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nicole-timey-wimey-stuff · 10 days

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It Was Enchanting to Meet You

Lord Debling x Fem reader

Lord Alfred Debling x female Bridgerton reader

Synopsis - You’re the second eldest Bridgerton daughter, being forced by your brother to finally debut. You believed the ordeal would be terrible, that was until you meet the handsome Lord Debling, the handsome stranger soon captivates your mind and heart.

Warnings- fluff, period drama, feelings, very small amount of angst, confessions, great sibling relationships, suggestive themes but no smut. Still 18+ though please.

Word count- 4.7K

Today was the day, the day you were coming out into society, you’d put it off long enough. Being that you were only a year younger than your elder sister Daphne, and a year older than Eloise who were both already out. But your mother hadn’t pushed you and for that you were thankful, your eldest sibling Anthony though was another story. He had all but told you enough was a enough, and even though he would not ever force you to take a husband, you needed to be out in society despite your disagreement with it.

He did not want the great Bridgerton name tarnished, with people starting to talk of the strange girl in the family who did not conform to society’s norm, who did not like social situations, a girl who spent her time fencing, reading and horseback riding. You were a free spirit, one who preferred the wind in her hair, rather than constricted dresses, dancing and polite conversation.

So now just having turned 20 you were being launched into the world around you. This brings you back to today, your mother was flapping making sure both you and Francesca looked perfect, creamy white gowns adorning your bodies, lace perfectly placed, your dress was accentuated with gold floral embroidery and tiny puff sleeves. You adjusted your long white gloves once more before exiting your room, “Ah y/n there you are my love, have you seen your sister I can’t find her anywhere, she is not in her room!” Your mother Violet frets, she’s looking pale and exhausted. “Call down mother, I’m sure she is about, I can hear music are you sure you haven’t checked it is not her playing?” You ask.

“Oh! No I have not, come, we shall go check together.” She replies, gently grasping your wrist and tugging you down the staircase In search of your sister, you are sure she only holds onto you so she cannot loose you too.

Walking into the drawing room you find it was indeed Francesca playing the piano forte, your mother breathing a big sigh of relief, she is also dressed ready to go. “Well then my children let’s get going shall we?” She asks as she ushers us all out to the carriages, turning to you and Francesca she says “You both look so beautiful!” Voice full of emotion. “Thank you mother” you both say in unison, she nods before you all enter the carriage and head off to the queens palace.

The whole thing went by in a blur, you walked down the aisle, bowed to the queen then exited out to the side, you’d all entered out into a garden party where people were mingling happily. Your brother Colin who had just returned from travels, was boasting to the young ladies, causing them to fawn over him. Penelope Featherington sadly watching from the sidelines, you were very aware of how she felt for your brother, being the same age you had spend many moments together. Although you wouldn’t call her a close friend, it saddened you to see her aways watching him with such hopeful but sad eyes.

You decided she could do with a distraction so you made your way over to her, “Hey Pen, how are you? I haven’t seen you about the house recently?” You ask, she jumps, obviously you’d caught her very much deep in thought. “My goodness y/n you scared me” she gasps hand on her chest, “Sorry Pen, we were both on our own so I thought I’d come talk with you” you explain. Her face softens then “Of course, you can always come talk to me, I know how hard this must all be for you” she replies her face now sympathetic. “Yes, I do so hate public attention, but alas my brother thought it was necessary” you sigh, nodding Penelope gave you a look of understanding, “We must all be pushed out into society sooner or later, I was just 17 when my mother decided I needed to be out. And look over three years later and I’m still just sat here with no suitor prospects, I wish I could find a husband” she groans, “What? Why? You’ve never seemed too interested before?” You ask.

With a sigh she turns to you “In all honesty I need my privacy, and I just cannot stand living with my family any longer, at least your family is supportive and kind, mine can be just awful” she complains. You nod, you understand, her family have always been difficult especially her mother! “Well then Pen I hope you find a kind, loyal man to be your husband this season, you deserve some happiness” you tell her in earnest. “Thank you y/n, you do too, whatever that is for you, you deserve happiness too” she says as she walks off, leaving you once more to your thoughts.

Would you find happiness? What was happiness to you anyways?

________________________________________

That evening you were attending your very first ball, nerves settled deep within your stomach. There would be many people attending Lady Danbury’s ball, and you were hoping to quietly blend into the crowds, not causing any reason to warrant any unwanted attention. Anthony had insisted on you being present, he had also given you a list of people he had chosen for your to converse with.

Your dress though, that you had chosen for yourself, it was a deep maroon, corseted down to your waist, it then flared out into a subtle A line ballgown. It had thick off the shoulders straps, sparkling embroidery and a skirt that swished as you moved. You wanted something that felt more freeing, compared to the tight empire line gowns that were the norm. Giving yourself a last once over you sighed, although you looked like a princess, you felt absolutely ridiculous.

Entering the party was as equally nerve wrecking as bowing to the queen this morning, walking down the steps after your brothers and sisters you felt all eyes shift to you, you held your head hire and floated down with all the grace you could muster, it must have worked because once you’d reached the bottom all eyes were still glued to you. Your mother came rushing to meet you, “You did well, you entered as gracefully as a swan” she gushed, you rolled your eyes at her enthusiasm, “Well mother my plan is to not cause any unwanted attention, I don’t want them thinking I am some wild animal that cannot be tamed” you sassed back. Tutting she guided you through the crowds to meet some new people, what you hadn’t noticed though, were a pair of very entranced blue eyes belonging to the one Lord Alfred Debling watching your entrance.

“Who is she?” Lord Debling asked Lady Danbury, “That would be Miss Y/N Bridgerton, second eldest daughter of the Bridgerton family” Lady Danbury answered. “I see” he replies eyes still watching you intently, Lady Danbury smirks knowingly, “I may also add, she only debuted this morning so from what I gather she is very much on the market, so to speak” she smiled. “Is that so?” He asks eyes still enchanted by you. The pair hadn’t noticed Cressida Cowper Joining them, not until she spoke up causing them to both jump slightly, “I’ve heard she’s a strange girl” she abruptly interrupts, “And where have you heard that Miss Cowper?” Asks Lady Danbury, her voice full of exasperation.

“Well I’ve heard she prefers the outdoors over social gatherings, she rides her horse bareback at some speed I may add, I’ve seen it myself. When I’ve called on Eloise this summer she’s either sprinting through the country on her horse or she has her nose in some weird book” she explains amusedly. “I don’t see how that makes her strange, but rather it makes her unique” Lord Debling affirms, “Well also” Cressida stutters out trying to find something more vexing to say about you, “Ah she also fences, she sword fights with her brothers, isn’t it incredibly odd, incorrect even for a young lady to sword fight?” She points out. “I dare say! Does she really?” He asks Lady Danbury, “Yes I believe she does” Danbury replies, the smug look is soon wiped off Cressida’s face though when he turns back to Lady Danbury, “That is incredibly impressive, what a young lady she is! I will go introduce myself” and with that he leaves in search of you.

He finds you over by the drinks helping yourself to one before retreating to the corner, “Miss Bridgerton? Are you quite alright? You appear to be hiding in the corner” he asks. You bow quickly “Lord Debling, I’m quite well thank you, just not one for large social gathering's” you answer honestly. “Ah, no me either actually, I prefer to be outdoors” he responds. You smile up at him shyly “I do too” you agree, “Riding Percy gives me much more joy than this” you continue, choking on his drink Lord Debling gasps “I beg your pardon you what?”, “Percy, he’s my horse, a Suffolk punch, my brother Anthony bought him for me for my birthday a few years back, I most enjoy riding him through the countryside, where it’s nice and quiet” you explain,

“Oh of course, I heard from Lady Danbury that you enjoy riding, he conveys, cheeks bright red now from his misunderstanding. “Lady Danbury spoke of me? To you?” You ask confused, “Umm yes, I happened to ask after you” he admits, you offer him a smile “I see and what else did she happen to say about me?” You question teasingly causing him to smirk, “Nothing much else, just that this was your first season” he stutters out now feeling very put on the spot, “Oh yes well I put it off as long as I possibly could, but my brother is forcing me to try this year” you confirm, “Is it so very bad?” He asks, teasing smile on his lips, “Well maybe not as bad as I had made it out to be in my head” you admit.

“Well then, would you care to dance?” He offers, hand outstretched towards you. “Yeah ok, why not, in the name of trying new things of course” you smile, “Of course” he repeats, clearly amused by you. He walks you out to the dance floor as everyone lines up, ready for the dance to begin. As the music plays he spins you around the dance floor, your eyes never leaving one another’s, its almost as if there’s static energy between you, your hearts pounding in your chest, you can tell everyone is watching you both, but in that moment all you can see is him.

“Is that your daughter Violet, dancing with Lord Debling?” One of the mothers asks, “Yes” your mother laughs, “I dare say it is” her face is lit up at the way your both staring at each other, thoughts of Daphne and Simon’s first dance entering her mind. This looked very promising, she thought you’d be the hardest to convince to give this whole ordeal a try, but you were entranced by the man before you, and it was Francesca who had made a rather hastily exit home already.

Lady Danbury joins your mother, “He asked about her you know, the second she entered the room” she tells your mother, knowing smirk still plastered on her face, “Did he?” Your mother asks, “Yes, he seemed very much intrigued by her, maybe we’ve made a match already” she implies, “Maybe…….. I will speak to my daughter once we are home” you mother decides. Nodding in agreement Lady Danbury takes her leave.

Once your dance comes to an end you bow and move to walk away, thinking he would have other young ladies to dance with, a soft grip of your hand causes you to turn, coming face to face with Lord Debling once more, “May I call on your tomorrow?” He asks, “Yes you may” you give a curt nod before leaving with your family.

This night had gone much better than expected, you thought to yourself whilst laying in bed, you felt excited to see what else was to come.

________________________________________

The next day you’d woken up early, to get yourself dressed for your sword fighting lesson, hoping you’d have time to freshen up before anyone had any callers, you smile to yourself at the thought of seeing Lord Debling again today. Bounding down the stairs you met your instructor Henry, “Good morning Miss Bridgerton, are you ready?” He asks, “Yes I am” you affirm, “Very good, although I don’t see how you need any more lessons now, I’ve taught you everything I know, and you have mastered it all”, you grin “Why thank you Henry, but I can tell you why I need my lessons” you reply, “And why is that Miss Bridgerton?” He asks, “Because I enjoy them” you laugh as you get into position.

Your two eldest brothers had joined you now, you were currently practicing against Benedict, completely loosing track of time. “Why do you encourage this Anthony?” Your mother asks, “Well dear mother I think it’s good that a lady knows how to defend herself, no one will ever mess with our little y/n now will they?” He questions playfully, rolling her eyes she waves him off as she leaves the room.

“Ha! I win again! Really Benedict are you even trying?” You goad, sweaty and exhausted he gives you the are you kidding look, “Yes dear sister unfortunately I am!” He grumbles, Anthony snorts out a laugh “Well I dare say these lessons are paying off, you have quite the talent” he praises you, “Thank you brother” you smile. Just then one of your maids enter the room, “Someone’s here to see you Miss” she announces, realisation hits you! Oh no Lord Debling has arrived and your still in your fencing clothes.

Walking in he smiles at you, you bow nervously before rambling out, “I’m very sorry I lost track of time my lord, please excuse me for a moment while I go change”, “Nonsense don’t worry about it, I’d love to see you in action” he answers, “Really!?” You ask surprised, he nods in response, you look to Anthony motioning for him to come join you, but he puts his hands up in surrender, “Oh no, watching Benedict loose all credibility was quite enough for one day, I will go find my wife, as I promised her a walk this morning.” He replies, “I’ll spar with you” Lord Debling offers, “Oh I couldn’t ask that of you my Lord” you hastily reply, “You’re not asking, I’m offering” he affirms before removing his jacket and placing on Benedict’s fencing armour.

Anthony lets out a laugh, “Perfect” he announces, before turning to Lord Debling “Don’t let her win, she will know. She is incredibly able” he confirms before leaving to find his wife. “Well are you ready then?” Debling asks you, “Yes, quite ready” you smirk back. As the two of you spar the static energy returns from last night, you fall into an effortless rhythm against one another, he fights well, there is technique and power to his moves, but you are just too quick for him, eventually knocking the sword from his hands and pointing yours to his chest in victory,

“I say! You are rather good at this aren’t you” he laughs, “Yeah I think it’s because I enjoy it so much” you agree.

“You Miss Bridgerton are an incredibly rare flower indeed” he says, “Thanks” you reply warm blush adorning your cheeks, “Will you save me a dance at tonight’s party?” He asks. “Yes of course” you reply maybe a little too hastily, “Well then, until tonight” he offers placing a delicate kiss to your knuckles. Before leaving he looks back towards you once more, giving you the most endearing smile.

You were very much looking forward to seeing him again tonight.

________________________________________

Over the next few weeks the two of you became much more acquainted with one another, you danced together at every party, usually more than once, you took chaperoned strolls together in the park and your family had also invited him over a couple of times for dinner.

You’d learnt much about him, his love for animals and wildlife, the fact he didn’t eat meat, all his adventure and conservation ideas, you’d become completely enamoured with this man, It appeared he also was with you too.

Today you were both taking a stroll in the park, the sun was warm and the smell of blossoms filled the spring air. Your maid was walking a few steps behind you, keeping a watchful eye. “Beautiful day is it not?” You ask him cheerfully, enjoying the sunshine on your skin. “Yes it is, but I can see something much more beautiful” he replies watching you carefully, you turn your head to hide your reddening cheeks. “Will you be attending the garden party tomorrow? I hear there will be a new form of transport being showcased” you ask, “Yes I believe I will be attending” he responds while smiling at you, grinning up at him you offer a nod in response.

“Well I bid you farewell Lord Debling, I have promised to help my mother this afternoon, I will see you tomorrow?” You offer, “Yes I shall see you tomorrow, good afternoon Miss Bridgerton” he replies. You spare him one last glance, before you walk off with your maid.

________________________________________

It was the day of the garden party and you were stood looking at the enormous ballon in awe, was that really supposed to be able to carry people through the sky? “Quite spectacular isn’t it?” Lord Deblings voice cut through your thoughts causing you to jump, “My Lord, you gave me a fright!” You gasped, “I am sorry, that was not my intention” he responds “That’s ok, it is spectacular yes, although I do worry how it’s supposed to transport people” you reply.

“Yes quite, but I suppose only time will tell, are you well Miss Bridgerton?” He asks, “Yes, thank you my Lord I am very well” you affirm, “Good” he nods.

As the afternoon goes on Penelope, Eloise and Cressida join in your conversation, Cressida going out of her way to try and impress Lord Debling, not even caring how desperate and contrary it makes her appear. Penelope spends the whole time staring at Colin and Eloise is pretty much rolling her eyes at everybody’s antics. Cressida continues to laugh at something he said, almost hanging off his arm, causing a pit of jealousy to stir in your stomach.

You turn your attention once again to the large ballon, which is now rocking very unstably in the wind, creaking and groaning as the ropes loosen. Just as they snap your brothers are rushing over to pull them back, using as much strength as they can muster to pull the thing back into place. All you can do is watch in terror as they lose control and the ship comes hurtling towards you, it all happens so quick, one miniute you’re watching terrified, the next you’re on the floor Lord Deblings body shielding you.

“Are you quite alright?” He asks gazing into your eyes, “Yes all thanks to you”. He carefully traces his fingertips down the side of your jaw, you watch him with wide eyes, wanting nothing more than to lean in and kiss him. Someone loudly clears their throat behind you, you both jump apart, turning to see Cressida and Eloise watching you both.

Lord Debling jumps up before offering you a hand up too, “What luck you were there to save my sister, thank you my Lord” Eloise states, “Of course, it was nothing” he replies before walking off.

“What was that y/n?” Eloise gasps, “I hardly know” you reply, completely shocked yourself.

________________________________________

That very evening you arrived at the ball still very much in shock, more so by Lord Deblings behaviour than nearly being squashed by the heavy ballon. Your mother currently had you making small talk with every eligible Lord in the room, “Mother is this really necessary?” You grumbled as you made your way over to yet another man, “Yes my darling daughter it is, until Lord Debling actually proposes you must keep your options open” she insists, “But Anthony said I do not have to marry this season, only that I must be out in society” you ask confused.

“Yes I know my sweet girl, but every year you’re on the market the less desirable you become, now make haste” she commands, you roll your eyes at her as she drags you through the crowd, “Lady Bridgerton, Miss Bridgerton, how nice to see you both” Lord Cambell greets, “Lord Cambell, lovely to see you again” you reply with a very forced smile. “Would you have any space left on your card to include a dance with me?” He asks, you stutter before your mother replies on your behalf, “My daughter would be delighted”, you resentfully offer your wrist and card for him to write his name on, before bowing and leaving to find some corner to hide in.

After no empty corner is found you retreat to the gardens in hope of some peace, leaning against the cold stone of the house you close your eyes, taking a deep breath. “Miss Bridgerton you should not be out here alone” Lord Deblings voice causes you to jump, “My goodness my Lord! Must you always startle me so.” You gasp, “Sorry I never intend too” he replies in earnest, “But you really shouldn’t be out here alone” he repeats as he steps closer, “Yes I know, but I need a minute to breathe, it’s awfully stuffy in there, and my mother is being a nuisance….” You trail off, voice stuttering as he steps closer once more, “By nuisance you mean by parading you around the room, like a prized animal?” He smirks, “Yes” you stammer, feeling more breathless than before if that was at all possible.

He carefully moves a piece of hair from your face, “Do you not wish for the attention of the Lords here tonight Miss Bridgerton?” He asks, “No, not from those ones anyways” you whisper, then in a flash his mouth meets yours, it’s passionate and gentle, it’s fire but also calm. Your fingers grasp his jacket as you pull him in closer, moulding your body to his own, his fingers move from your face to your neck, tilting your face to give him better access. His other hand grasps your thigh as he pulls it over his hip, grounding down into you causing a low whimper from your lips, moving from your mouth he kisses down your neck, nipping at your sweet spot, your hands slide into his hair as you grind into his hips once more.

Your movement causes him to gasp before quickly pulling himself away from you, leaving you a breathless mess. “I shouldn’t have done that” he worries, “My Lord?” You ask confused and worried, “I shouldn’t have put you in that position I am so very sorry” he repeats and your heart sinks, was he going to reject you now? Were you about to loose all credibility? Sensing your despair he quickly comforts you, “What I mean to say is that shouldn’t have happened before I asked for your hand, I do not wish to dishonour you, if you will have me and your brother agrees to it, I would very much like to make you my wife” he confirms, “Really?” You ask.

“Yes really, I am quite enamoured with you my dearest y/n, I came here to the Ton to seek out a wife, I thought I could find a match of convenience, one where I could travel and my wife would happily stay at home managing my estate. I did not think love was in the cards for me, I believed that my work would take up too much space in my heart for that, but then I met you, and my goodness did you change everything” he explains.

“Is this a confession of love my Lord?” You ask still very much breathless.

“It is yes, I didn’t come here to seek it which makes this as much a surprise to me as it is to yourself” he replies.

“I love you too” you admit, which causes his handsome face to light up, “I too did not believe this would happen, when my brother asked me to debut this season, I admit I hated the very idea, but I’m so very glad I did as it lead me to you” You confess.

“Well then my love, I believe I have a question to ask your brother” he replies, his hand seeking to find your own, grasping his with yours you reply “I suppose you do”. He gives you one last kiss on your cheek before heading inside to seek out your brother. You are still stood against the house, breaths still racing as you trace your lips with your fingertips, the tingling of his kisses still present.

Upon entering your home that evening Anthony stops you “Y/N may I speak with you a moment?” He asks, “Yea of course brother what is it?”

“Lord Debling has asked for my permission to propose to you, he says he has the deepest of feelings for you and he wishes you to be his wife, I know him to be a very kind man, one who obviously wouldn’t ever hurt an animal or a woman, he has a great estate and great prospects, so if it’s what you want I will agree to it at once, but I told him I had to talk with my sister first” he explains.

You smile knowing how deeply your family cares for each other, this is something you will never take for granted. “Truth is brother, I love him very much, I didn’t think it were possible to find someone I could fall for so deeply, but here we are” you reply.

“Very well then I shall give him my permission” Anthony affirms. You walk over and give him a chaste kiss to the cheek, “Thank you brother” you respond, he nods giving your shoulder an affectionate squeeze before wandering off.

You were going to be married! Not only that to a man you love, you felt such happiness in that moment your chest could burst.

________________________________________

The next morning whilst reading your maid walked in announcing Lord Debling was here to see you, you nod at her to let him in.

