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seostudios · 4 years

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happy without me: all about luv - h.rj

ALL ABOUT LUV ‣ HAPPY WITHOUT ME

just face it, she’s happy without you. but i don’t believe it, is she really?

paring: huang renjun x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 2.5k

info: exes to lovers!au, non-idol!au, college!au, cousin!jaemin

warnings: sensitive themes, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, toxic relationship, mention of rape and sexual assault, sexual assault, explicit/vulgar language

tag list: @jenotation @luvlyjaemin @woofie-nctzen-fanarts-320 @tzuqui @sunnyrenjunnie @nino7011 @thatanonymousgirl-as14 @minhehe @chrspychan @jimelonji @mykokorobeats4u @aminihhj @jeonjungkat @wishfulldreamss @ilymarkchan @ja3hy4n @beautifulbakerycookiegiant @jisungiepwark52 @sharamanne @commentgirl @littlefluu @chicksung @lixseu @jenosgirlllll

a/n: i’m sorry this is so short i did renjun dirty :( i got writers block writing it but it’s ok! ill do better on the next one which is chenle or jeno (prolly jeno) i gotta chekc but yay finally part 2 to all about luv

APRIL IN JEJU

It's been 7 months since you've parted ways with your first love. You two were the supposed high school sweethearts of your year so it confused most of the other students when they found out. Renjun and you were meant for one another but the fact he decided on attending SKKU since had received a scholarship for his outstanding academic records, he couldn't turn down the offer and was determined on enrolling however you were attending Cheju Halla University which was all the way in Jeju City. That was a 55-minute plane ride away from Renjun! Avoiding the future relationship problems to come from long-distance you two would most likely face, the breakup was mutual and you two parted ways at the airport indulging in a rather pitiful hug.

Here you were, walking through the Department of Equine Science, trailing behind your friends Soomin and Mina. It was the first time you decided to skip class and it was thrilling in your opinion, "Come on, they're waiting!" Soomin whisper-yelled. They?

You make sure to ask her who 'they' were since you and Mina weren't standing dumbfounded and possibly in trouble. "The volleyball team dummy," Soomin says skipping to past the classrooms into Gym A. It brought you back to the old times, visiting Renjun during Soccer practice, making sure he's well-fed and not overworked. Quickly snapping out of it you join the girls on the bleachers to cheer on the boys. Although you are able to tell people you've moved on from your first love, you've spent restless nights looking back at your messages, pictures just reminiscing the past.

The butterflies he's caused you still flutter every now and then hoping their commotion was heard and you've finally made the big move back to Seoul but sadly you haven't gotten up and gone yet.

Tonight you were preparing for a mini-quiz, it so happened that Mina shared the class with you. Scheduling a sleepover at Soomin's place here you all are sitting in her living room stuffing your faces with whatever salty and sweet treats her mom had bought. "Oh. My. God." Mina tells you after reading your DM request on Instagram, "What?" you ask confused over what she thought was so extraordinary. She motions Soomin to look at your earning a surprised what the fuck from the girl. "Min-fucking-Ho wants to DM you... He's like one of the hottest guys in our division and has never been seen with a girl so wanting to text you definitely a what the fuck moment. You shake your head before opening the DM request..."He's asking me out for dinner?" You say which Soomin demands you to accept the offer before he moves on. "You've gotta move on from Renjun you know? He won't come by swooping you by the legs asking you for his hand in marriage. He's all the way in Seoul Y/n, I'm pretty sure he's moved on by now with someone else it's time you do too. Now hand e your phone so I can tell him you want to go on that date." Mina tells you after you attempt to reject Minho. She gave you the truth even if it hurt (a lot), you sigh in defeat handing over your phone.

"Can't believe you're going on a date with Minho," Soomin says watching Mina type away. "I know right, lucky girl" Mina replies as you nod.

APRIL IN SEOUL

Meanwhile, at SKKU Renjun's majoring in Arts & humanities. Languages, Literature & Linguistics which has been taking up most of his time keeping his mind off his recent split. He was devastated the first week but had to obviously push it aside if he wanted extraordinary marks just like in high school, even if he wanted his thoughts to be occupied with your figure in his head he simply couldn't know his classes were paying attention to him along with the other honor students that attended on a scholarship.

"Is that your girlfriend?" Jeno, Renjun's only friend at Sungkyunkwan asked. He's got to know Renjun for who he was today but he's never really opened up about his life before University. Jeno noticed Renjun staring at your recent Instagram post for a little too long to not think you were at least flirting in direct messages. "No," He said quick and panicky before shoving his phone back into his pocket, after relaxing he turns to Jeno. "She's my ex, we broke up 7 months ago." Jeno's mouth goes agape momentarily in realization, "Why? If you don't mind me asking..." He asked the smaller boy beside him. "She went to Jeju for University when SKKU was just a 20-minute train ride from our neighborhood," Renjun replied with a scoff recollecting the memory of the day you told him you got accepted into Cheju Halla. Jeno nods understandingly deciding to continue studying instead of riling him up.

JULY IN JEJU

A full three months have passed and you were still in the first place you were in back in April, heartbroken. Although a lot of things have drastically changed since April it had only made you feel worse about yourself. For starters, you've been 'dating' Minho since April even if you realized on the first date he had only wanted you to fulfil his sexual desires. He's strung his act long enough and you've tried breaking up with the boy for a month now but he won't let you, he's always threatening you "I'll tell the school what type of whore you are." or something about inflicting pain on someone close to you like Soomin or Mina, which is why you've kept quiet for about the last three weeks.

You were in pulled harshly by the arm by Minho as he pulled you into the supply closet of the Gymnasium, “Minho, I don’t want you to touch me there,” You politely ask the boy who’s currently taking advantage of his supposed spouse. “I don’t even want to date you! Why do you keep acting like this- Let go!” You whisper-yell to Minho who’s trailing his hands up and in between your thighs. "Shut up," He simply tells you before snaking his hand to your mouth shutting you up as you let out a choked cry.

JULY IN SEOUL

"She looks so happy with that Minho, right?” Renjun asked Jeno, scrolling through your tagged post. “I mean from what we know yeah,” He tells him. Renjun sighs, he knew he would genuinely be happy for you if you moved on but it had seemed rather quick. "It's almost been a year, she's moved on. Why don't you?" Jeno asked innocently. Renjun had a gut feeling of some sort; telling him not to move on and instead of ignoring it like you (which brought you nowhere since you're still deeply in love with him) did he's just kept a close eye on you. Shaking his head no he tells Jeno, "Something isn't right about.." He lifts the phone to the photo of you and Minho, Mina had tagged you in, "That."

DECEMBER IN JEJU

"I promise I'll text you, I just need to get off this freaking island for winter break at least." You tell Mina and Soomin on Face-time, "Okay we will miss you! How did Minho take this? It's your first Christmas together and you leave?" She asked worriedly. You mumble a fuck before looking at the camera. "I didn't tell him," You say earning gasps from the two. "He's your boyfriend though.." Soomin said; "Who doesn't treat me like a fucking human being." Your words were strong, rippling a wave of awkwardness, "I'm fine by the way I’m staying with my cousin Jaemin, but if I don't come back it’s cause he spoilt me into staying."

DECEMBER IN SEOUL

"Merry Almost Christmas!" Renjun screeches before entering his shared apart with his new friend group, Jeno had introduced Renjun to his best pal, Jaemin and Renjun had taken in a very lonely Haechan later introducing him to the two. Today they were all celebrating their first Christmas together with a classic holiday film and cupcakes every day until Christmas.

"Guys we have a guest today!" Jaemin sings opening the door widely to show a shorter girl beside the boy with a suitcase in hand.

"What are you doing here?" Renjun and you said simultaneously as you locked eye contact. "I'm visiting Jaemin, my cousin." You tell him hands moving into the air to point towards the boy, "I am Jaemin's roommate." He responded before getting up from the couch brushing off the crumbs off his lap before walking towards the door to stand in front of you. He hadn't grown any taller still rocking his tiny 5'7 figure, but tall enough to tower over you, who hadn't grown since freshman year.

"She's here." Jeno tells Renjun who's head is under the pillow, "She's here." Jeno repeats, "She's here, She's here," Renjun whispered to himself taking it all in. He always wished for you to get off the fucking island go back into his arms, transferring to SKKU, knowing you had the skill to land a spot without hesitation, but finally seeing you after 10 months of no contact was frightening to him. Why did you seem so brittle? You looked pained, it wasn't his job to care about you anymore, but he couldn't help himself. He loved you more than himself and there's a (humongous) chunk of him that still did. Renjun gets up and sits crisscrossed on the single bed across from Jeno's bed where he was idling on his phone laying down "She's here but she's not here." He said which caught Jeno's attention, his face wrinkling in confusion. "She's not okay, something's wrong. I know it," He finishes getting up to walk out to you- who's catching up with Jaemin in the kitchen while preparing for dinner, stopping immediately as a rush of nerves came over him telling him to stop.

"Hope you boys like Hotteok!" You said facing Jeno and Haechan who were smiling in awe of your cooking skills, "I know Injun and Jaems like it so I made it tonight." You cheerfully smile towards the other two boys. “Glad to see you remembered,” It took a lot for Renjun to even say a sentence to you without having a gaze on you for a little too long afterwards.

It was his chance, he walked out of the bedroom the moment he saw you walk by his door towards the guest room. "Can I come in?" He asked. "Of course Injun," You couldn't believe yourself, being so calm and comfortable with all the tension. Had it really been ten months? He thought to himself as he sat beside you on the bed. "So," He rubbed his thighs nervously "How've you been?" Horrible. You stare down at the carpet admiring it while you figure a way to lie to the boy who knew you better than you knew yourself. "Fine, I've been..." You sigh avoiding eye contact, "Fine." He looks at you concerned, "You can't lie to me Y/n." Grabbing your hand caressing it for a second knowing it relaxed you a bit in tough scenarios. Suddenly your phone began to ring, grabbing to read the caller id. "Oh, should I go?" Renjun asked after reading the contact name 'Minho' "No!" You shouted quickly grabbed his wrist pulling him back down before he walked out. Declining the call you spoke, "I'd talk to you over anyone any day." Damn, when did I get so smooth You mentally note that smirking to yourself slightly watching as Renjun bursted into a frenzy of laughter, "Smooth," He comments.

"So, was that Minho guy...your boyfriend?" He asked in which you replied with a strong No. "Well," You started "A boyfriend is someone who listens to me someone who values my opinions and beliefs. Someone who is truly interested in what you enjoy doing, or what you like most in life and interested in who I am as a person." You pause to see him grab you hand intertwining your hand, quickly signalling you to continue. "Someone who makes me laugh, or trusts me. But more importantly, disrespect me and force me into," Tears collected in your eyes threatening to fall, "Things." Renjun knows what to do to comfort you quickly pulling you into his embrace, melting when you wrap around him, head in the crook of his neck sobbing quietly. "He made me do things Renjun-ah. Horrible things. I hate him so much, I can't break up with him. Figured running away would've been a better option." He strokes your hair telling you it's okay and to relax. He couldn't help but smile though; he was right. He knew, he knew something was off and made it his number one priority to find out what it was, who would've known you would open up and make your first actual conversation with your ex- whom you dated for a nearly all of senior year about the toxic relationship you found yourself in after him.

JANUARY IN SEOUL

"I got to leave tomorrow." You told Renjun, whom you rekindled an old flame with over your stay. C

"Do you think about me sometimes? 'Cause I think about you sometimes" You asked Renjun looking at him from the mirror, as he watched you do your hair for an outing with your cousin. After that night in your bedroom, you decided on hanging out more and became close friends once more. But the butterflies in your stomach didn't leave, instead, they emitted flying more enthusiastically near him, with him. "I don't think about you sometimes 'Cause I think about you all the time," He said, which made you look down to the floor before turning around to face him. "It made me so jealous knowing you were so far away with that disgusting bastard happy without me" He grabs your hand; which you intertwine your fingers with happily a smile dancing upon your lips watching him reciprocate it.

"Stay." He tells you. You cuddle into his embrace as he caressed the top of your head. The two of your legs entangled under the sheets having one of your midnight talks. "You know I can't," You start quickly zipping your mouth not wanting to go any further, "Students who have outstanding academic records, or who have financial difficulties, who have submitted a complete scholarship application," Renjun said, which just made your jaw drop. Did he do his research? "You can still enroll for the second semester which starts in two weeks. Have your friends send your belongings." He finished watching as you lifted yourself up resting your head in your palm. "Really?" You asked, breath taken away to say more. Could you really live here in Seoul? With Renjun? "Yes, I can kick Jeno into the guest room while we can have this room all to ourselves." He kissed the top of your hand watching the cheeky smile erupt from you with giggles. "We can be together." You said- asked to yourself, "We can be together" Renjun tells you before pulling you back.

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crystalgirl259 · 3 years

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The Flame and the Dragon Chapter 28

Chapter 28: The Letter

Blood smeared the knuckles when they made contact with the thick wood of the thickest tree trunk. The Sorcerer hissed and hollered as he banged his hands furiously against the tree. His entire body shook with rage at the evidence his newest spy brought him. He waited too long. He pulled himself away from the free and covered his face with his hand. Now it was only a matter of time before Kai gave into Cole's seduction. He banged the tree again, then composed himself and pulled the hood of his cloak over his raven hair.

He watched the cut of his hand swell and bubble until perfectly healed skin was revealed.

He waited too long. The second he suspected the teen had Occulti blood he should have acted! His growl morphed into a roar.

"Damn to the depths of my lust and pride!" He bellowed. He had known he had taken a heavy gamble when he decided to change his strategy, but it was too difficult to resist such a tempting specimen, especially since if his seduction proved a success it would devastate the Dragon Lord more than a thousand of the most vicious monsters. Now, his miscalculation had caused him a major setback. It was worse when it became clear exactly who this mysterious specimen was.

It had been easy to ignore the first instance as merely a single occurrence.

It wasn't uncommon for humans to discover untapped abilities in traumatic or near-death situations. Many people held biological connections to magical ancestors. The religions might have changed, but the blood certainly didn't, he himself was proof of that. Still, many lines had become so thinned by mundane human blood any inherited power could only be tapped through stress or shock and usually only once. But the skills used to defeat his monsters and the premonitions were too much to be a coincidence.

That Occulti whore was dead and she continued to be a thorn in his side.

A wicked smile curled across his lips as he approached the road. The raven sat immobile like a statue on his shoulder awaiting instructions. It didn't matter now. She failed then and she will fail now.

"I'm running out of time, and I'll be damned if I let some Occulti whore destroy over one hundred years of patience and hard work!" He thundered and looked to the crow. It shot up and waited for orders. "Watch them, if they do anything together, inform me immediately; I don't have much time to carry out the next stage of my plan." He commanded. The crow bowed its head and flapped away into the night. The Sorcerer's grin widened as he chuckled then burst out laughing when he came to the main road.

He turned around taking one last look at the castle in the distance.

"Enjoy your concubine while it lasts, prince." He smirked recalling the conversations his spies had recorded. Episodes of the life the boy had forsaken to appease the dragon's wishes. Memories of a high-ranking man who fancied him. Of the childhood instances experienced in Ignacia. Of the siblings he had sacrificed himself for, who were no doubt still terrified for their brother's safety. He may have feelings for the dragon, but Kai was like any other human when it came to sacrificing.

As the Sorcerer walked along the forgotten path, he noticed a cold stream still flowing and an evil idea formed in his mind.

He dunked his hands into the freezing liquid and used his magic to create a small ball of water.

"Enough talking, time for some screaming." He cackled as he blew into the bubble turning it into an ice ball. He then shook the ball violently before throwing it into the air. He smirked as it broke apart and a grey, shimmering mist blew through the wind towards the castle. That should buy him some time...

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

Nya hollered and roared in rage as she slamming the door to her house shut. It screamed in protest as it suffered the force of his anger. The only thing the village idiots were good for was gossip and apparently, Morro's dismissal of Kai's fate had spread faster than an infectious plague. So much now even other towns were mocking them. No matter where she went to who she begged to help her, she was simply laughed at. One of them even suggested she join her brothers and started to believe in children's stories.

A frustrated hand ripped at Nya's raven bangs.

The only one who seemed remotely worried was the librarian, Dr. Saunders, but he was just one old man. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't go wandering through the dark forest, let alone take on a dragon-hybrid monster. She stormed into the kitchen, her angry steps echoing loudly in the empty room. Nya growled and started grabbing whatever her furious mind thought she would need and stuffed them into a bag she already had set up on the kitchen table.

If no one will help her, she would find that castle and get him back herself.

She stuffed the bag with food, maps, and anything else. She strapped it tight and threw it over her shoulders, donned her thickest coat to keep out the freezing winter air, her cloak, and her heaviest boots. Once she was secure, she turned to the staircase.

"Lloyd, I spoke with Mrs. Grumbmiller, you're gonna stay with her until I get back, is that alright?" She called loudly. Her words echoed through the house, and she braced herself for her younger brother's protests. Instead, she found only silence and she started to panic. She quickly realizing Lloyd hadn't run downstairs when she came inside. He didn't come crying and begging to know if anyone would help them like he had done every time she came home over the last two months.

When their previous attempts had failed.

After two months of trying, Nya and Lloyd returned home only to discover the town was debating what to do with their house and shop now that they were gone. It was only because of Nya's fury that the town would act so irresponsibly. Nya refused to leave their home unattended. Despite Lloyd's protest, Nya left him behind to protect the shop under Mrs. Grumbmiller's care during the lonely nights. Panic started to rush through Nya's entire being.

She bolted from the stairs, checking each room on the ground floor, painstakingly for her younger brother.

When her search failed she thundered up the old steps. Her eyes scanned every room, meticulously for any sign of the young boy. Nya's eyes widened when she entered her own room. Lloyd had been known to sleep there some nights when his worry became too much. Again she found it all empty, even missing a few things. The realization made her sick as she bolted upstairs, heading straight towards Lloyd's bedroom. She panicked and threw the door open but her heart sank into her stomach.

The room was empty, but dressers were left open, empty of clothes.

Her thick winter cloak was missing from the hanger as well as Lloyd's thickest pair of boots. The only evidence that the boy had been there at all was a note left on the bed. She grabbed it with haste and read it as fast as she could. Her eyes bulged with horror and fear as she read over each word, filled with tears.

Nya,

If you're reading this then I'm already gone. I'm sorry I didn't wait until you came back but no one is going to help us, I know that now. I can't leave our big brother to suffer in that horrible place. He's only there to protect me, so I've decided I'm going to go back to that castle, and no matter what I must do I will free our big brother. No matter what. I've already taken more than enough remedy so I won't choke, so don't worry about me.

Please don't come after me, Nya.

I know you and what you're planning. You'll try and switch places with Kai and I can't let that happen. That dumb duke is right about one thing, you two have sacrificed everything for me, now it's my turn to help you.

I love you, Ny-Ny.

Nya screamed and cursed, crushing the little note in her hand, cursing her baby brother's foolishness. Her hands clenched the window as she looked outside. Though Winter was fading quickly, new frost still encased the ground. Winter was still dangerous and it was the most hazardous time of year for someone with Lloyd's condition. She could also swear that those dark clouds rolling in were the signs of an incoming blizzard. A bad one at that.

Snow was already falling and getting heavier with every passing second.

She screeched as she tied on her boots and hopped down the hall, before finally falling over and stormed out the front door. If Lloyd died, she was going to murder him. As soon as she was ready, Nya bolted down the street and towards the woods for any sign of Lloyd as she vanished into the night. She was in such as rush that she didn't notice or hearing the hammer of footsteps approaching the now-empty home. The snow-covered any evidence of her footprints within seconds, masking her trail in the process.

Seconds after Nya left, Morro and Bansha arrived with Noble's collection wagon.

"Nya! Lloyd! Kai!" Morro hollered as he shoved the door to the dark house open, not even bothering with chivalry as Bansha stepped inside behind him. As soon as they entered, they saw that the house was vacant of light and life. The lamps had burnt out, the doors were locked, and no sound echoed through the rooms.

"Where are they? I thought Nya would be back by now!" The duke screeched like an angry owl.

"They're not here, Morro." She quirked, not wishing to be on the wrong side of the Duke's anger.

"This is ridiculous! How long do they plan on being gone? It's been four months!" He bellowed throughout the house. He hissed in a furious rage when no one answered him.

"Morro, you don't think... maybe..." Bansha trailed off nervously. She nervously rubbed her arms and flinched and looked at the floor when Morro's heated glare turned to her.

