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littlewinter1917 · 2 years ago

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Groupie Love

Chapter Four ✿ Clear Up

My blog is 18+ only. Minors DNI. 🔞 Don’t repost my work anywhere.

Series Masterlist

Series Summary: Your best friend’s band has been taking off, ever since you’ve both started uni. But when you come back from a semester abroad, you find yourself confronted with both: Your lingering feelings for your best friend Eddie, and unexpected ones for their new drummer, Billy; someone you also have quite the past with…

Words: 9.1k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader, Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

Chapter Summary: You come face to face with Billy during the party and finally have a talk. But the confrontation with your childhood best friend takes a different turn than you expected.

Chapter Warnings: More tensions, and some angst, but also quite a bit of hurt/comfort. Some swearing and brief talks about past child abuse (nothing explicit) but still more than in previous chapters.

A/N: I am BACK! And I'm honestly terribly sorry for not updating this sooner!! Life's been quite something, but I hope that I won't disappear from the face of the earth and my word document for such a long time again! If you're still interested in this story after all these months, thank you! And a big thank you the people who continue to comment, I really, truly appreciate it!! As a first apology, here's a 9.1k chapter of Billy and the Reader finally having a much needed talk!

Previous Chapter

The party is in full swing even though it’s only been a couple of hours since your friends managed to fill out the first draft of papers tying them to a record label.

It’s not completely official yet, since setting up those kinds of contracts isn’t something that’s done on a whim or in the span of a single meeting; but it has become pretty clear that Capitol Records are quite serious and adamant in their offer of wanting to sign Eddie and his bandmates.

The shared excitement over this outcome is reason enough for a small get-together, and just like Steve promised, a celebration is in order, even if it’s supposed to be low-key, because nobody wants to jinx anything when it comes to the future.

In this context however, ‘low-key’ only means that the party mostly consists out of your best friends and a few more people who are closer to the band than to you, leaving you to spot the occasional face that looks rather familiar but not familiar enough to be able put a name to it.

But in all honestly, you don’t really care too much about any of that right now, because whenever you do let your gaze wander through the open space of your friends’ living room, you do it with only one particular face in mind that you hope to spot.

Billy’s.

You haven’t seen the guy in question even once since getting here, despite having been in the flat he shares with Steve, Eddie, and Argyle for at least a bit over an hour.

Granted, you didn’t go out of your way to search for him either, but the open living room and kitchen space is not occupied by a whole lot of people, so it’s not like those sandy curls would drown out in the masses.

You start to wonder if he decided to move the party to his bedroom instead.

Maybe with a pretty face or two.

Remembering last night’s events is enough to strengthen your determination to not go looking for him there. You don’t need to see him getting felt up by two pretty ladies or vice versa. Once at the concert yesterday was enough, thank you very much.

Besides, if he’s comfortable enough to behave like that in public places, you don’t really want to know what you might walk into if you step unannounced into his bedroom.

Yikes!

So, instead, you nibble nervously at the straw of your cherry coke that Steve got you mere minutes ago, nodding your head absentmindedly to something Chrissy’s saying while your gaze drifts once more through the space of the apartment, trying to find a certain head of blond curls or alternatively a certain set of blue eyes.

After the events at the café, and Billy’s unprovoked and slightly cryptic comment, you’re still fuming with anger.

An anger that only intensified after he left, and you got the opportunity to think over the things he said - some passive aggressive jab about not following through on one’s words.

And the silent accusation that slipped through with it, almost unceremoniously thrown your way, was enough to make you see red.

He’s not in a position to be angry with you, at least not as far as you’re concerned.

At this point you don’t even care about setting things straight - Jonathan’s previous idea about some possible misunderstanding now completely forgotten. No, right now you just want to confront Billy and give him a pretty piece of your mind for a change too.

After the hurt he’s put you through, it’s certainly a bold move to point his fingers dripping with accusations in your direction, implying something you’re not even sure you understand.

Either way, it’s a shitty move, and it’s not one you’re particularly impressed with.

Still, Billy’s nowhere to be found, and while you feel guilty about the fact that your mind is currently occupied with this, rather than the celebrational sentiment that has taken over your friends, you can’t quite help it - not when the resentment of your childhood days keeps bubbling up, almost cooking over with no means to turn off that stove.

You’re angry, and Billy’s offhanded comment was the small spark you needed to really get fired up. It’s now an almost furious burning flame flickering somewhere hidden in your chest, growing bigger with each passing minute, as your mind keeps adding things you would want to say to Billy if he ever does shows up.

With a mind that preoccupied, it’s difficult to pay attention to anything else, and even though you try your best as you listen to Eddie’s and Steve’s excited ramblings, it’s hardly working. Not when the blaring absence of one guy in particular is taking over the better half of you mind and all of your thoughts.

Your inner turmoil, however, is not something any of your friends seem to notice, nor do you want them to, but when Steve starts talking lightheartedly about a funny thing Billy did earlier, you feel yourself get rather agitated.

You take this as your cue to step outside for a bit, hoping to find some comfort on the deserted balcony instead.

The fresh air that immediately greets you as you close the door behind you has a cooling effect on both your body and your mind, and you feel yourself relax slightly, as you focus solely on your breathing whilst gazing out into the night.

You’re not sure how long you stand there after walking towards the edge of the balcony, hands resting against the railing as you take in the dark shapes of the trees and bushes of the garden below.

The only indicator of time passing, and drifting by, are the subdued melodies of the music that slip through the closed balcony door and into the surrounding late summer night.

It’s a chaotic mix of songs, representative of the group of friends you call your own, and so it’s no surprise that Echo and the Bunnymen is followed by Wham! which in turn is followed by Judas Priest and so on.

Currently there’s Prince being played if you’re not mistaken, but the tune is getting regularly interrupted by the earnest and bright laughter of your friends, making it harder to identify the song that’s being played in the background.

For a moment, you lose yourself in the feeling of knowing you’re finally back home, finally back where you belong.

The realization of how much you truly missed even the smallest things, like the quiet, cannabis-induced giggles of Jonathan and Argyle hits a nerve deep inside of you, and it resonates all through the night as you look up into the starry sky, trying to find a familiar constellation.

You stay like that for another heartbeat or two, so deeply lost in your thoughts that you don’t even hear or notice the balcony door open and closing again.

“So, this is where you’re hiding.” A deep and raspy voice suddenly calls out to you.

Billy.

You hate how the mere sound of his voice has shivers running down your spine. And despite the fact that you’ve been looking for him all evening, anticipating the inevitable confrontation that’s due like heavy rain after the continuous storm brewing deep inside of you, you silently curse his sudden appearance.

This is not how you imagined this confrontation to go; not with him finding you and riling you up. It should be the other way around if anything.

“I’m not hiding.” You state, without a single glance back at the man behind you.

You don’t care.

At least that’s what you keep telling yourself, but your heart hasn’t gotten the memo yet, apparently.

You’ll just send it through once more, like those stupid little letters of yours, again, and again, and again; just because Billy never responded doesn’t mean your heart won’t at some point.

Hah! That memory certainly helps, as the anger inside you grips you tighter and you in return tighten your grip on the balcony banister, steading yourself and your thoughts.

You’re in for a surprise, asshole, you think.

“Huh, you’re not hiding? Sure looks like it, though.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you mumble, “besides, what are you doing out here then?”

“Well, you see, I have this controversial little habit called smoking, which gives me the excuse to step out here and hide, without making it as blatantly obvious as you do.”

Billy’s voice is only accompanied by the sound of his zippo and slightly muffled by a cigarette tugged between his lips.

Ignore him, you think.

He’s just trying to push your buttons, like he apparently does with everyone else.

But you’re not in the mood.

And you doubt you ever will be.

Besides, what would Billy Hargrove possibly need to hide from these days?

“Don’t you have people to entertain?”

Or groupies to fuck, you think.

Though, you know that’s quite uncalled for. He’s allowed to do whatever he wants, and who he sleeps with is entirely none of your business. You know you’re in no position to judge or hold grudges.

Still, there’s something unnamed that feels slightly sickly at the memories from last night, and you lightly shake your head to rid yourself of those pictures before continuing to ignore Billy’s presence a little longer.

There’s a silence taking hold of the night. Or as much of a silence as there can be with a party in full swing only a few feet away.

You can still hear the faint traces of music, but unlike before it is now also accompanied by the quick beating of your heart ringing in your ears.

This is the moment you’ve been waiting for; the moment you’ve been thinking of all night, the moment you can finally give Billy a piece of your mind.

But now that you have it, now that the moment has found itself within your reach, almost securely held in your grasp, there’s a sudden and unexpected apprehension taking over your body.

It’s almost like Billy’s mere presence has shifted something inside of you. Something that swallows a good portion of your anger, until there’s mostly nervousness left.

Luckily you’re not the only one seemingly unsure of what to do, as Billy keeps shuffling his feet uncomfortably, but other than that doesn’t move or say anything, doesn’t join you at the edge of the balcony where you’re still standing, your back turned against him, trying to feign disinterest.

There’s the deafening silence once more, or maybe it never really left, and it’s threatening to swallow you whole.

With another deep breath you try to steady yourself, about to say all the things you’ve been thinking about.

The things that have been swirling around in your mind all night, the things you’ve laid out neatly like tomorrows outfit on the tip of your tongue, the things you wanted to know since you were a child, the things you thought about all throughout your teenage years, the things that haunt you even now, but Billy beats you to it.

“Why?” he suddenly asks, and you can’t help but furrow your brows.

What?

“Why didn’t you write me a single letter?” His words hover in the air like some kind of U.F.O and their meaning feels almost just as alien.

To say you’re stumped and confused would be an understatement. For a brief moment you’re seriously considering if you’ve been talking out loud, but the voice speaking was unmistakably Billy’s.

You try hard to make sense of his words, but no matter how you twist and turn them, you can’t really wrap your mind around what he’s saying either way.

Billy huffs at your continuous silence, yet it’s not a mocking one, but one with a deep, underlying ocean of hurt that shines through clearly. He stays quiet for a beat longer before he whispers,

“I just don’t understand why…”

There’s an emotionality in Billy’s voice that has something inside of you perk up immediately. Something that longs to comfort him, like you did years and years ago when you were still kids. It’s surreal that even after all this time, that part within you still exists, and you grip the edge of the balcony tighter again, trying to keep yourself from reaching out towards him.

But it’s no use, you’ll have to turn around eventually, and no steading grip on the cold metal of the balcony could have prepared you for the look of betrayal swimming in Billy’s eyes that hauntingly greets you once you do turn around.

“What do you mean?” You state, eyebrows still drawn together, clueless and confused, but the previous anger is back in your chest at the implication that you didn’t keep up your end of the bargain, of the promise, you two shared such a long time ago.

You did all of the things that you talked about back then, all the things you promised each other, yet here’s Billy telling you that you didn’t.

Who does this guy even think he is? Playing the victim as if he wasn’t the culprit, as if he didn’t break your heart into a million little pieces.

Pieces that still cut deeply and sharply, leaving you scarred, and scared, and overthinking for years, what you could have possibly done so utterly wrong as to deserve the silent treatment from the guy you always considered your bestest friend.

The guy you held the most dear to your heart.

The guy who meant more than the world itself to you for the longest time.

“What do you mean I didn’t write you any letters? I wrote you so many fucking letters for months!”

Years even, you think, but you don’t want to get into that now. Instead, it’s time for you to air some of your grievances too.

“You were the one who never answered even once! You were the one who wouldn’t return a single phone call, or good forbid send me a single letter back! You were the one who broke our fucking promise! Not me! And now you have the fucking audacity to accuse me of breaking promises you never kept. That’s a bold move even from you, William!”

With the way his name drips from your lips in pure venom and distaste you might as well have called him every ugly name under the sun, and it would still have hurt less. Billy actually takes a few stumbling steps back, like he’s been shot, his blue eyes wide and full of confusion.

“What?” He whispers, “what are you talking about?”

There’s a heartbeat of silence as the two of you try to make sense of the other. Of the words spoken, and unspoken, and all the little things in between.

“I’ve never gotten a single letter.” Billy’s voice is so quiet and utterly confused, that you’d almost believe him.

Almost.

“Yeah, well, I’ve never gotten any letter either, and I swear I’ve actually send mine, so, since I know I’m not lying…”

You don’t need to finish your sentence, the accusation swimming between the lines is clear.

There a mix of deep hurt and coldness settling in Billy’s eyes as he regards you with a furious stare.

“You think I’m lying?”

For the first time tonight, he starts to raise his voice, and instinctively you take a step back, the cold metal of the balcony suddenly pressing hard against your spine.

“You think I’m fucking making this up? I’ve send you so many letters for so long! Way to fucking long! And to think that I even spend most of my goddamn pocket money on those fucking stamps, and for what? For you to act all clueless, pretending you didn’t get any letters and instead accuse me of lying? I didn’t break a single promise, you did! You never send me anything back! If you didn’t want any contact with me after you left you could have just said so, instead I waited months – months, for any word, any letter, anything from you!”

There’s a light sheen of unshed tears shimmering in Billy’s eyes, magnified only by the moonlight, before he whispers, voice defeated and quiet again:

“You abandoned me.”

A broken heartbeat of silence with the weight of the world hangs between you two before he continues,

“You abandoned me just like my mom did, even though you promised me you never would.”

Being shot straight through the heart, and then some, would probably hurt less than those few words tumbling out of Billy’s mouth, and for the first time tonight, your childhood best friend’s words truly settle in your mind as you actually consider the option of him telling the truth.

The truth of how he’s never gotten any of your letters.

But if he’s never gotten any letters, and you’ve never gotten any letters, yet you’re both adamant about having send them for months and months, what the hell went wrong along the way?

“Billy,” you mumble, voice suddenly thick with emotions as the realization that you both must have been slave to the wrong narrative this whole time takes root in your heart.

“Billy, I’ve never abandoned you. I promised you then that I would never ever dream of doing that, and I still stand by that now. I swear that I wrote you so many letters for such a long, long time.”

Neither of you say anything for another moment or two, until suddenly there a horrible realization falling into place in your mind, and the feeling that comes with it is of such a deep, sickening kind, that you almost feel like throwing up.

“Billy,” your childhood best friend’s name falls from your lips in a quiet whisper, yet the alarm peeking through in your voice, woven into the two syllables is hard to miss.

“Billy, where did you send your letters to?”

The man in question looks at you dumbfounded, like you’ve just asked him if he spells his name with a P instead of a B.

“What do you mean, where did I send my letters to? I’ve send them to the address you gave me.”

“Which address?” You press, and Billy lets out a sigh full of annoyance and irritation.

“The address of your home in Indianapolis, of course. Which other fucking address would I send it to, huh?”

“Oh god,” you mumble, as the first puzzle piece of what must have happened gets officially verified for you.

“What?” Billy asks, “what other address is there? Why would you ask me something like this- where else would I-“

“And you’ve never gotten a single letter from me, not even once?” You inquire again, just to make sure.

“Not a single fucking one. Why-“

“Billy-”

You can’t help the way your body decides to step closer to the boy you once cared so deeply about. Your hand reaching out tentatively as your fingertips gently brush against his.

“Billy, we never moved into that place in Indianapolis. We spend like two nights there before my mom got the call to move to Hawkins instead. After that we packed all of our stuff and drove there immediately. I told you all about that in my first few letters. The new address, the new landline number, everything.

I never even considered the option that you might have not gotten any of those letters, I really thought you knew. But if you didn’t, and instead just kept sending all your letters to the address in Indianapolis, it would explain why I never got any of them ever.”

“You’re kidding,” Billy whispers, but the look in your eyes tells him you really aren’t.

Not even in the slightest.

“So, all the letters I’ve written never reached you because I had the fucking wrong address?”

Billy’s voice sounds almost breathless, like the mere realization has knocked all air from his lungs with a heavy punch.

“But if you didn’t live there wouldn’t these letters just get send back to me with some notice? I don’t think I’ve ever gotten any of my own letters delivered back to me.”

Billy is now talking more to himself than to you, yet his eyes reflect the question as his gaze finds yours again.

“And why wouldn’t I get any of your letters? I mean, you knew my address, and that one didn’t change until many months later-“

“Besides,” you quickly add, “you never did return my phone calls either.”

This time the words don’t leave your mouth in the hue of an accusation but as a simple statement.

“Right, why wouldn’t-“ Billy starts but he suddenly stops and for a second there’s flash of recognition crossing his face, eyes widening as he remembers something, before going incredibly pale.

“Oh no,” he whispers, “but he wouldn’t go that far, would he?”

And it takes you a few seconds longer before the penny finally drops for you too, and it’s the look in Billy’s eyes that mostly gives it away – a look that you’ve only witnessed when he’s talking about-

“Neil.” You whisper, and as Billy’s gaze darts back to you, you can see his answer reflected in them clear as day.

He’s thinking the same thing.

“He never really liked you,” Billy mumbles, and you huff.

“I think that feeling was more than a little mutual.”

There’s the hint of a smile playing on Billy’s lips, but it’s gone again as quickly as it came.

“He always thought you were a bad influence on me, with your dolls, and your shell necklaces, and Mr. Sniffles.”

“Oh my god, Mr. Sniffles!” you exclaim at the memory of your favorite stuffed animal.

The one Billy got you for your fourth birthday - a small rabbit with floppy ears and the softest fur, who shared your bed all throughout elementary and middle school, and secretly throughout high school as well.

Rumor has it actually, that that little bunny inhabits your bedroom even now, albeit on a shelf.

“God! Me, and Mr. Sniffles were the worst influence back then. We, with our dubious shell-necklace business; the true horrors of the whole entire west coast.” you joke lightly and Billy snorts, eyes twinkling with amusement before turning serious again.

“He always said you’d turn me weak and into a girl; that I probably was such a pathetic pussy at least partly because of you.”

“I know,” you state, shrugging your shoulders, trying to fight your heavy heart, “I still remember his tantrum when you came home wearing that flower necklace I made you. He wouldn’t let either of us eat any dinner that night and immediately called my mom to pick me up instead.”

“Right, or the day I got home from your sleepover, and you had painted my nails a vibrant pink.”

Oh god, you remember that day even more vividly. It had been a few days after your sixth birthday.

One of your aunts had gifted you a little make-up set which included three different nail polishes: A vibrant pink, a dark purple, and a green that looked almost toxic.

You had always loved the color pink, and so, naturally, you decided to make immediate use of that nail polish.

When Billy had come over for a sleepover a few days later, he’d been silently eyeing the three bottles all throughout the day, until finally, he timidly asked you if you could paint his nails too.

And you were more than happy to, even though your mom had to help a little, since your motoric skills weren’t particularly your strong suit yet – the vibrant mess of pink stuck all over your little fingers being the best evidence for that.

But your mom was a great teacher, guiding your hand, and even letting Billy try doing it himself for a bit, after he had decided to go with the color pink as well, so you and him could match the way real best friends were supposed to.

That night, you and Billy spend a lot of time whispering excitedly about all the possibilities of sharing nail colors with one another.

Maybe you two could try violet next, or maybe the green, or surely there must be a blue the color of the ocean out there trapped in a glass bottle just like yours, Billy wondered, and wouldn’t it be great to carry the color of the place he called home the most on the very tips of his fingers?

The possibilities seemed endless and the two of you continued to scheme little plans and nail color dreams all throughout the night until both of your eyes grew too heavy with sleep and exhaustion.

But there was a nightmare right around the corner the next day when Billy had to go home, and Neil somehow had a completely different opinion on those brightly colored nails of Billy’s, that the boy previously had been so utterly proud of.

When you saw Billy the next day after that, there was a big bruise on his face, and his fingers were still red, almost bloody even, from having been scrubbed so hard until there were no traces left of the pink nail polish you two had shared earlier.

Billy didn’t have to tell you what happened, the teary-eyed look he gave you was enough for you to get the picture, even though you couldn’t understand what Neil could possibly dislike about such a nice shade of pink on the tips of someone’s fingers.

And Billy wasn’t allowed to visit you after that for at least a month, and future sleepovers were completely out of the window.

You had tried to comfort Billy that day, even though you didn’t understand the reasoning behind his father’s violent explosion. Still, you had scrubbed off your nail polish too, as soon as you got home, a deep shame settling in your stomach mixed with a lot of guilt at the memory of Billy’s tender and raw fingers.

It was your nail polish that had gotten him into trouble.

Your favorite color of pink that had earned Billy a violet bruise on his freckled face.

That incident with Billy left a deep impression on you even as a kid, and for the longest time you festered and grew a deep distain for any nail polish, leaving you to avoid them altogether.

This rather sudden change was something your mom witnessed with much confusion and slight concern, and it wasn’t until many, many moons later at the end of middle school, when you and Chrissy had one of your sleepovers, that you finally decided to give some rosy nail polish another try, after much determined persuasion.

But even now, the memory of Billy and his bruised fingers lingers in your mind with a vividness as if it happened yesterday, and the mere memory has you feeling chocked up again too.

But with it also, as always, bubbles up a deep, deep hatred for his dad.

A man, that as far as you could remember had always been displeased with his son. You never understood why Billy’s father would always have such a furious rage at anything Billy would do or say, or not do and not say.

It seemed like no matter what Billy did, he never did it the right way – at least in the angry eyes of his dad he didn’t.

You never liked his father; something that started out with just a simple uneasiness that you couldn’t quite place, but that quickly grew bigger and bigger into something stronger, as you started to learn about the origins of Billy’s bruises and scabs.

And the older you got, and the more you understood, the more anger would build in the pit of your stomach at the thought of that monster, that Billy had been forced to face all throughout your childhood together.

Especially after Billy’s mom left and your best friend was suddenly exposed to twice as much volatile force, until Susan and little Max came into their lives, but even that never saved Billy from being the scapegoat number one.

And the day you left, you didn’t just cry big tears because you wouldn’t see your Billy again for a long, long time; or because you would miss him dearly, or because no person in the world could surely take over that place in your heart that Billy had occupied ever since you first saw him and his dolphin-decorated lunchbox.

No, you also cried because you were terrified for him.

Terrified, because Billy would now be all alone with the wrath of his father and no one to turn to.

Whose shoulder would he cry into now?

Who would hug him tight and tell him that it’s alright, that he’s loved and strong, and the most special boy in all of California?

Who would reassure him every day that he’s still your bestest friend?

Who would praise his surfing skills now?

Who would tug on his sleeve lightly whenever he’s running off to quickly, about to get into trouble again?

Who would keep him safe from now on?

Because in your mind, you were supposed to protect him; despite being smaller and a little younger than Billy, you wanted to keep him right there by your side at all times, forever and always.

And while fighting his dad was hardly an option, at the very least you were able to dry Billy’s tears afterwards. Comfort him with the help of Mr. Sniffles and your crooked, teethy smile.

Even back in kindergarten you would take up that task, pretending to kiss Billy’s tears away with your stuffed animal the way your mother always did when you were in a teary mood.

And naturally you would do the same for Billy, until a soft giggle would bloom up in his chest and bubble out with a timid laugh and for a brief moment both of your hearts felt lighter, and the world didn’t have scary Neil in it; just you and Billy - and maybe Mr. Sniffles.

“You know,” Billy continues quietly, pulling you out of your thoughts, “that day when you left, I wanted to call you immediately, but my father said that I wasn’t allowed to, and that I’d do better not to speak to you ever again. But a few days later, when he went out on some trip, I saw that as my chance to try and hear your voice again, and tell you how much-“

Billy’s voice doesn’t just crack at the weight of the memory. It completely breaks, and the shards pierce through your heart ferociously.

Like second nature, instinctively, your hand slips into his, giving it a tight squeeze. Trying to reassure him in some way; the only way you’ve ever known: Soft words and even softer touches – the two things that worked like a soothing balm on Billy’s soul back then, and unbeknownst to you still work even now.

“It’s alright, Billy.” You whisper.

I’m right here. the soft squeeze of your hand says.

And I’m not going anywhere.

Billy takes in a deep breath, before continuing.

“He wasn’t supposed to come home that night, and I thought-“

Another timid voice break.

Another squeeze of your hand.

Another silent whisper full of reassurance.

“I thought I could finally be reunited with you again, even if it was just your voice. I was so scared that you might have forgotten me already. That maybe you had made better friends in the few days that had passed, and I just wanted to hear you same my name again once more, just once.”

You don’t notice the tears running down your cheeks until a big sniffle startles you, and it takes you a second to realize that you're the culprit.

“The phone had already been ringing for a while when he suddenly came back. He must have forgotten his hat, or his jacket, or something, and I had been so giddy at the prospect of hearing your voice again, that I didn’t notice it until it was too late, and-“

You feel Billy’s fingers tremble in your hand, as the unmistakably horrifying memories of the things that transpired that very day must be coming rushing back.

“He caught me with the phone still in my hand, and he was so, so angry. I remember him tearing the whole phone from the wall in his rage and I-“

Billy doesn’t want to rehash all the details of that night, nor do you expect him to, and while your hand squeezes his once more, the urge to really hug close him gets incredibly strong, almost unbearably so. The squeeze of your hand simply isn’t enough anymore, but for now you can hold yourself off, stifle and suffocate the growing need to hold him tight, as Billy continues his story.

“The phone was broken for weeks after that because my dad thought that it would serve as a great additionalpunishment for my ‘crimes’. Besides, this way he could really make sure that I won’t disobey his orders again. And it wasn’t until almost a month later that he got that fucking phone fixed, after Susan brought it up enough times.”

You’re stumped at that story, your heart tightening and breaking at the image of Billy trying to call you, only to be surprised by a monster of a father.

And to think you had been angry at him for so long, always assuming that Billy purposefully didn’t return your phone calls, just to now find out that he didn’t even have a phone to call for a few weeks, just because he had wanted to call you first instead.

“Oh, Billy,” you whisper while stepping even closer to him.

There are no words deep enough to express the profound sorrow you feel at the recount of his story.

No words that could mirror the way your heart is giving out at the things he must have gone through.

All these bruises that no one would kiss better.

All these tears that no one would wipe away with the softest of touches.

All his suffering experienced completely on his own, with no means to share it with anyone else.

No means to be seen with all this hurt.

No one to ease at least some of his pains and reassure him that this is not his fault. Never his fault.

“Billy, I was so angry for so long, thinking you didn’t want me as your friend anymore, but in reality none of it was true, was it? I’m sorry I ever doubted your promises, and I’m sorry I accused you of lying I really thought-“

“It’s quite alright.” Billy mumbles, eyes darting across the tiles of the balcony.

