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kquil · 4 months ago

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DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER SIX

06 : POTIONEER

CHPT. SUM. : Orion is furious at Sirius' sorting and demands he be resorted bringing you and Regulus with him to Hogwarts where you catch a glimpse of Remus and finally remember who Damcoles Belby is.

LENGTH : 13.1k

TAGS : domestic fluff ; mother-son moment between Sirius and reader ; Regulus is a precious baby ; Orion is a dickhead and a big baby ; fluff ; angst ; hurt/comfort ; Marauders becoming friends ; Damocles and Ruth are couple goals ; reader gets revenge for our baby.

TRIGGER WARNINGS : child abuse ; claustraphobia

← PREV. 05 : SIRIUS: FIRST DAY | SERIES M.LIST

3rd September 1971

The day before had gone relatively well. Sirius and the other first years in his classes were still fascinated by the castle and its magic so the tour and introductory first lessons in the afternoon went smoothly. The first years were adjusting well.

Today will be Sirius’ first full day of lessons and, although it’s daunting, his demeanour is exuberant. Knowing that he will be sharing classes with his new group of friends made him all the more excited. The previous night was spent mostly chatting with his dorm mates, being in bed by 10 pm but not sleeping until past midnight. It meant that he was down for breakfast later than what was ideal and to avoid worrying about rushing back to get ready in his dorm, Sirius made sure to get dressed and brought his book bag to breakfast. This was entirely Remus’ idea, which the boys were incredibly thankful to him for suggesting. The soft-spoken brunette was beginning to build a reputation for having a head full of sensible ideas, making up for what the rest of the group lacked.

Sirius was just about to finish his plateful and reach for a serving of freshly cut fruit when a shadow appeared over him. It was Argus Filch, the caretaker of Hogwarts.

“Can I help you?” Sirius asks, managing to quell his alarm and brace himself for what may come. Surely he wasn’t in trouble for anything already — there couldn’t possibly be anything he could be guilty of. James, Peter, and Remus looked up in curiosity, also having the same unanswered questions on their faces, silently seeking some sort of response to calm their startled nerves.

“You’re needed at the Headmaster’s office,” Filch announces, his eyes gleaming with amusement at the sight of the group’s unanimous surprise and dread, although his expression remains largely dull and unimpressed.

“…just me?” Sirius dreaded to ask.

“Just you,”

“Why?” Sirius’ demand visibly irritates Filch but he answers nonetheless, happy to have done so when he’s rewarded with Sirius’ pale and ghostly expression — an explicit look of horror.

“Your father is here,” the edges of Filch’s lips seem to twitch but ultimately remain in a straight line, neither smirking nor frowning, “shouldn’t keep ‘im waitin’ now,” James was immediately vocal in his protests. He could tell that Sirius was petrified at the thought of his father and immediately assembled the pieces Sirius was willing to divulge the night before on his home life — his mother was supportive but his father was not. James’ bold protectiveness over Sirius was heartwarming, he never had anybody stand up for him against his father much like this. Primarily because not many were a witness to it and Sirius would like to keep it that way as much as possible. His mother protects him now but this was only recently. Before that, Sirius made sure to keep Regulus out of trouble, vowing to protect his little brother and avoid trouble for his sake alone. James’ display was refreshing and touched his heart. And it was what gave Sirius the strength to willingly go with Filch.

Despite the bubbling dread in his stomach, Sirius keeps his chin high as he’s escorted to Dumbledore’s office. Although fearful at first, the prospect of facing his father at Hogwarts made Sirius more angry than anything else. Yes, he was shocked and, in that shock, terrified, but for his father to behave so impudently by visiting Hogwarts was highly hypocritical when the man always demeaned Sirius and punished him whenever he behaved or spoke in a disorderly way. Their encounter was surely going to be an explosive one.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔݁ ˖

Orion was losing his patience. It wasn’t like him to act so brazenly but the current oddness of his wife had been provoking his displeasure. He’s been feeling the unpleasant bubbling for an entire month and endured it all. So it shouldn’t be a surprise that Sirius’ Gryffindor sorting finally made him blow up and throw about the house’s interior in a blind rage. Atop that, Orion had been even more disgraced but in his own home this time; his wife had ordered their filthy, useless house elf to move all her belongings into a spare bedroom.

They no longer shared a bed.

Imagine his surprise when, the following morning, he was greeted by his wife and son at the fireplace, ready to floo to Hogsmeade and journey to Hogwarts.

“Regulus and I will be having breakfast at the Three Broomsticks,” you announced firmly, reminding him of the early hour. He had the open invitation to join you both but Orion refused, demanding that the matter with Sirius was urgent and that there wasn’t any need for breakfast. But he should have listened to his wife. When he charged up to Hogwarts ahead and was greeted by Dumbledore, the wistful headmaster had him wait around until he was finished with his breakfast before Sirius was finally called for, requesting that the Squib caretaker do the retrieving. Now, Orion sat in the office with an empty stomach and only his anger fuelling him.

“I hope that your boy has had the time to eat his breakfast as well,” Orion looks at the headmaster, stopping his impatient foot tapping when he notices the mysterious gleam in the elderly wizard’s eyes, “we wouldn’t want him going to class with an empty stomach,”

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔݁ ˖

Orion was an idiot. You had an idiot for a husband. The thought made you roll your eyes and scoff irritably. Men were so pigheaded sometimes, do they even realise how annoying they can be?

Observing Regulus as he wiped the crumbs off his mouth with a napkin was all you needed to ease your mounting irritation, however. Your sons won’t grow up unpleasantly like that; you know that your boys will be true gentlemen, naturally, with their own personal idiosyncrasies but, unlike your foolish husband, they’ll be chivalrous, well-mannered and receptive, you’ll see to that personally. Orion won’t have any influence over them. This is your new life’s mission now.

“I’m all done now, Mother,” Regulus announces with a somewhat sheepish smile as you grin with amusement against the lip of your teacup. He knows he didn’t pay the best attention to his etiquette when devouring his plate of breakfast at The Three Broomsticks but you don’t seem to mind so maybe he’ll get away with it… Little did he know that you found him incredibly adorable and enjoyed the way he appeared more like a child his age for once.

“That’s good, dear,” your calm demeanour and slow actions makes slight panic flash in Regulus’ eyes. He’s concerned at the lack of action, the passing of time and the idea that he won’t be there when his father and brother meet, “we will keep our promise, Regulus, I assure you,” his endearing worry is met with your kind smile, “I’m sure Sirius is enjoying his breakfast right now too,” the growing smirk on your lips begins to reflect on your youngest, who immediately catches onto your cheekiness.

“I-I suppose father will be going without any breakfast then…” Regulus comments, taking a sip of his apple juice.

“Darling, who are we to get in the way of your father’s demands? He was ever so insistent,” an amused giggle passes between the two of you and Regulus is finally able to relax a bit. He makes a mental note to write about your uncharacteristic mischief to Sirius in an upcoming letter. He had been meaning to write a letter congratulating Sirius on his sorting but thought it better to voice in person instead after you invited him to Hogwarts under Orion’s furious insistence.

You took some minutes to enjoy the rest of your breakfast before announcing your departure.

“Come again soon, Mrs Black! Both you and your son are always welcome,” Madam Rosmerta shouts warmly as she waves you and Regulus off with the beer mug she had been polishing.

“Of course, Madam Rosmerta. Until then, take care!” you call back, smiling happily at the woman.

Unfortunately, you didn’t account for arriving at Hogwarts castle without a guide ready to escort you from the grand entrance to the Headmaster’s office. It was pure luck that you were spotted by one of your favourite characters and immediately taken to your destination.

“The headmaster speculated you’d be arriving here,” McGonagall spoke stiffly but warmly in her distinctive Scottish intonation. Following a brief introduction of all parties, she finally begins to lead you and Regulus to the Headmaster’s office. She looked much younger than she did in the films, yet to be worn down by the mischief the marauders cause only to be succeeded by the Weasley twins, coming to wreak the same havoc and closely followed by the golden trio. It was nice to see her modelling such a reliable and tenacious character before Dumbledore manipulates her into becoming hesitant and unreliable, inconstant with her trustworthiness amongst the students. This prestigious school deserved a headmaster who cared for their pupils equally, unswayed by bias – someone fair and trustworthy, not just powerful. In your eyes, that was McGonagall. And you were going to put her in that position yourself.

“I appreciate that, and I appreciate you coming to collect us,” you voice politely, offering a smile that she appeared taken aback by. She’s been influenced by the rumours as well. Walburga’s magisterial ways and elitism precede her. It was annoying. But, you’ll admit that it’s amusing to see the surprise on people’s faces when you distinguish all those claims personally. Not only are you making a new name for yourself but you also have the satisfaction of tarnishing the bitch in your head’s reputation. That was more fulfilling than anything.

“It is only the correct thing to do,”

“Are things always that black and white?” Minerva doesn’t know how to answer your sudden, cryptic comment and you have the slight mind to apologise for your loose lips. Not only was the deputy headmistress caught off guard by the question but she was dumbstruck by the question coming from you, the woman who openly expresses her abhor of muggle borns and blood ‘traitors’ — you and your bloodline were the most ‘black-and-white’ people in wizarding society. To say that McGonagall was speechless was an understatement. To her relief, you breeze past the comment entirely, “I apologise for my husband’s brash behaviour, it’s truly insufferable how audacious he is, sometimes,”

Clearing her throat, McGonagall goes for the professional response, although she was highly tempted to agree with you, “all parents have a right to have a say in their children’s education,”

“This goes beyond mere education, professor,” you look into her eyes and are met with agreement, “Surely, you can agree that the matter is useless kicking up such a fuss over and that my husband is entirely wrong. In this matter, I am right in saying he is being an idiot by publicly throwing a tantrum,” you tut in displeasure, “The humiliation of it all is almost unbearable,” at your side, you hear Regulus choke on his laughter and crack a smile, giving his small hand a light squeeze. Finally, McGonagall allows a smirk to stretch across her lips but before she can make any comment of agreement, you’ve already reached the gargoyle entrance to the Headmaster’s office.

“The password is ‘Pear Drops’,” With a wave of her hand, the gargoyles reveal a spiralling staircase to the Headmaster’s office, “good luck,” she nods at you and you watch as her expression softens ever so slightly to face Regulus and bid him a soft goodbye, “hopefully, our next meeting will be a more pleasant one, down by the great hall on your first year,” Regulus smiles and nods, waving her goodbye. She offers a smile to both of you and turns with a swift swish of her thick, draping robes. McGonagall never expected you to be so warm and pleasant —it’s easy to misjudge the character of a person simply from third-party accounts and retellings. She’ll have to rethink her own prejudices and biases moving forward.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔݁ ˖

Sirius hadn’t arrived yet. As soon as you sat down, Orion was already gritting his teeth, the squareness of his jaw making his frustrations obvious.

“I told you so,” you voice blankly and with an unamused face to match. Orion didn’t say a word — he couldn’t. He was already facing the consequences of his impatience as his stomach tried to eat itself from hunger. Dumbledore raises a questioning brow at the interaction but doesn’t say anything. Instead, the headmaster turns to Regulus with a kind smile and offers him the latest muggle sweet he’s grown a recent taste for, the password to his office, Pear Drops.

“Try some, my boy, I promise they’re a delight,” Regulus looks to you, silently asking for permission.

You smile softly and nod, “Go right ahead dear but you’ve had a rather hearty breakfast, why don’t you save it for a special treat later on?” Regulus nods and reaches for a small handful of the sweets to pocket in the meantime, however, his small, pale hand is smacked away by Orion who hisses angrily through clenched teeth.

“No son of mine dabbles in any muggle sweets — it’s unbecoming, Regulus!”

It was thankful that Orion was already clenching his teeth when you slapped him across the face or else he would have bitten straight through his tongue at the force of your firm hand.

“Touch my son again, and you’ll be falling from the tower without your wand, Orion,” you threaten through clenched teeth of your own as the man stares at you in wide-eyed shock, his expression reflected onto the Headmaster.

The reddening hand mark on your husband’s pale cheek isn’t nearly enough to contain your rage. Your shoulders and hands shake from the barely contained wrath bubbling in your veins, you don’t even register how your palm was stinging from the slap as well. Rather than divorcing the stinking pile of shit you have for a husband, you’ll end up murdering him instead. Regulus cuddling up to your side was the only thing able to extinguish the violent rage shooting through your bloodstream but seeing the reddening of his small hand from Orion was quickly reigniting the fire within you.

“You can’t just—” You don’t know what shameless words he planned on stitching together as a poor explanation of his actions but you were having none of it.

“Shut your mouth!” you hiss once more, eyes narrowing at him, “I said he could have some so he’s having some! How dare you publicly cause a commotion like this over Sirius’ sorting andhave the cheek to harm Regulus on top of that! And over muggle sweets?! Have some decorum, Orion! How embarrassing!” Orion appears to shrink in his seat as you lean over more and more with each word. You didn’t see it but Regulus no longer had tears lining the seams of his precious, silver eyes, instead, they were filled with glittering admiration and love at the sight of you defending him. If only Sirius could see their mother like this, he would no longer have any cause for worry about being away at Hogwarts while he stays home.

“Ahem!” All heads turn to the entrance where Sirius stares on at the scene, wide-eyed and with a delinquent smirk tugging at the edges of his lips. It isn’t until his eyes meet his father’s infuriated ones that Sirius finds the will to conceal his satisfaction. What he had just witnessed was admirable and a laugh desperately tried to push past his lips but he resisted; he was still on the chopping block for his father to rip apart. Although, knowing that you’re also here, eases Sirius’ worries.

“Sirius,” you breathe with a smile, your expression immediately warming up at the sight of your firstborn. It hasn’t even been a full three days since you’ve last seen him but the effects of missing him were substantial enough that you were able to easily decompress from your heated exchange with Orion.

“Get over here, boy,” Orion seethes through clenched teeth, his attention averted. Knowing that his son stood before him as a proud Gryffindor and without an ounce of regret for the shame he has befallen their family makes the patriarch clench his fist so hard that his knuckles turn a paper-white. Sirius doesn’t move, he doesn’t even spare him a glance and when Orion follows his son’s gaze, he’s surprised to note that his gaze is fixed on his mother.

“Feel free to take any available seat,” Dumbledore offers kindly, observing the scene with a curious glint in his eyes.

“Please come and sit with your brother and me, dear,” you barely finish your words before Sirius moves across the Headmaster’s office to sit beside Regulus, who has promptly pulled away from you to admire his brother.

“Thank you for arriving so promptly, Sirius,” Dumbledore begins, eyeing the substantial gap between the two parents before settling his twinkling gaze over the first year, “I hope your breakfast wasn’t interrupted too terribly by the sudden meeting,”

Sirius offers polite understanding over the disruption to his morning despite it only being the third day of school. At the sight of Sirius’ clenching and unclenching fists, you can tell that seeing his father was an annoyance, however, you’re proud of his ability to school his expression. He’s already grown up so much…

Giving a slow nod, Dumbledore directs everyone’s attention to Orion, who was barely holding himself together at the unnecessary —in his eyes only — exchange of pleasantries, “Your father has some troubles over your sorting,”

Sirius pays his father no mind as the pathetic man slams his hardened fist against Dumbledore’s wooden desk, “I DEMAND THAT THE SORTING BE REDONE! THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!” the frightening volume of your reprehensible husband’s words makes Regulus’ shoulders shake but you and Sirius were there for him. Flanked on either side of the youngest, you were able to bring Regulus into your side for a comforting sideways embrace while Sirius reached over to console his brother by threading their fingers together and clasping his hand tightly. Regulus immediately begins to calm down and smiles to himself at the warm feeling of protection surrounding him.

“…It cannot be done, Mr Black,” Dumbledore states matter-of-factly in a serene voice that bodes no fear for the wrath of your husband.

“EXCUSE ME?! CLEARLY THIS WAS A MISTAKE—”

“The sorting hat makes no mistakes,” Dumbledore was so firm in his statement, that Orion was left stammering with disbelief. It makes you smirk with a sort of evil satisfaction. What will he say next?

“That’s impossible! For that tattered old thing to have made no mistakes whatsoever?!” Orion finally has the decency to lower his voice though, not by much.

“You are free to doubt the sorting hat as you wish Mr Black but it is indisputable and Sirius will not be resorted,”

“Of course not!” you pipe up, pinning your husband with a harsh glare, “For the sake of your own ego and pride, Orion, how could you demand such a thing? This whole fiasco is far more embarrassing than our son being sorted into the house of bravery and courage. Get over yourself. Our son will miss his lesson at this rate. I apologise, headmaster, for my husband’s shameful behaviour, I assure you that my son will behave far more gracefully,” turning away from your staggering husband and the amused headmaster, you look at Sirius with pride. Leaning over Regulus to press a kiss onto his older brother’s forehead he’s able to hear your tender whisper of pride, “I’m so proud of you, darling,”

You leave a humiliated, red-faced Orion to argue with Dumbledore, who handles the overgrown baby’s temper tantrum with grace. It was much appreciated and you were willing to applaud the old wizard if it weren’t for your existing hatred and secret plot to rid him of his position as headmaster. You’ve led Sirius and Regulus to stand quite a distance away from the two so that you could share a private moment, the attention mainly pointed towards your grinning firstborn.

“Have you received the gift I sent you?” you ask in a whisper as you hold Sirius in a loving embrace, his arms wrap around your shoulders and he presses his nose into your loose hair — you smell like a mixture of milky vanilla, calming lavender, fruity current and flowery jasmine, it’s not like any fragrance he’s ever smelled on you but he’s grown to find comfort in it. He nods and you silently ask for the pin’s whereabouts.

Sirius reaches into the breast pocket of his school robes, now embellished with the colours of Gryffindor, daring red and enchanting gold. He brings up his fist and unfurls his fingers to reveal the unworn pin. From the side, Regulus gasps at the beauty of such a small and intricate accessory. Smiling, you read off the personal message you engraved on the back before fastening the pin onto his grey cardigan, “A shield to protect my brave, daring and noble son,” you lean back and give him a once over. Sirius can see the visible lining of tears that gather at the edges of your waterline and his breath stills — it was one thing to read of your happiness and pride for his accomplishment at being sorted into Gryffindor but it was another thing entirely to hear the words from you firsthand and to watch as happy tears blur your vision. Sirius has never seen his mother be so happy and proud that she begins to tear up, Regulus hasn’t either and both stare at you in wonderment. Sirius feels as though he would begin to cry himself but refrains from doing so when Regulus looks at him with a bright grin and glimmering eyes of admiration. Regulus was proud and happy for him too…

Reaching forward, you pat down the lapels of Sirius’ robes, “goodness, you look so handsome in your school robes,” you share a breathless laugh with your bashful, first-year son before bringing him into another embrace. This one feels tighter, “are you truly my son? I can’t believe it!”

“Of course, I’m your son,” Sirius pouts into your shoulder, trying to counteract his glowing grin, somehow, but it’s no use; the urge to smile from the acceptance and the happiness was too overpowering.

“This feels like a dream…” you whisper into the air and Sirius is brought back to the time he witnessed the affectionate exchange between his mother and younger brother at the home library doorway. He remembers feeling his heart ache and clench before finally shattering into painfully sharp pieces, engulfed by spite and jealousy. But now… you were saying the same words to him…

“…a dream come true?” Sirius asks so softly and with much insecurity, you can’t help but squeeze him tighter.

“Yes!” you’re giddy with happiness and it’s infectious, even onto Regulus who was momentarily saddened at his older brother’s innocent wants and endurance, silently suffering from that fateful day at the Library, where everything had changed. While Regulus was floating on air from the merriment, his confident, protective and loving older brother was dealt a painful blow right to the heart. He wants to reach out and hug him tight and apologise for not noticing sooner.

“A dream come true, it’s just that.” you laugh again, “I still can’t believe it — you’re my son,” Sirius smiles as you cup his cherubic face with your gentle, loving hands. He’s stuck between jumping for joy and doing a happy dance but settles for shyly avoiding your gaze and smiling down at your wrists, where he witnesses your thumbs lovingly caressing his cheekbones in his periphery.

“I’m your son…”

“You’re my son…” you kiss his cheek and pull away. Regulus had been inching closer and closer throughout your interaction and you could practically taste his eagerness in the air, wanting to pull his older brother into a warm embrace, himself.

Happily, you allow the two to share a moment and they don’t waste any time holding one another tightly. “I can’t believe you’re a Gryffindor, Siri! Your pin looks so beautiful. Mother did a really good job with it. I wonder where she got it made and how… I hope I get one too…” Sirius, knowing the elation the pin had given him when he had first received it and even more when he read the personalised message engraved on the back, didn’t want to deprive his brother of the same feeling, not a single bit. Looking over at you, he meets your eyes and is immediately assured by the smile dancing on your lips.

“Of course, you’ll get a pin too, baby,” you seal the promise by pressing a kiss to the back of Regulus’ head, who spins around to face you so quickly, you fear he might have gotten whiplash but the smile on his face was enough assurance.

“Really, Mother?”

“Really really,”

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔݁ ˖

Sirius returns to the great hall with enough time to spare. His Gryffindor pin is proudly displayed on the chest of his cardigan as he finishes breakfast with his group of friends. Upon his return, they ask him the obvious questions.

“Is everything okay?

“What happened?”

“Are you alright?”

“What was the meeting about?”

