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[strawberrystepmom]

pairing: werewolf!kakashi hatake x f!reader

word count: 5.2k

about: your boyfriend leaves you alone for one week every month and you can never seem to put your finger on why. convinced he’s cheating, you book a romantic getaway to pin him down and figure him out. while preparing to leave, you instead discover the hairy secret he has been keeping from you all this time.

contents: nsfw - mdni. cw knotting, cw mating, cw breeding kink. miscommunication with resolution, established relationship, piv sex, vaginal fingering, reader has breasts and is referred to as pretty and mate multiple times, reader has pubic hair, few mentions of birth control (reader is on it but method is not specified), sloppy and messy sex (saliva is mentioned but there is no specific instance of spitting)

notes: part of thot-o-ween 2023! ngl i had the most fun writing this one out of the whole group this far and i hope that it shows and you enjoy reading it! thanks for the support the last four weeks and i'm so glad we are getting into the thick of the good stuff now. ♡

“Don’t be ridiculous, he absolutely adores you.”

Despite the consistent reassurance of your best friend, you aren’t certain that your boyfriend Kakashi does adore you. 

It’s not that he isn’t wonderful because he is. Supportive, serious without being a bore, and surprisingly humble - these are all things it takes no effort for you to feel and say about him. Despite this, you can’t shake the nagging distrust you’ve felt since he told you he’s going on his once a month week long business trip. Unfortunately, this time it coincides with a romantic getaway you tried to book for the two of you as a surprise. Despite days of trying to convince yourself that it’s nothing and you have nothing to worry about with his cyclical departures, you have a really bad feeling. 

“I can’t explain it but my intuition is going crazy. It feels like he’s lying to me.”

Your mind has played through all of the reasonable possibilities for his departure and is now filtering through the unreasonable ones. The “he has a family he’s hiding from me” paranoia pings between your ears like a racing pinball and your friend can tell, her face set in a displeased frown. She has been placating you for the past five months, politely shoving you in the direction of speaking your mind to the man, but she knows you’re uncomfortable with the idea.

She reaches across the small table the two of you sit at, dotted with discarded napkins and cups full of rapidly melting ice, and grabs your hands between hers. You appreciate the gesture and squeeze her fingers with your thumbs, smiling softly. 

“You already know my advice because I’ve given it freely. What you do next is completely up to you.”

Nodding, you know she’s right. She has told you to confront him, to snoop, to follow him and these all sound like wonderful ways to handle the issue in theory. In practice, though? That’s a different story. 

Dropping her hands and picking your phone up from the table, you sigh and open the little green bubble that is the messages app. Kakashi’s thread is at the top of your list and you open it, smiling looking at his sweet wishes of a good evening with your friend. 

Hope you’re having fun. See you soon. 😊

“I booked that cabin before he told me he was leaving, do you think I should still tell him about it?”

Your friend nods firmly, sticking to her earlier advice.

“Yes, you should have told him as soon as you planned the getaway but maybe he can arrange something with work if he knows. It’s still a week out.”

Sighing, you nod in agreement and tap out a message in response to your boyfriend, worrying your lower lip between your teeth.

I know this is kind of off the cuff and you already told me you’re going to be gone but I booked a cabin for all of next week for the two of us. If you can’t make it, I understand. Romantic surprises are so hard sometimes!

The message whooshes and shows as sent, the blue text bubble sitting as heavy as the anxiety in your stomach. It’s long winded and something you probably should have said in person rather than via text but considering how nauseous you already feel anticipating his answer, you think this may have been for the best. You lock your phone and place it back down, not wanting to stare at the screen any longer, and the waitress comes to drop off your check. 

Just as you reach for the little black tray with your receipt, your phone pings and your eyebrows raise. You smile at the waitress as you slide your card onto the tray and send her off, picking up your phone as soon as it’s not rude to do so.

You are so thoughtful. Don’t worry about not saying something sooner, I will see what I can figure out. Thank you for doing something so sweet.

Maybe your mind really has been playing tricks on you. It’s hard to hide your grin as you pass the phone across the table and your friend smiles as she reads as well, holding her hands out and tilting her head.

“See? Good communication is key.”

You know she’s right.

Across town, though, Kakashi paces the floor of his bedroom wondering how the fuck he is going to make this work.

How he ended up landing someone like you is still beyond his rational understanding. You are too good to be true and booking a surprise romantic getaway, in any other situation, would be a gift. A luxury, even. Time spent with you, secluded, watching the autumn leaves fall? He couldn’t dream of anything more but next week simply does not work for him.

Pressing the screen of his phone wildly, he swipes through apps until he finds his moon phase tracker, popping open the calendar to see when exactly the full moon falls. He’ll get more details from you later but if you booked it from Monday to Sunday, he may be able to pull off leaving early but staying for most of the time. The full moon falls on Friday and realistically if he spent the week with you up until Thursday, he may be able to pull it off.

Sighing, he slumps down on the edge of his bed and scrubs his hand over his face. The luck he has had over the last few months hiding his secret from you has been nothing short of fortuitous and he’s glad for your trust in him even though it eats him up to lie about his whereabouts for a week every single month. 

Putting you at risk is the last thing the man would ever want to do so he’s already taking a huge chance trying to make this week work knowing that his hormones are stronger in certain months rather than others. He has felt overcome by his instincts this entire month, it’s the reason he has buried himself in busy work rather than spending his free time with you, but he knows that if he hangs you out to dry this week it could result in him losing you.

That’s simply not an option he’s willing to entertain so he will figure it out despite how it makes his gut twist and his mind race. 

Swiping off of the moon cycle app, he opens his messages and the cursor blinks at him tauntingly while he considers what to say. 

I can come along Monday through Thursday if that’s alright with you?

Tapping the little blue arrow that sends the message off to you, he feels a weight on his shoulders that he can’t quite name. It’s sadness because he knows eventually he’ll have to tell you the truth about himself or let you go but selfishly, he wants to put it off for as long as he possibly can. 

Something about you makes him believe that those old stories his dad told him growing up about their kind having fated mates may have been true. His mother was his father’s mate, she knew of his secret and kept it until the day she died, and despite this harsh world, Kakashi has always kept the smallest kindling of hope that it could be true.

Then he met you and his body all but told him it was, the ruts coming more consistently and stronger, lasting for longer than they ever have. What started as one day a month he had to hide away to keep from exposing himself became two days, and then three, and then an entire week having to seclude himself from you to keep from giving into his more base urges.

Another sigh leaves the man and he taps his feet against the floor beneath them impatiently, clutching his phone in his palm. Three pings in succession make him lift it to his face, squinting slightly thanks to the brightness of the screen, but he smiles reading your words.

Omg yay!!! 

I’m glad to get you for even that long

Thank you for making it work for me

It’ll be a risk but he’s willing to take it to see your pretty smile and to spend time cozied up reading and watching your silly shows and enjoying each other. 

It’ll all be worth it as long as he can keep control.

The days leading up to the trip pass uneventfully for you but Kakashi feels differently with each hour that passes, especially today.

He’s hot. Cloyingly and overwhelmingly, to the point he has to lay on his couch in nothing but boxers and an old tank top dug out of the back of his dresser drawer to try and cool down. Sweat glistens across his skin and his very bones ache, all of the blood in his body running to his cock and making it impossible for him to think.

When you arrive at his apartment to spend the night in order to make leaving in the morning simpler, you’re shocked to see him lying on the couch with one hand down his boxers halfheartedly playing with his hard cock with one arm thrown over his eyes. His cheeks are pink and he’s panting, only glancing up briefly when the door opens and shuts. He scrambles to sit up but you can tell he’s struggling, his abs tensing with every breath he takes.

“Oh babe, are you alright?”

Dropping your bags at the front door, you rush to his side and kneel on the ground next to where he is strewn across the sofa. You press the back of your hand to his clammy cheek and coo, your other hand tangling in his unruly hair and combing it away from his forehead. He doesn’t uncover his eyes but his breathing is so heavy you worry something is seriously wrong with him.

“Kakashi, what’s wrong? Are you sick? Do you need to go to urgent care?”

He shakes his head and groans, chest still heaving and you notice the tip of his cock peeking above the waistband of his boxers. It looks the same as you remember it in every way except for the color - so red, as if it’s blushing to be spotted and leaking a pool of sticky pre-cum onto the barely exposed skin his tank top isn’t covering. You know the two of you have been too busy the last several days to spend much quality time together and sex hasn’t been possible but you’ve never seen someone so horny they’re actually ill because all current signs point to that being the exact issue.

“Talk to me. What’s going on?”

Embarrassment keeps him from opening up. Kakashi is ashamed of who he is, a beast more than a man, and he’s even more ashamed that he has no way of keeping the secret from you any longer. This rut is too strong and he needs you to leave lest his instincts take over his logic. Pulling his arm from over his eyes, he tries to sit up and you assist him to the best of your ability, his cock throbbing through the thin fabric of his boxers and catching your eye despite your attempts to focus on his handsome face. His stormcloud colored eyes have never looked more tumultuous than they do right now and you reach out to cup his face, only for him to gently grasp your wrist and pull you away.

“Don’t touch me.”

The look on your face, brows pinched and mouth agape, reminds him that he’s a monster and not a man and he should have never brought you into his life. The only thing he can do is hurt you. His grip on your wrist is gentle and he loosens it further but you capture his hand in your own, eyes brimming with tears of frustration. 

“Please tell me what’s happening,” your voice cracks as you speak and you feel warm tears spill down your face, irritated by your own ability to hold it together, but your worst fears are coming true in front of you. Something is off about your boyfriend, you were right, and now he’s denying your touch when he clearly needs it. “I just want to know the truth.”

The truth would be a heavy burden for both of you and the last thing he wants to do is force you to carry it with him despite the pleading look in your eyes and your quivering bottom lip.

“What are you hiding from me?” 

Your voice cracks again and his heart breaks all over, gray eyes trained on your face despite his disgust with himself. Despite the tears and the way they blur your vision, you scan his face and drink in every feature because despite how you feel right now, you love this man. You were hoping to tell him so this week, tucked away in the idyllic countryside, and now you feel the dream slipping away from you.

“Are you married? Do you have another life?”

Desperation for the truth makes your hands shake and he shakes his head, blowing a breath out of his lips. He continues to feel so hot it’s painful, like he’s burning alive, and he is resisting inhaling and choosing to breathe through his mouth instead to keep from catching your scent that is gradually replacing all of the fresh air in the apartment. 

Allowing you to hold his hand, he sits forward and looks you in the eyes. If his gut feeling is real, if what he believes about you is true, then he needs to be honest. If you are his mate then you’ll understand. His voice shakes when he speaks and you scoot forward on your knees, closing the distance between your bodies as much as possible, still kneeling on the floor next to him. 

“I think I should be offended that you’d even think that about me.”

Despite yourself, you laugh and he hides a smile of his own, eyes darting away from you. He pulls you up to your feet and scoots over on the couch, hissing as you occupy his space even further. You are affecting him more strongly than you ever have and his self control thins with every moment that passes. 

“I’m sorry, I just don’t know what else to think. The weeks away, the secrecy, all of it…my mind has filled in the blanks I don’t understand.”

Kakashi nods. He understands, he truly does, knowing that his behavior has been less than exemplary while he has tried to keep his secret from you, but he wants to right his wrong while his mind is still clear. His cock throbs angrily, still pressing against the bottom of his stomach even while he sits, and he knows it’s now or never.

“This is going to sound ridiculous but I’m not what you think I am.”

Tilting your head to the side, you look over your handsome boyfriend and wonder what he could mean. Is he lying about his job or where he’s from? He can tell you aren’t following so he looks away from you and tries again, spitting out the words he himself has tried to run from his entire life.

“I’m only half a man, the other half of me is something else entirely.”

Again, you look lost and he grasps your hands in his own hot ones and chuckles, letting his eyes shut.

“Werewolf. I’m a werewolf.”

He opens his eyes at the sound of your surprised laughter and he’s met with the smile he has found himself falling more in love with every single day, your nose scrunching the way he finds utterly adorable.

“Kakashi…” you start but he squeezes your hands and shoots you a look so earnest you feel guilty for ever questioning him. His cheeks have turned from pink to flaming red, the same color as the engorged tip that is still peeking out over the top of his boxers. Your jaw drops and he groans, eyes falling to your lips. 

“What is happening right now is called a rut and unbonded men like me go through them occasionally.” You nod, understandingly. You are always unfailingly kind and patient to him, more so than he deserves for lying to you all these months. He takes your silence as permission to keep speaking and you remove your hand from his to push his sweat slicked hair off of his forehead, noticing the way his nostrils flare with your touch. “Mine have been happening more frequently than that, though, because of you.”

He expects to have lost you again and to see confusion on your face when his eyes flit up to look at you but instead he sees a sweet, almost nervous, half smile. You don’t know what he means or how you could possibly be affecting his rut but the insinuation that you have this strong of an impact on him is flattering to say the least.

Arousing too, you think while pressing your thighs together. Your focus shifts from the heat in your own core to Kakashi and you lean your head on his shoulder.

“How can I help you through this?”

Your boyfriend is far from shocked that this is your next question for him but he’s grateful, shaking his head and gazing at you nervously from the corner of his eye. You have been surprisingly okay with everything so far, or at least it seems like it, but he worries how you’ll react if he tells you everything. 

“Well, ruts are usually resolved by…well, for lack of a better word, mating.” Nodding, you keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder. “It’s not just, you know, having sex like we usually do. It’s more than that.”

You shift where you sit and he watches you intently, gasping when you move to straddle him and sit on top of his thighs. His bulge presses against your core and you hum, still combing your fingers through his hair. Those instincts he was dreading continue to work at him, his mind all but overwhelmed with the sight and scent of you, and his mouth fills with saliva.

“I can handle a few days of fucking if that’s what will make you feel better,” you smile and press a kiss to his forehead, his hands finding their way to your hips and holding them tightly. His grip is harsher than he has ever touched you but it doesn’t hurt, it’s simply anchoring you in place. “But if that’s not all, I will do anything you need.”

He chuckles lowly, the sound sexy and ringing in your ears, and you instinctively grind down on his lap to relieve the tension of your own arousal. It doesn’t take much to turn you on, not when it comes to him, but the mystery of what you have to look forward to makes your head swim. 

“I, uh…well, I’d need to knot you.”

Your eyebrows raise and your eyes glisten with mischief watching him search for the right thing to say. 

“What does that entail?”

Again he sighs, cock throbbing painfully, and you press your lips to his forehead again. He holds you in place to keep your hips from grinding or bumping against him. His mind is growing fuzzier with each passing second and he doesn’t need the encouragement of your luscious hips to turn him into something he can’t explain away with a conversation. He’s teetering on the edge of it anyway.

“You’re familiar with my dick, of course, but when I’m rutting it’s different. It’s…” He trails off again and you reach down between your bodies, snapping the elastic waistband of his boxers. You smirk, the little temptress that you are, and he groans in defeat.

“Show me.”

Despite his brain telling him not to, he nods, happy to bend to your whims as long as you’re okay with what you see. He shifts where he sits, keeping you anchored to his lap with one hand and he uses the other to pull his boxers down around his thighs. You gasp when you notice the thickened base, larger than you’ve ever seen it and swollen. 

“This is your knot?”

He nods, eyes fixed on your face as you inspect the newest part of his anatomy, to you anyway, and he’s relieved to see nothing but curiosity on your face. Your hand drifts back between your bodies and you squeeze the base of him, his knot almost too large for your hand to wrap around, and his hips buck into the touch. He pants, chest heaving with each breath, but you keep your grip intact.

“So let me make sure I have this right,” you start and he nods to indicate that he’s listening despite the overwhelming pleasure he’s feeling at your touch, lower lip tucked between his teeth. “You need to knot your mate to get through this and feel better?”

He nods again, happy that he doesn’t have to explain the gory details and that you were able to fill in the blanks on your own.

“Do you know who your mate is? Is it someone I need to go find for you?”

Shaking his head, his brows furrow.

“You are my mate. That’s the only explanation why my body is reacting like this to everything about you.”

His voice sounds strained, struggling to hold onto his humanity with each passing second. You mercifully let go of his knot, the relief on his face disappearing when you do, and you lean forward, just inches from his lips.

“Then fuck your mate and feel better, baby.”

Sealing your offer by pressing your lips against his, you’re shocked to find that they’re as hot as his hands, his body, his cheeks, but they feel like home to you and the sloppy sound of your tongues running against one another in open mouthed kisses fill your ears. His grip on your hip tightens and he does his best to remain gentle as he slides you off of his lap and places you on your back on the sofa below you. He pauses for a moment to glance over your face, to be absolutely certain that you still want this, and you smile at him.

Reaching for the button of your jeans, he helps you slide them off and tosses them across the room, your panties coming off with them and the rest of your clothes in short order. He wants to shred them, to see the pieces fall and flutter away from your beautiful body, but he holds himself back.

This is just the beginning of his rut, after all, and the two of you are bound to have a very interesting week ahead of you so he savors this moment, the first that he can be who he really is in front of someone he loves.

It’s freeing and terrifying but his cock is throbbing so painfully he can’t focus on anything else.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?”

You nod when he slots himself between your spread legs, his boxers and tank top gone. Your cunt pulses at the sight of him, walls clenching almost painfully around nothing as you look at the size of his knot and wonder how you’re meant to fit it inside of you, but he quiets your wandering mind by leaning down and pressing his chest to yours, kissing you sloppily.

“God I love you,” he mutters and you hum in agreement.

His mouth is wetter than it ever has been, a side effect of his current state, and saliva drips down both of your chins and drips into the valley between your breasts. You moan into his mouth and your hips cant and grind against his erection that slips into the cleft between your pussy lips and he feels himself slipping further and further into the basest of his needs, the warm slick seeping from your cunt a nectar he can no longer resist.

Kakashi’s fingers slide down your body, dragging through the pool of saliva between your breasts, down your torso, across your belly button, and finally down to your aching pussy. He makes himself useful quickly, one of his long digits replacing his cock and running through your soaked folds. You whine, hips bucking, and he increases the pressure of his finger as he slides it over your slippery clit.

“My pretty little mate is so eager for me, huh?”

Nodding dumbly, you spread your legs further hoping he’ll take the hint to get moving to where you need him the most. Your eyes dart from his face to where his finger slowly slides inside of you, warmth accommodating the digit with ease thanks to how soaked you are, and sweet relief washes over you. Tipping your head back, you softly moan beneath him while he works you open for him - he’ll need all the help he can get if you’re going to take his knot, and a second finger joins the first while his thumb massages your clit just the way you like.

“Oh baby, you feel so good.”

You nod and hum, hips grinding into every thrust of his fingers in and out of you, the sound of your own sloppy pussy making your breaths stutter. Who would have guessed you’d be so into finding out your boyfriend’s not so little secret? 

His fingers continue to spread you open, shifting and grinding against the spot deep inside he knows drives you wild, and you know you’re about to cum for the first time tonight when his thumb grinds small circles directly into your sensitive clit. Your back arches off of the couch and you clench around his fingers, mumbling his name. His lips find yours, chests still pressed together, and you whimper into his mouth while your legs shake.

Withdrawing his fingers from inside of you, he holds them up and spreads them apart, breaking away from your lips long enough to let you look at the slick that webs between them when he does. You gasp, his fingers glistening with your arousal, and he smirks.

“Think you’re wet enough for me now. Gonna stuff you full of me, is that what you want?”

Nodding, you shiver, catching a glimpse of the hunger in his eyes. He’s the same man you love and have known for all this time but there’s a hunger you can’t wait to sate dancing in his eyes. Your cunt clenches again, finally ready for more after your orgasm, and he reaches between your bodies to position himself at your entrance.

The first inch isn’t anything you aren’t used to but you still gasp as he slides himself inside of you, your nails digging into his shoulder while his blunt head prods at your eager cunt, slipping inside with ease. He sinks deeper and deeper and you gasp breathlessly when he stops just short of the inflamed knot at the base of his cock.

“Can’t go all the way in, not yet,” he explains, grinding his hips and guiding them to make sure the head of his cock brushes against the same spot his fingers were just working. You are breathless, wordless, and completely overwhelmed, deciding to let him have his way with you however he needs. His hands travel the expanse of your waist, settling on either side of it, thumbs brushing the underside of each of your breasts that bounce slightly with each movement he makes.

He isn’t satisfied keeping his hands at your waist, though, and one travels back down your stomach and rests in the hair covering your mound. He loves the feeling of the hair between his fingers and he stretches his hand so that his thumb brushes against your clit, maintaining steady pressure on the bud while he grinds and thrusts in and out of you.

“Baby,” you coo from beneath him and he smirks, leaning forward enough to fold your legs up against your sides. Your thighs are pressed against your torso and your knees rest by your ears, the shift in position making you groan, shocked at how deep he is despite the whole of him not even being inside of you. “Need it all, Kakashi, please.”

How can he deny you when you ask so sweetly and he’s so close to cumming himself?

Shifting his own position so that he is practically mounting you, the front of his thighs pressed to the backs of yours. It feels like you can hardly breathe with how he has you folded but you don’t mind, succumbing to the mind numbing pleasure of the additional inches of him slowly sinking inside of you.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?”

You nod, licking your lips, and he continues to push what remains of his cock inside of you. His hips grind and shift and you do your best to lift your own to meet him but he stills you with the hand spread over your pelvis, pressing directly on your clit while you stretch to accommodate his knot that slowly slips inside of you.

The stretch is delicious and your lashes flutter against your cheek, eyes rolling back into your skull. He thrusts shallowly, not wanting to release his knot from your warmth, but he gives in quickly and withdraws his knot. You gasp at the loss of the fullness but he’s quick to rectify his wrong, slipping his knot back into you in a quick motion that leaves you breathless. 

“Full,” you spit out with a nod and he chuckles, dipping his head to kiss you again.

“Not as full as I’d like you to be but soon.”

You giggle and kiss him back, his grunts and pants against your lips making you whimper. He’s so sexy and you’re so full of him, your head spinning when his grunts increase in a way you know means that he’s close. His cock spasms inside of you and his thumb doubles down on its ceaseless pace on your clit, his knot swelling as he groans and fills you with his release. His knot remains swollen and keeps his cock in place, the warmth of his spend filling your pussy. 

Reaching for his face, you grab both of his cheeks and kiss him, his thumb still rubbing idle circles on your clit until your hips jerk and the sensation becomes too much. 

“I love you,” you return his earlier sentiment with a smile against his mouth. He smiles and kisses you back, the two of you afraid to part and technically unable with his engorged knot still inside of you.

“We have to stay like this for a little while,” he explains and you nod, eyes glossy and body limp. “Instincts say I have to make it take even if we both know it won’t.”

Smiling, you keep your grip on his face and kiss him again.

“Do you feel better?”

He nods, sighing contentedly.

“For now but we have a long week ahead of us and the full moon is on Friday.”

Dots connect in your head and you giggle, wrapping your legs around his waist while he gradually shifts and rests his head on your chest.

“Good thing we’ll be all alone in the woods then, huh?”

Kakashi chuckles and nods, kissing you between your breasts.

“My thoughts exactly.”

#kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake x reader #thot-o-ween 2023 #monster mash 2023 #kendall writes #cw knotting #cw mating

[dazed--xx]

SKZ Break up Reaction II(Hyung Line)

Part 1

A/N: so I’m alive and writing again I hope this good im not gonna lie I’m really shit at writing fluff and this isn’t edited. Also I’m on full mobile uploading since my 4 year old decided to break my laptop but I do still want to write. The maknae line will be coming out soon I’m working on it and a couple other things atm so I hope you guys enjoy those. I’m going to be posting a preview shortly after this also I don’t ever really get much feedback or comments so please I love to hear you guy’s opinions tell me where I can be better but please like comment reblog and enjoy 😊

Chan:

You stared at your phone as tears flowed down your face. You weren’t sure what you should do, should you call him? You desperately wanted to hear his voice but could you handle the heartbreak and broken promises all over again? You love him, you missed him but being forgotten about for almost two months has you hesitantly hover over the answer button. It’s been two weeks and the calls and messages have been nonstop. You weren’t sure if you could face him, to see the look in his eyes you knew you’d absolutely crumble, so you watch as the call goes to your Home Screen and a missed call notification pops up followed by a voicemail. With a heavy sigh you click on the notification your hands are shaky as you press the play button “H-hey” he begins with a sigh “I-it’s been a-a….while now a-and I just want to know….how your doing. I know things weren’t….what you expected b-but I just want you to know that I love you a-and I want you to come home. I miss you so much. I know I should have been here I know I messed up so bad but I love you so much and I can only hope that I didn’t ruin things to the point where I can’t say that you love me too. If you still need time…I-I get that b-but ple-please just let me know you’re okay….come home soon…..please” your sobs grow louder shaking your body completely as you hear the pain in his voice.

You look around the small hotel room you had gotten for yourself, the hoodie you had stolen from Chan has adorned your torso since the night you left. With a final resolution you lift yourself from the bed, hurriedly grabbing your things as you shove them into your suitcase making sure everything is with you. You were anxious as you loaded your bag into your car. Your stomach was sinking as you pulled onto Chans street. You felt nauseous as you stood infront of the door, your hand hovering about to knock. Taking a deep breath you gently tap on the door, you felt like a kid coming home after running away at 6 years old. You felt small and confused yet the only thing you seemed to want, though you’ve been avoiding it, is to see him. You weren’t sure what to expect as you waited, you grew frustrated as you knocked once more a little harsher. The door being whipped open makes you jump in nervousness “Yah! I’m Fi—Y/N…” you stare at his wide tired eyes, his mouth hangs open as tears build in his orbs. Your pulled into his frame quickly as he wraps his arms around you quickly. “Y-you….” He cries “you came back” you hear the sigh of relief he releases as he buries his face in your neck. Your arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Yeah….I missed you so much I’m sorry” you apologize regret filling your tone. He shakes his head “No. I’m sorry fuck I’m so sorry please don’t leave again” he begs as his grip on you grows tighter. “I won’t I love you…. It’s you and me okay?” You promise as he lifts his head to look at you. He nods in response pressing his plush lips against yours.

Minho:

Minho paced back and forth for what felt like hours as he called you over and over again. His hands were shaky as he pressed the call button once more only for his heart to shatter once again at the sound of your voicemail. He didn’t know what to do it’s only been a couple hours but he felt hopeless. How could he get you to speak to him? Why did he have to be such an asshole? What could he do to see you again? Where could you have gone? A lightbulb goes off in his head, opening the location app you had downloaded on his phone his heart soars as your picture is still on his map. You never turned your location off, he thanks god for your absent mind. Zooming in on the location he recognizes your parents street, grabbing his keys he rushes out the door and into his car. His teeth tugging at his bottom lip in nervousness. Would you talk to him? Would you come home? He felt like throwing up at the thought of you saying no. How could he have ruined things so badly? His leg was shaking as he pulled into your parents driveway. What would you say? Would you turn him away?

He wasn’t sure if he should call you again, should he knock? This has never happened before he didn’t know the protocol for pleading and crying like a baby to get the love of your life back. He knew there would be groveling, but would you close the door in his face? Tell him you never wanted to see him again? No….no you wouldn’t—you couldn’t. You had to know how sorry he is, he raises his hand to knock on the door as it is pulled open your father standing there a disappointed scowl on his face. “Little—uh late there aren’t you?” He retorts he smacks his hand on Minhos shoulder firmly “advice for next time…you don’t let her leave genius. Beg. On your knees if you have to. But you never let them go because once they’re gone it’s hard to get ‘‘em back.” Minho nods softly “I’m so—shhhhh” your father cuts him off with his finger to his lips “I’m not who you should be apologizing to. Honestly I told her to kick your ass then leave she went the nicer way” Minho’s scrunch in confusion “I-Okay” he nods as he enters. He notices your mother seated on the couch a sympathetic expression adorning her face as she gestures toward a room. He nods in response quickly making his way to the door knocking hesitantly. His hands are shaking as he looks back at your parents watching him encouragingly, your mothers hands gesturing for him to go in. A heavy sigh is released from his mouth as he opens the door. The first thing he can hear is your silent sobs as you lay in bed. “Mom please can you just give me a minute” you cry silently. “You see, I would but l…I’m not your mom a-and” tears begin flowing down his cheeks as he rushes over to face you. He drops to his knees infront of your laying down figure, his thumb wiping away your tears “a-and I-I want you to come h-home” his eyes connect with yours “please, come home i—“ he sighs heavily grabbing your hand caressing it gently placing it against his cheek “I can’t breathe without you near me, I love you. I love you so much. I couldn’t think—I need you only a few hours away from you breaks me. Seeing our home rid of you, us, breaks me pl-please I know I’m an idiot but I’m sorry I’m so fucking sorry. I need you I don’t want you to leave me alone. Never leave me alone please I—“ his words get caught in his throat as he hiccups. “Min…” you slowly sit yourself up your eyes connecting with his.

Guilt and regret worn on his expression. You bite your bottom lip as you place your free hand on his cheek. “I love you too. But maybe we need space..” he shakes his head in denial “you just had a few hours away from me how much more space do you need? Please I want to be with you I don’t want space I-I want to wake up everyday with you in my bed. I want to see you smile and hear your laugh when the cats do something weird. I need you. I want you to be with me. Always. I want to marry you, I want to have kids with you, I’m sorry but I’m not leaving unless you’re coming with me” he begs. A small sad smile forms on your lips. You wrap your arms around his neck pulling him in. His arms taking a hold of your waist. “We can figure things out okay? I love you” you whisper

Changbin:

“Stop. Sending. So. Much. Stuff. To . My. Place.” Your growl as you place the gifts Changbin had sent to your house for the past week with every word on Changbins desk. He stared at you wide eyed and surprised before a smug smirk forms on his lips. His tongue runs over his bottom lip “I’m not seeing the necklace I sent yesterday.” He states as his eyes run over your figure. Your face twists into a scowl at his smugness as you cross your arms over your chest “I’ll send it in the mail” you lie, knowing the necklace was hidden under your shirt. A small tsk is released from his lips as he leans back in his seat, his legs spreading slightly as he stretched. “I mean..” he trails as he lifts himself from his seat making his way over to you, his fingers softly brushing your hair behind your ear. Tingles are sent down your spine as his fingers trail their way down the side of your throat before lifting the gold chain and pulling the daliha pendant. “It’s right here why send it in the mail?” His voice is low and seductive, you feel your resolution breaking as he pressed his chest against yours. Your breath is shaky as you willed yourself to not look directly at him. You feel his nose brush against your cheek, you feel heat grow on your face. You were sure you were a bright scarlet. Your hands place themselves on his firm chest shoving him back nervously. His eyebrow scrunch together in confusion “Wouldn’t want to make anymore mistakes right?” The sarcasm oozing out in your words.

You notice the hurt on his features,he runs his hands through his hair before releasing a sigh “you aren’t and never were a mistake to me! I love you I want to be with you the only mistake I made was fighting with you, please just give me another chance. I know I was wrong for what I said but we’ve both been on edge recently and I just want to fix things. You’re my everything and I can’t believe I said so fucking stupid” his eyes connect with yours, you can see the sincerity in his eyes. “Bin…I-I don’t know” you state your bottom lip making its way between your teeth. “Wait don’t decide yet I know you don’t want it but I have one more thing I wanted to give you” he urges as he rushes toward his desk “I don’t want you to keep buying me things Bin, it’s not right and it’s not a way to get me back. If I was to get back together with you because you bought me things then I would fee disgusted with myself.” You plead to deaf ears. “Shh! Just see it before you just reject it” he argues before turning around hand behind his back. “I made mistakes when it came to you. Not that you or our relationship was a mistake but I should have tried harder for you. I shouldn’t have said the things I said that night and for that I’m sorry but, I have loved you for three years now. From your smile to the way you take care of your friends. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I’ll spend every moment of everyday trying to make up for what I said…” your heart sinks as he begins to lower himself down to one knee before grabbing your left hand his eyes connect with yours “will you marry me?” You stare at him mouth agape as he produces a velvet box from behind him. Your right hand placed itself over your mouth, tears welling up in your eyes as you nod “yes!”

Hyunjin:

“Please, just talk to me!” Hyunjin begs as you casually stroll past him once again. Your heart rips out of your chest every time you were greeted by his tear stained, red eyed pout. Your bottom lip found it’s way between your teeth so you didn’t break your resolve. It’s been a month since you had broken up with him, and you spent every second since being bombarded by texts, calls, and unannounced visits from Hyunjin. You personally never told Hyunjin that you had overheard him saying those disgusting things about you, but you do know that Jeongin definitely did as his pleas changed from ‘what happened’ to ‘let me explain’. You personally didn’t care for an explanation nor did you want one. Your heart broke when you heard him say those things to Jeongin; you had a skewed idea of how your relationship was and Hyunjin opened your eyes with his words. You feel a hand wrap around your wrist, a bored sigh is released from your throat. “Please….Baby I-I’m sorry… I don’t know how to fix this, I-I just want to fix it I just want you to talk to me again.” His voice is horse, you notice his tongue brushing over his bottom lip before his teeth take his lip between them. A heavy sigh is released from his throat as he placed himself infront of you, hands wrapped around your arms. Your eyes connecting, you can see the longing and heartbreak in them.