“I thought the same thing; convinced myself that maybe you didn’t want me as a friend anymore. You always had to look after me then, I wouldn’t have blamed you if you were relieved to give that up and find new friends who were less troubled.”

“Oh, Billy, no! There’s no way of replacing you! There never was, and there never will be. And looking after you was never a chore, never a burden; not even in a bajillion years! I just wish I could have done more back then. I wish I would have found a way to take you with me and away from your dad forever.”

For a moment both you and Billy lose yourselves in the idea of what could have been, if you had succeeded in smuggling Billy with you, via your pink suitcase maybe.

Would his path been the same, Billy wonders. Or would he be a completely different guy now? A guy who was free to wear nail polish and flower necklaces, and just be himself from a young age, instead of being molded into something that feels so much like his father to him now.

Would he be less angry, less reactionary, less hungry for love, maybe?

He feels like a monster so many times.

A monster that swallows everything in his path, all the crumbs he can get, and it’s still never enough.

Never enough love, or reassurance, or all the other things he craves but doesn’t even dare to put into words, scared of the power they might hold if he admitted them out loud.

But with you it’s slightly different, because you already speak the same secret language, and it’s easy to fall back into it; let you see things no one else gets to see. Shares things no one else gets to witness.

You’ve always held him so close, that he still dreams vividly of it even these days, so many years later.

But right now, in this very moment, as he’s faced with you, so up close and near, the urge to be held again might have never been stronger.

Silence takes shape between you two for a heartbeat longer until you muster to ask the question that’s been sitting impatiently on top of your tongue for a while now.

“Did the situation with your dad ever get any better o-over time, I mean?”

You had always hoped it did, but the brief flash of pain that crosses Billy’s face tells you otherwise before he softly shakes his head.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper, throat constricting, as you have to face the truth of your worst nightmares.

And the idea of Billy having to face that kind of monster at home all throughout these years makes you want to rip your own heart out and swallow it whole.

It would hurt less that way, you think.

You can’t hold the urge to reach out and hug Billy close at bay anymore, and in the flash of a second, your arms wrap around Billy’s waist while your face collides with his chest.

The motion takes Billy by surprise, but only for a stumbling heartbeat or two, until he wraps his arms around you securely as well, and for a moment the world feels like it stopped spinning completely.

“Billy I missed you so much,” you admit in a whisper, and Billy, who’s been fighting a battle against his tears for the better part of the evening, ever since confronting you, finds himself conceding as the first few big tears begin to slip out.

“I missed you too.” His voice is soft yet hoarse, emotions thick in every syllable and motion.

You lift your head up for a moment, gazing at Billy who finds himself gazing back at you too.

There are tears running down both of your cheeks now, relief in your eyes mirroring the other, and a sobbed laugh bubbles up in the two of you as the realization of having your bestest friend back in your arms, takes hold on both of your hearts.

Instinctively, one of your hands comes up to wipe away some of the tears running down Billy’s cheek with the uttermost softest touch, and Billy’s eyes flutter shut at the tender motion, something he hasn’t felt in such a long time, but longed for, for so many nights.

After a while of stroking his cheek, your thumb tracing the countless freckles you dreamed so much about, you pull your best friend closer, nuzzling your face in the nape of his neck.

He smells of smoke, his leather jacket, and some expensive cologne, but underneath it all, he also smells of the Billy you remember, and faintly like that one laundry detergent his mom used to use.

You breath him in, and you know he’s doing the same, when you feel hot tears on the bare skin of your shoulder where Billy’s hiding away too.

“I always thought you were angry with me.” Billy whispers, and you can’t help but let out a disbelieving laugh.

“And I always thought that you were angry with me!” You retort, and this time Billy huffs.

“How could I,” he murmurs earnestly, “You were always an angel.”

A guardian angel, Billy thinks, and he hates that he burdened you with such a heavy task from such a young age. But maybe now he can finally make it up to you.

It might take him a lifetime, but at the very least he has to try.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles because that’s a start, right?

“I’m sorry.” He repeats.

For everything, he thinks.

“It’s alright,” you reassure, thinking he’s talking about the bitter words he spat your way hours earlier.

“It was all a misunderstanding, Billy. We were both under the wrong impressions.”

“No, I mean-“

Billy doesn’t know how to say this. How to capture all the things he feels and voice them out loud.

Maybe you forgot how much of a burden he truly was back then. And maybe his admissions will only make you remember more and resent him even stronger.

Feeling that there’s something off, you move your head out of the nape of Billy’s neck, trying to face him while your hands come up to cup his cheeks gently.

“There’s nothing else to apologize for. Nothing else that you need to say sorry for, or feel sorry for, Billy.”

The sincerity in your voice is only amplified by the sincerity in your eyes as you try to really get the message across.

“But I-“ Billy tries once more, “wasn’t I an ugly stain on your childhood? Caring for me, reassuring me, worrying for me…”

What have I done for you, other than cursing you with a heavy duty no child should carry, he thinks.

Billy’s eyes look almost mournful as they regard you, tears once more brimming at the border of two oceans that always held your world.

“Oh, Billy,” you hush, “I meant it when I said that caring for you was never a burden! And you were always the brightest star in my life, not some ugly stain.

Besides, let’s not pretend like you didn’t look out for me too! You were the one who taught me how to surf, how to throw punches, how to tie the strongest knots; how to draw waves and seagulls and dolphins. How many times did you have to help me bandage my foot because I carelessly stepped into a broken glass shard at the beach? How many times did you have to tie my shoelaces because I couldn’t get it right?

How many times did I copy your homework? How many times did you have to dry my tears because I couldn’t find one of my stuffies, or a doll, or one of those many lucky shells I kept stuffed in my pockets? How many times did I tumble out of some tree because I wanted to keep up with you, trying to impress you at least a little bit? And how many times did you have to carry me home after those accidents?”

“You mean I had to carry you and Mr. Sniffles.” Billy teases lightly with a teary laugh.

“Right! Exactly! Me and Mr. Sniffles! And how many times did you have to safe and fish either one of us out of the ocean?”

“Fuck, way too many times!” Billy laughs softly at the memory, and so do you.

“God forbid you had to do anything without that rabbit.”

“It’s because you gifted him to me, Billy. I cherished him so much because he reminded me of you. And I’m sorry I couldn’t keep either of you safe at all times.”

“Not your job.” Billy mumbles.

“Not your fault either, Billy.” you retort.

“Caring for you was never a burden; your father was. What he did to you was a burden, and I wasn’t even one that was cursed to carry all of this throughout all of this time; you were.”

“You know,” you add sheepishly, bonking your head against Billy’s chest, “sometimes when you were cuddled up to me during recess with a big new bruise on your face or your body, I would imagine building a human-sized mouse trap, like they’d show in Tom and Jerry, and I thought that we could trap your father that way and get him to finally stop.”

Billy can’t help the small, disbelieving laugh that bubbles out of him, as he gives you a stunned yet slightly amused look at your admission.

“You fantasized about killing my dad?”

“Well, if you put it that way,” you drag out slowly, before stating a wholehearted and quick, “Yes!”

Billy’s eyes widen once more at your words, but it’s not like the thought had never crossed his mind either, minus the human-sized mouse trap, maybe.

“Although to be honest,” you continue, "as a kid I didn’t think that far yet. I thought he would be alright again after a while, just like Tom is in those cartoons, you know. That cat is always okay after getting crushed by tons of stone, or steal, or some cars. But each time he seemed to have learned his lesson for a little bit, and slow down his torment, and that’swhat I always wanted for you; For your father to stop his torments.” You finish in a hushed yet earnest whisper.

This time, it’s Billy who tightens the hold he has on you.

“I wished for that too.” He whispers back.

But more often than not, I wished for you to hold me again, he quietly thinks. For you to brush my tears away with your soft fingers and the ache of my bruises away with your gentle laugh and loving eyes.

Eyes that never saw him as a monster.

Eyes that held nothing but kindness in them, like they do right now as you pear up at him, before quickly nuzzling yourself closer into to Billy again, letting out a small yet satisfied sigh at the familiarity of it all, and the relief that comes with having solved such a big and heavy misunderstanding.

A misunderstanding that’s been plaguing both of your minds ever since your move to Indiana.

“We could still build that human-sized mouse trap,” you muse, “after everything your father put you through, in addition to the way he interfered in our letter exchange, and considering all that misery that followed, I think he kind of deserves it.”

“Don’t temp me,” Billy huffs, as the grip he has on you tightens again. “I don’t even know what I’ll do next time I see him. Knowing now what he must have been doing all this time back then, keeping those letters; hiding them or throwing them away I-“

Billy feels the rage spread through him like a wildfire. All of this could have been avoided, if it wasn’t for his dad, he thinks.

But instead of letting the rage consume him he takes a steading breath, the way that Eddie taught him to before stating,

“All this hurt my father caused us both could have been prevented, but instead of spending years confining in you, I spend them resenting you instead, and you did the same in return. We would still be in this loop if we didn’t-“

“If we didn’t both hide on a balcony, you mean?” You question with a gentle laugh and Billy nods his head, a soft smile spreading over his face as he watches the way your eyes crinkle slightly.

“Thank fuck for my smoking habit, I guess.” He mumbles, and you playfully poke his side with a scoff.

Just like old times your eyes twinkle with mischief and affection.

It’s like the bond between you two was never really broken, only frozen in ice and time, and cursed by a big, big misunderstanding.

But all of it has lost its power now, as you’re both entangled in one another, soaking up the moment and letting it heal all the little and big cracks in your hearts.

Letting it wash away all of your past doubts, and insecurities, that festered through the years, raised by that grievous misunderstanding that planted ugly spores in both of your hearts, which in turn bloomed into thorny briars, stingy to the touch.

Or the thought.

Or the mere memory of your best friend.

But all of this lays behind you now.

Because you have your best friend back.

Your first best friend; your childhood best friend. The one you always mourned a little, or a lot.

“My Billy,” you mumble, relief etched into every syllable, and Billy thinks his heart might stop altogether at the sound.

Might tumble out of his chest and into the night sky.

Might swell up so big and strong it could swallow the whole solar system like the sun might in a few billion years.

He’s home, he thinks, and for the first time in forever; the first time since he’s been apart from you at least, there’s a restlessness that falls from his shoulders with a silent thud that has the earth tumble under his feet.

You’re the most home he’s ever felt, ever experienced, and you’re right here in his arms.

And it’s the same for you, as you feel like hugging the whole world, and in the eyes of your seven-year-old self you’re doing just that, as you wrap your arms tighter around Billy.

You finally have your childhood best friend back.

Your Billy, and there are so many things to catch up on.

“You know,” you sniffle, because of course you’re both crying again; two sensitive souls reunited with one another. And Billy hums a deep hum to indicate he’s listening, not really trusting his voice right now because that bitch is like Bambi, wobbling helplessly on ice, threatening to crack or break at any point.

“Even when I was angry at you Billy, it never reached or overgrew the longing that I felt for you during all my years of living in Hawkins. You were never gone from my memory; Never gone from my heart. I even kept Mr. Sniffles and-“

At those words you feel Billy shift slightly, as he fumbles and tugs up one of his sleeves, before holding his arm out to you.

It takes you only two heartbeats, maybe three, to identify the small shell necklace you had made him all those many years ago, wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet instead.

It’s been re-tied a couple of times, and there’s a small part missing that must have been ripped off at some point. But upon closer inspection, there’s still that special shell engraved with your initials, a crooked heart, and the childish promise of BF!

Bestest friend!

Obviously.

“You kept it,” you whisper, as your fingers trace the rougher side of the shell carefully.

“I kept you in my heart too, you know.” Billy mumbles, voice teary, before engulfing you in a big hug again.

Please don’t let this be a dream, the both of you think, as you cuddle closer to the other.

“And to think you were so close, all along,” Billy mutters, “when we moved to Hawkins a few years ago, I could have seen you back then if it wasn’t for-“

“Shh,” you soothe, although that realization hangs heavy over your heart too.

And how did you never consider that Neil would prove himself to be the worst dad ever once again, and collect all of the letters you send Billy instead?

“You have me back now, Billy,” you whisper, “doesn’t that count the most?”

It sure does, Billy thinks.

And there’s nothing that counts more.

You’re both so wrapped up in one another, that neither of you notices the balcony door opening, as Steve tries to step out into the night for a smoke too.

But he looks like a dear caught in the headlights when he spots you and Billy, intertwined in the middle of the balcony; and although he’s more than a little confused by the sight in front of him, there’s also such a deep vulnerability in that moment you two seem to share that he doesn’t have the heart, nor the guts, to disturb you two.

He almost thinks that catching you two in a compromising position in Billy’s bed would have been less haunting, less intimate, as opposed to whatever you two have going on right now.

Without either of your notice, he ducks back into the apartment, closing the door softly, trying to figure out what’s going on.

Didn’t you two share some tensions earlier?

Didn’t he overhear Chrissy say something about holding grudges?

Broken promises, anyone?

Steve tries to shrug the odd feeling that’s setting in his stomach off, but he can’t quite shake it.

Not only does he feel like he just witnessed something he wasn’t supposed to see, but there’s also something else that has him in a tight grip.

He’s only ever seen you in such a hearty embrace with Eddie, he thinks, and Billy, well, Billy, he can’t say he’s ever seen him look as vulnerable or as soft as he did now.

Or at peace if he’s honest.

And were those tears streaming down that volatiles boy’s cheeks?

Thinking back, the two of you seemed to share a familiarity that Steve’s never witnessed before, not even between you and Eddie, if he’s honest.

What the hell is going on, Steve thinks, as he makes his way back into the kitchen, because if he can’t have another smoke, he at least wants another beer.

What the hell is going on, he thinks once more, as he watches the rest of his friends clown around on the couch, yet there’s a deep, unsettling feeling, that something about that current image is slightly off, slightly wrong.

It’s only when Steve’s past one third of his beer, that the oddity finally hits him.

It’s Eddie, he thinks.

Well, less Eddie, and more that one thing missing next to Eddie. That one person, who’s normally sitting on or near his lap, clinging to him tightly.

You’re missing, but instead of being curled up and tugged away somewhere in the dark, curly-haired boy’s side, you’re out on the balcony in someone else’s embrace. And there’s something about this situation that doesn’t sit right with Steve.

He feels like he's got a glimpse of a storm brewing somewhere far, far away on the horizon, and it’s only a matter of time until the lightning and the thunder is going to reach you all.

And Steve really doesn’t want to get caught by the squall line when that happens.

No, he thinks with a shudder, he doesn’t like that idea at all.

Maybe he’s wrong though, maybe the weather can still turn.

Maybe his prediction is way off.

Maybe there’s no disaster coming after all.

But if that’s the case, why does he feel like he can hear the warning sirens already blaring, loud, and clear, and hauntingly.

Steve downs the rest of his beer quickly, before getting another one.

Please let this be a false alarm, he thinks.

Please let the clouds he feels rumbling in the distance pass away peacefully.

And with the third beer, Steve is almost ready to believe it.

Almost.

#billy hargrove x reader #eddie munson x reader #billy hargrove x you #eddie munson x you #billy hargrove fluff #eddie munson fluff #billy hargrove fanfiction #eddie munson fanfiction #billy hargrove #eddie munson #billy hargrove imagine #eddie munson imagine

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provisionalsparkle · 4 years ago

Text

The Boy Next Door

Reader x Bang Chan (Stray Kids)

[Genre] exes-to-lovers au, smut, angst.

[Word count] 6.7K

[Warnings] Smut. Angst. Unprotected sex, voyeurism, ample description of bodily fluids.

[Note] This is my contribution to @feliix ’s Summer 2 Lovers collab! Check it out!

Summer.

The season of fun and sun, careless joy, long days and warm nights…

For most people.

For you, this summer is about change. It’s about the little town you used to live in, the quaint house you grew up in, the smell of your mother’s cooking or the breeze from the yard, the sound of younger kids playing in the street. It’s about the big city you will go to live in, it’s purple and orange twilight skies, black silhouettes reaching toward the skies beginning to twinkle with golden lights, the noises of the traffic coming from evening bustle, the scent of the delis and restaurants that line the streets.

You were stuck between these two places, university having been a four year long limbo of boundless sex mislabeled as self-discovery, and now visit your home one last time, reminding yourself of the life you had there before moving on to another.

You think of the past with nostalgia, yet also with a restlessness that makes you want to run from everything. The stillness, the silence, the unchanging landscape in this little town is too unbearable, too unsettling. But it’s familiar, and it’s comfortable. The life you’ll soon live promises excitement, autonomy, it’s the adulthood you’ve fantasized about. It terrifies you too, and you have these horrible dreams about missing the payment of the most insignificant bill and having the entire world collapse on you because of it. You still don’t know how to do your taxes.

College is over, a new life awaits you in a big city after landing a rather ideal job, but it felt like you were leaving things behind. Funny how, after so many years of fantasizing about this grown-up life you suddenly felt like a lost child, scared to forgo the familiar.

It’s these sort of almost-quarter-life-crisis thoughts that fill your mind on a particularly warm afternoon. You’re indecently splayed out on a couch with as little clothing as possible, the door to the backyard is wide open, letting an occasional breeze waft in to disrupt the stifling stillness of the heat. The lights are off, and you were too unbothered to turn them on as the sun set, preferring to stare at a darkening ceiling as the evening sky turned purple.

There’s a familiar jingle of keys from the front door.

“Honey? You home?”

“I’m here, Mom.” You lazily answer back. She wanders from the hall to the living room, you can feel the judgemental look she gives you.

“Have you been laying like this all day?”, indignation lines her voice. Was it so surprising to find you like this?

“Yeah…”

“You can’t just lay here all day. Go out! Get some sun! Go play with those kids you used to hang out with from school!”

“I can’t Ma, I’d rather just plank here.”

“Oh goodness, Y/n. Give me one good reason you shouldn’t go hang out with them!”

“I’ll give you two: either they grew up to be total bitches or they had kids and became a bore.”

“I didn’t become a bore when I had you!” She exclaims, although it’s not too serious and some playfulness hides beneath the surface.

“Yeah, that’s because you’re a cool mom. They don’t make those anymore.”

“Hmm… well, I think you should make a bit of an effort.”

“Mom… it’s my last vacation you know -”

“You know what?!” She suddenly exclaims, her voice brightening like a lightbulb just radiated in her thoughts. “Mrs. Carson’s son is here with her for the summer too! I bet you haven’t seen him in ages, and he’s gotten so handsome.”

“Mrs. Carson?” You didn’t have any clue who that was.

“Well… you might remember her as Mrs. Bang, but Jane changed her name when she married Norbert a few years ago. She still lives next door and Christopher’s in town spending the summer with his mother.”

Bang…

Christopher…

You hadn’t heard that name in years. It surprised you a bit actually, and a hint of a smile came to your lips.

“Yeah, yeah, Mom… I’ll think about it.”

You wouldn’t admit… something did grab your attention. A curiosity of sorts.

You were fifteen years old when you had your first kiss. He was a short boy with a kind smile, a bit awkward really, but you had a fondness for him. It wasn’t about looks at all, all boys at that age were hideous and nothing would change your opinion on that, but you’d swoon whenever you saw him. It was mutual, an icky teenage infatuation that had your friends poking fun at both of you whenever you’d become giddy at the sight of one another. Hot faces, nervous glances, trembling innocent touches.

He sat next to you in chemistry and you’d hold hands under the lab table while the teacher gave class. His left hand always felt soft in your right one. Cute. It’s a bit silly but you’re glad you had that sort of adorable and silly romance. While it lasted, that is.

Christopher wasn’t a bad guy. He was stupid, like all boys that age.

When you saw him kissing another girl, of course you cried, but you knew it had to do with him being stupid more than anything. This simple looking girl that you had been friends with in elementary school, you can’t even remember her name.

You know why he did it, beyond his stupidity. Your mom had let it slip long before - you knew it was coming.

“Honey, would you believe? Mr. and Mrs. Bang are divorcing!” Probably just some hot gossip from one of her PTA yoga groups, no ill intention on your behalf. She didn’t know you were seeing Christopher - over your dead body. You were fifteen and a horrible student, you didn’t need to give your mother yet another element to ground you with.

“Oh no…” You acted as normally as you could, your first thoughts went out to Christopher first though. “Do you know why?”

“Well… I’m obviously not going to ask, duh! But I do know that Mr. Bang is taking the kid with him abroad.” What?! What did she just say? Chis is WHAT?!

“I - uh, what?” Act normal, act normal, act normal.

“Aww… sweetie, was he your friend?” Goodness, parents can be so oblivious, but it’s beneficial in this case. She doesn’t pick up on the depression of your mood.

“I guess.” A sniffle is about to threaten your composure so, in your teenage arrogance, you leave before your mother can see your teary eyes.

The subsequent days were strange. You expected Christopher to tell you the news, you expected to comfort him, you expected to live out the rest of your young romance as best as you could. And then… you saw him.

And he said nothing. He was cold, pushed you away. He must be going through a lot of pain, you thought. More days went by and he still said nothing, and his demeanor grew worse, no affection, no smiles. He must be having a hard time, you reasoned.

Sometimes you thought he was on the verge of saying something to you, like he was about to say something and the words threatened to come out but he’d suddenly pull away and swallow them. You didn’t question it really, it was so confusing but you just went with it.

You never held his hand in chemistry again.

Time made you realize that Christopher didn’t want to be with you anymore. You weren’t sure if it was because he stopped liking you, and that hurt a little, but you knew what he was going through, and you stood by him in case he ever chose to open up and cry on your shoulder. You’d be there for him.

When he kissed that girl, it didn’t really surprise you. Damn it, what was her name? You cried, you thought it was because you were ugly and your boobs were still pretty small - stupid reasons.

It took a few months for you to understand the real reason.

He left without saying goodbye. You never spoke to him after he kissed what’s-her-name. Maybe he tried to do so a couple of times, but you ran away or didn’t let him. Or maybe you remembered it that way to comfort you, just so you’d live with the thought that he tried to apologize, tired to make things right.

But the fact of the matter is he didn’t speak to you and he didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t want to.

He didn’t want to say goodbye because it hurt.

He was trying to ruin your relationship so you’d break up with him and he wouldn’t have to say goodbye, so that he could kill the feelings you had for him to spare you from the pain of his departure.

Or maybe you were just imagining it like that to make it a cuter memory and think about it fondly.

Maybe in the end, Christopher was just a horny teenage boy that cheated on you. Maybe.

Regardless, you giggle as you think back on the silliness of it all, and how serious and life altering it all felt in your childishness. It seemed so long ago, so distant, and you were so changed that it felt like it had all happened to a different person. You wondered about the man next door, and the entirely different boy who had once been next door. What kind of person had Christopher become?

University did you well. It was four solid years of irresponsible drinking and uninhibited sexual exploration paired with relatively easy academics. You don’t know how it happened, but it had been like a transformation from one day to the next.

You, sort of, kind of, absolutely plain and normal girl that no one would notice lest you stepped in their line of sight. One day, there you were - normal.

Two weeks in - boom. Confident. Your roommate was an okayish girl, another plain one. Then you started noticing how comfortable you were undressing in front of her, to change clothes or whatever, as if it was the most normal thing in the world - which it was. Wearing shorts and skirts became less of a worry, just something that felt better. Sometimes you’d be thrown icky glances from some boys, which you hated, but others were acceptably flirty and you loved those. The best ones were the boys that would get shy and who would quickly whip their heads the other way once you caught them staring.

That definitely flipped the switch. It made you feel strong, it made you feel damn good. You, who at the most had dipped a finger into the world of heavy makeouts during high school, now became a seasoned seductress of all kinds of men. So long as you could wrap them around your finger with your demeanor, so long as you could prowl over them and take the lead.

Ah… the good old days.

What was going to happen now, though? Four years later, no slightly inexperienced men left to be wowed. Everyone you knew was turning into a bland and bitter office worker. Was this the end of it?

To think that you’d be ending this glorious chapter of your life in this tiny town, lounging on the same stuffy couch in the same hot living room every day, having your routine philosophical melodrama where you’d stare at the ceiling in the afternoons until your mother came in inquiring if you were alive. It was a terrible fate.

A few days after the revelation of Christopher’s presence, which you would never admit had been circling your mind nonstop, your mother returns with another piece of information.

“You know, Jane and Norbert are having a get together of sorts next Saturday - just the usuals from the block.”

“Is that so?” You said with disinterest.

“In fact, I borrowed a baking pan from her last week… why don’t you go over and give it back to her for me? She might need it, and you probably haven’t left this house in days.” You didn’t reply, but you could feel her eyes on you, waiting for you to obey.

“Fine…”

The afternoon was enjoyably fresh, although your white t-shirt stuck to you like a second skin, the bikini top you wore underneath tracing its silhouette into the cotton. You lazily stomped your way to the house next door, admiring the tall window where you had snuck into Christopher’s room a couple of times during your short romance. A ladder was perched up against the exterior toward that window, they must have been fixing things up. The porch was full of cans of paint, tools, boxes. It was only when you rang on the doorbell, begrudgingly holding the large tray, that you realized that Jane might not be the one to open the door but instead it could be -

The door swings open and you gasp. Christopher.

Well… his face hadn’t changed much. But he was slightly taller than you remembered, far more masculine, oh, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Yeah, he was shirtless… jeans hanging low on his hips… shirtless… abs… fit waist… arms…

“Hi! Is Jane home?” Good… pretend you don’t remember him.

“I - Uh… no, my mom’s actually out right now.” He replied. His voice had grown deeper, and where did he get that accent? Wait - did he not remember you? Now, that just made you angry, but you wouldn’t let it show.

“Oh, well… my mother wanted me to return this.” You say handing him the tray, avoiding trailing your eyes downward.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll give it to her.” He says. He seems a little frozen, an expression between surprise and caution lingers on his face, but you don’t know if it’s good or bad.

There’s a moment of silence where you just stare at each other.

“Y/n…” He finally says. There’s hesitation in the way he says your name. He’s scared, not of you, but he’s scared about the fact that you’re on his doorstep.

You don’t say anything, calmly, almost coyly, waiting for him to continue. You’d gotten rather good at pretending you were calm, and the slightest tint of a smile painted your lips so you wouldn’t seem cold or ingenuine.

“Do you remember me?” He asks. You can’t help but huff, a tiny laughter really.

“Of course. You know, you haven’t grown much taller.”

