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mylifeisactuallyamess · 2 years

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Vantalaður Ást

Ivar Lothbrok x F!Reader

Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

A/N: So I’ve decided to make Mondays my posting day. Not sure how long this fic is going to run on for, it just keeps coming 😅 fic is NSFW 18+ Minors DNI.

Warnings: Alcohol, drunkness, we hate Sigurd in this house. Ivar needs a warning for being Ivar 👀 because the man be fine as heck

Word Count: 2963

Tagging: @ivarisms @majesticwren @acrossthesestars @a-bang-for-your-bucky @youbloodymadgenius @kaybee87

Divider by: @firefly-graphics

“Are you alright?” Kat had snuck up the stairs and was peering into your room. “Sorry I got involved but I didn’t want Sigurd to get away with what he said to you.”

“That’s ok, your input made them believe Ivar for sure.” She sighed slightly.

“Siblings bicker, but these guys are on another level.” You both paused when the front door slammed shut and you grimaced.

“That’s probably Sigurd, or Björn has gone to cool off in the snow,” you muttered falling back onto the bed.

“Look what I grabbed though,” Kat finally revealed what she was holding and you smiled into your hands.

“Oh god no, have you had this stuff before?” You asked. “It’s like poison!” Shaking her head she shut your door and sat down on your bed. “Did you bring glasses?” She frowned, popping the cork from the top.

“You don’t know me very well if you think I need a glass.”

“No, you don’t know this drink if you think it doesn’t need a glass!”

The next couple of hours passed in a blur spent listening to music and finishing off the bottle that you passed between you both.

“I wonder what the boys are doing?” You asked. You were laying on the floor, your legs resting up on the bed and you were staring at the snow as it drifted in the darkness outside but your window was upside down. Kat was leaning over the edge of your bed looking down at you until she rolled over, holding her fingers up to the ceiling.

“I have…so many fingers,” she commented. “I’m sure that’s too many.” A knock at the door drew both your attention and Björn popped his head round.

“Björn!!” You shouted, a wide smile splitting your face. Your legs dropped off the bed with an “oof”. “I can’t…get up.”

“Gods ástvinur. Did you both finish this whole bottle?” He asked in shock, nudging it with his foot. Kat started giggling and you joined in at the smile he tried to hide from you both. “You,” he demanded, pointing at Kat. “Bed.” She couldn’t get off the bed quick enough but her limbs wouldn’t obey and she ended up on a heap on the floor. Björn took pity on her and fireman lifted her over his shoulder with ease. She was yelling and laughing at the same time but he paused and looked down at you. “Ok?”

“I am ok, because apparently I am the whore for the Lothbroks,” you slurred and he frowned.

“You want me to get Hvitserk…?”

“Didn’t you hear? My only choices are Hvitserk or Ubbe,” you whispered from the floor. Björn sighed slightly, rubbing his free hand over his face.

“Ignore Sigurd. He’s gone anyway, don’t care where. He had no right to speak to you like that.”

“It’s fine, I’m a part of the fighting, now I’m really family!” You snorted in an undignified manner, resting your hand on your stomach and staring back up at the ceiling. “Go to bed Björn. I’ll be fine.”

You weren’t sure how long you lay there, you probably dozed because the sky outside was getting lighter in colour and your body was aching from being on the floor. Your need for water made you move and you clumsily made your way downstairs while trying to be as quiet as possible. The light in the kitchen was blinding, your eyes taking time to adjust and you groaned slightly wishing you’d never drunk so damn much. A packet of painkillers on the side caught your attention and you sent a silent thank you to Hvitserk, always looking out for you. Downing them with water you shivered, the cold floor leaching through your thin socks made you head into the living room where the fire was just glowing embers but still creating some decent heat. Flopping down onto the floor you sighed, holding your head in your hands as the tears finally came. You had hoped this trip would go without a hitch but this had been the worst one so far. Usually the fighting happened the next day when being altogether was starting to grate on the brothers and they all just drifted off to do their own thing. You couldn’t help but feel responsible for this most recent blow up, maybe you shouldn’t have come but they were all you had. Spending at least half your life with them meant you were ingrained in their lives as much as they were in yours, and Hvitserk was your best friend.

You turned abruptly at a noise only to see two icy blue eyes staring at you from the sofa. You had no idea he was there thinking you were alone. Slowly Ivar moved, never breaking eye contact as he sat up slowly, the cream blanket fell away to reveal his chest was bare and your eyes were drawn to the tattoos that marked his skin. His hair fell around his face falling across his shoulders, his necklace shifted and settled in the middle of his chest. Neither of you spoke, your chest began to ache because you’d forgotten to breathe as you watched his expression soften the longer he looked at you.

“Why are you crying?” He asked. Your chest released at the sound of his soft voice and you hiccuped a little.

“Everyone falling out, I feel like it’s my fault.” To your surprise he crawled off the sofa and came to a stop next to you. You turned away to concentrate on the fire as he got himself comfortable, dragging his legs into position. You couldn’t help but look at him out of the corner of your eye, seeing his arm muscles and chest flex with his movement making goosebumps erupt up your arms that had nothing to do with the temperature.

“My brothers fight. You know this.” You nodded, not even trusting yourself to speak, what was wrong with you? Maybe it was because you’d never seen Ivar this bare before, or really spoken to him in a one on one capacity. He always chose to engage with you while the others were there and generally it had never been pleasant. “Also Sigurd was out of order.” You raised an eyebrow, you had to agree with him there. The penultimate brother had forever blown hot and cold with you but this was extreme even for him. “He wants to fuck you.”

“Ivar!” You managed to choke out turning to face him in the dying firelight. His gaze quickly flickered over your face before settling on the mark on your cheek, you flinched slightly when he reached for it but you didn’t move away. His fingertips were gentle as he delicately brushed your cheek creating a heat to blossom and flare under your skin.

“Does it hurt?”

“No,” you breathed in reply. Your entire body was frozen, all you could see were his blue eyes boring into yours as he leaned into your space, his hand still on your cheek. Your eyelashes fluttered when his warm breath whispered over your skin, was he going to kiss you? The idea made your heart skip a beat and you softly bit your bottom lip in anticipation.

A door slammed upstairs and you jerked back, scrambling to get up, your hands nervously tugging on the hem of your top as you backed away. Ivar leaned heavily on his right hand, his left falling uselessly into his lap as he watched you retreat. The wall collided with your back making you jump in surprise, finally breaking eye contact with him, you left the room. Footsteps were coming down the stairs and your brain almost shattered with nervousness so you did the only thing that made sense to you and dive outside.

It was freezing, this was a really stupid idea, your feet were instantly wet in the snow, your arms doing nothing to warm your shivering body and your breath rose like a large cloud in the morning sunshine.

“Sæta! Why are you out here with nothing on!” Hvitserk wrapped you in a coat and heaved you off your feet and back into the kitchen, placing your shivering self on a stool. You saw the look of concern on Ivar’s face, the way his brow pulled down slightly had your heart fluttering. At least he had a top on now covering those tattoos that you desperately wanted to trace with your fingers. “What happened?” Hvitserk demanded. Ivar said something in their native language, his lips curling as he scowled. He refused to look at you, looking down at the floor before leaving the room, leaning on his cane as he did, dragging his left foot a little and you wanted to call out, ask him to stay, that you just panicked and it wasn't his fault. But then he was gone and your teeth were still chattering as Hvitserk rubbed his arms up and down yours. Without a word he scooped you up, carrying you into the living room and resting you on the sofa. He poked the fire, producing some sparks and adding another log, next he turned and ripped your wet socks off.

“Why did you do that?” He asked softly, wrapping the blanket that smelled like Ivar around you and tucking it up near your shoulders. Snuggling down you breathed deeply, closing your eyes for a moment just to bask and imagine it was Ivar fussing over you rather than his brother. “Huh?”

“I wanted to try and sober up,” you lied. He smiled, settling on the floor next to you hugging his legs to him as he faced you.

“It did sound like you had a good night last night. You like Björn’s girlfriend?”

“Yeah I do. This is the most time I’ve spent with her and I hope she lasts.”

“He has a ring.” Your eyes widened in shock.

“What?”

“Yeah, only me and Ubbe know, and now you because we might need you to distract her while he sorts everything out,” Hvitserk divulged.

“That’s why he brought her here,” you whispered. “He’s never brought a girlfriend up here before. She’s special.” The log caught fire, the flames roaring and finally the wave of heat reached you, letting the noise of the soft cracks and pops relax you until Hvitserk broke your reverie.

“Are you hungry?”

“I could eat some toast,” you confessed. You didn’t want to move from the warmth and smell of Ivar so you were secretly pleased when Hvitserk told you to stay put.

Next to surface from his bed, was Björn, he stood in the living room in just his joggers, stretching his arms up to the ceiling and showing you his own tattoos but…you weren’t interested in them like you were Ivar’s.

“You ok this morning?” He asked gruffly, leaning on the back of the sofa.

“Yes I am, how’s Kat?” You asked with a sly smile and Björn shook his finger at you.

“Hvitserk told you!”

“He did, but I also know you! Did you really think bringing her wouldn’t set off my suspicions?” You told him.

“I expected you to say something sooner,” he responded, resting a large hand on your head. “Will you help me?”

“Of course. You didn’t even have to ask.” He kissed the top of your head, then straightened up to join Hvitserk in the kitchen. Ubbe joined them and eventually they were all sitting around you laughing and joking while eating their breakfast. You sipped your coffee just letting their banter wash over you, enjoying the rich company they offered.

“Did you say we were going out today Björn?” Ubbe pointedly asked as he collected the empty plates.

“I should go and wake Kat up,” he said, pushing on his thighs as he stood. Hvitserk groaned and Ubbe rolled his eyes.

“I’ve got time for a really long shower then!” You exclaimed with a wide grin.

“You!” Roared Björn, his hands tickling your side making you half scream and roll off the sofa to race up the stairs, finding safety in your room. “You’re lucky I’ve got other things on my mind,” Björn joked as he went past.

“Go get her big man!” You called leaning out of your doorway. You looked across the hall to see Ivar’s door was open, feeling bold, you quietly padded over and pushed it open. He instantly looked up, the frown on his face and possible rebuke that sat on his tongue melted away when he saw it was you.

“What do you want?” He snapped but it didn’t hold his usual dismissive tone. Without a word you grabbed his brush, just concentrating on your hands as you swept it through his soft hair. His scalp was warm under your fingertips you noticed, scooping a tiny bit of his gel you began to twist the first very front section. You had been mucking about with Hvitserk’s hair for years, even Ubbe had let you have a go before he let his grow into the long dreads he had now and your fingers moved with practised precision.

Neither of you said a word which was just as well because your heart was in your throat. It felt like your pulse was throbbing on the roof of your mouth as you pressed your tongue against it, trying to swallow your nerves down. He handed you a clear elastic tie and you needlessly noticed how warm and smooth his fingers were as you took it from him. Moving onto the next section you finally got the courage to look in his mirror, his eyes were watching every move you made. His expression, usually so closed off or angry, was shining with an innocence you never knew he possessed. His wide eyes darted everywhere but your face when he handed you another tie over his shoulder. The next section you made slightly smaller, tugging his hair so it sat properly which pulled a soft moan from him. You paused, worried if you hurt him but he just coughed, his hands fiddling with another tie as he waited for you to finish that section.

He was getting increasingly agitated in his seat but now you'd started he couldn’t very well kick you out halfway through. Moving to the other side of his head you made the sections matching sizes, getting lost in the rhythm of gelling, twisting and adding the hair until you needed to tie it off. You could see his hand rubbing down his thigh and you wondered if he was just uncomfortable.

“I’m nearly done,” you murmured. Your voice sounded so loud in the quiet of the room as you gathered the loose ends and began to braid them, tying them off at each individual end you finally gathered them all up in your hand and tied them all together. You stepped back to admire your handy work, feeling pleased with the end result.

Ivar reached for his cane, heaving himself out of the chair until he was standing before you. His expression was blank, you really had no idea what he was going to say next and you were about to apologise and offer to take it out when he moved. His right hand came up swiftly and cupped your cheek, pulling you towards him. His lips collided roughly with yours and you melted at his touch, leaning slightly into him as you accepted the kiss. He hummed against you, his fingers sliding down to your neck and his thumb pressed into the softness under your chin. You inhaled him through your nose, taking his scent deeply into your lungs, a gentle groan leaving you. His lips left yours for a moment, tilting his head to the other side he watched your expression and the way you sucked your lips into your mouth before coming back for another kiss. This one was softer, more teasing as he made it obvious he wanted to explore the inside of your mouth but a noise from downstairs made all the hairs stand up on your body.

Turning in blind panic you left his room slamming the door behind you and rushing over the landing to your room. You didn’t stop until you were in the shower where you replayed the kiss over and over again. You trailed your fingers over the part of your neck that he had touched and it still felt like his fingers were on your skin. Ubbe’s comment from yesterday about how he thought Ivar liked you and that’s why he was horrible to you was loud and ringing in your thoughts. It was such a childish thing, you were all adults now but if he’d been harbouring this for years then maybe he just never knew how to get out of that behaviour pattern. While you pulled your clothes on you heard his bedroom door open, pausing as you listened to him walk past and begin to head down the stairs. Your heart was thundering inside you, battering against your ribs but nothing you did could calm it down. Holding onto the handle of your own bedroom door you tried to breathe deeply.

“Ah fuck it,” you whispered to yourself. Your nerves were shot, you could feel your palms sweating more and more with each step. You just didn’t want Sigurd to be right about you, that all this time you’d been hanging around because you wanted to sleep with one of the brothers. It weighed on you, maybe that’s why you just blocked away any feelings you had for Ivar and him being mean to you just made it easy. But he stuck up for you, he was nice to you, he kissed you. What the hell did you do now?

#ivar lothbrok x reader #ivar lothbrok #ivar ragnarsson x reader #modern ivar x reader #ivar x femme!reader #ivar #modern ivar #ivar x reader #ivar x you #ivar imagine #my writing #Vikings fanfic #mylifeisactuallyamess #modern au #björn #ubbe #hvitserk #sigurd #fuck sigurd

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emsvegetables · 3 years

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18th: a little sentence exposes kita.

- in which you bump into kita in the streets, and you meet little yumi, the 6-year-old girl he’s babysitting. (she’s cute! she’s adorable! and she’s let something slip?)

no. of words: 1.3k

okay hi holy shit wtf i hope this is okay bc again i just wrote whatever came to my mind and wrote this is one sitting so i apologise if this is subpar or if this was horrible to read. i am so sorry. but i hope this is okay!! i hope you like this ;)

you’re walking down the streets, hands laden with groceries when someone catches your eye.

it’s kita.

ignoring the fact that you had a major crush on him, kita’s always been such a great friend to you. he always helped you carry the water bottle bag on the way to practice, always helped you with your homework if he saw you struggling in class, always helped to carry your books to your locker after class, always bought you extra soybean milk that his grandmother made on days that practice started super early, always lent you his team jacket if you left yours at home by accident and was feeling cold, and always was willing to listen to you vent if you had something to talk about at 2am in the morning. he’s been so sweet to you, but you know it’s just how he was brought up. his grandmother taught him well, and you know that you can’t afford to throw this entire friendship away just because he was being decently nice to you.

when you stand up straighter and shift your groceries onto one hand to wave at him and call his name, you blink when a little girl pokes out from behind him and meets your eyes.

before you can even say or do anything, she’s running forward and hugging you tightly.

“hi!” you say, letting out a laugh, bending down to put the bags of groceries on the floor and hugging her back, “what’s your name?”

“yumi, what did i say about hugging strangers—” kita begins, but falls silent when he meets your eyes and smiles, “hey, (Y/N).”

“hey, kita,” you send him a grateful smile when he bends forward to pick up the groceries you’ve left on the floor.

“your name is yumi, then?” you smile, and pat the little girl’s head when she nods, “how old are you?”

she grins at you toothily, before holding up five fingers, “i’m six!”

you laugh, and pick her up gently, letting her wrap her arms around your shoulders as you shift her into a comfortable position on your arms, “six! wow! you’re so old!”

“another babysitting job?” you say, turning to face kita, who has a smile present on his face.

“well, she’s my neighbour, and i had time, so why not,” he says, before glancing down at the grocery bags he was holding in his arm, “helping your mom to buy these? are you heading home now?”

“i’m sorry, they’re super heavy, i can carry them if you want—”

“no, no, it’s okay,” kita waves you off with a smile, “i don’t mind. i can help you carry them home.”

“but what about yumi—”

“i was just taking her out for a walk. there’s a playground near your house right? we’ll just stop by there after we’re done.”

“we?”

kita falls silent, and when he meets your eyes again, there’s a small blush dusting his cheeks, “if you don’t mind hanging out with us after you bring the groceries home. it’s okay if you don’t want to, of course.”

you smile, and try to ignore the beating in your chest when you hear those words, “of course i don’t mind, kita.”

“cool,” he smiles back, “let’s walk to your house then.”

“i’m a big girl now,” yumi says along the way, and you gasp, “really?”

yumi nods proudly, a pleased smile surfacing on her face, “yes! i learned how to sweep the floor yesterday!”

“good job! you really are a big girl, yumi!” you say, and yumi smiles again, “thank you! you’re very pretty.”

you let out a short laugh and smile at her, “thank you, yumi, you’re very pretty as well.”

“it’s very nice to meet you in person! you’re prettier than the pictures!” yumi says, and you tilt your head slightly in confusion when you hear that.

“in person? pictures?” you question, and you hear kita cough and choke.

“yumi—” kita begins, but yumi merely nods fervently at you and continues on, “yeah! did you know kita has a lot of pictures of you and him in his favourites album? i mean, there’s other people as well, like his grandma! and there’s also this guy with pee-coloured hair, oh, and this guy that looks exactly like the pee dude! only he has gray hair. he’s cool. there’s also this guy that has brown hair, but there’s a lot of pictures of you with him!”

you blink in surprise, and you feel your cheeks start to heat up, and kita sucks in a deep breath and shakes his head, “it’s really not like that, i just add my friends into the album—”

“and kita talks about you a lot! sometimes when he comes over i’ll ask him how his day was, and he always talks about you! he says you’re very pretty and nice! and sometimes, when i go over to his house to give him food, i overhear his grandma asking about you! and kita always talks about how nice you are—”

“yumi, that’s enough,” kita finally cuts in, and yumi falls silent, but continues to smile at you.

“i’m so sorry,” kita leans in to whisper to you as you guys continue to walk, “i sound like a creep. i swear i’m not.”

you laugh, “and that’s what all the creeps say.”

when kita flushes a little bit more and opens his mouth to apologise somemore, you shake your head and put out a hand to stop him, “don’t worry, kita, it’s okay. i know you’re not a creep.”

you smile when you see him relax out of the corner of your eye, and you take a deep breath to try to steady the rapid beating in your chest.

“hey, (Y/N)?”

the both of you were walking home now, after you guys dropped yumi off at her house. kita insisted that he walked you home, even though his house was literally right beside yumi’s. you knew you couldn’t win in an argument against kita because he was stubborn as hell, so you sighed and allowed him to walk you home.

“hmm?”

“about just now,” kita begins, “i’m so sorry, i—”

“kita, relax,” you smile, and reach forward to pat him on the shoulder, “it’s okay. really. i know you aren’t a creep.”

kita laughs, but it sounds forced, and you turn to stare at him, “kita? you okay?”

he sighs, and shuffles his feet slightly before meeting your eyes.

“i’m afraid i haven’t been very honest,” he says, and you raise an eyebrow in confusion.

“i’ve liked you for a while now, (Y/N),” he finally says after a long pause, “but, i’m not forcing you to accept me or anything. i just wanted to let you know the truth. and the pictures? i just add nice pictures of my friends and i into my favourites album, i didn’t really realise that there were a lot of pictures of us. i also didn’t realise i talked so much about you to other people until yumi pointed it out. i understand if you think i’m a total creep and i understand if you don’t want to talk to me ever again.”

you let out a laugh, and it’s kita’s turn to look at you in confusion.

