#and it's not the only time in the chpt he does it

[miniagula]

went through another lp of chapters 3 and 4, and now it's time to play the fun game of what the FUCK the prototype was telling the truth about

[bratscave]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 IN ANOTHER LIFE !

summary. falling in love with a old! driver, who's name was james while you were still in college was one thing — but finding out that he was wolverine after his death and meeting another version of him, was another.

includes/warnings. lots of flashbacks (sex heavely implied!!), let's just pretend he was an uber driver or smth cause miss college princess had no money for a limousine for sure :/, there will be chpt 2 dw!!

You remembered that first time like it was yesterday. It had been raining, one of those cold, relentless downpours that drenched you the moment you stepped outside. It had been your first day back at physical collage after all the online classes, all nervous, fumbling with your phone as you waited for the car to pull up.

He was intimidating, didn't utter a single thing, you quickly learned he wasn't a big fan of small talk. You had tried to make conversation, anything to fill the suffocating silence. You’d rambled on about the rain, about how much you hated storms, but Logan had only grunted in response, his gaze fixed firmly on the road. You’d thought that was his way of telling you to shut up, and for a while, you had.

But silence had always been uncomfortable to you, so you continued talking, about school, your shitty new teachers, your weekend plans. Anything that crossed your mind, really.

He had pretty hands, veiny n' all. That's what you thought when you first saw them, inappropriate thoughts to have about a man who was so much older then you. But back then, you weren't actually planning on doing anything about that small attraction.

It had been a particularly bad day — the kind where nothing seemed to go right, where you felt like the universe itself had a problem with you specifically and decided to make your life hell. You had barely held it together as you climbed into Logan’s car, your hands shaking as you fumbled with the door.

And for the first time in months, the car was quiet.

But you remembered the way he drove slower than usual, the way his eyes had softened every time they flicked to the rearview mirror. When he pulled up in front of your apartment, he had turned to face you for the first time, his voice low and gravelly: “It’s just a test, bub. You’ll be alright.”

You had always asked yourself weather he listened to your ramblings or not, the fact that he remembered that you had an exam that day, clearly proved one of your points.

It was such a simple thing to say. And if any other person would've said it, you would've given them attitude because nothing had been going alright that day and you were sure you had failed the damn thing.

But when he said it, you believed him.

“When does your shift end?”

Logan didn’t respond at first, his brow furrowing as he kept his eyes on the road. For a moment, you thought he hadn’t heard you, or maybe he was just ignoring you like he usually did when he didn’t want to answer a question.

But then, he glanced at you again, his eyes dark and unreadable. “Why?”

Your breath caught in your throat, but you pushed through, your voice softer this time. “I know a place. Quiet. You might actually like it."

For a second, you thought he was going to say no — that he was going to shut this down before it even started.

But then, he muttered a rough, “Sure,” and the air in the car shifted.

The tiny ramen shop was a street down your apartment complex, the prices were afforadable, for your college-spent wallet to afford, at least.

The familiar bell over the door chimed, and the owner — a small, elderly woman. She had made a lighthearted comment about 'you finally getting a man' and you were sure you had seen logan fight a grin.

You glanced at Logan as he sat across from you, his gaze sweeping over the modest interior. His lips quirked, just a little, at the sight of the place, like he found it amusing in a way you couldn’t quite place. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a second, you forgot what you were going to say.

But you'd quickly gather yourself, a chuckle escaping you at his antics, "Don't give me that look. You'll like it."

You didn't talk a lot, for the first time around him, you didn't feel the need to.

When the bill came, you reached for it, but Logan’s hand shot out, his fingers brushing against yours. The brief contact sent a jolt through you, your breath catching as you looked up at him.

“I’m paying,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl.

You shook your head, determined. “No. I invited you. I’m paying.”

His brow furrowed, and for a moment, you thought he was going to argue. But instead, he leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest, giving you a look that screamed ‘you’re being ridiculous.’

“I’m not letting you pay.”

“Well, tough shit. I’m paying,” you shot back, pulling the bill toward you and slapping your card down on the table before he could react.

Logan let out a deep, frustrated sigh, but the corner of his mouth twitched, just for a second. “Stubborn as hell,” he muttered, shaking his head.

When you finally stepped outside, the cold air hit you harder this time, cutting through the warmth of the ramen still lingering in your stomach. You wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering slightly as you started walking back toward your apartment.

“I’ll walk you,” Logan said, his voice gruff as he fell into step beside you.

You shot him a look, raising an eyebrow. “It’s literally down the street. I think I’ll survive.”

Logan didn’t respond. He just started walking down the street into the direction of the complex, his larger frame casting a long shadow over the pavement. You smiled though he didn't see it, in your humble opinion he was the stubborn one.

It took you all your courage to press out a, "Wanna come in?" after he walked you all they way to your door.

You had silently cursed yourself for not tidying up the space before wards, everything was just such a mess.

Shelves stacked with vinyl records lined one wall, your favorite albums mixed in with a few old books and random knick-knacks. Posters hung slightly crooked, tacked up without much care for symmetry, while polaroid pictures were scattered across the walls.

And then there were the plushies—so many plushies—bright pops of Sanrio characters peeking out from the corners of the couch, the bookshelves, even the bedroom beyond, where they seemed to be taking over your bed. A pink Cinnamoroll pillow lay tossed on the couch, its floppy ears slumping over the armrest like it was too tired to stay upright.

Logan’s eyes swept over everything, taking it in with a slow, deliberate gaze. You could see the corner of his mouth twitch again, that same almost-smile from the ramen shop, but this time it didn’t go away as quickly.

“You’ve got… a lot going on here,” he muttered, nodding toward the Sanrio plushies with a low grunt, but there was no judgment in his voice. Just something… curious.

You rolled your eyes, kicking your shoes off by the door. “I like cute stuff. Sue me.”

“Cute stuff,” he repeated, letting out a low, amused sound, but his eyes stayed on you, lingering just a little too long as you made your way to the couch.

He picked up one of the countless vinyls, carefully sorted next to a shelf, running his rough fingers over it. Something older from the 70s.

The next time you play that record, you'll think about how he kissed you on your coach a few minutes later. started of slow and tender, went all sloppy.

Maybe you’ll think about how he whispered your name, low and gravelly, like it was the only thing grounding him. Or the way his lips found your shoulder, kissing a line down your collarbone as he leaned you back against the cushions, his body hovering over yours, every inch of him pressing into you until you could barely think straight.

You’ll remember how his weight felt on top of you — solid, real.

“Christ,” he’d muttered against your throat, his breath hot, rough as he began moving. You highly doubted he believed in christianity or any religion at that, but the way he treated your body; felt like he was starting to believe in a new one, worshipping and all.

You had talked a lot that night, a few more hours, before you both fell asleep on same coach. It was the first time you heard multiple sentences beside just grunts and nods, from him.

If you only knew just how fast he'd leave you.

[kquil]

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER TWO

02 : SHOPPING (1/2)

CHPT. SUM. : life isn't easy in the Black Family household, you need to get out, you also need a new wand. Sirius does too as well as a few other things; time to go shopping.

LENGTH : 5.8k

TAGS. : hurt/comfort ; tantrums ; fluff ; sirius needs a hug ; regulus needs a hug ; original walburga can eat shit ; orion can eat shit too ; reader being an amazing mother ; walburga deserves to get bullied ; floo powder travels ; diagon alley shopping time~ ; stupid wands ; arson ; goblin OC ; sirius being a sneaky baby ; regulus follows in his older brother's footsteps ; misbehaving things ; Ollivander cameo~ ; please excuse any grammar or spelling mistakes for now, this wasn't really proofread (╥﹏╥) i'll go back over things later on!

← PREV. | 01 : ARRIVAL | SERIES M.LIST

7th August 1971 

It didn’t take you long to uncover the upsetting affairs of the ever proud Black Family. 

There was nothing to be proud of. It sickened you to witness the blatant disdain Orion had for his own two sons, neglecting them by leaving for work early and returning only to lock himself up in his home office. The bastard even overlooked his sons when he was present at home on the weekends and the few words he spoke when addressing them dripped with cruelty and ignorance. The only positive thing you could take from his absence, however, is the fact that the boys didn’t have to tolerate his silent callousness for long periods of time. 

But that meant seeing the effects of Walburga’s despicable conditioning of the two boys, which was far worse. 

It was clear that Regulus wanted to be favoured and compiled to his mother’s whims, desperately seeking her approval. Whenever his small, pale hands reached out for you, no matter how miniscule, you accepted with open arms and a warm smile. His precious look of surprise, and shy happiness at your unexpected acceptance, never failed to make your heart shatter, even more so that his reaction never seemed to let up. 

Before every apology, before every small request, before every word he breathed in your direction, there was an evident hesitance, a slight fear in his motions that made him freeze up for a moment. It was a consistent action that you hoped, with time, would disappear for good. You love having Regulus for your son but you don’t want him to do things just because you said so. In your previous life and before your dreams were shattered, the one thing you looked forward to about having children was the development of their own personality, the becoming of their own individual person. That’s what you want for Regulus, and Sirius too. But you know that Regulus was the main son who was deprived of that pleasure in the original timeline so you wanted to give him that extra bit of care. It was your responsibility, now, to give him that happiness.   

Sirius was the same. He wanted approval too, you could see it so very clearly in his piercing grey eyes – it’s an innocence he shares with his younger brother. There’s a glimmer of hope in his grey pools, hidden behind the need to protect Regulus and the mix of anger and sadness fostered by the horrendous parents he had the ill-fate of having. You want to bring down those walls but you know it’ll take some time. Nevertheless, you clung onto the hope present in his eyes and used it to cultivate your firm resolution, like a garden to the foundation of a new life and a new future. It was needed, especially when Sirius lashed out, his fury, dangerously ablaze like a forest fire set on destroying everything in its wake. 

It was no secret that the original Walburga expected nothing but excellence from her only two sons, so it didn’t come as a surprise to you that she had hired private tutors for them leading up to their official education in Hogwarts. They were to study French, Etiquette, Literature, Cursive/Calligraphy, Maths and all of the wizarding basics. All taught by private tutors that delivered material like stale bread on a plate and leaving them with the terribly tedious assignments in the most ridiculous amounts. You understood why Sirius worked himself up to such a tantrum. However, he was not setting a good example for his younger brother, who clung onto the long flowing skirt of your black dress and pressed himself against your legs for comfort. 

Tenderly, you combed your fingers through Regulus’ neatly permed hair, lightly scratching at his scalp while the two of you waited for Sirius to lose energy and simmer down enough for you to finally get a word in. It only took a few minutes but Sirius was soon left heavily panting, his expulsion of rage gone but still evident in his harsh glare and aggressive stance.

 Silence took over the room as you continued to hold his gaze, determined to handle the situation calmly but firmly and without any interruptions – you hope to God that your amateur imperturbable charm worked on the door of the room; it was the weekend, meaning that Orion was at home and he wouldn’t take too kindly to his equally hateful wife being screamed at by his disobedient son.

“...it’s not fair…” Sirius grumbles under his breath, pouting defiantly as his small hands ball up into clenched fists by his sides. 

“I know it’s not fair, Sirius,”

“Then—!” Sirius cuts himself off when you raise a brow at him, your mouth pressed into a tight, thin line. 

Some part of you understands why Sirius would lash out so aggressively; he was practically drowning under the workload he was set by his individual tutors, drowning under the expectations the original Walburga had set on him and he didn’t know how to express his frustrations. Along the way, you’re sure he’s bottled up his emotions and tried to get on with things, evident by the littered chaos of papers at his feet, marked by his neat handwriting. Such beautiful handwriting for such a young and troubled boy. With his deadline fast approaching and his assignments piled up to his ears, Sirius lashed out in the violent and wrathful way he’s been exposed to since birth. You want to be soft and comply with his demands but you know that’ll foster bad habits in him. Conceding now will only teach him that it’s okay to become violent when he’s frustrated and that it’ll work to help him get what he wants. But that is a false reality. And you will not perpetuate the illusion for him.  

He’s your son now, he’s your responsibility and you’re going to teach him well. So you stand firm but composed. You’re setting an example. It isn’t until you sense the fear of what may happen slowly seeping into Sirius’ much smaller frame, that you step forward and take action. 

In your slow approach, Sirius flinches and snaps his eyes tightly shut. His clenched fists slowly come up to shield his chest as his shoulders tense despite the visible shiver that runs up his frame.

A small voice calls out behind you, “Mother–”

“Regulus, this is between me and your brother. Please don’t interfere,” Regulus bites his lip into silence but watches on with fearful eyes. He wants to step in and hold his brother close, the same way Sirius has done to help comfort him many times before but, no matter how strong his will, Regulus didn’t move. Why? Was it the fear or… was it something else?  

Once close enough, you kneel down and gently grasp Sirius’ small shoulders. You try not to wince when he falters from your touch and tries to withdraw but your grip keeps him securely in place. Inhaling deeply and slowly, you begin to speak in a stable voice and with strength. It’s best to start from the beginning. 

“Sirius…” you wait until he meets your eyes, hesitant and afraid but stubbornly brave, “what’s wrong?” he sends you a look of exasperation, you can read him easily ‘why are you asking him that when he’s been screaming at you about it?’, “I will not listen or engage in any conversation with you if you ever speak to me that way,” you set the boundary and pause to make sure he processes your words clearly before continuing, “I will only listen if you talk to me like a normal person, if you just scream at me like that then I can’t help you,” 

Sirius wants to scoff at your words; how could he possibly trust you to help him if you’ve never been worthy of his trust? But he glimpses the image of his worried, younger brother over your shoulder and bites down on his sharp tongue. Regulus has grown a small but reluctant trust for you ever since the day you fainted. It was naive of him but Sirius could never fault his younger brother for anything. He’s always been the one with the softer heart between them so it was natural for Regulus to be more trusting. Deep down, Sirius wants to have that same level of give within him too. 

But it was hard. It’s hard to trust…

…that didn’t mean he didn’t want to, however. One prolonged look at his brother was all he needed to have the courage to put that trust forward. 

“It’s unfair,” he repeats, clearly this time.

“What’s not fair?” you prompt, your features softening along with your tone as Sirius wills himself to continue. You haven’t lashed out at him yet, you haven’t even threatened to launch a curse at him, that was a good sign. 

“All this work…” he gestures to the scattered papers he had thrown to the floor in defiance. Now, he looks towards them in shame and quickly diverts his gaze from the mess. 

“I see,” you hum as he looks onto you with eyes of wonderment, unable to comprehend that you were taking in his complaint so graciously – he isn’t used to this type of gentleness but he likes it…  “I’m sorry you’re under so much pressure to do this much work,” Sirius holds his breath as hope builds up within him, its light is radiant but he tries to ignore it, “I’m sorry it’s been so hard for you–”

“––I tried to do well!” Sirius defends, his eyes desperately searching your own for some form of understanding. It was your warm smile that eased his panicked heart… in some sense, he’s beginning to understand his younger brother; his mother looks far prettier when she’s smiling. 

“I know,” you cup his face with one hand and lovingly caress the skin of his cheek with your thumb, “you’ve worked so hard. Thank you for trying, Sirius,” you watch tears pool at his eyes and coo comfortingly as you bring him into your arms and tuck his face into your shoulder, “I’m so sorry, my darling. I promise to talk to your tutors about the workload,” your gentle assurance and unfaltering promise eases his worries and Sirius allows himself to melt into your embrace. You’ve never called him that before. And never in such a loving or warm tone. It makes his heart feel lighter and his breath stutters in disbelief. 

Can he keep you like this? He wants you to be like this forever. 

Sirius doesn’t know how long he stays wrapped up in your kind embrace but he’s brought back to his senses when he hears shuffling and quickly feels his younger brother being brought into the hug too. Lighthearted and optimistic about the world’s goodness, Sirius brings an arm around his brother, who reciprocates his actions, and the three of you stay there, basking in each other’s warmth and comfort. This is nice. 

“Regulus,” Sirius feels his brother stiffen up beside him, but only for a moment, it almost goes unnoticed before Regulus tucks himself further into your arms, “I’m sorry for the burden of work on you too,” 

“I-It’s okay, mother,” alas, his younger brother is too forgiving but Sirius knows it’s a trait that he loves his brother for. 

“Do you like the amount of work you’re doing?” you question, doing your best to keep your tone neutral and only slightly peaking in curiosity. 

Regulus pauses for a moment, contemplating his answer, “I wouldn’t mind less work…”

His answer makes you laugh, the sound feathery and light, it makes the two brothers stare at each other in wide-eyed disbelief. They’ve never heard their mother laugh before. It was obscure and strange but a pleasant sound, something that they want to hear more often from you. 

“Then it’s settled, I’ll be having a word with your tutors,” the two boys release a sigh of relief and you feel Sirius melt a little more into your arms, “so you can leave your work alone for next week entirely,” their shock doesn’t go unnoticed but you continue, “I’m so proud of both of you for working so hard,” you didn’t want to rush things but you couldn’t help yourself. Slowly and gently and with all the love you could muster, you lean forward and press a kiss to Sirius’ forehead and then do the same to Regulus. 

They were stunned into silence as a pink hue rose to their cheeks, their wide, unbelieving eyes staring up at you in the most precious way. They look so adorable; you want to capture this image of them in a photo to keep forever. You can practically hear their racing hearts trying to beat out of their chests as their eyes swim with a child-like astonishment and wonder. They’re just two precious little boys who deserved better than the miserable, tragic fate J.K fucking Rowling wrote for them. And you were going to stop at nothing to make sure their futures were happy. 

Warm with happiness, your soft smile remains as you gently usher the two into the living room to settle down and relax for the evening. However, the little bubble of merriment you had cultivated with the two boys was promptly ruptured by the sour, disgruntled face you happened upon as soon as you opened the door.

Tucking the boys’ suddenly tense frames into the folds of your skirt, you address the intruder, “Orion–” 

“What was all that racket?” he demanded, his voice booming and frightening enough for Regulus to begin shaking faintly against you. It made anger spike in your chest but, thankfully, Sirius was there to reach out and immediately begin comforting his younger brother. You made sure to keep the boys out of Orion’s gaze but it was no use, “Sirius! I know it was you! HOW DARE—!”

“We’ve already settled the issue so there’s no need to talk about it further!” you interrupt through clenched teeth, chest puffed out angrily as you hold the boys’ tense but trembling figures into your legs, hoping to calm them as best as you can. Curse that imperturbable charm! And curse that stupid wand! You haven’t been able to cast a single, functioning spell with it and your excitement for the world of magic had quickly dwindled into abhorrence, stemming solely from the stubbornly disobedient wand, “I’m sure you have a lot of work to do so excuse us!” 

You hurriedly lead the boys away from Orion and to the living room as Orion snarls, outraged at being dismissed so flippantly but confused over your sudden change in demeanour. For now, he settles on observing the changes no matter how subtle and returns back to his office. 

“THAT WAND ISN’T WORKING FOR YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT IT’S TRUE MASTER!” Walburga screams in your head and instantly makes you clutch your temple in distress. Settled in the living room sofas, Sirius and Regulus observe you with worry. Walburga doesn’t seem to know any other way of communicating than screaming and it has led to multiple black outs and fainting spells. It also meant that you kept having to drink the same disgusting healing potion over and over again and you were sick of it!

Seeing the same symptoms again, the two boys fidget in their seats, wondering what to do to help, “Are you okay mother?” Regulus asks as you muster a small smile. 

“I’ll be alright, Regulus, thank you,” your response isn’t enough to convince Sirius and he whispers something in his younger brother’s ear as you set to deal with the annoying bitch stuck in your head. 

‘Shut up you insufferable bitch, is inducing a headache your only talent?’ Your words and foul language make her sputter pathetically and it makes you laugh under your breath. Your moment of joy and satisfaction is short lived, however, as Regulus summons Kreacher just as you fall into darkness once more. 

The fucking bitch… 

8th August 1971

Because of that evil bitch stuck in your head, you had to ingest another phial-full of that horrendous healing potion. Not only that but the stupid wand still isn’t working for you. 

“How can I survive this hell hole if I can’t even use magic?” you grumble into the open air as the evil bitch cackles resembled the sputtering and coughing of a broken-down car, mixed with the discordance of an off-tune violin, erratic, grating and screeching. 

‘Can you shut up?!’ you shout in your head, already fuming, ‘Your laugh sounds like it could kill someone! No wonder you’re so miserable and your only sons hate you!’ that finally got her to shut up and you could think clearly again. Even though the situation was annoying, It made you snicker. Being able to bully Walburga into silence made those awful healing potions worth it. You’d drink a hundred healing potions if it meant delivering justice for you two boys. 

Now that she’s silent, you observe your desk. Thankfully, you also had your ownhome office. The previous Walburga had a planner specific for Sirius and Regulus’ studying plans, diet and calendars full of ‘X’s with small notes beside them on disobedience and the subsequent punishments. It was sickening and you wanted to burn the thing but you resisted. If you want to act convincingly in front of Orion and plan slyly, you need to know as much about the original Walburga as possible so you keep all her planners, journals and  scraps of paper intact. You’ll study their contents thoroughly in due time. You still have some major planning to do and you need to note down important dates to keep track of before you forget them. The start you’ve made has been decent, however, you know you need to rely on magic at some points and you wouldn’t be able to succeed in the current state of your wand. And it isn’t as though you weren’t able to cast magic; the first time you tried to cast a simple spell – the well-renowned ‘Wingardium Leviosa’ – you had set the flowers in the vase on fire.  

You need an excuse to go out. As the Patriach of the Black family, Orion had the key to the Gringotts Black Family vault so you can’t just go out haphazardly. You also weren’t comfortable with leaving the boys home alone so you need them to come with you if you can. 

With a sigh, you slump into the rigid desk chair and set about occupying yourself with mundane tasks. Perhaps if you indulge yourself in other, simple activities, you can come up with something creative. Stacking your messily scrawled notations of future plans, you begin to rummage through the desk drawers for a stapler or paper clip but come up unproductive. Nothing. Did wizards and witches not use basic stationary?... They had magic, yes, but surely… 

Your internal ramblings come to an abrupt stop when you spot a famed crest sitting above a deep red seal. The crest features four familiar beasts, a lion, a badger, a raven and a serpent; at the very centre was an ostentatious ‘H’ — it’s a letter from Hogwarts. And you were just beginning to suspect its potential contents. The seal has already been broken and the letter slips out easily. 

Words on the page read with nostalgia, it was as if you were watching the first Harry Potter film all over again and cheering at Harry’s liberation from his toxic aunt, uncle and cousin.  

‘Dear Sirius Black,’ it reads and your heart stutters in both excitement and anxiety, ‘We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.’

“Term starts on September 1st,” your eyes snapt to the desk calendar, which had automatically crossed off the days. It’s a little early but that just means you’ll beat the academic year rush. With a smile, you take out the separate list of necessary school supplies and pair it with a small list of your own. 

Perfect, you have your reason. 

9th August 1971 

Before travelling by floo, Kreacher came up to you and cast a simple dirt-repellent spell on you and your two sons. You were grateful for his foresight and thanked him graciously for doing so. Much like all the times before, your unexpected kindness makes the grumpy house elf falter clumsily but adorably as Regulus grins at your side and Sirius huffs with an exaggerated pout on his lips. He’s still ever so stubborn about the house elf but you’ve observed how Regulus has put in the effort to push the two together. You join in the gentle prodding through leading by example, treating Kreacher kindly and with respect. Bit by bit, Sirius has been following yours and Regulus’ lead. He’s not fully there but you smile at the little progress he’s made. It’s only been a few days after all and the results are optimistic, it makes your heart flutter and you look forward to the future with brighter eyes. Sirius had been buzzing with silent excitement all morning and Regulus was quick to join his older brother’s enthusiasm when you informed him that he was welcome to come and join you. 

You set off to travel by floo first so you can wait for the boys on the other side and so they’re not on their own not for too long. “Diagon Alley,” you announce clearly and without a shake of nervousness in your voice, only feverish anticipation. In moments, you’re engulfed by green flames. The world whirls around you in a dizzying blur of colours and sounds, the sensation both exhilarating and disorienting.

Unlike Harry and the Weasleys, you appear out of the subsequent fireplace without a spec of dirt on you and smile as you stumble out to await your two sons. The adrenaline rush of it all makes your fingers tingle and your head feel light headed but your smile only brightens. You still can’t believe you’re really here, sometimes.

Sirius came next and then Regulus. However, despite their earlier excitement, it appears as though their spirits were dampened just before travelling. Now, they stand before you with pouting lips and downcast eyes. 

“What’s wrong boys?” you ask softly, kneeling down to their level, it was purely out of instinct now. You meet them at their comfort as an equal rather than the other way around. It usually does the trick of consoling them enough to speak to you but this time is different. Their lips are tightly sealed. 

“We’re okay,” Sirius says in a tone that makes it seem as if he was trying to convince himself that. You want to press further but relent with a nod. It would be better for you to let them talk at their own time. Hopefully, being outside with so many charming shops dotted around, they’ll ease up and smile again. Pressing a brief kiss to their temples, you lead them out to the cobblestone streets of Diagon Alley. 

The street was bustling with magic and mystery as you observe the scene with bright eyes. The atmosphere of the wizarding alley didn’t compare to the movie adaptations. It was much more charming and wondrous to observe in real life. And wasn’t nearly as claustrophobic as it was depicted to you. However, that may be due to the fact that you hadn’t left the school shopping too late and so the streets weren’t as congested as when Harry went school shopping for the first time. Nevertheless, your heart didn’t stop pounding in elation as you held hands with your two sons and set forth to your first destination.  

“Our first stop is at a very important place, okay?” on either side of you, Sirius and Regulus nod, still silent as you lead them through the streets. The air was thick with the scent of potion ingredients and freshly baked treats from the nearby shops, a symphony of sounds and smells, it was a little overwhelming but you couldn’t complain, the tenor of the climate was still very addictive.

As if summoning your first destination, your eyes were drawn to the towering structure of Gringotts, the goblins' bank. Its grandeur was a stark contrast to the quaint shops lining the street, making it stand out like a uniquely different gem amongst a cluster of little treasures. 

You walk forward with purpose now but still keep your strides short for the boys. Looking down you observe how they take in the environment around them, dressed like little princes with perfectly permed hair and glittering diamond eyes. Sirius had familiarised himself with the routine of the day, the first stop would be Gringotts to withdraw money to buy all of his school supplies, the second stop would be to retrieve his wand and after that, it would just be a matter of going down the list. It was a different plan to the usual fixed outline his parents were strict to follow in usual outings. Sirius would have been more enthusiastic if his father hadn’t forcibly pulled him and Regulus aside after you’d first disappeared by floo. 

‘Don’t even think about dirtying the Black family name while outside. If I even hear a single word of your misbehaviour, it’ll be an entire day spent in the vault!’

His father’s threatening words echoed menacingly in his head, his mind like an empty cave except for the haunting remarks that bounced off its despondent walls. The only way for his father to hear of any misbehaving is if his mother told on them but… Sirius chances a brief glance up at you, only to be met by your kind smile. Quick as lightning, Sirius looks away with a clench of his hand around yours. His mother isn’t like that now, though…right?

