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catzula · 4 years

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It’s hard NOT to be a fangirl (especially when the setter is Oikawa Tooru)

A/N: is it evident how much in love I am with this man? I cried at his backstory, I did that. Well, uh, hope you enjoy! And I have a mountain of hw and exams coming up so I might not be able to write something so thats that.

Warnings: spoilers!!! For the spring tournament so beware. Cursing? 5.9k? Oikawa crying in the end? Its NOT angst tho. Also not edited cuz its 1 am

Genre: fluff, Iwaizumi's sister!reader

Synopsis: maybe confusing you with a fangirl wasn't exactly starting off the right foot, but Oikawa thought the stranger that sat with him till the beginning of his next match was... quite charming.

Oikawa might've been many, many things, but he was not a coward.

Most of the time, at least.

Whenever it was his feelings he had to be brave about, he never succeeded, especially not when they were towards you. You, who laughed and stood with him, never across but always beside him. Oikawa couldn't afford to be brave.

It was the first day of the Interhigh matches when he had met you. To say Oikawa was having a bad day would be an underestimation. He got dumped by his girlfriend that very day, right before his match, and brutally ripped out of the soft, consoling presence of his fans by Iwaizumi. He just wanted to be fawned over and comforted, maybe eat a snack or two while he was at it, but he didn't even get to do that?

"Stop pouting, Shittykawa." Iwaizumi muttered when Oikawa made an exaggerated 'hmph!' sound for the 20th time the last 5 minutes. "We need to go to the gym, and you need to focus."

"You need to focus too!" Oikawa protested, "but look at you getting ready to go to a date- hey, agh!" Holding the back of his head, Oikawa pouted even deeper this time. "You didn't need to hit me!" Oikawa whisper-yelled.

"I told you to shut the fuck up. Hold your tongue if you don't want to get beaten." Iwaizumi whispered angrily, sending a side glance at his coach to try and see if he had heard stupid Oikawa. Iwaizumi took a breath of relief when the coach didn't even look his way.

"We're gonna sit in the back stands so coach won't be able to see us. You can still watch the game from there, too." Iwaizumi finally spoke after they arrived in the gym, eyes scanning the room to find the perfect hiding place.

"You mean I am gonna sit in the back stands, all alone, cold and freshly dumped." Oikawa frowned, his frown only growing deeper when his best friend rolled his eyes. "Am I wrong? Tell me I'm wrong! As you go on your marry way with your girlfriend, I will be sitting here alone and wallow in my sadness for what... 6 hours?!"

Iwaizumi clenched his teeth, knowing Oikawa had a point. Sighing, he rubbed his temples. "Look, fuck, I'm sorry, okay? Should I tell her I can't come?" He asked gruffly, and despite all his brutality and harsh words, Oikawa knew he would do it if he said the word. "Nah, it's okay. Have fun in your date!" Oikawa answered, earning a baffled glare from the boy.

"Then why the fuck have you been guilt tripping me the past hour?"

"I'm lonely, Iwa-chan! I want attention." Oikawa grinned, professionally avoiding the slap coming his way, his grin growing even wider when Iwaizumi pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance. " I wonder how I didn't murder you already. Anyway, settle there, and don't move anywhere until the match. And I mean, anywhere, no visiting your fans, looking at yourself in the bathroom mirror, taking selfies before the windows, nothing."

"Okay, okay, I'm not dumb!" Oikawa whined as he threw his gym bag on the free seats. "Say hi to her for me, Iwa-chan!" He called after his best friend.

~~~

It had been almost an hour since Iwa had left, and Oikawa was losing his mind. Why did he agree to this again? He wanted to sit with the rest of his team, that sat across the court but Iwaizumi had told him not to move anywhere (and Oikawa was still a bit hurt at how grateful they seemed when Iwa had told them Oikawa would be sitting separately), so he had opted to social media.

Oikawa wasn't aware of someone else entering the secret back stands and getting closer to him as he watched a short compilation of cat videos. "Oikawa-kun?" You approached him, hiding your snicker when he jumped in his place to look at you. He was quick to hide his shock, a mask of smugness quickly finding its place on his pretty face.

"That's me." He smiled, his chocolate eyes scanning you and meeting your eyes back quickly. He watched as you sat a seat away from him, close but not approachable. He quirked his brow when you stood quiet, holding your phone a little too tightly. A shy fan, how sweet, he thought, smirking as he turned your way. He had an idea of what you wanted.

"Did you, perhaps, want a photo? I might not look as I normally would, though." Oikawa suggested, going by how you held your phone, checking the time every once in a while, you wanted a picture. His brows raised when you didn't say a word but bit your lip as if holding in a smile.

"That's your que to say 'no, Oikawa-kun, you look amazing!" He told you, not expecting your laugh to ring in his ears, baffled both by how sudden and how pretty the sound was. "No, you do look tired, actually." You finally answered, earning a gasp from the boy across you.

"Oh, to think I was going to see the days of my fans calling me tired-looking and ugly!" He dramatically brought his hand to his face, peeking through his fingers to see what you were going to do. You should at least deny he looked ugly, he thought, but his eyes grew wide when you chuckled. Now you were just rude! Did he really look that bad?

"Sorry, I'm not a fan." You pressed your lips in an apologetic smile, trying to hold it sorry and not smug when you spotted the blush on his cheeks. "Oh- I thought..." He cleared his throat to hide the embarrassment. "Most of the pretty girls like you who aproach me are my fans, so I just assumed." He spoke when he finally managed to find back his high-toned, flirty persona.

"That crowd of groupies in the entrance should belong to you, too, then?" You teased, not expecting him to answer yes, bursting into laughter with the unexpected positive answer.

"I kind of have to ask, though, if you're not my fan, why did you approach me, calling my name?" He seemed nonchalant as if he was used to that, but you had to admit it was a bit creepy.

"Oh, Haji- Iwaizumi sent me." You corrected yourself when you remembered how your brother had told you not to tell Oikawa you were siblings (he had warned you about how flirtatious Oikawa could get, and he might see it as a challenge if he figured you were his best friend's sibling. You didn't think it was true, they were best friends after all, but it was better to be cautious anyway.

"Iwa-chan? Ah, so he does care after all!" Oikawa blurted out, his words reminding how your brother had sent you here and how it was something way different than caring. "Well, he did want me to make sure you didn't leave here or call your ex. Heard you had some... problems."

"Cold as a stone, as always." He sighed, and you chuckled. "Can't exactly call it a problem, but being dumped isn't the best feeling in the world." He shrugged, taking a sip out of his water before flashing you a charming smile. Your brows furrowed when he admitted he was dumped, of course, Hajime had already told you that, but judging the boy by his looks, his nonchalant acts, and everything your brother had told to warn you, you hadn't expected him to admit that, especially not to a stranger.

"Well, uh, that sucks." You answered awkwardly, not knowing how to approach the situation. "I'm sorry about that."

"Its okay, as it was bound to happen, anyway. Our relationship wasn't exactly sailing smoothly." He shrugged, but it was evident he was a bit broken about it. "I- uh, I'm not the person people would come for advice in these kind of situations, but I can... listen?"

You felt something warm blooming in your chest when his gaze locked on you, chocolate brown eyes the prettiest you've ever seen, but the surprised, almost grateful look was what made you feel that way. Did he only want someone to listen?

"It's okay, I don't want to burden you with my stupid problems." He chuckled, pulling his playful nature back on the surface. "I don't even know your name."

"Oh, shit, you're right!" You laughed when you realized you hadn't even told him your name but had offered a shoulder to cry on. "I'm Y/N, nice to meet you." You stuck your hand out, his warm (big-) hand gripping yours and causing that warm feeling that was in your chest to spread even more.

"Y/N-chan, it's very nice to meet you." He winked. "So, what is your relationship with our dearest Iwa-chan?"

"Oh- well, uh... you could say he sees me as a sister." You shrugged, not expecting him to pout sympathetically. "Oh no, sibling-zoned? That's harsh, man."

"No it's- hey, you have no right to pity me, you're the one freshly dumped!"

"Hitting low, are we?" He laughed, making you laugh with him. "You look like you're gonna die if you don't ask me how we broke up." He sighed after a second, although he still had a playful smirk. "I guess I have to tell you." He sighed one more time. "We're stuck here for at least 5 hours, anyway."

~~~

"Here you go, a granola bar. Are you sure you didn't want anything else?" You tossed the granola bar to Oikawa, who had his legs on the seats in front of him, making himself comfortable in the uncomfortable seats.

"Yeah, that's enough. Thank you, Y/N-chan." He smiled cheekily, opening the packet with his teeth. "The match is in about an hour, anyway, I shouldn't eat much."

"Sure, whatever you say. Well you were talking about a new player before I left."

"Before your stomach started to scream, you mean." He laughed, and you found yourself watching the smile. These past few hours had flown by so quickly that it almost felt like barely an hour. Oikawa was easy to talk to, and you always found something new to talk about, laughing almost at everything he said. He was really charming, and the confidence that oozed out of every move he did, every word he spoke was attractive, you had to admit.

But as much of a smug player he could be, he often acted childish, too, especially when he talked about a certain Kouhei of his did you see the childlike jealousy and competitiveness clearly. Though despite that, he would have a fond, soft look in his eyes whenever he talked about his teammates, making you feel almost jealous at how affectionate he looked about them.

You knew he was charming and flirtatious, your brother had warned you not to get close because he could and would have you falling for him in no time, but you had underestimated him. You had thought he was acting overly cautious as always, but apparently not.

You saw him checking his phone for a new message. "I gotta go warm up now." He told you as he stood up, the playful glint in his eyes not being missed by you. "I trust you'll watch and cheer for me, right, Y/N-chan?" His smirk was self-satisfied, already knowing the answer, but you didn't want to give him the pleasure. "I'd rather cheer for the ace, actually, much cooler than a setter."

Another dramatic gasp came from the proud setter, making you laugh. "How dare you! Setters are much cooler than aces, I'll have you know. I'll prove it in this match, too." He leaned towards you, and although you already knew how long he was, having him towering over you like this sent goosebumps down your spine. "I'll prove it, just make sure you watch closely."

~~~

"So, was I right or was I right?" Your phone chimed with a new message, and you instantly knew who it was that sent the message. You opened Instagram, accepting the message request.

"I couldn't tell since I was watching the ace the whole time, didn't have the chance to see if you were cooler." You texted back, almost able to see the pout forming on his lips on the other side of the screen. It was a lie, too. The moment you saw his serve, you were unable to take your eyes off him. He looked like a different person on the court. It was almost scary, how focused he suddenly became the moment he grabbed the ball, how he was aware of everything that was happening around him, developing strategies half you didn't even understand and it was terrifyingly beautiful, you had to admit.

"Mean! And I had played exceptionally well just because you were watching :(" You giggled at the text, not noticing how your brother's eyes were narrowed and turned to you instead of the TikToks his girlfriend had sent him. "Who are you talking to?"

"Hm?" You flinched, so concentrated on your phone, you had forgotten your brother was there, too. "Oh, no one. My friend sent me a meme." You stared back at your brother, who was still watching you with narrowed eyes, waiting for you to crack, but you didn't. He nodded curtly, and though he could've pursued it further if not for his phone starting to buzz, the name of his girlfriend appearing on the screen.

"Gotta take this." He told you, standing up and making his way to his room. "Don't stay up late texting." He told you as a warning.

You wished you had taken your brother's advice the next morning when he came in to wake you up. You had texted Oikawa for hours into the night, only stopping when you fell asleep mid-conversation.

"Y/N, I need you to come to the sport center again, today." Hajime told you as you were brushing your teeth, and he was putting gel in his hair to make it look like his signature spiky style. "Again?" You rolled your eyes, earning a soft slap on your head from your brother.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, and don't roll your eyes at me."

"I'll do whatever I- Ow! Okay, okay, I'll be there!" You muttered angrily, but a part of you, the smallest part of you, wasn't as angry as you showed him to be.

~~~

You were there before him, this time. It had been almost 10 minutes since you had arrived, but Oikawa was nowhere to be seen (and you got ready especially neatly this time! What a shame). You sighed, opening your phone to text Hajime Oikawa wasn't here just as you felt a pair of warm hands closing your eyes from your back.

"Quick, tell me the coolest volleyball position!"

"Ace!" You answered and heard his exaggerated sigh. "No, Y/N-chan, I thought we clarified this yesterday!"

"I never admitted to it, though." You told him with a sly smile, causing his fake anger and annoyance to fall and a laugh to breakthrough. "Clever little Y/N-chan." He muttered, plopping down to the seat next to you.

"You look tired." You remarked, making him gasp. "And whose fault is that? You fell asleep! I waited an hour for you to write back, thinking you had something else to do." He frowned, making you chuckle.

"I take none of the blame, you talk too much." You teased.

"Only with people I like." He shot back, catching you off guard and making your eyes widen. "Ah, finally, I won this round!" He cheered. "You, on the other hand, look especially nice today, madame."

"Thank you, kind sir, I got a good night sleep, unlike you." You smiled cheekily, and he was about to answer before loud cheering filled the room and made you wince. You noticed how almost everyone was on their feet, watching the game closely.

"What's going on?" You asked the boy sitting next to you, now also watching the game with a Cheshire cat smirk.

"Karasuno's game started." He answered without taking his eyes off the game. "It was the freakish quick they used just then that caused the cheering."

"The freakish quick?" You repeated.

"Yeah, watch." He told you, sounding excited and annoyed at the same time. You turned your eyes to where he was pointing at, a short, ginger boy. Your brows furrowed, trying to understand just why-

"Oh, shit." You gaped when the boy flew over the court in mere seconds. The ball was on the other side of the net in almost less than a second, and it took you a moment to realize they had just made a spike.

"Oh shit, indeed," Oikawa answered, his smirk still on his lips, but his eyes weren't looking humored. "That little bastard, he had to be this fucking talented." He muttered, speaking almost to himself.

"You don't look worried, though." You smiled. "There is no reason for me to be worried." He smirked proudly in answer, although it had a slight waver to it. "I'm much better than him as a setter. What worries me is the team itself."

"Are they that good? You looked much better in the match yesterday."

"Ah, I knew you were watching me, Y/N-chan! I'm too pretty not to look at." He swiped a soft-looking lock of hair out of his face with a playful smile.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." You muttered, hiding your embarrassment from him by turning back to the game. "See him, the short boy in the back, he's the libero." Oikawa told you, getting slightly closer to explain, and you would've understood it if it wasn't for how close he was all of a sudden. "He's one of the best I've seen, actually."

"W-what makes him so special?" You asked, turning your eyes back to the game from his pretty face (as if he wasn't handsome enough, he also had a good side profile?!) "That." he answered, his eyes glinting with something you could say awe. You turned back to the boy who leaped to the ground after the ball, his hand sliding over the surface and sending the ball straight up. "His reflexes are unbeleivable, and he's fast and smart, like the rest of his team." He explained further, not aware of how focused he suddenly was, and it was clear he was passionate about the sport. You had never understood why your brother felt devastated after a lost game, or why he was cheering on the top of his lungs, sometimes pushing himself so hard in training that he passed out, coming home late almost every day because of his practice.

But seeing Oikawa watch the game, seeing him in the game, you felt like you could understand what it was. You could never grasp the feeling, but you could understand what it was. And it was infuriating, made you jealous, and you couldn't understand why, but it also amazed you, making you yearn for the strange feeling.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I must be boring you to death." He realized, bringing his hand to scratch the back of his neck in embarrassment, cheeks flushing slightly after talking for almost an hour about everything going in the game, explaining them all in detail.

"No, no its fine!" You answered, laughing at his flushed face. It was funny how he was a charming, devilish, smart, and manipulative guy at one second and a volleyball geek the other. "It helps me appreciate the game better." You shrugged, not aware of how his eyes glinted with your answer. "But don't you think I realized how you're overlooking everything the setter does. You didn't say anything about him."

"What, you're interested in him?" He pouted, causing you to laugh.

"I didn't say I was interested, I'm just telling you you're ignoring him!" You protested after your laugh, but he still had a frown. "Sounds like you're interested, to me."

"No! Okay, okay, keep ignoring him, then. But don't think I missed the jelaousy-" You couldn't finish your sentence because of a sudden hand closing on your lips. "Nope, we don't say that here." He whispered, and somehow, you were able to hear him despite the loud cheering, the crowd, and the loud thumps of your heart.

"What, saying you're jealous?" You spoke beneath his fingers, noticing how his smirk grew wider and cheeks flushing pinker.

"Yep, let's not repeat that and I'll take my hand off you." He waited a few seconds as you stood silent, removing his hand, still having a suspicious look in his eyes. "Good girl." He told you, causing your eyes to widen and shout a protest. "O-oikawa! What the fuck?!"

"What, I didn't mean anything?" He answered innocently, but there was still a smirk on his lips. "Well, okay, I'll tell you about him if you're so curious." He sighed.

"As I said before, he's my Kouhei." You nodded for him to go on. "He's... talented. Very talented. A genius, actually." He laughed uncomfortably. "He's not on my level yet, but his talent... it even makes up for it and I hate to see how despite all my days I spent training, he's still better than me easily."

"I- oh." You muttered, not expecting something like this, especially for him to admit someone else was better than him and will always be better than him.

"Tomorrow we're playing with them." He told you, and despite the forced smile, you could see how he clenched his teeth. "I can't- I won't lose to him."

"You won't." You agreed.

"I'll fight as hard as I can but we won't lose to them. I'll fight Shiratorizawa, I'll play against Ushiwaka and show him, prove him I did the right thing by choosing Seijoh and not his dumb school." He looked determined, eyes glinting with such determination that even though you had no idea what he was saying at that point, you wanted to agree and cheer him on.

"You will." You agreed once again, causing him to smile. "I'm sorry, I think I'm just a bit stressed."

You smiled, shrugging as if to say it's nothing. "No, no problem, I understand what you mean. It must be nerve-wracking."

"Well, it is."

"I'm horrible at advice, but uh, want me to show you what I do when I'm stressed? Like before exams and stuff. It might help." You smiled, extending your hand out to show him, not expecting him to do the same, and hold your hand like a handshake.

"You're right, that does help." He grinned, shaking your hand and making you burst into laughter. "That wasn't what I was going to do!"

"Oh, it wasn't? Still helped, though!" He told you innocently, teasing you even more. "C'mon, stick your hand out like this." You giggled.

"Now start drawing-" you told him, focusing on drawing shapes and letters in his hand. He was going to say a snarky remark at how that wasn't how it went, but Oikawa couldn't bring himself to stop you from doing whatever you were doing as he watched you focus on his hand, fingers running over his calloused ones, the tip of your tongue sticking out from the corner of your mouth without realizing, and every move of your finger sent goosebumps down his body.

Noticing you had lost yourself in thought, absent-mindedly going on drawing on his hand for a good few minutes, you raised your eyes to meet his brown ones. "Does that... help?"

"It- uh, it does. I'll need you to do this before the game tomorrow, too, though." He smirked playfully, his hand closing on yours just as he said it. "Well, I'm glad I could help." You shrugged, trying to hide how embarrassed you were. You could tell he already knew how you were feeling by the smile on his lips, but instead of teasing you about it, he turned to the game without letting your hand go, smiling even wider when you didn't pull it, either.

~~~

"You guys were great at the game today." You texted Oikawa that night, not sure whether he would answer, though your thoughts disappeared when he texted back instantly.

"It must be your doing." He wrote, sending a picture of him doing the peace sign right after.

"I don't think I can come early tomorrow, though. I won't be able to do it again. Are you ready for the game tomorrow?"

"Oh no, how could you? I can never overcome the stress now. Will you let me call you if I say I'm not ready?" He texted back, making you chuckle.

"Just this once."

Your phone started ringing right after, a 'yahoo' greeting you when you picked it up.

"Hi, Oikawa-kun."

"Are you free?" He asked, and you shrugged as if he was across you and not on the other side of the phone. "I was getting ready to bed."

"Thinking of me before bed, you must have a crush on me, Y/N-chan." He chuckled, somehow still able to tease you through the phone. "Hey, I-"

"No, actually, don't answer that." He stopped you. "I had something else in mind when I called you, but you cute voice is too distracting." He sighed.

"Oh." You answered, making him laugh, his laugh ringing in your ears.

"Yeah, well... I was wondering, I mean after the match tomorrow." He cleared his throat. "No, actually, will you cheer for me tomorrow?" He finally asked, and you could tell he was holding his breath.

"Cheer for you?" You repeated.

"Yeah, only- only for me." He spoke, this time merely a whisper. "I mean, of course you cheer for me, everyone does because I'm that-"

"Yes, Oikawa." You laughed and cut his self appreciating ramble off. "I'll cheer for you, and only you."

"Y-you will? Well then, maybe you'll accept my offer to perhaps grab a coffee or something after the game? To make up for not being there with me tomorrow?" You were trying to stifle a laugh at how unsmooth he was despite his reputation when he spoke again. "Am I- am I pushing it? I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"No, you're not making me uncomfortable!" You protested quickly, already aware of how dramatic he could get. "I'm just, well, surprised. But yes, I'd like to grab a coffee with you. Anywhere but those god awful stands, actually." You chuckled, hearing the relieved breathe coming from his side of the line.

"Well, if that's settled," he spoke, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "Tell me, Y/N-chan, what's your favorite color?"

Wow, you thought, he really sucked at flirting.

~~~

"I'm here." You texted both your brother and Oikawa. It was merely minutes away from the start of the game, all because of a dumb chemistry quiz you had at school. You finally found a free seat when you noticed they were done warming up and were getting ready.

"Good, we're about to start the game. I'll probably meet my gf after the game, so don't start crying if you don't see me." Was the first text you got, rolling your eyes at how much of an idiot your brother was. "Yeah, whatever, not like I'm here to see you." You texted back, noticing how his head perked up when he read the text, eyes scanning the seats to find you as he texted a "WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?!"

"Wish me luck, Y/N-chan, just remember your promise to cheer for me ;p" Oikawa texted back, also raising his head to search you in the crowd, but he was successful at finding you, eyes locking for a second, of course, he sent a playful wink at you.

The game started after that, and you could swear you were losing years of your life with each given and taken points. You had screamed at the top of your lungs at one point, so worked up, you sometimes forgot what was happening.

"Oikawa, good serve!" You screamed (he had told you to say that when he was serving the day before, and you could see it immediately brought a smile on his lips).

The third set was the worst, you thought. No one ever got to widen the point gap, always one of them at match point, points being given and being taken, and you were sure you were going to lose your mind if they-

You watched as Oikawa ran to receive a ball, running so fast that he was unable to stop himself from crashing into the table, falling on his bad knee that you could only imagine how much it hurt, but not before pointing at Hajime, your brother, the ace. He set an incredible ball for him, incredible even for someone like you who didn't know anything other than the basics about volleyball.

You could feel tears swelling in your eyes as he tumbled into the table, pulling himself back up almost immediately and limping back towards the court.

He was... he was determined to win.

But he couldn't.

You watched as Oikawa tried to receive the ball flying towards him and failed. You couldn't watch when he realized he failed. He lost. But he was still there to make his teammates gather for the lineup, patting them on the back to cheer them up, thanking the crowd, but his face was down, helping his teammates collect themselves back, your brother too when he was also devastated inside.

Still, Oikawa managed to hold it all in, unlike your brother and most of the team that was crying. You couldn't hide your disappointment in, either, eyes already wet with tears because you thought they were going to win, and they thought they were going to win too, and seeing Oikawa like this, it hurt. You watched them as they left the court, your eyes following the brunette who had separated himself from the rest of the team, going somewhere else with a quick pace.

You rose to your feet without even realizing it, running after him without thinking what to say or to do, but you just wanted to be there, and you were so focused on finding him that you hadn't realized Hajime following his friend or rather, you, either.

You were about to enter the room Oikawa had entered a minute before you when someone held you by the arm and pulled you back. "Y/N, don't." Your brother warned you, and maybe you should've listened since they were friends for years. "It's not- you shouldn't go in, not right now. Give him time."

He sighed when you freed your arm from his grip. "He wouldn't want you to-" the door shut in his face, and he only got a glimpse of his best friend's tear-stricken face, "-see him like that." Iwaizumi finished his sentence as a whisper to himself.

You thought this might've been a bad idea the moment you entered the room. "O-oikawa?"

"What are you doing here?" You heard him say, the room dim-litted, making it near impossible to see his expression, but something in you told you, you didn't want to. "I'm- well, I'm here to see if you're okay-"

"Get out." You heard him say, merely a whisper but still there. "I don't want you to see me like this, stop looking at me! I don't want to see the same pity I see at everyone else's face, pitying me for losing to my own Kouhei and-" His voice getting higher and higher with each word, he was almost screaming the last few words. So you hugged him, you didn't know what led you to do so, was it instinct to relieve his tension? You didn't know, but it still worked, you noticed.

His stiff muscles started to relax with the sudden contact, and though he stood as still as a stone, not hugging you back, you didn't feel rejected. "Shh, I know." You whispered, breathe brushing over his skin and sending goosebumps down his spine.

"We lost." He whispered, a sob finding its way out of his lips. His arms came up, hugging and pulling you to himself, almost as if he tried to swallow you whole, burying his face to your hair. He was big, much bigger than you, for sure, so the sobs that shook him shook you, too, but you didn't mind.

"We lost." He sobbed again, and again, and again and again. It took him a while to let it all out, but he felt better when he did. His arms were still around you when his cries had died, your scent affecting him to relax.

"Thank you." You heard him whisper as he pulled back, not looking in your eyes once. "Of- of course." You shrugged, feeling somewhat awkward as he wiped his face with a tissue.

"Well," he spoke, looking in your eyes for the first time for what felt like hours, "that's me. The Oikawa Tooru. Now you know me better than almost anyone else." He shrugged, trying to sound and look indifferent but failing miserably. His voice and his hands shaking, eyes looking at you with almost fear.

"Are you going to leave now?"

"Leave?" You repeated.

He shrugged. "Now that you've seen I'm not the clever captain or the charming playboy, but a- an insecure, jealous man, who is now also a failure, are you going to leave?"

"Oikawa," you whispered, noticing he was more insecure than he let on. "Just because you are more than what you look like, it doesn't cancel the others. You're still the smart, cunning, and amazing captain, the charming flirt who made me fall for him in mere days, and the man who lost a match with a point. A man, striving to be better than everyone else, with goals and a purpose in life. I don't think I could leave you for having a purpose in life." You chuckled.

"Well, that of course if you-" Before you got to finish, you felt pressure on your lips, stopping you from talking. It was his soft lips, this time, making you silent. It was a soft kiss, his hand cupping your cheek and pulling your face towards his, his lips were almost brushing yours, but it still felt heavenly.

"I think we should go before your brother marches in and kills us both." He whispered to your lips with a sly smile. "Yeah, I think you're- wait, you knew he was my brother?!" You exclaimed, making him chuckle.

"Of course I did, who do you take me for? I am the clever captain of Seijoh, I knew it the moment you told me you were like a sister to him."

"Well, the clever captain of Seijoh, use your brain to find us another way out but the door, since I'm pretty sure Haji is guarding it."

"Ah, I have the perfect idea." He snickered, picking up his phone, and entering the name of Hajime's girlfriend.

"Tooru, where are you, are you okay, do you-"

"Hey, hey, I'm alright, I just need a favor." Oikawa whispered into the phone. "I'm stuck inside a room, and the door is being guarded by Iwa-chan whose waiting to kill me, so please get him out of here?"

"Tooru, are you with a girl?" You heard the voice screaming on the other end of the line, making you both wince. "Please just help me just this once?"

You heard her sigh. "Okay, okay, hang in there." She closed the phone, and it took only two seconds for your brother's phone to ring.

You were in awe when Hajime suddenly screamed, "What?! Whose checking you out? I'm fucking coming baby, don't move anywhere." sprinting down the hall.

"You're a magician."

"I'm amazing." He muttered right before leaning in for yet another kiss, smiling against your soft lips.

#haikyu x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu imagines #oikawa x reader #oikawa imagine #oikawa scenarios #oikawa tooru x reader #hq oikawa #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa fluff #hq x reader #hq imagines #hq x you #haikyuu!!