“you’re cute,” you say, and kita lets out a confused noise and widens his eyes.

“what?”

“i said you’re cute, kita,” you grin, and you reach forward to wrap your arms around his neck, “you might not know this, but i kinda like you too.”

and when you pull back, his eyes are shining, and there’s a wide smile spread across his face.

back to my fluffvember masterlist!

general taglist :)

send an ask to be added in :D

@mrs-kuroojinguji @galacticstxrdust @h0rny-m3ss @strawberriimilkshake @lexysclubhouse @alluringeternity @aam1na @simpinghrs @boosyboo9206 @earl-mint-tea @sachirou-senpai @kuboyasuuu @cotton-hashira @kellesvt @mochipk @ohbois-biggay-bnha @deadontheinsidebut @atsumubabe @wisepandaslimeland @kenmasbabie @doodleniella @tttournesolll @millie-mint @the-moons-raes @chaosamu @flairlust @l3v1achan @bellesowl @wheeshllumi @karasimpno @sodasketches @dai-tsukki-desu @isentsworld @lavearchives

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send an ask if you only want to be added to this instead of the general taglist!

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i’ll tag those that i wasn’t able to tag later!!! this is a scheduled post.

#kita x reader #kita shinsuke x reader #haikyuu x reader

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elriel-oblivion · 3 years

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I think it's been three days? Dunno, I don't keep track of day or night like I should lol but here's part three 😁 Next part up in five days so I can waste even more time before writing part six pft 😅 Thanks to all who interacted with the last post 😊🥰🤗

Word count: 3K. Lemme know if you'd like to tagged/removed 😊

Shoutout to @julesherondalex @verifiefangirl and @queen-of-glass for picking up on my fave paragraphs in the last part 😁😭 Can anyone do it again? Maybe I should make this a thing lol, shoutout to anyone who can find my faves. I think there are only two (or technically three?) this time 😅

Also, I'll prob put this up on AO3 this weekend, thanks to @acourtofcouture for reminding me 😊

AO3

Ashes from the Deep

Part III

Warmth soaked into Azriel as Elain poured a jug of water over his head. His throat loosened as that warmth fluttered through his body, pulsing against those frozen veins and humming under his skin. Goosebumps tickled his arms.

But it was nothing compared to the sheer bliss that rippled through him as her fingers delved into his hair. It was an effort to restrain the groan reaching through his throat, so he let out a light sigh instead. He didn't think it prudent for Elain to hear him moan under her care. She was so kind to do this for him; he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable.

Two more jugs of water followed.

'Is that nice?' she asked, as though it could be anything but. It felt almost exactly like his mother's hands when she'd wash his hair in those so few minutes he was allowed to see her every week. Gentle and tender and pleasant.

He could fall asleep here if he weren't so aware of Elain in the room with him. Touching him. As it were, that warmth pulled deeper into him, loosing his muscles, thawing his bones.

'It is.' His voice sounded thick and he cleared his throat.

She was silent as her fingers worked, and after a minute or two, she rubbed soap into her hands. The scent of lavender filled the air. She massaged his scalp and lathered his locks, her touch so comforting it almost broke him.

Cauldron boil him, she was so much like his mother, right down to the scent of the soap she used. Her touch had just the right amounts of care and force as it worked across his scalp, relieving a knot of tension at the base of his skull.

His blood was now a soft thrum under his skin, that warmth guiding him further from consciousness, like he was wrapped in his shadows, safe from expectations, safe from judgement, safe from the world.

'Azriel?' came Elain's voice.

He jolted, eyes snapping open. 'Huh?'

She let out a light laugh. 'Your shadows are sort of hiding your head.'

Indeed, his shadows swirled around him, thickest by his eyes. 'Sorry,' he murmured, leashing them back in.

'Don't be. You can close your eyes again.'

As he did, he noted how soft her voice had been, the sombre touch to her words. She hadn't stepped away from his shadows. They must've been cold on her skin, but she'd made no comment. What did she think of them? It irked him not to know.

She continued her work, occasionally adding more water to his hair. Her fingertips rubbed his scalp, the cool night air touched with that lovely lavender.

Behind his closed eyelids, his mother smiled at him. Her smile was so sweet, so radiant and inviting, so homely that he wished he could freeze time to extend that one hour into eternity.

'You're so beautiful, my boy,' she whispered, her voice tender. Her arms were extended and he ran into them, savouring the comfort he found there. It was astonishing that he could experience this warmth after those long miserable days in that cell.

Those days. They often blended into each other, dark and dank as the cell itself. When he'd be taken to see his mother, light through the windows was painful as it pierced him. It was always too bright, the sun. Always too penetrating, like those rays sought him out to display all his wrongness - especially his shadows, a frenzied, wild and unchained beast before he learnt to control them. Terrible, dark magic not born of the Mother, his father constantly claimed.

And oh, how dark those shadows looked in the sunlight.

But then he'd be reunited with his mother, and her light was mellow. Soft like a caress, serene as sunset, always calming his hurricane of shadows. She bathed him in her light, let it wash over him with her smiles and kind words, ever flowing in their hours together.

He regretted most the little time he had with his mother growing up. Resented it, for it was neither of their faults. It was always too fast, that weekly hour, and when he was finally thrown in the Illyrian camps without a clue what his culture truly meant, it was eternities before he could see his mother again and bask in her soothing glow. Those times were long and cold, even with his found brothers by his side.

His mother's image faded into darkness as something soft touched his eye. 'Mother?' he rasped.

'No, it's Elain,' whispered Elain.

Elain? As he opened his eyes and blinked, his murky vision cleared and he found her staring down at him in her dim bathroom, brow creased. His shadows were everywhere but one of her hands held a fresh towel; the other hovered by his eye. He dispersed his shadows into clear air. What did she make of his address?

And was that salt he scented?

Cauldron, did he - did he cry?

'I asked you to lift your head but you'd fallen asleep,' Elain said. 'I didn't want to wake you, but we should dry your hair before you really go to sleep. Especially if you'll be going outside again. Although I would ask you to consider taking a guest room.' She frowned.

When had he fallen asleep? And how could it have been so sound a sleep that he didn't feel Elain finish? There must be magic in those fingertips of hers to relax him so deeply.

'Right,' he said, slowly sitting up. His neck was stiff and Elain reached behind to hold it as he pulled it forward. Water dripped down his temples, off his head, some drops pattering on the floor.

Elain patted his head with the towel, wiping his neck and forehead. She brushed wet strands away from his face, her focus so intent on his hair. He dropped his heavy head, and she gave the back a more thorough dry. A few minutes of ruffling his hair around, during which she pulled the towel from his neck, and she seemed satisfied. She raked her fingers through his hair, flattening the spiky mess he was sure sat atop his head, and a ripple of comfort descended through him. She discarded the towels on her bathtub.

As a thin breeze breathed over his wet head, he noticed the plants resting on small stools around the tub. How did he not see them earlier? Exhaustion, he supposed.

Blooms and vines overflowed their small pots, cascading down in bursts of bright colour. Three hanging baskets of what he smelled as rosemary lined the wall, wild green clusters of stems trailing over the edges and hiding the ivory stone behind. He wanted to touch all those soft petals and velveteen leaves, feel the depth of Elain's care through their touch.

He made to stand, but she held his shoulder. 'Wait,' she said. 'I want to clean your face, too.'

He'd forgotten about all the dirt she'd found there earlier.

She wet a cloth and knelt by his side, touching the cloth to his cheek, right above the gash that rogue Illyrian had opened earlier.

He winced, the skin tight where the mud had dried.

'Sorry,' she said softly, pausing.

With a smile, he gave her the same response she'd given him earlier: 'Don't be.'

Elain breathed a laugh and dipped her head. 'That cut does look very bad, though. I think I'll have to clean it with alcohol too.'

'Let's crack open that wine, then.'

She laughed again and blushed. 'Not tonight, Azriel.' And she patted his cheek again, rubbing off the dirt and blood.

The sound of his name on her tongue heated his blood. It wasn't that pleasant warmth as she'd washed his hair; no, this was something more charged. Something that settled his weariness into a quiet hum and left him a little more awake.

He drew in his shadows, sending them through his veins. The cool they delivered wasn't nearly enough to pacify his rising heartbeat. Not with Elain so close. If he moved forward just a few inches, there'd be no space left between them.

He didn't usually think of Elain like this. Think of the feel of her mouth on his.

He blamed the exhaustion, even as it hunkered down.

And - she was so lovely. And he was Azriel. He should be disgusted that he was here, letting her tend to him, making jokes with her, imagining them kissing. That was enough to tame his heart a while.

But Cauldron boil him. How would he sleep with his mind teeming with so much conflict. The dead girl and her family, his mother. Elain too now, whether he liked it or not. He'd hoped his physical fatigue would win over his crowded mind. That he'd get some proper rest and deal with all the rogue Illyrian troubles and whatever else later.

Apparently not this night.

As Elain stood and washed the cloth, he let out a deep breath through his nose, then shifted on the seat, hoping to put more space between them. Distance - even an inch - might be helpful.

Not that he'd make the first move.

He never did.

Elain knelt down again, wiping the cloth across his jawline, nose, cheek. He faced her to give her more access, but she kept her gaze intent everywhere except his eyes, as if cleaning his skin required her utmost focus.

Look at me, he almost said. With her so close to him, it was maddening not to share even an accidental glance.

She abruptly went to close the window, a heavier silence settling over the room, then moved to the cupboard by the door, pulling out a small bottle of alcohol. Her petite frame looked so delicate, yet a tautness relaxed from her body in the way her shoulders loosened. It was probably just her defence against the cold, though the temperature was nothing but mild to him.

She poured a few drops onto a clean cloth and took her place beside him. She cringed. 'This'll hurt.'

He smiled faintly. 'It's all right.' He doubted he'd even feel it.

She delicately touched the cloth to his cheekbone and he clenched his jaw, the alcohol harbouring more ire than he expected. Mother above, that was a deep cut.

Elain creased her brow and patted along the gash. 'Are you all right, Azriel?' Her voice was subdued.

The truth would be more painful to put out. 'I'm all right. Are you all right, Elain?'

'I'm fine.'

He doubted her just as she probably doubted him. The dark circles around her eyes were faint but still there. But theirs was a friendship of mutual respect and boundaries. If she didn't impose on his, he certainly wouldn't do so on hers.

But oh, how he wished she would feel comfortable enough to truly confide in him right now. It wouldn't be the first time she'd done so; he just needed to be patient. But he'd do anything to relieve the tension humming behind her eyes. From her manic visions, pain he knew lurked under her skin and in her mind, general exhaustion from keeping up appearances - he would swallow them all in his shadows and dispel them on the highest wind if it meant she would be all right.

They were silent as she finished up. When she washed the cloth, he turned in the seat and spoke. 'You can talk to me, Elain, whenever you need.'

She beamed at him and her eyes finally met his. 'I know.'

He stood, holding her gaze. Something was very off about that smile.

Her hands fiddled to turn off the tap, the cloth falling from limp fingers. Her body faced his, and her smile fell, brows rising slightly. She cleared her throat. 'We should go downstairs to the fireplace. It'll be warmer there.'

In an instant, they were wrapped in shadows, her wrist in his hand, and the great living room came into view. A thin sheet of moonlight through the windows was the only illumination. Just as their feet found the floor, Elain bent to put three logs into the fireplace, lighting them after a few tries. 'Those shadows are quite convenient at times, aren't they?' she said.

He huffed a laugh and rested a forearm against the mantelpiece, crossing a leg over the other. 'They can be.'

The blaze flared out and she stepped back, looking up at him through that shadowy amber glow. 'Just a few minutes now and we'll be warm.'

Her eyes didn't leave his. And how stunning they were, soft and subtle in the dim light. The brown looked richer among the warm tones of the fire, something like dark chocolate - or rosewood, perhaps, with a mahogany undertone.

'I think you'll need a bandage for that wound,' she said.

'I'll be fine without it.'

'It's quite deep.'

'Not a match for my Illyrian healing.' He smirked, trying to relieve whatever pressure thrummed in the air between them. He hadn't even noticed it come; one moment the air was clear, the next it was pulsing a steady beat. What the hell was this? Did she feel it too? He wished his shadows would just devour the tension, if only to reduce his own shame.

Her eyes flicked to his wings behind him, and they rustled, spreading a bit. He straightened. The heat in his blood turned to a simmer and he knew in his bones it had nothing to do with the fire. Why couldn't he control this? She met his eyes again.

He'd wanted to see her eyes on his, but now they were just too focused, and if she didn't stop looking at him like this, like she could see the blood beginning to bubble beneath his skin -

She cleared her throat and scanned his face, likely checking she hadn't missed anything. 'Oh,' she said, raising a finger to his temple.

Her touch on his skin sent his blood boiling. His heart was pounding a loud rhythm and because his mind was so muddled from the fight and the blood and his childhood somehow entering his conscience, and the lines between the past and the present were so blurred tonight, and this heat was just searing - he grasped Elain's wrist where it hovered by his face.

Her breath hitched, eyes snapping to his.

This was wrong, this was so utterly wrong, but he couldn't let go. What had he done?

She stared at him, through him. 'I can hear your heartbeat,' she choked out.

Through the crackling fire, she could hear him.

He was silent. His body tensed.

'And it's a beautiful sound.'

His pulse spiked like his heart sang out to her, called her name. Did she - could she - feel the same as he?

'You're beautiful, too,' he breathed.

The air was stifling. Cursed flames. Every thought in his head narrowed to the girl before him. Her eyes glistened.

He wasn't sure he was breathing.

Was she?

Her eyes swept his face. They stopped at his lips.

'Are you going to kiss me?' she whispered.

So focused on her plump, rosy lips, he almost didn't hear the hiss of a log as it tumbled further into the fire. His throat bobbed. Maybe - just maybe this could be okay. Maybe if she wanted it as much as he did, he could put aside his own self-loathing for a moment. Elain was different, an essence of light in and of herself. Her core radiated brilliance; it'd take more than just a few of his shadows to snuff out her glow.

And damn the consequences anyway. The Azriel of later would deal with them. If he didn't burn alive here first.

He swallowed. 'Only if you want me to.'

'Yes.'

His chest tightened at the resolve in her tone. Yearning and compunction warred within. He craved her touch, yet disgrace corded his heart. How could he even think this could be fine? She would be poisoned, made impure by his mouth.

'I know what you're thinking,' she said, 'and I want you to know I trust you, Azriel. You will do me no harm. You couldn't.'

She trusted him. He wasn't sure why, but she trusted him. What could he give in return? His scars? He lowered his gaze, her wrist still soft in his hand. He felt his arm move like a dead weight, but it was only the feel of her thumb on his brow, smoothing out the crease there, that mollified him, that unravelled and burned away that cord of disgrace. He released a long breath.

'I trust you, Azriel. So kiss me.'

And it was the clarity in her voice, the pure stability that had him leaning down - slowly, so slowly. Doubt flickered along his bones but he couldn't savour the anticipation enough. This moment would change their path for ever.

His heart thundered with every inch he yielded, his free hand coming up to cup her cheek, fingers setting so perfectly over the delicate plane of her face. Her breath stilled when he was but a whisper from her mouth, and he paused.

Her floral scent fanned him, melding with the smokiness of the flames. Was that datura he smelled? Those exquisite flowers he loved so much, with their large petals curling off in tapered tips so like his own shadows. The first memory he had of them, that conversation where Elain had grabbed his wrist.

He was still holding hers now.

Her doe eyes were so steady on his. 'Kiss me,' she murmured.

He closed his eyes and removed the space between them.

So much for never making the first move.

___

So what's your fave ice cream flavour?

Feedback, constructive criticism welcomed, thanks for reading 😊

@illyrian-lover-flower @julesherondalex @nooriee @mis-lil-red @verifiefangirl @tswaney17 @a-happybird @thewayshedreamed @sleeping-and-books @thefangirlofhp

#elain archeron #azriel #azriel acotar #elriel #elain x azriel #acotar

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hidden-otaku-stuff · 4 years

Text

Lockscreens (ch. 11)

tw: insecurities, mentions of dark thoughts, feelings of unbelonging, implicit sex, mentions of cheating (no actual cheating just thinking about it)

Word count: 4.8k

Genre: Angst, fluff

All trigger warnings will be tagged and posted at the beginning of each chapter! This will have *manga spoilers*

Pairings: Bokuto x fem!reader, Kuroo x fem!reader

Summary: Nearly four years ago, Bokuto left the love of his life for volleyball. Despite all the time, he’s still very much in love with her. He comes home to a major surprise leaving him wondering…What happened while he was gone?

Masterlist | prev | next

ch. 11: Quality Time

“You’re Daddy’s friend!”

“Yes, baby. This is Bokuto. He’s Mommy and Daddy’s friend okay?” Hikori nodded, fingers reaching towards Bokuto’s head. “Don’t do that, Hiki.”

“But he let me do it last time!”

(Name) raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t known that Bokuto and Hikori had met let alone interacted. “Ask Kou-san first though, okay?”

Hikori’s lip jutted out in a pout before he nodded. “Yes Mama.” He looked up at Bokuto. “Can I touch your hair, Kou-san?”

“Sure thing buddy.” Bokuto scooped Hikori up, holding him against his chest so that Hikori could play with the dual-toned locks. A pang shot through his heart. Would this have been a common occurrence if he’d stayed?

(Name) watched with a heavy-hearted expression before she shook her head. “How was daycare today, Hiki?”

“Good!” He chirped. “Aiko and I coloured.”

“Aw, that’s nice,” (Name) smiled.

“Who’s Aiko?” Bokuto asked, feeling Hikori let go of his hair.

“Konoha’s daughter,” (Name) replied. Bokuto’s brow furrowed slightly. They were close to Konoha? Did everyone know except for him? “What do you wanna do today, Hiki? Do you wanna go to the park today?”

“Yes please, Mama!” Hikori put his arms out, reaching for his mother. “Mama hold me!”

(Name) giggled, taking her son into her arms. She glanced over at Bokuto who was barely hiding his disappointment. “Did you drive, Kou?”

“Yeah I did.”

“Hmm, drive to your place, and we’ll go to a park nearby yours, ok?” She offers. His expression brightens as he nods. “Text me the address and I’ll meet you there.” (Name) gently holds Hikori’s hand, leading him to her car.

“Mama?”

“Yes Hiki?”

“Who is Kou-san?”

(Name) looks into her rearview mirror, eyeing her son as her expression falters slightly. Those golden pools shone brightly with innocence as they reflected the sun.

Who was Bokuto to her? To Kuroo? An ex-boyfriend? An ex-best friend? By all virtues, they had never officially ended their relationship and she had simply moved on.

She swallowed, grasping the steering wheel harder. “Kou-san?”

“Mmhm!” He gave her a lopsided grin, fists clenching with excitement as he wiggled in his booster seat.

She hesitated. (Name) and Kuroo had agreed to hold off on explaining to Hikori who Bokuto was to him, but how was she to answer this question now? She desperately regretted not talking to Kuroo and agreeing on something.

“Back in high-school, Bokuto was close friends with me and your father,” she replied finally. “We went to college together too.”

“Why hasn’t he been around sooner?” Hikori tilted his head, fists opening and closing rapidly.

“Do you remember Daddy’s job?”

“With the volleyball team?” Hikori perked up, nodding. His father had brought him a Black Jackal mascot plushie with a jersey on it - ironically one with the Number 12 on it though she wasn’t sure whether or not it was intentional on Kuroo’s part.

“Well, Kou-san plays on that team.” She carefully turned, braking as they approached a stop-light. Her heart clenched with pain as she fought to keep her voice steady. “He moved to Osaka many years ago and hasn’t been back since. That’s why you haven’t met him yet, baby.”

