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artificialqueens · 4 years

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If You Ever Wanna Be in Love (I'll Come Around), Chapter Five (Branjie) - Athena2

Previously: Brooke and Vanessa’s night of babysitting turned into them kissing Now: They both deal with the aftermath and find themselves pulled together once again

A/N:Thank you all so much for the amazing feedback and comments you’ve been giving this fic! They really do mean a lot to me and I appreciate them all. It would be great if you could leave some on this chapter as well. Thank you so much to Writ for betaing and helping me out with this chapter, you’re the best.

“I kissed Brooke,” Vanessa blurts to A’keria. Saying it makes it real, proves it wasn’t a dream or hallucination. It really happened, and Vanessa knows it doesn’t mean anything, but her lips are still tingling.

“What the hell happened?” A’keria asks.

“We were babysitting, and her niece chanted for us to kiss and…yeah.” Shit, it sounds lame like that. But on that rug, with the sunset illuminating every inch of Brooke’s face, her cheeks glowing, it was almost…magical. Almost real. It’s not, though. It barely lasted five seconds. Vanessa kissed her abuela longer than that as a kid, scrubbing sticky lipstick off her cheek after.

“Damn. One six-year-old is all it took.” A’keria mutters.

Vanessa swats at her. “Hey! She was loud enough for the whole building to hear, okay? We had to!”

A’keria rolls her eyes. “Yeah, she really forced you. Who would win, two adult clowns or a first-grader? Not you, apparently.”

“You calling me a clown?”

“You and Brooke. Might as well open up a circus.”

Vanessa groans. “It was just so the kids would quiet down. She’s gonna be my fake wife at the carnival to shut Paul up some more, and that’s it.”

But does Vanessa want that to be it? That can be the end of the fake-wives-and-girlfriends thing, but Vanessa knows she doesn’t want it to be the end of their friendship. She can’t lose Brooke in her life, laughing at work stories and sending each other selfies, someone who just gets her, who didn’t ask her to change anything.

They were thrown right into the fire at first, forced to act married. But things have slowed since then, the intense blaze now a cozy fireplace warmth, with more of Brooke unraveling before Vanessa’s eyes. How sweet she was around her family. How she sends Vanessa pictures of dogs she sees. How excited she was after realizing she made mac and cheese. And the kiss–but Vanessa’s not thinking about that.

“If you say so.”

“We’re friends. Not every relationship has to be romantic.”

“No, they don’t,” A’keria agrees. “But if your feelings for her go beyond friendship, I don’t think you should deny that.”

Vanessa shrugs. She’ll deal with that when–and if–she has to.

—

“Hytes!”

The men on the museum board favor last names for address and Brooke can’t argue without being called whiny. She snaps her head up, trying to focus. Her brain is a slow computer with too many tabs open, pinging between guests and her speech and kissing Vanessa—

“Yes, Greg?”

Ugh. Greg. He hadn’t believed Brooke was department head the first time they met, had called the museum director to accuse her of lying. The resulting pride that erupted in her after Greg found out that Brooke is, in fact, department head, had left a stream of tension between them at every board meeting.

“Check with the guests for the T-Rex opening again. Some are major donors, so we need them.”

Brooke nods wearily. So much of the museum came down to donors, and she knows it’s important, but she wishes this entire exhibit opening didn’t have to fall on her. But her shoulders are more than strong enough to carry it.

“Unfortunately, with the expenses of the T-Rex,” Greg continues, “Your department might face cuts if this doesn’t go well.”

The words slice at Brooke’s stomach. “Cuts?” she demands. “But funding got cut last year–”

“Then you’ll just have to do well, won’t you?”

Brooke nods. She could punch Greg, but she has to channel that energy into this exhibit instead. She can’t face more budget cuts. She cried after letting Ariel the intern go last year, and she won’t lose Plastique this year. Cuts would also mean less events and kids programs. How many kids like her come through those doors and gain a new passion for paleontology? How many find a safe space, or realize they’re not alone? How many dream of ages past as they walk through the rooms?

Brooke won’t let them down.

All she wants is to text Vanessa after, to rant with someone who knows that higher-up board-member nonsense. Vanessa said that one racist library board member told her ‘someone like her’ didn’t even belong in a library, and Brooke just wanted to hold Vanessa and comfort her. Now, selfish as it is, she wants Vanessa, because somehow Vanessa has come to mean comfort to Brooke. She writes a text asking Vanessa for coffee and freezes.

Vanessa doesn’t need Brooke’s problems weighing her down. She knows how caring and empathetic Vanessa is, how she takes on the feelings of others, hurts when her friends are and sad when a kid at the library cries. Makes it her mission to cheer them all up. Brooke loves it about her, but she can see Vanessa caring too much and getting stressed, and she won’t let Vanessa do that. They’re friends, and they share things, but this seems too big, something Brooke wouldn’t want anyone to carry with her. She won’t hurt Vanessa with it.

She deletes the text.

—

Vanessa hovers outside Brooke’s office. Something’s up with Brooke. Her replies have been short and half-hearted all week, and though it could be nothing, and she knows she has no right to expect essay-length texts from Brooke, she knows in her gut something’s wrong.

Vanessa finally knocks, and the Brooke that greets her isn’t unlike normal Brooke. But Vanessa looks closer, for things she would have missed before but are obvious to her now. Brooke’s eyes are dull, rimmed with dark circles. Her hair is messier than normal, like she’s been tearing her hands through it. And then she sees Brooke’s hands, usually so sturdy and clever and quick. They’re trembling a little, just enough for Vanessa to see. She has to restrain herself from grabbing those hands, running her thumb over the smooth skin until Brooke is calm.

“What’s wrong?” Vanessa asks.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” She can see the wheels spinning in Brooke’s mind, the worry in her eyes. She’s seen Brooke nervous before, but this is different. This is tense and stressed Brooke, trying and failing to keep her professional put-togetherness, and it hurts Vanessa’s heart. Vanessa puts her hands on her hips, daring Brooke to lie again.

Brooke sighs. “It’s the exhibit. I need to make sure all the donors are coming, and if there’s not a good turnout my department might lose funding, so everything…everything has to be perfect.” She takes a deep breath, and Vanessa wonders how long she’s been holding that in, letting it poison her.

“Perfect’s a lot to ask,” she says softly.

“I can do it. It has to be,” Brooke says simply, and Vanessa wonders how many times perfection’s been asked of her before, how many times she’s worked herself into the ground to deliver it.

“Who said? That asshole Greg?” She’s heard enough from Brooke to know Greg is not someone she wants to meet.

Brooke nods weakly, and all Vanessa wants is to smooth that wrinkle between her eyebrows.

“Can I help with anything?”

“I don’t think so. I just have to wait for replies. And finish my speech–” she grabs notecards off her desk, “–which is horrible.”

“I’ll listen to it! No arguing,” she says when Brooke protests. “Read it.”

Brooke does, talking about how great it was to bring the skull here and the importance of museums. It’s a good speech, one that’ll have rich people opening their checkbooks. But something’s missing–that breathless, childlike passion Brooke has when she talks about dinosaurs, the excited inner child that comes through in her smile. Brooke is going for cool and professional, and it’s good, but it’s not her. At least, not the Brooke Vanessa knows.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Vanessa says gently, “But can you make it less formal? A little more fun, more like you?”

“That’s how I had it the first time,” Brooke admits. “I just–”

“You wanted it to be perfect,” Vanessa finishes. “But it’s perfect when it’s like you too, you know.”

Brooke smiles, and Vanessa knows she’s gotten through to her. “Thank you, Ness.”

Vanessa wrinkles her nose. “Ness?”

“That’s what Sophie calls you. I kinda like it.”

“Okay, Brookie.”

Brooke swats at her playfully, and Vanessa drops into Brooke’s desk chair. Her desk is neat, of course, littered with tiny dinosaur figures and pens in a C-3PO mug. She smiles at pictures of Brooke on fossil digs, in graduation robes, giving presentations.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes, dino expert.” Vanessa shoots a horrible imitation of Brooke into her desk phone.

“I don’t sound like that!”

“Sure you do.”

“‘Sure you do,’” Brooke mimics in a raspy voice that Vanessa admits is accurate. She could sit here all day, but lunch is almost over.

“I gotta go, but take a break,” Vanessa orders. “I know you’re working too hard.”

Brooke nods, and her smile loops in Vanessa’s head all day.

—

Brooke types the last sentence of her speech, sitting back in awe. Her speech for the opening of a special exhibit, a childhood dream come true. It hadn’t been easy to get here. There were the doubtful years of college when Brooke learned paleontology was a lot more than digging up bones, when professors–usually male–approached her in lectures and asked if she had the right room, maybe you’re looking for the teaching department, sweetie? There was the struggle of needing a perfect application for one of only a few internships, the job prospects that made her toss and turn at night, wondering if she should go the teaching route, suck it up and teach earth science to bored college kids needing an elective. And then those first bones shone through the dirt, glittering under the Montana sun, and Brooke had known that this was all she ever wanted.

She reaches for her phone to tell Vanessa. It’s strange—Brooke never would’ve thought of sharing this with anyone, would’ve just kept it to herself. Another day at work. But she’s done it, and all she wants is for Vanessa to know, to share it with her. Lately she’s sharing more and more with Vanessa, from funny memes or restaurant recommendations to the book of Mary Oliver poems she’s going to give Vanessa as a thank you for helping with the speech. She loves when Vanessa sends stuff back, selfies of her in a witch hat, or pictures of crafts she’s done. The fact that Vanessa did something like tiny She-Ra swords and thought of Brooke, wants her to experience it too, makes Brooke warm and fuzzy inside.

There’s a missed call from her mom, and Brooke calls her back first, trying to calm her heart. There’s no reason to think anything bad happened, she reminds herself.

“Mom?” Brooke asks hesitantly.

“Brooke!” She’s too cheerful to report bad news, and Brooke relaxes. “Your dad and I were wondering if you and Vanessa want to come for dinner some time?”

Shit. “Um–”

“We’d love to see her again.”

“I’d have to check.”

It’s not fair to ask Vanessa again. The agreement was one work dinner and one family party, but they’ve strayed so far from that Brooke doesn’t know where they stand anymore. Brooke planned to say they broke up if her mom asked. She never thought her parents would like Vanessa so much. But she should have expected it, because who doesn’t love Vanessa seconds after meeting her?

“Well, I hope so.” Her mother’s voice is so loving that Brooke’s guilt burns hotter. “Vanessa’s such a good fit for you. You’re so happy around her.”

It’s not real! Brooke wants to yell, and she almost tells her mom the truth. But that would crush her, crush the person who always wanted Brooke to be happy. The person who brought her to the park and coaxed her to join the other kids, even though Brooke was too nervous to ask for her turn on the monkey bars and sat under the slide instead, dreaming of worlds where she wasn’t told to come out of her shell. Who brought her to museums and science camps and encouraged her to keep going in college. Who tried to find women for Brooke to date after she came out, wanting her to have someone she could be happy with.

How could she disappoint her mom like that?

She swallows the lump in her throat. “I-I’ll check, Mom, okay?”

“Okay, honey. Love you!”

“Love you too.”

Brooke sighs, shrugging out the tension in her shoulders. She needs the big guns for this one.

—

“I don’t know what to do, Nina.” Brooke burrows herself deeper into Nina’s couch and takes another sip of wine. “Everything’s a mess.”

Nina occupies the couch’s other end, just like their college days, giggling on a cramped twin bed. Brooke wishes they were back in that freezing cinder-block room, where her biggest concerns were finding edible dining hall food and finishing homework and herding drunk Nina, who just wanted to re-enact every Disney movie ever, into bed. Not the absolute disaster things have become. One little lie. One little lie to stop endless questions about dating, the well-meant hopes that she’ll find the one. Now, the lie is a skyscraper about to collapse in front of her, and all she has to mend it is duct tape.

What was she thinking, agreeing to this? One smile from Vanessa and she was gone, fake ring on her finger and knees touching on her parents’ couch like teenagers, watching movies and bringing coffee and texting nonstop. Now she has to break her mom’s heart and tell her they broke up, or do the act all over, pretend to be in love again, and then what? They keep doing this for the rest of their lives?

“I don’t think it’s that bad,” Nina says finally. “You said Vanessa liked your parents, so why not ask her?”

“Because where does it end? We do this again, my mom loves Vanessa more, she keeps asking to see her. I’m supposed to ask Vanessa to do this for every birthday and holiday and whatever? Next thing you know we’re spending Christmas there–”

“Brooke.”

“–And my mom loves weddings. There hasn’t been one since my sister’s so she’ll start asking about that–”

“Brooke.”

“–Then we’ll have a fake wedding, and what if she starts asking about kids? Oh my God, I’m gonna have to kidnap a child and they’ll make a Lifetime movie about me—“

“Brooke! Breathe, okay?”

Brooke realizes how fast the words are tumbling out, how little she’s breathing. She forces a deep breath, willing her lungs to accept the air. Nina pats her shoulder gently, and Brooke nods that she’s okay.

“I think you should just ask Vanessa,“ Nina continues. “There’s plenty of time to figure things out after. You can tell your mom you broke up later.”

“But it’s not fair to keep asking Vanessa. And the longer this goes on, the more it’ll crush my mom when it’s over. It’s easier to end it now, before she really gets attached to Vanessa.”

It’s not just her mom, Brooke realizes. The more they do this, the closer Brooke gets with Vanessa, and the more it will hurt when it ends. Vanessa has become one of her favorite people, and she can’t lose their friendship. What if asking Vanessa to do this again ruins it?

“Honey, I get that. Vanessa did ask you to the carnival though, so maybe she won’t mind going to your parents’ again? It’s one more event each way, so it’s not totally unfair.”

Brooke shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Don’t forget yourself either,” Nina says. It’s familiar, something’s Brooke’s heard since they were eighteen and Nina made sure sleeping and eating didn’t get sacrificed to Brooke’s studying. “You can’t keep fake dating just to please people.”

Brooke nods. “You’re right, Nina. How’d you get so smart?”

“Just born that way, I guess.” Nina sips wine with a smug smile. “And I want a lead role in the Lifetime movie.”

—

The carnival grows closer, and preparation is in full swing. There’s a running tally, currently at seven, of how many game booths Yvie’s told off on the phone for not following safety rules. There’s the list of food trucks Vanessa and Silky assembled from their personal rankings, plus a new Greek one Brooke told her about. There’s Nina and A’keria’s practice sheets of face paint designs, from fierce tigers to questionable butterflies.

Aside from the kids, this is what Vanessa likes best about her job–having different activities to do, things that let her be creative and not have to sit still at a desk like she did in school, or spend hours refolding the same shirts like when she did retail. She can run outside to test paper airplanes for a craft, or arrange displays, or help kids with homework, and maybe that’s why she never wanted another job. What other job would let her have this much fun?