With those slightly playful words, you turn to walk back to your home, and with each step your impression of the encounter with your childhood love became more bitter and less sweet.

It was strange how you thought about him, about it. The situation, that is. Seeing him, talking to him, both of you now being older. A few days of thinking now.

You don’t know why you thought about it so much, but you thought about it. You thought about it without knowing how you felt about it or what you thought about it. This man you had only gotten a glimpse of, too overwhelmed to take in his features properly, now walks around your mind freely. He wasn’t the boy you knew. He wasn’t the boy next door whose hand you’d once hold in chemistry, who you’d kiss before turning the corner towards both of your homes. The boy who left all those years ago.

No, it wasn’t that boy. It was that man, who kept perturbing you. What did you feel? Interest? Yes, there was something quite intriguing about all of this which sparked your curiosity. Lust? Of course, absolutely, the man next door looked divine. Suppose you could abstract the person from his body, so that you wouldn’t be so bothered by who he was and what he meant to you, and you’d easily bend over in front of him and invite him in.

You supposed a conversation was in place, though, because after all, he was still the Christopher. You couldn’t just go around fucking people like that anymore - unfortunately. That was something you got away with in college. It’s a shame college boys grow up to be boring men, sex gets more boring, they think they have all the authority… Maybe you should go back to school.

You’re sitting on the windowsill of your second floor bedroom, one leg hanging out and stepping onto the roof. Opposite to your window, beyond a neat shrub, is the window of the guest room of Mrs. Carson, formerly Bang, which seems unchanged from when you last saw it. You remember watching her from your room, also unchanged, using the TV in there to do some aerobics she followed along from a VHS… was it a VHS? No, that’s the machine. What were the things you used to put in the VHS? A cassette? No… regardless, eventually she must have started using DVD’s.

Damn it, it all seemed like thousands of years ago.

Damn it, you were still so melodramatic throwing around words like poetry over some Richard Simmons tape. Aha! It’s a tape!

Your crotch is being dug into by the window frame, and you let your weight rest on it, the slight grind tempting you to have a round of masturbation. But you’ll finish the cigarette you stole from your mother first. It tasted awful, it was another adult thing you couldn’t understand. Why did everyone at university smoke so much? It was just another thing their eager teenage selves did to emulate the adults in grown-up world, to feel a little more grown-up. Who the hell likes this stuff?

But you liked watching it burn, occasionally inhaling its airy and bitter smoke. It wasn’t your preferred type of smore. You preferred watching papers and matches burn, their sweet and rich smell, the warmth of the fire that would sting the edges of your fingers. Shame your mother only used a lighter, you didn’t like the smell of that fire either.

You just surrendered to watching the bright tip of the cigarette and the white streams that came from it.

“You know those are bad for you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” You exclaimed, your heart nearly jumping out from your chest. A man had sprung out from the window in the guest room of the Carson house, formerly Bang, and that man was Christopher Bang himself.

“Sorry I didn’t -”

“You almost gave me a fucking heart attack - what the hell?!”

“ - mean to startle you…”

“Damn it, Christopher!”

“Ah! So you do remember me?” He says with a bit of joy, but you just look at him, realizing that this is where the talk will come. His features grow a little more somber. He continues, “So… I guess I -”

“Where’d you get the accent?” You interrupt, genuinely curious. “You sound like the crocodile hunter.”

“Well… I was living in Australia with my dad.” He says it in a normal tone, but you make sure it doesn’t stay normal.

“Oh, so that’s where you went?” You both wince at what you just said. Yep, it’s finally time for that talk.

There’s a bit of silence, but you’ll let him be the one to fill it.

“I…” He sighs deeply. Uuhh… it’s quite a masculine sigh. “I didn’t know you’d be here. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again but I… there’s something I’ve always wanted to say.”

“I’m listening…” You say. It’s a flat tone, but it’s funny. You hope it’ll ease him.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry.” Some silence again, “I’m sorry for being an ass, I’m sorry for cheating on you -”

“Chris, we were like fifteen… you kissed a girl with braces, big deal.” You waved it off. Really, kissing that girl didn’t bother you so much, now almost ten years later.

“I left without saying anything.”

“Yeah, you did. Hard to not notice.”

“I was - I know it’s not an excuse, but I was going through a lot and I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“So you left without saying anything?”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok… we haven’t spoken in years. I practically forgot about it.” No you didn’t.

“Did you?” He says. Was he hopeful when you insinuated he hadn’t hurt you as much as he thought he had?

“No, not really. I mean, yeah, you kissing another girl was pretty insignificant, we were just kids. It did hurt that you left without… I don’t know… There wasn’t any closure. There wasn’t a goodbye. I felt confused for a while, I guess.”

“I’m so sorry about that. But my parents were splitting up, I was going to have to leave everything behind. You were the first girl I loved and I was going to have to say goodbye and I couldn’t handle it. I was too hurt and embarrassed to even tell my friends. I wish I had done it differently.”

“Yeah, I wish you had too. I wanted to be there for you, you know? I wanted to hug you, hold your hand, tell you it was going to be ok.

“I really messed up there…”

“It’s okay Chris, you were just a kid. We were just kids.” You offer your sympathy but he doesn’t soften.

“Mhmm. Doesn’t make me feel less guilty about it.”

“Can I ask you something?” He nods, “Did you do all that stuff… you know, treat me that way, for real or where you…?”

“I was hoping you’d break up with me, get over me. That way we wouldn’t have to say goodbye and we wouldn’t get hurt.”

“I got hurt.” You admit.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing.” You insist. “It’s fine. We’re fine. We’re old and grown and fine. All of that’s in the past, I can’t blame you for acting like a kid. It’s okay.”

“Well I can agree with you there. We did grow up, not kids anymore.”

“You didn’t grow that much.” You laugh, he laughs too.

“You certainly did.” He’s being flirty. It could have been bad timing, but the mood felt right.

“Oh, you noticed?”

“Hard not to.” Goodness was he being direct. “You were really cute back in school, I had a crush on you for like, forever.”

“Really…Plain old me?”

“Really. And now here we are and I think I could have a crush on you all over again.”

“So you can go off and kiss another girl with braces and leave the continent?”

“No, I’m a one woman man.” He says while making himself comfortable on his own ledge. It’s getting comfortable overall, like you’re talking to someone you’ve known for the longest time, like a decade of separation didn’t do much harm.

“Well, well. And who is that lucky woman now?”

“There’s no one at the moment. I’m in the middle of some life changes.”

“Do tell.”

“I’m moving back. Well, not here, just in the country again. A big city, big job, kinda scary.”

“Seems we’re on the same boat. I just came back to say goodbye to this place forever and I’m ooout.”

“Did you finish school already?”

“Yeah… I wish I hadn’t though.” You think back on your experience with longing, lamenting it’s end.

“Wow, can’t relate. I couldn’t wait for it to end. What’d you miss about it?”

“Well, I didn’t have to work, grades were good and easy. And I guess, it was tons of fun.”

“How so?”

“Being on a campus full of horny and stupid guys - it was open game.” Chan hisses at your admission.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for that type.” He chuckles, “You would stutter for like the first two months we went out.”

“We were just kids.”

“I guess we were…”

Another comfortable silence as you stare off at the sky, your cigarette burnt through with only the spongy bud left to pinch.

“Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m single too, you know.”

It might have been a bad idea, you said it on impulse after all, something quite instinctive having taken over you. Maybe you were just horny and Christopher was just hot, regardless, the conversation was over. Before he could even process what you said, and the implications to it, you had already slipped back into your darkened room and out of his sight.

Chan felt like a teenager again. Not in a good way.

Chan remembered your first kiss, holding your hand. He remembered your breasts being the first he had ever really noticed, your legs being the first he ever caressed. He remembers how you’d press your bodies together while you kissed, not really understanding what both of you felt, only understanding the urgency of it.

Now he can name those feelings, the ones that once belonged to an inexperienced boy, merely dipping his toes into the surface of that world. But now that he dove, and had dived into its waters several times, he knew how to swim in them.

Yet, seeing you made him feel like he didn’t. It made him feel like he couldn’t swim, like he couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was drowning.

The first moment he saw you on his doorstep he felt his stomach drop, a pang of guilt that had lingered on his mind during countless of sleepless nights hitting him with full force. He didn’t expect it. He thought he would never see you again.

And after taking another look, a longer look, it was like he was swimming in completely different waters. He felt submerged, and he didn’t know which way was up. He wanted to open his mouth and swallow it all up, let you drown him.

He hadn’t felt this raging feeling since he was a teenager. He certainly hadn’t had a specific woman make him feel like this until you.

It made him feel another kind of guilt. Shame even.

The following days he’d watch you, shamefully. His mother had him painting the house and when he stood on the rooftops he took his time to enjoy the view of you swimming in your pool, wearing tiny bikinis that stuck to your skin and showed the buds of your niples and the lines of your labia through the fabric. He would admit, shamefully, that he stopped watching from the roof because he needed to get closer to see these beautiful details.

He now watched you from over the fence in his backyard. Getting incredibly hard watching you swim, watching you oil your body down.

It was all horribly, horribly shameful.

But weren’t you the one that mentioned you were single? It had caught him off guard. He was being cheeky in that moment, but he didn’t know what waters he was testing then. Now he knew, and it was making him behave so, so shamefully.

Should he go over there, push you into a corner of the pool and pull your bottoms to the side? Should he kneel at your feet while your rubbing yourself with that golden oil, and beg you to let him fuck you?

It wasn’t just the thought of sex that drove him mad, it was you in general. How inferior he felt in front of you, like he had to prove himself. Every day he worked shirtless, hoping you’d get a glimpse of him, but you were just so unbothered by it all.

It was driving him fucking insane.

If only you knew.

Except - of course you did. Of course you did. This is what you craved, what you were best at. Driving boys, technically men but boys sounds tastier, to be absolute slaves to their desire for you. Christopher wasn’t doing a good job at hiding it. Did he really think that you would suddenly spend every day swimming in the tiniest bikinis after having not left your couch for over a week? They really are such stupid, fuckable animals.

And Chris was particularly fuckable.

Day four of his perverted project, he was hammering away at some boards in the back porch of his house. Your mother wouldn’t be home for hours, his parents were away for a couple of days.

Everything was perfect.

“Chris?!” You call loudly over the fence from your chaise lounge, carelessly flipping through a book. The hammering stopped, he had heard you. “Chris, it’s hot today. Don’t you think you should come over for a swim to cool down?”

Why on earth were you acting so damn unbothered and confident, he thought. Why on earth were you asking him over?

It’s only a matter of time before he circles his own house and slides in through the gate on your end. He’s still wearing jeans and a utility belt, gloves too. No shirt.

“You can’t really swim in those, take them off.” You hardly peered at him from over your sunglasses. He was just standing there, frozen. That’s usually a sign that you’re working your magic well. Good. “Come on Christopher, take them off.”

“I - uh, I’m actually not wearing trunks right now. Uhm… I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, you don’t have to go.” Insert unbothered page flip. “Why don’t you just undress and get in the pool so I can join you?”

“W-what?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He genuinely thought he had imagined it, maybe all of his hornyness was driving him insane.

“Christopher!” You whine. “You’re ruining the fun!” You slam the book shut and throw it over to the side, taking your sunglasses and hat off. “Chris, I think it’s obvious. Do you think I haven’t noticed you being a peeping tom for the past half week? Look! You’ve already got a tent in your pants and everything!”

“Fuck.” Shit, you were right.

“This is like, hmm, like an open invitation to fuck me.” You say with an eye roll, but your eyes roll toward his abs because they are absolutely distracting you.

“Are… are you serious?”

“Well… You want to, I want to. You’re nice, look like you’ve become quite a decent man - and I’m not just referring to your physique Chris. Maybe, just maybe, it would be an excellent idea if we finally fucked this tension away.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that. You’re here for a few weeks, so am I. Why not enjoy each other while we can? After that we can just go our separate ways, just like before except we’ll end it on good terms.”

Too many points for him to argue with - you were right on all of them. He couldn’t disagree. In fact, he eagerly agreed. Little did he know you had this pitch rehearsed to perfection, to your benefit, because he seemed to be completely subdued by it.

“Fuck.” He mutters under his breath. Fumbling with his belt, zipper, exposing the line of his abdomen down to his hardening cock. A fat, heavy cock that swung between his muscular thighs. He was fully nude now, standing in front of you, his tan skin glistening in the sunlight. You’re quick to urge him over with a finger.

He pounces, but once he’s crawling over you on that narrow chair, he becomes slow.

“Hi.” You manage to whimper out, now feeling a bit small beneath him, feeling nervous even.

“Hey.” He’s just as nervous but there’s an energy that goes beyond either of your wills pulling you toward one another.

He kisses you. It’s a kiss you melt into, and he sinks his body against yours, with you spreading your legs so he can slot between them. His cock rests against your lower abdomen, his body pressing further into you.

You can’t help but slide your hand between your two bodies in an attempt to finger yourself, prepare yourself, but he stops you and pulls back.

“No.” He growls.

“No?” Is he going to leave you like this?!

“Let me.”

And you do. Chan lowers himself, adjusting you so he can easily bend over the chair while kneeling on the ground, and his hands shake as he dips the tip of his fingers into the hem of your bottoms, just slightly tugging at the material, playing with it before he starts to play with you. You’ve got the perfect view of him basically drooling over you.

He slides the bottoms to the side, but you pull at the strings at your hips, so they come undone and he pulls them away completely. Your lips and the juices coming from between them are just as glossy than your oiled skin.

He can’t help but dig in. Fucking you with his mouth, jamming his fingers in you. It’s an animalistic frenzy and it’s hot and slippery and sticky. You cum and your fluids spill over the impermeable cushion below, pooling under your ass. He can see every sparkling droplet fall from you.

It’s just a haze, he nearly jumps on you, bending your legs nearly over your head, bouncing his pelvis on your cunt like a trampoline, smacking with every thrust. You’re completely glued to one another. If he’s not abusing your mouth with his tongue then he’s biting on your shoulder or grunting, growling, into your ear. It’s filthy. You’re absolutely sure you’ve never been fucked like this.

He cums, several times, as do you. He pulls out each time, jerks himself off on your body, although a couple of times you urged him into your mouth and face. He pulls the triangles on your top to the sides, so your breasts are exposed. He made sure to cum on those too. Semen, sweat, squirt, oil, spit, everywhere there are droplets of your fluids shining on your body like jewels.

It ends with him lying on top of you, nearly sleeping from exhaustion, and your lips feel deliciously sore and sensitive, almost ticklish as he softens inside of you.

It happens again. Several times in fact. Many, many times. When his parents are away, when your mom is away, you fuck all the time. Just a little call of his name over the fence or from your window and he’d be running to you. You were too comfortable with one another to bother with formalities, it was like you’d never been separated. You’d wait for him on all fours, wet cunt on display for him to dive in, but he’d always greet you with a gentle kiss.

Fucking each others faces, drinking eachothers fluids. You even let him fuck you in the ass, multiple times, and he was the first guy to make you cum that way. You were just as hooked and as desperate as he was.

Things started to change though.

The welcoming kisses became longer, you’d talk between the rounds…

You’d fall asleep in his arms, or he in yours.

You’d fuck slowly, deeply, staring into each other’s eyes.

You’d talk to him, tell each other stories of all these years, asi if you had been together the entire time.

You’d smile as you made love, gently. You’d let him cum inside of you.

He’d hold your hand again. They were as soft and warm as you remembered.

You were holding his hand on one particular pink evening, your head resting on his heaving chest, teaching circles into his pecs and nipples. On your bed, in your quiet childhood room. It was a painful silence now. It had been weeks, weeks closer to your respective departure dates.

“I wish I had never left.” He eventually says. You don’t know what to say. “I wish we could have stayed like this for longer.”

“Maybe we would have broken up eventually, or left for college.” You ponder.

“Maybe I would have taken you to prom, or we would have had sex together for the first time…” He returns.

“On this bed? Hmm? With my cute school uniform?” You tease. “Yeah, maybe.”

“But I guess this is what was meant to be.” He sighs, as do you.

“I’m sorry.” Is all you can say.

“What for?”

“I don’t know, I just feel bad. I started this and now we have to go our separate ways again.” You feel something sting in your eye. You can’t cry now.

“Shh…” He coos as he hears you sniffle and feels you twitch. It makes his heart ache like it did all those years ago when he left.

“I - I…” You cry. “I don’t want you to go. I don’t want to go.”

He pulls you into his arms, crushing you in an embrace. Your eyes are closed but you feel the tears fall from his face, he’s crying too.

“I know… but what else can we do?”

There was nothing left to do, other than fuck the days away, crying, holding each other until it hurt. It was a horrible, horrible thing to have fallen in love with Christopher Bang this final summer.

You didn’t go with him to the airport. You didn’t want to say goodbye, you didn’t want to see where he was going.

But he did slip into your room that final night. You made love quietly, he kissed you as you cried.

He said it was the second time he loved you, and the second time he had to leave you.

It hurt much more this time around. Maybe you shouldn’t have done it, maybe you shouldn’t have gone next door.

Being in your house was unbearable once Chris wasn’t next door.

A week later, you’ve arrived at your new place. It had been a whirlwind and you stayed at a hotel the first couple of nights while your new furniture got brought in, most of your personal belongings only fitting in a couple of bags.

It’s kept you busy. That way you think about him a little less. Crying into pillows that have that certain ‘brand new’ smell isn’t quite as comforting as you’d expect. Everything seems unfamiliar, strange, artificial. Nothing here reminded you of him - it was for the best and you hated it.

The place is nice, bright. It’s on the third floor of a small apartment building, a couple of other doors beside yours in the hall. You go downstairs to grab a few packages that have arrived, carefully treading up the stairs in a kind of balancing act once they’re piled in your arms. It’s a choreography you can dance to with expertise, always denying any help from your neighbors.

However, you do fumble with the lock and handle once you’re at your door, holding the boxes up by pressing them against the door with your body as your hands blindly fumble with the keys, nothing but cardboard in your sight.

Nothing you can’t handle, until they start to slip.

“Woah, let me help you with that!” someone says behind you, and in your complicated state it’s a bit difficult to process what happens but the boxes are soon out of the way, said someone pulling them from you and freeing you.

And then you see him.

Him.

Your him.

He says your name and you’re too stunned to react. He’s in awe too. He drops your packages, and you’re certain some of them contain some makeup palettes but you don’t give a damn at the moment.

“What are you doing here?” You finally ask, frozen in place.

“I… live in 304.” He says.

“You live in 304?” He nods. “You? You’re serious?” He nods again, eyes still wide.

You both stand there, processing it all. This can’t be real.

“I live in 302.” you manage to say, after some time. Your voice is weak, all the air has left your lungs. You shake.

“You do?” He asks. Now you nod.

This can’t be.

But he cups your face, holds it like you’re precious and delicate, he kisses you. It is real. You kiss him back, harder. Eventually you’re both clinging to one another, gripping each other’s clothes desperately.

“You live here.” He says, little tears sparkling in the corner of his eyes. You nod, the same tears coming to you.

“I do. Mm-hmm.” The sniffles you let out seem so sweet to him, he swoons with how happy you are to see him. Knowing you feel the same joy he does - it makes him feel complete.

“I live here too!” He cries, laughing, smiling, beautifully.

One more kiss, just to make sure it’s real. You pull him in and kiss him one more time.

It’s real.

#bang chan smut #stray kids smut #skz chan smut #skz smut #bangchan smut

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yutahoes · 4 years ago

Text

Devil Inside

pairing : childhood friends! Yuta x Y/N

genre : fluff, horror au, smut but not detailed

word count: 5.6k words

warnings: fuckboy Yuta, calling someone a 'goth girl', horror movies, Yuta becomes an incubus, too much blood, raw meat eating, flesh eating, human organ eating, slut shaming a minor character, calling Yuta a whore, killing, mention of male molestation, mentioned teacher-student intercourse, shirtless Yuta, mentions of breeding, mentioned kitchen sex, mentioned shower sex, mentioned rough sex, Y/N getting wounded, skipping classes, Yuta as a murderer, a cambion. In other words, this is disturbing and problematic.

a/n: Inspired by this set of pictures and the movie Jennifer's Body. This is my first time writing a horror themed AU and this is badly written. I just can't stop thinking about this so for me to do something productive today, I had to post this. 😂 This has uncomfortable theme so please read in moderation. I went crazy over this, sorry. Feedback is highly appreciated. 😘

You and Yuta had been friends since forever, stemming from the history of your parents being friends and all since college. Your home is his home and you have your own room in his house. Staying together inside one room isn't a problem, your parents trusted you both but growing up is different.

You had to admit that you grew up leading a boring life, too bookish, and didn't even interact with your classmates. Yuta, on the other hand, has always been the life of the party, the school superstar, the popular guy. And that huge difference created a wall between your friendship.

You didn't know when it started, it just did. He started hanging out with the cool kids while you were left in the shadows. You can't really get mad at him, that's growing up. And he didn't change when it was just the two of you.

When your parents would go abroad for their business trips, Yuta would check on you every night. If you have eaten dinner, if you've locked all the windows, or if you knew the number for the police station or the fire station in case something happens. He's still the same Yuta. Your childhood friend, Yuta.

"Did you do your assignments?" He asked, not removing his eyes from the TV where he's watching a horror film. This is something that he can't do at their home or his mom would freak out.

You rolled your eyes, answering a 'Yes, abeoji' while opening the fridge to see what to have for breakfast tomorrow then whining since there's more raw food in there than easy-to-eat foods. "I'll probably skip breakfast tomorrow." You said more to yourself, already thinking to wake up early and just get some waffles from the shop near the bus stop.

"Just leave the back door unlocked, I'll cook breakfast for you tomorrow." Yuta claimed that made you look at him.

You raised your eyebrow at that. "Weird that you're here." You started then sat next to him on the couch, "No date?" He showed a screenshot of her photo, a different girl than yesterday. She was wearing black, with black eyeliner, and a pierced eyebrow. "She looks like a goth. Is that your type now?"

"She's hot!" He exclaimed and you just nodded at him. "And she wants to meet at 11 pm so yeah." That was a weird time to meet up. But you didn't react and just focused on the TV just as the jump scare happened. You quickly hid your face on the throw pillow, blowing heavy breaths that made the guy next to you laugh. You hated horror, hated blood, and you're convinced that Yuta is doing this to scare you. "I'll get going." He said, standing up.

"Can you close the TV first? Or stop the movie, at least?" You said, face still behind the pillow. He laughed then closed the TV, engulfing you in darkness that made you more scared. The bloody face from the TV earlier flashing on your mind.

"Sorry Y/N. I promised not to scare you like that again." You heard him say then felt something warm on the top of your head followed by a smooching sound. He patted your head, "I really have to go. I'll see you in the morning."

You waited for the sound of the door closing before you removed the throw pillow from your burning face. He kissed your head, right? You felt that. Why would he do that? Does he know that you have a crush on him? Or is it just his manwhore ways? But why you? You screamed at the throw pillow, cursing at Yuta for being the charming guy he is.

You cannot deny the fact that each day, your feelings for Yuta had to grow. Who are you to blame when he's getting more handsome each day? And you're just a girl who has a weak heart for him. The image was still vivid in your mind, the first time you watched a horror movie and you were already crying in fright ten minutes into the movie. "I will protect you, Y/N." And you believed that. Yuta is always there to protect you.

A loud bang can be heard that made you wake up in your sleep. You listened for other noises and heard footsteps, someone is inside your home. The first instinct is to call Yuta but what if he's in another place, you cannot trouble him. So you just took the baseball bat he lent you for this circumstance, repeating in your mind the number of the police station.

You quietly tiptoed down the stairs and saw the light of the refrigerator open. Is it a food thief? And how did he come inside your house? You can see a trail of blood on the kitchen floor that startled you. The bat was dropped on the floor when you saw someone seated in front of the refrigerator. "Yuta?"

He was covered in blood, eating the raw beef as if starving. His eyes were blood cold and you stepped back in fright. He looks like a monster. What kind of a crazy dream is this? You have to do something to wake up. Anything to wake yourself up.

And as stupid as you sound, you hit your head with the bat that was on the ground.

You opened your eyes, the sunlight hitting your eyes and your head aching real bad as if something hit you. You groaned while stretching then remembered your dream. Yuta. Your kitchen. Quickly, you ran to the kitchen to see Yuta’s mom cooking something. “I’m glad you’re up. You’ll be late for class.”

“Auntie, where is Yuta?” She shrugged, saying that he didn’t even go home last night. It was a normal occurrence, that’s part of Yuta’s social life. “I’ll just prepare for school.” When you glanced at the couch, Yuta’s baseball bat was there. Weird, isn’t it supposed to be in your room?

You had a nice breakfast, thanks to Yuta’s mom, and enough time to go to school. The first thing was to get your books in your locker and walk to class, avoiding some of your schoolmates who block the way. Before you can get inside the room, you see Yuta passing by opposite your way with a new girl in his arms. You knew her, the cheerleader, the basketball team’s girlfriend. Wow, she reached the soccer team now. When your eyes met with Yuta, you were reminded of him seated on your kitchen floor. Filled with blood and with dead cold eyes. You shake your head. That was a dream. You shivered. A very vivid dream.

It was a normal boring school day, a typical day that it surprised you when Yuta wrapped his arms around you then leaned closer. “I need your help.” A curious look was etched on your face. “Math. Help me study for the exam tomorrow.” You nodded, removing his hand from your shoulder. “Why?” He asked before putting back his hand on you.

“I just don’t want your girlfriends to misunderstand.” Yuta chuckled then pinched your cheek. “Yuta, stop it. It hurts.”

He smiled. That breathtaking smile which makes you weak for him. “Sorry.” He whispered then leaned to place a kiss on your reddening cheek, startling you. Your eyes widened at his actions. What is wrong with Yuta? “You do know that I like you more than I like those girls, right?” What? Your heart kept on beating wildly against your chest that you’re scared he might hear it. “I’ll see you later, Y/N.”

Once you breathe in, without realizing that you’re holding your breath, you saw everyone’s eyes were on you. Oh no! This is trouble.

You went home early, trying to stay away from your schoolmates. You don’t want to talk to them and explain that you’re friends with Yuta, that will cause some damage to him. But why did he do that? You tried raking your brains for an answer but you can’t seem to find the right one. So you just shrugged it and maybe ask Yuta when he gets to your house.