“Oh okay!” Hikori nodded, satisfied with his mother’s answers. “Do you think he could show me how to play volleyball?”

“Of course, bubba. Just ask him, okay?”

As she pulled up into the complex, (Name) took one last steadying breath. For their son’s sake, she would make this work. Or at least put in the best effort to do so.

*****

“Wow, you’re pretty good at this ‘Kori!” Bokuto beamed, pride swelling in his chest as he watched his son serve.

“Thank you Kou-san!” Hikori chirped, grinning. Bokuto’s heart stuttered. Hikori really was his mother’s son. That toothy grin looked exactly like (Name)’s. He spared a glance at his ex-girlfriend who was sitting at the park bench, watching them play. “Aki-san and Iwa-san taught me!”

Bokuto’s attention was drawn back to Hikori as he watched him bounce the ball a few times in preparation for another serve. “Is that so?”

Hikori nodded eagerly. “When Mama and Aya-san are too busy, Iwa-san sometimes takes me and Aiko to the courts and teaches us how to play.”

“Who’s Aya-san?”

“Aiko’s mama and Mama’s best friend.”

“I see.” Bokuto steps forward, holding a hand out to Hikori. “Do you wanna learn how to do a jump-serve?”

Hikori’s golden eyes brightened as he looked up at Bokuto, nodding vehemently. “That’d be so cool! Iwa-san promised he’d teach me, but he said that I was too little to do it.”

Bokuto shook his head, grinning proudly. “Don’t worry, ‘Kori! I’ll teach ya.”

Silently, a battle raged within Bokuto. Not only had he lost the love of his life, he’d also lost the opportunity to raise their son with her. Huh. Their son. It was still an odd thought that he couldn’t wrap his head around.

(Name) had knowingly let him leave for the Jackals even though she was pregnant with their son and Bokuto couldn’t figure out whether that was selfish on her part, or on his.

On one hand, he’d had the opportunity to go pro, and though he missed her constantly, he wouldn’t give up his career for anything. On the other hand, other guys were teaching his son how to play volleyball. Something that he’d always dreamed of doing.

“That’s it Rin!” Bokuto grinned, watching as Rin received the ball perfectly. “Let’s take a break now and then I’ll show you how to serve, okay?” Bokuto promised with Rin nodding eagerly.

“Okay Kou-san!” Rin ran towards his sister who was reading beside (Name), boasting about what he had accomplished.

Bokuto came up and took a seat besides (Name), who handed him a water bottle and a towel. He chuckled, what a manager, he thought fondly as he drank the water. “You look like you’re having a ton of fun, Kou,” she laughed, wiping the sweat off of his forehead.

He grinned, nosing her cheek. “I am!” He plops down beside her, throwing a sweaty arm over her shoulder. Besides wrinkling her nose at his sweat, she just leans into his form. “I can’t wait to teach my kids how to play. Do you think they’ll wanna be a wing-spiker too?”

(Name) giggled, patting his thigh. “I’m sure at least one of them will.”

“At least one?” Bokuto perked up, glancing down at her as she fiddled with the cap on his bottle.

“Well, yeah. I’m sure you’d be an excellent father, Kou, and I wouldn’t mind having kids with you. Maybe one boy, one girl?”

He leaned forward, peppering kisses all over her face. “That’d be fantastic,” he breathed, leaning his forehead against the side of hers. “I can’t convince you to have an entire volleyball team worth of kids, can I?” he teased.

She pushed his face away, face burning at the mere idea and she was grateful for Rin. “Kou-san, let’s play!” Rin interrupted, crossing his arms as he stood in front of the couple. “Stop being gross with (Nickname)-san!”

“Ok, ok, I’m coming!” Bokuto chuckled, standing up and ruffling Rin’s hair. As he made his way back to the makeshift net, he couldn’t help the final glance back to his girlfriend. Bokuto pointed at Rin, the volleyball, and then (Name) mouthing, “Our kids will be amazing at volleyball.” Laughing, she threw him a thumbs-up, nodding fondly. Yes, yes they will be.

Bokuto shook his head, looking back down at Hikori. The past was in the past. All he had now was to look forward to the future.

“Can we get ice cream, Kou-san?”

“Huh?” He looked down at Hikori who had caught the ball. He smiled, ruffling his spiky hair. “We’ll have to ask your mom if that’s okay.”

Hikori beamed, sprinting towards (Name). “Mama!”

She looked up from her laptop at her son, giving him a gentle smile. “What’s up, Hiki? Did you have fun with Kou-san?”

Hikori nodded excitedly, grabbing her hand slightly. “Can we go get ice cream?”

(Name) hesitated for a moment, checking her wrist before nodding. “Of course, Hiki. But don’t forget, we have to be home before Dad, okay?” He fist-pumps, nodding. She looked up at Bokuto who had come to stand beside her. “Know any good ice cream parlours around here?”

“Where are we going?” (Name) giggled, squeezing Bokuto’s hand. It was their first ever date.

“It’s a surprise!” He replied, grinning down at her. “Here we are!” They stop in front of an American-style vintage, the bright red contrasting sharply with the black and white checkers of the ground. Bokuto escorts her to one of the booths, letting her slide into the vinyl seat before sitting in the opposite seat.

“Wow, Kou, this place is so nice!” Her eyes widened as she took in the scenery.

“Welcome! Have you two been here before?”

They looked up to the waiter, (Name)’s eyes sparkling as she shook her head. “I haven’t, this is my first time.”

Bokuto smiled, playing with her fingers. “Awesome, well welcome! What can I get started for ya?”

“Can I get a birthday cake milkshake?” (Name) grinned.

“You most certainly can. And for you, sir?”

“Can I get a banana split please?”

“Got it, I’ll have that out for you in just a second.” The waiter left, leaving the couple to their own devices.

Bokuto stared awkwardly at her, playing with his fingers as he struggled to make conversation. Why was it so hard? They’ve been friends for so many years now. He opened his mouth, sucking in air to say something only to snap his mouth shut again.

“You’re acting so silly, Kou,” (Name) snorted. “It’s just me! Y’know, your best friend since first year?”

“I know but it’s different now!” He argued, crossing his arms as his bottom lip jutted out.

“Why? Because you decided to change the title from best friend to girlfriend?” Her expression softens. “Kou, it doesn’t change our relationship much. I mean, sure we can kiss and stuff now, but we’ve always held hands. We’ve always called each other late at night. We’ve always cuddled when we watch movies or stuff.” Her hands extend, gently pulling his clasped hands apart and holding them in hers. “You’re my best friend before you’re my boyfriend, Kou.”

“And here they are!” The waiter chose this time to return, placing the banana split between them and placing the milkshake in front of (Name). “Is there anything else I can help ya with today?”

“No, we’re fine,” (Name) smiled up at him. He nods at them before disappearing back behind the counter. She brings the milkshake closer to herself, taking a sip. Looking up, she sees Bokuto staring at her with his mouth slightly agape. “What is it?”

His cheeks glowed bright red as he shook his head. “Nothing, it’s just,” he shrugged, “you’re my best friend first too, (Nickname). Thanks for giving me a chance.”

She giggled, shaking her head now. “There’s nothing to thank there, Kou. I’m happy to see where this takes us.” Taking another sip, she grins. “This is so good!”

“Right?!” He perked up, scooping a bit of everything into his spoon. He carefully sliced a bit of the strawberry, chocolate, vanilla with the banana and various syrups into his spoon before bringing it to her lips.

(Name) opens her mouth slightly, only for Bokuto to panic and swipe the ice cream across her cheek. Her eyes widened as she stared between Bokuto, the spoon, and the banana split. They burst into laughter, the tension dispelled. Bokuto sighed, cheeks darkening. Opening his mouth to apologise, he was interrupted by (Name) swiping her finger into the whipped cream and dabbing it onto his nose.

“There! Now we’re even,” she grinned.

Bokuto threw his head back, laughing heartily. “Yeah, I guess we are.”

“Still the same flavour, (Nickname)?” Bokuto teased as she placed her order at the counter.

“Nothing wrong with getting a classic!” She retorted, sticking her tongue out at him. Bokuto chuckled as they watched Hikori choose his flavours.

“Mama?”

“Yes Hiki?”

“Can I please get sprinkles with mine?”

She gave him a fond smile, ruffling his hair. “Only this once. You aren’t allowed too many sweets, but since Kou-san is here, I’ll let it slide.”

Hikori mirrored her smile, though his was missing a tooth here and there. “You’re the best Mama!”

“I’m your only Mama,” (Name) chuckled, bending down and nuzzling into her son’s cheek.

“That’s why you’re the bestest one there is!”

Bokuto paid for their ice cream, handing Hikori’s cup to the child. “C’mon, let’s go sit down, yeah?”

They found themselves in the same booth that they always did back then. “God, I haven’t been here in years,” (Name) admitted, sipping her milkshake with a loud slurp. “I forgot how much I missed this.”

“Yeah.” Bokuto breathed out.

A comfortable silence settled over the two adults, nostalgia filling them as they reminisced on what was and what could have been. Beside Bokuto, Hikori was messily eating his ice cream. “Oh bubba, use a napkin.” (Name) pulled out some napkins, leaning forward to wipe Hikori’s cheeks of the ice cream.

“Thank you Mama.”

As they continued eating, he couldn’t help but to let his golden eyes trail over (Name). She looked so...happy. And healthy. Much happier than he ever remembered seeing her. The dimples of her eyes had the faintest trace of crows’ feet, probably from smiling too much. It was rare to see her without a smile, after all.

Looking behind (Name)’s head, he spotted a couple with their young daughter, also enjoying their ice cream. His heart clenched as the husband fed his wife a spoonful of his ice cream before they both turned to dote on their child.

He continued to zone out as they threw their trash away, making the walk back to Bokuto’s apartment where she had parked her car.

“This was nice,” (Name) looked over at Bokuto after she had helped Hikori into her car.

“Yeah.” He kicked the ground, staring at his feet.

“Hey, Kou?”

His heart drummed louder in his chest, head shooting up to meet her eyes. “Yes?”

“I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to be around more.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “You have every right to get to know your son.”

His eyes brightened. “Really?” (Name) nods, giving him a soft smile. He wraps his arms around her waist, hugging her and swinging her around causing her to squeal. As he puts her down, he buries his face into her neck, taking in the all-too familiar scent. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” he breathed.

****

“Are we still on for the play-date?” She heard Aya asked. The phone was on speaker as (Name) made dinner.

“Oh shoot,” (Name) groaned. “I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. Do you think you could handle them both?”

Aya laughed, “girl, wasn’t Bokuto supposed to come or something? I’m sure the two of us can wrangle the little rascals.”

“Ah right.” (Name) face-palmed. She’d forgotten that she had invited Bokuto to Hikori and Aiko’s playdate tomorrow. “Yes, that should be fine.”

“What should be fine?” Kuroo came from behind her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Hey darling.”

“Heya handsome.”

“Alright, I’ll see you love-birds in a few weeks for Hiki’s birthday. See you at work tomorrow, dear!”

“See you, Aya.”

“Bye, Aya! Nice talking to ya,” Kuroo chuckled. The phone beeped as Aya hung up. He went around, tasting the zosui. “Mmhm, delicious as always, darling.” He stirred the rice-based soup, eyeing the mackerel in it excitedly.

“I’m sure if I didn’t know how to cook, I wouldn’t have been able to keep you,” (Name) joked, pushing him away. “Go set the table and get Hiki ready for dinner, will you?”

Kuroo wrapped his arms around her, capturing his lips with hers. “Only after you tell me what Aya wanted.”

(Name) rolled her eyes, tasting the steamed vegetables. “Hiki and Aiko have a play-date tomorrow, but I forgot I had that doctor’s appointment. Bokuto was supposed to come anyways, so she said it was fine if it was Bokuto and Hiki that went.”

“I see.” The ghost of a frown graced Kuroo’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

Kuroo shrugged, shaking his head. “Nothing. I’ll go get Hiki.”

He relinquished his grip on her, making his way towards the living room only for her to grab the bottom of his shirt. “Hey.” Kuroo turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “I’m your wife.”

He gave her a forced smile, tilting his head. “Obviously.”

She shook her head, rolling her eyes. “Don’t be silly. I’m your best friend and your wife. So you know that I know when you’re upset. And if we can’t talk to each other, we’re going to have some serious problems. So what’s going on in that head of yours?” (Name) stepped closer, wrapping her arms around her husband. “Talk to me.” She pressed a dainty kiss behind his ear.

Kuroo sighed, letting his hands settle on her hips. “You and Bokuto are hanging out again, huh?”

“Tetsu…”

He held a hand up, fingers brushing against her cheek. “I know it’s because of Hiki, and I know I don’t have a right to be jealous-”

“Don’t say that. You have every right to be jealous.” She blinked at him through guilty eyes. “I’m sorry for not talking to you about it beforehand. I should have communicated better with you.”

Kuroo chuckled, “just like how I should have communicated my worries to you.”

They stood together in silence for a few moments longer before Hikori came barreling into the kitchen. “Daddy!”

“Hey there kiddo!” Kuroo grinned. Hikori launched himself into Kuroo’s arms, causing Kuroo to stumble back at the sheer force of it. “Geez, you’re getting big now, aren’t you?” (Name) smiled as she watched her husband and son interact before turning back to her cooking. These past four years had been the happiest she’s ever been before. There was no way she’d let anything come in between her and Kuroo, let alone threaten his relationship with their son.

****

“Let’s go!” Bokuto cheered, beaming down at his son. He had picked up Aya, Hikori, and Aiko from Aya’s work-place. They really were fortunate to have an on-site daycare. He eyes the women, recognising her. “You’re Konoha’s wife!”

Aya rolled her eyes, “yes, I’m Konoha Aya. Pleasure to meet you, Bokuto. I’ve heard quite a bit about you from my husband.” Bokuto’s expression faltered at her eyes - they were cold in comparison to her voice. “Hiki, Ai, where do you two wanna go today?”

“Can we go to the park, Mama?” Aiko pleaded, fingers interlocked behind her back as she looked up with wide blue eyes.

“We most certainly can, sweetheart.” She ruffled Aiko’s hair. “But first, what do you two want for lunch?”

Hikori bounced on the balls of his feet, looking between Aiko and the adults. “Can we get Maccas?”

Aya smiled fondly at Hikori. “Only this once, ok?” She crouched down, placing her finger on her lips, “Your mom would kill me if she knew so it’ll be our little secret.”

“Okay Aya-san!”

The kids walked in front of them, intertwined hands swinging as they chatted. Aya walked beside the tall male. Bokuto’s heart skipped a beat as he watched his son.

He bounced on the balls of his feet as he anxiously waited on her door-step. “Oh, hello Bokuto-kun. Are you here for (Name)?”

Bokuto nodded, smiling up at her mother. “Hello, (L.Name)-san. How are you doing?”

“I’m doing very well. Please, come in. (Name)’s just about finished getting ready.” Her mother stepped aside, letting the male step into the living room as a mischievous smile made its way onto her face. “In the meantime…” She guided him to the couch, gently pushing him to take a seat while pulling out a leather-bound book. “Would you like to see some photos of (Name) as a child?”

He grinned, nodding his head eagerly. “That’d be fantastic.” She hands him the book, patting his head before heading back to the kitchen with a wink.

Bokuto hummed, opening the book to the very first page to baby photos of his precious girlfriend. He cooed, comparing the photo of her on his lockscreen to her in the album as the years progressed. He flipped the page, finding photos of (Name) as a young school-girl. His golden eyes scanned down the page, his heart filling with warmth until he noticed the one at the very bottom. There were two children in the photo, their backs to the camera as they held hands walking down the street. There was no mistaking it. It was (Name) and Kuroo.

Bokuto’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment, thinking about how close they were to one another. After all, they were childhood friends if he remembered correctly.

A call of his name shook him out of his reverie, snapping the book shut to greet (e/c) eyes as (Name) was pulling on her jacket by the doorway. “Ready to go?” She asked, beaming.

He put the book to the side, forgetting everything except the girl in front of him. “Let’s go, baby.”

He cleared his throat, shaking his head. “What did you mean by that? Why would (Name) be upset with you?”

Aya chuckled, shaking her head. “It’s nothing serious. Ever since Hikori was born, she’s really tried to focus on ensuring that he’s following a nutritious diet.”

“Kou!”

Bokuto flinched, shoulders hunched forward as he looked up at his girlfriend before swallowing the mouthful of fries. “Yes, baby?”

“Are you eating McDonalds again?!” She frowned. “That’s the third time this week!” It was a Wednesday during their midterms week in their second year of college. (Name) had been busy at her internship and returned around 10 PM to find Bokuto lounging on the couch, his laptop on his stomach as he watched some show and bags of McDonalds at his side.

“I was hungry and lazy.” He shrugged. “It isn’t that bad.”

The corner of her mouth twitched before she pinched her nose with a long sigh. “Kou.” He flinched again, heart dropping at the weight of disappointment in her tone. “I love you very very, much. And it’s because I love you that I don’t want you to neglect taking care of yourself.” Her (e/c) orbs pierced his golden ones. “I will help you meal-prep if that’s what it takes, but you absolutely cannot be destroying your body by feeding it junk food. How are you going to be a professional player like this?”

He frowned, head hanging slightly. “Yeah, I know,” he muttered.

Her expression softened. “Let’s make something together, ok? Tomorrow. I’m off and we can just have a casual meal-prep session in the kitchen. How does that sound?” She leaned down, wrapping her arms around his shoulders before pressing her lips to his forehead.

“Sounds perfect, baby.”

He zoned back in, looking at Aya who hadn’t noticed his distracted expression. “She doesn’t mind if the kiddos get Maccas every once in a while, but I still like to treat them as much as possible. They’re kids, y’know? They should be able to live their life.”

“Is Hikori happy?” Bokuto’s eyebrows furrowed, chewing on his bottom lip. He wasn’t sure what answer he wanted to hear. Did he want to hear that his son was happy without his existence? Or did he want to hear that his son felt disconnected from his ‘father’ Kuroo and longed from someone else?

Aya threw her head back in laughter before she gazed at the two children with such warm kindness that Bokuto’s heart stuttered. “That is one of the happiest, most loved kids I know, Bokuto. (Name)’s heart would absolutely shatter if Hiki wasn’t.”

A weight dropped into his stomach as his gaze fell on his laughing son as Hikori swung his and Aiko’s intertwined hands higher and higher. “Yeah.” Bokuto muttered. “I know it would.”

*****

“C’mon, ‘Kori, it’s time to get you home.”

“Aww, do we have to Kou-san?” Hikori’s golden eyes shimmered as his bottom lip jutted out into a pout. “Can’t we play longer?”

Bokuto chuckled, ruffling Hikori’s hair and glancing over at Aya. “Sorry little man, we gotta get you home to your mom and dad.”

Aya squats down, opening her arms out in a hug. “It’s okay Hiki! You’ll see Aiko at daycare tomorrow, remember? You can play with each other then!”

Hikori gave her a hug, still pouting slightly before nodding. “Okay, Aya-san.”

Aya ruffled his hair, “that’s a good boy. Bye, Bokuto. We’ll see you sometime.” With one final wave, Aya and Aiko walked off towards her car.

“Did you have fun today, ‘Kori?” Bokuto asked, glancing in the rearview mirror as he drove his son home. Bokuto gulps.

His home.

The one he used to share with the person he wanted to call his wife.

The person who ended up mothering his kid without him.

“Yep! Thanks for coming, Kou-san.” Hikori kicked his legs, sat in the extra booster seat that (Name) had given him.

Since you’ll be around more, you might as well have one too, she had said.

Bokuto chuckled. “Of course, ‘Kori. Do you like hanging out with Aiko-chan?”

Hikori grinned, nodding. “She’s very pretty. Like a princess!”

“Is that so?” Bokuto smiled, amused. So his son had puppy love? “Did you tell her that?”

“All the time. Mama said the way to a woman’s heart is by being honest and truthful with her.”