“Hello my love, are you well this morning?” He asks as he enters the room.

“I am quite well my Lord thank you” you smile.

“Please call me Alfred, such formalities feel no longer necessary”

“Very well Alfred, but then you must call me y/n so we are on equal terms” you reply.

He laughs, “Of course, my dearest y/n, so I’m guessing it’s no secret to as why I am here?” He asks.

“Well I have an idea, but I will need you to clarify” you respond with wit.

“Very well Miss y/n Bridgerton” he begins before getting down on one knee, “You have bewitched my heart, and I’m asking if you will do me the extraordinary honour of becoming my wife?”

Walking towards him you kneel down in front of him, reaching out and tracing his stubbled cheek, “Yes Alfred, I will marry you” you gush before moving in and placing your lips against his, in a sweet soft kiss.

Just then all your family enter the room offering congratulations, you thank them all but your eyes never leave his, as you think to yourself yes you believe this will be a very happy marriage indeed.

#lord debling #bridgerton #lord debling x reader #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #Bridgerton reader #bridgerton x you #Lord Debling x you #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #Lord Debling imagine #bridgerton fanfiction

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quin-ns · 8 months

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ok ok ok but what about fem!reader going missing with jb and sarah at the end of season one and coming back to find that jj has her name tattooed on his arm when he thought she was gone

okay I’m actually so obsessed with this I think it triggered something in my brain (the angst aNd fluff??) 😳 irl I won’t advocate for getting names tattooed but in fiction? To have a man that dedicated-

Permanent (JJ Maybank x Reader)

The last thing you expected was the run into your best friends in Charleston. It seemed like something out of a dream, but it was really them.

You couldn’t imagine what it must’ve been like for all of them. They must’ve thought you were dead the way the boat collapsed. Hell, you thought you were a goner until you, Sarah, and John B were rescued. Of course that didn’t turn out as good as it could’ve, but you were on your way home now and that’s what mattered.

You didn’t even get to speak, JJ was slamming into you with the biggest hug you’d ever received in your life. Your boyfriend held you tight, one arm locked around your waist, while the other cradled your head against him like you might slip away.

It had happened before.

Chaos of the reunion was all around you, but you were focused on just holding the love of your life.

You felt two more bodies collide into yourself, Kie and Pope’s voices overlapping as they joining in the hug after they reencountered John B and Sarah.

Tears of joy pricked in your eyes as you all finally parted.

John B stole JJ’s attention pretty quickly, pulling him into a hug. The sight made you smile, and it was the same when JJ and Sarah shared a hug while you got solo hugs from Kie then Pope. They hadn’t gotten that close, but it was safe to say you all missed each other.

When you all seperated, JJ turned back to you.

“I can’t believe you’re here right now,” he spoke first, sounding both awestruck and overwhelmed with joy.

JJ’s hands reached to grab yours, his gorgeous blue eyes stayed locked with yours. God, you missed those eyes.

You couldn’t help but laugh, and he joined you.

“What are you guys even doing here? I…” you didn’t know why you glanced down, but you did. Something on JJ’s left arm made you trail off.

In large, black ink, your name was scrawled across the inner side of his forearm.

Your jaw dropped and you looked up at him.

“I hate to interrupt, but we should go,” Pope urged.

You wouldn’t get to ask him about the tattoo until you got back to the Outer Banks. A lot of shit had gone down, not just on your, Sarah’s, and John B’s end, but back home too.

As you sat around the Chateau patio, you exchanged stories, all jumping in randomly over one another to add details or ask questions because so much had happened.

As you sat by JJ’s side on the couch—he was basically melded to your side. You couldn’t have been happier. Your hands were laced together, reminding one another that you were really here.

You kept getting distracted by his arm. It was your name in a tattoo. A permanent tattoo.

As it got later and later, your friends started to trickle inside to sleep. Eventually, it was just you and JJ.

“Do you like it?” he asked suddenly, interrupting as you recounted the way Sarah had snuck you all into a fancy hotel. Your eyes snapped up to his, realizing you’d been looking at the tattoo again. “I know you wanna ask.”

He didn’t seem offended or annoyed, there was actually a hint of a smirk on his face. He’d been wearing that look all day, and it was usually paired with murmurs of him saying how happy he was to have you back home.

“Did it hurt?” you wondered, avoiding the real question.

JJ laughed, but answered with, “Not really.”

“You got my name on your arm,” you stated bluntly. Not mad, just surprised. “Like, forever.”

The expression on his face got a little more serious. You saw his gaze fall briefly to his arm and he swallowed.

“I thought you were dead,” JJ recalled distantly. “And I thought… I didn’t know what I was gonna do without you guys—without you.”

You frowned at his confession, but didn’t speak yet. He was struggling to find the words, but you knew he had more to say. You hadn’t had a chance to talk about it yet.

“It was awful,” he continued grimly, eyes finding yours. You wished you could wipe the frown off of his face because it broke your heart. “Everyday was awful. And if I didn’t do something, I…” he shook his head. “It made me feel better. I got to have you with me everyday in some way.” JJ rubbed his arm, smiling sadly. “You know I always loved your name.”

You laughed tearfully at that, picking up on the lightheartedness in his tone, wiping your eyes. You didn’t even realize droplets had formed.

“That’s so sweet, JJ.”

“I love you,” JJ told you. “And I’m so fucking happy your back.” His smile turned more joyful. “And now I get to have you with me everyday for real.” He squeezed your hand. “Don’t even try to shake me, you’re not getting rid of me now.”

It was his turn to laugh, and you dramatically rolled your eyes at the deprecating humor. The hand that wasn’t holding JJ’s cupped the back of his neck. You pulled him into a loving, long overdue kiss.

When you parted, met his eyes again. You never wanted to look away.

“I love you, too,” you told him with a soft smile. “And I missed you every single day.”

“Same here,” JJ told you, a small smirk breaking out on his face. He held up his tattooed arm. “Clearly.”

You cut your own laugh off again as you pulled him back in for another kiss.

You were so happy to be home.

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank #outer banks #obx #request #quin-ns writing #asks

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stylesispunk · 3 months

Text

Nothing's gonna hurt you baby | prologue

Detective! Javier peña x f! reader

summary: You were kidnapped one winter night, but you have no memories of the incident or the person who took you. A year later, a homicide leads Javier Peña to your door, seeking help. He soon learns that he must protect the woman he loves.

chapter warnings: mentions of kidnapping, death, angst. The story doesn't follow the plot from narcos, but the use of Javier as the main lead in this story.

w.c: 1,7k

a/n: So lately I've been reading a little bit of this kind of genre and I wanted to give it a try, I got inspired by some readings and movies, and I know that this kind of topic may be triggering for a lot of people, but I'll try not to describe anything hard to read. Thank you in advance for allowing me to keep practicing with my writing, I hope I get better at this someday and I would love to know what you think!

masterlist

dividers by @/saradika

NEXT CHAPTER

There was a pain in your head when you woke up. The different voices in your surroundings were pounding against your skull, and terror creeped in.

You slowly opened your eyes, adjusting to the bright light piercing through your headache, intensifying the pain. You tried to recognize the people’s voices around you echoing in your ears, jumbling together into an unrecognizable symphony.

You attempted to move, but a sharp ache shot through your body. You winced. Panic crept in as you struggled to put the pieces together. Tiny fragments of broken memories flashed through your mind, but nothing seemed to explain why you were here.

As you blinked away the haze of confusion, you noticed a figure standing by your bedside—perhaps a nurse—with a gentle expression and a comforting presence. Their voice cut through the chaos, speaking softly to you, trying to reassure you. But the fear remained, gnawing at the edges of your consciousness like a relentless predator.

Questions flooded your mind, demanding answers that seemed just out of reach. What had happened to you? Why were you in the hospital?

“I was coming home from the restaurant; I had this fight with Tom,” you struggled to answer.

“Who is Tom?” the officer asked, walking towards your bed.

“My boyfriend,” you replied.

“That’s the last thing you remember?”

“That’s the last thing that happened yesterday.” You were completely confused, not understanding what was going on.

“Miss,” the officer began, carefully with the next words he was about to say: “That happened a year ago; you had been missing for a year.”

Your hands were shaking; you were completely lost, and the officer tried to comfort you. Your breaths came in short, shallow gasps, each one feeling like a struggle against an invisible weight pressing down on your chest. Panic clenched at your throat, making it difficult to swallow, as the reality of your situation crashed over you like a tidal wave.

The officer, sensing your distress, motioned urgently to the nurse, who hurried to your bedside with a concerned expression etched on her features. "We need something to help her calm down," the officer instructed, his voice laced with urgency.

You had woken up and come back from hell.

You had survived from a nightmare, your captor.

ONE YEAR LATER

Javier parked his car at the curb. The chaos of curious people had already gathered outside the house. Surely, for people to witness a homicide was not an everyday occurrence, and what had happened at this place woke great concern among the neighbors.

He had been working on the Violent Crimes Division for years. However, despite facing things that people wouldn’t normally endure, he had never fully gotten used to them. He had to face death almost on a daily basis, and yet it hurt to see a human become a lifeless frame on the ground because another person took their life away.

Yet he made his way through the crowd, avoiding the concerned people around him. He passed by reporters who asked such morbid questions he couldn’t even believe. The withering look he gave them was enough to make them feel angry, so he kept walking towards the cordoned house, with some officers making sure no one got too close.

“Good morning, people." He greeted her, crouching down under the police tape.

“Good morning, Peña." Steve was welcomed, joined by their other partner, Lauren.

Javier’s gaze traveled down and up his female partner, mesmerized not only by her blonde hair but also her hips. She was a doll, and he considered himself a lucky guy to witness her presence not only here but inside the four walls of his department almost every night.

“How are you, Javier?” She greeted her, placing and swagging her hair.

“Blessed by your presence here,” he answered, smirking.

Not long after, Lauren furrowed her eyebrows, signaling for their partners to follow her to the crime scene.

“What do we have here?” Javier asked, analyzing the horrid image in front of him.

“Naomi Warren. She was found dead this morning at eight thirty by her roommate. She told us Naomi always ran in the morning; it seemed like some crazy bastard followed her here,” Lauren explained, and they kept studying the situation.

They walked closer, and the girl laying there, lifeless, broke Javier’s heart; she didn’t seem older than twenty-five with a life ahead that stopped so suddenly. She was lying there in a white gown with her hands placed over her chest, holding a bouquet of daisies in between.

“Guys, how are you?” the forensic greeted

“What do you think?” Steven replied, walking around, being careful not to step on the evidence around the girl.

“Do you have the cause of death?” Javier wanted to know, although he could imagine it already.

“It seems like she was strangled, but I’ll be able to tell you more after the autopsy,” she said.

The forensic officer motioned for them to crouch down. But he would initially assume that it was very likely that she had been strangled. The three detectives observed traces of blood in the victim's eyes, and the answer was almost clear.

“There was a note, though,” she clarified.

“A note?” Javier asked, taking a pair of latex gloves from the forensics’ briefcase and kneeling down.

With a gentle hand, he reached out to retrieve the note, his fingers trembling slightly as he unfolded the paper, his eyes scanning the words written in hurried script, and his brow furrowing in concentration.

The note was brief, yet its message was chilling in its simplicity. "You can't hide forever," it read, the words scrawled in dark ink that seemed to seep into Javier's consciousness like poison.

There was a name next to it: yours.

Javier's heart skipped a beat as he read the name next to the ominous message. It felt like a punch to the gut, the familiarity of the name sending a jolt of recognition coursing through his veins.

As the weight of realization settled upon him, Javier's mind raced with questions. What connection did this person have to the victim? And why had they left such a chilling message behind?

“Who kind of bastard could have done something like this?” Lauren asked as she gazed at Javier’s hands.

"Wait,” Steven said. “Do you remember that case from that girl in Boston?”

“Which one?” Javier asked,

“The girl who went missing for a year?” Lauren questioned.

Javier's mind flashed back to the haunting memories of the Boston case—the details of the missing girl, who had disappeared for a year before her tragic fate was discovered. The parallels between that case and the current one sent a shiver down his spine, the pieces of the puzzle slotting into place with eerie precision.

"The Boston case," Javier muttered, his voice tinged with a mix of dread and determination. "It's all coming back to me now."

Lauren's eyes widened with understanding as she connected the dots, realizing the significance of Steven's mention. "You think there's a connection between that case and this one?" She asked, her voice hushed with apprehension.

“There is a way to find out.” Javier's gaze hardened with determination as he contemplated Steven's suggestion. He knew they had to pursue every lead and exhaust every avenue of investigation to uncover the truth behind the chilling message and its connection to his own name.

"What do you have in mind?" Lauren asked, her voice betraying a hint of urgency.

Javier took a moment to collect his thoughts before responding. "We need to revisit the Boston case," he declared, his tone resolute. "We need to dig deeper, reexamine the evidence, and see if there are any overlooked connections between that case and this one."

Steven nodded in agreement, his expression mirroring Javier's determination. "I'll reach out to the authorities in Boston," he said, his voice steady. "We'll request access to the case files, interview witnesses, and do whatever it takes to uncover the truth."

"I know someone from there," Javier said, his voice resolute as he recalled a contact he had in Boston. The mention of this connection sparked a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty that hung over them like a shroud.

Javier had found that you and the victim were, in fact, similar. The eerie similarities between yourself and the victim painted a picture of connection that couldn't be ignored. His heart clenched with empathy as he imagined the fear and uncertainty you must have faced, knowing that the same darkness that had claimed the victim now threatened you.

You had moved from Boston and changed your last name. It was clear that you had been running from the ghosts, seeking refuge from the nightmares that haunted your past. But now, those same nightmares seem to have caught up with you, threatening to consume you once more.

With each passing moment, Javier felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He knew that time was running out and that he had to act swiftly to ensure your safety.

Armed with newfound resolve, Javier spared no effort in his quest to track you down.

As the first light of dawn broke through the darkness, Javier stood before your door. He knew that this moment would be pivotal and that the truth awaited him on the other side of that threshold.

With a steadying breath, he reached out and knocked, the sound echoing through the silent morning air. Seconds stretched into eternity as he waited, his anticipation growing with each passing moment.

And then the door opened, revealing you standing before him, bathed in the soft glow of morning light. Javier's breath caught in his throat as he took in your appearance, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

In that moment, time seemed to stand still as Javier drank in the sight of you, his heart swelling with a mixture of awe and protectiveness. There was something about you—something that stirred a deep instinct within him. The need to protect, to shield you from all the dangers of the world.

For a moment, he found himself lost in the depths of your gaze, the weight of his responsibility pressing down on him like a heavy burden. But then, with a shake of his head, he pushed aside his doubts and fears, focusing instead on the task at hand.

"I'm Detective Javier Peña," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil raging within him. "I need to talk to you.”

#javier pena fic #javier pena x reader #javier peña #javi peña #javier pena imagine #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena x you #javier pena narcos #javi peña x reader #javier peña x female reader #javier peña x f!reader #javier pena fluff #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters

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ladythornofrivia · 5 months

Text

MY SCAVENGER || Kylo Ren!Aemond x Rey!Reader

a/n: i’ve been thinking about what one-shot I should do next. Though I’m currently writing Saltburn fanfic, I love Star Wars. Even Reylo! Have fun reading! (Some dialogue in the beginning doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to the movie.)

warnings: interrogation, torture kink, lust at first sight, breeding kink, p in v sex, fight scene, violence, aemond has issues, loss of virginity, aemond is a d*ck, kink size, obsessive aemond, dom/sub, aemond not only uses the power of force on reader but also with his d*ck. Bl*wjob, degradation kink, creampie

pair: aemond x reader

Somewhere in the galaxy far away, the leader of the First Order, Aemond Targaryen, was hunting for the map that’ll lead him to Daemon Targaryen, the last Jedi ever existed. Or so he believed.

While Aemond knew the legends of his uncle and his journey as a Jedi warrior, but those who commanded under Aemond’s order and leadership, not a soul in a galaxy believed Daemon ever existed, not in the history textbooks or screens. The stormtroopers only meant to serve their skilled leader.

As young as he was, Aemond Targaryen is known for his cold and calculating nature. He kept his helmet on, under any circumstances, and wields a red lightsaber. Tall and lethal, no one really knew what he looked like—it left to the imagination far and wide, leading his troops picturing of his appearance. Aemond wouldn’t dare make his troops or his other commanding officers enter his private quarters.

In the galaxy, everyone feared him.

Until you.

A nobody living in the stories of galaxy.

Hunting for scraps and leftovers for the sake of small profit to keep on living. Finding rare scraps in Jakku, was meddlesome. A nightmare. Filled in stacks of desert sand and humid waves lingered and pierced your skin.

Deserted land has been your home. And in your home, inside the AT-AT Walker, after you scratch another tally mark on the metallic wall, you cooked a loaf of bread and fried vegetables and scraps of thin meat. You wondered when your life will begin anew with reborn purpose. A nobody, in the galactic space, hoped your family would return.

You hoped that your life isn’t meaningless.

Jakku has been destroyed; in chaos, you’re forced to leave—of taking refuge, but more companions in your journey agreed that Jakku is nothing but a junkyard, and there you met a legendary shooter and a Wookie Warrior. But the plans failed.

For Aemond Targaryen spotted the map to Daemon Tarygaryen’s location. But the expectant acquirance wasn’t the astromech, droid BB8, rather, something far more interesting.

Aemond captured you—after minutes of chase and defense in the thickened forest. “Bring the girl,” he ordered, as your body fell to unconsciousness by the force, as he carried you and fled away with his ship, brought you to the First Order base, entrapped in metal straps as soon as you woke up.

Luminous lights and thick air provoked your tightened lungs to breath and your skin had broken a perspiration.

The doors opened, unveiling a tall, dark figure between the gaps of archway. Stomping on his shoes echoed until became nothing.

“Where are the others?” you asked, rasping, eyes hazed.

“You mean the murderers, traitors and thieves and cravens you call friends,” he said, taunting, his voice was nearly a merry. “You’ll be in such a relief that I have no clue to where they are.”

The reflection of his mask stared back at you. “You still want to murder me—challenge me,” he assumed.

“Well, that’s what happens if you’ve been chased and captured by the monstrous creature in a mask,” you snapped, low voice laced with venom.

His mask has taken off, long silk strands of silver-blond hair flowed over his chest, as the violet eye and the substitution of his sapphire gleamed at you. For a second, you never thought that your captor is skilled fighter, but it’s also young—young and handsome. His milky skin aglow, a good correlation to his deep stone wedged on the empty socket of his amputated eye, lined with scar that is faded. Outline of his jaw sharpened, shadowed as he strode closer to you.

Thundered, his mask dropped at a nearby stand, the grey sand flew and dissipated as his lithe frame inched closer.

“The droid,” he said, almost frantic. “Tell me about the droid. I know the droid has the map to Daemon Targaryen. Ever heard of him?”

Looking at his eye, you shook your head, “Never heard of him,” you answered, the illuminated lights flashed over your eyelids each time you blinked.

Aemond inched his face closer. “Your heart beat is pounding awfully loud.”

“Must be the heat,” you retorted.

He chuckled. “What a clever liar you are. But not clever enough. Now, tell me about the droid.”

“He’s a BB Unit with a Selenium Drive with a Thermal Hyperscan Vindicator.”

“It’s carrying a navigational chart, which the droid possesses the map.” His head tilted. “You, a scavenger, living on Jakku—a deserted planet with nothing to offer.” His face leaned closer. “You know I can take what I want.”

You swallowed, eyes flicking at his smooth pink-colored lips.

“My,” he said, licking his lower lip. “It appears you have some sort of interest in me, showed no signs of fear.”

You looked away, face reddened from the strict heat in the room and the huskiness in his voice. His hand outreached to your side temple, though no contact. You felt the Force strengthened and battled against the mobility of your system.

“You’re lonely. Alone and desperate. Waiting for someone to show up and rescue you. Waiting for someone to lead you out from the land, from the galaxy and into the great land with trees and life. I can sense the anger…not only that…something far more…delicate…in the matter based on your compromising position,” he cooed.

You resisted, of course, but your energy drained quicker.

His body leaned back, taking a good look of your exasperated form. “Tell you what, I’ll release you, but only if you can give something to me, in one condition.”

You (e/c) locked onto his. “And what would that be?”

Only the corners of Aemond’s lips curled.

“Please, no,” you begged, wrists tied up behind your back while Aemond was sitting on a spare chair, his thick and lithe legs spread wide while you’re in between them, knees already hurting.