Sirius could hardly answer anything from the flurry of overlapping voices and questions he was being bombarded with, other students were even beginning to look at him with curiosity after witnessing his departure with Filch. However, something in the distance catches his attention. The boys follow Sirius’s distracted gaze as soon as he turns away, not having answered a single query. At the open entrance of the great hall, they witness Orion’s scowling face pass swiftly, barely casting a glance at Sirius. He can’t believe his father is being so childish but it was satisfying to watch and listen to his mother treat him like a child too — a child who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Behind him, Regulus appears at your side, walking at a more leisurely pace. You and his little brother take a moment to lock eyes with him from the great hall entrance. Both of you smile and give him a small wave, leaving unhurriedly when he returns the gesture. But not before you blow him a kiss with a devious smile on your lips.

Despite the tender moment you shared in Dumbledore’s office, of course, you would still want to embarrass him in front of his friends! Sirius wasn’t mad though — it was quite reassuring to see a mischievous side to his mother.

“Th-that’s your mum?” Peter squeaks nervously. He’s heard of the ancient and noble Black family before. And he’s heard a lot about the notoriously disdainful patriarch and matriarch, Orion and Walburga Black so your uncharacteristic actions make him flounder, “I-I didn’t know your mother was capable of smiling like that…”

“Me neither,” Sirius replies with a grin, but I’m glad I know now.

“She’s pretty,” James comments, almost gushing as Remus nods along demurely, blushing down into his morning tea.

“Why did she look at me like that?…” Remus whispers against the lip of his teacup.

“What was that?” Sirius asks with a curious tilt of his head. He didn’t quite manage to catch what Remus had said but his muttering was enough to pique his interest. In his embarrassment and distracted thoughts from when you had blown him a kiss, Sirius failed to notice the way your gaze lingered on Remus, who noticed an unknown glint come to life in your eyes. “Remus?”

“—N-nothing! It was nothing… nevermind,”

4th September 1971

You can’t get over how adorable the marauders look as first years. They might as well be little babies, their cheeks still possess some youthful plumpness and they look ready to grow into their school robes with much more fullness. However, as adorable as you found them to be, you have much more important and urgent matters that need tending to. You can’t believe how you’d forgotten such an important detail until now but seeing Remus was what you needed for the pieces to finally fit together.

Damocles Belby. Inventor of the Wolfsbane potion in the 1990s. You aren’t sure about the exact year but it definitely wasn’t invented while Remus was in Hogwarts. That was why you were drawn to his quaint potions shop and why his name has been lingering in the back of your mind since that day.

Regulus didn’t have any classes with Peony today as it was Saturday and you weren’t entirely comfortable with leaving him alone as Orion was out on business. You didn’t hear of his departure personally, he had Kreacher come and notify you in his stead. He’s still being an overgrown baby about what happened in Hogwarts.

Dumbledore continued to refuse on the matter of Sirius’ re-sorting and firmly refused all attempts of bribery on your husband’s part. It was an unreasonable request and you were all sent out soon after so that Sirius could finish his breakfast and attend his lessons on time. Admittedly, it was better to receive the news from Kreacher rather than Orion. Despite the action being petty and out of anger, you were more than happy with the arrangement and you’ll be sure to return the gesture – whenever you want to relay a message to him, you’ll ask Kreacher for his assistance too.

Your droopy house elf sees the mischief in your eyes and immediately notices the lack of offence to Orion’s backhanded pettiness when he hiccuped through the message he was sent to deliver. His mistress has changed so much… though he cannot argue that most of the change was pleasant.

“I hope you’ll forgive me for arranging an outing so suddenly like this,” you sheepishly apologise, helping Regulus with his suspenders before he pulls his cardigan over his neatly pressed shirt.

“It’s okay, Mother,” he flashes you a precious grin, “I enjoy spending time with you like this,”

It was hard to resist his sweet words and you’re immediately pulling him into an embrace, pressing light kisses onto his face. Regulus flushes a bright pink when you squeal about how ‘sweet’ and ‘precious’ and ‘charming’ he was. You’ve become so much more affectionate and, even though it’s not an unpleasant change, Regulus still finds it hard to adapt to. However, he can’t say he wants to forget or take for granted the feeling of elation and warmth that floods his chest whenever you act lovingly — he’s always dreamed of receiving affection from his mother like this.

“Please never grow up my darling,” you sigh, already knowing the truth as you lead him to the fireplace where you’ll floo to Diagon Alley together, “but I suppose you’ll always be my little boy, so growing up won’t be too bad,” Regulus doesn’t openly admit that he wouldn’t mind being the way he is forever so long as you continue being such a wonderful mother.

“Where will we be going, Mother?” Regulus looks up at you with curious eyes upon exiting the fireplace soot-free. He’s already reaching for your hand so you don’t lose each other in the crowds.

“We’ll be visiting Mr Belby,” you smile fondly at the grin Regulus flashes you. He surely remembers the lovely couple owning the potion shop from when you went first-year shopping for Sirius.

“I know where that is,” he pipes up when you look around curiously, trying to map out your journey.

“Oh? Then do you mind leading me the way there, darling?”

“Of course, Mother, this way,” he steps forward and begins leading you along the cobblestone paths. Belby’s Potions and Ingredients was quite reserved compared to the other shops, which made it hard to distinguish, especially when it’s the weekend and more people are out and about.

“You’re so clever, thank you, darling,” you press a kiss onto the crown of Regulus’ head when he leads you beneath the hanging sign of the shop.

Regulus grins and his chest puffs out ever so slightly, “you’re welcome, Mother,”

Observing the shop in front of you, your brows furrow with worry, “why does it look closed?” despite the observation, you knock on the door while squinting through the empty shop windows. Their sign states they’re open from Monday to Friday between the hours of 8 am and 5 pm. “They should still be open, it’s only 11 o’clock in the morning…” you knock again with more insistence and shout through the door, worried for the couple. Regulus observes your panic with anxious eyes and begins to feel the distress melting into his thoughts and feelings. The Belby couple were lovely, they were good people that no misfortune should ever try to pollute so he dreads to think they’re in any trouble. Your knocks sound as if you were determined to break their door down just to get inside, you were tempted to cast ‘alohamora’ but there would be no use for that, you’ll be arrested for trying to commit ‘breaking and entering’ in broad daylight.

It wasn’t until Damocles himself seemingly appeared out of nowhere, looking dishevelled and sleep-deprived that you finally stopped knocking, “Madam Black,” Damocles acknowledges as soon as he opens the door to you and Regulus, “I’m afraid we’re closed for today,” to emphasise his point, he presses the closed sign onto the window of his shop’s door.

“Mr Belby, I apologise for being so demanding but this is urgent,” you try to argue, feeling the distant press of Regulus against your legs, his arms circling your waist for comfort. He doesn’t know what’s happening but to see his mother and the kind Mr Belby interact in such a state of distress made him nervous. This was so opposite to their first interaction at the shop.

“I-I’m afraid I have far more urgent matters to attend to as of this moment,” he reasons breathlessly, trying to close the door shut but you’re determined. Your mind has been set — not only were you going to help Sirius and Regulus but you were going to be there for Remus too.

“I insist that what I have to say to you is very important as well!”

Damocles incessantly shakes his head, his lips pressed into a thin line as his knuckles turn white from how hard he’s gripping his shop’s door handle, “my dearest Ruth is my top priority right now and she’s terribly sick at the moment, please — I’m sure this can wait!” with that, he slams the door shut, causing you and Regulus to flinch at the harsh sound. You didn’t want to hold off on the situation but you know when a line is drawn and Damocles’ insistent refusal of your entry was more than enough to tell you to back away.

His behaviour was rather odd, however. When you first met the man and his wife, they were beyond lovely. Both were incredibly welcoming and warm, looking down at Regulus, you see the confusion in his clear, steel-grey eyes also.

“Let's try again on Monday, darling,” Regulus nods at your suggestion. His small brows were furrowed with concern and he seemed hesitant to look away from you despite the smile of reassurance you give him. It warmed your heart seeing how troubled he was over your predicament with Mr Belby; you couldn’t resist kissing away the wrinkle between his brows, “don’t worry, my dear, patience is key when it comes to things like this,”

Giving one last lingering glance at Belby’s Potions and Ingredients, you redirect Regulus to Gringotts. It rose higher than any of the other buildings in Diagon Alley so it was relatively easy to spot and head towards. Before heading home for the day, you had one more errand to take care of.

˖ ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔݁ ˖

Filgus was easy to spot, he was the goblin you immediately walked to upon entering the opulent establishment. His sharp, angular features help hold up a monocle over his right eye as a gold chain trails down to the breast pocket of his smart, black suit, though he wears no tie. His healthy head of silver hair is pushed back and tied into a small ponytail at the base of his neck. He looks much younger than his colleagues from the largely less wrinkled visage of his countenance, it was no wonder that entertained your previous request.

“Madam Black,” Filgus smiles at you, content with your polite, formal greeting. He smiles at Regulus too, who mirrors the goblin greeting at your side, “How may I help you?” he smirks beneath his long and pointed nose. Past the reflections of his monocle, you catch a faint gleam in his eyes, though you can’t comprehend exactly what emotion stands behind it. Was it excitement? Curiosity? Something else entirely, perhaps… “Will you be requesting another commission for our services?” you smile, finally understanding the look in his black, black eyes.

“Although I highly commend your metalsmith expertise, I am here for a different affair,“ your words pique Regulus’ interest and he begins to speculate whether you had the goblins make Sirius’ Gryffindor pin – it would be an incredible feat if you did, "I only hope to open two new vaults today,” your request eases Filgus’ posture and his action to lean back make you realise the full extent of his previous excitement. It almost makes you want to apologise for not meeting his expectations.

The first time you had come to him for a commission request, he had been surprised and you suppose he had been able to conceal his delight well but now his disappointment was more obvious. It made you want to giggle but you didn’t want to accidentally offend him or any of the other goblins nearby so you kept your amusement to yourself.

“That’s simple enough,”

“I want both vaults to have the same precautions and safeguards as the Black family vaults,” his quill stops momentarily as he makes a point of raising a brow at your specifications. A beat passes and he finishes off what he was writing.

“Who will these vaults be for?”

“They will be for my sons. One for Sirius Orion Black the third,” you reach over to wrap your arm around Regulus’ small shoulders, “and the other for Regulus Arcturus Black,”

“Unusual,” Filgus comments under his breath but makes his notes regardless of the uncommon application from the Black family matriarch herself. This was not tradition for ancient, noble wizarding families to create a separate vault entirely when they all simply shared one vault. The only reason for something like this to happen would be when someone was disowned by their family and are forced to start from a completely empty vault. Filgus looks up from the parchment he was writing on, only to meet eyes with Regulus who looks white as a ghost and frozen with fear. The sight makes the goblin chuckle under his breath and shakes his head subtly. Even if he wanted to, he had no words of comfort to offer the young wizard.

“I want the vaults for my sons to be entirely separate from the Black family vaults — nowhere near it,”

“Consider it done. The keys and paperwork will be delivered to you soon enough,”

“Thank you very much, Filgus,” you nod with a smile, “and I assure you that I will be back to request another commission soon enough,” he smirks beneath his pointed nose and his black eyes seem to light up despite their soulless darkness. He says nothing more as you lead Regulus out of Gringotts for the journey home.

Beside you, Regulus is filled with dread to the point that he feels sick. Getting a separate vault means only one thing and the realisation makes his eyes sting with globulous tears. Looking up at you, his mind flashes with all the happy memories you’ve shared with him and Sirius the past month or so — was that all just a lie? Were you such a good actor that you managed to babble that prideful speech to Sirius at Hogwarts on the spot? Did you always mean to disown them? But then why did you put so much effort into bonding with them like this? It’s too cruel…

“Darling!” you panic at the river of tears running down Regulus’ flushed cheeks. Stepping out of Gringotts, you were just about to ask Regulus if he’d fancy stopping by a sweet shop to bring something yummy home to indulge in and maybe get something for Kreacher too, only to be met by the pitiful image of your youngest sobbing and clinging onto the draping silhouette of your dress skirt. You sweep him up into your arms and move to a bench placed in a, somewhat, secluded location so that you can have a modicum of privacy. “Oh, sweetheart…” you coo and gently brush back his hair with your fingers, “please tell me what’s the matter so that I can help you feel better…” he mutters something incoherent under his breath and in between his hiccups but you ask him to repeat it as you couldn’t hear the first time.

“Y-you’re going to disown me and Sirius…“ he sobs before throwing himself at your lap and crying into your skirt, “Please don’t disown us, we’ll be good, I promise!” you couldn’t take hearing his tearful cries any longer and you scoop him up again so you could hug him tightly as he wraps his arms over your shoulders to sob into your neck, his legs wrapping around your waist.

‘Openly crying in public?! HOW DISGRACEFUL! LOOK AT WHAT YOU’VE DONE TO MY SONS YOU WRETCHED THING!’ Walburga screeches in your head but you’re quick to hush her up, completely ignoring her piggish squealing to focus on comforting Regulus. ‘THEY COULD HAVE BEEN TRAINED AND DISCIPLINED INTO HONOURABLE SONS BEFORE YOUR INFLUENCE BUT NOW IT’S COMPLETELY HOPELESS!’ She can rant and squeal and screech as much as she wants, you’re not responding to a single thing. Regulus was much more important right now.

You sit there with him, softly shushing his sobs and patting his back comfortingly as he cries and cries until his eyes run dry. In his panic and distress, Regulus wasn’t in the right headspace to listen to any consoling words you had to say so you waited. It wasn’t until the neckline of your black dress was made damp with Regulus’ tears that you finally whispered your consolation, he had managed to quiet down to small hiccups and shy sniffles.

“There is no way on earth that I would ever ever disown you or Sirius, let alone both of you,” you press a kiss to Regulus’ temple, blinking back your tears at the intense display of sadness from your usually mild-mannered son.

“B-but,” Regulus protests, pulling away to look at you with wide, swollen eyes, “you’ve created a separate vault for me and Sirius, that can only mean one thing…” he explains, making you realise your careless actions.

“Oh darling, I’m not disowning you at all…” you wipe your thumbs beneath his eyes, offering a sad, apologetic smile for having conveyed such confusing intentions, “I only wanted to make sure you and your brother had something to put your belongings in and have a place for your savings that nobody else can touch,” he tilts his head curiously at you, “it’s to set you and your brother up well for the future. These vaults are for your and your brother’s possessions only, nobody else’s. For now, I’ll have your keys and help you save up some galleons until you’re old enough. I know that we’re a very rich family but there’s no harm in having your own vaults so that you and your brother can start adulthood on a good foundation,”

“…th-that’s all?”

“That’s all,” you nuzzle his nose with your own and kiss his forehead, making him giggle — such a beautiful sound.

He throws his arms over your shoulders and gives you a tight squeeze, “Thank you, Mother,” you can hear the relief dripping from his voice and it makes your heart clench.

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, darling,”

“It’s okay…” he whispers shyly, not wanting to pull away so you could witness the flush of embarrassment dusting his cheeks.

“Next time you’re worried about something, please talk to me, okay? I don’t want you to worry needlessly,”

Regulus nods and pulls away to grin brightly at you, “Okay!” you bought him a lot of sweets at the shops after that.

11th September 1971

You visited Belby’s Potions and Ingredients every day for the next week and it was always closed. After some time, you take the trips without Regulus, opting for going by yourself while he’s being tutored by Peony. Usually, you’d make your way home after realising there would be no signs of the couple appearing any time soon. There wasn’t a single light on behind the shop’s windows. Its interior was motionless, like a space suspended in time — nothing was out of place, it was merely still… and it stayed like that for an entire week.

An unhealthy amount of concern was beginning to build up in the pit of your stomach for the couple — perhaps Ruth’s illness the previous week was truly debilitating and when you remember your insensitivity, dominated by desperation, your chest constricts with shame atop the mounting anxiety. After your visit with Regulus, you had purchased a moon calendar and discovered that Remus would be experiencing his first transformation the following night and you suppose that realisation didn’t help your anxiety over the issue. He was going to be experiencing his first transformation so quickly, he barely would have settled into Hogwarts. For that sweet, kind and anxious boy, you were willing to do anything atop all the things you were already planning to do for Sirius and Regulus.

Belby’s Potions and Ingredients was just ahead now, the muscle memory of the journey there easily guiding your feet and allowing your mind to wonder about the young lycanthrope attending Hogwarts with your firstborn. You were anticipating another uneventful but worrisome visit, however, the sight of an ‘open’ sign hanging on the door made your heart stop. For a moment, you paused, frozen in place and took the time to digest what you were seeing in front of you. You have to confirm that it wasn’t a dream or an illusion that your mind conjured up in its noxious mixture of fret and despair.

No, this was real!

Pushing open the door, you rush inside and immediately call out to the potioneer, “Mr Belby! Mr Belby!” you meet the bearded man at his designated station behind the front counter. Beneath his eyes are the faintest trace of dark circles but he manages to smile at your bright demeanour.

“Good morning, Madam Black,” he greets, somewhat, cheerfully, “how may I help you today?”

With warmth in your eyes, you redirect his statement, “Actually, I was hoping to help you today…” as eager as you were to offer your aide and investment in the brilliant potioneer’s talents, his appearance was a sharp contrast to your first meeting that you were swamped with worry. Damocles gives an inquisitive look at your statement and prompts you for an explanation but it falls on deaf ears when you remember his words the previous week. “How is Ruth?” guilt tugs at your heartstrings and the emotion easily shows on your features, “Is she feeling better?”

Happy to divert from your earlier words in favour of his wife, Damocles smiles rather grimly and nods, “She has quite the weak constitution, especially after an episode,” he’s careful with his words and expertly continues despite his true emotions pleading to take control of his expressions. At times there’s an odd quirk in his smile or a misplaced dullness in his eyes — gone was the man you greeted at your first encounter. He looked poorly. Dishevelled and weighed down by something heavy. Someone so kind, loving and passionate about his work didn’t deserve such troubles.

“And it’s lasted an entire week?” you’re saddened by his confirming nod and hum, “Is she here? At the shop?” you don’t wait until he confirms nor denies; you’re already stepping towards an isolated but well-loved corner of the quaint shop.

“Madam Black…” a weak, melodious voice greets you. Approaching Ruth in her rocking chair, you offer a kind smile, happy to see her in, somewhat, good health. “I apologise that my illness has deprived the business of my husband,” she is humbly sheepish and her radiant countenance almost distracts you from her trembling hands. It isn’t a secret how devitalised she is but to still attempt her embroidery in her eroded state makes your chest tighten.

“I’m just happy you’re doing better,” you try to forget the careless words you had desperately shouted the week previous. It wasn’t your intention to be so insensitive and you wouldn’t dare wish any ill-will towards Ruth. The Belby couple are incredibly pleasant people and a treasure to have for company. You suppose that your eagerness to help Remus with his lycanthropy was too strong to resist – not only can you help Sirius and Regulus, but you can help many more of your beloved characters too.

“Thank you, Madam Black,” Ruth has the loveliest smile, it breaks your heart to know that she’s suffering from such a debilitating, chronic illness.

“I can’t imagine being as lovely as you despite needing a week to recover from an episode—” You pause and look upon Ruth with searching eyes. Aside from her face, she is covered head-to-toe in clothing. Leaning on the wall was a simple cane within her reach. And, if you weren’t mistaken, exactly a week before today, was a full moon…

“Ruth, my dear, your potion,” Damocles gently reminds, pulling out a phial of the iconic magenta healing potion. You recognise it immediately. It’s the same healing potion you’ve been forced to endure because of the degenerate bitch stuck in your head causing you to faint multiple times.

“Darling, you’re a wonderful potioneer but I’d rather not consume another healing potion right now. I’ll be sick, otherwise,” Ruth politely declines. Her attentive husband directly goes to protest but you’re quick to interfere.

“Mr Belby, when did you say Ruth had her episode?”

“Last week,” he answers nonchalantly, still entirely focused on his wife, who continues to resist his resolute demands of needing to drink the potion.

“That was a full moon…” the couple pause and a stillness consumes the space. It’s as if you’re suddenly in a vacuum, where time doesn’t exist and everything is at a standstill. “Is Ruth suffering from Lycanthropy?” you take care to keep any form of judgement out of your voice, your tone is neutral, your volume levelled and there isn’t a trace of disdain in your eyes. To avoid causing a huge stir, you try to keep neutral but a warm sadness and soft compassion manages to sneak onto your countenance.

“Ruth’s illness is not your concern, Madam Black,” Damocles’ voice is strong, commanding and protective. His firm stance as he partially stands in the way of his wife demands that you pull back and stay at a distance.

“Are you trying to find a cure?” you ask, completely impartial now and, almost, chillingly stoic. Damocles doesn’t answer. You glimpse their connected hands, their grip on each other is as strong as a tightly wound knot; it would be a struggle to pry them apart. “If you are, there isn’t a cure—”

“I WON’T STAND FOR ANY VERBALLY DEMEANING REMARKS AGAINST MY WIFE! GET OUT! YOU ARE NOT WELCOME HERE!”

“I haven’t said anything of the sort to Ruth…” you smile kindly at the potioneer and reach out your hand, “I want to help you,”

“HYPOCRITE!” his loud volume makes you immediately retract your hand. From her seat, Ruth places a gentle hand on her husband’s forearm, a silent plea to give you a chance. Damocles doesn’t fully yield his anger but, in respect of his wife, lowers his voice slightly, "You just denied that a cure could be made!” he can’t trust you. You are a Black, the matriarch, in fact — your entire family despise dark creatures, even those that were afflicted without their consent, much like his dearest. He won’t let you lay a finger on his wife.