The added bonus is that it distracts her from Brooke and dinner with her parents. She shouldn’t need distracting from Brooke, but try telling her brain that after seeing Brooke in a fire-engine red skirt the other day, the fabric wrapped around her legs like a second skin. Not to mention the fact that she kissed Brooke pops into her head at random moments, and she can still feel those soft lips against hers.

Is there something more to her feelings? But they’ve been faking a relationship, and that’s bound to rub off. How many movie co-stars got together after playing love interests? Not that she and Brooke are exactly movie stars, but hey, their performance was convincing. Sure, she talks on the phone with Brooke for hours at night, just like high school minus the tether of the phone cord, and brought her cookies once, but those don’t have to be romantic. The speeding up of her heart around Brooke, the way she’s drawn close to her like a magnet, how her eyes can’t leave Brooke when they’re together, aren’t anything either.

So having dinner with Brooke’s parents again shouldn’t be a big deal. If this were a real relationship, a second parent meeting would be much more serious, requiring Vanessa to wear her best dress and bring fancy wine. But they’ve already passed the test, and it’s just dinner. Brooke is nervous, she knows, never planned things to get this far and felt awful for asking, but Vanessa gets it. If the situation was reversed, she doubts she could crush her mom, always on lookout for girls Vanessa can date, like that either.

And she did ask Brooke to the carnival, which wasn’t part of the agreement. Another dinner isn’t unfair. One more dinner, and Brooke will end things on her side, and Vanessa will go back to saying her wife is sick when parties come up. Vanessa hates to think of Brooke’s parents being upset they broke up, but she can do it.

A’keria’s wrong. She’s not in love with Brooke.

At least, she doesn’t think so.

—

Dinner is just them and Brooke’s parents, and Vanessa lets herself go. They want to know more about her, and she tells stories of summers at the beach as a kid, sand clinging to her legs as she built sand castles with her mom, how she and brother splashed for hours, how her dad hoisted her on his shoulders to watch the nightly fireworks. She talks about her college roommate Shea–they kissed once, incidentally, but Vanessa leaves that out–and how they threw a party on the dorm roof. She talks about the time she, Silky, and A’keria misread the recipe and made 30 pancakes instead of 15 and passed them around the apartment building.

Everyone laughs, and it’s hard not to love this, not to want this. A girlfriend like Brooke with her nice family, who reminds Vanessa of her own family even if they’re nowhere near as chaotic. Talking about memories must spur something in Brooke’s mom, because after dessert she pulls them in the living room and whips out a photo album.

“Here’s Brooke as a baby,” Brooke’s mom says, and Vanessa melts, her heart damn near exploding at baby Brooke, wrapped snugly in a white blanket patterned with pink hearts. Her hair is lighter than it is now, almost white-blonde, but her smile is exactly the same. Her eyes are wide and shining with joy.

“Here she is in kindergarten.”

There’s five-year-old Brooke outside a red brick building with a huge grin on her face, modeling a pink tutu, in a blue dress at graduation.

“And here’s Brooke in middle school—“

“Mom, I’m begging you,” Brooke groans, but the page flips to a picture of teenage Brooke whose reluctant smile reveals wire-covered teeth.

Brooke buries her face in her hands, and Vanessa gently pulls them away.

“Hey, everyone looked horrible in middle school,” Vanessa soothes. “I bleached part of my hair once and looked like Cruella DeVil.”

Brooke brightens. “You owe me a picture of that.”

“Fine.”

The pages turn, and Vanessa doesn’t notice how late it’s gotten, doesn’t notice anything until thunder tears through the sky, bringing pounding rain with it. Everyone jumps, and the reality that they have a half-hour drive in pouring rain and darkness hits, making Vanessa squeeze herself.

“I didn’t realize it was so late,” Brooke says. “Wanna go, Ness?”

If Vanessa could focus, she’d notice her face flushing over the nickname. But she can’t, because she very much does not want to go out into that storm.

“Maybe we can wait it out?” Vanessa suggests, and Brooke nods.

It’s still going strong half an hour later, and Vanessa’s jumpy, rubbing sweaty hands on her legs.

“I don’t think it’s gonna let up,” Brooke’s mom says in worry. “I’d hate for you to drive in this dark anyway. Maybe you should stay here for the night.”

Vanessa turns to Brooke, who’s biting her lip. Vanessa knows Brooke doesn’t want her to feel uncomfortable staying here, but Vanessa would much rather be in this cozy house than driving in that storm. Brooke gives a nod that lets Vanessa know it’s her call.

“I think we should stay, Brooke,” Vanessa says quickly. “There’s no point driving in this or waiting for it to stop and driving home at midnight or something.” She appeals to reason, not wanting her fear to show.

Brooke agrees, her gaze softening as she takes in Vanessa. Vanessa suddenly realizes she’s folded up into herself, alert for the next crash of thunder.

Brooke’s mom smiles. “I’ll get the guest bed ready…” She heads down the hall and Brooke turns to Vanessa, eyes soft and tender.

“Are you sure you want to stay?” Brooke asks. “I don’t want you to think you have to.”

“I want to,” Vanessa insists.

Thunder rumbles and Vanessa jumps, curling into Brooke’s side on instinct. Brooke seems shocked at first, but softens into the touch.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Brooke says softly. She lowers a tentative arm around Vanessa and her muscles unclench. “We’re safe in here.”

“Sorry,” Vanessa whispers. “I know it’s just a storm—“

“Don’t worry. Everyone’s afraid of something,” Brooke soothes. “I’m really afraid of flying. Small spaces too.”

Vanessa nods shakily. It’s so embarrassing to be scared of thunderstorms as an adult. No one judged her as a kid in her blanket nest, snuggling stuffed animals to protect her from the rain lashing at the windows. Even her brother would stop teasing and let her hold his favorite Batman action figure. Her mom would bring her hot chocolate and comfort her, and Vanessa shouldn’t need comfort anymore. But Brooke is offering it, holding her securely enough to fend off a storm herself, and Vanessa lets her, the safety of Brooke’s arms better than her childhood blankets.

When Brooke’s mom says the guest bed is ready, Vanessa thinks she would rather sleep in Brooke’s arms.

—

The guest bed is a cozy cloud of soft white cotton sheets, and Vanessa wants to jump right in.

Brooke grabs two pillows. “I’ll sleep on the floor,” she says, assembling a makeshift bed with the pillows and spare blankets.

“Oh, you don’t have to–”

“I don’t mind. Really,” Brooke insists.

Brooke’s gaze lingers on Vanessa, and Vanessa tries to catch all the feelings that flash across Brooke’s face. Does Brooke look…hopeful? Like she wants Vanessa to resist, pull her into the bed? Or is she hoping Vanessa lets her stay on the floor so they don’t have to sleep together? Is she worried about making Vanessa uncomfortable? Is Brooke uncomfortable? Vanessa doesn’t want to make Brooke uncomfortable, doesn’t want to force anything, so she agrees, wondering if that’s sadness or something else on Brooke’s face. Vanessa slides between the sheets, and the bed feels way too big with just her in it.

“It’s weird, sleeping in my parents’ house.” Brooke’s voice rings faintly from the floor, and Vanessa moves to the edge of the bed to hear her better. It reminds her of the sleepovers she had as a kid, snuggling in her Little Mermaid sleeping bag and sharing secrets with her friends, everything more exciting when it was past their bedtimes.

“Sleeping in other places doesn’t bother me,” Vanessa says. “I stayed at my parents’ last Christmas and slept like a baby. Even better than a baby.”

“Is the bed okay?” Brooke frets. “I can–”

“It’s fine.” Vanessa pauses. It could be the sleepover memories rubbing off, but she wants to talk with Brooke, talk all night about everything and nothing, in a way she hasn’t since she was thirteen.

“What were you like in school?” she asks, eager for more of the Brooke in that photo album, of the joy in her eyes that Vanessa recognizes now sometimes.

Brooke props herself up on her elbow and peeks up at Vanessa. “Quiet, mostly. You know how some kids just walked in a room and made friends?”

“Yeah.”

Brooke sighs. “I couldn’t do that. I usually read by myself at recess, watching the other kids. I could never think of anything to say, and when I did it was either too late or I was too afraid to say it. I thought everyone would laugh at me. They usually did.”

“I’m sorry,” Vanessa breathes into the space between them.

Brooke shrugs. “It’s okay. I had some friends, but I didn’t mind being on my own. Or I got used to it, anyway. I don’t know if things would’ve been different if I wasn’t as nervous around people, y’know?”

“I get it,” Vanessa says. She would say more, but she knows it’s hard for Brooke to open up, and she doesn’t want to push her.

“What were you like?” Brooke asks.

“I was funny. I made one joke and suddenly I was the class clown. I didn’t always want to be, though,” she admits. “I was smart. I loved reading, loved learning—when I could focus, cause ADHD’s a bitch. But everyone thought I was stupid, ‘cause I was so restless. That’s why I decided to keep being funny instead. I didn’t realize there’s no reason I couldn’t be both.”

She had been friends with everyone—cheerleaders, drama kids, honors students. She had cracked jokes in class and had the charm to win over anyone. But it had been exhausting at times–sometimes she just wanted to curl up in the library and read, but there was no escaping the funny, popular kid gig, no way to try new things or change herself.

“Right,” Brooke agrees. “It’s like you were stuck in a box. Whatever people called you, that’s what you were.”

Vanessa nods, because that’s it. Brooke always gets her, and it’s a relief to have that understanding.

“God, school sucked, didn’t it?” Vanessa mutters. “At least we never have to go back.”

“Shit, yes. You couldn’t pay me to do high school again.”

They keep talking–about school, about childhood, about themselves–until Vanessa’s not even aware of the rain anymore, until there’s nothing in the world but their secrets and laughs floating through the darkness. They keep talking until Brooke’s eyes start drooping, her words growing farther and farther apart as she drifts off around 2am, and Vanessa settles and tries to do the same.

But she can’t sleep. That hole in the mattress where Brooke should be is a hole in Vanessa’s heart. Why didn’t she insist Brooke get in the bed with her? Vanessa usually sleeps well, but her best sleep is always with someone there, with warmth and safety beside her.

As a kid, she slept with her entire stuffed animal collection so no one felt left out. Through all her relationships, it was sleeping with someone that she loved the most–waking up in the night and feeling the safety of someone there, letting arms curve over her waist, the morning sun shining off her girlfriend’s face. There was such intimacy and tenderness in seeing someone sleep, seeing them so vulnerable and knowing that you loved them and would protect them. Maybe it’s better Brooke’s not next to her. Maybe it would bring up those feelings.

Vanessa peers down at Brooke. She’s curled up on her side, lips parted slightly. Vanessa’s heart beats in time with the gentle rise of Brooke’s chest. Sweet Brooke, who held her in the storm and always praised her and brought her coffee just because. Who always thinks of others first and never makes Vanessa do anything she’s uncomfortable with.

She looks at Brooke’s face, soft and untroubled and angelic in her sleep, and her heart swells, and shit, she knows that feeling. She tries to stop it, but it’s like using an umbrella for defense from a hurricane. She wants Brooke here, wants her warmth and intimacy because—

Because she’s in love with Brooke.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #akeria davenport #nina west #branjie #lesbian au #s11 #fake dating au #if you ever wanna be in love #athena2 #concrit welcome #submission

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maulie-dyke · 4 years

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A Small Lumberjanes Fic

So, I was thinking about the headcanon I sent to @luminouslu about Jo’s past, and I made myself sad. Thus, I wrote a fic. I’m not new with The Lumberjanes, but I am not the most confident with my writing of the girls, so this is the first time I’m posting a fic for this fandom. (I have 3 others in the works now!) I swear the flashbacks are supposed to be in italics on mobile why does Tumblr hate me.

Fic under the cut:

It had been six years. Six years that included some interesting revelations, from Jo coming out to her dads as trans three moths before camp, to said camp, which she was currently being allowed to leave for two days with the rest of her cabin. Sitting in a seat in Ripley’s family’s van, she stared out the window and remembered.

Mothers’ Day, 2014.

Climbing out of Uncle Alan’s car, she she watched as April, surprisingly carefully for a seven-year-old, pulled a box out of the passenger seat. Reaching behind her best friend, she grabbed the vase of flowers and envelope still on the seat, and nested them into her arms, along with her lunchbox from school.

“Come on, Alex! You’re so sloooooow!” April shouted from the steps.

“I’m coming!” she replied, climbing the few stairs leading to the front doors of Group Health Central Hospital.

Following April inside, she reached the receptionist desk and grinned.

“Hi, Ms Betty, how are you?” The greying receptionist smiled at her words, an odd expression on her face (She would later find out Betty thought she was adorable).

“Hello, Alex, April. Here to visit your mother, Alex?”

At Jo’s nod, Betty reached for a clipboard and a pen.

“Since it’s regulation, you still have to give me your names, first and last, please,”

Looking at April, a silent understanding passed between them.

April spoke up, “April Burnett, ma’am.”

Following April, she added, “Alexander Sakiyaki. Do you need it spelled?”

“You’re here every week Alex, I think I know how to spell your name.” Betty made that weird expression again as she filled out the paper in her clipboard, “You can go on back, you know the way.”

Laughing, she raced April through the halls to her mother’s room. Reaching the door, they stopped to catch their breaths and compose themselves before knocking on the thick white door.

“Come in!” a voice, a bit rough, but still musical, called.

While April walked in calmly, with a bit of bounce in her step, Jo ran in full speed and jumped to hug the woman sitting in the armchair by the window.

“Mama!” she shouted, laughing as she was peppered in kisses.

“Alex, April, hello darlings!”

April waved, a grin splitting across her face. “Hi Aunt Kyoko! Happy mother’s day!”

Scoffing, Kyoko opened her arms more, bringing April into her hug as well.

From her place tucked into her mother’s side, Jo spoke up, “We brought you some things!” Sitting up, she grabbed the flower vase and card from April, and presented them to Kyoko with a flourish, at the same time as April with the box.

“Thank you, darlings!” Opening the card, a pile of glitter fell on the Asian woman’s lap to reveal the classic slogan of the holiday. After reading the card and admiring the flowers, she opened the box.

“Look! They’re cookies! We decorated them ourselves!” April pointed at the cookies, half covered in glitter and mermaid scale like designs, one with a shaky Japanese character written on it, and one, pristine, almost perfect flower. “Uncles James and Leo did that one.”

“They’re wonderful!” Kyoko said. Dropping her voice to a whisper, she added, “To be honest, I like yours the best.”

April and Jo beamed.

“How did you and Papa get married?” Jo asked, out of the blue.

“Let me tell you a story.”

April and Jo sat expectantly at Kyoko’s feet, star struck as she began her story.