It’s late at night. You finished reviewing the whole chapter for your exam tomorrow yet Yuta is a no show. You lightly glanced at the house next door, seeing that the living room lights were on. Their car isn’t in the garage, meaning his parents are not at home. Then you saw the silhouette of someone making out on the couch. Oh, his ditching makes sense now. You closed the door and made sure to close the light, ready to get a good night’s sleep.

You opened your eyes in darkness, the clock reading that it’s almost 4 am. You felt thirsty that you decided to go downstairs to get a cup of water, halfway through the stairs you can see someone on the other door’s yard digging up something. Curious, you put on a coat and exited the backdoor to check on it. The same Yuta, covered in blood, and this time you knew you weren’t dreaming.

“Yuta?” You called but he kept digging. Blood mixed with the soil and the most horrible thing you can see, limbs. “Yuta.” You called once again, even holding his shoulder to make him look at you. He kept covering the body with the soil, even covering it up with a large pot. What has he done? This isn’t the Yuta you know and it scared you.

“Y/N.” He called that made you look at him. The warmth of his voice is still there. “Help me, please.” He sounded broken. “I’m really scared.” The first time you saw this reaction on Yuta. He looks so fragile, so vulnerable.

There’s a part of you that’s still wary of him. You have questions in your head that you wanted to ask him and you waited for him to finish his shower, while you make coffee for both of you, as you collect your thoughts. When he sat in front of you at the kitchen table, he looked like the Yuta you knew except there’s pain in his eyes. “Yuta.” You called, rubbing the side of your cup. “What…?” But you don’t know what to ask him.

“I killed Miss Jang.” Your eyes widened in surprise. The assistant PE teacher? “We had amazing sex and then…” You shook your head. He had sex with a teacher? Wow, his man whoring is of another level. “You don’t understand, she’s been touching me appropriately for the past couple of months so I just gave her what she wanted.”

A gasp escaped your throat. “She’s what?” He just stared at you. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

“Do you think someone would believe me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shook his head. “Because it’s embarrassing.” You scoffed then rolled your eyes at him. “So you killed her?”

“I ate her.”

“Yuta, I don’t need the details of your sexcapades…”

“I ate her organs.” Your eyes widened in surprise. What? “It’s a craving after having sex with someone. I just want to eat something raw and her flesh can’t even satisfy me.” That explains why he’s covered with blood.

The memory of that night came to you, when he was eating that raw meat from the fridge. “When did it start?” He answered last night and you were more surprised that it is true and not a dream. “How?” He shrugged. “What do you plan to do now?”

“I don’t know.” He held your hand that was on the table, looking at you with pleading eyes. “Help me, please. I don’t want to kill another woman again.” You sighed. This was Yuta. Your childhood friend. The guy you like. You nodded before thinking how stupid it is to do this.

The news of Miss Jang being missing is the talk in your class the next day but what’s more surprising is some testimony of the guys who were molested by her, like Yuta. You watched as your friend fiddled with his thumbs, obviously listening to your classmates. He actually did them a favor but something isn’t right. Why is this happening to Yuta?

A sexual thirst, a thirst for flesh. Your phone showed a result called an incubus, a demon that pursues sexual relations with women. But why does Yuta keep on eating flesh to satisfy his craving? You stood up and decided to ditch class just to have the answers to your questions, finding yourself in the back of the library. The collection of forbidden books.

“What are you doing here?” You immediately hushed Yuta as you got hold of a black book, opening it to reveal different pentagrams and illustrations of spooky creatures. “What is that?”

“An incubus.” You said then sat on the library floor, Yuta following you. “Demons who attract women for sexual pleasure.” Before he could say anything else, “I think that was what is happening to you.”

You visibly saw him gulp. “You think I’m a demon?” No, you don’t.

“Possessed by a demon, Yuta.” You flipped the pages of the book to see about the different rituals on how to summon a demon. “Did you join a cult? Or even got drugged and was offered as a human sacrifice?” You stopped. That night. That girl. “The goth girl, you saw her that night. Do you remember what happened?”

“We had sex.” You rolled your eyes at that, of course. “I told her I’m a virgin because she likes guys like that. We had amazing sex, mind-blowing sex.” You sighed. “Then I woke up on your kitchen floor.” That’s all he remembers? Finally, your thoughts are confirmed, it isn’t a dream. You really saw Yuta that night. “You were lying on the ground as well and I had to remove my shirt before carrying you to your room.”

The thought of the shirtless Yuta carrying you made the blood rose up your cheeks. “You were covered in blood that time and the trail…”

“I had to clean that up before you wake up because you’re scared of blood.” You stared at him warmly. He had to think about that? “You saw me?” You nodded, sharing that he was eating that raw meat when you saw him. “Did I scare you?” If there was one person you cannot lie to, that would be Yuta. He can easily see through you. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I won’t hurt you, I promise that.”

You held his hand, giving it a light squeeze. “I’ll help you, Yuta. We can remove that demon inside you.”

The only conclusion you can come up with is to meet with the same goth girl he met before. Yuta remembered having sex with her and he was eating that raw meat as if really hungry so she might be alive, Yuta didn’t kill her. And you have to hurry because each night that passes, Yuta has someone to bury in the backyard. It's a female prostitute one night, then a drug pusher, followed by the girl in class who bullied you.

It's becoming a huge issue in town, the disappearance of young girls, that your parents had to come home quickly worried about your safety. "From now on, go home early." Your dad ordered. "I'll ask Yuta to walk you home every day." How would they feel if Yuta was the one doing all these?

He was worried about you joining him in meeting up with the girl, even repeating to you that he'll kill himself if something bad happens to you but you assured him that you'll be fine. It's not you who needed help now, it was him. You need to put a stop to this before another one gets hurt.

The girl was laughing cynically when you asked her what to do to remove the demon inside your friend. "A cambion." She answered and you curiously gave her a look. "That's the goal of an incubus. Once there's a cambion, he will leave the body he's possessing."

A cambion? All you need is to have a cambion so the demon can leave Yuta. You searched what it was and just facepalmed yourself. Fuck this! Will he be saved?

----

"You want me to breed someone?" You shiver at his choice of words but nod, nonetheless. "How can I do that when eating them becomes part of the sexual process?"

You shook your head then ruffled your hair. This is getting you crazy. "You know, this is your fault for whoring around. If you just had a fixed girlfriend then this wouldn't happen…"

"Then why did you reject my confession?" You blinked twice as if it can clear what you heard. Did you hear him correctly? "I told you I'll marry you in senior year and what is your answer? I'm not marrying you, Yuta." He said while copying your voice, leaving you dumbfounded. "I was heartbroken that time so I started dating other girls then maybe you can finally notice me."

"I thought you were teasing me that time." Your voice got louder that your mom knocked on the door asking if you two were fighting. He shook his head, smiling at your mom. When she closed the door, you just stared at him awkwardly. Once again, you had to ruffle your hair. This is so frustrating! "Just, make a baby with someone."

You waited, biting your thumb as the clock struck 3 am. You haven't had the right sleep thinking of what might happen to Yuta then you saw movement in the yard. Quietly, you went out of the backdoor of your house and saw him outside, blood on his clothes. "What happened?"

He shook his head. "Same."

"Where is her body?" You removed your cardigan to wipe away the blood from his face and his neck.

He looks tired, hopeless. "I left her body on a roadside." You gasped at that. "I can't save myself. I'll be like this forever." He can't, he needed to fight himself. Fight his urges. But even you knew that it was impossible.

There was a flicker of light coming from their kitchen, someone was going to see you. They're going to see Yuta with a bloody shirt like this. "Remove your shirt." You ordered and he looked confused so you just ripped it from him. Shit, you just realized how this looked like when two booming voices can be heard calling both your names. Both your dads.

"Where is your shirt?" Your dad asked, arms crossed. You're inside your house, both your fathers and mothers staring at the two of you. "And you're wearing only that outside?" You glanced at the thin nightgown you were wearing and Yuta handed you a throw pillow. "Please wear your shirt, Yuta."

"I ripped his shirt, dad." You heard both your moms giggle. "Can we please not make a big deal of this? This isn't what you think it is."

Yuta's dad sighed. "Our only concern is why bother doing it outside? We let you sleep in each other's room." What?

"Are you exhibitionists?" Your mom asked and you gasped. Is that what they're thinking now? Your head aches, you didn't have any decent sleep yet and this ordeal with Yuta is making you lose your mind. Can't you just all talk tomorrow, not at 4 in the morning?

Yuta held your hand, lacing your fingers together. "I'm willing to take responsibility if something happens to Y/N." Surprised, you glanced at him. Nothing happened, he knew that. What the hell is he saying so suddenly? "But can I please stay with Y/N tonight, uncle?"

It was a surprise when your dad allowed you both to go upstairs to your room but you had to wait until they're in their rooms before getting your cardigan and Yuta's blood-stained clothes from the yard. Yuta was still seated on your bed when you went back to your room, staring at you with his misty eyes.

He pulled you close, arms wrapped around your waist while his head was on your chest. "I'm scared." His hold got tighter. "I don't want to hurt anyone anymore." If you're frustrated with this, you realized Yuta might be in bigger pain than you are. You held his hair, threading your fingers along its strand. You've been together for so long but this has been the most intimate thing that you two had ever done. "You were right, this is my fault for hurting those girls. I used them for my self pleasure, to boost my ego. This is me getting punished for all of that."

You held his hands, kneeling in front of him to see his face. "But you don't deserve this, Yuta." You held his cheeks as tears started falling from his eyes. "We'll do something, I promise."

He pulled you up, letting you sit on his lap. The warmth of his eyes makes your heart beat rapidly inside your chest. "I love you, Y/N." Your eyes widened at the sudden confession, "I'm sorry for getting you dragged into this but I'm thankful you haven't left me yet." He hugged you, head on your shoulder and you can feel his warm breath on your neck. "I love you. I don't want you to leave me."

You wrapped your arms around his neck. He's scared, you can feel him shaking. "I won't leave you, Yuta." You let him sob in your chest like a little child just wanting some warmth. And you realized, this might be just what he needed.

Both of you skipped school that morning since you slept at 5 am, just laying next to each other. Your head on his chest, hands held together. It was him who first got out of bed, prepared himself, then placed a small kiss on our head before leaving your room. If only you could stay like this. But he had to go and fuck another woman tonight to satisfy his thirst, making your heart ache. Can you live like this?

Your parents and Yuta were seated around the dining table when you went down for breakfast. "We were just telling Yuta that we have a business trip in Brazil." You nodded, used to it by now. "And because of the news around, it would be better that he stay here with you." Your mom suggested that it made you surprised. After last night, they're letting you live in one roof with a guy, unsupervised?

"Mom. I can stay at home alone."

"I know. But just to be safe." You're not even safe with their suggestion. "I know what you're thinking honey. You're a female and a male with raging hormones, it's alright with us." Yuta choked on the food and you hissed at your parents.

Your dad coughed lightly. "We stacked some condoms just in case."

"Dad!"

"Honey, we agreed to let them have their freedom." You glared at your mom. "We really wanted a grandchild." It's your turn to choke at your food. Then it made you stop. If he breeds a human, the incubus will go away. This might just be your answer.

---

"No, Y/N!" Yuta stated firmly after explaining what your plan is. "What if I hurt you?"

You shook your head. You're not scared of that now but you're frightened for Yuta and the things that might happen to him if this continues on. The police started investigating the missing dead girls, it's only a matter of time before they can chase down Yuta. You held his cheeks, distress can be seen in his expression. "I trust you, Yuta."

It was a crazy plan. When your parents left that afternoon, you stacked up some raw meat that the butcher thought you were throwing a party. Yuta didn't kill the first girl, the goth girl, and you're holding to that belief that Yuta can have some control over himself. When the night struck, you locked all doors to your house that would forbid Yuta from going out.

"I'm giving you the last chance to back out from this, Y/N." You shook your head. "I'm sorry." He whispered, carrying you to the countertop of the kitchen. "If something bad happens, I'll kill myself. I swear."

You giggled then wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. "Then we'll be like Romeo and Juliet." He laughed at your reference before moving closer to plant his lips on yours. Your first kiss with Yuta. His lips were so soft and he tasted so sweet that made your brain hazy.

When he slipped his tongue inside you and his fingers dug on your waist, you knew there's no way you can get out of this. You can feel his warmth in every touch, in every part of your skin his lips touched. He slowly undressed you, making sure that he's still Yuta and whispering promises that he wouldn't hurt you. He didn't at first and you refused to believe that you made love with him at your kitchen counter.

The grandfather clock signaled that it is midnight. Yuta just pulled you down from the kitchen counter, turning you around, and thrust into you that made you scream. No foreplay, no kissing. You turned to see his eyes, those dead eyes. His hand held your neck, the other digging in your waist. You prevent making a sound, not wanting to alert his parents next door. His teeth dig in your shoulder, an excruciating pain that makes you bite your lip to prevent a sound. This is how he kills them.

You tried to reach for the raw meat nearby, desperately trying to move out of his hold. You pushed yourself away from the counter, causing him to fall to the ground. You watched as he took the meat and ate it as if starved, like the first night you saw him in this state. Every night, he's like this. An appetite for sex, an appetite for flesh.

And it breaks your heart that you can't do anything to help him.

He ate five portions of the raw meat and you mentally told yourself to get some tomorrow for what might happen at night. You covered him with a blanket as he lay down your kitchen floor, kissing his forehead. You wanted this to stop, wanted him to be normal again. You clean the wound on your shoulder as well as the scratch on your side, hissing in pain as you put medicine on the bleeding part.

You woke up with his warm arms wrapped around you, a kiss on your wounded shoulder woke you up. "Did I do this? I really did hurt you." He grazed his finger on the spot that hurt as you shook your head. He nuzzled his nose on your shoulder and you felt his warmth. "I don't know what to do anymore."

"But Yuta this is better. We know that you still have control over yourself." You sat on the bed and he traced the scratch on your side. "When the clock struck twelve, that's when you started having that hunger. We're slowly knowing things about you now. We can do this together, Yuta."

He nodded, watching you stand up then head to the bathroom. You were supposed to close the door when you felt him enter the same room. The warm feeling is back when his hands touch your body, in contrast to the cold water cascading down your body. You skipped class again because of the pain in your shoulder and he went to school.

If this continues, it's better to listen to both your parents and just get married. Live together in a far city where you can start a new life, maybe you can give birth to Yuta's child and it will end his suffering. As you put new meat inside the fridge, you heard a knock on the door. Yuta came in with a distressed look on his face. "The police are at school. They were starting to suspect a student at school."

"Did you do anything?" He shook his head, hands clasped together. "Just lay low for a while."

"What if they found out that it was me?" You shook your head, that's the worst-case scenario. And you promise not to let that happen.

He stayed at your house, particularly your room that night. When the clock struck twelve, you were pushed on your bed with Yuta pounding on you real rough. The moment you felt his lips on your neck, you rolled to the bed and reached for the raw meat on the bedside table. You breathed hard, you can do this.

The police were doing their best, you had to give them that. And it scares you that they'll narrow it down to you and Yuta doing these things. The disappearance of the women stopped but the deaths were a mystery that the police remained to look for clues. It's been a couple of nights since you've done this with Yuta and every day, a new wound would appear on your body.

Your parents came back from their business trip when they noticed the amount of raw meat in your fridge and the wounds in your body. You tried to shrug it off, saying that it's just your clumsiness. Yet, they never bought it. You cannot ask Yuta to stay over so you keep your phone in your ear, watching his room for movements. The moment the clock struck midnight, nothing happened to your surprise. He kept saying that he's fine, that he doesn't need anything, that he's still Yuta. Maybe an off day.

You slept relieved but woke up with the sound of police sirens. You glanced at the window outside and saw the yard next door being dug out by your dad and some men in uniform, Yuta's dad watching nearby. How? You ran downstairs to check on Yuta but your mom quickly told you to stay inside. "We're sorry, we trusted you to a murderer."

"He's not." You shouted trying to see from the window. Yuta was handcuffed, a large man holding him in place. He shook his head when your eyes met and the sight of rotten decaying bones caught your attention.

Your stomach churned and you vomited on the kitchen sink, your mom helping you by rubbing your back. "He's such a sweet child. What happened to Yuta?" Your mom asked and you itched to tell her that it's not him. A devil inside him.

Your eyes widened at the realization. Nothing happened last night. Now, you're having this weird feeling in your body. A cambion. And you felt yourself fainting at that information.

---

It's been years, seven years to be exact when that moment happened to your life. Yuta's parents moved to a different town but you still see them from time to time, as well as your parents. When they found out that you were pregnant with Yuta's child, they immediately sent you away to give birth abroad. Your son was three when you went back to the country and introduced him to his dad.

"Daddy!" Your son cheered seeing his dad walking outside the huge gates of the visitor's area. The older was grinning wide, carrying his son to where you are. He kissed you on your forehead and your son giggled, "Daddy, mommy said I can go to a big school this year." He nodded, letting the young boy sat on his lap. "Grandma and grandpa are going to buy me my bag."

Yuta giggled and you noticed how the two looked very much alike. It was the exact reason why your parents warmed up on Yuta and let you introduce your son to him. "I'm sorry. But when dad gets out of here, I'm going to pick you up from school every day."

You can feel your eyes water at that. The younger boy wrapped his arms around his neck, "When are you getting out of here?" You both sighed. It's always his question.

"Just another three years, then we can be together." There's a lot of pain in his words. "You and mommy can wait for me, right?" Your son nodded.

He reached out to hold your hand that was above the table. You nodded at him. You waited this long, another three years wouldn't hurt. He engaged in another conversation with the younger boy and you gazed at him, he looks better than the first few years he's here.

"Time to get back, Nakamoto." The police officer said and your son hugged his father's neck, refusing to let go of him.

This has always been a problem every time you visit Yuta. "Honey, we have to go. Daddy has to get back." You said quietly, taking him from Yuta. Your son glared at the big man behind his dad and he just turned his head to look at the wall. "Honey, let's get ice cream." You said quickly and the younger smiled at you. The guard turned around, asking what happened that his head was hurting.

Yuta gave you a worried look but you just shook your head, putting sunglasses on your son. "Say bye to daddy." You whispered and he obeyed you. "I'll come to visit you soon."

He kissed you on the forehead, "I'm sorry." Again. you shook your head. No one warned you about having a cambion and the risk it takes to be its parents. "I love you." But right now, your son and Yuta are the most important people in your life.

"I love you, too." And you're willing to throw everything in the past just to be happy with your small family.

#yuta #yuta nakamoto #nakamoto yuta #yuta horror #horror au #nct horror #nct 127 horror #yuta nakamoto horror #nakamoto yuta horror #nct 127 yuta horror #nct 127 yuta

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teacupcollector · 4 years ago

Text

The Undead Kind of Love: Part 1

Main Masterlist Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: When Y/N’s art project lands her in Romania she is met with very peculiar circumstances. Such as a weird old man speaking mythical nonsense, murders of both people and animals, an oncoming threat to her life, as well as her mysterious yet very hot next door neighbor with a weird obsession with beetroot juice.

You came to the Romanian capital for your college class. Your major was in Art History and you found that throughout your class you enjoyed different types of Folk Art and you enjoyed Romanian Folk Art the most. So you decided to sign a slip to study abroad to a country of your choosing and so you chose Romania. You were tasked to study the art and make your own as well as write an essay on the culture you encountered on your trip. So here you are, in Bucharest sitting at a small park bench, food in hand which had a beautiful view of ‘The Arch of Triumph’ You had your small notepad that you use to take notes on what you see for your essay but as of right now you are doodling with the infamous arch way as the sole subject. As you finished your food you begin to pack up and put your pencil and notebook away then stand up. Your next stop was the “Dimitrie Gusti National Village Museum” It is about a seven minute walk from where you are now so you begin your journey.

With your backpack over your shoulder you begin your seven minute trek when something caught your ear. It was coming from ahead of you as you make your way to the entrance of the museum. “Pleacă de aici (Go away!)” A man cried. He seemed out of his mind! He was yelling and touching patrons in an effort to diverge them away from somewhere. “trebuie să pleci acum (You must leave now!)” You weren’t sure of what to do so you just stood there staring. That was your first mistake. He immediately made eye contact with you and charged in your direction. He was spitting nonsense and you couldn’t understand what he was saying. “Părăsi! Părăsi! (Leave! Leave!)” You understand that word so as you go through your imaginary index cards you have for the Romanian language you ask “De ce? (Why?)” The man seemed confused at what you were asking. “Mort! (Dead!)” You look at him even more confused and he sighs angrily “Vampire! Here Vampire!” You look shocked. You knew this man was crazy but not this crazy! He begins to grab on to your arm in a firm grip when he is suddenly ripped off of you. “Destul! (Enough!)” You see a pair of what looked like officers pulling the man away from you. “Atenție! ( Be careful!)” The man cries. “nu ieși noaptea! (Don’t go out at night!)” The police officers are taking him away in the direction of the main road. “Morții merg pe timp de noapte (The dead walk at night!) That was the last words you heard until he was out of ear shot. A wave of strangeness incased your entire body. You felt uncomfortable so you decided to leave. ‘I’ll come here some other time...’ You think to yourself as you find yourself walking back toward the main road and away from the museum and the woods that surrounded it.

Your walk home was unnerving. You wouldn’t say you were a paranoid person or even a believer in the paranormal but the man did strike a fear in you. You use to love vampires when you were a kid. You dressed up as one for three years straight for Halloween. You went through that weird Twilight phase of putting dots of sharpie on your neck and drinking red Kool-Aid in middle school. To say you weren’t a vampire fan would be a lie but that man seemed to know more. I mean you are in Romania so it is to be expected? You sigh as you get closer and closer to your apartment complex. Your backpack seems to be getting heavier with each step you took up the stairs. You enter an outdoor hallway that is connected to the stairs you just went up and look back to the world behind you. As the chill of the Autumn air sets in and you shiver. You turn to your door and take out your keys that were provided for you by the school.

As you jiggle the lock you hear a door open next to you. You look to your left and see a man step out. He is wearing a brownish leather jacket and a red shirt underneath. He has a cap on top of his head as his umber brown hair surrounds his face. His side profile was a chefs kiss. He had a well defined jawline accompanied with just the right amount of facial hair from what you could see his face stood stern and unmoving until they landed on you. He had equally stern baby blue eyes as he stared into you (E/C) ones. His eyes seem to have a storm behind them. He had an intimidating look to him and the air around him was intense. You felt like you couldn’t breath. His eyes were like a black hole and they were sucking you in but you weren’t sure if you wanted to escape. That brief moment felt like a life time as you are swallowed by those broken eyes. He just looks at you and walks away.

When you got inside you decided to do a little research. Your roommate has yet to return so you decided to use their computer. You go to the local online news paper and begin to look at some articles. You go to the settings in the corner of the screen and hit the translate button. As the site reloads you begin to read. Multiple headlines flash across the screen as you scroll until a specific one catches your eye. “Local Farmer Finds Cattle Slaughtered” You scroll down to see pictures of said cattle. They are strangely skinny and their eyes are sunken in, there is a chunk of meat missing on a few parts of its body -mainly around the neck area- Scrolling down more you see the museum you were suppose to go to. There was a picture of the man you encountered holding onto somebody. Looking closely you can see that it is you! You didn’t realize that you were being photographed. Luckily it was of the back of your head so no one saw your face, but it would be a cool story to tell to your friend later. As you continue to stare at the man you decide to do even more digging. You decide to look up vampires and the influence they have in this culture. What you found was interesting but you weren’t sure if it was accurate. Then again how can something mythical be accurate? You decided to write down the name of a library that is close to your apartment complex and head there tomorrow. You decide to exit and shut off the computer putting it back on the coffee table where it belongs. You get up and decide to see what you have in the fridge. Turns out there was a whole lot of nothing. ‘I really need to go to the market tomorrow...’ You think to yourself as you reach for your phone looking at different take out places. You choose the type of food you wish to eat and made sure to write down the pronunciation of each items on the menu so you can be sure to say it correctly to the best of your abilities. By the time you are done ordering your roommate walks in and gives you a small wave. You wave back to them before continuing to wait for your food. You look out the sliding door of your balcony to see the sky is pitch black. You feel a shiver go up your spine and make your way to the sliding door and shutting the blinds. You take a few steps back and calm your breathing. You don’t know why you feel so worked up over nothing but you guess that your paranoia is getting the best of you. You walk to your roommates room and knock on the door. You hear a quiet ‘come in’ so you open the door. “Hey I just wanted to let you know that I got us some food and it will be here soon.” They smile and nod and you exit the room shutting it behind you. You don’t know how long it has been but you started dozing off on the couch when you heard a knock on the door. You quickly get your wallet and approach the door opening it. You expected your food to be here. What you didn’t expect is the person holding your food in their hands. “Oh it’s you!” You exclaim making the man you saw earlier today flinch. You blush red in embarrassment. “Sorry Uh-” You begin to try and speak some Romanian but the man cuts you off. “Your food got delivered to my place...” You look even more shocked. “Oh right. I’m so sorry!” You pop your head around the corner of the door way looking for the delivery person. “Where did they go?” You ask looking up at him. “They left...” He murmurs. “They wouldn’t have left without payment... Did you pay for my food?” You ask suddenly feeling guilty. He nods. “Why don’t you come i-” “No it’s fine.” He says holding out the bag of food to you. You look between him and the food. As you look closely you can see his hand. His hands look tough, fingernails are well kept with veins protruding and leading up his arm, but the thing that caught your eye the most was how his fingertips and some of his hand was stained red. “Is that your blood!? Are you okay? Did you hurt you hand?” You ask taking the food in which he takes his hand and wipes it on his jeans even though there is no liquid on it. What ever it was you hoped it wasn’t blood because it must have been there for a while to have stained it. “No I didn’t hurt my hand. I spilled some beet root juice.” He says quietly. “Oh... Okay...” You say slightly weirded out. “Well good night.” He says before walking away. You are stood there for a moment before you call out “Good night! How do I-” You hear the sound of his apartment door slamming shut. You were debating on going over there to say something but your thoughts were interrupted by your roommate calling out to you. “Hey what are you doing with the door wide open? Is the food here?” She asks and you sigh “Yeah I’m coming in.” You say as you step back into the apartment and shut the door. A/N: I used Google Translate for the Romanian So I’m sorry if it is off. A/N: This story is for a writing challenge hosted by @lokithealligator A/N: The bolded words is number 46 in a prompt list made by @pitaparka -Please check both of them out they are amazing!

