#{ And he carries all this bitterness with him because of everything he's gone through. } | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

epiphany-of-a-madwoman · 5 months

Text

The Great War | Regulus Black

▹ Pairing: Regulus Black x Reader

▹ Genre: Angst and Fluff

▹ Words: ~ 5K

▹ Summary: You'd swore not to cry anymore if you and Regulus managed to survive the great war.

▹ Notes: I'd like to personally thank the Anon that reminded me nearly a year ago about Sirius Black dying without knowing his brother wasn't like their parents. To alleviate the sadness of that fact, I wrote this fic :)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Your memories were plagued by cold winter nights and eyes as bright and bitter as a snow storm.

Regulus' hands in yours, interlocked with a grip so tight it kept you from floating away. Stolen stares and clandestine meetings in the middle of the night at the top of the Astronomy tower became sacred, only for him to never look your way in the light of day.

You knew every constellation, both in the sky and in his eyes. When snow fell, Regulus would carefully brush away the melted snow droplets on your cheeks. The air was biting and the wind unrelenting, a concoction that made for the perfect excuse to nuzzle into Regulus' side. You'd pretend it was for warmth when really you craved his touch. His lips would tilt into a half-smirk as you spoke, seeing through your flimsy excuse. Yet his arm would wrap around you all the same, pulling you impossibly close.

The moments had been brief, gone within the blink of an eye. Reality would creep in, dampening the dreamy optimism you clung to in moments of doubt. No one could know; Regulus Black was consorting with a muggleborn, how scandalous. His family would eat him alive, a notion that made him keep you in the shadows, a place you happily stayed. You'd draw stars in the air with your fingertips, placating your fears with delusions that it wouldn't be forever. Each whispered word was an oath that you would carry to your grave.

You'd never doubted that Regulus Black loved you; you could hear it in the easy silence and see it in the soft expression reserved just for you. Understanding and calm, he clung to the tranquility you brought to his turbulent life. So certain that everything would turn out fine, you never dared to ask for more.

Then, it all turned into something bitter.

He slipped from your grasp like water, his feather light touches and sardonic smile only felt and seen in your dreams. The haze brought by the security of Hogwarts was muddied, reality much too bright to look at head-on. War gripped the wizarding world; Voldemort and his Death Eaters were the cause of the strife. Thrown into the trenches, you struggled to stay above water. With each mission and spell cast, any trace of innocence and youth that remained was ripped from you. All the bloodshed, death, and terror stained you dark red. Even if you survived, you'd never be the same.

You hadn't seen Regulus since the war started; even in your dreams, his face was a vague blur of what he used to be. You couldn't recall when the severing had happened; the letters came less frequently until they stopped coming at all. He used to drop by your apartment unannounced, a shy grin and flowers in hand. Regulus must've lost his way because he never made his way back. The love shared between the two of you turned bitter, and in the haze of it all, the betrayal stung harsher than any spell could.

You damned him each time the phantom scent of his cologne lingered in your apartment. And you cried each time flashes of your best moments came back in the depth of night. Sucker punching walls and screaming into the sky never alleviated the pain; you cursed him while sleep talking. It was cognitive dissonance; you claimed to hate him all while wishing he would just come back and explain why.

"You good for this?" Sirius Black's voice echoed in the depths of your mind, breaking you from the reverie. Twin gray eyes, reflecting similar to his brother's. It was nearly enough to send you into a spiral. A simple nod was the only reply you gave him, but it was all he needed.

Another mission, another attempt at stopping what was starting to feel inevitable. You didn't want to be so hopeless and desolate, but it couldn't be helped. The walls were closing in; you were losing the war.

"We all remember the plan, right?" A member of the order said. You couldn't remember their name, but you didn't care to. They may be dead in a week. There's no sense in getting to know them now.

"Was there even much of a plan? We go in and minimize as much damage as we can, that's it," James Potter's voice stood out amongst the chatter. The rest of the members assigned to the mission solemnly nod, calling out various agreements.

Numbness flooded your body, completely apathetic to the chaos you were charging headfirst into. This part used to be daunting, stabbing tiny needles in your body, but you'd desensitized yourself to it. Dissociated so far away that you weren't even sure anything was real. Healthy? No, but it was necessary; you couldn't afford to freeze up.

The people around you began to apparate and you followed suit. It felt as if you were being pulled apart and put back together. A thought flickered in your mind; perhaps if you were spliced, you wouldn't have to deal with the emotional turmoil that's been weighing you down. But all too soon, the feeling stopped; a wave of nausea hit and then vanished.

You were there.

It all became a blur; the exact moment the fight broke out was hard to pinpoint. All you could remember were the screams and the people pushing and pulling you like the tide. In the confusion of it all, masked figures around every corner, it was easy to forget you were fighting real people. They were skeletal visages you created, not living, breathing people. Bodies began to drop on both sides, curses and spells falling from the lips of everyone around.

“Petrificus Totalus.” You flicked your wand, petrifying the Death Eater closest to you. With a thump, their body fell to the ground, and you were on to the next, adrenaline keeping your body upright. You turn the incantation to another spell on the tip of your lips. But your words fell short, your body locking up as you stared at the person in front of you. It was as if you'd been cursed, except you hadn't.

They wore a mask like all the other Death Eaters, but the icy gray eyes peering at you were hard to forget.

Regulus.

You froze, unable to move even as your mind screamed at you to act. The noise of the room was muffled, a sharp ringing nearly making your ears bleed. Regulus was a--

You'd suspected as much, what with his family's allegiance to the Dark Lord and all he stood for. Yet until now, there has been no confirmation that your worst nightmares have come to fruition. But as Regulus stood there in the garb of your enemy, it would seem war found you on different ends of the same battlefield.

A bitter, smokey taste filled your mouth as everything the two of you shared turned to ash. He was here; there was no more denying what he'd done. Regulus was a Death Eater. Your stomach turned to knots as it threatened to empty its contents right then and there. Fighting for the blood purists, you guess he never really loved you then.

Regulus tore off his mask, allowing it to drop to the ground with a thud that wasn't heard over the noise. His dark hair was messy and tangled, the ends of it curling from the sweat on the nape of his neck. Heavy dark circles lined his eyes, worse than they'd ever been, skin pallid and sickly. Eyes that previously shone like a bright star were dim and threatening to burn out. Dry skin clung to his lips, and you could see the damage his teeth had caused to his bottom lip.

He looked terrible.

Regulus had talked in length about the stifling expectations his family had placed upon him. He both hated and feared his family, witnessing the abuse Sirius suffered before he ran away. It was never something spoken, but you knew the resentment he harbored for Sirius, both for leaving Regulus behind and having the courage to go against the grain. You did your best, encouraging him to leave as well, to make the hard choice of not getting swept into the current. Even when Regulus disappeared from your life, you hoped he would take the hard road. Yet he took the easy way out.

Pity turned your numb body cold, and the fury it caused turned you hot. How dare he? After everything he'd done, to have such a tight grip on you still. To make you feel sorry for him as if he'd been forced down this path. He'd made his decision; he decided to follow the road that led to this exact moment. Why should you weep for him?

Even then, with all your turmoil and rage, you still couldn't lift your wand at him. Time seemed slow, the chaos melting away the longer you looked into his eyes. Five seconds extended to five years.

But Regulus didn't share your hesitation or paralysis. He lifted his wand, a spell falling from his lips as his wrist flicked. You didn't have time to react, magical energy pooling at the tip of his wand before it shot towards you. Your eyes widened, and your heart stopped, unable to do anything other than watch your own death.

But the impact never came. Instead, the green light flew past your shoulder, grazing your hair. Square in the chest, it hit a Death Eater that had crept up behind you. A gasp left your mouth, the only sound you'd made since the battle started.

Their body hit the ground, unmoving. Only then did you turn to face Regulus. His expression remained unchanged, yet yours portrayed all the confusion and surprise in your head. At the speed of light, your heartbeat rattling against your chest, the barest hints of hope tinged your pessimistic thoughts. Was there a chance? His gaze softened, and his wand hand hanging slack at his side. You didn't want to fight anymore. All your steeled nerves and empty declarations of no longer caring about him were voided in an instant. You took a step towards him, hand reaching for him, but he took a stiff step back.

"Regulus--"

He was gone, apparating from the battle.

Sharply, you inhaled, holding it for a few heartbeats, then let it out. Regulus was no longer in sight. You returned to the battle. You rushed forward, trampling over the Death Eater mask he'd left behind. The porcelain it'd been made from cracked under the weight of you as the dirt on your shoes muddied its intricate designs.

You hardly thought twice about it, flinging another spell at a Death Eater.

Another mission completed; more casualties piling up.

---

"I saw you, you know," Sirius Black said. You'd all returned from the mission about two hours ago and just finished debriefing what happened. You stayed silent, your mind too preoccupied to come up with a singular thought.

"Saw me what? Fighting Death Eaters? Yeah, I saw you too." You were deflecting; he knew that, and you knew that he knew. The glint in his eye was not at all as careless as it had once been. Yet you feigned ignorance all the same.

"Yeah. I also saw you and Regulus."

Your movements stilled as your body turned rigid. You didn't meet his eyes, didn't even blink. What could you say? Nothing would stop him from going to Moody or Dumbledore; at best, you'd be kicked from the Order; at worst, thrown in Azkaban and branded a traitor.

"I don't know what you mean." It was a weak defense, but it was all you had.

"Oh, shove off. I'm not stupid. I saw the way you reacted when you saw him, but I also saw him kill that Death Eater."

You turned to meet his eyes. There was a question hidden in his statement. His gray eyes, so similar to Regulus's, were pleading, a part of him begging that maybe his brother wasn't completely lost. That he wasn't exactly what their parents were.

"I don't know why he did that." Confirmation that Regulus was a Death Eater should've cemented so many things. The world should be black and white; he was a Death Eater; therefore, he didn't love you anymore, if he ever even did. How could he claim to love a muggleborn while doing his best to ensure you were eradicated? But now you weren't so sure. He was a Death Eater, yes, but he'd also saved your life.

The migraine you'd had since you met him on the battlefield threatened to explode.

"Do you--" he hesitated, his words quiet and soft. So unlike the barking confidence he usually possessed. The armor he'd shielded himself with was cracking. "Do you think there's a chance for him?"

You pursed your lips.

"I don't know."

Without another word, you stood from the chair and muttered a quick "goodbye" before returning home. Your apartment had been just as you'd left it as you stood in front of the door, illuminated by the dim light on the steps. Except when you went to unlock the door, you found it already slightly ajar.

The hair on your body stood up, cold fear briefly washing over you. The Death Eaters were getting bolder with their attacks. Would you be the next victim? Would it be your name and picture covering the cover page of every newspaper? For a moment, you considered leaving or at least getting help, yet you did neither. Instead, you pushed open your door, the wand held tightly in your hand.

The room was dark, the sun having long since set. The pale blue light of your wand cast shadows in every corner of the room. It only made your nerves worse, jumping at every corner and shadow. The entryway was empty, as was the living room, but as you turned into the dining area and kitchen, you noticed a figure sitting at your table. They were still as a statue as they sat at your table, jacket neatly folded and placed in front of them.

Regulus.

His eyes were on you, arms slack at his sides, and he was wearing a grim expression. The dark circles you'd seen earlier that day seemed worse, so blackened they looked like bruises. You took a step back, the grip on your wand tightening as you held it up in a threatening manner.

"So this is it. You came here to kill me?" Your voice was like stone, cold and hard. There was a lump in your throat flecks of fear in your shining eyes, but you hardened your face. You wouldn't show any sign of weakness. If he would let the love you shared sink beneath the waves, then you'd drown the entire fucking world the two of you created.

He took a step forward, dark, stormy eyes pleading. “No, Y/N, that’s not--”

Regulus fell silent as you moved your wand from his chest towards his face, eyes narrowed. There was a tremble to your body; lips pressed so tight as to stifle the sobs that came up your throat.

"Stay back."

Regulus complied, raising his hands as a show of good faith. He wore that same disarming puppy dog face, like an abandoned dog alone in a shelter. Previously, you would've melted, running back to his embrace. But so many things were different, and it showed in the vacancy that made your eyes hollow.

"I would never hurt you." He asserted, hoping the sincerity of his words could penetrate the steel-enforced walls you'd encased yourself with. His placations had the opposite effect, the pain twisting into cold rage.

"And I'm just supposed to take your word for it? You're a Death Eater, Regulus. That means you and all your other purist friends want people like me dead." The death grip you held your wand with seemed to tighten. All circulation in your hand has been cut off, but it was all you could do to stop the tears from falling from your eyes.

"That is not true. I don't want you dead."

A choked laughter fell from your lips.

"Then I think you joined up with the wrong organization." Your words were sarcastic but not at all joking or light.

"It wasn't my choice." There was no change in his expression, eyes holding your gaze captive.

"No, you had a choice," you snapped back, silencing whatever pathetic excuse he used to convince himself he was justified in his actions. "And you made the wrong one."

Regulus fell silent, chewing on his bottom lip and shifting nervously. Your breath came out in angry puffs, reminiscent of a dragon. The tears made everything unclear and watery, but you refused to move a single muscle, even if it was just to wipe away the tears.

"I did what I had to do."

You felt your hand loosen, grip slackening enough that your wand almost fell from your fingertips. Thickly, you swallowed, cheeks damp from the tears that steadily fell from your eyes. This was it; your chance to finally tell Regulus everything you'd been screaming into your walls since he walked out of your life.

"You didn't have to do anything." Your voice was raw as you said the words you'd rehearsed time and time again. "Least of all, join the wrong side of the war. We had graduated; you could run away from all of that, and there was nothing your parents could've done."

"It's not that simple--"

"But it is, or at least it was," you exclaimed, cutting him off, voice cracking with the desperation you've locked away all this time. "You could've run and never looked back after our last day--"

"It was too late then."

You narrowed your eyes, a silent cue for him to explain when it had been too late.

"The summer between 5th and 6th year. After everything that happened with Sirius, they wanted to ensure I would be the perfect son they wanted."

"You never said anything."

"I didn't want you to look at me differently. My fate had already been sealed, and it was selfish of me to keep it from you, but I--"

He fell silent, eyes meeting the floor as his tongue became tied.

"You what?"

In a crazy, fucked up way, you were hoping he'd say everything you dreamed of. That he would reassure you he loved you and he never meant to hurt you. You wanted him to scorn his family and all their expectations of him. For once, you wanted him to make the right choice and not take the easy way out. You'd never fight with him anymore if he'd just asked to stay.

People always said love wasn't always enough, but you'd be willing to let Regulus ruin you time and time again.

"It doesn't matter now."

Disappointment was a feeling you were accustomed to by now, but that didn't make the bitter rejection sting any less. The tears on your cheeks were like acid, and you roughly wiped them away.

"I suppose it doesn't; you made your choice, and so have I."

Maybe now it would sink in. Your whirlwind romance with Regulus ended the moment you left Hogwarts for good. It wouldn't be some grand love like the books you'd read. He wouldn't push through any obstacle that stood between you and him.

Regulus wasn't a passionate man; he was pragmatic and calculated. Any risk he'd taken was never a risk after analyzing every angle and way it may go wrong. It was how he'd ended up trapped in the cycle of his family, and Sirius was able to break free. They were two sides of the same coin, yet they couldn't have turned out any more differently.

It was a hard pill to swallow; the man you loved was nothing like you imagined him to be.

"Why are you even here?" Your tone was sharp and pointed.

One last opportunity for him to mend what he had ripped to shreds. Why did you keep giving him so many chances?

"I'm not sure."

You slowly nodded, hands lowering to rest at your side. He'd never say the words you needed to hear; Regulus Black could never be the man you wanted him to be.

"I've missed you."

Maybe without realizing it, Regulus continued to twist the dagger he embedded in you.

You should tell him to leave, but the words won't form.

"I missed you too."

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, fighting a battle within his own mind. You stayed silent, watching with wide eyes as he stepped towards you.

Your eyes stayed on him, afraid that if you even breathed, he'd change his mind. His hands were cold as he gently grabbed ahold of your face. The grip he held you with was careful and delicate, afraid to break you.

As if no time had passed, you leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut and relishing in his presence. He still smelled of bergamot and smoke.

You opened your eyes, meeting his unwavering gaze. A thousand words were said in the silence, both of you trying to convey what you were too cowardly to verbalize.

A sharp breath, the flutter of your lashes as your eyes closed. The Regulus' lips were on yours. His kiss was nearly too light to feel, and it made all reason disappear.

Your lips parted as you combed your hands through his hair, working through the tangles at the nape of his neck. His grip tightened as he kissed you like a man starved.

Regulus pulled back first, his expression blank and unsure. Did he regret what he'd started? Hurt began to blossom, weighing down the high he gave you. It took so little effort to fade back into him. The reminder was like a sharp jab to the gut.

His eyes wouldn't meet yours, yet his feet stayed planted in the ground. So close together, you could feel the heave of each intake of breathe and hurt radiating from his body.

This was dangerous territory to be in. Regulus was a Death Eater; you couldn't do this all over again.

Whatever love there was between the two of you had to die. You had to light the match and turn it to ash, even if that meant you went out in flames too.

"I think it's best if you go."

Regulus slowly nodded his head, his eyes moving from the floor to meet yours. Years of abuse and "discipline" led to him mastering the art of dissociation, to not let an ounce of emotion show on his face.

Despite the self soothing thoughts that reassured you it was the right choice, your bruised ego was desperate for a sign that your love affair had maimed him even an ounce as much as it did you.

Maybe in an alternate universe, the two of you were happy, but war was war, and its very nature was to take, take, take until there was nothing left in the aftermath.

Regulus didn't argue or fight, he simply dipped his head in a single, firm nod, mouth set in a thin line, nothing more spoken than a quiet "I see." In the blink of an eye, he disappeared, leaving you alone in your dark, depressing apartment.

A shuddered breath left your body shaking. That night, you didn't make it to your bed; that felt entirely too big and too lonely. You collapsed on the couch, allowing the weight of the world to fall off as you slipped into unconsciousness. And in your dreams, you saw nothing but the endless nothing that threatened to swallow you whole.

---

“I now go to my death with the hopes you’ll forgive me for all the pain I’ve inflicted upon you. I never intended to hurt you, but now I realize it was all I’ve ever done. I don’t expect forgiveness, I understand I’m no longer worthy of it, if I ever was. I love you, don’t forget that.”

- Yours truly,

Regulus

Your eyes were trained on the letter held by shaky hands, stained with tears that fell from your cheeks. It had arrived two days ago, the letter accompanied with a small bag holding a locket. The writing on the letter was illegible, but you’d memorized every crease and fold on the paper. Why was it when you’d finally begin to forget about him, something would always bring him back. Part of it was your fault, you’d always welcomed him with open arms, but you’d hoped this time you’d end a cycle that never seemed to end.

Stood on the cliff sides, the winter air biting at your skin. What could he have done to be so certain of his death? Regulus was too insignificant for the Order to focus entirely on, so maybe he’d done something to spurn his Dark Lord. You hoped that was the case.

Inhaling the frosty air, you tucked the note into your pocket and turned to return to your house. Hands shoved in your pocket, the snow crunched under the weight of your feet. Lost in thought, you hardly noticed the sun had begun to set. Before long, the old brick building you’d made your home came into view. Crunching snow was replaced with footsteps on wood stairs and you pushed open your front door. You shook the snow off your jacket, setting it on the coat hanger by the door. The fireplace was already crackling, casting a warm glow in the room.

You moved towards the kitchen to put a kettle on before moving back towards your room to get ready for bed. The heavy winter clothes were replaced by fleece pajamas that were soft like a rabbit. You sat at your vanity table and began combing through your hair. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the small box on your side table. Within the iron enforced lead box was the locket Regulus had mailed with his letter. It seemed insignificant at first glance, but the longer you looked at it, the darker its aura felt. Regulus had written explicit instructions for you to hide the locket, both from yourself and the world. There hadn’t been time to think of a secure location, so before then, it would remain in the box, its magic suppressed for a time.

You’d question Regulus on it at some point, but for now you would go against every instinct telling you to ignore his letter and send back the locket. For as many times Regulus disappointed yourself, you’d let yourself down tenfold for continuing to give him the chance to do so.

The whistle of the kettle had you stand from your vanity and pad back into the kitchen. But as you moved into the kitchen, the wall opened so that you could see into the living room, you were no longer alone. Standing in the middle of the room was Regulus. He looked worse off than his last visit, his clothes wrinkled and hair greasy.

He didn’t speak and neither did you;’ your eyes focused on one another. The air was awkward, all the questions you’d had for him melting away from the softness in the gray eyes. You were the first to break the impromptu staring contest, grabbing two mugs instead of one. Wordlessly you began to prepare cups of tea, making it in just the way you knew Regulus liked it.

The wood floors creaked as Regulus moved to the couch in front of the fireplace, his jacket hanging beside yours. After a moment, you joined him, passing the warm mug to his open hand. Not a single word shared between the two of you. The only sound in the house was the crackle of the fire and the slurping of the two of you drinking from your mugs.

“Is it over now?” You finally spoke, unable to look towards Regulus.

A moment passed; you blew on your tea, steam flooding your face as you lowered your head.

“Yes.”

You leaned forward to set your mug on the table, the glass clinking as you did. You turned, finally looking at Regulus since taking a seat. His eyes were focused on you; broken and blue with the face of a man haunted by war. Yet beyond that was warm relief. War was finally over.

The Dark Lord and his followers were still afoot, and they’d need to be dealt with. But the Great War that plagued you and Regulus was finally over. The worst had ended.

Tomorrow you'd have questions about the locket and it's evil aura, you'd want to know what exactly he did that made him believe his death was certain. There was also the matter of how they'd proceed in the war. Regulus could be a turn coat, to give insight on the Death Eaters. So many things to consider, it made you feel dizzy. But those were semantics better dealt with at a later time.

For now, you just wanted to be a girl, sitting with a boy who you've loved since you were fourteen.

Droplets of tears stained your couch dark, your cheeks dampened. It was like a weight had been lifted and for a moment you thought you might disappear.

One of your hands dropped from the mug, laying on the couch near Regulus' limp hand. The grim line his lips had been pressed into warped into a soft smile. He placed his hand over yours, intertwining his fingers with you.

Not much was spoken the rest of the night. The two of you sat in comfortable silence, occasionally making chatter here and there. Your drinks were drained and when your eyes were too heavy to keep open, you’d led Regulus back into your room and onto your bed. His arms tangled around your body and your head on his chest you fell into a peaceful slumber you’d been robbed of since leaving Hogwarts behind.

#regulus black imagine #the marauders imagines #regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #regulus black #regulus black angst #hp marauders #marauders angst #marauders era #sirius black #marauders #the marauders

252 notes · View notes

mykoreanlove · 6 months

Text

disconnected.

Minho turned away, wearied by the repetitive conversations. Your frustration boiled over, hands trembling as you faced a pivotal choice. This, you vowed, would be the final breakdown. Desperation fueled a decisive grab for Minho's hand, a silent plea in the spin that followed. Eyes locked, the air hung heavy with the hope that, this time, he'd truly listen.

Your voice trembled with unspoken pain as you poured your heart out to him. The room suffocated in silence after your desperate plea.

"Can't you see that I need you?" Heavy with ache, your frustration accused Minho of prioritizing others, leaving you discarded and invisible.

"All you care about are others. What about me?" The question echoed, a plea for recognition of the neglect you felt.

"You've pushed me aside; it's like you don't want me anymore." Your voice held palpable pain, attempting to bridge the distance.

"Can't you see, Min? I'm dying inside while you chase love from others." The desperation peaked, a final cry for the connection you craved, the air heavy with an unspoken plea for understanding.

Defensive, Minho clenched his cheek muscles, restraining words on the tip of his tongue. His once-loving eyes now portrayed indifference, leaving you longing for the warmth that had faded.

"Where did I go wrong? Why can't you commit to me? What is it that I'm missing? I can give you everything you need if you'd just let me." Tears streamed down your cheeks, your entire being collapsing onto the floor. Despite the raw emotion in your plea, he remained distant, an impassive observer, withholding the comfort your heart so desperately craved.

"I need you. More than ever, Min. Can you please stop chasing and just come home?" Your voice quivered with a mix of desperation and longing, each word carrying the weight of unspoken emotions.

But Minho scoffed, his eyes ablaze with a storm of unresolved rage. His silence, more profound than any uttered words, cut through the air like a knife. The room became a battleground of emotions, the air heavy with the unspoken turmoil that lingered between you.

In that charged moment, the echoes of your plea lingered, a testament to the depth of your need. The emotional tension crackled, the yearning for connection palpable. Yet, his stoic silence spoke volumes, leaving you to navigate the storm of emotions that threatened to consume the both of you.

"I hate what you're doing to me. You question why I'm sabotaging your life? Why I'm making it so hard on you? Because you've disowned me. I'm nothing to you anymore. We used to be on the same team, remember those times? But now, it's like it's me against you." The bitterness in your words hung in the air, a painful reminder of the fractured bond that once united you.

You laid bare your soul, vulnerable and exposed, pouring your heart out to him. But he was already emotionally distant, long gone. On your knees, you begged him not to leave, grappling with the reality of the fractured connection.

As Minho turned towards the door, the harshness of reality hit you. This was it. But, clinging to the last shreds of hope, you spoke once more, your words desperate and pleading.

"Is that what you truly want? Am I that insignificant to you? Minho? Can't you just stop this and love me again? Do you still know how to love me?"

Your voice cracked under the weight of emotion; the plea too heavy for you to bear. Tension gripped the muscles in his back as he fought to contain it all. And just like that, he opened the door and vanished, leaving you to grapple with the finality of his departure.