“Shhh, trust me, my little scavenger,” he cooed again, his gloved hand flattened behind your head and dragged it downward. “So, are you going to be my good woman, or do I have show you the force again?”

Gulping, you succumbed at his voice. Maybe another way of his “force”.

“Good woman,” he praised, and unzipped his black trousers, his long and thick cock sprung out it nearly hit your cheek below the eye. “Sorry, darling, my cock couldn’t help but to view at the sight of you,” he said, smirking, tugging your locks, hauling you closer to his engorged tip, leaking. Your lips opened, taken his length in, choking. It felt as if your eating a whole uncut rod—or a thicker lightsaber. “All trapped underneath me, my power. The force within can’t abide much later.”

Gagging proceeded in your throat, but you took his length in precarious and fervent care.

“That’s it,” he groaned, his other hand flicked, the force brought your head down further to the end of his swollen cock, his large balls. “Argh! That’s…it.”

It was impressive for him to not only deal with a woman with capable resistance, but also has a coy nature she has been hiding—a tease.

The force no longer hostage you; your mouth watered as you took his cock well, swallowing the taste of his flesh, his warm flesh. Oh, how delightful. You never dealt a Jedi or a commander to have desirable or naughty urges. But you figured that even the force cannot contain beastly urges of a man. Aemond was one. But, has he ever been a woman before you? Jealousy pitted down on your heated belly, flickering.

It felt so wrong, but, your heart was aching for him, despite “meeting” under the matters of selfish urgency and a brink of death.

Aemond sighed, his silver-blond locks befallen on his broad and lean backside, his throat bobbed, heaving and sighing at your warm and slick mouth.

“Your thoughts are troubling you again,” he said. “No, I have never been with a woman.”

You doubted. Tortured at the thought of a previous woman, a torture where a previous woman might do better than you—an inexperienced scavenger.

“I never lie,” he said. His index finger flicked, and the hair ties on your head casted, your longish locks flowed, nesrly covering up your breast. “In fact, I never did.”

Semen spurted in your slippery mouth.

“Take it all in, darling,” he encouraged, hearing your throat quenched its thirst, smothered in his slick and spurt of his thick semen.

The room became hotter as Aemond strapped your wrists above your head onto the prison bed.

“Stay still, woman,” he grunted, his lips inched downward to yours, seeing if the pace of his breath matched with yours.

Your chest steadied from a grasping breath you tried to behold with gentleness. Aemond sensed it, too.

“You’re steady…Good.” And plunged his suppled lips to yours, caging your soft ragged breaths, playing your tongue with his, heavy sighs played out in the air, his palm snuck in your cloth, smooth fingertips tracing the lines of your stomach, the soft steep of ribcage.

“With you under my protection, nothing can go wrong, little scavenger,” he said, his tucked hand withdrew, and flicked a sharp movement, and your clothes shred and tossed across the room under his Force.

Gasping, Aemond silenced your lips again under a deep passion. A sheer underwear tucked your maidenhood. Frustrated, Aemond snatched and ripped in one swoop, his cock engorged twice, hardened, his throat dried and croaked at the sight of your flawless beauty, picturing the lines of stretch marks on your lower belly from the swollen pregnancy. Aemond thought beforehand that if the First Order has been under siege, in one way to promote a difficult position that couldn’t diffuse, he needed an heir, an heir of a stronger, faster and more calculating version of himself.

“Hold on, scavenger, I’m sure this will be painful for you, but you’ll grow to love the feeling of my cock, grinding inside your walls. How do you feel now, little woman? Are you willing to give an heir for me?”

You gasped. There was so much life ahead of you. Unsure of his words, you were sure he’s crazy to know that one, obtaining pregnancy is scandalous—especially if a father is a notorious leader. He could be killed, and could be tortured or his enemies will use you and the child to proceed their victory to reach Aemond.

Gulping and vibrating under him, you uttered. “Why me?”

Your heart is torn in half. What if Aemond is only using you as a spare time hobby? What if he’ll soon find a lover who’s more beautiful and mature and not childlike like you, and for you to be thrown in the dark and be forgotten? Numerous possibilities rushing in your mind—and halted—when Aemond said, “I won’t betray you. Betraying is the enemy’s job.”

“But you’re the enemy,” you remarked.

“In this room, you’ll only see the real me, as the real Aemond, a beast hidden in a skin of a man,” he murmured. “I must have you,” he grunted, pushing his cock into your constricted folds, pumping and sliding in a tremendous pace that the bed rocked.

Moans ascended in the roofs, Aemond’s quiet grunts entered through your ears. Your legs wrapped around his slender waist, bobbing as his powerful thrusts electrified your drenched walls.

Your eyes lulled, but Aemond grasped your face and aligned it to his, violet eye narrowed. “Look at me as I fuck you good—heavy and fast. Your belly will soon swell with a future Jedi, a more powerful warrior than any good-for-nothing troops in the galaxy.”

His legs ached as his one hand untied the knot on your wrist and hauled your body up for you to snuggle him, bed rocking continuously as your voice rasped, airily sighing with your eyes closed, almost seeing pink stars swirling in your closed lids, your mouth sucked Aemond’s neck, offered a low hiss through his teeth.

“That’s it, my good angel,” Aemond purred,the flat of his large hands enveloped and motioned against your naked back. The heat in the room faded, the coldness bumped into your bare flesh; the air condition is activated, encouraged your warm bodies to go at full speed.

“Aemond,” you moaned, head threw back.

Aemond’s pace became sloppy, staggered at you calling his name. “Say it again, my darling scavenger. Say my name.”

“Aemond…Aemond,” your hips gyrated, in pleasurable heat.

His lips curved. “I knew you would love it eventually.”

“Need you to come…inside me..in me…on me…in my mouth or face. Fuck me good,” you begged, corner of your lips salivating, tongue buds prickling, in hopes to taste his cock again.

But you missed the part where Aemond’s eye gleamed in darkened shade, in secret thrill.

Grabbing your hips, nails deepened and bruised your flesh and bones as his thrusts shoved harder, sending your voice wailing through the roof. You were sure that the Stormtroopers would stop and listen over your voice. Aemond couldn’t care less; he loved seeing you like this.

“Almost there, my scavenger,” he groaned, kissing your cheek, last few rounds set in; your arms slightly flailed yet gripped around his neck, face nuzzled onto his lean neck as he blasted hot white liquid inside you.

Kissing on several spots on your face, Aemond tugged your body down with him, with your side profile pressed against his chest, his hand rested on your back head while the other brushed your back.

“The child will soon grow into you,” he reminded.

“What about the droid?” you asked, puzzled.

Aemond scoffed. “Forget about that damn droid. It is you who I am enamored to, who I am now devoted to.”

“Is this the power of force?”

“No, this is my love yearning for someone—for you, my sweet,” he said. “The force is neither the army nor the galaxy. The force is within us, and only us can gather. The force can sometimes break us.”

“You didn’t break me,” you noted, admiring his sapphire eye.

Aemond smiled. “No, but you tamed the force within me.”

And you both shared a tender kiss under dimmed light.

Taglist: @daonenonlysandman @toodlesxcuddles @kittendoll05 @omgsuperstarg @xcharlottemikaelsonx @paninisstuff @danika1994 @angeljcca @marvelescvpe @kukulyarva @namelesslosers @heavenly1927 @snh96 @herathedreamer @fandom-maniac-anime @httpsmenace @velunis @nananeptune @domithebomi @moonseye @valeskafics @faesspace @rxixo31 @tm-starr @xinthia19 @popsycles @naiaaramena @aleemendoza2425-blog @letmehavemyfictionalmen @aracelipf @ammo23 @blackswxnn @buccini555 @watercolorskyy @taangie @wolfdressedinlace @qardasngan @justyelena @jolixtreesunn @runekisses @jmii722 @colored-tr-panels @evergreen9083 @foggypeacestarlight @dixie-elocin @galactict3a @momowhoo @saturnssrings @dani5216 @liannafae

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luvtak · 7 months

Text

bath time & four minute love stories

✧ pairing felix x reader

✧ genre/tw so much fluff its actually disgusting, est. relationship, suggestive at the end but no smut xoxo, mc is in the bath and thus they are naked lmao, lots and lots of kissies, felix being the most adorable bf, probably a lot of run on sentences and unnecessary semi colons ://, mostly unedited but i hope you love it!!

✧ w/c 994

masterlist

“Did you know you can fall in love in four minutes?”

Felix’s voice is a welcomed but intruding sound to the quiet atmosphere of your bathroom. His company, while not unwanted, is a quiet disruption to your alone time; Your bath was meant to be spent by yourself, surrounded by lavender scented candles and the soft melodies coming from your phone, time set aside to relax with your own thoughts. However, this plan was quickly changed when your boyfriend decided your living room was too cold and lonely to be by himself; hence his place outside the tub.

His figure is out of place on the cold blue tile, slouched over the cabinets and looking at you like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. You know part of it must be your soap sudded skin out in the open for him to admire, but he never looks down–keeping steadfast eye contact as he speaks in soft whispers.

“And! And! If you make eye contact with someone for like… seven seconds you’ll fall in love, like right away!” God, he’s so excited… and dreamy. Something about the steamy room turning him into a daydream before your eyes.

“Baby, I don’t think that’s true.” you laugh. You wonder where he heard this fun fact, but you’ll be forever endeared at his willingness to believe. Too often he’ll come home spouting off crazy stories he thinks are true or instagram articles filled with obvious pr stunts and gossip that he takes as gospel.

“It is true, it was on the internet! And anyway, I definitely fell in love with you in four minutes, so it must be true.” His silken voice is laced with happiness and honesty like always. Felix confesses his love like he’s reading off the daily paper, an unbiased summary of events. Too often you’re surprised by how nonchalant his affections are, seducing you with soft touches and domestic romance you never dreamt of having.

“Just because it was on the internet doesn’t mean it’s true…”

Even with your eyes closed you can see his eyes roll, scoffing at your cynicism. He wasn’t lying, the very first time he spoke to you he knew you were his. Lovely and warm and his.

You were sitting on the stairs at some party, bored out of your mind and so beautiful he couldn’t believe you were real. He hit on you with practiced grace and such adorable nervousness you couldn’t help but agree to go out.

Looking at him now, it’s almost a shock to believe he’s still here with you, sitting on a cold bathroom floor just because he couldn’t help being away from you.

He’s angelic against the candlelight, a vision out of a storybook; a fairy prince come to steal you away.

You wonder if you’ll ever be brave enough to tell him, speak all your wishes and desires as clearly as he tells you.

“My love, it has to be true–it happened to us.” His voice is so deep and so quiet, it takes a few minutes to blink out the loved up haze you were in to really hear him. Hear how true these words are and have no doubt he means them. You don’t know if you did fall in four minutes–it could have been thirty seconds or three months, but you do know you love him now. You love him almost too much, it’s all consuming and obsessive and true.

He’s looking at you moony-eyed and colorful and the water is going tepid, but with his gaze pointed at you, you feel as hot as you did when the bath began. There is something to say about how even with your body laid out bare before him, he is staring at your eyes–with every freckle, stretch mark, and scar ready for him to map out, the only thing he is truly focused on is the way your lips gently tilt up. Sure, it’s the bare minimum and you wouldn’t expect anything less from him, but it still has a confession bursting out of your smile.

“It did, didn’t it? I remember being so sure we’d be together forever that night, even if all you did was ask for my number.”

You know he isn’t used to you divulging so much of your feelings, but it is still a surprise when he rushes closer to the tub–quickly getting up and stepping inside fully clothed. He settles on top of you, jostling you and giggling when water spills over the side. Kisses pressed all over you, some gentle pecks and others all teeth and drool because he’s laughing too hard.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” and even though it’s uncomfortable and you know you’re making a big mess, all you can do is laugh along with him. Snorting and gasping through the giggles when his lips swipe over a uniquely tickly spot.

You love him too, so much, and while it’s hard to say, it’s the easiest thing in the world to show him. Swiping slightly damp strands from his eyes and holding his hands against the water, if he didn’t rush in you’re sure you’d be shivering by now, but with his body atop yours you don’t think you’ll ever be cold again.

He’s still kissing you, swiping his tongue against your lips before slowly easing himself in, and taking control of the kiss. It’s dangerous how he’s kissing you, but it all feels so innocent–he’s yours, yours and no one else’s and even if you’re undressed it’s the purest thing you’ve ever felt.

“Come on,” his voice is a shadow of itself, deeper and more shaky than you’ve ever heard it. “Let’s get dried off, huh, so I can put you to bed.” but the way he’s looking at you, all teeth and blown out pupils; flushed from the water and all the kisses, you don’t think he’s going to simply tuck you in.

#skz fluff #skz x reader #felix fluff #felix x reader #lee felix #skz imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids x reader #stray kids fluff #felix #✧ drabble

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smok3r7 · 3 months

Text

They Always Come Back

Aaron Hotchner x f!reader

Explicit, 18+

Push and Pull

Main Masterlist & Series Masterlist - My AO3

Summary: You and Aaron met in college, Criminology Major, funny enough. Throughout your five years at George Washington College, you and Hotchner had this on and off again relationship; it was all fun until you started to realize that you loved him. After graduation the two of you cut ties and left it as dumb college love, going your separate ways. After a decade you finally land your dream job, a seat at the BAU; however when you notice the name copied on the email, you can’t believe your eyes.

Chapter Summary: The first year is just about over and you and Aaron have somehow gotten into yet another argument. Can the two of you fix it? And even if you can, is it even worth it?

Word count: 4k

Warnings: angst, toxic young ‘relationship’, drinking

—

“So, what happened this time?”

This question lingers in the air like thick smoke, heavy and dark. You’re sitting on your bed criss-cross and Bella is sitting the same way, right in front of you. You’re trying to find the words to explain what happened about an hour ago, but you can’t find them.

“He just- no, it was my- god, I don’t even know,” you choke out as your face falls into the palms of your hands and the tears begin, “It’s just so stupid. I’m stupid.”

“Oh baby, come here,” Bella sighs as she pulls your shoulders so the top of your head leans against her chest, and she just hugs your upper body as much as she can. The two of you stay like that for a moment, until you pull yourself together and are able to form complete sentences without crying or breaking down once more.

“Ready to try again?” She asks as she carefully lets your trembling body lean back to where you were.

You wipe your nose with the sleeve of your shirt and nod your head, still with glossy eyes, and look into her beautiful hazel irises, relaxing a bit. You take one more deep breath so you can put the pieces of the puzzle back together mentally before you try to verbally.

“Okay, umm. So ya’ know Tiffany right?”

“The frat whore?” she asks, “Yeah, I do.”

You chuckle, “So, at Jackson’s party earlier I saw her ‘n Aaron talking. But she was like all up on him, whispering into his ear constantly ‘n he would look at me ‘n then back to her. ‘N he just, like, had this glare in his eye. It really hurt me cause everyone knows about him ‘n I! Like, okay, yes, we’re off right now but that doesn’t make it fine to do that. Especially when I’m in the eyesight of both of them.”

“So what did you do?” Bella asks with furrowed brows, “Cause I know you didn’t just let that slide.”

Before you answer her with the embarrassing truth, your hands are fidgeting with the laces of your Nike Air Forces. You find it heartening and funny that she knows you so well, because she’s right - there’s no way you would let anything like that slide, especially when it came to Aaron.

“Well, I uh- went up to them ‘n started to argue with Tiffany. Saying shit like; why are you on him, you’re a whore anyway, he wouldn’t want anything you have to offer, bitch. Then she started to get loud back ‘n all in my face, which- I was fine with, until she then digs her finger into my chest. ‘N that’s when I just lost it.”

“She really did that? Her dumbass thought that was a good idea, are you kidding me?”

“Seriously! ‘N that’s funny you say that, just gimmie a second to get there, okay?” You laugh to yourself and, before you continue your story, you snag the fifth of Fireball that’s on the bedside table and take a shot. No chaser. You’ve become quite good at being able to drink since you’ve been at Washington College, a perk of being here.

Then, handing the bottle to Bella, she too takes a swig of the liquor that’s now about half way gone. She hands it back to you, ugh, man, she groans and you just let the fifth sit in between your legs as you begin to continue the events of tonight.

“So that’s when I swung my fist back ‘n punched her dead in her face-“

“Tiffany?!”

“Yes, Tiffany. Right square in her nose, ‘n the bitch fell right to the floor. Just like that,” you clap your hands right as you say that, to really showcase how quickly and hard she fell.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Bella chokes on her spit for a second.

“Bitch yes! Like a fuckin dead tree, just pin straight down to the ground. That’s when I stood over her ‘n said, stay the hell away from Hotch. But before I could gloat anymore, Aaron bear hugged me from behind ‘n picked me up. So I’m trying to squirm ‘n kick my legs out of his grip, but ya’ know, that wasn’t happenin’. The whole living room of people is just buzzing with laughs ‘n ouhhhh’s while he carries me out the front door and into the dead end cul de sac ‘n sets me down.”

You stop blabbering and take another shot of the whiskey, bigger than the last one. Ugh, shit, you groan and wince at the burning feeling in your throat. Good one, huh? Bella giggles as she reaches out to your hand where you’re handing her the bottle again.

“Shut up,” you drunkenly laugh, the whiskey definitely affecting you now, “But back to what I was sayin’. Uh, he set me on my feet ‘n spun me around to face him. His face was stern, like he does when he’s pissed, you know the look.” You stop your rambling to mimic Aaron’s stern face, dramatically furrowing your brows and sealing your lips into a hard line.

“Oh my god, yes,” Bella bursts out laughing at your overly dramatic face; even though it’s somewhat accurate, “You’ve gotten so good at that. Fuck, girl.” Since he is seven years older than you, he does have some more aged features on him than most - which you really don’t mind, you actually love his older features and vibe.

“Thank you, thank you,” laughing as you act out putting a crown on your head, “Anyways- my adrenaline was still on a hundred from frat-whore Tiffany, so I’m quick to start yellin’ at him. ‘N if I’m completely honest, I don’t even remember what I said entirely cause he was quick to shut me up. Here, let me just show you-”

You spring up to your feet so you can reenact how Aaron acted to you tonight. “Gettin’ a full show, I guess,” Bella announces as she watches your wobbly movements.

“Yep. So he interrupts my word salad by shouting my name, which worked really well actually. Then he follows up with,” you clear your throat and start to impersonate his voice, but with a bit of an exaggerated tone to it.

“You really think it’s okay for you to act like that? You’re such a child. I can’t believe you actually thought I would get with Tiffany anyways.” You switch back to your voice, “then I stopped him ‘n said, so then why were you lettin her be all up on you and whispering’ in your ear?” Back to his voice, “Are you kidding me? She’s my partner in Behavior Analytics, and it’s loud inside there. Okay, yeah - maybe I let her too close, but what is it to you anyway? We’re not even together right now.”

“He said that? No fuckin’ way,” Bella starts as her jaw slacks open from pure shock at what you just told her, “He’s got some damn nerve.”

“Thank you! God, I- I was so confused ‘n clearly not thinking straight because,” you take a second before you answer, “cause, I slapped the shit outta him.” Before the words leave your lips, you wince from the embarrassment of your actions.

Bella looks at you dumbfounded, and all she does is hand you the fifth of whiskey for you to drink. Thanks, you chuckle and without any hesitation take it, along with another shot, the bottle now only having about one shot left. After taking the shot, you start to feel dizzy so you go back to the bed and plop down in the same position before you stood up. You start to hand the fifth to Bella, “No, baby that’s all you, you need it more than I do right now.”

You just shake your head and the events of tonight just replay over and over as you take the last swig of the Fireball. Which you do not need.

Bella waits a second for you to recoup yourself before she asks the question, “So what did he do after you slapped him?”

You smile, but not because you’re happy, it’s because you’re sad and scared, and just in pure disbelief - he’s never done this before, you might have lost him for good.

Screwing the red cap onto the bottle and raising your eyes across the dorm to the trash can by the door, you chuck it past Bella’s head and it sinks right into the black can. Hell yeah. She turns her head back to face you and chuckles as she raises her right hand for a high five.

But the little burst of joy will quickly fade.

“He just turned around ‘n just left me in the street ‘n walked back into Jackson’s house to continue partying or god knows what.”

Wow, is all that Bella says as her face is covered with a shocked expression, much like yours was earlier in the evening. Yeah, just- yeah, you reply to her as you fall back and let your head sink into your pillow and your arms lay across your eyes to make sure tears don’t escape. Silence fills the dorm room, besides the busy street noise and people partying that echoed through the open window behind you.

