#cw finn mentioned

[genghisthebrain]

if i'm in ever a coma just play the audio from all of glee s3e7 i kissed a girl and i'm gonna wake up just to punch finn hudson in the face

[salcreus]

The solution to depression is to have a real good punching session

[lumosinlove]

Christmas Eve Will Find Me

(cw in tags if you wish)

Five: Sirius

Athens, Greece

Sirius wasn’t reckless. He thought before he did—probably too much sometimes. He kept himself in line. Maybe it was a product of a strict upbringing. A smack on the cheek or hand at one wrong move. He used to think it was what made him so good for the agency. Salazar liked strict. They liked obedient. James, therefore, hadn’t quite made sense to Sirius as a candidate, at least not in the beginning. Not until he showed Sirius that it wasn’t just about following orders. It was about heart, too. Camaraderie. Remus had shown him that, too. Still, Sirius couldn’t always shake that rule-following kid.

But if Remus was on the rooftops getting shot at by Jack Archer, who had just been holding a gun to Logan and Finn’s heads, all bets were off.

Jack was smart though. He took Sirius right through the now bustling Christmas market. Small children strapped the the chests of fathers. Women in groups laughing and catching up over coffee. Carolers by a central fountain. Sirius caught glimpses of alarmed eyes as he ran, always keeping the back of Jack’s head just in sight. He tried not to add to the mess on the street, narrowly avoiding the cart Jack had carelessly rolled into his path. He sprinted past the pissed vendor. He knew he should hide his gun. Lights blurred beside him and the sun came out from behind a cloud, then went again. His feet pounded the pavement. The streets narrowed. Jack stumbled on the stones in front of a cafe, sending cups shattering to the cobblestones and making a shop owner run out and shout at him. For a second, Sirius thought he was going to catch up. He swiped forward at the fabric of Jack’s shirt, but Jack rolled and then was up on his feet again. Sirius lunged. He didn’t care who was watching. He didn’t care if they saw his gun. His arms wrapped around Jack’s waist and they both hit the cobblestones hard, rolling into another table. Sirius felt something hot splash against his neck, something sharp dig into the skin of his wrist.

Jack was up again in a moment, using a hard kick to Sirius’ ribs to knock the wind out of him. Sirius gasped, coughing as he scrambled up from the ground and away from the alarmed onlookers. He yanked the shard of ceramic out of his arm. Jack slipped around a bend in the street—but this was one Sirius recognized. He’d chased Remus—or the ghost of Remus—right into this corner.

When he held his gun up on Jack, Jack’s hands were around the bars of the very gate Sirius had run into their first day here.

“Dead end, Archer,” Sirius said. “Now tell me why you’re here.”

Jack at least knew when he��d been caught. His shoulders moved quickly, breathing hard as he rested his forehead against the gate.

“Did you know?” Sirius could hardly say the words. “Did you know they were alive?”

“Sirius—”

“Get the fuck down,” Sirius said, striding closer until they were both hidden in the alleyway. He risked a glance behind him. “On your knees.”

Jack went, knocking the damp hair out of his face with a jerk of his head. Sirius could see both of their breath fogging between them. “We didn’t know. Not until Leo found Remus.”

“And you want them dead.”

Jack’s mouth formed a thin line.

Sirius didn’t have time for this. His mind kept skipping back, trying to figure out who had been shooting from the roof. RemusRemusRemus.

“Why?” Sirius asked. “Why do you want them dead? They’re our own, what changed? And I swear to God, answer me, or I’ll bring you to James.”

James was sweet. James was funny. James was relaxed and kind and easy-going.

James could also get information out of anyone. He was their top interrogator, had been since the academy. How do you do it? Sirius had once asked. Sirius had never liked seeing terrified faces up close. James had gotten a sad, faraway look on his face. I pretend they have Lily. And Harry. And then I don’t feel so guilty. I just want them to talk. I make them talk.

Jack seemed to have heard the rumors because he paled. “Listen. This is Salazar. You’re here to find them and bring them in. That’s all I’m here for, too.”

Sirius thought briefly of telling Jack about Logan’s memory, but Remus’ careful hazel eyes filled his mind. Unsure. Untrusting.

“Why pull the gun?”

Jack’s eyebrow arched. “Tremblay was holding a gun on his own husband. Who, by the way…” Jack made a scornful sound. “Should not be here.”

It was Sirius’ turn to stay silent. It was a sensible response, but that didn’t mean Sirius believed him.

“What,” Jack laughed a little. “You think we wouldn’t know?”

“I couldn’t stop him.”

“Liar.”

“That makes two of us, then,” Sirius said. “Why are you here?”

“Is he turned?” Jack asked in a hushed voice, eyes dark. “Is Lupin?”

“Turned where? By who?”

Jack shook his head slowly. “Liar.”

“I’m not.” Sirius swallowed over a dry throat. At least, not entirely. Pascal. Pascal, whoever he was.

“You don’t want to get on our bad side, Black,” Jack said. His hand twitched, maybe towards a knife, and Sirius stretched his gun forward. Jack’s smile was tight. “I think Tremblay’s enough proof of that.”

Sirius stared at him. “What the hell does that mean?”

Jack opened his mouth to answer, but stopped as though his words had frozen in his mouth. He snapped his lips shut, then a strained cough escaped. A twitch went through his body, almost like a pulse of electricity, and he sat back against his heels. Sirius hesitated, watching Jack blink fast at the cobblestones before raising his eyes to Sirius.

“Who the hell are you?” Jack asked, eyes darting between the two guns. He scrambled backwards, the gate rattling when it hit his back. “What the hell?”

Sirius froze. He clicked the safety off on his own gun. “Don’t bullshit me, Archer.”

Jack blinked at him, eyes unfocused. “I…”

Another twitch, a strange pulse through his body. Jack gasped. A thin trickle of blood ran from his nose. He swayed where he was, and his hands went to his head. “Ah—” Sirius watched his face screw up in pain. Jack stared up at him. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Jack—” Sirius began to say, but then Jack fell against the pavement, as suddenly as if someone had pushed him, with a harsh thud.

Sirius felt something cold squeeze around his throat. Dread, maybe. Adrenaline. Slowly, he lowered the guns, tucking one into his belt and swinging the other behind him, doing a quick scan of what little of the street he could see. He raised it up towards the roofs, then crouched in front of Jack.

His eyes were open, lips parted, blood quickly drying on his skin. He was dead.

“Jesus,” Sirius whispered. “Jesus, fuck—” His hand went for his radio, and then he paused. It was Salazar’s radio.

If anyone had told Sirius just a week ago that that would make him pause, he would have laughed.

Sirius checked Jack’s pulse—nothing—and then cursed as he heaved his body up against the wall as best he could. There was no point in trying to move him, not with the city waking up. Someone would have to find him like this. Sirius turned Jack’s collar up, closed his eyes, and took the wires off of him. He took his knives—all the ones he could feel anyway—and the second, small gun he found tucked into his boot.

He walked in the opposite direction of the cafes, towards the still mostly sleeping residential streets. There had been no blood, not that much anyway, but Sirius checked his hands and front before calling out to a man sweeping the steps in front of his house with a cigarette between his teeth.

The man didn’t put up much of a fight, just handed Sirius his cellphone before waving him off and going back to the chore.

The line picked up immediately.

“Lion den,” Sirius said into the tone. It was their secure line. If Salazar knew about it, they’d be dead, but Finn’s tracker wasn’t the first illegal backup Leo had set up. James hadn’t seen the point, hadn’t seen what they’d ever have to hide any comms, but Leo had insisted. Now, Sirius was glad. After Archer and Remus and Logan, he didn’t know who to trust. A headache was building at the back of his skull.

“We’re not at the house,” Leo said instead of hello. “After Archer, I didn’t think we should go back there.”

“He’s dead,” Sirius said.

He heard Leo’s sharp inhale. “Sirius—”

“It wasn’t me,” Sirius said. “We were running, I got him. And then he didn’t recognize me all of a sudden. A minute later, he was dead.”

Sirius’ heart was going so hard he had to press a hand there. The sweeping man didn’t even look up. The gray light hurt his eyes.

“Where are you?” Sirius asked. “Leo. Are you all together?”

“He’s dead?” Leo asked. “But—how? And what do you mean he didn’t recognize you?”

“I don’t know, I thought he was fucking with me, because maybe he knew Logan—but how would he know Logan couldn’t remember? I…” Sirius pressed at his eyes. It was as though someone was shining a spotlight right in his eyes. It ached. “I don’t know, Le. Where are you? Where are you?”

“Sirius,” Leo said. “I can’t find—I can’t find you.”

“What?”

“I can’t find you—Jesus, here, I’m dropping this number our coordinates—but Sirius, your tracker’s offline.”

Sirius felt the phone vibrate with the incoming text. He looked, memorizing quickly. It would disappear entirely in a minute, erasing itself.

“He didn’t recognize you?” Leo asked. “He didn’t…”

“Leo,” Sirius said, and then dropped to a knee. God, his very bones ached. His skull.

“Oh God,” Leo said faintly, and then, a little farther away from the phone, he shouted. “James!”

Sirius ducked away from the gray light. The cold wind. His head was killing him. “Fuck.”

“Eh!” The man stopped sweeping, looking at him. He said something fast in Greek, but Sirius was hopeless to translate just then.

“Sirius,” Leo said, voice closer now. “You’re tracker. Cut it out right now.”

“What?” Sirius asked.

“Cut out your tracker right now,” Leo shouted. “You said Jack forgot and then he was dead, there’s nothing that would cause that except—” Leo cut off with a short cry.

“Leo?” Sirius said.

He heard Finn’s voice in the background. Leo! Oh my God—

Then Leo’s. Cut it out, Finn. Right there, remember, feel it? Finn, stop fucking staring, do it, do it, it’s going to kill me and James—

“Finish?” the man asked him, alarmed. He was holding out his hand for his phone, but didn’t look like he wanted to get much closer to Sirius. “Hey, finish? Finish?”

“Help,” Sirius said. “Please—” He pulled the Greek out but he didn’t know how. Autopilot, maybe. “Sir, please may I use your bathroom? It’s life or death.”

The man began to shake his head, but Sirius didn’t have time—he shouldn’t have even asked. The man shouted as Sirius hauled himself up and stumbled past him. He shouldered through the small, wooden door and found himself in a living room—tidy and smelling of cinnamon and coffee. It connected right with the kitchen, not unlike their safe house. The dim lamp by the sofa stung his eyes, glaring as if it were a sun. Sirius blinked hard, looking for something sharp, anything.

“Hey!” The man tried to grab his shoulder, but Sirius shook him off easily. There was a knife, small, laying beside a sliced lemon. Sirius grabbed it and all but fell against the sink. A small vase on the window sill above slipped and shattered into the basin.

The man’s protests was no more than a ringing in Sirius’ ear as he groped at the back of his own neck. What the hell are you doing? Are you insane? Are you sick? Hey, my wife and children will be back soon, come on, brother, don’t scare them. Put the knife down, put the knife down—

There. Sirius felt the bump. Was he imagining that it was hot to the touch? It didn’t matter.

He didn’t even feel the pain of the blade. His adrenaline was so high that it felt like nothing at all. Butter. A slip. Only the red on his hands let him know that he had succeeded. That, and the small, pill-like chip clutched between his fingers.

The pain evaporated and Sirius drew in a ragged breath.

No sooner had he dropped the tracker into the sink than did it let out a high-pitched sound and crack itself in half.

His hearing returned. He blinked his vision back to normal. He worked the pressure out of his jaw. The tracker released a thin trail of smoke.

Sirius, he tested. Sirius Black. He knew himself. He knew the coordinates.

When he turned, breathing hard and sweating, he grabbed an old, dirty looking cloth and pressed it to his neck. It didn’t look like anyone would miss it. The man was simply staring at him, eyes darting between his face and the device in the sink.

“Thank you.” Sirius breathed the words out. Greek, or at least half way there. “I am sorry. I am sorry.”

Without another word, Sirius raced out the door.

+++

The coordinates were an abandoned building right on the coast. Sirius could smell the salt. The cold air was made colder by damp. He had stopped the bleeding of his neck and turned up his collar to keep the rag in place. Everything felt wet and slippery now. Recent rain on the rocks beneath his feet as he walked up an old pathway.

There was nothing inside, it was merely a somewhat reasonable roof of their heads. Shelter, nothing more. Just broken down boards and stone walls now.

To anyone else, it looked empty.

Sirius whistled two notes.

Two notes returned from his left where the sea and horizon bled into each other, framed by a still standing window. It could have been a painting. A TV.

James appeared in front of it, wild hair haloed by the light.

“Fuck,” James said, and then they were hugging. Sirius face ended up near a slightly pink bandage on James’ neck, and he sighed his relief all over again.

“Fuck me, we had a bomb in our head the whole time, Si.” James reached up and brushed the bandage with light fingers. “Just an average day on the job.” His eyes went to Sirius’ neck. “What did you do it with?”

“Fucking kitchen knife, man. You?”

James’ laugh was shaky. “One of my daggers on Leo and I. Finn did it. Think he’s a little freaked, but he did it.”

“Oh Jesus, I should have…” Sirius shook his head. He had his own and he had Jack’s. “Didn’t have to traumatize this…God, never mind. I fucking broke into someone’s house.”

James laughed again, but he looked pale. “It’ll be fine. I was so scared I didn’t even feel it.”

“Same.”

James raised his eyebrows. “Jack?”

“I left him,” Sirius said. “Took everything off him. People will think…I don’t know. But there’s nothing to lead back to Salazar or us.”

James nodded, taking that in. “Salazar’ll be looking for us now that they can’t find us.”

Sirius nodded. “I know… I know they will. We have to move.” They began walking towards the sea window. “How did you end up here? Where are the others?”

“Finn and Leo are with Logan.”

Logan. God, Sirius hadn’t forgotten, of course he hadn’t forgotten, but what a strange thing to hear. After all these months, just a simple Finn and Leo are with Logan.

No sooner had James said it than did the Leo appear. He had an identical bandage to James and held one out to Sirius, along with an alcohol packet.

“Clean that,” Leo said.

Sirius tossed the bloody rag away. “Did yours smoke, too?”

“Yeah,” Leo said. “The second I started to get a headache—Finn said that’s what happened to Logan, too. Said he fell down in pain. But…” Leo frowned in the way he did when he was thinking something over, when something was so entirely perplexing to him that he was sure to pull an all nighter. Sirius had seen him many times after those. Blond hair a mess, coffee mugs lined up besides the water and the electrolyte packets.

“Where…” Sirius began to say. He’d only gotten a glimpse of Logan and it was beginning to feel more like a dream. His slack face. There had been blood? Hadn’t there?

Leo moved aside, revealing a half-collapsed hallway. No, it was more like an nave. Sirius looked up and realized that the remnant of a vaulted ceiling remained, stone and precarious. This had been a church.

Wind whistled through, a high note off the sea, when Sirius saw them. Finn and Logan were at the other end, a corner mostly intact and protected from the cold. Finn was awake, staring down at Logan’s face like he couldn’t stand to look away, not even for a moment. Logan was—asleep?

“Knocked out.” Leo filled in his thoughts. “Finn said he remembered him in the alley, but he’s been out ever since.”

“And his tracker?”

“It’s gone,” Leo said. “I checked.”

“But if Salazar wanted him dead…”

Leo nodded, already there. “Then whoever took it out probably saved his life."

“But he can’t remember us,” Sirius said.

Leo rubbed a hand through his hair, then pressed his fingers to his mouth, thinking. There was blood beneath his nails still, a crust of red even smeared along his jaw. Sirius had the sudden urge to wipe it away for him.

“You said Jack forgot who you were a second before he was killed,” Leo said. “I’m guessing—and this is only a guess—that this is some sort of…kill code put into place in Salazar’s tracker hardware. A memory wipe in case we get captured, and then a kill switch if there’s no hope or if we might crack and tell all.”

“Jesus,” James whispered.

“I’m guessing whoever took out Logan’s didn’t do it in time to prevent the memory wipe. And that’s calling it real close, I don’t know…”

Remus. Sirius could hardly breathe. If he hadn’t seen that footage for himself, he’d be on his knees all over again, desperate and afraid.

“Can you reverse it?” James asked. He was chewing on a thumbnail, looking down the hall. “God, please say you can Leo.”

Leo let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know.” He looked down the stone archways towards Finn. As the three of them watched, Finn reached out a hand and brushed Logan’s hair back from his eyes gently. “I don’t know.”

[antlered-dragon]

Alright so I have been working on this for a few days. After I saw duncandeeznuts fanchild my mind really wanted me to create my own so I guess here is mine. Originally it was just going to be just Jay but then while I was at work I had an idea for Bonnie (mostly goes by the nickname Willow) as well so she is here too. And then it kind of just turned into this AU sort of thing.

[sad-boy-mono]

Do y'all think Finn is doomed to loose Jake in every universe?

Do y'all think every Finn has their own mind vault they put bad memories and feelings in?

Do y'all think each version of Finn will avoid facing his grief and instead will throw himself into dangerous and reckless situations so he doesn't have to feel it?

Do y'all think each Finn will be haunted by Jake's death for the rest of their lives?

Do y'all think there are universes where Finn was able to heal?

Do y'all think there are universes where Finn chose to die with Jake than live without him?

Do y'all think Finn is angry at Jake for leaving him in every universe?

Do y'all think they meet again in death in every universe?

Do y'all think there are universes where Finn reincarnates alone?

[whump-in-the-closet]

The Scarred Among the Mundane.

cw: mentioned death, magical torture, failed escape, inhuman whumpee

previous. masterlist. next.

— —

Finn wakes to a bucket of water in his face. He jerks upright, coughing with enough force to make his ribs ache.

Freezing water drips down the back of his ripped shirt. With a disgusted flick of his wrist, he pushes wet braids out of his face. Droplets of water are thrown in every direction as he peers up at Verne.

She holds an empty bucket in one hand, flame-red hair bright against the darkness. She smiles. “Good morning.”

I hate you. I will rip your throat out with my teeth.

The sorcerer doesn't seem to realise the imminent danger she’s in because her smile brightens.

Finn bares pointed teeth in a snarl.

A threat for a threat.

Verne drops her bucket and kicks it aside. Finn watches it, gaze darting from the bucket to the closed door.

To the unlocked, closed door.

A trembling hope– the colour of yellow– rises inside him.

Verne’s voice cuts through his thoughts with all the force of a physical blow. “Stand up, elf.”

Snarling. “No.” Finn's eyes never leave the door.

Verne sighs. “Go ahead and try.”

The world stops spinning. “What?”

“Try and escape.”

She’s far too calm for this to be anything but a trap. But the glimmer of hope is now an explosion. He’s on his feet, scrambling for the exit, a fire burning behind his eyes.

“Idiot,” says Verne and she’s smiling.

But Finn’s hand is on the door and escape is so close he can taste it –

His body ceases to be his own. He stiffens, hand falling to his side. Breaths come in odd gasps that are ripped out of him.

He’s forced to turn around, back to Verne and to the cell full of shadows and echoing screams.

Verne’s hands are twisted into wierding shapes. Her smile is unwavering. “Are you paying attention now?”

