, I'm having a rather difficult time working up an appetite for yet more overboiled stew and watered wine."

Her demeanor changed in an instant, her casual slouch straightening, her face abruptly flipping from relaxed to sober. "Wyla, the justiciar from Crucible Keep that we talked to this morning, caught us on our way back here," she stated gravely. "Heritage Hill will be open to us tomorrow morning."

Aloth froze. "Heritage Hill," he repeated softly. "Did she... have anything to say about the conditions beyond the gates?"

She shook her head again, a haunted look drifting into her eyes. "Apparently, it's bedlam in there," she murmured. "Patrols go in, but they don't come out. The dead walk the streets."

"And the Leaden Key has something to do with it all," he finished for her.

"They do. They must. And we're going to find out what. Together," she answered, determination hardening her voice. She gave him a feisty grin, then, lifted her eyes to meet his, and the intensity of her gaze made him avert his. "So you'd better get some rest, then, if you're not going to eat."

He chuckled amicably. "As long as we don't get anymore unexpected midnight visitors, I'm sure I'll be well rested come morning."

She scoffed and swatted him lightly on the knee. "Well! I'll just bind my feet before turning in for the night, shall I?"

They laughed together for a moment, then, and Aloth felt something inside him finally loosening up and spreading throughout him, like an enormous flower made of light and air blooming in his chest. It made him feel warm and giddy and free in a way he never really had before, and the feeling persisted even after Axa had spun on her heel and sauntered across the room, smiling at him one last time before disappearing into the hallway beyond, pulling the door shut behind her. He didn't know exactly what it meant– he'd never felt it before, so how could he?– but he had his suspicions, none of which he was really prepared to get into tonight. So instead he got ready for bed, smile still stuck to his warm face as he changed into his nightclothes, washed his face, brushed his hair.

Was ye e'er plannin' on tellin' her it was yerself whit let her intae yer room last night? He could practically hear the cheeky little grin in Iselmyr's voice.

"No," he sighed, "because it was you who did that, not I. And you know it." He was still smiling. He couldn't seem to stop.

Fye, lad, whit diff'rence dae it make?

"All the difference in the world," he answered, and with a flick of his wrist, all the lights in the room simultaneously snuffed out.

—

#pillars of eternity #poe anthem infinitum #yes it's a joke about the wiki saying he has 'dark brown' hair #it's black though........? #also holy shit chapter 11 is finished #polishing and posting the full chapter soon! #thanks for reading ♡

[erin-bo-berin]

A Day In The Life

MASTERLIST

This daddy Spencer fic came to be by the thought of me wanting even MORE daddy Spence, so I thought why not write something where it’s just a typical day in his life with his family/the kids/pets? Thus, this was born. Just a heads up, this entire fic is told completely in Spencer’s point of view, just to give the utmost feels, which you should definitely experience in this.

Thank you to @teamkiall for giving me permission to use her real life pupper Hopper in this; he was so fun to write. Thank you to her for some of the phrases I used in this. Also, thank you to everyone who helped me pick which bunny to use as inspiration of Duke for, including: @reidsstudies, @andiebeaword, @lightinthedarkuniverse, @one-sweet-gubler, @nanocoool, @multifandommandy and the anons who all offered their input. I appreciate you all, greatly!

Finally, for a little insight on some of the bunny things I wrote about. For those who don’t know or aren’t as familiar with bunny behavior, I’ve linked a few Instagram posts for y’all to refer to when reading. It really helps when reading if you know what they look like.

Bunny Binky (in slow-mo, usually a lot quicker)

Bunny Flop

Bunny Loaf

Now sit back, relax and enjoy all 10.2k words of daddy Spencer. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: G (fluff)

Word Count: 10,283

“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!”

Spencer’s eyes opened to not only the bright morning sun, but to a wide awake, hyper, three year old little girl.

“Yes, baby?” he groaned, rubbing his eyes.

His little girl Evie—born Evie Laine Reid—was currently jumping up and down on the bed at his feet. She flung herself on top of him and he over exaggerated his reaction, acting like she was the heaviest thing, making her giggle.

“What are you doing up so early?” he asked, pulling her into his arms.

“It nawt eawly.”

One glance at the clock and he realized it was after 8:30 a.m. 

“Where’s your mommy?” Spencer asked, looking over at the empty space in bed where his wife, Y/N, usually occupied.

In her place though was their German Shepherd, Hopper. He laid his head next to Spencer’s hand and Spencer smiled, giving him some ear scratches. 

Hopper was a giant teddy bear. At only two years old, he’d had enough trauma in his own life that made Spencer want to adopt him even more than he initially had. The poor canine had been severely mistreated and starved to the point his ribs had been showing when Spencer first laid eyes on him. After telling Y/N about the dog, they both decided to make their home his forever home. Despite having been through such hardships, he was such a happy and loving dog. It’s one of the things that Spencer loved about him most.

Patches of brown and white made up his fur color, although he was mostly brown. His face was a majority brown, a few lighter brown patches surrounding his eyes and an almost gray hued spot just about his nose. His ears were almost bigger than his head and as comical as it was, it made him even cuter than he already was—if that was even possible. He also loved his stuffed ducky, he made sure to take it to bed with him every night.

“I no no. I just wake up,” Evie answered his earlier question.

Hopper woofed softly and nosed Evie making her laugh and hug his neck.

“I wonder where Duke is,” Spencer asked, scanning the room to see if he was on the bedroom floor somewhere.

“Pwobably in fwont of da fwidge waiting for bweakfast,” Evie giggled.

Duke was their sassy, gray, 2 pounds of complete fluff, Netherland Dwarf rabbit. Yes, he had a bunny too. Spencer had never thought about owning a bunny before, until he met Duke. 

He, too, was a rescue, like Hopper. After being abandoned in a park by his previous owner, he was rescued by a shelter who took amazing care of him until Spencer came along and fell in love with him. Now, he was a happy six year old bunny who looked incredibly grumpy on the outside but was actually a sweetheart. His favorite things—other than napping and eating—were hanging out on the back of the couch to “watch” TV with him and Y/N and flop next to them—or Hopper, who happened to be his best friend ever. He loved head pets, bananas and licking Spencer’s slippers. He was a cutie that you just couldn’t help but love.

One of his routine things was speeding to the kitchen every morning if he heard even the slightest indication that someone was up. He would sit in front of the fridge until someone fed him his daily breakfast of mixed leafy greens.

He had pellets twice a day, endless hay to munch on and treats every now and then, yet he acted like they never fed him. It was quite humorous.

Also, if you didn’t get him his breakfast in a timely fashion he made sure to let you know of his displeasure and thump. 

Spencer hadn’t known as much about bunnies when Duke first came home with them and about had heart failure the first time he heard Duke thump. Turns out, thumping was just a bunny quite literally thumping their back feet against the floor, something they did to show their displeasure or when they’re startled or frightened. Most of the time now though, it was just because he wasn’t being fed fast enough. 

Despite his demands, he was an essential part of Spencer’s family, just like Hopper was.

He took a quick glance at his phone to see if he had any missed messages and saw a text from Y/N letting him know that she’d gone to the store. He felt more at ease knowing she was just out running errands. It was always a treat to wake up next to Y/N every morning and he missed it when he wasn’t able to.

“Come on sweetheart, let’s get you some breakfast,” Spencer said getting out of bed, lifting Evie up in his arms.

His little girl wasn’t so little anymore. She was heavier to carry now a days and didn’t want to be carried as much anyways, so he always took advantage of all the times she let him.

He headed out of the bedroom with her, Hopper right behind him on his heels.

“What would you like to eat, baby?”

“Pincakes,” she said, causing him to laugh.

She still couldn’t say pancakes all that well and it came out sounding more like “pincakes”.

“Let’s go check on your brother and sister, okay? Unless mommy took them shopping with her.”

Spencer set Evie down in front of the nursery and she pushed the door open, running in. He tried to hurry and stop her in case they were still asleep, but they were already awake.

“MOWNIN BABIES!” Evie squealed happily.

Standing in their cribs, already wide awake were their ten month old twins, Aden James—Y/N’s name pick—and Isla Jade, his pick. The girls seemed to favor him more while Aden looked more like Y/N. All three had his curly, light brown hair and hazel eyes though.

“Good morning my sweet little babies,” Spencer cooed to them.

It wasn’t his first time being left with all three kids, five if you counted their fur children. 

Spencer had been a stay at home dad ever since the twins were six months old. He’d loved his job as a profiler in the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit—still did actually—but after fifteen years in the field he had gotten burned out and burned out badly.

He didn’t technically resign, per se, but with the advisal from Emily Prentiss, his teammate, friend and boss, he decided to take a year long sabbatical. It was a decision that he didn’t take lightly either. He put a lot of thought into it and took his time making the decision. At the end of the day, he missed his family and wanted to spend more time with them. 

Y/N was amazing and always understood his hectic, unreliable schedule and did a great job taking care of Evie, then the twins when they came along, while he was gone so much. But he knew it wasn’t fair to her or to their kids. He wanted to have the time to be with his family, be a good dad and be a good husband.

In the end, he knew work would always be there when he would be ready to return, a promise Emily had made him. For now though, he would often consult on cases his teammates were working on. At most, it only meant a few phone calls and some work time in his study, but never anything to take away from his relationship with his kids and Y/N. In fact, he was enjoying it much more than he ever thought he would.

It was nice, too. Y/N worked from home with a flexible job that allowed her to work whenever she could. As a mother of three, it was incredibly helpful. It also helped to have more family time, as well.

He’d become quite the super dad. Taking care of three kids three and under wasn’t easy by any means, but he’d had plenty of practice lately. He also had a newfound respect for Y/N, doing this all on her own. But for now, he knew he could handle the three of them while she was out grocery shopping.

“I bet you guys are hungry,” Spencer said, picking up Aden first as his crib was the closest to the door.

He picked up Isla in the other arm, trying to step around Hopper who was always people’s shadow. He rarely never followed a person somewhere and had to always know what was going on. With the kids and Hopper in tow, it looked like he had his own little tourist group.

Isla babbled, trying to reach down and touch Hopper’s head and he licked her hand happily. He and Duke both loved the kids as much as they loved them.

“Lead the way ladybug,” he told Evie, following her out of the nursery and down the stairs.

True to her prediction, Duke sat in front of the refrigerator door, as if waiting for the refrigerator god to open it up and sprinkle out some parsley and spinach leaves for him.

“Morning, Duke,” Spencer chuckled.

The tiny eared, grumpy faced bunny stared him from the place he sat, looking like he was judging him for sleeping in late. He most likely was.

“Just let me get the kiddos situated and I’ll feed you guys,” he told his furry friends.

Spencer sat Aden and Isla in their high chairs and sat Evie on her favorite stool at the counter. Hopper was the more patient of the two, so Spencer went to the fridge first. The second it opened, Duke started hopping around his feet in excitement, standing on hind legs to see if he could help himself to a breakfast buffet.

Combining a salad of spinach, romaine, parsley and cilantro, he sat the plate in front of an excited Duke and went about fetching Hopper’s food. It wasn’t even a full minute before he heard Duke chowing down on his breakfast, his munching quite audible.

Spencer filled Hopper’s bowl with his allotted amount of dog food and refilled his water bowl, giving him a pat on the back as he enjoyed his food.

Before starting the pancakes, he poured some puff cereal on each twins’ tray to let them eat while he cooked. To be twins, it was amazing to see how they differed—other than being fraternal twins. 

Aden loved the strawberry flavored puffs, which Isla hated. She much preferred the sweet potato or the banana ones. 

Aden was definitely more laid back and calm whereas his sister was loud and boisterous, something she definitely inherited from her older sister. On the other hand, Aden loved to be more independent and Isla loved just cuddling and staying close to him or Y/N.

“Daddy can I have chocowate chip pancakes?” Evie asked.

He had grabbed her a juice box from the fridge in the process of getting everyone, humans and animals alike, settled. She now sat, happily sipping on it.

“Is there anything better?” he grinned.

“Nope,” she shook her head emphatically.

He’d gotten the batter mixed up and was about to pour it on the sizzling griddle when he heard Evie calling him again.

“Mhm?” he answered, without looking.

“Isla twyin to put a puff in Aden’s ear.”

Spencer spun around just in time to see Aden pulling on Isla’s hair. Apparently he pulled hard enough to cause her to break into tears.

Things like this were just mild considering most days were even more hectic than this.

“Hey, hey. We don’t pull hair,” he scolded Aden, giving him a toy to play with.

He picked up a puff, putting it to Isla’s lips and she calmed down, eating it. They were still just grumpy from waking up and hungry, not actually upset.

“No putting puffs in your brother’s ear either, Isla,” he told her.

She grinned real big like she was proud of herself. He smiled. It was hard to be mad at any of these cute little faces.

Half an hour later after serving Isla and Aden their plain, torn into bite size pancakes, fixing Evie her chocolate chip pancake—with banana slices for a smile and chocolate chip eyes—and dealing with a ecstatic Duke who smelled the banana the instant Spencer unpeeled it, he had finally got to sit down with his own breakfast. He grabbed one more slice of banana, feeding it to Duke before stroking his head.

“That’s all you’re getting, little guy,” he chuckled.

He’d just taken a bite when the back door opened. Isla kicked her legs happily and Aden squealed as they spotted mommy first.

“Mommy!” Evie squealed, “Daddy made pancakes!”

Y/N walked in with her hands filled with grocery bags. Spencer shot up, immediately moving to help her.

“Hey baby,” he smiled, kissing her lips as he took most of the bags.

“Hey,” she smiled, setting down the bags she had left in her hands, “I thought I smelled pancakes before I walked in.”

“Chocowate chip too!” Evie piped in.

“Some of daddy’s best pancakes huh, Evie Bear?” Y/N smiled, kissing her cheek as she passed by her.

“Hey there, twinkies,” she said, calling the twins their popular nickname.

She smoothed a hand over each head of hair and kissed the top of both. Isla kept on happily eating and Aden handed her a bit of uneaten pancake which she took from him, eating.

“Thank you Aden,” she chuckled, “Good pancakes, Spence.”

“Want a plate?” he asked.

“Yes, but sit and eat. I’ll get them. You deserve a break for staying here with them,” she said, grabbing a plate out of the cabinet.

“I’m surprised you didn’t take the rugrats with you,” he commented, taking another bite of his breakfast.

“I would’ve, but it’s so much easier to grocery shop when there aren’t three extra sets of hands reaching out of the shopping cart to grab everything.”

“Touché.”

It wasn’t easy shopping alone with three kids. He attempted it once and it was a disaster. Now, either Y/N went alone or they tackled it both together with the kids, as a team.

She fixed her plate and sat next to Spencer at the island, pulling Aden’s and Isla’s high chairs closer to her. Spencer pulled her into his side and kissed her head, just enjoying having her near him along with their kids.

“So what’s on the agenda for today?” Spencer asked.

“Well I do need to get a little work done and clean some and take care of our little circus troop here,” she chuckled, motioning to the kids.

As if to prove her point, Aden started screaming when he dropped his sippy cup. Without even missing a beat between bites, she leaned down and picked it up, handing it back to him.

“How about I keep them entertained and watch them so you can get some work done,” he offered.

“Spence, you don’t have to do that. Aren’t you needed for a conference call with the team later?” she asked.

“Yes, but I can easily pop on Netflix for the kids and just step into the kitchen. Easy as pie.”

“Whatever you say, super dad,” she smiled, “But thank you. I owe you.”

“I’ll add it to your tab,” he winked.

He could think of a few things he’d like to ask for.

•

After breakfast, his little tribe moved from the kitchen to the living room.

He set Evie up with some toys, a coloring book and colored pencils while he changed the diapers.

“Ew stinky!” Evie complained, putting a hand over her nose.

Spencer laughed, amused at his toddler. Of course, being through this twice—now with double the diapers—he was pretty used to the smell. He was pretty sure dirty diapers were worse than things he’d smelled as an FBI Agent though.

“I know, Princess, but unlike you they’re not big enough to use the potty, so me and mommy have to change their diapers.”

“Cause dey too tiny dey would fall in.”

She said it was such a straight face that it was hard for Spencer not to laugh. The minds of children always amazed him, how they put things together, how they understood things, how they saw things. It provided endless amusement, especially with Evie.

“That and they aren’t a big girl and boy like you’re a big girl.”

She smiled big before going back to coloring. Hopper laid curled up next to her. Duke, finished with his breakfast, was zooming around the room, binkying.

Aden and Isla giggled and babbled watching the hyper bunny as they tried to reach for him as they impatiently laid and wriggled while getting their diaper changed.

Eventually after tiring himself out, he flopped near Aden, who reached out to touch him.

“Be gentle,” Spencer cautioned.

It was something they’d been raising Evie to do, both with Duke and Hopper. Evie was getting better about it, but still could be a little rough. They made sure that Aden and Isla would be raised the same.

Spencer took hold of his son’s hand, helping him gently stroke Duke’s head. In return, Duke gave Aden’s hand a little kiss, licking it. 

Finally finished with diaper changes, he set them on the floor to play. They were crawling everywhere by this stage, staying active and wanting to be held less and less. It was bittersweet to Spencer because the period of infancy was so short lived. Although, secretly he hoped to have another kid or two, maybe a few more. Although that was a conversation with Y/N to save for another day.

In addition to crawling, they were in the pulling up stage. They’d figured out how to grab onto things and pull themselves up. They also liked to try and knock things off tables, like it was a game.

Which is what they were currently doing.

They stood side by side, holding onto the coffee table for balance and knocking off magazines.

“Guys, no no,” Spencer said, picking the magazines up and putting them out of their reach.

He knew better than to try and put them back on the coffee table. They’d knock them off repeatedly until they were bored of it, which wouldn’t be for quite a while.

They dropped to the floor, back to crawling around and getting into things they probably shouldn’t. Aden remained happy with one of his toys and chewed on it, while Isla babbled as she crawled.

“Da da da da.”

“That’s my name,” he chuckled, trying to tidy up the messy living room just a bit.

Living with three kids often meant toys scattered all over the place. He figured trying to straighten up would save Y/N from having to do too much of it later.

“Stop it! You wuining it!”

He looked over to see Isla pushing more of Evie’s crayons on the floor, giggling like she was proud of herself. Evie on the other hand, was furious and near tears.

“Iwa stop!” she shouted.

“Isla, come here baby.”

He picked up his youngest daughter, pouring out some blocks for her to play with and setting her in front of them. He turned back to Evie who was crying now.

“Daddy she WUIN it.”

“I know, I’m sorry sweetie, come here.”

He held out his arms and she fell into them, crying out of frustration and anger.

“Iwa meanie.”

“Baby girl,” he soothed, picking her up and setting her on his lap so she could face him, “She didn’t do it on purpose.”

Evie sniffled, but didn’t say anything.

“She and Aden are only babies, Evie bug. They still don’t completely realize that they’re doing something wrong or upsetting you, they think it’s a game. In her tiny mind she probably thought she was playing with you. Besides, I can help you pick up your crayons and put them back the way you want them. Alright?”

She nodded a bit.

“Are you still mad at Isla?”

“No,” she shook her head.

“Good, I’m glad,” Spencer kissed her head, “You’re a wonderful big sister.”

“I am?”

Evie looked up into Spencer’s face, her tears now drying on her cheeks and excitement in her eyes.

“The best,” he emphasized, “How about since you’ve been such a great big sister lately, we bake some cupcakes when they take a nap later? And maybe we can play tea party if you’d like.”

Evie was now grinning big and nodded, clearly thrilled about the idea.

“There’s that pretty smile,” Spencer grinned, chucking her under the chin, “Will you go give your sissy a hug then?”

“Otay.”

She wiggled down out of Spencer’s lap and went over to Isla, who was tossing blocks around in an attempt to play with them. 

Evie put her arms around Isla’s tiny body and hugged her, kissing her cheek.

“Love you, Iwa.”

Spencer smiled, his heart warming at the scene.

“That’s my sweet girls.”

•

It was amazing. Spencer had turned his back for a second and he’d already lost track of one of his kids.

“Did you see where Aden went, Evie?” Spencer asked, after rushing back from the kitchen with no luck.

“Nope.”

She hadn’t even looked away from the tv, so he was certain she hadn’t seen where he’d gone. 

He couldn’t have gotten far, but it was truly incredible how fast these tots were when they were on the move.

“Aden? Where are you buddy?”

“Looking for this little duckling?”

Spencer whirled around, seeing Y/N walking in, Aden in her arms, chewing on the toy in his hands.

“Oh thank god,” he sighed, relieved, “Where was he?”

“He came crawling into your study,” she chuckled.

“I’m so sorry, babe. I swear I turned my back for a minute and he was gone.”

“Believe me I know; sneaky little things aren’t they? Don’t worry, I needed the baby break anyway.”

She tickled his cheek slightly making him grin.

“Have you gotten much work done?” Spencer asked, sitting down on the couch, pulling Y/N down with him.

“Yeah. I can finish up later anyway.”

“Daddy, can we bake now?” Evie asked with hopeful eyes.

“Baking?” Y/N raised a brow.

“I told her when the twins went down for a nap, me and her could make something special. Maybe we can even make it a surprise for you,” Spencer grinned secretively, “How about it Eves?”

“Yes!”

She was up and racing to the kitchen in a flash. Spencer had stood, ready to follow her.

“Don’t worry, I can take these two in the study with me until their nap time,” she chuckled, “Just don’t make a mess!” she called after him.

“Never.”

•

Okay, so, the kitchen was a bit of a mess.

“Daddy, I cwacked da egg!”

“You sure did. High five!”

Spencer held up his hand and her small one high fived him as she grinned big.

Evie had picked out a funfetti cake mix for her choice of cupcakes and was currently helping crack the eggs into the mix.

There was some dry cake mix spilled on the counter. Empty egg shells were scattered on it as well in the midst of the chaos of the cupcake ingredients, baking cups, electric mixer and pan.

“Okay, this is the last egg. Think you can crack it?”

“Yesh,” she nodded, taking the egg carefully, a serious look on her face.

She tapped it gently against the bowl and cracked it open like a pro. Spencer couldn’t be more proud.

It was moments like this that made him less sad about her no longer being a baby. At this age he and Y/N could do more things with her that they couldn’t when she was a baby, like this. It was always fun to include her in little tasks nowadays. It made him excited to be able to incorporate Aden and Isla when they got older.

“Now I’ll mix it up with the electric mixer. Stand back, okay?”

She nodded again, stepping a bit further away on her little stool, hands holding onto the edge of the counter as he mixed the cake batter together.

“You think that looks good enough?” he asked, letting her see into the bowl.

“Mhm.”

“Alright. Daddy’s going to pour them into the pan and then bake them.”

“Then we eat dem?”

“No, they have to cool and then we get to frost them.”

Her face fell, disappointed.

“But how about while they bake and cool we have a tea party? You can go set it up while I get these in the oven and I’ll be right there.”

“Alwight!”

She hopped off her stool and dashed out of the kitchen faster than the cartoon roadrunner, making him laugh. What a character she was.

Keeping to his word, he got the cupcakes in the oven and headed up to Evie’s room.

“Otay daddy, you wear dis.”

Evie handed him a silver toy tiara and a pink feather boa.

“You be my guest.”

“Sounds good,” he grinned, putting the items on and waiting for further instructions.

“Otay you can’t sit ‘til I say so.”

“Yes ma’am.”

She put out some of her toy, plastic food on the tea party plates and pretended to fix some tea.

“Tea sewved,” she grinned.

It was impossible for him to sit in the tiny chairs, so he sat on the floor next to the table. He picked up the tea cup, pinky out and all.

“May I drink?” he asked, politely.

“Yesh, you may,” she grinned, reaching her cup over to clink it with his.

He took a pretend sip and gave her a grin.

“Excellent tea, my dear.”

They continued playing for a while longer until she started getting sleepy. Spencer knew it was past her nap time.

He was laying her down in her bed when Y/N found him an hour later. Poor thing had been quite literally falling asleep in the middle of the tea party.

“Now that’s a nice look,” she giggled.

He looked at her, confused for a moment before he realized he still had the boa and tiara on. He grinned, pulling them off and laying them down in her room before pulling her door closed as he walked out.

“I took your cupcakes out of the oven half an hour ago,” she said.

“Dammit I forgot about them! Well that just ruined the surprise.”

“I’ll act surprised then when you present them to me,” she grinned, “I thought we could frost them while the kiddos are napping.”

“Twinkies are already down for their nap?” he asked.

“Yup. They wore themselves out crawling after Duke.”

“That poor bunny,” he chuckled.

“Hey it keeps him fit. I think Hopper was thrilled it wasn’t him for once.”

Once they were in the kitchen, Spencer wrapped his arms around her, pulling her towards him.

“Who knew the house could be so quiet?” he smirked, kissing her nose.

“It is a breath of fresh air,” she smiled.

“How about instead of frosting the cupcakes we frost something else?” he grinned, “I mean I already have my own knife.”

She burst out laughing, causing him to laugh as well.

“What?” he asked, grinning.

“Spence, you’re supposed to be a genius. I’m sure you can come up with a better euphemism for sex than that.”

“I was just rolling with it,” he grinned, pulling her close to kiss her temple, “How about it though?”

She sighed, sounding defeated.

“You know I’d love to, but I need to groom Duke after we finish these cupcakes. It’s shedding season, you know.”

She frowned, seemingly upset to let him down.

“It’s okay baby,” he smiled, hugging her, “Come on. We’ve got cupcakes to decorate.”

•

They were halfway through with the cupcakes when Spencer’s phone rang.

“Hey, Luke. What’s up?”

“Hey Reid, you busy?”

“Not really, just frosting Y/N’s cupcakes.”

There was a pause.

“Is that some sort of euphemism for sex? Cause I can call back later.”

Spencer couldn’t help it, he barked out a laugh. 

“No, I mean we’re just decorating some cupcakes.”

Y/N gave him a quizzical look and he gave her a lopsided grin, mentally reminding himself to share that with her later. She’d think it’s hilarious.

“Oh good cause we need your genius insight, Reid,” Luke said.

“Sure, one sec.”

He lowered the phone to his shoulder.

“The team needs me to consult on a current case, I’m sorry, do you mind?”

“Go,” she shooed him, “I’ve got this. Don’t worry.”

“You’re the best, Y/N,” he murmured, pecking her lips.

“Don’t I know it?” she smirked, turning back to the sugary explosion on the counter as he walked towards his study.

“Okay, what’s up?” Spencer asked, as he settled into the desk chair.

“Alright. So we have three murders in Seattle…”

•

By the time Spencer had finished bouncing around ideas with the team, it was after 1 pm. 

Walking into the kitchen, he saw all three kids had woken from their naps and was just finishing up their lunches of grilled cheese—bite sized grilled cheese pieces for Aden and Isla though.

Spencer stole one of Evie’s chips as he passed her.

“Hey! Dat nawt vewy nice!” she frowned.

His lips turned up in a smile as he apologized and kissed her head.

“How’d it go? Were you able to help any?” Y/N asked.

She held up a bite of grilled cheese to Aden’s mouth to get him to eat. He seemed to have more interest in playing with his food than actually eating it though.

“Help wiff what?” Evie asked, ever as curious as a typical toddler was.

“Daddy got a call from your aunties and uncles at the BAU. They needed his help with a case,” Y/N explained.

“And you didn’t let me talk to dem?” she pouted, “I miss auntie JJ and auntie Penewope. Auntie Emawee, Uncle Dave and evwyone else I can’t tink of.”

She had actually sat there and counted off all of the names on each finger, amusing Spencer to no end. He knew he was a bit biased, but she was the cutest.

“You were still napping, baby, I’m sorry,” he said, “Next time I’ll make sure you get to talk to them.”

That seemed to appease her and she went back to eating her lunch.

Oh the joys of being a child with no concerns in the world.

-

After lunch, Spencer took the kids outside and they were soon joined by Y/N, Hopper and Duke. It was such a beautiful day that they had to take advantage of it.

Duke was set up in a good sized space to run and explore, but with a collapsible fence around him, just to keep him safe and from running away. Y/N was still hesitant to take it away just yet, even though so far he did great at staying near them when outside. He loved it, nibbling on the grass and flopping in it. He clearly was living his best life.

Hopper just about sprinted out the door when Y/N let him out. He, too, loved the backyard. He had about worn paths in the grass because he loved his specific running routine. He barked happily as he sped around.

Evie immediately ran to their playground and started climbing the “rock wall” portion of it. Not surprising to Spencer though; from the moment she could stand she had climbed into and over stuff as a baby, practically always giving him and Y/N heart failure.

“You two want to go down the slide?” he asked, carrying the twins toward the play set.

Aden started fussing, reaching for Y/N.

“Ma ma! Ma ma!”

“I will take that as a no,” Spencer said, handing him over to Y/N.

“He’s been fussy since they woke up. I think he’s cutting another tooth,” she frowned.

“Aww, my poor little man. No wonder he doesn’t want to play.”

Spencer rubbed his back as Aden laid his head on Y/N’s shoulder.

“Growing teeth isn’t fun, is it buddy?”

Y/N smiled, cuddling him close.

“Go on and play with the girls, me and Aden will chill on the patio and cuddle.”

“So do you want to slide, Isla?”

She responded in baby talk, babbling away.

“Is that so? Tell me more.”

