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soren-bleu-kun · 4 years

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BnHA Fics I’ve Read This Week 1

I read and review a lot of fics, every week. Here is the list from last Friday, to today. Let me know if I should I do this next week.

Bloom in Winter - God linking all the art for this was a bitch in my google document, but worth it. In this uncompleted and seemingly abandoned twelve chapter fic where Midoriya is forced to work with villains with his analytical abilities. The story picks up when he finds out that he’s going to have to infiltrate UA as a General Studies student in order to find a way to help kill his idol, All Might.

The Sun in My Eyes - This is a MomoJirou fic where the two girls meet at a young age and slowly fall in love as they grow up together. A fast read, and really cute.

Trust Fall - This is a cute little fic that I think is supposed to end on a note of a possible relationship between Shinsou and Midoriya. Basically, the 2A addition to the UA Cultural Festival is a cat café, and while chasing one down both Midoriya and the cat he was chasing end up stuck in a tree, and it’s Shinsou to the rescue.

What’s She Got That I Don’t? - This is a one-shot where we see Kirishima tell Bakugou that he has a crush on him. Getting rejected, he expected that. What he didn’t expect was for Bakugou to turn around and ask out Uraraka the very next day. This one-shot was good, but painful at times.

I. Shaky Hands - This is the beginning of rexcorvidae’s incomplete Whumptober Series. I did not review every single piece of this series, but it does kick off with a very good start. Dadzawa to the rescue when he realizes that - with all the damage that Midoriya’s done to them - his problem child can’t use a pen well, or a pair of chopsticks.

[Because this was a series of unconnected stories, I will be putting each one that I reviewed after this]

III. Delirium - Midoriya gets sick out of the blue in the UA dorms, attacks some students in his delirious state, and collapses. The whump is just spectacular and I love any story that features a character that thinks their friends are their enemies

IV. Human Shield - While taking Midoriya out for ice cream, he and Yagi get attacked. His brilliant solution to save his mentor? Jump in front of the bullet and almost die. There is some good Dad Might in this fic.

VII. Isolation - Warning, this fic deals with Suicidal Ideation. Basically, what would happen if Midoriya took Bakugou’s middle school taunting as far as it could have gone. It ends with him standing on a roof, read at your own risk.

XV. Scars - Midoriya has scars from the years of violent bullying that he went through and they don’t go unnoticed by his mentor. On the other side of the coin, Midoriya doesn’t want to tell Yagi who did it because he knows that if the people who tormented him don’t get to slide into being the heroes that they don’t deserve to be, they could be terrible villains. I honestly love this fic, it deserves everything.

XVI. Stitches - This is an AU where Nighteye finds Midoriya at a pretty young age, sees the sort of analytical work that he can do, and has him intern at his office [and holds onto his notebooks for him, since there’s a lot of dangerous information in there, even if Midoriya doesn’t understand that when they first meet]. This story takes place a few years into that internship, when Midoriya collapses at work after the stitches he put in himself after another round of violent assault from his classes gets infected.

XVIII. Muffled Screams - The last fic in this series that I reviewed, and it is a painful one, quite literally for Midoriya. In this story, he has been kidnapped, and he has one job. Don’t scream. Of course, this is difficult as he gets tortured, but he has to, because the villain promises that if he makes a noise, someone he cares about will die. We see this from the live feed that is being broadcast of the torture, with Yamada, Aizawa, and Yagi.

Is it the Thunder in the Distance - This is a good little one-shot featuring Yagi spending the night at the Midoriya household and finding his successor sleeping on the floor right outside of his room. All in all, this is a very good fic and I like it a lot. Note, the actual name of the fic is much longer, but I am not writing the entire thing out again.

If I’m Losing Again, Quiet Me Down - This takes place during the Stain Arc, when Midoriya is sitting in the hospital with Todoroki and Iida. While calling around to make sure that people know that he’s okay, he ends up having a panic attack. There is a soft ending to this one.

I’ll Carry You Home - This was a debut fic for the author on Ao3, and it features Yagi carrying an exhausted Midoriya home after a long day of training. Most adorably, he accidentally calls his mentor “dad,” and when Midoriya wakes up enough to realize what he said there is a lot of apologizing. All in all a cute story.

Growing Like You - This is a short one-shot featuring Midoriya finding out that one of the side affects of his new Quirk is that he’s growing, fast and a lot. Trying to find him something to wear, Yagi ends up stumbling across a box of his old UA clothes, and he gives it to Midoriya.

Feelings of a Fanboy - This is one of those “What if Midoriya had a Quirk” stories, and they are some of my favorite kinds of fanfics out there. In this one, his power is called Emotional Rush. Basically, the more he feels, the stronger and faster he gets. This goes up to right around/before the Stain Arc.

Father’s Day - This is a fic that features Hisashi Midoriya not really being around and Yagi stepping into the paternal role in Midoriya’s life, something that they both seem to need.

Define “Villainy” - This is more or less a crack fic where Tsuyu realizes that literally no one in her class has tried to stop her from straight up attempting to murder Mineta, and they will probably continue to let her because no one in the class actually likes him.

Anything, Anything - This is a fic that I already recommended to someone, and it is so good. This is a fic that features eventual TodoDoriya, where the two of them keep running into each other in the UA Dorms common room whenever they wake up from nightmares.

Those Hardest to Love Need it the Most - This is a Dadzawa fic where Aizawa finds out that Midoriya was extremely mistreated at his middle school and opens up an investigation in hopes of taking the place down for Quirk discrimination.

All the Signs - This is a crack fic for what I consider a bit of a crack ship, Huyumi. Basically, Fuyumi gets pregnant with Hawks’ kid and starts acting a little... bird like. The author, ohmytheon, is fantastic and I have read so much of their stuff.

Come Home - This fic breaks my entire heart. This is a story where Touya and Fuyumi Todoroki are twins, two halves of the same whole. This goes through their childhood together, right up to the end where Fuyumi watches Touya being Dabi on TV and refuses to rat him out. She just wishes that he would come back.

Who Will Protect Them - USJ 2.0, taking place when 1A has become 3A. After getting slammed into a wall and not being able to get back up, Aizawa wonders who’ll protect his class, before realizing that they’re more than keeping their own. He’s proud... and he’ll be even more proud if he survives this.

Darken Your Door - This is a fic that deals with neglect, emotional abuse, and manipulation. While on a run to a corner store with Midoriya, Aizawa gets to meet his students estranged father. It doesn’t take long for him to realize that his student is extremely uncomfortable around his parent. From then on he wraps Hisashi Midoriya in more red tape than he’ll be able to get out from under. No one talks to his students unless his students want to hear from that person.

Mouth Shut (Eyes Down) - A story in which Midoriya does not trust adults because they were the ones that let Bakugou and the rest of his bullies get away with assaulting him. He accidentally admits this to Aizawa after being stabbed when he thought he could “handle” getting stalked.

A Touch of Hope - This is technically a soulmates fic, where you find your soulmate after physical contact. Shinsou was not expecting to find his at UA, nor was he expecting that it would give him an opportunity to join the Hero Course if he can prove himself.

Voiceless - This is a shorter fic, only 1K, and it features Midoriya losing his voice when he gets sick and Shinsou taking care of him. It’s pretty cute.

Creating Music - This is a three chapter fic taking place over two days, the day before and the day of Valentine’s Day. This is a MomoJirou fic that is really cute and sentimental. I love it so much.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year - In this fic, Midoriya is a dumbass and Shinsou finds his crush stuck to a pole by his tongue. He is not wearing a coat, and he has been stuck like this for a long time.

Hook, Line, and Sinker - This is a great EraserMic fic in a Quirkless AU, where Aizawa thinks that his tinder date it a catfish because there is no way internationally famous singer Hizashi Yamada just matched with him. Note, there is smut in either the second or third chapter.

Ask Me No Questions, I’ll Tell You No Lies - This is a silly little fic where Shinsou and Midoriya share a hotel room. Before you ask, there are two beds. There is a kiss, but that’s about it. A little OOC for Midoriya, but still pretty good.

Shinsou the Local Cryptic - This is a fic where Shinsou becomes an internet meme of his own creating. It’s honestly pretty fun, and I had a good time with this one-shot.

You Anchor Me Back Down - This is a one-shot with some fun art in it. When Todoroki is hit with a random Quirk that causes him to float whenever he’s happy, it’s difficult for him to keep his crush on Midoriya a secret. This takes place during their third year.

Cosmic Confluence - Wonderful Shinsou-Centric fic where he’s a reaper and it’s his job to watch over Izuku Midoriya until he dies. I wish that there was more of this fic that I could read because the idea of this is so interesting.

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seiin-translations · 3 years

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2.43 S1 Chapter 5.5 - Stand By Me

5. SACRED COURT

Haijima talks about Yoyogi National Gymnasium similarly to how most kids talk about Disneyland lol

Translation Notes

1. A service ace is a point made on a serve that the opponent had failed to touch

2. A kei car is the smallest highway-legal car in Japan

3. Takeshita Street is a popular street in Harajuku known for its trendy fashion boutiques and for being very busy

4. I feel like this is a reference to something I don’t know, but the wooden fish is a fish gong that is struck while chanting sutras

5. Manuscript paper is the paper used in Japanese schools for compositions and stuff like that. It has boxes in columns to write characters in.

Previous || Index || Next

…Where am I again…?

When he woke up, he couldn’t immediately remember what had happened. The view around him was a hazy milky white, without a single distinct outline. It’s like I’m sinking into the bottom of a beaker filled with a mist of dry ice…it kind of smells like a science lab.

He felt something like a tugging in his left arm. There was a thin line connected to his body, pulling at him from above. The line was holding him back from sinking any further.

A blurry white ball with eyes and a nose was floating in the air.

“I got a text from Kou.”

The ball spoke with a familiar voice. The low-volume voice sounded pleasant to his ears as it seeped through the fog of dry ice.

“…Souta…?”

His consciousness was still fuzzy and his speech was slurred. The white shirt just blended into the background, and when he squinted, he found a proper body below the ball. A uniform…but not Meisei’s uniform. He had heard he went to a different high school.

“You really quit…? Why…?”

“Because I wanted to.”

He was a little surprised by his curt answer and closed his mouth. He heard a short exhale, and then his voice softened.

“…Ever since I entered middle school, I lost interest in volleyball. All I could think about was quitting, and it was getting harder and harder to go to club activities. Everyone entered Meisei, saying that we’ll do volleyball together, so it wasn’t an atmosphere where only I can say I wanted to quit…I was afraid that if I quit, I wouldn’t have any friends at school… I thought Minami-sensei would be disappointed, and besides, my mom’s the head of the parents’ association. I also felt like I had to be at the center of the team…I was tied down by so many things, and everyday was painful… So I came up with the idea that if I hated being in the club to the point of committing suicide, I could get sympathy and quit…That’s how I got involved in everyone’s plan. …I’m sorry.”

After everything that happened, he only has that simple “I’m sorry”?

However, when he learned the reason after two years, he felt like there were no words other than sorry… If you ask Haijima, it was such a trivial thing that he couldn’t even understand what was bothering him.

Was such a boring reason what was behind that incident?

Well…it’s not like I was the one who drove him into a corner…

“…You should have told me, normally.”

His mouth pouted a little despite himself.

“If it were you, you would’ve been able to say it. Well, I don’t think you’ll ever want to quit volleyball, even if it kills you. But I’m not you…I didn’t want to be the bad guy. I didn’t want to be hated by everyone.”

It’s not like I want to be hated…he wasn’t happy about that, but it was true that wanting to be liked by people wasn’t that high of a priority for him.

When he was in elementary school, the two of them would talk about high school and national team games after club ended. They could talk and talk and never get bored of it, and he wished the time when Yoshino’s mother came to pick him up would never come. Yoshino also had a lot of old video footage that only existed on videotape, and he was even more enthusiastic than Haijima about that kind of thing.

The shock slowly soaked into him at the idea that someone who was once obsessed with volleyball could stop liking it. Haijima couldn’t even imagine himself not being interested in volleyball anymore. It was the same as asking if he could imagine the afterlife. He couldn’t.

If there was just one starting point for his imagination—it was that on the third day of the Autumn Tournament, going to a game felt bothersome to him for the first time in his life. For him, it even had a feeling of dread. At that time, he had regained his willpower after sleeping a little, but if that kind of constantly continuing heavy mood was the “wanting to quit” that Yoshino experienced, then it might be quite painful to even live everyday.

“Souta, you…”

His brow wrinkled as he frowned, staring at Yoshino’s indistinct face in front of him.

“Nnn…?” There was nervousness in Yoshino’s voice.

“You got fat, didn’t you?”

The contours of his face were quite round. That was why it looked like there was a floating ball.

“…You’re as blunt as ever. Well yeah, I got fat after I quit the team.”

Yoshino’s voice lightened, like he was expecting something more. He didn’t seem to be offended. Probably.

“Are you in any clubs now?”

“Yeah. It’s not sports-related though. I’m in the science club.”

“Is that fun? More than volleyball?”

“It is fun, more than volleyball for me. There aren’t a lot of members, but they’re all good people. I have fun going to club activities every day. We go to the science lab every lunch break to collect data from our experiments.”

He didn’t like that he had affirmed it, but he could tell from the excited way he talked that he was doing what he really wanted to do now. Something fell into his chest with a thump, and he accepted that, Aah, the things that are “fun” for Yoshino and me aren’t the same anymore…

Even though their eyes sparkled at the same things, aimed for the same stage, and planned to do the same things, maybe that didn’t mean they were in the same story.

“Then, I’ll be leaving now.”

He could feel Yoshino standing up. Even though he had no intention of stopping him, Haijima immediately tried to reach out his hand. But his arm was pulled back as if it had been caught on a fish hook, and he was only able to move it a little.

Yoshino, who was about to leave, turned around. “…Take care of yourself. Don’t be too reckless.” Something soft gripped his hand along with a gentle voice. His fatty, plump hands were not bony and didn’t feel like they belonged to an active volleyball player anymore, but he could feel their warmth flowing into his wrapped-up fingers. It was as though the coldness of his fingers, which had been holding him captive ever since the day Yoshino didn’t come, was becoming undone.

Before he let go of his hand, Yoshino’s voice that had been mild and gentle took on a faint gloom.

“Chika, don’t be reckless, okay? You’re a true genius, not an ordinary person like me, and you probably can’t even imagine your limits right now…but I have a feeling that if you were to be betrayed by volleyball one day, you might be surprisingly fragile…I know it’s none of my business, but that’s what I’m worried about.”

***

“When did you get a fever?”

He seemed to have lost consciousness for a bit again until he heard the next voice.

The round outline of Yoshino, who had been by his side since a while ago, had changed into something more vertical and narrower. He looked up at the outline for a while, and then asked,

“…Are you angry?”

“Yeah. If you’re willing to work a little harder to read my mind off the court too, then that’s progress. Here.”

He held out to something to him. He tried to reach for it, but his arm cramped up and the thing was put in his hand instead. “I had them fixed at the optician across the hospital. They said that it would be safer to buy new ones, though.”

“Aah…thanks.”

“You really do have a strange way of getting into trouble during a game, don’t you?”

With his head resting on the pillow, he put on his glasses. For the first time in a long time, his vision was clear again. It was so clear that it actually made the world look distorted, which made him feel a bit dizzy. The lenses were in place on both sides, but there was still a sense of discomfort because the frame was still warped.

Kuroba was sitting on a chair beside the bed with a grumpy look on his face. Behind him, there was a partition with the curtains drawn. It looked like a break room-like space with a simple bed next to the examination room.

There was an IV tube connected to his left arm. Drops of water were dripping regularly from a clear pack that was hooked to a stand above his head. The liquid in the pack was down to about a quarter of its original volume. I was told to stay on the drip for about an hour…so I guess forty-five minutes have passed or something like that?

After resting, he was able to think more clearly and remembered how he had walked to the car by himself. By the time they had arrived at the hospital, it must have been 5:00 or 5:30, so outpatient consultation hours must have been over by now. He could hear the hurried conversations and footsteps of the staff, but they were far away, so it wasn’t noisy. In fact, it was rather isolated and quiet.

The final serve was done perfectly as he had imagined. Just as the gym was buzzing over the two service aces (1) in a row, the Meisei coach and captains returned after their meeting, as though they had timed it.

Although the second-year members were severely reprimanded for skipping practice to play an impromptu two-on-two game, the fact that a former Meisei Middle School student came to visit meant that Haijima and Kuroba didn’t get into much trouble. It was also thanks in part to Komukai and Ikawa coming forward and saying that they had an arrangement beforehand. Come to think of it, Komukai was the one who warned him just before the score board crashed into him…

The coach and captains asked him about this and that, but from that point on, Haijima was completely wobbling and couldn’t answer them properly. Right when he thought, Ah…I can’t stand anymore, he felt hands go around his sides and supporting him. “Sorry, he has a fever,” He heard Kuroba’s voice through the haze of his mind. So the advisor drove him to a nearby hospital.

“No wonder that you were sleeping like you were dead on the train. I should have noticed it earlier, but I thought it was strange how your face was kinda hot, but since it was right before the game began…Really, why did you decide to go to Tokyo in that condition?”

“I didn’t think I had a fever either. I’ve been feeling off since the end of camp, but…”

“What!? Camp was a month ago! Wait, was that why there was something off with you at the Fall Tournament? Why were you practicing every day under the blazing sun in that state, are you stupid!?”

“You’re too loud, shut up…”

He pulled the terry-cloth blanket up to his eyes and dejectedly slithered under it. If there wasn’t a drip connected to him, he would have covered his ears with both hands. He wasn’t happy with the feeling of being below someone and being ordered around by them, but he didn’t have the energy to fight back.

His mother, who passed away before he started elementary school, was a sickly person. Haijima inherited that, and although it wasn’t bad enough to interfere with his daily life, his body wasn’t strong either. When he was little, he would often have fevers of unknown origin that would last for about a month in summer and winter. However, ever since he started playing volleyball in the upper grades of elementary school, he had become physically stronger, and it had been quite a long time since he has had such a long period of discomfort.

It seemed that he didn’t like the words “feeling off.” He got angry.

“It’s not ‘feeling off,’ you’re in bad health. Don’t switch words and gloss over the issue.”

“…My play wasn’t off though.”

“That’s the problem in your case. It didn’t influence your play…in fact, you got even more agile for some reason. I really don’t get it. And when it’s over, look at you. You’re completely out of energy.”

You’re so noisy…If he said that, it seemed like he would continue to get lectured, so he endured it. He normally didn’t consciously hold back what he was about to say that much.

“…I hate it. I hate it when I can’t play volleyball even for a day. I feel sort of…impatient…”

He whispered on the other side of his blanket. Kuroba, who had been talking at great length, stopped for a moment, then sighed quizzically.

“I don’t know why, but it seems like you’re living too fast and recklessly…?”

He was relieved when he realized that his lack of concentration in the semifinals of the Fall Tournament was because he had a fever. The fed-up feeling on the morning of the semifinals as well…he wanted to get rid of that feeling as soon as possible before it took hold in him, and now that he thought about it, even though he felt off, he felt like he couldn’t take a break from practice.

But he was able to explain to himself that it was just the fever that made him sluggish, and he was relieved…but in the end, the desire to play volleyball again welled up within him. It was a waste of time to rest.

“Haijima-saaan?”

An elderly nurse knocked on the partition frame and poked her head in. Kuroba stood and opened up the place.

“You’ve just finished the drip. …Yes, if there is no blood coming out after about ten minutes, you may tear off this bandage. The doctor says that you should rest today and properly go have a checkup at the hospital after you go home. Did you contact your guardian?”

She quickly pulled out the drip and performed the procedure while speaking so rapidly and one-sidedly that he recoiled. “…Not yet,” he answered in a small voice and got up while staring fixedly at the small adhesive bandage that was pasted over the small needle hole. Kuroba, who had moved out of the way to the foot of the bed, looked between Haijima and the nurse like he wanted to say something.

“Then, you’ll have to call them.”

“Oh, thank you very much for helping us!” Kuroba hurriedly said to the nurse, who was pushing the IV stand away from the bed. He waited for the nurse’s figure to disappear on the other side of the partition before asking Haijima.

“Can’t you just call your home in Tokyo?”

“I got the keys. I’ll just go to pick up the train money. If we get on the eight o’clock train, we can return just in time, right? If I stop by home and head for Shinagawa right away, we can make it in time.”

“Why don’t we just stay the night instead of forcing ourselves to go home today? You have a house here.”

“If we don’t go home today, we’ll have to be absent tomorrow too. Get my bags.”

He did some quick stretches on the bed to loosen up his back. Although he still felt sluggish, he had recovered enough to be able to move on his own. He wanted to move his body because he felt like his body would get more and more sluggish if he stayed in bed. The arm that had been connected to the tube was now free, so he felt somewhat liberated.

The taping on both hands had been removed. He was pretty sure he did it himself, though he didn’t remember. He was soaked in sweat from the game and his T-shirt dried as he slept, but either way he had to change into his uniform if he was going back (Kuroba, who didn’t have a replacement T-shirt, seemed to be planning to go home with just his uniform shirt, but as usual he couldn’t tell if that was cool or tacky).

When he tried to take off his T-shirt, it got caught on his glasses and he couldn’t get it off his head, so he tried to take them off inside his T-shirt. As he was doing this, he heard Kuroba’s voice along with the sound of a bag being placed next to him.

“I’ve been wondering about this, but can I ask you something? You don’t get along with your dad, do you?”

“It’s not bad or anything…” He was answering from inside his T-shirt, so his voice was muffled and it sounded like he was hesitating to speak, but he wasn’t trying to hide anything. “…My dad’s like me. Do you think that if there’s two of me in the same house, and one of them isn’t interested in volleyball, there’d be anything to talk about?”

“Ah…haha. I think I can imagine that.”

He interjected like he accepted that easily. He felt somewhat annoyed by that.

His father still lived alone in the apartment in Tokyo where they lived together until the second semester of his second year of middle school. It wasn’t that he had a bad relationship with his father, but he just couldn’t carry on a conversation with him. It was especially difficult to understand each other when it came to phone conversations. He truly wondered how his father and him had become so similar. Since Haijima came to live with his grandparents, they had had very little contact, but his grandmother sometimes told him about what he was doing, so he thought that was enough.

“It’s not bad, and my dad agreed for me to go back to Monshiro, so…there’s nothing for you to worry about.” It seemed like he was worried, so he thought that it would be better to say that wasn’t the case.

“Haijima-san, there’s someone here to pick you up. You properly contacted your guardian, didn’t you?”

He heard the voice of the nurse from before on the other side of the partition again. He finally pulled his T-shirt off his head and put on his glasses, then said, “Pick me up?” and exchanged looks with Kuroba.

“Hello.”

A bright voice came from the other side of the partition.

A person who was tall for a woman, with her long hair tied back and dressed plainly in a simple blouse and slim jeans——.

“Minami, sensei…”

He stood up, the bed rattling. As expected, he got dizzy, as his body that had been receiving an IV drip until right this moment had suddenly stood up. He immediately grabbed the top frame of the partition and ended up looming over it. The other person’s eyes widened as she looked up at him.

“Oh? You got taller than me? You really have grown. Are you at least 180?”

“I…I am. I’m around 181, no, 2, no, 3, no, 4…”

Wait, why am I padding the numbers? Kuroba had a “Who’s that?” look on his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, you were changing. Have you gotten dressed yet?”

After being told that, his eyes dropped to the T-shirt in his hands in surprise. He turned around and jumped at his bag. “I’ll get changed in ten seconds.”

“No need to rush. You just woke up, right? I parked my car in the parking lot.”

He shoved his T-shirt into his bag and grabbed a change of clothes. His shorts were halfway down his legs when he realized what he was doing and stopped.

Half-standing, he turned around awkwardly.

“Wait over there…Sensei.”

His mouth opened and closed, and then he heard his own tight voice.

***

“That’s right, when you were in elementary school, I used to tell you guys to change in ten seconds in front of me, but that’s no longer possible. Your body is completely a high schooler’s now. But you grew much taller than me. I’m a little shocked.”

Minami-sensei said with a happy smile as she turned the steering wheel. Haijima was seated diagonally behind the driver’s seat, hugging his enamel bag tightly and looking down. In the seat next to him, Kuroba was still looking between Haijima’s profile and the back of Minami-sensei’s head in astonishment.

The car was a small kei car (2), with the head of Minami-sensei crammed into the driver’s seat almost touching the ceiling in a few centimeters. When the three of them with their tall frames got into the car, it looked like a deformed car in a cartoon. The hair on the top of Haijima’s head just brushed against the ceiling, and in Kuroba’s case, he was completely stuck, so he sat so shallowly that his back sank into the seat, but then his knees ended up bumping into the driver’s seat.

“I’m sorry it’s so cramped. I never had two kids who were so big ride in my car before. You’re big, too. Are you a first-year? Center or wing?”

“I’m Kuroba Yuni. I’m a first-year. I play the wing position.”

He leaned forward and answered before she finished her sentence, then scrapped his head against the roof and lowered his head with an “ow.” Calm down, Haijima’s temple twitched, and he narrowed his eyes at him.

“You’re tall too, Sensei.”

“177 centimeters. That’s pretty tall for a woman, isn’t it? But today I’m the smallest, so my vision feels quite fresh.”

“Were you a volleyball player too, Sensei?”

“Yes. I used to play for a corporate team for a little while, but now I quit and teach at an elementary school.”

“You were the teacher at the club Haijima used to go to, right?”

“I was only a coach who assisted the head coach. The same year that Chika and the others started middle school, the school transferred me to a new position, and I lost touch with them.”

“Sensei, may I ask your age?”

Haijima silently pulled Kuroba’s back, who was clinging to the back of the driver’s seat and talking, back down onto his seat and made him sit. Watching them in the rear-view mirror, Minami-sensei grinned and said,

“Ahaha. I was twenty-eight when Chika was in the sixth grade. Are you fine with that answer? Chika, are you still not feeling well? You can go back to sleep. Or are you feeling carsick?”

“Ah…no.”

He hung his head and shook it while pinching Kuroba’s side. Kuroba tilted his head towards him and whispered into his ear.

“What’s with you? You’re suddenly so meek and quiet. Sensei’s worried about you.”

“Don’t call her Sensei. Why are you asking so many questions so over-familiarly?”

Haijima also kept his voice quiet as he and Kuroba pressed their temples together.

“Then what should I call her? Is Minami-san fine?”

“Stop…joking around. Minami is her first name. Her full name is Kashiwagi Minami.”

Minami-sensei said it was fresh, but it was fresh for Haijima that she was smaller than him. In elementary school, Sensei was like a tower, and her nickname was “Tower” (she seemed to have hated that nickname, and when some of the boys teased her with it, she would chase them around angrily). I had the impression that she had an overbearing physique…no, she has broad shoulders and is probably overbearing by average standards, but…she kinda looks more delicate than I thought she would be…

He was glad he was taller. That was a natural thing to think when you’re playing volleyball, and he knew that he still wasn’t tall enough, but he was confused at himself for being happy about it for reasons other than that.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think ‘Minami-sensei’ would be a female teacher.”

“I never said it was a man.”

The two continued to whisper to each other.

“Well, it kinda makes sense. I knew it wouldn’t be Vabo-chan, but I wasn’t entirely wrong either, was I? It’s not like a girl in your class or anything is going to catch your eye. A former athlete, a coach, and much older than you…Yeah, that’s just like you.”

“…What are you talking about?”

“The thing you said before about having a girl you liked, you were talking about Kashiwagi-sensei, right? Even you have normal emotions more or less. No, not even normal. I’m little surprised and shaken right now too.”

He walloped Kuroba on the side of the head with the bag he was holding, messing up his hair and causing him to scrape his elbow against the roof. He then pinned Kuroba down on his seat and pressed down on his face with the bottom of his bag. While they were silently fighting, Kuroba suddenly let out a big “Ah!” As he lied on his back, he looked up at the window and said, “I saw the word Harajuku just now!”

“Yes, we’ll be passing through Harajuku soon. Do you want to get out if I can park?”

Kuroba’s face lit up at the voice from the driver’s seat and he said, “Yeah, but it’ll be a lot of trouble for you if you do that.” “She can’t.” Haijima pressed the bag against Kuroba’s stupid face, which looked like he was quite seriously anticipating the possibility, one more time and got up, then pressed his face against the passenger window on his side and looked out. “It’s okay to sightsee around Tokyo just a little. We came all this way.” Kuroba also got up while muttering that, unwilling to give up, and hugged Haijima’s bag to his knees.

The roads in Tokyo were beginning to get congested as the working adults were heading home, but the cars were still going at a gentle speed. Under the gassy indigo-blue sky, streetlamps appeared at intervals and disappeared behind them. In front of Nanafu Station, where the school was located, there was not a single light on at night, but there were none even in front of Monshiro Station. All light and sound ceased to exist, and it felt like you had drifted ashore a small and isolated island. But no matter how far you went on the streets of Tokyo, the lights and sounds never disappeared.

As they turned onto a certain road from an intersection with a large overpass, he realized where they were driving to. What was up ahead was—.

He attached his hands and glasses to the window glass and fixed his eyes on their direction of travel. Finally, a large grey building appeared, on the other side of round street lights floating in the night sky like a formation of UFOs.

A large round building with a single dorsal fin-like projection on the roof. Although it was made of unrefined concrete, the gently curving form of the structure, like water eddying around, was so beautiful that it captivated his eyes—.

“Sensei, stop here!” While clinging to the window, he forgot himself and reached out to the seat next to him. “Kuroba, Kuroba!”

“Hmm? Is this Takeshita Street?” (3)

Kuroba eagerly said that and leaned forward. Haijima groped around to find his chest and grabbed it close to him.

“Let’s go see the best thing in Tokyo—Yoyogi’s first gymnasium.”

***

Thinking about it now, Minami-sensei must have planned to stop by from the very beginning. She wouldn’t have normally taken this route to get from the hospital near Meisei to Haijima’s home in Tokyo.

A little further down the road, she found an empty spot in the parking lot on the shoulder of the road, parked, and then Haijima dragged Kuroba out of the car and ran back to the admission gate of the gym.

“You’re too excited. I told you to calm down. The building’s not going to run away even if you don’t run.”

The entrance was closed, and the lights in the plaza from the gates to the gym’s entrance were off, leaving the asphalt to sink into the darkness. As it was located on a busy roadway, the noise of cars intermittently behind them.

The first gymnasium of Yoyogi National Gymnasium, the holy ground of the Spring Tournament. Most of the history of the Spring Tournament, which had been held more than forty times, had taken place at this Yoyogi venue.

“There isn’t anything going on today? They have concerts and stuff almost every day, not just sports tournaments.”

Minami-sensei, who came later, said as she peeked through the gaps in the gates.

The gates consisted of an iron fence about 190 centimeters tall. When Haijima gripped the rails and tested their strength, then lifted himself up vigorously with his arm strength. He leaned over the top of the gates and strained his eyes, but was disappointed to see that the building at the end of the dark plaza now only looked like a ruin. “That’s dangerous!” Kuroba grabbed the back of his belt.

“On the tournament day, there was this huge Vabo-chan balloon, and it was a landmark, and even though there was nothing cute about it, watching it bob around was kinda addictive…”

He desperately wanted Kuroba to also imagine that scenery, so he tried his best to explain it to him.

As soon as he enshrined that huge Vabo-chan balloon in his mind, bright line shone on that lonely indigo plaza as though blackout curtains were lifted at once. In the same way he could create a volleyball court around him without relying on his eyesight, the scenery of the day of the tournament was drawn with him as the starting point. Under the early spring morning sky, large crowds of people passed by them, who stood there blocked by the gates, and walked through the gates and into the admission gates.

The cheering squads of parents wearing matching windbreakers and carrying banners and drums. The concert band members in their school uniforms with mufflers around their necks and the cheerleaders in ponytails. The sports reporters holding equipment. And then there were the athletes of the competing schools, wearing their various team jerseys, each of them with feelings of tension, excitement, and fighting spirit in their hearts. Some of them were today’s high school students from vivid high-definition footage, and others were high school students he had seen in footage from a long time ago, with much frailer physiques looking at them now. High schoolers from various eras were mixed together, but the one thing they all had in common was that they were all volleyball players who had marched in carrying their prefectures on their backs.