"If you are going to say what I think you're going to say, I don't want to hear it! There is no such thing as dragons or castles or any of this nonsense! It was a lie! A trick of their little minds!"

"But Morro, think of it!" She protested. "Kai's been gone for almost four months, and ever since his disappearance Nya has been going around town and asking anyone to help her, and Lloyd's been doing the same thing, swearing on their lives that he's been kidnapped and taken hostage by this dragon; they've even gone so far as to seek help from other towns! Why would they keep this story of a 'dragon' kidnapping Kai going if it wasn't true? What if Kai really was kidnapped?"

Morro glared at the girl and opened his mouth to protest but found he could not.

Instead, he stormed back through the door scowling.

"Alright, say this 'dragon' does exist and their story is true? Why would Kai stay with such a monstrosity?" He chuckled darkly.

"Well as you said, Morro, he would do anything to protect his family correct? Maybe, he was forced?" She suggested.

"Excuse me, duke." A smooth voice interrupted Morro as he was about to scream again. The two of them turned around and saw a tall man dressed in vibrant red and purple colors that made him glow in the darkness of the storm approached them. His hood shadowed his face and eyes and only pale streaks of black hair were visible.

"Forgive my forward intrusion, but I'm afraid I couldn't help but overhearing your plight, the plight of your town, and I think I may know what has befallen this unfortunate family." He said with the best fake saddest look he could muster. The pair exchanged equal bewildered glances until Morro's gaze hardened and he returned his glare to the man.

"And who are you?"

"My name of no importance to one of such caliber as yourself, sir." He bowed respectfully. Morro soaked the flattery up like a sponge, but Bansha shivered, catching the sinister smile crossing the man's face.

"Know only that I wish to aid you, I have traveled much in my lifetime, seeking wisdom and the destruction of injustice; if this creature is who I fear we must act quickly or I fear this boy, your fiancé's fate, may already be sealed."

"What are you talking about? What will happen to my Kai?" Morro demanded.

"My entire life, my lady, has been devoted to the destruction of a terrible beast who is responsible for the downfall of my ancestors." The man began. "A hundred years ago they ruled these lands until they were brutally betrayed by this creature, as punishment he was cursed to become a dragon and since then I have hunted him down in hopes of avenging my family's senseless destruction and it seems I have finally found him." He spoke with the passion of a tragic hero but remained focused on their reactions.

He could see they were both skeptical but there was fear evident in their eyes.

Fear that he knew was the perfect fuel for creating an angry mob or a rebellion or an army to obey one's will if it would promise the return of their safety.

"What does your personal crusade have to do with my fiancé?" Morro demanded again as Bansha's hands found his arm and squeezed it tightly, shivering at the frightening presence the man radiated.

"As I said, sir, the dragon is a monster." He spat. "He seeks an end to his curse, and unfortunately, that freedom includes the seduction of a beautiful and talented mortal, and apparently he's settled for this boy you've fallen for, so just you watch; he will descend his destruction on the entire town if given the chance!" The man spoke, emphasizing the destruction of the town and the word seduction.

"No!" Morro screamed and thrashed in fury and rage. "Kill him! Destroy him! Slice off his head!"

"Calm yourself, my lord." The stranger soothed in a sophisticated voice that commanded obedience. "There is still time to save the boy and his family, but I need your help, yours and this town's if you are willing to help me?" He asked as his eyes were soft and his voice pleading. "My only request is that you let me kill the monster, all I ask is to avenge my family, your land shall be yours once more and whatever riches are in the castle, I'm wealthy enough that I do not need such trivial things, all I seek is to avenge my family."

"Of course," Morro announced, throwing his cloak over his shoulder and howling in his delight. "We must get to the town hall immediately! Bansha, go and gather my council, tell them to rally the people, we have to rescue my fiancé!" He ordered, leaving no room for argument. Bansha shivered and nodded mutely, before rushing down the street desperate to get away from the man.

"By the way, who should I say you are when I explain you to the city?" The duke turned to the man as he hauled after his maid. He was shocked, however, to find the man had vanished into thin air. The only difference to before was the thundering of the incoming snowstorm clouds...

#The Flame and the Dragon #beauty and the beast #ninjago #ninjago morro #ninjago nya #ninjago lloyd #ninjago cole #ninjago kai #lavashipping

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welcometomy20s · 3 years

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March 31, 2021

.Hololive Quarterly Report

I was trying to write this, then it became painfully too long, so I stopped and I’m going to try a much abbreviated version. I don’t why I’m writing this preamble.

Usada Constructions - Buy

CEO Pekora has come back from the creative crisis in late January, her response to the Akukin relay, Pekoland has been quite the success, and Pekora has hired three new people and taken two into actual production, and there has been talks of two more recruitments. Usada constructions has been the premier revenue maker in the server already and with renewed vigor, Pekora has inadvertently cornered the service industry, with her business associate Moon, making the HoloID mall, and hiring Botan or Menya Botan and Kiara of KFP in the process, and thinking hiring Watame, which has a food delivery service.

Future is looking bright for UsaKen and one should buy the stocks now.

Akukin Constructions - Sell

Akukin has a bright start with the recent hiring spree then the wildly successful AKukin Building Relay... and boasting 25% of the workforce in their wake. But CEO has been hampered with failure of her personal projects, first with her loss in the Mario Kart tournament, and then her failure to get the elusive solo Master in Apex. Perhaps, buoyed by her failure, she’ll return to Minecraft, but for now... there has been minor outing of the employers.

Both Mio and Marine went on Minecraft once after the relay, Marine to push Kanata to make her noteblock machines, and Mio in basically upkeep. Rest of the players have been quiet or have been associated with other people. Roboco have played once of twice, although she didn’t even participated in the relay. Choco has been mostly working as a broker for Flare, who is a contractor for Akukin. Lamy and Nene has been basically doing their own thing, mostly since they haven’t had anything else to do... and that’s it, I believe. Iofi, Mel, and Akirose never returned to Minecraft after the relay.

Well, Shion returned after four months with Rushia as the guide... but seriously, Akukin is all but over unless there is a serious reorganization. Sell them!

Shirauni-Elite Conglomerate - Buy

This is outside of current consensus, but it makes for me because it fits the current state of things. Miko and Flare first found their calling by basically gaslighting Kanata into operating a school. They have sense collaborated many times, Flare being part of the four heavenly kings and expanding their partnership in the urban environment, more specifically in Los Santos.

Flare’s turn in Minecraft basically leads me to reassess Flare’s strengths. Flare was kind of the straight man of the 3rd Gen, but she has shown that she could be as wild and unpredictable as the rest of the Hololive Fantasy. Flare eventually roped Polka into an apprenticeship, and Polka’s ability to pop into the most unexpected direction really helped with Flare’s stream as well.

Flare is having the time of her life, and her lover Noel has finally turn the tide on her devastating decline due to the great ASMR purge in early 2020, by embracing the English duolingo... finally passing up people, after falling so far.

Yeah, you should buy here. Although Miko’s recent pause is little worrisome...

Oozora Constructions - Hold

Subaru has been doing a lot of work... her biggest strength has been her free talks, she is a great storyteller, but that’s obviously hampered by language, which is why Subaru made the difficult move of having English summary in her topics, which is a great improvement for her... but her collabs have been on fire, and I mean Oozora Police was just amazing, with good timing as well.

Apparently Subaru has a new costumes, collabs, and original songs coming up in the next quarter, so Subaru is going to surpass already high expectation made during this quarter. As for her company though... well, Subaru has been a... lone duck in the situation. (Sorry for the pun)

Famously outcasted as Kanata and Marine were chatting up with Moona and Reine, Subaru has been lonely for quite sometime. Subaru has been working an actual commission from Korone, although Korone is most inconsiderate Hololive member (as evidenced by two consecutive Kuukiyomi tests), which is a bad sign. Rushia has been working well, both independently and with Subaru... now Luna... that’s the cinch of the situation at this moment.

I’ll talk about Luna later, but overall Oozora has its strength and weakness perfectly balanced. It’s a hold for me, although it can be a buy quickly...

Haachama Constructions - Buy

Haachama started off kind of lost. She recently moved back to Japan, and she didn’t really knew what direction to go off on... apparently a horror unfiction was her choice. It is a great unfiction, in all its spirit, the meta-component worked perfectly, the improvisational and interactivity was unparalleled, it is astounding that this a one-woman production, since even a dedicated team might not pull off this feat, taking images made minutes before the stream is due and incorporating them into the story flawlessly.

Akai Haato always impressed me, but this arc showcased that to everyone. And her future seems to be bright as she starts working on Season 2. Just buy!

OkaKoro Constructions - Hold

Both Okayu and Korone has been steady in their output, minimal collabs and continuing their series of old games. Korone has been particularly clever in her selection of games. Everyone playing Undertale, why not play the game that inspired the whole thing, Earthbound? People are playing Dragon Quest? Well, how about a classic version, Dragon Quest 3, instead of 11S?

But other than that, there wasn’t much going on... then the OkaKore anniversary concert happened, and I realized they still have so much progress. One commenter said how Bloom was a failure because there wasn’t any idols in that list, namely Watame, Okayu and Korone, and I started to agree.

But that’s just one performance, we don’t know if this would be foundation for something better. So let’s hold on the papers for now.

Kureiji Constructions - Hold

There’s always a bit of anxiety when one is lauded as the next new star, least to me, I was always anxious about Ollie’s growth. She could be great, she has plenty of talent, she’s a massive simp and a social collaborator, but her personality can turn on a dime if not careful. Fortunately, Ollie made good on herself, having one of the more explosive growth and becomes generally accepted as a peer, recently doing a large Mario Kart collab.

It’s still a hold, since I have residual anxiety, but this is a good stable company.

Seiso Pillars - Buy

I never really got the appeal on Sora, until she put on her glasses on. Her movement was so fluid and practiced, you can tell she’s a young lady with ambition, which is contrary to the goddess image. Azki has been making the move that Suisei did in end of 2019, slowly putting herself in the comedic spirit of rest of Hololive, and her Vtuber showcase is freaking phenomenal.

Suisei has been flirting with the pillar in Minecraft, and bring the third of HoloKazo(?) in Los Santos, letting her psychopathic side fully. Suisei used her arbitrary demonitization to her advantage, reinvigorating her streams immensely. I thought about holding, but honestly this is a buy. They are going to get better.

Shirakami Forestry - Hold

Fubuki wanted to finish her cherry tree by spring. Well, that didn’t happen. But Fubuki has been doing okay. Fubuki has made some radical moves this year, firmly associating with Coco. Remember that Fubuki’s explosive growth was due to Chinese fans, and this is true of Aqua as well (which is why Aqua has been more distant lately), so to associate with one of the most hated Vtubers by the ‘West Taiwanese’ is a risk, but one made with the knowledge that her base can be shifted, since this did not impact her growth at all.

So Fubuki is going to be Fubuki, no matter who she associates with. Hold.

Free Agents - ???

Matsuri might be the most valuable free agent, but she’s kind of like a public official, helping to keep stock on the commons, and helping Luna as well. This is why Luna is the kingmaker. Luna has connections with both Subaru and Matsuri, but their connection is either loose or non-associative. She can be convinced, but she could easily refuse... and who knows how that would affect Pekora.

Most people thought Matsuri was going to join UsaKen, and that might still be the case, although Pekora is notoriously uncomfortable of senpais.

Risu is next valued player. After her explosion in the 4th quarter, Risu has been struggling to keep afloat, although Risu seems to be fine with her laggard growth. Her impromptu Nier;Automata streams are always a delight, and her Spring soundboard has been fun as well. Risu also returned to Minecraft for a bit, so she might be on the hunt... she would be a great addition to UsaKen.

Ayame is the third player. Ayame has been inconsistent this quarter, mostly since she streams the least amount out of anyone. Her recent collab with Marine was something though, although that’s going to be paused for a bit.

Anya is the last person, just because she doesn’t have Minecraft and she is the least subscribed member. I think it was surprising how Anya’s stream has been. Instead of doing gatcha and perhaps talking stream, her game selections has been far off the beaten path, more so than Korone and Okayu, and she has been blazing (that’s another pun) her own trail much to her detriment.

I mean she’s fine in the grand scope of things, still very interesting move.

Okay, that was the short version, and even then it’s really long so... yeah.

#hololive #vtuber #youtube

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juleswolverton-hyde · 4 years

Text

Homesick (BC)

Genre: Angst, Idol AU

Pairing: Bangchan x Reader

Warnings: Heavy heartbreak

Summary: Home is not always a place because sometimes it is a person. They are the one who have created an unrivalled atmosphere to linger in.

This home was found by an extremely lucky accident and explored in the city of the bridge that might one day fall.

And it hurts like Hell to be cast out of it.

Author’s Note: Based on personal emotions in regards to the cancellation of the SKZ concert in London and this letter. Indeed, this essentially might be a self-indulgent piece, but know there is a clear line between fact and fiction.

And I know exactly which is which.

Masterlist

Lonely.

That is perhaps the best word to describe the feeling of waking up in the morning in the heart of London. Normally, as happened on that miraculous night exactly a year ago, Versace Eros Homme would linger in the sheets and the running shower fill the tranquil Westminster air with the sound of falling water.

Now it is cold.

The tears streaming down the cheeks to stain the sole warm pillow were shed first by him at the first goodbye at Heathrow. Then they could be stopped by the promise of meeting again perhaps during the summer, but that wish had to be postponed due to touring. A new promise was made by agreeing to meet in London, the prospect slightly stilling quivering full lips stuttering out the words “I miss you” to their lucky beloved.

Another dream destroyed.

With a single phone call two months ago.

‘I’m so, so sorry, babygirl. They cancelled the Europe dates for the tour.’ Breaths noticeably became shorter as the consequences of the management’s actions in regards to health and safety sank in. Fingers started to tremble, shaking the phone as well as trying to cover a mouth endeavouring to not sink helplessly to the floor with a broken heart.

But the mutual sadness crashed in simultaneously, distorting the conversation on either side with gasps and sometimes successful attempts at forming words.

‘I- You- I’ve already booked a week- weekend in Lon- London.’

‘Can you,’ composure clearly had to be regained, leaving an interval of a couple of seconds before unsteadily continuing and failing at the first word, ‘can-’

It took a difficult swallow followed by an awkward clearing of the throat to finish the inquiry spoken in a lovely Australian accent, ‘cancel it?’

‘I could. But I- I don’t have the money. I’m still a poor student.’ Breathing in felt like swallowing sandpaper, but the pain was enough to evenly smooth out speech and nullify the sobbing stuttering. ‘So I’m still going.’

‘Where are you staying?’

‘Westminster, close to Hyde Park.’

‘Which hotel?’ Without hesitating, the name and address were given so Chan could find out where the hotel is located, slender fingers audibly typing on the keyboard of the laptop likely used for composing new songs. After a wee while, a relieved sigh sounded on the other side, voicing approval of the accommodation. ‘Good. That’s a safe neighbourhood. I’m not letting you stay in Stratford again.’

The risk of danger there forcefully removed an ordinary travelling student from the Ibis Hotel, her favourite wolf transferring her to a safer area in the metropolis. Even if it would raise questions among the members and the public if we were to be seen.

None of that mattered.

As long as we were safe from harm.

‘Chan, I... I really don’t wanna go.’ This is where the waterworks really opened and the sobbing began in earnest. ‘Not alone.’

‘You’ve been working hard. Too hard. You deserve a break, babe. Go.’

‘I hope you and the lads will stay safe, I really do. But you can’t expect me to walk the streets without the memory of you. To sit in the coffee corner of the Waterstones at Piccadilly Circus, overlooking the National Gallery without thinking of how I chased you after you kissed me on the cheek in the basement of the shop. How you kissed me in the square in front of the gallery.’

‘Of course I can’t expect that.’ A sad snicker and creaking of the bed told of sitting down like the girl across the pond, on the edge of what cannot be shared. ‘And I would have done it again. Would have- Would have treated you to breakfast, kissed you again, made love to you.’ A rasping breath tore the heart further into fragments, emphasizing the impossibility to reach out and crawl on the lad’s lap to cling to the muscled chest like a koala. ‘I miss you.’

The same words are now repeated to the empty spot, remembered by puffy eyes barely wearing any makeup portrayed in the mirror when preparing to head out for a coffee at a nearby Costa.

Clothes befitting a guest of the four-star hotel are put on without listening to Stray Kids, instead opting for the soundtrack of Assassin’s Creed: Syndicate to remain in a British humour. It is the same music which has been on constant repeat while aimlessly wandering around the city.

Taking strolls in Hyde Park and St. James’s Green.

Hands were entwined while exploring lush green and by the waterside, enjoying an impromptu picnic with food from the nearest Tesco or Sainsbury’s.

Walking the length of the Victoria Embankment and parliament district.

Chan offered the last of his water against the warmth, unwavering in his argument that it should be allowed to take care of a significant other regardless of personal costs. However, to repay the kindness, the little wolf acted rapidly to make sure the order of two lemon ciders was paid before her taller counterpart could draw a debit card when retreating from the heat in a cooled cafe.

Surveying art in galleries.

The ancient conflicts between a modernist and classicist somehow found their way into the relationship early, though neither of us actually knew what we were futilely howbeit amusingly ranting about.

Browsing in the various bookshops.

The kangaroo boy did not allow way less muscles arms to carry the various paperbacks that were collected when not grabbing a title from the top shelves for a girl with small people problems.

Hiding the secret tears fading in the shadows of Camden Lock, covering themselves with the unique fashion and amazing food to be found there.

The personal serving of cookie dough had to be shared because a hungry buff koala with a slight sweet tooth could not stop stealing bites.

Reminiscent of that devastating phone call.

‘I miss you.’

The three little words whispered to oneself over a large cup of cappuccino while looking out over the square where it happened a little less than a year ago.

What luck had found two souls.

What tragedy has befallen them.

‘I hope you’re okay.’ A hand wipes away the stray tear leaving a salty trail over skin, nose turning runny and teeth biting down on the lower lip when the absence across the table becomes tangible. Outside, the umbrellas have one another as they trod the grey pavements beneath the gloomy heaven. The books on the shelves are nestled against each other, the way panting lovers cuddled after their first time together and multiple intense rounds after until the evening of parting came.

Initiating hiatus.

London rain.

A broken promise.

‘I hope all of you are.’

Weary feet eventually leave the seat by the window after drinking what will likely result in a caffeine overdose. On the way to the underground, a stop is made at the nearby Sainsbury’s to buy a cheap three pounds meal deal. A student on a budget and low-calorie diet has to survive somehow and fortunately, if lucky, the convenience store offers what is wanted for a low price. Thus, with a bottle of water, fruit salad and egg salad sandwich alongside a couple of protein bars, the journey to the hotel is continued.

Vision becomes more and more watery as the stuffy underground station is left behind, slowly coming closer to the temporary accommodation that was supposed to be shared.

‘Why are you crying?’ A familiar voice that sounds like low purring when drowsy makes dark Puma sneakers turn around on the glistening marble tiles, overjoyed with the sound of home. Pale strong arms smelling of a romantic Italian holiday and dusted by thin black hairs pull the waist into a tight embrace as a thumb wipes away the droplets gracing skin. Love shines bright is warm chocolate eyes refusing to tear up in joy too. ‘Hey, babygirl.’

That is what wants to be heard.

Seen.

Felt.

But all there is, is the chic lobby.

The posh elevator leading up.

The cold sheets of the empty bed.

A lonely room.

And the unheard cries of a broken heart.

‘Fuck, I miss you.’

#Stray Kids #SKZ #Bangchan fanfiction #Bangchan #Bang Chan #Chan #Chris Bang

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elatedmarvel · 5 years

Text

Two Ghosts (2/2)

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: It becomes too hard to deal with Steve’s past.

Word Count: 2329

AN: Here’s the second part as promised! I hope you guys enjoy! Thank you for reading, it means the world to me.

Warnings: some angst, swear words, mentions of sexy time

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. He wasn’t sure what just happened, his brain not being able to process how his sweet and loving girlfriend could just walk out on him. How you could throw away the last few years of your amazing life together.

Sure he went whenever Sharon had called, but he had explained his and Sharon’s relationship to you before. You had taken no issue with it, he even saw a glimmer of pride in your eye. And as for Peggy, well, he couldn’t help it. There would never be a him and Peggy, and he mourned for the life he never got to live.