She continued to babble as he set her at the top of the slide, one hand on her stomach and the other on her back to keep her safe.

“I’d like to see you get on the slide, Spence!” Y/N called from the patio, laughing.

He shook his head.

“Never again!” he hollered back.

He once tried getting on the slide of this same play set with Evie in his lap, when she was younger. It was a disaster to the point that Y/N about had to call the fire department to get him unstuck...after she spent ten minutes laughing.

He’d learned his lesson from that.

Isla squealed as he slowly slid her down the slide. He picked her up, holding her in the air above him.

“You did it, baby!”

She squealed with laughter, grinning big. When he brought her back down, she held onto him trying to give him a kiss with her mouth wide open.

“Thank you; you’re extremely sweet, Isla,” Spencer cooed.

“Daddy, watch me!”

Spencer looked over and watched as Evie slide down the slide on her belly.

“Careful, Princess.”

“I am! Did you see me?”

“I did,” he said, “I’m impressed.”

She ran over to the swings next. The amount of energy this child had was outstanding. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d had this much energy.

“Push me pwease?”

“Okay, honey.”

He put Isla in the baby swing, which she happened to love and buckled her in, starting to swing her a bit as he pushed Evie.

The peals of laughter that met his ears filled his heart with joy. He watched the wind blowing his little girls’ curls as they both swung, happy as could be. 

His eyes panned out over the yard; Hopper still running around, Duke munching on some grass and his wife rocking his little boy on a rocking chair on the patio.

It was moments like this that he treasured the most.

•

They spent nearly all afternoon outside, although the twins and fur children had meandered inside after an hour or so both hot and worn out.

Spencer stayed outside though spending time with Evie. He always tried his hardest to make sure she knew how much he and Y/N loved her.

After the twins were born, life became more hectic and she entered a new permanent part of life where she’d have to share her parents. He made extra efforts in spending some time alone with her, Y/N did too, just so she wouldn’t feel left out or any less important than her younger siblings.

He spent time jumping on the trampoline with her, watching her do tricks. He then pushed her on the swing until his arms hurt, but it was totally worth it to see the glee on her face. 

They laid in the grass, listening to birds chirp and looked at clouds. She claimed to see one cloud in the shape of the doughnut and he pointed out one he thought looked like a penguin.

They were both hot and sweaty after staying outdoors for so long, so he turned on the sprinklers and let her run through them. Of course, Hopper ended up joining them, sprinting like he had springs attached to his paws as he jumped through the spraying water.

Spencer couldn’t resist joining in, chasing after Evie. The water felt cool and refreshing on flushed, hot and sweaty skin.

“I’m gonna catch you!” he teasingly called.

She squealed, trying to run faster through the water.

“No you nawt daddy!”

He reached down and picked her up, swinging her around. He wished he could keep his babies this small forever.

By the time they were tired of playing in the sprinklers, their clothes were soaked through.

“Mommy’s gonna kill me for letting you get so soaked,” he chuckled.

“No she nawt. She love you. When a mommy love a daddy dey hug. She just hug you.”

He couldn’t argue with her logic.

“Come on munchkin, I bet mommy is wondering what happened to us.”

He walked behind her as she sprinted into the house. He was surprised to see it was nearly 5 o’clock.

“You two must’ve had fun,” Y/N chuckled, eyeing their clothes.

“That we did. Where’s thing 1 and thing 2?”

She pointed to the pack and play in the corner of the kitchen where the two were happily playing with one another.

“Thought I’d stick them in there so I could keep an eye on them while I started their dinner,” she said.

“Let me go change Evie and get some dry clothes for myself and I can help,” he offered.

“I’ve got it covered. I’m making chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese for them since it will soon be bath and b-e-d time.”

He nodded understandingly. They’d been having trouble getting Evie to bed lately. She always wanted to play when it was time for bed, so they’d gotten a routine down. Dinner, bath, story time and cuddle and then time for lights out. So far, it had been working.

“Do me a favor and turn on the tv please? I promised Evie she could watch cartoons before dinner.”

“Sure thing,” Spencer agreed.

He gave her a side hug on his way past her and maybe a slap on the ass too.

“Spencer!” she shrieked, exasperated.

He just laughed, sending her a wink over his shoulder.

-

He settled in with Evie on the couch and the twins playing on the floor. He held Aden up, helping him practice walking as Evie watched cartoons.

“There ya go buddy! You guys will get this in no time.”

Spencer sat him back on his bottom and Aden turned around, fussing, trying to climb in his lap. Even in his lap, he started crying.

“Brudder too loud,” Evie frowned.

“I know, honey, I’m sorry. He doesn’t feel good.”

Spencer rubbed his back, rocking him a bit, desperately trying to calm his son. He clung to Spencer’s shirt, crying at the top of his lungs, moving his face back and forth from the inability to get comfortable.

Spencer frowned, standing, bouncing him a bit. Y/N came into the living room a moment later, a small tube in her hand.

“He won’t stop crying, no matter what I’ve tried,” Spencer frowned, hurting for his own miserable child.

“I got some teething gel. Let me see your finger.”

He held his finger out and she squeezed some of the clear gel on his finger. Opening Aden’s mouth just enough, he rubbed it gently on the sensitive gums.

He went to pull his finger back but Aden kept a hold of it, gnawing on it.

“Good luck getting that finger back,” Y/N smirked, “I’ve had that happen way too many times.”

So that’s how he sat until Y/N had finished the kids’ dinner; next to Evie, Aden in his lap and his finger in Aden’s mouth. Luckily, Isla seemed occupied enough and didn’t feel the need to be clingy. It was like they’d switched personalities for the day.

“Evie, go wash your hands for dinner please,” Spencer told her.

She obeyed, heading off to her bathroom. In the last year, she’d really gotten to enjoy washing her hands. She thought of it as making her a big girl, which it did. She had a stool in front of her bathroom counter that she’d stand on, get some soap out of the fish decorated soap dispenser and wash her hands, proud to be able to do this big girl task now.

She came into the kitchen just as he was helping Y/N get the little ones into their high chairs.

“My hands all cwean!” she announced, holding them out as to prove her point.

“Good job, pumpkin,” Y/N said, giving her a kiss as she lifted her to set her on the island stool.

“What for dinna?” she asked, trying to peek at the fixed plates on the counter.

“Your favorite, chicken nuggets and mac and cheese,” Y/N smiled, setting her kid plate in front of her and a fork.

Evie’s eyes lit up and she immediately dug in.

“I snuck some broccoli in it for the twins,” she told Spencer, not worried if Evie heard.

They must have been blessed with an easy first child because Evie was always good with eating her vegetables and she loved when mommy fixed her veggie mac, as she called it. Y/N had tried multiple different vegetables in it from spinach to broccoli and even kale once, with positive results. Spencer was definitely impressed.

But where it was easy with Evie, it had been a bit more challenging with Aden and Isla. Aden was more open to trying new things, but didn’t seem to like as many veggies as Evie had at that age. Isla, on the other hand, flat out refused.

So Y/N had resorted to sneaking some veggies in with their food. Sometimes it was in their macaroni and cheese other times it was mixed in with sauces, easy things they could eat. It had been a struggle, but they seemed to finally start liking the flavor.

The sight of food caused a ruckus with the two as they babbled and shrieked, ready to eat. Y/N sat the small bowls in front of them, along with the cut up chicken nuggets spread on their tray. Hands immediately dug in the nuggets and they tried to feed themselves with their spoons. 

The twins eating was always an interesting time. One baby eating was messy enough; times that by two and it was even worse. Thankfully, bath time was after dinner.

Spencer had had his back turned as he fed Duke and Hopper their dinners and when he turned around he swore his two youngest were already covered in mac and cheese.

“Two seconds into dinner and they’re already covered in cheese sauce,” he shook his head, amazed.

“It’s your turn to do baths tonight too, big boy,” she chuckled, patting his chest as she walked by to put something in the dishwasher.

On her way back, he pulled her back to him, hugging her from behind. She didn’t complain though. He loved all the stolen hugs and kisses they shared even during the most chaotic of days.

He tipped her face up to his and kissed her gently, wishing he could convey just how much love and appreciation he felt for her in the simple, soft kiss. 

“Ew daddyyy,” Evie whined, covering her eyes, “I twyna eat!”

He pulled away from Y/N and they both laughed, both amused by their toddler’s outburst.

“Listen to her, she sounds like a teenager already,” Spencer said.

“Just wait ten more years when she actually is,” Y/N commented.

“Evie Bear, are you gonna be my little girl forever?” he asked.

She shot him a grin big enough to compete with his own toothy smile.

“Always.”

•

Bath time almost always followed dinner in the Reid household. 

Before the twins, it was easy just to bathe Evie and get her ready for bed. Now, it was three times the baths and three times the pajamas.

They tackled it as a team, though. They’d switch off between bath duty and pajama duty. Tonight, Spencer would bathe the kids while Y/N got pajamas ready, fixed the twins’ bedtime bottles and most likely tried to clean the kitchen in between.

He’d left Evie in his and Y/N’s bed to play on her kid iPad—way better than those actual iPads if you asked him—to keep her entertained while he gave Aden and Isla a bath. Their bedtime was obviously a little earlier than Evie’s so they were the logical first bath of the night.

All three of his children were fish. They loved water, so bath time was always a hit.

They both sat in the water, splashing and talking to one another in their own little baby language. They played with their toys: little bath alphabet and numbers, colorful boats, a rubber ducky, even little toy cups.

Spencer washed their hair as they played happily.

Aden baby talked, handing him a cup.

“Is this for me? Did you make me a drink?”

He pretended to drink it, handing the cup back to him.

“That was very good, little man.”

Aden smiled, reaching for another toy, putting it in his mouth to chew on. Spencer took the moment of stillness to carefully rinse the baby shampoo out of his hair. His baby soft curls hung in wet, wavy tendrils, similar to Spencer’s own hair when it was wet.

He repeated the same process with Isla as she was content to play with the boats, pushing them around in the soapy water.

“You two are like little ducks aren’t you? You could stay in here until you’re wrinkled and pruny and still wouldn’t get out,” he said.

They look up at him, serious looks on their faces.

“You wanna know a secret? You may be little ducks but you’re my baby ducks,” he smiled, leaning over to give each one of them kisses.

They were too busy playing to really care, but Spencer didn’t mind. One day, they wouldn’t want kisses all the time like they did now and he would cherish every second he could, of this part of his life.

The typical babbling ensued, including the normal da da’s.

“Da da da da,” one would start, encouraging the other to join in like it was a battle who could say it more.

“Daddy loves his babies,” Spencer smiled.

He finished rinsing the soap off their bodies, giving their faces one last wipe over with the washcloth—much to their dismay—and lifted them from the tub, laying them on the towel by his side.

He wrapped them tight in the towel, keeping them warm and carried them to Y/N to get ready for bed.

-

Bath time with a toddler was definitely a different experience than bath time with infants.

Evie was a little chatterbox. Something she got from him, undoubtedly. He always enjoyed when he had bath duty, it was special time with his little ducklings.

Evie had a few bath toys that were especially for her since they were a bit too old for the twins at this point. She loved her bath crayons and creating masterpieces on the bathtub walls. She also had a little toy that made bubbles. It was endearing to see her face light up when Spencer made the bubbles appear.

“Daddy, look at dis,” she pointed to her latest drawing.

“I see. What did you draw?”

“Dat Hopper,” she pointed to one blob of red.

“And dat Duke.”

Duke was a blue blob.

“I love it,” he chuckled, “I think they would too.”

“Can we pwactice da afabet?” she asked.

Evie’s bath time recently had become a sort of learning time to practice her letters and numbers. It had started with Spencer writing a letter or two on the side of the tub with her bath crayon and letting her name it. It had become so fun for her she ended up asking to do it more often now.

“Sure, sweetie.”

He took a green crayon and wrote the letter “A” on the wall in front of her.

“Do you know what this letter is?”

“A!”

Next to it, he wrote a “B”.

“B,” Evie said, confidently.

Another letter was written next to it.

“C.”

They did this throughout the whole alphabet, until the wall was covered with letters. She’d only stumbled on a few, but she was getting better all the time. The swell of pride he felt in his chest was never ending as he constantly discovered just how smart his babies were growing up to be.

“Let’s try something a bit different, okay?”

“Otay.”

He took a different color—red this time—and wrote her name. Using the crayon as a pointer, he pointed to the “E”.

“Do you know which letter this is?”

“Dats E!” 

“That’s right. What about this one?” he asked, moving the crayon to the next letter.

“Um,” she paused, taking a little longer on this one, “V.”

“Correct,” he smiled, “And this next one?”

“I.”

“And then we have this final one. I’m sure you know this by now,” he grinned.

“Dat E again!”

“Yes, that’s right! Do you know what that spells?”

“No,” she shook her head.

He didn’t expect her to, but it was all part of his little lesson.

“That is your name. E-v-i-e. Evie,” he smiled, “You just spelled your name.”

She smiled brightly, then looked like she was thinking about something.

“Daddy? Why I named Evie?”

“Well,” he said, returning to rinsing her long hair, “Your mommy wanted to name you Evangeline at first.”

Evie scrunched her nose up at that, making him snicker. She really did look just like him when she did that.

“I know, I didn’t like that name much either,” Spencer said, “But she really wanted to name her first daughter that because it was her grandmother’s name and she was really close to her before she passed away. I thought that was a sweet gesture to honor her in that way, so I tried to compromise with her.”

“What’s compwomise?” she asked.

“It’s where two people both get what they want by deciding on something that they both like. For example like your name. Mommy liked Evangeline and I didn’t. A common nickname for it is Evie and we both liked that name so we settled on that. We both chose a name we loved for you and mommy got to honor her grandma that way.”

“Oh,” she nodded, seemingly deep in thought, processing what he had just said, “I like Evie betta anyway.”

“So do I, my little Evie bear. Now come on, let’s get you out of this bath before mommy thinks you were washed down the drain.”

•

It was probably half an hour after their bedtime and all three kids were still awake, in their jammies on mommy and daddy’s bed. 

Spencer figured he’d let them stay up a little later so Y/N could finish her housework. Bedtime was also another team effort, at least when it came to Aden and Isla. It was hard to hold two babies with bottles—even though they could now hold their own bottles— and a book at the same time, even for the most experienced parents. So one of them would hold one twin, the other would have the other and read them both a bedtime story. It was a system that had been working well for them, so they stuck to it. 

Also, he kinda hoped the later bedtime would slip by Y/N’s attention unnoticed. No such luck, though.

Needless to say though, she was a bit exasperated to find them still up almost thirty minutes later than normal.

“Spencer Reid, I swear to God if my children don’t go to sleep, I won’t have sex with you until they move out of the house.”

Thankfully, Evie seemed too preoccupied with her iPad to notice Y/N’s statement. All they needed was her repeating that.

“Sorry, babe. I thought I’d let you catch up on your housework before we tucked them in.”

“You should’ve come get me, I didn’t even know it had gotten so late,” she said apologetically, “Besides they need their sleep so their brains can grow to be as big as yours.”

“Actually, the brain doesn’t grow. It stays the same size from the moment you’re born. As you learn, your brain makes new neuron connections.”

She chuckled, walking over to pick up Isla off the bed.

“You know what I meant, brainiac,” she teased, “I got their bottles in the nursery so if you can grab Aden and a book, we can get them to bed.”

He nodded, picking up Aden.

“You stay there and play on your iPad, okay baby girl?” Y/N said, “We’ll be back to tuck you in after we get the babies down.”

“Otay mommy.”

Spencer got situated in one of the two rocking chairs in the nursery, Y/N settling in beside him. Bottles were in the twins’ mouths and the twins were each nestled in a set of arms as Spencer opened the book of the night, Bedtime For Baby Star.

He was familiar with this story. His best friend JJ had given them a copy when he and Y/N first got pregnant with Evie. It was a story she’d read many times to her sons Michael and Henry. He and Y/N had read it many times to Evie—and still did—and now they read it to their twins. It was as if this adorable little story had been passed down through many bedtimes of many different kids.

“Once there was a baby star,” Spencer began, gently rocking in the chair.

“He lived up near the sun. And every night at bedtime, that baby star wanted to have some fun. He would shine and shine and fall and shoot and twinkle, oh, so bright.”

Isla cooed as she ate, eyes locked on Spencer and his voice. Aden looked around, but would turn his sight back to Spencer every little bit to make sure he was still there.

“And he said “Mommy, I’ll run away if you make me say good night.”,” Spencer read.

Isla’s feet shuffled back and forth against Y/N’s lap as she ate. Usually, they didn’t fall asleep during a nighttime story, but Spencer loved the routine of it and being able to have some bonding time, so it soon became a nightly thing for him and Y/N.

Aden pulled back from his bottle, taking a break from eating and looking around the room. Spencer glanced down to check on him before continuing reading, seeing Aden put the bottle back in his mouth on his own.

“And then his mommy kissed him on his sparkly nose and said, “No matter where you go, no matter where you are, no matter how big you grow, and even if you stray far, I’ll love you forever, ‘cause you’ll always be my baby star.” The end.”

Spencer closed the book quietly, setting it aside and dimming the lights. This, too, they had found worked best when getting the babies to sleep. They usually sat and rocked them in the dimmed nursery as they finished their bottles and fell asleep.

Looking down at Aden, he could tell that the little guy wasn’t far off from sleep.

As they both sat and rocked the babes quietly, he reached over with his spare hand to the rocking chair Y/N was in. He took her hand and held it in his the entire time until their two youngest were sound asleep.

•

“Why don’t you go order us some dinner and I’ll get Evie to sleep,” Spencer suggested after they’d tiptoed out of the nursery.

“It’s been a long day and I know you probably don’t feel like cooking a separate dinner.”

“Okay, I’ll go order us a pizza. The usual?” she asked.

“Pepperoni, yes please,” he grinned, kissing her cheek.

“Tell her night and an “I love you” from me,” she called as she headed down the stairs.

Evie was exactly where they’d left her earlier. She was still sitting against their pillows, playing her game.

“Come on rugrat,” he grinned, picking her up off the bed, “Let’s go choose a story to read.”

He carried her down the hall towards her room, setting her down once they were inside. He took her toy iPad and set it aside with her other toys as she kneeled in front of her book corner, deciding on a book.

“Find anything yet, Eves?”

“Yesh,” she pulled one out, walking back to her bed and climbing onto it then holding out the book for him to see.

“Five Little Bunnies?” he asked, taking it when she nodded.

“No,” she took it back, “I read to you daddy.”

He smiled, pulling her into his lap.

“You gonna read to me tonight then?”

“Yesh,” she nodded, her drying, loose curls shaking with her movement.

She opened the book to the first page.

“Once upon time dere five widdle bunnies.”

She turned the page and continued.

“Da fiwst widdle bunny liked to hop and play outside.”

Spencer’s brows raised, surprised that she wasn’t actually making something up, but quoting the book. He knew she wasn’t actually reading, but it still pleased him enough to know that she’d memorized the book to be able to read it to him. He held her close, resting his chin on her head as she continued “reading” to him.

“Da fifth widdle bunny didn’t want to be weft out of all da fun and hopped off to join all his fwends. De end.”

She closed the book, craning her neck to see Spencer.

“You nawt asleep are you daddy?”

“No baby,” he chuckled, picking her up and setting her against her pillows.

“Did you remember the entire story so you could read it to me?” he asked.

She slid under the covers and he pulled them up over her as she nodded excitedly.

“Did you wike it?” 

The hopeful excitement in her eyes just about melted his heart. He had loved kids for as long as he could remember, but there was nothing sweeter than your own children.

“I loved it.”

He handed her the stuffed animal koala—named Pookie—that she always slept with and she cuddled him in her arms. Spencer smoothed her hair back from her face and kissed her forehead, making sure the covers were high enough so she wouldn’t get too chilly.

“Next time though, it’s my turn to read to you,” he laughed.

“Otay,” she smiled.

“Mommy says goodnight and she loves you,” Spencer said, turning on her nightlight for her, “Goodnight Evie, I love you.”

“I love you too, daddy.”

As Spencer turned off the lights, the last thing he saw was Evie turn on her side and close her eyes, heading quickly into a peaceful slumber.

•

“I’ve never been so happy to see food. Or the couch,” Spencer said, flopping onto the couch, a slice of pepperoni pizza in his hand.

Hopper was curled up on the couch, his head partially laying on Spencer’s leg, fast asleep. Duke loafed next to Y/N’s legs, relaxing, himself. They acted so tired, they made it seem like they had been the ones doing the parenting all day.

“Duke I hardly recognize you after your grooming,” Spencer chuckled, reaching over her lap to run his free hand over the soft fur.

“I swear he lost half a pound in fur alone,” Y/N commented.

It was just past 8 pm and the two of them finally were able to sit down to rest and eat their dinner. 

“I tried one of your cupcakes,” Y/N said after finishing her final piece of pizza, “They’re great.”

“Oh really? When did you do that?”

“Around lunch. It technically was my lunch.”

“Our rugrats sure keep us on the move, don’t they?” Spencer grinned.

“And to think you want more,” Y/N half groaned.

“I do,” he said seriously, “But not right now. One day. When they’re a little older.”

“Good because right now I’m too tired to even think about sex.”

“You and me both,” Spencer sighed, wrapping his arm around her. 

“How do parents manage to do this and have a sex life?” she mumbled causing him to snort.

“I don’t know, but I’m sure they take it one day at a time. Besides, I have plenty of time to show you just how much I love and appreciate you in that way, when we aren’t so tired.”

There was obviously more to their marriage than just the sexual part of it. Just making time for each other like this, even when it was at the end of the day, was more than enough. They were a team. They’d do marriage, parenthood and life together. It was all he needed right now.

Some day, they would find a balance. But right now, life was still hectic and intimacy wasn’t always guaranteed. One great thing though was that intimacy came in all forms.

This time right now, was an example. It was a private, cozy and relaxing atmosphere for just the two of them to spend some time together. 

“I’ll be there,” she smiled, laying her head against his chest.

“So will I.”

Spencer was tired, but he was also extremely happy,

They turned on the tv for a little while, not paying much attention to the show that was on since they both could hardly keep their eyes open. They dozed like that for a little while, arms wrapped around one another. 

They knew one twin or the other would likely wake up at least a time or two during the night, but right now even catching a few winks was better than none.

They’d make it to bed eventually, where they’d fall into a deep sleep next to one another, preparing for a new day when they’d do this all over again.

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[mostlycompetentwriter]

Domesticated

M/F Pairing: Y/N x Bang Chan (Stray Kids) 

Genre: Married Life AU

Warnings: Smut, language, some mentions of cheating (but not with the main pairing)

Word Count: 19,922 (I might break this up later on)

Summary: Marriage was something Y/N had been dreaming about since she was a little girl. But now, ten years later, she’s married to her college sweetheart, but their relationship isn’t entirely perfect. There’s the issue of her new boss, aka her ex-boyfriend Seo Changbin, and Chan’s younger brother Felix who insists on calling her Medusa. Yet, through it all, Y/N is positive she wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Notes: Y'all are really out here sleeping on husband Bang Chan and I won’t allow it anymore. Because Chan is 100% husband goals.

“Where do you see yourself in five years?”

I slowly exhaled after disregarding my somewhat passable resume, courtesy of one of those sketchy website builders, to look at the interviewer who waited for my response, pen poised over his expensive notebook. I swallowed hard as I struggled to compose myself under pressure. Because there was a professional answer somewhere in the back of my useless brain, but a dozen other responses, far more honest than his expectations, were waiting on the tip of my tongue.

Such as: 

Waiting at home for my husband because all I do is stare at the clock, counting down the minutes until he walks through the door. I kinda miss when we were in college and could see each other sporadically between long lectures, grabbing lunch at the Wendy’s on South Campus. Now, the most exciting thing that happens is the occasional blow job before we pass out on the worn mattress in our master bedroom.

Or

Sometimes Chan will host dinner parties at the house for his expensive doctor friends. He won’t spare me a single glance while I rush to fill glasses with rich-tasting wine, keeping an eye on Han Jisung because he can’t take more than three refills before he’s trying to dismantle the house. I’ll also have to ignore the really old surgeon who Chan admires because he likes to touch my ass when I pass through the living room. Maybe I was suited to be a sugar baby in another life.

Or

On the rare occasion when Chan actually uses his cock, he’ll pant in my ear the entire time because he’s worn out from long hours at the hospital. Chan will cum before me most of the time and I’m lucky if he’s cognizant enough to eat me out so that I can finally fall asleep from my post-orgasmic haze. Heck, I’ll even take his fingers on my clit if it means an assured eight hours of sleep.

Shit, I miss being young.

I cleared my throat, deciding on the professional answer because I highly doubt Seo Enterprises wanted to hire a desperate housewife.

I was sprawled out on the couch in our living room when Chan came home that evening. I barely acknowledged his rushed greeting, watching through narrowed eyes as he ran into the kitchen. “Babe,” came his anticipated whine. “There’s no leftovers?”

“I didn’t feel like cooking,” I said, turning over to bury my face in the throw pillows decorating the cushions. It really wasn’t that comfortable since Chan insisted we get the stiff, fancy leather futon as opposed to the appealing sectional that could actually recline. 

“You didn’t cook?”

Chan’s voice was closer this time but I still ignored him, sensing an impending headache. “I had an interview.”

“That was hours ago,” Chan pouted.

I sighed loudly. “The interview went great, honey, thanks for asking.”

“I’ve been at the hospital since 5 this morning,” Chan went on, weight dipping beneath the couch at the opposite end. “I didn’t even have time for lunch because Jisung almost fucked up a patient’s IV.”

“Remind me again why he still has a job.”

“Because he somehow graduated from nursing school and has a license claiming he’s qualified,” Chan said. “Plus, he’s my friend.”

“You have shit taste in friends,” I said, protesting when his hand landed a firm smack against my ass. 

“Minho tried to wreck the Corvette when he ran out of cigarettes.”

“Minho is loyal.”

“He still wants to fuck you,” Chan grumped. “Ten years after college and he’s trailing after your ass.”

“Darling, you don’t have to be jealous when I’m wearing your ugly ring on my finger 24/7.”

“It was my mother’s!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Bang Chan,” I snapped while grabbing one of my support pillows from beneath my weight, launching it at my husband’s head. Sadly, Chan dodged at the last minute, much to my chagrin, smirking as he dug his fingers into my sides, forcing loud, high-pitched giggles as we both unceremoniously fell into the spotlessly clean floor. “Channie,” I groaned as he rolled on top of me, pinning my hands above my head before deciding to offer me a sloppy kiss with far too much tongue. “You’re fucking gross,” I said, biting at his lower lip in revenge.

“Yeah? Well, you’re fucking sexy,” Chan purred, nuzzling his head between my breasts. 

“Stop it, you oaf!” I grumbled. “My period starts tomorrow. My tits have been sore all day.”

“Maybe I should have a look,” Chan teased, a free hand working loose one of the buttons on my shirt.

“And what good will that do?”

“Well, I am a doctor.”

“You just want to see my tits so you have something to jerk off to in the shower tonight.”

“Shower with me then,” Chan suggested. “I’ll fuck you against the wall.”

“Will you have the stamina?” I questioned. “You poor thing, how can you get it up when you haven’t eaten all day?”

Chan frowned at my mocking tone. “Are you turning down my cock?”

“You’re only half-hard,” I said, lifting my thigh against the tight bulge of his scrubs.

Chan let out a sigh, but his smile was endearing. “What if I order takeout? Then we can fuck in the shower.”

“Channie,” I cooed. “You always know how to talk dirty to me.”

I stand by my belief that email was now an archaic form of communication, but the number of big businesses that forced their employees to make an account @ their company name was ridiculous. But if I wanted to find a job in this big ass city, then I needed to play by the rules. Surprisingly, my most recent application was progressing with far more success than I could have anticipated, and I had read over the new email from Seo Enterprises at least half a dozen times:

Dear Mrs. Bang,

Thank you for taking the time to interview with our staff yesterday afternoon. After carefully reviewing your file with our CEO, he has asked us to schedule one last consultation. Please let us know your earliest convenience.

“That must be a good thing,” Minho remarked, digging his spoon into my ice cream since his bowl was empty and I wasn’t in the mood to argue with him. 

“I guess,” I said, formulating a quick reply because I really wanted this fancy, high-paying Secretary job. I mean, sitting at home all day was definitely not high on my list of accomplishments.

“What’s the hurry anyway?” Minho asked as he licked his spoon clean. “Bang has enough money that you could just smooch off him for the rest of your life.”

“That’s not fair,” I said. “I want us to be equals.”

“Wasn’t that the point of marrying a doctor, Y/N?” Minho asked. “Otherwise, you could still be screwing around with me.”

“Except we aren’t 18 anymore,” I pointed out, frowning in his direction. “And says the guy who works part-time at his sister’s pet shop.”

“Hey!” Minho protested, shoving his spoon in my face. “I’m helping the strays. Population control and shit.”

“So what? You’re snipping some dog penises, good for you.”

Minho sat back with a disgruntled sigh. “What do you want to do after this?”

“I’ll bring Chan some lunch since he didn’t get a chance to eat yesterday,” I said. “Interested in accompanying an old friend?”

“Not really,” Minho said. “But I don’t have anything better to do.”