Once he passed through the dark admission gates, his vision opened up again. In the vast circular space, illuminated by bright lights, was a spectator seating area with a capacity of over ten-thousand people, and in the center of that, there was a glossy sky blue and citrus orange volleyball court.

“The quarter-finals are on a multi-court, but the semi-finals and beyond are on the center court. There’s only court in the center of the arena, and it’s super fancy, and only the best players from the best teams who are capable of winning the title of the best high school in Japan can stand on it…”

“I get it, it’s an amazing stage. I know how much you want to be there, and I know very well that you’re a setter who can stand in the middle of that amazing stage.”

With a pacifying voice, he embraced his trunk and brought him down from the gates.

“That’s not what I meant, what are you talking about? I wasn’t talking about me?”

Haijima brushed off Kuroba’s arm in frustration and grabbed his collar just as he was turning around. Kuroba’s eyes widened as he clutched Haijima’s wrist and drew his chin in.

“Imagine yourself standing there. Try wishing for it seriously. More, more…You’ve got what it takes to be up there. And if you’re competing on that stage with a lot of people like that, you’re going to crave it more and more. You’re going to want strength and time so much that you can’t stand it. You’re going to be unbearably frustrated that there’s only three years of high school. That’s why I want you to be the ace…”

It was frustrating that what was inside of him wasn’t inside Kuroba. He wanted him to understand that somehow, and this might be the first time he had ever squeezed out words like that to try to convey something. He had often let things go, thinking that it was fine if he wasn’t understood. He had never been driven by the desire to actively share his values with someone before.

He let go of Kuroba’s chest, half pushing him away. He turned his back to him, who staggered slightly, and looked back at Minami-sensei.

“Sensei. I promised to go to the Spring Tournament with Meisei, but I’m sorry, I’m correcting that. I want to go there with Seiin…with those guys. That’s what I want now.”

Minami-sensei leaned her shoulder against the iron fence and folded her arms with a slightly scary look on her face. Thinking that she might be angry, Haijima waited a little nervously.

The ends of Sensei’s eyebrows lowered, and she let out a short sigh.

“You don’t have to apologize…am I that scary of a coach? Souta also came all the way to me to ask for permission with a teary face. He asked me if he could quit volleyball. You know, elementary schoolers become high school students, right? It’s not the same as me going from twenty-eight to thirty-one. It’s normal for friends and things you like to change rapidly. Because that’s how compressed the time all of you spent was.”

“Sensei, you spoke with Souta…?”

He hadn’t really thought about the extent to which Minami-sensei had heard about the suicide attempt, but then it occurred to him for the first time that she knew about the incident and the reason why Haijima transferred schools.

If Sensei knew that her students, who left her elementary school club happily and saying that they’ll all play volleyball together, became bullied or bullies in middle school and drifted apart, then she must be sad…

“I’m sorry…Sensei…”

He lowered his head and muttered an apology again.

“You have nothing to apologize for. You were the one who was in a lot of pain. We should be the ones apologizing…the adults shouldn’t have been so unperceptive…”

Minami-sensei’s hand touched his arm. It was a gentle touch. On the day when their club had lost a match, he had been comforted by the same gesture, and he couldn’t help but hug her around the middle and cry. He had never lost or cried like that. Suddenly, he felt as though the time had gone back many years, and he had returned to the time when his teacher still looked as tall as a “tower.”

But he was already taller than the Sensei before him. He couldn’t hug her or anything like that. And he wasn’t as hurt as he had thought he would be when he found out what had happened two years ago that he didn’t know about.

In the end, Komukai and the others probably didn’t think it was such a big deal. They didn’t imagine that they would ruin their teammate’s life, and he thought that Komukai was saying what he really thought when he disappointedly said, “With just that.” They had done it with only the intention of making Haijima pay a little, and he repented, then they would be satisfied. They probably wondered what was going on with him when he stopped going to school and then transferred schools from the incident that had occurred from that simple intention.

But if Komukai and the others really didn’t have a goal to eliminate Haijima, then that was actually…a relief.

He wasn’t eliminated from that team.

Once he understood that, the fear of starting over somewhere else diminished considerably.

“I’m fine now.”

He thought it was good he knew about it now. He thought that was probably because he could accept it now.

“I didn’t come here alone…so I’m fine.”

He could hear Kuroba gasp from behind him.

“I see…” Minami-sensei looked at Kuroba and smiled, as though satisfied. “It was a good thing you went to Seiin High School, after all.”

“Huh…” “Kashiwagi-sensei, you know about Seiin?”

Kuroba’s voice overlapped with Haijima’s surprised voice. Seiin was just a local high school, not a nationally know school. It also bothered him that she spoke like she had known where he transferred to since before.

“Who do you think sent me to pick you up at the hospital? Meisei Middle School’s coach asked me to do it.”

“The coach…?”

Haijima learned that the coach of the Meisei Middle volleyball team had felt responsible for the series of events that had occurred in the second year of middle school and that he had been concerned about Haijima’s condition for a long time. He thought that by the time he entered high school, things would have died down and he could talk to the coach of the high school team and call him back to Meisei. However, when he had heard that Haijima went to Seiin High School, he decided to withdraw and leave him alone——.

“Seiin High School in Fukui has a famous coach, yes?”

Famous coach? He looked back at Kuroba, puzzled, but Kuroba also stared back at him with a puzzled look on his face. They recalled the dried up old advisor who looked like a scarecrow with a wooden fish placed on top of the head. (4)

“…Haa?”

The two exclaimed in unison.

He had heard from Oda that he had been a volleyball player a long time ago. However, the old man usually fell asleep when he came to watch club activities, and he had never done much as an advisor, let alone a coach. Their advisor at Monshiro Middle School, who was an amateur but showed a lot of motivation, was a much better advisor.

“Adults are connected in ways that children don’t know about.”

A corner of Minami-sensei’s mouth raised in a mischievous smile.

“That’s why, the teachers at Seiin High School are already informed that you two are here. I’m sure that your families have been contacted as well. I heard that your senpais on the team were also worried about you. The two of you did skip class and disappeared together after all.”

They both groaned and their faces stiffened. There was no way the school wouldn’t find out that they skipped, so they were prepared to be penalized for it, but if they knew that they were in Tokyo, then…

“I hope they’ll just make us write an apology.”

Kuroba sighed, but for Haijima, who found writing any essay more than two columns on manuscript paper (5) torturous, a written apology was more hellish than any penalty. “Don’t look so miserable. I’ll help you. It’s collective responsibility,” Kuroba said and clapped him on the shoulder.

Minami-sensei looked down at her watch and murmured, “We have to go soon.” When she looked up, she had a big smile on her face, as though she was taking out a special present she was hiding.

“There’s one last message for you. It’s from the captain of your volleyball team. He says, ‘You have club activities tomorrow, so go home.’”

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#2.43 #2.43: Seiin Koukou Danshi Volley-bu #2.43: Seiin High School Boys Volleyball Club #2.43 translation #2.43 book 1 #2.43 seiin high school boys volleyball team #2.43 seiin koukou danshi volley bu

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radiorenjun · 4 years

Text

Hug. iv

Pairing: Liu Yangyang x Reader

Genre: Angst, Comedy, Fluff

Warnings: Swearing, Bullying, Attempt Suicide and mentions of self degrading, insecurities, anxiety, negative thoughts, physical injuries.

Looking from the perspective of Liu Yangyang, the boy who bullied a girl to the point she had a scar to burden both of their lives. He lived on with a heavy heart until he finally enters college and bumps into a girl with a familiar scar and the same tattoo on her wrist as his.

Chapters: iii, iv, v

Tags: @wonho-ssi @chuu4you @fullsun-haechanie @you-cant-spell-slay-without-lay @carefreebubble @uglyratlmao @harleyblaze

Yangyang walked down the halls of his school after he was finally dismissed from his class of the day. It had been a while since he came across his supposed soulmate, even then, his life didn't change much. The college life everyone was looking forward to didn't seem as interesting as Yangyang thought.

It was just like his life in high school. He saw a few of his old classmates around the halls and majoring in music didn't seem so exciting than his brother made it out to be. Speaking of his brother , he and Ten agreed that they both should start opening up more to each other just to spend more quality time.

"What?!" Ten exclaimed in the loudest voice possible. Yangyang flinched at the loud tone after confessing what's been on his mind lately. "You got into contact with Y/N L/N again?! That's great! What happened?! Did you two made up?" Ten slammed his palms on the table in excitement.

The bright smile stretched across his brothers face made the memory of his sad smile with bruised lip from back when he was still young flashed his mind. Yangyang winced at the memory before avoiding his brother's eyes.

Yangyang gulped down a chunk of egg yolk before continuing his story. "Nothing much happened, we just came across each other in the same building. And well..." Yangyang paused briefly, biting his lip anxiously as he tried not to eye the mark on his wrist.

"Well?" Ten waited for Yangyang to continue. Yangyang silently tugged on the sleeves of his baggy black hoodie down to reveal his soulmate tattoo, laying his wrist in the table. Ten's eyes darted from Yangyang's to his wrist in confusion before it all clicked.

"Holy. Fuck." Ten gasped, realizing what it meant. Yangyang shushed his brother loudly, putting a finger to his lips, making the sleeves of his hoodie fall down to hide the mark once again. "Ten, you idiot! Chenle's right down the hall!" Yangyang scolded.

"You two are soulmates?!" Ten squealed. Yangyang put his head in his palms in embarrassment, "dont remind me." he mumbled. "Thats-wow. I literally have no words, right now. So what was her reaction?" Ten asked eagerly.

"Well I- I didn't exactly tell her that. I don't think she knows. I don't want her to." Yangyang shook his head profusely, putting his hands in his hoodie pockets to clench his fists. "What? Why?" Ten whined. "Why? Why?! Oh I don't know, Ten, how would you feel if your soulmate is suddenly the kid who bullied you mercilessly back when you were 12?!" Yangyang snapped.

"Okay I get that part but this is your soulmate we're talking bout. They're supposed to love you no matter what!" Ten reasoned. "You dont understand!" Yangyang barked. "She's better off having no soulmate than having her old bully as a soulmate." Yangyang calmed down slightly.

"You don't understand, Ten. This isnt like your relationship with your soulmate. You didn't bully her when you were kids." Yangyang hissed harshly. Ten winced at the mention of his soulmate who had previously passed away.

"Dont bring her into this, Liu Yangyang." Ten snapped, glaring daggers into Yangyangs eyes. "She's your soulmate whether you both want it or not. Your her soulmate whether you feel guilty or not. When the time comes you two will eventually be together, that's how the world works. Okay, kid?" he lectured.

Yangyang felt the pain in his chest tighten. Sighing in defeat, he knew he couldn't battle with fate itself so he did nothing but nodded. "Okay." Yangyang sighed, unclenching his fists. Ten huffed grabbing his plate and walking towards the sink.

"Im sorry for bringing her into this." Yangyang muttered, he hated the thought of his family getting hurt.

"I was just-"

"It's fine. Just promise me you'll talk when something's bothering you." Ten said without giving his brother a single glance. "Okay, baby Yangyang?" Ten grinned, turning his head to his brother who gave him a frown. "Baby- Im not your baby. I'm going to college next month." Yangyang deadpanned.

"Still."

Yangyang walked passed the crowded halls filled with students. His eyes focused on the ground to avoid eye contact, it seemed as if his ears had blurred out all the sounds around him. He felt numb. Yangyang decided that he would walk by the park to get some fresh air before picking up Chenle from his tuitions.

Yangyang walked down the park to see the oh-so-familiar siamese cat that he and Ten rescued months ago, which ran away the moment it saw that Ten was carrying a bucket full of water to bathe the dirty thing despite Yangyang's protests.

"Hey, I remember you." Yangyang spoke softly, kneeling down to brush his fingers against the cat's thin yet fluffy fur. The small creature purred in response as Yangyang gently caressed it's head with his thumb, scratching the underside of its chin.

"How are you, buddy?" Yangyang smiled as the cat stared up at him. "What are you doing here you little rascal?" he giggled to himself. He was too indulged in the cat's hypnotising blue eyes to realise that someone had been coming towards him.

The person kneeled down infront of him, the moment their eyes met with Yangyang. The boy jumped back in surprise, "oh, Y/n!" his body tense at the sight of the girl carrying a small package of cat food. Y/n blushed at the sight of Yangyang, waving shyly before kneeling down to squeeze out some food infront of the cat.

Yangyang avoided her gaze when she patted the small cat's head before pulling out a notebook from her saddlebag, quickly writing down on it before showing it to Yangyang. His eyes widened slightly at the gesture, slowly taking the book in his hands to read what's written.

'Is Yumyum yours?' it read.

"Yumyum?" Yangyang asked, furrowing his brows before looking at the cat, not noticing the flushed look that spread all over the girl's face. "Is that what you name him?" he chuckled, caressing his fingers over the small creature's messy fur as he handed over the girl's notebook back to her.

"No, he's not." he replied, a small smile stretching across his face. "My brother and I found him a couple months ago all wounded. When he got better, he just ran away before we could give him a proper bath." Yangyang chuckled at the memory.

Y/n started writing down quickly on her notebook, the sound of lead scratching on the surface of paper filling their ears as they ignored the people around them. Yangyang looked up, getting a moment to look at his soulmate's appearance as she writes.

The sunlight reflecting on her eyes made it seem as if he was seeing stars in the night sky. Her lips formed into a small pout as she wrote, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Her hair framing her face, exposing her features.

He was brought back to his senses when he realised that y/n was staring back at him in concern, her fingers snapping infront of his face. "Sorry, I was daydreaming." he mumbled, attempting to avoid her gaze by looking down at the cat which was finishing it's meal. He could feel heat taking over his face as Y/n brought her notebook to his line of vision, gesturing for him to read it.

'Not to be rude but, what are you doing here?'

Yangyang let out a soft sigh, sitting down on the concrete with his legs crossed after he put down his violin case carefully on the floor along with his bag. "I just wanted to take a walk before I pick up my cousin from school, then this little guy caught my eye" he replied with a smile. Y/n nodded slowly, her mouth forming a silent 'oh'.

"What are you doing here?" Yangyang asked after a pregnant pause, intertwining his fingers together and laying them on his lap as he stared up at her curiously. Y/n bit her lip before writing down in her notebook once again.

'I started coming here every Friday to feed Yumyum. I like to have sometime after a long week of school.'

"Is being an art major that hard?" he asked, feeling his body relax as he continued to have a conversation with her. Everything felt as if it was meant to be. Y/n was surprisingly nice to talk to, even though she was slightly shy to talk to the person she hasn't seen in years.

Yangyang forgot all bout the tension between them. Her hand pushing against his shoulder when he let out a corny joke, his smile widens as she let's out a silent giggle against her palm. It felt so natural talking to her. As if they had been good friends their whole lives. As if he had never hurted her. As if it didn't feel like a punishment nor a curse to be bounded together by a mark.

Yangyang's eyes widened at the thought, his body tensed up immediately. "I-uh" he stuttered, grabbing his violin case and his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. His hand going over to his left sleeve, tugging it over his fingers behind his back as he stood up abruptly.

"I j-just remembered I gotta pick up my cousin." Yangyang stammered nervously, his heart felt heavy again as he avoided y/n's eyes laced with concern. "I-Im sorry. I h-have to go. I-I'll see you around c-campus," he bit his lip, avoiding her gaze before walking away as fast as he could.

He felt his heart ache as memories flooded his head. 'Shit,' he thought. Flashbacks of him pushing and kicking the young girl, his brother's bruised lip and the bullying he endured fluttered through his mind. He grabbed the waterbottle from his backpack, chugging down some water to calm down.

Yangyang sat alone at the table of the cafeteria like always, mindlessly eating his food. His eyes wandered around the room, gaze falling at the innocent girl with the scar on her lips smiling happily in a table surrounded by her friends.

He sighed at the sight of her, leaning his face against his palm. The sunlight shining on her form making her aura brighter as she let out silent laughs and scribble quickly on her notebook. It felt nice to see the young girl get along with so many people.

Yangyang looked down at his food, playing with food once again. He pondered if this is what life would've been for y/n if he hadn't come into the picture. He wondered if he would be sitting in the same table as her if he hadn't kicked that ball towards her.

Yangyang's thoughts were interrupted when he heard someone pull the two chairs infront of him, two boys filling in the empty spaces. "Liu Yangyang right? The German violin kid who's also in Professor Zhou's class?" the boy who looks as if he came from the sports department.

Yangyang raised his brow, nodding hesitantly. "Great, I'm Guanheng. You can call me Hendery, if you like. This is Xuxi." the other boy introduced, his forearm laying on the table as his other hand pointed towards his friend who waved with a toothy smile in response.

"In case you didn't know. We, too, are also in the same class as you." Hendery smiled. Yangyang nodded in confusion, not seeing why they're sitting infront of him, eyes wandering from theirs to his soulmate's form. "Look, we know that the music project could be done solo and all. But-"

"We need your help!" Xuxi slammed his hands on the table, making Yangyang flinch in shock. Yangyang's eyes widened in surprise before sparing a glance at y/n who was still calmly communicating with her friends.

"What do you need my help for?" Yangyang spoke, raising his brow as he meet their nervous eyes and awkward smiles. "We wanted to do a duet for the project. Then our dumb asses realised we can't play instruments for shit." Xuxi explained.

"So you need my help to be your instrumentals?" Yangyang questioned, raising his brow. "Yes," the two boys said in unison, letting out similar cheeky grins. "Why should I help you guys exactly? I don't even know you guys that well." Yangyang went on.

"He's got a point." Xuxi mumbled to Hendery, only to get shoved by the shoulder. "Come on, we could be your friends! No offense, the table seems empty." Hendery smiled innocently. "I'm good," Yangyang mumbled, going back to his food with his eyes occasionally glancing back at the girl a couple tables away from them.

"Come on, we'll do anything!" Lucas nagged. "Yeah, what you want, Liu? Money? Cheat answers to the exams?" Hendery went on. Yangyang couldn't be bothered to even consider a word they were offering, for he was too busy gazing into the radiant beauty that is his soulmate.

"Yangyang? You listening?" Hendery asked once he realised Yangyang wasn't listening to a word he said. Both boys turned their backs, following Yangyang's eyes to the girl in sight. "Ooh," Xuxi grinned, giving Hendery a knowing smirk.

"Wow man. Didn't know you'd be the type to like someone other than your soulmate but I'll do the job for you-" Xuxi stood up from his chair, causing Yangyang's eyes to widen in panic. He stood up abruptly and reached out to grip his shoulder to stop Xuxi from taking a step further.

He watched as the girls began to stand up and leave the cafeteria. Yangyang let out a sigh of relief before glaring at the two boys, "dont you dare talk to her. I'll join your group, just-" he paused with a click of his tongue. "Just don't talk to her." Yangyang growled, pushing Xuxi's shoulder away before picking up his bag and gripped the case of his violin, leaving without another word.

He jogged out of the cafeteria, ignoring the two boy's loud voices of questioning when to meet up to practice for the project. Yangyang slowed down once he felt like he had gone far enough from the cafeteria, taking small breaths as he walked down the hall.

He stopped when he saw a familiar girl sitting all alone in a table with a pencil hanging on the top of her ears, a ruler in her hand and a piece of paper in their other. Brows furrowed in concentration, tongue slightly stuck out.

Yangyang smiled to himself at the sight of how cute she looked, leaning to get a better look of her expression. But he was soon interuppted by a male stepping into his line of vision, he looked around his age. "Who are you?" the male spoke in a rude tone.

Yangyang took a step back in surprise before stuttering out, "I-I just came here t-to talk to y/n." The male raised a brow in suspicion, frowning as he crossed his arms. "What? Are you like, her friend or something?" he asked.

Yangyang didn't know how to respond. Was he her friend? Or was he still that same bully in her eyes? "I-" he was cut off with a click of the male's tongue. "Thought so," the male then rudely shut the door to his face, leaving a baffled and flustered Yangyang standing in the hallway in confusion.

Yangyang ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He couldn't get this note right for tomorrow's solo presentation, he took a long sip of his Americano, clearing his throat before starting to play once again.

The sound of his violin echoing through the small room, once again. Yangyang's tired eyes never wandering away from the music sheet displayed before him. His mind concentrated on the notes to realise that a girl had walked into the music room.

The sound of a chair grinding against the tile caused Yangyang to jump back in shock, looking back in relief to see y/n placing the chair back to its original place. "Y/n?" Yangyang raised his brow in confusion. "What are you doing here? Curfew's in half an hour." Yangyang asked.

The girl smiled, quickly writing in her notebook and shoving it to the distressed boy's face.

'I was done with my assignment for today, I was heading back to the dorms to hear the beautiful melody of a violin. What are you still doing here?'

Yangyang bit his lip slightly, smiling up at her shyly. "Same here, I just kept getting these notes wrong. I need to get them done before tomorrow," Yangyang explained, scratching the back of his neck with one hand and pointing at the music sheet displayed with his bow in the other.

Y/n nodded, looking around the music room to observe the instruments around them. Yangyang put his violin back in its case, trying to ease his heart rate as he felt his heartstrings being tugged with every movement the girl made.

His left wrist ached to touch hers, but occupied it with tidying up his things and putting them into his case and bag. "Um, I'm closing up soon. You wanna walk back to the dorms together?" Yangyang asked hesitantly, swinging his bag over his shoulder as his eyes wandered to his feet to avoid eye contact.

Y/n nodded, walking out of the room, clutching her notebook in her hands as she waited for Yangyang to lock up the room and walk down the halls together. There was an awkward tension in the atmosphere around them as they didn't know what to talk bout.

Yangyang gulped internally, putting down his violin case as he closed the door, turning the key twice and ensuring the door is locked. Yangyang didn't notice y/n's eyes wandering curiously down his tall form, how his hair was tussled and messy from his fingers running through it I'm frustration.

How his lips were plump and sucked in between his teeth nervously. His freshly dyed brown hair. The baggy sweater making him look casually aesthetic. Y/n knew it's wrong to be looking at her friend like this, especially if Yangyang had a soulmate.

Speaking of soul mates, y/n's eyes wandered down to Yangyang's wrist. The long sleeves of his sweater barely covering the black ink mark staining the skin of his left wrist. Her eyes widened as she spotted two balloons, similar to the ones on hers.

When Yangyang moved away, y/n look up at his eyes which were filled with nervousness. He coughed lightly to release the awkward tension, "let's go." he mumbled shyly, turning to walk to the direction of the dorms before he was held back by a small hand wrapped around his forearm.

Yangyang's eyes widened as he looked back, looking down at the fingers gripping his white sweater tightly as to not make him leave. His eyes hesitantly looked at her own. Yangyang felt like he was going to melt at the sight of her eyebrows furrowed cutely. "Y/n?"

The hand that was on his forearm went down the his wrist, right below his tattoo. She lifted it up, tugging down the sleeves which made Yangyang's eyes widen. "Wait, no-" he stuttered out, trying to tug his wrist out of her grip before she could see the mark.

Unfortunately, he didn't realise how hard he was pulling. With the sheer amount of force he applied to pulling back his wrist, he made the girl fall forwards to the floor, eliciting a small broken hoarse squeak from the girl. "Oh my God, Y/n," Yangyang gasped out, realising his mistake.

His heart clenched. Once again,that excruciating feeling in his chest appeared. He couldn't make himself move to help you get up and once you do, you were looking at him with such concerned eyes, his guilt increased tenfold.

"I-Im sorry, I have to go" were the last words Yangyang stuttered out before sprinting out of there. Trying to go somewhere to clear his clouded mind, leaving his soulmate standing there in confusion. Yangyang took a deep breath as he barged into his dorm room, not caring the questions his roommates bombarded him as he quickly went to his room.

'Life couldn't get any shittier'

A/n: hey! This took me so long forgive me for the delay. I'll probably release the next chapter sooner than later so keep an eye out for that. Sorry for those who waited for so long for this lol. I realised its 12:40 AM and I'm on 10% and there's a chance that I have a quiz tomorrow that I have not studied for. Wml

Btw

#hug.#yangyang angst #wayv yangyang #nct yangyang #yangyang x reader #yangyang #nct angst #nct wayv #nct x reader #nctzen #wayv angst #wayv #wayv x reader #wayv scenarios #wayv au

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blahblahwritings · 4 years

Text

Contracts and Captains. - IV

A/N: Remember how I posted something before one of my other fics saying that I had been consistently updating for weeks? Neither do I lmao who was she? Don’t know her anyway heres the fourth chapter of this black sails fic.

Words: 1823. Honestly I’ve been writing this since about 12pm I don’t know how its so short and its probably shit bc I haven’t written anything in months.

Warnings: Mentions of vomit as per the last chapter. Think thats it lmao. See you in three months.

As your eyes opened, there were a blissful couple of seconds where the previous night’s encounter didn’t exist in your memory. But, just like the sun flooding the room, unwanted flashes of vomit and slurred words rose like a tidal wave in your minds eye. You rolled over, burying your face and groaning into the pillow out of sheer embarrassment as a dull throbbing started in the depths of your skull.

Why did you keep drinking? You could’ve simply had one or two before retiring for the night and you wouldn’t have met that boatswain or thrown up on your own boots. What was his name again? Ben? Boyd? No, they weren’t quite right. Either way you made a mental note to apologise again whenever you next saw him.

Slowly, you tugged your still clothed limbs from the thin sheets, trying not to jostle your stomach too much for fear of whatever was left in there making an unwelcome appearance. Your pants were scuffed from where you took a tumble outside the tavern, your shirt was half undone, probably from a failed attempt to undress before not-so-gracefully falling into bed. A single boot was thrown on the floor alongside your coat, the other still stuck on your foot. What a mess.

A hot bath, that's what you needed, and a hearty breakfast if your insides don’t bring it back up. Pulling on the other boot, you made your way to one of the girls working downstairs, trading her coin to fill the tub in your room. You must’ve looked rough as you passed her to get to the man at the bar because when he turned to look at you, his brows shot up, disappearing behind his hair.

“You look like you could use a little hair of the dog, love.” He chuckled, eyes scanning your disheveled form. A grimace was your immediate response. “Some food then.” He offered, filling a bowl with something that you didn’t stop to look at as you practically inhaled it. The man watched you with a knowing smirk and had you not felt so terrible you’d have spat out a snarky comment. You chose to gulp down your water instead.

“Thank you.” You huffed with a small nod, tossing some money on the counter before you headed back upstairs. The state you were in just added to this morning's growing list of regrets but you weren’t quite sure if you cared how you looked to anyone else right now. All that was on your mind was a piercing headache and a good soak.

Stripping off, you stepped into the water, sinking down slowly as your body got used to the heat. Finally, with a heavy sigh, you rested your head on the back of the tub, your aching muscles beginning to relax. Scented oils and soaps were left on a stand by the bath. Working a generous amount between your palms, you massaged your limbs and torso getting rid of any tension and purging the memories of last night’s… festivities. In the quiet of your room, you took a moment to trace the small scars that littered your form, fingers landing at last on the freshly healed knife wound from only a few weeks ago. The soft pink flesh was still tender, and if you moved the wrong way it would ache. It was dangerous to be alone on this island, in this line of work. You needed friends, not just contacts. A crew, perhaps.

Letting your mind wander, you thought about your new found place among Flint’s men. You had to keep bringing in leads to be of any value to him, lest you risk being tossed aside and left in the dirt. He and his crew were among the most revered on the island, therefore cementing your part in that would bring security. It would ensure that other crews would leave you alone, as you were important to someone they feared and the consequences of harming you could be severe.

Then again, there was a little more than security on your list of perks as you thought more about the taller man from last night. He was kind to you, not that the others weren’t having bought your drinks and all, but, he made sure you were safe and fed. Billy Bones. You recalled. Replaying the meeting in your head, you winced at the slurred introduction and the puking soon after. Why did you care about how he saw you? Was it because he was the crew’s boatswain or because he was handsome and softer than most pirates you’d met.

Catching that last thought, you shook it from your head, refusing to let it take root in your brain. Attachments like that are a weakness here and you cannot afford to have those. You’d only met the guy once and he probably didn’t want anything to do with you anyway, especially after that drunken show you gave him. Cupping a handful of water, you splashed your face, scrubbing any further thoughts of the man from your head, instead, choosing to focus on finding a new lead for Flint.

They would be leaving to chase down the details you gave him yesterday in a couple of days, if not sooner, which meant you probably had around two weeks to find something of substance upon their return. You’d struggled last time but after sending out letters to old friends in neighbouring ports, you were hopeful something would turn up.

Padding your way to the dresser, you pulled out some fresh clothes and got ready, feeling much better than you did even an hour before. The food had settled your stomach and the water you guzzled seemed to bring some life back into your face as when you left to go hunt down some work, the barman from earlier spouted something along the lines of ‘A whole other woman’ when you walked by.

---

An uneventful morning led to an uneventful afternoon. There were no new letters or leads and the streets were pleasantly calm compared to usual. You certainly weren’t complaining, you had been feeling better since this morning but your body was still recovering. The easy day was probably just what you needed. You were sat on the beach, sipping some water and watching passersby as you sketched in the journal you kept.

It was something you’d taken to keeping since arriving in Nassau just over two years ago. A small leather book to help keep track of potential jobs and record anything interesting that happened. Really, though, you just loved to draw. You’d already filled a couple just like it with sketches of people, ships and landscapes that caught your eye, often accompanied by your messy scrawl. You were just about satisfied with your latest addition when Mr Gates clapped you on the shoulder making you jump and slam the journal closed. You’d never shown anyone the contents before.

“Sorry, Miss Devereux, didn’t mean to startle you.” He began, chuckling lightly at your reaction. “I heard you and the lads had quite the night..” He moved to stand by you as you got to your feet, dusting the sand from your pants. Tucking away the book, an amused smirk finds its way to your face as you look at him.

“Depends on who you ask.” You replied. “How were they this morning? Feeling sorry for themselves?” Your brows raised in question as you both started aimlessly wandering along the shore. A snort met your ears as his head fell forwards, looking at the ground then back at you. “I didn’t see the majority of them until at least noon and they were still in a sorry state, although I wonder how you must’ve been. I heard that you hurled your guts up right after meeting our boatswain.” Gates mused, eyes crinkling as he watched your entire face turn a lovely shade of red. You tried to keep your cool but your expression faltered into one of sheer embarrassment. Apparently, this was hilarious as Mr Gates exploded into a fit of hearty laughter, and as much as you told him to stop you couldn’t help but have a good chuckle yourself as you covered your face with a half-sandy palm at the thought.

When you both regain your composure, he gives you a reassuring pat on the back.

“Don’t worry, the only people who know are Billy and myself, the men still think you can hold your drink.” He winked. You made a move to argue that you could in fact hold your drink but he began talking about the plan to set sail the day after tomorrow. You listened intently and explained that you were awaiting correspondence from friends in other ports to supply more promising leads upon their return.

---

It had been four days since the crew left in search of another haul using your most recent information. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened, you’d made some money here and there through smaller jobs and pickpocketing but overall, there was nothing of real interest. You spent the days reading anything you could get your hands on or drawing and you’d even had your eye on some paints in one of the markets, but all you could do was wait. Checking for mail at the front desk of the inn you were staying at every morning had become a routine, desperate for any work or ships that you could relay to Flint. It was on the fifth day that you had gotten a response from someone in Port Royal.

As you read over the letter for the third time, you could feel your eyes widen in disbelief, your heart hammered in your chest and you released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. This was far too good to be true. Surely this was a myth. A prize of this magnitude was simply unheard of. Your eyes scanned over the paper again, barely able to focus on the words because your hands were trembling so violently. Calm down. You told yourself. It can’t be the truth. You thought as you stared at the other envelope that had arrived alongside it. At the bottom of the letter it read:

“P.S

Should you doubt my information, I sent you the correspondence shared between the dead man and the merchant with evidence pertaining to this gold. Best not ask how it came into my possession.

Your dear friend,

Josiah.”

You ran to shut the windows to your room and close the drapes. If anyone found out you had this information and the evidence to go with it, you would surely be killed for it. Tearing open the paper, you unfolded its contents. It was all here. The initials of the merchant, R.P., details alluding to the existence of this gold and the name of the dead man involved in plotting the course it would be on.

