#they’d tear each other’s throats out so tenderly

[v7n5]

Sometimes like this

Also like that <3

[sunsets-and-crows]

Claws

Thinking about how excited Syus will be when he meets you in his human life, one where he doesn't have claws.

If Sylus’ claws were anything like the talons of other animals, sharp, tough and made from keratin, they’d probably lack the sensitivity of human skin right? Claws are built for strength and precision, not for fine-tuned sensations. In his dragon form: he could touch, sure, but never really feel. Everything would be dulled, fleeting, like wearing gloves or pressing your fingers against glass to touch a hand on the other side. Softness, heat, the delicate texture of skin - it would all be a vague pressure, a constant reminder that he could never hold anything delicate without ruining it.

But now, in his human life, it was as if the gods had handed him salvation wrapped in smooth skin and scarred knuckles. His hands - alive, real - were suddenly made for touch. Where his claws had been brutal precision, his fingers were reverence incarnate. The man is experiencing true touch for the first time, he's suddenly hyperaware of everything. The softness of your cheek? Heavenly. The silkiness of your hair? A revelation. The curve of your body beneath his hands? Enough to make him lose his damn mind., turning him feral.

And let’s not forget - this man would be obsessed with the contrast. Where his claws once tore through flesh and scales, his human hands now worship your body. He’d be almost weeping at how tenderly he can hold you, feeling the pulse beneath your skin, the heat radiating from you. Every little shiver, every sigh, every slight twitch beneath his touch would make his breath catch.

Sylus wouldn’t just touch you - he’d memorise you. Because after a lifetime of dull sensation, feeling you would be a kind of salvation. A reminder that he’s human now. That you’re real. And that, for the first time, he’s capable of experiencing you the way he’s always longed to. Like I'm sure he misses being a dragon right? That's his true form. But now he can touch you so much more intimately.

Sylus couldn’t stop thinking about his hands on you - human hands, strong and scarred, yes, but without the claws that once kept him a world away. It was as if the universe were apologising, granting him this form and, with it, the ability to feel you. To touch without hesitation, without fear of breaking something so precious. And gods, you were precious.

When he first brushed the pad of his thumb across your cheek, he nearly lost himself, feeling the tell-tale sting of tears prickling his eyes. His breath stilled in his chest, his throat dry as he traced the curve of your face, his thumb brushing softly against your lower lip. He marveled at the way his hands could experience you, so different from the sensation in his past life. Your skin gave beneath his touch as though you’d been made of the finest silk, warm and pliant. His hands shook - this creature of power, reduced to something tender, vulnerable. The lump in his throat swelled as he traced the curve of your jaw, every nerve in his body alight with disbelief.

“You’re real,” he murmured, his voice frayed and raw. His crimson eyes wide with something vulnerable. For so long, he had dreamed of holding you without the fear of tearing you apart. And now here you were, soft and impossibly human, letting him touch you. He didn’t have to pull away, didn’t have to fear shredding you apart with an errant motion.

You stared at him, confusion flickering across your features as his thumb traced the curve of your cheek, lingering like he was committing you to memory. There was something in his eyes - softness, longing, love - that didn’t make sense. Not to you.

To Sylus, it was everything. Each motion of his fingers poured out a devotion you couldn’t recognise, couldn’t return. It wasn’t your fault; the memories that should have connected you to him - moments of fire and flight, lifetimes of love and loss - were lost, swallowed up by time or fate.

She doesn’t remember.

The realization tore at him every time you looked at him like this - like he was a stranger. A stranger with hands that shook as he touched you, as though afraid you might slip through his grasp. You were here, now, yet still out of reach. It didn’t stop him. Nothing would stop him.

He traced your face with reverence, his voice low, almost broken. “I’ll remind you,” he whispered, as if making a promise to himself. “Even if it takes a lifetime.”

The first time he braided your hair was seared into his memory with the same intensity as the sun scorching the horizon on the plains. He’d always admired your hair - how it shimmered like liquid in the light - but feeling it slip between his fingers was an entirely new kind of pleasure. It was silk spun into strands, each section gliding so smoothly that he paused often, distracted by the sensation. His large hands, which had once been tipped with razor-sharp talons, now worked with gentle precision, twisting and weaving each section of hair into something beautiful. It shimmered between them, the strands gliding so effortlessly that he forgot what he was doing half the time. His fingers lingered, threading and unthreading, so gentle you might’ve thought him afraid. He whispered things to himself as he worked - praises, almost prayers. Perfect.

But for all those soft touches, Sylus craved more. He had always been a creature of need, a being meant to hoard and devour desire and you were his most dangerous indulgence. And when he finally had you beneath him, bare and trembling, he felt that dangerous edge of hunger blur into a new kind of worship.

His hands explored you like they’d been made for it, each touch deliberate, almost reverent. His thick fingers dragged slowly over the slopes of your body, mapping every dip and curve, every inch of skin that drew a gasp from you. The sensation of your softness giving way to him was intoxicating - a pliant warmth he could lose himself in.

And when he pressed his fingers into you for the first time, he nearly groaned aloud at how you welcomed him. His breath hitched, a groan slipping unbidden from his lips as your body welcomed him. You were wet, silken, warm - a sensation so profound he swore his vision blurred. He flexed his thick fingers, feeling you pulse and cling to him as though you’d been made for this.

“Perfect,” he rasped, voice rough as gravel. He pressed his other palm flat against your hips, holding you still when you squirmed. His crimson gaze burned as he watched the way your body responded, the flush spreading down your chest, the gasps spilling from your lips. “I could do this forever,” he murmured, curling his fingers until he found that spot that had you arching beneath him. “Watch you come apart on my hands alone.”

Each moan and gasp he pulled from you ignited his own desire until he was no better than the humans he used to devour for the same crime. This was humanity, this was what feeling truly was.

His mind spun with the contrast - once, those hands had been weapons, tools for destruction. But now, they coaxed pleasure from you with an ease that made his heart race. It drove him mad, the privilege of it. How you let him hold you, mark you, ruin you - and yet, there you were, looking at him like he’d placed the stars in the sky. Sylus gripped you tighter, palms sliding possessively over your thighs, your hips, the curves that had been haunting him since that first, fateful touch.

In this life, Sylus didn’t need his claws to leave you ruined. He had you, undone and gasping, by the sheer force of his hands alone. He curled his fingers inside you, finding the spot that had you throwing your head back and bucking up to press his fingers deeper inside you. As he drank in the sound of your whimpers and the flush blooming across your chest, Sylus finally understood the truth:

You were his treasure - one he could touch, hold, and break apart as many times as he liked. And gods, he planned to.

➽──────────────────────────────────❥

One day, I might be able to write something about a different LI. Today is not that day. This started as pure horny thoughts about Sylus' hands and now I don't know how to behave.

[monstersinthecosmos]

Vamptember Day 15 - Ghosts

{puscifer - bullet train to iowa}

tapestries & tile - part iii

And Marius knows how Daniel gets.

The way the blood is still too wild in him, how he hasn’t figured out where to put all of it.

Marius remembers it well, when he was a fledgling. It never really stopped for the first couple centuries, but Pandora had been there to tame him. He could submit to her in a way he hadn’t submitted to anyone as a human, and even with the blurred edges around sexuality he found release there.

So he knows the hazy look in Daniel’s eyes, that soft pleading. 

They pull away, just enough to see each other better. Marius’s hand anchors on Daniel’s left pec, so that he can cradle the frantic heartbeat.

“You remind me of him,” Marius says gently. “In the most surprising ways. Sometimes I think you’re nothing like him at all, and other times…”

Daniel’s bottom lip quivers, and he leans in for a kiss, but Marius holds him back. Where he might be frustrated, it seems that the show of force only arouses him further.

“How? What do you mean?”

“Oh, exactly this,” he says. He hand gropes at Daniel’s chest to emphasize how his heart skips. “He was a naive young boy in love with a monster.”

How strange, Marius thinks, as the realization dawns on Daniel’s face, that these two wanted it. 

“It would thrill you, wouldn’t it, to feel so helpless again?”

Daniel’s face flushes, and the pinch of thirst is so palpable that Marius feels it shock between them. 

“Isn’t that why you felt so neglected in the end? Was he too gentle with you?”

Something like hurt flickers across, gone just as quickly as it arrived. Ugly truth that he doesn’t like to admit to. It’s safe now, though, as if mixed into a game. 

A collage of memories passes through his mind as he settles—Armand, holding him down. Biting him on the throat, holding him too hard by the hair. And awful fights, where Daniel was convinced Armand might hit him. Armand, subjecting him to the strangest humiliations—medical procedures, nipple piercings, stuffing him with food until he was sick. But all of that chaos had felt passionate at the time. He’d missed it later, when he was too sick to participate.

He thinks of Marius, too, though. The equal parts of fear and intrigue when they’d first met. The eerie way he can stare. That he can feel Marius’s age permeate every room they’re in.

And Marius’s teeth, his effortless strength. Times he’s come home so glutted on his blood that his cheeks are red and his skin is hot, and the times he barely disguises the blood under his nails and the aura of shame. 

A monster.

Seeing so much in Daniel’s thoughts invokes that same shame. Just a little—enough to twist in his stomach. But the hunger in his eyes quells it all the same. Heady reminder that it isn’t repulsive.

Marius slides his hand up Daniel’s chest, feeling his breast bone, his clavicle. Tracing the bulge of his Adam’s apple. 

How easily he could sink his fingers into the still-young flesh. Still fledgling soft. And how easily he could wrap his fingers around the rubbery larynx, the trachea, the esophagus. Injury like that might even kill a vampire. 

“I could tear your throat out,” he whispers, and such revealing shaky desire flickers on Daniel’s face. The hard edges of his nails scrape gently across the skin—still as freshly shaved as the night he died—and without the need for prompting, they both think of Armand, so tenderly dragging the razor across him.

“Marius—”

“No,” he scolds quietly. But there’s a quiet blank space between them, unsure what word to use. Not Master, no, that’s laid to rest. And neither are sure that Daniel is ready for something like Daddy, even as it almost blooms on his lips. Something to work towards, perhaps, when Armand’s ghost is less present. 

Daniel swallows, his eyes glazing for a moment like they used to when he wasn’t present.

“Sir,” he amends.

He strokes his fingertips along the line of Daniel’s jaw. Traces Daniel’s bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. Daniel’s mouth opens, without being asked, and Marius presses inside.

Just warm enough from Little Drinks. Marius considers scolding him for going hungry, and wonders how Daniel might take to killing, if he’s ready for it. Doesn’t have to be the messy way that Marius kills these days. Marius could find someone for him. Some perfect victim to fill him up.

Not now, though. Tomorrow, he thinks. He imagines the way the blood will color Daniel’s face. How hot his mouth will be after, still tasting of all that violence.

Pleasure shivers through his ribs at the thought.

“Knees,” he says, heart racing at the easy way he slips back into the role. His insides flush at the sight of Daniel’s lidded eyes, at the faint gleam painting across his bottom lip. He looks drunk as he sinks down to the floor, fists balled at his sides as he obediently gazes upwards, waiting for more.

Something monstrous about it, Marius thinks. Not in Daniel—in himself. Strange urge that he’s kept locked away, too ashamed of it after everything.

But the dreamy look on Daniel’s face. The way he hangs there, floating the way Amadeo used to. The way he’s craved this. 

You’re just like him, Marius thinks. Naive boy in love with a monster.

“Open,” Marius commands. And he’s biting his tongue, letting it bleed for a moment, tasting himself as he squeezes around Daniel’s jaw. 

He squeezes too hard, and he knows it. Sees the pain flash across Daniel’s face, but feels the hunger all the same. Hears the way Daniel’s heart skips, sees the way his pupils blow wide.

You like this. He presses his wounded tongue to the roof of his mouth, and wraps his next thought up tight. And so do I.

City noises rise around them, and the breeze off the ocean is cool at his back. The bass of a car stereo rattles the windows, and a girl scream-laughs from the street below.

New century and there are still things to learn. 

Daniel’s tongue shines glossy as he obeys, as he waits, and the light pollution that hovers around them shines pink in his eyes as Marius spits into his mouth.

[rosenallies]

but then when they finally reunite & are healthy together and have that healing soft romantic sleeping together moment (prompt request?👀)

I apologize for writing this when I have a bunch of other prompts that came before it but this au has been on my mind all day and I can’t sleep bc my chest hurts again and my sleeping pills are not making me sleepy enough to forget about the fact I might be having a heart attack or something idk <3

——

“I hate that I didn’t tell you how beautiful you are enough,” Jane said quietly, breaking the comfortable silence they found themselves in, tangled up in the sheets.

Nymphia flushed, warmth spreading through her like a wildfire. “You can tell me now.”

“Now that I have you back, I promise I won’t go a single day without telling you,” she paused to trail her index finger gently down the curve of Nymphia’s spine, “you’re so beautiful.”

The way Jane looked at her, so sincerely, so tenderly, made Nymphia’s breath hitch in her throat, “PJ-“

Jane smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind Nymphia’s ear. “What, baby?”

“Do you think we can-? I feel like I’m ready, if you are.”

It didn’t take much for Jane to get what she was hinting at, they’d been talking about it for a few weeks now, about being ready to have sex again. If Nymphia had the choice, she would’ve fallen back into bed with Jane the second she had the chance, but Jane suggested they take it slow and learn how to love each other the right way first. They’d spent too long holding a burning flame over each other’s bare skin that the skin was still tender, Jane knew they needed to heal first.

“I think we’re in a good place, as long as you’re sure.”

Leaning up, Nymphia kissed Jane softly, pressing into her when Jane wrapped her arms around her, kissing her deeper.

“I’m sure,” she replied, “100% sure. I love you.”

Jane’s eyes twinkled, lighting up like stars in the night sky. “I love you too.”

They moved quickly but it felt like slow motion, undressing each other like they were unwrapping the most precious gifts. Jane slid her way down Nymphia’s body, kissing a trail to mark where she’d been until she got to the apex of her thighs.

“Pretty girl,” Jane whispered into her skin as she dove into her, working her over she cried.

Jane wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and crawled back up to where Nymphia laid, wiping away a stray tear that fell from the corner of her eye.

Nymphia smiled bashfully. “Hi.”

“Hi, baby, how was that for you?”

“Good,” Nymphia said, “so good, but now it’s your turn.”

She started to make her way down Jane’s body but Jane stopped her, shaking her head.

“I don’t want to stop looking at your face.”

Heat crept up Nymphia’s spine. “Really?”

“Really.”

Taking her place back on the pillow, Nymphia stared into Jane’s eyes, sliding a hand in between Jane’s legs and making her flutter her eyes shut, but only for a moment..

“God,” she breathed out as Nymphia made her come, bliss washing over like a gentle tide as she finished and Nymphia kissed her through it, only retracting her touch when she stopped spasming.

“That was perfect, baby, thank you,” Jane said, cupping Nymphia’s cheek.

“I missed this a lot but I’m glad we get to do it now.”

“I missed it too. Nothing like the way I missed you when we were apart though.”