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visceryl · 4 years

Text

Forget Me Not

@hogwartsmystory and I co-wrote a short story involving Jaxson (Ethren’s brother) and Konnor a few years after the Order. Hal Greywind belongs to @one-very-angry-hufflepunk and Idmon Malin belongs to @zuulosdovah ------

The pitter of rain bounced off the roof of the colonial farmhouse and dripped down every window. It had rained from first daylight to evening, turning the grounds outside to muddy puddles, while animals sought shelter in barns and enclosures sparsely populated throughout the owned land.

Inside, the dim glow of a single living room lamp and the hearth of a fire lit up the room where Konnor lounged tiredly in a reclining armchair. His feet propped up atop a fluffy mass of white fur as a large dog chewed idly at a cow ankle bone that crunched beneath its jaws. A book’s spine was broken across the arm of his seat, untouched for hours unlike the glass of red wine he turned in his grasp.

Somehow the day off work had been longer and more exhausting than if he’d gone. With no papers to keep up with or assignments to see to, Konnor was left to his thoughts alone in the empty house he called home. Hal and Charlie had invited him over to stave away the blues of the day, but as he denied every year, he’d insisted anniversaries shouldn’t be skipped.

Even the bad ones.

The glass lifted to the edge of his lips as he took down a long sip and set it on the nearby side table. In his other hand, he gripped tightly to the crumpled and dirted remains of a photograph. Taken several years back in shoddy quality and with minimal color, a light leak consumed the entire lower half of it. But the importance of it remained. Grouped all together, Konnor could still make out the faces of those he’d joined the Order with. Talbott, Chiara, himself, Hal, Tonks, Ben, Eileen, Ethren.

He sucked up a breath and his gaze tore from the photograph. His head knocked to the cushioned back of his chair. Like flashes of moments from harder times, they lingered in his mind. The day of the final battle nearly broke him. He ended it with several broken ribs and a scar that ran from his hip down to his thigh, but the worst injury had been the heartbreak after, when bodies were fished from where they laid.

A crack of lightning flashed outside the window, followed by the rolling boom of thunder that shook the shudders. Konnor parted from his thoughts to rub a hand over his face, massaging tiredly at a temple. Beneath him, the Great Pyreneese stirred and gathered to her feet before making off for the kitchen.

“Yeah, I get it. Bit too miserable in here, huh?” he called after the dog. The picture was set aside his wine glass with another fleeting glance before he drew the book in hand again. It was some shitty mystery novel to pass the time.

Konnor read for another half hour until he came to a stop at the end of a page, hardly remembering a single word from the entire chapter. Too distracted. Another gulp of wine disappeared behind his lips. Mourning the dead was like getting your soul devoured by dementors.

He lost himself to thought again, droning out to the crackle of the fire as the rain relentlessly poured outside. Then a knock came. Several harsh repetitive raps that sent Iris into a loud barking frenzy from the other room. “Quiet, quiet!” Konnor yelled out, pushing up onto his feet. He crosses the room, quietly muttering to himself about how Hal couldn’t leave well enough alone. But that wasn’t who he found.

As the door swung open, Konn straightened in surprise, half shielded from the gust of wind and rain.

A cold, unforgiving rain poured down from the angry grey clouds above. It pelted the tattered, brown leather duster of the man who stood beneath its rage, auburn hair plastered against his face.

Konnor's eyes widened. "Jax?"

"Konnor." Tired bags hung under his eyes and rain dripped off the end of his nose. "Mind if I come in?"

Konnor shielded himself half behind the door from the blustering wind. "It's late. Why are you all the way out here?"

"Maybe I just needed to drink with someone other than a little kid." Jaxson caught on to the look of disapproval on the man's face in seconds. "Don't worry," he mumbered, long fingers fishing through his hair. "I didn't just leave him alone. Summer has him for the night."

Konnor sighed. "Come on in," he murmured as Jax stomped into the house, shaking his hair out like a wet dog. "You really need to stop bouncing him around so much. It's probably confusing. And uh... pick your poison." He motioned to a liquor cabinet near where the TV rested.

"It's better than being stuck with me. Believe me."

“Maybe when you get like this, yeah.”

Jaxson made a beeline for the whiskey. He swiped up a bottle and heaved down into one of the chairs. The neon glow of the screen reflected in dull eyes, and wordlessly the man tipped the bottle back.

Konnor eased down next to him, eyes searching the man. "If you're going to drink me dry, you can at least tell me what's going on."

"What. Can't just come over and visit my brother's best friend?"

"Then you should know better. I'm practically a professional at dealing with you emotionally constipated Whitecross boys. And you don't make a habit of visiting. I'm always hunting you."

"The kid keeps me busy. Sorry." Jaxson took another long gulp. Red had flushed onto his cheeks.

His eyes caught the photograph that Konnor had left on the table. The Order always made sure to photograph its members... to remember those gone, or killed during the war effort. That particular one... had been the recruits of 1995.

Ethren.

Jaxson dragged his gaze away, heart twisting into painful knots. “...Ethren and Tonks?”

Konnor grimaced. “...I always pull that dusty old thing out on the battle’s anniversary.” He retrieved his own wine glass, polishing the dwindling remainds and held out the glass. "Don't leave me out. How is Alaire doing? Feels like time has flown."

Jaxson sighed. "Perfect," he murmured as he poured the man a glass. "Somehow, he's managed to dodge a bullet. He doesn't have his dad's cynicism, or his mother's cruelty. He's... growing up to be a very kind and thoughtful boy."

"..he's three now, right? Think you'll consider preschool for him? He'll just end up going to Hogwarts or Ilvermorny, but muggle schools before then aren't so bad."

Jaxson's jaw tightened. "I... I was thinking of just schooling him myself. At first."

Konnor arched a brow. "Yourself? No offense, Jax, but what do you know about current day curriculum? You're already here looking like death just getting by as is."

Jaxson's teal gaze flashed with a sudden rush of anger. "I'll manage!" He shouted, cracks tearing down the cup. A deep breath followed, as fingers massaged his face. "...it'll be fine."

He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

"You're not alone, you know," Konnor said, his voice gentle. "In any of it." He stared down into his own glass. "I know you think you have to do it all yourself... but it's not healthy for you. Or the kid. Ethren wouldn't want this for you."

"Ethren's dead. Doesn't matter what he wants."

"That's horseshit. Don't make him come haunt your ass." "Horseshit?"

The edge of Jaxson's lip lifted. “...he's gone. Enjoying whatever paradise he's found, or maybe just...nothing. It's us, the ones who survived who are fucked over."

"Well, I'm sure as hell am not going to sit here and wallow because he made a dumb decision." Konnor's eyes searched Jaxson's face. "There's still stuff we can do. We can live our lives now. I put everything I had on the line to make sure of it just like he did, and now his kid can have a good life and a family if you'd just let him have that. You can't push all your shit onto that little boy."

Jaxson's eyes were tinted with red as he stared down at his hands. Calloused, and decorated with the scars of nails digging into his palms. With a breath, they curled into fists. "I know. Alaire... he doesn't deserve that. I need to get over it. That's why I'm here. I need your help.”

Konnor grabbed Jaxson's shoulder. "Ethren was my best friend. Anything, Jax."

"It's come to my attention that you're proficient in a rare caliber of magic." Jaxson glanced over. "You know how to obliviate."

Konnor's hand lifted up from his shoulder and hovered. "...I learned it in the order." His eyes narrowed. What does that have to do with you?"

"Take him away." Jaxson's voice unraveled into a whispered beg, and he snatched Konnor's hand in a desperate grasp. "Ethren. Please. I... I can't do it anymore."

Silence lifted from Konn as a wave of sadness twisted his features into something soft and knowing. He sighed, letting his shoulders fall. “You can’t seriously be asking me that, Jax. I can’t do that… It’s not right. I know it hurts but that pain is something you have to push through.”

“What’s the point!?” Jaxson snapped. “It’ll never go away! It… it fucking hurts. And it's hurting the kid too. I can’t be this broken husk taking care of Alaire, he deserves better!”

“Obliviating those memories won’t help you any. It's dangerous. It creates holes. Empty spaces... If you completely cut ties with everything that could remind you of him, maybe it could work but that's not the case. Which is why I'm saying you can lean on all of us. We can help you get back on your feet and manage that pain. To give the kid a good life.”

“It’s not enough.”

“It has to be, Jaxson. It’s all we’ve got.”

Jaxson tore up to his feet, knocking the bottle of whiskey aside and it teetered on the end table. Konnor quickly leaned to catch it from spilling as the older man tangled his fingers up through his hair. “You know…” he finally growled. Jax locked his gaze on Konnor. “I thought you of all people would understand.”

Shock rippled over and Konnor pushed up after him. “I do understand. I know where this is coming from, but it’s not the answer.”

“You took Allston’s memories!” His eyes clouded with a lingering wetness. “He was your own brother. How dare you deny me what you did for yourself!”

“Don’t,” Konnor snapped sharply. In a few short steps he got right up into Jaxson’s face, the roots of his hair beginning to bleed from pink to a darker red. The two were level with another, tension crawling between them. “I have to live with what I did every damn day! I have to miss him like he's as good as dead! I took his memories so he would live, Jaxson. You know how easily I could have forgotten him too?! But that's not the point. The point is we have to remember for them. To protect what is left."

“And what about what I want?! Allston didn��t even ask for you to take his memories, you forced it on him. This is… This is something I want! If you were able to take the coward’s way out then I have every right to do the same.”

Crack.

It happened in a flash. A cold anger burned and strangled in Konnor’s throat as the rest of his hair bled with crimson rage and his fist snapped against Jaxson’s jaw. Then he shoved him. With fingers wrenched up in his jacket, Konnor sent Jaxson to the ground. “Don’t you dare call me a coward! What I did saved my brother’s life, I’m not running from what I did. You… you don’t get to come here and do this to me, Jaxson!” He grasped at his throbbing knuckles, turning away as the sting of tears met his eyes. “Especially not today. I lost my best friends. My brother. And you want to call me the coward?”

Jaxson caught himself on an arm as he hit the ground. Stunned. Fingers drifted to the dull ache of his jaw before his teeth ground together, ignoring the slightest twinge of metal on his tastebuds. For a long while he didn’t meet Konnor’s gaze and when he did, a faint sheen of wetness marred his cheeks. “I can’t make it like this,” he whispered. “I’m trying to save my life. I…” His voice cut off in a choke and he bowed over to hide his face. “Everything I did. Everything I was, it was to keep him safe. Now...now.. What am I supposed to do!?”

The hurt strangled in Konnor’s chest. “Find something,” he hissed bitterly. His hands shook and he fell back onto the couch, collapsing to sink his face into his palms. “Find even the tiniest shred of happiness and live. We don't get fairytale endings, Jax, we just have to make the most of what's left and you've got a whole lot waiting for you with Alaire." He dared glance up, wiping a sleeve across his own face. “I’ll be damned if I lose another one of you because you couldn’t stop dwelling on one single thing.”

“An arrow killed Ethren.”

“An arrow didn’t god damn kill him, Jax!” Konnor lashed. He retrieved the bottle up from the table and knocked it back for a long swig to ease the matching ache of his fist and heart. “He couldn’t move on. He couldn’t let go of the poison that is Merula fucking Snyde. She was never going to be good for him.”

Jaxson hadn’t moved from his place on the floor, staring down absently at his own hands. “You mean his obsession.”

“What else?! You’re all selfish bastards. Chasing after your obsessions like starving dogs with little regard for who it ends up hurting.”

“Is that why you did it, then? Allston couldn’t move on?”

Konnor let a sad chuckle rattle from his chest. Angry locks of fiery red had returned to their soft, white shade. "Towards the end.. my cover got blown with some death eaters. I hadn't seen Allston in a while and it seemed like I never would. I was hunted and somehow.. somehow the second I was cornered he was there. He got himself captured and tortured and I know the only reason he knew was because he was doing things illegally. When I found him I got him out, Jax. Before he could kill himself."

“...Sounds like your brother and I have a lot in common then.” Jaxson drew a sharp breath as a tear dripped down from the tip of his nose. “I’m afraid. I’m afraid of falling into the same things he did. Falling until it… I just want to stop feeling like this. How am I supposed to move on?”

"...do what Ethren couldn't. What Allston couldn't. Let go. Be what they couldn't be. Be someone who cares for who they have left, even on bad days."

"That feels impossible," Jaxson muttered. Still on his hands and knees, his fingers gripped his soaking wet shirt, like he was trying to grab at his heart. "I feel like my soul died with him. I wouldn't have made it this far if I didn't have Alaire."

"Maybe you two should go on a vacation. Go somewhere new for a couple weeks... find your soul again, being his guardian the right way. You cut away from your family wealth, right? Look, I'd cover it for you."

"..yeah. Sounds great." Jaxson's voice was numb. Cold. Slowly, he pushed to his feet. "Thanks, Kon. Sorry for... this."

Jaxson went for the door. Konnor chewed on his lip and exhaled in an exasperated breath. "Stop." He motioned to the cushion beside him. "Stay the night, Jax. I think... we can afford a night of booze and talking about him. A night to break."

Jaxson didn't turn. "I thought the point was to not break."

"The point is to not let it consume you." Konnor's let his gaze travel to the picture on the mantle. His smile was sad. "We're just people,” he murmured as he pushed up to take it in hand. His thumb drew over Ethren’s face, and he ignored the sharp twist of his heart. “We hurt. We ache. Sometimes, things feel like it's too much. So a night of drinking and accepting that is good, every once in a while. Otherwise, we just burn out."

Jaxson's head turned. Rather than anger... appreciation glittered in his eyes and he sighed. "Guess that's true," Jaxson said. "Won't do Alaire any good to pick him up and still be wallowing," he muttered as he eased down into the seat.

Konnor followed close after, tipping the bottle his way. "Did Ethren ever tell you about our trip to Paris?"

"You two went to Paris?"

"Oooh yeah. He put me on his damn death trap of a bike." Konnor shook his head with a snort. "Your dad was screwing my mom, so we decided to pay a visit and have a luxury dinner on them after."

Jaxson stared at Konnor for a long while before laughter bubbled from him. The first semblance of a real smile. "That... really doesn't surprise me. Our dad... he was always with other women until..." Jaxson's eyes darkened. His jaw tightened and he downed another gulp.

"...I know. My dad's dead and my mom is basically dead to me. Aren't we just pathetic?"

"Ethren wasn't," Jaxson muttered. "When mom was in danger... he dropped everything to find her. Even used all the unforgivable curses. He would have torn down the world to get to her." He leaned back. His wet hair flattened against the back of the sofa, and the neon light of the television reflected in his eyes. "That was just the kind of person he was. Friend, family... lover. When he bonded with someone, he would never give up on them."

"You really idolized him, didn't you...?"

"Idolize him?" Jaxson considered that. "Guess it's only natural to talk about... the good things when someone isn't here anymore. But no... I didn't idolize him." Jaxson snorted and leaned forward, auburn bangs falling with him. "Ethren was selfish. Selfish and obsessive and downright cowardly , at times. He didn't want to live for himself, so he lived on the whims and needs of others. And when he did want to live for himself, he threw it away, for a war he should have never been a part of and a girl that never deserved him."

"Good. I'd have to hit you again." Konnor stared at his knuckles, already beginning to bruise. Likewise, Jax's jaw was swelling in a rush of blue and black. "We had a no bullshit policy. Sometimes, while we were in the Order, I'd make a phone call to him or he'd make one to me. Like we weren't at war, and no time had passed... we'd laugh or talk or cry or curse until we lost our voices. Something like that would completely undo the stress of having to get up the next day and go right back into a room full of enemies." He grimaced. His hair had dulled to a bluish grey tint. "We had a deal that after everything was over, a few of us would high tail it to some remote island and piss away a few weeks."

"Yeah?" Jaxson said quietly. "Probably Tredyffrin Island... the one our family owns... no one ever goes there anymore. It would have been perfect." The elder brother sighed and poured himself another glass. He stared at the downpour of red pooling at the bottom of the crystal goblet while thunder roared outside the glass window. "He made me a lot of promises, too. Like when he was an uncle, he was going to spoil the shit out of whatever kid Idmon and I adopted. He insisted he'd never have a kid of his own." Jaxson dragged a sharp breath. "...fuck."

"Everything changed... you ever still think about giving Alaire someone to grow up with?"

"...no. Between Idmon and I... we probably only have enough sanity between us for one brat. And that's with the girls' help. Aisling and Summer... they’re absolute life savers."

"Well, I can't blame you for that," Konnor said with a tired smile. "Shit, I always imagined a family and kids one day, but... I think after everything, I've only got it left in me to help all of you guys manage your own rascals. Hal and Charlie have two right next door. And ever since Barnaby found out I've got my own little menagerie, he drags Aisling and their kids over all the time. And Alaire is always welcome."

"He's been so excited to come back and see Uncle Kon." Jaxson's smile was short-lived. "...how do you manage it all?"

"Depends on what you mean by 'all.'"

"Losing Allston. You'll never be able to talk to him again. Losing Ethren... Tonks... Your dad...everything."

"Well, if you haven't noticed, I have a healthy supply of alcohol. But I don't make a habit out of that, my position requires me sober, obviously." He swished his drink thoughtfully. "What really drives me is knowing what all I've still got. Lots of people still want and need me around."

"I don't actually want to forget him," Jaxson whispered. "Remembering the good times...it's part of what pushes me forward. And Alaire deserves to know those stories. It just seems so much... harder this way."

"I know." Konnor leaned over, and his fragile fist punched Jaxson's shoulder lightly. "Don't ever ask me to take away your memories again. That magic can go right to hell."

Jaxson smirked. "...Ethren always hated that spell. He said to be obliviated... it was the deepest violation a person could endure. Those memories are precious." He gave a deep breath and lifted his goblet. "...to remembering the fallen. And living in their honor."

Konnor lifted his glass in turn. "Help me finish this bottle, and the guest room will have your name written all over it."

-------

Morning came with the promise of clear skies. As the sun painted the sky a beautiful array of pinks and purples that began to open up to the blue of day, Konnor rolled to the other side of the bed with a tangle of sheets around his legs. At the end of his bed, Iris snoozed with soft snores.

From downstairs he could hear the rustle of footsteps cascading against the hardwood floors and with a tired rub of his head, Konnor swung himself to stand from the bed. His hair poked out in all directions as his hands raised up in the air and a series of pops crawled up his spine. “Jax?” he called out through the house.

No answer.

Konnor sighed and crossed the room with last feeble attempts to pat his platinum hair down into something presentable. The stairs winding down from the hallway just outside his room creaked with each step. He passed several pictures of Hal, Charlie, and the twins on the way down until his feet stalled on the bottom step.

Jaxson stood at the doorway in the living room, dragging his jacket over his shoulders.

“You’re leaving?”

Jax’s gaze darted up. He looked rough. From the clear as day hangover to the black and blue bruise in the size of a small fist surrounding the right side of his jaw. “...Yeah. I figured I’d leave you to your day.”

“You could always stay for breakfast, you know. Bet you could use it.”

“Nah, I should probably go pick Alaire up. But uh… Konnor?”

Konnor finally touched down into the living room, flicking on the light to join the flecks of light illuminating from the window. “What’s up?”

“Sorry for last night, and thanks. I needed that.”

“Yeah I’ll bet you needed that knuckle sandwich. Just don’t be so much of a stranger. You better haul yourself and Alaire back over here soon or I’m going to lob you another one.”

Jaxson hid the beginnings of a smirk. “Do that and I’ll have to get you back. Don’t worry, we’ll visit soon. I think I just need some time to clear my head first.”

“Then do that. You can always call too, and tell Alaire I say hi.”

Fingers curled around the doorknob, opening it ever so slightly. “I will.” He opened the door, and all but fell backwards as a small toddler came barreling into the house to cling to his legs.

“Found you!” Alaire giggled as he buried his face into his Uncle’s leg and Jaxson blinked.

“Alaire?! How did you-”

“Summer mentioned that you’d gone for the night... and that you might need me.” That voice. He’d know that voice even in a symphony of voices. Idmon Malin came from around the corner, blue eyes soft, his smile kind as he lifted Alaire up into his arms. Blonde hair fell down his back. “I thought I might drop- Merlin’s beard, Jaxson, are you all right?”

Jaxson, still stunned at his boyfriend having shown up out of the blue, blinked. “W-wha?”

“Your face. Bloody- did you get hit with a bludger last night?”

“A...oh.” Red bled onto his cheeks as Idmon’s long, delicate fingers gently brushed his bruise. “No, there was an uh... accident last night involving an erumpent and a... uh-”

“I slugged him,” Konnor purred as he leaned against the doorframe.

Idmon snorted. “Well, I imagine he deserved it,” he said. As Alaire began to fuss, he put the child down and he rushed over to jump into Uncle Konnor’s arms and his gaze searched his lover. “...are you alright. You look... like a mess.”

Two short steps brought Jaxson to his boyfriend. His arms hooked tight around his shoulders and he rested his head against Idmon’s, a ragged breath drawing from his lungs. “...it was a long night.”

“..the anniversary,” Idmon whispered. His palm found Jaxson’s cheek. “You should have stayed with me..”

“Shouldn’t have run,” Jaxson agreed. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize... did you find what you were looking for..?”

“Uncle Konnor!” Alaire tugged on Konnor’s shirt. “Aunt Summer gave me a toy snitch!”

“Did she?” Konnor lifted the boy up into his arms. “That was very sweet of her. And speaking of sweet... I think I have some biscuits in the cabinet. Want some?”

Alaire giggled. “They’re cookies, biscuits are... biscuits!”

“Oh, no,” Konnor grinned as he tickled the squealing boy. “Do not start that, your dad and I got into so many fights about cookies and biscuits!”

Jaxson’s eyes softened as he watched Alaire smile and hug Konnor around the neck. His hand found Idmon’s, squeezed, and gave a breath. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I think I did... let’s stay for a bit, then go home.”

#hphm #hogwarts mystery #harry potter #ethren whitecross #jaxson whitecross #konnor rainwater #hal greywind #idmon malin #alaire whitecross #mine and ren's writing #co-written

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aestheticsuwu · 4 years

Text

🌅Found Peace In Your Violence 🌅

Dean Winchester x Castiel

..... ..... ......... ....... ............ ....... .......

Moving to a new place for a new start was always hard for Castiel . He wasn't really a people person , not because he didn't like them . It was just that his " people skills " are " rusty " as he likes to say .

His mother and Father liked to adopt & foster until they divorced .

Father had gotten custody of everyone and got remarried to Becky , my mother used to call her the annoying , crazy ,bitch etc , etc . He wonders how she's doing , she wasn't quite the best mother but he still remembers everyone that comes and goes from his life .

His family was weird , they weren't like other family's. It always seemed to be a competition among each other . It even caused almost half his siblings to leave and never look back . Anna is probably living the craziest life with no rules .

Balthazer is probably running a fashion line . Or maybe there all with Lucifer breaking the rules and rebelling to everything. Although he thinks Balthazar would have gone far away from those three . He was the one he miss the most .

Father doesn't like talking about them , maybe he doesn't cares . We were after all kids he took in his home to create a batallion of soldiers that's what Gabriel says all the time . It was now 9 members of the family that was left . His Father , Becky , their son Alfie , Michael the oldest , Gabriel the trickster, Eileen Leahy his favorite sister , she was the last child to be recruited from the foster house . I was the youngest one from the rest of the herd .

..... ..... .....

His Mother was the first to go , should he still call her that . Once the divorce papers was filed , Naomi packed her stuff and slammed the door shut . Castiel waited for her to come back that night . Hours went by but she never came back .

Anna soon left after , She had left in there middle of the night .

Father wasn't upset he just announced that we should move soon .

3 week before moving , dad and Raphael had a fight . Father faced him and gave him ultimatum, it had seemed for a while everything was alright . But Lucifer had other plans ,he had managed to convince raph that he shouldn't listen to father .

The move was cancelled , and when Gabriel had started prank wars against everyone Father wasn't even there to ground him . Balthazar told his siblings that he would soon move out he was 18 after all . He talked about his dreams , plans and adventures . Michael and lucifer didn't sticked around to listen only Gabriel, Eileen, and him .

He promised that every time he would go visit a different place he would bring back souvenirs . And once he was stabled they would take a family trip together .

In their last hug castiel didn't want to let go , something told him that he wasn't gonna see him anymore .

When he was 15 , standing near the porch in front the house waiting for Balthazar to appear until father shouted his name . They had to get on the road to head to their new home . All he could do was hold Eileen and Gabriel's hand .

..... ... .....

Everything was calm , other than the fear of not knowing if you were the next victim of Gabriel's prank list .

Eileen was teaching him to get better at sign language . Michael was going to college while Lucifer was only 17 but seemed no to be interested in school . Becky had Alfie. Silence didn't exist in the household .

. And for once he had a friend , He was kinda surprised she stucked around.

Her name was Kelly Kline , she was in the debate team and a Straight A student . He met her through Eileen . He understood why they both got along . Both were strong minded girls and didn't let anybody tell them shit .

Kelly wanted to make a change and she wanted both Eileen and him to help her . And to this day he doesn't understand why the world took her away soon .

She was pretty , she had raven hair and had a kind smile . She taught him good things can come out of the bad things . She made him want to do things he normally wouldn't do .

So he honestly didn't understand what she saw in Lucifer. They would constantly bicker but yet they were together . Eileen would just let him rant about bees because she preferred that instead of seeing him wallow .

Gabriel would often give him advice that would make her be interested but it usually involve some porno Gabe once watched . And Castiel usually didn't know If he was kidding or not .

But then suddenly His brother and best friend broke up . Kelly wanted to go out and forget she ever dated an asshole . Lucky for her They were invited to a party .

He doesn't quite remember that much of that night .

" Are you sure you want to do this . I think we are extremely intoxicated and not in our right minds . And we might doing a mistake that we will regret , I'm not saying I regret making out with you cause your an amazing girl I have ever meet besides Eileen but that's different cause she's my sister and I don't think of her that way , And now I made this so awkward by bringing up m- "

A hand covering his mouth making him stop ranting . looking up to see her , and the fear he once had just vanished just by looking at her smile

" Castiel ! There are alot of regrets that I have done including that I ever got involve with that douchebag . I just want to make a choice that I know won't end up as a mistake . "

..... ...... .....

That choice was inevitable to hide , not because both Kelly and castiel started a somewhat relationship . It was revealed on a Thursday that Kelly was pregnant .

Lucifer was never one take responsibility for his actions , so he told her to get rid of it .

" yeah I'm not planning to do some father bonding or give up my plans for a baby that might not even be mine . Hey you can't lie and deny that you haven't been jumping back and forth with Novak brothers . But wow really castiel , but look at the bright side you can dump all that responsibility to him . He will believe anything - ".

The sound of the slap that Kelly gave him echoed but it wasn't enough so she kneed him on the balls and lastly punched him .

" I hope you rot in hell , "

That was the last conversation she had with him when Eileen told her he had left the house .

... ..... ..... ..... ....

Father never showed how it affected him when his children left . But now that Lucifer left , he started to drink again and he looked sad .

He shook it off when it had been a week later . It seemed a good time to mention someone pregnancy. Father didn't think the same , he was quite mad , especially when it was revealed that they weren't sure who the father was . He remained calm afterwards when they all agreed it was 90 percent Lucifers .

Castiel was only 18 and now left with the mess of his own brother .

Once he graduated he stopped seeing Kelly for 5 months . Eileen would lecture him how he was being a bad friend , how he should be more supportive. He let 2 more months pass by and he couldn't help but ask Eileen how was Kelly doing .

That's how he end up in her room , Kelly was glowing . She had belly bump , He apologized for not being by her side , for letting their friendship tumble down the drain . She forgave him , discussing what they had missed . Avoiding the topic of the elephant of the room , until the baby kicked .

Castiel loved the baby already .

..... ..... .....

They never really tackled in depth of truth of who was the father . Castiel didn't put mind into it , since he felt the baby move he doesn't know how to explain it . it was like epiphany , a connection.

So he soon took the role , he read books , used the internet , asked some questions from Becky that rambled on and on but he still got information he needed . In favor that he would learn and be ready when his baby would come . He helped Becky with Alfie , at first it was hard but then it was fine

" your gonna be alright , you got this castiel . "

" I hope so . "

... .... ..... .... .... .... .....

It happened so fast , his mind was so confused one second he's in bed and then he's at the hospital . Every time she would scream of pain he felt bad . his hand was hurting from the way she was holding it .She held a grimace from every contraction .

" It hurts so much , I don't think I can't do it . Ahhh baby you have to go easy on mommy . "

She screamed again of agony , she hold his hand tighter as if it would help from the pain .