#eventual fluff #eventual angst #eventual bucky x reader #vampire bucky barnes #vampire bucky x reader #college reader #strange bucky #strangers to lovers #slow burn #writing challenge #halloween #halloween writing challenge

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justkending · 4 years ago

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The Number One Rule. Chapter 15.

Summary: Y/N has always been seen as “Steve’s rambunctious sister.” However, she grew up, graduated, and moved to London to study abroad for 4 years and get her bachelor's degree. The girl that returns looks nothing like the teenager that left, but don’t worry the attitude is still there and stronger than ever. What’s to come of the two grown adults that used to push each other's buttons, but now have a lot more in common than they’ve ever realized.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Y/N Rogers (Steve’s little sister)

Word Count: 3100+

A/N: Ladies and gentleman. This is in one of my top 3 chapters I’ve written in this series. The next one being my number 1;) I hope you enjoy and I would love any and all feedback you are willing to share!! xoxoxo

Chapter Fifteen:

Eventually when Bucky had snapped out of his thoughts, Y/N had long fallen asleep on him. He smiled down at her with a sad smile. One filled with remorse for everything she had gone through, but pride in how she handled it and didn’t let it destroy her. At least not to the extent that a lot of people get into.

She had years to do that, whereas Bucky was fresh on the subject. It would take him time to move on from that for her. He couldn’t help but feel hate for himself knowing exactly what party she was talking about.

It was one of the few he and Steve didn’t attend. They had planned on it, but Dot wanted a quiet night in, and Steve just didn’t feel like it or something. It had been a while since that party, so he didn’t remember intricate details. 7 years to be exact. And the only reason he could guess which one it was, was because of how she acted after it. A whole month of depression and guilt she sat with and it showed. For the last 7 years Y/N had carried that with her. The only person she trusted to tell to this day was Beck. Now he was the other.

He gathered her up in his arms, and she drowsily threw her own over his shoulders and hung on in a sleepy daze as he brought her up the stairs. He laid her in her bed, turned on her fan, and tucked her in.

But as he stood to go back downstairs, her hand clasped around his.

“Where y’ going?” she asked. The wine was playing a big part in the sleepiness and he could tell by her weak squeeze to his hand.

“I’m just going to clean up downstairs. I’ll be back up in a second, sweetheart,” she nodded before giving him another squeeze to his hand and pulling the bed covers up to her cheeks. He smiled at her cute self and bent down kissing her forehead. He moved the strands of hair they fell over her eyes and studied her for a second.

Eventually, he pulled away and went to do what he said. Popcorn kernels trashed and bowls cleaned. Leftover wine in the fridge and beer bottles recycled. He folded the blankets on the couch and set the pillows back in their original arrangement. Lastly, he went and checked to make sure all the doors were locked for the night. He had spent the night there enough to do a lock up without issues.

Coming back upstairs, he changed into his own pajamas and snuck into the other side of the bed. Careful not to wake her, he gently and ever so softly, pulled her back to him. In her sleep, she turned to where they were face to face. Curling into his chest in comfort, trying to get as close as she could.

He couldn’t hold in the chuckle that rumbled through his chest as she nuzzled under his chin. He ran his hand up and down her back and noticed her body relaxing with each stroke. He was glad he had that effect on her. It was the least he could offer after not being there for her in those hard times.

Now when he held her, he wasn’t just protecting her, but also trying to shield her from any more pain. He had been doing that his whole life for the family that the Roger’s had become to him. But now was different. This was a different kind of defense. This wasn’t just family protection. This was protection for someone you love.

________________

The next morning, Y/N was the first to wake. She found herself practically embedded in Bucky’s arms. He had wrapped his giant self around her waist pulling her in close to his body.

They had cuddled before, and even had a few sleepovers when Steve wasn’t in town, or if Becca wasn’t going to be home for the night and lent them her space. But it was only enough to count on one hand. That, plus, it never escalated to anything other than cuddling and maybe a makeout session here and there.

Bucky had been gentle and patient in that area. Even if they hadn’t had that talk yet at that point, he didn’t push. Something she wasn’t used to in most of the guys she had dated. Pietro probably being the only other one that was understanding of it.

Even if they had been dating a little over a month, she was glad they were taking it slow. Even if they had known each other their whole lifes.

She somehow was able to turn in his arms and see a soft smile on his lips. He wasn’t awake, so he must have been dreaming of something nice. She took a second just breathing him in and trying to wrap her head around how all this came to be.

Sure she had crushes on him growing up. I mean who doesn’t form a crush for your older brother's hot best friend. Though if she was being honest, she had always thought deep down that it was never a card that would be played in this game of life.

Little did they know, it would just take time and growth. Then the fates would do with them what they will. Most card games were just a game of chance. You never know what’s going to come around the corner...

Eventually, she pulled herself away ever so gently and quietly to escape downstairs and make breakfast. She was still in her sleep shorts, but at some point took off her sweatshirt in the night from almost overheating. That plus the surprisingly excessive amount of body heat Bucky gave off made it hard to sleep with it on.

She found a new one laying over her chair in the corner and threw it on before grabbing a hair tie and brushing her bed head up into a bun.

Tiptoeing to the door, she slowly closed it leaving it open just a crack.

Just as she took a step on the stairs, she heard the front door unlock and open. Freezing in her spot she waited a second. The only person who had a key besides their mom and her was…

“Hey, sis,” Steve said coming around the corner seeing her at the top of the stairs.

“S-Steve,” she said in almost a whisper. Panic. Fear. Dread hit her at full force.“What, um, what are you doing here?”

“It’s Saturday and mom’s out of town, and I knew you were home alone. I thought I’d come over and we can go get breakfast or something,” he said with a sweet innocent smile.

Running down the stairs a little quicker, she met him at the bottom.

“Um, why didn’t you call? I would have gotten ready. I just woke up,” her voice was filled with anxiety and Steve noticed.

“I thought I’d surprise you,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You ok? You seem off?”

“Um, no. I’m fine. I just got a text from work that one of the projects they had me on needs to be done sooner than I expected.” How she came up with that lie on the spot like that? She had no idea, but she ran with it. “Yeah, not the best thing to wake up too. Making me a little nervous.”

“Oh, well do you want to go get breakfast and we can talk about it? I’ve barely heard about anything with your new job. We need to catch up, Mini,” he said, poking her stomach and making her let out a loud laugh, having always been super ticklish.

Just seconds after that, having heard voices and a loud almost shout, Bucky swug open the door and peered down the stairway where they were both at the bottom.

Two seconds.

Two seconds was all it took for Steve to put two and two together in his head. Bucky acting weird lately. Sneaking off randomly and never telling Steve anything, which wasn’t like him in their friendship. Hell, he had even noticed Bucky’s lingering looks, but always put in the back of his mind thinking nothing of it.

But now. Oh, he was thinking about something now.

Bucky was frozen at the top of the stairs, eyes locked with Steve. To make matters worse, he only had pajama pants on and no shirt.

Even from the distance of the stairwell, Bucky could see the storm brewing in the blue eyes of his best friend.

“Steve,” Y/N started placing a hand on his arm.

The blonde immediately ripped away from her as he turned to fully face Bucky. The alpha male, big brother, pissed off best friend was in a stance ready to fight.

“Why the FUCK did you just come out of my sister’s room half fucking naked?” Steve growled.

“Steve, you don’t know the full story,” Y/N said softly, but she could sense the tension and for once in her life, she was slightly scared to enter the fight.

“The fuck I don’t know the full story,” Steve said finally whipping his head back to Y/N. His blue eyes were carrying a category 5 hurricane in those ocean blues. But they didn’t stay on her long as he turned back to Bucky.

“Listen,” Bucky said, coming down slowly.

“I don’t know if I want to,” he responded through his teeth. “Take one more step down here, and you’re going to need some serious dental work and a nose job.”

Bucky froze about 4-5 steps away from the siblings. Finally, he looked at Y/N, worry in his eyes, but they were also apologetic.

Y/N immediately moved around Steve and stood between the two. Closer to Steve to try and hold him back if she needed to.

“Now wait a damn minute,” she spoke up looking straight at her older brother even if he was sending a death glare past her shoulder. “You need to calm down before we talk-”

“No. You need to go to your room. Bucky and I need to talk,” he said in an authoritative voice.

“Excuse me?” she retorted back. Her gentleness in the situation was fading and being replaced with aggravation. “Go to my room? Am I a 13 year old girl?” she said stepping in his eyeline so he was looking at her.

“This isn’t a fucking joke, Y/N!” He shouted. “Go to your room!”

“No,” she replied, folding her arms across her chest.

The two had this kind staring contest all the time growing up. Anytime there was a fight, they almost never relented with their stubborn asses. Their mom or dad had to send them to their rooms themselves and kept them there. The time ranging from 20 minutes to 5 hours before they calmed down.

They were two of the most headstrong ornery people to live in this world. And it didn’t help that they were now pitted against each other. This kind of fight looked as if it could be ranging more into weeks or months.

Knowing and experiencing situations like this with them before, Bucky spoke up again.

“Y/N, you should listen to him. We need to talk,” he said sedately.

“I leave and he’s going to beat your ass,” Y/N said, still staring at her brother.

“I think he’s going to beat my ass either way,” Bucky mumbled. “Really Y/N. Just give us a second.”

“I’m a part of this equation too,” she said. Her tone easing just enough to be noticed.

“Yes, you are. But right now, Steve and I need to talk first,” he said trying his best to defuse the fire against the heated situation happening in the entryway of their house.

There were a few more seconds of silence as they glared at the other.

“Fine, but I’m coming back down in 10 minutes,” she bartered.

No one responded as she started to go up the stairs backwards. The staredown did not cease until she was even with Bucky on the steps.

“If he does anything stupid, I’m going to beat his ass,” she said looking at Bucky.

“I’m sure you will,” he said with a small smile that was forced for reassurance.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. A silent good luck as they studied the other in a quick second.

Turning back to look at Steve, she saw he was still in a rigid stance. The tension in his shoulders doing nothing but grow with every passing second. She would’ve sent him one more warning glare if he was looking, but his eyes were trained on Bucky with a look that could kill.

Eventually she went into her room and shut her door, leaving it open just a crack. They deserved their privacy no matter how bad she wanted to step in. Deep down she knew, as best friends, they needed to talk on their own.

Bucky looked back down and saw a bull looking at him like he was a red cape.

“Outside. Now,” Steve commanded before stomping off to the back and letting the screen door slam harshly.

Letting out a long sigh and running a hand down his face, he finally went down the stairs. He grabbed a shirt from the bag he had left down there and headed to the backyard. Steve already in the grass pacing.

“Steve,” Bucky said softly as he walked down the porch steps barefoot.

Instantly, a fist collided with his face. He stumbled trying his best to not fall from the impact. When he looked up, grasping his jaw, he sent a glare to Steve.

“I’m not saying I don’t deserve that, but-”

“Oh, you deserve a lot more than that, but I need you to explain what the HELL I just walked into and you can’t do that with no teeth,” Steve glowered.

Looking at him while straightening his posture he wiggled his jaw some feeling just a tad bit of blood on his lip. Damn him for teaching Steve how to make a proper swing like that.

“You gonna punch me again before I talk, or can I fucking explain myself now?” No response, only a stare was given. “Ok, so I’ve been hiding something from you.” Steve raised an eyebrow.

“You think?”

“Listen, I’m almost as taken aback as you. One day, she’s like a little sister running around with my actual sister, and the next she's a mature grown adult who knows what she wants, exudes confidence, and is intelligent beyond measure.” He paused before adding. “Not that we didn’t know that.”

“I know what my sister is. What I want to know is why you’re sleeping with her?” Steve said, taking a step closer.

Bucky just straightened up more as if expecting another hit. But then he processed Steve’s sentence.

“Sleeping with her?” he questioned almost in shock. Steve not breaking his gaze. “I’m not fucking sleeping with her, asshole! I’m dating her.”

The smallest amount of tension released from Steve’s body and his face wasn’t frowning as much.

“You’re dating?”

“Yes. Dating.”

“So you guys haven’t-”

“No. I’m a little upset that you think that low of me,” Bucky scoffed. “You think I would really just start booty calling my best friend's sister? If I wanted a friend with benefits, I can easily find a girl at a bar,” he said, taking a deep breath and running a hand through his hair. “You’re sister isn’t a girl from a bar, Steve.”

Steve was silent processing it. He still wasn’t happy, but at least it wasn’t as bad as had thought.

“Listen, Y/N’s been in my life just as long as she has been in yours. We’ve grown up together, created childhood memories together, picked on each other, and protected each other. She would be the last person on this earth I would want to degrade to a one night stand. She deserves so much more than that.”

“Exactly,” Steve said.

Bucky paused taking note of Steve’s tone. “Exactly? Why do you say it like that?”

“I mean she deserves a lot,” he said, confirming Buck’s thought.

“I see. So I don’t make the cut?” Bucky said, now getting frustrated. The silence was enough of an answer to his question. “Wow. 26 years of being best friends and you think that little of me?”

“She’s my sister,” Steve answered. A slight tone of apology behind his words, but he kept the stoic face.

“Yes, Steve she is! And 2+2= 4! We know this!” he said waving his arms and scoffing as he turned in his spot before turning back. Hands on his hips before one came up and ran a hand through his slight beard.

“You know what? Screw this. I’m not going to sit here and be that guy that says, ‘Yeah, you’re right. She doesn’t deserve me. I’m not good enough for her.’ You know why, Steve? Because I know that. And it’s because I know that, that I’m going to strive with every muscle in my body and every might of my being to make sure I can be that for her one day. To make sure I can give her everything and more that she deserves. To make sure she never has to see a sad day again. To make sure she only experiences joy if I have any say. To make absolutely sure that no one ever hurts her. Why? Because I love her!”

Out of breath, Bucky chest heaving up and down showed how hard his lungs were working to get air back in them.

Steve’s posture had almost gone back to normal. The anger no longer there. Whatever emotion he was feeling, Bucky couldn’t tell.

“How long?” Steve asked.

“What?” Bucky asked, confused.

“How long have you loved her?” he repeated, looking down at the ground.

Bucky paused. He couldn’t actually answer that. There was no specific time frame. Truth was he had loved her for a while.

“Honestly, longer than I know... It’s just taken me this long to figure out that’s what this feeling was.”

Steve nodded his head as he put his hands in his pockets and continued to stare at the dirt by his feet.

“Ok.”

Taken aback, Bucky's eyes widened.

“Ok?”

“Yeah. Ok,” Steve repeated before he started walking to the back fence that led to the driveway.

“Wait. You’re just going to leave it at 'Ok,’ and walk away?” Bucky rushed over to stop him.

Steve slowly turned from staring at the ground and then back at him.

“You know, I thought that we were close enough that you could come to me with this kind of thing. That you wouldn’t feel like you had to hide it from me. Y/N and you both,” he said with pursed lips. “Guess I was wrong.”

With that he turned back and walked to his car. Bucky watched as he started the engine, pulled out, and disappeared.

What the hell kind of mess just happened?

(Tags for this series will be closing soon as it is getting pretty full, please send an ask if you want to be added:)

I’ll post on whatever chapter I decided to close it down here.

The Number One Rule (TNOR) Taglist:

@shadowolf993 @hello-i-am-daydreaming @jessyballet @emmabarnes @kmuir1 @beautifulrare4leafclover @thefallenbibliophilequote @l0ve-0f-my-life @shawnie--jo @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @asoftie4bucky @katiaw2 @sheeple @sznri @bxtchboy69 @taliarosej00 @bakugouswh0r3 @stopjustlovethemcu @babemendesxz @jenniereiji @taliarosej00 @loveyou5everr @natdrunk @im-a-light-child

My Lovelies forever:

@natura1phenomenon @lauravicente @kakakatey @traceyaudette @notyourtypicalrose @laneygthememequeen @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @sandlee44 @thorne93 @thefaithfulwriter @marvelfansworld @essie1876 @greyeyedsmile14 @capsiclehan @xostephanie @averyrogers83 @awesomenursingstudent @gh0stgurl @cs-please @carls1022 @jjlevin @rainbowkisses31 @carls1022 @anise-d-castle6 @deannotmoose @their-bibliophile @kitkatd7 @willowbleedsonpaper @mariaenchanted @snffbeebee @couldabeenamermaid @rebekahdawkins

Bucky Barnes Tags:

@morganclaire4 @chloe-skywalker @charmedbysarge @jbarness

@bellamy-barnes

Marvel Tags:

@thejourneyneverendsx @death-unbecomes-you @heyiamthatbitch @lizzymacy555 @iheartsebastianstan @srrymydood @xa-dia @redhairedfeistynerd @morganclaire4 @connie326 @captain-asguard @mollygetssherlockcoffee @teenagedreams-bucky

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader au #bucky x reader au series #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes au series #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes series #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x Y/N #bucky barnes x steves sister #bucky barnes x Y/N Rogers

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annieharkness · 4 years ago

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Glimpses: Part 12 (Kathryn Hahn x Fem!Reader)

Part 1 // previous chapter <<< >>> next chapter

Summary: Will you be able to go with Kathryn?

Word Count: 2k

A/N: This is a little shorter, I know, but I hope all of you still enjoy it. Look at this little tag list we have going on now!! - I might actually get a little emotional that so many of you are still reading this little story. With all that being said, here we gooooo. xx

Tag List: @danvers97 @zafirosreverie @srtamercurio @wanatag @pulledbythestars17 @plantowl

Don't forget to check out the new official Playlist! :)

_____________________________________________________________________________

“You can’t take her.” Jennifer is walking up and down in Kathryn’s office. She arrived here right after you had left, ready to plan to thrip to New York, as well as the upcoming project. Kathryn shifts her focus from her hand to her manager and huffs.

“NO. Kathryn, no. You know it yourself. First of all, she is a distraction. Yes, you like her, I KNOW, but this is not you. This is not how you do your job.” Jennifer looks at her boss with pleading eyes.

Running her fingers through her long mane, Kathryn bites the insides of her cheek. “you’re right, I know you are, but at the same time…”

“NO BUTS, Kathryn.” Jennifer interrupts her, prompting Kathryn to shoot her a short glare.

“…but at the same time I haven’t been this happy in years.” Thinking back at the time you spent with her, a small smile creeps onto her face.

Jennifer gets it. She understands Kathryn’s point, but as her manager it’s her job to secure the actress’ job, which is why she needs to make sure there are as few distractions from work as possible included in the trip.

Placing a hand on her arm, Jennifer looks at Kathryn with warm eyes. “Sweetie, I know you don’t like it. I don’t like it either, because I know how good the time with her is for your heart. But we can’t have this. Not now. Not during your shining moment. Yeah?”

Slowly but surely, Kathryn starts to nod as she can feel the sadness rise in her chest.

Meanwhile, you and Alex are having the same conversation back in your room. She tries to talk sense into you and talks animatedly to her phone, as you try to find a way to accompany Kathryn.

“Honey, you simply can’t. There is no way. It’s during the exam phase. You can’t be abroad for that.” She shakes her head.

Considering your options, you try to talk against her. “I could ask for online exams.”

“… there is a multiple hour time difference - you can’t be serious, Y/N.”

“I could postpone exams?” You raise an eyebrow.

Alex shakes her head harder now. “NO GIRL. No. Kathryn wouldn’t want you screwing up your education for this. You have leftover classes, exams to write and then you’ll have to write term papers you have to prepare for,” you take a visible breath. “Yes love, I am aware you could write those on set but we all know you wouldn’t. It’s better for you to stay.”

You want to argue. You really do. But there are a few things holding you back. First of all, you know Alex makes a valid point. Second of all, you don’t even know where you are standing with Kathryn. What are you to her? What is happening with her? The lines are so blurry that it’s hard for you to see, so you think it might be better not to assume and make a fuss about all of it.

Lastly, you don’t even know if she wants to have you by her side in the first place, because, again, it’s not like she is your girlfriend or anything. Not that you wouldn’t want her to be.

So, just like Kathryn does with Jennifer, you agree to what Alex says and make your decision to stay, even though it hurts your heart just as much as it hurts hers.

Given the fact, that she has to leave for New York right the next morning, it’s not possible for you to see her again. You think back at the soft kiss she planted on your lips as you left her house under yesterday’s hot afternoon sun. You feel so good with her and you can’t stop to think back at how beautiful her eyes look up close - even more beautiful than on all her pictures that Alex and you have been sending back and forth whenever Kathryn did a new promo shoot.

It’s late afternoon as you’re lying on your bed and stare at the ceiling, a random Marvel movie running in the background. Alex has been trying to hype you up all day, but, given the fact that Kathryn is gone for an unforeseen time, you still feel sad.

You turn off the movie because you can’t seem to concentrate and connect your phone to the speakers to play some music. You remember that you can sit on your windowsill that’s facing the backyard and and decide to sit down and watch the birds in the tree outside your window as you open Spotify and it starts playing the last song you stopped on. “She” by dodie fills the room and you don’t think you related to a song like that ever before.

It really describes the feelings of uncertainty that you have right now. It doesn’t help that you never really took the chance to talk to her about all of not. Not properly, at least. This mistake leaves you with this endless feeling of emptiness that seems like it’s eating you up from the inside as you don’t even know if she feels the same in any way.

Your phone chimes and you nearly fall off the windowsill as you shoot up to reach for it. It’s the group chat you thought had died a while ago that you joined right after Kathryn appeared on Wandavision.

Apparently, news of Kathryn’s casting already sank through and everyone is screaming about it. Unwilling to share any knowledge, and also way too careful with it, you want to put your phone away as it chimes again and your eyes widen.

You immediately click the message.

“New York is wild! Haven’t had time to get to you yet. Seems like everyone and their mom wants to speak to me today. Just left my second meeting and now I have to leave for a work dinner in a few. How’s the day going back home? xxx K.”

A bright smile creeps onto your face as you realize she uses the “everyone and their mom” phrase that you use so much whenever you describe difficult situations to her. You decide not to reply immediately - you don’t want her to assume you are sitting on your phone just waiting for her.

Instead you opt to create some art and grab your supplies. There is an empty canvas behind your bed and you feel like there are enough feelings trapped in you to create something cool on it.

Your mom works long on Mondays, so you haven't realized just how much time has passed as you perform the last of the night and call it a day. Your picture is colorful. Very much so. The acrylic paint hasn’t even dried yet, but there are already tons of ideas floating around in your head about what to do with the artwork from here on out. Maybe you should get some fine liners and work out the edges, maybe do some highlighting as well, you don't know yet.

Just as you want to put the brush aside your phone lights up on your bed. You can't pick it up just now because the slowly drying paint sticks to your fingers and you anxiously reach for the closest paper towel to white it off as best as you can. Not expecting anything, you finally reach for your phone and pick up the call before reading the name - an automatic reaction to late night calls from Alex.

You are greeted by a very familiar, yet unexpected, face. Kathryn smiles into the camera and adjusts the lights around her. She is clearly in her pjs, with no make up on, her hair open and messy, falling off her shoulder. You can see she is wearing a loose gray shirt and your whole body starts tingling as you realize it's the shirt she gave you to sleep in last weekend. Immediately, your brain runs wild and you try to figure out if she packed this exact shirt on purpose or just grabbed the one that was available easiest as she was probably in a rush.

Luckily, Kathryn interrupts your train of thought. “Hey! Hiya hon! I just wanted to check in. Make sure you’re alright because you haven’t replied to my message.”

For the first time you look at the clock. It’s 8.30pm and you haven’t had dinner yet.

“Shit.”, you mutter and your hand flies to cover your mouth immediately.

Kathryn, who hasn’t heard your muttering, looks confused. “Sweetheart, is everything alright?”

You smile thankfully. “Yes! Yes it is. I guess I was just wrapped up in my art and you pulled me out of it and I always need a minute to adjust. I’m fine. It’s late though and I haven’t eaten yet. Thank you for reminding me.”

“Good. Do you want me to order you pizza or something. Because I totally would.” She reaches for a notepad.

“Alright Mom…” she looks at you for a moment and you can’t tell if she is shocked or amused or anything really because she stopped reacting completely and just stares at you. Right when you are about to start panicking about the situation she bursts into laughter.

“I mean I’M SORRY. How dare I offer pizza.” She continues laughing. You love this. This is easy and light and you realize once again just how much you enjoy her company. Gosh, you miss her already.

You remember her message as you make your way downstairs. “How was dinner, Kathryn? And the rest of your day? Tell me about it!”

For the next 10 minutes, as you prepare your own dinner, she tells you about her day and the plans for the next few weeks. The two of you laugh and make jokes and for a moment it seems like both of you have forgotten that you won’t see each other for a while. After she finishes talking, you fall into a comfortable silence and just look and smile at each other for a moment.

“I like you, you know?” She is the one to interrupt the silence. “Spending time with you makes me really happy and I’m sad you can’t come to Europe with me. I need you to know. I wish I could’ve taken you with me.”

Your heart melts and your hands start to shake as you realize Kathryn might indeed feel the same way. You put the knife, that’s in your hand from making dinner, aside. You’re unable to answer right away and fight for the right words, so she continues on with her short monologue.

“I just wanted to call tonight to check in and see how you are doing since I had to kick you out so abruptly last night and maybe we can do this from time to time, check in on each other? I would love that.”

Check in on each other? Why is she so vague all the time? For a moment you thought she’d confess her feelings for you but here you are again, uncertain of what she really thinks about you. You smile, though, and try to keep it calm because you don’t want her to get annoyed with you already.

You realize it’s getting close to 9pm, which means it should be about midnight at her place. Taking responsibility, you send her off to sleep and have a short dinner followed by some reading yourself.

Before Kathryn hangs up, she promises you to call again before leaving for Europe completely. She also wants to know if you want a souvenir from NYC (why is she so cute?) and tells you to call her anytime you need something or someone. With that, she shoots you the brightest smile and leaves you to it.

The ecstatic feeling you felt when you talked to her fades quickly as you come down from the call. Suddenly, your home feels all quiet and lonely and the silence is killing you. You walk back up to your room to sit on your bed and stare out of your window to enjoy the night sky. The tree right next to your room is slowly moving in the wind as its branches scratch the glasses surface.

You decide to call it a day as the week ahead is full of work and school and the weekend was eventful, so you change into comfy clothes and get ready for bed immediately. You fall onto your bed a few minutes later just as your phone lights up again.

"Good night, Sweetheart. It was great seeing your face. xxx K."

