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gimmethosedaddymilkers · 8 months

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The Secrets One Keeps

Alrighty, This is a request I was sent by an anon! Asking for a reader who's Hosea's daughter but dating Arthur, they have to keep their relationship a secret, especially from Hosea. Afraid for the poor man's heart.

Keep in mind this is my first work since coming back from hiatus, I'm a little rusty, so it might not be as great as it could be, be patient with me as I try to get back into the Rythm of things please! There's some NSFW themes but it's not full on smut, not for my first one back, but never fear, that will make a return.

Warnings: Fluff, language, maybe some NSFW themes Reader is a bit younger than Arthur is. (Don't worry Im not a freak, reader is gonna be over 18 by like at LEAST six years) Female reader, if there's slip ups, please let me know so I can correct them!

Let's jump into it!

You swear to God you just saw him, You just did, you watched him come out this way and you watched him give you that...look.

He wanted you to follow him, you could SEE it.

So where the hell was he?

"Arthur?"

You call out, but you keep your voice low. It's late, and camp isn't too far, you don't want anyone to hear you...you know what the two of you agreed on, and it was better if no one knew about the two of you. Especially your father. Hosea would NOT take kindly to Arthur dating his 24 year old daughter.

Not only that but to Hosea...Arthur was like a son...he saw the two of you as though you were siblings.

You definitely did NOT feel that way.

"Arthur, I swear to whatever God you pray to you better fuckin' come out-"

"Aw now, c'mon Darlin' that ain't very nice of you to speak like that."

You practically hear the smirk on his face as you feel an arm wrap around your waist and a chin on your shoulder.

"'Sides, you know I ain't a religious man."

"Arthur Morgan, how many times do I have to tell you not to scare me-"

"Awww you love it."

"No I don't!"

"Bullshit you don't last time I did you laughed and tried to take my pants off-"

"Shut up."

You twist to face him and sure enough he's wearing that smirk of his.

"You like it."

"Alright! Fine."

He laughs and leans in, placing his lips gently against yours, softly, sweetly, so different from what he showed everyone else.

"Been wantin' to do that all damn day. I hate this sneakin' around crap," He scoffs. "Fuckin' stupid, we're both adults."

"Aw come on, it's not so bad Arthur...The sneaking around is kinda fun..."

"I guess so...I don't know, I'm gettin' real tired of not bein' able to kiss you goodbye, or havin' to hide behind the wagons just to tell ya I love ya. I shouldn't have to hide it like I'm embarrassed."

"I know..."

You give a sigh and lean into him.

"It sucks, I know it does, I know. The sneaking is fun, but...I know what you mean. We should be sharing a tent by now, instead of trying not to be caught."

He gives you a grunt in response, placing his chin on your head.

"How can we be sure that Hosea wouldn't approve of us?"

His voice comes out a little strained. Acting as though he didn't already know the answer.

"C'mon Arthur..."

You sigh again and move so you can look him in the eye properly.

"You know he won't. Hell, he sees us slightly too close to one another and he loses his mind, he stares you down. You know it, you see it."

"I know..."

He grumbles.

"I need to spend more time with you though Darlin' I do. I NEED to."

He pauses for a moment

"We have to at least take a trip together soon, I mean...either that or we just gotta stop carin' about what Hosea thinks. Don't get me wrong I love 'em, I do, but I love you more."

"I love you too..."

The two of you are silent for a few moments, comfortably leaning against one another in the darkened part of the woods, it's late, both of you know that, and both of you know that you should probably be getting to sleep.

But it's been a long day. A long week even, the two of you haven't had nearly as much time together as you would have liked.

"You think maybe I could sneak you into my tent?"

Arthur's voice breaks the silence, quietly, barely there.

"Jus' tonight, please?"

"Arthur, you know dad'll see us."

"No, look I can leave tomorrow before you, leave the flaps down, no one'll go in there, then you just gotta go out towards the side instead of the front, go around the back of the wagon."

You chuckle a little at his enthusiasm, he never fails to make you smile. He's so obviously, deeply in love with you that it's hard to say no to him.

"Alright....alright, okay, we'll try. He should be asleep by now, it's just the others we have to worry about."

"They ain't gonna say anythin'."

You look at him and give a confused look, though your smile never wavers.

"How do you know?"

"They won't cause if they do, it's me they have to deal with, not Hosea."

His voice lowers slightly, and you watch as that look comes over his eyes. You've seen it before, you know what it means.

"Jesus Arthur, would you quit that, you..."

Your face heats quickly and you look away from him. Of course he was attempting to be threatening, but to you, it just seemed...attractive more so than threatening.

He knew that.

"Why Sweetheart...somethin' gettin' into that head of yours?"

"Shut it, you know what it does-"

"Absolutely I do, why you think I'm doin' it?"

He laughs but leans in and kisses your temple before starts to lead you back towards camp.

"C'mon, let's sneak you in."

He ushers you forwards, and the two of you stop at the edge of camp to see who's up, but luckily it seems that mostly everyone is sleeping.

He then leads you around the edge of Clemmons Point until the both of you get to his tent, the moment the both of you are in he closes the flaps up and gives the two of you some privacy. It seemed like the two of you had gotten away with it. Or at least no one had called out to you.

In the dim light of his lantern the two of you share a smile and there's a look in his eyes that you know means you'll be playing the quiet game tonight.

.....

Morning seems to come faster than you would have liked it to, the time spent with Arthur never seemed to be enough, so when you wake up in the early morning you decide to just burrow further into his bare chest.

It earns a quiet grumble from him as he pulls you closer to him, he's awake, you can tell he is, but he stays silent. The only way you know he's awake is the fact that his hand can't stay away from your ass.

"Didn't you have enough last night?"

You mumble but there's a smile on your face as you adjust, throwing a leg over his hip.

"Ain't never 'nough with you."

It comes out as a grumble and he moves to your thigh, gripping it tightly as he pulls it even further over his hip.

He buries his head in your neck and kisses there. As much as he seems to try and rile you up the kiss is soft, more sweet than anything.

"C'mon Darlin'...this could be every mornin'..."

He yawns and shifts himself, trying to wake up a little more.

"We gotta tell him at some point anyhow..."

"I know..."

You huff and move your hand to his hair, gently massaging his scalp, it's nearly instinct.

"I just...I don't know what he'll think, what he'll do...."

"C'mon, it's me. I know it probably ain't what he wants but...He loves me, he knows me...you could be screwin' Bill behind doors."

He stops a moment.

"Shut up Arthur, it is not-"

"I dunno about that, seems kinda dumb to me."

You roll your eyes and laugh before you kiss the top of his head. You're about to open your mouth to try and come up with an idea on what to tell your father when the tent flap opens.

You and Arthur move simultaneously to look and see who's standing there only to have your eyes go wide.

You're leaning backwards, your head turned over your shoulder to look, and you suddenly wish that you could disappear.

Hosea stands at the opening of the tent, his mouth open as though he'd gone to say something and then he'd noticed.

"Hosea, I can explain-"

Arthur starts, he moves, and gently puts his hand on your back to push you towards the wall so that you can stay covered.

"I don't want to hear it!"

Hosea puts his hand out, as though he's trying to block it all from view.

"Get dressed! Both of you!"

He leaves, dropping the tent flap and leaving the two of you alone.

"Shit..."

"Shit's fuckin' right..."

Arthur sighs and plops back down on the cot, covering his eyes with one hand.

The two of you take a moment, sitting in silence. wondering what the hell you'd say.

This silence continues as the two of you go to dress, once the two of you are done Arthur reaches for your hand, taking it quietly as both of you leave the tent.

Hosea stands right outside, and the both of you give one another a look of shame.

"What the HELL do you think you're doing!?"

Hosea nearly yells, it's such a difference from his usual calm demeanor, you've rarely seen your father so mad.

"Hosea, c'mon..."

Arthur mumbles.

"Can't we talk about this outside of camp?"

Hosea takes a deep breath and then nods, and the three of you begin your trudge towards the edge of camp. It's there that Hosea stands with his arms crossed waiting.

"Explain yourselves."

"Hosea-"

"No, Y/N, you first."

"Dad..."

You swallow and look to Arthur and then to Hosea.

"I love him. I mean that. I love him, and I have for a very long time, and he loves me. I know he does. It's not just...it's not just a one time thing, it means something-"

"How long."

"About a year."

A silence falls over the three of you. Hosea's face seems unreadable.

His eyes close and he gives a deep breath, exhaling heavily.

"Arthur."

Hosea opens his eyes and looks towards him, his jaw clenched.

"If anything happens to them, emotional or otherwise, I'm going to hold you accountable, and you WILL NOT like me. You understand me?"

"I do Hosea, you know me. I'm not gonna let anything happen to them. Never."

Hosea doesn't seem exactly...pleased with this answer, but he seems to accpet it.

"Don't EVER let me catch you two like that again."

"You didn't knock-"

"Shut up Arthur."

Arthur clamps his jaw shut and swallows, but there's a look a defiance in his eyes.

Hosea looks at the two of you for a moment longer and then walks away without another word.

The two of you, now alone, look at each other and give a relieved sigh.

"I guess...I mean he knows now at least."

"I have a feeling he's gonna make your life a living hell for a while Arthur-"

"Yeah..."

He breathes.

"More than likely."

#rdr2 community #rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 headcannons #hosea matthews

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ihopeinevergetsoberr · 15 days

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the counterpart

chapter 6 — done it warning, done it now

art cr: @zaunitearchives our most faithful viktor lover <3 (can you guess which one of the inspo pics belongs to me?because i wasn’t joking when i said i might start using my pictures for these silly frames — I‘M DEDICATED to this fic okay)

word count: 2,2k

VERY nsfw, horny idiots in love, dialogue dialogue dialogue, explicit language, public masturbation, vehicle sex if you will. some porn to prepare you for the chaos i may or may not cause in the next chap 🫣

—

“Do you ever feel like a pawn?”

He turns around and his weary head tips deeper into what little comfort an old bus seat could provide, honeyed eyes a confused reproach pointed at your sheepish smile — had you dawdling over the halo of sun rays slipping prettily into the dark scatter of his hair, turning chestnut into rich, warm bourbon.

“Since when are you interested in philosophy?”

It makes you stumble over an innocent chuckle; fingers grow flush and hot against his, threatening to slide out of the warm press of hands — to satiate the sudden whim of cradling his face and dipping your thumbs gently into the sharp lines of defined cheekbones.

“Answer the question, Viktor.”

Oh the forwardness. Always gives him the urge to comply no matter how ridiculous the request is — be it a hypothetical silly ‘what if’ or an actual firm demand.

“I don’t project on inanimate objects, milackú,” he maneuvered smoothly out of your prudent trip, placing a cheeky kiss on the curious arc of your mouth. “But, in order not to digress — yes, I suppose I do. Quite occasionally. In your arms.”

“Smooth. Bravo, Viktor — that was so sweet I might have to see a dentist now.”

“Don’t forget to send me the bill.”

You gawked at the tooth gap in his proud grin with a hopeless sigh, leaning closer to tuck your face into the crevice of his slender neck. Couldn’t care less about the other passengers — nor did they care about you, to be frank: your seats were hidden in the back corner securely enough. Lips pressed to the fresh love bruise, so poorly covered with a mess of his unbuttoned collar — a not so humble possessive remnant of the morning tryst in his room. You craved a change of scenery: ravishing only one bed quickly becomes boring and unfair to its just as much ravished owner.