I maintained a long list of places that I truly despised and the hospital was number one. I always tried desperately not to let it show when I visited Chan because it wasn’t really his fault. I had a bad history when it came to hospitals and the memories lingered like the permanent smell of alcohol that Chan brought home with him on his scrubs.

“Did you see that guy in the waiting room?” Minho asked after I checked us in at the front desk. “He was seconds away from bleeding out on the floor.”

“Don’t talk about blood,” I shivered, hurrying to the elevator while frantically hitting the corresponding floor number.

“This reminding you of Freshman year?” Minho asked since he was a total airhead and missed out on the memo where I specifically told him to keep his mouth shut about that stupid Frat Party.

“There are five reasons why I hate hospitals,” I said, holding up my hand in front of his stupid face. “Don’t make me spell it out for you.”

“Is Freshman year one of them?”

“Shut the hell up, Minho.”

A quiet chuckle resounded through the empty elevator while I impatiently waited for our stop. “You’re feisty today,” Minho remarked once the doors reopened.

I ignored the nasty linoleum floors, heels clicking with every step I took in the direction of Chan’s office. “I’m eating with Chan and then we’re never coming here again.”

“Agreed,” Minho said, keeping pace with me while cringing at the gurneys being pushed through the hallways at an alarming rate. 

We had almost made it to the end of the floor when I heard a lazy voice call out my name from one of the surrounding rooms. I closed my eyes because I could recognize that voice anywhere since it basically haunted my worst nightmares. He might not know it yet, but Han Jisung was the last person I wanted to run into because maybe, just maybe, he was one of the five reasons why I hated this place.

“Guys!” Jisung gushed, smiling brilliantly. “I’d hug you but I just finished cleaning piss off the floor.”

“Jesus, Han,” I said, wrinkling my nose against the overpowering smell of ammonia. “Is Chan in his office?”

“He was supposed to meet with our new superintendent,” Jisung said, grinning like a complete idiot when he shoved his gloved hands towards Minho who now looked a few beats away from losing his ice cream.

“You’re really pushing your luck today,” Minho growled at him.

“The meeting room is the last room on the right,” Jisung said, finally proving to be useful for once in his life.

I grabbed Minho’s arm because he was close to decking Jisung in the face and I didn’t need the security guards to tell Chan that I let my best friend attack one of his nurses. “Come on,” I said, urging him away from the potential crime scene.

“He’s this close to finding himself with a bloody nose,” Minho complained. “You know what’s funny? I’m pretty sure Han Jisung wouldn’t even know how to help himself.”

“You’re probably right,” I agreed, straightening the collar of my blouse as I peeked in through the tight blinds obscuring the glass wall of the room Jisung had indicated. “There’s Chan...” I started, trailing off when I noticed that he was engrossed in deep conversation with an unfamiliar woman.

“Oh, she’s really hot,” Minho remarked, wincing when I shoved my elbow into his chest.

“Commentary is not necessary,” I said, folding my arms across my chest as I tapped my foot against the floor. Who the hell did this bitch think she was?

“Jealousy isn’t a good look on you,” Minho teased and I swallowed my pride, trying to ignore the way she reached out to touch Chan’s arm.

Thankfully, Chan finally noticed me outside, offering me a cheesy wave which I refused to reciprocate as he said something to the woman. I waited outside the door, attempting my best stern expression even if Chan completely ignored my efforts, encasing me in his powerful arms. “Y/N,” he cooed.

“Chan,” I choked out, struggling against his strength.

Minho snorted at the display. “I’m going to find the cafeteria. Text me when you wanna leave, Y/N.”

I waved him off once Chan eventually released me. I sucked in a few grateful breaths while holding up the takeout bag I had brought. “Is there somewhere we can go?”

Chan nodded, reaching for my hand. “Sorry I took so long, I was meeting with the new superintendent.”

I pursed my lips at that revelation. “She doesn’t look old enough to be a superintendent.”

“She’s around my age,” Chan said and I frowned because that just made everything worse.

The hospital’s staff room was small, the smell of coffee heavy in the air as Chan closed the door behind us. “Nobody should come in.”

“Good,” I said, choosing the only table that looked halfway clean before sitting down with a sigh. “I brought you lunch.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” Chan said, gratefully accepting the bag from me while he sat down on the remaining chair. I glared at him from across the table, watching as he dug into the cheap Japanese like it was his last meal on earth. “Is something wrong?” he asked over a mouthful of noodles. Something college Chan would have never done when we first started dating, but I suppose that’s what you get with marriage.

“I saw you were pretty close with your new superintendent,” I said.

“Oh yeah,” Chan replied cheerfully, stuffing even more food into his impossibly wide mouth. “She’s super smart. Like, Harvard graduate smart.”

“Of course she is,” I murmured. “Do you like her?”

“As a boss I guess,” Chan said, still horribly naive to the real problem. I cathartically drummed my fingernails against the surface of the table. 

“Are you coming home early tonight?” I asked him. “I’ll fix your favorite.”

Chan’s eyes lit up because, despite the food sitting right in front of him, he always got excited at the prospect of another meal. “Really?”

I nodded. “I’ll put the good whiskey on ice.”

Chan sat back with a dramatic groan. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Where is all this coming from?”

“I’m just being a good wife,” I said, taking on a dismissive tone.

Chan grinned. “Do you want something, sweetheart? You know I’ll buy you anything.”

“No reason,” I chirped. “I just want you to remember how good am I to you.”

“Of course I know that,” Chan said, reaching across the table to squeeze one of my hands. “I didn’t just marry you for your beautiful face.”

“That’s not what you said when we first met,” I reminded him cheekily, enjoying the way his ears grew red. “Should I do a reenactment?”

“That’s not necessary,” Chan said, quickly dismissing the topic. “Did you hear back from your interview?”

“Oh I did,” I said. “They want me to come in and meet the CEO.”

“What for?” Chan scoffed, returning back to his meal.

“Well, I am taking on the secretary position,” I said. “Maybe he wants to make sure I have good phone etiquette.”

“Yeah?” Chan grumbled. “Or, he wants to make sure you look pretty for him so he has something nice to look at all day.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” I asked him because I loved it when Chan got possessive.

“I don’t want some rich bastard drooling over my wife,” Chan said, chopsticks clenched tightly between his fingers.

“Yeah? Well, it works both ways, you know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh come on, Chan,” I sighed. “Your superintendent was totally flirting with you.”

Chan put down his chopsticks, eyeing me cluelessly. “No, she wasn’t.”

“Yes, she was,” I immediately countered, reaching down for my purse. “I watched her the entire time.”

“Were you spying on me?” Chan asked with a smirk.

“Minho’s probably waiting for me,” I replied instead, smoothing down my skirt as I stood up from the table.

“Don’t you think that’s too short?” Chan asked, pointing at my lower section as if personally offended.

“Work hard, honey,” I grinned, leaning over the table to peck him once on the lips, offering a cheeky wave on my way out the door.

My palms were sweaty and, despite my repeated attempts to wipe off the nasty residue on my skirt, the condition persisted. Hyperhidrosis, Chan might tell me, nerdy glasses falling down his nose. I grinned at a distant memory, one of the first dates I ever had with Chan. A younger, less confident version of my husband, frantically peeling his suit jacket from his body, complaining about the heat in the restaurant, only to cower moments later when he realized his armpits were totally drenched.

“Mrs. Bang?”

I looked up at the young man bowing in front of me. “Mr. Seo will see you now.”

I nodded, holding my tongue before I let the intern know that he sounded just like a passage from Fifty Shades of Gray. Oh, shit, what if I was about to meet Christian Gray in the flesh? Some sort of young, hot billionaire with the world at his feet, buying up other companies like they meant absolutely nothing.

It was a believable scenario, and I don’t know how I managed to get my feet to work, but I followed the intern with exaggerated steps. “The boss has been looking forward to this,” the intern told me, pausing outside the office door.

“He has?” I wondered, glancing around the grandiose lobby. Did I really make that much of an impression?

“You can go in now,” the intern smiled, politely holding the door for me as I wordlessly walked inside.

Of course, I was expecting something extravagant, considering the layout of the lobby, but I was still deeply impressed by the spacious, but oddly cozy interior. Could you really call this room an office? Considering how massive it was in size. I mean, was it really necessary to basically live in an apartment when you arrived to work every day? Complete with stylish hardwood floors that looked like something out of an edition of House and Home magazine. I’d bet my entire life’s savings that the CEO hired some kind of fancy architect to design the place because those engravings on the mahogany walls were quite difficult to achieve. “It’s nice isn’t it?” a disarmingly familiar voice asked, and I found the dark figure leaning against the desk in the center of the room, sleeves rolled up to show off his impressive arms. “I was surprised to see your application, Y/N.”

Fuck, Christian Grey would have been way better.

“Changbin?”

He met me halfway across the room, now completely visible beneath the low hanging lights, tan skin washed with a comfortable glow. “Shocked?”

“You could say that,” I said, suddenly feeling like I was 18 again in college, lusting after the object of my affections.

“Have a seat,” Changbin offered kindly, extending his arm towards the matching armchairs neatly tucked around the electric fireplace.

“Okay,” I nodded, unable to take my eyes off Seo Changbin as I stumbled over my heels like a complete lovestruck teenager meeting her musician idol for the very first time.

But, holy fuck, Changbin looked good. Why the hell did he not age or turn prematurely gray? I held back a whimper, eyes looking everywhere around the room except at Seo Changbin. How did I not put two and two together when I first got the notification for the Secretary position at Seo Enterprises? I mean, what are the chances that this Seo is my Seo...Or, at least, he used to be my Seo. 

“Y/N,” Changbin said, flipping through my file with lazy movements. Where did he get those pants from? They fit him sinfully good, hugging his thighs and if I look close enough, the outline of his...“How are you?”

I startled at the question, drawing my eyes up to meet Changbin’s familiar gaze. “Oh, I’m uh..” I trailed off anxiously, trying to put meaningful words together because he was making the English language harder than it needed to be. “I’ve been alright.”

Changbin smiled and I crossed my legs because that kind of smile could literally drench a girl if he wasn’t careful. “I was really happy to see your name on my list.”

“Were you?” I asked, fingers digging into the cushion of my chair.

“I’m always happy to see a familiar face,” Changbin said. “It’s been a while.”

“College,” I choked out, completely out of mind with anxiety, like the time Minho stole my phone and made me think someone had stolen it, even encouraging me to call the number only for him to hang up every time.

“You’re still beautiful.”

“Changbin...”

“I know,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s all in the past.”

“That’s right,” I said, wondering if now would be an appropriate time to snatch my resume out of Changbin’s veiny hands and flee the premises.

“And you’ve married Bang,” Changbin said, pointing to my wedding band. “Which isn’t surprising.”

“Five years,” I said, trying my best to think about Chan and only Chan despite the literal embodiment of my every erotic high school fantasy sitting right in front of me.

“This would be strictly professional,” Changbin said, holding up my resume. “You were our best applicant, but I thought you should know everything about this place before taking the position. Including me.”

“Is that so?” was all I could think to say in return to his unexpectedly thoughtful comment.

Changbin lowered my resume slowly. “The job is yours, Y/N.”

“I’d still have to talk to Chan first,” I said because there’s no way I could just start working for Changbin without Chan knowing everything about the situation. Unfortunately, I could just about anticipate Chan’s response.

“That’s fine,” Changbin agreed. “You can call us tomorrow.”

I allowed a shaky nod, wondering if Changbin knew how much of an effect he still had on me all these years later.

Chan might be one of the smartest men I know, but he was, at his core, just a man who was quite whipped for his wife. Like all men, he was a sucker for lingerie, which is why I slipped on my best matching set, squeezing myself in the little black dress that I knew he really loved. 

The hem barely touched the middle of my thighs.

I was also cooking his favorite meal, the smell filling the kitchen pleasantly as I stood at the stove. My plan was quite simple: dress pretty for Chan and surprise him with his favorite food to soften him up. Maybe then he wouldn’t have a complete meltdown when I broke the news to him about my newest employer. 

But I still shivered when I heard the door open. “Y/N!”

“I’m in the kitchen,” I called back to him, attempting several meditative breaths to try and keep myself together.

“Holy shit,” he cursed, freezing in the doorway as he undoubtedly took in the sight of his wife wrapped in a tight black number.

“I’m making dinner,” I said, flashing him an arrogant smile, amused by the way he openly gaped at me while still wearing his oversized doctor’s coat. A result of an excited, freshly employed Chan filling out his form request with sloppy handwriting.

“You look hot,” Chan told me bluntly, eyes glued to my body as he eliminated the space between us with a few quick-paced steps.

“I got the job,” I said, letting out a nervous giggle as I continued to push around the searing bulgogi with a shaky hand. “Consider this a celebration.”

“That’s great, sweetie,” Chan said, standing behind me to wrap his arms around my middle, pressing soft kisses to the back of my neck, roaming hands feeling my body. “I guess the CEO liked you.”

A hellish double entendre. “Yeah, he was really nice.”

“I’m glad it worked out,” Chan said, voice next to my ear. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured to get a job or anything. I’m proud of you no matter what.”

Was it his intention to make me feel guilty? “Channie,” I sighed, turning around in his arms. “I have to tell you something.”

Chan cocked a brow. “What is it?”

“The company I’m working for...” 

“Yeah?”

“The CEO is someone we know.”

“Is that it?” Chan chuckled, accent thick as those adorable dimples filled out his smile. “Who is it, babe?”

“He used to go to school with us,” I tried, hoping that maybe Chan could just learn how to read my mind and save me the effort of mustering some kind of courage.

“Minho?” Chan teased.

“We’re not exactly friendly with him,” I said.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention, but I’m not exactly friendly with Minho.”

“You jerk,” I huffed, half-heartedly pushing against his chest. “You really, really don’t like this person.”

“There aren’t many people I really, really don’t like,” Chan said. “Come on, Y/N, just tell me who it is. Are you afraid I’ll be upset with you?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes.”

Chan’s smile vanished in a minute. “Y/N.”

“Seo Enterprises,” I said. “The company name.”

Realization dawned across Chan’s face. “Are you saying...”

“Changbin,” I murmured, looking down at my feet. “He’s my new boss.”

Chan let out a rough exhale because he knew exactly who Seo Changbin was and I’m pretty sure he associated the name with deep hatred. “Are you fucking serious?”

I winced at Chan’s tone because he had quickly shifted from sweet, caring husband to angry, sinister Mr. Bang in the blink of an eye. “Yes?”

“The Seo Changbin,” Chan reiterated. “The guy you fucked for like six months Freshman year?”

“That would be the one,” I said, forcing myself to meet his gaze before immediately regretting the decision.

“Why the hell would you take a job as his Secretary?” Chan demanded, crossing his arms over his chest. Normally, I would admire the sight of Chan’s arms stretching the thin fabric of his t-shirt, but now I was just intimidated.

“Because I really wanted the job,” I said. “And I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“Oh, it’s a huge fucking deal,” Chan said, glaring down at me. “You think I’m okay with the idea of you working for someone you once told me you were, and I quote, definitely gonna marry?”

“But I’m married to you,” I tried, attempting a sugary-sweet tone that usually broke Chan’s resolve.

Except for tonight.

“Yeah,” Chan nodded, “You are, and I told you I would take care of you. I have enough money to support both of us, you don’t need to work at all.”

“Chan, you know I’m not comfortable sitting at home,” I said.

“I get that, Y/N, but Seo Changbin? I could get you a Secretary job at the hospital.”

“Channie, this is a position at Seo Enterprises. One of their biggest assets is New York Publishers! It’s like the perfect opportunity to get my foot in the door.”

“Y/N,” Chan groaned. “I can’t stand the thought of you working for Changbin under any circumstances.”

“I get it, Chan,” I said. “But it’s different than college. I’m married now, and Changbin is nothing more than my boss.”

“Does he really get that?” Chan asked. “I’m putting my foot down, Y/N. I don’t want you working for him, okay? You can call them tomorrow and say you’ve got something better.”

“But Channie!”

“No, Y/N,” Chan growled. “You can look for something else.”

I frowned once I realized Chan wasn’t going to back down. It didn’t matter that I wanted the job or that I had dressed up and cooked for him. For the first time since we met, Chan was refusing to give me what I wanted. “Chan, you really don’t have the right to tell me what to do.”

“I’m your husband,” Chan said, justifying his unfair demands with such patriarchal reasoning. 

“Fine,” I muttered darkly, ignoring the way his hand reached out for mine.

“Don’t be this way,” Chan said, following me as I marched to our bedroom, slamming the door closed behind me. “Y/N!” Chan shouted against the door, knocking loudly on the wood. “This is my room too!”

“Not tonight,” I informed him tersely, opening the door only to harshly shove a spare blanket and pillow at his chest. “Goodnight, darling.”

“This is Y/N,” I said into the phone. “I’m calling about-”

“One moment, Mrs. Bang, we can transfer you to Mr. Seo right away.”

“But you don’t understand...”

“Hello?”

“Changbin!” I squealed loudly into the phone, wincing at my shrill tone. 

“Y/N,” Changbin said pleasantly, voice as deep and gravelly as I remembered. “Is this the phone call I’ve been waiting for?”

“I’m not sure,” I said, making myself comfortable at the kitchen counter since I was a notorious pacer when it came to difficult conversations. “It depends on what you’re expecting.”

“I’m expecting to hear a confirmation,” Changbin said. “This is a perfect position for someone with your qualifications.”

“I know,” I groaned. “But I’m calling because I can’t take the job.”

“Really?” Changbin asked. “Can I ask why?”

“Chan isn’t comfortable with the idea,” I said.

“Is that so?” Changbin inquired, innocently enough. “I hope it isn’t because of college.”

“T-that’s not entirely why,” I stuttered because Changbin was apparently intuitive now that he owned some big, fancy company.

“I hope not,” Changbin said. “It wouldn’t be fair of Chan to keep you from a potential opportunity because of something like that.”

“It’s just a lot right now,” I said. “I haven’t had a job in a year. My last position was really good, but the company went bankrupt and I was laid off, so I’m just trying to be careful.”

“You wouldn’t have to worry about anything like that here, Y/N,” Changbin said. “This is a great opportunity for someone looking for a fresh start.”

Did he read my Facebook bio?

“I’m sure it is, Changbin, but I can’t do something that would make Chan uncomfortable.”

“But he’s not the one taking the position,” Changbin pointed out. “I can assure you, Y/N, you won’t find another position like this.”

“God, you’re good at negotiating.”

“Take the job, Y/N. I promise you won’t regret it.”

I could blame it on my desperation later, but I actually really liked the position. It promised a lot, especially considering the publishing company attached to Seo Enterprises. That would be my ultimate goal, to spend my days reading promising manuscripts while sipping expensive Starbucks coffee.

“I guess I can’t say no.”

“Then I’ll see you on Monday.”

Message to Channie

I took the job. I’m sorry but the opportunity was hard to pass up.

It only took a few seconds for Chan’s contact name to flash across my screen with an incoming call. I muted the sound like a coward, ignoring him completely while I started the ignition to the Corvette. A one-year anniversary present from Chan who was somehow more excited than I was when he first handed me the car key.

I drove to Minho’s apartment because I didn’t want to go home and I really had nowhere else to go. Plus, at least Minho was a reliable friend who really didn’t care if I crashed on his couch while he shoved cheap wine down my throat. In fact, Minho might be glad to see me since he was constantly complaining about his new hours at the shop.

“You look like shit,” Minho commented when he answered the door, standing aside to invite me inside. I shrugged off my coat, tossing it against the wall before slumping down onto the cheap sofa in Minho’s living room. The only piece of furniture he could afford in his ridiculously small New York apartment. “What happened?”

“I took the job with Changbin.”

Minho’s eyes widened in surprise. “You did? I can only assume Chan is lying somewhere on his deathbed.”

“No,” I snorted. “I took the job even though Chan asked me not to.”

“Savage,” Minho exhaled and I rolled my eyes at him.

“It’s a great opportunity!”

“When do you start?” Minho asked, feet propped up in my lap as he made himself more than comfortable next to me.

“Monday morning,” I said, mindlessly taking the remote to scroll through his limited TV channels. 

“And Chan is mad?” Minho repeated, glancing at me for confirmation. “Can you really blame him though?”

“Why?” I frowned.

“I mean, Chan’s been in love with you since high school. He used to trail after you all the time, but you only talked about Seo Changbin.”

“You’re not being a good friend right now,” I said, remembering with perfect clarity the image of a sixteen-year-old Chan, hair untamed and clothes mismatched. Chan was a constant presence in my life, even if I preened after another boy who certainly had no intention of remaining faithful.

“Go home to him, Y/N,” Minho said with far more seriousness than I was used to hearing from my still immature best friend. The same Minho who couldn’t find work for an entire year after graduation because he was too busy sleeping with any woman that walked on two legs, living with various girlfriends while slowly draining his savings account.

“Since when are you the voice of reason?” I grumbled.

“Well, we all have to grow up one day.”

I hated the rare occasions when he was right.

The house was eerily silent when I unlocked the door, spotlessly clean just as I had left it which made me feel bad because it meant Chan didn’t even try to eat anything. “You always make me worry,” I muttered, toeing off my shoes as I decided to check the bedroom. 

When Chan had first bought the house, he wanted it to look as close as possible to the random design I had pointed out at the local fair when we were Sophomore students. The plaque had deemed it the “house of the future” and I was enamored with the idea of the future back when my whole life was waiting right in front of me. A big dreamer who was already making wedding plans the moment Chan got down on one knee and proposed with his mother’s wedding ring.

“Channie,” I whispered into the darkness, cautiously tiptoeing my way to the side of the bed where Chan was facing away from me, sheets tucked in around his waist to leave his chest exposed. “I’m sorry.”

Chan let out a sigh. “What are you sorry for, Y/N?”

“I hurt you,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “I took the job with Changbin and I didn’t think about how it would affect you.”

“I fucking hate him,” Chan said, tone bitter and laced with venom. “I hate what he did to you Freshman year and I hate that he was the first person you loved.”

“Chan,” I sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I was really young and stupid back then. I should have never slept with Changbin. But he was just a fantasy, even when we were together, and I certainly never really loved him.” I leaned in closer, brushing his hair away from his forehead. “I’ve always loved you first. You mean the world to me and I’m sorry that I went behind your back to work for Changbin. But he’s definitely nothing more than a mistake from a past full of them. There’s nothing to worry about.”

Chan shifted from next to me, rolling onto his back. His eyes were looking at me like I was literally his entire world. “I’ll always worry, sweetie. You drive me insane these days.”

I grinned at the use of his pet name for me, reaching out to run a soothing hand along the defined lines of his stomach. “Don’t worry about me, darling, when you’re the one with a supermodel for a boss.”

“Fuck, we’re both screwed,” Chan said. “Does she drive you mad with jealousy?”

“Of course she does,” I said. “She has bigger tits than me.”

“Well, I like your tits,” Chan insisted. “Don’t even think about bringing up plastic surgery again.”

“It would be to your benefit,” I pointed out. 

“And the detriment to my savings account. Plus, I don’t want some old bastard fondling your tits while he pumps silicone in your chest.”

“Of all the things to worry about,” I sighed. “Does this mean we’re okay again?”

“You could probably step on me and I would still thank you for it, sweetie.”

“What if I sit on it instead?” I asked, moving my hand down to squeeze his flaccid cock.

“Makeup sex?” Chan gasped. “You don’t have to sell yourself out like this, babe.”

“Yeah? Well, I want to,” I said while proceeding to straddle his waist, smirking when Chan’s hands instantly moved to my hips. It was almost like a magnet, the reaction automatic after years of marriage. “You’re already hard,” I teased, reaching back to palm him over the sheets. 

Chan always slept in boxers which I certainly appreciated because it made the rare nights of our passionate lovemaking even more accessible. Chan lifted my shirt, groaning low when he saw that I was wearing nothing but a pair of satin panties. “This is why I’m already hard.”

“You don’t see me walking around the house in underwear,” I quipped playfully.

“It’s comfortable,” Chan whimpered, moaning when my hand found the smooth velvety head of his cock. 

“Something you never did when we were dating,” I said. “I spent weekends with you in the apartment.”

“Wanted to make a good impression,” Chan grumbled, eyes closed as he rolled his hips in time with my careful strokes. 

“So you don’t have to impress me anymore,” I said, glancing back at his cock, hot and heavy in my hand. “But I guess you still do.”

Chan moaned even louder at my words, fingers tightening in my wrinkled shirt. “Don’t make me cum yet.”

“Why not, darling?” I asked him cheekily, twisting my wrist just right, watching as a stuttered gasp fell from between his gorgeous pout.

“Wanna cum inside,” he said, biceps straining as he pulled me closer, kissing me with a desperation that only demonstrated just how gone he really was.

“Yeah?” I smirked, tongue tracing the ridges of his full lips. “I guess you deserve it after putting up with my bullshit all day.”

Chan nodded fervently and the sight was oddly endearing. It reminded me of when Chan and I first met in high school, a nerdy sixteen-year-old boy who had just transferred schools all the way from Australia. He had a thick accent, foreign and rich, just like the untamed mass of curls covering his deep brown eyes. Chan wore thick-rimmed glasses and he had a light dusting of freckles like the main character from Freckle Juice, one of my favorite childhood novels. He was nerdy and shy, sitting alone in the cafeteria at lunch and walking between classes with his shoulders hunched like he was afraid one of those horrible jocks would try to steal his bag again.

“Y/N!” he whined loudly, forcing me out of the memory.

“Alright, Channie, you want inside?”

I sat up on my knees to work down my panties, ignoring the way Chan’s fingers tried to interfere, pulling at the fabric like he could possibly make them disappear any faster. I grabbed the hem of his boxer shorts, teasingly pulling them down his thighs before brushing a kiss across the weeping tip of his cock, precum bitter on my tongue. For a moment, I admired his thick erection, remembering how nervous Chan was the very first time we had sex back before we were even old enough to drink alcohol.

I held his cock as I positioned myself over his lap. “I’ll do all the work tonight,” I said, listening to Chan’s sweet moans the entire time I slowly lowered myself onto his cock, enjoying the way he always filled me so deeply.

“Oh yeah, sweetie,” Chan grunted, hips moving messily as he tried to find a rhythm. “I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

 “Really?” I asked, swallowing down a moan when Chan hit just right, movements growing more and more confident as I returned every thrust. “I thought I was in charge tonight.”

Chan’s hands gripped my waist firmly, eyes wide open as he focused on where we were connected. “I’m always in charge.”

“Definitely,” I said, bracing my hands against his firm chest for balance because I was weak for this version of Chan. A complete contradiction to the one I first started dating, sweetly doting as he did everything in his power to make me happy. An image of a beautifully innocent Chan looking up from his position between my thighs. “It’s good?”

“So good,” I whispered aloud, peppering kisses across the pale expanse of Chan’s creamy skin, laving my tongue against a sensitive nipple which forced a temporary break from his regular tempo.

“Don’t play dirty, sweetie,” Chan said, giving me no warning before he was pushing me onto my back, hovering over me with his irresistible bedroom eyes. His hands spread my thighs wide, giving himself more room to fuck inside, movements growing faster with every step closer to what was beginning to feel like an intense orgasm. I’m talking about the kind that I could feel between my legs for days after I tried to walk straight again. “Do I need to touch you?”

“Fuck, I think you’re doing just fine,” I said. “Where the hell did this come from?”

“You woke up my competitive side,” Chan said, hitting deep like we were suddenly 20-years-old again sneaking quickies between lectures. Back then, Chan could literally fuck me against a wall, my legs wrapped around his gorgeous hips while he knocked the breath out of my lungs. Thank god, Chan decided that college would be his glory years, working out aggressively in the gym until he had muscles filling out the places where he had previously been soft. But I would always miss his pudgy stomach, even if his ass was now something out of a porn magazine. 

“Well fuck,” I moaned. “I’ll have to do this more often.”

“I’d do it all the time if I wasn’t working until 3 in the morning at the hospital,” Chan said.

“Good point, should I come in at lunch then? You can lock us in one of the empty rooms.”

“Oh shit, sweetie, you shouldn’t talk that way,” Chan growled and it was one of the sexiest sounds I had ever heard.

“I’m close,” I warned him, digging my fingers in his scalp as his teeth teased against my collarbone.

“Me too,” he said, breaths uneven as he punctuated his words with a series of harsh ruts that sent my eyes rolling into the back of my skull. His fingers found my clit, thumb pressing down hard enough to trigger one of the best orgasms I had experienced in a long time.

I tightened around his stuttering cock, moaning when I could feel his cum deep inside, warm and wet. “Shit, you’re so good at that.”

Chan pulled out slowly, eyes growing wide at the sight of his cum leaking down my ass. “Left a fucking mess though.”

“We can shower later,” I said, grabbing his arm to encourage him to lie down next to me, burying my face against his chest, scarlet-red from the exertion.

“Was the dick that good?” Chan teased, running his fingers soothingly along my spine.

“Your dick is that good,” I replied. “The genetics are strong.”

“I’ll be sure to tell my parents,” Chan said, giggling as I shot him a warning glare. “I love you, sweetie.”

“Mmm, I love you more.”

1 Week Later

Lee Felix is the spawn of the devil and nobody could convince me otherwise. Because ever since we first met, when Chan invited me over to his house for a project, Felix had decided that I was his number one enemy, deeming me “Medusa” because he was enamored with Greek Mythology. But the unfortunate nickname had stuck throughout the years, even when Felix visited our college between breaks, forcing me to sleep on the couch while he shared the bed with his step-brother. 