#kathryn hahn #kathryn hahn x reader #Kathryn Hahn x You #Kathryn Hahn fan fiction #Kathryn Hahn Fanfiction #groupie #groupie au

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17wishbones · 4 years ago

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Here is the FINAL part (3) of Chapter VII: War’s End! So glad that you made it all to the end. A rather bittersweet sort of sensation but, it was fun writing this to the very end. I so wanted a happy ending, but I still sort of followed Rengoku’s path and cried my eyes out again but it was worth it. Again, this one I know I could write better so I’m going to work on it. Thank you all for reading through this and sticking with me. This was just so fun to do!

- - - - - - - -

Chapter VII: War’s End

“Everyone ready to go?” Tanjiro asked his ‘lively’ crew.

Zenitsu was sitting with Nezuko who was comfortably set in her box. “Yep, yep! Me and Nezuko-chan are as ready as we’ll ever be.”

“Finally! I can get out and stretch my legs!” Inosuke shouted with glee as he grabbed his two blades.

“Hope you have room for one more.”

“Oh, sure, we do-- _____, is that. . . is that really you?”

“In the flesh.” You stepped through the doorway in just the uniform. Over the weeks, you garnered a leveled bob cut of your locs, an eyepatch over your left eye, and scars littering your arms and around your face. “I’ve missed you all so much.”

“COOOOOOK!!!” Inosuke bum-rushed you into a hug, sniffling loudly beneath his boar’s head. “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!?”

Zenitsu joined him, well, more like pushed him out of the way as he hugged you next. “____, WE WERE WORRIED SICK ABOUT YOU!! WE THOUGHT YOU WERE A GONER!!”

“I’m so sorry for up and leaving just like that. There was a lot to process after the Mugen Train incident, and I didn’t want to muddle your healthy minds with my emotions. I wanted to be mentally strong for you guys.”

‘Her scent is still sad. Of course, she has a reason to be. She lost Rengoku-san, and has had to cope with that loss on her own. I know how tough that can be, but I have Nezuko with me still. She doesn’t have any kin or home to return to. Demon slaying is all she has. . . and us.’ Tanjiro’s eyes lit up. “That’s right! You have us.”

“Hmm? What was that, Tanjiro?” You asked.

“We’re a family, isn’t that right, _____?”

His words surprised you, and it made your heart jump with joy. You looked at all four of them as a part of your family. There wasn’t anything you wouldn’t do for them. “You’re absolutely right. That’s why I want to come with you. Besides, as a Hashira, it is but my civic duty to protect Kyōjurō’s juniors.” Tears formed in the corner of your eyes as you spoke fondly of him. “He was so ecstatic to have more apprentices under his belt. Therefore, I must follow in his footsteps and watch over you.”

“YEEEESS!! Having Cook with us will make traveling even better.”

Zenitsu frowned at him. ‘As if traveling with you has been anything pleasant.’

“Now, before we go. I want to see Senjuro. Did you relay the message to him already, Tanjiro?”

“Mhm. As soon as we got back, and when I was able to move. Do you want us to come with you? We’re heading through that direction anyway.”

“Perfect! Let’s be off then.”

You all travelled down to the Rengoku Estate, seeing Senjuro sweeping out of his home. He was caught off guard when you embraced him.

For a moment, there was silence as he held you back tightly, his eyes swelling with tears. Seeing him reminded you of all the times you spent together. The three of you were a team when you and Rengoku were training for the Final Selection. Senjuro, sweet and kind, had a quiet fire burning in him. He was going to be something amazing, just like his brother.

“Senjuro, how have you been? Are you alright?” You inspected him from his ember-tipped hair down to his sandals.

“I’m better now, after seeing you. You left in such a hurry, I was worried that you weren’t going to come back.”

“You’re stronger than I, Senjuro, and I wanted to be that for you. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, _____. Are you leaving with Tanjiro and the others now?”

“Yes. I want to follow in your brother’s footsteps and protect those that I love and those that can’t protect themselves.” You knelt down, looking into his big, soft eyes. “I really wanted us to be together.” You said this, not knowing when death would knock at your doorstep. “I love you, Senjuro. I know you’ll be a great man in the future.”

“Mmm, I think I will be, too.” He hugged you one more time. “I love you, too, _____!”

You returned the favor before you both let go. You reached for your belt, pulling out a small box of goodies. “For you. Hope you like them. Take care, Senjuro.”

Your days, though filled with amazing memories, came to a close as you fell protecting the children. More than anything, you wanted them to succeed. Sacrificing yourself was the only way to win. It was a swift pain, a slow burn, and then darkness bled into your vision as your soul lifted towards the light and your warm, wavering aura vanished from your body.

You were sorry that you couldn’t stay as you walked halfway across the red bridge, spotting flame-tipped hair just over yonder. He peered over his shoulder, a proud smile spread on his handsome features as he held his hand out to you.

Over the red bridge did you both cross, fading into the distance.

( B O N U S - E N D I N G)

Summer had come and college was out! Most couldn’t wait to spend it goofing off on a beach, traveling across the States, or going right back into school a couple weeks later for summer courses. Many people had many things to look forward to, but you? You had woken up at the ass crack of dawn, taking in the morning air as you raced down the steps with your suitcase fully packed.

“Mom! Dad! Come on! We have to get the airport now! I can’t be late.” Your parents were so slow sometimes and that made you anxious. You could leave them here and catch a ride there or make it on your own but they were not having any of that.

“We’re coming, _____, we’re coming!” Your dad said with a mouthful of foaming toothpaste.

“You usually don’t wake up this early with this much energy.” Your mom added.

“It’s not everyday you get to study abroad in the land of the Rising Sun! I have a day’s worth of traveling to do so I can always sleep later.” Yeah, you didn’t get any kind of sleep last night as you’d be spending most of it in the air.

You hurried them up and sped to the busy airport to meet with the group of classmates you were leaving with. You said your goodbyes to your parents, boarded the plane, and wished for a safe trip.

As soon as service was offered, you grabbed a couple drinks, ate whatever they served in the trays, and knocked out until landing - save for the few bathroom trips -.

Your horizon suddenly expanded the moment you walked out of Japan’s airport, looking around you in amazement. You had to keep murmuring to yourself, “Do not weeb out. I repeat, do not weeb out.” You loved anime, you loved Japanese culture, and you loved their idea of cuisine. Japan felt like the place for you.

“Okay everyone, please come together,” spoke your sweet, endearing Japanese princess of a teacher, Mayamoto-sensei. “We’ll be heading two hours out by bus to Kimetsu Daigaku (Kimetsu University). Rest up and be ready for a little surprise set up by a few students who were interested in meeting you guys soon after arrival.”

You internally squealed with glee. You weren’t dressed up for the occasion but who was going to tell you that you couldn’t wear a pair of sweats on the ride there. With your short locs retwisted and your good outfits packed, you were set to go!

So set that you were the first off the bus and getting your things out. “This is going to be a great experience, I know it!”

“Nn! I agree!”

“Oh my god!” You jumped, scared by the booming voice beside you. “Oh… oh my god.” You had laid eyes on one of the most unique men you had ever had the pleasure of gazing upon. He was different, what with his flame highlighted tips, dazzling eyes, and charming smile.

“Yes. . .?” He slowly stood, his eyes never leaving yours once locked. This man, a vocal and expressive man, was left speechless. He ogled you for much longer than he’s ever done, going over your brown skin, your brown eyes, your short locs, everything! He immediately bowed before you, introducing himself. “Konnichiwa! Rengoku Kyōjurō to moushimasu! Yoroshiku onegai-shimasu!” (Formal: (Hello!) I’m called Rengoku Kyōjurō! Nice to meet you!)

Your eyes bugged out of your face. ‘Shit! Wasn’t he speaking English a minute ago? Okay, okay, what did he say?’ You looked back to see your sensei and the students watching the two of you interact. This was not how you kept yourself out of weeb trouble. Hell, you were still trying to figure out what his fine ass said so fast.

“Onamae wa, nan desu ka?” (Polite: What’s your name?)

You sighed, being able to understand that. “Watashi no namae wa… _____ _____ desu. Doozo yoroshiku.” (Casual: My name is _____. Nice to meet you.)

‘_____?’ He eyed you for a second longer before he placed his hands on his hips, smiling wide from ear to ear. “Very good, _____! I’m Rengoku Kyōjurō, and I am with a few classmates to meet you all. Welcome to Kimetsu University!”

“Woooow, his English is so good.” You thought. Aloud.

“Thank you! I have been learning since elementary! Your pronunciation is good, but your flow is slow. However, I am sure you will improve after being here for a month!”

‘Oh, thanks for putting me out there!’ You smiled nervously. This handsome, wild man was nothing like you had expected. “That’s what I’m hoping for as I’d like to work, live, and travel here in the future.”

“Is that so?” He faced you with his arms crossed over his chest. “Be my student!” Your mouth, along with the others, dropped at his proposal. You looked to your sensei for help, and she encouraged it with an approving nod and smile. “Great, then it’s settled! You’ll be fluent in Japanese in no time!” He looked off to the distance, laughing loud as you smiled in confusion.

(Modern AU Sequel coming SOON!) - - - - - - - - - Chapters: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII (Part 1) / (Part 2) / (Part 3)

#rengoku kyojuro x reader #rengoku x reader #rengoku x you #rengoku kyōjurō #kimetsu no yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic

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liptonsbabe · 4 years ago

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The light is coming [B.W]

Bill Weasley x Lexington! reader

Chapter 1

Summary: The power of the Dark Lord shakes the entire magical community to its foundations, no one is safe as Lord Voldemort is so strong and the boy who lived becomes weaker; The magnanimous Order of the Phoenix is in dire need to gather all its members and even to recruit wizards beyond the borders of the community.

Albus Dumbledore knows that amidst the reign of darkness, the light will return to restore all that it took and bring with it extraordinary powers, even if it leaves an aftermath that cannot be erased. The Order of the Phoenix will need all the help it can get, including the help of the mythical (Y/N) Lexington.

Harry Potter's parents were not the only ones killed by the hands of Lord Voldemort.

Word count: 1.8K

Warnings: none

A/N:Hi! A new Bill’s fanfic for you all. This story is finished so if you like this part let me know so and i’ll update as soon as i can! Again, reader’s last name is Lexington but is just for the plot of this story

English not my mother language so please don’t kill me. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: The Order Of The Phoenix

Charlie and Bill Weasley had returned from their jobs abroad with the only purpose of duly serving the Order of the Phoenix commanded by Albus Dumbledore. For Bill it hadn’t been a sacrifice to return home, things in Egypt were not going at all well and he only asked for his transfer to an English office to work and at the same time help the Order. It wasn’t the same for his brother Charlie, cause he had to leave all his errands in Romania along with all his beautiful dragons.The journey to Grimmauld Place had been complicated cause, despite not missing anything from the countries they were returning from (with the exception of Charlie's dragons) they could quickly get used to the quiet, anti-Voldemort pace of life that the English magical community was vitiated by.

Both brothers were welcomed by their mother Molly Weasley, with tears in her eyes she hugged them as tightly as she could inviting them into the farthest room possible. Bill remembered Grimmauld Place very vaguely, the only time he set a foot inside the house was when Dumbledore asked him to help him clear the rooms and turn them into curse free spaces where they could quietly discuss classified Order business.

No matter how many times they cleaned that place, the old house of Black would always remain with that grayish appearance and the musty smell of worn wood. Sirius didn't seem to have any intention of renovating its fallen parts - of which there were quite a few - but seemed to enjoy watching the house fall apart. Be that as it may, Bill thought that any place was a good place to plan the crazy moves Albus Dumbledore had in his head.

The room was filled with people Bill had met before through letters his mother sent him informing him of the Order's progress, Dumbledore thought the best way to gain the upper hand against Voldemort's dark army was to recruit wizards who were willing to give their lives to protect the magical community. Surprisingly more people arrived than Bill could have imagined in addition to all those wizards and witches who had already been part of the association for years.

Taking a seat by the door, Bill and Charlie recognized the silhouette of Nymphadora Tonks. Not that it was very difficult to recognize her as her short, straight, bubblegum pink hair stood out among all the others. The metamorphmagus managed to acknowledge the newcomers sending them a warm smile before gluing her gaze on the door.

Charlie elbowed his brother's shoulder

“Dumbledore and his crazy schemes making us come here just for the Order business....”

“It was necessary," Bill cut him off, looking at him out of the corner of his eye, "Do you even know what's going on with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, don't you?” Charlie shook his head “it’s a real mess and you'd know it if you didn't spend so much time with your dragons.

“Don't bring them into this”

“They're some of them now?”

“Yeah, we got a shipment of Peruvian Vipertooths in this month and oh, brother, they're beautiful!”

“Wait” Bill frowned ”Those things doesn’t eat people?

“well yes, but that's only part of their diet, they also feed on goats and cows. We keep them in a cage near the forest because that species was supposedly exterminated after being considered dangerous to wizards and muggles alike, but I think they're beautiful”

Charlie's eyes sparkled and Bill couldn't help thinking that he was the odd one among his siblings. His admiration for dragons frightened him even though he found it adorable at times.

“You know, I'm not surprised you're still single. Knowing you as i do, you'll end up marrying one of those dragons or in the worst case, eaten by one”

Charlie didn't like his older brother's comment.

“What about you? As far as I know, you're not dating someone either”

Charlie's sudden criticism made him clear his throat and settle better in his seat. When they looked over at Tonks, they noticed that she was still staring at the door. Charlie hurried him to answer his comment.

“I met someone” His brother's blue eyes widened, amazed “I mean, we met in Egypt, she was traveling and we only went out a couple of times, nothing important.

“That's what you always say, William” Charlie looked at him mischievously ”No one seems to be good enough for you, huh? Or are you still thinking about someone since our childhood?”

Bill knew what his brother was trying to do and immediately shook his head. He had had this adolescent love for a girl who had left to France without anyone knowing the reasons why. Bill was totally hooked on her, yet the disappointment of her being thousands of miles away from him had broken his heart in a way he couldn't explain. Charlie knew about it, because he was the only one of his siblings who was old enough to understand; still, that didn't take away from the fact that he made fun of her misfortune a couple of times.

“Shut it”

Albus Dumbledore brought an end to everyone's conversations after standing up and clapping his hands a couple of times to get their attention. With a sincere smile, Dumbledore dimmed the lights in the room to reveal dozens of candles levitating all over the place. Bill fell silent and looked at the man

“I know that most of you here had to pause your activities just to attend this extraordinary meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, and for that I want to thank you," Dumbledore smiled at them, "We are fully aware of what is happening in the magical community thanks to the terrible presence of Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore ignored the shrieks of amazement from the audience “That leaves me with the advantage of not having to explain what is obvious to you, so the important thing about this assembly is to make it clear that, despite the magnificent increase in our membership over the past few days, we are still in the minority against the Dark Lord's ranks”

The murmurs grew louder and louder, causing Dumbledore to ask for everyone's calm.

“This doesn’t mean that your help is in vain, what I am trying to say is that we need more wizards and witches to join the Order”

“Where will we get more people?”Asked a witch wearing a yellowish hood on her head, "People are afraid, they're not going to join the Order just like that”

“We'll try to convince them," Dumbledore said calmly. "Of course, all of those who want to join will have to undergo proper training.

“So you're asking for more Aurors?”Minerva McGonagall asked. Professor Dumbledore smiled broadly

“Indeed”

The hubbub in the room intensified for a couple of minutes before Albus Dumbledore called for silence. Bill agreed with everyone that this was sheer madness. It was practically impossible for aurors to enter something as sensitive as the Order of the Phoenix - with the exception of Tonks and Mad-Eye Moody, Bill thought those two were insane - without them reporting every movement of Order members to the Ministry. Yes, the aurors were the best trained people for this kind of work, however, they were the hardest to convince

“Why don't we just make Harry a part of the team?”Asked Sirius from the middle of the room. Molly Weasley let out a shriek of indignation.

“What are you talking about? Harry's just a boy!”

“Molly, please, the boy knows more about this situation than any of us put together!”

“Even so, it's still dangerous for him”

“It is for everyone. I don't see what difference it makes if Harry is in on it, that way he'd have more support from the Order and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would stay away from him”

-If it is true what Sirius says," Dumbledore interjected, "It's no less true that Harry can't be a member of the Order yet. Not until he fixes the problem he has with the ministry after he used magic in front of a Muggle trying to ward off the Dementors that are getting closer and closer to non-wizards. Right now Harry should be being moved to this place to stay at least until the new school year begins.

“And in the meantime what are we going to do?” Severus Snape asked. Bill raised his eyebrows, noticing how Nymphadora Tonks raised her hand to give her opinion.

“I hope this isn't too hasty, but I've been sending some letters to Beauxbatons College in France in search of a response from the Aurors. It is well known that none of them have been willing to give us their help, but this afternoon I received a letter from one person who is willing to help us in any way she can," Tonks looked at everyone before continuing, "I know that one person doessn’t represent a great addition to our ranks, but I am absolutely certain that she is our best option”

Bill's eyes flicked from Nymphadora to Dumbledore repeatedly. He had that strange feeling that Dumbledore knew who she was referring even though she hadn't said the name yet. Dumbledore nodded a couple of times asking Tonks to continue. She cleared her throat

“She should be here soon”

“We’ll wait patiently”

Dumbledore's nod wasn't necessary cause seconds later the door flung wide open letting in the light from the main corridor. Bill glanced at the newcomer noting your expensive French clothes and your perfectly coiffed hair in a ponytail. His breath quickened as he took a close look at your face and recognized those features he remembered from when he was a teenager. A quick glance at Charlie was enough to confirm that what he saw was not an illusion.

The whole room rose to their feet, and as you entered the room raising your hands to the sky, the room was filled with a bright light that caused everyone to take cover before it blinded them permanently. Bill caught a glimpse of Tonks' pleased giggle before you reached Dumbledore giving him a handshake as a greeting while keeping the light alive with your opposite hand.

Your wand was in your jacket pocket and from your hands an endless fountain of light gushed forth, bringing peace to the members of the order.

The mythical (Y/N) Lexington didn’t needed a wand to have magic.

#bill weasley #bill weasley imagines #bill weasley x reader #domhn #domhnall gleeson imagine #domhnall gleeson x reader #harry potter imagine #harry potter cast #charlie weasley #fred weasley imagines #order of the phoenix

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qqueenofhades · 4 years ago

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Did Ivan and Fedyor ever have, like, one of those big first fights where there is this uncertainty of "are we over now?" ? I mean, they would be alright in the end, but between Fedyor's overthinking and Ivan probably not having a lot of experience with relationships, there would be room for them worrying for a time after it.

Sequel to this and prequel to this. Set, as usual, in Phantom!Verse.

Moscow, 2013

June 30, 2013, is not a good day. In fact, it might be the worst of all the days of Fedyor Kaminsky’s life to date, and it is made absolutely no better by the fact that he’s long known it was coming – he just hoped, however vainly, that it wouldn’t. Three weeks ago, on June eleventh, the Duma unanimously passed the law formally entitled “For the Purpose of Protecting Children from Information Advocating For a Denial of Traditional Family Values,” with only one abstention and no dissenting votes, and President Putin is going to ceremoniously sign it into law today. It’s more pithily known as the “anti-gay law,” and it basically prohibits anything related to acknowledging that homosexuals exist in Russia. Fedyor has been anxiously following its progress with his activist friends in their group chats, all of them praying for some last-minute miracle to swoop in and knock it off course. Now that’s not going to happen. He has no idea what is going to happen, but to say the least, it won’t be good. He’s taken some body blows before, but this one sucks.

Fedyor vacillates wildly between wanting to watch the signing ceremony just to scream obscenities at it, and wanting to hide under the covers with the pillows over his head and cry. He texts frenetically with his friend Lyosha, who lost his position at Perm State University a few months ago for daring to do research about LGBTQ people, and is already planning to head into exile abroad. Does he have to do that too? Fedyor has lived in Russia his entire life, even if he has traveled internationally and has lots of foreign friends. He could stay. He could try to fight this thing somehow. He could do more. He should do more.

But how?

When Ivan gets home from work at six o’clock that night, that’s where he finds Fedyor: sitting on the living room floor under a quilt and neurotically eating chocolate biscuits, texting and crying. He drops his backpack and rushes over. “Fedya? Fedya! What’s wrong?”

“He signed it,” Fedyor says flatly. No more elaboration is necessary. “So now we’re fucked.”

Ivan looks troubled. He rocks back on his heels next to Fedyor and searches for the words. Then he says, clearly trying to be helpful, “Maybe not. Nobody has to know about us. If we just keep on like before, go about our daily lives, it will be all right. We are not important people. Why would they bother with us?”

“What?” Fedyor wipes his eyes with the back of his hand and lurches upright, shedding the quilt and a shower of cookie crumbs. “What are you talking about? Just – deny ourselves and go back in the closet and pretend we’re not here, that those assholes won? Go out, but make sure I never hold your hand walking down the street or dare to pretend that we are together? I don’t want to be afraid every second we’re out in public, Vanya! I don’t want to be wondering if maybe they’ll look at my emails or cook up some other reason to come after us! Lyosha already got fired before this even officially passed, and – ”

“Lyosha was a radical beforehand,” Ivan says dismissively. “It wasn’t because of this, I’m sure. So what? He’ll get a fancy position somewhere else. The West will love to take in the gay Russian, persecuted by the barbaric Putin regime, to show off how humane and enlightened they think they are. He will be fine.”

Fedyor looks at him as if he has two heads. “That’s how you’re reacting to this?”

“What am I supposed to do about it?” Ivan shrugs. “We have to make the best. What else are we going to do? Leave Russia?”

“Maybe we have to. What other choice do we have?”

“Stay?” Now it’s Ivan’s turn to sound like he’s talking nonsense. “Russia is our home!”

“Look, Vanya. I know you and I think differently about things, and we’ve gotten used to that. But I can’t – I physically cannot – stay in a place where I am criminalized for existing, for loving you, for being afraid that something will happen to us. We have to go.”

“No.” Ivan’s voice is colder than Fedyor has ever heard it. He sounds like a stranger. “No, we don’t. That’s crazy talk. Where would we go? America?”

“At least America doesn’t have this law!”

“America has no law that is helpful for us!” Ivan shouts. “And I’m not going there. The end! You make that choice, Fedya. Exile, or me?”

There’s a horrible silence in the wake of that pronouncement, as they stare at each other and Ivan instantly looks like he wants to bite it back, but it’s too late. Fedyor turns on his heel and marches away in frozen silence, refusing to utter a single word to Ivan for the rest of the night, even as Ivan tries to apologize and coax him into speaking again. Finally, taking the hint, he takes his things and silently goes to sleep on the couch, and Fedyor lies in their bed, staring at the ceiling and tossing and turning. Ivan didn’t mean that, right? Or maybe he did? Flee Russia, start a new life somewhere across the sea, but leave his boyfriend behind? Until recently, he thought Ivan Sakharov was the love of his life. Maybe he isn’t. Or even more terrifyingly, he is, and Fedyor will have to give him up anyway.

The rest of the week is just as bad. Ivan leaves early for work and keeps to himself when he gets home, while Fedyor starts Googling the U.S. asylum-claim process and reaching out to North American-based friends who can help with logistics. He spends hours on the computer, takes reams of notes, and doesn’t feel any better. Is he planning this for them or for him? He needs to answer that question like, now, and yet the prospect fills him with sickening dread. He cries himself to sleep with the bedroom door shut, and hears awkward shuffling in the corridor outside, like Ivan is listening and desperately wants to come in, but doesn’t think Fedyor wants him there. That’s even worse.

Finally, on Saturday night, Fedyor decides that they can’t go on like this. He drags himself out of his cave of blankets and cooks a nice supper, while Ivan goes for his usual afternoon workout at the gym, and when he comes back, he blinks. “Fedya? What’s this about?”

“We need…” Fedyor’s throat is a desert. “We need to talk about us.”

Those six little words are usually the kiss of death in any relationship, and he has no idea what’s about to happen next, but Ivan’s face wrenches in half like a torn piece of paper. He opens his mouth, shuts it, shakes his head furiously, and comes to a sudden and unassailable decision. With that, still in his gym clothes, he drops his bag and goes to one knee on the creaky wooden floor of their kitchen, in this humble sixth-floor Moscow flat that is the first place Fedyor ever knew pure and perfect happiness. “Okay,” he says. “How is this for a start. Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky, will you marry me?”

Fedyor stares at him, utterly blankly, seized with the horrible fear that Ivan is making fun of him. “Have you – are you – are you serious?”

“Yes.” Ivan reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small box. “I wanted to do this in a different way, but maybe this is better. Fedya, I don’t – I can’t – I don’t want to live without you. I’ll even move to America if you want to. I’m no good without you. I can’t. Please.”

Fedyor continues to stare at him. Then finally he moves closer, as Ivan holds out the ring with a look of utter, silent entreaty, his heart wrung out and raw in his eyes. “Are you – ” Fedyor’s voice is a whisper. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Ivan says again, strong and steady. “More than I have ever been about anything.”

Fedyor starts to answer, and simply can’t. He starts to shake from head to toe, and Ivan scoots forward, still on his knees, and wraps both arms around Fedyor’s waist, burying his face in Fedyor’s stomach. Fedyor clutches hold of him and sinks down, the two of them barely making a sound. Finally, he whispers, “You hate America.”

“I don’t,” Ivan says. “Not really. But either way, I love you, Fedya. And I’m choosing that.”

Fedyor grips Ivan’s face in his hands and kisses him thoroughly, then remembers that he still technically hasn’t accepted his proposal, and he should do that. He holds out his right hand so Ivan can slip on the plain band, with the promise to buy him a nicer one once they get to wherever they’re going. He’ll help with arrangements, he promises. Whatever Fedyor needs him to do.

They board an Aeroflot flight, Moscow Sheremetyevo–New York JFK, on the evening of August 3, 2013, with all their worldly belongings either in the cargo hold or waiting to be shipped over by Fedyor’s parents. They hold hands in the terminal, unobtrusively, and when they get on the plane. And even as the jet engines roar into takeoff and the lights of his homeland fall away into the clouds for what might be the last time in who knows how long, Fedyor Kaminsky can’t help but feeling, once again, ready to start anew.

#ivan x fedyor #heartrender husbands #fivan #a phantom in enchanting light #pel asks #anonymous #ask #fivan ff

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serenasoutherlyns · 4 years ago

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Not a Summer Crush Part Five

a/n: i haven't been doing this on purpose, but i keep alternating, long chapter followed by short chapter. i think the longest is 6k words and this one is 2.5k-ish, my apologies for its shortness. but!! this one has everyone's favorite Rita Calhoun, jealousy, Serena Southerlyn's meddling tactics, middle school, and even graduate school. enjoy, and remember any feedback is appreciated more than you all could ever know.