You had been patient and understanding for as long as he could remember. There was never a warning before the storm, he never got to brace himself for the worst when it already swept past. Leaving nothing but devastation in your path.

Animosity festered as he replayed the last few minutes. If that’s how you felt, then so be it. He’s lived without you before, and he can do it again.

It starts out simple. It’s already been a week since he last saw you that fateful night. He had heard from Bucky the grapevine that you had moved in with a close friend and seemed to be doing well.

It irks him to no end that you got to leave. That he’s still trapped with reminders of a happier life. The sheets still smelled like you, the fridge was still stocked with your favorite yogurt, the mail was still delivered with your name on it. It was getting ridiculous at this point, he couldn’t even take a shower in peace anymore, your shampoo bottle stares him down.

Memory of you is everywhere, and every time he looks, his gut clenches. He didn’t notice it at first, but he figures his new found aversion to Ben & Jerry’s is because you’re not there to sneak bites of it any more.

He hates the stupid throw on the couch. The one that would wrap both of you on netflix binges. The one he would cover you with when you fell asleep on the couch, convinced that this would be the time you could stay up and wait for him to get home from a mission.

He hates walking into his room and seeing one side of the bed perfectly made. He hates laying in it more, not feeling your warmth besides him, or hearing your slow, rhythmic breathing. It lulled him to sleep just knowing you were safe besides him. Some nights it’s difficult to get in without promise of panting breaths and heated kisses that always turned into an explosive more. He sleeps now on one side, flat on his back, imagining the other side doesn’t exist. Sleep is no longer a friend.

He hates the clothes that you left in the closet. He hates the pictures of your bright, smiling face on the walls. He hates the plants that he forgets to water, their wilting without you, not unlike him.

He hates just about everything, but he can’t bring himself to throw any of it away. He tried to toss out your favorite tea one day and ended up sobbing on the floor with it curled in his arms. He likes to think that he was just tired that day, but even he knows that’s a lie.

He hates that your not there.

But like the soldier he is, he keeps trudging on.

Half a month after, life is muted. He never noticed how barren social interactions were without you.

Movie nights at the tower had lost their appeal without your legs tangled with his, whispering or giggling the whole time. Game nights were no fun when you weren’t by his side, cheating at monopoly, giving him that smug smile all the while. Even meals with the team were no longer as appetizing. Food was better eaten while listening to your teasing banter with Bucky and Sam, hand drawing patterns discreetly on his thigh the entire time.

There had never been a duller fundraising event than the one he attended two nights ago. He had no one to laugh at his awkward jokes in the speech he had to give. No one would make fun of the stuffy business men and their trophy wives with him. And no one to go home with at the end of the night, leaving a trail of clothes to the bed.

He’s not sure what possessed him to go. He was writing reports of the latest missions, ignoring your stationary on the desk, when his phone had gone off. Sharon’s ringtone. He honestly couldn’t tell you what she had needed him for.

Somehow he had ended up knocking on her apartment door. It felt wrong, like he was betraying you. He hasn’t seen you in 2 months at this point, but it didn’t matter. Your words fresh in his head, swirling around and drowning out his own thoughts.

“Steve?” the blonde asks from the entryway. He hadn’t even notice the door open.

“You ok?” she tries again. Sharon had never seen him look worse. His hair was long and greasy, had he taken a shower this week?-beard too full, needing to be trimmed. It was his eyes that really worried her. Gone was the sparkle, they looked dimmer, hollow. Like they saw right through her.

“Fine.” he answers before pushing past her and into the apartment. Voice monotone.

She watches as he all but drops himself on to the couch, like his legs couldn’t hold him up anymore. Blue eyes roamed around the apartment, unseeing of his surroundings. He had yet to smile or tease her about the mess on the coffee table.

“What did you need again?” he snaps, annoyed at her staring and yearning to get back to the apartment faster. Back to all that he had left of you.

“Are you sleeping?” she asks, eyebrows furrowed in concern. The blue and black bags under his eyes answers that question for him.

“I told you I was fine. Just leave it.” he says flatly. Hands grab the first packet he sees, trying to remember what she had asked him to do.

“Steve. Please talk to me.” she implores, moving to sit on the other end of the couch. Afraid that he would feel trapped if she got too close. “You’re scaring me.”

He lets out a huff and runs a giant hand over his unkempt face and back through his hair. “She left me.” he whispers looking up at the ceiling.

A beat passes. She almost thinks he’s pranking her, but his expression stays somber. Eyes watering and breathing unsteady, he looks like a shell of the man she knows.

“What happened?” she stutters. Shock coursing through her. Sure you two had fought before, everyone did. But she didn’t know two people who loved each other as fiercely and wholeheartedly as you two.

“Something about ghosts.” he mutters, eyes closing to keep the tears at bay. He could never think about the fight without them.

“And?” she prods.

Finally he looks at her, studying her trained expression. The pity he could feel radiating off of her opens the box he had shut and locked when you left.

“It was because of you! Are you happy now? Huh?” he gets up and throws one of her pillows. “She said that she couldn’t compete with you anymore. That I was too busy living in the past. You’re the reason she’s gone!” he yells, chest heaving from the effort.

“Are you done?” her face unmoving. Taking a couple of deep breaths, he sits back down and nods. Silence envelopes them.

“I’m sorry. I just, I kept all that bottled up. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” he breaks first.

She studies him more, trying to find the right words. “You know, you don’t have to be my knight in shining armor right? I can handle myself, you can say no, contrary to popular belief.”

He lets out a huff in response.

“Steve, seriously. I get it, we’re friends and I value that. But I also get that she comes first, I know she does. I’ll stop calling as much, but you have to promise to start saying no to me too.”

“It’s not that easy, Shar.”

“It is. Unless this is about something more?” she inquires, hoping that he doesn’t say what she thinks he’s about to.

“I… I feel like I owe it to Peggy too.” he admits, voice and body smaller than before.

“She lived her life Steve.” Sharon starts, trying to be sensitive, but trying to make him see what he’s been missing. “She would have wanted you to do the same. But it’s more than that, Peggy was an infatuation. You didn’t really know her, and I know you think she knew you, but not the same way your girl does. She’s got you memorized from head to toe and loves you, all of you.”

Eyes trained on his clasped hands, he nods slowly. “I know.”

“Then I think you know what you have to do.”

The apartment was cold and lonely. Your friend had tried to back out of her date, but you didn’t want her to be like you. Alone. Besides, you didn’t want to hinder her anymore than you already had. You would be forever grateful to her for letting you crash in her spare room.

Lights flashed in the living room, making shadows on the walls. Some show about cops maybe? Doctors? They tended to all blur together when you didn’t care. Just like all the nights before, it was just background noise to your heartache.

Who knew that it was basically impossible to get over Steve Rogers?

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts. Glancing at the clock, it was late enough that it was probably just your friend coming home. She always forgot her keys. Without glancing at the peephole, you threw the door open. “What would you do without me?” you teased.

Instead of your friend, a 6 foot, blond man stood instead. A small smile on his face.

“Wither away, definitely” he answers.

You stare up at him in shock. He wasn’t wrong- his face hollowed and sharper than before, eyes drooping. Hair in disarray and bushy bearded as he may be, but he was still your Steve.

You’re sure you weren’t looking much better, under eye bags that matched his, and hair that was thrown carelessly into a bun. When was the last time you had changed out of your pajamas?

“Hi.” still too stunned to say anything else.

“Hi” his face bursts into the first real smile since you left.

“How did you find me?”

“Bucky” he answers easily, eyes never leaving yours.

“I’m going to kill him.”

He chuckles before sighing, his whole being felt better just being close to you. “Can I come in?”

Instead of answering, you step to the side and guide him to the living room. He takes a seat and you make sure to leave a spot between you. The heat coming off of him making you bask slightly like a cat. Had you always been cold without him?

“What are you doing here?” you question, pulling a loose thread on your flannel.

“I realized what an idiot I was.” he states, hand coming to rest on your fidgeting ones. “I’m here to fight for the love of my life.”

Your lips curl up slightly on their own accord. Eyes meet his, and you melt. You no longer felt numb.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It’s always been you, I’m sorry I couldn’t see it before.” and your heart could burst at his words.

“What about Sharon?” you ask, voice small.

“We’ve made a deal. She’ll call less, only when she really needs me. And I’ll say no more.”

“That’s not what I want. I still want you to be friends. I just need to know that you’re not going to run off on me every time.” you say sternly. Sharon was a big part of his life, one of your friends even.

“I promise. You’ll always come first.” he vows.

“And, Peggy?” your hands squeezing his when you say her name.

“I’ve grieved long enough. It’s time I start to live my life, see what’s right in front of me. Trust me when I say I love you more than I can even express. More than anyone, and more than her.” His eyes conveying his conviction. “I know I said she was a part of me, and she is. But you’re all of me.”

The smile that lit up your face was blinding and beautiful, Steve could feel his soul start to mend back together. Tears sprung to your eyes and fell, but his thumb wiped them away.

“I love you too.” you breathe. And without hesitation you kiss him. Long and slow- toe curling, all consuming good.

“You know, I’ve been gone for two months, but this place looks like I left yesterday.” you tease.

Steve comes through the door with your suitcases and coughs. His cheeks warm as he looks around. Everything left where you had last set it.

“I had some issues getting rid of it.” he says, clearly embarrassed.

“I know, Bucky told me how you hard you cried when you tried.” you laugh.

Steve instantly turns red and stutters, “That jerk!”

Hands slide around his waist and you tuck your head under his chin. Like they belong there, he’s arms wrap around you- steady and strong.

“It’s ok, I cried too. He just told me that to make me stop.” you giggle. Those two months seeming like a different lifetime ago already.

He sways the two of you from side to side gently, not ready to let go yet. Every now and then pressing kisses to your temple.

“You do belong here with me.” he states.

“I really do.”

Tags:

@lovesteverogersbaeworld @rororo06 @nushie-writes

#steve rogers fanfiction #Steve Rogers #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #captain america fanfiction #captain america fan fiction #steve rogers fan fiction #captain america x reader

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ravenvsfox · 5 years

Note

hello meghan my love my darling when are you going to post the next chapter of the rockband au???? you should do it on or before the 2nd for absolutely no personal reason at all. but anyway ilysm???? i hope you’re doing great now that it’s starting to warm up (seasonal depression whomst?) 💖💖

(hello ily honeyy happy happy happy birthday I’m sorry this is late)

Neil wakes up, as usual, to the pinging of a text message. He doesn’t bother to look at it. He knows what it will say; the unassuming number, the conspicuous silence whenever he writes back.

He rolls over so that the thinning comforter pulls and sticks beneath him, and he slits his eyes against the pre-dawn light.

Yesterday he’d deleted the number ’36’ from his messages and jammed his bare feet into his boots. He’d walked all the way out back to the dumpster with the cellphone cracking in his fist before his fear won out, and he’d pocketed it again.

He knows what day the zero should fall on. He’s learned to dread countdowns because he’s lived to see what comes on the other side of them, surfed the sand in an hourglass as it ebbed out from underneath him.

The monsters keep him busy, and so do the Foxes, now. They pull him in different directions, divide his attention, pique his curiosity. He’s acutely aware of how devastating it will be for him when he has to leave them, what a terrible thing he’s done by letting them close enough that they’ll notice when he’s dead.

But no one endures like the lonely people who end up at Palmetto, and he knows no one will stumble for long.

He reaches into the swath of blankets and holds the phone in his hand. It buzzes again, the nudge of the same message insisting upon being read. He feels frustration crest and fall in his chest, and then he wonders if anyone else is awake. Sometimes Andrew will get up early and make eggos, or Kevin will go for a run before the sun is up, but they’ve been inconsistent while they sloshed through the songwriting process.

He’s heard Aaron making endless pots of coffee and Nicky in the basement, practicing licks without an amp in the middle of the night. Once, Neil wandered down and knelt the wrong way on the couch to watch him play. He wasn’t quite awake, and the music twanged against Nicky’s goofy grin and made Neil smile back at him.

Now that Ausreißer’s album is edited into submission, sent off for packaging, all of their tireless work crystallizing somewhere, he’s promised Foxes that he’ll record a vocal for them. It’s strange to think of them wanting his serious voice worked through their bright sound, incongruous as salt in coffee. It’s even stranger to think of the way his voice will be broadcast after he’s dead, perpetually echoing after his disappearance.

Their album is set to be released in a week, and then the next leg of their tour will roll up to meet them, and sometime in those delicate, dwindling months, Neil will be found. He fantasizes about leaving a ripple when he’s taken, and then he thinks better of it. When his mother died, he watched the fire take her skin, and her hair, and her eyes, and he thought, death would be easier if we didn’t let ourselves matter to one another.

He lets the phone sink back into the sheets, and sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the mattress. Someone knocks twice on the door, just the edge of a knuckle. Andrew.

“It’s open,” he says.

Ever since Andrew had burst in, answering questions that Neil hadn’t even thought to ask, he’s taken to leaving his door unlocked.

Andrew opens the door and promptly crosses the room towards Neil’s dresser, not even sparing him a glance. His hair is unkempt, a riot of blond that won’t part correctly, fluffed up from sleeping on it wet.

Unlike the rest of the monsters, who’ve buckled back down into their routines, Andrew’s been acting increasingly erratic. He’s been self-medicating more often, and holding himself back from something so effectively that Neil can’t quite see what it is. Sometimes he seems to glitch out, cutting himself off mid-sentence, cagey and self-contained.

The drugs should make his tongue looser, but mostly it seems to make him say more of everything. It’s harder to find whole kernels of truth in a bowl full of bravado that’s puffed out like popcorn.

Andrew puts both hands on the knobs of Neil’s drawer and waits there. Neil nods, amused. He’s long since found a lock for the bottom drawer and secreted away his money and information. Andrew pulls the top drawer out, sawing it back and forth when the dufflebag catches. He digs briefly through Neil’s small selection of shirts, and picks out something in faded green. He throws it and some light-wash jeans in Neil’s direction.

“Up, get up. Renee’s already at the studio.”

“You have today off,” Neil says.

“Well deduced,” Andrew says. “I’m driving you.”

Neil hesitates. “I’m fine with walking.”

“Do what you want,” Andrew says flippantly. “I have an errand to run near the studio, and you can come with me or you can waste Renee’s time and mine.”

“That’s not manipulative,” Neil says sarcastically.

“I’m giving you a choice,” Andrew says. His gaze finds the burner phone nestled in Neil’s bedding, then trails up to catch his eye.

“Yes, okay. Just let me change.” He’s secretly glad to be ferried to the studio, to have earned Andrew’s passenger seat, and to not have to think about who could be tracking him on foot. Andrew crosses wordlessly to the threshold of his bedroom and closes the door behind him. He can hear him shifting his weight outside, guarding Neil’s privacy.

He dresses quickly and quietly in the clothes that Andrew picked out for him, feeling strangely flushed about the whole thing. He doesn’t want Andrew to know that he’s doing exactly what he suggested, or that it’s become a habit for him to do so.

They leave not ten minutes later, after he’s stopped in to use the bathroom and splash water on his face, teasing fingers through his hair and swigging Nicky’s mouthwash.

Andrew waits at the door, turning keys over in his hand, hair still wild, belt buckled kind of askew with the tail of it sticking out.

“Are you ready?” Neil asks tentatively. Andrew cranks open the screen door in response, and steps out into the sweet spring morning. Neil follows, watching his even gait, the full, yolky yellow of his hair.

They climb up into the cold barrel of the van. When Neil reaches for the dial to turn up the heat, Andrew catches his wrist.

“I can’t get any warmer.”

It’s around this point that Neil suspects that Andrew might already be high.

Maybe balancing the creative chaos of their album with the newness of Neil has taken more of a toll on Andrew than it has on the others. Something about working constantly, writing feelings into rhymes that you can chew and rinse and spit with has made him itchy and distracted.

“Did you take something?” Neil asks.

“Not yet,” Andrew says, reversing violently onto the street, much too broad a maneuver for such a large vehicle. He clips the opposite curb before he cracks into drive and takes off.

Neil watches his inscrutable face, the tightness around his mouth and the brightness of his eyes. He can’t tell.

“No one drives like this when they’re sober.”

“You know I do,” Andrew tells him. Neil does. He’s seen Andrew stoned, laughing like he doesn’t want to be doing it, the way people do when they’re being tickled. He’s also seen him drunk, soaked through with sweat, sticking to the seats, and he’s seen him storm-cloud sober. He always manages to make it feel like the van is on ice skates.

“Did Wymack ask you to hold my hand?”

Andrew considers this for a moment too long. “Depends on what you mean by that.”

“Babysit me,” Neil clarifies. “Drop me off and pick me up so I don’t cause another incident.”

“No,” Andrew says simply, turning left so sloppily that he almost clips a crossing pedestrian.

“Then why would you—why are you doing this?”

“Million dollar question.”

“Is there a million dollar answer?” Neil asks.

“There are no million dollar answers,” Andrew says. “There are disappointments.”

“So no one asked you to do this for me.”

Andrew looks at him. “You may have noticed that I do not do what people ask me to unless it’s in my best interest.”

“You’re not as selfish as you want people to think,” Neil says, looking away, out the window. The studio is creeping up on them, three intersections way, then two. He’s come to know the route well, imagining the bends in the road when he’s trying to fall asleep. “Defending Kevin could bring the yakuza down on you, and you’ve always known it. Just like you had no guarantee that killing Tilda for Aaron wouldn’t kill you too.”

“Most people wouldn’t give murder as an example of selflessness,” Andrew says. “Does it make you feel better, to make us into good people?”

“No, actually,” Neil says honestly. “It makes it harder to pretend I’m one of you.”

Andrew pulls up into the shaded side of the studio, and Neil breathes out heavily. The honesty comes so much easier now; after those first botched pricks to his veins the blood has just flowed and flowed.

“Here,” Andrew says, pulling his keys from the ignition and prying the ring open. He slips a little bronze key from the loop and hands it to Neil. “To our front door. Allison’s going to drive you home, and none of us are going to be there to let you in.”

Neil’s hands go cold with surprise, and he opens them both for Andrew. “Just for today?”

Andrew shrugs and drops it into his palm. “It’s yours.”

“Why?” Neil asks quietly, pressing two fingers to the ragged edges. The metal is still warm from Andrew’s hand. He thinks of his name looped into a contract, thinks of sharing a microphone with Kevin and bumping fists with Matt. He pictures himself unlocking the door to a home on a residential street and hearing their record playing somewhere inside.

“You live there,” Andrew says, bored. “It’s convenient.”

“It’s more than that,” Neil says fiercely. “You know it is.” He wishes suddenly that he could give Andrew a key to something, an access code to a vault of secrets or a missing piece that would topple Riko’s threat. Before he’d found a stolen twin and a frantic cousin, he had even less of a home than Neil did. The teeth of the key eat into his palm.

“Do not lose it,” Andrew says. “I’m not cutting you another one.”

He knows that he would never misplace this proof of the flimsiness of Andrew’s apathy, this symbol of belonging, this ticket to normalcy. He also knows that Andrew would make him another if he really needed it, and that it means something distinct to both of them.

Andrew watches him mildly. “Go inside. Find your Foxes. If they try and wash your voice out with shitty effects, walk away.”

Neil smiles a little. “You told me yesterday that you don’t care about musical integrity.”

“I don’t want to hear you complain when the track flops,” Andrew says.

“Right.” Neil pops the door open. “I’ll see you at home,” he says tentatively, and when Andrew waves him off, he closes the door between them.

He lets himself uncurl his hand to look at the key, slowly, like it’s a living thing, something he unearthed. He studies the pattern of it, the tangy metallic smell clinging to his fingers.

When he looks up again, Andrew has pulled away. He forces himself to ease the key into his pocket and lower his eyes before the van disappears around the corner.

______

He finds Renee alone in the biggest upstairs studio, sipping demurely from something that smells natural and fruity. She smiles warmly at him when he comes in, and he feels caught in the suspended moment between springing the trap and suffering the consequences.

“You’re early,” she says.

“Interesting. Someone told me I was late.” He shrugs off his jacket and drops it over a music stand.

“Interesting,” she echoes.

Neil crosses his arms. “Where are the others?”

She pauses with the rim of her travel mug at her lips, then lowers it again. “Struggling to get out the door, probably. Allison likes to take her time primping.”

“Okay,” Neil says, uncomfortable to find himself alone with the only person at Palmetto that he can’t really read. “Warm up?”