What else can he do? He can barely manage the required nod.

“Good.”

Finn finds something very, very bad with how she says ‘good’. It feels like a threat. A skin-crawling, mind-numbing horror about to be released.

Verne’s voice is dangerously low. “I’m going to try something familiar first. Perhaps you remember…I used it only two days ago.”

Has it only been two days?

His stomach drops.

“The spell I used isn't supposed to render a human unconscious. It's supposed to kill them.”

She waits for that to sink in.

Finn’s eyes widen. It’s sinking in.

“Did I try to kill you? Well,” she shrugs. “You were trying to burn down the Monarch’s castle. But you– somehow– are still alive. Oh, it's fascinating. I wonder how many other spells you can hold up against…I’m rambling, aren’t I?”

Finn stares in silent horror.

“Let's see how long you last this time, my elf-friend.” She lifts her other hand with a shark-toothed smile. “Remember, deep breaths.”

And Finn’s world shatters.

He can feel his body reacting— twisting into a voiceless scream. Crumpling to the ground, legs giving out on him, horror upon horror upon horror. But for a moment, he remains detached.

He manages a huh, that looks painful–

And then he joins in the screaming.

His blood is ice inside him. It’s wrong, wrong, wrong. Everything is wrong. Blood isn’t supposed to be a mountain-range under his skin.

This is his last coherent thought.

Blood in his throat, tasting like an open blaze.

Spiralling darkness. It spikes through blood cells, spearing the crimson red with shadows.

–He is an insect, pinned to a wall with needles–

Finn’s view of Verne’s boots and the scarlet-stained floor starts to fade.

Verne’s hands drop to her sides. The relief of unconsciousness is denied to him. She sways on her feet, wiping away the sheen of sweat on her forehead.

Her hand comes back red.

She looks at the blood. Sighs. Glances at Finn– shivering elf, all shadowed skin and ripped clothes– still alive. Judging by his shattered breathing, at least.

Despite her exhaustion– the mind numbing, void-filled exhaustion– Verne laughs. It dies on her lips.

But–

But the elf’s still alive.

Her theory is correct.

A dozen more spells burn at the back of her mind, demanding to be tested. And for the first time in ages, she’s excited to test them.

“I’ll be back,” says Verne. Not that Finn can hear her.

Finn curls up tighter on the ground, trying to convince himself this is some bad dream he’s trapped in.

This can’t be real.

This nauseating pain cannot be real.

tagging: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast (lmk if you want to be added/removed!)

[dont-open-dead-inside-25]

Disordered eater Jeff Winger!

[fio-renze]

cw: mentions of child death, grief

Sixty seven years Fiorenze had lived in the manor house. It felt like a mausoleum now, the windows all dark and dressings gone. Perhaps it was fitting. 

The gardens she had cultivated all that time still bloomed, bright and lush. Her well trod paths had started to re-wild a bit without anyone to cut them back, or her to walk them — the gentle buzz of bees and summer cicadas whirring was a small comfort as she wound her way through the shaded hedge maze. 

Invisibility spells only lasted so long, and eventually the gossamer threads of arcane that wrapped around her slowly drifted apart, falling from her as she turned that final corner. Nobody could see her here anyway; she had been careful to plant shade trees and skillfully trellised climbing ivies to create a living canopy above the memorials placed in this far corner. 

Dappled sunlight danced across the smooth, cool white stone inscribed with Finn’s name and the singular date of his birth and death, July 25. It was so small, like he’d been. She’d come here every year to lose herself to the grief of it all for a day. 

Her heart hurt and gave her pause. Was she really going to do what she came here to do? Did it really matter, in the end, where his ashes laid? 

Of course it did when it was somewhere she couldn’t be. Being here, on the grounds, was legally trespassing now. 

The dirt was hard on her hands as she dug around the flat gravestone. She had to get it free. Small as it was she pried it easily from the shallow niche it had settled in after forty three years. Maybe it was a blessing he hadn’t lived to see the siege on the city — he would’ve been a child, and had to deal with losing his father. 

Lord Halandir’s stone was nearby, too. He’d been killed by the Scourge while fighting to protect the kingdom. An honorable death for a dishonorable man. That one could stay where it was until it crumbled. 

She kept digging, clawing her way down through the dry earth. A thousand apologies spilled in whispers from her lips as tears fell onto the backs of her hands. She couldn’t bear to leave him in this empty place that had never been his home. 

Eventually the smooth, carved urn kissed her fingertips, and then her palm. It too was wrested free from the loam as soon as she could manage and wrapped up carefully in a beautifully woven cloth. The only home Finn had ever known had only been her. She’d find a new place to let him rest, one that didn’t hurt so much and felt right, and wasn’t a trial to visit. 

They left together, the grave filled back up and the stone pressed back on top. Tomorrow would still be awful, but at least she’d know he wasn’t alone. 

[cielomist]

why is the biology teacher waxing poetic about the suicidal look in shiho's eyes from when she. attempted suicide.

[twoheartedfool]

Unearthed

Thomas Shelby x F!Reader

CW: Funerals, mention of blood, angsty angst, happy ending?

The funeral was a dark one, as it should be expected. The dark clouds rolling over matched the mood of everyone in Small Heath mourning over their beloved king, Mr. Thomas Shelby. England mourned along with you. You had forgotten your umbrella in the daze on the way to the cemetery. Ada, with her arm wrapped in yours, held one over the two you. She didn’t fuss over you. She knew you wouldn’t like it. But her, and the other siblings that you had began to call your own, were all there for you. Silently in the background, they made sure everything went smoothly because you were too much in a fog.

Over the past 24 hours you had felt more emotions than you thought you could handle; despair, anger, betrayal, and now numbness. You were empty. The words said about Tommy were all just buzz in your ears. You stared at the closed casket but felt nothing. You didn’t even realize it was over until Arthur was kissing your forehead and there was a line of people behind him that were waiting to pay their respects. If Tommy was their king, then you were their queen. You didn’t want to see any of them. 

John kissed your cheek next but you continued to stare blankly at the casket. Another figure stood in front of you and you didn’t look at them until you heard their sniffles. Finn. You still had to remind yourself to look up when looking at him. He had grown so much. 

“(Y/N),” he sobbed. “I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I’m sorry.” 

Hearing his words finally awoke something inside you. 

“Finn,” you started. Everyone looked startled at the sound of your voice. They couldn’t remember when you had spoken last. 

You took the young man’s face in your hands, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Finn, you didn’t do this. There are men in this world, very, very bad men that did this, and they will pay for what they did. You are not one of those men. Tommy loved you. This isn’t your fault. Understood?” 

He nodded quickly. Arthur clamped a loving hand on his shoulder, “Wipe your tears, bruv.” 

“(Y/N), we’re going to the Garrison so everyone can be together. So we can celebrate Tommy,” Ada said softly. 

“I won’t be going to that,” you replied. 

“Please, we’re worried about you,” Esme said. 

“I said no,” you snapped. You sighed and closed your eyes, “I want to stay here a little while.” 

“Let us drive you back at least,” Arthur said. 

“I’ll walk,” you said coldly. 

“Come on, let’s leave her be,” John muttered, pulling Esme and Ada away. Finn shuffled behind them. Arthur stepped towards you.

“You, too, Arthur,” John called out. After a few moments, he finally huffed and walked towards the cars. You vaguely heard him shouting at everyone else to get moving. They filtered away and you watched as men started shoveling dirt into the grave. 

When someone stood beside you again, anger startled to boil up. “I said--”

You were startled by a man you had never seen before holding an envelope towards you. 

“Mrs. Shelby, this is for you.” 

“What is it?” 

“I can’t tell you that but it’s important that you take it.” 

“And who the fuck are you?” 

“I can’t tell you that, either. Please, Mrs. Shelby.” 

Looking down at the envelope, all possible outcomes of what it could be ran through your head. It was too thin to be an explosive. With a sigh, you ripped it out of his hands. 

The handwriting of the letter made your blood run cold. It was too familiar. You would recognize it anywhere. 

(Y/N),

Meet me in the basement of this address. Wait until after the Garrison. Don’t tell anyone. I’ll explain everything. 

All my love. 

There wasn’t a signature but you didn’t need one to know who it was from, or who you thought it was from anyway. With a snap of your head, you looked up at the man but he was already gone. Desperately looking for any of the Shelby’s, all you saw were the boys filling the grave. All of the cars were gone. But that didn’t matter. You knew a shortcut. 

Many people stared after you while you sprinted pass them. All of them just muttered things to themselves such as “poor girl” or “I don’t know what she’ll be without him.” You of course didn’t notice any of them. All you were focused on was getting to the address. It was in a part of town that you rarely came to, down by the river where it was mostly abandoned warehouses. 

Getting into the building was difficult. It seemed to be the only empty building that still had working locks. Eventually you found an open window that was easy enough to climb through. 

With staggered breath, you made it to the basement. Other than some old crates, there was nothing. The silence was deafening.

A fresh wave of tears made it to your eyes. How could you let yourself gain hope?

“How could I be so stupid?” you whispered fiercely, wiping away your tears. 

“I thought I told you to wait until after the Garrison.” 

You nearly screamed at the voice behind you. Walking around a corner was the man you thought you buried this morning. 

“Tommy,” you whispered, horrified. He wasn’t dressed in his normal suit, just pants, suspenders, and a white shirt that was covered in dirt and blood. Cuts and bruises lined his face. Slowly, you stepped forward, your fingertips hesitantly touching his cheek, his eyes fluttering close at your warmth. He was real. 

“Tommy,” you repeated. 

“It’s me, love.” 

Without a second thought, you threw yourself at him. He caught you easily, accepting your lips that hastily searched for his. You held onto him as tightly as you could, and him you. 

The kiss was finished with a harsh smack against his cheek that echoed throughout the basement. 

“How dare you,” you growled. 

“(Y/N)--”

“No! I had to bury you!” you slapped against his chest. 

“Love, listen-” 

“How dare you!” you screamed, continually hitting against his chest. Sobs escaped you in screams. All the feelings you had been bottling up inside were finally coming up. Tommy secured you tightly against, softly shushing in your ear. 

“You were dead.” 

“Shh, it’s alright. I’m sorry. I’m here. We’re alright now.” 

“How could you do this?” you wailed into his neck. His fingers grasped the nape of your neck, keeping you steady as your sobs slowed.

“It had be done. I needed them to believe it. You couldn’t have know, or else they wouldn’t have went with it.” 

“I don’t understand. Me. Your family. They all thought you were dead.” 

It was barely a twitch in his fingers that you felt in your hair. His silence accompanied it. You leaned away to meet his eyes, your vision finally clearing from the tears. He held the contact boldly. He was an expert at this and known throughout England because of it. Thomas Shelby and his cold, blue eyes. 

But you’re weren’t the rest of England.

“Who did you tell?” you asked. He kept your gaze as you stepped away from him. 

“You couldn’t have known,” he repeated bluntly, a pulse in his clenched jaw.

“Who knew, Thomas?” 

“Arthur.”

A strike of a rage went through you. There was that feeling again, betrayal. You felt it towards the world and God when they killed Thomas. Now you felt it towards the man himself and his brother. 

“Who else?” 

Tommy licked his lips and sighed, “Aunt Pol.” 

You scowled. “That’s why she wasn’t there today.” 

“She didn’t agree with my decision.”

“Of course she didn’t fucking agree with it! Who the fuck would?” you exploded. “What about the others? Do they know? Jesus, Tommy! Finn thinks that all of this is his fault!” 

“When the time is right, I will speak to Finn. He’ll understand. They all will.”

“I don’t,” you muttered. “You’re a bastard. You could have told me.” 

Thomas was hesitant to step forward but when you didn’t make any immediate signs of rejection, he took your face in his hands. He held you firmly, stroking his thumb against the tear stains on your cheeks. When he touched you, it felt like he was touching the most important thing in the world, because to him he was. And he was pleading with the world that you would forgive him for this.

“How would you have felt if I had done this?” you wondered. 

“Broken,” he admitted truthfully and without hesitation. Before you could speak, he continued. “But better than I would have felt if they had gotten to you. I wasn’t the only one with a target on my back. They were going to kill you, but I put myself forward. Nothing will keep you from me, or I you. Do I understand?” 

Exhausted, you lean your forehead against his. The bile in the back of your throat was settling. For a just a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him and exist outside the past few days. To feel him under your fingertips and his hands against your back.

“You’re still a bastard, Tommy.”

“I know.”

“And you’re not forgiven yet. If you ever try something like this again, you will not be able to fake your death because I will kill you.”

“I know, love.”

[queuestarter]

continuity

(finnick odair x reader)

cw: mentions/the act of vomiting

link to the request → finnick helping reader with morning sickness

open to finnick requests !!

You lay completely flat on the couch, eyes closed with a towel draped over them just to ensure that not a single ounce of light passes through. In your mouth is a raw piece of ginger- a trick to help with the nausea.

You’ve been incredibly sick for your entire pregnancy so far. You expected the headaches, nausea, and mood swings to end with your first trimester, but here you are, twenty four weeks along, and every symptom remains.

“Hey, babies,” you hear your husband call out to you. You grimace, the sound of his voice making you feel worse.

“Finn, shut up. Please.”

Finnick doesn’t say anything. Instead, you hear him move closer to where you’re laying. He lays a hand on your prominent bump and begins to rub. It feels good for a few seconds before a sudden feeling of repulsion washes over you.

“I love you with everything in me Finnick Odair but the baby doesn’t like that,” you whine, a pout forming. At this point, you’re so bothered by the overstimulating atmosphere around you that you decide to just accept the headache and nausea. You take the towel off of your eyes and sit up.

You see Finnick smiling in front of you, beautiful as ever. You roll your eyes at his happiness and grab his hand, spitting the chunk of chewed up ginger into it. You’re not even surprised when even that doesn’t seem to break his high spirits.

“Tell me what’s wrong, my love,” he requests. You pout, feeling tears already coming in. Today has been unnecessarily hard for no reason and Finnick being as perfect as ever isn’t helping much.

“I feel sick,” you whine pathetically. He cooes at you and cradles your face with the hand that isn’t full of chewed up ginger. 

“Do you want me to get you anything? Some tea?”

You nod slowly. You like a nice cup of tea, especially when you don’t feel good.

“What flavor? Does chamomile sound good?” He asks, backing away from you.

You think- chamomile is usually your go to tea, that would be fine. But the more you think about the tea, the more nauseous it makes you.

“Finn,” you moan, standing up from the couch. “Can you walk me to the bathroom?”

He scrunches his eyebrows together. “What about the tea?”

“Forget the damn tea,” you hiss, hand slapping over your mouth. Without his help, you run down the hallway to the downstairs bathroom, instantly lowering yourself to the toilet to expel the contents of your stomach.

Within seconds Finnick is by your side, holding your hair back with one hand and the other massaging soothing circles in the center of your back. “That’s it, honey. I’m sorry this is happening.”

You flush the toilet, letting out a deep breath. “It’s okay. Our baby just wants to make themselves known.”

“That’s right,” Finnick praises, helping you to your feet. You grab your toothbrush and scrub away at your teeth. Finnick stands behind you, peppering kisses onto your exposed neck at every chance he gets. 

Once you're finished and you rinse out your mouth, you give Finnick a kiss. “I feel better, can you make me the tea now?”

He smiles his perfect smile before saying, “anything for you, my love.”

You settle back into the couch, perfectly content with life.

-

[the-kr8tor]

Batten Down the Hatches

Pairing: Pirate! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 7.8k

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, TW panic attack, CW Injury, CW food mentions.

Between the Devil and the Sea Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 6 >>> CHAPTER 7

With Pavitr’s arm slung over your shoulder and James handing you a glass that smells incredibly strong, your heart has never felt this content in years. You laugh as Yuri wins an arm wrestle round for the third time that day. Everyone cheers, Yuri flexes with a rare wide smile.

It's been a few hours since your daring jump, you can still feel Hobie's hands on yours and the crew clasping your shoulders happily once they finally lifted you up. With their warm welcome and after the whole debacle, Hobie insisted that there should be a celebration for a mission accomplished.

“Someone rum me up!” she yells and you immediately give her your untouched glass. “Oh hell yeah, thank you, wifey!” Yuri winks, already drunk.

“I'm not your wife, Yuri!” You happily yell above the noise.

She gasps dramatically, “oh you wound me!” You shake your head with a smile.

“Yeah, Yuri, she's already taken!” Pav pipes up from your side, shaking your shoulders.

You clasp your hand over his chattering mouth, the crowd guffaws, asking you numerous questions.

“Oi! Who's got you all smitten then?” Two fingers asks.

“Oh look at her smile!” Ned joins in with the teasing.

“Alright, who do I have to fight for your hand?” Yuri has her hands on her hips, a teasing smile on her painted lips.

“No one! Pav's being a little shit!” you wrangle Pav while he tries to wiggle out.

He manages to get out, acting like he's deprived of air. “Isn't it obvious, it's the ca–”

Finn huffs loudly, his large frame casting a shadow over the small table. You sigh, relieved that Finn unintentionally saved you from all the teasing.

Yuri looks him up and down, the alcohol in her veins inflates her ego. With a smug smile on her lips, she sits back down on the stool, laying her elbow down on the table, flexing her hand towards Finn, challenging him for a match.

Everyone quiets down, flicking their eyes between the two.

You never thought you'd see the day, Finn grins, sitting across Yuri. With a loud thump, he copies his opponent’s movement, his large hand dwarfing Yuri's.

A loud cheer erupts, overflowing cups sloshing out, some even jump for joy. You blame the alcohol.

Pav leaves your side, going around to collect bets. The crew coughs up coins, you watch, beaming, nodding along to the light strumming of Ned's well loved guitar.

Backing away from the crowd, you leave everyone to get some air. The throbbing ache in your ankle protests so you lean on the ship's bannister, watching the vast sea waving to you. The afternoon sun bearing down, its warmth a welcome one from the cool sea breeze.

A steaming cup suddenly appears, balancing on the wooden railing. A lithe hand pushes it towards you wordlessly.

“Another olive branch?” You tease, side eyeing Hobie.

“No, I figured you'd want something to drink when you didn't drink the rum.” With his back against the bannister, elbows propped over it, he leans casually, face upwards, basking in the sun. His silver piercings glint in the light, a familiar pendant around his neck.

“Were you watching me? You stalker” taking the cup, you raise it to your smiling lips. Turmeric, you surmise based on the taste. You let the herbal tea soothe your aching ankle.

“I was watching my crew.” Hobie faces you, muscles relaxed, content. “How's the injury?”

“Getting better,” you twist your foot around, testing the pain. There's a dull ache now, the ice from Nellie's helped. “How'd you know about turmeric?” looking at him, you watch as his smile turns into a grin.

“‘m full of surprises I guess.” he throws your own words at you.

You roll your eyes, “You're insufferable, captain.”

“And I, you.” His eyes are soft. Before you know it, Hobie's already walking away.

The roaring laughter gets your attention. Yuri stands on the rickety table, arms up in glee with a look that screams ‘I'm a winner!’ Meanwhile, Finn is standing next to her, visibly worried, holding onto a very drunk Yuri who keeps riling up the crowd with her triumphant yells.