Vasquez.

#Black Sails #black sails imagine #Billy Bones #billy bones x reader #multi chapter #Captain Flint #mr gates

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captainscanadian · 4 years

Text

Better | Bucky Barnes x Reader (Part 3)

My Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2

Summary: As Wanda convinced Bucky to leave your bedside for the night, Becca Barnes arrives in Brooklyn to let him know of the findings of her investigation. While Bucky thinks that no harm would come your way during his absence, he would not know how wrong he had been about that. But one thing is clear, Bucky fell in love with you one wintry night in Brooklyn after he learned that you were indeed a much better doctor and a much better human being than he could ever be.

Word Count: 6083

Pairing: Doctor!Bucky x Doctor!Reader, Doctor!Bucky x Platonic!Nurse!Wanda, Nurse!MJ

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Abuse & Alcoholism, Surgery, Organ Donation, IV & Needles, Emotional Distress, Physical Pain, Drugs, Hospital Stay, Homelessness, Mentions of Death & Cancer

A/N: It may have taken my about two months to write this part but I do apologize for my lack of inspiration that was caused a major life change (of me moving to the UK). I am so excited to continue this fic because I just love Doctor!Bucky with my whole heart. I would like to thank @dramadreamer14 and @thedarklightwithinus for providing me with some genuine feedback for this fic. They really kept me going! On that note, here’s an extra long chapter to make up for the wait time. I hope you enjoy reading this and feedback is always welcome! :)

Perhaps it was impossible to get Dr. James Barnes to leave the hospital for the night. Hell, he was not even planning on leaving your bedside for more than a few minutes if he had to. But as the sun had finally set and visiting hours were over, Wanda Maximoff had woken up from her post-night shift nap to dial the nurses’ desk at the post-op ward. She had a gut feeling that Bucky would still be there, for she knew that man well enough to know how much he loved you.

Michelle Jones, the trainee nurse who had replaced her at the desk since that morning, answered the phone in an instant. “Good evening, you’ve reached Brooklyn Hospital Post-Op. How may I help you?” She recited in her best customer service voice that seemed way too polite for her own liking.

“Hey MJ, it’s Wanda.” She responded as she rubbed at her eyes, ridding of the last bit of slumber that remained within her eyes before she let out a yawn. “Is he still there?”

“Does it snow in New York in December?” The younger nurse retorted with a chuckle, pulling up the moleskin journal that she had been keeping. After Wanda had instructed her to keep an eye on your hospital room, Michelle had managed to write down every single instance that Bucky had left your bedside. “He took a bathroom break every one or two hours and when Peter- I mean, when Dr. Parker went to check her vitals around 2 pm, Dr. Barnes promised to let him scrub in with him on his next surgery if he brings him lunch. Dr. Parker brought him a sandwich from the cafeteria, and then a vanilla bean latte from the coffee cart across the street at around 4 pm. He had his last bathroom break a few minutes ago but he’s still there.”

“And Y/N?” Wanda asked as she bit her lip, completely unsurprised by the fact that the lover boy was still at your bedside. She made a mental note to give him a stern talking to and make sure that he left the hospital for the night. As much as she adored that he was putting himself out there to care for you; she believed that you needed someone like him in your life too, but she could not help but worry about him just as much.

MJ set aside her moleskin before pulling up your file on the computer. “Well, her PCA log shows that she’s been pumping pain meds every few hours, as she should be doing for the amount of pain that she must be going through on her first day in post-op. Nothing unusual there. She was knocked out when I went to change her IV and drainage tubes and I don’t think she would be waking up for another few hours or so. I had to kick him out of the room for a few minutes but he didn’t mind. He had no problem letting me do my job but he’s still sitting there.” MJ replied with a shrug, turning her head towards the hallway once she heard footsteps approaching her. Noticing that Bucky had stepped out of the room and was walking swiftly towards the desk, she quickly turned away to avoid his eye contact. “Wanda, he’s coming towards the desk right now.”

“MJ, please give him the phone.” The older nurse demanded. “I’m going to talk some sense into his head so if he tries to get out of my lecture by giving you back the phone, don’t you dare let him do that. Visiting hours were over hours ago so if he doesn’t leave after I hang up on him, just let him say goodbye to her and make sure he actually leaves the hospital and doesn’t crash in an on call room. He might even try to go down to the pit and get himself a patient, just so that he doesn’t have to leave the hospital. Don’t you dare let him do any of that! Call security to drag him out if you have to, because I wouldn’t trust him if I were you.”

“Michelle, can I ask you-”

She held her finger up for at him for a moment, listening intently to what Wanda had just told her. “Yes, ma’am...” She turned over to Bucky with a toothy grin. “Phone call for you, Dr. Barnes!”

Bucky gave her a confused look for a moment as she handed him the phone. “Hello?” He said, casually, as he brought his phone up to his ear.

“Bucky, you’ve been sitting there for more than twelve hours!” Wanda yelled at him through the phone, startling him slightly. “Get the fuck out of there! Go home, visiting hours were over ages ago.”

The dark haired doctor gave the other nurse a look of disbelief, shaking his head at her as she pulled out her cell phone to make another call. “Wanda, visiting hours don’t apply to me. I work here.”

“You went over your weekly limit yesterday, you dipshit. You shouldn’t even be back at the hospital until the day after tomorrow.” She reminded him. “What are you even doing there? She’s knocked out on pain meds. Just stop sitting in her room like a fucking creep and get your ass back to your apartment, Barnes. You haven’t been there in days.”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Why? What are you going to do about it? Fire me? If I tell Chief Stark that you’ve been a fucking nuisance around the hospital, I’ll make sure he’s the one firing your dumbass!”

“Wanda...” Bucky let out a groan at her threats, not even sure if she actually meant them. As much as he loved her like a fourth younger sister, he knew that Wanda could be a bitch when she wanted to be. A part of him was hesitant about pissing her off even more. He could not risk it. “I can’t just leave Y/N here like this. She’s all alone. She has no family to watch her and... I’m not doing anyone any harm by being here.”

“Every single doctor, nurse, lab tech and orderly working in that hospital is her damn family, Bucky!” She reminded him with a sigh. “We’re all her family and we’re all keeping an eye on her. You’re being hard on yourself, Bucky. I know you care about her and you want to be there for her right now. But you should also take care of yourself too. You haven’t been home in days. Just go home for the night, sleep in your own bed for once. Take tomorrow off for yourself. She’ll be right where you left her when you come back.”

He let out a sigh as she contemplated her words. “But Wanda, what if something happens to her while I’m gone?”

“Bucky, are you out of your mind? You’re a fucking surgeon, come on, get it together. You know how liver transplants work. She didn’t suffer any complications during surgery. Nothing’s going to happen to her. She’s just going to be in pain for a few days so she’ll be knocked out on drugs until then. She’ll be back to her cheery self by the time you get back to work and Romanoff will discharge her by the end of next week.” She explained, wondering if you had made any arrangements for how you were going to spend the next eight weeks in bed rest. After all, Wanda knew that you lived alone. There was no way you could get through the days of recovery on your own. She made a mental note to ask you about it when she returns to work in the morning. Though knowing you, she was also contemplating on calling a family meeting with everyone else to come up with a solution for that. Asking you about it or offering to help take care of you would not cut it. She knew that you would refuse the help either way. If she had just went ahead and made the arrangements herself though and let Steve deliver the message to you, she knew you wouldn’t say no to the offer. You would never say no to Steve.

Wanda was right and Bucky knew that. But his heart refused to accept it. He did not want to leave you when you were all alone and in pain. Nevertheless, he gave in, only because he trusted the rest of the hospital staff to keep an eye on you during his absence. “Fine, I’ll go home. I’m sure everyone here would make sure she’s still in one piece by the time I get back.” Boy, if he only knew how wrong he was about that.

“Good. Now, you better not be at the hospital when I get to work in the morning and you better not show up until my eighteen hour shift is over. Are we clear about that, Dr. Barnes?” Wanda asked him with a chuckle.

Bucky laughed softly. “Noted, Maximoff. And before I forget, Y/N told me that she asked you to check on the status of her father. Can you let her know what’s up with him when you see her tomorrow?”

“Okay, I will.” She told him as she bit her lip at the thought of your father. Though she did not know the man personally and was certainly in a place where she should not be judging him, she could not help it. Boy, did she loathe that man for drinking away his health, driving away his own daughter and showing up at this hospital to make you pay for his mistakes. Having lost her own parents when she was eleven years of age and having lost her twin brother at sixteen, she felt empathetic towards the way your parents had been treating you despite your sacrifice. She could not believe how much you cared to ask about the man who could not care any less about you. But she knew that it meant you were a much better person than the people who had raised you. “Now I told MJ to call security. So once you hang up the phone, if you can go and kiss your Sleeping Beauty goodnight and then go straight to your car that would be highly appreciated.”

He turned around to give MJ another look of disbelief before seeing Thor, one of the security guards at the hospital, standing next to her and giving him the same toothy grin as the nurse. “Damn you, Wanda!” Bucky let out another chuckle as he hung up the phone and turned back to MJ. “Take care of her, yeah?”

Michelle gave him a nod. “Don’t worry, Dr. Barnes. She’s one of us. We’re definitely not going to let her pull one on us.” She gave him a reassuring smile.

Bucky gave her a nod before he turned over to look at Thor. “God, I can’t believe you’re-”

“Move it, Dr. Barnes.” The security guard cut him off, motioning him to walk back to your room as he gave him a playful glare. “Wanda’s orders.”

The love struck surgeon laughed softly as he shook his head, turning around and walking back to your hospital room with the beefy blonde male following right behind him. Bucky entered the room while Thor stood by the door, knowing that he should give the doctor some privacy. After all, not even the security guards and the rest of the hospital staff were immune to the gossips around the hospital.

Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that they were all quite fond of you. Despite the fact that you were a surgeon, which had naturally given you a higher rank within the social hierarchy of the hospital, you were known to be extremely polite towards the nurses, orderlies, lab technicians, the catering staff and the cleaning staff alike. Most of the surgeons, your own friends included, possessed a certain arrogance that came with being a surgeon. But you had managed to overcome that arrogance rather quickly, thanks to your very humble beginnings. Even the staff had been concerned about your health following your surgery. But the moment news broke out that ‘Dr. Long Hair, Don’t Care’ had found himself sitting by your bedside for the whole day, it seemed that they were also eager to know if he would finally confess his feelings to you by the time you recovered and returned to work. Their bets had been placed but all they could do was wait and watch.

It seemed as though you were the only one who had been unaware of Bucky’s feelings for you, but you had a reason for that. Your years of longing to be loved by someone had only resulted in multiple rejections, causing you to eventually give up on pursuing any kind of relationship at all. For some reason, you had become accustomed to turning a blind eye to anyone’s romantic advances towards you. Perhaps that was why even Bucky had been hesitant to ask you out over the years. You had told him early on in your friendship of how the only reason you had moved to Brooklyn was because you wanted to train under Steve and build yourself a career. You weren’t looking for love, you had told him, even though that had been a lie. You had just believed that you did not deserve to be loved; you still believed it too, as a matter of fact. And Bucky, even he had started to fear your rejection after that.

But he could not deny that he loved you either way. He loved everything about you, from your determination to be a better surgeon to your generosity when it came to the way you treated your patients. You weren’t a surgical robot; unlike him, you actually had a heart. You had a heart that had been so deprived of love yet had so much love to give to everyone else around you. He had been the first one to notice that about you. And it was at that moment that he had fallen in love with you.

The two of you had only ever gotten a chance to work closely together when Steve had made the decision to go on a six month paternity leave after his daughter’s birth, leaving Bucky in charge of the department in his absence. Perhaps that was the time he had really gotten to know you as a surgeon and a human being, even though the two of you hadn’t gotten along all that well back then.

You had disagreed with him regarding a patient at that time, to which he had responded by taking you off the case. Your inability to see him in a place of authority and your slight confidence that Steve would have understood why you did certain things the way you did, had caused you to lash out at him. Bucky, being irritated by how you had challenged him in that situation and in desperate need of proving his authority, had suspended you from his service for an entire week.

He had realized a few days later that he had been wrong to punish you; he had Wanda to thank for knocking some sense into his head regarding the way he had exercised his newfound power. But when he had approached you to convince you to return to work, he was slightly surprised to find that your time away from the hospital had been spent providing free medical care at a local homeless shelter in Brooklyn.

“I wasn’t expecting any visitors at this time...” You had told the familiar dark haired man who had entered the make-shift clinic you had set up at the shelter. Despite the issues that you may have had with him, you still had a lot of respect for him. He was a renowned surgeon in his own right, certainly more experienced than you were. A part of you felt guilty for the way you had disrespected him at the hospital, but you had only stood up for yourself and the call that you had made for your patient. You had every right to do that. “And I certainly wasn’t expecting a visit from you.”

“So, this is where you spend all of your free time after... turning down Nat’s invites to go to the bar after a hard day’s work.” Bucky noted as he looked around the dimly lit room that was barely the size of his laundry room. The clinic did not look typical at all, an old single bed pushed against the back wall, a small school desk and folding chair placed in the center of the room and a shelf against the other wall holding various medical supplies that you might need to use. The pasty white paint was starting flake out of the walls despite your attempts to cover them up with multiple anatomy posters. It could not compare to Brooklyn’s most reputable teaching hospital where the two of you worked, but he knew that you were certainly making a difference in the lives of the homeless people you were helping.

“Well, I do think that there’s a lot more value to my time if it’s spent tending to these people rather than screwing up my liver.” You told him with a hint of sarcasm evident in your voice, removing a pair of latex gloves that you had been wearing and tossing them into the trash can. “No offense to Nat though. I’m sure she understands that I had a valid reason to skip out on her usual hangouts.”

He stuffed his hands into his pockets as he stepped over to the shelf of supplies, eying the items that you had purchased and donated to the shelter before turning back around to face you. “Are you paying for all of these?”

You gave him a nod as you lathered some hand sanitizer on your hands, getting up from your chair as it was about time to close up for the night. “Well, these are just the bandages, gauze pads and cotton swabs... I only keep these in here. The ibuprofen and other pain killers, all of the other over the counter drugs, needles and syringes are locked in a storage room near the kitchen. I’m the only one who can go in and grab them. I can’t have anyone coming in here for free drugs, you know?”

Bucky nodded, understandingly, and his lips curled into a small smile at the thought of your generosity and the skill you had in operating such a clinic, the thought and planning that had gone into doing something like this. He was well aware that you had only moved to New York two years ago to begin your fellowship with Steve. But the woman who was running the shelter had informed him just now that you had offered to start up this make-shift clinic within a few months of living in Brooklyn. “And you’re prescribing as well?” He asked, noticing your prescription pad on the desk.

“Mostly antibiotics, to treat minor infections.” You replied with a shrug, reaching under the desk to grab your bag. “I made a deal with the drug store down the street. They’re open twenty-four hours a day. I would write down the prescriptions and one of the volunteers, MJ, she’s a nursing student from Queens who helps me out... she would run down the street and fill them up. The drugstore sends me a receipt and I pay them off, out of pocket.”

His eyes grew wide as he realized what you had been doing. “Out of pocket? How are you able to afford all of this?” He asked, curiously. Surely, as a heart surgeon himself, he knew just about how much money you would be making since you were recently board certified. While you could certainly afford to pay for the entire make-shift clinic at the shelter, he had assumed that you must still have some student loans to pay off. Taking that debt into consideration, he was surprised that you were able to give back so much.

You nodded as you tossed your prescription pad and pen in your bag, pulling off your stethoscope that loosely hung over your shoulders. “Yeah... I mean, it’s not that much. I think I’ve mastered the art of saving up and living on a budget over the years, Dr. Barnes. Most of my tuition during pre-med and med at NYU was paid off by scholarships. I had pretty good grades and the financial need so I pretty much got... a free ride. My rent and food were covered by the money I made working two part-time jobs and a weekend job and there wasn’t any student loan debt to be paid off. I made a pretty decent income working as a resident but after paying my rent, groceries and other necessities, I pretty much saved up. I didn’t even have a car so I didn’t need to pay for insurance or gas. I didn’t even waste my money taking the subway. I rode a bike to and from work... for five years. Everyone I knew judged me for it but I didn’t give a shit. Saving up a lot of money during residency was the only reason I was able to afford living in New York in the first place and... Now, I think I’m in a really good place.” You could not help but smile at that, feeling a sense of pride at how much you had accomplished over the years. “I worked so hard to get where I am, Dr. Barnes. And I did all of this because I wanted to make a difference. So, if I can’t make a difference by cutting into people’s hearts then I might as well make a difference by... doing this, I guess?” You told him with a shrug, sighing as you packed up your bag and grabbed your jacket.

It was at that moment that Bucky had truly regretted how harsh he had treated you, but he did not show it. He remembered that night two years ago, when he had walked in on you crying your eyes out in an on call room. He had remembered how he had told you to aim to be a better doctor than him and Steve could ever be, yet he had now seen in person that you already were a much better doctor and human being than he could ever be.

James Buchannan Barnes had always been a privileged man. His parents were both doctors who ran their own respective practices. He and his three sisters had been raised by a nanny in their mansion in Clinton Hill. By the time he had started first grade, his parents had already deposited a large amount into his college fund. At sixteen years old, he had been given his own Mercedes and at eighteen, he had moved into his own penthouse apartment overlooking the bridge. He had never had to work a part-time job or live on a budget to make ends meet. But he felt extremely guilty for being someone who had had it all and had given back nothing. Yet there you stood before him, someone who seemed to have very less than what he had but still gave more than he could ever.

“I... hate to do this right now, Dr. Y/L/N. I think it’s a very noble thing that you’re doing here and I hate to be the one to drag you away from it.” He admitted as he bit down on his bottom lip, his hands still stuffed in his pockets as he finally gained the courage to look you in the eye. “But the reason why I came down here was... because I wanted to apologize to you for the way I treated you and ask you to come back to work, even though what you’re doing here seems... better. You’re a really good doctor and a really good human being. I could really use someone like you on my service, someone who actually has a heart.”

You let out a chuckle as you shrugged on your jacket and walked up to him. “Well, as much as I love being here... and mind you, I’ve been here every single day since you kicked me out of the OR, I’ve come to realize that the only way I can keep running this clinic is if I can actually fund it.” You admitted, laughing softly. “And I may or may not need to have a day job for that.”

Bucky chuckled softly as he nodded in agreement. “No, really... I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have humiliated you in the OR like that and I shouldn’t have undermined your judgement. Your patient, your call... although the procedure was rather unconventional, I could have cut you some slack. After all, you did train under Steve and I shouldn’t have been so surprised to know that you might have picked up some things from him.”

You laughed at the way he poked fun at his best friend. “Well, Dr. Barnes... I did cross the line and as my newly appointed boss, you had every right to interfere and take disciplinary action.” You admitted as you sighed. “I’m sorry too, I shouldn’t have been so disrespectful towards you, especially in the OR. That was extremely rude of me and I’m really sorry.”

He nodded. “Apology accepted.”

You smiled politely at him as you motioned him to follow you outside of the room, turning off the lights on your way out. “Hey, I never bothered to ask. How did you even find me here?” You asked as you locked up the clinic, turning over to give him a confused look. No one at the hospital was aware of what you did on your spare time, except Dr. Rogers. Yet you could not help but wonder how he had found you.

Bucky looked down at his feet as he walked down the dimly lit hallway of that led to the front desk of the shelter. “Well, my temporary yet newfound power does allow me took look into your employee records.” He admitted as he laughed softly. “I found your home address from your profile and went down to the Indian restaurant that’s located on said address. A waiter told me that you lived on the loft apartment upstairs and that you weren’t home right now. So, I asked him where I could find you.”

You let at a sigh at his explanation. “Did you really go out of your way to... do what? Ask me to come back to work?” You were slightly surprised by the fact that anyone would even care that you were not home. Hell, you were even surprised that Dr. Barnes had even showed up to your little clinic to apologize to you after what had happened. You had taken him for a rather arrogant man, compared to Steve. This was partially true though, even he wouldn’t deny that. Yet his attempts to give you a personal apology did seem endearing to you. He intrigued you.

He nodded as he looked over at you. “Yeah...” He looked over at the woman who was sitting at the front desk and waved her goodbye.

“Goodnight, Dolores.” You told her as you walked out the front door, Bucky following right behind you. “You’re not going to ask me why I live above a restaurant, are you, Dr. Barnes?” You asked him, curiously, wondering if he was judging your choice in a home. While you could certainly afford a nicer apartment with your new salary, you had chosen to live there for the sake of convenience. The old Indian couple who owned the restaurant were kind enough to allow you to eat in the restaurant whenever you wanted, knowing very well that your unpredictable work hours did not allow you to even cook a meal for yourself. When you weren’t working at the hospital or running the clinic at the shelter and you happened to miss the good old days of waitressing, you would lend them a hand at times.

“It’s none of my business.” He admitted, shaking his head as the two of you stepped had stepped out into the cold winter night. “But I think I learned a lot about you this evening and that’s saying something, considering how distant you have been with all of us.”

Your warm breath had condensed every time you exhaled, the air a little misty as it was that night. “I admit that I might come off as- more like, I really am... a bit closed off. But I have a valid reason for that.” You admitted as you walked along the sidewalk, the snow crunching under your boots with every step you took. “I’ve been used to doing my own thing, Dr. Barnes. It’s really hard to get out of that.”

“That’s understandable.”

The two of you walked in silence for the next few minutes, neither of you uttering a word as the snow continued to fall from the sky. It was not an awkward silence but one that was calming, to him more than yourself though. You kept your eyes at your feet, not knowing what exactly you needed to say in order to keep a conversation going. Not that you had nothing to say. You wanted to keep talking but you were hesitant about doing so. What could you possibly say to that man that could be of interest to him? What if you said something wrong and he took it the wrong way? That had happen once already and it had almost cost you your job. You could not make that same mistake.

“What made you want to start up this clinic, Y/L/N?” Bucky asked, curiously, finally breaking the silence. “Why did you go out of your way to do this?”

“Because...” You paused to bite down on your bottom lip, not knowing if you should give him an honest answer to his question. Would that be over-sharing? After all, you had spilled quite so much of your past to him. Did you need to say more? “Because I know how it feels, Dr. Barnes. I know how it feels to be out here in the cold... no food, no warm clothes, nowhere to go. The uncertainty of whether you would get through the night and into the next morning, it’s... the worst feeling in the world and... I just wouldn’t wish that upon anyone.”

“You know, Steve grew up... just a few blocks away from here.” He recalled, his hands still cold despite the fact that they had never left his pockets.

You nodded. “He did mention it when I told him about me volunteering for the shelter. As a matter of fact, he funded the clinic for the first couple of months until I was able to handle it on my own.”

“His mother was my nanny. She started working for our family after her husband passed.” He did not know why he was telling you this but his guilt for not being the better human being may have had a part in that. “Steve and I knew each other since we were very little. He’s like the brother I never had. His mother raised me and my sisters as if we were her own. She passed away when he was just about eighteen. Bronchioloalveolar carcinoma, the tumor was malignant by the time they caught it and she had already been misdiagnosed with pneumonia. There was nothing anyone could have done to save her. Steve couldn’t... he couldn’t afford to live after that. My folks offered to pay off the medical bills but he wouldn’t accept it. He had just gotten into NYU but he didn’t even know if he would end up going. A few days after his mother’s funeral, I found him right outside of that same shelter. I asked him to come and live with me and he told me that he could get by on his own. But I told him he didn’t have to... and I dragged him right back to my place and let him live in my guest bedroom for as long as he needed to. I owed that much to his mother. Best heart surgeon in New York and the best father in the entire world now that he traded his scalpel for changing diapers, he was capable of being so much better... than what life had to offer him, Y/N. You are also capable of being so much better than whatever life had to offer you and I hope you know that.” And that was the moment Bucky had realized that even he was capable of being better than what life had offered him. Perhaps he would start by writing you a cheque so that you could continue you doing what you were doing for the shelter. That was the least he could do.

Just then the two of you reached the Indian restaurant above which you lived. “Well... this is me.” You told him as you motioned towards to loft above the restaurant.

He nodded, pointing to his Mercedes that he had parked just across the street from the restaurant. “And that’s me.”

“Goodnight, Dr. Barnes.” You gave him a wave as you began to walk into the diner, stopping in front of the door before turning around to look at him. “Hey... James?”

He had turned around to cross the street once he waved you goodbye when you had called out to him. At first he was a little startled that you had referred to him by his first name, as you had never done that before. Besides, no one else other than his parents had called James. “Yes?”

“Thank you.” You told him as you gave him a genuine smile.

He nodded, smiling brightly as he ran his hand through his hair. And it was at that moment on that cold winter night did Y/N Y/L/N manage to thaw out the cold dead heart of James Buchannan Barnes.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” Bucky leaned over to press his lips against your forehead once more, his cold hands gently running through your hair as he sighed. He knew that you would have no recollection of this, since you were still knocked out from pain meds. But he could not help but speak to your unconscious self before he left, for the sake of his own sanity. “Wanda’s making me go home for the night so I might not see you again until... the day after tomorrow, I guess. Hang in there, doll. I hope you feel better... and I’ll see you when I get back.” I love you, he wanted to say, but he held himself back because he would rather say it in person and when the time was right. Grabbing his belongings, he walked out of your hospital room as he gave Thor a thumbs up, jogging down the hallway, down the stairs, past the ER and out the door towards the parking lot where he had parked his Mercedes.

It was only when he had started his car did he remember that he had forgotten to turn his phone back on. Before he pulled out of the parking lot, he turned on his phone to see that had several missed calls and text messages from his sister.

His eyebrows furrowed as he read her texts, a lump forming in his throat as he began to worry about the context of the messages. Bucky had asked his private investigator sister to do him a favor last week. And from what her messages now said, she must have found something that was relevant. He could not help but expect the worst after that.

Becca Barnes: Hey Buck, your phone’s off so you’re probably at work. Just wanted to let you know that I’m just heading back from Philly.

Becca Barnes: I found some things that you might find concerning. Let me know if I can come over tomorrow. I can’t tell you any of this through the phone.

Bucky bit down on his lip as he typed up a reply, but he could not help but worry about what his sister had found out for him.

How about first thing in the morning? I’m not working tomorrow.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #aj writes #better #tw surgery #tw pain #tw cancer #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel au

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exposedroots · 3 years

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March 25, 2021

Ive sat writing and erasing and writing and contemplating this letter to you over and over, because Im not sure how to put a million things into one note. How to end something that I’m not ready to walk away from. How to ever stop loving you.. but I need to write you this for closure for myself, if nothing else.

All day I’ve tried to talk to you as much as possible so I can try to memorize the way your eyes light up when you look at me, even when you don’t realize. and the way your smile makes my heart feel without even trying. I’ve tried to memorize the curls in your hair and the freckles on your arms. The mole on your cheek and the rhythm of your breathing that soothes me when Ive needed it most. I’ve tried to hold onto every moment, every expression, every thing that makes you, you. Because I know I won’t ever meet anyone that comes close to you again, and my biggest fear is forgetting what is feels like to be with you.

Shortly after meeting you, I fell hard. I fell for your authentic self, your dark self, your hidden self, and the dreamer that is always gushing out of you. I fell in love with every part of you and I didn’t know what would happen, but I knew I wanted whatever it was to be with you. I wanted to grow with you, to love you, to encourage you, to push you, and to cheer you on with every step you took. I wanted to be your first and only girlfriend, the one that made your life make more sense, feel more full, and give you the love you’ve closed yourself off from for so long.

You’ve said I don’t listen, and you feel like I haven’t respected your boundaries, and I’m sorry for that. I have listened and I do respect what you want, I just want you to know that its not because I was trying to convince you, its because I am not ready to let go. I’m not ready for the last hug, the last kiss, the last laugh, the last smile. I’m not ready to pack my things, to say goodbye. I’m not ready for our life together to come to an end. And I am so sorry it has to. I’m so sorry I wasn’t better to you. I’m sorry I’m messed up and emotional and have made you feel like you’re not enough or better off alone, and I have been praying that one day you let go of that belief because you deserve everything, and love is the best part of living. Above anyone I know, you deserve that.

Im not sure if I will ever understand or make sense of why I met you and why it has to end so soon, but I will cherish every single thing that has happened between us. We were both forced to grow, which is something I can walk away grateful for. We were both forced to open up in ways neither of us thought possible for ourselves, and that is something that gives me hope as I reluctantly walk into my next chapter in life. You taught me that I can have it all, and that I deserve a better life. I would do anything to have it be with you, but at least now I really believe that for myself.

I hope with time you’ll reflect on me and feel happy. I hope you’ll remember the good times, and grow from the hard. I hope that you find your self, and find your way in this world. I hope there comes a time where you don’t feel so lost. And I hope one day you meet someone who doesn’t make love feel so hard.

You are my greatest love, and if I could do it all over again a thousand times, I would.

I will always love you.

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cozyteez · 4 years

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Hii, do u have any tips for writing fics?? I’m so used to writing research reports, lab reports, and formal essays that creative writing has become something I really struggle with. I guess it’s having the freedom to write anything and not knowing how to make sure it’s not corny. I tried outlining a fic one time but it was so frustrating LOLOLOL. Anyways, I love your ateez fics. They are so cute and creative!!

hi !!!! im like rlly touched u asked me and i feel u actually that's why i started this blog; im a biomedical engineering major so as u can imagine i dont get to take much creativity with what i write because writing papers and reports and proposals are so formulaic and u gotta stick to the facts so that being said i actually tested out of all my college writing classes so all my writing knowledge is from ap english in hs lmao so take it w many grians of salt

the #1 thing i do when im feeling sort of unmotivated about a story or maybe like like dragging myself thru mud to write it is to just write the "fun" part first. to me the fun part is usually the climax or maybe the like the "wouldn't it be cute if..." moment that came to mind that inspired me to write a blurb in the first place! then usually once i sort of get the ball rolling on that my brain will help me out and keep the momentum going by thinking of maybe "oohh okay maybe this can happen next" or "oohh and what if this led up to it" or !! just stop there !! something ive learned from my mx writing blog which is like a year older than this one was that you don't owe anybody context especially for a blurb so maybe it really is just 3 sentences of a cute moment u thought of like its whatever ur the one writing it

now for longer fics im going to be honest jongho's first love is my first and only completed attempt at a multi stage coherent story. and that was fueled purely based on the fact that when i look at jongho he just gives off sort a really excited sort of innocence that i wanted to further explore and personify through the idea of him experiencing love for the first time but even then i really struggled w the last part because that's where my personal experience stopped and i had basically nothing to go off of because ive never been in love so i did have to kinda wait for ideas to come to me. for prince yunho i have posted 4 chapters but have all the way through chapter 15 drafted. and by drafted i mean it's like 3 sentences of the overall idea. again, the fic was inspired by the duality between yunho's on stage vs. off stage persona where if somebody was to watch an ateez performance for the first time they may find him very serious and maybe even intimidating but atiny would know that his off stage persona (the one he choses to create for us anyways) is very silly and happy-go-lucky and approachable, which is why prince yunho is seen as narameth's strong and stoic pride and joy but in reality he's sort of clumsy but means well. so i let that and his relationship w xenia who is an original character (OC) sort inspire stories or interactions that i force into a plot line. so for example i believe when i first started thinking abt a prince au for yunho i thought "wouldn't it be funny if the first scene started out painting him as this strong and serious man and then cut to him choking on food or something" and that sort of inspired the idea of him being nervous abt the speech and then xenia came out of that because he needed a complementary character imo since i knew he was gonna be kind of one dimensional and then his backstory with xenia inspired other ideas and then one day i was sad and wanted a hug so that inspired a piece of the plot line and so on. so basically: let an idea or even an aspect of somebody come to you and just write it down, let it inspire other ideas. and don't be afriad to completely start over. i wrote a whole chapter for prince yunho and deleted the whole thing because i hated where it was going and started back from scratch. sometimes you have to revisit things abt your characters and their relationships with others to get a new idea. there's a story in every person and every relationship you just have to find the clues

here's an example of what i mean by "write the good part first". this is typically what the very first draft of a blurb will look like for me

((( blah blah blah basically its raining and y/n is sad bc wooyoung broke her heart two weeks ago idk maybe go into it maybe not)))

y/n is all sad and feeling sorry for themselves on the couch theyre past crying but still feel pretty shitty plus it's storming and cold outside. great

there's a knock on their door ofc they have the cliche "who could that be moment" even tho they lowkey know. we literally all know

so yeah wooyoung's there soaked in rain eyes puffy y/n thinks he's been crying

-this would be the "fun part". i'll fix all that garbage up top later or maybe even change it completely idk yet-

"y/n? i - uh. hi"

he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck while you crossed your arms over your chest, fighting the urge to close the door and walk away for good

"hi? really wooyoung? is that the best you can do?"