Nymphia nodded in agreement. “Yeah, nothing like that.”

[thatseventiesbitch]

Hello, hi, I haven't written anything in weeks (😫) but I'm in my feels from #The Tortured Poet's Department and to be honest I don't even know where this came from but here, have an angsty-but-??? E/D drabble.

--

“Eric. You came.” 

Donna looked up in surprise. His dark figure in the door frame, lean and almost glowing with the bright hallway lights behind him. She was still half asleep, brain hazy and muddled, cheeks tear-strewn and puffy, but she reached for him like a life raft.

“Of course I did.” 

In seconds, he was there. He sat on the bed next to her, and cupped her chin. Donna closed her eyes at the touch, hating herself for how much she needed him. Like a labrador who’d missed her favorite human.

“Donna - ” he swallowed. Up close now, she could see that his eyes were glassy. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he choked.

She closed her eyes again, tighter, and a tear squeezed loose. “I - I didn’t know how,” she whispered, helplessly.

He took in a shaky breath, and released it slow. She knew he didn’t understand. They’d always told each other everything. But -

“Eric, you - you left,” she reminded him. She brushed her tear away, roughly. Sitting up now, her fiery defiance returning. He wasn’t the victim here.

Eric’s brow furrowed. “You didn’t think I’d come back for this?”

“I don’t want to be your consolation prize.” She muttered it so softly, she wasn’t sure if he heard. But he did.

“Consolation prize?” He chuckled but it was hollow. Humorless. “Donna you’re not - ” he stood up suddenly and started to pace, leafing a hand through his hair with frantic energy. She watched him wearily, until a few moments later he froze. Turned around to look at her with those same wounded eyes. “That’s what you really think?” his voice cracked emotionally.

“It’s what I’m scared of,” she admitted, in a small voice.

He stood staring at her for a long moment - so long she wasn’t sure if he was about to leave.

But he returned to the bed. Sat next to her, tenderly pushed some of the hair out of her eyes, tucked it behind her ear. Like he loved her. She wanted to believe that he still did.

“I fucked it all up, didn’t I?” he asked her quietly. He gave her a regretful, wistful smile. “Like I always do.”

“I think we both fucked it up this time.”

“We’re just a couple of goons, huh?” 

Donna’s breath caught in her throat.

“Havin’ a baby,” he finished quietly. He reached forward, and gently set his hand over the small swell of her stomach. Their eyes met, and that familiar jolt of electricity ran down her spine, settled in the bottom of her belly. Like butterflies. Or baby kicks.

“Eric. What happens now?” she whispered.

“Our forever,” he whispered back, tenderly caressing her cheek. "It's the only thing I've ever wanted."

--

A03

[annahxredaxted]

Pinky Swear Baby

Characters: milo/Sweetheart

Tw: kinda talks about past truma? Sweetheart feels bad about themselves

(Mostly fluff)

Or: READ HERE ON AO3

—-

Work Text:

'𝘉𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘉𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘉𝘦𝘦𝘱'

Sweetheart hurried to the microwave, opening it revealing the Popcorn they’d put in two minutes prior. They’d held it cautiously striving not to burn their fingers. They poured it into the large blue bowl they’d deemed suitable for their needs.

After poring all the popcorn in, they threw the trash away, bringing it into the living room, where their mate— Milo, was flipping through Netflix to find a movie.

Sweetheart popped a piece of popcorn into their mouth watching Milo struggle to pick one.

“Hey that’s a good one!” They said, maintaining eye contact with the Tv while putting the popcorn on the coffee table.

“Which one?” Milo asked, pausing in his search.

They looked up, “the secret life of bees, it’s kinda sad but I like it.” They finished.

Milo shrugged ,”secret life -a- bees it is.” He concluded clicking play.

Sweetheart smiled when they grabbed a blanket for them and their boyfriend, they walked toward milo, about to sit beside him when he paused them and grabbed their wrist with a warm smile.

They looked at him, raising a brow.

“Here,” he said, situating his legs “,sit on my lap Sweetheart.” He asked, giving them his firm puppy dog eyes.

They smiled, it was a random request but hey they weren’t complaining.

Sweetheart situated themself on Milo’s thighs, making themself comfortable, grinning sweetly before placing a quick kiss on his rough tan cheek, their lips softly grazing his 5 o’clock stubble. Milo’s cheeks warmed, looking at his sweetheart with a sweet smile, his canine poking slightly out, making him even more cute then he Already was.

He cleared his throat, pulling the blanket over their legs. He softly caressed their thigh that currently rested atop his. He loved little moments like this. Where they were so relaxed and at ease, where they loved each other so tenderly. Not a care in the world.

—

Milo watched with great intent, on the verge of actual tears.

“Sweetheart when you said this movie was a 𝘓𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 sad, I didn’t think you meant to his extent.” Milo told them, wiping his face.

“It’ll get better I promise.” They swore, holding their pinky out for Milo to interlock his, which he obviously did.

“If you break a pinky promise your a horrible person,” he claimed against their ear, leaving a kiss on their lobe.

They shivered at his warm breath, goosebumps trailed down their spine as they chuckled.

“Okay I won’t. Detectives Honor.” They retorted, lovingly.

Then silence hit. They both said nothing, and the movie was at a quieter part. Milo rubbed their arms up and down, rubbing slow circles on their slightly muscular bicep. Sweetheart leaned down, back to Milo’s chest.

“Hey,” he whispered “turn around real quick, Baby.” Milo said sweetness sunken in his syllables.

Sweetheart turned, wrapping their legs around Milo’s mid section, placing their hands on his chest. Lips inches from his.

“What’s up hon?” They asked, rubbing their thumbs on his skin.

Milo beamed at them. “,jus wanted to look at you.” He confessed, observing every feature of their beautiful face. Every scar, freckle, mole, scar, or bump that he was content on kissing each and every one of them, slow and sweetly, making them feel good and loved, and wanted. He knew they had plenty of past trauma, shit that maybe was hard to forget, he wanted to do everything in his power to make them feel at peace— even if it was just for a moment.

“Really?” They whispered, not necessarily shocked— but doubtful. God milo hated that. He wasn’t mad at them or anything like that, but he wished so deeply that they’d appreciate themselves the way he did. The mere fact that they had to ask made his heart clench

He slightly frowned, rubbing their soft cheek with his thumb.

“Yes baby Of course.” He whispered, tilting their chin to look at him.

“God your beautiful Sweetheart. I can’t think of anyone more kind, or sweet, or attractive, or caring, or just plain amazing. Don’t doubt that sweetheart, please?” He pleaded, a lopsided smile on his beautiful face.

“I know you think that. And I don’t think your lying when you say that’s your people I just— i dunno,” they sighed, feeling defeated “,hey breath, what’s on your mind Baby?” Milo asked softly, not wanting to push it.

“,I just… my brain—err thoughts overtake my mind sometimes and I can’t help but to feel I dunno.. inferior? That may be the wrong word to use but yeah I don’t know.” They confessed, looking down, feeling slightly embarrassed.

“Oh sweetheart.. I’m not here to tell you what you can or can’t think or do, and it’s okay to feel that way, and your not invalide for having those thoughts. Just maybe next time you feel that way, tell me? And I’ll try to help you feel better. Whatever it takes.” He promised “,pinky swear?” They asked

“Pinky swear baby, Pinky swear.” He chuckled heartily.

They leaned in to kiss his lips tenderly, which action he reciprocated quickly.

As they pulled away for air milo smiled, against their skin

“I love you sweetheart. So fucking much.” Milo said kissing their cheek a few times

“I love you more.” Sweetheart said back, grinning

“We aren’t starting that right now you goofball.”

—-

Taglist

@itsdaifuku @verrverii @darlin-collins

@youisagayhooman @shellssstuff



[somedayistodayoth]

stoplightsandravens​:

LOGAN

i will find the strength to un-tape my mouth when i used to be afraid of the words || Barbara and Logan

✖

One day a puzzle piece fell from my heart, as if it no longer belonged there.

Her stomach lurched at the sight of his retreating footfalls, her rounded eyes darted nervously between his face and the widening gap between them. Barbara felt a twitch in her tendons and had to suppress the temptation to rush after him. To draw him back into her embrace and close the chasm that was unknowingly beginning to form. Instead, she folded her hands behind her back and remained where she was. Watching his mannerisms carefully and patiently waiting for him to speak. The air felt charge with something that was wildly unfamiliar to her, especially where Logan was involved. Her Logan was light and warmth and comfort; the kind that enveloped you so snug you never wanted to be without it. But today, it was as if all the lifeforce had been drained from his body.

I have been avoiding you…

Barbara could only tilt her head in bewilderment at the revelation, mind reeling at the thought that she could have inadvertently done something that would cause him to keep his distance. Something bad enough that he couldn’t even look her in the eye as she tried to catch his gaze. Yet before she could verbalize her anxiety, he’d continued onward. Her lips tipped into a pleased smile at the mention of whomever had caught his attention. “Oh Loggy, that’s great! Who-”

And the night of the Boy Toy Auction, she asked me if I was in love with you…

Oh, is that all? Barbara’s smile broadened in relief, under the assumption it was the sole explanation for his aloofness. She nearly laughed at how serious the situation had felt just a few seconds before. It wasn’t the first time someone suspected they were involved; they’d always been closer than most people considered suitable, which didn’t bode well for prospective dates. But she had no issue conveying that they would never see each other in that way.

Or, at least that’s what she thought…

The air in Barbara’s throat thickened in the wake of his confession, her smile fading as she held eye contact with him. No, that can’t be right. Barbara parted her lips to speak, but nothing came out, not even a breath. She’d have known, she knew him better than she even knew herself, she’d have known. “Oh.” She felt a simmering panic claw at her heart with each word that fell off his tongue, creating tiny fissures along its surface. Unconsciously, she started inching closer and closer to him. “But I…I do see you, I just-” didn’t see him in the same way he’d evidently always seen her.

She did love him, she loved him so hard and so deeply that he might as well have taken permanent residence inside her chest. Right beside her beating heart. He was her person, her soulmate, her calm in a storm. A safe harbor. He was home.

I need to get out of the purgatory I’ve created in my mind. The purgatory that stops me from loving anyone else but you

She stopped just short of reaching him, his words tumbling around her skull and latching on firmly. “I’m so sorry.” With just three words, she confirmed his every assertion without further explanation. She wanted desperately to give him what he wanted, to take away the hurt in his eyes that she’d inflicted. A few tears escaped as she brought her hands up to cup his face, tenderly caressing his cheek.

She wanted to know what this meant for them, if this meant remaining friends would be too difficult for him. She wanted to beg him not to leave her, that even with her unwavering optimism, she knew she wouldn’t be able to cope. But instead, she could only say “What do you need me to do? How can I…”

“I’m so sorry.” 

Damn, his expectations were minuscule when it came to the outcome of this situation. Actually, they were nonexistent, but for some reason his heart stopped beating at those three words. I’m so sorry. It was like trying to use a bandaid to cover a gushing wound. Blood was pouring out, covering his chest, his hands, his feet...it was everywhere. And she couldn’t see it. A soft resigned exhale vibrated within his chest. It had taken space and time away from her to come to the realization his feelings were unrequited. For years people assumed they were together, for years people thought they’d have the kind of love books were written about. The reality of them was daunting, to say the least. They weren’t secretly in love with each other, they weren’t hiding their true feelings from the world. Only he had been. 

The feel of her skin against his cheek made him flinch and he hated himself for it. Barbara’s touch had always calmed him, reassured him, brought peace to his deafening heart. Now it was doing the opposite. Clearing his throat, he stepped away. Freeing her, freeing himself from the shackles of his emotions. Feeling the heat of her body, and witnessing the expression she wore paralyzed him. Couldn’t she see he was already incapacitated? 

Regret was a funny concept. Always appearing when change happened. But Logan refused to allow such a feeling to take root. This decision was right even knowing that she felt nothing but friendship for him. He refused to continue living in the shadows hoping that one day she’d see him as more than a friend. One day was today and nothing over the last decade had changed. Placing more distance between them, he hung his head in defeat. There had been no platitudes about the nature of her feelings. Now processing her reaction made him realize that he’d hoped her heart beat for his- the way his did for hers. That his confession would’ve opened the door to something more. But this was reality and she was merely a dream. A dream he’d created in his head in the eye of a storm. 

Running his hands through his hair, he turned to where she stood. Not convinced that the few feet he’d placed between them was enough. Logan was certain that if she touched him again, he’d fold and tell her he’d been wrong. He wasn’t in love with her. That this was all a misunderstanding. Let’s just put this behind us, he’d say, and wrap his arms around her. Let’s watch To Catch a Thief and eat take out. Let’s...but he knew it would be make believe. Like it had always been with her.

“Nothing,” he finally managed, his voice raspy and deep. “I don’t need you to do anything. What can you do, Barbara?” his question was an honest one. Logan had thought telling her would make his body feather light, help to ease the heaviness of his feelings. Instead, he was consumed with them. His head dizzy with pain, his chest fighting for serenity. 

She didn’t love him. Not the way he loved her. It would take him awhile to come to terms with the notion. It would take him even longer to be her friend again. 

“I need space,” he finally said, the brown of his eyes finding hers in the dimness of the room. “I need time. Please allow me to have that.” 

[humanrindswrites]

with you

summary: corey comes home from tour

pairing: corey taylor x female reader/oc

warnings: smut, fluff, vaginal sex, oral sex (fem receiving), kissing, unprotected sex, ultra vanilla smut

word count: 2608 words

originally posted to ao3 january 9 2022

It was still dark outside when she was woken up by her alarm. She prised her tired eyes open and fumbled her hand around on the nightstand for her phone, far too comfortable to move from her position. Once the noisy device was in her hand, she turned the alarm off and looked at the screen, her eyes squinting as she read the time. Seven-thirty. 

She couldn’t be too mad, however, because she was going to pick her man up from the airport in a couple of hours time. A leftover text message from last night sat at the bottom of her notifications, sent when she was too far gone to have noticed it.

Plane should be landing at 9, can’t wait to see you ❤

Her face relaxed into a smile as she tapped out a reply before setting the phone back on the nightstand and getting out of bed to get ready for the day ahead.

On the way to the airport, she could have bounced in her seat, she was so excited to see him, to feel his arms around her, to finally have him home with her where she needed him most. The stereo played some CD he’d forgotten to bring back into the house but she wasn’t really listening to it, her mind too focused on finally being able to see him again after six long months.

She pulled into the airport parking lot just in time for him to leave the main entrance, pushing a cart stacked with all of his luggage. Her heart lifted, she jumped out of the car, locked it behind her, and made her way towards him almost at a full sprint, narrowly avoiding cars and pedestrians who were in her way.

He stopped in his tracks when he noticed her running towards him and held his arms out to catch her. She almost knocked him off his feet with the force of her hug but her arms were wrapped so tightly around him that he was kept in place.

“Okay, okay, I missed you too,” he laughed as he returned her hug, his cheek rested on the top of her head. People around them shot strange looks in their direction but they were both too wrapped up in each other to care or even notice.

