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crewhonk · 4 years

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Only Happy Accidents (12)

AN: I’m actually really sorry about this

Warnings: *deep breath* scared Steve, labour, Ms. YLN prays over YN and Steve and baby (its Christian prayer), swearing, incorrect medicine, lots of blood, childbirth complications, dying wishes, trauma, very angry Steve, hatred against newborns, Steve is a dick, Steve is scared, Helen cho has a good poker face, Helen cho is badass and isn't afraid of anything

Only Happy Accidents (master list)

____________________

July 3rd, labour day 1

“Say You Love Me”— Jessie Ware

8:00pm

“You were in labour and you didn’t tell me?!” Steve hissed as he stormed around the room, shoving things in a backpack— YN wasn’t sure what he was doing, since everything was already in the med bay but she stayed silent, letting him do his thing.

“You deserved to have a day that was about you! Everything these past few months has been about me, and I wanted you to have some time where you were the star, okay!” YN snapped back, frustrated. She had thrown on her dress again since he’d passed out, but he had woken up quickly enough, eyes wild and searching for YN.

“I understand that, but this is my kid too, YN! I deserved to know that he was on his way!” Steve pointed a finger, and YN bared her teeth.

“Don’t you dare point a fucking finger in my face, Steven!” YN barked, irritation spiking when she could feel another contraction go through her body. Steve had almost immediately downloaded a timing app on her phone after waking up, and she clicked it, hunching over her stomach almost protectively. Noticing she was going through a contraction, he rushed over, but stopped when she put up one finger. The contraction subsided and YN looked up at Steve, eyes on fire.

“Look. I’m sorry I wanted you to be the star of the day. I’m sorry I wanted to take a step back after you doting on me every second of every day and just have some fucking time with your friends for once! I was practically a stranger a few months ago, and then I’m the centre of your world for nine consecutive months and you don’t get any time for yourself and it’s not fair!” YN explained, tears in her eyes and Steve softened slightly, falling to his knees in front of her and holding her hips.

“YN, I want you to be the centre of my world. I want you to be my priority, and I don’t want to be the centre of attention— I’ve had that since Erskine talked to me. Trust me when I say I’ve had enough attention to last me countless lifetimes.” Steve said, voice low but strong. YN nodded, and leaned her forehead against his.

“I just don’t want you to fall out of love with me because I’m not carrying your baby.” She admitted and Steve made a sound that broke YN’s heart.

“Baby. Sweetheart. My beautiful, sexy, funny wife believe me when I say, that the next morning after Halloween, I decided you were going to be my wife at one point or another. Believe me when I say that I knew it from the first moment that you were it for me. Sexy pirate, baby mama, wife, future museum curator, all of it— the second I met you I knew I was done.” Steve gushed, and when he was finished, he wiped the tears streaming from YN’s eyes.

“I feel like I’m in a love story, Steve— this doesn’t happen to people in real life.” YN cried and Steve offered a wet smile.

“It happened to us, Ma. Now, how about we go have a little baby, huh?” He asked, pulling her to her feet. She took a few seconds to steady herself and looked up at him sharply, suddenly overcome with dread.

“Steve.”

“What.”

“We don’t have a name.”

________________________

9:00 PM

The hospital gown, no matter how YN tied it, wasn’t cute. Sure, it was soft, but it didn’t tie all the way in the back and it showed off the adult diaper she had to wear to catch the fluids leaking from her, which was odd considering her water had yet to actually break.

“This is awful. This is the worst thing I’ve ever worn.” YN pouted, looking in the mirror and frowning at how… round she looked. Sure, she’d had bad body days before this, but she couldn’t look like this today. Her baby was coming and YN just really wanted to make a good impression.

“I think you’re sexy.” Steve piped up from across the room and YN snorted, enjoying the chorus of laughter that joined her. Bucky, Nat and Sam were all in the room, having pulled in couches from the living room to accommodate everyone.

“Very funny, Rogers.”

“Seriously. Sexiest diaper I’ve ever seen.” He joked, winking at you through the mirror and you scoffed, throwing a nearby chapstick at him.

“Don’t make it weird.”

“Too late.” Sam said, and YN rolled her eyes, a friendly smile on her face.

“People have called mom, right?” YN looked around the room and Natasha nodded.

“Moms on her way.” She informed and YN nodded, wringing her hands and walking towards the window. The sun as setting now, deep oranges and purples painting the sky and somehow settling YN’s anxious heart. She was hooked up to portable monitors, now and the steady beep of heart heart beat echoes around the room. Steve had taken YN directly to Cho following their fight, and after a sweep of YN’s cervix, Cho had informed that YN was 5 centimetres dilated and was since checked in— she was officially in active labour.

“Steve.” YN called and he was by her side in an instant. YN grabbed his hands and tucked herself into his chest, groaning into his shirt as another, stronger contraction rock her. She felt it not only in her lower belly, but shattering up her spine and stealing her breath.

“Breathe, Mama.” He cooed, letting her dig her fingernails into his skin, rocking her and kissing her hairline. “Doin’ so good, Ma. You got this.” He whispered, acting quickly and picking her up and onto his lap as he knees gave out. He angled her to straddle him, thinking that it would be good for her legs to keep open. He continued rubbing her back and speaking sweet nothings into her ear as she curled into him as close as she could, shaking with aftershocks even after the contraction had gone.

“Holy fuck.” YN berthed into his neck and he chuckled.

“That was a good one, YN. You killed it.” He reassured and YN sat up, rubbing her eyes and stretching her neck, trying her best to keep her muscles from bunching up too much.

“Your kid is a pain in my ass.” She cursed and put her hands on his pecs, glaring down at him with swollen eyes. Instead of responding, Steve tilted his chin towards her and she leaned in, kissing him quickly before letting him help her to her feet so she could continue her pacing. She glanced over at the group of people on the couch, and flushed lightly at the thought of them seeing her like that— so vulnerable.

Sam and Bucky looked horrified, but impressed and Natasha looked proud, and almost a little sad. This was all interrupted by Cho walking in with a handful of long, metal tools.

“Hey, Mom.” She greeted YN and YN smiled weakly, eyeing to tools suspiciously. “So, I think we could progress this a little quicker if I broke your water, since it hasn’t broken yet. It should encourage the process.” She smiled and YN looked nervously as Steve before nodding. She was helped immediately up on the bed and after Steve kicked out Sam and Bucky for obvious reasons, sat by YN’s head as she put her feet into the stirrups.

“Scared you’re gonna pass out again?” YN teased and he blushed, grabbing her hand and kissing her knuckles.

“I’m never living that down, am I.”

“Never.”

Cho made quick work of the water, and Steve watched as YN felt it. It felt less dramatic than she had imagined it, but still felt about five pounds lighter than she had mere seconds ago.

“Woah.” Yn whispered and Steve chuckled, kissing her forehead softly and praising her once more.

________________________

“Breathe (2AM)”— Anna Nalick

10:15 PM

The pain got worse for YN after the water had been broken. The contractions were hitting harder and faster, and YN felt as if her whole body was on fire. There was a constant leaking from YN’s vagina that made her feel gross and unnattractive, but the way Steve held her and kissed her and made her feel like she was a damn superhero made it almost worth it.

After another body-trembling contraction passed, YN reached towards Steve who took her hand.

“Can we shower. I need a shower, maybe it’ll help to have hot water.” YN slurred, pain making her a little bleary of the world. Steve nodded and made quick work of her gown— the diaper having been long gone, and pulled her into the bathroom and standing shower. He took of his pants and shirt, and leaving his underwear on, stepped under the hot stream of water. He took the second detachable shower head and angled it at YN’s core and she sighed, nodding into his shoulder at the small bit of relief it gave her.

The relief disappeared quickly, however, when another course fo pain rocketed through her body, making her knees tremble. Steve held her in his arms, shushing her and holding her as she short of screamed into his shoulder, sinking her teeth into the muscle and growling.

“Steve, Steve I can’t— this— I hurts.” YN whimpered, cutting herself off with a scream that tore his heart into two. “I need— mom. Where’s my mom.” She sobbed and Steve looked back towards the door at Nat who was hovering worriedly.

“She’s just pulling in, Sweets. She’ll be here in a minute okay?” Natasha said and YN nodded, clutching Steve and shaking— chills and jitters cutting through the hot water of the shower. It wasn’t long until her mom came into the bathroom and YN sobbed with relief.

“Mommy, you came I wasn’t sure—“

“Of course I would come for you, my love. You’re my baby girl and always will be no matter what anyone thinks, okay?” The older lady reassured and Steve mouthed a quick thank you o her which she smiled softly at.

“Mama, I know that I haven’t been to church in years, but can you— can you pray for me and Steve and baby? Please, I just need to know that He’s watching out for us.” YN cried, pain making her tired and emotional— hell, if Steve had been labouring for fourteen hours, he’d probably be dead in the street somewhere. Steve made room for Ms. YLN as she leaned into the shower, placing one hand on Steve’s shoulder and the other on YN’s. She bowed her head, and waited for the lump in her throat to pass before she spoke.

“Dear Heavenly Father, watch over this new family. Allow for the reprieve and mercy of pain, and allow for YN to have as safe a labour as possible. Allow for Steve to stay strong and resilient by her side as YN pushes her body to its limits— those same limits You set for her. Allow her a healthy, strong baby, and I call for Your blessing over this labour and the baby’s life. In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.” She finished and Steve sniffed as he held his sobbing wife body. Her own wet hand had come to clutch her mothers bicep and her lips trembled as she thanked her.