“If you want,” Renee says easily. Infuriatingly. “Or we could talk, like Andrew so obviously wants us to. I recognize his machinations when I see them.”

Neil considers the slender silver cross at her neck winking in the overhead light. She has the nimble, capable hands of a musician, and the inexplicable ability to garner the respect of someone like Andrew. It’s more than enough to warrant his curiosity.

“What could he possibly want us to talk about?” Neil asks, sitting gingerly in a stray chair across from her.

Renee shrugs. “He’s not usually forthright with details.”

Neil tilts his head and decides all at once to play along. “What is it that he likes so much about you?” he asks.

Renee takes his rudeness in stride, her mouth pursing a little with amusement. “He discovered that we have a lot in common. Rich histories of bad situations and terrible exit strategies. The only difference is that I have my faith and he has his nihilism.”

“And what exactly constitutes a bad situation, for you?”

He’s seen Andrew’s sleeves of scars, he’s seen him wake violently from dreams that never seem to be anything but nightmares, and he’s seen that shallow look in his eyes that says that he’s been hurt as badly as he can be, and everything else is just smoke after fire.

He can’t see any of that on Renee. Her faith is gentle as candlelight, her mannerisms easy as warm water, and he doesn’t like the waxy, tepid feeling of being around her.

Her smile cinches, as if yanked closed by pursestrings. “How much time do you have?”

Neil shrugs. “As much as you do.”

She pulls a hand awkwardly through the hair at her neck — as if, for a moment, she was expecting it to be longer.

Neil waits. Renee sighs. The overhead clock ticks.

She tells him methodically about her mother’s whirlwind of abusive boyfriends, the years that compounded into a deadly pressure that would only give when she took knives to it. She doesn’t hesitate when she tells him about causing her parents’ death, running with gangs until it landed her in juvie, and then into foster homes. For a moment, Neil can see something of Andrew in her face like a familial resemblance.

Renee worries a fingernail in her mouth for half a second, distracted, before she explains what Stephanie Walker did for her. The way music and faith entered her life at once, twin forks on a lightning bolt. Church choir first, and then violin lessons.

Cruelly, he resents her for having someone who desperately fought for her, for letting her mother die so quietly in jail. He also understands, for the first time, why he’s been so unsettled by Renee; she walked out of her tragedy and shut the door. Neil can never latch his while Nathan’s foot is wedged in the gap. He has the most unsettling feeling that Andrew’s door has been wrenched off of its hinges.

“So why aren’t you with Andrew?” he wonders aloud. It’s not the right thing to say, but it’s the only complete thought he’s had since she started talking. Her story reads like a high quality forgery of Andrew’s. Renee complements him just as well in friendship as she does in music.

She smiles like she was expecting this question. “Why would that matter?”

“It doesn’t,” Neil says quickly. “Matter. I don’t care. It just seemed like an obvious fit.”

“We’re kindred spirits in some ways, and I have a hunch that we’ll always be friends. But I’m not his type.”

“I can’t imagine who would be, if not you,” Neil says. He doesn’t mean for it to come out as an accusation, or a compliment, so it sits uncomfortably between the two.

“That’s a puzzle,” she says, smiling impishly.

“You know the rest of your band is placing bets on you?” he asks.

She laughs. “Sure. Gotta pass the time between sets somehow.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

“Not at all. Allison’s in on the joke, and that’s half the fun — bluffing together. Finding your allies.”

“In on— in on which joke?” he asks, vaguely frustrated.

Her eyes drift sideways, away from him and towards the door. She pushes up her sleeves carefully. “Andrew and I aren’t just unlikely. We’re impossible.”

“Why impossible?”

She shrugs. “I don’t date men, if I can help it.” Neil barely has time to process this before she adds, “and Andrew doesn’t date women.”

“Oh,” Neil says dumbly.

“I wouldn’t spread that around, though,” she says. “It’s not common knowledge just yet.”

“So why would you tell me?” he asks.

She smiles again. “If he suspected that you were curious about my relationship with him, and still engineered this conversation, I don’t think he would be surprised to know that I’ve told you this particular truth.”

Neil turns this thought over in his head. Andrew puts his secrets at such a remove that he completely avoids being confronted about them. Their impact disperses and melts away before he even makes an appearance.

He thinks about Andrew’s complete disinterest in the fans who throw bras at the stage and shake posters with his name on them. He doesn’t think their gender has anything to do with his apathy, but those instances still tint and change in his memory.

Renee sits good-naturedly through his bout of silence, and then she says, “I hope I helped uh— fill in the blanks a little more for you. I know I don’t really know anything about you, even though we’re all really trying to. Your bandmates though—you breathe the same air and play the same songs day after day, so they can’t help but know you a little. And I know them. So maybe we can be friends someday too.”

Neil feels a distant pang of regret that he won’t be around long enough to prove her right or wrong. He’il be pried from this life with the abruptness of a needle lifting from the middle of a record, and the truth will die, unspoken, on his wasted tongue.

He doesn’t reply, and lukewarm silence stretches between them until Allison comes teetering into the room on platform heels a minute later. She puts her iced coffee on the table and tugs affectionately on the ends of Renee’s hair, and Neil thinks, of course.

A memory surfaces—Andrew twisting dye into his hair and his eyes slipping involuntarily closed—but Dan and Matt parade into the room, arms full of store-bought water and gatorade, and whatever the thought was going to be slips away.

_____

It takes them hours to nail the recording. Neil is dissatisfied with every take, Dan keeps thinking up ideas to beef up their harmonies, and Matt messes with the controls, stripping back the distortion to ‘show off Neil’s pipes’.

They break for lunch at 1pm, and Neil finds himself drifting away from the others, wandering all the way downstairs and through the door, out to the shade where Andrew had left him that morning. He takes out a cigarette that he’d stolen from the console in the van, and the backup lighter from the bowl of keys in the foyer.

He lights up, flame chewing its way towards his fingers. He turns his back against the brunt of the cold and keeps his shoulder to the wall, hair washed forward over his eyes by the wind.

A car rolls up somewhere behind him, and then there’s a snap like a briefcase being closed.

Someone says, “Nathaniel.”

Neil whips around. His fingers tense so that the cigarette nearly snaps in half, but he clings to it and the lighter, the only weapons on his person.

There’s a sleek black SUV parked several spots away, and Riko Moriyama is leaning out of the open side door.

“It is time for us to talk,” he says.

Neil takes a step back. He can see at least two other people in the vehicle, and when he looks up, the shades are drawn over every visible window in the building.

“If you run it will only drag this process out for all of us,” Riko sighs. “We don’t offer civil discussions often. I would take this rare opportunity.”

“You have a knack for making threats sounds like kindnesses,” Neil says. “But then, most bullies do.”

“Get in the car,” Riko says. “Or your real name goes violently public.”

Neil’s teeth clench hard enough to crack. He drops the cigarette on the pavement, and walks forward two steps. “Can I say goodbye?”

“Don’t be melodramatic,” Riko says, and his upper body disappears into the car. Neil follows him in, trying to conceal the way his legs have gone stiff with terror.

In the cab of the car it is just Riko across the expanse of cool leather in the back, and two older men whom Neil doesn’t recognize in the driver’s and passenger’s seats. They peel smoothly out of the parking lot and onto the street.

“They’re expecting me back,” Neil says. One of the men in the front passes Riko an ornate black cane, and he levels it in Neil’s direction.

“I don’t want to hear anything from you until I have finished speaking. In fact, do not talk unless you have been prompted to. I already know everything about you that I care to.”

“I’m at a disadvantage then, since all I know about you is that you are a sadomasochist with the bravado of a much more interesting person.”

Riko raps the cane into the side of Neil’s head with such force that his teeth clatter together and his ears ring.

“I guess pleasantries are over, then,” Neil says.

Riko regards him with distaste. “In another life, perhaps, you could have been an asset. Your father’s reputation precedes him. We might have recruited him if he were as easy to pin down as his son seems to be.”

“What would the yakuza need with another butcher?”

Riko raps him on the hands this time, a warning. “Don’t. Speak.” He watches the redness bloom immediately on Neil’s knuckles with flushed pleasure.

“It would be easy enough to send word to his colleagues and have them at Mr. Hemmick’s front door in a day or two, but I’m not sure that you wouldn’t stir up a mess in the meantime. The publicity from your death could bolster Ausreißer’s success. The disappointment from hearing that you’ve left voluntarily is a boycott and a think-piece away from cutting them off at the knees.”

“You want me to leave the band,” Neil says incredulously.

“Of course,” Riko says.

“I’m aware that you have sway in many circles, but not here,” Neil says. “The people in this studio are inside each other’s pockets more than they’ll ever be in yours. They won’t accept this. They won’t.”

“Your interpersonal connections mean nothing to me. Kevin belongs on my team. Andrew and his monsters have been a nuisance, but you are an insufferable offence.”

“So you’re removing your biggest threat?”

Riko’s lip curls. “I found vermin in my house, and I will return it to the sewers where it was born unless it gets out of my way.”

“Even if you did scare me with your posturing, my hands are tied,” Neil says. “I have a contract. He—they won’t let me go.”

Riko’s expression shifts, sand dunes moving in the blowing wind. “You think the drummer will protect you?”

Neil doesn’t reply. He doesn’t want to betray Andrew’s position. He’s like a pipe bomb in a mailbox or a chess piece in check.

“Oh, Neil. He couldn’t even protect himself.”

“What,” Neil says flatly.

Riko waves the cane in a relaxed circle, like he’s deciding where it should land. “I would have thought that someone with your trust issues would have done better research on the people around you.”

Neil stays silent.

“Andrew was a foster kid, yes? It’s chaotic for kids in those crowded houses. So many mouths to feed. Or fuck, in Andrew’s case. I’m sure it was traumatic for little Andrew to be passed around like that, from bed to bed. No wonder he’s so hot and bothered over our intervention. He knows what it looks like when someone’s overpowering him.“

“You’re lying,” Neil says, thunderstruck.

“Mention Drake Spears to your little bodyguard and see how quickly he loses it. Or better yet, just look up the Minyard trial. Andrew can drink the past away, but he can’t erase it from the news. Drake was a fascinating man. Not that rapists in uniform aren’t common, but to break someone like Andrew in I’m sure takes a little extra finesse.”

Neil lunges for him, and Riko counters a beat too late with the cane. Neil clips his eye, and the cane makes contact with his throat a second later. He splutters and reaches, trying to get a hand around Riko’s throat.

“That’s not true,” Neil’s saying, over and over. He twists the flesh on Riko’s neck, scrabbling at his clavicles, physically pressing him to be honest.

Riko looks annoyed, but not deterred as he holds Neil’s hands at bay. “How did you think he got to be a monster, exactly?”

It knocks the breath out of him. His grip sags. He’s aware suddenly that the car has stopped moving, and that anyone in it could kill and dispose of him without so much as interrupting their day.

“You’re not a monster because of what other people do to you,” Neil says, seething.

“Nonetheless. Leave the band, or one of the other members goes missing,” Riko offers. “I don’t care which, but Andrew is so nicely broken in already.”

Neil’s hand darts for him again, and Riko catches it, bored, cracking it back at the wrist. The door pops open at Neil’s back, and he’s hooked halfway out of the car by one of the other men, forearm screaming with pressure where Riko has him clamped in his fist.

Cool sweat breaks out on his brow from the pain as Riko leans down to face level, nails piercing his skin.

Before he can speak, Neil chokes, “you can’t set Andrew up. I won’t let you.”

Riko looks suddenly fatigued, and he lets Neil go so that he rocks back onto the sidewalk. “The more you underestimate my family’s clout. the more people suffer by our hands. You must understand that I am the only thing keeping any of you alive right now.”

“You’re wrong,” Neil says.

“You’re likely to be dead by summer, Nathaniel,” he says evenly. His eyes are black in the shadow of the open car door.

“That’s not my name.”

“If you want to lose allies and make new enemies in the meantime, it is your choice. But I don’t want to see you on stage again.” He shuts the door quietly between them, and Neil stumbles back several steps, momentum almost overbalancing him.

He watches the SUV depart and thinks of all of the leverage they have over him, how laser focused their will is to scrape Ausreißer off the charts and clip Neil’s loose end. His defiance had almost no affect on them at all. He had rubbed up against Riko’s temper, sure, but it was no harder than squeezing the trigger on a gun that’s already in your hand.

He squints distractedly at the studio several metres behind him, the bustle of midday spilling through the streets. The pleasant murmur of a city heralding in the end of Neil’s life.

He keeps thinking, if Riko knew about Neil’s past, he had no reason to lie about Andrew’s.

He keeps thinking, how could he be stupid enough to imagine that he had the biggest secret in the band — like Andrew wasn’t writing him a roadmap with songs, like his past wasn’t melted down and repurposed into lyrics.

He thinks, the target on his back just swallowed everything and everyone around him.

He thinks, I have to talk to Andrew.

______

He can’t bring himself to go back inside and excuse himself from rehearsal. There’s no explanation that they would accept without also understanding that he’s dragged them all down into danger with him.

He let them believe that his problems weren’t active case files and bleeding wounds. He pretended that he could broadcast his voice and maybe the music would be so sacred that no one would come looking for him.

Neil takes the bus home, scraping together spare change from his pocket. He finds his key while he searches, and his heart sinks. When he’s slouched in an aisle seat, he looks down at the shape of his hands, the grit under his nails, the old slice across his pinky, and the key nested in the intersecting lines of his palm.

Rain starts to patter against the window, blurring the colourful shapes of people outside who were hopeful enough to dress for much warmer weather.

He whirs with anxiety, searching for an out so desperately that it becomes a physical act, a shaking and a sweating. He should leave the city while he can still bear to. He owes it to everyone at Palmetto studio to take such a volatile element out of their equation.

It used to be his favourite solution when things turned ugly, dumping his life and name and letting a car carry him to a new one. The ritual of dying his hair and popping in lenses always felt charged with possibility.

Now he can’t let himself consider it. The idea of never seeing Dan or Wymack or Nicky or any of them again, of abandoning his deal with Andrew and dropping his new key into the nearest storm drain — it’s different now.

They were the first people to squint past his face-paint and recognize him as a lost kid. They gave him a key and a home with a locking door and passed him a microphone with the name he chose taped onto the handle. They gave him all sorts of contracts, but most important was the unspoken one that, for a minute, looked like friendship.

He gets back to the house two hours ahead of schedule, but it still feels too late. He thinks about letting himself in but suddenly can’t stand the thought of walking into the home that he’s about to ruin.

He knocks and steps down onto the second stair to give himself some distance. After a minute, someone stirs inside, and then there’s a thumping of footsteps, and the whine of the screen door.

Andrew stares down at him through the mist of rainwater.

“You have a key, don’t you?” he says. Neil looks up into his wan face, studying the way he’s holding himself up with the door, washed out in the bleak light from outside. Neil climbs warily to the top step, feeling a lived-in sadness settle into him.

“You’ve been drinking.”

“Got it in one,” Andrew says, smiling with one half of his face. “So very very perceptive all the time.”

It’s such bad timing that Neil laughs, then holds a trembling hand over his mouth. “I can’t have this conversation when you’re like this,” he says.

“Which conversation is that?” Andrew asks sharply. “Do be precise.”

“I need you sober,” Neil insists.

“You don’t need me anything,” he sneers.

“I’m making you coffee. And then we have to talk about the Moriyamas.”

Andrew looks immediately more alert. His hand slips from the door, and Neil just barely catches it before it closes on him.

“Why are you back early?” Andrew asks slowly. Neil closes his eyes.

“I don’t know. I don’t know why I came.” He should be hitchhiking over state lines. He should be in someone’s truck bed with the rain in his hair. He should be using the cold to forget what warmth feels like.

“Not a good enough answer,” Andrew says. He steps backwards into the entryway and turns, calling “keep trying” over his shoulder. Neil follows him solemnly, nudging the doors closed at his back. He steps out of his shoes while Andrew disappears silently into the kitchen.

When he rounds the corner, Andrew’s sitting on top of the dinky round table by the window, legs crossed beneath him. His cigarettes and lighter are at his side, and a bottle of Smirnoff is open on the chair behind him.

Neil moves towards the coffee maker, but Andrew snaps his fingers at him.

“Tell me why you left recording, no non-answers s’il vous plait,” he says. Neil hesitates, then climbs quietly up onto the table across from him, boosting himself with one socked foot on the cushion of a chair. Andrew looks surprised and red-eyed as Neil settles in, knee to knee.

He swallows thickly. “I have to leave.”

“You just got here,” Andrew points out.

“I have to leave the band,” Neil explains.

He waves this off. “Oh, no, I’m pretty sure we have our contractual claws in you, Neil Josten.”

“There are people, more now than ever, who have… more deadly claws in me.”

Andrew taps his lower lip thoughtfully. “Is it claws though, or is it talons? I know how the Moriyamas enjoy their raven motifs.”

“Riko’s threatening the band.”

“What’s new?” Andrew says.

Everything, he wants to say. Everything’s reaching a new and chilling level of dangerous.

“He stopped me on the street,” Neil says quietly. There’s a hand on his jaw immediately, turning his face towards the overhead light fixture. Neil lets his eyes unfocus in the harsh light. Andrew puts a finger to the bruise from the cane Riko was borrowing. “It’s fine.”

“You will be fine up until the moment that you’re dead,” Andrew spits, one hand moving to inspect Neil’s tender wrist.

“I’m fine if I can walk away,” Neil argues. “I’m okay if I stand up and move on, and that’s what I need to do here.”

“You took some heat from Riko and now you want to run away,” Andrew extrapolates. “Which is great, except you told me you weren’t ready to give up our deal.”

“I kind of assumed all deals were null and void in the event of a deadly threat.”

Andrew uses his leverage on Neil’s chin to tilt their faces close together. “I,” he says, “am a deadly threat. Riko is a little boy playing with his father’s knives.”

Neil flinches at his phrasing, shaking his head. “He has connections I can’t begin to understand. He told me things about my past, about yours—“

“Did he?” Andrew interrupts. His voice is the kind of inescapable cold that turns all of your exposed skin red, then blue, then black.

Neil tries to turn his face out of Andrew’s grip, and the pressure on him is immediately lifted. “Who’s Drake Spears?” he asks.

“Oh,” Andrew breathes, and then he laughs. “A dead man. Aaron’s gift to me.”

Neil’s face goes lax with surprise. “He killed him?”

“We like to keep our violence in the family,” Andrew says, smiling again, joyless. “Or rather, they did. We ended the cycle.”

“So Riko wasn’t lying about what happened to you,” Neil says slowly.

Andrew takes his cigarettes in one hand and shuffles them against the tabletop for a long moment. “Unlike you, Riko doesn’t always think that lying is in his best interest. It’s not one of his favourite sins.”

Neil stews in this revelation for a moment, trying to outlast the directionless rage streaking through him.

“I wish I’d known, before.”

“Why? So we could waste our time excusing ourselves in miserable circles for things that other people did to us? So I could explain to you what all of my scars mean and make you feel better about yours?”

“So I could have killed him myself,” Neil says fiercely. Andrew eyes him steadily. The rain picks up outside, and Neil can see it coming in through the window cracked over the sink.

“Is that supposed to impress me?”

“It’s not supposed to mean anything to you. It’s just the truth,” Neil says. “If I can’t kill my own demons, I—would’ve liked to kill yours.”

“Much too late for that,” Andrew shrugs. “Not too late to stay here with us. If Riko threatens you out of the band on his first try, then you’re not as tenacious as I thought you were.”

“I’m afraid,” Neil says, “that someone else will suffer for my pride.”

“It’s not pride, it’s trust,” Andrew says, and then his face clouds over like he’s sobering up, remembering himself. “In case you’ve forgotten since I reminded you two minutes ago, we have a deal. Protection for participation.”

He shouldn’t believe that this volatile, five foot nothing stage performer could rebuff the yakuza, but he does. He can’t look at Andrew’s eery, wavering certainty without wanting badly to trust him.

“Right,” Neil agrees, feeling hours-old tension ebb out of his shoulders. He came here, he realizes, knowing that Andrew would give him a reason to stay. “I’ll wait it out. But you have to promise me that you’ll watch your back.”

Andrew shakes his head and pulls a cigarette from the pack. “He can’t touch me,” he says, flicking his lighter open. His eyes are hazy as he props one hand up and smokes on autopilot. Neil’s not certain that he knows for sure who Andrew’s talking about anymore.