As the three of you pass windows displaying cauldrons, brooms, and a myriad of magical trinkets, Sirius’ mind raced with possibilities. What spells would he learn? Who would he meet? And would he make good friends with them? What house would he be sorted into?  He hopes not Slytherin, it was what his entire family had been sorted into but he doesn’t want to be like them – never like them. Would he be able to play Quidditch, his mother always used to say that it was too violent and rambunctious of a sport to be associated with. Will he like his teachers? Will he enjoy his classes? The future was a mysterious, unopened book, and Sirius, although slightly hesitant, still bound to expectations, was ready to turn the first page.

As you step through the towering bronze doors of Gringotts, a shiver of awe runs down your spine. The splendour of the entrance hall was breathtaking, with gleaming marble floors and towering pillars that seemed to reach up into the heavens – as opulent a building should be that holds secure a multitude of treasures and ancient artefacts whilst being guarded by a ferocious dragon. 

Goblins, sharp-eyed and meticulous, worked behind large, ornate desks – tall and domineering. Their long, dexterous fingers moved swiftly as they counted coins and scribbled in large ledgers, busy but happily so when surrounded by so much gold. The air was filled with the clinks of coins and the soft murmur of transactions, bank-speak, typical and not too far from the banks of ‘muggles’. High above, the cavernous ceiling was illuminated by shimmering crystal chandeliers, casting a golden glow over everything, fitting for the amount of gold glittering beneath it. It was a complimentary union, one that oozed lavishness. Even the air smelled rich and you wondered if gold dust was dancing in it too. The atmosphere was one of ancient power and impenetrable security, safe and anchored. As you walked further in, you could feel the weight of centuries of wizarding history envelope you, it was unmistakably a place where secrets and fortunes were both hidden and revealed. 

Approaching a vacant desk, you steady your breath and quickly recite your introduction in your head before elegantly performing it. You first drop into a low but graceful bow and repeat your greeting from memory, “Greetings Master Goblin, may your gold prosper and your enemies fail against your blade, I am Madam Black,” with bated breath, you wait for his reply, hoping that uttering your family name was enough. 

“Madame Black, I am Filgus. What can I do for you today?” the goblin hid his surprise well. It was unusual to receive such a polite and formal greeting from the Matriarch of the infamous Black family. The surprise was pleasant but also carried with it a fair share of warning. Odd behaviour never bode well. Filgus was determined to not let anything pass, his pride as a Goblin demanded it be so.  

“I would like to withdraw from the family vault,” you explain and hand over the key Orion had 

“Very well,” Filgus accepts the key and moves to dismount his desk, “follow me to the carts,” you’re immediately reminded of the movie scene, where the speed and twisting passage of the cart made Hagrid sick, even as a half giant. 

“Is it safe for the children?” you fret instinctively. Maternal instincts, a previously dormant part of your nature now expressed in the most spontaneous but opportune ways. 

Filgus snarls in offence but bites his tongue as best he could, “I assure you Madame Black that Gringotts is one of the safest establishments to exist in the wizarding world,” 

Not wanting to offend the goblin further, you nod with some hesitancy and keep your boys close. The fact that you worried for them made their little hearts flutter as their cheeks heated into a delicate pink hue. It was unusual for them to experience such care and worry but it still made them feel good. Turning to each other, they observe their identical reactions and bite their lips to keep from grinning too widely. 

The journey to the vault was as winding and twisting as you remembered in the films. It was equal parts frightening and thrilling. The experience was exactly like that of a rollercoaster but without as strict of a regard to safety. If only the path was better lit, maybe that would have made the journey a little more pleasant. 

“Here we are,” Filgus announces, stepping off the cart and politely asking for the lamp. You oblige and slowly follow him out of the cart, steadying yourself before you help Sirius and Regulus out too, “your key, Madam Black?” Filgus sets about opening your vault door as you turn to the boys and check their welfare. 

“Are you alright, my darlings?” you ask in a soft whisper, kneeling before them. 

In all honesty, Sirius had enjoyed the ride down, the twists and turns and perilous speed made his head spin in the most delightful sense but he’s grown to like you worrying for him more than that temporary thrill. So, with a pitiful look on his face, he shakes his head ‘no’ and slowly begins to stretch his arms open. 

“It was scary…” Sirius whispers, taking advantage of the cold underground temperature to make his voice shake in ‘fear’.

“Oh darling,” you coo softly and bring him into your arms, “it’s okay, you’re okay,” Sirius smiles into your shoulder and allows himself to cling onto you like he’s always secretly dreamed of doing. This feeling of safety and security was one he didn’t ever want to let go of. Over your shoulder, Regulus gapes at the affectionate scene and, although it goes against his moral code of lying, he musters up the sly courage his older brother so easily displayed. 

“M-me too, mother,” Regulus calls for your attention in a bashful whisper, “I was scared too,” your kind, understanding smile eases his nerves Regulus jumps into your arms as soon as you open up to accommodate his small frame. 

This didn’t count as misbehaving, right? Only they knew whether or not they were truly scared or not…

The bell above the door tinkled softly, happily announcing your arrival as you pushed open the creaky, unassuming entrance into Ollivander’s, the most renowned wand shop in all of Diagon Alley. It made you giddy just thinking about getting to meet the whimsical shop owner and wand artisan. 

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of wood and magic, a combination that seemed to tickle the very edges of your senses. Your fingers itched to grasp at wand, your nose scrunched up at the pleasantly ancient scent permeating the air and your eyes surveyed the room with an eager gleam. The shop was narrow and cramped, yet it felt infinitely deep, with towering shelves that stretched up into the shadows. Each floor to ceiling shelving unit was crammed with thousands of slender boxes, their organisation questionable but fitting for such an antiquated establishment. Dim light filtered through the dusty windows, casting a mystical glow over everything. The walls seemed to whisper secrets of ancient trees and magical cores, each wand holding the promise of a unique bond, waiting to be discovered and pledged to its chosen master. The air was thick with anticipation, and you could hear Sirius’ heart pounding with the thrilling but nervous realisation that among the wondrous collection of boxes, one held a wand that was meant solely for him. It would be special and unequalled to anything else – an incomparable affiliation

Mr. Ollivander, with his pale, incisive eyes emerged from the shadows like a wisp of memory, his movements as silent and fluid as a ghost, a jolly ghost supporting a fanciful smile. His gaze takes in your sons, to which he gives a thoughtful hum before fixing his stare onto you.

“Madame Black…” Mr. Ollivander observes you with open curiosity, peaking the interest of your two boys, their diamond grey eyes watching the interaction silently and with overflowing intrigue, “having trouble with your wand?” his quick deduction makes your breath hitch and your shoulders tense. The impish gleam in his eyes almost going unnoticed by you, “it’s very peculiar for a wand that has already chosen its master to change its mind, especially from a wand that’s so loyal,” he ponders aloud as Sirius and Regulus inch closer to your sides, clinging onto the fabric of your dress skirt as they heed Ollivander’s nebulous words with a hint of caution, “curious, very curious indeed... I could only think of one reason, an abstruse but entirely possible reason for such a contingency in a world of magic…” Ollivander leans forward and looks deeply into your eyes, his own dancing about in their search, for what, you don’t have a clue. But it feels as though he can see into your soul, the flicker in his eyes detecting the presence of another. He shakes his head, almost in disbelief but laughs merrily, easing the tension built up in the air, “not one, but two, I see…” 

Your heart shudders in your chest. Did he know? 

NEXT. | 03 : SHOPPING (2/2) → | SERIES M.LIST

A/N : i would like to say that i was planning to delay this chapter update for a day or two since i was an absolute muppet to myself and decided to switch up events in the plot and oc introductions last minute but, thanks to @urmomw4ntsme (amazing username btw (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ )) and their message about being excited for the update, i was lovingly and innocently pushed into getting the update out on time ৻(  •̀ ᗜ •́  ৻) so thank you, my darling haha! i appreciate your perfectly timed, kind message. i hope you darlings enjoyed the read and forgive me for splitting this chapter up into 2 parts - i suppose i planned for too much in one chapter hehe~

TAGLIST : @katdahlali @skepvids @agent-tempest @timhalamet @lovelybaka @cherrysxuya @ttulipwritezz @ireallywannasleep127 @cloudlst @fortheeeefics @younmey @googie-jeon @unstablereader @cassie6392 @kneelforloki @enamoredwithbella @arcanumofthestars @bookworm124 @sonics-atelier @yours-truly-maya @honkravenous @theunwcnted @venuseuripedis @fredsbetch @iciel @anuncalledbridge @melinajenkins @aastonishment @until-i-found-you @corp0real @celestcies @lovelydoveval @inlovewithremusjohnlupin @calums-betch @futurecorps3 @hihihi1112 @simpingforthe80s @yrluvjane @chaosofmanyfandoms @storyofaromance @loving-and-dreaming @somewereinthegalaxi @ashreblogsficshere @cassandra-nerezza-black @stray-bi-kids @ttkttt @notasadgirlipromise @desikudisworld @volturissideslut @arilxup88 @fallencrescentmoon @topaz125 @xxrougefangxx @starchaser-lily @probablypossesedbysatan @agent-tempest @veryberryjelly @th3-st4r-gur1 @sousydive @delusional-4-fake-people @linaax

[visceral-reject]

Sedatives CHPT.2

A/N: Here bc crossposting my beloved

Blaring alarm and sunlight slipping through your blinds awoke you from what you’d considered a good sleep. Friday, the day you’d longed for for months it seemed, not because there’d be shitty slashers on a seemingly endless marathon due to it being the month of October, though that was a plus; but no, it was finally your day off. A day all to yourself and a night to hand out candy to doe-eyed children in differing costumes. Groggily sliding out of bed was a task, though your feet planting themselves onto your cold floor was more than a wake-up call. Your quarters were homey, and cozy. More than enough space for you and your cat, Cilantro. Speaking of the greedy feline, who mewed her greetings as she weaved between your legs as you made your way to the bathroom.

“You can wait Lantro, not like you’re gonna starve any time soon. “You yawned, stretching your arms as your back cracked. The cat, however, didn’t seem to agree with your sentiments in the slightest as she mewed louder, seemingly in response to you. You closed the door in the thing’s face in return. Your morning was everything but eventful, though watching your neighbor’s children chase each other around their yard with dollar store skeletons and spiders, which left a smile tugging at the corner of your lips, sipping on your morning brew with a content glaze within your eyes. Though boredom was beginning to seep through that feeling. Your laundry had been put on, dishes had been washed and put away, and just overall tidying had all been done within the span of a few hours. What now? You hadn’t planned this far ahead, not like medical school and internships gave you time to establish any friendships, and a relationship was the last thing on your mind. Besides, the scum that you worked aside left such a stain on your mind when it came to potential partners. Nurses, smoking and degrading the patients within the yellowing walls gave you looks of contempt and the doctor’s hands planted themselves onto your skin for a good many moments too long. Yeah…so no relationship prospects in sight for you. Catnapping and folding laundry made up most of your day, finding the hours slip through your fingers like fine sand. The dulling sky held many stars, blinking into the blanket of dusty oranges and desaturated blues. You, still donning a simple jumper and pajama pants you're sure you’d stolen from some childhood friend you’d long forgotten in your adult life, pity. Trekking towards the door, donning a thick knitted blanket and Cilantro in tow, you made your way to your rocking chair, an antique thing that could use a paint job, but you didn’t mind. Propping yourself upon the old chair, the wood creaking beneath you, sighed, watching your breath cling to the air. Though despite your day of relaxation, you still carried a weight on your shoulders. “Fucking hell…” you groaned, head thrown back with a displeased expression.

Night lurked within your walls, a heavy silence bearing over your domain as you tossed and turned, comfort fleeting from you, and time ticked by one second at a time. Poor sight you were, desperate for sleep to claim you, for relief to wash over you in a cool wave. You, sweaty and annoyed, threw your comforter away, allowing the cool air of your tiny room to chill your skin, a shitty fan doing little to aid. Thoughts floating back to your job, the patients, the assholes who worked your nerves to no end…Michael. Your breath hitched as you began to think the patient over. How the veins in his hands flexed as he steadily layered paper and glued to form a face. How his eyes followed doctors and nurses, in a way you could only be akin to a predator stalking its prey. Intense. Calculating. Your fingers buried themselves in your soaked hole, your moans echoing off the walls as you brought yourself to the edge. Your back arched as your vision whitened, whimpers rolling out of your throat, riding out your height. It was easy to imagine it was Michael bringing you past this edge; how easy it was to imagine it was his rough fingers dragging down your body, toying with your clit. Attempting to steady your shaking breaths and legs was no easy feat. You stared at the ceiling, sweat clinging to your body as the thoughts of Michael dissipated, the reality of just how taboo this was finally setting in. He was your patient not your patient, but still! A sigh escaped your lips as you rolled onto your side with a wince, your muscles aching as you attempted to find some escape from your sleep.

October 29

Your uniform felt tight, almost suffocating as you placed the small plastic cups of pills in front of patients. You felt pity for them, abandoned and left to rot within the confines of the state, drugged up to a compliant lucid state. Their blank, watery eyes left you feeling hollow every time you turned your back on them after administrating their daily medication alongside the mush the penitentiary called food. It was fucking sick how they treated these mentally unwell people that needed help above all else.

But today, today was different.

Today you felt watched, more than usual. One could akin this to the feelings prey has before the predator strikes, but who was your predator? You shook your head, instinctively wiping your hands upon your dark scrubs, a nervous smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you approached the behemoth of a man that you’ve affectionately dubbed your ‘favorite patient’.

Michael Myers was quiet, always. His face was always covered with a mask, if not the mop of messy blondish hair. Despite his silence, you found it rather easy to read him, perhaps it was due to the fair amount of time you’d spent tailing after Dr. Loomis, half-heartedly acknowledging his rambles about Michael that you didn’t believe. It was odd, you, a mere 2 years younger than he was, and two completely different people. Sometimes, between shifts or hiding with the smokers out back, you’d think about what life for Michael would’ve been like if life had been kinder, softer. A childhood filled with joy, love, and comfort is what every child deserves in your mind. You don’t think Michael was born a monster, but one born of circumstance. Squeaky cartwheels echo throughout this part of the rec room. Patients and staff alike avoided the very space Michael inhabited, for fear of becoming victims of the Boogeyman of Haddonfield. You, however, were either stupid or brave, and right now you didn’t quite know which one was worse. Michael sat slump, his head hanging low, though you could see his neck jerk in your direction as you approached. “Morning, Michael! “You chirped, gently sliding the plastic cup of assorted medicine to the man. He was quiet, eyes flicking to you for just a moment before slowly reaching for his dailies. You faced the wall as he downed them. You began to wonder what his face looked like; you’d seen his face in files. When he was a boy, his cheeks were rosy, and round, and his eyes still clung to some semblance of childhood innocence. You tried to picture him grown. Perhaps his face was made of nothing of right angles, maybe he looked like his mother? Questions ran through your head as Michael placed the cup down. It made you want to gag knowing he always downed his dailies without water, and it wasn’t for a lack of trying. Water was readily available. Ever the gentle creature you were, Michael watched as you sat across from him, folding your hands in your lap. You tried not to stare, honestly you didn’t, but there was something about him that made you just want to...stare. His hands were large and calloused from the years of nimble working of paper machete masks that donned his cell walls. It was the same hands that killed his sister at the age of 10. The same hands you’d fantasied about the night before.

He remained stoic, eyes finally meeting your face. It felt as if he was searching for something, a hint of malice or pity. He’d find none within your feature, nothing more than a genuine want to know something about him. Michael found you pretty enough, kinder than the nurses and doctors and specialists that buzzed around him like an annoying fly, poking and prodding with annoying tests and needles and a constantly changing dose of medicine that left him feeling ill. You, however, never buzzed. You may have lingered a tad bit longer than was necessary, but it was never in a pestering way. He’d notice how your hands toyed with the hem of your scrubs. They were always dark in color, but never stark black. Muted maroons and soft navies were your usual attire, something Michael found himself fond of.

You were simple. Not easy but you stuck to a schedule.

Michael liked that about you. He almost found himself longing to touch you, to feel you as you rose and walked away. A heavy metal door slammed behind you. It was decided in his mind then and there that you were his. The Boogeyman of Haddonfield wanted you for himself.

October 30

Smith’s Grove had befallen silent for the night, strangely enough. Everyone seemed tense, on edge as every little creak and crack was greeted with a jump. How odd people acted, you thought, making mental notes on what you needed to do before clocking out. It was already a quarter till 4 PM, and the ending of your shift never made you as happy as it is now. You practically skipped through the halls, ready to finally leave Michael with his usual goodbye before your departure. His cell neared, and the heavy scent of wet paper and Elmer’s glue lingered the closer you got.

You knocked, knuckles brushing against the reinforced doors as you entered the cell. Masks hung from the walls like hunting trophies, and one could only wonder how Michael found the creativity to even create such pretty things within his conditions. You’d hum, continuing to eye the brightly colored masks with your arms folded across your chest. You knew not to touch them; it was basic respect after all. Your constant lingering seemed to pay off though, as you nearly squealed when Michael offered a quiet ‘mmh’ in greeting. Sure, it may not seem like something much, but anyone who worked with the behemoth of a man would tell you, that Michael Myers does NOT do anything except eat, sleep, and make those masks; but with you, it was like he was a different entity all together. He was calmer, in your easy. The weight that he clung to within his shoulders seemed to lessen. You both sat quietly, content in each other's company. It was when your watch chimed that Michael stiffened, breathing heavily through his nose whilst you rose, offering a weak smile as you trekked towards the door, promising you’d see him tomorrow, you promised!

[c0wboylikeharry]

THE PACT (h.s fanfic)

(masterlist) || (taglist)

chpt 5

harry styles x fem!reader

summary: Y/N and Harry have always had a complicated relationship. They're friends, then they're not. They like each other, then they despise each other. But something deep inside can't let them stray too far apart, even as everything changes around them. Through the trials and tests of life, the heartbreaks and joys, can Harry and Y/N find their own way?Or will they stick to the drunken marriage pact they made in time of desperation?

word count: 4.3k

warnings: mentions of sexual guilt, mentions of sexual actions, slight sexual actions

a/n: wrote the second half of this while mildly tipsy, so enjoy!!

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

5 | SUMMER

“Get in the water!” Harry screams at you from down below, just his head peeping out from the murky surface. Your legs tremble as you stand on the ledge, staring down at your fate. Nerves clawing away at you like a cat’s nails against your favorite couch. It’s not even that high, you have to tell yourself.

“I’m scared!” you scream back, trying to shake off your fear like their pesky gnats. Nothing will help, though. Your only option is to take the—literal—plunge.

You can hear Harry’s sigh from all the way up here. “Come on, baby. It’s not that bad!”

“Wayde’s gonna push you in if you don’t jump!” Leah joins in on your humiliation, looking peaceful as ever floating down the lake in her inner tube.

At first, you take her warning as a joke. Something to instill more fear into you and force you to jump. But it’s not a joke at all. You watch as Wayde scales the rocks leading up to you like a professional, getting closer and closer with every grunt he makes.

“No, no! Wayde! Please!” you beg, backing away from the ledge, which just leads you to another ledge. You’re cornered.

“I’m coming for ya!” Wayde taunts, out of breath from his climbing, but intimidating nonetheless. With one last pull of his weight, he’s reached the top. And he’s coming straight for you.

Their plan worked. You find yourself leaping without a second thought. The idea of jumping instead of getting pushed seemed just a smidge more bearable. Falling through the air, you bask in the temporary feeling of flying before smacking down onto the surface with a harsh slap. Guess you could’ve prepared your fall a bit better. You can hear the choruses of “Ooooh” and “That’s gonna hurt”, even from under the water.

When your head resurfaces, the pain sinks in. Feeling as though you’ll wake up with welts all over your body. The cold water does help.

“Jesus, babe, are you okay?” Harry’s next to you in no time, floating beside your aching frame.

If you weren’t in so much pain, you’d appreciate the sight a little bit more. Well, who are you kidding, even if you were on your deathbed, you’d still be able to appreciate his beauty.

Wet hair pushed back and out of his face, his skin kissed by the rays of sun, the muscular edges of his shoulders bobbing out of the water; it’s the picture of pure heaven and sin. If you were dying—which, you kind of feel like you are—this is definitely the last thing you’d want to see.

“I’m fine… Didn’t mean to do that.” The embarrassment of your bellyflop happening in front of all of your friends creeps up on you. Like a ghost you didn’t know you had. Cheeks red, and not from the sun, as you try to brush it off your shoulders. Half of them aren’t even paying attention to you anymore.

“I’d hope you didn’t mean to do that,” he laughs lightly, reaching forward to snatch your waist and pull you closer. You suppress the wince that threatens to ruin the moment.

As time has gone on, and you and Harry have gotten closer and more comfortable in your relationship, things have died and things have grown. For one, you’re not constantly dangling off of him like you were a month ago. He now has actual room to breathe without you crowding up his space. Not that you think he minded. Which lead us to point number two; what has grown.

His touching.

Yes, he’s always been a very affectionate person—as long as it’s not in the sights of your father—but recently, it’s become a lot.

Gentle kisses turning into having your back pinned against the hood of your truck. A hug turning into wandering hands. Cuddling turning into him wanting more.

Something you’re still not ready for.

You know that sentiment alone has been bugging Harry for a while, but he doesn’t bring it up. At least he’s gentlemanly enough to bite his tongue. Though, his actions speak volumes for him instead. While he doesn’t act out or anything of the sorts, his needy hands tell you everything you need to know about where he stands on the whole sex thing. He still smiles and moves on when you turn down the notion, but it’s straining.

But you love him.

You came to that conclusion two weeks ago when he snuck through your window late at night to see you. Looking back now, he was probably thinking he could get lucky under the moonlight, but you only saw it as a scene straight from a rom-com. Spending the whole night together in each other’s arms and planning how his escape for the following morning was the final decider.

You love him. To the point of you wanting to give him whatever he wants. Even if it scares the absolute shit out of you. You don’t want to disappoint him anymore.

“Why are you so quiet? Are you mad at me? You’re only ever quiet when you’re mad,” Harry breaks you out of your head, tugging you closer against him.

“What? No, no, I’m not mad… I was just thinking.”

“About what?” he pushes, and those three words sit idly on your tongue.

“About us—you.” About how much I love you and want to give you myself just to make you happy.

“If you’re thinking about us, why do you sound so sad?” Jesus, you forget how he can read you like a picture book.

“I’m not sad. This waters just so cold, I think I’m going into shock.” And your defense mechanism of making a joke of everything comes into play.

“Do you want to get out of the water?” he asks the question, but you can tell his opinion on the matter. With the way his eyes don’t meet yours, or the way his hands grip you just a little bit tighter.

Do you want to get out of the water? You like being close with him, having this intimacy of being held so dearly. But something about it is making your head spin. Doubts, insecurities, and feelings that shouldn’t be spoken aloud right now are bursting to be free. You don’t want to ruin the moment. It’s supposed to a fun day at the lake with your friends. Leaving the water—leaving him—would add sparks to the flames threatening to grow. But staying will only make you more restless. What do you do?

“I- I’ll stay,” you decide, which he’s clearly happy about. That once indifferent look on his face is replaced by a smile. One that makes you want to tell him that you love him. One that has your arms wrapping around his shoulders, giving him free rein to press himself right up against you.

Feeling his hot breath against your neck, his lips hover above your ear. “You look really sexy in your bathing suit, by the way.”

Oh, God. The butterflies. They consume your whole being. It’s almost painful. Constricting hearts and conflicting feelings. You decide it’s not butterflies you’re feeling anymore, but hornets. Pesky creatures that sting and buzz and beg you to set them free. To speak your mind.

But you can’t, at least not here. Not right now.

“Are you two just gonna make out, or are we gonna play chicken fight?” Ryan breaks you out of our bubble, and you’re silently thankful.

Harry laughs against your skin, pressing a lingering kiss to the sensitive flesh below your ear. Pulling back, his arm stays locked around your waist as you stay afloat, turning his attention to the rest of your awaiting friend group. Everyone’s already paired off, ready for the fights. Only you and Harry are the outliers.

“Who’s going first?” Harry calls out, squeezing your flesh before disengaging and swimming over to the group. You have no choice but to swim after him.

“I say Y/N and Harry versus Frankie and Ryan,” Ronan suggests, holding Quinn’s hand as she floats in her tube beside him.

“I don’t want to go first,” you complain, not really feeling up to this game anyway.

“Don’t be a sourpuss, Y/N!” Leah whines, like she even cares. She’s too busy getting her tan on.

“Yeah! Don’t act like you don’t like having your legs wrapped around Harry’s neck!” Wayde adds, going a step too far.

Your stomach sinks to the bottom of the lake, mouth dry and heart skipping. Only the girls here know about your intimate relationship with Harry, so they know Wayde’s words are false. But the guys think it’s hilarious, cackling like your embarrassment is humorous. Eyes flitting to your left, a moment of insecurity to see if Harry’s laughing too, your heart is kept in tact. He isn’t laughing. No, if anything, he looks pissed.

You don’t let yourself think about if he could be pissed because he told them a rendition of that lie in secret, trying to seem cool.

“Wayde, shut the fuck up! Not cool!” he defends your honor. Could be for show, your traitorous little brain thinks. No! Stop it! He’s just being a good boyfriend.

“Yeah, Wayde, seriously?!” Leah pipes in, having dragged her sunglasses down her nose to glare at her boyfriend. “You know Y/N isn’t doing that.”

Great, well, now it’s confirmed that Leah’s been talking with Wayde about your sex-capades— or lack thereof. Do all of your guy friends know too? Does Harry talk to them? Complain? Oh, God. You might be sick.

“I think I’m just gonna… I need some water.” You slowly swim away from the group, wishing your tired legs could bring you to the shore faster. It seems so much farther away when embarrassment and shame is eating away at you.

“No! Y/N! I was just kidding!” Wayde calls out after you, a forced pleading tone of voice.

But that’s what it is to all of them. A joke. Laughing at your expense and your choice to take it slow with Harry.

Your swimming speeds up, just like the beat of your heart. You’re eager to touch solid ground, to wrap yourself up in a towel and dig your grave. To never speak to anyone ever again about what happens behind closed doors in your relationship. You are such an idiot.

A splash, a cry, and a whine. “Seriously, Harry?!” Wayde’s voice.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

Later that evening, you’ve succumbed to the temptation to hide from the world for the rest of your life. With your head under your covers, the day eats away at you like starving leeches. You wish you were tired. Wish you could just fall asleep and allow your subconscious to take over so you can escape your brain for a moment. But reality keeps you awake. Brutally so.

When you finally made your way out of the water, you were holding back tears. The whole day weighing down on your shoulders. It wasn’t just about Wayde’s tasteless joke anymore.

It didn’t take long for Harry to join you on the shore, sprinkling your towel with droplets of water as he stood above you like a shadow. He tried to explain, tried to plead his case and apologize on Wayde’s behalf, but you weren’t hearing it. You know now that you were acting a bit childish, but it was the last thing on your mind in the moment. And when he gave up his fight and offered to just drive you home, you jumped at the chance.

Leaving all of your friends back at the lake, the drive was silent. You didn’t want to speak because you might say the wrong thing, and Harry didn’t want to speak because he didn’t want to poke the bear. You wished he would’ve, though. Maybe it would’ve let some of the tension in your shoulders dissolve.