You feel the mattress sink next to you and Bella’s arms wrapping around your waist, her face burrowing into your neck as she whispers, “Fuck him.” You take your arms off of your face and turn to look at her, you both start giggling like little girls at a sleepover talking about boys - not too different from what you’re doing.

—

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BE-

“Oh my god, shut the fuck up!” You groan, raising your closest hand and hitting the alarm clock like you’ve done every morning for the past eight, nine months. Thankfully, you only have one more week of the obnoxious torture device that is your alarm clock, and then it’s summer break.

But before you can even think of that, you have to face today. God, you feel like shit. Your head pounds over and over, concentrated right behind your eyes. You roll over on your belly and smush your face into the plush pillow, why did I have to get that drunk? You can tell today is just going to be perfect, just perfect. Maybe a fake smile in the mirror will make you believe it.

After about five minutes of cursing to yourself into your pillow, you gather the minimal strength you have and push yourself off the mattress. Making yourself get ready for a chilly spring Monday worth of lectures, along with facing Aaron after last night. Slipping on one of his Nike hoodies, that just goes past your ass and is overall large on you, with a pair of black leggings, and of course - your black and white forces. Simple yet cute.

Still hungover like someone who’s never drank before, you do a little bit of mascara and put your hair up and out of the way. Just so you don’t look completely fucked up, and so Aaron doesn’t think that he messed with your head completely. You and him have been together but not at the same time, pretty much since this past October.

The two of you would be on good terms for a week or two and then he either did something to piss you off for fun, but you would then take it too far by arguing with him about it. Or it would be all over a dumb thing that he would do, like going out and not coming back around you for a night or two. He wouldn’t try to contact you in any way, to even just inform you that he was safe or when he’d be back, and it worried you when he did that. But when you voiced how you didn’t like it, he’d completely dismiss you - resulting in another argument and break up, repeating the cycle again.

Aaron is the one who calls it off, every time. He won’t talk or contact you, in which you do the same - out of spite. But usually after about three or four days, one of you breaks the no contact - usually for sex.

There was just something about Aaron that you couldn’t leave alone, and there was just something about you, that he couldn’t leave alone either.

And it’s been the same cycle. Over and over. But in all seriousness, you don’t mind it because right now this is all fun and games. You really believe that whatever this thing is between you and Aaron, will end either this summer or when you graduate. If you keep telling yourself that you’re okay with this, you’ll eventually believe it, right?

With your mind trying to think and the throbbing headache behind your eyes, it’s all too much. You pause your movements and take a deep breath, eyeing the table you see a bottle of Tylenol that Bella must’ve needed also on that table. You take two of them followed by your water from your water bottle, then snag an apple from the counter.

You go back to putting your textbook and notebook in your bag and you quickly glance over to the clock one more time, 9:28AM.

“Fuck, just- ugh,” You grumble as you bolt towards the door, slamming it behind you, and jogging down the hallway that’s scattered with students here and there. This would be the day I’m late.

The door to Dr. Miller’s room is now in front of you, before you open it you regulate your breathing so you’re not out of breath when you walk in.

Alright- three, two, one- you pull the glass door and gently close it behind your body, so it doesn’t slam. You instantly spot Dr. Miller slightly leaned and sat on his wide oak desk, with his arms folded in front of his chest. He turns his head in your direction, but is still talking to the class.

“…546 through 576 are the pages we’ll be goin’ over…”

This man creates feelings in you that you don’t know how to place, but you can’t do anything about it, so you just observe him and take in what you can.

His brown hair with streaks of silver is slicked loosely back and the curls are almost perfect, his round wired glasses sit on his nose. The dark blue button up he has on extenuates his bulky arms and chest, which has you feeling light and bubbly. Hangover gone for a split second.

You nod your head and he returns the gesture, then faces the rest of the class, continuing his lecture about today's reading.

“…by Wednesday, end of class. I want a three page overview of how brains can alter after a traumatic event…”

As you walk up the steps on the side, Dr. Miller’s voice drops from your ears. Or, a slight ringing sort of takes over your hearing and, for some odd reason, you’re worried sick about how he’s going to be.

Reaching the section, after what feels like climbing a mountain, you look down the row where you and Aaron usually sit, seeing him sitting by himself with his head down. Weird. When you slowly walk over to him, you squat down, balancing yourself with one hand on the back of the chair and whisper, “Is this seat taken?”

Aaron lifts his head and you can tell that he is just as hungover as you, if not more. His jet black hair, usually combed back, is fluffy and messy. His amber colored eyes have a red glossy tint over them as he gazes down at you with melancholy eyes. But when he realizes that it’s you and you’re not upset, a warm relaxed smile growing on his tired face.

“Not at all, love.”

—

“Are you gonna come in?” You question Aaron as you stand inside your dorm and he lingers in the doorway. The two of you had sat silently during class, then made a deal to talk about things back at your dorm after the day was done, going your separate ways for the rest of your schedule. It’s now just after two in the afternoon, but you feel like it could be time for you to go to bed, clearly what your body craves.

Between the lingering headache, body aches, and the slight rumbling of your stomach from this awful hangover you’re still somewhat going through, the amount of stress you’re under from the tedious school work between three classes, to the situation in front of you - all you want to do is sleep.

“Yeah, I just want to-”

“Hotch. Stop. Come in ‘n we’ll talk.”

He’s silent as he listens to you and hesitantly steps into the room, leaning his back against the door as it closes. You don’t call him Hotch unless you really need him to listen to you, usually reserved for fights.

You turn around and walk over to your mattress, kicking your shoes off and letting your backpack slide off of your shoulder on the floor next to your bed. Then you crawl on your bed and sit criss cross, like you did last night with Bella.

Gazing up at Aaron, he’s still leaning against the door, arms crossed while staring at you and your movements with his soft eyes. Even though he looks exhausted, he still looks handsome. Finally taking in the image of him, now across the warmly lit dorm room - you smile.

His light gray hoodie is loose around his torso but tight around his arms and his dark blue jeans grip his thighs. His face is soft but with some stubble starting to grow along his jaw and cheeks. His small pink mole on his right cheek, parallel with his nostril, fits perfectly with his soft lines around his eyes and brows are starting to appear, which you know he hates but you couldn’t think of him without them. His jet black strands of hair are a bit more put together, more than this morning anyways. God.

Your heart flutters at the pure sight of him. You can’t stay mad at him, it’s simply impossible.

C’mere baby, you whisper as you pat your hands on the spot in front of you on the mattress. Aaron doesn’t say anything, but starts to move. You observe the way the corners of his lips curve up just a bit, as he slides his white Nikes off and sets his black Jansport bag on the table next to the cherry red telephone.

He runs his fingers through his hair as he carefully steps to you and sits on the bed with only about a foot between you and him, his right leg is folded in front of him, while the lower half of his left hangs off of the mattress. His large hands are resting in his lap and all of his attention is on you, without saying anything - he’s saying so much.

“About last night-“

“Don’t. This is on me.” Aarons deep voice cuts you off.

You stay quiet. You want to hear what he has to say before you make a fool out of yourself for possibly saying the wrong thing. But before he can say anymore, you get this sudden pressure in your lower back that causes you to become distracted. Ouh fuck, you wince as your hands move to lightly massage your lower back.

“You alright?” Aaron’s tone raises just a bit.

“Yeah, it’s just,” you straighten your back and keep your hands on your lower back, “Sittin’ in those shitty chairs ‘n walkin’ across campus. You’d think I’d be used to it by now - apparently not.”

Aaron nods his head and chuckles under his breath, but before he can start another sentence, you maneuver your body to relieve some of that pain. Laying back just enough so your back is supported by the pillows beneath you, and your shoulder blades are supported by the wall behind you. Your hands intertwine with each other and rest on your stomach that lowers and rises with each breath.

Your legs are the next thing to move. You shift them from the criss cross position and stretch either one on the outside of Aaron’s body. But your right calf ends up laying on his thigh, whereas your left rests on the mattress, grazing his knee.

Aaron cocks his head and a soft smile takes over the sincere expression he had a second ago, as he watches you relax. His left hand leaves his lap and moves to your calf, where he starts to run his thick fingers up and down your legging covered skin. The corner of your lips lift just a bit when you notice the hungry look that’s in his eyes, as he gazes at yours.

His jaw clenches, then softens - like he’s trying to control himself from having you here and now. The sight of you laid out in front of him, in his hoodie and your leggings that hug your legs perfectly, has him drooling. But he knows he can’t, that would just be stupid right now.

A second of silence goes by before Aaron clears his throat and begins the conversation that seems so familiar and yet, so different.

“Honey, I’m sorry for how last night went. I shouldn’t have left you in the street like that. For all I know, you could’ve gotten kidnapped or god knows what. I really don’t like how I acted.”

You nod and whisper, thank you. The air in the dorm has become a much lighter feeling than even a few seconds ago. You don’t feel like he’s gonna try to make a break for it and stay away from you forever. You really thought you lost him because of your actions.

“And please really listen to this,” he starts, but both his hands move from their original spots and find new ones on either one of your thighs; his thick fingers dig into your legs. Your heart flutters and your pussy throbs from the sudden familiar touch. “I really regret messin’ around with Tiffany. I was doing it to strike a nerve- which clearly did, I don’t know what I was thinkin’. No excuse. And I don’t want to hear an apology from you, cause if you had acted like me- I would’ve done the same thing baby. I really would.”

That was an apology. He just made the perfect apology; you thought it was impossible. You feel this heavy weight that’s been lifted off of your shoulders and mind, after hearing his smooth deep voice relay those words.

However, at the same time- you're filled with this sense of dread. You’ve heard the sorry’s before from him. First time after catching him flirting around with your Bio Lab partner, the second time after he and his guy friends left town for winter break without telling you anything. Scaring you to death, thinking something terrible happened to him - then come to find out his boys thought it was funny and Aaron just let them joke around. But he never laughed about it.

Then the most recent, last night; you don’t like how normal this is becoming. Each one slowly progresses into something more severe than the last; not a good sign. An acidic feeling slowly climbs from your stomach, to your throat and creates this burning in the back of your mouth. Your mind is jumping around to try to make sense of how this is going to end or even, hell, how it even got started.

This is not healthy.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner series #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds

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writersblockedx · 11 months

Text

The End of What Could Have Been

Pairing - Jaskier x Fem!Reader Summary - Jaskier finally gives in at trying to flirt with his favourite barmaid - something that only makes her fall harder for him. Warnings - alcohol, mention of a brothel? Words - 2.1K

A/n - Hi, I’m back! I know I’ve been gone for a little while; writers block has been killing me. But I’m back at it again, hopefully back at posting regularly again.

Masterlist

It had become the cycle of the night. As the stragglers of the Inn began to make their way back to their own beds - or hay stacks for some of them - he would appear. Far too wide-eyed for this time in the night, lute strapped over his shoulder and a glistening smile most female bar keeps had never been able to resist. Well, most expect for yourself.

Jaskier was sweet, that was true, but he was equally greedy. And the whole town knew of it. The stories of his lewd behaviour with his several different partners were laced throughout his lyrics, right alongside the fantastical story of the Witcher and the many creatures the two fought off together. Though, with that very bard in front of you now, you struggled to believe he had the same strength of a Witcher.

"Same as always, Y/n." His elbows leaned against the wooden bar as he slid a couple of coins across for you. Always a couple extra for your own pocket.

You simply nodded your head in an act to show your acknowledgement of him before turning to gather a pint of beer for the bard. "Not in the mood for conversation tonight?" He questioned while you had your back turned.

You only said anything when the cup that was brimming with frothy ale was in your hand. "Not with you. Not tonight." Ever so bluntly, that snap in your tone slipped from your tongue as you placed the drink down in front of him with a thud.

He flashed his puppy eyes; he had gotten good at doing that. "And whys that?"

Your expression never faulted. You didn't dare. You had told yourself for almost a month while Jaskier had been playing at this pub that you wouldn't be one of the many to fall prey to his sweet smile and his even sweeter words. "Because the only conversation you want to have is one where it ends with you getting into my pants." You said it so sternly. So casual. Without a lick of embarrassment as if it were a passing comment, lacking any source of meaning.

But Jaskier's response had proved different. He stiffened and struggled to swallow the ale that lingered on his tongue. "Can't blame a man for trying." His response came a second too late - attempting to get over the initial shock that had stunned him too much to speak straight away.

"I can when, despite getting your answer, you're still trying." You didn't break. With every word, you lean slightly closer, till there were only inches between you.

"Well," He sighed lightly and leaned back, "I still haven't heard you tell me to stop."

You couldn't help but laugh, "I know you're a bard, but you're not stupid, surely."

"You didn't have to go there." He quipped. "I personally don't think you want...this to stop." His words were as cautious as one in a sword fight. One wrong move and he was frightened you were about to stab him in the back.

For the first time, you became hesitant. You were uncertain. Of course, you could admit Jaskier did have that sweet smile and the charm to accompany such. He also was easy on the eyes, had a slick manner and was, as much as you hated to admit it, the type of bachelor you could see yourself spending the night with - or several. But he was infamous for such behaviour. He travelled from town to town, bed to bed, and you were not about to the 90th woman on his list. That of such, was what you refused.

So you shifted, and slipped back into your stern facade as if nothing had ever happened, like there had never been a blink of uncertainty. "This," You pointed between the two of you, "Never even started." Words so sharp they cut through Jaskier's heart like a knife to butter. While the man was fine to break others' hearts, his was too just as fragile and sensitive. And to hear such from a woman he had grown to admire over the weeks shook his core. With the words written out in front of him, he knew he could no longer ignore them.

And so you straightened your back and stared at the boy you were forced to resist. "You finish your ale, I'll close up." You announced, without any input from him. Normally, he would last at least another three drinks. But tonight, neither of you wanted the company of the other. The air between you had become tense and rigid. Air of which you were not in the mood to breathe.

So you took it upon yourself to make that decision. You started stacking the chairs around the pub, cleaning the sticky tables and making sure everything was as it should be. The only thing left was Jaskier. He took his final sip. He placed the cup back on the bar and let out a deep breath; he knew this was the end. This was the point in which you had drawn the line, you had told him no once and for all. And you had given him no choice but to listen.

There as he stood, he turned to you. At first, he looked you up and down, taking in the last of what remained—this night marked the end of what could have been. He locked eyes with you. Neither of you moved. Neither of you said a word. After that moment of acceptance passed, he provided a nod. With that, he left the Inn without a trace. That night, in your lonely bed, you struggled to sleep, plagued by the ever-yawning question of if you just made a mistake.

By the next morning, you came to face the consequences of your own actions. You strolled in for your shift as you always did to find the Inn relatively empty. In fact, more empty than it ever had been in the past month. The only ones to occupy the Inn were the same stragglers which never seemed to leave. It didn't take you long to figure out why; the lack of strumming music in the Inn was likely the culprit. And, after that conclusion, you came to assume that it was partly the fault of yourself and a certain encounter from the night before.

"No bard today?" You queried your boss, the Innkeeper, as he stood cleaning the wooden bar.

"No bard anymore." He answered. A part of your brain was tugged with curiosity, the other knew that you shouldn't want to know. You cut the ties. You were at fault. You should leave things as they were. "Get used to how things used to be. Just the regulars again." That was one, if the only, good thing about Jaskier: the customers he brought. You could never deny his lyrical beauty and the lull of his lute. So brilliant, in fact, it almost brought you a pay rise.

Your head dropped in thought. No matter how much you wanted to accept this, a part of you wondered if this decision came from a reaction of the night prior. "Where is he staying?" You spat the words out before you could stop yourself. "The bard?" You added, suddenly aware of how strange that question may sound to your boss.

To be expected, the man raised a brow, "I'm not sure," He shrugged his shoulders lightly. "That cheap Inn up the road probably. Or a bench." With that, the grumpy old Inn keeper turned his back to you, going back to sort out the several types of ales.

For a moment, you stared. But the thought nagged you too much; Why not? He was leaving, what else was there to lose? He was sweet, admirable and you couldn't help yourself. You had only wished you had realised such fact the night before. Without thinking twice, you left. You took off without another word and headed to that cheap Inn your boss had pointed to.

By the time you arrived, you came to realise it was perfect timing. Jaskier was getting ready to depart. He had a couple of bags hung over his shoulder as he slung them over a horse. His expression was, until you came into his sights, set into a stern hold. And then, a glint of wonder reached his face, and the very corners of his lips twisted upright just slightly. He wouldn't admit it yet, but he was happy to see you had come back to him.

"And the barmaid returns." He gleamed, trying to not let that smile on his face grow any more than it already had done.

You tilted his head at him, "You didn't tell me you were leaving last night." You stated, choosing it best to ignore his greeting.

"You think that would have changed how things went?" There. You caught it right as it happened; that flirtatious speck in his pupils that never seemed to leave him - sometimes, no matter who he was talking to. When he received only a stern expression in return, he sighed and changed his tone as if he had never made that comment. "I didn't know I would be leaving until after I left." He answered, honestly.

A moment of silence passed as you settled in the realisation. You only needed confirmation: "Was it what I said?"

Another grin graced his face. But not flirtatious or cheeky, rather bittersweet. "I know you're just a bard maid, but you're not stupid." He reiterated your own words from last night.

For that, you swallowed the lump which had suddenly grown in your throat. Then, with a breath, you replied, "You don't have to leave, the money's good here, no?" You knew your boss must have been paying him a decent paycheck.

He shifted on his feet, "I don't like staying in the same place for too long." The boy admitted.

"Then why did last night change your mind?"

He took a moment and fought himself so as not to repeat what he had said prior. "Most of the time, I can find anyone to entertain myself with, no matter where I am. But," He paused, thought on his words as if they were of utter importance, "But just the way when I walked into your Inn-"

You cut him off, "You mean when I told you to piss off because we didn't like silly lute music being played?" Saying that now was laughable.

And Jaskier had let out a chuckle, "Yes, then. I thought you were a shell I wanted to break and I found myself not bothered with anyone else. Not even with the mistresses at the Brothal. I wanted to get to know you and, I don't know, I looked forward to every night when I'd finish my set and it would be just the two of us in the bar." He explained, him too going off the idea of what else was there to lose now? "You didn't want me and it made it all the more enticing. To fight with the idea of hatred boarding on love was something intoxicating and it only made me want you more."

And, honestly, you were at a loss for words. It wasn't often many people spoke to you in such a poetic way, with such romance trickled into their words as it rolled right off the tongue like smooth butter. Most of the time, you were only met with drunk stragglers, boarding their words on sexual harassment. So this was only a breast of fresh air and you were indulging in it like it was some sort of drug.

When you looked back to Jaskier, you were at a loss for words. You weren't quite the lyricist he was. "I think-" You took a breath as if it were giving you the courage needed in that very moment. "I think I did want you. Oh, I know I did. But a bard who, as you said is always on the move, wasn't something I could get involved in." Like that, a weight slipped from your shoulders like melting ice.

Jaskier took a step forward, cautious in his action. When you showed no sign of disregard, he settled. "You've no idea what I would change just so you would get involved with me." There, his flirtatious smile return. And, this time, you couldn't resist it.

He started leaning in and rather than stopping it, so did you until your lips met in a soft embrace. It was long overdue and you could see how addicted you could get to that feeling if you weren't too careful. But a part of you had started to put trust into Jaskier - you just preyed the bard would never break it. As now, this was the start of something. Something neither of you wanted to ever end.

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angelst4re · 1 year

Note

Hello! ✨

It’s me again! Hehe would you be able to do a Jace one where reader is living at the institution and has known the group since they were little and reader is dating a guy who laid hands on her then one night she comes back to the institution sneaking in at night and Jace finds her with bruises and is mad ready to go look for the guy to where Jace and reader get into a spat about it but she’s only been dating other people to distract herself from loving Jace all these years because he doesn’t do love but in the end loves her.

Hope all is well! Xoxo 🤍

hi my love!!! ahhh jace is one of my favourite characters to write for and especially soft jace <3 he has my whole heart!!!

Just Pretend- Jace Wayland/Herondale x Reader

summary: you've liked jace for years, but you never wanted to accept it, so you would date other people to take your mind off of him. however, one night you come home late, and jace finds out everything.

warnings: mentions of a violent relationship, but nothing too graphic

notes: yes, the title is supposed to be a bad omens reference :) also, i was thinking of writing a part 2 to this, but i'm currently working on 2 other fics right now AND part 2's to three other stories!! but that won't stop me <3

Two years, six months and four days. That is how long you have been lying to yourself. That is how long you’ve been dating Jack, a guy you met at the bar. You found it easy in the first year, projecting your feelings towards Jace onto him, but lately things have been changing. Jack’s been getting suspicious about you and Jace, and when he feels this way he is easily angered and will throw things around, taking his anger out around his apartment- until tonight, where he laid his hands on you.

