Shadowed from Progress (Viktor x Reader)

Fortunate Zaunite

The indiscernible screaming match that erupted outside of your home caused your eyes to fly open in surprise. Your surroundings were a blur for a second until your eyes slowly adjusted to the dim lighting. Your body instinctively stiffened, preparing if you needed to spring into action at any given moment. If you wanted to survive in the undercity, you need to be ready to take action if things grew worrisome.

You held your breath as you closely tuned into the argument occurring outside. Were the voices coming closer? Were they threatening each other? Was the smell of death going to seep through the thin walls of your bedroom anytime soon?

It felt like an eternity until the distracting shouts could no longer be heard. You sigh in relief. You didn't realize how tense your shoulders were until they began to slowly relax.

You sit up and rub the sleep from your eyes. You stretched your sore body with a groan. Sleeping in your stiff bed was as comfortable as waking up on cement.

To distract yourself from the screaming outside, you tried to remember the events in your dreams. In your dreams, you imagined waking up in a large room with colorful walls. The sun shined through a large window. Your bed was massive and had multiple pillows and blankets made of the softest material you could imagine.

You sighed dreamily as you recollect the fractures of your dream.

When you actually did awake and renter the real world, you were mocked with the familiar bland environment that is your room. With a plain and incredibly small interior. Your bedroom was essentially a walk-in closet. If your family tried squeezing into the room all at once, you wouldn't be able to budge.

An uncomfortable shiver crawled up your spine when your feet touched the cold floor. You maneuver through the questionable stains that defiled your bedroom floors. Were they stains from spilt food or blood? You didn't know nor did you want an answer.

The door squeaked softly as you pushed it open. From outside of our room, you could hear feminine giggling in another room. Two people were trying to talk in hushed whispers, but they weren't doing a good job.

Your mom and dad were already awake. With your mother cooking what looked to be sludge on the stovetop and your father behind her. His arms were wrapped around her waist in a hug.

Your mother was giggling softly and whispering, "Let go before you wake up the kids."

He didn't listen and only pulled her closer. You smile at your parent's display, but they didn't seem to notice you standing in the doorway as their backs were turned.

You took a few steps closer into the room, and your soft footsteps seemed to catch their attention. They both turned around. When they realized it was you, they both smiled with endearment.

"Good morning, (y/n)."

"Morning, sweetheart." Your parents spoke over each other.

You took a seat at the dining table (if you could even call it that). It was a barren square wooden table. A corner of it was eaten away by termites. The table was fairly small. Four mismatched chairs were on one side of the table, each of them ranging in size and color. They reminded you of the Goldilocks and the Three Bears story your parents would recite to lull you to sleep.

One too big. One too small. Alas, none of them just right.

"Did we wake you up? I'm sorry, sweetheart." Your mother apologized but you shook your head.

"There was fighting outside," You spoke softly and your parents glanced in each others direction. Your mother's expression was mixed with fear, which your father reciprocated. "It stopped when I got up."