You guess the rum has special properties if Yuri can beat the large Finn at his own game.

The crew parts for Hobie, you'd think he would put a stop to Yuri's rambunctious celebration. Instead, he hops up on the wobbly table, sharing the already small space with Yuri who guffaws loudly, clapping rhythmically.

“Scoundrels!” She yells at the top of her lungs, the crew cheers, matching her energy.

Gwen sidles up next to you wordlessly, shoving you lightly. Giving her a smile, you watch the carriage wreck in front of you.

“May I introduce, Hobie motherfuckin’ Brown!” Yuri drops backwards, making you flinch towards her general direction. Good thing Finn's got her in his strong arms.

Yep, she's properly drunk off her ass.

Hobie takes a glass from someone, raising it up, the crew quiets down. A hush fills the ship, the sound of wood rocking against waves can only be heard above the silence.

“Rapscallions” They urge him on. “ne'er-do-wells!” The cheering gets louder. “Fuckin’ rascals!” He paused, the yells are ear drum bursting. “We finally got the king's swine!” You hear glasses breaking.

Hobie continues, quieting down the entire ship with one clear of his throat. “With the papers we have we finally know where the son of a bitch is sailing to.” His voice shakes from sheer anger and determination. “This time we get the upper hand.” His men hoot and cheer. “We will fight until we get our hands on the bastard that cut half of our crew. This time we get our bloody revenge!”

He downs the entire glass of rum in one drink, swallowing it like water. Meanwhile the rest of the crew follow his lead, gulping their own drinks fervently.

The cheering got so loud your ears started ringing.

You really hope they get the navy captain so that you can find your family who may or may not be up north. Until then, you'll stay with the crew and hope for the best that there'll be minimal injuries incurred during the fight.

—

You can't seem to find sleep despite how tired you were of yesterday’s events. Tossing and rolling in your bed, with a huff, you fling away the blanket. Lacing up your well worn shoes, you open the creaking door quietly.

With only the moonlight as your guide, you walk the familiar hallways, feet carefully avoiding the noisy floorboards.

Entering the library, lighting the oil lamp left on the table, you roam the bookshelves. With the help of the lamp, it illuminates the old spines. But nothing has piqued your interest, finding the titles too dull to keep your attention or too engrossing that you might not fall asleep when you inevitably drown in its pages.

Yawning, you think of another way to help you sleep. Maybe a glass of water might help? Or better yet, a cup of warm tea and biscuits might satiate you.

So you traverse the hallways once again, passing by cabins. Careful not to make any noise or you might face the wrath of a sleep deprived pirate. You know what they say, it's better to tease a drunk pirate rather than wake one from their slumber.

With silent footfalls, you almost jump in your skin when you see the captain himself brewing a pot of something that smells incredibly sweet.

With his back turned away from the door, you're sure you can slink away without him noticing.

“Scuttlebutt,” he half chuckles as the floorboards under you creak while you try to escape. “Want some hot chocolate?”

You groan, defeated. Turning around, he greets you with a smug smile, his eyes showing how fatigued he is but the light is still there, saying otherwise.

“What the hell is hot chocolate?” crossing the space, you lean on the kitchen island, facing Hobie on the other side. “I thought chocolate was supposed to be cold.”

“You're in for a treat then. ‘m guessing you've never had chocolate before?” he takes a clean mug for you, laying it next to his.

“Nope,” you pop the letter p, trying your best not to wipe your heavy eyes. “Chocolate is a luxury few can afford.”

Hobie hums, pouring the hot liquid in each cup.

This is what ambrosia might've smelt like, you thought.

“It's chocolate melted down with hot water or milk. Lucky for you, we got a few bottles of ‘em from one of the families. But we need to consume it fast or it'll go bad quickly.”

He hands you the cup, taking it tentatively, you don't flinch back when he suddenly grabs your hand to hold it when he gets impatient from your apprehensiveness.

“Don't worry, I already gave Pav and the first shift their share so you can drink to your heart's content.”

You look into the swirling brown liquid, the warmth from the cup soothes your nerves. Taking a sip, Hobie watches with crinkling eyes and a smile hidden behind his own mug.

“Holy fuck! Sweet nectar of the Gods!” You say before you take a big gulp, the heat searing your tongue. “Ack!” Spluttering out, Hobie lets out a loud laugh.

“Be careful it's hot” he says in between laughs.

“I know, but it's so good though!” You exclaim, eyes twinkling with mirth.

Hobie chuckles, watching you swallow the liquid down to the last drop.

You sigh, full and happy. “If solid chocolates taste like this then I'm more than ready to raid a merchant ship carrying crates of it.”

Hobie shakes his head. “I've never thought chocolate could make someone a pirate.”

“Not a pirate.” You move to pour yourself a cup. Hobie beats you to it, the sweet drink sloshing inside, filling it to the brim.

“Hmm” he watches you through his lashes.

“You're thinking, that's bad.” You take your cup but Hobie holds it hostage with his hand over the ceramic.

“What are you really doing back here?”

“I couldn't sleep, I just wanted some water.” you move to try and take the mug from him but he moves it further from you.

“There's some outside.”

“Fuck off.” Your hips hit the corner of the kitchen counter harshly as you try to grab your cup sneakily. The mug of precious chocolate scrapes on the counter, making you glare at Hobie when a few drops of it spills. “What do you really mean by that, Hobie?”

He scoffs, “You being here is suspicious—”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not navy.” You say with gritted teeth. You're not sure if he's just messing with you or he's truly being genuine.

“Not that. Not after O’Hara ran a bloody marathon for you, I know you're not one of ‘em. Or at least not anymore.”

You glare at him, getting angrier the second he uttered that name.

“Are you a deserter? Hmm? Are you his runaway bride? If so I don't blame you, I'd run away too.”

You grimace. “Fuck no, I'm neither of those things! Now can you please give me my chocolate?”

“No.” He blinks like he just got some revelation. “Fuck, are you his kid?”

“No! What? How'd you even get that conclusion? Do I look like—?”

“For all I know you could be an aristocrat.” He raises a brow.

“Oh come on!” You're properly annoyed. “I've been scrounging up food and coins for years. If I was a runaway noble lady then I would've come home to my mansion the second I was starving!”

“Why did the retired admiral run after you then? He looked like he wanted your bloody arse.”

“It's none of your business.” The fire in your eyes tries to convey your emotions. “I don't want to talk about him.” your voice turns shaky.

“It's my business because you're on my ship. If Miguel O'Hara's after you I need to know if the rest of my crew is in danger.” a few weeks ago his infuriated face would've scared you but now you're equally as mad as him.

You exhale, knuckles closed tightly on your side. “Fine, I'm here on your ship because you're heading north and I need to go north. You don't need to know about me and that man because I'm leaving when we get there. He won't come after the crew, I won't let him.”

His anger dissipates, eyes avoiding your own. “Here,” he stretches his arm, sliding the cup to you. Hobie winces from the movement, grabbing onto his chest instinctively.

“What is it?” You look at his pained expression. Walking around the counter, you step towards him, not too close but not too far that you wouldn't notice how his brows are knitted together, sweat dripping on his forehead.

Carefully reaching for him, you turn him gently towards you, not missing how hot his skin is under his shirt. “Hobie, look at me.” You say softly, hand squeezing his shoulder in an attempt to comfort him.

After a beat he looks at you with his stormy eyes, rain clouds dancing around his vision. “‘m fine, just need to sit down.”

“Let me see please” He freezes in front of you. “I'm here to help, aren't I? Now can I?” With a nod, he unbuttons his shirt slowly. Now open, a bandage is taped across his chest, dark blood seeping through it, clearly needing to be changed. “Fuck.”

“That bad?” He rasps.

“Yes, sit down.” You guide him towards a chair, surprisingly, he lets you. “I need to take it off to see the wound.” Hobie nods.

You kneel down in front of him, he sucks in his teeth with every tug and pull you do. The wound looks almost infected because of the careless bandaging and half hearted cleaning.

“Stay here, I'll get the things I need.”

He stops you with his hand bracelet around your wrist. “Tell me why you need to head north. There's nothing there but pompous politicians and leeching royals.”

“I think–” you start but you have no idea how to continue. Hobie looks up at you, hand sliding down to fit your own. “I think my family's there.” Without sparing any detail, you slip your hand out, turning away to head towards the infirmary.

—

His skin is hot against your hands, too warm for your liking. Sitting in between his legs, cotton shirt fully opened to reveal his wound and scarred chest. His newly bandaged knuckles rested on his thighs, they didn't need much cleaning but the skin was still open so you still did it just in case. The bottles of herbs rattle as the boat rocks from side to side.

Hobie's legs bounce up and down, the silence and tension is thick enough that your needle couldn't even poke through it. The ointment you're gently rubbing on him makes him wince, trouser leg bundled up in his shaking knuckles.

“Sorry, if there's any consolation, I hate this stuff too.” you quietly say. The strong smell from the mixture makes your nose itch.

“Were you a clumsy kid?” Hobie says, sucking in his teeth.

“Mm-hmm, I was climbing everywhere.” Chuckling softly. “Up in trees, roofs, got into so much trouble that she–” You stop, swallowing thickly. “I got a few scars to prove it.”

“We could compare–” he winces again when you press a little too hard on his wound but not too hard for it to bleed again. “Fuck…”

You hide your smile with a clear of your throat. “Sorry.”

“Fuck off, I know you're not sorry.” He laughs while you stifle yours.

Packing the mixture on his wound to combat any further infection, you make your hands extra gentle with every press and swipe.

“You should've told me about this.” Chastising him, you feel his eyes burn into your skull. “I could've prevented this, you know.”

“I've been told ‘m a stubborn bastard.”

“Oh I know. You did a shitty job at cleaning it by the way.”

“That's why you're here now, right?” His idle hands play with a hanging thread by your sleeves. He's not tugging at it so you don't mind, anything to keep his mind off the pain.

“So how'd you know about the turmeric for swelling?” You don't answer his question.

His smile falters before a small fond smile appears. “From someone a long time ago.”

Finishing up with cleaning his gash, you take a clean bandage from the table to cover and protect it. “They must be good then. Not a lot of people know about it.”

“Yes, she was.”

You pause, staring directly at his sad eyes. Hobie continues, “She was like you, brazen and full of fire.” He stares off into the distance, “A bloody force to be reckoned with.”

“A jack of all trades, she was. Always tryin’ to learn shit she didn't have to know.” Hobie flicks his eyes to you. “She knew how to swim, so that's a plus.”

You chuckle as he stares at your soft smile.

“Yours?” He asks tentatively, hand twitching to get closer to you.

“Does she know about ginger and honey?” Like a switch flicking, you stand up abruptly. “It's gonna help with your fever.”

Hobie doesn't press you for any information, instead, he lays back on the chair, letting you pamper him while your hot chocolate gets cold on the counter.

Preparing his tea, you can't help but feel bad for Hobie. Without him ever saying her name you know it's her, and you know he cared about her so much that whatever happened to MJ drove him to this state; a constant agony and hunger for revenge that if not satiated might consume him. He doesn't deserve it you think, he might be a pirate but during the time you've known him you found kindness in his frozen heart that's just waiting to be thawed out the moment he gets his revenge.

For his sake and the crew, you hope he gets what he always wanted.

“Here,” handing him the hot concoction, you're careful not to spill a single drop on him.

Hobie takes it, calloused fingers brushing yours. Taking a whiff of it, he makes a face that makes you scoff with a smile.

“If you can drink an entire glass of rum without choking then you can handle a simple tea.”

He side eyes you, shaking his head like a petulant child rejecting his medicine.

“Down the hatch, Hobie.” Bringing your hand under the cup, you guide it towards his tightly closed mouth. “It's sweet!”

“Nuh-uh” he shuts his lips closed the second he says it before you could shove the tea down his gullet.

Laughing, you can't believe the big bad captain of the bloodsail pirates is refusing to drink a simple ginger tea. “Do you need me to plug your nose, you big baby?” You say in between giggles.

“No, fine, I'll bloody drink it. I don't want your grimey hands all over my face.”

“These grimey hands were all over your chest treating your wound, you absolute child.” You regret your words the second you realize.

“Oh you were all over me, huh?” He smirks. You're glad that he can still smile after everything.

“Fuck off, drink it or don't, I don't care. Go die in a corner or something” you shrug, playing him like a fiddle.

“You really do care about me, Scuttlebutt.” With a deep breath, Hobie drinks the contents without any fuss.

You pat yourself on the back mentally. He coughs, scrunching his nose.

“I need to check your wound and clean it every eight hours. Got it?” You face him directly, hand on the side of his chair, looking down at him sternly.

“So you're finally askin' me out then? Pav was right, you're smitten.” Hobie has the brightest smile of a feverish man you've ever seen.

“Shithead.” You say, snatching the empty cup from his hands.

“You really do care about me. You've even given me a nickname”

You shake your head, taking your cold chocolate, flipping him the bird on the way out of the door.

“Lookin' forward to my next doctor's appointment, Trouble!” Hobie yells after you, his loud guffaw can be heard echoing out in the hallways.

—

You fall back into a comfortable routine. Helping the crew with their tasks and learning their ways throughout the time spent. You finally learn that the murky bucket of water doesn't have lye in it after seeing James dunk his entire arm in it. It's safe to say that he was covered in soapy water from head to toe after almost giving you a heart attack.

Ned's been teaching you how to mend the sails when you're not in the galley with Finn. He tells you tales of the time he was a traveling bard before the war. His stories were very colourful and sometimes not for the faint of heart. Who knew he had so many fans?

You've never smelt like gunpowder before, finding the powder tucked into the cloth of your clothes and sticking to your skin. The main culprit of the almost daily gunpowder bath is no other than Yuri and two fingers who took it upon themselves to teach you how to load a cannon and a musket. Under all the flirting, Yuri's a great teacher, your aim could do some work but at least now a gun isn't worthless in your hands.

At night, Miles and Pavitr would teach you about the stars and how to read maps, using it to navigate just in case you get lost. Which you hope will never happen to you. It would be a great skill to master if only you three would stop gossiping and giggling throughout the night, bellies full of tea and biscuits that Finn hides in the galley.

You find Gwen reading in the library alone from time to time. At first, you kept your distance, reading further away from her. But after a while, you notice that her favourite chair gets closer to yours until you sit side by side with her, reading quietly under a single oil lamp.

There's never a dull moment on the ship, everyone does their share of the work, and everyone gets to eat and be left to their own devices during the night. It's great, you think. You don't worry about your next meal or where you need to sleep anymore.

Your mind has never been this quiet since you left home.

Surprisingly, Hobie's been diligent at keeping your regularly scheduled injury maintenance on time. Even if you forget, he would appear out of nowhere, clutching your bag of supplies in his hands with a shit eating grin that makes you want to rip his bandage off harshly.

The brightness of the sun filtering through the large window hinders your vision a bit as you carefully take Hobie's stitches off. Your brows are knitted together, eyes full of concentration as sweat drips on your forehead. You could've done this in the infirmary but Hobie had to do a bunch of work in his cabin so you're currently doing your best at managing while he walks around the large table sat in the middle of the room. You follow him with your sutures and scissors. The sight must have been hilarious because half of the crew were chuckling and stifling a laugh.

But the moment you were finished, you threw them the nastiest glare you could muster. Shutting them all up immediately, looking away from you nonchalantly. You pretend you don't see them hiding their smiles.

Sitting down on a free chair, huffing and with your arms aching, you twist your wrists around, massaging the tired muscles with your fingers.

Miles sits next to you, a piece of paper landing right on top of your hands. Your own face stares back at you, a pencil sketch of you, face full of concentration.

“Did you draw this?” You say, surprised and with a bright grin on your face.

“No, Hobie did.” He says sarcastically but you believed him for a second. “Of course I did, it was a bit hard when you were following Hobie around like a duckling.”

“That's a compliment, ducklings are cute, Miles.” He rolls his eyes, “this is amazing though, thank you. I haven't had my likeness drawn in…never actually.”

Miles smiles, taking out a small leather bound sketchbook from his back pocket. “Prepare to be surprised then.”

He flips through it, you get glimpses of drawings from far flung sceneries, animals that you don't know the names of and faces of the crew; some familiar, some are strangers to you. But you see more of Gwen's face amidst the pages. You fight the urge to tease him, maybe you'll do that when half of the crew isn't discussing battle plans in front of you. Their faces are serious and intense as Hobie lays out figures on a map.

“You're this bored, huh?” With your elbow resting on your thigh, you watch him stop on a page.

“Look at this one” he proudly says, eyes twinkling. Showing you the pages, his hand still holding it just in case you had the audacity to flip through it yourself.

You can't believe it's your own face staring back at you.

Your eyes smile in the drawing, the unmistakable shine of happiness in them. Face turned to side, clearly looking at something. Your lips are curled up into a grin like someone just told you the funniest joke ever. The shading is expertly done by Miles, *it's like staring into a mirror, you thought. You've never seen yourself this happy.

“I'm guessing I did a good job?” He smugly says, “you're staring at it way too long, narcissus is that you?” Miles jokes, but his smile fades when he sees your eyes glistening in the sun. “Oh shit, please don't cry. Hobie's gonna kill me if I made you cry.”

You sniff, casually hiding the heat behind your eyes. “It's really good.” Chuckling, you feel a pair of eyes on your form. “Thank you, I–” exhaling, you have no idea how to properly thank him. Settling on a fist bump on his arm, you awkwardly do just that. “Thanks, you made me look prettier.”

He laughs, sighing in relief. “Nah, it was no problem. Making you look good was the hardest part.”

“You ruined it,” you scrunch up your nose, feigning annoyance. Pushing the notebook, shoving it to his chest he laughs loudly, too loud apparently when someone from the room shushes you two.

Miles winces before turning back to you. “You know what helped though? In getting your expression right?”

“No?”

“Hobie,” he says with a quick gesture towards the man. A mischievous smirk on his face. “You were talking to Hobie while I was drawing this.” Lifting the page back up, “look how happy you were!” You close the book with his fingers still inside.

Yelping, he glares at you. “I made you a portrait and this is how you thank me?”

“Shut it” your eyes roam the room, looking for someone who's eavesdropping on the conversation. Thankfully no one is. “Don't act like Gwen isn't on every page of your book.” you whisper shout at him.

“Oh so you're saying that the same feelings I have for Gwen can be translated to your feelings towards Hobie?” He teases you right back, whispering quieter. “I owe Pav a coin.”

“You little–!” He rockets away from his seat, weaving through the crew. “Come back here, Miles!” Chasing him, careful not to shove anyone, your fast footsteps echo in the hallways.

Miles yells back, gaining speed ahead of you. “I have Hobie's version too if you'd like to see it!”

“No! Fuck you! I'll tell Gwen!”

He turns heel, now running after you. Cursing, you turn around, back to where you came from. Sprinting, you both pass by Hobie's cabin lightning fast. The crew's laughter echoes out while you try to escape Miles.

Hobie can't help but crack a smile even when the topic at hand is serious and dire.

