#he might fistfight a ref soon

[jonasiegenthaler]

njd@sea | 06.01.25

[fruitcoops]

I know this isn’t a prompt but can you please do Remus or Caps point of view after grayback took Leo down and Remus beat him up. I need to see some protective Loops. Thank you for writing all these!

It’s like one in the morning where I am but I couldn’t help myself and it’s almost 2k words. Cap’s POV will be out later today! I’m so glad you enjoyed this! Credit for Coops/ Sweater Weather goes to @lumosinlove

TW for a panic attack, fistfighting, and ~spicy smut~ at the very end. It’s nothing graphic, but it’s there!

Remus had fucking had it. Cornering him, pulling apart his shoulder, and blackmailing him for four years was one thing. Targeting Leo Knut and wrapping him around his own goal posts for the crime of being better was another.

He saw the hit coming two seconds too late—by the time the collision happened and the stadium erupted, his eyes were set on Greyback and his vision went redder than blood.

He grabbed Greyback—no, Fenrir, he didn’t get the dignity of the name on his jersey—and hauled him off Leo, his right arm already in motion. His ungloved fist collided with the side of Fenrir’s face and he hit the ice hard. Remus went down with him.

One.

Leo in the PT room, shyly showing his rainbow bracelet.

Two.

The feeling of the mats digging into his cheek as pain exploded in his shoulder, too afraid to do anything but silently cry while Fenrir hissed in his ear.

Three.

Leo’s laugh over dinner with the cubs when Logan and Finn each pressed a kiss to his cheek at the same time.

Four.

You don’t get to have that.

Five.

You don’t get to have me.

Six—strong arms wrapping around his chest from behind, a voice shouting in his ear. “Don’t fucking touch my goalie,” Remus snarled deep in his throat, keeping his fingers locked in Fenrir’s jersey.

“Let go, Remus! You have to let him go!”

“If you even breathe on any of them again I swear to God—”

“Remus! Sweetheart, that’s enough!”

Sirius. Remus’ knees came off the ice and he released his hold instinctively as Sirius lifted him off Fenrir and practically dragged him to the boards. He was vaguely aware of spitting more low threats as Fenrir scrambled to his feet and stumbled to his own side, where the refs were waiting.

“—to breathe, Remus, take a deep breath.” Sirius’ voice shook slightly as Remus fought against his grip.

“Get off me, I’m not done with him yet.” He hardly recognized his own tone. He never spoke to Sirius like that.

“Yes, you are. Leo’s going to be fine and Greyback’s going to get kicked out. You need to stop before you do, too.” Sirius was unflinching, speaking in a low murmur that rumbled against Remus’ back through his pads. He sagged, feeling the fight leave him in a slow rush while adrenaline lit him up from the inside.

"Leo—Leo, he was around the goal post—”

“They took him off on a stretcher. The game’s over, we won, he’s going to be okay. He was talking to the medics last I saw.”

Remus felt his knees wobble in relief. Talking was good. Talking meant Leo could breathe and understand what was happening. No brain damage. Likely no breaks. Probable bruising around his ribs and the soft tissue if Remus remembered his textbooks right. “Finn and Logan?”

“Waiting for news.”

“Lupin!” Coach Weasley walked over—when had they entered the bench?—and Remus could hear the fury in his voice. “What the hell were you doing out there?”

“Sorry, Coach,” Remus panted. Sirius released him slowly but kept an arm around his waist and one hand on his chest as he forced himself to make eye contact with the coach. “Wasn’t thinking.”

The rage reddening his freckled cheeks faded into concern and he frowned. Remus wondered what could possibly make the great Arthur Weasley look at him like that. He didn’t remember Fenrir getting any hits in. “Alright, Lupin, why don’t you head back into the locker room for a bit. Black, make sure he’s okay.”

Sirius led him past the team and into the tunnel in a blur of motion, ignoring any and all questions. “I’m okay,” Remus said, weakly pushing at his hands. “Sirius, I’m—”

His legs gave out and he crumpled against the tunnel wall with a choked noise. The adrenaline vanished so fast his head spun and he squeezed his eyes shut; his hands shook too hard to properly grab anything, so he braced them on the wall and prayed he would pass out soon.