129 notes · View notes

heartofwritiing · 7 months

Text

and you just can’t say goodbye.

paring: (zombur) William Godwinson x fem!reader

summary: Wil gets bitten, and angst ensues.

authors note: HUGE thanks to @ax-y10 for the help because originally this fic was gonna end a lot more agnsty but then they gave me an idea that was more on the happy side! I've never written a zombie apocalypse setting before so please excuse anything I get wrong. I've only watched other people play The Last of Us and I've briefly seen one episode of The Walking Dead so you can see how this will probably go. lol. The Sorry Boys zombie video is brain-rotting in my head rn I've watched it about four times now. yes. I love Zombur, so here's a drive-by of me throwing this fic at you and then skirting off with smoke from my tires. enjoy the brainrot :p (I'm so sorry this took me so long to get out, I've been procrastinating finishing it because I'm having some self-doubt at the minute but I hope you guys like this anyway even though it's a mess lol)

warnings: zombie apocalypse au, angst, death, violence, swearing, lots of kissing, characters use guns, the writer doesn't know anything about how guns work lmao, sort of happy end? super unedited!

"shit! I'm out of ammo!"

You pulled the trigger on the handgun once more, but nothing. It was luck that you had even found one. Even so early on in an apocalypse. A month had gone by since the first day of the outbreak. Though it was likely that you should've died on the first day, you don't know why you've survived this long. you should be dead.

At first, you thought staying in your apartment was the best chance you had of surviving. Big mistake. That strategy turned south when your front door was barged in after four days of no disturbance from any outsiders. Your boyfriend Wil had grabbed everything you could carry, and you hadn't stopped moving ever since.

Now, you and Wil found yourselves trapped in an alley with no escape. A pack of infected had cornered you, slowly closing in while making menacing noises. Wil bravely stood between you and the horde, fighting them off to protect you.

"Climb up the fire escape!" he shouted back at you.

You looked around until you spotted a ladder conveniently placed on the side of the building within reach. Infected were dropping like flies as Wil's shots echoed through the air. The ladder shook as you climbed, heart pounding in your ears. You glimpsed down to check and see if Wil was following, to find he was surrounded on all sides by infected. Your heart dropped when you saw one of their mouths was too close to his wrist. By the time you called out his name, it was already too late.

'Fuck!' Wil screamed as the infected bit through his skin and charred his flesh. Blood gushed down his arm and around the infected's mouth. You cry his name as he reeled back his fist and punched the infected repeatedly until it staggered off of him, but it was too late. Your eyes were fixed on him as he quickly climbed up the ladder, gasping for breath as he did so. He seemed in immense pain as he pulled his body up the ladder, slightly struggling.

Upon reaching the roof, you found a roof access leading to a floor with multiple doors, revealing it to be an apartment complex. Wil was already feeling the effects of the infection. His skin was sticky with sweat, the bitter taste left in his mouth tasting the blood rising in his throat, and the sudden vertigo he got just by rushing down the stairs was enough to make him nauseous.

You came to the floor with all the apartment units and quickly kicked in the door of the closest one. It took a few attempts to kick the door, and then bam! The sound of splitting wood and the door bouncing off the wall made a delirious Wil jump.

You entered the small room, helping Wil through the doorway, and setting him down gently before closing the door. You searched around for something to barricade the door with. Just in case of any infected find you. The only thing that looked heavy enough was the dresser tucked into the corner. Using all your muscles, you pushed the object across the room with the bottom of the dresser scraping against the wood, grimacing at the loud noise.

Letting out a sigh of relief, you knew you were safe for now. You dusted your hands off and turned back to Wil who was slumped against the wall on the floor, clutching his bitten arm. Wincing and squirming from the heat burning through his skin spreading throughout his veins.

The room was dim, and you noticed the sweat beading down his forehead. You quickly took your backpack off your shoulders and strode over to him. Taking out the first-aid kit you had for emergencies, you pulled out the tiny bottle of anti-septic cleaning solution and the roll of bandages.

You gazed down at his wrist, which was curled against his chest, shrouding you from looking at it. The ring of teeth marks oozing out the color of maroon as black vines protruded around the area, extending over his skin. His head lulled to the side as he let out a moan of pain.

"No, baby, keep your eyes open," you tried to lure him back to consciousness. Take his hand and position it palm up in your lap. He whines like a wounded animal in response.

Unscrewing the cap, you quickly prep the cotton pads. Then you quickly realize you should've put on gloves beforehand. Muttering curses under your breath you shake your head at the thought, There was no time.

"What are you doing?" Wil's voice slurs. He sounds groggy, like something is trying to creep up his throat to escape, not him. It scares you. You refuse to look at him.

"I have to clean the wound before it gets infected," you say nonchalantly.

With the little strength he has left, Will reaches out his unbitten hand to catch yours. You stop your movements in disbelief of his actions, tears brimming in your eyes as you try to save his life, but he stops you again. You both know what's inevitable, you just can't accept it.

"Wil-" you try to pull out of his grasp. You reach out to touch his wrist again this time, he is the one who pulls away.

"Look at me," he pleads. You can't bring yourself to shift your eyes to his, knowing this was inevitable. You had to try. He had to let you try.

"just stop."

Wil tries to grab the items from your hands, but you move too quickly for his shrinking reflexes to keep up. Moving beginning to be too strenuous.

"I can't- Wil-" You struggle to fight against him, too scared to hurt him. Though he's already dying.

"Stop, honey..." he quivers.

"Just let me save you!" you cry. It echoes through the room. The air is tense, and you finally meet his eyes. His skin is sickly pale, eyes bright with red veins and glossy. Purple hues outline under his soft doe eyes as they peer into yours. He fists the hem of your shirt, inviting you closer. Your breaths mix together as he presses his forehead to yours.

The words hang between you, but you bite your tongue. You want to tell him how much you want him to stay and not give up. Deep down, you already know it's not enough.

"It's too late for me darling, leave me here.”

“I'm not leaving you,” you say sternly, shaking your head.

You were determined to stay with him, no matter how difficult things got, you were unwilling to abandon him.

“Please, I don’t want you to see me turn into a monster.” his voice wavered. Your heart sank. No matter what, he would always be your Wil. Sweet, caring, and lovable Wil. Whom you adored with every fiber of your being.

You reach up to cup his face with your hands, but they feel cool against your clammy skin. His cheekbones are slowly becoming more prominent. You stare into his eyes, but the urge to tell him to be quiet becomes harder as anger festers in your chest. However, it's not anger towards him, but rather frustration towards the universe.

Instead, you snuggle up next to him to demonstrate your lack of fear and your trust in him. You want to be by his side and provide comfort. You understand that it's unrealistic to expect him to recover from this infection given his history of being sick and having a weakened immune system. It's best to accept the inevitable outcome.

It's unclear how much time has passed while the two of you remain in that position. His arm securely around your shoulder holding you close, with your arm laid across his lap where your fingers provided soft circles against his hip bone. The room grows darker as the sun sets. The air feels eerie yet comforting all at once with Wil by your side. Nothing but the sounds of his raspy breathing and occasional coughing fit to surround you. He whispers through the dark against the crown of your head with horse words. Sweet nothings, promises that make you curl into him further so he can't see the single tear you shed.

He lifts his hand to gently cup your cheek, tilting your head to meet his gaze. Selfishly, he leans in for a soft kiss. You whine at the metallic taste in his mouth when he groans to part his lips so his tongue finds yours. It makes your head spin like a top how this man makes you feel. His lips are chapped, rough, and fast as he indulges in you for maybe the last time. You gasp and reach up to tangle your fingers in his locks to reel him closer to you. His hand finds the underside of your thigh, digging into your flesh. The mere touch of his hand sets your body ablaze and sends shivers down your spine.

It's frantic and passionate, your love for him shown physically. When you disconnect, suddenly remember you need to breathe. his eyes are hazy and his pupils are blown. You are sure you look like a flustered mess.

"I love you," he says sincerely, and you believe him.

It stings in your chest, you can't stand it.

"I love you more," you reply.

You tuck yourself into his neck, breathing in the scent of sweat and outdoors, and it's calming. Wil rests his head on the crown of your head. You neglect how his breathing has slowed as you drift off to sleep.

The next time you open your eyes, the sun peeks through the window, casting a golden glow over the bedroom. Your bones crack when you sit up to stretch from sleeping in the same position all night. You knew you'd regret it later when you had back pain for days. You turn to Wil, who doesn't stir when you move. Your heart dropped when you noticed something different about him.

Around his eyes were a darker color than the previous night. His cheekbones were completely sunken in where you could almost see the bone. his lips were a blueish color and his chest was rising and falling.

This was your fault. You should have stayed awake.

Tears streamed down your face as you called out his name, gently shaking his body, but he didn't respond.

"Wil!" you wailed, begging for him to come back.

You slumped forward, cradling him against your chest, pressing kisses to his temple, and muttering apologies against his cold skin. You felt your heart break as you realized he was gone, and tears rolled down your face as you held him close to you. You felt a deep emptiness settle in your heart. You knew you would never fill the void his death had left. You sobbed, gripping him tighter, and whispered your final goodbye. You held him close, cherishing holding home one last time. Knowing that you would never be the same again.

You're too distraught to move. You don't want to leave him here, but you don't have any other choice. The urge to keep on and survive was slowly fading now that you had no one left in this cruel world.

Wil felt heavy in your arms to the point where your arms were falling asleep, but you refused to let go. If you were to leave now, you may be tempted to never return to the person you once were. Allow your sorrow to consume you. The one good thing left in your life was gone.

You suddenly felt hands grab your lower back, causing you to yelp in surprise. Fingers gripe harshly at your skin through your clothes. Wil's chilled breath glides up your spine as he lets out a deep groan against your collarbone. He was alive? How?

His lips ghosted across your collarbone, pressing his nose directly into your pulse point. His hot breath fans across your exposed skin, causing goosebumps to rise along your body. Then, you feel his teeth nipping at your skin, and your eyes widen realizing his intentions.

You jerk away and shove him off you roughly. Crawling backward, quickly shuffling away from him, your heart pounding, until your back hits the opposite wall with a thump. You wince in pain from the impact and notice Wil gradually beginning to crawl toward you. A fixed gaze over his sheer white eyes, almost glowing like moonbeams. Chills ran down your spine as you gazed at your former lover, unrecognizable.

You froze as he approached, shrinking in on yourself. His body lazily dragged itself across the wooden floor, scrapping and groaning with every floorboard. Once he was close enough, his hand unexpectedly reached to grasp your ankle, and you screamed in fear. Nails harshly dig into your skin and create recent moon shapes that make you cry out.

He yanked you with a surprising strength until you were laid beneath him, overbearing you. You are powerless as Wil, or not Wil's body leaned over you and cadged you with his arms. Tears flow from the corners of your eyes and into your ears as his face inches towards you.

"Please," you whisper. Again, he tilts his head in curiosity at you.

"William?" Your eyes bore into his, trying to find some trace of life left in them. You observe his eyes returning to their natural color and a look of terror crossing his face as he regains consciousness. He staggers back and moves away from you frantically, clutching his chest and struggling to breathe.

You both sit on opposite sides of the room against the wall, he stares into the floor burning holes into the wood, avoiding your eyes. You just blink blankly at him in shock, knees tucked against your chest again.

Wil cradled his skull, clutching fist fulls of his hair, squeezing his eyes shut, and heaving breaths of panic puffed out his mouth. Mumbles of "I'm sorry," repeated like a mantra over, and over out shakily.

You let out an unsteady breath, His eyes quickly flicked over to you and fear flooded your senses once again.

"Darling?" he tries, his voice hoarse. He moves towards the center of the room, positioning himself a safe distance from you. “I'm sorry... I don't know what came over me..." his voice trails off.

He noticed your tense reaction upon watching him inch closer to you, and it broke his heart to see you trembling in fear due to his prior actions. He could never forgive himself for causing you such distress.

"is it really you?" you asked.

"I don't know," he says honestly. "I don't feel like myself, It's like I'm trying to grab hold of a stearing wheel and fight for control right now."

Your heart sank at his words. You let them maul over in your head for a moment. It sounded like your Wil, but you hesitated in reaching out to him. So, was he alive? He didn't look it, his skin was still deathly pale and almost decayed. Nose now dripping with dried blood that ran down his lips.

His head hangs low as he silently sobs. He didn’t want this. Now he was dead and was leaving you to defend yourself. He swore he would always protect you and he’s failed. He knows its selfish to ask you to stay with him, you should just leave him here to rot. Still, he begs you.

“Please, darling dont leave me,” You shake your head and crawl towards him. He might be an undead zombie now, but you still loved him more than anything else is this life. You would do anything for him. You take his face in your hands to tilt his head up but he avoids your eyes. “look at me,” his eyes shift to yours.

“I wanna help you baby, and im sure as hell not gonna leave you, not now, not ever.” you proclaim. “So don’t you dare ever try and push me away, because im staying. No matter how complicated things get.”

You bring yourself to kiss his forehead, your warm lips making him sigh out from the touch. He holds you for what feels like hours. Eventually you both know you’ll have to leave this abandoned apartment, whether you run out of food or more zombies show up. move on, then figure things out. Whatever it takes you would stay together, no matter what.

taglist: @trashcanduck @merakiwi @addxms @ax-y10 @scenefaez @starsyoubreaklikesugardust @drop-of-void

#wilbur soot x reader #fanfiction #zombie apocalypse #sorry boys #wilbur soor x fem!reader #agnst #x reader #writing #fanficton #zombur #zombur x reader #zombie au #c!wilbur soot x reader #outbreak au

125 notes · View notes

redahlia-writes · 6 months

Text

practical magic. | javier peña x ofc

Abstract: Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

Words: 12k

Content: original female character (helena goode); alternative universe, magic, death, ghosts, cursing, mentions of drugs, mentions of an abusive relationship, mildly suggestive language, inspo both from the movie and the book

A/N: it's still halloween, right? i'm sorry for the late late posting but, alas, shit happens. i hope you all enjoy this nevertheless <3

reblogs and feedback are always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too

also on AO3 - masterlist

He will hear my call a mile away. He will whistle my favorite song. He can ride a pony backwards. He can flip pancakes in the air. He'll be marvellously kind. And his favorite shape will be a star. And he’ll have eyes like chocolate, worthy of honesty.

Helena Goode often thought about the petals blowing in the air after her Amas Veritas, her true love. Years had gone by since then—she’d been just a kid, wishing on her true love, her perfect love. Thinking it could not exist—for how could it, when all those women came crying in her aunts’ kitchen in the middle of the night? She’d wished for what she thought could never come to her.

And then there had been Frankie—her love, definitely not perfect, but good, so good. And gone, gone forever, because she had loved him so much. Or so she had thought—maybe that hadn’t been real, maybe there was no such thing as real love, contrary to what her sister said. After all her aunts had played a part in her marriage, and for so long after Frankie’s death she’d tried to believe none of it had been real, so that it would hurt less. So that she would not die of a broken heart.

But, in spite of everything, in spite of her bitterness, in spite of her pain, in spite of the loss, she knew some things had been real. Like the coffee he made her in the morning before leaving for work, like the dinners she fixed before he came back, like the colour they picked to paint the walls of their house; like all the times she’d listened for his whistling as he came back from work; like his kisses, and like their two beautiful daughters; like the laughter during the day and the nights spent awake; like the normal life they’d began living, and the shop they’d dreamed of opening together that now belonged to her only.

Like the State Investigator who stood in front of her at the front door, asking after her sister’s boyfriend. A boyfriend she knew to be dead and buried right there in the backyard. Fuck, she kept thinking, looking at the man in front of her—his eyebrows arched, lips parted under a neatly trimmed moustache, eyes dark as chocolate, and—

“I’m sorry?” she asked, clearing her throat. Dry throat. Sweaty palms. Tongue-tied.

“Is your sister home?” She knew he’d asked that already, and he was being mighty patient about it. “I’d like to speak with her, ma’am,” and then, because she had not moved an inch, “nothing to worry about, really. Just routine questions.”

“Sure,” again Helena cleared her throat, and willed her legs to move. She stepped back, opening the door fully so that she could let him through. “Come on in, I’ll go get her.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, over and over as the man nodded and stepped in, walking past her into the entrance—he smelled of coffee and tobacco, of the desert he came from. Helena closed the door and wiped her hands down the front of her shirt, which she suddenly realised belonged to one of her daughters, with rhinestones adorning the front. Fuck.

“Kitchen is just on your left, I’ll be right back.”

Phoebe Goode was trying her best. Each night she dreamed about James—his eyes, old and clear, staring at her—and each morning she tried to stop carrying him with her, to forget he ever existed, even though she could still see him on her face, in the bruises around her eye, in the split lip on the point of healing—thanks to her sister salve, the one that smelled of roses. She was trying her best, ignoring the awful fact she felt him still, knowing that the deepest relationship with a man of her whole life was with a dead man.

So she wore blue for protection, and had asked Emma, her niece, to lock her cigarettes away, and tried to sit in silence to meditate and push him away, out of her mind, out of her life for good. She was even back at the house, where she’d sworn she would never go back, because it was safer, because of her sister.

Her sister, running up the stairs, out of breath, in a shirt that did not belong to her and a skirt that must’ve been older than her, so dishevelled-looking Phoebe felt her heart drop for a moment, figured the next words out of her mouth would be James, and honestly anything after that could be awful, because he was. Had been.

“There’s a cop. Agent. Someone,” Helena was gasping, her voice an alarmed whisper. “He’s looking for you. And James—but he asked for you.”

“That’s fine, we can manage,” perhaps the meditation was working, because even after hearing his name she could still think without panic closing her throat. “I’ll tell him I haven’t seen him in days, and I came here because we’re done. And if he asks, you’ll just say—” she stopped, frowning at her sister as she shook her head. “What? You’ll just say you’ve never seen him.”

“Here’s the thing,” Helena reached for her chest, still shaking her head, still out of breath. Her head was spinning, and her heart—God, her heart—felt like it was about to explode. “I don’t think I can lie to him.”

“Of course you can,” Phoebe scoffed—but her sister was still having a hard time breathing, her eyes so wide she looked like a deer spooked half to death. “Get over yourself, Lena. It’s fine. You’re just having a panic attack.”

“I don’t think it’s that. I just—the way he looks at you,” she inhaled sharply, a strangled noise scratching her throat and making her sound like a wounded animal, then exhaled, breath stuttering. “I can’t sit there and just lie to him. I know I can’t.”

“You have to, Lena,” but her sister’s eyes darted around the attic, where Phoebe was staying in. She snapped her fingers in front of her face, making her recoil. “Listen to me, you have to. We know nothing, nothing happened.”

Helena and Phoebe had grown up knowing that something was real because they believed in it. That was what gave things power—magic, words, talismans. But what happened when two people believed two different things? How did the universe cope with that? Was James dead and buried in their backyard, under lilacs that were growing wildly out of season (girls in the neighbourhood had begun to whisper that if you kissed the boy you loved beneath the Goode’s lilacs he’d be yours forever, whether he wanted to be or not), or was he back in Laredo, or off somewhere else, left behind by his girlfriend?

Javier Peña was wondering the same as he stood in the odd kitchen of an odd house, there on Magnolia Street.

There were no clocks and no mirrors, in that house, and the floors creaked anywhere but where he stepped; light came pouring in from big, wide windows, showing an even bigger garden with lilacs out of season and more flowers and plants that he could recognise or count—rosemary and lavender, roses and daisies, carrots and an apple tree that reminded him strangely of home, but all seemed like a dream through the thick glass. Each piece of furniture inside seemed dusty, but when he ran his fingertip across the dark wooden surface of this table or that cabinet, no dust came away—no need for polishing anything in there. It smelled of cherrywood. It smelled familiar.

It was a familiarity Javier had not been ready to face—he touched the pocket of his jacket, felt the paper tucked in there crinkle at the touch, and a moment later, as if summoned by thought alone, Helena Goode came back down the stairs, slightly more dishevelled looking than before.

Helena had clearly been in the kitchen when he first knocked. He knew because he could almost see it, like a ghost moving around the stove, stirring a pot that had since been turned off, its content left forgotten on the back burden. He knew because she’d called Hold on at the third rattle of his knuckles across the door, matter-of-factly, as if she’d been expecting him. The mere sound of her voice had thrown him for a loop, the patio under his feet shifting unsteadily, and he could’ve followed the sound there with his eyes closed.

He thought then he could be in trouble—and when she’d opened the door, he’d known he would. Because he’d looked into crystal clear pools of grey and begun drowning, down and down without anything he could do about it. His father had once told him that witches caught you like that: with a look. If you ever meet a woman like that, you run the other way, no matter what, for your own good. There’s no cowardice in safety. But Javier had no intention of running—he’d rather drown, over and over, if it meant she looked at him like that a little longer.

She stood at the end of the stairs, perfectly still, with that ridiculous shirt with rhinestones across her chest and her dark hair down past her shoulder, brushing the sliver of uncovered skin at her waist. She was beautiful, Javier thought, so ridiculously beautiful he got a lump in his throat just looking at her. For a moment, before her Can I help you? at the door, he’d almost forgotten the reason he was there. He almost forgot it again when he saw her shake her head at the end of the stairs, and had to touch the letter tucked next to his heart again.

“Can I get you anything?” her voice sounded different as she strode into the kitchen. “My sister will be right down. Coffee?” she wasn’t looking at him, and Javier wished she’d just stop and turn to face him, if only to forget himself again in her eyes.

But Helena wouldn’t turn. She wouldn’t look at him. She woldn’t look at his face, and his neatly trimmed moustache, and his lovely dark eyes. She wouldn’t look at the lines on his face he was way too young to have, and the loneliness embedded in each of them she knew could be found in the silver strands of her hair, too. Helena figured he was not a man who hid things, just like he was not hiding the fact he was looking at her—she could feel his eyes burning on the back of her head, and she couldn’t believe the way he was staring at her. Looking at her like that.

It was how dark his eyes were, the problem. The way he could make someone—her—feel seen from the inside out.

“Coffee’s fine,” he said, forcing his gaze away. He looked outside, where in the distance, still filtered like a dream, he could see clouds gathering, a distant storm that seemed to have followed him there. Javier’s father had taught him to predict exactly when a storm would hit just by the location of lightning, so that he could prepare the ranch in time to brace for it.

He’d never been very good at it. He thought that lightning, like love, was never ruled by logic. Accidents happened, and they always would.

He looked at Helena again, her back still to him—she was watching the coffee brew, her arms crossed, fingers tapping nervously against her elbow. Javier looked at her and thought she was familiar to him—he’d thought that ever since getting her letter, the one tucked next to his heart, but to see her there in front of him, flesh and bones and long hair and clear eyes, really settled it for him.

He’d heard about it happening to other men—his friend Steve being one of them. Going about their business one minute and suddenly they found themselves without hope. They fell in love so hard they never got up off their knees again.

He’d never thought it would happen to him. Javier was all business—he always had been. It was his need to figure out the why of things, of people. Money, love, fury—those were the motivations he found usually, in his line of work. James Hawkins fell in the money category, of that he was sure, with perhaps a sprinkle of fury in the shape of his ring marked on the bodies.

Javier had been looking for that ring at Hawkins’ place—he’d seen it in pictures, read it in descriptions, remembered it from the few times his path had trailed along Hawkins’, because Laredo wasn’t that big of a place, and faces grew familiar over time—when the letter had arrived.

Crumpled and torn in one corner, the flap already opened, Javier had looked at it and thought he should’ve taken it directly to the office. But an open letter was hard to resist, even for someone like Javier, who had resisted a whole lot in his life. But that letter was something else, something tempting, and he gave into it.

He never regretted it.

He had just sat there, on the patio of the house of the man he was looking for, and read the letter Helena Goode had written to her sister. When he was done, he’d read it again. And again. And twice more midair, and then while he had his lunch, and once more when he’d settled in his hotel room. Even when the letter was folded back into its envelope and stored in the pocket of his jacket, the words came back to haunt him—whole sentences written by Helena forming in his mind.

Javier had been close to people, and while he didn’t have that many friends he was content—he’d even almost gotten married after high school, although that’s a topic no one ever brought up, not even himself. But he’d never once felt like he’d known anyone the way he felt he knew the woman who had written that letter. It felt like someone had ripped a piece of his soul out of him and formed into words. Words he was so taken by he wouldn’t have heard, seen, or felt a thing as long as he was reading them.

I have this dream of being whole. Of not going to sleep each night, wanting. But still, sometimes, when the wind is warm, or the crickets sing, I dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for. I just want someone to love me. I want to be seen.

Javier wanted to tell her that he saw her. Right there in front of him, and even when she was not there, when he had not the faintest clue what she looked like, he saw her. He saw her standing, moving the coffee pot from the fire. He saw her pouring the coffee in three mismatched cups. He saw her hands shaking as she did so.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and she recoiled as if startled by his voice.

“I think I’m going to sit down,” Helena said, casually, as if she didn’t seem about to collapse.

Still she brought two of the cups over, almost spilling the contents of one, and collapsed onto the chair opposite Javi with a shuddering sigh, her cheeks flushed, her chest fluttering. She wondered if drinking coffee would be a good idea at that moment, still feeling as if her heart might explode, but needed something to keep herself busy, so she brought the cup to her mouth and gulped down the scalding drink, burning the roof of her mouth and her lips.

“Why are you here?” she asked then, bitterness coating her tongue. She was used to sugar in her coffee, most times a dash of milk. “I mean, I understood what you told me—about Phoebe’s boyfriend—but why here?”

She saw the man hesitate—he did not strike her as someone who hesitated in anything, but he was pondering her words and how to best respond to her, his lips shifting to draw in a breath, and then exhale. He reached for his jacket—he still hadn’t taken that off, and with the movement it hugged his shoulders tight, seams pulling uncomfortably—and, from one of the inner pockets, took a piece of paper that he handed to her.

“I mailed that to my sister ages ago,” Helena recognised it immediately—that letter she was so grateful had never reached Phoebe, but also wished it had a little earlier, so she wouldn’t be in that mess. There’s a halo around the moon tonight. I think trouble is coming. I wish you’d get out of there. Come back home. Alone. “You opened it,” she added then, a little baffled.

He hadn’t just opened it. He’d read it. The paper consumed from being folded over and over again, each line marked deeper where it bent, words slightly smudged as if someone had run their fingers over each and every of it.

