#i had the thought that i should try a mouthguard

[soundcrusher]

Making amends

Part 5 of the Spinoff set in the normal sentient Lost Light au from @cuppajj is finished, and I slightly feel like crying.

Also, if you wanna know which lullaby I specifically thought of when writing that part. It's this one.

.:():.:():.:():.:():.:():.:():.:():.:():.:():.:():.:():.:():.:():.:():.:():.

Nearly four weeks have passed and there was no sign of a way home. Brainstorm and Perceptor have been working hard on repairing the machine that got him and Rodimus stuck in this universe, but whatever made it go ‘boom!’ seems to have ruined it for good. Or, at least that’s what Perceptor said, Brainstorm said that he was able to fix it. A statement Snow had believed at first, but now, he was slowly doubting the strange mech.

At least they weren’t stuck on a hostile ship. After this universe’s Rodimus had introduced him as ‘Snow’ and his Rodimus as ‘Convoy’, everyone seemed to welcome them with open arms, or, at least he thought they were. Of course, there were some who were wary, but Snow couldn’t blame them. Two mechs who looked like their captain and the one Decepticon youngling respectively must have been strange to see. But those crewmembers mostly left them alone, especially when they saw Convoy glaring at them while breathing a small flame out. Then they usually scattered.

And then there was that weird mech with the yellow mouthguard named Getaway. He was nice, most of the time, but his compliments always had a certain edge. As if he was trying to butter someone up, before making them do things for him. Kinda like Second Fiddle, and Snow learned to stay away from mechs like Second Fiddle.

Either way, right now, the white and blue youngling was walking down the halls of the Lost Light. There were some data-pads that needed to be delivered to Ultra Magnus’ office and no-one seemed to want to do it. So, Snow offered to do it and was promptly handed the data-pads before getting shoved out of the room and towards Magnus’ office. Although, even if he didn’t want to admit it, Snow got a little bit lost. Mostly because, while this Lost Light was similar to his, it was still different. And seeing how bright the halls were, it was a little bit overwhelming. So, Phoenix decided to ask for help. And help he got in the form of a big purple mech with horns that made him look like a bunny. He didn’t say much, which the youngling didn’t mind, but he was kind enough to show him where the office was. He even helped him get there, although he was gone as soon as Snow stepped out of the office.

“He probably had something better to do…” Muttered the youngling, as he made his way down the hall and to the bridge. His Rodimus should be there together with the other Rodimus. Snow didn’t know what they were doing, but he was sure that his brother was giving the other prime a lecture of how important it was to do reports and such. Especially when someone was taking care of a crew as big as the Lost Light’s. And despite what this universe’s rodimus said, Snow knew why his Roddy was giving those small speeches. He didn’t want Rodimus to lose his crew like he did. His brother might not always talk about his crew, but Snow could tell how Roddy blamed himself for what happened to them.

“Maybe that blame manifests itself in a need to make sure something like that won’t happen again? I really wish Dominus was here. He would probably know what to say…” Muttered the youngling, as his mind wandered to those left behind in his own universe. By now, Fungus and Softstreet surely must have contacted the DJD to see if he and Roddy have come to visit Dominus, only for them to tell his guardians that, no, they weren’t with them. And then they would probably contact Pharma, only for the medic to also tell them no. And then? There wasn’t really anyone else he called his family… Ah! Maybe they would ask Ghostrider and Big John too. Those two beastformers have become his bestest friends after all.

Yea, working on Fungus’ and Stofstreet’s farm had some perks. Especially when you consider how easy it was to make friends when you worked with others together.

Snow was rather deep in his thoughts, so deep that he didn’t notice bumping into something. Or rather, into someone. And who was that someone? No-one else but this universe’s Rodimus, who seemed like he was sneaking off to somewhere else. “A-ah! I am sorry!” Squeaked Snow, as he looked around, before averting his gaze to the ground. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to… I was thinking and I didn’t look where I was going…”

“Hey, it’s okay. No harm done, right?” Asked the prime with a grin, before making his way down the hall, and with Snow not having anything better to do, he followed him. “W-where are you going, M-mister captain, sir?” Asked the youngling, to which Rodimus fixed him with an amused glint in his optics, before he reached over to pat his head. “Oh, you know, just doing captain things and sneaking away from my doppelgänger, because he’s been trying to show me how to do my reports correctly, only to end up doing them for me. So, I got some free time and decided to see if I could go meteor surfing. Also, you can just call me Rodimus. I know that it’s probably weird for you, but imagen how weird it is to me to hear my brother’s doppelgänger calling me ‘Mister captain, sir’. I’m not that old.”

“W-well, you’re clearly older than me and in a higher position. So, shouldn’t I be respectful towards you? Fools Shot and Second Fiddle sure wanted to be addressed like that.” Said Snow, which got the prime’s attention. His Phoenix hardly talked about his past crew, let alone dropped their names, but here was his doppelgänger who seemed to have been through the same as his Phoenix has. So, Rodimus decided to do a change of plans and invited Snow to a small tour on the ship. Showing him the best spots to either wind down or hide from Ultra Magnus and Megatron, while having a small conversation with the young flier. And Rodimus would be lying, if he didn’t get some new insight into some of his brother’s ticks. Especially the ones concerning his quick retreats whenever there was tension in the crew.

“So… your crew has been hunting you down whenever you weren’t doing something important?” Asked the prime.

“Mhm.” Snow nodded. “Or when they felt like they needed to remind me of where my place among them was… Which was right at the bottom. I might have been on the ship to study and learn how a medical bay worked on, well, a ship, but they didn’t even let me near it. And most of the time, I was more of a punching bag. Verbally more often than physically. They didn’t want to anger Old Man.” He said, before reaching towards his back with one of his servos, while the other one moved his wing slightly to the side. Showing Rodimus a small scar, clearly made by a precise cut, right where his wing connected with his back. Only a few inches away from an important cable. “See that one? I got that one from one of the medics of my old crew. I never really knew it was there, until Pharma pointed it out. I think not even Lightlost knew about it…”

“You say that so casually…” Said the prime, after taking a look at the scar and making a mental note to see if his Phoenix had the same scar, while also making an appointment in the medical bay for both younglings. “Wait, you said one of the medics did this. Why would they do that?”

“Because a flying prime is a dangerous one…” Was all Snow said, before shaking his head while his wings shot up. “But I don’t care about my scar, nor what those cranky old medics said! Because I don’t see them as something hurtful, but rather a reminder. A reminder to become a better medic than them! One that would never stop helping, no matter what, because everyone deserves medical treatment if they need it!” Declared the youngling proudly, before looking up at this universe’s prime with such determination, that Rodimus couldn’t help himself but pat the youngling on his head while laughing.

“I’m sure you’re going to be an amazing medic, kid.” Rodimus said, before continuing their tour. With him telling Snow all about his Lost Light. And as the youngling asked him about Lightlost, Rodimus told him every positive thing he could think of. Because he knew what the other Lightlost did to him. So, he tried to mediate a little bit and show the kid that this one isn’t as bad as he thought. And it seemed like it did work, even if it was only a little bit.

However, they had to stop their tour after Rodimus got a message from Megatron requesting him to come to the bridge. Saying a quick goodbye, taking the long route to the bridge and leaving Snow to wander the halls alone. Although, the yungling was quick to make up his mind and go on a small search for Lightlost. Hearing about them being kind is one thing, and the last interaction he had with them was weeks ago, but having a talk with them himself was something else. So, Snow made sure to look everywhere for them. Asking some of the crew he came across if they have seen Lightlost, only to be met with the shakes of their heads, or a small ‘haven’t seen them’. And after searching for a while, Snow gave up and walked back to his hab-suit. Getting out Mister Sharky and sitting down on the berth, before there was a knock.

“Come in?” Said the youngling.

“I heard you were looking for me?”Asked Lightlost, as the door opened and they just kept on standing there. Unsure if it was okay for them to enter the room, when Snow was alone and might feel uncomfortable with being alone with them. But that concern soon enough turned into surprise as the youngling jumped up from his berth and came over. Causing Lightlost to take one step back, just in case. Although, despite the unsureness in Snow’s optics, they still felt smaller servos grab theirs and pull them into the room. And then, Lightlost found themself sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, while Snow was sitting on his berth. Clutching his plush shark toy, while keeping his optics on them.

Waiting, as if he was making sure that they wouldn’t do anything, before opening his mouth. “How do you see your crew?”

“E-excuse me?” Was all Lightlost could ask, because of every possible question or conversation starter, this wasn’t one they imagined. “I am sorry, but I don’t think I understand your question, little one.”

“What is there not to understand?” Asked Snow in return, before hugging his shark tighter. And Lightlost could see how he was using the toy like a shield, while his body tensed up even more. “I asked you about how you see your crew. Do you care about all of them? Are they unimportant to you? Do you only care for your Rodimus? Are you going to kill everyone? Are you going to… to… Are you going to keep your Phoenix alive, only to slowly take him apart? Ripp off his wings and keep him with you? A-are you…you…”

“NO!” Lightlost didn’t mean to scream, especially with how it made the youngling flinch and scoot to the end of the berth, but alone the thought of harming their crew was something terrible. “No, I would never harm them. They’re my crew, the thought alone of them dying because of me… it makes me sick. I… I can understand why you would ask me this, but believe me, I would never hurt anyone of my crew, nor would I ever hurt you or your brother.” They said, before getting up. Taking one experimental step towards the berth, while placing one servo over where their spark would be, if this wasn’t a holoform. “I know what my other version did to you and your Rodimus. I know that what they did left its scars in both of our minds and sparks, but believe me, I would never stoop so low as to force anyone to stay if they don’t want to, let alone hurt them.”

Lightlost’s spark broke as they saw the from fear shaking youngling look at them with wide fearful optics. And they felt the urge to reach forward and engulf this young spark into their arms to show him that they mean what they said. But they refrained in fear that it would only worsen everything for the already frightened youngling.

So, they took a step back and sat down on the chair again. Giving Snow enough time to take in their words and make up his own mind, because they knew that their counterpart probably didn’t give him the option to think. To choose his own words, without fearing the silent wrath of a titan in disguise.

And that’s how the two stayed for a while. With Snow looking down at his shark, while Lightlost looked at him with worry and concern being the main emotion reflected in their optics. Although, they were yet again surprised as the youngling got up and silently made his way over to them. Sitting down on their lap, before hugging them. Burying his face in the crook of their neck, as tears started to roll down the younglings cheeks, accompanied with small whimpers and sobs. And Lightlost carefully wrapped their arms around the weeping youngling. Hugging him tightly in their warm and comforting embrace, as they gave Snow enough time to let it all out.

Singing a soft lullaby and running a servo over his head, as they rocked their body back and forth.

That’s how it was for a while, with Snow seeking comfort in the cartographer's arms, while they gently reassured him that everything was fine. That he was safe, and that no-one would hurt him, before telling him how brave and strong he was for enduring all the things their counterpart did to him. “I… Might not be them, Phoenix, but if there is anything I could do, to make it up to you, I would.”

“You… you can’t make it up. You’re not my Lightlost.” Whispered Snow, as he looked up at the holoform with pained optics. Causing their spark to ache even more for this broken youngling. “You haven’t hurt me like they did. You didn’t take my wings, nor have you… have you…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, not when another sob wrecked his body and caused him to take in a sharp inhale, before calming down again. “You can’t make it right… You can’t make the nightmares go away… or make ‘Them’ go away from… from in there…” Muttered Snow, as he pointed to his head, before burying his face back into Lightlost’s shoulder.

Lightlost was saddened by what Snow said, but they understood. Maybe they even understood better than most Cybertronians on this ship, but that didn’t stop them from promising that they would do anything they could to help him overcome those nightmares.

“W-would… Would you help me even now? I’m… I’m tired and… and I don’t want to sleep with the lights off. It reminds me too much of… of how it was with them… Can you… Can you dim them? The lights?” He asked, and Lightlost nodded with a solemn smile and carried the youngling over to the berth. Making sure he was tugged in nice and tight, before searching for this room's lightswitch. Although, a soft chuckle coming from the sleeping youngspark stopped them. “Why are you looking for a lightswitch, when you could do it yourself? Aren’t you the ship?”

Hearing this question caused Lightlost to turn around and look at Snow with a surprised, maybe even shocked expression, but the laughter coming from the youngling, after he’s seen their expression, turned their solemn smile into a relieved one. They made him laugh, accidentally, yes, but still. They managed to, for a small moment, make Phoenix happy, and that’s all that mattered.

“Of course.” They said as they dimmed the lights, while sitting down at the edge of the berth. Holding the youngling's servo and singing their lullaby again, until they were sure he was asleep. Only then did they let their holoform slowly disappear, as their voice slowly faded out at the last note.

#sentient lost light au #sentient sg/lost light au #sentient lost light/lightlost #rodimus #sg/rodimus #sg/phoenix #hurt/comfort #-> I can write than one in the tags; right? #spinoff #oh boy... the ending man... #I almost made myself cry... #OR SWEET BABY IS GETTING HIS DESERVED HUGS AND COMFORT! #LIKE; AAAHHHHH!

[anxiously-going]

Thought for the night:

Len tries to get Jim to use a nightguard to keep him from clenching his jaw and giving himself a headache in his sleep but it triggers some Tarsus stuff for him because "there is something in my mouth that I cannot eat."

#jim kirk #leonard mccoy #tarsus #ive had a low grade migraine all day and keep haing to remind myself to not clemch my jaw #i had the thought that i should try a mouthguard #which i immediately projected onto jim #as one does #and then it became angsty #and now i'm going to bed

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Tamed (Finale): Keizo Arashi x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.4k

tw: this series has had no NSFW parts. But you'll get one this time around. :)

previous part 💢 masterlist 💢 end

song recommendation:

The hospital is quiet.

Aside from the steady beeping of machines and soft exhales of sleeping adults around the room, it's quiet.

Keizo hasn't said a single word since you arrived together, your face stained with tears from the ambulance ride there. Takeomi and Wakasa are there in the room with you, both slumped against the couch. Yet, Keizo is awake, too terrified to sleep, too terrified to speak.

You hold his hand gently, not trying to pry, not trying to invade his thoughts with your own. You're just there, waiting.

"The scans look fine, there's only minor damage to his ribs and his shin," the doctor tells you, and you wipe your fresh tears quickly. "We've been considering it for a while, but we think that once Mr. Arashi heals, he should look into beginning to walk again with an assistive brace. Mr. Akashi would guide him through those steps, should he choose to take that option."

"I'll talk to him about it," you murmur, looking away from the doctor. when you reenter the room, sighing. "The swelling's gone down," you whisper to your lover, cupping his cheek. "Should be better in. no time."

"I'm not unfamiliar with black eyes," Keizo mutters, his right eye sliding away from you to look at the window. You chuckle, but Keizo places his hand on yours, finally inhaling to speak again. "I need to speak to the police as soon as possible. I know who did this."

_____________________________________________________________

Theodore Hargrove.

The face of the culprit hovers in your mind as you exit the car, help Keizo into his wheelchair, and push him inside of the police station. No one dares to call out to you or your boyfriend but instead points you in the direction of the interrogation rooms.

The chief of police is already sitting at a desk, eyes glued to the screen in front of her.

"Why'd you do it, Theo?" the detective asks, obviously mid-interview with the man.

"That bastard cost me my life! If he hadn't gotten injured, I could've been a champion..."

"A crime of passion," the chief of police mutters, and Keizo nods. "His front as a cameraman was too convincing."

"I had a feeling I'd seen him before," Keizo mutters. "But he'd grown a beard, put on some weight, and looks very different without his mouthguard."

You inhale deeply, feeling revulsion boil up in your stomach as the interrogation continues.

"He'll be charged with breaking and entering, aggravated assault, and attempted murder." You rub Keizo's back as he listens intently, face screwing up into a frown.

"I want all charges pressed on that bastard. He'll regret even stepping foot into my house."

"Keizo," you murmur. "Do you really want to go to tria--"

"What if you had been in the house?" he hisses. "He would've hurt you, too, and then--" Keizo cuts himself off, pressing his lips together. "I'm done here. Press all applicable charges."

The ride home is silent, and you grip the steering wheel tightly, letting Keizo stew in his thoughts.

"Babe," you begin as you push him into the house, unlocking the new door with your cellphone and placing a hand on the replaced glass.

"Hm?" Keizo looks over his shoulder as he rolls into the kitchen, reaching over the counter to turn the new coffee machine on.

"I love you," you whisper, placing your gloves on the counter. "And I want you to think about possibly beginning to start walking again. I know it would improve your mood if you had some independence."

"Hm." The half-finished crossword puzzle sits on the table along with his favorite pen, and he picks it up, scribbling in the squares.

"Are you listening to me?" you wonder, tilting your head to the side.

"Heard every word you said, babe." You sigh, fetching the cup of coffee for him and sitting it on the table.

"Just consider it." You leave him alone, going up the stairs without another word.

_____________________________________________________________

Most nights, Keizo is asleep while you're up, letting your thoughts bounce around your head lawlessly.

You barely get any sleep, but Keizo demands nothing of you these days. He only needs your presence, the rest he claims he can do himself. But as you feel the emotions of the past two weeks rush over your mind, you let out an involuntary gasp.

With hands holding onto Keizo tightly, you sob as quietly as you can, tears sliding down your face once more. Keizo awakes almost immediately with a long inhale, his massive hands touching your cheeks. When his fingers come away wet, he holds you even closer, inhaling your scent before murmuring,

"Don't cry... I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

"I almost lost you," you reply, hiccuping. "I shouldn't have left you."

"Don't worry about that now," Keizo breathes. "Everything's fine. We're okay." You don't see his tears slipping down his face, nor do you feel the tremble in his hands. All you feel are the comforting strokes of his hand and the gentle way he whispers that he loves you.

_____________________________________________________________

6 Months Later

"You're doing it," you cheer, holding your arms out. "Come on..." Keizo grunts loudly, holding on to the parallel bars with all of his might. He walks forward a little more, gasping for air while his feet shuffle onward.

"You're doing great, big boy," Takeomi chuckles behind him and nearly misses a swipe from Keizo's hand. "My bad, my bad."

"God," Keizo hisses from between his teeth, trying to move forward just a little more.

"Almost there..." you whisper, smiling widely. "You're almost there." When Keizo gets to the end of the bars, he groans loudly, sinking to his knees gradually. "You did amazing," you coo, pulling him close and kissing his sweaty face. "Oh, I'm so proud of you."

"Can we get ice cream after this?" he mutters and you laugh heartily, resting your head on his shoulder.

"You actually have something planned for tonight," Takeomi interjects, smiling goofily. "You know, something to remember this little excursion by."

Excursion means "state-of-the-art spinal cord injury care" in London, not some fancy vacation. And even though this has been a long road, it's only been upward from when you arrived.

That night, as you lounge in the bed beside Keizo, you feel him kiss your neck repeatedly, even though the movie on TV is interesting.

"Kei..." you murmur, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"I can move my hips a little bit," he notes huskily in your ear. "So if you want..." You look over your shoulder at his wicked grin, and his fingers move to unhook your spaghetti strap from your shoulder. "Takeomi says I don't really need my wheelchair anymore, too. Just an assistive walker. I'm only a few steps away from--"

"Hey," you giggle, turning around and placing a leg over his lap. "Don't get dirty now that you can walk."

"I've been waiting for this for a long time," he breathes, tugging your bottom lip with his teeth. "Gonna make you mine one way or another."

And "making you mine" means a nice, slow 69. Keizo has your asscheeks spread, gripping both sides in his massive hands. While he's working at your core with his tongue, you're sucking his length - which is impressively long and thick - at a leisurely pace.

"Oh, fuck," you whimper, fisting his cock slowly while he eats you out eagerly.

"So fucking wet," Keizo hisses, hips jerking a fraction. "Taste so good, too." He encourages you to ride his face while you're enjoying yourself, not even asking for you to focus on his pleasure.

Keizo will be pleased when you're pleased, no questions asked. And when you cum, he finds himself tipping over the edge at your soft mewls of delight, body shaking while he delivers his final kisses to your clit, then leans his head back.

"You alright, kitten?"

"'m fine," you sigh, still stroking his cock as the last bit of cum leaks out from his tip. "That was incredible."

"Can't wait to fuck you standing up." You shake your head, laughing. "What? That used to be my thing, ask Takeomi or Waka. When I can do that again, I'll call this a success."

A success, huh?

You clean yourself and Keizo up afterward, resting on his bare chest and kissing his lips over and over again.

"Stay with me," Keizo murmurs, grey eyes full of dreams. "Stay here. I'll make you happy as long as I'm breathing."

"And what about you?" you wonder, stroking his beard with two fingers. "Will you be happy?"

"As long as you're safe and happy." You huff a laugh, leaning in to kiss his waiting lips. "Deal?"

"It's a deal."

#keizo arashi x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers smut #keizo arashi #tokyorev smut #keizo arashi smut #benkei tokyo revengers #benkei smut #Spotify

[hrina]

In The Ring, Pt. I - Jab

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M WORD COUNT: 4k REQUESTED: not exactly lol

hey everyone! this is PART 1 of the boxer!harry AU i’ve been working on. i was so inspired by this concept that i wrote it all in one day lol. if u enjoy reading it, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated! it really helps in terms of motivation and just knowing how my readers feel about this story in general. so yeah, that would really make my month!

warning: parts of this fic will contain mentions of blood, violence, mild stalking, and sexual content. if any of that makes you uncomfortable, please take care of yourself and keep scrolling <3

okay, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, go stupid go dumb! my masterlist and my inbox are both linked in my bio, for anyone who would like to check out my other fics or who feels like chatting. can’t wait to hear your thoughts 💘💘💘

~*~

    January 7, 2021

All of Harry’s teeth are still intact.

For now, at least.

He knows that mouthguards exist—there’s one tucked between his lips every single time he enters the ring. But even then…sometimes punches go awry. Sometimes your opponent dodges at the last second. Sometimes people end up with a mouthful of leather and a few loose incisors. He always keeps one fist near his chin, shielding the lower half of his face from any blows that come his way.

Speaking of blows coming his way…

He ducks away from the straight jab that the man throws—The Wall, they call him. Harry had rolled his eyes when the nickname boomed across the room, soon lost in the roar of the crowd.

He’s never been one for flashy introductions. He prefers to let his technique speak for itself. His brand is his name. Harry Styles. Simple, concise, and so utterly deceiving. He loves watching the smile melt from his opponent’s face, basks in the moment when they realise that he’s tougher than his name suggests.

The Wall jabs again, and Harry successfully dodges the punch. He doesn’t register the other fist hooking around, however, until the blunt front of the man’s glove makes contact with the side of his head. Usually, a blow like that wouldn’t even faze him. But the sheer force behind the hit knocks him off-balance, stumbling to the side as he loses his footing and inhaling sharply when his shoulder collides with the ground.

The yells from the crowd are deafening. Harry coughs, trying to guide air back into his lungs. When he blinks, black spots dance across his vision. Subconsciously, his eyes trace a path upward, past the floor, past his opponent’s feet, past the ropes encompassing the ring. Higher and higher, still, past jeering faces and sloshing beer bottles and grungy eye makeup. All the way to the top of the bleachers, to the exit—to you.

That’s been your unofficial spot for the past two years. Once you turned twenty, your father finally gave in, allowing you to attend Harry’s matches in exchange for the cessation of your endless badgering. You always stand near the door, observing the commotion with thoughtful eyes and puckered lips. Despite himself, Harry has started to think of you as his lucky charm. It’s dangerous—he always swore that he wouldn’t be one of those overly-superstitious athletes—but he can’t help it. He just seems to perform better when you’re around.

Through the rocky field of his vision, he can see just how wide your eyes have grown. There’s an unmistakable look of concern on your face as you watch the fight unfold. Your hand finds its way to the base of your throat, playing nervously with the rose-gold pendant resting there. You crane your neck to get a better view of the ring, your pupils flitting back and forth between Harry and the frighteningly large man looming over him.

A warm rush of adrenaline floods Harry’s veins. The saliva that has gathered in his mouth tastes stale on his tongue. He spits it out as he staggers to his feet. The crowd grows louder, somehow.

The Wall’s smile shrinks as Harry assumes his previous position; his hands orient themselves in front of his face. His opponent gnashes his teeth, seemingly annoyed with the fact that the match has not ended. Harry shakes off the dizziness clouding his brain, and then he’s lunging forward with a newfound sense of determination. He throws punch after punch, sidestepping The Wall’s returning attempts. All he can think about is the fact that you’re up there, watching, waiting, worrying. He never wants to see you like that again.

You’re his goddamn lucky charm.

His victory comes in the form of an uppercut followed immediately by a nasty right hook. The Wall—this big, towering man with bulging biceps and rippling pectorals—crumples to the ground. Harry waits, his chest heaving with exertion as the countdown begins. He’s prepared to watch his opponent rise again, to shift back into a fighting stance and start over. But as the seconds trickle by and The Wall remains motionless on the ground, he soon finds the tension in his body seeping out into the hot, sticky air.

His shoulders sag in relief as a single promising word echoes through the grimy arena.

“Knockout!”

~*~

The crowd thins out considerably in the ten minutes following the termination of the match. Harry stumbles out of the ring, sliding through the ropes and pulling his mouthguard from between his lips. Your father is waiting for him with a smile on his face, holding out an arm and helping him jump down from the raised platform.

“Well done, H,” he says, patting his back proudly.

Harry pants and nods. Your father holds out a reusable water bottle for him to take—he accepts it graciously and gulps down the cold liquid with fat, greedy slurps. Once he pulls the nozzle away from his mouth, he runs the back of his hand over his face to catch any stray droplets that have collected on his chin.

“Thanks, Coach.”

“You took a pretty hard fall, there,” your father says, guiding him to sit down on a bench propped up against the wall. “Medic’s in the back. He’s checking out Aaron right now, but you’re next.” He taps his index finger against Harry’s temple. “We’ve got to make sure everything’s alright up there.”

Harry sucks in a deep breath, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “Who the fuck is Aaron?”

“Oh.” Your father laughs. “Aaron. The Wall. Whatever you want to call him.”

Harry frowns. “Don’t like that. Makes him sound like a dick.”

A new voice enters the conversation.

“That’s because he is.”

Harry’s head snaps to the side, and there you are.

You look nice, as usual. There’s something about you that he can never seem to properly describe. You always look so…clean. If he tried to vocalize his thoughts, he’s sure that you would look at him like he was crazy.

But in his head, it makes sense. You take care of yourself. Your nails are spotless, your hair smells good, and he knows that you must dab spritzes of perfume onto your pulse points before you leave the house, because a fresh scent follows you wherever you go. Even now, as you stand a few feet away with your hands on your hips, he catches it on a deep inhale. Not flowery, not fruity, just…clean. Refreshing. Light. Breezy.

Your father snaps him out of his reverie, and he realises that he should probably stop listing every word in the thesaurus.

“How do you know?” Your father’s inquiry is curious. He shoots you a puzzled look, his mouth curling down into a soft scowl.

You roll your eyes. “Called me ‘sweet thing’ before the match started and asked me if I was the prize,” you say, sticking your tongue out in disdain. “I told him to go fuck himself.”

Harry’s lips twitch.

Your father chuckles. “That’s my girl.”

You laugh quietly, shaking your head. “What time are we leaving?” you ask. The question is directed at your father, who is fiddling with the drawstrings hanging from his sweater. “I was hoping to study a bit more before bed.”

“Soon, gioia,” your father says. “As soon as Harry gets checked out, we’ll be on our way.”

You nod, and—for what feels like the first time since you cut into the interaction—you glance down at Harry. “Hi,” you say softly, shooting him a small, friendly smile.

He meets your gaze for only a moment. Everything about you is so gentle. Your irises are like melted pots of honey, regarding him with such warmth he feels like he’ll never be cold again. “Hi.”

“Congratulations on your win,” you murmur. Harry wants to bottle your voice and save it as a keepsake. “You made a great comeback.”

Because of you, he wants to say, but he bites his tongue. “Thank you,” he offers up instead, the words scraping against the roof of his mouth and tumbling unceremoniously into the air between you.

A moment of silence ensues as you wait for him to say something—anything—else. But he’s done. You nod once before turning back to your father, who is tweaking the settings of the watch wrapped around his wrist.

“Do you know where the washrooms are?” you ask. You toy absentmindedly with the necklace hanging from your throat. “I need to pee.”