“No, but seriously,” you kept prying, words a muffled mumble against the slim of his skin — had you smiling when you caught the subtle scent of soap on the barely exposed collarbone, and his hand found tender leverage in your hair as thoughts drifted to the delicious things he did to you in that bathroom this very morning. Even longed to hold him there for a little longer — if not for the damn bus, that was now rapidly moving towards your opportunity to flaunt. Or to become a pitiful disgrace. Unfortunately, so far you were only leaning towards the latter.

It was Viktor’s idea. To play a local tournament — a somewhat silly for a person of his rating gathering, that he had no valid reason to attend. And yet he was so insistent on taking you there, held your hand so securely tight as you tried to fruitlessly convince him of your incompetence. Well, not incompetence, per se — you were simply a tad bit rusty, with a long forgotten dream of ever turning your passion into something professional. Endured a lengthy back and forth filled with his soft persistence and your capricious reluctance (which was secretly just a failed attempt to cover your incitement).

Because you loved the competition. Used to live off the thrill of having people at the edges of their seats, consumed their defeated groans alongside each captured piece, and forcibly swallowed the spiteful comments spinning at the tip of your tongue during each bitter post-defeat handshake. Adored the elegant gall-spitting on the checkered board, and loved hearing people whisper malicious things whenever you entered the room.

What happened to that version of you? Was it still there — a sharp tiny warrior, or ‘that pretentious little cunt’ — a title you wore proudly after a certain querulous opponent had revealed it to you generously all these years ago?

Well, certainly. Angry girls grow up shaped into furious women, but your fierceness was now imposed on men, poetry and lechery. Anything but tournaments.

And — while chess still owned your heart — you had to bow your head to the countless obstacles of life, aiming for stability; fed the vigorous child inside you countless books and analyzed hundreds of games, hoping that, eventually, that stupid yearning will be sated.

But now you had him — your bright opponent, rated strong intermediate and highly respected in narrow circles. A player of great potential — he was everything you could’ve been by now, a living proof of one’s passion and major coexisting peacefully. Your personal Czech serpent, the gentlest hangman of your fortitude — eager to get you rated, to make you see your skills through his meticulous eyes.

So here you were. Entwined with him in the contentious privacy of this backseat, harried with occasional chokeholds of your nervousness. Viktor was waiting for your point, all flushed ears and uneven breath.

“What I mean is,” you sighed again, tongue dancing skittishly over the front row of teeth, “don’t you ever feel so small and utterly unimportant? Like everyone else is so much more valuable?”

“But pawns are very important,” he protested, coaxing you to quit hiding from his acute eyes, “I delivered checkmates with pawns countless times before. And so did you.“

You couldn’t argue with that logic. Just sank deeper into his arms and watched the light run through his dilated pupils — the slipping boredom of the city both of you were getting out of today.

“Yes, but would you rather lose a pawn or… say, a rook? Or a knight? Or quite literally any other thing?” reluctant to bend to his attempts at soothing your restless mind, you refused to retreat and sweetly troubled him further. His smirk curled atop yours in a curt little touch — but one can’t kiss away a worry that excessive. Even as determined as he was to try.

“Depends on the circumstances. Surely, choosing to lose a powerful piece over a less significant one sounds unreasonable when you put it that way — but we both know it doesn’t exactly work like that.”

His sigh — or was it the rough scorch of the sun? — was making you melt; took care of your misery like the acidic little thing it is. Big palm stirred over the hem of a cotton dress, tracing it with a tremble, then slipping cautiously underneath — to curl around your thigh and pin it to the seat like a gentle shackle. You could still make out the grip through the sheer restraint of fabric; had your legs clenching together to trap it viciously into a crate of skin and soft little hairs: they stood on their ends oh so treacherously, each shiver palpable under the calluses of Viktor’s fingers.

“Moje laska.” There it is again. Turning you into a dumb pile of freshly discovered weaknesses — he could burn you to ashes that very moment and you’d gladly let him get away with it, as long as that hand stayed so close to home, damp from your sweat and whatever beads of slick seeping through the soaked ruin of your underwear. If only he could reach down and throw а quivering thigh over one scrawny shoulder, tongue a trail chasing the wet deliciousness of your lust after him — just how he likes it: sweet, slow and salacious. The holy trinity of your fervent undoings.

“You’ll make them all feel like pawns,” you felt him sting the shell of your ear in a tortuous whisper, his caress tenderly cruel against what little composure left between tense legs, “I can promise you that much.”

“We have a tournament to play, and that’s what you’re thinking about right now?” you tried to snatch the power out of his hands, but tripped over his long middle finger — so viciously close to the swollen folds. He could’ve grasped the shape of them through the obstacle of fabric if only you approved of the mischief.

“We have a tournament to play, and you’re wasting our precious time on baseless self-consciousness. I am merely providing a pleasant distraction,” he explained, then resigned to offer you a moment of hesitation. “Unless the setting is too public for you, of course. I don’t mind proceeding in private, with less prying eyes nailed to your potential, eh… agony.”

“My, you’re shameless.”

“You’re one to talk. So? May I?”

Gaze quickly flipped through the row of potential witnesses, failing to notice a single giving a fuck one. Viktor waited for your permission with patiently bated breath, watching your throat move when you gulped, slightly strangled.

“Please.”

Lips protruded into a line — a show-off of a smirk at the eroded crumbles of your sanity. Because, indeed — your writhing was needy to its very core, legs tumbled in to coax your salvation out of him. Impatient, fitful, stubborn — your demand was impeccable in its tacit delivery, emphasized the urgency when a single fingertip brushed the entrance soft and languid, then found the wet, laced at the edges barrier. White and see-through, with a silly bow sitting prettily right on top — he watched you put them on fresh out of the shower, all damp-skinned and weak-kneed, the swift slide of light fabric over the divine thick of your thighs. It’s a shame he couldn't see the mess he’d made out of them.

A well-rehearsed route: a casual slide inside the delicate garment, a timid swipe over each plush fold. Immutable, but you liked it — begged for more into his rouge under the white shirt shoulder. It matched you so effortlessly. Though his attire was sticky only from sweat.

Torturous. Purely, perfectly, obscenely tortuous — that’s how his finger felt, hot and slick, in a precious little roll against the swell of your clit, and you found hold of his lean thigh, nails a sharp anchor in the gentle flesh of it — squeezing hard enough to cut through his pants. And his little chuckles — these warm brisk spurts of muffled laughter. They had your free from gnawing at him hand pressing tight against your mouth, pushing the debauched whine back into your throat until it was practically strangling you, swallowing hard to keep everyone present unaware of the stage of bliss you were going through in that damned seat. As tempted as you were to scream at the top of your burning lungs — it was best for your audience to remain unconcerned.

Don’t get caught, don’t attract attention, don’t fuck it up — but god was it difficult when you needed so much more than just these restrained, demure cirles against your aching clit. Glassy-eyed and so tense, you silently pleaded him to keep going — a second away from rolling into his lap to fall strung up on his just as much aching cock and have him thrust your heart out in that very grimmy seat. And he would do it, always so happy to please — no doubt muttering swears towards the oblivious handful of other passengers, mourning the urge to tend to as you deserve it — full-course and thorough.

He probably won’t fuck you in public ever again. Not where he couldn’t pay you every last neck kiss and every last lewd little word, at the very least.

But for now he tormented you meticulously towards the sweet climax — clockwise, calculated, gentle. With an occasional flick of darkened eyes over each potential witness: to make sure he’s the only one to savor your collapse, the ever thoughtful protector of your pleasure. And there he was in your ear again — with a filthy helping of pleasantries spoken softly to ensure you get what you want.

“You’re so beautiful.” Voice satin, motions timidly flawless. He had a bit of a hard time pronouncing it, choked on a humm so utterly awe-struck. “Oh, the things I’d do to you if only we were alone. The things I’m tempted to do to you — to hell with privacy. Being quiet doesn’t suit you, milovaná.”

And you finally spilled. Heavy head dropped back in what could’ve been a loud lustful moan — mouth formed an eager O under the slam of your sweaty palm. Buckled knees and tiny convulsions — you came not nearly hard enough in comparison to what he usually puts you through, yet it still lanced through you and turned limbs numb, clit was sore from the remnants of your dissolving arousal, throbbing under the generous stroke of his fingertips.

A slow orgasm — both in delivery and departure, a taunting treat that left you delightfully dizzy. You captured the warm sight of him through the fluttering cover of lashes, myriad white dots biting roughly at your vision, rubbing rudely into a sunny line that melted the ends of his wild hair into a lighter shade. His hand slid away, tremulous. Left a glossy trace all the way up to your shaking knee. Thin wrist caught a little cramp.

“Breathe.” A sultry reminder upon the slope of your shoulder as his lips found some skin in a brief kiss. Cheeky. Self-pleased. Had you nearly sobbing in fresh desperation when he wiped two glistening fingers to a fetched out handkerchief ostentatiously. Absorbed every drop of you and tucked it back into his breast pocket — to wear you there lewdly next to his heart.

You’ll need a few cigarettes back-to-back to recover from this.

The bus needed fifteen more minutes to spit you out gently into the hostile arms of the competition.

—

tags: @thehistoriangirl @zaunitearchives @blissfulip @queen-of-elves @vyshnevska

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane #viktor fanfic #viktor smut #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #the cunterpart

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zazima · 4 months

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im rusty. so rusty. and also extremely late for christmas. i may as well have waited 350 days until the holidays came around again, but im trying to write more this year, so hear you go? eek im nervous. please pardon any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes. enjoy! also tumblr doesn't seem to have line breaks so sorry if any time jumps are confusing.

also a warning for language and mentions of wanting to step in front of a bus as an extreme response to being embarrassed. i swear this is all fluff otherwise.

Harry doesn't know what to get Sirius for Christmas.

Well, to clarify, Harry doesn't know if he can get Sirius anything adequately worth a damn. Because how can a game (magical or not) or piece of art or trinket or any sort of anything say hey Merry Christmas and by the way, thanks for saving me from my horrible abusive household where I lived in a cupboard and for wrangling a fucked up wizarding judicial system so that it both exonerates you from a murder you didn't commit and lets you adopt a kid you only properly met six months ago.

Harry would also like the gift (if he ever manages to find something) to say also thank you for giving me my own bedroom and for making pancakes every Saturday morning and for letting me visit my friends and for playing two-man Quidditch with me and for ruffling my hair and for always letting me pick the film that we watch and for telling me stories about my parents and for always being just enough and for not pushing me when I have nothing to say and for calling me by my name instead of shouting boy angrily-

Harry figures that he should cut himself off there. Any more gratitudes and the gift will literally be impossible to find, lest it be the size of Hogwarts in an effort to cram any and all unspoken messages Harry doesn't have the courage to voice out loud.

So Harry does what he usually does in a sticky situation. He turns to his friends.

No clue mate, Ron writes. I normally get Mum perfume and Dad whatever Muggle trinket he's been obsessing over. So unless Sirius wants a rubber duck, I probably won't be much help. But you could probably give him one and he'd be ecstatic. You're pretty much his favorite person right now.

Ah bloody hell. Do you think I should get Sirius something as a thanks for Pig?