“Many years ago, at a museum in Paris, was my first ever art show as a professional. I was bored out of my skull, having to talk to so many stuffy business people. Then, I met a man who was charming, funny, nice, and incredibly good looking. I asked him out to lunch, and he complied. At said lunch, I confessed to him that my parents (who were pretty famous business people in Japan, at the time) were expecting me to marry a nice, rich MAN so I could continue the Sakiyaki familial line. I continued with the fact that, as a lesbian woman, I had no plan to do so. The man laughed, and added in he was gay, with a partner back in America. We quickly became friends, so when my parents pressured me into getting married, I married him, with consent from his boyfriend. A year later, I had a baby, a small boy with a head full of hair and very long fingers, that we named Alexander Hiroki Sakiyaki. Then, we got divorced so your Papa could marry Dad, but we still lived together because we were best friends, like you two. The end.”

After a few moments of silence, April blurted out, “You went to Paris? Did you meet Emilie Agreste, the famous actress?”

About an hour later, Kyoko was teaching April how to draw while Jo worked on a project.

Hearing a small bang, then an ouch, Kyoko looked at her child.

“Alex, love, what are you doing?”

“No! You can’t see yet, It‘s a surprise!” Jo leaned over her project, glaring at her mother. “You’ll get to see when you come home! When is that gonna be?”

“Saturday, love. The doctors say I’ll be well enough to go home then!”

Cheering, April and Jo jumped up, bouncing around the room in a hug.

“Mama’s coming home on Saturday!” was all anyone passing by heard.

Two days Later, 2014

It had been a nice day, sunny and not too warm, to get prepared for Kyoko’s move back to the house. Leo and James cleaned and redecorated her bedroom while Jo ran around finishing her project for her mother.

Nice until the phone rang, at least.

Jo watched silently as Leo answered the phone.

“Hello? Yes, this is him. Oh...oh my god.” her heart froze as the normally so composed man’s hand went to his mouth and tears filled his eyes. “Yes, I’ll tell him. And Alan and April, they deserve to know too. Email me the papers and I can send them to you.” hanging up the phone, her father just stood there, hand over his mouth. Sighing, he bent down to Jo’s level and took her hand.

“There’s no easy way to say this, but mama won’t be coming home this Saturday, or any Saturday.”

“Friday?” Jo asked, her heart still frozen.

“No. She’ll be coming home never, love.”

Her eyes widening, Jo dropped her Papa’s hand and walked to the door in a sort of daze. “Nope, nope, nope, nope...”

Now halfway down the long driveway, she startled when her dad picked her straight up off the ground.

“I’m so sorry, buddy.”

She buried her face in her dad’s suit jacket and cried.

Present Day

“Jo! Jo! Jo! Jo!”

A voice broke her out of her thoughts. Ripley’s voice, presumably, as the small girl bounced in the seat behind her.

“Where are we going? Is it somewhere fun? Is it-” The blue haired ball of energy was cut off by Jen, who had placed a hand over Ripley’s mouth.

“Why don’t you leave Jo alone, Ripley? The place we’re going is not fun, it means a lot to Jo.” Jo looked at Jen, then, silently thanking her. “Also, we’re here.”

Once the Roanokes, Jen, and Ripley’s parents were out of the van, Jo started down the familiar path that she had walked on this day for the past six years. Her dads falling into step with her, with April holding her hand tightly, Jo spoke up.

“It’s my mom’s birthday. I want you to meet her.”

“If we’re meeting here, why are we in a graveyard?” Ripley had broken free from her mother’s grasp, and was now bounding along behind Jo.

She heard Mal and Molly go to shush the 12-year-old, but waved them off.

“We’re in a graveyard because she died a few years ago. When I was seven.” she looked down after her statement, kicking at rocks on the path as a silence fell over the group.

“We’re here.”

Her mum’s grave wasn’t anything fancy, just her name, years she lived, and an engraving of her favourite flower on a basic stone tombstone.

After a few moments of silence as the rest of the Roanokes digested this information, Molly spoke up.

“I bet she was amazing.”

“She was. She would have liked you guys.”

“She taught me how to draw, how to be a good investigator, and how to use a sword. She was the greatest.” Jo sniffed, fighting back tears as April grabbed her hand and guided her to sit down in front of the tombstone.

“I bet, wherever she is now, she’s smiling at you, glad her beautiful daughter has such good friends.” her dad said, placing a hand on her shoulder (the most he could do, with all the Roanokes hugging Jo at the same time).

Tears freely dripping down her face now, Jo nodded slightly.

Maybe it wasn’t okay. But it would be.

//END//

A few things explained for clarity:

The idea behind Jo’s mom being said to go home on one day but not doing so was shamelessly taken from My Neighbor Totoro.

This is in the same universe as Miraculous Ladybug, but only because I don’t know of any famous french people besides musicians.

This was completely un-beta’d, so if there are any mistakes they are all mine.

I based the years off of this present year, hence Jo’s mom dying when she was seven, in 2014. Jo in this fic is 13, as one of the writers for Lumberjanes has stated the only one with a concrete age is Ripley (12), but all the other girls are somewhere in between 12-14.

Jo’s deadname is entirely headcanon.

Thanks for reading my long, rambling thoughts!

XO,

Nath

#lumberjanes #lumberjanes fic #lumberjanes jo

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sns-tropes · 4 years

Text

sns fic: with you

chapter summary: Living together in konoha after the war forced them to face their demons. Living together isolated in the mountains might force them to face a little more. Like domesticity.

pairing: sasuke/naruto (ninja!verse) post-698, sequel one-shot to heart in your hands

rating: Mature, warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, words: 3k+

A/N: this is the epilogue!!! If you’d like to read the completed fic that prologues this, chapter by chapter you can read it here on ao3

- jeni

Shikamaru shouldn’t have ever referred to this mission as a vacation. It’s anything but a vacation. It’s freezing up here, for one thing. The snow covers the village square market in a thin sheet where footprints turn the walkway into slush. Sasuke hears the crunch of ice under his boots as he makes his way towards some much needed supplies. They need more firewood, a bag of rice, other heavy things that he really doesn’t want to carry up the mountain.

But this was the deal for today. It’s technically their day off. But the first half of the day was for recording. Naruto was up the mountain writing everything down that they had discovered the day before. It’s nothing exciting or worthy of writing. But they must write every detail down. That’s part of the mission. He can’t help but feel like he should start going over what Naruto writes. He’s not sure how capable he is in writing things clear and concise. He knows it won't affect his rank either way, but he might look stupid.

Sasuke sighs as he makes his way back, pack heavy and weighting on his shoulders. He’s been gone for a few hours now. He passes by one more booth. An old woman owns it who is always nice to him. In an odd kind of way though Like she knows things about him. She smiles at him and he slows to a stop. She seems to be the only one who isn’t alarmed by his rinnegan. But that could just be because of her lack of knowledge.

“Good afternoon, young man.”

He doesn’t say anything, just smirks as he scans over what she has today.

She leans over the counter. “A peculiar shipment came in today.”

“Peculiar?” He parrots.

She reaches down beneath the counter with a sly smile and comes back up with a small box in her hand. Sasuke doesn’t understand how she knows.

“Your clothes smell like smoke. Not from fire.”

Ah so that’s it. It's been a month. A month since they've gotten here. Three weeks since the last cigarette he smoked. He hasn’t been able to find any. He not sure what brand it is, but it will do. He’s surprised she even thought of him enough to stock up on them. He pulls out his wallet, but she holds up her hand to stop him. She hands him the box.

“This one’s on me.”

He smiles as he takes it, already thinking of a way to pay her back later. He doesn’t like to feel like he owes anyone.

Things have been strange since they arrived here. Not regarding the mission. The mission is rather boring. He doesn’t even know if he can really call this a mission.

They're not- They're not lovers. Sasuke doesn’t think they are. Then again, he’s never had one. He wouldn’t even really know what would classify as a ‘lover.’

But that’s the trouble he supposes. Because even though he’s never really been in love, he sure that’s what this is. He’s sure that’s what it’s been all along.

He places his pack down in the snow and sits down off to the side on a bench, ignoring the chill though his pants. He effortlessly lights his cigarette. The first drag is calming. Not that he wasn’t calm already. His thoughts really get to him lately. It makes him a little antsy. It’s really hard for him to go from being so sure of every action and decision to... second guessing everything.

They still have a long way to go. They’re not leaving for some time. Sasuke fears that every day he spends here with Naruto is just making him more dependent. He doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

They barely speak. They don’t really touch as much as they did before they left. They hardly kiss. Sasuke thinks that maybe that bothers him. He got used to Naruto’s hands on him. He got so used to it, and now it’s like his touch is barely there.

Sasuke had a nightmare last night. He’s just gotten back into the habit of sleeping properly now. He feels safe. He feels like no one will betray him, or hurt him. So, he lets himself sleep. But the fear is still there. The irrational fear that he’s still fighting for a twisted cause where his brother's corpse follows behind him mockingly around every corner. He dreams he’s covered in blood and can’t wash it away and when he looks in the water, he can’t see anything but Itachi. He wakes up screaming because – Because that’s never how he wanted to remember him. He’s tired of remembering him only paired with the stain of blood.

Naruto had shaken him awake and held him fast. He makes sure there's no space between them as he whispers comforts into this ear. When he was finally calm, the warmth had gone. There was too much space between them again.

Sasuke sighs deeply around the cigarette smoke.

When had he become like this?

He supposes he can’t expect Naruto to pick up on every emotion he’s experiencing. But it’s not in Sasuke’s nature to say how he’s feeling either. He feels worried. Worried like he was about asking Naruto to come with him. Worried that Naruto- maybe doesn’t want him like he thought he did.

Makes him wonder- is it because he was so fragile? It is because yelled, and cried? Is it because Naruto felt an obligation to hold him together in those times? Sasuke’s heart clenches painfully at the thought alone.

He shakes the thought. He’ll chalk it up to Naruto giving him space. That’s the only thing that makes sense. Maybe he’s just too needy for his own good.

He finishes his cigarette and picks up his heavy pack again, securing it over his shoulders and tightening the straps for the trek back up the mountain. He follows the path through town until he reaches the archway where the last presence of windchimes sing gently in the slight breeze. Just before he reaches the incline of the path, he hears something. A small, pathetic noise.

He swiftly turns his head, attention on the noise that seems to keep repeating. He walks towers it, dipping into a narrow stone alley. No one’s been here for a while, there are no footprints in the snow.

It’s only when he’s almost at the end of the alley that he realizes what the sound it.

He looks down in the soggy frozen box on the ground. Two green eyes look up at him, one half shut like it’s been hurt. IT shivers in a blanket that’s just as frozen as the box. Its fur is gray, darker in certain spots. A cat.

It doesn’t stop looking at him. Another meow. He stares back, crouches down to its level.

He tries hard to feel nothing at all. It lifts a shaky paw to get some leverage up on the side on the box to get close to Sasuke’s face. It’s a kitten. Not a baby, but not fully grown either.

He sighs in defeat as his orphan sympathy kicks in. He reaches down without any more hesitance and picks the kitten up. He tucks the cat into the folds of his coat and buttons it up so he won't slip out.

He treads back to the market with a scowl to buy some milk.

He doesn’t know what Naruto will say about the cat. Honestly, he’s almost sure Naruto would love the idea. He approaches the house slowly, a little tired from the trek.

Naruto doesn’t look up from his writing when he walks in. Sasuke is very quiet though, so he clears his throat.

Naruto turns around swiftly, pen in hand.

“Hey...” He smiles warmly. His smile twists a bit, eyes narrowing in on Sasuke’s chest where it’s oddly puffy and- moving?

Sasuke drops his pack and sits next to Naruto on the floor to undo his coat.

Naruto’s eyes seem to actually glitter for a moment.

“Found him.” Sasuke mumbles. “In town.”

“What’s his name?” Naruto asks wistfully as he reaches for the small cat.

Their eyes catch. “I don’t know,” He says quietly, their eyes stuck in some kind of intense stare of something unspoken. “Give him one.”

“Oh,” Naruto smirks. He doesn’t even think. “Ichiro.”

Sasuke blinks at him. He doesn’t let the spell break though. He finds it’s rarer as the time goes and he holds onto it fiercely. “Ichiro.”

“I think it’s fitting.” Naruto explains.

Sasuke- doesn't know what to say to that. So, he laughs, shaking his head.

He has Naruto warm some milk for Ichiro in a pot while Sasuke looks over his notes. He looks over to where they’ve left the small cat in a washbasin of warmwater. He smirks. He’s glad he took him.

A letter comes from Sakura. Sasuke doesn’t read it. It’s addresses to both of them. Naruto says everything is going well in Konoha, and Sasuke believes that because why wouldn't it be? He still can’t help but feel unaffected by the information either way.

Today is a nice day. The snow is still thick, but the sky is clear and the sun is setting in bright oranges and purples. Sasuke takes the opportunity and heads out onto the Engawa, cigarette already lit.

Ichiro has gotten a little bit bigger now. It’s only been a couple weeks but they’ve fed him well. He takes a drag as he eyes Their pet rounding the side of the house. He never really goes too far. The wolves howl at night, and he’s a smart cat. Sasuke feels like a proud father in a comical sort of way.

Night is creeping up over the horizon slowly. The final shreds of light are ebbing away as Ichiro treks off to find some defenseless bird to maim. Sasuke is on his third cigarette and he knows he should stop. It’s almost like he’s trying to catch up on the smoking. He thinks maybe it will somehow stop the shake in his hands. The shake that Naruto usually stops with the gentle touch of his hands settling over his own.

Not as of late. Sasuke swallows a lump in his throat. It still doesn’t go away. God, what is wrong with him?

He can hear Naruto stepping out onto the Engawa behind him. He expects a few things. A touch to his shoulder, an embrace from behind him, even a smack on the back of the head would suffice. Anything is better than this.

It’s not the place he knows it’s not. They love it out here. He can’t say the cold is his favorite thing about it. But the people don’t know them. There are no assumptions about them. Everything is fresh and new, like starting over. It makes him feel like maybe he doesn’t even deserve that. It’s too easy this way, too good.

He knows that Naruto likes that about the mountains as well. But there’s something that’s bothering Naruto. He can tell. He doesn’t seem unstable. He seems fine, really. But there’s something that’s causing him to be too distant. He’s too far away from Sasuke. Standing two feet away from him- It's just- It's too far. Sasuke doesn’t move. He doesn’t reach for him. The lump in his throat doesn’t go away. He closes his eyes as he takes a drag and tries not to look at him. He’s so tired of feeling weak.

Even though he’s admitted that he doesn’t mind being ‘weak’ with Naruto, It’s still new. Even after all these months, his old ways still come back to him every once in a while. That nagging thought pattern that tells him that to love is to be weak. To love Naruto is to be weak. He knows logically, and emotionally, that it’s not fair to think this way. So, because he cares about being better and staying better, he pushes the thought away. He replaces it with the memory of Naruto’s arm wrapped around him in the soft sheets as he cried into his shoulder over- well, over everything.

The tension is very thick as they stand there. The snow is falling gently, and the last sliver of light is lowering itself down behind the woodsy peaks. Sasuke wonders if Naruto can feel it. The tension. The struggle he’s feeling.