“You can use the one in the women’s locker room,” your father tells you, throwing a thumb over his shoulder. “Around the corner, first door on the left.”

“Thanks,” you say, slipping by and pressing a quick peck to his cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

He just nods in agreement, still too preoccupied with his watch.

Harry, on the other hand, can’t keep his eyes off of you as you walk away. He takes note of the way that you tuck your hair behind your ear, how you shoulder the strap of your purse to keep it from slipping down your arm, how you walk with a purpose despite being so moderate and kind. His gaze falls momentarily to the sway of your hips, the enticing nature of your waist. He stares for a long moment before tearing away, clearing his throat and blinking a few times in quick succession.

“Proud of you, H,” your father pipes up, tapping the face of his watch twice before dropping his arm with a sigh. “You did well out there.”

“Thanks,” Harry mutters. A spark of guilt flares up in his chest when he realises that he had been blatantly ogling you with your father standing only a few feet off to the side. He silently berates himself, shaking his head free of any alluring thoughts.

Your father’s phone chirps with the arrival of a new notification. He fishes the device out of his pocket and glances down at the screen.

“Let’s go,” he tells Harry, jerking his head to the right. “Medic’s ready for you, now.”

    January 13, 2021

“C’mon, H, be smart with it! Watch how he angles himself!”

And Harry’s trying, really, but Arthur—or Artie, as your father likes to call him—is a hunkering titan of a man. He used to be your father’s star athlete before retiring, and now…now he’s working in finance, or something akin to that. Harry isn’t one hundred percent sure; he usually zones out when people begin to discuss the stock market.

Artie throws a right hook, but Harry sees it coming and blocks it with ease. They move in a circle, focussed only on each other while other individuals outside of the ring totter around.

Harry prefers to train on weekdays during the afternoon, because that’s when the gym isn’t as packed. Right now, only a handful of other people are working out, lifting weights or doing cardio exercises. Harry and Artie are here so often that nobody even blinks an eye anymore. And your father…well, he runs the place. Of course he would be here.

The sparring continues. When Harry refuses to make the first move, Artie sticks one glove out, beckoning him forward. “Come here, pretty boy.”

“Don’t make me pull your hair,” Harry grits, because Artie’s ponytail is swinging temptingly from beneath his headgear.

The other man laughs good-naturedly before lunging. Harry blocks his uppercut and delivers a strong, pointed jab right to the middle of his chest. Artie stumbles backward, inhaling sharply as the breath is knocked from his lungs. Harry bites back a smile.

“Nice, H!” your father calls.

“Thanks, Coach,” he mutters.

The front door of the gym opens, accompanied by the soft tinkling of a bell to announce the new arrival. Harry’s attention is reflexively drawn toward the direction of the sound, and his heartbeat stutters beneath his ribs.

You’re there, with your hair tied back in a low bun and silver hoops hanging from your ears. You’re holding a tray of coffee in your left hand, and there’s a warm smile on your face. You wave excitedly as you greet Portia, the middle-aged woman sitting behind the front desk. The two of you chat as you shrug off your jacket and tug the sleeves of your sweater over your hands.

Your mouth moves languidly. Though Harry is too far to hear your voice, he has a pretty good idea of what you’re saying. Your eyes widen and you shiver dramatically, shaking your head.

It’s cold!

A heavy fist makes contact with the side of his jaw, and he falls to the ground.

Your father’s loud exclamation pulls your attention away from Portia and toward the ring on the opposite end of the room. Harry groans lowly as he pushes himself to his knees, tilting his head from side to side and cracking his neck. When he turns to face your father, he finds him frowning through the gaps between the ropes.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, shooting Harry a disappointed look.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbles, climbing to his feet with a grunt. “Got distracted.”

He chances a glance back at you, and his shoulders grow tense when he realises that you’re making your way over to the ring, the tray of coffee held between your hands like a peace offering.

“Hello, boys,” you singsong. “I brought drinks.”

“Thanks, sweetheart,” your father says as you hand him his designated cup. He leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to your hair. You hum happily in response.

“Jason!” you call out as Artie approaches the side of the ring. “I got your lemonade.”

“Thanks, little girl,” Artie hums, accepting his drink graciously and taking a long sip from the straw. “And for the hundredth time, stop calling me ‘Jason’.”

“Stop calling me ‘little girl’,” you shoot back, laughing deviously. “I can’t help it if you look like him, okay? You’re even the same age, too.” You cock one eyebrow. “Should I start calling you ‘Aquaman’ instead?”

“God, no.” Artie shakes his head vehemently. “Let’s stick to Jason. ’Least that’s a real name.”

You giggle as he ambles away. Your eyes shift over to Harry—who has kept silent the entire time—and your lips curl up into a kind smile. “Hi, Harry.”

“Hi.” His voice is guttural.

“Last, but not least,” you murmur, plucking his drink from the tray and holding it up for him to take. “One black coffee, right?”

“Right,” he confirms with a curt nod. He tugs his bulky gloves off, dropping them to the floor and reaching out to accept the cup. A strong spark pricks at his hand when his fingers brush against yours. Your responding gasp is soft, barely-noticeable—if he weren’t so painfully aware of everything you do, he would have missed it completely.

“Thank you,” he says, guiding the coffee to his mouth and taking a small sip.

“No problem.” You smile up at him again, and God, that fucking smile. He wants it tattooed onto the backs of his eyelids. A wave of heat blooms in his chest and creeps up his neck, but thankfully, the pink flush blends in with his sweat-slicked, already-rosy skin.

“How was class, sweetheart?” your father asks, tilting his head to the side.

“It was good.” You shrug, tossing a thumb over your shoulder. “I’m going to head home now, though—I have a proposal due in a few days and I really need to get started.”

“Go, go,” your father concedes. You bid him goodbye before standing on your tiptoes and craning your neck to catch sight of Artie, who is quite evidently enjoying his lemonade.

“Bye, Jason!”

“Bye, little girl!”

You laugh. Your gaze lands on Harry again, eyes sparkling and features resolutely tender. “Bye, Harry.”

He swallows down the hard lump in his throat. “Bye.”

    January 16, 2021

Harry’s workout playlist features a lot of Ariana Grande.

He just thinks that she’s good, okay?

But he knows that Artie and your father would never let him hear the end of it, so he keeps that information private. During practice, he’ll endure whatever shitty tunes Artie picks from his own library, and he won’t say a word. He’s not in the ring to dance, anyway. He’s there to make money—albeit illegally—because quite frankly, he hasn’t discovered an aptitude for anything else.

It’s late—the gym is technically closed. But the great thing about having the owner for a coach is the fact that Harry was given another key to add to his collection. Your father doesn’t care, as long as he locks up after he’s done. Harry has spent more time here than at his own home, he imagines. It’s nice when it’s quiet—it gives him plenty of time to think.

The back of his t-shirt is soaked through with sweat. He’s gazing at the ceiling as he lifts the heavy weights up and down over his torso. A bubbly song is playing on his phone, keeping his energy high.

So what if he listens to Ariana Grande? She makes great music.

The distinctive sound of footsteps reaches his ears. He pauses, setting the weightlifting bar back onto its rack and sitting up quickly. The noise is coming from the stairs that lead down to the swimming pool in the basement. Harry stands, and though his muscles are already screaming from previous exertion, he readies himself for the worst.

You appear at the top of the flight, your slippers smacking against each step loudly. You’re ruffling a towel against your wet hair, your head angled to the side as you squeeze out any excess water. Upon catching sight of Harry, you freeze in your tracks.

“Oh. Harry. Hi.”

“Hi,” he says slowly. “I…didn’t know you were here.”

“I didn’t know you were here,” you reply wryly, a small smirk making its way onto your lips.

Harry scratches sheepishly at the back of his neck. “Yeah. Er…I was just working out.”

You nod, your expression coy. “I can see that.”

An awkward silence hangs in the air. Harry clears his throat, rubbing his jaw with his fingers because what else is he supposed to do? “Were you—did you go for a swim?”

“Yeah,” you say. Your shoulders deflate, like you’re almost grateful that he’s contributed more to the conversation. “Spent half the time doing laps, and the other half on my phone.” Your lips quirk up with the feeble joke.

Harry chuckles weakly. “That’s just how it is, sometimes.”

Your eyes flutter shut for only a moment. “Yeah.”

More silence. Harry chews nervously on his bottom lip. Why the fuck can’t he speak?

The song playing from his phone changes. Your eyes narrow ever-so-slightly when a few upbeat notes trickle into the air, followed immediately by the smooth crooning of a woman’s voice. “Is this…,” you hesitate, and he can see how you’re fighting a smile, “…Carly Rae Jepsen?”

“Uh,” he says dumbly, uncertain of how to proceed. Sure enough, I Really Like You by Carly Rae Jepsen is filtering through the taut atmosphere, painfully loud now that the two of you are truly paying attention to it.

A high-pitched laugh falls from your mouth, and your shoulders shake with the force of your amusement. Harry, unable to help himself, begins to chuckle along with you. Heat blooms across his cheeks, but he’s not as embarrassed as he thought he’d be. Your giggles aren’t derisive, he realises.

He’s nearly overcome with the urge to take you in his arms, then, but he resists.

“Late night, watching the television…,” you sing quietly, and then you’re dissolving into merriment all over again.

Once your joint laughter subsides, you shoot him a bright grin. Harry tries his best to return it, though he doesn’t think that he mirrors your smile to its full extent. You sigh in delight, shouldering the strap of your bag and tossing your towel over your forearm.

“That honestly made my night,” you tell him, utterly sincere.

His heart somersaults in his chest. “’M glad.”

“Well,” you say, shrugging gently, “I should probably go.”

“Yeah.” His response is hollow. He lifts his hand in a half-hearted wave. “Have a good night.”

“You too.”

He lies back down with a grunt as you make your way toward the exit. His fingers wrap around the weightlifting bar, about to pull it off of its resting place, when your voice suddenly rings out again.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?” He sits up too quickly, nearly catching his forehead against the metal of the bar. When he turns around to face you, he finds you doubling back, approaching him and nibbling apprehensively on your bottom lip.

“I actually—,” you pause, like you’re unsure of how to continue, “I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

“Sure,” he says, rubbing his hands over the black shorts covering his thighs. “Go ahead.”

“It might be kind of weird,” you warn. “Don’t laugh at me.”

He shakes his head, blinking solemnly. “I won’t.”

“Would you—,” you begin, and your fingers come up to play with the pendant resting at the base of your throat, “—teach me how to box?”

“I—,” Harry recoils slightly, taken aback by your question. “What?”

“Would you teach me how to box?” you repeat, though your voice is significantly smaller. “I want to learn how to defend myself.”

“Against what?” he asks, his brows knitting together in concern. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything’s fine.” You wave away his worries with an inattentive flick of your hand. Harry’s eyes narrow as he studies your face. You refuse to meet his gaze.

You’re lying, he realises, straight through your pretty teeth. But it would be impolite of him to pry, wouldn’t it? And this is the first time that the two of you have ever been really, truly alone; he doesn’t want to fuck it up.

“Okay,” he says slowly, even though he doesn’t believe your guarantee.

He pulls at the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it up and wiping his face with the fabric. When he fixes his gaze on you once more, he thinks he catches your eyes drifting across his torso. Cocking one eyebrow curiously, he climbs to his feet.

“What do you want to learn?” he asks, reaching for his phone and pausing the music streaming from the device.

“Anything,” you say breathlessly. “Everything.”

His lips twitch.

“I—,” he scratches at his nose with two fingers, “—I don’t really have a set schedule, you know, between practice and actual matches.”

“I know.” You nod understandingly.

“And I know you have school,” he continues, tilting his head to the side. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Positive,” you tell him. There’s something strong burning in your eyes; he can’t quite figure out what it is. “I want to train. Just…don’t tell my dad, okay?”

“Okay,” he repeats. He swallows heavily, offering his phone to you. “Put your number in, yeah? I’ll text you on the nights I’m free, and if you’re not too busy, we can meet up here.”

“Alright,” you concede softly. You take the device from him, and he pretends not to notice just how badly your hands are shaking. Your nails tap quietly against the screen, and before you know it, you’re passing the phone back to him with your information saved under a new contact.

“Alright,” Harry echoes.

The two of you stare at each other for a long, silent moment. The spell is broken, however, when you finally take a step back, clearing your throat and tucking a strand of damp hair behind your ear.

“I should go,” you say. “For real, this time.”

“For real.” Harry nods.

“You’ll lock up, right?” you ask, retreating toward the exit.

“Yup,” he says, popping the last letter instinctively. At that, you smile, your mouth curling up into a soft, inviting crescent.

“Okay,” you murmur, placing one hand on the door. “Goodnight, Harry.”

He watches you go with forlorn eyes and empty lungs. “Goodnight.”

~*~

PART II: Cross

PART III: Hook

PART IV: Uppercut

if you’re enjoying this series so far, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

#harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #harry writing #boxrry #alrighttttttt here she is! hope u guys enjoy <3

[troubatrain]

the times with the kids...

two blurbs following want me to want you

read the rest here!

You’re going to marry that boy right?

You bit the inside of your mouth, holding in the smile at your grandmother’s words. You were both watching Matthew and your youngest cousin, far off at the end of your driveway so Matthew could teach him how to slapshot. You adored watching your boyfriend with kids, the way he always wore a smile and took the time to chat even if someone interrupted the middle of a date you were on. It never bothered you, how could it when you got to fawn over Matthew’s kid voice?

“One day…” You muse, smiling at Matthew picking up your cousin in celebration once he finally hit the back of the net. It was easy to daydream about those sorts of things with him, because he’d always made it so clear he was planning his future with you in mind. You could see it so clearly, a few little Matthew’s running around with wild curls on their heads and an attitude just like their father. Matthew would probably coach their teams, insisting that he wouldn’t take it too seriously but you knew what kind of competitiveness ran through that family - he’d be the most annoying peewee hockey parent in the world.

“Matty’s the best Y/N, look at my shot!” Your cousin exclaims, his front tooth missing so everything he said sounded just a bit funny. He showed you his stick, hands in the position they should after he tested Matthew’s patience of the left and right thing, “He’s the best coach in the world!”

“Best coach? I don’t know about that,” You tease, Matthew scoffing behind you when he was about to plant a kiss on your cheek.

“Coached you through sucking my dick last night,” Matthew whispers in your ear, sending a sweet smile to

your grandmother like he didn’t just tell you that. Your grandmother got up to chase after your cousin, Matthew slipping into the seat next to you while a hand landed on your thigh, “What’s on your mind?”

“How’d you know?” You ask, tilting your head to the side while Matthew chuckled.

“I spent years of my life staring at you,” Matthew admits, pressing his lips against your head, “Hope I get to spend the rest of it doing the same, so what’s up?”

“You just looked good over there you know?” You admit, leaning your head against Matthew’s shoulder, “It’s like you’re never bothered when someone asks you to teach them something or sign something when we’re out.”

“I’m not,” Matthew shrugs, he didn’t think much about it, or the way it conveyed to you that you were a good person, “You sure that’s all you’re thinking about?”

“Sometimes when you do that I think about us and the future and that stupid joke Brady made about us raising winners,” You admit, tucking your head into his neck. Matthew gave your thigh a squeeze, encouraging you to finish your thought, “You’ll make a good dad one day, that’s all.”

“As if our kids won’t have a fucking superhero for a mother,” Matthew jokes, “They’re playing hockey though.”

“They’ll do whatever they want,” You remind him, poking at the dimple in his cheek, “And if they’re smart it won’t be hockey.”

“They’re my kids they definitely won’t be smart-

***

You weren’t meant for the cold.

It was a beautiful sunny day in St. Louis, and instead of laying by the pool you were freezing while you walked through the same practice rink Matthew skated at his entire life. All for a mouthguard he didn’t even use let alone need.

“Are you lost?” Brady chirps, leaning against the boards while Matthew leads an overwhelming group of ten year olds around the ice. You’d forgotten that he was helping a camp today, the emphasis on his mouthguard making more sense.

“No I’m just being a good girlfriend,” You deadpan, crossing your arms and looking at Brady. Your attention on Brady was gone quickly, replaced by the little girl who was sitting on the bench with a pout on her face. She reminded you of yourself, too stubborn to go play with the boys despite being lumped together with them constantly because you were a far better athlete than the girls in your class and you swore your gym teacher had it out for you.

“Your turn Brady,” Matthew tilts in his head to the middle of the ice, where the cone drills Matthew set up were getting out of control way quicker than he expected. He smiles at you, leaning across the boards to press a kiss to your lips, “Thank you so much…I couldn’t have these kids thinking I don’t wear my mouthguard.”

“You don’t,” You remind him, causing Matthew to chuckle from the ice. You bit your lip, having an internal debate with yourself for a moment, “Can I have your hoodie?”

“Are you going to stay?” Matthew questions, pressing the back of his hand to your forehead, “Are you sick?”

“No I just… does she not want to play?” You ask, averting your gaze to that same little girl, trying not to draw too much attention to her that she very obviously didn’t want.

“I can’t get her out here,” Matthew hides the grin threatening to grace his face, his heart skipping a beat at the way you were so concerned about that one kid. That’s how you were, constantly trying to grow your game for the next little girl who declares she’s going pro one day, and it made Matthew’s heart grow four times its size. It was admirable, and Matthew swore it constantly made him a better man. You push Matthew back onto the ice, telling him that Brady was definitely losing control of the kids and that you’d stay for a little bit.

“Lots of boys here huh?” You ask, sitting next to the girl who’d been staring at you since Matthew skated over to the bench. She blushed, pushing a piece of hair behind her and looking up at you.

“My mom said I might be the only girl, but I don’t want to play with the boys, they never think I’m any good,” She admits, kicking her stick with her skate and looking down.

“I used to be like that, Matthew actually teased me for the same reason, but between you and me, I think he was just jealous that I was faster than him,” You tell her, bumping your shoulder with hers and holding out your hand, “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“I’m Maggie,” She nods, finally breaking out a grin. You didn’t see it, but Matthew hadn’t stopped watching you, his eyes stuck on you while you talked to that girl in hopes you could get her to play. His heart beat a little faster, all of those dreams he had about a family seemed to be prominent at times like these. It was easy to imagine it, a few kids who had a drive like yours and hopefully your smile too.

“Everybody boo Matthew for staring at his girlfriend!” Brady hollers, an army of ten year old boys booing after him. Matthew rolled his eyes, pushing his brother in the chest while the kids cheered for the chaos they hoped would ensue.

“Will you stay if I go out there?” Maggie asks you, dragging your attention away from Brady’s chirping and the potential wrestling match that was about to start. You were cold, and this ideally wouldn’t have been the way you spent a day off, but Maggie’s big brown eyes had you weak. You nod, telling her to go out there and show them who’s better, smiling when she skated away.

You froze at that rink an entire hour before they finally got the last kid off the ice, Maggie waving goodbye to you excitedly while Matthew mentioned to her mother that there’s a girls hockey program at another rink nearby if they wanted to check that out. You waited for Matthew to clean up, bidding Brady a good bye after he decided he didn’t need to help clean up because Matthew spent the whole time gawking at you.

“Maggie seemed to like you,” Matthew hums, stacking up the last of his cones and pausing to kiss you, “She wouldn’t even look at Brady and I.”

“There were too many boys here for her, she said they don’t think she’s good enough to play with them,” You hum, pulling away from Matthew’s lips slightly, “Can’t say I don’t relate.”

“I already apologized for that,” Matthew whines, smiling when you caught his humor and laughed at his reaction, “Think you’ll go that easy on our kids? Or whatever peewee soccer team they play on that you finessed your way into coaching?”

“We’re having kids? And a soccer team?” You ask, raising your eyebrows at your boyfriend who was very obviously getting ahead of himself, “Are you going to be the team dad who brings orange slices?”

“I actually hope that’s my only job after I retire...and loving you.”

“You’re just trying to get laid.”

“No, we’re just practicing for the real thing.”

#matthew tkachuk #blurbs #want you to want me blurbs #nhl imagines #nhl imagine

[legitlaur]

lightweight // harry styles boxer au pt. 1

boxer!harry x reader

Warnings: language, nsfw content (in future parts), violence

word count: 5k

summary: Harry Styles is a notorious boxer in London. He has been in a funk for a while and can’t stay focused in training or matches. One day he sees you. You change his perspective, and however the universe blesses Harry because he keeps bumping into you. 

a/n: this is a disclaimer if anything. All boxing and medical references are sourced from google. I don’t know much about either. But please enjoy some boxer!harry because he is currently my favorite harry

Sweat was dripping down my face, my hair was sticking to my forehead and my head wasn’t in the right mindset. I kept my hands up, I was playing defense this morning.

“Harry!” My coach, Sam, barked but not fast enough.

A gloved fist swung around and smacked me in the face.

I grunted in pain but stood my ground.

“Get over here man.” Sam shook his head in disappointment.

I walked across the ring to the broody man. I rested my arms on the ropes and opened my mouth wide. I was about to get a lecture and I wasn’t in the mood.

Sam took my mouthguard out and started pouring water down my throat. “What’s your problem today? You’re not hitting a single combination, and even on defense you’re getting the shit beaten out of you.”

A lecture.

“I know.” I panted, “I can’t focus today, something is going on. I, I. I just don’t know what.”

“Hmm. Why don’t you take a 15-minute break? Go outside, hopefully, the fresh air will do you good.” Sam untied my gloves and pulled them off.

I ducked under the ropes back onto the carpet of the gym. Even with my back turned to him I knew Sam was shaking his head in disappointment, but I didn’t care. I didn’t have any big fights lined up for the next few months, I was just training for the off-season. He must have noticed there was definitely something going on because he never let me have anything more than a quick water break.

A few people were in the bathroom when I walked in, but they left without saying a word once I made eye contact with them.

They feared me, as they should.

I was Harry Styles, one of the best boxers in London.

Some people liked to call it fear, others liked to call it respect. I didn’t care what it was, so long as I was in the ring winning.

I looked in the mirror of the rusted bathroom. My hair was getting too long, Sam was going to start getting on me to go to the barbers. I took out the little ponytail that rested at the crown of my head, it was coming apart and this was a shit practice anyway. A few curls landed in front of my eyes, I ran my hands through my sweat-soaked hair trying to push it out of my eyes.

“Make yourself worth it!” I repeated to myself.

I stared at my opponent. His hair covering half his face, his eyes had less determination in them. The bruise on his right cheek was finally healing. He looked tired, sad, and weak. Nothing like a champion.

I was staring at myself.

Somehow, I had become my biggest competition. My mindset was all wrong. I didn’t have the motivation and drive I had when I put on my first set of boxing gloves. The spark burned out. Something was missing.

I slapped my face and shook my head. After bouncing around a few times I left the bathroom and went straight to the front door of the building. I could hear the busy London streets before I pushed the door open.

A cool breeze hit my bare chest. I walked a few feet away from the gym to clear my head. I had my hands resting behind my head as I inhaled and exhaled the polluted London air.

I looked around at the people walking past. Most of them were either giving me a weird look because I was walking around shirtless in the street with both hands wrapped. Others knew who I was and were nodding at me.

My head was spinning, I wasn’t sure what was happening. I felt like I was overheating but freezing at the same time. The sounds of traffic were making me panic, I couldn’t get enough oxygen into my lungs. Something was wrong with me.

When my eyes landed on you, it left like the biggest fist to the gut I’d ever taken. The air that I couldn’t inhale was somehow knocked out of me.

You were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen before. When you walked past me, it wasn’t the confusion, fear, or respect that you gave me. No, you gave me pity.

I looked into your eyes and felt peace and passion all at once. There was a mutual understanding of what I was going through. Even if I wasn’t sure what it was. I felt like we were staring into each other’s souls.

I turned around as you walked right past me. Not even giving me a second thought. Why would you?

I tried to keep my eyes on you for as long as possible, but you turned the corner before you could blend into the crowd. I was pretty certain a woman with your beauty and confidence would never blend into a crowd.

I pinched the bridge of my nose when you disappeared. I knew the chances of me seeing you again were slim to none. I never had much luck in my life, except maybe boxing.

You. The bizarre angel sent from heaven above to show me pity.

I didn’t even realize pity was what I needed until you showed it to me. I wasn’t sure how you’d shown it to me, there had been nothing but eye contact.

A dreary man in a suit bumped into me. “Watch where you’re going, man.” He gave me a disgusted look. It was probably deserved after my sweat got all over his blue blazer.

“Sorry," I muttered as I walked back into the gym. Sam was sitting at the front desk with his hand covering his face. He was getting more and more frustrated with me. My practices hadn’t been great recently, and neither of us knew how to fix whatever problem I was clearly having.

I didn’t know what came over me or why the next words came out of my mouth, but I had a feeling I would regret them soon enough.

“Schedule me for a fight.”

Sam's head popped up. His eyes were wide. “What?”

We both knew me getting in the ring for an actual fight right now would end with me in the hospital. I didn’t care, if anything I hoped it would inspire me to find some form of inspiration.

“I want to fight someone! Anyone!” I reiterated as I walked up to my coach.

“Are you sure you wanna do that? We both know you’re not ready for a real fight.” Sam offered.

I wasn’t sure, hell maybe this was suicide. I shrugged, “Why not? I haven’t had a real fight in months and it’s starting to show. The fans are losing interest.”

Sam nodded, “That’s true. Maybe this will get you out of the funk you’ve been in.”

“So you’ll schedule me for something soon?” I was getting a little too eager.

“Yes, but if I don’t think you’re ready for it I’m pulling you out.” He was already on his phone, probably trying to find me a decent opponent that wouldn’t ruin my title.

-

A week later I was in the locker room of the York Hall. I was getting my hands wrapped in preparation for my match that evening. I could hear the audience through the cinder block walls. Word had spread that Harry Styles was going to be back in the ring tonight. People from all over London were coming to see me fight. I had an audience, now all I needed was to put on a show.

Once Sam gave me a quick pep talk and I was in my gloves I threw on my robe. I waited for my walk-out song to start. It was my cue to head out to the ring.

The song “Death May Die” began, dramatic violin blasted through the speakers I stood up straight and walked out into the arena. The crowd erupted into cheers when they saw me. I kept my stoic face and didn’t interact with the fans at all. It was part of my act. Harry Styles was someone to fear after all.

Once I climbed up into the ring my team took off my robe and tried to get my adrenaline pumping. They pushed my mouthguard up against my teeth and climbed out of the ring.

“In the middle.” The ref called out.

I turned to face my opponent. Jack ‘JawBreaker’ Jones. He walked out to Machine Gun Kelly’s ‘Jawbreaker’ a little too pretentious if you ask me.

He was 6’1 and 150 pounds. His long blonde was tied back into a bun, I wasn’t sure how he managed to have such long hair while boxing. It was nearly impossible for me. I had long hair for a few years, but when I got serious about my boxing career I had to chop it off. Jones was rather tan for a Londoner, and he was chiseled out. From what I’d seen and heard he was a good boxer too. This would be an interesting match.

The plan to win was simple. Sam and I knew I had the better cardio, so we strategized that I would go with defense and tire Jones out. When he started getting too tired to keep trying for the offense I would knock him out.

We made eye contact, tapped gloves, and started the match. There were five rounds, each for three minutes.

Once the bell rang Jones and I started dancing around each other. Waiting to see who would make the first move. I did my best to keep my distance and not let him back me into the ropes. I had a longer wingspan than him, which meant I could be further away and still land a punch.

Finally, Jones threw a punch. I ducked and spun out of the way, keeping myself away from the ropes. He got closer again and jabbed me in the ribs. I fought back, swinging an uppercut to his face, and landing it right on his nose. Blood started dripping down his nose. I knew I didn’t break it, but I’d had a similar injury and I knew his head was pounding right now.

The bell rang through the arena. I finally heard the crowd again, realizing they were there watching. Just as fast as the round started, it ended and I was back in my corner on my stool guzzling water and listening to Sam tell me to go for Jones’ jaw.

Once the break was over, Jones and I were staring into each other’s eyes to start round two. So far he wasn’t wearing down as we anticipated. His cardio was pretty decent. The round started and Jones immediately landed three punches to my side. I groaned in pain but kept standing. I couldn’t let this wanna-be boxer beat me.

I inhaled deeply through my nose, my torso ached as the oxygen reached my lungs. I landed three or four punches to his side and arms, but Jones kept his hands up to guard his face the entire time.