“It was opened already,” he retorted, justifying. “It must have gotten lost at the post office.”

“But you read it,” the cup was burning her palm, the letter her other hand, her face was burning too under his gaze.

“Maybe a thousand times,” Javier admitted, his voice dropping.

“It was a very personal letter,” she whispered too, feeling the tightness inside her throat and belly and chest grow, and grow, and grow until it was choking her. That had to be what a heart attack felt like. Perhaps she was about to end up on the floor unconscious.

“I know,” the man said, and at last she looked at him.

He saw her but, Javier knew, she saw him too. She could’ve seen how Javier wasn’t sure how far he’d go to cover for someone—he’d never been in that position before, and he despised the way it felt. But he was there, sitting in her kitchen, drinking her coffee, a total stranger on a humid day, wondering if he was going to look the other way because of her. She could see all that—or at least, she hoped.

And then Phoebe came down. Noisy steps down the stairs, announcing her presence to the entire world—she always had that about her, always managed to bring the attention to her, with her lovely strawberry-blonde hair and her long lashes and full lips. Even with the bruises, even with the wounds, even with her fear embedded so deeply into her skin it was painful, Phoebe was beautiful.

Still, Javier focused on Helena, and it wasn’t until her sister stood at her side that he caught a glimpse of her. Night and day, that’s what the aunts called them. He didn’t know, but he would’ve agreed—so starkly different, yet seemingly in tune with each other.

“As I’ve said your sister, I won’t take up much of your time,” Javier cleared his throat, offered his hand to Phoebe as he stood. He missed the feeling of his letter against his body, but Helena was clutching it tight, pressing it against her stomach. “It’s just a couple of questions, routine checks.”

“Of course—agent, is it?” Phoebe’s voice was soft where Helena’s was strong. She took up space just by standing, her arms folded in front of her as she held the third cup that had been on the counter.

“Yes, ma’am—Agent Peña.” Only then did she take his hand, a delicate shake before turning his palm up towards her face, peering down with an interested hum.

“You’ve come a long way just for a couple of routine questions, Agent Peña.” Her thumb ran along one of the lines on his palm, tracing it with a feather-like touch. Her brows knitted for a moment, confusion locking on her features (eyes darting towards her sister) before she shook herself. “I see here it’ll be worth the trip,” she mused, tapping his palm.

“Right.” Again he cleared his throat, and pulled his hand back. “When was the last time you saw James Hawkins?”

“Ah, a man of action,” Phoebe scoffed lightly, then shrugged. “Couple of weeks, just before I came here. It just wasn’t working anymore.”

“Is he responsible for that?” he asked, gesturing towards her face, the bruises.

“As I’ve said, it wasn’t working anymore,” she tipped her chin up, leaned with her hip against Helena’s chair. “I have no idea where he might be. If a man hits me, he only does it once,” Helena’s breath hitched, her grip on both the cup and letter tightening.

“What about the car? The one with the Texas plate—it’s registered in his name,” Javier thought he might as well reveal all his cards from the beginning. Neither sister was stupid, but still Phoebe was lying—he knew she was. He had seen that look before, countless times: people who are guilty of something think they can hide it by not looking at you. Or looking at you too much.

Helena wasn’t looking at him anymore—again. Phoebe was staring him down. But Helena wasn’t looking at him, because she knew, she was certain, that could not lie to the man. She feared her eyes would betray her too, like her heart was doing, like she imagined her words would if she were to say anything more.

“I took it when I ran,” Phoebe said, sighing. “And I know that’s wrong, so you may take it right away—I just needed a way out. That was the fastest.”

She was good, Javier managed to think in that haze-like feeling he’d found himself in since he’d walked into the house. Since he’d seen Helena. Her eyes.

“And you have not heard from him since?” Phoebe shook her head, sipping on her coffee and grimacing—too bitter, too strong. But it helped keep her mind away from the times she had heard from James—in her dreams, nightmares, really; or when she was distracted, and his voice crept into her head; or when she looked in the mirror and his reflection stared back.

“I have not,” she smacked her lips, the taste of the coffee lingering on the tip of her tongue.

“Alright, well,” Javier picked his cup and drank most of the coffee that remained—he liked it that way, black and strong, it reminded him of his father—then went to the sink to rinse the cup. Helena watched him while his back was turned, and almost smiled at the way he let the water slosh from side to side enough to get any residue off before settling it upside down. “If anything comes to mind, I’ll be around a couple of days longer—I’m staying at the Hide-A-Way Motel.”

“Really?” was the first thing Helena said in what felt like ages. Javier turned around—he was just stalling then. He wanted to remain there, with her. He wanted to keep on looking into Helena’s eyes and drown, drown, drown for days. He saw nothing else but her eyes.

“Lady at the car rental desk suggested it—it isn’t half bad,” he shrugged, and smoothed his jacket down. He felt the absence of the letter when he ran his hand across his chest, and the paper did not crinkle under his touch. Helena curled her fingers around her words. “Nice area.”

“It is,” she should know—her shop was one street away from the motel. She’d picked the area with Frankie because of how nice it was, close enough to the park it gave the impression of being around nature, but not so far from town that nobody would walk by the shop.

Phoebe watched the agent and her sister look at each other and frowned—for a moment, what she’d seen on Peña’s palm flashed before her eyes again. A new beginning, a line cut through by something, someone he could not escape. It had been written on his skin since the beginning. Some fates were just guaranteed.

“If I happen to remember anything else, I’ll come around,” Phoebe said, cutting through the crackle of energy that passed from one to the other. It was as if she’d woken them up from a dream, a dream made of only looks and silence. “You can have the car taken away.”

“Great,” he cleared his throat, and forced himself to back away. He knew that if he lingered any longer, he’d never want to leave. It was hard enough already. “Thanks.”

Helena felt like she was losing her mind.

The night before, a ring had appeared around the moon. A halo around the moon was always a sign of disruption—but it was a double ring, all tangled up, anything could happen. Helena didn’t like the thought, and she hadn’t been able to sleep all night.

The sparrow that used to fly each midsummer’s eve into the house on Magnolia Street had come back, out of season, round and round the dining room—her daughters had counted each circle: three. Three meant trouble, it always had. She’d chased it out with her sister, both of them on edge.

And it rained. All night and through the morning, one of her daughters standing by the window looking at the lilacs being hit by drop after drop, tapping her fingers nervously. Emma was looking at the man in their backyard, who stared back at them like from a vision, a nightmare rather than a dream. She was hoping he would go away, but the bad weather did not bother him—he seemed to relish in the black skies and the wild wind, and the rain passed through him. Emma thought—she knew—it was his fault that things were going amiss in the house, even though she didn’t know the extent of it: pipes rusting and the tile floor of the basement turning to dust, nothing in the refrigerator would stay fresh.

Both sets of sisters fought, loud and mean and just like he wanted them to. Emma would’ve liked them all to stop. Helena thought of chopping the lilacs all night long, but had to go to work.

And then there was Javier. Agent Peña, who walked around town and talked to everyone and was always there when she turned around from the counter. Javier, with a cigarette hanging from his lips at every street corner. Always there, always there, always there.

“Fuck!” Helena exclaimed, when the jar she was trying to place on the shelf fell and shattered on the ground, shards of glass flying around her ankles and the contents—curled dried leaves—spilling across the clean floor. “God, give me a break.”

“Are you okay, Lena?” a voice called from the other side of the shop. Helena didn’t have many friends—it came with the Goode name, being shunned away. But Crystal was one of the few who did not shy away, besides being a good employee. “Let me help you.”

“It’s alright, I just haven’t been sleeping well,” she went to gather the glass and leaves, both crunching as she moved the broom across them. “But could you put the kettle on? Maybe some tea will do me good,” even though she craved coffee desperately.

She’d craved coffee ever since she’d met with the agent. Black and bitter. She could smell it in the air around her, no matter which room she walked in, or which street—along with tobacco and more. She’d never smoked a cigarette in her life but now felt her fingers itch as if reaching for one.

Crystal obliged without question—she’d learned early on that many things around Helena Goode just did not make sense, and there was no point in prying. It had been that way since they were children. Her mother liked the Goode aunts, said that it was not their fault for more than two hundred years their family had been blamed for everything that went wrong in town.

Some people are just different. Most people are just stupid to be afraid of it.

She remembered their classmates being terrified of the day a bunch of cats followed Helena to school—witchery, they called it. A witch and her familiars. Nasty, nasty creatures, the whole lot of them. But Crystal remembered Helena being kind and poised, she remembered her balanced lunches, and the way she always looked out for her sister. She still did. Why people would think Helena and Phoebe had any evil in them escaped her.

Goode women ignored convention; they were headstrong and willful, and meant to be that way.

“Thank you, Crystal,” Helena said from the kitchenette, throwing away the spoiled merchandise..

“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather go home? I can look after the shop,” but even as she asked, Helena was shaking her head, lips trembling with her deep inhale. “Lena, did something happen?”

“It’s not—” a bell. The shop’s bell. Helena looked up from her mug, the smell of lavender easing her headache a little, and then turned. “I’ll get it.”

He was everywhere, always there, always there, in her shop, too. Helena stood frozen next to the counter and looked at the agent who was looking around—a feeble attempt at not immediately turning towards her, not falling into her eyes right away.

“Yes?” she managed to ask, her throat dry once again. Just by his mere presence.

“I’m afraid I forgot to bring enough toothpaste,” Javier lied. He’d thrown an almost full tube in the bin just that morning—still wasn’t sure why. Maybe because so many people had told him about Helena’s shop, just around the corner. How the woman was the way she was, but her products were amazing.

“You could’ve gone to the market,” she said, but placed her mug down and moved to the shelf anyway. Once she wasn’t looking at him, she managed to exhale again, but still his eyes burned on the back of her head, and she suddenly felt conscious of the fact she probably had forgotten to brush her hair in the morning.

“Yes,” he retorted, and didn’t add anything else. He knew he could’ve, but he didn’t want to. And he could’ve told her it was because so many people had recommended her stuff, or because the shop was closer to his motel. But he didn’t.

“Any allergies?” she asked, moving the stool closer to the shelf.

“No, ma’am.” She paused, one foot up the step as she bit her tongue—just a moment, then she climbed and grabbed a jar, the label scribbled so hurriedly it was unreadable, the dark paste inside a stark contrast with the white paper.

“Charcoal—whitens the teeth,” she moved back down, the counter between them as she handed the product to him—her eyes flickered towards the cigarette that he’d tucked over his ear, shaking her head lightly. “Nasty habit,” she muttered, lowering her gaze.

“I’m aware,” Javier chuckled—as he took the jar, he grazed her fingers. Helena pulled back as if she’d been burned, fingertips curling into her palm and pressing harshly. “Does this stuff actually work?” he cleared his throat, turning it in his palm to glance at the label again.

He knew her handwriting. He could read it like the back of his hand. I have this dream of being whole.

“It does,” Crystal called as she walked in from the kitchenette, and Helena leaned over the counter and reached for her mug—anything to keep her hands busy. “See for yourself. On the house.”

“He can’t accept it on the house, Crystal,” she said, moving back. “There’s an investigation ongoing—isn’t that right?” it looked as if she might turn to him while she addressed him, but didn’t. Again.

“That’s right,” Javier cleared his throat, shuffling a little. He was so close to the counter he could feel the edge of it dig into his stomach, and forced himself to look at the other woman. “But are you giving me your word? That it works.”

He was a charmer. Helena knew already—Crystal was just finding out. She wanted to ask what investigation Helena was talking about, what was happening at the house on Magnolia Street that she desperately did not want to go back, and what was happening with the agent so desperately trying to meet her eyes.

“Cross my heart,” she said instead, because she knew this would be another inexplicable moment. She’d made her peace with it. “Swear to God, this woman is a magician. Let me ring you up.”

Helena hid her face with the mug, the dwindling steam turning her cheeks a soft shade of red. At the same time, Javier scoffed lightly.

“Right,” he muttered, reaching for his wallet. “Heard that one before. Thanks.”

It took a moment for Helena to register his words—she was trying so hard to not hear him, to not focus on him, that she didn’t understand what he was saying until he was out of the door, an echo of the bell ringing in her mind.

“Wait, what?” she placed the mug down, looking up at his back behind the glass. “Hold on.”

She shouldn’t have gone after him. She should’ve known better. Helena spent her whole life being vigilant, she spent her whole life relying on logic and common sense, she’d taken care of everything from the moment her parents had died, and then again when Frankie had died—she thought about everything.

She had to, because otherwise how would her kids have made it to fourteen and fifteen?

She had to, because if she stopped thinking about everything, what exactly was she left with? Her thoughts and worries are the only reason she continued to exist, of that she was certain.

Never look back, never change direction, that’s what she had to tell herself. Don’t think about being alone in the dark, or storms or lightning and thunder, or the true love you won’t ever have. Life, she knew, was brushing her teeth and making breakfast for her kids and not letting her mind wander.

But that was a lie—from the beginning Helena had been lying to herself, telling herself she could handle anything: her parents dying, her sister relying on her, her aunts’ reputation, Frankie, Frankie’s death, the spell, the year where everything went grey, her children, and now this. She’d grown tired—she didn’t want to lie anymore. One more lie and she’d be lost. One more lie and she’d never find her way back through the woods.

And it’s all because of him.

“What did you mean?” she stopped abruptly when he did, taking a step back when he turned to look at her. She tugged her cardigan close, the wind whipping the ends around along with her hair, and tipped her chin up with her arms crossed, finally, finally looking back at him. “Heard that one before?” she echoed. “Is that why you were at my shop?”

“No,” he shook his head. “It’s because I needed toothpaste, and I’m just around the corner,” she scoffed lightly, shuffling her feet. “But actually, yes, I heard a bunch of stuff that doesn’t make sense at all, so I’d like to understand.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s my job,” he retorted. “Because, seriously, I have heard it all. A family of witches, a curse, your own husband—”

“Don’t,” she snapped, and for a moment Javier recoiled, saw the truth in the words of all the people who had warned him off Helena Goode. With her hair dancing in the wind, and her cheeks still red, and her eyes oh-so-clear, like a storm incoming, he understood. “Do not bring Frankie into this.”

“Hard not to, when it’s everything this town talks about,” he took a step forward, her whole body seizing up. “Do you have any idea how strange this all sounds to me? People tell me you’re here cooking up placenta bars, that you’re into devil worship.”

“You think I don’t know that?” her voice was lower, and pulled him closer. “All my life, this town—I know what they say about me, I know what everybody thinks.” She wanted to move away—she wanted to lean in. She remained still. “All my life I wanted nothing more than to be seen as normal, but that’s just not the way it is. I don’t have a ranch house or a white picket fence, I don’t have a husband that’s alive anymore, I don’t have—” she cut herself off, unsure as to why she was so ready to pour her heart out to a stranger in the middle of the street. “I don’t see how that’s my fault.”

“I never said it was,” Javier spoke softly, a gentleness that felt foreign on his tongue but rolled off easily when he looked at her.

“Then why are you here?” her chin was still up, but she was looking down at her nose, careful to avoid his gaze—it made him believe that she, too, felt that tug in the pit of her stomach. She was just better at controlling it.

Your letter, he almost said. You.

“James Hawkins,” he replied instead. “A guy like that doesn’t simply vanish.”

“And would that be such a big loss?” she scoffed, tightening her arms around herself. “A guy like that—wouldn’t it be so much better if he did just vanish?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged, and felt his hands move before he could control himself. “But I made a vow, and I have a job—” his fingertips grazed her arm, and at that she pulled back.

“As do I,” one hand moved to the point he’d brushed, holding the spot as if it hurt, tight against her chest. “So unless you have something you want to ask me, Agent Peña, I’d rather get back to it.”

“Are you or your sister hiding James Hawkins?”

“He’s not here, no.”

“Did you or your sister kill James Hawkins?” he asked, and her eyebrows arched.

“Oh, yeah. Couple of times,” Javier sighed, and forced himself back, his hand now itching for his cigarette. “Is that all?” he put it between his lips, ignoring the frown forming on her brow.

“Yeah, sure,” he didn’t light it up just yet, but reached for the lighter nevertheless—he missed the letter in his pocket whenever he touched it. “Bye, Helena.”

He watched her go back inside the shop with her shoulders pulled back tight, steps unsteady, and only when the door was closed, the echo of the bell ringing in his ears, did he light up the cigarette.

She watched him go away from inside the shop, with his steps matching the thundering of her heart.

“What is wrong with you?” Phoebe watched her sister kneel on the ground, pruning shears in hand and purple flowers all around her, on her. “What are you doing?”

“I’m tired of seeing these every time I look out of the window,” her breath was short—the flowers seemed endless, she cut and cut and cut and still they were there. “And the smell—I hate it. I can’t do it anymore.”

“Lena—Lena! It’s just flowers!” although Phoebe knew it was not entirely true. Mostly, she ignored the lilacs, and everything that was underneath it. Especially what was underneath it. “Stop it, before you hurt yourself.”

“Oh, now you’re thinking about that?” Helena dropped the shears and stood, the soil on her jeans already a stain she wouldn’t manage to remove. “Now that there’s a cop after us? Now you think I might hurt myself?”

“So what? We stick to our story. No body, no crime,” she gestured towards the lilacs. “There is not a single reason why he should think we’ve done something, unless you give him one.”

“But we did, Phoebe. You understand that, don’t you?” she hissed, walking up to her sister. “We fucked up, and somehow I’m still the one who’s cleaning up your messes,” Phoebe’s eyes widened, mouth set in a thin line. “I’m sick of this.”

“I never asked you to, I never—”

“Enough lies, Pheebs. Aren’t you tired?” Helena smelled like the lilacs, and her headache was back, stronger and stronger as the storm approached from the horizon. “I know I am. I’m so tired of lying.”

“What are you talking about?” Phoebe had lowered her voice, and was looking at her sister as if she could not recognise her. “Lena—you can’t do that,” even as she said it, Helena walked past her, brushing her hands down the front of her jeans. “You can’t go to him,” she said, following her. “We’ll both be sitting in jail if you do. What about the girls? Why are you even thinking about it now?”

Helena wasn’t sure why. She knew she’d woken up smelling cigarettes and coffee again, and the lilacs, and the nightmare still clinging to her eyelids, making her feel unrested as she had for the past days. Weeks. She wasn’t sure anymore. All she knew is that her throat hurt from all the lies she’d told Javier, and she wanted to come clean, to tell all—she wanted someone to listen to what she had to say and really hear her, the way no one ever had before. So she’d gone to work, and back home to cut the flowers, and as sundown approached she would go out for Javier.

“Don’t tell me about the girls now, when I spent half my life thinking only about them,” she said loudly, marching in and out of room after room of the house, grabbing things she wasn’t even sure she needed. “And you? You only ever thought about yourself. You left me here. You lived your life. And you dragged me back in just to save your ass.”

“Oh, that’s it, isn’t it?” Phoebe screamed too, from the middle of the house, following the noises of her sister as she stomped around. “I lived my life and you hate me for it!”

“I don’t hate you, Phoebe.”

“No, no, sure—you’re unbelievable. You spent all your life trying to be normal and fit in, but you never will! You know we’re different, and so are your girls,” Helena stopped abruptly to look at her.

“That’s twice now—you leave them out of this,” she said with a scowl so similar to that of their mother’s, if only either of them could remember her.

“All my life I’ve wished I had half your talent—you’re wasting yourself, Lena,” Phoebe cried, and for a moment she sounded just like the little girl who had just gotten to the aunts’ house. “And now you—what? You’re gonna turn yourself in? Or get down on your knees and beg for mercy?”

“If I’ll have to, yes,” Helena said without a second thought, fixing her sister with a look. “I’m done.”

They both measured themselves harshly, always had, as if they had never been anything but those two plain little girls, waiting at the airport for someone to claim them.

If you go against what you believe in, you’re nothing. That was another thing his father liked to say—and Javier knew he was right. So he was going to stick to his plan: fly back home and give up the case to the poor bastard who was supposed to get it from the beginning, had it not been for the letter. He was going to go back to work as usual, forget about the whole ordeal, forget about grey eyes and dark hair and his own heart.

Heart, heart, heart beating to the sound of the knocking on his door, that for a moment he’d thought to be rain pattering on the ground and the roof, such the strength of the storm was. But he heard it, and when he opened the door, Helena was there, shivering and looking up at him.

“You want a confession?”

In his line of work, Javier had been trained to notice things, but he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Part of the reason was that he’d been imagining Helena everywhere he went. So maybe it was just an illusion, a desire of his heart turned into a vision.

“What?” he stepped aside and, water falling from her hair, Helena walked in, trailing mud behind.

“You want a confession, don’t you? It’s why you’re still here,” she was shaking, arms crossed over her chest with wet clothes clinging to her. “We killed James. Technically, I killed James. I used belladonna.”

“I know,” Helena frowned, moved the hair out of her face with trembling hands.

“You know?” she sniffled, part from the cold part from the smell attacking her nostrils—coffee and tobacco and, surprisingly, food.

“I found some in the car—saw the same thing in your shop and had it analyzed,” he closed the door, careful to not turn the lock, leaving her a way out as he moved back towards the kitchenette. “His ring was in there, too. There was blood on it. Have you had any dinner?”

“I—what is this, some sort of joke?” she asked, slightly out of breath, and stepped in his direction. Javier scoffed, his back to her as he shook his head a little.

“Far from it,” he muttered, turning the stove off. Still, he didn’t move to look at her—if he did, he wouldn’t be able to say what he had to. He could feel her shiver, just a few steps from him, and it took everything in him to not reach over and grab her and hold her close. “But I have no idea what to do from here. I can’t say that I’m sorry Hawkins is gone, and I can’t—”

“Javier—” he exhaled—it was the first time she said his name, and he gripped the counter with both hands as he closed his eyes. Through the rain, and the soil, and the smoke in his room, he could smell lilacs and that same scent that had clung to the letter, which had bled onto his fingers each time he reread it.

“I was gonna turn over the case,” she held her breath at his words—he heard the light hiccup as her lips sealed, and slowly turned, though his gaze remained lowered. “I can’t say I’m impartial anymore—I can pretend, but I’m not. I no longer can tell what’s right and what’s wrong and you—you came here, and what did you think would happen?”

“I don’t know,” her voice was small, and Javier knew she was looking at him—the roles had switched, he could feel her gaze burning across his skin. “That’s the thing, I don’t know. I’m tired—of lying, of hiding, of those fucking flowers,” she sniffled, and from the corner of his eyes he could see her rubbing her arms. “The thing is, I’m pretty sure it’s because of you, and I can’t stand it—because I know I’ll get hurt, and my sister will get hurt, and my children, too.”

“Then why,” his voice had dropped slightly, and he took one more step forward, looking up at last—they were standing so close now, heat radiating off of him and clinging to her chilling bones, “are you here, Helena?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her hands seeking him before she could even realise. “Maybe this,” her letter was almost destroyed, wet and crumpled as she held it between them.

Fear or loneliness—she wasn’t sure she could distinguish them anymore. When the deathwatch beetle had started ticking for Frankie, then she’d been afraid. When she’d stopped speaking and seeing colours for a year, and her children had been by themselves, then she’d been afraid. When she was young, and she sneaked down the stairs with her sister to see what the aunts where up to, then she’d been afraid. In that moment, she was terrified.

And lonely. She’d never felt more alone or lonely before in her life. She wished she could’ve believed in love’s salvation, but truth was desire had been ruined for her. She wished she’d never spied on the aunts’ and seen their customers crying and begging and making fools of themselves. She’d become love-resistant because of that and, with her sister, sitting on the roof of the house, they’d wished to look up at the stars and not be afraid of it.

But, just like trouble, love came in unannounced and took over before she’d had a chance to reconsider or even think about it—Frankie first, and now—

Amas Veritas—she thought about it again, looking into Javier’s dark eyes. He will hear my call a mile away—she’d been just a child, so stupid, thinking that love was a toy, something easy and sweet, to play with. But real love, she’d learned, she was learning, was dangerous, it got you from inside and held on tight, and if you didn’t let go fast enough you might be willing to do anything for its sake.

She’d learned that with Frankie, and now—

“Oh, don’t,” she whispered when Javier’s hand brushed along her arms, foregoing the letter—and moved closer to him, pulled by gravity, by forces she couldn’t begin to control. “Javi—”

He believed he was going to cry—because she was saying his name again, soft and gentle and like she’d known it all her life, and his hands were tracing a path up her arms like he knew exactly the shape of her, and trying to learn it by memory all over again.

He wasn’t even sure that was not the case. Perhaps a part of him knew her already, always had.

He had stumbled into love, of that he was certain, and was stuck there. Javier was used to not getting what he wanted, he’d learned to deal with it, but with Helena in front of him he couldn’t help but wonder if that had only been because he’d never wanted anything too badly. He did now.

“I just do this,” he said, voice sad and deep and causing the hair at the nape of her neck to stand on edge as he leaned closer, towards the hand she was offering to him like in prayer, and she brushed his cheek as he sighed. “Pay no attention,” he said, but she did. How could she not?

He was there, and she shifted toward him as if to brush her hand along his face, but instead ended up with her arms looped around his neck, his own wrapped around her, holding her closer.

And Helena was terrified, because suddenly she wanted whatever he was promising her, with his lips so close and words so soft she told herself don’t listen, but she couldn’t, because whispers of I’ve been looking for you forever inched their way underneath her skin, warmed by his hands. She wanted to get lost—she, who couldn’t function without directions, needed it. Him.

Everything she did those days was so unlike her usual self that when she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window behind Javier’s shoulder, she couldn’t recognise herself. Looking back at her was a woman who could’ve fallen in love if she’d let herself, a woman who didn’t stop, not even when Javier moved her hair from her neck, the wet locks sending a shiver down her spine that only intensified as the man bowed his head a pressed his mouth to the hollow of her throat.

What good would it do her to get involved with someone like him? She wondered—because the last time she did, she loved so much she got hurt to the point a part of her had forever vanished. Or so she had thought, because with Javier’s lips brushing her skin, the light tickle from his moustache making her eyelids droop, she could’ve believed something had come back alive behind her ribs. She suddenly felt like she had to press a hand down against her chest to make sure her heart wouldn’t escape her body.