Even though he's sure Ron's right (although Padfoot might enjoy a rubber duck more than Sirius), Harry doesn't have time to add Ron's own gift conundrum to his list of problems, so he turns to Hermione, who ends up being a bit more helpful.

I know you said that Sirius was interested in curse-breaking and how it can be used to help with cleaning up Grimmauld Place, so maybe something pertaining to that? A book or starter kit? Or perhaps something a bit more personal, something he couldn't just buy in a shop. Don't worry too much, Harry. He'll love whatever it is you give him because it's you.

Harry disregards the book suggestion immediately. Sirius does read; over the holiday break the two of them have taken to sitting quietly on opposite sides of the couch in the sitting room, reading books from the Black family library and munching on the latest treat Mrs. Weasley has sent them while flames blaze in the fireplace, only breaking the peaceful quiet occasionally to share whatever interesting passage has just been read. But Harry doesn't want to give a present that reminds Sirius of the exhausting work they do every day trying to make Grimmauld Place a habitable home.

Hermione's other suggestion, however, gets Harry thinking. Something he couldn't just buy in a shop. That obviously eliminates all of the last-resort items Harry had on his mental list, as they were dumb things he had planned to frantically order by mail once he gave up on the idea of finding something good enough for Sirius. But it also opens up a new idea, something that Harry himself had appreciated when he had received it a few years ago.

He begins firing off letters and mail-in order forms with an efficiency Hermione would admire. The owls return in quick fashion, up to three or four a day. Sirius doesn't notice anything at first, but when Hedwig taps on the kitchen window for the second time that day during breakfast, he gets up and lets her in with a raised eyebrow at Harry.

"Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment?" he asks, somewhat incredulously, peering at the label on the package. "Harry, love, you know we can just go to Diagon Alley whenever you'd like. No need to rely on owl post if you're running low on supplies."

Harry flushes and snatches the small, soft package from Hedwig, stuffing it under his armpit and looking determinedly at his porridge. He hopes he doesn't have ACTUALLY IT'S PART OF YOUR CHRISTMAS PRESENT written all over his face.

"It's fine," he shrugs, aiming for casual nonchalance with his tone. "It's just a small thing. No point in going all the way down to Diagon Alley. Besides, the crowds would drive you crazy. They'd probably give you a concussion trying to get a picture."

Sirius grimaces, probably thinking of their last attempt to go for an ice cream at Fortescue's shortly before Harry had left for the fall term. They'd returned to Grimmauld Place ice cream-less and with a giant tear down the front of Harry's robes.

"Nothing a Glamour Charm wouldn't fix," he responds, grabbing his own empty bowl and bringing it to the sink. "Anyway, it's not fair for us to be shut up in this damned house because some people can't behave themselves in public. You just let me know whenever you want to go out, alright? I promise I won't breathe down your neck while you look at potions ingredients and whatnot. Even if they all suspiciously happen to be ingredients for an Enlarging Potion."

He manages to ruffle Harry's hair before the boy squawks out a "Sirius!" and darts out the kitchen, cackling in response to Harry's sputtered "I'm not... I wouldn't... SIRIUS!"

As Christmas approaches, Harry begins to stay up later and later into the night, working frantically to finish Sirius' present. One late night (or early morning, really), he hears a gentle knock on his door. He jumps and shoves the half completed project under his comforter.

"Come in!"

Sirius peeks his head through the cracked open door. "Are you alright? I was getting a glass of water and noticed your light was still on."

Harry nods, trying to convey a casualness he doesn't feel beneath the stress of wanting to have the present ready by Christmas morning. "Yes. Fine. I was just... reading." He reaches for his nightstand and holds up the latest book he's knicked from the Black family library for this exact purpose.

Sirius raises an eyebrow. "You sure? I've read that one before. Couldn't last more than thirty seconds at a time without falling asleep."

Harry glances at the cover. He hasn't even cracked it open yet. "It's actually quite interesting. I've always been fascinated by... the evolution of wizarding legalese from 1500 to 1800." He internally winces as the subject matter is finally made apparent to his sleep-deprived brain.

Sirius pauses, clearly sensing that something's up. He must decide that now's not the time to probe further because he says, "Alright. You're stronger than me, then. Let me know if you need anything though." He begins to retreat and close the bedroom door but stops right before he actually does. "I forgot, " he murmurs, opening the door wide and stepping fully into Harry's bedroom. He approaches Harry where he's sitting on his bed. Harry tries to discretely shove the half-finished present further under the covers. "You had a letter downstairs. We must have missed it earlier. I only saw it when I was getting water." He hands over a rather thick envelope to Harry, who flips it over, notes the name of the sender, and smiles, relieved.

Sirius lets out a small puff of air, and Harry looks up at the sound. Sirius pastes on a rather strained smile. "Do you often write to Mrs. Weasley?"

Harry's brain scrambles for a response. "Erm. Not really."

He doesn't say anything else, unsure how to explain away the situation convincingly. A rather awkward silence settles between them. Sirius looks as if he's summoning the courage to say something.

Sirius takes a deep breath. "I'm here if you ever want to talk, Harry. I know the Weasley's have always been great to you, and I never want to feel like you're getting that taken away. But, I just want you to know that I'm also here, in addition to them. For anything. No questions asked or judgement cast. Alright?"

The letter slips out of Harry's grip, as he frantically waves his hands in front of him, desperate to correct Sirius' perception of the situation. "Oh, no, Sirius, I know! I swear it. We were just... planning Ron's birthday present this year. They wanted to throw him a party." The fib comes easily.

Sirius visibly relaxes. "Oh. Ron's birthday's not until April though."

"Yes," Harry's brain scrambles for an explanation. "But you know how Mrs. Weasley is. Always trying to stay ahead. She's already starting to plan the menu. Fretting between bacon sandwiches or chicken legs for the main course."

Sirius shakes his head, a genuine smile starting to form on his face. "Well you know my vote is always for chicken legs. Assuming I'm invited of course."

"You know you're always invited. Mrs. Weasley always wants an opportunity to make sure you're feeding me properly," Harry rolls his eyes. "And Ron thinks you're pretty cool too. Even though you broke his leg."

Sirius gives him a mock scowl. "Hey now! I wasn't in my right mind that night. And I gave him an owl to make up for it! Even though I was probably doing myself more of a favor than him. That damned owl was driving me mad."

Harry giggles, and Sirius' smile grows wider at the sound. He lets out a dramatic sigh and leans over to ruffle Harry's hair, ignoring the sounds of protest that come in response to the action.

"Alright then, love. I'm off to bed. Shout if you need anything, and I'll be here in faster than you can say chicken legs. You hear me?"

Harry nods. "Yes sir."

Sirius scowls for real this time. "None of that now, remember?"

Harry nods again, this time rather sheepishly. Sirius bends over to kiss his forehead before heading out of the bedroom, shouting a "Good night!" over his shoulder before he closes the door behind him.

Harry sighs in relief, pulls the present out from underneath the comforter, tears open Mrs. Weasley's letter, and gets back to work.

The morning of the 25th is bright and cold.

Harry is a ball of nerves as the breakfast plates get cleared away and the two of them prepare to go to the sitting room to open presents. Padfoot had barged into Harry's room at half past seven, barking loudly and leaping onto the bed, nearly giving Harry a heart attack in the process. He'd only finished Sirius' present in the wee hours of the morning and had barely managed to shove it into his desk drawer before he'd fallen asleep.

Sirius had dragged Harry into the kitchen for special Christmas chocolate chip pancakes and hot chocolate but had only allowed Harry to start eating once he agreed to don a ridiculously oversized Santa hat that matched the one Sirius had on his own head.

"If I'd known you liked Christmas so much, I'd have taken you to the Muggle mall to get a picture with Santa," Harry grumbles only half-heartedly as he watches the milk heat up on the hob. Sirius was adamant about making hot chocolate the old-fashioned way.

Sirius laughs loudly and hooks his arm around Harry's neck, pulling him close and planting a kiss on his forehead with a loud smack. "It's our first Christmas together, kiddo! First of many. You can get past your anti-morning attitude for that, can't you?"

"I gueeeeeeees," Harry mock-whines, drawing out the word as he adds the chopped chocolate to the steaming milk. He's secretly pleased that Sirius seems to somewhat enjoy his company. It shows he's not such a terrible charge.

"Thank you for your sacrifice," Sirius states dramatically. He gives Harry one last squeeze before releasing him. "Now come on, let's get to presents. I call going first!" He darts off to the sitting room where, overnight, a large pile of presents has piled in front of the eight-foot tall tree Sirius had dragged home one afternoon (with lots of swearing).

Harry gulps nervously as he pours hot chocolate into two mugs and tops them both with a handful of marshmallows. His hands are slightly shaking as he brings them both to the sitting room. Sirius is poking around the heap of gifts as he enters the room, and Harry spots the hastily wrapped, lumpy package he completed only a few hours ago.

Please like it, please like it, please like it, he silently begs as he sets the mugs on the coffee table. The sight of the gift is almost nauseating, and he keeps his eyes fixed on the hot chocolate.

Sirius turns at the sound to spot Harry and grins. "Alrighty, kiddo, what do you want to unwrap first? I did go a bit overboard this year, you'll have to forgive me. But there's plenty here from your friends!" He's practically vibrating with excitement.

Harry straightens his back and clears his throat. "Actually, do you mind if you do the opening first?"

Sirius pauses. "Are you sure? I swear mine are quite good."

Harry nods vigorously. "Yes. You can start with mine. It's right on top. The green wrapping." Let's just get this over with, he thinks.

Sirius picks up the package and shakes it gently. It makes no noise, and Harry can't help but let out a chuckle despite the knots in his stomach. Sirius grins at him and begins to carefully unwrap the gift.

Harry's legs suddenly feel like treacle tart filling. He lowers himself onto the couch so he doesn't pass out.

The wrapper paper gently falls to the ground, revealing a mound of knit material. Sirius unravels the pile to reveal a rather lumpy, oversized navy blue sweater with a slightly misshapen black dog woven onto the front.

Sirius doesn't say anything.

Harry's heart drops to his stomach. He opens his mouth, desperate to explain away the situation. "It's uh... it's... erm... it's a sweater? I made it?" As if that wasn't fucking obvious, he internally snarls at himself. He shakes his head, trying to organize his thoughts. "Yes, I, um, I made it. That's uh... that's Padfoot. On the front of it. I knitted it."

Sirius doesn't say anything.

Harry's words start coming out faster and faster, hoping something comes out that remedies this clusterfuck of an event. "Mrs. Weasley helped me. She sent me instructions. And the patterns? That 's why she was sending me so many letters. I didn't know how to do it. They aren't throwing a party for Ron."

Sirius still doesn't say anything.

Oh fuck! Harry thinks wildly. He's probably livid I lied. Oh fuck fuck fuck. "I'm sorry I lied to you! I just wanted it to be a surprise," he manages to get out. "That's why I was ordering so much through owl post. I had to get the yarn and the needles. And I kept having to order more yarn because I kept getting frustrated and messing up a lot. I didn't want you to know. Until now, that is. Obviously."

Sirius. Still. Doesn't. Say. Anything.