We were in the fourth of five rounds, and I was out of it. I barely made it through the third round. I was up against the ropes getting the shit beat out of me. All I could do was keep my hands up to try and protect my face.

I had a busted-up lip, slip-open eye brown, and definitely a bruised rib. I had to take the defensive side this round. Jones had landed enough blows for the ref to call the match and the judges to easily declare him the winner.

I threw a few here and there as we bounced around the ring, but he was landing just as many punches. Before I knew it, I was back up against the ropes. My eyes were hardly open, I was trying to keep my gloves up but my arms were so tired and sore I couldn’t raise them high enough to keep my face out of the line of fire. My knees were beginning to wobble, I was going to blackout any second.

I turned my head slightly, that’s when I saw you again. In a crowd of hundreds of people, I saw you. Everyone else was a blur, you lit up like a Christmas tree. Your eyes caught my attention like a firework in the middle of a blizzard. You looked frightened but the concern and pity were screaming at me through your dilated pupils.

I don’t know how, but I felt an adrenaline rush kick in. I threw punch after punch right into Jones’s face.

Make yourself worth it!

With my mantra in my head, and you in the crowd I knew I had to finish off ‘Jawbreaker’. I flipped us, he was backed up into the corner against the ropes and I was slamming my gloves into his face, really going hard on his jaw again and again. The ref stepped in and pushed me off Jones.

I gave them a little space while the ref gave him his eight-second stand. When the ref yelled six, Jones fell to the floor. His knees gave out and his head crashed against the mat.

The crowd went wild and started screaming. There were chants of my name and boos from every corner. I went back to Sam, he took out my mouthguard and untied my gloves. Once my hands were free he had me follow a pen with my eyes. It was harder to stay focused on the pen than I cared to admit, but it wasn’t because my head was pounding from the beating I’d endured. It was because you were somewhere in the audience and I had to find you.

I’d won. Even in my darkest months I still had some grit in me. Perhaps it was only because my eyes somehow found yours in my weakest moment, or maybe it was the fighter in me finally resurfacing. The moment I thought I would end up on the mat with a concussion I ended up getting my arm lifted into the air and called a champion.

The title ‘Best Boxer in London’ still rang true.

I ran into the locker room, not bothering with any post-fight interviews or fan interactions. I wanted to get okayed by the paramedics, get showered, and get into the crowd to find you. I had to find you.

My legs were bouncing up and down while the paramedics cleaned up my cuts, and stitched me up. They took a look at my ribs and told me to take it easy for the next few days. My eyes were fine but I did have a gnarly black eye forming on my right eye.

The paramedics finally left, it had taken everything in me to let them take their time with the stitches and checking for a concussion. I flexed my hand muscles and frowned at the light purple bruising on my knuckles. Once I was alone in the locker room I stripped and limped into the shower. The hot water seared against my aching muscles, but I had a feeling this would be the only warm shower I had until I was able to get back into the gym.

Once the water ran clear again and was no longer slightly red, I hopped out of the shower and dried myself in record time. I was dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, and back in the arena before Jones left the ring. He still had doctors looking at him.

The number of people still in the arena dwindled significantly from when I had won. I could only pray that you hadn’t left yet. Maybe with some grace from God, you would be waiting out the traffic of leaving York Hall.

I scrambled through the groups of people congregating together. I couldn’t describe you to anyone, I didn’t know your distinct features. All I knew was that when I saw you, I would know it was you.

I looked and looked, but you were nowhere to be found. I sighed through my nose and dragged my feet back into the locker room to grab my bag.

“Awesome job Harry, I don’t know how you managed to pull through in that last round. I was certain Jones was going to knock you out.” Sam pulled me in for a hug.

I wrapped my arms around him and patted his back then released him. I went to my locker and grabbed my duffle bag. “I had a random burst of energy I guess.” I shrugged and left the room before Sam could ask me any more questions.

I’d won a fight when I was at my weakest. Normally all I wanted to do was go get my earnings and spend most of it at the bar or club to celebrate. Today, I just wanted to find you. I wasn’t sure why you were so important, or why you had such an impact on me, but I needed to find out. I was determined to find out.

I went to the back office where I found myself at the end of every match. The bright lights in there burned my sensitive eyes. Inside the ring, the light was bright but the rest of the arena was pretty dark. I only ever focused on my opponent, the light was never an issue.

“Styles! Congrats man, that was an epic fight.” Jeremy, the owner of York Hall (and also the guy who organized all these matches) greeted me as I opened the office door.

I nodded, “Thanks, Jeremy.”

The tall skinny man stood up from his desk, “You know you brought in quite a fanbase tonight.” He picked up a thick white envelope and handed it to me, “There’s your cut. $1500.”

“$1500? I fucking won man, that fight was worth $2000 easy.” I threw my only good hand up in the air, “I knocked out ‘Jawbreaker’!” I raised my voice but added a sarcastic flare to Jones’ stage name.

Jeremy only shrugged, “I don’t know what to tell you, Harry. The business has been slow lately. Maybe it’s time to find some other way to make money if this isn’t enough for you.”

I grabbed the envelope, stuffed it into my hoodie pocket, and left the office before I did something I would regret.

I was fuming when I went down the stairs. I needed to get out of York Hall. This day had been a complete shit show, and on top of it all, I was getting paid absolutely nothing. Not to mention I had rent due, and Sam was expecting his next paycheck soon. $1500 wasn’t going to cut it.

I huffed as I pushed the doors open and walked out into the dark and muggy London nightlife.

“Took ya long enough.” A voice called out.

“Excuse -” I began to yell but clamped my mouth shut when I turned and saw who spoke. It was you.

You were leaning against the street lamp post on the corner. You were wrapped up in an oversized black trench coat, and your hair fell perfectly at your shoulders.

“Excuse me?” I finished the phrase and started walking closer to you.

“Knocking him out in the fourth round, when you should have knocked him out at the beginning of the third. Your head is out of the game, Lightweight.” You stated matter-of-factly.

“Lightweight? Is that meant to be some kind of insult?” I mused.

You shrugged, “What do you think?”

What did I think?

Only that the universe really thought I deserved something good in my life right now, because I was standing less than a foot away from the girl that had been stuck in my mind since the day I first laid my eyes on you.

I cleared my throat, “Have we met before?” It was a trick question, one you shouldn’t know the answer to. I wasn’t even sure if I knew the answer. We’d never officially met, I’d just been seeing you in my mind over and over again.

“Not officially.” You shook your head. “I’m y/n, y/l/n and I already know who you are. The infamous Harry Styles ‘Best Boxer in London’.” You used finger quotes on the last half of my name.

“What’s with the finger quotes?” I mimicked your actions.

“The best boxer in London should have knocked ‘Jawbreaker’ out in the third round. Not gotten his ass handed to him before a weak knockout at the end of the fourth.” You explained.

My lips formed a thin line, as much as I hated to admit it (even to myself) you were right. Sam worked hard to make sure I was guaranteed a win, but I almost lost.

“How do you know so much about boxing, y/n?” I tried out your name for the first time. It felt good rolling off my tongue. It was a beautiful and eloquent name for a beautiful and graceful woman. Very fitting.

You shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly, “I’ve been in the ring here and there.”

You’d boxed.

“I’d love to see you in action sometime,” I smirked.

“I suppose something could be arranged.” You stepped out into the street and lifted your arm in the air. Hailing a taxi. When a small black taxi pulled off and stopped you opened the door. “If we meet again, Lightweight.”

The taxi door slammed after you climbed in. I had a pit in my stomach when I watched the taxi drive off into the night. My initial thoughts were that I’d never see you again, but I’d thought the same the first time I saw you. Then against all odds, I somehow spotted you in the crowd at my weakest moment in the match; and I bumped into you while you were waiting for a taxi. I had a feeling I would see you again when I least expected it.

I didn’t see you again. Not for a long time. The morning after my fight with Jawbreaker every headline read something along the lines of:

JawBreaker gets his Jaw Broken by Harry Styles the Best Boxer in London

Sam called me and was freaking out. Apparently, I broke Jones’ jaw during the knockout. The media went crazy, and I was blowing up on the internet. I took the next two weeks off to recover - doctor's orders.

When I finally was able to go back to the gym Sam had me doing press and interviews instead of training. He kept telling me I had to have a name in the media to have fights to train for. I understood what he meant, but I had become a local celebrity overnight. I couldn’t even go into a local coffee shop without someone asking for a photo or autograph.

I’d come up with the tough scary guy persona to avoid this. I didn’t want to interact with people. I absolutely loved my fans, but most of these people weren’t boxing fans. They saw my knockout on social media somewhere and thought it was cool. They were not real fans, they were the trend followers.

After a month of not being in the gym, I finally had to sit Sam down and tell him he had to start doing what I paid him to do. Train me. He agreed and got me in the gym the next morning.

I spent another few months doing the most intense training of my life. Not to mention I now had a fight every other week. These random guys kept showing up at York Hall telling Jeremy that they could beat me.

They were easy fights, and they kept the cash coming in. I hadn’t had this many zeros in my bank account since I went bankrupt in college. Only this time, there was no negative sign.

I was in the best shape of my life, and my head was finally getting back in the game. I did everything I could to keep myself busy. When I wasn’t busy, I would start to think and get in my own head. That’s how I got to my dark place only months before.

Today I was finishing up my last set of weights before ending my workout with a quick sparking session with one of the gym’s trainers.

Once I put all the weights away properly and wiped the sweat off my neck and hands I went upstairs to the ring. When I got up there I heard a sparring match in progress.

Two women were in the ring. I couldn’t see much of their faces. Only what they were wearing and their skill. The faster and more agile girl wore a black sports bra and matching black shorts. She was able to throw a lot of punches, but the ones she did land were weak.

I started watching her opponent. She wore a white sports bra and lavender shorts. She was stronger and preferred to throw perfect punches. She landed every punch she threw. Overall the two of them were good boxers. I was impressed with what I’d seen.

Sam was a few feet in front of me watching. I closed the distance between us and crossed my arms across my chest. “Who are they?” I asked.

“Hannah Lee, and y/n y/l/n. They’ve been practicing here once or twice a week for a month now. They said it was just a fun workout, but I think with some serious training they could really be something.” Sam explained as he watched the match.

y/n y/l/n. There was no way. I knew you mentioned you’d been in the ring before, but seeing this sparring match. This was different.

“Did you say y/n y/l/n?” I asked as nonchalantly as possible. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but the chances of someone with the exact same name as you sparring in the same gym as me were almost 50/50.

Sam nodded. “Yeah, you know her or something?”

“Not really. We met once, at the ‘Jawbreaker’ match. She called me Lightweight.” I smiled as the memory of you insulting me ran through my head.

“Sounds like y/n.” Sam chuckled.

Did he know you? Had you been right under my nose all these months and I’d been too self-centered to notice? Would you even want to talk to me? Was I worthy of you?

Make yourself worth it!

I reminded myself of my mantra.

Sam and I watched in silence as you and Hannah finished up your session. You ducked under the ropes, someone I didn’t recognize untied your gloves. Once your hands were free you grabbed a water bottle and downed it.

Sam walked up to you and started making a conversion, I stayed by the stairs. There was a pit in my stomach from just thinking about talking to you again. I wasn’t sure how it would go, I didn’t even know what I would say.

“Lightweight.” Your voice could bring me out of trance, but your voice calling me - even if it was that horrible nickname - was enough to end my life.

“Really? You coulda picked any name and you went with that one.” I quickly shook my head in disappointment while trying to keep my cool. I blinked a few times and refocused on reality.

You were standing in front of me, unwrapping your hands. This was the closest I’d been to you in decent lighting. Your eyes were still as electrifying as the last two times I’d stared into them. You had the kind of eyes that made people feel like you were peering into their souls.

Your eyes remained focused on the white tape you were unwrapping as you spoke, “Lightweight suits you,” you shrugged your shoulders.

“Long time no see. Looks like you finally got to see me in action.” You quoted my eager words to watch you in the ring months ago. “I figured I’d be running into you soon enough. This is where you train, no?”

“Yeah, it is.” I wasn’t sure what else to say, I was still stunned that you were here and even more so speechless that you were more than decent at boxing.

Words started tumbling out of my mouth before I could filter them. “When you said you’d been in the ring here and there I didn’t realize you really knew your way around the ring.”

You kept your head down but I could still see the small smile that grew on your face. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy being a hotshot media magnet you would get your ass back in the ring and train with the rookies.”

You’d noticed that I had been properly training in the last little while. Maybe you’d be able to convince Sam that I needed time working on combinations for matches, instead of working in front of cameras for the press.

I threw my hands up in the air dramatically, “You hear that Sam? I need to get back into the ring with the rookies!”

“Cut him some slack, you’re not his only client ya know.” You defended my coach.

“Wait, is- is Sam training you for a match?” I asked with a little too much enthusiasm.

You nodded, “I have a really small one this weekend, if you’re not too busy being ‘the Best Boxer in London’ you should swing by.” You used finger quotes for my title again. “It would be really motivating to have a ‘pro’ there.”

“What is it with you and your finger quotes when it comes to my skill?” I rolled my eyes.

You picked up a small duffle bag from the floor and walked past me towards the stairwell. “Buy me a smoothie and maybe I’ll tell you.”

#harry styles #harry styles fanficton #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #one direction #fanfiction #harry styles boxer #legitlaur #lightweight #harry styles x reader #boxer harry styles x boxer reader #harry styles x y/n

[officialgritty]

How I Would Humble NHL Players

An essay written by bigboigritty. 

I would humble hockey players the only way I know how to, by sending them to Australia. Let’s suppose that they have decided to hold the All Star game over here (forget about it’s usual date) (forget that some players I have listed below might not be invited) (and while you're at it, please forget that Australia’s rinks are Not Good).

I think that they would suffer but in an entertaining way so it’s fine. 

First of all, their biggest concern is getting sunburnt. It would effect all of their dumb asses but I’m particularly worried about Pierre-Luc Dubois and Mitch Marner. Boys are practically translucent. Vince Dunn would be fine, he’d probably wear a shirt most of the time which is a very smart decision. 

You may wonder why I didn’t mention Nolan Patrick because I am a certified slut for him, well I don't think he would have a problem. He would spend most of the time inside and when he joins the others, I think his Virgo ass would reapply sunscreen. Maybe he would burn slightly but I don't think it'd be enough to make him uncomfortable. 

Another thing that I think they will gain from this experience is a higher pain tolerance. Now you’re probably thinking, “Zoe they are NHL players so they can handle pain.” Wrong.

Real pain is running barefoot on cement at theme parks while you race to get to the next ride. Also getting into the car and having to avoid touching every piece of metal to not get branded like a cow. Or better yet, when the heat gets so bad that there’s a black out because everyone has their air conditioning turned on.

Don’t get me wrong, I know that other countries have scary animals but I would pay to see them panic over ours. Crocodiles here can grow up to 5.2 metres / 17 feet. We have a box jellyfish season where it’s advised to avoid swimming or wear wetsuits for coverage. Funnel web spiders can survive underwater for hours by trapping air bubbles around their skin. We have several of the worlds deadliest snakes present across the country. 

Listen, I don't want anyone to get injured but the constant fear that they would have when doing anything would be enough to make me happy.

My biggest question is who would survive in the shady areas, who would survive the eshays?

Under no circumstances can you look them in the eyes or cross their path. They are not to be feared individually but in groups caution is advised. I think the players would attempt to assert dominance and that is simply not an option. You are better off to ignore the eshay.

Nolan would have no issues here if im being honest. He is big and I don't think they’d find it worth it to fuck with him. But you know who they would target? Matthew Tkachuk. “Where are you going pretty boy?” “Oi braa did we hurt your feelings ya pussy cunt?” They would make fun of his hair in particular. 

Travis Konecny would be an eshay. I don't think I need to make further comment. (So would Louis Tomlinson but I am not a 1D account and I will continue to repeat that until it’s true.)

I would also give them a few iconic tasks to get the true Australian experience. Activities for the ‘vacation’ include triathlon events, beach flags, bush walking and climbing the harbour bridge. They could attend a cricket match but they tend to like golf so unfortunately they would probably enjoy this :(

AFL is an extremely popular sport here and I think they would loose their shit when they learn the rules of this game. No protective equipment is used other than mouthguards, that's it. That’s all you get. And jumping onto other players for leverage is encouraged. I would thoroughly enjoy the fights that would break out because of this.

Another task would be to use a map to make their way to a servo for a slurpee. The catch is that they will be required to pass through multiple alleyways. Also, the season is Spring, it’s swooping season mother fuckers. Let’s see how brave you are when birds chase you down the block. Personally I don’t think any of them would pass this test, maybe McDavid because the birds may not be able to detect a heartbeat.

Australian food would disgust them, I just know it. Things that they would need to try are a Bunnings sausage sanga, fairy bread, lamingtons, baked beans on toast, Milo and Vegemite. Because I’m me I would give them no butter with their Vegemite. 

An after thought I had was money so I’m editing this to include it. Everything here is EXPENSIVE so they would need to learn how to budget. Upon doing research, Canadians would be fine but the Americans will be mad.

1000 CAD = 1019 AUD

1000 USD = 1297 AUD

Another after thought was the fact that they won’t be able to drive (or at least drive well) here. We drive on the left and not the right, same goes for walking paths too. I can sense a lot of them bumping into people.

Where I think players would live based on vibes alone:

Carter Hart and Vince Dunn: North Shore Beaches, NSW. Daddy’s money. Carter probably did Nippers whereas Vince was a skater boy. 

Travis Konecny: Darwin, NT. Would 100% live there and enjoy it. He would try to conduct crocodile tours but gets assigned to feeding the baby crocs and doing shows for little kids. 

Tyson Barrie: Perisher, NSW. One of the only ski resorts we have to offer, major friendly mountain man energy.

Nolan Patrick: Byron Bay, NSW. @antoineroussel enlightened me, steering away from my original thought of Katoomba, NSW. Byron Bay is a magnet for hippies and links rainforest to the ocean. Chris Hemsworth and his family also live there.

William Nylander: Perth, WA. I don’t know much about Perth other than they wouldn’t shut up about partying while the other states had to quarantine. For some reason, I also associate Perth with Tik Tok. 

Sidney Crosby and Connor McDavid: Melbourne CBD, VIC. These two would live in the same apartment building in the city, Connor one level above Sidney. It’s the most boring looking block of them all and Crosby would send in complaints to the landlord about McDavid pacing during the night.

Tyler Seguin: Surfers Paradise, QLD. Party central, not many people are actually from this area and he would be sure to tell absolutely everyone that he was. I also think he would get a Meter Maid tattoo, specifically on his leg. Has definitely slept on the beach before because he couldn’t find his way home.

Jamie Benn: Hobart, TAS. Tasmania is usually forgotten about. Another one with mountain man energy except he is more creepy than friendly.

Mitch Marner: Fitzroy, VIC. @antoineroussel is responsible for this one too. Hipster central, makes you question how the hell someone so young can have so much money. Would chug $45 wine and not blink an eye.

(honourable mentions include = Sammy Blais: Hobart, Tas. Once again no comment on Tasmania. TJ Oshie: Cairns, QLD. Would do reef tours. Haydn Fleury: Western Sydney, NSW. Haydn would 100% own a ute or a white holden commodore and you can’t tell me otherwise. Roman Josi: Adelaide, SA. Small town history teacher vibes.)

I have attached a handy map for those who may need it.

In conclusion, the NHL should send their players over here to teach them some manners and while they’re at it, management should bring themselves too. Nolan Patrick could pass as an Australian if he built up a tan. (So does Nylander in this picture but we won’t talk about that.) Come over anytime baby, I’m free. 

Glossary

Servo - A service station, also known as a petrol or gas station. Example: 7/11

Theme park - An amusement park. Can be said in reference to both normal parks and water parks and usually means those in QLD. Example: Six Flags

Swooping season - August to October in Australia. When birds attack and chase humans and / or pets for getting close to their babies. Magpies are notoriously bad for this. 

Bunnings sausage sanga - A cheap feed / meal found at the front of a hardware and gardening store called Bunnings. Made up of white bread, sausage, onion and your choice of sauce.

Fairy bread - White bread with margarine and topped with 100s and 1000s / sprinkles. 

Meter Maids - Women who work along the beach dressed in gold bikinis. They top up parking meters to save tourists from getting fined and will often stop for photos. 

Nippers - Surf lifesaving programs carried out for children between 5 and 14. 

Ute - A pick up truck.

Eshay - A person who partakes in drug use, graffiti, listens to EDM and targets victims in groups. Below is the typical style of an eshay. 

Tagging a few friends so this doesn’t completely flop but feel free to ignore if it isn't your thing. I won’t be offended lmao

@scheifefe @ifiwasshawnmendesidslapmyself @d00dlebob @bowenbyram @kempe @prettyboyroope @quintonsbyfield @travisgermy @pitoftrash @kspitehockey @ballsakic @canadianheaters @bricksatlandyswindow @powerblais @brokeninsidebutnobodyknows @jamiedrysdales

#also feel free to send asks if you want more ‘where are players from?’ #I’d give a better explanation in single posts #none of this is serious if you couldn’t tell #its all out of love #nhl #hockey #travis konecny #tyson barrie #nolan patrick #sidney crosby #also enjoy the magpie picture #connor mcdavid #william nylander #mitch marner #vince dunn #tyler seguin #jamie benn #carter hart #I refuse to read this again so ignore any mistakes #I feel like I had a fever dream writing this so I only hope you feel the same after reading it #I’m scared of birds can you tell? #z does other stuff

[lumosinlove]

Sweater Weather

part xvii

A/N:

Hey team!

I just want to pop in before the chapter to say a HUGE thank you to those who sent me letters!

Thanks to Hannah for your letter and O’Knutzy necklace! It’s AMAZING.

I want to thank Giana for your gorgeous letter (I’ll answer your questions in a separate post and I’m so glad you’re writing again!)

Thank you Kennedy for the painting, earrings, shark sticker (yay marine biologist!) and letter with the dried flowers :)

Thank you Alba for your SW art and your letter—yay to being there from the beginning!!

Thanks to Sophie for your kind words and letter!

Thank you Stephanie for your letter (and beautiful handwriting wow) and of course your gifts! I love the bookmarks and pin!

And last but certainly not least thank you to Alaena! I love that you included what asks you sent in XD and the STICKERS. I can’t decide if I want to put them on things or hang them all up on my bulletin board :) They’re incredible.

Thank you everyone, you’re all so thoughtful and kind!!

With SW ending soon (at least this fic, but this universe will never be over for me!) it is so incredibly lovely to hear what it means to you all. I feel so luck every single day that you guys love this team as much as I do. You thank me for this story, but I think the best part of fiction is that it expands and evolves differently in each mind it touches. Tumblr is such a freakin gift because I get a little glimpse into how you all think about these characters. So, I’m saying thank you to YOU. It’s truly a privilege to hear from you all. <3

If you feel like sending me anything, there is a link to my P.O. Box in my tumblr description! <3

Okay my mushy rant is done. Here’s chapter seventeen :)

~

Remus forgot his own birthday.

Lily had to remind him, bringing out a cake while he and Sirius had spent the day playing with baby Harry. Harry Potter. Harry James Potter.

The team adored him. Remus would never forget the sight of an entire team of hockey players, fresh off a plane, and crammed into a hospital room to peer at the small head of dark hair in Lily’s arms.

Minus one. Minus two, if what Sirius said was true, and Remus was part of the team. Remus had looked at the picture that Pascal had sent him from beside a sleeping Sirius and a heart monitor.

He had looked at the picture, and then at Sirius, and the relief doubled.

Four broken ribs. Bad, but it could have been worse. So much worse. A few days in Vegas to be monitored, just in case. Then, home.

Home for Remus’ birthday, home and in pain, but smiling none-the-less. Harry was a welcomed distraction from it all—the press, the hurt, the uncertainty. Lily seemed to know this without it needing to be said. Remus had told her she had enough going on without worrying about a cake, but Lily had just waved him off and cut them all large slices of the chocolate fluff.

Sirius, meanwhile, had somehow slipped a simple golden necklace around Harry’s neck, and when Remus looked down next, there it had been. A shining gold star pendant. The message had been clear. Sirius’ name-sake and Sirius himself—something to make a wish on.

Remus took a weeks off of work, all that he could.

Road-trips were a blur. Practices were anxious. The team was anxious.

March 27th.

Eight weeks. Sirius had been out for eight weeks. Resting, and stuck in his big house. Remus never thought he would be so thankful for Regulus.

“I’d rather be here than Slytherin any day, even though he whines like a baby when you’re gone.”

“Non,” Sirius would protest.

Regulus would raise an eyebrow. “Yeah.”

Remus would sneak into Sirius’ bedroom whenever he got home late, press one, two, three, four gentle kisses across his chest, and take his place on the other side of the pillow, carefully placed so that Sirius didn’t roll over during the night.

Sirius whined a good deal about that, too. And getting back on the ice.

“I just…I want to be back in case we make it to…” the playoffs.

The team was close. So close.

Sirius had only recently been allowed to come to the rink, suit and all, for home games to sit in the team box. It was strange, looking up from the bench at the jumbotron and seeing the image of Sirius there, standing with his arms crossed, sometimes with a beanie on, making his eyes look intense as he focused on the game in front of him. He was completely unreadable—to everyone but Remus. Remus could tell when he was happy with the team’s playing, when he was annoyed at their opponents. The internet was crawling with gifs of Sirius’ stormy eyes. Remus had more than a few saved, and they frequented the team group chat.

Remus looked up now, but all the jumbotron was showing was James, who had been taking lead in Sirius’ absence, talking quickly to Finn. Remus could see his own legs in the background.

The Stars were up 4-1, and there was ten minutes left in the second period. If they won this game, and they won the next game, they were in. And Sirius would be back the week after that—hopefully in time for the first playoff game, and not for an all-too-long summer vacation. Although, honestly, right then, Remus thought Sirius deserved either one. A chance at the Cup, or a break, a chance to rest up. To be together.

Leo was in net, Kasey resting up his thigh that continuously bothered him. Leo was skating a slow circle after the Stars scored yet another goal, tracing the blue crease with his stick. Remus could practically feel his furious calm.

“Big Rig may experience different weather up there, but he sure as hell has more gravity. Tremzy,” James knocked his helmet with his glove. “Don’t let him catch you, eh?”

“We gotta come back from this shit,” Finn said as he followed Logan over the boards. “For Leo. Leaving him out to dry out there. No.”

“For Cap,” Thomas said, coming back over the boards and breathing hard.

“Gotta put my baby in that silver crib!” James followed his wingers, a center for now.

“Cookie, Bluey, Ringer, be ready,” Coach called. “You’re on deck.”

“The oven is hot tonight,” Elias Cook said, pouring water over his neck.

“Stop saying that,” Kasey shook his head. “Jesus.”

“He can’t help the heat, Baby Bliz,” Thomas said.

Kasey just shook his head and looked back to the game.

Remus leaned in over Thomas’ shoulder. “That was a hit, Talkie, you good?”

“I’m hot,” Thomas said around his mouthguard.

Remus snorted, patting his shoulder pad. “You sure are.”

James lined up for the face off, Finn and Logan jostling against Benn and Perry. Logan dug his skates in when the ref dropped the puck and James whipped it back to him. Logan darted forward into the Stars’ zone, tailed closely.

“C’mon, Tremz,” Remus murmured.

Logan shot the puck off to Finn who got battered against the boards almost immediately by Benn, but got it smoothly to Olli, who sent it sailing back towards the Stars’ net. James was there behind the crease, Khudobin pushed out the wrong way—

James curled it in from behind and the Gryffindor goal horn blared.

“Fuck!” Thomas rose to his feet, knocking his stick against the boards. “Atta boy, baby-daddy!”

4-2 until the buzzer sounded and they were heading back down the tunnel. Remus glanced up at the screen one more time, and only just caught Sirius, smile plastered on as he was shown shaking the hands of a few older men. Remus suppressed a smile, and followed the team off of the ice for second intermission.

The locker room was subdued, and Sirius came in while Remus was crouched by Logan, taping up a jammed finger. He walked up to Coach first, leaning his elbows on the podium where he controlled the projector. Remus watched as he pointed to a few of the plays drawn up on the whiteboard, Coach nodding along.

“I can do this,” Logan said. “Leave with your moon eyes.”

Remus rolled his eyes, but tore off the tape and rose. “You’re all set. Try and keep it safe during third.”