He dropped you back off at your house, didn’t bother coming inside. Saying he would go pack up his things from the lake and then come back. It’s been 4 hours. That stings. You’re not sure if everyone is still basking in the setting sun, laughing and talking. Maybe they’re freely making you the butt of the joke now that you aren’t there to be a witness? But that’s a bit over dramatic. You know deep in your heart that Wayde didn’t mean his words with a malice intent. You know your friends are too good to you to be talking smack behind your back. Your insecurity levels are just off the charts right now.

And it’s not helping that your boyfriend said he’d come back and hasn’t yet.

When did things get so iffy? A month ago you swore you were the happiest you’ve ever been. Now everything feels like walking on a thin wire between two boulders. Dangerous, treacherous, and unstable. Maybe you’re just projecting, though. Maybe it’s all in your head? The fears and uncertainty could be completely one sided.

But something deep in your gut tells you otherwise.

The wind whistling through your window, the one you left ajar to cool you down from your earlier rage, now bugs you. How can the wind be more joyful than you right now? Whistling a tune as if everything is fine and dandy? Jesus, now you’re mad at mother nature.

Shit, can she hear you? The whistling stops. But another sound takes its place. Your window pane squeaking as if it’s being pulled shut. On instinct, you drag your head from under your covers.

And there he is.

Harry quietly locks your window, keeping his movements slow and calculated because he must think you’re asleep in this heap on your bed. And once again, you’re conflicted. You’re happy he’s here, that he came back like he said he would, but you’re peeved that it’s 4 hours too late. You may not be tired enough to sleep, but you sure are too tired for a conversation that needs to happen.

“Harry? What are you doing here?” you finally speak up, informing him of your consciousness. You watch him jolt in surprise.

“Jesus, I thought you were asleep.” He holds his hand over his heart to calm its rapid beating. “I told you I was coming back.”

“Yeah, four hours ago…” you grumble, a petty remark but you can’t help yourself. The childish part of you is coming back.

“Don’t give me that, Y/N,” he sighs.

“Why not? It’s just a fact.”

“Because,” he groans, but he doesn’t continue to plead his case. “Please, I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Why’d you come then?” Your defense is high, blockading any chance at him getting through to you right now.

“Because, baby,” the pet name threatens to break down your walls, “I know you’re upset about what happened earlier. I wanted to check up on you.”

In the darkness, you watch as he kicks off his shoes and peels his sweatshirt off his body, tossing it onto your vanity chair. The glimpse of tanned skin that exposed itself when his arms were raised has the hornets simmering. And then he’s coming toward you, sauntering toward your bed with purpose. You can do nothing but scoot over and make room for him, despite your lingering hurt.

“Will you talk to me, please?” he lays down beside you, his face so close you can taste his desperate tone. It’s too much. Your throat feels like it’s being constricted with all the things you want to say rising to the surface of your tongue.

Rolling onto your back, unable to hold his gaze any longer, you cover your face with your hands. “I’m just…embarrassed, Harry.”

“Why?” he practically whispers.

“Why?!” you parrot, definitely not a whisper. “Oh, I don’t know, because all of our friends think I’m just spreading my legs for you willy nilly!”

“Baby, it was just a joke—“

“Don’t defend him, asshole!” your hands leave your face in a flash to send a warning glare over to him. “What have you been telling him, huh? Have you been lying to seem cool? Telling stories that aren’t true to get some brownie points with your ‘bro’s’?”

“What, Y/N, no—no! I haven’t said shit…” You have a feeling he wanted to add ‘because shit hasn’t happened’ to the end of that sentence. “Wayde was just being a dick. You know how he is. Crude jokes and comments are kind of his thing.”

“Ugh!” And your face is back in your hands.

You know Harry has a point about Wayde and his dramatics, always the instigator, but you still feel…hollow. Like even if they don’t know, they still know, you know? Jesus, this is making your head hurt.

“I just feel stupid…” you finally say, your voice frailer than it was a minute ago.

When you feel Harry’s hands peeling yours from your face, you don’t protest. You let him expose you, show the truth in your eyes and let him read them. “Why do you feel stupid, baby?”

“Because… I feel like I’m behind. Like because I’m holding us back, I’ve let us become the butt of their jokes.”

“They don’t know anything about anything, Y/N. I swear, I would never tell anyone about what we do or don’t—“

“But I told Leah…and Frankie and Quinn,” you sigh, guilt consuming you. “They could’ve told the guys and now they’re all making fun of us.”

“Do you really think they’d go talking? It’s not like they’re such achievers either.”

“What do you mean by that?” It immediately piques your interest, and you finally settle your eyes back on his. There’s mischief residing in them.

“Okay, I promise that I don’t talk, but the rest of them… I can’t say the same.” The smallest of smirks takes up space in the corner of his mouth.

You find yourself sitting up on your elbows, dying for the gossip. “Tell me, tell me, tell me!”

Harry laughs at your 180-mood switch and props his head up on his hand to look back at you better. “Okay, you didn’t hear this from me, but… Apparently, Quinn won’t even let Ronan go…under her garments…”

“That bitch!” you gasp. “She was going on and on last week about having an orgasm!”

“Maybe, but if that’s true, it happened over the underwear.”

“Wow,” you breathe your astonishment.

“And Ryan says Frankie keeps all the lights off. Literally pitch black so he can’t see a thing,” he goes on. You feel a bit dirty hearing all this gossip about your friends from your boyfriend who got it from their boyfriends, but in some sick way, it is making you feel a bit better. “And Leah won’t touch Wayde. Apparently penises scare her.”

You laugh loudly at that, and it’s actually something you already knew. Leah jumped right over hand stuff and just told him to take her.

You really do feel like shit for doing exactly what you were so hurt over earlier, even more so since your claims were false and these are all true. But you can’t help the way it calms something in you. You’re not behind. Sure, you haven’t taken it all the way, but everyone else has their own hard limits too.

“And guess what, baby?” His voice is deeper as he rolls his weight on top of you. It makes your breath stutter. Hovering over your form, his arms hold himself up and cage you in all at once. “You let me touch you…underneath,” God, he makes it sound so dirty. Which, you guess it definitely is. Oh, God. The hornets are back. “And you leave the light on…” You do. You leave the lights on. You like being able to see him. “And you aren’t scared of my—“

Your hands slap over his mouth before he can finish his sentence, your cheeks flaming. “I get it. I get it.”

He licks your palm and forces it to drop. “See? We’re not behind, baby… We’re right on track.”

You can’t help yourself, you wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his. Immediately, he’s groaning into your mouth and deepening the entanglement. He swallows up the small noises that escape you. The ones that give away the fact that your resolve is slowly faltering. And when his weight fully presses against yours, forcing you to feel everything, he gulps down your gasp.

Hands are everywhere. Yours in his hair and smoothing over his clothed shoulder. His are on your waist, pushing the hem of your sleep t-shirt up. Splaying against your bare skin, his hot hands still make you shiver. He holds you with a purpose, gripping at your flesh. Smoothing up and up and up until they’re covering your chest—your bare chest because you’re in your pajamas, aka no bra time. This discovery does nothing to help his excitement, sending his moan straight down your throat as his tongue explores your mouth.

“Fuck, baby… You’re so hot,” he mumbles against your lips, and all you can do is whine in response.

Squeezing, kneading and rolling; his hands are skilled for someone with little experience. But it’s not hard to learn when you, with just as little experience, are vocal about what feels good. Showcasing this when his hips roll against yours and you can’t muffle your moan. So he does it again, and again, and again until the fear settles in you. Fear of doing something you can’t take back.

Fuck, you still aren’t ready.

“Harry,” you whine.

“Shit,” he hisses, rocking his hips faster.

“Harry— Harry, wait!”

“What?! Jesus, what?!” he snaps, and you’re not talking about his hips, those have come to an abrupt halt. “Shit, I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to snap at you—shit!”

“I-It’s okay…” But, is it? “I’m sorry. I’m just not ready.”

“I know,” He groans, burying his face in your neck while trying to catch his breath and calm himself down. “Don’t apologize.”

You fear for a moment that you’ve fucked everything—well, except for him. And that’s the problem. But then you feel his lips against your neck and he pulls back. The look on his face is nothing but remorse.

“I really am sorry, Y/N. I was just so…caught up in the moment. It won’t happen again, I swear. I’ll wait until you’re ready,” he amends himself, even if a piece of your heart is still dangling detached from the rest of it.

“I really, really want to, Harry. I’m just…scared.”

“I know, baby, I know… But you should know, as soon as you’re ready, I’m really fucking ready, babe.”

All you can do is nod your head in acknowledgment, because you already knew this information. His body betrays him a lot. Even now, you can still feel him calming down against you. A sick sense of pride nestles its way into you, knowing you have this boy in such bad form over you. But then you remember that you’re also the reason he has to hide that part of himself, and the reality is a bucket of cold water being dumped on you.

“I’m sorry for letting you down…again,” your voice is meek, a shell of how you usually interact with him.

“I already told you to stop apologizing. I don’t want them. There’s no reason for them, okay?” His lips descend onto yours for a quick kiss. “Okay?”

“Okay.” You dare to let a small smile break out on your lips. Luckily, it's reciprocated.

He flops down next to you on your bed, his arms still holding you with a strong hold, pulling you with him. Staring face to face in the darkness of the night, you study his face. Like, really study it. Looking for any and all traces of disappointment or even hatred. But you come up short. You always do. You’ll never understand how you ended up with someone who’s just so irrevocably…kind. Sure, he has his moments and can be a total jerk, but deep down—down to the core of his heart—he’s a sweet boy. A heart of gold that he’s so willingly let you hold. A boy who, no matter what happens, will always have his own special place in your heart.

A boy you love with every part of you.

You can’t hold it in any longer. You can hold back a lot of parts of yourself tonight, but not your heart. Not anymore.

“Harry?” you break the silent streak, staring back at his peacefully shut eyelids.

“Hmm?” he hums, cracking one eye open.

“I love you.”

His eyes snap open, boring into yours with a vulnerability you’ve never seen from him. Soft, starry, and deep. It’s a little scary, watching in real time as he registers what you’ve just admitted. You’re not breathing. Holding your breath as the silence stretches itself thin between you. If he doesn’t respond soon, you’ll pass out. Hell, you might pass out even if he does.

“Y/N…” he breathes your name, and your chest constricts. This sounds like the beginning of a rejection. He’s about to let you down softly. Let you know that the sentiment is sweet, but he doesn’t feel the same. Maybe it’s because of the sex? Damnit. “I love you, too.”

Oh, holy shit. The relief would swoop you off your feet if you were standing. The soft, tender way in which the words left his lips leaves you breathless. Or maybe that’s from holding your breath for so long? No, no, it’s definitely from the look in his eyes. The words paint themselves on the forefront of your brain, imbedding themselves for good.

“You do?”

“Fuck, Y/N, I do. I really, really love you.”

This has to be a dream. You died when you bellyflopped into the lake earlier, and this is heaven. It has to be.

“I really, really love you, too, Harry…”

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taglist: @tpwkmr @alex-voiddome @butdaddyiloveh1m @fratboyzayn @mads3502

[theobjectofmyobsession055]

Boothill x SingleParent!Reaer: Lassos and Lullabies Chpt. 1

When Boothill helps find a lost child's mother at the grocery store, he'll end up finding a hell of a lot more than he bargained for.

Next part

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Even though Boothill was mostly made of metal, he still had need of basic necessities. He’d never admit it to anyone, but taking care of his hair was especially of importance to him. Not that he cared much about his appearance, but as one of the only human parts of him left, he’d be careless to let it fall into disrepair. So that led him to the supermarket, browsing the aisles of haircare products. Seriously, how many different kinds of shampoo could there be? It seemed unnecessary to him.

Just as he’d grabbed the simplest-looking bottle he could find, he felt a little tug on his pant leg. He looked down, and his breath caught in his mechanical lungs. Looking up at him with big, teary eyes was a little girl, her tiny fist clutching at his pant leg. She couldn’t have been much older than two, if that. Her dark curls framed her chubby, tear-stained face in a little halo, and if he still had a heart in his chest he knew it would have clenched painfully. She looked so much like his little girl, even down to the way she wobbled slightly on her feet. She must have just learned how to walk. It tugged at his nonexistent heartstrings to see her snotty nose and forlorn look in her big, dewy eyes.

He knelt down to her level, his gruff voice uncharacteristically gentle as he said, “Hey there, little lady. Where’re yer parents?”

She hiccupped, letting go of his pant leg to grip at his metal fingers. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight, despite his concern—she could barely wrap her whole hand around one of his fingers. “M-mama… Mama…”

Oh if that didn’t just break his heart. He couldn’t leave her to wander around the store by herself. “You’re lookin’ for yer momma, eh? Don’t worry, I’ll help ya find her.” He stood back up, but the moment he did the little girl started sobbing, reaching her little hands up towards him. “You want up, little lady?” She nodded her head, so he leaned down and scooped her up into his arms, propping her up on his hip. It’d been a long, long time since Boothill had held a child, but his muscle memory didn’t fail him, even in his cybernetic body.

She calmed down a little once she was secure in his arms, but she still sniffled and cried out for her mom every once in a while as they walked through the store. He didn’t know how long it would take to find her mom, so he started wracking his brain for ways to cheer her up while they looked. He bounced her up and down in his arms as he hummed an old tune he’d heard who-knew when. He didn’t fancy himself much of a singer, but his daughter always loved it whenever he'd sing or play the guitar for her.

The little girl giggled, so he figured he must’ve been doing something right. As he continued humming, he scanned the store for anyone who appeared particularly frantic, peering down each aisle as they passed. He almost didn’t notice the little girl reaching her hands up until she babbled out something that sounded suspiciously like “Hat!”

He chuckled as he peeked down at her, seeing how she reached up towards the brim of his hat. “You like cowboys, little lady? Here.” He took off his hat and placed it on her head. He snickered at the sight of how it almost completely engulfed her face, tipping it back so it didn’t cover her eyes. “Looks better on you than it does on me anyways.”

She squealed happily, clapping her little hands together. A soft smile grew on his face. Interacting with this little girl made him feel nostalgic in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time, in a way he deliberately tried to avoid feeling. But it wasn’t awful, even if his chest ached as he couldn’t help but think of his own little girl, another lifetime ago.

“Charlotte? Oh my god, Charlotte, there you are!”

The little girl’s eyes lit up, and she reached her hands out. “Mama!”

A plump young woman came running up to Boothill, tears in her eyes that looked strikingly similar to the little girl’s in his arms. He could see the outline of her soft tummy through her modest but flattering dress, the fabric hugging her full hips. Despite himself, he couldn’t help the light flush on his face as he took in the sight of her, and it only got worse when she looked up at him with those dewy eyes. He cleared his throat. “Are you this here little lady’s momma?”

Instead of the trepidation he expected to see on her face from seeing a cyborg holding her daughter, her face melted with relief and gratitude. “Yes, I am. Thank you so so much for finding her, I was worried sick! I set her down for just one second and the next thing I knew she was gone!” She gently took the little girl from him, cradling her in her arms. The little girl cooed and cuddled up in her mother’s embrace, content as could be. The woman sighed deeply. “I can’t believe I lost sight of her…”

A smile made its way onto Boothill’s lips. If his hat was still on his head, he would’ve tipped it at her. “S’no problem, ma’am, don’t beat yerself up ‘bout it. Second they learn howta use their legs they’re all over the place. She’s a mighty brave little lady you’ve got there, askin’ a stranger for help.”

The woman’s brow furrowed. “Actually, Lottie’s rather shy. She came up to you, you said?” She looked down at her daughter with a gentle smile. “Did you make a friend, Lottie?”

“Is that right?” He grinned, sticking his hands in his pockets. “Well I’d be mighty pleased to be friends with such a pretty young lady.” His eyes flicked back up to the woman’s face. “Or her momma, for that matter.”

The woman’s eyes widened, and a shy smile played at her lips. “O-oh, why thank you, sir.”

“The name’s Boothill. Pleasure to make yer acquaintance.” He took his hand out of his pocket and held it out towards her.

She took his hand and shook it. Damn, her hands were soft. Slightly calloused, but that was kind of nice too. He was glad he’d had those touch receptors installed. “Y/N,” she said. “Nice to meet you too. And this—” She bounced her daughter on her hip, causing her to giggle. “Is Charlotte.” Y/N looked back up at him, her eyes shining with gratitude. “Really, thank you so much for finding her. She doesn’t usually like new people, she doesn’t even like the daycare workers, and she sees them almost every day. You must be some kind of toddler-whisperer or something. Do you have one of your own?”

His servers stalled. “…No.” It wasn’t a lie, he didn’t have a child. Not anymore.

He pushed the thought out of his mind, plastering a grin on his face. “But I’ll take that as a compliment. I quite liked little Lottie’s company as well.”

If Y/N noticed his hesitancy, she made no indication of it. She just smiled at him, those pretty eyes of hers crinkling at the edges. “Well, you’re just a natural then.” She was quiet for a moment, and he could practically see the gears turning in her head. “Hey, I, um, I know I have no right to ask you for anything more than you’ve already done, but I was wondering… would you maybe be willing to babysit Lottie sometime? She just seems so taken with you, and it’s been so hard to find a babysitter she isn’t shy or nervous around. I can pay you too! You absolutely don’t have to, I know we just met and everything, but I thought I’d ask.”

Boothill blinked. Him, babysit? It was true he liked being around the little tyke for the short time they were together, but was he really cut out to babysit? On the other hand, he was somewhat touched that she’d trust him enough to look after her child, as ill-placed as that trust might have been.

But as he looked down at Charlotte, with her dark curls and bright eyes and his hat perched precariously on her head… something in his chest stirred. And even though it might’ve been a bad decision, he’d made a lot bad decisions in his life, and it couldn’t possibly be any worse than those.

He flashed her a grin. “I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea. An’ ya don’t gotta pay me. I’d be happy enough just to see this pretty little lady again.” He took his hat off Charlotte’s head and ruffled her hair, making her let out a torrent of giggles. He placed the hat back on his head and tipped it at Y/N, giving her a little wink. “And her pretty momma too.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed red. He could’ve laughed at the way she blinked rapidly, obviously flustered. “O-oh, um… thank you. I’d… be glad to see you again too.”

His grin widened. “Well ain’t that just peachy, then. I travel around a lot for work, but if you need someone to watch the young’un when I’m in town, I’d be happy to help.

The smile she gave him could’ve powered thirty starships. “Thank you, Boothill. Here.” She pulled out a scrap of paper from her purse and scribbled something down on it, handing it to him. The fans in his chest whirred loudly. It was her phone number. “So we can get in contact with each other. Maybe we could do a test drive first—you can come over and I can show you around the place and everything. And we can get to know each other better, you know?”

“Sounds like a plan.” He took out a napkin from his pocket and scribbled down his own phone number before handing it to her.

She folded it up delicately and tucked it away in her purse. “Alright then, we won’t take up any more of your time. It was nice meeting you, I’ll shoot you a text. Say ‘bye bye,’ Lottie!” she cooed down at Charlotte.

Charlotte waved her hand enthusiastically. “Bye bye!”

Boothill raised his hand in a wave. Then they turned and left, leaving him alone to marvel at what the heck just happened.

He whipped out his phone and added a new contact called ‘Hot Momma.’ He’d be looking forward to that text.

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Boothill had half expected to never hear from Y/N again, but to his surprise he received a text from her about a week later. And lo and behold, she actually did invite him over to her apartment. Either she was just the most trusting woman in the whole galaxy, or he must’ve left a really good impression during their brief meeting. He didn’t leave those very often.

No sooner than he’d knocked on the door did it open, and he was met with Y/N’s bright smile and slightly flushed cheeks. “You’re here! I was just making lunch, come on in! Would you like something to drink?”

As she ushered him into the apartment, he took in the sight of the living space. Small, but cozy. He decided he liked it There were a few framed photos sitting on the mantel, and he took note that there wasn’t a man in any of them. “Nah, I’m all good. Thank you, though.”

Y/N scurried into the kitchen and stirred a pot of something. He smiled at the sight of Charlotte sitting in a highchair at the kitchen table, light blue bows dotted across her dark hair. She clapped her hands and babbled happily at the sight of him. “Hat! Hat!”

Y/N laughed, peering at them from over the counter. “Lottie’s been so excited to see you, Mr. Boothill.”

“Eh, none of that ‘Mister’ crap, just ‘Boothill’ is fine.” He leaned down to Charlotte’s level. Immediately, she reached out and grabbed ahold of one of his fingers, her eyes wide with wonder as she watched the way the light glinted off of his metal hand. He chuckled, his chest warming at the sweet sight. “I’ve been real excited to see her too.”

Y/N came out of the kitchen, balancing three plates of pasta, one significantly smaller than the others. “Please, come eat with us. Oh, um, if you can eat, that is. I made plenty for all of us.”

He didn’t have to eat, but he knew better than to turn down a pretty lady. He tipped his hat at her. “Aw shucks, ya didn’t haveta do that for little ol’ me. But thank you kindly.”

She sat one of the larger plates down in front of him, a bright smile on her face. “Of course I did! You’re doing me a huge favor by offering to watch Lottie, it’s the least I can do.” She sat down on the other side of Charlotte, stabbing a piece of pasta with a fork and offering it to her.

“It’s no problem, really. She’s a sweet little lady.” The sight of Y/N feeding her daughter like that made his chest constrict painfully. It reminded him all too much of evenings at the dinner table with his own little rascal, where she’d end up with her face and hands all covered in sauce.

He pulled himself out of the memory before he could get too wrapped up in it. “How old is she, by the way?” he asked.

“She’s two and a half,” Y/N said proudly, feeding Charlotte another couple forkfuls of pasta. She sighed wistfully. “She’s already growing up so fast.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, they do that. Best to cherish ‘em while they’re cute an’ little like this.”

“Very right you are. But she’ll always be my little Lottie, no matter how big she gets, won’t you, sweetheart?” she cooed at Charlotte, to which she babbled happily.

Boothill took a couple bites of the meal she’d prepared for him. His sense of taste wasn’t quite as good as it had been when he was fully human, but he could still tell that it was delicious. “Dang, darlin’, this is really good. You a chef or somethin’?”

She laughed, a pink flush dusted across her cheek bones. She waved her hand dismissively. “Oh no, nothing like that. That’s very sweet of you to say, though, I’m glad you like it.”

They finished up their lunch, and Y/N stood up to collect the dishes. Boothill stopped her with a raised hand. “Lemme take care of it, sugar. Can’t let a pretty little thing like you runnin’ yerself ragged on my account.”

Her cheeks turned rosy again as he stood and took the plates from her. “O-oh, um… Thank you.”

“No problem, doll.” He winked at her before heading into the kitchen and washing the dishes. He may have been laying the charm on a little thick, but what could he say? He liked her. And he knew how touch it was raising a kid, especially if she didn’t have anyone to help her.

Once the dishes were all washed and on the drying race, he returned to the dining room, finding that Y/N had picked Charlotte up out of her highchair and perched her on her hip. Her cheeks were still a little pink, but she flashed him a sweet smile. “So, would you like a tour?”

He nodded his head, and she showed him around her small home. There were a couple more photos in her bedroom, once again with a distinct lack of an adult male. She told him everything he might need to know if he were to watch Charlotte: her bedtime, how she liked to take her baths, emergency contacts, the whole shebang. A part of him couldn’t believe he’d actually agreed to this, but he couldn’t deny that the thought of getting to spend time with a child again made him feel… something. He didn’t quite have the words to describe it, but it was soft and warm and healing somehow.

And it also didn’t hurt that her mom was such a cutie.

When they got to the end of the tour, Boothill leaned up against the wall and put his hands in his pockets, trying to look casual as he searched for the words to ask what’d been on his mind since the moment he saw her. “So… You have a… a partner? A husband or a boyfriend or somethin’?”

Y/N stilled, a shy smile on her face. “Ah… no. I don’t.” But before he could celebrate, her smile turned somber. “Charlotte’s father… isn’t in the picture anymore. When I told him I was pregnant, he packed his things and left. I haven’t seen him since.”

Boothill’s smile fell. So she was a single mom. He placed his hand on her shoulder, suddenly serious. “That ain’t no man, darlin’. Those there’re the actions of a boy, who ain’t willin’ to take responsibility for what he’s done. An’ he’s a damn fool for lettin’ a sweet little thing like you go.” He smiled down at Charlotte, who just looked up at him with big doe eyes. “An’ he’s missin’ out on seein’ this pretty little lady grow up. He’ll regret it one day.”

He heard Y/N take in a shaky breath, and he noticed her eyes were a little misty. “…Th-thank you, Boothill. That means a lot to me to hear that.”

“I’m just sayin’ the truth.” He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze before letting his hand fall back down to his side. His regular cheeky grin made its way back onto his face. Now, when can I start watchin’ this little cutie?” He tickled Charlotte’s tummy, causing her to squeal in delight.

Y/N smiled at the sight. “Actually, I have this important work conference out of town Sunday night. I know it’s kind of last minute, but I’d really appreciate it if you could watch her while I’m gone. I’ll be back on Monday morning, so it’d just be for that evening and night. I don’t have a guest room, but you’d be welcome to sleep in my room!”

He chuckled. “Ya don’t gotta sell it so hard, I’d be happy to help. You’ve got my number, just let me know when to be here.”

She let out a long, relieved sigh. “Really? Thank you so much, you have no idea how much I’ve been stressing trying to find a sitter for her. You’re a life saver.” That might’ve been the first time Boothill had been called that, and he’d been called a lot of things. Typically, he was said to be the opposite. But the way Y/N smiled up at him really made him feel like a hero, even though it was really no skin off his nose. It was a nice feeling

[anonymousmaiki]

BKDK Rant

I cannot express how much bkdk has actually just stolen my heart. No matter how you look at it, platonic or romantic, it's such a good relationship build up and they are truly so close. I cannot see Katsuki with anyone but Izuku at this point because I genuinely believe Izuku is Katsuki's 'only exception' like 'if I cannot love anyone else you will always be the one I ever did.'

As well as IzuOcha, love them, but her whole character arc is realizing her crush on Izuku was only just admiration rather than actual like or love.

BkDk had better build up and time put into it and so did TogaOcha. Both these pairs had more build up than IzuOcha and it shows that each one has a strong bond, even if one is dead. Izuku will kill for Katsuki so matter how much he gets hurt and Ochako will always think about Toga for the rest of her life, there's no saying either of Katsuki or Toga didn't love those two either. Katsuki definitely fully realized he love Izuku especially during the time skip or even before.

Chpt 341 honestly doesn't make sense to me and I know it's basically an alternative ending or something for the reader to base an ending to their liking off of but Izuku is NAWT like that bsffr rn. I genuinely think we would've jumped at the chance to be with Katsuki and fight to become top heros together.

Katsuki basically purposed with that because what do you mean 'I wanted to fight on our heels to the top for the rest of our lives' ok so you want to marry him 🤨. Genuinely it's so gut wrenching AGHH.

The way Izuku looks at Katsuki as well, his eyes don't shine brighter with anyone else and this is shown. He not only admires Katuski but he loves him with his full heart, especially with the panel where he screams to 'give him back' in which the orginal japanese character is possessive like 'give my Kacchan back'. He does not play about is Kacchan bro 🙏

anyways I just think it's such a good ship and relationship whether you want to see it as platonic or romantic (I see it as romantic but you do you) I love the whole build of it and how Katsukis character develops into such a more calm individual. You can see it from the way his eyes soften and it's so cool with that detail.