The reason for it was because you were just over five minutes late to your date that evening, and he believed you were spending your time with Jace instead. But that was silly, Jace hated you. You felt as if he hated you from the moment you walked into the Institute, with nowhere else to go, nowhere else to call home.

Jace would ignore you, give you looks from across the room, it was as if your presence bothered him. But you still had feelings for him.

Jace is stunningly attractive, it’s not a lie. But that isn’t why you felt this way for him. One night, only months after moving into the Institute, you had a nightmare. With nowhere else to go, you went to the greenhouse, and Jace was the only other person there as it was late. You hadn’t talked to him much before, but you sat by him that night and he asked if you were okay, seeing the tears stain your cheeks. You told him about your nightmare, and he comforted you, telling you he often has nightmares too. That night was the only time in all the years that you’ve known Jace, that you’ve had a proper conversation. He opened up about himself that night, and was vulnerable with you, and so you guessed that’s the reason why he avoids you now. Or at least that’s what you hoped was the reason.

It was late by the time you got back to the Institute, and you moved around quietly to ensure you wouldn’t wake anybody up. However, when you got to the top of the stairs, there was a shadow at the other end of the hallway. A shadow you easily recognised.

“Jace?” You whisper-yelled, and he came into your sight.

“Do you know what time it is?” He asked, seeming quite pissed off.

“I don’t know… 11?”

“It’s 2am, y/n. You know the rules. Home by 10.” He says, as he walks closer to you.

You watch his face as his eyes scan you. From the mascara running down your cheeks, your hair- wet and tangled from the rain- and then…

“What the fuck is that on your arm?” He asked, panic lacing his voice as he grasped your forearm, making you wince, “are these bruises?”

“Yeah, uh-” you cleared your throat, wracking your brain for a coverup story, “I got in a fight… at the bar… with um, a girl.” Your voice smaller and smaller as you lied to his face.

“Bullshit. He did this to you, didn’t he?”

“No! I-”

“Stop fucking lying to me, y/n!” He raised his voice, his eyes glossy with tears, but also filled with anger.

You couldn’t hold the tears back any longer. Tears you’ve been holding back for weeks now. As they spill from your eyes, you wrap your arms around Jace involuntarily, expecting him to pull away.

But he doesn’t.

He comforts you, gently stroking your back as he rests his chin on the top of your head.

“How long has this been going on?” He asks softly, pulling back from you slowly.

“Can we sit down… it’s a long story.”

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

You explain to Jace that Jack believed you were cheating on him, but where he was wrong in one aspect, he was right in believing you had feelings for Jace. You told him the truth, and didn’t hold anything back from him. You told him exactly how you felt, and by the way his face softened, his body language changed and his attitude switched, you could tell he had something to tell you too.

“I’m sorry,” he says, leaning towards you to place his hand on your knee, to which you flinch away from, “I’m really sorry. I’ve acted like such a dick towards you, and it’s not your fault, okay? I just… didn’t want to accept the way I felt. I love you too, more than you think. I’m just scared, I find it difficult opening up to people, and when I met you I felt so… comfortable around you. I felt like such an idiot for it, and I hate myself for treating you this way. If only I told you then-”

“It’s okay, Jace.” You said, placing your hand on his, “you couldn’t have known.”

You hugged him once more, and as you pulled away he noticed blood running down your leg. You explained to him that Jack had pushed you, and you tripped over. Jace rose to his feet and took your hand, leading you to his bathroom where he pulled out a first aid box.

He took his time cleaning the wound as you sat on his bed. He was ever so gentle as he wiped the alcohol pad over your skin, holding your hand with his unoccupied one. You squeezed his hand tightly as the pain ran through your veins.

“You’re doing such a good job, sweetheart,” he told you, “it’s almost done.”

He bandaged up the wound with care, and placed a tender kiss over the bandage on your thigh, his eyes meeting yours as his lips met the material. You felt butterflies swarm your stomach, and blushed as he stood back up.

“How does it feel?” He asks as you stand back up.

“As good as it can.” You tell him, putting on a smile.

“Good.” He smiles, placing his hand on your back, “let’s get you to bed, now. We can talk more in the morning.”

As Jace walked you to your room you couldn’t help but worry that he would turn back into his old ways in the morning. Sure, he said you could talk about it more in the morning, but would he be feeling the same way in the morning? Or would he change his mind?

As you reached out your hand to open the door to your room, Jace got there first. You felt your cheeks redden again as your hand lingered over his. You couldn’t help but notice how soft his hands felt, despite the marks, scars and wounds they held.

He opened the door for you and gestured for you to step inside. You switched on the light as you entered, expecting Jace to follow behind you, but he didn’t. He stayed at the door.

“Goodnight, y/n.” He said, a soft smile on his lips, “you know where my room is if you need me, if you can’t sleep or…” He trailed off as he slowly stepped closer to you, eyelids falling shut as he placed a kiss on your forehead.

He looked down at you through half-lidded eyes, his fingers running through your damp hair.

“Sweet dreams.” Was the last thing he said before leaving, returning to his own room. You were so caught up in the moment that you hadn’t processed his departure. You wished you could’ve asked him to stay longer, to perhaps even stay in your room tonight. But it was too late. We can talk tomorrow, he said. You held onto the hope that he meant what he said, and that he would go through with it. You really hoped.

#jace wayland x reader #jace wayland #jace herondale #jamie bower #jace herondale x reader #jamie campbell bower #city of bones #jamie bower x reader #jamie campbell bower x reader

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arabaka · 3 months

Text

ᰔ ̗̀➛ CHAPTER O3. BLOSSOMING.

₊˚ʚ ☁️ ₊˚ ♡ ﾟ. content warnings ⤸ sfw. reigen arataka x afab!reader. no cw but while this chapter is sfw, the story is generally not. 1.1k word count.

₊˚ʚ ☁️ ₊˚ ♡ ﾟ. author's note ⤸ chapter 3! sorry for taking so long, muse was dead but thanks to my beloveds, meg and @bulle-blackhole, i was able to break the curse and finish this! b also gave me the AMAZING idea that you'll see when you see reigen again and that honestly got me through the rest of the chapter lol.

CHAPTER ONE. | CHAPTER TWO. | TABLE OF CONTENTS.

“We should probably set some ground rules, right?” You murmur to his chest after a short while of being in his embrace.

Admittedly, Reigen hadn’t thought about that. “Yeah… Probably.” Reigen croaks, his cheeks heating up to an obvious red as he hears himself. “Sorry, I’ve just…”

The man looks away, ashamed, brown eyes looking anywhere but yours as his sheepishness shows in red hues blooming over his cheeks. Though he knows, there is no running from this, not from the very truth of the fact that…

”I’ve never been in a relationship.” His voice drops decibel by decibel with every word but the shame that drips off every word has no one to blame but himself.

The “going home” club really was a foolish decision.

You watch Reigen's throat tense with a barbed swallow, your heart beating with sympathy (but not pity) at the sight of it. He’s pensively pushing his fingers and his gaze is to the floor. The only noise bouncing off the walls is the nervous tap, tap, tap of his feet. If his words didn’t say it, his body language certainly does: the man is anxious. Reigen thought for so long that being self-made was enough for him, but as he’s confronted with his first relationship ever, he can’t help but think he’s falling short of what you need. What you deserve.

That’s when your hand comes over his, fingers curling in for a reassuring squeeze. The corners of your lips subtly curl, a tender smile appearing as you tell him, “That’s okay. Every relationship is different anyways… And I think we can both agree our situation is very different.”

We. Our.

Those two little words seem to snap him out of his stupor; after all, Reigen wouldn’t want to miss that smile of yours.

His hand shifts, his fingers moving to lace with yours. Immediately, he gulps, “S-Sorry, my hands are kinda sweaty.”

“That's okay. Some sweat never hurt anybody.” You assure him with a light laugh. “How about this…” You whisper as your other hand folds over his knuckles. “Let's revisit this tonight, in the meantime we can think about all of this and… Shower because I know I need one.”

The proposition is a relieving one, Reigen letting out a breath he didn't even know he was holding when you were done speaking. “I think that's a great idea.” He murmurs with a chuckle, eyes cast on your linked hands as he continues, “I really… Don't want to screw this up.” The man admits, unable to shake off the fear that everything will fall apart and it will be all his fault. He can fake it ‘til he makes it with everything else, everyone else in his life, but he would never do that with you.

He doesn't have to.

And when he hears you tell him that he won’t screw it up, that you won’t let him, with the sweetest smile, he believes you.

—

A few hours and many, many, Mobgle searches later, Reigen stands outside of your apartment door. He’s traded his suit for a more casual look, even tried parting his hair a different way… Until he saw his reflection in the nearby window and quickly rectified that mistake.

Just in time too because there you are, opening the door with a bigger smile on your face than the one you had this morning. “Reigen!” You chirp, extra excited to show him the bouquet of flowers you had bought for him earlier that day… Only to see the exact bouquet in his hands as well.

Pink roses line both arrangements but the real stars are the gerberas, their stark white petals standing out among the rosy leaves and bundles of baby’s breath. Both sets of flowers are the same, down to the pink cellophane wrap and white ribbon around the stems.

Both of you blink in surprise at first, stunned to silence until an escaped snort from Reigen gets you both to start laughing. “What are the odds?” You ask after a giggle, wiping your eye of the single tear that came from the belly laugh. “Let me guess…”

You don’t have to, Reigen jumps on it seamlessly, “‘You can’t go wrong with roses and gerberas!’”

“And let me guess…” You start again with a toothy grin, “He didn’t charge you for the baby’s breath either?”

“... What?”

–

You sit on the couch– yes, the same couch you two were shamelessly making out on like you were teenagers at the height of puberty less than 24-hours prior. Though this time, there isn’t any tension to cut through. No gulped swallows and nervous stirrings of the gut.

“We should say our first rule out loud at the same time.” You’re overeager, every cell in your body just itching to hammer out these details so you can kiss that stupid face of his again…

Okay, you really just want to seal the deal so you can officially call Reigen Arataka your boyfriend.

Reigen exclaims with a sweat already running from his brow, “What if yours is way more serious than mine?!”

“Aw, c’mooooon.” He’s still hesitating so you bring out the big guns… A pout and a stare that would put a kitten to shame.

Reigen’s face could not get redder. He can practically feel his heart ramming against his ribs just looking at you! “... Fine.” He clears his throat, trying to recover from the strike to the heart that was your expression. “You’re not gonna do that every time you need me to agree with you, right?” He asks after a beat, letting out a chuckle that makes the red glow on his cheeks even brighter somehow.

“I make no such promise.” You answer with a nod and a smug smile, your chin wrinkling from the silly expression. “Now, c’mon! One… Two… Three!”

“No PDA at work!”

“We shouldn’t do anything at work!”

You both let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, good.” Reigen leans back on the couch, eyes closed briefly in contentment. “I’m glad we see eye-to-eye on this. But it’s not because I don’t want the others to know!” He’s now sat upright, needing you to see the honesty in his eyes because he would never want you to get the impression he wants to hide you for any reason.

Your hand on his knee soothes his worries, a touch he can already see himself craving. “Hey, hey, hey. Don’t get ahead of yourself. I knew what you meant but Reigen…” You smile at him tenderly, squeezing his leg as you assure him, “You don’t need to watch yourself around me, afraid you’ll make a mistake just because we’re going to be dating now.” Oh, how your cheekbones already tingle from how much the word “date” makes you giddy.

“Right, right.” Reigen returns your affectionate smile, his hand coming to hold yours. The gesture is still foreign to his bones but god, it feels perfect. “Well, I’m sure we can handle ourselves at work.”

“Totally.”

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skelavender · 3 months

Text

“Do you know what today is, Scully?” Mulder says at the click of her heels entering the office, sat at his desk the same as always. “Leap day.” She says dryly. Same as it has been. “You know, Scully, there are all kinds of traditions about this stuff that vary from culture to culture–” “I know. St. Matthias, leaplings, unhappy marriages.” She sighs, and her voice turns slightly bitter. “And Leap Day Lovers.” Mulder blinks at her, slightly resembling a fish. “How did you–” “I’ve heard you say it so many times, Mulder.” She throws her arms to the side dramatically with a sigh of resignation. “I’m in a time loop.” OR If you add a time loop plot to your desk sex, its suddenly an elevated piece of literature

read X-File #02291996 on ao3, or below the cut!

Scully

Dana Scully has a routine. 6:30, wake up. It doesn’t matter if she has an alarm clock or not; at 6:30, she is awake. Flip the coffee pot on, get dressed while it heats up. Pour a cup into one of her mismatched mugs, fix her hair while it cools to a reasonable temperature. She makes toast, maybe eggs, maybe cereal, always some sort of protein. Breakfast, although she hates sounding like a med school cliche, is the most important meal of the day.

Thursday February 29th, 1996, is no different from any other morning. She wakes up at 6:32.

Coffee pot on.

Her chest is killing her, a product of yesterday’s ill-fitting bra and a too-tight bulletproof vest. She forgoes the wretched garment today, instead pulling a slightly stiffer blouse and blazer that will make sure no other agents are any wiser about her wardrobe choices. She isn’t planning on leaving the office today anyway, and it’s not like Mulder hasn’t seen her without a bra before. This is not her first day with post-Kevlar chest pain.

Paper retrieved.

Coffee poured.

Hair arranged into neat copper swoops.

Toast with peanut butter.

Scully has a routine.

She wouldn’t have even known it was a leap year if Mulder hadn’t mentioned it, flipping that stupid fun facts page-a-day calendar around at her as soon as she entered the basement office.

“Do you know what today is, Scully?” Mulder greets, his voice laced with enthusiasm that only ever precedes the most ridiculous of X-files.

“Thursday?” She suggests dryly.

“Thursday, February 29th.” He says, “Happy leap day, Scully.”

“Thrilling,” she rolls her eyes and settles into her desk and flips open the files from the Modell case.

“You know, Scully, there are all kinds of traditions about this stuff that vary from culture to culture. Leap year changes the feast day of St. Matthias; in Taiwan, people make their parents a specific noodle dish because it is believed that they are more likely to die on a leap day; those born on leap day – called ‘leaplings’, by the way – are chronically unlucky, people who get married on leap days are cursed with unhappy marriages.” This factoid is followed by a dramatic office-chair turn, “Which brings me to this.” He tosses a file in her direction. “The Leap Day Lovers.”

“Leap Day Lovers?” Scully echoes with a skeptical expression, one eyebrow raised.

“There are a number of couples who have reported getting caught in a time loop on leap day. They weren’t together when the loop started, but they were by the time it ended. There are a couple gaps, but not everyone is going to go public with that kind of story.”

“Mulder, this is ridiculous. Leap years are a concept invented by Julius Caesar to reconcile our imperfect calendar system with the way we understand and structure time. There is no naturally occurring scientific difference between leap days and any other day of the year.”

“But what if there is?”

“There’s not! It’s a social construct! There’s nothing to study here.”

“But Scully, listen. Their stories match. None of them were aware of the Leap Day Lovers before it happened to them.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

“C’mon, you don’t think it’s a little romantic? Time warps around them until they can figure themselves out. It’s like the universe is rooting for them!”

“I don’t believe in the universe, Mulder.”

“You believe in God.”

“I also believe in science, which has not proven time capable of looping, or even being harnessed by the power of man to be able to travel through it.”

“Not time travel, either? Scully, you’re gonna start hurting my feelings.”

She rolls her eyes. “It’s not a case, Mulder. Just a bunch of whack jobs who end up dating and bouncing their crazy off of one another. Now we have a heap of paperwork to do on the Modell case, so let's get on that.”

“Fine, but when one of the Leap Day Lovers of past years responds to my emails or we have a new time distortion report on March 1st, I reserve the right to gloat.” He sets the file on top of his precarious tower of cases he wants to investigate, and takes the blank paperwork from her.

The day that passes is… boring, to say the least. One of the blandest days she’s had since she joined the X-Files department. Mulder leaves just before 10:00 to get coffee, and returns with a cup from the cafe across the street from the Hoover building. She eats her salad for lunch. Mulder does not get a response from any of his so-called Leap Day Lovers.

She goes home at the end of standard working hours, content with the headway they’ve made on their paperwork. It’s unusual, being home in time to cook a proper dinner, but she’s happy to be able to do it today. She settles into bed with a cup of chamomile tea and a book, an honest to god book that she’s been trying to read for months and taken on many plane rides but never gotten through. At a perfectly reasonable 10:00 PM, she turns her lamp off and settles in to sleep.

In the morning, Scully wakes at 6:32. She gets her paper and her coffee, does her hair, eats her toast. She goes to work.

Mulder stands in the exact spot he did yesterday. When he flips around the page a day calendar, it once again reads February 29th.

“Oh, very funny, Mulder.” She says before he can launch the rant about leap day superstitions that she’s sure was about to ensue.

“What?”

“Save me the leap day prank, it’s not going to work.”

Mulder looks at her blankly. “What?”

“What.”

“It’s February 29th.”

“No, it’s March 1st. Yesterday was February 29th.”

“No, yesterday was February 28th.”

“Mulder–”

“It was! Look at the computer!” He leads her across the room, and once it boots up, it does display the date as 02/29/96.

“Okay, so you planned to try to prank me, and came in early to set it back. It’s not going to work, Mulder.”

He looks at her sideways before shaking his head and opening the file on his desk. “It’s fine, we all get days mixed up sometimes. Remember when I missed my own birthday because I got two pages of the calendar stuck together? Anyway, I wanted to show you this,” he turns the file toward her. “There are all kinds of traditions about this stuff that vary from culture to culture. Leap year changes the feast day of St. Matthias; in Taiwan, people make their parents a specific noodle dish because it is believed that they are more likely to die on a leap day–”

“You… Mulder, you already told me all of this.”

“When?”

“When? It– yesterday, Mulder! 24 hours ago, almost exactly.”

“I didn’t even know about most of this until this morning.”

“You’re about to tell me about the Leap Day Lovers.”

Mulder’s lip firms a mock pout. “Way to ruin the climax, Scully. Did you pull their files yesterday or something?”

Scully slides a hand across her eyes in resignation. “If I let you tell me about them, can we get to work on finishing our paperwork?”

“I don’t have high hopes of finishing the paperwork today, but yes. The Leap Day Lovers…”

Mulder’s lecture is the same as it had been yesterday. He must have been planning this for a while, in order to memorize his spiel well enough to deliver it line-by-line like this. If Scully weren’t annoyed, she would be impressed. He even sneezes at the same time, in the same cadence.

She does finally badger him into doing paperwork, but when she opens her briefcase to retrieve the paperwork she had started yesterday, she can’t find it. And it isn’t at her workstation, either.

“Mulder, did you take my report?”

“No?”

“Dammit, Mulder, this isn’t funny! That took all day!”

“Scully neither of us have started our reports yet.” He looks at her curiously, concerned and suspicious of her confusion. “Are you alright, Scully?”

“I just don’t want to have to redo the whole thing.”

“You seem pretty sure of this.” His eyes narrow. “Scully, are you in a time loop?”

“No.” She answers quickly and decisively. She can’t be, because such an idea is ridiculous. “I must just be getting my cases confused.”

“Uh huh.” Mulder does not seem convinced, but turns to his own report anyways, leaving Scully to rewrite the report she knows she already started.

Something is up, that’s for sure, but it certainly isn’t something as preposterous as a time loop.

***

It’s her 15th February 29th, and Scully is getting tired of Mulder’s bullshit. She’s going to kill him.

He’s on his fifteenth rant about an X-file that isn’t an X-file. Or, at least, it wasn’t an X-file fourteen February 29ths ago.

“– those born on leap day – called ‘leaplings’, by the way, isn’t that adorable–”

She can’t take it anymore. She needs him to shut up or she is going to spontaneously combust, which would probably just result in her name ending up in another goddamn X-file. She thinks she may be slowly losing her mind. That is what she’ll blame it on if she wakes up on Thursday again. She reaches over the table and grabs that stupid ugly goddamn paisley tie. Whatever off-the-wall theory he was about to suggest turns into an incredibly dignified “Mmmf?” before she cuts him off.

The kiss is not quite hard enough for their teeth to click together, but it’s a near thing. Mulder freezes for a moment, though it feels like an eternity, before melting into her.

“Oh, ok,” he whispers against her lips, pulling back slightly. She’s about to respond, say something about the time loop, apologize for kissing him like that. Instead, the room starts fading.

When she opens her eyes, the clock reads 6:32.