Recently, Felix had just finished his Master’s program for some kind of fancy Philosophy degree that would probably do him absolutely no good in the real world. But Chan was proud of his baby brother, inviting him to stay with us after graduation until Felix could stand on his own two feet. The decision was met by my instantaneous protest leading to an argument that I inevitably lost because Chan was still using Changbin as a winning point. However, even before my employment with Seo Enterprises, Felix was the cause of at least 95% of our arguments and I was not exaggerating in the slightest.

The sound of the doorbell ringing was suddenly a lot louder than I remember. “Death is here,” I said solemnly, ignoring the way Chan scoffed at my claim. I followed behind him somberly as he opened the door, letting out an excited cheer when he saw Felix waiting on the other side. Felix dropped his bag and practically screamed, which would likely wake up the entire neighborhood, jumping into his brother’s arm as the two embraced right in the middle of my foyer. 

“Could you be any louder?” I snarled at the younger Bang. 

“Maybe I could, Medusa,” Felix shot back, eyes narrowed as he picked up his bag. 

“Come on, Felix,” Chan said, nodding at the kitchen. “I bet you’re hungry.”

Felix nodded, putting on his best smile for his ignorant brother, shoving his bag harshly at my chest as he walked by. “You can take care of that for me, right Medusa?”

“You little bitch,” I muttered, meeting his glare with one of my own.

The only thing worse than going out with Felix was including Han Jisung in the equation. For whatever reason, Jisung and Felix always riled each other up, chugging down alcohol like it was fucking water or something. However, Felix wanted to see Jisung again and Chan never said no to his little brother. This is why I was currently seated next to Chan at a cheesy bar in downtown Harlem, listening to Felix and Jisung try to talk over one another as Chan looked on with fond eyes. The only good part of the night was the fact that even Chan had allowed himself to get a little tipsy which meant he was doing his absolute best to feel me up in public. I always found it amusing, knocking his hand away when his eager fingers started to trail up my skirt.

“Felix,” Jisung whined. “How can you say that?”

“Oi, there’s no way you can put Nickleback and Green Day in the same fucking category.”

I rolled my eyes at the stupid argument, smacking Chan’s hand when he started to finger the waistband of my skirt. “Chan!” Jisung pouted. “Tell him that he’s wrong.”

“Tell the philosophy major that he’s wrong?” Chan asked, accent on full display as he reached out to playfully ruffle Felix’s hair. “You can’t even answer the phone at the receptionist’s desk.”

Felix loved the attention and I hated it when he came over only to occupy Chan’s every waking hour with his never-ending thirst for affection. But I wasn’t going to let him get away with it tonight. I cleared my throat, stretching my arms back behind my head because I knew how good it would make my breasts look in the rather low-cut shirt I had chosen for tonight’s affair. I glanced over at Chan, smiling victoriously when I saw the way his eyes had glued themselves to my chest. Even Han Jisung was looking, which would normally annoy me to no end, but I was putting on my best behavior tonight. “Chan!” Felix shouted, trying to regain his brother’s attention. “Did you hear that I scored the highest honors on my research project?”

And just like that, Chan’s attention was redirected to Satan, eyes glowing with pride. “That’s amazing, Felix!”

“I can tell you all about it,” Felix said arrogantly, tossing me a cocky smile which left me absolutely incensed. “The board was so impressed, they offered to publish my results in the University’s magazine.”

“Are you serious, Felix?” Jisung asked which was an even bigger blow because the only two things occupying Jisung’s thoughts were women and alcohol. 

So I decided to push my luck, tugging down my skirt before shifting over in the booth to plant myself directly on Chan’s lap, wrapping my arms around his neck before nuzzling into his warm chest. “Channie,” I cooed while glaring at Felix from the corner of my eye. 

“Do you want something, sweetie?” Chan asked, smile blinding as one hand wrapped around my waist, leaving the other to tease the bare skin of my thighs. 

I reached for Chan’s beer, shoving the glass at him because nothing made Chan hornier than thighs and alcohol. “Should I come to see you at work tomorrow? Like we talked about before?”

Chan’s eyes lit with recognition and I smirked victoriously when I felt him grow hard in his tight jeans. “I’d really like that.”

And to seal my victory, I leaned forward to kiss my intoxicated husband, ignoring the sloppy way he reciprocated, breath musty with the taste of beer. Felix growled lowly from across the booth and Jisung let out a wolf whistle at our blatant display. But I was on cloud nine, satisfied to have won Chan’s attention because it meant Felix was going to be quite unhappy for the rest of the night.

“Medusa, aren’t you going to make me breakfast?”

I groaned as I glanced over at the alarm clock which informed me that it was only 9:00 AM. “Fuck, Felix, go back to sleep.”

“But I’m hungry,” he whined, reaching across the bed to tug on my arm.

“It’s Saturday,” I hissed, barely clinging to the wonderful promise of more sleep which would do wonders for my hungover state.

“Chan wouldn’t be happy with you,” Felix reminded me. “Should I call him at work?”

“Get out of here you little maggot,” I snapped. “I’ll fix you some damn breakfast.”

“Now!” Felix ordered like he had every right to make demands of me, but I didn’t want Felix to say anything to Chan because that would only lead to another needless argument. 

“You’re a fucking menace,” I said, throwing off my bedsheets while briefly mourning the loss of my precious sleep. But I don’t want anyone to ever say that I was a bad wife, especially when I put up with Lee Felix just to make Chan happy. 

Felix was already seated at the counter when I finally drug myself out of my bedroom, groggily reaching for a clean pan from the cabinet. “You get eggs and bacon,” I told him. “I’m not a gourmet chef.”

“Whatever,” Felix said, ignoring me completely in exchange for his cell phone. Which Chan was now paying for to help “lessen Felix’s financial burden.” 

“Chan,” I remember telling him. “You’ll spoil him if you keep doing things like that. He’ll never want to leave!”

“What’s wrong with that?” Chan had shot back as if the idea of living with his younger brother for the rest of our married life was perfectly acceptable.

“A million things,” I muttered now, cracking one of the eggs against the side of the pan. 

“I hear you’re working for Seo Changbin,” Felix abruptly spoke up, and I could practically feel his eyes on me. “He cheated on you, right?”

“It’s really none of your business,” I informed him brusquely, grabbing a spatula while wondering if I could teach Felix a lesson if I hit him a few times.

“My brother isn’t happy,” Felix continued as if my warning meant nothing to him. Probably because it didn’t. “I think it’s a bad idea, but your satisfaction always comes first, right?”

“Why the fuck did Chan tell you this?” I gritted out while aggressively slamming the fridge closed, pack of bacon gripped tightly in my hand.

“He tells me everything,” Felix said smartly. “Because he trusts me.”

“Good for you,” I huffed over my shoulder. “I’m glad you have such a close relationship with your brother.”

“Jealous?” Felix taunted, expression smug when I roughly placed down a glass in front of him.

“Is orange juice, okay?” I asked him in a faux sweet voice.

“It’s fine,” Felix shrugged. “But whatever is most inconvenient for you.”

“What a sweet little boy you are,” I said, pouring him a generous amount. “How long do you plan on staying here?”

“Chan says I can stay for as long as I want,” Felix said, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

“Of course not,” I muttered. “Two Bangs are better than one.”

“That’s right,” Felix said brightly, taking a sip from his glass. “Ugh, does this have pulp in it?”

“Drink your fucking orange juice, Felix!”

The invention of video games was a godsend because they could occupy Felix’s attention for hours, leaving me in relative peace as I tried not to let him destroy every last bit of my resolve. I was currently having a bath alone in the sanctity of my bathroom, shoulder-deep in soothing bath salts which I kept well-stocked in the cabinet underneath the sink. The aroma was pleasant, sending me to a place somewhere far away to where Felix’s were strictly prohibited.

For the entirety of the day, Felix had been doing his best to get on my nerves. I cooked him breakfast and lunch, cleaned his disgusting laundry, and even held my tongue when he requested I drive him to the mattress store because the guest bedroom was unsatisfactory. But it had always been like this between us, ever since the day I first met Felix and tried my best to make a good impression. Unfortunately, Felix idolized his older brother, deeming any girl unworthy of his time and efforts, including myself. Of course, above anyone else, Felix thought I was the worst possible choice, reminding me every second that his brother deserved someone smarter, richer, and prettier. 

Suddenly, my phone vibrated loudly on the edge of the bathtub and I hesitantly glanced at the screen, half-expecting to see Felix’s name displayed like a caution sign. Surprisingly, it was Chan who had sent me a message to ask where I was, which meant Felix had lied through his teeth and said I’d gone somewhere. 

To Channie

Bathroom.

It was only a moment or two later when the door opened and Chan stuck his head inside, offering me a pleasant smile as he locked the door behind him. “You’re home early,” I remarked, vacantly staring up at the ceiling.

“It’s Saturday night,” Chan reminded me. “I thought the three of us could go out to eat.”

I groaned in protest. “What about takeout?”

“You love going out,” Chan said. “I’ll even let you pick the restaurant.”

“I have way too many problems right now,” I said. “I’m avoiding them by staying in the water for as long as I can.”

“Sweetie,” Chan said, taking a step closer. “You should’ve waited for me.”

“Why?” I asked him airily. “You’re one of those problems.”

“Me?” Chan asked, choosing to sit down on the edge of the tub. “What did I do wrong?”

“No arguments tonight,” I said, letting out a deep sigh. “This is the most relaxed I’ve been all day.”

“Aren’t you being overdramatic?” Chan asked, reaching down to flick a trail of water in my direction. “I was in surgery for 6 hours today.”

“Yeah? Well, I’ve dealt with Felix since 9 this morning.”

“Ah,” Chan sighed. “I figured it had something to do with my brother.”

“Just forget it,” I whined. “You know we don’t get along.”

“I do know that,” Chan said. “But I wish you both made a better effort. We’re family after all.”

I shivered at the idea of Felix belonging to any family of mine. “You can keep him on your side, then. I grew up as an only child, look at how much better I turned out for it.”

“You told me you had imaginary friends growing up because you were so lonely,” Chan teased.

“Asshole,” I muttered. “That’s sensitive information that I told you in confidentiality. You should know all about patient-doctor confidentiality. Didn’t you have a whole lecture on it?”

“Y/N,” Chan lightly chastised, reaching for a towel on the rack next to the counter. “Get dressed, we’re leaving in an hour.”

“You’ve condemned me to death,” I complained, watching through lidded eyes as he stretched out his arms.

“I’m serious, Y/N, at least try to get along for my sake.”

“That’s all I ever do,” I muttered to his retreating form.

Hwang Hyunjin is a willing accomplice to the devil himself who never misses an opportunity to throw out some lascivious comments about my appearance. He was Felix’s best friend and partner in crime, sharing his goal of making my life as miserable as possible. He was also coming out to eat with us tonight and no matter how much I whined to Chan, he remained adamant that Felix should spend some time with his friends. “He’s only young once,” Chan told me, ignoring the way I glared at him with every ounce of hostility that I could muster.

“Did you paint those pants on, Y/N?” Hyunjin asked the minute he sat down in the backseat next to Felix.

“I did, actually, thanks for the unnecessary observation,” I told him shortly, still focused on the staring contest I was having with Felix in the rearview mirror.

“Don’t mind her, she’s probably on her period,” Felix said and I took in a deep breath because I was very close to turning around in my seat to choke the life out of Felix’s pencil neck.

“How have you been, Hyunjin?” Chan asked, one hand on the steering wheel as he calmly navigated us through the permanent traffic of New York.

“I applied for a job with Amazon,” Hyunjin replied. “I don’t wanna brag, but I definitely nailed the interview.”

“Yeah right,” I muttered under my breath. Hyunjin had the worst people skills in the history of mankind. He was almost as incompetent as Han Jisung, but ten times worse because of his sarcastic attitude.

“You’ll get me Amazon Prime for free, right bro?” Felix giggled and I resisted the urge to mock the sound.

“I’m proud of you, Hyunjin,” Chan said. “I know you worked hard.”

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Hyunjin said. “But the chick who interviewed me was really hot and I think I appropriately swept her off her feet.”

“Big tits?” Felix asked because that’s all those stupid boys cared about.

“Of course,” Hyunjin said. “But I’m still waiting for you, Y/N, whenever you’re ready.”

Felix scoffed. “You could do better than Medusa.”

“How about some music?” I snapped loudly, reaching down for the radio knob to block out the sounds of Felix and Hyunjin’s voices.

Monday mornings were the worst thing to ever happen to mankind next to Lee Felix. I was sipping at my morning coffee, cold now because Felix had spent way too much time ordering me around the kitchen before I left home. But it was better than nothing and I desperately needed caffeine to get through the day. “Morning, Y/N,” Changbin greeted me smoothly, suit well-pressed and fitted to hug his arms and thighs just right.

“Sure,” I said in reply, trudging to my chair in slow motion. 

“Are you always this lively in the mornings?” Changbin remarked, leaning against my desk as he looked through his mail.

“Just on Mondays,” I said, booting up my computer so that I could answer the dozens of emails likely waiting for me, most of which would come from annoying sponsors who wanted Changbin to be on their dumb podcast. 

“Well, you still look gorgeous,” Changbin said.

My cheeks flushed at his comment. “You still need to call Mr. Kim back, he’s left another voicemail.”

“Just one call?” Changbin smirked, eyes dancing dangerously. “Have you been scaring everyone off, Y/N?”

“I did just as you asked, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me sir,” Changbin chuckled, carefully engrossed in his cell phone now as he graciously returned to his own office.

I shivered as I glanced at my computer screen. Changbin was still as notoriously flirtatious as he had been when we were younger. In fact, it might be worse now that he had finally grown into his sharper features which made him look ridiculously attractive. “I love Chan, I love Chan,” I quietly repeated to myself, even as a distant memory suddenly forced itself back into consciousness.

An 18-year-old Seo Changbin walking inside my lecture hall wearing a dark button-up tucked into the tightest pair of skinny jeans he probably owned. Every eye in that lecture room had suddenly turned to him because he was an irresistible force, impossible to ignore. “Y/N?” 

Be cool Y/N, I softly chastised myself as I offered him a friendly smile. “Hi, Changbin.”

It was purely coincidental that Changbin had ended up at the same University as me, but that didn’t stop my fragile teenage heart from declaring it as something akin to fate. “It’s been a while,” Changbin said, pulling out the chair next to mine.

I swallowed hard because my mouth was as dry as a desert. “I didn’t know you were enrolled here.”

“It was my first pick,” Changbin said. “My father is an alumnus.”

“Really?” I asked, ignoring the arrival of the professor in exchange for mapping out every single one of Changbin’s gorgeous features.

“This class is just for gen ed,” Changbin said, pushing a hand through his neatly styled black hair.

“Oh, same for me,” I nodded. “I heard it was pretty easy.”

“Is that right?” Changbin asked while flashing me an award-winning smile. Roll out the red carpets because this boy was cool enough to be in an action film co-starring Tom Holland and Ancel Elgort.

But what were we talking about? “I’m majoring in English.”

“Political Science,” Changbin returned. “And Business.”

I deflated a little because, in comparison to my lousy arts degree, Changbin seemed like a certified genius. He would be educated in the art of entrepreneurship and big money while I struggled to comprehend the meaning of Great Expectations. “Have you met anyone else from high school?”

“Not yet,” Changbin said. “What about you?”

“Well, Bang Chan’s enrolled here too...” I started, only to trail off when I realized that Changbin probably had no idea who Chan was since he never paid attention to him in high school. Actually, Changbin would have been more likely to join the football jocks who liked to steal Chan’s stuff only to tie his underwear to the flagpole outside the gym.

“The nerdy Australian kid?” Changbin chuckled. “That sucks.”

“Oh,” was all I could manage since Changbin obviously didn’t know that Chan and I were friends. 

“You don’t hang out with him, do you?” Changbin asked, peering at me closely like I was seconds away from losing the honor of his company.

“We have lunch sometimes,” I said, which was only partially true since I did like to meet up with Chan in the dining hall around 2:00 because it was never crowded. But Changbin didn’t need to know that I had spent the night in Chan’s apartment listening to him record one of his mixtapes because Chan had a newfound interest in music. 

“You could do better,” Changbin sighed. “Hang out with me instead. I’ll treat you to the nicest fast food joint on campus.”

My heart was racing, palms clammy as I nodded my head rapidly. “Lunch?”

“Whatever you want, love,” Changbin said, close proximity knocking every rational thought clean out of my head.

It was like my best fantasy coming to life right before my very eyes, and after our lecture ended I asked Changbin to wait for me while I made a phone call to Chan. “Y/N!” came his cheerful voice from the other end. “Guess who got to dissect a liver today?”

I wrinkled my nose at the nasty image. Chan was studying to enter the medical program which meant a lot of his daily life centered around the human body and all sorts of things that could go wrong with it. “Chan,” I whined. “You’re talking to someone who can’t stand the sight of blood.”

“I know,” Chan sniggered. “Does this mean you’re not gonna want to eat lunch with me today? You know I’ll pay, of course, I got a raise at the cafe.”

“Well,” I started, desperately searching for the right words. “I actually have to meet with my professor for this essay I’ve been having trouble with.”

“No problem,” Chan said. “I’ll bring you takeout for dinner. Doesn’t your roommate have practice tonight?”

I glanced back at Changbin with a guilty conscience. Why did Chan have to be so sweet all the time? “Yeah, that’s fine.”

“No liver talk, I promise,” Chan giggled and I hung up the phone before he could make me feel even worse than I already did.

“You want to get some lunch?” Changbin asked with his hands dug inside his pockets as he stood in front of my desk.

“Like, with me?” I asked warily because I wasn’t sure where the line stood on professionalism when it involves eating with an ex-boyfriend.

“Who else?” Changbin said. “I figured we could use a break from the phone calls.”

“I don’t know...” I answered hesitantly because Chan would probably lose his shit if he discovered I went out anywhere with Changbin.

“It’s not a big deal, Y/N,” Changbin said. “My job is to make sure my employees are well taken care of.”

“I guess,” I sighed, reaching down for my purse on the floor. “One lunch together won’t hurt anything.”

But Changbin seemed awfully smug, patiently waiting for me to gather my belongings, stuffing my phone with an unanswered text from Chan inside my side pocket. It’s almost like the universe was conspiring against me, doing its very best to try and force me into the worst situations possible. Here’s an irrational thought: what if Chan happened to decide to go out for lunch today? He might find me with Changbin and I couldn’t think of a worse scenario. Of course, I suppose it doesn’t necessarily have to be Chan who finds us. For example, if his younger step-brother was to suddenly wander in the building at this very moment...

“Medusa!”

Curse you, universe!

“Felix?” 

“I brought us lunch!” Felix chirped brightly, holding up a picnic basket as he waltzed right up to my desk with far more confidence than necessary.

I blinked my eyes rapidly, unable to process the idea that Felix was standing in the middle of the company’s lobby. “Is it poisoned?” I asked, trying not to alert him to any possible wrongdoing.

Felix ignored me, turning around to face Changbin with a critical gaze. “Seo? Is that you?”

“Felix,” Changbin acknowledged, frowning as if he was the last person on earth he wanted to see, and I could share the sentiment.

“Fuck,” Felix cursed, taking a step back. “You still look really young. I was surprised when Y/N told me you were her new boss.”

“I didn’t tell you that,” I said, opening the flaps of the basket only to let out a disgruntled sigh when I realized he had only brought a bag of chips and a tray of cookies.

“And what are you doing these days?” Changbin asked.

“Freelance work, mostly,” Felix replied as if he really needed to lie to Changbin about his lack of a suitable occupation.

“I forgot what you majored in,” Changbin said. “It was hard to keep up since you changed your concentration like a dozen times.”

I couldn’t hold back my laugh, even when Felix sneered in my direction. “Philosophy.”

“Interesting,” Changbin said, nodding his head. “I’m actually surprised to hear that. You never settled on anything.”

Seo Changbin needed to be careful because his charm points were dramatically increasing the more he mocked my husband’s step-brother. “I actually just finished my Masters.”

“Really?” Changbin said. “This coming from the same boy who used to party with Hwang Hyunjin at all the Fraternities, even if they were on a different campus.”

“It was just Freshman year,” Felix defended himself. 

“Well,” Changbin started, “I’m glad to hear about your graduation. Y/N and I were actually just about to head out to lunch.”

I winced at his words, withering under Felix’s accusing watch. “Is that so?”

Changbin carefully studied the two of us. “I’ll be waiting in my car, Y/N.”

I grabbed my bag while pushing the picnic basket back in Felix’s direction. “I swear to god if you tell Chan about this, I’ll castrate you in your sleep.”

“We’ll see about that,” Felix growled, and that was the moment I realized that I was treading very dangerous waters.

Changbin drove us to a charming restaurant about two blocks away from the main company building. He pulled right up to the sidewalk, handing his keys to the waiting carhop as if he had done this about a thousand times. But I guess that was pretty likely considering just how well-off he was ten years later. “Impressive,” I remarked to him, reluctantly accepting his outstretched hand as he helped me out of his car.

“Yeah?” Changbin said, offering me a wink. “Maybe I’m trying to impress you.”

“You’re a dangerous man, Seo Changbin,” I told him, bowing slightly to the waiting doorman who kindly ushered us inside.

This was why the pretty girls always lusted after Changbin. When we were both still in high school, Changbin epitomized the phrase #BoyfriendGoals because he was super attractive, incredibly smart, and athletic enough to earn himself a shining record after an impressive baseball season. And I was just as mindless as the rest of the zombies chasing him down in the parking lot at school or squealing his name in the hallways between classes.

“I eat here all the time,” Changbin assured me, flashing the hostess a dazzling smile while handing her his card. 

“Right this way, Mr. Seo,” the hostess curtsied, ignoring the long line of waiting patrons who apparently didn’t matter as much as my new boss as she led us to a private table. “Your waitress will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you,” I said politely, eyes wide as I took in the gorgeous chandelier dropping from the high-domed ceiling.

“Close your mouth, Y/N,” Changbin said. “You act like you’ve never been somewhere like this before.”

“Not exactly,” I said because the nicest place Chan had ever taken me was an Olive Garden and that had ended poorly after Chan accidentally knocked his shoulder against a poor server on his way back to the table causing an avalanche of salad and breadsticks.

“Bang should be taking you to places like this all the time,” Changbin commented, perhaps a casual observation to anyone else.

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “Chan and I prefer to keep things low-key.”

“Should I have taken you to Applebees instead?”

“How funny.”

“I’m kidding, Y/N,” Changbin said, reaching down to adjust the buttons on his coat sleeve. “You’ve changed a lot since college.”

“Since we dated you mean?” I asked with an arched brow.

“Well,” Changbin started, “if you want to think of it like that.”

“Hmmm,” I briefly meditated, studying Changbin’s expression carefully. “How else should I think about it.”

Changbin tsked, raising a hand to signal for a nearby waiter. “I don’t mean to suggest anything.”

The waiter approached our table with purposed steps. “How may I help you, sir?”

“A wine menu?” Changbin asked, nodding generously when the waiter returned with his requested selection. 

“You make a beautiful couple,” the waiter gushed while he pulled out a thick leather wallet, flipping to a fresh page.

“Oh! We’re not-”

“-A bottle of pinot noir, please,” Changbin said, returning the menu without bothering to correct the waiter’s observation.

“Right away, sir,” the waiter agreed.

I held my tongue until he was further away, bothering an older couple who were probably complaining about something to do with their food. “Changbin,” I warned him. “You should be careful.”

“It was a harmless mistake,” Changbin said. “How can I possibly come between you and Bang?”

I worried my bottom lip between my teeth because it sounded less like a dismissal and more like a challenge.

The sun was already setting by the time I returned home thanks to one of Changbin’s business partners who refused to leave the office building until they had a chance to speak to him. I was low on patience, tired from an exhausting day of dealing with telemarketers insisting our company needed the latest software for our clientele. There was only a limited number of times I could tell somebody to fuck off before inevitably shouting into the other end that I was in no way interested in whatever useless product they were trying to shove down my throat, complete with some kind of scammy discount and an opportunity to be represented on their website.

To make matters worse, my feet were blistered from wearing heels all day and my shoulders ached from slouching over my computer to answer emails and monitor the progress of Changbin’s latest project. My only saving grace was the message Chan had sent me earlier telling me that he had already clocked out at work, which meant I could probably guilt him into giving me one of his trademarked messages. I mean, all I wanted to do was curl up next to Chan in bed and sleep for the rest of the day.

But it looked like my desires would have to wait because as soon as I unlocked the door to the house, I could immediately sense that something was wrong. Taking a deep breath, I cautiously walked into the living room to find Chan and Felix busy with some kind of video game on our HD TV, volume high until I walked in the room. Chan waited until I called his name, reaching for the remote to mute the TV before tossing his controller onto the coffee table. From across the room, Felix’s eyes were alight with mischief.

“How was work today?” Chan asked with a tone that I only ever heard when my husband was feeling particularly pissed off about something, and I had a sneaking suspicion it involved me in some capacity.

“It was fine,” I said, deciding to play it safe while I kept my complaints to myself.

Felix smirked in my direction, whistling to himself as he reached for his game controller. “Felix told me something interesting today.”

“Oh did he?” I asked, wondering just how much pain Felix could tolerate if I marched over to him right now and hit him with an umbrella.

“He said he tried to have lunch with you.”

“I was busy.”

“With Seo Changbin?”

Felix was definitely going to die tonight. That little snitch deserved every ounce of punishment I was starting to formulate inside my head. “He invited me out instead.”

“I got that,” Chan snapped and I knew my husband was in a foul mood. I’m talking about the kind of mood that usually sent me scampering for the safety of the bunkers. Like the time some drunk asshole rear-ended Chan’s precious convertible while we were sitting in downtown traffic. Or the time when we were Freshmen in college and Chan confronted Changbin after finding out that he had been cheating on me.

But this time the problem was me which meant I couldn’t just hide from Chan and wait for things to go back to normal. “Honey,” I attempted to reassure him. “It was just lunch.”

“Yeah? But that doesn’t seem like keeping things strictly professional to me, Y/N.”

“He’s my boss now, I can’t just tell him no.”

“Actually, you can,” Chan disagreed, now refusing to look at me. “How would you like it if I ate with my new superintendent?”

“Depends on if she offered to pay or not.”

“Y/N.”

“Chan,” I pouted. “I’m really sorry! He just surprised me.”

“It makes me wonder what else you might be doing with him,” Chan snarked.

Meanwhile, Felix calmly continued to play his video game while wearing the biggest shit-eating grin. “Are you accusing me of having an affair?”

“Why not?” Chan shrugged. “Since we’re keeping secrets from each other.”

“It was just one lunch,” I shouted. “He’s never done anything like this before. Most of the time I’m alone in the lobby taking his stupid phone calls.”

“And that’s all I should ever hear about,” Chan growled. 

“You’re making this into a bigger deal than it needs to be,” I scoffed, rolling my eyes before remembering just how much Chan hated it when I did that to him.

“Y/N,” Chan addressed me sternly, deciding to abandon his seat on the couch to crowd me in the foyer. “If this was anyone else, I wouldn’t make it into a bigger deal, but this is someone you used to fuck while running around campus bragging about it to everyone who would listen...which was usually me!”

“He doesn’t mean anything to me,” I said. “I already told you that!”

“You’ve said a lot of things recently,” Chan said. “I’m not sure what to believe anymore.”

“Yeah? Well, it’s your brother’s fault since he’s always looking to cause a fight between us,” I said, glaring at Felix while he continued to play the part of the perfect little angel that Chan always considered him.

“Don’t drag Felix into this, he has nothing to do with anything!”

“Oh, don’t be stupid, Chan,” I huffed. “We fight more about Felix than we do about Changbin.”

“Stupid?!”

Oh, Jesus, Y/N, when are you going to learn to watch your big mouth? “Channie, I’m tired of fighting all the time. I feel like we’re always fighting.”

“Yeah? Well, you give me a lot of reasons to stay mad at you.”

“For fuck’s sake,” I groaned. “We never fought this much when we were dating.”

“Is that so? You think our marriage is the problem?”

I froze at his implications. At this point, Felix might as well drag out a bucket of popcorn because this was probably the most interesting drama he had watched all year. “Chan, you can’t honestly believe that.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” Chan said, shaking his head. “But maybe I’ll give you some time to think about it.”

“Chan!” I whined, fighting back tears as I watched him turn his back on me. For the first time since we had met, Chan was leaving an argument unresolved, choosing to lock himself away in our bedroom while I struggled to keep myself together in the middle of our foyer. 

“Goodbye, Y/N,” Felix whispered into the silent room, waving his fingers at me because he had gotten exactly what he wanted.

Felix’s birthday often turned into a multiple-day affair because he always wanted the best that money could buy. Since Chan and I still weren’t speaking to one another, Chan was taking the brunt of party preparations which meant Felix was practically over the moon with excitement. And why shouldn’t he be? He hit the metaphorical jackpot because he somehow got me in the doghouse while he soaked up all of Chan’s attention. 

“Y/N,” Felix whined. “My toast is burnt!”