His lip twitched, wanting to frown but Bokuto held it still. He gave Hikori a small smile. “Your mother is absolutely right. So make sure you’re always honest to the people you love, ok?”

They pulled up along the curb outside the all-too familiar house. “Thank you, Kou-san.”

“No problem, ‘Kori. Hopefully I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Yes please! You still have to teach me how to do a jump-serve.”

Hikori climbed out of the car, waving at Bokuto before racing towards the front door. Kuroo opened it, greeting his son by ruffling his hair. Hazel eyes met gold as Kuroo gave Bokuto a stiff nod and wave that Bokuto returned.

Bokuto sat in his car, parked there for a moment longer as Kuroo snapped the door shut behind him.

How long had they been together? When scouring their social media, it was hard to differentiate the posts from when they had gotten into the relationship and the ones from before.

After all, even after that ‘subtle’ change, there weren’t many differences. They still posted the same types of selfies. They went on the same type of outings. They still teased each other like they had throughout his history of knowing them. Kuroo and (Name) had always been close, courtesy of their lifelong friendship.

Bokuto pulled away from the curb in front of their house, starting the journey home.

Dark thoughts clouded his thoughts. What if...the reason why (Name) had allowed Bokuto to go to Osaka was because she had been cheating with Kuroo all along? Maybe she had intentionally ghosted him in order to openly pursue her relationship with her best friend. What if she had been dating Kuroo all along and Bokuto was only a placebo partner?

He shook his head, banishing the thought. (Name) had always been a kind person, he reassured himself. She was always there for him, for the good and the bad. She had never given him a reason to doubt her when they were together, and he was not about to let these negative feelings tarnish whatever history they had together.

Bokuto let out a soft sigh. He had done that himself by letting her go and not trying harder.

Why hadn’t he just come back to Tokyo after being ignored?

Why didn’t he just pick up the phone and call her?

Over and over again, the word repeated.

Why wasn’t he good enough?

Why was she with Kuroo?

He snorted. At least that question was easy to answer. Kuroo was her best friend. Kuroo was always there whenever Bokuto couldn’t be. They brought out the best in one another and even Bokuto could admit that they seemed happiest with one another. It was absolutely no wonder why they were together. He parked outside his building, forehead falling against the rubber wheel.

Why had things gone so wrong?

BONUS

“Tetsu!”

“What?”

“Why the hell did you give me a hickey?!”

Kuroo snorts, looking over at his wife as she sat at the vanity, staring into the mirror at her reflection. “Oops?” He smirks. “Hand me that shirt, will you?”

She rolls her eyes, balling it up and throwing it at him. “I told you, no hickeys!” Her husband pulls the shirt on, walking towards her before his arms snaked around her waist. “How the hell am I supposed to explain this hickey?”

The door swung open. “Mom? Dad? Why are you calling for me?”

They blanch, looking at their son who was rubbing his eyes with a plush cat dragging against the ground held in one of his chubby hands. “Oh I’m sorry baby, did we wake you up?”

He nods sleepily, causing their hearts to soften. “C’mon, I’ll take you to bed,” Kuroo promises, releasing his wife and scooping up his son. (Name) throws an old college sweatshirt on before following. She leans against the door-frame, watching as her husband tucks Hikori into bed. Hikori rolls over, instantly falling asleep. Kuroo heads back over to her, a mischievous look on his face. “So I guess he likes being called Hiki?”

(Name) sends him a disgruntled look before huffing and marching right back down the hall to their bedroom. “I can’t believe I married you.”

Kuroo cackled, grinning as he called after her, “I love you too, sweetheart!”

FUN FACTS

💟 After Aya got pregnant and she got closer to (Name), (Name) told her about how she loved the name Aiko and Aya immediately fell in love with the name and begged (Name) to let her use it for her daughter if she were to have one

💟 (Name) loves Aiko as if Aiko was her own daughter, and Aya loves Hikori as if Hikori was her own son. The two families often vacation and plan things together

💟 Kuroo’s and (Name)’s relationship never came up in conversation at Fukurodani reunions and Bokuto had missed the Gym 3 reunions due to them occuring during his games

💟 Kuroo’s moral code made it so that he wanted his son involved with Bokuto in some facet of his life, even though he wasn’t personally ready to allow Bokuto into Hikori’s life - hence the plushie with Bokuto’s jersey

💟 Iwaizumi loves teaching Hikori and Aiko how to play volleyball - often offering to babysit whenever they have a chance to

💟 Konoha and Kuroo often joke that they’ll be related if their kids get married so they might as well get used to it now

💟 Rin often asks about (Name) at family gatherings, whining that he hadn’t seen her in so long.

💟 Bokuto never really thought about kids until he and (Name) had babysat his niece and nephew and he saw how great of a mother she was then

💟 Just like how (Name) and Bokuto would cuddle while watching movies, hold hands, and call each other late at night, Kuroo and (Name) had done those things together first

💟 When Bokuto agreed on “missing this”, he had meant his relationship with (Name). (Name), however, meant visiting the retro dessert diner.

💟 Both Kuroo and (Name) regretted not discussing Bokuto’s role in Hikori’s life and their own emotions about it now that he was back and was aware of the truth.

💟 The couple prioritized communication and trust in their relationship in order to prevent any more issues with one another. It helped that they knew each other so well that they could predict when something may affect the other and increased their own communication

💟 Seeing Aiko and Hikori together made Bokuto wonder whether or not Kuroo and (Name) had the same innate relationship and desire to be with one another

💟 Though Bokuto had always wanted to be an athlete, it was easier as a younger male to eat poorly. Ever since (Name) became more serious about his diet and helped him learn how to track macronutrients and stuff, he took his own diet more seriously. To this day, he still uses some of her recipes.

💟 Bokuto prefers to call Hikori ‘Kori in order to be “different” from Kuroo and everyone else

💟 Bokuto ended up staying up all night plagued with memories of Kuroo and (Name), overthinking everything. He also couldn’t stop imagining a marriage with (Name) but Kuroo’s face always appeared instead of his own

*****

AN: I’m celebrating 600! Please feel free to drop by my inbox to request a Lockscreens supplement or ask the characters a question! I’m also doing matchuips.

Please feel free to pop into my inbox if you have any questions, comments, or concerns 💞 I love interacting with you all!

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strawberrywritings · 4 years

Text

Second problem.

A/N: I am an hour late to posting this and i haven’t proofread, but to make up for it: Señor Galindo makes another appearance! I honestly hope i managed to tag everyone because sometimes i lose a username (sorry in advance)🙈

Hope you like this chapter, ad if you want, let me know what you think in my askbox xx 🍓

ps: look how cute Angel is when he sleeps!!!!!

/ Previous parts

The next hour and a half went by in a blur. You and Angel sat on the sofa as he proceeded to explain to you everything about what he did with the club: the drugs, the tunnels, his past, his mom. Multiple glasses of water later, there was a thick silence in the room, your arms were crossed over your chest as you stared everywhere but him, and he sat there defeated, because he knew what was coming: heartbreak.

He was the first to break the silence, “I opened up myself to you, please say something”. His voice was desperate and your heart ached. “I don’t know what to say. This is… a lot”, you had tears in your eyes, and he might not be a genius like EZ, but he could see how uncomfortable he had made you. And he hated himself for it. He nodded in understanding, and you spoke again, your voice wavering. “I just… I hope you can understand this isn’t easy for me”, rejection was coming Angels’ way, he was sure of it, so he did what he did best: building his walls back and acting as if he wasn’t breaking inside.

“It wasn’t easy for me to tell you all of that shit, either”, his voice got rougher and you looked at him, a frown on your face as your tone got firmer, too. “Well, I’m sorry I’m not used to all of this drug bullshit. – you looked at him, and while the strong façade you had put on started to crumble, Angel’s eyes stayed hard, staring into yours – I’m sorry I’m not from your world, I’m sorry I can’t understand what you’re going through. I can try, for you, but now I just need to come to terms with everything you told me. This may be just another day to you, but not for me. All I’m asking is some time”, you finished your rant with a sob, and his gaze softened at seeing you like that, he wanted to hug you so bad, but he was playing the role of the big bad biker and couldn’t get out of character now. El Pardino’s words echoed in his mind, “If she doesn’t accept it, you just let her go”. He was too afraid of losing you, and he thought that acting like this would make it hurt less. “Call me when you wanna talk”, he got up, making his way to the door and getting out of your house, not looking back.

You remained on the couch, the same couch you and Angel had spent so much time making out and cuddling on, it had become a place for sadness. You cried, and doubted your feelings towards him: was this a sign that it was best to break up with him? Could you take what came with this life? Would this happen again? That night, you couldn’t sleep. Every time you closed your eyes, your saw the pictures again, and every time it was hard to breath. Angel rode home, entering his apartment as if he was in a daze, he walked straight to the cupboard ad grabbed a bottle of tequila, drowning his feelings in alcohol and weed. He drank to escape his reality, to pretend that everything was fine, just for one night.

Angel arrived at the yard late, but when he did show up, everyone could see he looked like shit. He didn’t say a word to anyone and walked straight to the bar, asking Chucky for a bottle of water and some painkillers for his terrible headache. He kept quiet for most of the morning, and then lunchbreak came, so he sat at a random table and began eating. “Ain’t your girl coming around, today? – Coco spoke, plopping down next to his best friend – you could use some tlc to get that fucking shitty mood off yourself”. Angel winced at the mention of you, and Coco looked at him, his brows furrowed. “Nah, I’m good”, Angel replied and continued to eat; his friend kept quiet but looked at EZ, who just shook his head, signaling he also didn’t know what was going on.

In the afternoon, after work, EZ (poor guy, always babysitting and taking care of the others) had to snatch away his brother’s third beer, telling him to go home and get his shit together. That had made Angel scowl at him. “Mind your fucking business, prospect”, he spat the last word like it was an insult. Everyone was silent, not daring to challenge him if he was in a bad mood. Angel didn’t say anything else as he grabbed his stuff and stormed out the clubhouse, Coco going after him. “Hey, hermano, where ya going?”. “Home”. “Talk to me, c’mon”, Coco grabbed his arm and Angel yanked it away harshly, turning towards the other man and looking at him with angry eyes. “I told her everything and she said some shit about needing her space”, Angel huffed out and put his helmet on. “Everything?”. “Everything, Coco. And now I am alone again. I’d appreciate all of you not pouring salt into the wound and just letting me be”. He started his bike and sped off the parking lot, leaving a stunned Coco standing there. When he went back inside and relayed the information to his brothers, they all felt sorry for him and agreed that it would be best to leave him some time to cool off. Nonetheless, the old Angel was, seemingly, back.

You, on your end, weren’t doing much better. You had cried yourself to sleep on the couch, woke up late and had to rush to work. All day, you couldn’t think about anything other than the man that had been in your life for the past months. Luck didn’t seem to be on your side: as soon as the bell rang, marking the start of lunch time, you smelled a familiar cologne, and you turned just in time to see Miguel Galindo approaching you; he was wearing an almond-coloured suit with the usual white shirt underneath, perfectly complementing his skin. He invited you to have lunch with him at the same café you had been to a couple of weeks prior, and you figured you could use some distraction.

Miguel had done his homework: he had Nestor find out what he could about you, where you were from, what schools you attended, how you got to Santo Padre. Knowing all these things (but bringing them up in a way you wouldn’t be able to know he knew), it was easy for him to hold a conversation with you, even though he noticed how you seemed to space out from time to time.

“Is everything alright?”, he politely asked. You were brought out of your thoughts, and you softly smiled at him. “Yes, I’m sorry, I zoned out”, you apologetically smiled and shook your head. “Something’s bothering you?”, he asked, straightening up and leaning forward towards you. “Just… a rough night. Nothing that a good night of relax can’t fix”, you lied, still smiling at him and looking at the time on your phone. “I should probably get back, I have a class in 15 minutes”, you got up and gathered your things in your purse, grabbing the check, which was immediately snatched from your hand. “I’m not letting you pay, señorita. It was my pleasure to have lunch with you”, his hand brushed the small of your back, almost imperceptibly, and he said something to the waiter, who nodded and Miguel led you out of the place.

You were talking by the entrance of the school, just after the bell rang, when you heard the roar of a bike approaching. Instinctively, you averted your gaze from the man in front of you just in time for EZ to climb off his bike and spot you, and spot Miguel: Taza had sent him to see what was wrong with Angel.

“Hey”, he shortly greeted you with a smile, his eyes meeting Miguel’s, who was standing way too close to you for EZ’s liking. “Prospect – Miguel said, an amused smile on his face – what brings you here?”. “Family business, actually. – the prospect turned to you and smiled, completely ignoring the look on the other man’s face – got a minute?”. You nodded and turned to Miguel, “I’m sorry, I have to go”. “Don’t worry, we’ll catch up some other time”, he leaned in and kissed your cheek, a common greeting. EZ looked at the two of you with wide eyes, but as soon as he could, he dragged you over to where his bike was parked but didn’t let go of your arm. He asked you what happened with Angel and you gave him a brief explanation, you really didn’t want to think about last night, or Angel, at all at the moment, and he felt it, too, so he let you be.

“And what the hell was that? Galindo? Really?”, he crossed his arms on his chest and you did the same, not liking the implications of his tone. “It was just lunch. God forbid I relax for an hour, eh? You and club have all these girls around, ready to throw themselves at you – and don’t say it’s not true or it doesn’t matter, Ezekiel. I’ve seen the way they look at y’all, at Angel… I had a shitty night and for once someone manages to get my mind off that, and it’s a problem?”, tears were threatening to spill from your eyes, all the emotions you held inside, spilling out. He never meant to insinuate something, and the fact that you were feeling like shit, just like his brother, meant that the discussion had taken a toll on you, too. Still, it didn’t change the fact that it was Miguel Galindo who helped you take your mind off of Angel.

You sniffled and lowered your head to regain some composure, first of all, because you were in public and secondly because you knew that your outburst to EZ was uncalled for, and he didn’t deserve it. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to. – you said and he nodded, his gaze was full of understanding, but you still felt bad – I have to go, now. I’ll see you”, and with that, you made your way to your car and left. EZ followed your car with his eyes, and when he was sure you couldn’t see him, he got out his phone and called his brother. “Angel, you gotta get your girl back, rápido”.

taglist @scuzmunkie @ifoundmyhappythought @starrynite7114 @angelreyesgirl @my-rosegold-soul @claytoncardenasbabymama @peaches007 @chibsytelford @thickemadame @mrsjaxtellerfan @cocotheclown @elcococruz @woahitslucyylu @everyhowlmarksthedead @justahopelessssromantic @gemini0410 @imagineredwood @samcrobae @enamoured-x @enamouravecleslivresetlechocolat @brattyfics @blessedboo @sadeyesgf @rebel-without-cause-x @general-tiny-mouse @thesandbeneathmytoes @wrcn9fvlcver @ly--canthrope @soaronmywings @cind-in-real-life @danie1432 @briannab1234 @spookys-girl @blackmissfrizzle

#angel reyes x reader #angel reyes imagine #mayans mc imagine #my writing #a series of firsts

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imagine-darksiders · 4 years

Note

Yooo, so I know a long time ago, you wrote a scenario where I think death and Draven were trying to help the human with her period. She was having bad cramps and needed pads and such. Do you still have that story? Lol, I’ve been looking through the tags, but can’t seem to find it (I’m also on my period, so I was reminded of the story and how good it was lol)

Oh yeah! The format was all weird on the old post, but hopefully it’s righted itself on this one.

War: The youngest rider of the apocalypse was slowly coming to learn that humans are far tougher than he’d initially considered. Specifically those humans who have a uterus.

“Oh, come on! Shit. There’s got to be some around here.”

War jerks his head to the side when yet another empty and slightly singed cardboard box goes sailing past his head. He raises a snowy eyebrow down at the offending object as it thuds softly against a shelf of mismatched bottles. Upon inspection, some of the oddly coloured containers have words like ‘shampoo’, ‘conditioner’ and the like. Truly, humans are bewildering.

The horseman’s other eyebrow rises to join its twin as he turns to peer down at you curiously.

“Y/n?” he pipes up, “What are you doing?”

The deep, rumbling voice of your travelling companion doesn’t disturb you from your search aside from tossing your head over a shoulder to look back at him and grumble, “Just looking for something. Won’t be a minute.”

War frown and tilts his hooded head to one side. You’d been ‘just looking for something’ in every single human supermarket you’d come across for the past two days. Something is clearly wrong, but no matter how much he probes, you seem reluctant to divulge anything to him.

Another small box bounces uselessly off his chest and he throws it a cursory scowl before stepping up behind you. He’s about to protest your vague answer when suddenly, you hiss and double over, clutching at your stomach and letting out a string of breathless expletives under your breath.

That in itself would be cause enough to alarm the hulking horseman. But what really rankles him, is that when you’d bent over, he caught a flash of something highly concerning and terribly familiar.

“Y/N!” the horseman barks, raising his hands calmingly, “Don’t move.”

You freeze in your spot, panic suddenly shooting up from your stomach and into your chest.

“Oh god. What? What is it!? Is there something on me? War? What’s wrong!?”

Honestly, you expected him to pull some kind of hideously mutated bug from your shoulder. What you didn’t expect, was for him to huff at you and press his enormous hand on your back, keeping you in place and growling, “Why didn’t you tell me that you’d been wounded?” equal parts frustrated and concerned.

At his exclamation, you pale and shoot a glance back at him before you spot where his gaze is directed. With a curse, you stand up straight and slip out from beneath his hand, twisting yourself painfully around to see if-

“Damn it,” you seethe, “I really liked these trousers.”

War allows his mouth to drop open in a wide gape. Here you are, a small, frail little human, losing precious lifeblood and in obvious pain, but the object of your concern is none other than your clothing. He shakes his head and steps closer to you again.

“If you are injured, allow me to-”

“Hey! Woah there!” you shout, jumping back from the approaching horseman and swatting his hovering hands away, “I’m not injured, I’m just….you know… “

Scowl deepening, War grunts at you questioningly and continues his advance. It takes you a second to realise that he does not, in fact, know.

“Wait….You don’t…” Your face falls incredulously with a hint of mild agony thrown in the mix as a fresh wave of cramps suddenly thrums in your abdomen.

You really do not have the time to explain anatomy to a clueless horseman.

You wave your hands dismissively in the air. “Okay, look. I’ll explain what’s going on, but I really need you to help me find a full box of these.” One of the box-projectiles is held up in front of the horseman’s face. He squints at the bright, eye-catching writing on the side and his lips twist around the foreign word.

“Tampons?”

You click your fingers and point at him excitedly. “That’s the one.”

War casts his gaze around for a moment, then, his eyes land on something on the very top shelf, set far back from the edge. He reaches out and takes it up delicately in his large, gauntleted hand then pouts down at it and gives it a gentle shake. Definitely full.

The horseman passes the box down to you and waits with bated breath as you inspect his find. He almost blanches when you suddenly cry out.

“YES! YES, WAR! These are-” You clutch the prized possessions to your chest and beam up at him, “-These are perfect. Thank you!”

His chest swells with pride.

“Alright,” you shove the tampons into your rucksack and place your hands on your hips, “Ready for code red. I’ll need to find a bathroom soon.”

“Code red?” War squints in confusion and pulls his lips back, exposing his teeth when he remembers that, essentially, you are still bleeding. Humming, you grimace up at his befuddled expression.

“Riiiight, I still owe you an explanation, don’t I?”

He nods urgently.

“Okay, I’ll explain while we try to find some Ibuprofen,” you rumble, placing a hand on your back and wincing at the ache there. War’s vibrant eyes catch the look of discomfort on your face and he immediately starts to pick up boxes, peering down at the faded little words that he doesn’t recognise. “Eye-eyeboop….?” he trails off and stares down at you apologetically. You bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing.

