#Writing people being put to bed and forcefully loved is my therapy

[burnsopale]

At the inn (scene, 1500 words)

Fandom: The Scarlet Pimpernel Pairing: Percy/Chauvelin Rating: T for There was only one bed

Summary: The author projects her need to be cuddled onto two middle-aged men. Again.

Context: It's 1802, and Percy reunites with Chauvelin in Paris after having lost track of him for eight years. Chauvelin is not the man he used to be; the events in Orange left him little more than a ghost, and his life since then has been grey and empty. Percy means to awaken him again.

And then Sir Percy took his hand, as if Chauvelin was a lady he was about to lead onto the dance floor, and Sir Percy did lead him, but away, towards the stairs and the rooms above. Chauvelin followed docilely, too tired to assert himself, though his stomach was in a knot and his head felt hot and stuffed with cotton. Sir Percy was walking backwards, holding his eyes, and Chauvelin could not look away. Those heavy blue eyes could have pulled him along on their own.

He was almost surprised to find himself in one of the rooms, unable to recall walking through the door. He was definitely surprised when Sir Percy began to help him off with his jacket like some sort of valet.

“I can manage!” he protested. “I am not so tired as that.”

“Of course, Monsieur,” said Sir Percy, hanging the jacket on the room’s only chair before reaching for the buttons on Chauvelin’s waistcoat and beginning to undo them.

Chauvelin blinked at the industrious hands in confusion, and that allowed Sir Percy to get his waistcoat all the way off, and then he was working on Chauvelin’s cravat, his fingers strong and nimble on the knot and brushing Chauvelin’s chin sometimes, and as the cloth came undone, Chauvelin found his voice again.

“E-Enough!” He kept his voice low despite the emphasis. “Thank you for your aid, but that will do. Attend to your own wardrobe.” He turned away and, leaning on the bedpost, bent down to take off a shoe. Then he realised something and straightened up again suddenly. “Unless of course-!” He looked at Sir Percy, who had his jacket half off his arms. “Do you require aid?”

Sir Percy looked at him in surprise, but then a slow, warm smile spread on his face.

Chauvelin blinked and looked away from the other man’s twinkling eyes; he never had been able to understand what Sir Percy was thinking.

Sir Percy took his jacket off and hung that too on the chair. “Would you help me, Monsieur?” he enquired innocently. “To unbutton my waistcoat, for instance.”

Having offered, Chauvelin could hardly refuse. He went to Sir Percy and took hold of an ivory button, slipped it out of the hole, took hold of the next, wondered that Sir Percy was not able to do this for himself, really, it was the simplest thing in the world to undo a button, glanced up and realised that Sir Percy was laughing at him.

Chauvelin stepped back quickly and scowled. “You mock me!”

“No, my friend, not at all. I should be quite happy to let you take all my clothes off, as I would gladly have helped you off with yours.”

Surely-! That look in his eyes! It could not be-!

Chauvelin turned away to hide how the blood was rushing to his head. “That would require as much labour as if we attended to ourselves, and so I do not see any reason why we should.”

“Do you not? I see a reason.”

Chauvelin glanced back, unable to help himself. He frowned. “What reason do you see?”

Sir Percy came up behind him, bent down to his ear and said in a low voice, “That it would allow me to put my hands on your little person, and to feel your hands on mine.”

“Oh!” squeaked Chauvelin, his whole face blazing hot. “Then, as my person is so little, you would reduce your own labour a great deal, while I should have the lion’s share.”

Sir Percy threw his head back and laughed. “A fair point! Getting a lion out of his pelt is considerably riskier than teasing a mouse out of his fur.”

“What do you know of either?” asked Chauvelin despite himself.

Sir Percy continued to smile at him, more gently now. “I have wrestled a few of my fellow lions in my time, and timid deer, loyal dogs and powerful horses, but never a mouse. That would be a first.”

“You forget your swan,” said Chauvelin, turning sharply away again and bending down once more to remove his shoes. “Graceful, beautiful, she is a proper match for you. If you need someone to wrestle, you could not do better than her.” One shoe, then the other, and then he sat down on the bed to untie his garter ribbons. “Remember that swans mate for life, and they are not gentle in anger. Though I cannot see why you should stray; you could have scant satisfaction from a small, grey mouthful compared to her bountiful splendour.”

“Of course I would not stray, but she knows where I am-”

“What is that supposed to mean-”

“And what I am doing.”

Chauvelin met for a moment Sir Percy’s calm, earnest eyes, but once more he had to look away. This was not possible. The grief waiting on the other side of the offer would be more than Chauvelin could bear. So he said obstinately, “What you are doing is keeping me from sleep.”

His vision had narrowed down to the garter ribbon he had tied too tightly and now could not unpick. Then Sir Percy was kneeling in front of him. “Don’t!” Chauvelin cried, but Sir Percy took his hands and held them for a moment, stilling their trembling, and then he put them away on Chauvelin’s lap and replaced them with his own.

His face was solemn now. “Forgive me,” he said. “You are right; you are tired and need rest before tomorrow. I am too eager.”

Chauvelin looked at that handsome face in helpless longing. “Eager?” he mumbled.

Again, the gentle smile. The garter ribbon came undone under Sir Percy’s strong fingers, and the first stocking was slipped down Chauvelin’s leg and off.

“I have not seen you in so long,” Sir Percy said. “I was powerfully struck when I laid eyes on you tonight. You were so altered, and yet so startlingly yourself, and I was reminded of how your thin shoulders have felt under my hands, how you would weigh nothing at all when I would lift you up, how your heart would flutter against my palm like a sparrow’s wings whenever I caught you.”

“How I would threaten you,” Chauvelin continued, voice sore. “How I would savour my triumphant hate as I dangled innocent lives above the pit to draw you in.”

“How you would blush when I scolded you,” Percy said, almost sternly, looking up at him. “How your face was bloodless and bright red by turns that night after Orange, when I sent you away.”

Chauvelin was caught in the helpless fascination prey feels when faced with a hunter, and could say nothing.

“I had scant hope then that you would live beyond the week. At worst, I feared you would attempt to resume your ignoble career.” Sir Percy smiled faintly. “But you put my doubts to shame and my fears to rest. You lived, and you learned, and you did better.”

Chauvelin shook his head slowly. “I do not live,” he mumbled. “I only am. I want to say it is for Fleurette’s sake I go on, in case she should someday need me, but what use could my child have of me when she has you? No. I stay because in death I will have to face God’s final judgement, and I know that I am marked for Hell.”

Sir Percy drew a deep breath and released it. He studied Chauvelin thoughtfully.

Chauvelin blinked tiredly, caught himself swaying.

“We will sleep now,” Sir Percy said, and his voice was good to the ears; low and gentle and sure.

In a couple minutes more, they were both undressed, Chauvelin was under the covers, and Sir Percy, after drawing the curtains shut, climbed in after him.

And then he took gentle hold of Chauvelin and pulled him deep into his embrace, curling up around him.