“Helena—” he whispered, his arms tight around her—the droplets of rain clung to his lips, the taste of her flooding his senses, overpowering everything else. She sighed again, a shudder running down her spine, unsure if it was from his voice or the cold settling in her bones.

Although, if she were to be honest with herself, she’d say she wasn’t cold. She was burning, really, Javier’s body so close she could memorise it by touch alone.

“Maybe I’m letting you do this so you’ll stop the investigation, even with my confession,” she said, his head straightening—his nose brushed along her jaw, her cheek, and her eyes remained closed. “Have you thought about that? Maybe I’m so desperate I’d fuck anyone, including you.”

There was a sour taste in her mouth with each cruel word, but she didn’t care—she forced herself to open her eyes, she knew she needed to see the wounded look on his face with each bitter word. She needed to stop it—whatever it was—before she no longer had the option to. Before the freedom she had longed for forever slipped through her fingers, and she was trapped again in pain, just like the women who used to come at the aunts’ back door.

“Helena,” Javier said again, mournful, and she could almost taste her own name falling from his lips. The tobacco, too. Her mouth parted on instinct, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw down towards her chin, brushing her bottom lip. “You’re not like that.”

“Really?” she scoffed lightly, the noise remaining trapped in her throat when she lifted her gaze to his eyes. “You don’t know me. You just think you do.”

“That’s right,” he nodded, and the tip of his nose brushed hers—one tilt of his chin, one tip of her head, and the agony would be over for both of them. But for the moment they were just suspended in time. “I think I do. I do.”

“Let go,” she told Javier, and it sounded almost like a plea. “Let go of me.”

He did. He would’ve done anything she asked of him. Let go, hold tighter, kneel, jump into a fire. All of it. So he let go of her, even if it hurt, both of them taking one step back—her arms immediately wrapped around her middle (an attempt to trap his warmth close to her skin), his hands tingling with the loss of her.

“Helena—” he said once more, her name more and more familiar on his tongue.

“You have your confession, and you have your proof,” each word felt like shreds of glass in her throat, while she looked away forcefully—in the window, her reflection was almost familiar again, still a little wild, but recognisable. “It’s up to you. You know where to find me, once you make a decision.”

“I do,” he repeated, somewhat stunned, his mind reeling. She took one step to the side, heading for the door. “It’s still pouring outside.”

“I know,” she only said, and went nevertheless.

For hours her perfume remained in the room, clinging to him for so long he didn’t even notice the smell of his burned dinner. So long the letter had dried on the floor where it had slipped, enough for him to reread it, again and again until he’d managed to fall asleep.

Helena couldn’t stop thinking about Javier. From the moment she’d walked out of the motel room, he had been all she could think about—on the drive home through the storm, in the warm bath to wash the cold away, doing the dishes, in bed, unable to sleep, dreaming about him while wide awake and in the few hours she’d managed to close her eyes, too. Haunted, just like her sister.

She dreamed of the desert, an apple tree in a yard that wasn’t hers and bloomed without water, and horses that ate apples from that tree and ran faster than all the others, and a man who was taking a bite from a pie she’d made, bound to be hers for life. She’d woken up smelling apple pie and cinnamon, coffee and tobacco.

So it was no surprise when Javier showed up that same morning. She almost heard him coming. Yet she couldn’t face him right away, so she hid inside, behind her sister, still skittish, behind her daughters, still confused, behind the pretence of making breakfast.

“He’s staying!” Sophia, the eldest of her daughters, announced, running from the garden to somewhere past the living room—Helena sighed, eyes closing. “Aunt Pheebs! He says he’s staying!”

Helena wondered if, without the feeling of Javier’s hands still on her, she would’ve wondered why Phoebe would care whether or not the man investigating them was staying at their place for breakfast. She wasn’t even sure whether she was glad he was staying or just nauseated.

“Can I help?” Emma, much quieter than her sister, stepped at her mother’s side and pointed at the stove, a half-burned pancake smoking on the pan. Helena threw the failed attempt away and nodded, forcing a smile onto her face—she knew the man was in the room with them, she could feel him watching the two of them from the entrance, could see him in her mind as he leaned against the doorway.

“Be careful,” she murmured, taking one step aside, then another, and more, her own steps echoed by Javier’s. They met halfway across the kitchen, her still not looking at him while his eyes never once left her.

“’Morning,” he hummed, shoulders brushing—Helena moved aside, ignoring the sharp pain in her hip when she bumped into the table.

“Good morning,” she cleared her throat, brushing her hands down the front of her shirt—and then lowered her voice. “Why are you here?”

“You told me I knew where to find you once I’d made my decision,” he replied, matching her tone.

“And have you?” her hands began going numb as she clenched them in fists at her sides. She could still feel Javier looking at her.

“I’m going back to Laredo,” her gaze snapped in his direction, so fast the whole room spun as she inhaled sharply, holding her breath. “I thought you should have this. After all, it belongs to you.”

It took her a moment to manage to focus on the paper he was handing her—her letter, now ruined, a half-destroyed piece of paper she’d poured her heart over, more than once. When she picked it up, their fingers brushed just like the first time, and Helena almost cried out in pain.

“Now, something smells like it’s burning,” she could see the strain in his neck as he turned away from her, looking at Emma. One more moment and then he walked ahead. “Need a hand?”

“I was trying to flip it,” Emma mumbled, a pout forming on her lips that made her look more like her mother. Javier chuckled, settling at her side. “Do you know how?” she asked suddenly, a hopeful note in her voice Helena hadn’t heard in a while. Her chest constricted, watching the man smirk and roll up his sleeves.

“I absolutely know how to,” he nodded with a theatrical gesture. “Step aside and observe.”

Amas Veritas, dancing in Helena’s head as she watched Javier, fitting so well in her kitchen, flip pancakes in the air and making the young girl laugh. It had been a while since Emma had laughed like that, and for a moment she was her soft-voiced and shy 14-year-old again, who liked to look at the stars and sleep with her head on Helena’s lap.

But then her shoulders tensed, her whole position shifting, taking one step away from Javier to turn towards her mother, even though her eyes went past her. Helena knew, without having to turn right away, that something was terribly wrong.

“Mom,” Sophia came running in, breathless, and immediately clung to her arm, tugging harshly. “Something’s wrong, mom,” the panic in her voice settled in Helena’s bones, mixing with her own, and she was quick to push her daughter behind her back, stepping away from the door. “It’s aunt Pheebs, she—”

“It’s not her,” Emma’s voice was grave, so unfitting for a young woman, and she inched closer to her mother, too. Which left Javier at the stove, looking at the three of them with confusion and alarm. “It’s him, it’s the man of the lilacs.”

“What?” perplexed, Javier took a step forward, only to be stopped by Helena’s extended arm, while she pushed all three of them behind her just as Phoebe walked into the kitchen. Accompanied. “What the hell—” Javier exhaled, reaching for his belt.

“Agent Peña!” James exclaimed, translucent as he came into the light. Javier’s head started spinning as he stared at him, then at Phoebe Goode, her arm trapped in his vice grip made of fingers of smoke, then back at him. “Long time no see. How’s Laredo? I think I’m starting to feel homesick.”

As James spoke, Helena had started stepping backwards, her gaze never leaving Phoebe—the two sisters were looking at each other, guilt and fear and resolution in their gazes that no one but the younger girls could notice, the familiarity an ache on the palms of their hands as they held each others’, keeping close, keeping behind their mother.

“Helena,” Javier called, his gaze unwavering as he took hold of his gun. “You said he was dead.”

“Yes,” she nodded, and for a split second, Phoebe’s eyes showed surprise.

“Doesn’t look like it,” he retorted, and James scoffed.

“You’ve all spent weeks pretending I’m not here—well, almost all,” he tilted his head, gaze settling onto Emma, and smiled. Helena pushed her daughter into her back, the girl hiding her face against her shoulder, clinging tighter onto her sister’s hand—Sophia held her chin high, squeezing back. “It’s gotten boring.”

“Then leave,” in Phoebe’s voice there was all the rage of the Goode women before her. But then James turned, his grip tighter on her arm, and Helena watched her sister’s legs tremble. “Just leave us alone,” she pleaded, eyes widening.

“No,” James chuckled, pulling her closer—Javier could see the strain in the woman’s shoulder, her face contorting in pain, and could not wrap his head around it. James Hawkins did not look real, or at least not real enough to hurt them. Still, he felt uneasy, even more so when he spoke again, his head lowered next to Phoebe’s. “I’m feeling very into sisters right now,” his gaze flickered towards Helena, too, a grin taking over his pale face.

Javier wasn’t looking at her, but he felt Helena straighten her back, look at him, and then turn. He heard her whisper to her daughters, possibly holding them closer, to run into their aunts’ room and be mindful of the salt. He heard two sets of steps backtrack, and watched James’ face shift into disappointment.

“Oh, Lena, Lena, Lena—you really do take the fun out of anything, don’t you?” he took one step forward, dragging Phoebe with him—the woman cried weakly, trying and failing to escape his hold.

“Hey,” only now that the kids weren’t in the room did Javier lift his gun—although he was sure it would do nothing to stop the man, and his widened grin only confirmed it. “Let go of her.”

“And you,” James groaned, even as Javier placed himself between him and Helena, “you never, ever learned when to just give up,” the two men looked at each other—Javier’s gun lifting, James’ hand reaching out for him. “You should let the adults—”

Before the sentence was over, James screamed, letting go of Phoebe. Helena ignored Javier’s surprised gasp in favour of her sister tumbling to the side, quick to reach her before she could even touch the floor.

The same floor where a star shimmered, catching the sunlight. Javier carried it with him everywhere he went, in remembrance of his father, the star-shaped badge he’d lived by for ages before retiring. Javier did not believe in luck, good or bad that it was, but he did believe in reminders: of doing the right thing, always. Of never losing sight of who he was.

He picked it up right as James straightened, a hole in his near-invisible hand that echoed its shape. Without thinking, without considering, Javier held it up right as the other man—or whatever was left of him—screamed in his direction, unintelligible words that probably would’ve resounded like threats, had Javier been able to hear a single one.

Instead, he stared as the figure vanished, with one longer scream and a curse, the air darkening in front of his eyes and then dissipated into nothing, leaving him to look at the corridor that brought to the stairs, a ringing in his ears.

“It’s okay, Pheebs,” Helena’s voice slowly brought him back, words repeated soothingly as she still held her sister. “It’s okay, it’s alright,” reassuring, in spite of her trembling voice. “I need you to call the aunts, Phoebe. I need you to tell them what happened. Can you do that?”

“I’m sorry,” Phoebe was still saying, her eyes unfocused though she looked up to Helena.

“I know, I know—but can you?” Javier could almost see it—nights spent with Helena reassuring her sister, hidden under thick blankets or on the rooftop of the house beneath a sky full of stars. “Please, I need to go to the girls.”

“Oh, the girls,” Phoebe exhaled, and released the grip on her arm. “Of course. Of course. I’m sorry.”

Helena didn’t wait, though she lingered enough to rest a kiss to Phoebe’s temple, before standing and walking out of the kitchen. It took Javier a moment to come to his senses, and then he went straight after her.

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his mind still reeling, forgetting for a moment the effect he had on her. “Was that him? Did I kill him?”

“Yes, and no—technically,” Helena didn’t stop, heading for the stairs she used to sit on when she was a kid to spy on the aunts. “It was his spirit, which you banished. But I told you, I killed him. And you can do whatever with this information after, but right now—”

“Hold on just a goddamn second, all right?” Javier grabbed her arm, pulling her right back against him. A split second in which they looked each other in the eyes, and all that had happened the night before came back, all that had been left unsaid before hit them square in the chest, and in that split second, they could’ve almost forgotten all else. “What are you talking about? His spirit? I came here to bring in the bad guy—generally, that’s what I do, and now you’re telling me about spirits?”

“Is that why you came here, Javier?” she stood her ground, her arm still in his hold. “Be honest.”

“Honesty,” he scoffed. “I thought I did—and then you were here, and your letter—maybe that’s what brought me here. Maybe it was you. And I’m all mixed-up about that.”

Helena was looking at him with that storm still brewing in her eyes, and Javier felt his knees threaten to give out underneath him. His hand fell from her upper arm, down her elbow and wrist, brushing the palm of her hand. She took a slow breath in, lips trembling.

“The reason you’re here and you don’t know why is because I sent for you,” she said, quietly.

“I know why—”

“You don’t,” she interrupted him. “When I was a little girl, I worked a spell so I would never fall in love. I asked for qualities in a man that I knew couldn’t possibly exist,” she shook her head, while his fingers wrapped around her limp hand. “But you do.”

“So,” he scoffed, “you’re saying that what I’m feeling is just one of your spells?”

“Yes, it’s not real,” it sounded like it pained her to say, even though Javier knew she was telling the truth. Or at least thought she was. “And if you stay, I wouldn’t know if it was because of the spell, and you wouldn’t know if it was because I don’t want to go to prison.”

“All relationships have problems,” he muttered, and she gave a small, unamused laugh.

“I thought I loved Frankie, but that was another spell too,” for a split second, she held his hand back, squeezing her fingers around his to the point it hurt. “Still, you don’t want to know what happens if you stay. We’re all cursed. You saw that,” and just like that, she let go of him.

“Curses only have power when you believe in them, Helena, and I don’t,” clenching his fists, Javier stepped back from her. “You know what? I wished for you too.”

Helena knew. He’d told her the night before, his lips etching each word onto her skin.

But she watched him go nevertheless, glad he managed to take the steps she couldn’t.

Helena was tired. She had been tired since lying on the floor next to her sister, watching as she was being consumed from inside. But all of that was over. She’d stared at the letter from Laredo for days after that, keeping it stored with the other one written in her own hand that carried the mark of both her touch and his.

She did her best to not think of him. It was near impossible.

James Hawkins’ cause of death was accidental, read the letter. His body was identified by jewellery in the ashes of a body found in Laredo, right by his property. The same ring he’d told her was in his car, the car she’d driven, the car she’d spilt belladonna in.

Sincerely, Javier Peña, special investigator.

“I don’t think you’ll find him there, Lena,” Phoebe said softly, when she caught her reading the letter once more. “But somewhere else, perhaps.”

For days, she let the words linger. Days turned into weeks turned into months, his absence like an emptiness into her chest. She’d almost convinced herself it would pass. That, with time, that too would pass—just another pain, just another absence. She could deal with it. She could.

And then Javier was there, in her backyard, or at least that was what she thought she was seeing, because it couldn’t be. How could he be there, when he was in her dreams just that night?

“What would you do, Pheebs?” she whispered, her heart beating so loud she wouldn’t be surprised if everybody else could hear.

“What wouldn’t I do, for the right man?” Phoebe whispered in return, gently pushing her forward with a wide smile. “This is not the aunts’, this is the two of you.”

All the while, Javier looked at them, standing perfectly still like a deer in headlights, unsure of what to do, one of his hands half-raised as if in greeting but without waving, the other buried deep within his pocket. He looked at them, and watched Phoebe quickly lead the girls away even when they tried to run to him, and then Helena walk in his direction.

“A love that even time will lie down and be still for,” he said as a way of greeting, once they were standing one in front of the other. “Ever since I went back, time hasn’t felt real, because you weren’t there. And maybe you still believe it’s for a spell you did as a child, or your aunts’ fault—”

“How do you know about the aunts?” it was hard not to smile when he fidgeted like that.

“Your sister told me,” he returned, softly. “Your sister called.”

“And you’re here,” she said, a half-step forward in his direction.

“I’m here,” he nodded, moving the hand out of his pocket and reaching for her tentatively. “I’m here because I know this is real. No gimmick, just—”

“Love?” she suggested, and the glint in her eyes reminded him of the moon itself.

“Love,” he repeated, their fingers interlocking. “Helena, I mean all of it. I’ll even quit smokin’ if—”

She kissed him, plain and simple. Pulled his hands so that he was stumbling forward and caught his lips with hers, gentle, slow. She kissed him, and as Javier held her, he felt like he’d finally gone home. She kissed him, and felt that empty space in her chest filling with the taste of coffee and tobacco.

Can love travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

There were some things, after all, that Helena Goode knew for certain:

Always throw spilled salt over your left shoulder. Add pepper to your mashed potatoes. Keep rosemary by your garden gate. Plant lavender for luck. Fall in love whenever you can.

#javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x ofc #javier peña x oc #javier peña x original female character #javier peña x reader #javier peña imagine #javier peña fic #javier peña #javier peña x f!reader #javier peña x fem!reader #javier peña x you #javier peña fanfic #javier pena fanfiction #pedrostories #javier pena x ofc #javier pena x oc #javier pena x original female character #practical magic #redahlia

116 notes · View notes

georgiapeach30513 · 5 months

Text

A Snowflake Melts, Part 2

Summary: a blizzard is coming

Pairings: Steve Rogers X Reader

Rating: mild

Warnings: mild language, just one bed, stalking, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 3.5K

Series Masterlist

A scent. It wasn’t much. But Jack has gone off less than that before. It was getting a bit close to Christmas, but he had already made early rounds. Who cares if winter is longer than usual? He had bigger problems; finding you. You are what’s important. Your family even said so. They are growing suspicious of him, which means you are talking to someone, but spreading lies about his relationship, and what actually happened.

He never got a chance to explain. Winter relied on him. And you, just like a coward left. He growls, sitting down on the tree branch as he looks at the beauty he created. Once you told him that he made things look magical. That you loved winter, and would always stay in winter. You promised on your stupid cat that you couldn’t live where there wasn’t snow…

He jumps onto the crystallized snow, his feet leaving large craters in the icy white, and he just walks. He smelled you. Marshmallows. The best thing he’s ever smelt. You are close. He knows it. Blowing out a long breath a large gust of wind stirs up more snow. He cracks his neck as he starts to trudge through what you called the most beautiful thing on earth. Fresh fallen snow. Purity. A new start.

He would find you. And you would be his.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you get on to your Mistletoe who perches on the counter beside you. Her judging green eyes watch you as you look out your kitchen window. Winter is getting worse. You thought you had chosen a place that snowed a lot, but this is different.

“I know what this means,” you are out here all alone. And with winter like this, you shouldn’t go outside and care for the animals. The very ones that were keeping you alive. “Missy, they’ll starve if I don’t.”

She snarls and hisses at you, looking out towards Steve’s cabin. “I can’t…we barely know him.”

Meow.

“I can’t go out in the snow even if I wanted to. Jack will find us. And judging by this storm that wasn’t on the radar…Missy, he’s close.”

Meow.

Mistletoe jumps down from the counter, and lifts her paw to scratch at the door. This cat is too smart for her own good. She wants to collect Steve. And you’re sure he doesn’t understand her way of communicating. You aren’t even sure you did, or if it’s because of your seclusion.

“What are you going to do, tell him to get his butt down here with Sugar Cookie, and we live in the cabin for the rest of the winter and make him sleep on the couch?” Missy stares at you, pawing at the door again.

You couldn’t stop looking up the road, waiting for him to come back down here to you. It is ridiculous how everyday you would hope for a visit from him. You enjoyed his company. He made you not feel so alone, while also it was nice to look at him. And he was funny. He was kind. He was everything you had always wanted.

His eyes. My goodness he had the sweetest eyes. His dog is very cute as well. And…

Mistletoe scratches at the air and lets out an angry hiss towards you. “You know I can’t go out in the snow, and I don’t know how to get in touch with Steve. He just shows up at the right time.”

She growls at you again, and you exhale loudly. “Fine,” walking over to the door, you give it a tug, letting her shimmy out. Her toned legs carry her directly towards Steve’s house. With a bit of a struggle, you close and lock the door immediately. Dropping the curtain.

Jack would want your Christmas to be miserable. Bitter and cold. Sighing, you start to close all the curtains around the house. If he couldn’t see you, he couldn’t find you. If you didn’t invite him in, he couldn’t get to you. There is enough stuff in the basement to keep you well fed. Steve had even stacked up firewood beside your heater, even more on the porch.

You didn’t talk about Jack. He just knew you were afraid of winter. And they were the same thing.

—

Steve jolts in his chair when he hears the tiny scratches, and even Sugar Cookie wiggles her entire body as she moves for the door waiting on her owner to open up. Mistletoe dashes in, meowing up at Steve. “Well, hello, you little bully. What can I do for you today?”

Circling Steve’s feet, she walks over to the door, looking back to the man, and Sugar Cookie joins in to look at him. “She’s not in trouble is she?” Mistletoe huffs, looking up at Steve. “So…is your mom just wanting me to visit? Clearly we need to exchange phone numbers. I don’t turn my phone off. Okay, okay,” he grins, grabbing for his phone and coat. Opening up the door to let both animals out, but Mistletoe stops.

Her ears twitch around, and her eyes look all around before she dashes down the road. “Sugar, let’s go, sweetheart. That cat never gets in a hurry.”

His feet slams into the snow as the wind whips around the odd trio. Beating the animals to the porch, he knocks quickly on the door, and it isn’t until Mistletoe lets out a blood curdling meow that you look up from the middle of the floor, “Missy?”

Walking to the door, you press your head against it. Fear courses through your veins after that sound, “Baby, are you alone?”

“Holly, it’s me.”

“Steve? She brought you? I’m being so rude,” you get an eerie feeling when you open the door. Inhaling deeply, just to be sure. No peppermint. You are safe, for now, “Thanks for tapping the snow off,” even if you hadn't known him long he always seems to remember your needs.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” You couldn’t deny your splotchy face and red rimmed eyes. But you don’t want to talk about it either. Steve would think you’re crazy. No one would ever understand your family dynamic. Instead you just shake your head, wiping away the stray tears on your face.

“I don’t want to force you, but you gotta give me something. Missy kinda scared me.”

“There’s a storm going on, and…it wasn’t on the radar, and I don’t want to be alone,” unannounced storms always meant Jack’s anger. He still hadn’t forgotten. He is still looking for you.

“Okay, you gotta couch,” even though his fingers are ice cold from outside, when he touches your arm, and pulls your body into his, it’s pure warmth. A coziness that feels like hot chocolate running down into your tummy. “I’ll leave the animals here. Let me get some more firewood loaded up, and clothes, and some extra food because I eat a lot. We’ll have a freeze-in, okay?”

“Did it smell like peppermint out there?” You hate that scent. It always meant Jack was near. He doesn’t laugh or look at you like you’re crazy. His smile softens as he hugs you again.

“No, let me get all that ready. The way this snow is coming down, I don’t have much time. I’m sure it’ll be piled all the way up to the windows. You stay here. Keep the doors locked, and breathe. When I come back, I’ll let you make some of your amazing soup while you tell me what’s really going on. I’ll even make brownies.”

You don’t want him to leave, and still understand why he needs to. Biting at your lip, you nod your head. “Don’t start cutting any vegetables until I get back, okay?”

“Okay,” he bundles himself up before heading towards the door again, “Steve, be careful, okay?”

“I will. You stay right here. Wood, more food, and clothes.”

“Toothbrush.”

“That, too. Stay warm,” he playfully demands before swiftly squeezing through the door.

“So, you gonna tell more about it?” You take a sip of your hot chocolate, your eyes staring blankly at Sugar Cookie and Mistletoe snuggling together by the door. Mistletoe always stayed close to the door in winter. Sometimes she’d hop into the bed with you, but she stood her guard by the main entrance. She is a smart kitty after all.

It had been so long since you fully got to snuggle with someone during your favorite time of year. You should be joyful, and instead you let your photography stop, you quit calling your parents, hell you left the most magical place in the world all because of Jack.

You now lived in so much isolation, you lost a bit of yourself. You turn your head away from Steve as you gaze at the curtains covering the big window in the living room. You loved snow. Loved to watch the tiny little snowflakes drift to the earth. You would have never had the curtains closed. You couldn’t even remember if Jack watched the snow with you.

So much of the good times were forgotten as his forever cold heart couldn’t take your glowing warmth. A joy that burned brightly in your soul like embers in a fire.

“You love and fear the winter,” he isn’t even asking. He hasn’t known you long, but he can see it. You nod your head, still keeping your head turned away from him. Having to wipe away a tear that didn’t want to stay put. “You don’t have to talk about it, Holly. I’m just trying to understand. We got a few days of being trapped in here.”

“You’re right,” sniffling, you turn to look back at the girls, as Steve sweetly calls them. They’re comfortable. Missy actually looks like she’s resting. “It’s hard being alone, and scared of winter, and still, I can’t leave.”

“An ex?” Of course Steve could sense that you were running and hiding from someone.

“Yeah,” you sigh, turning to fully look at Steve. “He wasn’t always bad. He’s different. Very powerful, and thrives this time of year. He became cold and unkind, and then possessive and obsessive, and…Steve, he wasn’t nice,” Steve looks away for a few seconds, his jaw clenching tight, and his knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the couch.

“Did…did he,” he takes a deep breath, finally looking at you. “Did he hurt you?”

“It’s complicated,” his hand moves towards you, and you have to look at Missy, and her lazy self is snoring with Sugar Cookie. She was comfortable with Steve. She never had this sense of comfort with Jack. “No, it is complicated. He just…he’s always trying to compete with my dad, and…”

“Did he hurt you?” .

“He’s out of my life though.”

“And you’re still hiding, and afraid to touch something that you love,” even though you can feel his anger, you don’t fear him like you did with Jack. Steve’s anger is protective, and it gives you this strange feeling of importance. He wanted to keep you safe.

“He’s very powerful. You don’t understand.”

There’s a moment drifting between you and Steve, and only the girls’ snores and the crackling of the fireplace can be heard. You aren’t even sure if you’re breathing anymore, just waiting on what he has to say. This is going to be awkward starting off with an argument.

“I want to understand, and I’ll listen whenever you want to explain it to me. For now, why don’t you tell me about your family. Your dad is still alive?” You love talking about your family. They are the best family, and you hate that you’re having to be away from them in any capacity. “What’s his name?”