“Come on, it won’t be here, it’ll be in the pharmaceuticals.” Placing your delicate hand on his own, metal arm, you steer the giant horseman out of the isle and launch into what’s sure to be a painful explanation.

That night, your period hit you full force. It alarmed War to no end when you’d suddenly shot up from your seated position next to the fire you’d built and went hurtling behind a rusted transit van whilst shouting, “I’m alright! Don’t follow me, I’ll be right back!”

Naturally, War had gotten up to follow after you, but another scream of, “Don’t you dare come around this van!” had him freezing in place and pacing impatiently.

After only a minute or so, you return, sporting a miserable expression and an exhausted gait.

You collapse on the ground once again, turning to look up at War when he thuds down next to you.

“Code…code red?” he asks, testing the unfamiliar phrase on his tongue. You simply nod and pull your rucksack out from underneath you, rustling through it until you find a bottle of half-drunk water and a small, white painkiller. War was the one to find it, in the end. Only after you’d all but fallen down into a weeping heap before you even made it to the medical supplies. He’d….admittedly lost his cool a bit and started to frantically scour the shelves for the odd pills whilst you sobbed miserably.

In the end, he hadn’t allowed you to walk back to the camp.

Now, you couldn’t be more thankful to the Red Rider if you’d tried. He looks on edge, unsure of himself for once, and thoroughly out of sorts. He wouldn’t admit it to you, but he hated the fact that you were hurt and he hadn’t been able to stop it.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when your head suddenly rests against his arm and you sigh tiredly.

“This sucks. First the end of the world and now this.”

Your hands fall on your stomach and begin to massage it. “Thanks for your help, War.”

He grunts in reply, raising his arm so that you fall against his side instead, then he allows it to fall back to the ground, pinning you against him slightly.

“You should rest over the coming days,” he rumbles.

Your eyes flicker up to him, “War, no. I can’t ask you to put your revenge quest on hold for me.”

“The Destroyer can wait,” the horseman argues softly, “If you bleed out-”

“War, I told you, I’m not going to bleed out,” you scoff. He simply grumbles quietly, but otherwise doesn’t respond.

For close to an hour, you both sit and stare into the fire. War is as alert as ever, ears pricked and hand resting close to Chaos Eater, just in case. You, however, begin to feel your eyes droop. The painkillers have finally begun to work and the distinct lack of pain coupled with the horseman’s warm half-embrace is enough to tempt you closer to sleep.

Reluctantly, you make to stand up, hoping to get to your bedroll before you collapse, but you’re surprised when War suddenly tightens his hold on you and shakes his head. Surprised, but too tired to argue, you thump back down into the nook at his side and rest your head back against the broad chest.

War offers no explanation for his sudden clinginess, nor do you ask for one. Instead, you simply smile up at him, which he doesn’t return, choosing to furrow his brow at you and demand, “Sleep.”

You’re only too happy to oblige.

Death and Draven: Well it had to happen eventually. It had been a little under a month since you’d literally come crashing down upon the eldest horseman’s head, that fateful day after the apocalypse. But really? The Eternal throne? Certainly not the best location for a period to strike. Still, as you’d said -

It had to happen eventually.

Death stalks across the courtyard towards the Chancellor, who sneers at the approaching horseman. You, however, manage to make it about halfway around the training circle that Draven and his spectre apprentices occupy before you’re suddenly hit with the sensation of getting sucker-punched in the gut.

“Holy shiiiiiit,” you whine loudly, “Death?”

The horseman pauses mid stride, tossing an irritable look over his shoulder, but the irate glare quickly fades into an uneasy frown as he takes in the washed-out pallor of your face. He elects to ignore the Chancellor’s barked question, instead turning on his heel and making his way back across the courtyard.

Behind you, a gruff voice asks you if you’re alright. Then, a large, spectral hand lands on your shoulder and before you know it, Draven is looming at your back with his brow bones knitted together, concerned. It suddenly dawns on you that the undead warrior used to be a human himself. Perhaps if anyone were to understand, it would be him. You cast the approaching horseman a wary glance and take note of how many residents of the Eternal Throne have stopped what they’re doing to watch. You cower self-consciously backwards into Draven’s chest and whisper up to him. “So, you know that….thing, that happens to a woman every month or so?” Trailing off, you crane your neck backwards to look up at the undead. He casts you a quizzical look for a moment, tilting his head to the side. All it takes is an expectant raise of your eyebrows and suddenly, it hits him.

“Oh…OH!” The Blademaster’s loose jaw nearly unhinges in disbelief. “You mean, right now, you’re…?”

You nod desperately as Death finally joins the both of you. If you’d been paying proper attention to the horseman and not the excruciating pain in your abdomen, you might have noticed how he bristles when Draven wraps a protective arm around your shoulders and leans close to your ear to whisper something.

“Undercroft?” the man murmurs.

You sigh with relief and affirm, “Undercroft.”

Draven hums before giving you a gentle squeeze and nudging you towards Death.

“Take Y/n down into the Undercroft,” he tells the horseman, who looks as though he’s about to object to being ordered around by the undead, but Draven continues, “S'in the kid’s best interest. I’ll be right back.”

With that, he turns to fix a ghostly eye on the onlookers.

“Don’t recall telling you lot to stop training!” he barks fiercely. “G'wan! Get back to it!”

Death replaces Draven’s arm with one of his own, draping it around your shoulders and smirking when the other undead all fall over themselves trying to pretend they hadn’t been gawking at you.

“Would you care to tell me what’s going on?” the horseman mutters in a hushed tone. You open your mouth to reply but bite your tongue when a stab of fresh pain lances through your stomach. So instead, you groan and hobble towards the undercroft with a highly confused Death in tow.

—---

Down in the storage room beneath the Dead King’s throne room, the horseman gently guides you to sit down on a pile of mouldy old cloth. It smells like the dead, but then again, that isn’t exactly unusual in this realm. Besides, right now, it’s the most comfortable place in the universe.

You briefly bring Death up to speed on your anatomy and what’s going on, and when you do, you’re surprised to see him violently smack his open palm against the side of his head, hissing to himself, “Of course, how could I have forgotten. Idiot.”

As it turns out, Death is all too aware of this particular plight.

He mumbles an apology and slumps down onto the rags beside you.

“Is there…” he hesitates, coughing before asking, “…anything I can do?”

You swing your head towards him slowly and blink, smiling a tired smile.

“Got any painkillers in your Mary Poppins bag?”

He snorts. This isn’t the first time you’d likened him to this ‘Mary Poppins’ character.

Unfortunately for you, he shrugs. “Fresh out, I’m afraid.”

“Oh well,” you say with a wince. “Can’t have everything, I guess.”

The horseman beside you hums in agreement, then turns to face you properly, shifting around on his knees.

“Tell me where it hurts.”

You meet his gaze with a bewildered frown. But, hesitantly, you gesture to your entire stomach. “All over. Head, back, stomach mostly.”

There’s a responding hum, then a large, cold hand is placed firmly over your stomach and starts to rub in small, gentle circles.

Of course, you flinch away, mostly due to the supernatural chill of his skin, but when you recognise that he’s actually trying to be considerate, you fall still and watch him, astonished.

The horseman doesn’t meet your curious eyes in favour of staring down at your stomach in mock concentration until there’s the sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs.

As if it’s become a natural reflex, Death suddenly throws his arm out in front of you and whips his head around to the source of the noise but he relaxes the moment he sees it’s only Draven.

“How’re you doing?” the warrior asks when he spots you and the horseman sitting at the back of the storage room.

A quick glance at Death, then you look back to Draven and smile up at him.

“Better now, thanks. Where’ve you been?”

The pain in your stomach flares up again, causing you to curl in on yourself a little more and snap your legs shut for fear that your trousers could be stained without you realising it. Draven shoots you a look of sympathy, replying, “Went to see the old goat. Thought he might have something that can help.”

Death’s hand returns to your abdomen and begins its gentle, circling motions once again. Meanwhile, you groan and stretch yourself out, trying to find a more comfortable position.

“And?” you grumble.

In response, the Blademaster holds up a familiar packet, so familiar, you could almost weep. You honestly thought you’d seen the last of them since leaving Earth.

“He gave me these,” he grimaces, “Not like any clouts I’ve ever seen, but Ostegoth assured me they were all the rage back on Earth.”

A giggle stirs in you and bursts out before you can stop it. He looks so utterly out of place. If you were a little less tactful, you’d tell him he looked adorable.

But instead, you offer him a grateful smile and hold out your hand to receive the blessed packet of sanitary towels.

“Draven, you are a Godsend. Thank you.”

The Blademaster ducks his head and rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly with a calloused hand. “Dunno about that, I’m just sorry I couldn’t find something to help with the pain,” he laments.

“Don’t worry about it,” you chuckle and throw your thumb over at Death, “got a horseman for that.”

Said horseman huffs. “I can always stop,” he threatens, lifting his hand slightly.

“Actually,” you shift forwards, getting ready to begrudgingly stand up, “You might have to stop, for now. I need to put one of these on.” You shake the packet in your hand and Death follows you up. He moves to stand next to Draven and they both just stand there, watching you curiously. Peering at them, you clear your throat pointedly and in an instant, both Blademaster and horseman jump, spinning around to avert their eyes and give you some much-appreciated privacy.

You can’t help but to laugh through the pain and shake your head amusedly. Gazing down at the sanitary towels in your hand, you make a mental note to thank Ostegoth profusely and ask him how he managed to get his hands on them at all. You may still be in pain, craving something sugary and wanting to just scream and cry at the same time, but at least you won’t have to worry about leaking. Draven assures you that you can take out any of your frustrations on him, if you’d like while Death says that he can always ‘lend a hand’ should you need it. You smile widely at their backs, glad that they’re so understanding.

#darksiders #periods

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doomstypewriter · 4 years

Note

ooh for the short requests how about moceit very obviously being together but some or all of the others being oblivious about it which leads to like exceedingly ridiculous situations and/or misunderstandings until the eventual reveal/realisation?

Hi, Anon! Thanks for the request.

I hope you like what I came up with.

CW: Mentions of blood, (mentions of sex and swearing coming from Remus, and other things to be expected from him), mentions of harassment (but not really, it’s just Roman and Virgil misunderstanding everything). That’s all I believe, please tell me if you find anything else.

If you see a typo, by all means, do roast me.

Genre: Mostly comedy. Contains a lot of dialogue.

A bam sound burst through the room.

“Oh my-!” Virgil jumped in his place “Princey, for once in your life can you not make sudden noises?!”

Roman twirled the gavel in his hand as if it was a sword while looking at his left apologetically.

“Yeah...sorry. Ehem”, he cleared his voice, “I-We have brought you here today because we are in crisis!”

On the sofa sat Logan and Remus, one with his back straight, prim and propper, the other half lying down, resting his crossed feet on the backrest while filing his nails. Logan leant towards Virgil, who stood in the middle of the living room by Roman’s side.

“What has happened now?” he asked.

“Why are you asking him?” answered Roman.

“Well, I am expecting you to be ridiculous on a regular basis and waste my time, but seeing that Virgil is concerned I wish to clarify whatever may be causing him to worry”.

Roman let out a sound of indignation.

“Not now”, Virgil raised a hand towards the prince. “There’s something dark going on between Janus and Patton”.

“I don’t see how Janus is getting accepted quite smoothly by Thomas and Patton is the metaphorical embodiment of sunshine half of the time. They also seem to be working together very well, in fact, despite some initial disagreements, Janus has only made my job easier”.

“The bananaconda keeps on abducting Patton for hours! Last week he disappeared the entire day and when I saw him he was covered in blood!” shouted Roman.

“Well, that is certainly most distressing”.

“Oh, yeah? That’s not even the beginning! This Friday Janus shoved him against a wall and whispered something so horrible he almost fell, thank goodness I was there to save him!”

“Hi, why am I here?” Remus pointed at his face while staring at them.

“We need intel on him, you are the one who annoys him the most” answered Virgil between his teeth.

“Ha! You must be desperate. But, really, this is stupid--”

“Roman, go on” Virgil interrupted.

“He has put skin in Patton’s room, and he has somehow made him follow him everywhere. Patton made him pasta!”

Logan frowned at that last statement and then opened his eyes very wide.

“Like, we know Patton is very nice, but it just doesn’t make sense for him to be so close to Janus if he’s plotting something” added Virgil.

“Well, of course that doesn’t make sense, but I don’t think this is caused by whatever you suspect is happening. I believe your bias towards Janus has blinded you to the obvious logical conclusion that…”

In the blink of an eye, Roman rushed to Logan and held him by the shoulders.

“Even if on Wednesday night I saw he stole his cat hoodie? You gave that to Patton! How can you be so calm? Don’t you see what this means?!”

From the other side of the sofa came a hysterical laugh. Remus stuck his metal file on the cushion and tore up a hole in it.

“You are such a virgin you that you wouldn’t be able to distinguish sexual tension even if you fell right into the hot butt sauce! HAHAHAHA”.

“Oh, shut up with your--” Virgil snapped in distaste, but, suddenly froze in place with the realisation. “Roman…”

“That gavel is mine, also, are you seriously holding a meeting without us?”

The smooth voice of Janus made everyone in the room fall silent, except for Remus, who laughed even harder. Patton tagged along just a step behind, contently holding the gloved hand.

“Actually, Virgil and Roman were completely misconstruing the nature of your interactions with Patton. Thus, asked us to come here to discuss what they thought was you, perhaps, ‘harassing’ him”.

“What?”

Patton and Janus looked at each other in confusion.

“These two are so stupid the got us together, ha! They even brought me! And started to tell us in all detail how they’d been cockblocking you because they can’t read the cues!” Remus managed to say in between laughs.

“What? No! He was bullying him! He shoved him against a wall…” that last comment earned a gasp from Patton, who then went ahead and blushed lightly, Roman got quiet real quick and turned to look at Virgil. “Oh my god!”

“Yup, I was going to say it, but, yeah”.

Roman turned around again and pointed back and forth to Janus and Patton.

“No! You two? But what about the blood?! I saw Patton covered in it!”

“Blood? Roman, you know I get dizzy when I think about that stuff”.

Almost instantly, Janus squeezed Patton’s hand and rubbed the skin with his thumb. Both Virgil and Roman did not know how to respond to the soft display of intimacy they were being confronted with. Specially right when they had just begun to realise the real variety of their fellow sides’ relationship.

“Relax, dear, I think he’s talking about when we had the accident bathing Rachel”.

“Oh… oh! No, sorry kiddo! That must have scared you!”

At this point in the conversation, Roman was even more confused than before.

“Rachel, who’s Rachel?”

“That would be his pet snake”, said Virgil.

“Yes. She’s really sweet! But she got burnt by accident when her heater broke. Jan needed help bathing her, and I didn’t screw the betadine bottle all the way, then I hit it with my elbow and it made a mess all over our clothes” Patton laughed somewhat embarrassed.

Before Roman could object to what had just been said, Logan stood up from the sofa and adjusted his glasses the way he always did when he was about to give information.

“It is common practice for snake owners to bathe their reptiles in a water-betadine solution to disinfect wounds. When snakes are healing they also shed at some point, which would explain the ‘skin’ you mentioned when talking earlier. That, alongside the other incidents and Patton’s usual clumsiness, made me realise you had misunderstood what you saw. Besides, betadine stains and dry blood can look somewhat alike on contrasting colours such as the ones Patton wears, so the mistake was made clear”.

“So…”

“They’re fucking!” Remus exclaimed happily as he sank back.

“It’s more like we’re dating, but, essentially, yes, we’re together. Also, Roman, I would like my gavel back”.

Check out this post if you want to send a request!

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redstainedsocks · 4 years

Text

What’s in a name

Warnings: Torture, sensory deprivation, solitary confinement, electrocution/electroshock therapy, punishments, sadistic whumper, institutionalozed whump, memory loss, identity erasure, noncon drugging, drugs that cause memory loss, hallucinations, brutal treatment, brief beating and manhandling, box boy universe, dehumanization, denial of food

Set during Kit’s training period. I originally wrote this for escape!week and the prompt “relapse” but it didn’t seem right for the tone of that week, so I wrote something else for that and decided to post this on it’s own! Thanks especially to @castielamigos-whump-side-blog for being so enthusiastic about seeing more of Kit’s early time, gives me confidence that this is, hopefully, wanted :D.

This one is particularly brutal, so heed the warnings, and if you don’t feel up to reading it I’m happy to give a quick rundown of the content to anyone who DMs me. But as it’s set in the past, nothing particularly plot relevant happens, so it can be skipped altogether.

This is the knock-off version of what WRU would do during training, if anyone is curious. The made up drugs for this universe that alter memory (among other things) still exist, and I’ve made use of them. Thanks and credit to the other writers in the box boy universe--especially @ashintheairlikesnow and @moose-teeth--for giving me lots of context for their procedures so I could learn the process and turn it into this non-WRU method.

Tag List: @haro-whumps, @theycomeinthrees, @whumpthisway, @samanddeaninpanties, @teachunks, @draganies, @pepperonyscience, @whump-it, @castielamigos-whump-side-blog, @untilthepainstarts, @galaxywhump, @kiretto-laorentze, @lonesome--hunter @slaintetowhump @just-a-raccoon-with-wifi

Word Count: 1.9k

He woke up one day and he just knew.

Maybe they’d let him sleep for too long. Maybe he hadn’t been on the right dose of the drugs. Maybe it had been too many days since his last round of the shocks and beatings that forced his mind to retreat into numb obedience.

Whatever the reason he knew, he remembered.

He used to have a name.

He didn't used to spend his days cowering in corners and obeying orders, looking up at the world from his knees, or on his back, or with eyes ringed with bruises. He didn’t used to be scared and exhausted all the time, just hoping to make it through the day without crying in front of a stranger.

He used to be a person.

And if he knew that, he could fight back. He knew the routines, the layouts, which guards were a softer touch. He just needed an opening, and he’d take it.

When the guard came down the row of cells and knocked their baton on the concrete wall dividing his cell from the next, called him pet and told him to get up—he refused. He curled tighter into the corner and balled his fists and ducked his head.

“I said up, trainee.”

“Not my name,” he growled out.

“What was that?”

“I said: that’s not my name, I have a name.”

“Do you now? Want to share with the class?”

He grit his teeth and glared. Just because he wanted to hold on to it and not tell this violently dangerous man, didn’t make it any less true.

The guard grinned.”That’s what I thought.” A radio crackled and the guard spoke into it. “Yeah, we’ve got a back-slider in row 4, yeah, being defiant again.”

A muffled voice spoke back.

“Will do, I’ll wait right here.”

He frowned, leant forward a little. No, this wasn’t right, when he disrespected them they’d come in and give him a beating, right there and then. And he’d decided he wasn’t going to cower, he was going to use it as an opportunity to get the upper hand. Shit, no, shit, he’d played his card too early.

Three more black-glad guards arrived, one man, and a woman. A trainer too, the mean one who had steel toed boots and a grey streak in his hair. They surveyed him and checked the chart hanging by his cell. He watched them all through the chain link as they talked about training methods, the pros and cons of every course of treatment while he got more nervous by the second.

“What is that you want, trainee?” The trainer asked eventually. “What were you hoping to achieve with this outburst? A little one on one time? Hoping to get more food, jonesing for the drugs we put in there? Come on, talk to me pet, what did that pea-sized brain think was going to happen here?”

“Nothing,” he snarled. “I don’t want anything from you, you can’t do this to me, to anyone! I want to… I want to go home, you have to let me leave.” He breathed hard through his nose and tried to quell the quiet voice that told him he didn’t remember where home was, that he had nowhere else to go. That was them talking; there had to be somewhere better than here.

“That doesn’t sound like something a good pet would say. And you’ve been such a good pet lately, you’re ruining your well behaved streak.”

“I’m not your pet, I’m not anybody's pet!”

The trainer smiled and it radiated such calculated hatred that it froze the blood in his veins. “Now we’re getting to the root of it.” The man gestured at him and turned to his colleagues. “He’s starting to think he gets to be a person.”