Harry wants to crawl into a hole and die. But for some stupid, idiotic reason, he keeps speaking. "I wasn't sure if you'd like the color? I actually realized that I don't know what your favorite color is. But whenever Mrs. Weasley makes one for me or for the Weasley kids, she usually does our favorite color. Or house colors. But I figured you have lots of things in Gryffindor colors? Like your wand holster. And then I noticed that you wear a lot of navy. So I thought that might be nice."

If Sirius doesn't say anything, Harry just might call the Knight Bus so he can step in front of it. He decides to get everything off of his chest before he has to do so.

"Mrs... uh... Mrs. Weasley made me one," he explains softly. "My first year. And every year after that. It means a lot to me. I think it was probably the first gift I ever got. And it kind of made me feel like part of their family? A little bit at least. So... so I wanted to give you one. Not from her, of course. But from me. So you could feel like a part of... our family?" His sentence embarrassingly ends like a question, so he hastily tacks on, "If you want to, of course."

Sirius finally moves, and Harry shuts his mouth. He gently sets the sweater down on the armchair next to him, walks over to where Harry is sitting, and pulls him up into the tightest, fiercest hug Harry has ever experienced.

Neither say anything for a few moments. Until Harry can't deal with not being able to breathe and squeaks out, "Uh? Sirius? I can't really inhale."

Sirius releases him quickly and takes a step back. "Sorry."

Harry feels awkward again. He clears his throat, hoping to fill the silence with something. "I hope you like it. But I know it's not done very well. So I can take it apart if you'd rather that. The shop said they'd take the yarn back as long as it wasn't too worn."

Sirius' head snaps up. "What? Harry, my love, I don't not like it. I love it."

Harry's mouth goes dry. "What?"

Sirius gives him a small smile. His eyes look suspiciously glassy. "Harry. You made this for me. You made this for me! It's my favorite color, and it's got me on it! Of course I love it. Not just because you took the time and the effort to make something for me. Because, my goodness, how do you even start with something like this? It must have taken you ages. But also because, well, you said it yourself. I mean, I already felt like part of the same family with the whole adoption bit and knowing you since you were a baby and whatnot, but it's always nice to know you feel the same. And I'm so honored to be a part of your family. Always will be. You have to know that, alright?" Sirius presses their foreheads together. "Alright?"

Harry nods, feeling a little something catch in his throat. He nods.

"Thank you for my gift," Sirius says softly. "I love it. No talk about talking it apart. I'll be proper mad if you do, you hear me?"

Harry nods again. Sirius releases him. He grabs the sweater from the armchair and pulls it over his head. The hem is uneven and the dog looks more like a cat once the sweater settles on his body, but Sirius only looks down at it and grins.

"Now come on, it's your turn to open presents. I don't think any of mine are as good as a handmade sweater, but I hope you like them anyway. And that's got me thinking, we ought to do a Christmas card no? Especially now that I've got a nice sweater on. Mrs. Weasley might tear up at the sight of a photo of the two us. Come on, come on, pick a present."

Harry rolls his eyes without any real heat behind the action. And he doesn't say anything later when he feels a burst of pride when he sees the photo they take in front of the Christmas tree that afternoon, Sirius wearing the sweater with the biggest, proudest smile Harry has ever seen.

He just bottles the feeling and hopes to remember it forever.

#hi i write sometimes #sirius and harry #sirius black #harry potter #good godfather sirius black #dadfoot #sirius raising harry #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter oneshot

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mediocre-daydreams · 1 year

Text

𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞. 𝐢 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝’𝐯𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞

remus lupin x animagus!reader

𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 : 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚢, 𝚒 𝚏𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚘𝚠

summary: you've kissed, you've confessed your love... still, nobody is quite sure what your relationship is with remus. regardless, the slytherins seem to have already made up their minds.

notes: slut shaming, swearing, i'm a bit rusty pls forgive and hey one more chapter left! special thanks to my lovely mutuals @emmaev @sw34terw34ther and to @mooncleaver for the sweet comments

w/c: 6.3k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

now this is an open-shut case i guess i should've known from the look on your face every bait and switch was a work of art

“c’mon, i think it makes me look badass,” sirius grinned, holding up his robes in the middle of the dining hall to admire the long, faded scar that crawled on the left side of his body from his thigh to his knee.

“face it, padfoot. you’ll never look badass, not when you have a five step haircare routine,” james spoke through a mouthful of waffle.

“you’re just jealous.” sirius pointed his fork at james. “you mess up your hair on purpose so that people think your bird’s nest is cool and intentional and not because you’ve never used conditioner in your life.”

james turned his head to the side and met your eye. “back me up here, thumper. my hair looks good, right?”

you held your free hand up to your mouth as you finished chewing. “do you want the nice answer or the real answer?” you teased. remus, sitting on your other side, plucked the toast from your grasp while you were distracted. he took a bite, simply raising his eyebrows at the glare you tossed him.

“you wound me!” james shook his head, curls flying. “i s’pose it’s my bad. you’re mean to everyone except moony.” james looked at you meaningfully and the amusement slipped from your face. remus froze mid-chew.

“you’re right, actually,” peter said, quirking his head as he took in the slow blush creeping across remus’ cheeks. “the two of them have been awfully sweet on each other lately.”

from under the table, you stepped on remus’ foot indicatively. there was a mutual understanding.

ever since that morning at the hospital wing, where remus had finally admitted to you (and himself) about how he felt, there’d been an almost imperceptible shift in the marauders’ dynamic. neither of you told the other marauders what had occurred. you two hadn’t officially talked about it either. of course, there’d always been an obvious electricity between you and remus—that was evident to more than just the marauders—but this new development was subtle enough to fly over your friends’ heads. even peter, the most perceptive of all five of you, hadn’t been able to put a finger on it.

sirius pressed his palms to the table and pushed himself off his seat, leaning over his breakfast platee. he made a show of getting in remus’ face to examine his expression. “is there a reason you’re blushing, moony, my boy?”

“i’m not blushing,” remus said, blushing.

“sure,” james said, stretching out his vowels sarcastically. “and you haven’t been playing footsie with thumper either, right?”

“yep. i mean, nope. wait-” you stammered, “-i mean, no, we have definitely not been ‘playing footsie’ or whatever. why are you guys so obsessed with what we’re doing anyway?” you stared at james pointedly. “i think you should mind your own business. maybe then you would’ve noticed the syrup on your shirt.”

james looked down. there was a growing spot of sticky maple syrup on the collar of his white button down, which he’d layered under a sweater. “damn it,” james muttered, rubbing at the stain and making it worse.

“just take off your shirt, james,” you chided, settling into your seat as you watched him struggle to neaten up.

“woah there, thumper. at least take me on a date first before you try and take my clothes off.”

you pursed your lips in an unsuccessful attempt to keep a straight face. james stuck his hands under his sweater and began fiddling with the buttons of his shirt. you felt a pair of arms drape over your shoulders and clasp together at your front. remus’ sighed in content, his breath tickling your ear.

your heart jumped and began to sputter to life with a little more enthusiasm than seemed dignified. you hoped remus couldn’t feel it.

“what are you doing?” you whispered, keeping your eyes fixed in front of you. you were scared that if you turned your head, remus’ face would be too close and you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself back from kissing him right then and there.

“can’t i hug you?” remus said, feigning confusion. “what, are friends not allowed to hug each other?”

“what are you doing?” sirius butted in loudly. “you’re being real touchy-feely with thumper…” sirius looked at peter knowingly.

peter huffed, all disgruntled. sirius was, to put it gently, not the most graceful matchmaker.

“what, are friends not allowed to hug each other?” you repeated remus’ earlier words, and the boy behind you tightened his arms around you approvingly.

“fine, then why don’t you let me hug you like that?” james had his stained shirt tucked under his arm as he stood above you and remus, unconvinced.

“i mean, your arms are kind of busy at the moment,” you pointed out, referencing james’ shirt.. “don’t play coy,” james tutted. you were saved from answering by a shift in conversation. “anyway, i have to bring my shirt back to the common room. anyone wanna come?”

you and remus made no effort to move or offer your company.

“fine, i’ll come,” sirius said, standing from his seat like spending time with james was draining his life force. “i can’t believe you’re tearing me away from my best girl…” sirius grumbled. from the corner of his eye, he checked for any of remus’ tells. nothing. if anything, remus looked a bit smug.

“you’ll be fine for ten minutes,” james rolled his eyes, hitting the back of sirius’ head. james lowered his voice so only sirius could hear. “moony, on the other hand, looks like he’d shrivel up and die without her.”

“is it just me,” sirius murmured, “or are they more disgusting than usual?”

“nope, not just you,” james agreed. “at first i thought i’d caught a bug, but then i realized it was just a physical nauseated reaction to the two of their mutual pining bullshit.”

“godric, i’m just waiting for one of them to grow a pair and confess; put me out of my damn misery.”

for two of the brightest students in your year, it was laughable how inept your communication was. something had shifted between you and remus; that much was obvious. the facts were laid out, plain and simple, like playing cards facing upward. you loved remus. remus loved you. you would do anything for remus. remus would do anything for you.

so why was it so hard to pick up the damn cards?

your lives had quickly become intertwined and there was an unspoken agreement that the two of you belonged to each other, whatever that meant. this is to say, quite literally, as neither of you had clarified what that hospital room night actually meant for your relationship. your friends continued as they had before, dropping sly comments and encouraging either one of you in private, but if anything, with more vigor. you were hesitant to tell the girls about what happened at the hospital wing. nothing had really transpired, but it felt so intimate, like the sheen of a bubble that could be popped by the slightest shift in surface tension. remus made you feel comfortable and safe, but he kept you on edge too. there was nothing you feared more than losing him, and the unpredictability of his condition, rising tensions in the wizarding world, and volatility of a budding situationship did the opposite of give you the confidence to broach the conversation of “what are we?”

it should’ve been easy. it should’ve been obvious.

remus had become ambidextrous, writing with his left hand so he could hold yours with his right. you carried a little comb with you and would work out his bedhead at breakfast every morning. if remus got to breakfast earlier, he’d make your coffee exactly the way you liked it. if you beat him, you’d steep his tea with water at the correct temperature to pull all subtle flavors from the leaves. you may or may not have stayed after divination class to ask professor trelawney for tea brewing tips.

tonight, like countless others, remus was by your side like a shadow, whispering affections into your ear throughout the day and offering his warmth during quiet evenings in the common room. remus could listen to your voice, low and steady and hushed, spinning visual films with your words. it would’ve been so easy for him to fall asleep, grounded by your weight on his lap and the popping of logs and soft flipping of pages, but remus always fought sleep. he treasured these peaceful moments with you too much to lose a single minute to unconsciousness.

remus couldn’t recall a more beautiful sight than you backlit by the dying flames of the common room fireplace. he nuzzled his head further into the crook of your neck and chuckled quietly when he felt you shiver.

“rem?” you closed your book. you wrapped one of your hands around remus’ side and let the other find its way into his hair, where you dug your fingers into his roots with a loose fist.

remus hummed in acknowledgement.

“oh, are you sleepy?”

“no, no, i’m awake,” remus insisted, speaking into your neck. his lips, warm and familiar, brushed against your skin with the tenderness of a lover’s caress.

“if you say so…” you sighed, more than happy to fall asleep with him cuddled up to you. “i believe you. i totally do.”