(((wooyoung does smth idk)))

"well i just -"

"you just what? showed up here in the rain after you broke my heart and didn't even bother to tell me why? this isn't some romance movie, asshole. you can't just come here late at night and expect to find me all sad and willing to take you back because i'm not. so say what you're gonna say so i can get back to my life"

your face was red hot and you trying very hard, probably too hard, to fight back tears. ((( idk talk some more abt y/n's emotions then what wooyoung is doing)))

"look, i made a mistake i-"

"oh my god! why did i know you were gonna do this. i just knew as soon as i saw you-"

"will you let me get a fucking word in!?"

well that was new. in the entire time you'd known him he had never raised his voice at you like that, your shock causing you to immediately close your mouth and fold your arms back into yourself (((make y/n seem more scared))) noticing your reaction, he lowered his voice back down and instictively reached for you, heartbroken at the way you jerked away from his touch

"please y/n, i'm sorry. i didn't mean to raise my voice it's just that i need to tell you that i regret what i did i regret breaking up with you so fucking much and you don't have to take me back i just need you to know how much you meant, no, mean to me. i still love you, a lot. there's not a day, an hour, a minute, or a single second that goes by that i'm not thinking of you"

"then why?"

your voice was small and wavering, your tears now dangerously close to spilling down your cheeks

"why what?"

"why did you break up with me like that, just all of a sudden"

he pushed his hands into his pockets and looked away

"because that morning i woke up before you and when i looked at you asleep next to me, i saw myself spending the rest of my life with you and it scared the shit out of me"

"why did it scare you?"

"because i just figured you didn't feel the same. i was selfish and wanted to save myself heartbreak down the line and so i told you i didn't wanna be with you anymore, but that was a mistake because it turns out i can't function with out you, i can't breathe without you i can't live without you, y/n. i shouldn't have let you go"

tears were now freely flowing down your face (((okay brain no work anymore y/n kisses him duh and then ofc they make up wooyoung prob says smth cheesy and y/n is like ur lucky i love you or smth ahaha the end)))

tl;dr -> don't be afraid to get messy. creative writing is not nearly as structured as academic/scientific writing. write whatever u want first it can even be the middle of a huge fight scene or some dialogue u think is funny. if ur stuck read what you have or maybe just take a break and let an idea come to you. a story doesnt have to come together til the very end so it can be as messy and out of order as u want until u wanna post it. also i would always use the third person omniscient point of view for a longer story like a chaptered fic as a default and only change if it would impact the plot in a negative way. this is where the narrator knows what every character is thinking/feeling and im p sure a teacher in middle school told me it was the easiest to write and follow

#sorry i got carried away #also rmbr how i was like my brain cant stop imagining dramatic and disgusting love confessions in the rain? i meant like that #it's so chessy ik 😔 bleh #amanda talks

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chapitre7 · 4 years

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Alexandria Chapter V

The Untamed [陈情令] | Mo Dao Zu Shi [魔道祖师] fanfiction

Lan Zhan | Lan Wangji/Wei Yīng | Wei Wuxian (Wangxian)

Time Travel/Sci-Fi AU

Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV

Read on AO3

Lan Zhan isn’t in his room the next morning. Wei Ying searches, visits the library, goes up and down the floors, even goes as far as asking one of the other scholars (and gets ignored), and still can’t find him. He circles all the way back to Lan Zhan’s door but instead of the younger Lan, he finds Lan Xichen coming out of his own room, a book in his hands. Wei Ying lights up, beaming up at him.

“Brother Xichen!” He calls, and the man bows politely, the usual smile on his face. “Lan Zhan...?”

“Ah, young master Wei. Wangji was summoned.”

“Summoned?”

“The board called him,” Xichen clarifies, mistakenly assuming that Wei Ying hadn’t understood him the first time, but Wei Ying understood him well, having an innate talent for speaking other languages; it’s the idea that he struggles with. In the year Wei Ying has lived inside the compound, the so-called board of directors never called him once.

“Why? Did something happen?”

Xichen’s smile falters, and Wei Ying can already feel his fears taking hold, gripping him by the stomach.

“Wangji has... missed some assignments. He hasn’t seen them in a while. He must be updating them.”

Xichen makes it sound inconsequential, but Wei Ying still remembers what Lan Zhan told him the night before. He didn’t send any of his writings because he wanted to go through them with Wei Ying first, and he held extensive notes in his possession, for all of the places Wei Ying had talked about. To the board, Wei Ying was still an object of study, so was Lan Zhan being... disciplined? Gusu Lan used to have strict punishment rules, surely he wasn’t—

“Young master Wei.”

He focuses back on Lan Xichen. The man’s smile is back, as if it had never left, with a touch of understanding, the way his elder sister used to smile at him.

“Wangji has a way of inspiring trust in people. This time should be no different.”

Wei Ying blinks, tilts his head at the phrasing.

“This time?”

Xichen closes his eyes, and Wei Ying swears he’s laughing without making any sound. Frustratingly, he doesn’t elaborate, and the only thing he says before leaving is,

“You should wait in your quarters, young master Wei.”

Wei Ying does so, pouting and frowning all the way. He wants to see Lan Zhan. Wants to tell him that he spent a good portion of his night thinking about how they could write together. Add more details to Lan Zhan’s descriptions, more strokes to his already beautiful landscapes, more towns to his map. If they work together, he’s sure he can remember more and more, even with his faulty memory, because Lan Zhan makes it all come alive in his mind’s eye. He wants to tell him everything he can, and flourish what he can’t.

He lets his upper body fall against the low table in the center of his room, just like Lan Zhan’s, touching his hand on the case of the dizi that always sits there, ready to play Lan Zhan’s favorite tunes. If the board allows it, he can be Lan Zhan’s partner and help him with his assignments. And even when Wei Ying isn’t the subject, maybe he can assist him in other tasks, discover things with him, walk with him, wherever, whenever. Maybe instead of the sea, they can aim for the sky, and discover the mysteries of the stars...

Wei Ying falls asleep with his dreams running unrestrained, the incense Lan Zhan gave him burning and filling the room with a scent that is nothing but Lan Zhan’s touch, just like every other book Wei Ying now owns, the clothes he wears, and every thought he spares.

***

It’s the movement that wakes him. The feeling of being lifted, of moving, but not falling. He’s fallen before — once, and it was enough; chilling, suffocating. He hasn’t felt himself being brought up, at least his mind doesn’t remember it, though his body seems to. He holds on when he feels the welcome warmth slipping away, fingers grasping pleasant fabric, nose seeking, touching the familiar scent that thrills his senses. He mumbles, “Lan Zhan”, before he even opens his eyes, barely able to see Lan Zhan’s face in the dim lights of his bedroom. It is already past curfew.

“You should sleep on the bed,” Lan Zhan says, sitting beside him when he doesn’t let go of his shirt, his arms moving to wrap around Lan Zhan’s middle.

“I’m awake now,” he arguments, but he’s not entirely, wanting to curl up on Lan Zhan’s lap like a cat, nuzzle against him and fall asleep with his presence around him. He’s not conscious of how much of that want has made itself known, he’s very much in Lan Zhan’s personal space, can’t help it, has been wanting to talk to him and see him all day. He’s still too close when Wei Ying opens his eyes and looks at him, and he gives him a goofy grin that receives no reaction.

“Brother said you wanted to see me,” is what he gets, and he backs away slightly to pout. Lan Zhan is not looking at him, just in his general direction, lips in a fine line. Wei Ying ducks his head, enters Lan Zhan’s line of vision, now more awake — but not totally —, his mind running wild with thoughts. Lan Zhan averts his eyes again, starts to speak, something about the board, unaware that Wei Ying isn’t really listening until he cuts him off.

“Lan Zhan.” It makes him stop mid-sentence, blink, and lift his eyes. Wei Ying, who has spent too long of his short life receiving the wrong kind of attention, wants to be part of Lan Zhan’s day, wants him to look at him, wants him to look at him like he’s interesting and good. How old is A-Xian? His sister’s laughter is like bells every time he thinks of her. It makes him smile wider. “Would you cut my hair?”

He doesn’t know why he’s stopped at that question, of all the things he wanted to say. It matters little when it makes Lan Zhan blink a cute confused blink.

“Now?”

Wei Ying nods. Lan Zhan doesn’t respond at first, seeming to ponder his request, then, with a sigh, stands up and leaves the room. Wei Ying rushes to one of the cushions by the table, sits cross-legged and wiggles his knees up and down until Lan Zhan is back with the scissors. He still looks cautious, brows furrowed, but approaches and settles behind the clearly excited Wei Ying.

“Are you sure?”

“Mn!”

He can feel Lan Zhan’s fingers touching the ends of his hair, brushing against his back. He thanks the dim lights for hiding his shiver and the fact that Lan Zhan can’t look at his face. Now quiet and unmoving, he closes his eyes, trying to ignore the heat on his face, but it only makes him hyper-aware of Lan Zhan’s presence. It’s a good feeling, maybe even addicting, if not for the ache in his middle. He wonders, not for the first time, if his spiritual energy reacts to Lan Zhan. He lets out a laugh, an amused huff of air, at the idea of sharing his energy with Lan Zhan in ways different from playing music for him. He’s warmer still; being bad at meditating and emptying his mind sure is coming back to bite him then.

“Wei Ying?”

“Go for it, Lan Zhan.”

“What style do you want?”

He shrugs.

“Whatever is the style of now.”

A pause. Then,

“Hold still.”

Lan Zhan unties the red ribbon — his own gift — and Wei Ying’s hair falls long and free. The way Lan Zhan brushes the black strands is reminiscing of the way his sister used to, but that’s only because he has no other reference. Still, sister’s fingers were skilled, getting rid of his knots in no time, always giggling and telling Wei Ying that he was such a boy and should take better care of his appearance before expertly tying it half up with elaborate ornaments. Lan Zhan takes his time. One hand holds the comb, slides it down, the other follows its movements, fingers open, almost contemplative. Wei Ying is trembling, he’s sure, but other than that, he doesn’t move. He waits, almost painfully so, until the comb disappears and he hears the sound of the scissors.

Would he end up looking like Lan Zhan and his brother? What did Lan Zhan have in mind? And whatever it was that Lan Zhan saw, would Wei Ying be able to see it too, clad in the same clothes as him, hair in the same style as his, looking no different from any other person in the building, or would he look like just a poor imitation, out of place?

Wei Ying clenches his fingers on the fabric of his pants and waits. His hair falls and falls, layers of a past put to rest.

At last, the comb is back. Lan Zhan’s fingers don’t brush against his back anymore, he can feel the ghost of his knuckles against his neck. It’s not as short as he expected it to be, but he smiles when he feels Lan Zhan comb it up, ultimately tying the ribbon back in a high ponytail. When he announces, “Done,” Wei Ying tries not to bump into him as he rushes up and towards the mirror in his bathroom.

The ponytail is high and the end barely touches his nape. He moves his head from left to right, left to right. Lan Zhan didn’t touch his bangs but Wei Ying messes them up, tries to part them a different way. It looks nice. Perhaps even acceptable enough that the older scholars don’t feel the need to stare at him every time he walks by. He smiles and nods to his reflection, before turning back to Lan Zhan.

In the time Wei Ying took with the mirror, Lan Zhan is almost done sweeping the fallen hair off his floor. Wei Ying leans against the doorframe, watching him clean, making friends with the buzz in his core when he looks at Lan Zhan. He’s meticulous with everything, not a single wasted movement, unlike Wei Ying, who jumps from idea to idea, forgetting the first by the time he gets to the fifth.

He catches Lan Zhan’s hand after he’s done sweeping and before he can leave.

“Lan Zhan, hear me out.”

He pulls Lan Zhan by that hand, leading him to sit on his bed, where he starts talking about where they should begin, how they should work together. It’s disjointed, with no prompt or start, a thought that begins at the mid-day point since he’s spent so much time on it alone, but he pays no mind to sense until Lan Zhan calmly speaks,

“Wei Ying.”

When did he get so close to Lan Zhan? He forgot to let go of his hand, but he doesn’t look annoyed. His eyes seem to capture the fairy lights.

“You should sleep.”

“Lan Zhan,” he draws his name out in a whine, letting his head fall against Lan Zhan’s shoulder. “But you’ve been gone all day.”

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” is the placating reply, but Wei Ying is still making displeased noises as Lan Zhan gently but firmly pushes him away and down on the bed, pulling the covers over him as he probably meant to do when he walked in on Wei Ying sleeping. The ever-present care in the simple actions is enough to make Wei Ying cling to him again, hold his hand with both of his.

“How was it with the board? Are they mad at you?”

Lan Zhan shakes his head.

“They understood.”

“What did they understand, Lan Zhan?”

Lan Zhan seems so unguarded as he looks down at him from his still sitting position. He can make out the worry and the words that make their mark on his lips, feel his hand hold back against his in the semi-darkness.

“Wei Ying.”

Wei Ying hums, tilting his head at him.

“Are you not... still...”

“Lan Zhan, I can’t hear you properly from here.”

He tugs on the hand he’s holding. For all his endless ramblings, he had never known how to quite put his feelings into words. His sister had said it was because he felt too much and all at once, that it was hard for him to name them all. So he told her he loved her by eating all of her food and praising her as the best lady in the land, told his brother he loved him by annoying him into sparring practices and shouting curses, and told his family they meant so much but not quite everything with one last look behind before he took on his journey, embracing the weight of ingratitude placed on him by resentful disciplines and his own adoptive mother. With a tug on that hand, he expresses his last wish at the end of the world. He, who had come to the realization that he had wanted someone to take him in, show him the meaning of the vast infinity of the horizon, discover with him the mysteries he had always wanted to unveil. He had wanted to know all about the world, leaving his loyalty behind for the sake of a romantic life like in the books, only to realize it meant nothing on his own. He tugs, and he pulls, and hopes he’s caught.

Lan Zhan allows himself to fall. He soundlessly exhales, appears to physically let down a heavy weight from his shoulders without quite collapsing onto the mattress. Like everything he does, his moves are thoughtful as he lies down, but even then, maybe inevitably, maybe just naturally, like gravity, like attraction, Wei Ying instantly draws closer, their still clasped hands marking the space between them.

Pretty Lan Zhan. With a finger, Wei Ying lifts his bangs, tucks them away behind his ears so he can look at his eyes. How could he have missed the shadows at the corners, how small those attentive eyes were, and how Lan Zhan struggled to keep them open. Or maybe it was just then that Lan Zhan allowed it to be seen, in those right circumstances, like a spell with the right casting. A spell that breaks him free, overflowing emotions pouring out of his heart with reckless abandon, a wave breaking against his rib cage, out, out of him, all the way to the man whose cheek he caresses.

Wei Ying crosses the space between them like it’s nothing. Maybe it had always been nothing, always just a thin line, a curtain of the lightest touch, see-through, liquid, through which they were always looking at the other, challenging the physics that separated them. Lan Zhan with his indulgences, his gifts, his warmth, and Wei Ying with his laughter, his curiosity, his unstoppable desire to be the center of someone’s universe. The kiss is feather-light, a caress, a breath. Lan Zhan’s head is barely on the pillow, their hands are still clasped between their bodies and there’s still so much to be said, to be discussed, to be understood, but Wei Ying has lost his balance and the thread of it all. He just knows Lan Zhan isn’t leaving and that he’s exhausted and lying there with all his defenses down. Or Wei Ying is. Neither push away, only closer. Kissing again, like the ever coming tide, eyes fluttering shut, whispers shared between breaths. Words that bear not much thought but promises and comfort and calm.

They fall asleep there, the night almost giving in to the day, hearts laid bare to the dawn.

***

For the next while, days blurring together in a pleasant present, they tread together along Wei Ying’s steps in his ancient, forgotten youth. They sit side by side in Lan Zhan’s room, the smell of his incense tickling Wei Ying’s core and bringing about details that had been buried in the corners of his ever-active consciousness. Wei Ying excitedly elaborates on the customs of villagers, on hard-working women who were both warriors and mothers and pillars, like his own adoptive mother once was. Sitting across from each other in the library, Wei Ying draws legends and fierce enemies he had defeated, as well as the heroes venerated by the sects, and more than one scholar stops by to look down at his work, nodding with approval, mouths gaping with barely contained interest. Wei Ying bites down his lips at times, afraid that his laughter will be misinterpreted from joy to offense, not now when he’s finally been able to appeal to their curiosity.

A line is definitely crossed, though the road has been long and full of thorns. He trades the robes that were a mere simulation of his past for clothes in the same style of everyone else’s. He feels the loss of the weight of his robes more than he felt the loss of his long hair, as if he’s shed something important, something akin of a mask or perhaps a protection, a strength that came with the known. On the day Lan Zhan asks him to go sit outside with him for the first time, he gifts him a small bell on a purple string. It’s nothing like the one he used to wear when he was a boy, outstanding and memorable, but he takes it gleefully, tying it around his belt, announcing his arrival at every corner as he bounces and circles around a Lan Zhan that does little to hold back the amused tilt at the corner of his mouth.

Draped across one of the white tables outside, Wei Ying whines about how he should have been allowed to come out sooner. Beside him, Lan Zhan hums in agreement, not looking at him, choosing to look at his pad with downcast eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says, soft words carried to Wei Ying like pollen in the breeze. Propping his chin on his open palm, his free hand moves closer to Lan Zhan’s, which sits on the table, fingers flexing nervously. The pale sun, shy between the clouds, melts their shadows into one.

“Lan Zhan, ah, Lan Zhan.” His name is sweet in his tongue; better yet, it’s addicting, akin to his favorite taste, the sharp notes of a liquor he hasn’t tasted in a thousand years, but it must have tasted like this, he’s sure. “You’ve given me so much. Between us, is there any need for apologies? I can only ever thank you.”

“No,” is the immediate response, and Wei Ying’s smile falters, a moment between breaths. “You don’t need to thank me. You’ve given us... me, more than I could ever give back.”

Lan Zhan makes the overcast day into a summer day; even if the wind blowing in their hair is wrong, it’s right in how his skin seems to glow with warmth, in how he wants nothing but to lie down, maybe right there, on that table, and bask in Lan Zhan’s sincerity and praise. He doesn’t do it, however, but moves closer, in their reinvented concept of personal space, his chin on Lan Zhan’s shoulders, his arms hooked around Lan Zhan’s own.

“No apologies and no thanks, then,” he says, too hopelessly happy to look back at those eyes that he feels on him. “What are we working on today?”

They don’t work for very long in that lone spot of clean air and white flowers. The rain comes quick and without warning, thin but relentless. Lan Zhan runs for shelter without delay but Wei Ying lingers, eyes closed and mouth open, laughing at the downpour. He could stay there forever, for as long as the rain lasted, and wants nothing more than doing just that when Lan Zhan appears beside him. Despite being soaked, Wei Ying’s beams at the way Lan Zhan’s bangs cling to his face.

“I remember being caught in the rain during a festival in Yunping city,” he says, voice rising to be heard over the raindrops. “The performers never stopped. They would dance with their clothes drenched, and the music was so loud, I could feel the drums in my chest. And I played my flute and they let me join their crowd.”

“Play for me?” Lan Zhan asks, with a hint of pleading, with a touch of reverent. Wei Ying can only laugh again, dizzy with delight, and nod, Lan Zhan’s hand closing around his and pulling him back into the building that sits among the clouds.

He plays a merry song as Lan Zhan dries his hair with a towel, both of them smelling of soap but still tasting the rain. After Lan Zhan combs his hair, he wordlessly reaches for the pad and starts writing, even though they had already worked for the day and hadn’t discussed anything for the evening. With his chin on Lan Zhan’s shoulder, Wei Ying watches the verses dance across the screen like the entourage at Yunping, the poem painting the colors of their robes and lips and the laughter of the children. He lets out an amazed sound, crowns it with a “Lan Zhan is really amazing,” and laughs at the way the scholar’s ears are colored pink. With his diligence, intelligence and craftsmanship, Lan Zhan would have been an outstanding cultivator. With his unparalleled beauty, he would have been admired and respected. Yes, he would have fit perfectly in his time. With thoughts of belonging, Wei Ying nuzzles against shoulder, humming the music of Yunping as Lan Zhan writes, full of contentment at the harmony in the space they made their own.

When the lights dim, Wei Ying moves them to the bed to talk in whispers. He plucks childhood stories from Lan Zhan like one plucks flower petals, asking for somebody to love. He teases and laughs, smiles into a kiss that knows no beginning and no end, the sound of their lips meeting over and over again filling the hours of the night, like rustling leaves in the wind, like flowing water, always rushing forward and forward, unstoppable and inevitable, like a summer storm.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan calls his name, so overbearingly fond these days. Had he always said it like that or is the color in the darkness of Lan Zhan’s bed different, navy-blue like in dreams? The curtain keeps the outside obscured, out of place, out of time. He sees Lan Zhan’s face against the pillow in shadows, sees him in his fingertips that kiss his cheek. “What happened to you?”

Wei Ying laughs, though it’s humorless. Just a reflex, though it hurts; just a little bit now. Just a tinge of regret.

“Lan Zhan, what could have happened to me?” He says, turning, lying on his back, looking at the ceiling as though it’s the sky he used to sleep under, cold and alone. He never speaks of the North, and Lan Zhan probably noticed it. He’s too bright not to have noticed it, but not too kind to drop it. “I traveled and I learned. I met people and I lost people. I lived and I died, just like everybody else.”

Lan Zhan’s hand lies on his chest, next to his heart, and he must feel the truth in his heartbeats. He hopes he can. It’s all he has to say.

“Were you happy?”

Wei Ying turns his head, inches closer until the cold tip of his nose meets his partner’s. Lan Zhan is always so close now and he’s addicted to it, almost desperate for it, as if he’s going to lose it. But when he wakes up, Lan Zhan is still there, just like he is then, awake in the serene darkness, one arm serving as his pillow, his other hand falling from his chest, seeking Wei Ying’s own hand, fingers intertwining like stems towards the moon.

Was he happy? In his journey for knowledge, going as far as his feet would take him, though he had been too afraid, in the end, to reach for home, lest he found it gone, devoid of all the love and light there once was? Had he been too arrogant, too self-important? Too childish, too rebellious? He had dreamed of being a part of history, however small, but his own, not a parenthesis in someone else’s story. And now...

“I’m happy now.”

Lan Zhan uses the arm he’s lying on to pull him closer — will the fluttering in his stomach ever stop, his core spreading warmth all over his being? — but he’s as quick as ever, placing his digits on those waiting lips before they can claim his as they are growing used to.

“If I answer your questions, will you answer mine?”

He can feel Lan Zhan smile against his hand and he wants to invent a talisman that will keep the sanctuary of their late night confessions forever alight, like lanterns of promise, like fireflies in a lovers’ lake, so he can’t miss Lan Zhan’s smiles and his gaze, unwavering like Wei Ying had never seen before. Wei Ying collects himself and the mess of his adoration and tries to sound smart. To his ears, he only sounds lovesick.

“Lan Zhan, do you have a dream?”

He keeps his hand on Lan Zhan’s chest just like the other did for him, trying to read him while still patiently waiting for his answer. Lan Zhan’s heartbeats are steady then, and Wei Ying feels his hand fiddle with his hair ribbon, almost causing him to let out an undignified giggle. A fearless warrior, rendered silly. His brother had always called him silly and loud and dramatic. He wants to kiss Lan Zhan in broad daylight and prove Jiang Cheng right, so he can hear his yelling in thunders.

“I want to...”

At the pause, Wei Ying moves closer still, letting his hand fall from his chest so his arm can wrap around his middle. Wei Ying hums his encouragement, lets Lan Zhan feel its vibration in their proximity.

“Do you want to rebuild your parents’ library? Be the most distinguished scholar? Learn how to play the dizi properly?”

The hand that plays with his ribbon gives a slight pull, and Wei Ying lets out a half-yelp, half-giggle.

“I want,” he restarts, and his next pause lasts a single breath, “to understand.”

“Understand what, Lan Zhan?”

“Where we went wrong. And how to be better.”

“Lan Zhan, that’s not quite a dream.” Wei Ying huffs a laughter, but his mind is still, caught. It’s more than a dream, it’s an ideal, and admirable and beautiful. Like Lan Zhan. He closes the final, minimal gap between them, resting his forehead against Lan Zhan’s chest, fingers tangling in his hair, nails scraping gently against his scalp. “A dream would be more like... Finding the good in the world.”

“Mn.”

Wei Ying smiles, eyes closed, and all of his senses are Lan Zhan. The heart in the ivory tower.

“Is that it then? Ah, my Lan Zhan is really too much, I really can’t take it.”

They let the words pass them by, meaning evaporating in the air, unexplored.

“And you?”

“Mm?”

“Wei Ying’s dream.”

Wei Ying inhales, but doesn’t miss a beat.

“That’s easy, Lan Zhan. I’ve traveled the Earth, so now I want to uncover the universe!”

Lan Zhan’s hold tightens around him, and he can’t remember a time when they weren’t close anymore. What had changed, even, with time? So little. So much, the difference between proximity and intimacy. The moon, from new to full.

“Do you think the directors will allow it?”

“I’ll talk to them.”

“Will you really?”

“Mn.”

He’s smiling when he kisses him, can’t bring himself to stop. Lan Zhan’s heart is beating so fast but he kisses with care, as if Wei Ying is something precious, as if the pace is not his to take. Wei Ying tips him a little further then, a little further every night that follows, presses him down with kisses, fingers discovering a new language that he never mastered in his old life. Being a lover is new, he has no master to name, but Lan Zhan catches him right where he ends, and he holds Lan Zhan when he trembles, when he’s vulnerable and undone with the extent of his own emotions. Wei Ying can’t stop calling his name, and he hears his own, whispered against his ear, against his mouth, in breathless huffs against his hair. He discovers, eventually, not in a moment or specific time, but knows. That he had lived a whole life discovering himself and now wants one where he discovers another. He wants the one where Lan Zhan lives and breathes and writes him poetry, where he looks beautiful when he’s focused, and where he smiles when Wei Ying is silly and playful and doing everything in his power to love him and be loved in return.

Ah.

Is that what it is to truly dream?

#The Untamed #Mo Dao Zu Shi #fanfiction #Wangxian #Lan Wangji #Wei Wuxian #Alternate Universe: Science-fiction #alternate universe: time travel

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ghostbustermelanieking · 5 years

Text

phantom weights chapter three

one, two

season 11, post my struggle iv. part of my series that i write as i rewatch the x files.

Summary: In the wake of their second encounter, Mulder, Scully, and Jackson reconnect (both by accident and on purpose).

---

The days were entirely too empty.

Scully hadn't gone without a job so long in years. Even when they were on the run, she worked as a waitress or cashier whenever they stayed in one place for long enough. She'd always been driven a little crazy by not working, ever since she was in her twenties; she thought that she and Mulder had similarly restless souls. Now, they had no jobs, nothing to do besides sit around the house all day.

Scully was fairly sure that she could get her job at the hospital back (or at a new hospital), provided that no one found out about the things she had leaked on the Internet. But Mulder had convinced her to wait until a few months after the baby was born, and considering it was a high risk pregnancy anyways, Scully couldn't argue much with that. She needed the rest. They'd already more or less determined that Mulder could just stay home with the baby once it came along—they’d talked about a teaching position at Quantico, but they weren't sure that the FBI had any goodwill left for the two of them. And besides that, he seemed to be okay with the idea of staying home. “I'm getting old, Scully,” he joked at one point. “I'll be a stay-at-home dad, take care of the kid. Maybe I can even get some writing done.” (He used to talk about writing, years ago, but he'd never gotten around to it. The idea of him taking up writing again made her incredibly happy.)

It wasn't really the lack of jobs that was the issue. It was the emptiness of the days, all the space to think about where their son was. If he was okay, if he was hurt or getting into trouble, if they'd ever talk to him again. It was enough to drive her crazy.

She tried not to linger on it. She told herself that knowing he was in Richmond was better than knowing nothing. She told herself they couldn't push, or he'd pull away. She told herself that she would have to just wait. And Mulder was saying the same things.

It was nearly agonizing, but they found little ways to fill the day. They read a lot. They found movies to watch or TV shows to binge. They lay in bed half the day, or made slow, lazy love in the middle of the afternoon. Mulder had off-kilter ideas for novels or short stories that he scribbled down on scraps of paper. He painted the baby's room while she advised on color from the hallway, not wanting to be affected by the fumes. They did every single thing they'd ever wanted to do, and things they'd never known they wanted to do. They tried, as best they could, to keep their mind occupied. Sometimes they succeeded. Sometimes they didn't.

They talked about the baby a lot, whenever they could. They speculated on gender sometimes; Mulder thought it was a girl. When she asked how he was so sure, he would just smile and shrug. “I just know,” he said mysteriously. He had name suggestions; she made a couple of her own.

He was in love with the baby already. He slept curled at her back, his hand often straying down to cover her belly. He'd talk to the baby sometimes, tell her stories or read to her from whatever book they were halfway through with. (It ended up being some book of accounts on the Loch Ness Monster, or a book on scientific theories or medical discoveries.) He loved fixing up the baby's room, even though the whole thing seemed a little premature. He was doing all the things he didn't get to do the last time, and she loved it. It was overwhelming as it was scary, the fact that they were doing this again, and she couldn't believe she was experiencing with him. She'd missed him so much with William, missed all the things he'd never gotten to do. She burst into tears at one point, unable to hold back the rush of grateful emotions.

The first time the baby kicked, they were both on the couch reading, Scully growing tired enough that the words were starting to swim around on the page, and she was about to suggest they go upstairs to bed when she felt a strange fluttering in her abdomen. She dismissed it as indigestion at first, until it happened again. And again. And that was when she realized what was happening, when she remembered this feeling from years ago.

Excitement suddenly sprung loose, in the pit of her belly, and she let the book fall to the couch, pressing her hand to the spot. She felt a little phantom foot push back against her palm. She smiled, unable to help it; that was their child in there. Their baby. Despite her guilt over what happened the last time she had a child, despite her fear that she would lose this baby, despite her regret that it had happened this late in life, she couldn't help but love this child tremendously. Couldn't help but be excited, just a little excited.

And Mulder. Mulder was here this time. She was alone the first time William kicked. The first time William kicked had been the night before Mulder’s funeral. She'd been crumpled in the corner of the couch, trying to think of what she could do next (how she was going to keep on without him), and then she felt it, the little flutter inside of her. She'd dismissed it at first until she felt it again and again. She ended up crying, almost as hard as the night she found Mulder dead, her hand pressed to her stomach as if she could tether herself to the baby, make him feel her presence. That was the first time in a long time that she hadn't felt alone. The last time this happened, Mulder was dead, and now he was here, he was with her, and the combination of grief and gratefulness bubbling up inside her made her want to cry.

“Mulder,” she said softly, hand still over the baby.

“Mmm.” He was still absorbed in his book, some new release about Bigfoot theories that he'd probably read to the baby at some point.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and nudged his shoulder. “Mulder, you have to feel this,” she said.

He looked up from his book, startled, his eyes immediately shifting to her abdomen. “Feel… is it… is the baby kicking?”

She nodded, with a little smile, and his eyes lit up. He reached out to touch her stomach, hand landing on the wrong spot, and she reached out to guide it to the right one. She could feel the baby kicking at his hand, and she really did want to cry now. The smile spreading across his face meant everything in the world to her.

“Oh my god,” he said softly. He leaned down and kissed the round swell, stroked the spot. She laughed a little, unable to help it. He laughed too, both hands there now. “She's kicking so much,” he said with awe. “Are they supposed to kick this much?”