“Bad,” was all he managed to say. “Bad, this feels bad, oh my god I hit him.”

“You did.”

“Sirius, I hit him. I’m not scared of him, I’m just so angry.”

“I think you’re a lot of things right now, honey, so just open your eyes.” It took a couple tries, but he finally blinked and Sirius came into focus, kneeling in front of him and holding on to his upper arms. “You’re in the tunnel and it’s just us here.”

“Fuck, there is so much happening right now. I can’t stop shaking.” Remus was coming apart at the seams. He was terrified for Leo and the fact the he couldn’t remember getting to the tunnel. He was burning with rage at Fenrir. He was panicking over the fight and somehow so breathlessly relieved. Fenrir Greyback couldn’t touch him anymore and now he knew the consequences of coming after Remus’ team.

Sirius began slowly rubbing up and down his arms and his skin tingled as feeling returned to his hands. His knuckles stung. “Take your time, you’re okay now.”

“Why do I feel like this?” he gasped, frantically grabbing at Sirius’ elbows for support. Every breath raked his throat.

“That’s a lot of trauma to work through in a very short period of time.”

“It is, it really is,” Remus laughed, leaning his head back against the cold concrete wall. His laughter quickly transformed into huge, hiccupping sobs that tumbled over each other as Sirius gathered him into his arms and made soft noises of comfort. “I hate him and I feel so much better.”

The world faded for a while after that. Remus didn’t know how long they stayed locked together; once, he thought he heard someone else talking, but Sirius’ embrace never faltered for an instant as he let every bottled emotion flood out. They went straight to the car after that, not bothering with the locker room or anyone who might still be lingering, and Remus rested his pounding forehead against the cool glass all the way home.

Doors opened, keys entered locks, a dog licked his hand, and then they were in their bedroom. It was unchanged since that morning, even though the rest of the world had tilted on its axis. Remus’ fingers trembled as he undid clasps and buckles, but Sirius’ were steady, and they were down to their skin in record time.

The heat of the water brought Remus back into himself a bit. It scorched away the sweat that had built up from playing, fighting, and the fear-induced adrenaline that had been keeping him going for hours now. He closed his eyes and let the warmth soak into his bones until a hand smoothed down his back. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

“…are you okay?”

Remus paused for a moment as Sirius washed his back and shoulders. “I think so? I feel lighter. I don’t know yet. Did I scare you?”

Sirius laughed a little behind him, clearly surprised. “What?”

“Your voice was shaking when you pulled me away. I was worried.”

“You scared me a little, yeah, mostly because you didn’t seem like you.” Sirius moved on to his neck and Remus sighed at the feeling. “You were fighting me like I was going to hurt you, and then in the tunnel you just kind of dropped. I was expecting something to happen once the adrenaline wore off, but it was really fast.”

“It felt fast. Oh, that’s nice.” Remus leaned into Sirius’ palm as it ran through his hair. This closeness was wonderful, soft and warm against the cold hard ice of the game. He could live in it forever. He turned around and cradled Sirius’ face between his hands, looking into his silver eyes. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Remus rested their foreheads together and Sirius’ hands ran down his arms, leaving a trail of honey lavender in their wake. “Are you using my soap?”

“You always complain about mine.”

“It does have an intense smell,” he admitted. It wasn’t his fault Irish Spring smelled like toothpaste on steroids, though. “You make it work.”

“Thanks?”

Remus laughed, then placed a kiss to Sirius’ nose.

One.

Hidden glances across locker rooms and ice rinks and dinner tables.

Two. His left cheekbone.

Pre-game kisses on the bench.

Three. His right cheekbone.

Spine-melting nights in tangled sheets, both gasping at the closeness and the all-consuming love.

Four. His jawline.

Walking hand in hand, Sirius still snickering at a bad pun as Remus swung their arms casually.

Five. His lips.

Long and slow, water coming down around them as the world righted itself. Sirius’ hands on his hips without anything but contact on his mind. Remus’ arms resting lazily over his shoulders, silently thanking him for being there.

“Are you ready to go to bed?”

“I’m not tired yet.”

Sirius smiled against his lips and squeezed his hipbones lightly. “Okay.”