“Thank you, Mommy. That meant so, so much.” YN said, and Ms. YLN nodded, leaning in and kissing YN’s wet forehead.

“It meant so much to me too, Bear.”

_________________________

July 4th, Steve and baby’s birthday

12:00 AM

“The Middle”— Mree / “The Funeral”— Band of Horses

Steve liked to think he was brave. He’d done a lot of really cool things in his life that required a lot of bravery, but right now Steve had never been more afraid in his life. YN had been in labour for an ongoing sixteen hours and the four hours YN had been in active labour had so far been the worst of his life. Sure, he was over the moon over the fact that he was going to meet his baby soon, but seeing YN in this much pain, begging for him to help her stop the pain and not having any sense of control was scary, and Steve didn’t feel very brave if he was going to be honest.

Especially when YN was shutting down on him after hearing Dr. Cho telling her that her cervix hadn’t dilated any further since she’d entered active labour. She stared forlornly out of the window, eyes on the stars as Steve held her opposite hand, kissing her knuckles and watching her, silently begging for her to look at him. Natasha had brought in electric candles and a speaker to help YN relax and create a comfortable atmosphere. Maybe it was working, Steve wasn’t sure. Any sort of contraction that shattered YN to her bones was only felt through Steve’s hand. YN’s body remained limp against the sheets as she continued to stare— the only indication of her being alive still was the heart monitor and the death grip on his hand every three minutes.

“Baby.” He whispered as she loosened her grip, panting slightly as another contraction finished. Finally, she lolled her head towards him, and Steve wants to cry when she saw how puffy and dark her eyes had gotten. She looked so damn tired and hopeless and Steve would have given anything to take her pain from her. Anything.

“Sweetheart, please.” He whispered and YN closed her eyes, frown tugging at her lips.

“What, Steve?” Her voice was hard, but it shook with frustration and grief.

“I don’t— I don’t know.” He admitted, and YN opened his eyes. “I’m scared. And I want you to look at me.”

“I’m scared too, if that helps.” YN tried to smile, shrugging her shoulders and looking back up at the roof.

“I’m sorry I did this to you, baby.” He murmured and YN looked at him sharply. Her vision swam with the quick movement and she squinted her eyes at her husband.

“I’m not. Steve Rogers, don’t you ever apologize for giving me a normal life. Never apologize for you giving me a baby, and marrying me, and taking all of this responsibility even though we were complete strangers when we met. Don’t you dare apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for, my love.” YN said, voice strong and Steve nodded, unfurling her fist in his hands and kissing her clammy palm. The salt on his lips was still there when she wrapped a hand around his neck and pulled him close, kissing him softly. She kissed him until a low moan rumbled from her throat, and she pressed her forehead against his as she rocked her body through the pain. Eventually her familiar, warm eyes met his and he nodded.

“Good girl, baby.” He praised and she smiled, nodding and falling back to her pillows. There was a stretch of silence as the song switched, a familiar song coming through the speaker Nat had brought.

“Love this song.” YN hummed, lolling her head from one side to another, and Steve stood, making her look at him. He held out his hands to her and wiggled his fingers, beckoning for her to take them. “What?”

“Dance with me. Maybe it’ll help.” He tried, and YN blushed lightly.

“I’m sweaty.” She whispered and he rolled his eyes, making ‘gimme’ motions with his hands.

“You’re beautiful.” He smiled and YN couldn’t help but smile and bite her bottom lip, rolling to sit up straight and letting Steve pull her to her feet. He lead her to the middle of the room after slipping her slippers on her feet, pulling her into his arms and just swaying. They had tried to dance like they used to in the ‘good ol’ days’, but Steve had two left feet when he tried, so swaying would have to suffice.

YN wrapped her hands around his waist, tucking her fingers into the back pockets of his jeans as his hot hands rubbed her back, soothing her and pressing lightly into the muscles he knew bugged her when she was stressed. They spun in circles for what could have been an hour or a year or three seconds, but the contractions that came seemed manageable in his arms. They seemed manageable when he could pepper words of praises and kisses across her sweating hairline.

“I love you, YN Rogers, and I’m in awe of how damn powerful you are, okay?” He whispered and YN shook in his arms, nodding into his shoulder as he continued to sway her. “How’s the dancing?”

“Dancing helps.” There was a period of silence before YN popped her head up quickly. “What time is it?”

Steve glanced at the clock on the wall and squinted, his eyes dry from exhaustion.

“Midnight.”

YN jumped up on her toes as eagerly as she could, cupping Steve’s face in her hands and kissing him quickly all over his face before wrapping her arms around his neck and giggling as she was spun in the air slowly.

“What was that for?” Steve laughed as he set her gently on her feet again, stars shining in his eyes as he looked down at his best girl.

“It’s your birthday, Steve. Happy birthday.” She whispered against his lips and he smiled, wrapping his arms around her and feeling her belly press hard against his own.

“Best birthday ever, honestly.”

___________________________

3:00 AM

Six hours into active labour, Dr. Cho did a sweep of YN’s cervix, and upon new that she’d dilated from five centimetres to six centimetres.

“That’s good, right? Progress.” Steve asked, hopefully and Cho gave her best ‘yes and no’ patient smile.

“Well, progress is progress, but with the water having been broken for more than six hours with such slow progress, there’s more and more of a risk of infection for mom. YN, your cervix is also getting a little swollen, so that may impede your progress just a little bit.” Cho said, grimly and YN dropped Steves hand, curling them around her belly.

“So what do we do?”

“I know we said we weren’t going to do an epidural, but it could help the muscles in your abdomen and the cervix itself relax.” Cho tried and YN sank back, looking at her cuticles and trying her damn best not to cry. She’d always imagined herself being one of those badass moms in the birthing vlogs she watched on youtube— catching their own babies in a tub and doing it at home and without epidural, but they hadn’t told her about the pain— the raw, genuine, awful pain that she was feeling currently as well as how damn disheartening it was to make such little progress. She looked at Steve who nodded, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

“I want you to be safe, and seeing you in this much pain is the worst thing I’ve experienced. I can’t make you do anything, but I think it could be a good idea.” He tried, treading lightly. YN, if she was in less pain, she would have told Steve that she felt as if she had some sort of control over her body without it, but the exhaustion in her bones and the twitching of her muscles screamed for relief.

“Let’s do it, please.” YN begged and Steve relaxed, leaning forward towards YN and pressing his head against her stomach.

“Thank you.” He murmured.

So, this is how YN found herself tied down with wires and three catheters, stuck to the bed until Steve’s child decided to enter the world. Steve watched as she slept, contractions coming and going as mere pressure when they came.

YN cracked an eye open, and Steve smiled tiredly at her. She ran he palm down the side fo his face and he rested his head in her hand, sighing and shutting his burning eyes.

“Steve, get up here, please.” She whispered, and he lifted his head, shaking it slightly.

“Gotta make sure, you’re okay.” He whispered, knowing that if he got into bed with his wife he would sleep like a god damn rock.

“We’re okay. Come sleep, we’re not going to be getting any more sleep for a while so let’s catch up while we still can.” YN smiled, pulling at his arm and cheering when he conceded, pulling the heavy quilt that Ms. YLN had brought them. Steve, careful of the wires and tubes, pulled YN into his arms, holding her jittery body in his arms and closing his eyes, the weight of his wife and unborn child lulling him into the most comforting nap he’d ever had.

_____________________________

“Pretty Things”— Big Thief

6:15 AM

Someone was screaming. Loudly, somewhere very close to his ear. Steve woke with a jolt, and upon immediately waking up and looking down at his wife, found the something was very, very wrong. YN was screaming, yelling for Dr. Cho and her mother, but she was not yelling from the pain— the epidural, thankfully, allowed her to not feel whatever was making her bleed.

Maybe bleeding was an understatement, considering that the lower half of the quilt was warm and red and sticky, and Steve hands were covered in it.

“Steve! Steve, what’s going on?!” YN cried, clutching her stomach and shaking. Steve looked down at the blood in shock, and he complied easily when four hands pulled him off of the bed. The quilt was torn from the bed by Cho, and Steve felt a wave of nausea tear through his body.

There was so much blood.

“Steve! Help me!” YN sobbed, and Steve remained frozen. He did not feel very brave at all.

“It must have not shown up on the scans. Damn it!” Cho cursed, pressing a button attached to the bed and flattening it, throwing the pillows across the room and barking orders at her nurses. YN continued to cry, looking up at Steve, who upon realizing that this was not just a really, really bad dream, snapped out of his fog and rushed to YN, grabbing her hand and walking with the bed as it began to roll out of the room and towards the small operating room at the back of the small clinic.

“Baby, you’re going to be okay, I promise.” Steve ignored Cho’s sharp look as she pushed the bed faster, eyeing the blood nervously. “You’re going to come out of this, okay?”

YN cried, and cupped his cheek.

“Sarah. You name the baby Sarah if it’s a girl after your mom and Charlie if it’s a boy— after my dad. They go to a good public school— enough to get a solid education but do NOT send them to a private school they’ll turn into a bitch. They get to go on all their high school trips. It’s something that I wish I did, and you retire, okay? If I’m not there they need someone to raise them with everything they need. And Steve, you tell them the good things. You tell them that we were happy and that we loved each other and that this was the best nine months I’ve ever had because I had the family I always dreamed of having. You tell them the good parts.” YN demanded, and Steve felt his eyes well up with tears, his face becoming wet within seconds.