“Sorry,” I murmured softly, taking his plate even though the bread looked perfectly fine. Meanwhile, Chan chose not to say a word, heavily engrossed in his laptop and doing his absolute best to pretend I was invisible. 

“What about this, Felix?” he asked, tilting his laptop screen so that his brother could see whatever it was that probably cost hundreds of dollars. On the other hand, I couldn’t even find the courage to ask Chan for his credit card so that I could replace the broken stool at our counter.

“That’s perfect, Channie!” Felix grinned, hanging off his brother’s shoulder like the little pest he was. 

Our Amazon shopping cart was steadily filling with Felix’s party supplies. But I guess it was just Chan’s account now since he had changed the password without telling me. I tried to order a new curtain for the bathroom, only to repeatedly watch the warning screen pop-up with every refresh of the page. “Who do you want at your party?” Chan asked Felix.

“Hyunjin, Jisung...” Felix started, listing out each name while I winced every time because our house would probably end up completely trashed at this rate.

“Whatever you want,” Chan said, apparently forgetting the last time Jisung came over only to break one of my grandmother’s expensive vases. Since it was my stuff, he probably didn’t care. “I have to leave soon,” Chan said, wordlessly clicking on the ‘place your order ’ button before logging off.

“Will you be gone all day again?” Felix pouted, jutting out his bottom lip and offering his very best puppy dog eyes.

23-years-old my ass.

“I’ll do my best,” Chan promised his brother. “Do you need anything while I’m out.”

“More chocolate cereal?”

10-years-old more likely.

“I’ll see you tonight,” Chan cooed to Felix, ruffling his hair before snatching his coat from my outstretched hand, refusing to even acknowledge my existence. 

Felix waited until Chan was gone to lean in across the counter. “You two are so cute, Medusa.”

“I fucking hate you,” I said, aggressively attacking the grease stain on the stainless steel pot I was currently washing.

“Whatever,” Felix shrugged. “Will you ask Minho to come to my birthday party?”

“There’s not a fucking chance in hell that I’m asking him,” I snapped.

“Why?” Felix posed the question as if he felt absolutely no shame. “I like Minho and I want him to be there.”

“Fuck off,” I retorted, drying my hands against the rough texture of the dishtowel.

Felix sniffled, reaching for his phone and holding it up to his ear. “Channie? Yeah, Y/N was being really mean to me-”

“-Jesus, fine, I’ll ask him,” I quickly interrupted the little Devil. “How old are you turning again?”

“24!” Felix grinned. 

“Then act like it,” I muttered while dialing Minho’s number.

There were only two rings before he answered. “It’s too early on Saturday for this bullshit, Y/N,” came Minho’s pleasant voice from the other end.

“You sleep too much anyway,” I returned. “I have something to ask you.”

“It better be pretty fucking important.”

“Will you come to Felix’s stupid birthday party this Friday?” I asked him, ignoring Felix’s bright smile as he tried to listen in on our conversation.

“Did you buy booze?”

“I’m sure Chan will buy the little bastard all the booze he wants,” I said, pushing Felix out of the way.

“What time?” Minho asked. “I’m a very busy man, Y/N.”

“The hell you are,” I snorted. “9:00 PM. Don’t be late! I’ll be the pathetic piece of trash sitting on the couch alone.”

“It’s about time you learn, Y/N,” Felix remarked, giggling when I threw the dishtowel at him.

“Still in trouble with hubby?” Minho asked. “I hear you have to stay separated for a year before the courts grant divorces these days.”

“You’re an asshole,” I said. “Should I put you down on the guest list?”

“Of course,” Minho said. “Underlined because I’m a VIP”

I hung up on him before he could dig his grave any deeper.

“Don’t burn that,” Felix scolded me, hovering by my side to play the part of Gordon Ramsay while I sweated my ass off to cook everything on his stupid party menu.

“It’s not burnt,” I grumbled. 

“I hope you’re not wearing that to my party,” Felix said, casting a critical eye over my outfit. 

I reached down to adjust the waistband of my skirt. “What’s wrong with it?”

“This is a classy party, Y/N, and you look like a hooker.”

“Go help your brother or something,” I said, doing my best to be nice since it was Felix’s birthday. I could manage some form of kindness even if he didn’t deserve it.

“Chan’s fine,” Felix waved me off even though I was certain I saw Chan struggling to hang up lights on the balcony just moments ago when I went to change my clothes.

I glanced at the clock above the stove. “Your fellow party animals will be here soon.”

“You’re not cool enough for those references,” Felix told me as he straightened his tie. 

“I wasn’t trying to be,” I said, wiping my forehead with a nearby towel. My makeup was probably smeared but I didn’t care. Who was I hoping to impress anyway? The only person I dressed up for was Chan and he could care less about my appearance.

And it was only a few minutes later when the doorbell started to ring. I took a deep breath to try and reassure myself that I could make it through tonight without another Advil. “Someone’s here!” Felix squeaked, knocking his shoulder against mine in his haste to answer the door.

“No matter who it is, I’ll still be in hell,” I muttered, closing my eyes when I recognized Hyunjin’s voice mixing with Felix’s.

“Y/N!” Hyunjin sang, poking his head in the kitchen as if he owned the place. “There you are! Looking all pretty for us.”

“That was the goal,” I half-heartedly quipped back, turning off the stove once I declared Felix’s stupid Tteok-bokki cooked enough.

“Your legs look good,” Hyunjin said, abruptly leaning in closer. “Are you even wearing anything under that skirt?”

“Hyunjin!” Felix shouted his friend’s name from the living room. “Come check out the decorations.”

Hyujin blew a kiss in my direction, tossing me a poor excuse for a wink. “Bye, Y/N!”

Maybe one more Advil wouldn’t hurt.

The party was in full swing by the time Minho finally arrived, greeting Felix with some kind of cheesy handshake. It was too late for me and I had already resigned myself to the futon of isolation in the living room, mourning the loss of one of my good dishes thanks to Han Jisung deciding to request something fancier than our regular set. “Sorry, Y/N,” Jisung had apologized. “I’m sure you can easily replace it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure my dead grandmother has another lying around somewhere,” I snarled in his direction, ignoring his wide-eyed look of disbelief as I searched for the broom.

Minho eventually finished his conversation with Felix, offering me a sympathetic look while occupying the last remaining chair. “Y/N?”

“Oh, I’m doing just fine,” I told him.

“You look miserable,” Minho informed me, throwing up his feet on my glass coffee table even though I had told him countless times before to keep his dirty socks on the floor.

“Chan hates me,” I said. “Felix is happy.”

“Ah,” Minho nodded. “Trouble in paradise?”

“It’s all Felix’s fault,” I sniped. “He found out I went to lunch with Changbin and told Chan because he knew it would lead to an argument.”

“He still doesn’t like you?” Minho snorted as if the idea were amusing.

“Felix has hated me since the beginning of time. He was brought to this Earth to cause me misery.”

“I’m sure that’s an exaggeration,” Minho said. “Where is Chan, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” I sighed. “If he wasn’t with Felix, then you might want to check the balcony. I think I saw him sneaking the Advil bottle out there earlier.”

Minho snickered. “You don’t even realize it, but you two are grossly similar. I’m sure Chan would have preferred a quiet dinner out somewhere.”

“Well, Felix always gets what he wants,” I said. “It’s been this way since high school.”

Minho considered me for a moment. “In his defense, Chan has always been Felix’s best friend. They’ve been attached at the hip since they were kids, but then you came into the picture. Suddenly, Chan isn’t as interested in spending all his time with Felix any more.”

“Are you saying I need to find Felix a girlfriend?”

“Y/N,” Minho said softly. “I’m just saying, maybe you need to think about things from Felix’s perspective for once. You were an only child, so you can’t understand what it means to share a close relationship with a brother.”

“Hmm, well you’re like a brother to me,” I teased him.

“Ugh,” Minho gagged. “You’ve had my dick in your mouth before, Y/N, please never say that again.”

“I was trying to be sweet,” I said. “But you ruined it.”

“Did I?” Minho smirked, glancing up at something behind me. “Are you having a good time, Felix?”

“We’re out of beer,” Felix interrupted, face suddenly mere inches from mine. 

“You shouldn’t drink like a fish.”

“Medusa,” Felix tried again, holding out a ring of car keys. “Make yourself useful and buy us some more beer.”

I rolled my eyes but acquiesced. “Whatever you want, your majesty.”

I hated winter in New York City because the sidewalks were icy all the time and I was constantly in danger of rolling my ankle. Nevertheless, I tolerated the snow and wind by trading my heels for rain boots and wrapping my body in the thickest coat I owned. Normally, I might consider walking to the convenience store, but tonight I knew my fingers would be nothing but frozen icicles if I attempted that perilous journey.

Thankfully, the traffic was fairly light this late at night which allowed a relatively quick drive to the store, parking my corvette at the sidewalk. I walked inside with a muffled greeting to the store attendant, searching down the aisle to where the beer was stocked in the freezers. “He didn’t even tell me what he wanted,” I scoffed, deciding on the expensive Corona from the bottom shelf since Felix always liked things more when they cost a lot of money.

“Having a party?” the store attendant joked, accepting my debit card after ringing up the cases. 

“Something like that,” I said, wondering if that was always his assumption if someone bought more than one bottle of the nasty smelling beverage.

Meanwhile, it had started snowing again when I walked back outside, popping the trunk to store the beer until I finally returned home. I switched on the ignition and turned on the heat to its fullest setting before sitting back in my seat to wrap my arms around myself, fighting off a series of chills. The action reminded me of Junior Year when Chan and I used to make late-night trips to the gas station near his apartment complex. We’d buy all sorts of unnecessary snacks, driving back together because we had planned a movie marathon of Harry Potter. Chan always complained about the films I liked, but he watched them anyway because he knew I enjoyed them.

I came to a stop at a red light, frowning when I noticed that nobody was coming in either direction. “Change already,” I ordered the traffic light as if it could possibly accommodate my request. 

“I’ll teach you patience, Y/N,” Chan once told me after we waited nearly an hour in a heavy downpour outside the comic book shop because he just had to have some kind of rare edition figurine.

The traffic light eventually turned green and I rolled out into the intersection, never noticing the reckless SUV until mere seconds before it crashed into the side of my car.

I had the worst luck in the world when it came to relationships. First, there was my tired rendezvous with Minho in high school, blowing my best friend in the bathroom because he’d always fuck me with his fingers afterward. Then, there was that slimy bastard Seo Changbin who I willingly gave my virginity to, thinking he was the love of my life. That was before I found out he was cheating on me with some sleazy cheerleader thanks to a couple of photos surfacing on Facebook. My heart was instantly broken, pride in shambles as I spent an entire week hiding out in my dormitory ignoring all phone calls and text messages as I cried over a boy who never deserved my attention in the first place.

I plucked a few strands of grass from the ground next to my feet, savoring the first taste of sunlight I had allowed myself since that unfortunate discovery. Who the hell did Seo Changbin think he was anyway? Playing with my heart like that as if it meant absolutely nothing to him. 

At least I wasn’t sad anymore, having spent enough time crying over the destructive boy. Now, all I could think about was smacking that stupid smug grin off his face while thoroughly purging my built-up frustrations...“Y/N?”

I turned around quickly at the sound of Chan’s voice, rising to my feet to brush the loose grass and dirt from my jeans. “Channie,” I said, nervously wringing my hands in front of me. Chan was probably mad at me since I had been ignoring him all week.

“Are you okay?” he asked instead, tone surprisingly gentle as he stopped in front of me.

“Not really,” I told him honestly.

“I didn’t think so,” Chan said, features hardening. “I’ll beat the shit out of Seo for you.”

I shook my head. “That won’t do any good.”

“But if it makes you feel better,” Chan said, reaching out to delicately swipe his thumb under my eyes. “You aren’t sleeping.”

It was more of a statement rather than a question, but I still felt the need to reassure him. “I promise that I’m okay.”

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Chan said, offering me a kind smile. “I can tell, you know?”

“Yeah you’re good at that,” I groused. 

“I’m pretty good at a lot of things when it comes to you,” Chan admitted, eyes holding a pure kind of affection as they appraised me.

“I’m glad I have you,” I said, letting out a sigh as I allowed my head to rest against the center of his chest. “You don’t think I’m stupid for trying things out with Changbin?”

“You’ve always liked him,” Chan said with a bitter tone that sounded more like a jealous lover rather than a friend.

I chose not to say anything. “I hope the two of them make each other miserable.”

Chan chuckled. “Is this your form of revenge?”

“I don’t think it’ll work out in my favor,” I said, pressing myself even closer to Chan, pausing when my hand drug across his stomach. “Holy shit, Channie, you weren’t kidding about the gym.”

“Did you not believe me?”

“Who are you trying to impress?” I grinned, propping my chin against his sternum to make it easier to look into his eyes.

“It’s always been the same person,” Chan said vaguely, dimples on display as he considered me. “I hope Seo didn’t destroy your faith in relationships.”

“It wouldn’t be entirely his fault,” I sighed. “All my relationships have been complete failures.

“Y/N,” Chan whispered, brushing a light kiss across my forehead. “Maybe it’s because you’ve never tried the right guy.”

The memory was laced with something warm, an association that stood in stark contradiction to my current condition, slowly opening my eyes to a pulsing room, somehow much too bright for my pupils to adjust. Was I alive? I wondered because I couldn’t really feel anything which was certainly disarming. But then there was a familiar smell, rancid and burning, and it made me feel like I was definitely not in any sort of happy afterlife. There was also the problem of the blurry figure slowly coming into focus next to me, fiddling with an array of wires twisting together with the sounds of a machine distantly clicking in the background. I watched through hooded eyes as the now perceivable person in question handled an impressively large needle, pinching my skin painfully at the juncture of my elbow. 

“Han Jisung,” I began, startling him from where he was checking the IV. “Just put a fucking needle into my arm. What hellish realm have I descended into?”

“Y/N!” Jisung squealed loudly, leaning down to press a sloppy kiss against my forehead. 

“What the hell was that for?”

“For not dying,” Jisung sighed in relief. “When you came in, there was nothing but blood and glass everywhere!... Oh, and Chan may or may not have a fine against him for beating the living shit out of the asshole that hit you.”

“Why are you so loud?” I groaned, palming my forehead because the room was still swimming into focus. “What happened?”

“You probably don’t remember,” Jisung said. “It was a pretty bad concussion, but you were in a car accident.”

“I was?” I questioned, struggling to recall anything past a few minutes ago when I first realized that incompetent Han Jisung was sticking pointy objects into my veins.

“Chan was so upset,” Jisung said. “He wanted to do the surgery, but the superintendent wouldn’t let him.”

“Surgery?” I repeated. “I had surgery?”

“Cuz’ of your ribs,” Jisung said quietly as if finally realizing that he probably shouldn’t be saying all this to me at once, especially if the persistent beeping of the heart monitor was something to be concerned about.

“What’s wrong with my ribs?” I asked, somewhat panicking as I felt down my chest, noticing the thick bandage wrapped around my upper body. 

“Chill, Y/N,” Jisung placated, reaching around me to adjust the monitor. “Now I can’t get an accurate reading!”

“So sorry to inconvenience you,” I said with a hoarse voice, reaching up to quickly wrap my hand around my throat. “Is there something wrong with my voice?”

“Well, you’ve been out for three days so...”

“Three days!”

Now I was definitely panicking, full-on hysteria as the heart monitor loudly detected the irregular contraction of the muscle thundering aggressively against my chest. It was enough to alert the doctor on duty, walking into my room to check on his patient, scolding Jisung harshly as he filled a syringe with a clear liquid. “Don’t worry, Y/N,” he said kindly, injecting the fluid into my IV. “Just relax.”

My eyelids fluttered closed, overwhelmed by a disjointed sense of calm that gradually pulled me back under the current of drug-induced bliss.

“Sweetie.”

My eyes flew open at the sound of his voice, the best wake-up call in the whole world. I slowly turned my head to the side, taking in the sight of my disheveled husband, eyes blood-shot with heavy dark bags haunting tight circles against his pale skin. “Channie?”

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Chan sniffled, fresh tears swelling his cheeks as he leaned in closer to grip tightly to my hand. “It’s all my fault.”

I considered him closely, wondering what he could possibly mean by accepting blame for whatever was causing him obvious pain. I faintly remember Jisung telling me about am accident, but it was difficult to really think back any further, like a wall had enclosed around my brain, refusing to allow anything else to come into consciousness. But Chan didn’t need to cry, he was usually the best part of my life, waking up in bed together to share sweet kisses or eagerly waiting for him to come home and swoon over my newest K-Drama obsession. “Why are you sad?” I asked him, reaching out to do my best and wipe away those nasty tears.

“You wouldn’t answer your phone,” Chan cried, heart-wrenching sobs that broke my heart with every heavy inhale. “I didn’t know where you were.”

“Is that why you’re upset?” I asked, wiping away a few mischievous curls that had wandered into his eyes. 

“I found you in the intersection,” Chan whispered. “And the car...” he trailed off with a choking gasp as if the details were too horrific to describe. 

“I’m here now, Channie,” I said, desperate to relieve his sadness. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

Chan nodded furiously, pressing a wet kiss to the back of my hand. “I can’t lose you like that, sweetie.”

“Well, I plan to stick around for a while,” I said, earning me a half-smile in return. “Channie,” I whispered, glancing around the room conspiratorially. “Is there anything good to eat in this place?”

This time Chan did laugh and it was the best medicine I could possibly have.

“Vitals?” Chan asked, lingering around the poor nurse who clearly wasn’t expecting this much attention over one patient when she clocked in this morning.

“I already checked them,” the nurse informed him, writing down something on the chart clipped to the edge of my bed. I sipped my water as I watched the two of them, wondering if Chan had been this overbearing the entire time.

“Temperature?”

“98 degrees.”

“Blood pressure?”

“122/75”

“Respiration?”

“Chan,” I whispered softly, immediately drawing my husband’s attention who was at my side in an instant. “I think the nurse knows how to do her job.”

The poor woman shot me a grateful smile as she re-clipped my chart, hurrying out of the room as if she couldn’t possibly escape fast enough. “Sorry,” Chan said, taking his seat next to me. “I’m just worried.”

“I get discharged tomorrow,” I told him. “Pretty sure that means I’m just fine.”

“But your leg,” Chan whined, fussily messing with the large cast, tucking the blankets in securely.

“It’ll heal,” I said, frowning as I picked at the squishy jello the nursing staff had brought in earlier. “Isn’t there anything else to eat?”

Chan tsked. “That’s good for you, Y/N. It’s full of necessary vitamins.”

I should have known better than to ask my doctor husband if I could possibly have something that actually had flavor to eat. No matter how much I begged and pleaded, Chan refused to waver from the nasty daily meals I was brought, much to my disappointment. “I’d kill for a burger.”

“Too much fat,” Chan said, turning down the idea before I could possibly try to negotiate.

“It physically hurts me to eat,” I tried. “I think they’re secretly plotting my death.”

“Y/N,” Chan scolded lightly. “There’s a reason why we serve this to patients, alright?”

I frowned at him but shoved a spoonful of the nasty substance in my mouth, earning me a pleased smile in response. “Happy?”

“You can have better food tomorrow,” Chan said, pausing as he reached down to check his phone notifications. “Minho is here,” he grumbled. “I guess I’ll go get him from the lobby before he gets lost.”

“Thank you, darling,” I chirped, accepting his brief kiss.

“I’ve seen worse,” Minho declared, ignoring Chan’s disbelieving scoff. 

“You obviously weren’t here when she was first brought in,” Chan growled to him.

“How are you feeling, Y/N?” Minho asked, disregarding Chan who had gone back to check the dozens of machines somehow monitoring my every possible bodily function.

“Hungry,” I grimaced, pointing to my discarded container.

Minho lifted it curiously, bringing it his nose before he let out an unattractive grunt. “Is this garbage?”

“Don’t encourage her,” Chan said, reaching for my chart for the millionth time that day. “I’ll be right back, Y/N.”

“Okay,” I said, rolling my eyes once his back was turned.

I waited until Chan was gone before desperately reaching out for Minho. “You’ve got to help me, Minho! I can’t stand another day of jello and mashed potatoes. Get me a Big Mac and I’ll give you the number of one of my work acquaintances.”

 Minho raised an interested brow. “Scale?”

“Oh, she’s definitely an 8...please!”

“That’s impossible to turn down, Y/N,” Minho grinned. “Give me ten minutes.”

I snatched his sleeve before he could walk away. “Make sure Chan doesn’t see.”

“So ask Han Jisung to fuck something up, got it.”

“You’re my best friend in the entire world. The rest of my life will be spent in your servitude.”

Minho offered me a brief salute and I solemnly nodded my head while ignoring the way my stomach growled.

It was growing dark outside and I’m pretty sure Jisung had accidentally given me too much of whatever pain medicine I had been prescribed. I could barely keep my eyes open as Chan settled next to me on his chair. “Y/N,” he said softly, picking at an invisible string on his suit pants. “I want to talk to you about the fight we had.”

My exhaustion vanished in a flash. “Okay,” I said, even though I had been hoping Chan would just forget that the fight even happened.

“I owe you an apology,” Chan said. “For acting like a jealous prick. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

“It’s my fault too,” I said. “I know how you feel about him, but I still went out anyway.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Chan said, swallowing down the lie even though I could always read him like a book. “But every time I think about Seo Changbin, I can’t help but remember Freshman year.”

“You act like he broke your heart instead,” I tried to joke, but Chan was everything but amused.

“Yeah, he did break your heart, Y/N, and I’ll never forgive him for it. He was an arrogant bastard back then, and I’m sure that hasn’t changed much.”

“Not really,” I agreed, recalling our prior lunch arrangement.

“And I’ll never be okay with the fact that you work with your ex-boyfriend, but since you love the job so much, I can’t possibly fight with you anymore,” Chan said. “I should trust you as my wife.”

“I’m not remotely interested in Changbin,” I said. “It just sucks that he’s got good connections.”

“But if he tries anything on you...”

“Don’t worry,” I reassured him. “I would never do anything to hurt you, even if his thighs look super good these days.”

“Y/N.”

“I know, Channie,” I giggled, reaching for his hand. “Trust me, alright? I don’t plan to work there forever. Fingers crossed for a promotion to the publisher.”

“I’ll pray every night if I have to,” Chan said. “As for Felix...”

“Don’t worry about him,” I said. “I know that I should try harder to get along with Felix.”

“It’s a two-way street,” Chan countered. “I’ve spoken to him about everything.”

“You have?” I wavered. “What did he say?”

“Well, he feels really bad about the accident,” Chan said. “I think he realizes how much better things would be if you guys were on friendlier terms.”

“He really looks up to you,” I said, recalling Minho’s words from before. “I hope he doesn’t feel like I’m trying to steal you away.”

“Felix and I have always been close,” Chan said. “We both had a hard time moving here from Australia. But at the end of the day, we could rely on each other..”

“High school wasn’t very good to either of you,” I said.

“Well, except for you of course,” Chan said, attempting a smile. 

“They were mean to you, Channie,” I said, “and you didn’t deserve any of it.”

“I’ve gotten over that,” Chan insisted. “But Felix always took everything harder than me. He wasn’t very social until college.”

“He should have stuck to being an introvert,” I said. “Look at the kind of friends he ended up with.”

“Are you saying Hyunjin is a bad influence?”

“Have you been around for our interactions?

“I’ve definitely noticed, Y/N. Remember what happened that one time when we went camping-”

“Anyways,” I loudly interrupted. “It seems like we both have a lot of things to work on.”

“But that’s why we talk about it,” Chan said, pressing a soothing kiss to the wrinkled crease of my forehead. “That’s what married couples do, right?”

“Ah, Channie, when did you become a walking cliche?”

“Should I be more serious, then?”

“You’re getting there with the doctor’s jacket.”

“Really?” Chan asked, sitting back in his chair. “Is this your way of asking us to try some kind of kinky roleplay?”

“I don’t know, but it might be interesting. Can I call you Dr. Bang?”

Chan was positively beaming. “You can always call me Daddy instead.”

“Darling, I think they accidentally gave you my prescription of morphine.”

If anyone were to ever ask me, then I’d tell them that signing hospital discharge papers was about as difficult as applying for a loan. “How many more are there?” I wondered, scribbling a messy signature at the bottom of the last sheet Jisung had brought for me to sign.

“I think that’s it.”

“You think?” I snorted, watching Jisung sort through each page carefully like he really had no idea what he was holding.

“Each year they add more shit for the patients,” Jisung explained. “I’m pretty sure they do it just to confuse me.”

“Everything confuses you, Jisung,” I said, patting his arm sympathetically. “Has Chan come in yet?”

“He’s on his way with Felix.”

“Goodie,” I grumbled. “Are you working late today?”

“Someone has to help since Chan insists on taking the day off,” Jisung said.

“I hope they aren’t planning on letting you do the surgeries.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

I kept my mouth shut, deciding to let Jisung live in his deluded fantasy world where he could somehow manage to cure patients of their ailments as opposed to causing them. Unsurprisingly, since the moment I had first met him, Jisung had always been completely sure of himself even if he was whole-heartedly wrong. For example, when we were all seniors in college, Chan refused to speak to Jisung for an entire week after the two of them received an F on their group project. Apparently, Jisung forgot to submit the lab report on time and waited an additional week before approaching the professor to politely ask if he could still bring it to her after class.

“Channie,” I tried to console him. “You know Jisung didn’t do it on purpose.”

“Yeah, but my GPA will still suffer the consequences,” Chan had sulked, whining about how difficult it was to maintain a friendship with Han Jisung.

Yet, when Chan was first hired by the hospital, Chan sent in a very persuasive reference for Jisung, encouraging the higher-ups to offer him a nursing position. The three of us went out to celebrate Jisung’s new job offer, nursing shots of bad vodka while eating rather terrible sushi. “Chan,” a very tipsy Jisung had said. “I love you so much, man.”

“Oi, keep your hands to yourself,” Chan had grouched despite wearing the biggest grin on his face...

“Y/N,” Jisung interrupted my recollection. “I think Chan just got here.”

“Finally,” I sighed. “I thought I would never be able to get the smell of alcohol out of my nose.”

“Thank God you’re here,” I said the moment Chan and Felix walked into my hospital room. “I’m pretty sure I had to sign my life away to leave this place, but it’s totally worth it.”

Chan rolled his eyes playfully. “I see you’re feeling better this morning.”

“I’ve been better for days,” I said. “But my doctor wouldn’t allow me to so much as breathe the wrong way.”

“Is that so?” Chan asked, reaching down for my discarded bag. “Your doctor sounds like a real asshole.”

“Yeah, but he’s pretty hot. I’d totally fuck him if I wasn’t already married.”

“It sounds like you have a thing for doctors?” Chan asked. “Does this husband of yours know that?”

“He probably does,” I said. “But I feel like he’ll probably leave me to masturbate on my own for months because of this dumb cast.”

“Y/N,” Chan scoffed. “It’s important for you to heal properly.”

I groaned loudly. “Why are you so responsible?”

Chan carefully handed me my bag. “Make sure you have everything. I’m going to talk to your surgeon one more time before we leave.”

It was difficult to prevent myself from protesting, finally realizing just how quiet it was with just me and Felix in the room. “Hi, Felix,” I said, awkwardly adjusting my blankets once Chan had disappeared from sight.

“Y/N,” Felix said, gaze focused on some unidentifiable point on the floor.

“What have you been up to?” I asked, trying to sound cheery because I didn’t like the look of despondence on Felix’s normally bright visage.

“I owe you an apology, Y/N,” Felix said with a vulnerable tone I had never heard from him before. “It’s because of me that you got hurt.”

“Felix,” I hesitated because this was uncharted territory for the both of us, a distant cry from our usual taunting banter. “You don’t need to do that. Everything’s fine now.”

“Your leg,” Felix whispered as an unexpected tear slid down the side of his face.

“It’s just a fracture,” I shrugged. “I’ll be just fine in a few months.”

“Just a fracture,” Felix parroted back, voice thick with emotion. “Why aren’t you mad at me? Because you should be. I’m always getting in your way.”

“Is that what you think?” I asked, surprised to hear Felix’s true feelings. “Felix, you aren’t in anybody’s way. You know I don’t really care that you’re staying with us, especially after you just graduated. I just wish you’d be a little bit more respectful.”

“Because I’ve always been jealous of you, Y/N,” Felix said. “Especially since Chan likes you more than me.”

“Felix, you know that Chan loves you. He would do anything in the world to make you happy.”

“He’s always chosen you over me,” Felix said. “He stopped hanging out with me on weekends in high school, and he even went to the same college as you even though he was accepted into Harvard and Yale.”  

I was shocked by Felix’s true feelings, a rare moment of vulnerability that he was choosing to share with me. “Lixie,” I said. “Why have you never said anything before?”

Felix shivered at my use of his nickname. “I didn’t want to. You guys are so happy together and I didn’t want to hurt Chan.”

“Ya! Felix,” I frowned, “your feelings matter too. And if you really feel that way, then we need to talk about it together.”

“I’m just a burden,” Felix gruffed.

“No, you aren’t,” I insisted. “You’re part of our family, and if you’re ever feeling uncomfortable, then you deserve to be heard.”

“You don’t really mean that do you, Y/N?” Felix asked with glistening eyes. “I don’t want you to say these things just to make me feel better.”