Your breath grows heavy as you stare at your ex pulling yourself out of his grasp. “Please don’t touch me Hwang sunbae-nim, and it’s fine honestly, we didn’t work out.” You shrug, you feel your heart break as the look of utter horror grows on his angelic face.”s-sunbae-nim?” The words are barely above a whisper, pain laced in his tone. You nod softly “I think we wanted different things and you should be with someone that isn’t such a prude you know? Thank you for the apology but it isn’t necessary, you didn’t feel the same way as I did and that’s okay I just wish you would have told me instead of your members” you explain “no t-that’s not true! Please” his hands grasp yours desperately “why can’t you believe me? Look at me you know me! You know how I feel about you” tears streamed down his cheeks rapidly as he held your hands against his chest. You shake your head in denial “Hyunjin…pl-please let me go” your voice cracks. “I-I love you please believe me I didn’t want to break up I’m an idiot and I was frustrated and I just regret saying such stupid things I don’t need sex I don’t want you to leave me alone. I miss you—fuck—I miss you so much. I’m so fucking sorry I just want to be with you I just want my girl back please just give me another chance” he pleads, the despair evident in his tone. With a heavy sigh you shake your head “I just—sigh—you broke my heart and I just can’t jump back into this right away I’m sorry Hyunjin but no. I won’t be with someone who could think those things about me” you apologize as you continue making your way home.

#hyunjin angst #stray kids angst #skz angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids smut #chan angst #stray kids reactions #hyunjin #skz reactions #SKZ Minho angst #changbin angst #hyunjin fluff #chan fluff #changbin fluff #stray kids Hyung line reaction #minho fluff #skz x reader

[beachylupin]

Werewolves of London || Remus Lupin x American!Fem!Reader

i've crawled out of writing slump hell to publish this. i really hope you all enjoy. feedback is always appreciated :-) let me know if you'd like to see more! <3 pt. 2 here word count: 3.6k warnings: talking about children being turned, mentions of a weapon, maybe a few swear words, i literally can't think of anything else

“You’re looking for the Leaky Cauldron in London,” the gruff-sounding man said over the phone. “Where are you calling from?”

“Heathrow?” You said, sounding confused. Where else would you be calling from? “Am I supposed to be somewhere else?”

“Right…” he muttered into the phone, shushing the person who was talking behind him. “You didn’t apparate to King’s Cross from there?”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to,” you mumbled as he said, “Could’ve just apparated instead of just taking a plane.”

“Have you apparated across an ocean?” You quipped, and he stopped grumbling. “Listen, I’ll figure it out, okay? Should I catch the tram to King’s Cross and call you when I get there? Or would you like me to apparate to somewhere I’ve never been?”

“Just take the bloody tram. We’ll send someone to meet you,” he grumbled, half-talking to the person behind him before hanging up abruptly.

You stood confused for a beat before hanging up the phone, quietly apologizing to the person behind you for taking so long.

Following the signs, you made it to the tram, boarding just before the doors closed.

You sat, keeping your luggage on your lap and you looked around at the other passengers. You were sure they could tell you weren’t from here.

You had on a long, leather duster jacket, hiding a dark green top and a pair of black bell bottoms. Tapping your heels to the song playing on your walkman, you ignored them, staring out the window at the underground darkness.

It wasn’t strange being called somewhere else. As someone who worked as an herbalist and potioneer who specialized in harvesting monkshood and brewing the difficult potion invented a few years prior, this was your job.

You were a board member of the Lycanthropy Regulation and Control Committee at the Magical Congress of the United States of America. It was your duty to try and prevent them from coming into towns and completely ravaging them by giving them wolfsbane when they were caught.

Wolfsbane, monkshood, or aconite was deadly. If it was harvested by someone inexperienced, they could simply die. For a lycanthrope, this was their saving grace. This miracle plant is what kept them human.

You were here to help develop a type of werewolf resolution, Project Blue, for what a leader of sorts, Mr. Moody, had called “The Order.” You thought of this group as the resistance to whatever race war had been started here.

This resolution would be developed in secret by both you and the maker of the wolfsbane potion, Damocles Belby, and it had to remain a secret. You had received a list of names that could know exactly what you were doing attached to a different letter from Mr. Dumbledore, and you assumed the rest were to be left in the dark.

Mr. Dumbledore also gave you a protector, who was called Moony. You were given specific instructions to board with this Mr. Moony and tell nobody only if they told you the code word: blue. To anyone unsuspecting, blue is just a color, but to someone who knew about the project, it meant the color of the solution: wolfsbane.

The war really must have been in full swing, and considering that you were an American half-blood, you were stepping into dangerous territory.

Sure, the United States had its fair share of war, but it was the mixing pot of the world. Pure blood, half blood, or no-maj born: a wizard was a wizard. You had always been treated just the same.

Werewolves, however? They were something else completely. The United States werewolf was one of the most dangerous creatures in the world. Having endless room to roam, they often lived outside of civilization, only coming in when they needed someone new to join their tribe.

This meant taking the children in quiet towns and turning them into werewolves so that by the time that they were fully grown and strong, they had no memories of being a human. 

These were the werewolves that you typically saw: mangy, feral, and insisting that they didn’t need wolfsbane. Nearly all of them had never taken it before, spending their whole werewolf existence in the wild, losing themselves completely, even when they weren’t in their wolf form.

It was devastating, not only for the families of these children, but for the werewolves that were doing their part to prevent anyone else from getting this terrible disease.

The werewolves of London and the surrounding area were almost always docile. Having taken wolfsbane from the moment they turned, they’d given up the desire to live a feral life.

However, there was a pack that was a danger to The Order. A pack that led the American lifestyle and stayed away unless they needed a new member. One led by Fenrir Greyback. A name that put shivers down anyone’s spine.

The tram screeched to a stop at King’s Cross, and you got off, immediately finding a phone. You dialed the number again.

“Who am I looking for?” You asked as a now different louder man coughed.

“Uhhh-” He cupped the receiver, his shouting muffled. “Aye! Who’d we send again?” Someone answered him and he loudly removed his hand. “A blonde girl! My age! Pretty.”

“How am I supposed to know your age?” You asked, looking around for a blonde girl. “I can’t see you.”

“Oh… Um, right,” he mumbled, covering the receiver again. “Hey! How would you describe Marlene?!” His shouting was muffled again, but this time, the phone was forcibly taken from him, a girlish huff breathing into the receiver.

“Right, you’re looking for a girl named Marlene McKinnon.” This girl sounded exasperated, shushing the laughter behind her. “She left here wearing leather trousers and a feather duster coat. ‘M sure she’s wearing a beret,” she said as you looked around King’s Cross.

You found who fit the bill immediately, dressed in exactly what the girl described.

“I found her! Thank you!” You breathed. “I’ll probably see you in a little bit.”

“Most likely!” She sounded like she was smiling. “Goodbye, and safe travels!”

Hanging up the phone, you picked your luggage up again, weaving through the small crowd to where the pretty blonde was standing.

She looked to be about in her late teens. Her makeup was sparkly and dark, and she had on about a million necklaces. The feather duster coat was gaudy. Nearly everything about her was gaudy.

“Marlene?” You asked as soon as you approached her. You introduced yourself, taking her ringed hand into your gloved one.

“You must be our gal!” She said, pulling you into a tight hug. “How was your flight?”

You shrugged. “Long.”

“Bloody hell, I can only imagine,” she said, her hand still in yours as she pulled you through the station. “Leaky is just a few blocks down!”

Marlene finally let go of your hand as soon as you were out of the busy station and in the rainy September air. “Have you been to London before?”

You shook your head. “I’ve never been over the ocean.”

“Ooh, first time?” She asked, her eyebrows raised. “We’ll have to show you a good one then.”

“Well, I’m here on business,” you said, desperately trying to keep up with her. “I’m not sure if I’ll have enough time to have fun.”

“How long are you here for?” She asked.

You shrugged, genuinely not knowing. “However long it takes for it to get developed.”

She furrowed her eyebrows. “What’s it?”

“I’m not supposed to disclose that information,” you said quietly, looking at your feet. At least to you.

Marlene glanced at you, her expression unreadable. “Well, I’m sure you’ll still have time.”

You narrowed your eyes slightly, but not wanting to argue, you continued on after her, your luggage clattering on behind you.

The Leaky Cauldron was a hole-in-the-wall type of pub. It was no wonder they were allowed to be in downtown London without worrying about no-majs coming in.

It was fairly busy, and Marlene quickly bee-lined to the back where there was a secluded table full of people. She mumbled something before sitting down, and they all turned to look at you as you excused yourself past a group of open-mouthed witches.

“Hi everyone,” you said, tucking your hair behind your ears once you set your luggage down. You scanned their surprisingly young faces. “Who was the first person I talked to on the phone? Um.. Mr. Alastor M-” Moony? Moody?

“Moody?” The raven-haired boy said. You nodded, eyebrows raised hopefully. “He left.”

“He left?” You asked, scoffing when everyone at the table nodded. “Why?”

“You took too long,” he replied as if it was an easy answer. “He’ll be ‘round tomorrow morning with everyone else.”

“I told you that you’d have time,” Marlene said, smiling tightly. “Things don’t get done around here unless you stick us to it. The rest of ‘em are old.”

“They’re busy,” another boy corrected her.

“Great,” you sighed. “Well, in that case-” You pinched off your leather gloves and stuck your hand out to the raven-haired boy, introducing yourself.

“Sirius Black,” he said, shaking your hand enthusiastically. “It’s nice to meet you!”

You nodded then looked at the bespeckled boy. “Tell me your name is something easy to remember,” you teased, smiling at the other boy.

“I’m James,” he said, and you sighed a breath of faux relief.

“I’ll remember that one,” you said, smiling at the rest of the group.

James then pointed to the blonde boy. “That’s Peter. Next to him is Lily, and this-”

You could tell immediately who he was. Mr. Dumbledore, who you still hadn’t met yet, had told you that there was indeed a werewolf in “The Order,” and up until this point, you couldn’t discern who. 

But he looked the part, down to the claw-like scars that riddled his face. He didn’t look dangerous. He looked the least dangerous of them all, dressed like an old man in a funky blue and brown sweater and dingy jeans. You couldn’t tell if he was a teen or fifty from the way he held himself, but considering his friends, you decided he was on the younger side of the spectrum.

“Remus,” he said, smiling slightly.

“Remus,” you repeated. You held his gaze for a beat longer before clearing your throat. “Well, it’s nice to meet all of you.” You glanced at your luggage then back at the table.

He glanced at your luggage as well, meeting your eyes with a look that said, “Leave it.” You furrowed your eyebrows.

Sirius pulled out a chair for you, patting it so you’d sit.

You obliged, looking around the table.

“I was hoping Moo-” Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to remember his name. Not Moony. “Um, Alastor?”

“Moody,” Sirius finished for you, exchanging a look with James.

“Yeah, Moody was going to be here to set me up with the right person, but I see that might not happen tonight,” you said, settling into your seat.

“Well, who exactly are you looking for?” James asked, looking around the group. “We might be able to set you up with…” He baited you, waiting for the name.

“I’m not supposed to disclose that information with you,” you mumbled, looking down. “It’s… It’s all very secretive, I know, but I got very detailed instructions about what I’m supposed to do and who I’m supposed to discuss and do it with.” You threw a pained smile at the group. “Your names aren’t on that list…” You glanced at Remus, then sent your gaze at the table. “Only a few can know right now.”

“So we can know nothing?” Sirius asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“I’m sure you’ll know eventually,” you suggested and sighed when he rolled his eyes. “I’m really sorry. I wish I could tell you.”

“What can we know?” Marlene asked, causing you to shrug.

“What do you want to know?” You countered, glancing at the small group.

Lily stared at you with narrowed eyes. “What do you do in America?”

“I work for the Magical Congress of the United States,” you answered simply. “I’m a herbalist and potioneer.”

The girls cocked their heads.

“How old are you?” Peter asked, resting his cheeks on his hands.

“Nineteen.”

“And you work for them at nineteen?” Peter acted shocked, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah?”

Peter humphed, sitting back in his chair. “Carry on.”

“Have you always lived in America?” James asked, and you nodded.

“Where do you live in America?” Sirius asked.

“I kind of move from place to place depending upon the need for me,” you replied. A few of them furrowed their eyebrows. “Home base is New York City, though.”

“Is that why you’re here?” Marlene asked. “They needed you for something?”

You paused, shrugging slightly. “Yes?”

“For herbalism and potions,” Lily clarified, and you sighed, shrugging.

“I suppose,” you said. “I’m not going to tell you why I’m here.”

Lily pursed her lips. “I’ll figure it out. Just give me a moment.”

“I really don’t think you will,” you said, your eyebrows pinched together. “I haven’t given you anything to work off of.”

But Lily ignored you, her eyes closed as she thought. Marlene was next to her, trying to piece it together.

“Remus,” Sirius said, leaning to look at him. “You’re awfully quiet over there. Do you have any dying questions for the girl at the stand?”

Remus, who had been all but paying attention, hummed, looking at you.

“What’s your favorite color?” He asked.

Sirius and James let out a laugh.

“Really?” Peter asked, hands hitting the table. “We’re in a Sherlock type mystery and you ask what her favorite color is?”

“It’s an important question,” Remus replied, shrugging. He looked back at you, hopeful.

“Blue,” you said, and he narrowed his eyes.

“Blue?” He repeated, and you nodded. A knowing smile grew on Remus’ face. “Interesting.”

“How is that bloody interesting?” Sirius asked. “It’s blue. Everything is bloody blue.”

Remus simply shrugged, glancing at you again. “Just… fitting.”

You narrowed your eyes. He must’ve been the one that Mr. Dumbledore called Moony.

“What’s yours?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Green,” he said, smiling. Sirius looked between the two of you.

You nodded, looking around. “Any other questions?”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “What does he know?”

You glanced at Remus. “Probably as much as you.”

Remus confirmed your suspicion with a nod.

“Well, we’ll figure you out,” Lily said, leaning her head on Sirius’ arm. “Before you tell us.”

“Where are you staying?” James asked, glancing at Lily and Sirius. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you stayed with us.”

“I actually have a room booked here,” you lied, pushing yourself up from the chair. “I should probably see if it’s ready for me.”

“Right,” James said, smiling slightly as he stood. “We should be off, shouldn’t we?” He asked, reaching for Lily’s hand. She took it, allowing herself to be pulled up, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“We have an early morning,” Sirius said, glancing at Marlene. “You ready?”

Marlene nodded, getting up. “It was nice meeting you,” she said curtly.

“Yeah, it was nice meeting all of you,” you replied, watching Remus stand, nose crinkled as his knee popped.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” Sirius said, looking at Lily. “We’ll have you figured out by then.”

You sighed. “Please don’t try to figure me out.”

“Too late,” Lily said sweetly, her hand in James’ as she started pulling him out of the pub.

James waved a goodbye to you and Marlene tailed the two of them out with Sirius following slightly behind. He turned around.

“You coming, Moony?” He asked, and Remus shook his head.

“I need a night cap,” he said, waving Sirius away. “Don’t worry about me.”

Sirius took this dismissal with a raised eyebrow, slightly shrugging before walking away.

“Moony?” You said quietly, crossing your arms over your chest. “That isn’t a very clever nickname.”

“Neither is Bane, but I didn’t say anything,” he quipped, reaching to take your luggage but you beat him to it.

“Bane?” You said, your nose crinkled. “That’s what your leader is calling me?”

“Better than Monk like he originally wanted,” he said, offering you his arm. You looked at it, sighing. “We’re going to have to apparate.”

“I know,” you grumbled, taking his arm. “I just hate doing it.”

“It’s not my favorite thing either,” he said, leading you outside the pub.

The wet sidewalk was clear, allowing Remus to quickly lead you into the alleyway, looking around again.

“Take a breath,” he said, and you did so, the breath leaving you as soon as there was a familiar tug on your navel.

The Eldritch Manor lay before you, half destroyed. It was supposed to be your place to sleep and work. A place to be safe. This didn’t look like a place where you could do any of those things.

Half of the manor was missing, rubble and stones lying in a place where a wing might’ve been. A house fire was possible, but it looked as though something hit the house.

“‘S not much,” Remus said quietly, allowing you to drop his arm. He immediately reached into his pocket, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

He could tell you weren’t impressed by the way you straightened, your owlish eyes staring at the half of the house that was still standing.

It was also made of stone, but it was covered in dying ivy, a plant that would’ve flourished in the summer. A gnarled branch weaved its way up the front of the house.

“I wasn’t impressed either,” he said through a puff of his cigarette. “But it’s what we’ve got.”

He stamped out the other half of his cigarette and headed inside, leaving you to follow behind him.

You looked around Remus’ house. It wasn’t huge but it wasn’t tiny. Books and blankets lay on almost every surface, and there was a chill running through the house that you couldn’t quite place. You set your luggage down and toed off your shoes, watching as Remus knelt down in front of the fireplace, busying himself with stacking logs.

“This isn’t where I normally live,” he said, his knees cracking as he stood up from the fireplace. “This is temporary.” He took his wand out, lighting the fire wordlessly.

“Like a safe-house?” You asked, sitting down in a leathery chair, covering yourself with the throw blanket.

“Exactly like that,” he said, sitting down across from you. “Got here a few days ago to make it homey.”

You looked around the small living room. There was an endless supply of books around, as if that’s all he did in his spare time. You leaned, peeking at the kitchenette, where a stove and a fridge sat, looking as if they’d never been used.

“It’s nice,” you said quietly, looking into the fire.

A lull fell over the two of you. Maybe Remus figured that you were tired from your journey, or maybe he didn’t know what to say.

You didn’t have much to say either. This was the first time that you were meeting him, and you only knew a few things about him. First, his name was Remus, and he went by Moony. Second, his favorite color was actually most likely green considering all of the blankets in this house were either green or brown, and third, he was a werewolf who hated being a werewolf.

You didn’t have to ask him to know that. The way he tried to act normal was a telltale sign.

Remus cleared his throat, causing you to turn your attention to him. “So Moody said what you’re working on is… dangerous? And that you needed my help?”

“Sort of,” you sighed, and he continued staring, urging you to go on. “You haven’t been debriefed yet, have you?” you asked, sitting up straighter. He shook his head causing you to sigh again.

“You need to talk with me?” Remus asked.

“I’m actually here to consult with Damocles Belby, the inventor of-”

“Wolfsbane, yeah,” he interjected. 

“Alastor was supposed to set that up tonight, but he left, as you know,” You said, your tone clipped. “Him and I… We’re trying to fashion a type of… explosive to use in case of-”

“A werewolf?” Remus asked, and you reluctantly nodded.

“A feral werewolf,” you corrected him, your mouth tight.

“Ah,” Remus tutted. “So you’re saying someone whose a monster-”

“That’s not at all what I’m saying,” you said quietly as his gaze dropped from yours. “I’m not saying they’re monsters. Werewolves aren’t monsters, but I don’t think you understand the real problem-“

“Moony is… I am the problem,” he quipped, getting up. “I think I understand it quite well. Now, if you’re thinking you’re going to use a bomb on me-”

“I never said it was going to be you-”

“-you’re daft, alright?” He finished over you, pulling the sleeves of his sweater down as he strode across the room.

You scrambled after him. “You’re not part of the problem, Remus!” You called, following him down the hall. “You do your part to prevent the spread! I can tell!”

He snorted, looking at you over his shoulder. “If that’s your way of telling me that you think I’m a virgin, you’re dead wrong.”

Your eyebrows instantly furrowed, taken aback. “Lycanthropy isn’t spread that way,” you muttered more to yourself than to him. You huffed, catching his hand as he rounded the kitchen doorway. He stopped, glaring at you. “You’re not understanding me. You haven’t turned anyone. You’re not biting anyone on full moons, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay, good,” you huffed, letting him pull his hand away from yours. “The explosive is for the ones who try their hardest to turn as many innocents as possible. The ones who flock into defenseless villages and towns to kill and turn anyone they see.” You swallowed, your tone quiet, “The ones who turn children.”

Remus’ face turned from sullen to serious as he blinked, eyebrows furrowing. “Why do you need my help?”

“I think you might know where they’re hiding.”

#remus lupin #part one #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x american!fem!reader #remus lupin angst #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fic

[runnning-outof-time]

K!! Super congrats on your 3.5k babe - so well deserved 🙌🏼 Thank you for being a beacon of loveliness and positivity in our little fandom ♥️

I’d love to play your blurb game so how about: Forget I ever said that? With Tommy (obvs 🤭). Feels like it could be teasing or angsty but dealers choice, you decide how the spirit moves you, xx

Thanks for sending this in and for your kind words, Alex! I’m sorry it took me a bit to get to it! I hope this is what you were envisioning and that it makes sense. Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Part of my 3.5k Celebration — find more stories here!

A Contingency Plan

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: smoking

Word Count: 878

Summary: (Y/N) lets Tommy know her thoughts on how he’s decided to operate now.

“So…” Tommy Shelby trailed off, tapping the ash off of the cigarette that was perched between his fingers without breaking eye contant, “what will it be?”

“What do you mean, Mr. Shelby?” (Y/N) (Y/L/N) asked, confused by the sudden proposition. She moved forward to sit at the edge of her seat, waiting on bated breath to hear what her boss had to say next.

He stared at her for a moment (which felt like eternity to her), sitting still as his cigarette sent a plume of smoke up to the ceiling. She wanted to melt under his gaze. The sounds coming from bar packed full of patrons were now miles away. It was now only him and her in this small room.

“You came in here to speak to me. Sought me out outside of business hours. Why?” he asked her, his voice making her bubble break and everything come flooding back in.

(Y/N) wrung her hands together under the table. She hoped he didn’t catch her nervous demeanor. She wanted to come across as confident, as the person who could finally cut through the cold exterior that Thomas Shelby had built up since the last woman he got involved with took off for New York. But being under his intense gaze now had her wondering if maybe she should abort her mission and just continue being his secretary.

“Well, Mr. Shelby, I’ve been thinking…” she started off, pausing as she tried to gather her words.

“Thinking about what?” his impatience was starting to show through his otherwise collected nature. He had a list of things on his mind at the moment, and if she wasn’t here to speak about what he was hoping she was, he didn’t have any time for it.

“What you said to me a few days ago…about what you saw in me,” she answered, her voice wavering as she uttered the second half of her statement. His eyes were still zeroed in on her, and she felt like she was going to crack under his gaze even more so now than before.

“Oh,” he titled his chin upwards slightly at her statement, showing his intrigue in the situation. “And what will it be?” he asked again, telling her that the final decision was still in her hands.

(Y/N) hated that he was doing this. For a man who so clearly knew what he wanted, and never shyed away from making it known, he sure was playing it close to the tape right now. “You don’t have anything you’d want to ask me?” she tried to flip the question back onto him; put the decision back in his hands.

“I’ve already laid everything out to you. The choice is yours,” he responded in a nonchalant manner, showing her that she wasn’t going to get even an inch of wiggle room in this situation.

His response irritated her. In an instant, all of her nervousness was swapped for frustration, and she was no longer worrying about her demeanor and how it’d make him think of her.

“You know I don’t like the man you’ve turned into,” she started, speaking in a resolute tone now. The switch made Tommy furrow his brows at her. “I don’t like what you’ve become, Tommy. Gra…” she paused, the thought of even speaking that woman’s name putting a bad taste in her mouth, “that woman, she ruined you. Completely, utterly ruined you. And maybe it’s for the better overall, but I can’t see it. Because it’s not better for me. You think you’re better for now giving me a choice on whether or not I’d want to warm your bed…like you’d be completely removed from the situation if it all blows up. That’s not what I want, that’s never what I wanted. I just wish you saw what you see in me now before she sauntered into your life. Because maybe then I wouldn’t feel like I’m just a contingency plan,” she paused then, taking a deep breath and holding it as she realized what she’d just said.

She’d been around the Shelby family since the beginning of Tommy’s push to make things legit. She helped in any way possible because she believed in him and what he was trying to do. His ambition was one of the many things that made him attractive in her eyes, but she tried so hard to keep her personal interests out of it and stick with the business. Now that he seemed to be interested in her the way she had always been interested in him, she just couldn’t will herself to go for it. This was not what she had been imagining…it was the complete opposite of how she wished it would go.

Tommy kept his eyes locked on her as he let her words settle into his mind. She was standing from her seat before he could even think of something to say in response.

“You know what…” she paused, a look that was somewhere between shocked and disgusted now present on her face, “forget I ever said that.” And with that, she turned and opened the door to the snug, exiting the small room and Tommy Shelby’s life at the same time.

**I’m trying to add the taglist in as a reblog in hopes that the notification will actually be sent out.

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby blurb #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders blurb #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #k’s 3.5k celebration

[luveline]

slightly mean eddie if you feel so inclined 🥹🫶 like stern kinda like how you do “mean sirius”. i just think him slightly bossing r around or being stern with her is 😍🫶

SMUT 18+ ONLY MDNI (cw: p in v, hard/mean dom!eddie, mostly just rough touches and bossing r around, some degradation, stoplight, all consensual) | fem!reader | 1.2k words

Eddie leans back, looking a tenuous mixture of unimpressed and sympathetic. "Baby, stop hiding." 

You sit with your legs spread over his legs, face pointed resolutely at the happy trail that climbs clumsily up the centre of his abdomen. "I'm not," you say, though you can't lift your gaze to prove him wrong. 

"How are you feeling?" he asks, bringing a hand to your cheek to force your head up. You smile weakly.

"Good." 

"Yeah? You know all your alerts still? What colour is this?" 

"I don't forget them." You let your legs spread wider, hissing as you sink down further on the splitting girth of his cock. "Green." 

As soon as he knows you're okay he gets mean, a subtle cruelty, squeezing your cheek in a too-tight grip. "What did I say before? Stop hiding." 

You straighten your back, hips moving in messy, slow circles and hands braced against his trim waist. You lift your head and try your best to stay up, even when the head of his cock taps into your spongy soft spot and sends a round of pleasure-shocked chills through your abdomen. 

You quiver happily. 

"You liked that?" he pulls his arms down from behind his head to grab your waist, pushing you down hard into his thighs. 

His cock kisses your soft spot again and you feel yourself tipping forward. "Sit up, doll. Up. Wanna see you, wanna see that face you make when I stretch you out." 

He lifts his hips and you gasp. "That's the one," he says, grinning. 

"Too big," you whisper, so full you can't breathe right. You're sensitive to every shift, every drag of his cock, the curve of his shaft as he digs into the pulp of your walls. 

"Say again," he says, pulling your hips into him. 

"It's too big, Eds. I don't think I can take it."  

He stares up at you assessingly. You wilt slightly under his gaze, your eyes half-lidded and lashes heavy with unshed tears. 

His pinky finger is cool as he strokes down the hill of your soft cheek. "Baby, I know how much you can take." He drops his hand abruptly. "So take it." 

He fucks up into you until you're panting, clinging to his waist and wanting desperately to bury yourself in his chest. Every time you try he pushes you back, his annoyed gaze lighting a fire in the pit of your stomach. You try to fuck him how he likes it with your hips rolling, almost bouncing over his length, but the stimulation is overwhelming. 

"Please," you say, hands sliding behind his naked back. "Please, please, Eddie." 

He tilts his head to one side. "You're so fucking clingy. Come here," he says, opening his arms with a well-acted reluctance.

You melt into him, always so relieved to garner his affection. His hands are sweet, roving up and down the length of your back in sweeping lines that soothe you like you'd wanted. "Green," you whisper before he can ask. 

He stifles a chuckle, nuzzling his face into the side of yours. "You're really fucking tight. Do you need something?" he asks. 

You think about it. "Can you touch me?" 

"Try and relax for me, okay?" he asks, hand already moving to the place where your bodies meet, thick fingers searching for the little bead of your clit. He pushes the pad of his thumb into it and draws slow circles. "If you want to take a break, we can do that." 

"I'm okay. Do you-" You gasp as he hits the right spot. "Do you want a break, baby?" 

"No. A break from moulding this sweet cunt? As if." He rolls his eyes, a burning amusement slowly changing to smugness, to mocking. "Why, do you think I need one?" 

You swallow dryly at the character he's become and shake your head. "No, I just-" 

"Just what? Think you know better than me?" 

"I just thought-" 

He laughs darkly. "Ah, and that's where you're going wrong, sweet thing. I don't need you to think about anything besides this," he gives you two sharp thrusts. You wrap your arms tight around his neck, crushing dark curls to your nose. He smells like he always does; cedarwood, a heady cologne sticks to his skin.

You clamp down around him without thinking and listen to him hiss. "That's it, that's it. Fuck. Guess there's some sense in here after all," he says, lips to your forehead.   

Your thighs tighten around him and he's more than perceptive, focusing his efforts on your clit, chasing your climax with tight circles. 

"You gonna ask me?" 

You take a big breath. "Can I cum?" 

He squeezes you tight to his chest and his skin is everywhere, touching you all over, his hands and his arms and his chest, his thighs and his cock rocking into you, as close as he can be. You gasp for air as your high approaches. 

"Be polite." 

"Please," you say quickly, quiet but forceful as you remember yourself. "Eddie, please can I? Please, please-" You squeeze your eyes shut and shy away from his touch, worried you'll cum before he says you can. 

He takes pity. "Go on, sweetheart." 

Everything dissolves. The coil snaps and you really can't breath, biting down on your index finger to stop from squealing in his ear. He pushes you through it, doesn't stop touching until you're over the crest of it and panting again. 

"Good job," he says, and you know he's done playing mean before he says, "Blue. Very blue. How are you feeling?" Blue – I want to keep fucking you, but I don't want to play mean anymore. 

You pull back and feel weak, slouched in his lap, his cock still hard as stone inside you. You do an experimental little bounce. "Blue." 

He beams and you do too, laughing under your breath as you lean down for a kiss. His lips are inviting: so soft, sweet, a short fall from tentative. You brush the hair away from his face as you pull back and take in his cheeks, pink with blush and damp with a sheen of sweat. 

"You're blushing!" you say, ecstatic. 

He groans, covering his face with both hands as he says, "Fuck off, you tease. This is all your fault. You don't know how fucking cute you look trying to climb all over me. How hard it is to push you away." 

You curl your fingers around his wrist and pull them away, pressing a kiss to the back of his hands before letting them drop. "Thanks, Eddie. For playing games with me." 

He blinks. "I like them just as much as you do." 

"I like you." 

"Wait, do you have a crush on me?" he asks suspiciously. 

You burst into laughter. Eddie joins in, though it's strangled as he shifts beneath you. You realise then how close he is to his own release, his chest rising fast. 

"Got more than a crush on you, Munson. I'll show you, if you like?" you ask, working your hips. 

His eyes close as his head drops back into the couch cushion. Neck bared, you watch his throat bob. He moans and it's haunting, you'll be thinking about it all day, a wicked exhale coloured by the deep rasp of his voice. 

"Want me to show you, baby?" 

"Please," he says. 

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #x reader #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #eddie munson smut

[bougiebutchbinch]

thinking again about Steddyhands where Izzy is a really fucking bad sub who has never read The New Bottoming Book

He never ever safewords because he sees himself as the replaceable third wheel in their relationship. The prospect (fuelled only by his own insecurities) of Stede and Ed deciding he's too boring and going off together without him is WAY worse than anything they could do in a scene. He's so used to pushing himself beyond his own limits, he no longer can really tell where they are, and just dissociates during sex (not in a fun subspace way). He pretends to hate aftercare and prefer doing stuff by himself post-scene, so Ed and Stede won't realise how fucked up he gets in the drop and blame themselves. We're talking the full trying-to-micromanage-the-emotions-of-people-he-cares-about-by-making-choices-for-them-at-the-expense-of-himself character flaw.

Meanwhile Ed and Stede are like. 'He always begs for more and says we can fuck him harder but like. We have limits too? We want to satisfy him, but hurting him so much is kinda making us upset and uncomfortable :c And we want to give aftercare! Obviously we have conflicting needs and this relationship isn't going to work."

So, after much miserable discussion (because they genuinely do like the little fucker) they tell Izzy their sexual relationship isn't working out due to simple incompatibility.

Izzy, pathetic affection-starved dog-man that he is, snaps. He starts ugly-crying and yelling that he does SO MUCH for them and they NEVER APPRECIATE IT and HE DOESN'T EVEN LIKE THE STUFF THEY DO TOGETHER BUT HE DOES IT FOR THEm BECAUSE THEY LIKE IT and it's STILL NOT ENOUGH FOR THEM TO GIVE A SHIT ABOUT HIM, it's NEVER ENOUGH, so SURE, they can just break up, FINE, drop him off at the next port and they'll never see him again -

Stede and Ed are just like. Dude. Dude, what the fuck? What do you mean you've never liked the stuff we do to you??? Buddy...