“thanks…” remus whispered, more so to himself than to you. “i love you.” his confession was breathless, muddled by the thick exhaustion in his voice, but you could understand well enough. there was a distance between you and him, a restraint from remus yet to dissolve, but in these intimate moments his barrier fell and he allowed himself to love you fully. you didn’t need the constant reassurance to know how remus felt. his hand on the small of your back, the massaging of your wrists after they’d cramped from writing an essay, and the seeking of your body in a sea of students during passing periods was enough.

it should’ve been easy, right? it should’ve been obvious. in a very un-gryffindor-like fashion, it seemed neither of you wanted to take the leap into labels… into commitment.

there would be a right time, you promised yourself. and you’d wait for it patiently, because you’d waited for remus for years now, and you’d wait forever if it meant having him in your arms like you had him now.

it seemed you were alone in your patience, because when morning came and lily screeched, overjoyed at the prospect of her friends together, at last.

“oh merlin!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “i bloody knew it! i saw it coming—didn’t i see it coming, dorcas?”

“yes, yes you did,” dorcas rasped, still recovering from her interrupted slumber. “to be fair, we all saw it coming. even james saw it coming.”

“right, but i guessed most accurately, didn’t i? you and mary better cough up,” lily said while wiggling her shoulders triumphantly. her boasting was not lost on you.

“lily, did you bet on us?”

“um- well, yes.”

“dear godric.” you rubbed the sleep from your eyes. “what time is it? actually, it doesn’t matter. all i know is that it’s too early for this.”

“wait-” mary scampered out the dorm room. “you said ‘us.’ so you admit it? there’s an ‘us’ now?”

“yeah, an ‘us’ that fell asleep on the couch together! for the second time,” dorcas pursed her lips judgingly.

“i swear, i am going to rip whoever is being this loud into tiny little pieces-” sirius complained, stretching his arms and stumbling groggily out of the boys’ room to investigate. he immediately sobered at the sight of the three scheming girls and the two curled up figures dominating the common room. “holy shit,” sirius breathed. “prongs! wormy! get out here!” sirius turned and hurried back into his room, socks sliding, to wake up the other marauders.

you knew this from the last time you and remus had been caught sleeping on the couch, but remus was not a morning person. he groaned, turning his head so his face was flat on your chest, hiding from the unforgiving sunlight and your friends’ voyeuristic gawking.

“we’ve already done this,” you snipped, “can we collectively move on and start the day, please?”

“but it’s so fun to make you uncomfortable!” james smirked, resting his chin in the palm of his hand, elbow on the banister. “other than quidditch, it’s my favorite pastime.”

you had half the mind to slip out from underneath remus’ body and hex james’ mouth shut, but how could you, when remus was resting so soundly and holding you so snugly? you could count each freckle on his face if you tried. you could feel his eyelashes tickle your skin. if you focused, you could hear the rhythmatic beating of his heart, slow like molasses and indicative of how much he trusted you; how comfortable he was.

gone was the anxiety of trying to be perfect around him. remus felt like the only person you could trust with your whole being, and knew you would do anything for him, unconditionally and always.

on the rare occasion remus was not the one walking you to class, lily would have her arm linked through yours as she pulled you through the crowd, an expert navigator commanding the respect of the sea.

“it feels like forever since we’ve spent time together, just the two of us,” you said, voice raised to be audible over the bustling students. “that’s probably my fault too; i’ve been- uh, spending a lot of time with rem.”

“rem…” lily mimicked. “yeah, you definitely have. don’t stress about it, though. i’m happy—and i truly, truly mean this—that you and him have finally figured out your feelings for each other. you make the best couple.”

“oh, well we’re not officially dating or anything-”

“are you kidding?” lily scoffed. “i swear, the man could propose to you and you would still think he’d meant it platonically. you’ve kissed, haven’t you? is that not enough?”

“i mean, i don’t want to push it. he’s still figuring things out, i think, and i-”

you never finished your thought, nor did lily finish scolding you, because your conversation was overshadowed by the snide voices of lucius malfoy and his lackeys.

“have you heard?” barty crouch sneered. “lupin’s started fooling around with the mudblood girl, that filthy blood traitor.”

“he’s a half blood to begin with,” lucius said. “hardly pure enough to ‘betray.’”

“it doesn’t matter to me,” evan rosier spat. “he’s still sleeping with the school slut. he’s a mudblood by association, that scum.”

your brows furrowed and you craned your neck to catch the conversation. lily was pale and her eyes flickered between you, the slytherins, and the crowd of students headed toward their next classes. lily tugged at your arm, silently asking you to leave it be.

you bit your lip hard enough to leave indents. it didn’t matter what the slytherins said about you; they were horrible blood supremacists who’d find a way to spread rumors no matter what. you knew remus wouldn’t take them to heart.

“and the evans girl? she’s sloppy seconds, isn’t she?” barty cackled. “y’know, she’s not bad for a mudblood. if she weren’t such a stuck-up bitch, i might go for it.”

“that’s disgusting, crouch,” malfoy jeered. “have you really become so desperate? you’d seek comfort from a mudblood?”

rosier elbowed barty. “she’s a fuckin’ prude anyway. even if she weren’t, why’d she ever go for your ugly face?”

“hey!” crouch protested. “look at yourself, why don’t’cha?”

“boys, calm down,” lucius said coolly. “you’re making fools of yourselves.” there was an evident distinction in the way the three of them spoke. lucius was articulate and his voice, sleek. evan rosier and barty crouch were crass and loose-tongued.

something about hearing lily’s name come out of the three slytherins’ slimy mouths made your blood boil; potions be damned, you were stewing in fury. you could deal with dirt on your name, but lily had been dragged into the center of gossip by association and you wouldn’t stand for slander on your innocent friend.

“i swear to fucking m-” you seethed, cracking your knuckles. you jumped when lily placed a placating hand on your forearm.

“it’s okay. let’s just go,” lily said nervously. lily was never one to shy away from confrontation, especially not when it came to putting blood supremacists in their place, so her cautiousness spoke volumes.

you shook lily off you, perhaps with an undeserved amount of aggression, and let your bag drop to the ground with a heavy thud. you stalked in the slytherins’ direction, not sure what you were going to say but at least sure you were going to walk away with the three of them in quivering, pathetic shambles.

“oi, crouch!” you called as you approached, clutching your wand a little tighter in your hand. “you been talking about me?”

“ah, it’s lupin’s girl!” rosier snickered, lightly elbowing lucius.

“ah, the marauder’s mudblood pet,” lucius said, lip curling in distaste. his eyes bore into yours and you shivered—not in the way remus made you shiver, but a trickling stream of dread down your spine. “what can we do for you?”

“don’t play dumb, malfoy,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “i mean, you could at least pretend to be capable of forming coherent thought. stupid isn’t a good look on you.”

there was a flicker of fire in lucius’ usually cold, expressionless eyes. you knew it was a bad idea—a reckless, thoughtless, potentially dangerous idea—to provoke someone like lucius, who had the family name to ruin your life, probably. still, you couldn’t help but stand a little taller as you watched lucius’ jaw twitch, smug at the prospect of having gotten under the pompous bastard’s skin.

“watch yourself, little girl,” crouch hissed, defensive on his leader’s behalf. “you should know your place by now. and if you don’t, we can show you.” rosier pushed out from behind lucius and crouch, tilting his head to look you up and down crudely.

crouch was taller than you, not by much, but it was still a bit of a power imbalance to be looking up at him. “i could say the same for you,” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “keep my name out of your fucking mouth. keep evans’ name out of your dirty, foul mouth.”

“we’re not the only people talking, sweetheart,” rosier smiled viciously. his tongue ran over his top teeth like he was sizing you up for his next meal. “the whole school’s curious; who’d you fuck first? potter? black?” he spat out sirius’ name bitterly. “those fucking blood traitors… and now you’re going for remus lupin, the half-breed?”

“watch it,” you snarled. “you better fucking watch yourself.”

lucius, who’d been acting like he was above all this, cracked an amused smile. “the real question is, where does pettigrew stand?”

barty crouch laughed like lucius’ comment was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. crouch’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips. his eyes roamed your body greedily and it took everything in you not to cover yourself and run. “i’d love to know… what’s lupin like in bed? lupin’s a bit of an animal, isn’t he? tell me, is he rough with you?”

crouch’s mouth was still moving. he was going on about remus’ scars, his clothes; worst of all, using too many words that made it seem like crouch knew more than he should. you weren’t sure. you couldn’t hear it. blood was rushing to your face and your cheeks burned; if you pressed your hands to your face you thought you might hear a sizzle. your heart was halfway up your throat, threatening to beat a hole straight through your chest. the world had gone muddy. your vision was clouded by your fury, and all you could hear was a shrill alarm in your head, screaming at you to punch someone, slap someone, knee someone in the groin…

“shut up!” you shrieked, holding your wand out in front of your body defensively. your voice cracked. your eyes were burning, and the three slytherins could tell how much their taunts had affected you. you felt like you’d lost, just by showing emotion.

“shut up!” crouch mimicked in a squeaky, sing-song voice. “shut up, shut up, shut up-”

“why do you care?” you felt like a child throwing a temper tantrum. but your question remained—why you? why lily? why remus?

“because you disgust me,” lucius spoke through bared teeth, venom dripping from each syllable. ��you and your little blood traitor troupe are a black mark on this school. you-” lucius pointed at you, “-have whored your way into the purest wizarding families, and-”

you slapped lucius across the face with a resounding crack. it was delightful.

crouch rushed to lucius’ side immediately, fretting over his role model like an overbearing mother. lucius’ face was scarlet, from both the humiliation and the blood you’d raised to the surface of his cheek with the impact of your palm. his pale skin made the handprint all the more obvious.

“bitch!” lucius cupped the side of his face tenderly. “do you know who my family is? you pathetic, stupid girl. my father will hear about this!”

“you’re a bloody asshole, malfoy! and the two of you-” you gestured broadly to crouch and rosier, “-can go fuck yourselves. you leave us alone, or i swear i’ll hex you straight into the hospital wing next time.”

you forced yourself to hold their gazes, clenching your jaw to stop your bottom lip from trembling—because damn it, you were nervous—and swallowed down any creeping regrets. it was necessary, you thought. maybe now they’d finally leave you alone. there’d been too many close calls of late, and if this was what it took to get the slytherins off remus’ back, then so be it. you’d take a million horrible names; that was nothing compared to the destruction if remus’ secret was revealed.

you turned around, closing your eyes and releasing a breath so deep that it felt like you’d just compressed your lungs, before dragging yourself over to where lily stood in the corridor, clutching your bag with white knuckles.

you smiled at her weakly. lily did not return your smile. instead, her mouth dropped open in a panicked exclamation, and before you could ask what was wrong, she was flinging a spell at you.

no, not at you. behind you.

“expelliarmus!” lily shouted, voice strong and clear. she set your bag on the floor and flung hers off her shoulder before rushing to your side. you swung your head in both directions, eyes wide as you caught up with the sudden action. lily held crouch’s wand in her hand, eyes flaming as furiously as her cheeks. strands of lily’s hair stuck to the chapstick on her lips, and even as she awkwardly wiped them from her face, she looked absolutely terrifying.

“dear merlin,” you gaped, watching your friend storm toward the three boys, all hesitancy evaporated. in fact, it seemed like she was steaming clouds of fury out her ears.