“You’re not dying. You can’t die.” Steve whimpered, sounding a broken man.

“Wow, no pressure.” YN said, voice now weak. Her skin was the palest and most translucent Steve had ever seen, and her lips were blue. Her grip on his hand was weak, and her eyes grew glossy soon enough.

“I’m serious, YN.” He called out as she was rolled into the OR, the nurses working quickly to prep her for surgery. Just as Cho made to step in, Steve grabbed her arm tightly and stared her down with all the emotion he could muster.

“If it comes down to her or the baby, you save her. I will not survive without her do you hear me?” He snarled, face contorting with fear and anger. Cho jerked her arm from Steve’s grip and glared harder, straightening her posture and staring Steve down.

“How about you let me do my damn job.” Cho demanded, and walked into the room, shutting the door and leaving Steve alone in the hallway. Unaware of Natasha, Sam and Bucky staring at him, he pressed himself against the wall beside the door, slid down it, wrapped his arms around his knees, and for the first time in eighty years, sobbed like he had never sobbed before.

____________________________

6:40 AM

Steve had been coaxed to the waiting room chairs and his hands were cleaned of YN’s blood, and he was given new clothes which he was helped into in the middle of the waiting room. Once changed, he resumed his curled up position and stared at the trail of blood leading from the room where YN was last okay to the room where he didn’t know if she was alive or not. Steve watched as the custodian mopped the trail, leaving the acrid smell of bleach behind. Steve stared at the polished floor, not feeling Bucky’s and on his shoulder, and not feeling Natasha’s hand on his knee.

Steve continued to stare at the floor as a nurse walked up, afraid to see the expression on her face. The words she spoke were muffled and far away, but he heard them.

“Steve, you have a beautiful baby boy. He’s healthy and crying and all of his tests have passed with flying colours. Would you like to see him?” Steve blinked slowly, body swaying as Bucky and Sam clapped his shoulders. He moved slowly, looking up at the nurse who as beaming down a him and he squinted. He felt as if his body was not his own, moving both too fast and too slow to feel like it.

“Where’s— YN. Is she..” He trailed off, heart feeling frozen in his chest— that is if it was even there any more.

“There was another complication, she’s still in surgery, and it could be a while.” The nurse said, and Steve’s lips and chin wobbled. He felt more tears dance down his cheekbones and into his beard. “You can see your son, though.”

Steve blinked and sank back into his chair.

“No.”

______________________________

“Toronto”— Tusks

8:00 AM

Exactly one day ago, YN Rogers was staring out over the compound grounds from Steve Rogers window, smiling at the touch of the warm July breeze and kissing Steve happily. Her body was warm and soft and tangible in his hands, and Steve squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to remember the last time he was alone and happy and carefree with the woman he loved. The memory already felt like it happened a while ago— it was grey and distant and the images in his mind were fuzzy. Her face was blurry, and her laugh wasn’t quite right, no matter how much he squeezed his eyes and thought about it. He tried to remember how she smelled, and how she jolted when his fingers danced over her ribs or how they would spend hours in bed before either of them even thought about getting up. But the happy— the good things he was supposed to try to tell the kid about were marred but he sound of her screams and her hands gripping him and the trail of blood that was bleached hours ago.

He had a kid. A son, he was supposed to name Charlie. A beautiful, innocent son that didn’t deserve the black spot he had in Steve’s heart. Natasha had come back after meeting him, and she had said that Charlie had Steve’s nose, and YN’s lips and eyes and hair and cried like a banshee which was a good thing apparently, since it meant the kid had good lungs.

“He needs you, Steve. He should be in your arms and hearing your voice.” Natasha whispered and Steve’s eyes, dark and angry snapped up to her.

“That kid could have killed the woman I loved. As far as I care, until YN comes out of that OR alive, that’s no kid of mine.” Steve snarled, standing suddenly and making Natasha jump back. She had never seen her best friend this angry before— not fighting, not as Nomad. She had never seen Steve this dark, and as he slammed his shoulder against her own as he stormed out of the med bay, her knees gave out and she fell, shaking into one of the chairs.

____________________________

“Rescue”— Lauren Daigle

9:19 AM

Steve was sitting on a roll of grass not far from the entrance to the compound, resting his chin against his arms and staring sightlessly at the recruits training far away. Imagine being that carefree, he thought. To have woken up today and pressed snooze. To have rushed a shower and breakfast to make it to the gym in time. To have smiled at a friend and felt excitement when you completed the ‘Captains Circuit’ for the first time successfully.

Steve remained still as he heard someone walk up behind him. He stayed still as Bucky cleared his throat and groaned slightly as he joined Steve on the grass. Steve stayed still when Bucky cleared his throat and opened his mouth.

“He’s gorgeous, Steve. He has your spunk, I think— he spit up on Nat when she made a bad joke. He’s fat, too. Really chubby and soft and he’s really alert and he keeps looking around the room for someone he finds familiar. Someone who talked to him when he was cookin’ and his Ma was sleepin’. Someone who left the house at four in the morning to go to the Bronx for the right Pizza cause his Ma was craving it. Someone who painted him a beautiful room and who made sure his development was as safe as possible. He’s looking for his father, but all he’s getting is uncles and aunts and nurses and—“

“Shut up.” Steve mumbled and Bucky glared hard at him.

“No I will not—“

“Shut the fuck up, James Barnes.” Steve snarled, and Bucky stood to his feet, walking in front of Steve and kicking his foot hard enough to make Steve flinch.

“You listen—“

“SHUT UP!” Steve roared, and he could hear the grounds fall quiet. He could hear the training stop and the word quiet and he swore the Earth stopped turning just for one second.

“NO!” Bucky screamed back, not backing down when Steve rose to his feet and got in his face. “You’re scared I get that! But if YN lives and finds out that you weren’t there for your baby boy in his first few hours how will she fucking feel about that, huh? How will she feel about how her husband and the man she loves screamed at his best friends and ignored the fact that his son hasn’t stopped crying because he’s scared and there’s not one familiar thing around him. How will she feel when she finds out that you fucking failed her?” Bucky snarled, and Steve shrank back and blinked.

“And if she doesn’t come out of this? You’re dishonouring her memory and her dying wish that this kid should have a good life. You’re a coward, Steve Rogers.” Bucky spat and Steve stumbled back at his best friends words, the first wave of aggression telling him to hit Bucky until he was unrecognizable and bleeding on the ground— to spit on his body and get in a car and drive far and fast away from this god damn place. However, the second wave— the love he felt for the woman he swore he would breathe for stopped him. The second wave made his eyes grow hot and wet, and his bottom lip tremble. The second wave made his back slouch and shoulders slump and start to fall to his knees, and upon the sight of seeing his best friend shrink in on himself, Bucky Barnes caught his elbows and pulled him tight, supporting all of Steve weight as he sobbed, without restraint, into Bucky’s shoulder.

“How about we go introduce you to your son, huh?”

_________________________

“Love Like This”— Lauren Daigle

9:30 AM

“I should have shaved. I look like a fuckin’ slob.” Steve cursed, running his hand over his chin as he passed a window. Bucky rolled his eyes next to him, but continued to walk beside him in case Steve’s knees gave out again.

“You’ll be fine.” Bucky reassured and Steve wrung his hands.

“I’ve already been a shit dad, what if he doesn’t like me? What if I continue being a shit dad?” Steve worried, fear gripping his heart at the idea. God, if YN didn’t make it and if he was a bad father, what the hell was he supposed to do? He didn’t even know how to be a good dad— how the fuck was he supposed to do it as a widow?

“Steven.” Bucky shushed and Steve nodded, coming up to the door where his son was. Bucky, upon waiting long enough for Steve to not open the door, opened it himself and pushed it open.

The room was open and airy— it smelled clean and the blankets looked soft and welcoming— YN would have loved them, maybe even convinced Steve to steal some of them for their own house. The room had a good, calming atmosphere— except for the screaming.

Natasha was bouncing lightly on her feet, a blue bundle in her arm as she tried but failed to angle a bottle at it properly. The bundle was the thing making the noise, and Steve felt his heart jump into his throat. He shoved the image of YN’s screams aside and focussed very hard on the bundle.

“Nat.” Bucky’s voice sounded far away, and when Natasha turned towards it, Steve’s breath stopped in his chest.

Charlie was crying, his small, tiny face was as red as a tomato, and it was twisted around the screams coming from his little mouth. Steve stumbled forward, and upon closer inspection, Steve recognized YN’s nose, and his own chin and brow bone. As he got closer, Steve’s heart ached— in fact, his whole body ached and he looked nervously from Natasha to the baby.

“Charlie— look who it is.” Natasha said over his cries, walking over to Steve and coaching him on how to wrap his arms around him. Steve felt stupidly big as he took Charlie in his arms— his head was no larger than the size of his palm for gods sake. Upon feeling the overwhelming heat from Steve’s body, the screams softened into sobs and he looked up, scared.

“What’s going on?” Steve worried as the baby got quieter and quieter. “Why’s he stopping?”

“He hears your voice and feels you— it’s familiar.” Natasha nodded, patting his shoulder and looking down at Charlie. Natasha pulled Buky from the room, having the two persons alone together, and Steve’s entire universe seemed to shift— just the slightest, as Charlie stopped crying, wrinkled face smoothing out as Steve continued to rock him.