They all laughed, and he flinched. They sounded like hyenas, jackals, crows… all out for a piece of him, waiting to pick him apart and peck out his innards piece by piece by piece until there was nothing left but empty space.

“Right, okay. This has gone on long enough, throw him in the hole. We’ll see if that destroys these little illusions.”

His defiance wavered and he pitched forward onto his hands and knees as panic surged through him. The gate unlocked and they surrounded him, hands on his shoulders and in his hair, and batons swinging down on his back and legs. He fought, he fought with everything he had.

Like always, like every time before, it wasn’t enough.

“No! No, wait, please, please. Anything else, just, please, anything else.”

Maybe he was a person, but he wasn’t above begging. Not if it got him out of this.The hole was every trainee pet’s worst nightmare. He wouldn’t go there, he wouldn’t. He clawed at the walls, the metal doorframe, wrapped his fingers around the chain link at the front of his cell and clung until the wire fencing cut into his fingers. His blood made it slippery but he wouldn’t let go. One of them brought a baton down on his hands and he wailed. When they threatened to do it again, and break both his forearms, he finally let go.

****

The hole was nothing but a pitch black metal room. A storage container of some sort, or maybe just a large dumpster repurposed for the use. They would throw you in, slam the door shut, and then it was nothing but you and a black so deep you couldn’t see your own hands.

He slammed his body against the walls until his ears rang from the metallic clangs that reverberated around the room. He couldn’t do this again, the last time… he’d gone half mad.

He wouldn’t cry, the fear was too big to cry. It was larger than his tear ducts and it couldn’t get out that way. He couldn’t risk the loss of the moisture in any case. He had two bottles of water to last him for… however long they planned to leave him.

He paced for a while, one hand on the wall to keep himself steady in the dark. Four steps, five steps, four steps, two steps—cross the door—two more steps. Around and around.

The worst thing about the Hole was the conductive metal. It heated up so much during the day that by the afternoon it hurt to touch the walls and floor. It became so overheated that it felt like the air was sizzling, too thick to enter his lungs properly, pressing on his head until he felt like he’d burst. He laid on his back, tried to keep his bare legs and arms off the floor, so the barrier of his shirt and shorts was between him and the metal. The black swam around him in dizzying eddies as he sweltered and sweated.

Sebastian. Seb. Bas. Sebastian Rogers. That’s me, that’s me, that’s who I am. They’re punishing me just for remembering.

The dark and the heat made his angry behaviour seem even more pitiful. He could have just kept his name to himself, and done what they asked, and he wouldn’t be in this mess.

Relapse, they’d called it as they talked to each other. So he just had to get better again and then they’d let him out.

Getting better probably meant forgetting, letting it go. He wouldn’t let it go, he’d just tuck it safely away where no-one else could touch it. He’d just pretend, and they’d let him go back to his cell.

The day passed and he waited in trepidation for the night. For the temperature to drop until the walls felt like ice, instead of fire. In the few hours in between too hot and too cold he drank some water, and chose a corner to piss in, and then curled up and tried to conserve body heat.

There wouldn’t be much chance to sleep except in the dusk and early morning, when it was neither too hot, nor too cold. He tried, but it wouldn’t come, there was a buzzing below his skin that wouldn’t quit.

Probably something in the water.

He did cry then, a few dry-heaving sobs that turned to yelling, and more pounding on the door. The silence and stillness were deafening. He tap-tap-tapped on the floor just to hear something. Tapped the syllables of his name until it started to sound annoying and repetitive and he stopped.

He drummed out random beats and whimpered and groaned as he started to see white and colourful spots appear in the dark. They’d coalesce into other things before long, and he didn’t want to see; he pressed his hands over his eyes so that he wouldn’t.

Two cycles of day and night—blistering heat followed by icy cold— passed before they came for him, and he was delirious and grateful. Ready to lie and say he didn’t want a name at all, they could take it, he wouldn’t fight. He was willing to do whatever it took. But they didn't give him chance. They strapped him down in the treatment room and attached little nodes to his head and his body and forced round after round of shocks through his system. Pumped electricity into his brain and his nerves in concentrated shocks that made him disoriented and forgetful, stole his memory of where he was and why, for long minutes at a time.

After that he realised that they weren’t giving him a choice, they would take his unruly behaviour from him, not offer him the chance to give it up—they would make him good.

They dumped him back in the Hole, with fresh water, two packets of insubstantial food-paste, and the urine cleaned out. Still trembling from the aftershocks he crawled into a corner and clung to his meager rations. The water tasted funny, and he sipped it knowing it would mix with the shocks and do more strange things to his memories.

Mind warped and body aching, he curled up and tried to remember what had got him in so much trouble in the first place. Something about a name…a person with a name that he wasn't supposed to know.

It barely mattered whose it was, he wished he'd never thought of it all.

Sebastian wasn't worth this. Nothing was worth this.

Twice more he went through the same routine—two days—shocks—two days. Memories obliterated until he was empty headed and dizzy and so very, very sorry.

When they finally dragged him limp and mostly unresponsive from the darkness, he waved weakly to the hallucinations that he left behind.

He was better, he would be better. They asked and he grovelled for the chance to prove it. He’d messed up so badly, but he’d do better. His mouth wouldn’t form real words, just mumbles and groans from a parched throat and numb, swollen lips that he’d bitten to keep from screaming in the void of the Hole.

It didn’t seem to bother them that he was incoherent, that he tried was enough. He cried onto their boots, clinging with fingertips to the concrete so he wouldn’t slip away.

He left more than hallucinations in the dark. He left his defiance, his angry stubborn will. He left his identity, buried under hot stale air, where it would never be seen again. Left it to rot in the dark, where it never served him any good. Abandoned his old self, and knew he was better off for it.

He was a pet, would always be, had always been; he was nothing else, remembered nothing else. The darkness up ate his name so thoroughly, so completely, that he never even knew he’d offered it up to be devoured.

#Kit's Story #dehumanization tw #conditioning tw #pet whump #box boy universe #noncon drugging #hallucinations whump #torture tw #solitary confinement whump #institutionalized whump #sensory deprivation #memory loss tw #identity erasure #people as pets #isolated whumpee #multiple whumpers #withholding food #I keep expecting someone to figure out how I came up with his full name and come into my inbox and call me out for being a dork xD #but it hasn't happened yet...

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jrctolkien · 4 years

Text

don't blame me for falling, i

tom holland x reader

he comes back to town after years and years, and the press are just eating it up, and you're falling too hard and too fast

a/n; mentions of alcohol and drugs, sex. my version of beer pong is in here and the basic rules are that like if u and ur partner both miss a shot consecutively, you lose the game and have to drink the rest of the alcohol on the table loll (also shoot me an ask or smthn if u wanna be on my tag list)

you were wildly late for the party and, as you hurried around the small corner shop you had stopped to get some food at (because of course you didn't know that you were supposed to provide food) , you weren't really watching where you were going. maybe it was your fault, or maybe it was his, or maybe it was the gaggle of girls and boys alike crowding him that made you drop the bottle of wine.

as the dark red liquid seeped into the linoleum cracks in the floor all you could think about was how it was the dumb fucking rich boy that had got in your way. it wasn't your fault. it was not your fault and the both of you knew it. hell, god almighty knew it and he never even paid attention to you.

"shit," the voice was quiet amongst the loud murmurs of the small crowd ," are you okay, love?"

a very tentative hand against your back and all your problems were buffed out. you let out a shaky laugh, nodding. it was just a bottle of wine and you would not cry in the middle of the supermarket, you would not because you could not and so you would not.

the tears spilled over your cheeks of their own accord and you laughed again at the sudden very high pitched ramblings of whoever it was. "are you okay? I swear im so sorry I'll pay for it and oh god are you crying I'm so sorry?"

and then tom was there and you felt like crying even harder. little tommy who taught you how to ride a bike, who stole your first kiss and your first everything, and who had upped and left the moment he garnered a little bit of fame.

and then there was a pair of strong, familiar arms around you, pulling you close. not so familiar, you thought. he'd buffed out over the years, all muscles and hard edges. gone were the days where you could beat tom in a wrestling match and gone were the days when you, him and harrison would bum joints off your neighbour and sit on the garages until god knows when, thoroughly waved and young.

"hey tommo." you sniffled into his shirt and then you realised that it wasn't cotton but in fact a dress shirt that was probably more than a weeks worth of your wages and then you were pulling away, willing yourself so furiously not to let a single tear escape you as you stared up at tom.

an overjoyed look overcame tom and his teeth shouldn't of made you as happy as they did but they did and that snaggly tooth of his would be forever imprinted upon your soul. "y/n!" he exclaimed excitedly. the hesitation that was on his face was one you rarely saw and then his eyes were off yours and then so were his hands and his warmth and you were back to being you. "I'll pay for your wine ma'am, I'm terribly sorry."

"I'm not an old lady, you prat." you said, a smile on your face, tears a thing of a past life.

but then a flash went off and you flinched. of course, in that moment where the entire world was watching you were an old lady. he wasn't the tom you knew and you weren't the old friend he knew. just two strangers passing in the night, one a top-earning actor and one a girl who couldn't brave leaving her hometown.

and so you separated ways, with no wine and no food to bring to the party because you definitely weren't going to that anymore. only when harrison texted you the day after did you know how much you could've had: tom went, even if you didn't.

the bakery at the end of your street was owned by your mother. it couldn't host big parties and was so incredibly crammed and it barely made enough money to scrape by on when you were younger, but it was good in the long run. maybe you were incredibly biased, but it was the perfect place to work. it was not, however, the perfect place to run into your childhood best friend.

"can I have a- oh hey!" the familiar voice made you freeze and you looked up to a grin that could sink a thousand ships (and break a million hearts). all smiles, all dimples and you were ready to hand over your heart and soul in that very moment, right there with a cup of hot chocolate in your hand.

"tom." you squeaked out, heart caught up in your throat but also at the bottom of your gut and then just pounding so loudly, too loudly in the centre of your being.

a nod and then words that couldn't possibly be said through a grin oh so big, "sorry about the other day. sorry it ended up everywhere."

everywhere meaning almost every tabloid in england: spiderman got one caught in his web? or tom holland has a raunchy reunion with childhood lover or love in the air for budding actor? were all that seemed to follow you after saturday. you had learnt that tom was back in his hometown indefinitely for a 'well-needed and deserved' hiatus. (who's to say if you'd been reading the papers recently.)

even worse were the fangirls, with their hate posts and their posts telling people not to hate on you and then the few fics and edits you had read online before shutting down your laptop. it was all too overwhelming and too much and so you had taken a day off work to look at it all; being in the tabloids was a once in a lifetime experience, after all.

"fine. it's just fine." you managed a small smile. "so, mr holland, what would you like from ye old sweet shop?"

tom laughed, a familiar thing that lit a flame in you. "don't call it that! it was a bloody joke."

your grinned matched tom's as you remembered what your mum had called her quaint shop after a night of too much wine. to her dismay, it had stuck with you and the boys for too many years for it to be truly funny, but in that funny way of inside jokes it was still ,well, funny.

"what can I get you?" you asked after handing the hot chocolate you were holding to a sweet teenage girl.

tom furrowed his brows slightly, even though you both knew what he was going to order. "one mocha with, um, half teaspoon of coffee ,please. actually make it two."

a chuckle got caught in your throat. "two?" jealousy was a true evil and it seeped into your skin, into your bones, into your soul.

"wait, do you wanna join me and haz cause we're supposed to go to a party later and I think it'd be cool if you came." a jumble of words fought away the monster as you exhaled in relief. no secret girl to worry your heart over.

"yeah, I get off in about twenty minutes if you two can wait?"

and so your night began, with two idiots thinking that mochas were the pre-game pre-game pick me up

the party was already in full swing by the time you arrived, with people milling about the front garden. "just like old times, boys." you grinned, swinging your arms around tom and harrison's shoulders. "whoever pukes first has to make pancakes in the morning."

"you're on, mate." harrison agreed readily, with tom making an absent grunt beside you.

and so it began, a group of girls you knew pulling you away from tom and harrison the moment you stepped into the door. the squeals about tom being back in town and how you were going to , like, get it filled your ears and you couldn't help but laugh. stacey, your childhood friend, pushed you down onto a large sofa in the lounge of the house. "tequila?" she offered, stumbling slightly as she procured a plastic cup from her bag. stacey, you couldn't help but notice, looked like a goddess in a neon pink dress that hugged her body tightly, ending very, very high up on her dark thighs. she was already drunk and you couldn't help but wonder how much time you had wasted with tom and harrison getting ready and having shots in your flat.

"tequila!" stacey shoved the cup in your hands before plopping herself down next to you, her legs going on for miles until they reached the coffee table (you couldn't help but chuckle at the socks and heels combo stacey was wearing, staying true to her weird phobia of feet).

you nodded with a tipsy grin, saying "tequila!"

and the night moved on from you and stacey, to the hoards of other people drinking, fucking, whatever, to you and tom playing beer pong hours later against harrison and harry.

"are you even old enough to drink yet?" you shouted at harry over the loud music. you had ditched your shoes god knows where eons ago, and were leaning against the hard, hard thing that was tom holland. his heat seeped into your skin, through your bones and into your soul as you threw a ping pong ball in the direction of the boys opposite you.

"should you even be up this late, old lady?" harry shouted back, cheering when you missed your shot. you childishly stuck your tongue out at him, drifting until you banged into the dining table you were playing on.

"oopsie daisy." you murmured as tom placed a hand on your back, drunken gaze searching you. you were so close, so close, too close to him and you flinched away from him just as harrison got a ball in a cup and you groaned.

the shot slid down your throat like water and you shut your eyes. you were either really, really very much too drunk to be going to work tomorrow, or the party had run out of alcohol. tom missed his shot and banged into you, the two of you laughing like hyenas as harry and harrison cheered over their easy win.

as per tradition, you and tom made slow, clumsy work of drinking all the leftover alcohol on the table, stomach flipping as you moved too quickly, bumping into tom at the halfway point. "'ello matey." you slurred at him, his eyes the most beautiful kaleidoscope of colours that made your head spin and your heart flip.

and then stacey was whisking you away to the garden or maybe it was the bathroom or maybe just an empty pitcher, but you were doomed to make pancakes in the morning and tom was doomed with the task of taking you home.

the pictures of you and tom were splashed on almost every media outlet you could think of the next morning. you and tom in the bakery, leaving together and smiling like you were two birds born out the same flame. blurry, dark photos of you arriving at the party obviously already waved, you taking shots with your arm intertwined with tom's, you and him playing beer pong, you leaning up against him, the almost kiss that definitely was not an almost kiss it was just a fleeting drunken moment that wasn't, and then you puking in the kitchen, stacey wobbling on her too high heels next to you. a video of you and tom stumbling in the front garden, your bodies banging and clanging against each other in a symphony that dropped your heart to your stomach and then his arm weaved it's way around your waist and there your heads were too close, so close it should've been illegal and then there was you, puking down tom's back, the sickly green of it fading into yellow and then all the colours of the rainbow as you watched the video over and over and over again.

every frame burned into your eyes as you rushed to the bathroom, knees slamming against the floor in a way that would've, should've been painful except you were so numb and so, so hungover.

tom had dropped you off home and left without a trace. sure, his keys were on the side glinting at you dangerously in the harsh yellow rays of the blinding sun, but there was nothing else to even hint at last night.

you had known tom for years and years, memory upon memory of you and him, him and you, stacked away in your brain. little tommy, who taught you how to ride a bike and who stole your first kiss, your first everything-

and suddenly you were fifteen years old again, with your thin eyebrows and damaged lungs and your two best friends, tom and harrison. and tom was on top of you, underneath you, inside you, warming you from the inside out, seeping in through your skin, your bones and your soul.

then tom moved back to london because millionaires can just do that, despite his hiatus and the stories of the two of you sewn into the ground of your hometown, staining the floor of ye old- your mum's bakery.

and you were right back where you started; no tom, rushing to a party you were wildly late to.

#tom holland #tom holland imagine #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #bones heart and soul and all the other parts #mine

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tameila · 3 years

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i answered these all before i went to sleep last night, aka this morning, but then was too lazy to tag anyone so im here to post it now. thanks to @halflingkima for the tag!

A - age: 28

B - birthplace: Illinois

C - current time: 4:03am

D - drink you last had: it’s just me and my water bottle against the world at this hour

E - easiest person to talk to: probably my best friend

F - favorite song: right now or overall? for the former, it fluctuates with time and between artists. been bumping FOB’s “fourth of july” all night because what else is the fourth good for? for the latter, “Under Pressure”, “He Lives in You” (yes from lion king), “You Get What You Give” are a couple of songs that are all time favorites.

G - grossest memory: no particular memory stands out but — listen. i work with toddlers. i’ve seen some shit. literally.

H - horror yes or horror no: in practice, horror no. in theory? horror genre interesting.

I - in love?: nah

J - jealous of people?: from time to time

L - love at first sight or should i walk by again: you’re gonna need to walk by a dozen more times. im dumb as shit.

M - middle name: i have one of those names where, if i were famous, i would have people address me by my full name: first - middle initial - last. that being said, my middle initial is ‘J’

N - number of siblings: four, two older and two younger

O - one wish: to get accepted into a masters program in Ireland. at Trinity College would be an astonishing honor, but i will accept any that’ll take me.

P - person you called last: my sister because she called me which is usually how it goes. a girl’s got phone anxiety.

Q - question you are always asked: if im with one of my siblings, “are you twins?”. on my own? i get asked at work where I get my skirts a lot.

R - reasons to smile: summer evening walks. texts from friends just checking in. you are you and you are here and the sun’s going to rise today and tomorrow and always.

S - song you sang last: probably “renegade” by big red machine (ft. taylor swift)

T - time you woke up: around 1:30pm

U - underwear colour: black? maybe. idk it’s dark in my room because i was gonna wind down to sleep and i don’t care enough to verify

V - vacation destination: i want to go home (Ireland)

W - worst habit: hm i think once upon a time i’d not hesitate to say grudge-holding but these days im more concerned with my commitment issues

X - x-rays: i had a bone cyst in my arm during elementary school, went through surgery and the whole rigamarole, so i was very familiar with x-rays as a child. the last time i got one was when i had a severe pain flare in the same area as that previous surgery and i went in to get it checked. ah, lead lap protector. come back to me.

Y - your favorite food: i love green bean casserole but! only if my dad makes it. also, i love ham. and any form that a potato takes is godly.

Z - zodiac sign: taurus (capricorn moon, sagittarius rising)

i’ll throw a tag to @jabletown, @thesylversmyth, @acecasinova, and YOU!! 👈 person reading this post

#personal

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thescatteredscribbles · 3 years

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Okay so silly me accidentally deleted your ask @booksnotbookies... so this post is a reply to that. I actually wasn’t planning to do any of the prompts as an ask game, which is why I put it reblogged it on my side blog for personal reference. I didn’t bother tagging it as for reference only because I didn’t think anyone would actually see it hahaha... but I’m so glad you asked! It inspired a snippet that I’m quite happy with! So thanks a lot :)

Prompt: “Wait. Don’t pull away... not yet.”

Leah stands at the ocean front, feet sinking into rough sand. The waves crash violently against the outcrop of rocks, every incoming tide a painful reminder of the inevitable coming and going, and the loss, always the loss. Even the waves don't stick around long enough to listen. The harsh wind whips at her hair, joining the deafening voice in her head, berating her for words long-buried, for people long-gone. Leah shuts her eyes, as if doing so could erase the pain, could erase the hurt, could erase the countless mistakes embedded in her existence. The sensation is all too familiar. The aching abyss filling her with empty, gnawing darkness. It's all so familiar, too familiar. Leah forces herself to open her eyes, take in the surroundings. The waves are still crashing onto the shore. The wind is still blowing in her ears. And everyone is still gone, gone, gone. She shivers in the cold, and briefly contemplates heading back to her mansion, emptying a bottle of whiskey. At least then her blood will drown in alcohol instead of this pathetic, miserable loneliness.