The tour isn’t for another couple of weeks. He can keep his face out of the news and slog his way through all of this new information, maybe turn over a solution somewhere in the muck. At the very least, he can spend these final weeks pretending that he’s not afraid of the dark at the end of the tunnel where the rest of his life should be.

______

It’s the bark, not the bite

the prelude to a fight

the gleam of bared teeth

when they catch the low light

the revving beneath

the thought that you might

with the last of your breath

get our ending right

Neil turns the demo down on the car radio, embarrassed, and Dan grins at him from the driver’s seat.

“That’s a sexy little lyric.”

“Shut up,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“I like the weird synth in the background, that’s baller,” Matt pipes up from behind them.

Nicky groans. “Don’t tell Kevin that, he thought he was a fucking genius for stringing together six notes by ear.”

Dan laughs brightly, easing onto the freeway that’ll carry them out of the city.

Their album was released at midnight, and they’ve spent the morning watching the charts and listening to Nicky read out reviews as they were published, waiting to see if they’d be rejected or absorbed into the musical bloodstream.

It was exhilarating to see the finished product saturating their little corner of music culture, to watch people forming opinions, and to pop up in playlists and news feeds. Someone had already posted a guitar cover of one of their tracks before noon.

Neil watched the locked door of their house and hoped furiously that Riko wouldn’t take this new music as defiance and show up to drag him away. Foxes had shown up instead, with congratulatory champagne and a novelty card for Neil that read “baby’s first album”.

Both Ausreißer and Foxes were scheduled to take the weekend off before they’re all launched into promotions and tours on opposite coasts. Dan had suggested a Palmetto-wide retreat to lake Jocassee, and Neil had jumped at the opportunity to dodge the pressure from the Moriyamas and corral everyone out of harms way.

“This is going to be such a rowdy time,” Nicky says, chin tucked onto the shoulder of Neil’s chair. “I can’t believe you convinced Andrew to come.”

“Yeah, what the hell,” Matt says. “How did you manage that?”

Neil shrugs. “I asked.”

“Oh, you asked,” Dan says, nose scrunching under her sunglasses. “Do you know how long we were playing nice with the monsters before you showed up?”

“Neil’s got that magic touch,” Nicky says.

“Just how magic a touch are we talking?” Matt asks slyly.

“Don’t,” Neil warns.

“He won’t let us bet on them,” Nicky complains. “He’s just like, not fun.”

“It’s bewildering to me that you clowns are wasting your time when we all know who Andrew’s into,” Dan says. She keeps talking, and Neil hears Renee’s name, but he’s uninterested in the direction the conversation is taking. He looks distractedly out at the sun-split highway.

He thinks of how quiet the other car must be, stacked with supplies, caught in that constant vortex of tension between the twins, plus Kevin with his headphones on as always. Or what Renee and Allison talk about, tucked into Allison’s baby-pink convertible, the wind catching their bleached hair.

“Damn, are they passing us already?” Nicky asks, and Neil looks back in time to notice the massive shape of the van swerving past on their left. He catches the tail end of Aaron flipping them off, and Nicky laughs, craning into the front to return the gesture.

“They left like half an hour later than us, what the hell,” Dan says, revving a little, reluctant to fall behind.

“Andrew’s driving,” Neil says. The van jolts awkwardly into the lane in front of them, and Neil smiles as it streaks ahead. “They’ll beat us by a mile.”

“If they don’t crash first,” Dan grumbles.

“Look at it this way — if it’s not that, it’ll just be some other disaster,” Matt says. “That’s what you sign up for with the monsters.”

“You say disaster, I say a great time. Am I right, Neil?” Nicky asks, flicking at his shoulder to get his attention.

“I’m staying impartial.”

“You literally can not fool me,” Nicky says, affronted. “You love having an opinion.”

“He doesn’t want to incur your wrath by agreeing with us,” Dan teases, winking sideways at him.

“My wrath? This is the guy who taunted Riko Moriyama on sight, and you think he’s afraid of me?”

“We all are,” Matt says solemnly, and Nicky socks him in the arm.

They keep bickering, but Neil mostly tunes them out. A song that he helped write is still playing at half volume from the sound system, rounded out by Kevin’s deft bass solo. The car is warm enough to lull him to sleep, and he can see the rest of the Ausreißer crew fading into the scorched horizon ahead.

______

They arrive in staggered bursts to a spacious cabin, swallowed in overhanging trees on all sides. It’s two stories high, with a broad, wrap-around porch — courtesy of Allison’s string-pulling.

The twins are sharing a bench when they pull up, talking seriously, and Neil has to squint to make sure he’s seeing them correctly. Three hours in a car together and against all odds they’re still sharing space.

No one bothered to unpack the van, so Neil keeps himself busy by hopping into the back and pulling out duffel bags. Allison and Renee arrive soon after with coolers full of booze and perishables, and by the time everything has been lugged inside, there are three guitars propped up and abandoned in the foyer.

It’s surprisingly easy, once all of them are talking at once. Kevin drinks enough to stay loose, which always seems to relax Aaron in turn. The girls sit on the floor of the dining room while Matt unpacks groceries. Nicky chatters about getting everyone hammered so they can play “sweet, genre-fucked music” together. Someone lights a joint, and it makes the rounds.

Neil hops up on the kitchen counter, and Andrew leans against the fridge beside him.

Neil relaxes at the sight of him. “Aren’t you glad you came?” he asks, a little louder than he intended. He can sense the others pretending not to eavesdrop, their conversation dropping and then starting back up again, overly bright.

“Remains to be seen,” he replies.

“You were talking to Aaron,” he says. Andrew stares passively back at him. “I’ve never seen you speak one on one like that.”

“It was a long drive.”

Neil hesitates. “Did you tell him—“

“Andrew,” Nicky calls. “I’m comin’ through with groceries, can you free up the fridge?”

Andrew moves wordlessly aside, and then all the way out of the room. Neil watches him go with a dull sort of disappointment. For someone who is so frequently difficult to parse, Andrew is such an obvious font of honesty and clarity that speaking to him sometimes feels like an antidote to his own lies.

“Come on, Neil,” Renee trills. “We’re talking about the collab.”

“I want to hear the track,” Kevin says.

“You want to critique it,” Neil counters, wandering closer.

Dan throws a hand out towards him. “Exactly!”

“I think I have a right to know how you’re utilizing my lead singer.”

“Oh jesus, Kevin’s going to start talking about music theory, isn’t he?” Allison says. “I’m gonna need to drink so much more.” Dan cracks up, passing her a mickey of spiced rum.

“We all do,” she agrees, raising a full bottle in toast. “It’s a Palmetto tradition. Work hard, play hard.”

“Thanks coach,” Matt snorts.

“C’mon, bring it in.” They all tilt bottles together, some of them unopened, eyes rolling. Neil can see Andrew watching from the next room, and when they drink, he takes a drag from his cigarette.

______

Neil drinks too much.

He’d half planned on it, but his stomach is empty and his anxiety is just barely held down by sobriety, and it all gets to him so fast. His elbows keep chafing against other people’s, and his fear keeps blinking back at him from between branches outside and through passing headlights and in his own reflection.

They’re all seven or eight drinks deep when someone brings out a guitar, and then it’s a chaos of bad singing that coasts into real singing, someone upstairs laughing hysterically with someone else, someone on the porch with a bong.

He likes how it feels, the old safety of staying numb, like the back of the bars where nobody knows you, so you don’t have to bother to know yourself, and there’s nothing to be afraid of except the throb of a hangover at the end of the night.

But it’s different, now. Dan gets in close and thumbs both his cheeks, and Allison puts little, almost undetectable braids in his hair. Matt tells him how happy he is that they’re all together over and over again. The longer Neil looks over at Andrew the more he’s aware that he’s looking for something that isn’t there.

Nicky looks solemnly into his eyes in the bathroom mirror and asks to see his tongue piercing. There’s a strange moment, when he opens his mouth, where he thinks Nicky might grab him by the tongue.

“Come here, come here, come here,” someone says, and Neil looks at Allison’s reflection where she’s hanging in through the doorway. “Convince Andrew to play us something.”

“I can’t,” Neil’s mouth says. He tries again. “He won’t.”

“He does whatever you want,” Nicky says, looking much too serious.

“You—no,” Neil says. “You guys ask for whatever you want. I ask what he wants.“

“Whatever,” Allison says. “Semantics. Come out here.”

Nicky puts his hands briefly on Neil’s hips to sidle by into the hallway, and he and Allison chatter all the way back to the sitting room. Neil looks blearily at his reflection. His hair is so long now, it softens the angles of his father’s features. Makes his eyes look less painfully blue. He blinks, and breathes, and tries to think about nothing.

His feet carry him out to the rest of them. Dan cheers when he enters the room. She’s so flushed, and even though she’s sitting, Matt’s holding her steady.

Andrew’s sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, his posture relaxed, lips wet, drink in hand. Neil walks as steadily as he can to his side. The room goes nearly silent.

“Will you play something?”

Andrew looks up at him flatly. “Why would I?”

“I want to hear you sing,” Neil admits.

“And?” He takes a sip of his drink.

Neil shrugs. “I’ll trade you something for it,” he offers.

After a long moment, Andrew says “I’m not interested.”

“I know you’ve been writing new lyrics,” he says softly.

Andrew watches him for a minute, then nods towards the place where his notebook is sitting unassumingly on the coffee table. “Then sing them yourself.”

Neil considers this. He retrieves the book and holds it in both hands, giving Andrew time to back out. He doesn’t, and someone breathes out behind him.

“Okay,” Neil says. “Fine.”

He flips to the centre and finds blank pages, then beyond that, two that are flush with words and annotations. There are chords written out for four more pages after that, and then just scores and scores of melodies and poems and the lucky places where they meet.

He thumbs through songs he recognizes and new, title-less ones, still standing, everyone watching his search with interest.

He comes to a page near the back with the title burn this, and it reads:

Hands off never used to be a bad thing

It would be better if I never heard you sing

I know it’s winter, you can’t tell me that it’s spring

I want you without wanting anything.

Then a few lines are scratched out before the next fragmented stanza. Neil looks up into Andrew’s face, and he’s already staring back, eyebrows hitched so, so slightly together.

Neil crosses the room, and wrestles a little portable synth out of his bag, carrying it over to the couch. Some of the members of Foxes ‘ooh’ dramatically.

He nudges it on, cracks his knuckles, and toggles a couple of switches. He holds the book open on his knee, and starts to arpeggiate the suggested chords that Andrew’s written above each line.

He sings, improvising the melody, those first four lines and then —

It was too easy not to feel

when the drugs still told me you weren’t real

I always knew you were here to steal

We started this, me back on my heels

and you—beneath me.

There’s more, but Neil can’t bring himself to keep singing. His throat sticks and his vision goes spotty.

“Kind of a bummer,” Matt says.

“I think it’s pretty,” Dan says softly.

“Hard to believe the monster wrote it,” Allison says.

“You must know by now that we can write good lyrics,” Kevin says, irritated.

Aaron says something, but Neil’s still stuck staring down at the words on the page. Something is angrily crossed out in the second stanza, just completely struck through, unreadable. He feels remarkably sober all of the sudden, and he trudges to the precipice of an understanding so large that he has to step away from it, or he’s sure it’ll call him down to his death.

Andrew stands, somewhere in the field of Neil’s vision, and lets himself out onto the porch.

“Whoops,” Matt says, when the door closes behind him. “Do you think we took it too far?”

“He offered the book up,” Allison points out.

“To me,” Neil says.

“Well, yeah, but I think ‘sing them yourself’ was pretty self explanatory,” Dan says, missing the point. “So are we supposed to know who that was about?”

Neil stands, and the synth slides off his lap and into the crease between couch cushions. He walks to the kitchen and pours himself a cup of water, downing it all. Then another. He tries to remember exactly what the lyrics said and finds himself less and less certain.

For the second time that week, he thinks, knees knocking with terrible anticipation, I have to talk to Andrew.

______

He finds him curled on the bench outside, drenched in the yellow light from an exposed bulb, still nursing the same whiskey from before. He looks up with what Neil now recognizes as carefully tailored interest.

“Why does Nicky think that you’ll do whatever I ask?” he asks, voice wavering.

Andrew taps his fingers erratically on the rim of his glass. “Presumably because your track record has been good so far.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

Andrew’s lips purse. “Then ask a new question.”

“Fine. I’ll play,” Neil says. “What was that song about?”

“It was about wanting something that I can’t have.”

“I didn’t think you wanted anything.”

“No,” Andrew agrees. “Except maybe to see if you sound as good in bed as you do on stage.”

Neil sits down, hard. He’s half-surprised when gravity still works, and the wicker footstool catches his weight.

“You like me,” he says weakly.

“Not really,” Andrew replies, expressionless. “Want and dislike are not mutually exclusive.”

Neil dry swallows a couple of times. He thinks of their eyes connecting darkly in a bathroom mirror, Andrew’s fingertips gliding over his scars, the passenger seat left open for him, his mouth and then Andrew’s on the same flask. He thinks of lyrics on their own album about running and lying and wanting without taking, and he remembers the deal that has kept him upright and safe and sane for so long.

Andrew’s amused interest when he’s high, the cryptic things that Nicky said to him on the night they met, the conversations where he gives away his secrets but doesn’t feel like he’s losing anything, it all completely restructures in his head.

He’s dizzy, still drunk, one foot in the reality where he was little more than a hindrance to Andrew, and the other in one where he writes songs about how much he wants him.

“You didn’t tell me,” Neil says dumbly. “You never said.”

Andrew shrugs. “There’s no point,” he says. “I’ve thought about it. Written about it. But I know better.”

“Okay,” Neil says, even though it’s not. Andrew shifts in his seat, and Neil watches his broad hands, his shiny lower lip, his squared shoulders. The night chirps and smokes with faraway firewood, pitch dark beyond the line separating the porch from the wilderness. Andrew might be the brightest thing for a thousand miles. “Okay,” he says again, but this time it splits in his mouth, and he reaches for Andrew’s face.

#the boys are back in town and emotionally? they're doin bad #aftg #the foxhole court #andreil #tfc fanfic #rockband au #abuse tw #violence tw #drugs tw #this one is a bit of a rollercoaster tbh #sorry if this is kinda poorly edited I've been at this for hours and gd hours #mine #philosophium #ask #long post

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marshmallowprotection · 5 years

Text

600 Follower Prize!

@a-snoozyangel requested a Zen x MC one-shot as a little pick-me-up to feel good. I hope this is what you were looking for, dear!

ZEN x Custom MC (Aurora)

Aurora had been in quite the slump for the past few days.

The weight that sat in her chest was like an anchor tying her down to the bottom of the ocean and no matter how hard she thrashed or how much chain she managed to cut down, she could never seemingly free herself from that. She didn’t want to bother others, so when this happened, as often or as sporadic as it did, she would close herself from the world and try to find solace in herself, in the solitary alone.

It didn’t always work.

But, she didn’t want to drag others down into the abyss with her. Nobody deserves to feel horrible because she did.

So, she isolated.

She had always felt this way… for as long as she could remember in her childhood, there was always that lull of darkness haunting the back of her mind just waiting to pop around the corner and drag her down into it. Aurora was twenty-three now and by this point, it was a game of cat and mouse that she was far too used to.

In spite of the fact that she now had more friends than she had had in the past with the RFA, it still seemed as though she was alone in this stupor. They were all solid as a rock, a unit, people that took their challenges with grace no matter how emotionally devastating or difficult it was. She idolized how easy it was for them. Most of all, she thought of how strong Zen was, he had run away and built himself up from the absolute bottom to where he was right now without the help of anybody else.

Zen.

Her heart swelled and ached when she thought of the man that she had recently begun to call her boyfriend. Her first real boyfriend that she considered, the kind of guy that she had always dreamed of, not one that she ever believed would come into her life. As much as she loved him and cared about him she didn't want to drag him down with her… not like this.

Not curled up on her couch crying underneath a blanket in the dark.

She had failed again, and she told him a fun that she just hadn't felt well and that he needed to stay away for a few days so he didn't catch anything. He had believed her at face value over the phone and promised to see her when she felt a little better.

It was better that he not get interrupted when he was working so hard on his next show.

He was everything that she wasn't.

He was handsome, popular, and had a smile that could charm even the hardened and coldest of hearts. Whereas she was always fidgeting, keeping her eyes downcast, and hiding in the biggest of plush hoodies and a fake smile on her face. He was a master on the stage and she could barely hold her pen to the paper most days. She was the bottom of the barrel but she didn't believe she could ever reach the level that Zen had.

Why he had ever given her the time of day was beyond her, Aurora just didn't understand.

She had dreams that seemed to be forever out of her reach.

She could barely manage to publish a single work of her own yet. It wasn't for a lack of trying, she had been writing and submitting her pages to a company after company, publisher after publisher but to no avail.

Notes of pleasantries that more or less said, “Thank you but we're not interested at this time.”

It didn't seem as though anyone wanted to read the words of a pleasantly plump woman with a lot on her mind. That failure wore on her so hard. She did her best to hide it when she was with anyone but it was always there, that depression, unwavering and undaunted by any of her attempts to escape its tightened anchor.

Aurora rolled over on the couch and sighed, wistfully. It was lonely but this was what she was used to, what she expected.

She closed her eyes and wound up dozing off.

Zen had been worried about her that entire week, she had barely been talking to the others, let alone him. Sooner or later, he had to make sure that she really was alright. The minute that she didn't answer his call was the time he decided that he was going to see her whether it got him sick or not, he would bounce back fast if that was the case!

It was little to nothing to him to make sure that his girlfriend was okay.

When nobody answered the door right away, he found the one that she had lent him not that long ago and put it into the lock, turning the knob and calling out into the apartment, “Aurora? Hey, babe, are you alright? You didn't answer my calls.”

He found her bundled up in a heap on her couch. He tentatively pressed a hand to her cheek but found that it was normal to the touch. He did find that her face was damp and that it seemed as though she had cried herself to sleep. That didn’t sit well with him. Zen knew that something was amiss but if she hadn’t told him about it then it was something that she didn’t want to talk about. Instead of waking her up at first, he went about piecing her apartment back together and taking care of what had been abandoned here and there.

He had really brought everything that he thought she was going to need. So, he made sure to get the food going, and once that was taken care of and started, he went ahead and drew her a bath. While he was tidying up that’s when he found the rejection letters that she had put aside. He had been able to put two and two together, why she had been acting strangely, and why she had withdrawn from everyone the other day.

Her dreams were being crushed.

That was heartbreaking, but Zen believed in her, and he knew that one day she would get to where she wanted to be. There had been a time when he felt suffocated because of his failures, and he knew very well what kind of pain that Aurora must have been feeling.

He just wished that she knew it was alright to talk about it to everyone.

The curtains were pulled back at last in her living room, and the light breathed back into the room.

The light danced across her eyelids and caused her to stir awake. She opened the blurry eyes and rubbed them when she noted the white blotch in the corner of the room. “...Zen?” Her voice was soft, a bit groggy from sleep. “...What are you doin’ here?”

“You never answered my texts.”

“...Oh. Sorry. I just...” she trailed, off.

There really wasn’t an excuse she could make up. She really just didn’t have the energy to even grab her phone and fib.

Aurora sat up and the blanket spilled from her shoulders and landed on her lap with a soft thud. Her hair was a bit messy and she was barely put together with a big shirt and socks. It was the most that she had mustered when she crawled out of the shower the other day. She was suddenly very aware of her disheveled state, as she lowered her head and her cheeks began to burn hotly.

Zen had paid no mind to that.

He strode over to her and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I don’t know what’s been bothering you, babe, but I’m here now. Let’s try to make your night better, first. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, let’s just enjoy ourselves, alright?”

Aurora reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Zen sighed, shaking his head a bit in mirth. He knew that she had her own struggles, but he wanted her to lean on him when she needed someone, just as he knew that he could do the same when he was struggling.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked.

“You have nothing to apologize for, princess, you’ve done nothing wrong, you’ve done everything right,” he reassured her, instantly.

Her eyes began to feel wet again.

“You’ve been having a hard time lately. I get it.”

She had thought that she had cried out whatever she had left, but it seemed as though the tears had come back when she was finally with Zen. “I wasn’t sick,” she mumbled underneath her breath.

“Huh?”

“I shut you out... I wasn’t sick, or anything. I just couldn’t get out of bed. I’ve just been so sad about... everything. Nobody seems to want anything to do with my work, and it seems all so pointless now. I guess I really am no good. I’m just no good, Zen, you shouldn’t bother yourself with me. You’re going places and I’m... not.”