“H-hi.” Steve stuttered, and Charlie hiccupped. “I’m uhh— I’m your dad, I guess.” He tried, regretting that he sounded so damn lame. The baby made a small noise and Steve felt the dark place his heart was right now warm a little. “I’m sorry I’ve been a bad dad, pal. Your Ma— she’s not doing so well and I’m scared because I love her a lot. She was— is— my world, and I—“ Steve cut himself off, tightening his arms slightly. “I’m gonna try my best to make it up to you, baby. Treat you the way your Ma and I wanted to from the beginning.” He whispered, lips shaking with grief and fear and love.

Without looking from Charlie, he walked to a chair and sat, grabbing the bottle from the table beside him and angling it awkwardly to his lips— YN’s lips.

“We gotta eat, though okay? You Ma would kill me if you got hungry.” He whispered, pressing the nipple of the bottle to his lips, and he sucked in a breath when the little mouth opened, taking the nipple into his mouth and beginning to drink the formula. The little guy finished the bottle quickly— there wasn’t much in it to begin with. Steve, remembering the birthing classes we went to with YN, threw a small towel from the table beside him over his shoulder and lifted Charlie onto it, tapping his back as gently as he could until the smallest, quietest of burps sounded.

Steve lowered Charlie in his arms, too astounded at this… being he created to say anything. God, how he regretted his anger and fear and resentment to this perfect little human. Well, he thought he regret it until his eyes opened.

YN’s eyes stared back at him, surrounded by Steve’s eyelashes— large and slightly unfocussed and YN’s eyes. Steve felt his body clench around his rapidly warming heart and he let out a dry sob, tracing a huge finger down Charlie’s fat little cheek as he curled himself around him. No matter how the rest of the day panned out, Steve knew, with one look at Charlie, that YN would live within him forever. YN would be staring back at him from a crib, or a carseat, or from his arms as he tried his best to stay awake in that rocking chair because he’s be damned if he wasn’t watching over him one second of a day. YN’s eyes would be looking at him as Charlie took his first step or said his first word or as he looked back at Steve while he bravely walked into his first day of school. YN’s lips would frown and smile and laugh and yell, and Steve would brush YN’s hair, styling it properly and kissing it any damn chance he got.

“I love you.” Steve whispered, voice cracking as a tear dripped from the tip of his nose onto the soft blanket. “I love you, I love you, I love you, my Charlie. I love you.” He bent over and pressed his nose to Charlies tiny chest and sniffed as he felt Charlie’s hands curl into Steve’s beard. His grip was strong— strong enough anyways for such little hands. “I love you.”

Steve could have been there for days— he wasn’t too sure, but the bubble he had constructed around him and his beautiful, innocent son was burst when a polite cough sounded from the doorway. Steve looked up quickly, and his heart— now warm and bright with love for this little bundle hammered in his chest.

It was Helen Cho, and her face had no expression.

_______________________________

Tag List (send me an ask, ONLY. must interact with the fic more than a like): yesfanficsaremylife / notyourtypicalrose / laurxn-robinson / disaster-rose / lille-kattunge / wwecrazed2010 / vxidnik / chewingoffmyfoot/ vitamingrant / captainamericasbeard / chrisgalore / songforhema / mmyepic / multifandommandy / tommyhoe / lostdarksoul6 / crist1216 / taeeemin / jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory / feelmyroarrrr / teller258316 / mrsdeanwinchester19 / qrangr / mariswritingforfun / nerdypinupcrystal / kittycatlover18 / laucontrerasv / printedpeterparker / @dumblani / @captainomad / eversonaive / rainbowkisses31 / i-think-i-am-adorable / rainbowkisses31 / smalltintedgorl/ geeksareunique / jennmurawski13 / clutteredmind-emptythoughts / venezuelaanklemayonnaise / manuosorioh

#Steve Rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers au #steve rogers angst #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers smut #steve rogers series #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers fanfiction #Steve Rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #dad!steve rogers

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marril96 · 5 years

Text

The Distance Between Us

Chapter 7: The Test

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: You get some good news.

Editor: @cherrypierowena

Time had gone by in a flash of boredom and numbers, and before you knew it, it was Thursday and Ms. Hanscum's face, smiley as ever, was mere inches from yours as she set the test down in front of you and wished you all the best.

Rowena had prepared you well last night. So well, in fact, that you'd ended up dreaming of numbers. Equations and formulas that now made slightly more sense twirled and roiled in your head like a hurricane. Made you nauseous, lightheaded, but you shoved the sensations back, put on a face a soldier would envy.

You had to remain calm — as calm as your racing heart allowed. Your palms were slick with sweat, forehead beaded with it. Your throat felt dry as if stuffed with cotton.

It's a fucking test, you told yourself. A make up one, but still a test. You'd had dozens, if not hundreds of them so far in your life.

You'd never, on the other hand, had a tutor before. Aside from Sam, who helped you out from time to time, you'd never had anyone study with you, show you how things are done, correct your wrongs and teach you right.

Rowena was your first, so to speak.

Lucky you.

What if you failed again?

What if all that hard work was for nothing?

What if—

Stop it, you told yourself. You could do it. Rowena had made sure to cover all the basics. Made sure you knew them by heart before ending the session last night. You knew enough for a D.

You would get a D.

You just had to concentrate on what you'd studied, what you'd worked on all those days. It wasn't that hard. Rowena had made it not hard. You owed it to her, at the very least, to pass.

You'd meant what you'd said. She was a great tutor. An excellent one. Better than even — god, it pained you to say it — Sam. Mean girl or not, she'd gone above and beyond for you.

"Don't fuck up," she'd told you just before you'd entered the classroom. Her way of saying good luck, you supposed.

You'd do your best not to.

You looked over to her, expecting the usual smugness, the superiority that seemed to be permanently etched onto her face. There was none. Instead, she gave you a smile, small but encouraging, and a nod, followed by a wink.

Genuine. All of them.

Well.

That was unexpected.

But then, she was getting something out of this arrangement, as well. She might not have needed the extra credit, but that record of hers was in need of a good cleaning up.

Her wanting you to pass was for her benefit.

Even still, you appreciated it, giving a nod back.

Her reasons didn't matter. She had a job to do, just as you did. It was business.

It wasn't like you were friends.

She owed you nothing.

Your real friends were on your side. Cheered you on and wished you luck and promised to treat you at Biggerson's after school.

One good thing to look forward to, at least.

*****

It had taken Ms. Hanscum two weeks to grade your test.

Two whole weeks of agony, of wondering, of nervousness. Of dreams of failure and summer school.

Every time you'd asked the teacher, she'd claimed to be busy and had offered you a donut in apology. You were starting to hate the damn things. You wanted your grade, however it was, not over-sugared fried dough!

You'd had one tutoring session with Rowena, just to go over the lessons that had been covered in class in the meantime. She didn't seem too worried.

"You know what Ms. Hanscum's like," she'd said. "She's a bloody ditz!"

She let you vent, though, and had made similar comments in response to your words. It was almost… comforting. Like she wanted you to feel better.

More strange genuineness from her.

You weren't sure what to think of it, so you pushed it to the back of your mind and focused all your energy on your test.

Grade now, Rowena's weirdness later.

"I'm sorry it took so long," Ms. Hanscum said that Friday, two weeks and a day after you'd had your test. She'd found you in the hallway just as the last bell of the day rang and had asked to talk to you for a bit, claiming it was important.

You didn't like the sound of that.

'Important' was teachers' code for 'you're in trouble.'

"I've been really busy."

"It's fine," you said, forcing on a smile you hoped passed for the real thing.

It was not fine.

"I have to say," she said, sun-bright smile never leaving her face, "this is not what I expected at all."

You froze. Heart stopping. Skipping beats.

Uh oh.

"It's surely a surprise."

Through trembling lips, you uttered, "How-how bad is it?"

Ms. Hanscum looked at you as if you'd just confessed to killing a puppy. "Bad? Oh, no!" She gave a small laugh. "It's not bad. Quite the contrary."

You swallowed, hard.

What?

Opening up her bag, she pulled out a piece of paper and held it up for you.

A big, red C+ adorned the right corner.

Holy shit!

You mouthed to say it out loud, but closed your mouth just in time.

A C+? A C+?!

You'd gotten a freaking C+?

No way!

This had to have been a joke. Ms. Hanscum was just messing with you.

There was no way in hell you'd gotten a C+!

"Congratulations, Y/N!" Ms. Hanscum said cheerfully.

You took the test from her. Looked over the numbers you'd written down. The formulas you'd studied hard to remember. The problems you'd solved — correctly.

Your first test was filled with fat, red Xs, lines, and notes pointing out your mistakes.

Compared to that, this one was almost bare.

"This-this is my test," you uttered, in complete and utter shock.

"You betcha!" Ms. Hanscum beamed.

"I got a C+."

"You sure did!"

"This is… wow."

Heat rushed through you. Your heart raced as if you'd run a marathon. It was getting hard to breathe, hard to think. Hard to stand still, for everything in you screamed at you to dance and jump and shout like a hyperactive child.

A grin broke out on your mouth. A wide, genuine one. Straight from the heart. From the bottom of your soul.

You did it! You passed.

And not only that — you got a much higher grade than you anticipated.