Naruto startles him out of his thoughts with his voice. But he doesn’t move. He’s wearing a dark Yukata, which is stupid for this kind of weather, with an extra layer thrown over it to fight the cold.

“You know, the last time I was in the snow- before we moved up here,” He starts somewhat evenly, “I was looking for you.”

Sasuke’s interest is slightly piqued as he turns his head to listen more intently.

“We all looked for you. When everyone decided that you should be executed- Well I-”

“You what?” He asks quickly. He remembers Kakashi telling him briefly about how Naruto vouched for him. About how he buried his knees in the ground to beg the Kage to spare Sasuke’s life. That he would take responsibility. That’s all Sasuke ever knew about it. At the time, it’s all he cared to know.

“I felt strange. I- I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I collapsed, unconscious in the snow.”

“Like before?” He questions carefully, “Like in back in Konoha?”

“Yes. Exactly like that. But- worse?”

Sasuke hums in response, the gears turning in his head, trying to figure out if there’s a point here. It was so long ago, it’s odd for Naruto to bring it up now. He remembers something. An unpleasant conversation with Sakura.

“He had a panic attack.”

“Yeah. He has those.”

“Since when?”

“Since you left.”

Something occurs to him then. Something that he should have realized sooner. He hands are still shaking. He wishes he could stop.

“Naruto,” He starts- doesn't quite finish yet. He drops the cigarette.

Naruto’s eyes lower to his hands and sees clearly how they shake. He takes them in his quickly as if he were late in doing so. Sasuke shudders under the touch as he grips back. Relief floods through him as he resists the urge to pull Naruto closer. He’ll let him set his own pace.

He takes a deep breath, feeling so far gone.

“What are you worried about?” Sasuke asks him. It’s a simple question. But a loaded one.

“I’m not worried you-.” Naruto stops. Laughs it off. “I’m not worried,”

“ Bullshit .” Sasuke accuses him. He should regret his word choice. But he can’t think twice about it right now. He can’t have things like this. He knows what bush Naruto was beating around, and Sasuke expects him to be more insightful. He expects him to have more confidence in him than that.

Naruto blinks. His hands drop. Sasuke wants them back. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not running off , Naruto.” He says sharply.

“I never said-”

“You didn’t have to.” He practically yells, voice wavering. He’s losing control again. He doesn’t trust himself to speak again. He’s afraid if he does, he’ll really lose any semblance of stability. If he ever had any to begin with.

“Sasuke...” Naruto’s voice softens as his eyes are intensely trained on Sasuke’s. He knows that Naruto can see the wetness of unshed tears. He feels so stupid. He doesn’t even know what they’re from. Sadness? Hurt? Rejection? Frustration?

Maybe all of the above. He feels like a ticking time bomb that only resets after it’s gone off.

“I don’t think that.” He says, but Sasuke doesn’t believe him.

“You do .” Sasuke says, trying to keep his tone even, barely managing.

“Well can you blame me?” Naruto Narrows his eyes accusingly. This is wrong. This is not what they’re supposed to say.

“ What !? Now that you don’t have to chase me, it’s not the same? Is that it?” He can’t stop the tears this time. The words were meant to sting just like Naruto’s stung with his. It has the adverse effect.

“Sauske, It’s not like that.” He says, voice soft again, reaching for Sasuke’s shoulder.

He pushes him back hard. Then again for good measure. He wants to put more distance between them. He can’t tell if he’s upset because Naruto’s words hurt him, or his words hurt Naruto.

“ Stop !” Naruto Scolds, reaching for him again.

“ Fuck you .” Sasuke sobs, pushing him again, right into the snow. Naruto grabs onto his shirt pulling him down with him. Sasuke fights him off on impact. Naruto tries to roll them over and pin him down. But Sasuke is too upset to listen, so he throws a punch, hitting him square in the jaw. He regains the upper hand too quickly for Sasuke to comprehend though the haze of his emotions.

“ Sasuke ,” Naruto yells, trying to pin his arms, “Will you- fucking stop .”

Sasuke doesn’t know what makes him say it. He never meant it. His words are as painful and cold as the snow and ice against his back.

“If you don’t want me anymore just- fucking say it !” He wretches out.

Everything stops. Naruto’s grip loosens on Sasuke’s wrist. He sits up, dragging sasuke with him. He takes hold of his hands again.

“Look at me.”

Sasuke doesn’t.

“ Look at me .” Naruto demands, squeezing his hands like a plead.

Sasuke’s wet eyes flicker up, guiltily looking at the redness of Naruto’s jaw where a bruise will surely form. Naruto breathes in as Sasuke breathes out.

He looks and he doesn’t know what Naruto could possibly say. He doesn’t know what will fix this. He doesn’t know how to apologize. He knows he’s picks lots of fights between them, but this- this feels different. Charged with something.

“How can you think that, hm?” His tone is gentle, like Sasuke is a child. He feels like one.

“I- You haven’t-” Sasuke can’t say it. He can’t say, ‘ you barely touch me,’ ‘you hardly look at me. ’

“I know.” Naruto confesses softly. “I didn’t want to scare you off.”

Sasuke blinks, completely dumbfounded and feeling like he’s been torn open. He didn’t expect this to be the reason. It seems too simple. He expected something far more complicated than this. He feels even more foolish now. He doesn’t want to admit it.

“I...” He blinks hard, trying to keep it all in still.

“Sasuke-” Naruto Bites his lip, looking down then back up at him fiercely. Why is this so hard? It shouldn’t be this hard after everything that’s happened. “I don’t expect anything from you. Whatever you want, is what I want.”

Sasuke releases a deep breath, letting go of his pride for just long enough to placate this horrible feeling in his heart.

“What if I want you to kiss me?” He asks, not completely steady.

“Then I’ll kiss you.” He admonishes.

He opens his mouth to speak again, but before a word can escape, Naruto’s lips are on his. He gives in right away, letting himself be consumed by it. He feels like it’s been too long. Even though he’s been right in front of him, it feels like he missed him.

Naruto pulls away and lifts them both up but to lift them out of the ice and snow. He takes them inside where it’s warmer a little wobbly on the way.

Sasuke pushes him down onto the mats where they sleep. Naruto pulls him down on top of him. Sasuke’s head rests there on his chest, and he can’t help but touch a hesitant hand to Naruto’s jaw where he left that ugly mark.

Ichiro walks up and perches right next to them, a blanket of quiet purrs filling the room.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles to Naruto.

A hand closes over his to lower it away. “I forgive you.”

“ Why ?” Sasuke half-laughs, like he doesn’t deserve to be forgiven.

“Because I love you.” Naruto says very sincerely.

Sasuke freezes a bit, the phrase still a little foreign to him.

He doesn’t pull away. He holds on a little tighter.

#hiyh #sns #sasunaru #narusasu #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #naruto #jeni #heart in your hands #epilogue #oneshot #one shot #ficrec

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camillemontespan · 5 years

Text

the history of us [drake x camille] [part six: 30th july - daddy daughter date]

Part Five here if you want to catch up.

Warnings: Extreme fluff. Angst. Sexual undertones. Angst. Alcohol abuse. Angst. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

@fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @jovialyouthmusic @pug-bitch @sirbeepsalot @moonlightgem7 @emceesynonymroll @burnsoslow @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @stopforamoment @rainbowsinthestorm @dcbbw @notoriouscs @symonde @gardeningourmet @iplaydrake @drakewalkerisreal @drakesensworld @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @ccolz88-blog @nomadics-stuff @sawyeroakleyscowboyhat

************************************************************************************

Drake slumped down on the sofa after Camille had left. He could still taste her watermelon lipbalm on his lips. He could still smell her Chanel perfume which cloaked the house. If he closed his eyes, he could just pretend she was here.

Drake picked up the diary. He was going to finish it as soon as he could. He couldn't take another second without her.

30th July 2023

Samantha has arranged for Drake and Lily to attend the new live action film premiere of Tangled. We haven't told Lily yet but you can bet she's going to be so excited.

Samantha thinks it will be good PR for Drake to show he's a good dad. He already is but some of the public need convincing, which gives me actual pain. Like a really deep pain in my chest. How anyone could say he's a terrible father is beyond me.

Drake smiled at the diary entry. The Tangled premiere had been brilliant. It was quality time with Lily and that's what mattered.

**************************************************

Lily burst into tears when she was told she would be seeing Tangled. At first, Drake and Camille sat her down, trying to cuddle her to see if she was okay. They genuinely thought she was upset.

'Honey are you upset?' Camille asked softly. She looked at Drake who shrugged, as confused as she was.

Lily shook her head and rubbed her eyes harshly. 'Will Flynn be there?' she asked quietly.

Drake read over the invitation. The actor who was playing Flynn would definitely be there.

'He will be, baby,' he told her. 'You might get to meet him.'

Lily's eyes bulged. Her parents waited with bated breath, unsure if more floods of tears was going to come.

Instead she clapped her hands to her mouth and shrieked, 'I get to meet Flynn!'

Camille realised her tears had been tears of shock and happiness. Thank God.

Lily grabbed her hand. 'Mommy, I need my starry dress.'

Camille burst out laughing while Drake groaned. His daughter was so in love with Flynn and even though he was fictional, it still made Drake nervous that Lily got crushes. He didn't want to be that stereotypical dad who vetted her future boyfriends but the idea of interrogating future partners while casually holding a rifle was starting to look like a good idea.

************************************************

The following night was the premiere. Camille helped Lily get ready, helping her button up her silver satin dress with silver stars embroidered on the skirt. Lily had chosen it specially, as she was obsessed with stars and she paired it with black tights that also glittered. On her feet she wore silver sparkly Mary Jane shoes.

As Camille pulled Lily's hair up into a ballerina bun, she studied her daughter in the mirror. She was a mini Camille - it was so strange to have a four year old doppelganger. Lily had the same eyes, skin tone, pixie nose and rosebud mouth. The one thing she had inherited from Drake was his smirk, utilised when she had done something naughty and she knew it.

Lily snuggled up into Camille and sniffed her neck. 'You smell pretty, Mommy.'

Camille smiled. 'That's my perfume.'

Lily closed her eyes and inhaled some more. Gently, Camille stood up and went to her vanity, picking up the Chanel bottle. 'Come on, hold out your wrists,' she said. Lily obediently held out her wrists and Camille sprayed a tiny amount of perfume on the inside of her wrists. 'There, now you can smell like me.'

Lily grinned and studied herself in the mirror.

'You look like an angel!' Camille told her, smiling. Lily beamed with delight. She awkwardly lifted her arm which was still in its cast. 'Do you think Flynn will sign my arm?'

'If you ask super nicely, I think he will,' Camille reassured her. Lily jumped up and down, unable to contain her excitement. Camille had to hold her still so she could fix another kirby grip in her bun.

Camille took Lily downstairs to where Drake was waiting in the living room with Geoffrey. Drake's eyes roamed up the staircase to watch his wife and daughter walk down the stairs. He was wearing a suit. Camille smiled, thinking this felt like a prom date.

'Well you look beautiful!' Drake cried.

'You're the belle of the ball,' Geoffrey told her, giving her a wink.

Lily grinned and twirled around, showing off her outfit.

*************************************************

The cinema was full of media and screaming fans. Drake held Lily's hand as they made their way up the red carpet. As they passed, Drake overheard choruses of 'she looks adorable!' and 'awwww!'

They had to pose for photos which Lily loved. She had none of Drake's awkwardness and all of Camille's easy charm. She waved and twirled. Drake couldn’t help thinking, ‘What have I raised?’

Eventually, he managed to drag her away from the cameras. They had been given a box seat on the balcony in the cinema so it was their own private space and Drake made sure he bought popcorn for Lily to snack on. He placed a booster seat on her chair so she could see over the balcony wall. Lily looked down at the audience below, her eyes like saucers. This was a whole new experience for her; they rarely went to the cinema and now she had her own balcony to sit on!

Drake took out his phone. ‘Hey, Lily, come take a photo with me so we can send it to mommy.’

Lily sat on his lap and Drake positioned the phone camera to take a selfie. ‘Hmm say... Pascal?’ Drake suggested.

‘PASCAL!’ Lily cried, grinning at the camera. Drake smiled and took the picture. He then sent it to Camille, writing, ‘She’s having the best time.’

The lights went down and Lily hopped up and down in her seat. She was going to see a live action Flynn. A human Flynn. Not a cartoon Flynn; ACTUAL FLYNN.

Be still her beating heart.

*****************************************************************************

Lily had been entranced watching the film. She never made a sound except a little squeak when Pascal came on the screen or when Flynn tried out his best smoulder on Rapunzel. Drake looked at her and chuckled when the credits came up; she had her hands clasped tightly to her chest, as if she had just witnessed the most amazing thing in the world.

Drake carried her back down to the foyer of the cinema. The press stopped him at the red carpet to ask what Lily thought of the film.

‘It was amazing!’ Lily shrieked. The cameras flashed and Drake kept holding her on his hip.

‘Where is Camille?’ a journalist asked.

‘She’s having a late meeting with the other Duchesses of Cordonia,’ Drake explained. ‘They got something big planned. So tonight is mine and Lily’s daddy-daughter date, isn’t that right Lils?’

Lily nodded enthusiastically. ‘Daddy daughter date!

The cameras flashed more pictures of them.

Lily eyes suddenly widened.

‘Daddy, Flynn’s behind you.’

Drake turned to see the actor who played Flynn wandering up to them. The actor smiled at Drake and Lily, bowing to him.

‘Thank you for attending our premiere, Duke Walker,’ he greeted him.

‘It was a great adaptation,’ Drake told him. ‘Lily loved it, didn’t you babe?’

Lily was gawping at the actor.

The actor grinned at her. ‘Hey there, pretty lady!’

‘H-Hi..’ Lily whispered. She had suddenly gone shy.

‘I’m so glad they finally got me in to do the film properly,’ he told her. ‘Like, my nose is right in this! I told Rapunzel that I can do all the smoulders I want!’

Drake realised the actor was pretending to be Flynn. From the look on Lily’s face, she believed Flynn had come to life.

‘I love your dress,’ the actor/Flynn continued. ‘You’re so sparkly. You know who likes sparkles? Pascal.’

‘Pascal?!’ Lily cried, finally breaking out of her shyness.

‘Yuh huh. He loves sparkling things. He’s always trying to steal Rapunzel’s jewels.’

‘I love sparkly things too,’ Lily said, her voice growing more confident as she chattered away. ‘My mommy has so many sparkling things and so does my Aunt Olivia, she had these red things that are so shiny and she lets me wear them and I feel like a princess.’

‘You’re just adorable, aren’t you?’ actor/Flynn said. He looked at her arm and frowned. ‘What happened to your arm?’

‘I fell out of the tree.’

‘Ah. Were you having an adventure?’

‘Yes!’

Drake stepped forward and quietly said, ‘Do you mind signing her cast? I think she’d love it.’

‘Say no more!’ the actor/Flynn told him, grinning. He took out a pen. ‘Lily, can I sign your arm?’