“Oui,” Logan said, already sliding his headphones back on. Finn rose to get a fresh jersey, brushing a palm over the back of Logan’s neck on his way. Logan’s eyes followed him as he went to Leo next, who was sitting with his elbows on his knees in his stall, head down and airpods in. Finn squeezed himself in beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He leaned in to press a few kisses to his neck, murmuring soft words. Leo closed his eyes and pressed into him.

“Hey.”

Remus turned away from the two to meet Sirius’ eyes. He was smiling, a good break from the grimace Remus had become used to.

“Hi,” Remus said and pressed a hand over the familiar bandage, thick beneath Sirius’ suit and shirt. “Feeling okay?”

“I’m good,” Sirius leaned down, right in the locker room, and kissed him. His mouth was gentle, leisurely. “I feel good.”

Remus smiled into it, and took his hand. “Good. Come on.”

Sirius followed him, hand in Remus’, into the training office.

“Ten minutes until show time,” Remus said in the dim space and wrapped his arms around Sirius’ neck. “Are you really feeling okay? Been on your feet for a while, I’ve been watching.”

“Loops, I come back soon. I’m healed, I’ve started light exercise. It’s just a matter of insurance.” Sirius leaned into him, lips brushing his. “You seemed to think I was fine last night.”

Remus grinned. “Yeah, I definitely think you were fine last night.”

Sirius smiled, but then his expression turned more grave. He bit his lip, and ran his hands up and down Remus’ sides a few times, almost as if to comfort himself. “Fuck, I want this for the team so bad.”

Remus nodded. This was a conversation they had been having more often than not. “I know. And they know. You want it for them, but baby, they want it for you. They’re out there doing their fucking hardest for you. I don’t think you should start preparing for the worst. Not yet. Hockey’s a fast game.”

“We’re just—we’re so close. And fucking Grayback and…and if we win this game, we just have to beat Vegas again and we’re in. And I won’t get to fucking be out there because of fucking Grayback. And he’s not even suspended anymore—”

Remus kissed him, and Sirius mumbled for a moment into it before relaxing.

“Two games,” Remus said. “Home. Then Vegas. We beat Grayback, take a chance at the cup away from him. That’s the best we can do.”

Sirius looked at him for a long moment. “How are you so okay with all of this?”

“What’s the alternative? Obsessing over him? He’s not worth it. At all.”

They looked up at the sound of the team noisily making their way back down the tunnel, shouts and whistles, trying to psych themselves up for a come back.

“Third,” Remus said, then tucked his fingers into Sirius’ hair and kissed him again. “You’re competitive. I love you for it. But, baby, you’ve already beaten him. You beat him a long time ago.”

Remus kissed Sirius’ slowly smiling mouth again and again before rushing out the door.

Sirius made his way back up to the box. He watched the other members’ eyes follow him as he slipped back into the private room. There was an absurd array of food and drinks on a table, designed to impress members and investors. Sushi rolls and miniature hot dogs, popcorn in Lions colored cardboard boxes. Red-frosted cupcakes and lion head cake-pops. Sirius took a cupcake. He’d already beaten Grayback. Remus had just kissed him. His ribs had healed well. It all called for a cupcake.

“Really letting yourself off, eh?”

Sirius looked up at a man. He was wearing a white collared shirt under one of Sirius’ jerseys. Obviously a fan, obviously nervous, obviously important given the way one of the managers was looking at him talking to Sirius.

“No,” Sirius said plainly. “I’m having a cupcake.”

There were laughs from around him, as if Sirius was the funniest guy in the room. Sirius didn’t feel funny. This guy was making him miss puck drop.

The man held out his hand. “I’m Mike. Real doozy you slapped the world with.”

Sirius took it tightly, cupcake in his other hand. “I wasn’t aware that I did the slapping.”

“Probably broke a lot of hearts though.”

Sirius looked at Mike the way he looked at opponents on the ice. He watched him blink, watched his body language change.

“I was thinking about my own heart. Désloé, how do we know each other again?”

“Oh. Well—”

“Right,” Sirius nodded. “Enjoy the game.”

Sirius walked towards the box’s edge, unwrapping his cupcake. He could see the entire stadium from up here, the teaming mass of red and gold, the team readying themselves on the ice. A tiny glimpse of Remus on the bench. Coach was gesturing and talking. He watched his own face on the jumbotron as he took a bite of the dessert. He found the camera and flashed it a thumbs up, waving his arms upwards and listening to the crowd’s cheers roar in time with his hands. He caught glimpses of rainbow flags in the crowd, signs with number twelve decked out in the colors. It was a nice contrast to the signs that Sirius saw on his way into the stadium. Defaced number twelve jerseys, slurs, people jeering at his window as he drove through security. Interesting, to see who was inside, and who was not.

The puck dropped and James won it. James who, despite them being down, was hot tonight. No doubt riding the adrenaline of Harry and Lily at home, of being named temporary captain, of being so close to what they all dreamed of.

Sirius couldn’t think it, not even in his head.

The puck seemed to be frozen in the central zone, both teams battling too hard. A stalemate in aggressive trench warfare. Back and forth, back and forth with no progress. Sirius crumpled the cupcake wrapping between his fists and cupped them together, shoulders tense.

“Allez…” he whispered to himself.

The camera was on him again, and he looked stony even to himself. He raised his eyes to it and pointed a finger down at the game. Show that, he mouthed.

The Lions goal horn blared. Logan had scored.

Sirius knew the camera caught his reaction on camera. He put his fists up, relief bubbling out of him in a shout.

“Allez, Tremzy!”

The crowd was going wild. Finn slammed Logan into the boards in celebration and the jumbotron replayed the beautiful tip-in. 4-3. Things weren’t so impossible anymore.

Sirius squeezed the wrapper in-between his hands again and set his elbows on the ledge.

“Play Kuny, play Kuny…” Sirius muttered under his breath. He would match Oleksiak. Sure enough, Coach sent Kuny’s line over the boards a second later. Nado and Evan Kane followed him, Fox and Sunqvist on defense.

“No power plays,” Sirius prayed. “Come on, Nado, no stupid penalties.”

“Do you always talk to yourself in French while playing?”

Sirius stiffened. Mike was back.

“Non, parfois je parle en russe.”

Mike blinked. “What?”

“Laisse-moi tranquille, homme intrusif,” Sirius grinned sharply. “I said only sometimes. Usually on the bench.”

That seemed to make Mike happy. “Hey, you’re really superstitious, right?”

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

Like being alone in the team box, Sirius thought bitterly. Like getting a blowjob from my boyfriend before a game, you know, that doozy I slapped the world with?

“There’s a lot of them,” Sirius said. “If you’ll excuse me, I really have to watch this.”

Mike nodded quickly. “Oh, of course, of course.”

Sirius shifted away a little when he didn’t move, tried to focus on the ice. The puck had dropped and it was on Evgeni’s stick. He was carrying it quickly up the ice, seeming to cut through the players with his broad shoulders. Sirius imagined he could hear his deep voice, calling for Nado to look alive. The pass connected, but Seguin tapped it out of Nado’s hands from behind and sent it up the ice quickly to Benn.

“Merde,” Sirius said. The Lions were changing and then it was Pascal’s line with Elias and Brady, Olli and Timmy on defense. Benn managed to get around Olli, and then—

Leo was pushing far out of the crease and aggressively jabbed the puck right from Benn’s stick and onto Pascal’s waiting one. Leo slid back into the crease like a water snake. The stadium was chaos.

Knutty, Knutty, Knutty, was the chant. It filled the air itself. The jumbotron showed the bench briefly, Logan and Finn and Thomas grinning up at the stands. Pascal still had the puck.

His solid form darted up a clear channel, catching the Stars in a slow shift change. He was in front of the goal, Sirius squeezed the wrapper between his palms. Pascal faked by lifting his left leg, Khudobin went for it, and Pascal slid it right between his pads, neat and tidy.

They tied the game. They tied up the game. Sirius pushed back from the railing with a long breath as a TV break began. The Lions ice crew came out to some pop song and began their sweep. Sirius looked down at his bench and yearned to be with them. He rubbed his hand absentmindedly over his ribs. They were healed. He had a few more sessions with Remus left and then he would be back. He would be back.

He thought of the hit.

He hadn’t known what was wrong. There had been no air in his lungs. But Remus had been his first thought. He knew who hit him, he had seen his face before he hit the ice.

Remus.

This would hurt Remus.

“Wait, has a what?”

His own voice over the jumbotron drew him out of his thoughts. It was a pre-recorded interview, one of the fluff ones that they played for fun to entertain the crowd.

Marlene’s voice from off screen repeated the question. “Which one of your teammates has a life-sized Stormtrooper, R2-D2 and C-3PO action figure in their apartment?”

They showed his own face again, laughing and thinking. “Oh. Um.”

It switched to James, arms crossed and actually thinking about it. He pushed his glasses up his nose and laughed. “I don’t know, Finn and Leo? That seems like a weird Harzy thing.”

It cut to Finn. “That’s not weird. I wish it was me. I’ll convince Nut, don’t you worry.”

Pascal looked unimpressed, sitting easily in the chair. “There is only one person this could be, and that person spent the first two months of his time in the U.S. with only the phrases, You’re my only hope, and I’m your father, to his vocabulary. Oh, and the word no.”

Sunny was laughing. “I know exactly who this is.”

Nado looked pained. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve seen Star Wars now? Do you have any idea?”

Finally, the screen cut to Evgeni, smiling, tongue jokingly between his teeth. “Good for English, you know?” He held up his hands. “I am Force.”

The video ended with a swoop of the Lions’ logo, and even Sirius could help but smile. There was eight minutes left in the period.

Eight minutes to pull ahead.

They would do it.

The Stars had called a time out, and so James, Logan, and Finn were milling around the ice together, keeping their muscles warm. Leo was looping around the goal.

They were ready.

Seguin faced off against James, both of them leaning forward.

Seguin won it.

There was a fleury when James was pinned to the boards by Oleksiak, but Logan was there to steal the puck from beneath his feet.

The clock had dwindled down to four minutes when a whistle blew with a slashing penalty on the Stars. Pascal and Thomas joined James on the ice for the power play unit.

Sirius could feel the energetic restlessness of the crowd. They all knew what this could mean. Sirius let out a shaky breath and looked at the wrapper in his hands. He thought of Remus. Remus, and his long list of superstitions. But what pulled him through had been himself. Sirius held it anyway, but he held his Lions closer.

They were ready.

They set themselves up in a triangle, a tic-tac-toe, in front of the Stars’ goal. The sent it to each other quickly, boxing the defensemen in. Finally, James got it to Evgeni, who slapped it with a one timer and—

The goal horn. 00:24 seconds remaining.

The crowd was already singing with victory. The Stars tried for one last push, but Leo snatched the puck right out of the air with his glove.

00:03.

Done.

Sirius pushed his hands through his hair in relief. “Merde.”

Sirius was out of the box before anyone could even think about congratulating him, jogging down the private staircase and towards the locker room. He made it to the player’s hallway before he was stopped by a smiling Alice.

“I know, I know,” she said. “Can we just get a few questions in?” She gestured over to where Marlene was standing with a microphone, talking to a dark haired girl holding a camera. Alice raised an eyebrow. “It’s only Marlene.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

Alice patted his arm. “Congrats, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Sirius said and shoved his hands into his pockets while looking at Marlene expectantly.

“Okay, McKinnon, let’s go.”

Marlene scoffed. “Nice to see you, too. Hi Cap, how are you? Ribs, mind, in general.”

Sirius relaxed a little. If he had to do interviews, he preferred Marlene above all else. “I’m healing well. Ready to get back on the ice.”

Marlene narrowed her eyes at his short response and he smiled. That made her smile. Those were rare for the press, and she had just caught one.

“Any thoughts you want to share about how the majority of the world is responding to you lately? By my calculations, you’re quite the icon and inspiration—not that you weren’t before of course.”

Sirius laughed a little. “Oh yeah? Um,” he cleared his throat. When he looked up he could see Remus down the hall a little ways. He was talking to Kasey who was still fully dressed. Remus looked beautiful and strong and…And Sirius just… He hated questions like this but he just—

“Someone is always going to find something wrong with you,” Sirius said. “With what you say. With what you do. My job is not to please, you know? My job is to play hockey, sure, but, really, my job is to be the person I want to be, do the things I believe are right, do the things I love. With the people I choose to love. I think that’s everyone’s job,” Sirius found Remus beyond the cameras again, along with everything he had ever wanted. He looked back to Marlene. “That took me a long time to learn. They say, have a thick skin and an open heart. Before, all I had was a thick skin. Now, I’ve found someone who can help me have both. I didn’t even realize how much I needed that.”

~

“And that was an interview with a surprisingly heartfelt Captain Sirius Black,” Lee Jordan broke off in a laugh. “Earlier this game we also got to see him telling the cameras, show the game, show the game. Pointing down at the ice. Outstanding. That’s a layer of the Captain that I don’t think we see very often. From what I hear, the dude’s funny, though, Dean. Now, let’s take a look at the Lions’ top scorers. With the Captain out, that would be Logan Tremblay, James Potter, and, that’s right, one of the oldest in the league, Pascal Dumais…”

“What is that?” Remus said, appearing in front of Sirius where he was waiting in the PT room and drawing his attention away from the television. Remus peered at his hands.

“Oh,” Sirius felt himself flush as he looked down at the cupcake wrapper, more like a tiny ball of oily paper now. “I was holding this when Logan scored, so…”

Remus laughed. “So, you had to hold it the entire period. And now it’s practically falling apart. You’re not keeping that.”

“But it—” Remus grinned as Sirius surrendered the wrapper. “Fine.”

“Hey,” Remus said, and Sirius looked up. Remus was flushed from the game, eyes bright with the win. He leaned up and kissed him hotly, then softly. Sirius had to blink a few times when he pulled away. 

“You always had an open heart,” Remus said. “That’s obvious to anyone who knows you. Who loves you.”

Sirius smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Someone cleared their throat. “Sorry…”

They looked up to see Kasey, now in just some basketball shorts. “Hi.”

“Hey, Bliz, I’m ready for you,” Remus said, then looked up at Sirius. “I can get the subway back if you wanna go home to Regulus.”

“Non, non, I’ll wait,” Sirius said, and bumped fists with Kasey on his way out.

Remus smiled after him for a moment, then at Kasey. “So, thigh?”

Kasey nodded, eyes shifting downward, then back to Remus again. “Yeah.”

Remus paused, brows drawing together. “Kasey, are you—”

“Hey, Kase?” Natalie appeared in the doorway. She had her long blonde hair drawn back in two dutch braids and a Blizzard jersey on over a gray sweatshirt with the hood spilling out. Her smile wasn’t as bright as usual.

“Hi, Remus,” she said. “Baby, I’m gonna go say hi to Marlene. Just text me when you’re all set okay?”

“Hi, Nat,” Remus said slowly.

Kasey nodded, accepting a kiss on the cheek. “Okay.”

He hopped up on the table and lay on his back while Remus got ready.

“Just the thigh that’s bothering you?” Remus said carefully. He pushed Kasey’s shorts up his thigh to get at the tense muscle and carefully began kneading the muscles. The post-game played softly on the television while Remus waited for Kasey to speak.

“Will it always be like this, Loops?” Kasey asked quietly after a few moments.

Remus looked up at where Kasey was reclining on the padded table with his fingers across his chest. Remus, if he was being honest with himself, had been waiting to have this conversation with Kasey for a while.

Kasey looked back at him. “It acts up more often than not. I can’t play if I can go down, I…I can’t—”

“I know,” Remus said softly. “I know, Kase. Look.” Remus moved down to his knee, smoothing the muscle firmly. “This injury…it’s a tough one. It takes a long time to heal. It takes time and endurance. So, my answer is no. It won’t always be like this. It just takes time.”

“What if I don’t have time?” Kasey’s voice was even quieter. “I’m a goalie. Sometimes we have less—”

“Kase,” Remus looked at him. “You’re twenty six years old. You do.”

Kasey groaned as Remus pressed his knee out to the side, loosening the muscle slowly. “Fuck.”

“We’ll do some strength training next practice, okay? We’ll make a schedule, I’ll work with you. And we have a day off tomorrow. I’ll send you some videos to do at home if you want, or you can rest.” Remus smiled a little. “Or Natalie can help you stretch.”

Kasey smiled and it seemed easier. “When you say stretch…”

Remus laughed. “That’s the point. Look, you will heal, but you also have to enjoy the rest of your life. Hockey’s everything, and not everything at the same time. I’m gonna give you some salve, okay? And then you’ll be good for the night. Rest.”

Kasey nodded. “How’s Cap doing?”

“He’s okay,” Remus said, warming up the muscle salve between his palms. “Wants to be out there with you guys.”

“We want him there,” Kasey sat up on his elbows and watched Remus’s hands. “What about baby Black?”

Remus snorted. “Good. I mean, happy he’s here. The whole Snake runaway thing is sort of up in the air. The Snakes have their lawyers on his ass about his contract, and Minnie thinks he might have to go public with some pretty horrific stories to prove that they breached it.”

“Horrific stories…”

Their eyes met somberly. “I know.”

“Jesus,” Kasey sighed as he sat up. He pushed his hair out of his face and looked down at his leg. “That feels better. I…I feel better.”

“Good. Try and stay off it as much as you can, okay? Nat loves you to death, don’t tell me she won’t get you what you need.”

“Oh, she will,” Kasey smiled and eased himself carefully off the table. “Thanks, Loops.”

“Bliz,” Remus said, and Kasey turned to look back. “You have time and life and everything else. Really.”

Kasey nodded. He smiled a serious sort of smile. “You’re right. I get in my head.”

“You’re a goalie. That’s part of the job.”

Kasey laughed, flipped him off, and closed the door behind him.

Sirius was waiting for him on one of the couches in the player’s lounge, eyes closed and beanie on his head. His shoulders looked broad in his dark winter coat and suit.

“Hi, handsome,” Remus said, leaning over Sirius with his hands resting against the back of the couch on either side of his head.

Sirius’ eyes opened and he smiled. “Salut.”

“Ready to go home?”

“Regulus says he’s out with Leo. Day off and all that,” Sirius tilted his chin up, silently asking. “House to ourselves.”

Remus pushed himself back upright. “Let’s go.”

~

“I’m glad Regulus had Leo,” Remus said as he stood in Sirius’ massive but mostly empty closet. He picked out one of Sirius’ t-shirts and sweatpants and pulled them on. “They’re both eighteen and both have a lot of pressure to deal with, even if it’s, you know, different pressure. It’s nice.”

“Yeah, I’m happy,” Sirius said as he came back into the bedroom from the bathroom. His torso looked lean in his his sweatpants, the bruising finally faded. "And thankful to Leo. He didn’t have to reach out, you know?” Sirius collapsed onto the bed with a smile, bouncing a little. “Now, let’s stop talking about my brother.”

“Nope, no bed yet. Come on.”

“Loops.”

“You want to play next week, you do this with me now. Let’s go.”

Sirius let Remus wrangle him downstairs and into the gym. Sirius put on some music and then Remus lay him out in just his sweatpants on a soft mat and led him through the breathing exercises and some of the light core work that was on his recovery plan. Sirius kept his eyes on Remus the entire time, the two of them laughing as his hands wandered to Remus’ hips. Remus had to admit that, now that Sirius wasn’t in pain, watching him spread out on the mat like this got him. His softly moving chest, his hard muscles, the shadowed curl of his hair on his temples. He let it get him, there in the privacy of Sirius’ basement. Sirius noticed.

He smiled the next time he raised up in a crunch, abs working, hands behind his head. “Maybe I could use some incentive.”

Remus raised an eyebrow from where he was by Sirius’ bent knees. “Oh?”

Sirius pushed up and held there until Remus bent so he could kiss Remus lightly, then lowered back down.

The next time he came up, he brought Remus down with him. He parted his knees so Remus could settle between them. Sirius’ chest was warm from the exercise, his heartbeat even. Remus sighed into his kisses.

“We should go easy, we have the party at Pascal’s tomorrow—”

“I’m perfect,” Sirius said, and rolled them gently so that Remus was on his back now, Sirius hovering over him. “I feel perfect. I want you so bad.”

It had been a bit of a challenge. They’d been on strict no-sex orders, given to them rather sheepishly by Sirius’ doctor while he was still in the hospital. It had been a lot of Remus trying to sneak a quick jack-off in the shower, trying not to make things harder on Sirius, only to come out of the shower to a glowering, turned-on boyfriend.

Getting the all clear had been spine-melting, and it had sort of been that way ever since. Still, sex was few and far in between. Regulus was in the house more often than not, and even if it was a big house, Remus didn’t think it was the best idea to invite him to stay only to sneak off to Sirius’ bedroom.

Regulus had received the message quickly though, and told them clearly enough when he would be out for a while.

Remus shuttered when Sirius’ hardening cock dragged across his own.

“Fuck, are we really doing this in the gym?” Remus panted out a laugh. He was already so turned on that it ached. His dick pressed insistently against the band of his sweatpants, and when Sirius next dragged his hips down, the loose fabric pulled away to expose the shiny head of his cock. Remus moaned. “Sirius, fuck…fuck, I—”

“No lube,” Sirius said. “Shit, I…”

Remus just pushed Sirius’ sweatpants down over his ass, making his cock fall free, bobbing and stiff, and tugged his own sweatpants down until his hips and thighs were exposed. Remus pushed their hips together, mouth open. It was plenty wet, Sirius cock already beginning to shine at the head.

Sirius fucked his hips forward steadily against Remus, the friction making him squeeze his eyes shut. Remus felt Sirius’ lips against his neck, and wrapped his arms around him. He felt sort of frantic with it, lazily happy with how much he loved this.

“Love you,” he murmured as Sirius pushed forward with a well-aimed thrust. “Fuck, baby, yeah…”

“Not bad for a core workout,” Sirius said into his skin.

Remus laughed, even as pleasure sparked at the edges of his vision. His cock felt heavy and sensitive against his stomach.

“Don’t overdo it,” Remus said. “Here.”

Remus pushed at Sirius’ shoulders until Sirius groaned and rolled onto his back.

“I’m fi—”

His complaints died on his tongue when Remus pressed up all along his side, cock trapped between them, and wrapped a hand around Sirius. He kept his strokes even and tight, running his fingers down over his full balls, the vein on the underside. Sirius was hot in his hand, precome thin and leaking over the back of Remus’ hand. Remus kissed Sirius, tongue sliding into his mouth, and more heat trickled over his fingers. Remus felt like he could come just like that. It was almost—surreal. He was so turned on, especially for not even having done that much. He had just been taking Sirius through his exercises one moment, and then Sirius had taken him between his thighs and he was done for.

“Re, let me,” Sirius breathed, and his fingers found his own cock for a moment before wrapping around Remus’ shoulders to reach behind him, rubbing over the swell of his ass.

Heat pooled in Remus stomach and made his hand stutter, gripping Sirius tighter. “Fuck, yes…”

Sirius’ fingers were soft and slow as they worked their way inside of Remus. It was a little dry, but Remus let his temple pitch forward onto Sirius’ chest as Sirius fingered him. He stroked Sirius slowly, dazed by the contrast between his own pale fingers and the darker, flushed skin of him. He wished he could see Sirius’ hand.

“There,” Remus gasped suddenly. “Ah—”

Sirius pressed him in gentle, slow strokes. It was different, being touched there and not his cock. Remus pushed into the feeling, his cock trapped and still between them. It wasn’t enough to do much except let Sirius’ fingers build a painfully slow pressure inside him. His eyes were lidded as he stroked Sirius’ cock until it was rock hard in his palm. He threw a leg over Sirius’ thighs so that Sirius could push into him deeper, finger curving against his prostate.

Remus just moaned.

“I’m gonna come soon, mon loup,” Sirius panted, hips straining up once, twice. “Loops—”

Remus sped up his hand, swiping his thumb over the swollen head, and then Sirius’ hips jerked. Come dripped lazily over Remus’ fingers, more and more of it, in thick white pulses. Remus’ dick throbbed at the sight, at Sirius’ fingers, tense from his orgasm, pressing hard inside of him. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them, gasping. His hand had stilled against the base of Sirius’ cock, and he could feel him pulsing there, cock throbbing through his orgasm. Sirius’ head had fallen back against the mat, his chest rising and falling quickly beneath Remus’ chest. It was a mess on his hips and Remus’ fingers.

“Fuck. Oh—” Sirius moaned as Remus started stroking him again. His cock strained valiantly, but it was spent and softening. “C’mere, Loops, fuck.”

Sirius turned into Remus, fingers twisting inside of him. It gave him a better angle, and when he moved next, he doubled down.

Remus could only hold onto his shoulders, pliant against the mat.

“Can you come like this, sweetheart?” Sirius said gently. “Just on my fingers?”

Remus already felt like he was coming. There was sweat on his temples and chest, and he felt Sirius’ kiss the salt away. His cock was taught against his stomach, an angry red now. Sirius stroked inside of him evenly, but in quicker time. Remus didn’t even have time to catch one breath before the next was stolen.

“I’m coming—” Remus said, but he knew he wasn’t. Not yet. But he was sure he was. He groaned and Sirius kissed his exposed throat, his back arched up, pressing down on him.

“C’mon, baby,” Sirius said. “Fuck, look at you.”

“I’m coming,” Remus said again, voice breaking, and the calloused pad of Sirius’ finger pressed against him hard, and then he really was. It tore out of him forever, spilling against Sirius’ tan skin. Sirius cradled Remus against him, saying soft things in French until Remus could open his eyes again. Sirius took Remus’ dick gently in his hand, easing a last shiver of pleasure from him. Remus smiled a little deliriously and curled closer to his warmth.

“Bath?” Sirius whispered.

“We gotta clean this,” Remus laughed. “Fuck, I feel like my brain is gone.”

“I’ll clean,” Sirius said, and tilted Remus’ head up for a kiss. “Go get the hot water going.”

That sounded fine to Remus.

~

Lily opened the door to Pascal’s house with Harry cradled in her arms.

“Sirius fucking Black I swear to god you triggered my labor.”

“You say that to me every time you see me.”

She stepped aside. “And will continue to do so.”

Remus stepped through the door first and took Harry from her, holding him close so that Sirius could press a kiss to one of his chubby cheeks. He wasn’t heavy, but Sirius wasn’t suppose to lift very much. Harry smiled at him and Remus watched as Sirius smiled back, murmuring in French.

“Where’s Regulus?” Lily asked.

Sirius shrugged, still making faces at Harry.

“Out with Leo,” Finn’s voice suddenly said. He was sitting on the couch with Logan tucked up against his side. “Yeah, uh-huh, Leo’s replacing us with your brother.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “That’s not true.”

Finn raised his eyebrows, as if to say he wasn’t so sure about that. Logan nudged his jaw with his nose until he pressed a light kiss to his lips. Remus smiled.

He could see the long road that was behind them and the long road ahead at the same time. It was better that way.

Most of the team was there. The living room had a huge banner that read Congratulations Logan! and beneath it a smaller one: for finally moving out of my basement! 

Sirius laughed hard. “I didn’t get one of these!”

Pascal shook his head from where he was playing cards with Sergei. “I knew you would leave eventually. This one, I wasn’t so sure.”

“Hey,” Logan groaned.

Remus laughed and snapped a picture of Sirius in front of it.

“Can I have that for my instagram?” James asked.

“Baby, too much instagram, okay, I love you so much, but…” Lily winced.

“But I have a baby now,” James stood to Remus’ other side, and then Remus had two fully grown hockey players making baby talk surrounding him. “That’s what instagram’s for. Isn’t it, my little lion?”

Harry laughed delightedly at his father.

Kasey and Natalie were sitting on the couch beside Logan and Finn. Natalie had Kasey sitting between her legs on the floor, fingers running through his hair as she talked to them. Kasey seemed to be talking very seriously about something with Katie, who seemed to be wearing three princess dresses at the same time. She was sitting in his lap and he was nodding along, responding whenever she waited for him to.

Remus handed Harry back to Lily when they went into the kitchen to get drinks. Celeste was in the kitchen with Anya, and Thomas seemed to be helping, too, along with Noelle.

When Sirius said he was surprised to see her, she waved him off, taking a sip of her wine. “I’m the resident Tremblay sister representative. We were all pretty worried about Lolo for a minute there, but…” she smiled. “If only we knew. Not one boy, but two. Plus,” she looked over at Thomas, who was focusing intently on what Celeste was saying and stirring on the stove. “I have my own reasons.”

