Chapter Text
WARNING: you will encounter ships that you do not like and that are controversial, but that's your problem, not mine. If you clicked on this story it means you are interested in my lore and the ships i have to offer, I hope you enjoy this journey.
I can't explain my full lore in one sitting, but it is separate from my other book, The Manger. (I have the rest of that work nearly complete, I have not felt motivated to publish it.). Feel free to ask questions about it in the various oneshots, and as I get random bits of writing motivation I will try to explain my lore in a oneshot or just devote a whole chapter to it.
I will also not post on a regular schedule, but don't let that stop you from getting invested. I write when the feeling strikes me, and sometimes that's months apart - sorry in advance.
a lot of this will not make sense because they're just random oneshots and the rest of the lore lives in my head. If you feel confused about anything at all or want to know ANYTHING at all about whats underneath a oneshot please do not hesitate to ask, I would love to nerd out and explain it.
I hope you have a wonderful day, and here's your first oneshot.
(~) <--- my signature 'passing' symbol
(This oneshots contain words that match the lyrics of the songs Say You Do by Dierks Bentley and Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift, if you recognize a part of the song feel free to believe it is apart of that song
If you'd like to listen to the Rusame playlist I've made, the songs in chronological order are:
Say You Do by Dierks Bentley
Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift
Riptide by Vance Joy
Just My Type by the Vamps
Teeth by 5 Seconds of Summer
Drunk Last Night by Eli Young Band
Problems by Mother Mother
Wilder Days by Morgan Wade
Be The One by Dua Lipa
Snowman by Sia
Baby Its Cold Outside by Idina Menzel and Michael Buble
Russian Trepak performed by The Endless Orchestra (and yes I know they did not create the song)
(~)
Russia sat, head in his hands, outside of a bedroom door. His knees propped up, elbows resting on them. He was outside of a bedroom door, in a dark, inexplicably quiet hallway. The whole house was asleep.
Well, almost the whole house.
Two o'clock in the morning it was. America was still playing guest at their home, but only for a few more days. Her trek back to New York would begin soon enough. Russia simply couldn't take it anymore.
About two months ago, after the end of the War, on a quiet dance floor Russia had whispered, "I want to marry you, America," into the ear of the woman he loved the most. She had rejected him - mostly. She followed him in saying she would like to marry him, but said that she couldn't, and that it wouldn't happen.
Since then Russia tried to move on, to try and push America out of his mind and focus on his work - but that proved near impossible. He found one girl - a complete and total slut, looking back he had no idea why he ever chose her of all people - but America never left his mind nonetheless, especially when she was right in front of him, all the time, for days.
So now here he was, head in hands, heart beating a hundred miles a minute, needing to hold America in his arms one last time before she left.
He could hear her voice, just down the hall. Russia's father and her were exchanging a few words in the other room, he heard laughter and mirth. He could listen to that elegant, lilting laughter for days upon days and never get tired of hearing it. He wanted to be the one making her laugh.
Russia couldn't wrap his head around the idea, the mere thought that this is how it would be. That he would be sitting here, night after night when she left, hoping for the day that America might change her mind and decide they could be together - that they could both let the love they held for each other thrive and blossom and become all that it should be.
That's why he was here. He wanted it to be so, and he would ensure that it would be. Or at least, he would make his best case as for why it should be.
The door at the end of the hall creaked, and traces of laughter came out of it, followed by a "Night, Sovi."
The amusement was still present in America's smile as she came down the hall, taking off a pair of black heels as she did so, trying not to trip on her long black evening gown. That night the Soviet government had held ... "Talks" with the American envoy. That was code for, they all got together and drank a little bit to give America a good send off in the hopes that relations would still be peaceful in the future.
America looked up, and tossed a bouncy curl away from her eye and made it towards the guest bedroom. As she came closer, she slowed her steps, eying the curled up large lump in front of her door. At two o'clock in the morning, she knew this could only be one person.
Russia slowly lifted his tired and heavy head off of his knees, and gazed up at America. Her expression had completely changed, fear showing in the slight ruffle of her eyebrows, her eyes flickering up and down the broken image that had become Russia.
"R-Russia?" She said, a hint of a nervous laugh in her voice.
"Yes," Russia responded, rising from his crouched position, stretching on his way up.
"What are you doing outside my door... At two o'clock in the morning?" America asked quietly, moving towards the door while checking her watch. She paused halfway through, and read through the expression on Russia's face - clear as day. He looked weary and tired, like he had been fighting or wrestling with some idea for hours.
"Russia what's wrong?" America dropped her arms to her side, real worry growing inside her now.
Russia gulped down a hard lump growing in his throat. He managed to get out, "Can we talk, please?"
America nodded quickly and went inside the room, letting Russia walk beside her. She shut the door, and gazed into Russia's confused, deep eyes. She laid a hand on her stomach, nausea building.
They stood in silence for a few moments, Russia trying to remember the exact words he had wanted to say. He had to make this pitch exactly perfect, perfect enough to convince this perfect lady to stay.