Lily nodded and stared as he wrote on her cast. Get better soon, Lily! Flynn Rider (Eugene) x

The actor’s publicist came up to him. ‘You gotta go for an interview.’

The actor shook Drake’s hand and ruffled Lily’s hair. ‘See you later, champ.’

He left them. Lily stared after him, watching him go.

‘I love him..’ she whispered.

Drake looked down to stare at her face. ‘Okay, we’re taking you home, right now.’

*************************************************************************

Samantha covered Drake’s desk with magazines and newspapers.

‘I am so fucking good,’ she said.

Camille and Drake studied the articles. ‘Oh my..’ Camille murmured.

The newspapers were full of pictures of Drake and Lily at the premiere the previous night. They were all positive; how happy Lily had been, how Drake had described their night as a ‘daddy daughter date’.

It had been ‘heartwarming to watch,’ said Cordonia Focus.

You can see how much he loves her - Trend.

She looked like a little angel as she held her father’s hand up the red carpet - Cordonian Herald.

Samantha then turned on her iPad. ‘And without further ado, look at the online stuff!’

Drake paled.

Drake Walker is the DILF we didn’t know we needed - Buzzfeed.

Drake Walker being a dad has made us thirsty - Cosmopolitan

17 pictures of Drake Walker topless because why wouldn’t you want to see that? (and he’s our Torso of the Week!) - Heat

Can we just talk about the sudden Daddy hotness that is Drake Walker? - Eleganza

‘Where the fuck did they get photos of me topless?’ Drake whispered. Samantha shrugged. ‘You go on holiday, Drake. Paparazzi follow you there too.’

‘What the hell is Torso of the Week?’ he asked.

Camille looked ready to explain, seeing the panic in his eyes, but Samantha interrupted. ‘Heat is a British magazine,’ she drawled, ‘and every issue they have a feature called Torso of the Week. Well done, it’s a great achievement.’

Drake blinked. ‘I’m in magazines in the fucking UK?’

‘Relax!’ Samantha sighed. ‘Look, you’re only in this issue. Next week, it could be Hugh Jackman. This will die down.’

Drake stared at the articles on the screen. He felt like an idiot. Like a joke. All he wanted was for people to take him seriously as a father and now his bare torso was on the internet for all to see. And he was Torso of the Week in the UK apparently.

Samantha left soon after. Camille was watching Drake, his eyebrows furrowed as he scrolled through the articles. She placed her hand on his, stopping him from moving the computer mouse.

‘Drake, talk to me.’

She could read him so well.

He sighed. ‘I just wanted people to see me for the dad I am. I know Samantha was planning to make me a DILF but I didn’t realise it would happen so quickly and I didn’t know that this is what would happen. I look like a joke.’

Camille turned him around to face her. ‘You are not a joke,’ she said fiercely. ‘You are Drake Walker-’

‘Yeah, Drake Walker, the DILF Buzzfeed didn’t know it needed,’ Drake said bitterly.

Camille clenched his hands. ‘You are Drake Walker, you are my husband and Lily’s father. That’s so much more important. I’m sorry you feel embarrassed about those topless photos, I’ve been there; do you know how many bikini photos are of me on the internet? You honestly just have to ignore it. I know you’ve tried your hardest to make sure we aren’t photographed in private but sometimes, these photos get out.’

Drake looked down at the floor. ‘I just want to be taken seriously.’

‘I take you seriously,’ Camille told him. ‘Our friends take you seriously. Drake, you’re brilliant. You are not a joke and believe me, once these silly articles die down, that’s when the real newspapers will stand up and write about how incredible a father you are. You just have to ride it out.’

‘What if that takes a while?’ he asked quietly.

‘You’ve got me there with you,’ Camille whispered.

He looked into her eyes now. She had so much faith in him. How did he get so lucky?

Their lips met. Drake pulled her in close, his hands wrapping around her back. Camille groaned and ran her hands under his shirt.

‘Get those abs out for me then, Walker,’ she teased. Drake chuckled and pulled his shirt off, throwing it to the floor.

‘Lily’s not gonna come in here, is she? he asked suddenly, alert. Camille shook her head.

‘She’s watching Tangled on repeat. I think she’s on her fourth watch.’

Drake laughed and pulled Camille towards him, settling down on his chair. She sank down on his lap and nipped his lower lip with her teeth.

‘Now, imagine if it was the photos I have of you on my phone that were published,’ Camille whispered in his ear. ‘You would be DILF of the century.’

Drake blushed and pulled her in to give her a deep kiss. ‘Only you get to see those,’ he murmured. Camille reached down and stroked his crotch, smiling as his jeans tightened.

‘Lucky me,’ she said, before unbuckling his belt.

How did Drake get so lucky?

****************************************************************

Afterwards, Camille went upstairs to see Lily. Drake stayed at his desk and scrolled through more of the articles. He kept trying to remember Camille’s reassurances but he still felt so embarrassed.

Drake was a private person. Having pictures of him in the ocean was not private. Pictures of him and his daughter on the internet was not private.

He reached out and grabbed his bottle of whiskey. He took a deep gulp; he didn’t even bother to pour it into a glass.

**************************************************************

Drake looked through the box to study some of the photographs Camille had put in the box. There were loads. In the age of Facebook photo albums, Camille preferred to be old school. She took photos on her camera and had them printed so she could keep them forever.

He came across the selfie of him and Lily at the premiere. They both looked so happy in it. Lily was sat on his lap, a cheesy grin on her face. What had he done to ruin his relationship with his daughter? She had idolised him. He adored her. What had he done?

Drake sniffled. He was sick of crying. Clearing his throat, he rubbed his eyes fiercely and put the photo back in the pile. Enough of that.

He felt alone. Sad and alone. Somehow, even though reading Camille’s diary was painful, he felt like she was talking to him. By reading her words, he could hear her voice in his head and he could pretend she was there. It was somewhat comforting.

He opened the diary again and turned to the next page.

31st July 2023

I am so angry with myself. I’m angry with Drake, but more so with myself. I didn’t realise it had gotten to this point. I cancelled my meeting because Drake is so much more important. I just want to understand him and help but I feel like his walls are being built back up. I wish he knew that I was here if he needed to talk; in fact, he does know that because I’ve told him so. I guess I just wish he would listen to me.

I’m scared if the walls go back up, I won’t be able to bring them back down.

Drake paled when he read the next entry. All happy thoughts of Lily at the premiere and Camille in his arms dissipated to this unhappy memory of the next day.

He had been a fucking idiot.

********************************************************************

More news articles had cropped up about Drake. But now, Lily was involved too. Everyone had been admiring her dress and now the dress had sold out.

Articles about how cute she is were published.

Articles about her potential future were written.

Drake hadn’t asked for Lily to be written about. This wasn’t okay. He and Camille were trying to raise her to have as normal a childhood as possible and having her splashed in newspapers, magazines and online blogs was not a normal childhood.

Camille was getting ready for her meeting with Liam, Olivia, Hana, Penelope and Kiara. The Duchesses were in talks to launch a campaign to promote women’s equality in the workplace; Cordonia was still old fashioned when it came to that topic and Kiara had been trying to get into a diplomatic relations role for years. She had the skills and intelligence to do it. Her gender held her back.

When Kiara had told Camille, Camille decided enough was enough. She rallied the other Duchesses and they approached the King to see if he could help.

The meetings were taking up a significant part of Camille’s working life now and she loved it. She wanted to make a difference and improve the lives of Cordonian women.

Drake was in the kitchen. He was drinking a large cup of coffee with a double measure of whiskey mixed in. He needed the drink after seeing more of the articles. He needed to take the pressure off. He needed to slow down. He needed to not think too much about it.

‘Right, I’m heading off,’ Camille said, shrugging her trench coat on. ‘Lily’s in her room playing dress up, that will keep her entertained for a few hours. Make sure she has some vegetables for lunch?’

Drake smiled. ‘Sure, babe.’

Camille eyed his coffee and then looked at her watch. ‘Gah, I don’t have time for breakfast which is annoying, my Skype call with Bertrand took longer than expected.’

She rushed over to Drake to kiss his cheek. ‘Ugh, I need coffee,’ she said. Reaching out, she took the cup.

‘No, Camille-’

She took a sip of the coffee.

Drake could see the confusion on her face turn into shock. She stared at him, her chest rising and falling.

‘Drake.. since when do you drink your coffee Irish?’

#drake walker #drake walker x mc #the royal romance #trr fanfic

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heychangbin · 5 years

Text

Memory of an Enlisted Man ║ A Billy in Westworld Story

Wordcount: 4576

Warnings: blood, depictions of injuries, death

A/N: this is a memory of one of Billy’s earlier deployments during his first tour as an enlisted man in Afghanistan. (way before he met reader) You don’t have to read it to know what’s gonna happen in part 3 of BiW, just some backstory for our guy.

despite the amount of research that went into this, some liberties were taken with call signs and protocols but i tried to be as faithful to the material as possible.

Also, this is me Marie Kondoing all over canon and giving one of Billy’s major and most significant injuries and scars a new story that won’t just be a one and done deal.

Also also, can’t thank @the-blind-assassin-12 enough for reassuring me every step of the way while i was writing this.

tagging my BiW peeps,

Tagging my BiW peeps: @something-tofightfor @the-blind-assassin-12 @songtoyou @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @ificouldhelpyouforget @suchatinyinfinity @christinawxxx @drinix @lysawayne @lexxierave

Let me know if y’all want to be added, removed of just wanna be tagged for the main story!!

The trip was as routine as they came, get from point "A" to point "B" neutralize the threat, and then back to base, debrief, then retire for the night,wake up at 0500 the next day ready for the next mission. They had done several of these since their company had deployed months ago, every road, every turn, planned and carried out without so much as a hiccup.

It was routine.

What wasn't was the IED that tore through the first Humvee midway through the third and fourth checkpoints.

An ear splitting boom filled the air followed closely by the sound of metal being torn apart as if it were paper along with the cracking and shattering of glass. He didn’t hear any screams, everything was drowned out by the high pitched ringing in his ears. He knew he didn't have the luxury of waiting ‘til the ringing died down, there could be enemy combatants surrounding them at that very moment, aiming their guns at the wreckage that was their convoy and pick them off one by one.

Billy grabbed his M27, the automatic rifle feeling heavy in his hand, squinted out of a portion of the window that wasn’t damaged too much, eyes quickly scanning the outside for hostiles. When he was satisfied that there wasn’t any immediate danger, he threw the door open, wincing as he planted his feet on the pebbled floor, adjusting his stance as he brought the butt of the rifle against his shoulder, eye looking through the optic mount, pointing the barrel of his rifle as he does another sweep of his immediate perimeter.

Once he is sure that he is not under enemy fire he goes to take a step but a sharp pain shoots up from his abdomen and makes him stop immediately and look down where the pain was radiating from and sees a large shard of glass protruding from low in his gut, blood thick and slowly oozing around the sharp edges that are further cutting into the soft tissue with every shift.

“Fuck” he mutters to himself, he hadn’t thought that he had been injured, there had been no pain but now every breath he took was almost too much. He had thought that the Humvee had taken most of the damage, was expecting only a few minor cuts and scrapes, not to have a piece of fucking glass sticking out of his lower stomach. A piece of glass he’s gonna have to remove if he wants any chance of getting back to base.

He grits his teeth at the mere thought of having to pull the large shard of glass out, it’s gonna be painful but it has to be done, he can’t move without almost whiting out, and if he wants to get back to base, he needs to scour through the wreckage that is their convoy and radio for help.

As gently as he can so as to not irritate his wound further he leans onto the opened door and looks into the Humvee, the three other marines that made up the second car not moving, Reyes, the brother that had sat beside him in the back, was slumped against the side of the car, the right side of his face covered in blood as is slowly poured outta somewhere underneath his helmet, muttering a curse under his breath when he can't tell if the man is breathing.

Knowing he won’t be able to help anyone before he sorts himself out, he reaches for the first aid bag under the front passenger seat, pain shoots up his side as he feels the glass move against the tender edges of the torn skin. Biting back a groan he pulls the bag free and with deft fingers pulls the zipper open and lifts the flap. Despite his training he forgoes the nitrile gloves and picks up the scissors and as carefully as he can cuts around the piece of glass sticking out and removes the soiled pieces of clothing. The skin around it looks angry, red and swollen, knowing he can't delay any more he picks up one of the gauze packets and rips it open, quickly discarding the packet, takes one of the few loose straps from him uniform and bites into it and finally with his left hand takes hold of the end of the glass, the slight jostle makes him groan again. He steels himself, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath and holds it in his lungs as he begins to pull.

He feels how the edges drag against the soft tissue of his insides and cries out in pain, the sound muffled slightly by the impromptu gag in his mouth. He feels lightheaded for a second when the tip of the shard is freed dropping it as he slumps against the Humvee door at his back, feels the blood rush out and wet the skin around the wound and down, quickly seeping into the top of his fatigues and he forces himself to continue. He takes one end of the gauze and stuffs it into the cut, squeezing his eyes shut and biting on the strap in his mouth as pain shoots through him.

He’s halfway through the roll of gauze when he feels resistance and he thanks his lucky stars, the wound isn’t that deep, and it didn’t feel like anything internal was punctured, and firmly presses the rest of the roll onto the wound and does the three minute count, then one more just to be safe. He tears through the packaging of one of the larger bandages and wraps it around his waist, making sure that there is enough pressure on the wound to keep the gauze tight against it but not so much that it makes him too uncomfortable.

He pushed himself off the door slowly, carefully, there was pain still but it wasn't the searing and blinding pain that had left him gasping before, it was duller, bearable. He quickly tested his range of movement and is relieved that he isn't too restricted, maybe if keeps the strain to a minimum he’ll live to see another day.

Himself squared away he checks on the other men in the Humvee, going first to open the front passenger door and swears, Sticks, a 23 year old surfer type, blonde, blue eyes with golden tan skin, from California is slumped against the seat not moving, the front of his uniform is dark, the wet material clinging to his unmoving chest. He reached over and pressed his fingers to his neck, to the spot under his jaw, next to his windpipe but wasn’t too surprised when he didn’t feel anything. There was too much blood soaked onto his clothes for there to be one. He walked around the large car, and threw open the back door, Reyes’ body falling onto him in the same motion, the strain of holding up the 180 odd pound man makes his wound flare up, making him guide the unconscious man down to the floor and propping him up against the back tire of the Humvee. He quickly checks for a pulse and is relieved when he feels a pulse against the tip of his fingers, it’s weak but it’s there.

“Reyes, Reyes can you hear me!!” Billy shook the man’s shoulder his neck lolled from side to side, his dark skin looking more ahsen than it had a few minutes ago, he shook him harder calling his name out louder a few more times until there was a visible hitch in the mans breathing, the rising and falling of his chest more pronounced,

“Bill...what th--” Reyes let out a groan when he tried to move Billy’s hand shooting out to press against the middle of his chest to ease him back against the wheel,

“Easy man...we hit somethin’, took out the first two cars

“We gotta--” Reyes made to get up again, pushing himself off the ground and away from the car, when he was upright he began tilting to the side, Billy barely managed to get a hold of him in time before he hit the ground.

