I know I should have worked on the next chapter for my Existence story, but this popped into my head and demanded to be written. It’s family fluff (what else).
Fox Mulder believes in a lot of things. He wants to believe,
anyway. One thing he doesn’t believe in, hasn’t in the past, is perfection.
He has to admit, though, that today comes damn near close.
It’s Sunday and they’re at Maggie’s. It’s one of these
Scully family gatherings that baffle yet fascinate him. Siblings, cousins,
aunts and uncles, nephews and nieces in abundance. He once asked Scully who
this or that person was. She looked, squinted, and shook her head. No idea,
she’d chuckled. Now that he’s attended a few of these parties, Mulder knows who
to smile at, who to charm and who to stay away from. Though that has never
changed, really. Bill Scully Jr. will never like him.
Children run around, trampling a few flowers here and there,
and no one says a word. It’s a sea of red-haired heads that come in several
heights and even more shapes. Yet Mulder can always spot his son. William’s
hair has darkened this past year and Bill, upon laying eyes on the boy, merely
glanced at Mulder, shaking his head. As if there had ever been any question as
to who the father was.
Mulder watches his son as if he’s never before seen him.
Watches him attempt to keep up with his older cousins, looking up at them,
holding out his pudgy hands in an act of participation. William gets up with
difficulty, sticks his tiny butt in the air, and uses his hands to crawl a
step, then he stands up. His concentrated face reminds Mulder of Scully. Their
son pushes his bottom lip forward and his tongue out. He takes a step and then another.
His happy squeal is so loud that Mulder can hear it clearly, from a distance,
through all the other voices and noises surrounding him. All he sees, all he
hears, is his son, bathed in sunlight, his grin brighter than any star.
“Hey you,” Scully whispers into his ear
unexpectantly, making him shiver. She puts her arms around him, and even though
it’s been two years, Mulder still expects someone to wake him up, laugh into
his face, and tell him it was just a dream, a joke. He doesn’t wake up, though,
and Scully’s grip tightens around his chest. She feels warm against him, smells
like the sun, and yes, this is perfection, he thinks. It has to be.
“What are you doing?” But he doesn’t need to
answer. Scully finds their son, who is running after a butterfly, and chuckles.
“Chasing butterflies.” She mumbles against his
skin and Mulder shivers despite the heat. She starts trailing soft kisses along
his neck, and he thinks about stopping her; they’re in public, surrounded by
what feels like a hundred different Scullys. Instead his body betrays him and
he moans softly.
“Do you think this is a good idea?” He croaks out.
“Hmmm.” Is her only answer. Her mouth wanders over
his skin, taking claim here and there. Her lips move closer to his mouth and he
can almost feel her there already. No matter how often they kiss, and sometimes
he wishes he’d kept count, it never fails to amaze him. He anticipates her
touch, waits and longs for it. Out of the corner of his eyes he sees William,
still running, with his arms outstretched. There is a huge smile on his face,
his mouth open wide, revealing the first few teeth. A perfect moment of pure
Then it happens.
William stops, freezes. The smile falls from his face as his
lip starts to quiver. His hand comes up and touches his cheek before he starts
wailing. His legs give in and he lands on his butt, tears streaming down his
face. Both Mulder and Scully run towards him, fear in every breath, in every
“Baby, what happened?” Mulder takes William into
his arms and the boy clings to him as Scully tries to get a look at his face.
“A bee,” she tells Mulder with a sigh, “Just
a bee sting.” William continues to cry and Mulder holds him tightly,
kisses his hair, promises him that it will be fine. Just fine.
He waits outside, a glass of lemonade in his hand that
someone must have given to him at some point in the last ten minutes. Scully is
inside, cleaning up Will. When they come out of the house a moment later, Will
is grinning again. There is a big red blotch on his cheek and he points to it
when he sees his father.
“Beeeeeee.” He says proudly and Mulder just nods,
bewildered. “Beeee!” He sings, letting go of Scully’s hand and
running towards the other children as if nothing had happened.