They only bothered with a towel to get the majority of the moisture off their bodies and away from the sheets—Sirius shook his head like a wet dog and Remus laughed as the droplets hit him in the face. His dark hair lifted up at the ends as he guided Remus to the mattress, interlocking their fingers and pressing their hands down above his head before kissing the breath from his lungs.

Remus arched up, pushing their hips together in a slow roll that made Sirius’ abdomen jolt against his own. Sirius released his hands only to wrap a palm around them both and slowly tug; Remus’ head fell back into the pillows and he hitched one leg around Sirius’ waist on reflex. He wound his fingers in those ink-black curls as a hot mouth attached to his pulse point and bit down gently before soothing it with a slow lick down to his collarbone.

He whined as Sirius left a hickey in the hollow of his throat and moved back upward to pepper kisses everywhere but his lips. Sirius’ other hand was a constant pressure around him, pulling and sliding until Remus felt a familiar buzz spread all the way to his toes. “Baby—Sirius—Sirius, please—”

The bed disappeared. The world disappeared. Remus’ hands tightened in Sirius’ hair as he shook apart with a series of short gasps, melting into the heat that surrounded him. Distantly, he knew he was babbling some string of “I love you” and “fuck”, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

When he came down from the high, he was more exhausted than he had ever been in his life. The fog of terror and fear from earlier had long since dissipated, and the euphoria of being pressed and pulled until he fell to pieces left him sated. He felt more like himself than he had in over a week.

“You with me?” Sirius asked, his lips in the divot of Remus’ shoulder.

He smiled. “Yeah, I am.”

[chasholidays]

Holiday prompt: "We're both in the same small claims court and I got into a huge fight with the person suing me but you stepped in to hold me back before security got there" Bellarke, please, but you can choose which of them does which role. Thank you for all your writing!

Sometimes, Clarke thinks she’s not really suited to being a foster parent.

It’s not like she’s bad at it, in most ways. She’s responsible, a good provider, and she knows that Madi is happy, which is obviously the most important thing. If nothing else, Madi is better off with her than she was before, and that’s not nothing.

But Clarke isn’t always the best role model, which is why she’s spending her morning in small claims court, scowling at everything. On the one hand, she might have–very slightly–overreacted to Katie F.’s mom at the soccer game a few weeks ago; on the other, she doesn’t think that it was really so bad that she deserves to get sued for it.

Madi thought it was hilarious, but not in a way she wanted to emulate. So at least there’s that.

She’s on her phone, texting Wells about how unfair it is while he just copy/pastes the same reply–in her defense, you nearly bit her–when Bellamy sits down next to her and says, “So, what are you in for?”

Bellamy is one of those people Clarke likes and always wants to see more of. Part of that is completely shallow; he’s probably the single most attractive guy she’s ever met in her entire life, and she’s never against more eye candy in her life. But he’s also smart and funny and if she had time these days to have crushes, she’d probably have one on him.

Instead, between work and Madi, she sees Bellamy maybe once every two months, when she drags herself out to socialize with her larger friend group.

So at least small claims court has one thing going for it.

“I might have gotten in a fight at one of Madi’s soccer games.”

Bellamy lets out an actual cackle. “Holy shit, of course you did. What happened?”

“Her kid fouled Madi and didn’t get a red card, she said Madi started it, the ref and her mom sided with her, and I might have gotten–carried away.”

“You don’t say.” He shakes his head, smiling. “She’s seriously suing you?”

“I’m still getting used to soccer mom culture. I think it was supposed to be an empty threat to show me she was serious, and I told her to go ahead, so then she had to or else she’d lose credibility in front of the other moms.”

“Yeah, that all checks out. I was wondering how you’d do with other parents.”

Bellamy teaches high school, at the school where Madi will be next year, no less, so of course he has a lot of opinions on parents. The fact that he’s always told her she seems to be doing a good job has been a comfort to her, honestly.

“It’s been mixed.”

“Clearly.”

She elbows him. “Shut up. What are you doing here?”

“Remember that sketchy guy I decided to rent my spare bedroom to?”

“The one who always smelled like weed and never seemed to be home? Don’t tell me that went wrong.”