" You can , your strong and soon we will be at home I'll be taking care of our baby while you rest and sleep . How does that sound ? "

" That sounds like the best idea "

..... ...... ...... ....

He feels like he failed , he could've done something or maybe done something different . He didn't think Kelly would leave him , she promised no to . He guess it wasn't a coincidence, life seemed to take everything from him .

Today was supposed to be the happiest day in his life . Now he's holding onto his siblings , crying seemed it would help but the feeling wouldn't go away .

" Its gonna be alright cassie , it's gonna get better . "

He really hoped Gabe was right .

...

He was following the nurses that was leading him to his baby . He didn't even got to see his newborn , it just happened to fast .

The nurse open the door wide to let him pass , his hands were shaking waiting for her directions .

" Here they are , seems like they were waiting for dad to come see them . Congratulations Mr Novak and I'm sorry for you loss ."

stunned he couldn't answer , he had his eyes only for them . he heard the door close he assumed she left to give him privacy . Tears started to build up but of happiness.

" We're gonna be ok , I will do my best because your all I got . I love you so much , Mommy loved you so much but she had to go rest . I think she deserves it , how ironic how she always said there was an angel watching you over . Now you do , . "

Chuckling , as he wipes away his tears trying to compose himself . Letting out a shaky breath he starts speaking again .

" I guess is time to give you a name , bear this in mind when the time comes be thankful I didn't give you a horrendous name . You in the other hand are lucky because Kelly had already picked out one for you . "

Smiling as they both made a noise that seemed they were going along with him on the conversation.

.... ..... .

" I'm so ready to meet my nephew !! , I'm so excited !!! "

" shhh " " shhhhhhh"

"shh " " Shhh " "sHhhh"

It wasn't like Gabriel was screaming , sheesh these people sometimes , ready to respond he stays quiet when he sees his brother motioning his family to come closer .

" Say Hello to Jack and Claire Novak . "

.... ..... ..... ..... ... .....

His kids were his pride and young , he will admit he struggled at first but with the help of his siblings he catched on . They had already turned two , they were growing so fast . Both are so smart and beautiful .

Claire with her beautiful blue eyes and blonde hair that were in pigtails in the moment . She was a troublemaker but love her endlessly. Jack is his small bee , he was tiny and adorable . The kid loves nougat , he blames it on Gabriel. He also had blonde hair but he had golden eyes .

He wants the best for his kids , thats why he was contemplating on Gabriel's plan to move .

Gabe was planning to open another bakery ,

since his last three was successful and was trying expand his work . Father was quite happy with Gabriel , he helped with everything he could do . As usual Gabe took advantage and stacked up on candy , his response was always with

" he won't even notice , he has enough and more . So shut up and help me decided between those two , who am i kidding Im taking both . "

Eileen was going with Gabriel, something about a fresh start . Michael was only going to keep an eye on his siblings , Fathers orders . And his big brother isn't one to disobey , he was gonna get paid for babysitting gabe . His study's are kept on hold until father says so .

Castiel didn't know what to do . He was a highschool dropout , father of fraternal twins , relying with the money of his father and it wasn't like someone is waiting for him here .

Maybe this would do him good and for his kids .

Gabriel went full on screamed of joy that he had accepted, screaming that they were gonna have a blast . Michael was boxing their stuff fully knowing the trickster of his brother wouldn't do it , he turns to look at the youngest giving him a pointed look .

..... ..... ..... ...

Gabriel was full on rambling of why he choose the location . He wanted a challenge and one of the many things he loves to do is

1: Himself

2:Candy

3: Pranks

4: proving Dad wrong

Once the trickster told his father his plans , he told him no . To him is practically a Yes , he wasn't planning getting him self involved , oh well you gotta do what you gotta do .

Michael was pissed but hey he could just for once say no to dad . Eileen and Castiel and his nephew coming along was the best thing of the trip . He might even admit that he's kinda glad dad forced his big bro to come along .

The perks of having a wealthy father is that they had everything solved . Airplane . Check . Ride CHECK. House check . Moving Truck . Check . Schelduing everything on the same date ...........

It wasn't his fault , who would in their right mind would leave him with all that responsibility. They got to their flight , the ride into country , House was there and with their boxes surrounding it . Hey they got Michael might as well put use to his muscles .

..... .... ... ..... ....

" Only you would do this Gabriel , I don't know why I let you drag me into this "

" Look at the bright side , were surrounded with some hot cowboys " Eileen spoke and signed with a mischievous smirk .

" see cassie , even Eileen not complaining , just relax . Take a deep breath and - Ok you grab that box and I will take the heavier one . "

Gabe said as to fool Michael they were helping but as the annoyed glared they were all receiving it was obviously the 3 younger siblings were just resting .

" Your doing well Michael keep up the good work "

They all burst out laughing when the oldest retorted with a angry 'Shut up ! '

" Maybe we should help " She said & signed to both of them .

" yeah , I'm gonna go check on the kids , they might wake up any --- . "

Turning around to see where the noise was coming from , he took in the sight of a sleek black jaguar . Squinting to block the sun , he hears the person above signalling the horse to halt .

" I wasn't informed new people were moving in , Welcome . "

Removing his stetson , he looks at them but his gaze fall onto the bluest eye he had ever seen and the cutest head tilt . Making his Voice huskier and putting on his best smile he asked .

" Dean Winchester .

Need A Hand , Angel ? "

..... ...... . ... ...... ...... .....

24 notes · View notes

hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog · 4 years

Text

He’s my past, you’re my present and future.

Hey everyone! I hope everyone is doing well, considering the world right now, and that your being safe. @clarinette07 brought this challenge to my attention, and I just had to jump on it. This challenge was started by @princessmisery666 as here Triple Celebration Challenge! Having two creators work together, meshing there writing styles together, a very cool concept.

@clarinette07 and I decide on that our prompts were: the Song You Make Me Wanna by Usher and the dialogue “We’re not meant to be together, I see that now. But we are supposed to be family.”

Synopsis: reader has a thing for Dean and one night they act on their feelings, but the next day things take a turn and the reader’s world is all turn around. A year later and a whole new life, the reader is back in that same town and same motel room she was with Dean, but now she has another Winchester after her heart. What is a girl to do, follow her heart from the past or her present?

Reader X Dean, Reader X Sam. Mentions of lost, heartbreak, flirting, mentions of sex but nothing graphic. Also it is a long story, 5,000+ words but its worth it.

I do hope you like what @clarinette07 and I came up with. If you do, please like and reblog the story, and give @clarinette07 and myself a follow if your incline. But Please do not post as your own work!

Thanks!

Love~

It has been a year since Dean left, no he didn’t move; he was sent to purgatory. Left or sent to purgatory, it doesn’t matter the fact is that he is gone and never coming back. He walked out that motel door, and that was it. If you had known that was the last you would have seen him, you would have asked him to stay, to never walk out the door...for what was it...breakfast? He had kissed the top of your head and said he was going to get him and his girl, his girl, God how you love that he called you that. How many times you wish for him to call you his, and finally, he did. Y/N stop! Stop dwelling, he left to get you both food, coffee to wake up and get going for the day, to help you both sober up from the night before. Probably to clear his head and figure out how to tell you that you both are better off friends than something more. At least that is what you thought when two hours had passed and a dozen unanswered phone calls and text later.

You tried not to worry, you kept telling yourself that something must have come up, that a break in the case or a lead that he had to follow pulled him away and he just couldn’t let you know. Pacing back and forth in the motel room, your mind keeps wondering if maybe, just maybe he wised up and left, couldn’t face you, or tell you the truth. That what happened last night was a mistake, and so, instead of breaking your heart, he just ran. Dean would never do that, he is a standup guy, besides the things he said, the things you both said were the truth. No, something else must have happened.

The sound of your phone ringing pulls you out of your running mind and back to the room, a wave of relief washes over you, see it’s him, he’s calling to apologize and tell you he will be back in a few. Picking up the phone, your stomach drops, and worry starts to set back in. Dean’s name is not on the screen, it’s Sam, his brother. Taking a ragged breath, you click accept, “Hey Sam,” your voice barely above a whisper, the air lost out of your body that you hardly get any words out.

That conversation with Sam, you would like to say, keeps playing in your head over and over, but honestly, you stop listening to his words after, “it all went wrong... Dean’s gone...” what you remember is your legs giving out from you. The feel of the cheap carpet under your bare legs. Losing the strength to keep the phone by your ear.

The words that Dean was gone, although you knew someday you would hear them, in the life of a hunter, it would be stupid for you not to think about it. Thinking about it and actually hearing it, well, it’s two different things.

You can still feel the pain today, when you think about that moment. The feeling of pain radiating out through your chest, you wish like hell it would stop, but it doesn’t. All the air in your body is gone again, and tears stream down your face.

You’re not sure how Sam found you, or how long it was until he did. You remember him picking you up off the floor and carrying you out of the motel room. You buried your face in his shoulder, not wanting to look at him or the world. Instead, just wanting to keep your eyes close and shut everything out, if you didn’t open them, then the truth wouldn’t be real. Then Dean wouldn’t be gone.

Later you found out that a guest was walking by and heard you screaming and crying. Thinking that you were hurt, came running in to find you on the floor, sobbing and in shock. Your phone next to you with Sam on the other end, screaming your name.

Sam brought you back to the bunker, setting you up in a room that was in between his and Dean’s bedrooms. Sam let you sleep, never pushing you to talk, to talk about what you and Dean were working on, and never forcing you to hear what happened to Dean. He gives you your space, dropping off meals outside your door, he keeps his distance.

Hearing your cry and scream in the middle of the night the first month was hard, you suspect, for him. Sam would come running in and see you tangled up in the sheet, sweat dripping down, he would stand at the end of the bed and ask, “What can I do Y/N? Please, I want to help.” His voice pleading with you to let him in, the look of concern because haven’t. Always, you would give him the same answer, “it’s nothing, I am sorry” monotone and pissed off that you woke him again, that you disrupted his life or a stupid dream. You would untangle yourself, get up, and walk past him towards the showers. Every time he would stop you, lightly touching your arm to prevent you from leaving. “I miss him too.” That’s all that you would let him get out, his voice deep like Dean’s but different, a softness and sadness tone that you rarely heard from Dean.

You wanted to let Sam in, you really did. Sam was your best friend, he was the one before all this that you confided in. The one that you could tell all your secrets to, well almost all of them. He didn’t know about you and Dean, about your love for his brother, that was the one thing you just couldn’t tell him. You never wanted to be that girl that fell for your best friend’s brother.

After a few months of silence and wallowing in your own pity and depression, you’re not sure what changed. Maybe the idea that no one is ever really gone, or that all the stories you have heard about both Sam and Dean cheating Death so many times. This couldn’t be the end that there had to be a way to get him back.

Throwing yourself and Sam back into the game, you took anything that looked like a case. Anything that would put you in contact with the supernatural to ask, what happened to Dean? Most, if not all, the hunts wound up dead-end leads on that question, or demon’s playing with you just to see you squirm. After months of coming up with nothing, spending every second pouring over the vast library that the bunker had to offer, you were about to throw in the towel again. Maybe he was gone, that Dean was never coming back, and this, a reality without him, is your new normal.

You didn’t know how it started. Only now whenever you were around a certain loveable, long-haired Winchester, your heart began to beat faster, and your stomach would flutter with butterflies. There was always a sense of peace when you were around the brothers, especially Sam, but lately, things started to change, and you’re not sure how to handle that. After all, you are still in love with the eldest green-eyed Winchester, aren’t you?

It had been a long year of mourning the loss of your green-eyed lover, but thankfully you weren’t alone. Ever-present Sam was by your side the whole time. After your time of mourning, you realized you had to keep fighting. Dean would have wanted you to keep fighting, with Sam alongside you. Not to say things got any easier, but after losing Cas and Dean, then Kevin all in one day, it took some time to get back to any form of routine. Eventually, you & Sam were able to get your friendship back to how it was before that fateful night with Dean.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was another night off drinking and relaxing with the boys when Sam tried to take both brothers to their room, but Dean was just too wound up and asked to stay a little longer. Of course, you loved them both, but Dean rarely ever asked to stay to hang out with you without Sam or leaving with a girl for the night. This was a surprise you would not turn away. Sam looked back, ever so reluctantly, but left nonetheless. As the night unfolded, you both played a drinking game that was a mix of 20 questions and Truth or Dare, and you opened up more to Dean than you ever had in the past. He laughed at your aversion to clowns and said he really does have two sisters!

“One’s a giant nerd, while the other is much easier on the eyes.”

You had never really been on the receiving end of his earnest flirting before, and this just made your heart skip a beat, and all the color rushed to your cheeks. More truths were shared and more secrets told, which lead to you saying that you have never been French kissed before (and enjoyed it). This apparently was unforgivable in Dean’s eyes because he asked if you wanted to try again with HIM!!!

Now, you may have had a little too much to drink, but you damn well know if Dean Freaking Winchester asks to kiss you, you DO NOT turn that down! (Mama didn’t raise no fool!)

That kiss was the start of everything changing. You and Dean grew closer while Sam and you seemed to have a bit of tension all of a sudden, and you could never figure out why. Eventually, you found your rhythm hunting together again, and one night everything came to a head with the looming battle against Dick Roman and his Leviathan puppet army. Things were moving relatively slow between you and the eldest Winchester, but with the fear of the unknown with this fight and (again) too much liquor involved (you’d think a girl would learn) you and Dean made passionate love for the first and, unbeknownst to you, last time.

********* “Hey, earth to Y/N, are you listening to me?” Sam’s voice pulls you back to the present, back in the bunker, back to reality without Dean. You shake the thoughts from your mind, focus Y/N, you have a goal, a mission to follow, get Dean back.

You look up from the library table to Sam, you can see he is concerned about you not paying attention and is going to ask you again for the millionth time are you okay. Giving him a small smile, you beat him to the punch, “sorry, what were you saying?”

Sam sits down across from you and pushes his laptop in front of you. “I think we have another case if you want to check it out?” He says, pushing away his thoughts of pursuing the subject further, knowing that pestering you leads to you shutting him out.

While your eyes scan the article, Sam gives you the rundown. A string of murders over the past few weeks have been going on in this small town. What makes it a case for you and Sam is that each one of the victims’ hearts is missing. “Werewolves,” you cut Sam off, looking up from the computer, “I will be ready in twenty.” You say, getting up from your chair. You don’t wait for confirmation that you’re leaving right now or anything from Sam.

Twenty minutes later, you’re on the road, Sam behind the wheel, and your nose is buried in the recent lore book that you have been reading cover to cover to find anything about purgatory and how someone could escape. You’re pulled from your reading when you hear Sam mutter, “Shit!” under his breath. You’re about to ask what is wrong, when you look up from the book and towards him, your eyes fall on the passing city limit sign. Fucking Boring, Oregon, you have got to be kidding me. In reading the article, you must have just glanced over the town name, this is the same town that you and Dean worked your last case together, the same town where everything changed, the same town where Dean left, left you. “Y/N, I am so sorry. We don’t have to stay, I can turn around right now, call up Jody and see if she can…” Sam quickly stammers out, but you stop him before he can finish.

“Sam, I am fine; it’s fine. It’s a case, and we need to solve it, and we are already here,” you say, your confidence, however lacking, was trying to build for posterity’s sake. Giving him a reassuring smile, you can see that you’re not convincing him at all. “Seriously, Sam, I am fine. Let’s just not stay at that crappy motel again, and we will be all set.” Fake confidence laced in your voice, you give Sam a pat on the arm and try to focus back on your book.

Unfortunately, this town is so small that the only other motel is closed for renovations, so the motel from your past is the only option. Pulling into a parking spot, Sam stops before getting out to get a room, “Seriously, we can drive to the next town over and stay there,” asking you again, if you would want to do that.

“No, Sam, the next town is over 100 miles away, it would be stupid to do that.” You say, giving your best reassuring smile, you push down your anxiety that is bubbling at the surface. Just being here in this town, this parking lot again, you look away from Sam, focusing on the detail in the orange/blue plaid that he put on this morning, one of your favorites. Come on, Y/N, you can do this.

Looking back up to Sam, you can tell he wants to say something, bring up Dean again, or ask if you’re alright. The concern is written as clear as day on his face, his hazel eyes lock with yours. “Come on, Winchester, go get us a room. I am tired, and you could use a shower.” you joke, giving him another playful shove while holding your nose and waving at him as if he smells.

This causes Sam to laugh, his look of worry and concern falling off his face and replacing it with a smile that causes his dimples to pop. “Okay, okay, I am going.” He concedes, getting out of the car and walking into the small office.

Watching Sam walk away, you start to think, Thank goodness Sam is with you because you don’t know if you would be able to handle being here alone again. The last time almost broke you beyond repair, but Sam was there to help hold you and put the pieces back together.

Honestly, you don’t know where you would be today if it wasn’t for Sam, your puppy-eyed Moose Man. Even though you still miss Dean so much, you still feel complete when you’re with Sam. (Does that make you a horrible person?) You don’t believe these feelings are new. Deep down, they were always simmering there, just never given a chance to bubble to the surface. But now that Dean is gone, you have grown even closer than before Dean and you started whatever it was you had. For goodness sake, you never even got the chance to explore that, let alone define it, but with Sam, everything just comes so naturally. You think now is the time to try and move on, not to forget Dean, but to not wallow in sadness either. You don’t have doubts that it’s just the alcohol talking when you’re with Sam or worry about him leaving you at a bar for a random girl for the night. Sam has always treated you like the only girl in the room and, until recently, you always thought he was just a good friend. However, lately, you have noticed this look in his eyes when you’re together. It’s a little like Dean used to get when he’d walk into a diner and see a pie display: Complete adoration and love.

Guilt has held you back from seeing anyone, especially Sam, in a romantic light, but you can’t fight these feelings anymore. Now it was time to make a decision to do something about these feelings or just keep our friendship?

You see, Sam walks out of the office, and towards the car, before you can even think about answering that question, he opens up the door and sets back down. “I got a room around back,” he says, turning the car back on and pulling around the parking lot to park near the room.

“Great!” you say, looking out the side window as he makes the short drive around the building. Y/N, you have to keep your head in the game. Focus on the job, right now, the most important things on our plates were tracking down Crowley to find Kevin and solving this case and killing the monster of the week.

Sam’s POV:

I had waited too long, fought my feelings too long, claiming I loved her as a sister and my best friend, but seeing her and my brother kiss broke my heart. Of course, I was happy for them. I love them both! I just wish I would have been brave enough to lay it all on the line before I missed my shot.

Then, the unthinkable happened, and we lost 3 people who were so very important in our lives, and we were both mournings in our own way. I had to try my best to be strong for both of us. For a while, but I would do anything for her.

Now, it is a year later, and I finally feel like I have my Y/N back. Maybe now that we’ve both had time to heal from the wounds of losing our loved ones, I can try and see where this relationship can go. I wanted to start small. Coffee shop trips together, movie marathons together in our pj’s, making her favorite greasy guilty pleasure just to see her smile. I knew I was no Dean in the kitchen, but I would try anything for her. We both enjoyed doing research and talking about a new monster or new piece of lore we would discover in the MOL library files.

Then, the sleepovers started. It began shortly after Y/N came home to the bunker after everything went down at SucroCorp. The nightmares that would not leave her alone, so she would come and ask to just lay with me at first until she could fall asleep. Later, we would stay up late, and she would talk about what plagued her dreams. After a while, the nightmares stopped, but the sleepovers didn’t. We just enjoyed being in each other’s company. It’s during these times I realize I’ve fallen for my best friend and I don’t think I could live without her by my side.

I knew I was pushing my luck when I found that case that was in the same town that Dean and Y/N had spent time in before everything went to shit at SucroCorp. I knew that she would jump at the chance to work on another case though, I just thought she would have seen the town name and thought twice about it, I guess I was wrong.

I didn’t plan to stay in the same hotel, and after much persuasion, and fifty dollars, I made sure we didn’t get the same room that I found her in that day. I want to get this case wrapped up quick, and I wasn’t going to make her live through sleeping in that same room again.

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

Same day later in the evening-

Getting back to the room around 6pm, you were ready to take off this skirt and heels, and just fall into bed and sleep the rest of the night away. Talking to family members of the victims and the medical examiners has never been your strong point, research and coming up with a plan, that is where your talents lie.

Making your way through the door ahead of Sam, you kick off your heels and faceplant in the stiff and uncomfortable bed.

You can hear Sam behind you try and hold back a laugh as he shuts the door, seeing you sprayed on the bed, “done for the day are we?” he asks, with a smile you’re sure is spreading across his face.

“Yes,” your voice muffles from your face, still facing the mattress, “just leave me here to sleep.” The victims’ families weren’t much help, and of course, the medical examiner already confirmed what you suspect you were hunting. Now came the fun part trying to figure out who the werewolf was and where the den was.

The sound of Sam sitting on the bed next to yours, and him shrugging off his jacket, was the next thing to fill the space. “So pizza or Chinese?” He asks, knowing full well you did not want to leave this room and go out for dinner.

“Chinese,” you muffle again. “Extra egg rolls and sweet and sour sauce.”

Sam laughs at this, “yes dear,” he says, getting up from the bed, he goes to get his phone and place the order.

********* The food was just what you needed to get your second wind, well that and the twenty-minute nap you had waiting for the food to get here. Sitting across from Sam at the small table in the room, food covering the table, you look at the leftovers in front of you, “Why is it, we always get so much food when we order Chinese?” you ask. Twirling your chopstick around your fingers before placing it in the leftover Low Main.

“I think they just always give you more since you will be hungry again in like an hour.” He jokes, tossing over a fortune cookie, “Always have room for this though.” he says, then breaking into the wrapper and cracking open the cookie.

“That is true,” you say, opening your cookie as well, reading your fortune. The room is silent, with only the sound of the tv in the background filling the space.

“So what does your fortune say? Going to be rich and famous soon?” Sam asks, joking, tossing his fortune into the trash pile as he eats part of the cookie.

You stare down at the fortune, you’re not sure if you want to read it out loud or not. It’s not like you ever really took stock in them before, but for some reason, this one seems to hit home. “Umm…” you clear your throat, taking a second to think if you should play this off seriously or not. “Let go of your past, for your present to become your future.” You read off, in a serious tone. Tossing the fortune onto the table, you pick up your beer to finish off, and try and read Sam. Sam, of course, was looking at you, trying to read you as well; by his serious stare down at you, you wonder if a lecture is about to start. About how if this is not a sign that you are running yourself ragged trying to find a way to save Dean, what more did you need. “I mean, these things are never…” you start to brush it off, but are cut off.

“I am in love with you,” Sam blurts out. You're stunned by his outburst, the hardness leaves his face and is replaced by embarrassment. “I am sorry I just had to say it. Had to say something before you brush this off, and we go back to our friendly banter and work the case.”

You’re not sure what to say. You love Sam as well, he has been your rock through it all, your person; but there's still a part of you, that part of you in that motel room from a year ago. A part of your heart always with Dean. As much as you want to tell Sam that you’re over it, over Dean and ready to move on, are you?

Sam seeing the wheels turning in your head, “I am sorry Y/N, but I just had to tell you. I have loved you since we first met. Before, it was just friendship, but it has grown into something more. This last year, us living with each other, relying on each other. It just got me thinking.” Sam pauses, turning his eyes from you and looking down, embarrassed to even tell you more.

“What? Tell me?” you ask him to keep going, even though part of you wanted to tell him to stop, that the more he talks, the more things would be complicated. You know that you can’t give your heart entirely to him and that lying won't work either.

“You make me wanna … more. I can see us having an actual life; maybe it’s not all white picket fences and all, but it’s a life that’s not consumed by hunting and monsters.” Sam’s voice is low, but it’s sincere. He’s focused on tapping a finger on the table, a nervous habit of his that you find cute.

“A ring and all the things that come along with it?” You say, knowing exactly what he’s talking about, you have had those same thoughts about him and you as well; it’s just when you have those thoughts, your brain instantly reminds you about Dean, and you forget about them.

Sam nods his head in agreement. Looking up at you, relieved that maybe, just maybe you’re going to tell him that you feel the same way, that you want to be with him as well. That you can let the past be the past, move on with him. He’s about to ask when a knock at the door stops him. Giving you a questioning look, silently asking if you were expecting anyone, you shrug your shoulders and shake your head no.

You get up and start to head for the door, Sam follows behind you, making sure to grab his gun and getting ready to shoot if needed. Waiting for a second for Sam to get on your side and ready, he gives you a short nod to open the door.

You open the door, and you’re stunned to see Dean standing there. Dressed in the same clothes he left in that morning, his jeans and shirt a bit dirty and torn, his leather jacket has also seen better days. It’s like a bucket of ice water has been thrown at you, you’re not sure you can formulate words into a sentence.

“Hey, sweetheart, can I come in?” He says, a smile forming on his face, taking a second to look over to the right of you; he sees Sam, “Sammy, can you lower that gun?” Dean’s voice, a bit deeper and harder then what your brain has been replaying over the last year, but still that is your Dean.

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

Sam’s POV :

This was not happening! Was this a sick joke? Was this another demon scheme? Of course, right when I get the guts to tell her how I feel, something happens to come between us. But, if this is really my brother, I have no choice but to step down and let them be happy together. It’s the right thing to do, isn’t it? But why does it hurt so much? I just want to be happy, too.

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

This was a dream, you’re going to wake up any second, and you will be in Sam’s arms, and this will be one big dream. But, after all the tests were done, you were still in shock. Your Dean was back, and your Sam had just confessed his love for you. You are so screwed!!! You decided to finish the case, then deal with it all when you got back to the bunker, but that left you with a very awkward, quiet ride home. You sat in the back, thinking about what you were going to do, but could not decide. You loved them both, but realized that you loved them so differently than you thought. You found you could live without Dean, but the thought of living without Sam hurt more than you could ever have thought. As the night went on, and the days went by, Dean was more secluded than usual, but little did you know he was watching and waiting for the right time to talk about what happened between you and him and what he saw happening with his brother and you.

“I see it, you know? How you guys just fit.”

“What do you mean?”

“C’mon, Y/N, I’m not blind! I see the way Sam looks at you and how you look at him, and I get it. It’s okay. We’re not meant to be together, I see that now. But we are supposed to be family. What we had was special, and I will always treasure that, but what you can have with Sammy is even greater than what we thought we had.”

Tears were forming in your eyes, and you couldn’t stop the runaway tear if you tried.

“I never meant for this to happen, or to hurt you, I swear!”

“I know you didn’t, Sweetheart, I know, but I can’t pretend that I am who makes you happy when I can see you’re drawn to my brother, and I can see how much he loves you. How much he’s always loved you.” Dean says sweetly, bringing his hand to wipe the tears from your face.

The act is comforting to you, reassuring you, and that he means what he says. Encouraging you that yes, he loves you, but not in the way that you and Sam love each other. Giving Dean a small nod, you take a deep breath calming yourself and getting the confidence to walk down the hall to Sam’s room. “Thank you, Dean, you’re a good man.” Your voice is less shaky in the end, and you pat Dean’s chest. “I think I should go talk with Sam.”

********** The short walk to Sam’s room from the library was enough time to build yourself back up. You knew exactly what you wanted to say to Sam, and you hope like hell, he still meant what he said before.

Giving the door a quick knock, you hear Sam say, “it’s open.” Shortly, like he didn’t want visitors. You could leave, wait for a better time, but you were here now. You open the door to find Sam at the small desk with his back to you. “Hey, Sam,” you say, to get his attention.

Sam turns with a look of surprise, “Y/N…sorry I didn’t know it was you.” Mad at himself for being curt, you see his face softens, “what’s up?” He asks, getting up and walking towards you.

You take another breath, closing the gap, you hold yourself back from reaching out to lock your hands with his. To feel his skin on yours. “I wanted to finish our conversation...from the hotel that night.”

“Y/N, we don’t have too. Dean is back... let’s just go back..”

“I don’t want to go back!” You yell, cutting Sam off, his silent expression letting you go on. “I want the same things that you talked about that night, I want them with you.”

“What about Dean?” Sam asks, his voice laced with caution.

Needing the connection, you lace your fingers with his. Looking deep into his hazel eyes, you’re confident that this is the man for you. “He’s my past, you’re my present and my future. If you still want me?”

“Yes!” Sam says, a smile forming on his face, pulling you close, he leans down, his lips finding yours.