“You-! No!” Chauvelin cried, his voice high and thin. He trembled to feel the other man’s heart beating firmly and steadily against his back. Sir Percy was wonderfully warm, and so big, his arms safe and strong; Chauvelin's body was filled with pleasure even as he tried feebly to pull himself away.

“Shh,” Sir Percy soothed him, pulling him back and nuzzling his shoulder. “Let me hold you, Armand.” One arm was firm around Chauvelin’s waist, preventing his escaping, and the other hand came up to cover his chest. “There is your little sparrow-wing heart again, beating so fast. What frightens you, Monsieur? You’re quivering all over.” He spoke, low and insistent, into Chauvelin’s ear; “Dear friend, I won’t hurt you.”

“You said we would sleep!” Chauvelin clutched at the other man’s wrist, as if pulling his hand away could make the man forget what he had already felt against his palm.

“And so we shall, but let me hold you.” His breath was hot on Chauvelin’s skin.

Chauvelin longed to melt into the heat of his captor’s body. He was so tired his eyes were falling shut on their own. “What do you mean by this?” he whined, weakly struggling even as he sank helplessly towards sleep.

Sir Percy sighed. “That eight years of shame and loneliness is enough.” He kissed Chauvelin’s neck. His lips were silky, their touch pure pleasure. “I mean to hold you, little mouse, for you are mine to hold, though it frightens you.”

Again, his lips on Chauvelin’s nape. Chauvelin moaned.

“Sleep, little mouse,” said Sir Percy. “I have you.”

Chauvelin let go, and sleep welcomed him.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #385

“I am a human being, capable of doing terrible things”

Who in your family has been married the longest? (and how long?) Uhhhh. I don't know. Do you take your shoes off when you come inside? Yes. What’s your favorite movie series? I think Shrek when you consider all the movies' (well, I haven't seen the last one, but...) quality. No memeage here, I just genuinely love Shrek, haha. I would say The Lion King, but miraculously when you consider the focus on meerkats, I actually don't like 1 1/2 much. What was the first color you ever dyed your hair? Hm... I think I got purple highlights? Do you want to move anytime soon? Even though we haven't even lived here a year, yes. I don't like living in an urban area, and I also reeeeaaaally don't like our family friend being our landlord. I know that sounds very weird, but she's just a very controlling person who forcefully inserts herself into my family's lives now more than ever, and I have a pretty deep fear that a potential argument finally erupting will lead to us being kicked out. I genuinely don't think Tobey would ever do that, but the fear is still there. How good/bad was the quality of education you received in high school? Average, I guess? What was the most interesting year of your life, and why? "Interesting," maybe... 2017 or 2018? I learned a lot about myself in that time range. But at the same time, my life was (and still is) VERY uneventful. Just a lot of mental stuff went on. What was the first social media site you ever used? Myspace. Do you have any exes you really regret dating? REALLY regret? No. I wish I'd never dated Tyler, but it's not a massive regret or anything. He was still a cool guy that I have a few nice memories with. Have you ever lied on a resume? Or even in a job interview? Ha, I'd definitely stretch the truth about being more of a people-person than I am. I couldn't go too far with lying, though; I'm just not comfortable doing that, 'cuz like, they're gonna find out eventually that it's not true. Of all your friends & family, who has the most nicely-decorated home? Maybe my friend Summer. Her room has always been super cool. What brought about the end of the worst relationship you’ve been in? Apparently, not talking to him every second of every day two weeks into a relationship was a no-no. Where was the last place you spent the night other than your own home? The sleep study building or whatever it's considered in the medical plaza. Do you have any step- or half-siblings? I have both. What do people always seem to think is weird about you? The fact I don't watch TV. Do you ever braid your hair? It's way too short for that. Even when it was long, I didn't do it frequently at all. Is there any certain style of architecture you really enjoy? Roman, in particular. What was the last thing you gave up on? uhhhhhhhhhhh If you watch Parks and Recreation, who is your favorite character? I don't. What’s the last DIY project you did, if any? If you can’t remember, what’s something you’d be interested in doing? I'm not really into DIY stuff, honestly. I'd rather just buy products that were made better than I could, or commission someone who can. What's a song that makes you feel happy? I dunno. It's rare a song alone makes me happy. What is your favorite clothing store? Rebel's Market. How did you meet your best friend? YouTube, back when it was a more social platform. What is something you do well? Catastrophize any situation. Assume the worst of everything. What's a good idea you've had recently? Probably to re-engage with a calorie-counting app I used to use. I'm back to trying to use it consistently. Do you like to wear high heels? Does ANY person LIKE to? How many slices of pizza do you usually eat? Two or three depending on my appetite and the size of the pizza. Do you play any instruments? Not anymore. Do you always smile for pictures? Not always. What are you most excited about right now? To see the results of my TMS therapy. What's the last song you listened to? "Ex’s and Oh’s” by Elle King. What's the last YouTube video you watched? I'm watching an Erosium livestream rn. Newest channel binge, haha. Do you know anyone who's died in childbirth? No. Would you ever consider moving to another country for your career? No. I don't want to leave my family. Do you wear foundation? No, I hate the feeling of that crap. Do you know anyone who has run for public office? No. Do you have a cartilage piercing? I used to, but the hole closed when I had to take it out for the hospital. :/ I plan on getting it repierced. Have you ever been taken to the emergency room or urgent care? If so, why? Yes; for being suicidal, a suicide attempt, and when I had a horribly infected cyst and just existing made me want to sob with pain. Have you ever had to visit anyone in the hospital? Yeah, a few times. What is the most pain (physical, mental, emotional) you've ever felt? Physical: having the aforementioned cyst drained when I was not nearly numbed enough. Mental and emotional (what's really the difference?): my breakup with my first real boyfriend. What is the longest time you've spent crying? Oh, hours on end, fluctuating with intensity. Have you ever been stolen from? Yes. Have you ever been to a ghost town? No, but I would FUCKING LOVE to. Let me bring my camera and it's a field day. Has anything in your house ever caught on fire? Not in this current house. Have you ever been inside of a vacant house? No. Have you ever been attacked by a dog? No. What is the most disgusting thing you've ever seen? The massive cyst my late dog Teddy developed on his lower belly. That fucking thing hung on by a THREAD and was absolutely nauseating to look at. How old were you when you learned how to read? I don't recall, I just know it was earlier than most children. Do you prefer cats or dogs? Cats. Which book series was the first you read? I want to say Hank the Cowdog. I was hooked on it. Would you rather write a book or direct a movie? Haha, what a question, as I've considered both of these as potential careers. I think write a book. What dream that you’ve had has stuck in your head the most? Describe: A nightmare about my dad that I'm not going into. What emotion do you find yourself trying to hide from others? I'm very uncomfortable revealing jealousy or envy. How emotional/sentimental would you say you are? Extremely. What is the most fun game to play? Shadow of the Colossus, probably. What is your sense of humor like (dry, dark, sarcastic, etc.)? I don't know, maybe dry. How many languages can you say "hello my name is…" in? Two. What language do you think sounds the nicest? I don't know, it's not like I've heard every language be spoken. What language do you want to learn more of? German. Do you have any form of OCD? I'm diagnosed with OCD. Do you make promises often? No. I take promises VERY seriously and am not about to make one unless I'm certain I can keep it. What is it that you are responsible for? My pets, keeping my room clean, stuff like that. Do you have a lot of secrets? Not "a lot," no. Are you more likely to be verbally aggressive or physically? Verbally. I'm only physically aggressive in my nightmares. What warning has someone given you that you wish you’d have listened to? Hm. What warning has someone given you you are glad you didn’t take? I also don't know. What is your favourite video of on YouTube? I can't pick just one. Name one creature that freaks you out/scares you? Maggots. Just the word makes me squirm. What was the last thing you wrote down on paper? My signature. Have you ever watched Breaking Bad? No. Are your fingernails always painted? They never are. What color is your bed frame? A rich brown. Did any of your neighbors come over to welcome you when you moved into your current house? No. What's something you didn't realize how bad it was until it happened to you? Heartbreak. Do you like Taylor Swift's singing voice? No. It's squeaky and annoying to me. Does it bother you when people get super emotional? Why the fuck would it bother me? Let people be in touch with their emotions. Have you ever worked in a restaurant? No. What was the last drive-thru you went through? Ummm I want to say Starbuck's w/ Mom after my TMS appointment. Do you know anyone who claims they can see/feel spirits or other supernatural "things?" No. Does your house have any unoccupied bedrooms? Yes. Do either of your parents have a mental illness? My mom has depression, and she personally suspects something's up with Dad, but idk. He's never seen a doctor about that kinda stuff. What fun things are there to do where you live? Ha! Do you know anyone with a really poorly-trained dog? I know many like that. When you were growing up, did your family rent or own your home? My parents owned it. Can you see the stars at night where you live? I actually haven't paid attention at this house. I'm certain it'd be harder now living in an urban area, though. What job do you know you'd be terrible at? Like, everything? I'd probably be worst at promoting stuff to people and trying to push them into buying something. No being a salesperson for me. Do you do meal-prepping? No. Do you know anyone who got preggo less than a year into their relationship? Who doesn't? And now, for the greatest question of all time! Toilet paper- should it go over or under? I literally couldn't care less about this. Fun fact though to "end" the argument, the original concept art of the idea (the word for that is evading me...) has it designed to go over. Are you afraid of mice? Not at all, they're adorable. What type of souvenir do you usually purchase when on vacation? I don't have a specific "type" of thing I get, really. It depends. Do you vacation often? Not at all. Are you comfortable wearing your pajamas in public places? It depends on the place, really. Generally, I really don't care, so long as I put a bra on. What’s your favorite candy bar? That one that's a bunch of Reese's squares composed into a rectangle. It. Is so. Fucking. Good. Do you own more than one copy or edition of a book? No. If you could see any musical on Broadway right now, what would it be? I don't like musicals. Do you own a helmet of any sorts? No. Does your family generally decorate for most holidays? Just for Christmas, really. Do you eat soup when you’re sick? I'm not a soup person. Have you ever watched Doctor Who? I saw one or two episodes with Sara. If so, what do you think is the scariest creature yet? N/A Do you read tour guide type books before you visit places? No.