“Easy, easy,” he said as he lowered Reyes back down and against the side of the Humvee, “right now all you gotta do is get yourself right...you can join me after the nausea passes and are able to take a step without wanting to hurl.”

Reyes gave him a curt nod, Billy knew the guy hated it but he was of no use to anyone with his senses impaired as they were. Billy had had his share of concussions in the past and they weren’t anything to sneeze at.

Billy stood and peered into the front of the car, Scott “Tennessee” Graves, one of the older men in their unit, who had two tours under his belt already, who had that very morning mentioned over breakfast that this would be his last deployment since his wife was a few months away from giving birth to his first child, was pinned to the seat, a metal rod, no doubt from something off the second car, sticking out of his shoulder, the area around it already drenched in red, skin more pale than it had any right to be, shattered glass littered all over him like some over enthusiastic kid got carried away with a glitter pen. Billy knew the man was gone, no one could be that still and still be alive, still he reached a hand over, laying his index and middle finger against his neck and checked for a pulse. When he didn’t feel one, he shifted his fingers slightly and continued to wait for the slight push against his fingertips. When it still didn’t appear he picked up the arm that was closest to him, pushed the sleeve up and pressed his fingers to Scott’s wrist. C’mon Tennessee, with a heavy heart he placed Scott’s hand on his lap, sniffed back the tears he felt pricking in his eyes and continued on.

He walked over to the second car, body crouched low and eye looking through the optic mount of his gun again, quickly scanning the area, when he came up on the rear of the Humvee he could make out the sound of someone crying out in pain from the back. Without hesitation Billy reached for the handle of the rear door, having to yank on it a few times before he was able to throw it open, and for a split second he wished he hadn’t. The first thing he saw was one of his fellow marines, Jason Todd, clutching at his left leg, or rather half of it, the bottom half was lying just out of reach from Jason, the stump bleeding profusely. Billy reached for the nearest first aid kit and tore it open, once again forgoing the gloves and reaching for the tourniquet. He ripped the plastic bag it came in and wrapped and secured it around Jason’s thigh, all the while Jason cried, voice hoarse and raw, “My leg, my leg is gone, my leg is fucking gone!!”

Billy gave the tourniquet the final tug and fastened it in place, reaching out and took a hold of Jason’s scruff, and looked Jason in the eye and in as sure a voice as he could said,

“You’re gonna be okay...Red listen to me...you’re gonna be alright!”

Jason shook his head, the action so violet Billy wondered if he should move out of the way so to not get thrown up on, then Jason started listing to the side,

“Hey, hey! C’mon stay with me man!” Billy shouted as he slapped Jason none too gently to get him to stay awake and aware.

There was shuffling coming from behind him, making Billy bring up his automatic rifle and aim, finger ready to pull on the trigger, relaxing only when he saw that it was Reyes, legs dragging on the pebbled ground as he slowly made his way towards them, torso low and gun tucked against his side. He looked somewhat better than when he left him, some of the color had returned to his face.

“You good?”

Reyes only nodded, lips pressed together in a hard line as he leaned against the side of the car.

Billy tuned and ducked back inside the car, Jason was slumped back against his seat, head rolling from side to side as he continued to mourned the loss of his leg. At least you still have your balls Red.

Knowing Jason was good...as good as he was gonna be given the circumstances, he moved on to check the rest of the men in the car. Norris, Dean, and Hanson were all full of shrapnel and way too bloody to be anything but dead. Still, he went around and checked each for a pulse. He didn’t allow himself to hesitate, to wait, to check and recheck for a pulse that he knew wasn’t there and wouldn’t come no matter how long he pressed his fingers to their necks and wrists.

He goes back around the car, tells Reyes to stay with Jason, keep him awake while he goes and checks the Lead car, Reyes nods and shuffles over to lean against the open car door, Jason only an eye shift away as he looked out to the open road.

Billy turned to make his way to the lead car and for a seconds wondered if he should, the car was flipped over, the outside burned black, windows completely gone from their frames. I’ve heard of guys surviving worse.

With that thought in mind he crouched low and made his way to the wrecked vehicle, every other step he took he scanned his surroundings, unable to trust the quiet and still expanse. Once he reached the wreck, he lowered himself onto one knee, a spark of pain shooting up his side when the motion put too much pressure on the packed gash on his stomach.

Despite the pain and through gritted teeth he inspects the inside of the Humvee, he almost steps away, the smell of burnt flesh too strong for him to take but the sound of wet breaths keep him where he is. His eyes scan the inside as quickly as they can and he sees Otto, his body is twisted, one of his arms is bent in the wrong direction, his mouth is open and half his left cheek is missing, along with his closely cropped chestnut hair from the same side, left in its wake is raw red skin with a scattering of large bloody boils, his bright hazel eyes swollen shut into purple slits, nowhere in sight is the...boy fresh out of MOS training and on his first deployment. He’s gaping like a fish out of water, the sound wet as he struggles to breathe or talk or cry out for help, it’s a sight Billy knows is gonna haunt him for the rest of his life.

Next to him is James Malone, their companies charismatic reverend and medic, in much the same state with the only difference that he was not only missing part of his face but also his right arm. What could God's plan possibly be for this? He thought bitterly as he saw his brothers suffering. He reaches inside and grips one of the straps from his vest and drags him out and away from the wreck, Otto makes the first real sound, a wet choked off scream that makes Billy wince, silently promising that if the kid makes it out of this, he’s gonna buy him his first beer. He goes back and pulls Malone out calling out to Reyes as he lays him down beside Otto. When Reyes comes into view Billy shouts at him to bring the first aid bag. Reyes disappears for a minute as Billy removes what’s left of his shirt and presses it to what remains of Malone’s arm to try and staunch the bleeding. When he looks back up, Reyes is trotting over, first aid kit hanging off his shoulder and tourniquet in hand, Reyes dropping to his knees as soon as he reaches them taking out the scissors and cutting away the sleeve at the shoulder. Reyes gags when he pulls the fabric free, Malones arm is mangled, the skin bloody and torn to shreds. He knows the sight isn’t anything new to the other marine, but he imagines it’s not something you ever get used to.

Reyes tears through the plastic packaging and wraps the band around the swell of his shoulder, the skin there smooth and unaffected.

“How’s Red?” Billy asked as Reyes finished tying off the tourniquet.

“Had to give him something for the pain, he’s a little outta it, but...we gotta get him outta there, it ain’t good…” Reyes trailed off but Billy knew what he meant, it ain’t good being up close and personal with all that death.

Billy nodded, “Gonna check the others, you got this?”

Reyes nodded once and moved over to Otto, Billy saw him bring the scissors out before he turned and headed back to the lead car.

The smell of burnt flesh was just as strong and as gag inducing the second time around, he looked over the bodies that lay mangled on the car roof, looking like bloody chewed up dog toys. Georgie’s neck and chest were gone, having taken most of the damage, he would have to check his wrist if he wanted to check for a pulse. Dwight was in much the same boat, the right side of his body shredded to the point that he could see bone.

If he were a man of belief, he would’ve sent out a silent prayer, begged whatever higher power there was in the world that they accept his brothers into...wherever, both had been good men. But he wasn’t, he couldn’t bring himself to believe that there was an all seeing, all powerful being out there in the cosmos, that controlled all of their day to day occurrences. And if he did and let things like this happen, then he was a cruel being and didn’t deserve that power and the adoration of millions.

He just hoped their deaths had been quick, a flash of something and then nothing.

He was pushing himself back up when he caught and heard a groan. He peered back in and caught the rise and fall of Stone’s chest. Billy reached in and grabbed onto the strap of his utility vest and started pulling him out as he said in a hurried voice,

“It’s alright Sir, I got you...we’re gonna get you outta this!” Billy said as he tugged harder, trying to unlodge Stone from under Dwight.

“Stop...it Russo,” the older man said, his throat clicking audibly as he swallowed. “Get the others out…”

“Sir…”

“Just go...I can’t...I don’t want…”

It’s then that Billy took notice of the extent of the damage the man took, while the wounds on his upper body could probably been treated in one of the med tents, then taken to the nearest hospital, his lower half was broken in more ways than one.

“Stone...there’s--”

“God damn it Russo, I said to fucking leave me here!!”

Billy flinched back at the amount of venom in the man’s words, hesitated telling him that he still had to pull him out, lay him along with the others. Instead he gave him a hard pat on the shoulder and pushed himself up and walked away from the car. Red still needed help, he still had to check if one of the Humvee had a working radio so he could request a medevac. He’d take care of that first and then, he’d go back and drag out the bodies, leaving the lead car for last, that should be enough time for Stone.

Billy looked over at Reyes as he trotted back to the second car, he was working over Otto still, holding wad of gauze over one of the larger injuries as he checked his eyes. When he reached it, he found Red slumped against the side of the car, eyes closed and breathing through his mouth, there was a slight wheeze with every intake of air.

“C’mon Red, let’s get you outta here.” he said as he reached in and gently shook the marine whose eyes slowly opened, giving him a small nod.

It took some maneuvering, but Billy was able to get Jason out of the car, left arm over his shoulder and side pressed firmly against his own and hobble to where the other survivors were. They had just cleared the front of the car, Billy gritting his teeth and pushing past the pain shooting up his side when Reyes walked up to them and went to take hold of Jason’s other side. The walk went by much quicker then.

Once Red was settled with the others, Billy had Reyes stay with them while he went and searched for a working radio. He checked the second car and went directly to the consol between the two front seats, the radio was a little banged up but the disp[lay was functioning making him breathe a sigh of relief as he turned the dial and entered the frequency for the distress channel, pressed and held the button on the receiver and said the words he was trained to say but hoped he’d never have to.

“Dustoff, this is Blackbird, requesting medevac, over.”

Billy waited and counted the customary three seconds needed for a response, when it didn’t come he cursed and took a breath and tried to maintain his voice steady and clear. Then repeated the line.

“Dustoff, Dustoff, this is Blackbird, requesting medevac. Over.”

He took the pressure off the button and the click on the radio was the most beautiful sound Billy had ever heard.

“Blackbird this is Dustoff, send it. Over.”

Billy kept a cool head and clear tone as he said the first line of the request, reciting their coordinates then continued,

“Line too: niner niner six fife. Break. Blackbird. Break

Line tree:...” here Billy hesitated for a moment. There had been 13 members in the squad that left their base that morning, packed away in 3 vehicles on a route that had been previously scouted and cleared as safe, the faces of the brothers he lost flashed through his face, he didn’t let his thoughts linger any longer, knew he didn’t have that commodity, not here. He had to think about the men that were still alive, still breathing, still had a chance to make it outta this desert road. He cleared the knot that had formed in his throat and continued to recite the request he had to get through.

“Three alpha, break, two delta. Break.

“Line fow-er: Alpha. Break

“Line fife: 3 Lima. Break. 2 Alpha. Break

“Line six: November. Break

“Line seven: Charlie. Break

“Line eight: Alpha. Break.

“Line nine: None. Break.

“This completes 9line medevac request. How copy. Over.”

The click came again and the voice over the radio was clear as it said,

“Blackbird, this is Dustoff. We copy, medevac dispatched, EAT 10 minutes. out.”

Billy breathed a sigh of relief, 10 minutes. He quickly unscrewed the radio from the console, grabbed a couple of smoke grenades and trotted to the back of the car, unhooked the stretches they had strapped there and trotted back to where Reyes and the others were, they still had to transfer Otto, Jason, and Malone onto the stretchers so they could just be loaded up onto the helicopter and evacuated.

When he reached them he set the radio down and the stretchers down, looked up at Reyes and told him,

“Bird is 10 minutes out, we need to get these guys on the litters to load them up and…” he paused but the we gotta get the others outta the others outta the cars hung unsaid between them.

Without further prompting, Reyes hooked his arms under Jason’s armpits and Billy took his leg and gripped at the loose fabric of his fatigues, counted to three and lifted him up and onto the stretcher, gritting his teeth as pain shot up his abdomen. Doing the same for Otto and Malone. Then started the arduous task of removing their dead and lining them up a little ways away from their injured, covering them with a canvas sheet, Billy was working on tugging Stone out of the lead car, the man deathly still as Billy pulled and yanked to free him from where he was snagged on something when he heard the crackle of the radio, he jumped up and out and rushed over to the radio, pushing down the dizziness that threaten to overtake him as a voice came through the receiver,

“Blackbird this is Dustoff 609. Two minutes out. Over.”

At those words Billy pulled the pin from one of the smoke grenades and almost instantly, green smoke erupted from the top of the can, encasing them in seconds.

“Blackbird this is Dustoff 609, we got visual on green smoke. Is that you? Over.”

Billy says a breathless yes into the receiver before his training kicks in and corrects himself, reciting call signs and confirming that the green smoke was in fact them.

“Blackbird this is Dustoff 609 we see you. Over.”

It wasn’t long before they were able to hear the sound of the helicopter, even less when the spinning of the blades cleared the smoke, men jumping out of the helicopter and running to where they were, taking hold of the stretchers and rushing them over and loading them onto the helicopter. Another couple of guys went to where the rest of their squad laid and loaded them onto other stretchers and carried them to the second helicopter. He was on his way to help them when he stumbled, his vision blurred at the edges and everything seemed a bit too bright He closed his eyes tight and breathed for a moment, steadied himself and took a step when he was caught by the shoulder He turned and saw one of the guys from the first helicopter, his lips were moving but he could barely make out he was saying over the sound of the helicopter motor.

“What?” he yelled, hoping the guy was able to hear him.

“I said, we gotta get you loaded up!”

Billy gave him a quizzical look, to which the guy said,

“Soldier, you’ve bled through your bandages, we gotta get you outta here!”

Billy looked down at himself, the dark elastic bandage he had wrapped around his stomach had a large, wet dark spot. He looked back over at the guy, Wade read the name over his right breast pocket

“C’mon, we gotta get you outta here.”

Billy nodded and let Wade guide him to the belly of the helicopter, where Otto, Jason, and Malone were already being hooked up to IV bags, Reyes was sitting on one of the seats in the back, holding a cold compress to his head. Wade pointed for him to lay across a few seats and had him hold clean bandages to his stomach.

He felt when the helicopter took off the ground and shifted forward and that’s when his eyes began to droop, everything fading as tiredness overtaking him.

#the punisher #billy russo #billy in westworld #westworld #the punisher fic #billy russo fic #westworld fic #billy russo fanfic #the punisher fanfiction

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irndad · 5 years

Text

the moon song- b.b.

a/n: IT’S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I POSTED I AM SO SORRY!!! real life has swallowed me whole, i’ve been out of town and college and bla bla bla. this is a really sweet one, a bit sad but good!

summary: for my @sgtjbuccky end of year challenge. my prompt was “tell me not to kiss you.” “mean it.” “I can’t.” this fic is about the history of a song through their lives together, and their marriage.

wc: 3k (IT’S A LONG ONE)

Bucky Barnes falls in love on a night when the sky is peppered with diamonds, on the roof of a tower he’s just gotten used to living in, with a woman he hasn’t said a damn word to.