Kissing Sam for the first time, feels like coming home; passionate, sweet, tender, and perfect; everything you ever wanted or needed.

~ You were finally home ~

Tag List:

@wotinspntarnation @prettybubblesintheair @arses21434 @deangirl7695 @sammysgirl-spnlove @clarinette07 @ezilyamuzed @waywardwboys @bitchy-ginger-1 @unicornblood4ever @onceuponagleepottermindlock @francezka10 @fatacacia

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thatfanficstuff · 5 years

Text

Strange Fates - 15

Pairing: Mikaelson Brothers x Reader

Warning/Note: I’m really sorry about this.

***

You relayed the details of your attack in full twice, answering what questions you could in between. When Klaus asked you to go through it again, you refused. You had long since moved from Elijah’s lap and were sat on your own on one end of the couch. You sighed and ran a hand down your face.

“We’ve been going over this for an hour. I don’t see what difference it makes. He’s very dead and I’m fine. I won’t walk anywhere on my own. And I’m very tired of discussing it.”

“I am simply trying to—”

“Enough, Niklaus. She’s right. We’ve been over it. There’s nothing she can tell us that will change what happened.”

You frowned as you shifted your attention to Elijah. Something about his wording didn’t sit right with you. After a moment, you brushed it off. Your nerves were just on edge from the conversation. That was all. You were seeing issues where there were none.

“But don’t you think—”

“Enough, Kol.” Elijah was determined to bring the conversation to an end. It wasn’t as if you were going to argue with him. You didn’t want to discuss it any more either. He turned to you with a smile. “Now, I believe we promised our mate dinner and a movie.”

***

You fell asleep halfway through the movie and Klaus carried you up to bed. Normally, they would have finished the film then all gotten into bed with you. Tonight, however, they had matters to discuss.

Once he’d seen you settled, Klaus shut the door to your room and went to join his brothers in his study. Elijah handed him a glass of scotch and he took an empty seat. The silence stretched as the three of them became lost in their own thoughts.

“We knew better,” Klaus finally said after several minutes had passed.

“Perhaps we should have,” Elijah relented, “but the temptation was too great. The pull to be with her was too strong. I find it unlikely I could have resisted even had I wished.”

Kol slammed his glass down on the table beside him. “I don’t see why we should. She was made for us. We are meant to be together. And she handled herself brilliantly.”

“You know why, Kol. She wasn’t attacked. She was targeted. Because of us.” Klaus couldn’t shake the deep sense of betrayal he felt that he would be given a mate only for the universe to try to take her away so soon.

“We don’t know that,” his younger brother insisted.

“The wolf confessed they’re talking about us. About her. For you to say otherwise only means you are refusing to see the truth of the matter.” Elijah’s words were short with anger though Klaus was sure it was directed to the universe in general and not any of them. “Throughout our lives, the people who we grew closest to have always been in danger. When they cannot attack us directly, they go after those we hold dear. It is how it has always been.”

“And in this case, it’s so much worse, isn’t it?” Klaus’s heart ached. “They need only harm her, threaten her, and they get to all three of us.”

Kol cleared his throat. “And if she were to die?”

“Well, that would destroy us, wouldn’t it?” Elijah answered.

“We could leave,” Klaus suggested.

“And go where?” Elijah asked. “Where in this world could we go where we would not have to worry about enemies on our doorstep?”

After several minutes of silence, Elijah spoke up again. “As long as we are in her life, she is not safe.”

“So, what do we do?” Kol asked, sounding completely broken.

Elijah focused on the glass in his hand. “Right now, we go to bed and hold our mate. In the morning, we feed her and walk her to work. Once she is safe behind her wardings, we will do as we must.”

***

Despite the events of the day, your sleep was peaceful. Your mates had been more attentive than usual, which honestly you hadn’t thought possible. Though all three of them had walked you to work, you had thought at least one of them would stay. It would have been normal for them to do so, especially because you had a large delivery coming in. Elijah in particular enjoyed going through shipments with you and helping put the new books away.

Instead, they’d all begged off for other business. You leaned on the counter with a sigh. Normally you enjoyed your time in your shop but today, time couldn’t pass quickly enough. You were ready to go home. Even the delivery didn’t hold your interest. Once you’d counted boxes you’d left it piled to one side to go through later.

You straightened as the bell sounded and your mates came through the door. Your smile faded as you took in their serious expressions. “What’s going on, guys?” you asked when they didn’t immediately say anything.

“Are you alone at present?” Elijah asked.

You nodded. “No one but me and the books.”

He nodded to his brothers. Kol locked the door and Klaus flipped the sign to closed. “We need to talk.”

“Of course.” You were proud of how calm you sounded though you were feeling anything but.

“We have discussed our situation and feel it best that we end this before any of us become more invested.”

You sucked in a breath, your gaze moving between your mates. “What?”

“It’s for your own protection, Y/N,” Klaus said. “The wolf was only one of many that would see us suffer. And by harming you, they could take all three of us down in one move. We cannot allow that to happen.”

Kol cleared his throat. “We can’t let you get hurt because of us.”

Your chest hurt and you bit the inside of your lip to keep from crying. “You can’t be serious. You can’t mean this.” If they had looked at you with concern or sadness perhaps you might have kept it together. But the looks of pity they all wore…well, that was just too much. “You told me you waited a thousand years for me and that I was worth the wait. That I made up for every second. You told me you loved me.” Your voice cracked at the end but there was no help for that you supposed. After all, your world was crashing down around you, wasn’t it?

“Y/N, please,” Kol pleaded.

Elijah dropped a hand onto his shoulder. “This is for the best, Y/N. You will see that someday. We’re sorry.”

“Please don’t do this.”

All of them turned their gaze from you as they moved to leave. “I’m sorry,” you yelled and tears overflowed to run down your face. “Whatever I did, I’m sorry. I’ll fix it. Just don’t leave me.” The last words came out as little more than a whisper as your mates walked out of your life as easily as they had walked in.

Your body shook as you wept and you dropped to your knees. Before New Orleans you’d thought being alone was miserable. But to have had them, to know what your life could be with them in it, and to lose that was an indescribable pain. Your chest physically hurt as you struggled to breathe between sobs.

They’d left you. You were made for them and they turned you away. You gave them everything and they didn’t want it. Didn’t want you. Deep down you’d known that brief happiness had been too good to be true. You’d known they’d realize you weren’t worth the effort one day. You’d just been hoping it would come a decade or two down the road. Just a moment. That’s all you wanted. A moment in time when someone chose you.

You weren’t certain how much time passed before you realized Cami was helping you sit up. You wiped at your cheeks though new tears quickly replaced the old. “What is going on, Y/N? What happened?”

You shook your head, not wanting to put your shame into words.

Cami rubbed her hands on your arms. “Talk to me, Y/N.”

You looked from her to Marcel who hovered nearby. He held up his hands. “Hey, whatever they did, I’m on your side. She’d hurt me otherwise.”

“Damn straight,” Cami grumbled. You laughed which quickly turned into another sob. Cami pulled you into her chest and wrapped her arms around you. “It’s okay. Whatever happened, it’ll be okay.”

“They left me,” you managed to get out. “They don’t want me.”

Cami pulled back to look at you with a frown. “What? That doesn’t make any sense, Y/N. They’re crazy about you.”

You shrugged. “I make them weak. They’re better off without me.”

She closed her eyes. “Oh, those assholes. Those stupid, stupid assholes.”

Marcel bent down and scooped you up in his arms. “You can rant about the originals later, sweetheart. Right now, let’s get her home.”

“Yeah,” your friend readily agreed as she hopped to her feet. “I’ll put a sign on the door. She doesn’t need to worry about this place right now. Go on. I’ll grab her keys out of her bag and lock up.”

You felt like you should say something. Anything. But you just didn’t have it in you.

“You’ll be okay, Y/N. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but it’ll get better,” Marcel offered while he stood on the sidewalk outside your shop holding you and waiting for his mate.

Maybe he was right. Maybe it would get better. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe tomorrow you’d wake up in your bed in your childhood home and all this will have been some weird demented dream. It didn’t take long to reach your little house. Cami opened the door and sat your things on the table while Marcel lowered you to your feet.

You’d managed to quit crying during the walk and now steered your friends toward the door. They’d done enough and honestly, you wanted to wallow in peace. Marcel finally resorted to physically pulling Cami outside. After you locked up behind them, you allowed yourself to look around your house.

As your eyes fell on belongings that you’d moved to the Mikaelsons with you tears flooded your eyes again. They’d moved you back home. You were sure if you looked around you’d find everything you’d taken with you back in its place. You had been thoroughly removed from their lives.

#elijah mikaelson x reader #klaus mikaelson x reader #kol mikaelson x reader #the originals fanfiction #soulmate au #mikaelson brothers x reader #series #strange fates

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pilot-boi · 4 years

Text

Five Injuries Hidden: Chapter Six

Rough Sailing

He was a paper boat in a thunderstorm lost at sea. One wave, just slightly too big, would be all it would take to swallow him up whole

AO3 LINK

Jaune moaned, squeezing his eyes shut. Was the world supposed to spin that fast?

He could’ve sworn it had been cold when he went to sleep, so why did it feel like he was melting? But that wasn't the worst part, not by far. The icy cold that stole his breath away always came rushing back after he had melted, freezing him. His skin, his bones, his blood, all of it, making his body react with bone-rattling shivers that seemed to make everything worse.

But all of this waned in the face of the sheer ball of agony his leg had become.

It made him want to die. Seriously, just put him out of his misery already. He had to fight to keep the two meager bites of fish he had managed to choke down last night from making a reappearance.

He wasn't fine. He couldn't even try to fool himself into thinking that when he couldn't even move, save for half curling painfully into a ball on the ground before he had to stop lest he passed out.

The only thing he hoped was that Nora or Ruby didn't find him first. Gods they were going to kill him.

Jaune knew his fever was getting worse, but at this point, it was only a distant thought.

What was that blob?

No, stop shaking me.

Why are you being so loud?

Shuuuussssshhhhhh.

Your hands are cold, lemme alone.

Suddenly pain. Blinding, unbearable pain that made tears come unbidden to his eyes as the blob… Blobs? Were there more than one? He couldn't tell anymore. As the blobs brushed against the broken bolt of steel sticking out of his leg.

What was that sound? Who was screaming? Oh wait... That was him. It kinda sounded like it was far away.

Underwater.

Muffled.

Mmmuuufffffffllleeeddd… Muffled was a funny word...

Oh, wait. He was moving. Hrrk. Nope. Abort. Abort.

Jaune could feel the horrible feeling of stomach acid burning his throat as he heaved wherever his head was pointing. Uggghhhhhhhhh.

He was in pain, sick, confused and really wanted to die. Why has no one putting him out of his misery?!

Jaune could hear a bubbling stream of voices, but just like the water of a stream, it slipped through his fingers. Nothing made sense anymore. Why were there so many different colored blobs? It made his already pounding head hurt even worse. He closed his eyes, the darkness instantly soothing the added thorns to his headache.

Then, he felt a super-cooled hand pat his cheek. But all his strength was sapped out of his limbs, his mind, and he barely even flinched. Please, please leave him alone. Let him sink into the nice, comforting darkness.

His lack of reaction caused a flurry of action, sounds, maybe voices, and just the barely perceived sense of pure panic. Why? What was wrong? Jaune struggled to blink open his heavy, sticky eyelids. He could only manage to open them to about half-way, but it was enough.

Slowly blinking, and that was a true challenge, because his eyes did not wanna stay open, everything slowly came into focus.

He... was in the house? Hm, they must have found them. Good. That... that was good.

The next thing that came into focus was Ruby’s determined, tear-stained face. Why was Ruby crying? Did someone hurt her?! He had to help, had to get up and stop whoever it was from hurting her-

All thoughts fled his mind as the pain in his leg increased a thousand fold. Next thing he knew, he was screaming.

His world blotted out, and all he could feel was the tormenting feel of mind numbing agony. His leg was on fire. It hurt, oh did it hurt. Stop. Stop it. Stop it stop it stop it stop it stopitstopitstopitstopitstopitstopitstopitstopitstopit-

Unable to bear the pain any longer, the world went dark.

--------

Ruby sighed as she wrung out the cold, wet cloth before she placed it back onto her best friend's sweltering forehead. How had it come to this? How could they have missed such a grievous injury that friend had?

This was all her fault. If she'd only been more attentive, and not wallowing in her own doubts and self-pity about the mission. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Ruby flinched as Jaune whimpered softly, no doubt his fever spiking. She softly took his scalding hand in her own, gently rubbing the back of his hand with her thumb. They'd found Jaune delirious with fever when they had gone to see why he wasn't up yet, the hard ground underneath him stained red with his own blood.

She'd never forget the sheer lifelessness as they tried to awaken the knight.

That was when they found the horrendous injury in the form of a steel bolt lodged deeply into his leg. The steel bolt went deep, and the muscle around it was torn and irritated. It must have gotten worse with all the running around and fighting he had done. Not to mention the raging infection that must have set in sometime during the night.

Her friend's screams as they'd removed the bolt would haunt her nightmares.

She'd known that it wasn't going to be painless, as they didn't have the necessary equipment to put him under, they were too far from the nearest hospital, and the only person who could’ve numbed the pain was the one injured. It had been their only option that would ensure that Jaune would survive until they could get to proper medical help... But it didn't mean that she had to like it.

Yang, unnaturally subdued, quietly made her way into the room, closing the door behind her before she made her way over. The brawler gently rubbed Ruby's shoulder, his eyes never leaving the haggard, pale-skinned form in the bed.

"We'll be at the hospital in a few minutes." She murmured softly. Sucking in what was supposed to be a steadying breath, Ruby nodded, briefly scrubbing at her eyes.

Yang wisely said nothing and instead started helping her ready Jaune for transportation. Pulling off his armor was a struggle, as it made him wince in pain even unconscious. His shirt was sticking to his chest with sweat, and his hair was plastered to his forehead. She couldn't help her full bodied shiver as she watched his lungs struggle for each breath.

It... it just wasn't right seeing their dorky, passionate friend like this.

Not at all.

--------

Nora breathed.

In.

And out.

In.

And out.

Crunch.

She growled, frustrated, and was this close to throwing this flimsy chair that insisted on its armrests breaking every time she laid a finger on it.

It totally wasn't because she was too upset to properly control his strength. Nope. Completely the chair's fault.

She was about to throw it across the room when Oscar despondently trudged his way in looking for all the world he was carrying the world's burdens. Shoulders slumped, he didn't even look up as he bonelessly collapsed into the chair next to her. Nora could relate.

Getting Jaune into emergency care had been a nightmare. Not because of the staff, but because the knight had stopped breathing as they loaded him onto a gurney. Ruby had frozen, her eyes wide in terror and helplessness. Yang had taken her home, and Weiss and Blake had gone with her. Ren was still stuck at the Bounty, and his absence was making her antsy

And now she and Oscar were stuck waiting.

Nora could tell that Oscar was trying his hardest to keep it together, to be the strong future immortal wizard guy that he thought that he needed to be 24/7 no matter what anyone else said.

She got it, she really did, but it didn't make it any less upsetting. Shaking her head, she wrapped an arm around her little brother and tugged him closer to her side. Oscar stiffened, but soon relaxed, burying his face into her shoulder.

Nora clenched her jaw and closed her eyes at the sheer helplessness to stop the tremors shaking the boy's shoulders as he struggled to quiet his hiccuping sobs.

She could feel Oscar mumble something into her now soaked jacket and rubbed his shoulder while glancing down at the mop of shaggy brown hair, "You're going to have to speak up buddy, I didn't catch that."

Oscar revealed his tear-soaked face and heart shattering, shiny-with-tears, big hazel eyes that just destroyed Nora's soul just looking at. Something howling inside her to fix, or destroy, depending on the situation, whatever was hurting him.

And she... couldn't.

It physically hurt her not being able to fix this kind of hurt.

She knew there was only one thing, one person who could... And he was in the emergency room struggling to survive.

"It's just not fair." Oscar whimpered, half-hiding his face back into her jacket, snapping her out of her thoughts.

That took Nora aback, blinking down at him. Oscar never complained about things being fair. Ever. Even though he had more than enough reason to, what with the whole Ozpin thing. It was sad, but true. And they had never heard him once say anything about it.

But... this wasn't about Oscar.

This time, it was for Jaune's sake.

If her heart hadn't been hurting before for Oscar, by the gods was it now. She wrapped both arms around her friend, offering every ounce of comfort that she was able, gently shushing him.

"I know. I know it's unfair, and I know you know that's the way life is," she added on, knowing what tended to run through her own head and hoping it would apply to this, "But Jaune's the strongest person I know, and if anyone can pull through, he can."

With a final sniff, resolve hardened in Oscar's eyes as he nodded, wiping away the tears still rolling down his cheeks, "You're right. Jaune can do this. We just... We just gotta put our faith in him."

Nora gave him a tired half-smile and tousled his hair, "That's right."

"That's exactly right."

--------

Ren was pacing.

That in itself was worrying.

But he really didn't care at this moment in time.

There was still no word, after hours of waiting.

After Yang and Ruby had returned, one grim and the other still in shock, he had taken to pacing around the ship and hadn't stopped once for eight hours.

Eight hours of worrying. More like nine, since he hadn't stopped worrying since they found Jaune this morning.

Eight hours of "what if?"s.

Eight hours of not knowing whether Jaune was going to pull through.

It was enough to wear a track into the poor floor. Ren just hoped that news, any kind of news, would be given to them soon.

He wasn't sure how much more they could take…

--------

It had been twelve hours since Jaune had been admitted, and only just now was he being settled into his hospital room in the ICU so that he could be watched over for any complications.

The news had been grim. Jaune'd flat-lined five times. Five. And had, on the last one, been legally dead for an entire forty-eight seconds.

Forty-eight seconds, the world had been without it's lovable, dorky noodle boy.

That was forty-eight seconds too long in Yang’s books.

But, that wasn't all. Ohhh, no.

The nurses had revealed that their friend’s body was littered with scars of all sizes. From paper-cut worthy, to how-the-heck-are-you-even-still-alive?! sizes. They had all been gobsmacked, and then unbelievably angry, when they'd found out.

Why hadn't he told them? Just how often had he been injured without their notice?! Many of them from this past year alone!

Needless to say, they all wanted some answers.

Sadly, they might not be getting any.

Jaune had a raging infection trying to tear him apart from the inside-out, and with his blood-loss, there was a very high chance of him never waking up at all.

As she said. Bad.

Really, the only reason Yang wasn't falling apart right now in a panicking mess, was because Ruby needed her. So she stayed strong, toughing it out in silence as she watched her slowly fall apart with each near mechanical breath.

Machines. She was good with machines. If they broke, you could fix them. If they died, you could revive them.

But Jaune wasn't a machine.

He was broken in ways that she couldn't fix.

And if he died... she couldn't revive him.

There were no do-overs. No magic reset button.

Nothing she could do.

Yang decided she hated that.

---------

Jaune wasn't aware of anything, really... Just that it was soft. Warm. Painless.

...Painless?

That seemed wrong to him somehow. But... he couldn't remember why...

He sunk into a haze.

Drifting aimlessly, he could vaguely tell that time had passed. 'How long?' He distantly wondered.

The question faded.

Thoughts continued to trickle through his hands, touching the surface of them, but never being able to grasp onto them for long.

He continued to drift.

Something was missing, he realized later. That realization came with a certain, clear clarity that allowed him to grab onto it with both hands in a vice-like grip. The haze lifted a little. He was suddenly aware of a sore ache that he could feel deep down into every bone.

He'd forgotten he'd even had bones...

The feeling of something missing and the general sense of something is wrong grew. Where was he? How did he get here?

A sudden thought slammed into him like a rampaging Boarbatusk.

Where were his friends?

Desperation burned out the rest of the hazy darkness he had settled into for who knows how long, his injuries that he'd forgotten about up till now made themselves known with a vengeance. And his memories became crystal clear along with them.

Oh.

Perfect.

They were going to murder him for this...

But first, he had to wake up.

After all, he couldn't be dead because he doubted that he would be this aching and sore in the after-life.

Waking up proved to be more difficult than he had expected.

But, never the one to be deterred, he finally pushed though.

And found himself staring at a ceiling in a dark hospital room.

--------

Good news. Finally.

After a week of no relatively no improvement from the knight, the doctors had informed them of increased brain activity and that his Aura was finally replenishing properly. His chances of waking up, of surviving this, went up a little more each day.

They were up to two weeks, two horribly long weeks, the doctors saying that Jaune could be waking up at any time now.

Anytime.

Any time at all.

The clock read midnight. The witching hour.

Oscar never understood that saying. And really, he was too tired to even try. He was pretty sure that his heavy eyes were blood-shot, red from crying.

Red. Red was the color of fire. The color of power. The color of warmth.

But it was also the color of war. Of danger. Of blood.

Jaune's blood.

Every time he blinked, the images seared into his eyelids, he could see Jaune laying pale and still, oh, so still, and in a puddle of mostly dried blood. He could see and time the exact moment he stopped breathing, stopped fighting.

But, then, Jaune never did stop fighting, did he?

No, he fought tooth and nail, even while deeply unconscious, and his heart continued to stubbornly hold onto life even if it faltered at times.

Even with a raging infection that the doctors had only just been able to battle back, calling it a close thing and that if Jaune hadn’t had such abnormally high Aura reserves, that they probably wouldn’t have been able to save him.

Same with his leg. The doctors had been amazed that Jaune had evaded having it amputated, though by a narrow margin. Yet they doubted that he would ever be able to walk without assistance of a cane from now on.

But Semblances and stubbornness were powerful things. Especially where Jaune was concerned.

They gave it about a month or two before Jaune was walking around like nothing had ever happened.

Oscar smiled at the thought, before a soft groan shattered the silence as if it was spun glass. It immediately held every ounce of his attention as he scrambled to his feet and closer to Jaune's side, daring to feel hope as it blossomed in his chest.

Jaune's face was scrunched, and then...

He blinked open his eyes.

#rwby #jaune arc #lie ren #nora valkyrie #oscar pine #ruby rose #yang xiao long #mine #mistral au #my writing #five injuries hidden #chapter 6

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amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines · 5 years

Text

Steve//this moment will just be another story someday

hi! based off this song. we have a bi reader because i wanted it soooo. and i know it’s the middle of march but i don’t care because i worked hard on this and i’m sad. ps, if that song finishes before you’ve read all of this (or if you just want to listen to something else), i suggest listening to this

The 4th of July is supposed to be a happy holiday celebrated by most of the American population. Fireworks are enjoyed by families, barbecues are frequented by friends and carnivals come into town to be enjoyed by everyone. Everyone is happy to be celebrating their independence, even though they were awarded it years ago, and even though the majority of Americans don’t really have their independence, they just pretend they do.

However, in the dingy bar that Steve is sat in, the 4th of July feels like a foreign holiday. The place is barely lit, the only light source coming from a few overhead lights and the occasional end of a cigarette. The few people scattered around the place look like they either did all the partying when they were about 40 years younger, or they’re too drunk to celebrate. In some cases its both. The fireworks outside sound more like gunshots to Steve as he nurses his drink that he’s been staring at for the past hour. Despite the hot July weather of San Francisco, Steve feels cold, a chill finding its way up his spine as he looks at the clock. 11:23pm...at least there’s not long left of this dreaded holiday.

When he was younger he used to love July 4th. All his cousins would come visit him and for a day he wouldn’t feel so alone in that big house. His father would actually acknowledge his presence, showing off what little accomplishments he’d achieved over the year in order to make the other adults jealous. And his mom would always let him have a sparkler once the sun had set. Usually his dad had gone to bed by then so it would just be him and his mom in the back garden, drawing patterns and writing words into the night sky.

However, after the events of last years 4th of July, he has a feeling he’s never going to enjoy it again.

He sighs and downs the last of his drink, ordering another from the old man at the bar who’s watching out the only window in the whole place. He nods and gives him a re-fill before sitting back on his stool.

Steve starts to think about what he’d be doing right now if last year had gone different. If there had never been Russians under the mall, if he hadn’t fought for his life yet again. Would he still be in Hawkins? Working with Robin? Babysitting the party despite their protests of how ‘We’re too old for a babysitter’ and ‘You can just say we’re your friends’.

Would his father still be disappointed in him? Something he’s grown used to over the years. Or would he have gone to work for him to make him just a little prouder. Maybe if it weren’t for all this demogorgon shit, he might have actually got into a college. Wait...no he wouldn’t have. Like his father said ‘the only sad excuse you have for this mess is yourself’.

Maybe his mother would still look at him like he was her son and not a stranger. Who knows. But he sure as hell knows he’s been a lot happier here the other 313 days he’s been finding a new life for himself in San Francisco.

313.

It hasn’t seemed that long until he’s thought about it. He lasted 52 days after the events of Starcourt before it got too much. Too much had happened in that small town. The people he cared about had been hurt. The people he didn’t, had know clue. Taking their little lives for granted. He needed to get out. So he sold the majority of his stuff, used the savings he’d been clever enough to hide (thanks to Robin), packed his bag and drove. He drove without looking back. Well, he did three times.

First he went to see Robin. To of course say goodbye, to tell her to be safe and if she needed anything to call him. He’d managed to find a cramped apartment in a semi-decent neighborhood before he left, so he scribbled the number down on a leftover napkin she’d brought home one day after a shift at Scoops and he smiled at the irony of the situation.

Second he went to see Dustin. His mom was not pleased about being woken up in the middle of the night but when she say the pleading in his eyes she let him in. Too nice to have refused him anyway. She liked Steve, he was a good influence of Dustin. Dustin walked out into the living room sleepily after being woken by his mom. He rubbed his eyes as he rounded the corner, although as soon as he saw Steve he was wide awake. Steve explained what he was doing and how sorry he was that he was leaving but of course he understood. Was he upset? Definitely. But did he understand? More than anyone. So Steve also scribbled his new number down and passed it to him, along with a can of Farrah Fawcett spray, and when Mrs Henderson wasn’t looking he slipped him his nailed baseball bat out of his duffel bag.

The third place he went was a surprise to himself. He didn’t know he was going there until he found himself parked outside. Hawkins Cemetery. The gates were closed but you could always jump over the fence round the back, thats usually how the weird kids got in so they could drink and try to talk to the dead. He navigated his way through the dark and three years ago he would have been silently shitting himself, however after all the stuff he’d saw there was nothing that really scared him anymore. He walked for a few minutes before finding his destination.

‘Barbara Holland.

In memory of our beloved daughter.

She will not be forgotten.’

Steve’s fingers traced over the top of the gravestone delicately. The cold stone doesn’t affect him as he seems to get lost in his thoughts. He hadn’t been the best person to her. Laughed at her behind her back. Made snide comments in front of her face. He’d been an ass to her. And then she died in his pool, when everyone else was too busy trying to keep their popularity. She’d been forgotten, taken to the upside down where she would have stayed forever. She deserved more than that. And she deserves more than this. He places a single purple Hyacinth on her grave before shoving his hands in his pockets and walking away.

He’s almost out of the graveyard when he spots something out of the corner of his eyes. The grave is fresher than the others, and its smaller, shoved right in the corner of the yard and he already knows who it belongs to before he gets there.

‘Billy Hargrove

Son. Brother. Friend’

Its a stark difference to Barbs, and just the sight of it makes Steve chuckle bitterly. He remembers overhearing Max telling the rest of the party during the wake that her and Susan had to persuade Neil into putting something more on that just his name. Yeah, Billy was a dick, but he deserved better. He deserved the chance at redemption. To become a better person and to prove his father and everyone else in his life wrong. He picks a few daisies from beside the grave and places them delicately on top of the stone. “See you later Hargrove.” He mumbles and he swears he can hear him laughing somewhere in the distance before he returns to his car and starts the long drive.

“A little lost there?” Its like he’s just been woken up from a fever dream. A minute ago he was sat alone at the bar, and now there’s a woman around his age with y/h/c and bright y/e/c, staring at him like he holds all the secrets of the universe.

“Huh?” He blinks at her, and three years ago he would have cursed himself for such a lame openly line, especially to a girl this pretty. But right now, he could be talking to Phoebe Cates herself and he wouldn’t give a damn. He just wants to be left alone to be sad and wallow in self pity about how awfull his life has turned out.

“You looked kinda lost in your thoughts. You okay?” The girl asks, placing a delicate hand on his arm.