“I said that only because that goal is too ambitious for the moment.” your comment makes Damocles pause, shocked but thoughtful, “I can’t encourage you to make a cure right away but I will support you in the endeavour to create a potion that will relieve the symptoms of Lycanthropy,”

“Support, how?”

“Funding?” you suggest, “I can help you get expensive ingredients. Or maybe I can help you with research? Or I can keep Ruth company while you focus on your work entirely? I can do all of that and more if you will only let me,”

The couple look at each other with curious eyes that also fill with fear and hope.

“…what do you hope to gain from this?” Damocles needed to know. He just couldn’t fathom that someone of such high standing in the wizarding world, who was infamous for her intolerance of dark creatures, muggles, half-bloods and everything that didn’t reflect her skewedimage of ‘pure’ was in favour of helping him, the husband to a lycanthrope.

“I have no ulterior motives… I only wish to turn over a new leaf and help those that I can,”

“I don’t believe you,” Damocles looks at you with suspicious eyes, narrowed and sharp. He is a contrasting image to the kind and warm man you first met at the counter on Sirius’ Hogwarts shopping day.

“Then believe that I also have someone…” you look at Ruth, meeting her gentle eyes with a soft stare, “Believe that I have someone I deeply care about and wish to help with their Lycanthropy too,” you’re unable to break eye contact with Ruth; she can comprehend the deep sorrow in your eyes along with a determination that cannot be rivalled. It connects with her deep down, making her heart ache with feelings of desperation and painful hope.

Damocles is torn. Ever since meeting his current wife, he has wanted nothing more than to use his expertise in potions to help her condition. It was an ambition he had been doing alone largely due to the prejudicial opinions surrounding Lycanthropy. It’s been years and his progress has barely been noticeable. All he’s been able to achieve are potions that barely have an effect. His recent potion was the most progress he’s ever made, where he was able to reduce her anxieties during the transformation. It was only thanks to the powdered moonstone he had managed to get a hold of. If he can have easy access to such valuable ingredients, his progression on the potion will be exponential. But he resists. He’s getting carried away by the excitement of possibilities, not only will he be helping his wife but he will have the opportunity to work with high-quality, precious ingredients again. He was a potioneer, not a businessman so his shop is barely keeping him and his wife afloat, their heads barely above the water of bills and necessities.

Ruth looks at her husband’s thoughtful countenance. She feels such guilt for burdening him with her condition but she doesn’t regret marrying him and promising to share the rest of her life with the kind man. Damocles makes the effort to always support her and assure her that he loves her regardless of her condition and affiliated insecurities. He loves her for her smile, her beautiful eyes, her delicious cooking, her kind heart, her precious love of books, her talent for embroidery, her loving words and the fact that he feels whole with her. The moment he said his vows and uttered the words ‘I do’, he had pledged to take care of her wholeheartedly and he intends to keep that promise, in the same fashion she does.

“Sweetheart…” Ruth pleads with her eyes, staring up at her husband as tears well up in their eyes. They don’t know your full intentions but they’re willing to do whatever it takes.

‘I want to take care of her,’

‘I want to be good to him’

“…alright, it’s a deal,”

You leave the store with the promise of visiting the Belby couple again soon, where you plan on catching up with Damocles’ progress and discuss future endeavours with the confidential project. The buzz and thrill pulse through your arterial system like an effusive river, unable to stop and eager to run its course all the way to its estuary but you don’t have one so the rush will have to calm on its own.

This was a step forward in helping Remus and Ruth as well as many more werewolves across the country. The week you were shut out of the shop because of Damocles’ absence, you’ve been relentlessly planning your future tactics. It’s led to further elaborations on your other plans as well as the inclusion of other entirely new plots. You not only have the power and insight to help your darling sons but a myriad of other characters as well. There wasn’t going to be a chance of you doing one without the other now. Everything is interconnected in this universe; if you help Remus, you’ll also be helping Sirius and Regulus. Everything connects to your beautiful sons — you weren’t going to neglect a single path forward. It’s ambitious but when has a challenge ever stopped you from moving forward somehow? Never.

Entering 12 Grimmauld Place, you were met with an eerie quietness. Searching for the time on the grandfather clock down the hall, you realise that Regulus would have finished his lesson a little while ago, nearing half an hour. The realisation jumpstarts your nerves and you’re rushing up the stairs to greet him at the Library; that’s where he usually goes to consolidate his lesson notes. You can vividly imagine him bent over a desk, carefully skimming over inky parchment as a plate of snacks and a cup of tea sit within arms reach of him, courtesy of Kreacher. When you peek into the Library, however, there isn’t a trace of Regulus anywhere. Where could he be? Regulus is fond of his routines and doesn’t normally stray from them, especially when it comes to his workflow study habits.

Why do I have a bad feeling?... You think to yourself, placing a trembling hand over your thundering heart. The silence around you is deafening now and you have to hold back on rampaging through the house. Orion is home… In situations like this, you must stay calm. If Orion has done something to Regulus, it’ll be best if he doesn’t know you’ve come home yet.

“Mistress! Mistress!” Kreacher appears out of thin air, tugging anxiously at his ears with eyes as wide as saucers. The panic in his watery gaze sets your own heart racing with apprehension. You already know what may be happening.

“Where is Regulus?”

“The vault, Mistress! The vault!”

You’ve never been in the very upper levels of the house before. It never felt worthy of exploration when you wanted to focus on your boys and the plans you’re slowly beginning to implement for them and the universe.

The uppermost floor of the house was an attic space that had the far end shut off as a separate room. This area must be due to some space-warping magic because the roof was flat from the outside but the ceiling of this large room had the typical triangular roof shape. Boxes and other miscellaneous items litter about the, otherwise, sparse area, providing plenty of nooks and crannies for spiders and other creepy-crawlies to make a home in. Kreacher stays by the skirt of your dress, trembling from restlessness as you lean further into the room. He informed you that Regulus was forcibly dragged up here by Orion as soon as he saw off Peony at the fireplace. Orion had been peacefully reading The Daily Prophet in an armchair in the corner of the living room. Regulus was jumped by his own father. The old dirtbag must still be incensed by Sirius’ sorting ceremony and what had occurred at the Headmaster’s office.

Narrowing your gaze, you focus on Orion, who leans against the locked door of the attic’s separate room. The iron wall that sectioned it off blended into the metal door that was firmly shut. From within that small, hollow, metal room came desperate banging, presumably from Regulus hitting the walls with his closed fists. The thought makes your hand clench around your wand tightly. This pathetic bastard has a death wish…

“If your brother had been sorted into Slytherin this wouldn’t be happening Regulus! How big of a disappointment the both of you are!”

“Father! I’m sorry!” Regulus’ pleading comes out muffled through the metal walls and door, you can barely hear him. It makes you want to hollow out your chest with the way your heart is relentlessly clenching down on itself.

“When you turn eleven and enter Hogwarts, you better be sorted into Slytherin OR ELSE YOU WILL BE IN FOR A WORLD OF PAIN! DO YOU HEAR ME?!”

“…n-no father…”

“WHAT WAS THAT?!!! REGULUS?!!!” Orion’s angry shout was met with silence and he punches the mental door in anger, the force making the structure shake, “ANSWER ME, BOY!”

“Flippendo!”you utter angrily under your breath with your wand raised at Orion’s turned back. The spell sends him flying forward with a startled scream. His head hits the metal door and he’s immediately knocked unconscious. You don’t wait a second further to rush forward and unlock the metal door. It takes a great amount of effort to pull open with its heftiness but maternal instincts make it as simple as opening any normal door.

“Mother!” Regulus cries at the sight of you from where he’s seated directly behind the door. The enclosed space was incredibly dark, there wasn’t a window anywhere. With the light filtering in past your silhouette, you looked like an angel sent to rescue him.

“Let's get you out of this horrid room, darling,” it’s hard to relax or temper your anger when you’re looking upon your trembling son who should only ever be smiling. You don’t want him spending a second longer in this horrible attic so you quickly lift him into your arms and rush him down to his room as he cries freely from relief.

You weren’t in a hurry to get Regulus settled beneath his blankets and tucked in; having him in your arms was a firm reassurance that he’s with you, safe and sound so you’re reluctant to let him go. Nevertheless, you get him settle him down and sit at his bedside before flicking your wand up. The gesture draws back the curtains to their furthest limits and opens up the windows to allow in some fresh air.

“You’re okay, darling. Mother’s here now…” you whisper, gently petting his forehead and combing back his inky curls. Beneath the covers, Regulus can’t seem to stop himself from shaking but enjoys the sunlight pouring in through the windows and the cooling breeze that caresses his pale, tear-streaked cheeks. He hasn’t said a single word and neither have you. His gaze remains transfixed on the open window where the blue skies are decorated with floating clouds. You watch as his anxious expression gradually loosens, unfurling into one without emotion. “My love?…” the tension in Regulus’ small shoulders and tight limbs melts away when your voice finally breaks through the ringing in his ears. “I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean to leave you home alone…”

His eyes flicker up to hold your gaze. He watches as tears gather at your waterline before spilling over in a cascade of glittering diamonds, created under the mounted pressure that was your love and panic for him and his wellbeing.

“Mother is so incredibly sorry,” you cradle his small hand in your own before pressing his palm against your tearful cheek. “Please forgive me, I promise I won’t let this happen ever again,”

You had nothing to be sorry for. It wasn’t your fault. Regulus was frightened and shaken up by his father’s aggressive and malicious expression of contempt, you had done nothing. Regulus would willingly go through that all over again if it meant his father didn’t get to touch Sirius. For the longest time, Sirius had been his only protector and now he has you too. He can bear anything if it means keeping his older brother safe the same way he kept Regulus safe before you came to protect both of them. For the longest time, it felt as if they were the only two people who truly understood each other — it still largely feels that way — and that they were the only ones who knew how to protect each other properly. But that wasn’t the case anymore because they have you now. Beautiful, amazing, motherly you.

Oftentimes, Regulus would remember the day you had such a drastic personality change. It started normal despite the odd behaviour you had been partaking in leading up to that moment, spending more time in the private quarters meant only for the ladies of the Black family. It had been happening for weeks and the behaviour was odd but since it’s led to such a change of heart in you, the two brothers didn’t question it.

Here you are now, apologising for his father’s abuse and tearfully pleading for his forgiveness. Regulus never would have imagined witnessing the beautiful image of his mother expressing such sincere sorrow and guilt over his ailing form. The youngest Black thinks he could be dreaming, still back in that claustrophobic attic vault and conjuring up a hallucination to save himself from the mental turmoil the small space puts him through. Sirius had nothing to worry about when he left for Hogwarts because, no matter what, you’ll be there for him and Regulus, even if it means going against Orion.

“It’s okay, Mother,” Regulus softly smiles up at you, his brows furrowing slightly when his words make your tears pour out in more globulous amounts.

“This won’t happen again, I swear it,” you press a kiss against his small palm.

“I know,” the trust and belief Regulus has in you shines through in the glimmer of his eyes, catching the sunlight pouring in from his windows. With your heart stuttering in your chest, you pause before opening your arms and leaning forward to embrace his form through the blankets. “NO!”with a loud shout, Regulus pushes you away and presses his eyes tightly closed.

When Regulus opens his eyes again, you’re frozen in place with wide, shocked eyes. You don’t know what to do. In your chest, your heart breaks at the notion that Regulus doesn’t want to be touched by you but there’s a side of you that reassures his reaction is natural considering what he had just gone through. The conflicting emotions freeze up your limbs and leave you motionless, vulnerable to be swayed onto either side.

Realisation dawns on the youngest Black brother and a frightened gasp escapes him before he’s apologising profusely. Tears reappear at his waterline and threaten to spill over at the thought of pushing you away when all you wanted to do was comfort him. He needs to explain! He has to explain!

Please don’t hate me! Please don’t hate me! Pleasedon’thateme!

“I’m sorry, Mother!” Regulus reaches for your hand and squeezes it in between his own, “I-I don’t feel comfortable in tight spaces, I don’t want to be h-hugged right now,” you have reminded him and Sirius multiple times that they have the right to communicate their emotions, wants and needs. The important thing you always emphasised was that you would never be angry at them for doing that – Regulus is holding you to your word but waits with bated breath for your response.

His words were all the confirmation you needed to relax. Of course, that was what he was worried about most. How stupid and selfish of you to make this situation about yourself when Regulus had gone through something so traumatising.

“Don’t worry, my love, I should have been more considerate of you,” you carefully shush him and wipe away his silent tears, resisting the urge to lean in and take up more of his personal space, “please don’t cry, you have nothing to be sorry for…if you don’t feel comfortable with anything please tell me right away. I promise I won’t get angry or take offence,” you look into his eyes earnestly, reiterating the words you always reminded him and his brother of. It makes Regulus smile softly; you kept your word, “I only want you to be comfortable and happy, always, okay?”

Regulus calms down and nods affirmatively, his smile growing. You agree to hold his hand in silence while he falls asleep and relish being allowed to stay close despite what happened to him earlier. His hand is small but his grip is strong, he doesn’t seem to want to let go of your hand, even in his sleep. You will protect him forever and always.

While Regulus rests peacefully in his room, you carefully slip away from his hold to make dinner. His favourite. So is dessert. He’ll be eating all of his favourites for the next week and he’s getting spoiled rotten. As usual, Kreacher accompanies you and ambles about the kitchen under your precise instructions, however, you have a special task for him tonight.

“Is Orion still unconscious in the attic, Kreacher?” you ask monotonously.

“Y-yes mistress,“

“Good,” you chirp cheerfully, “Please move him to the bottom of the third staircase,” Kreacher gives you a curious look but doesn’t question your intentions.

“And then, mistress?”

“Leave him there,” in a blink, Kreacher had disappeared to do your bidding. The house elf doesn’t know what you have planned for the patriarch but knows it would be to avenge the young master. That was enough for Kreacher.

When Kreacher rejoins you in the kitchen to finish preparing Regulus’ dinner, you proceed to tell him that he move Orion to bed as soon as he wakes up. But only when he wakes up.

“Whatever the mistress says,” Kreacher nods.

When you bring up the trays for Regulus, he’s still peacefully asleep in bed so you place his food at his bedside and ask Kreacher to keep the meal warm by putting a spell on the plates like he often does with yours and the boys’ tea. It’s then that the wrinkly elf perks up and alerts you that Orion has awoken. Nodding briefly at him, he disappears with a snap of his fingers and you immediately know he’s gone to do as you’ve asked earlier on. While he does that, you fetch Orion’s dinner as well, which is simple tomato soup with garlic bread — it’s more than he deserves.

As soon as you enter the room with the food tray, you hear Orion muttering to himself bitterly as he sits up in bed, “Useless house elf, leaving me at the bottom of the stairs,”

“I told Kreacher to leave you there,” you explain gently as you approach his bedside.

“WHAT?!”

“Calm down, Orion, you’ll only hurt yourself more if you act so excited after just waking up,” as if on cue, Orion groans and falls back with a hand pressed against his temple, “See? Here, I’ve made dinner to help you feel better, eat it at your own pace,” it hurts you to smile at him after what he’s done to your sweet, precious Regulus but you have to be patient. You’ll bring the axe down on his neck soon. You can’t believe you were willing to settle for divorce alone but that’s not enough for someone like him. Now, you have something much more fitting in mind.

“Why did you tell Kreacher to leave me there?” Orion doesn’t take the food right away, only giving it a brief side-ways glance before trying to figure out what happened.

“It was for your safety. It looked like you hit your head and that’s a very sensitive place, I was worried that if he moved you, he’d end up carelessly hurting you even more and we don’t want that…”

With a huff, he deems your explanation decent enough and finally sits up again, reaching for his food. You smile even more, eagerly anticipating his replenishment on your home-cooked meal when he stops to ask something, “Did you have something to do with this?…” He gestures to his temple subtly, referring to his injury.

“Of course, I did,” you answer simply, ignoring the blend of shock and fury that consumes his expression, “I made sure your meal was very nutritious so you can heal properly,”

“That’s not what I—… never mind,” Orion sighs in defeat and slowly begins to eat in bed. He gives an occasional groan of protest, reaching up and making it obvious how uncomfortable his temple is, silently asking for additional attention and care. He’s not getting any of that from you. Rather, you quite enjoy his uncomfortable musings. You won’t take initiative, instead, you’ll wait until he explicitly asks for a healing potion before finally giving him one. You’ll ensure that Kreacher is informed of this too. He’s a mere house elf, after all, your stupid husband can’t expect Kreacher to make any helpful suggestions.

“Make sure to eat everything, it’s to help with your health, okay?” you leave him to finish off his meal alone, smiling all the way to Regulus’ room.

‘YOU PUT SOMETHING IN MY HUSBAND’S FOOD! I SAW IT!’ Walburga screeches in your head. For once, it comes out as music to your ears. The laxatives were from a muggle store so she has no clue what you’ve done.

‘Now, now Walburga,’ you inwardly voice in a patient and gentle tone, ‘Orion was very naughty doing that to Regulus while I was away. So kindly SHUT THE FUCK UP AND ENJOY THE SHOW YOU FOUL, EMACIATED, UGLY BITCH!’ that shuts her up nicely just as you’re about to enter Regulus’ bedroom again, smirking to yourself at Orion’s imminent doom.

‘Enjoy the explosive diarrhoea you disgusting prick,'

You also manage to bring up a second helping of food so you can eat together with Regulus when he finally wakes and has the appetite for dinner. In the meantime, you brought your notebook of plans to continue your scheming at Regulus’ desk. You had spent some time admiring his layout and the way he organises his stationery. He has quite a mature system in place for someone so young but it was something you admired — you can tell how incredibly bright his future is going to be just from seeing how he sets up his workplace. Truthfully, the set-up helped motivate you more, you want to preserve your youngest son’s hopes, dreams, happiness and everything about him so that he can live a fulfilled life — not even his desk will be touched by those with malicious intent or anyone that wanted to drag him down.

Your specific plans for tonight focus solely on the wolfsbane potion and trying to remember everything about it in your universe. From the corner of your eye, you have the perfect image of Regulus peacefully sleeping in bed, tucked up and cosy. There isn’t a single sign of terror to agitate his precious features, rather, he looks completely at peace. This is how he should always look. The image encourages you to push forward, trying to remember any bit of helpful information from your previous life as a Harry Potter fan. Even if the clue may seem unhelpful or completely made up, you write it down regardless.

‘All this and for what?!’ the nagging voice in the back of your head makes another appearance but you simply roll your eyes. If you give her more attention than she deserves, you’ll only spur her on more, ‘not only is my son part of that foolish house but you’re making such efforts for disgusting half-breeds! Ridiculous! Have you no shame?!’she screeches unpleasantly to the point of making your inner ears ache. However, it was at that moment that a thought occurred to you. It’s strange…very strange. Orion made his displeasure of Sirius’ sorting known the instant he heard the news but Walburga only voices her dissatisfaction now.

‘When I think about it… you didn’t freak out half as much as Orion when letters gossiping of Sirius’ sorting came. I was fully predicting a meltdown that would put me in a coma for a day or two,’ you internally voice, passing it off as an innocuous comment in the hopes that it leaves her naive to your true intentions.

‘Your sickening plans for that pin were too much of a distraction!’Walburga excuses as you keep quiet. If you interrupt her ramblings, you won’t be able to pick up on the reasoning behind her actions. It’s best to let her get ahead of herself, the fool, ‘Typical for a soft-hearted, feeble muggle like you! Celebrating such a dishonourable sorting ceremony result! It’s simply humiliating! Rather than that revolting pin, I sent that no good son of mine a howler the day after his sorting. Useless child! He’s no Black, he’s a no-good, mud-blood-loving, blood-traitor who likes to engage with half-breeds and is an utter disgrace to his family! Associating himself with that ‘light’ Potter family, engaging with filthy mudbloods and blood traitors — dirty! The lot of them! Regulus is my only good child, if only he hadn’t gotten himself killed trying to leave the organisation, he would have been my perfect son!’

‘H— How do you know that?…and how do you know about his ‘half-breed’ friend you vile piece of shit?’ as always, her disgusting attitude makes your blood boil on Remus’ and Ruth’s behalf. How dare she act so high and mighty when she’s the most unpleasant person to ever exist? She doesn’t answer your question, instead, she becomes eerily quiet once more. Scoffing at her cowardly departure from the conversation, you make an urgent annotation in your notebook. Hopefully, this will lead to some answers.

‘Investigate the first room you woke up in’

SERIES M.LIST | NEXT. 07 : INVESTIGATIONS →

A/N : This was longer than I intended but a lot has happened so I hope you enjoy the read regardless. I'm sorry for what happened to our baby but we'll be there for him as you were able to see. No way are we letting that slide nor are we going to let that happen any longer.

Thank you again to all the darlings who always show their love and support of this series, even though I adore writing it and planning future chapters, it's also really time-consuming and exhausting to keep up at points so it really means a lot when I see that you darlings enjoy the read and look forward to series updates.

please like, comment and reblog to show your support, i'd really appreciate it! property of kquil ; all written content is mine and no one else's unless stated otherwise ; do not steal, plagiarise, modify or translate to other sites

#sirius black #regulus black #the marauders era #marauders era #the black brothers #mother reader #marauders fix it fic #james potter #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #divorcing orion black series reblog #DOB series

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neontokyoo · 6 months ago

Note

(nsfw or not) Halsin (elf form) in heat from bear mating season and dry humps or ferally takes tav? (consented obviously)

Pairing: Halsin x Fem!Tav

Genre: smut

Summary: Halsin’s animalistic behavior is too much to bear

Warnings: I’m unable to write rough sex while keeping Halsin in character, rough animalistic sex, this wasn’t proofread because I’m tired and more focused on getting this posted before I forget about it and never do it.