Scully sifted her fingers through her hair, loving the feeling of his hands on her stomach. Years ago, she'd craved his presence madly, and now he was just unquestionably there. “It's perfectly normal,” she said, her voice warm with affection. “Although you might be disappointed when she turns out to love soccer instead of basketball or baseball.”

“I can learn to love soccer,” Mulder said, kissing the spot again. “Hi, baby,” he whispered, and she felt the flutter of movement again. “How you doing in there?” The baby kicked again in answer.

Scully grinned a little, rubbed her hand over her stomach. Mulder wrapped his arms tight around her waist, cheek against her belly. “I love you,” he murmured, and Scully stroked the top of his head again.

“Which one of us are you talking to?” she asked, amused.

He looked up at her, his eyes dark. “Both of you,” he said. “I love you both so much.”

She seized a handful of his t-shirt and pulled him up until they were nose to nose. Kissed him sweetly. “C’mon,” she said, pushing hair off of his forehead. “Let's go to bed.”

“I think I'm right, you know,” he said, getting up off the couch and extending a hand to help her up.

She took it. “About whether or not it's a girl?” she asked as he pulled her to her feet.

“Mm-hmm.” He smiled peacefully, wrapping an arm around her waist. “And you're coming around, too. You called her she, you know.”

She rolled her eyes. “You're delirious, Mulder,” she said, elbowing him in the side. “We're both exhausted. Let's go to bed, okay?”

“Skeptic,” he said happily, starting towards the stairs. “You did call her she.”

“Only because you did.”

“Sure.” He kissed the top of her head. “I'm working harder on convincing you on something, every single day. Someday, it's going to happen, and you're going to tell me I was right."

“Okay, Mulder,” she said patiently. “Okay.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek.

He rubbed a hand over her side, the two of them stilled on the bottom step, and whispered, “I hope she looks just like you.”

---

A couple of days later, they had a doctor's appointment. They went together, Mulder sticking to Scully's side the entire time, holding her hand. Scully's heart gave a little flutter of relief when the doctor reassured her that everything looked good, the same way it did every time. It was incredibly reassuring to hear.

They got home in the early afternoon, a nap already sounding appealing to Scully. She let Daggoo out in the backyard, dropping her keys on the counter and filling a glass with water as Mulder slipped back into his office, saying something about doing some research. She leaned absently against the fridge; it was early May, and already hot as hell. She put a wayward hand to her stomach and thought about the long, hot months ahead.

Mulder's voice emitted suddenly from his office. “Hey, Scully?” he called gingerly, as if he was concerned about her reaction to whatever he wanted to show her. “C'mere for a second, would you?”

She went, her brow automatically furrowing with worry, wondering why his voice sounded so strained. But he didn't look upset when she entered the office. He was standing over the answering machine, connected to the landline he'd never taken out, despite the both of them having cell phones. He turned to her and gestured her over. “Someone,” he said quietly, “sent us a message today.”

He jabbed at the button with one finger, and the machine clicked. The sound of their son's voice filled the room. “Uh, hi. This is Scully and Mulder's phone, right? This is, uh, Jackson. Jackson Van de Kamp.”

Scully made a little gasping sound, a hand over her mouth. Mulder was leaned a little closer to the machine, as if he wanted to be near the sound. The message kept playing. “I wanted to call, and, uh, let you know I was okay,” Jackson continued. “So you'd know… Oh, and I got a job. Two jobs, actually. Burger King night shifts and a day shift at a warehouse.” He laughed like he was nervous. “Um, anyways. I guess I missed you, but I hope you get this message. Hope you guys are doing okay.” He cleared his throat, the machine crackling. “Uh, bye.”

The machine beeped loudly, jarring Scully. She'd felt a little lost in the sound of her son's voice. She turned to Mulder, her nose stinging as if she was about to cry. “He called us,” she said thickly. She'd tried to be optimistic after everything, but part of her had thought that after buying the apartment, they would never see Jackson again.

“He did,” Mulder whispered, and he turned to wrap his arms around her.

She rested her chin on his shoulder, looking at the answering machine and trying not to cry. “He's okay,” she said muffedly, pressing her lips to his chest. “He wanted us to know he's okay.”

Mulder nodded, his hand cradling the back of her head, rocking her a bit, back and forth. She sniffled, wiping her eyes, and held him tight. He had called. He had called, and surely that meant he would call again. They didn't have him back, but they hadn't lost him either, and they had the potential to see him again. The possibility of it was more than enough.

She squeezed Mulder tight and let go, reaching out to press the button on the answering machine again. To hear their son's voice again.

---

Life was going remarkably okay for Jackson, considering that a few months ago, he had thought he'd be dead any day now.

His jobs kind of sucked, but it was nice to have something to focus on. And he needed the money. He'd made a couple of friends in both places; they were the type who knew where you could get weed and booze, which was helpful. Half the free nights he had, he spent with them, but he spent the rest at his home, sleeping on the couch more often than the bed and watching the Roku he'd bought with the money Mulder had given him. (He didn't need cable, but he obviously needed WiFi.) He relied on takeout a lot at first, but he was pretty sick of fast food after months on the road. So he went grocery shopping, pushing a cart around Food Lion and feeling like a parody of an adult. He could remember grocery shopping with his mom as a kid, looking at all the brand names and begging his mom to buy him the unhealthiest stuff imaginable. Whining that he was bored when she took too long to pick out fruit. Balancing on the end of the cart while his mom pushed until she asked him to please get down. He was tempted to do what he used to when his mom would let him push the cart, which was take one foot off the ground and propel the cart forward with the other, but he figured he looked suspicious enough without bringing that much attention to himself, acting like a dumb little kid. Sometimes he'd change the way others saw his face just for the fun of it.

He called Mulder and Scully exactly once, feeling a little bit of obligation. He knew they didn't want to push him away, so he probably could've gotten away with not calling. But he also knew that Scully kind of expected him not to ever talk to them again, and that made him want to call them just to prove that he wasn't a total ass. So he did it almost out of smugness. (And, if he was telling the truth, a little bit out of curiosity.) But at the same time, a strong part of him didn't want to do it, was scared to do it. The same way he had felt right before talking to them the first time. It took forever to get up the courage to dial the phone (a cell phone, also bought with Mulder's money), and once he finally did, he was relieved when they didn't answer. He left a message, and knew it was going to their landline—he could've called their cells, but there was a greater chance they'd answer, and he honestly didn't want to pick which one to call.

That should've been the end of it. He called, and left a message. It wouldn't be an issue unless they called back. But Jackson couldn't stop thinking about it. The message over the answering machine was old—he’d known that as soon as he heard it—and the sound of the voice on the other end was strange. It'd been her voice, saying, This is Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. Leave us a message, and we'll get back to you. But it was an old message. Her voice sounded different. But he knew they'd been living separately at one point—that was why he had this furniture… So why did they have a joint message that was at least five years old? And why had it never been changed?

It shouldn't have bothered him that much, but he couldn't let it go. It was niggling stubbornly at the back of his mind. As was some other things he'd truthfully been thinking about since last December, since the first time he saw them. He hadn't known much about Ginger (or his birth father) previous to that. In those couple days, he'd figured out a few things. They were in the FBI. They'd named him William. (They'd never stopped thinking about him. They'd loved him.) But there was a lot he still didn't know, a lot he was curious about. He hated to admit it, but he was. He was curious.

He got off of work past midnight that night, and went home to his couch, unable to sleep. He tried texting Sarah (who no doubt was asleep, and didn't always text him back anyways), tried flipping on the TV, but his mind kept wandering. He was restless, and so he picked up his phone and googled Mulder and Scully, halfway expecting nothing to pop up.

The first thing that did was a movie with a suspiciously low score on Rotten Tomatoes. It was called The Lazarus Bowl, and the cover featured actors dressed up like FBI agents, the woman wearing a red bob. Jackson snorted loudly, biting back chuckles, and made a mental note to check that out later. He switched to the News section, and was surprised to see several articles pop up. Some organ-harvesting cult, some witch in Connecticut. Some more cases that made him raise his eyebrows in interest. He should've known they investigated weird shit, considering they got called in on his case, but he never knew it was such overtly weird stuff. He found an entire archive of cases, going back to the 90’s, that they apparently solved. The X-Files. Scrolling through all these cases, Jackson wondered how the hell he'd never seen this part of their lives before.

He stayed up for nearly three hours, reading about cases that sounded vaguely interesting, before he realized what he was doing. He blushed instinctively, his face hot, and closed out of the tab immediately. He couldn't be doing things like this. He couldn't be. It went against every single silent promise he'd made to his parents. The promises he absolutely could not break. He couldn't want to know about them because it was a betrayal to his entire childhood.

He halfway expected Mulder and Scully to call back after the message—Hey, we're so sorry we missed you, please talk to us!—but they didn't. He didn't hear from them for the next few days.

---

Jackson's seventeenth birthday was on a Sunday that year. He had the day off from work, incredibly, and he'd been looking forward to it at first, but now he hated the idea. He couldn't stand the idea of all that empty space, all the time to think about everyone who wasn't there. None of his new friends knew his birthday, so he didn't hear from any of them. Sarah was planning to stay up in Richmond an extra day that she'd spend with him, but he got a text from her that Saturday night saying she was sorry but she couldn't stay, that her parents were way too suspicious already. He told her it was fine. He couldn't let himself wallow. He felt pathetic even being sad about it; he was seventeen years old, and he still got mopey about his birthday like a little kid. He told himself that it didn't matter, it didn't fucking matter.

His mom and dad had given him a great birthday, every single birthday, no matter how much of an ass he was being. Thrown him a party, every year. They'd get him a cake and they'd eat it for breakfast, sometimes in his bed. This year, Jackson bought a cake at the store, but he couldn't find the brand they liked, and the replacement didn't taste nearly as good. Eating cake on the couch alone while watching Netflix wasn't exactly the same of years and years of cake with his parents, and he suddenly found it hard not to cry. He wiped his eyes, pushing his plate away. He felt very small. He realized he couldn't remember the last time he thanked his parents on his birthday, and he was suddenly disgusted by himself. He lay down on his couch, his cheek against the cushion, curled into a ball.

They'd done the cake thing every year for as long as he could remember. There was even a picture of him on his first birthday, smeared with chocolate in his brand new high chair. He'd been adopted at about nine months old, so his parents had spent every birthday with him except for the very, very first one. The one where he was born. The one he'd always been the most curious about his whole life.

Jackson winced, shutting his eyes and rolling over so he was lying facedown. He was thinking about Mulder and Scully now, if only inadvertently. Wondering what that first birthday was like. Wondering how they would've celebrated, if they would've celebrated, if he'd never been given up for adoption. He didn't want to think about it, but now that he was, he couldn't stop. He hated himself for it. He missed his parents so much.

He thought, more than once, about calling and seeing of any of his friends were available. But every time he almost reached for the phone, he chickened out. He still felt insecure around them, he barely knew them. He wanted to be with the people he loved, but he didn't know if he had any of those left. So he lay on the couch, eating cake and pizza and watching Netflix. It wasn't the worst birthday he'd ever had, all things considered—he had been bitten in the eye by a tarantula on his sixth birthday, and spent months in the hospital getting experimented on afterwards—but it sure as hell wasn't one of the best.

Towards the end of the day, Jackson was stretched out across the couch lazily, thinking about ordering some Chinese, when his phone rang. He scooped it up, halfway hoping to see Sarah's name, but that wasn't what was there. Instead, he saw an unfamiliar number that he recognized immediately. It was Mulder or Scully, on one of their cell phones. He knew it as soon as he touched the phone.

He could've declined the call, but he didn't want to. He was astonished to discover that, sitting there holding the phone: he didn't want to decline. He hadn't talked to anyone all day.

He answered the phone quickly, without thinking. "Hello?"

He heard Mulder's voice on the other end, overeager and cheerful and nervous. "Hey, Jackson! It's, uh, it's good to talk to you, buddy."

"It's, uh, it's Dana and Mulder," Scully added, and he could suddenly see them on the other end of the phone, crowded around it to talk to him. He wasn't picturing it; he could see it.

"Oh, yeah, I know," Jackson said, flushing red. He wondered if he should start calling her Dana instead of Scully. (Or Ginger. He thought of her like that absently, without even thinking about it too hard; it was what he'd done for sixteen years before he knew her name.) "Hi."

"Hi," Scully said, her voice soft.

Mulder cleared his throat, and added, "We, uh, we just wanted to call and wish you a happy birthday." He said it almost apologetically, like he needed to justify their calling.

"You know when my birthday is?" Jackson said, without thinking. He grimaced as soon as he said it, because it sounded dumb to his own ears, but it had felt like a valid question. They'd given him up; they'd never celebrated a birthday with him. Maybe they'd forgotten it. Maybe they didn't care.

But no, they hadn't forgotten. Of course they hadn't. He should've known that, remembering everything they'd said to him since the first time they met. The way they always acted around him, it should've been obvious they wouldn't forget. He felt embarrassed for even asking.

"Oh," Scully said in the softest voice, "sweetie, of course. Of course we do."

"Seventeen, that's a big year," Mulder added. "You can get into R-rated movies."

Jackson laughed automatically. "I can get into those anyway, you know," he said. "I can make myself look like anybody else, remember?"

Mulder laughed, too. "I guess so," he said. "But now you can do it without worrying you'll be found out."

"Yeah, guess so," Jackson said. He was smiling a little without noticing it. It was incredibly relieving to hear another person's voice, wishing him a happy birthday.

"We got your message," Scully added. "A couple weeks back. Thank you for calling."

"Oh, yeah." He caught himself smiling, and instantly felt ashamed. His head hung forward loosely. He chewed at the inside of his cheek. "You're welcome," he said quietly. He was looking at the cake on the coffee table and thinking that he wished his parents were here. His mom, who always sung Happy Birthday in a tone-deaf voice, and his dad, who would always have noisemakers and a party hat on even at six a.m. And then he was thinking about Mulder and Scully (or Dana), and how they would have celebrated his birthday.

He didn't want to think about it, but of course, you always think of the things you don't want to think about. He was wondering about his birthday, and then he thought about the first one. An image flashed through his mind, uncontrollably, of a younger Ginger screaming with the pain of labor, splitting cries, an infant being placed in her arms. Him, that was him.

Jackson shook his head hard to rid himself of the images, gritting his teeth. Mulder was asking him something, and he had to concentrate hard to hear him. "—how your jobs were going?" he was saying.

"Uh, yeah, yeah," said Jackson in a rush. "They're good, they're good. People can be real asses sometimes, but you know." He buried his face in his free hand, his eyes squeezed shut. He was seeing Ginger again, lying on the shell of a brass bed with him cradled in her arms, whispering to him; flashes of her and Mulder on what seemed like a helicopter, Ginger still holding the baby (him) and Mulder holding her, his arms around her and his palm cupping the baby's head… Was that what they were thinking of?

Mulder was saying something about working in fast food, and he was holding the phone too tight. He screwed his eyes shut tighter and thought furiously of his fourth birthday, of his mom holding him and his stuffed bear, bouncing him on her lap while the family sang Happy Birthday. He hoped they could see it. He was thinking, This is what you missed out on. He was overwhelmed by the memories they were showing him. If you were so happy when I was born, he wanted to ask, then why the hell did you give me up? Why could you not spend one single birthday with me?

"I-I should probably go," he said suddenly, and he realized he couldn't remember the last thing either of them had said. He wondered if they'd seen the memory, heard what he was thinking. He flushed red, feeling like an ass. They remembered his birthday, and they'd called him, and they'd cried the day he was born, but they'd given him up, and this was the first birthday they were here for, and they weren't even physically here.

But they probably wouldn't be here even if they wanted to be. Because they thought he didn't want them to be. He bit his lip hard.

"Oh," Scully said, and he could hear the hitch in her voice that alluded to what he'd tried to show them. She had seen it. "Okay. Well, it's good to talk to you."

"Happy birthday," Mulder added.

"Thank you," Jackson mumbled. He felt like such an ass. He missed his parents. "Thank you for calling," he blurted in a rush, and hung up the phone quickly. He dropped it on the coffee table like it was a live, red-hot thing.

Another thing fucked up, he thought to himself. More people to drive away. More things to ruin. He clearly didn't know how the hell to handle anything. Couldn't stay away from his birth parents like he promised himself he would, couldn't be around them without hurting them. Maybe, he thought to himself, this was a signal to stop trying. He should just fucking forget it.

He called in an order of Chinese takeout. He ate another piece of cake. He dug some beer he stashed out of the fridge and started drinking.

Later that night, he was mostly drunk and mostly asleep, sprawled out on the bed in the bedroom for one of the first time since he moved in. He turned over with effort in bed, pressing his face into the mattress, and that was when he felt the prickly feeling on the back of his neck. The feeling of another mind melding with his. She was trying to show him something.

It was a hospital room, considerably nicer than whatever place he had seen before. He was there, wrapped up in a blanket with a little blue beanie on his head. His eyes were blue instead of brown, and he had absolutely no hair. And she was cradling him in her arms, just lying there with her eyes half closed and humming a little under her breath. Rocking him back and forth, so slightly you could barely even tell.

The emotion in the scene hit him like a freight train, an immense amount of it. He quivered slightly on the mattress with the weight of it; he wouldn't say what emotion it was, wouldn't acknowledge it, but he could feel its power.

He heard her voice, the voice he always wished he could hear as a kid. I'm so sorry for everything, Jackson, she told him. But I wanted you to know… seventeen years ago, the day you were born, was one of the best days of my life.

---

The days grew longer and hotter cyclically. They were still working on fixing up the bedrooms. The guest rooms, they had always called them; there was one that Maggie used to stay in when she visited, and another that Bill and Tara had slept in exactly once, on a pullout couch. They'd moved the couch down to Mulder's office, intending for that guest room to be the baby's room. Mulder had painted the room a muted green that reminded Scully a bit of the sea the month before. They'd ordered a crib that Mulder set up when it arrived, as well as a bookshelf and a changing table. Stuffed animals. A blanket that Tara had sent.

Scully pointed out that they were still several months out from her due date, considering it was only June, but Mulder told her it was better to be prepared earlier than later. (She agreed with that sentiment to a point, but she was still worried, just a little bit, that she wouldn't make it to term. She tried to put those fears at bay, reassured herself that everything was going well, that she and the baby were both healthy, but the fears still lingered at the back of her mind. She was terrified that something would go wrong. But she tried to focus on the hope that it wouldn't. Every time she felt the baby move, it was a reassurance.)

They worked on the other room too. It didn't need much, considering it already had a bed and they had no real idea what Jackson would want, but she wanted to put in some effort to personalize it. They bought a little TV to put into the room, as well as some books. Some DVDs. They didn't know what he might like, so they guessed, feeling guilty nearly every time they guessed. They wanted to have it ready for him.

They hadn't talked to their son since the night of his birthday. He called, several times, and left a message when they were out, which made Scully suspect that he was trying to call when they weren't home. He always called the landline, never their cells, and the messages were almost always the same. Wanted to let you I'm okay. Hope you're doing okay. It seemed so calibrated, so planned, that Scully was legitimately beginning to think that they might never talk to him personally again. She appreciated Jackson checking in with them, appreciated the amount of caring put into that—she had halfway expected him to never call at all—but she couldn't shake her sense of hurt that he was trying so desperately to avoid them. She wouldn't push the subject, but she wished desperately, at times, for a moment with her son.

Her wish came true, in a way, one day when Mulder drove into the city for a talk someone was giving. "Research," he called it, "for that novel I'll get around to writing someday." He'd invited her to come along, and offered to stay back when she opted out, but she reassured him that she would be fine. She'd lay around the house, relax, enjoy the quiet. He kissed her goodbye at the door, hugging her tight and told her to call him if she needed anything. She promised she would.

She spent the morning taking Daggoo for a walk around the property. He was eager, jumping at her legs, running for long stretches when she let him off the leash. When they returned, she went into Mulder's office and lay down on the pull out couch with her book. Secretly, she loved to be in Mulder's office when she was alone; it was a nice room to sit in, surrounded by his books and papers and pictures tacked up among newspaper clippings. (He'd cleaned it up a bit since she moved out and back in, but it still reflected the hectic nature of Mulder's office. It still felt like his own place.) There were pictures of the two of them, pictures of Samantha and of himself and Samantha with his mother, a picture of William as a baby, and the picture Mulder had taken from Jackson's room, the one where he was playing baseball. She felt right at home.

Scully was engrossed deep into her book when the phone rang, sitting on the desk. She jolted in place, startled, before she realized it was just the landline. And then something clicked together in her head: nobody called the landline anymore, besides Jackson. Besides Jackson.

Scully dropped the book and got to her feet as quickly as she could. She rushed to the desk and picked up the phone, saying, "Hello?" in a rush.

She was breathless until she heard her son's voice on the other end, his deep, serious voice. "Hi, Dana," he said. From the sound of his voice, he'd known that she was going to pick up.

Scully smiled unconsciously. The baby kicked furiously as she sunk wearily into Mulder's desk chair. "Hi, Jackson," she said. "It's so good to hear from you."

"Uh, it's good to hear from you, too," he said on the other end. He was nervous; she could hear the hitch in his voice. She could remember the conversation they'd had on his birthday, the tension there. "How, um, how are you doing?"

"I'm good," she said, leaning back a bit in the chair. "Uh, your fa—Mulder is at a lecture in DC, so I'm just lying around the house."

"Oh. That's cool," he offered. "You enjoying all the quiet?"

"As best I can," she replied, amused. "What about you? How are you doing?" In any other situation, she might've loathed the trite pleasantries, but she was so happy to be talking to her son in any form that she'd take this. Turning the desk chair a bit, her eyes fell on the picture of William as a baby, and she had to bite back the influx of tears. She honestly wasn't sure if they were happy or sad tears.

There was a bit of a pause before Jackson said, "I'm okay." He cleared his throat. "I, uh, have the day off work, and I've been killing time by watching TV."

Scully was still looking at the picture. She remembered the day she had taken it, the day that William crawled for the first time. He'd giggled with delight that first time, grabbing at her carpet and anything else he could reach with his little hands, grabbed his bunny and mouthed at its worn ears. She still had that bunny, upstairs somewhere in a box; she'd slept with it on and off for the first year since she gave him up. She wondered if Jackson could see what she was thinking about.

She blurted suddenly, without thinking about it, "Let me take you to lunch."

Jackson was silent on the other end, pausing with an air of surprise. "Lunch?" he repeated, with an astounded air.

"Yeah," said Scully, feeling impulsive. She suddenly thought of Mulder, wondering if he would mind, but she didn't want to take it back. She wanted to see her son. "I'll drive up, meet you wherever you want. Your choice. What do you think?"

"Oh, uh…" She could feel his hesitance on the other end, practically see his sheepish shrug. "Okay. Sure," he said. "That might be… fun."

Excitement rose in her stomach, rolling with the movements of the baby. She sniffled, trying her hardest not to cry audibly on the line. "Okay. Great," she said softly. "I… I'm looking forward to it. Just text me where you wanna go, and I'll meet you there."

---

She called Mulder as soon as she could, on her way out to the car with her purse hanging off of one shoulder and her keys looped around her fingers. She leaned against the car as she talked to him, the heat of the car biting through the fabric of her shirt, her heart pounding. She was apologetic and guilty—the last thing she wanted was to leave Mulder out of this process, especially after everything he had missed out on—but he reassured her immediately. "Don't be ridiculous, Scully," he said gently when she tried to apologize. "You deserve this. You deserve time with your son, alone. You don't need to apologize to me."

"I don't want to take away opportunities for you to see him," she whispered, clutching the phone too hard.

"You're not taking anything away," Mulder said gently. "Go have a good time, honey. Drive carefully."

So she went, her guilt melting away into nervousness the closer she got to the city. Mulder's support had reassured her greatly, but she was still apprehensive about spending time with Jackson. Especially considering that she'd been the one to suggest it. He had agreed to it, but how much of it had been out of a sense of obligation? But he'd called when she was at home, and he didn't seem surprised when she picked up, which meant he'd probably called intentionally while she was home, which meant he probably wanted to talk to her. Or maybe it meant nothing of the sort. She turned the subject over and over in her mind until it felt old and tough and she wanted to forget it. She told herself that he could've made up some excuse if he didn't want to come.

At the restaurant in Richmond, she sat in the car, jumpy with nervous energy. She couldn't tell if he was there yet, and she didn't want to go in, for fear that he wouldn't show. But she didn't want to leave either. She stayed in the car, jittery, her knee bouncing and the baby moving restlessly, until a car pulled into the parking lot and she gave a little sigh of relief, her shoulders sagging. She knew immediately that it was him, even before she saw the make and model of the car.

Once he had parked, she got out of the car and crossed the parking lot to meet him. He seemed to see her as he climbed out of his own car, shielding his eyes with his hands, and he lifted one hand in a wave. She could see the exact moment he noticed her pregnancy; he squinted, as if he hadn't seen right, and then his eyes widened with astonishment. She touched her stomach self-consciously, suddenly embarrassed. She'd been afraid for weeks, months, that Jackson would be hurt when he found out about the baby. If he'd think she was trying to replace him. She couldn't get a read on him, couldn't tell what he was thinking. He smiled at her when she approached, although it was a tight smile, and shrugged. "Hi, Dana," he said quietly.

"Hi, Jackson. Thank you for meeting me," she said. She realized she still had her hand on her stomach, and removed it immediately. "Do you want to go in?"

---

Inside the restaurant, Jackson ordered a tremendous amount of food. A couple of appetizers, a large entree, dessert. Scully honestly didn't know if it was out of typical teenage boy hunger or so he would have leftovers to take home, but she was starving herself. They ate horrible, greasy food that she normally would have rejected, but that she made an exception for. She'd been having strange cravings lately, and Mulder indulged her with an affectionate and devoted amusement.

It was a struggle to find things to talk about, at first. But then halfway through their order of chili cheese fries, Jackson set down his glass and said solemnly, "So I googled you guys."

Scully burst out laughing. She couldn't help it. It was exactly what she would've expected out of Mulder's son. She laughed so hard her stomach hurt, and when she could finally breathe again, she wiped her eyes with the corner of her napkin and said, "I'm afraid to ask what came up."

Jackson, who'd looked a little concerned up until this point, seemed to relax with relief. He said, "Yeah, um, what the hell is up with that Lazarus Bowl movie? Is that some sort of coincidence?"

So Scully told him the story, of Skinner's friend whose name she couldn't remember, and Sister Spooky and the Lazarus Bowl, and teaching Tea Leoni to run in high heels. That gave way to several more stories, mostly prompted by questions Jackson had about files he had found online, since Skinner had archived the entirety of the X-Files. (Scully wasn't sure whether to be upset with him or thank him, but this encounter pointed to the latter.) Telling stories about her and Mulder's heyday was extraordinarily easy, as long as she avoided the harder periods of time in her life, the deaths and the illnesses and the danger and the injuries. But there were plenty of good stories as well.

They talked for longer than she ever expected, Jackson asking questions about the X-Files and Scully answering as best she could. She felt guilty all over again that Mulder wasn't with them; he would've loved this. ("You'll have to hear Mulder's side of things someday," she told him more than once. "I'm sure his version is different than mine.")

They talked for so long, through lunch and past dessert, that they somehow got off on the subject of her family. She was telling a story about a prank that she and Charlie had played once, and she was talking about how Bill was involved when Jackson sat up straighter, interested. "Your brother's name was Bill?" he asked. "Like, as in William?"

"Oh." She was caught off guard. Miraculously, she'd gotten semi-used to thinking of her son as Jackson, and hadn't expected him to bring up his birth name. "Yes," she said, fiddling with her napkin. "He was named after my father."

"Seriously?" Jackson laughed, a crow of disbelief. "So… I'm guessing you named me William after them, right?"

"Yes," she said again. "And after Mulder's father. He was named William, too."

Jackson laughed incredulously again, yanking his fingers through his hair. "What the fuck? You both had fathers named William? And also a brother?"

"We thought it was appropriate, considering," said Scully with a small smile.

"Goddamn." Jackson rested his forehead in his palm, shaking his head with a sheepish grin. "That's so weird. That means I was named after three different grandfathers."

Scully blinked. In the moment, she'd completely forgotten that Jackson had another family. "Your adop—your parents named you after a grandfather?" she asked, clumsily skating over her mistake (adoptive parents) and hoping he didn't notice.

From the slight flinch, she guessed that he had. "Yeah," he said. "Jackson Harwell Van de Kamp, but everybody called him Jack. Which is why, uh, nobody calls me Jack." He rubbed at the back of his neck nervously. It was a Mulder gesture all the way, and the sight of it made Scully's chest hurt. "He died while I was a kid."

"Oh," said Scully, thinking of her own father, the grandfathers who Jackson would never meet. If she understood anything, she understood losing someone. "I'm so sorry."

Jackson shrugged, his face hardening a little. After a silent moment, he motioned to Scully's stomach. "So who are you gonna name the, uh, the kid after?" he said in a stilted voice.

"Oh." Self-conscious, Scully looked away. "I don't think we're going to name the baby after anyone in particular," she said. "Although we've been discussing some ideas…"

"Right." Jackson's knee bumped against the table leg. "I didn't, uh," he said with a nervous laugh, "I didn't know you and Mulder wanted kids."

Her face grew hot, hurt rising in her throat thickly. "I've wanted kids for a very long time," she blurted, before she could think about it. It might not have been the best thing to say, all things considered, but she needed him to know. "Mulder and I… we both did. We both wanted kids."

It was definitely the wrong thing to say. She could tell what Jackson was thinking even without the connection they sometimes had: Then why did you give me up? "Oh," he said.

Scully looked away again, down at the table where someone had written their name in jagged pen marks. The baby kicked again, a little foot, and she put her hand over the spot. "This one was a surprise," she said quietly. "We… we didn't plan for it. But we're happy about it."

Jackson cleared his throat. "Yeah," he said stiffly. "Kids are cool."

"They are." Scully stared at the pen marks at the table, at her neatly folded napkin. She suddenly wished, desperately, that Mulder was here with her, to ground her.

Jackson cleared his throat again, started to say some sort of pleasantry, but she cut him off. "I never wanted to give you up," she said, feeling like it might've been the wrong thing to say again, but not willing to not say it. "I-I didn't think I had any other choice. I thought you were in danger, and that sending you away was the only way to protect you, and it would be selfish to do otherwise. But I hated every minute of it. I hated myself. And I—" Her voice broke a little. "I have missed you every single day since."

Jackson blinked, as if he didn't know what to say. Scully cleared her throat, dragged a fingertip underneath her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "I just… wanted you to know."

Jackson sighed, his head falling forward into his hands. "Thank you," he mumbled. He got to his feet, not meeting her eyes. "Thank you for lunch, Dana… I've got to go. Say hi to Mulder for me, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered.

He was already walking away; he looked over his shoulder and called, "See you later." And then he was gone.

Scully had folded her hands on the table at some point during their discussion. She looked down at them now and noticed the quiver of her fingers. Everything had been going so well.

She tried to tell herself that his response hadn't been the worse one in the world. That he hopefully knew now how much she'd regretted losing him, if he believed her. But it felt like little comfort. She knew that this wouldn't be easy, but she hadn't expected it to be so hard.

She sat there, her hands shaking, until the waitress brought the check. She paid the bill and left, pulling out her phone to call Mulder on the way out to the car.

---

Jackson couldn't believe it. Even back in his apartment, he couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe he'd agreed to go to lunch. Couldn't believe that he'd actually had a good time. Couldn't believe the things he said at the end, couldn't believe her response. Couldn't believe that he hadn't known about the baby already. She was clearly months and months along; how had he not seen it?

The really fucked up part was how much he had always wanted a little brother or sister. For years and years. His parents had tried to adopt a couple times—once when he was three, and once again when he was eight—but it had always fallen through. He'd always wished it'd worked out, though; he'd always wanted to be an older brother.

#anyways this is gonna be too long #xf rewatch #xf fanfic #i wrote this

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imagineclaireandjamie · 5 years

Note

Omg HRH. Is it too soon to beg for another chapter? I mean I can get on my hands and knees. I need to know what Jamie does after that speech almost more than I need the next episode of outlander. Amazing writing as always.

I owe everyone who has kept up with this story a huge thank you for staying with me. The messages and comments about the last few parts have been absolutely incredible. Your love has been overwhelming and I can’t say enough how much I appreciate you.