“Kris. My mom’s name is Carol.”

“There’s that smile. The one you were too shy to share with me. Why do you love winter so much?”

Your body relaxes into the couch again. Finally a topic you didn’t mind talking about a bit more. You can’t say too much, some things you just have to ease into, and him knowing about your family is one of them. Maybe one day things could be different.

“People dread winter, but there’s so much beauty in it. We get Christmas, and the world freezes for a moment. It stops and slows down, and everyone with it. We learn to appreciate the more simple things in life. The world just rests, and we do, too. And if you’re lucky to get snow, it’s beautiful. It looks like glitter. Do you not like winter?” You ask, biting at your lip.

Steve hadn’t stopped smiling at you. With every word you said, you just lit up. You had a calmness about you as you spoke about why you loved your favorite season, instead of hating it. You are absolutely stunning. Breathtaking even.

“Steve, stop staring at me like that,” Missy peeks open her eyes, and then settles herself right on top of Sugar Cookie. Neither you or Steve notice anything outside this bubble you had created.

You fear that if you say anything else that the warmth inside the bubble would dissipate. You wanted to keep it forever. What is it about Steve that makes you want him closer to your body? So you scoot a tiny bit closer. Close enough that your knees brush against each other, and you feel his warmth.

“W-what is it that your father does?” He hiccups, still not breaking the gaze he has on you.

“He’s a delivery man of sorts.”

“Amazing,” he whispers out. His finger brushes back some of your baby hairs, and they tickle along the shell of your ear. “The hot chocolate. It’s…it’s amazing. And your life sounds incredible,” he didn’t even know the half of it.

“Thanks. I used to put peppermint in it. The smell makes me sick to my stomach now. What about your family?”

“They passed a long time ago. I don’t really like to talk about it. So explain to me, you love your home and your family, and you came here to hide from your ex?” Saying it out loud sounds silly. You’re sure your parents could help you out. In some ways, your dad was Jack’s boss. But did you want them to? Did you want them to know how Jack really was?

“What did you do?” Steve really wanted to change the subject away from his family. Hopefully one day you hope he will open up to you. Even though you had secrets concerning your family, you’re telling him enough for now.

“I take pictures. My social media did well. I focused on Christmas. Traveled to different places to see how they celebrated, and what they ate. What their traditions were. I love every aspect of Christmas. It’s in my blood. Like…kinda like it’s in my blood,” you correct quickly. Steve had that same dopey look on his face as before, and you aren’t sure what to make of it. But it makes you feel fuzzy, “What?”

“I love to hear you talk about your passions. So if you’re not on your social media, who is seeing your work?”

“No one.”

“Can I see?”

You hadn’t logged in for so long. It was a creative outlet for you. Everyone always admired your parents, never even realizing who you are. What you could do. You enjoyed it. “You don’t have to show me.”

It was time that you stopped being so scared. You could turn off locations on your phone, Jack could find you in other ways. Why did you allow him to control so much of your life? It was time. Especially now that you were no longer alone.

Sighing, you stand to go get your phone, feeling Steve’s eyes watching your back until you return. The lazy Missy didn’t even stir. Her comfort relaxes you even more. She trusts Steve. She trusts no one outside of your family.

Turning your phone on, you click on the app, and hand it over to him. Letting him browse through your photos and reels. Each second his smile gets larger. Spreading wide across his face, “The spirit of Christmas, huh?”

“It’s what my dad always called me. Said that my enthusiasm towards the holiday is what made everything so holly and jolly,” you giggle thinking about how winters held so much warmth when you were home.

“So,” he says, putting down your phone. “What are our holiday traditions going to be this year? You don’t even have a tree up,” why and how is this man so adorable? Saying all the right words. “I’m just saying, it is very close to Christmas. What about these cookies? Triple chocolate oatmeal cookies, we should make some for Santa.”

“They’re my dad’s favorite,” you haven’t smiled like this in so long. Even though a blizzard is happening outside, the cabin is so warm and cozy, and it has nothing to do with the fireplace. You didn’t feel so alone. And then his hand naturally lands on your thigh, and you lean into his touch. It feels like flurries stir around in your belly, but you don’t want to pull away.

There doesn’t seem to be this veil of awkwardness looming over the two of you, it just is, and it is so amazing. “Okay, so it is late. Tomorrow we put up a tree of sorts.”

“I have a fake one under my bed. I don’t like walking in the snow.”

“I could pick us one out, but it’s not the same if we’re not together. I think the fake one will be perfect this time. Maybe next year, you’ll be more comfortable venturing out into the snow?” You nod your head with a smile. You already feel more confident about winter. “So the cookies?”

“I always have the ingredients for those cookies,” you look over to your bedroom. You can’t even believer you’re thinking this, much less ready to say it out loud. Steve is such a large man, and this couch was kind of small. What kind of host would you be? You needed him and basically invited him into your home. He is keeping you safe, and you can’t make him think you don’t want to extend some hospitality, “I feel bad that there’s only one bed.”

“You have a comfy couch,” huffing out a laugh, you look towards the girls, and Missy and Sugar Cookie have their heads lifted up, staring at you. If you were a crazy person, you’d think they were encouraging you to invite him into your bed. But you’re not that crazy.

“I have a big bed, too. I mean, lots of blankets, and there could still be enough space between us, and,” both the cat and the dog lay their heads back down, pretending to sleep. Now you worry that you are going crazy, “You don’t have to stay on the couch.”

“I won’t sleep in your bed if you’re not comfortable.”

“I wouldn't have asked if I wasn’t comfortable. But before bed, maybe we can watch a movie or something, and you decide how you feel? It doesn’t have to feel weird. And if you want to sleep on the couch you can, and if you change your mind in the middle of the night, you can.”

“I think that sounds amazing. Only if Missy will let me sleep in the bed with you,” she doesn’t look when Steve says her name, just stretches out a bit more on Sugar Cookie. “Here’s to new traditions,” Steve says proudly with his mug held high.

“To new traditions, and new friendships,” friendship. Even if you wish it could be so much more. “Wait! A new picture for my grid!” You snap a photo of the two half-drunk mugs. Editing the photo in a way that you can’t see nothing but the wooden coffee table and mugs. Your parents will be shocked to see two.

To new traditions, and new friendships.

And you hope to forgetting your ex.

Jack’s hand shakes with fury, and he cracks his neck, screaming up into the frosty air as he slings his phone onto the ground. “Little bitch!” He screams. You are playing games with him. Friendships. Traditions. Traditions weren’t new. They were what you did every year.

He just can’t believe you would come back to social media with a stupid post like that. You were supposed to spend Christmas with him! Winter with him.

Jingle bells.

Why the hell could he hear jingle bells as his snowflakes float to the ground. There is a warm smell in the air…marshmallows mixed with cinnamon. Oh, he’s angry. Furious. You are spending time with someone that is not him. If you want to spend your time elsewhere, he’ll make sure that they can’t get to you ever again.

Wherever you are, you’ll be trapped all alone. And with your scent becoming more powerful, he is close. And he will find you. And you’ll be all snowed in. Just the way you belonged.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989 @floral-recs @pandaxnienke

#a snowflake melts #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x fem!reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fics #steve rogers fanfiction #marvel #chris evans #chris evans characters #jack o'malley #jack frost

136 notes · View notes

xreaderbooks · 11 months

Text

Paradise on Earth (19)

Chapter: 19. Trapped

Pair: JJ Maybank x Routledge! Reader

Summary: The hunt for the cross continues as it's stolen from the pogues, y/n and her friends go on a chase to save it, and now Sarah.

Warnings: language, violence, car accidents, kidnapping, not fully proofread

Word Count: 2.5k

Links: Wattpad - AO3 - Playlist

Chapter 18 - Series Masterlist - Navigation - Chapter 20

The next few hours were a blur, everything happened so fast, you couldn’t process it through the tears and anxiety. Pope had fallen, and the cross came soon after- you all successfully dodged it, but as you were figuring out what to do with the cross and how to carry the heavy-ass pure gold cross, Pope had an allergic reaction to the wasps that stung him.

JJ’s cousin Ricky came in clutch giving him a pediatric dose of epinephrine, it had everyone freaking out for a couple half an hour on whether or not he was going to make it. Thankfully he was revived but unfortunately because of how hyped up he was due to the side effects, he insisted and driving and crashing Kie’s dad's truck straight into an oak tree.

So much for him ripping the ears off of everyone inside of the car.

After everyone safely exited the car John B tried stopping him from getting run over by a semi, you noticed the person driving the truck and the person in the passenger seat as Rafe and Renfield who were driving from the direction of the church.

It was gone.

Pope was pissed as hell but coming back to the church and not seeing that cross there had lit a fire of determination in him. You all went straight to the Chateau for the Twinkie and drove back to the road where the accident happened.

“Oh shit!” Kie groaned. “They found the truck.”

Several police cars blocked off the road where it was, John B had no other choice but to stop as Shoupe approached the van.

“Good evening, Officer,” John B squinted as the cop pointed the flashlight into the car.

“Sheriff,” He corrected.

“Speed kills, huh,” John B joked about the scene of the totaled truck.

“I pulled the tags and I know whose truck that is,” Shoupe pointed the flashlight through the driver's seat window and to the back of the truck where Kie was sitting behind the passenger seat in a ball, hiding from view. “Hey, Kie! You drop your weed pen back there?”

“Found it,” Kie gave Shoupe a thumbs up with a weak smile.

Pope who was behind John B’s seat, spoke up between the headrest and the door, “Sheriff, I just wanna say that this is all my fault. She had nothing to do with this, I take a hundred percent full responsibility.”

“Nothing to do with it, huh?” Shoupe scoffed, “You wanna try that again? Your parents reported the truck missing four hours ago and the keys were missing from the house, I’m taking you home or I can pull you all in for leaving the scene of an accident.”

You exhaled stressfully and rubbed your temples, not one day, not one day without a break.

“I gotta deal,” Kie gave you a ‘save me’ look. You sent her a pitiful smile knowing that it wasn't going to go down well for her. “Hit me up later and make sure I’m still alive.”

The rest of you would have to retrieve the cross without her.

The truck that carried the cross had just pulled up to the Cameron house as the five of you did.

“How much you wanna bet Rafe has the cross inside that truck right now?” Pope comments as you all peer over the concrete wall to get a better look at what was going on.

“There’s only one way to find out,” Sarah walks in the direction of the front gate. John B goes after her and catches her before she’s gone.

“Jesus Christ,” You facepalm and lean your head against the wall. You hear Pope and JJ make their own comments in protest of wasting time for declarations of love.

Pope whispers to him as John B limps back to you, JJ, and Pope with a dopey smile, “Do you want me to perform your vows while you’re at it?”

“Did you say ‘be safe’?” JJ asks.

“Could you take any longer?” You drawl out sarcastically. Part of you was actually bitter about your own love life and part of you was concerned about the time frame for whatever Sarah had planned, “What is she doing?”

You could make out her figure sneaking around the truck and shrugging, you could see barely hear her whisper something about keys. You whisper shout for her to come back but she points to the inside. All of you try signaling for her not to but she goes in anyway.

“I told her not to go inside,” John B says.

“Do the birdcall,” Pope tells him, though you're not sure that would help since she was already through the glass doors.

John B cups his hands around his mouth to make Coo-Coo sound but with his hesitation, it sounded nothing like it was supposed to.

“That is not what a bird sounds like,” You judge.

“You try doing something better then.”

“Too late, dipshit, she’s already inside. Maybe next time I’ll do a detailed demonstration for you.”

“Whatever, I’m going over,” John B uses the strength from his arms to push himself up from the top of the wall but a horn was honking from the street. You turn and see the headlights from a golf cart roll up.

“Uh, excuse me, can I help you?” An old white man with a shotgun stops where the four of you were caught in the act of going halfway up the wall. He cocked the gun and chuckles, “I got double-aught bucks in this thing, so, I can’t miss.”

He steps out of the slow vehicle and warns you all to get off the wall, you slip down it with your hands in the air, anxiety creeping in. What if he called the cops? What if he made you all confront Rafe? What if he shot you?

“Sir, It’s not what it seems,” JJ speaks up beside you.

“You all are on the wrong side of the island.” He keeps the long gun pointed at you as he tells you all to get on your knees, “I think I’m gonna call the police.”

“You don’t have to do that, sir,” JJ pleads calmly.

“I’ll decide for myself what I need to do.”

“Sir, Can I just talk to you for a minute?” You stutter a little nervously, there was a chance he would believe a girl more than he would the boys, so you would have to fabricate a story. “Just to explain.”

You get up from your knees slowly, John B tugged at your flannel but you ignored him. “I know what this looks like, but I promise this is all a misunderstanding. We look like some derelict kids from the cut but we weren’t that to Mr. Cameron, he gave me and my brother a job, I did some housework for him and his wife, and my brother did some yard work along with my boyfriend, and our friend. See I’m just going along with their plan to get an associate of theirs, s-some row flowers for his memorial.”

He lets his gun falter, “Now why are you three boys letting this poor girl do all the talking?”

JJ struggles to get himself up from the kneeling position as you back up into his place, “Sorry, sir, you’re right. She’s right, we’ve just had such a hard time dealing with his death-”

You tune out the story he tells the old man who let his guard down with every lie that slipped out of his mouth. In the time JJ came up with a ridiculous tale about where the flowers you were all going to ‘plant for Mr. Cameron’ came from and why it was relevant, Sarah had still not come back. You were getting antsy but you couldn’t let it show in front of the man that was eating up JJ’s lie.

“You smell that right?” JJ asks the man.

He sniffs, “What is that, night-blooming jasmine?”

“No, that’s more like,” JJ thinks about it for a second, he knows nothing about flowers or plants. “Natural Viagra.”

Your eyes widen, “Okay!”

The boys beside you try to get JJ to stop now but the old guy seemed genuinely interested which concerned you more.

“One sniff and bam!” JJ claps his hands, “It’s hammer time you know what I’m saying. Isn’t that right, baby?”

Your jaw drops, one of his arms goes around your shoulders pulling you closer and the other leads the man to his golf cart, like a couple walking out the last guest from a dinner party. John B grabs your wrist and pulls you from under JJ.

“We’ll be quiet, alright, and we’ll finish up here. I’m so sorry to bother you.”

“See that you do,” He seats himself back into the cart and drives off muttering to himself. “I gotta get myself some of that.”

Once he was out of view, JJ hops over the wall, “Let’s go.”

“What the fuck,” You whisper to yourself.

“What the fuck was that for real,” John B helps you climb over before going himself. The four of you hide behind the bushes trying to get a peek or a sign of Sarah anywhere. Rafe comes out of the same doors Sarah once went in.

John B surges forward only to be pulled back by Pope and JJ. “What do we do then?”

“He might have the gun so what’s in our favor?” JJ snaps his fingers to think, “The element of surprise, that’s what’s in our favor right now.”

“He’s leaving, there's not much you can do there,” You tell them. Pope whispers something and seconds later he’s running after the truck and jumping onto whatever he can grab on. “Has everyone lost their minds?”

“We got the house now that Rafes gone, let's storm the fort.”

Noise from the front door caught your attention, Rose and Wheezie had Sarah’s arms around their shoulders. If Sarah wasn’t moving they must have done something to her to knock her out.

“Let’s go!” John B shouts at you and JJ, running after Rose’s car.

“This is so fucked,” You run to the Twinkie to follow after them because there was no way they were going to get Sarah out. John B and JJ were running back as you slowed down for them to get in.

~~~

The sun rose for the next day as John B tailed Rose’s car to where they loaded up ships with cargo. You parked in a semi-discrete area and snuck behind the slow-moving semi that stopped for a security check.

While the guard was busy talking to Rafe, you, JJ, and John B snuck through the metal gate and weaved through large materials meant to fix or be put on the ships. You hide behind some large rusted metal thing that you couldn’t name, watching Rafe proudly talk to the other guys around him.

“God, I hate that guy,” JJ exhaled.

You shifted your attention to where Rose’s car was parked, Sarah was being brought out of the car.

“JJ, we gotta come up with a plan,” John B anxiously stares at the boy. Once again, it was you three alone, probably the worst trio combined. JJ with his plans, John B with the follow-through, and you with the backup in case anyone (meaning either of them) needed it.

“I know, I’m working on it. If we get over to that barge, we go over, we’ll have to get into the water though.”

“That’s fine,” John B replied.

“Then we’re gonna be sitting ducks.”

“It’s like you say you’re thinking but then what comes out of your mouth has no thought behind it at all.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t have time to get it approved by you first, princess.”

“Apology not accepted, you’re plan sucks, and Sarah’s gonna die,” You clutch your head. “How about-”

“Howdy,” A feminine voice comes up randomly behind you and you almost jump out of your skin.

“Holy shit, girl I almost bitch slapped you to yesterday!” Your hands that were clutching your head were now on your chest. You hug Kie in relief at seeing her alive and present despite the shit her parents gave her.

She chuckled, “Had you scared shitless.”

“How’d you guys find us?” You saw Pope come from the same place she did.

“Geo-located your phone.”

“Smart.”

Observing the state of Pope, John B asked what happened.

“Rafe, Round 3.”

“You freaking kidding me?” JJ grabs Pope to face him but he moves out of his hold.

“This was a tie, is that the cross?”

“Yep, they’re holding Sarah hostage,” John B informs Pope and Kie of the new development.

“We gotta get on that boat, but first we gotta get past the goon squad.”

“Okay, come on,” John B waves over for everyone to follow him but there was no plan. Pope doesn’t move from his spot.

“I have an idea, just trust me.”

John B tries to stop him but Pope reassures him that he’ll meet up with the group after. You just hoped he didn’t get caught in whatever he was planning but then again Pope was smart, he wouldn’t do anything to create attention to himself.

Not a second after you thought about how calculated he was, there was an explosion in the direction where he went. All the crew members bolted to the explosion sight.

“What the hell was that?” You ask Pope who panted from his running.

“That container’s going on the ship, we can get in that way,” He pointed. Thanks to his huge distraction, the path where he was directing you all, was free.

“Poopy, you badass!” You pat him on the shoulder, hyping yourself up to make a run for the said container.

At the entrance of the metal box, JJ pauses, “Did we think this through?”

Pope nods assuredly, “Yes, this is the plan.”

“That’s a trap right there, you see that right?” He points to the container that Pope already climbed on, “We can’t get out once we get in.”

Now that JJ was mentioning it, he was right. This container was going on a ship, God knows where, if you got caught it could be jail time or whatever the punishment was for sneaking onto a ship illegally. Not to mention if Rafe or Rose found you, that would be an execution itself.

“You guys don’t have to come,” John B has a hand on JJ’s shoulder and a hand on yours.

“Right, this is our fight,” Pope agreed.

Doubt clouded your loyalty, but you shook it away. Your friend was on the ship, your brother was going, and Pope needed the support to get the cross. It wouldn’t be fair to leave them now after all you had been through together.

JJ looks to Kie, “Nothing to lose?”

“Nothing to lose.”

John B climbs into the container, Pope helps Kie in.

“All in?” JJ climbed into where Pope once was and reached out a hand for you to take. You slipped your hand into his, letting him pull you up.

Your bodies almost colliding from the momentum of you coming up, your faces inches apart in a second your eyes flicker to his lips, “All in.”

“Y/n, JJ, let’s go!” John B shouts. The sound of heavy footsteps that were no doubt the crew member returning to their posts. You and your friends hide at the very end of the container, behind the dozens of stacked crates.

You saw the sunlight fade as the worker closes the container shut.

~~~

One more chapter to go til season 2 is complete!!

Chapter 20

Taglist:

@jbassettjmaybank - @deanwherescas - @thtbwltts - @nerdypartytrashpsychic - @random-girl-army - @wisegirlies - @instabull - @sexyfoxlady - @bubs-world - @sdawn03 - @mendesclines - @obx-pogues-4-life - @mentalforfics - @p-prettybitch - @namacissi - @dczedhee - @inkandpen22 - @royalavenger - @ayeitsjustmee - @80strashbag - @onlyangel-444 - @freds-slut - @poppet05 - @itsjuststaticnoises - @ahnneyong - @lovepizza567 - @jasminfelling - @rana03 - @loki-loveer - @rana030 - @lostinatimeline - @boldlypessimistic - @clinelyn - @a-j-stuffs - @yunhobug - @syd223sworld - @strawberry--fawn - @mysticalavenuecheesecake - @itsmytimetoodream - @natashtessabeth12 - @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles

(If your name is crossed that means tumblr wont let me tag you)

187 notes · View notes

vilentia · 1 year

Note

okay i have another request. you know that one scene where daryl and beth are in the house with the moonshine? i was thinking something where the reader left the prison with them because she wouldn’t leave daryl and when there’re playing never have i ever. the reader is sitting next to daryl and when he gets annoyed with the thing beth said and flipped out reader tries to calm him down. then when they go outside and he starts screaming at both of them about never seeing their friends again, that’s when daryl starts crying then reader hugs him saying stuff like “it’s not your fault” and “i’m sorry” he he’s holding on to her for dear life and beth backs away to give them some space.

sorry it’s so long 😅 make any changes you need if you’re not comfortable with something 😌

Solace Amidst Chaos

Daryl Dixon x reader

I finally got around to writing something about this. I've wanted to do this for so long, but every time I started, I had writer's block. I hope you like it.

You find yourself sitting next to Daryl in the dimly lit house, its walls whispering stories of a life once lived. The faint scent of dampness lingers in the air, mingling with the faint aroma of the moonshine they had discovered. Outside, the night is shrouded in darkness, a constant reminder of the world overrun by relentless walkers. Despite the eerie ambiance, you couldn't bear to leave Daryl's side, even in the midst of the chaos they've been through.

As the game of "Never Have I Ever" unfolds, the tension between Daryl and Beth gradually rises like an approaching storm. Each statement carries an underlying weight, an unspoken reminder of the losses they've endured. You watch as their gazes lock, filled with unspoken emotions and the weight of shared trauma. It's in that moment you sense Daryl's rising anger, like a fire building within him.

Beth looks at Daryl, her eyes filled with hurt, her voice trembling slightly. "Never have I ever lost two boyfriends and not shed a tear."

Daryl's face contorts with annoyance, his brow furrowing as he tries to keep his emotions in check. The harsh words slip past his lips, tinged with bitterness and pain. "Too close, huh? You know all about that. You lost two boyfriends, you can't even shed a tear. Your whole family's gone, all you can do is just go out looking for hooch like some dumb college bitch."

Beth's expression shifts from hurt to anger, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She clenches her fists, her voice trembling with indignation. "Screw you. You don't get it."

The room falls into a heavy silence as the weight of their losses hangs in the air, suffocating the space around them. Daryl's frustration becomes palpable, his voice growing louder with each word.

"No, you don't get it! Everyone we know is dead!" Daryl's voice echoes through the house, his anger reverberating in the emptiness around them.

Feeling the tension escalating, you instinctively reach out, your touch grounding and steady as you place a firm but gentle hand on Daryl's arm. The warmth of your presence radiates, a lifeline in the midst of the emotional maelstrom. "Daryl, calm down," you say firmly, your voice filled with determination. "I understand you're angry and hurt, but this won't help anyone."

Daryl's gaze shifts, his eyes meeting yours, searching for solace and understanding amidst the turmoil within him. His frustration gives way to a mix of vulnerability and exhaustion. "You don't understand," he mutters, his voice strained. "I can't stand the thought of never seeing our friends again. Maybe if I had done something different..."

Your heart breaks for Daryl as you step closer, enveloping him in a comforting embrace. The weight of his anguish is palpable, and you offer him a safe haven, a sanctuary amidst the chaos. "Daryl, listen to me," you say, your voice filled with empathy. "You did everything you could. None of this is your fault. We're all grappling with loss, and it's natural to feel angry and guilty. But we can't let it consume us. We have to keep fighting, for ourselves and for those we've lost."

Daryl's body initially tenses, his grip tight on your shoulders, but gradually, you feel him begin to relax, his anger subsiding. He leans into your embrace, allowing himself to be vulnerable, finding solace in your presence. You run your fingers through his hair, gently soothing him, and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice filled with a mix of sorrow and exhaustion.

You hold him tighter, offering him reassurance and comfort. "It's not your fault, Daryl," you assure him, your voice a soft balm against his pain. "You're strong, and we'll get through this together. Lean on me when you need to. I'm here for you."

Daryl's grip on you tightens, as if he's holding on for dear life. Tears stream down his cheeks, and you gently wipe them away with your thumb, offering a tender and understanding gaze. "You don't have to face this alone," you whisper, your voice filled with love and compassion. "I'm right here with you, and I'll always be."

Beth, sensing the depth of the moment, takes a step back, giving you and Daryl the space you need. She understands the significance of your connection and respects the intimacy of the moment. The three of you may be bound by survival, but in this moment, it's just you and Daryl, finding solace and comfort in each other's arms.

In the tearful embrace, you offer Daryl a haven amidst the turmoil, assuring him that he's not alone. Together, you'll navigate the trials of this harsh world, finding strength in each other and cherishing the moments of vulnerability that deepen your bond.

193 notes · View notes

iridescentpull · 16 days

Text

Day five of Hideduo/FitPac Kiss Week – Desperate/Dramatic Kiss & 2b2t/Fuga AU

[ ao3 link here ] [ fic below cut! ]

Pac would say he's lived through pretty unusual things.

But this has got to be the craziest.

One minute he's in the middle of the sea, escaping from a maximum security prison with Mike and Guaxinim, one leg less and with a stab in his shoulder. The next, he's falling from the boat and into the deep, blue sea, and everything goes black.

And now, he's here, in the land he's learned is called 2b2t. A world full of anarchy, and where only the strong can survive.

Pac is a survivor. He's survived the streets, he's survived prison, he's survived criminals and a cannibal. But this? This is something different.

He doesn't know how to get out. If he even can get out.

Until he comes across a man with an arm less and with a distrust of others. And with him, maybe, just maybe, he can make it out alive.