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It was that time of year. Halsin couldn’t stand being around anyone right now. All the different smells in the air were making him fucking crazy. Despite not being an actual bear, the Druid found his bear from becoming a part of him over the past few years. The more time he spends in his bear form, the less control he has over the bear in certain situations. And this was one of those situations.

Running the grove was incredibly hard today. Usually mating season wasn’t a huge pain in his ass. Sure, he was always horny and more sensitive than normal, but usually he was able to handle it on his own. This year, however, was different. Maybe it was because of the new adventurer who had been staying at the grove for a while, while they planned their next move. That sounded about right. Ever since Tav showed up, he’s found it much harder to control the beast within him. He hasn’t been this turned on in over a century.

Halsin let out a frustrated groan as he felt his arousal getting stronger. His cock was rock-hard by now and his pants were painfully tight. How the fuck was he supposed to be in charge here if everyone was looking at him like he just crawled out of hell? Obviously, the tension was visible. In several ways. The way he walked like he had a stick up his ass, the way he was grabbing onto everything when he had to sit down, his grip so tight that his knuckles were changing to a ghostly white color. Everyone could tell something was wrong with him, but nobody said a thing.

It got to the point where his only options were to either talk to Tav about his current situation, or retire to his room for the night and fix it himself. And he found the first option to be too embarrassing. So, the elf went back to his room and began to undo his pants. Gods, just undoing the zipper felt much more comfortable than his cock straining against his pants.

But of course right when he was about to take care of his problem, there was a knock on the door. Halsin groaned out of frustration as he quickly put his pants back on and straightened himself up before opening the door. His body tensed as he saw her waiting on the other side. He wasn’t sure if he could hold back much longer now that she was so close to him.

Tav gave him a concerned look, opening her mouth to speak before he harshly grabbed the girl by her wrist and pinned her to the wall of his room, finally burying his nose in the crook of their neck.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice even trembling. “I’m sorry, my love… I don’t know what’s happening right now.”

“Halsin, what’s going on?” Tav arched her back, a soft moan escaping her lips. She couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. She wanted to pull away, but her body craved the connection, the intimacy.

Halsin's breathing grew heavier, and he pulled his face from her neck, his eyes flashing green with hunger. "I need you, Tav," he whispered hoarsely, his voice no longer the calm and sweet one she had grown accustomed to. "Please let me have you. I’m sorry, I’m not myself right now.”

Tav hesitated for a moment, her eyes locked with his, before nodding. She bit her lip, the anticipation making her body tremble. Halsin wasted no time as he quickly undid her armor, his fingertips brushing against her dampness. Tav shivered as another small moan escaped her lips. She knew exactly what was happening, and maybe Halsin wasn’t the only one acting like a bitch in heat. Her own arousal betrayed her.

"So wet for me," Halsin breathed, his voice thick with lust. He pulled his hand away, continuing to undress her until she was completely exposed before him, then swiftly unbuckled his trousers, freeing his throbbing cock. Tav's eyes widened at the sight, her arousal intensifying.

Of course, she and Halsin have been flirting back and forth with each other for a while now, occasionally teasing each other and stealing glances. But she never would have thought she’d be able to have him. Nor did she think it would happen like this.

Halsin hoisted Tav onto the table, spreading her legs wide enough to expose her glistening heat. He positioned himself between them, his cock nudging against her entrance. Tav's hands clenched sage green tablecloth, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. “Halsin…. Please….”

Halsin's eyes flashed with a primal hunger as he took in the sight of Tav's naked body spread out before him on the table. The scent of her arousal filled the air, driving him wild with desire. He couldn't hold back any longer. With a low growl, he thrust his hips forward, burying himself deep inside her tight, wet heat.

"Fuck, Tav," he grunted, his voice strained with pleasure. "You feel so good. So fucking perfect."

Tav cried out, her back arching off the table as she was filled completely by Halsin's thick, hard cock. It stretched her walls deliciously, sending sparks of pleasure racing through her body. She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper.

The new position made the girl let out a loud, pornographic moan as the elf continued to pound into her, hitting her most sensitive areas while also grinding against her clit.

“Halsin…. Fuck-“

Halsin's hands gripped Tav's hips tightly, his body moving in a primal rhythm as he continued to fuck her. His thrusts grew harder and faster, his muscles straining with each powerful movement. Tav's moans grew louder and more desperate, her nails digging into his back.

Tav's words cut off as the elf's lips crashed onto hers, his tongue invading her mouth in a passionate kiss. Halsin's cock throbbed within her, his animalistic hunger for her not abating. He continued to pound into her, their bodies slapping together in a wet, rhythmic symphony.

Usually, Halsin wouldn’t be so rough if it wasn’t for his animalistic desires that were taking over him. There was just something about Tav that made her absolutely intoxicating, making it incredibly hard for Halsin to control himself.

Tav's mind was spinning, the intensity of the moment overwhelming her. She could feel her orgasm building with each thrust, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter within her until it was nearly unbearable. She could feel Halsin's own climax approaching as well, his thrusts becoming more frantic, his grunts more desperate.

With a final, powerful thrust, Halsin's body tensed, his cock pulsing deep within her. Wave after wave of his seed filled Tav, the sensation pushing her over the edge. Her own orgasm crashed through her, her inner walls gripping Halsin tightly as she cried out his name.

Halsin's body shuddered as he continued to fill her, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Slowly, he pulled out of her, his cock leaving a trail of cum as it slipped from her slick walls. Tav lay there, panting, her body trembling from the aftershocks of her orgasm.

Halsin leaned down to kiss her forehead, his breathing finally starting to even out. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, his voice soft and gentle once more. "But I needed that."

Tav looked up at him, a small smile playing on her lips. "Don't be sorry, Halsin," she whispered, her voice thick with contentment. "I needed it too."

The two of them stayed there for a moment, basking in the afterglow of their passionate encounter. Halsin helped Tav down from the table, wrapping a blanket around her shivering form. They shared a tender kiss, the tension between them dissipating.

#halsin #bg3 fanart #baldurs gate #bg3 #halsin silverbough #halsin x tav #halsin bg3 #halsin x reader #baldurs gate 3 #tav #bg3 headcanons #bg3 tav #bg3 spoilers #baldursgate #baldurs gate tav #baldur's gate #halsin smut

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mkarchin713 · 1 year ago

Text

All the people the ghost pirates are taking are liminals who obviously need some clean ecto

“See baby pop we’re helping��

“Ember can we please go home”

“Never”

The situation gets worse when the ship is taken over by one of their captives who decides to live out his Pirates of Penzance fantasies

“🎶 … When you're a professional pirate

You're always in the best of company🎶”

“Jason will you please get off the boat”

“Never”

DP x DC (Or Marvel) Prompt: Pirate of the Underworld

(Again, this can work for either and I have no issues people changing up which Fandom they use because they're both good)

Youngblood was a great kid and that would never change. That being said he was a Ghost kid with a huge imagination and because he was a kid a lot of ghosts would play with him. Not normally a problem until Youngblood, Ember, Skulker, Kitty and Johnny decided to 'play' together in an alternate dimension after going through a natural portal!

But there they were,continuing to play and raise hell for a dimension who had little to no experience with the Ghost Zone. Thankfully, Danny had plenty of experience dealing with all of them, and while he wasn't used to it being so public he wasn't about to let the five (six counting Youngbloods bird-thing) torment this new dimension.

Now if only the heroes from this dimension would stop trying to interfere.

----

The last thing Bruce expected to see in the Gotham Harbor was a massive glowing pirate ship that seemed to rise up out of the ocean itself before sitting in shore. He also didn't expect flying figure's to start taking 'treasures' from all throughout the city. Gold, jewels, people, anything they could get their hands on.

His city was in trouble, that's all he knew and he wasn't going to stand for it.

Now if only this weird white haired meta would stop trying to interfere and let him and his team do their jobs.

#dp x dc prompt #dc x dp prompt #my prompts #dp x marvel #if you want #there needs to be more danny and bruce getting on each others nerve fics #bruce doesn't like people on his turf without telling him what's going on and danny is too protective of these idiot ghosts to leave them #also you know damn well the other ghosts are trying to convince danny to not be such a spoil sport and play with them for his cores sake #“you have a baby core babypop just play with us it'll be good for you :d”#“maybe some other time when you're not kidnapping people but until then not a chance”#< prev tags #Jason Todd #ghostly Jason Todd #theater kid Jason #yes the Goonion is the chorus. they would not pass this up/are being choreographed by Embers music #Ember: just because I’m punk rock does not mean I don’t like show tunes. I am not uncultured #Youngblood: I call first mate #Johnny: does this mean I have to play Frederic?#Kitty: it’s not like I will let anyone else play my love interest. ohh you think we can get Phantom to play the cops?#Danny: I keep telling you I can’t sing the bass parts now will you please go home #crew: never

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moeitsu · 5 days ago

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The Dark Tide Siren!Arthur Morgan x Reader Modern AU Ch 8 - A Storm Is Born In Still Water Summary: Spending the evening with the Marstons, laughter and warmth filling the space, you couldn’t ignore the looming presence of the hurricane on the horizon. A quiet unease has settled in your chest—this night felt like the calm before the storm. The last taste of normalcy before everything was about to change. wc: 11k tw: none! Swim Back! ↞ ﹏𓊝﹏ ↠ Sail Ahead!

AN: This ended up being longer than I intended, but I really enjoyed it. Reader spends some quality time with the Marstons in this chapter. With a juicy little surprise from Arthur at the end :)

tag list: @photo1030 @v3lv3tf0x @ireallyhonestlydontcare @shygamergirl01 @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @sevikaspuertoricanwife @abducted-cowz @ilovethatforyousworld @gatodebiquini @onyxlune @bomdada

Standing in front of the bathroom sink, I rolled the small pearl between my fingers, its smooth surface cool against my damp skin. Steam curled around the room in ghostly wisps, clinging to the mirror in a thick, hazy veil. The humid air pressed against my bare skin, making me sweat all over again, as if the shower had done nothing to wash away the night.

Since I’d arrived home, I couldn’t stop replaying everything.

I could still feel him everywhere—Arthur’s strong hands gripping my waist, his slick tongue dancing with mine, his warm breath filling my lungs. No amount of scrubbing could erase the phantom sensation of his touch, the way my skin still tingled as if he had left an invisible mark on me.

Maybe it wasn’t just his touch that had me so undone. Maybe it was the trust, the raw vulnerability of it all. Arthur had a way of making me feel safe, seen—like I was something treasured. He unraveled me with the sound of his deep, melodic voice, lured me in with the ethereal glow of his body, pulsing like a heartbeat in the water.

A shiver rolled through me, despite the heat lingering in the air. If he hadn’t been the one to pull away, how far would I have gone?

At that moment, I had been ready to strip my wetsuit from my body, to give myself to him completely, to discover what lay beneath those shimmering scales. It was insane. I had only known him for a week. I barely understood his biology. And yet…to Arthur, I was the first to show him kindness. To explore him with gentleness and admiration.

And standing here, miles away from him, I still felt his pull. That strange, invisible tether binding us together. This feeling inside me was foreign yet familiar, and it felt wonderful. Damn it, some part of me truly did love him.

My gaze dropped to his gift, its pearly-white surface reflecting the golden glow of the bathroom light. My stomach twisted as I finally let the weight of this tiny treasure settle over me.

I had sealed my fate. Not that I could or even wanted to refuse him. But the future… whatever awaited us… terrified me. I had accepted his courtship. I had expressed a mutual desire to mate. The thought of sex with him sent heat rushing up my neck, my body reacting before my mind could catch up. My thighs pressed together instinctively, aching with an anticipation I barely understood.

Part of me knew I shouldn’t want this. And yet every time I was near him my body betrayed me.

But this was bigger than just desire. Charles’ warning rang in my ears. This was bigger than my feelings. It could be dangerous. Hell, it could even be deadly.

I placed the pearl down on the cool porcelain sink, its milky surface gleaming under the dim light. My fingers lingered on it for a moment before I turned away, grabbing my night creams and smoothing them over my skin with slow, absentminded strokes. And yet, as I went through the motions, my thoughts wandered.

What do his cocks look like?

The question struck like a bolt of lightning, sending a flush creeping up my neck. I don’t think I’ll ever truly grasp the fact that he has two. My hands faltered for a moment before I forced myself to keep going, spreading the thick cream over my cheeks with shaking fingers.

What would they feel like?

Would they be like the rest of him—silken, slick, and impossibly warm? Would they have the same ridges as his tongue, designed to pleasure and devour? A whimper nearly slipped from my lips at the thought.

I snatched my toothbrush, clicking it on with a little too much force before shoving the humming bristles into my mouth.

Would he even fit inside me?

Arthur was big. Not just in size but in presence, in the way his chest and shoulders dwarfed me, the way his powerful frame moved through the water with effortless grace. He was far bigger than any human I’d ever met. His tail alone nearly weighed 300 lbs. Would it hurt? Would his body even be compatible with mine? Surely there was some way we could make it work.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to conjure up the brief glimpse I’d caught when I was stroking his gills—the way he had pressed them into my soft stomach, the heat of him unmistakable even beneath the water. Slipping past his scales in a moment of raw hunger and pure arousal. Part of me loved that I had that effect on him, that my touch alone brought out a primal side that he tried to keep locked away. That instinctual need to—

My eyes flew open.

Did he want to impregnate me?

My breath caught in my throat, the electric hum of my toothbrush suddenly deafening in the small bathroom.

Could he?

His father was human, which meant there was some possibility for offspring. And sirens—at least from what little I knew from Lenny’s lesson—didn’t just mate for pleasure. Mating season wasn’t about getting off from the heat of arousal. It was a biological imperative, an instinctual drive to breed, to create strong, healthy offspring so the species could endure for generations. Arthur’s body was driven by its biological processes, much like my own. My body still followed its natural reproductive cycle, ovulation and menses occurred whether I wanted it to or not. And I was certain, there was no birth control for sirens.

I spit out the foamy toothpaste, watching the milky swirl spin down the drain as I gripped the edge of the sink, my thoughts following it into the abyss. There was only one way to answer these questions, and standing here spiraling like my minty spit wasn’t going to help.

I needed to take this one day at a time.

Arthur had been open with me about nearly everything. He would understand my hesitation, my concerns, my fears and my fantasies. If he was going to be my mate, and I his, there were things we needed to discuss. Things I had to know first.

But for now, this pearl—this sacred vow—would remain between us. Like our own little secret.

Grabbing my hairbrush, I wrung the excess water from my hair over the sink, watching droplets slide down the porcelain before wiping the mirror with my palm. The fog smeared under my touch, revealing my reflection in hazy fragments. I pulled my tangled hair back from my face, only to freeze as the light caught something shimmering on my ear.

My breath hitched.

Leaning closer, my pulse pounded in my throat as the blood drained from my face.

Iridescent lines, thin as spider silk, wrapped delicately around my earlobe, tracing up the helix in intricate, swirling patterns. The faint shimmer was unmistakable. Evidence of Arthur��s hunger, where he had nipped at my flesh and then soothed the ache with his traitorous tongue.

Shit.

A rush of heat crawled up my neck, an unrelenting mix of embarrassment and something far more dangerous—desire.

With a sharp grunt, I tossed my hairbrush into the sink, the clatter echoing in the small space. Yanking my bathrobe off the door, I threw it around my shoulders and stormed out of the bathroom.

So much for keeping this a secret.

At this rate, I might as well walk into work on Monday with a brand-new fucking piercing.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

The microwave let out a shrill beep, its sound slicing through my quiet apartment like a judge’s gavel, sentencing me to another regrettable meal. With a sigh, I trudged to the kitchen, grabbing the steaming plastic tray and peeling back the film. A wave of artificial cheese and processed nostalgia wafted up, clinging to the air like an unavoidable truth.

Flopping onto my bed, I sank into the pillows, the mattress dipping beneath me. Eating in bed was typically reserved for the days I truly felt pathetic—but after tonight’s adrenaline-fueled chaos, I figured I’d earned it. The glow of the bedside lamp cast long, soft shadows across the walls, wrapping the room in a cozy, almost melancholic warmth.

Ah, gourmet.

Just as I reached for the remote, my phone buzzed against the nightstand, the vibration rattling the wood, its soft white light cutting through the dimly lit room like a whisper demanding to be heard.

Hey. ~JM

A small smile tugged at my lips. Placing my dinner down on my lap as I swiped the notification open and typed back.

Hi.

You alive? ~JM

No, you’re talking to a ghost right now.

Grinning, I stabbed at the sad excuse for macaroni with my fork as I waited for his reply.

Very funny. Just wanted to make sure you got home safe. ~JM

Home by 11 PM sharp, Mr. Marston. Don’t worry, I didn’t break my curfew ;)

Taking a streaming bite, I instantly regretted it, and reached for my drink to wash away the taste of disappointment. My phone vibrated again.

You’re impossible. How’d your swim with Arthur go? ~JM

I smirked, stretching out across the mattress, my legs tangled in the blankets.

Wouldn’t you like to know? You tryna get lessons to be a lifeguard or something?

Three little dots danced on the screen. Disappearing for a moment then coming back. Then—

Forget it. ~JM

I laughed softly, and he was calling me impossible? Perhaps I was playing too much. Despite our antics John was a sincere friend. He was only looking out for me after all.

I’m teasing, you idiot. It was nice. Arthur showed me around the tank. Discovered some new abilities of his too. He really is something incredible.

I couldn’t help but think back to the way his bioluminescence had flickered like a living constellation beneath the water, the way his voice had wrapped around me like a song meant just for me. The way his warm breath curled in my chest. It crossed my mind whether or not I should share that piece of information with the others. Charles asked me to keep him updated on everything. But how much did I really need to share?

Yeah, incredibly weird. You both are. Guess that’s why you get along so well. ~JM

Rolling my eyes, I bit back another laugh.

Don’t hate me ‘cuz I got to swim with the magic fish and you didn’t :P

Oh shut up. Are we still on for tomorrow? Abby and Jack are coming too. ~JM

That made me sit up, my exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

It was tradition—an unspoken ritual between John and me. Every time a big hurricane loomed on the horizon, we’d go out for drinks, raising our glasses to the storm before it had the chance to take anything away from us. One last hoorah, just in case we woke up to find the world outside our doors washed away.

It was a morbid tradition, sure, but necessary. The hurricanes had been growing stronger, more relentless. Sometimes it felt like Mother Earth was being sinister, toying with its humans. Though who could blame her. Each summer, we lost more land to the sea, watched the shoreline creep further inland, watched the cost of repairs climb higher than we could keep up with.

But this tradition—this small act of defiance—was our way of saying we wouldn’t break. That no matter what was coming, we’d face it together, with laughter in our throats and whiskey in our veins.

This time, though, Abigail and Jack would be joining us. It meant fewer drinks, fewer reckless choices, but I didn’t mind. If anything, I was proud of John for bringing them along, for letting them be part of something that had always just been ours. It meant he wasn’t just bracing for the storm anymore—he was facing it with the people he loved most in the world.

Absolutely, I’ll be there. I miss those two!

They miss you too. Was thinking either Shady Belle or Bronte’s. ~JM

I nearly choked on my drink.

This little island off the coast wasn’t exactly known for its fine dining. There were only a handful of places to eat, and even fewer that were appropriate for the whole family. Neither John nor I were rolling in cash, which meant our options were limited. But Shady Belle? Really?

To put it kindly, Shady Belle was a dump. A dive bar tucked into the shadiest part of town—hence the name. The kind of place where the floors were perpetually sticky, the jukebox was always playing something just off-key, and you were guaranteed to see at least one fight break out before closing time. It attracted the worst kind of crowd—drifters, troublemakers, men who smelled like cheap beer and regret. But it was cheap. Greasy burgers, stale fries, watered-down whiskey. You got what you paid for, and in our case, that wasn’t much.

Bronte’s, on the other hand, was a different world entirely. A cozy little beachside Italian restaurant, nestled right by the harbor where the scent of salt and grilled seafood filled the air. The place had charm—worn wooden tables, twinkling string lights, and the soft hum of waves crashing just beyond the deck. Their seafood was as fresh as it got, pulled straight from the harbor each morning and served up in buttery pastas and rich, fragrant risottos. It wasn’t fancy, not exactly, but it was a place you took your family, where you lingered over good food and even better conversation.

And somehow, John thought these two were interchangeable.

John Marston, you are not bringing your lovely family to a dump like Shady Belle. I forbid it, shame on you. >:(

I’m just messing with you, boss. We’ll see you tomorrow at Bronte’s. ~JM

I set my phone down with a contented sigh, sinking deeper into the pillows. My food had gone cold, my show remained unwatched, and yet my mind was still tangled in thoughts of Arthur—his touch, his voice, the pull of something I didn’t fully understand.

And yet, despite it all, a weight had lifted from my chest.

That small conversation with John had grounded me, brought back a sense of normalcy, like an anchor in the middle of a storm. The calm in the eye of a hurricane. For tonight, I let myself believe that the little pearl gleaming on my nightstand was just that—a simple pearl. A treasure from the abyss. Nothing more, nothing less. Whatever future awaited me with Arthur could wait.