This woman, is laughing with someone he does know, smiling with his friends Natasha Romanoff and Tony Stark, a champagne glass between nimble fingers, a laugh on her face, joy written across her features as though she is a canvas and happiness was the only thing ever meant to cross it. He thinks he might’ve seen her before, a photo around the tower somewhere.

And she’s just lovely, wearing a blue dress that falls to her ankles, the color of the sky above them, with glitter all over it just the same, and then there’s her smile, the kind of smile you would give anything to be in the presence of.

In the end, it’s Steve who notices him staring, and it’s almost like they’re back where they used to be, two kids in Brooklyn, goading each other into the affection of a dame. Here they are, in 2018, under stars in a world neither of them quite understand, and Bucky is still being helped by Steve to talk to a girl. Some things are certain. And so Steve walks him over, cooly explains to her who Bucky is, and she nods as if she already knows but is listening anyway, doe eyes sparkling like jewels and flitting over to meet his gaze every now and then.

Then, she speaks her name, and offers her hand as though he is meant to kiss it. It might be a joke, based on the look of whimsey in her eye, the crookedness of her clever grin, and he wants to kiss that too. He presses his lips to her knuckles though, and she preens.

He commits her name to memory.

They talk, and her voice is like a flute, flowing and sweet just like her name, and he thinks of how amazing it would have been if he’d met her in the 40’s, if he’d met her in the age of smoky dance bars, if he’d have the confidence to pull her in to his chest, and dance to the crooning voice the band is playing.

But she seems to have what he lacks, and pulls him to the dance floor, and under a sky of stars Bucky Barnes dancing with a beautiful woman for the first time in decades, with the sound of a singer pulling heaven into reality.

I'm lying on the moon

My dear, I'll be there soon

___________________________________________________

He sees her all the time after that rooftop gala.

Of course, he could never forget the way she looked the night they met, all covered in grace and elegance, holding a champagne glass with pretty fingers and painted nails, bright and golden under starlight party lights. It was a beautiful setting, something out of a storybook, and he wondered if the magic of that was what endeared him to her, that first night.

But it wasn’t, and that reveals itself sooner than later, when he finds out more about her, and finds himself utterly fascinated with every aspect of doing so.

She is a writer, in the past for a newspaper (how she met Stark, an interview right after he closed weapons manufacturing) and now she write books, quietly publishing novels under a pen name no one knows.

More than the facts of her, Bucky finds himself falling in love with just about everything about her.

“Macaroons are so weird,” she says to him, one day sitting across from him, in a lovely light blue dress and a lovelier smile, pleasant atmosphere surrounding him. He hasn’t told her how he felt about her, wonders if it reads on his face every time he’s with her. She is so entrancing, excited by nothing and full of joy at the slightest mention of something he loves. He can’t help it.

“Have you noticed,” he says, looking up at her, brushing a crumb off of the corner of her lip, seeing the sweet expression of being flustered cross her face, “Every time we come here, you comment on the food, never just eat it.”

“I’m full of opinions, Barnes. You have to get used to it.” And she winks, crosses her hands to hold his own, set on the table.

She runs her hands across the thumb of the metal hand, and that’s what does him in, really.

She smiles at him, like he’s just a normal man, not an old soul or a broken man, just a man across a table from a girl who is helplessly endeared with him.

And he kisses her.

It’s his first kiss he can really remember from anything, first one since he’s had the choice to kiss again, and so it’s probably meant to be bad, but she’s smiling, holding on to his collar, when did she do that? And when she pulls away, there’s that smile again, the one that made a super soldier's heart stutter back on that rooftop.

“What?” he hears himself ask. He’s not sure if he made the choice to, too high on everything that comes with someone like her giving him her affection.

“It’s our song, Bucky.”

And she’s right, the song that played in that gala is being played on the radio, soft and crooning.

The right thing to do, when such a thing occurs is to of course, kiss her again. Which he does.

Your shadow follows me all day

Making sure that I'm

Okay and we're a million miles away

___________________________________________________

Years later, they have a spring wedding.

It’s full of colors, held out in the compound with breath of spring coating the area, last night’s rain giving birth to a clear blue sky and clouds that are overhead as his bride to be walks down the aisle. Steve is at his side, and such things seem to always be the case, as her father walks her down the aisle.

And she’s a vision in ivory, under a veil and looking up at him when she reaches, and there are a million things he wants to say. She’s just gorgeous, and he can never be sure if it’s the adoration he holds or her or if she’s’ really looks like something plucked out of a Louvre painting.

“Hi,” she whispers, as the officiator speaks. Her lips are a gorgeous scarlet, and he tries to meet her eyes, instead of staring at her cupid’s bow.

“Hey there,” he whispers back, smiling that cocky smirk she loves, playful because they both know nerves are eating them alive.

Before he knows it, she says the two words he needs to hear, and the words curl around the air like a blessing.

“I do,” he says when the time comes, and kisses her, like no one was watching. It hardly mattered that anyone did, holding her face in his hands and she is smiling, and it is the kind of moment he is going to remember for the rest of his life.

At the reception, they dance to the same song they danced to when they met.

Years have produced familiarity, and the beautiful stranger who had given a chance to a man with a jaded history and the nervous man, have been replaced with a woman he’s in love with, a partner he knows like lines on his palm, her mind a constellation he spends forever trying learn every detail of.

Her head is against his chest, and it strikes him that this is it, the beginning of his happy ending. If he plays his cards right, this is his forever.

They sway, and she kisses the corner of his mouth, and he is blessed.

Time's we're swallowed up

In space we're here a million miles away

___________________________________________________

Bucky is a much better father than he ever expected himself to be.

They had Winnie after being married for 2 years, a little girl with his wife’s eyes and his tenacity, bright and loud and adorable, the apple of his eye. He is so incredibly blessed, given the kind of life with a loving wife and a child that looked at his metal arm like a toy, like the thing that feeds her and plays with her and keeps her safe. And his wife, who regards him with such warmth after time has hardly spared them from hardship.

At this moment, Bucky is watching JARVIS’ cameras in the nursery. His wife has been shushing her for a while, a restless child who wasn’t hungry or thirsty but missed her father, and Bucky’s heart ached. Winnie was a great kid, adorable and sweet and she was going to be a heart stealer, he just knew it. She looked just like her mom. There was about nothing in the world Bucky wouldn’t do for his little girl, no obstacle he wouldn’t cross to see his Winnie smiling again.

But he is on a quinjet, far from being able to hold her and to have her sleep. Instead, he is off playing the hero, when his girls need him. And what kind of father is that?

Panic builds in his chest as he hears her small cries build, and whoever thought the Winter soldier could handle being a father? This was never meant to be his life, the man who could’ve been a husband and a father went down in a fall, and tricking himself into thinking he could handle it is hardly enough.

“Did you know,” he hears his wife say, and isn’t that just like her, pulling him out of his panic when she doesn’t even know he’s looking, “Your daddy loves you so much, did you know that?”

He smiles. She has too much faith in him, too much belief in the goodness of his heart. She’s right, though. The two women on his screen are his entire world.

“Sometimes bad people try to hurt the world,” and WInnie has no idea what she’s saying, not old enough to understand but the words seeming to calm her down a little, “And so Daddy has to go fight people who would want to hurt us.”

Winnie’s not asleep, but just about, her eyes fluttering a bit and he wants nothing more than to be there, and she begins singing. It’s the same song they always loved, the song that played when they met, what feels like a million years ago, the song that they first kissed to, the song they danced to at their wedding. Now, she’s singing it to their child.

His heart could burst.

I'm lying on the moon

My dear, I'll be there soon

Bucky arrives in the morning, and kisses his wife and his daughter’s head, and he promises that no matter where he goes, he will be home soon.

___________________________________________________

Life is beautiful, for Bucky Barnes.

Winnie grows up too fast, crawls and walks and talks so fast it is unbelievable, and the song follows them through their life. His wife is beautiful and wears age like fine jewelry, carries everything life throws at them in stride, and sings the song to their daughter, as she washes dishes or kisses him goodbye, or writes her books.

He goes to a SHIELD doctor when his good elbow starts hurting

“The serum is breaking down,” the doctor says, and the floor falls out from under him.

“Excuse me?” he hears himself say.

“While this does lessen your lifespan,” and oh god, he is going to leave his family, going to lose his life, how could he expect this to last- “You still will have excellent health for the next 70 or so years.”

70 years. Bucky has 70 more years to live, and his wife likely has 60 or so, and for a second, he realizes his life is going to be just fine.

He decides not to tell his wife about it, not yet, anyway. When he comes home to their apartment, Winnie runs to his leg and she lifts up her glasses, smiling up at him, and gives him a look.

“What?” he says, pulling her into his arms. Her smile is full of warmth, and he adores her. All he does is love her, it seems. It takes up most of his heart.

“Tell me not to kiss you,” and she’s teasing, too close to him, no bite in her words and now that’s all he wants to do.

“Don’t kiss me.”

“Mean it.”

“I can’t.”

And they’ve been married ages, know each other inside out, he knows the lines on her palms like an old book, but they still understand each other. He worried often what he would do when she passed, when everyone he loved did, the serum making him live longer than anyone he loves.

He just kisses her, and laughs when Winnie yells at them.

___________________________________________________

In their old age, after Winnie is a beautiful young woman and off on her own adventures, after their apartment is all their own but never quiet, full of life and love. They are never lonely, and Bucky loves her as much as he did the day they got married. He has grey hair, wrinkles by his eyes, and she loves these all the same.

“You know,” she had said, the night he first got a grey hair, sipping tea out of a chipped blue mug, “I thought I’d be married to a man with eternal youth. This is much better.”

And so life continues as normal, good and sweet, hot tea and adventures in their own right time spent in her company.

Every night, when they get ready for bed, when she puts on the cream that insists it will reduce the symbols of age (he insists she doesn’t need it, every night kissing her shoulder and telling her she is beautiful) and she hums that song, the same one that no one really remembers anymore.

But with you my dear

I'm safe and we're a million miles away

She sings softly, like she doesn’t mean to, and he kisses her like they’re still punch drunk kids on a rooftop.

___________________________________________________

She starts forgetting things.

It’s here and there, little things. Bucky gets used to it quick, his reflexes are still great for a man that looks 70, and he covers her slack. When she forgets the recipe to that italian dish they always have on Sundays, he makes it instead. When she forgets the punchline, he smiles anyway. He wants her to be okay, and she seems okay. She does.

But then she can’t remember the song.

“You don’t know it?”

“I’m sorry,” she says, and her voice is a whisper. She’s scared, and honestly, he is too.

The doctor’s office is cold and unwelcoming. Maybe it just feels that way because the words alzheimers settles over the room, and he realizes what it means.

She’s going to lose her memory, and her mind, if she doesn’t die first.

Here’s the thing. Bucky knew he was going to outlive her, and he knew they had an incredible life together, that she’s in 70’s, that they’ve had a beautiful life.

Goodbye is coming, and he should be ready for it.

But he’s not. He never will be.

So when the silence settles over them on the drive home, and when she enters through the door, Bucky hums the song, and holds her hand and makes her dance with him to a record player. Bucky is a relic of a past time who found a place with her. If she is forgetting time now, he will fill in the gaps.

It’s different to hear him singing it, his deeper voice, and she smiles, so it’s okay. Maybe the things are different, but she is still with him.

___________________________________________________

In the end, it works out. She forgets more than she remembers, and he has to hold her sometimes when her joints start aching, and more often than not, even if she doesn’t know the time, she knows him. That is enough. Any piece of her is better than nothing, and he loves her.

One day, she lifts herself up to go walk by him, and he smiles up at her. She has that glint in her eye, both the lucidity of knowing exactly where she is, and knowing her husband is right there with her. She also has that mischief in her eyes, and he loves her so much.

“Tell me not to kiss you,” she says, and he remembers this, remembers this like the song they dance together, like their first kiss, like every bit of joy that’s laced his life from the minute she stepped into it.

“Don’t kiss me.” He replies, in kind. She is smiling, and he could cry. That smile is rare, and he’d cross oceans to see it.

“Mean it.”

“I can’t.”

And she kisses him, smiling and warm, and he recognizes that with her burst of energy, she got the speaker to play an old recording of her singing.

Bucky Barnes holds his wife while she knows who he is, while the ghost of her voice from a time she always did plays, and he can’t fathom how life could be any more perfect.

We’re lying on the moon

It’s a perfect afternoon

Your shadow follows me all day

Making sure that I'm

Okay and we’re a million miles away

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#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #Winter Soldier #winter soldier imagine #winter solider imagine #the winter solider x reader #marvel #captain america imagine

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uh-ohdaddyscalling-blog · 5 years

Text

Letters

Note: This is the first fic I've had the nerve to publish, and I want to give the HUGEST of thank-yous to @gaycrouton for being my unofficial beta; her advice is just as wonderful as her writing, and she's just generally the absolute best.

Summary: Letters never sent.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She is gone. He is floundering in a dark lake of endless questions, paddling uselessly against a current of conspiracies. He is afraid that soon his limbs will give out and he will drown.

It feels like yesterday that she was alongside him, keeping him afloat with her facts, her science, her unyielding trust even beneath layers of doubt and skepticism. Yesterday feels like an eternity.

He does not know if he will ever see her again. A dark piece of him wonders if perhaps it would be safer, easier to presume her dead. If she were never to come back to him, at least he would be prepared.

But if he gives in to this perverse doubt, the ghost of his life preserver will disappear and his lungs will fill with that cold, dark water.

So he writes her letters.

He hasn’t done that since he was sixteen and his mother found his letters to Sam while she was cleaning his room. She had said nothing, but that night he saw her stoking a quiet inferno in their fireplace and he knew that those tentative branches of hope were the tinder for the flames.

But now, he leaves Scully offerings on his hearth, begging her to come home.

In a cruel twist of fate, many of the things he says to her are things he had said to Sam. He tells her that in her absence, he speaks to no one. He apologizes for every single time he has been cruel or dismissive towards her, wishing that he could go back in time and make every moment spent with her a happy one. He promises that he will never stop trying to find her, and that when he does bring her back, he will give her everything she deserves.

Many of the letters are delicate and wrinkled with his dried tears, but he does not care. All that matters is that his fragile hope finds its way into the universe, so that perhaps she will feel it and return.

And she does.

But the homecoming is bittersweet, marred by the uncertainty of her survival. He knows that he needs to do more, that simply transcribing the feelings was not enough.

And so, when he rushes home to change and shower after days of agonized vigil, he seizes the sheaf of papers piled on his hearth without giving a second thought to the grief-blurred ink. When he returns to her side, he reads for hours, until his voice cracks and his eyes run dry.