[forever-more-never-again]

Hands (A Natasha Request)

Word Count: 4321

Requested: Anonymous

Pairing: Platonic!Tony X Reader, Natasha X Reader

Warnings: DESCRIPTION OF PANIC ATTACK, VIOLENCE, ABUSE, PAIN, BRUISES, TALK OF PAST ABUSE, LANGUAGE, SELF-ESTEEM ISSUES PLEASE TAKE THE WARNINGS SERIOUSLY AS THIS IS A SENSITIVE TOPIC AND IT DOES GET A BIT DESCRIPTIVE 

Request: Hi, could you please write Natasha x reader or Maggie Sawyer x reader, where reader has been in abusive relationship but hasn't told anyone. Now she's happily with Maggie/Nat, but after she sees her ex again all the bad memories come back. When she gets in argument with Maggie/Nat she flinches or covers her face when they make a gesture and Maggie/Nat is worried and confused why she is scared of them, she then tells about her abusive ex. It's kinda deep so it's fine if you don't want to write it.

Masterlist

A/n: If you are in any trouble, please get help. Know that there are people who care and are willing to help you. So reach out...

Your laughter bubbled over and your hands clutched your stomach. “Nat!” Your voice came out in gasps as you watched your girlfriend strut around in Steve’s uniform.

“It’s time for some star spangled banners and all that is patriotic to rise up!” She puffed her chest and adopted a stern, gruff voice.

“Natasha! Stop, I’m gonna cry!” You gasped, wiping the tears of mirth that threatened to fall down your face.

“What is this?” You and Natasha both froze and slowly turned to the common area doorway where a very confused Steve stood with Tony.

“Run!” Natasha shouted in the sudden silence and jumped towards you grabbing your arm.

“[Y/n]! Natasha! Get back here!” Steve yelled out, his inner Captain America surfacing as he realized what the two of you had been doing.

“Sorry!” You yelled back as you ran with Natasha down the stairs to her room.

Once safely in Natasha’s room, you both let out sighs of relief.

Sharing a look, you both busted out into laughter once more.

Natasha wrapped her arms around you, pulling you in to her. Her green eyes dazzled as she looked down at you.

Heat rose to your face when you realized she was still wearing Steve’s uniform. Natasha in the stealth suit...was something else.

You wet your lips with your tongue, the movement catching the sharp gaze of the assassin.

“Like what you see?” Her voice dropped to the sultry tone that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Always.” Was your immediate response.

“[Y/n]...I love you so much.” She dipped her head to your neck, her lips finding the vein there.

You threw your head back with a gasp and a moan, hands tangling in her red hair and tugging, distracting her from your lack of response.

The next morning, you stretched and rose from the comfort of Natasha’s bed.

“Ngh...it’s too early...stay..” Natasha’s whine was accompanied by her arms reaching out and her hands making grabby motions towards you.

Giggling softly, you leaned over and pressed a kiss to her forehead, “I’m going to return Steve’s suit to him and then I have that tour with Tony, remember?” You reminded your girlfriend.

A gentle sigh and then her eyelids rose slowly and roamed the length of your naked body.

“Hmm...admiring your work?” You smirked as you bent over to pick up a shirt, watching the way Natasha swallowed hard and her eyes darkened.

“I always mark what’s mine.” She said offhandedly, while admiring the various bruises and scratches that covered your body.

Eventually you recovered all your clothes and bundled the stealth suit up in your arms, “Remember Nat! You promised Clint you would train with him this afternoon!” You called back to the bedroom.

The groan that Natasha released followed your laughter to the hallway as you headed back to the common area.