“Yeah.” He shrugs her off. “Fine.”

“You sure?” She asks and hands him a napkin, he stares at her blankly and she pushes it further towards him. “You look like you’ve been crying.”

“Oh.” He quickly takes it from her and dabs at his eyes before scrunching it up and shoving it in his pocket. “Thanks.” He glances at her and forces a half smile before looking back at his drink.

“I see you’re quite the talker.” You tease and sit beside him. He huffs in annoyance, but it doesn’t really seem to dampen your mood. Instead you call for the barman and ask for a drink, as well as whatever your ‘chatty’ friend wants, which after a few seconds figures is him. “So?” You ask once your drinks have been placed in front of you. “Thanks Billy.” You smile and his head rises. “Oooo, now we’re getting somewhere!” You do a little excited wiggle as you sip your drink and he looks at you bored. “Okay, so you either are a Billy.”

“Pfft.” He scoffs and your eyebrows raise.

“Okay. So you know a Billy.”

“Knew.” He corrects. “I knew a Billy.”

“Oh.” You frown and think for a few seconds. “So, were you friends and you left? Because you don’t sound like you’re from here.”

“We weren’t friends, but yes I did leave.”

“Where are you from? Wait!” You shush him before he even has a chance to answer, your finger is over his lips and he’s staring at you annoyed, but you don’t seem to care. “Okay, say something.”

“I can’t.” His voice is muffled and you smile awkwardly before removing your finger, wiping it on his shirt.

“Now say something.”

“I’m from Hawkins, Indiana.”

“Well, not that. But okay.” You roll your eyes. “Hey, isn’t that were all that freaky shit went down.”

“Yep.” He grumbles and downs the rest of his first drink.

“Cool.” You shrug. He mumbles something under his breath that you can’t quite catch but you decide to let it go. “So about this Billy guy? Friend? Lover?” Your voice gets quieter and he stares at you shocked. “Oh come on. You can tell me, this is San Francis-”

“He’s dead.”

“Oh.”

“Happy now?”

“Well, you see no. The death of people doesn’t really make me that happy. No matter if I knew them or not.”

“Well sorry to disappoint you.” He huffs.

“You know you can talk to me right?”

“Why would I want to do that? You’re a complete stranger.”

“Because sometimes talking to a stranger is the best thing. They don’t know you so they can’t judge you. All they can do is listen and sometimes give advice.” You reply and he stares at you stunned. “Plus, I have some time to kill, and I can’t imagine you have anything better to do, otherwise you wouldn’t be sat in here alone.”

“Okay.” He nods. “I’m gonna tell you a story.”

“Ooooo!” You grab your drink and get comfy. “What’s it about?”

“A boy and a girl.”

“Awwww.”

“Not like that.” He cuts you off, effectively shutting you down. “Its kind or short, and kind of boring.”

“Well, you’re really selling it.” You huff. “Is the ending at least good?”

“Oh, its a whirl.” He replies and you can sense the sarcasm dripping off his statement.

He stops for a moment to really think about what he’s going to do. He’s going to tell a complete stranger all the reasons he decided to move. He’s obviously not going to tell you everything, but still. And why was he being so mean? He’s tried for over three years to be a nice person, to get rid of the persona he carried around with him during high school, so why has it come back tonight? And why don’t you seem to care about how he’s treating you. And more importantly, who the hell are you?

“Dude” You wave a hand in front of his face and he blinks before looking at you. “Your story?”

“Oh, yeah. So they were just 16-ish, when I knew them. And people were so mean to both of them. The girl was bullied by assholes in school who had nothing better to do than bring people down to try and build themselves up.”

“I hate people like that.” You spit.

“Yeah.” He nods, but refuses to make eye contact with you. “Me too.”

“What about the boy? Who was mean to him? Was it the same people?” You ask, your eyes are wide with fear and Steve finds it quite endearing. He’s telling you about people you’ve never met before but you seem to care so much about them despite that. For all you know he could be making this shit up, but you still seem so invested.

“No, the people, well person that was mean to him was closer to home.”

“Who was it?” You lean towards him a little.

“His dad.”

“Dickhead.”

“Yeahhh.” He agrees.

“Well, what happened to them?” You ask. “Are they okay?” He almost doesn’t want to tell you. Or if he does, he wants to make up some bullshit about how they’re both happy, with people who love and appreciate them. Buts thats not how the world works, and maybe telling you that will be doing you a favour. You seem too happy.

“No.” He shakes his head sadly. “They ended up not loving themselves, and now they’re gone.”

“Gone how?” Your voice is quiet and unsure, and you’re not even sure you want to hear the answer. He looks at the sticky floor, taking a deep breath and he doesn’t even have to properly answer for you to know what he’s about to say.

“Headstones on a lawn.”

“Oh.” You sigh. “Did you know them well?”

“Not as well as I should have.” There’s something else behind that statement. A huge amount of pain and grief is swirling behind his eyes, like a storm ready to destroy everything in its path.

“What were their names?”

“What will that do?”

“They can’t be forgotten if people know their name. And I never forget a name...its my thing.”

“Thats not a very good thing.” He replies and you see the hint of a smile hiding behind his frown.

“Ouch.” You place a hand over your heart. “Whats your thing then? Wait!” You shush him again but this time he doesn’t seem to mind as much. “I bet in high school you did kegs!” You guess and he rolls his eyes.

“Their names were Barbara Holland and Billy Hargrove.” He changes the subject and silence falls between the two of you. You vaguely recognized the names from the news. You remember your roommate saying something about knowing a girl called Heather that lived in the same town, apparently they’d been at summer camp once. They used to talk sometimes but after a while she stopped receiving letters.

“Well, at least someone else knows about them. And I’m bound to tell someone about them. Like I said, I’m good with names...not so much keeping secrets so if you’ve met aliens or the bogeyman, don’t tell me.” You say, trying to lighten the mood and it seems to work a little. He chuckles softly and thats good enough for you, for now. “Anyway, that can’t be the end of the story.”

“Why not?” He questions.

“Because it was sad.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“All stories end happily. If not, it just means you’re not at the end yet.”

“Sure.” He raises and eyebrow. “But, if you must know, no, I’m not at the end. But believe me, this doesn’t end happily for anyone.”

“Well then its not over yet.” You say quickly making him roll his eyes before taking a swig of his drink.

“Back at home I know a boy and a boy.”

“Riiiight.” You wiggle your eyebrows and he smiles softly. He thinks Robin would like you, you’re sweet and accepting and everything he wishes he could have been back home.

“They were best friends with each other. Still are actually, despite some difficulties. But I always thought that at least one of them wanted more. They loved each other but never knew it.” He lowers his voice, the two of you are leaning into each other, your forehead’s practically touching. “I think they were always afraid of what people would say. Or even what the other would say. And now one of them has moved to a different state.”

Your frown deepens as you stare at the floor, your feet swinging against the stool as you play with your hands.

”That sucks.”

“I told you it wasn’t happy.”

“Well, then you’re not at the end of your story. And they’re not at the end of theirs. Love always catches up with you eventually. Thats just the way of the universe.”

“Sure it is.” He scoffs.

“Come on. I want a sequel!” Your drum your fingers against the bar while he stares at you. “Billy! Another round please.”

“You haven’t even finished that one.” Steve replies and you quirk your eyebrows, a smirk appearing on your face before you stare right at him and down the rest of your drink.

“Happy now?”

“Well, you see no not really, because I’m not carrying you home.”

“You’d be so lucky.” You tease and he giggles a little. “Come on.” You poke his arm.

“Fine.” He throws his hands up. “The sequel. This one is about me and my friend.”

“Ooo, yay! I want to know more about you mystery boy.” The nickname causes Steve’s cheeks to heat up and he’s kind of glad Robin isn’t here to tease him. “Now, is this friend a girl?” You rest your chin in your hand and he sighs dramatically, already knowing where you’re going with this.

“Yes. But not like that.” Now he’s the one shushing you making you stare at him surprised. “I’m not her type.”

“Okay.” You hold your hands up in defeat and he lower his finger, letting it drop to the bar.

“Both our parents were evil.”

“How?” You ask.

“My dad says I’m his biggest disappointment and my mom looks straight through me.”

“I’m sorry.” You place a hand on his arm but this time he doesn’t shrug it off, he lets you keep it there for a few seconds.

“Its fine. They’re both kind of right.”

“I’m sure thats not true.” You start to disagree but he talks over you instead.

“And my friends parents don’t agree with her lifestyle if you know what I mean?”

“Yeahh. I get that.” You nod, and now its his turn to try and decipher your look. He also prays he hasn’t attracted another lesbian, as much as he loves and supports Robin, he doesn’t need another factor to add into the thought that maybe he isn’t destined to be loved. “I play for both teams if you want to know.” You whisper and he nods.

“Cool. Whats that like?”

“Not any different to ‘normal’.” You reply and he chuckles. “So you and you’re friend? Quick question, is she cute?”

“Yes, she’s cute. And for a time I may have liked her.”

“Ha!” You snort loudly and a bright blush creeps up your neck.

“Do you want to know the rest of my story?”

“Yes.” You stifle your laughter. “Please, go on.”

“So, both of our parents were mean, so we made a bet. And if we worked and saved we cold run away to somewhere like here and we’d have a better life.”

“And?” You smile brightly at him.

“And?”

“Did that happen? Are you meeting her here?” You look around the dark bar.

“No.” He shakes his head. “I left early and she’s still there.”

“Oh.” You sigh. “I’m sorry. Is she going to be coming here soon though?”

“I don’t know.” He shakes his head. “Her parents are putting a lot of pressure on her to be everything but herself and sometimes I think she’s just going to give in. She’s been through so much and she’s so stubborn, but when I call her, she seems so broken and part of me thinks its because I left her alone.”

“No.” You grab his hand. “Its not your fault. Listen, I don’t know her, and I don’t really know you but she’s going to be okay. She’s going to come to San Francisco...meet a cute girl.” You whisper the last bit and he smiles softly. “And you’re going to have a better life.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because, like I said. You’re story isn’t over yet. Its just beginning. Kind of like a movie, and eventually everyone gets their happy end. Everyone does.”

“Again, how do you know that?”

“I don’t, not really. But if you don’t have hope then what’s the point. Just you wait and see.”

“You’re idea of the world and my idea of the world are very different from each other.” He sighs. “Its not funny or pretty or sweet. Its full of assholes and monsters and shitty things.”

“Maybe.” You nod. “But I like to see the good in the world. You just have to see the good...”

“Steve.”

“And we finally have a name!” You cheer. “Keep looking for the good Steve. You’ll find it eventually.”

I think I’ve already found a bit.

“This isn’t the end of your story. For all you know it could be the beginning. Now, what time is it?”

“11:55?” He replies and relief washes over him. He’s made it through and nothing bad has happened. Not to him at least. And when he gets home he’s going to call the party, and Robin and maybe even his parents to see if they’re okay. But right now you’re talking to him and he has to tune back into the real world. “What?”

“Do you want a sparkler?” You repeat your previous question just as Billy hands you some change. He blinks at you and your roll your eyes playfully before saying bye and then dragging him out of the dingy bar and into the bright street.

Its empty, everyone is either with friends or family, in back gardens or at events. It seems everyone in the entire world has someone to celebrate with, everyone except him, and then he remembers. He’s not alone. Because you’re looking at him, a soft smile on your lips as you hand him a sparkler.

“I do this every year.” You explain and light the end of his before doing the same to your own. “I write something that has pissed me off in the past year, and then when it disappears, its like I’ve let it go. Metaphorically of course. Its kind of like a second go at New Years, because lets face it, nobody is keeping their resolutions.”

“Has that ever worked.”

“No completely. But there’s always time...like I said, it’s not the end of the story yet.”

And while he stares at you writing whatever in the air, with a bright smile on your face, for the first time in a long time there’s a spark of hope.

He thinks there could actually be a day when he enjoys July 4th again.

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #stranger things imagine

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mattzerella-sticks · 5 years

Text

Hungry Hearts, a Destiel fic

Sam brings Cas home, except it's not the Cas that Dean remembers. Being on his own changed him, his angel colder. And he can't call Cas his angel anymore. Mainly because he hasn't been his angel for a while. Both metaphorically and literally.

Living with a fallen Cas has Dean walking on broken glass, especially since he prayed an apology to him when he couldn't hear it. Having torn off the Band-aid to a still-bleeding wound, will Dean broach the rupture between them for closure? What can possibly aid him in a terrifying act of vulnerability.

He might not be good with words... but food's never let him down.

Dean dawdles on the web, surfing between different sites. Leaves a collection of shorts called ‘TikToks’ on Yotube to read an article about the latest reboot from his childhood. Ignores the suffocating awkwardness that ballooned in the kitchen after Cas strolled in a few minutes ago.

He glanced up when Cas entered, thinking it was Sam, ready to tell him how funny kids have gotten. Except his brother hadn’t returned yet. Cas froze under the door jamb, staring at him with wide eyes. Dean mirrored his dumb expression, finger tapping as each knot of his spine stiffened one after the other. His jaw hung clumsily with the lump of an unsaid sentence. Swallowing it, Dean thought of something else to say to the other man.

Cas rebooted before he could. He nodded with a muttered “hello” and sped over to the fridge. Dean parroted, firing off a finger gun and then hung his head in shame at his response.

Ten minutes passed, Dean still hadn’t come up with anything to say and Cas tore up the kitchen searching for something. Returning to the fridge he looks inside one final time and shuts it with a growl. “Why isn’t there anything to eat !”

Dean answers, eyes trained on the laptop screen. “Sam went out to get groceries over an hour ago.”

“And he’s not back yet?” “Dude, why’re you complaining anyway. It’s not like you can…” He pauses, mind catching up with his voice. When he gathers the courage to look away from his device Dean finds Cas balefully glaring at him.

“I’m hungry , Dean,” Cas says, “Or did you forget that happens to me now. Again .”

He winces, embarrassment coloring his cheeks and popping the balloon surrounding them. Its heavy plastic weighs on his shoulders with the forceful reminder that his angel had become like him - human . With all their flaws and shortcomings. “Right… sorry.”

Cas rolls his eyes, opening and shutting a cupboard in the blink of an eye. “So there’s really nothing here to eat ?”

Dean shrugs, swinging his legs out from under the table to stand. He moseys over to the fridge, careful to avoid Cas by taking the long way around. Inside he finds a sparse amount of food scattered to their own corners like their owners’.

“Seems that way,” he tells Cas.

His former angel mutters more to himself, stomping towards the exit. “Of course… there’s not much of anything here, is there?”

A knife jumps from a drawer and twists itself into his heart. Dean reacts, “I wouldn’t say that.”

The sound of footsteps pause, Dean checking on Cas to find him under the door jamb once more. Hand on the edges, fingers tight. “What do you mean?”

“Well…” Dean races through his maze-like thoughts for sense, chasing it to give Cas a reason to stay this time. Brow furrowed, Dean peers into the fridge for an answer. Finds it between the inch of milk and the three eggs having a party. “There might not be much, but…” Dean grabs the ingredients, “all together, they can make… something ?”

Cas scoffs, leaning against the doorway. “ Really ?” Voice dripping with sarcasm, nothing in him gives any evidence he buys what Dean tries to sell. A harsh spotlight burns Dean’s skin, makes sweat roll down every pore. The harshness of Cas’s eye makes him doubt his hastily thrown together plan, insecure that his former angel won’t entertain him. Like he used to.

“ Yeah …” he continues, hedging softly, “I… uh, I don’t know what exactly. But you can make something .” Swallowing fear Dean moves to Cas and shoves the food into his hands, smile shaky. “Come on, Cas. If we put our heads together…”

His lip wobbles. Dean pours more energy into his smile, transforming into a more innocent and friendly version of himself. Create further distance from the beast that tore into Cas all those months ago.

It hurts staring at him this long, the memory of how haunted Cas looked that night fighting from the depths of his freezer. Dean fights it, presses on the cold, metal door with all his might. Except he isn’t strong enough. And while he kept that memory from breaking free and turning him into a mute, shambling mess, others slipped through the cracks.

Like when Cas finally returned. Trudging in after Sam, battered and bruised. Dean scurried towards them in concern. “Cas?” he asked, “Cas, what happened -”

“Vampires.”

At a loss, Dean’s hand stayed frozen in mid-air. “Vamps?” he asks, “You let them get the drop on you, bud… Cas?”

Sam glanced at him in warning, Dean understanding too late. Cas squinted at him like he was a lesser-demon, ready to be smote into unexistence. He ground out each word like they were glass. “They’re stronger than humans.”

“But you’re… not human?”

Not only did he step in it, he did so barefoot.

“He’s not an angel anymore, Dean,” Sam told him later, after Cas stormed towards his room. “He fell -”

“He fell?!? Why didn’t he say anything?” “Because,” Sam clapped his shoulder, “he didn’t think you’d care.” Left him in the main room, alone, like he deserved. Wallowing in self-pity and drowning in a bottle of Jack.

Then he thinks of his prayer to Cas - oh, his prayer . The pent-up confession of every feeling he bottled up. Alone in his room after a whirlwind hunt that left him more exhausted than ever. Dean spoke truth to the decorative guns and dusty mixtapes, eyes squeezed shut in hope that he could make his prayer more powerful. That Cas would still hear it if he stuck his fingers in his ears and tried drowning him out. Hear how sorry he was for how much of an ass he resembled and the real fear that controlled him. Hear that losing him never gets easier, and each time he got him back he squandered their time together - that he doesn’t deserve a second chance. Hear the longing trembling inside, a love so strong he began crying because of it.

Except when he finished there wasn’t a call or a text, only his own laboured breathing.

Dean figured he acted too late. No apology good enough to repair what he and Cas had. Accepted his miserable ending with a defeated sigh.

The next memory plays on, of Dean asking after his prayer. Glutton for punishment, needing to hear the other man fully explain how it felt knowing Dean’s most inner secrets.

“Even if you did pray ,” Cas used finger-quotes, expounding on Dean’s hypothetical approach, “I probably didn’t hear it. The first thing to go was my ability to use angel radio … I was alone. More alone than I’ve ever been. But then again… that happened before my antennae was torn from me.”

It was the most they’d ever spoken to each other since Cas moved back to the Bunker. Every other interaction was rushed, Cas leaving moments into Dean’s arrival. Taking books with him or suddenly having chores to do. He couldn’t leave the laundry room with Dean blocking the exit. Forcing a conversation in an attempt to soothe the termites biting under his skin.

When Cas told him what he needed to know, though, Dean let his former angel push him aside in his haste to flee. Too confused on how to feel learning this new tidbit.

Whether having his message left unread eased his troubled soul, or if it disrupted it further. Because admitting it made it easier to breathe the next morning. Dean was disappointed, but free.

Freedom evaporated, he wears his heavy chains once more. They’re still warm.

Cas draws him from his head by finally moving, inspecting the ingredients. “You really think I can make something… edible , with what’s hear in the Bunker?”

“Yeah, you got eggs… milk…” Dean waves his hands behind him, “the base is all there, the rest is really garnish.”

He raises a sharp brow at him. “I doubt you believe that given how much you stress about cooking .”

Dean blanches, chuckling nervously. “Well, that’s because I’ve gone a little soft. Having a kitchen meant I could really choose what I wanted to eat instead of using whatever was on hand. When I was a kid I…” his voice grows small, remembering another sad memory - this time, Cas-free - “I would have to make do with whatever dad left us. Sometimes we didn’t have milk or eggs. A lot of cans and dry goods though… would notrecommend cereal with water.”

“It’s not the same,” Cas agrees, soft like the feathers he shed, “I know.”

“Right…” Dean turns from Cas, too amped up to look at the other man and not burst into disgusting sobs. He fiddles with the drawer, pulling utensils out to busy himself. “We’ll get started on whatever it is we’re cooking right away!”

“We?” Cas asks, “Dean, I can cook on my own -”

“But you shouldn’t have to -”

“What if I want to?”

“Then… then…” Dean examines a spatula, frowning, “Then you can. You can cook what you want and I’ll cook what I want.”

Cas sighs, placing the milk and eggs on the counter. “ You’re hungry?”

“...Yes?”

“Dean -”

“It’s a free country, Cas,” Dean says, “If you can be hungry than so can I… you don’t have a monopoly on hunger.”

Cas’s fingers drumming on the counter fill his ear while he waits for a rebuttal. “Fine,” he says, easing Dean’s racing heartbeat, “as long as you don’t get in my way.”

“You won’t notice me,” Dean agrees, because it’s something .

Nodding, Cas reaches for a whisk and the eggs. “Good.” Cas walks forward, Dean pressed against the island to avoid him. Grip tight around the smooth marble of the counter, Dean counts down from ten and then starts on his own creation.

Only he can’t think in silence. Especially since it’s a special silence, made all the more distracting by having Cas so close and being unable to talk to him. So Dean leaves his station and returns to his laptop, clicking around until he finds a playlist and cranks the volume to its loudest setting.

“What’s that?”

Dean shrugs. “Music,” he says, the singer’s voice crooning through the speakers, “Just typed in country and hit the first thing I found.”

Cas hums. “Not rock?”

“...Not really in a rock ‘n’ roll kind of mood.”

“I see… what’s the name of this song?”

He reads the title of the video. “Cannonball.”

“It’s very nice…” Cas turns back to his creation, whisking the eggs in a bowl. Dean inflates with the desire to continue their conversation, only he can’t. Instead he waddles over to the counter and carries on with cooking.

Between pouring what’s left of the milk into a saucepan and dumping the remaining shredded cheese into it, Dean wonders if he and Cas will ever return to the way it was. In the next beat he asks himself whether he wants them to or not.

Being alone meant Dean had a lot of time to reflect and he realized that his and Cas’s bond, no matter how profound, wasn’t working for him. Wasn’t healthy. Wasn’t… enough . As much as he wants Cas to accept an apology and forget the mess Dean knows that wouldn’t be fair. Dean made a mess, and he couldn’t learn until his nose was buried deep in it. He promised himself that if, by some odd miracle, Cas forgave him things would change.

Namely himself.

On the top of the list, Dean wouldn’t take him for granted. Wouldn’t expect him to fall in line and go along with whatever he said. If Cas needed him to, Dean would spend every day reassuring him that his place in their family wasn’t as a guard dog. His ‘C’ would join Dean’s initials on the table the second he asked.

He hasn’t, though. Hasn’t said much of anything to Dean. They’ve been in the kitchen for thirty minutes together and Cas spoke for three.

Dean tries, but there’s only so much bullshit he can spout before he chokes on his feelings. A war wages inside him over swallowing and repressing or vomiting them all over Cas’s shoes. Casualties heavy on both sides, victory far from either sides’ grasp. So they stay packed tight in his chest, and will most likely die there -

“Dean?”

He startles, squeezing the last bits of ketchup onto the pan. “Yes?”

Cas frowns at his cooking, a horrid green tinting his cheeks. “What… are you making?”

Tracking his gaze, Dean stares into his concoction without any clue what happened. It’s a swirl of colors, most noticeably red since the ketchup drips from the bottle into it. Unable to admit to Cas that he doesn’t know, Dean panics. “It’s a secret,” Dean lies, “If I told you, then you’d want to have it.”

“Trust me,” Cas winces, “that won’t happen.”

“You’re only seeing it be made ,” he continues, “but, like, when I’m done it’ll be the most appetizing thing ever.” Dean begs his mind to stop, only it ignores him. “Better than pie .”

“ Really ?”

He nods. “Found it in this cookbook - y’know, one of those good ones by a celebrity where every recipe comes with a story.” Dean exchanges the bottle with a spoon and begins stirring the mixture together, shuddering as it squelches. “Figured now’d be the perfect time to try it.”

“Now?” his former angel asks, “When the Bunker barely has enough ingredients for regular food. It just so happens to have all you need for this… recipe?”

“Christ, Cas, I’m being adventurous . Maybe you want to play it safe but I’m in the mood for something new .”

Dean bites his tongue, regret slamming into him after raising his voice. Fearfully glancing at Cas, he prepares for the other man to leave him again. Pack up and move on to another life with people who deserve him.

Cas doesn’t. He watches Dean with a curious glint in his eyes, expression neutral instead of the stormy cloud that normally settled over them when in Dean’s presence. “Adventurous?” he asks, “If that’s the mood for tonight… then I hope you don’t mind if I’m also … adventurous.”

A shiver races up his spine at Cas’s tone, Dean excited by it. “Not at all…”

Settled, Cas opens the fridge and gathers a carrot and a package of sliced ham. “Your recipe,” he starts, “doesn’t need these, right? I’d hate to…mess it up .”

“Never,” Dean says. Cas frowns, squeezing the carrot too hard. Dean continues, “I mean… you can have them for whatever you’re working on… recipe didn’t call for ‘em anyway… in fact it said I should avoid carrots and… and ham…”

“...Right,” Cas mutters, walking away, “Because avoiding is exactly what you do…”

Sourness curls his lips. “Wait!” he calls to Cas, stopping him. Holding his hand out, Dean asks, “Ham?”

Cas arches his brows, “I thought you said the recipe -”

“Screw it,” he says, “Going a little off script… s’called being adventurous .”

“Adventurous… right?” He slaps a piece of ham into Dean’s hand. “Have fun.”

“You too.”

They go back to cooking, except not like before. The energy in the room ramps up, as Dean and Castiel find their paths crossing. Digging in the fridge or the cupboards or the pantry for more food. Asking each other if they need whatever they found and, ultimately, sharing when in stubborn pride they said ‘yes’.

Dean realizes how ridiculous they look when he tears a single slice of bread in half for each to use. A laugh bubbles up and escapes, Dean dangling the halves.

Cas skews his head to the side, an adorable gesture Dean missed with a fury. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothin’,” he tells him, handing the bread over, “Just excited for what we’re making.”

“I doubt that’s the case.”

“But I am!” Dean says, dumping the bread-half into a pot he transferred his earlier mixture into, “If you’re not, then maybe admit that whatever I’m making is gonna taste better.”

Squinting, Cas stands firm. “Mine will be a thousand times more delicious than yours.”

“Those’re fighting words.”

“Than consider us fighting .” Dean almost winces, except he’s distracted by the smallest twitch of Cas’s lips. Cas smirks at Dean and nearly causes him to crumple into a sad mess. He wills the tears down and accepts the challenge.

Time passes faster after that. Dean snatching spices from Cas’s hands before he could grab them. Cas shoving Dean when he carries his stew to the table, knocking him off path and almost dropping the entire meal across the floor. Both of them pressed against one another as they searched the pantry one final time, Cas like a scalding iron rope to his side.

He sprinkles little leaves he tore from a plant Sam bought when Cas calls over to him. “Yeah?”

“I want your opinion on something?”

Dean turns, seeing Cas hold a frying pan full of gummy bears over a simmering flame. “What are you doing?” he asks, barely able to through the fit of giggles.

“I’m trying to make a jam for my meal,” Cas explains, mirth coating his own voice, “but I’m not certain how long I should hold the gummy bears over the fire?”

“Hold on,” Dean says, grabbing a stray book they found in their race to find every edible thing in the kitchen. He flips it open to a random page and pretends to read. “It says… as long as you want, and as hot as you think.”

“Wow, that’s…” Cas leans towards Dean, grinning, “ adventurous .”

Dean basks in the warmth of Cas’s joy, carefree playfulness dipping lower. Replaced by a soft wonder while he marvels at a version of his former angel he was barred from seeing. Cas stirs the melting gummies carelessly, like the other day he didn’t scowl at Dean until he fled from the library.

Watching Cas indulge in a silly waste of food reminds Dean that he loves this being with all his heart. No matter if he has his wings or not, his heart latched onto Cas and can’t be pried off.

“Dean?” Cas asks, halfway to where the rest of his food waits with the pan in hand, “Dean are you okay?”

He sniffles, wiping his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, “Peachy… you about done?”

“Almost. Have to layer this on and… perfect !”

Dean walks to where Cas waits, studying their finished products. His stew bubbles with foodstuffs floating inside, not dissolving because they can’t. Meanwhile Cas’s meal, smothered in the congealed flesh of a hundred gummy bears, looks as unappetizing.

“This looks,” Dean’s nose scrunches in distaste, “this looks awful .”

“Agreed.”

Sneaking a peek at Cas he sees his former angel already looking at him. Gazes locked, they goad each other into a fit of raucous laughter until Dean leans on the table for support and Cas’s arms are wrapped around his stomach.