Anyway, it ends with Stede resolving to actually reassure Izzy more that he's not gonna get dumped on a whim, Ed crying in the corner because he fucked up and hurt Izzy again (although....... this time, it's absolutely caused by miscommunication on Izzy's part as well), and Izzy getting a stern talk from Lucius on the subject of 'it's kinda cruel to not tell your doms when you want to stop, because they genuinely care for you and want it to be good for you, and consent for that is really important on both sides'

To which Izzy falls down the '...wait, they actually care for me?' -> 'oh fuck I fucked up again' -> 'they would be better off without me' pipeline in 0.5 seconds flat and makes plans to sneak sadly off the ship at the next port

Obviously, Lucius is sat up waiting for him the night they dock, perched on a barrel, arms crossed and tapping his foot. The moment he sees Izzy skulking for the gangplank with his ditty bag over his shoulder, he yells 'BITCH DID YOU LISTEN TO A WORD I SAID??? Get the fuck BACK in that bedroom and TALK TO YOUR BOYFRIENDS before I HOGTIE YOU and drag you back in there myself!'

And Izzy is so Shooketh he can't even say 'I'd like to see you fucking try'

And then there's lots of teary resolutions from all of them to do better and communicate more

Suffice to say, the first time Izzy actually uses his safeword Stede and Ed are DELIGHTED and just SHOWER him with love and praise

#steddyhands #izzy hands #ofmd #our flag means death #stede bonnet #ed teach #:puts Izzy in a mason jar and shakes him:

[shoukiko]

Not ready

A/N: Oh em gee my first full writing thingy :33 I hope u like it <3

CW: Angst, mention of death/injuries, Purely SFW

"I'm not ready yet..” you groaned from underneath the rubble, a rebar stake impaled into your back, emerged on the other side of your stomach. “I can’t… not yet” 

A wave of fear completely engulfs you as you grip onto Ghost’s wrist. He’s crouched next to you, making sure you know he’s near. In the years you've worked together, not once has he seen you cry. You were always the type to not let your feelings get ahead of you, to hold back everything until you couldn’t anymore. Even when you were beaten to all hell, you managed to dust yourself off and keep going no matter the situation. This wasn’t one of those times.

“I’m scared.. I’m scared, Ghost.” You speak timidly, you never wanted him to see you in this way, but at this moment all you can think about is keeping him near.

“I know, I know you are. You’ll-” He pauses, unable to reassure you that everything will be alright this time.

“I- I… I wanted to get married, maybe have a kid or two… “ The tone of vulnerability in your voice, the faltering, and the fear surprise him. Never once have you opened up this much, He places a hand on your arm, offering a soft caress.

“What else?” He asks, you think he’s just trying to keep you conscious long enough for help to come, but there’s something in his voice that makes him genuinely curious.

Your breathing is heavy, vision blurry, thoughts racing, but his questioning eases the burden. He pulls a rag from his pack, he applies pressure to the site of your impalement, where you've been pierced, in an effort to stem the bleeding.

“A house… I wanted to live in a house… somewhere in the country…” You speak in a hush.

“That sounds nice, with who? Family? On your own?” He asks, a hint of worry in his voice.

You begin to slip in and out of consciousness, desperately, he softly taps your face. “Hey.. Hey C’mon, stay with me. Who would you live with in your house? Hm?” 

“....Simon..” You whisper, you never call him by his first name. Never. He takes a breath before responding. “Yea..? What is it?” A subtle blend of fear and curiosity colors his voice.

“I love you…” The words are fragile as they leave your lips, yet resolute.

Ghost’s heart shreds as he hears such an emotional confession, blood rushing to his ears and face. Uncertain whether it's embarrassment or terror. He strokes your head gently, with utmost care. 

“I… I love you too, Doll.” 

A weak smile graces your face as you surrender to your fate.Leaving behind a profound silence and lingering warmth.

He refrains from shedding tears, abstains from emitting a scream; instead, he becomes a silent symphony of pain, mourning the loss of yet another person deeply embedded in his heart.

#cod #cod x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley imagine #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #simon riley call of duty #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley imagine #simon riley x y/n #ghost cod #cod ghost #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley #ghost simon riley #shoukiko

[storiumemporium]

Little Gifts (1/3)

Aegon II Targaryen/Reader

THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A SINGLE POST FOR ALL THREE SCENARIOS GOD FUCKING DAMMIT—

ahem :)

This is Aegon meeting his babies for the very first time, please enjoy!

| Word Count 6.2k | Angst, Fluff | Childbirth, brief absentee-ism, Aegon has parental issues out the ass, general cuteness at the end |

Gods help Kings’ Landing once Aegon The Elder realizes he’s going to be a father.

It’s a tumultuous time at best, though never one that came directly at your expense. Aegon had never wanted children, he always told you. Bound up in the sheets and in your arms, with cruel platitudes about how they were smelly, messy, foul little creatures. That you already had one of those to deal with, and you didn’t need that one to put another in you.

This, of course, was a lie. And you knew that, you did. Aegon who hates children, yet gives them more patience than any other in the world. Sitting at the steps of the Keep and listening to some Lord’s boy excitedly tell him about a cat he saw prowling about the gardens. Never sparing a mean word, or even so much as a look of boredom. Aegon does not have patience, Aegon does not suffer things that he does not like for anyone save that of his family.

Aegon loves children, Aegon is terrified of them.

You came to the Keep when the Queen Mother herself expressed a desire to wed her son away- initially the ideal had been to have Helaena marry her elder brother, but for some manner of reason the honor had passed down to Prince Aemond. Rumor tapped it’s mousy foot, but it hadn’t been your business and you’d been far too nervous to poke around and find out.

It hadn’t taken you long to realize the dysfunction of the royal family. To see the way the man you were vying to marry would shrink away from his own mother and father, the way he would curl and wilt under their gazes as if he thought he didn’t belong within their memory.

Needless to say, it followed him into his blossoming- handsome adulthood. The knowledge of the brutality of childbirth, of how it rips a woman apart and kills her if she’s not strong enough. The understanding of what comes after for the rest of ones’ life, and the sheer amount of damage you could do to that life if you weren’t equipped for it.

As far as Aegon had been concerned, he would never be equipped for it. He hadn’t even been worthy of love when he was a child. How could he ever be worthy of giving it?

It’s for this that, following your marriage, you do not bear a child for quite some time. A full year of marriage without sight or whisper of a swollen belly that might carry his babes. This was somewhat devastating for you. Not that you held any grudge for Aegon’s fears, for the way you would find him with glistening eyes and wine-slicked lips, every time his mother would bear down upon him about his duties.

No, it was the gossip and whispering. That you were a failed woman and a terrible wife, that perhaps he thought you so ugly that he couldn’t even bear the few minutes it took to spill his seed in your womb. That you were so dull and lifeless that he could not derive pleasure from you. That your womb was simply a wasteland and that you needed to be replaced. Nevermind that you loved him. Nevermind that he loved you. Happiness was of no importance, here.

Aegon held off for as long as he could, but eventually the frightened boy was chased to his end.

Alicent had had enough of him- had made the ultimatum very clear. Put a babe in your womb, or she would find a new bride for him. Had made sure to list off all the eligible young women of higher houses than your own that would gladly throw you out with the rats to share his bed. It’d been a yelling match, it’d been filled with tears on his end and the bitter sort of resoluteness only a woman who herself had children she hadn’t wanted could possess.

It was the very first time Aegon had ever crawled into your marriage bed and had you while he was drunk.

Things did not get better for some time. Aegon drank, and he drank more. He bedded you with none of the love he truly held for you- because it was not his choice to do so, and he fled to his old vices in the deepest pits of the city, skin crawling as if he’d both been the violated and the violator. He could not imagine how it must have made you feel.

Lonely. Lonelier than you’d ever been. Kept awake with the remnants of his heat between your legs and the absence of his person- whether he was in your bed with you or not. Had he ceased to love you? Is the thought of a child so all consuming that you can no longer hold candle to it? Did he flee from you into the night, find the arms of women who would not have their bodies ruined and spirits tempered by motherhood? Did he disgrace you in such ways?

You didn’t know, and you were too terrified to ask. And so you sat and grew with the misery. He drank more and you ate less, withering beneath a relationship that you could not live without, and yet were being destroyed within.

Until one moon turned to another, and another. And you did not bleed.

The Maesters confirmed it easily enough, the babe that surely grew within you— Aegon had done his duty, and your womb had accommodated, you were not barren. But it did not feel like a joy, to learn of this alone, without him holding your hand. To be the one to go and tell him, to have to inform him of what surely must have been his worst nightmare.

You’d started regal, head held high, shoulders squared. You were informing him of his legacy, you were continuing the reign of the Dragons into another generation.

By the time your slippered feet scuffed the threshhold of your shared chambers, you were a little girl with your arms bound around your middle, hunched and ready to cry.

What a pointless struggle you put yourself through, fingers dancing repetitive tangles around the wash-softened silk embroidery of your bodice. You know how this will fare, perhaps- your mind supplies you desperately even as it’s too late- you could simply not tell him, and let him realize when your body has changed too much for it to be hidden?

He’s slack where he sits at the foot of your shared bed, the fabric of his undershirt fine enough that you can see the flush of skin beneath. He’s always been a touch warmer than his siblings— more like his mother, that rosy hue that clung perpetually to her. Perhaps he was most like her in all regard, for you could not imagine any other Targaryen crying with such open and childlike vulnerability as he could.

You wonder if that is what you will receive now. Tears, or rage, or fear? Will he be offended by your decision to tell him? Will you watch those downturned, lovely features warp into something so far and foreign from you. As he has become over the past moons?

And you try, you truly do. You mean to tell him firmly and prescriptively of your state and what to expect in the coming moons. But when your lips part to break the silence, it is anything but.

“I am sorry-!” It must be a half-beg, it must be a whine, it must be the cries of a wounded animal. Afraid and in pain. The kind that would gnaw itself to bone to survive. You wish to gnaw out your own womb with teeth not suited.

His head jerks then, startled. But you can’t see it, your gaze refuses to witness a thing past the torrent that crowds around your lashes and spews over your eyes. A relentless wave of grief futilely smothered by the way your soft palm pinches angrily around your mouth. Like it was a physical thing to be held, like it hadn’t already begun to drown the air. Humid with pain.

And it is for this— swaddled in the no no no no this is all wrong it’s wrong it’s bad no- that you do not, cannot see Aegon rise. It is for this that you are nearly taken clean off your feet by the sheer force with which his frame collides against yours, held solely by his iron-like grip.

But you don’t question it, the hand at your belly and the hand at your mouth flee to him. Dig in tightly enough to sting through the cloth that separates your nails from his direct skin. You’re clawing at him, scratching violent red ribbons into that peach skin that clings across his shoulders and back. If you’re truly hurting him, if he’s noticing it at all, he makes not a sound, says not a word to it.

“Husband, please..! I am- am afraid, I do not want to be alone. I cannot- I cannot be-” anymore. You couldn’t be alone anymore. Because you had been. You are. He’d abandoned you.

And he knows it, knows it so violently that tears spring to his own eyes. He can’t wrap himself around you as tightly as you dig into him- the cognizant and horribly numb parts of his pysche supply him with an offensively dull you would hurt the babe if you did. That his mind offers this with such simplicity doesn’t prevent the horrible shudder that crests his body. The gooseflesh that forms.

What a horrible, terrible creature he’s been. Typical, but inexcusable.

“Shh, shh…” He tries, weakly. An attempt to balm you while he scrambles to put together the right words to comfort. He knows what he needs to say, he just doesn’t wish to lie. Aegon needs to know that if he tells you this, he will mean it. What he has already done is a heartbreak, enough. But it holds nothing to the weight of a broken promise. “I will not leave you, do you hear me? Never again. The wine will go, the taverns will go, the fights will go. I will be here. I am here.”

It was easy, it was so effortless to pull you to the bed. To lay you curled and fetal beside him as he bound himself to you once more. The door was ajar, enough so that overly nosy servants and guards alike could see the young royals tucked among the pillows, could see the large hand trailing delicate paths over even more fragile features. Soothing and rhythmic motions until a crumpled and upset face turned to something neutral, nearly sleeping.

He would not promise you that he would be perfect, that he would be able to love and cherish the way you deserved. But he would be there. He would be there. You would not be alone. He would never abandon you again.

And he held true to his word. Aegon becomes a constant at your side, perhaps more than you even anticipated. He follows you to learn everything from the wetnurses and Maesters. He follows you to the gardens, he asks you how you feel. He keeps a rigorous, near paranoid grip of your health and mental state.

First you find it confusing, but not unpleasant. You find that just as quickly as you’ve come up with child, Aegon has put aside the things that kept him away from you. Curled into bed and talking to you in rasping, warm tones. Kissing your fingers and nose and lips. And even, when he thought you asleep, trailing a shaking hand over your belly- still too early on to show in any real way.

Then you understand, and it becomes tragic. Aegon knew the stories of Aemma Targaryen, his father’s first wife. At least in rumor if not in direct. And he knew of Alicent’s horrors, as he had been the cause of many of them. He stares at your growing belly over the moons, and he grows paler and paler with the sight of it. Sickened by it. Terrified. Of them, and for you. He fears that you will die, and he fears that he will be the one made to take your life. Even if it’s not him doing it, then giving the order to insistent, heartless Maesters.

This fear increases threefold when the Maesters proclaim that there cannot possibly be a single child within your fertile womb. That you grow too large and too fast. Twins, it could only be.

Aegon sits up that night, with you sound asleep beside him, and he stares into the dark with absolute certainty that he has murdered you. That he marches you to your grave faithfully, now. How it is he is expected to live with it, he doesn’t know.

Nightmares plague him, shakes assail him, his appetite vanishes. You must coax food and drink into him just as Aegon must beg you to take things easily. To let him help you around, to not take so many stairs, to gentle yourself.

He sleeps less, too. And you find yourself kneading puffy cheeks in your palms and caressing reddened eyes as you coo at him and push him to bed. Watching over him like you might- some day soon- your own children.

Eventually however, too soon, much too soon, you head into your labors and Aegon feels the most helpless he ever has. You go to a war that he cannot fight in, and all he can do is sit witness to whether or not you live or- or-

Uselessness should be a thing as natural to Aegon as sleeping. All his life it has been of abundant clarity that his importance was simply in function and name, and not what he- the person- could do. It was not about him, only his blood, his title, the cock between his legs.

It should have been something he’d resigned himself to. But watching you lay there, screaming with tears and sweat trailing down your face- no, he wasn’t so resigned after all. It bit at his bones and made some burning rash crawl it’s pestilent fingers up his clammy back. His hand had long gone numb in your grip, squeezed until nails dug savagely into the places between his bones. It was all he had to offer, his hand, his useless words, the cloth which he gently used to wipe away your sweat.

Even that, they had tried to deny him. Even that. As if he were so Gods-be-damned useless that he couldn’t keep the sweat from your eyes.

“Mm… Aeg..?” Your voice is under a current, being pinched and stretched by your exhastion. You’d been fighting for so long now.

“Yes, ladybug?”

“Could eat an entire pig, right now.”

It makes a bittersweet joy touch Aegon’s cheeks. His smile curves bright and wide, teeth glittering in the afternoon sun, but his lips are trembling and his eyes are glassy. You’re only half there, he’s sure of it, skin glistening and eyes lidded as you stare both at and through him. “I’m sure, love. Been wrestling with a pair of stubborn dragons all day, haven’t you? Once you’re done, I’ll go to the kitchens myself, whip up a frenzy. Everything you could want, okay?

All you need to do is stay here, with me.” Please, please. For the love of the Old Gods and the New. Stay. Don’t let me be what took you.

His hand, the one not clasped relentlessly within yours, brushes at your forehead and at your hair. Tugging strands away with a sort of histrionic worry that maybe they were making you uncomfortable by clinging to your face like that. He didn’t want you to be any more uncomfortable than you were. In fact, how terrible must the sheets feel on your skin? The nightgown they force you to remain in even as your body rips itself apart to create life?

You should be naked, bare on something soft but firm so that it wouldn’t cling to your skin. There is no shame in a man being rendered completely bare so that his war wounds can be tended to, and yet they will not offer you the dignity of the same treatment? Unfair, cruel- you should be allowed to breathe—

His hand practically creaks like settled oak when you start to vice around him again. It’s not fully there yet, simply a pained whimper, but your vision is sharpening by it. You’re forced back to the forefront by cruelty, and Aegon can only give some sort of childish look of sympathy and regret, forehead lowering to touch yours.

“Don’t know how much further I can go, Aegon…” You say, submerging Aegon into a cold that would make even the bitter North curl just a touch deeper into their furs.

“No, no. Don’t you say that, listen to me. Listen… I know it’s beginning to hurt again-” a sentiment unfortunately punctuated by the shriller, louder pained cry that starts to trickle out from your heaving chest. “-But I know you’re the strongest woman I’ve ever seen. So you’re going to do this, do you hear me? You’re going to bear two beautiful, healthy children, and you’re going to be fine, and you’re going to eat an entire fucking pig. You hear me? Hm?”

He doesn’t hear the words murmuring out and around him from the midwives and the Maester. He doesn’t know that the pain is cresting because one of the children is coming- he doesn’t know. All he knows is that you’re looking at him now, and you look pleading. You remind him of a frightened little girl, seeking out the comfort of someone bigger and safer during a storm. Aegon leans over you allows his cheek to find your head and his weight to join yours in sheltering. Instinctual, without particular rhyme or reason, but he’s rewarded for the thought with the touch of your nose against him. Tucking down even as you scream louder than you have at any other moment since this began in the early hours of the morning.

Then-

Oh—?

A cry, so fragile and gentle and quiet breaks the air. It’s so tiny, and all of the skin and hair across his entire body raises at the sound of it. It’s so small, and yet the roaring in Aegon’s ears would tell him that the Keep is falling apart around him. That the sea is drying, that Harrenhal is crumbling, that the Wall is melting.

It meant nothing to him, in all the years he heard familiar cries like that. It meant anxiety, it meant help, where is an elder!? It meant another day that I’m just a failure, it meant looming dread.

A babe’s cry meant nothing to Aegon. His babe’s cry nearly pulls him away from you, nearly has him crumpling broken and limp against the red brick and mortar beneath his feet. He could simply lie there, could curl fetally and stare blankly beneath his bed into the vacuous and yawning nothingness that you lay fighting for your life above. The very sound could eradicate him without effort.

He’s scared, suddenly. Oh, oh Gods. Aegon wants his mother, he wants Alicent to hold him, he wants the reassurances now. He’s afraid, he’s terrified. What if he gets it wrong? What if he drops the babe? What if he forgets, or is clumsy, or reckless, or just plain bad? No one ever taught him how to love innocence.

“My Prince!” A sharp voice calls him out of a complete blank state, he jolts as if slapped, eyes wide and doe-like when he settles upon his caller. A stout, ruddy cheeked woman with kindness seemingly built into the very lines and freckles of her face. “She’s doing well, Prince Aegon. Just one more to go, okay? Think you can convince her?”

There’s something lined in this woman’s ale colored eyes, made more vivid by the light. It’s a hint, it’s the gentlest way he’s ever had someone coax him to get his shit together and focus. A nudge rather than a slap. It’s a sweet boy, remember what’s happening rather than a stupid mutt, a useless grandchild who sees nothing more than his cups.

So he turns back to you, to the way your head lulls slightly under his motions, and the way you seem almost absent from your own flesh. It scares him all over again, not that he needed the reminder- mostly that Aegon is the fly caught between two palms now. The clap so loud to his tiny frame that it should shake the teeth right out of him.

“Ladybug… Sweet love, look at me? Look,” he whispers with love, touches your chin with index and middle fingers to pull you toward him again. “You already did it, see? I told you. You’ve only got one left, should be much quicker now that their older—”

It occurs to him that he doesn’t know if he just had a son or a daughter, and when he swallows around that information his jaw trembles. “—Their older sibling made way, yes? So that’s it, this is it. You’re okay, you’re amazing. Just one more, then I’ll get to bringing an entire roast pig in here for you.”

You manage him a smile for your husband. Looking up at him and recognizing in all the ways that Aegon looks utterly petrified by this. You’re still not entirely sure about survival, the pain remains, and the sudden absence of something that had become so intrinsic to your body. The way it’s as if they’re taking pieces of you with them, stealing at your soul to fuel their own. You find that you don’t mind it, and yet when you blink you see silver and starlight rather than the typical blank darkness of your eyelids.

But he’s scared, and he’s making you all sorts of sweet Aegon promises, and you know you cannot allow this to happen- for him, yes. For the broken man you’d leave behind, for the beautiful boy you always loved to see smile and don’t think ever would again. But also for the children, the children who would have no parents. For the cycle that would repeat, with a bitter man too hurt to look at his own children and love them, because he’d see you there.

You know this, you know him, and you scream with what little ferocity you have left before they even call for you to do so.

Aegon finds himself squeezing his eyes shut, swaying as if he means to rock you- or himself, he’s unsure in that regard. You’re still heaving, still fighting, you’re clawing into his forearm until- much to his mild impress and great worry, droplets of life are pooling out and cascading over the softness of his flesh.

“Little bit longer, Princess!” The same kind faced, warm hearted woman says loudly over your noises of protest and suffering. “An eager one, this! Doesn’t want to be too far behind their sister, eh?”

Sister. The word almost lacks meaning in the fabric of his mind. Sister. He has a daughter, then. A baby girl, a sweet little thing. No wonder her cry was so soft and so devastating. He can feel his spine attempting to break free, he’s sure of it. That is the only way he could possibly comprehend the sensation of the entire length of bone vibrating and trembling violently beneath a thin layer of skin and sinew. Yes, his body is like that of a mayfly, he has helped- however futilely- to bring life and now life he escapes.

“Once more, Princess.” Her voice comes again, and Aegon finds himself looking at her hovering between your legs. He must look a sight himself- embarrassing, considering he has no hand in this fight. But he can feel the pressure around his eyes, the sting of his lips from where he’d bitten them bloody and the tears had found their way into the cuts. He tries to prevent this, to not look like a scared child, but the sympathetic pinch that doesn’t leave as the woman looks between you and him is enough for him to know he’s failed.

“Okay… Okay…” You’re convincing yourself of it, nodding even with the slight resistance from Aegon’s plush cheek. It’s as if you’re being coaxed to do something frightening to you- like when he first introduced you to Sunfyre. Your voice soft, assuring yourself as you pressed on with him. That it would be fine, because he would never let you get hurt, would he?

So he does the same thing to you now that he did then.

“My pretty Princess…” He whispers, rasping and thick. Aegon is your ferryman, you decide in delirium. He’s cut through the fog just as quick, effortless like a lantern in the night. “There’s no need to be afraid… You hear me? I’m right here, I’m right by your side, see?”

His hand threads through yours once again, clammy and hot from nervousness while he rubs soothing patterns.

“Just a little bit more.” Just a couple more steps.

“Then you’re done.” Then you can pet him. Ride with me? See the skies? All that… Targaryen goodness we like to tout so much.

What he hadn’t told you, and you’d already known anyways, was that he was asking permission to love you. It was the first time he’d kissed you, up there. Far away from the city and expectation. That’d been the point. Your first kiss deserved to be Aegon. Not Prince Aegon. Just him.

You screech out a horrible noise, grinding sand and sharp cobbles ripping up and down your throat before it waters down into a sob- Aegon can offer nothing but a sort of hiccupping gasp, an almost panic at the noise that splits the stone and races out of the windows thrown open. Were you dying? Was this going to be it?

A shape now, pulled free quickly and cut away from the mother- from you- just as quick. There’s a certain urgency there, to the way they move. They’re not celebrating or offering to let him see- not yet, no. And it increases his terror twofold, does nothing to soothe the burgeoning feeling that someone is about to die. So he lifts, eyes darting around at people far older and more experienced than himself. He asks no questions because he cannot find his voice, has not even seen the faces of his children yet in the flurry.

The silence is deafening, he can make out a pale foot, a pale arm, the gentle tap tap of someone patting at their flesh.

Finally, a soft, even quieter squeak.

“Congratulations,” you’re both addressed in turn by the rosy woman who turns- a tiny- so fucking tiny- bundle she swaddles in her arms as she approaches. “Two more, lovely Princesses for the Keep.”

His ears are ringing.

The babe- his babe, already shows the wicks of his pale locks, still too fine and short to know whether they’d curl or lay flat like their uncle. The face is a little redder than he’d anticipated, with a tiny swooping nose and a gently parted mouth. Her little eyes are closed, she must be so tired coming into the world like this, shouldn’t she?

He looks down at you then, and feels his heart leap into his throat to see you’re already looking at him. Your eyes are half lidded, but the smile there is nothing short of love. You look at him like it’s been years since you last touched, or like he placed the sun in the sky.

“We’re… we’re parents…” You manage, softly. You must be so tired, making someone else come into the world. Gods, you must be on the brink of sleep. You need sleep. You-

“We are,” he whimpers. You see the tears starting to pour. He looks afraid, yes. But you’d expected that. In fact, you didn’t expect this level of acceptance from him. You’d expected him to be in the corner with his knuckles in his teeth. For him to shy away from the bundle before you two, the other being brought back into the room somewhere beyond your fuzzy vision. “They’re so small, love.”

Aegon’s shape shadows yours, you can feel his heavy arms beneath your sweating frame like the great chains of a drawbridge, pulling you against him. It’s temporary, just so that he can slide you over, cooing something about how sweaty and warm where you were just laying must have been. And it’s true, but the pain and discomfort feels detached and distant, like you’re watching a play rather than living it in the moment.

And then he’s beside you, his body pressed all along yours. And the midwives are moving closer.

“She’ll need ample rest, you hear?” Someone says in the distance, your eyes slide off faces like water down the side of a cliff. But you can feel his humming affirmations, the vibrations make staying aware even harder, heavier. “Hard enough to bring one into the world, but she’s blessed you with two, my Prince.

No moving around without someone to keep watch. No awkward positions. And no getting any ideas with her for at least a turn of the moon. You hear?”

Aegon is painted in shades of crimson, but he nods along like some small child being given their first ‘grown up’ task. He wouldn’t fuck this up. He couldn’t. It would be dangerous if he did.

“She will recover, my Prince. I suggest you enjoy now the fruits of her labor.”

One is much smaller than the other, Aegon realizes. He’s not sure why he’s completely taken aback by it. Children didn’t all start out the same, nor did they end up the same either. He was much bigger than Aemond once upon a time. But this feels different.

His first born, she’s a bit of a fat one if he’s honest. He doesn’t know if a babe can even be such. But she is, a big round face and big round feet and meaty little fists. She’s wriggling and energetic, he realizes. Rowdy, even.

“Hello there,” he says quietly, awkwardly. He’s not sure how to do this part. He’s not sure he understands anything, anymore. His whole life feels as if it’s been taken aside and smashed with hammers. But it’s not so unpleasant anymore. It doesn’t feel like death, or the end. There’s sudden opportunity… Almost an excitement. For nothing else if not to see what these little babes grow into. He hopes they look more like you than him, even with the danger that poses.

“You gave your mother quite some trouble, do you know that?” The babe in his arms makes a creaky little noise, and he nervously shifts her around. How does one… adjust a baby without hurting it? “Yes, you did. I’m sure of it, you’re the one that kept putting your foot in her ribs. Aren’t you? You’d make her fight you all day, you ornery little thing.

But my… Aren’t you pretty.” She is, he’s decided already. She’ll be the prettiest thing in all the Kingdoms, the only competition will be the tiny little bundle settled in your arms.

She’s the opposite, so tiny that it frightens him. Face is redder, and much much quieter. But the Maester looked the babe over and said that she would likely simply be a small child. A quiet one. He was glad of that, though. He could handle the rowdy little beast in his arms. Could take on the challenge, you deserved a quiet little mousy thing. One that he can imagine now with such clarity that a wet smile curves his lips.

Fingers clinging to your skirts, and little eyes peeking around a leg. Quiet embroidery lessons where you teach her all your techniques. Blissful little strolls through the gardens with her.

Meanwhile, Aegon suspects this one will be chewing on his ankles in the night.

You’re watching him, and it’s a sort of relief you can’t describe. It makes you want to sob, to break down into hysterical tears at the sight. He’s smiling down at your daughter, your daughter! Bouncing her ever so gently and laughing in that fond timbre that ceaselessly gives you chills. The babe is still too young to move much, but she gurgles and makes all sorts of little noises that Aegon gasps at and reponds to in kind. You’re sure they’re holding some sort of conversation without you. Deciding what mischief they’ll get into together once she’s older.

Meanwhile the little one sitting in your arms just continues to rest. You brush the very tip of your finger against her nose, feel a foot wiggle. Hm, just like her father, then. You hope she gets his nose, that endearing little swoop that you love to kiss. Maybe his eyes too, the weapons that they would be in the hands of a woman.

“We did it,” you finally say. Your voice has come back to you slightly, exchanging the babes in an awkward fumble of limbs and embarrassed little laughs some time prior. You had remained floating in a bit of shock, head slouched against his shoulder as you waited out the minutes until things went horrifically wrong.

But now, with the sun hissing into the windows as it continues it’s trek across the sky, you realize that this is it. It’s okay. It’s over. You’d survived, and they’d survived. You have daughters now. Daughters and a husband who so clearly loves them with all his being.

Aegon had giggled like a little boy until his eyes and nose scrunched up while he held the larger of your daughters, had rocked her back and forth and whispered all sort of nonsense into her ear almost assuredly more for your own benefit than that of the child. Anything to make you giggle, to hear you have joy after it all.

But the moment your little star settled into his arms? Oh, he’d melted. You’d watched the way the joy, but also the pain, and the fear, and the anxiety melted off of him. He looked in awe. He’d not even been able to glance away from his littlest as he’d told you with such reverence she’s so small.

“You did,” he eventually says. His voice is nearly a whisper. They’re sleeping now, soundly and peacefully like little pieces of divine will cast upon the soil. “Look at them. Look what you did, ladybug… They’re perfect. You’ve created perfection.”

It’s hard not to giggle at his antics. “Aegon, my love… They’re yours too, you had just as much a hand—”

“But I didn’t, not really.” He shakes his head with conviction as he says it. Looking only briefly apologetic for running right over you with his words. “I- I bedded you, in the coldest way I could have. And I ran from you. And I left you alone while your body willed itself to create… this. Them. Our beautiful little Princesses. I only came back because you had to beg me. Your own husband, to stay.

No I- …I truly did nothing, here. I failed you, I think I did even when I promised to never leave you again. But the truth remains the same. I got to run away, you didn’t. You weren’t given a choice to run. This is yours. They are perfect because of you.”

You look away when the tears begin to drip off your chin, willing them not to dot your child and wake her. You’re not sure you’re ready for that stage. You want to see them sleep for just a touch longer.

“It was… hard… Aegon…” You concede this part to him, because it does no good to lie about the lonely nights of weeping and fear. “But I want you to know something…

It all went away the moment I saw you smile at them.”

It’s true, it did. You hold not a single reservation for the man beside you. You’ve always known him to have the heart and the will to love the way a good father should, you just never knew if he would give himself the chance.

He will, you think. You can already picture with heartfelt clarity what your near future will look like. The image of a head of white hair chasing a squealing little figure across the gardens. You can see yourself beneath the veranda, surrounded by vines and enjoying some sort of confection while you watch your whole world before you. You can hear the screeching laughter of a daughter tossed in the air, caught faithfully in strong arms. Laughter, so much laughter.

“I love them,” he says softly. Disbelieving of himself. “I love you.”

The hand not preoccupied with a sleeping bundle finds Aegon’s face, heart squeezing tenderly at the way his face drops into your palm so readily.

“My husband, father of my children…” Your finger traces the swoop of his nose, and you giggle when you see one of his feet squirm.

“I love you, in spite of nothing and with all my heart.”

#Aegon #Aegon II Targaryen #Aegon Targaryen #Aegon II #Tom Glynn Carney #Aegon x Reader #Aegon Targaryen x Reader #Aegon II Targaryen x Reader #HoTD #House of The Dragon #HoTD x Reader #Aegon II Imagine #HoTD Fanfic #HoTD Imagine #My Fic #Aegon Fic #Angst Fic #Fluff Fic #Aegon Angst #Aegon Fluff

[0vereasy]

Life’s Creation and Love’s Manifestation (Dr ratio x reader)- Chapter 4: Late Appraisal

Summary: Your promotion as one of the heads of the Security Department at Herta’s Station was full of many headaches, one of the biggest being a visiting scholar from the Intelligentsia Guild, and delegate of the IPC, Dr. Ratio.

When you were forced to team up with him to solve several crises emerging at the Station, how will your tense relationship change? And what exactly is the Doctor hiding?

Taglist: @96jnie @boomie-123 @a2tral @ukiyo-ikigai @poemzcheng @kpopmenace143 @tseleven @rains-mae @comet-kun @thatanimewriter @lowlucifer @snailsposts @earthtooz @delightfuldragoncollection @soobinsgirlfriend @lvfel

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A/N: You can probably tell I’m pretty tired by the writing + shorter chapter, but I wanted to get something out. The original draft was longer but I wasn’t happy with the later half, so I thought I would just for with a smaller chapter this time and keep working at the later half for a better finished produce. This mainly serves as a transitional chapter anyway, with more action expected in the next one.

You know that stereotype where fanfic authors literally go through the craziest shit when they’re writing? Well the last few weeks I won my first trial as a law student, got a few good resolution for other clients all at once, ans started getting closer with my crush. So… I’ve been pretty busy as you can see lol. I have a term break in a few weeks, which is likely when the next chapter will come out, and where I will try to pre-write another chapter or two. Thank you all for being patient with the delay!