It was fairly early in the morning as you entered the kitchen after dropping the stealth suit on a couch.

“Hey Bruce.” You waved to the scientist who looked a breath away from falling over.

He waved, or rather, attempted to, before giving up and just chugging the cup of coffee he held in his hand.

“Rise and Shine you beautiful Bastard!”

You turned with a wide smile, “Morning Tony. Mind your mouth when we give the tour today.”

Tony merely raised an eyebrow and patted Bruce on the back, nearly making him stumble and fall.

“[Y/n]...I had the idea that you could show off your mutation after we show off the lab.” Tony grabbed a granola bar from the cabinets, throwing one towards you.

Catching it, you grimaced and set it back on the counter, “ You know I don’t like showing it off to people.” You pulled on the sleeves of your shirt, trying to hide your discomfort.

Bruce narrowed his eyes at you, but you avoided his gaze.

Tony shrugged, “Was worth a shot. Not everyone knows that your mutation is even a reality, so it’s pretty awesome to blow their minds.”

Now it was you who shrugged. You didn’t really like thinking of your mutation outside of the missions.

“Alright. Let’s get this going.” Tony cracked his neck, the sound making Bruce flinch. Earning Tony a glare that he laughed off.

Following him down to the public area of the tower, you put on the professional business outfit that Tony had picked out for you.

And then with a sigh, you followed the billionaire to the conference room where the people who had paid to get a tour of the Avenger’s tower were waiting.

You honestly didn’t understand why they had agreed to let civilians and strangers into the base, but Tony and Steve agreed that it would bolster trust within the community and it also raised funds.

“Alright Crew! I’m Tony Stark and with me today is [Y/n] [y/l/n]. We’re all about safety and fun here, so please stay with us at all time as we go through this tour. Remember...you’re in the center of the Avenger compound...surrounded by gods, heroes, and super soldiers.” The sly threat filled the quiet area.

You rose your gaze to take in the small crowd of people, skimming over woman and children..until you saw them.

You immediately took a reflexive step backwards, but you had been standing too close to the wall so you smacked into it, drawing the attention you had been wanting to avoid.

You recognized the look on their face when they saw you.

Tony, not noticing the attention on you, turned to you with concern, “[Y/n]?” He asked softly.

Tearing your eyes off of the person you had hoped to never see again, you managed to stutter out a sentence to Tony. “I-I have to-Have to help Bruce set up!” And with that, you ran out of the room.

Your legs were jelly and breathing became a terrible task. You dimly realized you were experiencing a panic attack, but you only had one main thought. To get away.

Stumbling past concerned secretaries and businessmen, you found the elevator and punched the number for the garage. Your sanctuary.

The cold concrete greeted you when you stumbled out of the elevator, sliding down to sit against the gray walls.

Your legs drawn up to your chest, you put your head between them, finally focusing on getting your breathing under control again.

“You’re okay. You’re okay. That was the past. They can’t hurt you anymore. You’re safe.”

You muttered the words that years of therapy had drilled into you.

“Didn’t realize my presence would cause such a stir. You’re little boyfriend is trying not to show how concerned he is about you taking off like that, [Y/n].”

The voice was like oil, smothering the air that you drew into your lungs.

You quickly stood back up, not wanting them to see you in a weakened state.

“How did you get down here? What do you want?” You tried to make your voice sound tough, but it came out weak and scared.

The person in front of you crossed their arms, the smile on their face one of fake innocence. “You would think security would be a little tighter in the Avengers tower, but hey. Can’t I just see how my Ex is doing?”

A big breath of air, “No. Now leave. You’re not welcome here.” You made to walk past him, just repeating in your head that you had to just reach the elevator and you would be okay.

A grip of steel grabbed your arm above the elbow, halting your retreat. All pretense of pleasantry was gone from the voice that grazed your ear, “Don’t walk away from me, [Y/n]. I own you. You were nothing before me.”

The grip tightened to the point of being really painful. You bit back the whimper, knowing they were waiting for it. You weren’t going to give them the satisfaction.

“Let me go.” For the first time, you actually wished Tony had installed cameras or even FRIDAY in the garage. But the fact that there were none was what initially made this place desirable towards you.

The grip only tightened. You knew you would have a bruise when this was over. One more memory you would rather forget.

“I thought I trained you better than this. You insolent little bitch. You freak.”

You would not meet their eyes. Their stare two burning holes of hate on the back of your head.

“You never ‘trained’ me. You abused me. And It took a long time for me to realize that. I’m happy now. You have no power over me.” Of course, you were bluffing through your teeth. You were practically petrified with terror at the thought of what they could do to you down here where no one could see.

You peaked towards the elevator, heart screaming out for help.

You were forcefully tugged backwards and flung to the ground. You couldn’t hold back the cry of pain as you landed on your arm weird and your leg became twisted.

The grimace and sneer of malice that stood over you was one that haunted your nightmares.

“I OWN YOU! NOBODY WANTED YOU EXCEPT ME YOU FREAK! YOU CAN'T EVEN USE YOUR POWERS YOU’RE SO FUCKING WEAK!”

The scream echoed through the garage, actually setting off the car alarm of one of the secretaries vans.

You hands scrambled for purchase on the smooth concrete as you crawled backwards, away from the advancing person with hate in their eyes.

You had the perfect vantage point to see the hand as it swung down and heard the impact as it connected to your cheek.

The force caused your neck to snap to the side, your head suddenly on fire from the onslaught of pain and the ringing in your ear.

“Stop..” A whispered plea. Your mutation sang in your blood, a reminder that you could use it to get free. But you shoved it back.

“Whore!” This time it was a kick delivered to your stomach, knocking the air from your lungs.

You fell sideways as you gasped, your vision tunneling, trying to focus on the cars alongside you.

“You think you can leave me? Me? You think that just because you whored your way into the Avengers, that you actually belong with them? You don’t belong anywhere. So why don’t you just admit that?”

You shook your head, frantically denying the words they were saying.

“No! No! That’s not true!” Tears ran freely down your face. You looked up and finally caught their gaze, you pleaded through your eyes, and with your words, “What happened to you? I once worshipped you, I thought the world of you..I LOVED YOU!” You shrieked out, narrowly avoiding another kick aimed at your legs. “I thought we were happy...for two years...I thought you loved me to. But then the nights of you stumbling home drunk became more common, the broken beer bottles, the slaps and screams and the trips to the hospital. You’re a monster!”

They merely laughed. Standing over you, they crouched, resting their arms casually on their bent knees, “You are so stupid. You honestly believe anyone could love you? You? You’re a freak. A whore. A whiny, no good bitch whose place is a bed to be fucked on and a cage to sleep in.”

“[Y/n]?”

Another voice broke the tension. You went limp in relief. You were saved from this living nightmare.

“[Y/n], where are you? FRIDAY said she saw you head down to the garage roughly an hour ago.”

Your eyes went wide, it had already been an hour?

You winced and yelped in pain as your were suddenly dragged up by the roots of your hair. “Now, be a good little freak and stay quiet.” A menacing whisper.