“It’s always the bees with us, isn’t it?” Scully
says, standing close to Mulder. They watch as William, in his very own words,
tells the story of his first bee sting to his cousins.
“Just a bee.” Mulder repeats Scully’s words from
earlier, but his thoughts are years in the past. Not just a bee then.
“Just a bee.” Scully says with emphasis and
touches his jaw, making him look at her. “A very normal bee, Mulder.”
“Interrupting kisses since ‘98.”
“Not this time.” Scully says and kisses him,
Around hour three and a half, Yuuri’s ‘test-pull’ breaks the zipper clean off the suitcase. Oh, Victor thinks, watching Yuuri’s face. I thought we were joking.
“Yuuri.” He tries to laugh. It’s a startled, unconvincing sound. “I think we need to call time-of-death. You can borrow one of mine.“
“I’m leaving my parents enough garbage,” Yuuri says. It doesn’t quite follow. It’s also, he realizes with a start, the most complete reply he’s gotten out of Yuuri in at least an hour.
Oh, he thinks. He was never joking.
(The progression is becoming familiar, if not always recognizable from the start.)
Yuuri would remind him that it sneaks up on him, too. He doesn’t even need to - it shows on his face, bit by bit, as he folds himself into the couch and picks at the lunch Victor brought him. Something halfway between embarrassment and resignation.
”What, um.” He stops, his forehead creasing like he’s putting the words in order. “What time is it?”
”Two,” Victor says. Yuuri lets out a little hiss of a laugh between his teeth.
What do you want me to do next time, Victor had asked him, that night in Beijing.
Do? Yuuri, nestled under his chin, had tilted his head to look up. Well, I, he’d said. Hadn’t thought about it? Even then, just a few months into knowing Yuuri, that sounded a lot like ‘I have thought about it extensively and I will carry that to my grave.’
Reading Yuuri has become a lifelong field of study, after all. It’s like he’s fourteen again, knowing what a program should be but lacking that last piece to close the gap.
“You’ll tell me if this is too much,” he asks.
You’ll tell me if I’m asking too much, he’d really like to ask.
Note: This was a combination of two prompts people sent me, I’m not sure if they were supposed to be for drabbles or fics but whatever the case, I put them together and came up with this so I hope you like it!
Request: Anonymous asked: Hey girl! Please take whatever time you need for yourself, but when you feel better, if you’d want to do “I can’t get over how a few months ago I wanted to learn your name and now you’re having breakfast with me in my sweater.” (it’s from the fluffy/blushy sentence starters) with Angelica (I know you said you wanted some with her) then I’d appreciate it! I hope you have a great day, you deserve it!!
@librarychild asked: “You’re a terrible cook.” With Angelica, please
Warnings: this is just fluff, nothing to warn you about!
Monday mornings used to be the worst time of your week. Forcing yourself up out of bed at your alarm for the start of another long week was always a struggle until Angelica came into your life.
Now Monday’s are your favorite mornings because Angelica is always there.
You wake up with her, snuggling into her, feeling her smooth skin against yours as you slowly wake up. She smiles at you, waiting in bed with you for a few minutes, not saying a word because she know’s that you don’t do well with pre-coffee conversations until she get’s up and heads into the kitchen to start on breakfast.
This morning as you make your way out into the kitchen, Angelica’s old college sweater pulled over your pajamas, your hair a mess atop your head, you find her at the stove, eggs and bacon cooking in the pan, two cups of coffee sitting on the counter.
After taking a sip from one of the coffee mugs, the warm liquid moving through your body, helping to wake up you reach for Angelica.
“Good morning,” you mumble, snaking your arms around her waist as your chin comes to rest on her shoulder. “How come you never let me help with making breakfast?” you ask.
“Because you’re a terrible cook,” she says, so casually that a grin spreads across your face, no other partner you’ve had has ever been willing to say things like that straight up, but Angelica says it, and that makes you love her even more.
Ehhhh I hate FedEx too. And I hate USPS cause they had screwed me over with one of my binders. It came and was damaged. They tried to fight me saying they received it like that when the company had proof it wasn't like that lol