Having Rowena as your tutor didn't feel like such a nightmare anymore.

*****

You knocked on the door of the MacLeod residence at exactly three in the afternoon.

Habit, you supposed.

Instead of Rowena, though, you were met with Crowley's confused face.

"Hello, girl," he said, smile ready on his mouth, eyes shining devilishly.

"Hey," you responded.

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Did I forget our date?"

Classic Crowley.

"You wish," you said. "I'm actually here for your sister. She home?"

He looked at you as if you'd just offed his entire family. Eyes narrowed into slits. Features coated in suspicion. Mouth inches away from opening wide, letting the jaw hit the floor with a bang.

The drama mode was on.

You raised up a forefinger in warning. "Not a word."

You weren't in the mood for his theatrics. God knew you'd had enough of those ever since you'd started studying with Rowena.

Today was a good day. Special. You weren't going to let him ruin it.

Crowley put his hands up in surrender.

"Good boy."

He scowled, but said nothing. Instead, he stepped aside to let you in, turned his head, and shouted at the top of his lungs, "ROWENA! YOUR STOLEN FRIEND IS HERE! GET YOUR BLOODY ARSE DOWN!"

Stolen friend?

Seriously?

God.

You chose him, you reminded yourself. Exactly for this kind of behavior. He was too fascinating not to befriend.

Past you was an idiot.

Rowena descended the stairs in a patter of feet, bare, pink-painted toenails glittering under the fluorescent light. Her hair was up in a bun, a neat one, not a single hair out of place. Her makeup was perfect, and her outfit, casual as it was, was flawless.

The girl lived for show.

And there you were, thinking she was dressing up for you all those times you were here to study.

"That was rude," she said, glaring daggers at her brother.

He simply shrugged.

She rolled her eyes. "Arsehole."

"Bitch," he retorted.

"Mother should have aborted you!"

"Mother should have smothered you and blamed it on SIDS!"

Wow.

Sibling rivalry you got, but this?

Damn.

"Um, can we talk?" you said before anything else awful could be uttered.

Rowena turned to you, smile painted on her mouth; pleasant, so sweet it made you sick. As fake as Dean's boobs that one Halloween when he dressed up as a slutty cheerleader. And had managed to bang one such cheerleader later on that night. Somehow.

"We weren't supposed to meet today," Rowena said.

"Nope," you confirmed. "There's just something I need to tell you." She raised an eyebrow, and you quickly added, "It's important."

It didn't seem as though she believed you, but she motioned for you to follow her up to her room anyway. Better to get it over with as soon as possible. For all you knew, she might have had arrangements with her asshole friends. You didn't want to intrude on their gossip sessions or whatever it was they did when they were alone.

"I talked to Ms. Hanscum today," you said as she closed the door behind you and seated herself on the bed. You elected to remain on your feet, standing in front of her. The news was too big, too exciting, to sit while relaying it.

Rowena looked up at you. "Oh?"

You gave a small nod. "She graded my test."

This piqued her interest. She tried to mask it, but her ever expressive face betrayed the curiosity, the interest, behind the veil of nonchalance.

She cared about your grade. You didn't understand it — weren't sure you ever would be able to understand it, understand her — but, for reasons known to her only, she seemed intent on getting you to succeed. She took her tutoring seriously. Taught you everything you needed, repeated it over and over until the numbers were carved into your mind, impossible to forget. She'd studied with you five days in a row for that test. Gave up hanging out with her friends just so you would be prepared.

You told yourself it was because her extra credit and record depended on it, but a shadow of doubt itched at you. Annoyed you to the point where you had to consider that Rowena MacLeod had ulterior motives for wanting you to pass the test. Motives that, for once in her life, weren't selfish.

It was a silly thought. Maybe she was just a perfectionist. Maybe she wouldn't be able to live with herself if someone she taught failed.

Or maybe she genuinely wanted you to pass.

These weeks of studying with her taught you one thing — there was more to this mean girl than met the eye. Layers she hid well, that existed nonetheless, hidden beneath the surface of coldness and indifference.

"And?" Rowena asked.

You grinned. Big, wide, happy beyond belief. "I passed!"

Her eyes widened, shock written over her face. "You did?"

"Yup! C+!"

You still couldn't believe it. A D you expected, anticipated even, but a C+? It was unreal. Felt more like a daydream, a fantasy, than reality. A part of you still wondered when you would wake up to a big, fat F on your paper and Ms. Hanscum's disappointed face looming over you.

"Bloody hell!" A smile spilled over Rowena's mouth. A genuine one. Overjoyed. Proud.

Of herself? Of you?

"I thought it'd be a D or something," you admitted.

She scoffed. "Please! I'm your tutor. No protege of mine gets a D."

You raised an eyebrow. "Protege?"

"Aye," she said smugly. "What else?"

Fair point. "Minion seems more like your thing."

She scoffed.

You chuckled. "Or slave."

"You're hilarious."

"I am."

"You learn that from Fergus?"

"A lady doesn't tell."

She snorted. "A lady."

You rolled your eyes in response.

Was this… banter? Were you bantering with Rowena MacLeod; queen bitch by her own volition, smug and proud snob?

Well.

Seemed the high grade had gotten to your head.

You looked at Rowena. Looked at her smile, at the light in her eyes. All true. Straight from the heart.

A miracle, really.

Did she mean it? Was she a good actress, or was everything real? Was her joy real? Did she—

Wait.

"What's that?" you asked.

"What?" Rowena said, confused.

"That on your neck." You pointed to a darkened spot peeking out from under the neckline of her shirt.

No — a few spots. Thin and elongated. Rich purple in color.

"Are those bruises?"

She quickly pulled the shirt up, hiding the marks. "It's nothing."

"Rowena—"

"I fell, okay?" She smiled again, this time hurriedly. Fakely. "In the shower." Her cheeks flushed red, and she turned away. Glued her eyes to her curled up toes. "It's really embarrassing."

"Okay…"

It wasn't okay. At all.

Had someone hurt her? Had she gotten into a fight?

Or was it really just a freak accident?

"Don't tell Fergus," she said after a few moments of silence. "I don't want him spreading this around."

"Sure."

It wasn't really something Crowley would spread around (he did rumors, not accidents), but there was no harm in keeping it from him.

It wasn't like she was asking you to lie for her. Or withhold the truth.

It was harmless.

Just like her accident was harmless.

And it was an accident. It had to be. You were seeing things that weren't there. You'd seen too many movies.

"So," Rowena said, "you still up for tomorrow?"

The tutoring session you'd agreed to.

You nodded.

"Three?" she said with a chuckle.

You returned it, giving another nod. "Three."

She grinned.

More genuineness.

No trace of deception.

It was ludicrous, but, from the way things were going, you were starting to think she liked studying with you.

And, as much as it pained you to admit it, you were starting to like it, as well.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange @songofthecagedmoose @apurdyfulmind @getthesalt-sam @metallihca @salembitchtrials @jay-eris @hellsmother @elizabeth-effie @victoriasagittariablack @rowenaswife @wonderifshelikesroses @xfireandsin @liddell-alien @hotdiggitydammit @lae-lae @darkhumorsblog @gaysnakess @angel7376 @cherrypierowena @ruthieconnells @evil-regal-vampiress @collectorofsecretsandsouls @angel-e-v-a @tasyahilker @a-queen-and-her-throne

#rowena #rowena macleod #rowena x reader #spn #supernatural #fergus macleod #fanfiction #my fics #high school au #spn family

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oh-so-scenarios · 6 years

Text

ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟɪᴍᴇɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴀʀʀᴏɢᴀɴᴄᴇ [1]

Word Count: 3.3K

Genre/Warning: Angst, fluff, Jungkook x Black Female Reader, Prince AU, Royalty AU

A/N: Please excuse the errors.

⇾ Y/n Djan, Princess of Ghango, didn’t think much fun could come out of this trip to Korea. But oh how wrong she was.

Next ◀ ▶ Series Index | Masterlist

People look at rain in two different ways. At least that's what I've noticed. This separates people into different categories. Some people see rain as a hindrance. Rain kills people's plans and brings a grey cast on the day. While there are others who find the rain relaxing and peaceful, those same people often listen to rain sounds to sleep or sit by the window with a book in a cliche manner.

Then there's those like me. I believe I am at my best when there is rain falling from the sky. My mind is clear, my heart is lighter and my thoughts flow better. The rain speaks to my soul, whether it's a faint drizzle or violent thunderstorm, the rain speaks to me.

My mother often says it was raining the day I was born, though I can't say I believe her, seeing as everyone's recollection of that day differs. However, moments like this are what I appreciate the most. Sitting out on my balcony watching the rain falling from the sky in a strong and direct force. A cold wind like mist sprays my way, where I sit just out of reach of the raindrops. My red cedar swing bed swaying with my every movement. I only break out my daze when the music in my ears changes. The music switches from Sam Smith's soothing voice to the booming 808 of an afrobeat hit by Davido. The music in my ears was just background noise. Or at least it became background noise when my brain focused on the book in front of me.

Now the blaring afrobeat love song with repetitive lyrics was a distraction, conflicting with the tame and quiet atmosphere the rain was creating. At that moment, my urge to read disappeared. I closed the book, taking note of the page I ended on. Though, I highly doubt I'll remember it. I'll probably wind up reading the same chapter again.