“Tony!” You shouted, ignoring the threat. The promise of safety too high to ignore.

“[Y/n]!?”

“Shit.” You were dropped back to the ground.

Groaning as you landed on your bruised arm and stomach.

“Stop!” Tony’s voice became hardened and furious as he rounded the corner and saw them running away from your prone form.

Tony made as if to run after them, but you held up a hand, “No...Tony.” Torn, you could see him look between you and the receding figure.

Finally he sighed and lowered himself next to you, slowly bring and arm around to help you sit up.

“Damn. You okay kid?” He ran a hand over you, checking for major injuries, “Who was that? What happened?”

You waved him off, grimacing in pain as you slowly stood up. Stumbling a little, saved from falling to the hard ground by a hand from Tony.

“It’s fine. Nothing I haven’t handled before.” You brushed him off, hobbling to the elevator. Turning back to look at the confused, concerned man, you hook a thumb, “You coming?”

Once in the elevator, you sagged against a wall.

Tony’s voice was soft, as if you were a skittish colt, “What happened down there, [Y/n]? You ran out of the conference room in a panic before the tour even started and then I find someone standing over you in the garage. You have torn clothes and your face looks like someone took a meat tenderizer to it.”

You caught sight of your reflection in the gilded walls of the elevator. Gingerly, you reached up and touched the nasty black and purple bruise covering the side of your face.

Knowing you wouldn’t get out of explaining, you smiled sadly at Tony, “I guess it’s time to come clean. But..I’d rather only tell the story once..so let’s gather everyone this evening in the common room… And I’ll explain.”

Tony nodded. But still drug you to the medical room to have Dr. Cho look you over.

She put a compression wrap on your arm and gave you some painkillers and instructions for the bruise on your face and abdomen.

For the rest of the day, you avoided everyone. Even Natasha. Which hurt. But she was the one you were most terrified to see.

Would she still want to be with you once she found out how weak you truly were? She was so strong and beautiful and amazing, you always asked why she had chosen you...and now you might lose her.

Eventually the evening came and you couldn’t hide anymore. Especially since Tony used FRIDAY to find you and make sure you came to the common room.

“Why did you call us all here Tony? Did something go wrong during the tour today?” “Does this have to do with my stealth suit? Because it was in some...Let’s just say I took it to the cleaners when I found it on the couch this morning.”

“Are you going to explain where [Y/n] has been all day? They’ve been ignoring all my messages and even FRIDAY wouldn’t tell me where they were.”

“They’re okay, Natasha. Calm down….Please put your knife away!”

The startled tone of Tony had you break into a little giggle, causing silence to descend in the common room.

Silently willing strength, you walked out from where you had been standing hidden into the light.

Gasps were the first sound to break the silence. You kept your gaze on the ground.

“[Y/n]...” Your name, a soft broken sound from the voice of Natasha.

You brought your head up, and caught sight of an arm coming towards you, and without thinking it through, you shrieked and dropped, covering your face with your arms. “No!” Passed through your lips without your consent.

Your whole body shook as the adrenaline worked its way through your bloodstream.

Taking deep breaths, you registered the silence had returned to the room. The room. That’s right. You weren’t in the garage with them anymore.

Embarrassment and shame filled you as you slowly stood up, putting down your defenses. “I’m sorr-”

“No. Don’t apologize.” Natasha’s harsh words cut through the air. It was her arm that stood frozen in front of you. And you realized that she had been meaning to touch the bruise on your face.

“What?” You had to cough and clear your throat to get the one word out. Shock evident. Your eyes flitted over the rest of the team, expecting them to be disgusted or pitying. But instead, you saw concern and empathy.

“[Y/n]...why don’t you tell us what happened.” Steve...keeping a level head like always.

You shot him a grateful smile as you stepped around Natasha and settled in on the couch.

The team shuffled and settled around you, their attention like needles on your skin. You tugged on your sleeves. One hand reaching up to trace the bruise, invoking a dull pain.

“So, most of you know that I came to join the Avengers when Tony heard about my mutation from his friend Charles Xavier...I was living under a bridge in Nevada at the time. Tony respected my privacy and didn’t pry into my personal life. And I’m forever grateful for that.”

You shot a look at the man in question. He nodded his head towards you. You smiled.

“You also know that I don’t like using my mutation and I try to not to be associated with it. It’s a different person. It’s not who I want to be. So I don’t acknowledge it as much as I can.”

A hand gripped yours, stopping the pressure you had been applying to your bruise.

Bringing your hand down to her lips, Natasha kissed the back of your hand, her gaze unwavering as she held your eyes.

“My life before the Avengers...was not happy.” You let out a self-deprecating laugh, “I doubt most people with powers or mutations have happy stories.”

Drawing in a breath, you gained Courage from the looks and energy around you, “My parents died when I was young, and I was easily persuaded due to not understanding what was happening to me while my mutation was growing. So when someone found me and began showing concern and care for me...I fell head over heels.”

A sucked in breath. A wordless slap of warning. You heard it, but didn’t see the actions around you as you were drawn into the past.

“They gave me a home and promised to look out for me. They swore they loved me. That I was special. Not a freak. Not something to be feared. They promised a normal life...a family...And after two years together, I believed them.”

The hand gripping yours tightened but then released the grip. You looked over at Natasha, needing her to understand, more than anyone. Your words growing desperate as you continued your story.

“I thought they loved me. I thought I was worth love. But then they started getting drunk. The bruises became harder to cover up and harder to rationalize that they were only minor incidents. They grew rough with me, forcing me...forcing me….I thought they loved me and I was in a relationship with them, so it wasn’t bad...I know better now.”

The silence in the room was deafening, but you couldn’t stop now.

“The nurses at the local hospital knew me by name after a couple months. And then, one day...Someone finally looked at me. Really looked and they asked if I wanted their help. I broke down… I was taken in by a group and got therapy and a restraining order. But I was too messed up at that point. I had to be locked in my room at night so that I wouldn’t try to run and beg for their forgiveness and to be taken back. Even though I knew it was wrong! It was like my brain and heart and time were all fighting and I was a mess because of it for a long time. Eventually I decided what I needed was space. But I never learned how to survive in the real world. They never let me handle money, or go shopping, or socialize, so I had no skills.”

Tears flowed down your face, blurring your vision. Several soft sniffles and hiccups could be heard as your team cried with you.

“That’s how Tony found me. Then today...Today I walked into the conference room to lead the tour and I saw someone I thought I would never see again. And...I panicked. I ran. And they followed.”

Talking became hard as you struggled to get words out past the lump growing in your throat.

“They brought back all the old memories, all the old hurt. And they gave me a reminder of my time with them.” You gestured to the bruise.

“And they brought up all my insecurities. That I’m not worth loving. That I’m just a freak. A charity case. And even though it’s not true...that the only reason you guys care for me is because I spread my legs for you.”

Anger. Simmering.