—

With a book in front of you, hands smelling of ink and paper, you glance at Gwen who's leaning on your side comfortably, using you as her personal backrest. You don't mind it since she snuck in hot chocolate for you.

“I've been thinking—”

“That's dangerous, don't hurt yourself.” She murmurs.

“Funny, ha ha” you laugh sarcastically. She snorts, eyes still glued on the page. “Seriously though, what's on the bow of the ship? I've only seen mermaids and the occasional angel carved on it but I've never seen one like the one here. Where in the world did Hobie even get it?”

“It's a dragon.” Gwen says without looking back at you.

“A dragon? But it doesn't have any wings though?”

She sits up, gently laying the book on her lap, looking prim and proper. “A version of it, I guess? It's popular in the east.” You listen intently so she continues. “In their stories, the dragons symbolize luck and strength, which we need now more than ever.” stretching her neck, she continues. “And Hobie traded it in exchange for our boring old siren.”

You chuckle, “What's the difference between the ones in our mythology and theirs? Other than the lack of wings and looking way cooler.”

“They say they have the power to control the weather and are big enough to swallow the moon.” you whistle out, intrigued. “Maybe after the fight we can sail over there and show you around the place?” she asks, grinning.

“I'd love that.”

You should tell her that you're not staying after the fight, but you don't want to ruin the moment or her mood. You'll tell her when you get the chance, for now, you let them focus on what's coming.

“We named him Terrence by the way.”

You giggle. “I'll be sure to greet him every morning.”

—

The clean water splashed on your head is a nice reprieve from the searing heat. Being the so-called ‘doctor’ on the ship, Hobie thought it would be a great idea for you to also be their designated water girl to combat heat stroke. It's easy work, reminding them to drink water and also just dumping a splash of water on the crew's head using a soup ladle. You're having fun actually, just randomly (and sneakily) pouring water over their heads whenever they complain about the heat while toiling under the sun, watching them shriek and jump from the sudden gush of water. Now they rarely complain anymore, that just means you've done a good job at keeping them all alive under the heat.

But there's one person who you haven't dumped water on yet, which with the help of Finn and his strength, you're about to remedy that.

Hobie stands near the helm, observing Pavitr sailing the ship with ease. You and Finn carry the entire barrel of half full water, (it's mostly Finn doing the work) carefully sneaking behind Hobie to dump the entire contents on him.

Before you could signal Finn to pour it on Hobie, he turns around, hands placed on his hips and a face that says: I dare you.

You freeze mid step, darting your eyes towards your little helper. Finn shrugs, subtly pointing his head towards Hobie.

“Well—?” With one strong heave of the barrel, pointing it directly towards Hobie, the water hits him with a splash, completely drenching him.

The sound gets everyone's attention, seeing their captain wet as a freshly caught fish, the roaring laughter fills the ship, pointing, hollering and whistling at their captain.

The smile on your lips fades, eyes widening when you flick your eyes downward, you've never thought a harmless prank could make your heart beat faster and for heat to rise to your cheeks. And it's not the sun that's causing that or a symptom of heat exhaustion, no, it's Hobie and his unfortunate white cotton shirt that's completely soaked through, sticking to his skin, showing off his chiseled torso. You don't dare look further down, you might not recover from what you could possibly get a glimpse of.

Hobie splutters, wiping at his wet face, water dripping from his entire body. You swallow thickly, Finn notices your sudden silence. He looks at you with narrowed eyes, head tilted like he caught your hand in the cookie jar.

You blink rapidly, “W-what?” Side eyeing Finn. He raises a brow, “What? I may not like him but I still have eyes, you know.”

“Liar.” He says in a deep voice, making you do a double take.

“Did you just—?”

“Y/N,” Hobie addresses you, eyes telling you to run. “You better not let me catch you.”

You squeak, bolting immediately. The crew guffaws loudly like they're watching the best entertainment the sea could offer. Sprinting down the stairs, hearing footsteps behind you, your old injury flares up, almost tripping you.

Hobie catches you before you could fall flat on your face. His drenched arms around your middle, his clothes squelching on your back, the water seeping through your own clothes.

“Time to walk the plank again, Scuttlebutt!” He jokes but the way he carries you towards the plank has you wiggling out, hitting his arms.

“It was a joke!” You scream. He walks closer, “a jape!” Hobie stops near the edge. “A jest!”

His laugh reverberates, you feel his chest vibrating. He cranes his neck down, whispering close to the shell of your ear. “Did you really think I'll throw you overboard?” Goosebumps rise on your skin as he blows hot air. “I'll let Finn do it instead.”

Biting your lip, hands gripping his wrists, you decide to rag him on after knowing he won't actually throw you into the shark infested waters. “yeah? Why don't you do it yourself? Be a man, captain”

Behind you, the crew continues to cheer. Pav even lets out a ‘lets go!’

Hobie chuckles deeply, squeezing you once. “You cheeky—”

The alarm bells from the crow’s nest rings out, James yells from above. “Vessel approaching! Starboard!”

Hobie lets you go, taking a telescope from a serious looking Gwen.

The blood in your veins turn into ice, holding on to the railing, you grip it as you feel your knees give out.

You can't hear what anyone is saying with blood rushing in your ears, frantic voices indistinct, igniting your nerves. Your breathing turns shallow, you try to count backwards in your head but it's no use when your hands start shaking.

“Oi,” Hobie notices your distressed expression. Rushing to your side, his voice starts getting clearer when he places his hands on your cheeks, holding you gently like you're about to break from the slight pressure from his touch.

“Breathe, yeah?” He inhales and exhales, encouraging you to do the same. You copy him, staring only at Hobie. “There, good, just breathe.” His thumbs wipe at the tears you haven't noticed letting out.

After a beat of breathing in sync, Hobie nods. “It's alright, they're allies. You don't have to be scared.” He turns you around carefully, “see? They're waving.”

Pointing at a man clad in red, white and blue, Hobie squeezes your shoulder. “That's Captain Anarchy and right next to him is his first mate, Robbie Banner. They're here to help us win the fight.”

You calm down a little once you see the crew of the other ship smile and wave at you. Trusting Hobie, you look over your shoulder, his face too close to you, breath mixing in together. Flinching, you take a step back from his hold.

He lets you go, hands sliding away from your elbows, giving you space. You look uncharacteristically small in front of him, shoulders hunched, eyes looking down at your feet.

“You're alright, Y/N.” His reassuring and soft voice echoes amidst the rowdy crew behind him.

You could only nod.

—

It's been chaotic since the sons of the sea arrived. They have been welcoming and kind to you, too kind, in fact that you sometimes forget that they're pirates. Especially Robbie, he always goes out of his way to help your uneasiness. He once told you during dinner with the crew that he knows how it feels to be new; and for some reason he thought that you're Hobie's lover, saying that loving a pirate captain is pretty hard work. You shut down the conversation immediately.

Finally finding a time for yourself, you stretch your aching hands, gunpowder stuck in your nostrils. Hemp and pine tar sticking under your fingernails. You've never thought that you'd be preparing for war but here you are.

After the incident, you've made yourself scarce. With preparation and between meetings, you hadn't had a chance to speak with him. Or for Hobie to even try to approach you. His wounds have healed so you don't have any reason to keep seeing each other. But you find yourself holding on to two mugs of hot chocolate, trudging the cold hallways to his cabin.

The mugs are warm in your hands, the familiarity helping with your nerves. You have no idea what to say to him, maybe a simple thank you perhaps? You didn't intend to become that vulnerable in front of him, so maybe an apology? Whatever you end up saying to him, it all has to start with a simple knock on his door which you're currently standing stiffly in front of.

Juggling two mugs in one hand, you place your knuckles on the wood. Your ears perk up at the muffled voices inside. Against better judgment, you place your ear above the door, eavesdropping on the conversation.

“—She’s not her, Hobie. I've seen how you act around her, how you look at her.” You strain your ears to hear better. “It's the same with MJ.” You blink in surprise.

“Gwen,” Hobie sighs, there's rustling on his end. “I don't like what you're insinuating.”

“I'm not insinuating anything. I'm saying this as a friend to you and to her. Don't. Just…don't” there's footsteps, “She's good for the crew, Hobie. We can't lose her.”

“I know she is.”

Gwen scoffs. “You just proved my point.”

“She's not her, I get it. Can you please go back to preparin’?”

“No, not until you get it in your thick skull.” she pauses. “She's her own person. I see it too, the similarities in their personalities. But Y/N’s not MJ.”

You almost drop the mugs.

“I know she's not MJ. I don't fancy her, I tolerate her.”

“Are you sure? Because you keep–”

His voice shakes. “MJ is gone and Y/N is Y/N. I know she's not MJ.”

Backing away from the door, emotions swirling into a dangerous concoction, face flat and lips downturned. You slowly bend down to place the mug on the side of his cabin door.

You have no idea how to react or confront it, so you just walked away. Throwing the information in the back of your mind, hoping it doesn't seep into your bones. Hope that it doesn't rot and spoil inside.

—

The sky is heavy with dark clouds, thunder booming like drum beats, lightning peeking out in the night. A storm is coming, you can feel it in your tendons, the smell of petrichor looming overhead, temperature dropping significantly. The fog obscuring the way doesn't help with your icy nerves. The rest of the crew battens down the windows, preparing to weather out the storm. You're not even that close to the destination and yet the sky is already preventing the ship from going further.

The sea is unusually calm despite the storm brewing ahead. A possible omen to what's to come next. You pray that you're wrong.

Shutting your window, locking it in place, you take your medical bag that's hanging from the cabin's doorknob. Making sure the door is properly closed, you head over to the deck.

You almost collide into a body, their hands holding on to your elbows.

“Woah there!” He holds you at arm's length. “You alright, doc?” His genuine smile makes the day a tad brighter.

“Captain Anarchy, hello and please don't call me that. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not actually a doctor.” You chuckle lightly.

“I won't call you doc if you don't call me captain anarchy.”

“Alright, what should I call you then?”

“Karl's fine. I'm not your captain anyway so why bother calling me captain y’know?”

You nod, “Yeah, I get it. Are you lost? These are the cabins.”

“Shit, yeah.” He scratches his head. “I swear this place is built like a maze. I'm looking for the galley actually, Finn said I can borrow some ingredients. I'm planning on cooking for everyone tonight.”

“That's really nice of you, thanks. I'll show it to you if you want?”

“That would be fantastic, thank you!”

Gesturing behind him, you lead him while he laughs at his own blunder. “Wait, Finn talked to you?”

“Mm-hmm, I've known him for a while. The secret is to talk about produce and spices then you won't be able to get him to shut up.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” You chuckle, shaking your head. Deciding to make small talk while weaving around hallways, you ask him. “How long have you been a pirate?”

He sighs, “Too fucking long.”

“Looking to retire?” you look over your shoulder, his face says it all.

“Absolutely, we're all just saving up so we could settle comfortably somewhere. Unfortunately taxes are really fucking high these days thanks to the asshole in the big chair.”

“You got that right. All these wars and sponsoring explorations got the people's coffers dry and empty.”

“Exactly! Man, Hobie really knows how to pick them, huh?” He shakes your shoulder like you're old friends. You don't flinch away, in case you offend the only ally Hobie has.

“We're not together.” you say flatly.

“That right? Sorry. Well, he did pick the right crew member then.”

“More like he fished me out of the sea.”

He laughs, the sound reminding you of a bird chirping. Karl looks at your humorless face. “Wait, seriously.”

“Yep, that's a story for another day because we're here.” you open the doors for him, showing him the galley.

“Thanks, Y/N. I owe you one.” he shoots you a friendly wink.

“Of course, just give me extra portions later.” you joke.

He chortles, “I'll save the bigger bowl for you”

Before you leave, there's a question that's unfortunately gnawing in your head.

“Can I ask you something?”

He peeks over the counter, blue eyes staring back at you. “Shoot.”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, it just means go ahead.”

“Right, uh…Did you know Hobie three years ago?” You cross your arms on your chest.

“I've known him far longer than that.”

“How was he back then?”

Karl thinks for a moment. He smiles, “Best damn pirate I've ever seen, next to me of course. He was younger, wide eyed, hungry for adventure, more than ready to take down the crown itself. Safe to say he's ambitious, he still is but—” he shakes his head. “For a different reason now.”

“Do you not think he can take down Matthias?”

“I have faith that he can and he will eventually. But I'm afraid that I'll never see that wide eyed Hobie ever again. He's gotten used to the flames, feeding it, letting it consume him. I don't think he'll be able to fight that fire after he gets what he wants.”

You clench your jaw. “What happened to MJ?”

“I don't think I'm the right person to tell you that.”

Nodding, you wordlessly thank him with a small smile.

“Wait, Y/N.” he calls for you.

“Yeah?”

“Whatever happens, help him douse the fire? For everyone's sake.”

“I— I'll do my best.”

He gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Promise me, please. I owe MJ that much.”

You exhale shakily. “I promise.”

Turning to leave, you fight with yourself. How could you make that promise when you plan to leave after Hobie wins? How do you keep that promise when you can't even look him in the eye? How do you tell Gwen and the others when their hearts are set to you staying on board?

Will it be worth it for you to leave what you currently have for someone who may not even exist?

You pause in the middle of the barren hallway, hand clutching tightly at the straps of your bag. Breathing heavily, you feel it rearing its ugly head again.

Your thoughts get interrupted by the alarm bells ringing, this time instead of curling around yourself, you decide to face it head on despite the shaking in your legs. The crew needs you, and you need them.

Crash!

The ship lunges harshly to the side, flinging you to the wall, head pounding on the hardwood.

Your vision blurs, white dots dancing, ears ringing and your head stinging from the impact.

“Fuck…” you crawl, doing your best to get up on the deck.

“They need you. Get up, lazybones.”

Hearing her voice whisper into your ear, makes you laugh coldly. You're probably concussed.

With a groan, you lift yourself up, using the wall as leverage.

With every heavy step, you straighten up, ignoring the pain in the back of your head. Walking up the steps makes you dizzy but you continue on.

Holding on to the door frame triumphantly, you reach the deck.

The fog has reached the ship, covering the entire deck in its thick mist. You notice the quiet, and the lack of movement from the crew. They all just stand stiffly, spaced away from each other. holding their weapons in their hands in a tight grip, the only indication that they're alright.

You spot Hobie in the middle of the crowd, eyes staring into the sea.

“Hobie?” You softly say. Grabbing his arm, you jump when he takes your wrist without taking his eyes off from what he's staring at.

His hand shakes, you're afraid to look.

“Y/N,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I'm sorry.”

His apology makes you follow his gaze.

The thick fog makes way for a dozen ships sailing towards you at incredible speeds, they open the lamps on their bows one by one. Like a hunter's gaze, they petrify you.

With your heart trying to escape your chest, you turn starboard, hopeful for a way out. But the sight alone would make you weep.

A larger ship looms over the revenge, its bow crashed on the side of the now splintered wood of the ship. The navy ship is Gilded and pristine, decorated with carvings of asphodels. The crowned angel with her wings spread out on the bow looks down at you through her wooden eyes.

Hobie clutches on to you tighter, scowling, shaking in sheer anger.

A menacing laugh echoes into the eerie silence.

You're surrounded.

[russellsppttemplates]

I love love love your work sooooo muchhh. I had a request only if you feel comfortable writing it, if not that’s totally okay 🫶🏼🫶🏼

But it’s dad max who is maybe under a lot of stress and gets interrupted over a call or just trying to do some work by his little one and accidentally snaps but immediately feels so bad

Cw: mentions a little of Max's childhood with his father (from what I know from the internet)

The meetings at RedBull had been keeping Max on his toes, and between interview and photoshoots, combined with a few nights where he couldn't sleep all that well, he was stretched to the maximum.

"Papa, can you help me with these, please?", Finn asked as he saw Max close his notebook on the table, thinking he was done with work.

"I can't right now, Finn! Can't you see I'm working?", he snapped, regretting his choice of words and tone to let your son know he couldn't help him just yet.

Finn was quick to mumble "I'm sorry", grabbing the box he wanted help with and leaving to find you. When he met you in your office, the tears he was holding on fell softly from his eyes as you stretched your arms for him to cuddle you, "I didn't mean to make papa upset", he muttered after settling down his hiccups.

"I know you didn't, my love", you assured, "and deep down papa knows that too", you tried, "how about after papa finishes what he is doing, he talks to you? Would you be fine with that?", you asked, brushing his blonde hair with your fingers.

"Yes", he hiccuped before he settled himself against your chest, fist clutching your top as you swilled you both with the help of your legs, your lips pressing multiple kisses on his forehead as he settled down.

Finn fell asleep on your arms by the time you needed to get started on dinner so you set him down on his bed, heading to the kitchen and finding Max in there already, stirring something in the pot.

"Is he asleep?", Max asked, and once you looked at his face, you confirmed how sorry you thought he would be, "yes, I left him in his bedroom until dinner is ready", you stated, waiting for him to speak.

"I didn't mean to do it, the minute the words came out of my mouth, I regretted them. It took me straight out to when I was a kid", he sighed, making you go up to him and rub his back encouragingly, "I don't want that for Finn, or for any other kids we might be fortunate to have, never ever! And I failed him, and I failed you. I'll apologise as soon as he wakes up", he fumbled with his thumbs.

"You're nothing like what you felt or experienced when you were a kid, Max", you stated, "you know that and I know that. What you didn't isn't excusable, and I think you're doing the right thing in apologising to Finn, but don't best yourself up about this. You and your father couldn't be any more different, okay?", you ensured, kissing his cheek.

When dinner was ready, Max went upstairs to wake Finn up and talk to him.

"Hey, Finn, time for dinner", Max said as he shook his little body softly, "and I'd like to apologise to you if that's okay", he justified, letting him sit up straight and tub the sleep out of his eyes, "I'm sorry I snapped at you like that, you didn't deserve it and I shouldn't have dealt with the situation the way I did. I love you so much and I never want to you think you upset me, much less for asking for me".

"I just wanted help with the new puzzle mama got me", he said, "but it's okay, you're forgiven. Just, don't do it again, okay? Please", he pouted, making Max make a promise to himself right there: no more snapping.

"Of course I won't, buddy", he said as your son crawled to his arms, "Good, papa, now let's go downstairs because mama is making spaghetti with cheese!".

(Thank you for submitting an ask ✨️)

[witlesswitnesstm]

Ok so I haven’t posted anything about this before, but I feel as though I have to now because this obsession is taking over my life.

The Marvin Trilogy: My Speculations about Marvin’s sexual trauma

(Surprisingly, I’ve seen almost no one talk about this)

Cw: Pedophila, SA, mention of suicidality

For this, I am taking from both the 1979 album and the 1985 rewrite of In Trousers.