This is long enough but share some awesome BkDk fics that made your heart twist and turn but end up happy, I need it.

[andielle]

prologue|chpt. 1|chpt. 2|chpt. 3|chpt. 4|masterlist

You and Bucky have shared this relationship for almost a year now. He sleeps with you to relieve stress, you sleep with him to free you from your slight crush on him.But what happens when Bucky breaks the rules of your relationship, and yearns for more?

MODERN! Office AU! Bucky x Reader

chapter 3: amends | 1.5k words | warnings: none!

YOU threw your work bag onto the couch, before throwing yourself onto it. You sunk into the cushions, letting out a satisfied sigh as you finally let your muscles relax.

Your relaxation was interrupted when you heard your phone vibrate in your pocket. You checked, and it was Nat. “Hey Nat,” you greeted her through the call.

“He was staring at you like a piece of meat!—I mean, he does have a staring problem, but this takes the cake,” Nat exclaimed, and you could imagine her pace around her room whilst she talked.

“Really? I didn’t notice,” you lied through your teeth. Of course you noticed, how could you not notice when his blue-gray orbs stared at you? It was unnerving sometimes, especially when he does that thing with his eyes narrowed—yeesh! It gave you the heebie-jeebies, but you would be lying if you said it didn’t make you a bit warm in your core.

“Yeah okay, I just really needed to leave you both alone together, the tension was so thick you could-”

“Cut it with a knife, yes I know,” you continued her sentence for her. “Exactly,” she replied, “Do you need to talk about it? I swear, today was the first time I’ve ever seen you so… Pent up,” she asked, with worry apparent in her voice.

Pent up? I guess you could say that. Bucky was up to no good, what exactly was he trying to do? “I’m fine. Thank you for checking up on me but I’ll handle it,” you reassured her.

You weren’t going to handle it, you already knew. You would just let this go by, but why? You knew that you didn’t have a crush on him anymore, you think. Yet, you still held onto this relationship like a vice, refusing to seek other people. Maybe Bucky was right, that there were a lot of people willing to be with you, you didn’t have to stay.

You have thought about this before, but the more you think about it, you realize that you really can’t imagine yourself being with anybody else. Being with Bucky, as much as it hurt the next morning, it felt right.

“I swear, if you try to keep it to yourself, I will personally come by-” her voice was interrupted by a knock on your door. You straightened up out of surprise, eyeing it.

“Somebody is at my door, I’ll call you later Nat.”

“Alright, bye,” she said right before you hung up. You stood up from your spot and you walked towards your door, your footsteps feeling heavy. Nobody ever visited you this late at night, unless…

—

“Man, I have no idea what’s going on with you and her, but she looked pretty upset back there,” Steve says worryingly as he takes the seat next to Bucky. “Is there anything I need to know?” he continued, looking at his friend, who currently had a troubled look on his face.

When Bucky didn’t answer immediately, Steve didn’t press on further, “Hey, if you need a pal to talk to, I’ll be here, alright?” Steve pats him on the back.

Bucky pursed his lips. He trusted Steve, but a part of him is guilty of what he’s done to you. He was afraid of telling Steve what had been going on. He was basically using you for months. One of the only people that liked him—he used and he hurt.

I keep my part of the agreement, no matter how hard and painful it is, and I only expect you to do the same. Painful? Was this painful for you?

“Steve, if you were ever to make amends to a woman after hurting her, how would you go about it?” Bucky finally spoke.

Steve was taken aback by the question, but tried his best to answer with full sincerity, “Well, it would be best to talk to her, one on one…”

—

Bucky paced back and forth in front of your apartment door, trying to rehearse what he wanted to say. Acknowledge that you’ve hurt her, that’s the first step to making amends. He raised a fist to knock, but he was hesitant. He took a deep breath.

Knock, knock. After a few seconds, he heard the thuds of your feet approaching the door. He held his breath.

With a click, he was met with your eyes. Your hair looked slightly dishevelled, like you were just lying down a moment before. You certainly weren’t expecting him, because your eyes blew wide at the sight of him. He has never showed up uninvited at your door, you both always came to your apartment together, but he has never personally seeked you out.

“Fancy seeing you here.” you broke the silence, your hand leaving the doorknob, so you could cross your arms. “If you’re here to sleep with me then-”

“No, no.. I’m not here for that,” he quickly said. His throat felt dry as he stared at you. He cleared his throat, “Look, I just wanted to apologize for today, I don’t know what came over me.”

You raised a brow, slightly losing your tense posture. You untangled your arms and they rested at your sides. You half-expected it to be Bucky at the door, but you didn’t expect this. You weren’t displeased though, because it felt nice to finally have him visit out of pure decision. You stayed quiet for a few seconds, mouth slightly agape.

“Do you wanna come in?”

“Please.”

You moved to the side so Bucky could step in. He was nervous, but not because he was in your apartment, no, he’s very familiar with it, especially your bedroom. He took his shoes off and headed to sit on your couch. You walked into your kitchen, with his eyes watching your every move. You eventually returned with two steaming mugs, the smell of green tea gently wafting in the air. You placed it onto the table in front of him before you took the place next to him.

He grabbed the mug, examining its whimsical design, “This looks similar to the one you gave me on my birthday,” Bucky chuckles before taking a sip of the hot tea.

“That’s because I made it, very poorly as you can tell,” you stated while sinking into your couch once again. Bucky wasn’t surprised, it seemed like you’ve done every type of art before. Yet, he was a little sad that he didn’t know this sooner.

“It looks good.” Bucky reminisced when you gave him the mug on his birthday, it was colorful and oddly shaped, and it had his name on it. He still uses that mug to this day, and it was the only thing he didn’t put in his dishwasher, he would always hand wash it, afraid of it breaking or cracking it in the machine.

He looked over at your spot on the couch, and the mug you were currently holding had your name on it too, with a similar design, it was matching.

“You know,” you blew on your tea, “It’s been so long since we’ve genuinely hung out like this,” you said before taking a small sip. You were right, it has been a long time. Ever since you both started sleeping together, the friendship before almost dissipated, leaving behind an empty cast.

“I miss it—our friendship,” you looked at him. Were your eyes teary or was it the steam?

Bucky gulped as he gaped at you. His hand twitched against the mug he was holding. He stayed silent as you continued. “I don’t mind this-” you waved your free hand around, “relationship we have, it would just really be nice to be able to talk and laugh with you again,”

He’s afraid to admit it, but he thought the same too. But he was scared to say it, why? He has opened up to you, so many times. But this relationship with you made him realize so many things about himself.

Including the fact that he wouldn’t mind being more than friends with you. In fact- no, no no no. He can’t do that to you. He’s a damaged man. He’s scared that once he has you he won’t let go. He has already been doing this to you for the past ten months, using you so he can keep you to himself without commitment. Because, he knows if you and him were anything more than that, he will be so hurt once you leave—even worse, you'll be hurt.

He is so scared.

“Are you okay?” he didn’t even notice how silent he was until he heard your concerned voice.

“Yes, yeah, I’m fine,” he blinked hard and licked his lips, he looked at you again with your worried eyes. Your eyebrows were slightly scrunched up.

“Do you-” he stuttered, “Do you mind if I…” he looked into your eyes, “Come over sometimes? At night? Just to talk and hang out, just like this,” he braced himself.

Your lips curled into a smile, and he saw that exact same spark in your eyes.

“Sure.”

[mrcia-gweaver]

ORIGINS FANFIC!! (slowburn RiDe)

(Chpt. 1)

Hello everyone! I just wanted to try something new so I chose fanfiction ^^ how fun. I am not writer but I do promise that I tried to have it make sense, at least the best I could. The prompt is a slow burn RiDe fic which does mean I am going to add alot more to this but given it is my first time writing something like this and posting it I just wanted some insight and perhaps advice and people's input :) I am definitely open to any criticism and anything people may offer. This does all take place in origins, and im sorry if this isn't 100 percent accurate, I did get into zombies like 2 months ago so I am not sure if I had time to let ot marinate enough but I guess I just wanted to try it out! Ride is my fav ship if you couldn't tell and I was hoping to be able to share this with you ^^. Once again I do plan on updating but when is something I haven't decided yet. Since this is only the first chapter I have inputted nothing about the ship just yet but of course with it being a slow burn I will slowly add elements I promise :).

I would also like to add, i removed the point system because I wasn't sure how to implement it, and i want to illiterate this may not be 100 percent accurate to the story. I will try my best but if I do wrong please tell me. From what I can gather this is all I have for now. Anyways, please enjoy and thank you!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of what can only be assumed to be machinery blaired throughout the area, its alarms being loud, and its footsteps being heavy. How many were there? More than one, even more than two, three, it seems. 6 individual steps taken across the hills of dirt and building tops that belong to this place.

North France, 1914, the battle of the Great War, World War I. A period of conflict and devastation reaching its climax, especially in Europe. Not just with battle, but with strange like creatures that can only be described as the term, "decaying". Pale green discoloration and sunken in faces, glazed eyes, no thoughts to process, no words that can even be formulated. Just brain-dead animals with no purpose but to kill. The reason for the reanimates sparks something else entirely. The work is due to the creation of group 935...

935 was an organization of scientists. No one can really determine their true goals, but what can be said is that the power they hold in their place of origins, Germany. After discovering an unknown contaminate, they decided upon themselves to continue researching what this blue substance can be, only to discover that this substance holds more power than any element that can be found documented and they called it element 115...

Dr. Ludwig Maxis, a man of great knowledge who holds strength in Germany's foundation, known for being one of the founders of this specific assembly of scientists, was the individual behind alot of powerful creations that had only manifested into something sinister. Aside from Maxis, his partner of occupation, Dr. Edward Richtofen, a person of both brains and an undesirable charm, used the liquid divinium for his own twisted pleasures, which awoken a force that was much too strong to manage, hoards and hoards of the undead.

The need to capture this man was strong. he was dangerous but also talented in his own field, it being a practice of medicine and anatomical procedures. The name Edward Richtofen was feared by most. He wishes to keep it that way. He holds no remorse, no sympathy, and not a feeling of empathy can be found in his body. Down to the very last atom, he was filled with disparity, insanity, immorality, and psychopathic tendencies. This attention was grabbed by those who lay outside of this continent, gathering 3 soldiers from different parts of the world, Russia, Japan, and America.

The name of these allies were infamous from wence they came. The motherland sending their Red Army soldier, a man of strength, Nikolai Belinski. Japan sending their best Samurai warrior, one who holds true honor, part of the Japanese imperial Army, Takeo Masaki. Lastly, the American dream, a Yankee from North America, a USMC spy, "Tank" Thomas Dempsey. The 3 were sent on a mission to infiltrate and investigate further on the crimes and studies of Group 935, all having the same intentions to report back to the allied countries.

By coincidence, the three men happen to find themselves in the same exact situation, facing jeopardy and coming across hazardous trails just to infiltrate this single scientist. Having to dodge huge robotic walk cycles while running in very steep and wet dirt roads is not a simple task, especially when faced with countless numbers of the Living Dead. The soldiers took this advantage to put their skills to the test, only being one person after all, unaware of each other's existence thus far, they were on their own for the time being...that is until they reached the end of their open path, coming to a dead end which was some sort of broken down building.

Confusion was the only thing felt between the individuals within the premises. The three allies have the same idea to run into the damaged facility, trying to get at least somewhat of a break. Their energy went most towards dealing with their situation. They hadn't realized the other persons presence. Additionally, the atmosphere didn't help either. The mist and debris that filled the air because of their surroundings decreased their line of sight, though only for a moment. Once the air cleared up, and they finally had time to catch their breath, they all looked at each other almost in sync. All were startled, which caused them to quickly reach for their weapon in hand and point it towards one another. Dempsey held his revolver up and aimed it towards both men that stood relative close to him, "tch." He smacked his teeth, keeping his focus. Takeo held a pistol in hand, pulling back the hammer of the gun, ready to fire if necessary, holding his breath in the process to help his focus. Nikolai's grip on his own weapon was tight, trying to aim his shot gun both at once, grumbling under his breath. Being focused on one another, they didn't realize who stood before them towards the back center of the room. It was Dr. Edward richtofen himself, who at the moment was dealing with his own situation.

His hands were covered in blood as he stood upon a metalic table. His victim, who was now deceased, laying their cold was Maxis. He had removed the brain that once belonged to the lifeless individual, displaying his scalp and what seems to have been the top portion of his cranium that had been removed, exposing the inside of whats now a hollow skull. It seemed that at the moment, his head was in a daze. A daze that was recovered facing recollections...recollections of what? What was in this Doctors mind? He looked at his hands with confusion and then fixed his vision to see the men that stood in front of him, which by that time they all had their guns pointed right at him.

This caused a slight suprise to Edward. His eyes widened a bit in shock. Though truthfully, he was facing a bit of deja vu. He's seen this before. He knows how this plays out. before he can mutter a word, Thomas was the first to speak, "Alright, Doctor, time to give your shit up, you're coming with me." He glared, leaving no room for any sort of retraction. This caused Nikolai to furrow his brows and speak next, "We know of the the things you've done German. If you don't move now, we shoot." His accent was thick, though by the looks of it, Richtofen understood him quite well. Takeo was the last to break his silence, reading the situation and feeling himself tense up less, knowing the other two men were only there for the same purpose. He spoke, "You need to give up. Your evil behavior and acts of violence are at its end." There was not a thing said after Masaki's words left his lips, though it seemed the silence that was held onto the air around them was louder than anything that could have been said. After a moment that seemed to have gone on for far too long, the German scientist finally spoke, "well gentlemen, it seems you have...finally caught up to me, though Ich promise I-", he was trying to look for the right words to say. Something wasn't exactly right. There was a reason for his extraction that layed before him, it wasnt just for malicious purposes, but of course, that's hard to really say given the reputation this man has. "Well, doc, scapel cut your tongue?" Tank spoke with a hint of sarcasm and absolute disgust, awaiting this "reasoning" for his behavior. "Ich..." he sighs, "it isn't what you think, This was a necessity for me, and I understand that currently, we are in a very dire situation. Ich am not who you think I am." He tried to get his words out as much as he could, his mother tongue being extremely heavy. "This is not up for discussion. You have committed acts of treason. You are a bad man, Edward Richtofen", The Japanese soldier said with a bit of haste. Anticipation growing heavier by the minute.

Edward sighed and stepped away from his array of medical utensils. He put his hands up as in defeat and placed himself even closer to the three others despite him having no way of defense. "Ich promise you all, this isn't what you think is is. I am not here to cause more trouble than I have. I can not explain at the moment. This is extremely time sensitive." His eyes look back at theirs almost with plead, like he was innocent, though of course they took this as deception and a form of manipulation. "Bullshit Richtofen! We will shoot!" Belinski was getting extremely impatient. This caused the doctors head to shake slightly, "Please trust me, Ich am not here to cause anymore harm than I have. If you'd allow me to explain mein situation you'd understand that this was all necessary..." The three had daggering glares. They didn't say anything, allowing the German to continue. Richtofen sighs and mutters a few words under his breath, feeling a bit of pressure. He knows what he wants to say but can't exactly say it. Truthfully, he isn't sure how he should tell them, tell them the reality, the reality that this is only the beginning to a very painful outcome. He began to speak, saying what he possibly could that is, "Ich am not here to cause more disaster but the contrerary. Are you all aware of what 'Agartha' is?" When he said this, he looked at Tank in particular, which caused a bit of confusion, that being implied on his expression. "Agartha?" The marine spoke, lowering his weapon a bit, seeing that there's no active form of threat. "The hell is that?..." His action caused the rest to lower their guns as well, not wanting to cause more hostility than they must.

At this point, the men faced confliction. Dempsey was curious, though he had a job to do. Takeo hadn't any idea what Edward was referring to, awaiting the explanation that was yet to be provided. Nikolai crossed his arms, placing a puzzled expression on his face, "What is this, uh, place you speak of, eh?" Richtofen slowly lowered his hands, feeling confident enough to do so with the signs of possoble gun fire gone. He fixed his sleeves and cleared his throat which followed with what he was gonna say next, "well, you see, to put it simply, there is a lost little girl by the name of samantha Maxis. It's a very, very complicated scenario, but I needed the brain of my counterpart as it plays an important role in freeing her. While ich do not care too much for her, it also..." He stops to a moment, wondering if he should continue, perhaps a white lie? Maybe he can stretch the truth? He continues after a short pause, "it opens the gateway to a dimension referred to as Agartha. Agartha is very hard to describe aber it is important i do so. It would open up a pathway to many things, different universes, a plethora of timelines. Mein hope is to be able to be able to undo all that has been set into motion and explore more in the realm of science. Ich just desires a better outcome than how society greets us." Though to him, it sounded like a reasonable enough explanation,to the rest, he sounded insane. Perhaps the term Looney would make a much better description rather than just crazy.

Dempsey furrows his brows as he glares at the German. He has no intention of trusting this man or his words anytime soon. He was sure the other two felt the same given the fact that at a quick glance, the other two held their weapons with a stronger grip than they had a moment ago. Richtofen sensed that their patience was running thin. Before he could say anything else, a sound of a low groan was heard from a distance, one that seems to be getting closer by the minute. They knew those noises all too well. "Shit... Those meatsacks are hoarding up again." Dempsey said as he turned the direction of where the sounds were from and placed a few shots into the few zombies he saw were approaching. They dropped dead, though he noticed more behind the bodies that layed before him. Takeo and Nikolai stood their own ground as well, getting their own weapons to a proper position to aim and fire. Richtofen quickly took a towel that was laying to the side of the table he stood upon, wiping off whatever blood stains still lingered on his hands. Though, of course, unable to get all of it, he just threw the dirty rag on the ground and quickly pulled out the bowie knife from his side. "These creatures have not stopped forming around the vicinity. We need to get out of here!" His slight panic reached the others as they were occupied with their own, shooting a couple of rounds before having to reload. "Y-yeah? And where's that, huh Doctor?"

Before Edward can give the marine a clear answer, he is met with 4 creatures on his right, ready to lunge towards him. He quickly took his weapon and attempted to cut them down. Unsurprising, it wasn't causing much damage. Noticing the struggles the doctor was facing, Tank shot them down as soon as he got done with his own situation. "Now, can ya tell us?" Dempsey said in a huffed voice, becoming restless, noticing the numbers of zombies only growing. Richtofen nodded, "Ja, Ich needs you all to trust me. Can you do that?" His words gave the group a very uncertain feeling, the three of them all making the same expression of doubt. "If you don't want to die becoming their next meal, I suggest you follow me. Ich am aware of my reputoir, but you really have no option. We need to go now!" His growth and feeling in worry snaps the crew back to reality, realizing that Richtofen had a point. "We await your orders," Masaki said in a low voice, Nikolai agreeing with his Japanese counterpart. "Ya better not pull anything stupid, I'll blow your brains out!" The American said with aggravation, letting the Doctor take the lead despite his unwillingness to cooperate.

"Right. Come with mich." Edward walked out from behind the table that was placed in front of him, picking up a particular item, carefully wrapping it in cloth that layed near by. He looked around before walking up to one of the two metal doors. "This one." He mumbles, proceeding to kick it, causing it to open. A small look of relief appeared across his face as he walked out of the room. He began following the trail in front of him, picking up speed as he got further down. The path was all mud which made it a bit difficult to move through. He shouted to the others he assumed were following behind, "Be aware of the mud gentlemen! Not only is it incredibly slippery, but it decreases your speed therefore reducing stamina and im sure you know why that is not a good thing!" He himself was having trouble running through, feeling the soles of his shoes to become stuck with every step he took, only pulling him back as he attempted to pick up his own pace. The other three found themselves in the same situation as they were sprinting through the dirt. "Shit, couldn't have picked a better way to go could ya doc?" Tank threw to the other, not earning a response back. Richtofen heard him, he just didn't want to waste his breath.

After running for what seemed like 10 minutes, The scientist found himself in front of another metal door, kicking it open just like the other. The next room he was met with looked at bit similar to the other, though the area was more spacious. Entering, all four men were cautious, being mindful of any sudden movement. Letting their guard down at any moment will result in fatality. Edward walked upon a table that was covered in blueprints and writing. On the surface, there was an array of radios, systems, and an additional amount of items one may use for in depth research. Something else that caught his eye was an empty container. With this finding he quickly and carefully placed what he had obtained from his earlier extraction. Still being wrapped under a thin cloth, Edward placed maxis' brain inside of the opened holder and sealed it shut. "Es ist perfect..yes. this is good." He mumbled to himself and grabbed the item as soon as he wiped himself off. Tank noticed the others actions and raised a brow, "the hell is that for? You know somethin, your starting to really creep me the fuck out Richtofen." His words followed a face of disgust before walking up the bit of steps that led to an elevated floor.

Edward paid no attention to the marine as he was stuck in his own head. He continued to look around, his memory slowly coming back to him. "Ja..I've been here before.." he muttered before following Dempsey in his steps, though keeping a distance. Takeo found himself lurking amongst the different sets of radios wondering if they held any clues to help them in their current situation. He kept their locations in mind, not wanting to touch what he shouldnt incase it causes more harm than good. He stayed close to his Russian allie, noticing the other studying a shovel placed upon a nearby wall. "Maybe it holds purpose da?" He said to Masaki, unhooking it from the nail that kept it in place and gave it to him. "Perhaps this shovel will find it's use during our escapade.." Takeo said in response and placed it on his side. The two looked at eachother with understanding and followed after the American and the German.

The rest of the room was filled with gritted flooring rather than the familiar woodboards they found themselves on. The floor was connected to a machine that covered most of the area. The machinery looked like a power source, a generator. The floor had two symbols of the same, being labled "01" which could imply the possibility of being more than one around the vicinity. Once Edward noticed the rest were at attention, he spoke, "I have to turn on the generator, though Ich believe that this will cause a bit of commotion.." How he knew what happens next stems from more hidden memories he has yet to really discover. From what he can recall, the power surge causes the undead to spawn and cause disturbance. After a quick thought process, he turned on the machine, which confirmed his suspicions. He yelled out a warning, which brought the others at their feet. Tank thought it was odd that Edward knew what was bound happen, noting to question him later. For now, focusing on what's in front of him, He began shooting the zombies down with the other two doing the same. After what seems like forever, the generator was finally stabilized and had successfully powered on, which by their luck had stopped any more of the undead from spawning in. The four took a minute to catch their breath, gaining a response from the marine, "the hell..was those things. What the fuck just happened?!" After questioning their situation, Richtofen gave him a response he thought made the most sense. "The generator must be kept on in order to access whats around us. Each one is powered by element 115, and by mein guess there will be more approaching us in our path. The element is notable for its effect on the dead, hence why we found ourselves surrounded." Before Tank could respond Nikolai spoke up, "I don't know what plans you have for us German but we all have a mission to con-" "and how do you expect to continue if you don't know a way out? There are several things we must do hence why Ich must carry the brain of mein late scientist friend. From what I have read prior around the facility, we must obtain und put together a plethora of objects...und in order to do that I advise you listen to mich. I cannot tell you much of how I know this but Ich will say this, unfortunately there has been a change of plans within your party und whether dou like it or not I will have to assist you three for a while. Our mission thus far is to free samantha Maxis and open the gateway to Agartha." Dempsey sighed in frustration and gave in his own input, "Alright so we gotta not only follow the damn mad scientist but we have to trust and work together with ya? You must be more mad than I thought, I don't have any plans to work with y-" "und what choice do you have. As I mentioned to Nikolai, I don't think you have much of an option Dempsey." This caused both Belinski and Tank to back down, not just out of defeat but out of shock. Both we confused on how Edward knew who they were. Perhaps their identities were known even outside of their place of origins? They do have a strong reputation but not one too known to the common public. Nikolai played it off and went with the explanation that made the most sense which was explained prior. As for The marine. He wasn't gonna just downplay it. There was too many unanswered questions and he was gonna get an explanation from the German. Though for now to avoid conflict he left it alone.

The doctor took a minute to recover from all that had just happened, speaking up once he was ready. "Ich know this will be hard for you to all understand und I know that it's not easy to trust someone like mich, but I would like to remind you, I am not who you think I am..." He let those words linger for a while, piecing together what should be done next in his mind. They were in the middle of a battleground surrounded by countless numbers of the undead, trapped in a hell that can only be fled through one way, which at the moment was deemed impossible. For now, all they can do is move forward, and whether they want to accept it or not, Edward Richtofen was their only way out of this situation.

[kquil]

DIVORCING ORION BLACK | CHAPTER FOUR

04 : BEGINNINGS

CHPT. SUM. : beginning new things is always fun. getting to know your sons, them finally being able to experience having a loving mother, sirius going to school, and you planning for everything that was yet to come so that everyone gets to the happy ending they deserve. 

LENGTH : 11.8k

TAGS : domestic fluff ; orion being a bad father ; original walburga being a nuisance ; reader being an amazing mother and an amazing cook ; regulus has food preferences ; brotherhood between sirius and regulus ; marauders spotted in the wild ; sirius and regulus being precious babies ; reader disrespecting walburga ; mentions of infertility ; mentions of divorce ; lots of future planning

← PREV. 03 : SHOPPING (2/2) | SERIES M.LIST

9th August 1971 

It, surprisingly, took very little to get past Orion on the topic of changing Sirius and Regulus’ private tutors. However, when you truly looked at his workaholic tendencies, your initial surprise should have been the more startling reaction — of course, he wouldn’t care, he’s too fixated on the happenings with his position on the Wizengamot to be aware of much else, discounting the protective wards he put up around the property. Nevertheless, it was good news for you and your boys. Finally, they would be getting more suitable tutors, who catered to their learning needs in a more digestible way. You had only recently sent out the notice, though, so you don’t expect many replies to be coming in soon. Your only wish was to have fallen into this universe sooner, that way you would have had more time with Sirius before he left to attend Hogwarts as a first year. 

Walburga didn’t have a formal occupation other than monitor her boys so having Sirius leave for his first year would mean less work for her and, subsequently, you. However, it’s not as if she needed the money; she’s the matriarch of an incredibly privileged family, meaning that her financial worries are close to non-existent. Both, the affluent family fortune and her lack of professional ambitions have you stumped, it’s something you’re not used to at all. Perhaps that’s why she’s so obsessed with control and the activity of her two sons; it’s not healthy and you don’t even want to attempt to understand what she was thinking—

“Of course you won’t!” Walburga snarls from the depths of your consciousness, her tone dripping with malice and a hint of something sinister. “I don’t expect someone who failed at becoming a mother to understand the right and true tribulations of bringing up children,” 

“…how did you know that?” you ask aloud, no longer satisfied with simply trying to call for the bitch - Walburga’s - attention in your head. She didn’t seem to want to reply, which only made your blood boil; her prolonged silence, the trigger to releasing your rapidly escalating rage.  How dare she?! How dare she strike you where it hurts the most, only to turn completely unresponsive when you demand answers, “Answer me!”  Thick tensions fill the room when she does not answer, the silence suffocating and poisonous. Taking a slow, deep breath, you engage control over your anxious heart and trembling hands once more. 