Cas winds down, straightening and glancing around the room. “All this hard work for what… nothing? We made quite the mess…”

His smile vanishes, Dean not needing to look to agree with him. Nerves returning, tensing and knotting over each other, he thinks about the past ten years of their relationship. “I wouldn’t say it was for nothing , though…”

“Right,” Cas sighs, tapping at his thigh, “anyway, we should clean it up.”

“About time, right?”

“So if you want to grab the mop, I’ll -”

“Cas, I’m sorry.”

Startled, he whips around to face Dean. Cas’s brows draw in close, jaw hanging, disbelief painting his features. “What?”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he says, reaching for Cas’s hand, “for what I said after we fixed the hole in Hell. For pushing you away when you needed us… needed me to be there for you, after Jack, after Chuck -”

“Dean,” Cas pulls away, drifting backwards, “Dean you… I know you were hurting, but- “

“Cas, please,” Dean follows him, tears pricking the corners of his eyes, “I need to… I need to get this all out. The first time it was easy, you not being there but now it’s… it’s taking everything I have and -”

“The first time?” Cas asks, “What… what do you mean?”

Dean chuckles, rubbing the palm of his hand against one eye. “I prayed, Cas… I prayed to you. Prayed the hardest I’ve ever done in my life, for the slightest chance you might listen.” he sobs, curling in on himself. “Listen to me admit to being an ass. Being ungrateful to you, not being able to give you confidence that you mattered to me. Because you do… so, so much. Cas, I…”

He huffs, black tendrils squeezing around his lungs. Dean powers through it. “We’d lost mom… Jack… and then Rowena I… I knew it wouldn’t be long until you’d be taken from me, too. You always are. So I pushed. Picked at every little thing hoping you’d get fed up and leave. Although a part of me knew you’d take whatever I threw at you - you always have. Until you didn’t. And I haven’t been the same - haven’t been whole since.”

“Dean -”

“So many chances,” Dean scrubs a hand down his face, smearing more tears onto his skin. “So many chances wasted… when I didn’t say what I should’ve or didn’t act on desires that I had…”

“Desires?” Cas asks, inching forward, “What… desires?”

Dean rises enough to face Cas, the other man deserving it given the enormity of the next few sentences. “I love you, Cas. I think I always have, but when I realized it I did nothing about it. And if you don’t love me I can live with that. If you did love me but don’t anymore, I can live with that, too. Because you don’t own any of the blame. It’s all on me. Cas… you don’t make everything go wrong. Hell… you’re one of the only people who make life seem all right.”

The audio loops to the beginning, and the guitar strums echo in the silent kitchen. All the darkness eating at Dean’s insides fade and his muscles loosen from the tight grip remorse held them in. As time ticks forward and Cas remains frozen by Dean’s confession, the rushing heat of embarrassment licks up his neck.

“Right,” he mutters, edging away, “you… that was a lot for you… I think I’ll go, find that mop for you -” A hand snakes around his wrist, “Cas? What’re you -”

Lips crash into his, draining every thought from his mind. Castiel steps into his space, tugging him closer while his other hand caresses Dean’s face. Dean responds in kind, lids fluttering shut as he laces his arms over Cas’s shoulders.

Cas breaks the kiss with a pant, foreheads pressed together. “I love you, too, you idiot,” he growls, staring into his soul, eyes aglow even though it shouldn’t be possible anymore. “I love you so much… leaving you was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Not a day went by where I didn’t think of you either you… you…” Words failing, he embraces Dean once more.

They gasp for breath afterwards, Dean half-sitting on the table between their two dishes.

“So,” Dean starts, “where do we go from here?”

“I… I don’t know,” Cas says, “We can’t go back to how we were before -”

“ Clearly .”

“Not like that,” he sighs, brushing his nose across Dean’s, “I mean… if you’re having a problem, you cannot take it out on me again -”

“I’m a changed man, Cas,” he promises, “I… I’ve lost you already - too many times - but this? This was the worse… Because of me. Because I was a coward… I choked . Now… I swear if anyone tries to tear us apart I’ll beat them up.”

Cas offers a small smile. “Even yourself?”

“You kidding?” Dean scoffs, grinning, “I know his every weakness.” This time Dean initiates the kiss, slowly, so he can study the way Cas’s lips feel, how they taste, and what emotions they stir inside Dean.

Suddenly they hear a voice not too far away. “Dean? Dean… I got your stupid groceries, man. Come on and help. I texted you, like, an hour ago…”

Cas squeezes Dean’s wrist. “Sam…”

“I know,” he sighs, “Kid’s always been a cockblock…” Looking past Cas, Dean sees the disorganized kitchen for the first time. A wicked idea pops into head, and the blissful smile on his face falls into something more wicked. “Hey,” Dean whispers, “Let’s run away together.”

“Run away?” Cas asks, “But I just came home.”

Dean powers through the squeal building in his chest hearing Cas call the Bunker ‘home’ to explain, “No… we’re not running far. Down the hall and to my room s’all.” Adding an eyebrow wiggle helps communicate his message to Cas.

“ Oh .”

With blinding speed Cas drags Dean from the kitchen, fleeing through the other exit seconds before Sam enters. Over their laughter and the continued music playing from Dean’s laptop, they hear the younger Winchester groan.

“Seriously? Dean, this isn’t funny… Dean? Dean !”

#Dean Winchester #Castiel #destiel #destiel fic #destiel fanfic #deancas #deancas fic #deancas fanfic #Supernatural #Spn #Spn15 #Supernatural fanfiction #Spn fanfic #Misha Collins #Jensen Ackles

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searchingforstarss · 5 years

Note

irondad prompt: accidental poisoning, peter whump? pleeease? love your writing! hope you enjoy your time away!

hi lovely anon!! this took me a little longer to do because it kind of got away from me and turned out a lot longer than i was thinking! i hope you like it because it’s not as whumpy as i originally intended but as soon as i saw accidental poisoning i couldn’t get this idea out of my head so here you go. i hope you enjoy :)) x

---

Morgan’s gleeful yells are the first thing Peter’s greeted to when he arrives at the lake house on a Friday afternoon.

“Peter’s here! Peter’s here! I can hear him!”

The six-year-old barrels through the living room and out onto the front porch, excitement practically radiating off her in waves.

No matter how many times they try to explain to her that it simply isn’t feasible for Peter to stay with them any more than two nights a week because he has school in the city, she whines about how long he’s been away whenever he arrives, without fail. Today is no different.

“You’re not allowed to stay away for that long anymore, I miss you too much,” she declares. “Daddy can’t do the right voices when he reads Harry Potter to me either. You’re wayy better.”

Petter grins broadly down at her, about to open his mouth to greet her properly, ask about her week at school and whether she learnt how to do fraction multiplication like she had excitedly told him that she was going to during their Wednesday night phone call. He can’t even get a word in edgeways though because before he can, Morgan is babbling on again in her same gleeful tone that Peter adores.

“I have a surprise for you!” she announces proudly, tugging him up the creaky porch steps with her smaller hand tucked inside his.

“Whoa, that’s cool. What is it?” Peter asks. He tries to hide the apprehension from his tone, because Morgan’s surprises always swing one of two ways.

He’ll either end up trying to pretend he isn’t choking up when she presents him with a hand drawn-picture and note or craft project that she made at school during their art hour. Or, he’ll end up as a victim to one of her latest ideas, experiments and schemes. Last week it was her determination to teach Peter how to roller-skate on the cul-de-sac a few blocks over, which ended in Morgan clumsily pressing an excess number of band-aids onto his scraped knees. The month before he ended up as a human canvas to entertain her desire to learn how to face paint (that was all-around just as much of a disaster as it sounds like it would be).

“You can’t know what it is, silly!” Morgan sing-songs, “you’ll ruin the surprise.”

“Silly me, of course,” Peter deadpans, but he’s ignored as she tugs him through to the kitchen as soon as he’s dumped his backpack on the couch.

“Surprise!” she exclaims as soon as they’re both in the room. She guestures excitedly towards a few slightly sad looking lumps of something drenched in icing and severed onto sticks. There are sprinkles as well, which look like they might have been a nice touch to cheer the entire thing up, had the majority of them not ended up scattered around the surrounding bench space.

“Daddy and I made cookie pops! Well, I made them, he just helped me use the big scary whisk-y thingy. They’re for Katie’s birthday party tomorrow because we all have to bring something yummy to eat, and Daddy wanted to do regular cookies but I told him that was boring. So we made these instead!”

“They look great, well done you guys,” Peter praises. Secretly, he’s almost certain that Tony was onto something with his suggestion. Cookies would have definitely been the safer option.

“I want you to try one! I saved the first one for you because I’m the best sister in the whole wide world.”

Peter eyes the pink ball of cookie dough being waved in his face dubiously, but Morgan’s creations often look worse than they actually are so he bites the bullet and accepts the treat that she’s thrusting towards him.

He takes a bite, partly because he’s being watched expectantly by large brown eyes and partly because he’s absolutely starving. He’s had a long day. Decathlon practice in the morning, AP classes back to back all afternoon and then the drive up here. Plus, he really wasn’t planning on Spider-Manning today, but there was a gas station robbery on the side of Interstate 87 that he pulled over to break up on his way because the man was threatening the poor guy behind the counter with a gun for a raspberry slushie, a hot dog and two packets of cigarettes and Peter had to intervene because that was just stupid on so, so many levels.

The shopkeeper gave him a free hot dog in return which he gladly scarfed down before he disappeared back out to his car, but that’s all he’s eaten since lunch. So as he chews Morgan’s baked concoction, he figures that the cookie dough is crumbly, sure, and maybe they went a little heavy with the icing sugar in the icing but Peter is so hungry that he thinks anything would probably taste good to him at this point.

Footsteps thud down the stairs, and Peter hears Tony’s voice before he sees him.

“Morgan, I swear if you’re force-feeding Peter. Your dear old brother doesn’t want any of our atrocious attempt at baking-“

Tony rounds the corner, eyes falling on Peter, mouth full of icing and cookie dough.

“Oh, I’m too late. Great.”

“Hey, Tony.”

“Hiya, Pete. Enjoying your snack?”

Peter carries on chewing on the food his mouth. “Mhmm. Definitely. Good job you guys.”

Tony shakes his head. “Nuh-uh, not a good job, not at all. I just got off the phone with Pepper, turns out you actually have to partially bake the cookie dough first. It honestly just seems like a lot of extra work if you ask me, but she’s the boss.”

“You’re starting again?” Peter asks.

“Yep, and since you’re here you can actually make yourself useful,” Tony snarks but there’s a fond smile on his face. Peter nods willingly. “Don’t just stand there then, kid. Grab the flour from the cupboard would you?”

Peter grins and turns to grab the flour like Tony requested. He doesn’t even have to think about it anymore, he knows exactly which shelf to reach for with the same sort of instinct that he has in his and May’s apartment.

(Even with all three of their hands on deck, the second round of cookie pops only end up looking mildly more appetizing than the first, but at least all of Morgan’s tiny friends won’t have uncooked, crumbly cookie dough forced on them so Tony claims it as a win - he’s never had the patience to deal with other kids’ whining parents anyway.)

---

Peter sleeps in the next morning, and the house is silent when he wakes. The first thing he notices is the way he’s shivering, even in the balmy morning sun streaming through his windows. There’s nausea as well, constantly threatening to make its way up his throat as it sits at the bottom of his stomach, churning and rolling uncomfortably,

The second thing he notices is a note sitting on his bedside table as he fumbles out one arm to grab his phone and check the time. Peter recognises Tony’s scrawl immediately.

Morning, sleepyhead. Gone to drop Morgan off to her party. Be home soon. T

He’s content to lie there for a while and wallow in his own misery and how dreadful he feels while he’s all alone in the house until his stomach lurches violently and he’s hauling himself out of bed, sweaty covers pooling around his feet. The room around him is spinning, but the singular thought occupying his hazy mind is get to the bathroom, Parker. Just make it to the damn bathroom.

He does, even though his legs are shaky underneath him, and he just manages to stumble through the open doorway of the bathroom and drop to his knees in front of the toilet. He doesn’t even register the pain that shoots through his knees and up his legs as he slams into the tile.

A charming mix of gas station hot dog, Morgan and Tony’s tragic attempt at a cookie pop and the lasagna Tony made for dinner last night ends up swimming at the bottom of the toilet bowl.

Gross.

“Peter?”

That’s his name. It sounds like it’s coming from somewhere down near his bedroom. He tries to call back, but acid coats his raw throat and he can’t seem to get the words out. He retches again, before dipping forward to lean up against the ceramic of the toilet.

“Peter, oh, there you are-” Tony begins, but he drops off as Peter sees him appear around the corner of the bathroom door and take in the scene in front of him. “What’s going on?”

He blinks up at Tony through cloudy eyes.

“Think ‘m sick.”

“I thought you couldn’t even get sick?”

Peter tries to give a coherent answer, he thinks, but all that comes out is a whine. He looks up at Tony, eyes pleading. He’s not sure what he’s asking for, really. He just wants someone to make it better.

“Okay, okay, got it. That’s not really the point right now.”

Peter isn’t quite sure what he’s expecting as Tony hovers around the doorway. He wants comfort, he wants Tony, but he doesn’t dare to move far from the toilet.

“Oh, shit. Kid, you actually ate that garbage attempt of baking that Morgan gave you yesterday, didn’t you? There was raw egg in that.”

Peter just nods feebly, not entirely listening. His head is head still resting on the toilet seat. He doesn’t have the energy to lift it.

“I hate to break it to you, kid, but maybe Spidey is just as susceptible to food poisoning as the rest of us.”

Peter’s certainly listening now, his glazed eyes shooting open. Weak displeasure simmers within them.

“You poisoned me?”

Morgan’s surprise has now definitely landed on the bad side this week, leaning towards absolutely-fucking-awful.

“Technically, Morgan poisoned you. I just operated all the heavy machinery,” Tony says. Peter glares at him, but it’s so pathetic that Tony’s own stomach clenches in sympathy.

“You’re the adult-” Peter points out, feeble indignation in his voice before he cuts himself off with another round of heaving.

“Oh, Pete,” Tony sighs, stepping further into the bathroom at the sight. He lowers himself to the floor right next to Peter. A warm hand finds his back, rubbing in slow circles right at the base. A fraction of the tension leaves Peter’s body.

“You’re alright, bud” Tony soothes. His voice is gentle and calming, and Peter lets it wash over him. He’s always loved just listening to Tony talk. “You’ll feel so much better once it’s all back up.”

Peter finds that hard to believe because caught right in the throes of pain, shivering and feeling like a total and utter mess, he struggles to remember a time when he wasn’t wholly consumed by Morgan’s attempt to poison him.

There’s nothing left for Peter to bring up eventually, and he’s left gasping for air.

“Think you’re done?”

Peter nods, stomach still clenching painfully. He shoves himself away from the toilet, legs giving way underneath him as he slumps into a pile of shaky, sweaty limbs against the bathroom counter. This doesn’t seem to faze Tony though, and Peter watches through bleary eyes as he goes into Dad Mode. It all fades in and out in front of him, but he registers the corners of his mouth being wipes gently with a warm washcloth, the hair being brushes back from his sweaty forehead, a cool glass of water being tipped down his throat.

It was because of moments like this that after the snap, it took Peter a while to correlate his Tony with Morgan’s Tony.

His Tony had only ever cared from afar and he usually shied away from physical affection and comfort unless either of them were on their deathbeds. They always loved each other, but it was sort of a given. An undeniable fact with little physical expression. Now though? Morgan’s Tony tucks her into bed at night and smoothes kisses into her hair and lets her curl into his lap during lazy evenings on the couch with absolutely no reservations or qualms. He tells her he loves her at least five times a day.

It then took Peter even longer to realise that Morgan’s Tony wasn’t exclusively hers. He’s just Tony, softened around the edges a little with parenthood and settling down, but he’s Peter’s as well, still.

That’s evident in the way that instead of leaving Peter to his own devices once he’s taken care of him and cleaned up his mess, Tony just leads him gently downstairs instead, a warm solid hand wrapped around his forearm to make sure he doesn’t stumble forward and end up on his face.

Tony lies him down on the couch, before taking a seat himself. He lets Peter pillow himself against him, head buried into the soft cotton of his t-shirt. Tony’s hands trail along their time-worn path in Peter’s hair, the action almost second nature.

“I’m never eating anything you make me ever again, I swear,” Peter mumbles into Tony’s chest. His words are quiet, scraping against the rawness of his throat but Tony hears him loud and clear. He chuckles.

“Fair enough, buddy.”

---

Peter’s nap is only interrupted when Morgan bursts into the room sometime in the afternoon. He blinks slowly from where he’s resting against Tony’s chest, head tucked up against his collarbone.

Morgan has a goody bag clutched in her grip and a few flyaway pink streamers caught in her hair. She beelines for the couch.

“Petey, Mommy said that I need to apologise for poisoning you!”

Peter feels a deep rumble in Tony’s chest as he attempts to stifle a laugh. He can’t quite muster up the energy (and he’s far too comfortable anyway) to get up from his position resting against Tony to hug Morgan, so he just gives her the warmest smile he can manage.

“It’s okay, bug, I know you didn’t mean to. I forgive you.”

She beams up at him. “There was one cookie pop left so I saved it for you, see?” she says, rattling her goody bag around, which Peter presumes contains the cursed treat. “They’re really good, I promise!”

Peter’s stomach churns again at the thought.

“That’s really nice of you, Mo, but I think I might give cookies a miss for a while.”

#ask #anon #irondad #irondad fic #i actually really like this i might crosspost it to ao3 later idk #also i wrote this on a plane and i never write in public usually so that was super weird but also kinda fun #my writing

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raendown · 5 years

Link

Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 6570 Chapter: 8/9 Rated: T+ Summary: When his brother disappears coming home from town Madara goes looking for him only for both to end up taken prisoner in a castle hidden by magic generations ago. The candelabras talk, the furniture sleeps, and a great white beast hides himself away in the eastern wing. As he uncovers the story behind this place and gets to know the last small group of ‘survivors’ Madara gradually makes a new home here in the least likely of places.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

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Chapter 8

If you had asked him even yesterday Madara would probably have said that he never expected to find out what a sleepy tessen fan looked like. Sure he knew that even as inanimate objects his fellow residents here at the castle did need to sleep but they did so in the royal apartments, one of the few areas he still had yet to go back in to. And besides that the only living tessen fan he knew was Mito and she was a woman who clung to her poise at every minute of every hour. Seeing her sleepy, in his mind at least, would be like seeing Tobirama sit in the middle of the floor to start crying.

Yet there she was floating in to the room with her painted eyes half-lidded and her thin lips opened for a yawn while Hashirama flustered along the ground beneath her. Behind them Tobirama slinked in as best he could with cloven hooves in place of feet.

“Why does Hashirama look so panicked?” Madara asked him quietly. He was fairly sure he already knew the answer and though he hoped it wasn’t true those hopes were dashed by the sad red eyes turning away from him.

“He fears for his wife. She is…not well.”

“You mean she’s sick?” It said a lot that his tone was almost hopeful but again he was disappointed.

“No, she is not ill. She is tired. It has come as a shock to both of us.” Tobirama fell in to stillness and closed his eyes, visibly attempting to rein in his emotions, and Madara couldn’t blame him. He hated that his guess was right. This was the last thing he wanted for any of the friends he’d made here.

Keeping a weather eye on her floating form as she took over the cooking, he allowed himself to be shooed away to go sit on Tobirama’s other side. “She’ll be okay though, right? I see her every day and she’s never shown any sort of…tiredness.”

It took his companion a while to answer. In that time Madara watched as Mito sent her husband apologetic yet muted smiles to which he responded by attempting to wring his hands together. Even the way she drifted through the air seemed almost listless, weaving side to side rather than her usual straight lines, movements sluggish where normally she zipped from place to place with an effortless decorum. How a fan managed to affect decorum he couldn’t say but it was one word that always came to mind whenever he watched her working.

“Her pain was kept well hidden from us all until today,” Tobirama murmured eventually. He couldn’t seem to look at anything but the floor, each word a low rumble so as not to drift across the room. “She is tired, as are we all, but I did not realize she had given up on hope after all this time. Of us all she has always seemed the strongest. Now she feels that with you and your brother here she need not worry for her husband and she has lost the strength to keep herself awake. It won’t be long.”

“Until?”

“She will fall asleep,” was the simple, heartbreaking answer.

Madara didn’t need more than that to understand. She would fall asleep as so many others had and become nothing more than another object in the cavernous halls to sit still and collect dust. Just thinking about how devastated Hashirama would be by her loss made him shudder and push the image from his mind, snagging Tobirama by one wrist and turning to pull him from the room without warning.

“You are not responsible for this,” he hissed the moment they were alone in the hallway. When Tobirama flinched he knew he had hit the mark.

“It is I that keeps them all trapped in this–”

“No, it’s that crazy witch lady who trapped you all here. Maybe they don’t quite agree with how you feel but not one of them blames you for it.” He nearly growled with frustration to see the other wrinkle his brow with disagreement.

Still not lifting his eyes from the floor, Tobirama ran a hand through his wild hair, stopping when his fingers ran in to one of the horns growing out the top of his head. He paused to trace the ridges with disgust shadowing his face. “If I were a stronger man I would have freed them from this hell decades ago. If I were still a man at all.”

Disgust turned to shock when Madara punched him square in the chest. With the sheer size of his current form the blow did very little but it was enough to break him from his thoughts and force his gaze up to see that Madara was angry. Not truly angry in the sense that he was offended in any way but there was certainly a good heavy irritation building up inside him after going over the same words again and again with no progress. Utterly done with having to repeat himself, Madara reached up and snagged a fistful of the man’s collar to pull him down so their faces were of a level, staunchly ignoring the fact that he only succeeded because Tobirama followed the motion probably out of pure disbelief.

“I’m gonna say this again and you’re gonna clean the shit out of your ears and listen this time,” he growled. “You are a man. And a damn good one. You can have all the pity parties and magic tricks you like and that won’t change anything. You’re a human with human feelings and just because they hurt doesn’t mean you get to run away from them!”

“Madara…”

“No! Shut up! You think I didn’t feel like a monster when I figured out our parents abandoned us? You think I didn’t feel like an unwanted burden not good enough even for the people who made me? Well I got over it! And you’re just going to have to get over this!”

“It is not as easy as–”

With a snarl Madara cut him off again. “You might not think so but it really is! You have had a hundred damned years to wallow in your little pity party but it needs to stop! You think you did a terrible inhumane thing. Fine. So make up for it! Atone! It if makes you feel better you can abdicate the throne and run away to live the harrowing life of a peasant. I know a stable you can help me muck out. But for the love of all the gods just- would a monster feel the guilt that you do!?”

Tobirama had no answer. He seemed a little too busy gaping with his jaw hanging loose and from this close Madara couldn’t help but note that it was a startlingly adorable expression on him. Actually there were several things he had the chance to notice now. With the height different between them he’d never seen Tobirama’s face in such detail but from merely an inch or so away he could see the exact garnet red shade of his eyes, the soft almost peachy pink of his lips and the frown lines around them. Twisted his features might have been but there were enough hints towards the handsomeness his true self would wear that Madara very nearly blushed.

Since he was still more angry than anything else he did no such thing. He did let go of the clothing in his grasp, awkwardly smoothing it out in apology when Tobirama failed to straighten right away.

“You’re so caught up in what you see in the mirror,” he continued, “that you can’t see what’s actually on the inside. If you looked at yourself like I do you wouldn’t see a monster.”

“Peace,” Tobirama breathed, holding up both hands in surrender.

“Oh believe me, I’m feeling mighty peaceful right now.”

His companion let out a single humorless puff of laughter. “Indeed. Madara…the way you speak of me is…I am glad you came in to our lives. I’m glad to have known you. The things you say mean more than I can express and I don’t think I could ever repay you for the kindness you have shown me.”

“It’s not kindness, its basic human decency.” Madara sniffed haughtily.

“There are many who would not offer even that. I…”

Seeing Tobirama hesitate was odd, enough so that Madara felt almost obligated to put him out of his misery. The man needed to hear these things but every time he tried to bring them up he found himself incredibly weak to the flash of vulnerability that followed his words. Confident that Tobirama would think on what he said, he awkwardly patted one massive arm and cleared his throat.

“It’s fine. I’m sorry I yelled, you’re obviously already stressed about the situation.”

“No need to apologize, you were in the right to stop me from spiraling in to a darkness that would help no one. That is not what I had intended to address however. I wished to tell you, ah, how I feel.”

“God, please, no.” Madara retracted his hand to slap it over both eyes. “Don’t get touchy feely on me, I’ll break out in to hives.”

“Oh.”

When he peeked Tobirama looked so downcast it sent a wave of guilt burning through his gut and Madara hurried to balm the wound he’d just made. “We’re friends and I know you appreciate me, I swear I do. I just, ugh. You don’t need to compose sonnets or anything about it okay? I’d burn up from embarrassment.”

“Friends, yes.”

“Right.”

After staring at him for a long time with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher Tobirama took a deep breath and let it out slowly before indicating the door back in to the kitchen. “Shall we rejoin the others?”

“Are you alright to go back in?”

“Yes, I should attend to my brother and his wife. It is only proper that I offer what comforts I can.” His words were stiff with what Madara could only assume to be some embarrassment of his own. That was understandable. Madara himself didn’t deal very well with the shameful disaster that was expressing himself so he could hardly blame anyone else for the same struggle.

The kitchen, when they entered, was filled with silent tension that even Kagami seemed unwilling to break. Madara would be tempted to check the boy’s temperature if he thought wooden soldiers could have a temperature. Did their animated chattel bodies have any physiological human characteristics? Something to ask about. At the moment he kept his focus on the way Hashirama had settled himself on the edge of the kitchen counter with the stubborn expression of a watchdog. If he still possessed muscles and feet Madara could only imagine they could have been spread to set himself in an unmovable stance much like young village lads playing tackle ball games in the fields.

It was easy to understand his concern but it was also quite easy to see the tightness of Mito’s illustrated lips. She looked much more alert now, thankfully, and did not seem to appreciate her husband’s stubborn hovering. Knowing that increasing the tension would not do anyone any good Madara stumped over and unceremoniously scooped a protesting Hashirama up, carrying him along to find a seat where he usually did.

“Madara, my good man, I must insist you return me to my station!”

“Your station is off to one side admiring her ‘pretty folds’ and completely missing the dirty implications of your own words.” He gave his friend an unimpressed look and poked him until he fell down on his backside. On the other side of the table Tobirama held one hand up to cover a weak smile.

“I would never make lewd observations in public!”

“That you know about,” Madara grunted.

He accepted the smile Mito gifted him when she brought his salvaged breakfast as the gratitude it was meant to be and said nothing further, listening with only one ear as Hashirama went off on some rant about respecting the fairer sex and maintaining decorum. Anyone who skidded around corners so fast they crashed in to walls on a weekly basis had no room for lecturing about decorum.

Breakfast was delicious, though for once he neglected to say so. No way was he admitting that Mito’s cooking really was that much better than his own. Izuna, on the other hand, had no qualms about loudly declaring how glad he was to avoid eating his big brother’s cooking again after so long without. The comparisons he made were less than flattering despite years of his compliments for the chef. Madara made sure to give him a hefty swat on the back of his head on the way to wash his dishes in the sink. No matter how many times they assured him that none of the dishware they used had ever been a reanimated human he simply couldn’t bring himself to leave them dirty.

Just in case.

The possibility of Mito’s declining mental state seemed like a family matter so Madara was well prepared to drag his brother away once they had both taken care of their dishes and probably lock themselves away for some quality time of their own. He was more than a little startled to have Hashirama invite them to join the castle residents for the day, spending time together as one big happy group. A rarity and an honor. Madara accepted the invitation easily and, with Izuna trailing along behind curiously, he walked next to Tobirama in companionable silence as they all made their way up a floor to gather in a lovely sunroom he’d never seen before, darker now as the afternoon faded but the fire Hashirama lit gave off enough light to admire rich furniture and tasteful décor.

Since half of their little gathering didn’t exactly take up much space the three of them without any bulk all settled on a low table centered in the middle of the seating area, Izuna carefully draping himself over a massive armchair while Madara settled next to Tobirama on a small couch. Considering how much furniture there was about they didn’t really have to sit together but it felt ridiculous to have all three of them with bodies spread out when it would be much easier to converse if they were all closer. And if he happened to enjoy the rather pleasant scent of sandalwood coming off of his friend then that was for him to know and hopefully no one else to find out. It was his own business if he made sure to angle his body to lean a bit more towards the opposite side of the couch where every shift and movement of Tobirama’s body sent another waft of pleasant aromas through the air. His friend must have bathed before dinner as well.