***

Mulder

Mulder gets to the office around 5:30 AM, unable to sleep and with his brain hooked on the idea of a leap day. He hadn’t even realized it was a leap year until he booted his home computer up to check his email, and had noticed the 02/29/96 in the corner. So instead of trying to find a case on the web or through newsletters, he digs into the history and superstitions of leap years. Once a vaguely reasonable time to go to the office rolls around, he hops on the Metro to the Hoover building and scours the filing cabinets for anything to do with leap days. This is when he finds the fascinating phenomena of the Leap Day Lovers.

When Scully shows up, he’s a few cups of coffee deep and excited to share with her what he’s found. She’s going to try to refute it of course, but he still enjoys sharing it with her. Her “Mulder, you’re off your rocker” face is, frankly, adorable.

She, as always, looks perfectly put together as she steps into the room, accompanied by the click click click of her heels. Her hair is perfectly in place, her blazer neatly buttoned. She’s gorgeous. He flips his fact-a-day calendar around to take her attention off his face, which he’s sure shows how he’s taking her in.

He walks her through what he’s found. The Leap Day Lovers, he saves for the grand finale. It’s by far the most interesting file related to the date, and the fact that Scully always gets a little fidgety when he brings up any sort of romance-adjacent file doesn’t hurt.

“Leap Day Lovers?” Scully echoes with a skeptical expression, one eyebrow raised.

He would normally be irritated by someone poking holes in an X-File like this. If it were anyone else poking holes in his theories like this, it would piss Mulder off. But the way Scully approaches it, with exasperation, yes, but also with the desire for an intellectual debate on the subject, he doesn't mind. Plus, she's pretty when she's proving him wrong.

“But what if there is?”

“There’s not! It’s a social construct! There’s nothing to study here.”

“But Scully, listen. Their stories match. None of them were aware of the Leap Day Lovers before it happened to them.”

“It’s ridiculous.”

They bicker, as they always do, about the difference between God and a universal power, about the science behind temporal anomalies. It’s comforting, to Mulder, how Scully consistently rebuts his theories. How she is able to bring him back down to earth when his head is floating in space.

“Sure, fine, but when we have a new time distortion report on March 1st, I reserve the right to gloat.” He shuffles the files back into a neat (or as neat as he ever is) stack, leaving the Leap Day Lovers file on top. Scully rolls her eyes so hard he thinks she may have pulled a muscle.

Though he resigns to paperwork, his eyes are hurting by 10AM and he needs a break. He announces to Scully that he’s doing a coffee run, but she declines his offer to pick something up for her.

On his way back, as he approaches the intersection next to the entrance of the Hoover building. This intersection is the home to Mulder’s favorite part of DC, something he loves more than the Air and Space Museum, more than any monument. At this intersection stands a defaced street sign. It’s supposed to instruct turning bicycles to use crosswalks, but a single “u” has been removed by an unknown yet brilliant vandal, resulting in a sign that says “se x-walks.” There is a sign that says “sex walks” right outside the national headquarters of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Mulder laughs every time he passes it.

Apparently, he’s not the only one. A man walking a three-legged dog crosses the street towards him, and when the owner glances up at the sign, he bursts out laughing. The hilarity of the sign tickles him so much that he’s still laughing when he reaches the curb of the sidewalk, and he trips. The dog, displeased with his owner’s clumsiness, seems to glare at the giggling man.

Mulder snorts at the ordeal, and continues inside to allow the sludge of paperwork to consume him once again.

Scully leaves at 5:00 on the dot, but Mulder chooses to stay a little longer. She might not want to investigate the Leap Day Lovers, but he’s fascinated by the phenomenon, and decided to read a couple more accounts that he had emailed himself in the morning. He falls asleep facedown on the desk.

Mulder wakes up on his couch at 4AM with a vague feeling of anticipation. He blinks his eyes open to see his living room, lit only by his fish tank. This is unusual, considering that he doesn’t remember coming home. He could have sworn he fell asleep at the office. His watch matches the time displayed by his clock, so he hasn’t lost time, so no aliens. And this would not be the first time he had no memory of his commute home.

He shuffles, still half asleep, to his desk and drops into the chair before fumbling to flip his computer on. Might as well get a start on the day, especially if he wants to find any reports of Leap Day Lovers, or any leap day related phenomena before they can be covered up. As the screen finishes its start-up paces, he freezes. There, in tiny, digital numerals, “02/29/96” stares back at him. Surely, this is just a cruel ironic trick of the universe. It always loves to play those on him. His computer must have had some error, a glitch, power outage. Something. But no, his email has the same 4 unread messages from various co-workers he doesn’t want to respond to. But that could still be chalked up to a computer error. He’s trying to be rational. He’s trying to think like Scully.

He gets dressed in a hurry, pulling his left shoe on as he locks his door. If this was just a computer error, he could check the office computers. The newspapers. The train schedule. He can’t rush into this blind. The train, as it was the last morning, is two minutes late. He makes a mental note. He nearly runs through security at the Hoover Building and narrowly avoids breaking his neck on the stairs to the basement office.

He’s nearly bouncing on the stool as he watches the computer boot up. When it comes to life, the corner reads 02/29/29. Fuck.

Could be a coincidence. A suspiciously Scully-like voice echoes through his head.

Mulder needs more to confirm his suspicions. He thinks back to what he had done yesterday, searching for anything odd enough it would be unlikely to repeat. Around 10, he had gone out for coffee at the cafe a couple blocks over, and had laughed at a three-legged dog glaring at their clumsy owner. Even if the guy walks his dog at the exact same time every day along the exact same route, he won’t trip at the exact same spot as he had yesterday. At least not if he’s not in a time loop. A glance at the clock tells him that he still has hours until then, so he hunkers down and gathers as much information as possible on temporal anomalies.

He hardly even notices when Scully arrives, absorbed in his research. She tries to get him to work on the mountain of paperwork and reports they should be working on, the stuff they had completed yesterday but had magically been undone, but he brushes her off. He can feel her gaze, equally concerned and pissed off at his apparent distraction, but ignores it. If he’s right, she won't even remember it tomorrow.

Mulder stands suddenly a few minutes before 10AM. “I’m going to go get coffee,” He explains. Scully waves him out without a word, and Mulder whisks down the basement hallway, coat billowing behind him.

Mulder makes it to the corner of 10th and Pennsylvania at 9:58 by his watch, and leans against a large planter adorning the sidewalk. Sure enough, at exactly 10:14, a balding man crosses 10th Street, then Pennsylvania Avenue. Sure enough, when he passes the sign that reads se x-walks, the man guffaws loudly. When he makes it to the curb, he’s still laughing at the hilarity that is that sign, which is fair considering that Mulder himself often laughs when passing it, and trips up onto the sidewalk. The pug glares up at his owner from the end of the leash, as if exhausted by the regular occurrence of the man getting so distracted by immature vandalism that he makes them both look like fools.

And that is what really seals it all in for Mulder. He’s in a time loop. An honest to god fucking time loop. He doesn’t know if he’s excited or horrified.

***

On his 3rd time living through leap day, Mulder is a goddamn disaster. He almost dies on the stairs down to the basement again, and when he makes it safely into the office, he immediately stubs his toe on the desk. He gets a papercut, he spills his coffee, then gets another papercut. And that’s all before Scully arrives.

“Jesus, Mulder, what happened to you?” Is what she chooses to greet him with. It’s fair, he knows he looks a mess with a coffee stain on his shirt and two bandaged fingers.

“I’m having a bad day. A series of bad days, as a matter of fact.”

He doesn’t see her stepping closer as he rises from his desk chair. When he does look up, she’s right in front of him. Caught off-guard, he stumbles. With the help of the universe and the worst timing known to mankind, he commits his most dangerous clumsy move yet.

His lips land on hers.

Mulder wakes up on the couch.

***

Scully

Scully wakes up at 6:32.

Coffee pot on.

Her chest is killing her. Her lips are tingling. She has the bone-deep sensation that a significant amount of time has passed.

Scully diverges from her routine and grabs the newspaper before getting dressed. Closing her robe tight around her, she takes a shaky breath and hopes, hopes, hopes that the paper will read March 1st, 1996, with something other than “JUDICIAL RACES TURN LIVELY” splashed across the front page.

It does not. The paper reads February 29th, 1996. The front article is dry as ever. Scully grunts and thunks her head into the doorframe in frustration.

She goes to work. Mulder rambles. She goes to bed.

***

She wakes up at 6:32. Coffee on. Get dressed. Retrieve newspaper. Pour coffee. Do hair. Eat breakfast. Go to work. Mulder rambles. Go to bed.

***

6:32. Coffee. Dressed. Newspaper. Coffee. Hair. Breakfast. Mulder. Bed.

***

6:32. Work. Mulder. Bed.

***

6:32. Bed. Bed. Mulder, concerned. Bed.

***

6:32.

***

6:32.

***

6:32.

She gives up. This is not an elaborate prank. This is a stupid goddamn X-file.

Scully plays with the idea of calling Mulder over to her apartment but decides instead to meet him in the office. Maybe there is some substance in the file he’s presented to her fifteen times now.

“Do you know what today is, Scully?” Mulder says at the click of her heels entering the office, sat at his desk the same as always.

“Leap day.” She says dryly. Same as it has been.

“You know, Scully, there are all kinds of traditions about this stuff that vary from culture to culture–”

“I know. St. Matthias, leaplings, unhappy marriages.” She sighs, and her voice turns slightly bitter. “And Leap Day Lovers.”

Mulder blinks at her, slightly resembling a fish. “How did you–”

“I’ve heard you say it so many times, Mulder.” She throws her arms to the side dramatically with a sigh of resignation. “I’m in a time loop.”

Mulder blinks at her. “What.”

“Don’t make me say it again.”

“You’re– really? You aren’t making fun of me?”

“Nope.”

“How... Jesus, how many times?”

“Thirty-four.”

“How many times have you told me?”

Scully’s quiet for a second, fiddling with the cuff of her blazer.

“Scully?”

“I haven’t, okay!” She bursts.

“You’ve lived today thirty-four times without even telling me?”

“Well, at first I thought it was some elaborate prank, and I then didn’t want you to be right about today being… whatever.”

Mulder runs his hands through his hair. “Well, most time loops have something you have to stop to kick it out of place, right? Have you figured out what that is yet?”

“Nope. And don’t try me with that Leap Day Lover crap, Mulder.”

“No? Are you sure?”

Her mouth forms a thin line. “If that were the case it would… already be resolved.”

Mulder gives her a sideways glance, but thankfully, doesn’t follow that line of inquiry any further. “Have there been any days that were notably different?”

Scully’s mind latches immediately to the sensation of Mulder’s lips disappearing from hers, and waking suddenly at home. “There was one that was… odd.”

Mulder gestures expectantly, “Well?”

“Normally, the day doesn’t restart until I go to sleep or midnight comes around. But there was one day where it reset in the middle of the day.”

“Any idea what caused it?”

“I have… some.”

“...Well? C’mon, Scully, don’t make me waterboard it outta you.”

“I… kissed someone.”

“Really?” Mulder’s tone is now teasing, prepared to elicit information on Scully’s dating life she would normally not provide. “Is this why you’re so sure it’s not the Lovers? Who was it?”

“Yes, and that’s… not relevant.”

“Scullyyyy,” he whines, “You’re living an X-file and you won’t even give me the details?”

“Only the relevant ones.”

“Fine.”

“So then do you think the day will restart whenever you kiss anyone?”

“I– I don’t know. It’s possible. It’s only happened the once, so I have no proof otherwise.”

“Alright,” he stands and strides towards her, “Then test it. Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me, and if you restart immediately, you’ll know for sure that’s what made it happen. Then when you wake up ‘tomorrow,’” he wiggles his fingers in air quotes, “You can tell me all of this again and we can work from there.”

Scully knows that there is no point to this. She knows that it will not prove what Mulder thinks it will, because Mulder is under the impression that she had kissed someone else previously. But he put it out there, and she’s not one to say no to affection from him.

“Okay.” She holds her chin up, dignified, and takes the last step toward him. When she’s in his proximity, he rests his hands on her hips. She wraps a hand around the back of his neck and guides his face down towards her own.

The kiss is softer than the previous one, but no less wonderful. She drags her fingernails up Mulder’s neck and into his hair, making his breath hitch and his grip tighten on her hips, pulling her closer, closer, closer and she’s so completely caught up in him. The kiss is a dream.

But it’s gone, and she wakes up at 6:32 in her bed.

***

Mulder

Something has been different about the past few February 29ths. When he woke up 13 days ago – if you could call them days, considering it’s the same day over and over – it felt like time had passed. And the last day had cut off as soon as he had accidentally kissed Scully. In every other iteration, he had gone to sleep and woken up with it being the same day. Never had the day rebooted while he was still at the office, or while he was awake at all.

Clearly, it must be aliens.

He’s missing time. He goes into the office on the 17th February 29th and instead of pulling X-files about leap day, he goes for the abduction reports. He can’t even count the number that reference missing time, but there are only a couple that reference repeating days. None of them for as long as Mulder has experienced, but they might still hold clues to what’s happening.

He’s settling into his chair with a meager five relevant files when Scully comes through the door.

“Morning, Mulder.” She greets.

“Hey.” he replies absently, flipping through the pages.

Her brows scrunch, “What’s going on? You’re lacking your usual morning X-file enthusiasm.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He sounds resigned, but can anyone blame him? It’s not like Scully would jump on the idea.

“Try me.” She leans forward and places her hands on the desk, challenging him.

He finally glances up at her, considering his course of action. After a moment of contemplation, he puts the file on the top of the stack in front of him and stands. “Come with me.” She follows closely behind him as he walks up the stairs and out the front doors of the Hoover building. They cross Pennsylvania Avenue diagonally, past Mulder’s favorite sign in all of DC.

He guides her, with a hand on her back, to a spot in the shade behind the large flower pots.

“Wait here a minute, he’ll be here soon.” Mulder says, checking his watch. He’s only seen what he’s about to point out a couple times, when getting to work later or leaving to grab breakfast for Scully before she arrives, but he’s pretty sure what he’s waiting to happen will occur shortly.

“Who will, Mudler? An informant?”

“No.” He leans down to talk lowly, right into her ear, “A man with a three legged dog is about to pass us. He’ll walk past the Hoover building, cross 10th, cross Pennsylvania, and laugh at the sex sign very loudly. He’s going to trip on the sidewalk, and the three legged dog is going to glare at him.”

She leans back to look at him with her ‘Mulder, you’re nuts’ look. He expected this. He receives it often. She doesn’t say anything yet, but turns back to the road to observe. Sure enough, a man with a three-legged pug crosses 10th St NW, then Pennsylvania Ave, laughs so hard at the sex walks sign that he trips on the curb and the dog looks at him disapprovingly.

“How did you know that would happen?” Scully asks.

Mulder takes a deep breath and places his hands on her shoulders. He leans down a little to lessen their high difference ever so slightly. “Scully, I’m in a time loop.”

Scully blinks at him for a moment. Her brow furrows. She lifts a hand to his face, and rests the back against it. “Well you don’t have a fever.”

“I’m not sick, Scully. I’m stuck.”

She hums, unconvinced, and continues checking him out. She examines his pupils, his pulse, everything she can think to do without her med bag.

“I have a hypothesis.” He offers hesitantly.

“Which is?”

“Well there’s only been one loop that’s been different.”

“Uh huh.” She’s still hesitant; still doesn’t believe him.

“One time that the day restarted in the middle of it, instead of while I was asleep. I think I know what triggered it, but I can’t be sure, I could be completely off-base–”

“Mulder.” She interrupts, making him look back at her. “What is it?”

“We kissed. On accident, I mean. I miscalculated our proximity. Totally unintentional. But as soon as we, uh, stopped, I woke up in my bed and it was the morning again, instead of resetting when I went to sleep.”

“So you’re asking to kiss me to… test this theory?”

“Yes?”

“If I say yes, and it doesn’t work, will you let me take you to a doctor?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, Mulder. Lay one on me.”

He sucks in a breath and takes a step toward her. One hand goes to her hip, drawing her body in, and the other slides around the contour of her cheek.

This is his first time intentionally kissing her on the mouth, their first real kiss, and she won’t even remember it. She won't remember the small gasp she let out as their lips touched, won’t remember tangling her fingers in his hair to keep him right where he is, won’t remember the press or the pull or the small bites or anything else.

But Mulder will.

Mulder will carry this with him forever. From the second his lips press intentionally against hers, he knows he’s irreparably changed. There’s no going back.

Except there is. Mulder does go back. Back to that morning, stretched across his couch, bathed in the glow of his fish tank. He’s there before the kiss even breaks.

***

Scully

On Scully’s 38th iteration of February 29th, she wears her pajamas into the office. She takes the elevator down to the basement, receiving more than a few weird looks. She enters the office without a word, and before Mulder can inquire about her attire or launch into his rant about leap year traditions and superstitions, she grabs him by the arm and drags him right out the door, up the elevator, and out the Hoover building. He says her name multiple times, asks what’s going on, but she doesn’t respond until they’re seated in their usual spots at the diner down the road.

“Scully, what’s going on?” Mulder’s voice is laced with concern.

“A waffle and two scrambled eggs, please.” Scully says to the approaching waiter. Mulder is still staring at her like she’s grown a second head. That might be an easier X-file to solve. “Order.” She instructs.

He does so without taking his eyes off of her, requesting his usual omelet. Scully smiles at the waiter and finally turns to her partner.

“I’m in a time loop.”

“Scully, I know we’ve been doing the boring 9-5 paperwork and office stuff recently, but there are people with more boring jobs than us who would call it a routine, not a time loop. And most of them don’t show up to work in pajamas.

“No, Mulder, I’m really, truly, in a time loop. It’s been Thursday for the past 37 days.”

“Oh.” He blinks at her stupidly. “And you’re at the ‘giving up’ stage of time loop grief?”

“More or less. We’re playing hooky today, Mulder. We’re going to the museums I’ve been meaning to go to since I moved here but haven’t gotten around to. Did you know I’ve never even seen the Declaration of Independence? I’ve lived in DC for five years, and the DMV for four more in undergrad, and I’ve never seen the Declaration of Independence.”

“Neither have I,” Mulder says absently, still taken aback by the Un-Scullylikeness of this whole day. The waiter places their food in front of them, and Scully thanks him.

“Eat.” She orders through a bite of waffle, seeing that Mulder hasn’t even picked up his fork yet.

He doesn’t move.“Are you okay?”

“No. I’m losing my mind a little bit, and I want to have a day that doesn’t feel like the one I’ve been living over and over. You’re going to eat your omelet, I’m going to go see our nation’s founding document in my pajamas, and who knows, maybe we’ll stop by the tidal basin and take out one of those–” she motions vaguely with her hands, “What’re they called, the swans?”

“A pedal boat?”

“Yes. We’re going to take out a pedal boat.”

“Isn’t it a bit cold for that?”

“Maybe. But we're going to do it anyway.”

Mulder looks at her, shoveling syrup-soaked waffle into her face with a lack of grace she doesn’t usually exhibit unless she’s at home or eating barbecue.

Mulder knows Scully pretty well, three years into their partnership. Though her eyes don’t show it, her tone of voice tells him just how wrung dry she is. “Okay.” he picks up his fork.

“Wonderful, thank you.”

***

Mulder might’ve had the right idea about February being too cold for pedal boating. She’s trying not to shiver through her thin pajamas, but she thinks Mulder is starting to notice. They’re in the middle of the tidal basin, facing the Jefferson Memorial when a gust of wind makes Scully’s teeth chatter.

Silently, without an I told you so, Mulder divests himself of his own long coat and wraps it around Scully’s shoulders. In an instant, she’s warm and surrounded by the feeling of Mulder. It’s not quite a scent, barely even a physical sensation, but a specific air of safety and home that his proximity provides.

She stops pedaling and turns toward him.

“What? Are we turning?” He asks.

Scully just shakes her head, and leans in to kiss him. Because what else is she supposed to do? Mulder has believed her, trusted her, and given her the day she said she needed. He has kept her warm, he has kept her safe. Not just today, but always.

As she leans towards him the boat shifts. For a moment, she’s concerned they’re about to capsize into the tidal basin, but all of her concerns go out the window when he starts to kiss her back. And he’s eager, not just giving her what she wants when she’s feeling bad. He wants this, wants it like she does. His hands are in her hair and he’s pulling her in towards him. Her brain comes back on when he pulls her into his lap, distributing their weight even more unevenly and they’re tipping, tipping, and she’s so sure they’re about to be shocked apart by winter-chilled water.

Instead, she opens her eyes to see her 39th 6:32.