“Yeah, we’re all shocked. He broke his lease, so I’m looking forward to finding out if he actually shows up. I’m not convinced it was even worth it to bring to court, but it’s summer vacation, what else am I doing?”

“So, you’re bored enough to go to small claims court?”

“Everyone needs a hobby.” He shifts a little, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “So, how’s Madi doing? Aside from getting fouled in soccer.”

“Good, I think. She’s looking forward to starting high school in the fall, but I think less because she thinks it’s going to be good and more because she was ready to be done with middle school.”

“Yeah, I don’t blame her. Middle school sucks. She’s coming to Arcadia, right?”

“She is. I assume you won’t have her for a couple years.”

“Yeah, not until she’s a junior.” He clears his throat. “But I’ll look out for her, obviously.”

“Obviously. How is your summer going? I feel like I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“You haven’t,” he says, grinning. “I get it, you’re busy. But we miss you.”

“I miss you guys too. Madi wants to have a cookout soon, so look forward to that.”

“You’re sounding sarcastic, but that sounds awesome.” He clears his throat, like he’s about to say something else, but the clerk calls, “Blake vs. Murphy,” before he can.

“Sounds like you’re up.”

“Sounds like.” He stands and stretches. “Good to see you, good luck with getting sued.”

“Good luck suing. Talk to you soon?”

“Definitely.”

She watches him go, feeling a little hopeful in spite of herself. When she decided to take Madi in, he’d had a boyfriend, and she had sort of assumed that he’d never be a romantic option. The two of them broke up, but she had Madi after that, and she didn’t see much of him. She did think they might have been flirting, and that was definitely an encouraging interaction. If she asks him out, he might say yes, and that’s something to be excited about.

A boyfriend would be nice.

Given she’s in small claims court, the good mood can’t and won’t last, but she’s not expecting it to shrivel up and die quite as quickly as it does. But that’s how the world works: one nice chance encounter with a guy she likes turns quickly into a less chance and much less nice encounter with the woman who’s suing her.

“I didn’t think you’d show up,” says Mrs. Fuller.

She has a first name, Clarke knows that. Clarke’s heard it, even–Melissa or Rebecca or something, an ordinary name that her friends shorten to Mel or Becky.

Clarke has been told to call her Mrs. Fuller, which means that Clarke will call her Mrs. Fuller until the day she dies. Which is, perhaps, another reason for her to not be a parent.

But Mrs. Fuller started it.

“Well, I wanted to make sure we resolved the issue,” says Clarke, bright. “And this was how you wanted to resolve it. I’m just trying to be accommodating.” Killing with kindness isn’t exactly her forte, but it seems worth a shot. “How’s the emotional distress?” she adds.

She’s only human.

Mrs. Fuller huffs and calls someone to complain about what a hassle the whole thing is–like it wasn’t her idea to sue Clarke for not even actually biting her in the middle of a fight she started–while Clarke googles what to do when you’re in small claims court. Which she already researched extensively, but every little bit helps.

As she expected, the mediator is less than impressed with the case. Emotional distress is one of those things that’s tricky to prove, and while Clarke was the one who escalated, she was far from the only participant. The fact that no official charges of assault were pressed also helps, and the moderator definitely tells Mrs. Fuller to let it go.

Which she doesn’t, so Clarke has to spend an additional ten minutes in front of a judge, who tells them they should maybe just avoid each other at soccer games from now on and dismisses the case.

It would be the perfect ending if, as they were walking out, Mrs. Fuller didn’t say, “Maybe if your child wasn’t such a bad seed, you wouldn’t need to be brawling.”

This, Clarke knows, is the root cause of her problems as a parent, the issue that will keep her from ever getting along with women like Mrs. Fuller. It’s not that she doesn’t fit in; she knows she does. She’s an upper-class white woman from a good family, and if these women knew her as Abby Griffin’s daughter, they’d like her. But they know her as the woman who got her orphan foster child into their school district, into their childrens’ honors courses and social circles. There’s already a strong culture of my child is the most precious and no one else’s matters as muchwith zero awareness that everyone feels that way about their children, but Madi’s position as an outsider makes her more of a target for ire.