“What!?” And exploding.

You flinched at the loud interruption.

“Sorry, [Y/n]..just...How could!? Tell me we have him locked up...Tony?”

Natasha turned to Tony, rage flaring up, her hair almost alive like fire as it surrounded her face.

Tony looked solomon as he shook his head, “They ran off and [Y/n] was too hurt to leave alone. I had to choose. And [Y/n] came first.”

Natasha turned back to you, the rage dying as she took in your tear stained face. Her hands were slow in she kept them in your view at all times as she brought them up and cupped your face with them, “None of that is true, [Y/n]. You’re not weak. And you are worth loving. We all love you. We’re your family.”

A chorus of agreements followed.

You looked out over the faces that you had come to know and love over the past few years. A strange hope growing in your chest.

“Truly?” You didn’t have it in you if they denied it. If they turned out to be just as cruel as them.

Nods and tears and snot all came crashing together as they jumped on you in a group hug.

“We love you [Y/n].”

“They’ll pay for what they did.”

“You’re family.”

“You may be a pain in my ass at times, but I love you kiddo.”

The grin you wore was threatening to crack your face as you leaned back to take in the faces of everyone.

“Thanks guys...I love you too.”

Laughter followed but then a hand found yours and tugged you out of the group.

You found yourself lost in a word of green.

“[Y/n]. You’ve felt so much pain at the expense of hands. And I can’t erase that, or make it better, but I can assure you...hands do much more than cause pain. They can hold you tight for comfort. They can touch your cheek in a caress. They can touch your body in worship. Hands can do so much more than hold each other. And I hope...one day, you will accept my hands again.”

Natasha was shaking as she tried to keep herself composed. But once you reached up and cupped her cheek, she broke.

Sweeping down, she captured your lips with hers and stole the breath from your lungs.

The heat and intensity unlike anything else.

Her hands were frantic as they curled against your back, as if ensuring that you were real. That you were there.

You lips broke with a gasp, allowing her tongue entrance. The familiar scent of Vanilla cherry overpowering your senses, drowning you in it.

“Guys! Get a room!”

Jumping apart at the loud voice. You and Natasha stared at one another, breathless, wide eyed, before dissolving into giggles.

Wrapping an arm around your waist, Natasha flipped off the accompanying laughter from everyone behind you as you walked down to her room.

Once the door shut behind her, she grabbed your hand and placed it on her heart.

“[Y/n]..I want you to know that I will spend the rest of my life proving that you are worth all the love the world has to offer and that my heart belongs to you. I will devote myself to proving that life is worthing living and that you matter. I will slay anyone who denies it and I will track down and gut the person who-”

You placed your hand over her lips, cutting off her monologue. A smile played with the corners of your own lips as you looked at the woman before you.

“You really mean that..Don’t you?” It was meant to be answered, it was more of a inner wonder spoken aloud.

But Natasha slowly removed the hand placed over her mouth and gazed down at you, “Every word. You are you, [Y/n]. Perfectly imperfect. And I love every bit of it. Every fight. Every laugh. Every annoying prank. I love you.”

You sagged against her chest, wrapping your arms around her, breathing in her scent, cementing yourself into reality. That this was real. That this was actually happening. She wasn’t disgusted. She wasn’t pitying. She wasn’t shoving you out without a goodbye.

She was...here.

“I love you too, Natasha.”

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@jadepc

[myrish-lace-love]

This is the fourth installment in this series. You can read the first one here, the second one here, and the third one here. They’re also all on AO3 here. 

Summary: Sansa is a physical therapist doing her clinic hours in Milwaukee for the winter. Jon, her downstairs neighbor, is a veteran who’s come back from Afghanistan. They first met during a power outage, and have been getting to know each other since then, sharing a meal every Tuesday. They’ve had some Thanksgiving and Christmas adventures, and have been friends for about six months. Now Jon’s leaving for a summer sailing vacation with his army buddies, and he wants to write to Sansa while he’s gone. He has trouble telling her how he feels when they’re together, but he opens up when he writes.

***

“I’m so jealous, Jon! A trip to the Virgin Islands with your old army buddies.” Sansa had finally gotten the news out of Jon at the end of their meal. They were sitting on the couch in her apartment. She had the AC cranked up. Summers in Milwaukee were hot and muggy. The old, single-pane windows were fogging up, but at least she and Jon were comfortable.

Plus Jon wore t-shirts all the time, so she called the summer a win.

Jon started clearing away the dishes. She followed him to the kitchen. He tried to keep her from helping, since she’d cooked. She took a towel and shot him a just you try it look, so he gave in. Her galley kitchen had a double-basin sink but no dishwasher. They formed their own little assembly line as Jon washed and Sansa dried.

“We planned the trip a long time ago,” he said. “For when Sam turned 25. We fly to Miami first. Ten days, five ports. It’ll be about three weeks total. We’re chartering a boat, so we’re not doing the big cruise ship thing. We all know how to sail. I almost cancelled, I haven’t got much money-“

Sansa put the glass down a little too forcefully. “Jon, how could you? Sam’s counting on you and you deserve to have fun, even if it costs a little more money than you can afford. You can’t put a price on-“

“Memories, I know.” Jon’s mouth quirked. “Trust me, you convinced me about a week ago.”

“You only told me about it tonight!”

“I have conversations with you in my head.” Jon sloshed the soap around. “Okay, that sounded really strange. I mean, you give me good advice, and I remember it. Sometimes I ask you questions even when you’re not there….And that sounds weird too.” He paused. “I-“

Sansa took pity on him. Actually, she was touched he thought about her when they weren’t together.

“I’m just a little mad that I’m so predictable, is all.”

“Don’t be. You’re really easy to talk to.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls who cook you pizza.”

“I don’t, Sansa.”

“Yeah, because I’m the only girl who makes you pizza.”

“You are, but–“ Jon stopped scrubbing the plate. He closed his eyes. This weight in the air between them came up more often now that they’d been friends for six months. Sansa didn’t know whether to lean into it or shy away from it.

She took the easy way out. “So when are you leaving?”

He handed her the last dish.

“This weekend. Can I – Can I write you while I’m gone, Sansa?”

“You’re only gone for a few weeks, Jon, you don’t have to go to all that trouble.” She would miss him though. A lot.  She wondered if she looked distraught. He was leaving for less than a month. She was a big girl. She’d be fine.

She tried to lighten the mood. “Besides, we do this thing called texting in the 21st century, remember? I text you about a blackout in our apartment and you come save the day. You text me about a burned turkey and I talk you into ordering fried kitchen when your buddies visit.”

“You saved the day, too, on Thanksgiving,” he said.

“And we even managed to have a fight about mousetraps over text.”

“We figured it out though.” He was smiling.

“See? Texting it is.”

Jon glanced away. He took the dishtowel from her and hung it to dry, then looked at her again.

“May I write you, Sansa?”

There was so much yearning in his expression that she felt like he was asking if he could kiss her.