***

Mulder

Mulder is facedown on the desk on his 47th February 29th, and doesn’t even realize Scully has entered the office until her briefcase lands on the chair across the desk with some force. She’s a couple minutes earlier than usual.

“You’re early.” He remarks with surprise.

“Barely. I just got lucky and hit the lights right.” She shrugs her coat off. “When I passed the women’s room down the hall, I think I heard someone moaning.”

“Hm. Sex moaning or ghost moaning.”

“Sex moaning,” Scully answers simply, like it’s a perfectly normal question. Which, for the X-files division, it is.

“Wheeew,” Mulder leans back in his chair. “That’s bold.”

“What,” Scully says with a smirk and a sideways glance from where she’s settled by her computer and microscope, “You’ve never had sex in a semi-public space?”

This makes his eyebrows shoot to his hairline, “And you have?” Scully’s face immediately goes a bright red. “Oh my god, you have.”

“No!” She answers too quickly.

“Scully, you dog!” Mulder teases. “C’mon, where was it? Lover’s lane? Between the stacks? Don’t tell me it was in a morgue.”

“Not… quite.”

“Not quite?”

“It might’ve been in a lab setting.”

“Oh my god. You blew someone in a lab?” Her face gets redder. “You got fucked in a lab?”

Scully presses a hand across her mouth and mumbles something only half distinguishable into it.

“I’m sorry, it almost sounded like you just said you fucked him in the lab.”

“Yes.” She says. “I bent him over the lab bench. I had the key because I was working with the professor that semester, and we went in after hours.”

“Scully!”

“Oh, please, Mulder. I’m sure you have some equally ridiculous sex story from college.”

A specific memory washes over him. He tries his best not to let it show, but Scully can read him too well. She gets a look of victory on her face. “You do!”

“Um.”

“What is it?”

“It was an… award I received in my third year at Oxford.”

“An award, Mulder? Really?” She scoffs, “For what?”

“Most orgasms.”

“Most orgasms?” She echoes in her signature disbelieving tone, the same one she dons when he suggests ghosts or zombies or bigfoot. “Right. Giving or receiving.”

“Giving. The girl ended up telling some of her friends about it, and one of those girls told her boyfriend, who was a part of this party house which was about as close to a frat as you get in England. They were… impressed.”

“How impressed?”

“They offered me a room. To live with them. It was a rare offer.”

“And did you?”

“No.”

“Huh.” She’s quiet for a moment, considering. “How–” She stops herself, unwilling to ask what she really wants to know.

“How many?” He finishes the question for her. She nods, curious. “Twenty-seven. But she was particularly sensitive.”

Scully gawks, then lets out a disbelieving laugh. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did!”

“How?”

“With my mouth, mostly.”

Scully rolls her eyes. “Oh, please, Mulder. No one is that good with their tongue. No man, anyway.”

“You think I’m not good at oral? You have no frame of reference!”

Scully stands from her seat at her little science station across the room. She approaches where he sits at their desk.

Now, Scully leaning against or sitting on the desk isn’t particularly unusual. It’s the most convenient place for her to be when they’re debating something, or looking at a file together. But sitting directly in the middle, right on top of the file he’s referencing, with one heeled foot dangling on either side and thighs spread as far as her pencil skirt will allow, with the tops of her thigh-highs peeking out, is not, in fact, standard fare.

She looks down at him with a shine in her eyes, glistening with a dare. “Prove it.”

There’s no way this is happening. Monkeys on typewriters, laws of large numbers, divine intervention, there’s no way. For once in his life, the universe is working in his favor.

But he won’t get to keep it. He better make use of the opportunity in front of him.

Without breaking eye contact, Mulder pushes his chair back and kneels in front of his partner. His thumbs work her pencil skirt up as he breathes in the scent of her.

When her skirt is pushed up far enough to see her red underwear, he rubs a thumb up her center, and oh god. Oh GOD. She’s soaked through them. He’s hardly even touched her. She’s wet enough just from talking to soak through her underwear. Fuck.

Mulder hooks two fingers into her underwear and pushes them to the side, skimming across her bare cunt. She’s so close to him that he’s shaking. So is she.

Finally, Mulder leans in and his tongue makes contact with her clit. She shudders, and her hands fall to his hair. His eyes don’t leave her face, hers bore into the ceiling as her head falls back in pleasure with a groan.

When she looks back down at him her ever flawless hair has fallen over her face. Her cheeks are flushed and pupils blown out. God how he wishes this wouldn’t be gone tomorrow, living on only in his memory.

He licks at her again, then removes his tongue to kiss her clit with just his lips, light and teasing. Her hands tighten on him, all but shoving his face further into her. Mulder whimpers.

How many times has he sat at this desk fantasizing about this? About her thighs around his head and her hands in his hair, about her, her, always her. How many times has he felt guilty for thinking about her like this, his partner moaning his name like it’s gospel? Her hand at the back of his head, both gentle and commanding, holding him against her. It’s not like he would want to be anywhere else.

She takes one hand away to work at her tits. Mulder tries to take over, batting her hand away to touch her there instead. She grabs his wrist sharply and makes direct eye contact.

“Not so fast, you already have a job to do.” She pushes his hand back to its position pressing her knees apart. She unbuttons her top herself, revealing nothing but skin. He’s going to have to live this day over and over, knowing that she’s not wearing a bra. He doesn’t know how he’ll survive it.

Scully’s foot flexes and her heel tumbles to the ground. She doesn’t seem to notice. She’s close, Mulder can tell. Her thighs are twitching. Suddenly, she swings her shoeless foot up to the chair behind him for leverage and grinds her clit onto his tongue.

Mulder whines.

Mulder fucking comes.

He hadn’t even been aware of his own body, of how hard or how close he was. He certainly hadn’t touched himself, far too focused on Scully’s taste, the minute twitching and pulsing of her vulva beneath his lips and tongue. His own pleasure hadn’t even been relevant, but Scully chasing orgasm, Scully using him, pushes him over the edge. Only for her. Always her, her, her. He sees stars, not the ones he’s spent so many hours staring at in frustration but what he imagines heaven might look like. Through the endorphin fog, he is vaguely glad for the time loop. He and his pants are ruined. He has never wanted to be anything else.

His name rolls off her lips over and over like a mantra. A prayer, a plea. Like she needs him. She tastes like salvation on his lips, his tongue, his chin. Scully’s still grinding her clit on his tongue like he’s her own personal sex toy when she lets out a high-pitched grunt, wraps her raised leg around his neck, and her body stiffens as she comes. Hard.

She catches her breath, riding out her orgasm on his face. Through the aftershocks, he keeps his mouth on her, just to keep her warm, really. She settles back on the desk and looks back down again with a demand on her tongue and in her eyes, “Again. Fingers this time.”

And who is he to deny her?

He releases her cunt from his lips and, for a moment, just looks her in the eye. He gazes at her like she hung the moon, placed the stars, all the things in between them. Like she is his reason for being, the only worthwhile thing on the face of the planet. Like she’s GOD. He presses a sticky-wet kiss to the first sliver of skin above her skirt, needing to take in every bit of her, to catalog the taste and texture of her entire body.

Scully is not as patient, “Now, Mulder,” she all but growls.

He complies, placing two fingers to her entrance, barely letting his fingertips slip in. She bucks her hips towards him, forcing his fingers in a bit further, but meeting no resistance. He presses them in further and bends them towards the front wall of her vagina. He must hit the exact right spot, because Scully just about screams and drops forward above him, held up by a hand on his shoulder. He rubs that spot, and shifts his thumb to hit her clitoris as well.

When his lips reach her chest, her breathing hitches. He’s struck gold. She arches into him, presenting an expanse of skin and tangling her fingers in his hair. His name, again and again and again. His name on her tongue and her taste on his.

His lips dance across the outer curve of her breast, tracing the shape of her name against her skin. Scully. Scully. Scully. Over and over. Only her.

It doesn’t take long, with two fingers inside her, his thumb sliding across her clit in slow swipes and his mouth on her tits, for her to come once again. This time, she holds his head to her chest while he pants her name into her skin like it’s the only word he knows. He thinks there might be tears in his eyes, borne from the overwhelming pleasure.

She pulls him off her chest by his hair and he looks up at her as her eyes dip to his lips.

“Are you hard?”

Well, now he is. Mulder nods, eyes wide.

Scully, breathless, orders, “Then fuck me.”

He’s too floored by the idea, overcome by his want for her, to process as she pulls him in to kiss her.

It’s then, he knows he’s doomed. It’s over. Any second now, he’ll wake up on his couch with a crick in his neck and missing time and Scully never, ever remembering that this even happened. So he kisses her back, tries to absorb every bit of the contact before he’s dragged away from it.

He makes it out the other end, when she starts fiddling with his belt buckle and pulls away to look at what she’s doing. For a fleeting moment, he thinks he’s broken it. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, sex is what he needed to break the loop, that he will get to keep this, to keep her.

Then he blinks, and his living room blooms in front of his eyes. It’s Thursday again. His fingers are still wet.

***

Scully

Scully wakes up sore. She can’t for the life of her figure out why. She also wakes up with a rather flustering mental image of Mulder looking up at her, puppy eyes from between her thighs. It isn’t like she hasn’t had…dreams about him before, this just feels so vivid. So real. She reminds herself that dreams mean nothing. They are the subconscious brain’s way of making sense of a life’s worth of memories and there is no hidden meaning in them. But those pleading eyes, the slightly parted and glistening lips, the tousled hair sticking out in odd directions, the ghost of a dream memory burned into her brain. How many times has she imagined him like that? Looking at her like there is nothing else in the universe that deserves his attention, on the verge of tears and begging for more. Begging for her, only her. She’s used to feeling guilty about it, years of catholic school have drilled that shame into her. But this time is different. The guilt isn’t there, just a vague yearning. Vague, but deep.

Scully glances at the clock. 6:32, like it has been for the past 38 February 29ths. She knows she doesn’t have the time to do anything about the pulsing between her thighs that has come as a product of the mental image of Mulder beneath her, not if she wants to be on time for work. But, on the other hand, so what if she’s late? It’s not like tomorrow will hold any consequences. And she certainly needs the tension in her body to… release.

Scully peels the covers back to give herself space to work. She rounds the bed to the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed and retrieves her vibrator. After giving it a quick wash, not one to risk an infection, lays it on the bed and kneels over it, hovering naked. Her head falls back and she summons the image of Mulder. Not the one she’s dreamt up, but the one she’s… used… before, where she lays flat on his couch with his lips on her pussy.

It’s not hard to. Instinctually, she starts grinding down on the still vibrator, just trying to get friction. To warm up. To find the right angle. But it’s the returning image she had woken up with, of Mulder between her thighs, his eyes wide and glazed over and the entire lower half of his face covered in her wetness, that makes her actually turn it on.

She lets out a broken groan as the device powers to life. She falls forward a little when she does it, catching herself on her hands and looking down where her pussy is grinding on the vibrator. Her body has a mind of its own, she’s barely in control of it. She lifts one hand up to her chest and slides it across her sensitive skin.

She lifts her eyes and is met with her reflection in the vanity. She isn’t used to masturbating in the morning light or in this position, so she’s surprised by her own image. Her bed-mussed hair reminds her of the absolute fucking wreck that Mulder’s hair had been in her dream, which she can only imagine was from her pulling at it and guiding him.

Then she’s shaking harder and tensing with her orgasm. Overstimulated by the vibrations, she raises up off the sex toy, replaced by her hand as she rides it out. The sensation blooms throughout her body, blissful, but still not quite enough.

She needs more. Again.

Scully does not end up making it into the office on time. When she does step through the door, Mulder turns around to greet her with his bright, excited eyes and she can’t help but walk right up and kiss him square on the mouth. And again. And again. Until she wakes up and it's 6:32 again, and she cries.

***

Mulder

Mulder is getting tired of this. There just isn’t enough time in the one day to convince Scully that he’s in a time loop. Despite his exhaustion, he drags her out to the corner of 10th NW and Pennsylvania to watch the three legged dog again.

He parks her by the flower pots and places his hands on her shoulders to explain, yet again, the series of events that is about to transpire.

“There’s going to be a guy with a three legged dog, he’s going to laugh at the sex walks sign, trip on the sidewalk–”

“And the dog is going to glare.” Scully finishes the sentence for him, her voice distant and vaguely distracted.

Mulder pauses. “How did you know that?”

“I don’t know, it just seemed familiar.”

“You remember.” A laugh bubbles out of him, pure relief. Oh god. She’s remembering. He’s not going to be alone.

“Remember what?” She asks as Mulder doubles over in relieved laughter. “Mulder?”

He stands back up straight. “I’m in a time loop, Scully. I’ve lived February 29th, 1996 somewhere around 60 times.”

Instead of twisting into concern or disbelief, this time Scully’s face is just shocked. “O-kay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.”

Mulder pauses. “This hasn’t happened before. I’ve never been able to convince you.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Mulder. There’s something about it that just… makes sense.”

“Makes sense?”

“Yes, but I can’t put my finger on why.”

He considers his next move, unsure if it will turn out how he wants it to. “Let's test something.”

“Do you have a theory?”

“Yeah, Scully, I do. Listen, I’ve lived this day so many times. Some things change without me doing anything, but they’re all little things. Like sometimes the dog guy comes a few minutes later. But only one thing has changed how I experience the day.”

“And what is that?”

“When we kiss.” He says, like it’s so simple. Oh, of course we’ve kissed before. Obviously.

“We’ve… kissed? In the time loop?”

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

“Three times, now. Twice accidentally and once to test the theory properly.”

“What did it change?”

“The day restarted then,” he explains, “Instead of rebooting when I went to sleep in the evening or when it hit midnight. And it felt like there was… a gap. Like I was missing time.”

“Oh god, Mulder, don’t go telling me you think this is an alien time loop, that’s just a step too far.”

“No,” Mulder laughs, “No alien time loops, don’t worry. I don’t know what they would want with us repeating today over and over anyway.”

“And why do you think it works that way, then? Who, or what, do you think is controlling us?”

“I don’t know. The universe? God? That’s a big question.”

“Then how do we stop it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Have you figured out anything, or have you just spent your time kissing me?”

“Hey, that’s a pattern I found!”

“Mulder.” Scully ‘s head falls back in exasperation. “What good is kissing me now going to do? You’ll just wake up in the morning again. You need to investigate and figure out what is happening. This is an X-file.”

“Well what do you suggest we do? Do you have some secret physicist friend who specializes in temporal anomalies?”

She rolls her eyes. “No, Mulder, I don’t. But we can look through the files to see if something like this has happened before.”

Oh. Mulder might be a bit stupid. He must’ve lost his mind a couple of February 29ths ago. He slaps his hand to his forehead. “Oh my god, it’s so obvious!” He turns on his heel and stalks back towards the Hoover building, almost getting pancaked by a Kia in the process. Scully is about two steps behind him, asking questions. He answers none of them, until he waltzes into their office and takes the Leap Day Lovers X-files out of the third cabinet. He hadn’t come in early to review them like he had on his first February 29th, so it feels to him as though the last time he laid eyes on them was months ago.

He hands the file to Scully without even opening it and collapses in his desk chair. Scully settles on the edge of the desk as she skims the contents of the folder. Mulder’s mind provides him with extensive images of Scully’s legs spread for him while she sits just a couple inches from where she is currently, and he doesn’t even have the energy to try to stop it.

“I don’t know how I didn’t put it together sooner.” He runs a hand through his hair. “We’re the Leap Day Lovers, Scully.”

She drops the file on the desk next to her. “Mulder, you don’t actually believe this, do you?”

“It’s the closest any of this has come to making sense.”

“It’s not though. If that were the case, wouldn’t it have already stopped when we kissed?”

“No, not if the intent wasn’t overly romantic. I only kissed you by accident, and to test the theory that that was what made it reset. And once was basically a dare.”

“I dared you to kiss me?”

“More or less.” He would really rather not provide the details of that particular February 29th right now, for fear of repeating it instead of figuring anything out.

“And why am I not remembering the loops? It’s just Thursday for me.”

Mulder does not point out that she’s incredibly stubborn about believing in the paranormal, but he wants to. “I don’t know, the accounts I’ve read aren’t super detailed about what each party goes through or who remembers what, just how they solved it.”

“By entering a… romantic relationship?”

“Yes.”

She looks him up and down, assessing. “And you’re… open to the idea?”

“Leap Day Lovers don’t tend to be people who are unattached, Scully. They're people who have… pent-up…desires.”

“That’s… alright.” Scully hangs her head for a moment, eyes closed, then lifts to look at him again. “Alright, Mulder, what do we need to do to get you out?”

“Have sex?” He suggests. He doesn’t mention that they have already tried that, but maybe if they’ve discussed the significance first it’ll have a more desired effect. And maybe he’ll be able to finish what he started this time.

“Oh.” She says. Not out of denial, just surprised at his brazenness. “...Okay, but we need to discuss something else first.”

“What?”

“In case it doesn’t work, I think we should have a word to try to make me remember. A codeword.”

“Something that says ‘hey, remember the last time loop?’”

“Yes.”

“Okay, what do you want it to be?”

Scully bites her lip, thinking. “Philtrum.”

“What is that?”

“It’s the word for the groove between your nose and lip.” Her hand rises to his face, and she drags a finger down his own philtrum, demonstrating. “Right here.”

“Alright. If I wake up at home, I’ll tell you ‘philtrum’ and hopefully it’ll bring you closer to remembering.” Mulder stands and moves between Scully’s legs, towering over her. He places his hands on either side of her face. “Can I kiss you?”

Scully nods, and he leans down towards her. Her mind catches up with her and she opens her mouth to say no, wait, if you kiss me on the mouth you’ll just wake up at home again, but Mulder’ lips are already on hers and she’s lost, lost, lost in him and the feeling and she’s blinking at her alarm clock, reading 6:32, with the phantom sensation of lips against her own.

***

Converge

At 6:32AM on February 29th, 1996, Scully wakes up confused. Something is different. Something has changed.

Coffee. Paper. Hair. Toast. Work. Mulder.

She can’t place what is different until she sees him. His presence pulls as a loose thread in her mind, trying to unravel the mystery in front of her.

His rant about leap day is the same as it usually is. Scully has all but memorized it by now. Just when he’s about to introduce the concept of Leap Day Lovers, he stops in the middle of his sentence.

“Have I told you about this before?”

This surprises her. Not once in any of her 39 February 29ths has Mulder indicated remembering a previous iteration.

“What?”

“Have we discussed leap day superstitions before? Or the leap day lovers? I’m getting the strongest deja vu of my life right now.”

Scully blinks at him for a moment. “Yes.”

“When?”

Scully sighs, “Mulder, I need to tell you something. I’ve lived this day 39 times before. Each time I come in here and you tell me about leap day, so yes, we’ve had this conversation before.”

“Huh.” Like that adds anything to the conversation.

“Huh? I, Dana Scully, notorious nonbeliever in anything mystical or supernatural, tell you that I’m in a time loop and all you have to say is huh?”

“Well, that makes sense. It seems… I don’t know, it just makes sense to me.” He ponders for a moment, eyebrows scrunching to indicate he’s thinking hard about something. “Scully, does the word philtrum mean anything to you?”

It’s Scully’s turn to consider this intently. “Yes, it’s the groove between the nose and upper lip.” She hesitates. “And you said it to me… here, in the office. You were showing me a file, we had just come in from the corner outside the Hoover building? With the…” She snaps her fingers, trying to summon the memory. “The dog, and the laughing guy.”

Mulder nods. “And the sex walks sign.”

“I’m not calling it that. But why don’t I remember it fully? It seems like it happened recently, but more recently than things that I know have happened in the time loop. And I can’t remember it all the way. It’s like a dream I can only partially recall.”

“Do you think you’ve just lived today so many times that they’ve started to blend together? To feel like dreams?”

“No, I can remember the rest of them, this is the only one that feels… fuzzy.”

“But I can remember it more clearly. I remember you wearing that outfit, I remember how the flowers smelled. I remember seeing an empty coke bottle in one of the flower beds.” His face lights up, like a cartoon light bulb has been switched on above his head. “Scully, what if we’re both in time loops, and they’re starting to feed into each other?”

“That only works if you subscribe to the multiverse theory, which I don’t, and even if it were true, there is no evidence for the ability to cross between these realities.”

“You didn’t think time loops were possible until now, either, and your own experience proves you were wrong about that.”

Scully sighs in exasperation. “Mulder–”

He cuts off whatever rebuttal she was about to provide. “What if we’re in the same reality, but switching who is able to remember each time we kiss.”