Work. You need work. Something to focus on so that you don’t dwell on memories that will only bring you heartache. It worked before so it’ll work for you now. It had worked so well, in fact, that you were able to build an empire out of it, perhaps you could replicate the same results this time. 

“Screw you then, ugly pig, I have more important matters to attend to anyway,” pulling out a drawer, you scatter your notes across the desk and move with fretful fever but, also, enthusiasm above them. No matter the change of environment, you can always trust in your habits to push you forward. Walburga mainly worked on keeping the boys in line as the official matriarch of the Black household but that’s all her world revolved around, she had no hobbies or any close friends other than her relatives whom she communicated with, somewhat, regularly. With a guilty ache in your chest, you kept a gradually growing stack of letters in the bottom-most drawer of the hard oak desk, not yet knowing how to respond to people you barely knew. However, you suppose their relations to a character like Walburaga make it slightly easier to ignore their communications. The affiliation doesn’t warrant your precious time. If you could send a passive-aggressive email, you might be more willing, but the extended process of having to write out the letters and then send them via owl wasn’t worthwhile. 

The priority on your list of important affairs is ensuring your boys’ happy and safe future. Sirius will not have to choose between Regulus and his friends, he will not suffer being blasted off the family tree, he will not have to be ashamed of his family, he will not have to witness his close friend’s death through another’s betrayal, and he will not be forced to go to Azkaban. Similarly, Regulus will not have to suffer Sirius abandoning him, he will not have to face his prejudicial parents alone, he will not be forced into getting the dark mark, he will not have to make the sacrifice he had to make at such a young age, he will not die a miserable and lonely death, and he will not be forgotten! You will make sure of it. 

Coming into the world as a Harry Potter and Marauders fan, you’re well-equipped with all the knowledge required to make the right decisions. The only problem is that the Marauders era has been a largely vague timeline that most of the fandom filled in for themselves so you’ll have to tread carefully. This will require meticulous planning, a steady rise to power and a conglomeration of useful allies to help set your plans into motion. Modern-day knowledge and business etiquette will serve you well here. You’ve survived toxic work environments, won in the race to riches, and dealt with all manner of manipulative, sexist swine you could ever think to encounter. If you play your cards right, you’re sure to win. 

“As if a muggle like you could conquer the wizarding world!” Walburga finally makes her appearance once again. And, of course, it’s for the sake of belittling you whilst making your head throb painfully from her distasteful screeches. 

“Shut up,” you hiss unapologetically, resisting the urge to smirk, “Unlike you, I know the future—” breathing the words aloud brings a blaring, singular thought to the front of your mind. The vision you witnessed at the Owl Emporium replays in your head once more…

How in the world did Walburga know about the biting habit of Sirius’ future owl?… 

Several moments pass achingly slow as you anticipate the aggravating screeching of Walburga to return. When no such wailing occurs or interrupts your train of thought, your mind immediately begins to spiral. 

How could Walburga remember being at the Emporium, shopping for Sirius’ first year at Hogwarts when she had yet to go shopping with him in the first place? They couldn’t have already gone, right? Orion would have said something if they were being inefficient enough to go a second time. That or the boys would have definitely made some comment… 

This felt like an urgent matter that needed your immediate attention but you had to prioritise other things for now. It’s not like the original Walburga was going to give you the answers you needed so it wasn’t any use pressing on the matter. It’s best to turn your focus and efforts elsewhere. Peering back at your scattered notes, you raise your newly acquired wand and utter the crafting spell you had learned recently. 

“Libeligare,” As you wave your wand over the desk, activity springs forth. In a flurry of animated pages and whistling currents in the air, your disordered notes compile themselves appropriately before binding themselves into a fresh notebook. It doesn’t have a hard cover and you debate on transfiguring a decorative letter set piece into one but think against it. This will do nicely for the moment. 

Finally, all your detailed plans are in one place. 

10th August 1971 

With nothing better to do and desperate for a decent meal, you address the home-cooked meals situation. Every dish served at the Black household was so unappetising and bland, that you couldn’t believe that the family was one of the most influential and richest families to exist in the wizarding world. You’re beginning to believe that the Blacks were the type of family to indulge in unpalatable spreads with the reasoning that they refuse to eat the same meals as those lesser than them. How childish. Even in your city-centre penthouse, you ordered take-out frequently and ate ordinary home-cooked meals that were comforting and warm. The memories make you compare all the meals you’ve had in Grimmauld Place and blanch abhorrently. This wouldn’t do, especially for your growing boys. They need to be well-fed so that they grow up healthy and strong. 

“Mistress!” Kreacher shrieks behind you, making you jump and spin around all at once. The hunched-over house elf dashes through the kitchen space clumsily and with much vigour, he pulls painfully at his drooping ears as his eyes bulge out from seeing you, his mistress, the matriarch, in the kitchen cooking! Without magic! 

“Don’t be so dramatic, Kreacher,” you chuckle softly and turn back to your food prep, “I’m just trying to cook an easy breakfast for my boys,” if you could truly have it your way then you would cook enough only for you and your two darling sons to eat. Orion would have to sort his own plate. But you’re not divorced yet so you suppose this is a compromise you’ll have to make. 

“I-It is not mistress’ job, let Kreacher do it—!” the house elf, reaches forward to take the kitchen utensils from you but you’re too swift. 

“I want to cook the food Kreacher,” you argue and continue pottering about the kitchen as if it was just another Tuesday morning, all while Kreacher follows you around helplessly. He’s clearly stuck between letting you have your way or forcing you to let him cook instead. Both felt wrong in different ways considering his position as the house elf, and he was brought to a standstill. The poor guy looked ready to throw himself off a cliff from the indecision and panic.  

Having sympathy for the elf, you call to him over your shoulder, “Kreacher can you please pass me the eggs?” this feels like a good even ground to dance on. Soon enough you’ll be teaching Kreacher how to finally relax. Kreacher appeared happy to finally be doing something but as soon as he hesitantly handed over the eggs, he was back to being anxious all over again. Even though you are the matriarch of the household, you supposed you’ll have to share the kitchen with a very distressed house elf for the foreseeable future. 

For the rest of the morning, you’ve asked Kreacher to help you with crisping up the beacon, cleaning the mushrooms, opening up the can of beans, toasting the bread and laying out the table. No more tasteless, boring porridge for breakfast with no toppings, today you’re serving a Full English. Admiring the spread, you thank Kreacher for his assistance before undoing your apron and putting the finishing touches to the dining table just as the rest of the family make it down for breakfast. 

“What is all this?” Orion asks in slight surprise when catching sight of breakfast for the day, “Is today very important?”

“No,” nonchalance keeps your tone controlled just as your precious babies walk through the door and hop into their designated seats at the table, one more enthusiastic than the other, “I’m just tired of plain old porridge every day,”

“Porridge is delicious,” Orion defends.

“Every day?” from the look in his eyes, you don’t know whether or not you’ve bested him so turn a serene smile his way instead, “I can always ask Kreacher to make you porridge if you really want,” 

Orion takes a moment to observe the full, vibrant plate of bacon, toast, grilled tomatoes, sautéed mushrooms, sausages, black pudding, scrambled eggs and beans. If he takes any longer to play indecisive, the food will get cold and your precious babies are waiting on his dainty, princess-ass to make a decision— can you hurry the fuck up?! you want to scream at him. Every meal is started after his first bite (the pretentious, narcissistic douche) so he needs to make up his mind quickly or else you’ll lose yours waiting around! 

“…it’ll be a waste, this will do,” he finally picks up his knife and fork to begin eating and you have to reign yourself in before you roll your eyes too noticeably at his conceited behaviour. Your babies behave better than him. The prick! 

Turning to your boys, you observe Sirius and Regulus digging into their own meals before finally taking a bite out of yours. It felt good to see their eyes light up like that, especially Sirius’ — it makes you want to giggle at how obviously he had been wanting to devour his beans and toast the instant he laid eyes on them. 

Breakfast continues pleasantly as everyone enjoys their meal until you begin to notice some peculiar movement in the corner of your eye. You try to be as subtle as you can, considering the uncommon calm that has fallen over the dining table; it isn’t usually this comfortable around the table so you wanted to preserve the ambience as much as possible. The source of your curious gaze was Sirius and Regulus. 

Covertly, Regulus sneaks spoonfuls of his scrambled eggs onto Sirius’ plate, who proceeds to eat up his younger brother’s share as quickly as possible. Regulus was doing this willingly despite this morning’s breakfast being the first appetising meal he’s had yet. It won’t be the last either. However, from the way Sirius is scarfing down the food whilst trying to remain as silent as possible, it wouldn’t be surprising if Sirius eventually suffers from a stomachache later on. You wonder what could be the matter with the scrambled eggs. Was the seasoning off? Kreacher helped taste test every element of the meal and gave his stellar praise for your unrealised culinary skills so you’re more than a bit confused at the scene. After swallowing all remnants of food in your mouth, you gently raise a question. 

“Regulus?” your youngest freezes up immediately, making your brows furrow but still, you continue in a soft voice, “What’s wrong?” Deep in your chest, you feel your heart clench in worry at the deer-in-headlights expression plastered across Regulus’ cherubic face. 

You are met with only silence, “do you not like your eggs, darling?” you try meeting your youngest’s eyes but he’s terrified to even face your direction. Instead, he’s firmly steered his gaze down to his lap and keeps it there, frozen in place. 

There’s a slam of the table and everyone stiffens. At the head, Orion stares disapprovingly at Regulus, who begins to tremble like a leaf, “How rude!” the patriarch spits with such force and bite that his saliva lands halfway down the lengthy dining table. He’s so scandalised by his son’s behaviour that the cold from his freezing gaze drops the temperature in the room lower than it already is. “How many times have we talked about this Regulus? Finish your plate at once or else it’ll be the last meal you eat today!”

“He’s not being rude!” you counter, flying out of your seat and making your way to Regulus, “And he shouldn’t be forced to eat something he doesn’t like nor punished harshly for disliking something,” Crouching down, you position yourself to block Orion from Regulus’ line of sight despite his frightened doe-eyes remaining transfixed on his lap. His small hands are turned into small, knuckle-white fists, gripping fiercely at the fabric of his trousers. A paralysed statue of fear incarnate, your little boy doesn’t deserve this! If you could ‘Avada Kedavra’ Orion’s pathetic, prissy ass, you would in a heartbeat. 

From your peripheral, you notice how Sirius had placed a comforting hand over one of Regulus’ closed fists and the sight made your heart bloom with pride and joy — seeing how well they take care of each other was so heartwarming. “Tell me what’s wrong, Reg…I promise I won’t get mad,” you make sure to keep your voice in a low whisper so that only your son can hear but also loud enough that Orion’s distant grumbling is disguised. 

“Do you not like eggs?” your prompting remains gentle and patient, hoping for a fraction of understanding. That’s all you really want. 

Sensing no antagonistic feeling in your tone, Regulus finally wills himself to speak, although barely audible from insecurity, “I….I don’t like scrambled eggs…”

“No? What about them don’t you like?”

"They feel weird in my mouth, I don’t like chewing them,” he explains shyly, his confession dripping with shame. His grey eyes look into your own remorsefully and, before he can utter an apology, he is stopped by the shaking of your head.

Smiling warmly, you pat his small hand and voice your reassurance, “That’s a reasonable preference to have. Do you not like the texture?” Regulus nods in confirmation as his small, tense shoulders slowly ease up, “Do you not like eggs at all or do you like them cooked in a particular way?” 

Regulus’ eyes widen with surprise. Never before had his mother been so attentive to his preferences like this. On the contrary, His mother was always the first to make him feel embarrassed for his picky tendencies when it came to food, especially over dishes that make him lose his appetite entirely, oysters and shellfish being the main culprit. He really didn’t like them at all. Many times, they were the appetiser to multiple-course meals hosted by pureblood, elitist wizarding families so Walburga was determined to season her son’s palettes early on in life. It was good etiquette to eat such foods and to know how to eat them properly. If he didn’t display appropriate dinner etiquette at the table then he is lesser, he is unworthy of the Black family name and blood running through his veins, he is unbecoming of his heritage, he is a disgrace— 

“I can cook eggs in many other ways,” you suggest thoughtfully, voice remaining soft and comforting, “I can fry them for you? Or I can boil them? Do you like your yolk runny or firm?” 

Regulus, spurred on by your softly placed questions feels the corners of his lips tug upwards, “fried eggs, please…”

His innocuous answer makes you beam, “with a runny or firm yolk, darling?”

“Runny, please,” Regulus finds your bright expression infectious and begins to smile a little wider too. Over the slope of his little brother’s small shoulders, Sirius is grinning from ear to ear; finally, Regulus isn’t going to be forced to eat something he doesn’t enjoy. The elation makes Sirius’ chest swell as his heart pinches slightly at the memory of his little brother retching up the contents of his stomach in the bathroom. Those disastrous, past meals started badly and they ended badly too. Peering at you with smiling eyes, Sirius knows that he won’t need to worry about that any more. 

“Of course, right away," you’re eager to leave and fix up Regulus’ plate but you also worry about leaving him with Orion at the dinner table; your husband wasn’t too pleased with Regulus having preferences — the pretentious prick could choke on his food and die for all you cared, “how about we go to the kitchen together?” you offer smoothly as you begin to stand, “that way, you can watch me cook and make sure I do them just the way you like it,” smiling brightly, Regulus nods and easily offers his hand for you to hold, “Siri, would you like to come?” if one brother was coming with you so was the other.  

“Yes please!” Sirius happily walks to the kitchen, hand-in-hand with Regulus, whose other hand is fully wrapped up in your own. 

From the head of the table, Orion stares with his mouth agape at what he had just been a witness to. What was happening to his wife?! 

11th August 1971 

Sirius and Regulus stand by the fireplace, waving off their newly appointed private tutor as they floo away before eagerly making their way to your home office. Usually, their session catch-ups would make the two freeze up and drag their feet along the plush carpets of their family’s proud home but not now. Ever since your irregular activities leading up to your fainting spell and subsequent switch in demeanour, they’ve felt safer and happier at home. But only around you, their father still frightened them. The patriarch’s grey eyes swirled with a mounting turbulence that they would greatly prefer to avoid so they quickly make themselves scarce around him but not around their mother. Not anymore.

“I can’t wait to show Mother my cursive practice,” Regulus has a skip in his step as he walks beside his older brother, who beams at him proudly. 

“Yeah, you’re getting really good at that Reggie,” Sirius praises, a slightly envious tone edging into his words, but it all remained playful, “say, how do you do your swirls so good?”

“Practise!” 

Sirius rolls his eyes at his younger brother’s cheek, “There has to be a secret to it that I don’t know about,” Regulus only giggles at his older brother’s shortcomings. This had been a rare happiness to experience at 12 Grimmauld Place but, gradually, it was becoming common between the two brothers. Suddenly the walls weren’t so drab, the furniture not as boring and the decorations not as hauntingly placed. The atmosphere was much brighter as sunlight always seemed to pour magnanimously in from the windows.

“Sorry Siri,” from Regulus’ free-flowing, tuneful words, he isn’t sorry at all but Sirius can never will up any hatred for his younger brother. They’ve been through it all together and now that their recent joys were also being shared, of course, they would partake in harmless teasing — teasing that was usually frowned upon by their mother but was no longer a worry. They can’t remember the last time their mother frowned — the two greatly prefer this new version of their mother’s expressions much more.

As they approach your office door, the brothers’ footfalls quicken and they barely catch themselves from bursting through the door without knocking. But not before they catch sight of your figure through the crack of the doorway. Curious about your activity, Sirius hushes his younger brother softly and holds him back so that he can lean forward to observe your figure closely. Inspired by his older brother’s nosiness, Regulus leans forward also and the two peer at you through the doorway crack. 

You’re not at your desk but are, instead, seated on the plush, cushioned seats of the emerald sofa placed in front of your desk. Black robes and other familiar attire are piled up beside you on one side while the other gradually assembles the neatly folded aftermath of your sewing…embroidery? Was there even a difference? Nevertheless, you had a needle and thread in hand without your wand or the use of magic in sight!

“Mother’s sewing your name tags herself,” Regulus concludes in a whisper following a muted gasp of surprise. 

Sirius’ eyes widen ever so slightly, “and she’s not using magic…” he doesn’t know how skilled you are at sewing but Sirius doesn’t care, the gesture alone is enough to make his chest swell. Even his face began to warm up from the heat climbing up his neck as it tried reaching his ears. 

“…do you think she’ll sew my name tags too? When I start my first year, I mean…” Regulus asks shyly, the clear insecurity in his timid voice making Sirius slightly defensive. 

“Of course, she will,” he huffs before grinning widely, “and if we tear up our uniform ‘accidentally’ I’m sure she’ll sew those up herself too!” Regulus doesn’t know whether he likes or dislikes his brother’s train of thought but smiles anyway; he’s just happy thinking about his mother paying as much attention and care to his first-year robes too. He can’t wait until he starts attending Hogwarts as well. 

Finally willing themselves to stop eavesdropping and return to their earlier task, Sirius and Regulus straighten their posture before knocking on the heavy wooden door. They don’t have to wait terribly long for an answering call to grant their entrance. 

“Come in,” you set your tools aside and smile when the door reveals your babies stepping into your office, “hello, my darlings,” from your periphery, you spot the time on the clock face and jump into conversation with them, “how was your tutoring session? Did you like your new tutor?” 

“Yeah!” the two answer simultaneously and with the same amount of enthusiasm — it makes you smile with content. Happiness looks good on them; their characters shine brighter and their faces are more child-like. They’re honestly the cutest little boys you’ve ever seen and now they’re your sons to love and protect.  

“That’s wonderful news,” you open your arms for each of them to jump into, “Tell me all about it,” you’re just about to magic away the robes and sewing equipment so that they can sit beside you but not before you spot Sirius inspecting your handiwork, “I’m afraid I’m not the best seamstress,” your confession comes out bashfully, “I should have had Madam Malkins sew the tags on for me—”

“No!—” Sirius interrupts, looking almost offended that you would consider such a thing, “I like your sewing,” you raise a brow and, together with Regulus, inspect your uneven, treasure map trail of stitches before turning to the eldest brother once more. 

“Are you sure, darling?”

“Yeah, only you can do the stitching on my uniform, no one else,” his firm answer makes your embarrassed expression melt into a warm smile.

“Alright then,”

“Thank you, Mother,” he gives you another hug that you happily return. 

“You’re welcome, my dear,”

Looking over your plans, you sigh in restrained frustration. This is going to be a little hard. Yes, you know what to do but it’s all about recruiting the right people, trustworthy people and ones who are right for the role you’re choosing to give them. There’s a lot on your plate too, with your most urgent goal being divorce. You’re convinced that it isn’t going to be easy, considering the controversies that will surround the separation of a prominent wizarding house. The laws surrounding marriage, divorce and custody at this time are also largely unknown to you. Thankfully, you’ve had the privilege of living in a modern ‘muggle’ society where marriage and custody laws were pretty equal and fair. Perhaps there’s a book you can read up on about these things. For now, it’s a safe bet to say that custody will favour Orion as a man in the 1970s — it’s better to over-prepare than be underprepared for any outcome. 

Despite the importance of this particular undertaking, you’ll have to wait until both, Sirius and Regulus, are attending Hogwarts to commence the divorce proceedings. You don’t want your boys to be front-row witnesses nor do you want them to rollercoaster through the typical, rough emotions of children caught up in their parents’ divorce. You’ve been through that already… and you barely made it out on the other side. You’re an adult and they’re just children; if you can protect them from the brunt of it, you will.

A stray thought pushes forward into your consciousness — it would be too optimistic to confidently wager on the boys siding with you. Although under abusive parenting, children are very loyal and you’re benefiting from that loyalty now; even though Walburga was incredibly cruel to her sons, they were still eager to give you a chance as soon as you took over and began treating them kindly. You need to be cautious. The silver lining of it all is that you’ll, at least, have some time to prepare affluently before starting the separation process. That, on its own, however, will require another bout of planning.  

Saving Regulus is another priority on your list. That requires getting rid of the Horcruxes and killing off snake-faced Voldy but you don’t want to be too hands-on with that, especially because you’re not very adept at casting spells yet — there’ll be more experienced and more willing people (Aurors) who would be able to handle this type of mission. All you have to do is pull the right strings and connect with the right people. Eyeing another task on your list, you spot a small connection and smirk to yourself. The nib of your quill dips into a pot of ink and bridges two of your obligations. 

“This could be quite beneficial on both ends,” if you play your cards right…

Making some more careful notes, you gradually begin to piece everything together. But then there’s the issue of Sirius being sent to Azkaban. It’s healthy to have faith in yourself but if someone’s life and wellbeing are in danger, especially if it’s your son’s, you need to have a second, third and fourth plan at the ready. There needs to be a second, third and fourth plan for Regulus as well. Luck and misfortune will always have some influence on the dice you roll, there will never be an exception to that. You’ve learned this enough times in your previous life already, not just in business but everything else too. 

Your quill stops and rests beside your plans as the cogs in your brain turn with more purpose. Sirius still needs to become an animagus and Regulus needs to learn how to be a strong enough swimmer so that he can cast a spell to repel the Inferi. It would be beneficial if they both become well-equipped in duelling. That’ll require your lack of interference (maybe even your support) until Sirius’ fifth year, getting Regulus sorted with swimming lessons and encouraging both on their Defence Against the Dark Arts skills. You make a quick note of both solutions and their reasoning before linking both back to your list of obligations. 

The progress you’re making with these intervention plans is making headway. You just hope that you won’t tip the scales too far so that what little control you currently have slips right through your fingers and you’ll be left floundering. 

20th August 1971

You’ve fully taken over the cooking for all meals and your boys are looking much healthier. It warms your heart every time you see them happily eating your cooking, it was hard work keeping up with the pantry inventory, planning meals and catering to their individual tastes but it was good work that filled your heart with so much content, you hardly felt the fatigue creeping into your bones. 

Regulus isn’t a picky eater, he simply has a preference for some foods over others. He doesn’t like his eggs scrambled, only fried and with a runny yolk; he can’t stomach oysters or shellfish; he doesn’t like pulp in his juice and he’d rather eat a raw onion than have any trace of offal trimmings in his food. 

Sirius can practically eat anything and does so healthily, however, he’s more of a savoury person, leaving Regulus to own the sweet tooth palette by himself. Both adore cheese and you often create mini charcuterie boards for them to snack on. It was so adorable. There was plenty of time on your schedule to assign towards aesthetic food presentation so you’ve mastered the creation of salami roses. You’ve also found that Sirius prefers caramelised onion chutney to go with his mature cheeses whilst Regulus goes for a sweeter fig chutney. 

Currently, you were making them their own mini charcuterie boards. Both were displayed on a circular board with their favourite chutney at the very centre, held in a small ceramic container. And, with decorative prowess, you place their selection of meats, cheeses, crackers and grapes around it. 

“Do they look good Kreacher?” the house elf peers over the countertop surface and gives an affirming nod with a barely noticeable smile. 

“The young masters will be very happy, Mistress,” helpfully he suggests bringing the carefully prepared boards and crust-less finger sandwiches up to the boys’ study room for you but you shake your head. 

“Thank you, Kreacher, but I think I’ll bring up the food this time,” you’ve met their new private tutor several times already but she was always so tense around you; you’re determined to improve her impression through some good old exposure therapy. “Please prepare some tea and bring it up as soon as you’re done,” with your wand and a softly uttered ‘locomotor charcuterie boards and sandwiches’, the items lift into the air just slightly and you begin to move them out of the kitchen. 

“What tea should Kreacher be brewin’ this noon, Mistress?” 

“Oolong would be lovely today. Be sure to brew some Earl grey for Orion too but deliver the Oolong to us first please,” Kreacher’s struggles with your utterance of the polite ‘please’ persists but he continues with his set tasks regardless. The hunched-over house elf has noticed you’ve been prioritising the young masters much more than Orion recently; whenever you want to do something thoughtful, you always think of your sons first. Only last minute do you finally remember your workaholic husband and leave the snack preparations for Kreacher to fulfil and deliver alone. It’s a peculiar shift in attention, the wrinkled elf admits, but seeing his young master Regulus so happy, he doesn’t complain. Kreacher also admits that he’s growing a slight, mutual fondness for the elder Black brother, the two share in their love for Regulus and loyalty to you; now they’ve become friendly acquaintances. The house elf is a little happier and much more willing than ever before to stay loyal to his mistress and young masters’ sides. And Master Orion too, of course.   

Making your way up the stairs, the pretentious cow stuck in your head makes her presence known with inconsequential complaints.

“You’re spoiling those boys far too much!” Walburga shrieks and immediately makes your temples pound, “Sirius and Regulus don’t need this much attention, if you continue this they’re going to grow up soft and weak and unable to carry on the Black family name with the proper dignity and class!” For the sake of avoiding the horrid healing potion Kreacher’s having you consume after every fainting spell, you’ve been training yourself to build up as much resistance to her incessantly obnoxious yapping as much as possible — you’re getting there but you still need some practise. Currently, you are traversing the stairs so you’re taking every step with extra caution.

“Bitches should be seen and not heard,” her confounded gasp doesn’t escape you, “so kindly shut the fuck up,” the sarcastic cheerfulness in your tone makes her gasp once more and, like a coward, makes herself scarce. It seems as though you’ve gotten better at shutting the shrew up but she has yet to acclimatise herself to your shameless disrespect towards her.  Hopefully, she never gets used to your comments; it’s always such a pleasure being able to render her utterly speechless. 

With a pleased smile, you give a soft knock on the boys’ study room before entering. The boys gasp happily as soon as they see the levitating charcuterie boards and the plateful of crust-less sandwiches float closer and closer. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt but I think you all deserve a lunch break,” the boys cheer and happily dig in while you face their tutor with a small smile, “please feel free to have as many sandwiches as you want, we have plenty on offer,” her smile is hesitant and slightly trembles under your hold so she’s quick to look away and fix her focus onto the plate of sandwiches — her own, personal reprieve from having to interact with you.

Peony Knight. She’s an incredibly timid individual who seems to be in her element only when teaching children rather than in the company of said children’s adult parents — she has yet to look you in the eye for an extended period. Her head is an organised plight of feathery, strawberry-blonde hair and her eyes are a pair of opal pendants, so brilliantly blue but incandescent with a kaleidoscope of other jewel colours. Her resume was astounding but her family wasn’t very notable so you could only imagine her surprise when she received your response to her application with a test run of her skills. It was important to you that she comes from an uncommon house and family, you didn’t want to draw too much attention over switching tutors. At her tutoring trial run, she started very shaky but eventually found her confidence when focusing on your two boys rather than your lurking figure from the corner of the study. She was a good runner-up and quickly became the perfect choice when your boys showed favour towards her – the other candidates appeared to have been more affected by your presence in the room and taught the way they thought you wanted them to. 

“She’s nice and patient,” Regulus commented when you went to him after her trial lesson. 

“I like the way she explains things,” Sirius added beside him. 

That was all you needed to hire her as their private tutor. Peony’s timidity of you as an authority figure played in her favour very well.  