“Sorry,” she said, her eyes shining with happy tears as she pulled away from him slightly. “I was just so excited to see you.”

“It’s alright,” he said tenderly as he stroked her cheekbone with the backs of his fingers. “I would have done the same if you’d been away for so long.”

He guided her face to his to kiss her softly, holding her close by the small of her back as his lips melded with hers. Heat coursed through her body at his touch, her skin tingling as her nerves were set alight. She threw her arms around his neck and ran her fingers through his newly grown hair, the short strands bristling against them. A small whine crawled out of her throat when he gently bit her bottom lip and she tried to push herself closer against him, not caring that they were still in the airport doorway.

“Easy, tiger,” he purred in her ear when he pulled away from her. “You’ll get what you want, but you can’t have it here.”

She felt herself blush as she untangled herself from him and started to help him get his luggage to the car.

As soon as they’d gotten home, he insisted on leaving everything in the car and going straight to bed, something that she couldn’t argue with. She unlocked the front door and found herself pushed up against the other side as soon as she’d closed it again behind her, one of his legs pushing her own apart as he attacked her mouth with desperate kisses. He held her face with both hands while his tongue invaded her mouth, sliding against hers and drawing needy whines from her lungs.

“I missed you so fucking much,” he said between kisses, his hands travelling down her body, groping and squeezing as they went. “I’m bringing you with me next time.”

She gasped into his open mouth when his hand reached between her legs and stroked her hardening clit through her leggings while his other held her upright in case her knees buckled and gave out beneath her.

“I can tell you missed me too, babydoll,” he purred. “Your body gives you away.”

“Please,” she breathed. “Please take me to bed.”

“Anything you want, princess,” he said softly before picking her up, securing her legs around his waist, and carrying her through the house to the bedroom.

He crashed them through the door and sat down on the edge of the bed with her legs still wrapped around him, the momentum making him lie on his back and pull her on top of him. She pulled her hair out of its ponytail and shook it out, her long locks falling around her face and she hovered over him. He reached up to push it behind her ear before running his palm down her jaw and cradling it as he watched her blush and turn her eyes away from him.

“Don’t be shy,” he said softly. “You know how much I like looking at you.”

His free hand slid down her back torturously slow as he drew her to him for more, softer kisses. His palm skimmed over the small of her back to rest on her ass before he squeezed lightly, making her squeak against his mouth.

“Stand up for me,” he husked against her lips before leaving her with one lingering kiss. “I want to really see you.”

She braced her hands on either side of his head, making sure to push her breasts close to his face before standing up, kicking her shoes off and shoving them somewhere out of the way. He sat up and took hold of her hand so she could stand between his open legs before tugging at the bottom of her tank top for her to take it off. The fabric slipped over her skin as she pulled it over her head, her breasts dropping with a bounce once they were free from their confines. She watched as he gaped at her, his lower lip caught in his teeth as if he was trying to suppress a moan. She took his hands in hers again and guided them to touch her where she desperately wanted her to. Her breath hitched when she felt his warm palms cup her breasts and his rough thumbs flicked over her nipples, making them harder than they already were.

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” he breathed before burying his face in her cleavage, littering her sternum with wet kisses and feeling her quickening heartbeat with his mouth.

A whimpered moan flew out of her mouth as he continued to touch her and she squeezed her thighs together, hoping to feel some friction as her cunt became wetter and wetter. He released one of her breasts and placed his free hand between her legs, his thumb right over her clit as he coaxed her to rock her hips into it.

“Can I take these off, baby?” he asked, not looking for an answer. He pulled away from her chest and hooked his fingers into her waistband before pulling her leggings down with her panties, exposing her wet pussy to him. Two of his fingers ran through her folds, gathering her wetness as he listened to her gasp and whine for him to fill her. He placed his fingers in his mouth and sucked her arousal off of them, his eyes almost rolling back at her taste.

“Lie down for me, put your legs over my shoulders,” he said as he moved to kneel on the floor. She took her place on the bed just as he’d commanded and grabbed a pillow to rest her head on. Her hair splayed out around her like a halo as she breathed slowly through parted lips. She watched him as he removed his shirt and draped her legs over his shoulders, her inner walls clenching with each wet kiss he placed on her inner thighs as he got closer and closer to where she wanted him. She placed one of her hands on the back of her head and ran her fingernails through his short hair, willing him to taste her. Her fingers clenched when she finally felt his tongue dart out to run through her folds, muscle memory making her think that his hair was still long.

He held her hips in a gentle grip as he made love to her with his mouth, licking and sucking at her hard clit and savouring her sweet arousal and moans as he wound her nerves tighter and tighter. She was already so close to climaxing and he wanted to help her last longer, but he was so desperate to be inside her that he couldn’t stop. He wanted her to drip down his chin as she came, to wrap her legs around his neck and push his face into her cunt until he could barely breathe. And he was going to get what he wanted.

“You close, baby?” he asked her, his mouth never leaving her and vibrating through her sensitive skin. She moaned loudly in response and shoved his face back down.

She felt his fingers enter her again and curl up into her sweet spot as his lips wrapped around her clit and sucked harshly. Her walls swallowed his fingers eagerly as he steadily fucked her with them, her nerves being wound tighter and tighter, her voice starting to become difficult to control. She knew she was close when her legs started to shake on his shoulders and her ankles crossed involuntarily as she writhed on the bed above him.

“I’m gonna cum, baby,” she whined. “Please make me cum, please.”

“Then cum for me,” he said, his voice husky before he curled his fingers harder inside her and continued to use his mouth on her clit.

Her orgasm finally crashed through her as her inner walls clenched around his fingers and her clit twitched violently under his tongue. She moaned his name loudly and grasped the pillow under her head, her legs tightened around his neck, and her hips bucked into his face as he licked her through her high, gathering every drop of her arousal onto his tongue and swallowing as if she were his last meal.

Reduced to a panting mess, she let her body go limp and her legs fell off of his shoulders, letting him gently pull his fingers out of her and crawl up her body to kiss her, her arousal still coating his lips. She breathed harshly through her nose as he kissed her, trying to catch her breath but not wanting to break away from him.

“You taste good, baby,” he whispered against her mouth before standing up to remove the rest of his clothes. He was already hard when they’d returned home, but he was unbearably turned on now and couldn’t wait any longer to bury himself inside her sweet cunt.

She watched as he pushed his pants to the floor and revealed his hard cock to her, her pussy clenching in anticipation and moistening once more. He motioned for her to lie properly on the bed before climbing on after her and crawling over her. He gently pushed her legs apart and settled himself between them, slicked himself up with her arousal, and lined his cock up with her dripping entrance.

She watched him expectantly, a blush dusted over her cheeks and nodded when he met her gaze, silently asking if she was ready for him. He pushed into her faster than he intended to and groaned when he felt her soft walls enveloping him.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he moaned when he was fully sheathed inside her, feeling her pulse around him. “I think you might be tighter than when I left.”

“Please, Corey,” she whined as she rolled her hips up into his. “Please fuck me.”

“Anything you want, princess,”  he purred before leaning down to kiss her and rolling his hips, his cock hitting her sweet spot perfectly.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and moaned into his mouth as he steadily fucked her, waves of pleasure shooting through her body when his pubic bone ground against her clit, still sensitive from her orgasm.

“You feel so good, baby,” he panted. “My own hand never compares to how you feel.”

She moaned louder when he started to kiss and bite her neck, leaving little bruises that she would have to cover up no matter how much she wanted to show them off. He took her legs and wrapped them around her waist to angle her hips up and let him get deeper inside of her. His moans vibrating in her ear made her shiver as her second orgasm started closing in on her, each thrust of his hips sending her higher and higher until she swore she could see stars. Her own moans became louder and more high pitched and she dug her nails into his skin as she begged him to keep going. He couldn’t have stopped pounding into her tight, wet cunt if he wanted to, she was so intoxicating and he was addicted to her.

“Cum for me, darling,” he whispered into her ear before groaning softly. “Cum for me.”

Her pussy clamped down on him as her second orgasm arrived, her back arching into him as she ran her nails down his back, hard enough to leave red marks but soft enough to not make him bleed. He held her stuttering hips down as he fucked her through her high until his own orgasm was triggered. He buried his face in her neck to muffle his moans as he spilt his warm cum into her eager pussy, his thrusts faltering and slowing down.

She stroked her fingertips up and down his back as he recovered from his climax, tracing the lines of his tattoos and making him shiver while he panted against her neck. He pushed himself up onto his arms to kiss her, his softening cock still inside her. His breath tickled her sensitive skin as he kissed her softly, humming against her lips and stroking her hair softly before finally pulling out, rolling off of her, and pulling her on top of him.

“I should go on tour more often if it means coming home to sex like that,” he laughed breathlessly as he held her tightly to him.

“Maybe, but that would mean me crying on the phone more often,” she countered before she grabbed a throw blanket off of the headboard and draped it over them.

“I don’t want you to cry anymore,” he said softly as he twirled a lock of her hair around his finger. “I felt so bad when I called you that night.”

“You don’t need to feel bad because I’m being dumb and sad, baby.”

“I just don’t feel good knowing that you’re here crying alone while I’m miles away. I want you to come with me next time, see the world with me.”

“I’d like that,” she said with a soft smile. “But that’s something to think about in the future, I just want to focus on having you back for now.”

“You can focus on me all you want, sweetheart,” he said before kissing her forehead. “I don’t plan on going anywhere for a while.”

[360iris]

Wanna Be Down (George Weasley x Reader x Fred Weasley)

Warnings: Pure smut! She/her pronouns for the reader! No funny business between the boys I promise! There’s bound to be some typo that I missed, sorry ‘bout that!

Word count: 1,628

Summary: There’s a birthday, a bunny costume and The Twins... What could go wrong?

A/N: This was originally meant to drop on their birthday, April 1st... I’m 28 days late for that but hey, better late than never! It’s been collecting dust for the entire time and I wanted to set it free. I hope someone enjoys it!

“You want me to- to wear a bunny outfit and have the two of you…” You faltered nervously, the words seemed foreign on your tongue.

“-fuck you in it.” Fred finished for you with a wide grin, as if this was the most in the ordinary activity to plan.

The twins wanted to sleep with you? This was the first you’d heard of it, that’s for sure. And though the thought sent waves of excitement through your body, the prospect was daunting.

You’d been friends since diapers, a meager six hours separating your births. And whether the bond that formed later was predetermined by fate, or by pure chance, it was wholly indestructible.

Through the years, the three of you operated perfectly insync. Remaining quite persistently glued at the hip; completing every task deemed worthy enough as an odd unit.

There was an unspoken rule that each of you would make sure that the others felt equally included in activities.

So why should taking your virginity be any different?

“We’ll be twenty in a few hours, Y/N. Don’t you want to kick off the new decade with a bang?” George asked, his face genuine and voice laced with just the right amount of sweetness. He always did know how to persuade you into going along with Fred’s crazy schemes.

“Quite literally in this instance.” Fred added cheekily and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.

“Both of you have had sex before though. Plenty of times in fact! You told me about it afterwards! In vivid detail at that! Why are you so worried about me now?” Your brows were furrowed, lips turned downwards in a pout.

Sitting criss-cross on your bed, you tugged one of the many pillows on your bed into your lap. Squeezing it tighter when you met their gazes again.

Fred had his hands tucked into his jean pockets, happy as ever. He acted as if it was only a matter of time before he’d get the answer he wanted.

George on the other hand, at least looked like he was having a conversation with you; and not like he was just waiting for you to realize you’d never actually said no to them before. His eyes were soft, assessing your demeanor before approaching your spot at the foot of the bed.

“You know you’re our favorite girl. Don’t you, Y/N?” He questioned and you suddenly felt smaller looking directly up at him. Ginger waves caressing his cheeks and pooling at his shoulders.

“I mean- I suppose.” You replied dumbly.

“Who do we always come back home to?” He asked again, his left hand lifting up from his side to comb through your hair. The pads of his fingers brushing against your cheek as they went.

“Me.” Your answer was hushed, though it was only the three of you in the flat. They’d closed the shop downstairs hours ago.

“And who trails after me as much as she can during the day, practically jumping into my lap the first opportunity she gets?” His voice was getting lower and his gaze remained fixed to you, you tried your best not to squirm.

“M- Me.”

“Lastly, whose the babygirl that slips into my bed at three in the morning because she stays up too late and gets scared?” He was teasing you now, you knew it, but still gave him a reply.

“Me, George.” Both of his hands were cupping your face now, fingertips laced in your hair, you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to.

“So when I ask my favorite girl to put on the outfit I picked out for her, so I can make her feel good on her birthday, what do you think I want to hear back?” A single brow arched as he waited for your answer, ignoring Fred’s quiet “I helped choose it too, y’know.”

Wrapping your fingers around his wrists, you thought about all the times he and Fred had slept with other girls. How deep down you’d wished they’d looked at you the same way.

He allowed you to remove one of his hands, a dark smirk splitting across his face when you’d slowly brought it between your legs. Only coming to a stop when he was cupping your heat.

“I think- I think I’ve been holding out for you.” It was no higher than a whisper, but it’d been the truth nonetheless. He smiled wider at this confession, leaning in and pressing a light kiss on your forehead.

“All the more reason not to disappoint.” He responded, you faintly registered rustling from behind him.

“Y/N, dear?” Fred called.

“Hm?”

“Time to put the outfit on.”

It’d been relatively easy to slip into the get-up. The bodysuit, wrist cuffs and neck piece fitting like a glove.

“When did you get my measurements?” You asked, looking down at yourself.

“Since when have we not had your measurements?” Fred laughed, pulling you onto the bed with him until your back was flush against his chest. Your head comfortably leaning back on his left shoulder.

George following after you, settled for sitting up in front of you, his knees digging into the pink duvet.

“The ears are a nice touch.” He remarked with a pleased smirk. “Don’t you agree, Fred?”

“Absolutely. All white suits her.” He replied matter-a-factly, hands already roaming your torso. Ghosting over your exposed thighs, he hooked a finger under the bikini line of the bodysuit and let it snap back into place. Your hips jutted outwards at the impact.

“Want to hear you ask for it, Y/N.” George was palming your calves, making you feel small again.

“What do you want me to say?” Your brows furrowed curiously at the request, breath hitching when he utilized his grip to pull you further down Fred’s chest. Your ankles eventually hooking against George’s shoulders.

“Want him to play with your little cunt, don’t you baby?” Fred asked from above you, heat rushing to your face at his words.

“Y- Yeah.”

“Then ask, darling.” He grinned at your eyes widening as you met his gaze upside down.

Turning your attention back to George, you absentmindedly bit at the end your thumb nervously. Sure you’d used curse words like anyone else in the world, but the thought of actually asking the twins to fuck you was on a level you’d never thought you’d reach.

“Georgie?” You tried carefully.

“What is it, baby?” He replied softly, a smile playing on his lips, patiently waiting.

“Want- Want you to make me feel good.”

“How?” He prompted, delighting in your fidgeting. Fred however wasn’t feeling as patient, sending a soft smack to your inner thigh.