Zen shushed her as gently as he could. It pained him as much as it pained her but he would keep that brave face up. “You’re perfect, Aurora. You’re always doing everything that you can for others instead of yourself, you’re selfless, brave, and always there for me when I need you. You’re always there for the others as well. I can’t think of a single terrible thing about you, and if you feel anything otherwise, I’m sure I can dispute that feeling. It’s hard right now but you have me behind you. You’ve done everything you can for me these past few months, Aurora.”

He pulled back and looked into her eyes. “So, let me be there for you, now.. okay?”

“Are you sure you want to do that?” she asked, the nervous glint in her eyes unwavering.

His smile was assured. “Of course. Now, I’ve drawn you a bath and I’ve got dinner going. Go ahead and take it easy, I’m going to be here all night until I’ve got that smile out of you again.”

Things might get hard sometimes and it might seem as though the world is going to end, but Zen was always going to be there for Aurora. That thought was reassuring, and enough to help her ease out of her chains just a bit and the surface felt a lot closer.

#prize #follower prize #mod kait #mystic messenger #mysme #hyun ryu #zen mm #zen mystic messenger #zen mysme #mystic messenger zen #mysme zen #mm zen #custom mc #self insert #a-snoozyangel #it went a little longer then i planned but i had to make sure it felt right and it was fluffy

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eternityunicorn · 5 years

Text

Elijah’s Eternity: Smutty Oneshot - Goodbye, Hello +18

Author: eternityunicorn

Genre: Romance/AU

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x OC

Warnings: Smut, pure unadulterated smut! (*Smut chapters marked +18)

Summary: Lost to monster behind the red door, Elijah goes on a killing spree, killing anyone who dared to stand in his way and even a few innocent bystanders. Eternity attempts to bring him back from the brink, but her pleas fail to reach him. Therefore, in a desperate act, she leaves him, which does the trick to free him from the monster. Devastated, he believes all is lost, but then she returns one day and he takes her for a drive to apologize - and to beg her to stay.

NOTE: OC is from my up and coming novel series!

AUTHOR’S COMMENTARY: This is a fic based off of a request by @hawaiianohana31. I hope you like it! Enjoy!

———————————————————————————————————

Elijah Mikaelson was a man of impeccable taste and flawless control. He never raged. He always remained cool, collected, and rational, unlike his more hot tempered brother, Niklaus or his bloodthirsty brother, Kol. Because of this, he was often more terrifying to his enemies than his brothers, but also more capable of mercy.

However, Esther, his witch mother, had devastated that control he had in a twisted mind game that left him fractured and untethered from it. He went on a rampage, becoming as mercilessly violent as his hybrid brother, but worse, for he had no mental stability to speak of and slaughtered others in cold blood. He tore through his family’s enemies, killing many in the name of protecting his family, no matter if they deserved death or not.

Elijah’s wife, Eternity Mikaelson, had bore witness to these terrible acts that would have left the sane version of himself horrified by his own actions. She attempted to reach him, time and time again. She tried to call him back from the darkness, to help him cage the monster behind the red door, but not even her pleas could bring him back to his sanity.

Finally, she couldn’t take anymore. While she refused to kill him, she also couldn’t stay and watch him descend further into darkness. She believed that a separation might do him some good, that maybe it would wake him up from the black void of horrific violence. It was a gamble, as it could have the opposite effect and make his out of control behavior worse, but these were desperate times and she’d do anything to get her husband back.

That had been a month ago and quite frankly, it had worked. Eternity leaving him had the right effect, calling Elijah back to himself at last. However, he remained grieved. Of course he did. His wife had left him because of his inexcusable behavior.

Instead of being a murderous beast, the Original divulged into a mournful and lonely man, haunted by his own choices. There seemed to be no hope for him, only a more painful darkness - one without his wife by his side.

Then, when all seemed forever lost, Eternity came home!

Elijah found her standing on the balcony of their bedroom one night, as he sought solitude for himself. At first he didn’t believed she was there. At first he thought he was seeming things. Yet, it wasn’t a hallucination. She was really standing there with her back toward him and her long white hair billowing loosely all around her.

He moved as casually as he could toward her, coming to stand in the doorway that lead out onto the balcony, not daring to move any closer. “Hello, Sweetheart,” he murmured cautiously.

Eternity turned gracefully to look at him over her shoulder. She did not smile and there was a deep sadness in those sapphire eyes of hers as she gazed at him. Furthermore, she didn’t speak. It was as though she was waiting for him to say something.

In truth, he didn’t know how to begin. He didn’t know what to say.

Then he remembered what they used to do when they had arguments. After some time to cool off, they would come together to try and resolve whatever rift lay between them, while trying to avoid prying ears. To do this, they would always jump in his car and go for a drive, driving to the lake front on the other side of town, where they would park and talk until they had finally rebuilt whatever bridge had been broken between them.

This was certainly one of those situations.

“Let’s go for a drive,” Elijah quietly requested, unsure if he should. “We can talk privately.”

Eternity remained perfectly still. She didn’t blink or seem to breathe as she looked at him blankly.

He thought she was going to reject his suggestion. He worried that she was going to tell him that it was over between them and that she was leaving for good. He held his breath as he waited for her to say something - anything!

“Very well,” murmured Eternity finally. “Let’s go.”

Letting out the breath he had been holding in his relief, Elijah lead her out of the bedroom and down through the courtyard to the basement garage where the cars were kept. They climbed into his black Porsche Panamera and quickly drive away into the night, heading toward the lake.

They didn’t talk the whole way, waiting until they reached their destination to do so.

Once they were parked in front of the beach, Elijah shut his car off and turned toward Eternity. “I want to apologize for...well, everything,” he began. “I never meant to hurt you or to drive you away with my actions. When my mother broke me, I lost all sense of control. The monster within came forth, untethered from my carefully laid discipline over myself. I’m sorry. I swear to you to do better, to be better.”

Much to his surprise, the ethereal beauty smiled softly, “I understand. In truth, the note I think about it, the more I realize that I should have rescued you sooner from that harpy. Then perhaps this whole thing could have been avoided.”

“This isn’t your fault,” insisted Elijah. “Only my mother and myself are to blame.”

“We are all to blame,” she responded. “Even so, neither of us are strangers to violence or death, killing those who deserve it. We both would do anything to protect those we love. However, what you were doing, what you were becoming, was far beyond that desire. You were killing people unnecessarily, those that didn’t deserve death. Quite frankly, you were acting like Niklaus or better yet, like Kol.”

“I know,” he admitted.

Eternity gazed at him contemplatively, “It does seem as if you have recovered from your brokenness or at least, you have begun to. The light of your humanity has returned to your eyes. I can see it there.”

“I have recovered,” he nodded, reaching over to brush back the soft hair that framed her face and then cup the side of her neck tenderly. “Listen to me, I’ll never put you through something like this again. I’ll never lose control again. I won’t be so easily broken. Ever. I promise you that.”

The ethereal beauty grew deadly serious, “I should hope not, because next time, I won’t be able to simply walk away. As it is, I shouldn’t have this time. If there is a reoccurrence of this madness, I will do whatever is necessary to put a stop to it. So we will have to be vigilant in ensuring I am not forced into a situation where I will have to stand against you, or worse, be forced to live my life without you.”

“You won’t,” said Elijah with determination.

His wife leaned forward until her nose was nearly touching his, reaching to cup his cheek lovingly as she whispered, “Good. I love you, Elijah.”

Then she kissed him passionately, her tongue prying his mouth open and darting inside urgently.

From there, things took a heated turn quickly. Elijah felt his body respond to her needy kiss immediately. Not one to be outdone, he took control of the situation, fisting the hair at the back of her head and tugging her head back so that their mouths disconnected. He stared at her lustfully and she mirrored him, licking her lower lip with a hooded gaze.

Without a word, his mouth reattached itself to hers in a demanding kiss, his tongue dipping into hers this time. Their tongues battled for dominance until Eternity finally relented, letting him taste her throughly. He listened as she moaned into his mouth, while the delicious scent of her arousal waffled up to his nose.

“I missed you,” Elijah murmured against her lips, between kisses.

Eternity smiled lovingly, with lust sparkling in her eyes. Then she grabbed his face in her hands. “It’s been too long. Make love to me, Elijah,” she moaned, drawing her mouth towards his again. “Fuck me.”

He groaned and growled, closing his eyes briefly as her words stirred his own lust for her to new heights. Then opening them again, he smirked cheekily at her, “There is a difference between making love and fucking, Sweetheart. Therefore, the questions is: which one do you want? To make love or to fuck?”

Eternity gave a warning growl of her own at his playfulness. She took matters into her own hands then, bringing his mouth to hers and kissing him hungrily. As she did, she transported them into the backseat of his car magically. She had him sitting in the center with her straddling his lap, while she continued to kiss him needfully. Her hips rocked, grinding into him, making him hard beneath her.

His wife’s little hands set to work removing his clothes. First, she stripped him of his suit jacket with his help, then she undid his tie, tossing both over the front passenger seat. Her hands deftly reached and began undoing the buttons of his shirt until she had his shirt open enough to touch the bare skin of his chest with her soft hands.

Elijah pulled his mouth from hers to gaze up at her briefly before he once again took back control. He took the flimsy fabric of her silky dress, knowing she was bare beneath, and tore it from her body in two strips that he tosses aside aimlessly. Immediately, his mouth latched onto her throat, suckling and nipping at it with his human teeth, while his hands ran up her back beneath her long wisps of white hair. Then his mouth trailed lower to kiss over her collarbone and then over one breast, as his hand reached to kneed the other one.

The immortal queen moaned and leaned back to give him better access. She gripped the back of his head, holding him to her, as she enjoyed his attentions. Then, a short while later, she gently pushed him back against the seat and quickly returned his affections in kind. She kissed along his jaw and then his neck, taking things further by reaching a hand between their bodies and undoing his pants and reaching inside to caress his hardened length.

The Original leaned his head back and let out a throaty groan as he bucked into her touch. He watched her face as she grinned at him, bitting her lower lip mischievously as she stroked him.

“Impatient, are we? Elijah smirked, as he panted slightly.

Without missing a beat, she nodded, “Yes!”

Then Eternity removed her hand from his cock, but not before lining him up with her entrance. She lifted herself fluidly and slammed down onto his length until he was buried to the hilt inside her.

They both threw their heads back and groaned loudly at the sensation of being joined.

Eternity didn’t sit still for long and began a swift pace, moving up and down on him rapidly. As she did, her mouth descend upon his again, kissing him breathlessly with her tongue keeping time with her hips. Her hands cupped his neck, keeping him there as she kissed him passionately.

Because of the urgency in their need for each other, it didn’t take long for them both to reach their peaks. This was especially true as Elijah began to rock up into her as she descended, over and over again. Soon, her walls were fluttering around him as pleasure took hold and then they clamped down, squeezing him as she came, tearing her mouth from his as she did to cry out into the air.

Her orgasm triggered his own. With a few more thrusts, he was spilling into her with a loud roar that he muffled by burying his face in the crook of her neck.

Elijah allowed them to rest, but only more a moment. He was not quite done. He wanted more.

Before long, he was changing positions, pushing Eternity onto her back against the backseat of his car, while he hovered over her. He grinned down at her, brushing back her hair as he gazed lovingly at her. He enjoyed the way she smiled back, glad to know that she had forgiven him for his wrongs.

Then, after briefly kissing her lips, the Original moved into position, thrusting into her with one hard push, seating himself inside her to the hilt again. Eternity’s limbs wrapped around him tightly as she was once more filled by his still hard cock. Her mouth found his as well, kissing him without stop as he began to move inside her.

He pulled out slowly, enjoying the way her walks clung to him as he did, and then slammed back inside hard. He moved this way at a steady pace, finding the perfect rhythm that had his lady panting and moaning, begging him for more in between kisses. He held her close, as he brought them both to their peaks again.

“Please, Elijah,” Eternity panted quietly in his ear. “More...more! I’m so...close!”

With her pleas, Elijah moved harder - faster. He slammed into his lovely wife that clung to him tightly as she was growing closer to falling off the edge, feeling his own body following suit all over again.

Then Eternity’s walls clamped down on his cock for a second time as her orgasm took her. Her limbs tightened around him as her body seized.

As before, her end triggered Elijah’s and he spilled into her once more. This time, instinct took hold and his vampire visage emerged to sink his fangs into the ethereal beauty’s neck. He drank from her greedily, enjoying the taste of her sweet blood, while simultaneously triggering Eternity to experience a third orgasm that closely followed the previous one.

Once Elijah had his fill, he dislodged his fangs and let his human visage return, lazily lapping at the stray bits of blood from the already healed puncture wounds on her neck. He rested there with his face buried in her neck, finding contentment in letting her hold onto him as they came down from their pleasure highs.

“I love you, Elijah,” Eternity murmured contentedly, as she cradled his head in her hand. “I have missed you so much.”

“Does this mean you’re coming home, Sweetheart?” Elijah asked with a small smile, already knowing the answer, but wanting to hear it from her. “Does this mean you’ll stay?”

The immortal beauty laughed slightly, “Of course it does! In fact, I hope to never have to leave your side again. I want to be here with you always.”

Shifting and sitting up slightly, so that he could look at her face, the Original kissed her forehead and then rested his against hers as he whispered, “I swear, you and I will never be forced to separate again. We will remain together - always and forever.”

Eternity smiled lovingly at him and nodded, “Yes, always and forever.”

The End

———————————————————————————————————

Tag List: @elejah-wonderland @dendrite-lover @missnmikealson @inmylifeilovedthemall @xanderling @esclisa @fandom-princess-forevermore @elejahforever @elizamonet @freshsuitcasewinnereagle @loulouisa @teekillerin @x-memi12 @lolelijahishot @elijahandkollover

#elijah mikaelson #daniel gillies #original character #elijah x eternity #romance #drama #alternate universe #the originals #the originals fanfiction #the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries fanfiction

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nitewrighter · 6 years

Text

The Feather Aflame Pt. 2

For the “Royals” Prompt of Gency Week... though technically I’d say it’s more “Celestials” than royals. But anyway I’ve been meaning to write a short followup and here it is! Happy Gency Week! Sorry for reposting and not putting this under a cut. Tumblr is apparently losing its shit in regards to drafts with Read-Mores.

Baihu x Zhuque AU

---

Continued from The Feather Aflame

The general stood at the edge of his first battlefield, his first victory. He watched the columns of smoke rise up from pyres as soldiers and camp followers cleared the bodies from the field. Death and fire choked the air. It was grim business, but in his days as a peasant he had seen too many village streams and springs poisoned by the rotting bodies of nearby battles while other generals simply rode off to the next front.

“Is this what you wanted?” he heard a voice behind him and turned on his heel to see the bird woman.

The General looked from her, back to the battlefield and thought for a few moments, “I don’t think anyone would want this,” he said slowly, “But that’s why I made this wish--so we can end it. Together.”

“You know, most leave me to my own devices after they’ve made their wish,” said the bird woman.

A smile parted the general’s lips, “Well, obviously you’re free to go if you wish,” he said, taking his helmet off and running a hand through his hair, “Do you only stick around to ask ‘Is this what you wanted’ to any wish that came with a price?”

“I stick around if the wish is interesting,” said the bird woman, smiling back at him.

“Then I will do my very best not to be boring,” said the General.

No one fully understood where the General had come from, only that his arrival marked a turning point for the war. As the months passed, he won battle after battle, and when other officials in the army were questioned as to his sudden appearance, they seemed vague, as if the General had simply rearranged reality around his presence and it was all they could do to accept it. There were rumors of an exiled prince from the enemy kingdom, of a spy turned sympathizer, of a celestial being cast out from the heavens and forced to walk the earth for his meddling in human affairs. The last rumor was a particular favorite of the people. Some claimed he took the form of a beast on the battlefield, a great tiger, swift as the wind, others argued that he could take many forms, after all, one of his servants had mentioned feathers littered about his quarters in the morning. The general himself only chuckled at these stories, saying that whatever beliefs gave the people comfort and strength were good enough for him.

“The real reason’s not good enough, is it?” said the bird woman, her head rested in the dip of the General’s neck and collarbone as they lay abed in his tent, her fingers mindlessly trailing over his chest.

“A commoner with a kitchen knife who made a wish?” said the General, tucking a stray bit of dark hair from the bird woman’s face as she blinked those nictitating membranes at him, “The people follow blood, pedigree, prestige...”

“Symbols,” said the bird woman.

The General glanced over at her.

“They follow symbols more than men,” she said. The trail of her fingers ceased and she suddenly pulled him a little tighter against her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“The wish you made is going to change you,” she said softly.

“What do you mean?”

“That’s what happens when you wish to become something the people need. The people’s needs are always changing.”

A long silence passed between them.

“Were you always a bird?” he asked.

She said nothing. Only cupped one hand to his face and kissed him.

The months and the war carried on. March after march. Siege after siege. Battle after battle. Victory after victory, treaty after treaty. He could feel himself changing. He felt a bright coldness within him, not cruel, but distant, clear and shining. The bird woman stayed by his side, mostly, though she was wont to disappear for weeks at a time, which he accepted and turned to his work then, though he felt that cold brightness stinging within him without her presence.

During these absences of hers he found himself sleeping less, sometimes going as far as spending entire nights outside his tent staring up at the stars. He could walk about the next day feeling no fatigue after, and wondered why.

The battles carried on, though at that point, only two or three years later, they had quieted down to little more than local squabbles where bored and glory-hungry youths would charge in for blood and fame and come away dissatisfied. He calmed these conflicts easily--revitalizing the region, setting trade routes through---the problem was one of isolation rather than purely of blood feuds. The battles grew smaller, pettier, then few and far between. People respected him, still, a great general who brought peace to the land, but in that peace he was shoved to the margins of people’s minds, and he accepted this. What use was glory to him when he knew how petty man really was in the end? The cold brightness within him grew, no longer sharp and stinging, and no longer something he could easily distinguish from himself. Perhaps it was always there. He woke up one morning and found his eyes were icy blue with a ghost-like glow. Perhaps they always were, he thought.

He found he ate less as well. Food didn’t disgust him, it simply didn’t entice. He didn’t get the satisfaction of eating after a long time without, he hardly ever even hungered anymore. One night he found himself staring at a bowl of bird’s nest soup which had been prepared to honor him for a recent victory, and he found it no more special than a bowl of plain rice. He was staring into it, wondering what was wrong with him. He caught his own reflection on the soup’s surface. That cold brightness was no longer limited to his eyes, but glittered off of his skin. It shined out from the core of his very being, a cold blue light.

“I’m sorry,” a quiet voice sounded near him. He turned and saw the bird woman, and quickly set the bowl down and stood and took her up tightly in his arms, eager to feel her form against him after so long an absence. His grip around her loosened slightly so that he might look upon her face, and her green eyes stared sadly into him. “I told you this wish would change you,” she said, touching the side of his face.

“You made a wish once too, I take it?” he said quietly.

The bird woman seemed to think for a few moments, as if it was very difficult to remember. “There was a woman, once, a very long time ago, who lived in a land where, every winter, plague would sweep through and devastate everything. She was little more than a kitchen maid in a great house. One day she found a tortoise stuck on its back, its belly baking in the hot sun, and she turned it over. The tortoise said it would grant her a wish, and she wished to heal. And she did. She healed many people for a very long time... but little by little, food meant less to her, sleep meant less to her, people and what they cared about seemed further and further away from her. She became many things to many people--she became stars, she became the summer season and the end of winter and its plagues and fevers and starvation and the warmth of fire. She became all these things and the kitchen maid faded from her more and more. Do you still remember who you once were? Do you remember a man with a burned shoulder and a kitchen knife in the woods?”

The General was quiet at this. “He seems... very far away,” he conceded.

She plucked a feather from her dress, and held it out to him. “It... it might not be too late,” she said, “You could wish yourself back to a man. A nobleman in a fine house, with a wife and children. Who lives and dies and knows hunger and sleep.”

“Could you wish the same for yourself?” he asked.

“...it doesn’t work like that,” she said, glancing off.

He wrapped his hand around hers, and gently lowered the feather. “I don’t think I could leave you to such an existence alone,” he said, touching his other hand to her face, “What would you wish of me?”

“I would wish that you choose your own happiness,” she said.

“And so it is granted,” he said, giving her hand a slight squeeze, he smiled a little, “Stars, you said? Stars and summer?”