So, the elephant in the room: Set those sails. When I first watched the Trinity College production, the entire song gave me a sense of unease unlike anything else. There’s this whole depiction of Mrs. Goldberg stripping in front of Marvin, a 14 year old, and then Marvin backing away and watching all of the ladies sing. I want to note here how Marvin doesn’t sing in this at all. Then the song ends, and Mrs. Goldberg claims the entire song was a highschool fantasy by Marvin. See, I don’t doubt that parts of it were definitely made up, but I think Mrs. Goldberg coming onto Marvin was not. To me, Set those sails is Marvin’s interpretation of his teacher’s assault. He’s trying to justify his uncomfortableness by imagining this scenario is a sort of “wake up call” to manhood. One of the lines is “You might tell me you’re a victim, you might get what you deserve.” Which, in my opinion, is near damning evidence to suggest that Mrs. Goldberg groomed/abused Marvin in some way. She says that she can’t excuse a boy who’s lost his nerve, which seems to me like her encouraging Marvin’s perception of masculinity, and saying that he needs to reciprocate her affection to be a man. There are further references to how a good man never fails or how men account for the appetite of all, that could be him trying to tell himself he should’ve enjoyed it. A “good man” in Marvin eyes, is someone who has incredible resolve to his heterosexuality, and always lusts for women. What better a way to prove that than to pretend he enjoyed being assaulted?

Next, I want to note the differences between Set those sails and the R—- of Mrs. Goldberg. The r of Mrs. Goldberg is incredibly childish, and it’s clearly stated at the beginning that it’s a fantasy by Marvin. In this song, Marvin has the control. He’s the hero who takes Mrs. Goldberg instead of the other way around. He has no clear understanding of what sex actually is, and just wants the absolute power that is implied with it. I personally like the interpretation that Marvin made fantasies of having control to cope with being assaulted. I also like the interpretation that this song is a story he made up to tell others in order to “prove” his heterosexuality. As I briefly mentioned earlier, the behavior of Marvin between the 2 songs is also very stark. In set those sails, Marvin actively tries to get away from Mrs. Goldberg and stays absolutely silent. This is extremely uncharacteristic of Marvin, especially at this age. He always acts out, he always yells, except for this song. This deeply contrasts the R of Mrs. Goldberg, where Marvin is loud and happy, as usual. I take this to mean that Set those sails is one of the few moments where he is truly paralyzed.

There are a few references to Mrs. Goldberg’s misconduct in Highschool sweetheart as well, even if they are a stretch. Marvin says “She gives me words to say” and while this is obviously a reference to the script, it might also be her telling Marvin to lie about what happened. There’s also Mrs. Goldberg saying “Stop making me crazy, Marvin. I love the way Marvin acts, I do.” which is obviously about his unruly behavior, but might also be about her sexual feelings towards him.

As for how this ties into the main theme of misogyny, misogyny affects all. The idea that women are docile and innocent, and men are sex crazed is a product of misogyny. Marvin holding this belief actively hurts him over and over again, blaming himself for not living up to this standard. I truly have no idea if this is what William Finn intended, but I find it interesting how it all fits.

Moving on from childhood, let’s talk about Nausea before the game. Besides probably being my favorite song in the whole show, it gives a whole lot of insight as to how Marvin feels about sex now that he’s presumably experienced it. The constant references to games are important here, I feel like. Marvin absolutely loves winning. He even says that winning is everything to him in The Chess Game. Marvin would do anything to win, including forcing himself through intercourse he desperately does not want to have. It’s implied that he literally throws up afterwards, trying to purge himself of his shame. He even prays for it to stop, but inevitably, it never does. And of course this all stems from his internalized homophobia, and the added layer of possibly being assaulted as a child just makes the entire situation even more tragic. Having sex with Trina could *literally* be bringing back traumatic experiences. This also makes me feel for Trina, because she did nothing wrong. She just wants love, but Marvin is so fucked up. There’s also even more references to being inappropriately touched in highschool with the line “It's anxiety when you recall girls who touch you when you're walking down the hall.”

My chance to survive the night just further elaborates how much Marvin hates being heterosexual. I find the word “survive” to be very peculiar in this case. It went from “winning” sex to “surviving” it. This might imply how worn out he is because of all of this, focusing his attention to his literal survival than his pride. It might also imply suicidal thoughts during sex, leading to him just wanting to live through it, although that might be a stretch. (Marvin’s suicidality is a whole other can of worms that I’d love to get into in another post). One thing though, I don’t actually know if My chance to survive the night is before or after Nausea before the game, but it has a similar implication either way. Anyway, there’s one verse in the song I want to note. Marvin says sex as a dance, but he describes all the movements very objectively, and notes how he isn’t very lucid about it. This might be a sign of disassociation, which is a common trauma response. Another thing from this song is that he says he wants to sleep, but the phone will ring (Presumably a call to intimacy). And this theme of wanting to sleep but not being able to is a theme throughout the whole musical. There’s a reference to it in Nausea before the game with “If I touch her would she let me fall asleep?”, and many references in “I can’t sleep”, but I think that song is more about how Marvin’s ex lovers haunt him in general.

Next up, I want to talk about Your lips and me reprise. This really digs into the whole “Marvin’s ex lovers are haunting him” deal. This is the first time we really see Marvin actually acknowledge the ladies’ accompaniment for his songs, and it’s because of his guilt for making up a story about Mrs. Goldberg. I think Marvin thinking about this in one of his most private places, his shower, just shows how much this affected him, even in adulthood. The line “My body is not yours to hold” by Mrs. Goldberg is extremely powerful, and I think it could have multiple meanings. It’s Marvin’s guilt about fantasizing about her, yes, but it could also be him finally accepting that what he and Mrs. Goldberg did wasn’t supposed to happen. The ensuing panic attack is caused by Marvin’s perception of his childhood crashing around him. If anyone has seen lars_orange’s animatic of this song on YouTube, I really love their depiction of Marvin recovering from his panic attack. He thinks about Whizzer, and he breathes. This is where Marvin takes a victory shower starts. He’s not ashamed anymore. (Unrelated, but is it just me or is this song seem like Marvin taking a shower after having sex with Whizzer? It’s referenced in How America got its name that Columbus planned to take a shower after he and Amerigo spent so much time together.)

Finally, I want to talk about Another sleepless night. Specifically the 1985 version. This gives a clue into how passionate Whizzer and Marvin are, even before The thrill of first love. There is one key difference in the lyrics from the college production to the actual lyrics. In the actual lyrics, there’s a line, “I’m feeling hot. He'll close his eyes, and then surprise: I'll be awake and performing” but the college production changes it to “He’s feeling hot. I’ll close my eyes, and then surprise: I'll be awake and performing”. The actual lyrics enforce Marvin’s need for homosexual intimacy, which feels very in character for him at this point. He’s craving anything other than heterosexual sex and he finally has that in Whizzer. The college lyrics paint a completely different picture, implying that Whizzer is the one who wants passion. Then Marvin says “He'll wanna sleep, but asks for more. To put up with a guy like myself must be a bore.” This suggests Marvin still feels a sense of guilt for not being able to give what others want from him. These different interpretations bring completely different meanings to the line “But he sleeps in this bed, with me, a survivor.” For the original lyrics, the connotation of “survivor” is positive; he’s survived his trauma and able to move on. For the college production, it’s negative; he still feels fragile or insecure because of what he’s been through. Ultimately it ends semi positively with both versions saying that Marvin’s never felt more alive.

Ok, god damn that was a lot of words. Short story, Marvin is hells of fucked up, and I really really really love the Marvin trilogy

[lumosinlove]

Vaincre

May Part Six

cw: mentions of past injury

~

They lost game five.

Maybe, Remus thought, they had expected the Rangers to be hurting. Their footing unsure. After Archer, Remus knew he felt shaken. It was an accident. The phrase rang in his mind, complete with Archer’s face—and, even worse, Leo’s face. Heartbroken.

Remus had thought, more than once, that Logan would be off his game because of Finn.

But the Lions had been the ones feeling thrown. Sirius had stolen two goals, but one was overturned for being off-side. They missed Finn in the lineup badly. Kasey was hurting in the net. Leo had swapped in for the third period and was obviously hurting in an entirely different way. He had hardly looked at Logan on the ice and Remus hadn’t seen them say goodbye before the Lions’ flight back home to Gryffindor. He had simply slipped right out of the visitor’s locker room and onto the bus for the airport.

It should have been a complete spiral. They were facing elimination tomorrow. Their summer could begin right then, too early for anyone’s taste. Sirius should have been silent with his shoulders up to his ears. But Sirius still seemed…locked in. Captain mode, Thomas had dubbed it. It came with an exaggerated salute every time that made his stud diamond earrings flash. It still made Remus do a double-take every time he saw Sirius smile. Every time he caught him humming while loading the dishwasher or getting ready for bed in their shared hotel room. Maybe it was that they were both exhausted. Worried, too, about Finn, or about making it—that vague feeling that one was never quite doing enough.

Still. He felt some pride in seeing Sirius like that.

There existed an odd liminal space where Sirius wasn’t his. Not his fiancé, not his boyfriend. Not the man he kissed good morning, or showered with, or watched fold his laundry oh-so carefully. Not the one he’d mostly taught how to cook or the one who stole the covers ‘on accident.’ There was a space where Sirius was his captain, and only his captain.

These past few days were closer to that space than anything else. At home, they moved around each other in their own, focused routines, but Remus didn’t mind. At night, Sirius’ arms were tight around his waist. Sleepy kisses to his shoulder. It was a season balance that they were only going to get better at—and wasn’t that a strange thought. This year had felt like a dream, and it still struck Remus each time he remembered that he didn’t need to wake up.

The weight room smelled like sweat and metal and Remus let out a breath as Thomas spotted the bar back to rest.

“Shit, Looper. New PR, boy.” Thomas grinned at him upside-down.

Remus ducked the bar and sat up, using the hem of his shirt to wipe sweat off his face. “Somethings up with Leo and Logan.”

Thomas came around the bench with his arms crossed and an incredulous look on his face. “Maybe you missed the part where Leo’s ex slammed Finn’s head against the ice.”

Remus tried to side-step that mental image and stood to help him release the clips. “Why would that make them stop talking?”

“How do we know if they’re talking? Tremz lives in a different city and, let me tell you, FaceTime hits different when you’re in love.”

Remus rolled his eyes. “They didn’t even look at each other in New York.”

Thomas looked like he wanted to argue, but they both knew he couldn’t. They’d both been there each time Logan came into the Lions’ room to take Leo and Finn into his arms, win or lose. It hadn’t happened last game.

“Gotta be tough,” Thomas said more quietly. “First Tremzy now Harz. Maybe it’s just Leo sorting through it all. Plus…”

He darted a look towards Kasey on the bikes. Remus had realized the other day that he braced himself every time Kasey opened his mouth in the locker room. He’d been waiting to hear the word retirement for so long that it hardly felt like a secret anymore, just an unspoken fact. These kind of things were felt by a team. An energy shift. A change in the heart of it all.

“Team dinner tonight,” Thomas said. “We’ll sit Knut between us, see if we can’t—”

“He’s not going,” Remus said.

“Why-huh?”

“Says he wants to be there for Finn at home. Logan flies in later today, so.”

Thomas clicked his tongue. “No, man. Boyfriends are killer and all, but sometimes you need you friends.” He stuck two fingers into his mouth and let out a sharp whistle across the room. “Knut! Get over here.”

Leo looked up, settling the dumbbells he was curling near his feet, sweat gleaming across his bare chest. “What?”

Thomas gave an impatient jump. “Get over here, Cub.”

Leo still looked confused when he stopped beside them, eyeing Remus who was sliding his weights off the bar.

“You’re coming to team dinner,” Thomas said firmly, and when Leo opened his mouth to protest, Thomas jabbed a finger into his chest. “No, I’m pulling rank. You’re coming to team dinner.”

“Jesus, T,” Leo rubbed over his chest. “Ow. No, because Finn—”

“Has been very well looked after by his mommy, if I’m not mistaken, and will be very well taken care of by Logan, too. Meanwhile, you will be with us letting that weight of the world off of your stupidly toned shoulders.” Thomas slapped Sirius’ chest, who had walked up beside Remus. “Isn’t that right, Captain?” Thomas saluted.

“Quoi?” Sirius said. His fingers had started rubbing softly below the hem of Remus’ tank top. Remus bit back a smile.

“Leo is coming to team dinner,” Remus said. “Right? We’re going to drive him and he can leave his car here at the rink overnight and we’re going to buy him a drink or two.”

“Uh.” Sirius nodded when Remus did. “Ouais. Yes. True? Was this not true before?”

Thomas took Remus’ place on the bench press with a sigh. “You gotta get better at pulling rank, Cap.”

Sirius sent him an unimpressed look, then patted Leo on the shoulder. “We would like if you came to dinner.”

Remus knew Leo would have probably melted at that at one time in his life, but standing there now he just looked conflicted. Worried. It was enough to make Sirius glance at Remus.

“Not if you really don’t want to,” Sirius added softly, and in French.

“I do,” Leo said quickly. “I just…No, yeah. I do. Logan…Logan’s got it.”

“I mean, he’s done it before, right?” Thomas said. “Twice.”

Leo’s expression crumpled a little more, but he nodded and ducked away back towards his weights.

“What the hell?” Thomas whispered.

“He’s worried,” Sirius said. “Give him a break.”

Thomas scoffed. “I’m helping.”

“And I’m pulling rank,” Sirius said with raised eyebrows. “Give him a break.” Sirius turned his eyes on Remus. “And you, come with me.”

Thomas looked up from where he’d laid down on the bench. “That’s my spotter, Black!”

Sirius just threw an arm around Remus’ waist, settling it low on his back—very low. “That’s my fiancé. Rank.”

“Fucking hell,” Thomas sighed. “Warn me next time I create a monster.”

Evgeni stepped up behind Thomas’ bar, flipping his hat backwards. “I spot.”

Thomas looked mildly horrified. “Dude, you never catch it when I tell you to.”

“Work hard,” Evgeni said sagely. “Do better than you think.”

“Whatever, Yoda.”

“I am force.”

Remus reached behind him and tugged at Sirius’ wrist when his touch got more insistent, but Sirius only used the leverage to spin him around completely.

“Can I help you?” Remus asked.

Sirius’ eyes did that thing Remus liked—the very boyfriend thing, no salute required. They flit over the room behind Remus, almost playfully, before settling back on his own. Remus knew he was either about to get a secret, or blush.

“You look good right now, that’s all.”

This. This right here was the anti-spiral. Had they lost a game five like that on enemy ice a year ago, Sirius might have broken his stick. Yet here they stood.

“Thanks, baby.”

Sirius just tilted his head at him, smile slight, then asked, “What are you doing right now?”

“Well, breaking records.” Remus brought a hand around Sirius’ waist when he began walking them towards a bench press of their own. “Spot you?”

Sirius hesitated. “Uh, ouais.” He lay back on the bench and looked up at Remus upside-down. “You got a new PR?”

“Sure did.” Remus watched Sirius grip the bar of the weight and drew in a slow breath. It made his wrist bones flex with the strong cords of muscles over his forearms.

It had been good at home between them. Balanced. Focused.

Quiet.

“Ready?” he asked Sirius.

Maybe a little too quiet with Regulus in the house. Remus had watched Sirius’ bare back through the bathroom doorway that morning, muscles moving gently as he went about getting ready.

Sirius flexed his fingers around the bar twice, a little superstition of his, and Remus darted his eyes up to the room. He couldn’t get hard in the weight room. It didn’t matter how quiet home was or how busy life was.

Remus glanced towards Leo. It occurred to him then that he’d never seen him without Logan or Finn. At least, not here. Not within the team. He hardly looked up from his workout. Checked his form in the wall mirror a few times, smiled at something Olli or Jackson said, but that was all. Remus frowned. Maybe it felt as weird as it looked for him to be alone.

“I could die on your watch right now?” Sirius’ slightly strained voice said from beneath him.

“Oh,” Remus replied distractedly, and took the bar from his hands easily. “Sorry.” He settled it in the racks.

“What—non, I didn’t mean—I was half way through a set! I was joking.”

“Hm?” Remus looked down at him. “Oh. Shit, sorry.” He reached down to touch Sirius’ cheek, laughing a little. “Sorry, here.”

Sirius shook his head. “Non.”

“Non?”

Sirius’ smile was slow and secret. “I have something better in mind.”

Remus drew in another breath and reached forward to settle a hand over Sirius’ on the bar. Without another word, Sirius ducked out from the bench press and was off striding out of the room, only turning once for a last look at Remus.

James stopped on his way over to the water bottles and looked after Sirius, then at Remus.

“You know what you two are?” James said, stretching a resistance band between his hands and very nearly smacking himself in the face with it. “Subtle. Yep. That’s the word I would choose.”

Remus, at another time, would have cared. Now though, they were facing elimination from the play-offs, and he didn’t have enough fingers on his hands to count the amount of people he was currently worried about. And things had been…quiet at home.

“Thanks, James,” Remus said, then patted the weights. “Bench is all yours.”

~

Cabin and crew, please prepare for landing, came the pilot’s voice overhead, and Logan looked up from the iPad that Luke was holding between the two of them. It had Sirius’ line on it, with Finn, and the only reason it didn’t hurt to watch was because he would see Finn in less than an hour.

“Why did that feel like forever?” Logan rubbed at his eyes. Maybe he’d slept a little. He couldn’t tell. There was one thought in his mind. LeoLeoLeoLeoLeo.

“Because you get a little desperate when you’re excited,” Luke replied, then nearly dodged Logan’s well-aimed knock to his head.

“How’s he doing?” Luke asked. “Finn.”

Logan thunked his head back against the plane seat. “I don’t like seeing him quiet and hurt. I don’t like it when he pretends to be all right, but at least if he can pretend, then he’s not as bad as he was.”

Luke looked like he was thinking about laughing at him again, but the look ended up boarding impressed instead. “Man. That’s a lot to figure out.”

Logan looked down at his phone. The background was lit up, Finn and Leo smushed together in bed, laughing. He stroked a thumb over Leo’s smile. “I like figuring them out. Even if I get it wrong…” Logan trailed off. “Sometimes.”

Their row was a bit of a mess. Headphones hanging from the jack, a stack of plastic cups that had once held ginger-ale and coke. The discarded containers of their take-out lunch and the crumpled bag of left over chips they’d been sharing.

“I just want to see him,” Logan said. In truth, it felt like more than a want. He thought he might die if he didn’t get his hands on Finn soon. And Leo…

He closed his eyes at the thought of Leo.

“Wanna talk about it?” Luke asked softly.

Logan shook his head. He supposed he hadn’t been very subtle, staring into the empty visitor’s locker room like he had after game five, but he didn’t have the words. Not yet.

“Non,” Logan said. His voice sounded scratchy to himself. “Thanks.”

“Lucas.”

When Logan looked again, Saint was leaning against the seat in front of them, his curly hair tucked away beneath a blue backwards hat.

Luke’s posture relaxed at the sight of him. It always did. His shoulders lowered, knees spread a little, fingers reaching behind him to rub at the back of his neck and the star tattoo there. Logan was still waiting to hear what it meant.

“That’s not actually my full name and you know it,” Luke said.

Saint ignored him. “Will I be seeing you tonight?”

“We did say we were grabbing dinner, so…” Luke smiled a little.

Saint’s eyes darted to Logan, then away. “Is that what we’re doing now? Grabbing dinner.”