Many thanks to @notevenjokingfic and @balfeheughlywed for all of their help with getting this world in order for Part XI. They helped me figure out what needed to happen for me to fall in love with this part. I hope you love it as much as I do. 💜 xx. K

Previously:

Her Royal Highness (H.R.H.)Part XI: Watched

Jamie Fraser was sure that he was breaking at least a dozen laws and workplace protocols by slipping out of the banquet hall, past a series of closed doors, and into the wing of the palace that contained the Queen’s private living quarters. But in that moment, buzzing from the exhilaration of her speech and that faint tip of her head, he would have happily spent a night or two (or a hundred) in some damp, drafty Scottish jail. If only to say that he had tried.

With a furtive look over his shoulder, he slowed his walk and began to test doorknobs. He searched for the slivers of light that indicated the existence of life behind closed doors.

He had collected the moments in which she was stripped bare (her admission that she wanted to touch him), felt the vibration filling his chest brought about by the mere nearness of her (the unique markers of their time together), and catalogued one of her breathy admissions (that she wanted his kiss, but only if he did it properly).

He needed more. Still. Even more so now having heard her address a room full of people about finding something rare.

He muttered to himself, his palms beginning to sweat as the end of the hallway came into sight.

Curses (ifrinn). Prayers (the ones he only said when he was in a bind, recalled from childhood).

But still more locked doors, more silence, unrelenting darkness.

In the end, Claire was tucked away at the end of the hall. Hidden in a room with the door partly ajar. He stood, grasping the doorframe and watching her, the relief of having found her making him woozy.

The notion occurred to him that it felt as though at least a year had passed since the lost moment they shared in the stables.

An opportunity that misfired. A faltering separation that felt like an untimely goodbye.

He had not really seen her since then.

Of course, he had just seen her at the dinner. He had played witness to her dressing down of Frank Randall and the finale of the part of her life that contained her engagement. Her speech, delivered to a room full of people, had been layered. Despite the presence of an audience, her confessions had been deeply personal (as if she unzipped her own skin at the centerline and crawled out of herself, glowing). It had been raw in a way that he was not sure anyone else there had grasped. But it had also been a message. An entreaty to him (James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser) to have hope. That all was not lost in the stable hay. That what it was between them had not dissolved into daylight at their parting. The message had dispatched with the slight tilt of her chin. In acknowledgment of its receipt, he tilted his head back.

And the change in her face (the firmness in the set of her lips slipping, the relief of exhaling a long-held breath) had been remarkable. That softness in her expression, as fleeting as it had been, had rekindled in him a dream that he had placed on a shelf in the back of his mind.

Her. Him. Them.

And then there she was in that dark room at the end of the hall.

And Christ was she ever beautiful –– her dark head bowed just slightly, arms spread wide to brace herself against the window sill, shoes abandoned and one bare foot peeking out from beneath her dress. Her back arched as she inhaled. The sound she made was deep, from her belly.

Relief tempered by exhaustion.

He was made a voyeur by the mere fact that he was frozen –– yearning to keep this moment for himself forever.

She rose to full height, eyes affixed on some unidentified point outside the window and beyond the horizon. She removed her rings, the frothy blushed champagne layers of her dress whispering over one another as she moved.

Every meaningless platitude (love will overcome) and canned speech (an expression of love) that he had written in his head fell away.

Claire. Just Claire.

One ring and then the other.

She turned from the window just slightly as she grimaced, twisting the ring on her left ring finger.

The newspapers had a field day when the Queen (the People’s Accidental Queen) deigned to wear a ring upon her engagement to Frank Randall. Royals did not belong to someone, the papers cried, with photographs of the ring peppering printing after printing. Now those some newspapers would undoubtedly have a tantrum in equal measure over the fact that she no longer wore that ring. They would smear her –– the end of an engagement, the flippant and foolish Queen.

Something told him that she no longer cared.

Her profile was illuminated with a halo of bluish silver –– her lower lip tucked between her teeth and her brow furrowed.

If there were words to describe her, he could not call them to mind in any language he knew.

English. Gaelic. French. Russian.

All of the pre-packaged sentiments with their practiced syllables were inadequate for her.

“Fuck,” she muttered. Something about her muttered profanity made him smile. She was unguarded, unaware. She was just being.

The ring finally slipping over her knuckle and off her finger, landing on the windowsill with a sharp clang. She sighed, turning back to face out of the window, her narrow shoulders folding in as she bowed her head again.

“Claire?” he started.

He had expected her to to startle (a small jump, a profane expression) at his unannounced appearance. Instead, she turned with wide eyes and whispered, “Fraser.”

A moment and then another.

He did not wait for an invitation before stepping into the room and drawing the door closed behind him.

“Jamie,” she said quietly, taking a single step towards him, pausing, and then taking another step. “I…” Her voice faded away, her lips melting into the slightest of smiles. “You came.”

“Of course I came.”

They each took another step closer, closing the space between them. He was close enough to see the lift of the tiny hairs on her forearms, the goosebumps, the rise of the delicate lines of her collarbones as she attempted to control her breathing, the layers of transparent fabric that laid one over another just just so that her dress was not sheer.

“I wanted you to come,” she confessed.

“I kent ye did.”

“I was worried that it was too late. That I had spoiled everything. That I––”

(he interrupted her –– Claire, not the Queen) ––

“and it’s no’ too late.”

It was a balm on her worry, but it did nothing to slow her pounding heart or even her breathing. Even if she had wanted to, she no longer had any capacity to choose to control herself around him. She had given that up with her confession, with her decision to rededicate (or to dedicate anew) herself to a life beyond the gilt cage in which her days had been structured by someone else on her behalf.

Suddenly, she needed him to know. To lay herself bare to him –– the messy parts and all. “The nights we have spent together have changed me. Fundamentally.”

“Aye. As they have me,” he responded quietly, fingers drumming a loose rhythm against his thigh.

To touch her, not to touch her. A wispy tendril that had loosened itself from her perfectly coiffed updo, hovering just over her temple. It curled around her face. The deep v of her dress ending between her breasts. A touch to interrupt the soft, pale skin of her mostly bared back. Testing the fluttering, diaphanous fabric covering her shoulders and arms. To find that her skin was his addiction, a habit to take up and let consume hime.

“You have changed me. Or perhaps you gave me the push I needed to find and prioritize certain parts of me.”

‘Touch her, you fool,’ his mind directed him.

He reached for the curl. Claire’s breath hitched, her breasts rising just slightly as she inhaled. One. Two. She held the breath in her lungs until it burned. Three. Four. His fingers moved down her jaw and she put her tiny fists to his waist, balling into the fabric of his kilt and drawing him closer. He resisted the urge to tell her that she was the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen.

Claire drew another breath and another, quivering as she fought the urge to turn into James Fraser’s hand, to let her eyes close and kiss his palm. “I did what I did, said what I said, not for you, but for us.”

A pause, her eyes on his. A breath and another. The vibration. It was not even close to last in the litany of admissions she had stored for this moment. She was stripping herself bare for him.

“I need to know what it is between us, Jamie. I have never…” Her fingers moved up his hip and she laid her palms flat against his stomach. “I have never felt this way before. And waiting here. Wondering if you would want me…”

“Would I want ye?” It came from his lips in a near bark, his surprise palpable. Her eyes widened, earnest and searching.

“Yes.”

“Claire, I dinna want ye. I need ye. I’ve never needed anyone before.”

She licked her lips and he saw her tears swell along her lower lash line. “It is not too late, then?”

In her adult life, her voice had never been as small as it was then. The question placed her dreams in the palm of his hand. (Those did not belong anywhere else, to anybody else; they were home now.)

He drew a breath at her question. He smiled with his answer. “No, it isna too late, and I’d still verra much like to kiss ye.”

Her reactions to his admission filled pages in a book (a memoir with chapters yet to be written) –– the tremble of her lips, the hitch in her breath, the way her eyes took on a glassy, aroused sheen. Light swirled like a whirlpool in her mind.

“Do it properly,” she mumbled, a slight smile touching her lips at the recreation of the moment in the stables. The words had run through her head a million times –– her response in the stables. They had run through his head at least as many.

His tongue was slow, sweeping his lower lip as his eyes focused on the top of her head. At his touch (an unexpected brush of fingertips over the backs of the hands that she had knotted into the front of his shirt), she let loose a quiet sigh and tilted her head to the side. Anticipating his mouth. A ghosted touch traveled over her narrow wrists, bare arms, the sloped curve of her shoulders, her throat, and jaw.

“This, though, willna do.” Her head pitched to the right as he removed the first pin from the careful assemblage of her chignon. The pin fell to the floor with a hollow ping. Her eyes fluttered closed, the moment blurring and becoming dreamlike. When he at least drew the lynchpin of the chignon, her hair tumbled down over her shoulders. “Mo nighean donn.”

“What?” she slurred, her eyes becoming slits just to look at him.

He captured a single loose curl and pushed it over her shoulder. “Basically it means ‘my brown-haired lass.’”

His gaze, blue and intent, made her skin feel too small to contain the feeling in her belly. He had peeled clean away the outermost protective layer of herself.

Armor, discarded to nothing. He would be her protection now, covering the parts of her that were vulnerable.

Disconcerted, she whispered, “I have always thought it was a dull color brown. My mom, my sister, my uncle… they were so blonde.”

“Not dull at all. Like the water in a burn.” Warm, his touch expanded across the bare skin of her upper back, drawing goosebumps to the surface everywhere. His head tilted ever so slightly to the side, fingers tangling in the curls at the nape of her neck. “Where it ruffles over the stones. Dark in the wavy spots, but with bits of auburn where the moonlight catches it.”

Her chin dipped ever so slightly, but he captured it between his thumb and forefinger.

Guiding her gaze back, he softly said, “Look at me.”

And she did.

For the first time, they were both entirely unguarded and unburdened. He could see her then. Her eyes were sweet, fragrant honeycomb cutting through biting, perfectly aged, oaky whisky. An amber pool in which he would gladly drown.

Unsayable things came to him. Things that he worried would frighten her off. (Now, forever, us, a dhia. Mo chridhe, my lass, my love, my life.)

Instead of speaking the endearments into existence, he allowed his lips to curve up. A smile. “In about a moment’s time, ye ken that we’ll no’ be able to go back to the way things were, Claire.”

The tremble in her lip. The little twitch at the corner of her mouth. The dart of pink tongue as she drew an anticipatory breath. The gentle arch of her body towards him.

“Yes, Jamie. I know.”

His name. It was as though he had never heard it before he heard it in that moment. The sweet cadence of her voice massaged it until it became neither a name nor a word, but a calling.

She continued, “I know, and I need never to go back there.”

It was as though the very crust of the earth vibrated beneath their feet then.

His fingers moved to the intricate lines of her delicate tiara as she readjusted just enough to hold onto his hips. Diamonds and sapphires caught light as he brought his fingers beneath the circlet in her hair. In the low light, prismatic shapes skipped and fell over wallpaper, danced down the front of her dress, and juddered over the narrow sliver of carpet between their feet.

She stepped forward just enough, her sigh was quiet and the catch in her breath signaling their joint tumble over the precipice. In his guts, he wondered if he was about to stop breathing altogether at the sight of her. Like she needed air, she needed his acknowledgment that things were going to be different. A huskiness overtook her voice as she recognized again the solemnity of the moment with a mumbled, “Of course you know that this will change everything, too, Jamie.”

“Aye, I ken, but I need it, too. Just as ye said. I canna go back to the way things were.”

And with that, he lifted the tiara fully from the tangle of her curls. His removal of the weight of it allowed her to take her first fully-formed breath of the evening. Eyes raked down her body as she took the tiara from him, discarding it to the floor.

“I’ve heard every word ye said tonight, Claire…” His voice trailed off, though he willed himself to speak again. “And when I kiss kiss ye, ken that I’m kissing you. Not the Queen.”

“Good.”

Neither would ever be able to identify who finally closed the gap. It was as it was meant to be. Neither made the choice. The universe did.

Bodies connected, his belly was warm against hers. The seam of them (the soft curve of her against the hard line of him) drew them closer than they had been before. The slight press of his arousal against her pinked her cheeks a glorious, springtime blossom of a color. He was unabashed, prepared for her to know everything of him. Everything that she made him feel –– in his heart, his head, his body. He tested the color with his fingers, basking in her reaction to him.

“I’m in love wi’ ye, Claire. Madly.”

He inhabited her space entirely, his hand on the fabric over her hip and his thumb inadvertently finding the soft swell of flesh there. The tip of his nose ran along her cheekbone and she felt everything but the mingling heat of their bodies dematerialize. On the tail end of a sharp breath, she confided, “I am in love with you, too. Irrevocably so.”

His left hand found her cheek, his wide palm along her jawline, angling her and urging her towards him.

Skin like pearl.

Her eyes closed, though she wanted to watch him. He was drinking her in, a storm darkening his eyes. She wanted to memorize every moment.

After only a shared breath more, her lips parted and his mouth was on hers. At first, the touch of his lips was a mere nuzzle. (Enough that she recognized that the wine on his lips and his tongue was the same that lingered on her own palate. Enough that her entire body responded to him.)

Rising onto tiptoes, her fingers curled into fabric and her body pressed into the hard curve of his chest.

Up, up, up.

Her calves ached as she arched herself higher as his hand found its way to her lower back, drawing her closer and closer. His mouth moved with certainty, as though it had been constructed from his flesh solely to kiss her.

She needed more of him.

His taste. His breath. His touch. His reactions.

She was alive and under a spell.

Needy, desperate. Dwelling in the conflagration. Burning, piercing need. Eternal.

She became liquid against him at the first swipe of his tongue –– sure, firm. Her heart went mad in her chest and she only faintly recognized the roar of thunder somewhere far in the distance. The sound that came from him met the thunder, magnified it, and made her belly clench. He tasted like rain that had not yet fallen and an entire future of doors to open. Together.

Her fingers found the soft skin beneath his jaw, holding his face gently as he eased back only slightly.

When she inhaled she felt at once young and ancient.

Carefree but knowing. Senseless and conscious of everything (all of his breaths and the guttural sound as he slows the kiss, the hammering of their pulses like the flicker of hummingbird wings just beneath the surface).

A moan rose in her, vibrating into the recesses of his mouth. He smiled again, mouth slowing as it curved against hers. Flat and unyielding, his tongue traveled one final time over hers. When their lips separated with a soft, wet smack, she kept her eyes closed. She could not force them to open. Frozen in place, she was woozy and painfully aching with the need for more.

To kiss him again. To have his hands explore with her dress and his kilt puddled at their feet.

“Ye look like ye’ve been stung by a bee,” he whispered before drawing her lower lip into his mouth. She would take more and more still.

And when they parted for the night with a promise to meet the next evening at the stables, she realized that the universe had been made for their eyes alone.

#Anonymous #jamie x claire #Royal AU #HRH #;mod kate #Her Royal Highness AU

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fluidityandgiggles · 5 years

Text

Sleep Is For The Weak - Chapter 16

Previous Chapters: Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 5, Chapter 10, Last Chapter

Writing Masterlist - for previous chapters not otherwise linked, Read on AO3

Notes (I guess): I realize it took me way too long to do this, but I can explain. Uhh...

So for those of you who don’t know, I haven’t been home since September, and I won’t be home for another... two weeks, more or less? I’ve been to places where I couldn’t know if I’d have working wifi or any wifi at all so updating this fic has been a mission. So I do whatever I can to update at reasonable times.

With that being said, I finished this chapter way back last month while on a two week long trek in Nepal and haven’t had the opportunity to upload it, so I’m grateful I can now. Because this one... was a hell of an exposition ride for a lot of shit I planned a long long time ago.

Quick disclaimer - some bits of this chapter deal with the definition of transgender, and a specific learning disorder. The definition of transgender mentioned in this chapter has been taken from the DSM-IV-TR, which is a defunct edition of the DSM that came out in the year 2000 and has been replaced by the DSM-5 in 2013. The definition has since been changed and separated, and I believe it is now called gender dysphoria, though I’m not quite sure. But it does not reflect my opinions on how dysphoria is related to being trans, I do believe (and have several sources to back me up, including the DSM-5) that you don’t have to be dysphoric to be trans. The same goes for this learning disorder, what is said in this chapter reflects only the way the characters think of it - and it will change later on, I can assure you - and not at all what I would think or say about it.

As is tradition, thanks to @whatwashernameagain for KHS and for all her patience with me and my shenanigans (and not getting frustrated with my stupid ideas) and to @broadwaytheanimatedseries for the original idea and for giving me the best commentary for my screenshots when I send them. And also to @winglessnymph , @asleepybisexual and @anony-phangirl , who have fallen out of the loop but are still there. I know I haven’t sent you anything much in recent days, but... still.

Tag list (sort of): @bunny222, @ab-artist, @sweet-and-sour-shadowling, @ilovemygaydad, @your-username-is-unavailable, @virgilcrofters, @violetblossem, @maybe-i-like-the-misery, @book-of-charlie, @thatsanswitch, @thatrandomautist, @thebiggestgaypirate, @marshmallow-the-panda

(Wanna be tagged? Lemme know!)

Trigger warning: period appropriate transphobia (the early 00s were not exactly trans-friendly). This chapter also includes (rather controversial) opinions/ideas about the definition of transgender (as mentioned in a now-defunct, but then the most recent, edition of the DSM), discussion of abortion, mentions of past self-harm, discussion of personality disorders and hospitalization, panic attacks, and description of rejection sensitive dysphoria. I’m pretty sure I forgot something though, so let me know if I have so I can add it.

—————

Friday, May 30th, 2003

"...your valedictorian, Jenna Miranda Wheeler."

"Class of 2003…"

New York was beautiful in May.

Sadly, that was not where Remy was heading today.

According to Linda, Stephen was going to go on a business trip for at least two weeks in June, starting late May. So Remy was invited over for the summer. Not his first choice, but Leah begged him to come and Emile said that it might be a good idea. But…

Spending more than a day at Linda's, combined with the knowledge that Jenna and India have graduated just a few days ago and Chris hasn't, was a good enough reason for Remy to feel shitty. And he did.

The main upside was that Georgia was beautiful in May too.

He managed to cheer himself up somewhat by thinking of the good things that happened this month - Emile's TOVA results (9/9 inattentive symptoms, 4/9 hyperactive-impulsive, definitely has inattentive type ADHD), India's name being called at graduation instead of her deadname, Jenna graduating valedictorian, his friends moving to Virginia and so on - by the time the taxi from the airport pulled up in front of the, by now, rather familiar house.

And then his stomach dropped.

Stephen was still there.

"Do you need help with those bags, Rebecca?" He asked, eyeing the massive, neon pink duffel bag and the incredibly heavy purple backpack that sat on the sidewalk near Remy as he tapped his foot nervously.

"Not from you I don't. Thanks for the offer, but… no thanks."

He was too proud to admit that the duffel was too heavy for him to lift and he could barely drag it, but he packed most of his clothes and books in it. Some were mailed home. But not most.

"That shit gotta be heavy as fuck—"

"I said, no thank you. Now, move out of my fucking way."

Leah was napping by the time he finally dragged everything inside, but Rachel was doodling in the living room, smiling brightly when she saw him come through the door. She abandoned her crayons and waddled all the way to hug him.

As much as he barely knew her, Remy definitely loved Rachel too.

"I'm going to daycare," she mumbled somewhat, trying to use words she didn't quite know yet. "You have to come!"

"You're such a big girl!" He ruffled her pigtails, picking her up. She was so light for a two-year old. "Going to daycare already?"

"Mmhm."

"I'm so proud of you!"

She just hugged his neck and babbled on about her friends and daycare, her hand flying and her almost falling from his hold. This was another happy thing to add to the list.

He wasn't happy. But this was happy. For now.

—————

Stephen left on his business trip at around seven thirty, and Remy took a huge sigh of relief. Leah also woke up from her nap a few hours earlier, all grumpy and upset for some reason, and Remy tried talking her into telling him why she was so upset.

Linda said it was because of the nap. Leah only got even more upset.

"Why am I here?" Remy asked during dinner, while Leah entertained herself (and he was sure she didn't notice much) and Rachel was almost dozing off. "We haven't had a single good interaction since I was five years old, Linda."

"Am I no longer allowed to want to be around my son, Remy?" She stung back, looking anything but as aggressive as she just sounded.

"I'll be honest with you, kid. I know you don't like me. I can understand why. But what I don't understand is why you're bringing this up in front of your younger sisters. They're too young for this to—"

"I saw a movie about penguins on TV," Leah started rambling. "They're really weird…"

The argument stopped just as quickly as it started, and Leah was allowed to go on and on about penguins bringing rocks to each other. So he proceeded to just glare at Linda, who helped Rachel eat her pasta. This was awful, this was absolutely the worst situation he could've found himself in, and… he just wanted out.

And he kept wanting out even as Rachel already went to sleep, Leah was busy doing her homework last minute, and Linda asked Remy to help her clean up.

"I'm only here because Leah asked me to," he almost hissed as he was tasked with packing the leftovers in incredibly familiar tupperware containers.

"I want to spend more time with you, Remy. I'm still your mother—"

"Well, you haven't acted like it, like, ever!"

Linda sighed, putting the plate she was holding in the dishwasher. "I don't want to sound like I'm making any excuses—"

"So don't make any."

"—but I was barely your age when I had you. This is no excuse, I'm not trying to say that I had no idea what I was doing because of that, but I sacrificed so much of my life to raise you!"

"You could've aborted me! You could've been smart and used protection in the first place!"

"Condoms aren't a fail-proof—"

"Face it, Linda. You never wanted me. You're not homophobic or transphobic for the sake of it, it's clear you have at least some level of respect to queer people. You just never wanted me in the first place."

The next plate she was holding broke in the sink. "How fucking dare you say that?!"

"I'm just saying—"

"I have never wanted something in my life more than I wanted you!" Her screams hurt Remy's ears, going as far as to make Leah cry in the other room. Linda immediately lowered her voice. "I know I've been a bad mother to you. I regret every decision I've ever made while I was married to your father, except being married to him and having you. And I've spent every day since leaving you and your father regretting my decisions, and wanting to make it up to you, but you kept pushing me away. How do you think that makes me feel, huh? Do you still think you're the only one who's been robbed of something in this relationship?"

"...you had Leah while you were still married to Dad" was all he could say. And he hoped he'd have the last word. "Was she a mistake too?"

Sadly, you can't always get what you want.

"Leah… is problematic. But she wasn't a mistake either. None of you are, and you can stop saying that. Whatever is wrong with her does not make her a mistake. Just as your gender identity disorder does not make you a mistake."

"No, you're right. It doesn't. It makes me transgender. A female-to-male man. You know those terms? Female to male, transgender? It's what people call it nowadays."

There was another long moment of silence as Linda cleaned up the broken plate and Remy finished packing up the leftovers, and Leah stopped crying.

It was a stressful silence. Very typical of home life with Linda Brigham-Hollander.

"...you may not have come at a time I liked," she sighed after everything, falling into a chair. Remy was ready to leave the kitchen, but this wouldn't let him. "I know we could've… waited a few more years. But you came when you did, and I don't regret that. You were never a mistake. I may have a hard time understanding… what… your identity. I'm trying my best to educate myself now, you know—"

"That's almost five years too late."

"I don't know what Leah told you about her school life, but whatever hardships she got understanding stuff—"

"She has no trouble understanding stuff as far as I can see—"

"Educational stuff. School material. She got that from me. Education comes harder for me, you may not know that. I was never the brightest student and I only completed my high school diploma when you were three years old. Don't get me wrong, this has nothing to do with you. But I couldn't learn when you asked me to. It felt like—"

"Linda, it didn't take Dad five years to be able to call me by my name and use the correct pronouns. Even if you don't mean it this way, this is bullshit to me. And I hope you get it."

And then he got up and left, leaving her to her own. If she cried, well… that's none of his business.

—————

Sunday, June 8th, 2003

Nathalie and Emile were getting ready for the Tony awards when Emile had a panic attack.

No, that's not true. Emile has been having panic attacks all week long for some weird reason he couldn't explain, most likely not being able to talk to Remy all week long since his phone died and he couldn't get a new one just yet. But today was the worst one. So Julie lent him her phone for a call, to explain himself so he won't panic so much, but…

But Remy wouldn't understand. He'd be mad if Emile tried to call him from Julie's phone because of some panic attacks… and then he'd hate him, and then… and then…

Then he wouldn't have a best friend anymore…

What was India's phone number again…?

She picked up on the fourth ring. "India McGinty—"

"It's Emile," he almost sobbed the second she picked up. "I… I have a question…"

"Oh, honey, of course. What is it?"

"Do you think Remy would hate me…? My phone died and I can't get another one until next week and—"

"Emile, are you… are you crying right now?"

"No… I did before, I just…"

She sighed before clearing her throat. That's it, she hates him too—

"Do you mind if I pass you over to Jenna? She's better at this than me."

"...okay…"

"...Emile?" Jenna's voice was softer than India's somehow. She'd never raise her voice, but Emile was scared of the people who'd be there when she does once she becomes a lawyer. "Can you please explain what's going on?"

"Well… my phone died, and I can't tell Remy because he's with his mom and I don't wanna call him while he's with his mom, so I'm scared that if I don't talk to him all summer he'll hate me and then he won't talk to me anymore and I can't—"

"Let's slow down, you're only upsetting yourself. Remy is your best friend, right?"

"Yeah… I mean, I like him a bit more but, but it's not like I can just tell him that, and…"

"That's fine, we're not gonna focus on this for now. That's for another time. But he's your best friend, right?"

"Yeah, I just told you!"

"So why would he hate you for something like that? He's going to understand, I'm sure."

"I don't… know… it just feels like he might…"

"I know. This feeling fucking sucks, doesn't it?" She chuckled. Emile couldn't answer to that. He just… he couldn't. "But it's not healthy to dwell on this feeling. It might become a self-fulfilling prophecy if you fret about it so much."

"What do you mean…?"

"...have I ever told you that I was institutionalized until my second year of college?"

He couldn't stop his jaw from dropping. "No…"

"Okay. So I'll tell you now. I… how squeamish are you? I don't want to… trigger anything…"

"I don't know… I don't… I don't think I really mind much…?"

"Okay, I… I'll censor it anyway. Is that okay with you?"

"Yeah."

"So when I was fourteen, I started harming myself. It's not… it was what you'd think, but not for the most part. I didn't cut really. But my parents knew, and they gave a ton of fucks and not just because they had a reputation to uphold like I thought they did back then. They just… they gave all the fucks."

"Okay… I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"Don't apologize, you had no part in this. And you never will. I promise."

"Okay."

"Two years after I started, my parents sent me to a psych ward. At that time they thought I was depressed, it was too early to diagnose me properly, so… I've lived for three years on doses of antidepressants that didn't do a whole lot, because nobody knew. I was finally diagnosed with borderline personality disorder when I was nineteen, my medication prescription was fixed and I was let out of there when they decided I'm doing well enough to be able to live on my own again. I spent my first year of law school with a nurse attached to my hip, can you imagine?" She laughed, and Emile struggled to hold back a smile.

"Actually yeah… my sister is narcoleptic…"

"Oh shoot, sorry… didn't mean that. Anyway… back to the topic at hand, yeah? I was… infatuated, for a lack of a better word, with this guy. His name was David. I thought I was in love with him, but it turned out I idolized him to a point where he became my favorite person, and that was an incredibly toxic experience. He was like… like Angelina Jolie in Girl, Interrupted. But dialed up to eleven. He was a fucking asshole and I haven't seen him in years… he was transferred to another place after an incident that involved one of my friends, she ended up almost killing herself because of this guy. And my anxiety over being perfect for him, over making him like me and making sure that he keeps liking me, made me extremely unhealthy in the long run."

There was a pause, possibly for Emile to process. Most likely. This wasn't fair… this was totally not fair! Why did good people have to go through shitty things?

"My next favorite person after him was a girl I dated for a couple months before India." Jenna sounded kind of breathless at that, as if she was crying herself. "And… she made me talk to her. She asked me questions for clarification all the time and helped me with my anxiety, especially when I felt like this. I was tiring, but… it's the effort she put into this that counted. Emile… you gotta talk to Remy."

"But… but I can't…"

"Who said? Communication is key. I know it might be really hard, especially for you, but… call him. It's his birthday soon, right? In July?"

"Yeah…"

"Call him. Write down everything you want to tell him and tell him then. I promise it'll make your anxiety a lot easier to manage."

————

"Remy," Linda called from the living room as he was heading to bed. This was becoming ridiculous…

"I told you, I'm not talking to you for the rest of this—"

"I can't read a single word in this cursed book of yours."

"...what book?"

"This DSM thing. Remy, darling, why do you need this book? It's so difficult to understand, couldn't they have written better books about this?"

He ended up not going to bed after all, instead resorting to making himself tea and going to sit on the couch next to her.

"Mom, that's… that's the diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders, mom. It's existed since the fifties. This is the revised version. They can't make it simpler to understand, I don't think."

"Well, your grandma's always said that if a child can't understand what's written, it's because the writer is bad at what they're doing."

"And so have a lot of my professors, but sadly this is what we have to work with. What's so confusing anyway?"

"I was trying to read about your… your thing, the gender identity disorder thing…" she turned the book to him. The passages in this section have been highlighted the day he bought the book and he knew them by heart. Well, for the most part. "I'm sorry, but the words are just… long and confusing."

"...that's fine… it's totally fine, I can… I can simplify it for you…"

"I don't need you to simplify it for me, I know English. I just… I can't read this! Big and confusing academic paper words."

Oh fuck…

"I'm a painter, not an academic, Remy. I can't read. You know this. You've known this forever."

"I forgot you're dyslexic…"

"And what does forgetting that help you?"

"Nothing… let's… let's go over this together, okay? The sections that apply to me." He waited for Linda to nod, rather reluctantly, before putting on his own pair of reading glasses.

"So, to diagnose someone with gender identity disorder there are two criteria, identifying with the opposite gender and feeling dysphoria. In order to meet those criteria, you gotta not be intersex, which I think is pretty stupid, and also it has to affect your daily life."

"Yeah, I know that. Your shrink told us that when you were fourteen. Let's move on, okay?"

"...okay. In boys, aka trans girls, this doesn't apply to me… okay. Girls with GID, aka trans boys, display a intense negative reactions to parental expectations, blah blah blah, you never had any expectations of me so this doesn't apply…"

"No no no no no, you will read this out. No skipping."

"Okay, fine! Girls with GID display intense negative reactions to parental expectations or attempts to have them wear dresses or other feminine attire. Some may refuse to attend school or social events where such clothes may be required... They prefer boy's clothing and short hair, are often misidentified by strangers as boys, and may ask to be called a boy's name. Reminds you of something?"

"...go on."

"Their fantasy heroes, yeah no, I never had fantasy heroes…"

"You had She-Ra."

"Yeah, but she made me gay, not trans, mom. Prefer boys as playmates, contact sports… yeah, none of that either…"

"You used to play soccer as a kid. Your dad has a lot of pictures of that, you know."

"I… didn't actually know that… huh."

"You didn't learn to kick a ball from your father, though. I'll tell you that."

It took a bit of time for Remy to stop himself from giggling, deciding to sip his tea instead. It didn't work very well.

"Yeah… well… moving on, ‘they show little interest in dolls or any form of feminine dress up or role-play activity. A girl with this disorder may occasionally refuse to urinate in a sitting position. She may claim that she has or will grow a penis and may not want to grow breasts or menstruate. She may assert that she will grow up to be a man. Such girls typically reveal marked cross-gender identification in role-play, dreams and fantasies.' Does any of this sound familiar, mom? Because I don't… I don't actually know."

"Until now… yeah. All of that sounds incredibly familiar. Look, I…"

"I know what's you're gonna say, and please don't. It's fine. I know you panicked, I know you said things you didn't mean to, but… can we leave that for now? That's a bridge we're gonna deal with later. Now, adults with GID…"

They ended up staying up for far longer than either of them wanted to, but it was alright. Linda wanted to learn. Remy was willing to teach her.

They only barely made it to bed at three in the morning, the page bookmarked for tomorrow, when they'll continue reading.