For the most part conversation stayed light as everyone tried to keep their mind off of the way Mito wasn’t quite as interactive as she might normally have been. While she could never be described as exuberant neither was she the type to withhold her opinion if she had one but today she offered very little, resting quietly on the tabletop and looking as though she would dearly have loved to fold up her ribs and rest.

Hating the guilt that shadowed Tobirama’s face every time he so much as glanced in her direction, Madara did what he could to keep the conversation going between them even when the rest of the group branched off on to other topics. Distraction was not allowed. If he had to be the center of Tobirama’s focus for the rest of the day he would even if he didn’t see himself as all that interesting. Luckily for him it was never very hard to keep the other’s attention.

“You never ride them?” Tobirama asked after listening with a muddled frown to a description of how Madara spent most of his days back home.

“No, they’re not mine.”

“But you are caring for them, do you not take them out for exercise in a yard or field?”

Madara lifted one eyebrow. “It’s an inn tavern, you sheltered noble. I just watch them while their owners get drunk and then I have to let them go again to carry the sodden asses back home.”

“Well that strikes me as incredibly dangerous. One should never travel whilst inebriated.”

“Have you ever been inebriated?”

“Such things are unseemly,” Tobirama sniffed. When his eyes opened again it was to peek and make sure his brother wasn’t listening. “However I must admit that, yes, I have experienced it and did not understand the attraction. The devils of drink were always more Hashirama's vice, not mine.”

“Weak stomach?” Madara nodded sagely.

He delighted in the bitchy look that earned him. For a king Tobirama had some excellent bitch faces.

“I will have you know that my constitution is far above average.”

“Oh so you’re an expensive drunk then. I can get that. Didn’t want to waste the money it takes to get you plastered?”

Tobirama’s face pinched even tighter. “For your information I was indeed in charge of the royal coffers and not once was it ever a concern whether or not I was spending too much on such frivolities as alcohol! I have some decorum!” He paused to visibly compose himself, then added in a flippant tone, “Unlike some others here.”

It took effort to clamp his teeth down on the gleeful snicker that wanted to escape.

“You trying to say something?” Madara demanded instead, valiantly holding in his laughter.

“Why, I would never raise such implications against your person – unless you deserved it of course. Should I direct my inquiries to your sibling?” Tobirama cast his gaze across the room to where Izuna had kicked his feet over one arm of the chair and tossed his head back against the other arm with raucous laughter. He smirked openly when Madara scrambled to wave both hands forbiddingly without drawing too much attention to them.

“Don’t you dare!” he hissed.

Tobirama hummed and settled back in to his seat a little more firmly, a silent declaration that he would have mercy this time. “Perhaps it is best I determine my answers from the source, as it were. I don’t suppose you would care to join me for a nightcap?”

“Eh?” Spinning his head around to check the window, Madara frowned. “It’s not really night yet.” When he looked back Tobirama was giving him a look that said he had definitely missed something, though he had no guesses what that something might be. A nightcap was supposed to be a drink at the end of the night as far as he knew. Something to end your day with. He was pretty sure. It was one of those words that no one down at his end of the social totem pole ever used.

“You interpret the word too literally. I meant only to invite you to my room for a drink.”

“What, trying to get me drunk? Is that your way of throwing a challenge?”

“Ah, if you choose to see it as one.” Tobirama shook his head as if disagreeing with himself but before Madara could question it he affected a smile and added, “Any time with you is time well spent. Even if you do insist on hearing only the spaces between whatever meaning I am attempting to convey.”

Madara gave him a funny look, to which Tobirama lifted one eyebrow, a challenge asking him to refute such claims. He really wished he could but as much as he always enjoyed a good argument he really wasn’t clear on what he was arguing against. It felt like lately he was always missing something whenever he spoke with Tobirama – which was pretty much every day. The more time they spent together the closer they became and the cycle could only wind inwards infinitely. But if sharing a drink at the end of the day was what he wanted then Madara certainly wasn’t going to say no. It wasn’t often he got to enjoy a mug or two, not usually able to afford it, and when he did it was almost always the swill at the end of the barrel after the innkeeper finished serving his ‘more important’ guests.

Plan in mind and determined not to make a drunken fool of himself too easily, Madara gave his companion a friendly shove before lifting his head to respond when Izuna called him from across the seating area. He was easily drawn in to a debate over whether the cloth produced by a spinning jenny could really be the same quality as one produced by a team of workers spinning by hand. Sometimes it was easy to forget just how far behind the times these folks were and how little they knew of the world’s latest technologies.

The silly debate ended with Hashirama demanding that Izuna craft a spinning jenny for him to try for himself, to which Izuna responded by nearly falling off his chair with laughter and holding out both soft-palmed hands.

“You think I’m the worker of the household? I’m an invalid, your highness, I haven’t done much more than simple house chores since I was a boy.” He seemed quite pleased with his excuse too. Madara grumbled just loud enough to get his point across the room but his brother ignored him. “Even if I was I wouldn’t know how to make one for myself.”

“Oh. I rather thought…hm.” Hashirama didn’t seem to know what to do with himself, a little consternated, a little confused.

“Thought what?”

“It was my thought that if one understood how to use it then surely one must understand how to construct it.”

Madara relaxed from where he’d been about to burst in to laughter in case Hashirama made some dumbass comment about the entire working class sharing skills. That was just the sort of empty-headed assumptions he was used to hearing from nobles but he should have known to expect better of his friend. Not that the assumption he did end up making was all that much smarter.

“The improvements he has made continue to impress me,” Tobirama said quietly and Madara didn’t have to follow his gaze to know he was watching Izuna.

“No kidding. Thank you again. For helping.”

“You need not thank me.”

“I do need to. You can’t know…well I guess you can know what it’s like to lose a brother. We already had to bury the rest of our siblings but I don’t have to bury him and that’s thanks to you. I owe you everything.” His cheeks were burning by the time he’d finished saying his piece and Madara considered giving Tobirama another shove to bring the mood of their conversation back out of the seriousness he’d just dove down in to.

Thankfully Tobirama seemed to recognize what he needed. “If you absolutely must pay recompense then I shall consider your acceptance of my offer for a nightcap as such. Mayhap I truly will get you – ah, what was the term you used? – plastered.”

Madara roared with mirth to hear such a colloquial term from the fanciest idiot he’d ever met. His laughter caught the attention of Hashirama, who he then had to explain to what it meant to get plastered. The conversation turned then to include the entire group as they all traded embarrassing stories about each other under the influence of alcohol or other accidentally ingested substances. Most of the latter were stories about Tobirama stumbling out of his laboratory to report on unknown reactions with new chemicals. Madara liked those ones, although he didn’t appreciate Izuna’s lurid descriptions of the few times he had stumbled home from the inn after being allowed the dregs of his so-called betters. The one story about Mito and her bloomers, on the other hand, he found particularly amusing.

Even more amusing was seeing the stars in little Kagami’s eyes and watching Hashirama awkwardly try to talk him out of the idea that he too wanted a good drinking story when he was finally able to grow old enough. High moral values were difficult to impart with Izuna egging the poor boy on from the sidelines.

Such antics eventually led to the end of their evening all together, Mito shaking the stupor away long enough to scold her husband for encouraging Kagami towards such raunchy behaviors and refusing to hear anything about him being the only one trying to protect the child. When she expressed her fatigue Hashirama's face fell in response. In an instant he was up and fussing around, encouraging her to bed and bidding the rest of them a good night. After watching them go Izuna’s mood seemed to have dimmed as well. Before long he was scooping up Kagami and trotting off with the toy soldier in tow, murmuring together like co-conspirators on their way out. Madara wondered if his brother planned to let the boy sleep in his bed for the night and what might happen if Izuna rolled over in his dreams. He would need to stay alert for screaming.

“It seems we have been abandoned,” Tobirama observed to the otherwise empty room.

“Time for that drinking contest you were calling for?”

“Have a bit of class, I pray.” Sticking his nose in the air, his friend affected the snootiest expression he’d ever seen, clearly exaggerated for comic effect. “To waste such fine sake on something as crude as a contest to see which of us may imbibe more! Heavens forbid.”

“Oh quit being such a ponce!” Madara told him.

Watching Tobirama preen to have amused him with a good joke was hilarious, though he opted not to say anything. Embarrassing the man could only end in having any offers of alcohol revoked and Madara found that he was quite in the mood for a few drinks. Magnanimously choosing to be merciful, he instead waved for his friend to lead the way and followed with giddy anticipation, curious to finally have his first proper look around the royal apartments. He knew someone of Tobirama’s station probably had an entire set of rooms to himself so they were most likely just moving to a different type of sitting room but he could guess that it was still quite an honor.

As they shut the door of the sunroom and set off down the hall he turned to his friend with a curious expression. “Wait, we’re drinking sake? That’s supposed to be rice wine right?”

“Indeed it is. Have you never had the pleasure?”

“No. Usually all I have is whatever beer gets leftover in people’s mugs at the end of the night. Already paid for, you know? The innkeeper would never give me anything for free and I don’t usually have the money to spare for being choosy.” He shrugged because that was the way of things in his life and there was little point in getting all riled up about it.

Turning a corner brought them past a window, light from the rising moon flickering across the deep creases between Tobirama’s brows where he had pulled them in to a frown. “How very uncharitable of him. You deserve much better than the leftovers of men who could never hope to be your equal.”

“Damn, back at it with the flattery.” Madara tossed his hair over one shoulder. He noted the way Tobirama’s gaze followed the motion though he didn��t think much of it since the man was probably just wondering what it would be like to have so much hair thick and heavy on his own head. A lot of people asked questions about his hair. Not many of them were very happy with the honest answer that he had grown it out mostly by accident at first and then because he was stubborn in the face of so many people telling him to cut it. Apparently he needed to have some kind of important motivation or something to make it understandable.

“Would you have me be unflattering?” A few beats too late Tobirama finally replied.

“Can you be?” he asked skeptically. “You’re not too much of a prissy royal to mince words with a commoner like me?” The grin he threw was more of a challenge than if he’d tossed a gauntlet on the floor between them and words could not express how thrilled he was when the other took that challenge.

Drawing himself up even as he drew the tapestry out of their way to invite Madara in to the royal apartments, Tobirama affected a mocking glare. “You look death’s head upon a mop stick you foppish, cow-handed gasser. Do you think me uneducated in the lower speech?”

The only response Madara had to that was to throw his head back and wheeze for air, shamelessly holding on to the other’s arm to keep himself upright. Never in his life had he heard something so nonsensical yet delivered with such unadulterated bitchiness. Something told him that none of those insults were in any way related to each other but relevancy was hard to focus on when he could barely think passed how utterly ridiculous it all sounded. Old timey insults were hilarious. Hearing them out of Tobirama’s mouth only made them so much better.

It wasn’t much farther to where they were going but they spent the rest of their walk trading insults that only grew more and more absurd as they went. By the time they stumbled in to a lavish sitting room they were ready to fall over in a dual fit of the giggles, although Tobirama somehow managed to retain a small bit of decorum even in this. Madara was starting to think he would have to challenge the idiot to a mud wrestling competition or something just to see him act entirely like a normal person.

“Right!” he declared as soon as he’d caught enough breath back to form words. “Where’s this sake you were talking about? I’d love to wake up tomorrow and whine about a hangover.”

“If you disrespect my vintage so I may be tempted to defenestrate you.” Tobirama lifted one eyebrow warningly.

While Madara tried to work his way through whatever ‘defenestrate’ was supposed to mean Tobirama stepped over to a side table and removed a small set very similar to something the innkeeper had brought out only once when a military captain happened to pass through their small village and demanded the finest services the poor could offer. Madara hadn’t liked him much but he could remember being very curious of whatever clear booze had been poured for him.

The set of dishes laid out before him was a hundred times fancier than the one at the inn, he could tell that at a single glance. Black lacquered porcelain with fine gold filigree forming what he could only assume was a house crest on each, a matching decanter and a tray with gold trim to carry it all, it probably cost more than the collective entirety of Madara's possessions both here and in the village. He kept his hands carefully by his sides at he leaned closer to admire the craftsmanship of each piece. But when he sat back and looked up he noticed Tobirama watching him expectantly.

“In this weather there is little need for the sake to be chilled elsewhere, as luck would have it.” His tone was casual, if a little impatient. Madara nodded slowly.

“Didn’t know it needed to be cold.”

“Some are served chilled, others served hot. This here is perhaps my favorite. I’m glad of the opportunity to share it with you.”

More curious than ever, all Madara could do was nod again. “Cool. Share as you like.”

A long pause stretched out for what felt like forever in which neither of them moved and he tried to figure out why Tobirama had offered the sake but wasn’t actually moving to serve it. It took a couple minutes before finally the man rolled his eyes with all the drama his brother usually managed and carefully stepped over to fiddle at the delicate ceramic with his thick clawed hands.

“What?” Madara demanded. “You’re looking at me like I’ve done something wrong. I’m just sitting here!”

“Precisely. When sharing a drink one is expected to pour for one’s betters.”

“Ooh, you saying you’re better than me?”

“I never said such a thing.” The serene tone of his voice was a dead giveaway but Madara refused to laugh just yet, clinging to his pretended offense.

With arms crossed he stuck his nose in the air and declared, “You inferred it!”

“One implies. It is up to the recipient to infer, though what inferences you make are surely beyond my control. Heavens forbid I ever claim to understand how a mind such as yours might work.” Tobirama, unfortunately, was much better at playing snooty. No doubt a lifetime of practice was no blame.

“I want to say you just implied that I have a crazy mind but I can’t quite parse it out because you always talk so damn fancy!”

That finally broke his friend. A smile cracked Tobirama’s stern expression and Madara pumped both fists in the air with triumph, eliciting a low chuckle. “Pour the drink, you hooligan, before I am lowered to doing so myself.”

“Now that’s something for the heavens to forbid or whatever.”

Since he had already won Madara figured it wasn’t losing in any way to let himself smile as well as he snatched up the chilly decanter and poured them each a dish of the clear liquid he had only seen once before. Being made of rice he would have thought their little farming village could make this stuff in abundance but for the fact that all of their rice went to paying taxes and supporting the lord of the closest town since technically he owned their land.

Actually, he realized, even more technically Tobirama probably owned the land, though likely no one remembered that.

Clinking their glasses together was a much more delicate affair with such small dishes than he usually witnessed in the rowdy tavern and despite his care Tobirama still rolled those pretty red eyes like he’d done something country bumpkin again. Madara ignored him, tossing back the drink in one mouthful. His abilities had been questioned and he was determined to make a good showing of himself.

Of course, because that was just his luck, he was spluttering and coughing in the next instant as the rice wine burned his throat and his eyes began to water, one fist coming up to pound his chest as though he could beat the sensation back out of himself.

“That stuff has a kick!” he wheezed, much to Tobirama’s obvious amusement.

“It would not have affected you half so much if you were not such a boor as to pour it down your gullet like goat’s milk. Fine sake is meant to be appreciated, not guzzled.”

“A little warning would have been nice!”

“Had I given you warning,” Tobirama murmured, “that would not have been so funny.”

Madara opened his mouth to retort and cut himself off with another coughing fit. He wanted to be annoyed but he also had to admit that he would have done the exact same thing if their positions were reversed. In light of that he grunted and pounded his sternum a few more times without saying anything. He could almost breathe again by the time Tobirama settled next to him on the couch with delicate movements, ever so careful not to spill a drop of his own drink.

A quick look around told him that they didn’t necessarily need to sit right next to each other. Just like the sunroom, there was plenty of furniture here and they would have able to hear each other just fine from different seats. Madara neglected to say anything. Sitting together like this gave the room a much more casual and intimate air so it felt less like dining with the king and more like drinking with a friend. He wondered if that was Tobirama’s intention but didn’t ask, content with the mystery. Instead he reached to pour himself another cup and listened to his friend go off on a lecture about how it was polite to offer one’s companions a refill when one wanted some for themselves.

Several cups later he had convinced Tobirama to give up on the idea of proper manners but he had also somehow managed to lay sideways on the couch with his legs tossed over the arm and his head pillowed against one of his friend’s thighs. Every time Tobirama looked down he began mumbling about propriety again, which for some reason struck Madara as the funniest thing. He kept imagining some highborn lady walking in on them and fainting to see them being so familiar with each other. A few times he imagined Hashirama doing it and that was even better.

“I don’t think I can get up,” he confessed after struggling to reach for the sake yet again and failing to even reach the table. “Might have to just pass out right here.”

“Scandalous,” Tobirama murmured, though it really didn’t sound like an objection.

“You look like you’re gonna pass out too,” Madara noted. He giggled under the squinting eyes that tried to glare him down yet only managed to focus somewhat to the right of where his head actually lay.

“I will have you know that I am per-fen-ec-tally fine.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment while Madara tried to work his way through that.

“What?”

“I’ll not be repeating myself. I am not sure that I could, in fact, as memory seems to have abandoned me. What were we talking about?” Tobirama raised his head again only to drop it back against the couch where one could only assume he was watching the ceiling spin in circles. At least, that’s what Madara was doing.

Wriggling a bit until he’d found a more comfortable position, Madara closed his eyes to block out the world. “I think we were going to sleep.”

“No. No! I had something I wished to discuss with you! Something of utmost importance!”

“Can it wait until we’ve slept?”

“I…yes, alright.” The sheer defeat in Tobirama’s voice in addition to the bone-melting exhaustion of both their bodies was enough to have Madara giggling again, albeit very weakly. Now that he’d said he was tired it was like sleep had grown claws and sunk them in deep, pulling, pulling him down when he was too weak to resist.

Humming pleasantly, turning his face to burrow against the warmth pillowing his head, Madara gave a few sleepy mumbles that might have been translated in some languages as a sort of goodnight. Tobirama mumbled something back but sleep must have gotten its claws in to him too and they were both fading fast. Whatever he said was lost to the ceiling and the uncaring shadows that cradled them deeper in to the night.

A moment later the room was silent but for the even breaths of two men prepared to regret their choice of pastimes come morning.

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #hashirama #kagami #izuna #mito #fanfiction

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peggysousfan · 5 years

Text

Agent Carter An Au Series

Done with chapter 14!!! Enjoy!!!:)

Daniel's POV:

Its still dark when I wake up in the morning, not that I got much sleep. I got home late last night working on the stark case, when I heard the baby screaming. I knocked on Peg's door but she didn't answer. I knocked again, and still nothing. I put my ear to the door and I hear a woman crying. Oh no, somethings wrong. I open the door and the crying is much louder. I see Peggy clutching Steph to her chest as if shes holding on for dear life.

"Peg!" I run, or crutch, as fast as I can, get down on my knee, and hold her cheek in my hands. I get her to look at me, and her face is red and her eyes are puffy. "Peggy whats wro-" I stop mid question when i look at the bed. Colleen's been shot. "Oh my God..." As I say this, Peggy squeezes her eyes shut and hugs Steph tighter, both crying their hearts out. Oh Peg....I stand up and hold her close as she cries. What the hell happened here? I look around and notice things thrown on the floor, broken, and a busted out window. Great... I take Peggy by the arms and take them both home with me. When we get there I lead them to the bedroom and they both fall fast asleep. Once I'm sure they do, I head downstairs and call the police. Something needed to be done about the body; and I know Peg won't want to deal with it. Before they get here, I head into the apartment and grab some of Peggy's thing. Or at least, I think they're hers. Before I leave I look out the window, but theres no body, Dammit. When the police get here, I tell them what I know, which isn't much, and I head home while they take Colleen.

That was four hours ago, and with Peg and the baby in my room, I slept on the couch. When I finally get up, I get my crutch and go to the room to check on Peggy. Shes fast asleep.I can't help but watch for a few minutes, shes so peaceful. Before I leave, Peggy starts to stir. It looks like shes having a nightmare. I sit on the edge of the bed and smooth out her hair, trying to calm her down. It works, but what I didn't expect her to lay on my chest. Uhmm....I try to move away, but shes starting to wake up.

"Mmmhh. Daniel?"

"Hey." I get her off of my chest and she starts to sit up. "You okay? Looked like you were having a bad dream." She rubs the sleep from her eyes, and looks at the wall.

"What time is it?" She sits up half way and reaches for Steph.

"Uh... I'm not sure. Its early though. The sun isn't even out yet." She hums in response and cuddles with the baby. "Peg." She looks at me, half awake. "Are you okay?" I ask again. She starts to shake her her, but then nods. "Well that didn't sound too sure..." I say gently. She gives a small, sad laugh, and it starts to turn into a sob. "Peg..." She shakes her head more insistently and starts crying. I reach my left arm over her shoulders and hold her as she leans closer. She kept saying it was her fault, but I know thats not true, and I tell her that.

"No, Daniel, I-." She takes a deep breath. "Not only is Colleen dead, but... He almost shot Stephanie! I almost lost her too!!" Oh no... I sit closer to her and hold her tighter. God this is so wrong, what is wrong with the world?

"Hey..." I lift up her chin and she looks at me. "Its not your fault, none of this is. You did what you had too to protect yourself and your kid. Thats what matters. Shes alive and healthy, Peg. Thats the most important thing." A few more tears slip away as she bites her lip and nods her head. She throws an arm around my neck and holds on tight. God shes been through so much...I'm glad I can at least be some sort of comfort. After a while she pulls away, but only a little.

"I should, uhm, head back. Grab some things and get ready for work."

"You can do that here, you don't have to go over there right away. I already grabbed some of your stuff, most everything's already been taken care of." She looks confused at first and then a light flicks over her head.

"Daniel.... Daniel you didn't," She doesn't sound angry, if anything she sounds slightly relieved.

"I called the police after you fell asleep. But I figured... you might not want to go back there right now, what with it so fresh in your mind. Thats why I grabbed some of your things." I point over to the corner of the room with my free hand, and she looks and gives a small smile.

"Thank you, I-... I don't know what I'd do with out you. You're too kind." I smile back at her and it feels like time is frozen. I give her shoulders a squeeze, and she smiles. It isn't until now that I realize how close we are. Without realizing it, I lean in, and so does she. Our foreheads meet and cheeks brush together. Is this is real? Yeah. Its real.... We pull back slightly and look the other in the eyes, as if there was an unspoken question in the air. Leaning back in, faster this time, our noses touch and our breaths are ragged. I have almost no control left. Our lips start to brush together as she places one hand in my hair. Closer and closer and we almost meet completely... until Steph starts to fuss. We both sigh and give a small laugh. Shit. She leans back and I do the same. I clear my throat and let go of her shoulders.

"She must be hungry." We lock eyes again, and it feels so calming. "I should probably go back.T-To our flat. I need to shower and-" She trails off and looks down at the baby.

"My showers right over there, and I already grabbed her bassinet and diaper bag." Her eyes widen for a moment and then she relaxes.

"Thank you." I nod and walk away. I can't believe that almost happened! Just don't mention it, Daniel, and everything will be fine. I hope...

Peggy's POV:

We almost kissed! Oh my God, we almost...Well was that considered kiss? We didn't fully make contact, but... Oh bloody hell Steph! I love my daughter with all of my heart, but she has the worst timing known to man. I feed her and she settles down. I lay her in the 'bassinet' and pop in the shower. Thankfully the soap is unscented. If I were to appear at work smelling like a man I would be harassed more than usual. I leave the bathroom and look through what Daniel brought. A few dresses, blouses, and skirts. I grab the blue dress with red strips on the abdomen and change. I grab poppet and leave the bedroom. When I do I see that Daniel's left a note 'Already left for the office, see you there -DS'. I hold the note to my lips and smile to myself at the thought of him. Before heading to the office, I call Jarvis and we meet at the Automat.

"I'm sorry to appear callus, but is there any way it can be traced back to you?" He sits in the booth behind me as we talk, that way we won't draw unwanted attention to ourselves.

"My name wasn't on the lease."

"Did she have any family?"

"She lost her brother at water canal, and her sister and her children live in Jersey. I had only known her for a year little over a year. I needed a place to stay and I didn't know anyone. She didn't mind at all that I didn't want my name to the flat." Its silent for a while and I say the thing thats been on my mind all night. "I seem to have a habit of loosing people closest to me. But, perhaps loosing is too kind a word. I get them killed." I look over at Steph and shes playing with a small napkin. How on earth did she get that?

"Ms. Carter."

"When Howard cam to see me, I was damn happy to see him. I'd been wallowing in it since the war. Wondering why no one would give Agent Peggy Carter a shot,so I grabbed the chance. And I mucked it up. And now Colleen is dead, because of me." I wipe away a small tear and take a cloth from Jarvis.

"Ms. Carter, I've read your war record. You are a credit to your profession, and if the men in your own office can't see that then they're fools. You were trying to do something good,and I believe you accomplished it. "

"But was it worth it?"

"I fear we may not truly know that until the job is done." I breath a deep sigh and leave, and he follows. We go to a laboratory to have the nitramene looked at and we learn that it contains gamma rays. The only factories that could house such technology is Roxxon refinery. Because the bombs have gamma rays I'll be able to find the supply of them. Jarvis and I leave and I head to work.

"Take good care of her."I say as I hand her over.

"Of course. Ana is always thrilled to have her."

When I get to the office everything is as normal. Everyone is still searching for Howard and is distracted. I use this to my advantage and slip away to the file room. The box with everything from Project Rebirth is in this SSR office, and in that box is a Gamma Ray detector I need. When I open it, a file is on top, and theres a photo of Steve; pre-serum Steve. Back when I thought he was a good man. It was cute, the way he tried to talk and stuttered around woman. And how he wanted to wait for the right person to dance with, but I tried to make it very clear that I was not that person; and yet he still didn't understand. I gave no consent to be with him, I remember nothing from that night, and he knew I was drunk, and yet... here we are. I have a child by a man I was never in love with, all because he couldn't take a hint and get over his obsession. Some men need to learn that just because a woman is kind to you and understands your struggles, it doesn't mean she wants in your bloody trousers. Idiot. As i look at the photo I hear a thud. Looking up, I see Daniel.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Its fine. I can assure you I don't do this often." He must sense my distress and anger, because when I put down the photo. He looks around to see if anyone else is here and then starts to speak.

"Ya know, after I got hit. In the field hospital, the chapeline asked me if there was anyone I wanted to send my effects to, ya know, if the worst happened. And I told him I thought my dad didn't think my dad had much use for 2 pair of green socks and an old paper bag." I walk around the table and lean against it, listening to Daniels story. "Let him remember my life, ya know. Well I didn't die, which was inconvenient." He looks away from me momentarily. "Because he had already cleared out my footlocker, I'm still missing half my stuff...I can't find my leg anywhere." I tilt my head at him and laugh. I hope no one upstairs can hear. He starts to walk away, but I stop him.

"Daniel." He stops and I each for his hand and squeeze it. "You're one of the lucky ones." He smiles at me and walks away. Although he has spoken of his leg before, its always been restricted and hushed; never spoken loudly or detailed. But of course he laughs it off and uses it to make me feel better. I walk back around the table, take the photo and the detector, place the box back, and leave. One day Steph will want to know what her father looked like, and now she can. She'll see the man behind the shield; the man I thought was kind. When shes old enough, I'll tell her the truth, but for now, I want her to keep her innocence and the little knowledge of the man her father.

As the day turns to night, and I leave the office, Jarvis is my ride and we go to Roxxon. I give Jarvis a radio for emergencies before I exit the car. When there I find the men that have been making Howard's bombs. Jarvis uses his radio, and I'm compromised. I use a flash and momentarily blink the first man, and then I chance the second. I chase him down and shoot at his feet.

"Thats far enough!" Hes stops right in front of a truck; a milk truck filled with nitramene. Oh my lord... "I wouldn't." I say. He takes a device from his pocket and holds it to his throat. He has the same scar as the man that killed Colleen.

"You don't want to fire again."

"Who are you!" I keep my gun pointed at him.

"I don't have a name anymore. I'm an independent business man trying to make my mark in the world."

"By murdering people?"

"I don't murder people. I just sell to people who do."

"And what about your friend?" He looks confused. "Green suit. Scar on his throat like yours?" He visibly tenses and is frightened.