That was a month ago, and Pac would like to say he's gotten to know Fit quite well. At least, as well as you can get to know a guy with trust issues and who always carries around an axe and is ready to kill. But Pac is an optimist by nature, and he'll take any chance of survival that he can get.

Even if the guy seems to be a bit of an asshole.

Fit and him have been wandering around the land for the past weeks. The older was traveling to one of his bases hundreds of thousands of blocks away, and Pac didn't want to be alone so he decided to tag along. He has to admit, it has been... fun, traveling with Fit. They've gone to war, they've fought for their lives, and they've had their fair share of laughs. Pac is actually looking forward to arriving at their destination.

And if he caught a few feelings toward Fit? Well, that's his own business, isn't it?

"I think we'll stop here." The American says, inspecting the cave he's found. It's a bit small, and the roof is low, but there's no spawners and there's an entrance facing the ocean, which would make it easier to fish. Pac likes it.

They place their belongings on the floor, and they both go about their separate businesses. Pac prepares the sleeping bags while Fit hunts for some fish. It's nice, it's quiet, it's domestic.

Hours pass by and the pair are sitting inside the cave, a fireplace between them. Fit has a journal in his hand, documenting the day's journey while Pac is busy cooking the fish filets. It's not his best meal, but he can't really complain.

"Hey Fit?" The Brazilian asks, quickly giving a glance to the other. Once the older hums, Pac continues. "Do you have any dreams?"

Fit looks at him. "Dreams?"

Pac nods. "Yeah. Like, you know, dreams you want to accomplish." He says, flipping the fish on its side. "What you might want to do once you leave this place."

"Leave this place?" The other says, and there's a tone Pac doesn't know how to decipher. Fit chuckles, but there's no humor in his voice. "You think there's a way to leave this place? You're crazy."

The Brazilian hums. "There's got to be, right?" Pac says, and he's trying to be optimistic but the words come out a bit more bitter than intended. He sighs, running a hand over his hair. "I mean, if I ended up here, then it means there has to be a way to leave."

"Pac, there is no exit." Fit says, and his voice is tired, resigned. Pac knows Fit's lived here for longer than he has, but the younger doesn't want to give up. He can't. "Trust me. There's no way to leave."

And Pac rolls his eyes, because he is getting tired of this. "And how do you know?"

"I've tried to find a way to leave." The American says, putting the journal down. His voice is steady, but the way his hands shake is the only thing that gives his emotions away. "There is no way. You better start getting used to the idea of being here forever."

The male groans. "That's all you say!" He exclaims, and his tone is loud, angry. "Why don't you stop being so fucking pessimistic for once and just hope? You can't keep being a coward and not doing anything."

"Oh, I'm a coward?" Fit scoffs, and he puts the journal away, his attention now fully on Pac. "Tell me, you've lived in this world for a month. And I've lived here for years. I've seen people die and never come back. I've seen the cruelty of man and I've seen the evilness in humans."

"And yeah, maybe I'm a coward." The American continues, and his voice is hard, his eyes cold. Pac can't look away. "But at least I'm alive. And I won't let some newbie tell me what I should and shouldn't do."

Pac is speechless. The younger can't find the words, and he can't form any coherent sentences. His mouth keeps opening and closing, and there's a lump in his throat that won't go away.

He is mad. At Fit, at 2b2t, at this situation. He is so angry, he feels his blood boiling under his skin and he's about to burst. He wants to yell, scream, break things and curse this stupid server.

He wants to go home.

"Fuck you." He spits, and his words are poison, his voice is venom. His face is twisted with anger, and Pac is sure his eyes are red. He wants to hurt Fit, wants him to understand how Pac is feeling, how he wants to get out of this place, how he can't be stuck here for the rest of his life.

How he is afraid.

"You're a coward, a fucking coward." Pac is screaming now, his face is red. "There HAS to be a way back, why won't you believe me, caralho ?!"

He's pacing the cave, running his hand through his hair. Pac's heart is beating fast, and he is breathing harshly. He feels like a caged animal. He feels like a stranger in his own skin.

Fit snarls. "Shut the fuck up, do you want us to get found?!"

"Oh, I don't give a shit!" Pac screams, his voice hoarse. He turns to the other, his face red with fury and his eyes shiny with tears. "You've given up, you're just a coward. I will find a way to leave this shithole." He says, and his voice is broken. "I'm not staying here."

Fit stares at him, and his eyes are full of hurt, his face twisted with pain. "Fine." He spits out. "Be my fucking guest. Get yourself killed for all I care."

And Pac wants to scream, wants to yell, but the words are stuck in his throat and his mind is a mess and his chest is aching. "Fine." He repeats, and his voice is a whisper, a shadow. He doesn't have the strength to scream. "I will."

Pac packs his belongings and leaves the cave. He doesn't look back. He wanders through the beach for a few hours, before settling down in a crevice on the side of a hill. His stomach grumbled, but he ignores it. He doesn't have the motivation to cook anything. He doesn't have the motivation for anything.

The Brazilian falls asleep to the sound of the waves and the cold night wind. His last thoughts are of Fit, and how he wishes things could have gone differently.

He wakes up to the sound of fighting outside the crevice. There's a sword, and an axe, and the sound of wood being destroyed and rocks breaking. Pac feels his heart beat faster as he looks around, his hands searching for his weapons. He picks his sword, before slowly peeking over the edge of the crevice.

And then, he sees him. Fit is standing there, and his short hair is wild and his face is full of dirt. There's blood splattered over his shirt, and his axe is dripping with it. The American is panting, standing over a body, and there's a wild look in his eyes, and for a moment Pac is enthralled.

Then, Fit spots him, and the male is climbing up the crevice, and Pac can see the relief in his eyes and the way his shoulders slump. "You're okay." He says, relieved. Fit's voice is soft, and it makes Pac's heart clench.

"Of course I'm okay." He says, and there's still a hint of anger in his voice. The American sighs, and Pac can feel the exhaustion rolling off of him.

The male starts walking towards him. "Pac, I-"

"Fit!" The Brazilian tries to warn, but it's too late. “Watch out!”

The sound of a slash is heard, and the other is falling down, and his eyes are wide and his face is pale. There is a person behind him, holding a diamond axe and his eyes are gleaming with murder. He is about to give the killing blow when Pac pushes him, sending him tumbling to the floor.

"Fit!" He yells again, watching as the person who's been his only friend for a while, his one constant, starts to slowly close their eyes. " Fit! Fit, no!"

The Brazilian turned to the person in front of him, who's slowly approaching him with their diamond axe held up high. He could see their grin through the holes of their mask, and he felt so angry. It felt like he was reaching his breaking point, all the bad luck from the past few days coming together to finally ruin him.

"Filho da puta!" He yelled, crouching as the other figure swung their axe. The diamond sword in his hands felt heavy, but he didn't have time to think about that. He had a fight to win. "I’m going to kill you! I'm going to kill you!"

With every word, he swung his sword, hoping that he would manage to at least do some damage to the person who ruined everything. They blocked all his hits, however, and before he knew it, they'd knocked the diamond sword out of his hands and had him pinned against the wall of the building he was standing in front of.

He struggled as the other person watched, and Pac could see amusement on their face. He glared at them, his fists clenched as he tried to find a way to escape.

"Let me go!" He yelled, struggling harder against their grip. "Let me go, resto de aborto! "

The person huffed, and Pac wanted nothing more than to punch them in the face. "Not gonna happen, mate."

He continued struggling, and it seemed like the person was starting to get tired of it. Pac's eyes flickered to the axe that was still being held by his neck, and he swallowed as he felt the sharp edge of it prick at his skin.

"Now, now, calm down, or I might end up hurting you." The person said, and their voice sent shivers down Pac's spine. Their tone was very amused, almost like they were enjoying his pain. "Wouldn't want that, now would we?"

Pac glared at them, before grinning. "You wouldn't want to mess with me." He said, trying to keep his voice steady.

The other person snorted. "Sure, whatever you say, mate." They said, and Pac could hear the sarcasm in their voice.

"I mean, I did escape prison, didn't I?" He continued, trying to keep their attention off the fact that he'd managed to wiggle his left hand out of their grip. He could see the person's eyebrows raise. "And I don't think you'd want to mess with me, I know how to use a sword, you know?"

"So?" The other person asked, raising an eyebrow. "What are you gonna do, stab me with it? I don't think you'd manage, I'm stronger than you."

Pac hummed. "Maybe." He said, before kicking the person with his prosthetic leg. He saw their eyes widen as they flew backwards, and he took that chance to grab the axe out of their hands. "But I'm smarter."

"You son of a-" They cut themselves off, glaring at him. "Fine, if it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll get."

Grinning, Pac rolled his arm. "Come at me."

The two started running at each other, their hands stretched out. Just as they were about to meet in the middle, Pac turned and grabbed Fit's diamond sword from the ground, and swung it. The person, however, wasn't as lucky, and Pac ended up stabbing them in the shoulder. They let out a cry of pain, and Pac grinned, pulling the sword out.

"How about that?" He asked, and the person growled.

"I'll kill you!" They yelled, running at him again.

This time, though, Pac was prepared. He swung his sword, cutting the person across their torso. They staggered back, their face twisted in anger.

"You little bitch." They snarled, and Pac rolled his eyes.

"Whatever you say." He said, watching as the person stood back up and ran towards him. He was able to dodge their attack, and they let out a frustrated noise as they ran past him. Pac swung the axe and hit the person across their stomach, making them cry out in pain and collapse against the ground.

Pac walked towards them. "A tip for you: always tie your victims first." He raised the axe, before slamming it down, killing the person immediatly.

Breathing heavily, he let go of the handle. His heart felt like it was beating out of his chest, and his head was pounding. His heart clenched at the realization.

"Fit!" He yelled, rushing to where the body of the veteran laid on the floor. He dropped to his knees, and pulled him into his arms. He placed a hand over the gaping wound on his chest, trying his best to stop the bleeding. "Fit, Fitch - I need you to wake up."

The man groaned, and Pac's heart skipped a beat. He pulled the male closer to him, trying to ignore the blood that was staining his clothes. His hand went to the bag the other was wearing, pulling out one of the healing potions Fit had inside.

"Hey, Fit." He whispered, uncorking the potion. "Come on, open your mouth, you need to drink this."

Fit's eyes opened, and the man looked at him blearily. "Pac?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's me." He replied, putting the potion to the other's lips. "Come on, Fit, you gotta drink this."

The veteran opened his mouth, and Pac helped him drink the potion. Once the other had finished, he threw the empty bottle to the side, and wrapped his arms around the male, pulling him close. He ignored the blood, and focused on the sound of the male breathing.

"Hey, Fit," he whispered, closing his eyes as he let his beating heart calm down. "Don't ever do that again, okay? Not here, not now, not ever."

Fit chuckled. "I'll do my best." He said, and Pac's heart ached. "I'm... I'm sorry for earlier. For saying those things to you, it was..."

"Hey, it's alright," Pac replied, looking down at the other. "I was being an ass, too."

Fit cackled. "That you were, that you were." He sighed, and Pac pulled him closer. "I guess, you're right. About being a bit of a coward, that is."

"Me? Right? Who would've thought you'd admit I was right." The Brazilian teased.

The other smacked his arm, and Pac laughed. "Shut up, you idiot." He sighed, his eyes fluttering shut. "I have a lot of things I regret, but I don't want to regret one more thing."

"Like what?" Pac asked, running a hand through the other's hair.

"This."

And suddenly, their lips were touching.

The kiss was messy, and awkward, and Pac felt like his entire body was burning, but he loved it. The kiss was everything he'd dreamed of, and more. When they pulled away, Fit had the dopiest smile on his face, and Pac felt himself mirroring the expression.

"Woah." Fit said, hazel eyes wide.

Pac laughed. "Yeah, woah." He agreed.

#hideduokisswk #fitpac #pactw #fitmc #qsmp writing #aynee writes

26 notes · View notes

antiwhores · 2 years

Text

Brand New; Bakugouxreader

After chasing you away when it was revealed that you were pregnant, you start a new life. The baby didn’t survive so your life was your own withiut trave of him. A life without Bakugou. Can he do the same as good as you? You’re happy. Is he?

TW: hurt, angst, no comfort for Bakugou, unwanted pregnancy, miscarriage, break ups, fighting (verbal), good ending for reader, not proof read, unprotected sex, hatred.

I was just in that angsty mood yk? Yall btw, i wanna cut my vagina off fr. And i dont want myears anymore. Whats the point of hearing if it only works sometimes?! Ugh.

You resented him. Bakugou was officially dead to you. In fact he had been dead to you for a while. But when he decided to pop up into your life and try to ruin it again. You were pissed.

During your sophmore year of highschool you were dating Bakugou. You two were childhood friends, attached at the hip. But when he decided that fucking with a faulty condom would be a good thing, even when you protested, it all changed.

He got you pregnant. All because he didn’t wanna wait to get his dick wet till he could get a new condom to replace of the one he’d been carrying in his pocket for the whole span of the 3 day camping trip you two took.

Didn’t he understand that this was a huge change for you too? No, he was selfish.

“I don’t have time for a damn child! Im trying to be a hero for gods sake!” “Okay?! You can’t just try to force and abortion on me like that you piece of shit! This was all you! And you think I don’t have shit to do with my life to?!” “Your life isnt as important as mine!”

You packed your shit and left that week. You never looked back. And you regret nothing.

You moved out to the far countryside of Japan. Somewhere hidden in the fog of a deserted, closed off town. You finished your highschool years in that small little village. You got to know everyone in the town. You went to college in another side of the outskirts and graduated with a degree that would keep you happy.

The baby didn’t survive, you didn’t even have time to think about whether or not you wanted to keep it before it died. You remember going to the doctor about a day or two after the incident to check on the parasite in your stomach. It was gone.

You remember laughing biterly, tears whelling up at what the doctor told you. All that bickering and loss just for a false alarm. You were sick.

Now, for the first time in a long time, you were happy. You were 24 with a house and car, a stable job, plenty of non-judging allies, friends and good relationships, financial stability, a nice area of living, and most of all; you were without him.

You swore never to step back into the city again unless absolutely necessary. Not even for family visits. The family that did want to see you came out to you instead of vice versa. You also made sure not to tell any of your old friends where you had gone.

You knew he patrolled the streets. Even if theres a small chance you’d see him again, you wanted to prevent that at all costs.

But apparently no matter how far you ran, the past ran faster.

Everyone in the town knew eachothers stories and you were no exception. The town knew that you had been betrayed by such a famous man. They were kind, they took down any advertisements for the man, they talked shit whenever he came up on tv, etc.

So of course all hell broke loose when he came to your small town to work on a case. They knew they needed to keep you away from him and they knew how.

So, as Bakugou was roaming the streets, spreading his bitter aura like the plague on everything he touched, you hid.

The plan was almost compromised when he met eyes with you breifly. You were in a neighbors house when it happened. Everyone had just been notified that he came through so you weren’t ready.

You dissapeared from the window as quickly as you came. Even though he beckoned himself a fool, a crazy man for even thinking his first love was in this building after all these years still as gorgeous as he remembers; he still found himself walking up to the door and placing a firm knock.

It was not you whom answered his knock but the neighbor. A tiny brown woman with glassy green eyes who looked about 25. A coldness wafted off of her as she questioned his reasoning for knocking. He felt like a borderline schizophrenic. According to himself, he was just so deperate to see her again that when he saw a woman around the same age as you he was stiff and stunned.

He packed his shit and left that week. He looked back. He regreted everything.

#bakugou headcanons #bakugou x reader #mha x reader #bakugou imagine #bakugou katsuki #katsuki x reader #bakugou smut #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou angst

599 notes · View notes

veivie · 1 year

Text

I like to think that dark elf Alver has his yandere side leveled up.

In his disguise self, he can push his urge to make his competitor for Cale's affection 'disappear'.

But in his dark elf? He just want to make it happen and barely hold back.

Alver, but more dark and unhinged.

Very day become more and more hard to push away his urge. A voice always come to his mind everytime he saw Cale being 'touched' by others. Alver thought, that voice was already gone since he's become an adult, but he's wrong.

That voice always come and said an opposite things-

"Damn, I want to make him smile."

("And cry.")

"Why can't Cale just look at me?"

("They don't deserve him. Cale didn't need them.")

"Cale are my precious dongsaeng."

("He's only mine.")

("Claim him, now. Make him yours!")

"Shut up."

"Hyung-nim?" Alver blink. He looked at Cale.

"Yes?"

"Are you alright?"

"Of course. I'm sorry. I'm just thinking about paperwork." Cale nod.

"I see. Don't too hard to yourself, you need rest." Alver laugh.

"Thanks Cale, you really are a great dongsaeng."

("Mine. Mine. Mine.")

Look like this voice will not disappear in the near future.

Alver shrugged.

He already agreed with the voice anyway.

Cale is his.

Should I make the voice is actually Ancient White Star? Heum- I should.

Ever since he died with the so called hero, Aws' world was full of darkness. Well- he guessed it's because gods are bitter. He almost become a God, remember? So they must just want to make him suffer in this darkness.

Well- that's didn't working. He's careless anyways.

Aws been with this darkness sine forever. He kind feel comfortable? Yeah, something like that.

But then, his darkness shatters? And he suddenly can hear a sound of baby crying?

Aws blink. Oke, first- What the fuck? Second, how the hell he suddenly can see some kind of screen in front of his eyes?

Aws blink again. In this screen the can see a man with blonde hair and blue eyes- kinda handsome, but not as handsome as him- carrying a baby that's surprisingly look like him?

The man looked at the baby with love- what the hell?

"Your name is Alver Crossman."

Aws was stunned. Crossman? Ain't that his last name?

Aws blink. Oh, look like this baby is his descendants, kinda unexpected. He thought the gods will kill everyone in his lineage.

Well- look like he's wrong.

And look like he will see how this kid grow up.

That's the first Aws meet his descendants, Alver Crossman.

Since then, aws watch the quarter dark elf grow up.

He was there when Alver's mother died.

He was there when Alver's father (that bastard should be burn alive. Yes, aws hated Zedd.) neglected him.

He was there when the queen sent ton of assassin.

He was there when Alver silently cry because of his bastard father.

Well- let's say, Aws has a bond with Alver. Let's say he was attached to his descendants.

Aws sigh.

"If I was you, I will kill everyone."

"Huh? Who-?"

Aws silent. A cold run to his spine. Alver can hear him?

"Who's there?"

Yes. His descendant can hear him.

That's was the first time aws tried to give Alver advices.

He was the one who told Alver to hide his true nature.

He was the one who told Alver to mask his face with smile.

He was the one who told Alver to become stronger.

But that's all gone the moment he saw a warning? From Sun goddess (yes, he knew that the God actually women.)

He saw how Alver began to debate himself about being a king.

A little guilty come. Damn, fuck those gods.

He want to tell Alver that the curse (or so Alver thought) was not for him.

He can become a king. He can- his dark elf side has nothing to do with the curse.

Aws was about to open his mouth when he hear Alver laugh.

Alver's laugh full of a bitter feeling.

"You must be kidding me. After everything I've been through?! Fuck!"

Aws become silent. It's a first time since Alver's outburst after his mother died.

Alver's voice full of sorrow. Aws feel the same pain, after all Alver is his descendant.

Aws also laugh bitterly, it's his fault isn't it? Aws sigh.

He should talk.

"That's not true-" Aws blink, why Alver didn't respond?

No, don't tell him-

Alver then shunned everyone around him.

He saw how Alver locked himself in his bedroom. He tried to talk again.

But Alver never respond. Ah- Alver can't hear him again. Look like he will become a silent observer again.

Time flew. Once again, aws watch Alver in silent.

He watch how Alver become a fine young man. A little proud feeling come in.

Well, since Alver look like him- ofc he's handsome, right?

He watch how Alver finally become a crown prince. In a long time, aws can smile again. He really happy for Alver.

Then he watch how Alver meet a strange red hair noble, who has a personality like Alver's.

He watch how cute bickering between them.

Suddenly, there's a war. Someone has a nerve to copying him, huh?

Aws watch everything, he was kind surprise his copycat actually reincarnator.

He also laugh to how stupid his copycat is. He got every ap but did not get the most important ap. Ha- immature!

Times flew again, then Alver intend to tell Cale about the curse.

When Alver feel nervous, aws also feel the same way.

He silently observe them. When Cale said that Alver supposed to be here- Aws really feel happiness for his descendant.

He really happy.

Then Cale told Alver about the possibility of him being Alber's ancestor. Alver just shrug it off- can he feel accepted from that-?

He once again observe how Alver slowly but surely fell for the red hair. Well- Aws approve! Even if Alver didn't need his approval- still! He's Alver's ancestor!

Anyways- he know, he shouldn't feel this way- but... Yeah, aws also fell for Cale.

He want to punch himself so hard. What the hell? Why he suddenly falling for Cale? Fuck.

Well- he can be with Cale if Alver is, right?

As someone who almost become a god. Aws have a different feeling than Alver's innocent feeling. What he feel for Cale was more dark- more possessive- maybe you can call it obsession.

His dark feeling also effect Alver's feeling. Alver also began to feel the same dark feeling for Cale.

From that's, Aws knows. Alver can hear his voice if Alver and him have a same feeling about something.

First, about being a king.

Now, Cale.

They're both want Cale become theirs.

They're both want to possessed Cale.

Yes, just like the kingdom.

Cale are their to be share.

#lout of count’s family #trash of the count's family #lcf #cale henituse #tcf #alberu crossman #albecale #alberu x cale #alcale #ancient white star

192 notes · View notes

suneeater · 1 year

Text

making it up to you + bokuto

✉︎request: Konnichiwa! I just stumbled on your blog and slightly stalked it too ^^ I would like to request a few dating headcanons for Bokuto Kotarou and possibly how he would make it up to you after a fight? Thank you mwahh <3 (@satoruswifeyyy)

✎a/n: our very first request omg!!! this made us all so happy to see ilysm <3 im so glad you enjoy our content! we def don't mind stalking our blog lol. also i got like super carried away and this is basically a full on drabble. oops!

✰warnings: cursing, fighting, hurt/comfort

Fighting with Bokuto never happens; the two of you argue, but you don’t fight. Neither of you have it in you to be cruel to the other, and it’s hard to find a reason with Bokuto that you’d really even be mad at him to the point of fighting. On the rare occasion that you are mad at him, it’s easy to sort things out before they even have the chance to escalate

But things had been different recently, and it’s left the both of you stressed and overwhelmed. With his career suddenly skyrocketing, and you facing your own struggles with work, it’s been hard for the two of you to spend any quality time together

You start communicating less and less, focusing purely on making it through the day. It doesn’t help that the limelight has been on him recently, and he’s started to garner all sorts of public attention and cultivate a growing fanbase. You’d love to lie and say you’re happy for him, but the truth is that it leaves you feeling insecure. Now that he’s really becoming someone, will he still need you?

It’s like he doesn’t even notice that you’re feeling the effects of it all, but you’re not sure if it’s right to blame him. He’s been so absorbed in practices and games and training, learning how to balance it all on top of now having a public reputation to moderate and maintain. He’s always been so good about checking in on you, but everythings changing all at once and it’s like you’ve been cast to the very back of his mind

All the stress and insecurity explodes one night. It begins with a simple conversation, but the bitter undertones of feeling abandoned light a spark that’s never been present in your previous arguments, and with every remark it grows until you’re in a full on fight with each other

Before you know it you’re in a screaming match, “How could you just ignore me? Are you seriously so busy you can’t even answer my phone calls? You’re not like this, why have you changed?”

“Jesus, I thought you’d be supporting me. You know how fucking hard I’ve worked; this is just part of it, why don’t you understand that?”

You go back and forth for what feels like hours, going in circles and repeating yourselves just a little louder each time as if whoever can yell the loudest will be able to get it through the other’s skull

The final straw is when Bokuto has had enough; he’s been exerting himself all day long and simply doesn’t have the energy to continue a fight you picked with him as soon as he walked through the door. There’s a look in his eyes you don’t recognize. “Whether I even met you or not, I’d still be here today. I don’t need you for this”.

Stunned, you freeze. Your next remark dies on your tongue and you feel your heart sink into your stomach. Without another word, you retreat upstairs to the bedroom.

When he sees the way your face contorts in response to his words is when he knows he messed up. Bad. All of the anger in him is suddenly gone at the realization that he’s hurt you; not just because of what he said, either. Letting it sink in, you had every reason to be upset with him, and he can’t believe he was too dense to even think about how you may be right. God, he’s the worst

He wants to run up after you, but all he can do is sink down to the couch and think about everything he said to you. He can’t get the phrase out of his head. I don’t need you?

What a lie

You shut the door as softly as you can, occupying yourself with a bedtime routine to keep yourself from crying. Your cheeks aching from the way you bite them when tears prickle the corners of your eyes, you settle into bed when there’s a knock at the door

But you pay it no response, feigning ignorance. You can’t stop thinking about what he said. Your worst fear was just confirmed; he doesn’t need you. Now that he’s on the rise, he doesn’t need you. Not anymore

He comes in anyways, creeping into the bed beside you. You keep your back to him, careful not to move. You know he can tell that you aren’t asleep, but you ignore him anyway. It hurts too much to even be perceived by him

On top of the covers, he stares daggers into the back of your head, pleading with you. “Baby- baby please. I’m so sorry”

The seconds feel like hours. He can’t stop letting it ring in his ears and it’s so shrill, it hurts. What’s going through your mind? Do you hate him now? Are you going to leave him- oh god, it probably sounded like he was breaking up with you. He wants to reach out and touch you so bad, and it’s taking everything in him to restrain himself as to not further disturb you

But when he sees the way your pillow dampens and can finally hear sniffles over his own pounding heart, he breaks. Snatching you into his arms, you see tears pool in his own eyes

“I don’t know why I said that - I don’t know why I said that. I don’t know, I didn’t mean it, god I’m just so stressed. Of fucking course I need you, y/n… I need you like I need air, I don’t know why I said that”.

Unable to avoid eye contact with him, you can’t hold back anymore. Sobbing, you struggle to choke out your words. “Am I… am I not enough for you anymore?”