“Don’t have all day, bunny.” He chided, slowly massaging the site.

“Want your cock, Georgie.” You finally relented, wanting nothing more than to hide your face in your hands, but you feared being spanked again by Fred. 

George rewarded you with a kiss, palming your clit through the material. He swallowed up every whimper that escaped your lips, only answering by expertly thumbing the area faster. 

“Let’s see how wet you are, bun.” Fred whispered, pulling the bodysuit aside to reveal your heat. Running a finger through your folds, he promptly brought it to your mouth. Smirking widely when you began meekly sucking at the digit.

“I’m gonna get you ready, okay sweetheart?” George asked, mouthing at your neck. He didn’t move until you garbled something close to “okay” through Fred’s fingers sadistically pressing down your throat.

Armed with plenty of lube, the first finger sliding into you felt like nothing. By the third, he resorted to distracting you by rubbing your bud to ease the initial stretch. Although nothing could have prepared you for how uncomfortable taking his tip was.

It was a slow process, full of the boys tenderly guiding you to breathe deeply and relax your muscles. With the abundance of their attention focused on outweighing the discomfort with pleasure, eventually the mild pain began to blur around the edges. 

The level of satisfaction that rolled over you when you’d finally reached the hilt was like no other. 

“Good girl.” Fred purred into your hair as George wiped away a stray tear from the corner of your eye. “Took it like a champ, didn’t she, Georgie boy?”

“Sure did, Fred. Squeezing me so nicely too.” He replied smiling proudly.

“Full- So full.” You whimpered blearily, not sure which boy you were grasping for. Each accepted one of your wandering hands, giving them an encouraging squeeze.

“You’re doing so well, babygirl. How about you let me make you feel good now, hm?” George’s voice was gruff as he patiently waited for you to nod back in response.

Soon the discomfort had melted away, leaving only the easy slide of George’s length and the gratification of being engulfed between the loves of your life. 

You promptly got lost in the jumble of mouths, hands and pleasure. 

“Gonna come for us, love?” George asked, holding your hips done to focus his thrusts. 

“Can I- Can I, please? Please let me come!” You whined desperately, unable to distinguish whose hands belonged to who.

“Go ahead, bunny.” George answered and it was all you needed to hear. Your visioned blurred as your toes curled, the only thing you could register was that he was fucking you through it. Fred’s fingers circling your clit didn’t let up until you were pathetically trying to pull at his wrist.

A weak mewl fell from your lips as George pulled out of you spent. Simpering under his praises, you closed your eyes. 

The sudden smack against your face was sobering, leaving you blurrily blinking up at Fred’s eager grin.

“I hope you didn’t think you were off the clock, bun.”

[goldentournesol]

Not in That Way

*gif not mine, found on Giphy*

(Spencer Reid x fem!Reader)

The one where Spencer’s TA falls in love with him.

Length: 3.3k

A/N: VAGUE SPOILERS FOR S15 AHEAD! AGE GAP (10 years). Read at your own risk everybody, very angsty. NO PART TWO’S WILL BE WRITTEN. enjoy :)

masterlist

It wasn’t hard, really. It wasn’t hard at all to fall in love with Spencer Reid. In fact, it was the easiest thing she’d ever done. It came so easily that it shook her to the core.

Really, what’s not to love? He is a badass FBI agent with a heart of gold, he can literally recite almost any book to her on demand, and it certainly doesn’t hurt that he looks like he’s been sculpted by a coveted artist.

She didn’t know though, she didn’t know how easy it would be to be completely enamored by someone. She didn’t know what kind of life she’d be stepping into when she’d applied to become his Teaching Assistant. She’d heard from her peers that there was a part-time professor who had been looking for a TA. She signed up without a second thought, desperate for any kind of connections that could possibly help her with her PhD in forensic psychology. When she’d learned that he was a certified genius whose other job was to be a real life superhero, she hoped and prayed he’d pick her application.

She was over the moon when she found out that he did indeed pick her out of all the students who had applied. This was an opportunity of a lifetime. She’d seen his university ID photo on the website and thought he was attractive, but seeing him in person was almost magical. The camera definitely could not quite pick up on the subtle gold flecks in his irises or the silky sheen of his hair. And that smile. She was sure she could drown in it forever.

After being chosen and going through a number of interviews, Y/N learned just how meticulous Dr. Reid was in everything he did. She helped him create the syllabus as well as build his lesson plans. Over the semester, she would go over his grading since he had the tendency to give students the answers instead of making helpful comments on the papers to make them think and reflect. She’d also learned about his particular aversion to technology, which meant they had multiple meet-ups when he was in town just so she can walk him through certain systems, like the university’s portal system as well as the email. She also showed him how to pose his answers as questions instead, explaining that sometimes, he shouldn’t answer their incomplete thoughts because it's an undergrad class. Also, with his unpredictable schedule concerning the FBI, she would often step in and teach his class whenever he was away on a case.

They’d become good friends outside of his office and classroom, probably closer than they should have been. He was just too likeable and she was always eager enough to hear what he had to say, thus a bond between them was born and reinforced each time they saw each other. He was so thoughtful, it shocked her. Once he’d heard her mention that she used to love collecting keychains when she was a child, and made sure to get her a new one from each state he’d visit thanks to his trips around the country. Her previous boyfriends were beyond disappointing in comparison to say the least, and they weren’t even dating. He knew her favorite coffee order by heart and often had it ready with a fresh croissant whenever they met at the university’s coffee shop and if they were meeting at his office, he’d take them to go. 

It was little things like that that made her fall in love with him. And she knew, it’s not like she didn’t, she just chose to hide it with every cell of her being. Crushing on your professor is pretty common amongst university students, but being a TA and being desperately in love with your professor was a whole different kind of story. 

She already admired his intelligence in class immensely, however hearing his stories from his time out in the field made her heart grow three times the size of normal. His stories ranged from being about geographical profiling, to action-packed anecdotes, and even funny moments with the team.

Was she constantly impressed by him? Yes.

Was she constantly worried about him? Also yes.

Which is why she’d practically made him adopt the habit of texting or calling her every time he landed in DC. They’d been chasing this unsub, Lynch, for months on end and he’d informed her that they were finally close to getting him. The last time they talked two days ago, he was feeling confident. But then it was just silence. He hadn’t texted her, he hadn’t called her. She didn’t even know if he was back in DC. Her mind took her places she didn’t want to go. He’d gotten so good with keeping her updated that this silence was turning her blood into ice water.

She’d left 11 missed calls so far. But she didn’t give up, she was determined to hear from him. The next morning she tried again, holding her breath and squeezing her eyes shut in a silent prayer.

“Hello?” Someone finally picked up, a woman.

“Hello? Who is this? I’m trying to reach Spencer Reid.” Y/N said into the phone, voice clearly on the edge of tears.

“Oh you must be Y/N Y/L/N. You’re Spencer’s TA. I’m Penelope Garcia, I work with Spencer.” She said into the phone evenly, calmly.

“Yes, I am. Did something happen to Spencer? He hasn’t contacted me in two days. Why do you have his phone?” Y/N worried into the phone. She could hear every heartbeat, loud and clear.

“Spencer is in the hospital. There was an explosion yesterday and he hit his head really hard. We found him passed out in his apartment this morning.” Penelope answered. Y/N’s eyes widened and she felt the tears slip from her eyes quickly. The panic began to set in.

“C-could you please text me the address?” Y/N managed to whisper into the phone through her tears.

“Of course, sweetie. He’s going to be okay. His mother is here, I’m assuming you know about Diana?” She asked tenderly.

“Yes, yes, I know. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Y/N said, already rushing to put on shoes and looking for her keys.

The drive to the hospital wasn’t long, but Y/N felt like it took ages to get there anyway. Her breathing was uneven and her eyes were already swollen as if she’d been crying for days. There was a bad, bad feeling reverberating around in her chest. She’d somehow floated through the hospital like she was running on autopilot. 

She’d found the room and met eyes with a blonde woman adorning two identical blue puffs in her hair. She would have thought they were adorable if she wasn’t panicking her heart out. She spotted Spencer laying on the hospital bed with oxygen tubes hanging around his ears and inserted into his nose. The sight made her stomach lurch. Something about the way his usually pink lips were drained of their color made her want to sob until tomorrow came. Beside the bed on the other side sat Diana Reid, a tall woman with short blonde hair. She’d seen her in photos before. Diana merely stared at her with a hint of a smile.

She stepped in the hospital room, swallowing down the bile in her throat, “H-Hi, I’m Y/N.” She waved tentatively into the room, almost unable to keep with the tensity of the two women’s gazes. She wiped at her eyes and stood at the foot of Spencer’s bed, “Is he going to be okay?” She asked, staring at the steady rise and fall of Spencer’s chest. That way it was reassuring to watch him. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears as she stood.

“The doctors are hopeful.” Penelope replied, assessing the young woman who just entered. She was much younger than she previously thought she was. Although she had no idea what to expect when it came to Spencer’s academic life, he was always surprising her.

Diana sat still and silent in the hospital chair, a pensive expression draped across her features. Penelope sensed a tension in the room and looked towards Diana, “Hey, Diana, would you like to come with me down to the cafeteria to fetch some jello for Spencer to eat when he wakes up?”

Y/N sent Penelope a sidelong glance filled with gratitude. She tuned out the sounds of Diana telling Penelope the story of the first time Spencer had jello as they exited the small room. She immediately pulled up the chair closest to his bed and grasped his hand tightly. She let out a shaky breath at the contact. Cold, his hand was so, so cold.

“Oh, Spencer, you scared the shit out of me.” She whispered, pressing her lips to the back of his hand quickly, “I could have lost you today...and-and I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself if that would have happened. I know you probably can’t hear me, but I still have to say what I’m going to say. I have to. For myself. So here goes,” she pauses, taking a deep breath, “there’s nothing that scares me more than losing you, and that thought alone terrifies me.” She sniffled, wiping away her tears, “What I feel for you terrifies me, Spencer. I didn’t know I was capable of loving someone so deeply until I met you. And...I don’t know what to do with all this love, I want to hand it all to you, let you see yourself the way I see you, but I can’t do that. I can’t.” She held back an incoming sob, whispering, “I can’t ask that of you.” 

She bowed her head and rested it along his forearm, her silent tears soaking through the hospital sheets. The fear of grieving for him outweighed the fear of rejection. She’d never forgive herself if he died without knowing how big of a space he occupied in her heart. She didn’t know if she was brave enough to tell him to his face while he was awake, but this was a start. Solidifying her feelings was a start. And man, were they solid.

A few minutes later, her phone began to ring because of an endless stream of emails. There was a class today, and she’d have to teach it. She went back and forth from her phone to Spencer’s face and released a deep, heavy sigh from the pit of her chest. She stood from her seat and hovered her hand over his cheek before allowing it to rest timidly on his skin.

“I have to go, but I’ll see you soon.” She paused, chewing on her lip, “I love you.” She said softly, fresh tears making their way back to the brim of her eyes. She pulled away from him and exited the room swiftly. 

Spencer’s bleary eyes opened slightly to just barely catch the sight of her disappearing into the hallway from which she came. Seconds later, Penelope and his mother came marching in, seeing his open eyes.

Penelope set down the cups of jello nearby and Diana made her way to her son quickly. He could barely keep his eyes open for long enough. It was a small achievement but they both held onto it dearly. 

Hours later, he blinked his eyes open again as he heard his mother and Penelope conversing about his favorite type of cloud. Diana leaned over her son’s bed and set a comforting hand on his shoulder. He stared at her fondly.

“Am I alive or is this heaven?” He asked, smiling slightly.

“You are very much alive.” Diana smiled broadly at him.

Garcia had since gone back to the office to assist the team in finally closing the Lynch case. Spencer was just waking up from yet another snooze. 

Diana looked at him closely, sometimes he felt she was the profiler in the room, “She told you didn’t she?”

Spencer rubbed at his eyes slightly, “Who are you talking about?” He yawned.

“The pretty girl who was in here earlier.” Y/N’s name had slipped her mind the second she said it. Spencer stared at his mother incredulously, shocked at just how clear her mind was at the moment. Diana took his silence as an affirmative and nodded at him.

“You should tell her.” She said definitively. For a moment, he doubted if he understood just what she meant, but he understood.

“How did you know?” Spencer asked curiously.

“I told you, a mother always knows. And I saw the way she looked at you. She deserves to know, Spencer.” Diana said.

She deserves to know.

The thought tumbled around in his head for days after he was discharged from the hospital. He was on medical leave for the moment but as soon as he could see straight, he took the train to her apartment. He’d been there a few times, they’d had a few casual dinners there while grading papers together or coming up with future lesson plans. His hands were on the verge of trembling as he knocked on her apartment door. The numbers nailed on the door mocked him as he stood waiting for her to open.

She frowned at the sound, she wasn’t expecting anybody. She pushed her laptop to the side and stood to straighten her pajamas, making her way to the door. She ripped it open as soon as she saw who it was.

“Spencer! Oh thank goodness you’re okay! I’ve been worried sick about you.” She threw her arms around his middle tightly, making him stagger a bit from the impact, but he enveloped her in his arms anyway. The contact was very welcome.

“Hey.” He smiled into the hug, his heart spilling with gratitude over being worthy enough of her attention. They separated from the embrace and she stared at him with a look resembling wonder.

“What are you doing here? I thought you still had a few more days off until you had to get back to work. Come in, come in.” She moved aside to let him in. She also moved a plethora of blankets and textbooks off the couch to make space for him to sit.

“I know, I’m sorry for kind of coming over unannounced. I didn’t mean to intrude or anything.” He eyed her matching set of cartoon character pajamas as he took a seat, making a mental note that it was the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. She blushed under his gaze but shook her head nonetheless.

“Oh come on, you know you’re always welcome here. Can I get you something to drink? Some water or coffee, maybe?” She asked.

“Water’s fine.” He smiled, leaning back into the couch. She nodded and made her way into the kitchen. Spencer’s shoulders untensed for a moment and he hadn’t realized that he’d been carrying so much of his worries in them around her. She came back with the water and took a seat next to him, angling her body to face him. He muttered a thank you as he sipped from it, unsure how to approach the situation.

“I wanted to thank you. For coming to the hospital to see me. That meant a lot.” He met her eyes and saw a flash of panic dance across her irises. How did he know she was there? Penelope probably told him, right? He couldn’t have heard her.

“Of course, Spencer. It’s the least I could do.” She smiled sweetly. His heart cleaved in his chest as he stared at the sweet girl in front of him. 

What did he ever do to deserve her friendship? 

He fidgeted with the glass in his hands, a silence beginning to drape over them.

“Is everything okay?” She asked, noticing his fidgeting. 

He took a deep breath and set the glass down on the coffee table in front of them. He turned his body to face her and reached for her soft hands. Her breath hitched at the intimate contact, butterflies erupting in the pit of her abdomen.