With that thought, I let my eyes slip closed, drifting off to sleep with a small smile on my lips.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

The hum of my truck’s engine faded into silence as I shifted in my seat, giving myself one last once-over in the rearview mirror. It wasn’t vanity that kept me checking my reflection—it was the damn iridescent marks that shimmered no matter how I tried to conceal them. The fading sunlight caught the delicate lines, making them glint like pearls against my skin.

Covering the scars on my wrist was easy enough with a well placed watch or bracelet. But my ear was a different challenge. I had tried earrings, but they only drew more attention. A beanie had crossed my mind, but late summer in the Outer Banks was no time for extra layers. With a sigh and a silent prayer that no one would notice, I raked my fingers through my hair one last time, letting it fall over my ear before stepping out of the truck.

The scent of salt air and freshly baked bread welcomed me as I stepped into the restaurant. It didn’t take long to find the Marstons—the hostess barely had time to point me in their direction before the sound of Jack’s high-pitched giggles rang through the patio. His little voice carried over the murmur of dinner conversations as he eagerly scribbled across his kids’ menu, tongue poking out in deep concentration.

“Aunty!” he shrieked the moment I leaned over his chair, wrapping my arms around him in a tight hug.

“Hey, nugget,” I grinned, ruffling his blond hair as he giggled into my shoulder. I slid into my seat, warmth settling in my chest as I turned to Abigail. “It’s so nice to see you. You’re looking great! How’s the baby?”

Her tired but radiant smile said it all before she even answered.

A few months ago, I had been jolted awake by a drunken call from John, slurring his way through the news that he was going to be a father of two. I had given him an earful—not just for drowning himself in whiskey instead of being there for Abigail, but for calling me instead of facing his own emotions head-on. Still, beneath my frustration, I understood.

John wasn’t in the best place, mentally or physically, when Jack was born. That was before I came around, but Abigail had told me how much he struggled with fatherhood in the beginning. His own father had been a hard, unloving man, and John had spent his youth running wild, just another orphaned street kid scraping by however he could. It wasn’t until Hosea took him under his wing that he found something like guidance—like family.

By the time I entered the picture, John was already trying to be better, to be more present. And then he found out Abigail was pregnant again. The drinking didn’t stop overnight, but I helped him reel it in, reminded him that this time, he didn’t have to figure it out alone. He didn’t have many friends outside the facility, and I had quickly become the person he called on those nights when doubt crept in, when he mumbled about being a failure and a sorry excuse for a father. I listened. I talked him down. I reminded him that he wasn’t his old man—that he had a choice in the kind of father he wanted to be.

And looking at him now, his hand resting protectively on Abigail’s, his eyes soft as he watched Jack chatter away, it warmed my heart to see how far he’d come. To see him not just accepting fatherhood, but embracing it.

Abigail beamed, her whole face lighting up. “She’s wonderful. Been kickin’ around in there like she’s training for the Olympics, though,” she laughed, resting a hand on her belly as if to calm the tiny storm within.

I gasped, nearly dropping my napkin. “She?!” My voice came out more like a squeak. Last time I saw her, the baby’s gender had still been a mystery.

With a proud nod, she confirmed it, and I looked between her and John, my excitement bubbling over. “Well, congratulations, you two! A baby girl—what wonderful news!” I turned to Jack, who was still absorbed in his coloring. “What about you, Nugget? Are you excited?”

Jack didn’t miss a beat. He threw a crayon triumphantly into the air and declared, “I’m gonna be the best big sister!”

Laughter erupted around the table. John chuckled, shaking his head as he gave his son’s shoulder a light nudge. “Big brother, kid. You’re gonna be the best big brother to your little sister.”

The minutes melted away as we talked about everything and nothing, Abigail filling me in on all the baby know-how while Jack chartered between this topic and the next. When the waitress arrived to take our orders, I raised a knowing eyebrow at John as he casually ordered a Blue Moon. He caught my expression and mouthed just one before returning his attention to Jack’s latest tic-tac-toe match.

When my turn came, I ordered an Irish coffee.

John shot me a look. “Little late for coffee, isn’t it? You tryna pull an all-nighter?”

I nodded, stirring my straw absently in my water. “Gonna stay up to track the storm. It’s not supposed to hit land until after midnight. They’re saying it’ll weaken to a Cat 3, but I’m not sure I believe that.”

Abigail’s smile faltered slightly as she twisted her hands in her lap. “I heard they already evacuated some parts of the island. Are you sure you’re safe in your apartment?”

Before I could answer, our drinks arrived, and John lifted his beer in salute. “I’ll drink to that,” he said with a grin before taking a long sip. Jack, wanting to be just like his old man, eagerly lifted his sippy cup of milk and took a dramatic gulp, his little brows furrowed in exaggerated seriousness.

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “I’ll be fine, Abby,” I reassured her, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m on the fourth floor, anyway. Only thing I really gotta worry about is the wind.” I threw in a wink for good measure.

Abigail didn’t look entirely convinced. She reached over the table and took my hand in hers, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Alright,” she said, her voice softer now. “But if you lose power, water—or even if you just need some company—you’re more than welcome to stay at Hosea’s with us.”

Her warmth settled over me like a blanket, and for a moment, the looming storm didn’t seem quite so daunting.

Dinner carried on in a comfortable rhythm, the conversation flowing as easily as the drinks. Abigail shared stories of Jack’s latest antics—his newfound fascination with bugs, his insistence that he could build a boat out of sticks, his stubborn refusal to accept that the moon wasn’t actually following him home at night. John chimed in with the occasional quip, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation whenever his son interrupted him to “correct” the details of the stories.

Plates were passed, forks scraped against ceramic, and the scent of garlic and butter mingled with the salty ocean breeze. The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in deep hues of indigo and violet. The colors reminded me of a certain someone, but I pushed those thoughts aside. As if on cue, the string lights flickered to life above the patio, bathing the space in a warm, golden glow. The soft hum of conversation from other tables drifted around us, but beneath it all, there was something else.

A shift in the air.

The wind carried a different weight now, cooler, charged with something powerful and untamed. The storm loomed just beyond the horizon, invisible but present, pressing against the edges of our peaceful evening. The distant rumble of waves against the shore sounded rougher than before, like an unspoken warning. I glanced toward the darkened sky, the edges of heavy clouds rolling in, and felt it deep in my bones. The tension, the waiting.

But here, on this little patio strung with golden lights, everything still felt normal. Safe.

Jack, having polished off his dinner with the determined enthusiasm only a child could manage, rocked back and forth in his chair, barely containing his excitement. “Dad, can we go inside and see the fish? Please? Please, please, please?”

John sighed, already pushing back his chair. “Alright, alright. But you gotta actually look this time, not just tap on the glass and scare ‘em off.”

Jack beamed, leaping up from his seat and practically dragging his father toward the restaurant’s entrance. “You know Papa Hosea owns an aquarium right? You can come see the fish whenever you like.”

“But I wanna see those fish!” He pointed a small finger towards the tank inside the restaurant.

Abigail and I watched them go, their figures illuminated briefly by the warm glow of the doorway before disappearing inside.

A gust of wind sent a shiver through the patio, rattling the string lights overhead. Abigail pulled her cardigan a little tighter around her shoulders and shot me a look. “You sure you don’t want to take that offer?” she teased, but there was something genuine in her eyes.

I smirked, but the thought lingered. The storm was coming, and even with a full belly and good company, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that this might be the last normal night for a while.

Abigail studied me for a moment, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her water glass. The playful glint in her eyes softened into something quieter, something knowing. “And how are you doing?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “I feel like a terrible friend. We’ve spent the whole night talking about me and the baby, and I haven’t even asked about you.”

“You are the farthest thing from a terrible friend Abby. Hell, you’re practically like family.” I hesitated before my next words, swirling the last of my Irish coffee in my mug. “But, I’m fine. Nothing exciting to report,” I said, but even I wasn’t convinced.

Abigail arched her brow. “Oh, fine, huh? That’s convincing.”

I huffed a laugh and shook my head. “I mean it. I’m just… busy. Work’s been a lot.”

“So I’ve heard,” Abigail said, swirling the last of her drink before setting it down. “John told me all about that monster you guys found on the beach. He still won’t let me come see it, though—said he doesn’t want me to get wrapped up in it. Whatever that means.” She waved a dismissive hand, her tone light, but the word monster lodged itself like a thorn in my chest.

I forced a small smile, but my throat tightened. I couldn’t blame her—how could I? She had never met Arthur, never seen him beyond whatever crude image John had painted for her. Knowing him, he had probably fed her just enough details to keep her curiosity in check, just enough to make sure she didn’t go snooping around for more. But I doubted he spared the more unsettling details—the sharpness of Arthur’s features, the unearthly glow in his eyes, the sheer, overwhelming presence of him.

To her, he was just a story. A strange, terrifying thing washed up from the deep, something not quite human. And maybe that was easier. Easier to believe in a monster than to acknowledge the gentle yet broken man beneath.

I shifted in my seat, holding my drink just to have something to do with my hands. “John just worries,” I said carefully. “You know how he gets.”

Abigail scoffed. “That’s one way to put it. He acts like I can’t handle myself.” She shook her head, then gave me a pointed look. “But you have seen it, haven’t you?”

My fingers curled around the ceramic mug. Him, I almost corrected. But instead, I just nodded. “Yeah. I have.”

Abigail tilted her head, watching me closely. “And? Is it really as bad as John says?”

I hesitated, feeling the weight of the truth pressing against my ribs. Worse, I wanted to say. And yet... not at all. Instead, I just swallowed and gave her the safest answer I could.

“We’re taking it one day at a time.”

She wasn’t buying it. She never did. “You sound just like Hosea. Anyways, are you seeing anyone?” she pressed, her voice light but her gaze sharp. “Or still working yourself into the grave?”

I exhaled slowly, tapping my fingers against the side of my cup. “I don’t know if I’d call it seeing someone,” I admitted, choosing my words carefully. “It’s… complicated.”

That caught her interest. Abigail leaned forward, propping her chin on her hand. “Complicated how?”

I let out a breathy chuckle, running a hand through my hair. Where did I even begin? “He’s… different.”

Abigail’s brows lifted. “Different good or different bad?”

“I don’t really know yet,” I admitted honestly. “He’s just—he doesn’t fit into any category. Not someone I ever expected to know, let alone…”

“Let alone what?” she prompted, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

I sighed, shaking my head. “He’s not like anyone else, Abigail. He’s got this way about him—like he’s seen and done things most people couldn’t even begin to understand. And it’s not just that he’s been through a lot, it’s that he wears it, you know? Like it’s stitched into him, into the way he moves, the way he talks.”

Abigail’s expression softened. “Sounds like someone with a rough past,” she said gently.

I swallowed, staring down at the swirls in my coffee. A rough past. That was one way to put it. “Yeah,” I murmured. “And sometimes I feel like I’m standing on the edge of something I can’t fully see. Like if I step too close, I might lose my footing entirely.”

For a long moment, Abigail didn’t say anything. Then, she reached across the table, squeezing my hand. “You’re not scared of him, are you?”

The question caught me off guard, but the answer was easy. “No. Never.” That much I knew for certain.

“Then maybe that’s what matters,” she said simply. “Different doesn’t always mean bad. And complicated doesn’t always mean impossible.”

I looked up at her, at the quiet reassurance in her eyes, and for a moment, I let myself believe her. But deep down, I knew that Arthur wasn’t just different. He was something else entirely. And that was what made this so damn complicated.

The conversation lulled into a comfortable silence. The clinking of silverware and the hum of distant conversation dimming in the space between us as patrons left to take shelter from the oncoming hurricane. The air was thick now, charged with the quiet presence of the storm rolling in from the sea. The string lights overhead flickered slightly as the wind picked up, rustling the palm trees and sending the scent of salt and rain through the open patio.

Abigail glanced at the sky, then at Jack, who was starting to rub at his eyes between half-hearted scribbles on his kids’ menu. “We should get going before it really starts coming down,” she said, pushing back from the table.

We settled the bill, and as we stepped into the parking lot, the restaurant’s warm glow spilling onto the pavement, the wind had gained strength. It whipped at Abigail’s cardigan and sent Jack giggling as he tried to fight against it.

“Be safe, alright?” she said, pulling me into a tight hug. She smelled like vanilla and the faintest trace of baby powder. “And if you change your mind about staying with us—”

“I know where to find you,” I finished with a small smile.

She gave me one last squeeze before turning to buckle Jack into his car seat, her voice soft and affectionate as she reassured him they’d be home soon. That left me alone with John for a moment, the space between us filled with the howling wind and the rustling of palm fronds overhead.

He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking slightly on his heels. “Storm’s rolling in fast,” he muttered.

Before I could respond, a sudden gust swept through the parking lot, catching my hair and blowing it back from my face. I barely noticed it—until I saw the way John’s expression shifted.

His eyes flickered, just for a second, to the iridescent glint of the thread like jewels on my ear, catching the restaurant’s light like tiny embers against my skin. It was only a second. A brief, unreadable look before he schooled his expression into something neutral.

I froze, unsure if I should say something—unsure if he would. But John just exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head before stepping forward and pulling me into a quick, tight, one-armed hug.

“Stay dry,” he mumbled against my hair, his voice low and rough.

“You too.”

And just like that, he let go, turning away without another word. I watched as he climbed into the driver’s seat, the glow of the dashboard briefly illuminating his face before he started the car. Abigail waved at me through the window, and then they were gone, disappearing down the darkened road toward Hosea’s home.

I stood there for a moment longer, the wind tugging at my clothes, the scent of rain heavy in the air. Then, with a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, I turned and headed for my truck. It was going to be a long night, and I had a date with the storm radar.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

Sometime after midnight, exhaustion must have won—I hadn’t meant to fall asleep. The coffee I’d downed earlier had lost its fight against the weight of my eyelids. The last thing I remembered was watching the storm churn on my computer screen, the swirling eye of the hurricane swallowing our little island whole. Reds and yellows slashed across the radar like open wounds, fading into greens and blues on the outskirts. I had been listening to the radio, tracking power outages, storm surges, trees crashing onto roads, and the eerie mention of debris washing up on the shore.

Now, I woke to a sharp crick in my neck, my laptop dimly glowing where it had slipped between the folds of my blankets. The storm still raged outside—wind shrieking against the windows, rattling the glass in their frames. But something was… off. It was too quiet.

The low hum of the radio had been reduced to static, its garbled voice flickering in and out, whispering in fragmented syllables. I reached up, tugging the string of my bedside lamp. Nothing. No power. That explains the silence, the hum of my AC is typically a comforting white noise.

Rubbing the sleep from my face, I sat up, disoriented. My watch read 3:17 AM. Outside, the wind howled like a living thing, its ghostly wails slipping through the cracks in the building. But beneath it—beneath the storm’s fury—I heard something else.

A faint, rhythmic buzzing. My phone.

It must have slipped from my bed while I slept, and now it was vibrating somewhere on the floor, lost in the darkness. I strained to listen, feeling blindly across the wooden boards until my fingers brushed the smooth glass.

I flipped it over, squinting at the screen. John.

A cold weight settled in my stomach. My thumb hovered over the answer button for only a second before I swiped to pick up.

“John?” My voice was hoarse, the word barely audible over the static hum in the air.

For a moment, there was nothing but the howl of the storm.

Panic began to coil in my gut, tightening with each second of silence. “John, is everything alright?” I was praying this was some kind of butt dial, or that he was simply calling to check in on me.

A sharp burst of static crackled through the line, followed by a distorted mess of noise—wind shrieking, the distant clang of something metal slamming against concrete.

“—out. Power’s out—damn generators—”

I sat up straighter, gripping the phone a little tighter. Did Hosea lose power too? But why would he be calling me about it? “John, I can barely hear you. Where are you?”

The wind battered against my windows, rattling them in their frames. My heart pounded against my ribs, its rhythm matching the erratic pulse of the storm.

“—at the facility—” His voice wavered, distant, then returned in a frantic rush. “It’s bad. Real bad.”

I threw the blankets off and shot up from the bed, already reaching for my boots. So he’s not at Hosea’s, got it. Leave it to John to be at work during a damn hurricane. “What’s happening?”

More static. A low, shuddering creak echoed through the speaker, like steel under pressure.

“—system’s down—” His voice cut in and out, growing more frantic. “Aerators failed—oxygen levels—” Another sharp cut of silence. “Pumps not working.”

I cursed under my breath, fumbling in the darkness as I yanked my jacket on and scrambled for my keys. My hands shook, the weight of his words pressing down on me like a vice. If the generators were down, that meant the entire facility was in darkness—no lights, no air circulation, no cooling systems. And John… John was there alone, trying to handle it himself.

He’d be working himself into the grave, pushing through exhaustion, sweat soaking his clothes in the humid, stifling air. And if the tanks were failing—if the aeration system was down—he wasn’t just fighting to keep the lights on. He was fighting to keep everything inside that building alive.

“Hang on, John, I’m on my way. Don’t do anything stupid, wait—”

His voice broke through again, this time with a single, chilling sentence:

“They’re suffocating.”

I froze. My breath hitched. The wildlife was suffocating.

My mind raced, connecting the dots at a sickening speed. No generators meant no power. No power meant no saltwater pumps. No filtration. No oxygen cycling through the water.

In a normal aquarium tank, that would be bad. In an enclosed system as massive as the facility’s main exhibit—housing fish, sharks, rays, and other massive marine life—it would be a death sentence. Oxygen depletion would happen fast.

Too fast.

Hypoxia. It could happen within hours. A slow, suffocating death. The fish would panic first, gills flaring, their bodies slamming against the glass in erratic distress. Then tissue damage. Starved organs. Their movements slowing as their bodies failed them. Then—

I swallowed hard, forcing my spiraling thoughts to a stop.

A sharp inhale hissed through my teeth as realization slammed into me like a tidal wave.

John wasn’t just talking about the fish.

The static flared again, his voice cutting through—urgent. Desperate.

“Arthur—”

The line crackled, breaking apart into nothingness.

I clutched the phone tighter, pulse hammering in my ears. “John?” I pressed, voice rising. “John, what about Arthur?!”

But the call had already gone dead.

My mind raced as I bounded down the staircase, taking two steps at a time, barely feeling the impact beneath my feet. The last step was a blur—I half-jumped, half-stumbled, but I didn’t stop moving. I tried to remind myself—Arthur can breathe air. He’ll be okay. If things got bad, he could pull himself to a shallower part of the tank, find a pocket of safety.

But that wasn’t enough to quell the gnawing fear twisting in my gut.

Without oxygen circulation, the water would turn against him. CO₂ and ammonia would build rapidly, poisoning the very environment he called home. And Arthur—his entire life had been spent in a controlled aquatic space, monitored, maintained. What if his body needed those precise conditions? What if we had overlooked something critical?

And even if he survived physically, the psychological toll would be its own kind of torment. He would be trapped in that space, forced to witness the creatures he shared his world with convulsing, gasping, dying. The thrashing, the desperation—he wouldn’t just see it; he would feel it.

I shoved through the front doors, and the storm nearly knocked me off my feet.

Wind roared around me, a force so strong it stole the breath from my lungs. Rain pelted my skin like a relentless volley of tiny bullets, cold and stinging. I had to squint against the downpour, barely able to make out anything beyond a few feet ahead. The street was an endless expanse of blackness, the power outage swallowing every familiar landmark into a shapeless void.

My hands shook as I fumbled with the truck keys, the metal slick from the rain. I yanked the door open, using the full force of my body to fight against the wind, and threw myself inside. The moment I slammed the door shut, the world outside became muffled, but the storm still howled, rattling the windows, making the vehicle feel like a fragile bubble against something vast and furious.

I gripped the wheel, my knuckles white. I was terrified.

Of the storm. Of what I might find when I got to the facility. Of what Arthur might be enduring right now.

This was reckless. I knew that. But John was alone. Arthur could be suffering. And I couldn’t sit here, waiting, hoping, while the worst unfolded in the dark.

I had to get to them. I shoved the keys into the ignition, took a deep breath, and turned the engine over.

The roads were a nightmare.

Water pooled in deep, deceptive pockets along the asphalt, and my tires skidded more than once as I navigated the flooded streets. The rain pounded relentlessly, turning the windshield into a smeared, shifting blur, my wipers barely keeping up. Streetlights were dead, leaving only the erratic flashes of lightning to illuminate my path in harsh, fleeting bursts. Each time the sky cracked open, it revealed a scene more unsettling than the last—fallen palm trees, submerged sidewalks, waves crashing violently over the breakwater.

As I neared the facility, the ocean raged against the shore, its swollen tides rising higher than I’d ever seen, swallowing chunks of sand and hurling salt spray across the road. My chest tightened. If the storm surge got worse, the flooding would only accelerate.

Then, through the sheets of rain, I spotted John’s truck parked near the back entrance. Relief and urgency tangled in my chest. I swerved into the lot, barely throwing the gear into park before yanking the door open.

The second I stepped out, the storm slammed into me with full force. Wind tore at my clothes, rain slashed at my skin, and the ground beneath my boots felt slick with rushing water. I forced myself forward, head down, arms wrapped around myself as I fought against the gale.

By the time I reached the door and shoved my way inside, I was drenched to the bone, my breath coming in gasps. The moment I was safe from the storm, another realization hit me like a brick.

I should have brought a flashlight.