“Judging from your cold, I doubt it will be summer,” said the bird woman, smiling, “I warn you though, being a star is lonely.”

“You’ll be up there too, won’t you?” said the General.

The Bird Woman smiled at this, and the feather burned up between them.

#Gency

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toonerdyandiknowit · 6 years

Text

Poppet

- You’d been in love with Sherlock Holmes. And wasn’t that just the worst decision of your life? -

-When the Great Sherlock Holmes smashes your heart into a million pieces, you think you’ll never be able to get over it. But maybe, with some help, you’ll be able to get even? -

Trigger Warnings: Some Mentions of suicide. (Please, if you feel this way, get help in any way you can. I’ve been there, and it gets better.) All warnings will be tagged.

"I trusted you!"

The words caught briefly in your throat, spilling out on a choked sob as you stared at the man you thought you knew.

You’d met Sherlock a little under a year ago, and his gentle nature and breathtaking intelligence had pulled you in. What had started out as friendship quickly grew into more, with the consulting detective taking the lead. Initially you’d been wary, you’d heard rumours...but you came to know the real man behind the fame.

So you thought.

Your whole body trembled as you looked at him, the man you'd thought could be trusted. Your arms crossed tightly against you as though that could stop the pain ripping through your chest.

"That was your mistake."

He wouldn't even look at you, the great Sherlock Holmes. He stared dispassionately out of the window, arms relaxed as he held them at his sides. His entire demeanour was cold and uncaring, though his eyes, when they flicked briefly to you, held a quicksilver spark that you’d only ever seen directed at criminals he was about to take down.

You knew he thought you were stupid, compared to him everyone was. But you weren't. At least, not as much as he thought. You knew him, his body language, his habits. That's why you let the argument die on your tongue. You knew he wasn't sorry.

His back was ramrod straight and a muscle in his jaw ticked, and you braced yourself for that inevitable pain to come. You knew him. You knew he wouldn't let you leave, not without telling you how he used you so easily.

A single sob punched its way past your throat, the pain of it causing you to hiccup as the tears finally began to relent.

"So trusting. I knew it the moment I saw you; the ease with which you gave out your smile, your laughter, how quickly you could be lured into conversation with anyone who gave you the time of day. So desperate for companionship that you'd sacrifice every facet of your personality if it meant that someone would just like you."

"That-thats not true." Your protest was weak, you weren't that desperate, not enough to give up being who you were...

"Of course it is. I've seen your browser history, your bookshelf. Anything I've ever mentioned having an invested interest in, you've researched. To make yourself seem smarter? Possibly, but my money is so that it would seem as though we had things in common, things that would make me want to keep you around."

You began shaking your head, staring at him. He hadn't moved, not an inch, yet his chest was rising and falling faster and faster as he continued. You knew this version of him, when he was following a thread of thought that was leading to a conclusive point, one that he was desperate to reach.

"The truth of it is, as you've discovered, I needed you for a case. Needed to get close to you so that I could get close to someone else. Your unwavering loyalty to your 'friends' meant that you were the perfect target. I needed you to get to Natalie, I needed to get to Natalie's work computer to find the illusive trail tying her to the distribution of illegal, experimental drugs. Drugs she sold to violent gangs, which these gangs then used to murder people. I needed an in."

He finally, finally, turned to look at you. And you wished he hadn't, the icy disinterest in his gaze killed you, as if he were looking at a stranger.

"And there you were. Lonely, lovely...desperate."

"Stop it." you whispered, backing away, towards the door. Perhaps he'd let you leave. You knew the killing blow had yet to be delivered, but perhaps, just once, he'd show mercy.

"I knew I didn't need to worry too much about a physical relationship, not right away at any rate, though we did get there. No, you're touch shy, something that was clear to me from the start. Happy to stand close, eager to initiate contact when intoxicated - probably also touched starved, but jumpy when touched whilst sober. Undoubtedly the result of some past abuse. I knew from scrolling through your social media that I was physically your type. I knew that being gentle and sincere would make you trust me, but maintaining my own natural aloofness would make you eager to earn my trust. You'd be drawn in."

His deep voice rolled across you, hypnotising despite its cruelty, despite the way he was eyeing you as if you were some mildly interesting insect under a microscope.

He began pacing the room, long legs making short work of the distance as he ran a hand through his long hair, ruffling it. The only sign that this was effecting him more than he let on.

"I knew that by reaching out to you regularly you'd conclude that I must genuinely like you, that if I was the one to always initiate contact there'd be no risk of you pulling away for fear of annoying me. I knew that after a few months if I turned up at your practice before closing, under the guise of waiting for you, you wouldn't find the act of doing so strange, in fact you'd find it sweet. After a few weeks it'd become so regular that you'd offer to let me wait in the staff room or an office, somewhere in the back of the practice rather than the public waiting room. This would allow me the access I needed to snoop through the files and computer systems, finding the evidence needed for my case."

You'd closed your eyes at some point, heart pounding against your chest as you listened to him explain in excruciating detail just how he'd used you. How easy it had been for him to manipulate you.

"I'll admit, I didn't foresee the practice firing you for letting me in, but that can't be helped."

Your eyes flew open. Though they still stung with tears, a new feeling burned its way through your chest. Rage.

How dare he use you.

How dare he stand there, he face blank, as if you were some stranger.

How dare he make you fall in love with him.

"You ruined my life." your voice trembled, anger and horror warring within you as you stared at him, his face an icy mask, "You ruined my life, for a case?"

"Don't be so dramatic." He scoffed, rolling his eyes and turning back to the window. You felt dismissed, but you knew he wasn't done. You knew that he knew how this would go, what you'd say. And you knew that the final word would be his, and that it would be devastating. You knew you should leave now, but you couldn't, you were helpless against your own emotions. Helpless to do anything but follow his script.

"I loved you."

His eyes flicked in your direction, and you searched them desperately, hoping there'd be some emotion hidden in their depths. There wasn't.

"I know. Just as you'll love the next person who smiles at you."

---------

You stared at your phone screen, finger hovering over the button that would send the message to Sherlock. Your note. Your confession. But like a coward you held back, knowing that once it was sent, it couldn't be unsent, and that if you didn't go through with it you'd look even worse.

And what if he replied? What if he replied before you jumped? What if he was cruel? What if he wasn't? What if he took it all back? What if he took it all back just to say he only did so to stop you from jumping?

What if. What if. What if?

He'd once taken you on a tour of his "secret London", all the places that could act as short-cuts, all the places that could help with clues. All the places that very few people knew about. You sat in one of those places now.

It was a tunnel, old and abandoned. It was almost impossible to see from the outside, unless you knew exactly where to look. You sat, backside going numb against the cold stone, your legs dangling over the edge of a small crumbling wall that lined the length.

The tunnel covered a river, a particularly nasty offset of the Thames. The narrow, winding tunnel held deep, roaring waters, and with no ladders, falling in would almost certainly be fatal. The cover meant it was never warmed by sunlight. And the force of it caused the current to be fast and strong.

You weren't crying now. It had been two weeks since Sherlock had ended things with you. Two weeks since he ruined your life and broke your heart. Nowhere would hire you, not with your previous workplace dragging your name through the dirt. Your career, everything you'd ever wanted, was over.

You'd thought about what he'd said, over and over. Was it true? Did you latch onto him because he was nice to you? Was none of it real, not even from you? Were you really a fake, who'd give up every little piece of themselves to get someone else's affection?

You didn't know anymore.

"Nasty fall, that."

The voice made you jump. It was soft, high in pitch, and almost mocking in a casualness.

"No-Nobody was meant to be here." You stuttered, stuffing the phone with its unsent text into your pocket.

"Ahh. Well, don't let me keep you."

The man was attractive, he sauntered over to lean against the wall next to you. Looking into the water below, he hissed through his teeth, face pulling into a grimace.

"That wont be at all pleasant. But oh well, its your life. Well...for a little while anyway."

You felt his eyes on you as you leant forward, breath coming faster as you watched the swirling mass beneath you. You felt it beckoning even as your mind screamed to move away.

"Or..." He sang, voice suddenly too loud. You jumped, nearly slipping into the water as you scrambled for purchase on the wall.

"You could get revenge."

"What?" You asked, frowning.

"Oh comeon! He took everything from you! Your job, your friends, your heart. Are you really gonna give him your life too?"

His chocolate eyes bored into you, his face losing it previously cheerful appearance to stare at you. His face was hard, unreadable, and almost...terrifying.

"I can help you." His voice was soft, light, it drew you in. You felt yourself leaning towards him.

"I can give you purpose again. And I promise you this...I will use you. But you will always, always, know I am doing so. I'll never lie to you. Together, we can watch the world burn around him."

You felt your heart beating wildly against you chest again, but this time with excitement. It had never, not once, crossed your mind that there was a way to get even with Sherlock. The idea of taking him on was ludicrous. But looking into this mans eyes, this man who reminded you of him in so many ways, made it seem possible.

You were surprised to find that you wanted it.

"Tell me how." You said, voice ringing with a confidence you hadn't heard in weeks.

As a smile stretched across his face, wild and insane, you couldn't help but match it with one of your own.

"First, I think you have a text to send, Poppet."

----------

- Body found in Thames. A body, identified to be [y/n] [y/l/n], was found on the bank of the Thames this morning. Though the damage caused by the water made identification difficult, dental profiles confirmed the identity of [y/n] [y/l/n]. [y/n], formerly a [Y/J/T] at a prestigious London [Y/J/N], was recently involved in a drugs bust scandal. The PI Sherlock Holmes used [y/n] as an informant to bring down several gangs, who were using drugs from the clinic, which were being provided by another member of staff at [Y/J/N]. [y/n] was fired after the investigation for negligence in regards to private information being leaked to Mr.Holmes. It has been reported that Mr.Holmes received [y/n]'s suicide note through text, but has refused to comment. -

-----

One year. It had been a whole year since Mr. M found you. Since he'd helped you fake your death and start over.

And oh, what fun you'd had.

In your time with Sherlock, you'd thought criminals were scum of the earth. But you'd been so wrong.

You'd never felt more free. It hadn't taken long for you to become Mr.M's right hand. Your innocent facade and eagreness to please - things Sherlock had mocked you for - were the very things that made you so valuable to him. You could infiltrate anywhere. You could learn enough about anything you needed to get by in any company.

Empires had fallen at your feet, and they did so whilst singing your praises as an employee and friend.

You knew Mr.M had been planning something, something big, just for Sherlock. Another thing you had in common. A total, all consuming lust to make Sherlock dance to your tune.

He'd never lied to you, like he promised. He used you, for things that often put your life at risk, but he always told you he was doing so.

You trusted him to be a criminal mastermind, ready to throw you under the bus at any moment, and he trusted you to get the job done.

Which is why you were here, cuffed to a table in the depths of Scotland Yard, waiting to blow some minds.

When Greg had first seen you, he'd hesitated upon recognising you. Precious moments that you could have used to get away, but that wasn't part of the plan. It would have been a waste of a hospital if you'd not allowed yourself to be arrested.

He'd not said a word, just staring at your in quiet anger and horror as you sat in the interview room. You were both waiting; you knew he'd called Sherlock and John. You smiled at him, and he flinched. You used the same smile he'd always seen you with; small, shy, head tilted as you looked up at him from under your lashes. Friendly and a little embarrassed. You held back the threatening giggles, your varying smiles were your best weapons, and you hit him point blank with that one.

The door opened with a clang as Sherlock and John stormed in, Mycroft following at a more leasuirly pace. They both froze at the sight of you. Alive, healthy, and grinning like a maniac.

Mycroft narrowed his eyes in annoyance as you sent a wink his way, you'd known he'd be livid that you'd faked your death well enough to fool him.

"Hello boys!" You sang. Just the way you'd rehearsed. The way Mr.M asked you to, because you both knew with those two words, Sherlock would know everything.

"How...but, you died [y/n]. We saw...and the text...what..." Sputtered John, but you only had eyes for Sherlock smiling slightly as you watched him figure it out.

"Moriarty." His voice was exactly as you remembered, deep and rumbling. And for a brief moment you allowed yourself to feel pleasure at hearing it again.

"Got it in one, aren't you a clever boy?"

"You worked for Moriarty?" Spat John, horrified. You tutted.

"No John, I work for Moriarty. There is a slight difference."

"Tell us everything." Sherlocks voice was commanding, and you grinned while you shook your head.

"You know better than that, Sher." His eyes flickered at the familair nick-name, and you smirked.

"Ask me nicely." you crooned, leaning forward on the table to look into his eyes.

"[y/n]," said John, "We know how Moriarty works, we can help you get away from him..."

"And why would I wanna do that? Mr.M is the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Mr.M?" asked Sherlock. It was a little disconcerting, the way he stared, the way he wasn't moving.

"Friends have nicknames, Sher. Remember? Mr.M loves it, we all have nicknames now."

"And what, exactly, is your nickname." Asked Mycroft. You knew he had a list of all of Mr.M's known associates. You also knew most of those names were nick-names with no physical descriptions.

"Oh, he's always called me Poppet. Ever since he found me on that wall."

Mycroft choked on air, staring at you with wide eyes.

"Mycroft?" asked Sherlock, not taking his eyes off you.

"'Poppet' is the code-name we found for...Moriarty's right hand. The problem with the senator in America? The House of Commons incident? The scandal in Africa? All of it was traced back to 'Poppet'."

“I don’t know about any of that. But today she...she blew up a hospital!”Greg struggled to get the words out, his face red with anger as it became too much for him.

He slammed his hands against the metal table, and you didn’t even flinch at the aggression in his eyes.

“Do you know how many people you just killed?” he spat.

“35.” You said. You tilted your head, looking into his eyes.

“20 minutes before the bomb went off, a fire alarm was pulled, and all but a few patients were evacuated. The 35 remainders were comatose, on life support, and just generally on the brink of death. I may be the assistant to a sociopathic, psychopathic, criminal mastermind, but I have retained some of my morals.”

Greg threw himself backwards, crossing to the other end of the room to get away from you. His face ashen and his eyes angry. You shrugged.

"That couldn't have been you..." sputtered John, "You're too...too.."

"Nice?" You ventured, "Kind? Friendly? Eager to please? Desperate? Stupid? Pick one." You giggled.

"All this time..." Sherlock muttered, "Why did he send you to get close to me?"

You stared at him in shock. Your eyes wide and mouth open. You couldn't believe it, he was an idiot...

So you laughed. Until your sides ached and tears streamed down your face.

"Oh you, you poor thing!" You sputtered, "He never sent me to you. I didn't know him until after you."

He frowned, and you sighed, deciding you may as well spell it out for him.

"You broke me, Sherlock. Your oh so precious case, the one you decided was more important than someones life? Ring any bells? You used me, and then you broke my heart. But was that enough? Oh no. Thanks to you, I was totally discredited, no one would hire me anywhere. I lost my flat, my friends, everything, because of you!" Your voice had risen to a shout, as you could finally show him what he did to you.

“And as for you two,” you turned, spearing Greg and John with a heated glare, “Judging me for what I’ve become? Really? Where were you when I was ready to jump? Where were you, my so called ‘friends’ when Sherlock tossed me aside? You were standing with him, staring at me with sad eyes, and then turning your backs on me too.” You spat the words, letting a years worth of bitterness out.

"I was done. I went to the tunnel without a name. I was sitting on the wall, ready to send you that text, ready to jump. When...he showed up. And made me realise, you'd taken everything from me, and I'd be damned if I was gonna let you have my life as well."

You sat back, rolling your shoulders.

"So we faked my death. And everything you saw as a weakness, he saw as a strength. Oh, compared to him, and you, I'm a barely evolved ape, but he recognises my intelligence, my loyalty, and he values it."

You flicked your eyes around the room, finally allowing your true face, Poppet, to shine through. The grin stretched your lips wide, your eyes danced with crazed mirth, and you speared Sherlock with your gaze. Tilting your head, you raised an eyebrow as you spoke.

"We've been planning Sherlock. The Great Game is only just beginning. And we are all gonna have so much fun."

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hellomissmabel · 7 years

Text

The Girl From The Village part 1

MASTERLIST

AO3 account

Pairing: Steve x reader

Warnings: Cheating. Death by car accident, and by infection. Physical assault, breaking and entering.

Word count: 5k

Summary: Still grieving for her husband’s death, Captain America is the last person Y/N expects to show up at her door. Their fate is connected in a peculiar way, one that sparks an unusual friendship. Yet Y/N still isn’t sure she wants to be included in this particular narrative.

A/N: written for @nataliarxmanxva and the prompt is in italics. I know this first part is extremely heavy, but the second part will be much lighter, I promise!

Series masterlist can be found here

I married young, fresh out of high school with my prom dress as inspiration for my wedding dress. I married the first fool that told me he loved me. He was a car freak and tweaked at his father’s vintage car collection over the weekend. Some say I married up, with a real gentleman that treats me like a queen. Others say he married down, and even though I’m a beautiful butterfly, our love will only last a couple seasons before the butterfly gets stripped of her wings.

So it’s only fitting that for this year’s Halloween walk around town, I dress myself up as a dark forest nymph, with withered, ghostly butterfly wings. As an annual tour guide, I escort the kids, teenagers and other youngsters around different haunted locations. At the end of the night, there’s a party for those who can’t get enough of the nightly terrors and an open bar for the other who, like myself, just need a drink to come down from all the screams.

As I sit down on one of the long bar stools, waving over the bartender with a kind smile, I check my phone for any missed calls or messages. There’s one from my mother-in-law who tried to reach me about an hour and I cringe at the reminder of our last conversation, a neat little bruise high on my cheek bone where she slapped me right in the face, now covered up by a thick layer of make-up.

She had already warned me that she was going to do that if she ever saw me again. But I just wanted to return our wedding album I borrowed from her husband, my father-in-law, last spring. He seems the be one of the few people that understand my situation, having experiences the very same emotions I went through. Of course he’ll never talk to his wife about this, or she will be just as ‘sympathetic’ to him as she is to me.

“Why the long face, Y/N?,” the bartender comments on my sullen appearance as he makes me a Bloody Mary on the house.

Sighing while I cup the glass in both my hands, I take a sip from the red liquid. “Family issues. As usual.” The bartender, Jimmy, tells his colleague to take over for a minute as he leans on the counter and listens to what you have to say.

“She still thinks it’s my fault. Everything is always my fault. Last Monday she gave me a shiner. But how else was I going to give back our wedding album to her, hm? Mail it to them? Come on…”

“Don’t, Y/N. Jared would want you to be happy.”

“She was the one that set me up with her son in the first place. I mean, she probably regrets that now. She regrets many things, she told me. Yet she makes it look like I don’t regret anything at all. I’m fine with taking the blame because I deserve it. But I refuse to be her patsy, I can’t control every element of her and my life.”

“Of course you can’t, sweetie, you’re only human.” Jimmy squeezes your shoulder. “I gotta go back now, I’ve got customers waiting, but I’m always here if you wanna talk. And remember sweetie, you’re a wonderful human being and you’re gonna get through this.”

The walk home is silent, with my headphones on and in comfortable loneliness. These last few weeks have been nothing but comfortable loneliness. I have gotten used to being on my own so I don’t feel as lonely anymore as before. But I still clearly remember a time when I was surrounded by people, when I was loved by everybody in this little town instead of shunned by half.

That night, you don’t even bother to take off your make-up properly, not yet ready to see the blue-ish bruise on my cheek shine in the soft bathroom light. It’s only when morning comes that you regret ever not taking it off, scrubbing and rubbing at the best of your abilities until your face is red and swollen from the exertion. Exhausted again, you crawl onto the couch with a warm blanket or two and some Halloween-themed cornflakes, reminiscing about Jared, and Tom.

A strong knock to the door startles you as it disrupts your trail of destructive thoughts. Getting up with a heavy feeling in your bones, you drag yourself from the safety of the couch and towards the front door. When you open it, it’s like the wind is knocked right from your lungs.

“Hi,” the blond says shyly, giving you a warm half-smile as awe transforms his face. “I’m sorry to show up here unannounced, but I was hoping to talk to you. You’re Y/N right?”

“And who may you be?,” you ask a little defensive, your evident surprise putting you straight on edge.

“I’m Steve, Steve Rogers,” he replies as he goes through his hair with long, slender fingers.

Steve Rogers. You’re going over in your mind where you’ve heard the name before, until it finally clicks and recognition dawns on your face. “Captain America?,” you whisper under your breath, a couple curses on the tip of your tongue. “What is Captain America doing on my doorstep?”