#kylo cant write #sanders sides #remy/sleep #emile picani #keep him safe #sleep is for the weak #the remy centric prequel #tw: period appropriate transphobia #tw: mental health discussion #tw: invalid/defunct definition of transgender #tw: discussion of abortion #tw: mentions of self-harm #tw: personality disorders #tw: hospitalization #tw: panic attacks #tw: rejection sensitive dysphoria #wow this is a long one

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allivegottodoislove · 5 years

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The Song Remains The Same

here it is! chapter sixteen, like 13 weeks after i promised it! sorry that my life got so hectic! but it’s summer now, so i’m trying to write a ton more for you guys! as a small update, i might post a larger one later, but i do promise that will be an update next week. ive been writing the next chapter of a lad insane, so there will be an update of that next week. i am going to try to have an update of this fic for next week, though, because i do know that this seems to be the preferred fic

but without further ado, enjoy chapter sixteen!

At some point in the night, everything started to blend together for Calypso. Where her body ended and Robert's began, she wasn't sure anymore. They had spent hours wrapped around each other. If Calypso didn't know better, she would have thought Robert was dying. But it was quite the opposite, wasn't it?

If Calypso had been capable of coherent thought, she would have pondered it. Was this his celebration of life? Or a man dealing with news he didn't know how to deal with? Besides another death, this might just have been the worst news Robert could have gotten. At least, that's how it seemed to Calypso.

Her brain wasn't working, though. Robert had effectively, for that night at least, shut off any thought processes. She didn't need them.

By the time they had finally passed out, they were both sticky and sweaty. They were just a pile of limbs and sore muscles. Neither cared, though. All they had wanted was to continue touching, to never let each other go. The good fight against their eyelids had been lost.

Robert was the first of the two to begin to stir. His eyes flicked open, adjusting quickly to the little streams of light in the room. He began to move, but soon realized he couldn't. Calypso was carefully tucked into his side. Her head rested carefully on his arm. Even if his heart had felt a little cruel, his arm was asleep. The rest of his body might want to stretch, but it would have to wait.

His attention turned to the rest of his body as he thought of it. It ached. But, this was an ache that Robert had long forgotten. It was no longer the aches and pains of old age; the pains of all the harm he had caused his body gone. It was almost easy to forget they had ever been there.

Calypso shifted slightly. Robert turned to face her, but noticed she was still lost to sleep. Let her have a few moments more, he figured. It was tough for him. He couldn't imagine the thoughts running through Calypso's head. He hoped he offered her more solace than pain.

His spare hand, the one not curled in Calypso's hair, ran down his own torso. It was a physique he had long forgotten. It was one that he had only managed to maintain on the road; mountains of cocaine had made it all possible. Now that he had been given it back, would it be back to those old vices? Robert hadn't thought of anything harder than marijuana in years. But what was to stop him now?

The one part of his body Robert could stretch, he did. It was the leg he had injured years ago in that accident. It felt like a lifetime ago to him. To this body, it had never happened. Perhaps it was what he was most grateful about now. That leg had never felt right again after, never healed completely as it should have. On rainy days like today, it would ache and protest his every movement.

It was only natural when Robert's attention shifted back to the warm body against him. It was a familiar feeling. Most of his life had been spent like this: a pretty face in bed that he hardly knew, but had already grown comfortable with. Perhaps that was his true vice. Robert's love flowed freely. He'd never been one to believe in having a single love.

It hadn't been until recently that the stream of girls had stopped. Finally, he had gotten too old. Or, the world had moved past him, his rock star status meaningless to those women. This one had changed that, though. Unknowingly, she had even made it possible for that stream of women to return.

Another old vice Robert wasn't sure he'd like to return to. His bed had gotten lonely. There was no denying this. But now he had a new girl to fill it, one he rather enjoyed.

She was a pretty face, there was no denying that. Looking at her now, Robert would be a fool to suggest anything else. At least, he would feel one. Any sign of concern or worry was wiped from her face. Despite her age, Robert had noticed her eyes always carried some anxiety in them. All he found himself wanting to do was wipe that away.

Looking closer at her, he could see a faint smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. It seemed her tanned, olive skin usually hid them from the world. Robert counted himself lucky to see them.

His mind, and free hand, quickly wondered from her face to elsewhere. It never took him much to get going. Even in his old age, he had still gotten there quickly when he needed to. Unable to stop himself, he leaned in and placed a kiss to her lips.

At the sudden new pressure, Calypso woke. Her eyes fluttered opened and she gave him a sleepy smile. It was still so much for her mind to process. In her groggy state, she half thought the vision of him was a dream.

It took a second kiss for her heart to really jump into action. This was real. It was all real. Her only physical reaction was her smile grew just a bit more.

As she came a bit more too, she reached a hand up to play with his hair before returning his kiss.

"Good morning," she mumbled. It was obvious that sleep was still in her voice. For a faint moment, Robert debated letting her sleep. As much as he would have loved to spend the morning lazily making love, he couldn't keep her up like that. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and smiled.

Before any words could leave his mouth, there was a loud banging downstairs, accompanied by some vague grumbling. Robert could only sigh and run his hand down his face.

"Good morning to all of us, it seems," he mumbled. Calypso just chuckled softly before she leaned in to kiss his cheek. "As much as staying in bed with you all day sounds perfect," he said as his hand ran down her body, "I do believe that we have our guests to attend to."

Her heart froze a little at least. She knew it was foolish. Time and time again he had said they were their guests. Hell, last night he had asked her to stay, indefinitely. But there was still something that got to her. Maybe it always would. It was hard for her to guess how things might play out.

The memory alone of last night had her wanting to cry. Not the sex they had, she would never be saddened by that. But rather, how gentle he had been when talking to her. She knew Robert had a way with words. It how he had won over the whole world; his lyrics spoke right to people. Having that magic worked on her personally would always get to her.

"I'll go deal with them now," he mumbled. He finally wrangled his arm out from under her and sat up. His arms went above his head to stretch, and Calypso couldn't help but reach over and tickle at his sides.

"You devil!" He roared with laughter as he turned to face her. "Just for that, you're on your own with the shower!" If Calypso hadn't seen the twinkle in his eyes, she might have thought he was serious.

"You wouldn't do that, now," she said as he laughed again.

"No, I suppose I wouldn't want to do that," he said with a laugh. Calypso stood up from the bed, and all at once began to realize how sore she was. It hadn't hit her before then. Or, perhaps it hadn't mattered until her legs tried to give out from under her.

"Worked you a little hard last night?" Robert asked with a chuckle. Calypso just rolled her eyes and laughed.

"Nothing I can't take again," she said with a wink. Robert offered her his arm as he kissed her forehead.

"I'll walk you there, maybe be so kind as to explain how the shower works," he said with a smile. She nodded and simply followed him. It was a bit unnecessary, after a few seconds of standing she had gained her bearings again, but the contact was nice. She'd never refuse it.

Once in the bathroom, Robert let go of her arm to grab a towel and place it on the sink. "Now, this contraption can get a little tricky." He spoke with a grin as he slid the shower curtain over. "This little thing here controls the pressure, and the other controls the heat. I do hope you enjoy yourself," he said. The grin he had on his face lit Calypso's insides on fire again.

"But, if that's not good enough for you, feel free to take a bath. If you don't, I might just try and con you into one later." Calypso could only smile and lean up to kiss his cheek in response.

Once she started the shower, she looked back at Robert with a grin. "I might just let you con me into that bath later."

Another loud bang came from downstairs and Robert rolled his eyes. "I'll leave you to your peace now, and go deal with our rather raucous guests," he said before disappearing. As much as she hated parting with him, watching him go, especially naked, was such a sweet sight.

Calypso held her hand out under the water, waiting for it to get warm enough. That didn't take too long. How he managed to have such a lovely shower in the middle of nowhere she didn't quite understand. But, that mattered not now. She stepped into the shower and closed the curtain behind her.

Once the water hit her back, she was unable to keep herself from letting out a gentle moan. Any of the knots in her back seemed to come undone between the pressure and the hot water. It was exquisite.

For a few moments, she just stood under the showerhead and enjoyed the warmth. Her eyes flew open when she thought she heard the door open. Would Robert be joining her in the end? No noises seemed to follow immediately, until she heard Jimmy yelling from downstairs. The door made a quick slamming sound not long after. Perhaps he had thought about it, but their guests were too much. She'd have to gaud him into that bath later.

All of Robert's hair products smelled amazing. It wasn't something that should have surprised her. He always smelled divine. It would only make sense his products would as well.

It wasn't until she began to wash her body that she realized how much Robert had marked her up. Nothing but hickeys, of course. She doubted he would be capable of the things she heard Jimmy did. But, she found her body littered in hickeys. None were in plain sight, something she was incredibly grateful for. Her thighs, in particular, seemed to be the most marked up. She could remember him eating her out, how could she ever forget, but she didn't think he had put that much work into it.

As she stepped out of the shower and reached for the towel on the sink, she realized she hadn't picked out any clothing. For a moment, she began to wonder where her suitcase had gone. She hadn't seen it this morning, or even last night. Had Robert moved it on her?

She wrapped the towel around her and noticed that, on the closed toilet seat, there was an outfit picked out for her. It seemed as if Robert had picked out something for her. He already seemed too sweet to be real. It was just a pair of black jeans and a sweater, but it would do. Now she wouldn't have to worry about leaving the warmth of the bathroom completely naked.

She slipped the jeans on, and then the sweater. It looked similar to one she owned. Of course it would have to hers, right? It was just a tad bigger than she remembered, and she certainly didn't remember packing it. But, with the whirlwind she had been swept up into, she couldn't blame herself for forgetting some things.

She ran the towel a couple times through her hair, just to make sure it wasn't completely soaked. From there, she found her way downstairs. The smell of good food filled the air, and she knew that she had to head toward the kitchen. It was where Robert would be. At least, she assumed that's who was cooking, based on dinner last night. Perhaps things would be changed up.

Walking it the kitchen, the first thing she saw was the back of Robert, his curls halfway down his back. How he managed to get them to look so nice, seemingly without any effort, was lost on her.

"It smells delicious," she said after a few moments. A girl had to enjoy a view, right?

"Just in time," he said as he turned around to face her. His face lit up as he made eye contact with her. "I cooked up whatever I could find for a good English breakfast, I hope that you don't mind," he said.

"I've yet to have a proper one, and I can't imagine a better, or more handsome, cook," she said with a grin. Robert grinned and just rolled his eyes. "Was it you that snuck back into the bathroom to gift me with my clothing?"

"Well, the sweater is mine, but it looks better on you than it ever did on me. One of the few things I found I had lying around from a different era," he chuckled.

Calypso, on the inside, could only melt in that. Now it made sense why the sweater looked so familiar. It wasn't one that she owned. Rather, it was one she had likely seen him photographed in. But, also, he was giving her his clothing to wear. It was stupid, but it was probably the most romantic gesture someone had ever done for her.

"I'll make sure to give it back to you," she replied quickly.

"Darling, you don't need to. Like I said, you look much better in it," he said with a smile. "I didn't want to go searching through your bag too much, privacy and all," he said while waving a spatula around. "You'll have to unpack your bag eventually. I'll clean out some dressers for you."

"Oh, you don't need to do that," Calypso mumbled.

"Nonsense, I will. Now, I hope you don't mind helping me carry this to the table?" He asked as he held out a plate to her.

"No, not at all," she replied as she took the plate. It was all so domestic. Setting the kitchen table for breakfast while wearing his clothing? It felt unreal. Calypso wasn't sure what to make of it all. How could she? It wasn't like she had gone to the concert with the plans to tie down the mysterious and ever illusive Robert Plant. Hell, she hadn't even been planning to sleep with him.

There was just so much to process all at once. For the most part, she could handle it. But there were small pockets were she felt overwhelmed with anxiety. She didn't want to lose this. It was good; honestly it seemed a little too good. What if she managed to screw this up? The spell might say they were meant to last forever, but what if she took a wrong step? What if he found another woman?

It wasn't like Robert was known to fall for one person. Even back when he was freshly married, he was a notorious womanizer. There was nothing keeping them together. She hadn't had problems with his ways when Robert hadn't been so real to her. Now he was, and he was back to his Golden God looks, what would stop the Golden God ways?

Touring was the big question. With all this, she refused to believe that Jimmy would press to get the real band back together. Logically, she knew he probably wouldn't go on tour again. At least, not with Zeppelin and probably not on his own for a while, with the new looks and all. That was assuming they ever went public with this whole disaster. Though, she wasn't sure how they manage to hide it forever. There would be other woman all over him on the road. It wouldn't be hard to find a prettier, more experiences girl than her.

Now wasn't the time to be freaking out about that. It was too early in their relationship, if she could even call it that, to start to worry. If she did, she'd look crazy. It was a roller coaster she was going to have to learn to just ride. It's what Robert always seemed to do.

"You'll be joining us for breakfast, right?" She asked as she looked back at him.

"Of course, I didn't cook all this for nothing. I'm not getting paid," he laughed, "Just tell everyone to wait for me, I just gotta finish this." Calypso just smiled and walked into the kitchen.

She took a few minutes to set the table. Of course she knew this wasn't all the food. Robert would likely be bringing in more. It looked like he had been planning to feed a small army. Maybe with these men, and Jonesy's wife, it would be like feeding an army. Robert knew them better than she.

From the kitchen, she went to the living room. The sounds of idle chitchat and the morning news filled the room. It seemed to be some news story on their concert. If only the reporter knew the goldmine that might come out of Zeppelin one day.

"Morning everyone!" She managed to get out before the shock hit her. The sight in front of her was one that was still shocking. Jimmy and Bonzo sat on two chairs, side by side, with Jonesy and his wife cuddled up on the couch. If the news hadn't just said the day's date, she would think it was 1972 again. It amazed her. It took everything in her body to not have her jaw drop. As it were, it was clear she was still a bit shocked because Jimmy chuckled under his breath.

"Morning Calypso," Jonesy said with a smile. It seemed he was the only morning riser. Everyone else sluggishly turned to her with a smile, and mumbled their good mornings under their breathes. Bonzo and Jimmy practically grunted.

"Rough night boys?" She asked with a teasing smile.

"Would have been a lovely night, if someone hadn't been managed to keep me up most the night," Jimmy mumbled. The look he said it told her everything. They'd all heard her and Robert, likely all night. Her face turned a bright red from sheer embarrassment.

If Jimmy had heard them, there was no doubt that the whole house had heard them. Were the rest of them just going to put up with it? Never tell them they had been horrendously loud?

"Oh god, I'm so-" she opened her mouth to apologize by Jonesy cut her off.

"Now, Jimmy, there's no need-" he said, but was cut off by Robert as he walked into the room.

"Consider it payback, for all those nights on the road, especially during the 90s tour," he said with a laugh. "We've all lost sleep and years off our lives because of the noises you and your little girl friends made," he said.

Jimmy answered with a roll of his eyes before he spoke. "All in good fun, Robert, of course it's all in good fun," he said with a wink. Robert just rolled his eyes before he motioned for everyone to follow him.

"The kitchen table fits us all better, wouldn't you agree?" He asked. "Besides, some of you are messy eaters and I'll be damned if you stain the furniture," he said with a smile.

Everyone laughed at that and followed Robert to the dining room. It seemed that he had brought out a few more plates than Calypso had assumed, because there was much more food than she had remembered.

Robert took his seat first, and motioned for Calypso to sit down next to him. Everyone else filled in around them, with Maureen on her other side.

"How did everyone else sleep?" Robert asked as he began to pass the plates around.

"I couldn't get to bed," Bonzo said as he began to pile the food onto his plate. No doubt he was hungry. Calypso couldn't really blame him. "I suppose taking a twenty something year long cat nap will do that to you, he said. There was a nervous tone in his voice.

But at least he was joking about it, Calypso thought that was at least good. It was an uncomfortable subject. Looking around at the table, she could see the mix of reactions. It was clearly a joke, but a joke no one was quite ready for. How did you joke about your buddy's death with the dead buddy?

"First time in years I got to wake up without that crick in my neck," Jonesy said. There was a smile on his face that was suggesting something else.

"And you, Mo? I hate to think we kept you up like the princess here," Robert said as he pointed a thumb at Jimmy. Jimmy, in return, just hugged and rolled his eyes.

"Oh, no no," she chuckled. "Both me and John slept just like babies." Her grin matched Jonesy's and that was what made the spark in Calypso's brain go off.

She knew very little of Jonesy's marriage. It didn't seem to be very well publicly documented, and honestly she never really did the research into Jonesy. It never hit her to. But the way they were grinning and looking at each other? Perhaps her and Jonesy were the ones that kept Jimmy up, not Calypso and Robert. She couldn't help but chuckle a little bit at that.

Breakfast, from there, seemed to be a roaring conversation about nothing as they all passed plates around. Once everything seemed to be piled high on people's plates, the conversation died down as they all ate. It was clear the stress of yesterday had made plenty of room in all their stomachs.

Once Robert was done, he looked around the table to notice that everyone else seemed to be just about done as well. "I'll go put the kettle on," he said as he got up. It only took him a few minutes to return and sit down, clearly waiting for the scream of the kettle before he returned.

"Before the tea, though, I don't want anyone to go anywhere. I think we have a few problems to deal with. The first is the dishes, I'm not washing up after all you animals," he laughed. "But, there are a couple other, bigger issues I think need a bit of our attention as well."

#the song remains the same #robert plant fanfiction #robert plant fanfic #led zeppelin fanfic #led zeppelin fanfiction

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 5 years

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Little Sadie, part IV - The Mondo Bongo, prison and a man (Sam Drake x reader)

Description: The only man who left you broken and destroyed, the one who was your whole life fifteen years ago and the one who was constantly on your mind lately, is back. Samuel Drake has risen from the dead and you bet your ass that the night wasn’t the last time you saw him.

A/N: Ok, so we should be in the last part - I guess. Thank @missdictatorme for being such a supportive sweetie and @samdrakeftw for being an amazing part of this fandom.

Mood for this chapter: Well after a long reconsideration, it will be the song I named this chapter after - Joe Strummer’s Mondo Bongo. But to be honest, I ended up a playlist on Spotify named Sexy as folk and Winter Acoustics.

Part one Part two Part three

Word count: 5 975

Warnings: Well go ahead and just see for yourself??? I guess? Jesus, I'm still terrible at this. Just kidding. Smut ahead! Yeah, finally.

And you hung up the phone, looking through the window to the distance and didn't believe to what have you done. You just seriously told your ex, someone, who completely forgave about you for fifteen years to come over? Did you just start to apologizing him in your eyes like he was some sick kind of a saint, or what was going on in your head?

Were you going crazy? Most probably you were. But Samuel was on his way to your apartment and since he knew where you lived, you had to be quick.

There wasn't a place for your old football t-shirt or a messy hair bun, which was kind of cute but messier than the thoughts inside your head. You just dressed up into a tight yoga top, leggings and a crop top which was like three sizes bigger than you. You still looked tired, you had black and deep circles under your eyes, your skin was unnaturally pale and you definitely lost some weight in last ten days because of being in work almost all the time.

Then you started to chaotically run and tried to clean up your whole flat. Just before you washed the last glass that you found next to your bed, a loud bell noise traveled through your apartment.

You gave yourself a moment to get mentally ready, yet you didn’t even breathe properly and opened up the door for him. And you stood there, just looking at each other.

He was smiling, slicking his heavy sweated hair the back of his head. To be exact, the sweat covered him up completely and yet he didn't look like a disgusting psycho and let's be real, it wasn't his bad that there was like a million degrees outside. It made him look like an even bigger man than he was before if it could. And thanks to that, you could see everything through that light t-shirt because it showed literally every muscle, that's how sweaty he was. Every single one you could name and imagine? Yup, you could see it.

When you've seen him before and you didn't hold your emotions back then, it wasn't as bad as you imagined it for now; just standing right in front him and looking him in the eyes. You could even feel yourself smiling at him. You wanted to punch yourself because you were acting like a little girl.

He was just a man, yet a very attractive man who reminded you of your old Sam, and you were just a woman. There was nothing to be nervous about.

“I'm glad you invited me to come over,” Samuel said, when you stepped outside from the doorframe, suggesting him to come over.

“Something to drink? Water, lemonade or tea? Whatever you want, Sam,” you left him wandering through your flat, looking at every single detail with a facial expression of a five-year-old boy.

“Some alcohol would do the trick, thank you.”

“Come on. It’s not rational to drink when it’s like a million degrees outside.” You answered loudly enough for him to hear it through the whole flat, boiling water and his playlist playing.

“You're acting like my mother.” Samuel laughed and appeared right next to you. You freaked out a little, putting a wrist over your thorax to make it easier for you to breathe.

“Somebody of our trio has to be the clever one,” you laughed quietly. “It's not my fault that I’m the smartest, motorcycle boy.” You looked at him with raised eyebrows, but your eyes were starting to shine playfully.

"This is the girl I missed," Samuel whispered and started to open cupboards in order to find glasses. You laughed quietly and step in front of him, getting on the top of your feet, opening the right one.

"We have a lot of things that we have to talk about." You reminded him in the tone of a businessman who came in for an appointment. He chuckled quietly and get two mugs and glasses down on your sector.

"A bossy tone means you are deadly serious," Samuel said from searching the cupboards for a tea.

"Hey, I would rather pour down you a drink than listen to this bickering." You opened your fridge and get him and an old bottle of rum and a bottle of Cola.

"Don't be mad," Samuel walked in front of you with slow, precise steps, swaying his sides in the rhythm of one of the songs. He took both bottles and he smoothed the top of your nose. "I don't really mind when you're bossy. Quite enjoying it actually, if I have to be honest." He joked and you gave him his well-deserved punch to the shoulder.

"Stop playing around and let's talk." You went to sit on a chair with a cup of coffee and a glass of cold water. He was almost immediately after you with a glass of rum with cola in his hand.

"Would you mind..?" Samuel sat down the table next to you and took out cigarettes from the pocket of his trousers. You stood up and went on to give him an ashtray. Then you opened a window and hot, unbreathable air just hugged you tightly. You were sweating immediately.

"Go on. I don't mind." You smiled at him a lowered the sound a bit because you wanted to hear every word, every syllable he's going to make.

"So start talking, Samuel. I'm curious and listening." You took a sip of your coffee and looked at him from under your lashes.

"Well, I’m going to talk then you should ask me some questions you want to know the answers for. I promise, that every answer will be the truth." Samuel licked lips in a quick, soft gesture almost as if it was a subconscious action and then he lighted up his cigarette.

It smelled exactly the way you remembered. It was a smell that you couldn't ignore, so poignant and disgusting on one side and seriously attractive on the other side. His gestures were still the same, he left his leg nervously jumping around, so his whole body was moving in a quick rhythm, he still could curl up his wrist in a hugely elegant way and he was still closing his eyes and enjoyed the cigarette like it's going to be his last.

He wasn't that sweaty now and maybe that made his hazel so eyes intensely not overlooking. He was looking like a fine man in his best years, reminding you of younger Harrison Ford, George Clooney or Patrick Swayze - not by his looks, but by the vibe he was sending all around him.

"So a basic one. Where the hell have you been? Why did you left me here all alone, brokenhearted and crying every single night waiting for you to come home?" You asked with a hint of sadness in your voice, feeling how it cracked with every letter you spoke.

And he started to tell you the story of meeting Raphael Adler, whom he called Rafe, and venturing out to Panama with him and Nathan. He told you about the prison guard named Vargas and the deal between all of them, with Sam being the one who knows everything about that thing they were after, Nathan was the muscle of the whole plan and that Rafe has paid everything. And when they were about to leave the prison, Rafe got a huge rage quit during the whole escape and killed that Vargas guy.

And when Samuel didn't manage to escape along with his brother and his ally, he got stuck in that prison for long thirteen years. He couldn't write to you nor his brother, it just felt like disappearing from the surface of the world.

And he was rotting there for a quite some time until Raphael found out that he's actually alive and managed to get Samuel out of the prison. Then it got pretty interesting and intense because he started to describe his little trip with Sully and Nate to Italy, Scotland and Madagascar which almost cost his, Nate's, Elena's and Sully's lives.

You were really mesmerized. It sounded like a plot of a movie, but as you were assured, he was speaking the truth.

"Look, Y/N." He stood up and started to take off his shirt, stopping near his ribs. "These are the wounds from Panama." He smiled at you and sat down, drinking his second drink.

"So I wanted to come home for Nathan, for Victor and mostly for you. I really wanted to pick up my phone and call you about what happened. But it was like a hellhole out there and word civilization was more like a curse word. I was dying there alive until Adler found me, and after we finished that thing in Madagascar, I rushed back here. And I couldn't find you for two months. Clearly, you changed the address and phone number, so I asked Nathan. And that's how the thing ten days ago happened." He laughed sadly, lighten up another cigarette and drank almost half of his glass in one try. "I now know that I should call you first, just say that I'm alive and here and give you the time to arrange the thing inside your head, but I was too eager to see you." Samuel smiled and it was like a hormonal slap right into your face. He still had his firm, small lips and oh boy, you started to remember how those lips tasted like. He definitely looked older and more tired than before, he had a much longer forehead and deeper wrinkles, but that were the details that helped him aged like surely fine wine.

But besides that, he was still smiling like that young, eighteen-year-old boy. His eyes were still a little bit closed because of those lips curling up. He was also a lot bigger than you remembered; not that he got taller, but definitely he got more muscular in the meantime he was in prison. And then, of course, there was his new tattoo. You always knew that Samuel was a rebel at all costs, but you couldn't personally decide if you like that change or not.

"Moving on," you sat back, trying to get the picture of his half-naked body out of your head. "Who you even are now?"

"I'm still the Sam that you used to know. That incompetent idiot without sense for discretion. The motorcycle boy. I haven't matured much since the day you saw me for the last time, darling. Just got a bit tougher and not so open about myself. That's all." Samuel smiled at you and you couldn't keep your eyes on your mug.

He told you so many things about his past and yet it everything added up to the last detail. Somehow you felt that he's not messing with you, maybe it was the calm and slow tone of his voice, maybe it was that expression in his eyes, you didn't know the reason why you felt so calm and cheered up by him being him so close next to you. You missed him a lot since he left you carried a deep black hole in your thorax near your heart. And no one could heal the tear in you, even though many men tried. No one was like him and no one knew the thing he knew.

And now you felt how that tear disappearing just like that. It was almost like coming home, feeling complete and alive.

“I’m glad you’re back. I really am.” You whispered and for a moment, you both shut up, listening to the playing song. After a minute or two, he jumped out of the chair, stood up and looked at you.

“Its a really stupid idea, but haven't you kept my old guitar, just in case I'm coming back?” He looked at you and finally looked like a human being and not a chicken which is being grilled.

“You are so extremely lucky, Sam. It’s still here.” You got up and went into your bedroom. His old acoustic guitar was hidden next to your cabinet. You kept the guitar in its old leather case which Sam bought one day on a flea market and since that day, his guitar wasn't anywhere else.

You also took it to your friend, a musician, who had changed the strums, because you wanted to give the guitar to one of your friend's child. But thanks God you didn't do that.

“Here it is,” you gave it to him. It was the only thing you kept from his belongings. You gave the rest to Nathan, to a nearby charity or simply threw out of your flat. But the guitar was something different. You fell in love with her, because it was a part of Samuel. The first year when he was gone, you just sat on the of the rooftop where Sam used to took you on hot summer nights, smoothing the strums with your fingers because you couldn't play a single chord. But you sat there with your eyes closed and with a weak smile you whispered the lyrics of songs he used to sang on that rooftop. You still hoped he’ll come back to you. But he didn't.

Not much longer after that, you have just hidden the guitar in your flat like a reminder of him.

“You can still play?” You asked concerned, sitting back on the chair. You watched Samuel’s smile widened much more when opened the clinches and took his loved guitar out of the case. He hugged the body of his instrument by his big hands and witch the grace of queens, his left arm started to play chords. He wasn't even looking at his hands, he had his eyes closed and he was really quietly humming to the song.

You didn't know that one, you just saw moving his finger from the seventh to tenth fret, sometimes he wandered to the fifth one. You put your face in your hands, watching him quietly with a firm smile. The music from his playlist was muted and the only sound traveling by the stuffy air were the high notes played by the strums.

“Yeah, almost forgot it back in there,” Samuel said all of the sudden, waking you up from the trance. “But the guys out there were huge music lovers. They taught me again to play and they even taught me new serenades and songs to play. I had thirteen years to memorize every last one of them and my only wish was to play them for you.” He smiled firmly and you felt, how are your cheeks getting hotter.

“Don't take this personally, Sam,” you breathed out. “I'm really glad that you’re back and somewhere near, I really am. But it's not the best idea to mix my life with yours and the other way around. But I would love to be your friend.” You smiled him, watching his eyes twitched and looking at his lips smiling even more firmly.

“I get it. I would never do anything you're not feeling like.” He smiled and then he started singing. It was slow, full of emotions and passions, as you could say. Suddenly, you recognize that music from one of the older spy movies.

“I know that song!” You pointed at him and smiled. You know that tune, but not the words, so you started humming as he did before. His fingers moved along the frets slowly, pushing the strums to them when he should. There wasn't no hurried moves or a bad fingering, not once.

“Where do you know it from?” He looked at you meanwhile he played the break without looking back to the guitar.

“It’s one old spy movie, Angelina Jolie played in this movie before Tomb Raider.” You stated, not even thinking that he wouldn't know her. She was a worldwide famous actress.

“Before who played where?” He asked amused. That hit you hard. He really had to be without connection to civilization for a fair amount of time. Just there you noticed, that he’s prolonging the break because he didn't feel like singing or moving the song forward.

“Yeah, guess you're not only motorcycle boy or an idiot without the sense for discretion,” you stood up and poured yourself another glass of water. It was almost one p.m. Why did the time flew so fast with him? “You're a cultural primitive now.” You laughed and Samuel opened his mouth, then smiling and leaving your comment without a word.

“But we can manage that. I’ll help you with the last technical achievements and after that, you will be like a normal human being living in the 21st century. Even Sully knows Angelina Jolie!” You smiled at him and he finally broke the long break and started to sing another part of the song.

“What will be your repayment?” Samuel put the guitar away, curled his body until he was sitting directly facing you and smiled when he saw your opened mouth. The two of you could play this game.

“Well, it'll be some physical work for sure,” you heeled over to him with a smile on your lips. His smile started to fade slowly and his breathing was louder at that moment. “You’ll be like really sweaty after that.” Your fingers put some of your hair behind your ear and your eyes widened.

“I'm listening, my love.” He stated with the breath stuck in his throat.

“I need to help with some pretty heavy boxes to the top of my cabinet. You up to that?” You whispered. Well, Samuel was expecting something different coming out of your sweet lips, but this really amused him. He laughed loudly and you joined him in that, being all red and unintentionally cute.

“And that's all, you one bossy lady?” He got up, waiting for you to show him where to start. You got up next to him and led him to your bedroom.

“Yeah, I guess I don't really need anything else right now,” you smiled at him and showed him the mountain of boxes you had next to your bed. His eyes widened.

“You like killed somebody, or where did you get like... Twenty boxes of something?” Samuel asked in a quiet but playful voice. His face was acting like he was shocked and scared.

“It’s clothes for a charity, which is like seven months away. And I haven't got the time to move them into the cabinet. Are you up or not?” You raised your eyebrows, putting your palms on your sides.

“Well, I guess I don't want to be a cultural primitive anymore.” Samuel breathed out loud a caressed his own face with his palm. “Do I have another option?” He asked himself and went to lift the first one of the boxes.

It was a really fun afternoon, slowly turning into the evening. You spent like four hour moving the boxes to the cabinet, and you had to figure out how to Tetris them in, because there was a serious load of them. Sam got his breaks during that, smoking in front of the cabinet and watching it like it should move any time soon. Well, he was expecting it to break up, but that huge cabinet just kept standing.

He was telling you a lot of jokes, some of his hilarious prison stories and you found your satisfaction in watching him standing in front the opened cabinet, sweated at places where he should be and messing his hair with fingers. He looked like an antique statue with these ridiculously perceptible muscles.

If prison left him something, it had to be the ability to take care of himself and a body of a god. And at one moment, when you laid on your bed and watched how he smokes when the sun was slowly getting low, you found yourself wondering how that body feels like under the touch of your fingers.