The facility was pitch black.

The only sounds were the muffled roar of the wind outside and the frequent claps of thunder that seemed to shake the whole earth. Accompanied by the slow, eerie drip of water somewhere deeper in the dark.

The beam of my phone’s flashlight cut through the suffocating darkness, barely illuminating more than a few feet ahead. The air inside the facility was thick and damp, carrying the scent of saltwater and something faintly metallic. Every step I took echoed down the empty corridors, swallowed by the creaks and moans of the building as it strained against the wind and rain hammering from outside.

“John?” My voice wavered, lost in the vast, suffocating silence.

Nothing.

The emergency lights weren’t working. That meant the backup battery system had failed too, leaving the entire place cloaked in a darkness so absolute it felt unnatural. My pulse pounded in my ears as I moved forward, the walls pressing in closer with every passing second. Shadows stretched and twisted with each flicker of my light, my own breath sounding too loud in the stillness.

A sudden groan reverberated through the ceiling, the metal framework shifting under the storm’s relentless force. I flinched, sucking in a sharp breath as a distant crash echoed somewhere deeper in the facility.

“John!” I called again, louder this time, urgency creeping into my voice. I pushed open the nearest door—a supply closet. Empty.

I turned down another hallway, checking every room I could think of—his office, the staff lounge, even the breakroom. Each one was abandoned, cold, and eerily still. The farther I went without seeing him, the more the panic gnawed at me.

A door down the hall rattled violently, the wind slamming against it from the other side. I spun toward the sound, my breath hitching as the phone’s flashlight beam trembled in my grasp.

“John, where the hell are you?” My voice cracked, frustration and fear tangling in my throat.

I was running out of places to look. If he wasn’t in the generator room or one of the main labs, then that only left one place—the tanks.

My grip tightened around my phone as I turned toward the large double doors leading to the main exhibit hall—the heart of the facility. The water filtration tanks, the viewing platforms, and, of course, Arthur’s enclosure loomed ahead.

Dread coiled in my stomach, the weight of it pressing against my chest as I stepped forward. There was no possible way he was outside. He couldn’t be. My mind began to spiral into dark places, and I fought to pull myself back.

A new fear gripped me, chilling my bones. What if he’d gone outside? What if he’d tried to check the outdoor power lines? The floodwaters had already crept dangerously close to the shoreline. If he got swept away, carried out to sea—no.

Stop.

I couldn’t afford to let my mind race ahead. There was still a whole aquarium to search. Panicking would only slow me down and it certainly wouldn’t help Arthur.

I forced myself to focus, squaring my shoulders as my heart hammered in my chest. A faint sound caught my attention—something that almost felt like instinct pulling me up the stairs. The dive locker. The very top of the facility, where divers prepared for routine cleanings, repairs, and underwater shows. The thought of him up there made my skin crawl, but it was the only place left to check.

I pushed myself faster, my legs burning as I took the steps two at a time. Sweat slicked my face, dripping down my neck, but I didn’t slow down. I needed to find him. And I needed to find him now.

I called his name again, the sound of my voice small and hoarse in the oppressive silence.

When I reached the top of the stairs, I threw open the door without hesitation. The weak beam of my phone’s flashlight sliced through the dark, illuminating the expansive space ahead. The water glimmered, reflecting the dim light in small, rippling waves. It looked strange, like a portal to something deep and unknown—an abyss that threatened to swallow everything in its path.

I moved deeper into the room, my breath shallow, chest tight. Every shadow seemed to shift, each movement amplified in the silence of the storm’s fury outside.

Then, I saw it.

A figure.

Cloaked in shadow, their silhouette outlined faintly against the water’s surface. They were frantic, their hands moving quickly, pulling on something heavy. An oxygen tank. The sound of metal scraping against metal cut through the stillness, a sharp contrast to the storm’s distant wail.

But even in the darkness, I knew who it was.

A flash of pale skin, the faint glow of scars, pink and familiar, unmistakable.

John.

My breath caught in my throat, a mix of relief and dread flooding me all at once. I took a cautious step forward, my heartbeat echoing in my ears, I had no time to waste.

"John!" My voice came out hoarse, louder now, trembling with an urgency that made my hands shake. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

The wind howled through the building, its voice blending with the roar of the storm outside. John didn’t hear me. His back was to me, his focus entirely on the task in front of him—strapping the oxygen tank to his back. Securing the mouth piece for him to breathe and then—

Without warning, he jumped into the water.

I froze, my heart slamming in my chest as the splash echoed across the room. The sound felt too loud, too sudden, like it had split the air. Panic ripped through me. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t move.

"John!" I screamed again, but the storm drowned my words, swallowing them whole. He couldn’t hear me. My phone slipped from my trembling hand, hitting the metal floor with a harsh clatter before sliding across the platform into the murky water below.

I didn’t hesitate. I bolted toward the diving stage, my legs shaky and my mind racing. What the hell was he thinking? John couldn’t swim—he’d never learned. And he certainly wasn’t certified to dive. He was throwing himself into a dark, cold ocean of uncertainty with no experience, no knowledge of how to survive down there. Taking a deadly risk on everything.

I reached the edge, my hands gripping the railing so tightly my knuckles ached. My chest was tight, panic clawing its way up my throat. I looked out at the rippling water, scanning the dark expanse, my pulse pounding. It was too dark to see him, let alone see anything in the tank. Did he have a light with him? He could bump into something, or something could bump into him.

What the fuck was he thinking?!

More importantly, what should I do? What could I do? Standing here I felt as useless as a blobfish out of water.

I wanted to dive in after him, to drag him back to safety, but I was no diver either. I couldn’t risk both of us. And besides—if I couldn’t find him in this black water, what would I do? If he was unconscious, if he was already struggling… I’d be no better off. We would both end up dead.

Should I try to get the generator up and running? Was that even possible with the storm raging? I had no knowledge of electrical currents and power supply. But I’d seen it done before, you just pull a ripcord. How hard could it be? The air inside the building was becoming thick with heat, the lack of oxygen starting to settle into my lungs. Time was running out. It was like everything was moving in slow motion—every second stretching into eternity.

I paced back and forth, my hands shaking violently. The cold sweat on my skin clung to me, sticky and nauseating. There were so many things I needed to do, so many choices—and all of them felt like life-or-death decisions.

The air was getting heavier with each passing second, but it was hard to focus, hard to stay calm when my thoughts kept circling back to John, to his reckless jump into the water. I couldn’t lose him, not like this.

Minutes stretched into an endless haze. It was like I was trapped inside a nightmare. No light, no air, no way to call for help. I could hear my own heartbeat, feel the seconds dragging by as I stared into the murky water below, waiting for any sign of movement. Waiting for anything—anything at all—to show me that John was still alive.

And then, suddenly, I heard a sound—a faint, distant thump followed by the familiar hum of the filters. My heart leapt in my chest, but it was swallowed by the howling winds. Was that him?

I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to do something. I turned toward the diving equipment, my hands fumbling as I tried to get the gear on. My fingers were slick with sweat, slipping against the straps and valves. It felt like everything was moving too fast and not fast enough all at once.

But what if I made it worse? What if I was too late?

I barely registered the eerie glow steadily growing beneath the water, my mind too tangled in panic, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts. It wasn’t until a sudden, violent splash shattered the silence that my head snapped up, my fingers still clumsy against the buckles of the oxygen tank.

Bodies hit the platform with a sickening thud, the wet slap of limbs against the slick metal ringing through the storm-rattled air. My heart seized in my chest.

Arthur.

And beneath him, heaving, coughing, a goddamn mess—John fucking Marston.

Relief hit me first, a bone-deep rush that nearly took my knees out from under me, but it was quickly drowned by something hotter, something furious. The adrenaline that had been running through my veins since I first bolted out into the storm boiled over. I stormed toward them, my pulse still hammering from the sheer terror of thinking I was going to have to drag John’s lifeless body out of that water.

As if sensing my rage, Arthur backed away, slipping silently beneath the surface, his dark eyes lingering on me as he floated in the murky depths. I was glad to see he was okay—grateful—but right now, my fury had a singular target.

“Do you have a goddamn death wish, Marston?” I shouted over the thunder’s deafening growl, my voice shaking with the weight of all the things I wasn’t saying—I thought you were dead, you idiot. I thought I was too late.

John, of course, wasn’t the least bit fazed by my anger. He rolled onto his knees, hacking up water, and cleared his throat like he hadn’t just jumped into a pitch-black tank during a hurricane with no diving experience.

“Pumps are running,” he rasped, still catching his breath. “I can redirect the generators to keep ‘em on so they don’t fail again.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. He was shaking, his body trembling with cold, adrenaline, maybe even fear—though he’d never admit it. His lips had a bluish tint, his hands clumsy as they tried to push against the slick platform.

“Enough about the goddamn generators!” I snapped, my voice cracking from the force of it. “You could have died, John! Why the hell didn’t you wait for me?”

He let out a breath, slow and heavy, shifting onto his knees. In the dim light, I could see it clearly now—the raw exhaustion in his expression, the way his fingers curled against the platform as if steadying himself.

“We were running out of time,” he murmured, his voice rough with strain. “Without the pumps filtering the water… everything would have—”

He trailed off, his breath still uneven, his shoulders rising and falling with the weight of what he wasn’t saying. I swallowed hard, my anger warring with something else. Something dangerously close to fear. Because he wasn’t wrong.

Defeated, I yanked a towel from the nearest locker and wrapped it around him as he shrugged the heavy oxygen tank from his back. John coughed again, spitting out a mouthful of saltwater before dragging a trembling hand down his face.

"One of the main pumps was clogged," he finally said, voice raw. "I tried clearing it from the control panel, but nothing was working. The pressure was building, and if it backed up any further, the whole damn system would’ve started dumping toxins back into the tank." He looked up at me then, eyes glassy but sharp with determination. "Everything would’ve died."

I exhaled sharply, my hands tightening around the damp towel I’d just wrapped around him. I knew he was right, knew how delicate the balance in Arthur’s enclosure was. But knowing didn’t make it easier to swallow the fact that he’d risked his life to fix it.

Before I could say anything, a soft ripple caught my attention, and Arthur moved to the edge of the platform, watching us with an intensity that made my skin prickle. His dark hair clung to his face, water glistening on his skin under the glow of his veins. "He nearly drowned," Arthur said bluntly, his voice calm but edged with something deeper. "By the time he realized the tank wasn’t secured properly, he was already sinking."

My stomach twisted violently. I turned back to John, my breath catching in my throat. "Jesus Christ, John—"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," he cut me off, his lips pressing into a tight line. "By the time I figured out the straps were loose, I was already flailing. Damn near sucked in half the tank trying to stay afloat." He let out a humorless chuckle, but it fell flat against the weight of what had just happened.

Arthur shifted, the water lapping softly as he leaned on the edge of the platform. "I got to him just in time," he continued, eyes locked on mine. "Dragged him up ‘fore he could panic and make it worse."

A shudder ran down my spine. I wasn’t sure what terrified me more—the fact that John had nearly drowned in the dark, or the thought of what might have happened if Arthur hadn’t been there to pull him out.

I sighed, leaning back on my heels. “You got lucky, John. Abigail would’ve killed us all if something happened to you. Go home. Be with your family before this storm tries to take away what really matters.”

John let out a slow breath, his head hanging low as he nodded. “Yeah… yeah, you’re right.” He turned to Arthur, shifting the towel around his shoulders. “Thank you, Arthur….I don’t know how to—”

Arthur waved a dismissive, webbed hand. “No need. I understand, just do as the lady says. Go be with your family.”

A quiet chuckle escaped John as he pushed himself to his feet, tightening the towel around him. “You two are my family. This place… it’s my home. I’d be lost without it.”

My chest ached at the words, he had always been like family to me. But to acknowledge Arthur like that, it made my heart grow warm. He’d come such a long way. Before I could stop myself, I pulled him into a tight hug. “And we’d be lost without you. Just promise me you’ll be careful getting home. The roads are hell.”

John nodded against my shoulder. “I’ll be fine. Just gonna check the generator room one last time and grab some dry clothes from my office.” He pulled back slightly, studying me with a look of concern. “You sure you don’t wanna come back to Hosea’s with me? I don’t like the idea of you driving out there alone.”

I smiled, touched by his worry—especially after what he’d just been through. But as I glanced at Arthur, something in my gut told me I needed to stay. That I’d be safer here with him. “I’ll be alright. I think I should stay with Arthur, make sure no more pumps get clogged.” I shot him a wink, trying to keep it light.

John huffed out a laugh and pulled me in for one last hug. “Not exactly the swimming lesson I was hoping for.” He gave my shoulder a firm squeeze before stepping back. “You be safe, ya hear?”

I nodded, watching as John disappeared into the darkened corridor, his wet footsteps fading into the storm’s relentless roar. A deep sigh left my lips as I finally let myself sink onto the platform, crossing my legs beneath me. The adrenaline that had kept me moving, kept me focused, was finally wearing off. In its place came exhaustion, creeping in like the tide, mingling with the lingering relief that John was—at least for now—safe.

But even with Arthur’s presence, unease curled around my ribs. The storm was still raging outside, the building groaning under the relentless wind and rain. It was so dark in here, the only source of light coming from the gentle glow of Arthur’s bioluminescent veins, pulsing with his heartbeat beneath the skin. The water around him shimmered with the soft glow, casting strange, shifting shadows along the walls. They twisted and danced with each ripple, almost alive, taunting in the periphery of my vision.

My gaze remained fixed on the door where John had left. Would he be okay? Should I have gone with him? The roads were treacherous, barely visible even with headlights. And the thought of him driving alone in this storm, half-drowned and exhausted—

A violent crack of thunder shook the facility, so loud it felt like the sky itself was splitting open. My whole body jolted, a sharp gasp escaping before I could stop it.

I didn’t even notice Arthur moving until I felt him behind me. The platform barely creaked under his weight as he pulled himself up, his broad chest pressing against my back. Before I could say anything, two strong arms wrapped around my waist, his warmth chasing away the cold that had settled in my bones. His chin found my shoulder, his breath fanning across my neck, a steady and grounding presence against the chaos outside.

“You are afraid,” he murmured, his deep voice cutting through the storm, resonating right next to my ear.

There was no mistaking his meaning, no way the wind could steal his words away. He was close enough that I knew, without a doubt, he was inhaling my scent. Taking in the subtle shifts in my emotions the way he always did.

I swallowed, my fingers absentmindedly grazing over the tops of his hands, feeling the slight texture of his silky skin, the way his thumbs traced slow, soothing circles against my abdomen. “Not afraid,” I whispered, though my voice wavered. “Just… worried. What’s going to be left of this place tomorrow? What if… what if John doesn’t make it home?”

Arthur exhaled a slow, steady breath, then pressed a lingering kiss just beneath my ear. The warmth of it sent a shiver down my spine, but gods, it was a welcome distraction.

“Shhh,” he rumbled against my skin, his lips brushing so softly it made my heart stutter. “You make my hearts bleed when you worry like that.” His embrace tightened, pulling me impossibly closer, as if he could shield me from the weight of my thoughts. “We cannot control the storm, only focus on what’s in front of us.”

Or behind us, I thought, exhaling as I leaned back against him, letting my head rest on his shoulder. He was such a massive presence, his body swallowing mine completely, a wall of solid strength against the uncertainty surrounding us.

Arthur let out a quiet, contented sound, something between a sigh and a low, pleased hum, his arms flexing as he drew me in. His hold was protective, steady, unshakable. And for the first time since I’d raced through the storm to get here, I let myself close my eyes, just for a moment, letting his warmth anchor me.

“Try to relax,” his voice was low, almost strained, like he was holding back something deep and primal. “You’re safe here. Safe with me.”

His hand moved agonizingly slow up my side, fingers tracing along the curve of my ribs, his palm so big that the tips ghosted over my breast. The barely-there touch sent a shiver down my spine, and I sucked in a breath, trying—and failing—to quell the growing heat pooling between my thighs.

I wanted more. Gods, I needed more of him.

Everywhere.

I wanted him to touch me everywhere. I wanted him to slide that hand fully over my chest, to feel the way his rough but gentle thumb would tease over my hardened nipple. To know what it was like to be touched, claimed by something as wild and untamed as Arthur. I wanted his claws to tear through the thin barrier of my clothing, to leave nothing between us. These were dangerous thoughts; terrible, sinful thoughts.

There must be a special place in hell for women who looked at a creature like Arthur and imagined how he would feel between her thighs.

But fuck. These are where my thoughts are.

I was drowning in them, so lost in the heat of my own fantasy that I barely noticed when his hand shifted, cupping my cheek with careful reverence. It wasn’t until I heard the deep, rolling timbre of his voice that reality snapped into focus.

“Does it feel good, sweetheart? What I’m doing to you in your thoughts?”

My breath caught. My body tensed, a mixture of shock and shame flickering through me like a live wire. Startled, I started to pull away, but before I could—

“No,” he whispered against my neck, his voice firm yet impossibly soft. “Don’t stop, I’m certain that whatever it is you’re imagining is something I’m enjoying immensely.”

A large, webbed hand slid down, fingers splaying wide over my belly, holding me in place. If only his hand would move a little lower…claws grazing the line of my waistband. Almost like he was teasing. The pressure of his touch grounded me, kept me from slipping away. I could feel his hearts beating against my back, steady and strong.

My pulse pounded in my ears as I swallowed hard. “S-so you can read my thoughts now too?” My voice was barely a whisper, breathless and unsteady.

Arthur chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his body, reverberating through me like a melody I never wanted to stop hearing. The fondness for him that stretched through my chest was almost painful at this point.

“No, my love,” he murmured, his lips brushing just beneath my ear, sending a delicious shiver racing down my spine. “But when I touch you, your soul is so familiar to me. It’s as if I have known you in a hundred lifetimes before this.”

His grip on my waist tightened, fingers curling possessively, but not to restrain—to anchor.

“I feel your need calling to me, and my own… my own wishes to bury itself inside you.” His voice darkened, rich with longing, heavy with promise. “It tells me to cling to the curve of your waist, to clutch at the feeling in my chest that lingers when you’re near. My soul wishes to keep you—” his lips pressed lightly against my temple, sealing his words into my skin “—and never let you go.”

Something between us shifted then, something that had been dancing on the edge of certainty, now falling into place with an undeniable finality. And it wasn’t just the slickness between my thighs or the fire licking up my spine.

Arthur had just placed the leash to his heart in my hands.

And I knew—he would never ask for it back.

AN: I promise the next chapter is pure smut. The title is "The Point of No Return" and I think we can all guess what that implies. I have sooo many steamy ideas I just need to figure out how to put them all together. But it's gonna be fun ;) I know this was a long chapter, so I hope you don't feel too deprived of our favorite seaboy. I love John/Abigail/Jack so dearly, they deserved some one-on-one time with the reader <3

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #ao3 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #monster au #rdr2 modern au #siren au #siren x reader #monster romance #red dead fandom #ao3

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quitealotofsodapop · 2 months ago

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In my idea for Rotg and associated lore of the Shrekverse, I have come to the conclusion that Puss in Boots would most likely be an immortal Legend/Fable-like entity.

Not a full Guardian, but rather much like Jack Frost, a beloved Legend. A story children are told from before they can even remember.

Jack: (*notices a cat watching him. not uncommon since cats can often see Spirits*) Jack, floats over: "Hey, little guy! Why are you wearing shoes?" Puss, dressed warmly: "I should ask why you are not, amigo." Jack: (*first time meeting a talking cat*) :O!!

Puss and Kitty are a duo as ever. An orange male cat can only be so smart after all (Puss might just be the origin of that stereotype). Kitty Softpaws is the original "cat burglar". She has stolen many many many artefacts from the other Legends including; North's Naughty List, The Thousand Leagues Boots (anniversary gift for her mate),

Perrito is there too. He's not a Legend. Death just likes having him around. Also he might be a protective spirit in his own right - ghostly therapy dog. North wants him to be a Guardian asap. The little dog has been trying to convince Jack to receive therapeutic help for last century or two.

Jack adores the animal legends as close friends. Jack and Puss have caused enough havoc for both Bunnymund and Death combined that the Life and Death entities have agreed to a truce on the pair.

Death himself may have begun life as a mortal creature. He does not care to recall. He is a reaper now. That is all he chooses to be seen as.

(The loyal war hound of General Kozmotis Pitchiner waited eons for his master to return from his mission, only to come to wish that the man had died all those centuries ago. The forgotten pet becoming the first ever creature brave enough to strike Fear into the heart of the Nightmare King himself.)

#crossovers #death puss in boots #death the wolf #el lobo #la muerte #kitty softpaws #perrito #jack frost #rise of the guardians #guardians of childhood #rotg #rotg au #puss in boots #puss in boots the last wish #dreamworks

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perseidlion · 2 months ago

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A Gift From Death - A Dead Boy Detectives Payneland Christmas Short

Every ghost in the world received a gift from Death of the Endless once a year. Most didn’t know who was responsible, and few would ever guess it came from her. The timing varied, but it was almost always associated with the most special time of the year for any particular ghost.

For Charles and Edwin, it was the early hours of Christmas morning. Not for any religious reasons, but for the magic that surrounded the holiday and the way the whole of London was decked out in its festive best.

They had found out about the gift by accident in the third year of the Agency. Since then, they’d developed a Christmas Eve routine as the minutes ticked closer to midnight.