Even after she wakes up, he will not burn these letters. He files them away carefully, hoping that someday he will find the courage to read them to her again.

~~~

She can feel the life draining from her, faster every day. The red rivulets dripping grotesquely from her nose grow more vivid, while the brass of her hair and the flush of her cheeks dull.

As her color fades, his intensifies. She can see his eyes burning bright with anger, with the need to fix it.

She wants to tell him to stop looking. She needs him to know that it isn’t his fault. She doesn’t want to spend the rest of her life fighting for a lost cause, and she sure as hell doesn’t want to do it without him by her side.

But every time she opens her mouth to ask him to just spend time with her, he flinches in anticipation. In anticipation of what, she cannot say for certain. Perhaps he is waiting for her to ice him out, or perhaps he is afraid that she will finally tell him that she is in agony.

She supposes that, in a few months, the reason won’t matter.

What matters now is that regardless of what she says, it will shatter him.

So she writes him letters.

She fills a book with the words she wishes she had the courage to say out loud. Her normally neat cursive trembles as the words trip over themselves to enter the universe, begging to be heard by someone, anyone.

She tells him everything he doesn’t know about her, because she doesn’t want him to have more questions than he already does when she’s gone. She apologizes for her unrelenting skepticism and her reluctance to profess her fears and her loves. She tells him that as much as the universe has screwed her over, she would relive it all again if it meant keeping him.

In the end, it reads like an epic, tragic love story.

She prays to God that he never finds it.

~~~

His mind is on fire, burning with a thousand tomes of others’ thoughts.

He cannot drown the voices out, no matter how he screams over their incessant crescendo. Nobody can hear him.

Can or will?

He supposes it doesn’t matter. The only person he wants to talk to is barred from his side, perhaps due to others’ fear that she will be the one to hear him.

He talks to her anyway. When the cacophony of betrayal becomes too unbearable, he writes her hundreds of thousands of letters in his head. Often, they are rambling and aimless, containing countless phrases playing on a loop in his mind. Sometimes, however, they say exactly what he needs them to.

He apologizes for doubting her, for betraying her trust. He tells her that he knows he is unworthy of that trust, that he knows he will never deserve her. Most importantly, however, he tells her that he will try. He will try to win her trust again. He will try to be good enough for her, in all her brilliance. And goddammit, he will try to tell her he loves her in the way she deserves.

He swears to himself that these words will not go unheard.

But then the noise deafens him, and he dreams.

He dreams of the life he had never dared to imagine. He dreams of happiness and white picket fences, of calm and quiet.

He knows that something is not quite right. When Diana is gone, he sits down at his desk and drafts letters to an unknown recipient, hoping that they will be able to tell him why something is always tugging at the back of his mind. When he is on the beach, the tug intensifies, yanking him towards the truth, but every time he feels he can reach out and touch it, he is violently jerked from the beach, waking up once more in the life he had never quite wanted.

Finally, she wakes him up, her bright eyes piercing through the disconcerting haze of manufactured happiness. She fixes him, like always. He goes home and sits down to write the words so that he can tell her properly. But there is still a deep hurt in her eyes which sinks its claws into his heart and crackles along his nerve endings every time he picks up the pen. Suddenly, he is terrified of giving the words life, fearing that they may only hurt her more.

The words remain unwritten.

~~~

He is gone.

He was everywhere.

And he is gone.

She cannot reconcile these facts in her mind. A world without him is illogical. It is impossible, when he was her world.

She buys a new journal and tries to make sense of the paradox. She begs him to come home and when the life inside her becomes impossible to ignore, she tells him the stakes.

Many of the letters are written in fury, usually at the cruelty of this new reality, but sometimes at him. She tells him that he is not allowed to ditch her now, not when she is carrying his child. On some days she is so angry that she tells him she will never forgive him for leaving her like this.

But then she remembers who he is and what he is to her, and she apologizes for her anger and tells him she loves him and that she will move heaven and earth to bring him home.

And then…

Then…

Then.

Then he is dead, and she screams until her throat is raw and cries until her eyes run dry.

She does not, cannot, and will not understand.

But that doesn’t change the fact that he is dead.

She comes home, numb, and burns the letters.

~~~

They do not celebrate Christmas their first year on the run. Seeing the lines to visit Santa is like salt in a fresh wound. They are their own family, but a broken one nonetheless.

Instead, they celebrate New Year’s Eve. They watch the ball drop on the motel television, and she kisses him at midnight. They pull away seven minutes into the new year, cheeks glittering with tears. He gives her a sad smile, and she cups his face in her hands, thumbing away the evidence of his quiet grief.

“Hey,” she says softly, “the world still hasn’t ended.”

He chuckles and leans his forehead against hers. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She kisses him tenderly, then turns to rummage through her duffel bag. “I have something for you.”

He grins and pulls a leather folder from under the bed. “Still haven’t stopped reading my mind, have you?”

She sees what he is holding and laughs. “No, I suppose I haven’t.” With a grin matching his, she hands him a small leather-bound journal. Inside it are the hundreds of letters she has written to him since he came back to life, telling him about their son, trying to work out ways to bring their family together once more. Grief and pain are spattered across the pages, but her love permeates even the darkest blots of ink.

He looks up from the first letter, tears already beginning to blur the ink. He is smiling, though, as he shakes his head in wonder. “Scully….”

She raises an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth curling up, and he laughs. “I...here, you’ll see.” He hands her the folder and she opens it slowly, bemusement creasing the space between her brows.

In it are the letters he had written her when she was abducted, but there are new letters now, too. These are the letters he has written to her since he came back to life. Most of them are apologies: for not being there to see their son grow, for putting her for so much grief, for being cruel to her because it felt easier to distance himself from her in case he never came back. Most of all, he apologizes because he wants to spend every second of his life with her, and he has already wasted too much time.

She stares down at the fragile pages and laughs shakily. “I guess you haven’t stopped reading mine, either.” When she looks up, her eyes are shining with love and tears, and he guides her by the small of her back to the bed, where they sit side by side and begin to read each other’s letters.

Together.

#x files #x files fic #fanfic #the angst is real #s2 #s5 #s7 #s8 #pre-iwtb #@uh-ohdaddyscalling

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sole-lily · 5 years

Text

Sole Survivor Fanfiction #4 - Return to the Vault

It had been what felt like nearly a lifetime since Lily stepped out of Vault 111. So much had changed since then... Lily had hardened, had played a hero, began fixing everyone's problems... And all the while, she still worked to get into the Institute. She still worked to rescue her child. Something she had yet to accomplish, but she was well on her way. Her determination hadn't failed her, yet. Sanctuary had become a very stable and lively community. Everyone had secure concrete houses, protected by turretts. They slept in comfortable beds, under solid roofing that didn't threaten to allow rain to slip in. They were able to obtain luxaries and pre-war artifacts that helped make everything feel a little more human, a little more like home. Everyone had electricity for light, music, and televisions. Lily's holotape collection became a benefit, as there were a fair few salvagable cartoons to be found in the Commonwealth. And if anyone was to get their hands on them, it would of course be her. Occasionally, when there wasn't much work to be done around the settlement, everyone gathered in the main house when it got dark, and put on some cartoons. That, with some Nuka Cola and Sugar Bombs or Fancy Lad Snack Cakes, became a regular way to difuse amidst the tensions. This particular night, however, while everyone was gathered and enjoying sugar and cartoonic misadventures, Lily had locked herself in her room and fell into a quiet contemplation. Her armor hung on the mannequin in the corner of the room, amidst her Silver Shroud posters. Purely for comfort, she donned a Grognac the Barbarian t-shirt she had snagged from Hubris Comics, and some baggy camoflauge pants. She sat on her bed, with several burned (but still useable) journals spread in front of her. A pen that had nearly run out of ink was clutched in her hand. Writing helped her think, helped her piece things together and organize the mess in her mind. Nick sat in a chair near her, a cigarette between his lips and a file in his hands. The only sound to be heard was the buzzing of turretts and generators, and occasionally, faint boisterous laughter from the house next door. Long after the laughter had stopped, presumably because everyone had gone to bed, Lily let out an annoyed sigh. It disturbed the peaceful hum that had filled the room for so long, making it seem a much louder gesture than it really was. "What? What is it?" Nick asked, as he looked up from the file he had been working on. "Pen's almost out of ink, and it's my last one. Gonna have to go scavenge to find another... Unless..." Her words drifted off, as a dazed look overcame her tired features. "Unless what?" "Well... all those scientists in the vault... there were boxes of pens and papers that are in perfect condition. It'd be easy to get them..." Her bottom lip was caught between her teeth. "Ah... I see..." Murmured Nick, who was starting to understand the conundrum. "Have you not... gone back, since...?" "No." Lily answered, rather abruptly. "But... I should." She decided. She swung her legs over her bed and moved to her weapon stash which sat next to her armor. From it, she plucked her 10mm. The weapon she had escaped the vault with. "It's just a short walk up the hill. Wouldn't take more than ten minutes." She explained. Nick nodded his head. He closed his file, put out his cigarette, and stood up to follow her. Dogmeat, sensing that they were going somewhere, got to his feet, too. - One downfall to the concrete houses was that there was no windows, and without a working clock, you'd have to go outside to tell what time it was. So, when the trio stepped out of Lily's room, they found that hints of the sun were showing in a purple night sky, which was becoming more pale with each second that passed They had worked through nearly the entire night. It had to be around five in the morning. Of course Nick hadn't noticed, seeing as he didn't need sleep, and Lily's lacking desire for sleep was likely to blame for her own lapse in judgement of time. The air was cool, and oddly dewy, and the stars glittered behind a bleary sky. Lily stopped only to grab a can of water from their stock, and sipped on it as they walked between the houses. Her other hand held her 10mm with a loose grip. She felt oddly at ease. Dogmeat trotted at her heel, constantly vigilant, and Nick walked at her side with a relaxed stride. They climbed the hill, passing skeletons dressed in the rags of pre-war clothing along the way. Some in what were once dresses and suits, next to burnt up shells of suitcases. Others were dressed in military fatigues, alongside empty ammo cartitiges. Metal scrappings were scattered along the path. By the time they had crossed through the gate, Lily had finished off her water and tossed the can to the side. She then approached the control panel with far more certainty than she thought she would have, and firmly pressed the red button. A light began to spin on the vault door. The alarm went off, echoing loudly from where they stood, though Lily had doubt that the sound would reach the sleeping settlers down below. Then, with a confidence that she thought could only be false, she stood in the circle as she once had over two-hundred years ago. "Wow, you can really see all of Sanctuary from up here..." Nick mused, as he stood at her side. And it was a true statement. Lily could clearly see even the furthest house's turrets, from where she was. She remained silent, however. Something completely uncharactaristic. It unnerved Nick. The plate they stood upon gave a lurch, and with the sound of metal scraping on metal, they were lowered into the depths of Vault 111. Once they plate lowered all the way, and the gate lifted, Lily and Nick climbed the stairs. Immediately, they were greeted by skeletons donned in lab coats, and the carcasses of radroaches Lily had killed when she escaped. "Oh, look, there's some pens - and a box of paper right there. What's say we just grab these, and... Lily?" Nick asked, as he saw her form move for an open door that lead even further into the vault. It was almost as if he wasn't there, and Lily was pulled through those halls as though she were tethered to an anchor in the depths. Her movements were automatic, and robotic, as though she had only one goal in mind. Which, she did. Everything else about her surroundings simply didn't exist. The further they moved into the vault, the more they could hear the sound of dripping water, and feel the chill that radiated from the cryogenic pods. It wasn't long before they came to a row of them. A row with only one pod open - the very pod that Lily had been 'stored' in. Her pale, grey eyes were glassy. "Oh... god... There are people still in there..." Nick breathed, as he walked behind her. Behind each glass was a perfectly preserved, pre-war body. Lily's movements became determined, now. "Are they... still alive?" Nick asked. He didn't know yet, that every single one of them had aesphixiated from Kellogg's termination of the life support system. Lily didn't know, either. She had been too pre-occupied with escaping to check the terminals. Nick, having spotted one, moved to boot it up and read the logs. Lily hardly noticed Nick's snooping. She moved down the rows of frozen pods until she came to the one that called to her. Behind the glass, Nate's body sat, slumped forward. The bullet wound that had gone right through his heart looked clean, thanks to the frozen atmosphere he was stored in. She pulled on the lever to open the door, which attracted the attention of the detective. The door lifted, until Lily was gazing up at the full form of her dead husband's body. When everything had happened, when she had watched him die... Both her survival and her maternal instincts had kicked in at that time. She was driven by rage, and the desire to find her child. Bar her breakdown at the Red Rocket Truck Stop, she hadn't stopped to allow herself to properly grieve, to process the shock of seeing Nate killed before her very eyes. Her face was oddly expressionless. Nick saw this, when he moved to return to her. "Now that's not... Oh... Oh, I'm so sorry." He whispered, his voice breathless and empathetic. Lily knew that he understood her sorrow. She had learned that, on their hunt for Eddie Winter. Lily didn't break from her emotionless haze until these words hit her ears. Then, it seemed as though the reality of it all hit her at once. Her large, owlish eyes became bloodshot, and flooded with tears. The stoney, statuesque look she had been wearing shattered, and her chin quivered. She had entered this vault with the look of a hardened shoulder, but now appeared to be little more than a child. Without a word, she spun on her heel, and into Nick, her arms wrapping around his neck. He was shocked at the notion, but wordlessly wrapped his arms around her. For a long while they stood there, surrounded by the corpses of the past, as Lily sobbed into his trenchcoat. - By the time they exited the vault to return to Sanctuary, arms full of boxes of writing supplies and a few other pre-war goodies, the sun was cresting over the torn city in the distance. The stars were barely visible. Lily had cried until her throat was sore and her face red. At one point, she had expressed guilt over having gotten her tears and possibly snot on Nick's trenchcoat, but he brushed this to the side with, "It's had a lot worse done to it." The trio walked back to Lily's room. Exhaustion hit her with full force, when she sat upon her bed. She laid back, and rested her arms on her stomach. Nick sat on the edge of the bed, near her, and looked down at her. "You gonna be okay, doll?" He asked. Aside from Lily's admission of guilt, she hadn't said much else when they left the vault. Now that they were free from the heaviness of being deep in the underground, however, Lily felt the tension that squeezed at her heart, loosen. "Yeah, I'll be okay." She responded earnestly, her voice rough. A moment of silence passed between the two of them before she spoke again. "I thought of properly burying him, you know? Giving him a grave..." "So why don't you?" "It seems... better to leave him where he can remain untouched by the irradiated world. He isn't lost in time, like I am. He's right where he's supposed to be." Silence fell once more. Nick was unsure of how to respond to this. He knew it was a heavy burden to carry. "Hey Nick?" "Yeah?" "Thank you..." "Anytime."

#fallout #nick valentine #fanfiction #fallout 4 #vault 111 #vault #vault dweller #dogmeat

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