"Hes not my friend,"

"Tell me his name, or so help me God, I'll blow us both to Hell!"

"He doesn't have a name any more ,and if hes here we're both dead any way." He throws a nitromene bomb on the ground. "Thirty seconds agent." Bastard. I run through the factory and radio Jarvis to bring the car around., then continue to scream for him to keep driving. I run and run and then see the car. I leap onto the roof and get in through the window. The bomb goes off and the blast tries to bring us in with it, luckily it doesn't. The entire building, gone.

"It would seem it works." Thats one word for it. I can't believe Howard invited something this destructive. We look at eachother, both in disbelief. We have to stop this. As we get into the car, he takes me to see Stephanie, and what a relief it is to see her after today. He drops us off at the apartment complex and we enter ours. Almost everything is cleaned out. We have a few days to stay, what without the owner knowing. I still can't believe shes gone. Now we have to find someone else to live, somewhere cheap enough in New York; as if the prices aren't outrageous enough. I nurse poppet and then lay her down so I can shower. My clothes smell like smoke from the explosion. ONce I'm out, I pick up my daughter.

"Peg?" I turned around and see Daniel. Oh no. Once we move we won't be able to see each other everyday; at this thought my heart sinks. "What are you doin' in here?"

"Well. We have a few days to bunker down here until the owner of the building finds us. I was thinking we could stay here until I find a new flat."

"Is that such a good idea? What if he finds you sooner than that? Plus, the window is still busted. What if, whoever, broke in and attacked decides to do it again," I frown, dammit he has a point. I sit on the bed and sigh.

"What am I to do then? I have nowhere else to go." He stops and thinks for a few moments, then smiles; but then it fades into embarassment. "What?" He glances at me, and then away. "Daniel, what is it?"

"Nothin' it was stupid." I look at him and raise a brow; then he caves "I-I was just.. uh.. thinking...maybe, ya know, y-you could..."He shakes his head.

"Well spit out man." I laugh, and then he does.

"You can stay with me, that is, until you find a place." He looks down at the ground, not meeting my eyes. I bite my lip and wonder.

"What will society say? A man and a woman living in the same apartment unmarried." I tease. He looks up at me, shocked. As if he were a deer in headlights. I can't help but burst into laughter. "I'm only teasing you, Daniel." He sighs in relief. "I don't want to intrude. I-"

"You won't be intruding,Peg. I'm offering." I look him in the eye and see nothing but sincerity. I stand up and walk over to him,and then Steph reaches out. He takes her in his hand and I kiss his cheek, slowly. Our eyes meet and the quiet isn't unpleasant, its sweet.

"Thank you." He nods his head and I walk with him to his door. As we enter and make ourselves at home, it feels familiar; it feels right. We make and eat dinner together, he changes Steph's nappy, we take turns reading to her while listening to the radio; and it all feels perfect. I wish every night would be like this. All too soon its time for bed, poppet and I go to the bedroom and sleep. When we wake, Daniel left a note, same as yesterday. I smile and take the babe to the Automat to meet up with Jarvis. I tell him about Leviathan and he says he'll see what he can find. I plan on infiltrating the Daisy Clove milk company to find the truck full of explosives. When Jarvis leaves I notice that oaf of a rude man harassing Angie again. He insults the food and slaps her bum. Now thats quite enough. I get up from my seat and approach him.

"I understand you're not happy with your meal," I say, as I grab a fork from the table.

"You work here?"

"Unfortunately no." I plunge the fork into his side, and he looses his breath.

"Just so we're clear, this is pressed into your bronchial artery, keep smiling." He groans from pain.

"Once you start to bleed, you'll loose consciousness in fifteen seconds and you'll die in ninety unless someone comes to your aid. Now given your recent behavior, how likely do you think that is to occur? Now to prevent this not so unfortunate event from occurring, I suggest you find a new place to eat. Do we understand each other?" He nods his head and I start to let go, then reapply it. "Oh, one more thing. Tip generously." I put the fork back on the table and return to my booth to pick up my daughter. As we leave, I see the man pulling several dollars from his wallet for Angie. Now that is how you treat a lady...

#peggysous #peggy carter #daniel sousa #Peggy x Daniel #agent carter #agent carter series #au fanfic #fanfiction

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jellidile · 6 years

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Want him home (Vergil x reader)

I was tired for every second I wrote this, I don’t know how good it is, but if someone here enjoys it, then its good enough for me! (Also, again, AU where Vergil isn’t dead *wheeze* I just want him back)

Vergil goes missing, everyone is sad

You lay numb in your bed. Long having run out of tears. The blue sheets never seeming to warm without him. Vergil was missing now for a week. Dante had assured you the job would be simple. Vergil had assured you the job would be safe. He would come back in a day or two. In the privacy of his room, he gave you a last kiss. His unspoken way of proving his love to you. Then Dante came home alone. He avoided your eyes, and when Vergil didn’t walk through the door scolding Dante… You didn’t get many details. Not that you wanted them. You just wanted Vergil.

The door to the shop opened and you could hear Dante mumble something before the door closed. You weren’t going to sleep tonight. That wasn’t new. You had only been sleeping when it was halfway through the next day and your exhaustion would cause you to pass out wherever. Slipping on one of Vergil’s sweaters you headed into the downstairs of Devil May Cry.

On the couch sat a very familiar raven-haired hunter. Lady peeked up from her book and sighed as you walked past. Flipping on the electric kettle you grabbed a mug and tea bag. There was shuffling from Lady as she turned off the kettle and drew your hands away from the cup,

“Go to sleep.”

“I can’t.”

“Bullshit.” you couldn’t even form a laugh. Lady sighed placing a hand on your back,

“You’ve got Dante worried sweetheart, and I won’t lie, I’m worried too. Everyone is worried. I understand you’re hurting, but wallowing in misery won’t help.” you knew that. Every time you felt the emotions bubbling up you couldn’t help but curse yourself. You held your breath. The same feeling creeping up your throat. You buried your head into the black sweater. Trying to block out the oncoming sob with tender memories. Lady tightened her grip into a hug. The memories did nothing and you held in a sob. You cried into Lady. Words tumbled out of your mouth, but they were too garbled to understand. It was a while before you stopped, but when your sobs turned into whimpers, and your eyes began to close. Lady sighed walking you back to your room. You could only mumble one last thought before the exhaustion of the week of misery caught up to you,

“I want him home.”

Dante punched a building. The brick curved inwards as he pulled his hand back. He’d been so stupid. His gut screamed that something was wrong. But the idea of quick cash… He growled placing his hands in his pocket and sulking. At night he could hear you cry. At night he could hear Vergil yelling at him,

“Dante! Get over here!” Vergil would never admit it, but Dante heard the fear in his voice. He sighed as he walked around. He had no idea where the thing had taken Vergil. A part of him hoped that it had just gone to another part of the city. But he looked everywhere, and he couldn’t sense his brother. Vergil had been wary of the entire mission. He managed to dodge the demons ambush attack, but Dante didn’t. So Vergil attacked, freeing Dante and leaving himself open. Ducking into an alley Dante slid to the ground. Burying his face into his hands, Dante sat alone in the dark. This was his fault.

Vergil groaned his eyes burning as they focussed. He remembered the fight only barely. Red clouded his vision and he felt numb. Something had grabbed Dante… then he? The buzzing ambience of the room blared in his ears. Muddled voices floated behind him. Something closed around his neck and began to choke him. He was confused as black dots clouded his vision. The tension released and he coughed. He let his eyes focus and grimaced at the scene before him. Blood covered the ground, seeming to have come from him. Blank stone walls stared back at him as voices spoke in hushed tones,

“Why doesn’t he speak?”

“Master won’t like that…”

“Wake him. Wake the half-breed.” He coughed out blood that had collected in his mouth and growled,

“Who the hell are you, to call me that?” There was a hiss as something seared his back. He held back a scream,

“Hush seed of sin. Where is the sword?” He huffed saying nothing. The burning sensation cut into his skin and he clenched his teeth. The whispered voice growled into his ear,

“Where is the sword?”

“I thought you said, hush?” Normally he wouldn’t be as petty as this. But you try saving your idiot brother only to be tortured. Torture that -much to Vergil’s dismay- lasted for what felt like hours.

His body burned and the chains holding up his wrists cut into his skin. Coat and shirt cut to hell, he tried to move, all of his energy drained. He’d been moved to this blank bloody cell a while ago. He wondered how much time had really passed. His refusal to scream left him weak and constantly passing out during the torture. They never changed their question. Vergil had no idea what sword they were talking about. A sickening voice grated on his ears,

“The Dante boy looks a little different from the descriptions we got… Surely we didn’t grab the wrong one…” Vergil saw two demons, they looked almost like Mephistos but their vaguely human heads covered in bandages left him unsure. The other spoke much softer,

“White hair, an aura like you wouldn’t believe. Incredibly strong and quick-witted, this is the one.” Vergil hissed loudly wriggling his torso as his legs still refused to move,

“Let go of me you wretches.” they turned to him. The one that sounded like nails on a chalkboard pulled out a pure white feather grinning,

“Hello, seed of Sparda! How do you like the lashes we gave you? Finding it difficult to move?” Vergil could feel his legs again, though weakly. He shook his head. The demon laughed,

“So brave… Too bad our master wants all obstacles gone. Well, I hope you liked the treat our friends gave you! I’ll be giving it to you again! Open wide filth!” Vergil tensed feeling his power rush through him. He waited for the demon to float closer before pulling as hard as he could on his restraints. With a snap, the chains holding his handcuffs broke. Forcefully his hands slammed onto the creatures head. He warped to the corner of the room, much to his delight Yamato sat waiting. Stumbling he picked up the blade and promptly summoned swords. The creatures shrieked charging at him. He weakly threw up spiral swords and warped past them. He didn’t know where he was going and he was blinded by pain. But one thought and one thought alone kept him moving. You.

Vergil stumbled blindly, you on his mind. He didn’t know how much time had passed. Were you okay? Was Dante taking care of you? Vergil felt sick, he hated thinking of you without him. He hated thinking that he didn’t even say he loved you before he left. Yamato buzzed in his hands. The sword wanted something.

Vergil could remember the voice in the sword. He would listen to its every beck and call. But one day the sword fell silent. Its energy still gave him clues, but there was no verbal communication.

Hearing screeches in the distance Vergil found a crevice to hide in. He huffed feeling himself slowly heal. Whatever he’d been hit with hurt. Whatever they did to him was severe enough for his healing to be delayed. Yamato buzzed again. Vergil coughed, his chest felt tight. He shrugged angrily,

“I don’t understand you, stupid sword.” Clattering to the ground, Yamato turned so the tip of its blade faced a long hallway. Quickly ducking into the hallway and picking up Yamato as he went Vergil limped down the hall. It was a dead end. Vergil glared at his sword. Unsheathing it and stabbing it into the ground. He didn’t even have time to let go when the floor fell away and he was sucked down.

Hitting concrete Vergil coughed. Looking around, the buildings were familiar. He was back in the city. He sighed putting Yamato away and leaning on a brick wall. Yamato got a free pass today,

“Don’t ever try that shit again.” The sword vibrated like it was laughing. Finding a street sign Vergil found his bearings. The shop wasn’t far, he had to get home. The welts he felt on his skin burned as they healed. Why they hadn’t healed when he was… wherever he was, he didn’t know. But he was glad they were now.

The lights of the shop were off on the downstairs. Vergil sighed stumbling into the alley. He hopped up to his window and slipped inside. Huffing he sat on the ground. His skin burned and he’d already thrown up twice walking back. He could feel himself gag, but there was nothing for him to cough up any more. Shuddering he lay on the wood floor. Just trying to breathe. For once he hated how cold he kept his room.

As he lay shivering and weak, his senses alerted him to someone else in the room. His muscles screamed at him to slow down but he had to know. Scrambling to his knees he crawled over to the side of his bed. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw you. You were there. Asleep. Peaceful. He was about to assume you took his kidnapping well when he noticed your eyes seemed puffy. Then he noticed you were wearing one of his sweaters. The dark circles under your eyes, and when he felt your hair it was oily and tangled. Lying his head on the bed Vergil took one of your hands and held it close to his face. He would apologize in the morning. Gently he kissed your hand and got to his feet. Pulling the blue blankets over your noticeably thinner frame Vergil stumbled to the door. Silently he left and paused at the top of the stairs. He heard something he never thought he’d hear,

“I… I miss him. He’s my brother Lady. He’s annoying as fuck, but... I can’t believe I fucked up this royally.” The woman sighed patting his back,

“Dante. He’ll be fine. We’ll find him, and you can rest easy.” The unspoken bond between the brothers was clear when they fought together. Their unconventional tactics blending seamlessly into the others fighting style. The verbal confirmation of their tolerance for each other was… lacking. Taking a heavy step onto the first stair, Vergil huffed clutching the handrail for dear life,

“Dante… I’m never saving you again.” The look on Dante’s face was priceless. Vergil almost laughed but was interrupted by a coughing fit. When Dante rushed over to him, eyes filled with tears, Vergil found his own. He refused to let them fall. Dante lied him on the couch as the coughing stopped,

“Verge, what- What the hell happened to you?!” Vergil groaned,

“Dante, just… Torture you buffoon. Can I sleep now? Everything burns.” Dante nodded with an airy chuckle.

When Vergil woke he felt sore. He could barely move and he felt miserable. He heard voices,

“Don’t come downstairs just yeah darling. Dante has got a surprise for you.” Vergil almost cried out when he heard you speak,

“Okay… But… Last night… Someone opened my window.” He shot up and Dante was immediately covering his mouth as he groaned. The younger demon hissed quietly,

“Vergil!! Shut up!” Vergil grumbled. Resisting the urge to bite his brother. Dante sighed looking to the stairs,

“I don’t want her crushing you cause we both know she can. Also… I found this in your coat and I was wondering when you were going to mention it?” Dante pulled out the black ring box. Vergil glared daggers at Dante,

“Give it back!! I'm going to end you, Dante!!” Dante laughed pocketing the box,

“I’ll hold on to this for you.” there were heavy steps at the top of the stairs. Vergil and Dante froze listening to the two women talk,

“Lady please let me downstairs.”

“I can’t do that, Dante’s surprise…” There was a choked sob, and Vergil recognized the sound of Yamato unsheathing,

“He’s here Lady! If Yamato’s here! Please…” you sounded so broken... Vergil strained against Dante. The hand from earlier covering his mouth again. This time Vergil did bite Dante, and when Dante coiled back in pain Vergil called your name. In seconds you were hugging him. Sobbing into his bandaged chest. He sighed closing his arms around you. You squeezed him but he didn’t care how it stung. You were there,

“Hello, love. I missed you.” You smiled looking up at him managing a small laugh. Vergil pulled your head closer and pecked your forehead,

“I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.” Vergil groaned pulling himself up to sit. You sat in his lap tears still pouring from your eyes as you slowly formed words,

“I should apologize Vergil… Look at me! I’m a mess… I should expect…” Vergil sighed holding your hand. He usually wouldn’t even cuddle when one of Dante’s friends were over. But Vergil sighed holding you close, he was too exhausted to care,

“I’m saying sorry because I didn’t tell you something before I left. Something I should always use words to convey.” You frowned looking up at him as he brought you into a kiss. He blushed pulling away and muttering under his breath, words meant only for you,

“I love you. My princess.”

#dmc #vergil #vergil sparda #dante sparda #fanfic

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b4kuch1n · 6 years

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two ghosts in Morioh

another day of running around taking care of businesses with my mom. Got some down time in the afternoon and spent it on this. yes Im a fluff writer now. somebody take me out the back

warning for non-plot, terrible poetry (Im serious. Ive never written a poem in english before. its not too nice to the hand), a filler OC thrown in on the spot, lotsa outta-nowhere headcanons, and all else possibly applicable.

Read on AO3

Okuyasu finally picked up.

Which was a good thing, because Josuke didn't wanna seem fussy or overbearing. 'twas a lost cause anyway, his mom would tell him, given that he had been anxious ever since he came home from the supposed double date that afternoon, and had walked from one end of the hall to the other over forty time (yes, she counted up until forty), mumbling to himself, hands firmly in his pants' pockets because he knew the moment he stopped holding it tight he would ruin his pomp by running his hand through his hair in frustration. An emotion that he caused to himself, his mom would remind him, because he refused to just walk over to Okuyasu's house and knock.

When the boy in question finally picked up, Josuke was a bit stiff from the draft in the hallway as well as from the tension built up by being stubborn. Okuyasu's voice only just managed to break through.

“Josuke?”

He sounded a bit hoarse. “Yeah, dude, I'm here,” Josuke said. The tension didn't leave him immediately like he hoped. “You didn't come.”

“Fuck, sorry about that. I'm jus'... 'm not in the best mood right now. Didn't wanna ruin it for you guys.”

“Shit, what happened? You okay?” Josuke could hear something fell on the floor with a metallic clunk. “What's that?”

“Oh it's-- 's the paint can. I'm fixin' up big bro's room upstairs. Been meaning to for a while now so... It's.” Okuyasu trailed off.

Josuke felt his shoulders stiffen up a bit more.

“It's some'n to do.”

Josuke bit his lip. After a moment of consciously picking off all traces of anxiety from his manners, he said, calmly, “I'm gonna come over.”

“No, dude, y'don't have to!” Okuyasu immediately barked, with something like panic in his tone. “I'm a bummer right now,” he added, almost sheepishly. “It's dumb, it'll go away on its own. Jus' some'n from the class.”

“Don't even think of it as me coming over to comfort you if that's better.” Josuke had to actively try to stay nonchalant now. “I'm helping with the room fixin'. It's gonna take the rest of the night with just you. That cool?”

He just caught his free hand moving towards his head on its own when Okuyasu sighed and he could hear the paint can being picked up. “Fine. I'm gonna be upstairs, let yaself in when you're over.”

By August 1999, Okuyasu had been sleeping in the guest room downstairs for ten months.

Keicho was a private person, and nobody could blame him at that. No kid would want to leave their toys trailing about when their father was so quick to anger. Keicho had faced so much of that misdirected rage, had put himself between his father and his younger brother so many times, that anything he had that wasn't broken he held on with an almost death grip. His routines, his CD collection, his rules, his own anger. He never learned to let go, and Okuyasu, whom Morioh had given more chances than it ever did his brother, had been feeling something like pity for that, and then guilty for pitying his brother.

He didn't really want to use Keicho's room again, especially when he never got his brother's permission. When Keicho had left balancing the book in Okuyasu's hand, their life became a clash between Okuyasu's fussing about trying to take care of things and Keicho's own rhythm and order, the solution to which that they came up with being that Keicho got the entirety of the second floor to himself. Okuyasu didn't mind – everything was simple with him, really – but after Keicho's death he felt even more out of place in that part of the house.

“It's fine if you wanna seal it off, dude,” Josuke told him one evening when he stayed the night, “you're the one living here. It's not like people know or care about that stuff, either way.” Josuke was smart, but he also believed in courtesy and manners even though he had been subjected to so much of the opposite of that, and it made for a strange kind of trust in humanity. One that was different from Okuyasu's own.

So in the end he decided to only seal Keicho's room. He had been slowly packing everything his brother left behind in the house into small carboard boxes and stashing them in the hallway. He wanted to keep a whole afternoon and evening free just to fix up the room itself, but he didn't think today would be it.

“Yeah, Koichi actually steered me home the moment we were sure you wouldn't show,” Josuke said mid-sweep. “I don't think Yukako mind. Actually I'm pretty sure Yukako doesn't really want me there third wheeling them. Gotta say I was about the same.”

“Sorry for leaving you hangin',” Okuyasu repeated, just as apologetic as when he said it the first time.

“It's not your fault you aren't well, dude,” Josuke stood up straight, free hand in his pocket. “Though a word beforehand would be good. But you were home late from the class, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Goto-sensei holding you up again?”

“Nah, he's nice.” He would be, after Josuke and Okuyasu dragged him out of some serious troubles last month. He was also a nice man in general. Okuyasu thought his writing style really didn't reflect that.

Josuke raised an eyebrow at his answer. Well, Josuke would have a different impression of Mister Goto Azuma, moderately famous novelist, given that the one who had to take a pen in the arm to grab the man (then under a Stand's control) was him and not Okuyasu. That kind of viciousness must keep people wary for a long time. Not to mention the apology gift they got was a place in Goto's ten-hour creative writing course organized by the uni, which was of no use to Josuke, but which Okuyasu snatched right up.

Outside of that event though, Goto-sensei was a mild-mannered, if a bit emotional and wordy person. He had anguish in his heart, sure, but he told Okuyasu once in class, in the tone of someone who was citing their name and age, that he wanted to love everything and anything more than he wanted to wallow in his sadness, so he channeled all of it into his writing and left his personal life free for his other emotions. Okuyasu found that a good way to do things as any.

“I'm gonna trust you on that,” Josuke said after a stretch of silence. Okuyasu grinned. “Anyway, something happened during the writing class then?”

“Yeah-- well, nah, but yeah.” Okuyasu rubbed his hands nervously under Josuke's confused look. “I mean, kinda? Goto-sensei gave us a prompt, and then I wrote something sad, and it bummed me out. 's all.”

Josuke's eyes grew wide. “Oh,” he said, “huh.”

“Yeah, it's dumb. Tolja don't mind it.”

“It's not dumb if it bums you out, dude.” Josuke leaned the broom against the desk and stepped closer to Okuyasu. His pomp looked almost plastic-ish under the buzzing light of the room. Okuyasu blinked when he held his biceps with both his hands. “I like you happy, Okuyasu. We gotta go there somehow, and I'm not a waiting man.”

Okuyasu looked at Josuke, eyes somehow brighter than the light should've made them, hands holding him firm as if willing him to believe. As if that had ever been necessary. He took a deep breath, and broke out in a grin.

“Thought so. You're a musical man.”

“Hell yeah I am.” The grin crept up onto Josuke's face, and he dragged Okuyasu in for a quick hug. “So, what's that piece you wrote today about?”

“I mean, you can read it.”

It must be impossible for Josuke's eyes to grow wider than this. This was maximum wide eye for him. “Really?”

“'s not fine art or some'n, but if you're cool with that, why the hell not. Wait here.”

Josuke waited in Keicho's half-cleaned room while Okuyasu went downstairs to fetch his notebook. Goto-sensei didn't care what his students did with what they wrote after class (“It's yours,” he had said, with passion, “and me telling you what to do with what's inherently yours is against everything I live for. Any experience you have with your own writing is deeply personal and unique, and if that includes setting your drafts on fire and inhaling the smoke, who am I to keep that from you?” He seemed to actually got misty-eyed at that idea.), but Okuyasu liked the man, and he thought keeping the things he wrote in his class in order was a way to show respect to a good teacher. Or it could at least make up for his terrible handwriting.

He flipped through the notebook as he went back upstairs. Man, he wrote more than he thought he did.

“Here,” he handed the notebook – opened to the correct page – to Josuke, who had finished sweeping the room and was bouncing on the balls of his feet in a subdued excitement. Josuke seemed extra careful with his hold on the thing.

“It's a poem?” Okuyasu didn't think that was actually meant to be a question, but he faltered a bit nonetheless.

“It's-- yeah. You aren't into that?”

“Dude, I barely read actual literature no matter what kind, that's not the thing. I'm just... poems are supposed to be even more about emotions than, like, novels and shit, right? I, uh...”

Josuke bit his lip. Okuyasu tried to follow the thread of logic.

“Goto-sensei said our writing is whatever we will it to be. If ya worry this won't be manly and cool, I'm gonna. I'm gonna will it into being for ya.”

“It's not that, dummy.” Josuke smacked him over the head with the notebook. He was smiling again though, so Okuyasu didn't mind. “I just don't think I can get the whole experience without you, like, walking me through it. Since you're the one with the emotions in this poem and all. So can you...”

Okuyasu grabbed the notebook. He looked at Josuke, and then at the words on the page between them, and then tentatively finished that hanging thought. “...recite it for ya?”

“Forget it if it bums you out again, okay?” Josuke held his hands up. “I'm cool either way. I wanna read it properly, sure, but if it's gonna ruin the night for you then forget it.”

Okuyasu stood there with his own notebook in his hand, with his boyfriend, in his brother's room that they were cleaning. He looked at Josuke, and then up at the buzzing light, and then at Keicho's CD collection on the shelf, newly dusted.

Finally he took a deep breath and said, “I'm not gonna hold onto it like that, dude.” And then he took Josuke's hand and said, “Let's come up to the roof for a bit.”

They left Keicho's room behind and went up to the attic, from where they climbed their way awkwardly up onto the Nijimuras' newly re-tiled roof. August was too early to feel chilly at night in Morioh, but there were winds, and the sky was wide open. Okuyasu thought it was a good place as any to give the poem a reading.

They settled on the warm tiles, and then Okuyasu had to stand up to go get a flashlight, and when he came back to the roof Josuke was still there – as if he would go away the moment Okuyasu blinked – the notebook balanced on his thigh.

“Ready,” Josuke said once Okuyasu had sit back down snug next to him, partly as a question and partly as a confirmation of his own status, and Okuyasu nodded.

“Alright.”

Okuyasu had never recited a poem before. His mom was a storyteller when she was alive, but there was a long stretch of time during which her conditions worsened slowly and the occasions lessened until both her and the stories were gone. His dad wasn't a wordy man, not outside of anger and grief. Keicho really would rather have silence than a human voice outside of his own, and again Okuyasu couldn't blame him for that. Or even question it, really, not when Keicho had his CDs and treasured them so. Outside of all that, Okuyasu had also never been good at school. He had other things to do, and the few literature classes he actually sat in for never saw him chosen by a teacher to read anything out loud from the textbook.

So, Okuyasu didn't really know what he was doing, no. But he was also a simple man, and right now it was doing it or not doing it. And Josuke had casted his vote – the only one that counted here and now.

“It's called 1999,” he said, and found his voice a bit raspy. He didn't figure out to clear his throat.

Cigarette butt on the ground

he chose one to pick up

and hold like a torch

Hand over head

Whispers like smoke

flow

1999

numbers he carried

one

in his left pocket

on the pad

along the line

into the waves

it's important, that's what he said

Cigarette butt in the air

His hand red

His eyes red

through them, the sky orange

twilight is for a while,

if statues are the same

1999

replays dissolve

into statics

into waves

away

one

on his lips

I didn't mean it like that,

or was it

I never told him,

or even

I don't think he knows,

that's what he said

Cigarette butt against the sky

futile

1999

variables

one

dissolved into the waves

my name is doubt,

and his I never got

1999

I met two ghosts in Morioh.

They were quiet a long time after that. When Josuke spoke up, he sounded like he just cried a bit. “Dude, that's so fucking sad.”

Okuyasu tried to keep himself from shining the flashlight on Josuke to see if he really had been crying. “For real? I don' even know what it's exactly about anymore. Jus' a buncha, uh, concepts put together randomly.”

“It got emotions into me, alright? So it's good to me, deal with it.”

“It makes you sad!”

“It's good sad though. Like listening to a late artist's album sad.” Josuke threw an arm around Okuyasu's shoulders. “That's how art is.”

“Sure,” Okuyasu harrumphed, but then smiled to himself, just a bit.

The two sat there on the roof well into the night. At one point they found their hands intertwined; Okuyasu let himself lean into the contact, flashlight and notebook laid aside, essentially forgotten. Late night breeze felt like sleep.

“The point of that poem is that I love you,” he said, and let it be.

The hand in his own tightened, and Josuke replied, with all the conviction his being could store, “I know, dude. Love you too.”

#jojo no kimyou na bouken #jjba #diamond is unbreakable #diu #okuyasu nijimura #josuke higashikata #josuyasu #fanfiction #fanfic #oneshot #man its been a while since I write something with romance that ends well #for any of the parties involved #but goddammit I just love the boys too much #I just (clenches fist) wish them all the good in the world #also headcanons stuffed in this fic include:#okuyasu writes #he won't trust himself to make a living out of it but he likes it #he also is actually pretty good with making calculations #as in addition substraction and shit #because when keicho started looking for dio and then the arrows he left taking care of the house to oku #that does include a lot of simple math #okuyasu can take care of that quick no problem but he gets stuck at logic math #like stuff with more letters than numbers in it #so he still doesnt do too well at school #yes I love okuyasu a lot what gives it away #and guess what!! I still have a lot left to give so Im gonna doodle the boys real quick tonight #have a good goddamn night guys I actually wrote something

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