I stare at the cover of the book, not really sure what made me pick this title from my father's big but old book collection. 1984 by George Orwell was the title and frankly while gazing at the torn cover, with pieces of the image chipping away, I made a mental note to find a different book to read. The premise and concept of the story leave me uneasy and uncomfortable.

There isn't too much disturbing about the plot of the book, but rather the self-placement I constantly do when reading a novel. The thought of being set in such a world as the one created by George Orwell in this novel leaves me irritated.

There's a saying that there can't be much growth without discomfort and that saying is true. But I know from experience, that forced growth brings even more discomfort which causes one to shrink away. Which is why I've stuck to reading sappy love stories that involve some generic and basic catch. Cause that's where I'm comfortable.

I chuckle at myself. Where exactly am I comfortable? In my own mind probably, in which I make everything seem less annoying and less burdensome. I set the book on the swing beside me, and proceed to stare out at the layers of rain pouring forward. Once again, the music becomes background noise as a ping echoes from my iPhone. I look down in time to see the notification for a text message.

(7:23 PM) Glaids: Y/n.

I can't help but feel irritated by the single text, but it's just so Gladis. I can't be mad since I know Gladis. Gladis' personality cannot be translated over text message. Being as she is my older sister, I've spent enough time with Gladis to get used to her ways, but it's often that I get tired of her simpleness and strictness.

Who needs parents? I had Gladis. Everything my parents were lenient about, Gladis made up for it. I always saw her as more of a nanny than a sister, and can't say our relationship is any more than that. I can't say I know much about her as a person. Sounds cold, doesn't it?

I don't know her favorite color, favorite food or even what she likes to do in her spare time. My parents began shipping me off to different countries for school, and she wasn't one to call or check up on me. The few times we did speak over the phone, it was a stiff conversation.

"How are you?"

"I'm good."

"Well, that's good. Are your classes okay?"

"Yeah."

That was about it. It was awkward, but straying outside those things brought discomfort, so I never bothered to reach out to her.

I type back, Yes?

I stare at the text conversation for a few moments, expecting a quick response and I was right, The bubble with three dots appear quickly and a text bubble appears with the words, We're needed in the dining room.

My face scrunches up in confusion. The dining room? My parents usually don't call for dinner till 8pm. Have things changed in the time I left? That's what being sent to study abroad for years will do to you. The norms of your home are suddenly foreign and small changes seem to trigger a feeling of missing out or loneliness.

I pull the earphones out of the phone, standing up to smooth out my black running shorts. I take my phone in my hand and slid the glass door open to enter my room. My bare feet are greeted by the soft and expensive feeling carpet. I close the glass door behind me and slip on my house slippers.

My long sleeve mustard gold crop top rode up as I walked to the double doors that led out to the long hallway. I step out, unable to suppress the shiver that passes through my body. Unlike my room, the hallway had the AC blaring. The cool air harshly smacks my bare legs and gains the reaction of goosebumps instantly. I stroll down the wide hallways of the palace, the same red and gold carpets spread all about. The tacky dark green walls haven't changed, though I wish they would. I make a turn down the hallway and see a group of servants and maids huddled up, giggles ripping through them.

My steps slow and my ears tune into their conversation.

"Did you see her?" One of them chuckle, "she hasn't changed a bit. Stiff, quiet and angry looking." She crosses her arms over her chest as she speaks.

"You don't know that!" one protested, "Maybe London did her some good."

"Be real Jewel," Another maid exclaimed, "nothing could get that girl to open up. Everyone in the kingdom knows the only reason his highness sends her abroad is to get her to lighten up. There is no one in all of Africa willing to wed that guarded prick Oli-"

"Princess Y/n!" Another maid chimes in panic. She looked up and locked eyes with me, shouting out a greeting to conceal any other careless words that were spilling from her peer's lips. I could almost physically see the sheet of terror floating onto the servants and maids. They froze and their shoulders become stiff.

They slowly turn around and show me faces of embarrassment and fear.

"Ms. Y/n," The one called Jewel says, curtsying slightly, "I-I...w-we-"

I yawn casually and cut off her words, "have you seen Gladis around?"

They throw glances at each other and shake their heads, "No. we haven't." Jewel answers. It seems that she is the leader of this clique.

She is a beautiful girl. Jet black box braids twisted in a fancy updo that compliments the shape of her face. Dark flawless skin without a pore in sight and though her eyes were tired, it didn't take away from her beauty. She can't be any older than 19, what is she doing being a servant?

"Any idea why I'm being called to the dining room?" I ask another question. They all shake their heads no and I sigh.

"Thanks anyway," I say beginning my stroll past them. I am contemplating whether I should say a sly remark, but before I know it I'm too far away. I continue down the hallway, glancing at the same painting and pictures that haven't moved so much of an inch since my absence.

Paintings of relatives and those who came before us. Though all the portraits are of family, I can't say I recognize a single face. My face sure isn't on there and I don't expect it to be. What impact have I left on this country?

My thoughts are cut off when my body crashes into something warm and unmoving. My phone falls out my hand and tumbles onto the ground. My gaze drops to my phone before looking up to see what cause they clash.

"Princess Y/n," A kind voice says while familiar eyes gaze at me. My lips turn up in a genuine smile and I take a small step back from the tall man towering over my 5'4 stature. I bend down and scoop up my phone, shoving it into my pocket.

"Uncle Kwame!" I exclaim. I move to hug him but notice the books and papers that filled his arms.

"Princess Y/n! I heard you've been back for a few days now! My, how you have grown." He smiles that same smile of his and I snicker.

Kwame has been assisting my father since they were children. Though my father has the power and assertiveness, he never really had the brains. Kwame was the brain behind my father. Every decision and choice my father makes is run by Kwame first. He has wisdom beyond his years, being 5 years younger than my father, he looked older.

The stress of his job turned his black hair grey and his smooth skin to many wrinkles with bags under the eyes that won't disappear no matter how much he sleeps. His hairline has receded some and he now suffers from weak knees, made clear by his urge to sit down while groaning. He often unconsciously rubs his knees while he face scrunches up in discomfort.

"Yes, I've been around." I reply simply, "But I haven't seen you. Where have you been hiding?"

He chuckles as if remembering a funny joke, "I've been on vacation because my wife gave birth."

My mouth opens wide in shock, "Wow that's wonderful! I didn't know she was pregnant, congratulations."

"Thank you, Princess, we are thankful for our healthy baby boy. We certainly were not planning for another child."

I laugh, "I'm sure you weren't. But that's good to hear that he is healthy."

"Oh excuse my rudeness, how was London?" Kwame askes. I let out a tight sigh.

How was London? Ugh I want to say awful, but I don't want to worry Kwame. It's always like this, it's always been like this. The question stays the same and the places change. How was America? How was Germany? How was Sweden? Now it's how was London?

I can say I've been studying abroad more than I've been at home in Ghango. Started with a few years in New York where I stayed with some distant family for a few years of elementary school. I was back home for a summer before being sent to Germany from elementary to my second year of middle school. I started and finished high school in Sweden and just graduated from a university in London. Despite all the time I've spent abroad, my accent when speaking is still slightly noticeable.

Now here I am, back home or a place that is supposed to be home. My father's excuse was always that he wanted me to have a more global outlook, but what is the youngest daughter of a King going to do with a global outlook? Am I not just going to be married off to the prince of another African country?

"London was good. I've returned with my bachelors in English and World Languages and it's so good to be home."

"I'm sure it is. Now if you'll excuse me, Princess, I have travel plans to make." Kwame takes one step forward, but I quickly step in his way.

"Travel plans? My father is traveling?" My brows furrow.

"It seems so."

I roll my eyes, "Another pointless meeting?"

Kwame shrugs, "Who knows? I must be on my way, Princess." Kwame swiftly leaves making me groan in annoyance. Not at Kwame, but at my father.

"What a fool," I whisper to myself.

For a man that wants his daughter to be global, he sure wishes the opposite of his nation. Ghango is a country sitting on the west coast of Africa.

A country of many resources. Gold, diamonds, coal, cocoa and much more. We have been blessed to have land that is fruitful in its results yet my father, like his father before, refuses to share this with any nations. The country of Ghango does practically no exporting or trading.

My father does not trust countries within or outside of Africa, so we fend for ourselves and provide for ourselves. My father speaks of how he will not export to any country because they do not and will not offer him what he wants. I can't be sure I know what he wants.

However, my father, King Anthony Djan decides to entertain meetings with various country leaders although his mind is already made up. Wasting people's time and money is what I say. His narrow thinking will get this country nowhere.

Yet, he wants me to be global? For what?

I hope my eldest brother Kofi will be that one to change such a stiff policy.

I walk ahead to the double doors that lead into the dining room. I push them open and find Gladis and Kofi already seated at the table, that was lacking for by the way.

"Hey, Kofi. Gladis." I greet as I entered the room, walking further in and taking a seat across from Kofi at the large rectangular table. He sat beside Gladis who showed me a small smile.

Kofi has changed so much in the last four years, though I saw him when I initially arrived days ago, I still cannot bring myself to believe that this tall man in front of me is my older brother. He's gone from looking like a young man to a full grown King.

"You know," He begins, "For someone who has been gone for years, it doesn't seem like you've missed the family at all."

I roll my eyes at his childish tone. "Oh yes! That's right! I called every week because I can't stand you poor people of Africa with thick accents and dirty hands! I think I am above!" I let my sarcasm ring through the dining hall earning a snicker of amusement from Gladis.