Hidden within a thick pile of stacked parchments and a small mountain of miscellaneous scrolls, you found Walburga’s carefully curated curriculum for the boys and handed it over to Peony. Walburga would know better than you what would be useful for her sons to learn. However, you were surprised at the amount of ‘muggle’ topics on her curated list. Admittedly, you were only expecting foundational wizarding lessons maybe on wands or classic pureblood etiquette so your shock was justified. Walburga’s reaction, however, wasn’t.  

“I teach them proper pureblood etiquette myself, you useless girl! And how can I expect my sons to grow up well if they aren’t taught the basics?! They’ll be able to advance as better wizards of the Black family that way. Moreover, muggles stick to and remain in the basics so don’t get smug with me, you filthy mud-blood!” Walburga screeched without restraint and with much offence after your initial revelation, leading to another fainting spell — the disgusting bitch…

In addition to Peony’s private tutoring, you’ve taken to providing your own private lessons to the boys, much to their surprise and slight hesitancy. However, as soon as you began the extended lessons after their usual morning session with Peony one day, they’ve since grown to love it. This didn’t happen every time, however, only on Tuesdays and Fridays. Today was one of those days, a Friday, and you’re so excited to see their reactions to what you have planned. 

Their schedules typically consist of Peony coming over a couple of hours before noon and she teaches them for two or three hours sessions every day except weekends. Mondays were for English language and literature (wizard and muggle), Tuesdays were for Economics, Numeracy and Financial literacy, Wednesdays were for French and Cursive handwriting practice, Thursdays were for muggle sciences (basic biology, physics and chemistry) and Fridays were for history and philosophy (wizard and muggle).

You reserve the fun lessons for your boys with yourself as their teacher. These were composed of lessons that typically challenged their problem-solving, creativity and other fundamental skills to set them up with a good foundation for school and life in general. This included fun puzzle-solving, art (in every medium the boys wanted), some written/scenario problem-solving and role-play scenarios. The first Friday you did this, you had the boys act out from rough, child-friendly scripts you drafted inspired by the Shakespearian play, Macbeth. It seemed like an innocuous lesson but you wanted to gauge their ethical understandings and reasonings. 

Throughout the scenes, you would spontaneously make them freeze frame to ask prompting questions that typically go along the lines of, ‘what would you do in this situation?’, ‘do think that was the right thing to do?’, and ‘why did you think your character did this even though they knew it was wrong?’. Both engaged very well with their own perspectives on the situation. 

At one point they got into a small argument that you needed to break up due to slightly differing standpoints on the scenario. It became slightly more heated than you expected but you were thankful for the opportunity to teach them how to communicate well with each other despite their differences. The lesson ended after that because tensions were still high and they were equally very stubborn about who should apologise first. 

It was going to take more than one lesson to be able to make them understand the rules and the importance of healthy communication, but that was to be expected. This was just the beginning so you’re hoping that if you stay consistent with fostering their ethical reasoning, communication and problem-solving skills, they will be able to remain brotherly despite their opposing Hogwarts houses. In the end, you made them apologise at the same time (to the count of three) and had them hug it out before telling them to say one thing they like about the other person. Evidently, they weren’t used to your new way of doing things and making amends but they (grumpily) did as they were told — and looked absolutely adorable doing it, their pouty faces were too much to bear! 

Approaching the two boys indulging in their individual charcuterie boards and occasionally exchanging bites of their share, you kneel between them and begin pleasant conversations about their current lesson. 

“Are you two having fun so far?” you could practically see Peony stiffen up like cement behind you, just from the telling gasp she lets out in the background. Being so high-strung isn’t going to be good for her health so you hope she gets used to your presence soon enough. You do feel slightly apologetic for her but she needs to know that people can change no matter how drastically. Hopefully, she takes this opportunity to grow some confidence in herself too. Someone so intelligent should walk with broader shoulders and a higher chin. 

“Yeah! Did you know Pythagoras had a cult?” Sirius was practically bouncing in his chair.

“No, he had a school of very intelligent mathematicians and musicians,” Regulus countered after swallowing his bite of cracker, cheese and grapes. 

Sirius rolls his eyes but immediately jumps into another topic, “he discovered the theory of pitch which is surprising coming from a guy who’s scared of beans,” he cracks himself up laughing at the statement.

Again, Regulus interjects in defence of the philosopher, “he wasn’t scared of beans,” the two brothers exchange narrowed stares, “He just believed that beans were the vessels for dead people’s souls and didn’t want to disrespect them by running through a bean field,” a small argument ensues but you don’t act, instead, you watch as a bystander in the hopes that your presence alone can keep them in check. If you ever feel the need to jump in at some point, you will. 

All too well, Sirius and Regulus remain aware of your lingering attendance to their quarrel and make the silent agreement to not escalate things too far. For a moment, they share a knowing look after briefly glancing your way and glaring at each other once again. You watch them huff and inhale a slow, shaky breath. They actively turn their voices down whilst continuing with their argument. It didn’t seem to go anywhere but both concluded it with less heat and more of a calm acknowledgement of each other’s differing sides. 

“Two people can have different opinions and still be friends. They only need to respect that the other person holds a different view and that it doesn’t make them a bad person,” they remembered your sage advice from their first extracurricular lesson with you. It was a massive shift in perspective to their growing minds and the impact it had on both of them was enough to permanently imprint the message into their heads.  

Unprompted, you lean forward and press a kiss to each of their foreheads, Sirius first and then Regulus, “I’m so proud of you two,” you watch as their cherubic cheeks flush an adorable, pink hue. Sirius scratches the back of his head bashfully whilst Regulus fiddles with his pen, both of them equally biting back a small smile from the praise, “you remembered what I taught you,” they look upon your elated smile with shy fulfilment as they nod slightly. “Another person’s opposing opinions might be something we don’t share or appreciate as much as they do but…” they lean forward ever so slightly, wanting to consciously heed your elaboration on the topic, “hearing or witnessing a different view will expand our perspective on the world and help us grow as people. We need to keep an open mind for these sorts of things because they can teach us so much. It might be hard to do sometimes, but I want to ask you two for a small favour,” they nod silently, not questioning or hesitating at your words, fully trusting in your sensible knowledge — their mother was always a brick wall when it came to the opinions of others, they couldn’t penetrate her, especially when it came to opposite views on blood purity so, to see her encouraging such undogmatic behaviour, is peculiar but in a strangely motivating way. They find that they want to do whatever it is that you want to ask them to do no matter what, “I want the two of you to try to understand the other side of any argument or opposite view. The world isn’t as black and white as we think it is. We have to try to be understanding and empathetic people. There may be reasons someone sees the world a certain way and even if we don’t agree or like their opinion, the least we can do is try to understand them. Just try. That’s all… that’s enough,”

It was a lot to take in and it was a lot to ask of such young minds that were still developing. But you weren’t asking for them to be perfect at it. All you want them to do is try.

“Alright, Mother,” Sirius nods with solid determination in his eyes. 

“Whatever you wish, Mother,” Regulus says at the same time, also glowing with resolve. 

Smiling happily, you bring them into a group hug, your arms easily curling around their small shoulders as you press another kiss to their temples, “you don’t have to be perfect, just try,“ you reiterate in a whisper, “I’m so proud of you, my darlings, you make mommy so happy,” you don’t see it but you feel their bright smiles press into your neck from either side as they return your embrace and nuzzle their faces into the junction of your neck and shoulders.

˖  ݁𖥔.☁︎.𖥔 ݁ ˖

Their lesson ended a few minutes ago and, like routine, they wave off Peony at the living room fireplace while you set up the study with all the things you planned on having them do for the afternoon. You asked them if they wanted to take a break before your lesson but they said they were happy to begin right away. They were able to detect the sparkle of excitement in your eyes as you left after their lunch break and were now filled with the same eagerness to begin your lesson.

Setting up their table with tools, aprons and a protective mat warmed your heart. You had planned so many things to do with your future children in your original life, read so many books and attended so many talks, lectures and groups on how to be a good mother that your heart was finally able to heal the scars that resulted from the infertility diagnosis you were slammed with years ago. You felt like a failure, not only as a mother but as a woman to be told that. It wasn’t until you were able to recover from that debilitating news that you finally began to consider adoption. It took years and years and the building of a corporate empire to finally get to that point but then, you were doomed once more. At the centre of a collision in the busy city streets, you lost consciously accepting your fate only to end up here…it was all quite a blessing really. Now you have two beautiful sons to call your own and to love with all of your heart. As an added bonus, they’re also two of your favourite characters from the Harry Potter universe. 

You could barely contain your excitement when you heard a small knock at the door to the study. They were here. 

“Come in, darlings,”

Stepping into the room, Sirius and Regulus gasp in awe and begin jumping on the spot ever so slightly from feverish anticipation. In your outstretched hands were two small, grey aprons, one displaying Sirius’ name and the other Regulus’ along the upper seam of the apron’s breast pocket. Without being asked, they step up to their aprons and reach forward to put the article on themselves. As they do so,  you announce what you will be doing for the afternoon. 

“Clay sculptures?” Sirius almost squeals in excitement as Regulus bounces on the balls of his feet. 

“We’ve never done that before,” Regulus chimes as you kneel behind him to help with tying up his apron, eventually moving on to redo Sirius’ clumsy knot as well.

“It’ll be fun,” you giggle, “fun and messy,” Sirius appreciates the hint of mischief in your voice and rushes to take a seat at the table with Regulus toddling along close behind him. You take a seat too and begin to talk them through the little sculpting tools they have beside them, the small mountain of clay at their disposal and the use for the bowls of water within reach. 

Regulus is listening but he can’t help glimpsing down at his stitched-on name tag every few seconds or so. His chest feels warm and so so tight that he feels like he’s about to burst. You had hand-stitched his name tag onto the apron yourself. He recognised the inexperienced, inconsistent stitches but he thinks it’s the most beautiful display of embroidery he has ever seen. There’s also the revelation that Regulus didn’t need to wait to go to Hogwarts to know that you would be attentive enough to do the same thing for his clothes as you did to Sirius’. He feels special and he loves the affectionate attention you were giving him, all the motherly love he and his older brother had always dreamed of experiencing was finally happening, not only through kind words but in warm hugs, soft kisses and silent acts of service too. He feels a surge of wanting to do well in everything, from studying to writing to eating to sleeping — all of it! He’ll do well in all of it. He only wants to make you proud. 

“Let’s begin with rolling out a piece of our clay,” you start, encouraging them to get messy, keep their clay hydrated and not worry about the state of their tools because you’ll all be washing them at the end together. After that, you had them make little balls using their hands and then roll out one ball into a flat sheet using their small rolling pins. With another ball, you instructed them to attempt making it flat using their hands instead, which helped you explain that moving around the clay with their hands makes the clay easier to mould.  

“Have you two been learning about muggle sciences?” you gently ask as the two go about flattening their spheres a little more so that they can carve patterns into them using their small wooden tools. 

“Yeah, I like the one called physics,” Sirius grins, eyes still focused on his clay.

“Me too!” Regulus chimes and the two brothers grin at each other, which makes you smile. 

“That’s very good,” you nod, spotting an opportunity, “so where do you think the heat comes from when we roll out our clay?” 

“From our hands,” Sirius immediately answers. 

“That’s right, anything else?”

The question is open for the two of them but Regulus is the one who answers next, “From all the moving around,”

“Brilliant, my darlings,” you praise and they grin pridefully. 

“Now, can you name the types of energies those are called? If you’ve learned about them, that is,” The brothers look at each other before beginning to ponder separately. The silence draws on so you decide to give them a little help, “What are all the energies called?” They do just fine with regurgitating the ten different energy types and that seems to be enough to prompt Regulus. 

“The moving around is kinetic energy,”

Sirius jumps to answer as well, “and our hands transfer the thermal energy,”

“Good good!” you give them a small round of applause, which they bashfully smile at, “you two are so clever!… What did I hear about this ‘transferring’ of energy, Siri?” your question comes out in a nonchalant tone. 

“Peony says that energy is stored and transferred,” Sirius answers, “and that they sometimes turn into another type of energy,”

“I see,” you look down at your own clay spheres and sheets, “where is the thermal energy from my hands coming from?” once again, they’re silent, “I think this can link to biology, specifically our biology,” that gets the cogs in their brains turning again and you can’t help but coo at their adorable thinking faces. 

“It’s from…” Regulus begins, immediately catching both yours and Sirius’ undivided attention, your eyes equally encouraging him to continue with his answer, “It’s from the energy in our food,”

Eyes sparkling with delight, you prompt him once more, “And what energy is that called?”

“…Chemical!”

“Good job!” Sirius claps for his brother’s success and reaches up for a high five that Regulus happily hits and once again, they’re grinning at each other. 

“What about for the movement?” This was a trick question but your boys are clever so you have full faith in them. Regulus already answered his share so he silently backs out from the arena by looking up at Sirius who begins to ruminate. “…well the movement has to come from somewhere, doesn’t it?” you thoughtfully point out, beginning to play around with your clay and trying to look innocent about it despite it being a definite clue. 

“It comes from us!” Sirius explains and looks down to play around with his clay too. You stay silent as you let him think and reach the conclusion on his own but you’re already so so proud of their intelligent displays, “…so it’s the same answer, it’s also from chemical energy…” he seems unsure from his tone but the minute he looks up to meet your eyes, the smile on your lips and the applause from you and Regulus has him beaming. 

“My sons are so so clever! I’m very proud of you both!”

That was enough of that — you only remember so much from your younger science education — so you move on to teach them about hatching and being able to stick two pieces of clay together with a little bit of water in order to make a small box with no lid. Thankfully, that was the final thing you intended to teach them before letting them make their own creations. 

“Now, you can make whatever you want with your clay. After this, I’ll bake them so they become solid, and then, we can paint them together. If you run out of clay, just ask and I’ll get you some more,” the two buzzed in their seats from the excitement and you were just as eager to let them loose with their creativity. “You can also make more than one thing but limit yourself to just two or three, please. Also make sure that whatever you make suits a function, it can be anything at all; you can even get some ideas from this muggle book on clay crafting,” you present them with the children’s clay craft book and place it where they can easily reach, “don’t mind getting the edges dirty, as long as the main text and pictures aren’t too muddied up by clay, it’s fine. It’s supposed to get used earnestly anyway,” they smile at your proactive reassurance but only Regulus goes for the clay book while Sirius goes about making his desired creation right away. 

For a while, Sirius cannot decide what to actually make. His speediness into action makes his younger brother peer over at him anxiously quite a few times but his initial unease gradually fades when he realises his older brother keeps changing his mind, flattening a scarcely sculpted creation just as quickly as he begins a new one. You don’t want to interrupt their independent creative flows and get to work on something you’ve already planned to create, a modest gift for your darling boys. 

Some time goes by in silence before you call for Kreacher to play one of the vinyls you managed to buy from a record shop when out on errands to muggle London. You had bought several along with the gramophone at the shop. When you first bought it home, the boys were eager to find out what it was and spent a lot of time happily winding it up so that you could all listen to the records together. It would have been preferable to get the electrical one but it would have been useless in the predominantly magic-operated house.  

“Great choice, Kreacher,” you smile at the house elf who nods timidly by the gramophone and promptly disappears when he feels as though he is no longer needed. The Beatles’ Abbey Road album plays in the background as the soundtrack to your clay sculpting session for several songs-worth of minutes before you finally get up to independently ask the boys about what they had chosen to make. ‘Oh! Darling’ sings in the distant corner as you kneel beside Sirius and quietly ask about his creation and what its function would be. In a whisper, he replies without turning to look at you, far too focused on his creation to divert any significant attention from it.  

“I’m making plant pots,” he begins, his pink tongue slightly poking out of the corner of his mouth, “for the cooking herbs you said you wanted to grow in the kitchen, but I’m also making one for Reggie since he says he wants to grow a plant in his room,” after his nonchalant explanation, your heart soars. It would be a fair assessment to say that Regulus has spoken to him about exploring gardening. You didn’t know your youngest wanted to grow a green thumb but it was a pleasant surprise — you’ll see about taking him to a muggle plant shop soon, you don’t quite trust wizarding plants in the household. A succulent or mini cactus would be a good choice. 

Pressing a kiss onto Sirius’ cheek, you whisper a soft thank you and praise his thoughtfulness before moving on to Regulus. For a moment, the elder brother wishes he could grow out his hair so that you are less likely to notice his flushed cheeks and red-tipped ears. You also kneel by Regulus’ side to whisper the same questions about his creation. 

“I’m making a little jewellery dish for your rings and necklaces and earrings, Mother. And I’m also going to make one for Siri since he’ll be getting the family ring when he’s older. Sirius’ one is going to be star-shaped because he’s named after the brightest star and yours is going to be heart-shaped because…well…” Regulus can’t finish his sentence as his blush floods his entire face with heat. But he doesn’t need to finish his explanation, he’s said all you needed to hear to coo over his thoughtfulness and press a kiss to his cheek also. They’re such sweet boys. That bitch Walburga was blessed to have them and yet she mistreated them so much, they didn’t deserve any of that. Tender love and care is what they truly deserve and that will be your sole mission and life’s purpose for this existence. 

“What are you making, Mother?” Regulus asks unprompted when you finally sit back down by your humble creations again. The youngest’s question makes Sirius perk up and eye you with interest, his grey eyes flicking between you and the carefully shaped clay by your hands. 

“I’m making little star-shaped pendants for my little star boys,” smiling at their flustered expressions, you elaborate further, “I’m going to poke a hole near the top point so I can thread it through a chain and you can wear it as a necklace or a bracelet — you can choose,” you show them one with a carved ’S’ on it, “this one is for Siri,” next you present the one with an ‘R’ on it, “and this one is for Reggie,” they beam in happiness at the getting such a personalised gift from you and continue their clay projects with new-found vigour. 

It was relatively easy to create the small star pendants so, inspired by Regulus’ creations, you proceeded to craft minimalist ring bands, one each of you. Sirius’ you carved the same sort of archaic patterns as that of his wand, for Regulus, you did simple lines with an occasional dot and for yours, evenly placed mini daisies. At first, it was purely for making sure that Regulus didn’t feel left out from Sirius getting the family ring but, looking at your modest creations, your magnate mind begins to manifest an innovative idea you’re itching to begin. Your schedule is going to fill up very quickly and soon — there isn’t a chance that you’ll wait on this. 

1st September 1971

Today couldn’t have crept up on you quickly enough. One minute you were settling into a cosy routine with your darling sons and now you were sending the eldest away for wizarding boarding school. It was happening too fast and your heart was constantly breaking from being torn between freely letting him go and childishly begging him to stay so that you could spend as much time with him as possible. Even the novelty of rushing onto platform 9¾ through the brick wall between platforms 9 and 10 couldn’t keep the tears from filling your eyes. However, your unhappiness and woe were quickly wiped away when Sirius expressed muted sadness at the idea that his father was too busy to see him off to Hogwarts. That morning, try as you might you couldn’t convince Orion to be there for his son. The git was lucky Sirius had interrupted your argument to express his acceptance and neutrality over the situation or else you would have clocked the pretentious asshole’s jaw. You would be surprised if the hypothetical punch landed hard enough to dislocate both of his temporomandibular joints. He would be eating through a tube if it weren’t for your little boy’s interruption but you’ll be sure to sink your teeth into your git of a husband as soon as you get home. 

Regulus seems to be whispering something to his older brother as they share a hug of goodbye. There was plenty of time for Sirius to get onto the train - you made sure of that - and you promised to wave him off as the train left the station so none of you were in any rush to leave the other. You kindly smile down at their wholesome interaction, completely drawn in by their innocence and heartfelt brotherly love for each other. Their relationship was worth preserving and building up. You were once saddened by Sirius and Regulus’ torn apart brotherhood but now, you’ll be devastated if your sons ever broke their bond like in the movies and books. So distracted by your loveable sons’ endearing display, you miss the shocked looks you were receiving from fellow parents of other children who were also boarding to attend Hogwarts — they simply couldn’t believe it! 

Everyone knew the matriarch of the Black family. However, the very picture of her now was not what was to be expected. Rumours of her cold and unsympathetic disposition appeared as slanderous lies when they took in your warm smile and fond stare, looking solely upon your two sons. It was well-known amongst the wizarding community that the famous Black family’s eldest son, Sirius Black, would begin attending Hogwarts this year. They expected to see a conceited and substantially reserved display of the family by the platform but not… not this! This is something for the papers! Had the matriarch of the most ancient and noble house of Black always looked this beautiful and kind? Surely not!… But their eyes weren’t being deceived, they were seeing the truth! Many gasped and openly stared, thankfully hushed down by the nosiness of the platform, whilst others didn’t know how to interpret the display and opted to avert their eyes.

Around his small wrist, Sirius keeps your clay star pendant around his wrist, which had been painted a deep black per his request while the ’S’ is marked with metallic silver paint. He has such good taste for aesthetics despite his young age. Every day there was something new to be proud of him for, no matter how little. You love being a mother!

“Oh darling, I’m going to miss you so so much. You must promise me that you’ll take care of yourself, don’t be scared about making friends,” you look him in the eye as you say so, combing your fingers through his hair and pushing away the curling locks from his forehead, “they’re going to love you just as much as I do,”

“Me too, Siri,” Regulus’ soft interjection brings out a mutual laugh from you and the eldest Black brother. Sirius brings Regulus into another hug that you are also brought into.

“And if they don’t like you then they can suffer having none of those mini pies I baked for you,” the two of you share a smirk and a wink. Sirius had requested some shelf-stable foods to bring such as his favourite chutney, jams and jerky, all homemade by you, especially for him. Of course, you didn’t say no. You even suggested bringing along something yummy for the train ride despite already providing him an allowance to spend on the trolley. 

“Regulus and I will write to you as often as we can so be on the lookout for our letters, okay?” he nods, eyes already sparkling from the anticipation and thought of receiving mail by owl solely for him. A letter addressed only to him, with his name on the envelope, and meant only for him to read — his feverish anticipation was to be expected. He couldn’t wait for his first letter. 

“I’ll write back just as much, promise!” 

“Good because if you don’t,” you scold playfully as Sirius bites back a cheeky giggle, “I’ll go to Hogwarts and demand a written letter back myself, I’ll bring Reggie with me too so that’s twice the heat you’ll be under young man, don’t forget,”

“Never,” Sirius whispers as he throws himself into your embrace once more. There’s never going to be enough hugging to satiate your aching heart, nor squash the sadness of watching your baby grow up too fast but, knowing the mischief and fun he’ll be getting up to, makes you almost giddy with excitement. You want to read all about it in his letters home! 

As much as you’d like to have said your farewells for longer, Sirius still needed to board and needed help with his luggage. Thankfully there were plenty of staff to help him lug it all around, which you smiled gratefully for. They seemed stunned by your courtesy but tipped their caps in acknowledgement and whispered a quick ‘thanks’ in return, regardless. 

Stepping back from the platform with Regulus at your side, the two of you try to follow Sirius along the train compartments as closely as you can until you finally see him settling into a box by himself. You wonder if he’ll be meeting his fellow marauders soon — god! You wish you could see them as adorable 11-year-old babies like your Sirius right now. 

Regulus toddles up to be closer to the window, opposed to the thought of separating from his brother and tries to hold one last conversation with Sirius as everyone waits for the train to depart. To hear him clearer, Sirius reaches up to open the window. Smiling at the pair fondly, you almost miss a heart-stopping sight. From your left peripheral, you spot an untameable mess of dark hair and round hazel eyes sparkling in jubilation, framed with an adorable pair of round glasses — you barely withhold your gasp of surprise. But all too soon, from your right, you glimpse a head of neatly trimmed but slightly grown-out brown hair, belonging to a rather spindly boy swamped under a cosy autumn-brown jumper. On his softly curving jaw is a light, nicking scar and when he turns his head ever so slightly, you see another more prominent scar marked across the pudge of his cheek. You’ve seen a wild, baby-ish James Potter and Remus Lupin. Almost all of the marauders were spotted getting onto the Hogwarts Express but do you even want to see the final member? No! Of course not! It was then that you noticed sandy-blonde hair weaving through the crowds of parents wishing their children farewell – a last-minute attempt at getting onto the train on time. Behind him, he is followed by a similarly blonde woman, his mother. Goodness, both share such startling similarities, both have curved edges to their silhouette, pink cheeks and sea-blue eyes. They looked like an adorable pair and you had to admit that Peter’s portly appearance made him incredibly endearing for his age. They looked like an ordinary, harmless mother-son pair, much like you and your boys…

A whistle pierces through the station and snaps you out of your daze. Finally turning back to your Sirius, your eyes tear up again for the umpteenth time that day. Regulus had rushed back to your side, clinging onto the long, black skirt of your dress with one hand as he used the other to wave goodbye. Silently, you mouth an ‘I love you’. He isn’t as surprised as when you whispered the same affection to him whilst still on the platform so he was able to mouth it back — ‘I love you too, Mother,’ — your heart pinches. Picking Regulus up, you sit him on the curve of your hip and wave Sirius off together. You see the slight shimmer of tears in Sirius’ eyes too just before the train moves too far and takes Sirius away with it. 

You miss him already.

SERIES M.LIST | NEXT. 05 : SIRIUS : FIRST DAY →

A/N : surprise! goodness, this was a really big chapter hehe~ i hope you darlings enjoyed the read! i also would like to gently remind everyone that i am no longer doing taglists but to be notified whenever i post something, please follow and turn on notifications for reblog side account: @thekqipond where i will be reblogging every new fic as soon as i post it! the reason i was able to post this chapter a month ahead of my official come-back in October was to test my taglist solution and the order of chapters i want to post by Christmas ;) i hope you enjoy!

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

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Like a Dog at Your Door

Fandom: Redacted Audio

Characters: Hush, Doc

Pairings: Hush/Doc

Song: https://open.spotify.com/track/7Hk4LmCQBUlssRzlRlBmKO?si=pea6xH3IQ7mkNzJmG-RB7A

Finally caught up with both Hush and Vega's playlists and I have the brainworms now and tossed together a Hush fic bc I love him (and I also needed a break from how long chpt 2 is getting for tales of redactia ahxbsh). Title is a reference to Phoebe Bridgers.

As always here it is also on ao3 if that's easier! Please do not feed to AI, claim as your own, or repost to other platforms without my permission. The characters belong to Redacted Audio and this is a fan work.

(Fic below cut)

“You are.. upset.” The gentle voice appears as Hush always does, without warning and whenever Doc is holding something fragile. Where there was once nothing is now something, him. Worse still is the way their heart stumbles when he finally reappears after days of absence.

“Hello Hush. It's nice to see you.” Regaining their composure, Doc snaps their fingers to fix the mug they dropped onto their keyboard, turning in their desk chair to face him better.

Hush tilts his head in the pause, a small smile on his face. “You've not said that before. It is nice to see you too. It's always nice to see you. But will you tell me why you are distressed? I would like to help stop whatever the cause is.” 

He doesn't move closer, he rarely does. They wish he would. They wish they would. To close the gap and draw him in close and have him pull them in just as much. Holding and held.

“I'm just tired Hush.” They push their hair out of their face with a sigh. 

“You should sleep, then.” His answer is simple but far from a solution. They let out a dry laugh, feeling the strain on their aching body as they pause for the first time today.

He hums in recognition, “You’re laughing because it is incorrect, not because you are entertained by what I said.”

“Yes.” They can't fight the smile on their face at being recognised so easily. “I'm sorry, it's just not that kind of tired.”