“Felix, when have you ever seen me lying to someone just to protect their feelings?” I asked. “I always speak my mind, and this time I’m putting my foot down. When we get home, we’re having a movie marathon, just the three of us. And this weekend, you and Chan can go somewhere together out of town. I’ll have Minho stay with me instead.”

“Really?” Felix asked, swiping a sleeve under his bright red nose. 

“We’re in-laws you know,” I said. “That means we look out for one another.”

“Y/N,” Felix giggled and, for once, I didn’t feel the slightest bit annoyed. 

“Lee Felix, don’t you ever let me catch you crying like this again, understand?”

Felix nodded, smiling so brilliantly that I was reminded of when we were much younger and he was just an innocent little boy who idolized his older brother.

“Careful,” Chan said, holding the door wide with one hand while keeping a firm grip around my waist. 

“I’m not gonna break,” I grumbled, pausing in the doorway as I let out a grateful sigh. It was a huge relief to be back at home and not stuck in that hospital room surrounded by questionable smells. 

Chan carefully led me into the living room and I gave him my crutches before collapsing on the futon, ignoring the rigid fabric because I had never been happier to hug one of the matching throw pillows. “Comfortable?” Chan asked, helping me prop my leg up on the coffee table. Meanwhile, Felix lingered in the doorway, grasping my bag tightly between his hands.

“Come join us, Felix,” I said. “You’ll let out all the heat.”

Felix nodded, eyes wide as he locked the door behind him. Chan sent me a curious look as if he wasn’t sure what I was hoping to accomplish by inviting his younger brother into the same room. “I have something for you.”

I clapped my hands together eagerly. “Is it something loaded with carbohydrates and fat?”

“Not quite,” he said, handing me my cell phone. “Seo Enterprises called earlier today. I already contacted them about the accident, but I guess they need to hear from you.”

“Great,” I grimaced, dialing the number from memory. It rang for a few moments, and Chan and Felix were both messing around with the TV, probably trying to figure out what to watch. Because the only thing the two brothers argued about was whether action movies were better than romance.

“Seo Enterprises, this is Eliza speaking how can I help you today?”

“Hi,” I immediately cringed, wondering how many cool points I could possibly lose in one day. “This is Y/N, can I speak to Mr. Seo please?”

“I can transfer you right away,” Eliza spoke promptly as if she had already been prepared to receive my call.

“Y/N!” Changbin’s voice now answered. “I’m glad to hear from you.”

“Yeah, I’ve been having a lot of bad luck recently,” I said. “I guess you know about the accident.”

“I heard,” Changbin said. “How are you?”

“I’m alright,” I said. “But I might need some time away from the company. Apparently, a broken leg is a pretty big deal.”

“Take as much time as you need, Y/N,” Changbin said. “I’ve hired a temporary secretary until you’re ready to come back.”

“I don’t know, Changbin,” I said. “It might take several weeks. Maybe you should just hire a replacement.”

“There’s no need for that, Y/N,” Changbin countered. “I still believe you’re the best person for the job.”

“Well, if you’re sure...” I trailed off, shaking my head furiously at Chan when he held up our used copy of The Notebook.

“I’m definitely sure,” Changbin said. “Call me when you want to come back. We still have a lot of things I want to do together in the future.”

“You’re too indecisive,” Chan said, finally taking a well-deserved seat next to me on the futon. 

“And you have terrible taste in cinema,” Felix retorted.

“Yeah? Well maybe we should just let Y/N pick,” Chan suggested, mouthing a sweet kiss against my temple.

“I think Felix should decide,” I said, cuddling up closer to Chan’s side. 

“Really?” Felix asked, appearing entirely surprised that I would allow him such freedom.

“Why not?” I sighed happily. “I’ll even watch that weird anime movie if you want.”

Felix scoffed but a faint smile remained as he grabbed the remote. Chan chuckled and leaned down to press another kiss to the top of my forehead. “I’m proud of you, sweetie,” he whispered.

“It’s only because I love you so much,” I said while shrugging indifferently, but Chan could always read through me.

“Hmm, well I love you more,” he said, brushing his fingers through my hair as the opening credits rolled across the screen.

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #bang chan #chan #chan fanfic #bang chan fanfic #chris bang #chan smut #bang chan smut

[flowerfan2]

A story about a reunion, and everything that happens afterwards.

Chapter 16/20 - Read on A03 here.

Patrick reads the email over again, just to make sure, then he runs out into the living room to tell David.

“I did it.”

David looks up from his spot on the couch, his black-framed glasses perched on his nose.  They’ve had a very sleepy Sunday morning, followed by a big breakfast of bacon and omelets, and David still hasn’t gotten around to putting in his contacts.  Patrick loves him like this.

“What did you do?”  David rises up from the couch, all grace and designer loungewear, and comes over to Patrick.

“I got a job.”  Patrick isn’t sure if what he is feeling is relief, excitement, or equal parts of both, but it feels amazing.

David smiles at him and pecks him on the cheek.  “Of course you did.”  He sits down on the couch and pats the cushion next to him.  “Sit down and tell me about it.”

“It’s just a consulting position, bookkeeping mostly, but for a company that works with start-ups and young entrepreneurs.  And it’s decent pay, more than I was expecting for this kind of thing.”

“That’s great,” David says.  “When do you start?”

“They want me right away.”  Patrick can feel his smile stretching his cheeks.  It’s the first time he’s felt anything but useless in so long, the way the people at this firm seemed to understand what he could bring to the table.  Patrick accepts another kiss from David, and then pops back up off the couch.  “I’m gonna call my parents.”

He goes into the bedroom and talks to his mom, then his dad, and then the conversation somehow gets derailed into a debate on whether buying new furniture for the lanai right now is a good idea or if they should stick with what they have for the time being.  Patrick kind of likes the idea of making David go shopping for patio furniture with him, so he’s voting for the former.  Finally they circle back to his job, his parents congratulate him again, and he gets off the phone.

He’s headed back to the living room, but pauses when he sees David in the guest room.  David has a black leather bag open on the bed and his sweaters folded in careful piles next to it.  Patrick’s stomach drops.

“David?  What – what are you doing?”  

David looks up.  He’s dressed in his favorite armor, glasses discarded in favor of contacts, a fuzzy black sweater over the black jeans with the rips in the knees.  “You said you were starting right away.  You didn’t say where, but I’m assuming Toronto-”

“Toronto?  Why would you assume Toronto?”

David’s face shutters further, and he turns back to his bag.  “I know I said I’d go anywhere with you, but I thought you might at least give me a heads up, discuss it a little bit, especially if it’s not Toronto.  I do have to deal with my apartment there at some point.”  David turns towards him, a hand on his hip.  “Do you even still want me to come with you?”

Patrick doesn’t know how this could have gone so horribly wrong, and he crosses to David, grabbing him by the shoulders.  “Stop packing.”

“You don’t want me to come with you?”  David’s voice is rising, and Patrick shakes his head.

“I’m not going anywhere.  We’re not going anywhere, not until we both decide we want to.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“David, we’re not going anywhere.  I don’t have to <i>go</i> anywhere.  It’s a remote job.”

David stares at Patrick, and Patrick watches as he mentally replays the conversation they’ve had so far.  “You aren’t leaving?”

“No.”  Patrick sits down on the bed, David frowning at him as he knocks over a pile of sweaters, but sits down next to him anyway.  “It’s remote, part-time.  A consulting gig.  Varied schedule, but they think it’ll be about 20-25 hours a week, depending in part on how much their clients like me, and how well I can add value.  I may need to go to the Toronto office a few times a year, for meetings or something.  But I’m doing the job from home – from here, or wherever.”

David turns away, picking up his off-white hoodie and pretending to refold it, even though Patrick can tell he just needs something to do with his hands.  “You should have told me that,” David says, embarrassed.

“I know.  I’m sorry, I just got so excited.”  Patrick leans into David, rubbing a hand on his back.  “I’m sorry,” he says again, letting it sink in, letting David get his balance.  “I wouldn’t make any plans for us without talking it over with you.  I promise I wouldn’t.  My plans wouldn’t be any good without you.”

David’s eyes flicker to his and away, his hands still wrapped in the halfway folded sweater.  

“It’s true, David.”  Patrick puts his free hand on top of David’s, calming their restless movement.  “I don’t want any plans without you in them.  I haven’t even accepted the offer yet.”

“You haven’t?”  David turns back, searching his face.

“Nope.  I told them I had to talk it over with my boyfriend.”  Patrick’s taking a risk, throwing that word out there.  But David had done it first last time, and he doesn’t think there’s really any question that it applies.  He’s sort of glad that he hasn’t used it yet; there’s more of an impact now, when David clearly needs it.

David’s eyes go wide.  “You did?”

“I did.  So – what do you think?”

David shifts, and his demeanor softens, his walls coming back down.  “I think your <i>boyfriend</i> needs to know more.”  There’s a smile hidden in his cheek, an agreement.  Patrick wants to cheer.  David holds his gaze, and his smile escapes, mirroring Patrick’s own.  “And then you probably need to ask for more money.  There’s nothing wrong with asking for what you deserve.”

“You don’t even know what they offered me.”

“Whatever they offered, you’re worth more.”

******

Patrick gets up earlier than normal a few days later and shaves carefully, examining his face closely in the mirror.  He doesn’t look like someone who hasn’t worked in months.  He just looks like himself.  And when he presents himself to David for approval, David’s smile courses through his lips and into his cheeks, his hands dancing to Patrick’s shoulders, smoothing down the thin fabric of his favorite purple dress shirt.  He’s ready.

They set up an office of sorts for Patrick in the guest bedroom, shifting the bed to one side, moving a dresser out of the room and into the hallway, and arranging a table by the window.  Patrick decides that one of the dining table chairs will work for the time being, and David fusses with the curtains, concerned that the glare will make it hard to see his laptop screen.

Finally Patrick ushers David out of the guest room and logs in to a Zoom meeting for orientation.  It’s boring as hell, but he doesn’t complain.

It’s not as if he thought he was unemployable, it’s just that after his last job imploded so strangely, he wasn’t sure what it would be like to be an employee again.  And didn’t know if anyone would give him a chance to find out.  Turns out, Alexis was not only good at papering over his employment blips, she was awesome at pep talks and interview practice.  He makes a note to himself to call her soon and thank her.

That night they make sandwiches and eat them on the lanai.  It’s a little cool for it, but it still feels nice to be outside.  Patrick had his parents send him down some more clothes, but David scoffed at the idea of wearing a jacket.  Instead he’s got a throw blanket draped around his shoulders, a giant turquoise fleece wrap that clashes terribly with his otherwise neutral palette.

They get a series of texts from Stevie, photos of the house she’s buying in Schitt’s Creek.  It’s a three-bedroom ranch on a decent sized lot.  The interior looks like it hasn’t been updated in decades, with a pink bathroom and horrendous wallpaper in the bedrooms, but Stevie’s had plenty of experience updating décor at this point.

David teases her for a few minutes, riffing on how unbelievable it is that she’s adult enough to be a homeowner, but his heart doesn’t seem in it.  Patrick doesn’t tell him how Stevie has been saving for years, every bonus and raise going into an account for a down-payment.  

After their chat with Stevie, David seems out of sorts, and Patrick isn’t sure what to do about it.  After they’ve cleaned up from dinner, he suggests they play a game.

David gives him a frowny look, and Patrick immediately knows what he’s thinking.  Neither of them are in the mood for sex.  “Not that kind of game.  A card game, or a board game.”

David perks up at this, then deflates.  “We don’t have the right number of people for a board game.”

“I bet we can find something the two of us can play.  My parents have a pile of games in the hall closet.”

They pull down the basket of games from the shelf above the laundry machine, and David peers inside.  “Did they get these from a yard sale or something?”

There’s a worn box that contains a checkerboard, with both checkers and chess inside, a Connect Four game, a few decks of cards, and Uno.

“I think my aunt sent them down.”  Patrick takes out the Uno deck.  “How about this?”

David takes the whole basket into the living room and sets it on the coffee table.  He takes out the Connect Four game and pulls out the plastic frame, dropping a round tile into it.  “I had this game,” he says thoughtfully.

“I think everyone had that game.”

David dumps out the rest of the pieces, and a greeting card falls out.  It’s got a drawing of a bouquet of flowers on the front, with “Get Well Soon” in big letters.  “What’s this?”  David opens it and reads out loud.  “Marcy – hope this brings a little bit of fun to your day.  You’re in our prayers.  Love Susie and Pete.”

Patrick takes the card and reads it, his mind flashing back to last spring, flying down to see his parents.  His dad breaking down in tears on the car ride from the airport.  His mother telling him not to worry.

“Patrick?  Patrick, honey, what’s going on?”

David has his arm around him, and he’s pressed close to him on the couch.  Patrick brushes away the wetness on his cheeks, and David pulls him into a hug.  “Patrick, tell me what’s wrong.”

“It’s nothing.”

David glares at him.

“I mean, it turned out to be nothing.”  Patrick shakes himself and clears his throat.  “My mom had a cancer scare last spring.  They found a tumor in her breast.  But it was benign.”

“<i>This</i> doesn’t sound like it was benign.”  David waves the card at him.  “People don’t say <i>you’re in our prayers</I> when it’s benign.”

“She had a bad reaction to one of the drugs, during the surgery, and took a little while to recover.  She was laid up for a while, and pretty miserable.  But it wasn’t cancer.”

David’s eyes are wet, and he looks like he’s going to cry, too.  “She’s okay now?”

“She’s okay.”  Patrick leans against David, snuggling into his arms, and they both breathe together for a long moment.  “Oh god, I think that’s why I freaked out in the doctor’s office.”

David shifts to look at him.  “What do you mean?”

“As soon as I heard, I flew down here.  I went with my mom and dad to the doctor’s visits before her surgery.  I couldn’t stay long afterwards, I had to get back to work, but…” Patrick’s throat gets tight, remembering.  “It was awful.  We were all so frightened.”

David presses Patrick’s head against his own, his large hand against Patrick’s scalp warm and comforting.  Patrick can feel David’s chest rising and falling.  David’s taking deep breaths, he can tell, trying to stay calm.

“You said this happened last spring?” David says quietly.

“Yeah.”

“When things started to go wrong for you at work.”

Patrick tenses.  “My mom was in the hospital.  I think it’s understandable that I was having trouble focusing.”

“No, honey, of course.  That’s not what I meant.  Of course it is.  It’s just – you didn’t mention that before.  That being worried about your mom is what started to get you down.”

Patrick feels like he’s a cartoon character with a light bulb flashing over his head.  Could it be that simple?  Was worrying about his mom’s health, on top of his general dissatisfaction with where he had ended up in life, what pushed him over the edge into depression?  

David tightens his arm around Patrick’s shoulder.  “I’m so sorry, Patrick.  That that happened to your family.  It must have been a very scary thing to deal with.”

“It really was.”

“I’m so glad she’s okay.”

Patrick turns and buries his face in David’s neck.  “Me too.”

That night, after David falls asleep, Patrick turns to the internet.  He hadn’t wanted to do this before.  He’s not sure why, although he thinks it has a lot to do with denial.  But he can’t stop thinking about his mom, and how hard it had hit him when she was sick.  Gritting his teeth, he starts googling causes of depression.  Upsetting or stressful life events.  Death or illness in the family.  Job-related worries.  Huh.  Maybe he had good reason to feel like things were falling apart.  Maybe that’s why he lost the ability to care about his job.  Maybe he’s not doomed to fail at his new one, too.

Patrick scrolls to the email from the therapist he’s been talking to.  So far, it’s just been a few emails and a brief phone call, an introduction, to see if she seemed like a good fit.  She’s based out of Toronto, but has many patients that she counsels remotely, on Facetime or Zoom, and comes highly recommended.  With shaking hands, he types out a message, suggesting that they schedule a session soon.  “I think it started last spring…”

#David x Patrick #David Rose #Patrick Brewer #Schitt's Creek #Schitt's Creek fic

[maribatlife]

Unexpected Joys of Motherhood Pt. 2

Jagged is Jagged, Bruce and Dick find out about the shop, and Damian is disappointed

AO3

Pt. 1

As they landed in New York, Marinette felt the pull slip to the South-west, straight towards their final destination of Gotham. By the time they landed in Gotham it was Midnight, she had a cranky toddler, and had to deal with customs. Luckily, over the past year Marinette had learned how to get through Customs quickly, and, with just the slightest bit of help from Tikki, they got through Customs in record time. 

Next to the baggage claim, stood the familiar figure of Penny Rolling. Penny had already, efficiently gathered their bags and had a car waiting for them. Damian was asleep by the time they were in the car. 

“Jagged wanted to come pick you guys up, but I figured you would rather skip the media attention.” Penny spoke in low tones to avoid waking up Damian.

“Thanks, Penny. Do you know anything about the direction Jagged wants to go with?”

“That’s why he’s insisting on working with you. All he says is that it needs to be…”

“Rocking,” they finished together.

“So probably location inspired looks. Do you have the tour schedule?”

“I’ll have it for you first thing tomorrow.” The car pulled up to the Gotham Omni. “You’re already checked in, room 815. I’ll be able to hold Jagged off until 11, so he’ll probably want the consult around then. There’s a fabric shop down the street, that has excellent reviews.”

“Thanks again, Penny.” Marinette got out of the car, hefting the still sleeping Damian onto her hip, as Penny instructed someone to bring their bags up to their room.

Marinette barely got them both changed into pajamas before collapsing on the bed.

Damian woke her up at 10:15 that morning. “Maman, where are we?”

“Oh, ma puce, we’re in Gotham. Oncle Jagged and Tante Penny will be here soon. So, we should get ready, right mon lapin?”

“Oui, Maman.” Damian rushed over to the open luggage to start preparing for the day. “What are we doing today?”

“It’s a day with Oncle Jagged, so it’s going to be a surprise.” Under her breathe she added “Even to me.”

At 10:55 the room phone started to ring. When Marinette answered it, she was greeted by Penny’s voice saying “He’s on his way up.”

Before she could respond, Penny hung up and there was a knock at the door. Peering the peephole gave her an amazing view of Fang’s tail thumping against the door. Opening it with a smile she was immediately tackled by the overeager reptile before Damian dragged Fang into a weird game that only the two of them understood. She got up, only to be immediately swept into a hug by Jagged.

“How’s my favorite niece?”

“I’m doing go-ack” Jagged released her suddenly as Fang’s tail whipped across his shin. She shot a glance over at Fang and Damian, who suddenly wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I’m doing good. Do you want to jump straight to the consult?”

“Nope, we gotta wait for Pen. I’ve gotta surprise for ya.”

“Jagged, what did you do…” She trailed off as Penny entered the room.

“Don’t worry Marinette, I approved it.”

“Somehow that’s not helping me feel any more comfortable with this.”

“Come on,” Jagged grabbed her wrist as she grabbed her purse and dragged her out of the room. Penny following behind them with Damian, still riding Fang.

They finally stopped in front of a fabric store up the street. “Surprise!” Jagged exclaimed, a grin beaming from ear to ear.

“A fabric store?”

He followed her puzzled stare, “No, that!” he adjusted her positioning so that she was looking at the empty storefront next to the fabric shop.

“Jagged, no.”

He pulled a key out of his pocket. “Jagged yes!”

“Penny, I thought you said you approved.”

“I did, I talked him down from the entire block to just the building.”

“Penny-“

“Marinette, you always wanted to open a boutique. Now you can, plus the third floor has an apartment for you and Damian.”

“But-,” She thought about how right Gotham felt and sighed. “Thanks Jagged.” She grabbed the key. “Time to explore?”

Walking in just cemented how perfect the building was. The ground floor was a large, open space with a small kitchenette, perfect to greet potential clients and hold any ready-wear designs she had available. The next floor was one room. She danced across the room, as she pictured shelving units for bolts of fabric. Even with everything to do custom designs, there was still space for Damian to have a space of his own while she worked. “What was this before?” She wondered.

“No clue, but I knew it was perfect for ya. So watcha gonna call it?”

“Hmmm,” she pondered. “how about Coccinelle et Chat Couture. What do you think mon lapin? Should we bring a little of Paris’ light to Gotham?”

“I like it Maman.”

Jagged insisted on furnishing the store, he said it was for missed birthday and Christmas presents. Marinette, of course, pointed out that he had already bought an entire building for her, be he ignored that in typical Jagged fashion. Penny had later pulled her aside and told her it was written into her contract with them as a signing bonus.

As Marinette was trudging away at opening her boutique, low level hench-people were whispering and capturing Batman’s attention. He found out shortly after Robin was kidnapped by Riddler’s goons. Actually, Robin found out because the two goons on guard duty were gossiping, and then told the Big Bat.

“Ya know,” Goon 1 started. “I heard from Chris who heard from Nan that Jessiee is applying ‘round places.”

“Jesse, from Two-Face’s Gang?” Goon 2 replied.

“Naw, the girl one, runs with Scarecrow.”

“Now who’s gonna hire a Scare-girl? Ya gotta think, dummy.”

“There’s this new place Uptown, gotta weird foreign name. Benny told me that the chick who owns it has this weird interview thing.”

“It’s Gotham, it’s always weird here.”

“Naw not Gotham-weird, weird-weird. Like this guy, Benny knows he’s on the up, 100% legit, comes in and 5 minutes later he’s running out like Batman’s on his tail. Says the chick wanted him to pet a crocodile and then her kid came downstairs and he threatens this guy with a sword and like 2 secs later Ivy walks in with a plant and leaves with a dress.”

Before they could discuss anymore, Batman crashed through the ceiling and that was the end of that. A week later, Batman still wasn’t letting him go anywhere alone. The Dynamic Dou was staking out one of Penguin’s warehouses, when Robin overheard more. While he was perched on an overhang over a door, a few goons came out. There were the usual complaints: the weather, the night, the boss, Batman, the usual, and then, he heard it.

“You, did ya hear that Jess is outta the biz.”

“No way.”

“Yeah she found herself some job at a fancy-shmancy clothing store Uptown.”

“Who Uptown would hire someone with her record?

“The Priss who owns it apparently “liked her aura” or some shit like that.

Robin scurried back to Batman with the information. “B, you’ll never guess what.”

“Robin-“ he warned.

“Fine, I’ll tell you. That girl from Scarecrow’s gang got a job Uptown in a new store. AND Ivy was seen there too, we should investigate.”

Batman just stared.

“I’ll do it myself.”

“Maybe, if things slow down, we can investigate it next week.”

“Fine,” he huffed but recovered quickly. “Last one to the Batmobile is a rotten egg.” And he leapt off the building. If while swinging to the Batmobile he took a slight detour past the new shop, Batman would never know.

Marinette was headed for bed, when she just happened to look out the window as a flash of yellow shot past her bedroom window. No, it wasn’t possible. Chat Noir and she were the last child heroes. There was no way. With that thought plaguing her mind she tossed and turned until she eventually fell into a fitful sleep.

After he returned from dropping Master Dick off at school, he returned to the manor to find Master Bruce had disappeared into his super-secret sulking room, instead of reviewing the papers for the Wayne Enterprises Board Meeting he had tomorrow. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Alfred descended into the Bat Cave. “Master Bruce, what do you think you are doing?”

“Investigating,” he answered not taking his eyes off the computer.

“Indeed, then you have already read every paper Mr. Fox gave you to go over for the board meeting tomorrow?”

“Alfred this is-“

“Obviously more important than continuing the family legacy that funds this habit.”

“Alfred, Ivy bought a dress from this woman.”

“Ah yes, the shopping habits of an environmental extremist are infinitely more important than the future of Wayne Enterprises.”

Bruce sighed as he moved away from the computer. “Where are the papers?”

“On the desk, in your study. Do you need a reminder of how to reach there? It has been a while since you were in there.” Bruce moved past him, ignoring his last comment.

Across town, Marinette was sitting at her sewing machine, the store closed for the day to work on commissions. Jessie was amazing but she wasn’t quite ready to run the store without Marinette being available to help. As she sewed up one of Jagged’s jackets her mind wandered back to the small form that darted past her window last night. She would have heard of any child heroes left. Someone in Gotham would have mentioned it, wouldn’t they have? But what if? No, she shook her head, trying to banish the thought from her mind.

Damian watched her from across the room. Something was bothering his Maman, what could it be?

Reaching a point, to pause she decided to stop for the day. “Ma puce,” she called. “How would you like to bake today? I think Tikki might like some Macarons.”

“You’re done for the day?”

“For now, I might do some embroidery later tonight. Shall we?” She held her hand out to him.

“Okay Maman.”

While Damian patiently watched the Macarons cook through the front of the oven, Marinette started her computer. She had to know for sure. Lost to time she trawled through webpages, searching helplessly for information that went against what she found, until she had to accept it. Batman’s “partner”, Robin, was about the same age she was when she was given the Miraculous. And then she saw red, and it had nothing to do with Tikki blocking her screen. How DARE he? She was startled out of her rage, when a small hand grabbed her arm.

“Maman, the macarons are ready.” Damian said proudly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, bebe,” She replied as she took them out of the oven to cool.

“But you’re upset.”

She hastily searched for an acceptable answer. “I just learned that Heroes Day, doesn’t exist here. No one celebrates Batman and Robin or any other heroes here.”

“What if we leave cookies out for them Maman? Like you used to for Chat Noir?”

“That’s a good idea, mon lapin.” She replied as she filled the piping bag to put more Macarons in the oven. “Do you want to get a box together for them?”

“Okay Maman!” Something was wrong with his Maman and he was going to figure it out.

As dusk cloaked the city, Damian and Marinette carefully placed the box of cookies on their balcony. Later, after Marinette had fallen asleep, this was confirmed by Plagg, Damian slipped back out to the balcony with Xuppu and Trixx and carefully whispered his plan before climbing into a plant pot. Trixx’s Mirage covered the pot and hid him from anyone’s sight, while Xuppu waited for his cue in between the floorboards. And so, Damian waited and waited. What could have upset Maman so much? He had heard the slight tone of anger in her voice when she mentioned Batman. What had his father done? Hours past until he heard the tell tale thump of heavy combat boots, followed by a lighter thump indicating that both Batman and Robin had arrived.

“Robin, report.”

“All quiet here B. Only thing out of the ordinary is that box on the table. From the looks of it, someone left out cookies. Want me to check it out?”

Batman must have nodded because Damian heard Robin move towards the table. Perfect, the trap was set and ready to be sprung. As he poked his head out of the bush, he saw exactly what had angered Maman. Infuriated he leapt out. “How dare you?” He hissed. That was Xuppu’s cue. With a whisper of “Showtime” as he floated through the floor, a thin layer of oil spread beneath Batman and Robin’s feet. They turned suddenly and slipped due to the oil. “How dare you Father?” As he raged, he slipped into a mixture of French and the language of the guardians. “How dare you betray, Maman’s trust like that.”

“Who are you?” Robin asked, half in awe of the tiny toddler who was probably cursing Batman out in a different language.

“I am Damian al Ghul-Dupain-Cheng, and you Father,” he sneered as he stalked past the two heroes, still on the floor limbs akimbo, “Are a disappointment.” With that final proclamation he entered the home and locked the door.

Robin looked towards Batman, "So should I grab the cookies before we head to the cave or..."

#brucinette #The Unexpected Joys of Motherhood #maribat #My writing

[downwiththeficness]

A Need So Great-Chapter 10

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count:

Warnings: Alcohol, smut, unprotected sex

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Taglist: @dirtynerdy98 @1zashreena1 @heresathreebee @deliciouslyclassytrash @maybege @kid-from-new-zealand @clydesducktape @revolution-starter

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8.5, 9, 10.5, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

The bathing suit still fit. Eva was glad of it, she hadn’t had time to go out and shop for a new one.  A cherry red halter top paired with high waisted bottoms, she’d purchased it a year or so previous on a whim and only worn it a handful of times.  Being a consultant for the DEA didn’t lend itself to lounging by the water. She threw on a soft cotton cover up, stepped into her sandals, and grabbed the fifth of vodka sitting on her counter before walking over to Steve and Connie’s apartment.

The sun was shining brightly that day, as it did most days. And, like most days, the humidity was high. Eva could feel the heat rising from the asphalt as she crossed the parking lot and made her way down the street. When she got to their door, she shifted the vodka to the crook of her arm and knocked.

The door opened and Steve welcomed her in with a wave of his hand.  He was wearing swim trunks and an unbuttoned short sleeve shirt, his hair wet and slicked back. She shuffled inside, putting the vodka in the freezer and heading out through the back door to a rectangular courtyard. The pool was encircled by a black metal fence about waist high. She spotted Connie standing next to Javier at the grill, setting down a plate of uncooked meat. She caught sight of Eva and smiled wide beneath her shades.

“C’mon,” she yelled, waving her hand wildly, “We have the pool for about four hours—til the sun goes down.”

Eva returned the wave, passing through the gate and over to where a few lounge chairs were situated, towels hanging over the back. Umbrellas provided each lounge with some shade from the sun.

“Okay,” Eva said, motioning to the courtyard, “Someone in housing definitely hates me. My shower barely works and you’ve got a fucking pool.”

Connie rolled her eyes, “Yeah, with a schedule so tight and political it could run for president. It took two months of sending brownies to the landlord just to get a half day booked.”

Eva squinted at her, “You have to book time?”