Slowly, Logan watched Luke’s smile falter. “Seb, I…”

Seb. Logan had only heard that a handful of times now, too. No one called Saint by his real name, Sebastian. Luke did, though. When he was really celebrating on the ice, gloved hand cupping Saint’s goalie mask and tilting their foreheads together. Fuck, Seb, gorgeous game. Logan had heard it in softer settings, too. Late night, at Luke’s apartment, when they thought he was still in the kitchen. Seb…stay tonight. Will you?

Saint just looked at Luke, hip against the plane seat, and Logan felt a familiar squirming in his stomach, even if it was second-hand this time.

What if I said I wanted to spend the night with you, Logan? What if I said that? What if my night would be good with you in it?

This look of Saint’s was one of a boy who had been waiting on an answer for a while. And Luke’s was one of a boy who was trying hard, trying with everything in him, to give one.

“Well,” Luke said haltingly. “Let’s go to dinner. Like we said.”

So precisely put. Kind. Careful. Nervous.

Saint rolled his eyes, but he put a hand on Luke’s shoulder as he passed them by. “Tonight, then.”

Logan looked away. He pretended to tidy up the floor beneath them. Cups, wrappers, crumbs. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Luke look between their seats to the row behind them. It was empty. He cleared his throat, rubbing at his eyes, then spoke.

“You know,” Luke said softly. “Don’t you?”

Logan straightened. He crumpled a chocolate wrapper in his fist.

“I don’t know anything. Not if you don’t want me to.”

“But I do,” Luke said. Even with how clean the admission was, Logan could see that it was hard. The familiar struggle flickered right through his eyes. Luke wet his lips, checked around him again, then looked back at Logan. “I…I do want you to know.”

Grabbing dinner. How many times had he and Finn and Leo said that to each other before actually taking each other to dinner? It sounded the same, but it wasn’t.

“Then, yeah,” Logan said. “Ouais, I know.”

Luke nodded. He looked at the screen in front of him, showing the icon of their plane on the electronic map.

Logan tried desperately to think what to say, but, then again, maybe that’s what Luke was doing, too. Leo would have known.

“I know…” It’s hard. It’s so hard, but it’s so wonderful when—

“Think they’ll call Archer back up?” Luke hardly seemed to want the answer to his own question. He looked mournfully down the aisle where Saint had retreated. “He played well besides…you know.”

Logan cursed himself. He’d have to be quicker. More sure. He’d have to be those things if he wanted to help.

“I don’t want to win with Archer.” Logan gave his head a sharp shake. “To be honest. I don’t want him to get any credit for how young he is and how much he’s done. And I don’t care if that’s too personal.” The coaching staff’s reprimand still tasted bitter in Logan’s mouth.

“Right,” Luke said. He was distracted. He needed Logan to talk.

“I think…Je…Uh, quand—” Logan looked out the window and closed one eye, thinking. “You know, uh, c’est la—Have you been to Low Moon? Best ramen in the city. Really, Leo and I love the spicy one and that’s really saying something that we both think something spicy is good. Usually he hates it if I like it because it’s not enough—”

“I’m taking him out to dinner,” Luke said suddenly. Soft, but not quite as under his breath as before. He looked over at Logan. “I’m taking Seb out to dinner. Tonight.”

Logan was startled to find his throat thick.

“Good,” Logan said firmly. He offered Luke a small, sure smile. “It will be so, so good.”

~

Remus’ plan was already half gone. It had been something about fast, and quiet, and pinning Sirius against the equipment closet shelves. Something about Regulus always being in the house, and them not having much time, and wanting to see that look on Sirius’ face that was entirely his, no captain in sight. Something stupid like making Sirius come when anyone could walk in at any moment and anyone could hear.

But Sirius was kissing him slow now, taking his time, and feeling up Remus’ ass like he had absolutely nothing better to do. He kept the kisses sloppy, little nips to Remus’ lip, probably too much tongue than Remus should actually be enjoying, but he was. He knew that Sirius liked it this way sometimes. Especially when everything was so figured out. So in routine. It was making them both hard in their shorts, and Remus knew they should probably do something about that if they were going to make it through this without any embarrassing encounters.

He had come in here wanting that look in Sirius’ eyes that put him at sea with only Sirius’ hands to save him. It was his very own color blue. He wanted to watch Sirius have to lean against him, and feel that fine tremor that started in the muscles of his lower back. He wanted the shadow of Sirius’ shoulders arching around him when he came. It made Remus feel completely covered, hidden from the rest of the world.

Sirius had a smile in his voice when he spoke next. He leaned back, hardly at all, and pressed a thumb into Remus’ bottom lip. “I know we should be quick but…” He leaned in again, thumb sliding down to hold Remus’ chin, and Remus had to wrap his arms around Sirius’ neck to keep himself steady.

“You’re—” Remus had to catch his breath. He reached between them, he needed to feel. He tugged at Sirius’ waistband. He was hot and silky to the touch. Remus looked at the shine smeared across his stomach, the way Sirius had to catch himself against the shelf behind them. The way he had to spread his legs, the slit of his cock giving way to shining drips of want.

Sirius ducked down to press their foreheads together. Outside, Remus heard someone pass them by in the hallway.

“Shit,” Remus whispered against Sirius’ mouth. He felt it when they both started laughing, breathlessly.

“I love you,” Sirius whispered. His hand was gentle, a little cool, when he reached for Remus, tugging the front of his shorts down. God, he had had these shorts in college and now Sirius was—

Remus tried to stay quiet, tried to stop smiling, but laughed more when Sirius’ next kiss was more to his teeth than his lips. “Shh—hm…”

Sirius had hitched one of Remus’ thighs up around his waist and brought their hips together. He looked like he did when he was actually fucking Remus. Sweat on his temples, eyes so soft Remus could have died. He thought for a moment maybe they could—but no, too much time. Not enough time. But Sirius’ hand was still on his ass, fingers tight and digging in, and he lined the two of them up perfectly. Sirius’ cock looked so ready that Remus’ mouth watered. His t-shirt was done for, white stains smearing over the dark hem.

“I’m—” Remus breathed. His voice sounded shaky in the silent, muted room. Something was rattling on the shelf behind him—metal?—and he could hear the music blasting from the weights room—something country sounding with, thank God, heavy bass. Sirius’ fingers slipped down an inch. “Sirius…”

Maybe it was his thigh being up like that. Maybe it was Sirius still smiling into their next kiss, or the drag of the play-off scruff, dark on his cheeks and chin, against the sensitive skin of Remus’ neck.

“Re,” Sirius whispered. Remus, with his hands locked on his shoulders, could feel his muscles working. “Fuck…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Remus chanted, tilting his head back. “Yes, yes…”

“Shh…” Sirius whispered and then he was kissing him again, swallowing the sound Remus made as he spilled between them. “Re, Re…”

They were heat against heat when Sirius tipped over right after him, and there it was. That tremor. That ocean that held just the two of them. Just Sirius. Just his boy, crushed against him, all warmth, and all that was those cool, rain water eyes.

They listened to the music down the hall as they caught their breath. Someone had gotten tired of country obviously, and what sounded like Thomas’ sugary pop was blasting now.

“I don’t know—” Remus swallowed around a dry throat. “No idea how long we’ve been here.”

“Probably too long…” Sirius kissed his throat like he had no plans of moving, and Remus pressed a hand to the coarse beard across his cheek.

“Hm…” Remus thought maybe he was going to fall asleep, right here in this dark, smelly closet. “It’s still going to be light outside when we leave though. If we can even make it to the showers without…Jesus, we’re dumb.”

Sirius grinned. “I would say I’m going to take you out to dinner now, but…”

“Can’t,” Remus said. He had the most wild urge to jump straight into Sirius’ arms though. “We have a team to take care of.”

~

Logan had his face tilted up into the shower’s hot spray, letting it wash the airplane from his skin, when the fogged up glass door opened.

“Non. I told you—” The words were hardly out of Logan’s mouth before he even turned, but Finn was already inside, sling left behind on the bathroom floor along with all of his clothes.

“For five minutes,” Finn groaned. He had his bad arm cradled protectively against his chest. “I missed you.”

“You’re supposed to be resting,” Logan said, pushing wet hair out of his eyes. “That means still.” When Finn just shuffled right under the spray and up against his chest, Logan couldn’t help but laugh and rub a gentle hand up and down his side. “Who’s the puppy now? I said I’d be right back.”

“Yeah,” Finn said simply, and cradled Logan’s jaw with his free hand to kiss his other cheek. “Thing is, I’ve had enough distance from you to last a couple lifetimes.”

Logan clicked his tongue but leaned forward to kiss right over Finn’s collarbone. “You’re bad.” Then, what was it Finn was always saying? “Low blow.”

Finn just pushed his face into Logan’s neck with a pleased, rumbling sound. He was warm in the way that Logan associated with him being hurt. A little too warm, like his entire body turned all of its multitudes of attention on itself. Okay, it made Logan think. Five minutes.

“Sit, then,” he said.

There was a little stone-tiled alcove in their shower wall, and Finn only complained a little at how cold it was when Logan eased him down. He tucked his good hand under his injured arm’s elbow for support and ignored Logan’s pointed look.

“Hm,” Logan said. “What could be supporting your arm, I wonder?”

“Hm, what should I do while I’m sitting?” Finn asked with a smile, eyes low on Logan’s stomach.

“Not that,” Logan said.

“Yes.” He leaned forward and kissed over a dark mole on Logan’s stomach.

“Non, doctor says—”

Finn just ducked lower and kissed the tattoo on Logan’s hip. “What doctor?”

Logan cupped the back of Finn’s head gently and tried to will the heat in his stomach away. This was new. Never had he ever had a concussed Finn in his arms and going for sex. “Harz.”

Finn looked up at him, steam curling the parts of his hair that were still half-dry. “It feels like it’s been decades. Between this and the play-offs…”

Now that Logan was considering it, Finn was sporting a semi, fattening against his thigh. He felt Finn’s hand on his hip slid a little lower over his ass.

“Lo.”

“You shouldn’t have come in here,” Logan sighed.

“Light exercise within 72 hours,” Finn recited the doctors words. “Helps speed up recovery.”

Logan laughed and watched Finn’s eyes light up with it. “This is light exercise?”

Finn grinned. “As light as it gets.”

“Shoulder.”

“Minimal movement helps speed up recovery. I want you.” Finn leaned forward to rest his forehead against Logan’s stomach, then nuzzled against it. “I missed you.”

Logan closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy, for a moment, the hot water down his back and the feeling of Finn’s mouth against his skin. He had another set of months to look forward to of not being able to get the image of Finn’s hurting eyes out of his mind. It happened like this every time. Seeing Finn hurt scared him, a true and unforgiving nightmare.

He wanted Finn. God, did he ever. He was gone for the way Finn seemed so like himself. Those first few days had been hell, an unwanted flashback.

He knelt on a knee and rubbed his hands slowly up and down Finn’s thighs, watching the way Finn smiled at him.

“Really?” Finn said softly. “Thanks, baby.”

“I missed you, too,” Logan said, looking between his brown eyes. “I missed your jokes and your eyes and the way you walk around the house.” He cupped Finn’s elbow. “But if you think I’m letting you sit on hard stone right now and do this, you’re insane—C’est fou.”

“Foo-who?” Finn sighed. He jerked a chin towards Logan’s knees. “Trickery.” He reached out to tangle one hand’s fingers in Logan’s wet hair. “Viens ici.”

Logan raised his eyebrows. “How hard did you hit your head again?”

Finn just smiled against his lips when Logan leaned forward for a kiss. “Knocked some French right into it, I guess.”

“Shh…” Logan laughed into the word and pushed up on his knees to kiss him gently again. “I’m tucking you in bed.”

“You can take me to bed after this, for sure.”

“Put your sling on.” Logan kissed the corner of his mouth and got back to his feet. “Do you want me to wash your hair?”

Finn leaned forward and pressed his teeth into the muscle of Logan’s stomach.

“I’m just gonna take that as a yes. Ow.”

Finn bit harder.

Logan could have run his hands through Finn’s hair forever. Thick red strands that he’d spent years looking at—soaked through by rain, drying in the sun, curling and coarse from salt water, stuck to his skin from sweat.

God, did Logan want him.

“Shut up,” Logan whispered, a little nonsensically, at the sight of Finn’s brown eyes looking up at him. Finn grinned like he knew.

“You are a beautiful boy,” Finn said. “Hot fucking damn, I’m a lucky one. You, Le…”

Logan combed his hair out of his face. His eyes were bright. Clear. He looked all right. Still, Logan flinched through lingering glimpses of his body on the ice. It hadn’t been like that the other times. Not the first, when he’d dropped against him on the bus home. Not the second, when he’d gotten himself off the ice and into the locker room on his own, to scared to try and hide it.

“What did I do in a past life to deserve you two?” Finn asked softly.

Logan passed his thumb over the freckles on his cheek, the familiar pattern of darker ones on the left side of his nose and under his eye. One, two, three, four.

“What did you do?” Logan repeated. “Make drinks.” Finn was kissing his tattoo again, wet darts of his tongue stroking Logan’s skin. Logan let his head tip back, he couldn’t look for too long. “Make trouble…”

“And?” Finn asked. He was drawing a palm up Logan’s inner thigh.

Logan hissed a breath in through his teeth and reached for something to hold onto. His eyes flashed open when Finn’s body flinched away from his touch and Finn cried out.

“Oh…” Logan yanked his hand away from Finn’s shoulder. “Finn—”

“It’s okay.” Finn was hunched in on himself a little, eyes closed and holding his shoulder. “I’m good, I’m good.”

“Non,” Logan said with finality. He shut the shower off. “Non, non, non. Deslolé, sorry, sorry, Rouge, Rouge…” Logan bent to kiss the opposite side of Finn’s neck, avoiding the shoulder any way he could. “Desolé, mon coeur, sorry—”

“Lo, I’m good, I’m fine. Surprised me.” Finn put a hand on the back of Logan’s neck, rubbing gently. “I’m good, baby.”

Logan just pressed his nose gently against Finn’s jaw, then pulled back to look him in the eye. “Sling.” He raised his eyebrows. “Dinner. Bed.”

When Finn just sent him a mournful look, made almost sweet by the way the shower had plastered his bangs against his forehead, Logan kissed him softly on the mouth. “Rouge. Let me.”

Finn let him rub a towel through his hair. He let Logan sit him on the edge of the bed and then help him into a soft pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt—Leo’s, he requested. A big, worn out summer camp one. It was a bad memory, doing everything by dim light like this, but Finn looked good in the soft glow anyway.

“You look like you do in that bookstore you love,” Logan said as he gently loosened the sling to accommodate the thicker fabric. “The small one. In New York.”

“I do?”

Logan stroked Finn’s hair out of his face. He hadn’t been wearing his glasses. There was no point. Logan missed them. “Mhm.”

“What does that even mean?”

Honestly, Logan didn’t really know how to explain it to him. He didn’t know it beyond the feeling of soft, looking at me, warm hands.

When he leaned down and brushed a kiss over Finn’s mouth, Finn wrapped an arm around his hips and scooped him right into his straddling his lap.

“Harz,” Logan complained, but he did it right against Finn’s mouth so it probably lost some heat.

“Hey,” Finn said. “Don’t tell me I can’t handle even this.”

Logan snorted out a laugh when Finn’s fingers squeezed. “You need your medicine.”

“Ooh, you gonna give it to me?”

Logan nodded, and cupped the back of Finn’s head, touching their foreheads together. Finally, he felt Finn relax. When he risked a glance, Finn had his eyes closed.

“Missed you,” Finn said softly.

It took Logan back to that first day, getting him home from the hospital. It hurts, Finn had whispered to him in the darkness—a thunderous admission. He’d slept hard that night, barely moving from his place against Logan’s chest.

And no matter how much Logan tried to pull him close, Leo had been distant, claiming he was just tired. He’d kissed Finn’s forehead, squeezed Logan’s hand, then rolled over, his back facing them. It twisted Logan’s heart all up, just thinking about it.

Logan settled him and Finn on the couch to scroll through Grubhub, keeping the TV off. Finn looked happier with the sling taking the weight of his arm and his night round of medication for his head.

“Soup,” Finn said when he saw Logan’s phone screen—Logan jerked it away from his eyes.

“No screens.”

“Fine, fine, but Le made me soup. It’s in the fridge.”

“Baby, I love you,” Logan said. “But I need more than soup.”

“Ugh. I miss being, like, full-on hungry.” Finn pushed his good shoulder up against Logan’s. “You’ve never called me baby this much in your life.”

Logan slid his eyes over to him. “So you’ve said. Taco’s? Or do you just want soup?”

“Soup,” Finn said—not the best of signs in Logan’s book. The second Finn requested a bagel and lox he’d feel ten times lighter. Though, Leo’s soup did smell like heaven.

“D’accord. I’m gonna put my order in then I’ll heat it up for you.”

“I can do it—”

“Non,” Logan said. He clicked his phone off and kissed Finn’s temple. “Let me.”

“I’ll come with you,” Finn said the second Logan got up.

He turned around and laughed. “Harz. Did you follow your mom around?”

“No,” Finn said. “Those days I mostly just slept.” He went to push himself up from the couch, but he must have moved something wrong—shoulder, head—because he cursed, eyes squeezing shut, and he rested his head back against the cushions.

Logan sat down, reaching out a hand to his thigh. “Rouge—”

“I’ve been exhausted and in pain and tired of both,” Finn sighed. “There. I admit it. I’m sick of sitting still, I’m sick of being cooped up away from the light, I miss you both so much it’s insane, I drive myself insane, and I’m sick of…” He cut off, a frustrated pink to his cheeks and neck. He stared at the blank TV, as if there was a game playing. “I want to be out there. I don’t like listening on the radio.”

“I know,” Logan said. “I know you do. But you’ll be able to come to a game soon—”

“I want to be on the ice. Helping. We lost the last game and…God, I’m sick of you not being on my team and���and you and Le are fighting.”

Maybe Logan should have seen that last one coming.

Maybe those words had been hovering in the room, in the apartment. A tight, thick feeling of unrest that had kept him staring at his ceiling most of last night and on the plane.

He didn’t like the look of those words on Finn’s face. Bitter as the aftertaste of the pills he had to swallow.

“Aren’t you?” Finn asked quietly.

“Non,” Logan said uncertainly. “We…”

Was it so real as that? A fight? He couldn’t stand the idea of Leo going through practice all day, sitting at a restaurant somewhere downtown, mad at him.

“He won’t say what happened,” Finn said. “He won’t say something’s wrong at all, but there is.”

Logan swallowed. “We…” Words clogged up his throat.

“I’ve told him over and over again that this isn’t his fault,” Finn said. “And for a while I thought that was it, but it’s more like…I don’t know. It’s more like…”

“I maybe, um.” Logan paused. “I maybe got a little protective…that first night.”

“From Leo?”

“Non, of course not, I…I don’t know, Finn. I don’t know. I didn’t mean to, I just—you were so—I don’t know.”

“No one is still telling me what the fuck happened—”

“I don’t know.”

“Is it me?”

Logan pressed a hand over his eyes, groaning. “Finn. Non. Of course not. Just let me get our food.”