“Then rest the way that type of tired needs.”

Hmm. Hard to argue with that.

“I can try but I'm not sure I'll be able to. Just one of those days.” Doc winces as they stretch their leg gently; feeling the twinge of the permanently present ache deep in their muscles.

Like a cat Hush’s eyes zero in on the spot. “Are you hurt? You shouldn't be working if you are injured.”

He was closer, they think. It felt like it at least. He was like gravity, pulling them in. He was powerful, definitely dangerous. They should be panicking about his proclivity for murder. But all they could worry about was  if the way their core sang around him was too loud for the embodiment of that song’s silence. Too loud for him, too much.

“It's not an injury like a wound. It just aches, nothing to be done.” They shrug off the potential care.

“I don't want you in pain.” He insists, and he steps forward. 

Realising there was no appeasing this one, they gesture for him to follow them to the small couch in the middle of their apartment. “I'm just tired, Hush. It's not something that can be fixed.” They swallow nervously. “You could sit with me and… hold me? If you want.” They offer sitting down and leaving him space.

He nods emphatically, wrapping them up immediately in his arms. “Always yes.” He whispers as he rests his head on their shoulder. “Soft.”

They snort, but relish the embrace. More contact than they’ve felt for a long time. There was almost a reverence to this routine they had set up, pads of fingers gently exploring, innocently, but hungrily too. Time was not wasted in expenditure, but treasured. Neither speak for a while, too content in the other's arms, too desperate for a touch that does not hurt. Starving. The only sound is Doc’s breathing and the hum of traffic outside.

“I do not love anything in the world so much as I love you.” Hush’s steady voice breaks the trance.

Doc startles slightly, “I- What?”

“I read it, and I liked it. It made me think of you.” Hush blinks, almost amusement creeping into his tone. “You blushed.”

“You read Shakespeare?” They continue, steadfastly ignoring the blushing comment as their cheeks warm. “Why?”

Hush tilts his head, hands stilling. “It was in the library.”

“There are many better things to read, he’s overvalued as a writer.” 

“What should I have read instead?” His hands begin wandering again, tracing the dips and curves of their back.

“Oh I dunno uh.” They're floundering now, too flustered to think straight and it is not helping that Hush has started to run his fingers up and down their spine. They drop their face to his chest and bury their face there. “Whatever. What did you think?”

“Of Shakespeare or the specific work I read?” He inquires.

“The line, why it made you think of me.” They answer without thinking, mentally panicking at the desperation in their tone.

“Why are you scared of Shakespeare?” He carefully presses two fingers to the pulse point on their neck, delaying his point, “your heart speeds up and you get warmer.”

They softly exhale, “Tell you later?”

“Okay.” He nods immediately.

Doc appreciates how readily he accepts it. His sincerity is a breath of fresh air in a world of double meaning. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome Doc.” He carefully pinches some of their hair, examining it. “I liked that it singled out the other as unique in the world. Just like you are so interesting and kind when no one else I have met is.”

“You deserve nice.” They whisper.  “I won't be the only one who is nice to you ever. And I won't be perfect. I'm not perfect, I'm not always soft.”

“Of course not. You weren't made to be.” 

“I…” They struggle to form the words to defend their self deprecation. “But… I want to be, for you. Or at least better than I am.” The words are heavy and clunky in their mouth.

“So do I. So what's the problem?” He lights up as the idea strikes him. “Are you hungry?”

Doc is snapped out of their spiral into laughter at the proposed solution, slumping down onto him as they giggle. “You're so sweet. Yes I could eat, we can cook together if you want?”

They swear if he had a tail it would be a weapon the way he bounces up with excitement. “Yes please. I would like that a lot. I want to make soufflé.”

“Sure why not.” The freelancer says fondly. “I'm not sure I have the ingredients though, and I definitely have no clue how to make it, so you'll be teaching me on this one.”

“You'll still cook with me though?” Hush grabs their hand, looking intently up at them.

“Always.” They watch his face, giving his hand a squeeze, delicately smoothing their thumb over his cheek. “One last question though - why were you reading Shakespeare? I'm not sure what the purpose is, and normally you only do things with one in mind - not that you can't do what you want! That's great if so, but not bad if not.” They rush the words out, fumbling the sentence spectacularly.

Hush is unaffected by their rambling, attentively and patiently listening the whole time. He considers for a long while, there's no rush, he knows they'll wait for him too. “I saw a Shakespeare book on your shelf.” He points to the terrifyingly full bookcase next to their desk. “I wanted to be able to discuss things you like with you.” 

Doc allows themselves three seconds of internal screaming and combustion before attempting some semblance of composure.

“You're too nice to me Hush.” They murmur, running a hand through his hair. 

“You deserve nice.” He parrots their earlier words back at them as he leans into their petting, content. “And it was just me wanting to have more things to discuss with you.”

“Still, it means a lot. Although-” a slight chuckle leaves them, “- that's a book my aunt got me trying to insist I read ‘the classics’, if you want I can show you some much better books to read.” 

Satisfied with this offer he nods and then scoops them up; throwing them over his shoulder, carrying them to the kitchen. 

“HUSH!” They shriek as they're suddenly upside down, squirming playfully in his grasp through laughter.

“You need to eat first, then you can show me the books.” He chuckles a little, like he’d come up with the most devious plan ever, “and only if you hold my hand.”

“Deal.” They struggle to get the word out between laughs, straining to offer their hand for him to shake before giving up and going limp in his grip.

Together they spend the evening in each other's company and arms. Aches and pains of the world forgotten temporarily, neither hungry for long while the other was around.

[weirdmorefics]

Unmasked Chpt 1- The Call

Word Count- 1,461

Morning came slowly I stayed up most of the night with nightmares. The nightmares are usually worse this time of year, I think it is my mind's way of reminding me of the anniversary of the first Ghostface murders. My brain is wrong though I need no reminder. The only thing keeping me at all sane during the night is the fact that Spencer is not lecturing today and I will get to see him in the morning at work.

I walk into the BAU with a box of donuts for the team since we are all stuck doing boring paperwork today.

"Morning kid, you look like shit. Long night?" Rossi says full of humor.

I roll my eyes and open the box of donuts, "Hey, don't bite the hand that feeds you."

Rossi puts his hands up in surrender then grabs a donut, "Thanks, kid."

As he walks away I shout "Could you stop calling me kid too because that would be great!"

I set the donuts down in the breakroom and picked out one of Spencer's favorites to set on his desk.

I approach Spencer's desk and set the napkin-wrapped donut down on his desk. "Morning Reid,"

"Thank you, Y/n morning to you too. Did you know Americans consume ten billion donuts every year?"

I smile "Well let's make that ten billion and one." My phone cuts off the conversation and I see my sister's contact photo, "Excuse me I have to take this..." I hope he didn't notice my face shift to an anxious one.

Sidney never calls only texts and she still barely does that. She thinks I am an idiot for chasing after the crazy people who kill when enough killers already come after us.

"Do not come to Woodsboro," Sidney states in a serious tone as soon as I pick up my cell.

"Wow, what a lovely way to begin a call! No, hey sis how are you?" I bite back sarcastically.

"Did you hear me Y/n? Do not come to Woodsboro!" She repeats.

" I wasn't planning on going to that hell town anytime soon. What's going on with you? Shouldn't you be busy with your book tour or something?" I respond trying not to sound concerned.

"He's back Y/n," she whines out.

I swallow deeply and walk away from the desks and towards Penelope's office she is never here this early anyway. "This isn't funny Sidney."

"I am in Woodsboro and my rental car has a murder weapon in it and ripped-up pictures of my face and yours. Oh and did I forget to mention two kids were murdered in the same exact way as the original ones... so yeah I'd say he's back." She responds quickly in an angry panic.

I slam open Penelope's door and proceed to vomit my guts out in her trash can. I hear the wheels of her chair squeak as Penelope looks at me with concern as I dry heave in her trashcan. I definitely should have checked if anyone was in here first.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?" Penelope asks softly.

"Sidney, I got to let you go," I breathe out and hang up on her.

I wipe the sweat off my forehead. Why does no one ever mention how exhausting dry heaving is?

"I'm fine Garcia," I try to sound detached. I can't be here. One thing that makes the Ghostface all the same is they want to kill the Prescotts and everyone they love.

"You really don't look fine," she says full of concern.

I try to exit without a word but Penelope is quick to follow to make sure I am okay. It must be an odd scene as Penelope chases me and I speed walk away. Especially since we are always attached at the hip.

I ignore everyone's gaze and walk into Prentiss's office without a word.

Prentiss was doing paperwork of her own and did not even look up, " I need a leave of absence as soon as possible... preferably today"

That statement made her head quickly whip away from her mess of papers, "This is awfully unlike you Y/n... has something happened."

The stress of the anniversary, Ghostface, and the worry of losing Spencer Reid after we just got him back from prison seem to boil all over at once. "I JUST NEED A LEAVE OF ABSENCE IS THAT SO HARD TO DO EMILY!" I shout so loud and instantly regret as I see all my team members' eyes on me from Emily's office window.

"I am sorry Prentiss," I put my hand to my forehead fighting back the anger and fear-induced tears. I have seen so many murders I should be used to it at this point but Ghostface will always be different he always comes back as someone new.

Emily stands up shutting the blinds to her office to halt the onlookers. "L/N you need to tell me what this is about, right now! I have never once seen you act like this."

I pace back and forth the last name I made up did nothing to protect me I will always be a Prescott. I just need to get out of here before they find that out. I take a deep breath, "I am really sorry I can't, I just can't tell you. It will just get you hurt. It will get the whole team hurt and I can't do that! Spencer just got back, Scratch is gone, and the team is almost back to normal I will not ruin it. I am going to leave either way I just needed you to know."

I turn to leave but Emily grabs my arm, "Agent, if you are in danger I need to know. One more thing you also seem to be forgetting is this team won't be normal without you."

A knock follows her statement, "Is everything okay? Garcia told me Y/n was sick. Does she need a drive home?" It's Spencer's voice I can tell immediately. The question makes this even harder. Why must he be so kind? Why can't I stand to leave him?"

Emily's gaze meets mine, "I recognize that look."

"Prentiss I don't have time for your profile," I whisper shout to prevent Spencer from hearing me.

"I know all too well what it's like to be undercover Y/n," Emily states compassionately.

"I have no idea what you mean?"

"Your file is suspiciously blank and sealed of all past background and Strauss assured me it's for the better. It is similar to what my file used to look like." Emily unfortunately continues to profile me.

I feel trapped I can't go to the door Spencer is there and there is no escaping Emily's questions.

Spencer proceeds to knock again, "Everything alright in there?"

I sigh, "Emily I will tell you everything if you leave the team out of this."

"Y/n you know I can't promise that," she frowns.

I grab her hands tightly, "You have to because I know how to deal with this but every time he comes back someone around me dies!"

"Who comes back Y/n?" Emily's tone changes to a demanding one like the one she uses in the interrogation room.

"Promise me you won't tell the team! Promise me you won't let Reid get involved." Tears prick my eyes I don't care that I am being blatant about my feelings for Reid nothing can happen because I am cursed to repeat the same horrors for the rest of my life.

Emily sighs, "I promise."

"Ghostface is back... and my last name isn't L/N... it's- it's Prescott," I stutter as the words come out like saying them would make this more real than it already is.

"As in the Woodsboro killings?" Emily asks in utter disbelief.

"Unfortunately... and I have to go back there, for my sister," I state. "You can not convince me not to, I can't lose her."

"Y/n we solve cases just like this we can do this as a team," She soothes.

"Tell that to the last agent who tried to help my sister and nearly died," my stress getting the better of me causing me to shout and not notice Spencer opening Prentiss's office door.

I felt the eyes on me once again, I doubt I can talk myself out of this one. The chance of a silent escape gone stuck in a room of profiles who could sense I am on the urge to bolt out the door. Then my phone starts to ring in my pocket, none of the team seems to notice when Emily gives me a knowing look. She clearly knows the Ghostface cases well they all start with a phone call.

Taglist- @bunbunbl0gs

[theobjectofmyobsession055]

Boothill x SingleParent!Reader: Lassos and Lullabies Chpt. 5

I'm on a bit of a roll here with this fic, so hopefully I'll be updating a little more frequently for a while! Also with school being over, I've got a bit more time to write and hyperfixate on my favorite cyborg space cowboy. So enjoy!

Previous part Next part

Even though Boothill may have had waterproof coating on all of his sensitive mechanical bits, it still wasn’t great for him to get water inside his ports. His mental promise to go see his mechanic after he’d fallen in the river quickly fell by the wayside once they got back from their camping trip—a fairly big bounty popped up on his radar, and he couldn’t not take it. Unfortunately, his decision not to get checked out led to him feeling less than one hundred percent. But when Y/N asked him to watch Charlotte for a couple hours while she covered for a coworker at the office, he couldn’t say no.

“Hat man!” Charlotte babbled as she ran over to greet him, latching onto his leg like she always did.

Boothill chuckled and ruffled her hair. “Oh, so I’ve graduated to hat man now, have I? That’s quite the honor there, little lady,” he said, his voice a bit glitchier and more mechanical sounding than normal.

Charlotte let go of his leg and looked up at him with wide, inquisitive eyes. “You sound funny,” she observed.

“Charlotte!” Y/N lightly chastised her as she gathered up her things to head out. “That’s not nice to say to our friends.”

“But he does!”

“’S no problem. I reckon I do sound a bit funny right now.” He winked down at Charlotte. “I’ve got thick skin, I can handle a dose of the truth. But hey, that was real good usin’ yer words! You’re gettin’ to be a real chatterbox!”

Y/N sighed, a fondly exasperated smile on her face. “Tell me about it. She’s been talking up a storm lately. I’m glad she’s starting to use full sentences now, but I’d like it if she wouldn’t point it out every time she thinks a stranger’s hair looks weird.”

That earned a laugh. “Ah, I reckon she is gettin’ ‘bout that age, ain’t she? Can’t help but say exactly what they’re thinkin’.” He crouched down to Charlotte’s level to whisper conspiratorially, “Don’t you worry pumpkin, some folks just don’t like hearin’ the truth, but that don’t mean it ain’t right.”

Charlotte giggled, and Y/N rolled her eyes in faux annoyance. “Don’t you go being a bad influence on my daughter now, Boothill.”

“Who, me? Never in a million years, darlin’.” He got a shit-eating grin on his face as he stood back up. A bad influence? That was one of the nicer things he could be accused of being.

Y/N shook her head, that fond smile still playing at her lips. “Whatever you say. Just don’t burn the place down, okay? And you be good for Boothill, alright sweetie? Mommy will be back soon.”

“Okay Mama!”

Y/N kneeled down to give Charlotte a kiss on the forehead. But before she walked out the door, she gently grabbed Boothill’s arm, an anxious crease in her brow. “Are you feeling okay? You do sound a bit off. Do you need anything?”

He was touched by her concern, but the last thing he wanted was for her to worry about him. He placed his hand over hers, giving it a reassuring pat. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, I’m right as rain.”

She stared at him for a moment with a pinched look on her face, as though she didn’t fully believe him. Finally, she sighed. “Okay. Just… let me know if you need anything, okay?”

He tipped his hat. “Will do, ma’am.”

She gave one last wave goodbye to Charlotte before shutting the door behind her. Boothill sighed. Well damn it. He sure hoped she wouldn’t waste her energy worrying about him—he was fine, really, just a couple glitches here and there. Hey, if his voice was acting up, maybe that’d be a good excuse to finally get his synesthesia beacon repaired—Aeons knew that’d been bugging him for ages.

Even though he’d only been watching Charlotte for about half an hour, he found himself struggling to keep up with her boundless energy. After only a few minutes of playing ponies and cowboys with her (complete with piggyback rides) he already started to feel winded. His internal fans made this awful whirring noise, and one of his legs began to lock up. “Alright sweetpea, I think that’s enough ponies for today. I gotta sit down for a spell.” He quickly (but carefully) set Charlotte back down on the ground before his other leg could lock up or worse. He sat down on the couch, his joints creaking something awful. He let out a deep, rattling sigh and brought his hand up to massage his temple. Damn, his head hurt.

Charlotte crawled up onto the couch beside him, placing her little hands on his knee as she looked up at him with big eyes. “You okay? Not feeling good?”

Boothill cracked a smile at that worried expression on her face. Damn, she really did take after her momma. He wrapped an arm around her and gently pulled her into his lap, bouncing her playfully on his leg. “I’m alright, sweetpea. Just feelin’ a little under the weather, is all.”

Her eyes widened in realization. “Ohhh. You should eat chicken noodle soup. Mama makes that when I’m sick.”

He chuckled, warmth blooming in his chest. “You might just be right, maybe I should.”

Charlotte nodded sagely, her expression grave. “And watch cartoons. That makes me feel more better.” Her eyes suddenly lit up. “Wait! Me help!” She scrambled down off the couch and scurried over to her room. Boothill craned his neck around, ignoring the uncomfortable clicking sensation, so he could still somewhat keep her in eyeshot, both amused and curious. She came toddling back soon after, carrying a toy doctor’s bag that was almost half her size. In what appeared to be a feat of herculean strength, she managed to haul the plastic box onto the couch, quickly hoisting herself up soon after. She popped it open and got out a plastic stethoscope. With a focused furrow in her brows, she held the end up to his chest. It was nowhere near where his heart would’ve been, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to say anything. He had to hold himself back from laughing as she nodded somberly. “Mhmm. You’re reeeeeal sick.”

“Am I now’? Well I’ll be, that’s no good. What should I do, Doc?”

“You gotta… um…” She fumbled around in her doctor’s kit for a second before looking back up at him triumphantly. “You gotta say ‘ah!’”

He snickered. “Ahhh…” Aeons, he really hoped she wasn’t going to stick something in his mouth.

Luckily, she just looked. She gasped. “You gots shark teeths!”

That earned her a full belly laugh, albeit a glitchy one. “Yer darn right I do! Makes it easier to… eat up little girls!” He grabbed her and tickled her sides as he made over-the-top munching noises.

Charlotte squealed with laughter, squirming in his hold. “No!”

It didn’t take long for his chest to start making that awful whirring sound again, and his voice became filled with static. He set Charlotte back down so he could cough into the crook of his elbow (a habit from back when he was flesh and blood, despite not really having germs to spread anymore.)

Once he was done hacking up a lung, he noticed Charlotte looking up at him worriedly. She frowned. “Hmmm…” she hummed, and Boothill could practically see the little gears turning in her head. Then, her eyes lit up and she held up a finger. “Wait!” She hopped off the couch and toddled back to her room. Even with his chest still rattling like it was, he couldn’t help the fond smile on his face as he watched her, looking forward to seeing what new idea she’d come up with to help him feel better. She came back a couple minutes later, holding a bright pink plastic box.

Boothill helped her get back onto the couch this time—as cute as it was watching her do it herself, he didn’t want to risk her getting hurt. “Alrighty Doc, whatcha got?”

“’S my sticker box!” Charlotte chirped excitedly, popping open the lid. Lo and behold, inside there were sheets upon sheets of colorful stickers. She dug through the box until she pulled out a sheet with glittery pink pony stickers on it, holding it up so he could see. “They’re my favorites!”

She was just too cute. “Well I’ll be, those’re some mighty fine stickers. I see why ya like ‘em so much.”

“For you! To feel more better!” She peeled one of them off the sheet and clumsily stuck it to the metal plating of his stomach.

He thought he just might short-circuit from all the warmth that welled up in his chest. What a damn sweet kid. She continued pasting stickers of all different kinds onto him, just giggling like she was having the time of her life. And well, if something so simple could make her so happy, then he was perfectly content to let her do as she pleased.

By the time Y/N returned, Boothill was practically covered in stickers, including a stray one that had somehow made its way onto his cheek. “Oh my,” Y/N said, obviously holding back laughter. “I take it you two have been having fun while I was gone?”

“Mama!” Charlotte jumped off the couch to drag her mother by the hand over to Boothill. “Look! Me make hat man feel more better!”

He and Y/N exchanged a fond look before Y/N turned her loving gaze back to her daughter. “I see that! You did such a good job taking care of him, sweetheart, he looks a lot better now.” Y/N gave him a wink that struck him right in the chest.

Once she set down her things on the table, she began to fiddle with her fingers anxiously. “Speaking of feeling better… I know it’s none of my business, but… I was worried. My brother is a mechanic, so I gave him a call. He said he could look you over and see if he can fix you up. B-but I totally understand if you don’t feel comfortable with that, I can always tell him to turn around.”

If Charlotte’s antics had melted his nonexistent heart, then Y/N had just turned it into a puddle of goo. The depth of her care and kindness never ceased to amaze him. He tipped his hat at her, a gracious smile on his face. “That’s mighty kind of ya, doll. I appreciate it.”

She let out a relieved sigh. “Oh good, I was afraid you’d think it was an overstep. He should be here in just a few minutes, so hang tight.”

A couple minutes later and Boothill found himself half-laying down in the recliner with Y/N’s brother unscrewing his chest plates. He had a focused look on his face as he popped them open and peered inside his chest cavity. “Alrighty, let’s see what we have here…” he mused, pointing a little flashlight into the mess of circuits and wires to get a better look.

Charlotte stood off to the side with her mother, a look of awe and wonder in her wide eyes. Boothill caught her gaze and stuck his tongue out at her, making her giggle. Meanwhile, Y/N looked on worriedly, her lips drawn into a tight, anxious frown. “Is everything okay? Nothing major broken or anything?”

Boothill chuckled. “Aw shucks, darlin,’ whatcha doin’ worryin’ like that over lil’ ole me? I ain’t gonna break that easy.”

Her brother hummed in agreement. “Yeah, don’t worry, it’s nothing too bad. The craftsmanship here is remarkable, I figure it’d take a lot to cause any major issues.” He continued poking around in Boothill’s chest, examining his inner mechanisms with a critical eye. “You do have a bit of water damage in places, though. Just some rusting, nothing to be too concerned about. I can scrape it out for you and replace a couple of the parts with the worst of it.”

Boothill looked over at Y/N with a deadpan expression. “Water damage, huh? Gee, I wonder where that came from.”

Charlotte burst into a torrent of giggles at that. “Hat man fell in the river!”

“Yup, that’d do it,” Y/N’s brother said with a chuckle. He squinted, a frown on his face as he continued to look inside Boothill’s chest cavity. “Huh. Looks like there’s something wonky going on with your synesthesia beacon too. I can fix the water damage right now, but that’s gonna take a bit more time, lots of finicky parts to mess with. Swing by my shop sometime and I’ll get that taken care of for you, free of charge.”

“Really?!” Boothill sat up in his excitement, nearly knocking the mechanic over. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Hehe, sorry ‘bout that. But are ya sure? I can pay ya if ya need, no problem.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, don’t worry about it. You’ve been helping out Y/N and Lottie, that’s plenty of payment for me.” He looked over at Y/N with a mischievous grin. “I’ve heard a lot about you from this one.”

“D-don’t even start!” Y/N stammered out, her cheeks turning beet red. The sight made the fans in Boothill’s chest whir, like his heart was fluttering. She talked about him?

Y/N’s brother laughed at her flustered reaction, shaking his head. “Okay, okay, I’m just teasing. Just take care of my little sister, cowboy. Don’t go breaking her heart or anything, or I’ll find you.”

Boothill didn’t take the playful threat to heart. If anything, it made him respect the guy more. He could understand being protective of your family, especially when they’d been through what Y/N had been. Frankly, he was still riding off of the high of finding out that she talked about him when he wasn’t around, so her brother’s teasing bounced right off of him. He jokingly saluted him. “Yessir, will do.”

Y/N crossed her arms, her cheeks still flushed even as she glared at the two of them. “Will you two knock it off? You’re acting like we’re getting married or something.”

“Why sweetheart, I thought you’d never ask,” Boothill drawled, his voice sticky sweet as he gave her a grin dripping with southern charm. “I’ll be sure to wear a fancy suit an’ everythin’, just for you. I’ll even put on a tie.”

His grin widened as he watched her face flush darker, her eyes pointedly not meeting his. “Oh quit it…” she mumbled unconvincingly.

Charlotte looked up at her mother with wide, curious eyes. “Mama’s getting married?”

Boothill couldn’t help but laugh at the panicked expression on Y/N’s face, even though Charlotte’s innocent question made his neck feel a little hot as well. “N-no! No no, sweetie, Mama’s not getting married any time soon. All Mama needs is you, my sweet babygirl.” She scooped her up in her arms and nuzzled her cheek against hers, making Charlotte giggle and squeal with delight.

It was a sweet moment, but something about what she said made Boothill’s chest ache a bit. He knew that Y/N was lonely taking care of her daughter all by herself, and while he thought she was one of the strongest women he’d ever met for doing so, he wished she didn’t have to be. He wished that she could have the companionship that she’d expressed she so deeply wanted over the crackling of the campfire weeks ago. He wished that she could have someone to take care of her.

And maybe, just maybe, he wished that that person could be him.

[lavaflowe]

JTTW READING CLUB CATCH UP

Pt. 2

@journeythroughjourneytothewest

Chpt 4 Thoughts:

•the fighting immediately at the gate should have tipped everyone off this wasn’t going to go well💀 doomed from the start

•the hand holding with Gold star of Venus and Wukong I am not okay, I’m exploding it’s so cute

•Holy shit the poem about Heaven is LONG

•Wukong handles being called a bogus immortal very well?? I thought he would be angrier about that… I guess he knows its true tho🤷‍♀️

•Wukong is fantastic at his job- the best horse girl around (for the 2 weeks he was there lol)

•tantrum™️ kicks over his desk and smashes everything with his ruyi bang, causes property damage and LEAVES

•interesting that I’ve seen a lot of adaptations have him release the horses and do a mini havoc in Heaven

•love that it’s just 2 random demons who suggest 齐天大圣 to Wukong, not anyone important or anything JAKDJSJ

•HE QUITS AND THE JADE EMPEROR CALLS FOR HIM BE CAPTURED BECAUSE HES A MONSTER??? HUH???(I thought Gold Star stepped in but I GUESS I WAS WRONG)(capitalism smh /j)

•NEZHA APPEARANCE WHOOOO

•Spreading Flower axe sounds so cool, prime design material

•”eyes glowered strangely like burning stars; past his shoulders two ears, forked and hard; his voice resounded like bells and chimes”<- poem about Wukong, so lovely

•Theme I’m noticing: Wukong treated like an animal until proven otherwise (makes sense but also not)

•asks Nezha whose little brother is he, and Nezha immediately spits back like 3 insults JAKFJSJSJ, he is not here to mess around🔫

•3 HEADED 6 ARM FIGHT: WUKONG v. NEZHA

•the old bait and switch then smashing Nezha’s shoulder (flash back to all the paintings of Nezha running off while holding his broken arm💀)

•Love that Wukong called himself the little brother of the fraternal 7

•Gold Star Of Venus more like Master Negotiator/Mediator

•….is Gold star lying??? WUH

•”Peace and Quiet” and “Serene Spirit”- it’s like they don’t know that’s gonna bore the shit out of Wukong💀 like watching a train wreck in slow motion- HES NEEDS ACTION AND SOMEONE TO PLAY WITH

Chpt 5&6 under cut:

Chpt 5 Thoughts:

•uses all his free time to make more friends

•Gold Star realizes that he may get bored so they give him an extremely tedious task that will also probably bore him JAKDJAJAJD

•HELP HE JUST STARTS EATING ALL THE PEACHES WHAT- he behaved for probably like 2 weeks (again) and then decided he couldn’t wait any longer to try the OLDEST AND RAREST FRUIT IN THE GARDEN!!! AND HE PICKS MULTIPLE, NOT JUST ONE

•I’m yelling he does this multiple times

•okay but him playing around and eating making him tired and taking a nap on the branches when he’s 2 inches tall?? Adorable, no longer mad he ate all the peaches, he’s just a little guy

•ah so he only ate the really good ones. Ofcourse.