Nodding, Connie gestured for Eva to sit on the lounge chair opposite her, “I know, right? There are families here who have standing appointments months out.”

Steve, having followed Eva outside, called out, “What Connie isn’t telling you is that I slipped a stack of money into one of the brownie pans last week. Only way we got the permission.”

“Can’t you just...jump in?”

Connie’s eyes went wide, “Oh, Jesus. Saw someone try to do that the first week here. The guards fucking swarmed them, hauled ‘em out. Haven’t seen them since.”

Sounds about right, Eva thought. Everything seemed to be a quid pro quo down here. She’d seen a couple agents pay off their informants only to turn around and expense it to the department. Money could buy literally anything here.

“Let me tell you what happened yesterday at work,” Connie sighed, turning to lay back on the lounge, “I started at the NICU four months ago and I thought I had a handle on it. But, oh no, one of the other nurses has been taking my reports and shredding them. So, now my boss thinks I just don’t turn in my work.”

“No way,” Eva blurted out, scandalized.

“Yes, way,” Connie confirmed, pushing her sunglasses up on her nose, “So, I started making copies and locking them in my desk. But, I found out one of the maintenance guys has been letting her into it and she’s been taking my copies.”

Eva rested her head on her palm, mouth curling, “What’re you going to do about it?”

Connie smirked, “A little Ipicac in her morning coffee.”

Brows hitting her hairline, Eva’s mouth dropped. Connie was a forceful woman, could be outright domineering when she wanted something, but this was shocking behavior for her.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that. Its harmless. Just a little vomiting during the staff meeting.”

“Does she know you did it?” Eva’s voice came out as a whisper, as if she was trying to keep the story secret.

“Nope,” Connie shook her head, blonde hair falling over one shoulder, “I was pretty slick about it.”

“I’m sure,” Eva confirmed. “One question: How is the behavior going to stop if she doesn’t know it was you who did it?”

Connie shrugged, “Every time one of my copies goes missing, I’ll do it again. She’ll get the picture eventually. I also had Steve get me a false bottom for my desk. I’ll have a third copy waiting, just in case.”

The smell of meat wafted over, a welcome change from the chlorine. Eva glanced at Javier and Steve, both of them staring at the grill intently. Javier was fidgeting with a metal spatula, forearm wiping at his brow.

“Is that a guy thing? Standing by the grill and watching food cook?”

Even though Eva couldn’t see Connie’s eyes behind her shades, she could tell that the other woman was rolling them, “I guess. Every man I know does it.”

“Same here,” Eva said, eyes squinting. “I mean, they’re not even talking.”

Connie laughed a little, reaching into the cooler and handing Eva a beer. She popped the top for her and grabbed one for herself, “I suppose it could be worse.”

“Could be fireworks.”

Brows raised, Connie asked, “Is there a story there?”

“Ah,” Eva edged, “When I was a kid, my parents used to have this block party on the fourth with this huge fireworks display.  One of the neighbors built a potato cannon that they primed with hairspray. One year they shot roman candles out of it.”

Jaw open, Connie took a few seconds to reply, “Did...someone get hurt?”

“Oh, no,” Eva clarified, dismissing the thought with a wave of her hand, “A window got knocked out, but no one got hurt.”

A while later, Eva was fanning herself with her hand, sweat falling down her neck. In the late afternoon, the sun beat down on them. Even with the umbrellas above, Eva could feel her body fighting to keep itself cool. Standing, she pulled off her cover up.

“I’m getting in,” she declared, “I can’t take it any more.”

Connie laughed and stood with her, “I’ll go with you. Nice suit, by the way.”

Eva thanked her, returning the sentiment. Connie was wearing a canary yellow one piece, the thighs cut high to highlight her muscular thighs. She threw off her sunglasses and pulled her hair atop her head into a tight bun. Eva wished she’d thought to bring a hair tie. She’d never really been concerned about the way her hair curled in irregular little ringlets and waves before, but knowing that Horacio would be stopping by afterwards made her a little self conscious. With a little effort, she shrugged it off and darted out to the edge of the pool, jumping in.

The water was cool, a shock to her body as it enveloped her. Eva felt the air rush out of her lungs as she  sunk beneath the surface. Her feet touched down and she kicked hard, breaching the water with a sharply indrawn breath.

Wiping the water from her eyes, she laughed at Connie, who had used the ladder to drop daintily into the pool.

“I haven’t done that since I was a kid,” she said, her cheeks hurting a bit with the force of her smile.

Connie nodded enthusiastically, “We had a pool, too. Above ground. Mom would make us wear pool floats the whole time we were in it.”

Eva shook her head, “I suppose there’s something to be said for safety. I was an only child, so my parents let me do whatever I wanted, mostly.”

“Are they still around?”

Eva swallowed, her eyes falling to the water she was swishing between her fingers, “No, they died a long time ago.”

“Oh, my God,” Connie gasped, “I’m sorry. How did it happen, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“It was an accident,” Eva explained.  

It was the same explanation that she’d given a million people before and would likely continue to give. A plane crash. No survivors. They were headed to a little resort that Josh had booked for their anniversary.  Eva could still remember what her mother’s face had looked like when Josh handed her the tickets—excited and charmed. It turned her stomach.

Connie read her expression and approached slowly, arms pushing through the water, “Was it… was it because of your husband? Because of the things he did?”

Eva had been as honest as she could about the things that had occurred in her marriage, had told Connie about the way she learned to cover bruises, about how she used the work to give her purpose even though she knew it resulted in the destruction of people’s lives, about how he hurt her less when she did a good job.

“Yeah,” she croaked. “Um, I tried to run away—had a passport and some cash hidden. I can’t prove it, but I think he killed them to make a point.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eva,” Connie breathed. “That’s horrifying.”

Eva blinked at Connie, trying to smile, “It was a long time ago. I’ve made my peace with it.”

“That’s not something you make peace with.”

She was right, Eva hadn’t made peace with it, not really. It had taken a long time for her to stop feeling guilty and to place the blame solely on Josh. It was part of the reason that she was able to kill him that night. She’d channeled all that rage into the fight, and she’d finally come out the victor.

“I got him back, though, didn’t I?” She said, chin lifting.

“Yes, you did.”

They swam for a while, until the food was done. Steve called out to them, a pair of tongs clapping together in one hand. They ate off paper plates, beers fresh from the cooler dripping condensation onto the cement below.

After wards, Eva laid back on the lounge, feeling sleepy. She kept a beer next to her, drinking from it lazily. One arm thrown over her head, she stretched her legs out long, enjoying the sun and relaxation. That’s how Horacio found her. Eyes closed, half shaded by the umbrella, suit drying out on her body. She heard him walk up and sit on the lounge next to hers.

Eva opened her eyes and smiled, “Hey.”

“Hey.”

She sat up, swinging her legs around so that she could face him, “You get everything done at work?”

He nodded, “Got some paperwork in the truck I need to finish. I parked at your place, I hope you don’t mind.”

“That’s no problem, you park there most of the time anyways.”

That was very much the truth. They hadn’t spent many nights away from one another, almost all of them at her place. Horacio told her that he liked her apartment better than his house because it was cozier. Eva could see why. She’d finally gotten to see his house, and it was sparsely decorated, indicative of a man who lived at work and only slept when he had to.

“Did you eat?” she asked.

Another nod, “Since its a Saturday, we order take out for the guys.”

Eva started to reach out to touch him, but the first two fingers of his right hand lifted quickly, stopping the motion.

“There are a lot of eyes here.”

Right. Although he hadn’t explained in detail, Javier had let it slip during a meeting that Carillo had a literal bounty on his head. In his fight against the rise of drugs in the country, he’d ruffled a lot of feathers. And, that made anyone associated with him vulnerable. When they were in public, he kept a distance between them and, outside of rare occasions, he didn’t touch her. The longer they were together, to more strict he became about it. Eva was still adjusting.

Eva pointed to the swim trunks he was wearing, “Did you go home to change or did you wear this to the office?”

Shooting her a sardonic look he asked, “What do you think?”

“I know, I know,” she replied, “God forbid you show up anything less than immaculate.”

It was probably the only point of contention between them. He always got up early to get dressed for the day. Eva argued constantly that he could go in one day without going through his entire routine, his coworkers wouldn’t notice. He argued back that he was supposed to be setting an example and that meant ironing his undershirt. She hadn’t yet managed to convince him to sleep in with her, his internal clock kicking in like….well, clockwork.

Now, though, he was wearing teal colored swim trunks and one of his more casual polo shirts. His hair was still combed back from his face, the curls tamed by the pomade he kept next to his aftershave on her bathroom counter. He’d taken a little extra time to shave that morning.

Eva gestured towards the cooler, “Go get yourself a beer. Relax for two seconds.”

She watched him as he rose and sauntered over to the little cooler by the grill, greeting the others along the way. Connie stepped over and sat next to her, leaning a little into Eva’s space.

She handed Eva a fresh beer, saying, “So… you guys are good?”

Eva nodded, “Yep.”

Connie stared at her.

“What?”

“You like him.”

Eva snorted, “Of course I like him. We literally discussed this a few days ago.”

“No, I mean you really like him,” Connie clarified, “You do this thing where the more you want something, the less you talk about it.”

Looking at her with a flustered expression, “What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?”

Connie took a swig from the bottle in her hand, “I don’t know, maybe admit that you like him more than you let on and you’re afraid that its going to self destruct because you’re both working dangerous jobs in a dangerous country where one or both of you could be killed and the pressure is a little too high for such a new relationship.” She took a deep breath, “And that scares the shit out of you.”

Eva’s mouth thinned as she regarded her friends, “Way to put it so succinctly.”

“Thank you.” A beat, “So, are you going to admit it?”

Eva glared.

Connie rolled her eyes, “Alright, don’t admit it. We both know its true.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Eva glowered. Then, after taking just a moment to think about it, she said, “He thinks I’m going to become a target if they find out.”

She didn’t have to say who ‘they’ were. Connie knew, had married into it.

“That’s possible.”

“I don’t know how to prove that I’m not scared.  Hell, I was on the other side of this fifteen years ago. I know the risks.”

Connie rolled a shoulder, resting her arms on her knees, her gaze following her husband as he told yet another wild story, “Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”

“Some thought,” Eva agreed.

“Sounds like you’re willing to take on those risks.”

“Some risks.”

“Sound like you just admitted you like him a lot.”

“Jesus, Connie,” Eva grumbled.

Flashing a smile at Eva, Connie cajoled, “Is it that hard to admit?”

“Given my last long standing relationship ended in literal murder, I would say I’ve got grounds to be cautious.”

Lifting a finger, Connie asserted firmly, “Cautious, not cowardly.”

She had a point.  Eva kind of resented her for it.

They spent another hour or so talking among themselves, until the cooler ran out of beer.

“I bet that vodka’s good and cold,” Eva announced, heading for the gate. She didn’t bother with a towel or her cover up, already mostly dry from the sun.

Connie threw up her hands, “Yes! There’s orange juice in the fridge. And, another six pack.”

“I’ll help,” Carrillo offered, following Eva towards the door.

The sliding glass rumbled as she pulled it open, pushing through the vertical blinds to duck inside. The air conditioning hit her hard, goosebumps rising over her skin. She hissed a little bit, rubbing at her arms as she made her way across the kitchen to the fridge. Behind her, the heavy glass door slid closed.

Bare feet shuffling across the tile, Eva opened the fridge and found the six pack and orange juice, setting them on the counter beside her before pulling the vodka out of the freezer.  It was definitely cold enough, the bottle immediately frosting despite the cool air.

“You know, there’s going to come a time when I’ll be able to out drink Connie, but today is not going to be that day,” she said with a smile.

Eva stood and ran abruptly into Horacio, who reached behind her to shut the freezer door, the other hand taking the bottle from her and setting it next to the orange juice and the beer. Without further preamble, he leaned down and kissed her hard. She squeaked a little, unprepared for it, before settling into the motion.

He pulled away, hands skimming her waist and hips, “I’ve been meaning to do that since I got here.”

Eva wrapped her arms around his shoulders, “I think we’ve discussed that you’re free to kiss me whenever you want.”

“Not always,” he replied, the implication heavy in his tone.

She gave a little bob of her head in understanding, “Still, offer’s on the table.”

“Noted,” he whispered before leaning down and kissing her again. Slower. Deeper. “Have I told you how much I like kissing you?”

Eva smiled as she ruffled the little hairs on the nape of his neck, “The feeling is mutual.”

Hands spanning her waist, he gazed down the length of her body, “Have I told you how much I like this suit.” His grip tightened the tiniest bit, “So much skin.”

At this, Eva’s smile morphed into an abashed laugh, “You’ve seen me in less.”

His brows quirked, mouth curving into an almost but not quite smile, “Usually, I can touch you.”

“You’re touching me now, Big Guy.”

She watched his lips as he pulled them in between his teeth, pressing lightly before letting go. He pulled her into him until they were pressed together, standing between the counter and the island that separated the kitchen from the living room. Little kisses trailed up her neck to her jaw, and finally to her mouth. Though his arms held her tight, his mouth was soft and gentle, tongue snaking out to taste.

The easiness of the kiss, the fact that they’d been apart for almost a day, the knowledge that once they stepped back outside she couldn’t touch him again until they were safely ensconced in her apartment made Eva greedy to have what she could, when she could. Despite the fact that he wasn’t doing much more than holding her, she felt the echo of arousal bloom in her belly. Lifting up onto her toes, she deepened the kiss, tilting her hips into him.

His response was...absolutely to be expected. Thigh pushing between her legs, he walked her back to the counter until it dug into her lower back. One hand came up to grip her damp hair, angling her head back so that he could press his face into her neck. Eva tried to roll her chin down to get at him again, but he held her still.

Dark eyes looked up at her from beneath his lashes, “As soon as we get back to your apartment.”

It took her maybe half a second to process his meaning, and then she was giving a quick jerk of her head. He breathed deeply, taking in her scent, before stepping away. Shoulders tense, he picked up the orange juice and six pack and gesturing towards the sliding glass doors.

With shaking hands, Eva grabbed the vodka, thankful for the freezing bottle. She pressed it to her belly, walking ahead of Horacio. By the pool, the group had gathered on the lounge chairs.

Eva held up the bottle as she approached, “I come bearing gifts!”

“Ah, Jesus,” Javier groaned, leaning over to stage whisper to Steve, “I don’t think I’m up for this.”

Connie rolled her eyes as she took to bottle from Eva, cracking it open, “Man up, Javier. This is a party.”

He reached into the pocket of his jacket, hanging from the back of the chair, he pulled out a pack of cigarettes, “All your parties end in fights.”

“Excuse me,” Connie retorted, offended, “One party ended in a fight, thank you very much.”

Eva frowned, “Is this the bar fight, gun fight?”

Beside Connie, Steve dropped his head into his palm, shaking it. Javier took a drag and blew out the smoke. Connie glared.

“So, here’s what happened,” Javier said, making room for Carrillo to sit by him. “We’re at a work thing, schmoozing with the big wigs in the department. Usual stuff. One guy gets a little drunk and makes a pass at Connie, who proceeds to grab his hand and break it.”

“Sprain it,” Connie cut in. “I sprained it. Barely.”

Javier scoffed, “Anyways, the guy happens to be a major player for this political group who gave us money. They don’t give us money anymore.”

Connie handed Eva a cup—vodka and orange juice, “What was I supposed to do? Let the guy grab my ass in a room full of people.”

Eva thought about it, “I agree with Connie. Break his fucking hand.”

“Thank you,” Connie said, touching Eva’s arm in solidarity.

“One thing I don’t understand,” Eva said, crossing one leg over the other, “How is that a fight?”

Javier’s brows lifted as he recalled, “Oh, right. Steve got in the guy’s face.”

Eva made a sound of disbelief, “Alright, no. This wasn’t Connie’s fault, Steve’s the one who escalated things.”

“What was I supposed to do?” he echoed Connie’s sentiment.

She shrugged, “I’m not the best person to answer that question.”

Three pairs of eyes crept over to Carrillo, who was already shaking his head, “I probably would have done the same.”

Eva had to take a deep drink from her cup to cover the expression unfolding on her face. She couldn’t help the image of him pushing into someone’s space, a threat spoken lowly. His thick frame blocking any hope of escape. Eva thought she’d like to see that someday.

“That’s not the point,” Javier cut in.

“What is the point?” Connie asked.

“That your parties end in fights.”

“One party—not even my party.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Eva blurted, setting down her cup. She grabbed Connie’s hand, “Let’s go.”

Tugging the woman along, Eva hauled ass towards the pool tumbling headfirst into the water. She heard a second splash nearby, and she smiled beneath water as she kicked to the surface. Breaching, Eva pushed her hair back from her face, her eyes going wide as she caught a body flying over her, sending a wave of water over her. She ducked under, hearing a third splash.

Coming up laughing, she spotted both Javier and Steve swimming away, Connie following not far behind, shouting. She looked up, smiling at Carrillo, who was popping to top off a beer.

“You gonna join us?”

He looked dubious.

“Oh, don’t tell me you can’t swim,” Eva wheedled before ducking down and pushing off the edge of the pool to shoot out towards the center.

She popped up next to Javier, dodging Connie as she pushed him under. Tiptoeing around Steve, Eva put a little distance between them, her wide smile dropping as she looked down to the other side. Carrillo had set down his beer and was walking towards the pool, tugging off his polo. She would never, ever get used to it. Eva had spent many nights holding onto those shoulders, feeling him move between her thighs, and she was still struck dumb.  He caught her eye, and though his expression didn’t change, she could tell that he was gloating. With sure movements, he gave a little bounce and then his arms swung forward as he executed a seamless dive into the pool.

Righting herself, Eva leaned against the wall of the pool, flicking water at Connie, who swam up beside her.

“Please tell me you…”

“Yeah.”

“And its…”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Eva confirmed with a long sigh.

They relaxed in the water as the sun started it descent towards the horizon. Eva held her position against the wall, talking with Connie and trying like hell to keep her eyes and her hands off Horacio. It seemed all too easy for him to act casually—a little sarcasm here, a little small talk there. She envied that ability. Her body, already attuned to him, seemed constantly on edge. Anticipation simmering under her skin to the point that she was surprised the water around her wasn’t gently steaming.

Too soon, a couple men in uniforms approached the gate, yelling out towards them. Connie grumbled and loudly announced that their time was at an end. They were, evidently, being forced out. After gathering the cooler and towels, they headed inside.

The phone was ringing, pausing the conversation for a moment.  Steve answered it, speaking for a few minutes, then hanging it up. He looked annoyed.

“Well, looks like we’re heading into the office tomorrow.”

Connie scowled, “Its a Sunday.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve replied with a shake of his head, “We’ve got a meeting. You too, Carrillo.”

Beside her, Carrillo put his hands on his hips, “They tell you want its about?”

“Nope, just said we report in at eight.”

Eva pushed her wet hair back from her face then pulled her cover up over her body despite the fact that her suit was still pretty wet, “They say anything about me coming in?”

Steve opened the cooler and popped the top off another beer, “No. I think its just us three.”

She nodded. Highly classified meeting, then. She didn’t want to admit that she felt left out, so she shrugged and said, “Alright. I’m going to head home. Thank you for having me over, Connie.”

Connie hugged her, “Thanks for coming over and saving me from hearing more about office politics.”

They said their goodbyes and Eva headed out into the night, stars just beginning to shine above her. A little tipsy, she strolled along leisurely, not surprised when Carrillo followed.

“That was really fun,” she said when he moved up beside her, keeping pace.

He made a noncommittal sound, his gaze focused in front of them.

“When was the last time you actually spent a weekend afternoon not attached to your desk doing paperwork?”

Or, attached to her kitchen island, or the little dining room table in the nook of his house. More often than not, he brought files home with him. Eva had seen him sign his name so many times she could have probably forged it by now.

Lifting a shoulder, he replied, “Its been a long time.”

Eva scratched at the skin above her brow, a little unsure of herself, “You should do things for fun more often.”

He looked at her, “I assume you have ideas.”

“I might,” she said coyly, spinning to walk backwards in front of him, “There’s apparently some beautiful scenery, here.  We could go hiking.”

His brows lifted and she could see a ghost of a smile, “We could do that.”

“Alright, its decided, then. We’ll go hiking when you get some time off.”

Eva knew that it was a long shot that he’d have more than a day off at a time, if past history was anything to go by. Still, it was nice to make plans, ambiguous as the timing may be. She hadn’t ever made plans like this before, and the prospect made her warm inside.

Keying into her apartment, Eva left the door open for him to come in. She started to say something innocuous about being home again, but she was cut off. Horacio grabbed her by the arm, pulling her into his body and kissed her. She gave a stilted gasp, arms coming up to rest on his biceps.

Hands traveling down her body, he scrunched the fabric of her cover up in his palms, pulling it up and over her head. When he slipped the pads of his fingers down into her suit bottoms, Eva stepped back, pulling him along with her.

“I have to get this chlorine out of my hair,” she explained, pacing backwards towards the bathroom, “You want to join me?”

Fire sparked in his eyes, his steps guiding her back and into her bedroom, rounding the corner and pushing her into the bathroom. As she moved to turn on the taps, he pulled at the ties of her top, throwing the fabric to the floor. After doing the same with her bottoms, he yanked her back into his chest, one hand tracing down her stomach in a confident caress.

He cupped her mound, fingers sliding through her folds and pressing firmly.  Eva swallowed back a moan, head tipped back as he kissed along her shoulder down to her collarbone. Steam began to fill the room, heat wafting from the shower. She reluctantly pulled away, tugging off his shirt and swim trunks and stepping into the spray.

Eva half expected that he would push her against the tile and fuck her against it. His touch was impatient in a way that was new and shot heat straight into her core. She was, however, surprised to find that he reached down and grabbed her shampoo, lathering it through her strands thoroughly. He crowded her under the water, tilting her head around to rinse the suds away. She watched him grab a loofah and pour some body wash on it, her skin sizzling with anticipation.

Long, careful strokes swept the pool water from her body. She could feel the arousal that was always at a low simmer ramping up even though his touch wasn’t remotely sexual. Unable to help herself, she pressed a kiss to his sternum, resting her forehead against his chest. He sighed, his arms wrapping around her.

Wanting to return the favor, Eva reached back and took the loofah from him, running it over his broad chest, his stomach, his thighs. Though his erection bobbed up between them, she avoided it for the moment. Switching sides with him, she let the water fall over his body, her hands pushing the soap down towards the tub.

Dropping the loofah, Eva grabbed the shampoo and poured just a little into her hand, arms lifting to gently scrub it through his curls, finally free of the pomade he regularly combed through it. Using her nails, she lightly scratched at his scalp, smiling when his eyes closed in pleasure. Tilting his head back, Eva rinsed the shampoo from his hair, hands tracing down his face and neck.

Leaning down, Horacio’s lips found hers, his tongue darting out to taste. The water falling over his back sluiced down to run between her breasts and down her stomach. Eva pressed against him rolling her hips invitingly.

He broke the kiss with a moan, one hand grabbing her ass. Eva knew that, if she didn’t act quickly, he’d slot his fingers inside her and she would cease to be able to think, let alone respond. The omega in her loved that he was taking care of her, reveled in it, even. But the omega in her also wanted to make him want her just as much as she wanted him, wanted him feeling wild with it.

Lightly, so as to not give herself away, Eva traced down his chest, palm turning so that she could grasp him in her hand. He rested his forehead against her temple, mouth open, breath stuttering. She pumped him slowly, but firmly, wrist twisting at the top.

When the hand holding her hip started to dip down towards her center, Eva stopped him, holding him by the wrist. She kissed him, teeth catching at his lower lip. The wrist in her palm flexed as he tried to pull free. Eva shook her head, stroking him just a little faster. He groaned, pushing his thigh between hers, using the hand on her ass as leverage to drag her clit against him.

He breathed her name, the sound of it loud against the tiled walls. Eva felt her chest swell at the strain in his tone, power building with every choked moan, every sigh. She watched him lick his lips, her gaze dropping to his cock. He was hard, pulsing, his hips tilting towards her. It was a sight that she knew would always be with her, a feverish memory locked intimately with his scent.

As she contemplated dropping to her knees, the water began to turn cold. Eva laughed as he hissed, spinning to turn off the faucet. When he looked at her, Eva’s laughed faded, blood rushing in her ears at the intensity of his expression. He ushered her out of the tub, hands pushing her forward. Impatient, he hauled her up and over his shoulder, walking quickly to the bed.

He tossed her down, her body bouncing with the force. Eva watched him crawl over her, the muscles of his body flexing with every motion. More deep, intense kisses followed, his hands arranging her beneath him. When she reached for him, he swatted her away, lifting to his knees. Balanced over her, Horacio opened the nightstand to grab a condom.

When he paused, brows together, Eva asked him what was wrong, her voice a hoarse rasp.

His eyes closed, his chin dropping to his chest, “We’re out.”

She squinted up at him, “Out?”

“Of condoms, we’re out.”

That was impossible. She’d gone out and bought some maybe two days ago, they couldn’t possibly…Her brain very eagerly explained that they had been having a lot of sex. Eva tried to suppress it, but the giggle burst forth, her hands coming up to cover her face.

Horacio looked down at her, mouth half smiling, “I’m glad you’re amused.”

Affectionately, Eva pulled him down to her, rolling them to their sides, “C’mere.”

Her name was a warning as it passed his lips, but she shut him up with a kiss. Stroking along his skin, Eva kept kissing him until he relaxed against her, big body falling deep into the mattress. Arms wrapping around her, he rolled to his back, pulling one of her legs over his thigh. Hands on her hips, he encouraged her to move on him.

Eva couldn’t get close enough, her hands falling to his shoulders, using them to help her get friction on her clit. She ground down on him, her slick coating his skin and easing the movement. Still, she couldn’t quite get there. Her arousal burned through her, soaking into her very bones, but she couldn’t make herself come.

Sweat beaded on her temples, her muscles burning. She bit down on her lip, eyes closed. It wasn’t going to work, not when she could feel him pressed against her hip. Not when all she wanted was to be stuffed so full of him that she could barely move.

Shifting, Eva wavered over his body, weight on her palms as she kissed him, licking into his mouth. Moving determinedly, she opened her hips and swung her leg up and over, straddling him. The first contact seared through her, and her body screamed out that this was much better. She rocked against him, hands falling to his chest for balance.

“Yes,” he breathed, urging her faster, hands pulling at her hips, her thighs, “Like that, just like that.”

Eva picked up the rhythm he was guiding her to, her body working to get off. This was so, so much better, but she still couldn’t get there.  She felt on fire from it, a whimpering, desperate mess. The orgasm was so fucking close, but not even his thumb circling over her clit was pushing her over the edge.  

He pulled her down, sandwiching his cock between them, hips arching towards her. Horacio planted kiss after kiss over her neck, her chest, her jawline, her mouth. Little yearning growls sounded in the space between them. Eva pulled her knees beneath her, letting her hips open so that she could rub as much of her pussy against him as she could.

Every upward thrust brushed against her clit, every twist of her hips, coated him from root to tip. The pace picked up, and Eva’s eyes rolled back when their bodies aligned perfectly so that the head breached her just a little, sliding in then out and along the length of her folds.

Eva moaned his name, her nails digging into his shoulders. Beneath her, Horacio groaned long and low, eyes squeezed shut. Suddenly, he rolled her over, most of his weight falling atop her. His hands held her to the mattress so that he could grind down on her. Even though she could barely breathe, Eva let out a pleased gasp. The force of his body pushing against her, the way he buried his face in her neck, arms holding her tight, all of it pushed her pleasure higher.

“So good, so good,” she chanted, hands in his hair.

Lifting a little, he looked down between them, his cock pushing up through her her folds, wet and swollen. Hips fluid, he grabbed her ass in one hand, pulling her to him. Eva braced her feet on the mattress, shifting beneath him to get that feeling of him opening her up just a bit. It was almost enough, that tiny breach followed by a hard drag across her clit.

Giving a frustrated grunt, he dropped onto an elbow, catching her chin and forcing her to look at him,  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you have to stop trying to fuck me, Eva.”

She whined, wrapping her fingers around his wrist, “I can’t help it. I want it. Please, Horacio.” She stole a kiss, “Feels so good with you inside me. Love when you fuck me.”

Against her, he pulsed, hips jerking. He blinked down at her, jaw unhinged. Deep breaths, grip tight, “Evangeline. Listen...listen. I’m gonna.” The thought alone seemed to spur him on, movements snapping against her, “I’m gonna… you need to listen. When I tell you, you need to let me pull out.”

Eager, she nodded, taking another kiss as he lined himself up and pushed inside. This, this was what she needed. Fuck, but he felt bigger than he ever had, the stretch tight. Eva arched, pushing her breasts into his chest, neck exposed for him to mouth along. Her body clenched so tight he couldn’t get more than an inch or two inside.

“Fuck, Eva. You have to let me in.” The words were half growled against her neck, teeth pressed against her skin.

She bit down on her response, “I’m trying.”

He pulled back, another thrust stunted by the squeeze of her cunt. His fists clenched beside her head, a wordless groan sounding.

“Try harder.”

Eva breathed deeply, trying to form coherent thoughts, “Maybe if you, if I...if you let me on top.”

He shook his head hard, “No. No—feels too good when you ride me.”