“Talkie’s a good one,” Remus said. “You lucked out there.”

“Right?” Noelle laughed, then nodded at Sirius. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” Remus and Sirius said at the same time.

Noelle laughed again, and then her expression became more mild. “And…” she looked towards the living room, where they could distinctly hear Logan’s laugh. “I know none of this was easy for you two, but I’m happy you were there for my brother. Maybe not in the way you wanted to be…in the way any of us wanted…but you showed him it was okay to be who he is. I think Finn would have gotten to him eventually but I think it would have taken a lot longer. I’m glad he’s happy now. And that’s largely thanks to you two.”

“The delicious smells of success,” Thomas suddenly sang out, slightly off-key. “Breathe in the delicious smells of success, hey, Christmas, come over here and look at this goodness.”

Noelle laughed. “Oh, I’m already looking at it.” She sent Remus and Sirius a last smile. “Anyway, I said my piece.”

Remus laughed as she returned to Thomas’ side, tucking herself against him.

“That was sweet,” he said and rubbed his hand gently over Sirius’ chest, sort of out of habit by now. He could feel the bandages there.

Sirius kissed Remus’ temple. “Yeah.”

“Sirius, mon cher,” Celeste kissed Sirius’ cheek when she came over from the stove. “You are okay? Of course you are, Remus is with you. No more big empty house and take out meals, oui?”

Sirius laughed. “Way to sell me out.”

Remus snorted. “Like everyone didn’t already know.”

Celeste laughed. “C’est vrai.” She sighed, patting Sirius’ chest, near his ribs. “I am still so angry about Grayback, honestly.”

“Aren’t we all,” Pascal said, coming over. Celeste wrapped an arm around him.

“You and me both,” Sirius said, taking a sip of his wine. “But it’s over. I have to let it be over or else I’ll go insane.”

“You’ll be back out there soon,” Pascal said.

Sirius smiled. “Only thanks to Loops.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “It’s you who does the hard part.”

Pascal laughed. “As if getting this boy to do what he’s told isn’t the hard part.”

Remus laughed. “Hm, true.”

“Celeste, the goodness looks ready to me,” Thomas called over from the stove.

Celeste laughed and leaned back towards the doorway to the living room.

“Dinner, everyone!” she called.

It only took a few moments for the kitchen to become crowded with people lining up with their plates.

“Hey,” Evgeni bee-lined between them for the wine bottle, but stopped on the way to give Remus a kiss on both cheeks. “Get Captain laid, no more grumpy.”

“Kuny,” Remus said.

Nado, behind him as always, cracked up. Sirius laughed, too.

“Merde, Kuns,” he said. “Subtle.”

“Very,” Regulus’ wry voice suddenly said from behind them as he and Leo entered the kitchen.

“Just in time!” Celeste said, handing them both plates. “Where have you boys been?”

Leo shrugged. “Just—hi, sweetheart,” he cut off as Finn wrapped his arms around his waist. “Just touring around Gryf. Got lunch.”

“Yeah, Sid’s is the best,” Regulus said.

Sirius spluttered mid way through serving himself dinner. “I told you that.”

“So?”

“So, you believe Leo and not me?”

Leo grinned. Regulus shrugged.

Remus spent most of dinner holding baby Harry and watching Sirius tickle his tummy while he laughed. James looked ready to cry at the sight. Lily took him back to be fed when they moved to sit around the living room with dessert, but Remus didn’t mind. He just leaned back into Sirius’ chest, happy with his team around him.

Logan looked red in the face from all the jokes implying why he was so eager to move in with Leo and Finn. Adele had stuck close to him all evening, sitting on his free side. Logan had his arm around her. Remus had overheard him assuring her that he’d be over to visit all the time, which he thought was unbearably sweet. Leo looked resigned and amused to the teasing, and Finn just looked thoroughly pleased, sitting between them with an arm around each.

Remus felt a kiss being placed on his neck.

“Maybe we could celebrate more than one move tonight,” Sirius said into Remus’ ear.

Remus held Sirius’ arms across his chest, turning to look at him. “What?”

Sirius just smiled and pulled Remus out of the living room and into the butler’s pantry of the kitchen. He took Remus’ hands in his warm ones. “You should move in with me.”

Remus took a slow breath in.

Sirius slid his hands up Remus’ forearms. “I want you to move in with me.”

“Baby…”

“Besides,” Sirius smiled. “Your mom will be coming to town soon with any luck,” Sirius knocked gently on the wooden cupboard behind Remus’ head with a smile. “Better not to disappoint her.”

Remus laughed, reaching up to press his hands to Sirius’ cheeks. “Better not.”

Sirius leaned down to nudge their noses together. “Live with me. You sort of already do, and I…I love it so much. I love having you near.”

Remus nodded. “Yes.” He kissed him once, and again, and again. “Yeah, I want to.”

Sirius smiled into their next kiss, and that was how Logan found them.

“Alors,” he said, hands up. “Sorry. Just got sent in for some more wine. God knows I need it.”

Remus flushed and laughed as Logan reached down for a bottle from the wine fridge.

“Carry on.”

“Oops,” Sirius snorted when they were alone again.

“I’ll have to get a car,” Remus mused as Sirius hugged him against his chest. Sirius lived just outside the city center. “No more subways and city walking from out here.”

“I’ll buy you whatever car you want.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Sirius squeezed him closer. “It’s what I said. I want to. What else do you want? Tell me.”

Remus smiled and tilted his chin up to look at him. “You.”

~

It had been hard, saying goodbye to Sirius for the short road trip to Vegas. It was strange going without him.

“Force him to keep doing his exercises,” Remus had told Regulus firmly.

“Will do,” Regulus saluted.

“Miss you already,” Sirius had said softly when he dropped Remus off at departures.

“Just a few days,” Remus kissed his across the seats, and then kissed his new star necklace. “They’ll win.”

“Shh,” Sirius laughed gently.

Remus just smiled. “You’ll see."

Remus was in the visitor’s PT room, making sure it was well-stocked. Just in case. Moody was already in there, leaning against the table and watching the pre-game. He greeted Remus with a nod, and Remus pulled out a box of supplies to sort through while listening.

“—first time the Lions will be on the ice with Fenrir Grayback who, as we all know, received a two game suspension after a hard hit on Lions Captain Sirius Black, breaking four of his ribs. We know that the Lions organization was especially not happy about the lack of severity shown by the League. I suppose we may see what the players have to say about this tonight. I expect the Lions will push especially hard for a win in honor of their wounded Captain—not to mention that winning this game would secure them a spot in this year’s Stanley Cup play-offs. Marc-André Fleury is back with his rainbow stick tape, his second time showing support for Black. It’s nice to see. Let’s take a look at who else we’re watching tonight. First, we’ll talk about Logan Tremblay…”

“One game,” Moody grumbled. “One game.”

“One game,” Remus repeated. “Sirius really wanted to be out there tonight.”

“I don’t think Grayback knows what’s coming for him now that he isn’t,” Moody laughed gruffly. “You saw those boys when he took Sirius out. They’re fresh out of a day-off now. Rested, furious, determined.” Moody tilted his head. “I feel good things in my leg.”

Remus laughed. “Well, thank God.”

Sirius was sitting with his brother on the large, leather couch in his TV den, anxious and waiting for the second period to resume. The commercials were muted and he was waiting for Regulus to work his way up towards saying whatever it was that he was holding back. Sirius could tell there was something.

“Your house is ridiculous,” Regulus said around his Chinese takeout—not for the first time.

“I was young,” Sirius said defensively. “I thought buying a house like this was, like, required.”

“Stupide,” Regulus snorted.

“—a nasty hit on Finn O’Hara by Ryan Reaves, but he seems okay,” the commentator said, replaying the hit, and Sirius tensed. He didn’t need a replay of that. They cut back to commercials again.

“Do you think they can actually force me to go back?” Regulus said suddenly.

When Sirius looked over he was poking mildly at his noodles.

“I won’t let them do that.”

Regulus rolled his eyes. “You’re Sirius Black, not God.”

“I won’t let them do that,” Sirius said again. “Tu comprends? I will not. And Minnie won’t either.”

“Maman says—”

Sirius sat up. “You’ve been talking to her?”

“I have to sometimes,” Regulus grumbled. “Legal stuff. Minnie’s always there.”

“It doesn’t matter what she says. She is—”

“Yes, I know what she is,” Regulus snapped. “I’ve been living with her—until a few months ago, in case you forgot.” He glowered around the room. “While you were in your big fancy house…”

Sirius blinked. “Reg…”

“I’m not—mad at you. I was, but I’m not. I mean, I’m doing what you did, aren’t I? Making a better life, damn the consequences?” Regulus sighed. “There are other Snakes who want out, you know.”

Sirius sat up. “Like…witnesses? Reg, you could compile a case.”

“They’re worried they’ll never get back into the League,” Regulus said. “I’m trying, but…I don’t know, Sirius.”

Sirius’ heart ached. He looked down at his chicken and rice. “I wish I could tell you what to do.”

Regulus looked at him, gray on gray, and nodded. “I know.” He glanced at the TV. “We’re back.”

Sirius secretly liked that. Looking at the Lions play with his brother, and hearing him say we.

“O’Hara didn’t need any help getting up, even if he looked a little rattled. Now, speaking from experience, I don’t know about you, Lee, but I was waiting for O’Hara’s line mate, Logan Tremblay to have something to say about it…Tremblay did not challenge Reaves, though.”

They were lining up for puck drop, James at the center against—

Grayback.

“You know, Dean, I think that’s a testament to these young Lions, really all the Lions. They call them the cubs, you know. You can tell how much they want this. They band together, they listen, they work…I think it’s pretty rare to see such fine communication in an entire team.”

Grayback won the face off.

“Fuck,” Regulus breathed.

Sirius wished he was there, standing beside Remus, on the bench, jumping the boards—anything. Instead, he was sitting on the couch, eating take-out. Helpless.

The entire first period, and the majority of this one had been back and forth. The score was still 0-0. They were fighting. Hard. Fenrir passed it to Tuch, who knocked it over to Engelland. Engelland took a hard shot, and Leo caught it in his glove.

“Another amazing save by Knut,” Dean said. “Rookie goal tender Leo Knut has blocked 29 shots in this game so far, most of them with his glove. I love seeing that sort of technique from the younger players, you know?”

“Absolutely Dean. And it looks to me like Coach Weasley is giving the Blizzard, Kasey Winter, a nice long rest as he looks ahead to hopefully a long and successful playoff run.”

Sirius leaned forward as play started up again. Evgeni barreled against Reaves and Fenrir, evading a two-on-one with a slick pass to Nado. It was hard hockey—it looked a little like play-off hockey. Brutal, hard-hitting, and determined.

It stayed like that until half way through the third.

“Fucking hell,” Regulus said. “How does this game still have no score?”

Sirius shook his head. His heart was in his throat. He had texted Remus at the second intermission.

Boys are fired as hell, Remus had said. Good feelings. They don’t even seem tired.

Harzy okay? he had said.

Yes. Then, a minute later. Boasting that you’re checking on him XD

That reassurance was the only thing keeping Sirius sane.

“We have to break their defense,” Sirius was half watching the battle on the ice and half running through plays in his mind. The clock read twelve minutes.

Sirius could have laughed. He pressed his necklace pendant between his palms, his steepled fingers against his mouth. He wasn’t religious. He just wanted this. For all of them.

Pascal’s line was out.

“Come on Dumo,” Sirius said.

Sirius watched Pascal and Fenrir line up for the face off with tense shoulders. He waited, and waited, and then the referee was straightening again, looking at Pascal and pointing away.

“Fuck,” Sirius cursed. “He’s kicking Dumo out of the circle.”

“I wonder what he said.”

Sirius silently begged Pascal to be careful.

Brady took Pascal’s place. He won the face off, and Sirius and Regulus shouted.

He passed it easily to Pascal, who dragged it along the boards.

“What’s he going so slow for?” Regulus demanded, fist hitting the couch.

Sirius only saw what was coming next because of the TV angle.

Pascal had his head down, and Fenrir was skating hard towards him on the ice.

Sirius and Regulus were on their feet in a second, shouting at the television. They couldn’t warn him.

Sirius couldn’t even breathe properly. It seemed to go on in slow motion, all of it. Pascal, his—his father, really, his protector. The man who had taken him right from under his mother’s grasp. Pascal who knew him better than anyone. Maybe even Remus.

Fenrir was obviously going in for the hit. He was probably confident that he could get away with it again. Just like he had with Remus. With Sirius. If he so much as touched Dumo—

But he underestimated Pascal Dumais just like had last time.

Pascal, puck on his stick, let Fenrir get closer, and closer, and then deked right. He spun on his right blade harshly and kicked off the boards like a goalie did on a goal post. The effect was that he went rocketing out of the way, right towards the Golden Knights’ goal, and Fenrir slammed into the boards with his own full-force.

The game didn’t pause for him. It only stopped when the goal lit up red as Pascal shot a clean line into the top left corner of the net.

Six minutes and three seconds remaining. 1-0, Lions. The Lions bench was on their feet, sticks banging against the boards as Pascal skated down for glove taps. The TV showed his familiar face, smiling. He looked into the camera for a moment, and Sirius swore Pascal was looking right at him.

He won’t get you again, the look said. Pascal tussled Remus’ hair with his glove. Or any of us.

Six minutes felt like six hours, longer and longer with each one of Leo’s saves. They showed his face during an offside whistle. He tilted his helmet up for some water. His blonde hair was darkened and drenched with sweat, but his blue eyes were fierce. He tapped his mask back down, and went back into a crouch. Sirius had never been so proud of Leo fucking Knut.

Shots were traded ferociously, the puck practically bouncing between the zones. Leo saved it with his blocker, a few bouncing off of his helmet, some dangerously close to his neck guard. He pushed off one post and dropped into a full split, the puck sliding snugly against his pad until he scooped it up like a hawk.

“Fucking hell, Leo,” Regulus mumbled.

“Right,” Sirius said. “Merde.”

Three minutes. James had four shots that very nearly went in. Logan had five close-calls. They were panting on the bench, squirting cold water down their necks, but they were keeping the score. They were protecting their lead.

Two minutes.

The Golden Knights pulled their goalie, the net was empty, and still no one scored again.

When the buzzer finally sounded, Sirius was breathing like he was on the ice, too.

The bench exploded, spilling out onto the ice. Finn threw his gloves into the air right before Logan crashed into him.

They had won the game with one goal, and three periods of sheer will-power.

Sirius hugged Regulus hard. He watched as his boys jumped on each other against the boards, knocking Leo’s helmet for his shut-out and grinning. They were clinched.

They were going to the playoffs.

#sweater weather #lumosinlove #sweater weather lumosinlove #lumosinlove sweater weather #coops #wolfstar #wolfstar fic #lumosinlove oc #lumosinlove ocs #o'knutzy #Thomas walker #Kasey winter #harry potter #Harry Potter fic

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

Tfp Feral baby Soundwave Au (I seen the other post and I now will Ride or die for it) Cons and Bots reaction the now Gremlin Baby version of Soundwave

Megatron is unamused. His most competent and loyal follower has been turned into a useless sparkling. This is not a good situation. For now the focus is on turning Soundwave back to normal. Until then Megatron will have nothing to do with his TIC since he has no patience for sparklings.

Starscream, meanwhile, is very much amused. Oh this is hilarious. Emotionless, stoic Soundwave, turned into a sparkling. It’s better than anything he could ever have imagined. Teased Soundwave so damn much and then acts surprised when he harasses him back.

Knockout finds it kinda funny but ultimately just tiring. Sigh, he knows he’s gonna have to help figure out how to solve this mess. Just what he needed, more work. At least Soundwave is still quiet as a sparkling so he doesn’t have to worry about him having a screaming fit.

Breakdown finds it even funnier than Knockout and he can’t help but get charmed by sparkling Soundwave. He’s just so tiny and cute! The only decepticon on the Nemesis that knows how to handle sparklings and it shows. Holds Soundwave more than anyone else.

Shockwave only finds this a waste of time. Rather than focus on his research, now he has to find a way to reverse the transformation. If it had been Starscream this had happened to then Shockwave wouldn’t even have tried helping him. Soundwave is at least worth the effort.

Dreadwing is bothered by the situation. Soundwave is a strong and capable mech and him being in this state is a really bad thing for the decepticons. He hopes that the situation will be resolved soon so things can go back to normal. Otherwise he tries to avoid sparkling Soundwave.

Airachnid sees an opportunity. While in this state, she can easily take his role as third in command. All he has to do is get rid of the little pest. This is harder than he initially thought it would be since sparkling Soundwave is a menace and won’t stop crawling on the walls in the vents.

Optimus is instantly charmed by little Soundwave. Yes, he knows that this is the TIC of the decepticons but look at him, he’s a baby. Blissfully blind to what a menace Soundwave is to everyone and treats him like his own son, even as Soundwave is trying to rip his fingers off.

Ratchet is fucking tired. Just what they needed. A sparkling. A sparkling that also happens to be the decepticon TIC. Fucking great. Yes, Ratchet is fond of sparklings but that doesn’t extend to those that have committed war crimes and killed a lot of his comrades.

Bumblebee laughs. Oh look at the little baby! So tiny! So cute! So- ow! It tried to rip his mouthguard off! Ok little Soundwave, if that’s how you wanna play it. Still thinks sparkling Soundwave is cute but now he’s on his guard, not trusting this little brat to not do any harm.

Bulkhead is like “what the fuck?” and continues to feel like this the entire time. That’s... Soundwave. But he’s a sparkling. How the fuck did this happen? Should he still treat him like a decepticon or as a sparkling? Should he put him in a cell? Play with him? WHAT IS HE SUPPOSED TO DO???

Arcee distrust sparkling Soundwave. He might not be able to kill them right now but that doesn’t mean he’s harmless. Her suspicious are confirmed when he tries to push Jack down some stairs. That sparkling is evil! Keeps an eye on him the entire time so he won't do anymore harm.

Smokescreen teases Soundwave a lot. Not out of menace but because he thinks this whole situation is just funny. Soundwave retaliates by slashing his tires. Now Smokescreen doesn’t think this is funny anymore. This means war. Joins Arcee’s side. THAT SPARKLING IS EVIL!

Wheeljack just leaves. Nope, he ain’t dealing with this shit. If it was just regular Soundwave then he could fight him but Soundwave as a sparkling? He ain’t got no fucking clue how to deal with that. Besides, he’s never been good with sparklings anyway so this whole situation makes him uncomfortable.

Ultra Magnus puts little Soundwave on a makeshift child leash. It works for about 10 minutes before Soundwave wriggles out of it and runs way to wreak havoc. Ultra Magnus is so stressed out. There’s nothing in the Autobot code about what to do when your enemy transforms into a sparkling.

#transformers imagine #transformers prime #sparkling #soundwave #megatron #starscream #knockout #breakdown #shockwave #dreadwing #airachnid #optimus prime #ratchet #bumblebee #bulkhead #arcee #smokescreen #wheeljack #ultra magnus

[darker-soft-starker]

Starker High School AU, Pt.1 (Pt.2, Pt.3, Pt.4, Pt.5)

tw: enemies-to-lovers, swearing, mentions of fighting

----

Peter’s day started like most others. 

The nearby screech of his alarm startles him into the waking world. Without opening his eyes, he fumbles against his bedside table to grab his phone, smacking himself in the face in his haste to silence it.

It’s always a Herculean effort to get up before the sun does, and today is no different. Squinting against the grey morning light, Peter contemplates simply closing his eyes and going back to sleep. The thought is tempting, the pull of sleep still in his limbs. 

Instead, he resigns himself to the day and slips out of bed, reaching for his glasses and propping them on his face.

Through finger-smudged lenses his phone say’s five-thirty-four, which in itself is an affront, but he’s comforted that it’s a Friday and respite isn’t far off. This weekend will be spent sleeping, playing video games and eating cinnamon poptarts until he succumbs to a blissful food coma.

He can’t freakin’ wait. 

Hearing his aunt rouse the room over, Peter gathers his clothes and hurries to the shower. The November chill bites as his bare feet touch the floor and he shivers, cursing the lack of heating in his apartment. It’s positively freezing. 

The hot water is nice while he showers, but it’s much worse when he gets out, still wet as he tiptoes back to his bedroom. Fruitlessly, he bangs the old iron radiator in the hall with his fist as he passes it, because it does little more than encourage a groan from the ancient equipment.

Back in his bedroom, Peter hums as slips on his sweats and sneakers and readies himself for the day against the tune of an awakening neighborhood, spraying himself with probably too much deodorant in the process. 

Finished, Peter puts his glasses back on and in the window he inspects his reflection. He smiles. 

It’s Friday.

It’s gonna be a great day.

----

To no-ones shock but his own, his affirmation was proving true.

So far, Peter actually was having a great day.

Because it was late November but the sun was shining so splendidly that it quickly froze the frost from the windows. A small miracle occurred when he found a scrunched twenty dollar note stashed in the pocket of his jacket - and with it he treated himself up a packet of Lays, a red bull and a sandwich from Delmars

And for once, he wasn’t late to training.

For the early hour that he arrives, the school is near empty, save for the male locker room which is slowly teeming with a slow drip of weary-eyed boys. Yawning, Peter dumps his backpack and retrieves his mouthguard, sharing commiserative glances with his zombie-eyed teammates. It’s truly an ungodly hour to be at school.

But, despite his drowsiness, Peter doesn’t mind the early mornings so much, probably more accustomed to it than the rest. It sucks, but he’s happy to get the training out of the way -- it makes time for after school priorities like Robotics and chess club. 

He slaps Barnes’ on the back when they file out, jogging to get ahead. Like his heater, his friend groans in response.

Coach Danvers is already there when they arrive, her arms crossed over her chest. Peter approaches the field with a growing sense of weariness, augmented by the flat line her mouth forms as they near.

Once the team is assembled, Coach clears her throat loudly for their attention.

“Look alive, boys,” she raises her voice. “Good morning. I’d like you to welcome back Wilson and Rogers, who, as you may recall, were suspended from training for three weeks.”

Suspended completely from school grounds was more accurate, Peter thinks, clapping along as cheers erupt around him, the remarks are met with fervent enthusiasm for their return. Someone whistles and he looks to the source, spotting the two boys in question in receipt of fist-bumps and back-slaps from the team.

Rogers and Wilson rarely did anything in isolation of one another. They were attached at the hip. It was probably the reason that they were both involved in a fist-fight with a couple of other juniors a few weeks prior. 

Peter’s happy to see them back. They’re great guys, have always been good to him. And whilst he steadfastly abhors needless violence, Peter finds himself in a grey area to judge the circumstances. He wasn’t there, doesn’t know what the fight was about. What he does know is that they were both damn lucky they weren’t kicked off the team.

It’s probably because the board knows they wouldn’t win another game without them. 

Lucky for the team.

“Enough,” Coach snaps. “We play Kingston next week, six days! You look like you want to play hopscotch instead of football. Do you want to play hopscotch?”

“No, coach,” the team settles, echoing in unison. Danvers slowly circles the group, eyeing each of them down as they fall into line. Peter keeps his gaze fixed to the goal posts on the near horizon to avoid her furious gaze.

“Doesn’t look like it. Are you sure?”

“Yes, coach!”

“Well, color me shocked. Maybe you want to hold hands and paint each others fingernails? Well, guess what, boys - I do not care what you want. What I want -- and what you should want -- is to not give Principal Fury a reason why we’ve lost another match. So you,” she points at Rogers, “and all of you juvenile delinquents,” she gestures to the crowd, “keep the violence to the field. Am I clear?”

“Yes, coach!”

“Great,” she brings her whistle to her mouth. “Gassers until I say stop or until you pass out, starting now. Move!”

Her whistle sounds sharply and, at faced with the fury of her stare, the team scatters across the field.

No one more so than Peter, who flees to the hard edge of the field at her command and commences running, feeling every chomp of the frigid, late fall air in his chest.

Coach Danvers was a hardass. But if anyone could convince Fury to not kick two of their best players off the team, it was her.

Peter had well well and truly worked up a sweat by the time the whistle was blown again and the team was split into three to run drills.

He was wishing he hadn’t eaten the whole sandwich from earlier when Quill rams his shoulder into his stomach for the third time, bile rising in his throat. He powers through it but by the time coach blows her whistle again to switch to the next drill, he’s feeling green, sunburnt and sweaty.

Which wouldn’t be so bad, if a small crowd of students hadn’t rocked up early, relaxing on the bleachers to watch the training.

Amongst them were a group of juniors who were smoking and laughing to themselves. They gave Peter the finger when he ran past, but he ignored them. 

“You suck, Parker!” 

The colour commentary from this particular group wasn’t uncommon, but Peter didn’t care. He’d heard worse from Flash in middle school -- and they were good friends now.

Not that Peter wasn’t paying attention. Because also perched upon the steps was a group of seniors, specifically, a fair-haired boy that made Peter’s heart do funny things in his chest. 

As Peter ran his laps, the aforementioned boy descended the stairs. He leans across the fencing separating the seats and the field and smiles at Peter when he looks over.

Peter would blush, were his face not already pink with exertion.

The boy’s name is Thor.

Well, that’s what his friends call him. Peter isn’t actually sure of his full name but he does know that Thor is a senior and an exchange student from somewhere in Europe. 

Thor started at their school in September, qualified immediately for their varsity team and is a super sweet guy. 

His locker gets stuck sometimes. It just takes elbow grease, but once, Thor noticed him struggling to open it and didn’t hesitate to hurry over to help. He had it opened in a matter of seconds and had smiled just like he did now. Peter has been smitten ever since. 

Any lingering doubts he’d had over the summer regarding his bisexuality were swiftly and resolutely confirmed as soon as he saw the older boy striding down the halls, a head taller than anyone else, smile a mile wide, accent like liquid gold.

He’s just so pretty. And nice. 

Feeling Thor’s eyes on him, self-consciousness creeps over Peter as he continues his laps. But he channels it, using the opportunity to prove himself, maybe impress the other boy, running faster despite the burn in his lungs and thighs. 

Come on, Parker, keep going.

He looks over again. Every time he does Thor is looking at him - at Peter - and maybe it really is his lucky day. He keeps pushing himself to go faster, harder until his heart is throbbing in his ears. The next time he looks over though, Thor is lifting his sweater over his head. 

The action makes his undershirt ride up, revealing a tantalising strip of bare, hard skin.

Peter trips, hitting the ground hard.

Motherfuck.

There is immediate, raucous laughter by the bleachers as he groans and picks himself up, body protesting. He spits out grass on the ground, dazedly noticing the smoking kids, Stark and Rhodes, clapping at Peter’s performance.

Setting back into a jog as his face flames, Peter refuses to look over again to see if Thor noticed.

That would be just his luck.

----

By first period a deep, purple bruise is blooming on his chin and knees. There’s a graze on his cheek from the fall and his jaw feels like it did when he first got braces in fifth grade, stiff as hell and sensitive to the touch.

Shuri laughs at him when he sits beside her.

“That bad?” Peter asks, flinching when she takes his jaw in hand to inspect the damage.

“It’s not like you can get any uglier,” she remarks, turning his head from side to side. “It’s fine, just maybe don’t smile at small children. What happened -- did you try to rescue another old woman?”

“No,” he sighs, pulling back, embarrassed. “I fell at training this morning and ate dirt. I got distracted.”

“That’s a first.”

His cheeks heat.

“Yeah, well.” He leans in closer to whisper, eyes darting around the room. “Thor was there. He said hi to me.”

“That’s it? He said hi?”

“Well, kinda. He smiled at me. Like, he looked directly at me and bam, blinded by the light. And then he did this thing with his shirt --”

Shuri’s eyes go wide but whatever she has to say is curbed by the arrival of their teacher. She pulls out her notebook and points at him with her pen. “New low,” she whispers. “What the fuck, PP.”

Peter shrugs.

Her disdain is evident and Peter can’t help but smile, even as it pulls his injuries.

His fortune again turns, receiving top marks for the last assignment and his teacher wasn’t even that mad when he was caught texting during class. Maybe it was the split lip or the sorry state of his nose that inspired pity from the faculty, but he wasn’t about to test his luck.

He clearly wasn’t going to get through to college through his prowess at football, so he pockets his phone, apologises sheepishly and sticks his head into his books. 

Maybe he replays the moment in his head as he takes notes, filled with equal measures of shame and giddiness.