"America... I let that torturous woman go," he began. He crossed his arms, unsure of a way to keep him from fidgeting.
America gulped, and nodded slowly. "Okay... I'm - I'm so sorry-"
"That's not all," Russia held up a hand, and slid his other into his pocket. He locked eyes with America again, she looked so scared. He almost felt guilty for what was about to happen, but he knew it had to.
"America... I can't ... Stop thinking about you." He hated using such cliche and almost immature sounding words, but it was the best way to describe what he was feeling. He let his arms fall to his side and let out a small sigh.
America looked away, rubbing her forearms up and down. She slowly walked to the other side of the room and began removing her white silk gloves, trying to calm herself down. Her breathing had visibly quickened, all of a sudden it felt like the room was closing in on her. "Well," she muttered.
"America, I still love you," Russia explained, not missing a beat. America paused, laying a hand on the dresser where she was placing her gloves. "Do you now?"
Russia sighed, and began to walk closer. "I know you still love me."
America bit her lip, and hung her head down. She didn't want to have this conversation right now. She did still love Russia, but she was absolutely sure it would fade... If she just set aside the feeling for a little longer.
She turned her head and gave the weakest smile imaginable. She couldn't even give an answer. America tried to remove the cross necklace she had adorned, her fingers trembling and shaking all the way.
Russia took another few steps closer, close enough to lay a hand on her neck and steady her hands. America paused, her hands frozen in place behind her head - albeit they were still shaking ever so slightly.
"America," Russia gently called her name. His voice strained and shaken.
She tried to take a large breath, calm herself down. She took her hands away from her neck and turned on her heel, looking Russia in the eye. "I can't," was all she said, hands clutched on her stomach. "You know this."
Russia bit his lip, and tilted his head down, eying the floor. Wanting a way to escape, but only if it was with her.
"Please... At least... Say you do," he desperately begged. He looked back up at her, shoulders hanging low and hands open.
America's eyes started to fill with water, her lip trembling slightly. The next words that came out of her mouth were going to break the dam, she could tell.
"I wouldn't tell you lies," America squeaked out, avoiding Russia's piercing gaze.
He tilted his head to the side. "I don't mind a little smoke getting in my eyes."
America looked up and clenched her fists, trying to control and restrain the emotion rising inside of her. "Russia - That's the problem... It's... It's not-," America couldn't even finish the sentence before tears started to flood down her cheeks. She brought her palms up to her eyes, and tried to close the dam to no avail.
Russia took one step closer, and grabbed America's wrist. She forcefully tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let go. America let down her guard, and started weeping violently, crashing her head into his chest. he wrapped her close in his arms, trying to stay steady, trying hard to be what she needed.
"It is the truth, Russia," she finally answered amidst the chokes in her sobs. Unable to stop rambling, she slammed her hands against his chest and said, "And that's the problem, because I'll never not love you and - and it hurts, Russia, it hurts, because I can't love you and we can't be together and it's just..." she trailed off into another fit of sobbing, bringing her hands together behind his back and holding on tight, trying to push her rage and sorrow into something manageable.
"It's just a mess," she finished with a whisper.
They stood like that for some number of minutes - neither of them were counting. The only thing they could focus on was how good it felt to be back in each other's arms, enjoying the few moments they could of their love.
"I know," Russia whispered quietly into America's ear. He was slowly tracing her spine with his hand, trying to sooth her.
"Just tonight, America. Just tonight, you can be mine, and I can be yours." Russia let the thought hang in the air for just a few moments. He knew - he couldn't bear it, but he knew that him and America could never actually marry, could never actually build their family they way they dreamed.
It just wasn't possible.
The thought of having to go through life without the one they loved the most beside them, without ever being able to hold each other's hands again, to hug, to live in and enjoy the love they shared, made America crack. She would never let this poor boy follow her back to her country, but just for tonight, she would be his, and he would be hers.
She quickly lifted her head up and cupped Russia's face in her hands, lightly stroking his cheeks with her thumbs. "Heaven can't help me now..." She muttered, just before leaning in - with all her frustration, confusing, sorrow - every horrible emotion she was feeling - and brought Russia's lips to meet her own. Russia brought his hands down to her hips, gently letting them rest there, pulling her just a little closer, soaking up every moment - every square inch of her that he could before they had to stop.
America pulled away, laying her forehead against Russia's. The waterfall of tears had come to a stop, and simply being able to stand here and live in her wildest dreams for a few moments - that feeling meant the world.
Her breathing had slowed, a few residue hiccups coming to bite. She let her hands fall to Russia's shoulders, as he moved up to run his fingers through her hair - mid-length, and curly as could be.
"Say you'll remember me, Russia."
"I could never forget."
America let every part of her relax, and let her head fall onto Russia's shoulder, leaning on him completely. Just for tonight.
Just that night, they let their love blossom, and let it feel and turn into the thing it should be. They shared one room, one bed. They held each other, and hoped that one day they'd be able to do it all again.
(~)
took place between 1945-46. FYI, the only reason America was here is because she was recovering from a horrible injury