A laughed bubbled up, Eva cupped his face, catching his eyes, “Its supposed to feel good.”

“Too good. Come too fast,” he breathed, then, “How are you still so fucking tight?”

He still hadn’t bottomed out inside her, and Eva’s desperation grew every time he pulled out and pushed in again. She wanted him deeper, harder, wanted him to hold her down and leave bruises in his wake. In between breaths a plan formed. Eva reached down and grasped his hips for purchase, pulling him down as she rotated her hips up. Yes, yes! The feeling spanned electric down her spine.

With a curse, he snagged her hands, yanking them above her head, her name a warning on his lips. She arched her back, her hips working against him, moving on him from below. Ignoring a second warning, Eva rolled her hips as best she could, taking him further and further. He’d stilled above her, eyes watching as she moved.

His hands gripped her tighter, voice rough, “Look at you.”

She kept throwing her hips up until she’d worked him all the way inside, the feeling short circuiting any ability to think beyond the ‘more, more more’ that chanted in her head.

“There you go,” he praised, “Take what you need. Take it from me.”

The snap of his hips resumed, shoving his cock inside her and hitting every pleasurable spot she had. Eva felt a sharp, high pitched gasp rush out of her. Words fell from her lips, encouraging him, telling him how good it felt, how much she needed him, nonsense syllables rising along with the orgasm that fairly exploded outward from her center, her muscles locking down on him from the inside.

He rode her through as much of it as he could before he pulled away, reaching down to stroke himself—fast, hard pumps until he was spilling over her lower stomach. Still breathing hard, Eva leaned up and wiped the sweat from his brow, kissing his cheek softly. His come dripped over her mound, falling down over her lips. He watched it with dark eyes, jaw tight.

With one hand, he pushed her back to the mattress, the other threw a leg over his shoulder as he moved down the bed, mouth on her before she could draw her next breath. Eva might have had the capacity to be embarrassed by the sounds coming out of her, the choked, half screamed moans, but her body was already skyrocketing towards another orgasm. What pushed her over the edge was the sight of his hand, resting on her pelvic bone, sliding upwards to drag his come over her skin, his eyes watching her face. She threw back her head, cunt clenching down hard enough that her vision blacked out momentarily.

For a long time, she could only stare at the ceiling as she tried to catch her breath. She felt him move, heard his footsteps, sighed at the warm cloth he dragged over her sensitive skin so tenderly.  He threw the cloth towards the bathroom, gathering her in his arms. She fell asleep to the feeling of him kissing her shoulder softly.

#narcos #horacio carrillo #carrillo #A Need So Great

[aloysiavirgata]

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.”

“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

[peraltasames]

sweet dreams till sunbeams find you

five times jake can’t sleep + one time amy can’t 💞✨

warning: brief mentions of the me too ep, but nothing more than in canon. title from ‘dream a little dream of me’

read on ao3

i.

Jake should’ve learned by now, probably, that taking case files home is a bad idea. It’s definitely against the rules and he nearly lost his job because of it in the past, but it’s a tough habit to break for someone who lives and breathes detective work.

His girlfriend - which is still a relatively new term for Amy, one that still feels a little foreign when it rolls off his tongue but mostly just awesome and unbelievable - is less cool with the whole “breaking very important police rules” thing. He really didn’t intend to bring any work over to her place. All he really wants to do is spend time with her, and he knows she would be mad if she knew he was still doing this, so when he shoved a case file in his bag on their way out of the precinct before heading to her apartment for the night he didn’t really intend to look at it.

He doesn’t intend to look at it, but as time drags on and Amy’s fallen asleep next to him, the gears in his mind start whirring with new thoughts and potential leads regarding the homicide case he’s working on with Charles.

Once he realizes that there’s no way he’s going to be able to sleep until he at least looks at the file and tests his theories, he gently lifts the arm she has loosely wrapped around him and slides out of the bed as ninja-like as possible. He heads to her living room with his bag, pulls out the file and gets to work.

He has no idea how much time has passed, but he’s so buried in the case that he doesn’t hear Amy’s footsteps coming from the bedroom. He doesn’t even realize she’s standing right in front of him until she says his name and he nearly falls off the couch in surprise.

“Ames!” He exclaims, regaining his composure and quickly shoving the file behind his back, pretending to casually lean back against the side of the couch.

“Jake, it’s two o’clock in the morning,” she says, blearily rubbing her eyes under her reading glasses. “Why are you still up?”

“Um, just - you know, chilling.”

She rolls her eyes and snatches the file from behind him, opening it and quickly scanning the first page.

“I know I told you I wouldn’t bring home files anymore but I just had a feeling that there was something weird about this case so I brought it home just in case-”

“Did you check the landlord’s alibi?” Amy asks, not looking up from the file and quickly turning to the next page. “It seems like he’s the likeliest suspect, considering the-”

“Missed rent payments, I know. I had a hunch about him, too, but Charles checked this morning - airtight.” He pauses, then looks up at her cautiously. “Wait, are you not mad at me for bringing work home again?”

Amy shrugs, sitting down next to him and passing the file over. “I knew you never stopped. I’ve seen you ‘secretly’ grab files on your way out, like, a dozen times.” He looks at her in shock and she raises an eyebrow. “Hello, I’m the reigning amazing detective slash genius here.”

Jake laughs softly, reaching over to grab her hand and slide their fingers together.

“Sorry I woke you up.”

“Oh, you didn’t,” she responds, squeezing his hand. “I’ve just gotten so used to sleeping with you that the bed felt colder than usual, so I tried to pull more of the blanket up and realized you weren’t there.”

He smiles as he realizes she’s wearing the hoodie he left crumpled on the floor with his jeans when getting changed before bed. He’s still not used to stuff like this. He thought about the big things before they were dating - what it would be like to kiss her, what their first time would be like - but he never thought about the gravity of all the little things: how she wears his sweaters even when the entirety of her own wardrobe is available to her, how her thumb brushes over his when they’re holding hands, how she makes him smile way more than he ever did in his pre-Amy life.

“Well, detective-slash-genius, are you going to help me solve this case or what?”

He half-expects her to say no and go back to bed, but she just tucks her feet up behind her on the couch and shifts closer to him.

They don’t end up solving the case that night - Jake decides it can wait until morning, not because he’s exhausted or because it’s probably the smart thing to do, but because Amy’s starting to drift off on his shoulder and he can’t bear to wake her again.

He carefully shifts their position so she’s fully laying down and he’s right behind her, grabbing a blanket from the back of the couch and pulling it over them. She slides backwards until her back is against his chest, his arm sliding around her and tugging her a little bit closer.

“Goodnight,” she whispers, her voice heavy with sleep.

He kisses her shoulder and lets his eyes close, finally, thoughts of work disappearing from his mind. All his senses know in this moment is Amy and the innate need to keep her warm and protected in his arms.

“Night, Ames.”

ii.

Jake’s been home for three days.

Technically he’s only been home home - as in, within the confined and always slightly smelly space of his own apartment - for one day, but Amy’s apartment had less stairs and it also has Amy, who’s practically been his own personal nurse from the moment he was released from the hospital in Florida.

It hasn’t been the easiest few days, full of doctor’s appointments and FBI briefings and the dreaded night shift for Amy and the rest of the squad, but at least he’s been home. He’s finally sleeping in his own bed, with his year-old mattress that hasn’t been slept on in six months and his incredible godsend of a girlfriend lying right next to him.

He’s trying to sleep at least - it’s daytime, for one thing, because Amy’s on the night shift schedule and he figured it’s in his best interest to adhere to this schedule before he has to start work in a couple weeks. (And he wants to maximize his time with her, because there’s so much to make up for.)

Despite the daylight peeking in through the curtains, he truly is exhausted. Unfortunately, the discomfort of his heavily bandaged leg, resting awkwardly on a small stack of pillows, is making it impossible to find a good sleep position. Every time he tries to make a minor adjustment there’s a sharp pain in his thigh that radiates through his entire body.

Around the fourth or fifth attempt to move resulting in a sigh of exasperation, he feels Amy’s cool fingertips curl around his forearm. Her eyelids are just fluttering open, but concern is already etched on her face.

“Are you okay?”

He smiles and nods, but the small grunt as he turns to face her gives him away.

“You’re in pain,” she murmurs, sitting up quickly and shifting closer to him, her hand gently cupping his cheek.

“It’s not that bad,” Jake shrugs, his hand covering hers on his chest. “I just can’t fall asleep, I don’t know why. I had no trouble sleeping at your place.”

“You were on some pretty heavy meds, babe.” She pushes his hair back and kisses his forehead. After consulting the alarm clock on his bedside table, she slips out of bed. “It’s been long enough, you can take some more ibuprofen.”

She disappears and returns moments later with a glass of water and two pills in her palm, which she hands to him as soon as he’s sat up against the headboard. He graciously accepts them and downs the glass of water in one gulp, collapsing back into the pillows as soon as he’s done.

“Those should kick in in a few minutes.”

She sits next to him on his side of the bed and pulls back the covers to take a look at the bandages on his leg, her fingertips ice-cold when they brush against his skin. He reaches to hold her hand on instinct and squeezes gently. Maybe they’re not exactly where they left off yet - six months is a long time apart - but he still does everything he can to warm her up without thinking about it and their fingers still fit together perfectly and that’s more than enough for now.

“We can probably wait til morning - or evening, I guess - to change the bandages again,” she says, pulling the blanket back over him. He sighs at the thought of it - it’s a grueling process every time, and even though Amy’s very careful it still hurts like hell. “I know, babe, I’m sorry.”

Jake shakes his head quickly, his hand moving up her arm to cup her cheek. “Not your fault.”

She smiles unconvincingly and won’t look him in the eye, which he knows is her residual guilt for shooting him despite it being the only option and a literal lifesaver.

“Hey, Ames.” He brushes his thumb over her cheek. “Really not your fault. Seriously, bullet wound be damned, this is the happiest I’ve been in six months. And you’ve been working so hard taking care of me even though you’re exhausted from the night shift and-” He pauses and leans in to touch his forehead to hers, lightly brushing their noses against each other. “I just still can’t believe I’m really in my apartment in New York with you.”

She kisses him, then, and her fingers tangle in his too-long, too-blonde hair and her tongue is in his mouth and it’s perfect. It’s so perfect that he can’t feel any pain, he feels like he’s on the really good drugs from the hospital again. This is what being madly in love feels like, which he supposes he was before he left, but if absence makes the heart grow fonder then he must love her infinitely more for all the time they spent apart. He realizes he hasn’t told her this in at least an hour or two, so he breaks the kiss and admires her in all her post-makeout, eyes-still-closed-and-lips-still-swollen glory for a moment before breaking the silence.

“I love you so much.”

She smiles and kisses his palm, still firmly planted on her cheek. Quietly, like she’s almost on the verge of tears, she says, “I love you so much too.”

They just look at each other for a few seconds, Jake taking in every inch of her face, free of makeup and perfectly moisturized for bed; the Knicks t-shirt he’s had since college that’s baggy on her which she pulled out of the second drawer from the top of his dresser before they went to bed like it was second nature; her wavy black hair that falls over her shoulders like a Pantene commercial when she just took it out of the bun it had been in for ten hours.

“I’ll get you another pillow to elevate your leg and an ice pack, okay?” She kisses his cheek and springs up to her feet, back in thirty seconds and helping him get situated in a somewhat comfortable position. “How’s that?”

He sighs with contentment, sinking into the pillows. “Perfect, babe.”

Amy climbs back into her side of the bed and flicks the light off again, curling into his side and placing her head next to his. He slides his arm around her back to pull her close enough that they can listen to each other breathe in perfect synchronization.

“When do you have to get up?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

“Seven, I have to be at the precinct by nine. I’ll probably go down to the deli to get dinner, so I’ll get you something and leave it in the fridge for when you wake up.”

He shakes his head. “No, wake me up, I wanna have weird breakfast-dinner with you.”

“Jake, you really need to rest-“

“I can sleep while you’re at work. Please?”

She hesitates, and then nods against his shoulder. “Okay. Now try to sleep, babe.”

He’s out within minutes, surprisingly, and although he wakes up four hours later in a lot of pain and very tired, he also wakes up to Amy peppering his face with kisses and holding a bag that smells like roast beef and matzo ball soup, so life could be a lot worse.

iii.

Doing chores in the middle of the night is surprisingly therapeutic, Jake finds.

He never really did much cleaning because A) Amy always beats him to it and B) when he does try to pitch in, she just ends up cleaning again to her level of satisfaction. There’s something calming about washing dishes, scrubbing countertops and sweeping crumbs off the floor with almost no background noise except the sounds of some traffic outside - it’s the city that never sleeps, but it is much quieter at three in the morning.

The most important thing is to keep moving, to stay busy and focused and not let his mind wander to the cold, dark prison cell where he spent the last eight weeks.

If he could, he would be in bed with Amy holding her close like he swore to himself (and to her a few times, in hushed tones over the phone) that he would every night for the rest of time the moment he got home. He wants to be, but after waking from his third nightmare of the week, roughly as many as the two other weeks he’s been home, Jake can’t bear to close his eyes again tonight.

It’s usually the same sort of scenarios in which Romero is threatening his life or Hawkins is laughing in his face saying he’ll never beat her or, in the most metaphorical one yet, he’s trapped in a room with walls literally closing in on him.

(The worst by far was last week, when he dreamt that Hawkins had somehow escaped and had gotten hold of Amy. It was the only time he woke her up after a bad dream, mostly because he needed to look at her and hear her voice and partly because he really just needed her to hold him for a while.)

He’s got the day off tomorrow, and Amy doesn’t, so he figures he’ll sleep then and not have to worry about waking her up if he sits up abruptly in a cold sweat or mutters words of fear in his sleep. For now, he cleans.

It’s a good plan until he drops the pan he was holding, the handle slick with dish soap, and it makes a loud clang as it falls in the sink. He mutters a profanity and prays that it didn’t wake her, but he hears her calling out for him within seconds.

“Jake? Babe, are you okay?”

“I’m fine-” he begins, but the bedroom door is already opening and Amy’s running out to make sure he’s alright. “Just dropped a pan.”

She frowns and walks closer to him so she can make out the time on the stove clock.

“Why the hell are you doing the dishes in the middle of the night?”

“Because they’re dirty.”

She looks at him with a blend of confusion and disbelief, which he supposes is fair given his track record.

“Fine, I couldn’t sleep again so I figured I’d make myself useful instead of watching Die Hard for the fourth time this week.”

Her expression softens and she walks around the counter to meet him, reaching for a dish towel and drying off his hands before taking them in her own. It’s a gesture so sweet that it nearly brings him to tears, much like the sticky note she put on the coffee she bought him this morning (you’re doing great! I love you so much!) or how she gave him her juiciest case that they both knew he would be able to solve earlier in the week because he needed a win.

“You wanna go back to bed?” she asks him, without pressure or insistence. It’s merely an offer, but she’s careful to make sure he knows he doesn’t have to. “Or we could watch a show?”

“Not really,” he replies honestly, holding her hands a little tighter. “Is it okay if we just sit here for a little bit?”

Amy squeezes his bicep and nods, smiling warmly. “Of course, babe. On one condition.”

She opens the freezer and pulls out a fresh tub of Ben and Jerry’s - chocolate chip cookie dough, duh - and two spoons from the drawer.

“I love how you think, Santiago,” he grins, sliding to the floor with his back against the kitchen cabinets, Amy settling in right next to him with her legs folded over his and the ice cream resting on her lap.

They sit in comfortable silence for a little while, chatting intermittently about their days. Eventually, Amy sets the half-finished tub of ice cream down next to them and reaches across him to toss the spoons in the sink above him.

She takes his hand where it rests over her thigh, bringing it to her lips and laying a soft kiss to his knuckles.

“Was it another nightmare?” she asks quietly so as not to disturb the peaceful quiet that’s enveloped them.

He nods, resting his head against the hard surface behind him. “Yeah. Bad one.”

“Okay,” she whispers, fingers flexing around his hand. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Her warm brown eyes are shining with unadulterated care and affection. He’s never trusted anyone more - to guard his secrets and to provide him with unconditional support and to stay. The only barrier preventing him from pouring his heart out to her is his fear of worrying her, but he knows she’s strong and she deserves the truth.

“It was pretty straightforward, I guess,” he shrugs. “I was back in there and the warden said you guys caught Hawkins and I was so excited but then every time I tried to walk out the doors to the parking lot I just ended up back in my cell and I couldn’t get out-”

He realizes his heart is beating pretty quickly, so he stops there, trusting she got the gist of it. Amy’s eyes are wide and teary when he finally looks her in the eye, but she wipes the tears away with her sleeve and pulls him into her arms.

“I’m so sorry, Jake,” she whispers into his hair, her hands sweeping over his arms and back. “I wish there was something I could do.”

“Babe, you’ve done so much. I would’ve lost my mind in there without you. Being able to hear your voice and think about how you were waiting for me at home got me through it.” He pulls away a little bit to properly look at her. “For realz, best girlfriend in the world. At least the tri-state area.”

She laughs, softly nudging him in the ribs before resting her head on his shoulder.

“I really just hate that this happened to you. And Rosa. And all of us, really, because the last two months were hell.” She kisses his jaw. “I still can’t believe you’re home.”

“Yeah, me neither.”

They hold each other for a little while longer in the quiet glow of the streetlights outside their window. Amy tells him about a Ted Talk she found on insomnia as a result of PTSD, and he promises to watch it with her tomorrow. She brings up the upcoming Halloween Heist, and he has to hide his smug grin by burying his face in her hair.

Eventually, he’s laying with his head on her lap while she runs her fingers through his hair, slowly but surely coaxing him to sleep.

“You should go t’ bed, you gotta work in a few hours,” he murmurs sleepily as he’s moments from drifting off.

“I’m gonna take a sick day so I can stay home with you.”

“M’okay babe, you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” she protests. “Honestly, we have a lot of Property Brothers to catch up on and Charles already offered to do my paperwork so you and I can have more alone time, which is kinda gross but well-intentioned.”

Jake smiles and presses a small kiss to her thigh. If there’s one thing he needs right now, it’s a day of snuggling on the couch with his girlfriend and, if all goes to plan, future wife. “Sounds great. Love you.”

“I love you more than anything in the world, Jake Peralta,” she says earnestly, bending down to kiss his forehead goodnight.

It’s the last thing he hears before drifting off into a peaceful sleep, feeling safe and warm and loved.

iv.

Charles’ guest room is comfortable and quiet. There’s no reason Jake shouldn’t be able to drift off peacefully, musing about how he’ll be married to the woman of his dreams within twenty-four hours.

It’s after midnight, and even though he’s under strict orders from Amy (and Charles) to get a full eight hours before the big day, it’s harder to sleep without Amy than he thought. God knows he’s done it before - with varying degrees of success, in Florida and in prison and in that damn safe house with Kevin - but he still hates it. Especially now, when it’s being enforced only by some dumb, ancient superstitions about seeing the bride before the wedding.

He’s a grown man, he should be able to cuddle with his fiancée if he wants to.

He’s pretty sure there’s no rule about talking to her in the wedding superstition handbook, though. Even if there is, he really couldn’t care less right now, so he grabs his phone and clicks on her name in his recent calls.

“Jake? You okay?”

She answers right away and doesn’t sound too groggy, so he’s relieved that he probably didn’t wake her, but there is concern laced in her voice.

“Hey, yeah, I’m fine.” He keeps his volume low as to not wake Charles or his family. “I just wanted to hear your voice for a few minutes before bed.”

He can hear a faint sigh of relief, and he realizes that he probably hasn’t called her in the middle of the night since he was in prison and scared for his life, when her voice was the only thing that could tether him to reality. Those nights are behind them, thankfully, but not far enough behind that the memories don’t sting a bit whenever they resurface.

“You’re not getting cold feet on me, are you Peralta?” she teases, her lighthearted tone making him loosen up a little bit.

“No, I’m actually not nervous at all,” he replies without missing a beat. Surprisingly, it’s true - he expected to feel at least a little bit nervous the night before his wedding, but he really doesn’t. If anything, he feels calmer than he’s ever been. “Is that weird?”

“No, I’m not either,” she laughs. “I mean, I’m nervous about the logistics of the wedding itself, but I’m so sure about you that I just - I don’t know, I’m not that worried.”

Jake smiles, reclining into the pillows. “Same here.”

He supposes that’s all there is to it - there’s nothing to be worried about when everything in his life has aligned so perfectly. He’s got his dream job, his dream girl who he had never dreamt of even scoring a date with, let alone a lifetime. Things are beyond good.

“Are you excited?”

“To be married to you?” He raises an eyebrow. “Ames, I would’ve married you a long time ago if it wasn’t for the whole prison thing and then the whole having to plan a wedding thing.”

He can almost hear her smile crackling through the speaker. “I meant for the wedding. The Die Hard cake, the reception, our first dance…”

“It’s gonna be amazing, Ames. I mean, my relatives might yell at me periodically for not having a rabbi and Charles’ best man speech is probably gonna be like two hours long, but still.”

“And tomorrow night,” she says seductively, “it’ll just be you and me at the nicest hotel in Staten Island.”

The “nicest hotel in Staten Island” isn’t saying much, but they both knew they wouldn’t want to wait in traffic for an hour at the end of the night just to get back to their apartment or some swanky Manhattan hotel that neither of them will really care about in the moment anyways. He wants her as soon as possible, because as much as he’s looking forward to seeing her in her white dress, he’s just as excited to take her out of it. Moreover, he’s excited to just be alone with her after the inevitable craziness tomorrow will bring.

“You somehow make Staten Island sound sexy,” he swoons. “I’m the luckiest man on earth.”

Amy laughs - a beautiful, melodic laugh, the kind that makes him feel warm inside and that he will go to great lengths to hear every day for the rest of his life.

And the rest of his life starts tomorrow.

“We should get some sleep, we gotta look pretty for the cameras tomorrow.”

“I’m always pretty, babe,” he scoffs.

“I agree, but we’re paying a fortune for this photographer so eye-bags are not permitted.”

“10-4, Sergeant.”

Jake climbs under the covers, flicking off the lamp next to his bed.

“Okay, I’ll see you soon,” Amy says fondly. “I love you, almost-husband.”

“I love you, almost-wife.”

The line goes dead and though he immediately misses the steady cadence of her voice in his ear, the sooner he gets to sleep the sooner he gets to wake up and marry the heck out of her.

He closes his eyes and sleeps with a smile on his face for eight hours straight until he wakes to Charles barging in with a tray full of “wedding crepes”.

v.

Over his years as a cop, Jake’s worked a lot of tough cases and had to face victims of horrible tragedies and criminals capable of unspeakable things. He’s had nights without sleep and weeks with no leads, but never has he felt quite so defeated as he did watching his wife try to solve an impossible sexual assault case.

He’s dealt with sexual assault cases and felt that pit in his stomach when interviewing the victims before, and it’s always been difficult. Knowing Amy went through something like that at one point, though, is a much harder pill for him to swallow.

He knows about the deep-rooted misogyny in the NYPD, of course, so he’s not really sure why he’s so shocked. Maybe he had just hoped and prayed that his wife was somehow immune to disgusting men like Seth and Beefer and her stupid, awful former captain.

Even though they came to some sort of resolution in the case and helped make some positive change, there’s been a definite shift in his perspective. The fact that not only Amy but all of the women in his life and all women everywhere have to go through so much more than he ever realized on a daily basis makes him feel sick.

He’s not really sure what or if he can even do anything about this, but he’s at least going to do everything he possibly can to stay informed from now on.

This is how he finds himself reading article after article about institutionalized sexism, his face illuminated by the light of his phone screen well past midnight. He’s not aware of the time, simply absorbing more and more information until his brain feels like it’s going to explode.

“Jake?”

Amy’s voice pierces the silence and he drops his phone on his lap in surprise.

“What are you still doing up?” She sits up and flicks on her lamp, rubbing her sleep-filled eyes. “It’s late.”

Jake sighs and passes her his phone, waiting for her to quickly scan the text and deduce what he’s been up to.

After a moment, she locks his phone, places it on the table and turns to face him, grabbing his arm.

“Babe, I love you,” she says, gently squeezing his forearm, “but we’re not going to solve sexism tonight.”

“Not with that attitude, we’re not.”

She rolls her eyes and gently shoves his shoulder so he lays down, and she lays her head on his chest. Some of the tension in his body fades as his arms encircle her and pull her closer to him.

“I’m just so sorry that you have to deal with this,” he sighs. “ I mean, I guess I knew on some level that every woman does but I guess I always hoped you were somehow the exception cause I can’t stand the thought of you having to deal with this shit.”

“I know,” she murmurs, squeezing his chest.

“And the fact that so many people go through that and worse on a regular basis just...really sucks.”

“It really does,” she agrees. “But on the bright side, we got a win today. And even though a lot of guys suck, I managed to marry one of the good ones.”

She kisses his chest and he tightens his grip on her just a little bit more. He wishes he could shield her from the rest of the world forever and keep her away from every gross sleazeball out there; he wishes they could stay in the sanctuary of their bed for the rest of time.

“Seriously, thank you for being so amazing the past few days.”

“I did nothing, Ames,” he says, shaking his head. “You’re amazing. You used your position to make positive change. That’s a big deal.”

She pauses, then smiles into his t-shirt. “Yeah, I guess it was.”

She reaches over to turn the light off again and curls back into him, pulling the covers up to their shoulders to stay warm.

“Goodnight,” he whispers into her hair.

Maybe in the morning he’ll have more questions for her or they’ll watch another documentary on feminism, but right now he knows that she needs rest. Truthfully, so does he.

Amy buries her face into his neck and adjusts her grip on the comforter, sighing contently.

“Night, babe.”

+ i

The craziest forty-eight hours of Jake’s life end in a very mundane series of tasks - dishes, laundry, tidying the living room.

The place was a mess when they got home, which makes sense given the panicked flurry that they left in two days ago, hurriedly packing a bag of essentials for the hospital. Their little girl was just over two weeks early, and despite all the planning and preparation they had done for her arrival, they had not planned for that.

He’s exhausted from very few hours of sleep curled up next to Amy in the cramped hospital bed, but he knows it must be only a fraction of the fatigue she’s feeling after bringing their child into this world just yesterday, so he made sure she got into bed right after they got Zoey tucked into her bassinet and assured her he would join her soon.

He’s mostly finished his attempt at making their apartment somewhat inhabitable again when he decides to throw in the towel and finish in the morning. He can’t resist the urge to get back to his wife and baby in the next room over, missing them both already.

He expects Amy to already be passed out by the time he enters their room, but instead she’s up and awake, hovering over the bassinet a few feet from their bed. She’s still wearing his baggy hoodie with holes in it from college (again, they packed very quickly) and her hair is still pulled back in a messy ponytail. She’s still got the post-childbirth glow his mom commented on this morning, with her rosy cheeks and her dewy skin. She’s beautiful, but he’s already told her that half a dozen times today.

“Why are you still awake?” he asks quietly, making sure he doesn’t wake the baby. “You literally spent twenty hours in labour yesterday, babe.”

“Did I? That slipped my mind,” Amy deadpans, motioning for him to come over.

He complies, standing next to her and looking down on their baby, peacefully sleeping in her little cream-coloured bassinet that Amy ordered months ago. Zoey Peralta is absolutely perfect in every way conceivable, from her soft and unruly brown hair - which she totally got from him - to her perfect, round little nose that looks exactly like Amy’s. He feels comforted knowing that if she inherited her mother’s brains, her tenacity, or even a fraction of her kindness and warmth, this kid is going to be just fine.

“She’s just so perfect,” Amy muses, leaning back against his chest and resting her head against his chin. “I can’t stop looking at her yet.”

Jake wraps his arms around her and nods, intently watching Zoey make little noises in her sleep. “She’s totally perfect.”

“Can you believe we made her?”

He shakes his head. “Can you believe we’re parents?”

Amy sighs happily and runs her hand up his arm, gently squeezing his bicep.

“I was so scared for a while that we would never get this moment,” she admits.

“I know.”

He squeezes her a little tighter, remembering all the negative pregnancy tests and early mornings waking up to UD and the goddamn vitamins. It had been hard, sometimes unbearably so, but the moment she showed him the positive test it all became so incredibly worth it.

And the moment, mere hours ago, when their baby was no longer an image on a sonogram but a living, breathing child that he could hold in his arms, he knew he would do it all a billion times over for her.

“We should probably get some sleep, I’m sure she’ll wake us up in a few hours,” Jake suggests after a few more minutes have passed, just the three of them in blissful silence.

Amy nods in agreement and leans down to press a feather-light kiss to Zoey’s forehead.

“Goodnight, angel. Mommy and Daddy love you so much.”

Amy’s gentle voice as she talks to their baby nearly brings him to tears, not for the first (or even tenth) time that day.

“Goodnight, Zo,” Jake repeats, “sweet dreams.”

Jake climbs into bed behind Amy, who is still affectionately watching their daughter sleep a few feet away, and wraps his arm around her waist.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs against her temple. “You’re gonna be the best mom.”

She grabs his hand and pulls it tighter around her, her eyes already fluttering shut.

“I love you so much.”

He reaches over her to turn the light off, and he can hear her breathing even out within seconds. He’s not far behind her, falling asleep with a smile on his face, already excited for all that the morning will bring.

#b99 fic #jake x amy