Her spiralling thoughts are interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps. Instinctively, she straightens and quickly composes herself, running a hand through her tousled hair. She startles when she feels something heavy being placed on her shoulders. She turns to face Noah, a timid smile dancing on his lips. She tries to shrug off the coat, but Noah reaches out to pull it tighter around her.

"Keep it on. It's cold." Her protest dies in her throat as she meets his concerned gaze. She shudders, not because of the freezing breeze that blows through her, but because of the terrifying unfamiliarity of the moment. She was used to being abandoned, being left alone. She could take that, after all, she was used to it. She wasn't sure she could take Noah. Noah with his crooked smile and understanding eyes and liquid warmth.

"I'm going to tell you three scientific facts," Noah declares, his gentle voice piercing through the quiet. Leah raises an eyebrow in question, but remains silent.

"One. The ocean isn't actually blue. Neither is the sky." Leah isn't sure where Noah is going with this, but she lets his voice ground her anyway. "The ocean, it's only blue because the water molecules and other particles absorb the red wavelength. Leaving the blue behind. So we see blue. It isn't, not actually. The sky too. The particles in our atmosphere scatter the sunlight. Blue wavelengths are shorter so they get scattered more. Neither is actually blue."

"It happens, a lot of times. Reality gets so distorted that we end up seeing things that aren't actually there. Optical illusions of the heart. We think we know what's real. The sky's blue, the ocean's blue. No they're not." Leah keeps her gaze fixed on the grey clouds, her mind struggling to process the true meaning behind the soft-spoken statement.

"Two. The stars are always there." Noah grins softly at that, his face upturned towards the sky. The fading sun rays illuminates him, a halo of light. The sight makes Leah's breath hitch. "We can't always see them, but that doesn't mean they're not there. They just get hidden, shrouded. By dark clouds. Or the sun that's just a bit too bright. A lot of beautiful things are like that. They get pushed away, shunned by other presumptuous, conceited, self-absorbed things. But those beautiful things never truly disappear, even when we can't see them. They're always there. Science says so." The words swirl dangerously in Leah's mind, as if unsure where to settle. A feather-light presence in a place all too dark and grisly.

"We're wrong, so many times. We see colours that aren't there. We think that nothing bright ever stays, but we don't that those things are still there. We just can't see them. We become deluded. What we claim as reality is nothing but tricks of light." Leah feels Noah inch closer to her, his arm pressing against hers.

"But sometimes, on very rare occasions, we see things precisely as they are. We see their raw beauty and marvel in it, we see the truth, our mind clear of illusions and tricks. We see things precisely as they are." Leah turns to find Noah gazing at her. The soft look in his eyes threatens to break her. She swallows the growing lump in her throat, blinking back tears.

"No," she states weakly, "no we don't." Noah opens his mouth to argue but Leah presses on. "You're right. We humans, we are masters of distortions. That's who we are. We never see things the way we should. Mother Nature pulls pranks on us and we fall into her traps so easily. We never get things right. Things are always more beautiful than they seem. Or they're uglier than they are. We never get it right." A heavy silence follows, only filled by the whistle of the wind and the crashing waves.

"You said you were going to tell me three facts. You've told me two, you still owe me one," Leah finally says, the quiet becoming too tense for her liking. Noah nods, pauses for a moment.

"Three. Hugs release oxytocin." Leah lets out a short chuckle against her will. "It's true! Hugs release oxytocin. And oxytocin makes you feel better. I know that doesn't quite connect to the previous two facts but I wasn't planning on someone being so argumentative..." Noah teases. Leah shakes her head, rolling her eyes. She feels the corners of her lips tick upwards, for the first time in days.

"Anyway, hugs make your brain produce oxytocin, which is a hormone produced in your hypothalamus, and it's supposed to reduce stress and increase relaxation because it..." Leah cuts off his ramble with a soft tug on Noah's wrist, pulling him flush against her into a tight embrace. Noah freezes for a second before his hands settle on Leah's back. He leans in closer, wrapping her in his warmth. Leah tucks her face against Noah's, letting his musky scent mingle with the salty ocean air. Leah forces a sob down, but a few tears escape. Noah must have noticed the quiver in her shoulders, because he moves to run his hand through her hair, fingers threading soothingly. He sways them slowly, and suddenly the wind doesn't seem too harsh anymore. Leah feels her muscles relax, involuntarily relishing in the sensation that runs through her, one she can't remember ever feeling. She'll ruminate on the implications and consequences of the moment later. Just for a moment, she'll allow herself this. A few minutes pass, and Noah starts to move away. Before Leah can stop herself, she tightens her arms around him, stopping his movements.

"Wait. Don't pull away... not just yet," Leah protests, voice muffled. Noah lets out a breath of laughter, immediately tugging her back in.

"I'll hold you for as long as you want," he whispers in her ear. The simple statement overpowers the other voices in her head, makes a different kind of warmth spread through her chest. In Noah's arms, Leah thinks she could probably hold off the bottle of whiskey for another night.

Taglist: @booksnotbookies @leah-yasmin-writes @wynterwind @writingbyjillian

#original #writing #writeblr #ask #the shield of silence #thescatteredscribbles

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wlw-imagines-blog · 4 years

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Abandonment, Enthroned. {Part 4} (Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Fem!reader

Warnings:

Tags: apocalypse au, enemies to friends to lovers, no powers au,

Word count:

Summary: The domestic, fluffy montage, then going to town.

A/N: I have returned from the grave (momentarily)! Extra long because I disappeared for so long

Morning came so much faster than you expected. You closed your eyes, and opened them seconds later to dawn. Laying on your back, you watched the way the dust refracted in the sunlight. You tried not to think about the Winter Soldier, or how much danger Queens was, or about the stranger in the other room.

Everything was upside down. You had moved West when the Militia and New Alliance started their civil war in the east, with New York as their battleground.

Now the battle was moving through the West.

The farm was your little piece of heaven; it provided for you, and kept you safe for the better part of two years since you had stumbled upon it.

You spoke out loud to no one. “If the soldiers move west, I’m going to Oregon.”

After brushing your teeth and washing your face, you changed into a fresh set of holey jeans and a fraying sweater. The mirror and vanity in the corner of the room was vacant of combs, and makeup, but instead was littered with old books. You peered into the dusty mirror. Your reflection was tired, with heavy bags under your eyes, and sleep lines on your cheeks.

A weak smile fluttered to your lips, as you tried to remember the girl you were before the fallout.

With a shake of your head, you left your room, and went to Wanda’s.

You hesitated before knocking.

“Hey, Wanda? Can I come in?”

You heard some rustling before a response. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Behind the door, Wanda was laying in bed, looking better rested than the day before. There was more colour in her cheeks and lips.

“I’m going into town in a week,” you announced. “I’m running low on some supplies, hopefully I can find them there.”

Wanda nodded, sitting up gingerly. Her hand brushed against the bandages on her stomach.

Guilt flashed through you, vanishing as fast as it came. “Does that still hurt terribly?”

“No,” she said, standing up slowly. “Not as bad as it was yesterday.”

Her grip on the bed post was so tight, her knuckles were white. She took one shaky step before pitching forward. You crossed the room and wrapped a tentative arm around her waist.

“May I?” you asked quietly.

She paused, stubborn pride warring in her eyes. “Yes. Thank you.”

You hobbled with Wanda down the staircase to the living room. Her breathing was labored, and she was sweating profusely.

“Let me get you something to drink,” you said, going to the kitchen to retrieve water and a wash cloth.

When you returned, Wanda spoke through her deep breaths.

“I want to go into town with you.”

You nearly dropped the glass of water. “What? Why?”

“I’ll need to know the land when I leave,” she responded. “I never got past your house. If there’s a way to get further west, I need to find it.”

You handed her the glass. “You can come if you can walk without my help. We need to get there as fast as possible, loot whatever we can carry, then get back before nightfall. I don’t want you slowing me down.”

Wanda scoffed, but did not dispute you.

The idea of Wanda leaving brought on mixed emotions. You were afraid for her; she couldn’t stand or walk by herself, let alone survive a day without help. But then again, you were relieved that the house would be empty. After a few months of isolation, you thought that you would welcome the company, but you were ready for peace and quiet. When Wanda left, hopefully the looming threat of the militia would disappear. That was dangerous wishful thinking.

One could hope, anyways.

“We still don’t know what to do the Winter Soldier,” Wanda whispered, legs folded.

“He didn’t hurt us,” you reminded. “Even when he saw you in the window.”

“So, what does that mean for us?”

You shrugged. “No clue.”

“He must have wanted something.”

“Maybe he wanted room and board?”

A scoff. “Right. Of course.”

“Maybe he defected?”

Another scoff. “That’s totally impossible.”

“Well, it’s not our problem right now.”

Wanda shook her head incredulously. “How can you not care?”

“Like this,” you went into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. She did not see the tremor in your jaw.

The day was blissfully slow. You wandered around the farm, cleaning the orchard, chatting with Goat, who found the dropping temperature disagreeable. When you returned, you were shocked to see Wanda staggering around the living room with a wooden crutch.

You grinned at the sight. “You can walk on your own.”

Wanda looked up and nodded. There was a little bit of pride in her eyes. “Kind of. I need the crutch.”

“Still, it’s better progress than yesterday.” you pointed out.

Your infectious grin seemed to pierce Wanda’s usual gloomy mood. “I guess so.”

“Good.” you dusted your hands. “You can help me with the chores.”

You ignored her groan and left to hang the clothes. “Come on, Wanda! Goat won’t feed himself!”

****

Over the next few days, Wanda got her strength back. You always helped from bed in the morning, acting as a crutch to bring her downstairs. After a simple breakfast, you put her to work; hanging laundry, feeding Goat, tidying the house, etc. It would have been merciful to let Wanda sleep in and stay in bed all day, but you weren’t merciful. She needed to keep moving to forget the remnants of the knife wound.

One evening, after a day of weeding the corn field, you made a proper, far more formal than usual dinner. Wanda sat at the kitchen table shucking corn while you stirred peas into stew. Dwarf carrots, potatoes, and chicken. You and Wanda were celebrating; Wanda didn’t need the crutch anymore.

After dinner and a desert of baked cinnamon apples, you went to the attic to store the crutch away.

“Hey, Wanda,’ you called, trotting down the stairs, a large box in hand. “Look what I found.”

She was in the kitchen, finishing the dishes. “What?”

You opened the box and pulled out a large square file. Wanda craned her next to read the title of the vinyl

“Paul Anka?”

Grinning, you moved to the dusty record player in the corner of the room. “I found them up in the attic. I never knew they were here.”

Love songs from the 50′s filled the air, bringing another rare smile to Wanda’s face. You went to the basement and retrieved a large bottle of red wine.

“Want a glass?” You asked while waggling the bottle. “Have you taken any pain killers?”

Wanda snickered and shook her head. “Nope. Pour me a glass.” Despite her grin, there was something that clouded her eyes.

While you attended to the drinks, Wanda stood tentatively in the living room. When you handed her the glass, she spoke up.

“Y/N, why didn’t you know the records were upstairs?”

You turned back to her. “What do you mean?”

“Well, when you say something like that, it implies that this isn’t your house.”

There was a pause in your momentary happiness. “Well. That’s because this isn’t my home. It wasn’t before the rebellion.”

Wanda didn’t seem too surprised. “Can I ask what happened?”

You looked away, eyes landing on the woven carpet. The blues and browns neatly stitched together. You sat next to Wanda on the couch.

“Wanda, I didn’t find this house empty. There was a m-man who lived here. The farmer and his wife. They had two kids; grown up boys who took care of the farm when the man couldn’t.” You swallowed harshly. If you knew things about Wanda, she should know some pieces of your life. “A few months ago, maybe six, when I was travelling west, I landed here. The farmer welcomed me in to stay for a day before I headed farther.”

When you paused, Wanda sat forward. “What happened?”

You met her eyes. “There was a raid. Not by the New Alliance, not by the Protectors. It was just... the townspeople. From the village a few miles from here.”

She was completely silent. Paul Anka crooned softly.

“Ever since the New Alliance cut back food rations, the town had been tense. People needed food for their children. They knew he had the orchard and crops, and they wanted a piece for themselves. It was like a riot. The farmer told me to hide since no one else knew I was here; he asked me to protect their newborn goat.” You did not mention the basement and it’s deadbolt-reinforced steel door. Your face grew pinched as tears welled in your eyes. “I hid while they faced them.”

When you remained quiet, Wanda reached out.

“Y/N?”

You sniffed, shaking yourself from the ache in your chest. “The mob killed them. Him, his wife, and his kids. They ravaged the farm. The orchard was nearly completely destroyed, the house was trashed when I came out. But... everyone was gone.”

“Gone? From the house?”

Shaking your head, you continued. “Completely gone. I visited the town and everyone was gone. Nothing was missing, though there were cars still running and lights still on. It was like everyone had just disappeared.”

Wanda’s eyes widened a fraction. “Y/N, I think they were-”

A crack of thunder made you and Wanda jump in your seats. Rain spattered against the house in sudden buckets, pouring down the windows.

“Oh,” you stood up, looking from the window to Wanda. “The clothes!”

Before she could say anything, you ran out the back door to the yard.

You snatched the sheets and shirts from the clothes line, tossing them haphazardly into the basket. Wanda was by your side, ripping down socks and pants. In the unusually warm sunset, rain pelted down against your head. Thunder roared in the distance.

“Come on!” you called out, grabbing the basket with one hand and Wanda’s hand with the other.

You pulled her back inside, chest heaving. Soaked to the bone, hair plastered to your scalp, you dropped the basket and leaned against the back door.

Wanda rested next to you, pale and gasping at the sudden movement.

“Fuck,” you whispered, turning to her. “Are you hurt?”

Your fingers moved of their own accord, lifting the hem of Wanda’s shirt to examine the bandage. No blood seemed to seep through.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Wanda’s voice was thick. He reached down hesitantly, grasping your hand.

You froze. Your heart pounded loudly in your ears. Her hand was warm, fingers tight against your knuckles.

Wanda licked her lips. “I’m fine.”

In a moment of courage, you twisted your wrist to hold her hand. Your palm pressed to her’s. The fading sun glinted off of Wanda’s hair and eyes. She leaned forward to rest her head against your shoulder. The gesture shocked you.

“Thanks Y/N.”

You couldn’t help but frown. “For what?”

“I don’t know,” Wanda sighed contently. “For helping me. For sharing with me.”

You smiled. “Well then, you’re welcome.”

The music droned on, and you found Wanda swaying in front of you. You wrapped an arm around her waist, leading her to the living room.

Before you could deposit Wanda on the couch, her grip on your arm tightened.

“Wait. Don’t go.”

“What? is something wrong?”

She held you at arms length. “Please. Dance with me.”

“Right,” you scoffed. “How much did you drink?”

“Almost none. Come on, they’re playing our song.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the smile that pulled at the corners of your lips. Wanda’s eyes pleaded silently. Swallowing, you nodded, letting her pull you close.

The music droned on, slow and sleepy as Wanda rested a hand on your waist. You breathed in a sharp breath, letting yourself press against her. You memorized the way Wanda’s thigh rested perfectly yours.

It wasn’t really dancing. It was more like swaying in a circle, arms wrapped around each other. Outside, the sunset glinted off the rain on the windows. Warm petrichor permeated through the living room.

Wanda’s hand slide from your waist to your hip, playing with the hem of your shirt.

“I-” you stuttered. “I don’t know what we’re doing...”

“Should I stop?”

God, yes or no? You found yourself shaking your head. “I can’t. Please. I don’t I can.”

Wanda wanted to leave. She was going to go west, and you were going to stay on the farm. She tried to rob you. She’s a runaway.

You forced yourself to remember who she was.

Wanda’s eyes were wide. She licked her lips and nodded, pulling away.

“Right. Fuck.” A weak laugh. “Sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.”

You wanted to cry out. Her body was so warm, and you were still drenched from the downpour. Every touch from her fingers felt like electricity. This was what you missed.

“It’s okay, we’re both...” Lonely? Tired? Attracted? “Not thinking straight.”

“Well, that’s for sure.” Wanda let out another mirthless laugh, rubbing her face awkwardly. “I’m gonna go upstairs and rest.”

You nodded, wringing your hands as she left.

“Fuck,” you said to no one, taking her glass of wine and drinking it all.

***

You came downstairs the next day, carrying a back pack. Wanda was sitting in the kitchen, already sipping a cup of coffee and reading a thick book. She really had made herself incredibly comfortable.

“I’m going into town,” you announced, retrieving a walking stick from the mud room. In your bag was water, some food, a first aid kit, and a blanket. You wore your thickest jacket, and your sturdiest boots. “How are you feeling?”

Despite her improved mobility, Wanda’s endurance still left much to be desired.

Wanda stood up, resilient. “I’m good. I can go.”

You nodded, grabbing a flannel coat from the rack and tossing it to her. You could barely meet her eyes. Neither of you were willing to speak about yesterday.

“Fine. Suit up and come to the garage. There’s a bag with supplies for you on the counter.”

She caught it, and you turned on your heel, forcing down every question you had about last night.

***

The car ride was quiet. Wanda sat in the passenger seat, eyes closed, head lolling back as she slept. The roads were so empty; they did nothing but remind you of how empty and lonely it was. There was no one else in the woods, and it scared you.

Sunlight poked between the evergreen trees, glinting off the hood of the red, rusted pickup. You glanced at the shotgun between you and Wanda.

“Just a precaution,” you had told her.

At a four way stop, you turned left. Ten minutes later, you pulled into a little, decrepit town. Five years ago, it would have been picturesque; department stores, two-story apartments, and corner grocers decorated every street. Iron lamp posts and greenery were used to make the whole place seem more welcoming. It would have been beautiful.

But now, dirt and rust covered everything. Broken windows, ajar doors, and overturned garbage cans haunted the town. Stray newspapers tumbled in the streets.

“Jesus,” Wanda said softly when she stepped out of the truck. “This place is terrible.”

You hummed, slinging an empty bag onto your shoulder. “It’s my piece of heaven, Wanda. Don’t knock it ‘til you loot it.”

“Okay, where do we start?” She clapped her hands together.

You pointed down the street to the nearest grocer. “Let’s start with grocers and move to convenience stores. We’re looking for canned and dried foods; they last the longest. Anything that’s perishable has already gone bad.”

You set to work. The pair of you went from store to store, filling bags with whatever canned, dried, and boxed foods you could find. After filling a bag, you tossed it into the back of the truck. Jars of pickles, cans of vegetable soup and spam, bottles of overdue honey, all went into the bags. The two of you worked harmoniously and silently.

You nearly cried when you found out that a whole shelf covered with bags of rolled oats; all stinking of mold. Wanda found huge jugs of canola oil that had gone rancid. The third grocer you two visited smelt so strongly of rotted vegetables, you hesitated to enter.

Afternoon crept up on you and Wanda. Lunch was brief; just a simple meal of some dried fruits and cans of spam. Wanda blanched when you offered the tin.

“Hey, it’s this or moldy oats.” you shook the spam can in front of her face.

She snorted and begrudgingly took it.

Evening fell quickly, covering the town with darkness.

“Let’s head back,” you said, zipping up the last bag.

About ten minutes into driving, the sun dipped below the tree line, turning the sky black. Ten minutes after that, Wanda coughed awkwardly.

“Uh, Y/N, I have to pee.”

“Really?” you sighed. “Can’t you hold it?”

“Probably, but I might get a UTI.”

You held up your hand. “Alright. Fine.”

Pulling over quickly, you parked the truck and turned to her. “Don’t take too long, Wanda; we don’t want to be out when it’s dark.”

“I know,” she rolled her eyes and jumped out of the car. She disappeared between the evergreens.