“Somehow a switching time loop is more believable, and I hate you for it.”

“So what do we… do about it?” He asks.

“What does the Leap Day Lovers lore say?”

“You think we’re the Leap Day Lovers?”

“You suggested it!” She defends.

“No I didn’t!”

“Yes you–” She pauses. “Maybe it was…”

“Last time.” Mulder finishes for her.

Scully rubs a hand across her forehead. “Damnit, this is getting confusing.”

“They aren’t specific about how they broke it, just that solving their relationship issues got them out of it.”

“So how do we… do that? I mean, clearly we’ve discussed it, so that’s not going to help.” Scully tilts her head, considering. “Maybe we just need to have sex.”

Mulder goes red. “Uhh.”

“What?”

“I feel like that might’ve… already happened. A little bit.”

Scully’s eyebrows shoot to her forehead, indignant. “You fucked me in the time loop?”

“Technically, you started it, so I would say you fucked me in the time loop. Not that I was going to complain.”

“And how is that, if I can’t even remember it?”

“I don’t know, I don’t remember the details now either! I just know you started it.”

Scully rolls her eyes.

“But I don’t think we, uh, got all the way there, if you know what I mean. Hit the home run. So maybe if we do, that will resolve it.”

“Alright Mulder.” Scully looks up at him through her eyelashes. “Let’s fuck. Yours or mine?”

***

They end up at Mulder’s apartment. As soon as they enter, Scully presses him against the door and kisses his jaw, carefully avoiding his lips. She wants to follow through with this, and not be reset halfway through because one of them got too caught up in the moment and kissed the other directly on the mouth.

Mulder’s head tilts up, bearing his neck to Scully as she kisses her way down towards his collar. Her hands work at the buttons of his dress shirt, freeing up more space to kiss. If she can’t have his lips, she's going to claim as much of his skin as she can. He holds her body as close as possible to his own while still allowing her enough space to remove his clothes.

She sinks her teeth into the junction of his neck and shoulder, and Mulder gasps. When he says her name, he’s breathless.

He’s down to his undershirt when Scully grabs him by the belt buckle and pulls him off the door. He’s not entirely sure his legs will carry him, but they do, all the way to the couch, where Scully suavely whips the belt out of its loops and tosses it away.

She kneels between his legs and places her hand on his cock where it tents his pants. When she squeezes, he lets out a punched-out sound and just barely manages not to come on the spot.

She kisses him atop his pants, hands working the button out of its hole, and he gently pushes her back by her shoulder. “Scully, wait.” Her eyes drift back up to meet his. “That might not be the most… strategic move. For right now.”

A single brow lifts and Scully smirks, cocky. “Oh?”

“Well the end goal is for me to fuck you, right?”

“Yes.”

“If your mouth gets any closer to my dick, we aren’t going to make it there.”

She hums. “What a shame. Another time.” She places a hand on his shoulder and guides him to lay across the couch.

“Uh-huh.” Mulder agrees, brain mush at the thought of a repeat act.

Scully divests herself of her clothes and straddles him, rubbing the tip of his dick along her pussy. Mulder grunts, sounding punched-out.

“Scully, please. Please.”

She lets out a satisfied hum and lowers slightly, letting the tip of him just inside her.

“Scully. Scully.” Mulder reveres, begs, needs. She lowers more, dragging it out to tease him.

When he’s sat fully inside her, Scully lets out a groan of her own, and falls forward slightly . She catches herself with a hand on Mulder’s chest. When she finally, finally lifts her eyes back to his, she lifts and falls again.

When she’s close, Scully’s abdominal muscles flex and she doubles over, leaning down towards Mulder, leaving her lips just barely a hair’s breadth from his. She needs a little more stimulation, just a touch.

As if he could sense her thoughts, Mulder groans and bucks up into her, hitting her clit just right. Scully seizes and grids down onto him, desperate for the friction to carry through her orgasm.

Mulder is looking at her lips, and he’s leaning up to kiss her as she’s coming undone on his cock. There’s so much admiration in his eyes, so much love, so much desire, she can’t deny him kissing her while she comes. She can barely kiss him back, lost in the sensation, but her lips are on his, and it’s perfect.

Until she wakes up. In her own bed, not Mulder’s apartment.

The first thing she processes is the alarm clock, no longer mocking her with a bright red 6:32. Instead, 4:17 blinks into 4:18 before her. Oh, thank God.

The second thing she processes is the sound of the front door clicking open.

***

He kissed her. He’s still on his back on the couch, but the daylight is no longer streaming through the window and lighting up Scully’s bare skin, because Scully is no longer here. It’s dark. Without checking his watch, he knows it’s around 4am.

He puts on the crumpled jeans from February 28th that have been sitting on his floor as long as he’s been in this damn time loop. He’s put on a suit for work every February 29th that he’s lived through, but he’s not going to work now. He’s going to Scully’s.

She steps out of her bedroom as he steps into her kitchen.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to wake up and see the clock say it’s four in the morning, Mulder,” she greets, rubbing her eye.

“You remember?” He asks.

She nods. “Leap day. Philtrum. You fucked me in the time loop.”

“I did not– okay, well I did last time. But before that, you fucked me.”

“Sure, Mulder, whatever helps you sleep at night.” Thinking about it does not, in fact, help him sleep. It has the opposite effect.

“It didn’t work.”

“No, it didn’t.” She sighs and switches the coffee pot on. Instead of turning back around to face her partner, she braces her arms on the counter, leaning over the coffee pot as if breathing in the fumes will get the caffeine into her bloodstream faster.

“So what do we do?”

“More research.” She does turn around now, leaning back against the counter with her arms crossed. “Have you reached out to any of the previous Lovers to try and get their stories? See what specifically they did to make the time loop stop?”

“I emailed some, but never heard back.”

“Then we reach out to the Gunmen to get more info on them, and track them down, and go to Skinner and explain what we can without risking getting separated by the Bureau, and investigate it officially. We may restart, but if we are both remembering our respective loops now, hopefully that means we’ve stopped switching for good and will retain our memories, and keep working on it. The only issue is if we need to travel, because we’ll get sent back to our own apartments when it restarts.”

Mulder knows he's looking at her with starry eyes, but he can’t help it. She’s so damn smart, she’s planned the whole thing out half asleep and in the three minutes he’s been in her apartment. So really, when he leans in to kiss her, he can’t be held responsible. He can’t help it.

***

This time, when Scully wakes earlier she has grown accustomed to, it’s to Mulder climbing into bed beside her. She shifts over to make room for him, throws an arm over his side, and settles her head on his chest.

“You kissed me again.” She says, voice rough and tired.

“I did. I couldn’t help myself.” He gives a huff of a laugh and smiles guiltily. “I’m glad we can both remember now, though.”

“Do you think we’ll get the memories of our separate experiences? That they’ll all come back to us?”

“I don’t know, Scully. The accounts from the Leap Day Lovers make it sound like they’re on the same page, so I hope so.”

She nods, and presses closer to him. “We should get up. Start researching.”

“I already called the Gunmen, they’re on it. I think we’ve earned some rest.” He kisses her forehead, a safe spot. “Go back to sleep, Scully.”

She hums, and does just that.

***

A couple hours later, the Gunmen are still digging into information on the previous Leap Day Lovers with no clear leads yet. When 9am hits, Mulder and Scully stand outside Skinner’s door.

“How do we even start to explain this, Mulder.”

“I don’t know. I mean, I proved it to you by making you watch that guy laugh at the sex walks sign and his dog glare at him, we could bring him out there and make him watch that?”

“I think that only worked for me because I had been looking already. Skinner might think we’re pulling his leg and told the guy to do that.”

“Well, do you have any better ideas?”

Scully sighs, “No, I don’t. So I guess we’ll go with that.”

“Alright.” Mulder pauses, bracing himself. “Let’s do this, Scully.” He grabs the doorknob and boldly turns it.

What the door reveals, no one could expect. Not in a million years.

Because Alex fucking Krycek is sat in Skinner’s chair, slumped face down over the desk. The back of his skull has been transformed into something akin to a bloody pudding bowl.

“Mulder?”

“Yes, Scully?”

“Maybe this isn’t… our time loop.”

“I think you might be right.”

#warning it is LONG #LTW: X-File 02291996 #LTWrites #the x files #.txt #fics

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neonscandal · 8 months

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Manga With Me: Obscure Head Canons (and Hypotheses) You’d Probably Develop When Reading the JJK Light Novels, Pt 1

For an anime with literally no filler episodes 🥹... the first light novel provides a brief insight into the days before (and behind the scenes of) the trauma. As someone who thrives on the misery of being a JJK fan, would the experience be complete without them? The answer doesn't matter because everything you need is below the jump! I saved my biggest theory for last so hop to the end for it.

⚠️ Spoiler Warning for Jujutsu Kaisen Summer of Ashes, Autumn of Dust and season 2 of the anime (manga spoilers are vague at best).

Head Canon: Gojo is the Riddler Purely For His Own Entertainment ✨

As someone who can process things the way a Six Eyes holder probably can, there’s no way he allows Yuji and Megumi to get the drop on him during their surveillance of sensei on his day off. But he takes them around (at a distance) doing silly things like record stores and maid cafes because I think it prompts them to enjoy things they wouldn’t. Especially Megumi. It’s kind of sweet, both their inherent curiosity about him but also lonely the way that he explores his whims so far removed from everyone else. It really highlights that “Who is Gojo Satoru?” question when you realize even Megumi’s interest was lowkey piqued at the possibly knowing a bit more about Gojo.

In the second story, Gojo speaks in straight up nonsense (think Mad Hatter) and it is no wonder when he's working alongside the most straight laced sorcerer there is, Nanami Kento. To a degree, I wonder if it’s genuine chaos spilling from his head or if he knows, after years of pushing Nanami’s buttons, how to precisely drive him up a wall. I question whether it's for his own entertainment or to his own alienation. Maybe Geto really was the only one who could follow the winding thread of Gojo’s thoughts.

Head Canon: Gojo Secretly Worries About Nanami

I think with Haibara’s death and the knowledge he would have made light work of whatever caused it, Gojo makes it a point to join Nanami on missions.. just in case. After all, Nanami and Shoko are all he has left from before. He’s lost many people and, as the strongest, I don’t think that fear is something he’d admit aloud, but its reality is demonstrably what pushes him forward physically and philosophically. In the story where they go on a mission together... it almost seems like an unspoken and uncomfortable understanding between them, the elephant in the room neither want to point out. People around Gojo never wanting to acknowledge how his strength eclipses theirs is rather common which we see with Nanami in this story and even Ijichi later. So while he may make light of this chasm, he still pops in as an unsolicited protector. With grace, he allows Nanami to assume he's just being a nuisance but I really think he takes an ounce of prevention where possible when it comes to the people he cares for. After all, imagine the turmoil if he ever came to realize his absence could make or break another person's survival again.

Head Canon: The Elders Have Always Known, If It Came Down to it, Gojo Would Always Choose Geto

There’s a reason they kept the idea of reanimating the dead a secret specifically from Gojo. In fact, they should probably consider themselves lucky that he was so vehemently disgusted with the curse user capable of such puppetry. I wonder if he experienced hope before allowing the reality of the sham magic to break his heart all over again because, in their secrecy, it seems like they know the lengths he’d go to protect and choose Geto. Geto was allowed to walk the earth for 10 years after his execution was ordered. Maybe they were right to keep it close to the chest. Gojo still saved his body, after all. To what end when he knew a body can run the risk of becoming a curse?

Head Canon: Gojo Saved Ijichi's Life but Condemned Him to Something Worse

Okay so this is kind of a manga spoiler (though I believe the flash back is during the Premature Death/Hidden Inventory arc) but, as a student, Gojo straight up told Ijichi he was weak and should find something else to do so he doesn't get himself killed. So he does. He becomes a steadfast and detail oriented manager which is a critical fixture in jujutsu society but damn, doesn't it just put Ijichi in an ivory tower of suffering? Years pass as he sends first his juniors, then fresh sets of kids into dangerous battle after dangerous battle. Some survive, some don't and all serve as a reminder of his powerlessness. He can cross every "t" and dot every "i" and it still doesn't prevent what happened to Yuji at the Juvenile center from happening. What does that do to one's soul?

Head Canon: Gojo Still Thinks "We Are the Strongest"

As seen with the Premature Death/Hidden Inventory arc, we know that Gojo saw an exponential growth in response to the losses suffered. It seemingly drove a wedge between he and Geto as Geto struggled to grapple with his powerlessness. With his defection, we see where Gojo changes his posturing from "we are the strongest" to "I am the strongest" but in the back of his mind (Alexa, play "Always Forever" by Cults 🫠), we know he still holds a soft spot for his first and last warm spring of youth. At the end of JJK 0, he refers to Geto in the present tense, as his "best friend, [his] one and only." Even after everything, I truly think Gojo leaves space for Geto beside him. This is furthered in the light novel during a story which is placed post Junpei and upon Yuji's return to life at Jujutsu High. Yuji, while still playing dead, helped a kid who had a grade 3 curse that seemed to be resurrecting and, after exorcising it multiple times felt he needed Gojo's assistance. When Gojo refused, he resigned himself to ask Nanamin for help wherein Gojo employed a Teachable Moment (TM).

He approached Itadori, who was hanging his head. "In this world, tragedies too often end in misery, even when it's possible to help. But the problem isn't lack of strength or getting there too late." As Gojo passed Itadori, he patted him on the head without making eye contact. "The main reason it happens is that people forget they have the strength to help."

This was enough to restore Yuji's confidence in his own competence but also sounds informed by what happened between Geto and Gojo in a sense. I interpret Gojo's assertion to center Geto to be the assumed lack of strength (which was most pertinent to how he was advising Yuji) and himself with the poor timing. Ultimately, to Gojo it doesn't matter because he never thought Geto was weak. The insecurity was a product of a situation he failed to reason himself out of, at the time, and it bred resentment within him alone. I don't think Gojo blamed Geto for anything that happened with Riko nor could he blame himself. It simply spurned him to figure out ways to limit his vulnerability in the future. In the face of that loss, Gojo still said they were the strongest and maybe in that moment with Yuji, he was employing a lesson he wished he could have been in a place to tell Geto to quell his festering guilt and grief. You can be strong and still fallible.

Hypothesis: Mimiko and Nanako (and Anyone Else...) Going After Managers is Not a Coincidence

As we saw with JJK 0, Geto's twins were rather merciless in going after the suits who make everything covert about jujutsu society possible. Based on what we knew at the time, the managers provide cover for sorcerers on missions (with curtains, getting them transportation to, providing cover stories) and plug them in with resources as needed. But we begin to realize that managers serve additional purposes. In season 1, we see that they are sometimes part of the investigative force when it comes to getting information around developing situations. With the Shibuya arc and the arc that follows, we see that they are also integral means of liaison and communication between sorcerers and to other points of contact within the community, including windows.

So. Windows are people who can see curses but aren't sorcerers which begs the question, what are managers? As we learn and can infer with Ijichi, who was a former sorcerer in training, managers are people who can see curses and may even be able to manipulate cursed energy. They aren't full blown sorcerers but they aren't completely helpless either. So why go after them?

As we see in the story centered around Ijichi's "boring day" at the office. Managers are sorcerers' only connection to the "human" world. They are what keeps them tethered to their mission in protecting others while similarly upholding the etiquette and traditions around how the rest of the world works. They maintain a very delicate balance of things alongside the supernatural. Without them, you'd have the unchecked ego of teenage Gojo basically just doing as he pleases without curtains or respect to the possible implications of a civilian seeing him work out in the open. To suit Geto's needs during JJK 0, why should sorcerers operate under some guise of hiding their strength for the sake of those who are weak? As to what happens during the Shibuya arc.. imagine the fear, the anxiety. Imagine the chaos! Imagine the curses it would yield.

Hypothesis: Yuji is Still the Main Character, We Just Haven't Seen the Curse that He'd Manifest When Broken Saying it louder for the people in the back

Certain corners of the fandom have largely cast Yuji aside. With the release of JJK 0 and appearance of Yuta, many wonder why Yuta isn't carrying the series. Afterall, his inherent overpowered-ness and ability to copy any technique for sure casts him as the next gen Gojo, right? In the literary sense, we've seen the rise and fall of his story. We haven't seen the last of him by any stretch of the imagination but he is, as we discovered, also jujutsu society royalty. A distant cousin of Gojo's, actually.

Of the main cast of first and second years, Yuji and Nobara are subsequently the only characters who do not have apparent ties to jujutsu society. Nobara, plucked from the countryside, is tested by Gojo upon her initial introduction to the series to make sure she's crazy enough to cut it. Yuji's origin is still a ways from truly coming to light but his inherent strength and the simple ability to house Sukuna and maintain his identity has, in many ways, been indicated to be an anomaly. Subsequently, as the viewer or reader, we know there's more to the story which has yet to come. I won't go into it here given my desire to not spoil the larger manga story but I think laced within the light novels is enough evidence to talk about Yuji and what his power and subsequent threat level is.

Yuji, for all intents and purposes, is an outsider. From what we can tell, he has experienced loss. Most apparently with his grandfather but we also assume he is a victim to the MC syndrome that leaves him orphaned and prime for a journey rife with struggle. He's fifteen with the pure heart of a child despite any previous hardships and just so happens to be armed with the mission to help people.

Yuji approaches the introduction to this new society with the wonderment of a kid finding out superheroes exist. But this naivete, this untempered light, actually has the capability of being something so fearsome when we learn how curses manifest through negative emotions.

In the anime, we see this as Sukuna scratches at Yuji's mental when they realize the possible origin of Tsumiki's curse may have begun killing it's victims when Yuji ate the finger. Mahito employs a similar means of manifesting ill will in Junpei that ultimately also becomes a burdensome guilt that Yuji bears. Countless times in the Shibuya arc, Yuji is forced to witness catastrophic losses of his mentors and friends while he can only stand idly by. The survivor's guilt is compounded by the shame of his own inability to help which only gets worse.

Since Yuji is relatively noble and sincere in nature, he considers these losses personal failures. He takes ownership of any sins against others that Sukuna commits when he is not in control over his body and, subsequently, his spirit takes a beating time and time again. He sought to do good in the world but his ledger becomes increasingly bloody through no means of his own and it weighs on our sunshine character.

It's easy to lend a hand to a child who has fallen, but it's a teacher's job to show a child how to stand up unassisted. It isn't always easy. - Gojo Satoru

The first light novel closes the gap between how Yuji went from training in a basement away from anyone who'd want him dead a second time to being under Nanami's care. While wrapping up Nanami's case, Gojo is uncharacteristically somber in requesting Nanami's assistance. He explains that Yuji requires Nanami's influence as someone who knows human suffering. The losses shared between them are unspoken and are not acknowledged within this exchange but, from what we know, hang as a burden between them. Still, both Nanami and Gojo have continued on as sorcerers somehow, from the grief of their youth into their late twenties. But Gojo gives voice to the concern that, because of Yuji's bravery and altruism, that the reality of what's expected of a sorcerer will one day break his heart if someone with emotional intelligence isn't able to help temper it. They seem to both understand the precariousness of youth and have both been shown to insist in protecting it where possible. This exchange and their mutual understanding is how we have Yuji under the care of Nanamin. It's also where we get the heart rending reminder that "Being a child is by no means a crime," and "You've escaped death many times. But that doesn't mean you've become an adult."

In the last story of the book, as Yuji is reunited with the other first years, he is contemplating a situation he encountered that still lacked resolution. He'd exorcised the exact same demon several times but to no avail. He hopes to enlist Gojo's help but Gojo encourages him to think about the problem more because not everything can be solved by fighting and exorcising when the source of curses is from human emotion. As Yuji races off to resolve the issue that's been weighing on him, Gojo reflects on his responsibility to preparing Yuji for the ups and downs that are sure to befall him.

Itadori's sincerity was a more significant attribute than his being Sukuna's vessel. As a result, trauma had the potential to become a curse more fearsome than anything else, a nasty curse preventable only by confronting one's own heart. Instead of cradling that heart, Gojo could teach it to be prepared. That's what it meant to raise students.

While the story resolves without consequence, we see that Yuji's reflection on the situation is as endearing as one would imagine though still a bit warped. He is galvanized to be stronger, dedicated to providing the help the people need whatever it may be, and to not give those he cares about reason to worry which seems in line with what Gojo was hoping for. But being offset by his consideration for how others feel like Nobara and Fushiguro when he died, it almost feels like he's creating an even larger burden of expectations for himself. This gives rise to Gojo's very real concerns about how far someone can fall into despair, especially someone who is such a beacon of positivity.

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