“you!” lily seethed. “you pathetic, gargoyle-faced bastards! yeah, i’m talking to you!” she threw crouch’s wand at the ground and you imagined she was currently resisting the urge to stomp it in half. (lily had always displayed more self-restraint than you.)

lily’s outrage drew the attention of students who’d begun trickling out of their last classes of the day. “only cowards attack while someone’s back is turned,” she said, shoving an accusatory finger into crouch’s chest. “and you are the most deranged coward i’ve ever met. you talk big game around your little friends, but you don’t have the balls to say it to my face, do you?

“sloppy seconds, did you say i was? merlin, i didn’t realize you had enough gray matter to become more brainless,” lily scoffed. “i am nobody’s. unlike you, i have a sense of self-worth. i don’t need to cling onto some man-” lily glared at lucius, “-to validate myself. you’re pathetic, is what you are.”

crouch opened his mouth, likely trying to find the right words to respond, but lily was swift in her exit. tossing her long hair over her shoulder, she crossed the courtyard with a stony, unwavering expression. you watched in a mixture of awe and admiration as she swept up both your bags and nodded to you in beckoning. she was casual, like casting magic and digging verbal talons into blood supremacist slytherins was an everyday practice.

“are you okay?” you whispered, taking your bag from lily and letting your shoulder brush against hers to let her know you were by her side. “wait, that’s a stupid question. how are you feeling? should we go back to the dorm? or- or- we could talk to mcgonagall?” you stammered, tripping over your feet as you tried to keep up with lily’s long, determined strides.

“i’m fine,” lily said. her fists were gripping the fabric of her skirt, so lily was obviously not fine. “i’m fine. let’s just go back to the common room,” she repeated, reassuring herself more than she was responding to you.

you rubbed your forehead. the conflict felt neverending, and you were beginning to feel naive for thinking there’d ever be a light at the end of the tunnel. the wizarding world was on the path to war, after all. there was nothing but dark days ahead. it seemed like you were at the edge of the hurricane, not quite swept into the relentless winds but already swaying as the force of the storm challenged your resilience.

as expected, the common room was bustling with frenzied post-class students rushing to their dorms for afternoon naps and gossip about the day's happenings.

“lily?” marlene called, arm swung loosely over the velvet arm of a plush couch. she looked very cool. “y’good, darling?”

“no,” lily said bluntly. “not at all. those bloody slytherins-”

“it’s not bellatrix, is it?” mary asked nervously. regardless of blood status, bellatrix was an intimidating figure to all.

“no, it’s malfoy. unfortunately.” you frowned. “hoenstly, i’d prefer if it were bellatrix… at least she’s not a bloody coward…”

the mood quickly dampened, evident by the way marlene pushed herself up on her elbows to listen more attentively and mary took a seat on the ottoman, pushing her essay aside in the middle of writing a word.

“wait, what about malfoy?” dorcas asked, hushed.

lily seethed. “the foul git was talking shit in the courtyard, blabbing on about r-”

the girls looked surprised. lily wasn’t one to swear.

“bunny!” remus called from the portrait hole, waving his arm excitedly as he stepped over the threshold. “hey, i missed you in potions, is everything alright?”

five heads whipped around to stare at remus and the three boisterous marauders just behind him. lily rolled her eyes.

“i swear to merlin, if i have to deal with any more of these idiot men, i’m going to be in azkaban by tonight,” lily said, glaring at james very specifically. “i can’t stand them.”

“sure, lils.” marlene didn’t push, but her insinuation was clear.

you ignored lily’s complaints. you, for one, would never object to seeing remus.

lucius malfoy had been wearing his hair down recently.

“how’s your hand?” remus asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. the courtyard didn’t feel the same after your previous altercation, but here you were, sitting with your legs swung over remus’ lap as you skimmed your potions textbook.

“a little sore, but probably not as sore as malfoy’s face,” you snorted. “it was so worth it. if i could do it again, i would’ve punched him. maybe i could’ve broken his nose, or something.”

remus hummed. you’d told him what had happened. at first, you’d omitted the worst of the details, but with a bit of coaxing, remus pulled the full story from you. it was a new feeling, being able to share everything with someone and knowing that they wanted to carry everything you had to offer.

“want me to kiss it better?” remus said coyly, taking your hand in his and pressing a long kiss to your wrist. his lips crept in small steps across your skin. he placed one kiss on the fleshy part at the base of your thumb, another on the back of your hand, a dusting of kisses across your knuckles, until he grew bored and tugged you closer with the hand of yours he was already holding until you were close enough for him to kiss your lips instead.

“much better,” you laughed, giddy. “you- you make me feel safe, remus. sometimes i’m scared that there’ll be… well- and sometimes i’m scared something will happen to you. i don’t know what it is, rem, but there’s nobody else for me. i know it for a fact.”

“fuck, i love you so much,” remus breathed, pulling you in by the chin for another breathless kiss. “merlin, i don’t know what i did to deserve you.”

“you’re cute. and you help me carry my books,” you answered thoughtfully. “that’s what you did.”

“i see how it is,” remus grinned. “i’m just your arm candy and bookshelf, huh?”

“i suppose you could also be my boyfriend.”

“boyfriend?” remus furrowed his brows. a volt of panic shot through you—was it too early for labels? but remus only smiled. “boyfriend… yeah, can i be your boyfriend? i would love to be your boyfriend. i would love to be yours.”

“yes,” you nodded enthusiastically. “yes, rem. yes, be mine.”

“yours,” remus agreed, leaning his forehead on yours. “yes, i want to be yours forever, as long as you let me.”

“wait, does this mean i get to be your girlfriend?”

remus choked with a surprised laugh. “i thought that was implied?”

“just checking!” you poked his cheek. “i just don’t wanna get things wrong with you.”

“you could never do anything wrong, silly girl,” remus chuckled, enveloping your poking hand in his own warmer one. “i agree. there’s nobody else for me either. whatever we do, or whatever happens, it’s enough that i get to do it with you.”

with your back pressed up against the rough trunk of the crabapple tree, feet pressed into the dusty earth, hand squeezed in remus’, and his reassurance in your mind, you felt grounded for the first time in…

“it’s been a long time.” snape said curtly. his robes swished around his calves and he gripped the strap of his bag tighter as he came to a stop in front of you and remus’ conjoined bodies.

you raised your eyebrows. “come to avenge your pal, malfoy?”

snape ignored your question. “i hear the astronomy class is studying moon phases this week. yes, that reminds me… how are things for you, lupin?”

you felt remus tighten his grip around your hand and you placed your own on his thigh reassuringly. as much as you’d love watching snape’s face as you slammed it into the bark of the tree which was so close and right there, you’d drawn enough attention to yourself to last months.

“i don’t understand, sniv- severus. are you falling behind in astronomy? i hear the ravenclaws have a fantastic tutor group for struggling students,” remus quipped.

snape swallowed hard. his eyes flickered around the courtyard before returning to remus’. snape had barely acknowledged you.

“what do you ev-” you started, but were cut off.

“you and your blood traitor friends best watch your backs, lupin,” snape hissed, emphasizing remus’ name like it was a poison. “i’d watch the attitude too. perhaps the missus could learn from that as well.”

remus’ eyes narrowed. he stood, sick of looking up at a boy he despised. at his full height, remus towered over snape. he stood much taller than most at hogwarts, anyway.

“are you threatening me, severus?” remus said lowly, fingers twitching at his sides. you weren’t sure if he was holding himself back from punching snape or grabbing his want and hexing him into next monday’s charms class.

“is there a reason you’d feel that way, remus?” snape bit back. “the innocent need not keep secrets.”

“oh fuck off, would you?”

the three of you redirected your gaze to james, swaggering over with his shirt collar crooked and wand tucked behind his ear, covered by his intentionally disheveled hair.

“potter,” snape spat, even more venomous than he had been with remus’ name. “what are you doing here?”

“can’t i enjoy a lovely afternoon, snivellus?” james waved his arm in a broad gesture to the weather. “i could ask you the same. i’d think that with all your free time, you might’ve had time to try taking a shower. i guess i was mistaken.”

“yes, you are mistaken,” snape said. “you never were the smartest, were you?”

james looked unfazed. “are you a procrastinator, snivellus? i know you’d drop anything for slughorn, but personal hygiene is just as important, mate. how can you expect anyone to take you seriously when you’ve got lice and such a sallow, sad face?”

sirius smirked. “we can give you some tips, if you’d like. ‘course, you’d have to step away from our mates here. i wouldn’t want them to get caught in the- aguamenti!”

with a sputter and burst, a stream of continuous water sprang from sirius’ wand. he held it with both hands, waving it side to side like a firefighter putting out a flame.

snape was furious as he stood shivering in his drenched robes. if he hadn’t been such a lecherous little blood supremacist, you might’ve felt bad for him. he looked like a bad luck-stricken black cat, drenched in the rain and trembling on his feet.

“incendio!” snape shouted, aiming his wand directly at sirius’ chest.

sirius, always on the offense, would have surely caught on fire if it weren’t for james’ quick protection spell.

the two boys stared at each other through james’ magical shield, and you and remus took this time to sneak past snape undetected. you rounded the courtyard until you were behind james and sirius. sirius was breathing heavily. james’ jaw was clenched.

there had always been something much deeper and more personal between snape and james and sirius. peter went along with the deep rivalry simply because his friends felt the same way. remus was forced into it through snape’s blackmailing. and you, by asossiation, were now on his blacklist.

you suppose, as a muggleborn, you would’ve been on that list regardless.

“rictusempra,” you muttered under your breath, discreetly pointing your wand at snape’s ankles. you tried not to smirk as the boy fell to the ground, trying his best not to laugh. he looked like a seal, all slippery and wet in his all-black garb, squirming around on the ground collecting dirt and dead leaves.

sirius found this extremely funny, and needed no magical push to burst into raucous laughter. james looked impressed. when he met your eye, he could tell by your poorly concealed amusement that you were the culprit.

“severus snape!”

bellatrix’ voice slashed through the air. “severus, get up! you’re making a fool of yourself.”

with great difficulty, snape pushed himself onto his knees, still clutching his abdomen in pain. bellatrix rolled her eyes unsympathetically and flicked her wrist in snape’s general direction, lifting the spell and allowing him to collapse to the ground in a damp, defeated heap.

“ah, the little blood traitors,” bellatrix taunted. “i presume you are responsible for this?”

you looked at remus with tired eyes. “let’s go. if a teacher catches us, we’re dead. mostly me. i’ve been involved in too many of these… scuffles of late.”

remus nodded.

snape was clambering to his feet in shame. he swung his damp bag over his shoulder, then flipped it open and began frantically checking its contents. he glanced up at james and sirius, but his eyes were searching for remus. when they settled on remus’ face, emotionless and poker, severus’ expression turned murderous.

from within the bag he tugged out a book. it was soaked through and most likely water damaged beyond repair, but snape lifted the book far enough out of the bag to flash the cover and spine at you.

it came back to you like fragments of glass.