These people think Clarke’s daughter doesn’t matter, and that is, ultimately, going to be why she’ll never stop fighting with them.

“What was that?” she asks, mostly to give Mrs. Fuller a chance to reconsider the statement.

“If your girl hadn’t been so close to Katie then maybe Katie wouldn’t have accidentally hit her. This is a common problem for less experienced players, and since it’s her first season–”

“My daughter,” says Clarke. “Madi is my daughter.”

“I didn’t think that was even finalized.”

“And?”

“And I didn’t want to get ahead of myself. I doubt she’ll last much longer.”

It devolves pretty rapidly from there. On a base logic level, Clarke knows that getting into a fistfight in a small claims court where it’s just been decided that she doesn’t have to pay for pissing this woman off is incredibly stupid, but on a much baser, instinctual level, this woman is saying bad things about her daughter, and Clarke hates her.

So it’s a really good thing Bellamy is still around to help out.

She doesn’t know it’s him at first, just a firm hand on her arm disconnected from any individual person, and she half-whirls to yell at him before she realizes what’s happening. Bellamy’s not actually looking at her, his eyes fixed on Mrs. Fuller, but he’s allied with Clarke even as he’s also holding her back.

“Hey, Mrs. Fuller, right?” he asks, and she frowns.

“Mr. Blake?”

“Nice to see you, hope Aaron and Katie are doing well. I just need to grab Clarke, sorry. We had a lunch date when we were done here.” He turns his attention to her, concern written all over his face, although she doubts anyone else would be able to tell. “You ready?”

It is, in all ways, a better choice than trying to fight this woman. “Yeah, all set.”

Bellamy shifts his hand to her lower back, guiding her out, and not to be shallow or anything, but she’s seen Mr. Fuller, and Bellamy is about fifty thousand times hotter than he is, so she’s hoping Mrs. Fuller is feeling really jealous right now.

“I didn’t know she had another kid,” Bellamy remarks, once they’re alone. “That’s something to look forward to.”

“The kid honestly isn’t that bad,” Clarke says. “Most of them aren’t. I assume they’ll grow up shitty but for now their parents are still trying to teach them to do as they say, not as they do.”

“That’s something.” He clears his throat. “I’d say sorry for stepping in there, but I figure you’re happy you didn’t get arrested for assaulting someone in a courthouse.”

“Yeah, appreciated.” She glances at him sidelong. “Did your case really take that long?”

“No, we were done pretty quickly. I was waiting for you.”

She has to smile. “You were worried I was going to start throwing punches?”

“That too. I did want to ask if you wanted to grab lunch, though.”

“Yeah?”

He huffs a laugh. “I know you’re busy, but, uh–I’ve been missing you, honestly. I was thinking we could try to see more of each other.”

“Like a lunch date?”

“For a start. Or it can just be a lunch date,” he adds. “Doesn’t have to go anywhere.”

“That seems like kind of a waste.” She sways closer into his side, and when he drops his hand from her back to his side, she takes it. “I’m kind of busy these days, but if you don’t mind a weird schedule and a kid–”

“I can live with a weird schedule and a kid. Maybe just try not to get sued during the school year,” he teases. “I can’t actually come bail you out every time.”

“One time!”

“So far. I know these parents, remember? I doubt this is going to be an isolated incident.”

It’s true, and depressing, and not what Clarke wants to be thinking about right this minute, when she’s holding hands with a cute guy she likes, on her way to a date, with the promise of more dates to come.

So she just knocks their shoulders together. “What I’m hearing is that you think I need backup.”

“Definitely.”

“And you’re volunteering.”

He grins. “It would be my pleasure, yeah.”

*

“How was court?” Madi asks when she gets home.

“Good. I didn’t have to pay any money, that was cool. And I think I got a boyfriend.”

“You found a boyfriend at small claims court?”

“It’s Bellamy, so I already knew him. He just became my boyfriend at small claims court.”

“You know you’re like the opposite of a role model, right?”

“I know. You know that too, right?”

“For sure.”

Clarke grins, leans over to kiss the top of her head. “So we’re good, right?”

Madi smiles. “Yeah, we’re awesome.”

Clarke has to agree.