Chapter 4: Late Appraisal (3.8k+ words)

“I just don’t understand how this even happened!” you watched the short white-haired man pace around Herta’s office, his forehead crinkled in concentration and mouth twisted into a worried frown. You felt your head pulse with each of his footsteps, thumping in beat with the heavy taps of his feet on the tile floor, the ache getting worse with each motion he made. Aeons, you wish they never found you napping in the Seclusion Zone. At least then you could’ve dealt with your hangover in peace and quiet, “How could multiple researchers and a Herta puppet all go missing in one afternoon? Especially with our upgraded security! It just makes no sense.”

“If you let me go look at the security system, I could tell you,” you deadpanned, eyes trailing over to the office door briefly, as if contemplating some way to escape, before flickering back to your boss, “I don’t even get why you called me here, aren’t we wasting time with this meeting when we could be trying to fix things?”

“Wasting time?” Arlan rebutted, stopping his pacing and crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes narrowed as he looked at you, giving you little hope of making your escape from the office, “You know what’s a waste of time? Trying to track you down just to find out you were passed out drunk in the Seclusion Zone! Do you know how much time we wasted just trying to find you?”

“It was literally my day off, Arlan,” you huffed in reply, mirroring his stance by crossing your own arms over your chest, “I don’t have to tell you where I am all the time. Not anymore at least.” You let the implication of the words hang in the air, something that didn’t go over well with your usually mellow boss, who seemed to be getting angrier by the minute. But hey, if he was gonna push your buttons, you weren’t just gonna sit there and take it. 

“We’re in an emergency, Y/N!” he practically shouted at you, “It doesn’t matter if it's your day off! What would’ve you done if it was your day off when the Legion attacked? Stayed in your room and brushed it off?” You felt your body stiffen at his words, arms moving from their crossed state to hang loosely at your sides. You hated this; when you argued, when he used his knowledge of you and what would set you off for his own advantage. It was almost downright cruel. 

“Don’t talk about the Legion attack,” your reply was quick, emotionless as if you were trying to avoid thinking of it yourself, “You know that’s different. A lot different.” At this point, you were willing to run out of the Herta’s Office, meeting be damned. The ache in your head paused for a moment replaced by a dull pain in your chest, mind swirling with thoughts you’d rather forget. You were almost afraid of how you appeared to your boss right now. 

You watched Arlan’s eyes for the shift in emotion, hoping, praying that he was able to see where you were coming from. You saw it for a moment, like a flicker of hope burning within his purple orbs, before he blinked, sending the sympathy away from wherever it came from, “Is it though? For all we know, all of those researchers are dead! Adler could be dead!” You clenched your fist at the mention of the boy, the pounding in your head seeming to grow again. 

“I get it!” you exclaimed, throwing your arms in the air in frustration, “Which is why I wanna look at the security system to see how this happened! But instead were here arguing about stupid shit that doesn’t matter right now!” You watched as he began to pace around Herta’s office again, Herta’s holographic image of herself staring at the both of you, along with the other genius society portraits, as if they all were looking down on this conversation too. You couldn’t blame them. 

“You know why were having this conversation,” Arlan was quieter now, but still stern, “We needed you, and you there was no way to contact you!” He let out a shaky sigh before talking again, “We even started to think you were taken too!” You took a deep breath, attempting to let the anger inside of you simmer down at the genuine tone of his voice. 

“I already know that,” you sighed, “ Screwllum told me it all when he came to wake me up,” you raised an eyebrow, “You should’ve asked him sooner, I mean,” you tugged on your button-down shirt, holding back a wince at how the sudden action made your head pound harder, “You already know our relationship. If anyone knew where I was, it would be him” You released the shirt, begrudgingly moving a hand to hold your head now, unable to pretend that you didn’t feel like shit any longer. Arlan looked at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read; disgust? Pity? You’d honestly rather not know. 

“How much did you drink yesterday?” Arlan asked you, pausing his pacing again to change the subject, his expression still holding anger, but voice quiet, as if he was preparing to hear bad news. You thought about putting up a fuss for a moment, but sighed, preparing yourself to relent on this point, as if the alcohol was holding you back from hiding the extent of your poor state. 

“A bottle of wine,” you said simply, crossing your arms across your chest again. You almost looked stupid, standing in the office in your sweatpants and Screwllum’s shirt, confessing your problems, while Arlan stared back at you in proper uniform, leaving the power imbalance between you two evident visually and audibly,  “And a bit of Vodka,” you left the part about the vodka being in your water bottle unspoken, not prepared to deal his rant on that topic that the two of you had gone through hundreds of times before, though the pitying look on his face told you that he already knew.

“You really have to stop this,” Arlan said, voice losing the anger now, holding nothing but pity. Honestly, you preferred him angry. When Arlan became sentimental and looked at you like you were a lost cause or some sort of fuck up, for some reason nothing in the world felt worse. You didn’t know what it was; the way his lips curved into a frown like no other he ever displayed, or how his big eyes became downturned, a flicker of pain etched onto them and the rest of his features, “You can’t keep doing this to yourself…”

“I don’t want to talk about this,” you stared into his pitying eyes, hand from your head moving back to your side as you forced both your features and stance into neutrality as if that would fight off the emotions that threatened to spill from you.

“You don’t have a choice,” he said firmly, though not unkindly, “You know what I think about your drinking… what Asta thinks,” he let that name hang in the air for a moment, sending a shiver down your spine that made you wince, an action that didn’t go unnoticed by your boss. Arlan sighed, the sternness from before fading away into his usual kind demeanour, “You know I can’t control what you do; you’re an adult. But when your drinking gets in the way of your job; when you pass out somewhere where we can’t find you when we need you, thats when it becomes an issue.”

“Arlan,” you spoke his name, whether in warning for him to stop, or in frustration at the change in track of conversation, you couldn’t say.

“You know the Station is vulnerable after the attack… you know it better than anyone,” he said softly, “So we need you to be at 100% all the time… I know I already extended your hours after the whole incident from a few days ago,” you gritted your teeth at the previous punishment you had received due to your actions on the night that the stupid alcaster face bastard arrived, “but I don’t think that’s enough for what we need from you right now.”

“What are you suggesting?” you huffed, tapping a finger against your thigh impatiently. It clearly wasn’t the first time you received punishment and definitely wouldn’t be the last. At least that was something familiar in your life, you mused - at least something in your life could follow a steady routine. 

“... You can’t drink any alcohol for the rest of the month,” he said firmly, quickly speaking again when he saw you open your mouth in protest, “Okay, maybe not the month… but at least until we get the researchers back and solve the confidence issues… I need you sober right now, Y/N.”

“You know its not that easy to just… stop,” you muttered, eyes moving to look at your feet. Even now, early in the morning, probably a bit over 12 hours from your last drink, you felt jittery, like you needed something to quell your nerves. Without the alcohol, and even with the pounding head, things were too… vivid, real. It was overwhelming to experience the sensations in the world how they were meant to be seen without the dull drag of a foggy blanket taking over your mind. How were you supposed to go a few days like this? 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, catching your glance as you looked back at him, “I don’t have a choice right now… let's talk more later, go, try to figure out why the security system went down last night.”

You opened your mouth, as if to respond, but allowed it to close again, turning your back to the man, “Whatever… talk to you later… Brother Arlan,” you left Herta’s office before he could respond to your use of his common teasing nickname around the station, not being in the mood to deal with another yelling match today. You unceremoniously slam the door behind you before you practically drag your body towards the elevator. Around you, you could hear the panicked gossip of various researchers, a sound that did nothing to calm the pounded headache that continued to make every movement a hassle. Part of you thought about talking to them - telling them that everything was under control. 

The other part of you recognized that you probably looked like a hot mess right now, and didn’t bother. They already didn’t trust you anyway - you weren’t stupid. If anything, approaching them would probably make things worse than it already was. So, you dragged your body down the stairs, onto the main floor of the master control zone and to the elevator, fully intent on not acknowledging anyone’s existence. 

It was only the sniffles of one specific person that made you do a double-take before you could press the button to call the elevator. Wen Shiling was a few feet behind you, trying to hide her sobs in her sleeve, but failing to do so, her small body physically shaking, evident even from your distance away from her. It was times like these when you wondered how children were even allowed to be researchers on this Station in the first place - it made you wonder how they could handle the stress that even you struggled to deal with. You paused, mind flickering between Wen Shiling and the elevator, sighing when you ultimately decided on the former, trudging your quiet body towards hers.

“Wen Shiling?” you spoke softly, bending down to be closer to her height, the action paining your head. Honestly, with your hangover and usual tone of conversation, you really had no idea how to approach comforting her… or anyone really, “What’s wrong sweetie, are you okay?” you hesitated before reaching a hand out, touching her gently on the shoulder. Her eyes seemed to water as she took in your form, a long sob escaping her lips. She looked from your hand to you, as if contemplated whether she wanted to move away, though she kept herself firmly planted in place. 

“No, I’m mad!” she cried, wiping her teary eyes on her sleeve. She offered you know no other words, too focused on stifling her sobs, which were still obnoxiously loud. You resisted the urge to cover your ears to block out the noise despite her cries doing nothing to soothe your headache. You gently rubbed your hand up and down her back, hoping that it offered some form of comfort to the girl. 

Though she wasn’t clear about the source of her anger, it was clear enough to guess, “You don’t have to worry about Adler, we’ll definitely bring him back soon.” Of course you left out the part where you had no idea where the little boy was or if he was even alive… but you really didn’t want to get into discussing the philosophy of life and death with a eight year old. Your mind flickered to Adler’s stupid book you had borrowed, the one you hadn’t cracked open since the night your… enjoyable evening with Screwllum was interrupted by the damned doctor you had been forced to accommodate. What if you never saw him again… what if he never got to talk to you about the book? You internally shook your head, focusing again on Wen Shiling in front of you. Aeons, if only you could have a drink to take the edge off…

“I don’t want him back… he’s stupid!” she sobbed again. You tried not to cringe at the snot covering the sleeves of her dress, forcing yourself to focus on her words, “He doesn’t talk to me and then disappears…! I don’t even want him here!”

“I’m sure he was just busy,” you attempt to soothe the girl, cursing the Aeons for failing to give you skills in soothing children. Deciding your ability to comfort children was lacking, you decided to only logically thing you could do was change your tone to match your usual personality, “You know, once we get him back I’m sure he’ll be sorry for how he treated you. That’ll serve him right, huh?.”

“He’ll be sorry?” she echoed your words, blinking dumbly up at you. You nodded in encouragement, hoping that you finally found some method to calm her crying. You forced yourself to plaster the a smile on your face, as if everything was fine and you weren’t currently feeling like death from a hangover and dealing with the aftermath of another invasion and your alcohol problem all at the same time. 

“Of course! Im sure we can even make him take an afternoon off his stupid ecology research,” you said with smirk, happy to at least let your genuine thoughts shine through for a moment before the inevitable hours of seriousness ahead, “I heard he’s horrible at board games, we could force him to play one beat him to a pulp.”

Wen Shiling smiled a bit, though her frown returned soon after, “Big sis… Can I ask you something? But you have to tell me the truth.”

Feeling like you were getting the farthest using your typical personality, you let your genuine thoughts ring through in your answer “Sure, I’m not a liar,” you shrugged, crossing your arms over your chest, “what’s up?”

“…” she hesitated for a moment before speaking, “Do you really think Adler is okay? … You think we’ll find him?” You stared at her for a moment, taking in her big brown tearful eyes and the snotty sleeves on her dress, an expression mixed with hopefulness and worry plastered all over her features. You forced a confident smirk on your face, placing your hands on your hips in mock confidence.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life.” 