Part Five

When Alex got home from work that evening, she finally had a moment to process that day’s moment on the courthouse steps. She texted Serena, trying to fit all the pieces together in her head.

Alex: What the hell?

Serena: ?

Alex: Serena!

Serena: Yes?

She gave up on coherent texting and decided to call her friend instead.

---

Casey was confusing herself again. Having second thoughts was not how she would put it. No, she was still sure of what she wanted (as sure as she was going to be, doing something very new and all), it was the methods that were bothering her. Namely, that she felt like she had none.

Alex had been difficult early on. The beginning was, in most respects, the most difficult time of their relationship. They had both been in rough patches, trying to be different people than they’d been before, and Casey thought, hoped, they’d both been successful. Alex had found a sense of balance and justice that guided her to powerful places. And Casey could look around her life and point lots of little things out: the tennis racquet beside her softball bat, their well-stocked kitchen, the literary journals lined up in a row on her bookshelf, little markers of stability and self-assuredness that reminded her how she’d changed and stayed the same over the years. She hadn’t felt this untethered since she kissed Alex for the first time.

“Casey, it’s called having a crush,” Rita said after she explained herself over a scotch.

---

“What’s going on, Alex?” Serena’s voice came over the speakerphone as Alex set it down on the countertop.

“Do you want to tell me why you asked my second chair out on the courthouse steps in the middle of the afternoon on a Wednesday?”

Serena laughed at her. “I don’t think I did,” she said.

“Hey, Caroline,” Alex mocked Serena’s slightly husky voice, “Won’t you please reserve me a spot on your dance card this weekend?” She said as she popped the cork out of a bottle of wine with an angry pop as punctuation.

“I don’t talk like that,” Serena said. “And all I did was tell her I wanted to dance, I don’t think I asked her for anything, in fact.”

“I don’t remember it like that.”

“So it’s on your mind, huh.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh my god.” Alex thought of what to say as she sipped.

“I mean,” Serena filled the silence, “If you aren’t going to, I will, you know?”

“Serena!” Alex all but yelled into the phone.

“Uh-huh,” she replied, “that’s what I thought.” She paused for a moment, then said, “I wasn’t

asking her out, I was giving you a reason to go dancing with her again.

“I don’t follow.”

“Sure you don’t. Look, I’ll make a groupchat with you, Casey, me and Caroline, and make plans in there, thus implying that all of us are going. It’s simple.”

“What?” Alex asked, actually not following her friend at this point.

“Just let it happen, Lex. Where is Casey, anyway?”

Alex swirled her wine around. “Rita absconded with her after work today. She said it was something about a case.”

“I don’t think they’re opposing one another on anything right now,” Serena said.

“I’ve learned not to ask questions,” Alex said, referencing the schemes Rita and her wife liked to pull occasionally. Then, realizing what she might be implying, she said, “Remember Sophie’s birthday last year?” and was answered with Serena’s light laugh from the other end of the call.

---

Casey’s eyes widened. “Yeah, I guess so.” Rita was surprised that Casey didn’t fight her on it. She decided to push.

“So, when are you going to ask her out?” Casey looked at her.

“We haven’t like, set a date,” she said. “Do people usually set dates for that kind of thing?

“They usually have a plan of some kind, I think. I mean, I do.”

Rita’s phone buzzed three times, two texts and a photo from Pippa. She didn’t hide her nerves fast enough for Casey to miss it. She shot her friend a look over her glass, saying, “you have a plan, right?”

Rita rolled her eyes. “Stop deflecting.” This time it was Casey’s turn to get the notifications.

New Groupchat (4)

Serena: So, Saturday night, right? Where?

Caroline: Why don’t you meet me at my apartment? The place is kind of hard to find.

Serena: Works for me. Alex? Casey?

Casey had no idea what the texts were about, suspected Serena of some kind of scheme.

Casey: Sure? But what are we doing?

Serena: Dancing!

Caroline: Dancing. Ashley’s on the road so I needed another partner.

Alex: We’re going dancing on Saturday.

Casey looked up from her phone to find an expectant Rita looking at her. “Apparently, I’m going dancing on Saturday.

“With Caroline?”

“And Alex. And Serena.”

Rita smiled wryly. “Good luck.”

---

“Okay, okay, order, order,” you said quieting the room of middle schoolers at the end of practice. “Remember, I can’t be there with you this weekend at the competition, and I have to leave early tonight,” you said, to a chorus of sighs, “I know, I know, I’m sorry. But you’ll all do great, I know it. Listen to your teachers, stick to your plans, and do your best.” The adoring eyes of the team were all on you. “And, if you win, I’ll buy you pizza. Deal?”

Nothing motivates tweens like a pizza party, but you weren’t worried about their performance. If nothing else, you knew Ophélie was a zealous team captain, putting it delicately. She had learned to be persistent from you, which was great at a competition, more annoying when she had chores. You gave her a quick hug and kiss on the cheek as you said goodbye to the team, despite her “no affection in public rule” (because the nature of the adolescent is to be embarrassed), and sent a text to Casey letting her know you’d be out soon.

When you saw her waiting for you outside the school building, your heart skipped a beat. It was that same feeling that you’d felt when Alex was in your apartment-- an intimacy that should’ve felt unusual, out of place, instead felt perfectly natural and comfortable. You hugged in greeting, grateful that you’d all decided that would be acceptable affection for colleagues.

“You know,” you said, “You really didn’t have to come meet me here.” Casey shrugged.

“I wanted to. Nice sweater,” she said, teasing you. It was one of those summer evenings where the sunset had brought a cool breeze with it, and you’d stolen one of Ophélie’s uniform cardigans. It was simple and navy blue, but the school logo embroidered on the breast gave it away. The two of you walked together towards the nearest subway station.

“Thanks,” you said, in an unserious tone. “Where’s Alex?”

“She’s already at the bar,” Casey replied, “I was told to retrieve you before the announcement.”

“It can’t be any big surprise,” you said, wondering. “She’s been agonizing over these applications forever.”

“She’s Gillian. She agonizes.” You looked up at the buildings, lights beginning to come on in the apartment buildings and off in the offices. Casey looked at your lifted head and the way it created a line, sloping and elegant, jawline to neck to collarbone. She pushed one palm with the opposite thumb and bit her lip, thinking about her conversation with Rita. She was right, they needed a plan, or one of these days she was going to kiss you without thinking.

Your voice snapped her out of it, but she didn’t hear what you said. “Casey?”

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked if you were excited to come dancing again this weekend.” The two of you walked down the stairs to the subway station, you in front, looking over your shoulder as Casey answered you.

“Oh! Yes, I definitely am. I didn’t know that Serena could dance, Alex told me it was her idea.”

“Apparently she studied abroad. I’m glad she asked, though.” That gave the knot of jealousy in Casey’s stomach a tug. She had no right to be jealous, but she couldn’t help but feel it. Serena is beautiful, and single, she doesn’t work with them, she’s super smart and funny, and apparently she knows how to dance.

“I’m glad we’ll have enough people to switch up partners a couple times,” Casey said, assuaging the jealousy.

“That’s the best part,” you agreed.

---

You made it to the table just in time to hear the announcement.

The third announcement. It would appear that Rita had somehow gotten ahold on all of Gillian’s acceptance letters and was withholding them from the rest of the group (except, of course, for the honoree herself, who was happy to go along with the plan, not that she had much of a choice). Glasses were raised and congratulations expressed as Rita said, “the third acceptance is… Yale!”

Polite applause came around the table. Gillian smiled bashfully as everyone told her how proud they were. Of all of you, she was the only person smart enough (or crazy enough) to go back to school after navigating the complex legal world of New York City.

“Which ones did we miss?” Casey said as the two of you slid into the two open seats.

“She got into Columbia,” Serena said, “which means she could stay in Manhattan. A few glasses around the table were raised again, encouraging her to stay close.

“And Stanford,” Alex added. You shot Gillian an excited look, happy at the mention of your alma mater.

“How many more letters are there?” You asked. Rita checked the pile of envelopes in her hand.

“Two.”

As soon as Sophie noticed that neither you nor Casey yet had a drink, there were whiskeys in your hands. As soon as Serena remembered that you were returning from coaching a mock trial team, and remembering what she knew of Casey’s feelings about kids, she began to ask you questions. How was the team, what case are they presenting, do they love you, (truly who wouldn’t). She was almost tiring you out.

“Is she always this persistent?” you asked Alex, smiling at Serena as you did so. You had to know if your eyes were deceiving you, your wishful thinking getting the best of your powers of observation yesterday when you saw her jealous look.

You were correct.

Almost faster than could be perceived, Alex’s eyes narrowed, looking into Serena’s, not yours; as if to say what the hell are you doing. Raised shoulders, her fingers pressing slightly into the table, her tongue in the back of her throat: you’d seen enough jealous boyfriends (of women you were about to dance with, if you’re honest) in clubs to know what it looked like.

Well. That was going to be good information to have at your disposal. If nothing else, for

confirmation: that you weren’t crazy, that there was something there to notice, from both of them.

---

You would’ve considered your offer of your apartment more thoroughly had you initially understood that there would be four of you going out that Saturday night. You weren’t sure, at first, if Serena had been asking you out. Honestly, you would probably not turn her down if she did. It would certainly be a simpler path to take, and there was no denying that Serena was beautiful and smart. Of course, your affections were otherwise engaged.

But, since she had invited Casey and Alex along, you considered it more likely that she was “creating some amount of opportunity,” (a real thing you’d really heard her say once) than making a double date. It would make sense, you thought, if Alex had told her how she was feeling; and the more days that went by, the more little tender interactions, the more often you noticed her resting her eyes in your direction, the more confident you were that you weren’t making up the chemistry.

Casey was a little harder to read, but you had noticed she’d seemed slightly… preoccupied the last few times you’d been alone together. One thing you knew: their marriage was rock solid. Neither of them would do something without the others’ approval. You could only hope they had a plan. You didn’t-- unless trying to seem as desirable yet appropriate as possible could be considered a plan.

There were four people in your apartment. You couldn’t remember the last time you had people over to your place rather than Ashley and Ramin’s, so it felt especially cramped. You were each drinking a glass of wine (from Ramin’s fancy stash, you were not going to let them know just yet that the only wine you bought was two buck chuck), you and Serena were sitting on the barstools at your counter while Alex and Casey sat on the couch. You had your music collection on shuffle, which led to a few laughs at the funny combinations.

It was your turn to feel jealous, or maybe to yearn. You hoped that one of them would see the new collection of books sitting on your table: Marriage and Other Alternatives, More Than Two, and What Love Is (and what it could be). A quiet buzz of anticipation (or was it the wine?) pleasantly lodged itself in your mind as the four of you slung your bags over your shoulders and headed out for the night.

---

Pippa Cox touched her lipstick up in the mirror before returning to the table she was (finally) sharing with Rita Calhoun. For such a smart woman, Pippa had often thought, Rita was prone to running from her feelings. Having gotten her on this date was a feat indeed, even though she knew (the glances, the blushing, the way she would drift into her space, natural as anything) that they shared feelings. As Pippa sat down, Rita smiled.

Unfortunately, as Rita reached for her glass, her phone buzzed in her purse. She shrugged-- what was the point of texting when she was on a date? If it was a client, they would call her secretary who would call her. No need to fret.

“It’s nothing, I’m sure,” she said, reaching across the table to take Pippa’s hand in her own. She knew how difficult it had been for her to get back into dating, to trust anyone with her heart, which was part of why she had been so apprehensive to pursue her even though the attraction was there. She’d pinched herself when Pippa had been the one to ask, happy to be the pursued for once.

“Good,” Pippa said, “because I want you to myself tonight.” Rita nodded, bit her lip, and smiled. There was another buzz, then another, then another. Three in a row? The only people she knew who texted like that were Casey and Serena, both of whom had plans tonight.

Plans together, with Alex. Involving Caroline. She sighed, hoping that she wasn’t about to do something to hurt Pippa’s feelings. Pippa, to her credit, looked curiously at Rita’s bag as she opened it.

Notifications: 4 new messages.

Serena: This experience is simultaneously adorable and infuriating.

Serena sent a photo.

Serena sent a video.

Serena: I’m tempted to leave and let them figure it out.

Rita laughed to herself. The picture was a selfie of you four sitting at a booth, you and Alex on one side and Casey and Serena on the other. Serena had her head leaned on Casey’s shoulder, who looking across the table, while you were pressing a kiss to Alex’s cheek. Alex had a contented smile, and your table had evidence of more than a couple drinks for each of you. The video was one of you and Alex. You were holding one of her hands with the other wrapped around her waist. Alex looked terrified, poor thing, every body part was flying in the opposite direction. The sounds of Casey and Serena encouraging you both mixed with the horns and drums coming from the stage. Rita agreed with Serena, it was adorable and infuriating.

Rita: Well, that’s cute and maddening for sure.

Serena: I’ll send updates.

Rita: Tomorrow. Please don’t interrupt *my* date again, thank you.

Serena: OMG did she finally ask you out!?!??

Rita: TOMORROW.

Rita put her phone down, answering Pippa’s curious look with a wave of her hand. “Serena drama,” she said, and Pippa gave an understanding nod. “I made her promise to leave me alone for a while.” Pippa leant across the table and pecked Rita’s lips.

“Good.”

---

tags: @addictedtodinosaurs @nocreditinthestraightworld @cmmndrwidw @hi-i-1 @lesbianologist

#There you have it folks #maybe one day this will be finished #svu fanfic #law and order svu #not a summer crush #Serena southerlyn #Rita Calhoun #casey Novak #Alex cabot #Calex #Alex cabot x reader #casey Novak x reader #Alex cabot x casey Novak x reader #“Serena drama” ok Rita #god this was hard to write I don’t even know why #forgive typos #no beta we die like men

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cherryblossomtease · 4 years ago

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In The Fairest Season ~ Part 2

18+only

warnings summary masterlist

~JUNE~

The first time you sing for the Baron you haven’t even met him yet. In fact, you have no idea that he is in the audience.

Your solo, the lone aria not sung by Serena, the lead vocalist who will never let anyone forget it, opens the second act and it is your chance to show the world, or at least the city, that you are meant for greater things.

You give the song everything you have. Living it, breathing it, exhaling it out across that stage until the audience is moved to tears. You can’t see them for the lights, but you can feel it.

Follow that, you think as you glide offstage, passing the undeserving diva who strong armed her way to top billing. You don’t like to fight amongst your own kind, but if she suddenly lost her ability to speak you wouldn’t be sad about it.

Curtain call confirms your intuition. You are pulled front and center by your cast-mates and their own applause is drown out by the roar of the crowd.

The people love you.

Accepting your praise with a truly humble heart, you curtsy under a wave of roses. All the while, one man sits watching from a private box.

He is the last to stand. Not because he disagrees with the ovation, but because he’s been rendered immobile since the moment you opened your mouth.

You didn’t know it then and neither of you would be certain right away, but it is clear to any who see the way he looks at the aspiring songbird dipping low as she thanks the audience with tears in her eyes— Baron Helmut Zemo is already falling in love with you.

While finding out as much as he can about you is easy for a man like the Baron, your only knowledge of him is gained the same way as most outside of the elite circles— through rumors and whispers— and those tell the tale of a powerful man who has gained the love and devotion of his fellow soldiers and countrymen while at war with an enemy state. Though some say his tactics were less than honorable…

Either way their war was too distant, both in time and setting to matter to anyone here, but it changed the Sokovian people forever, reshaping the land and claiming so many lives.

Zemo’s wife and child among them.

You’d heard the story in passing and found it heartbreaking but hadn’t felt the need to think of it again until today, thanks in large part to the kindness of Colonel Nicholas Fury and his wife, the Lady Valentina a former Countess through marriage with a taste for danger. It comes as little surprise to those in the know that the Colonel, or his Lady wife would know someone like the Baron, who happens to be a former Colonel himself, though there are many secrets kept about their history and just how such a friendship was made.

Today however, none of it matters as the Colonel and Lady Valentina are holding a lovely benefit for the local children’s home, and while it is a reason to show off their mysterious guest, as the Baron will be staying with the pair for the season, you’d agreed to entertain long before rumors of this Baron began to make the rounds. The Colonel pays prices most girls won’t see after a month of work, and with nothing expected from you but your voice at its best and your personality front and center to charm the upper class, this is the sort of performance you look forward to.

Accompanied by piano in the grand solarium, the performance is by your own standards a very good one; Understated, gentle on the ear, but, as is evidence by the looks on the faces of the Lords and Ladies in attendance, no less impactful.

“Haunting” Is what you’re told by those who greet you afterwards and you wear that word like a badge of honor over your heart as you mingle.

It is between sets while standing at the piano that you feel the lightest touch on your shoulder.

Fingertips, brushing your bare skin with a hesitancy but such longing that your attention is grabbed instantly.

You’ve been touched like this before, but this is different—you turn around feeling curiosity instead of dread.

You aren’t quite sure how long it takes you to speak. Maybe it’s seconds, perhaps some minutes or more before you find your words, the point is, time feels irrelevant.

His gaze is as bold as the sun and you are held there, left to feel the trails of heat along your skin in the wake of it—up your arms, across your shoulders and neck, your lips— you’ve never had a man look at you this way before and not felt the urgent need to run. Instead, you take a step forward.

“Madame. Allow me to introduce his Lordship, Baron Helmut Zemo.” The Colonel announces.

With a slow bow of your head you lower into a small curtsey to show respect for the man above your station. Your eyes lift to meet his as you rise up and watch his mouth curl into a hint of a smile.

“Madame y/n” He exhales when he says your name as though he is relieved to know it and you feel the little hairs on the back of your neck rise as if he’s whispered in your ear. “It is an honor.”

You smile and thank him “The honor is of course mine, my Lord Baron.”

“After today I’ve had the privilege of watching you perform twice now. But I was beginning to fear I might never meet you in the flesh.”

Something about his choice of words makes you feel warm all over. “It seems the stars have aligned and brought us together after all.” You say with a genuine smile.

He gives a hint of a laugh and glances at Fury. “Yes a, Man shaped constellation” He teases making the Colonel grin.

“Forgive me Barron Zemo,” You say a little timid. “I hope I don’t embarrass you or myself by speaking freely, but… your accent? Please, tell me the name of your country. I’ve heard it said before but can quite recall.” You’re unable to hold back your curiosity and the way he forms words has you eager to know more.

“Ah.” He flashes a quick smile. “Well, you see I am only here to visit my friend as you know.” He says glancing at Fury. “A summer abroad. A summer away…” You catch a hint of sadness but he presses on. “I am from Sokovia. A small country but there is none that can compare to its beauty.”

“Sokovia?” You say it slowly “Yes, in passing I’ve heard it said but I am ashamed to say I could not point to it on a map. Though I’m sure it’s as beautiful as the tone you take when speaking of it.” You pause to look him in the eye. “I can hear the love you hold for your homeland in your voice Baron.” You are being polite but the truth is, you are struck by it. He has a sort of rasping tenor that comes out in a hesitant whisper, as though he wants to say more but fears saying too much.

I can take it, you think and find yourself drawing your bottom lip between your teeth as you study his. He has a wonderfully wide mouth and the way his lips move when he speaks is hypnotic.

“I will never hide my love for my country. Not after everything we have been through.” He says.

You smile reading between the lines. “I see that. And while I’m only a singer who has had her travel limited.” You admit. “I hope to perform across the world. Tell me the best Sokovian stage Baron and perhaps I will stand on it one day.” You say, aware of how eager you sound but know that it’s the truth.

The Colonel laughs like all wealthy men do when they hear the dreams of women, but the Baron does not. No, he looks at you as though you’ve just spoken your deepest desires aloud and he feels blessed to have heard them.

“One day, yes. Perhaps you will.” He says and you hope he doesn’t notice how your breath catches in your throat, but the way his eyes fix on yours makes you feel seen.

The three of you fall silent and you’re very aware of Colonel Fury watching the two of you. You see his coy smile from the corner of your eye and its clear that he thinks the Baron will have you down to your stockings by the days end, but nothing is further from the truth.

Baron Zemo doesn’t try to take your dress off, not even when you wander inside and into the library alone with him. Instead he listens to you tell stories about the parts of your life that are easy to share and with what seems to be genuine interest.

You tell him about your mother who was a singer before you, though she never made it to the big stage. You still send money home to her and your sweet father who is too sick to work but still manages to paint when he’s feeling up to it.

“So you are the product of true love.” He says and while there is an edge to his voice, he is not trying to tease. You feel him watching you touch the spines of the many books along the shelves in the dimly lit room.

“Why do you say that?” You ask, your back still to him.

“A singer and an artist who marry do it for no other reason.” He says, confident in his statement. You can hear the smile in his voice and your own grows across your face. Coming from anyone else this would be an insult. Coming from him, it turns your ordinary origins into something romantic.

“Love, with the hope of fame and money.” You correct with a smirk and find him over your shoulder.

He is standing in the light of the large south facing window and you have no choice but to turn and face him. It’s nearly unfair that any man should be so beautiful.

You’d noticed the way the other women in attendance looked at him in his exquisite jacket and vest, looking the very picture of fashionable victorian masculinity; and done without effort it would seem. Just his natural air of confidence. Honestly you’re convinced Zemo could make a workhouse uniform look like the kings cape.

What would those women do now, you wonder. With his brown hair looking almost black in the library shadows, so thick and pretty as it falls in his eyes in lovely contrast to his fair skin.

As the clouds part and a strong band of light breaks through the windows casting a warm glow over the man, you smile imagining the socialites batting their lashes and dipping into quaint curtsies to attract him, but it seems none can manage to take his eyes from you…

They would all say it’s because you’re a stage whore, a woman of ill repute with the gift of song. But they are wrong. They always are.

“Tell me Baron Zemo, how long did you say you’ll be staying” You ask crossing the room to step into the sun with him.

He looks down at you and you notice for the first time the flecks of gold in his eyes. “I must return at the end of August.”

“Oh.” You look away. It’s already June.

His body language changes a bit, like someone has splashed cold water over him and he goes stiff. Quickly as if desperate to do so, he takes hold of your hand which startles you as much as it excites you. You try not to let him see the way he’s made your own body respond but your heart threatens to leap from your chest.

“Would it be forward of me to ask you to join our small party for dinner this coming Saturday?”

Your eyes dart up finding such hope in his. “Not at all. So long as you understand what it is you’re asking?” You hate to turn the mood, it was so nice, but this needs to be said.

“What do you mean?”

“Well dinner with a performer of course. I suppose it could be seen as the Colonel’s kindness… but Baron please don’t tell me you’re so naive to the ways of the country you summer in.”

He gives you a curious frown “I forget where I am often. Your ways here will always be a little strange. You see in Sokovia, to possess a gift such as yours would see you walk among the people who look down on you here. We lift those better than ourselves up in my country.”

You feel light headed at the idea. Imagine being seen as important for what you are born with, and not for what you are born into. “It sounds wonderful.” You say, fully aware of how soft your voice is when you’re standing so close to him.

Him, this man you do not know. You pull your hand free from his.

Taking a step back you give a small curtsy. “I must go back, we have a few more songs to perform, but thank you for the walk, and for the invitation. I look forward to it!”

He smiles politely and offers to escort you, but you know better. No need ruining his reputation or starting rumors about your own.

You go back to the solarium and take up your place next to the piano and proceed to sing the heartbreaking aria that can decimate even the strongest of defenses.

Your eyes scan the room as you sing, finding hapless victims to serenade until finally you land on the Barron standing behind the rows of chairs.

The man is stricken by your words of love and loss and you think perhaps you could have warned him about your song.

When you find him again, it is an accident.

You’d gone off looking for your pianist when you find the Baron standing alone in the garden just off the parlor.

You almost speak but notice the way he stands there without moving. He is looking down at a bush of flowers; large white Lillies.

You brace against the doorframe and lean in to watch him for a moment before you realize… he raises his hand and wipes a tear before slipping it back into his pocket.

Tears over flowers? No. Not flowers, and then you understand. The war you know nothing of, took everything from him.

You feel guilty. Of all the songs you had to sing you chose the one that could break a healthy heart, what had it done to this shattered thing probably held together by nothing more than string and sheer determination.

Your own ached for him and you’d never longed to hold anything or anyone so much in your life, but you did not know him yet and quietly slipped back inside.

Your last interaction with the Baron that afternoon had been no more than a sweet goodbye, but your thoughts are preoccupied with him over the week.

You find your self thinking of the way he’d touched your shoulder while you dress for your performances, and onstage when you shut your eyes you see his looking back at you, golden in the sun.

When Saturday comes around, you ignore the teasing of your best friend Brigitte who watches the way you’re fussing over your hair and pinching your cheeks after dressing in the small apartment you share with her over the theatre. Thankfully no one keeps watch over the costumes and so you wear the pale yellow dress from last years production that you think looks best against your skin.

Brigitte asks if he’s proposed yet just to set you off, but only because she’s never seen you nervous, but then she’s never seen you so excited over a man. Presumably because none has ever managed to hold your attention for so long.

The carriage arrives to pick you up and you try desperately not to be won over by the fact that he’s sent his own.

You know that it is his.

You run your hand along the silk lined walls, inhaling deeply, picking up the faintest scent of his cologne as you sink into the seat. Your smile grows wide with no one there to see as the driver sitting high above steers the horses through the city streets, the light jostle inside keeping you alert as you imagine the Baron standing at the threshold of the estate waiting for you. It begins to feel wonderfully indecent to be surrounded by him so intimately.

And what would it feel like if he really did hold you close? Would it feel this warm and safe? Would you rest in his arms as you do his carriage, rushing past the world feeling untouchable?

Your eyes close for a moment; you are lost in a sea of daydreams until a wheel hits a large hole that jolts you back to reality. Eyes going wide, you quickly blow out the tension built up in your chest through your lips and shake you head trying not to smile. The man has held your hand one time old girl. Calm down!

You are still flushed and breathing hard when you arrive. When you see Baron Zemo waiting for you in the hall of the estate, in his dinner jacket and tie, you feel as though he knows every indecent thought you had on that incredible ride through town. If he does however, the Baron does not humiliate you, only showers you with complements on your appearance tonight.