“Like I said, I wanted to talk to you. I saw you in Brooklyn, like a month ago, is that possible?”

You nod since you have been in Brooklyn for a baby shower last September, but unfortunately you don’t remember running into none other than Steve Rogers. If you had, surely you would remember? “Come in,” you offer hesitantly as you size him from head to toe. He’s just like the news reports show, tall and muscly and all bulging biceps.

He waits for you to sit down before he takes a seat opposite of you, wringing his sweaty palms together. “So I’m just gonna… say it,” he chuckles wryly, embarrassment rolling off him in thick waves. “I was in Brooklyn getting some groceries when I saw you walk up to one of the apartments across the street. You were wearing a soft blue dress with a red bow in your hair. Your hair was pinned up like they did back in the forties and you looked very classy.”

As he finishes his appreciative description of your vintage outfit and matching looks that day, you’re already blushing like a lobster. But Steve isn’t finishes yet. “The resemblance was uncanny,” he gushes softly, taking his wallet and fishing out an old photograph. Steve shows it to you and you take it in the palm of your hand, very carefully.

Tentatively you speak with a quiet voice and tender eyes. “She does look like me. A lot.” Your thumb smooths over the black and white surface. She’s in some kind of uniform, ready to salute, her red-painted lips holding a perfect smile while her eyes glisten with genuine heartiness.

“She was a chorus girl. Her name was Naomi.” His eyes dart from the picture in my hands to mine and back. “She was one of the brightest souls I’ve ever met. Really talented performer, so good they sent her with me to the battlefield to cheer up the men.”

Your eyelashes flutter softly as you try to hold in your emotions, moved by how his voice seems to break under the pressure of his words. “She was special. Bucky and I, we were smitten by her. When I rescued him from where they held him imprisoned, she was there to nurse him. Bucky… He – euhm, he was a little infatuated. But Naomi, she only had eyes for me.”

With a little laugh, he accepts the picture as you give it back to him. “Naomi stood up for me and kind of… tamed the other girls. One guy taking on at least a dozen show girls… that’s just too much oestrogen for little Stevie here to handle. Even though I wasn’t so little anymore.”

After pocketing it back in his wallet, he fidgets with his hands in his lap. “Some of the girls didn’t have lads at home and could get a little handsy from time to time, but it was always very innocent. They missed having a man around, so I sort of became their man. But Naomi… With her it was different… She – euhm, she was my first.”

Your eyebrows knit together as something snaps inside of you. “If you’re here hoping to get laid by a lookalike of your forties sweetheart, then you better get out of here before I kick you out.”

Steve gapes at you, his pupils flared in surprise as he stutters and stammers to correct himself. “No, no that’s not why I’m here at all. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m just here to talk, promise.”

The corner of your mouth twitches as your lips are set in a thin, stern line, jaw still clenched tight. You believe him. “I’m sorry, too. I didn’t mean to be so rude. I jumped to the wrong conclusion.”

The colour slowly returns to his face as you relax your shoulders, a flush creeping up on you as a more positive connotation settles in your thoughts. This chorus girl, Naomi, who looks so much like you, was Captain America’s first time fooling around. That must be a compliment in that, right?

“What happened to her?,” you query gently, noticing the Captain’s cheeks are turning from pink to pale white again.

The Captain is fighting back the tears and he squeezes them shut as he remembers her, clearing his throat first before answering. “She took a hit when Bucky fell of the train. Naomi had caught some kind of infection from the battlefield and when she heard about Bucky… She lost her will to fight. She was devastated.”

You get up from the couch and join his side once you notice how hard this is on him. Placing your hand on his knee, it gives Steve a little boost to continue. “Yet we made each other a promise. I’d get back from the war and she’d get better. She’d hook me up with Peggy and I’d find her a nice lad, too. But instead of keeping that promise…”

“You ended up in the ice, trying to save the world,” you finish his sentence for him. “I’m sure she knew. I’m sure she knew you did what you had to do.”

“Naomi was one of the first people to ever appreciate me for me. To her I wasn’t just some bulky and weird science project, but a real man. She didn’t know me before I became Captain America, but she assured me she would’ve loved me just the same.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Steve,” you whisper softly. “I know what it feels like to lose someone that special.”

Steve shifts his body towards you, interest peaking his ears. “My husband, Jared, died last year,” you explain as an uneasy mood strikes you. This is the first time you’re actually willing, prepared, just ready to talk about it.

“Jared and I, we were everybody’s favourites, so naturally we were bound to fall in love. High school sweethearts, you know...” Your mouth has run dry so you run to the kitchen and fetch yourself a glass of water, offering Steve a drink too.

“We got married shortly after we finished high school, before we were supposed to go to college. Jared had already procured his placed at an Ivy League University and soon thereafter I earned a scholarship to the same one, too. I didn’t want Jared’s help, I didn’t want to thrive off his last name. I insisted on earning my place.”

Returning with two glasses, you sit cross-legged next to Steve, holding on tightly to both your glass as well as your heart. “We had a solid relationship. We had a good marriage. But we married too young, there were others things we still wanted to do other than being married. Sure, we loved each other and wanted to grow old together, but after a while there was no passion, no excitement, no sparks flying anymore.”

Steve listens intently, nodding here and there whenever he believes it’s most constructive. The sound of your voice is somehow soothing to his own grief. He wants closure just as much as you do. he thought that by going to see you, he’d be able to turn the page. But one page can wait a little longer if he can help you move on to the next chapter, too.

“Two summers ago, I met another guy, Tom. Jared had flown to Europe for his internship and would be away for two full months, maybe longer. We’d just graduated and the whole world seemed to be at our feet. Tom was here visiting some family and one of my friends, his cousin, brought him along to a party.”

Inhaling deeply, that night’s events still freshly engraved in our mind, you attempt to suppress the flashbacks and the memories by holding your breath. Steve tells you it’s alright, his hand rubbing circles on your back to help you level your breathing. “It’s okay. You can tell me, I won’t judge.”

“Nobody ever talks about summer love like it’s going to last, you know? You don’t expect a summer fling to last. But Tom… he took me hiking one day and we’d just lay in the grass looking at the clouds changing, holding hands. Tom adored me. He was so easy to adore, too. So we kept it going for longer than just the summer, long after Jared had returned...”

Your glass is empty and it’s like you’re staring into a bottomless pit. “Tom got a job here, because I asked him to. Jared never suspected anything. Of course I still loved him and Jared still loved me, but the chemistry between us had long died down. The most intimate moments with Tom were our hikes, when we could just… be together. Period. It wasn’t about the sex, it was about something much deeper.”

Looking up into Steve’s baby blue eyes, you recognise the same remorse, the same regret that’s flooding your system as we speak. He was in love with Peggy, yet allowed himself to fall for Naomi as well. “If you don’t mind me askin’… How did Jared die, love?”

“Jared was supposed to take one of his dad’s vintage cars out for a spin. He wanted to take me with him and maybe organise a little picnic with just the two of us. He got home early from work to prepare for everything. I knew Jared inside out and he probably thought he should do some warming up first so he could impress me with his driving skills. But the car hadn’t been out of the garage for ages and didn’t receive a regular check-up either. Jared crashed into a tree because the brakes didn’t function properly.”

Crying softly into the blond’s shoulder, the super soldier wraps his arm around your waist and comforts you silently, giving your emotions free reign. “His mother likes to blame me for what happened. She needs someone to blame.”

“It’s not your fault, Y/N,” Steve whispers into your hair. “None of it is your fault.”

“If I hadn’t been in the woods with Tom, I would’ve had reception and I would’ve heard my phone ring.” Detaching yourself from his sturdy frame, you try to make yourself look presentable again by wiping away the tears and putting your hair up in a messy ponytail. “The whole town soon found out. She made sure of that. I’m the town’s sweetheart that became the town’s scapegoat.”

“Y/N…, don’t think like that, doll. You can always move…”

“I can’t move. Everything reminds me of Jared and I wanna hold on to his memory. At one point, I couldn’t take it anymore and considered going back to New York where I did my internship. But if I move back to New York, I risk running into Tom again and I can’t… Too much has happened.”

Your red-rimmed eyes find his and as they lock, his phone rings loudly, breaking the tender atmosphere surrounding you like a safety net. “I’m sorry, Y/N, but I gotta go. The team is wondering where I am. I wish I could’ve stayed longer to talk. Maybe I can come over again? Somewhere next week?”

“I have a day off on Wednesday and I can start later on Thursday, so then we have plenty of time to talk.”

Steve nods softly, making a mental note of your appointment. “So I’ll see you next Wednesday.”

“Thank you, Steve, for listening.” You don’t feel exonerated, but there’s a small sliver relief at the end of your tunnel, guiding you to a better mindset, helping you grieve. All thanks to Steve.

“Thank you, Y/N, for your trust. And for not screaming when I showed up at your door.”

You both chuckle at this and after watching Captain America get back into his car and drive back towards the highway, a warm and fuzzy feeling has lit up your chest. You didn’t hear from Steve anymore as you forgot to exchange numbers. But figuring that he’s Captain America, an Avenger, working together with Tony Stark, he would’ve found a way to contact you if he needed to. Next Wednesday couldn’t be here fast enough.

So to ease the nerves, you started baking as early as Tuesday morning. You worked at the shelter and the adjoining pet store and had an hour lunch break during which you made the decorations and toppings for your cupcakes. And when you got home around half past five, you started baking even more; from cookies to pie to even croissants for breakfast should Steve show up as early as eight a.m.

Steve arrived a little after eleven in the morning and he also brought a guest. When you opened the door this time, you expected to see just the blond super soldier, and not a certain metal-armed assassin that’s been all over the news as of late.

“Y/N, I know I should’ve called or at least texted you, but we were sent from one mission to the other and…” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration with himself. “I’m so sorry, that’s not an excuse. But I still hope you don’t mind Bucky tagging along. I let it slip that I tracked you down and he kind of wanted to see for himself.”

By now, Bucky’s jaw has gone slack, his mouth agape as he sizes you up. “She’s just like Naomi, Steve.”

Unsure of how to react, you invite them in, Steve pressing a chaste kiss to your cheek as a greeting and Bucky giving you an awkward wave. “I told ya, didn’t I, Buck?,” Steve chuckles to his friend as you show them inside.

“I doubt that I look exactly like her. I mean, I don’t have the size of a show girl let alone the legs for it,” you mumble as you neatly arrange all the pastries on your kitchen table. The two men protest and assure you’re just as stunning as Naomi, no matter your size.

“Did you make all this just for us?,” Steve asks you as he sits down closest to the apple pie, the scent tickling his nostrils with delicious intent, exchanging an impressed look with Bucky.

“Well,” you blush shyly, “I actually made it just for you, since I didn’t think you’d bring a guest. But I think there’s enough to feed two mouths. If not, I can always bake more.”

Bucky shakes his head, grinning boyishly at you as his flesh hand reaches for one of the chocolate chip cookies. “This is more than enough, Y/N, thank you so much.”

You spent the rest of the day talking to the two super soldiers, enjoying the fruits of your labour with their stomachs filled to the brim and crumbs everywhere in your kitchen.

“So what do you do for a living?,” Bucky inquires before taking another forkful of his plum pie with dark chocolate topping.

Putting down your cherry and cream muffin, you take a napkin and dap the corners of your mouth clean. “I’m actually a vet. I work at the pet shelter and help out at the pet store on the regular. I used to have a dog, Sam. Well, actually she was Jared’s dog, a black Labrador. She died after our first year of marriage.”

The table grows silent, Bucky’s heart aching for Y/N as he envisions how much it would hurt if his own service dog died. “Steve’s been thinking about adopting a dog,” Bucky blurts out all of a sudden, taking Steve by surprise.

Sure, he’d been thinking about getting a service dog just like Bucky. But then again, he didn’t think he’d have the time to take care of the little fella if he did get one. For now, it’s been a constant game of pro and cons in his mind. His heart, however, tells him to just do it and adopt.

Your eyes light up at Bucky’s comment. “You can come to the shelter with me some day, if you want to?”

Bucky nudges Steve’s side, giving him an encouraging sideway glance. “Y-y-yeah,” Steve stammers softly, “That would be great.”

“I don’t mind walking around town a little while you guys go to the shelter,” Bucky announces a little too quickly and too eager for Steve’s taste. He’s trying to play matchmaker, a role solely reserved for Nat. But Bucky wouldn’t be Bucky if he didn’t at least attempt to be a good Cupid.

The shelter appears to be a lot smaller on the outside than it is on the inside, providing enough space for the pets to roam freely. The owner, Jensen, greets you with a big, toothy smile and gives Steve a firm handshake, patting his arm as he remains completely oblivious as to who he actually has in front of him. Maybe it’s for the best, you reason.

“Steve’s interesting in adopting a dog,” you pitch the idea to Jensen, your shoulder brushing briefly with Steve’s as you both try to follow after Jensen. He apologises immediately, as do you, and like a true gentleman he allows you go to first.

“Awesome! I also just had an elderly lady in that was interested in adopting three cats!,” he boasts while he guides you around the desk and out back where the dogs out. “She’ll come back on Saturday. I won’t be in on Saturday, gotta keep the wife happy and take her and my little girl to big city for some shopping. But you’ll be here, so the shelter will be in very capable hands.”

At the moment, there are fifteen dogs at the shelter. Steve’s interest is instantly captured by one of the smaller dogs. “Hey there buddy,” he coos at the little pup, scratching behind its ear. “I like this one,” he smiles up at you with matching puppy dog eyes. He’s already head over heels for the little golden retriever.

“Ah yeah… that one’s name is Scout. One of six puppies that came in about a month ago. The owner couldn’t take care of six pups and asked me if I could take on four of them. Scout here is the smallest and we believe he won’t grow up to be a very big dog. But don’t be fooled by his size, this fella’s got a really big heart.”

You could sense by the way Steve interacted with Scout that it was a match made in heaven, so it didn’t take the blond long to decide he wanted to adopt the little pup. After making sure the papers were all signed and in order, Steve and Scout were now a fact. Bucky was overjoyed when he saw Steve approach with Scout asleep in his arms. You wanted to invited them for dinner, but Bucky and Steve kindly turned down your offer as they still had a long drive back to New York.

“I promise to take good care of Scout.”

“I’ll hold you to that promise, Cap,” you hum warmly as you hug the two Avengers goodbye.

“And I’ll call you, too. I have your number now,” Steve winks and prompts a heavy red blush to tint your cheeks. He pecks your cheek one last time before disappearing into the car and Bucky insisted joining him on the driver’s side since Steve had already driven all the way out here.

With Steve and Bucky gone again, you had nothing left to wrap your mind around anymore. You fill your days with the same activities and the same thoughts as you have done before the blond arrived. He calls you every now and then, and even lets Scout take over his cell phone. But it just isn’t the same anymore. Your friendship with Steve, if you can call it a friendship at all, is solely based on your resemblance with Naomi, Steve’s chorus girl. There’s no way a man like Steve would ever be friends with a woman like you if it wasn’t for that particular reason.

So when Steve invites you to spend a few days with Bucky and him in New York, you feign illness and tell them you’ve been taking ill by the flu. When a second request arrives, another excuse is made up. Until Steve offers it a third time and comes to get you in person.

He doesn’t expect to find the house in a complete state of utter disaster, your door ajar and your walls clad with red spray paint. There are words scribbled on the front of your house, such as ‘slut’ and ‘whore’, and once he walks inside he sees the true damage that has been done. Your house is no longer a house, it’s a wreck, overtaken by the work of vandals.

You’re huddled in the corner of your bedroom and when you hear footsteps approaching, you crawl in your closet, afraid the men who did this have come back to hurt you even more. You’re wearing your pyjamas, or what’s left of it, and are extremely cold since all your windows have been shattered and the icy winter wind has full access to your chilly bones.

Steve crouches down next to you, embracing you in his strong, warm arms in an attempt to get your temperature up. He asks you what happened, but you refuse to reply. He asks you if you want to see a doctor, but you shake your head no. So he’s left with no choice and hoists you up in his arms to take you the shelter where he knows Jensen will be able to help you out.

The first thing that comes to Jensen’s mind is “not again”. Steve gives him a puzzled and baffled look, which he answers with a regretful smile. You’ve passed out on the couch in Jensen’s private quarters at the back of the shelter, giving the doctor time to assess your injuries.

“She’s fine. They tore her clothes apart just to scare her, but her injuries show no signs of a sexual assault. Well, we won’t know for sure until she’s ready to tell us what happened, but they didn’t rape her last time, so I don’t think…”

“Wait, this has occurred before?,” Steve interjects, smoothing over your hair.

“They’re trying to bully her away. Some guys from the edge of town who heard about her history with Tom.” Jensen runs a hand down his face and groans. “They never entered her house in the past, they’d only mess with her garden or the outer skeleton of the house. But things have… escalated since people spotted you at her place.”

“So this is all my fault,” Steve concludes from Jensen’s words, cradling your body against his as he notices the goose bumps rising on your skin.

“Hey, man,” Jensen rests his hand on Steve shoulder as a sign of comfort, “That’s not true. Those kind of people… they don’t need much to start a riot. Y/N has been keeping to herself since Jared died. Once in a while a friend would pay her a visit. Sometimes this friend would be a guy. And they know he’s just a friend, but that doesn’t stop them.”

Steve gets the bigger picture and is even more adamant than before to get you out of this town and give you the life you deserve. He keeps watch by your side for the rest of the afternoon, until you wake up in the middle of the night crying out his name and he has to console you until the early morning light sets in.

“There were three of them. Again the same guys. They broke into my house, expecting me to be still at work. But I wasn’t feeling very well so I took half the day off. I walked in on them and they just…” You bite your quivering lip, crossing your arms over your chest. “They just lost it. They attacked me on the street once before and just bruised my face, cut my hand, tripped me on the sidewalk… Yet this time, they made sure to beat me up real good.”

“Please, Y/N,” the captain pleads with you, “This has to stop. Come to New York with me.”

He can see you’re in doubt, the memory of your late husband fighting to stay in this little, wretched town where it all began. But there a part of you that’s crawling its way out of the deepest, darkest depths of your disgrace in an attempt to find the light again. And it’s Steve that awakens that part in you the most. Whenever he’s around, you don’t feel the pain or the heartache as much anymore. It’s like he’s a catalyst of better times ahead. It’s like he’s your antidote to the sorrow threatening to swallow you whole.

So you agree to come with him to New York.

Tagging: @avengerofyourheart @a-little-hell-to-raise @marvelingatthewonder @mrshopkirk @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @winterboobaer @italwaysendsinafightt @viollettes @hymnofthevalkyrie @feelmyroarrrr @justareader @austinamelio @volklana @howlingbarnes @themcuhasruinedme @theoneandonlysaucymo @caplansteverogers @amrita31199 @emilyevanston @minervaem @howlingbarnes @buchananbarnestrash @youandb @you-and-bucky @fvckingsteverogers @thatawkwardtinyperson @barnes-heaven @that-sokovian-bastard @abovethesmokestacks @marvelrevival @marvel-fanfiction @justanotherbuckydevotee @barnes-heaven @heartmade-writingbucky @buckyywiththegoodhair @captnbarnesrogers @its-not-a-phase-hux @melconnor2007 @ivvitm1109 @toofuckinfabulous @ailynalonso15 @hollycornish @delicatecapnerd @camigt1999 @learisa @curlyexpat @palaiasaurus64 @fanndas-snow-goddess @crisssivonne @yourenotrogers @tomhollandzs @supernaturaldean65 @beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep @aletheladyinred @sniktlogan @xbergiex @reniescarlett @promarvelfangirl @capbuckybuchanan @lovemarvelousfics @yknott81 @rrwilson66 @pegasusdragontiger @salty-holographic-stickers @sammyissassy @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19 @kudosia @bellejeunefillesansmerci @lumelgy @mizzzpink @southernbellestatues @daringtodreamawake @neurotic-narwhal @cokamarie24 @blue1928 @movingonto-betterthings @breezy1415 @isnt-the-blog-youre-looking-for @jesspfly @weenie-butt @debzybrazy @fuckingchaotic @always-an-evans-addict @petersunderroos @thegreentgirl @nedthegay @eve1978 @yourtropegirl

Strikethrough means Tumblr wouldn’t let me tag you!

#the girl from the village #steve x reader #steve rogers #sofi's scwc #steve rogers fan fiction #fan fic #fan fiction #marvel #marvel fan fiction #avengers #chris evans

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