Oh my god, is that what he made you think? He’s almost too stunned to respond, his hold on you tightening. He has to momentarily hide his face away in the crook of your neck, ashamed to cry after what he did to you. “Oh god, babe, yes you are. You’re always enough - more than enough. Nothing will change that…”

Wiping his eyes clear, he moves one hand to cup your face, directing your vision to his. “I never meant for any of this; not to leave you so lonely… God, I didn’t mean any of that. You’re what got me through this, please… Even if I were to get here without you I wouldn’t be the same, y/n… I’d be miserable without you”.

Sighing, avert your gaze from his again. It’s overwhelming. “Kotaro… I didn’t mean to pick a fight. I’ve just been so lonely, you know? And you won’t pick up the phone, and I’ve been so stressed too; except it didn’t feel like you were there for me”.

“I know, I know… I’m so sorry. It was all unintentional… You’re always on the forefront of my mind, I’m just… not thinking. It’s a big change…” He can’t help but sniffle. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Letting his words sink into your eases your tensed muscles, and you fall deeper into his embrace. Truth is, you wanted to forgive him the minute he knocked on the door. You felt in your gut that he’d be taking it all back; after all, this fight was so unlike him. But that’s what made it so scary, too.

“I think I already have. But hey-” you playfully punch him in the arm. “Don’t ever say some stupid shit like that again, yeah?”

He smiles, but it’s much softer than his typically toothy grin, bittersweet and genuine. You spend the rest of the night trying to make it up to each other, with him rubbing gentle circles on your tear stained cheeks, hoping to ease the raw sensation you’d imposed by wiping so many tears away. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep beside him, Bokuto murmuring in your ear a million apologies he hopes will creep into your subconscious. It’s only in the morning that he can make himself pull away from you for just a second, but the moment he does he’s pulling at his phone and calling in sick. Sure, his job is important, but he’s lovesick and can’t do a damn thing about it

#bokuto x reader #bokuto hcs #bokuto hq #haikyuu x reader #bokuto koutaro x reader #jo post #hq #haikyuu

269 notes · View notes

dottores · 2 years

Text

LITTLE DARK AGE

haitani ran x fem!reader x haitani rindou

summary: eight years later, you finally return to tokyo and find yourself caught in the middle of a violent gang war between the two most ruthless criminal organizations of tokyo’s underworld, forced to choose between blood and love.

genre: bonten timeskip, angst, forbidden romance, childhood friends -> strangers -> lovers, 18+ MDNI

chapter warnings: graphic descriptions of torture/interrogation

previous chapter -> masterlist -> next chapter

CHAPTER Ⅸ. YOU'LL WISH YOU NEVER MET HER AT ALL

PRESENT.

Everything hurt. His ribs ached, his lungs burned, he could barely think straight and he couldn’t wipe away the blood dripping into his eyes, blocking his vision. His arms were tied tightly and painfully behind his back; his shoulders were forced into an uncomfortable position and each breath he took caused pain to shoot up his side to his chest.

He felt like he was dying. He could be dying, honestly, he didn’t know. He was sure that he had never been in so much pain before

Maybe dying would be easier.

The thought rang bitter in his head, his jaw clenched tight and he tried to ignore the sharp, numbing pain that pushed up through his skull, piercing his brain.

No, he thought to himself, he shouldn’t think like that. He had to get back to Rindou and he needed to-

He needed to find you.

And for a second, he hated himself. His eyes stung and he felt nauseous--he didn’t know what was wrong with him, why he was still clinging to you when you had made your feelings explicitly clear. A part of him held out hope that this was just one of your elaborate schemes, like the time you had Mister Ayato convinced for two weeks that you were dying from some infectious disease so you didn’t have to go to school while Miss Yua was away visiting her cousin abroad.

A dry laugh ripped from his lips as he remembered the way that Mister Ayato was frantically calling Miss Yua, stress lines marring his forehead, arms waving around in frustration when Miss Yua told him that you were probably just faking it, all the while you laid in bed trying to hide your giggles, tossing them a wink as soon as Mister Ayato turned his back to you.

He winced as another wave of pain wracked his body. This wasn’t the same as back then, he knew it, he really, really did. You weren’t the same girl that he had known all those years back, he was clinging to a ghost of his past and it was going to get him killed but…

How was he supposed to give up on you when you had never given up on them?

How many times had you chased him down whenever he was being stupid and stubborn? How many times had you struggled to carry him back to the penthouse because he had gone out alone and ended up getting overwhelmed? How many times had you bailed them out of trouble? How many times had you fought for them tooth and nail even when any other person would have given up? When any other person would have left them to fend for themselves?

How many times had you saved them? From the authorities? From other delinquents? From the rich elites that they had managed to piss off? From themselves?

Ran couldn’t even hope to try to pinpoint the number--all he knew was that it was too many times, they had put you through so much shit over the years that looking back on it was almost sickening.

“The fuck you laughing at?” a low voice spit out and Ran heaved, blood splattering from his lips as another heavy boot drove into his side; his shoulders screamed in protest as he doubled over in pain, forcing them into an even more uncomfortable position. His vision went spotty, his mind felt fuzzy, he felt like he was dying.

But he couldn’t die here. He couldn’t. He had to get back to Rindou. He had to get to you.

He was sure that you weren’t doing this willingly. You couldn’t be, he thought to himself, but he knew he was only trying to convince himself. The cold look in your eyes haunted him every time he closed his eyes and the even colder words you spoke rang true in every silence.

“I said ‘was’, didn’t I?”

It didn’t matter, he tried to force himself to believe it. You could’ve been lying.

“They don’t mean anything to me anymore.”

But that couldn’t be true, he stared at the bloody floor in front of him, eyelids heavy. He was falling in and out of consciousness, his vision was blurred and half obscured by the blood dripping down his forehead. He remembered the way you had clung to him that night at the club, the way you could barely look away from him, the way your lips had moved against his just as desperately as his had.

“I want to be done with this shit so I can go back to handling business overseas.”

His chest squeezed so tight that he swore he was about to have a heart attack.

And even if it was true, he still had to get to you--even if you had willingly chosen this path, Ran refused to give up.

You weren’t happy. Your eyes were dull, empty and he couldn’t stand to see you like this. Even if this really was what you chose, Ran would drag you out of there by the hair if he had to. You had saved him from himself countless times before--forcing him to see reason when he was blinded by stubbornness even when he shouted and got nasty and said awful things that he didn’t mean.

You had never given up on him, he refused to give up on you—it didn’t matter what it cost him.

—

THIRTEEN YEARS EARLIER.

They ignored the looks they received as they walked through the halls of your school—glares from some of the older boys, captivated stares from the girls. Ran was uninterested—he had one destination, and that was your classroom so he could free you from the shackles of mathematics.

102, 104, 106…

118.

He peeked into the class through the window and he couldn’t help the way his lips turned up at the sight of you sitting at your desk in the far corner, elbow resting on the desk, chin resting on your hand, tapping your pen against your lips as your teacher droned on.

Rindou shoved him, destroying the brief sense of peace he had been able to experience while watching you. Ran scowled at his brother as he watched Rindou’s eyes light up as he caught sight of you. A heavy feeling tugged at his chest when he noticed the bright, genuine smile on Rindou’s face but he forced himself to push it away.

He knocked Rindou out of the way, ignoring the irritated expression directed his way but Ran only moved forward, swinging open the door to your classroom, interrupting your teacher mid-lecture.

“Y/n, come on,” Ran called for you, ignoring another annoyed glare, this time from your teacher. And Ran hated the way his heart skipped a beat when your eyes widened in delight at the sight of him, as you hopped to your feet without a second to waste, picking up your bag and darting toward them.

“L/n-san! Please return to your seat,” your teacher said furiously.

“Sorry, Mister! But I’ll pass!” you grinned widely as you ducked under Ran’s arm into the hallway, and he snorted lightly, letting the door shut on your teacher’s threats to tell your uncle about your disobedience.

As soon as the door shut behind him, you were locking arms with him and Rindou, pulling them close and leaning into them, dragging them down the hallway, “You guys totally saved my ass,” you said, “We were supposed to have a quiz at the end of class and I would’ve bombed it.”

Rindou rolled his eyes, shoulder bumping you into Ran, who shoulder bumped you right back into Rindou. You scowled at the two of them before slipping free, “Stop that! I’m not one of those…” your voice trailed off, your eyes narrowed, “one of the… I can’t remember what they’re called. Um, those things…”

You waved your finger back and forth as an explanation.

Ran’s brow furrowed, he shared a look with Rindou, not entirely sure what you meant.

“Those little swingy things, with the little balls that swing back and forth, they smack into each other.”

The little…

Ran burst into laughter immediately, Rindou followed soon behind, and he only laughed harder once realization hit you, hands flying to cover your face in embarrassment, “You guys are the worst, literally children. You’re so embarrassing.”

Rindou grinned, flinging an arm around your shoulder and Ran nudged you as they shared an amused look over your head, “You’re too easy to tease,” Ran said, nudging you gently.

“‘You’re too easy to tease,’” you mocked right back in a nasally tone as the three of you left the school, the cool air hitting him hard. Ran rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to shoot back a retort but you were speaking again before he could, “What’d you guys drag me outta there for anyway? Can we stop and get pizza?”

“Yeah,” Rindou agreed, “that’s a good idea actually, we’ll probably be stuck at the parlor for a bit.”

And Ran watched as your eyes lit up as you leaned into Rindou, “Parlor?” you questioned and Ran’s throat felt tight as Rindou smiled down at you. He forced himself to look away.

“Remember those designs we were working on a couple months ago?” Rindou asked and you nodded, “We’re finally getting them done.”

You stopped dead in your tracks, eyes wide, “Really?” you looked between the both of them, excited, “You guys are actually getting it done!”

“Mhm,” Ran nudged you, “We wanted you to come with us. You can hold Rindou’s hand when he cries.”

Rindou gaped at him, Ran cackled at his expression, “Don’t worry Rin,” you grinned, “I’ll hold your hand all you want, Ran can suffer alone. We both know he has the lower pain tolerance of the two of you anyway.”

Now Rindou was laughing and Ran was gaping, “That is so not true,” he said loudly, “Not at all.”

“You cried when a bee stung you,” Rindou pointed out.

“Every time I brush your hair you bitch and complain,” you added and Ran stared at you.

“Because you’re not delicate with my hair at all! You rip the brush through it!” Ran accused. “You’re way more gentle when you brush Rindou’s hair.”

“No, I’m not,” you argued back immediately, “Rin just isn’t a wimp.”

Ran’s jaw dropped, “I am not a wimp,” he cried out, thoroughly offended, “We should have left you to suffer at school.”

“That’s so rude!” you shot at him immediately, “I should’ve left you to get scolded by Miss Yua when she found out about you running around with those friends of yours.”

Ran’s eyes narrowed on you, lips parting to speak but you continued before he could, “Speaking of school though, can you guys stop coming by it?” you asked and Ran visibly faltered, lips pressing together tight as he watched you kick at a pebble mindlessly. Hurt spread through him like a wildfire, mind racing trying to figure out why you would ask that and he could see Rindou looked just as distressed.

The fuck? Were you embarrassed of them?

“Why?” Ran finally asked, and he was grateful that his voice was steadier than he expected it to be.

“Cause every time you come by I have to listen to the girls in my year and the years above me go on and on and on about you guys and it’s annoying,” you said, glancing up at him, “They always try to ask me to introduce them to you.”

Relief hit him like a truck, he could breathe again, a light grin pulled at his lips as he looked down at you, “You jealous?” he teased and you wrinkled your nose.

“Huh? Why would I be jealous?” you asked, genuinely confused and somewhat disgusted at the prospect. Rindou scowled at you.

“Why’d you have to say it like that?” Rindou muttered.

And you bristled, “Cause I have no idea why I’d be jealous!” you said, hands on your hips as you paused mid-step to glare at them, “I have no reason to be, you guys are mine. It’s just annoying that they’re trying to use me to get close to you.”

Mine, the word rang through Ran’s head on repeat, his mouth dried as he stared at you, but you didn’t even look half-perturbed, and you didn’t seem to notice how much your words had affected him.

“Yours?” Rindou’s voice was as hoarse as Ran would have expected his to have been had he spoken up.

“Yes, mine,” you said so matter-of-factly that there really was no arguing against it. Your brows furrowed, sensing something was wrong, “Aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Ran said after a moment of silence, eyes meeting yours, “Yours.”

---

PRESENT DAY.

Yours.

Ran choked on blood as another heavy boot drove into his side, your words from all of those years ago ringing through his head on repeat. Yours, yours, yours, they were yours, weren’t they?

So then why-

Ran’s mind went blank as knuckles cracked against his jaw, vision flashing dark, white-hot pain sinking through every inch of his body. Ran couldn’t breathe. Everything hurt. He felt like he was dying.

-why were you letting this happen?

The physical pain was incomparable to the agony he felt as he tried to justify what was happening, making frantic attempts to make sense of what had happened the past few hours because he couldn’t accept the apparent truth.

Sugawara had given you a chance, a chance to make an arrangement about him and you-

He spit up another glob of blood as the boot made contact with his chest, snapping his body back, the back of his head slamming into the pole he was leaning on so hard that he swore it might have cracked his skull. He couldn’t see and he wasn’t sure if it was because of blood running into his vision or because of how hard he hit his head.

-you had blown it off. You had chosen to let this happen when there was another option.

Maybe there wasn’t another option? he thought desperately, maybe it was just a trick?

But it hadn’t seemed to have been a trick? Ran couldn’t tell. He couldn’t tell. He had already been hit over the head too many times before you had arrived. He wasn’t sure if he had been understanding it all correctly. All he knew was that Sugawara had given you an option to make an arrangement about him, and you had said no.

You wouldn’t have said no if you had another choice, he wanted to scream at himself, carve the words into his skin and bones until he believed it himself because you had promised. You had promised him so many times that you were theirs, and they were yours, and you’d never put anything above them.

But you had, he couldn’t help but remind himself, head hanging limp in front of him as another slew of questions were thrown at him--too quickly for him to even hope to understand what they were saying. You’d put school and work over them for eight years now, you’d abandoned them, left them behind and-

The sound of knuckles hitting his cheek registered before the pain did, his head snapped to the side, his spotty vision finally started going out.

“... ‘nna fuckin’ kill him.”

-and there wasn’t really any arguing against that.

---

ELEVEN YEARS EARLIER.

“Miss Yua is gonna be so mad!” you were giggling like a fool, skipping ahead of them in the direction of the tattoo parlor, “I can’t wait to tell her this was all your guys’ idea.”

Ran gaped, “You’re such a little shit,” he accused, throwing a water bottle at you only for you to dance out of the way, letting it hit the ground far past where you were standing, “Here we are trying to do something nice for your birthday and you’re here plotting to get us in trouble.”

“It’s so funny though!” you complained, tossing a wide smile over your shoulder toward him that his heart stuttering in his chest, “You ‘n Rin always get so red whenever Miss Yua starts yelling at you. You guys barely get embarrassed over anything, it’s fun to watch.”

Ran bit back the sharp comment that nearly escaped his lips because you were right, but it was hard not to get embarrassed when Miss Yua was railing on him for every less than desirable aspect of his life from his dye job and hairstyle to his sleeping schedule and extra-curricular activities, or lack thereof, that is.

“And we’re supposed to be the cruel ones,” Rindou muttered to himself, “You find joy in our misery.”

Your smile widened. Ran’s heart sank in his chest, “I can’t help it.”

This should have passed by now. The silly crush he had developed on you when you were kids had yet to disappear after all of these years and he wasn’t sure why. He had been certain that over time it would fade but if anything, it had only gotten more intense and he hated himself for it because he knew damn well that his brother was in the same boat, he could see it in every longing stare that Rindou failed to hide whenever you turned away from him, he could hear it in every wistful word he spoke about you and he could feel it in the way Rindou’s body trembled whenever someone made a threat to you as a means to get to them, regardless of how likely they were going to follow through with said threat.

Rindou loved you, even if he didn’t realize it himself yet. And Ran supposed that he might love you too but he refused to get in the way of Rindou’s shot at happiness--not when it was Ran’s fault that the two of them had been suffering and struggling to survive their entire lives before they met you.

And Ran tried to distance himself from you--not just so it was easier for Rindou to realize his feelings, but also because it was easier for Ran. It was hard being around you all the time and constantly trying to shove away the feelings that only grew stronger. But he couldn’t keep up with it--not when he knew it was upsetting both you and Rindou. It tore him up every time he came home to you on the couch, having tried to wait up for him but ended up passing out; every time he had to pull you into his arms to carry you back into your room, desperately trying to ignore how even in your sleep you curled into his chest, letting out a content breath; every time he walked back into his room and saw Rindou fast asleep in Ran’s bed instead of his own, PC still on and running a game--a game that Ran recognized as the one that Rindou had been telling him about the day before, asking to play it with him.

“What should I get?” your voice knocked him out of his spiraling thoughts, eyes flashing over to Rindou, who suddenly looked nervous as he gripped the piece of paper behind his back tighter.

Go on, he urged Rindou silently but Rindou only shifted on his feet anxiously, eyes darting between you and Ran.

“Why’re you looking at me like that?” you accused sharply, looking between them before relaxing, “What about a penguin? I love penguins.”

Ran nearly rolled his eyes as you looked down at your wrists curiously. Of course, you would jump right to penguins, Ran tried to push away the fondness that tugged at his heart. He swallowed thickly.

“We actually-” Rindou’s voice cracked, his face flushed in embarrassment. You looked up at him curiously, “We actually had an idea.”

“Hm?” you noticed he was holding something behind his back, and your interest was piqued. Ran could see it in how your eyes lit up and how you slowly started to shift closer to Rindou, “What’s that? Lemme see, Rin.”

And Ran bit his tongue as he watched Rindou step closer to you, pulling the paper from behind his back and pressing it against your solar plexus.

The combined design of their tattoo stared back at them. Ran shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the way his fingers shook, nerves eating at his stomach. He had been sure, earlier, that you wouldn’t say no but now he was starting to question it because of course, you would want something cute as your first tattoo not-

You craned your neck down to see what Rindou was holding up against you and Ran’s breath caught. Your brows furrowed for a second before your eyes widened, “Is that-?”

You cut yourself off, eyes darting between the right side of Rindou’s and the left side of Ran’s body.

“Yeah,” Rindou said after a moment, shifting on his feet, “Smaller… obviously. You don’t have to get it, it was just an id-”

You started crying.

Ran’s lips parted in shock, Rindou’s voice faltered. Ran took half a step forward, arm reaching out toward you but before he could get close enough, you threw yourself forward into Rindou’s arms.

His hand withdrew, his chest ached. He forced himself to turn his gaze away as Rindou’s shaky arms slid around your waist to hold you.

“You guys really mean it?” your voice was muffled against Rindou. Ran felt sick. He reminded himself that this was what he wanted.

Wasn’t it?

“‘course we mean it,” Ran murmured, and he was grateful for the fact that his voice was not as shaky as his hands. You looked up at him, face still half buried in Rindou’s shoulder, and Ran’s stomach churned uncomfortably at the wide, glassy-eyed look you were giving him.

“Tattoos are permanent, y’know?” your nails were digging into Rindou’s clothes, clutching him tight. Ran couldn’t meet your gaze anymore. “N-n-n this was a you n Rin thing, I don’t wanna-”

“Thought you were the one that said that we’re stuck with you,” Rindou’s voice was teasing, his hand was rubbing gentle circles on your back. Ran hated it. “How’s there gonna be a me and Ran thing without you?”

“But-”

“We got the tattoos split on purpose,” Ran said quietly and he swore all time stopped as your gaze met his again. Keep talking, he told himself. “We could’ve just got matching designs but I got half, and he got half, so you could get the whole one because…”

His voice trailed off, he couldn’t finish the sentence but from the way your lips wobbled as you looked up at him you knew exactly what he was getting it. Ran’s mouth went dry as you pulled yourself from Rindou’s arms, moving toward him, and Ran barely had time to react before your arms flung around his shoulders.

He swallowed thickly as his arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him, and Ran felt ill as the familiar scent of your shampoo and body wash flooded his nostrils, as your body pressed flush against his and as you buried your face into his neck. His head felt light and dizzy and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to push you away or hold you closer

But then he caught sight of Rindou, and the strange expression that crossed over his face as he watched you and Ran, and Ran forced himself to settle down, hands grabbing your waist gently and tugging you off of him, setting you down on the ground in front of him.

And maybe that wasn’t the best idea because you did not back away like he had expected. Instead, you only leaned in again, face tilted up toward him and Ran’s throat was swollen as he looked down at you.

“You’re sure?” you asked again, eyes wide and searching his for an answer and Ran could barely bring himself to speak, and he genuinely wasn’t sure how he managed to get out the soft ‘yes’ as a response to you. Your eyes were brighter than he had ever seen them before and you reached out, grabbing one of his hands and one of Rindou’s.

“There’s no take-backs, y’know?” you said, still waiting for one of them to back out but Ran only squeezed your hand gently and Rindou nudged you with his shoulder. A brilliant smile split open your face and Ran’s chest felt lighter than it had in years, “You’ll be stuck with me for real, this time, y’know?”

Rindou flung an arm over your shoulder and you burst into giggles as he tugged you close, “We’ve been stuck with you, dumbass, you’re like a little leech.”

“You love it,” you shoved at Rindou, who only snorted at your failed effort.

“Yeah, we do,” Rindou agreed, letting you go and you scowled as you stepped away from him but there was a bounce in your step that hadn’t quite been there before as you looked down at the design that Rindou was still holding.

You looked up at Ran, waiting for his response when he didn’t immediately agree with Rindou, and Ran couldn’t stop the small smile from tugging at his lips as he squeezed your hand again before letting go, “‘course we do,” he said easily, “We’re stuck with you, you’re stuck with us.”

Your smile widened as you nodded, voice quiet as you agreed, “Forever.”

---

PRESENT.

It had to have been a lie, he tried to convince himself, one of your outrageous little schemes that always somehow turned out in your favor no matter how far the odds were out of your favor.

You had promised them forever, hadn’t you? And you had never been one to go back on your promises before. You were planning something, you had to be planning something.

“He don’t look too good,” an unfamiliar voice murmured but his voice sounded garbled to Ran’s ears and Ran tried to look in the direction that the voice had come from but his vision was too blurred and dark to make anything out, “Higher up’s will kill us if he dies under our watch.”

Dies?

Was he really dying?

He supposed his body answered the question for him as a shudder wracked his chest, as his abdomen spasmed in pain, as he choked up another puddle of blood.

He didn’t want to die here, his vision swam--his eyes felt wet but he wasn’t sure if it was from blood or tears. He wanted to get to you, he needed to get to Rindou.

Rindou, Ran felt sick. Rindou would never forgive him. Rindou had told him not to leave the auction hall alone but Ran had been insistent on getting out of there--unable to stand being in the same room as you even if the room was as massive as the one the auction was being held in.

“Maybe we should call someone,” Ran felt like he was underwater, their voices sounded far away even though he knew they couldn’t have been too far.

“Hanma’ll fuck us up for going against his orders.”

“Well, maybe we shouldn’t have, Akio, and Hanma’ll fuck us up more if this fucker dies here ‘cause of us.”

“He fuckin’ deserved it, Bonten got Hiro killed, and Asuka, and Asahi, all of our fuckin’ friends. He’s lucky we don’t kill him here, we should kill him here.”

His chest sunk, and his body was in so much pain that it was starting to feel numb but the pain was nothing in comparison to the sinking realization that he was going to die there, away from his brother, away from you--the only two people in the world that mattered to him.

SIX YEARS EARLIER.

“Where’s Rin?” your voice was soft on the other side of the line and Ran’s lips tugged up into a smile at the familiar sound. Your calls were becoming far and few between, and he knew it was because you were exhausted with classes and setting up your new business but he couldn’t help the awful, sinking feeling that swarmed his chest when you went days without talking to them.

“Pretty sure he went out somewhere with Shion,” Ran told you quietly, “He’ll be upset he missed you.”

And he would, Ran was not looking forward to seeing the crestfallen expression on Rindou’s face when Ran told him that you had called while he wasn’t around, knowing damn well that your next call wouldn’t be for at least a few days, maybe more.

“‘m sorry I don’t call as much anymore,” he could hear the frown in your voice and Ran let his eyes slide shut, rolling over onto his back on his bed as he held the phone to his ear. “I promise I try, it’s just-”

“I know,” Ran said, “You’re busy, I get it.”

Too busy for us, the thought rang bitter in his head but he didn’t dare say it out loud, knowing that it would only upset you more.

You sighed and Ran felt guilt claw at his chest. You had understood the unspoken words.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, voice lower this time. The smile in your voice was gone, and so was his.

“I know,” he said again, and you both were quiet for a moment. The silence was loud, awkward, Ran could hear his own heart thudding in his chest. Finally, he sighed, breaking the quiet, “How was your day?”

“It was good,” you said, “We’re starting to enter talks with a company in Munich. It’ll probably be a while before anything comes from it but it’s a good look for now. I’m excited to see how it turns out, think this’ll be big for us if it works out how I hope it does.”

You sounded excited, Ran could picture the way your eyes lit up behind his eyelids, and once again, he couldn’t stop the smile that was rising to his lips, “That’s good,” he murmured, “I’m sure it’ll work out how you want, things always do.”

“I hope so,” your voice was hesitant, as if you wanted to add something, and Ran hummed, waiting for you to continue. Whatever you were going to say, you didn’t, instead you switched to another subject, “What’re you doing up so late anyway? Honestly, I was worried I was gonna miss out on talking to you not Rin, ‘cause I know how you get about your ‘beauty sleep.’”

Your voice was teasing but Ran couldn’t bring himself to smile as he tried to figure out how to answer the question because there was no way he was going to admit that he stopped leaving his phone on silent at night because he was worried he was going to miss a call from you.

“I slept all day yesterday,” he lied, and he knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as you giggled.