And though the night is perfection, dinner in the city would not be dinner without a scandal. And so it goes that yours is candlelit and ripe for the pamphlets.

Colonel and Lady treat you as their guest of honor, though it is the Baron who attracts the attention of the others in attendance.

As he escorts you to the dining room, Baron Zemo dares to whisper in your ear. “If I could have entertained you and you alone, I would have made it so. But this is —not allowed —on these foreign shores.” He says and you see the way his dark gaze fixes ahead. You aren’t sure if it is Lord or Lady who earns his contempt but all you can do is hold back your laughter.

“It’s perfectly fine. The rules are there for them, so long as I am in their world I will play along. To be perfectly honest Baron… ” You look up at him in the door way and he lays his hand over yours, resting in the crook of his elbow. “This is exquisite.” You say. He smiles looking a little relieved and you notice that he’s been watching your lips as you speak and you feel yourself blush.

That however is not the moment to cause the scandal. Nor does it come from the Baron expressing his rather progressive views which he offers up like a complement to the soup course. It comes when he asks your opinion and you, shock of all shocks, give it.

The Lady Hawthorn who is also in attendance tries to cut you off, but the Baron hushes her and urges you to go on.

With him backing you, you find yourself feeling quite free to express your desire to see all people treated equally, and end your monologue by announcing that you know such a utopia could never exist so long as the wealthy are pleased and the poor too overworked to notice. This sends the Lady over the edge and Fury into a fit of laughter.

Only Baron Zemo hears the truth and he looks at you through the deep yellow glow of candlelight with pride.

Unfortunately that, is not what they print.

Rising star flies too close to the sun

“What a ridiculous thing to say” You huff carrying an armful of gowns over to the mirror in the little dressing area of your apartment.

“Maybe, but you’ll sing to a packed house tonight” Brigitte grins as she lounges on the settee in the middle of the small but colorfully decorated room. “The audience loves a spectacle.” Her French accent makes everything sound cute but it is nothing short of annoying in the moment.

“It’s hardly a spectacle Brigitte. Just bored, sad, empty headed people with nothing better to do than twist your well thought out words and opinions. My, well thought out words and opinions.” You speak with conviction while trying to ignore the sinking sense of embarrassment as you hold each dress up over your underclothes, one at a time. You are angry of course, those damned pamphlets are nothing more than a way for them to openly indulge in gossip and cruelty about you and your kind. Granted you’re not above reading them from time to time and this isn’t the first experience you’ve had with being a feature (poor Lord Quinn. He did fall in love so easily) but this is the first time that you care.

“You’re quite the radical aren’t you.” Brigitte says sitting up and sipping her tonic.

“Yes, a woman with an opinion, how will the world move on.” You roll your eyes and sling the yellow dress aside.

“Those aren’t costumes.” Brigitte says suspiciously and sits up on her knees, her arms hanging over the back of the sofa.

You look at her in the mirror and sigh. “No. I can’t keep borrowing them and besides, these aren’t for the stage.”

She’s waiting but you hesitate. “Tell me! Who are they for? It’s him right? Your Baron.”

“He isn’t mine.” You scold. “But yes, Baron Zemo has asked me to accompany him to the festival tomorrow night, and…” You pause glancing at yourself in the mirror. “I’ve said yes.”

“Of course you have, silly girl.” Brigitte giggles and gets up, coming over to you. She stands at your back, her long elegant fingers resting on your shoulders. She presses her cheek to yours and you feel the swell of love for your oldest friend rise.

The two of you have been through so much together. From escaping the cruel and often times corporal punishment of St. Augustine’s school for girls, to the deadly grasp of the streets. You’d been fighting along side one another until you both managed to sing your way onto the stage.

While Brigitte is technically better, you’re the one who sings with heart and that small edge is why your likeness will hang from the posts and not hers, but she is your friend in all things and as you gain notoriety, you have every intention of bringing her right along with you.

“I don’t know why I think anything will come of it. He’s a Baron for goodness sake.” You say scrunching your nose up at the lavender dress.

Brigitte is waiting, knowing you’ll answer your own suspicions.

“But, he looks at me and it’s as though these barriers don’t exist. I might as well be the daughter of a Duke when he smiles.”

“In his eyes, perhaps you are.” She says kindly. “Now, put those dresses away, you’ll wear my white one and look nothing less than angelic tomorrow. Tonight, you’ll sing like one and win your place in the Barons heart for good.”

As fate would have it, Baron Zemo was not at the performance last night. It means nothing though, that much is clear. He is as taken with you as you almost allow yourself to be with him. It is a dangerous game you play, one that could see you broken by the end of summer, but it is so hard to stay away…

You stroll causally behind The Colonel and Lady Fury through the park grounds along the pea gravel paths lit by paper lanterns with sparks flying from swirling machines and flames that shoot up from small bonfires.

Brigitte and your friend Eloise are bringing up the rear, but it feels as though there isn’t another soul alive. Just you and him and the beautiful menagerie that surrounds you.

The festival is one you’ve heard of but never attended and you’re almost happy you never have because as far as firsts go this one is magic.

A show of sight and sound engages every sense. There are acrobats, jugglers, stilt walkers and sword swallowers. You smell the food being sold from small carts and hear the music of the far off bandstand. You have a hard time not running around like a child as you point and shriek at the shocking, and squeal with delight at the fun. Each beautiful display of oddities and wonder that seem to never phase the Baron amaze you, though he does take great joy in watching your reaction.

When a fire breather spits yellow flames in your path, you jump back with a scream grabbing Zemo’s arm which makes him laugh.

You’re suddenly aware of how jovial his voice can be and when you look up, he smiles like you’ve never seen before and closes his hand over yours.

You think he might let go, but instead he begins to walk again, happy to keep you close.

You take in the sights on either side of the lawn, until it all begins to feel like a dream. Perhaps it was the champagne you had on arrival…

“Thank you my Lord, I’ll never forget this night.” You say under the cover of a trellis dripping with wisteria just outside of the wonderful chaos.

“It has been quite the show” He says looking back at the distant festivities before settling on you again. He quickly takes off his black topper, his hair falling into his eyes. “Unlike anything I’ve ever seen” He says looking at you with such an intensity that you can not hold the eye contact. You smile and look away spotting a servant with a large tray of champagne stacked like a pyramid of glowing gold.

Baron Zemo sees how you look at it and waves him over, taking two glasses from the top giving one to you, and raising his glass in salute.

“What do we drink to?” You ask.

Zemo thinks while looking into your eyes. Finally he raises the glass a little higher. “To the continuation of our friendship.”

You feel your cheeks flush and your mouth go a little dry. To declare a friendship between you is something you almost wish he wouldn’t say, but, it’s already been done. Still, what future can there truly be, you wonder looking up at this man who, had you been born into a wealthy family would have been yours weeks ago. But then, something about the Baron tells you not to fixate on what could have been, and to always expect the unexpected.

The sound of your glasses clinking is drown out by the boom of fireworks in the distance.

You tip your glass and drink. The champagne is sweet and cold and bubbly. You swallow with a smile only to shut your eyes when he strokes your cheek with the back of his hand, his thumb daring to glide across your bottom lip.

You inhale the moment and open your eyes to find his wanting, but not here. Not yet.

“To our future.” You say, needing him to know that you wish to push forward.

The Baron nods and takes another drink, watching you do the same over his glass. “I must insist on seeing you again, you understand?” He asks as he finishes.

“Yes of course.” You say. “I have one week, and then the show continues.” You tell him feeling sorry for it. It’s not easy to balance a life on and off the stage, in fact you’ve never really had too before, but for him you will try.

“A week.” He says it with finality. “Then let us have this week as our own.”

The next few days are a whirlwind of unforgettable moments. You are convinced any other man would be trying to impress you with his knowledge and access to things privy only to someone of his status, but with the Baron it feels as though he simply enjoys sharing his world.

From a private showing of the Kings’ collection of antiquities, to a small garden reading by one of your favorite authors who Baron Zemo happens to know personally, you spend your time together as near equals, exchanging ideas and thoughts as easily as you would with your oldest friends. It surprises you to find it so easy to speak to a man you’re only just starting to know.

Perhaps that is because he never once reminds you of the gap between your status. You are cautious to believe anything a man of such wealth says, but when the Baron speaks he seems to do so truthfully, and when he listens, he does so without judgement.

“How is it my Lord, that you seem to rise above the constraints of society while moving through it so elegantly?” You ask as he escorts you home to the theatre one evening.

You are arm in arm, the lamps are lit and the air has a certain joie de vivre that radiates from the passersby. You smile and nod hello to a couple before looking up at the Baron’s handsome profile. He walks in silence for a while and you know him well enough by now to understand that he is just thinking before speaking, which is something you greatly admire.

“I hope my manner is not offensive.” He says with a deep frown. “I simply wish to be as honest with you as possible. To pretend that I see you as someone unworthy of my attention would be a lie.”

You turn your face to hide your giddy smile but he stops walking, your hand slipping from his coat.

Confused, you spin to face him. “Baron? What is it?”

“Do not hide.” He says in all seriousness. “Your face, it’s so expressive. There is such an openness in the way you show your emotion and I fear someone has told you to keep it hidden?” He asks and you avert your eyes instinctively but quickly look back up at him.

Feeling sure, you confess. “When my parents were too poor to keep me, I was sent to Augustines as I’ve mentioned. It was there I was taught that to show joy is a sin. To cry is a sin, to be angry is a sin. Frustration, even a simple smile, all sins. Everything beautiful about who we are as living creatures must be suppressed” You say, still bitter.

The Baron scoffs shaking his head. “Nothing is a sin when you stop believing that there is someone to sin against. Your smile is a gift mala ptica, a glimpse at your pure heart, just as your tears are an expression of the pain you feel inside. People can be very cruel, and I am sorry you were ever told such lies.” He says and you see that it truly hurts him to picture you as a child, scolded for what comes naturally. “Please, do not feel as though you ever need to hide either from me. If I am the reason you smile, then I consider myself to be a fortunate man.” He pauses, looking at you as people pass by. “Conversely If I ever make you cry, well, the pain of hurting you will be my deserved punishment.” He says and though you stand apart on the dark sidewalk, you feel the warmth of his affection reach out and close its arms around you, holding you close enough that you can hear the drumming of his heart.

The week ends with a picnic, just a small luncheon taken outside with all the delightful indulgence of the spoiled upperclass.

You sit at the edge of a large blanket, covered by a spread of fruit and cheese and bread. There are biscuits and cakes, small sandwiches and of course tea— and what looks to be chopped pheasant being carried out by a young servant all the way from the house. You are thankful for the shade of the ancient tree you sit under with the women; Lady Valentina, her neighbor, who has brought her daughter-in-law, and their two cousins, all of you laughing as the men play a lazy but entertaining game of rugby in their shirts, their jackets thrown down in the grass.

You applaud for the Baron and Lord Wessex the neighbor’s son who has come home for a quick visit with his wife. They make a great team, and though the Baron insists he’s too old for sport—which he is most certainly not— he is fast and strong and shows just a glimpse of the man he must have been during the war.

“He cuts quite the figure.” One of the cousins says to the other with a wicked little grin.

You eye her prim face, almost jealous but the energy would be wasted. You know who he smiles at as he crosses the lawn.

“Yes, but I hear he’s engaged.” Says the other

“Oh? To who? Certainly not to anyone here.” Lady Valentina says sipping from her cup.

You are silent as you watch these women who you know in name only. You don’t know their hearts, but you guess them to be as cold as the pheasant.

“No. A Sokovian Duchess I believe.” The cousin says and you stare at her.

“Then why on earth is he here?” The daughter-in-law asks.

“Must not be a very happy engagement.” The cousin says, her tittering laughter joined by the others.

You smile but set your tea down and look over, watching Baron Zemo toss the large ball across the lawn to his partner. He trots backwards and calls something out, clapping a few times before stopping and resting his hands on his knees. As though he can sense your eyes on him, he looks over from his bent position, that lock of hair fallen out of place.

He told you just a day or so ago to never hide your feelings from him, and so you don’t. Honestly, given what you’ve just heard, you couldn’t if you tried.

You can only imagine how you must look because he stands upright, rakes his hair back with his fingers and stares at you, his own face long, his jaw tight.

He knows something has happened. Immediately the Baron calls for a break in the game.

You look away eyeing the women. “Please, excuse me. I believe my legs are going a little numb.” You shrug, feigning a smile at the ladies and quickly get up, brushing your skirts and walking off.

“Poor circulation from all that time standing onstage.” You hear one of them say.

“And lying on her back” Another whispers loudly to the shocked laughter of the others.

The insult stings, more so than it normally would, and you shut your eyes as you march off towards the house ready to leave.

Of course they think you’re just here playing the whore to the rakish Baron. Why you ever thought they would accept you as their own or that he would be better than the rest is beyond you.

But what truly shames you, is that you believe their gossip, even after spending time with him. And why shouldn’t you? Isn’t this what men do? Lie? Especially to women of your profession.

It’s when you’ve reached the manicured part of the lawn that you realize you’re hardly breathing and that your heart feels like it’s been run through with one of the picnic bread knives. You clutch your chest, angry at the pain as the tears that well in your eyes burn, and you curse yourself for letting him have such an effect on you at all.

“Wait.”

You gasp, startled by his voice vibrating deep in your own chest as he has come up on you by surprise; his body so close to yours you feel his breath along your neck as he takes you by the arms and pulls you into the shaded privacy of the garden trees before you can protest.

He turns you around and the look on his face is a mix of curiosity and worry, to which you find yourself surprisingly angry. “What’s happened? What have they said to you?” He asks.

“What’s wrong Baron? Are you worried that I’ve found out?” You ask and move to wipe your eyes, but you let him see, just as he’s insisted.

“Found out? mala ptica, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t you?”

He just stares down and you realize you’ve never seen him confused before. “Baron? What do you think they said?”

“Some insult? A way to make you feel inferior as seems to be their casual form of amusement.” He says clearly very angry and possibly ready to march back and defend you.

You feel your anger falter. This is unexpected and you shake your head. Now you’re the one confused. “No. Baron… I—I’m afraid I’ve made something of a fool of myself if you truly have no fear of any secret being found out?” Your voice rises as you question it.

“You are not a fool y/n” He says with a hint of irritation in his voice.

You look down, steadying yourself before looking back up into his eyes. “I never expected anything from you, you know? Your friendship has been nothing short of wonderful, but I fear that in getting to know you, I’ve found it impossible not to let my romantic heart lead the way. But what can we expect from a product of love.” You toss your hands up flashing a sardonic smile.

The Baron steps forward and your eyes close reflexively when he lays his palm to your cheek. “What have you heard? Tell me.”

“That you are engaged.” You answer not wanting to prolong it. “To a Sokovian Duchess no less.”

He smiles, looks off then back down at you and you hope he never stops the gentle, rhythmic stroking of your face. “I was, and it was a mistake. I broke it off before I doomed us both to a loveless marriage.”

“I was under the assumption that people of your wealth marry to acquire more of it.”

“You assume wrong.” He says even closer “It is beneficial, but, should I ever marry again, it will be for nothing less than a love to repair what is left of my heart.”

You’re breathing faster. He is so close. It seems to happen so quickly. One moment you’re ready to leave, angry and hating that you’ve even come, embarrassed that you’ve been swayed by a Lords influence. And the next you’re standing in his shadow gazing up into his eyes…

“May I kiss you?” He asks in a way that would be very hard to refuse.

“You may” You whisper. His fingers inch along to the back of your head, his other hand pulls you in by the waist until his hips are pressed against you and his lips part; the heat of his skin so warm from running touching you before his mouth does.

It is the force and passion of his kiss that surprises you. Not overly aggressive or unwanted, it is unexpected, as though he has been longing to do this as badly as you have and now, he can not let another second pass without tasting more of you.

His tongue on your own is warm and soft as he gently enters your mouth and it is not the demure touch of society but of two people who feel a great many things, not the least of which is an urgency to do more.

The Baron pulls away, your lips leaving his slowly. You look at your hands resting on his chest over his white shirt. His cravat is a little askew letting you see a hint of skin and the shimmer of a very thin necklace that makes your stomach flutter. Your eyes flit up to meet his as he exhales very slowly.

“Thank you mala ptica” He says and kisses your forehead and you think there are many reasons for him to say this, but for now you let it be, though something else has always made you wonder…

“What does that mean?” You ask curious, eyes closed

He leans back to see your face. “What?”

“Mala… mala ti..”

“Mala ptica” He says with an amused smile. “It means—little bird actually.”

You scrunch your nose wondering why this is what he’s taken too calling you and he chuckles a little with a sigh. “Your voice is like the song of a bird, a thing of natural beauty. Forgive me for having been so familiar. It—slipped out.” He says simply.

You grin, you can’t help it and close your hands to fists in his shirt and pull him down kissing him again.

It is hard and fast but he is a most willing partner.

When you let the Baron go, you bite at the corner of your lip feeling such an urge to go down to the cool grass with him here and now, understanding why everyone seems so preoccupied by it, but the truth is no man has had you and you refuse to be the woman they expect you to be. You will not succumb, not even for a Baron, not even for this one. But he will challenge you to no end.

He smooths his hands over your face and sighs. “What now hmm?”

You mimic his movements smoothing the wrinkles you’ve caused in his shirt. “I can not go back. I don’t belong here.” You tell him.

He takes hold of your hand on his chest and holds it there. “No, I don’t believe I do either. Not today.”

“My next run begins in two days, I won’t have time to go on so many adventures with you.” You smile.

Zemo pulls your hand down but does not let go. “Then I will wait until you are free to enjoy the rest of the season with me.”

“Will you?”

“Of course.”

“It’s almost over my Lord, you’re going home at the end of summer.”

“Yes,” He says and tilts his head to find your eyes. You look at him and smile wide. “But perhaps I might persuade you to come with me.”

#baron zemo x you #zemo x reader #zemo x y/n #zemo au #baron zemo fanfiction #victorian au #victorian era #mcu au #baron helmut zemo #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo #zemo fanfic #zemo x you #zemo in love #Baron Zemo romance because thats what we want

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kinsey3furry300 · 4 years ago

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A very confused Star Wars Fan desperately tries to justify their belief that “Caravan of Courage” shows the way forward for the franchise. No, really.

Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve loved Star Wars. And I mean, all of it. The books, the games, the Lego, the spin-offs: I even enjoy the Holiday Special in a The Room so-bad-you-just-need-to-see-it sort of way. But particularly the films. But here is when we run into the big problem: I’m just the wrong age. The original trilogy launched before I was born, the prequel trilogy hit cinemas when I was already a teen and while I went and saw them and enjoyed them, I was at that age where I was self-conscious about seeing a “kids” film, and hyper-aware of how silly and cringy those films were in parts. So my indoctrination, my inoculation with the Star Wars bug didn’t happen in the cinema, and it didn’t happen with any of the main franchise works. It happened on home video, on a skiing trip in the French Alps in the early 90’s. I’d have been about 6, and this was the first time I’d ever been abroad other than to see relatives in Ireland. And I loved it: to this day I love skiing, but more than that, I have very, very fond childhood memories of this trip. This was shortly before I lost my biological mother to cancer, she’d have received her diagnosis just after we got back from the trip. This was when my younger sister stopped being an annoying screaming thing and became and became an actual person I could talk and play and share ideas with, this was before the combination my mothers long illness and my father having just launched his own IT start up meant I didn’t see him or her any more, despite the fact they were in the same house as me. This was this wonderful, nostalgic child-hood bubble when my family was intact, and nothing could ever go wrong. I skied all day with mum and dad, and would come back to the chalet in the evening. It was an English speaking chalet, I met my first real-life American there, and having grown up in the 90’s in the UK nothing was cooler than making friends with an actual American my own age. He had a hulk Hogan action figure with springs in the legs so if you put him on a hard surface and punched his head down, when you let go he’d jump really high in the air. We used to play with it together in the bath, back in that weird 90’s time-bubble when it was possible to convince two sets of parents that this kid you’d just met was you best friend in the world and of course shared bath time was, somehow, normal and appropriate. And fresh from bath time, tired from the day, the parents would give us some hot coco, dump us kids in front of the tv and grab the first shitty low-budget VHS they could find to keep us distracted while they went to the bar. In this particular time, in this particular place, that shitty low budget cartoon was the complete set of the 1985 Lucasfilm/ABC Ewoks cartoon, plus the two spin off movies, and to this day that cheap, kitschy, kind of bad series has a special warm and cosy place in my heart. I remember being enthralled by the world, in love with the characters, applied by the bad guys and the injustice they caused (to this day I’m still irate about that time Wicket lost his set of beads documenting his progress towards becoming a full warrior and the older Ewoks basically said, tough, you need to re-earn all those merit badges from scratch. This struck me as exactly the sort of bullshit an adult would pull, and pissed me off) and on tenterhooks about what would happen to the characters.

It was also, by a coincidence, the first ever Star Wars media I was exposed to, and the above combination of events probably explains a lot about me.

So I was surprised, the other day, when scrolling Disney+, to find they’d added Caravan of Courage AND Battle for Endor to the roster in my region. Surely Disney wouldn’t want their slick, cool brand associated with this old trash? Surely there could be no place for this in the post-Mandalorian Star Wars cannon? Surely this is a horrible mistake some intern made, right?

Unless…. What if I’ve miss-remembered? What if it’s not just rose-tinted nostalgia goggles, and it’s, in fact, secretly really, really good?

I rushed to my comfy chair, got a blanket, dimmed the lights, made some coco (with rum in it, because why the hell not?) and sat down to re-examine this lost gem.

And wow: it’s every bit as shit as you’d expect.

It has aged exactly as poorly as you’d expect a cheap, mid 80’s direct to video spin-off to age. Caravan of Courage? More like Caravan of Garbage, am I right?

And yet… I still enjoyed every moment.

And it was sitting there, in my pyjamas, watching a cheaply made direct to video cash-grab from just before I was born, seeing it again for the first time in nearly 30 years, and I realised something.

It doesn’t really matter if this film is bad, so long as I enjoy it. And if it doesn’t really mater if this is bad, then I, like many Star Wars fans, wasted a huge amount of time and emotional effort on being butthurt about stuff I didn’t like about the Rise of Skywalker and it’s ilk. Because somewhere, right now, a tired and frustrated parent is putting Disney+ on to keep their kids quiet for two hours. And they won’t think too hard about what they put on, so long as it keeps little Timmy busy for a bit. Somewhere, right now, a kid is watching Rise of Skywalker, and it’s the first Star Wars media they’ve ever seen.

And that’s okay. Because we don’t know what that kids home life is like. We don’t know if it’s good or bad. Maybe it’s great, maybe it’s about to take a dramatic plunge like mine did, and this moment here will be the cosy, warm memory they look back on in 30 years time, and that’s beautiful. They’re getting introduced to a fun, wonderful fantasy world that could be with them all their lives, through good times and bad, and as fans we should be happy about that.

Star Wars will never, die: it’s too darn profitable, Disney will never let it. And while I hope they learn from their mistakes and make sure every future Star Wars is a timeless gem of story-telling, statistically, if you keep making enough films, some of them will be bad. And while I’d like them all to be great, it’s still okay if they’re bad.

Because nothing can take away my memories of that week in that chalet. Nothing can take-away my memories of when they put the original trilogy on in cinemas for the special edition and I had my jaw hit the floor with how good it was on the big screen, not knowing or caring who shot first. Nothing can take away you memories of the Original Trilogy, the Prequels, or the Clone Wars. Nothing can tarnish the bits of the sequil trilogy that you like, and there are good bits in there.

But wait, what about continuity? What about the sacred, perfect written time-line that used to exist?

Well, what about it? Have you seen any other big, epic fantasy universe before? They’re all a mess. A work of fiction, particularly fantasy, can be extensive, or tightly written, but not both. Harry Potter is only seven books, and the last two feel, tonally, like they’re from an entirely different series. I love them, but the grim-dark kicked in so fast you’ll get whiplash. The Hobbit is a perfect written self-contained novel, and LOTR is *The* big boy high-fantasy trilogy: fast forward 50 years, and Christopher Tolkien is desperately squeezing every last drop of money out of his father’s corpse by finishing and publishing every unfinished note JRR ever wrote right down to his shopping lists. Even Dune goes of the rails with sequels. I can only think of four fantasy works that are both extensive and consistently tightly written, Song of Ice and Fire, Wheel of Time, Malazan: Book of the Fallen and Brandon Sanderson’s Cosmere universe. And even then, the prequels and spin-offs mess with the timelines: the Dunk and Egg novella’s change some character’s canonical ages and timelines, Wheel of Time was going slowly off the rails even before the Jordan died, Forge of Darkness made what was a good metaphor for the creation of it’s world into a literal war deep in the past, and Sanderson’s first Novel Elantris got a re-write to bring it more in line with the rest of the shared universe. The MCU, oft held up as the modern example of tightly planned, well thought out ongoing storytelling, is a lie: it was never as pre-planned out as Disney wants us to think; the first Iron Man, apparently, barely had a script, with Downey ad-lib-ing most of his scenes. None of the MCU films are direct sequels to each-other other than Infinity war and Endgame. There are three Iron Man films, and Three Thor films, and none continue an ongoing story line across multiple films, and the Cap films barely continue an arc, but only where Cap’s relationship with Natasha and Bucky is involved. Much like these, Star War’s cannon is a complete, nightmarish, confusing, tangled, illogical mess. And it has been since 1984, as Caravan of Courage proves. It was never consistent and well planned.

And that’s okay.

I used to care about plot holes. I used to care about which works were cannon in Star Wars lore. I’m over that now. I’m happy to imagine the books, films and games not as a blow-by-blow historical account of a galaxy far far away, but as campfire stories from within this fun, imaginative world that we’re all invited to listen to. Stories that are in-universe myth and folklore, that we can all snuggle up and listen to while drinking highly alcoholic rum and remembering better times, knowing that wherever the future throws at us, no matter how the world goes to hell around us, we’ll still have the memories, and the ability to make our own new stories in the wonderful Star Wars world we all share.

And that’s okay. No, more than that: that’s beautiful.

Also Star Wars is completely unambiguous on the fact we’re allowed to kill fascists no matter how many times they keep coming back with a new logo, so that’s timely I guess.

So, there’s my hot take two-years after everyone else stopped caring about this stuff, as per bloody usual. Tell me why I’m wrong below, and does anyone else have any truly awful spin-off shows that they kind of have a nostalgic soft spot for?

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