It wasn’t your first time lying to a kid, and you were sure it wouldn’t be the last either. 

~~~~

Your head continued to pound as the elevator descended, countless sounds filling your head. Arlan’s yelling… Wen Shiling’s crying… it all fluttered around your brain like snow, casting an endless stream of emotions on your already overwhelmed brain. Your mind drifted to your water bottle which you knew sat on your desk in your room… would Arlan even know if you took a sip from it… He couldn’t right? How would he? There was no way he could actually expect to accurately record your sobriety, you thought to yourself. No, you just had to be sneaky with it - a few sips here and there to quell your thoughts… thats all you would need… just something to take the edge off. Even the thought of the alcohol seemed to quiet your brain, like a blanket may drive off heat on a cold night. If you were in your right mind, maybe you would realize how worrisome your thoughts truly were… but right now you really didn’t care.

“When an elevator arrives at its destination, you are expected to dismount it,” you blinked back into focus at the familiar irritating voice, eyes falling on to the Doctor. Dressed in his usual clothes, though lacking his alabaster head, he stared at you with a raised eyebrow, as if you were some sort of unusual specimen in his lab. In all honesty, you couldn’t blame him. You hadn’t even realized your elevator had arrived at the floor with everyone’s personal quarters, too caught up in your thoughts to notice, which left you standing blankly forward despite the door already having opened. 

“And when someone doesn’t get out, you’re expected to politely address them, not be a snarky asshole,” you shot back, forcing yourself to leave the elevator. Not ready to end the conversation, but not wanting the elevator to go away, the Doctor stepped inside, pressing the door open button.

“Your insults lack creativity when you are hung over,” he deadpanned, sighing - whether in disappointment or disgust, you didn’t know, “I suppose it doesn’t matter. I was looking for you, you need to come with me.”

You rose an eyebrow at the Doctor, “Uh, kinda in the middle of trying to solve a crisis right now,” you deadpanned, “I’m sure you’ve heard about it… ya know, missing researchers, faulty security system. Don’t really have time for whatever bullshit you’re up to right now.”

“You wound me,” he states, though his face shows no sign of any emotion, “Since when do I act without purpose?” He looked at you with disgust, as if he was shocked at the suggestion, “Of course I am aware of the current predicament and I wish to help you.” 

You cock an eyebrow at him, arms crossed in front of your chest, “And why would you do that exactly? What’s in it for you?” skepticism dripped from your tone, a fact that you knew was all too apparent for the Doctor, who met your gaze defiantly, “Literally all you’ve done since getting here is be a pain in the ass and then almost get me killed - your actions don’t really scream helpful.”

“I seem to recall I was helpful enough in procuring wine for you and allowing you to sleep in my presence,” he smirked cockily, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead, “Or do actions such as those not qualify as helpful in your dictionary?”

“The only thing that helped with is getting me chewed out by my boss, so thanks for that I guess, what a help you are,” you rolled your eyes, tempted to walk away, but for some reason forcing yourself to stay put, “I don’t know what the hell was in that wine you gave me, but I swear I’m not usually that… clingy.” You thought you should say more, but chose to stay silent deciding you already made enough of a fool of yourself, “Honestly I don’t even remember most of the shit I did last night.”

“Alcohol interferes with one’s ability to form long term memories, such a fact is really not suprising,” he said matter-of-factly, a cocky smirk coating his features. You barley knew this man, but he seemed to always revel in the ability of making people feel dumb, “Luckily for you, I retained my own memory of the evening, if you wish to recall more.”

“I’d rather not learn more things Arlan can yell at me about, thanks,” you huffed, forcing the conversation back to its original topic, “So really, why do you wanna help me? What’s in it for you?”

“Many things really,” he said casually, finger still firmly pressing the open button on the elevator door, “The satisfaction of helping idiots some a simple problem, the joy of reuniting the researchers with their companions… or the pleasure of building a diplomatic relationship between the IPC and the Space Station as I was directed.”

“Should’ve known of course it was about the diplomacy,” you smirked at him, propping an arm next to the elevator door, “You clearly wouldn’t act kindly on your own accord. Got your own boss who you’re afraid will chew you out like mine?”

The Doctor’s face soured at the mention of a boss, “I’d rather not think of my acquaintances at the IPC, they are not the most fond people to be around.” The scowl on his face made you interested in learning more, but the Doctor was quick to change the subject, “I merely offered my assistance to Miss Asta and she accepted. The mere certitude that doing so will satisfy my companions is simply a bonus.”

“Whatever, I don’t care if Asta got you to help, I have my own work to do,” you brushed him off, turning to move away from the elevator. You were startled when a firm hand grasped your arm, preventing you from leaving. The Doctor’s skin was warm, radiating heat through Screwllum’s dress shirt. His touch mass you freeze in your tracks, glancing over your shoulder at the Doctor. 

“I’m not asking you,” he said plainly, as if disgusted that you hadn’t picked up on that sooner, “You prescene has been requested.” You felt mesmerized for a moment by his presence, the scent of his cologne filling your nose due to your close proximity. His golden eyes seemed to bore into you, as if staring into your soul. It was the first time you really took in how… handsome he looked. Of course you had noticed before… you had eyes of course, but something about how he looked at you now seemed to awaken something within you, something you were desperate to push away, while at the same time wanting to cling on to it. 

Snapping into your senses, you yank your hand from his, crossing it over your chest once more, “Requasted by who?”

“Hmmm what was the word you used for it again?” The Doctor’s hand, now free from holding your wrist, went to his chin in contemplation, “Ah yes, that’s it. A situationship. Screwllum requested your prescene.” With his other hand, he let go of open door button, allowing the door to close behind him, “We’ll see you in the Seclusion Zone.”

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai starrail #honkai starrail x reader #doctor ratio #doctor ratio x reader #dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #screwllum #screwllum x reader

[matchafroggy]

! edit: please feel free to use these as you see fit!!

i couldn't find hi-res versions of the voxtek logo so i made some myself!! and now my obsession can look more official.

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desktop: 1920 x 1080 px

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[made in procreate] [3/6/2024]

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[somedaylazysomeday]

Good Intentions Part Seventeen

A surprise visit in the middle of the night isn't what you had assumed it would be...

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 5,900

Warnings: ongoing references to sex as a form of payment, implied violence, non-consensual drug use, paranoia, cuddling, threats

That's right - no sexual contact in this chapter! Sorry if that's not what you're looking for here. But enjoy the knowledge that this is the first time I've ever had to write a warning about a lack of sex in a fic!

Previous | Next | Masterlist

---

It was never a good sign when you were awoken in the dark hours of the morning by a frantic tapping on your bedroom door. 

Granted, the situation wasn’t as rare as you would have preferred. You ran an outreach, after all. The Haven’s patients struggled, relapsed, went through withdrawal, and even needed medical attention on occasion. Everyone had strict orders to tell you when things like that happened, no matter what time of day it was or what else you were doing. 

Everything and everyone had seemed stable when you went to bed, though, so it took you a moment of blearily blinking at the door before you rolled out of bed and went to answer it. When you peered out into the hallway, you were expecting to see Arunn. Perhaps Steel or Yi, both of whom had been on night watch. 

Nothing had prepared you to see Sevika. 

“What-?” It was all you had time to croak out before she had shoved the door open with a strong arm, sending you stumbling backward until you finally lost your balance. You fell directly onto your ass, staring up with all the grace of a newborn bird as Sevika hustled over to your bed. 

It wasn’t until she carefully spread Silco’s limp body across it that you even registered she had been carrying him over one broad shoulder. 

“Silco?” you demanded, voice harsh and shaking as you struggled to your feet and rushed across the room. “Silco?!”

Silco didn’t respond to you. He didn’t even move. His stillness let you focus on him with the intensity you were feeling. He looked paler than usual, his scars standing out in stark contrast against his hollow cheek and the blankly staring darkness of his eye. His clothing was rumpled and spattered with dark stains that you knew would be blood in full light. The same shadow marked his neck and chin, but turned from a fine spray to a dense coating on his hands. 

You unbuttoned his shirt, worried about the way that blood trailed from his neck downward into the darkness of his clothing. If he was wounded, you were just wasting time that could be used getting a doctor to the Haven…

“He’s alive,” Sevika assured you, looking grim. “But he’ll need some time to recover. The biggest problem is that they drugged him.”

“They?” you asked. “Who is ‘they’?”

“That’s none of your business.” 

The harshness of Sevika’s answer did nothing to reassure you. In fact, your worry and fear flipped to anger in a moment. You gestured sharply at the unconscious chem baron sprawled in your bed. “Really? Because this seems like you’re making it my business!”

Sevika’s lip curled and you braced yourself - either for some harsh words or a physical blow, you weren’t sure which - but you both pulled up short at the small, pained sound that came from the direction of your bed. 

“Sev-” His voice faded out, the tension slowly easing from his body only to return in full force a moment later. “You must find him. You must- Do not allow him to-”

“I know, boss,” Sevika told him, and Silco’s body went lax with the reassurance. It seemed to be the truth. Silco’s mutterings were just gibberish to you, but Sevika looked resolute as she turned to you. “I have to go take care of that. I need to know that you’ll keep an eye on him.” 

“What was he drugged with?” you asked - not avoiding the question, but side-stepping it for the moment. “Shimmer?” 

Sevika scoffed at you. “Do you really think Silco wouldn’t know how to avoid being dosed with Shimmer? Or that it would take him out this badly? No, princess, it’s not Shimmer. Now, are you gonna take care of him or not?” 

“Why here?” you asked nervously. “Is he safe? I can’t do much against whoever is trying to hurt him-”

“Most of them are dead,” she told you, the short explanation cutting through your worries in an instant. “He wouldn’t go back to the Drop. Said it was safest here. I agree - most people wouldn’t think to look for him here, but there’s plenty of his guards around if they do.” 

You nodded. “What do I do about the drugging? Does he need something to help it?” 

“Only time.” Sevika’s metal hand settled heavily on your shoulder. “Just keep him in here, away from people and away from the windows. The best thing for him is if no one knows he’s here.” 

It seemed uncharitable to point out that would be the best thing for you, too, but Sevika didn’t give you time to consider saying it. With a short nod, she left your room. When you hurried to the window, you could see her leaving the Haven only moments later, giving a list of instructions to Raka. 

When Raka had returned to the Haven, you shut the curtains tightly and went back to the bed. Silco still wasn’t conscious, but he looked uneasy rather than completely relaxed. His natural eye moved behind its lid and his long limbs were stirring. You winced at the blood smearing across your tangled sheets. If he truly wasn’t in danger, there was nothing for it but to get to work. 

You soothed Silco with gentle words and gentler touches, smoothing hair back from his face and loosening his tie. When he was lying still once more, you unbuttoned his vest and removed his tie completely. 

Stripping the bloodstained fabric away helped minimize the continued damage to your sheets, but you couldn’t help a wince at the fast-forming bruises on his pale skin. A particularly nasty one spreading across his sternum looked like it might end up as a sprain, if not broken bones. 

You risked leaving the room for a few moments, retrieving a new set of sheets, a loose pair of pajama pants, and a few old towels before you darted back to your room. 

No one had seem you, of course. No one would be awake in the Haven for hours yet, with the exception of the staff members watching over the Haven’s patients. You took a moment to be grateful that the treatment floors of the Haven were all on the upper levels of the building. 

Removing the rest of Silco’s clothes was a surprisingly simple task. Apparently, you had absorbed more than you thought from watching him undress during all of your meetings. When his clothing, shoes, and accessories were in a neat but bloodstained pile next to the door of your room, you wet a towel with warm water and set to wiping the blood from Silco’s skin. 

That was the most difficult part of your task by far. The blood on Silco’s hands, arms, neck, and face had been there long enough to grow tacky but not long enough to begin flaking off. He woke several times as you worked to clean him up, but you were able to calm him back to sleep easily enough. 

He was dressed in comfortable pajama pants and quietly resting as you stripped the sheets from the bed. There was no way for you to change the fitted sheet beneath Silco, not without calling someone who could lift his weight. Since that was a rather incendiary idea, you contented yourself with propping pillows behind Silco’s head and using an old towel to cover his bare torso. You hated the idea of him being cold or uncomfortable. 

It was ludicrous, an assessment Silco would probably share if he were awake… but he wasn’t. He was lying injured and drugged in your bed, and you found yourself close to tears for some reason you couldn’t quite identify. 

Maybe it was because he was so still. Silco wasn’t a large man. His height paired with the scars and menacing personality made him seem so much bigger, but he was slender and graceful - far more like a thief’s dagger than a soldier’s club. 

But laying flat on his back with a towel draped over his chest, Silco looked more delicate than ever. His scars were still fearsome and that eye glowed like an ember in the dimness of your room, but without the personality to back it up, there was no denying that he had lost his imposing nature. 

Temporarily. 

You hoped.

A knock at the door made you jump and glance over. When you saw it begin to open, you hurled yourself against it with every ounce of energy you could muster. Who would come in without knocking? Was it someone trying to hurt Silco? Had whoever attacked him managed to track him down here? Where were the guards?

“Is everything okay?” Arunn called through the door. You relaxed slightly at his familiar voice. “Fletcher said you haven’t come out of your room today.” 

Your eyes jerked toward the covered window. Sure enough, you could see sickly sunlight seeping around the corners of your curtains. “It’s fine, Arunn. Everything is okay.” 

There was a pause that managed to sound skeptical. “Are you sure about that?” 

With as much hoarseness as you could pack into your voice, you told him, “I don’t feel well today. I’m trying to rest and work on paperwork when I’m not sleeping. I’m probably going to be in here all day. Can you manage things without me?” 

“Yeah, we’ll be okay.” Arunn seemed concerned and you felt bad about that, but at least he believed you. “I’ll bring you something to eat later.” 

“Thank you. Please just leave it outside the door and I’ll bring it in myself.” 

“And you’re sure you can get it?” 

You nodded, knowing he couldn’t see it, and faked a cough. “Yes, I can. Thank you again.”

“No problem, boss.” Arunn sighed. “Rest up today - we need you back as soon as you’re feeling better.” 

“I will,” you promised weakly.

When Arunn’s footsteps faded, you locked the door before you pushed away from it. There were good odds that no one would disturb you in your room, but it wouldn’t hurt to be certain. 

If this were any other business, you would probably need to worry that someone would come to check up on you. However, one of the most difficult parts of treating Shimmer withdrawal was that it often left the ex-user immunocompromised for a few weeks. With a constantly rotating roster of people who couldn’t be exposed to sickness, you could nearly guarantee that your “rest” wouldn’t be interrupted. 

As you approached the bed, you noticed that Silco’s natural eye was open slightly. You would have assumed it was a trick of the light, or a slackening of his facial muscles, but his mouth was also moving. 

“Silco?” you asked. The movements of his lips didn’t falter or change, and you suspected that he couldn’t hear you. You spoke anyway, just in case he could: “Silco, if you can hear me, you’re safe. You’re at the Haven with me. No one knows you’re here except me and the guards. You’re safe.”

The inaudible murmuring slowed to a near halt, but Silco’s mismatched eyes stayed fixed on you. You risked reaching out to smooth a strand of hair back from his forehead. “The only reason Sevika isn’t here is because she went to hunt someone down.” 

Silco’s face tightened, and he struggled to sit up. It was a mark of how bad he was feeling that you could keep him lying flat with only a hand braced against his shoulder. 

“You need to rest,” you informed him. “Everything is fine, you’re safe.” 

You had hoped repeating that he was safe would soothe him, but Silco seemed unconvinced. “Threat- Need- go…”

Chills danced up your spine and teased at the back of your neck. You fought a shudder, trying to look serene instead of concerned as you slowly shook your head. “No, Silco. You’re safest here. Sevika went to go take care of the threat. No one is going to hurt you as long as you’re here-”

Silco caught at the front of your sleep shirt, pulling you down toward him as he hissed urgently, “Not- hurt me. Hurt you.”

That made your stomach tighten with foreboding. Before you started following the demands of a drugged man, you needed to check some things. “Silco, did you tell them about me?”

“No,” he denied, hands shaking as they released your shirt. 

You nodded. “Good. Did you tell them about the Haven?” 

“Never,” he spat. 

“Even better.” Your look of serenity was finally legitimate as you said, “It seems like we don’t need to worry. Between Sevika and the guards we have at the Haven, the people chasing you won’t be able to find us here.” 

“Not people,” Silco said, shaking his head. At least, you assumed that had been his intention. The muscles of his neck didn’t seem to work properly at the moment, and his head rolled languidly across the pillow. “Person.” 

“You’re this worried about one person?” you asked, bewildered. “Wait, a single person did all of this to you?” 

“No,” Silco said again, baring his teeth. “More. I… all- Killed them all.”

“Except one,” you concluded. 

“Coward.” Silco may have been drugged and injured, dressed in borrowed clothes with a towel as a blanket, but the one-word insult made his disdain clear. “Hid while-”

He cut off mid-sentence, seeming transfixed by something behind you. You stood from the edge of the bed, where you had sat to hear Silco better, and whipped around. Your hands came up, ready to defend Silco from who or whatever had snuck into the room. 

There was nothing behind you. 

When you turned back to the bed, Silco had fallen asleep once more. 

Since you were stuck in your room for the foreseeable future, you started working on the paperwork you had mentioned to Arunn. A lot of it consisted of reports for various parties who had a stake in the Haven and the way it was run. Once that was done, you had payroll to do, accounts to track, and appointments to make for the patients. While you had a doctor on staff, you liked to bring in a psychologist every month to speak with anyone who wanted to talk. 

As you set aside the last piece of paperwork, several hours had passed without a sound or movement from Silco. You approached the side of the bed, nervously noting that his chest was either rising and falling so evenly that you couldn’t see it… or it wasn’t moving at all.

You checked his pulse. It beat strong and steady against your fingertips and you felt ridiculous for thinking the worst. But before you could pull your hand away, Silco nuzzled against it, brushing your touch over the angles of his cheekbones. It was lucky his eyes didn’t open, because you couldn’t help the softness of your smile. 

As if that had been the final straw toward convincing you, you decided to get back into bed as well. After all, if you were going to take today off as a rest day, you should actually look rested. Sevika and Silco had interrupted your sleep and, despite the worthiness of the cause, you were starting to feel tired as the adrenaline finally ebbed. 

And since the sheets were stained with blood from Silco’s clothes, you pulled an extra blanket from your closet, covering yourself with it. If part of it covered Silco as well, you weren’t responsible for that. 

Your sleep was shockingly sound considering the strangeness of the situation. Silco was in your bedroom, Sevika was planning to come back as soon as she killed whoever Silco hadn’t managed to, and you were keeping all of it from everyone else who called the Haven a home. 

The counter arguments were that Silco was warm and his steady breathing provided the perfect metronome to time your descent into slumber. Your blanket was soft and the blood on the mattress cover hadn’t quite reached your side of the bed yet. The shades were still drawn, turning your room into a shadowed cavern, and the noises from the rest of the Haven were muted by the earliness of the hour and the knowledge that you weren’t feeling well. 

The conscientiousness made you smile, but it also made you sleep easier.

You didn’t wake until a pair of hands clasped roughly around your shoulders. Jolted unpleasantly out of your sleep, you could only stare around the room to find the cause.

Silco was apparently in the grips of a nightmare. His natural eye was half-open, the lids parted but slack. His lips were parted as well, as if he could not get enough air except through gasping. Most directly important to you, his hands were locked on your arms, keeping you from trying to touch him to bring him out of the nightmare. 

“Silco-” you tried, shimmying your shoulders as much as you could in his hold. “Silco, it’s fine. You’re safe. You’re at the Haven. No one knows-”

“Quiet,” he hissed, shaking you roughly. 

You fell silent. 

Silco’s eyes were wider then, the lids almost fully open over his natural eye as he stared around the room. He was lying on his side, facing you, so his view was limited to what he could see past you. 

Even with the frantic visual search of your room, Silco apparently couldn’t stay awake. His face slackened slightly, grip loosening before his hands and his expression tightened again… only to fall slowly slack. This cycle repeated a few more times as you watched, fascinated by Silco’s struggle against whatever had been used to drug him. 

At last, he slumped back against the mattress, hands falling away from you. You relaxed, too, though you kept your gaze trained on his face. Whatever he had been dosed with, it was bad. For Silco to be knocked off-balance so thoroughly… Well, you were grateful Sevika had been there to get him out. If Silco had been in this state surrounded by enemies, you were certain he wouldn’t have stayed alive for long. 

You had been thinking through the situation, wondering about how long Sevika would be gone and how you would smuggle Silco out of the Haven without anyone seeing him. You had intended to stay awake, to keep watch over Silco and soothe him when he got restless again, but you must have fallen asleep. Or so you assumed, because Silco was on top of you in the span of a blink. 

The jerk you gave was reflexive and worthless. Silco had planted himself on top of you, a hand pressed over your lips. “Stay quiet.” 

You nodded in response to his order. His position on top of you trapped your hands by your sides, but you tried tapping his hip to signal that he didn’t need to gag you. He didn’t even seem to notice your touch.

“Someone is outside,” Silco breathed. His eyes were wide, no signs of the involuntary laxness that had marked them since he arrived, but the pupil of his natural eye was blown wide. “They’ve found me.” 

You listened intently, focusing your attention so strongly that you started to hear the faint whine of a totally silent room. The words you had been repeating all morning seemed trite, so you opted for something different: “You’ve been hearing things all morning…”

Your explanation - thoroughly muffled by Silco’s palm - cut off abruptly as you heard a scraping shuffle from the hallway outside your door. You froze. 

Silco nodded, eyes focused on your face. “We need to be ready. If they know I’m in here-”

There was no sign he had heard your first explanation, but you tried to speak again, to tell him that he needed to let you up if you were going to be ready. You hadn’t said more than a handful of words when the shuffle came closer and Silco sprang into action. 

In a single move, he had rolled you to the other side of the bed. You were further from the door then, with him planted firmly between you and any possible intruders. 

Silco had been lying in bed all morning, wracked with illness and poison, but he looked utterly capable as he crouched facing the door. He was just in front of the bed and you had to take a second look to verify that there was a knife in his hand. You weren’t sure where he had gotten in from, but you guessed it was one of his. He was clearly used to handling the weapon, holding it like it was an extension of his arm. 

You tried to stand up, to move past and protect him, but a firm shove from Silco’s shoulder sent you tumbling back onto the surface of your bed. It didn’t hurt, obviously, but you were left with the options of sitting back and letting a drugged and injured Silco handle whoever was at the door or doing something stupid…

“Who is it?” you called loudly. 

Silco’s body didn’t move, staying poised between the bed and the door with the knife held ready in his hand. But his head swiveled, glancing back at you over his own shoulder with a hiss through bared teeth. 

To your unending relief, Arunn’s voice came through the door. “Sorry, just leaving some food and water out here. I also brought a hot drink. It might make you feel better. The steam, you know. Sorry to wake you up. Try to eat and drink when you can, but I’m glad you’re getting some rest. You work too hard… Anyway, let me know if you need anything.”

And then you heard the unmistakable sounds of Arunn walking back down the hallway. You relaxed so much that you flopped to your back and sank into the bed. All that tension returned in an instant when you felt someone looming over you. 

When you cracked your eyes open, you found Silco glaring down at you. “You are a stupid, reckless little fool. You had no way of knowing who was outside.” 

“And neither did you,” you pointed out. Silco didn’t seem to appreciate your reasoning. “I could probably defend us better than you could right now.” 

“Ridiculous,” he sniffed. A moment later, his face turned an interesting shade of gray and his green eye rolled upward. He swayed - hard - but caught his balance. “You are not capable-”

“You need to lay back down,” you interrupted. He was going to refuse, you could see it, but you grabbed his arm and gave a light tug. He crumpled instantly to the mattress, looking startled. Then he went grayish again and his face slackened once more. 

Your first reaction was, understandably, panic. But when you collected yourself enough to check things out, you felt far more confident that Silco was going to be okay. His breathing was easy and regular, his heart beating steadily. His muscles were relaxed and his fingers were warm. Even as you watched, his face slowly started gaining color again. 

Calling a doctor was your first instinct, but that would inarguably put Silco in danger, and you weren’t willing to do that. You had to trust that Sevika knew what she was talking about when she said he would recover from the drugging. So you chalked the reaction up to overexertion and did your best to move on from it. 

Of course, you also weren’t willing to be woken up that unpleasantly a second time. Instead, you retrieved the tray Arunn had left and set the glass of water by the bed for Silco. Then you retreated to the small makeshift desk you had set up in your room. After you ate the food Arunn had brought, you began filtering through paperwork. 

Every few minutes, you studied Silco, but he continued to rest easy, so you left him alone. If he was anywhere near as busy as you suspected he was, he probably could use the chance to sleep. He certainly seemed to need it. 

You didn’t really know how much time had passed when Silco began to get restless. He tossed one way, then the other. He twitched and frowned, scowling without waking up. And then he began to talk.

They weren’t full sentences, even when you got close enough to hear them. There were bits and pieces of muttered warnings sprinkled with threats. It made you smile despite yourself. Even in drugged sleep during a weak moment, Silco was still trying to be in command of the situation. 

“Leave… You will walk away. No. No. …an error… She will not… If you even attempt…”

The mention of a nameless ‘she’ made your heart skip a beat. But you were too pragmatic to misinterpret that fierce, protective tone. That, more than anything else, helped you fill in the gaps of what had happened: someone had threatened Jinx. One of the other chem barons, most likely. That was why he had come here and not to The Last Drop. Jinx presumably lived at the Drop while Silco didn’t mind if anyone at the Haven was in danger from him being here. 

The tightening in your stomach at that must be irritation that he had callously disregarded the safety of your patients. That was the only explanation. The only one that made sense, anyway. 

Had Silco been ousted as the head chem baron? Were you hiding the recently deposed leader of Zaun in the Haven? What would they try to do to him? Silco kept a tight lid on the violence in the Undercity - public violence, that was - but if he wasn’t in charge, anarchy could reign. It wasn’t terribly long ago in the Undercity’s history that public beatings and executions had taken place…

But if Silco was really being overthrown, the coup hadn’t been entirely successful. You could vividly recall the way Sevika had said most of the people who had attacked Silco were dead. If you had interpreted their little exchange correctly, she was currently hunting down the last antagonistic survivor of the attack.

With any luck, she would be finished before Silco recovered from his drugging. 

You returned to your paperwork, working steadily through the pile until you had a neat stack of completed forms, applications, and grant requests sitting on the corner of your desk. You flexed your fingers around the pen, trying to ease the cramping in your overworked muscles. As you gave it a final shake, your eyes drifted over to the bed.

Silco was watching you. 

The sight of him awake and looking back at you made you startle, and the pen clattered loudly onto the desk. 

“Are you awake?” you asked softly. 

He didn’t respond immediately, but when he did, it was with a wry expression. “Do I make a habit of sleeping with both eyes open?” 

That certainly sounded more cognizant than anything else he had said since he’d arrived. “I don’t know, I don’t spend a lot of time around you when you’re sleeping. Do you?” 

“I do not,” he informed you. He gave a sharp wince as he rolled onto his back. 

“There is a glass of water on the bedside table for you,” you told him. “How much do you remember?” 

“More than I care to.” Silco stared up at the ceiling, a slight frown crossing his face. “But nothing since the attack itself. How did I come to be here?” 

“Sevika brought you.” The explanation seemed insufficient, so you pressed on. “Apparently, you told her to bring you here. Neither of you ever said if there was a reason for that.” 

“Where is Sevika now?” 

You frowned. “I’m not really sure. She brought you here and then left to go finish the last one off.” 

Silco’s head turned slowly toward you. “The last one.” 

“Whoever it was who attacked you,” you said with a shrug. “I never really caught who that was.” 

“Ah.” He left it at that, letting you both simmer in the silence for long enough that you thought of a dozen things to say and discarded them all. He slowly sat up, movements ginger, then took a deep draw from the glass of water on the bedside table. “Do you have a shower I can use? I feel the need to rinse the blood off.” 

You opened your mouth to tell him you had already taken care of it, but decided it seemed too intimate. More intimate, somehow, than having cleaned the blood from him in the first place. “Through there.” 

As Silco made his way shakily to the shower, you vowed that you would never again feel guilty for having a private bathroom attached to your bedroom. It was worth every bit of second-guessing you had done while choosing your room.

There was a strange sort of serenity in the moment, you decided eventually. The sound of water raining down from the showerhead was muted by the door and the Haven was quiet. The shades were drawn and the light from your desk lamp spilled gold over the room. With Silco out of the way, you finished making the bed with fresh sheets. It was homey and warm, private and peaceful. 

Certainly not what you would have expected from having an injured drug lord in your rehabilitation clinic. 

A short, sharp knock on the door made you jump. You moved toward it quietly. “Who is it?” 

“Raka.”

You pulled the door open slightly, leaving only a small gap between the door itself and the frame. If this was some sort of trap, you could hopefully close it before anyone could force their way inside. 

But Raka was alone, holding a scrap of paper. “Is he awake?” 

“Yes.” 

Raka nodded. “Sevika sent this.” 

He handed the note to you before disappearing back down the hall. The abruptness left you staring after him, but you closed the door when you heard the water shut off in the bathroom. 

When you smoothed out the wrinkled paper under the light of your lamp, a few terse words met you: Send him out when it’s dark. - S

You glanced at a clock, surprised to find that it was far later than you had expected. It would be dark in half an hour, maybe a little less. 

Silco stepped out of the bathroom with no warning. You averted your eyes when you realized that he was naked. “Where are my clothes?” 

“By the door,” you told him. “They’re still very bloody.” 

“Good.” 

You decided not to look too deeply into that. Silco shook them out, presumably in an attempt to dislodge any wrinkles, but you winced as the blood crackled and fell in flakes to your floor. 

He dressed in a series of efficient motions. He looked very comfortable when he was finished, though you couldn’t imagine feeling at ease in clothes that were crusted with blood and other fluids. 

You cleared your throat. “Sevika is outside. When it gets dark, I’ll escort you out.” 

“How long?” he asked, checking his cuffs.

“About fifteen minutes now.” 

Silco nodded. He stepped toward your freshly made bed, then seemed to think better about sitting down in his bloody clothes. You appreciated his restraint, but you appreciated it a bit less when he began pacing around your bedroom. 

Every item not hidden away was paid special scrutiny. Silco examined every picture on your wall, every knick knack, the books on your bedside table, the pile of clean laundry you had yet to put away. It made you nervous, enough so that you were counting the minutes until you could safely urge Silco out of your private space.

“It’s time,” you announced, peeking through the shades to double-check. The haze of twilight hung heavy over the Undercity, the neon signs only just beginning to be lit. The streets had cleared of anyone who had been doing business in the light hours of the day, but the nighttime bustle hadn’t truly begun yet. 

You slid your feet into a pair of shoes, gesturing toward Silco. “Follow me.” 

The hallway was empty, and you led Silco to a little-used staircase without any risk of being seen. The stairs took longer to navigate than you had anticipated with Silco’s injuries. 

“You may count this as our next meeting,” Silco told you abruptly, his voice clearly strained as he lowered himself down another step. One hand gripped the railing so hard his knuckles were white while the other clutched protectively at his injured ribs. 

You shook your head, arms outstretched to catch him if he stumbled. “I appreciate that, but I can’t count the meeting if we don’t do anything more than sleep and talk. Not without feeling like you’ve been cheated.” 

Silco smirked, and there was only a little pain in it. “I don’t mind having Sevika wait, but I doubt I have the energy for anything more at the moment.” 

“Not what I meant.” You did your best not to smile at his teasing. It wouldn’t do to encourage him. 

Silco didn’t have time to respond before you reached the bottom of the staircase. He leaned against the wall and let out a trembling breath. “Finally.” 

“Is Sevika bringing a vehicle of some kind?” you asked. “I don’t know if you can walk back to The Last Drop. Not in this condition.” 

“I must. To do anything else would be to show weakness. Weakness is death in Zaun.” Silco’s jaw tautened and he pushed away from the wall. There was a moment in which he swayed and you reached out, but he caught himself. He stood straight, let out a single noise of pain, and strode confidently forward. 

It wasn’t his usual strut, but it was close. Certainly close enough to fool those who didn’t see him on a regular basis. 

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” you asked, pushing out of the door and following him onto the near-deserted street. 

Silco glanced back as if surprised to find you behind him. “You shouldn’t be out here. You do not want to be seen with me.” 

You gave him a stubborn look. “I’m not going anywhere until we see Sevika.” 

“Very well,” he agreed, inclining his head graciously. “This way.” 

Carefully, Silco worked his way toward the front of the Haven, adjusting course along the way to stay as deep in the shadows as possible. 

“There you are, boss.” 

Sevika’s low greeting made you jump. Silco’s reaction was less obvious, but he must have reacted somehow, and he hissed as his hand lifted back to his ribs.

“Will you be able to get him back to The Last Drop safely?” you asked Sevika. 

She scoffed at you, but you kept your gaze steady. Eventually, she nodded. “I’ve got some trustworthy people keeping a lookout on the way. We’ll get him there in one piece. Preferably without any more bruises than he’s already got.” 

“Thank you.”

You started to turn away, but Silco caught at your shoulder. “Thank you, pet. I won’t forget this.” 

You just smiled and returned to the Haven.

---

Author's Note - Thanks for reading and I hope you weren't too disappointed in the lack of spice in this part!

I don't offer a taglist on this account, but you can find other works on my masterlist!

#arcane netflix #arcane 2021 #arcane silco #arcane reader insert #silco #silco x reader #silco x reader fic #silco x you #reader insert #reader insert fic #reader insert fanfiction

[sawyerconfort]

dancing with the devil | verna x reader

I'm back!!!

this one is just a spooky season special, as I've been away for all these days and haven't done one yet, I thought it would be cool to do it now!

this oneshot comes a lot from my obsession with Mike Flanagan's work, which even led me to watch The Fall of the House of Usher recently.

and, of course, it also comes from my obsession with Carla Gugino.

so, I hope you like it!

late requests coming out soon, so stay tuned!

enjoy!

requests open, but please be patient with me.

---------------------

PROMPT: It's New Year's Eve, and you find yourself in a bar, completely alone, with no one to give you the good luck's kiss. But a mysterious new barista catches your eye, and she could be your salvation, if only she didn't hide so many secrets.

***

You weren't one to complain, but it had been a pretty horrible year.

People generally await the New Year with a lot of ambition, full of resolutions, glamorous plans and self-centered achievements. But you do not.

You just wanted the next one to be better.

As if the miserable conditions you were experiencing at Fortunato were not enough, not being paid enough for the effort you made, sitting at the reception desk at the behest of the great Rufus Griswold - who did nothing except try to harass you in every way -, in a routine exhausting where you could never sleep properly, you still had your parents, and the terrible relationship you had with them.

So, when you sat at that bar, at the lonely counter, all you thought about was stuffing yourself until you pass out, hoping for a counting miracle. Some people were getting along well when you arrived, and others were giving you side-eye, but with the thought that you were less attractive to them, you decided that the counter would be the best option.

Suddenly, those eyes that looked yellow from afar fell on you, and the figure that carried them turned around, with a subtle smile.

"I see someone needs a drink, hm?"

You looked at her, and shrugged, before answering. "Just today. I can't drink, I still have work tomorrow."

She continued to smile, and you had the slight impression that her eyes had returned to their normal color. Clear, deep and very eye-catching. But it could just be the impression, because you were too exhausted to make sense.

"Ah, I understand. Just a minute, I'll prepare something relaxing for you, miss…"

"(Y\N)."

She nodded, turning away and concentrating on preparing whatever the drink was. Like I said before, you were too tired to care about what drink you were going to drink. If you could just get to New Year with something in your throat, that would be a good idea.

After minutes that felt like seconds of waiting, the barista turned to you, two shiny glass cups in her hands. She was still smiling subtly as she slid your glass and turned hers in her other hand.

She served you with the same smile, and then looked at you. "It's funny, I can see there's something wrong with you... Something that's stopping you from celebrating tonight."

You looked back at her, frowning, and sighing afterwards.

"It's true, it was... It wasn't a very good year", you commented, feeling terrible for venting to a stranger. "But the year ahead will be better, I know that."

"And why is that? Why was it so bad?"

"My boss, my work... everything makes me exhausted... and not having anyone to talk to is really bad at these moments...", You took a sip. "Um, that's great, is it Merlot?"

"It's Merlot, but it's not one of the best...", the barista said, tapping her glass still. "I've seen and experienced better, around the world."

"Have you been around the world?", you asked, unable to resist your curiosity. She smiled and nodded. "Where did you go? On that expedition?"