“Since when has that ever stopped you? I remember that time you nearly slept a full ass day and a half, me and Rin genuinely thought you were dead,” his lips pulled up, if only a little, at your words.

“Miss Yua had a fit when you guys called her in a panic and she had to grab the quickest train back to Roppongi,” he said quietly, and you burst into laughter.

“She forced us to scrub the lobby floors for a week so Miss Sara didn’t have to,” you complained, “I’m sure I still have bruises on my knees from that. It was terrible.”

Ran snorted as he rolled back onto his side, “Yeah, you guys kept asking me for help to get it done faster.”

“Yeah!” you cried out, “and you kept walking past us! You were so mean!”

Ran’s chest felt light as a genuine laugh spilled from his lips before he could contain, “Your face whenever I would walk by-”

“It’s not funny!” you said loudly, and he could practically picture the way you’d be shouldering into him, trying to get him to shut up if you had been there to do it.

If you had been there to do it.

His smile fell, reality came crashing down again.

If you had been there.

You could sense the change in mood from how he quieted down, and you let out a soft sigh. It was silent for a moment--this time you were the one that decided to break it.

“Once I finish business in Munich, and after my classes finish for the semester, ‘m gonna be heading to Venice for a few months. Do you and Rin wanna meet me there?”

Ran’s world stilled, his eyes shot back open and he sat up in bed, fingers curled around the blankets, mind running a million miles a minute as he processed your words, “You-”

“I miss you guys so much,” your voice cracked over your words and Ran’s grip on the blankets tightened, a wave of helplessness sweeping over him when he heard you take in a shuddered breath, “so fucking much. Everywhere I go, all I think of is you guys.”

Ran’s lips trembled, he pressed them together tight, trying to get control over himself. “We miss you too,” he hated how his voice wavered, “I miss you. I miss you a lot.”

“You’ll meet me there?” he hated how your voice broke.

“Is that even a question?” for the first time in two years, he felt hope blossom in his chest, “Of course, we’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

---

PRESENT.

You had never shown up.

Ran felt sick at the memory, this time he couldn’t hold back the tears that spilled down his cheeks. You had never fucking shown up. And maybe he had been dumb to think you would have--he had heard on the news what had happened at Munich, and you hadn’t reached out to them in nearly a month, but Miss Yua had already bought them the tickets to Venice and they couldn’t bring themselves to give up hope that maybe, just maybe you would meet them there.

So they went. And they waited. They waited, and they waited, and they waited. They waited for a message, a call, for any sign of you. Rindou was turning his head, eyes wide whenever he caught sight of someone with your hair color and Ran’s heart had been in his throat every time he had heard a laugh even remotely similar to yours.

You never showed. You never even texted them to say you weren’t gonna show, you kept them in limbo and it was unfair. It was so so so fucking unfair. And a part of him hated you for it--or tried to, at least. He tried so fucking hard because you deserved it. You could have at least told them that you wouldn’t make it, you could have at least given them some half-assed bullshit excuse, because at least they wouldn’t have wasted their fucking time.

A wave of anger hit him so suddenly that it had him physically reeling, his spotty vision darkening dangerously.

And here he was, making the same mistake all over again.

Ran felt sick, no, he tried to convince himself, that’s not true.

But wasn’t it? Was he not sitting there holding out hope that you would show up again? Just like he was all of those years ago while sitting with Rindou at a restaurant on the Grand Canal?

He was going to throw up. He couldn’t breathe. Everything hurt. He felt like he was dying and the only thing he could think of was you, and it was unfair.

Because it was true--it was history repeating itself, him holding out hope for you even though you had given him no reason to believe otherwise and no matter how hard he fucking tried, he couldn’t push it away.

But how could he not hold out hope for you? How could he just give up? You had nev-

You abandoned them. You abandoned them after you had promised-

There’s more to the story, he wanted to scream but he barely had the energy to breathe. He was dying, he could feel it, every second that passed, his body grew weaker and weaker but he knew there had to be more to it. You wouldn’t have abandoned them, left them behind like you had unless there was something else at play, and you wouldn’t have left Ran to die unless you had no other choice, unless you had a plan.

But what if you had, the darker part of his mind wouldn’t shut up, screaming the insecurities that had been haunting him for years on end, that had been eating him from the inside out. He remembered the cold look in your eyes, your harsh words--you had never looked at him like that before, you had never spoken to him like that before and Ran just didn’t know.

A shudder wracked his body as another wave of pain ricocheted through him. He could barely think straight--he wanted to see Rindou, he wanted answers from you, his blood felt cold and his bones felt hot, everything hurt and Ran knew that he was going to die before getting what he wanted, and for a moment, just a moment, Ran truly and genuinely hated you.

---

FIVE YEARS EARLIER.

Ran’s lips were pressed into a thin line as he stared at the screen, watching as you spoke in front of a massive crowd announcing most recent Izanami’s breakthrough with invariant representation… or something like that, at least, half of what you were saying was flying right over Ran’s head, just like it had when you would drone on and on about stuff like that when you were home still. It wasn’t like he really cared about what you were saying, he was only watching to see you.

“She looks happy,” Rindou murmured, and a sick feeling built in Ran’s stomach as he watched a smile spread across your face as you announced the expansion of Izanami and what this new breakthrough could lead to in regards to future research.

You did. You really fucking did. Your eyes were shining, your smile was wide, you were fucking glowing--you looked a lot happier than you ever did back in Tokyo, back with them. And you really didn’t have any reason not to be--you were successful, free, making a name for yourself without the shadow of your uncle hanging over you and Ran knew damn well that was all you had ever wanted in life.

“You think she forgot about us?” Ran barely heard Rindou’s quiet words.

Barely.

“No,” Ran shook his head—but he hated how hoarse his voice sounded and he hated how Rindou’s words sent an ice-cold feeling through his body. “No, of course, she didn’t. She’s just busy.”

Rindou didn’t respond for a minute. Ran didn’t have to look at him to know that the expression on his face was nothing short of dejected and Ran couldn’t exactly blame him. His jaw clenched tight as he looked down at his phone briefly, knowing that if he unlocked it, he’d be faced with the hundreds of ignored calls and texts he had sent to you over the past few months.

“She didn’t show up to Venice,” Rindou finally said and Ran bit his tongue, barely stopping himself from snapping out a harsh ‘I know’ that he knew would lead to yet another fight.

Venice. The topic of all of the most recent arguments between Rindou and Ran--and Ran knew it was mostly his fault. He knew it. Ever since you never showed up to Venice like you had promised, he had become way more volatile, even with Rindou, and even though he was aware of it, he still couldn’t control it.

And a part of him hated you, or tried to, because this was your fault because you could have at least told them what was going on but instead you had left them in limbo and Ran’s relationship with his brother was now becoming collateral damage.

His gaze darkened as he looked back at the television, a familiar fury beginning to build as vivid memories of nights sitting alone at restaurants on the Grand Canal with Rindou, hoping and praying that you would show up, flowed through his head. Your voice rang loud in his ears through the speakers on the television, and as your bright eyes looked directly at the camera, at him, Ran snapped, hand curling around the television remote and shutting off the screen before he lost his mind for real.

The silence following was suffocating, Ran stared ahead at his reflection through the now dark screen, lips twisting down at the sight of the dark bags beneath his eyes. His gaze darted around the penthouse, catching sight of the framed pictures of the three of you littered on the walls and an odd, uncomfortable feeling began to stir in his stomach.

Odd, uncomfortable and unwelcome.

He had never felt that way in the penthouse before. It had always felt like home.

Anxiety began to build in his gut as his gaze landed on one of the last pictures that the three of you had taken together before you had left--he and Rindou still decked out in their Kanto Manji Gang uniform and you were wearing some ridiculous glasses that Rindou had bought for you at a store the day before and Ran could still practically feel your arms interlocked with his, he could still feel the way you leaned into him and-

“Ran, do you wanna go grab something to eat?” Rindou asked but Ran barely even recognized what his brother had said, instead rising to his feet so suddenly that Rindou jumped, eyes wide as he looked up at Ran.

Ran’s throat felt swollen and he felt distinctly like a cornered animal and he didn’t even know why. He just knew he had to get out of the apartment, away from any reminder of you.

“No,” Ran said, and he missed the hurt look that spread across Rindou’s face at the abrupt rejection and he missed the longing look that Rindou had sent to the very same picture that had sent Ran spiraling, “I’m gonna…”

He didn’t even know what he was going to do and his mind raced for an answer. His gaze darted back to the picture propped up on the wall--the Kanto Manji uniforms.

Oh.

“I’m gonna message Kakucho and Mochi, hit them up and try to meet them at one of the clubs,” Ran said.

“Kakucho and Mochi?” Rindou sounded confused, “Aren’t they in-?”

“Yeah,” Ran grinned at Rindou over his shoulder, “Gonna see if Mikey still has that spot open for us.”

---

PRESENT.

He felt someone tapping his cheeks frantically, shaking his body as gently as they could and Ran let out a low groan as he forced his eyes open, trying to figure out what had happened.

He had passed out?

He had to have. His gaze was lidded as he looked around, noticing that the men that had been in the room with him were gone and-

The pain, he gasped as it returned with a vengeance, his head felt like it was being split open and his bones felt like they were being ripped out one by one.

Whoever had been tapping his cheeks turned his face in their direction and Ran was too weak to try to protest the disarmingly soft touch, but he wasn’t even sure if he would’ve protested it if he could--the tenderness was welcoming considering the brutal treatment he had been subjected to over the last… well, he wasn’t sure how long he’d been there.

Unless it’s another form of interrogation, his mind spun, unfocused eyes trying to figure out who exactly was kneeling in front of him so he could understand what was happening. His eyes narrowed and-

“Y/n?” Ran couldn’t tell if he was hallucinating—but he couldn’t be. He could feel your hands cupping his cheeks, and he could feel your fingers running along his face—trembling over the blood and bruises—he could feel the way your hands shook against his skin, and he could see the tears streaming down your face and he could see your lips moving even if he couldn’t quite make out what you were saying.

The relief that hit him was debilitating, he couldn’t find the strength to hold his body up as you cut through the thick ropes with a pocket knife, falling limp into you. His breath was sharp, ragged as his face dropped to the crook of your neck. Everything hurt. He could barely hold his eyes open but it was okay. It was okay because-

“I knew-“ Ran’s tongue felt heavy as he tried to speak, to tell you that he knew you would come, that he hadn’t given up but his vision was going dark and it felt like pins and needles were being stuck in his skin all over his body.

“Shhh,” you said softly, lips next to his ear, and even though your voice shook, Ran couldn’t help but relax further into your arms, letting the exhaustion and pain take hold as his body began to give out, “It’s okay, I’ve got you now. Rest.”

---

7.6k words

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK GREATLY APPRECIATED

#ran x reader #rindou x reader #ran smut #rindou smut #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #ran x you #rindou x you #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev smut #haitani ran x reader #haitani rindou x reader #haitani ran x you #haitani rindou x you

697 notes · View notes

whumpcereal · 10 months

Text

behavior modification, part twenty-one

masterlist here.

content warnings for: EXPLICIT noncon/dubcon, noncon drugging, forced nudity, cages, conditioned whumpee, multiple whumpers, intimate whumpers, bbu/bbu-adjacent, psychological whump

part twenty-one, easier

It gets easier.

Jack doesn’t know how, but he does know why. It has to get easier, or there will never be any relief. It was the same with Bill, with all the others; the more he fought, the worse everything hurt. And this, this “arrangement” with Ivan is never going to end. He may still have his name, he may not have been obliterated by the Drip, but Jack is property of WRU now. Just as he was always meant to be.

He is good. Sweet. Compliant. He is an instrument of pleasure, and he serves his master well.

And so, it gets easier because it has to. It’s the only way he can face his future, such as it is.

Ivan is a good master. Even if the first time he took Jack was painful, it was for Jack’s own good. So that he would know better than to resist again. And he does know better now. He won’t resist. He can’t. This is what he wants. It is the only thing he can want.

In the morning, he swallows Ivan down with his breakfast. Then, if Ivan doesn’t have any clients, he is allowed to go upstairs. He crawls on all fours like the pet that he is, but Ivan doesn’t muzzle him. There’s no need. Jack slips under Ivan’s desk, and he waits for the tap on his cheek that lets him know he is needed. Sometimes, Ivan rests in Jack’s mouth for hours, but Jack doesn’t complain. He’s used to it now.

If Ivan has clients, Jack is left in his cage, the beads thrumming inside of him and Joe’s hoodie puddled beneath his head. He doesn’t fight the beads anymore. Instead, he chases the sensation, letting his sweat bathe his bare body. He doesn’t come, though. He knows better; his body knows better. He rises, and he waits. Ivan likes to watch when he returns, likes to listen to Jack’s wanton moans. Sometimes, Ivan watches for a very long time. He likes to watch Jack go blind with want. But Jack knows: he is allowed to want, but not to have. Ivan only gives him release every so often–just to keep things in working order, he says.

In the evening, Jack drinks his water from a bowl at Ivan’s feet. It is cloudy and bitter, and he knows it is drugged, but it doesn’t matter; it’s better than the hood or the leather sack. When the pall of the drug settles around him, when he is warm and pliant and fuzzy and faraway, Ivan carries him upstairs. It wasn’t that way at first. At first, he was restrained or bent over the steel table or forced into position ten–his hands and knees–on the concrete floor. But now, he is such a good boy that he is allowed in the bed. Ivan doesn’t even need to chain him to the headboard anymore.

Sometimes, Ivan keeps him in the bedroom overnight. Not in the bed, because pets do not sleep in beds. But he has a special cage beneath the box frame just for Jack; the latest accessory from WRU’s new line, Ivan says. There is a pillow and a blanket, because Jack is such a spoiled boy. On those nights, Jack sleeps like a baby. He can stretch out, at least; it is better than his basement cage, better than the soiled hoodie. The hoodie doesn’t smell like Joe anymore anyway.

Joe is going to be so proud of him. That’s what Ivan says. Jack hopes it is true.

It is evening again. Jack knows because his bowl is waiting, Ivan’s wingtips shining beside it. He doesn’t look at Ivan’s face; pets show deference to their masters, and Jack is a good pet. But he hears the brisk pop of Ivan’s snap, and he lurches forward on his bruised knees to drink.

“That’s a good boy, Jackie,” Ivan murmurs, scratching his fingers through Jack’s tangled hair. The pressure feels good on his scalp, but Jack knows better than to stop drinking. He has to keep going until every last drop is gone. Until he’s gone with it. Good boys let themselves go.

“You know,” Ivan goes on, “you’ve done such a marvelous job lately. I can see that you’ve really adapted to the training protocol, that you understand your role. And you’re flourishing.”

Jack keeps lapping at the water, but his cheeks color with something that might be pleasure. He’s done a good job. He is who he was always meant to be.

Maybe he will be able to go home soon. He can show Joe everything that he’s learned. Start their new lives together. He knows his place now. He will make Joe so happy. And that will make him happy. He knows it will. There is no happiness but pleasing his master–his owner.

“There are a few hurdles for you to clear before you’re done with training, my boy,” Ivan says. “But I know you’ll handle them with gusto. Won’t you?”

The bowl is empty. Jack’s bare ass slides back to his knees, and he nods without looking up. “Yes, sir.”

Ivan laughs. “Good to hear. Now, tonight, we’ll stay down here in the basement.”

To his credit, Jack’s heart no longer plummets. It doesn’t matter where he is, so long as he is giving Ivan what he wants. That’s all that matters.

“Have I done something wrong, sir?” Jack asks. His voice wavers, just like it is supposed to.

“Not at all, sweet boy, not at all. I just have a very special surprise for you. A challenge. Do you think you’re up to the task, my darling?”

“Yes, sir.” Jack folds over his knees, pressing his forehead to the floor.

Ivan’s toe flicks against Jack’s ass crack, and Jack spreads his knees accordingly.

“I can see that you are,” Ivan laughs. “That’s good. Now, Jackie, I want you to assume position ten.”

Jack shifts to his hands and knees without a second thought.

“Excellent, my boy. Now, you stay–” Ivan holds his hand flat in front of Jack’s face, “And I’ll be right back with your surprise, hmm?”

Ivan sweeps out of the room, leaving the basement door open, and it doesn’t occur to Jack that there might have been a time when he would have tried to follow. To fight. But nothing occurs to Jack at all. He waits, because that’s what he’s been instructed to do. His head is empty.

Ivan isn’t gone for long; only a few minutes have passed when Jack hears the patter of footsteps on the basement stairs.

“You’re not going to believe how far he’s come,” Ivan says. He isn’t speaking to Jack.

“Oh, I’m sure I can believe it,” another voice answers.

The voice is familiar, but Jack can’t quite place it. Whatever Ivan laces the water with is starting to take effect; his ears rush warm and his joints feel like wax. His head lolls on his neck, but he stays on his hands and knees. He will not break position. Cannot.

“Well, Mr. Kenyon! Look at you!”

Mr. Kenyon. The name swims in Jack’s brain. No one’s called him that in so long. It doesn’t even feel like his name anymore.

There’s a gentle nudge at Jack’s backside. “It’s alright, Jackie. You can look up. Show our guest your pretty face.”

Jack looks up, blinking against the overhead light. The man’s face is shadowed, but even so, Jack recognizes him. The sharp chin, the beady eyes, the whispy mouse brown hairline. Immediately, Jack’s balance falters, and he sinks back over his feet.

“Aw, now, Jackie. Don’t be scared. You remember Dr. Seligman, don’t you?” Ivan kneels beside Jack and runs a careful finger over the ridges of Jack’s spine. “He’s the one who helped bring you here to me.”

Jack squeezes his eyes shut, even though he isn’t supposed to. He remembers, just barely. Carl’s low snarl, the smoke detector, the drinks–drinks that Seligman mixed. Snatches of foggy time. Being shunted down stairs. His clothes being cut from his body. Hands, shifting, groping, pulling. Waking up, bound in a straitjacket, in this basement.

Because Jack was taken. Because this is never what he wanted at all. But now, he doesn’t know how to want anything else.

“Open your eyes, sweet boy,” Ivan coos, but his hand rests heavy on the back of Jack’s neck. A warning.

Jack complies. Seligman’s horsey face is just inches from his own.

“Dr. Peters was right about you, wasn’t he?” Seligman’s lips creep into a wet smile. “You’re just perfect.”

And Jack is perfect. When Seligman caresses his cheek with papery fingers, Jack lets his mouth fall open. When Seligman teases his soft palate with a jagged fingernail, Jack does not gag.

“No alarm reaction at all,” Seligman says in wonder. He wipes his wet fingers on Jack’s cheek and swats at Jack’s chin, a silent command for Jack to close his mouth; Jack does. “This is extraordinary, Ivan.”

“Well, I appreciate that.” Ivan’s nails twine with the hair at the nape of Jack’s neck. “He’s almost ready, I think. But I’m still dosing him with a sedative on occasion. That’s part of the reason I asked you to come.”

Seligman stands, still studying Jack from above. “What do you mean?”

“I thought we’d run an experiment,” Ivan says. His touch withdraws, and Jack whines. Ivan only chuckles. “Good boy, Jackie. You just be patient while we discuss. Position five.”

Jack folds in half, a penitent at worship. He listens, but he doesn’t really hear. He is boneless and warm, any real understanding lost in the fog that gets thicker with every slow breath.

“What’s your proposal, Ivan?”

“He’s already been dosed tonight. I say we do what we discussed now, with his typical drugs, and then repeat the exercise tomorrow, without sedating him.”

Seligman sucks his teeth. “So you’ll know if his compliance is drug dependent or not.”

“Precisely.”

Seligman half-laughs. “I suppose I could be talked into it.”

“All for the sake of science, of course.”

“Oh, of course.”

Faraway as Jack is, his stomach still jolts. He knows he’ll do what’s asked of him—there is no asking, not really—but there is an unfamiliar pinprick of fear worrying his belly; he hasn’t been scared in a long time. Still, he stays where he is and waits for instruction.

“You’ll take his mouth,” Ivan says, his voice cool and matter-of-fact, “and I’ll take him from behind.”

No. They can’t do this. Jack can’t do this. He’s never done it before. He is so good, so good at everything else. He can show them, if only they’ll let him. He wants to raise his head, to protest, but he is too fuzzy, too well-trained. He doesn’t move.

“If you insist,” Seligman replies.

“He’s quite adept at oral stimulation. I’ve made note of it in his file.”

Jack closes his eyes again. Yes, he is good at that. He’s always been good at that. Even Bill thought so. But now, he is practiced. A professional.

“I’m sure the agency will be pleased.”

Ivan laughs. “And so will you.” He claps his hands. “Up, Jackie. Ten.”

Jack raises himself to hands and knees, and he keeps his eyes on the slate gray floor. Seligman’s feet move away, but Jack hears the gentle drop of a zipper. Ivan squats down in front of him, tucking his fingers beneath Jack’s chin.

“Now, my good boy, you’re going to show off all of your training. You are so close to being ready for your next step, but we still need to assess, don’t we?”

“Yes, sir,” Jack whispers.

“Good. Now, when Dr. Seligman is ready, you’re going to take him in your mouth, and you are going to make him come. You can do that, can’t you, Jackie?”

Jack nods. He can do that. It doesn’t matter if he wants to. Of course he wants to. Of course he can do this. It’s what he was made for, isn’t it? What he’s been training for?

Ivan grips the sides of Jack’s jaw with punishing strength. “What’s that, sweet boy?”

“Yes, sir.”

Ivan’s fingers relax. “Right. While you’re doing that, I’m going to fuck you. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

The pinprick of fear tears into Jack’s gut, widening, burning. But he nods again, the world blurry in front of his eyes. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome, my darling,” Ivan says. He presses a kiss to Jack’s forehead. “Isn’t this nice, Jackie? Letting others do for you. No choices to make. Just the simple kind of life you were always meant for.”

“He’s a very lucky boy.” Seligman’s naked, downy-haired legs appear just beyond Ivan’s shoulder.

“He is. And his Joe will be so proud.”

Seligman laughs. “Prescott? Oh, Jesus. I’d forgotten.”

Jack whimpers before he can stop himself. They shouldn’t make fun of Joe. Once Jack gets home, he’ll prove what a big man Joe is. He’ll let Joe do whatever he wants, the way he always should have.

“Yes, Jackie works very hard for his Joe.”

“Does Prescott even know–”

Ivan pops to his feet. “Enough talk, I think. Jack knows what to do. Let him show you.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Seligman says.

“Alright, Jackie.” Ivan’s voice drifts behind. “Position one. Let Dr. Seligman guide you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack pushes himself to his feet, but before he can rise to standing, Seligman’s dry hands wrap around his shoulders, holding Jack’s trunk parallel to the floor. Jack hates the feeling of the man’s skin on his, but it doesn’t matter; what he feels is unimportant, and he knows it. Still, he shivers, and Seligman squeezes his shoulders.

“Open that beautiful mouth, Mr. Kenyon,” Seligman says.

Jack follows orders, and when Seligman slips himself–limp, pink, cold–between Jack’s lips, Jack immediately does what’s expected of him. He flattens his tongue, pushes himself down, lets Seligman guide him back and forth, back and forth.

“My goodness,” Seligman breathes. “My goodness.”

Jack doesn’t have any goodness of his own. He is almost grateful when he feels the familiar warmth of Ivan’s hands on his hips.

“That’s it, sweet boy, keep going. Don’t let me distract you,” Ivan murmurs. He kneads his thumbs against Jack’s tailbone, using his knuckles to tease at the cleft between Jack’s buttocks.

Jack isn’t distracted. His cheeks hollow, and when Seligman’s grip grinds against the hinges of his jaw, Jack moans. The sound is protracted, muffled by the weight of Seligman against his tongue, but it doesn’t matter; Seligman laughs and pats his cheek. He’s hard now, and his hips thrust forward against Jack’s waiting face.

“That’s right, Mr. Kenyon. You are the star pupil, aren’t you?”

Jack knows the words are wrong, but just now, he can’t explain why. There is nothing but sensation, nothing but a body that floats in space, ready to be used however his betters see fit. He lets Seligman’s pubis press against his nose; he will breathe when he can. There’s no reason to fight.

“He is quite teachable,” Ivan agrees.

He slaps Jack’s ass, sending Jack’s body forward until Seligman is teasing his throat. Jack’s buttocks are cleaved apart, stretched so far open that he almost feels like he’s being ripped in two. But it’s alright. Ivan is only getting ready to prepare him; Jack is lucky.

There’s a soft hocking sound, and then something warm and slippery drops between Jack’s ass cheeks. Ivan’s thumb slips between the mounds of skin and muscle, and then he circles Jack’s hole.

“Hold him still for a moment,” Ivan says over Jack’s head, and Seligman slows his rhythm, smashing Jack’s face between his sandpaper palms.

“Christ, Ivan. You’ve done a wonderful job.”

One of Ivan’s hands finds purchase on Jack’s hip again; his grip pulses around the bone. “We’ll see, won’t we?”

Ivan guides himself down, and then, with one sticky thrust, he is inside of Jack. He ruts forward, gently, just once. A kindness. Seligman eases himself forward too, laughing a little. But Jack isn’t afraid. He is just a good boy. The warmth spreads inside his head, and his throat flutters as Seligman pushes into it.

Ivan rocks against him. “Now, sweet boy, now, we’re going to see what you’re really made of.”

taglist: @oddsconvert, @darkthingshappen, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, @sparrowsage, @aut0psy1, @mylifeisonthebookshelf, @termsnconditions-apply, @darlingwhump, @squishablesunbeam, @dont-be-gentle-please, @deltaxxk, @irishwhiskeygrl, @keeper-of-all-the-random-things, @hold-him-down, @peachy-anime-blog-blog, @whumpyblogthing, @sowhumpful, @considerablecolors, @ramadiiiisme, @sunnie, @sadboysanonymous, @panic-whump

#behavior modification #tw noncon #jack kenyon oc #ivan peters oc #bbu #nsfwhump #it's been a minute #but jackie's back #tune in soon for a continuation #you know #since the experiment isn't over

119 notes · View notes