“You are a remarkable person, Y/N. I’m so lucky to have you in my life. I see the absolute worst that humanity has to offer on a daily basis, but you have made it your mission to make my life easier. And you do, honestly, I wouldn’t know what to do without you.” He said with soft eyes and a half-laugh. She smiled back, she could practically feel the rush from his words directly in her brain.

“And it is an honor to be loved by you,” his voice hesitated to say the word, his eyes darkening with regret as he continued. Realization snapped into place for her as he said, “but I can’t give you what you need.”

He had heard her. He knew.

Her blood ran cold as she tore her hands away from his, as if the skin on his hands had the ability to burn her. He frowned as he watched her frantic eyes search his for any semblance of dishonesty. Her throat closed up over all the words that fought to surface. She opened her mouth to say something but nothing came up. Instead, tears sprung to the corners of her eyes.

“What?” She whispered, brokenhearted and momentarily in disbelief.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He tried to console her but she was past the point of consolation. 

“I-I understand.” She nodded painfully, tears cascading down her face before she even got the chance to wipe them away, “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have said anything, it’s completely unprofessional.” She swallowed an incoming sob as best as she could.

“No, I’m glad you told me, but if I’m being honest, I knew long before it. This isn’t about professionality, I don’t care about that. But I care about you, a lot.” Spencer said softly, staring at the young woman in front of him. She shook her head, utterly devastated and doing her best to shield herself from his gaze. Thoughts escaped her as her heart took a deep-dive to settle in her abdomen.

“And I thought I should let you know how I feel. I love you, Y/N,” he paused, “just not in that way.” The soft voice he used was completely useless against the harshness of the words. 

She tried, she tried her absolute hardest to suppress the incoming sob, but those words just about broke the dam. She rubbed at her eyes, nodding. He tried to set a comforting hand on her shoulder but decided against it. She took a deep breath and stood up from the couch. 

That was enough humiliation for the day.

“No, no, I completely understand.” She said, voice wobbly and eyes ringed with red. He frowned up at her at the sight of her being so upset. 

“Will you be okay?” He asked as he stood up from his seat. She laughed slightly, this man had devastated her, broken her heart with a few simple words and still wondered if she’d be okay. That’s Spencer Reid for you. The question made her heart ache and long for him more. His simplicity and good intentions made her question why the world wasn’t kind enough to let her have him.

“No, I won’t. And I probably won’t be okay for a long time. Because I will keep meeting men and keep comparing them to you so, until I stop doing that, no, I won’t be okay, Spencer.” She answered with a surprisingly stable voice. He frowned and nodded.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, stepping forward to cup her cheek and gently use his thumb to wipe the remainder of her tears. Her glassy eyes bored right into his, her lips wobbling at the contact. She then closed her eyes and leaned her cheek into his palm, soaking in his warmth one last time before he tore himself away from her completely and showed himself out of the apartment without looking back.

That was when she allowed herself to fall apart. He heard her heart wrenching cries from behind the door and hesitated, but decided to walk away anyway with a chest heavy with regret.

She will never be enough for him, she thought.

He will never be enough for her, he thought.

[keilemlucent]

pretty eyes & starshine: ii

(NSFW)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

part i   ||   part ii   ||   part iii (epilogue)

beta’ed: @shadowworks & @firein-thesky​​

word count: ~15.2k

Healing takes time, but it’s easier with someone else around who’s on the mend with you. 

(You and Keigo learn to start living again.)

warnings: codependency but make it sexc, injured reader, post-trauma symptoms, reader has abandonment issues, angst, ouchies <3

a/n: part 2 :’^) we made it!! soft hurt and very horny codependency that involves keigo’s immaculate d*ck. all that is left after this is part 3 which will be more of an epilogue :’^) 

enjoy loves <3

✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧   ✧

The doors to exit the hospital scare you.

How can they not?

They’re... automatic.

The glass panes are wide, sliding and slapping as folks come and go, the quiet ring of metal on metal and the slap of the plastic padding makes your heart race.

Get over it, get over it, get over it—

It’s just some doors, they’re normal.

You’ve walked through automatic doors so many times. Never before had you even taken conscious note of them. 

(But that was before you heard them let in that man who—)

Without thinking, you take a little, tentative step back from them. 

Consider you are leaving your own slice of healing hell; you are shakier and sweatier than you would’ve liked. Your clothes are like the ones... he used to wear, cheap garments obviously pulled from some industrial multipack that stank like plastic and rubbing alcohol.

You hate it.

But you didn’t have another choice. Your old articles were bloodied and disposed of long ago, and the hospital gowns you wore during your stay were far more uncomfortable than your scratchy, wide pants and crewneck long sleeve the same pale, lifeless blue as your old bed sheets. 

It would be enough.

You shift the crutch under your right arm and shuffle the backpack on your shoulders. It contains just enough to get you to the shelter, where they’d supposedly have a bed— a cot, more than likely. You had a toothbrush, some extra socks, and a prepaid card for a single, one-way train trip across the country and into the unknown.

Tears stung your eyes as you lingered by the doors.

It all feels so uncomfortably real. The world kept moving, and you’re reentering it far-more battered and perpetually bruised. 

And completely alone.

(The thought horrifies you to your core, but you try to ignore it.)

Despite the time you spent at the hospital, you were leaving without a hint of reverie. Everyone, nurses and doctors and anyone who has fucking eyes is too busy dealing with the casualties that had lasted months. 

It didn’t matter how long you stayed. You were just a body. A fucked up one too. 

You count yourself lucky to even have the backpack, as cheap and sterile as it smells.

It all unnerves you, but you didn’t have a choice. Numbness settles over you as you accept your future. 

There... is a little glimmer that he will show up.

(He won’t. Empty promises.)

(Everyone leaves.)

(Why’d you call him, anyway?)

(Because no one had spoken to you like a human in a month.)

Solitude makes people desperate and crazy.

You are a little crazy, you know. Maybe not in a bad way, but certainly in a way that is eating you up and out in ways you don’t understand. You don’t have the energy sort through it all. You just have to finally start moving forward. Or try to. 

Tentatively, you walk toward the doors, stepping out and onto the pavement. You lurch and you would’ve tripped if not for the crutch shoved under your arm. 

For the first time in a long time, you suck in fresh air and the trickling sunlight. It feels fresh, cleansing you with each little inhale as you face your cheeks to sky. You have your moment, basking before your journey.

Then someone whistles. You ignore it at first.

The person whistles again, calling out— 

“Your ride’s here, starshine!”

Your breath punches from your lungs. You whip your head to the sound. 

Though it’s overcast, you do see your morning sun.

Your steps stutter as you nearly trip over your feet.

He is standing, not far at all, leaning against a shiny black car, sleek and expensive and out of place. He’s all overgrown hair and lazy-expressions, one which stretches into a grin as he sees you.

And you see him.

(He really came?)

(Of course he did.)

Your crutch nearly clatters to the ground as you stumble toward him. The moment you waver, he’s running to catch you.

You meet each other halfway.

And without a goddamn lick of shame, the moment you near him, your arms lock around him. Your face buries into the hollow of his throw and you inhale. The scent of him, a bit spiced but mostly skin and sweat fills you. Not a hint of antiseptic. 

 And you shudder at how good it feels. 

He stabilizes the two of you, greedily wrapping his arms around your waist and squeezing as if to give a much-needed greeting. 

There’s a moment of heat between you, familiar and blessed and so damned missed that you both share shuddering breaths. 

“It’s good to see you, starshine,” He soaks up any part of you he could get to. So casually, he touches like he wants to consume you.

You squeeze him just as hard.

“You came?” Your words muffled into his skin.

He simply nods, and the only confirmation you need to sink into him. Perhaps, there’s onlookers, but neither of you have the mind to care. All you care about is the shift of his muscles beneath your fingertips, the heat of him, his golden, pretty visage—

Like he had so many times, he tucks hair behind your ears and tension drains from him. 

So tenderly does he squeeze around your middle where he holds you up, “Let’s go home, starshine.”

You want nothing more.

...

The drive to your new home is long, but you don’t mind.

The world has changed in the months you’d been tucked away in the forest-hidden hospital. As disconnected as you were, you still heard of the unrest and upheaval across the country. The political clashes are marked by the... contrarian billboards lining the highway, new slogans battling each other every mile or so. 

The scenery slowly goes from flatlands, to wetlands, to rolling hills that are a lush green. From the safety of the car, you could see that the air even looked wet, and you could imagine the way it would stick in your throat and tacky the tips of your fingers. 

“Where do you live?” You finally ask, voice soft in the melancholy softness of the light mist that sprayed the car.

“In the mountains, high-up,” He squeezes your hand (the one he’s been holding the whole ride). Quietly, he adds. “I still couldn’t bear to be too close to the ground.”

He laughs, though it fades into the suddenly heavy air.

This is the world, isn’t it?

You blink, gulping at the face of your reality, and let your eyes go half-lidded as you trace the shapes of growing evergreen as your drive takes you higher and higher. 

...

Keigo had made up the guest room for you.

He doesn’t have much for extra sheets and softness, let alone decor, but he does what he can. The bed is made and pressed with clean lines, freshly washed. The curtains on the windows hang heavy, but warm up the room with their clement, tan fibers. It’s a start, with lots of space for you to add your own touches as well.

He’d spent the night prior on it, laboring, like he was preparing a nest as opposed to a simple bedroom.

(It is a nest, but he doesn’t need to accept that just yet.)

There wasn’t anything else to do for a while when he first escaped that fucking hell. He’d really given up. Keigo was uncomfortably content to rot away as he had dreamed of since he’d been burnt. The little, dusty corners of the cabin would’ve made perfect places to waste away in peace and alone. 

Except, he didn’t.

Keigo started to make the home better.

He isn’t sure if it was out of some need to just do something, and the outdated, worn cabin was his most available canvas. Part of him is convinced it’s some buried avian instinct, and without the Commission’s constant hovering, he has no reason to suppress those more animalistic urges. The need to nest somewhere cozy and safe took him over, and he had gotten to work.

The cabin is cleaned up incredibly well. New appliances, floors patched and polished. The furniture is mostly old, but it’s obviously been shined and tended to. The living area isn’t horribly large, but it’s more than enough space for the two of you. It has wide windows that looked down upon the slopes and peaks that your home is nestled in. The colors are warm oranges and tans that are easy on the eye. Nothing too red and nothing too blue.

Nothing too imposing.

(Nothing too reminiscent.)

He leads you from the car, gingerly helping you up the rickety stairs to the front door. 

The wound on your leg may be ‘healed’, but you don’t appear comfortable in the slightest. Your expression pinches with half of your steps, the bending of your scarred flesh undoubtedly painful. It makes something in his chest squeeze as he navigates you into his house, from the snow into somewhere warm. A place that he crafted all on his own. Shaped with his own hands. A real possession, all his own. 

When you enter, you don’t say anything, only tightening your grip on his hand.

“I like it,” You smile, soft and dreamy, worrying the strap of your backpack. “... Are you sure it’s okay for me to stay?”

“Of course,” Keigo assures you. Of course, it was okay for you to stay. “I’m happy to have you here, especially when the other option is one of the shelters.”

You wouldn’t have lasted a day with your bum leg and natural softness.

The thought has him gulping, the heat flaring in his chest as he tugs you closer, ghosting his lips over your temple.

With only a bit of stumbling, he shows you the rest of the home.

...

You’re quiet the rest of the day, curled up on the couch in the same clothes you left the hospital in. There’s clear exhaustion in your face, from the dark circles ringing your eyes and the tremble in your hand and leg. Keigo is content to cover you in a nice knit blanket he purchased down in the nearby town, and let you rest.

His own back burns when he catches glimpses of your scar. It ran down all the way to your ankle, even bleeding onto the top of your foot. The gnarled flesh brings back memories of screaming and metallic exam rooms.

And he, like you, stares at a wall for a while before making dinner.

 You can’t manage much.

The TV glows with some show you might’ve watched and been engrossed in it.  But the hollow feeling in your chest keeps you submerged in the static of your skull. It’s more comfortable than acknowledging how quickly the picture moves in front of you.

Your only motion is a ‘light’ scratching over the thin fabric of your pants.

‘Light’.

He enters sometime later, bearing food and an easy smile that falls all-too quickly. 

“Hey, starshine— oh fuck,” His voice clips as he enters, setting down steaming plates on the coffee table and pulling your hand from your thigh. The tips of your fingers are stained with enough blood to make your eyebrows shoot up. 

Your eyes shoot to your leg, where you’d apparently tore through the thin fabric of your pants and torn your skin up without even thinking. So close to the scar—

Heat flares between, light bouncing in your eyes as you cover the hole, “S-sorry, fuck, I didn’t even realize.”

“It’s okay, it happens,” Keigo assures you, softer than you’ve ever heard him. “Let’s clean you up quick and then eat, okay?”

You nod, exhaling a weight from your chest as the light skitters out of your eyes. 

And the heat fades from the room. The absence of it chills Keigo, and the abruptness makes his nose scrunch. 

He patches you up quickly and with a precision that screams ‘yes, I have done this far too many times.’ The wound isn’t too severe, just a nasty-looking scratch. The dried blood on your finger is wiped away. 

You both settle onto the couch, eating in silence.

Something hangs in the air, thick and unsaid. Questions and paragraphs that have been ignored up until now. Not out of will, perhaps just tired negligence. 

But, Keigo has always been the blunt type, so he finally asks one of the many facets that needs to be broached. 

“What’s your quirk?”

A little surprised sound lodges in your throat with a bite of baked fish, “My quirk? I thought you figured it out already.”

Keigo raises a feathery eyebrow, “I’m a bit slow these days, starshine.”

The nickname makes something settle pleasantly under your ribs, and the light, little orbs of yellow and orange return to your eyes. 

And heat fills the room, like it had so many times before. Like those first nights in the common room, stargazing in the lamp and starlight. It’s warmth that bleeds between his bones and tendons, through and through.

Keigo puts it all together, jaw going slack and eyes going wide.

Had he never realized it?

It does make sense, in retrospect and without a sinfully heavy dose of painkillers swimming in his veins. The heat that permeated all of the nights you sat, eyeing the stars and each other.

The odd heat of it all. 

You’d been warming the two of you. Souls cold from the sterility of it all. 

“That’s your quirk?” Keigo leans in closer, inspecting the little specks of light in your irises. The tell. “This whole time?”

“U-um, yeah,” You worry a hangnail. “I don’t mean for it to be activating all over the place, but it has been since everything happened.”

“Why’s that?”

You chew the plump of your bottom lip, brows pinched.

Without thinking, Keigo bows to the will of the ever-present, needy feeling in his chest and presses a little kiss to your forehead, willing it to smooth away some of your worry. 

I’m not upset, the action says, but the cabin is quiet.

“... You know how cats purr?”

Keigo quirks an eyebrow, “I do.”

“Well, I think it’s kind of like that,” You met his eyes, the light returning and the fire-like warmth tickling the hair on your arms. “Cats purr when they feel good, but sometimes, they purr when they’re not doing well.”

“... ‘Not doing well’?”