•Gently breaking the news that he’s probably not invited to the banquet 😬

•immediately freezes the peach maidens- WHY??? WHAT WAS THE REASON???

•Identity theft smh

•he is feeling….mischievous

•RESIST UR IMPULSES OH MY GOD

•he is so wasted he accidentally wandered into Laozi’s lab

Wukong: I’ve never met Laozi….now is for SURE the perfect time to make friends, when I’m so drunk I can’t walk straight

•He keeps putting things in his mouth, very monkey™️ of him

•IMMEDIATELY sobered up and knew he was in deep shit

•he lived in heaven for over a century 👀👀, Wukong says half a year- so maybe like 175 days?

•he goes back to get wine for his monkeys 🥺🥺

•next day/year Everyone one complains about the Havoc LMAO, they just kept coming, I know the Jade Emperor is distraught HAJDJAJ

•Wukong was going to straight up ignore the heavenly army they sent if they hadn’t busted down his door😂

•all his demon Allies were captured while he did a 1 v 6 with Nezha and the 5 Devarajas

•Wukong starting to get lost in the sauce, doesn’t care his ally’s were captured as long as his monkeys are okay

Chpt 6 Thoughts:

•Guan Yin Rolling up their sleeves to fix this mess

•”nothing but an invitation to disappointment” THE DRAMATICS

•I wonder if the Greek constellations were actually listed or if that was a translation choice??

•interesting that he outlasted Moksa instead of outwitting him- I feel like there’s a deeper meaning to that

•Guan Yin: I have a solution…..call in your Nephew

Jade Emperor: GENIUS

•Erlang is PUMPED to fight Wukong

•something something Erlang Shen is HAWT

•Erlang Shen: I’m here to kick your ass and arrest you

Wukong: your MOM

Erlang already swinging:

•Warform fight pt 2: Electric Boogaloo

•”they darted as stars to fill the sky”

•Erlangs eye being called the Phoenix Eye sounds SO COOL

•spotted bustard has no standards-I stand by the whore joke

•Erlang having fun with their fight LMAOOOOO

•HELP WHY DID HE WASTE TIME ENTERING A TEMPLE??? WUKONG PLS💀💀 UR ARMY IS GONE AND YOURE CORNERED NOW IS NOT THE TIME

•Wukong defeated with an assist from Laozi and Xiaotian

•stabbed for his crimes

•it’s execution time

•really loved that the poems were used to describe all of the fights

[thejilyship]

my hunger games re-read chpt 3

I was two chapters in and the post was too long so we're just gonna separate them lol.

Things I don't remember or think about until I have the text in front of me:

Peeta's dad comes in to say goodbye to Katniss and he gives her cookies and promises to look after Prim. Like there's a lot to unpack here. We know that Peeta's dad had a crush on Katniss' mom when they were kids, we know that Katniss' mom chose Katniss' dad over him, but Peeta's dad doesn't go the usual scorned boy route that we see in a lot of media. He's just kind at every turn. We never see him raise his voice or utter a mean word. He promises Katniss, someone he knows has very strong ties to the community, that he'll make sure her sister is eating, and that is such a relief to Katniss. That isn't something he did after her father died, it's not something he's doing for feelings he's still hanging onto. He admires Katniss and he's respecting her sacrifice by promising to look after Prim.

I've been thinking a lot about the use of poison in the games, because that's Snows weapon of choice, and the poisoned berries at the end are such a big deal. So I took note when Katniss and Gale are going over some of the different arenas of the past years and they said one year most of the kids died from a snake bite. That echoes the games we see with Lucy Grey, but it's also not a manageable poison. The snakes were put there by the gamemakers, created by the gamemakers, they aren't a weapon that the tributes are able to wield against one another. It feels fundamentally different than the berries to me.

Katniss talked about how in school they mostly learn about coal and the Capital. And they learn about the rebellion and how they know what they're learning isn't the truth but 'Whatever the truth is, I don't see how it can help me put food on the table.' !!!! That's such an important detail that gets overlooked bc there's a million important details in every single chapter. People who are starving can't hunt down the truth when they know that their government is lying. Knowing the truth doesn't help them not starve. The Capital keeping the citizens on the edge of starvation is intentional, it is a weapon. It is maslow's hierarchy of needs.

Madge gives her the pin and kisses her cheek and katniss is like 'wow, i guess we were friends this whole time?' Which is just another example of her not believing that other people think about her and consider her when she's not standing in front of them.

But also the pin. The pin is the mockingjay and she goes on about how her father used to sing songs in the woods with her and the mockingjays would always sing back. She connects this pin, which is a symbol of rebellion that the mayors daughter gave her, to her father and the rebellious songs he used to sing while they were in the woods, a place that they were not supposed to be because it was outside of the Capital's reach. There is just layer upon layer of rebellion here. Why does Madge have that pin? Where did she get it from? We have some idea of why she would feel a need to rebel, but still! Insisting that Katniss where a symbol of dissent into the games is brilliant. The entire District was a powder keg and Katniss seemed to be the only one surprised by this, thinking that she was dragging them along unwillingly into a fight with the Capital, but they were all ready to stand beside her at every single turn.

Then we've got Haymitch falling into a pile of his own sick and Effie being annoyed with his behavior and telling the kids that 'hey, don't laugh, this man is the only thing between you and death.' I just feel like this is the first instance we see of Effie almost getting it, ya know? Like she never fully grasps what's going on and the larger implications of things, but we see her get really really close a lot, and I think this is the first time. She thinks the kids deserve better, that they deserve someone who could actually help them. She's upset that the kids from the year before didn't use silverware and that her wig was crooked on stage and it's all vapid and silly, but she knows that Peeta and Katniss have a disadvantage, and voicing that seems important.

[proper-goodnight]

Into The Gray Chpt. 8 (House Call)

Fandom: The Gray Man (2022)

Pairings: Sierra Six x Reader, Courtland Gentry x Reader, Sierra Six x You, Courtland Gentry x You

Type: Multi-Chap

Tags: @medievalfangirl, @biblichorr, @pyrokineticbaby, @lxvrgirl, @asiludida164, @torchbearerkyle, @jasmin7813, @comfortzonequeen, @96jnie, @ryanclutched, @the-light-of-earendil

You sat in the opposite chair, chin in hand, watching Claire Fitzroy push around the dinner that you’d made. You may have been a little biased, but you hadn’t believed that you’d done that bad a job, considering cooking had become something of a hobby for you—but watching her turn herbs over and inspect them with a vaguely disturbed look, nose scrunched and repeating the action with the seasonings, had you doubting. There may have been too much complexity in flavor for a pre-teen to handle, one that you reminded yourself had lived on a strict diet of Hawaiian pizza and ice-cream. 

Claire’s body angled backwards, ready to leap from the chair in case the plate suddenly leapt off the table.

Garlic and zest may not have been the best option that you could have chosen.

The fork was eventually laid to rest against her plate with a clang. Tentative fingers nudged it away, a few inches and then halfway across the table. Her forearms folded on the table’s edge, the wooden finish worn from years of sitting. She’d addressed you briefly when you’d first entered the safehouse–a wooden cabin in the middle of nowhere–but this was the first time that she’d officially looked at you since you’d arrived. Her eyebrows raised, and yours instinctively copied the action.

“So,” Claire started, trailing off. 

“So?” You echoed. 

She leaned forward, and those raised eyebrows suddenly furrowed, narrowing with her eyes as though she had started some kind of interrogation. Her expression mirrored suspicion, but you thought that she was just curious. It was kind of cute; you could admit that. “You and Six aren’t friends?” 

There was a pause before you answered. Your gaze never left her. “We share secrets.” 

“That’s kind of what friends do.” She pointed out, skeptical. 

You nodded, once as if in understanding, but you didn’t really know. No one came to mind that you would trust to keep a secret, no one that you would consider a “friend” on either side involved. You thought about Dani, and you thought about Lloyd, but every secret that you’d learned about them had been without their knowledge. 

You doubted that it counted. 

Social standards and attachments weren’t lost on you, the sociology and psychology of it, but the fact that you’d only thought about it in a scientific aspect, synapses firing in the brain and the chemistry, only proved to you that you wouldn’t be the ideal person to get that kind of advice from—you were too blunt; too literal. 

“You tried to kill Six,” She accused, flat.

You didn’t. You told her that. “I didn’t.”

“You broke into our house,” her eyebrows flicked upwards, as though she’d caught you up in a lie. “I saw you. He had a gun, and then those people broke in. They took him.”

You didn’t know what to say to that; most of it had nothing to do with you. Most.

“Why did you go after him? Do you know Six?”

You briefly contemplated the extent of how much you should confess with a pre-teen and also the niece of the one person that you’d been after at the very start–the original dividing cog in an already fragile machine. Should you explain? Apologize? 

“I’m only concerned about him through proxy.”

“What does that even mean?” She grimaced, voice terse.

Your own remained even. “It means,” you trailed off, eyes flicking around the small space of the kitchen. “That when I get what I need from him, that’ll be the end of it.”

“And what exactly do you need ?”

When you didn’t answer right away, Claire leaned forward, turning your attention back to her, the suddenly intense stare in her gaze as she rested her chin on top of her fist, squinting as though determined to find some kind of secret that could have been hidden in your expression. You didn’t have anything to hide, so you found yourself staring back despite yourself.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading your mind.” She said as a matter of fact. “I can usually do it with Six; you both have this zone out thing that you do sometimes.” She exhaled, then gave up, the brunt of her shoulders colliding back against her seat. She rolled her eyes. “He’s easier.”

“You know him.”

Claire exhaled through her nose. “You two aren’t that different,” she then clarified: “You both can be really frustrating to talk to.”

It wasn’t often that someone could pull a smile from you, and you hadn’t expected Claire Fitzroy to be one. You could see how Sierra Six was attached to her, the contradiction to the rules–an innocence in a world that was quite the contrary. 

She was a child, and had it been your world before it’d gone, you knew without thinking too hard that she wouldn’t have made it. In your world, you learned how to hide from the CIS, NSA, the DIA, the NRO… among others. Your boss’ bosses, the groups they worked with and who knew their names, but never knew yours. 

You were a stray sitting across from something with an impressive pedigree. 

“If you have a prison tattoo with some Greek guy’s name, I’d consider the two of you twins.” Claire rambled on, her interest in you lost and your puzzled look left unanswered as she turned and slid out of her chair, her dinner left barely touched in the middle of the table. 

She left you, the sound of an old record lilting from a crack in an open door a moment later. You took that as your cue to leave, packing up what was left into the fridge–you didn’t count on the idea that she would eat it if she was hungry enough; you made a mental note to grab a few freezer pizzas when you were able. ~~~~~~~~~

You didn’t know if it was because of Sierra Six, or because of your own, albeit brief, experience with Claire Fitzroy, but you found yourself looking for—not at, but for—specific dynamics among groups of people that you’d initially cast aside as irrelevant. There was no distinct purpose behind it and it had become more of a subconscious behavior, but you found it very ironic that you were surrounded by attachments that exerted the same effort to stay together as much as they also did to keep Six and Claire apart. 

Your interrogators on your first day, the brash one and the twitchy one that still couldn’t meet your eye in the hallway as you passed, carried photos around in their wallets of children–also unbeknownst to both of them–the same wife, but you hadn’t cared to ask who was technically the other half of that agreement. 

Dani fretted with her mother on the phone daily, and there was a working couple in the office a few floors down that fostered children. 

The accounting department went to karaoke once a month, and you were pretty sure that one of the intern’s sudden employment offers and the office manager’s vacation presiding on the same weekend wasn’t just a coincidence. 

They behaved as though Claire and Six’s dynamic, their own miniature version of something resembling a family, was any different from the ones they made up on their own–secretive or otherwise. The only difference was that their circumstances had been created by manipulated events; Claire had needed someone, and whether Six had chosen it on his own or decided that he was her best chance, he’d stepped in.

Funnily enough, these people were the ones that had created the circumstances that had forced them together. 

You hadn’t been to see Six since your last conversation. Carmichael had bombarded you with bullshit busy work to hide the fact that he was compiling evidence against you–unsuccessfully–and still looking into the job report that had coincidentally landed you in Florida at the same time that they had found Sierra Six.

Dani never said anything, whether she had any suspicions or not, but there was something about the looks she gave you that told you to cover your tracks a little harder before every single eye in the agency went back to following you around. She wasn’t as subtle. Her curiosities and willingness to go along with anything that could inconvenience Suzanne and Carmichael had kept you safe on several occasions. 

You liked that about her.

“It’s a Friday night,” the familiar baritone of Carmichael’s voice directly beside you was not enough to persuade you to acknowledge him. You were crouched in front of a series of file cabinets, sifting through dated assignment reports–your search was specific, but to an outside observer, you probably looked like you were sorting through junk; past cases considered closed. 

“Everyone’s left the office,” he said when you didn’t answer.

“You haven’t.”

“I’m waiting on a few friends.” Out of the corner of your eye, you watched his hands slide into the pockets of his pants, suit jacket having been discarded and the absence of it showing the hourly grind. His plain button up was rumpled, his tie partially undone. His head pivoted. “What’s your excuse?”

“I don’t have any friends.” 

“No?” He asked with mock surprise, raising his overly bushy eyebrows. “That’s shocking. I would go so far as to say emotionally complex if I thought of you as the emotional type.”

“I’d rather you not think about me at all.”

“It’s not voluntary, I promise you that.” 

“Is someone telling you to do it?” 

“No, but it's come to my attention that despite your stellar employee record, we have yet to find any kind of outside file on you.” He shrugged nonchalantly, and you heard the sarcastic lilt to the idea of you having a stellar anything. “Suzanne thought that you could be useful if you supposedly took out Sierra; she said that your potential would be a waste serving a life sentence.”

“Should I also be thanking her for this conversation?”

 He didn’t waver. “Interest alignments and general surveillance keep you here, but the lack has me curious.” 

His remark led into silence. You weren’t in the mood for this. You looked up. 

“You’re wasting your time looking.”

“We had Lloyd Hansen on a very thin leash, and I’ll admit that it was an idea doomed to go South, knowing as little as we did, but you’re an entirely different risk.” 

“I’m spending my Friday night looking through paperwork.” You tapped the drawer that you had open for emphasis. 

“Wasting your time looking for information that doesn’t exist, right?” His mouth tilted up at the edges, his suspicion evident; it’d always been. You could tell the lack of anything concrete was frustrating for him. He didn’t understand why you were here, nor why you’d been allowed to stay here. 

You understood that it was because of that lack of existence; you’d have been blamed for the CIA’s fuck-ups already if Sierra Six hadn’t been spotted at the scenes. 

“If I had my way about it, you’d be in the cell beside Six’s, and you’d be let out when we want you out—Suzanne lets you walk free, and I don’t quite get that.”

“If we are basing it off of your negotiation skills with Sierra Six so far, I do get it.” You answered. 

The subtle twitching of his facial expression told you that you’d struck a nerve, but Carmichael was not the type to let his pride get the better of him. You knew that the stab would further his attempts to incarcerate you, but in your opinion, he had more things to worry about. 

The squeak of his leather shoes cut through the tension as Carmichael stepped back. His hardened gaze bore into you, a death glare shot back over his shoulder as he left. You mustered up a smile that you made sure he knew was very obviously fake before you went back to what you were doing–but unfortunately, he was right. 

You wouldn’t find what you were looking for here.

It was not the only thing that he’d said that gave you pause, either. He’d mentioned Sierra Six in a cell. Not a room, where you’d first talked to him, but a cell. 

Over the years, many things had made you hesitate. One had been someone’s daughter, rushing to a dance lesson, outside of her mother’s sight but centered directly inside yours, another had been a scientist who thought himself a comedian but took entirely too long to explain what made his jokes funny, and another a reflected light off a skyline; you’d heard the bullet before you’d felt it. 

You found yourself hesitating now, but what you would have considered previously a very well-controlled ability to maintain your curiosity seemed to contradict itself where Sierra Six was concerned. The file cabinet was slammed shut with more force than necessary, and you rose, taking the straightforward path from the basement to the holding cells, one single angled hallway that was housed behind a reinforced door only available with a keycard. 

You didn’t personally have access to that, nor permission, but you’d taken Dani’s keycard when you’d considered going into the basement earlier.

You wondered if Carmichael had realized that. 

The lights in the hallway were the only guiding points to his cell, the lights inside each having been dimmed until what was visible beyond the glass were mere vague shapes among outlines. There was only one that was inhabited–the one at the very end, farthest from the door. You surmised that decision was made with purpose. 

A swipe of Dani’s keycard granted you entry, and when you walked inside, you were immediately met with the sight of him sitting by the wall farthest from the bed, the folded replacements of his clothes untouched at the very end. 

Six’s legs were bent at an angle, arms folded over his knees. The tousled mess of his hair was flattened against the wall where his head was laid back, blood matting it and specks of it spotting the wall. Upon closer inspection, you noticed that there was a leaning angle in the way he was sitting, as though there was an injury to his ribs. His appearance didn’t immediately alarm you, but you suspected this inevitability after enough time fighting his interrogations. 

 When he didn’t open his eyes, you wondered if he was dead; he was too observant to not have noticed you walk in.

Rather than immediately turn toward him, you pivoted in a slower motion. Your face remained passive despite the gruesomeness of him.

“You look like you got into a fight.” You noted. 

“Your friends don’t make good company.” His casual but strained tone was the only indication that he’d noticed you after all, but he didn’t open his eyes to see you.

“And I do?”

Six shrugged, a wince following the motion. “Better company.”

“And here I thought that Carmichael’s personality was just stellar.” You thought that you’d heard the beginnings of a laugh ushered from him, only to be cut short by a hacking cough before he spit a glob of blood across the floor. You didn’t immediately move to help him, lingering by the doorway as though encroaching on the personal space of his cell was worse than encroaching on the personal space of his house. 

In comparison, it was much smaller. 

“How bad are the other guys?”

“Worse off than me.” He wheezed.

With a hum, you finally strode across the room, finding a meager box of first aid supplies sitting on top of the folded clothes. You weren’t surprised that they had left him to patch himself up after beating him half to death, and like you, he’d chosen to be stubborn rather than oblige to anything they handed him. 

After retrieving the box, you’d knelt down in front of him. 

“Got anything to drink?”

You scoffed as you took a small bottle of antiseptic out of the box. It wouldn’t be enough, but it would work. “You’re going to have to deal with this sober,” you said, still digging out some essentials. You threw a glance up at him, only to notice that he was finally looking at you. It didn’t deter you from the order. “Take your clothes off.”

When he didn’t immediately move, you raised your eyebrows. Six looked back at you, one of his eyes partially squinted, promising a bruise within the next few hours. He hesitated to oblige this particular request and you found yourself marveling. 

The Gray Man, who had broken out of a secure CIA building through agents with years of similar–if not more–experience, felt awkward. 

You raised your eyebrows further. 

He still didn’t move. 

“I can’t help you through your clothes.” You pointed out.

Six exhaled through his nose, shifting with a soft grunt so that he could grab at the hem of his shirt and begin tucking it out of the cover of his jeans. His expression twisted at the extension of his movements, a strain on his wounds that had soaked through the fabric and left residue wherever his hands grabbed. You shuffled closer to him. 

“Let me help.” Six moving his hands out of your way was the only permission that you needed. You tugged his shirt free from the confines of his jeans, careful to avoid his wounds while you worked your way up over the defined muscles of his chest, skilled fingers gliding up his biceps and carefully working the sleeves through his arms before you could yank it free over his head. It was dropped to the floor.

Scars covered nearly every surface, old wounds from old places that you’d observed through the window at his house in Florida. There were new wounds and new bruising over the old, some that would leave new scars, but it did little to hinder his rugged handsomeness. You weren’t a fool; you would give credit where it was due. 

Your hands went for his belt next, but he grabbed them.

“I got it,” he insisted. 

“Are you shy?” You teased. 

Your little mockery gave rise to a very light smirk, refreshing the frustration that’d previously occupied his face, but your hands retreated so that he could take over himself, unbuckling his belt and carefully wiggling out of his jeans until he was down to his boxers. Those were discarded beside him on the floor along with his shirt. 

You poked at the space next to one of the bigger bruises at his ribs, purple and green discoloration starting; you went for an open gash adjacent to that space first, taking the antiseptic and gauze into your hands. Your head was bent low, your eyes wandering over the rough outline and bruised edges with practiced focus. 

“Did you finally sign that confession?” You asked.

“No,” Six murmured, soft. “They started beating the piss out of me before then though, so,” he hissed a sharp intake of breath as you dabbed at it with the antiseptic. “It felt like a win.” 

You glanced up, the edge of your mouth twitching. He was looking down at you, eyes wandering, and when your lashes fluttered and your eyebrows raised, he looked back up, to the space around the cell–as empty and disinteresting as it was.

“Uh, thanks.” He went on. “For–for this.”

“I wouldn’t thank me yet. This is not going to be comfortable for you.” 

Six nodded, leaving his appreciation in the air for another time. He leaned his head back again, closing his eyes. He looked more peaceful like this, the lights of the hallway blanketing over him and giving a warm, favorable sheen to features marred by blood. His hair fell away from his forehead, revealing another cut there; another eventual scar. 

You elicited a low groan from him as you pressed the antiseptic into the wound and dabbed at it with the gauze. One of his eyes opened to look at you.

“Just making sure you’re still with me.” You said. 

“Barely. I am beginning,” he hissed out, the words rising like bile in his throat, “to seriously question my life choices.”

Your head tilted. “The Sierra Program taught you how to take a beating, all things considered.” 

“That’s a family trait.”

You exhaled through your nose, poking on another bruise toward his left hip making him gasp; the skin there tender, but nothing that you had to immediately worry about. Nothing felt broken. “You’re hilarious,” you murmured good-naturedly, the action and remark earning a gentle glare from him. “Here I thought that it was the blood loss making you so passive.” 

“Just another Thursday,” he quipped. 

“It’s Friday,” you corrected him, your knees tucked against his thigh where you’d moved against his side. Six held up his hand except that his arm couldn’t extend that far and it fell back down to his knees. One hand pushed against his knees to flatten them both so that they were laying straight, granting you more access where it was needed.  “I’m going to work on your side first. I’m going to need you to hold still, okay?”

Other than a sharp intake of breath, and an occasional flinch, he hardly moved at all; one sharp jerk had you leaning your arm over his legs to hold him still, pushed close to his abdomen and practically laying over him. You’d nudged him closer to the wall to make more room for yourself, your hip pressed against the side of his thigh. 

Threading a needle with a closed eye, you glared at it in focus before your thumb and index finger guided the needle through his skin right beside a hole, drawing it over. As you worked, refined, you ignored the gentle sounds that you elicited from him. Soft sounds of pain were nothing new to you, and you did have to admit that they had made him rather resilient. You didn’t know what you had expected, but for some reason, you expected backlash.

You assumed that his and Lloyd’s pain tolerance were drastically different.

The iris scissors were lifted, and you tied off the thread before snipping it.

More antiseptic was soaked onto the wound before a bandage was applied. You shifted up his body to inspect the wound by his shoulder. One of your thighs was forcefully planted to one side of him, trapped between his and the wall, and the other folded beside you. The supplies were placed on his chest for assurance. He’d lifted his head up when he felt you move; the two of you were nearly nose to nose, but your head was turned, focused on his shoulder. 

He placed his hand beside your thigh, holding himself in place should he somehow find himself leaning. Where one of your hands was planted against his chest to hold yourself steady, you felt his heartbeat underneath your palm, pounding in a frantic rhythm. His skin was hot underneath your fingers. 

Charming.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you’ve never had a woman this close before,” you said softly, and low without looking at him, your hand moving away to grab more of your antiseptic. 

His breath hitched when he was about to answer, but you interrupted him.

“I don’t want to know.” You mused.

“I have.”

You snickered. “I said if I didn’t know any better.” You felt his muscles relax underneath your hands, but you associated it more with defeat than relaxation. Granted, you had that effect on people naturally. Considering how often you had knowingly or unknowingly infuriated and simultaneously puzzled Lloyd Hansen and Denny Carmichael, Sierra Six was hardly an added challenge. 

Your slender fingers worked at disinfecting and closing the wound at his shoulder, gradually brushing up the length of his arm. Your skin was cold to the touch as always, and you thought that you felt him shiver under his fingers–there was an explorative nature to your demonstrations, touching every little line and mark as you worked your way up over scars old and new in search of other wounds. 

Your eyes never strayed from the work, speaking in their own silent words. Your hand traveled up to drape across his shoulder and toy with stray hairs, twirling blonde strands in between with gentle tugs that were strangely casual. From there, one would consider a conversation starter, or a knife positioned directly where your other hand lingered at his side, doing the same demonstrations where your fingers splayed at the sensitive skin by his hip bone.

It wasn’t often that you were able to get this close to a man without any other intentions.

Six’s hands lay limp, arrested, slowly curling into fists. When you nudged his arm to look at a wound at his other side, he obliged your wordless request. You felt him tense underneath your fingers, seconds teasing him, trickling past. He waited, and he watched. He didn’t risk another glance, another breath too deep. 

Slowly, mechanically, through painstaking precision, he turned to face you completely opposite with a crinkle in his crescent eyes. You knew that look. You’d seen it before, only with much less speaking involved. Then he truly did subside toward you. He pushed the heel of his palm into the floor for support.

All at once, you found yourself pulling away, your hands retreating from his skin, two breaths escaping in unison once you finally made distance and pulled yourself up from the floor. His fingers lingered, brushing your wrist and curling around your knuckles.

“Are you done?” Six asked, voice sounding groggy, lulled into a kind of security that was never meant to be found with you.

“I think you’ll live another day,” you answered. You forced yourself to not submit, to subside against unwise impulses. Especially with as pale and cold as he was—oh, how he could play the game. 

Later, you promised to no one in particular. 

Six finally exhaled, unable to challenge that certainty in your gaze. He managed a pursed smile, then the smile faded, unreadably flat now. With great reluctance, he let go of you. Not once did his attention stray from your face, clinging to it.

“I can’t promise that I’ll happen to be around the next time you piss someone off.” You advised, the barest twitch pulling at the edges of your lips. “So, be careful.”

“Why did you come around this time?” He’d asked when you’d turned away.

“I wanted to tell you,” you inhaled. “Claire is safe. She wants to see you.”

“I want to see her, too.”

Your hand lingered on the doorframe, and while that hadn’t been your original intentions in coming here, you were glad to give him that reassurance. Claire had never outright said it, but you knew as soon as you’d walked into the safehouse who she’d been hoping to see. You never lied, especially not when the facts were directly in front of your face.

“And you will.”