You left those fantasies in a moment he turned to face you with a wide smile on his lip.

“Well, boss, I think it's done. It was tough work, but your boxes are in your cabinet, as you asked.” He sat next to you and you smiled, lazily laid down on your bed.

“Good job, my slave.” You joked and Samuel laughed.

“I guess it’s time to be on my way. I will call you and we will discuss when we see each other for a class of cultural tutoring.” He stood up and some feeling hit you in the spot next to your heart. Why does he have to go? Why can't he stay a little longer?

“Actually, I wouldn't mind some playing on guitar if you’re not in a hurry.” You sat quickly with the sheets in your palms. You held them tightly. Samuel, who stood in the doorframe, slowly turned around with a playful flame in his eyes.

“I would love to play something for you, Y/N,” he whispered and disappeared on a moment. When he came back, he was holding his guitar and slowly sitting down on your bed. “What would like to hear?” He asked, playing with the strings and slowly pulling them out, making them do a high-noted sound.

“That song you played before was really nice. Can I hear it again?” You asked, lying a bit closer, curling up to the leg which was supporting the guitar.

“I will play it every time you ask, angel.” He whispered and started to do make the guitar sound. It was angelic - his deep, husky voice singing such wispy words like a prayer, and you loved that. You loved that except for one thing. Just an itsy-bitsy tiny thing.

You forget how big turn on his singing voice was. You felt pretty badly. You asked him to play for you like two minutes ago and it would be pretty weird asking him to stop. So you let him play that song, whispering those words as tenderly as how he would whisper them to your ear, and you were starting to breathe loudly.

“Hey, boss?” He stopped all of a sudden, putting the guitar away and caressing your hair slowly. “You okay?”

You looked at him. The hair of the Litlle Mermaid was nothing against your cheeks. You were on fire, looking at him from the bottom and lying on your back. It was so fucking hard not to do anything too unpremeditated.

“I guess so.” You whispered and watched him, as he lowered himself on his elbow, watching you with those hungry eyes.

“You guess you're alright or you know that? Come on, Y/N, stop playing around. We waited for this for fifteen years, why should we keep running when we're both here now?” He asked, but didn't waited for you to give him a proper answer. He just did take your face in his hands and kissed you on the lips; first time gently as if he was waiting for a permit, then he started to be more eager. Not like he held you so tight it hurt, no way. His body just started to banging into yours more than before.

You found yourself amazed, sitting on him and not knowing what the fuck are you doing. Where was your I would love to be your friend from before? Yeah, sure, you want to be his friend, but with benefits, as it seemed. You practically confirmed him that you lied about being friends with him, but the lust in you was just too strong.

“What are we doing?” You said from tearing that insanely tight t-shirt down. It smelled like a bunch of cigarettes and sweat of a man. It smelled like heaven. Both of you stopped for a second, looking at each other, just your loud breathing could be heard in the room.

youtube

Yeah, good question. What the hell were you doing? You said yourself like two hours ago, that you want to be his friend for now and nothing more. Where did this come from? You straddling his lap with your hair being a mess, hot rosy cheeks, and a total shut down brain from being horny? Maybe it was his fingers on the guitar or him ordering that help with the heavy boxes and then, how he sweated even more than before? But that husky voice was a total panties destroyer.

You didn't know - and he didn't either.

You had to laugh quietly when you recalled the nickname you and Nate gave him when attended to go to university with the help of Sully and your parents. Mister Samuel “I will charm your panties off” Morgan-Drake. That's how you both called him.

“I don't know, baby,” Samuel answered quickly and pulled that yoga top of your body. You were so much beautiful than he remembered. It was like the age gave you more and more beautiful each year. And having your breasts directly in front of his eyes was more than he ever needed. “But don't let me stop.”

“I would die if you stop, Sammy.” You swore under your breath, unable to look away from his face. You felt like he was about to cry, when his fingers slowly traveled down on your fair shoulders, slowly caressing every inch of your skin. It was like a setting on fire, those touches were so light and warm that you were still afraid that you're dreaming and he still isn't there after all.

“Is there anything wrong, Sam?” You lowered yourself when he hugged your back and slowly hid his face between your breasts as if he was hiding before the whole world. You felt him kissing the little piece of your skin between your breasts and your neck, but you closed your eyes and held him quietly.

“No. But now is everything how it should be from the start.” Samuel whispered and raised his face, so his forehead was gently leaning back to yours. You were pressed one on each other, skin on skin and you could feel his heart beating heavily in his chest. Well, your heartbeat was as rough as his. “I should be here the whole fifteen years for you, by your side and helping you to carry those boxes to your cabinet every year.” He joked and you smiled, breathing hot air into his face. Your eyes were firmly closed, why he was watching every curl of your hair and a happy smile on your lips. “I just know that I'm finally where I should have the whole time. Inside arms of the woman, who was the only one occupying my head all that time, you know, princess?” Samuel kissed you again, slowly with a smile.

You know what he was saying although his words may seem to be huge nonsense. He told you that he was home, that the huge tear in his thorax was now cured just like yours. And God, you know what peace he felt in that exact moment because you felt the same relief.

“Then kiss me before I'll change my mind, big guy.” You whispered back with your eyes closed firmly. You didn't have to ask twice, he fulfilled your wish as if it was his own. You held each other tight, you were the safe harbors to each other, a place where your boats were destined to dock in.

You became one soul separated into two bodies almost sixteen years ago and now it felt like coming together, the world started to make sense at once. He was not a man and with a woman in his arms, you weren't even two human beings hugging each other; you were just the lost and found souls.

You didn't even notice yourself making a move, but when you opened up your eyes again, you lied on your back and he was laying on his elbow, watching you without a world by his tender eyes. Samuel looked like a masterpiece drawn by Michelangelo and you know, he should be exposed at the museum. The sun was drawing circles on his body, highlighting some of his contours and making him look so young, so innocent and fascinated. He looked exactly like the man who left. You smiled and caressed his hair with a sentimental smile, making him look rebellious.

“What?” Samuel stopped whatever he was doing and just bounced on his elbows with an amused look on his face.

“Nothing,” you shook your head and blinked twice. “I just missed you.” You hold up your arms around his neck and letting your legs hug his sides by a tight hug.

“I'm glad you did.” Samuel smiled and took the advantage of you raising that pretty little ass of yours to his flanks. Meanwhile kissing you, he started to rock himself against your lap. You got his point and started to pull your pants off.

“Did. You. Missed. Me?” You got out of yourself between the passionate kisses, mourning into his lips. Then Samuel almost made you explode with the huskiest, erotic laugh in the whole world. “I did, my love, and you know that I did.”

“You might need to show me how much you did miss me in that prison.” You let your legs out of his sides and scooped a little to get those stupid leggings down.

“How much time do we have?” Samuel looked at your naked body with a pleased look on his face. You weren't the only one burning with desire and lust, he felt his body trembling with the overtook of the feelings inside him. He wanted to have your body right in the exact moment, he wanted to be all over you like a river, caressing every inch of the skin which tasted like salt and sun.

“I have a shift starting at five a.m.” You whispered and the smile on his face widened.

“That's enough time to show you three to four times. Maybe five, what do you say, my dove?” He started to climb down the bed with spit coming themselves to his mouth after seeing your legs so naughty opened apart, just welcoming him in that sweet valley of yours. You felt his hands everywhere around your thighs and his body moving down under the bed, kneeling on his knees. You closed your eyes, letting your hands lay down on your belly.

“Think that five seems,” you wanted to joke, but a scream of pleasure just came of your lips. Your back arched themselves, his tongue making wonders on the most sensitive piece of your body let your mouth wide open and your lungs gasping for some air. Yeah, it was some time since you let somebody touch you and it was a while since you met someone who understood what you wanted, but this was a whole new level of skills. Well, not new, but you didn't feel that for so long time, you actually forgot how that tongue of his felt between your legs. “Alright...”

You let him do the wonders with your pussy, letting him suck on that sweet little spot meanwhile his fingers send chills down your spine and showing you the edge of paradise. Whatever move he made, it felt just so fucking right. There was no need for words when you made those high-pitched erotic noises, music for his ears, yet you couldn't stop yourself from talking. You haven't say much, just thing like ”That's a way to go, Sammy,”, “That makes me feel so fucking good” and when he pushed you to the top but didn't let fall down, you mumbled “You’ll kill me if you stop, Samuel.”. You begged him to continue by moving your hips a little, but he didn't react to that.

Instead, he just traveled to one of your nipples with his hand, squeezing it firmly, still working with fingers inside you and slowly blowing that ice cold breath directly to your weak spot.

“What’s... The... Deal?” You panted heavily, unable to concentrate on your own words and stumbling on them, while he continued to blow.

“There isn't any sort of deal, love. I just want to hear as much of these beautiful noises as you can make.” Samuel answered with amusement and then he pushed you over the top with that face worth riding your orgasms against, actually making you scream his name out loud when you lost yourself in the waves of orgasm. It was a pretty good one - not the best you had, but still a really good one. He stayed until the last contraction of your pussy with his lips sucked to that spot and with his hand holding to your breast.

“Everything ok up there?” He asked when you have shut up for a minute or longer, just breathing out that beautiful experience. You chuckled, looking down to him and smoothing his jaw tenderly covered in a short stubble.

“Maybe I need another proof, dear mister Morgan.” You whispered and his eyes widened of pure joy meanwhile his palms started to take off his jeans. You were a small, irresistibly lovely demon in angles body worth the waiting in prison, definitely worth the slaps and arguments. Your look gave him more joy than any amount of money in this world. “I will gladly show you more than one proof, dear miss Y/N L/N.” He answered in a pure raspy voice.

Making you feel so good had left marks on him too. His lips were slightly swollen, his cheeks were as rosy as yours and his eyes shine like the distant stars. Both of you were equally covered in each other’s sweat and it just felt so goddamn great.

It wasn’t a tender lovemaking session as you would expect. He got into his element and practically tried to destroy your bed, broke it into two pieces with the rough motion of your bodies. He was trying to kiss you, hold his forearm against yours, but it was hard when you constantly bent your head backward with eyes closed and saying those curse word like holly praise. You only knew that your hands were tightly entwined and that your knees were high on his waist, holding him close firmly.

It was a rough and animally raw act of showing you everything he kept inside of him and what he couldn't say out loud in words. Yet, or rather because of it, it was so damn rough, it felt perfect. You were just like two energies meeting and bumping into one another with a beautifully brutal force, changing each other forever.

When it was over, when the small infinity between you disappeared, both of you lied entwined together like two pieces of rope, without a single move. You just breathed and felt how Samuel kissed that small place under your jaw that he fell in love with a long time ago. You didn't want it to end, you were too afraid to let him go and lose him again. You closed your eyes, hugging him tightly and trying to calm yourself down.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked, nuzzling his face into your neck with a satisfied expression.

“That I’ll not survive if you leave me again.” You answered, closing your eyes and cuddling more into his warm body.

“You wish,” Samuel chuckled, caressing your hip slowly. “You will speak differently after a month or two.”

“Maybe you don’t have to rush?” You smiled, completely changing the subject. He looked surprised, tilting his head over to you.

“What?”

“Next time you'll come to see me, bring yourself a toothbrush and some clothes. We’ll find you a place in my cabinet.” You giggled, letting his lips carefully caressing your face with soft kisses.

“Does it mean I have to rearrange those boxes with those dead bodies?” He looked at your cabinet as if it was his worst enemy.

“I guess so...” You laughed, when he crushed his head into the pillow, leaving noises of pure suffering and a quiet “Oh God, please no.”

#samuel #Samuel Drake #samuel drake x reader #Nathan Drake #imagine #uncharted fanfiction #little sadie #warm foothills #alt-j #victor sullivan #the last and final part #i promise #this is the end #Victor goddamn Sullivan #rafe adler

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theycallmebeccawrites · 5 years

Text

Perfectly Imperfect: Chapter 3

With Tumblr holding my original writing blog @beccaheartschrisevans captive (aka flagged as explicit), I have made a secondary writing blog and may end up closing the other all together. In the meantime, I am reposting all of my stories on my new blog.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Wren Arnold (OFC)

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: n/a

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

Perfectly Imperfect Masterlist | Chris & Wren Masterlist

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

June & July 2020

Before deciding, ultimately, to help Chris out by taking care of Addy for the summer, Wren consulted her roommate, Heidi. She and Heidi had met in college and had become roommates after their sophomore year and had been roommates off and on ever since. Since they were also best friends, it meant that Heidi knew most Wren's secrets and vice versa.

Heidi's professional opinion had been that is was a bad idea for Wren to go to work for Chris, especially since she was still secretly in love with him. She also thought it was a bad idea for Wren to get closer to Addy, when she had already fallen in love with the little girl. Her best friend advice slash opinion had been pretty similar to her professional one, but she knew that Wren would do anything for Chris and, suspected based on the interactions she had witnessed or heard about in the past, that he would do the same for Wren.

Armed with Heidi's advice and her own thoughts on the situation, Wren had agreed to help Chris out with Addy on the condition that the little girl attend daycare for at least three half-days a week. As an educator, Wren knew it was vital for Addy to spend time with kids her own age, especially since she was an only child.

Chris and Addy, both, had been excited when Wren had agreed to the take the job. The first couple weeks, however, had been a rough transition as they worked out the kinks and the hiccups to their schedules. Eventually though, it had all become relatively seamless.

On mornings that Chris had an early call time, Wren would arrive at the house an hour before he had to leave. Whereas, on the mornings that he had a late call time, Chris would either take Addy to daycare or get her up and ready for the day before Wren got to the house.

On the days that Addy went to daycare, Wren would pick her up before lunch and they'd spend the afternoon together. Typically, on those days, they'd go to the house for lunch, nap time and some afternoon activity. On the days they spent all day together, they typically left the house after an early lunch and used transportation time as naptime.

No matter his call time, Chris was usually home between six and seven in the evening, which meant he was either home in time for dinner or in time to put Addy to bed. Either way, Wren always made sure that there was enough dinner for him and kept his meals warm, if needed.

On the days that Chris had night shoots, Wren got to the house just before dinner and ate with Chris and Addy since Chris had to leave right after they finished. After Chris left, Wren always let Addy help clean up dinner and then let her spend a little bit longer playing in the bathtub. Nevertheless, the little girl was always in her bed by eight p.m. and Wren had the evening to herself, usually spent watching Chris's vast collection of movies. She usually retired to the guest room by eleven p.m. and left the door open a crack just in case Addy needed her.

Since most of the night shoots happened on Friday nights, Wren was usually woken up to the sound of Chris and Addy laughing as he carried his daughter downstairs to make breakfast. Wren usually gave them some extra time alone before she ventured downstairs. By that point, Chris was practically hooked up to a coffee IV, which meant that after breakfast, he went to bed and Wren drove Addy over to his mom's house for the morning.

On the weekends she wasn't helping Chris, Wren's spent most of the weekend at her apartment getting caught up on laundry and other things that seemed to slip by her during the week. It also gave her time to plan the next week for herself and Addy around Chris's schedule.

At first, Wren left their house as soon as Chris arrived home from work, wanting to give father and daughter some time alone together. That changed, however, when Addy started asking for Wren to help tuck her in and Wren couldn't tell the little girl no.

After that, it was only natural that Chris started asking Wren to stick around, too, claiming he was too amped to go to sleep and wanted to watch a movie or something. They always put on a movie, but they didn't always watch it. Sometimes they played cards and sometimes they talked. They talked about their families, their jobs and her love life (not that there really was one to talk about), but any time his past relationships came up, especially the one with Jessa, he was suddenly tired and asking Wren to leave.

The first time that happened, Wren chose not to let it bug her, after all, Chris had put in a full day on set, but the second and then third time it happened, she had begun to take it personally. In the past, there hadn't been anything that they couldn't talk about, but there clearly was now. It was obvious to her, more now than ever, that the Chris that had returned to Boston as a single dad was not the same Chris who'd left as a newlywed.

The Chris that Wren had met at the tender age of 13, had been lively and the first to chase after you if he sensed something was wrong. They had met doing summer theater together and she had witnessed several of his "encouragement" sessions, but hadn't experienced one until the summer she had been 14 and he, newly, 15.

The play that summer had been Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. She had been cast as Snow White and Chris her Prince Charming. She had auditioned for the role knowing that she would have to kiss someone, but when the time came to practice that scene, she just couldn't do it. Every time Chris had leaned down to kiss her, she had felt every eye in the auditorium watching them and she'd yank her head out of the way at the last second.

After one particularly embarrassing dodge, that resulted in Chris kissing her nose, Wren had fled from the stage and out one of the stage doors. She had paced the parking lot and had nervously applied her favorite blue raspberry chap stick that she always kept in her pocket. She had just stuffed the stick back into her pocket when Chris had found her.

At first, she thought he was angry, but he had dispelled that thought by asking her how she was doing. She had assured him she was ok, which had led to him asking what was wrong. She hadn't wanted to tell him the truth, but he had coaxed it out of her, promising that he could help, whatever it was. She had doubted that fact, but had given in and told him the truth: she'd never kissed anyone.

Wren had expected for Chris to be surprised after she'd made her confession, but he had just nodded his head like he had expected it. Then the idiot had offered to kiss her, like it was no big deal. She had been both embarrassed and mad, obviously, she hadn't been in love with him at that point and she had let him know exactly how she'd felt about his offer.

Chris had quickly apologized for his lackadaisical offer, but had reminded her that, short of letting her understudy take her part in the play, there was no way around the kiss. After all, if they skipped the kiss until opening night, there would 250 sets of eyes watching her have her first kiss.

After listening to his reasoning and coming up with her own similar conclusion, Wren had given her approval. Chris had told her to relax and then had leaned in, pressing his lips against hers. It had been a chaste kiss, but it had been a kiss and, in the end, it had helped break the tension she had been feeling on stage.

Though they had already known each other for a year, at that point, that moment in the parking lot had been the true start of their friendship. She had already known his mom and siblings from the summer theater program, but once she had been deemed a friend by Chris, the whole Evans' family had taken her under their wings. Chris's parents had even reached out to her parents, introducing them to their social circle.

After that, despite being a grade apart, Chris and Wren had spent most of the school year that followed hanging out together. They'd suffered through driver's education together as soon as Wren had turned 15 as well as acted together in the school's theater program.

It had been at the end of that school year, Wren's freshman year of high school and Chris's sophomore year, when Wren had realized that she liked Chris as more than a friend. She wasn't sure when or how it had happened, but suddenly, one day, he was telling his mom something and the light coming in the window just sort of hit him right and Wren had realized how cute he was.

Initially, Wren had tried to shake off the feelings and, instead, had tried to channel them in a different direction, but it couldn't be helped and her feelings had only gotten stronger over the course of the summer.

By the end of the summer, she had been ready to tell Chris how she felt. There was just one little problem. While she had been trying to put some distance between them to try and calm down her feelings, he had been using that time to meet girls and had successfully gotten a summer girlfriend. Not wanting to ruin his happiness, Wren had decided to hide her feelings from him.

Of course, at age 15, Wren hadn't imagined that she would still be in love with her best friend at age 38 and have him still be none the wiser, but that was the truth of her situation. She wasn't sure if there would ever be a time or a situation for her to let her secret out, but it certainly wasn't now.

Chris might be single and in Boston again, but the fact that he was putting up a metaphorical wall between them, told Wren that he was not in a frame of mind to find out his best friend loved him. At this point, all she could do to help was be there for him.

Which is why she started accepting Chris's invitations to spend Saturdays with him and Addy. Logically, she knew it wasn't wise, but she couldn't help it, she loved spending time with the two of them and they clearly loved having her around.

It had been on one of those Saturdays that Wren got a phone call from a school in Albany, New York. She had sent the school her resume the summer after Chris had married, hoping that a change of scenery would help her in her quest to get over him, but the school hadn't had any open positions, at the time. Now, however, they did and she was one of three people they wanted to interview for a job starting in mid August.

Chapter 4

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qveenofthorns · 6 years

Text

Brave, gentle, strong: there is only one (no really—I checked)

“When you’re old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong.” – Eddard Stark, Sansa III, AGOT

I’ve seen a lot of metas about textual evidence for Sandor being the BGS That Was Promised™, and I started wondering if there are any other candidates. What if we’re all so ~blinded~ by our ship that we missed something else right in front of us? I used A Search of Ice and Fire to check every single Sansa/Alayne chapter for these words (and variations of them) to see if she thinks of anyone else using all of these terms.

Here are all of the of the uses sorted by character/chronologically (excluding the times she tells Sweetrobin that he’s brave and strong or she tells herself to be brave like Robb):

Joffrey

1. “It was a great honor to ride with the queen, and besides, Prince Joffrey might be there. Her betrothed. Just thinking it made her feel a strange fluttering inside, even though they were not to marry for years and years. Sansa did not really know Joffrey yet, but she was already in love with him. He was all she ever dreamt her prince should be, tall and handsome and strong, with hair like gold.” Sansa I, AGOT

Okay, so I think we can discount this one given the context of Ned’s “brave and gentle and strong” quote, but I really wanted to cover all the bases. It’s also a pretty superficial assessment, moulding him to fit the part in which she’s cast him based on the songs.

Barristan Selmy

1. “One knight wore an intricate suit of white enameled scales, brilliant as a field of new-fallen snow, with silver chasings and clasps that glittered in the sun. When he removed his helm, Sansa saw that he was an old man with hair as pale as his armor, yet he seemed strong and graceful for all that. From his shoulders hung the pure white cloak of the Kingsguard.” Sansa I, AGOT

This one is also an extremely obvious no, though it is still interesting. Despite being old, he seems like a knight from the songs and we see the Kingsguard cloak for the first time in a Sansa POV.

Sandor

1. “She stepped backward and bumped into someone. Strong hands grasped her by the shoulders, and for a moment Sansa thought it was her father, but when she turned, it was the burned face of Sandor Clegane looking down at her, his mouth twisted in a terrible mockery of a smile.” Sansa I, AGOT

This is after she first sees Ser Ilyn Payne, whom she finds terrifying. Her initial response to Sandor’s touch is positive and this won’t be the last time she backs into him when she’s afraid.

2. “Sandor Clegane scooped her up around the waist and lifted her off the featherbed as she struggled feebly. Her blanket fell to the floor. Underneath she only had a thin bed gown to cover her nakedness. ‘Do as you’re bid, child,’ Clegane said. ‘Dress.’ He pushed her toward her wardrobe, almost gently.” Sansa VI, AGOT

This is the first BGS occurrence since her conversation with Ned. She’s depressed and suicidal and hasn’t bathed in who-knows-how-long after his death. Joffrey has demanded she get dressed and bathe or else “his Hound” will do it for her. She still asks that Joff leave her alone and doesn’t move, at which point he orders Sandor to get her out of bed.

3. “‘Here, girl.’ Sandor Clegane knelt before her, between her and Joffrey. With a delicacy surprising in such a big man, he dabbed at the blood welling from her broken lip.” Sansa VI, AGOT

Not only is he being gentle with her here, he also just prevented her from committing a murder/suicide.

4. “‘True knights,’ he mocked. ‘And I’m no lord, no more than I’m a knight. Do I need to beat that into you?’ Clegane reeled and almost fell. ‘Gods,’ he swore, ‘too much wine. Do you like wine, little bird? True wine? A flagon of sour red, dark as blood, all a man needs. Or a woman.’ He laughed, shook his head. ‘Drunk as a dog, damn me. You come now. Back to your cage, little bird. I’ll take you there. Keep you safe for the king.’ The Hound gave her a push, oddly gentle, and followed her down the steps. By the time they reached the bottom, he had lapsed into a brooding silence, as if he had forgotten she was there.” Sansa II, ACOK

The serpentine encounter is the perfect example of the walking, talking dichotomy that is Sandor Clegane. “Iron fingers” catch her wrist and prevent her from falling down the steps and he makes a joke about how she’s trying to kill them both (something to consider for the future, Sandor: you’re the one lurching out of hidden doorways in the middle of the night, so maybe that’s part of the problem). She says he’s hurting her but he doesn’t let go of her wrist. Then he makes some inappropriate comments about her body and asks her to sing him a song about knights and fair maidens (because he’s a closet sappy romantic like that) because she likes knights. She says she likes true knights and then we come in at the quote. So we go from scary drunk who’s holding her wrist too tight and coming on to her sexually (the only time he ever does) to immediately realizing he’s way out of line, going back to gentle touches and promises to keep her safe. He also lies to protect her from Boros Blount on the very next page. I think it’s fairly safe to say his brooding is primarily about two things: kicking himself over how he just acted, and the “keep you safe for the king” part (he knows Joff well enough to realize that the king is the biggest threat to her safety). In a Daenerys ACOK chapter, she says of Jorah, “Sometimes he thinks of me as a child he must protect, and sometimes as a woman he would like to bed….” I reread that chapter the other day and couldn’t help but think of SanSan and this scene in particular.

5. “The Hound pulled her to her feet, not ungently.” Sansa III, ACOK

This is at the beginning of the scene where she’s beaten and stripped by Boros Blount. While he’s gentle with her in that moment and does tell Joffrey to stop later, his inaction on this occasion is the biggest regret of his life and he cries about it on his “deathbed.”

6. “A stab went through her, so sharp that Sansa sobbed and clutched at her belly. She might have fallen, but a shadow moved suddenly, and strong fingers grabbed her arm and steadied her.” Sansa IV, ACOK

Okay, so I’m kind of convinced that Sandor spends all of his free time stalking her (because he doesn’t know how to handle the fact that he has positive feelings for another human being?). He’s always lurking in shadows, only to pop out to save her from falling. How often does he hide in the shadows near her that we just never see?

7. “She made herself look at that face now, really look. It was only courteous, and a lady must never forget her courtesies. The scars were not the worst part, nor even the way his mouth twitches. It’s his eyes. She had never seen eyes so full of anger. ‘I… I should have come to you after,’ she said haltingly. ‘To thank you, for… for saving me… you were so brave.’” Sansa IV, ACOK

Ugh, I just have so many feels about this interaction. Between these two quotes, Sandor bb gets sad because she’s scared of him and “still can’t bear to look,” so he lashes out. “He is a dog, just as he says. A half-wild, mean-tempered dog that bites any hand that tries to pet him, and yet will savage any man who tries to hurt his master.” Yes, because he is an ABUSED dog and no one has every tried to pet him before so he’s getting very confused. I’m getting side-tracked by the feels so I’ll stop myself here.

8. “Of late Ser Osmund had taken Sandor Clegane’s place by Joffrey’s side, and Sansa had heard the women at the washing well saying that he was as strong as the Hound, only younger and faster. If that was so, she wondered why she had never once heard of these Kettleblacks before Ser Osmund was named to the Kingsguard.” Sansa VI, ACOK

I considered also including this under the Kettleblacks, but decided against it because she’s not the one saying they’re strong. Her attitude here feels similar to her attitude during the first unkiss mention (“these other girls/women are so silly—I have the Hound and what they have is inferior”).

9. “He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened.” Sansa VII, ACOK

This one typically gets left out because it doesn’t exactly portray him in a positive light, but I’m trying to include everything, good and bad. I have some thoughts on this re: the unkiss, but this isn’t the place for that. Short version: it would have been very easy for GRRM to write something like “she wished he wouldn’t,” but instead he wrote “wanting it to be over.” I’m not saying she wanted him to kiss her in that moment, but she didn’t not want him to kiss her either (or it could be a “just get it over with” scenario).

Tyrion

1. “Sansa watched him walk off, his body swaying heavily from side to side, like something from a grotesquerie. He speaks more gently than Joffrey, she thought, but the queen spoke to me gently too. He’s still a Lannister, her brother and Joff’s uncle, and no friend. Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father’s head. Sansa would never make that mistake again.” Sansa I, ACOK

“More gently than Joffrey” is a pretty low bar. Overall, not a very glowing review of Tyrion: he’s not a monster, but he’s grotesque, can’t be trusted, and could turn into a monster later.

Osmund Kettleblack

1. “Sansa tried to run, but Cersei’s handmaiden caught her before she’d gone a yard. Ser Meryn Trant gave her a look that made her cringe, but Kettleblack touched her almost gently and said, “Do as you’re told, sweetling, it won’t be so bad. Wolves are supposed to be brave, aren’t they?” Sansa III, ASOS

If you didn’t have déjà vu while reading this, something is wrong because this is almost EXACTLY the same as a Sandor moment included on this list. (“‘Do as you’re bid, child,’ Clegane said. ‘Dress.’ He pushed her toward her wardrobe, almost gently.”) HOWEVER, I don’t think Sandor would have been so chill in this particular situation. This is as she’s being dragged off to marry Tyrion and seeing as finding out Sansa had married Tyrion made Sandor suicidal, well, that’s a thought for another day. Between this and Sandor #8, I feel like there’s potential for a SanSan meta solely comparing Sandor and the Kettleblacks. (Someone else please write that—I’m only even doing this because I have mild writer’s block on a fic and needed a break.)

Ser Dontos

1. “‘Not far.’ Ser Dontos took her hand in his own and rubbed it gently. “Your friend is near, waiting for you.’” Sansa V, ASOS

This is while she and Dontos are escaping after Joffrey’s murder. It’s mentioned that they take the serpentine steps at one point. See Sandor #4 for another important interaction there.

Petyr Baelish

1. “He saved Alayne, his daughter, a voice within her whispered. But she was Sansa too… and sometimes it seemed to her that the Lord Protector was two people as well. He was Petyr, her protector, warm and funny and gentle… but he was also Littlefinger, the lord she’d known at King’s Landing, smiling slyly and stroking his beard as he whispered in Queen Cersei’s ear. And Littlefinger was no friend of hers. When Joff had her beaten, the Imp defended her, not Littlefinger. When the mob sought to rape her, the Hound carried her to safety, not Littlefinger. When the Lannisters we’d her to Tyrion against her will, Ser Garlan the Gallant gave her comfort, not Littlefinger. Littlefinger never lifted so much as his little finger for her.” Sansa I, AFFC

Wow, so there’s a lot to unpack here but most of it isn’t relevant to this post. However, this is one of the many times she compares Sandor favorably to other men.

2. “‘Forgive her, my lords,’ Petyr Baelish said softly. ‘She still has nightmares of that day. Small wonder if she cannot bear to speak of it.’ He came up behind her and put his hands gently on her shoulders. ‘I know how hard this is for you, Alayne, but our friends must hear the truth.’ Her throat felt so dry and tight it almost hurt to speak.” Sansa I, AFFC

I see two SanSan parallels in this brief passage. Putting his hands on her shoulders from behind reminds me of her first interaction with Sandor and her throat hasn’t been “dry and tight” since the Blackwater. All of the language in the Blackwater scene is highly sexual, but here, those are the only words that stand out and I only noticed them because they’ve been used before.

Lothor Brune

1. “Sober, he was a quiet man, but a strong one. And Petyr says he’s loyal.” Alayne II, AFFC

The only thing I’ll say about Lothor is that Sansa also compares him to Sandor/he triggers memories about Sandor (ex: the incident with Marillion where she thinks it might be the Hound saving her for a moment before she realizes that’s impossible).

Here’s a chart for the visual learners

Conclusion: Sandor is the only man worthy of Sansa, as per her father’s parameters

While, just like Sansa, “I knew the Hound would win,” I didn’t expect the results to be this conclusive. He hits all three points while no one else scores above a two. SANDOR BB IS THE ONLY ONE WHO MEETS MORE THAN ONE CRITERIA. SHE NEVER DESCRIBES ANOTHER MAN AS BRAVE. NOT ONCE. ONLY HIM. She talks about brave men in general, but he is the only specific man she ever calls brave.* And it’s not internal monologue like all of the other instances I’ve outlined—she’s saying it aloud, thanking him to his face. And it’s also worth noting that several of the occasions she describes another man as gentle or strong are callbacks to interactions with Sandor. Knowing GRRM, there’s no way that’s an accident. So SanSan is endgame or GRRM is the world’s biggest troll. Either way, my heart hurts.

*While bravery only shows up once in this analysis, Sansa does frequently describe women (herself included) as being brave and also reminds herself to be brave a lot (that whole weird thing where GRRM writes female characters like actual people instead of accessories to the men in their lives).

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