“Come on, mate! Get the tree plugged in. It’s almost time!” said Charles as he finished pouring rich, decadent hot chocolate into a pair of Christmas mugs. His had a jolly elf while Edwin’s had a 3D relief of a Christmas tree with stacked presents for a handle. They’d received them in payment for The Case of the Haunted Ceramic Frog during December of ‘91 and had been using them for their Christmas ritual ever since.

Edwin dug around underneath the tree for the plug for the lights. He pushed it into the socket, but nothing happened. “Bollocks. What is it now?”

“Must be a dead light somewhere in the strand,” said Charles.

They’d found a box of Christmas decorations when they set up the office. The strand of lights were easily from the 70s, if not older - which meant they were the sort where if a single bulb was burnt out, none of them would work.

“I hate to say it, Charles. But I don’t think we’re going to have lights this year,” said Edwin with a sigh as he examined the tree with his hands perched on his hips.

“Hold on…” said Charles as he squinted at the fresh-cut tree decorated with ornaments they’d received as payment for cases over the years. It was an eclectic collection of handmade and artisanal ornaments mixed in with a box of glass orbs in blue and red that had been in the box with the lights. “I think I see a missing one up near the top.”

“How the devil did you spot that?” asked Edwin as he squinted at the tree.

“I’ve got sharp eyes, don’t I?” said Charles with that charming, thousand-watt smile of his. Then he clapped and darted over to the cardboard box with ‘XMAS STUFF’ written on the side in Charles’ terrible handwriting.

While Charles searched for a box of spare bulbs, Edwin pulled over a footstool.

“Hurry along! It’s nearly midnight,” said Edwin as he stepped up onto the stool. He took hold of the strand with one hand while he held the other out and down expectantly.

Charles found a small, nearly disintegrated plastic bag and then dug out a spare red bulb. He pressed the bulb into Edwin’s waiting hand.

With a neat little flourish, Edwin lifted his hand and twisted the bulb into the empty socket. The moment he did, all the lights flickered on and the tree lit up with the warm glow of multicoloured Christmas lights. The brilliant greens, golds, reds and blues bounced off their collection of ornaments and made each one sparkle.

At that moment, the antique clock in the corner chimed to mark midnight. With each strike, Edwin and Charles gained new sensation.

With the first strike, they could suddenly smell the sharp scent of the pine Christmas tree.

With the second, they could feel heat radiating from the woodstove in the corner that was stoked for the occasion.

The third brought breath to their lungs. The fourth, beating hearts in their chests. With each chime of the clock, they got closer to life until they were fully human once again.

Edwin was so distracted by life returning to his spectral form that he missed the sound of groaning wood. The stepstool which had no issue supporting a ghostly form couldn’t handle the weight of a living being. The leg gave way and he found himself toppling toward the floor with a very undignified squeak.

Somehow, Charles managed to catch him before he hit the floor and gently guided him back to his feet. “Easy, easy! You all right?” On impulse, he reached up to touch Edwin’s cheek.

“I’m…I’m fine,” Edwin stammered.

They touched a dozen times a day in all sorts of casual ways. Or rather, Charles touched Edwin and Edwin allowed it. But something about this touch was different, and not just because he could feel the heat of his hand on his face.

Charles too, felt something shift in that moment. He held Edwin’s weight for a moment longer, then helped him regain his footing. He lingered close, gripping forearm to forearm with one hand, the other still touching his cheek. He stared into Edwin’s eyes and squeezed gently, caressing the muscle of his arm beneath the cotton shirt. His stomach tightened with nerves and anticipation and he felt his cheeks flush.

Something that had begun with Edwin’s confessions on the steps of Hell had been lingering in the background of their relationship - unspoken and unremarked upon, but building like an ember on a bed of dry kindle. Nothing had changed on the surface, but with each passing day, and with each glance and casual touch, something shifted in Charles.

Edwin returned the forearm grip and stared at Charles with his eyes wide and hopeful. With each moment they stood in silence, their brief time as corporeal beings drifted away. Their hot chocolate and fresh-baked cookies sat nearby, steam rising from the mugs, adding a sweet tinge to the spruce and crackling fire in the air.

Edwin closed his eyes and allowed himself the indulgence of nuzzling Charles’ hand. He knew at any moment, he would withdraw the touch.

Or so he thought.

Instead, Charles felt a revelation wash over him. He kept hold of Edwin’s arm and shifted closer until there was barely any air between them. He swallowed down the nerves in his stomach, then slid the hand from his forearm to loop around his waist. He splayed his hand across the small of his back beneath his blazer, tracing fingers over the knit of his sweater vest. He breathed in deep with his mouth slightly open.

Edwin’s eyelids fluttered and his knees went weak, but the hand on his back kept him steady. He turned his face further against his hand and bumped his nose against his palm. Then he risked pressing the tiniest of kisses to the pulse point of his wrist.

That was all it took for Charles to find a well of courage he didn’t know he had. He leaned in and intercepted Edwin before he could kiss his wrist again. The first proper kiss was a gentle thing - a testing peck. But once he had a taste of Edwin’s lips in full sensory glory, he immediately craved more. He pecked him twice more, then leaned in for a proper, deep, romantic kiss.

Edwin clung to Charles for dear life as what he’d wished for for decades finally came to pass. In between the gentle pecks, he let out a shuddering sigh - a whimper and a sound of surprise in one. When the full kiss came, he leaned into it fully. A pair of tears slipped down his cheeks, tracing cool rivulets down his neck until they soaked into the collar of his shirt. He gripped the sides of Charles’ jacket with white-knuckled intensity and leaned his weight against him.

Charles and Edwin kissed each other sweetly and with unlocked longing as the minutes ticked on. Their bodies grew warmer and the lights of the Christmas tree danced off their skin and reflected in their eyes.

But Death’s gift was fleeting. At five minutes past midnight, the sensations started to slide away like the dimming of a candle. At first, they lost the scent of the tree, then the warmth of the fire. The last to go was the warmth of each others’ bodies and the gentle moisture of their lips.

Even as the numbness of a ghost’s existence settled back in, they continued to hold one another just as tightly. Slowly, they lifted off the floor until they floated midair in front of the Christmas tree. They rotated around in a stepless dance, drifting in a slow circle as they remained intertwined.

“I…think I was waiting for tonight to do that,” said Charles after a long, long moment with no sound but the crackle of the fire and the distant hum of London traffic. “Not consciously, but…maybe I just wanted to feel the first time. Properly.”

Edwin clung to Charles and rested his head against his shoulder. He didn’t care that he could no longer feel the warmth of his body or the thrum of his heartbeat. He knew he was holding him, and that’s what truly mattered. The memory of that kiss would replay in his mind with all the ghost kisses to come.

And there would be many to come.

“Happy Christmas, Charles,” Edwin whispered as if he was afraid speaking too loudly would break the spell of that moment.

“Happy Christmas, Edwin,” Charles replied. Then he kissed him again.

---

If you enjoyed this fic, I would appreciate it if you dropped a kudos and/or a comment on Ao3! I have lots more DBD fic, too.

Merry Christmas!

#dead boy detectives #dbda #fanfic #dead boy detectives fanfic #dead boy detectives completed fanfic #completed fic #completed work #short fiction #short fanfic #edwin x charles #charles x edwin #christmas fic #christmas fanfic #payneland

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randomasfuk · 25 days ago

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Houce mates- Jason Todd

First post and I haven’t a clue what I’m doing but eh this is a Jason x fem!reader thing they aren’t together but they live in an apartment together they’re friends but not close

Jason felt the cold air gnaw at his face with each gust of wind as he wandered home to the apartment he shared with you. The two of you had an odd relationship, rarely speaking. You were always the one to start a conversation, your words carrying an odd sense of warmth he wasn’t used to. It made him feel strange—he couldn’t decide if he liked or hated the way your words wrapped around him. They didn’t even have to be particularly kind to unsettle him. That warmth made him feel vulnerable, as though you could see through him.

It was impossible, of course. There was so much he hid from you—so much you didn’t know. If you ever found out who he really was, what he really was, he knew you’d never look at him the same way again.

The keys jingled in his hand as he unlocked the door, taking care to move quietly to avoid the creaking floorboards that riddled the old building. He closed the door just as silently. By now, you should’ve been in bed, fast asleep, and he had no intention of waking you.

But as he turned on his heel, he stopped abruptly. The door to the balcony was open. A sudden alertness shook away the exhaustion weighing down his body. Quietly, he marched toward the balcony, unsure what to expect.

What he didn’t expect was you, leaning against the railing. You were picking at the chipped black paint to reveal the silver metal beneath, flicking the end of a cigarette down to the street below. In the dim lighting, you looked mesmerized by the orange sparks scattering through the city streets.

When the sparks disappeared, you turned around and nearly jumped out of your skin.

“JESUS JASON! ..I didn’t hear you come in. You’re very quiet for such a large man,” you slurred, your words thick and clumsy.

He immediately noticed your red cheeks and swollen eyes. You were drunk—and you’d been crying. That’s when something else caught his attention. His pack of cigarettes.

“Hey, was that mine?” he asked, referring to the cigarette now lost to the abyss below.

“Yes. Sorry,” you murmured, your voice small and defeated. The usual spark in your eyes was gone.

Jason hesitated. He wanted to ask what was wrong, if you were hurt, if there was anything he could do to help. But his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. Perhaps it was for the best—getting too close to you would only end in pain. Everyone he touched ended up broken. He didn’t want to hurt you.

Instead, he settled for holding out his hand and jerking his head toward the apartment, silently gesturing for you to come inside.

You looked up at him, your glossy eyes stinging with the effort of holding back tears, and met his soft gaze with those piercing green eyes you loved so dearly. Standing out on his ghostly pail skin.

“Your eyes are really pretty,” you whispered, a faint smile in your voice.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, caught off guard.

The moment felt like it stretched for minutes, though it was only seconds. Then, without warning, you stumbled into his side. He shut the balcony door behind you with a sharp bang, the loudest noise of the night, rivaling the distant wail of sirens that echoed through the city streets.

You slumped onto the couch, dragging him down beside you with the unexpected movement. Before he could react, you kicked your feet up and turned his shoulder into your own personal pillow.

Jason froze. His eyes darted toward you, then quickly back again like a kid caught staring at something they aren’t supposed to. He was stunned. Meanwhile, you were already fast asleep, your breathing so soft he could barely hear it.

He knew he should move—lay you down properly, grab a blanket, and try to snatch a few hours of sleep himself. But when he turned to look at you again, he found he couldn’t bring himself to disturb you.

You looked peaceful. The way your hair framed your face, the softness of your features in the dim orange glow of the lamp by the TV—it all captivated him. He couldn’t even bring himself to breathe too loudly for fear of breaking the moment.

He let himself enjoy the weight of you leaning against him, though he hated to admit it. He wanted to keep you at arm’s length, not on his arm, yet here you were. And somehow, he didn’t have the strength—or the desire—to move you.

#jason todd #dc #dc universe #dc comics #angst #soft angst #hurt/comfort #slow burn #unspoken feelings #vunerability #quiet intimacy #reader insert #fem reader #x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader

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bisexual-thoughtss · 2 years ago

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Thomas Thorne x Reader

Maybe it was one too many shows you’d watched about flipping houses, but when Alison had called and asked if you wanted to help restore the historical house she’d inherited, you were on the next train.

It hasn’t been easy, with the countless setbacks you all seem to be encountering, but you all persist anyway. The biggest shock was after Alison came home from the hospital and started seeing ghosts, obviously you and Mike were a little lost at first, but it’s become a part of the routine at this point. Although you do both occasionally pout that you don’t get to see to them too. You still talk to them since you know they can hear you, you just can’t ever be sure if you’re taking in the right direction.

The ghosts will interact with you on occasion, usually Julian moving something next to you or typing on your laptop, the occasional cold gust of air or that prickly ‘something just brushed by you’ sensation.

But when you bring this up to Mike he seems confused.

“What d’you mean? Julian, yeah, but I’ve never had any of the other stuff happen,” he frowns.

“Huh, maybe I’m just imagining things,” you tell him, but you’re definitely going to ask Alison.

You find her in the kitchen on her laptop with papers spread around her, but she doesn’t seem to be getting much work done.

“Hey, quick ghost question?” You ask, settling down in the next chair. You don’t realize, but Kitty, Thomas, and Pat are gathered around behind you and they perk up at this. Alison gestures for you to go on so you explain what you’ve been feeling in the house.

“Huh, that’s strange,” she says slowly and you figure the ghosts must be talking when she stares past you, nodding. You wait while she has a brief conversation with the ghosts.

Unbeknownst to you, Thomas has been spouting poetry about you since the day you showed up, and today is no exception as he paces behind you, gesturing grandly as he goes. He doesn’t notice, but one of his hands grazes your neck and you shiver.

“See, there it was again!” You gasp, rubbing your neck where it tingles.

“Interesting,” she laughs as Thomas freezes, looking shocked.

“Oh I want to try!!” Kitty squeals, promptly trying to touch you. She shakes her head vehemently, hand over her mouth as the usual nauseous feeling occurs.

“Must just be you then, mate,” Pat tells Thomas who is still frozen in shock.

“Go on, try again,” Alison encourages the empty air behind you and you wait for the feeling again. Thomas reaches out with a shaking hand, fingers lightly brushing your arm.

“Can they all do that?” You ask, shivering again at the feeling of ghostly fingertips against your skin.

“No.. just Thomas,” Alison smirks as Thomas’ cheeks flame red.

“Huh,” you murmur, “interesting.”

This revelation doesn’t change much in your daily life, other than you giving the occasional “Hello, Thomas” with a smile when you feel him touch you. It’s always very polite, just a tap on your shoulder or a touch to your hand to let you know he’s there. Occasionally you talk to him even though you can’t see or hear him, just telling him about your day. One day Alison sees you doing this and she swears she’s never seen Thomas sit so still and calm, staring at you with rapt attention as you speak. She notices after this that Thomas’ insistent wooing towards her has entirely stopped, in favor of being in the same room as you. She’s certainly not going to question it, lest he start up on her again.

Thomas finds you in the library one day, eyes roaming the titles of different books. He watches as your fingers trace along the spines as you decide which to choose. He tells you his favorites even though he knows you can’t hear him, and his heart soars when you pick up a Regency era novel. One he’s read!

You’ve always had Pride and Prejudice on your list of books you wanted to read, you just hadn’t gotten to it yet. Suddenly you feel a rapid series of taps against your hand.

“Hello, Thomas,” you smile, looking towards where you think he must be.

“What was all that about? Is this a bad choice?” You ask, before you realize he can’t answer you.

“Hm.. how about you tap once for yes and twice for no?” You ask him, waiting for a response. A single tap against your hand makes you smile.

“Perfect! Is this a bad choice?” You ask, receiving two taps.

“Oh, so that was excitement then? Because it’s a good choice?” One tap. You laugh.

“Would you like the read it with me?” You ask and he responds with one tap.

He longs to be able to respond with more than just a yes or no. To tell you that he thinks it’s a marvelous choice, a book he’d liked very much when he was alive, and that he’d love nothing more than to read it with you, but he supposes a simple yes will have to do.

You settle into the plush couch, assuming that he’s sat beside you, and flip open the book.

“Let me know when I should flip the page,” you tell him, and he responds with a tap. You like this new little method of communication you’ve come up with, but you do wish you could actually talk to him.

Thomas spends his time watching you as you read, tapping your hand when it seems like you’re finished with the page. He can’t seem to focus on the words, instead watching your expressions when you read. The way your nose crinkles when something is funny, or how your eyes widen when you’re surprised.

“Mr. Bingley seems sweet,” you murmur, almost to yourself. This thrills Thomas, as he knows he’s much more like Bingley than Darcy. After all, aloof and stoic are certainly not words anyone would use to describe Thomas Thorne.

This becomes a ritual for the two of you, reading the book together a few chapters at a time whenever you get a chance. But the list of projects that need to get done sooner rather than later has certainly gotten longer, and it’s been a while since you’ve gotten to read with Thomas. Especially with the hopeful wedding bookings, you’ve all been busier than ever trying to quickly get the house in order. Today the ghosts are driving Alison mad while you and Mike are trying desperately to clear the garden for the potential wedding client that Martin is bringing back this afternoon. Alison has briefly distracted them with the laptop, buying you some time to get some work done before another ghost interruption.

This is short lived however, when Alison tells Mike to stop digging, clearly having a conversation with one of the ghosts. They go back and forth until she suggests clearing the other side of the garden. You both groan, knowing that’s definitely the worst side of the garden, but you head over there anyway. After an hour, both you and Mike are sweating up a storm and you decide to take a break. You both shed your layers that are starting to get too hot and Mike hands you a cola, making you laugh when he opens his and it explodes a bit.

Little do you know Fanny has been watching him the entire time, and tucked in a doorway (hidden even from Fanny) Thomas has been watching you, mouth agape. He runs away with a squeak when you lift up the hem of your shirt to wipe the sweat from your brow.

You all figure you’ll just pile up the waste to deal with later and continue to clear the garden now. After more of the branches are cleared, you discover a statue hidden amongst the brush.

“How are we going to move that?!” Alison gapes. Mike suggests breaking it up but none of you really like the idea and suddenly Alison starts talking to a ghost and from what you can hear, you’re pretty sure that’s out of the question now anyway. Alison’s conversation with the ghosts provides a bit of a rest before you have to figure out how to move the statue. All three of you try different ways of lifting it, but even with all of you it’s far too heavy. Mike kicks the stone in frustration and immediately falls over in pain. You laugh at their arguing before flopping down on the ground next to them in defeat. You all lay there in mutual misery for awhile before Alison breaks the silence you’re wallowing in.

“I’m so done with this,” she groans.

“No, you know what? We’ve cleared loads! I’ll get rid of the garden waste and we’ll make the best of it,” Mike rallies and you and Alison agree. You help her up off the ground before she’s promptly pulled into another ghost conversation. You watch as Mike lights the branches you’d cleared up into a bonfire to get rid of them and help him toss more on the pile. Suddenly Alison is shouting at you both to get back, and you see Mike running before it sinks in that you need to run as well. You’re slower than Mike, a small piece of debris hitting you in the head and knocking you down. Once you hit the ground you cover your head, just in case anything else might still be flying.

“Oh my god!” You hear Alison shout, her footsteps running toward you.

“Are you alright?!” She helps you off the ground, your other hand clutched to your head where it throbs.

“Brilliant,” you groan. You open your eyes but the light seems so blindingly bright, you’re instantly covering them with your hand.

“I’m alright, just take me inside. Get through this first, then we’ll worry about me, I’m okay I promise,” you tell her. She doesn’t sound convinced, but she leads you inside anyway.

“Somewhere dark,” you add, “my head is splitting.”

She sits you down on the sofa in the library, turning the lights off before she leaves. You crack an eye open and blessedly, the only light is from the dim rays of sun coming through the mostly closed curtains. Alison runs back in to hand you an ice pack before going to deal with Martin. You press the pack to your head and it relieves the worst of the throbbing quickly, but you still keep your eyes shut against the light. You briefly spare a thought to hope that Mike has figured out something to do in the garden before Alison returns, but you’re distracted by the feeling of a hand joining yours on the couch.

“Hello Thomas,” you murmur, turning your hand over so your palms press together. You know it must be him.

“My beloved, I sincerely hope you are not too greviously injured,” he laments and you freeze. Slowly you pull the ice pack away from your head and crack your eyes open and gape at the sight before you. The fact that there is anything in front of you to see at all is a wild change from what you’ve become used to. Thomas- your Thomas, sitting here in front of you.

“Thomas,” you breathe, speechless at actually seeing him.

“You- You can see me?” He gasps, eyes cartoonishly wide. You take in his features slowly, memorizing them in case this is something that might go away when your head clears up. The pretty brown of his eyes, the shape of his nose, the dimple in his chin, his curls that make you want to reach out and touch. Before you realize, you’re doing just that. His eyes slip closed as your fingers lightly card through his curls. He leans into the touch like an oversized cat and you can’t help but smile at his reaction. You continue to take in the sight of him, feeling the silky fabric of his cravat and tracing along the brocade pattern of his waistcoat before you catch sight of his wound. Your eyebrows furrow, eyes filling with sadness at the sight. He takes your hand, pulling your focus back to his face as he looks up at you from under his eyebrows, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand.

“I apologize, I know it is not a pleasant sight to behold,” he sighs, eyes averted.

“It really doesn’t bother me,” you tell him and he looks surprised, “I’m just sorry it happened to you.”

“If you’re sure,” he concedes, but you can see the hint of a smile on his face.

“Hey, we can finish our book together now,” you smile, and he flushes.

“O-oh, yes,” he stutters and you frown.

“I mean we don’t have to,” you backtrack, but he stops you.

“No! I mean yes, I would very much like to, but I must admit, having read the book and knowing it quite well, I find my attention straying to a more intriguing subject than words,” he confesses.

“Oh,” you bite your lip to hide your smile, cheeks coloring at his confession, “I distract you that much?”

“She is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld,” he quotes Bingley and you can’t help the smile that overtakes your face.

“You’re different than I imagined,” you tell him and he starts to look nervous before you clarify, “Better.”

The shock of seeing him has worn off a bit and you can feel your head pounding again.

“Are you quite well?” He asks as you clench your eyes shut again.

“My head still hurts, can we- here,” you arrange his limbs so you can lay back against him and rest your head on his shoulder. He flounders with his hands for a moment before you take them in yours, wrapping his arms around your middle.