"I've been there too, but not just on this occasion", she said, and suddenly stopped, as if she were saying too much. "You know, it's interesting, being on the other side. Sometimes it's tiring, it breaks my heart, but... It's good, there are things there that are worth the effort."

You were more intrigued. She didn't look like the type of person who would travel around the world, wearing black clothes and a gothic look, as if she wanted to hide on purpose. Generally, these trips are made for people who want to be seen, above all else in the world.

"What are you talking about, exactly?"

"Have you ever had a dream... a desire... a deep, hidden desire that no one has ever fulfilled, and that you yourself didn't imagine you could achieve?", she looked at you with the same curiosity as you. "I'm like... A dream maker. I go on these trips just for that..."

You frowned, still not understanding, but took another sip to hide it, nodding.

"Are you the personification of the genie in the lamp?"

She laughed. "Ah, I would like to, but no. It would be a lot of ego on my part, but I would say that I'm better than him", she laughed. "Verna is my name, but the name never makes that much of a difference to me."

“Different name, never heard it before,” you said, drinking again. "Are you from here?"

"I'm from nowhere. I'm everywhere, at all times... it's strange, I know, but it makes sense to me."

You nodded, finding it strange. And then, he found it even stranger when she helped herself to the Merlot on the counter and drank some. She smiled at you, still tapping the glass.

"But what about you, (Y/N)? Do you have any desires that you thought would be unrealizable, unattainable? Please be honest with me."

You opened your mouth, and then thought a little. "No. I think I'm happy this way. Except for a few little things that I would change here and there..."

She softened her gaze and took a sip, her clear eyes suddenly yellowed again and wide, fixed on you. "What kind?"

“Like, my boss giving me the justice I deserve, and stop hitting on me,” you laughed, drinking the last sip and pouring yourself again. "Not much."

"Your boss is too terrible for you, (Y/N)," Verna replied, smiling. "Don't ask me how I know this, but I do. One day someone will show him what's really good, don't worry."

You frowned. "You seem so sure, are you some kind of psychic?"

She laughed. "No. I would like to be, but no. I... I see people's possibilities. And that's it. I help them based on the possibilities."

She stared at you again, and looked away at the TV, where the ball was falling on the screen in Times Square.

"Oh, it looks like it's almost time," she whispered, laughing. "Your year is going to be great, (Y/N), I'll make sure of that."

“You…” you started, but she shushed you, smiling.

"You just have to make a deal with me."

"What kind of deal?"

Verna thought for a while, and then smiled. "Wow, you seem so sure..."

She was mocking you, of course, you realized right away, and with a muffled laugh, you glanced back at the TV, hearing people echoing a countdown. The ball finally reached its destination, and you turned around, seeing Verna's yellow eyes glued to yours again. She suddenly leaned over and stole a peck from you, taking a little too long to pull away.

“Was that your deal?”, you whispered, smiling mischievously. Verna took a moment to open her eyes and then tilted her head, as if agreeing.

She thought for a while and then finally said, her voice low, slowly close to your ear, as if she wanted to seduce or bewitch you. She had one of the softest voices you'd ever heard, and apparently she knew how to use it.

"Actually, it was a plan to find out if you were trustworthy, if you were innocent enough to accept my deal…", she whispered. "And because I know, deep down, that what you wanted most was to be kissed on New Year's Eve, my sweet client."

You trailed off, looking at her, getting lost in the soft expression on her pale face. Suddenly, an impulsive idea occurred to you, and you leaned in again, kissing her, this time with more intensity. When you touched her hair, behind the back of her head, you had the impression that it melted at the touch, as if Verna were just an illusion, as if she were the literal cosmic dust from which human beings possibly emerged.

However, the kiss didn't last long. She pushed you away with her feather-light hands, and to the naked eye, it looked like it was just a breeze of wind stopping you both. She touched your face, running her fingers lightly across your cheek as she whispered:

"We can't do that right now, (Y\N). I'm afraid you're not sober enough, and it wouldn't be wise for me to take advantage of this."

You looked at it for a moment and realized it made sense. But she had kissed you first, so it was clearly just an excuse, as always happened. You started to wonder if your kiss was that bad.

"But, Verna…"

"Please, darling. I'm trying to be reasonable. Like I said, I work with possibilities, and the possibility of us working out is less than zero. Don't get me wrong, it's just in case…", she hesitated. "Condemning pure-souled humans to my cruel and inevitable fate wouldn't be extremely political of me."

You sighed, and gave her the space she needed, even though you couldn't take your eyes off her. Verna was the same, and you could feel that, despite what it seemed like, that moment you shared wasn't just fun, much less just a New Year's kiss.

Verna poured you the rest of the Merlot and, with the same soft expression, touched your face again. This time, her voice was clear, and in a moment of vulnerability, she made it more than explicit that she wasn't lying when she said:

"But we'll still meet, (Y\N)," she whispered, her fingers again like soft feathers touching his skin. "Our deal may not have been sealed, but you've proven enough innocence and courage to convince me that you're capable of this. You'll have a great new job, I promise, and your boss will never bother you again."

She nodded, and you allowed yourself to nod too, so confused that you definitely didn't know what to believe anymore. There was a little devil on your shoulder urging you to try again, and there was another devil, right in front of you, who would be harder to convince than you expected.

"And of course, you will have my full protection," Verna whispered, smiling. "I'm not going to promise you eternal life, because that would be impossible even for someone like me. But I promise, and I need you to believe me on this one, I promise that I will move mountains so no one will hurt you again."

You smiled, and drank the last sip. Suddenly, another impulse. This time, a question, instead of an action.

"What are you? An angel? A genie without a lamp? A tempting devil who seeks souls and deals?"

Verna smiled, and simply looked away at her glass again, magically empty. "I already told you. I'm nothing, I don't have a life. I'm just what your mind wants me to be."

You were confused, but suddenly, a memory hit you hard. When you looked at Verna, it was as if she already knew.

"I really need to go. My mom will be furious if I get home late, even on New Year's..."

She nodded. "Please don't take any chances. This part, I won't be able to protect you."

You laughed, stood up and slid out the only dollar bill you had. Verna looked at the ballot, he turned it around and handed it back to you, denying it.

"No need. The bill is already paid."

"What?"

"Please don't insist. I insist."

You looked at her, shrugged, and frowned, suddenly realizing that maybe it was for the best. She kept watching you, until you left, and as soon as you turned outside, on the street, you noticed who had just walked through a solid wall.

The bar was gone.

And she was gone too.

Even more confused - and blaming the drink -, you put your hands in your pockets to protect yourself, and walked back home, into the daylight. As soon as you crossed the street, however, another very curious thing caught your attention.

There was a raven, standing still, resting on a post. It was just any raven, but it was a raven, and it looked down at you. Suddenly, you had the impression that he had winked at you.

"What nonsense. Ravens don't blink," you whispered to yourself, looking at the raven again. He remained there, standing still, as if he hadn't even noticed you. Deciding to ignore that crazy night, you turned around.

As you disappeared down the street, you whispered to yourself once again.

"Ravens don't blink."

Oh, but if you only knew that they do more than blink... If you only knew...

#lgbt #romance #oneshot #imagine #fluff #angst #the fall of the house of usher #tfothou x reader #carla gugino #carla gugino x reader #verna x reader #I love verna I would make deals with her for sure #this year's spooky season is finally out! #yes I'm back who cheered #requests coming soon

[sparklingsin]

— it's chemistry, baby | steve harrington

+ steve harrington x reader

summary: you invite steve over to help you study, but he's got something else on his mind. full request here.

tags: smut, little plot, ⚠ 18+ MDNI ⚠, steve being a tease, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (please wrap it before you tap it)

Steve helping you study should’ve ideally been a good idea. But because he was also your boyfriend, it decidedly was not.

On a slightly humid evening, you’d let him into your house through the window — because, well, it was the dead of the night and boyfriends weren’t allowed for sleepovers in the L/N house. And you should've been well scared of letting him in, but your parents were gone for the night, leaving only your siblings in the house with you. They didn’t pose as much of a threat and you could always bully them into shutting up.

However, the second Steve had got in, it had been clear from the mischievous look on his face that he was neither interested in studying nor being quiet.

“We can study, pumpkin,” he had said, crowding you against the wall beside your bed. “But we should use my foolproof method of retention,” he had added, moving to that sweet spot behind your ear and kissing you there.

That was enough to have you weak in the knees, all of the resolution to study already exiting your body. “What’s this method?” you had asked, breath becoming shallow as he pulled you over to the bed and pushed you onto it, gently.

“Watch and learn, sweetheart. Watch and learn.”

That’s how you ended up here, with Steve’s face buried between your legs, one of his hands holding your chemistry textbook, the other hooked under your right knee.

“What’s the formula for Potassium Ferricyanide?” he asks, mouth hovering right by your core, making you groan in frustration. Your hair is a mess, streaked with sweat from the activities of past hour. Steve’s method is tortuous alright, and it might be the best-worst way you’ve studied for a test.

“If this is your idea of dirty talk, it isn’t working, Stevie,” you whimper, arching your back to push your core into his face but he merely holds you down. Every brush of his skin on your hypersensitive body has you writhing.

“Hilarious,” he says, kissing your inner thigh, “But I’m not going to do anything unless you answer.”

You thump the bed in exasperation, the need for release that had been building up from the past hour, becoming unbearable. You try to concentrate, scrunching your eyebrows together in a lame effort to remember but the image of Steve shirtless is the only thing you can picture.

A flick to your clit from Steve sends a jolt across your body, and the answer comes to you miraculously.

“K-3-FECN-6,” you mutter with effort, and Steve immediately licks a long strip across your cunt — your reward for the right answer. You groan, feeling your pussy pump with anticipation once more but Steve does nothing more to entice it. You try, for the second time that night, to use your own hand to help yourself but Steve swats it away, giving you a stern look. 

“I decide when you get to do that,” he chides and that shuts you up for good.

“Here’s a different type of question,” Steve says, switching the book to his other hand and sitting up so you’ve got a full view of his chest and that kills the rest of your brain cells. “Which one of these is not a method of corrosion?”

Without warning, he hooks one of his fingers inside you. “A) Galvanisation,” he asks, twisting his finger gently as if drawing the word out of you. Your eyes roll back, his fingers making you see stars.

“B),” He continues, sticking another finger in and you can’t help but mewl— a soft whimper twisting its way out of your lips, “Cathodic Protection.”

“Or C) Heating,” he drawls, slowly pulling out his fingers until they’re gone, leaving your pussy clenching around emptiness. The languid motion of his hand makes you arch in bed, all thoughts escaping your mind— sans the beat of his name. A) Steve, B) Steve, C) Steve your mind chants, hot flashes making your body tremble.

“I’m waiting for an answer, baby,” Steve purrs after a moment, but his words are almost quiet and it makes you think that he might be just as riled up as you.

You think hard, trying to ignore the pulsing in your abdomen. “Is it heating?” you ask, sitting up on your elbows in an effort to calm yourself down. 

Steve pulls your leg at that, making you slide towards him so that his face is now inches from yours. “I’m asking the questions, baby. Give me a definite answer,” he says, squeezing your thighs. He’s purposely doing this, yes, but the look in his eyes with the commanding voice makes your skin tingle in all the right places.

“Heating,” you say, pushing yourself up to him and he takes your left nipple into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it. “Right again,” he grunts, sucking long and deep. Your hands instinctively grab his shoulders and pull him closer  — the motion eliciting a groan from him and the sound goes straight to your core.

“Please just... fuck me,” you beg, making your voice whiney and soft. You’ve had enough of this game and the night isn’t getting any younger. Steve falters for a moment— his round eyes dark with lust, your nipple lying on the dip of lips that hang open and shit, you need to cum or you are going to explode. 

“Stevie,” you plead again and Steve's grip on your leg tightens, nails digging in, as if restraining himself.

You push further, arching your chest into his face in the way of an offering.

“C’mon baby, I’ve answered enough questions,” you mewl and that seems to break him.

He’s lunging over you in no time, lips falling onto yours. You can feel his hard-on against your core as he moves against you and you moan into his mouth, hands trailing up his back and tangling themselves in his glorious hair.

“You were the one who wanted to study so bad,” he quips, sinking his face into the crook of your neck and you bite your lip to keep from moaning again. He runs his tongue across the length of your neck, leaving it slopping and wet — much like the insides of your thighs. You squeeze them together in hopes to find a sliver of relief, but Steve’s fingers do your work for you. They slip into you with ease, making you moan so loudly you think it might wake your siblings. But right now, that’s the last thing you care about.

“I think I’m well prepared now,” you purr, as Steve’s lips move up your jaw whilst his fingers pursue your completion. Need courses through your entire being, erupting low in your stomach and blossoming all over.

“And I need you,” you whisper, planting your lips on Steve’s. He tastes sweet; the ecstasy of tasting yourself on him only driving your desperation and you tug at his jeans and he pulls back. Smiling, but that twinkle in his eyes never leaving, he rids himself of his boxers and jeans in one swift motion.

A brief moment of anticipation unfurls across your body in the form of goosebumps, before Steve slides in, his cock filling you whole. You groan in unison, feeling the slightest of respite after that long hour of torture. Steve takes a moment to ground himself, cupping your ass and groans as you shift to adjust yourself.

“Shit, baby,” he rasps.

Sinking further into you, he nudges your legs to circle around his waist. “You okay?” he asks and that’s your Steve — never failing to check in, no matter how hot the moment might be. 

You nod a yes, finding it difficult to find your voice with Steve stretching you open so perfectly. Letting his lips attach themselves to the sweet spot behind your ear he starts to move, with the same languidness that had been driving you insane mere moments ago. It’s slow and it’s so good, but Steve’s hands kneading your breasts are not enough, his chest heaving against yours isn’t enough. You need him, and you need him now.

“Faster, baby,” you breathe, and he complies for once, thrusting faster and the whimpers start pouring from your mouth. He adores the little noises you make — your mewls turning into chants of his name as your wall begin to clench once more.

“Feel s’good,” he moans into your neck, the vibrations setting your skin ablaze and you start to move you hips along with his  — needing that little push, that extra pressure that would send you over the edge.

His thrusts crescendo fast, and you fall, dragging him along with you into a starry darkness that is all encompassing. Stars flare around you, as you whisper his name one last time just as he does yours.

A few minutes pass before you find yourself anchored to earth once more, and Steve is quick to kiss your forehead. The charm and teasing from a few minutes ago has melted into a peaceful bliss that makes his skin shine. “That was perfect,” you mutter, still dazed and Steve smiles down at you — hands moving to your legs that still cling to him. He squeezes them, leaning over to kiss your lips this time  — as if he can never have enough.

“Told you,” he mumbles into your mouth, exhaustion heavy in his voice.

“My method is foolproof.”

#i feel like this is just average lmao but it has been in my drafts for like 3 days and that's too many days so here you go shfjsfh #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #joe keery smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #mywriting

[princessanonymous]

Ah, Look Up At All The Puppeteers

"Do you truly wish to see him, Harry ?" Asked professor Dumbledore grimly.

Harry smiled tightly. "He's the only one that's able to answer our questions, professor," he reminded the old man with a sigh. "I'm the only one he deigns to answer. I don't wish to, but I must."

The headmaster sighed but nodded and looked at Snape who held a cold and uncaring gaze. The three of them walked through the halls of Hogwarts, passing different secret passageways. They arrived at the door. It was hidden from the public in a remote area. Adding to that the Fidelius charm and the Notice-me-not charm placed on it, the chances that a random student could stumble upon this room were practically nonexistent.

Still, Harry would have preferred for this place to not be in a school full of children. Sadly, professor Dumbledore held great confidence in the wards and barriers around and in the school, no matter all incidents in the previous four years that proved him wrong time and time again. This was one of the esteemed wizard's greatest flaws.

The sound of incantations being uttered by the men brought him out of his thoughts. The two adults were carefully opening the door. He was glad, he realized absentmindedly, that the spells around the door could only be removed in the presence of two wizards. It was a smart protective measure.

The door opened and Harry stepped into a candlelit room. The headmaster and the teacher stood back. They didn't step in, but their eyes remained focused on the figure in the room.

Harry followed their gaze. There, in front of him, sat a man. His black long hair flowed around him elegantly. He had sharp features and a long slender body covered by a simple forest green smoking jacket and black pants. He was peacefully sitting crossed legged on the floor. His eyes remained closed, but Harry knew he was aware of his surroundings.

Harry waited for the man to acknowledge him. He didn't, even after a long minute. He sighed audibly and narrowed his eyes, realizing the other wouldn't talk in the presence of the two others. The teen sighed and turned around resolutely.

"You two can leave, professor Dumbledore," Harry assured with a bit of reluctance, "I will be fine."

The old man looked hesitant at the idea while Snape looked too eager to leave him behind with the prisoner. Harry nodded at the headmaster, gesturing for the door.

When the door finally closed, the man— no, the  deity opened his eyes. They were green, a green so similar to his and Harry despised it. Despised how the god did it on purpose, how he took this form just to mess with Harry.

The being smiled. "Darling," he greeted, "you came to visit."

Harry narrowed his eyes and leaned against a wall. While the gestured appeared casual, Harry wanted to distance himself from the god as much as possible. He looked at the floor beneath the deity. The engravings of the Hallows were still there. Wasn't it ironic that the same Deathly Hallows the god created had been the key to his imprisonment ?

"I'm not here to chat," Harry snapped abrasively.

Death tilted his head to the side curiously. "Oh, well that is quite unfortunate. Still, any time spent with my child is positive, I suppose."

Harry gritted his teeth as his temper flared. "Stop calling me that."

"It is merely a fact," the being reminded lightly, ignoring Harry's anger. "Your parents had trouble having a child so I graciously—"

"I know," he cut him off. He didn't want to hear about it again. He didn't want to think about it. "And then you killed them."

Death kept a calm face. "It had to be done."

He clenched his fist as anger thrummed through his veins. "It didn't! You know it as well as I do !"

"Hmm..." The deity lightly tapped a finger on his chin before smiling viciously. "I must admit they were in my way. They would have held you back. You will understand eventually."

"How could I possibly understand my parents' death ?" He demanded angrily as he took a step forward. Death's smile widened.

"I am still here, child," he reminded with a warm smile.

Fury roared through his mind as he took several other steps forward. "You aren't—"

The teen stopped and looked down. Harry stepped away when he realized he had almost stepped into the triangle. Had he done that, the deity could have taken this opportunity to use the breach in the barrier as a way to escape.

"Well, I at least tried," said the god lightheartedly as Harry glared at him. He had set him up.

But that made him remember to keep his temper in check. He shouldn't get so riled up. Resentment grew inside him like a tumor. He had to get back on track.

"I came here to ask you something," Harry announced as he crossed his arms.

The deity smiled maliciously and stood up abruptly. Harry tensed, realizing the god had been waiting for it. He didn't know if this was a good sign.

"Reports from hospitals informed us that people aren't dying. A woman has been found in severe pain, but still alive despite her head being severed. The situation seems to be worse in the muggle world."

Harry stared at the god of death who simply mirrored his actions.

"What have you done ?" The teen demanded.

Death smiled, then grinned, quickly the grin became a chuckle and eventually ended into full on laughing. Harry stared at him, dumbfounded.

Harry clenched his fists. "You have something to do with this." That wasn't a question. The teen just knew it.

"I do." Hr had stopped laughing abruptly.

The wizard blinked, surprised by the admission. His eyes narrowed as he tried to regain his composure. "How ? How can we fix this ?"

"Why do you care so much ?"

People were suffering from incurable, painful illnesses, but death never came. Harry didn't know what the god was doing, but this was simply cruel.

"You can't just leave people writhing in pain because you feel like it," Harry argued with annoyance.

"I can." The god of death whispered slowly. His eyes glowed in the dimly lit room and his face darkened as he smirked viciously. "You see, I am above these people. Their livelihoods remain in my hands and I could extinguish each and everyone of them at any moment. This is my play and I can do as I wish with any of these pathetic mortals."

The god stepped forward slowly, but remained confined in the pattern engraved on the floor.

"This place may confine me physically and reduce my powers, but it cannot fully contain me. I will raise chaos upon this world, starting with each of your little friends. Tell me, how long will it take before your little bushy haired friend loses her mind under my torture. And what about that redhead ? How do you think I should break him ?"

"You can't !" Harry gasped as he took a step back. Images of his friends dying came in mind. He couldn't— he wouldn't let that happen.

"You could stop me," suggested the god lightly. "Take this world as yours, child. You have the power to do so."

Harry's heart was beating quickly and his eyes eyes were focused on the man's identical ones.

"Deep down, you are aware they are below you. You are my child, my essence flows in your body. I want what is best for you. This place — this world — is not even an ounce of the amount you deserve, but it shall do for now.”

Once again their conversation reverted to this. Harry sneered at the mere idea of becoming like Voldemort. Because that was what he associated with the god's suggestion. He didn't want to be a ruler. He just wanted to be Harry.

"I could teach you so much, child," the deity now crooned happily at the idea.

Harry refused : "I don't want any part in your sick fantasy."

"Then you will lose everything you hold dear." He spoke with a careless tone, showing how the  thought didn't bother him at all.

He gritted his teeth. "How can you even profess to care about me when you threaten me in such a way ?"

"I am not the villain of this story," the deity said smoothly. "But if you want to play victim now, I'll be just the monster you need. Until you understand. Until you realize I am doing this for you. It might take time, millennia even, but I am willing to wait. Millennia are nothing but a blink of an eye for beings such as ourselves."

Harry trembled. Tremors wracked his body. Death's eyes, the ones that so resembled his with their Avada Kedavra green color, gazed into Harry's. They both observed each other intently.

"What do you choose, child ?"

#master of death #yandere god #platonic yandere #yandere platonic #immortal harry potter #harry potter #manipulation #yandere death #yandere #yandere deity #tw threats

[lumosinlove]

Vaincre

Details and full fic on Ao3 

~

April Part Two

~

Oh, this is gonna be a big one, isn’t it, Lee?

Sure is. We’ve got—well, I’ll say a complete top line. Black and O’Hara tearing it up as usual, but we’ll be missing sorely someone who’ll be across the ice this time, eh?

That’s right, Logan Tremblay—oh, there he is now. Skating out in blue.

“Your New York Rangers…” came the drawn out roar around Madison Square Garden.

Remus shifted back and forth on his skates. He could already feel the coolness of the ice from down the tunnel. He could feel Sirius behind him, doing the same thing.

“All right, boys, big game,” Thomas’ voice came from somewhere closer to the front of the line. “Big game, big game!”

Coach Weasley confessed in his pre-game interview that Winter was supposed to start tonight in net, but it’ll be Knut instead. He didn’t go into details, but it’s not a secret that Winter’s been battling injuries for quite a few seasons now.

It’s true, Dean. But Knut has been proving himself over and over again. We’ve heard from his teammates how important he is in the room, also how hard he is on himself after a loss. Tell me, Dean, we see this a lot from net minders. We see the way they place weight on themselves—Kasey Winter, too. Do you think that’s something Knut will have to manage down the line?

You know, Lee, I think he’s a kid. He’s so young—so much of the Lions team is so young—hell, their Captain is so young. I think its in their nature to be hard on themselves, they’ve all been working for this life for a long time. That isn’t to say I don’t think you can be too hard on yourself. And that’s tricky territory, especially given the fact that—now, I don’t want to say this, I really don’t—but given the fact that Knut could be looking at the starting spot soon.

Oh, yeah.

Madison Square Garden booed when they skated out, and the rattle of Sergei knocking the pile of pucks down off the boards for warm-ups was drowned out. Remus gathered one for himself, pushing hard around the back of the goal before tucking it neatly into the upper crossed corner of the still empty net. The music boomed, some lyric-less bass-heavy beat that Remus could tune right out. He didn’t look across the ice, to the blur of blue jerseys just at the corner of his vision. Sirius stayed at his heels, pulling to a hard stop just beside him.

“Seventy-one,” he said. “I didn’t think about the number.”

“What?” Remus asked, looking up at him. Sirius only nodded across the ice, and Remus took a breath, and then looked. He found Logan almost immediately, TREMBLAY in white across his shoulders rather than black, and, below—

Remus frowned, before realizing. Artemi Panarin already wore ten. Now, Logan wore 71 on his back.

“Leo’s 1, Harz’s backwards,” Sirius said, and then turned to smile at Remus, tapped a glove over where his necklace rested. “Guess you’re not the only one who likes to play with numbers.”

“Weird, huh?” Leo said as he skated up beside them, mask propped on top of his head. He jerked his chin across the ice. “He’s always been ten. In school and everything. Ask Finn.”

“Really weird,” Remus said, and Sirius gave him a loving nudge before skating off for his routine, Leo towards the goal. Remus headed for his usual spot in one of the corners, where he bounced a puck off the boards a few times, but at the last second, he changed directions. If he couldn’t change his routine, he didn’t like that. He took a long, slow breath and thought of earlier that morning, Sirius’ warm arms locked around him. He thought of how well Sirius knew him. How thoroughly. He tried to keep that thought playing through his mind, willed it to be louder than the music, than the chorus of winwinwin in his head.

Remus skated to the bench instead, lightly checking into Finn, who resolutely had his back to the ice.

“How’s he look?” Finn asked, squirting water into his mouth.

Remus glanced over Finn’s shoulder, only to see Alex skating up to them, coming to hard stop that sprayed Finn’s lower body with ice.

“Ugh,” Finn said and squeezed the water bottle at his brother’s chest, squirting the front of his jersey. Remus just laughed, knowing that the cameras were catching this for sure.

“Hi, baby brother,” Alex said, throwing an arm around his neck. “So glad you’re here. Ready to get your ass kicked, bud?”

“You wouldn’t kick my ass,” Finn said, and pointed to the top of the stands where the Rangers’ team box was. “Not while Mom and Dad are watching. We both know only I could ever get away with that.”

Alex just grinned and sent a wink to Remus. “He wishes. Hey.” He knocked his and Finn’s visors together. “Gotta tell you something.”

“No,” Finn pretended to put his gloves over his ears. “La-la-la, I don’t know what you’re gonna do but I’m not falling for it.”

“No, really.”

“La-la-la—”

Alex slapped at the side of his head. “It’s about Tremz.”

Finn lowered his hands, still looking suspicious. “What?”

“Don’t mind if Sir Lupin hears?”

“Oh, believe me,” Finn said, sending an identical grin to Remus. “Loops has heard it all. What, you weirdo, spit it out.”

Alex raised his glove near his mouth for privacy in case any cameras were on them, but he was still smiling—Remus actually thought his eyes looked a little bright. “In the locker room yesterday, Saint was talking about some book series and Lo just basically goes—” Alex gave Finn’s shoulders a little happy shake. “Oh, yeah, my boyfriend loves those.”

Remus’ heart squeezed as he saw Finn’s eyes go a little unfocused on the ice. He set the water bottle down on the boards, swallowed, and closed his eyes, like some final part of him surrendered to the belief that it was real. That this was real. Remus remembered that feeling well.

“Yeah?” Finn breathed.

“Yeah,” Alex said, softer this time. “Yeah.” He smiled, pushed Finn’s helmet down over his eyes, and skated a few strides backwards towards his own side of the ice. Finn pushed his helmet back up and watched him go.

“You fucking crying, Al?” Finn laughed, but he sounded choked up himself.

“Yes!” Alex called. “Love ya!”

Looks like the O’Hara brothers already have their competitive streak up and ready. As usual. Hey, what a treat it’d be to see those two play together on an Olympic team or something, eh, Dean?

Finn cleared his throat. Remus saw him finally look for Logan, saw him find him on the ice—saw Logan find him back and raise his stick with a soft look. “I love you, too.”

Before he crossed the blue line, Alex picked up a water bottle and squirted it at Kasey, who barely flinched. He was dressed in gear, but playing back-up tonight, baseball cap shading his eyes. “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?”

Kasey just shook his head, smile small, brown eyes challenging. “Rangers stew.”

Alex scoffed, but skated closer to knock their helmets together gently, before darting off towards Montague in the Rangers goal just as the whistle blew, signaling the end of warm-ups.

The first few face-offs were a blur of adrenaline. Remus watched Sirius line up against Zibanejad. He kept waiting for Finn and Logan to end up shoulder to shoulder, but it never happened. Each time Logan was on the ice, Coach called Finn off of it. Thomas and Olli hardly let Logan near Leo’s net, either, double-manning him, predicting his every move. Remus saw Sirius and Pascal share slightly wolfish grins when Logan hit his stick against the boards in frustration.

Looks like Tremblay’s having himself quite the time out there against his former teammates. Haven’t seen him share the ice with his old college line mate yet. Had a bit of a tussle with Dumais, though, ha! Do you think that’s on purpose?

Tremblay and O’Hara go so far back, man, so much history. Played together at Harvard. Best friends, too. I don’t know why you’d keep two opponents who know each other’s game so well off of the same ice. I’d say you’d want that advantage, but, then again, that could backfire real quick, huh, Lee? I suppose I just want the show! Ha!

Oh, I’d say so.

“Jesus, Montague’s on tonight,” Sirius panted between drinks of water as the whistle blew for a deflection over the glass by the Rangers.

Remus nodded as he dragged a towel over his visor, clearing any sweat and steam away. “So’s Nut.”

“Ouais.” Sirius held his hand out for the towel and Remus handed it over. “We’re both locking each other down.”

“Better than the alternative.”

Sirius shrugged noncommittally and knocked on Remus’ helmet, making him laugh.

“That was an observation, not a jinx.”

Sirius didn’t look convinced, only glanced up at the clock. Six minutes to go in the first and no score. “If you say so.”

The Garden was still chanting Saint’s name after that last save. Saint, Saint, Saint, like they had stumbled in on some holy ritual. Remus took a moment to gaze up and around at the seats. Never in his wildest dreams had he ever thought he would get to play here after his injury. Never again, and now he had done it a few times. He didn’t think the effect was likely to ware off anytime soon. He watched Logan skate out, watched him check what line he was against—Pascal’s. Pascal said something as he took the face-off against Trocheck, and Logan smiled and rolled his eyes.

There we go, saying hello to an old friend, eh, Dean?

Tremblay lived with Dumais. The old joke is that they couldn’t get him to leave! My wife’s obsessed with Tremblay’s instagram, lots of pictures with Dumais’ kids. We know Tremz is the baby of three sisters—youngest child’s secret dream, to be the oldest?

Hey, I’m the baby of my family—no way I’d give up that leverage for anything.

Trocheck won it and Remus allowed himself a moment to settle into his old, familiar routine of watching Logan skate, the way he used to when he had spent all of his time on the bench. Sirius would always be his favorite—light, even strides that were soundless when he cut into the ice—but Logan skated like he was prepared to go miles and miles for what he wanted. His edges were clean, he could stop at the smallest touch, which meant it was hard to get around him and even harder to take the puck from him. Remus guessed that was why the Rangers coach had put him with Panarin. He shouldn’t be enjoying the way the two seemed to see lanes on the ice that looked closed, angles that looked impossible, but he was. Beautiful hockey was beautiful hockey, and Remus had always been able to appreciate that no matter what.

Logan narrowly avoided Evgeni, who definitely hadn’t gone in for the hit with his usual force, but it did make Logan pause for long enough that Evgeni was able to poke the puck away with his long reach, and right into Pascal’s waiting tape. Pascal turned and pushed hard up towards the other end—Logan on his heels.

“Très étrange…” Sirius breathed from beside him as the two whipped by.

“Yeah,” Remus said. “Strange.”

“Black!” Coach called when Evgeni came for a change. “O’Hara, go!”

Sirius was over the boards in a flash, well-rested from the whistle break. He caught Logan easy, Pascal blocking any shot he might make from behind. Logan liked to do that, no look passing. Finn had been on the receiving end of those for his entire career. Logan would keep his green eyes narrowed on the guy in front of him and then fake a shot, only to knock it back to Finn with his backhand for Finn and his speed to race half-way up the ice.

He couldn’t pass to Finn now, though, but Remus saw him hesitate, like the muscle-memory of it was fighting with him as he saw Finn in front of him on the ice. Finn shouted something to him that Remus couldn’t make out.

Oh, here we go, finally. This should be a show. Tremblay surrounded by familiar faces in the Rangers’ zone, knocks it to Panarin who can’t get it through, sends it around the boards to Fox, holding, holding, can’t get a lane—Black’s got it! Picked his pocket right up, looks like—is he gonna go coast to coast, Dean? Tremblay’s at his heels, can’t catch him—

Remus was on his feet as Sirius widened his stride the closer he got to Montague’s net. Saint was making himself big, blocker and glove out, knees ready to drop.

“Fake left,” Remus said under his breath. “High, high, c’mon…”

Sirius’ right leg raised, but Saint didn’t move the inch to follow where Sirius wanted him to go. Sirius’ shot was hit right out of the air by his blocker—God, the very edge of his blocker.

“Rebound!” Jackson shouted from beside him. “Cap, let’s fucking go!”

Sirius scrambled for it, but Logan got there first and knocked it all the way down the ice. The whistle blew for icing on the Rangers, and Logan’s line would have to stay on the ice for another shift, tired as they were.

Jesus, not often do you see a chance taken away from Sirius Black like that, do you, Lee?

Nope. No, you do not. Sebastian Montague, in these past few years…well, he’s been making a name for himself, yes he has.

Logan and Sirius were panting, sticks on their knees, not quite looking at each other. Logan bent to hand the puck to the ref, and Remus watched him send a glance to Sirius, watched him say something. Sirius turned and, after a moment, smiled, then reached his stick out to lightly wack Logan’s shins. Remus felt something release in his chest, looked to Finn who was watching them as he skated towards the boards for a change. He looked like he was feeling something similar—complicated and relieved, happy and sad.

“Mind staying out, Harzy?” Coach said when Finn reached the bench. Coach had an equally complicated look on his face as he raised his calling card to his mouth so the cameras couldn’t read him. “You distracted him good out there. Black got close, I think he can get close again before clock runs down.”

Finn looked surprised for a moment, then grinned. “Oh, Coach. I was born to distract Logan Tremblay.”

~

Remus was drenched in sweat by the time they were making their way down the tunnel for first intermission. They were still 0-0, but it was one of those games that just felt good. Difficult and evenly matched, low on hits, high on skill. It was always like that with the Rangers. Remus handed Lars his sweaty gloves to be dried with a nod of thanks. The locker room wasn’t loud, but it wasn’t quite. It wasn’t frustration exactly that hung in the air. More like will power. They wanted this. All of them.

Remus cut through the puck-marked tape on his stick once he was sitting in his stall again. Finn came into the room near the end of the line, just ahead of Leo, and let out a very loud, meandering sigh-like noise that made Leo laugh.

“Okay, Harzy?”

“This feels like a really weird dream. Like��” He paused to pull his jersey over his head, then stripping his pads off, leaving only Logan’s fleur-de-lis around his neck and his pants. “Like one of those dreams that you wake up and try to figure out what the fuck it means but you just sit there confused.”

Thomas laughed from beside Remus. “That was a whole thought.”

“I have a lot of them, occasionally.”

Remus just smiled and got up for the bathroom to rinse the sweat off of his face and neck. Within, Kasey was at the sink, stripped out of his pads. He was strong and tall, but always looked smaller, more fragile, in the moments just after he had removed all of the bulky goaltender gear. Kasey met his eyes in the mirror, twisting on the tap.

“Hey, Loops.”

“Hi, Bliz,” Remus said.

“Intense so far, eh?”

“Yeah,” Remus smiled. “Hey, gonna see Alex later?”

“Yeah, but we’re going out with a few of the guys first—not sure if the Cubs are coming, too, but I think they are. Old Harvard teammates and all that. And, from what I’ve heard from Leo, Tremz probably wants to do some sentimental shit like—I don’t know, serenade them?”

Remus laughed. “It’s sweet. I didn’t know he was like that, but it’s damn sweet.”

Kasey made a show of rolling his eyes but he was grinning, too, shutting the water off. “Yep. It is.”

“We’ll probably come, too,” Remus said. “But if we don’t win, I can’t promise you-know-who will be any fun.”

“Oh, you’ll wring some fun out of him, I know it.”

Remus leaned over and splashed water over his neck. “I always seem to, don’t I?”

Kasey was silent for a moment, but he wasn’t leaving like he normally would. Like any player, he had a strict intermission routine. Instead, he stood there, half-turned towards Remus.

“So, Cap asked you to marry him,” Kasey finally said.

“So he did.”

“I want to marry Natalie.”

Remus couldn’t help the way his head snapped towards him, couldn’t help the grin that crossed his face. “Oh my God, Kasey. That’s—” But then he noticed Kasey’s conflicted expression. “What’s up? That’s great, man.”

“It is.” Kasey nodded. “I’ve only been thinking. Our relationship with Alex is newer…well, Alex feels like my oldest friend in the world, but in this way, the way we three are now, it’s new. Very new. I don’t know how to tell him that I want to marry Natalie without him thinking that…without him worrying that I don’t think of him as permanently mine like that. Because I think I will want that. I think Nat will want that. I just…it feels different. We’re in a different place. I want to marry one person, but I want to keep the other.”

Remus nodded. He couldn’t picture wanting anyone but Sirius, couldn’t imagine having any room left over in his heart, but it filled him with warmth every time he thought of the Cubs, or when Kasey had told him about Natalie and Alex. Kasey was so quiet about it, but he was a bit like Finn, Remus sometimes thought. He had endless things to give.

“I think…I think you should tell him.”

“Yeah?”

“I think—I mean, maybe you’d be better of talking to Finn or Leo or Logan—but aren’t both of your relationships proof that things develop at different rates? That more than one thing can develop at once?”

Kasey nodded. “I…yeah.”

“I mean—okay, now that I’m thinking, even me.” Remus crossed his arms, leaning against the counter with a hip. “Maybe I don’t want two different people, but I wanted to kiss Sirius before I knew I was ever going to be friends with him. That shouldn’t really make sense, but that’s how I felt. And then he became my best friend while I was also falling in love with him. At the same time.”