“If they’re in pain, or if they’re really scared,” You go quiet, tracing a seam on Keigo’s jeans. “They’ll purr to comfort themselves. It’s like that.”

Comfort themselves.

No wonder all those nights you spent together, you felt so warm. It was your quirk— 

And you must’ve felt awful. 

Part of him feels betrayed, just for a moment, before it dissolves with the watery look you wear as your injured finger traces over his knuckles. 

And the heat of you flares. 

Your quirk is a part of you.

“I didn’t think to tell you.” Your voice wobbles, yet remains vacant. “‘M sorry.”

You don’t need to apologize.

If anything, the knowledge only strengthens Keigo’s resolve. 

...

The first weeks at the house are odd as you both settle into rhythms of living. There’s an orbit to how you choose to live, though it’s not predictable or reliable. It can’t be, there’s no way for it to be. You float around each other like little planets to a fickle sun, unstable and wavering, but elliptical, nonetheless. 

You’re both learning to be human again with your own rhythms.

Keigo’s biggest challenge is dragging himself from bed each morning. The lazy bones he thought the Commission had broken and beaten out of him still remain somehow. Now that he has no obligations to tend to at the break of dawn, he thoroughly enjoys lazing about in the sheets, even if he’s just staring at his wood-paneled ceiling wishing that Dabi had finished the job and burned him dead.

He’s doing great.

Despite his sluggishness, you move about on your own. 

You make coffee each morning, and curl up on the couch under the same knit blanket. A few patches of the multi-colored throw have been pulled apart by your restless hands. 

Neither of you comment on it.

Though Keigo takes longer to rise, you move far less during the day during those first weeks. You’re tethered to the cushion until the sun goes down.

It’s like the nylon straps at the hospital never left your wrists.

Your vacant nature scares him, if he’s honest. There’s an unspoken, massive wound you carry with you, both physically and mentally, and its manifestation is a little haunting. 

Keigo knows about trauma, knows about how the mind worked and how to, you know, deal with it. He is— was, a hero, for fuck’s sake. Trauma is in the job description and he’d had his fair share of bruises before he went undercover, before he killed Jin (REALLY don’t think about it—), and lost his wings. He’s stitched himself up by filling up his schedule with anything he could. Distractions. Things to occupy him, help him forget for a while. If that didn’t work, he always had a bottle or two of imported soju that he could nurse.

Again, coping.

The state you’re in is the opposite of coping, it’s being. Existing. The strain you carry from everything shows in you, and the way that it’s manifested terrifies him.

Keigo is smart enough to know to keep a few boundaries. He can’t fix you and he can’t get it in his head that he can. He’ll smother you; he knows he will. The solace he finds comes from being there when you need him, and always being close by. 

It’s all he can do to soothe what’s obviously an open wound. He has his own, that you tend to in your own way as well when you can. It’s all give-and-take, naturally and easily. 

You’ll find yourselves on the couch together, leaning and touching so naturally, but with no intent. Your little fingers trace shapes over his clothes, hearts and lettering he can’t catch. The heat of you will cling to him, whether your quirk activates or not.

He holds you, simply and truly. Tries to be a new, kinder being. 

...

You don’t have much that is solely yours. 

You’d been living in an odd combination of Keigo’s clothes and the single outfit you arrived with. It works, enough. Most garments are worn until they’re filthy, but it takes you a little too long to notice. 

Keigo notices.

One day, he sits down with you and his heavy, black credit card and helps you pick out... whatever you wanted. The guy is loaded and will be until he dies, and he’s smitten to help you pick out whatever you need. 

You’re more challenged by the task.

“I’m fine, you don’t need to do this,” you murmur into his collarbones, narrowing your eyes at the laptop screen. “I have enough.”

Keigo clicks his tongue, rubbing the fraying fabric of your shirt, the same, cheap scratchy fabric from the hospital. Your pants are soft cotton, old ones of Keigo’s that he should probably throw away. You adore them, and spend most of your time in them, too.

“You deserve some nice things that are yours, don’t you think?” He coaxes with some extra soft touches as you glare at the screen.

Perhaps, you think to yourself. Your jaw locks.

You deliberately avoided thinking about your lack of... things. The absence of all the bits of you that you had once carried tugs at something deep in your chest. Grief, probably. Loss at the very least. Your home has been torn apart and you have nothing. Not a single remnant of then except you. And you’re hardly a good cast of the existence you once lead. 

The world feels dimmer with the thought. 

...

The house gets cold at night.

It’s inevitable, with the chill of the snowy valleys and peaks slipping through drafty windows and cracks in the woodwork. It slunk into the house once the stars rose, sinking bone deep. It’s easier to ward off during the day. The little stray touches and the ambiance of shared presence helps. 

But, you slept separately. 

It’s cold— so fucking cold in your beds. Keigo hates it. Despises the way how it makes his eyes droop and his body heavier than it should be. Despite not having wings any longer, his other avian traits lingered, and torpor was definitely not in his top three faves. He can only be thankful that he thought to invest in an electric blanket for himself, for his nest.

Though it would be a lot better with you in it, the last thing he wants to do is push you. You’re fragile. Everything is fragile. Keigo has laid awake on more than one night, trying to make sense of all of it, everything and coming to the conclusion that sleeping in his too-big, too-cold bed would have to do.

Sometimes, there’s no way to swallow the state of things.

...

“Your packages are here.”

You look up, eyes wide and sweet.

Oh, yeah. Material goods.

Clothes.

Objects.

It takes a while, but the result of your shopping spree is a small horde of packages down at the town post office, all with your name attached. The idea of so much newness is daunting, but your few remaining garments are threadbare and practically falling apart. It’s necessary, you acknowledge, even if you’re terrified of not living in Keigo’s worn crewneck. 

(Change can be good, you remind yourself. The thought is quiet.) 

Keigo stands by the door, buttoning up his coat and lacing up his boots as you watch from your soft perch on the couch. The blanket has a new, wide hole picked in it, but you don’t notice. 

“Would you like to come with me and pick them up?” Keigo flicks his gaze to you with a careful, easy smile.

You hadn’t left the house since you’d arrived. 

The thought sends your stomach knotting and sweat gathering in your palms. You jerk your head side to side, sinking back down into the cushions.

Keigo doesn’t hold it against you. You can tell by the way his expression softens around his eyes. 

He leaves after kissing you on the forehead a few times, telling you he’ll be quick to return. It’s not often that he leaves, though he’s always timely on coming back. His excursions are never more than a trip to the town market, thankfully. An hour or two feels like a lot, but the too-still air and quiet of the floorboards without Keigo’s pacing unsettles you.

Not having him near unsettles you. The thought of having him gone for too long shoots something hot and needy in your chest.

(Don’t leave, don’t leave, don’t leave—)

Thankfully, just like always, Keigo isn’t gone for long. And he returns bearing a few armloads of packages and some takeout curry. You take it all, and him, greedily. 

(Thank you, thank you, thank you.)

...

It’s a few days later when Keigo wakes to you knocking on his door in the early hours of the morning. 

It had been a... rougher day. You had been a bit livelier early on, joining him on the snowy patio for morning coffee and even taking a quick walk around the neighboring forest. With the snow so deep, you could only go so far though. The motion of it aggravated your injury, left your gasping and clawing at Keigo’s arm as the scar tissue pulled.

The scar is still dead, thank god, but the impact is just as present physically as it is mentally for you.

The rest of the day you spent curled up on the couch, taking little sips of water between short naps. That night, you hardly touched your dinner. Keigo was smart enough to cut up some fruit and lay it with a handful of crackers and offer it to you throughout the rest of the night. You nibbled at the bits, but hardly consumed much at all.

You went to bed early, giving him a hard hug before retiring to your lonely room.

Those days are the worse, the bad ones. They’re the ones where Keigo wants to break all the boundaries he still has. The little touches and kisses he gives you are one thing, but there’s much more he wants to do. Craves doing. But, pushing you too far or too hard would break you. He’s smart. He knows that. So, Keigo doesn’t wait. He satiates all those protective needs. 

He accepts circumstance, just as he always has. 

(He doesn’t understand how much you crave him, but that’ll come later.)

             That night, things begin to shift. 

His voice cracks with sleep as he calls for you to enter. You linger in the door frame, clutching a pillow to your chest, like a scared child who’s had a— 

“Nightmare?” He asks, sitting up and tugging a blanket with him to cover his bare chest. 

The cold air of the cabin hits his scars. He hisses under his breath, shoulders drawing tense. You must notice, eyes going a little wider as you recede from his room. The darkness of the hallway nearly dissolves you. His chest aches, hands tightening around the fabric in his fists. 

“Come back here, starshine, come on,” Keigo calls, praying you’ll heed him. “It’s alright. What’s wrong?” 

Keigo half-recognizes that that’s a very loaded question, but you’re both a bit sleep addled. Maybe it will slide. 

Your eyes alight in the pitch of the room, sputtering with little orbs of amber. Your atrophying arms squeeze the pillow, and you take a few more tentative steps closer. 

“... We’re safe, right?” 

The question surprises Keigo, enough to make his old wounds ache.

One loaded question answered for another.  

It’s reasonable to ask. It’s very reasonable to ponder. Keigo has wondered about it too. The townsfolk don’t know who he really was, and he was quite secretive about the initial move. The world hadn’t caught onto the fact that ‘Hawks’ had moved him and his new love to an isolated little cabin in the woods, and hopefully they never would. Society had a lot bigger problems, according to the over-processed news channel he tuned into on occasion. 

Keigo was old news at this point.

So many heroes had been called out for poor behavior. Scandal after scandal, coverup after coverup. Corruption, everywhere. It was an industry secret, all of the bullshit behind closed doors.  Keigo’s little double-agent schtick and you know, murder of a good man (for the love of god, do not fucking think about Jin) was still bad, but the public had a whole new slew of bullshit to torch people at the stake for.

Still. 

He’s glad no one knows about your little hideaway or you.

“We’re safe, starshine. Very safe.”’

It makes his answer easier to say, more honest. 

You inch closer from the doorway. There’s a tremble in your shoulders that runs to your hands. You’re only wearing a t-shirt and thin shorts, maybe just panties, he can’t tell. Your scar runs down your thigh and calf, gnarling and twisting the flesh it dared to mar. The seam of it is a shining black that Keigo had failed to notice before. 

It reminds him of why you’re so scared and the types of nightmares you must have. 

“... Promise?” You stop at the foot of the bed, throat bobbing with a thick gulp.

Keigo gives a sympathetic smile, patting the sheets next to him, “I promise. You’re safe. We’re safe.”

You look skeptical, but climb into bed with him all the same. 

Something stirs in Keigo’s chest as you do. As he watches you clamor over the sheets and blankets he... nests in, the heat of it fills him. A combination of yours and his own, spills through his ribs and down to his toes.

He shudders with it, something needy wriggling down from

You sit up on your knees, sinking into the mattress and holding the pillow tight to your chest. Watching, eyes still alight and wide.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Keigo asks.

You don’t, you both know that, but breaking the silence is a start.

You push the pillow against the headboard, trading it to link your fingers with his, over his chest and pressed to the linens. 

You squeeze and let out a breath you’ve been holding. There’s a weight to it, like there’s something you’re actually carrying. There has been something you have been carrying, but only you are able to see it— feel it in its actuality.

But, that doesn’t mean you have to shoulder the burden alone, especially on darkened, lonely nights. 

He tugs you closer, mindful of your tenderness and the scars you both bear. The night is only lit by starlight, and the room is dark with the new moon. It makes it easier to be closer as you settled into the bedding next to him.

It’s uncomfortable for a few moments.

Despite how much contact you share, this feels different. The little touches, kisses and caresses you trade throughout the day are second nature. Comforting someone else who so obviously needs it. His person who needs it. 

(He wonders if you think of him as your ‘person’ too.)

You lay on your side, facing away from him as you fall into his nest, still tense, still on edge and unsure. It reminds him of those first days at the hospital, when you both had lost your tongues and yourselves and just enjoyed the stars together in oddly comforting silence and broken conversation. 

It’s a process, he reminds himself. 

Keigo slides closer, throwing an arm over waist and adjusting the blankets with his other. There’s plenty, piled on top of each other without much reason. Careful hands properly tuck you into it all, next to him, with him. He brings them up to your chin, pressing stray hairs back into place and laying a trailing kiss or two over the back of your neck. 

“... Is it okay if I stay?” Your voice sounds far-off, like the question is more for yourself than for him. 

He can feel the unease and fear still bound up in your shoulders. It’s always there, whether it’s a moonless night or a snow-glitteringly, sunny day. The tension he presses his thumbs into is held in all of the muscle of your back, in your hips, your hands— everywhere.

It makes part of him ache.

A few little coos, soft little rumbles, roll from the back of his throat. 

Normally, he’d be a bit embarrassed. But at the birdish chirps, you’re falling deeper in the sheets, the nest, and against his chest. 

“Please stay,” He assures you with a squeeze. A small comfort, one he’d keep giving. 

 The odd quiet returns, sans the little sounds in his chest. 

Slowly, tentatively, you turn in his arms. Your own lock over his waist, splayed low on his spine. The pads of your fingertips brush scars, the old ones and the new. It makes him writhe a bit in his own skin. It’s unfamiliar, compared to all of the cold prodding and meaningless pleasure he was used to.

It is the closest anyone of familiarity has been to the scars in a long time, and you, preciously, grace him with the softest touch. No expectation in it, just some much-needed, shared bits of love. Once again, precious. 

And you both relax into it all. The ambient thrum of the other's body, the shared breath and smells that mingle between you. There’s little pains and stings that never really go away, but with the other so close, neither of you mind. 

It’s hard to tell when your quirk settles, and the organic heat you create together fills the rooms and your lungs. 

All Keigo knows is that he falls asleep with your lips brushing the hollow of his throat, still and warm against his chest. The feeling of the living rhythm of your body with your breath lulls him off, content and hazy. 

...

You never sleep alone after that night.

Keigo pulls you into his room, or you pad in after brushing your teeth and pulling on your soft, soft sleep clothes. The bed feels a lot less big and lonely with the two of you wrapped up in each other, fully giving in.

It puts Keigo at a remarkable amount of ease. 

The urge in his chest to ‘keep you safe’ feels the most sated at night, when he can keep as close as you both can bear. Your hands always make their home at the base of his spine, or the fat and flesh between his lower back and his rear. The pads of your fingers rub away years of stored tension and weight, quietly and kindly before you fall asleep each night. 

During the day, you’re equally as needy, though you’re slowly becoming a bit more independent. You’re more lucid in general. Though the couch and worn blanket are your greatest comforts (other than him), you’re beginning to stray and poke around the house a bit more. 

The shelves have a few more familiar comforts, things Keigo had slowly accumulated to pass the time. There’s a video game console or two he’d never used, a few stacks of books he’d heard were good, and some tucked away art supplies if inspiration struck. 

As much as he urges you to take and use whatever you’d like, you’re still tentative. The first few times you pluck a crisp book from the shelf, Keigo’s back aches with how the old muscles that once controlled his wings tried to puff-up non-existent feathers. Despite how it tugs at all the wrong parts of him, he still glows at the progress.