“lupine lawlessness: why lycanthropes don’t deserve to live.”

you knew snape hadn’t come over for the sake of saying hello. you figured he, being the creep he was, just enjoyed making people uncomfortable.

he had wanted you to read the spine of the book, just like he’d wanted you to find it in the first place. he’d dropped it in the potions classroom, knowing you’d pick it up. he’d done so the day of slughorn’s party, when he knew he could catch you off guard.

snape, who’d been thrashing on the ground like a fish out of water only moments ago, was now eye level with bellatrix and suddenly looking like much more of a threat than you’d anticipated. his hand was hiddin in his bag and you assumed he must’ve been gripping the book. he narrowed his eyes, acknowledging your presence for the first time, and imperceptibly, jutted his head in bellatrix’s direction.

your blood went cold. in this very same courtyard, a few days ago, barty crouch had tried to attack you while you had your back turned. isn’t that what you’d just done to snape?

maybe you should’ve known better than to underestimate snape. he wasn’t as physically capable as james and sirius, as influential as malfoy, or as frightening as bellatrix, but he was sly. snape was nowhere near bellatrix’s good graces, but he was about to be.

ೃ⁀➷

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#wherever you stray i follow #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin angst #remus lupin series #remus lupin x reader series #remus lupin self insert

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hareofhrair · 1 year

Photo

Art from the most recent ask in its own post. Shafan has a run in with a clown.

story under the cut

HH: =oh i've had run ins with m=ore'n a few cl=owns, n=one of em pleasant.

HH: best =one was a sweep =or s=o back. i was cruisin this lil shindig a friend =of a friend was thr=owin

HH: m=ost everyb=ody there was a rusty, but tha thing ab=out thr=owin a g=o=od party is

HH: cl=owns will just sh=ow up

HH: they just manifest there =or s=omethin s=o=on as things really kick off

HH: like the way bleatbeasts just show up at metal c=oncerts

HH: anyway everyb=ody kn=ows y=ou thr=ow a big en=ough party yer runnin tha risk a cl=owns deciding ta crash it

HH: but generally speakin cl=owns aint subtle and when they sh=ow up ya kn=ow what's happenin

HH: s=o i'm at this party and havin a real g=o=od time

HH: maybe a lil drunker than I =ought ta be

HH: when i sp=ot this Big B=oy lurkin in a c=orner b=o=oth

HH: and yall kn=ow i like em big

HH: s=o i slide in and intr=oduce myself

HH: i feel it's imp=ortant ta menti=on here that the lightin in this place was n=ot s=o g=o=od

HH: and als=o my eyesight leaves a lil s=omethin ta be desired

HH: by which i mean im blind as tha pr=overbial flyin squeakbeast

HH: s=o between that and bein pretty sl=oshed i d=ont n=otice anythin suspici=ous ab=out this gentleman

HH: i start talkin ta tha fella, and he's a bit quiet, aint sayin much

HH: but that's fine i can run my m=outh en=ough fer tha b=oth a us, and i d=o

HH: lil while later, i get ta askin him if he w=ouldn't like ta walk me h=ome, if ya gather my meanin

HH: he says that s=ounds like fun, and we slip =out tha back a tha j=oint

HH: i'm hangin =off his arm, havin tr=ouble walkin straight, when I l=o=ok up an get my first g=o=od gander at tha guy under a streetlight

HH: and i see greasepaint, and a big =ole grin

HH: that'll s=ober a fella up p=owerful fast let me tell ya

HH: n=ow i mighta just g=one al=ong with tha guy and b=olted at tha first good excuse

HH: but apparently i was t=o=o drunk ta manage my facial expressi=ons, cus he sees h=ow i'm l=o=okin at him and his smile if anythin just gets wider.

HH: finally n=oticed, did ya? he says. that mean i cain't walk ya h=ome n=o m=ore? =oh well, tha =other way w=oulda been m=ore fun, but we can still have a g=o=od time.

HH: and he drags me =off int=o an alley and pulls o=ut a club, ready ta splatter me acr=oss tha pavement like a p=opped water bal=o=on

HH: but i tend ta babble when i'm scared, and all =of a sudden i say

HH: hell nah, y'all can't kill me like this, it ain't even funny!

HH: where's tha w=ordplay? tha creativity?

HH: yer just g=onna smash me with a club in an alleyway?

HH: where's tha fuckin craftsmanship? where's tha art?

HH: and that actually makes him st=op fer a minute

HH: and he just l=o=oks at me fer a bit, an then he says

HH: kn=ow what, yer right. Culls =ought ta be gl=ori=ous in tha sight a tha messiahs =or s=ome shit

HH: and i say hey ya kn=ow what w=ould be funny

HH: im a real fast runner, faster than hell

HH: and there's a train what comes thr=ough here right at sunrise

HH: let's say y=ou challenge me t=o a race with tha train

HH: and if I beat it, y=ou let me g=o

HH: he starts sayin nah i aint just lettin y=ou run =off i aint that dumb

HH: and i say =of c=ourse, that's the funniest part

HH: bef=ore the train c=omes, ya tie my feet t=o tha tracks!

HH: he says h=ot damn yer right that is fuckin funny

HH: gets right giggly imaginin me tryin ta run and gettin flattened like an old penny

HH: so we head =on =over t=o tha train tracks

HH: and i say wait h=old =on, we need s=ome supplies first

HH: supplies, he says?

HH: i say yeah well, we need r=ope =obvi=ously, and an umbrella

HH: he says, an umbrella?

HH: i say =o c=ourse an umbrella, i t=old ya tha train c=omes right at sunrise. ya d=ont want ta be standin there burnin in tha sun iffin tha train is late, d=o ya?

HH: and he says yer right yer right i d=ont care fer sunburns

HH: s=o he gets s=ome r=ope and a big black umbrella and we get =on tha tracks and he start's tyin my feet t=o tha tracks, but he's kinda strugglin because he's h=oldin tha umbrella at tha same time

HH: and i say hang o=n, ya can't tie it like that, it's g=onna slip right o=ff. here, let me sh=ow ya, i learned s=ome sailin kn=ots fr=om a c=obalt that never c=ome l=o=ose

HH: So i start sh=owin him h=ow ta d=o it, but he ain't gettin it, s=o i say here, i'll tie my =own feet, and y=ou watch and practice =on your =own feet.

HH: s=o he starts tyin his =own feet ta tha tracks, but he's still fumblin =on acc=ount =of h=oldin tha umbrella, s=o i say, ya need b=oth hands, here let me h=old that f=or ya

HH: and he says thanks and hands me the umbrella and g=oes back ta tyin his feet ta tha tracks.

HH: n=ow =of c=ourse ab=out that time tha sun starts ta c=ome up, and right =on time the train whistle s=ounds in tha distance

HH: and tha cl=own l=o=oks up

HH: by which p=oint i'm already ab=out half a bl=ock away, runnin like hell itself is =on my heels

HH: but i was still cl=ose en=ough ta hear that m=otherfucker laughin, laughin like ta bust a gut, right up till tha n=oise a tha train dr=owned him =out

#mun's art #shafan nishal #fantroll art #homestuck

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smeebo13 · 3 months

Text

Do Something About It.

By Smeebo13

A/N: I wrote this in like 5 hours while sitting in class and doing absolutely nothing at all. I kept thinking about what Adam must’ve felt and what he went through in those few days alone. Hope yall enjoy, it’s not my best work but it’s content 🌀

Word count: 3,680

Character count: 19,025

‼️WARNING‼️

This content is a little graphic. Talk of rotting bodies, pee and poo. If you are uncomfortable with reading about those sorts of things, either do I not read or read with discretion.

Day 1

“Game over.”

The man looming in the now dimly lit doorway pulls the heavy door shut, leaving Adam completely swallowed in darkness. His ankle strained against the metal chain binding him to the rusty wall pipe, his right arm outstretched, reaching out to the hope he once had, and his throat raw from his screamed out sobs. His body went limp after a moment of begging and wailing for mercy. The shot wound in his shoulder was inflamed and swelling. As he lay on the now blood stained tile, he brought his hand up to his shoulder and grasped it tightly, hoping to stop some of the bleeding. The pain was like a sharp burn. It reminded him of his 6th birthday party, when Scott Tibbs, his best friend at the time, had stabbed him with a rusty nail. It was the same burning sensation in his new wound that he had felt once before. The same burning sensation filled in his throat, another feeling that he was all too familiar with. His mind drifted to the man who had left him that wound. His eyes began to pool, and he wept as he still held his shoulder. The pain was almost unbearable, but it was all he left to remember that man by.

“Lawrence..”

Adam continues to sob and his mind is left racing with thoughts of where Lawrence could be or if he was really coming back.

A few minutes passed and his sobs came to a gradual stop. He remained on the floor, staring up at the ceiling to allow his eyes to adjust to the pitch black bathroom. Lying in the dark like this reminded him of the many nights he’d lose power and would have to navigate through his dark and cluttered apartment. Adam was often exhausted from his ‘day job’ so the dark never bothered him much. Come to think of it now, he never really used that much electricity anyways. All of the bill always went to the damn dark room equipment. It was like a loop. Process the photos, make money off of those photos, and use that money to pay the bill to make more photos. He had forgotten to pay the electric bill quite a few times, and he had forgotten again about a week ago. Last night, when he had come home to process his newest pictures, he had fallen asleep at his desk, which he did often. Waking up a few hours later in complete darkness wasn’t a shock, but it was certainly annoying. He remembered grabbing his flashlight.. no batteries. He remembered hearing something. Grabbing his camera. That doll. And he remembered opening that closet. If he had just swung his bat as soon as he opened it, this could’ve all been avoided. He could’ve gone on with his life. The little life he had anyways.

Adam had always wanted to be a vet growing up, but he was never really good in school. Maybe if he had swung that bat, he would’ve still had a chance. Then this bathroom would’ve remained empty, painless, and quiet. But Adam knew he wouldn’t become a vet. He would’ve remained himself; pathetic, poor, and a voyeur. And that man. The blonde man who once stood at the opposite side of the room. He would’ve remained a nameless man who stood as Adam’s muse. His model and his work of art. His source of financial income and a secret he kept to himself. But that man did have a name. And he had a job, a wife, a child, and a secret of his own. Adam didn’t care though, at least not before. Lawrence may have only been a project to him, but now he wasn’t so sure anymore. The 6 hours that were spent together with him showed Adam that he was in fact a human, too. He may have been cold, maybe even condescending at times, but he knew Lawrence cared about his family. Adam had family too, but seeing someone act out of pure desperation and insanity just to see their family again made him question things. He knew he needed to reach out to his mom again. He thought about it a lot. But now, he meant it. He kept telling himself that once he got out, once he was free, he’d call his mom and apologize. Maybe he’d even apply to vet school.

There was a stray cat that would hang out in the stairwell of his apartment building. Every day and every night, anytime he’d see the cat, he’d give it a gentle stroke and then be on his way. In his head, he had named the cat Flash, but he knew that if he ever said it out loud, he’d grow too attached to the thing and he couldn’t afford a cat anyways. Now, he’d do anything to see that cat again.