Read more below or continue on AO3

“Y-yes, of course, Jon, you can. You don’t have to ask. But I won’t be able to write you back, will l?

Jon shook his head. “The charter won’t take incoming mail. I’ll send the letters when we dock. You don’t – if they’re boring, or too much, just…set them aside.”

She wasn’t sure why he was nervous. “I’ll read them, Jon.” She couldn’t drive him to the airport because she was visiting her family. But she made him tell her when he was coming back, so she could give him a ride home.

***

The first letter arrived three days after he left. He’d bought heavy, ivory stationary. Or he’d bought stationary sometime in the past ten years and dug it up, she thought.  Be realistic, Sansa, this isn’t a movie. It felt a little bit like one, though, when she slid her nail under the edge and carefully tore the envelope, sliding out Jon’s letter.

He had neat, sloping handwriting. The way the blue ink sometimes smudged reminded her of Arya, and she thought she’d guessed right, that Jon was left-handed.

Sansa,

I hope you are well.  We’ve shipped out of Tortola. Don’t worry, I know where the life vests are. It’s good to see the guys again. We’ve been realizing how much we forgot about sailing over the past few years, but it’s coming back to us. Sam and Pyp and Grenn say hi. Virgin Gorda is next.

Thanks for letting me do this.

Yours,

Jon

Sansa smiled. She had asked him about life vests before he left. She knew she was being silly, but she was happy he’d remembered. Other than that, though…she had to admit she was a little disappointed. Jon’s letter seemed kind of…perfunctory. She’d expected more, after he’d asked whether he could write to her.

His last line stuck with her, though.

Thanks for letting me do this.

It was hardly a favor to get letters from a friend in the mail.

And his sign-off wasn’t so bad, either.

Yours, Jon.

She traced the words in the little yellow circle of lamplight by her bedside table.

She did want Jon to be hers. No harm confessing it to herself here in her bedroom, surrounded by her floral sheets and lace curtains that were completely frivolous. Even if this was the only letter she got, it would be worth saving for Yours.

***

His second letter showed up two days later. She ran upstairs to read it, opening it on the kitchen counter.

Sansa,

Virgin Gorda’s beautiful. I wish you could see it. You’d like the water, I think, how blue it is in the evening. We did some hiking around the Baths. The grottos and caves are amazing. I can’t wait to show you the pictures.

The guys have headed out to get food, so I have a few minutes to myself on the deck. It’s peaceful here. The sky is filled with stars.

How is Willas? I hope he’s trying the new exercises you gave him. If anyone can get him to do it, it’s you. No one can match you for kindness and stubbornness.

We’re headed to Anegada next. Wish us luck. It’ll be some tricky sailing, but it should be fun.

Yours,

Jon

It was lovely, how Jon asked her questions even though she couldn’t write him back. Jon let her chatter on about how her work was going at the physical therapy clinic downtown. He paid attention, too.

Willas was her favorite patient, and she talked a lot about the good progress he was making with his leg, especially now that he had a new brace to wear.

Sansa loved her job. Even her dearest friends, like Margaery, sometimes couldn’t keep their eyes from glazing over when she went on about the Pilates equipment they’d just got. Or how she hated charting progress notes, because they took away from the time she had to talk to her patients about how they were doing.

But Jon was thoughtful, more thoughtful than people gave him credit for. He was thinking about her, and her job, and how she was, while he was on vacation looking at the stars.

He’d called her kind. And stubborn. He was right, about both. But then, he was both of those things too. She stacked the second letter carefully on top of the first on her bedside table before she went to sleep. She couldn’t wait to read his next letter.

***

Six days later, Sansa’s spirits sank when she swung open the door to her mailbox in the apartment lobby and found only a few sales flyers. Again.

She knew his letters might take a day or two to arrive, and he could only mail them after they’d pulled into the slip at the harbor.

But six days….six days felt like he’d moved on.

She wound her way up the stairs. She let herself in and heated up some spaghetti. She carried it to the couch, feeling sorry for herself. Did you really think he’d mail a letter at every port? He was probably having a ball with Sam and the guys. That was a good thing for him. He didn’t get out enough as it was.

She wasn’t allowed to mope because he was finally having fun on his vacation and he’d stopped writing to his upstairs neighbor. She needed to get a grip. She pushed her food around and watched some TV before getting into bed. This situation was absolutely fine. No big deal.

And she definitely did not squeal when she found an envelope with Jon’s handwriting in her mailbox the next day. Okay, maybe she did, but at least no one was around to hear it.

Dear Sansa,

Sorry I couldn’t write. There’s been a rough storm. Don’t worry, we’re all fine, but we were all pretty seasick for a while there. Sam’s going to kill me for this, but he was the greenest of all of us. I feel bad for him, since it was his birthday yesterday.

After not eating anything for two days we were starving, so we had a big meal tonight, steaks and grilled corn. I don’t know when you’ll get this, but it’s Tuesday tonight, and although I’m having a good time (I am, really, I’m living in the moment, Scout’s honor) I miss our pizza night tradition. You make the best pizza I‘ve ever had, and I get to sit next to you and share the night with you. It’s the best part of my week, every week. I wanted you to know that.

We’re docked at Anegada. It’s secluded, and quiet. We spent some time on the beach today, and we’re going snorkeling tomorrow on the reefs.

Okay, they’re calling me up on deck, I have to go. I miss you. Hope that’s not too much. I’ll write soon.

Yours,

Jon

A storm. A storm was the only thing that had kept him from writing to her, and now he was apologizing for it. And he’d remembered the bit about living in the moment, which she’d tried to drill into him before she left. Only one 25th birthday and memories with your friends and don’t spend the whole time in your cabin and…yeah, she’d probably crossed the line from cheerleading to nagging at some point.

But Jon had taken her words to heart. She smiled at the thought of him and Sam and Pyp and Grenn checking out tropical fish underwater.

She ran a bath that night and used up one of her Lush bath bombs. The water turned pink and fizzy, and she sank into the tub with a contented sigh.

She’d double-checked the packaging this time. She didn’t want a repeat of the glitter bomb experience. She’d shown up red-faced at work the next day. It was pretty hard to help patients get the most out of their abdominal series and hip flexor stretches when you were shedding sparkles all over them.

She drew circles with the bubbles on the surface of the bathwater and let her muscles relax, thinking about Jon and what he’d said about pizza night. Best part of my week.

It was the best part of hers, too. Sometimes, she suspected Jon felt like he was on the periphery of her life. As if she only thought about him occasionally, since she was more outgoing and had a wider circle of friends.

She took Mr. Duck down from his shelf and let him swim in the water with her. “It’s not true, Mr. Duck. Jon’s important to me. He’s like an anchor. Not the kind that keeps me weighed down but the kind that keeps me steady, you know? Keeps me grounded.”

Mr. Duck bobbed his orange beak. Great, now she was talking to a duck. Maybe she missed Jon more than she thought.