Kofi leans back in his seat with a small grin. That grin hasn't changed much. Kofi was always the perfect balance. He was kind and fun when needed and serious and focused when needed. With him being the oldest child and the only boy, he was always loved more. No matter how my father denied it, there was no doubt about it.

From birthdays to treatment around the palace. It was clear he was favored not only among my parents but among the people of Ghango.

The doors swing open and my mother and father proceed inside. This is about the 2nd time I am seeing my father since being back. I don't have much to say so I simply watch him with void eyes.

I caught my mother's eyes and grin widely at her. My mother has been the one to call me every chance she got, send me letters and gifts on my birthday. She has been in my face since I've arrived back and was kind enough to give me this day to myself.

We spoke no words because nothing needed to be said.

They take their seats and we sit in silence for a moment. My father, thin grey beard and all, turns to glance at me. I almost expect him to say something. A hello or "we've missed you, Y/n." Although I know better than to expect such treasure from him.

He looks forward, his eyes trained on nobody in particular as he speaks.

"As the royal family of Ghango, we all have a duty. We have a duty to the people who respect us and even those who hate us. It is our job to do what is best for Ghango and to continue to see the growth of this wonderful nation." He spoke in our native language.

"It is our duty to do our parts, whatever they may be, to raise this country to up to its greatest potential."

Where is he going with this?

"I want nothing more than the best for all you. You are my children after all. I want all of you to take part in molding Ghango for the generations ahead of us, I don't want any of you to be spectators, simply watching as change happens. You all will be active participants in any way seen necessary." He pauses, glancing at my mother who nods encouragingly.

"I am considering trading with South Korea." He says.

His words echo in our minds for some silent moments. The first giggle escapes from my brother before Gladis and I follow suit. Our laughs ring through the room as our father watches in serious silence. Our laughter dies down and my father grimaces before sighing.

"I am being sincere this time. King Hyungsik Jeon has been able to sway me." He announces.

"Wait," Kofi says, "seriously?"

"Very seriously," He confirms.

"So you'll be traveling?" I ask before I could think about it. Of course, I already know he's traveling, Kwame told me so.

My father sets his eyes on me, "No. You will Y/n."

My heart dropped at his words and my shoulders sunk, "What?" My voice comes out shaky with anger.

"You can't be serious, I just got back home!" I protest.

"I will not trade with just any country, Y/n. I need to know the people of the nation, the royal family of the nation and just how society is in that place. South Korea's King has made a good offer. So you and Gladis will stay in South Korea for six months to-"

"Six months?" I shout, "Isn't that a bit much?"

"And why do I have to go too?" Gladis' voice was steady and calm but anger was burning in her eyes.

My father stays quiet for a second after our outbursts, "You and Gladis will stay in South Korea for six months to fully understand how the people of the country are, how the royal family functions, and just what the country stands for. After those six months, you will report to me. You and Gladis will ultimately be the ones to decide the fate of this deal. You'll leave in a few days."

I scoffed, "So this is why you made that fake deep speech about all of us shaping this country for future? So you could ship me off again?"

"Y/n!" My mother hisses. I shake my head, laughing humorlessly.

"This is an important deal for your father, so he wants to make sure he is taking the right steps." My mother explains.

"Then he should send Gladis or Kofi! I just got home, why do you all hate having me home so much?" My voice grew thin and strain while tears started to burn my eyes and blur my vision.

"Kofi has his place here." My father says sternly.

I stand up from my seat, "And I don't?"

"Y/n, it's not like that." My mother pleads.

"Your mother is right," My father says, "you're taking this wrong."

I shake my head in disbelief and walk towards the door.

"Just say I'm your least favorite child and get it over with." I spit before opening the door and storming down the hallway.

A/N: I am also posting this same Fanfic on Wattpad, except on Wattpad, there is a OC in place of Y/n.

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what-soul · 7 years

Text

My life story

I was born November 10, 1995 at 2:03 AM in Baltimore, Maryland. From what I can remember from my dad's "birthday story", nothing too significant happened. My parents were in their early 20s and I'm fairly sure they weren't prepared for the financial responsibility, because I've been told they sold my mom's CD collection and we ate PB&J and other filler staple foods. I'm pretty sure that's why I can't stand the idea of a PB&J sandwich - I had too many as a kid. We lived in Ducketts Lane in Elkridge, soon joined by some of my cousins who I grew up with. I remember a nasty, broken toilet in a basement with wood paneling and willow trees off in the corner. There was only 3-story townhouses there.

Ginny was born, and my dad realized that if he wanted to be in the military, he had to join before he had more than 2 kids. So he was at training camp when Katie was born, doing crazy stuff like swimming with 50 lb backpacks and running through chemical fumes without a mask. We moved around during this time, I think to Tennessee and Kentucky? I have no memories beyond a pre-K daycare (where I made a scarecrow with brads for joints) and the neighbors having those electric kid-sized cars.

In Kindergarten I went to Rockburn Elementary at 4, due to Maryland's strange age cutoff at the time. All I remember was that our class was near the entrance, the room was big and empty in the middle, and a caterpillar once pooped on my hand while I was admiring it on the playground. I don't remember anyone from the class. First grade is a blank, but second grade...

The second grade area was a bunch of dynamic classrooms with vibrantly colored sliding walls and a larger central area where we could buy lunch. They offered either a special that day or pizza, but I usually brought a packed lunch. I remember playing mandala with a tomboy of a black girl who scraped her knee once and showed us how it was getting puss. That's where I met Nicholas Eagles, who was my best friend for the year. I'd go over to his house every week or two where we played the pokemon card game and some Nintendo games. He had a pogo stick, but I couldn't figure out how to use it. At one point, we climbed up the big evergreens in his front yard and I fell, getting caught by branches a couple feet below. He once admitted that he thought I was gross when he first met me, though I don't know why.

Then we moved to Pennsylvania for my third year in school. I don't remember our house but I remember the area. It was next to a small pond with cattails and the backyard led to a huge patch of undeveloped land. We found some kids playing there far away, and I became friends with the older brother who enjoyed hacking together weird electronics. There I got into Yugioh. Ginny's hermit crab died and we had a fancy funeral for it, complete with a coffin made of mud bricks molded from legos. Our parents bought a wooden playground, I think?

I don't remember much from school, just some event snippets. Bits of hallways filled with seasonal candles in bags, monthly school events like a Jim Henson style play about how drugs are bad, an uninviting cafeteria... I know I was called "booger boy" for picking my nose, but I've lost the emotional context. According to my parents, I had problems with my teachers because the Pennsylvania 3rd grade curriculum was the same as the Maryland 2nd grade curriculum, and I liked to be the teacher's pet. I'd raise my hand for every question because I always knew the answer and wanted to say it, which annoyed the teachers because they wanted the other kids to have a chance. School was apparently bad enough that we moved at the end of the year to West Virginia.

I had started the gifted program in 2nd grade, but I remember absolutely nothing from then. For 3rd grade, I remember I was called out of class some days of the week to go to a room for a gifted class, but don't remember anything. For 4th grade, all I remember was the room we went to and that I had a very hard time with math and remembering the names of shapes.

It was Shepherdstown Elementary School, and we mostly did stuff in the 4th-5th grade hallway, which I remember very well. The walls were lined with lockers and there were... 6? classes total. In 4th grade I only remember an older teacher I had for English, in which we read Roald Dahl books. I think she was a hardass but I have no especially bad memories of her.

In 5th grade I had M(r)s. Lawrence at least, and Mr. Ebersol for gifted. I remember my friends better for this time than in 4th, even though they're probably the same. They were all in gifted for some reason. There was Levi Spickler, who was more of a rival than a friend. Sam Yates, a girl with bushy brown hair who hated chocolate and loved zucchini bread. Arlo, he was best friends with Levi and a very funny and sociable kid. His hair was perpetually messy, like a big brown afro almost. The only thing I distinctly remember from him was a joke he started saying "je veux une omelette du fromage", which is French for "I want a cheese omelette". No idea why that was funny, if it was. Then there was Merideth, an athletic girl who was a bit of an early bloomer.

Most of my memories were from the gifted class. We once acted out commercials, including one, "Don't be sad, get GLAD for all your kitchen garbage needs!" We would enact plays such as A Midsummer Night's Dream. Or even write our own plays; one Levi wrote included a joke that flew completely over my head about a girl being "rapped on the head", to which everyone started knocking on the table with their knuckles.

In Ms. Lawrence's class we once made our own peanut butter chocolate candies for Halloween... That's all I got.

From 6th to 8th I was in Sheperdstown Middle School, less than a mile away from the Elementary School. I remember the layout of the building fairly well, but there are some fuzzy areas. It was mostly one long hallway going left and right from the entrance with some hallways jutting out from the forward direction. I remember Ms. Carter, a science teacher who adored me. She was a very large red-head who liked to wear excessive make-up and had a Ms. Frizzle vibe to her teaching methods. By this point I loved science, so I relished in raising my hand for every question. She eventually made a running joke out of it, saying she needed to call "1-800 dial a Robert!"

Next to Ms. Carter's room was a ramp down into a secluded area with a few classrooms, one of which was my... history class, and somewhere in that area was my sign language class. Or was it English? Gifted class was in a hallway directly in front of the entrance with Mrs. Wagner across the hall from the touch typing classroom. I mostly remember learning English, particularly the roots of words.