“Is this okay?” You ask, putting the ice pack back against your head.

“I- yes, I’ve just never been so… intimate with someone,“ he sounds embarrassed but it makes you smile.

“Do you like it?” You ask, “if it’s too much that’s okay.”

You go to move away but his arms tighten around you.

“No! No, it’s… nice,” he says and you smile.

“Nice,” you laugh, relaxing into him. You let your eyes flutter shut, the ice pack helping the now dull throbbing on your head immensely.

You know you’ll have lots of questions to answer when Alison finds the two of you, but for now you’re content to just relax in Thomas’ arms.

#thomas thorne #thomas thorne x reader #bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts thomas

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spacegoblin2106 · 4 months ago

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Eleven year old Sirius meeting Remus for the first time and thinking he’s stuck up and boring because he barely reacts to anything Sirius does. And eleven year old Remus terrified of seeming boisterous or, Merlin forbid, aggressive and so bottles up his feelings and keeps calm and impassive no matter what his new room mates do.

For some reason Sirius needing to get a reaction out of Remus and so doing whatever he can to provoke him. Tripping him up on the way to class, spilling ink all over his nearly finished homework, spreading a rumour that he wets the bed, putting pink hair dye in his shampoo, filling his sock drawer with maple syrup.

And at first Remus laughs it off, trying to convince himself it’s just a bit of fun. But as time goes on and Sirius’s pranks escalate Remus starts to get angry. But he isn’t allowed to be angry, getting angry would prove he’s a monster so he keeps calm, grits his teeth, clenches his fists, counts to ten, and walks away.

And Sirius is outraged! How dare this kid ignore him! Remus’ face barely even twitched when Sirius dumped a bucket of fertiliser on him in Herbology! What’s it going to take to get him to look at Sirius.

It happens just before Remus’ second full moon at Hogwarts. The first one was the worst Remus has ever had and he is terrified that this next one will somehow be worse still. His bones are itchy, his teeth ache, his stomach feels like it’s trying to turn itself inside out, and his head feels like it’s going to explode. Everything is too loud and too bright and too smelly and too itchy and too much!

Remus just wants to curl up in his bed with a good book and those brownies him mum sent him as a pre-moon pick-me-up. Only the dorm room isn’t empty when he gets there. Sirius is sitting on Remus’ bed. Hunched over an empty box. The same box Remus received this morning from his mum. His face covered in chocolate. Smugly grinning from ear to ear.

Remus snaps.

He screams at Sirius. Calling him out for every shitty thing he’s done to Remus since term started. And Sirius can only sit there in awe as his quiet, unflappable room mate berates him with, quite frankly, the most imaginative string of swear words Sirius has ever had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of.

Books and quills and abandoned socks float ominously and the air itself starts to crackle and Remus’ voice gets louder as his face screws up into a terrifying snarl. And then it stops.

As if coming out of a trance, Remus blinks once, twice, and then a look at absolute terror takes over his face as his skin turns a ghostly shade of white. His eyes are wide and his hands shake as he stutters out a pained “I’m so sorry”.

This just proves it. He truly is just a monster, something to fear. He should leave now while he has the chance. Before people start chasing him with pitch forks.

And then he hears clapping. Remus raises his head to see Sirius, a look of shock painting his face. But also one of pride? Almost admiration?

Sirius gives him a lopsided grin. “Didn’t think you had that in you. I’m impressed”

And Sirius is impressed. A little shaken up but impressed. He wasn’t sure Remus even had a back bone let alone was capable of all that. Maybe this kid could be worth being friends with after all. And if he can manage to hide all that emotion, what else is there to discover about him? Sirius can’t wait to find out.

#remus lupin #remus john lupin #sirius black #sirius o black #sirius orion black #remus x sirius #wolfstar #hp marauders #mauraders #marauders #marauders era #the marauders era #marauders headcanon #sirius black headcanon #remus lupin headcanon #wolfstar headcanon

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realisticfanfictions · 1 year ago

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Being Sanji's Girlfriend & Baratie's Head Waitress - Part 4.

Sanji x Waitress!Reader: Part One, Part Two, Part Three.

Working at Baratie wasn't without its challenges, and the fights that sprung up because of them weren't rare either. You and your boyfriend never sweated the small stuff, after all working in a high stress environment made you, well, stressed. But maybe some things can't be resolved that easily.

Tags: Sanji x Reader, Waitress!Reader, constant bickering, mostly fluff with some angst, (heavy) swearing.

A/N: Initially going into this, I was planning to have the fishmen come in and have the Mihawk fight, but it was a bit more important to set up some more character dynamics before I moved onto 5k words of action scenes. So here's a nice bit of LORE(tm) and a bit more about how Y/N thinks. Next part I promise is 100% action, and I can't wait to show ya'll what I've come up with for Y/N's weapon! It's so cool.

Word Count is 3,421. Hope you enjoy!

Tag list (comment to join!): @siriuslyblackonback @jvhoons

"So, you're really going to fight him?"

Zoro, not looking up from cleaning his swords, nodded. "It's my dream." He explained, observing the blades for any damage. After he challenged the swordsman, the next few things happened rather quickly. The scramble to get Luffy as if that'll somehow convince him to stand down, the captain instead supporting his first mate's goal, and Nami storming off upset. It all passed by in a blur, and now you were alone with Zoro in their ship.

You nodded and turned to look out of the porthole, observing the calm seas that rocked the boat. "I guess dreams are worth dying for." You sighed and leaned back in your chair. "Sucks you met Mihawk too early."

His jaw tightened, and set down his sword. "If I run now, I'll never become the world's greatest swordsman."

You hummed and watched him through the reflection on the glass. "Honour, huh?" You mused and nibbled on the tip of your thumb. "How ridiculous. You're just like Sanji, uncompromising."

"Don't compare me to that shitbag." He snapped and sheathed his sword, clicking it shut in its scabbard. "Speaking of, why are you with him?"

Confused by his words, you looked over at him. "What do you mean?"

"He cheats on you, doesn't he?" He questioned and turned to face you, leaning against the cabinet. "He seemed pretty friendly with Nami a couple hours ago."

You chuckled. "That's just Sanji. He's obsessed with women. It's more," You thought of the words. "It's like having a dog that you love and care for, and though you go up and pet other dogs, you don't abandon your own dog for some random one on the street."

Zoro's eyebrows raised. "You do realise you just called yourself a bitch, right?"

You rolled your eyes and flipped him off. "Shut up. He's just chivalrous, that's all."

"Well, I'd be watching him if I were you." He walked over, his long strides making it seem effortless to reach you. "Guys like that don't tend to keep only one dog."

You opened your mouth to retort, but shut it and stood chest to chest with him. "Just focus on not dying, alright?" His eyes squinted ever so slightly, and he leaned down close to you, gazing directly into your eyes. "What are you doing?"

He stares for a moment, and then straightens himself back up. "Nothing."

You quirked an eyebrow. "Alright, I'm going home to my boyfriend."

"Wasn't trying to make a move." He retorted and stepped aside, letting you walk past him. "(Y/N)?" You placed a hand on the door frame and turned. "Be careful."

You looked him up and down. "Try not to die."

Mihawk's eyes haunted you like a ghostly presence that you couldn't shake off. It was like you could feel those piercing eyes all over your body, every inch of skin was tainted and you hated it. You always have.

The door to you and Sanji's shared room creaked open, and you popped your head inside. You didn't know what to expect, but Sanji jolting himself upright on the chair that sat in the corner of your room wasn't exactly one of them. The door softly clicked closed behind you, and you slowly walked up to him, his eyes on you the entire time as you sat on his lap. You positioned yourself sideways and leaned your head against his chest, reveling in his warmth when he wrapped his arms around you and placed a kiss against your scalp. Sanji's thumb rubbed circles in your thigh, more of an anxious gesture than anything, as he pressed many more kisses against your skin. You sighed and relaxed into him. "I may have overreacted." You started, ripping the band-aid off. "And I apologise."

He nodded. "Thank you for that. Sorry for not finding you sooner."

You shook your head against his chest. "I was drinking, you would've killed my buzz." You paused. "But I guess it was ruined anyway."

"Oh, I'm sorry-"

He stopped when you held up a hand. "I didn't mean you, Sanji." You opened your mouth, but couldn't find the words. Or rather, you found them, you just didn't want to share them. "A man came asking after our new chore boy."

You felt Sanji tense under you. "Are you okay?"

Mihawk's eyes restraining came to mind. "I'll be fine," You picked at a loose thread. "But Zoro won't."

Your boyfriend's hand stopped and pulled back to look you in the eye. "Zoro?"

"Luffy's friend, the guy with the swords. The idiot challenged him to a duel."

Sanji's head tilted. "Why?"

You let out a small sigh and untangled yourself from him, walking a couple feet to your dresser and pulling out a change of clothes. "Because they're idiots with a death wish." You said as you peeled off your top with a groan. "Fuck. Thank God I don't have work tomorrow."

He watched you for a moment as you shimmied out of your clothes and slipped into some pajamas. "Sweetheart, I'm not really comfortable with you drinking with pirates. I mean, it's a bit dangerous-"

You scoffed, pulling an oversized shirt over your head. "They're not pirates," You said as you tugged the shirt down, barely bothering to notice it was a gag shirt with an octopus on a bowl of rice. "Hell, they barely qualify as sailors." But when Sanji didn't respond, you paused. "Oh, you mean was I drinking with Zoro." You turned around to face him. He was leaning forwards in his chair, leg bouncing. You sighed and walked over to him. "He was just my drinking partner, and he's most likely going to die tomorrow." You run your hand through his blond locks. "It'll be fine. You don't have to worry."

"I'll have to trust you then." He said with a smile, then laughed when your gentle pat turned into a frantic scratch. "Hey! Not the hair!"

A smirk split across your face. "I don't know, Sanji. You might just have to trust me!"

He chuckled and grabbed your hands, pulling you forward onto him and wrapping you in his arms. "You know what I mean."

"I guess I'll just trust you-"

"Yep!"

"And trust that you're doing a good job! And- Sanji!" You squeaked when your boyfriend ambushed you with a barrage of soft kisses pressed across any bit of skin he could reach. "You tasteless toad! You're two tablespoons of terrible!"

"Two tablespoons of terrible." He repeated in a strange voice and you giggled when he tried to tickle you. "Oh no! The tickling toad has come to torment you!"

You push his hands away and trap his face in your hands. "You twat." You smiled and gave him a lingering kiss.

When you parted, he gave a soft smile. "And you even ended it with a 't', brilliant."

You quirked an eyebrow. "You weirdo."

He mirrored you. "And I somehow love you."

"But weirdly, you love me very weirdly."

He nodded. "Birds of a feather."

"If we're birds, you're a flamingo."

"Why?"

"Because if I wasn't dating you, I'd think you were a bit of a flamingo."

He gasped. "Then you'd be a penguin, because you bring me rocks."

You leaned back and gave him a look. "Because I bring you rocks?"

He nodded. "Yeah, you even put them on me. And you help me get my rocks off."

He laughed as you hit him. "Sanji! That's so bad!"

Your hands were caught and you were pulled into his chest, both of you giggling and stealing kisses from each other while occasionally snuggling impossibly closer. Sure, you might be a bad person - but you liked who you were with Sanji. And that's all you really cared about.

You lied. That night you couldn't sleep with hundreds of thousands of millions of thoughts racing through your mind. You felt like you were a greyhound chasing down a slightly too-fast rabbit, every time you got close, sleep just slipped through your fingers. Your gaze drifted from the ceiling where you were counting the nails in the boards, and over to your boyfriend. His sleeping face made a million butterflies emerge from their cocoons in your stomach, your heart beating against your rib cage like an angry gorilla. But something about this wasn't right, and you couldn't go to sleep without doing something about it.

Careful to not wake your peaceful boyfriend, you slowly lifted his arm from around your waist and placed it on his pillow, heart aching at the sight of him trying to seek your warmth. Even in sleep he wanted to be close to you. Grabbing your pillow, you gently tucked it under his searching hand and he brought it to his chest with a soft groan, the smell of you satiating him.

You rolled out of bed and tip-toed over the squeaky floorboards, wincing every time the floor made a sound. After looking back each time and taking moments between each footstep, you made it through the door and quickly shut it behind you. The early morning's chilly air struck you, but you ignored the goosebumps rising under your skin and continued on. It felt strange walking without your heels clicking against the floorboards, but you weren't looking to make noise, or look fashionable in this instance.

The Overnights were rooms for guests who've either had too much to drink, or who pay extra to stay overnight to hookup, or just to stay, again, overnight. You passed by the many in-use rooms filled with snoring and other unseemly sounds, rolling your eyes at the disgusting slobs behind the doors. A room stood out amongst the others, however, and you knew it held what you were seeking. The aura that emanated from it was unmistakable.

You reached into your hair and pulled out a bobby pin, sticking it in between your teeth to open it and then jammed it into the lock. All the locks were the same on the Baratie, and you only had to jimmy the locks, moving the pins frantically within, to open it without much effort. The door clicked open and you gently pushed it open.

When you stepped inside, you felt it. The blade at your neck. Without a second thought, you pushed it from your jugular and grabbed the silver candlestick on the hallway table, holding it firmly as the blade was struck against it. It sliced through with ease and a sharp burning went through your cheek, knowing that if you hadn't moved your head, it would've went through your eye. "You're slow." Came the hauntingly beautiful, yet unsettling voice from your nightmares.

You hissed and shoved his sword away from your face. "You haven't seen me in seven years, and the first thing that comes from your mouth is criticism? How shocking."

"Six." He corrected, and the room was suddenly bathed in a low yellow hue. Dracule Mihawk was a terrifying man. His golden, ringed eyes glowed in the dim light and when they looked you over, it felt like he was observing your soul and picking it apart with the grace one would picking the petals off of a flower. Those eyes locked onto yours. "It's been six years."

You rolled your eyes and pushed past him. The room was a similar layout to your own, with the only difference being the minimalist design and abhorrent amount of red wine. You knew the latter didn't come from the room. Rather, they came from his personal stash that would deem any other man an alcoholic. But Mihawk was simply old-fashioned, born in the wrong non-vampiric century if you will.

He sheathed his famed black blade Yoru in one smooth motion and danced past you, sitting gracefully in his armchair and crossing one leg over the other. Your eyes drifted over to his hat hung on a hook and reached out to run your fingers against the silky feather. "Don't touch it." The old swordsman warned behind you, picking up his book and flipping over the next page. "I despise disorganisation. It needs to be acceptable for my duel tomorrow. Or rather, in the upcoming moments since you have woken me up at such an ungodly hour."

Despite your reluctance, your arm retracted almost on its own. "You were already awake, asshat." You turned around and crossed your arms. "And it'll be creased anyway, so it doesn't matter if-"

"Not necessarily." His words were as sharp as his gaze. "If we go by that barbaric logic, it doesn't matter if a man is murdered since we all die in one way or another."

You scoffed and returned his look with your own glare. "I'm not too sure, you're more experienced when it comes to murdering men."

Mihawk picked up his expensive crystal wine glass, and took a long, silent sip of his Tarapaca. It was placed back down onto the table with a clink. He leaned back in his chair which squeaked as he did so, and interlocked his fingers. "Why are you here, (Y/N)?"

"I was going to ask you the same question."

His head tilted for a moment, before righting itself. "I'm here for Monkey D. Luffy."

You hadn't realised your shoulders were tensed until they drooped down. "That's it?"

He nodded. "I am only here as an obligation to Garp to collect his grandson."

To your annoyance, your throat tightened. "I thought that was an excuse."

"It wasn't." The man you hated sat in his chair completely unbothered. His eyes lingered on you for a moment, before drifting back to his book. He flipped the page. "'But tell me, at the time of those sweet sighs, by what and in what manner Love conceded that you should know your dubious desires?'"

Pathetically, you felt stinging at the corners of your eyes. "'And she said to me: “There is no greater sorrow then to recall our times of joy in wretchedness.”'" You breathed in through your nose. "Inferno, by Dante Alighieri."

"From?"

You cleared your throat. "Divine Comedy."

"What year?"

You took in a breath and shook your head. "1321?"

He said nothing and turned the page. You stood silently, wanting to run but having no strength to do so. His gaze finally lifted to meet yours. "Is that all?"

A chill ran over your skin, and you were once again reminded of the kind of man he was. There was a lot you wanted to say to Dracule Mihawk. So much hatred and anguish that you had to endure, all the suffering handed to you by the well-manicured hands of the greatest swordsman in the world. You hated him. "Unless you want to say anything?"

His eyes held yours for a moment. "Goodnight."

"Go fuck yourself." You practically grew fangs and spat venom at him. Spinning on your heel, you kicked the wall where his hat hung and stormed out of the room.

A scream bubbled in your throat. Your nails dug into your palms, and your lips were bloodied from ripping them open. He had no- you couldn't- he was such a-

As you turned a corner, you felt something pinch the base of your skull and you whipped around. Pulling your gun and aiming it, you locked eyes with the other swordsman in your life. Zoro, bathed in moonlight, turned his attention from his swords to you. The rag he was cleaning his blade with stopped and he was focused solely on you. "I think I know who you are."

You scoffed and shoved your gun back in its holster. "Well, apparently most people don't, so I'll take anything at this point." He was quiet, and your lips tightened into a smile. "Want a drink?"

The door opened with a click and Zoro whistled. "Nice trick."

You put the bobby pin back in your hair with a smile. "Thanks." The Baratie after-hours was a sight to behold, but the bar was even better. You smiled at Zoro and guided him around the front of the bar where the shutters were closed.

"Thought you said it's open all night."

You looked behind you as you bent down to the latch holding the fish's mouth closed. "I said you couldn't get anything on tap around three in the morning," You unhooked the chain and pulled it free from the floor. "Didn't say that the bar was open. Come help me." You shuffled to the side to make room for him, and grabbed onto the shudders. He appeared by your side and hooked his fingers under the shudders next to yours, you both nodded to each other and grunted as you lifted the shudders. You expected it to be heavier, but with Zoro it lifted with surprising ease. The moonlight poured in and illuminated the bar, shining through the empty bottles of booze and creating a kaleidoscope of colours.

The green-haired swordsman chuckled and looked around. "I've never been in a bar after hours." He sat down on a nearby couch normally reserved for V.I.Ps. "It feels naughty."

You shrugged, walking over to the bar and reaching over. "Yeah well, if we're caught I'll probably get fired, so don't fuck around." Your fingers wrapped around the neck of a bottle and you hoisted it to eye-level. "You a rum guy?"

He smiled and gave a half-shrug. "I'm a booze guy."

"Good answer." You said and carried over two shot glasses for the both of you. Sitting down, you tugged off the cork with your teeth and poured yourselves shots. You raised your glasses. "To you dying tomorrow."

His eyebrows raised. "To me surviving tomorrow." He corrected and clinked his glass against yours, keeping his eyes on you as you took a shot together. He sighed, flicking his head and nodding. "That's good."

You nodded and sniffed. "It's very good." You filled your glasses again. "Only the best shit for the only guy that knows me." You gulped it down, and didn't wait for him to finish before filling yours back up.

He chuckled. "I'm the one dying tomorrow, and here you are drinking like it's the end of the world."

"Yeah, well," You sniffed and swirled around the liquid in your glass. "My life kind of fucking sucks at the moment. So, I think I deserve to get shit-faced."

Zoro tilted his head and licked his teeth. "I bet you had a miserable childhood."

You laughed and leaned back, tears pricking at yours eyes as you nodded. "Understatement of the century." You said under your breath and looked up at him, forcing a smile. "I grew up on some private land owned by nobles."

He nodded. "You said that."

"Yeah, but what I didn't tell you was I wasn't born there. My Dad, being father of the fucking year, didn't want to care for a baby so he dumped me with some workers. Then, when I truly got attached to my family and finally was accepted as a member of the community, he just came back and picked me up. Like I was some type of broken watch he left to be repaired." You shook your head and reveled in the burn of the rum as it slid down your throat and warmed your stomach. "And ever since then, he's just tormented me. Even when I got away from him, it's like he's always there just watching me - waiting for me to mess up. And you know, all the shit that I did to make him proud of me? Every late night reading libraries' worth of books just in case he quizzed me on it in the morning. Every lesson in combat styles, or how to sense others, whatever the hell that means. Most of the scars I have are from trying myself to him. But never once was I told 'Good job (Y/N)', or that he was proud of me. He never even smiled at me." You finished the shot and placed it down onto the table. "And you know what fucking sucks? After all this time, all the anguish he's put me through? All I want him to look at me and tell me that he loves me."

Zoro looked at his glass and his mouth tightened into a fine line. "I know the feeling." His eyes drifted back to yours. "To shitty parents?" He offered, raising his glass.

You chuckled and shook your head, but poured yourself a glass and raised it. "The shittiest."

A/N: Um, okay this was pretty heavy and it took me a while to write because I wanted to make it actually matter. I think there'll be a few more parts and then we'll be finished with the Baratie saga! Then, I might take a break and do maybe another series/one-shot while I properly plan the next part. We'll also be naming this series! The poll has concluded and within the next couple of days, we'll be figuring out the name! Comment down if you have any suggestions, or want to join the tag list! <3

P.S: When the Baratie saga is done, I'll release it all as one part so that it'll be easier to re-read. It'll be a bit of its own thing, so stay tuned haha.

#sanji x reader #opla sanji x reader #opla sanji x y/n #opla x reader #one piece live action #opla sanji #opla zoro #opla

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