You start to help him with dinner too. That’s some of your favorite time. 

There’s a rhythm to it, when you both start preparing meals together. Keigo can’t season food for shit, (though, he’s made leaps and strides with cooking that pats himself on the back for) but he’s quite skilled with a knife. Remnants of his training that have domestic applications. 

He doesn’t tell you that that’s why he’s so good at dicing vegetables and paring meat, he just chatters to fill the air. You tend more to the process of cooking, seasoning and watching and nodding along to his words. 

The more meals you share in creating, the more you start to speak up.  

It’s progress, even in something so small. 

...

But progress isn’t linear. 

It’s not even a goddamn line and it’s fucking infuriating. 

...

The depth of winter bears down on the hills, the house, and the two of you. You’re coping, both of you. But the momentum of it is fragile.

It scares you, secretly and privately. 

You feel fragile, and you have for a long time. Your scar remains tender, gnarled and ugly on your leg. You avoid looking at it at all cost, though Keigo has free reign to graze tender touch nearby it. 

That’s how you find yourselves, leaning on each other on the cushion of the couch and idly watching the glow of the television. Your cheek tucks over his shoulder and you watch with half-lidded eyes. You’re only half-there as Keigo changes the channel.

He hums after a few moments. 

“There’s a storm coming tonight,” Keigo tells you, lips just a touch dry against the shell of your ear. “I’m going to go to town and—”

 Oh wow.

You interrupt, fisting the front of his shirt, “Can I come?”

The question stuns both of you.

Your eyes are honest as you peer up, genuinely unsure if you can.

“Of course, starshine,” Keigo assures. You notice the way his eyes, his pretty eyes, look wide and bright. All for you. Wow. “Let’s get you out of the house, hm?”

Getting out.

Time has stretched out and you can’t remember the last time you left for anything more than a little stroll on the backroads, Keigo on your arm. Going to town and seeing people strikes something odd that has your stomach churning. 

You’re nervous when you finally pile into the car, both bundled up with hats, mittens and scarfs (Keigo wears a mask to better hide his identity, but he’s sure some of the townies have figured him out.) The tasks are simple. Stock up for the coming storm and make sure he pays to plow their little backroad out once the storm passes. Easy, things that wouldn’t take too long, but it still makes your palms sweat. 

Keigo massages your thigh as you drive into town. The comfort of the snowy hills and evergreens disappears, and it has you in goddamn knots. 

You squeeze his hand, locking your jaw. 

“I’m scared.” You break the silence as the small structures of the town come into view. “I don’t know if this was a good idea.”

You haven’t decided again. 

He kneads his thumb into the tension in your thighs with a little smile, “Let’s give it a try.”

“It’s scary, though.”

“I know.”

You pull at a hangnail with your teeth but say nothing else as you roll in and park at the small market.

The first thing you notice is the goddamn doors. Automatic doors.

When you see them, you want to climb back into the car, maybe the trunk for fuck’s sake, and hide like you’ve never hidden before. Go home and bury yourself in a snow pile with how your heart hammers in your chest and your breath catches.

Deep breaths.

You catch yourself, just a little. 

You keep walking, Keigo’s hand in yours and you enter the market like nothing feels as wrong as it is.  

The store is small, but there’s a decent selection, all things given. Keigo places a basket in your hands, tells you to ‘go nuts’ and ‘literally get whatever you want, especially if it’s salty or sweet’ and you heed him the best you can. He busies himself talking to the clerk, organizing with that honey-voice you crave. 

You take a few deep breaths and walk around the market like a normal person. 

(Even though, the last time you were in a situation close to this, you got that nasty, cute scar on your leg.)

(You suppress the thought for as long as you can.)

The basket gets filled quickly, but you stuff it to the brim. Keigo picked out plenty of good food, and had learned how to cook decently, but having some... agency felt nice, if not fucking terrifying.

You’ve got your back turned to the entrance of the store when the (automatic) doors suddenly swish open. 

A chill so cold and hard shoots down your spine and you freeze, hovering over a box of breadcrumbs.

One...

 How long was it between that sound and when he touched you?

 Two...

 This was a terrible idea.

 Three—

 It was four—

 Four—

Four seconds, you propose, as your heart beats out of your chest and you sweat under your arms. Four seconds from the door opening to pain. 

You wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Nothing.

Just more voices from the front of the store, a figure entering your aisle and then leaving.

You hate the way you're so rigid, tense enough in your shoulders for it to hurt. The ghost of the wound on your leg makes you want to fall to the ground and writhe, but you grab the box of breadcrumbs and try not to think. 

It works, and you land next to Keigo, presenting your filled basket to be rung up. 

You bury your face into his shoulder and take a deep inhale. Keigo keeps you close, tucked in your side with an arm around your waist. Your anxiety must’ve been quite visible, as he takes to quietly rubbing your shoulders over your sweater.

Things get hazy as you feel safer. Keigo laughs and sways the two of you as he speaks to the clerk. 

(Her sons are going to blow your little house out when the storm passes. The family cat recently got out and came back pregnant. Her husband has been reading some odd literature he found on the internet. Something about ‘the strong triumphant over the weak’. Her daughter might be able to return from her foreign university now that the travel restrictions had been lifted.)

Everything moves forward, even if it’s unpleasant.

It’s an awful reminder at an inopportune time. 

You watch your feet as you crunch your way back to the shotgun side of the car, only relaxing when you hear the doors lock and the engine thrum.

...

The storm comes, just as the faces on TV said it would.

You’re in the country, in the hills and mountains where the weather is already turbulent and changeable. All the same, the overcast skies dump snow over the land and blanket the world in quiet and cold.

Snow silence sucks the sounds from the air, sans the howl of angry wind. 

You’re tucked away and safe. It’s Keigo’s only solace.

After going into town, you keep more to yourself as the storm takes it sweet time rolling in. He recognizes the far off look in your eyes; it’s the one you wore stargazing, but there’s no kind smile on your face. Just a thoughtless frown as you go through the motions of your day.

It makes his chest ache.

(Part of him regrets bringing you with him to the market. It rots part of him, and he can only hope it sprouts again.) 

Finally, when the storm truly comes and the hills get heavy and crisp white, a bit more of you returns. Keigo wants to take the fragments you’re willing to give him and tuck them close, horde them and squeeze. The way he’s gotten abashedly greedy for you has him handsier and needier. 

He’ll take what he can get, and give what he can too.

It’s easiest to bear at night, probably out of habit. Maybe the time in the hospital fucked both of you up (yes, for sure, it did), but nighttime was the time where you were open and easy with each other.

The storm gives the perfect opportunity to all of your time shamelessly twisted together, only leaving for brief coffee breaks and light meals. Otherwise, you’re both nested. 

Pillows and blankets piled on the oversized mattress, all soft against your scars and old scratches. Keigo’s still fond of the color red, he can’t let that go, but he trades in the scarlet that was once his ‘brand’ for a deeper burgundy. All the sensations are rich and velvety, whether it’s the bedclothes you’re wrapped in or the touches you share.

It feels safe.

The feeling is something almost foreign to Keigo. He’s been getting used to it, even as the isolation weighs down on him. No one around means no reason to be so alert. The house isn’t bugged, there’s no villains or Suits watching his every move. He’s just a flightless bird, with no cage, but no captors either.

It feels amazing.

It feels even better that you’re always the heat against his side. That you and your perfect, sweet hands always know how and where to touch. Your words flow easier when you’re so close, so surrounded and so deliciously suffocated.

Keigo fills you up in all the best ways, and you’re finally able to breathe easier.

You tell him your secrets, little stargazing facts and facets of you that you’d held away and far from him before.

“Do you know what cosmic microwave background radiation is?” You ask, sweet as your lips nip at his jaw.

“No, not a clue,” He laughs, the giggle only you get to hear. 

You hum, shifting your thighs so it lies over his. Your hips grind, slow and unhurried as wind rattles the windows.

“It’s this ambient radiation that’s just everywhere, all the time, forever,” You tell him, voice going a little huskier despite the fact you’re talking about theoretical astrophysics. “It’s left over from the Big Bang. A little bit of the beginning that never stops.”

“And how do you know all this?” 

“A documentary, love.”

The questions fade as your lips slide together, lazy hands sliding into each other's hairs. You pull, only lightly, just to bring him closer. Keigo gets greedy, (again, always), licking into your mouth and tasting you. It’s all cheap coffee and the stale mint of toothpaste, and he drinks you down like the finest nectar. He sucks on your tongue, moaning at the way you keen and shift next to him.

It’s not enough. It never is, so he rolls to sit himself over your hips and grab your jaw in a tight grip. He can’t be too forceful, he can’t— his little birdbrain won’t let him do anything too rough to you, even if neither of you would mind it. He tilts your head just right.

You roll your hips up, breath mingling with his as it hitches and shudders from you. It’s so much, so much good, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. 

Keigo pulls away, eyes half-lidded to take in your own blown pupils. It makes something purr in his chest, to see your eyes already glassy and wide for him. Your neck is thoroughly covered in darkened splotches, already sucked and bitten while the storm sang. 

Little marks of him.

“You’re all mine, you know?” Keigo nearly moans at the way your expression goes gooey and sweetened. He tightens his grip on your jaw just a fraction, enough to make you gasp before he licks and nips below your ear. Just to make sure you hear him. “‘Everywhere, all the time, forever’, I’ve got you.”

“Y-you do,” you gasp as Keigo shifts your sleep shorts off, pushed away forgotten in the nest. The thin tank top you’re wearing is hardly covering anything, not that either of you care. The nearly-sheer fabric of it stretches over your collars and curves beautifully. It does nothing to hide the way your breaths heave or the sweat and heat gathering on your neck.

You’re bared to him.

And if Keigo’s being honest?

You own each other, in the most pleasantly fucked up way.

“Y-You’re so good,” The word holds weight, so much heaviness. Keigo groans, palming one of your breasts and rolling one of your nipples. It’s ambient, something to occupy himself as he resists your words. Just a little—

Your hand slips into the front of his sweats, bare beneath, and wraps around the velvet of him. Thick and hot, firm in your hand but not close enough.

You squeeze, almost in warning.

“You are good.” You gasp as Keigo pulls off you, leveling gazes with you, all pretty eyes reflecting the starshine and snow. He is good. There’s so much more to it than that, but your poor, fucked up little mind can’t synthesis it yet. Only that Keigo is good, warm, safe, and wholly yours. And you’re his. You stretch to ghost a kiss over his lips. “My good boy, always keeping me safe. You keep me so well.”

He stills, even as you slowly pump in his cock. It twitches in your hand, your thighs squeezing between his hips. 

Keigo’s mind races, in the best way.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” He murmurs, head tilting and body sagging to drink down your kiss-bruised lips. More, more, more— “You just need to be taken care of.”

“I don’t need to,” You lie, huffing. 

Keigo raises an eyebrow, biting his lips as your grip floats down to his balls, massaging them in your soft grip. It’s tender, weirdly vulnerable, as the whole of you two are.

“Maybe you don’t need to, you’re very capable,” Maybe not right now, but he knows it’s in there. “But you want it.”

“I-I like it,” You scramble the wording, shoving down his sweats, huffing again and urging Keigo to kick them away. Your palm goes to his cheek and drags him closer. “I like you a lot, love you, you know. You make me feel... safe. It’s a good feeling.”

It’s the most honest you’ve been in a long time, and it sits in the air. Keigo remains silent for a moment, silent and trying to control the way his birdbrain wants to take you. Wants to fuck you up and ruin you for anyone else.

You’re his, aren’t you?

“Good girl,” Keigo breaks the tension, squeezing your hips to the point of bruises. His, his, his. “I keep you so good, don’t I?”

You nod, spitting out little affirmatives between kisses. They dot his cheeks and forehead, slipping to his nose and downward. You pull his bottom lip into his mouth, letting out a little half-sob as Keigo’s touch drifts to your cunt, to your clit that’s swollen and untouched. 

More, more, more—

“You keep me so good,” You gulp, whining and grinding into the heel of his hand. Slick coats your sex, sticky and hot. “So, so good—”

Keigo drops down the bed, ignoring the flare of his scar tissue, to seat himself between your thighs. They get thrown over his shoulders with a squeeze. His hands cup your ass, slipping a pillow beneath your hips before eating your cunt like he’d die if he didn’t.

It’s one of his favorite things. Stuffing you full of him until your belly swells is another, or seeing the way his cock opens and stretches you until you’re gasping for breath and begging for more, more, more—

Keigo slips a finger into you without resistance. He curls it, unyielding as he massages the little knot of nerves in you that makes you arch and beg for more, for him.

You choke on a sob when he adds another finger, and he hushes you so sweet, tears prick your eyes. 

“Starshine,” He coaxes, withdrawing only to give your clit, a few kitten licks and slow kisses. His gaze flickers towards yours, holding your wet eyes. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

You nod, the meat of your thighs squeezing around him. Keigo would be happy to die like this, you soft and opened for him, crying for him. Broken and cracking for him, by his tongue, by his touch, Him. His.

“Who takes care of you?” He curls his fingers, and you throw your head back into the nest of pillows. 

“Y-You,” Your voice breaks and you rub at your cheeks. 

“Who knows just how to keep you so well? How to make you feel so good?”

He presses a third finger in, tending to your clit as you cry above him. You’re molten around him, and he laps you up until the smell and taste of you is all he comprehends. 

This is what you both need, isn’t it?

Each other. All of each other.

Your cries turn sour quickly, and it has Keigo jolting up, fingers withdrawn and leaving you to feel empty. The little sobs turned into hiccupping cries, one's stifled with the back of your hand. 

Keigo rises over you, tugging you hand away to get at your cheeks, kissing them soft and sweet. 

It isn’t often that you cry, surprisingly. You probably should more often. 

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Keigo urges. Please, please, just tell him what the fuck is wrong. He knows, you know, the meat of it all. But please tell him something he can tend to. Something he can stitch up because god, he needs to be useful— “What’s making your cry sweetheart? Tell me.”

You paw at your forehead, “It’s silly.” 

You sniffle and look at him with the most unguarded expression he’s seen you worn. The vacancy is gone, the hollowness and pain has been pulled away in the safety of that perfect nest and all that’s left is—

“‘M scared,” You mumble. Your arms curl over your chest, covering what’s primitively most precious to you. “I’m scared.”

Your eyes grow bright and heat, hotter than anything he’s felt from you, explodes over the room.

He’s half-choking and he fucking loves it. 

Something in his chest snaps and he worries your hair, bringing his nose to yours, nuzzling and nudging your hands away. He nips you. His poor little birdbrain.

“I’m afraid you’re going to leave.”

Keigo stills.

He sits with your fear for a few beats.

“I’d never leave,” He says easily, truthfully and fully. He couldn’t.

Those long nights in the hospital and the warmth passed between you had so easily gotten you wormed his chest, right next to his second and third rib. He can feel it, always; you’re ever present. He grabs your arms and holds them to yours sides. You’re exposed, soft flesh and squirming a bit beneath him. He wants to mark you purple and near-bloody, so that no one would think of you as anything other than his.