At least May would be satisfied that his glasses were preserved from damage and wouldn’t have to buy a new pair.

By the time class ends, his face is well and truly throbbing. He winces when he yawns, prompting Shuri to roll her eyes at him as they head into the halls.

“You’re so embarrassing,” she says, knocking their hips together as they weave through students on their way to the bio labs.

“Pity me. I’m wounded.”

“Oh I pity you alright,” she says distractedly, nodding to the far end of the hall. “Hey, look. Stark and Rhodes are back from suspension.”

Peter looks over.

Stark is talking to some girl, leaning against the lockers while Rhodes tries to pull him away, presumably towards their next class. 

Peter shakes his head, recalling their antics that morning. “Yeah, I noticed. Stark should have been expelled. He started that fight.”

“Uhh, don’t even. Rogers threw the first punch,” Shuri reasons, waving to both boys as they pass. 

“Semantics.”

“That’s a big boy word.”

“I’m a big boy.”

Shuri pokes his grazed cheek.

“Sure you are.”

----

The next few periods passed without a hitch. 

But the best part of all came during lunch.

It was Mac’n’Cheese day. The best day of the week -- well, the only day of the week that Peter can afford cafeteria food, if he was honest, but he sure made it count. 

Fortuitously, MJ had gotten there early enough to secure their group a table together and the lunchlady that was sweet on Peter had given him an extra scoop of the gooey pasta, to his delight. Maybe it really was his lucky day, he thinks, taking a spot at the table.

That would be a first.

He’d been riding on the high of his morning, gracelessly shovelling the cheesy goodness into his gullet when it happened.

“Don’t look now,” Natasha says to his left. “Wonderboy is coming through.”

Peter looks up at the exact moment Thor strides past their table, catching his eye.

The other boy grins roguishly at him. His teeth are so white. 

“Hey there, Pete,” he waves, nodding to the rest of the table and moving on

“H-Hey, Thor,” he swallow roughly, waving back. “H-Hows it going?”

Thor already having moved on, doesn’t respond, and for the butterflies beating against his stomach, Peter doesn’t even care.  He smiles down at his pasta, heart racing a mile a minute. Wow.

“Hey, Thor,” Shuri imitates him. 

Peter swallows, ignoring her, cheeks going pink. “He knows my name. Oh my god. He knows my name.”

“Who cares, the whole school knows your name,” MJ says, without looking up from her textbook. 

Shuri points her fork at her in agreement. “Yes. Thor’s a meathead. You can do better.”

“No he can’t,” Ned disagrees. "Have you seen that guy? His biceps are like bowling balls.”

Bucky parks himself between Steve and Natasha, throwing an arm around them both. He puts on a high voice, fluttering his eyelashes. “Who, Thor? I heard he’s a model for Burberry.”

“I heard he does Adidas commercials in Norway,” Natasha adds.

“And he’s quarterback of the varsity team,” Flash finishes.

MJ blinks. 

“And?”

“He’s got a four-point-oh,” Peter says dreamily. 

He stops paying attention, eyes going unfocused as he imagines their next interaction. Maybe Thor will ask him out, god willing. He imagines Thor and himself graduating as Valedictorians in their respective years, throwing their caps high into the sky and embracing. Their classmates will clap as they kiss. Maybe they’ll then spend the summer in Thor’s hometown, wherever that is. Peter doesn’t know, but maybe it has rolling green hills, cute cobblestone roads and snow-capped mountains, maybe they’ll go on horse rides and picnics where Thor will surprise Peter and propose and --

Someone snorts behind Peter, shattering the illusion.

Peter turns in his chair to find one Tony Stark grinning wickedly, apparently eavesdropping.

“What,” he prompts, frowning when that elicits a wider smile from the other boy, his dark and unkempt hair falling across his forehead in front of his eyes.

“Nothin’,” Tony tucks his wayward strands behind his ear. “I mean, well. Just that you said he’s got a four-point-oh.”

“And?”

Tony shrugs. He holds his pinkie up to his face and wriggles it.

“And I dunno, Parker. Gotta say; You seen him in the showers? Four is a little generous, don’t you think? More like three.”

Peter stares.

Tony tilts his head, conceding.

“O-kay, three and a half.”

Peter rolls his eyes. This guy is freaking bent.

“Well, that’s three and a half more that he’s got on you, Stark. Mind your own business.” he turns back around to the table. MJ, across from him, has her lips pursed in an attempt to hide her smile. 

“S’gotta be the steroids,” is what he hears Tony say to his friends before they start to snicker. “Seriously -- you seen that guys’ balls? No? Neither have I. Not for a lack of trying.”

Peter ignores him. 

Tony Stark is prickly. A smartass, although he’s rarely antagonistic -- unless it’s towards Peter and his team mates, of course. 

Peter doesn’t really get why. It doesn’t serve him to spend longer moments of musings on someone who clearly hates him, but thinks Steve and Tony used to be friends before falling out at some point, way before Peter came to the high school and joined the JV team. 

Like he does with everyone, Peter had tried to befriend Tony at first, but it quickly became clear that the other boy had no interest in making nice, sneering at every pleasantry and effort. Before long, Peter’s extended hand of friendship became a clenched fist.

Rhodes and Potts, his friends, seem to be reasonable. Cordial that borders on unfriendly, sure, but reasonable. 

Tony, however, seems to get a kick out of the perpetual disharmony. 

Whatever, Peter scoops up the last of his pasta, chewing it with a pleased sigh. It doesn’t matter. Propping his chin on his hand, he replays the exchange with Thor over again in his mind, heart racing all over again.

This is the best day ever. 

Not even Tony Stark can bring him down today.

-----

Peter Parker wouldn’t consider himself a religious person or a believer in a higher power. He was scientific, clinical. Rarely did he attribute his fortunes -- or misfortunes as it were -- to anything other than deterministic chaos.

But there was something called Parker Luck, as his Aunt called it. Whilst evidence of it was purely anecdotal, it was a theory Peter believed in whole heartedly.

He might not have hard proof, but all the trends in his life end in the same answer.

Parker Luck. It’s a thing.

----

Fortune, momentarily swings his way again during History. 

Mr Jacobs, their regular teacher with a stiff upper-lip, is off sick and the sub lets them have an independent study period, which is code for doing fuck all. 

He doesn’t have any friends in this class so he utilises the time finishing his math homework and doodling in his notebook. If he draws a few hearts with his own initials and those of a certain exchange student, then, well, that’s his business.

By the time he’s in Economics, his final class of the day, Peter is feeling pretty damn good.

He takes his usual seat in the back row next to Natasha, dropping his books on the table with a thud. The noise awakens Jake, the stoner guy, who sits on his other side. Peter offers him a smile as he takes his seat.

This should be good.

While Economics holds no special place in his heart, Miss Ahn is by far his favorite teacher. She’s young, late twenties, Peter thinks, and is one of the more approachable teachers in the faculty. She worked for some big deal accounting firm before she found her calling in teaching and has always been good to Peter.

She watches the kids as they file in and smiles at them as they take their seats. In her hand she’s holding a Met’s cap (another reason for Peter to adore her) which, upon inspection, to be full of folded pieces of paper.

When she has the attention of the room she greets the class and takes attendance. Curiously, nothing is said about the hat afterwards as she walks around the room, offering the hat to each student and allowing them to withdraw a single piece of paper.

Bewildered, Peter watches his peers and their increasing confusion as they open their pieces until it’s his turn.

He takes one out of her hat and opens it with uncertainly.

He unfolds it. It reads: middle-school art teacher.

Peter frowns.

He peers over to Natasha, whose expression mirrors his own.

“Great, that’s everyone!” Miss Ahn nods and returns to the front of the room to lean back on her desk. A slow smile spreads on her face and Peter, for the first time in her classroom, feels dread creep up his spine.

“So,” she claps, “building on our discussion last week we were talking microeconomics versus macroeconomics, I mentioned an assignment. Who remembers?”

The class collectively groans.

“I know, I know, it’s a hard knock life. But, it’s not going to be that bad, i promise. You might find it fun. Mr Barnes, what does yours say?”

In front of Peter’s desk, he watches Bucky unfold his paper, pausing.

“...Personal trainer?”

“Great. And yours, Mr Wilson?”

In the second row, Sam frowns at his paper. “Therapist.”

Miss Ahn seems pleased, pointing at the two.

“Congrats, you two are partners for the next week. You’re married, you have no children. But you holiday twice a year and have a mortgage.”

“I’m sorry,” Barnes glances between Wilson and their teacher. “We what?”

She addresses the class as a whole.

“You two, as you all are once you are partnered, are to prepare an annual budget for your fictional household. This is the microeconomics portion of the assignment.”

“Are you saying I’m fake-married to this clown?” Sam gestures with his thumb, displeasure written all over his face.

Peter snorts as their teacher nods.

“Right! Just for two weeks. I expect your budgets to be detailed, okay? I strongly recommend extensive research into the respective fields you are assigned. Average salary, student loan forecast, the works. Figure out how much you owe and how much you earn. Rent! Bills! This is worth 40% of your semester grade. Do you love it?”

Peter looks back down at his paper, reading it again. The trepidation from earlier comes back as a pit in his stomach.

"Miss Potts, how about your paper?”

The girl grimaces.

“Divorce lawyer.”

“Great. And Mr Rhodes?”

“Colonel,” he reads, tilting his head as he considers his paper. “Cool.”

“Awesome. You two are estranged sweethearts, supporting three kids. You share equal alimony, rent separately, and are set to remarry. Natasha?”

Natasha blinks at her paper. “Executive Producer.”

His teacher hums, tapping her lips with her finger as she circles her desk. “Single. No kids.”

Natasha grins, all teeth.

“Mr Parker?”

Peter reads his paper aloud, smiling as his fingers shake, feeling each pair of eyes of his fellow students as they await his fate.

“And you, Mr Stark?

In the second row, closest to the door, Tony crumples his paper in his hand. The room is pervasively silent. Tony clears his throat, tossing the paper onto his desk with evident disdain.

“Stay-at-home-parent,” his voice so quiet that Peter nearly misses it.

“Excellent. Okay then, you and Mr Parker are married ---”

Peter’s stomach drops. 

Oh no.

“-- you’ve just adopted a four year old. You two met at work, Mr Stark is taking time off to care for the child -- figure out your savings, salary, budget for a new family --”

Tony’s hand shoots up swiftly, his fingers waving in the air.

Peter follows suit, arm stretching high. No. This is -- no. 

“Miss Anh?” Tony interrupts, bouncing in his seat. “Yes, hi. Tony Stark, that’s me, the guy you just condemned. Just wondering, is it possible to switch partners?”

The teacher pauses, 

“No, it's not.”

Peter raises his hand higher. 

“Can you make an exception?” he asks, lowering his hand and looking between Tony and Miss Ahn uneasily. “I think that would be best.”

She places her hands on her hips.

“What’s the issue, boys?”

Before Peter can even open his mouth, the other boy cuts in.

“You see Miss A,” Tony interjects, hands pressed together in a fervent plea, eyes closing, as if in prayer.  “Here’s the thing: I just can’t work with neanderthals. They bring down my grade average.”

“Anthony.”

Miss Ahn frowns. The entire class turns in their seats to watch the exchange and Peter feels his face heat. 

“Well lucky for him, I can’t work with underachieving eighties rejects whose parents pay for their grades.”

“Wow,” Stark gestures to their teacher, “you hear that Miss? You driving that ‘94 Volvo on my parents money? Gosh, I am so sorry. Let me get you an upgrade.”

He turns to Peter, face heating at the attention of the class.

“Shit, Parker,” he continues, gesturing to him. “You really are as dumb as rocks. I mean, don’t you ever get tired of perpetuating your own stereotype?”

Peter shakes his head.

“Do you ever get tired of being an insufferable asshole?”

Tony puts a hand on his chest. “Absolutely. It keeps me up at night.”

Peter huffs. “You’re exhausting.”

“You’re loathsome.”

“Prick.”

“Princess.”

“Boys!” Miss Ahn cuts in, snapping her fingers, her expression positively thunderous. “I don’t know what has got into either of you, but that is enough.” She points to them both. “Unless you have a real, valid complaint, quit it. Right now. You’re going to work together on this assignment or you both of you will fail.”

Peter and Tony share a look. 

“Your choice,” she says, pointing at each of them. “Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Tony huffs, turning back to face the front of the room. 

Peter crosses his arms over his chest and nods.

“Great. Now, not a word from either of you for the remainder of this class. Scott, your turn.”

Peter fumes silently as Scott unfolds his paper and reads it aloud to the room.

“An entomologist!” He shifts excitedly in his seat, beaming widely. “Wow! Wow. Man, that’s so cool. I love Lord of The Rings.”

Miss Ahn sighs.

---

“Stop laughing,” Peter hisses, leaning in closer to Natasha. “Shut up. It’s not funny.”

The redhead leans against Peter’s locker, hand clamped over her mouth.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“You are not,” Peter grumbles, brushing her aside to get into his locker. It sticks when he pulls iy, like it always does, and Peter has to tug to get it open. “This is the worst day of my life. I’m cursed.”

“You’re not cursed.”

“Who’s cursed?”

Peter turns in time to see Bucky swoop in and embrace Natasha from behind.

“Me. I’m cursed. I gotta be, right? I mean, what reason would there be for me to be paired with Tony Stark? Am I not a good person? Have I not suffered enough?”

Natasha opens her mouth but Peter barrels on.

“And what does Tony Stark know about managing money?” he continues, shoving notebooks haphazardly into his bag, despair increasing. “His dad owns a fleet of Ferraris and a private jet. He probably has a diamond encrusted butthole. The guy hates me -- I’m cursed.”

“Wow. You’re so dramatic.” She looks to Bucky. “Are you hearing this?”

Peter poins a finger at her.

“You’re just saying that because you’re going to be a successful single multi-billionaire or something. I have to be married to the stay-at-home dickwad.”

“Maybe you could teach him a thing or two.”

Peter scoffs, shoving textbooks into his backpack, weekend plans obliterated by the volume of homework he’s received.

“What, like how to not be an asshole?”

“Why are you so obsessed with his asshole?”

“Speaking of the devil,” Bucky cuts in quietly. “Your three o’clock.”

The devil indeed, Peter thinks, zipping his bag and closing his locker. He turns just in time for a stony-faced Tony stride towards him.

“Stark,” he greets darkly.

“Parker. Do you prefer Parker or Princess?” Tony waves his hands dismissively. “Nevermind, I don’t care. So, this assignment? Here’s the thing --”

“Let me guess,” Peter interrupts, slinging the straps of his backpack onto his shoulder. “You’re too busy to complete your half? That’s fine, it’d be best if you let me write it. That way you might actually pass. Win, win.”

Tony looks at him, lips pursed.  

“Uh, no. No, and then also, no. That’s an awful idea. What are you, like, a C average?”

“Actually, I’m --”

“I don’t actually care. Listen, as much as I would love to be as far away from you as possible --”

“-- Likewise --”

“ -- Miss A will know if we bullshit her. I know you’re intimately familiar with the experience, but she isn’t an idiot. She can spot your mediocre work a mile away.”

Peter folds his arms over his chest, glasses slipping down his nose.

“You’re not actually proposing we do this together, right,” he queries, pushing them back up. The ire from earlier continues to burn in his chest. “Can you even read?”

“Haha, oh my god, you’re like so funny,” Tony runs a hand through his hair, voice going glib and high pitched. His expression goes serious. “Write your address in my phone. I’ll see you there at six.”

“Why at six?” Peter frowns, taking the phone when Tony waves it in his face. He begins typing in his address, pausing briefly to peer at the other boy. “And why my apartment? Am I going to dirty up your mansion?”

“Penthouse, actually,” Tony crosses his arms over his chest. “And because I have better things to do this afternoon that isn’t aspirating on your sweat fumes.”

“You can aspirate on my ass,” he mumbles through his teeth as he resumes typing, chest going hot.

“Tempting, but no thanks. Are you done yet? You type slow. Do you know you type slow?”

“Shut up,” Peter rolls his eyes, locking the phone and returning it to its owner. “Don’t be late. I’m not joking, I’m not waiting around for you.”

“Sure thing, princess,” Tony pockets his phone, retrieving a cigarette from behind his ear and slipping it between his lips. “Don’t shoot on arrival.”

“No promises.”

It goes unheard, however. Tony has already turned and left, headphones secure over his ears. 

Annoyed, he turns back to his friends.

“That guy is the worst.”

If he was expecting sympathy or commiseration, which he was, he comes up short on both. Instead, met with Natasha whispering into her boyfriends ear as she casts him a suspicious side eye.

“What?” He pokes her in the arm. “What are you whispering about.”

Natasha shakes her head, poking him back. It hurts. 

“Nothing.”

Before he can retaliate, Bucky slings an arm each around Peter and his girlfriends shoulders, smiling easily at them. As a trio, they walk towards the exit, the hallway near empty, save for a few stragglers idling by the doors.

“Don’t worry, Pete. She was just sayin’ one of you will be dead by morning,” Bucky offers, squeezing his shoulder.

“Um, not me, right?” Peter asks, adjusting his glasses on his nose again. “I’m alive in this scenario?”

"No.”

“Hey!”

Bucky jostles his shoulder. “You saw the shiner he gave Rogers the other week. You already look like you fell into a blender.”

His jaw throbs at the mention.

Natasha snorts. “Ha. You’re a goner.”

“No, I’m not. I could fight if I had to,” Peter argues, as they part the double doors at the exit. Descending the stairs, the couple head towards the carpark and wave him off. “I could!” He yells, walking backwards, accidentally bumping into a harried-looking freshman. 

It goes without response. The two share an amused look before disappearing, but Peter isn’t even mad. He’s wily. He could totally take Stark in a fight.

Heading out of the grounds and towards the nearest subway entrance, Peter winces as his injuries are jostled during the descent and massages his cheek gingerly. An old woman ascending the stairs gives him an odd look that turns horrified when he smiles to ease her.

By the time he’s swiped his Metrocard and made his way to his track, his hood is covering his face.

Yep, he’s doomed.

#starker #ironspider #high school au #enemies to lovers

[spaceskam]

From A Whisper To A Scream (7/10)

Summary: Michael caves.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: syringes, blood, etc

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

ao3

Coach pulled Michael aside after debatably the worst game of his life.

“What’s going on with you?” he demanded. 

Michael stared at him, blinking slowly as he tried to reorient his mind. Ever since he discovered that Eff was really a Manes, that this “family business” they had was torturing aliens, he hadn’t been functioning very well. It’d only gotten worse after Alex called him out and Michael couldn’t tell him no, suddenly having to balance a very hush-hush relationship on top of everything else. He adored him, but fuck. Now he was just paranoid and tired. That was it. Everything else, every other feeling or brain wave, fell to the wayside because he didn’t have the energy. 

That meant playing a shitty game of football where he nearly broke his nose from tripping over the ball.

“I’m just… off day,” Michael said, avoiding eye contact as he took out his mouthguard. He then moved to start taking off his jersey and his shoulder pads. He usually wouldn’t do that while in the middle of the conversation with his Coach, but they felt ridiculously heavy and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay upright with them.

“Off month, more like it,” Coach said, eyeing him, “You know you’re my responsibility, right?”

“Yes, Coach.”

“Then tell me what’s going on,” he said. Michael stayed silent. He couldn’t tell him what was actually going on and he didn’t have the brainpower to come up with a good lie. “Is this about anything that happened with your whole… coming out process? You’d tell me if any of the guys were messing with you, wouldn’t you? And if it’s your dad that ain’t responding well, then I can have a talk with him too.”

Michael blinked at him and it took him a few seconds to realize he had tears in his eyes. It wasn’t even a heartfelt speech, it was just too much. Too much to know another person cared about him enough to say something, too much to know that his list of people who would be hurt by his stupidity was a bit longer. He was beginning to think that maybe he should just tell everyone he was an alien so they’d stop giving a shit about him.

“It’s fine, I’m just off. Distracted,” Michael said. Coach didn’t look satisfied.

“You got scouts out there,” he said, “So you better stop being distracted.”

And that sounded a lot more like Coach.

When Michael walked out to his truck, he found that it was already preoccupied. It wasn’t too uncommon for him to find a Manes in his passenger seat. This just happened to be the Manes he was dreading.

“I thought you were good,” Eff said as Michael carefully climbed into the driver’s seat. It felt like a trick, but maybe he could drive off a cliff and fix everything. Ah, but that was just wishful thinking.

“I am,” Michael said, “Usually.”

“Guess you should’ve thought about that before you tried to corrupt my baby brother,” Eff said. Michael stared out the window and made a point not to say anything about how Eff had been screwing him over before he realized he was with Alex. He seemed to momentarily forget that this had all started because Michael was born. That was it.

“Shed?”

“Yep.”

Michael stayed silent through the drive as he had been these days. For a while there, he’d sort of accepted his fate and was starting to be a bit more talkative. Hell, he’d even gotten to a point where he thought Eff might give a shit about his well being. Now he knew that was just wishful thinking. Every conversation they had that may have given the illusion that Eff didn't hate him was just a figment of his imagination.

“Is your dad gonna question where you are?” Eff asked. Is yours? Michael thought.

“No,” he said instead.

Eff huffed a laugh, “My dad would kick my ass if I showed up later than I said.” It almost felt childish at that point, like Eff was trying to get him in trouble with his dad. It was so stupid.

The longer Michael drove, the more he thought that perhaps he shouldn’t be driving. His eyes were heavy and each blink seemed harder to come out of. Still, he somehow made it to the shed without driving off the road. 

They entered the shed in silence and Michael sat on his chair-of-hell where all of his injections and electrocutions took place. Maybe whatever Eff had in store would wake him up.

“Here,” Eff said. Michael lulled his head to the side to look at him, seeing him holding out an energy drink that had already been opened.

“Did you poison it or something?” Michael asked. Eff laughed softly.

“No, just drink it,” he said. Michael hesitantly accepted it and took a sip, deciding that if it was poisoned he wouldn’t really care. Eff sat down across from him and stared at him for a moment. Somehow, it was infinitely less uncomfortable than all the times Michael looked over his shoulder in school and expected to see him there when he wasn’t. “Look, I hate even saying this, but credit where credit is due. I appreciate you ending shit with my brother. Alex is great, I get it, and it took balls to break up with him when I know he probably didn't make it easy."

Michael felt a bit frozen in his spot. That was an understatement. Such a massive understatement that Michael hadn't been able to pull it off at all.

"I don't like knowing that aliens have, like, feelings and shit," Eff continued, looking to the side as if this conversation was just that unbearable. And he had no idea how unbearable it was for Michael himself. "But I do know you care about him which I can respect. But that shit's not safe, not with you being what you are and not with my dad being who he is. You get that, don't you?"

"Why does it feel like you're being nice to me?" Michael asked. He was beginning to wonder if he really had no self-preservation skills at all. Eff rolled his eyes.

"You just picked the wrong guy. I wanted to keep Alex away from all this," Eff elaborated, "So pick someone else."

Somehow, as genuine as he sounded, it still felt like a low blow. Michael couldn't pick someone else. Even if he had broken up with Alex, even if he never liked him in the first place, he was still a personal experiment for Eff. Anyone who got close to him wasn't safe. So that was that.

"Yeah," Michael said.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Michael sipping tiredly on his drink and Eff just watching him like he was trying to decide where to start. Who knew what kind of shit he had up his sleeve that he hadn't done yet.

Eff eventually stood up in silence and Michael's eyes followed him, watching him open up the small mini-fridge and pull out a vile of something. Dread pooled in Michael's stomach. He wasn't sure what Eff had dosed him with that time where it had him fucked up for a solid week, but he wasn't interested in a repeat.

"When's the last time you slept?" Eff asked. Michael shrugged because he didn't have a proper answer. He slept all the time, but he wasn't sure the 10-minute sleep session due to sheer exhaustion before he woke himself up in a panic actually counted as sleep. "Yeah, that's a problem. This is gonna help you sleep."

"Here?" Michael asked, eyes widening just a little. 

"Does it look like I have a place for you to sleep? Take it and I'll take you home, it should kick in by the time you get to bed and it'll knock you out for, like, eight hours," Eff said. Michael didn't have the energy to say no. Sleeping for eight hours straight sounded amazing.

He turned his head as Eff rolled up his sleeve and wiped the spot of his arm like he was actually concerned for him. He stuck him with a syringe and Michael could feel the moment it started to set in.

"I'm driving," Eff said as if that wasn't already obvious.

Michael tried to stand to his feet, but he felt woozy and held onto the chair to steady himself. Eff eventually stepped up to him and grabbed his arm, carrying the brunt of his weight.

"Jesus, what did my brother see in you?"

Eff got him into the passenger side of his truck and closed the door and Michael couldn't find it in himself to care that Eff was driving his truck. He was just tired. 

The drive home passed in a blur and Michael felt himself being pulled out of his truck before he could even register it. He leaned on Eff without thought and let himself be all but carried inside and placed in bed by the man who had made it his goal to torture him. He was covered up and his keys were placed on his desk and the doors were all locked back.

Michael fell into a dreamless sleep for the first time in a long time.

-

The next morning, Michael was left running over the night before in his head. 

Truly, none of it made sense. Eff wasn't just empathetic like he'd been on occasions when he realized Michael had feelings, he'd actually been kind. Was it his small payback for Michael ending things with Alex? Was it something else entirely? He probably wouldn't get an answer.

Michael stayed in bed for a while, letting his mind torture him with too many thoughts as he tried to analyze Eff's actions. It didn't work. And, in fact, the sleep didn't help him feel any better. It just made him alert enough to be back to panicking. There were so many things that could and would go bad. He was on borrowed time. Before he knew it, shit would hit the fan and he just wasn't excited for that.

Sanders kept quiet, just watching him and making sure he didn't become a disaster before his eyes. The day slid by at an agonizing pace. But it was fine.

He texted Alex a little bit--through an app instead of on his actual phone which had taken more than a little convincing than he wanted to admit, but he wasn't about to risk Eff finding out.

Alex: you ignoring me again?

Michael: no, how could I?

Alex: big talk coming from you

Michael: :(

Alex: when can I see you? I feel like I've earned at least a couple blowjobs

Alex: payback for being a dick to me

Michael: I'll do whatever you want. Maybe we can meet up somewhere tomorrow night?

Alex: my dad isn't going to be home until Tuesday just sneak in

Michael: idk if that's a good idea

Alex: okay.

Michael: don't be mad

Alex: not mad, all I said was okay

Michael: which is code for mad.

Alex: okay.

Michael: I'll see what I can do. I miss you

Alex: I miss you too

And it was fine. Alex got a little less upset and it was fine. Or it was until he got a text from Eff. All it said was: Rest. Tomorrow is a full-day affair. And that was enough to scare the shit out of him.

He didn't know what classified as a full-day affair to Eff, but it didn't matter. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. It was going to be a day of misery. How many more things could he get through and survive it?

As much as he tried to rest, it didn't work. Michael was nervous and dreading whatever was to come. By the time morning came around once again and that car was outside waiting for him, Michael hadn't slept.

"Are you ready?" Eff asked as he mindlessly climbed into the passenger seat. He took a deep breath.

"Yeah."

-

"Michael. Michael, wake up."

There were very few times in Michael's life where he'd describe himself as overworked. Out of all of those times, he'd never drained himself to the point that he passed out. He supposed there was a first time for everything.

When his eyes slowly dragged open, he was more than a little surprised to see Eff over him and almost looking concerned. It almost had him laughing if he wasn't so disoriented.

"You can't fucking die on me yet," Eff said once he opened his eyes. Michael didn't move. His body felt weak and he was pretty sure his muscles had melted into the ground. He wanted to go home. 

"Sorry," he murmured.

"You've only been doing shit for a couple of hours, you've strained yourself more than this before. That sedative I gave you on Friday shouldn't still be in your system," Eff said. He grabbed Michael's arms and hauled him into a sitting position, but Michael couldn't hold his own weight up and Eff eventually let him lay back down. "What are you good for if you're just going to let yourself be this useless?"

Michael's eyes slid closed and he tried to think of anything except for this.

He expected more scolding, more yelling, possibly an injection of whatever sort of wild alien steroid he had today. Instead, Eff pressed the back of his hand against Michael’s forehead then to his cheeks. He might’ve opened his eyes to look at him like he’d lost it if he wasn’t so fucking exhausted.