He’d said that too. I miss you. And it wasn’t too much, like he thought it might be. It was just right. She had a warm feeling in her chest as she dried off and laid her clothes out for tomorrow. She wished Jon was here, so she could tell him she missed him too.

***

Margaery stopped by to visit the next night, and she was her usual whirlwind of nonstop questions. As much as Sansa loved her, Margaery could sometimes drive her crazy.

“This adorable apartment of yours. Made for a magazine. I’d kill for that clawfoot tub.” Marg stuck her head in Sansa’s bedroom.  “What are these, my dear?” Margaery snatched the stack of letters from her bedside table.

“Marg! Put those down.” Sansa had planned to tell Margaery about the letters, but she wasn’t exactly sure if she wanted Marg to read them. They felt very personal, even if they were short.

Margaery unfolded the pages. “You know this is ridiculously romantic, right?” She sighed dreamily. “A sailor, writing to you from every port.”

“Marg, he’s made three stops and he’s just on vacation with his friends.”

“Please. He’s sending you handwritten letters on gorgeous paper and–“ Marg picked up one of the envelopes.

“The stamps, Sansa, did you see them? They’re flowers! Not those American flag stamps. You know he had to ask for them specifically?”

Sansa hadn’t known, but she’d wondered.

Margaery put her wrist to her brow, as if she was fainting. “He’s thought about this, Sansa, and he asked you if he could.  Like he’s courting you.”

“He’s not.”

Margaery smirked. “You’re not fooling me. You’re glowing, my dear.”

Sansa smiled. “Okay, yes, it’s super romantic and I get butterflies each time I see one and –  how’s work going anyway, Marg?”

Margaery turned the pages over again. “He seems to be getting more comfortable with each letter,” she mused. “You absolutely have to text me when he writes next.”

Sansa laughed and waved her off. She wasn’t sure if she would text Margaery. She wanted these letters to be just between her and Jon.

Three days later, she got two letters on the same day in her mailbox.

Dear Sansa,

How are you? Has Margaery visited yet? Is she driving you nuts? How was Arya’s swim meet?

Sorry – I fill up with questions for you, when you’re not around. I save up stories to tell you. We just got back from sailing to Jost Van Dyke Island. We managed to make it all the way up Mahjonny Hill. You can see all the way around the island from the peak. You really feel like you’re on top of the world, with all of the green hills below you and the sky like a big blue bowl overhead.

We’re back in Tortola now.  We were at the market today. I didn’t want to go at first, but the guys dragged me, and I’m grateful. Like I’m grateful for how you encourage me to get out and see things, even when I feel like staying at home is easier.

The square was noisy and crowded and colorful and I think you would have loved every booth. I got you something, nothing big. Just earrings I thought would look pretty with your eyes. They made me think of the waves on the ocean, and you.

Yours,

Jon

Sansa’s cheeks were warm. She’d loved Jon’s Christmas present – a beautiful picture frame, for her holiday photo of all the Starks together. But that gift had been about celebrating her family, not about her and Jon.

She’d thought, at the time, that it was intentionally platonic. Just friends, nothing to see here. Then again, her Christmas gift had been that way too – she’d given him a tin of peanut butter cookies. They’d both been walking the friend line so carefully.

But jewelry – jewelry was intimate. More than just friends. She couldn’t wait to see the earrings. And she couldn’t wait for Jon to give her a gift that was about the two of them.

She tore open the next letter like she was having a mini-Christmas of her own.

Dear Sansa,

We’re coming to the end of the trip. We’re still docked in Tortola. There was dancing in the square tonight, after the sun went down. The streetlights came on and people came out of their houses as soon as the music started playing. There were old couples and young ones, swaying in the twilight. I only watched, though Sam teased me about it. I’m glad Sam got to dance. Pyp and Grenn did, too.

I’d like to dance with you, Sansa, take you in my arms and hold you close and sway with you. (I’m not a great dancer, so swaying is all I can manage.) I try to tell you how I feel, when I’m near you. I just get tongue-tied, and stop.  

But now that it’s nighttime, and I’m back in my cabin, and I miss you so much it hurts, I can write it down. I lo care about you a lot, Sansa. There’s part of me that almost hopes you’ve stopped reading, because I’m scared of how I feel. But you deserve to know, so you can make whatever choice you want.

You’re beautiful and smart and funny and generous and I’ve never met anyone who’s so patient with me. I’d like to try to be more than friends, if that’s something you want too.

Please know that whatever you decide when I come back, I’ll respect it. I promise I will, Sansa. I’ll see you soon.

Yours always,

Jon

Sansa saw a splash on the letter and realized she’d been crying. She wiped her eyes.

She cared about Jon so much it scared her too. She kept stepping away from that feeling, because it was big, and risky. But now she knew he felt the same way. Yours always.

She drove to the airport early that Sunday, to make sure she could see Jon when he got off the plane. The airport was packed, and she had to elbow her way to the front of the line at the arrivals gates.

She kept scanning the crowd, and suddenly Jon was there. She ran to meet him. Jon saw her, and a mixture of fear and hope flickered across his face.

“Sansa I-“

She didn’t let him finish. She threw her arms around him. He dropped his suitcase and pulled her tight, his hand at the small of her back. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and breathed him in. She could smell sunblock and soap and that faint scent of pine she associated with no one but him. She held on to his shirt with one hand and looked up at him.

“Jon, they were beautiful.”

“They were about you,” he said simply, as if that explained everything. “I had to go away, to be able to tell you how I felt.“ He smiled at her. “I was so afraid I’d put you off. Did you – did you read all of them?”

She nodded.

“And you’re here,” he murmured. “In my arms.”

She reached up and brushed his hair away from his forehead. They’d spent so long not touching each other, and now she didn’t want to stop.

He leaned in and she closed her eyes. His kissed her gingerly, at first, until she ran her hands through his hair, and then he kissed her deeply, hungrily, like he couldn’t stand to let her go.

“Get a room, you two!” Someone hollered from a distance.

Sansa tuned them out. She tuned out the crowd of people streaming around them, too. All she felt was Jon, his warmth and his strong arms and how he held her like she was something special, something he cherished.

When they finally broke apart the crowd had slowed to a trickle. She helped Jon with his suitcase and drove him home. They spent the night looking through his pictures, and talking about his trip. Jon blushed when he pulled the earrings from his bag. They were silver triangles, with a crescent of blue-green abalone shell. She traced them with her fingertip.

“I love them, Jon.”

“I’m glad, Sansa. I really wanted you to like them enough to wear them.”

They kissed him again and again that night, and she went to bed far too late.

Her favorite kiss was the one he gave her at the door. He’d insisted on going back to his apartment. Sansa was half-tempted to drag him to her bedroom with her, but Jon seemed to want to go slow.

“So this – us – this is all right?”

“More than all right, Jon.”

Jon kissed her cheek, then tucked her hair behind her ear. “Then goodnight, sweet girl. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sweet girl saw her off to bed. She wasn’t sure where they were going next, but she was happy they’d go there together.