You sat in the truck, fiddling with the radio. After scanning over every station, hearing nothing but dead static, you checked again. It had been three days since Queens had sent out a transmission and you were getting nervous.

“Y/N!” Wanda shouted. She sounded eerily calm. “I need your help!”

Your heart dropped. Scrambling from the car, you drew the long knife from your belt.

A few strides into the forest and you found Wanda face to face with a Grizzly bear. It was slowly approaching her, nose sniffing at the ground.

Fuck. You picked up Wanda’s fallen walkie-talkie, and pressed the “on” button. You held it close to the receiver of your’s and it let out a horrible screech. The bear reared, and turned from Wanda towards the noise.

You threw the walkie off the path, deep into the woods.

led out a tremendous roar that rattled your bones. It limbered off, searching for the screeches.

After a few shaking breaths you stood up and raced to Wanda.

“Are you okay?” you fumbled to pull her up. There no smell of coppery blood. “Did it bite you? Any scratches?”

“No, no,” she was trembling under your hands. “I’m okay.”

You panic immediately evaporated, replaced with anger. “Then what the fuck were you thinking! You could have died, dumbass!”

“Hey, I saved your sorry ass!” Wanda sputtered. “Without me, you would have been eaten alive! Show a little gratitude!”

“Gratitude!” You laughed incredulously. “What the hell would you know about gratitude? Wanda, you attacked me in my own house, tried to rob me, and I still took care of you!”

“After you stabbed me!”

“After you attacked me!”

“I was on the run and desperate!”

“So that gives you the right to rob some-”

The sound of a rattling engine cut you off. You paused, suddenly on alert.

“What was that?” you whispered.

Wanda looked around the clearing, trying to find the source. “It has to be a car. Someone else is here.”

She grabbed your arm and pulled you around the back of the truck. Your heart beat violently, jumping uncomfortably in your throat. The white glare of headlights illuminated the line of trees as another car pulled into the clearing. The engine cut, and a door opened.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel, slowly approaching you and Wanda

“Wanda,” you murmured hoarsely, pulling out the machete from your belt. “The shotgun is in the passenger seat. ”

She nodded as you raised the blade, mouth pressed into a thin line. Creeping to the door, Wanda kept the knife raised. The passenger door opened easily, creaking ever so slightly. You prayed that the stranger didn’t hear her. The darkness disguised the pick up; if the intruder’s car was two metres to the left, the headlights would have revealed you and Wanda.

Wanda was surprisingly graceful as she slipped her arm into the passenger side and pulled out the gun.

The footsteps continued towards you. The stranger had seen your truck.

“Hurry,” you hissed.

She snatched the shot gun and shot up, pointing it at the stranger. “Don’t you take another fucking step.”

“Hey! Oh shit, okay, sorry. I don’t want any trouble, I’m just trying to find someone. I’ll be out of your way, please leave me alone.”

That voice. You stood up, moving to the stranger. It... couldn’t be.

“Queens?” You called out.

The stranger, shrouded by darkness, seized up. “North? Are you North?”

“Yeah, I am,” You let out a sigh of relief. “Jesus Christ, kid, I was so fucking worried about you!”

You hugged the kid. Within the embrace, you could feel the tension in his shoulders slowly seep out. It took you a moment to realize he was shaking with sobs.

You comforted him. “Hey, it’s okay, man. You’re safe now.”

Glancing over to Wanda, you could see her smile in the headlights.

“Let’s get home.”

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff imagines #marvel #marvel ladies #marvel imagines #Scarlet Witch #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch imagines #fanfiction #fanfic #marvel fanfic

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bktynes-writes · 4 years

Photo

Hi friends! Happy Canadian thanksgiving! Sorry this took longer to post than usual, I wanted to give everyone time to enjoy “Last Holiday” and all the wonderful content that came out surrounding that before I posted. I hope you have a wonderful week and, as always, like, reblog, or send me a message if you wanna chat about the story (or anything else)! And please let me know if you want to be tagged in upcoming chapters!

Read on ao3.

CHAPTER 3: The Father

The car ride from Rowena's club to the Winchester estate was silent and even more sobering for Dean than his phonecall with Sam had been. Benny had, of course, answered his call and driven to pick him up without question the moment Dean had said he needed a ride. Now he found himself sitting in the backseat of Benny's SUV staring at the palms of his hands, trying to compose his emotions for what he would be walking into. He hadn't let Sam explain over the phone, just said he was on his way and hung up, immediately dialling Benny's number.

His emotions ranged from fear to rage, and he was doing his best to school himself into some manner of togetherness before reaching his parent's home but was failing miserably. He caught Benny glance at him in the rearview mirror.

"You wanna tell me what's wrong, brother?" Benny asked, his cajun accent filling the cab of the vehicle.

"No." Dean snapped. There was nothing to talk about until he knew what had happened to his father.

Benny sighed. "You can't run from everything, Dean-o."

"Just drive, Benny. I'm not in the mood." Dean said.

"Fine, fine," Benny shook his head and turned his eyes back to the road. "But you should talk to someone. Spending your nights in the company of Rowena's harlots ain't gonna make the mornings feel any less cold."

Dean shot him a look over the back of the seats, and Benny focussed his eyes back on the road. He felt an immediate pang of guilt. Benny didn't know that he wasn't just pining over some woman with a fake name and even faker tits. He couldn't.

Dean sighed. "It isn't that, man." He curled his arms around himself. "It's dad. Something's wrong."

Benny's eyes snapped up. "John? What happened?"

"I dunno. Sam just called and said I needed to get home." He thumbed at the screen of his phone idly. "Could be anything."

"Well, shit, brother, if I'd've known this wasn't just a drunk Dean episode, I woulda been driving faster," Benny said.

He took a hard left, and the Winchester's estate loomed into view. The old house's stonework visage was enveloped in dark coiling ivy, and the yellow light from the windows glinted like eyes in a dark, expressionless face. The granite front steps led to grand wooden doors, intricately decorated with a relief carving of David's battle with Goliath. Dean scowled at the trees that adorned the side of the drive, casting their looming shadows through the back window of the SUV. They stood like sentinels, stoic and unyielding, daring any who passed to try and shake the Winchester's roots.

The tires crunched on the driveway's gravel as Benny pulled the car around the ornate fountain that sat at the base of the stairs. Dean unbuckled his seatbelt and threw open the door when it came to a stop.

"Thanks for the lift." He said over his shoulder to Benny as he slammed the door.

Benny rolled down the passenger window. "Any time, brother. You want me to wait for you?"

"No, it's fine. Thanks though. Just maybe don't go home yet? No sense keeping the wife awake if I need to call you again in a few hours." Dean said and forced a smile.

"Sounds like a plan." Benny looked at him with sad eyes and gave a final nod before turning back up the drive.

Dean watched the taillights recede into the inky blackness, the fountain's cascading water like white noise to his rushing brain. He quickly walked the few steps up the stairs and heaved open the front doors, light spilling out into the night, and stepped inside.

The front room was just as it had always been, a monument to excess with gilded fixtures and chandeliers that hung like diamonds from the rafters. Dean closed the doors behind him and called out to the depths of the house.

"Mom? Sam?" It was late, and, under normal circumstances, he would never have disturbed the silence.

"Dean." Sam appeared at the top of the grand staircase. "Benny got you here fast." A deep crease decorated his forehead, and dark circles hung under his eyes. His long hair, usually well kept, was sticking up on one side as though he had been running his hand through it for hours.

"Yeah, I told him you were pissed; what the hell is going on?" He climbed the stairs and followed his brother through the winding halls of the second floor, their heavy footsteps muted by the plush carpet underfoot.

"We were all sitting around after I proposed to Jess..." Sam kept his eyes forward, unblinking. "Mom and Dad were so happy. Mom, she couldn't stop talking about colour schemes and napkin patterns. Dad and I were going down to the cellar to get another bottle of wine. He insisted. Said, 'it's not every day your son gets engaged.'" He laughed darkly as they reached the master bedroom, and Sam rested his hand on the doorknob. Dean stopped in his tracks behind him. "He just...dropped, Dean. I didn't even have time to catch him before he hit the floor." Sam looked up, and Dean saw tears brimming in his already red-rimmed eyes. He opened the door to the bedroom, and they both stepped inside.

John lay on the bed, tubes and machines that had never before occupied the room's space hooked to his arms. A plastic mask secured over his face pumped oxygen to his lungs as the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor ticked away the seconds of his life. Jess sat in a chair next to the bed, her arm wrapped around Mary's slumped shoulders. They rose as the brothers entered, and Jess immediately threw her arms around Sam's waist, burying her head in his chest as he stroked her hair tenderly. Dean rushed to his father's side.

"Dad..." He choked out, taking John's hand in his own and gently squeezing it, as though he expected his father to wake from his touch alone. He turned to his mother. "What happened?" He demanded harshly.

"Heart attack." Said a smooth voice from the other side of the bed. Dean snapped his head around and spotted a woman examining one of the machines that snaked tendrils of fluid into his father's lifeless form. "Your father's in a coma as a result of cardiac arrest induced hypoxia." She scribbled something on her clipboard. Her sterile white coat stood in stark contrast to the umber glow of her complexion, the seriousness of her face softened by the low light of the room.

"In English." Dean snapped at her.

The woman fixed him with a stare that made Dean shrink back slightly. Her coal-black mane of hair seemed to crackle with intensity as she appraised him. "His brain couldn't breathe." She replied bluntly.

"Dean, this is Dr. Berry," Mary said gently as the two continued to stare at each other, neither willing to give the other the satisfaction of looking away first. "She agreed to treat your father at home instead of the hospital."

"Call me Billie." Said the woman, finally relinquishing victory of the staring contest to Dean as another machine beeped insistently for her attention. "I wouldn't normally recommend allowing a patient in his condition to remain at home, but what a Winchester wants, a Winchester gets."

"Is he gonna be okay?" Dean growled.

"Hard to say," Billie responded. "The cardiac event has severely weakened his heart, but it's the brain function I'm worried about."

"Meaning?" Dean didn't like this woman. She challenged him, and in a situation where he already had no control, he didn't appreciate the condescension in her tone.

Billie sighed as she placed her clipboard on top of the machine. "He'll probably survive the heart attack, but the fact that his brain was without oxygen for an extended period may mean he doesn't wake up. We'll take it day by day; most patients do recover eventually, but as I always say, pray for the best, prepare for the worst."

"Yeah, well, I'm not much of the praying type." Dean returned his gaze to his father's face, peaceful as he'd ever seen it, and fought to hold back a single tear that threatened to fall.

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me." Said Billie. Dean glowered at her. She turned to address his mother. "I have to return to the hospital. I'll send a nurse by in a few hours to check on him. If any of these machines readings change from what I've noted here, call me immediately. You have my number." Mary nodded, and Billie swept out of the room, shutting the door behind her without so much as a glance at Sam or Dean.

Dean's stroked the knuckles of his father's hand with his thumb. What kind of son are you? He thought to himself. Out drinking in whore houses, flirting with the enemy? He would be so ashamed of you. Sam is the only good Winchester boy. You don't matter. He'd beat your ass if he knew what you were doing tonight. Remember when he found you and Lee? Imagine if he knew what you were thinking about doing with Castiel...Dean shook the thoughts violently from his head.

"We need to keep this quiet." Dean heard his mother say distantly. "And we'll need to move up the wedding. I can pull something together in two weeks. Jess, call your parents and see what the earliest they can fly out is. Money won't be an issue." Dean whipped around in his seat, rage burning in his chest.

"Really?!" He snapped at his mother and brother. They stood huddled by the door, their expressions resolute, Sam still cradling Jessica in his arms, rubbing her shoulder firmly as she sobbed lightly into his chest. "Dad is a freaking vegetable, and you're worried about a wedding?!" He stood briskly and made to storm out of the room, but Mary stopped him with a firm hand placed on his chest.

"Dean," she said, looking him sternly in the eye. "We need to show that we aren't weak. This couldn't have come at a worse time. With Bela's news about the Novaks, a wedding would prove to our enemies that the Winchester bloodline, the Family, is still strong. Your father is the reason we aren't wallowing in the gutter like rats. Without him, those who would seek to destroy us will move against our empire with the forces of Hell behind them." She dropped her hand and, eyes pleading, stepped back.

Dean's shoulders fell. She was right. The news of his father's illness could be kept quiet, but not for long. Word would eventually spread that their patriarch's health was in decline. He looked to his brother, worry deepening the lines on his face, and Dean again felt the familiar stab of guilt twist in his chest like a knife. It should be his burden to bear, the weight of the family's success or failure, not Sam's.

"Alright." He conceded weakly, stepping back as his mother's facial features shifted into something fierce.

"What about the Novaks?" Sam asked. "Dean and I should deal with them before the wedding."

"Yeah, I uh, I was gonna tell you, Sammy," Dean said, scratching the back of his head idly. "I talked to Rowena tonight. She gave me some intel on the family."

Mary looked at Dean with a mixture of pride and disappointment. "You shouldn't have gone to Rowena's alone." She said, her tone steely. "But the more information we have, the better. What did she say?"

"Something about them being god-fearing Catholics." He wracked his brain for the details of what Rowena had said. "Apparently, they're ruthless. The dad, Chuck, he all but ran Newark through altruism and selflessness if you can believe it. Left a decent trail of bodies him, though." He collapsed back into the chair next to his father's bedside. The sun would be rising soon, and Dean wished for nothing more than a hot shower and fresh sheets. "He built his family from adopted street kids, plus his own four sons and, get this, they're all named after archangels."

Sam snorted audibly. "So, what the hell are they doing here?"

"Beats me." Dean stretched his arms above his head. "But Rowena reckons that Chuck targeted Bela because of her art trade, and I'm thinking that's how we get to 'em."

Mary sat down in the chair next to Dean and laid her hand on his cheek warmly. Dean relaxed into the touch. "My sweet boy," she cooed. "My sweet, brilliant boy. You're so good. So smart." Dean all but glowed under her praise as she gently stroked the side of his face, caressing her fingers through the short hair at his temple.

"I can help with that." Jess piped up from where her head rested sleepily against Sam's chest. "My parents are holding an art auction in a few days. It's a charity fundraiser for some west coast non-profit, but they're expecting a big crowd. If the Novaks are involved in art at all, they'll be there. I could put Sam and Dean on the guest list..." She looked nervously between Mary and Sam.

Mary rose and walked slowly towards her new daughter-in-law before embracing her tightly. She pulled back and, though her eyes were tired, the smile she gave Jessica was warm and welcoming. "I knew you'd fit into the family, my dear." She released her and looked at Sam. "You made a good choice, son."

"Yeah," he said, squeezing Jess's shoulder into his ribs as he smiled sweetly down at her. "Yeah, I did."

"So, it's settled," Mary exclaimed, rubbing her hands together. "Dean, Sam, you two will go to the art auction with Jess and try to identify at least one member of the Novak family."

Dean stiffened. "Uh, actually, mom...there's something else I've gotta tell you..."

Mary's expression when she rounded on Dean was nearly unrecognizable from before. Her eyes, which had moments ago held the icy cold of resolve to protect her family, now burned with a fire of reproach that Dean felt pierce into his soul.

"What?" She asked, her tone too soft to be anything but terrifying.

"I, uh, I met one of them already. Tonight. At Lee's." He gulped as the fire in Mary's eyes flared, then dissipated. "Castiel. I assume he's one of the adopted kids."

"You spoke to him?" Mary asked.

"Yeah, he uh..." Dean hesitated for a split second. While his father may have been the one to teach him the meaning of fear, his mother was no less terrifying. "He helped me out of a tough spot with these two idiots picking a fight. He seemed nice."

He fidgeted slightly, uncomfortable under his mother's gaze. She knew about his past relationship with Lee, even about the few nights he spent with a man named Aaron after he and Lee had split. While she had never been as violently against his trysts with men as his father, she had never openly expressed approval or support of them either.

"Did he know?" Asked Sam, breaking the tension of the moment. "That you're a Winchester, I mean."

"No." Said Dean, looking away from his mother's eyes. "I told him I was Dean Smith, Sandover sales associate. Didn't give him a reason not to believe me."

"That's good." Mary smiled devilishly at her son. "I assume you were pleasant to him?" The question was a double-edged sword. Dean knew she was asking if he had flirted with Cas, used his looks and charisma to make his knees go weak, batted his eyelashes enough to make the man swoon, but if he admitted that openly now, here, in front of his family, there would be no going back.

He swallowed hard. "If you're asking me if I was polite, then yes." He said curtly. "If you're asking me if I made a move on him," Dean's eyes went dark, lips quirking up at the corners in a twisted grin. "Of course."

The glee in his mother's eyes made Dean's stomach turn. He knew that look. He had seen it once in his youth, moments before she had watched a man hang from a crane after selling out John to the police.

"It seems your proclivity for the company of men is not such a great shame to this family after all, Dean." She stated. There was no warmth in her voice, no notes of approval. Her glee did not come from a place of love for her child; it came from the cold, calculating mind of a mafia wife, willing to risk everything to protect her Family. "Did this, 'Castiel' return your advances?"

Dean let his grin deepen as his mother's intentions became evident in his mind. He could see her plan formulating, even as the gears turned in her brain. "He did."

"Then we can use that." Mary turned to Sam and saw the same sadistic glint in his eyes that filled hers. "Sam, you will go to the auction as Jessica's escort. Dean," she returned her eyes to her eldest son, "you will go as a representative from Sandover. I'll speak to the company and make sure they don't already plan on attending. You will find Castiel and woo him." She approached Dean and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You truly are my son. Your charm, your whims of sexual desire...you will make him fall for you. Make him weak." Mary smiled and removed her hand, moving to sit at John's bedside. She clasped her husband's hand in her delicate fingers and gazed lovingly at him. "And when he is weakened by love and lust, you will destroy the Novak family from the inside out."

"Yes, mother," Dean said through his smirk. He squeezed her shoulder assuringly and looked at his father. I will make you proud, he thought.

Jessica and the Winchester boys left the bedroom quietly, allowing their parents time together. They descended the stairs to the front room, discussing their plans for the art auction. They opened the front door and stepped into the brisk morning, bathed in the golden glow of the sunrise.

"I texted Benny for you." Said Sam. "He should be here soon."

"Thanks," replied Dean. He bent down and placed a light kiss to the top of Jessica's head. "Welcome to the family, sis."

She smiled up at him sleepily as the crunch of tires could be heard up the gravel drive, and Benny's SUV pulled into view. Dean bid his brother farewell as they parted ways. He climbed into the backseat and slumped down against the warm upholstery.

"You seem like you're in a better mood than a couple hours ago," Benny said, handing Dean a still hot take-out cup of coffee over the back of the seat. He glanced in the rearview mirror and, spying the menacing grin that remained hanging on Dean's lips, he groaned.

"What's that for?" Dean asked lazily, sipping at the blessed bitterness of the coffee as it warmed his insides and washed the weariness from his limbs, new purpose infusing his veins.

"Whenever one of you Winchesters gets that look on your face, it means I'm gonna have to dig some poor bastard's grave." He mused, pulling out of the driveway and onto the main road, navigating the car towards Dean's apartment downtown. "I swear you sick fucks enjoy the killing more than the luxury of your lives."

Dean chuckled and closed his eyes to the world for just a moment. "Well, what can I say, Benny?" He smiled despite himself. "It's pure, life and death. It's in my nature."

He let himself drift into a comfortable sleep as they sat in the morning traffic, the radio quietly playing Frank Sinatra's 'My Way' in the background. His dreams were filled with blue-eyed angels and bloody crowns of thorns, piercing flesh and wrapping around bone. How poetic that a family named for angels should be destroyed by a man who once thought he had the devil in his very soul. Dean smiled in his sleep at the thought.

He had work to do.

Tags:

@valleydean @fighterfortheforgotten

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #supernatural au #deancas #deancas fanfic #deancas fic #destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #destiel mafia au #tw: violence #tw: illness #tag: tbotc

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