“Tremz…”

“Look, I’m starving.” Logan pushed his hands through his hair. “And I need to think how to say it, d’accord, so—I’m getting our food.”

He didn’t want to leave Finn on the couch like that, staring after him. He waited for footsteps, Finn’s socks on the floor, following him like he promised. But when he had ordered and peeked back into the living room, Finn had his eyes closed.

~

Remus loved the beginning of team dinners. They rarely hopped around from place to place, not when it was all of them. More often than not, they booked out the third floor of the Golden Lion bar. Remus could still see Sirius at his first one, standing across the room, a rookie, guarded, unwilling to even accept a drink. Even then, he had been so beautiful.

Everyone stood around high-top tables and the bar, helping themselves to the chips and salsa or mozzarella sticks passed around by waiters, ice cold beers sliding across the bar. The scene made Remus feel a little like he used to, as the PT. He could stand more towards the edges of the room, only just on the outside of things near the stairs, and look in.

Sirius and James were talking to Regulus near the far end of the bar. Regulus rolled his eyes at something Sirius said and James threw his head back, laughing. The brothers looked similar to Remus in their gray t-shirts. Regulus looked like he had taken back up with the gym, and Remus watched James pluck at his t-shirt like he had noticed, too.

Evgeni was being firmly told off of a shot of vodka by Jackson and Layla, who was standing back to back with Cole—and Remus swore he saw their fingers brush sometimes whenever one of them put their hand down.

Pascal had Celeste cornered against the bar with a soft smile on his face and one hand on her waist. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek and she said something that made him duck his forehead her her shoulder and laugh.

And Leo. Remus could tell, almost just by the way he was slowly stirring his gin and tonic, that Leo was missing his boys. Even as he laughed at something Thomas was saying to him and Cole, he kept brushing a thumb over a back pocket where his phone was.

Remus took a sip of his beer and turned to Lily. “I don’t know why but it’s really bothering me. The Cubs thing.”

Lily looked up from the chip in her hand, dangerously cradling too much salsa. “Lupin, you can’t go worrying about everyone else the second you’re not on the rocks yourself. It’s Leo. It’s Leo and Logan and Finn—Jesus, I’ve seen the way they treat each other. I’m surprised they don’t use all that money to build monuments to worship at.”

“Yeah,” Remus said absently, frowning at the back of Leo’s head.

“I’m surprised you and Black don’t build monuments,” Lily mumbled, then put the whole chip in her mouth.

“Sirius’ would be to slap shots.”

“Mm, pretty sure it’d be to you.”

Remus leaned back against the dark-wood bar and grinned. “Huh. Yeah, it would be.” He held up his hand with his ring on it. “Aren’t offerings the beginning?”

Lily slapped his chest. “Okay, that joke’s over now. Get that thing out of my face before it catches light and blinds me.”

Remus just turned his hand to look at it himself. The stupid big rock had grown on him—as if, some how, Sirius had known it would. He loved slipping it back on after practice. He even didn’t mind the Instagram account dedicated to Remus-Ring-Sightings that Thomas had shown him.

“We’re here!” came Natalie’s voice right behind them. She finished walking up the stairs and spun on her heels, flashing Remus her red-bottomed boots. “Hello Remus Lupin, we brought a soldier behind enemy lines.”

“Oh?” Remus asked.

Kasey followed her, smiling slightly, and behind him came Alex.

“Oh, boo,” Thomas yelled. “Wrong O’Hara!”

“Get lost in big city, Ranger?” Evgeni called out.

“What can I say?” Alex grinned. “I was promised whiskey.”

Remus laughed, sharing an eye-roll with Kasey. He was holding tightly to Alex’s hand, and Alex didn’t let go even when Leo walked up to hug him.

“How’s my baby brother?” Alex said, keeping a hand on Leo’s shoulder. “Not smothered by my mother?”

Leo pretended to think on it. “Don’t think so.”

“Surely Logan, then.”

Leo’s smile wavered. “No. They’re good. Lo’s there now. Got home after I left for here.”

Alex nodded. “Well, guess he’s done it before. Knows his way around the I’m fine’s and I can do it’s and It doesn’t hurt’s.”

Remus saw Leo’s throat move around a swallow. “Yeah. He does.”

Lily got taken up by Natalie (and her boots) and Remus was left to settle back again and watch. Sirius was talking with his hands, replying to something Kasey had said, and then pushing his palm through his hair in the way he did when he was really loose. Not worried about seeming too much, too loud, taking up too much space. Remus smiled watching him smile. He wasn’t sure what he wanted more, to steal him away into another hidden corner or to take him out to dinner, just the two of them. He wanted to trace the way he rubbed at the beard he was growing for the play-offs. He wanted to tangle his fingers in his hair.

“Hey, heart-eyes.”

Remus blinked and looked up at Leo, who took a bar stool for himself.

“Hey yourself.” Remus gave himself a little shake. “Hey, it’s hard not to. You get it.”

“Oh, I get it.” Leo glanced Alex’s way. “But wrong O’Hara.”

“Ha.” Remus grinned. “Yours is doing okay?”

When Leo let out a long sigh, Remus clinked their glasses together apologetically. “Sorry, you’re probably so sick of being asked that. I can ask him myself.”

“No, no…” Leo took the lime off of the edge of his glass. It had been squeezed already and was dry between his fingers. “No, it’s not that.”

Remus wondered where Thomas had gone off to. Noelle was with Natalie and Lily. He’d wanted to be here for this.

“We—T and I…” Remus shrugged. “We’d noticed you’d been a little…down. And I mean, understandably, but…you and Logan sort of…”

Leo huffed. “Stop wincing at me, Loops. I’ll tell you if you want.” He rolled his eyes and took a sip of his drink, crunching ice between his teeth. “If I even know what to tell.”

Remus frowned. “What does that mean, Knutty?”

Leo’s jaw worked as he let the ice melt in his mouth, blue eyes down. Remus stayed quiet, though part of him was dying to guess, to try and help.

“I’ve always thought that I’d feel their history more than I do,” Leo finally said. “More than I ever have. I’ve always been a little surprised by it. By how little I feel…you know. Like I wasn’t there. Because I wasn’t, I wasn’t there. And it doesn’t actually come up, honestly. Until…”

“The concussion brought it up?”

“Yeah. A little.” Leo looked down. “I don’t know, I think Lo’s just sort of in the mode of feeling guilty about the other times, when Finn got hit in college and he couldn’t…”

“I guess that makes sense.”

Leo’s smile was sad. “It all makes sense, and I’ve got it all figured out. That’s how I always am. I get it, and I can say it. That doesn’t always make it better.”

Remus nodded. “Yeah. No, I see. It’s still there. And you haven’t said anything to Logan?”

“I don’t know if it’s fair of me to.” He looked over at Remus. “Re, we’ve never…we’ve never fought before. And the worst part is, I’m not even sure if that’s what we’re doing or if I’m just being stupid and, like, stubborn or something. Or just childish. Or selfish?” Leo shook his head. “And I just can’t stop thinking about the night it happened. We brought him home—”

“Hey, hey, hey.” Alex threw his arms around them both. “Which one of you is gonna buy me a drink before me and Tremblay wha-hip your asses next game?”

Leo, to his credit, did a pretty good job of dredging up a smile.

“Not me. Goalie privilege.”

Alex pushed his bottom lip out. “Kase never told me about that one. I think you made that up.”

“Oh, it exists,” Leo said, then ducked out from Alex’s arm. “I’m sure of it.”

Remus sighed, watching Leo go. “Hazard, I was getting somewhere.”

“What do you mean?” Alex looked at Leo over his shoulder. “I thought we were cheering him up. That’s what Walker just said.”

“Well—yeah.” Remus shook his head. Leo, maybe, didn’t need another person on his case. “Yeah. All right, so I guess I’m buying. What’ll it be?”

~

Finn was on the very edge of their bed, on top of all the covers like he had barely lay down before falling asleep. His injured arm was cradled protectively against his chest in its sling. Leo checked the time on his watch. He couldn’t have been out for more than a few minutes since Logan and him had finished bringing all their things inside. He glanced behind him from his place in the bedroom doorway, listening to Logan doing something in the kitchen. Probably leaving every single cupboard open in the way he always did. Finn would usually be out there bothering him. Lo, whiskey? We could share.

Leo knew where that came from. He knew all the stories. The roof. OKN House. But he didn’t know. He never cleaned up Logan’s knee when he cut himself climbing back through the window from that roof perch. He’d never watched the sunset from up there. He’d never passed a bottle of whiskey back and forth with them beneath the pink and orange sky.

He knelt beside the bed, bringing his face close to Finn’s, and reached out to push the hair out of Finn’s eyes.

He’d never done this. He’d never seen such a soft Finn. A needy Finn, too exhausted to hold himself together. It was different than the hurt, desperate Finn that he’d seen when Logan first went to New York. That one had been wound so tightly that he was bound to fly apart. This one was all loose sadness and helpless pain.

“Howdy,” Finn whispered without opening his eyes. His voice cracked with exhaustion. “Butter.”

“Hi,” Leo said. “You don’t look very comfortable.”

“Come to think of it, I’m not,” Finn mumbled. “You have practice?”

“No, honey,” Leo said.

“Oh. Wait, what time is it?”

“It’s really late,” Leo said. “Don’t worry, you can sleep.”

“Good. Hmm, good, that’s good.”

A moment later, he was asleep. Leo frowned, reaching up to smooth his thumb over a crease between Finn’s eyebrows. He watched Finn’s eyelashes flutter a little across his cheeks before trying to decide how to get him comfortable. He was too hot, his shirt sticking to him. No sooner had Leo reached for the hem than did Finn suck in a breath, half-waking.

“Lo?” Finn mumbled sleepily, reaching a hand out to blindly grasp at Leo’s shirt.

Leo bit his lip, looking towards the living room where Logan was. “Oh. No. No, it’s Leo, Harz. But I can get him—”

But Finn grabbed onto his arm and opened his eyes. The honey-brown looked so, so tired. “No. Stay, Le. Sorry, I was still half asleep. Hi, baby.”

“Hi,” Leo whispered. “You want to get out of your clothes, sweetheart? Get under the covers?”

“What?” Finn asked. “Oh, sure. What time is it? Do I…Wait, I’m getting dressed?”

“Let me help you,” Leo said.

He got at Finn’s shoes first, slipping them off while Finn lay back on the bed. Next came his sweatpants.

“Okay,” Leo said. Finn eased himself up with his good hand, and Leo could hardly stand the slight shake in the muscle of his forearm.

“I think I can do it,” Finn said.

“Okay.” Leo knelt between his knees, ready, as Finn gingerly took his sling off before pulling his t-shirt up and over his head—one arm first, head out, to be eased off his shoulder. Leo helped him out of his sweatpants. He blinked down at Leo when he was done.

“You know…” Finn put his good hand on Leo’s cheek. “You know this isn’t your fault, right?”

“We don’t have to talk about that now. You need to rest—”

“You know this isn’t your fault,” Finn said again. “Leo.”

Leo closed his eyes. He pressed a kiss to Finn’s palm and then rose to go to their dresser. “Which t-shirt?”

“Yours,” Finn said softly. “Your Saints one.”

Leo looked back at him. He looked sad, worried. The opposite of rest. He was holding his arm protectively, cradled against his chest, but he seemed to forget for a moment. He went to reach out and then flinched, sucking air in through his teeth.

Leo grabbed the shirt and pants quickly and shut the drawer. “You need to lay down and put that sling back on.”

“Not until you tell me you don’t think this is your fault.” Finn blinked up at him as Leo gently eased a t-shirt over his head, his sling over it. It mussed his hair in a way that made Leo want to lay right down and curl into his side.

“Lay back,” Leo said shakily. “Sweetheart—”

Finn held onto his wrist even as Leo managed to get him to lay on his back, head propped against the pillows. “No, you’re about to cry, I can see it. I can see it.”

“And I really don’t want to,” Leo whispered.

“Lay down,” Finn said. “Lay down with me.”

Leo put a hand on Finn’s cheek. He took Finn’s fingers off of his wrist and Finn let his head sink into the pillow.

“Le?” Logan said from the doorway. He was holding a bowl and Leo could smell that it was chicken broth. Leo frowned.

“Did you bring in the bag of medicine from the doctor?” Logan asked.

“I—yeah,” Leo said. He stepped back from the bed. “It’s in the hall.”

Logan sat on the edge of Finn’s bed and set the soup down. Finn’s eyes had slipped closed, but they opened again at the weight at his side. “Mon rouge, drink a bit of this, d’accord? Just a little.”

Leo stared at Logan’s back. Had that been a request that he go get it? He took a step back, waiting for Logan to look at him, but he only set the broth down at the request of a protesting Finn and, when Finn put an arm around his back, leaned over him.

Leo watched as Finn just blinked up at Logan and gave a weak shrug with his good shoulder.

Logan brushed a finger over the skin under Finn’s eye. “You’re so tired, Rouge.” The kiss he let rest against Finn’s mouth was the softest thing Leo had ever seen. “It’s okay.”

“Lo.” Finn let his head sink into his pillow and closed his eyes.

“Tell me,” Logan whispered. “Tell me how to help.” He brushed their noses together, back and forth, back and forth, feather-light.

“I love you,” Logan whispered.

“Love you,” Finn said, barely, a little slurred from exhaustion. “It hurts.”

That admission, from Finn, was almost terrifying.

The guilt welled up so fast that Leo had to take a step backwards. He went to the kitchen—every cupboard open, a little soup spilled on the counter. Can knocked over, can opener splayed out. It was a mess, it was the mess Logan usually made, but it felt ten times worse just then. Ten times bigger.

“Did you get his medicine?” Logan’s voice came from behind him, brushing past Leo and going over to the bags in the entry hall. “He should take it before he really falls asleep.”

Leo turned, watching him rummage through their things.

“You made soup,” Leo said.

“Ouais, it’s always the only thing he’ll touch,” Logan said without looking up.

Leo nodded wordlessly. He thought about going over to the stove. Cleaning up. His feet didn’t move.

“Quoi?” Logan passed him by, headed to the fridge. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Why was he?

“I don’t know,” Leo heard himself say. “Just that if there was one thing I…”

Logan had yanked open the refrigerator but paused, a water bottle in hand.

“What?” Logan asked. He looked surprised by Leo’s tone. It had come out harsh. Angry.

Leo looked down, a little embarrassed. Wishing he could take it back. “Nothing.”

“Leo—”

“If there was one thing I could have done right tonight, that was probably it,” Leo said in a rush. He sighed, motioning to the stove. “Like, okay, you’ve done all of this before but I…”

He suddenly didn’t even have the energy to finish the sentence. He wanted to crawl into bed. He wanted to listen to Finn’s even breathing. He wanted the image of him with his eyes closed against the ice out of his head.

“Le.” Logan looked down at the water and medicine. “I’m—I didn’t…”

“He needs the pain killers before he sleeps,” Leo said. “You should give them to him.”

~

Leo shut the door to their apartment and shut his eyes against the memory. He didn’t like this lumpy ball of guilt, misplaced, overworked, and unguided. It was dark except for the hall’s night light, and he imagined that he could hear Logan and Finn sleeping. Synced breathing and body heat.

The bedroom door was open, but he forced himself to go right to the shower. He took his time. Let himself cry a little. Let himself be angry at Jack, angry at himself.

Angry at Logan.

The team dinner had distracted him, but Kasey brought a new round of what felt like grief. He’d really thought Kasey was going to make the announcement tonight. Honestly, he didn’t know if he could’ve taken it tonight, hearing Kasey go.

His own mind rang between his ears, so muddled that, if asked, he wouldn’t have been able to put a name to the feeling. He wouldn’t have been able to say if it sprung from the ever looming possibility of losing Kasey, or the general pressure of the game, or the past of Finn and Logan that he would never know the half of.

It was his own fault, letting all these hopeless and irrational feelings stir up now of all times. The soup didn’t matter, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. He couldn’t have known Jack would do this. His mind skipped around, but it always landed in the same place. He just wanted Finn to be okay. He wanted his loud laugh, dancing around the kitchen, pausing with his hands on Leo’s hips. Back in the locker room. Coming home from a run and bringing him coffee in bed. Good morning, rise and shine, sunshine.

Toweling off his hair, he came into the dark bedroom. Finn’s head was on Logan’s chest, sleeping on his side without the sling. He was passed out hard, his mouth open a little. Logan was pulling gentle fingers through his red hair and watching Leo through the dim light.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” Leo whispered.

Logan just open his free arm. “Ici.”

Leo hesitated. He knew his blocked up nose would give him away. He turned to hang the towel over the ajar door, then walked into one of the closets. “One sec.”

He grabbed for a pair of pajama paints and, on second thought, a long-sleeved shirt. He didn’t feel being exposed anywhere. He felt too shivery, too wound up. He wished one of Logan or Finn’s sweatshirts would pull easily over his hands.

Logan was still waiting with patient green eyes when he emerged. He’d propped himself up on a pillow a little, but Finn had hardly moved. Logan opened up his arm again, insistent.

Leo lay down beside him, but Logan didn’t have it.

“Non, ici.” Logan pulled until Leo’s head was on his chest, too, a mirror to Finn. He kissed Leo’s hair once, twice. The third time, his lips stayed and Leo nearly closed his eyes. Finn looked peaceful, this close up. He was holding himself tight, just a little, as if the discomfort didn’t dissipate even in sleep. His hair was damp, like he had showered. Come to think of it, Logan’s was, too. Maybe they’d had theirs together. And he’d just cried through his own.

“Was dinner good?” Logan whispered. Leo felt the words against his skin. He nodded, but he didn’t think he could speak.

“Good.” Logan rubbed Leo’s back in silence for a few moments. Leo felt him draw in a long, slow breath. “Good…”

Finn seemed to have felt the disturbance, too, because he cleared his throat and rolled onto his back. They both looked to make sure he wasn’t going to hurt himself. The pillows he’d been sleeping with along his bad side to keep him from rolling onto his shoulder were still in place.

“Does he look okay?” Leo whispered, eyes darting over the sling.

“Ouais.” Logan, his arm free, rolled towards Leo until his leg was over Leo’s hip and his arm drawn tight around his back. They were face to face now and Leo got a ticklish face full of curls when Logan bent to kiss his neck, then his chin, then a quick peck to his mouth. He said nothing, though, and Leo wasn’t sure if this was just Logan being Logan, or some sort of apology. Leo wasn’t even sure he wanted an apology. He didn’t want Logan to feel like he’d done anything wrong. He wanted this weight on his chest gone.

“Reg was there?” Logan asked. At Leo’s confused look he said, “Saw some pictures on Natalie’s instagram.”

“Oh. Yeah.” It had been nice, being with friends and not just on the rink. He felt like the last week had been consumed by a fog of worry and hurt. Being away from Finn, hearing his voice on the phone, weak and tired sounding.

Him and Logan feeling awkward in New York.

Leo leaving without saying goodbye.

He regretted that. He really regretted that. He’d hated himself all the way home.

He should be saying sorry to Logan. About getting mad about the soup, about being quiet, about leaving.

Logan was all tensed up in his arms. Worried. Trying to test the waters without jumping in. Trying to gauge Leo.