“You’re overheated. Your nose bled a little, but not as much as I would’ve expected before you passed out, so I guess that’s a good thing. We’ll take a break,” Eff said, voice careful. He stood up and walked away, leaving Michael on the floor.

Sometimes, if Michael really thought about it, he wondered if Eff knew that he was basically making him stronger. Yes, draining him in the moment and making him feel weak and out of control, but Michael had never had someone push his limits before when it came to this. Maybe if Michael played nice, he’d be able to overpower him one day, hide the body, and get his normal life back. He could. It was an option.

It was an option. Huh. That was nice.

A hand grabbed the back of Michael’s neck, supporting him as he was dragged into a sitting position once again. That hand stayed there as a cup of water met his lips and he was all but forced to drink. He had a million questions running through his head, all tying back to wondering why the hell Eff was treating him nicely all of the sudden. Maybe he actually felt bad for once. Probably not.

“If you die, my brother will probably be more upset than he already is, so I’m gonna need you to drink,” Eff said dryly. Michael obeyed.

The rest of the day passed by in a blur. Eff let him rest for a short amount of time before dragging him outside again to push his limits again. A little electrotherapy here, a bit of pinpricks there, and he had Michael throwing shit with his telekinesis over three hundred pounds. Michael would’ve been proud if his body wasn’t aching and his brain wasn’t pointless.

When he finally got to go home and the day settled in, Michael was back to being a mess. Eff was being nice to him. Too nice. He was planning something, he had to be. Was he going to kidnap him anyway? Was this just the beginning of the end, trying to make him trust him?

Michael forgot all about meeting up with Alex until he found himself outside his window which would’ve been a lot less worrisome if he remembered anything in between leaving the shed and ending up there. Even when he tried to remember, he couldn’t. 

“I thought you said you didn’t want to come over,” Alex said, leaning against the windowsill and blocking Michael’s way in.

Truthfully, Michael had only been to Alex’s house a total of two times, both just to stop by so Alex could grab something and they didn’t stay long. Now knowing what kind of business his family was in, Michael was glad he hadn’t stayed. And yet, today, all he wanted was to be in Alex’s bed. He was going to get fucked over anyway.

“Can you just hold me for a while?” Michael asked. Any sort of antagonizing Alex had in mind went away and he nodded, moving out of the way. Michael climbed in and nearly fell twice in the process, not even able to laugh it off when he needed Alex’s help.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, Michael was pulled into Alex’s arms. His head was cradled against Alex’s shoulder, he was tugged down onto his bed, he was held and he was warm and he was safe. Safe enough. As safe as he would get.

They laid there for a long while, nothing but the sound of their breathing as Alex combed through his hair. Michael faded in and out of consciousness at the sensation, secretly hoping to just let his mind fade away forever into the feeling. That would be a good way to go.

But, then again, he couldn’t have anything nice.

“Michael,” Alex whispered, “When are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Michael didn’t respond, but his grip on Alex tightened a little and that seemed to be all Alex needed to know there was, in fact, something going on. He readjusted himself a little and touched Michael’s cheek. It took a few seconds to successfully get him to meet his eyes.

“I’m not stupid. Something’s been going on, but I’ve stayed quiet. How much longer are you gonna leave me having to assume? Because my assumptions are getting wilder,” Alex said, trying to tease a little to lighten the mood. 

The issue was the truth was wild. How do you tell your boyfriend you’re actually an alien from the 1940s and you’re currently being used as an experiment by his big brother who he loves? Alex would laugh in his face or just leave him. Or maybe Eff was wrong and Alex did know and Alex would start experimenting on him too. He could take a lot, but he didn’t think he could take that.

Michael sniffled and focused on Alex’s collarbone, reaching out to touch it. He ran his fingers over it a few times and hoped Alex would just drop it.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Alex said softly, “But you know you can trust me, don’t you? I’m not going to hate you or be disgusted by you or anything. I might even be able to help?”

Michael’s throat began to tighten and he swallowed hard. He thought about Eff and his weird niceness and how he’d probably make him disappear soon, how Michael probably didn’t have much time left with Alex at all.  How did he get in the position where he once had all the time in the world to having none at all?

He dragged his hand up to touch Alex’s lips. They were as soft as always and his breath was warm against his fingertips. He couldn’t remember the last time he kissed him. Hell, he could barely remember the last time they’d been able to spend this much time together in person. Then again, this had been one of the longest weeks of his life. Longest few months. Or, just nothing before it felt real.

Michael moved up to give him a kiss, one that was hardly a kiss at all and seemed to only be reciprocated because of how long it’d been. Alex broke it seconds after it started, shaking his head.

“Michael,” he whispered, “You‒”

“I love you,” Michael said earnestly. 

Alex let out a shaky breath. It shouldn’t have been such a hard thing to say and he probably could’ve said it sooner. He knew most of the people he’d been friends with who said ‘I love you’ within the first month of dating someone‒the first week, even.

This just happened to be a bit more serious than that.

“I’m not saying that because of… I’m saying it because I mean it. Because I don’t know when or if I’ll get to tell you later. I want you to know just in case,” Michael said. Alex’s eyebrows only tugged together more and he scooted closer.

“Just in case? What do you mean? What’s going on?” Alex said, worry lacing his soft and sweet voice. God, he was so good. He couldn’t possibly know. He couldn’t possibly be in on the bullshit his family enacted.

“I should go.”

“What? No, stop,” Alex said, his knee wedging between Michael’s thighs to lock his leg around his at a weak attempt to keep in place. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Michael said, relaxing back into his bed. He was too tired to really try to leave even if he wanted to. And he really, really didn’t. 

“It’s obviously not nothing and you’re freaking me out,” Alex said, looking him over, “I was assuming it was something to do with your adoption or something and you were playing it straight for your social worker, but that’s obviously not it.”

Michael sighed and blinked slowly, tempted to just keep his eyes closed. When he opened them again, Alex was just staring at him.

“Next assumption was that you got into drugs. Have you? And if you have, let me help you,” Alex pressed, “Let me and your dad help you. You know he asked me what was wrong with you, right? Like, everyone’s noticed. So, just, like, stop talking like you’re never going to see me again. Let me fix it.”

Michael laughed dryly and turned his face into the pillow before he started crying where Alex could see. What was it with Alex and Sanders both being so eager to fix what they had no hand in? It didn’t make sense.

“Did you like accidentally fuck over a drug dealer or something and that’s why you’ve been staying away from me and distant and paranoid? Because we can go to the police and, and figure it out,” Alex continued, “You’re worrying me and I don’t like it.”

Michael took a few breaths until he could trust that his voice wasn’t going to embarrass him. “I’m not doing or dealing drugs and I haven’t pissed off any drug dealers.”

“Then what is it?”

“What happened to not pushing?” Michael murmured. Alex didn’t respond as he let his head hit the pillow.

They laid in silence for a bit longer, tension between them that wasn’t there before. Michael should just tell him. What was the worst that could happen? He was already living in the worst timeline, he might as well just say it.

But that was easier said than done. It was something he needed to talk to Isobel and Max about‒if he could even talk to Isobel and Max without anything bad happening. The idea of it made him feel like he was being choked. Everything made him feel like that recently.

Alex’s hand suddenly touched the back of his neck and Michael was brutally hit with the comparison to the feeling of his brother’s hand on his neck. Eff was rough and firm while Alex’s touch was soft and warm. He wouldn’t mind if that touch stayed there indefinitely. And it seemed to stay there for a while, simply working into his neck.

When Alex pulled his leg away from Michael’s, he almost broke the silence to say something to keep him there. But Alex was pulling Michael onto his stomach and climbing onto his back before he had the chance. His hands worked into the multitude of weeks worth of tension in his shoulders and his neck, carefully trying to make him pliant under his fingers. Michael wasn’t sure it’d work, but he wasn’t going to tell him no.

The longer that went on, however, the more Michael found himself feeling guilty. He was a shitty boyfriend. He tried to think of the last nice thing he’d done for Alex out of the sea of nice things Alex had done for him. Sure, Michael was going through his own shit, but he was letting Alex worry and pushing him away and then letting Alex take care of him after it all. This wasn’t what he had in mind when he thought about getting Alex for real. It was supposed to be Alex parading around in his letterman jacket, it was supposed to be racking up tardy slips because he was late after blowing Alex in his truck, it was supposed to be good. 

And Alex had stayed good. Michael was the one who was fucking him over.

“Alex,” Michael said softly. He hummed in question, pressing into a knot in between his shoulders that nearly had him crying all over again. “Alex, what would you say if I told you the truth?”

Alex paused for just a moment before getting back to it.

“I already told you.”

“Even if I say I’m an alien and there’s a guy who found out and is basically using me as a science experiment and I can’t do anything about it because he’s got military connections and I can’t go to the cops because, again, alien,” Michael said in one breath, half into the pillow. Alex stopped for a much longer moment this time.

“That’s not funny,” Alex said softly.

“I didn’t think it was.”

More silence, more breathing, more waiting. Michael was sure he was going to be thrown out of his house. It was the logical next step.

“Science experiment?” Alex asked slowly. Michael nodded. “Like, cuts you open?”

Michael huffed a laugh, “Not yet, thank god.” Alex didn’t laugh. “Usually sticking needles into pressure points that set off shit in me and electrocution. Sometimes injects me with, like, alien steroid type things.”

“Michael.”

“Could be worse, though, ‘cause he hasn’t cut me open,” Michael said. Alex made a pained little noise and then laid on Michael’s back. It was distinctly different than being kicked out. “Aren’t you freaked out? I’m an alien.”

“I’ve had sex with you and I didn’t find a zipper,” Alex murmured into the back of his neck. Michael breathed a sigh of relief that mixed with a laugh. If more tears came, they met the pillow immediately. “Don’t worry, I’ll help.”

“Alex, you can’t‒”

“I can,” Alex said firmly, “Give me a few days to come up with something.”

Michael didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing. Later, he’d find a way to tell Alex that wasn’t an option. Currently, though, he’d stay right here.

Here, he was safe and warm and that’s all he cared about.

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #verse: from a whisper to a scream

[fruitcoops]

I just reread that one thing you wrote where Kasey found out Remus wasn't innocent by accidentally reading the message, and now I need the rest of the team finding out that Remus is the kinky one and Sirius just grinning so fucking smugly cos out of all the players, he's the one that gets the kinky fiancé (like Kasey said at the end of the thing) 😂🥰💙

Valentine’s Day Part 2! This is the follow-up to the spicy Coops from earlier--hope you enjoy! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for hickeys, friendly chirping, and implied smut on many accounts

Sirius had never dreaded going to practice more. He could hardly sit down, and the hickeys that freckled his body and ringed his thighs showed no sign of going away anytime soon. Part of him—a very, very, very small part—wished Remus had gone a little easier, but the rest of him still got a thrill of excitement whenever he saw the marks.

The locker room was quiet when they entered; Sirius tried to hide his slight limp, but he noticed Logan’s wince as he bent to grab his bag off the floor. Kasey lowered himself onto his bench with a slow breath, and even James fiddled with the edge of his shirt instead of pulling it off.

“Loops, you seem to be in good shape,” Finn said with a half-laugh. Remus cleared his throat and, sighing, pulled his shirt off. There was a low whistle. “Damn. Never mind. I guess you’ll be breaking out the turtlenecks, eh?”

Remus’ courage seemed to reassure the others, and within a few minutes most of the shirts and pants had come off, revealing hickey patterns over just about all of them. The chatter started up again, then went dead silent when Sirius removed his own shirt. Talker snorted. “How’re you feeling, Cap? Do we need to get Loops a mouthguard, or…?”

Sirius shot him a mock-glare as he pulled his pads on and a ripple of quiet snickering washed through the room, then died down as Kasey slid his sweats off his legs and revealed a whole fucking handprint on his thigh. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he huffed. “Haha, very funny.”

Be a good captain, be a good captain, be a good captain—“You’re in good company, Bliz.” He steeled himself and tugged his own pants off, reaching for his under armor and pointedly ignoring the four different jaws that hit the floor.

James leaned over and smacked Remus on the head with his glove. “Dude!”

“Ow! What?”

“Are you trying to eat him alive?” When Remus hesitated, James hit him again. “Bad Loops!”

“Alright, we’re all adults here,” Sirius interrupted. “It was Valentine’s Day, things happened to everyone. Let’s all agree not to speak of what we see in the locker room today, okay?” There were a few murmurs of agreement. “Okay?”

“Yes, Cap,” they chorused.

“Good talk.”

Ten minutes later, Arthur knocked on the doorway and poked his head in. “Hey, guys. It has come to my attention that yesterday was Valentine’s Day, so I wanted to apologize if I interrupted any plans you may have had. That being said, this is a professional team—Potter, what’s on your hip?”

James swallowed hard. “Nothing, Coach.”

“Are you hurt?” Across the room, Leo stifled his laughter in his elbow. “I can call Hestia—”

“It’s, uh, a bite mark,” James said at last, staring at the floor.

Arthur’s eyebrows rose. “Excuse me?”

“A bite mark. From my wife.” He shrugged his jersey on and grimaced a little. “I thought we would have two days for it to go away.”

Arthur’s eyes flickered around the room and settled on Logan. “Tremblay, you’re favoring your left leg.”

“Yes, Coach.”

“You’re not hurt, either?”

“Nope.”

And then Arthur’s gaze fell on Sirius. “Cap. Your ankle’s not causing that scowl, is it?”

“No, Coach, it’s not.”

Arthur sighed and glanced down at his clipboard. “Holy fuck.”

“Yes, it was,” Dumo said under his breath with a smirk. Both Logan and Sirius turned to him in abject horror.

“Everyone, stand up.” Arthur ran a hand down his face as they all shakily got to their feet; Sirius bit his lip and leaned on the side of his stall for balance. Oh, Lupin, I hope you’re proud of yourself. There was a beat of silence before he shook his head. “Practice is called off, seeing as half of you apparently got laid so good you can’t walk. I expect you to work twice as hard on Monday, alright?”

“Yes, Coach,” they said in unison.

Arthur took a last look at them and a smile twitched at his mouth, then devolved into full-blown chuckling. “Oh, fuck, this is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. Good for you, boys. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

They could still hear him laughing as he walked down the hall and immediately began stripping their gear off with sighs of relief. Logan outright groaned as he pulled his sweats back on and Sirius saw Leo’s pupils dilate. “Easy there, Knut,” he teased. Leo made a face. “What, you don’t have a comeback? That’s a first.”

“I’m taking a day off,” Leo rasped.

Finn went vibrant red and Kasey’s eyes got huge. “You good, baby rookie?”

“A-okay.” Leo gave him a thumbs-up and took a long drink of water. “It was worth it.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Remus muttered with a sly grin.

“Oh, you are in no place to talk—”

“At least I can talk!”

“At least he’s got his thighs intact, unlike some people!” James cut in.

Kasey raised his eyebrows. “Should I give Lily a call and ask for details? I’m sure she’s got a real fun story for us.”

“Should I give Nat a call and ask how her hand is doing?” he countered.

“What happened to being adults about this?” Sirius asked as he zipped his bag up. “Because if we’re forgoing that, I’d love to see Logan try and sit down.”

Logan narrowed his eyes and tilted his chin toward Sirius’ legs. “I’m three seconds away from asking how those lines got so crisp. Try me, Cap."

Talker whistled. “Low blow.”

“No, a low blow would be calling my sister and asking if she’s currently at her own apartment,” Logan said smoothly, though he fixed Talker with a look that could curdle milk. “Watch it.”

“It’s times like these that I’m grateful none of you want to know about my sex life,” Dumo said as he stood. “Because last night was—”

“No!” half the locker room shouted at the same time. Packing was quick after that—nobody wanted to stick around any longer than necessary and risk being chirped for their various kink giveaways. Sirius practically broke the speed of sound while he changed back into his cozy pants.

Logan caught up to him just as they were leaving the locker room with a devilish smile. “So, was it garters or thigh highs?” he muttered, keeping his eyes on their respective partners up ahead.

“None of your business, you nosy little shit.”

“I’m guessing thigh highs.”

“And I’ve got several guesses for why Leo can’t get more than three words out, but unlike you, I know how to hold my tongue.”

“Were they comfortable?”

Sirius sighed through his nose. “Very.”

“Hmm. I might have to get some of my own.”

He actually laughed aloud at that—Remus and Finn glanced back, confused. “You’re already having trouble walking, mon frère. Let’s not make it worse on you.”

“Hey!” Logan jogged a bit to keep up as Sirius increased his pace, both wincing a little. “I would look fucking incredible!”

“Not as good as I did.”

“What are we talking about?” Leo asked, falling back to join the conversation.

“Knutty, I’d look good in thigh highs, right?” Logan demanded. Finn choked on air and Leo’s eyes went a little unfocused at the thought. “Right?”

“Point proven,” Sirius said with a smirk, ruffling his hair. “See you Monday!”

“I’d look better than you!” he called after Sirius.

“Oh, no you wouldn’t!” Remus shot back, tucking his hand in Sirius’ pocket as they headed for the door.

[blahblahblahclintnickiscanon]

Sid/Ovi, a/b/o a/o (a-Ovi o-Sid). Thanks for doing this meme (and also for your fics!) <3

And I finally have the fic! Sorry for the delay, but it got slightly out of hand with the word count (and the context).

There were a few unspoken rules around the NHL, and contact sports in general, around the world. Everybody knew it was a bit frowned upon to be too rough with omegas, or to use the sport as a means to get a good sniff on them.

Most of the people thought that if omegas didn’t want to be roughed up they should have avoided the sport entirely, but even there they could recognize that sometimes it was just too much. Like when some alpha would go on and get a lick on them in the middle of the game, just for fun.

Sasha had had to live with the reputation of being too rough, too barbaric, basically since the start of his career in the NHL, even though he was also known as one of the best players in the league.

But, still, every chance he took to check someone into the boards was just the umpteenth example of a brutish alpha having his way on the ice.

Not that he cared enough about the reputation the media put onto him that he would have changed his game for it.

But there were a few instances in which he, too, pulled back.

He had had enough matches against Crosby and his Penguins that he had since learned to ignore the alluring omega scent that Sid exuded, stronger the longer he played and sweated.

It was something every alpha had to live with in their everyday life, to ignore the omegas and the desire to check them out. But, that night in Washington, Sasha found he could barely take his eyes off Sid since the first time he pushed the kid against the glass.

Sid didn’t even react much the first two times, used as he was to adversaries trying to take him out, but when Sasha managed to basically trap him there against the boards as they fought for the puck between their feet, he seemed to understand something wasn’t like usual.

“What’s wrong with you?” He bursted, words slightly muffled by the mouthguard.

“You don’t know?” Sasha only had the time to ask before Sid managed to get the puck flying towards the goal, where Geno managed to shoot past their goalie.

Sasha skated away slowly, watching Geno and Sid celebrate, wondering if it was possible that Sid truly didn’t know.

#hockey rpf #sid/ovi #my fic #ask prompt

[starrybethany]

Maybe Someday - Matthew Tkachuk Imagine

Part 2

Word count: 4.5K

He’s kissing on my neck but it’s like I can’t feel it. I fake a moan, I close my eyes. He doesn’t realize that I close my eyes to imagine that he’s someone else. Like I always do.

His lips were always on mine. And when they weren’t, he was talking- talking about how his team is playing Brady’s next week or how Taryn is preparing for college or how his dad chirped him on the phone last night.

“Y/N, you’re hurting me,” he murmurs. My eyes snap open. This isn’t Matthew, it’s Curtis. Curtis from the bar- good Curtis, who scared off the douchebag who was hitting on me and carried a respectful conversation with me. That’s when I decided to go home and sleep with him. I release my grip on his hair and my knuckles turn from white to red.

“Sorry,” I mumble.

“No, it’s okay,” he reassures, placing a soft kiss on my cheek. “Do you want to keep going?”

“Not really.”

~

Curtis looks surprised to see me, and I’m just as surprised as him, but I hide my shock better.

“Do you two know each other?” My manager asks, eyes sliding between me and the boy across from me.

“No,” I quickly say, eyes connecting to Curtis’ bowtie. Matthew would never wear a bowtie- he always said that ties were more professional, people took you more seriously. A fun suit, though. He liked to switch it up once and a while.

My boss doesn’t believe me but brushes it off, leaving me with Curtis to train him.

“Do you, uh, do you want to talk about the other night?” He coughs awkwardly.

“No.”

He stands dumbly beside me, watching as I organize the money drawer, quickly counting the bills and coins and making sure everything is there.

“Oh, um. Do you just want to put everything behind us then? Start new?” He questions.

“I don’t believe in starting new,” I admit strongly, tensing then relaxing when the next words leave my lips. “Even if I was the one to give off a shitty impression. I do, though, believe in growth and moving on. And if you’re willing to move on, I’m willing to move on.”

He nods quickly, eyes glimmering. Clearly, there’s still some interest there despite the fact that I made him feel like an awful partner in the bedroom. “I’m willing to move on.”

~

I wonder what Matthew would think if he knew I was doing this right now. Curtis leaves gentle kisses on my jaw and I try my best to focus on that, but I can’t help to think of Matthew’s face when he realized what I was doing.

Those pained green eyes haunt me in my sleep. I wake up every night in a sweat, wishing I would’ve focused all of my love and attention on him like he did for me.

I see the whitened fists from him clenching his hands so tight when I brush my teeth, and I remember his curly hair swaying as he shook his head while I pleaded for him to stay as I wash my dinner plate.

I’m sorry. Please stay, Matthew, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.

But how do you explain that you’re afraid to commit to the one person who would give up the entire world for you?

“Hey, uh, I think I’m bleeding.” My eyes snap to Curtis’ but he’s looking down at his arm, where my fingernails are digging deep into his skin.

“Oh, shit, I’m sorry,” I mumble, nudging his body off of me and standing up.

I clean the marks for him.

~

“I’m outside,” I tell Curtis, staring up at his brick apartment.

It’s been two months since we started dating. I guess you could call it dating. I mean, we kiss and make out and talk and cuddle, but it doesn’t go much beyond that. Every time it starts to I think about Matthew.

Matthew’s breath on my lips, his fingers gliding over my soft skin, the words of worship leaving his mouth. Really, just anything about Matthew. I always feel like I’m thinking about him, and I know that I should get over it by now, since it’s been three months since he ended things with me, but I can’t.

Something’s holding me back. The feeling of losing the best thing that ever happened to me and forgetting that it ever happened is holding me back.

“I can’t stay long,” I remind him for the millionth time. Curtis pleaded with me to hang out tonight and I reluctantly gave in, wanting to get home in time to watch the entirety of the Flames vs. Blue Jackets game by myself.

My feet carry me up the brick stairs to my partner’s apartment and he’s waiting at the door for me, a bright smile on his face. He’s always smiling when he sees me.

Matthew would always give me a mischievous look that let me know he was up to no good. Then I would find a toy spider in my underwear drawer or my shoelaces would be pulled out of my running shoes.

“Oh, hello,” I greet the group of five people as Curtis welcomes me into his apartment. I was unaware that this would be a group event- Matthew would always ask me before inviting people over, even though we mainly hung over at his apartment.

My eyes move between the three guys and two ladies, my heart dropping as I recognize one of the girls. My heart beats faster and I pray to God that she doesn’t say anything.

“Hey, I know you, you were dating my neighbor, right?” She asks.

I nod wordlessly, afraid of what would happen if I were to open my mouth. I’m not sure if I would vomit or if I would vomit words.

“What happened? You two were so cute together.”

How do I tell this woman that I ruined it all? That I completely fucked up and Matthew will never forgive me, and you know what, no one can blame him.

“Just didn’t work out.”

They drop it but my brain doesn’t. My brain never forgets Matthew. I want to leave as soon as my plate was empty, but one of the guys turns on the Flames game and my mouth gets dry when I see that mouthguard hanging out of the side of his mouth.

I always used to tease him about that and he would just smile, telling me it’s a habit that he doesn’t want to fix.

Ruining my relationship with him is something I wish I could fix.

“I have to go.” My voice cracks and I hate it. Curtis looks concerned and his friends share glances, but I ignore it, hurrying to put my shoes and coat on and get out before I’m sobbing into the fabric of Curtis’ couch.

“Is something wrong?” He questions, resting a hand on my lower back.

I almost shudder at the contact.

“See you Monday.” His front door slams shut behind me and I hurry down the stairs to my car, tears streaming down my berry-colored cheeks as soon as I close the door.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Matthew deserves better than anything I could ever give him. That thought alone makes my chest heave and my vision starts to blacken as my breathing gets shallower. The realization of the situation hits me.

But I did this to myself. So I have to pay the consequences.

~

Once a cheater always a cheater.

I guess I never learn my lesson, right? I guess waking up tomorrow in this stranger’s bed with guilt filling me from head to toe isn’t enough torture, right? I need to live with that guilt and agony every time I see Curtis or hear Matthew’s name.

The liquor running through my veins thinks it’s a good idea.

It welcomes me to accept the fear that I’m holding. The fear of being connected to one person for the rest of my life, the fear that the person I decide to stay with may not actually be the one for me.

And is it bad that I feel worse for cheating on Matthew than I do for cheating on Curtis? I see a future with Matthew, not with Curtis.

My arms tangle around this stranger’s neck, allowing him to kiss softly down my throat. Matthew was always good at this. It somehow turned me on yet made me feel loved at the same time.

“My place or yours?” He breathes into my skin.

“Yours,” my eyes remain closed. I don’t want my home to be tinted from the memories of Matt.

~

He told me that his parents were coming to Calgary.  They were coming to watch a game and spend the weekend with him and he wanted me to join them. He joked that I couldn’t say no because he already told them about me, but the look in his eye told me that he would respect it if I did say no.

I said yes. And I had the best weekend with Matt, Keith, and Chantal going to the Calgary Tower and the zoo and acting like a tourist in the city I’ve grown up in. We watched Matt’s game together and cheered at the win and during breaks in the play, Keith would give us updates on the Senators game against the Islanders.

Chantal told me about how much Brady likes playing for the Senators and how Taryn really wanted to come with, how she really wanted to meet me after how much Matt has talked about me, but she couldn’t leave school.

And I was on a high the whole week after their visit. I was so pleased that our relationship was going so well.

I could spend all of the time in the world with Matt without getting sick of him and I met his parents and hell, it seemed like everything was going in the right direction.

Then I went out to the bar with my friends. I gushed about my perfect hockey-player-boyfriend and our incredible relationship and they approached the situation with hesitance.

“Have you checked his phone lately? What do you mean he has a passcode, what is he trying to hide?”

“How do you know he doesn’t have girls in other cities when he leaves? He could easily hide it and you know his teammates would defend him.”

“He’d probably hold his salary over your head at the end of the day, Y/N. He’d use it as a way to control you.”

“Aren’t you afraid of getting too serious with him right now? You’re so young.”

With shot after shot, glass of wine after a margarita, their words sunk under my skin. It cemented the doubts I already had, yet had forgotten about for the past week. Matt was in Anaheim at the time, they had a game the next morning, and I convinced myself that he was screwing another girl all throughout the night.

So I decided to do the same.

~

My fingernails dig into the side of the Styrofoam cup, causing a dent. I know what I need to do but that doesn’t make this any easier.

“Curtis, we need to end this. End this, thing, whatever we have,” I stutter through, running a hand through my hair. I hadn’t planned what I wanted to say in my head at all. I just know I needed to say it, needed to do something to become better.

To heal, to process.

He looks up from his phone, a shocked expression on his face. “What? Why?”

“It’s just, we need to, Curtis,” I insist. The chair scrapes against the dirty café tiles as I rise, rushing out the front door.

“Wait, talk to me, Y/N,” he pleads, catching up to me on the way to my car. He shuts the door as I begin to open it. “Just tell me, please. I can handle it.”

I turn around, tears already welling in my eyes. I shouldn’t be crying, I’m the one who did this to him. I’m the one who hurt him. “I cheated on you.”

I watch his Adam’s apple as he swallows. “Why?”

“I have so much pain inside-“”No,” he stops me sternly, “Why wasn’t I enough?”

“Because you’re not him!” I yell, exasperated. No one will ever be Matthew. And Matthew won’t even be the Matthew I had when he was mine. I broke his trust; I broke his belief in love and that’s the worst thing that you can do to someone.

“You’re not him,” I repeat in a raspy voice, letting the tears flow down my cheeks at the realization. I fuck everyone over. And I’m trying to do better, hell I’m telling Curtis instead of letting him find out like Matt did, but Curtis had to chase me to get me to do that.