His eyes had adjusted to the dark and he crooked his head up to look over to the door. How he wished that door would open to reveal Lawrence back with help, or someone who had just stumbled upon the place. Or even the damn cat. But the door stayed shut and the air remained stale and still. The pain in his shoulder hadn’t fully subsided, but he was now used to the pulsing and the sting. He sat up from the floor and his eyes were instantly planted on the corpse in front of him. The man that he had beaten to death. Panic had set it once again and he used all of the leg strength he had to push it as far from him as he could. The metal chain dragging and scraping the floor made him cringe and he could feel himself becoming angry again. He reached up the wall and rose to his feet to try and get a better grasp on what to do, if he could even do anything. His eyes were squinted, not a single drop of light anywhere, and the room was too dark to make out any real details. He raised his hands to his head and began to sway and pace slightly to calm himself down. He felt hopeless. It felt like hours had passed when it had only been 20 minutes. Adam sat himself on the edge of the bathtub and cupped his head in his hands. They were filthy. One stained a slight yellowish brown color up to the elbow and both covered in dust, dirt, and blood. But it just looked like a black stain now in the darkness.

While sitting in the silence, any sound, drip, or creek made his eyes shoot open with hope. 20 minutes turned into 30, then 40, then an hour. He had sat himself back in the corner on the floor and rested his head against the broken wall tiles. He doesn’t remember when, or even how he fell asleep, but he had woken up feeling groggy after a few hours had passed. There was no telling in what time it was or how long it had been now. When his eyes fully opened, he was hit with realization that this wasn’t a bad dream. He sighed heavily and the deep breath he took in smelled of mildew and rot. It was enough to make him gag, but he was able to hold down the urge to vomit. That would only make things worse. His body felt sticky and hot. He reached to the hem of his blood soaked shirt and pulled it up and over his head. His shoulder ached, the bullet was still nested deep inside, but surely the doctor who put it there knew what he was doing. Adam knew that his body would be too weak to fight off any sort of infection. He tossed his ruined shirt off to the side and brought his hand up to the injured shoulder. His breathing was now heavy, and the pain was getting worse. It felt like a burning welt or blister. The bullet was practically begging to come out. He took a few shaky breaths and placed his fingers onto the entrance of the wound. He sucked the air through his teeth, his fingers felt like fire next to his new bodily trauma. He held his breath and slowly but firmly inched his fingers into the hole. His eyes filled with tears as he choked for air. He let out a suppressed scream as he inched in deeper, finally feeling where the bullet had been lodged. Taking a few seconds to regain some strength, he takes another deep breath, but this time is unaffected by the odorized air and is too focused on this agonizing self procedure. He grabs the bullet between his finger and thumb and starts to pull. The pain is like nothing he had ever experienced before. His face was wet with tears and spit as he continued to pull and scream to fight off the pain. Finally, his fingers and the bullet exited the wound and he was brought a feeling of slight relief. The pain is still present, but now it felt empty. No more pressure, and a hope that it may start to heal normally now.

Adam held the bullet tightly in his hand, not really knowing why. He took a few slow breaths and closed his eyes. The room was still hot and he was covered in his own blood, tears, spit and sweat. He longed to take a shower or even a nice bath. As a kid, his mom would always run him a bath after a long day of playing outside. His eyes shot open and his gaze adverted to the dark and dingy bathtub.

“As if.”

He knew he would never take another bath again. The thought of being submerged in water in such a small space; it would be like waking up in here all over again. Adam reached over to his damp, balled up shirt and used the very few spots without blood to try and soak up some of his sweat. It was really no use, he��d just end up sweating more. But he did anything he could right now to pass the time. But it didn’t even feel like time was passing. He felt like he was waiting for nothing now, but he still sat and waited. What else was there to do?

Adam still had the bullet in his grip and he brought it closer to his face to try and get a good look at it. It was slightly sticky from the slow drying blood all over it, but he didn’t really register that. As he stared at it, his mind went back to that doctor. The look of his face when he was sprawled out in front of Adam and wailing about his wife and daughter. He wondered if Lawrence meant to shoot him in the shoulder, or if it was a ‘happy’ accident. Maybe Lawrence had been so far gone in that moment, he didn’t care if Adam lived or died. But he did live, and he didn’t understand why.

Adam was never very religious, but right now, he couldn’t help but look at that bullet and wonder. If God wasn’t real, then why did he survive? Was it out of pure coincidence, or was someone or something ensuring his survival? No. He knew there was no way that any god would allow any of this to happen. Even though he had survived, he still has to live with everything that happened. He wrapped his fist tightly around the bullet and considered chucking it across the room. But he couldn’t do it. In his hand, he held the only thing that kept him connected to that doctor. To Lawrence. His only hope for freedom and survival now.

He throws his head back and leans against the wall once again, still holding the bullet tightly. His shoulder is still pulsing, his face red from tears, and his whole body stiff and sore. All he can do is wait.

Day 2

Adam opened his eyes once again to still find himself in the same spot. The hunger in his stomach had become too hard to ignore and his bladder felt like a balloon. He reached his hand up to search for a pipe to help lift him off the ground. His body started to feel weak and it ached all over. He shifted his way over to the tub and unbuttoned his jeans so he could at least take a piss. His head felt heavy and the darkness started to play into his disorientation. As he leaned over the tub, the piss hit loud against against the rusty metal. The heat and lack of ventilation caused the smell of fresh urine to infect the air, but Adam was too desensitized to notice. Once he was finished, he dropped back down to the floor in front of the tub and sighed. His head was pounding. Probably from fear.

Was Lawrence even coming back? How long had it been? He brushed the hair out of his face with his hand. The room was getting hotter by the second and he was drenched in sweat. The smell of the room had caught up with him now and it filled his nostrils with stale, thick air. It smelled now like piss, rot and iron. He put his hand on his mouth, gagging again at the smell but repressing any sort of need to puke.

All the attention was now suddenly on the door. A clatter was heard from the other side. Could it be Lawrence? Was he finally back? Was he finally going to be able to experience freedom again?

He waited..

Silence.

He waited a little longer.

More silence.

He was able to call out.

“Hello..?”

His throat was dry and his voice was raspy. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had water, but now it was all he wanted. All he wanted was water, a shower, that stupid cat and that stupid fucking doctor.

He felt angry and annoyed when there was no response. He grabbed a small piece of the broken tile off the floor and threw it across the room. He felt betrayed. Abandoned. Deep down he knew he wasn’t getting out of there. He reached down to throw another peice of tile, but his hand landed back on the bullet. He picked it up and examined it in his fingers. And he felt the sadness and pain raise in his stomach. He wanted to cry, he wanted to scream. He wanted to get the hell out of that room. He clutched the bullet in his fist now and threw it. It made a clattering noise before it landed in its new permanent home, and the room fell completely silent once again.

As he sat there, now feeling helpless, he thought about the people who might look for him if they ever noticed. He wanted to believe that Lawrence would come back, but by the looks of it, he may have been dead. His body somewhere a few feet outside the door, decaying while Adam sits and waits for him. His savior who will never arrive.

His mother would probably never know. She’d continue on thinking her son just stopped calling. Stopped caring. The only person he could think of that might actually ‘care’ was Scott. He knew that Scott would only care though because he takes pictures for Scott’s band. One no-show and Scott would be livid. At least it meant a shot at hope.

Adam’s eyes felt heavy. There was nothing else to do in this room but sleep and think. And he couldn’t fight the mental exhaustion that pulled him back into slumber. His head was leaning on the bathtub edge and the hard floor started to hurt his ass. But he didn’t want to move. He could feel depression settling into him. His dreams were only a replay of the things that happened a day prior. Only in the dream, it was Adam that had sawed off his own foot. And it was Adam who had pointed that gun at Lawrence and pulled the trigger. Seeing Lawrence fall to the ground with a lifeless thud made Adam jump awake. The sudden movement sent a sharp pain to his shoulder, still agape and probably infected despite his makeshift extraction. His neck was stiff, but he tried to look around the room. Nothing had changed. The adrenaline in his chest died down and his mind was brought back to his bitter reality. Somehow though, the dream felt worse. At least in the room now, it’s quiet. And he’s alone.

Adam dragged himself along the floor and back into his corner, and sat with his knees now pressed against his bare chest. His mind was left wandering, constantly on the thought of what happened to Lawrence. He had made a promise that he would come back, so something had to have happened. As Adam thought about it, he thought that maybe the same nameless man who rose from the dead and locked him in this room, killed Lawrence too. But he could feel something in his gut telling him that Lawrence okay. That he was alive. That feeling made him sick. He didn’t know how to truly feel towards that man now. He wanted to hate him. To resent him. But he still held onto that hope that maybe he’d walk through that door and maybe everything would be alright. Maybe.

Day 3

Adam had passed out with his head on his knees. When he woke, he was already used to the hazy sight and stink of the room. His neck and back were stiff, and the sweat that coated his body was thick and sticky. His felt dizzy, which helped distract him a bit from the pain everywhere else in his body. He let his legs fall down to the floor, and he sat there limp. Every now and then, he’d feel a sharp pain from his stomach. The man was starving. He rested his hands gently across his stomach and squeezed his eyes closed. Right then, Adam began to pray. He didn’t know who he was praying to, or what he was praying for. Tears started to seep from his eyes. All he could do was pray.

“Please please please please..please…please…”

His begging for mercy turned into sobs. He felt truly alone and afraid. He was afraid of dying alone. Being forgotten. It seemed as though he already had been. Lawrence wasn’t coming. No one was coming.

He felt useless. He thought about what that man on the tape said. Adam was ‘angry and apathetic. But mostly just pathetic’. Even now his anger was present, but had no energy to show for it. However his apathy had been changed forever. He had learned something from this so called ‘game’ and it was that everyone, no matter who, is a person. A human being with a life that must be cherished and taken care of. If he was able to learn, then why was he still being punished? Did Lawrence learn anything? No. But his game wasn’t about learning. That may have been the goal, but he did what he did out of desperation. He did what he did because he couldn’t handle losing. If he had learned something, then he would’ve come back for Adam.

The passing hours all blurred together. Adam had no clue how long he had been there now. He was ready to give up. His body was weakening and his sweat glaze caused him to start shivering. He grabbed for his shirt, still bunched up next to him and put it back over his head, aching. The blood was dry and caked into the shirt, but he didn’t care. His now cold body felt weaker than it ever had. He dropped his arms to his sides out of exhaustion and he let his head rest against the pipes behind him. He didn’t care to do anything else now. All he wanted was sleep.

Day 4

He hadn’t moved an inch since he had dozed off. His chest was barely moving as he breathed. He was still alive physically, but mentally he was already dead. He had let go of hope. In his half awake state, he thought he had heard someone open the door and maybe even a flash of light. But he convinced himself it wasn’t real. It was a dream.

But then he felt the touch of another human being. He tried to open his eyes, but the light from the flashlight was too bright for him now. He could hear the voice of a woman. Her voice felt familiar, but he couldn’t figure out how, and he didn’t care. He felt hope and happiness wash over him as she tried to move his body. He was far weaker than he had been previously, and wasn’t able to hold himself up well. He could still hear her talking, but wasn’t focusing on her words. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to. He was ready to be free again. He thought about his mother and how he would call her as soon as he could. He thought about that stupid cat- Flash. And how he’d take him in. For once, Adam felt excited about living.

It was all ripped away from him when he felt the plastic wrap cover his face. It was like getting locked in that room again. He wanted to fight. He wanted to punch, hit, kick and scream. But he couldn’t. His body and mind were too far gone. He tried, but to no avail. In his last moments, the tape replayed in his head again. ‘You might be in the room that you die in. So are you going to watch yourself die today Adam? Or do something about it?’

He may have won his game, but he never did anything about it. He won because Lawrence cheated. And he lost for the very same reason.

🌀

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