Logan’s heart was going a mile a minute beneath Leo’s fist and Leo couldn’t help it. He lay his palm over his chest and rubbed his thumb over the pounding.

Logan drew in a breath. “Le…Desolé.” Logan pressed his forehead against Leo’s sighing. “I’m so sorry, mon amour. I’m a mess, and—and I love you. And I’m a mess, this is hard and…”

Something in Leo loosened.

“The soup thing was stupid of me,” Logan continued. “And I didn’t mean to ignore you and…” Logan pressed harder, his whispers shaky. “This scares me. So bad. And I know it’s not just me, but I…I didn’t get to take care of him the last times. Not like I really wanted, and part of me just—jumped for it. I needed to know I could do it, I think. Do it the right way.”

So, all this quiet, all this tension in Logan’s muscles, had been him trying to gather the words.

“Mais—but that doesn’t mean I don’t think you can. Of course you can.” Logan pulled back some to look at him. “None of this is your fault, okay? And I’m so sorry.”

The right words. The English words. Leo should have known.

“Me too,” Leo said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you that night and… I hated myself for leaving New York like that the second it did it.”

Logan shook his head. He drew a thumb over Leo’s lip and Leo felt it shake, just a little. “I should have come sooner.”

“I should have waited for you. God, I…” Leo worried he had lost them that game and now they were facing elimination and—

And then Finn was moving again, pushing a hand over Logan’s arm in his sleep until Logan fell back onto his back so Finn could settle on his chest again. He sighed in his sleep, mouth open. Leo looked up at Logan and they both smiled a little. This time, Leo settled his head on Logan’s chest without needing to be told. Logan put a hand in both their hair.

“I really feel like I…” Leo looked for the words, too. “I rely on him to be…”

“Happy,” Logan nodded. “Je sais, I know.”

“Yeah,” Leo said. “But is that good of me? I…Just—not even just happy, but like, solid and upbeat and…joking, making me laugh. And then when he’s not it…like something is wrong. Really wrong.”

Logan took his time answering. Leo leaned into the feeling of his fingers stroking through his hair. Finn’s breathing was gentle. Peaceful. He seemed so content, resting against Logan, ear over his heart. Letting himself be held.

“The first time,” Logan finally began. “I hadn’t even known him that long. But it was so weird. I couldn’t figure out why I was so scared every time he didn’t smile.”

“Mhm,” Leo said softly. He wanted more. He wanted to hear.

“We slept like this every night,” Logan whispered. Leo felt him shift, mouth and nose against Finn’s hair. “I was so terrified someone would see us, but I never moved. Not once. I think that’s the only time I never backed down. Or backed out. Maybe both.”

Leo pressed a kiss to Logan’s chest through his t-shirt.

“He would only eat this one canned soup and only if we put, like, so much pepper in it. Knutty, it was insane. You would have hated how much pepper. Only pepper.”

Leo smiled a little. “He does like pepper.”

“It was kind of freaky, like he couldn’t taste it otherwise or something. But he said it just cleared his nose up so I was like, okay. He loves your soup. I tried to get some, like, sushi delivery into him or something and he wasn’t having it.”

Leo smiled. “He’s gonna get so sick of it.”

“Non, don’t think so.” Logan’s thumb was making small tracks across his neck. “And he couldn’t read or anything, like his homework. So I read to him.”

Leo smiled. “He’s the reader.”

“He interrupted all the time. It’s like going inside his mind. It’s—the only thing better I can think of is watching you two read.”

Finn sighed in his sleep like he’d heard. Leo touched the curl of his fingers poking out of the sling. “Did he fight you then? Trying to take care of him.”

“Not for the first couple days,” Logan said, then his chest rose and fell with a sigh of his own. “But once he starts feeling better its harder. Like tonight. Followed me everywhere.”

Leo turned his head up to Logan and smiled softly. “He did that to me, too. Followed me right into the shower and—”

Logan darted a mocking little glare towards Finn. “Oh, he tried that on you, too?”

“Almost gave in, to be honest.”

Logan grinned and leaned a little closer. “Would’ve like to see that. But same. Took me a bit to realize how badly he needed to lie down.”

“Good thing we’re Harzy-whisperers,” Leo whispered against his lips.

Logan’s laugh was quiet and his kiss was tender. “Finn-fluent.”

Finn made a sound, a little hum followed by a soft snort.

“Ouais, Harz,” Logan whispered. “Your blowjob efforts failed.”

Leo suppressed  a laugh and reached up for Logan’s jaw, turning him down into another kiss. Logan’s mouth was soft, a little sleepy maybe, but he opened Leo’s lips gently and squeezed him closer by his shoulders.

“I love you,” Leo whispered. “And I…I like hearing about it. The two of you, before me.”

“It doesn’t compare to the three of us,” Logan said.

“I know. I just don’t want you to think I don’t know that, I just felt…I felt like I would never live up to it for a moment.”

Logan’s brow knit. His skin and eyes took on the darkness. He lit it up, blue and green, and for a moment Leo was lost.Like this, Leo could almost imagine it. Knowing Logan back then. Knowing Finn. Having even more time than he would already be given. He was selfish for those years.

“He used to leave his backpack unzipped,” Logan said. He pet a hand through Finn’s hair and it was almost fond.

Leo smiled. “Oh no.”

“He would probably get all the way to class like that if I didn’t tell him every time. Shit falling out behind him.”

It was a sweet image, Logan catching Finn’s things. It was always Fall when Leo imagined them there, he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because of the sweatshirts they wore around the apartment, the maroon color, or the idea of school, just something that started in September.

“He’s never late for anything,” Leo whispered.

Logan smiled. “Not now, maybe. I used to wake up to him banging his hip on the dresser every morning while he rushed around.”

Leo reached down and put a hand on Finn’s waist, dipped a little with the way he was curved against Logan. “He still does that.”

“And you already know about our bagel place,” Logan said. “And his insane order.”

“It’s not so insane,” Leo said. “Plenty of people like capers that much.”

“Ouais,” Logan said. “But I only know one.”

Leo’s laugh was too loud for the time, and he turned his head into Logan’s chest.

“Là, take over for a second,” Logan said. “I’ve had to pee for two hours.”

“Hurry back.”

Logan eased Finn off of his shoulder with kisses and plenty of pillows, and Leo slid over into the warm spot left behind by him until Finn’s cheek rested against his chest instead.

“Hm…” Finn pressed his nose against Leo’s neck. By the kiss he placed there, Leo was sure Finn thought he was Logan still but he enjoyed it anyway.

“If I’m here, will you fall asleep okay?” Finn mumbled. When Leo hesitated in replying, Finn pressed his cheek harder against his chest. “Can I sleep here, Le?”

“Oh. Oh, yeah,” Leo said, throat tight. “Of course, sweetheart.” He pressed his nose into Finn’s hair. “Of course you can.”

“Did the boats leave?”

Leo arched a brow. “Uh. What?”

“I gave them the money,” Finn mumbled. “No one ran to the top.”

“Sweetheart, I don’t… What?”

But Finn didn’t reply, just breathed out, fast asleep.

Logan came back in, switching off the bathroom light.

“Did he used to talk in his sleep?” Leo whispered.

Logan paused with a knee on the bed. “Non. Did he just?”

Leo tried not to laugh, nodding. “Something about boats and money.”

Logan made a half-bewildered noise and lay down against Leo’s side. “There’s a lot going on in that brain.”

“There is,” Leo said. He had Finn’s head on one shoulder, Logan’s on the other. The game might’ve been tomorrow, but he’d reclaimed his prizes tonight.

[deepdisireslonging]

A Throne Fit for a Queen

The Reader escapes her own birthday with her lover to see what gift he’s hidden away for her. They put it to use, learning together only the beginning of its capabilities.

Pairing: Finn Balor x Reader

Warnings/Promises: SMUT, sex chair, oral (female receiving), creampie, cw Food mention

Word Count: 2500

Note: Happy birthday to my writing bestie, @neversatisfiedgirl! This was going to be a quick smutty fluffy ficlet… and then I fell down a research hole. Happy reading!

It had been a well-meant gesture. Kenny had planned everything. Had been since the beginning of the year, seemingly more excited for your birthday than you or your own mother. We’re talking the venue, the cake, the pile of presents in one corner. And what felt like hundreds of your closest friends and family from across multiple wrestling companies. All gathered together for you. The extravagance awed you.

“I just completed another orbit around the sun. I’m not retiring,” you muttered under your breath. Still, a smile wasn’t far off as you watched the master of ceremonies pelt Damian with a series of streamers, hopelessly entangling his victim. You giggled behind your hand as Rhea tried to help him out.

Then warm hands slid around your middle. A lingering kiss nestled into the curve of your neck. When you hummed and leaned into the strong torso behind you, a growl answered.

“How’d you know it was me?”

“As if anyone else would dare to hold me like this.” You turned in his arms, draping your own across his shoulders to play with the short hairs at the base of his neck. “Finn, darling, what are you up to?”

He pursed his lips and looked up at the ceiling. “I can’t wish my best girl a happy birthday?”

“I suppose.” You dragged your teeth over your bottom lip. “Your best girl, huh? How many girls you got in reserve there, Cassanova?”

“Ha. Ha.” He gave your hips a squeeze. “Just one. Even if I tried to have other girls, they’d always be jealous about how much time and affection I lavish on you.”

“Good to hear.”

Finn smiled into the kiss you gave him, smirking when a few whistles and hoots tried to distract him. “Looks like this party’s in full swing. Would you like your present before Kenny pulls us back into the fray?”

You rolled your eyes. “You already gave me my presents. They were lovely. I really don’t need anything-“

“I know. But,” he bobbled his head with a sparkle in his eye, “I’ve got something else that I hope you can use year-round.”

Intriguing. All of his other presents had been wonderful. Just what you wished for. Apparently, he had been keeping a list whenever you mentioned needing or wanting something, and taking note of things you let linger through your hands while out shopping. You wondered what this one could be, and when you had wished for it. “What is it?”

“Do. You. Want. Your. Present?”

With a big sigh, you dragged out your answer, “yes.”

Off to one side, a flash of red hair darted behind Kevin Owens. A slice of cake splattered all over his face a second later. You’d have to find out later if it was Becky or Sami from one of the closer witnesses. If anyone hazarded to squeal. Finn used the distraction to his advantage. He took hold of your wrist, deftly dragging you through the crowd of laughing and partying guests, until you made the escape to a back hallway. Like a child about to get into infinite trouble, he looked both ways before crashing through a door with you.

The lighting was dim. But candles flickered all around the small space that was probably nothing more than a large closet.

“How-“

Finn cut off your question with a smoldering kiss that made your knees wobble. “Kenny asked me for tips about celebrating you, of course. Originally planned today as a surprise party-“

“Oh, dear-“

“Exactly. But I talked him out of it. And set up my own party space while he was directing everyone else.” His hands lingered up your sides, leaving tingling, hot trails in their wake. You whimpered into his mouth as his touch toyed with the flowy hem of your party dress. “Liking everything so far?”

“Mhmm.” You caught his bottom of lip between your teeth, sucking on it till he pulled himself away to bury his face in your cleavage. “So… I get to use you year-round?”

“Mhmm.”

Then you caught sight of what was in the center of the room. You had wondered if a “pinned-to-the-wall” quickie was the present. Not that it was a bad thing, but not usually Finn’s detailed style. But the centerpiece, that made a lot more sense. How in the world had he gotten that thing in here without anyone noticing?

Finn felt your breath stutter under his ministrations. He followed your gaze. “Oh, yes. That. You are always welcome to use me all year, but I figured maybe you could use and be used on something ornate enough to enthrone my Queen.”

It was a King Edward chair. You knew the one. Designed for the “playboy prince” of the Victorian era. Scholars still didn’t know all the positions that could be accomplished on it. Now that you had your own, and a willing partner to experiment with, maybe you could find out. Already your imagination was swirling with the possibilities. How Finn could take you with you spread across it. Or vise versa. Whereas the original was in white and gold with floral cushions, this one was black and silver with red cushions. The perfect private throne for a Demon King or his Queen.

But Finn wasn’t letting you move. He sank to his knees, pinning you against the door by your hips while his head disappeared under your dress. You covered your mouth as his nose pressed into the front of your sensible undergarments. He nipped your inner thigh for it.

“Everyone’s at the party. No one around to hear you.” With a chuckle, he peeked out from under the fabric. “Unless we really get into it.” From one kneecap to the next, he placed a gentle kiss on your skin. “Don’t hold back, m'aingeal. It’s your day and I want you to feel everything.”

You nodded, letting your hand drop to his hair. With the other, you held back your skirt to watch what he was doing to you. With a pleased hum, he again pressed his nose into your sex, nudging about before catching the fabric waistband with his teeth. His nails and teeth lightly scraped against your skin as he desperately worked to bare you to him. The sight of your slick made him ferocious. He hiked one of your legs over his shoulder. Then, he really began to work. Tongue and fingers. Humming and sucking. You leaned your head back against the door, panting and doing your best not to thrust into his face.

All the while, you could see the chair. A pleasurable threat. A dangerous promise.

“Getting close, féileacán?”

You were. But all you could do was moan an affirmation. Your release was approaching. Fluttering nearer with each curl of his fingers, or jolting you with a nip to your thigh.

He added another digit to the ones already stretching you out. Then, when his mouth enveloped you, you fell apart. Your fingers shakily dug into his scalp, making him groan and prolong your pleasure with the vibrations. Those vibrations told hold of your whole body. Your lungs quaked in their cage next to your frantically beating heart, aiding the spotting of your vision. Your other hand dropped your skirt, reaching above you to claw against the door. You were aware of his movements to bring you down slowly, and to bring himself back into the flickering light. But mostly you were trying to remember how to breathe.

Then he was kissing at the underside of your jaw. He smeared your skin with the essence he had just drawn from you.

“We-“ you licked your lips, “we need to go back-“

“Do you really think I was going to show you your present… and then not use it with you at least till one orgasm? Oh, leanbh,” he tugged on your waist, “we’re just getting started.”

That promise dragged a whimper from your soul.

But once you stood in front of the chair, you had to wonder: how were you supposed to… mount this thing? Tilting your head, you considered a few ways. Maybe if you climbed up on it first, you could rotate to lay on your back?

You had just leaned over it to do just that when Finn flicked up the back of your skirt and began to knead the globes of your seat.

“Forget that iced monstrosity out there,” he gave your ass a slap, “I’ve got the sweetest treat right here.”

Another few slaps helped you up, where you could turn to lay on your back. The foot rests (stirrups?) did help you keep your position instead of sliding off. But they also arched your legs *way* open. Finn’s brilliant blue eyes were enraptured by the sight. Unblinking, he ran his hands up and down your thighs. Like a moth to a flame, he drew closer until the bulge trapped in his jeans was close enough for your sex to feel the heat. He took hold of the grips standing up next to your ribs. His knuckles turned white, the only evidence how much this man was holding back from blowing his load from the view alone.

You sat up. And reached for his front button. His hands met yours there. Together, you raced to release his cock into the open. When it finally sprung free, he gave a gasp of relief. The eagerness of it, warm and stiff in your hand, made your mouth water. But leaned over you, making sure to place your hands on the grips firmly enough to tell you that you needed to hang on.

Murmuring filthy Irish curses under his breath, he toyed with you further by sliding his cock through your slick. The head bumped your clit from time to time, making you whine.

“Please. Don’t make me wait.”

“Of course not, Love. I just- hmm. I can’t get enough of you being so wet for me. So ready. Making those sounds of yours. Calling out for me like you do when you beg. But you’re right. I can’t make the birthday girl wait.”

Inch by glorious inch, he filled you. You fully leaned back into the chair, hanging onto the grips for dear life. When he was fully seated within you, and panting with the feel of you around his length, his own hands joined yours on the grips. Thankfully, he started slow. You would have flown apart instantly at that angle if he’d pounded into you immediate like he wanted to. Faintly you could hear the music of the party still going on beyond the walls. But soon, all you could focus on hearing was the slapping of Finn’s hips colliding with yours. His grunts and gasps as he speared deeper and deeper. Your own cries and jumbled words as you pleaded with him to move one way or the other. And the creaking of the chair. The faster he went, the more his hands slid down the grips until they rested over yours. That slightest contact of skin dazzled you.

“Please, please, please-“

Whatever you were begging for, Finn answered in full force. It didn’t take long, despite feeling like you’d been dangling on the edge of a precipice for an eternity, before Finn’s thrusts stuttered. He reached for your clit, thumbing over it until you were weeping his name. He watched, enraptured, as you came apart. Chest heaving. Hair plastered around your forehead. And he watched your lips murmuring like he was waiting.

Your grip on the bars faltered as he kept moving, chasing his own release. “Come on, mo rí diabhal. Fill me, possess me, like only you can-“

With a roar, he did just that. He pumped all he had to give into you. When he was finally spent, he fell over you, his head resting on your breasts.

Again, the distant drifting of the party sounds found you. And, despite the incredible desire to stay just where you were, curling your fingers into his hair, you eventually made the first move to leave. He groaned, irritated when he had to pull himself out of you. He fixed his pants, but stood in the way of your dismount. You cradled his head to your shoulder, wondering if he could still smell the post-orgasmic kiss he gave you earlier.

“We need to go back.”

“Yeah.”

“We smell like sex.” You shot him a playful frown when he seemed unperturbed. “What are going to tell people when they ask where we’ve been?”

“The truth.” He held your chin between his thumb and forefinger so you couldn’t avoid his gaze. “I had to give the birthday girl her present.”

Your eyebrows raised. “Oh? Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“And if they ask what the present was?” You gripped his wrist, but he refused to budge.

“We’ll tell them, ‘what do you think’ and leave it at that.” He quickly kissed you before letting you go. “You don’t think I’d tell them about our new toy, did you?” He helped you off the chair and back into your panties, not missing an opportunity to feel you up again. “I would never. It’s our secret. Though we’ve got to end this shindig quick. I’m not through with you.”

You rolled your eyes, starting to wonder who the present was actually for. “No?”

“Not in the slightest. And it’s portable. I’m thinking about attaching wheels to the bottom so we can move it around.”

You startled. Then grinned. “It might look a little odd… rolling this thing around the airport.” You giggled when his surprised face matched yours at what he had insinuated.

“I was thinking-“ his voice cracked. After clearing his throat he tried again, “I was thinking about moving it to different rooms in the house.” He stepped close, once again pinning you to the door so he could whisper in your ear. “Perhaps tie you down to it. Cover those pretty eyes of yours so you’re disorientated. Only able to think about what I’ll do to you.” He snickered and stepped back. “But I like the way you think. Maybe I can borrow someone’s jet sometime and really take you higher than the mile-high club. Remember that flight to Toronto?”

Your pussy threatened to gush again with the memory. “Maybe.”

A wicked gleam filled his gaze. “Then let’s finish up this party quick so I can get you home.”

___

Masterlist

Wrestling Masterlist

Other Finn Fics:

Fright Club (Fluff)

The Forbidden Door (Stripper!Balor, Smut)

Dangerous (Smut) [Prince Devitt]