Kasey smiled. “Yeah, I think we all knew about your little crush.”

Remus laughed. “I’m trying to say that I think…I think you should talk to Alex, ask Natalie, and…” Remus huffed out a laugh. “And wring out all the best that life has to offer. You’ve got a good hand you’ve been dealt.”

Kasey was quiet for so long that Remus started to worry that he’d said something wrong. That maybe he’d wanted or needed something else. He looked away from Kasey, trying to give him space, but kept an eye on his expression in the mirror—it was crumbling, slowly.

His voice came out so soft that even the bathroom’s echoes barely caught it. “I think I need to retire, Remus.”

And part of Remus felt like crumbling, too. Kasey was so quiet about it, about all of it, and Remus suddenly felt painfully grateful that someone like Kasey trusted him like this. He was thankful for his old job, and all that it had given him. If he’d started as a player, he wasn’t sure he would’ve gotten that.

“I know,” Remus said just as softly. How many hours had they spent together, trying to make the pain go away? Remus leaned his palms on the counter, freezing to the touch. “God. I know, Kase. You’ve been hurting a long time, huh?”

“They tell you to fight through it,” Kasey said, eyes down and unfocused. “That’s the thing about hockey. That’s probably what wrecked me and Alex for so long. What wrecked Sirius. They just tell you to fight through what hurts and it’ll go away. And if it doesn’t go away, ignore it. Pain means you’re an athlete, you asked for this.” Remus watched Kasey close his eyes. His face would have looked almost peaceful, if his voice hadn’t had a fine tremor to it, words barely audible by the end of his next sentence. “I’m so fucking tired of it. I’m so tired.”

Remus straightened and put a hand on Kasey’s back. “Kase…”

“I don’t know what’ll happen,” Kasey said.

“What’ll happen is you’re so fucking young. They make you feel old at twenty-eight in this game, and it’s bullshit. You can do anything you want. What’ll happen is you’ll choose something incredible, Kasey. I know you will. I know that because you know how to take your time. Believe me. I understand.”

“I—I want to finish the season. Give myself that.”

Remus nodded. “All right. Layla and Lars will help you.”

Kasey looked at him. “Will you help me?”

Remus had to take a minute. He squeezed Kasey’s shoulder and nodded fiercely. “Of course I will.”

Kasey sent him a quiet smile. He put his hand over Remus’. “Guess I’ll start with choosing Nat, then, huh?”

Remus smiled back. “Sounds like a good plan to me.”

~

Finn just wanted to get back out onto the ice. He had thought he would be sad. He thought he would have woken up with dread and a dry mouth at the thought of seeing Logan in blue. But he hadn’t taken into consideration that now Logan’s eyes would always be on him, storm-ridden sea green, trained on him, looking for the best way to beat him. Finn could see it now, even as he mindlessly taped fresh sticks for period two. It riled Finn in a way he hadn’t known it would.

“Hey,” Leo said, sitting down in his stall beside Finn. “I know we said we were all going to Lo’s but…lots of the boys are going out tonight.”

“You want to go, babe?”

Leo shrugged. “Kinda. Don’t know if Lo knows about it, though. He won’t be looking at his phone now, gotta see after the game.”

Finn tore the tape with his teeth and smoothed his finished work. “I think we should. Today won’t be complete till I’ve got my hands all over your hips while everyone’s looking. We don’t play tomorrow, we can fly back after the team does.”

Leo’s answering smile was bright and he leaned forward to press a kiss to Finn’s cheek. “That sounds good. So good. God, this game.”

“How’s it feel to you?” Finn said. “Because its getting me unexpectedly…toasty.”

Leo snorted. “I know, I can tell. I…” He paused. “I just—I really don’t want to let one of his past me, you know? It’s stupid, but oh my god, I don’t.”

“It’s not stupid,” Finn said. “Believe me, I feel the same.”

Leo leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “He looks good out there. Blue suits him.”

“You look good out there,” Finn said.

Leo offered him a small smile, eyes lingering over Finn’s, then Finn’s mouth. “Harzy?”

“Yeah?”

Another beat of silence, another flick of his eyes up, then down. “I—miss you.”

Finn started a little, blinked, sat up straighter. Leo smiled a little bashfully, looked down, and Finn reached out and put a hand on his thigh. “You miss me? Le, I’m…”

“I just mean…I feel better. And I can tell you feel better. We were all so different, for a moment there. And I’m—I guess I mean that I’m happy.” Leo put his hand over Finn’s. “That’s all. I’m happy. I don’t know.” Leo squeezed his fingers. “I—yeah, I don’t know.”

Finn nodded, slowly, understanding. He thought of the horribly still nights that they’d shared after Logan had first left. All of their trying, all of their tight grips. It did feel better now. Finn scooted closer, took Logan’s necklace from around his own neck and slipped it over Leo’s surprised, soft expression. He took Leo’s chin gently between his fingers and kissed him, because he could.

“I love you happy.” Finn said. and tapped the necklace and kissed him again. “For luck.”

“The necklace or the kiss?” Leo’s smile was bright.

“The necklace. The kiss is because I love you. Here’s another.” Finn kissed Leo’s forehead, then rested his own against it. “And I miss you, too. I don’t know exactly what I mean, either.”

Leo let out a breath. “Yeah…”

“But I do.”

Leo closed his eyes and nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

The second period started off with a bang. Evgeni took on Reaves—and Finn honestly couldn’t be sure who won, only that they were both still talking a mile-a-minute on their way to their penalties.

“Does Reaves speak Russian?” Finn leaned in to say to Jackson, who just snorted.

“Kuns doesn’t care if you know what he’s saying during fights. It’s the feeling, Jackson, the feeling. They scare.”

Finn smiled. “Right. Reaves totally looks scared.” They looked like they were going to break down the glass.

“17, on Tremblay.” Coach tapped Finn’s shoulder. “Remember.”

“Oh, Coach, I remember.”

Finn next jumped the boards beside Sirius to swap out with Pascal’s fourth line. He narrowly avoided a hit by Blais with the puck on his stick, and managed a slick pass to Olli, only to have the puck snatched out of the air by Montague. Chants of Saint filled Madison Square Garden again. Saint, Saint, Saint. When he saw Panarin jump the boards, he fell in at Sirius’ shoulder.

“It’s not working up high.”

Trocheck followed Panarin, and then—

“Tremz’ll know if you go low.” Sirius was chewing on his mouthguard, eyes on where Logan was skating towards the face-off circle—towards Finn. “He’ll block. If he’s not shooting, he likes getting up in the crease to protect the goal.”

“We’ll have to try and get him unmatched from the Panarin line, surprise him. Their guys seem to like Lo and him together.”

Sirius nodded as they turned back to the face-off. “Try to trap him in the corners, maybe the others will go for a change.”

Sirius bent across from Trocheck, and Finn—well, he stopped for a minute. He had known what would happen just now, but he hadn’t realized exactly what this would mean, facing Logan’s line. He looked right into those familiar green eyes. They hadn’t been this close all night, and now Finn leaned forward, skate braced against Logan’s, snug shoulder-to-shoulder. Distract.

“Sorry, what’s your name again?” Finn said, and pretended to look back at Logan’s jersey. “Huh. Can’t pronounce that. I’ll just have to call you seventy-one.”

Logan suppressed a smile but said nothing. He kept his eyes forward, but there was a blush to the back of his neck.

And there are the old teammates. Chatting it up—well, O’Hara is, anyway.

“Seventy-one,” Finn said, mockingly thoughtful. “Got the last pick, eh? The dregs?”

“Harzy,” Logan said in a low voice.

“Hey, remember earlier today when we made out?”

That made Logan look at him, eyes pleased and fiery, just as the ref dropped the puck. Logan cursed and gave Finn a nice, hard shove, but not before Finn got the puck from Sirius and sent it up the boards. That was as good as a starting gun for Logan, and Finn gave chase. He saw his chance and took it. He pushed through one hard stride, then another, before pinning Logan not too softly against the boards, the puck trapped between both of their skates.

“Hi there, Tremblay,” Finn breathed, mouth perfectly positioned against Logan’s neck.

He knew Logan could feel his breath there, especially when he let out a frustrated noise low in his throat, and tried to shove back against Finn, free up the puck, but Finn fought right back.

“This? You want this?” Finn groaned as Logan shoved an elbow back against his ribs. “Oh, ouch, what was that for? Thought you loved me.”

“Finn,” Logan said through his teeth. The crowd was beginning to get restless and loud, but Finn just wanted to smile. He couldn’t help that they were matched for strength, that they could predict each other’s every move.

“Never felt you fight me like this before, huh?” Finn made a try for the puck but Logan’s broad shoulders edged in front of him again, making him have to switch to his other side. He could feel Logan’s sweat against him from the damp curls of his hair peaking out from his helmet, taste the salt of it. It was all him.

Logan let out a low groan of effort again and finally knocked the puck free. Both of them dived for it, only to find Remus there, snatching it up, tapping it to Thomas, back to Remus, back to Finn to tapped it in a quick east-west to Remus who pulled his stick back for a slap-shot—it rattled off the crossbar and into the Rangers’ net.

Finn put his arms up with a shout and Remus turned towards him, pointing his glove at him.

“Yeah, Harz!” Remus grinned as they crashed together, Thomas putting one hand on each of their helmets.

“Having fun in the corners there, Finnegan?” Thomas said.

“Very much so. Gonna get an earful for it later, though.” Finn laughed as he skated down the bench to tap gloves with his teammates, receiving a slap on the helmet from Coach as he used the gate to get into the bench. He glanced up and caught green eyes staring at him for just a second.

“My boyfriend loves those,” Finn said quietly to himself. “My boyfriend reads those.”

Wow, all smiles from O’Hara. Certainly pleased with himself over that goal.

Finn looked down the ice at Leo, and he couldn’t really see his eyes, but he could tell that Leo was looking back by the slow, exasperated and fond shake of his head.

“You say something?” Evgeni asked from beside him.

Finn pointed to Leo. “My boyfriend’s the goaltender for the Gryffindor Lions.”

Evgeni made a face, brown eyes confused. “Harzy, I’m know this?”

Finn just smiled, letting out a long breath. “I know. I just wanted to say it someone.”

~

Logan sat back in his stall with his eyes closed.

“How you doing, kid?” Alex’s voice said.

“I’m a little…fluttered.”

“You’re…fluttered?”

“I think I said it wrong.”

“Flustered?”

Logan rubbed at his eyes, then laughed. “I guess. Turned on feels closer.”

Alex must have been drinking water because there was a snorting sound and then he was choking through a laugh. “Oh-kay. Okay, Tremblay, wow. Zero to one-hundred.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Alex laughed again, taking another sip of water. “I mean, keep in mind I believe you’re referring to my brother’s little clean hit, but don’t be sorry.”

“Huh,” Percy said from where he was re-lacing his skates. “I believe Finn was hoping it would be perceived as a bit more dirty, actually.”

Logan laughed. “Shut up.”

Logan felt easier in this locker room. Part of him worried it was only due to the mere proximity of the Lions, of Leo and Finn, of Sirius and Pascal. He had been living without the promise of see you tonight and he still got sad going home to an empty apartment. But he liked this team. They were kind and tight-knit. They pushed each other and uplifted each other. Even the quiet, somber ones like Luke—though, Logan guessed he could be considered a quiet and, sometimes, somber one himself.

He stood up. “They’re starting on the power play, which is dangerous.”

Percy put up his hands. “I didn’t trip Nadeau. Fucking refs.”

“Cap—uh.” Logan shook his head, threw his jersey back over his head so he’d miss any second looks he got for that. “Black is probably really fired up so. Dangerous around the net. Whether you tripped him or not.”

“So?” Alex said. “You’ve got a slapper that can go the distance.”

“Non, they’ll expect that. They’ll put Walker right in front of it.”

“Hm.” Alex stood, too, throwing his shoulder pads on over his bare chest and beginning to smooth the velcro.

“Well,” Percy said. “You know Knut better than any of us. We’ve watched tape, but…”

That brought Logan up short. He looked over at Percy, his fair hair wild from drying sweat.

“What?” he asked, though he’d heard him.

“What’ll work?” Percy asked, like it was obvious.

Logan opened his mouth, but couldn’t think of a single thing to say. What’ll work against Leo? He knew, obviously, but…

“Five-hole.”

They all looked over at Saint, who had spoken—who rarely spoke between periods usually. He was sitting in his stall beside Luke, cold towel around his neck.

“He’s tall,” Saint continued. “Long legs, he can’t get down as quickly as he always should. But he’s good with his hands, he’ll snatch anything glove-side right out of the air.” He looked over at Logan, eyes knowing. You can’t do this, so I’m doing it for you. “He’s been doing it all night. But so have I.”

Logan couldn’t keep his eyes off Leo. The way he came back out for the third, marking up the freshly smoothed blue paint in front of his goal with precise, measured strides. He was all the way at the other end of the rink, but Logan had a feeling Leo was watching him, too. When Leo came to the bench for a full water bottle before the first puck drop, Logan saw that he was right.

Logan almost didn’t want to look over. Finn had caused enough of a stir in him. But he couldn’t help it. He found Leo’s blue eyes. He had his mask up.

Hi, Logan saw Leo mouth.

Logan bit his lip. “Hi.”

Then Leo reached into his jersey, brought out a necklace, and kissed it. With a start, Logan realized it was his fleur-de-lis. He felt himself flush hot. He felt himself smile. He touched the place on his own chest where the pendant had once rested. Leo smiled, pulled his mask down over his face, pointed two fingers at his own eyes, then at Logan.

Logan recognized the challenge.

Ha! A little message from Leo Knut there. We’ll see if Tremblay rises to the bait and evens out this game.

They had been right about the power play. Sirius was buckling down and fierce. Logan felt the same. Any hyper-awareness that he’d had about playing against his old team faded to the back of his mind. Muscle memory took over. He didn’t hit—he didn’t think he could bring himself to really let that go—but their faces blurred and the Gryffindor red could have been Detroit’s. After each shift, he barely wanted to sit on the bench.

He found himself shoulder to shoulder with Finn again, determined not to give into him this time. Determined to maybe feed him a bit of his own fire.

“Do you remember,” Logan began. “That first summer we spent in New York together, and you read me those books?”

Finn smiled. “Ha, you can’t get me. Alex already told me. Ha-ha.”

Logan kept his eyes ahead. “I think I was already in love with you.”

Logan had the puck on his stick before Finn could even close his mouth.

Oh man, this is what Tremblay’s famous for, Dean. As fast backwards as he is forward and—those feet. One of the best skaters in the league. He passes to Morgan, Morgan to Panarin—the magnetism! Wow, back to Tremblay, over to Marshall, narrowly avoiding O’Hara on his way down the ice, Tremblay, back to Marshall, back to—Oh! And he scores! Tremblaaay!

Oh, what a look on Tremblay’s face! That’s bliss, man. That’s bliss!

Logan slammed up into the glass with a shout, Percy just behind him.

“What a pass!” Logan managed to say from beneath Percy’s glove all but trying to smother his face.

“Like old times, eh?” Percy laughed, then turned to call to Finn. “Eh, O’Hara! Owe you one, you fucking beauty!”

Finn waved him off, but the gesture did draw Logan’s eyes to Leo. He was tracing the blue paint with his stick, like he always did after a puck got past him, head down, trying to re-focus. Logan knew that this was normal for him, but that didn’t make the twinge of guilt in his gut any better. He had, for the first time, been the one to cause that look on Leo’s face. Leo was hard on himself. Logan knew this from many sleepless nights spent with him. The fact that it was Logan who had scored…he knew that didn’t make it easier for Leo.

And even still. A certain triumph. Leo. He’d gotten one past Leo.

But the victory didn’t last. No more than four minutes later, Finn and Remus were like hounds on the ice. Logan had almost forgotten. They were playing for the playoffs. Remus squeezed one in beneath Saint’s left pad with three minutes to go, and then Finn, nearly swiping Alex’s feet out from under him in the process, pulled the Lions ahead of the tie for a clean win. A clinch. They were two play-off teams now.

Logan was happy for them. He wondered if they would get to meet each other in the first round, depending on who the wild card ended up being. But Logan couldn’t watch them all celebrate on the ice, piling against Finn by the glass, gloves on the ice. That, he couldn’t quite do.

~

Remus could feel the happiness coming off of Sirius. They had done it. They were going to the play-offs. Sirius had even been almost receptive when the reporters had surrounded him in his stall. He’d even forgone his baseball hat that usually kept his eyes shaded and unreadable. Remus had had a bit of a moment, watching him push his sweat-drenched hair out of his bright eyes, answering questions in English, then a few in French.

“Thank you, Sirius,” a few of the writers had said, and then Sirius had smiled with a merci.

Remus joined him by the fridge that held sports drinks and water. He nudged their shoulders together. “Merci.”

“Shh,” Sirius said. He sent Remus a smile, though, pressed a kiss to his temple.

Finn’s parents were at the game, of course to watch both of their sons play. Remus had only met them a handful of times, but the energy they brought with them into the room was classic. Remus could practically smell the early morning practices, alarm clocks and high school locker rooms and jerseys on clothing hangers in stalls.

“How you doing, kid?” Finn’s mom grinned, pressing a hard kiss to Finn’s cheek and rubbing his back. “What a game. Almost a hatty. How’d it feel?”

Finn’s dad, Ramsey—a tall man with the O’Hara’s soft brown eyes and a handsome face with tortoise-shell glasses—rubbed a hand through Finn’s hair. Remus could tell he’d been doing that since Finn had only come up to his knees. “So weird to see Logan in blue.”

“Yeah,” Finn said. He still had his arm tightly around his mom’s shoulders, and his knuckles looked like he was really holding onto her. If Remus didn’t know better, he’d say there was a bit of emotion in Finn’s voice. He thought of what Alex had told him. My boyfriend reads those. He thought of how long Finn had been waiting for a sentence like that from Logan. “Yeah. It was weird, but it was good. See Alex yet?”

“Not yet, came to you first,” Ramsey said. “Al said he was gonna come down here to you, anyway. Oh, Leo—” Ramsey smiled at Leo as he came to Finn’s shoulder, and held out his arms. “What a fucking game, man. Hot hands on you.”

Leo accepted the hug and the slap on the back, then pointedly ignored Finn’s exaggerated look at his hands. “Thank you.”

“Aw, Leo,” Haley put her hands on his cheeks. “You’re looking good. I’m so glad, you boys are looking so good, I was…I was worried there.” Then her eyes caught on someone behind Leo and Remus looked to see. “Kasey Winter, what the hell are you standing all the way over there for? I see those shy eyes of yours looking at me.”

Kasey came over in his usual, almost sheepish way. Remus felt a pang go through him, thinking back to seeing that expression just over an hour ago, trying to be strong.

“How you doing?” She had her hands on his face like she had with Leo. “You okay?”

“I’m okay.” Kasey nodded.

“Hm.” Her eyes went over his face. “You know Alexander never shuts up about you.”

“I don’t think I shut up about him, either.” Kasey’s eyes went to Remus’ for a moment. “At least not in my head.”

“Good.”

Remus smiled. He looked over at Sirius. He had been going to ask if they were joining the others at the bar, but the look on Sirius’ face stopped him in his tracks. He was staring at the O’Hara family, grey eyes without walls. It was such a rare sight that Remus reached out for him without thinking, put his hand on Sirius’. Sirius blinked, watched Haley O’Hara lean up for Finn to whisper something in her ear, watched the way she put her hand over her heart and looked up at her son with that heart written all over her face.

“I’m fine,” Sirius said. “I just—wonder sometimes. About—I mean, if I had had…”

“I know.” Remus rubbed his thumb over Sirius’ knuckles.

Sirius squeezed his hand before clearing his throat and standing, reaching for his shirt.

“Hello, mon fils.” And Pascal was there suddenly, arm going around Sirius’ shoulders, squeezing tightly. “Going out with the boys?”

Sirius swallowed, leaned into Pascal a little, then nodded. “Ouais, we’re going.”

Remus thought about what he’d said to Kasey. They were all so young. And he suddenly wanted his family there. He wanted to see Julian for more than a few weekends a year and a month and a half in the summers. He had an almost aching want for a family with Sirius. And everything, all the time that came with that. It knocked his gaze unsteady for a moment. He looked at James, who was on the phone with Lily, one AirPod in and laughing as he did up his game suit tie.

“Put him on,” James was saying. “Harry totally knows what icing means, Lils!”

Remus smiled and reached for his towel to dry his hair one more time, only the room erupted around him. Logan and Alex had walked in. Alex immediately ran at Finn, dodging around his parents to put his little brother into a headlock.

“Ugh, Alex—” Finn scrabbled at Alex’s grip. “No—Mom.”

“Alexander, release your brother, he won fair and square.”

Leo, who had his arms around Logan, laughed as Logan imitated Finn. “Mom.”

“Ooh, it’s Tremblay,” Evgeni said, knocking Logan’s hat down over his eyes as he passed by, already dressed. “Big bad Ranger boy. We smush you. Smush.”

Jackson, behind him, righted his hat with a pat. “See you at the bar? What’s it called—uh, something-something?”

“Sure,” Alex called, still with a fighting Finn under his arm. “I’ll have Logan put it in the group chat.”

“Finn reached up to wack blindly at Alex’s face. “C’mon, man.”

Finally, laughing, Alex released him and accepted a hug from his mother. With access to Finn now, Logan gave him a shove.

“You fucker.”

“Tremblay,” Alex said, arm around Haley. “Language around my mother.”

Haley scoffed. “Oh, please.”

Remus laughed with the room just as his phone started ringing. A photo of Julian’s nostrils popped up beneath his name and Remus shook his head.

“When did you do that…” he muttered to himself, and then answered. “Hey, bud.”

“Such a good game! And—so weird that Tremzy? But like so cool to see him and Finn, like, like—battle for it. And also good goal! With Harzy. Really pretty.”

“Hi, sweetheart,” his mother’s voice came. “Oh, yes, we just went wild!”

“Hey, thanks,” Remus smiled. “Yeah, it was pretty weird.” He glanced over to where Finn had his hands up in surrender still, half talking, half laughing as Logan spoke a mile-a-minute in French.

“I wanna talk to Sirius,” Julian said matter-of-factly.

“Ooh, yes, put Sirius on for a moment. I have a wedding idea.”

“That you can’t tell me?”

“It’s about you! Hand him over!”

Remus rolled his eyes, but smiled as he nudged the phone at Sirius. “Jules and my mother demand your attention.”

Sirius looked down from where he had finished up half the buttons of his shirt, eyes going happy. “Give it.” He wedged the phone between his shoulder and cheek as he finished the buttons. “Ça va, Jules? Avez-vous regardé le match?”

Remus felt all warm inside at how slowly he spoke. Julian had started learning French in school, and Remus could hear his OUI! from where he was.

Sirius smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, as he listened to them.

See? Remus mouthed, and Sirius just reached out to stroke through the wet hair at the base of his neck. Remus leaned into it and listened for a few moments as Sirius replied to whatever Julian or his mother was saying. Soft hums and sounds of agreement until he finally said, with a wicked grin at Remus, “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything.”

Remus flicked him in the ribs.

“Non, not flying home,” Sirius said. “We’re going to hang out with Logan and some of the Rangers because we miss him.”

“I heard that!” Logan called over.

“Just a little!” Sirius called back, then held the phone in his hand, suit jacket over his arm. “Okay, Jules. Okay, I’ll tell him. Good night.” He laughed. “Yes, I know. Okay. Okay. Ouais, okay.” Remus put a palm to his forehead, shaking his head as Sirius tried to hid his laugh. “Okay, yes. Got it. Ouais, promise. Okay. Okay, night.”

Sirius handed the phone back to Remus. “I don’t want him to grow up any more.”

Remus sighed and accepted Sirius’ gentle kiss. “Me neither.”

~

The bar was loud and dim, with seemingly endless worn booths and many pool tables— also, everyone seemed to know Alex. The bartenders, two middle-aged women in black tank-tops and a sun and moon tattoo on their upper left arms that had to go together, each gave him long, hard hugs. Kasey, too, which Remus shouldn’t have been surprised about. The walls were plastered with photographs of the two women with different players—Rangers and otherwise. Above the bar was a great big sign: No Autographs, No Pictures. If We See A Flash—You’re OUT!

Remus smiled. He could see why Alex liked it here. Public, but no where they’d be mobbed should it come to that.

“I guess you’ve been coming here a long time,” Sirius said, coming to Kasey’s shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, Cap. Since the old days.”

“My Lord,” one of the women said—thick braided hair that was died pink at the ends and tied back in a long twist. She had soft eyes, russet-brown skin, and she stood tall like a dancer. “Kasey Winter, you have brought Sirius Black into my bar. Finally.”

Kasey just laughed and tapped Sirius’ chest. “Sirius, meet Holly, and that’s her wife Jude over there.” He nodded towards a woman with a blond pixie cut and green eyes that were almost as startling as Logan’s. She stood with one hand in her back pocket, pale skin covered in various tattoos. She was laughing at something Evgeni was saying before replying in Russian.

Remus thought Sirius looked a little overwhelmed by it all. He drew his gaze away from the surprisingly big space and towards Holly with one of his shyer smiles. “Nice to meet you.”

She laughed, a contagious thing. “You really are a formal one.”

Kasey rolled his eyes. “Not really.” He reached around Sirius to put a hand on Remus’ shoulder. “This is Remus.”

“Hi there,” Remus said. “This is an amazing place you’ve got here.”

“Oh, thank you, darling.” She reached over the bar and put her hand on Remus’. “You know, my wife grew up in your hometown. We followed your story all through college. We were so sorry when that nasty Grayback…He should have been banned from the League a long time ago. God, and then everything with that fucking Snake team. And I know we don’t know each other but we feel a lot of pride about you.” She gave a hard nod.

That nasty Grayback. Remus had never actually heard anyone blame him before. “I—oh. Wow.”

“I’m proud, too.” Sirius’ arm found his waist and Remus was so, so grateful.

“Sharmall.” Remus jumped a little at a very much higher-pitched version of Finn’s voice.

“A’Horo,” came the response from Percy Marshall, already standing with Alex and Will Morgan at a pool table.

Remus watched as Finn, coming in with Logan and Leo, all but launched himself at Percy, and he couldn’t have deciphered the noises that came out of their mouths if he wanted to.

“You fucking M&M! Fucking snack!” Percy held Finn’s face between his hands. “Treat you a two? A three? Crack the egg.”

Finn shook him by the shoulders. “Fuckin’ crack it.”

“Do you…understand this?” Remus asked Logan, who was greeted by Holly by a very loving and rather comforting hand on his cheek.

Logan was just shaking his head. “Yes. Only because I was there.”

“And?” Leo asked, looking just as bewildered as Remus.

“They’re going to have beers,” Logan said. “And they’re saying hello.”

Leo blinked. “I—okay.”

“I told you,” Logan said. “They’re crazy together.” He sighed, smile exasperated, and looked to Holly. “Hi, Hol. Sorry about them.”

“Oh, we’ve seen worse.” She held up her hands and poured Logan a drink—quick shot of rum, crack of a coke bottle. “Sorry about the loss, honeybee.” Her eyes moved to Leo. “And don’t I know who this is. Congrats on the win.”

Logan accepted the drink with a smile, and put his arm around Leo’s waist. “This is my boyfriend. Leo.”

Remus watched the way Leo’s expression caught, surprise and something so bright that Remus could barely look at it.

Holly pressed her lips together in a smile. “Hi, sweetheart. Can I pour you something? I can’t tell. All thought I couldn’t tell with Tremblay here, either. Jude googled him—ha!”

Leo nodded, hand going to his wallet. “I can—do you want…”

“I believe you.” She cracked the cold bottle from the fridge that Sirius has asked for. “Some of the older boys try to bring in the rookies sometimes. They know they can’t get passed us, though.”

Remus turned to look up at Sirius while the others moved onto the game from that night. Sirius shuffled him down the bar a little ways before tapping a stool for Remus to sit on so that they were eye-to-eye.

“Okay?” Sirius asked quietly.

“Yeah, totally.” Sirius looked at him and Remus smiled, put a hand on his chest. “I really am. I promise. It just—his name takes me off guard. I was surprised—most people just go sorry about the hit, not—you know. Not like he meant it. Not like—I know no one knows what really…happened. But it was nice to hear someone get close.”

Remus took a breath, realized he was rambling. He rolled his shoulder a little. It would never move quite in the way it used to, scar tissue and stress, but he was lucky.

Sirius nodded quietly. “Ouais. I see.”

Remus straightened, smiling when he saw Evgeni hurtling towards them, pushing right through Finn and Percy to do it.

“Hey, Kuns,” Remus said.

“Loops.” Evgeni put his hands up, one holding a beer. Who knew where his jacket was but his tie was barely hanging onto his neck and his shirt was unbuttoned almost all the way, showing some of his tattoos. “The party is me.”

Remus raised his eyebrow, but nodded. “Sure is.”

“Cap,” Finn said, tugging Evgeni’s tie up to catch over his face. “Percy insists I introduce you properly, whatever the hell that means.”

“Hello.” Percy looked star-struck as he shook Sirius’ hand. “Sir.”

Remus tried to bite back a smile but Finn snorted. “Perc, what the fuck.”

Percy was pink around his ears. “Hello, not sir.”

Sirius just smiled wryly. “Hi…”

“I love you,” Percy said plainly.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Finn put an arm around Percy’s shoulders to steer him away. “And you’re not even drunk, I forgot how fucking weird you are.” He pressed a sloppy kiss to Percy’s temple. “Fuckin’ M&M.”

“Kit-Kat.”

“Jolly Rancher.”

Remus hid his laugh in Sirius’ chest, where he felt the rumble of Sirius’ own. Sirius’ palm came up to cover the back of Remus’ neck, thumb stroking gently.

“Loup,” Sirius said softly beneath the music playing. “Something made you sad earlier, though.”

“What? Oh. Yeah,” Remus smiled a little, pleased at the way Sirius was pressing so close. “I can’t actually say. It’s not about me.” His eyes went to Kasey. “You’ll know soon.” Sirius’ eyes followed his. “You probably already do.”

Sirius looked for a long time. Alex and Kasey, sitting snug in a booth together, looking like they were having a soft, earnest conversation. Kasey might have been crying a little, but they were laughing, too, and Alex touched their foreheads together.

“Ouais…” Sirius said finally.

Remus smoothed his hands up Sirius’ chest, around to clasp behind his neck. “I like this. I like us all together again.”

He looked at Pascal, Thomas, and Leo, standing and watching Finn, Will, and Logan saying something that sounded like it was about Harvard. Percy was beside Leo, seemingly whispering extra details into his ear.

“Speaking of sad earlier,” Remus said, and tilted Sirius’ face back towards his own. “I saw you watching the O’Hara’s—or A’Horo’s now, I guess.” Sirius half smiled, thumb still tracing lines down Remus’ neck. “Our families are yours. Especially mine. Okay? All of us…even some fucking Rangers.”

Sirius barely had time to smile when, as if on cue, Holly announced the arrival of a few more.

“Saint Montague,” she said, voice somehow carrying over it all. “Get your ass over here, sweetheart.”

“Monty!” Percy called as Saint came in, followed close by Luke Deveaux, whose eyes went immediately to Sirius and Remus, tangled up.

Saint put a palm up to Percy. “Nope.”

Percy let out something close to a cackled ha! and turned back to Leo.

Saint was really something to behold, Remus had to admit—by Sirius’ face, he could tell Sirius had to admit it, too. He had tan skin and hair that had been streaked blond—it was a strange cross between angelic and something akin to punk. Remus caught Sirius’ eye, whose mouth quirked. They watched as Holly clasped his hand, saying his drink was on the house—sorry about the game, darling, I know how you hate to lose.

Saint gave off an air of arrogance that should have dulled the effect. His chin tilted like he knew just how good he was. But it didn’t dull anything. Especially not when his light, liquid sun eyes looked Remus up and down once. “Lupin.”

“Montague.”

His eyes flicked to Sirius with a challenging little smirk. “Black.”

Sirius only nodded. Saint’s eyes went back to Remus.

“Pretty little things you do on that ice.”

Remus arched a brow. “Thanks…Good game.”

“It was fine. I’ve had better.”

“Obviously,” Sirius muttered.

Remus glanced up at him and Sirius huffed, but only took a drink of his beer.

Saint just smiled, then looked back at Luke as he called Holly over again. “You want something, Tweedle?”

Luke simply nodded and came to his side, leaning against the bar and watching Saint’s profile as he ordered for the both of them. Sirius glanced at Remus again. Remus would do anything for Sirius to keep sending him those little silent communication looks.

Be nice, Remus mouthed.

“You know,” Saint said, turning to Sirius. “Your boy was pretty wrecked when he first got here.” He looked towards Logan.

Sirius blinked. “Logan’s trade was a surprise.”

“Yeah, even we can agree to that,” Saint nodded. “But all I’m saying to you is that…” Saint hesitated. He looked down at Luke, then back to Sirius. “He’s doing okay now.”

“I know.”

“We’re good people.”

“Never said you weren’t.”

Saint laughed and rolled his eyes before throwing an arm around Luke’s shoulders and steering him away. “So stop looking at us like we’re just a bunch of Rangers! Oh—” He looked over his shoulder. “But we are going to have to do something about him calling you Captain all the time in our room.”

“No deal,” Sirius said.

Saint laughed again, but turned away.

“Meanie, Captain.” Remus smiled, knocking his knuckles lightly into Sirius’ arm.

“I love Logan,” Sirius said in a low voice, taking a drink. “But we are still hanging out with a bunch of Rangers.”

“What do you want, Tremz?” Remus heard Finn call from across the bar. “Another round, I’m buying.”

“You know what I want!”

“Bleh, sugar-water,” Finn said, then grabbed Leo’s hand and pulled him between the tables. Leo barely had time to let Logan take his drink from his hand and send a laugh over his shoulder. Finn spun Leo around a few times before settling his hands on Leo’s hips and resting him against the bar, murmuring something gentle to him. Remus smiled at Leo’s smile.

“Do you think they’re going to be okay?”

Remus looked up at Sirius, who had something akin to his game face on—maybe a little more worried.

“We were okay.”

“Yes.”

“And we’re okay now.”

Sirius looked down at him. He was biting at the inside of his cheek. “Yes.”

“Yes.” Remus reached up and stroked a thumb over the taut cheek until Sirius relaxed. “They’re getting to choose.”

“That doesn’t mean everything’s going to be in their control.”

“They know that, I think.”

Sirius nodded. “Ouais…”

“Cap!”

They looked up at Logan’s voice—met Saint’s pointed look on the way—and watched Logan wave at him, standing with Pascal.

“Come here. I want you in this photo.”

“Oh, of the night we beat you?” Sirius called back, but he was smiling, slipping out of Remus’ arms. Remus just shook his head and watched him go. “I thought we weren’t allowed photos?”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but we’re the ones taking them.” He gave Sirius’ suit jacket a tug, surprising Sirius into one of his real smiles, so that Percy could snap the picture.

Everyone seemed reluctant to leave—reluctant to have enough drinks to risk a hungover flight or practice tomorrow, but reluctant to leave all the same. Neither Holly or Jude seemed to mind that they all ended up just sitting around a pool table, rolling some of the balls back and forth across the felt mindlessly and laughing much too loudly, though the bar was emptying out.

It stirred a fond memory from college for Remus—something that didn’t happen often. It even included Grayback. Something that happened even less. There had been a blizzard, power out, locked down in their team houses, four peanut butter and jelly sandwiches each, and with a mission to drink the cold beer before it got warm.

Remus looked around from his place settled between Sirius and Thomas. Evgeni was trying to tell a story that was half in Russian and Jackson was giving what was sure to be a very wrong translation until Saint finally raised a finger and said he spoke Russian. This resulted in a very sloppy kiss on his cheek from Evgeni. Luke might have scooted Saint’s chair a little closer to himself.

Logan and Finn had Leo between them, touches casual and happy. Percy and Will had had the table in fits telling Harvard stories, and Kasey had actually put his full, large palm over Alex’s mouth to stop him from telling an old story from them being on the Rangers together.

It felt like a family. And Remus had had that feeling in college. A sickish wave of fear washed over him then. He didn’t want now to feel like then, promising that anything could go horribly wrong. He looked at Sirius, but he was turned away, talking to Alex. Remus shifted, wished he had some water. Remus felt a nudge from his right.

“Heyo,” Thomas said softly. “What’s up?”

Remus shook his head. “Nothing.” He smiled. Took a breath. “Nothing. I just…I love this.”

“Hurts sometimes, huh?”

Remus huffed out a relieved laugh. “Yeah. Exactly, T.”

Thomas put an arm around his shoulders, across the back of his chair. “I got you, Loops. We all got you.”

From his other side, Sirius kept talking to Alex, but he seemed to hear. He put his hand on Remus’ knee, warm and familiar.

“Ooh, I took his spot,” Thomas mock-whispered, and Remus laughed.

“No,” Remus said. He felt more grounded. He would enjoy this. He was enjoying this. “You stay right where you are.”

~

Logan had watched how close Finn held Leo, hands on his hips. Their heads ducked together, cheek to cheek. Right there in the middle of the crowd. Each time he had looked over, Logan had gotten different views. Finn saying something, Leo’s eyes closing as he laughed, Finn ducking to press a soft kiss to Leo’s neck. Leo sending him a wink over Finn’s shoulder, Finn grinning at him over Leo’s.

And then Leo had leaned into Logan’s side, ducked down to whisper in his ear. Take us home.

God, this place, his New York apartment, called home in Leo’s voice.

Now, Logan kept Finn close, his back against Finn’s chest as they leaned against his kitchen counter to watch Leo open his fridge, and let out a long sigh at the empty shelves.

“Oh, Tremblay. Tremblay, Tremblay, Tremblay.” He picked up an unopened bottle of ketchup and stared at it sadly. “As my mama would say, this is just asking for trouble.”

“I’m sorry?” Logan said.

“What are you eating?”

“At the rink.”

“We’ve FaceTimed, though! You bought stuff! I walked around the grocery store in your hand, they have the lettuce you like and everything.”

“Ouais…I do better when you give me really good instructions.”

Leo sent him a bland look around the door. “You need really good instructions to buy lettuce?”

“I make egg and ham sandwiches?”

Leo turned to the stove where there was still evidence of said sandwich on a spatula and pan. He made a face. “Remind me to get you a spoon rest.”

“Okay,” Logan laughed, and then tilted his head to the side to give Finn more room where he was beginning to kiss his neck.

“Kitchen looks good, though. From what I was expecting.” Leo opened a few barren cupboards and made a hmm noise.

“But I hang the towels up,” Logan said, and Finn’s answering snicker washed over his skin warmly. “And, regarde, the key bowl. By the door.”

“You don’t even have your tea,” Leo’s frowned was actually concerned now. “Lo.”

“I don’t know,” Logan sighed. He tucked himself back against Finn more. “It’s not…”

But what did he want to say? It’s not the same? That’s for at home. But this was supposed to be his home.

“It’s okay, baby,” Finn said softly, pressing gentle kisses to his jaw that bled into one another, into his words, too.

“No,” Leo said. “No, this is his home, Finn. I want him to have the things he likes here.” Leo looked over at them, and his expression softened. Finn held out his hand for him, and Leo took it, letting Finn pull him in, peppering his jaw in those same kisses. Leo smiled, hands going to thread in both Logan and Finn’s hair.

“I did have it. At one point. I guess I just…” Logan took a breath, and Finn when to speak but Leo put a hand over his mouth, making them all laugh. Logan sighed and knocked his forehead against Leo’s chest. “If I don’t have too many things, then it’s not…” 

“I get it,” Leo said, and then released Finn and bent to press a soft kiss to his mouth. “They should call you Talker.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Finn said. “But Leo’s right. This should feel homey. Otherwise why would we come and visit?”

Logan scoffed and elbowed him in the ribs.

“Ouch, Tremblay.”

“Oh, non. Don’t even get me started again on the ice today.” Logan rolled his eyes.

“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. Blame Coach.”

Leo snorted. “Oh, Coach told you pin Lo up all hot and heavy?”

Finn just grinned. “I’d call it being willing to play the corners, but you can call it whatever you like, Nutter-Butter.”

Leo just shook his head, laughing. “C’mon. I want out of this fucking suit.”

“That can be arranged.” Finn looked down at Logan as Leo wandered towards Logan’s bedroom, peaking none too subtly into the bathroom on his way. Finn tugged on Logan’s tie. “Sorry. I should let you talk.”

“Don’t be,” Logan said. “You’re still not used to it.” He smiled. “Me neither.”

Finn laughed. “Guess so. Come on. Show me the Tremblay Chamber.”

“Stop with the last name,” Logan laughed, but took his hand and pulled him up from the counter. “Makes it feel like you’re still on the other team.”

“Logan,” Finn said in his ear, still close to his back as they walked. “Lolo.”

“Non.”

He dropped to a whisper. “Lo, baby.”

Logan just glanced at him, biting back a smile.

“Yeah, you like that.” Finn’s voice was cocky as they pushed the bedroom door open to find Leo seeming to be checking Logan’s lightbulbs on his bedside tables. “Okay, Leonardo. What is happening.”

“These pre-furnished places come with harsh lights sometimes! Like the cool toned ones, like a hotel—” Leo ducked down to see beneath the shade. “Logan likes the yellower warm ones.”