Then there was Mr... Marcin? An older science teacher who had a very dry, even cynical sense of humor but seemed to genuinely care about his job. And Mrs... Tracey? The 8th grade science teacher. I remember the cafeteria very well, as well as the gym - it was burned into my brain by the Pacers, an exercise we did twice a week where we'd run from one side of the gym to the other with increasing frequency.

In the 7th grade, my parents divorced. From what I can gather, my mom had caught my dad cheating multiple times, and then my dad caught her cheating with my stepdad. Of course, these were symptoms and the official explanation. Underlying that were personality incompatibilities, my mom's stress from generalized anxiety disorder without medication and raising 4 kids vs my dad's stress working a billion minimunm wage jobs just to support us. Abandonment issues, personal insecurities, projection, the works.

I know that when they announced it, they sat us all on the couch and told us about it very seriously. I barely remember it, but the memory paints it as feeling like a dream. From there, my mom moved into the basement while she found work (she was laid off) and housing while my dad bought a dog (Zoey) to fill the void. Eventually my mom moved to a rinky-dink apartment and later to a nice townhouse, and we went to each parent's house in shifts over the week.

9th grade... Was at Shepherdstown Highschool. I remember the cafeteria, a taller guy I was friends with, the entrance being near the library. That's all.

At this point my dad was laid off from his job as a professor at some university. In searching for another professor position, he had the option of going to New Mexico or Wyoming; he chose the former. After a few months of convincing, I decided to move out with him over the Summer for the opportunity of going to a good school and good college.

The time I spent from 10-12th grade blurs together. I remember quite a few teachers and classmates, but not when and where I knew them. The teachers I remember are my Spanish teacher (native speaker), Ms. McCoy (art teacher), Mr. B? (Chemistry teacher, very eccentric), Mr. Smith (science and CS teacher), Mr. DeWitt (AP Biology, he had extreme standards), and the dreaded Mr. Evans. Hello, yes? He tried to fail me out of high school by demanding that I not be allowed to take a replacement English class to substitute the grade I got in his.

The people I knew, I knew only some names and the rest were archetypes. Al of course, Ryan Sun (an asian guy who took it upon himself to become my rival, which unintentionally became a kind of bullying as I was too depressed to cope). For some reason I remember Kim Wong, another asian girl who was always near the top of the class. And Stephanie, I think her last name was something like Dijkstra, who I think was even better at programming than I was. Beyond them, the archetypes I remember were * a crazy-fun drug supplier who had some issues with her parents * a larger hispanic guy who had a very negative vibe and introduced me to Johnny the Homicidal Maniac * one girl from art who was like 7 feet tall but had normal proportions, so she looked like a mini-giant

At the same time, I was going to UNM for dual-enrollment, mostly math. My relationship with my dad was deteriorating; teen angst, stress from moving, depression, and lack of mutual understanding. Eventually he relented to getting me a therapist, which ended up being a (late) PhD child psychologist. I stopped seeing her when I turned 18 and went into college. To get away from my dad, I moved into the UNM dorms.

Sometime around here was when I got my first job as a student worker. First a temp job moving boxes, then as an IT admin assistant, and finally data entry and call redirection. Over the Summer I got a job with one of my mom's coworkers helping him research hobby electronics so he could make the most of his free time. All of these were full of shame because I didn't feel like I was working hard enough to justify the pay, and they all ended in ways I took personally. At the time they confirmed to myself all of my personal failings and screamed back that I was a loser who couldn't do anything right.

I think this is around the time my mom married my stepdad, and my dad married Kaya for tax reasons. Eventually they separated and Lindsey came in; they married a couple years later. I liked both stepmoms, and had no problem with remarrying. My stepdad however, I didn't dislike, but I found a very large disconnect with him. He clearly didn't enjoy children, and had a difficult time expressing emotions which made him extremely intimidating. There were even some interactions which unintentionally shattered my confidence, as he was a programmer and I thought I could talk to him about that.

College was a blur. I met up with Al again in a sociology class we shared, and through him and his sister Sarah, I made two more friends: Ariel and Tristan. They were the best friends I remember having, though it was mostly through Al. We shitposted about My Little Pony and Arnold Palmer tea. The first semester I passed, barely. I think I failed the next semester and planned to kill myself at the end because I thought my life was ruined. I exploded and told my dad that I hadn't taken any of my antidepressants. I ended up moving back in with my dad. My sisters had moved in by that time. Our relationship only strained more, and I exploded at him telling him "fuck you", to which he kicked me out. I moved in with Tristan.

There my depression stewed. My eczema got especially bad without my topical steroid, and I isolated more and more. Tristan's dad talked to me often about stoicism, philosophy, and project management. He pursued stoicism as his best virtue, taking on all the burdens of the world. When I talked to him, it always felt like he was a diamond under immense pressure that would shatter if the pressure was relieved. It seemed like he was using my stay as an extra mouth to feed to increase the stress he was under on purpose, so I eventually worked up the courage to go back to college.

I think I did one semester, passing barely again. Then at some point, Al realized I was taking the group's sarcastic jibes personally and was codependent on them. He told me he didn't want to be responsible for giving me pain and that we shouldn't be friends. From there, I avoided everyone from that group, going so far as to make large detours to avoid spotting them. I was too afraid to face them any longer. The next semester, I went to the first few classes, then became a hikikomori for the rest of the semester, only leaving my room for food and the bathroom. I didn't want to live, but I didn't have the will to kill myself either.

That state broke when it was revealed that I had failed all my classes. My dad took me back in, with similar tensions. I visited my mom for the Summer and saw a therapist/psychiatrist named Dr. Goodman. She had my half-sister Marlena.

By sheer luck, I got a job as a administration assistant at a company my cousin Alex worked at, Engage. He presented it in terms of reprogramming their database stack, but I knew I wasn't there for that. Still, I insisted on writing scripts to do the extremely tedious job of pressing buttons in the right sequence to print the mailing labels by the thousands. At some point I accidentally managed to fuck up not once, but twice. The first was caught, but the second made it all the way to the post office where they charged a fee for every incorrectly labeled mail, probably costing thousands of dollars. I was let go soon after for personality conflicts and because I wasn't taking my time, doing things too fast so mistakes were easy to make.

I was offered a replacement job in the data entry department, which I was very reluctant to take because I wanted to run away from the whole thing and forget the wild emotions. I got it, learned the ropes, and did that for a couple months during the 2016 election (which made lots of mail), all the while getting less and less stable as I began to see the job as a symbol of my failure as a person. As I saw it, it was the job I was moved to out of pity because any hobo off the streets could deliver identical work, and yet I was still struggling and felt ashamed because no one else had any problems. I ran out of my medications and that spiral plummeted and I felt the need to quit because what work I did on the clock was terrible and I frequently had to clock out to keep from clawing my eyes out. Every day I went in was sheer agony, which I'd compare to mentally tearing off each fingernail one by one. It was exploding with shame, panic, anxiety, fear, self-hatred, and tedium.

Unfortunately no one in my family saw it that way. Everyone seemed to think I just didn't want to do my job because I "didn't like it". I tried to tell them that I "just couldn't" go in anymore, but all I got back was that I have to. I didn't. More shame. It doubly confirmed the fears I already had, that the job was more important than I was. I suffered this pain every day and yet it was more important that I bear it and lose my mind rather than lose the job. Talk about worthless.

Eventually it came to a point where Goodman seemed to think I wasn't depressed and was manipulating my parents into giving me a free ride. My parents expressed their fear that "if I dropped him off at a shelter, I'd never see him again", which stung. I didn't want to live and everyone around me wanted me to work to live no matter the cost. I would thoughtlessly mention euthanization as a viable option. So, she was right to fear that. More shame from being such a failure as to put such responsibility and pain on my parents. That day I spent an hour seriously thinking about killing myself despite my hesitation, reasoning that I was a parasite on my family and the only way to relieve them of my burden was to relieve them of me. Whatever pain I caused by dying would pale in comparison to the pain I'd cause by living. I wondered if any excuse I had against this plan was a selfish desire to continue living in spite of the pain of others. I never went much farther beyond that, though.

Eventually my parents convinced Goodman to send me to Sierra Tucson. There, I learned about trauma, the distinction between shame and guilt, codependency, and the importance of friendship. I felt awakened, as if from a coma, and first time in my life, I enjoyed living for its own sake. I was transferred to Crownview Co-Occurring Institute for Intensive Out-Patient, where I regressed some due to it being a less supportive environment. Still, I learned how to deal with adversity in reality, particularly overcoming my issues with authority, defensiveness, a need to be right all the time, and how to take criticism without taking it personally.

During recovery, Katie had my niece Aurora. Most of the effect of that was from watching how other people reacted and interpreting the underlying reasons. I believe Katie refused an abortion/adoption because she intended to use Aurora to assert her maturity and capacity to be responsible to my dad and Lindsey, who had a tendency to micromanage her which led to teenage rebellion. What's sad about that is I think she lacks self-care emotionally and mentally, and now she won't ever have an opportunity to work on herself because she'll be working on her kid. In trying to appear more mature, she destroyed any chance of reaching maturity healthily. Now she's still struggling to break free of them, seeing all of their "suggestions" (which, to be fair, are stated more as commands) as personal attacks, saying she isn't capable of taking care of her symbol of adulthood.

And now I'm in R&R. I don't know where I'm going from here.

#life story

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