For some reason, Curtis pulls me into his chest, taking the cup from my shaky hands and resting it on the hood of my car. My chest rises and falls with the loud thumping of my heart as I wind my arms around him, gripping him as tight as I can. I know it probably hurts.

But I have a feeling it can’t hurt more than the aching feeling in my chest, the longing for the love that I once had.

And I have no one to blame but myself.

~

I knew that he was suspicious. He was suspecting something. I could feel his eyes on me longer than he usually stared, his eyes would gaze at my phone whenever it would light up, he would ask me more and more questions every time I went out with my friends.

I told myself even before taking the first guy to bed that I would have two rules during my affairs. The first rule would be that we could never go back to my place.

Matt and I never moved in together. We planned on revisiting the topic after a year together. We would probably have moved in together in my apartment since he always said that it was more comfortable and he felt more at home than his apartment, but we never got to the one year. We were two months away.

The second rule would be that my new partner for the night had to use protection. I didn’t want to risk any STIs and even though I’m on birth control, any babies. I’m a horrible enough person, me raising a baby wouldn’t be fair for anyone.

Matt had gone to one of his teammate’s friends for a movie night. I don’t know, I wasn’t really listening. All I could think was ‘how pretty is this girl that he’s cheating on me with?’ I had called my friends and we got ready together in my apartment. I listened as they talked about their plans to get all of us laid tonight, and that includes you, Y/N. If your boyfriend is having fun, you can too.

Matt had found me in a gender-neutral bathroom that night, panties down to my ankles and dress pulled up to my belly button. The guy was buried inside of me. All of the desire and lust I had vanished when I saw his face.

Oh gosh. His face.

I dream about his face every night, the smiles, the funny faces, the laughs. But this face is in all of my nightmares.

Pain came first. Pain came in the form of tight lips and closed eyes. Hurt followed. His eyes widened and his lips went down. The bathroom door closed behind him.

I remember hurrying to push the guy away from me, bile and the alcohol I had drank rising in my throat as I pulled up my panties and yanked down my dress.

I caught him in the parking lot.

~

“He said so much to me, yet it’s etched into every corner of my brain. Y/N, I gave you everything I had. I gave you my heart, body, and soul. I was willing to put everything on the line for you. I saw a future with you and somehow, even though my heart is breaking into two, I still do. You met my friends- fuck- you met my family and none of that means anything to you, does it? I tried to disagree, but he wouldn’t hear me. I don’t blame him.” I pause the story to wipe a tear from my eye, ignoring the concerned looks from people wondering why I’m crying in this café. “He told me that I broke his heart and that he’ll never be able to love again. And that, clearly, we were over.”

Curtis watches as I stare at the table in shame. I don’t know what else to say. I haven’t tried to contact him at all. It seems disrespectful to him and his healing process.

“It’s been four months,” I grab a napkin to blow my nose, enjoying the burn of the harsh fabric on my skin. “And my friends tell me I shouldn’t still be heartbroken, he was probably cheating on me too, but I don’t know. I’m still in love with that man.”

“You remember his neighbor? The one that I’m friends with?” He speaks, pushing my story to the side. I nod, briefly remembering the girl from when I went to his apartment. “She says he’s much different now that you’ve ended things. He doesn’t leave his apartment except for work, he avoids eye contact with everyone in the hallways, and apparently he looks like he’s in rough shape.”

I bite my lip, processing his words. That’s not the Matt that I remember. Matt loved talking sports with the elderly man next door, he paid attention to his physique to remain in shape for the season, and if he wasn’t watching a movie at home, he was spending time with one of his friends.

Guilt bubbles in my chest. I fucked him up. And it did heavy damage. I bury my head in my hands, wanting to reverse the past seven months to take back what I did to him.

“How do I fix this?”

“You can’t,” Curtis responds quietly, watching as I take the information in. “But you can make it better.”

“How?”

“Talk to him. That’s what he needs.”

~

Hi Matthew,

I don’t even know how to start this. I’m sorry for writing this, I’m sorry for having to write this in the first place. And I’m sorry that I’m too much of a little bitch to tell you this myself. And I’m sorry if this brings up old shit that you’re trying to heal from or you’re already over everything and your new girlfriend is reading this over your shoulder going, “Oh, is this the slut you were telling me about?”

And I’m sorry for what I did to you. I’m really, really sorry. No words can express how apologetic I am and how much I regret putting you through the pain that I put you through. You treated me like I walked on water. You bought me souvenirs from the cities that you played in and spent days off buried in bed with me, laughing over stupid TikToks.

I destroyed that for us. For you. And I am so sorry.

Love,

Y/N

I realize that I put love while folding the laundry two days after putting the letter in the mailbox. I freeze with the movement, blood running cold.

I mean, it’s true. I still do love him. But he doesn’t care, he hates me. That ‘love’ probably felt like a punch in the gut. I bet he feels like I never loved him because of what I did to him. How can you say you love someone and then turn around and completely betray them?

That night I dream of two kids, a mini him and a mini me, running around a kitchen. He’s standing beside me, an arm wrapped around my waist and a smile just as big as the one he had the day we first met.

~

Matthew texts me a couple days later. The few days that I waited I switched between nervously anticipating his response and never expecting it to come. He texts me at night, asking me to meet him for coffee the next morning.

I can’t sleep that night. A million and one thoughts run through my head. When did he unblock my number? It’s not like I tried to contact him after the breakup, but I almost did on multiple nights after one too many drinks.

How will he react when seeing me? Will it be like when he saw me for the first time, or will he immediately visualize some other dude inside of me? I can’t help but think of how he’ll look. I always liked his hair more grown out, so that’s how he left it a lot.

I wonder if he cut it, the length reminding him too much of me.

~

I get there twenty minutes early. I want him to know that this is important to me. That he’s important to me, as shitty as I may show it. I twirl the coffee cup in my hands, taking off the protective holder to let the hotness burn the palm of my hands.

I know it as soon as he enters. My eyes lift from the lid of my cup to meet his. He hasn’t changed a bit; he looks just the way that I remember. His scruff is longer than I ever remember it getting, but it looks nice.

It suits him.

He slides into the seat across from me, leaning back in the wire chair and crossing his arms over his chest. He stares at me with a blank expression, daring me to say the first word. I know he won’t- he shouldn’t have to, I’m the one who messed everything up.

“Um, did you want to get something? They have really good steamers here,” I begin, weakly motioning towards the order station.

He shakes his head silently, staring me down.

“Thank you for, uh, coming, and um, hearing me out,” I stutter through, practically shaking under his intense gaze.

“Why’d you do it?”

I knew the question would come. And he deserves to know the answer, too. It’s just- the reasons are stupid, beyond pathetic reasons. And if I tell him, he can never unhear it. And knowing Matt, I don’t know if he’ll feel comfortable living with this thought for the rest of his life. I take a deep breath. “Well, um, I guess it was to get back at you, really. My friends convinced me that you were cheating on me.”

He raises his eyebrows. “And you believed them? And cheated on me instead of talking to me about it?”

“It’s stupid, I know.” I bite my lip, brushing a stray hair out of my face. His eyes follow the action.

“How many times?”

I wince at the question. If he didn’t like the answer to the last question, he definitely won’t like the answer to this one. And even though I was the one who was doing it, I don’t like the answers either. “Three.”

“Three times?” I can feel the bite in his voice, and I sink down in my seat, ashamed and humiliated because of my actions. I can’t even make eye contact with him, but I can feel him practically burying me into the ground with his eyes. “With the same person or different people?”

“Different people,” my voice is barely over a whisper.

“I don’t know what would be better,” he retorts. I watch his arms drop to his sides in disbelief at the answer. “The fact that you would sleep with other men and then with me-“”I made them use condoms,” I quickly interrupt, cringing as soon as I do it.

I probably shouldn’t be interrupting him right now or trying to defend myself. I need to take this time to take responsibility for my actions and beg for forgiveness.

“How long?”

“What?”

“How long were you cheating on me?” He demands.

“A month and a half,” I answer shyly.

“You cheated on me three times over a month and a half?” He confirms.

I nod, swallowing the bile rising in my throat. When he turns his head to the side, I can see the tears glistening his eyes over.

I’ve never seen Matthew cry. He never wanted to cry in front of me- I could cry in front of him at anything but he would never cry in front of me. When I asked him about it one time, he told me that it’s because he needs to be strong and be able to protect me.

I was supposed to do that too. Not by not crying, but by faithful and giving him all of my love. Instead, I’m bringing him to the point of tears by telling him all about my infidelity.

“Matthew, I know it doesn’t mean anything, but I’m sorry,” I breathe out.

“You could say that a hundred times and I still wouldn’t care,” he shakes his head.

Hurt flashes through my body at his words, but my brain forces me to understand. He doesn’t need to care about me anymore, I hurt him as bad as you can hurt a person. I should just be grateful enough that he’s still with me right now.

“Thank you for being the best boyfriend I could ever have. You did so much for me and I, I never appreciated it as much as I should have,” I speak slowly, knowing that we have a limited amount of time left. It’s clear by the way that he can’t even look at me right now that we aren’t meant to be with one another right now.

He wipes at the tears, blinking his eyes to get them to disappear. “You shouldn’t be the one to get the final word, I should.”

“Okay,” I nod. “Go ahead.”

“You really messed me up. You fucked me up for my next relationship,” he gives a watery chuckle, “But you also taught me a lot and we had a good ten months and four days together. Fuck what you did to me. That was awful. But the worst part is that I know you, and I know that you’ll grow from this experience and you’ll be even better for the next guy. I love you. Or, um, I loved you.”

It’s my turn to wipe the tears from my cheeks, biting my cheek to hold back the sob that wants to be released.

“Maybe someday, Matthew,” I give him a weak smile.

He knows what I mean. Even though he doesn’t smile back, I can he returns the emotion by the glimmer in his eye and the “Someday, Y/N” when he thinks I’m far enough away.

#NHL imagines #Matthew tkachuk imagine #Calgary flames imagine #hockey imagines #Matthew tkachuk x reader #bmsomeday

[petitelepus]

His Beloved And More, Part 8

Sometimes the greatest show of love is to let go.

WARNING: CHARACTER DEATH, BEGGING FOR DEATH AND JUST IN ALL BAD TIMES WITH SPRINKLE OF SAD TIMES

The next day actually came quicker than he could have ever hoped. He was so excited that he didn’t even go for his morning rations at the canteen. Someone could have his portion, he didn’t care! He had many more important things to do! Like strapping you to a chair.

You chirped and chittered, not liking the restrains squeezing around your wrists and ankles or enjoying the feeling of having your ability to move taken away from you. You were a quick one, you liked to move a lot, was it on the floor or the ceiling you weren’t picky. You didn’t even want to nearly come when Brainstorm had called you, but with a rat, as bait, you came running to him. You clearly regretted it now as he adjusted the helmet to your head.

”Now sweet spark, I know you don’t like this, but this must be done so you can get your memories back!” The scientist sang to you in a playful manner as he tightened the strap under your chin. Your chirps turned to hiss when the helmet pressed tightly against your skin, but Brainstorm ignored your discomfort. It was for your best after all.

He walked to his computer and dug out his file filled with memories from your brains. With a grin on his face, the scientist grasped the needles he used to store your memories after your temporary death and plugged the wires into the needle's blunt heads. He turned the power on and carefully moved the needle tips until they touched each other, shooting out small sparks of electricity.

Brainstorm heard a hiss and turned to look at you, only to see you spitting and fighting against the restraints on the chair. The mech smiled, his optics filled with sympathy and he approached you, ignoring how your feral eyes followed the needles in his hand as he reached to scratch your chin.

”It’s alright sweet spark, I won’t stick these into you while they’re on! That would be inhumane!” He giggled gleefully, walking back to the computer to shut off the power and then turned back to you. You whined in fear and Brainstorm felt his spark quiver in sympathy. He took off his mask and leaned down to sweetly kiss your cheek.

”I know this is scary, but I need you to be awake for this so your brains can take in everything bit of information. Then, after that, we can talk again and go outside…! We can show others that you are fine! You can joke in Swerve’s bar again, play with our friends and we can be together forever…!”

Yes, those were the thoughts that encouraged him to throw away the last bits of his sanity and keep going forward. He was making sacrifices for you both so you should be ready to do the same! After all, love was all about hardships you could conquer together, wasn’t it? This was just one last obstacle between your two’s happiness! The goal was so close that he could already touch it…!

So with your best in his mind, he stuffed your mouth with a gag so you wouldn't be able to bite your tongue, took the first needle, and stuck it into your head with inhumane accuracy.

The scream you let out was outright feral and could have probably broken glass if he hadn’t had stuffed your mouth full. The whole chair you were straddled on shook as your body spammed in pain, but without a further wait, he stuck the second to your temple.

This went on for a good while, with you screaming and such. Brainstorm was thankful for gagging you because at this rate you would have actually bitten your tongue off. He got good ten needles into your brains, minding your delicate parts so you wouldn’t lose your ability to move or speak.

When he was finally done, the scientist took a step back to look at you. He took out a small flashlight and flicked it over your eyes to inspect your state. You were shivering but still, your pupils were as big as they could be but they did react to light as he watched your pupils shrink. It was a good sign.

"Almost there, my beloved...! Now we just need to turn on the electricity and the computer will transplant your memories and everything else into your brains and we can be together again, just like we used to be!"

You weren't answering, but Brainstorm didn't expect any words coming from you so he walked up to the computer and looked at you.

"I love you." He said before pressing the button and the electricity shocked your brains and your whole body convulsed as it was being shocked. Brainstorm looked at the computer screen and watched how the little loading bar filled second after another. Finally, the computer peeped and the electricity cut off on its own.

Brainstorm run to you and carefully pulled the needles off one by one before taking off the helmet and the gag from your mouth. Your head rocked from side to side in incoherent fashion until your lover grasped your head and looked at you in the eyes.

"Come on sweet spark...!" He wished out loud, "Talk to me...!"

You blinked slowly until your eyes suddenly focused and you came down from the high pain clouds. He saw you look at him and he could tell that you remembered him by the way your eyes widened.

”…h…!”

You were trying to speak! His experiment worked! Brainstorm beamed as he tried to coax the words from your mouth that you hadn't used until then in anything else than hissing and eating. Finally, you choked and coughed before shouting, "Hurts!"

Brainstorm blinked and you cried again. "It hurts!" You screamed as loud as you could and trashed in the chair. The flyer scrambled as he started to undo your restrains but as soon as your hands and legs were free, you fell on the ground and curled around yourself, still in pain.

"Kill me!" You wailed with tears streaming down your face as you looked at your lover, begging him to do the unspeakable. The scientist watched you in horror until he remembered that he had stolen medication for human pain!

"H- Hold on, I have medicine!" Brainstorm said and quickly ran to his closet and took out everything he had before running to you. He quickly took out the syringe, filled it, and pumped you full of the powerful pain medication. After a moment your trashing died down, but you were hugging and shivering over yourself like you were still in pain.

"It hurts...!" You still whimpered and Brainstorm was filled with dread as he watched you holding yourself. He wanted to give you more medicine, but he learned that too much medicine might just kill you when he had done his research on these things.

No, he wouldn't let that happen! Not anymore! This was the closest he got in bringing you back to life, he wouldn't let you go!

"My beloved, I can't give you any more medicine or you die...!" He cried and you rolled to your side so you could look at your... Whatever he was to you anymore.

"Then kill me!" You wailed with tears streaming down your face as you looked at Brainstorm, begging him to do the unspeakable.

"N- No! I- I can't...!" Brainstorm cried, horrified beyond belief. He had gone through all those failures...! He couldn't lose you again! Then it hit him! He should take you to Ratchet! The medic could make you feel better, he can save you if the scientist couldn't!

"H- Hold on! I'll take you to Ratchet and he will fix you!" He tried to pick you up, but no matter how gentle he tried to be you would cry as if he had stabbed you.

"It hurts too much...!"

"Please, just bear with me! Soon you will feel good again!" He tried to pick you again, but you smacked his servos away and he pulled back, giving you space.

"Brainstorm... My love... Please..." You begged and sobbed as you looked at him through tears, "You have to let me go... Please... Release me from these pains...!"

"I-! I can't!" Brainstorm cried back. He was about to try and hold you gently like you were a hurt bird, but like a hurt bird, you cried in agony. He was running out of options... Should he try to get Ratchet or Perceptor to help? But then they would find out what he did and Brainstorm would no doubt get locked up and sent to some sort of facility.

"Brainstorm..." You whimpered and looked at your former lover with your tear-stained eyes. "If you have any love for me... You kill me...!" You begged and he finally understood what you meant. If he loved you, he wouldn't let you suffer like you were right now. He couldn't afford to be selfish. If he kept you like this then you would no doubt grow to despise if not even hate him.

"Very well..." Brainstorm picked the syringe and filled it with the pain medicine. You rolled on your back with great pain and offered your arm to him. Gently, he took a hold of your arm and you cried out briefly as he injected the medicine into your bloodstream. As soon as he pulled the syringe out he took off his mouthguard so he could smile at you for the last time.

"I really love you..." Brainstorm confessed and tears came down your face as you smiled one last time. "I love you too..." You whispered when your eyelids felt too heavy and slowly you closed your eyes and stopped breathing. Brainstorm looked at you before his frame started to shake and tears streamed down his face.

"Sleep well my little sweet spark..."

#yandere #mtmte #transformers #transformers mtmte #brainstorm #reader #reader insert #writing #my writing #story #my story #death #character death #begging #wanting to die

[laurawritesandgames]

For Beetlelands Week 2020

Title: Write Like the Wind

Fandom: Beetlejuice (Musical)

Rating: T

Ships: Beetlejuice/Adam/Barbara

Prompt: One Bed

Summary: Adam wants to do something for nerd-kind now that he has ghostly powers. Beetlejuice and Barbara help out. Spoilers for The Winds of Winter.

When Beetlejuice returned from the Netherworld, he came back powerful. Barbara wasn’t exactly sure how—the story changed with each telling. 

But he returned with enough power to teleport her and Adam pretty much anywhere he could visualize. Thanks to Google Street View, he could visualize quite a few things.

Being able to teleport was very helpful when Adam had a specific request.

The ghosts and demon appeared inside a very fancy home, with sunlight streaming in the windows. Beetlejuice was hovering between Barbara and Adam, holding their hands. Barbara suspected this wasn’t strictly part of his teleportation ability, but it was a nice excuse to hold hands.

The demon shimmered in and out briefly, wincing.

“Everything okay?” Barbara asked.

“Teleporting all the way to New Mexico is a lot. We’re definitely gonna need to stop by a bolt-hole on the way back.” According to Beetlejuice, undead travellers could recharge in places with a lot of “death energy”—graveyards, usually, or famous battlefields.

The clicking of a keyboard drew the three of them to an office where a large, grey-haired man sat in front of his computer.

Adam sucked in a breath. “There he is,” he whispered.

Beetlejuice rolled his eyes. “Sexy, you’re dead. He can’t hear you.” Sure enough, the writer hadn’t turned around at the sound of Beetlejuice’s voice.

“Oh.” Adam looked a bit disappointed. “I guess I just assumed that he’d be attuned to the supernatural. He’s a master of the sci-fi/fantasy genre! Anyway, let’s go see what he’s working on.” He crossed his fingers as the three of them huddled around the author’s computer screen.

Barbara felt a bit awkward reading over someone’s shoulder, and looked politely aside. She’d never gotten into sci-fi and fantasy the way Adam had; he’d know better than she would what they were looking at.

Her husband’s face fell. “Wild Cards?!” he spluttered. “Wild freaking Cards! I know he only edits the anthologies, but they’re a distraction!” He ran his hands through his hair. “Just write the books, George!”

“I can take over his computer and threaten to start deleting files until the books are done!” Beetlejuice crowed. “Make it seem like he’s got a computer virus!”

Adam’s gaze flicked between Beetlejuice and the author’s computer a few times.

Barbara cleared her throat.

“No, of course not,” Adam said quickly. “Thanks for saving me from myself, sweetie.” He kissed her cheek. He focused on the author, holding out his hand. “Sorry about this.”

The author stopped what he was doing. He saved then exited out of the document. Adam searched through the computer files for a moment then made the author open up a document titled The Winds of Winter.

The document opened after a few moments. ‘Want to pick up where you left off?’ Word asked helpfully, and the author clicked on it. There were a bunch of unfamiliar words and names on the page that showed up.

No sense in me reading this. Barbara decided to look around a famous author’s office. She’d expected him to have a bunch of memorabilia from the TV show, but the furnishings were really quite ordinary. Unsurprisingly, there were a lot of bookshelves filled with books.

There was silence from the author, whose fingers were poised over the keyboard.

“C’mon, Sexy, get writing.” Beetlejuice hovered in mid-air, bobbing slightly. He was also eyeing the author’s office, but he was probably wondering where to put spiders.

“Er, there’s no way I can give him partial control, can I? I can’t write the next book!”

“Not how it works, newb.”

Adam sighed. “Okay. Um, my thoughts definitely won’t be his, but maybe I can make a start. Barbara, you took that course in creative writing in college, right? Do you have any tips?” Adam was an amazing man with many good qualities, but pure creativity wasn’t one of them.

“I can try, but I wasn’t writing award-winning fantasy novels back in college.” Barbara dredged up some memories of the TV show. “Maybe you should make the White Walkers show up! You know, inject some tension.”

“It’s an Arianne Martel chapter.”

Barbara had no idea what that meant. “Um…have a dragon show up?”

“I appreciate the thought, but Arianne is going to treat with Young Griff, and the entire point is that he’s a supposed Targaryen that doesn’t have dragons.”

Beetlejuice spoke up. “Have some brothers and sisters bone. Shove a little smut in there.”

“Not only does that not work in this chapter, I’m also not comfortable with that.”

“Or skip to a Dany chapter,” Barbara suggested. “I just want good things for her. How’s she doing, anyway?”

“Not well.” Adam made the author pull up a Dany chapter. He watched the blinking cursor for a few moments, frowning in thought.

Beetlejuice added, “You could write a bunch of dialogue in what’s basically a white room and see where it takes you. That’s an A-plus writing strategy, right there.”

Adam sighed, rubbing his forehead. After a few more moments of intense concentration, he looked away from the computer screen.

The author shook his head, blinking a few times.

“Maybe just having the document open will prompt him to write?” Adam asked hopefully.

The author closed out of The Winds of Winter and went back to a document called Wild Cards_edits.

Adam’s shoulders slumped.

Beetlejuice hovered closer. “Just casually mentioning that we can take out the phone, snap some pics of these new chapters, and threaten to leak them if he doesn’t write the books.”

“Photos of chapters over his shoulder?” Barbara said. “That’s pretty terrifying.”

The demon chuckled darkly.

“Ah. And that was exactly the point.” Beetlejuice might have changed a lot since his return from the Netherworld, but his love of fear and chaos that wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

“No, Beetlejuice,” Adam said. “It wouldn’t work anyway. What kind of writing would you get if someone was bullied into it?”

“Bleh, you’re no fun. Where to next, Sexy? That Rothfuss guy?”

“Let’s just go home.”

“Have to make a quick stop first, but okay.” Beetlejuice grabbed their hands and teleported them away.

They landed in someplace pitch black. Beetlejuice lit a match of neon green fire, revealing a small underground crypt barely large enough for the three of them. Every surface was draped with dust and cobwebs. A half-open coffin showed patchy, stained velvet. If there was a door to this crypt, the match didn’t reveal it.

Beetlejuice tilted his head. “Ahhh, that’s better.” He frowned slightly, as if listening to something. Barbara couldn’t hear anything. “Yep, think it’s still sandworm free! Lemme just recharge for a while.”

“You’ve been here before?” she asked.

“Nah, but I saw drawings from some ghost hunters back in the Netherworld. Ghost hunters can go topside to bring ghosts back, and they need places to rest, too.”

“So, ghost hunters are ghosts who hunt other ghosts?”

“Yeah, and they’re the worst. The Bureau of the Dead won’t let anyone go topside unless they’re a boot-licker. But it was good to know a few of their tricks when I got banished up here.”

Barbara glanced at Adam, who normally would’ve loved Netherworld lore. It wasn’t every day that Beetlejuice opened up about a place that was, in his words, “total Meh-ville.” But Adam wasn’t even listening. The gloomy atmosphere of the crypt fit his gloomy expression perfectly.

“Hey,” Barbara said softly. When Adam turned her way, she squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out the way you wanted it to.”

“I guess art just has to happen at its own pace. You can’t force it. I just feel bad for all the other dead readers who’ll never get to read the end of the series. All they’ll have is the TV show’s ending.” He snorted in disgust.

“Maybe you planted a seed. Who knows? Inspiration is a funny thing.”

“And there’s always fanfic,” Beetlejuice added.

“It’s not the same,” Adam said with a sigh.

“Heh, speaking of fanfic….” Beetlejuice hopped into the coffin. “Oh noooo. There’s only one bed!”

Barbara and Adam stared at him. She had no idea what he was talking about.

Beetlejuice huffed. “Oh, come on. None of you ever read a romance fic? Hell, a romance novel?”

“No,” Adam said.

“Not really my thing,” Barbara added. She was a fan of biographies and autobiographies of famous people, personally. “And, also? Not a bed. It’s a coffin. And sleeping in a coffin is also not my thing.”

“Jesus, so picky.” Beetlejuice snapped his fingers, and the coffin became their bed at home. “Get over here.” He hesitated then said, “Please.” Barbara and Adam had had conversations with him about asking instead of demanding; happily, it looked like those conversations were sticking.

Beetlejuice had just done them a huge favour, and a little cuddling might cheer Adam up. Barbara went to join Beetlejuice, shooting a questioning glance at Adam. He followed them, though he was still brooding.

She and Beetlejuice let Adam slide between them as the three sorted themselves out. (Sometimes, Beetlejuice would throw in extra limbs or a few clones just for the added challenge.) After some scooching and wriggling, Barbara’s cheek rested on Adam’s shoulder as she stroked his chest gently and held his left hand. Beetlejuice had one arm over the two of them and was, for some reason, nibbling on Adam’s hair, which sometimes became kissing the top of his head. After a while, you got used to a certain amount of weirdness.

Gradually, Adam began to relax. First, the tension left his shoulders. Then, he cracked his neck and his jaw untightened. (He’d needed to wear a mouthguard when he slept when he was alive. He was always grinding his teeth.)

“Maybe…” he murmured. “Maybe I could write the ending to the books. It’ll be fanfic, but it’ll be something, at least. I can work on that project while the Deetzes are asleep. I’ve never written fic before, but I could try. It’s not like I need to eat or sleep. And I’ve been looking for a new project ever since I finished the model.” His model of the town had a place of pride in the attic, which the Maitlands had cleaned out and repurposed into an arts and crafts room. They still kept up with their hobbies, but they had fewer now that they were busy rehabilitating Beetlejuice and parenting Lydia.

“I’m sure it’ll be great, hon.” Barbara kissed his cheek. “I’ll help however I can.”

“And I can tell you all about what fic tropes you can put in!” Beetlejuice said. “Or what fic tropes we can do ourselves.” He must’ve been thinking about some sexual ones, for he chortled and squeezed Adam’s butt. “Gotta keep the rating PG-13 for Beetlelands Week, but…you know which ones.” He winked at no one in particular, it seemed. Sometimes, he pretended he had an audience; Barbara and Adam just ignored it.

Beetlejuice moved to nuzzling Adam’s throat. After a few moments, he began patting Barbara’s hair.

Barbara giggled. “Aren’t you supposed to be recharging?”

“It’s called multitasking, baby.” Idly, he commented, “Shit, fluff is hard to end. How do you even end something that by its nature has low stakes and minimal conflict?”

What was he talking about? Barbara shrugged.

Adam thoughtfully said, “Maybe with a kiss?”

“Hah!” Barbara couldn’t help but grin when Beetlejuice laughed like that. This wasn’t an evil cackle or a dark chuckle, but an open, cheerful sound that she’d been hearing more and more since they’d started dating. “Perfect! You’re so ready to be a fic writer, Sexy!”

Beetlejuice kissed Adam on the lips, and the cuddling in a false bed in an underground crypt continued.

Not for the first time, Barbara reflected, My afterlife is so weird.

But it did have its perks.

#beetlelandsweek2020 #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice #beetlelands #adam maitland #barbara maitland #adam x barbara x beetlejuice