Logan’s heart squeezed. “Le, the light’s fine.”

“No, they’re cool and you will just live with it. Okay, tea and lightbulbs.” Leo straightened, shrugging out of his suit jacket. “That’s my list so far. Oh, no, spoon rest. I should write this down.”

“No, you should sit down,” Finn said. He nodded towards the bed. “There, right there. Go on. Sit, and I’ll give you a fun surprise.”

Leo look suspicious, but he sat on the edge of Logan’s bed. Finn turned Logan around by his shoulders and walked him backwards until he fell back into Leo’s lap. Logan laughed, but rested his head back against Leo’s shoulder.

“A good surprise,” Leo said softly, and kissed the underside of Logan’s chin.

Finn lowered himself to one knee in front of Logan. “All this Rangers blue…” Finn tisked his tongue. He smoothed his hands up Logan’s thighs, the material of his suit catching against his fingers. “Even made it into your socks and tie.” Finn looked up at him. “That has Alex written all over it.”

Logan took a steadying breath. “He, um—took me to his tailor.”

“I bet he did.” Finn kissed the inside of his knee. “And he had to trace this inseam…” Finn’s mouth trailed up his strong thigh, hand against his knee. “Lucky human.”

Logan couldn’t help spreading his legs a little, eyes on Finn’s mouth. Leo adjusted behind him, feet tucked back and knees against Logan’s hips.

“It is a nice suit.” Leo’s hands went to the navy blue tie in question and gave it a little tug. “But I think we should take it off of him now.”

Finn’s hands went to Logan’s belt and he did a little whistle to the tune of it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas as slid the leather free from its buckle.

Logan let out a soft laugh, leaning back into Leo as he slid the tie out from around his throat. “Shh.”

The nights were lonely. Logan always felt himself as the lone weight in his bed acutely, like he was sinking into it. It had been even been worse in his dorm bed, at Harvard. Narrow space, no room for anyone but him. He’d curled into himself, back against the window with the rattling AC. Finn, oceans away on the other side of the room, breathing and shifting and talking until neither of them could keep their eyes open. Laughing too loud and Percy banging on his ceiling to get them to shut up.

And then Finn’s bed, in his parents’ New York brownstone. Bigger. Stepping over the air mattress on the floor in the morning. Him and Leo sharing a hotel room on the road, each with their own double bed. Wishing so hard to throw off his own covers and just—just climb in and close those inches of ugly hotel carpet between them, sleep turned into Leo’s chest instead of trying to block out the blaring red numbers of the clocks on their respective bedside tables.

And now there was this. Leo behind him, unbuttoning his shirt from his shoulders like it was some sacred rite. Finn coaxing him into lifting his hips off of the bed, the jingle of his belt hitting the floor. Hot mouth around him, Leo’s fingers against his ribs, mouth on his neck, the weight of Finn’s elbows pressing into the mattress around him.

“Got one past me tonight,” Leo said in his ear. “You know I don’t let things like that go.”

Finn’s mouth was replaced by his hot cheek on his thigh as he laughed, breathless. “I thought no hockey in bed.”

The pillows behind Logan’s neck felt cool and gentle when they lay him back against them. He didn’t have to ask to watch them shed their clothes, too. And when Finn eased him back when he tried to help with his buttons, his large hands pressing against his chest, Logan thought of the boards. Finn pressed up against him, Leo all the way on the other side of the ice, what if I closed the distance? That thought that had circled in his mind a million times, for both of them. What if I came to them?

Finally, he had.

“Hold me,” Logan said, breath shaky through the words.

Leo just smiled into their next kiss, unbuttoning his own shirt. “We are.”

“Non.” Logan took Finn’s hand that was cradling the side of his neck and moved it down a little, to the front of his chest so that the V between Finn’s thumb and forefinger was settled just over where his collarbones dipped apart in the center, where Finn could feel his pounding heart. Finn’s lips were wet and parted as he watched Logan put his own hand over Finn’s and press down on his chest, watched his eyes go hooded with it.

Finn’s expression did a complicated thing. He applied a little pressure of his own, barely even at all, but Logan felt it in his chest, let his eyes close with it. It was good. It meant they were there.

He put his fingers around Finn’s wrist and guided his hand down more firmly.

“Ah.” Finn grinned, eyes going to Leo who had made another hmm noise, not dissimilar to his one from the kitchen. “I see.”

“I miss it. Please.” He used his feet to press Finn’s hips harder against his own and looked to Leo. “Please, I miss you so bad at night. I miss you so bad at night.”

“Aw, Tremz,” Leo said softly.

And just like that it was back. Tonight had been so happy. But reality was still in the room.

They didn’t let him linger in it. Leo’s kiss was short and sweet, hard enough to draw Logan to him as he pressed up all along Logan’s side. Leo let Logan guide his fingers carefully to where Finn’s were. He lay each one in the spaces between Finn’s, right over his heart. “We’re right here.”

Logan let out a harsh breath, tilting his chin back, giving Leo room. Leo leaned down and brushed his lips against Logan’s cheek. “Good?”

“Ouais, ouais—” Logan could barely stand that look in Leo’s eyes. It was as good as seeing the intensity of their blue through the mask. Better. “So good.”

Logan’s necklace glinted around Leo’s throat, pooled by their joined hands on Logan’s chest as Leo leaned over to kiss him.

“God, Lo, look at you,” Leo breathed, drawing Logan closer like he needed it. “Okay, maybe I’ll let the goal go. Was gonna make you wait for it but…just for tonight.”

“First kiss day,” Finn added, and Logan grinned into the next kiss he received.

The held him together, on either side, even when their hands made him feel like he was unraveling. Finn’s hand slipped away from his chest, down, down. Slick and fiery and steady, pulling his hips up in time with their movements like he couldn’t help it. The tension of the game melted away, right out of his muscles. Leo’s hand stayed right where it was, making his heart feel like it was pounding against something more than just himself, like it was trying to knock down whatever skin and bone was left between them. Logan didn’t remember locking his hand around Leo’s wrist, but he did, he held on even as Leo’s mouth bled any strength out of him, throat bared as Leo kissed him gentle and calm against the pile of pillows behind them.

He didn’t feel alone. It was such a relief.

When Finn got as close as he could, Logan was warm. Heavy against the sheets. Finn bent over Logan in a rush, arms scooping under Logan’s back this time, one pressing just above his ass, holding them together like he wanted to knock it all down, too.

Logan could only wrap his arm around Finn’s back in return, the other still locked on Leo. It brought Finn close, his stomach rubbing up against Logan’s cock perfectly, the scent of his sweat heavy on Logan’s tongue where his mouth was pressed into the hair that curled against Finn’s neck.

“Yeah, you like that,” Finn whispered gently, pressing a kiss to Logan’s jaw. “You like this, always have.” When Finn began to grind into him, it was shaky and needy. He barely pulled away at all, but Logan didn’t want him to. He opened his mouth against Finn’s skin, breathing hard, pressing his teeth into Finn’s skin gently to muffle the low sounds he was making.

“Leo,” Finn managed, voice tight, then at Logan’s teeth, laugh shaky. “Ouch, Lo.”

Leo laughed, too, smoothing Logan’s hand into his own and kissing his knuckles before ducking to get at Finn’s neck and shoulders, too. Logan caught his mouth in a sloppy kiss, trailed his hand down Leo’s chest until he could take him in hand.

“Did I mention you scored on me?” Leo’s brows drew together at the feeling, forehead resting on Finn’s should. “And—ah…I don’t forgive easily.”

“Ouais,” Logan said, voice sounding shot to his own ears. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Logan eased Finn off of him with a lingering kiss, a sigh at the loss, but Leo was plains and stretches of pale, bare skin flushed pink.

Logan had missed them, but they had missed him, too.

Logan straddled Leo’s hips, feeling how badly Leo wanted him, feeling the arch of Leo’s back as they pressed together. They kissed and kissed, Logan’s palms against Leo’s chest this time, then his neck and jaw, smoothing his hair back. He pushed his hips down again, and again until Leo was muttering urgent sounds and gripping his hip, keeping him still as he spilled needy and white between them.

Logan kissed over the sweat at his temple, lips parted in something between a smile, triumphant, and a need of his own. Finn was there, then, soothing the tremors in their bodies.

“I missed you, too,” Logan heard Finn murmur into Leo’s mouth.

Logan knew he would live in this moment until the next one like it came. It would be where he fell back to, when he needed something to weight him down and ground him, whenever the changes became too much. He couldn’t have said where he stopped and they began. He didn’t know the hours, he didn’t know the degree of light in the sky. He knew their skin, and their laughs, and brown and blue, red and yellow. Getting up in the pitch black just to come back and find both of them there. A memory for later, though it’d make him sad more than anything. He’d paused by the window, where the moon fell on them. He got up again to see the same sight in the blue light of the early morning. He just wanted the feeling of settling back in between them, their mindless sleepy hands finding him without trying. A glimpse of blue, Leo pulling him closer, who’s sleepless now? Finn, hearing their voices. His warm palms going around Logan’s wrists, pinning them above his head, hips settling together again, again, again.

Logan was tired, but not of this.

Leo, scrambling eggs at his stove, singing softly along to the music playing on his phone. Finn, sleepy at the counter, tennis ball beneath his foot, rolling out sore arches. Daylight. Logan left the room just so he could come back in and see them there.

He’d leave again, later, kissing them goodbye right there on the sunny sidewalk. He’d come back in to no one in his kitchen, the bed a mess. Practice in two hours. It was funny, as he stared at himself in the mirror brushing his teeth, how he looked so rested after no sleep. It wasn’t as funny how part of him had managed to convince himself that he was going to see them every night, like his body had needed to put that on a loop in his mind in order for him to enjoy it so much. But no, tomorrow they were just playing the Stars.

Twelve hours had barely passed than did Logan come home from a practice to find an express package waiting at his door, addressed in Leo’s handwriting. Inside was a box of his mint tea with a great big smiley face drawn on it in sharpie, and a set of lightbulbs. Logan smiled and set his kettle on.

#vaincre lumosinlove #smut #hockeyhockeyhockey and more hockey #wolfstar #o'kntuzy #sweater weather lumosinlove #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar fic #Logan tremblay #Leo knut #finn o'hara

[kikiiswashere]

Thank you so much for commenting on my post, first and foremost! ❤️

One of the ideas I have, that I hope you're up for writing, is along these lines...

Reader w/ a temper, but it only shows when she's in a fight, or if someone insults anybody she's fond of. She has had horrid prior relationships and fears ever trying again, so she tends to just stick to being alone outside of working as an assistant for Silco.

While she's intoxicated, she overhears a patron (rather boldly) badmouthing Silco in his very establishment, and decides to get into a brawl with the patron. That's when she realizes that she's developed some strong feelings for her boss, and ultimately, she ends up having to explain herself directly to Silco, including why the fight started in the first place.

If possible, a resolution/response with Silco after her drunk admission to feelings would be so awesome. ;-; I'm always down for angst, too.

I'd love to see it written, but again, only if you're up for it! Thanks again! ❤️

Thank you for your patience with this, Love! Thank you for letting me breath a little life into your OC/Reader-insert.

I hope you like it <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Recover

Summary: See Ask

Warnings: None/SFW, canon typical violence, drunken confessions, a lil' bit of vomit

WC: 5.6K

Notes: Silco x Reader . . . ? Maybe??

Free drinks were one of the perks of your job.

It made the sting of working as Silco’s assistant mellow just a tad.

You knew most would assume that the sting came from the kingpin’s turbulent temper, his meticulous micro-managing, or his insatiable appetite for power. And while each of those attributes could be challenging at times, none of them actually got under your skin. On the contrary, they were traits you admired: his passion, his vision, his drive.

Admired . . . yes, that was the word. You would entertain nothing else.

There was no point to anything else.

A sardonic huff burst through your lips, sending the bourbon beneath them rippling in the glass. Knocking back the last of your drink, you set the tumbler on the bar top with a hefty, slightly careless thunk. Thieram looked up from the glass he was drying, brow furrowing.

“Another, please, Thieram.” You tapped the bar for good measure.

Thieram gave the glass in his hand a couple more squeaky wipes before setting it down and turning to the wall of liquor behind him. As he fetched the expensive bottle from the top shelf (if all your drinks were free, why not lean in?) your eyes slid around The Last Drop. While it was late, it wasn’t quite late enough for the bar to be in its infamous, full, raucous swing. Older, tired Trenchers (people left over from Vander’s days) sat heavily at the bar around you; small huddles of weary faces sat shoulder-to-shoulder at tables; a small group played a relatively quiet game of billiards over at the large, felted table.

As Thieram returned and poured another two fingers-worth into your glass, your eyes spied Sevika at the far end of the room. A murky plume of smoke rising above her and the two men she was currently swindling in cards. Her full lips hooked in an insufferable grin around her cigarillo as her playthings upped their antes. The next thing your eyes meandered to were the stairs that led to The Drop’s upper levels. To the club’s balcony. And then the private quarters. To Silco’s office. Where you had left him after he thanked and dismissed you for the day.

A perfunctory thanks mumbled from your mouth as you lifted your freshened drink to your lips. The liquor burned delicious and warm down your gullet, grateful for the way it soothed your tired body, relaxed your tangled mind, and numbed your aching heart.

Placing the drink down, your hand swiveled the bottom of the glass against the lacquered bar top, watching as the liquor within spin in a small whirlpool. You didn’t want them to, but your eyes lifted to the neon clock above Thieram’s head. In about an hour’s time, you knew, the club would fill with younger, louder Zaunites and the more rambunctious of Silco’s goons. The lights would pulse. The music would rattle the bar’s foundation. Cheap liquor would flow. Shimmer would be smoked. Gambling. Soliciting. Probably at least one fight.

And he would be there.

You hated that you knew that. Hated that you still knew your ex’s schedule. Hated that he didn’t have the decency to frequent a different club, knowing that this was the one you worked in. He had been the one to break up with you, so his insistence on showing his stupid face was aggravating and spiteful.

You’d be loathe to admit it, but it hurt you.

And it hurt that he knew that, but he still came to The Last Drop like clockwork. Like the time you spent together was some sort of meaningless joke.

Asshole.

At least he hadn’t been as bad as . . .

You stopped that thought in its tracks and knocked the rest of your drink back. A mistake, you quickly realized, as your esophagus rebelled against the onslaught of liquid fire trying to surge its way to your stomach. Catching the cough behind your teeth, some of the beverage rose back up into your mouth where it found refuge in the rounded bubbles of your cheeks.

Luckily, no one but Thieram seemed to notice.

“Smooth.”

Wrestling down the wayward booze, you sneered at him. “Swallowed wrong.”

“Uh-huh,” he grunted. “That stuff isn’t meant to be shot. Didn’t the boss explain that when he first let you taste it?”

Another unwelcome, unfounded zing scratched across your heart.

You bit the inside of your cheek and glared at the bartender. After a beat, you pushed the empty tumbler across the bar toward him and firmly tapped the space next to it. Thieram’s deep set eyes fell to the glass, unimpressed.

“Don’t waste it this time,” he warned, snatching the heavy ornate glass bottle back off the shelf. He poured a finger’s worth and turned to put the bottle back.

“Hey!” you cried. Thieram stopped and looked back at the incredulous expression on your face. Gesturing to the too-empty glass, you said, “What gives?”

His fingers tightened almost protectively around the neck of the bottle.

“I don’t want you wasting it,” he answered. “I don’t need Silco asking me why the books aren’t adding up at the end of the month.”

Your eyes rolled so far back that you thought you might’ve glimpsed your brain.

“Free drinks are part of my compensation, Chuck.” A thrilling, warm tingle shivered under your skin as you watched him flinch at the nickname. “Silco allows me that bourbon. Pour me that bourbon.”

Thieram hesitated a moment more before he stepped back up to the bar and tipped an additional splash into your tumbler. Holding his gaze, you brought the glass to your lips – pinky up! – and took an exaggeratedly small sip. He pursed his lips and rehomed the bottle on the top shelf, surreptitiously nudging it a little farther back than its neighbors, before tending to other patrons at the bar.

With the barman’s attention gone, your hackles drooped and a heavy, lonely feeling pressed under your skin. You took another sip of your drink, relishing the warmth wrapping you up from the inside out. As you continued to nurse and appreciate the fine liquor, the unwelcome sense of being watched interrupted your balmy journey into inebriation.

You may ‘only’ be Silco’s assistant, working relatively safely within the confines of his office . . .  and at his side –

That weird little zing ricocheted behind your ribs again, like a little bird beating its wings against its cage, trying furiously to free itself. You cleared your throat and your mind of the previous thought.

You may ‘only’ be Silco’s assistant, doing paperwork and pushing pencils, but you had worked for him long enough, lived in Zaun long enough to know when you were being eyeballed.

The rim of the tumbler rested on your lower lip again, and while you took another smooth sip your hooded eyes nonchalantly skirted the bar. No one seemed to be paying you any mind, instead favoring shoulder-cramping hunches that kept their eyes in their drinks. Setting your glass down, you swallowed and casually turned right and left on your stool, miming a search for your bag. As you did so, your eyes briefly lifted to the patrons who were closest to your sides.

Bingo.

A stool down from you to your right, some old codger kept sneering at you and then muttering into his beverage. Continuing your charade, you turned your attention back to your drink. Your elbows rested steadily on the bar top and your hands gently cupped your glass. The amber liquor within wavered a bit, the surface catching and flashing the bar lights prettily. A too-steady calm grounded your bones. You waited and listened.

“What was that?” you asked suddenly and sharply, snapping your head in the man’s direction.

The man jerked in his seat, his drink sloshing a bit over the rim of his tankard. Grumbling, he snatched up a bar napkin and wiped away the small spill. He looked over at you.

“What?”

“That’s what I asked you,” you said, voice steady and cold. “Did you say something to me?”

“For Janna’s sake,” he muttered dabbing the napkin against his scraggly mustache and beard. “I didn’ say nuffin’ to you.”

“Oh? You keep staring at me and then mumbling into your ale. You sure you don’t have anything to say to me?”

The liquor in your veins began to bubble with stupid courage. Normally, you would ignore such a person. Tonight, however, the combination of booze, an aching heart, and a weary mind was sending a confrontational itch under your skin. You spun your body on your stool to face the man and sneered at him. Booze streaming hot reactivity through your body swiftly washed away the thought that this might not be a wise idea.

The man glowered back at you, his teeth grinding together. You prayed he took the bait.

After a moment, he clucked his tongue against the back of his teeth and answered your prayer.

“I ‘s just musin’,” he began, bleary eyes falling back to his mug, “how it is tha’ Silco,” he said the name as if it were a rotten, dirty thing to be spat into the dirt, and it made your temper flare, “can afford t’ stock the bar wif that fancy dreck – which I ain’ never seen an’one but you drink, by the way – but apparently don’ave the coin to fix th’mess he’s made.”

Your fingers tightened around your glass. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

The man scoffed and took another sloppy swig of his beer.

“The Drop ain’ what’t used t’be,” he slurred, almost nostalgically. “Vander’d blow ‘is lid if he could see the place now.”

“Vander betrayed us,” you spat, putting the same emphasis around The Hound’s name as the man had around Silco’s. “He made deals with Topside that kept Zaun from progressing.” You licked your lips, deciding whether or not to delve this argument further into the murk with another controversial topic. Taking the plunge, you added, “And then he abandoned the Lanes with his kids when they screwed up. Silco came in and cleaned his mess up.”

The man’s eyes lit up with a fire that almost took you aback. “Abandoned us, did’e? Naw, girl. I’m no fool. Vander was’n trouble, but he’d never skulk off wiff his tail ‘tween his legs. Not The Hound. I know tha’s the lie you n’ the rest o’ his lot try’n tell us, but I’ll lick Heimerdinger’s boot a’fore’ll believe he left wiff’is kids to leave the Lanes in the slimy hands o’ that rat-faced bastard.”

He took another swig of his ale, half of which dribbled down his chin.

“’Sides,” he continued, “Vander didn’ take all them chitlers wiff ‘im, did’e?” His eyes slid upward to the balcony above you.

Against your better judgement, your head turned and tilted up. A scrawny leg with a too-big shoe dangled from the edge of the upper-level, gently swaying off-beat to the jangly music that filled The Drop. Jinx didn’t seem to be paying attention to anything but the small handful of metal scraps between her fingers. A screwdriver was tucked between her lips and her brow was crunched in concentration as she fiddled with her contraption. She was allowed to meander around The Drop until night fully fell and the club became rowdy with debauchery. At that point she was sequestered back in her and Silco’s living quarters an additional floor up.

“Even though that one’s always been a’bit of’n . . . odd duck,” he continued, “Vander wouldn’t’ve left her.”

“Leave her out of this,” you warned through grit teeth. You’d taken a shine to the young girl Silco brought back from the cannery and your protectiveness of her was only rivaled by that of Silco’s.

The drunk huffed a wheezy laugh. “Oh yeah, wouldn’ wanna bad talk the great Eye of Zaun’s crazy new toy.”

Your fingers squeezed so tightly around your glass that you were surprised it hadn’t shattered.

“I worked wiff’im, Lass,” he slurred, leaning in with a condescending sneer etching his face in deep, craggy channels, “in the mines. Him n’ Vander. Was always a selfish, meddlin’, no-good pipsqueak. Always tailin’ after Vander, ridin’ his coattails. Even now, tha’s what he’s doin’. Vander did all the hard work t’get The Lanes steady n’ then that opportunistic rat scurried in with his mindless, spineless goons n’ did ‘im in. Silco don’ care a lick for t’Undercity. He’s an ugly, schemin’, chinless, buck-toothed – “

You were not in control of what happened next. Even though you were the one who reacted. In a flash, your drink – your expensive drink – was thrown into the man’s face. He cried out and squeezed his eyes tightly as the alcohol burned them. Next, you smashed your tumbler over his skull. The glass shattered and he wailed, toppling off his barstool.

Blood pounded in your ears. Your vision tunneled in on the man scrambling off of the floor. Your arms and legs tingled with adrenaline and fire, rage curdling your blood, as you launched to your feet. Swiping the man’s tankard from the bar and hurling it in his direction. So blinded by your fury, so intent on beating the bastard to a pulp, you didn’t hear or see the bar’s reaction to the sudden fight.

Thieram had yelped and dropped the bottle he was pouring from. The other patrons at the bar jerked their attention away from nursing their drinks; some even backed up and away from your fray. One of the people at the billiards table jumped and scratched a jagged hole in the table’s felt top. The two men playing cards with Sevika spun in their seats, and the Lieutenant herself dropped the cards she was shuffling. Jinx’s body jolted and she tucked her legs up into her chest, big, dewy eyes wide with fear as she watched you attack the man. After a moment, she leapt to her feet and ran upstairs.

The man managed to throw an arm up that prevented the mug of ale from clocking him in the temple. The beer spilled across the floor and the stein bounced and rolled away under a table. Grabbing the man by the collar, you hauled him to his feet, intent on smashing his stupid face into the bar railing. However, as you lifted him (with strength you didn’t know you had) his hand swept across the bar, grabbed a dirty glass and cracked it across your face.

Yelling, you stumbled back, bumping into your stool. One of your hands cupped your numb cheek and felt wetness beneath your palm. He lunged at you, crashing his head into your ribs and wrapping his arms around your middle, causing you both to tumble back.

You hit the floor. Hard. Your spine spasmed and what air was left in your lungs was forcefully pushed out in a stinging wheeze. Your hand wrapped around the leg of a barstool and pulled, crashing it onto your assailant’s back. Something cracked. He roared. Hooking your legs around his waist, you squeezed and rolled the two of you over. Now on top, you bared your teeth and pummeled his face with alternating punches.

Too soon for your liking, a large metal hand grasped the back of your neck and lifted you off the man’s chest. Hissing and kicking, you did your damnedest to try and break free from Sevika’s grip. She was saying something to you – dressing you down – but you couldn’t hear it through the mighty pumping of your vengeful heart. To your abject horror and disgust the man clambered to his feet and spat some teeth onto the floor. He fixed his eyes on you, hot and furious, and took a step towards you and your keeper.

“Back off, buddy. It’s over,” you managed to hear Sevika say.

Over? Over? Like hell it was over! The idea of letting this ass-hat walk out of here after bad-mouthing Silco and Jinx renewed your need to fight. The idea of having to return to your melancholy mind sent destructive fear through your veins. Wriggling under Sevika’s iron grasp, you managed a lucky kick to her groin. She gasped and buckled forward, dropping you.

Freedom sent adrenaline surging through your veins and you launched yourself back at the drunk, fists thumping against his ribs. He coughed and sputtered, staggering back. Clawing at your shirt, he immobilized you enough to jut his knee up into your stomach. A choked cry tore from your bloody mouth and you fell. Before his boot found your hand or head, you scurried back, grabbing a pool cue someone had dropped. The cue extended your arm enough that is it swept through the air it caught your adversary behind the knees. He buckled and crashed to the ground with an outraged wail. As you rose to your feet, you thrust the cue in Sevika’s direction as she made another grab at your shirt. The larger woman snarled, but you didn’t care.

The cue smacked and cracked against the floor as you tried to deliver a blow to the fallen man, but he rolled out of the way and used a grip of the bar railing to clamber to his feet. Abandoning your broken weapon, your hand found a tight grip in the man’s dirty hair and you bashed his face against the bar top. Once again, you failed to notice his wandering hand and he spun back, clocking you across the face with a liquor bottle.

You screamed and reeled back into Sevika’s arms. Before your attacker could hurl himself back at you, bottle in hand, his eyes suddenly went wide and he screamed in agony. You were confused until you saw a familiar, lanky, red, coal, and gold figure in your wavering periphery.

The man was stopped in his tracks by the knife Silco had speared through his free hand, pinning him to the bar. The Eye of Zaun’s lips curled in a bone chilling sneer and he yanked the bottle from the drunk’s hand. To his credit the bloodied and beaten man did not cower in Silco’s presence, despite the Eye’s imposing figure and the blade skewering his hand. The two men stared at each other; Silco’s chin held high, glaring down his nose at the drunk. The drunk huffed breaths through swollen and bloody lips, his eyes bulging with hate as he looked up into Silco’s face before spitting into it.

Without missing a beat, the kingpin cracked the bottle across the drunk’s temple. His eyes rolled back and he collapsed, slumping against the bar, the knife tearing into his hand as the weight of his body heaved to the floor.

“Back upstairs, Jinx,” Silco barked as he took a pocket square from his waistcoat and wiped the saliva from his scarred cheek.

Your eyes jumped over to the stairs and you saw the young girl watching all of you with wide, scared, but interested eyes. Her hands fidgeted and tugged at her shirt’s hem and her bottom lip was tucked safely behind her top teeth. She looked to Silco and then to you, her eyebrows ticking up behind her jagged bangs.

“Jinx,” Silco insisted, firmly yet kindly.

Her eyes went back to him before turning heel and pattering back upstairs.

The Eye of Zaun turned back to the bar, his eyes landing on you, still slumped in Sevika’s arms. Since his appearance, your wrath had ebbed, replaced by a sense of embarrassment and . . . something else. He looked down at you, taking in your injuries with practiced neutrality. Perhaps you wished it, but you thought something flickered behind his eyes.

It couldn’t be worry, could it?

Before you could search for the look again, he turned his attention to the unconscious man at his feet. His lips curled.

“Get him out of here,” he ordered Thieram. “Tell Lock and Jasper he is not allowed back on the premises. Sevika, take her up to my office.”

An annoyed groan rumbled through the Lieutenant’s arms as she hauled the both of you to your feet. Now that your adrenaline had time to wear off, physical pain was beginning to creep its way into your consciousness. A weak, protesting garble slurred past your swollen lips as Sevika lifted you into her arms. She ignored it, as well as the weak wiggle you gave, and followed Silco back upstairs.

Once in his office, Silco strode to his grand desk.

“Put her on the couch,” he said as he began sifting through the desk’s drawers.

Sevika did so, probably with more care than she wanted to do. Your bottom melted into the couch’s cushions and your spine heaved against the tufted back. Now that your head was back over your shoulders, your vision swam and your brain throbbed.

“You’re dismissed,” came Silco’s voice.

Sevika’s fuzzy form hesitated only for a moment before stalking out of the office, slamming the door behind her. You couldn’t bring yourself to turn your head to look at Silco. Partly out of self-consciousness, partly because your stomach was beginning to curdle and squeeze and you feared you may vomit all over your employer’s furnishings.

As if sensing your thoughts, Silco appeared in front of you, a garbage pail in one hand, a cloth and bottle in the other. He set the trash can next to your knee and sat himself down on the coffee table across from the couch. You made a point to stare at the spot above his head.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

You scoffed, protecting your ego from the ridiculous question. Even though it did take you a beat to remember it. You heard yourself finally answer. Silco nodded as he uncorked the bottle.

“Do you know my name?”

“Silco.” That one was easier.

“Do you know where you are?”

“In your office . . . in The Last Drop.”

“What nation do you live in?”

“Zaun.”

A more satisfied nod bobbled Silco’s head as he dampened the cloth with liquid from the bottle. It smelled strongly of astringent. Too strong. Your stomach roiled, sending you pitching over your lap and vomiting into the wastebin. Silco set the antiseptic and cloth down and reached forward to pull your hair away from your face.

Once your throat was raw and your cheeks streaked with tears, you carefully sat back up, Silco’s hands on your shoulders, gently guiding you back. Once you were propped up, he returned to dosing the cloth.

“What happened?” he asked, leaning forward and pressing the saturated cloth to your cheek.

You hissed at the sting and squeezed your eyes shut. An action that sent another almighty throb through your skull.

“I fought a guy.”

“Yes, that’s what Jinx told me,” he said patiently, dabbing blood off your cheek. “What led you to assault a customer?”

Your now empty stomach dipped. Was he angry? Disappointed? Were you about to be fired? Your jaw moved side to side and you chewed on your tongue, not realizing you didn’t answer his question.

Silco’s dual-colored eyes searched your distant face as he continued to wipe it clean.

“I’m wondering if I hired you for the wrong position,” he quipped. Your breathing stilled as you looked at him. Silco didn’t smile, so you assumed your rattled brain was imagining the small tilt of his lips. “I didn’t know you were so quick on your feet or ferocious in a fight. Perhaps your skills are wasted being my assistant – “

“I like being your assistant.”

The words flew from your mouth before you could stop them, much less think about them. Silco stilled in his attentions and your face flushed horribly. Embarrassment bolstered by liquor coursing just under your skin in cherry red splotches.

Silco’s face softened, as did his voice. “I like you as my assistant, as well.”

Your heart fluttered something horribly wonderful behind your ribs. The flush of your cheeks deepened.

“That doesn’t answer my question, though,” Silco said, tone back to something commanding. “What cause did you have to fight that man?”

Once again, you averted your gaze, dropping your eyes down to your cracked, bruised, and bloodied knuckles.

“He . . . he,” you stammered, unwilling to admit what had sent you into such a blind rage.

The sound of Silco saying your name pulled you from your whirling mind. You bashfully looked to him, seeing his aqua and red eye fixed on you.

He really does have lovely eyes, the liquor in your blood whispered.

Silco spoke before any other intrusive thoughts could sing under your skin.

“You know I value loyalty above all else,” he said. “Honesty is a tenant of loyalty. Now tell me, why were you fighting that man?”

“Because he was speaking poorly of you,” you admitted, your eyes darting away from his.

Silco’s hand paused in its cleaning of your face. You felt his eyes on you in a meaningful way. He let out a small sigh before taking up one of your hands and began to tend to your knuckles.

“There are plenty of Zaunites who do not agree with my leadership,” he mused and you watched his fingers tend to your own.

He held your hand so, so softly. Not as if he were fearful of hurting you, nor as if he didn’t want to touch you. He held it reverently. You couldn’t remember anyone ever touching you in such a way.

“Even the Chem-Barons have their qualms about me,” Silco continued. “For the most part it is petty jealousy parading as gossip. Childish, but benign and meaningless. I will not spare my thoughts or energy on those who do not like me. I am only interested in freeing Zaun.”

Well, I’m interested in you, the booze swimming in your head countered. You hiccupped as a means to stop that thought from coming out of your mouth.

“Why do you give your attention to such people?” he asked, switching the hand he was working on.

“Because everyone should understand and respect how hard you’re working,” you mumbled through swollen lips. “They should be grateful for your passion.”

His thumb swept affectionately over the top of your hand as he cleaned your knuckles. It was the action that proved to be your undoing. Sighing, you allowed your careful mind to rest and let the looseness of liquor coat your insides. Your fingers curled gently, awkwardly around Silco’s hand. It was very warm. Soft in some places, but firm in others where chronic calluses used to blossom and build. His hand stilled in your own, but he made no attempt to pull away. You weren’t certain, but he may have even firmed up his own grip.

“I am grateful for your passion, Silco,” you murmured. Finally, you lifted your gaze to his. “I like being your assistant because I get to see you up close. Your passion, your vision, your drive. It inspires me. I’ve never seen anything like it. I wouldn’t want to work the streets because I wouldn’t get to be with you.”

Silco’s lips parted infinitesimally, and his blue eye widened a touch. He reached his free hand up and gently touched your sore and swollen cheek. An unbidden hiss swept through your teeth and the swell of your cheek rose up in a wince. The little wonder left Silco’s face, his brow furrowed and hand dropped away.

“No!” you cried, vocal cords cracking under the sudden explosion of sound.

Your body leaned forward to chase his hand, but the bourbon and fight made you body sloppy and heavy. The lean veered over to the right, and you would’ve toppled ass-over-tea-kettle if Silco hadn’t caught you, his large hands cupping each shoulder blade. The plump cushion of your cheek smashed against his chest and your leadened arms looped around his thin waist.

“You smell good,” came the drunken mumble from your lips, voice muffled by the silken fabric of his waistcoat.

Silco’s ribcage spasmed in a huff. You weren’t sure if it was amusement or disgust. However, as his hands pressed into your back and held you closer, your foolish heart leapt, fueled by disbelief and hope. The warmth brushed against the scarred wounds etched in the organ, and your logical brain surged back on line. But before you pressed yourself away from his chest, Silco rested his cheek against your hair.

“Thank you,” he whispered, “for your fierce and unwavering loyalty. For me and Jinx. For Zaun.”

Like a switch, your brain flipped back off and your drunk heart melted further against his. After some time, Silco carefully lifted you up, his hands shifting to hold the fronts of your shoulders. Your watery gaze slid up to his. Once again, he went to brush his thumb against your bruised cheek.

“This cut is very deep. I’m wondering if – “

Silco’s wonder was cut off by the press of your mouth on his. A most un-kingpinly squeak peeped out from him, but he didn’t pull away. He tasted like cigars, Shimmer, and warmth. And home.

With a loud smack! you broke away from him and flopped onto the couch.

“I like you, Silco,” you slurred, eyelids and head growing heavy.

 Your feet shifted against the rug, knees knocking in together as you considered standing.

“I should go,” you yawned. Your legs didn’t move. “Am I walking to the door yet?”

“No,” came Silco’s voice. A combination of something amused and baffled. “You’re not leaving, anyhow.”

“No, no. I can’t stay. You’ve already done enough – “

“Nonsense. You’re concussed. And drunk. You’re staying.”

Silco rose to his feet, cupping the back of your legs, gently spinning you on your seat until you were horizontal on the couch. He propped your head and back up with several cushions and retrieved a blanket from the steam trunk behind the couch, covering your body.

“Silco, you don’t have to do this,” you grumbled, although you did nothing to stop him.

“Shush. The Brothers and Sisters of Zaun are loyal to each other. I will work and keep an eye on you,” he murmured, brushing the hair out of your face.

“Are you doing this just because I said I liked you?” The question mumbled through your lips, as you rubbed your face snuggly into the back of the couch.

“No,” he answered. You were on the fringes of a drunk sleep, so you weren’t sure if you imagined him saying, “I’m doing this because I like you, too.”

It felt like you slept a thousand years. At least, you felt like you were a thousand years old as you awoke the following morning. Your body ached, but it was nothing to how your head throbbed and pounded. The bed beneath you felt strange and stiff. Perhaps because it wasn’t a bed at all, you realized, but a couch. You dared to crack your eyes open and you saw red upholstery. Then you smelled . . . cigars.

Your body jerked and jolted up. An action you quickly regretted as the column of your spine spasmed and skull exploded. Groaning, your arms gathered around your knees and dropped your forehead to them. As quickly as your addled brain could piece thoughts together, the previous night swam up in wavering ripples and puddles.

You nursing a chronically aching heart with the expensive bourbon Silco allowed you.

Listening to some twat talk out his ass.

Knocking said twat on his ass.

But he got a few hits in, too, remembering a glass and bottle to your dome.

Silco stopped him before he could rattle you any further.

Silco tended to your wounds. He pulled the hair from your face when you threw up.

Cautiously glancing down at the floor, you spied a clean waste basket. On the coffee table there was a tray that held a silver pitcher and a waiting glass. And a bottle of painkillers.

Your stomach reeled, but not from your aching head. How you had behaved, what you had said, what you did flooded your mind. The blood and warmth drained from your hungover face. Nervously, your eyes peered over your shoulder.

Thank Janna.

He was not at his desk. You might still be able to get out of here with what was left of your dignity. Gingerly, your feet found the floor and your toes flexed inside your boots. Gripping the seat cushion, you prepared to haul yourself onto your woozy legs, but your eyes got stuck on the tray of water and medicine in front of you. Where he had sat.

Silco tended to your wounds. Held your hair from your face. Held you to him when you tumbled forward. He didn’t pull away when you kissed him – GODS! You couldn’t believe you did that! You knew better! Professionally and personally. He didn’t rebuke your drunken . . . confession . . .

The ground felt like it crumbled beneath your feet. Your insides went cold.

You liked him. Not just admired. Liked. Crushed. Infatuated.

Despite the fact that prior relationships had taught you better, you fell again. For your boss.

For the Eye of Zaun.

You were screwed. You’d never recover from this.

The office door opened and you jumped.

“You’re awake,” Silco noted, closing the door behind him.

He was dressed just in his trousers and button-up shirt. His hair wasn’t quite coifed yet and his scar laid bare. The green light streaming in from the window beyond his desk bathed him in an eerily beautiful light. The picture of Zaun itself.

His face was soft in the morning and its light. He smiled.

“May we talk?”

Maybe you wouldn’t want to recover from this.

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Notes: Thank you for reading this too long one-shot! If you liked it, please comment/reblog :)

#silco #silco fanfic #silco x reader #ask kiki #soft silco #drunk reader