His, his, his.

He shows you.

Worn hands, a bit chapped with the dry air, pull your high to rest on his shoulders. He massages your calves, kissing your ankles.

“I mean this real lovingly, starshine,” He breaths deep, fisting his cock with a few slow strokes. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You don’t get a chance to protest as he slides into you in one stroke. The stretch of him has you burning; he can tell by the way your hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging into his shoulders as your little cries only get harder.

“Bear it, I know you can,” You had before, and you would many times more. The stretch feels amazing, even if it burns something in your core. You like it, how the pain pricks something that shoots into your toes. Only Keigo gets to fuck you up, gets to own you. “You’re always good f-for me— f-fuck, so fucking good—”

His, his, his.

There is, of course, the inverse.

You grab his jaw, your grip tight like his was earlier, and you meet his gaze. You blink away tears, sniffling, but expression set with determination.

“You’re mine too,” You squeeze around him, grinding down to the root of his cock. “‘M only good for you because you’re mine too, Keigo. All of you.”

Without thought, your hands ghost over his scars.

You have avoided them for so long. It was an untouched spot, something tender and from a time where Keigo was being that was entirely and wholly different from who he is now. It’s a piece of him that’s always been off-limits.

But you’re both so cracked open, you do it without thought.

And something in Keigo snaps.

He pushes you down by the backs of your thighs, folding your legs to your torso. And he fucks you.

His hips slam against yours, opening you up with pants and groans. You feel full, full of him in every and all ways, everywhere, always, and forever. 

You’re greedy with your touches, tugging him closer and uncaring of the way your nails scrap over his shoulders and arms. His body is yours and you’re his. It’s disgusting, it’s fucked up and perfect the way you slot together. It’s like little, scared pieces of existence slide together, and everything feels whole, yet open and uncracked.

Keigo fills you up with a sob, tears dripping down his cheeks as you pressed down on the burns and scars that rack down his back.

“Fill me up,” You demand, the heat of you swelling as his hand dips to your clit, circling and rolling with the little pleas falling from both your lips.

The world drips as his thrusts go harder, sloppier as you tip your head back and scream. Your voice breaks, hoarse from all your pleading and possession. 

Keigo stuffs you, tip of his cock pressed to the deepest parts of you. His cum, all him, leaks from around his cock as he gives a few more weakened grinds. He makes sure you’re full, content and sated and his.

He falls over you, coating your cheeks in kisses and praise. You sputter little sobs for him, begging for him to be closer, despite the way he still fills you even as he softens.

It never feels like enough, the closeness. But you’ll settle for all of him that you can get. 

...

The storm passes, and you spend your time much the same way. Fucking, feeling, and for a little, blessed while, forgetting.

Eventually, the snow stops falling. The wind that has been whipping the power into tree trucks and your windows falls still. It’s peaceful, then. Not that it wasn’t before, but without the weather bearing down on you, you’re both less hungry. Still greedy, just not starved.

You share the first morning after the storm outside, on the porch. Keigo had shoveled a little clear patch and you’d brushed off the two, brittle lawn chairs that had seen better days. You fixate on the task a bit too much, the steaming coffee you’re to share is forgotten. The straining plastic of the chairs is a yellowed-white and bright red. It felt strong enough under your fingers, cold fingers, as you cleared away the snow. 

It feels like a remnant

Whatever fixation you have on the object passes as Keigo runs a hand up your spine. His hand is wide and warm, still a bit warm from the toasty mugs.

You rearrange your chairs and yourselves to be close as can be, in your little patch of snowless porch, and sip at your coffee as the world begins to wake up. 

...

Oddly enough, the storm helps you make forward progress, at least a little. You take up making breakfasts on your own, occasionally carrying plates into the bedroom with a big, previously unseen grin

Keigo returns the smile so big, his cheeks burn for hours. 

You take to a few of the little crafts and things Keigo has been hoarding. Paper folding and little canvases with acrylic painting are your favorites. Sometimes, you paint your little strokes and press creases from the comfort of the couch. Other times, you make you place for the day at the kitchen island while Keigo makes his day-long meals. 

There’s a rhythm to it that’s so good.

It’s progress, and seeing it visibly start to the fill the walls feels good for both of you. Your little canvases get hung around the cabin, little portraits of the stars and their mother, all for you and Keigo to admire. ;;

 ...

             He gets the call exactly three weeks after the storm passes. 

Keigo awakes before you to the shrill ring of his cell. It vibrates against the bedside table, loud enough to wake the both of you. You both startle out of sleep, squeezing each other. 

He takes the call in the other room, after he sees the contact name.

[Suits] Calling...

 He paces as he listens to her drone on.

There’s no greeting, no “hey, how does it feel to be a flightless fucking failure?”. It’s business. Just business. It’s always been like that with her, and the lot of suits that treated him like a fixture until he got particularly cracked and unsightly.

“So, you come into Tokyo, we’ll do a small event—”

“The event you’re describing really doesn’t sound small,” Keigo tilts his head and gives an angry smile to his own reflection in the mirror. “It sounds like a circus that I really have no interest in being a part of.”

“It’s for the people, Hawks—”

It makes him snap.

“Stop fucking calling me that.” He growls into the receiver, grip tight enough to hurt. “Stop calling me, stop asking me, I am not coming back.”

The woman is silent on the line for a beat, before spitting, “What if I didn’t give you a choice?”

His blood runs cold before burning in his veins. And he laughs.

“You think you could?” He only feels a little hysterical. “You don’t have any power, not over me, not over anyone else as far as I’ve seen, Madam President!” 

“Hawks—”

Shut up, shut up, shut UP.

“The Commission is dead, the world is in chaos, and putting the corpse of a hero on the big screen isn’t going to convince anyone that this is all fixable,” Keigo chest gets tight, and he can’t tell if it’s from the uncomfortable laughter he’s spitting or the sobs that are locked in his chest. 

“So, you’d rather turn your back on the people you swore to protect?” Suits speaks with no emotion, not an ounce of feeling. “Selfish.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish. The word echoes in his mind, worms its way down his throat and suffocates him. 

“You’re really going to say that to me? Of all fucking people?” He feels his nails break skin where he’d been clenching his fist. “Me, selfish?”

“You left, didn’t you? Ran away?” The woman has the stones to fucking laugh. “Everyone’s lost something. You’re not special, and it doesn’t justify—”

“What the fuck are you getting out of this?” Keigo interrupts, burning, burning— “Did you call me to go to this little gala or did you call to dig into your perfect little hero? You told me I could be done. Should’ve known you were lying, you always lie—”

“You’re being childish.”

“Oh my GOD!” Keigo nearly screams and doesn’t notice how you’ve tip-toed from the bedroom. “Do you hear yourself?”

“I hear you screaming at me, the woman who practically raised you, like some petulant brat. Get a grip, Hawks.” 

He snaps.

“STOP FUCKING CALLING ME THAT!” He screams into the phone, vision going white and scarlet. “I am not Hawks! Hawks is DEAD! Why can’t you understand that? There’s no fucking hero to attend your little ‘healing’ gala, there’s just me. ‘Childish’, ‘selfish’, and wingless, babe. That’s what I’ve got, and this is what I am.”

Suits takes an audible sigh, and Keigo can almost see how she’s shaking her head at him, “You’re being ridiculous, Hawks. Take at least a goddamn ounce of responsibility for your actions that helped cause all... this.”

Ah, there it is. The thing Hawks has so properly compartmentalized, tucked so far back in his psyche that it’s almost impossible to reach.

How much of the dissolution of... everything is on him?

Something in him snaps, and it slips through his own fingers. 

  “I’m not going and this, Madam President? This is for me.”

Selfish, selfish, selfish.

He hears her unspoken words echoing in his skull as he hangs up, slamming the phone on the countertop.

Something hotter than rage and more poisonous than pain fills his blood, and it makes him want to both wretch and break his fingers in the same breath. He slams a fist onto the phone, cracking it against the countertop. He can buy a new one— 

“S-Sweetpea?”

Keigo freezes.

You’re at the mouth of the hallway, hardly out of the shadows, eyes wide and fearful. His chest somehow gets even tighter. 

Normally, he would’ve rushed to comfort you, calmed himself down to console you for seeing his little outburst.

But he doesn’t that day.

He breaths ragged with his lips slowly curling, panic’s ugly cousin turning his spit acrid behind his teeth.

“Here, let’s go back to bed, okay? We can—” You take a few steps closer, hand outstretched and eyes beginning to light.

Oh, and Keigo’s hit by fucking envy, and it’s over. 

“Don’t.” 

You freeze, “Pretty eyes—”

“Don’t, just don’t.”

You don’t move as Keigo trudges to the door, throws on his thick parka and snow boots, pocketing his keys and grumbles to you that there’s leftovers in the fridge.

It’s shitty and selfish.

And he just doesn’t care.

He can’t make himself care as the door slams shut behind him, the sound echoing off the trees and so quickly dampened by the snow. 

...

Keigo drives, white noise in his ear that echoes the wind in the treetops of the mountains he’s descending. He’s only half there as he leaves town. 

It’s still too much. 

...

You, on the other hand? 

You’re frozen, stuck-still, as you watch Keigo climb into the car and drive off. Maybe your mouth has gone a bit agape, you aren’t aware of your body. 

You panic. 

There’s no other word for it, not that you were able to think of as you were untrenched in it. 

There’s something thick and knotted that is rolling unraveling in your chest. The... thing is worse than a feeling and runs deeper and hotter than you can manage.

You tried to manage it.

While Keigo is god fucking knows where, you paced the house, always within eyeshot of a window. Hoping for a glimpse of his dark parka, or the tufts of his blonde sticking out in the snow, a return—

Fucking nothing.

He just left.

No return time, no destination, just a departure with no explanation. He’d obviously left the cabin before, you’d handled those times quite well, but he’d never stormed out. Never raised his voice and screamed and then just left. 

Is he okay? 

(You heard most of the call, at least his side of it. Is that awful Hero Commission he told you about calling him back? Or even worse, dragging him away.)

(He’d tell you, wouldn’t he?)

(Guess you’ll never know! Because he’s fucking gone.)

It made something seize in your chest, hot and awful as you walked your circuit, praying. Worry is damning. 

How could he just... leave?

You need him back.

You alone without him.

Your thoughts rot you, despite the winter’s cold outside. The chill of the cabin seeps into your bones, coats them and leaves you sticky and downright paranoid. The lack of... presence (his presence) was driving you up a wall. The air is too still, the floors quiet and without the telltale old creaks of movement that you’ve become accustomed to, and the cabin is silent other than your breathing and rabbit’s heart.

Beneath the anger was a thick layer of fear. 

You are alone.

The feeling rolled its way into you as the sun began to dip lower in the sky.

What if he never comes back?

Of course he is, you remind yourself, hurriedly, worrying the scary on your leg and picking at the core of it. He wouldn’t leave.

Why wouldn’t he?

The thought gets your poor little heart racing faster, air choking in your lungs. Your head whips to the window to see the empty, snowy driveway.

“I-I’m alone,” You break the silence of the house, the walls answering with their pensive quiet and the wind shaking the fresh snow from thin branches just outside.

All alone.

All fucked up and broken and fucking alone.

“He wouldn’t leave,” You start talking to yourself, threading a hand in your hair, gripping. “He cares, he wouldn’t just leave.”

He cared about being a hero too and he left everyone else.

What if things changed? 

Insecurities, new ones and old ones, cloud your mind and vision and stuffed your lungs. The grip on your hair goes tighter. 

All alone in the mountains.

All.

Alone.

It scares you more than anything, how much you need him.

Tears prick the corners of your eyes as you tug at the roots of your hair. It hurts, but everything is starting to hurt very quickly, and a bit of hair pulling is child’s play to how it feels like your chest is being hollowed out.

You really have so little. It stuns you in the moment as you choke back a sob. The little house in the mountains, Keigo, and the starlight you still both enjoy— that’s fucking it. You’d never returned to your ‘apartment’, or rather the remnants of it. Any possessions you had were lost to destruction and unsalvageable. Your meager relationships and friendships had fallen away when you were bound to hospital for months.

He’s all you have.

“No, no, no,” You nearly trip in your pacing, dragging your feet as you accept your reality. “He can’t l-leave.”

The world responds with silence. The mountains are cold and lonely, just like you are. It’s cruel, it all hurts and after being in a daze so often, the reality of your situation hurts like a hot brand.

He’ll come back.

He cares.

You desperately try to convince yourself as you tug your parka on, throwing on your boots. You don’t bother to fasten or tie anything, you just stumble onto the deck blindly and scan the hill of the drive.

Not a single soul.

Something rotten curls up behind your teeth. Bile climbs the back of your throat and you have to swallow to keep from vomiting. Your chest is too tight, the world is too bright, and you’re terrified.

You’re not sure what to call the type of panic response you have; it doesn’t make any logical sense. Your heart runs in your chest, your breath is hot and tight, and you simply slip to the ground in the fresh snow.

And you wait.

...

Keigo drives until he’s nearly out of town, into some flatlands near the river that gurgles and churns nearby. The surrounding forest is the perfect place for a pensive walk. 

It’s the best place for him to just get it out.

It had been a long time since Keigo had just talked to himself. Audibly sorts himself as he walks along the bank of the almost-frozen river. He doesn’t keep his voice quiet, no, its full volume complaining. It’s anger that’s bundled up in his chest that’s finally being lit and the smoke of it nearly chokes him out. 

It’s not fair.

He does feel a bit childish, thinking about it like that. But hadn’t he done enough? Hadn’t they told him that he’d done enough? He lost it all and was just starting to the plant the seeds for a new life to sprout. Couldn’t he just have that? He’s not the shiny thing he used to be he’s fucking worthless. And that’s fine. He’s made peace with it and can find worth outside of saving people.

He’s capable. Adaptable. And he’s doing it all at his trademark speed.

But the thing that makes his gut twist is facing everything he (ran away from) left behind. The only short statement he’d given after Dabi’s video was nearly as viral as the actual video of him killing Jin (don’t think about it, don’t think about it—) 

He’s not sure what possesses him to pull out his phone and pull up the video. It’s not hard to find. 

It hurts to watch, but he does it anyway. Fucking masochist. 

He’s standing beside Enji and Tsunagu, all of them in hastily tailored suits. They all had their visible injuries. Scars and brands that had just been carved and burned into skin. They look haggard, they look beaten. 

Because they were.

Keigo watches as he adjusts his microphone in the video and gives his statement. Stupidly simple and vague, all at the same time.

“The villain Dabi did not lie. I am the son of Takami, and I killed Twice of the League of Villains. It was all necessary. Please accept my apology for the upset I have caused.”

His voice doesn’t even sound like him. It’s manufactured and broken. He remembers how the smoke had charred his throat and lungs for the first few days, before he was transferred from Central to the big facility in the tall-tree-ed forest. 

He bows on the video and Enji begins his statement. Something solemn about the suffering he’s caused his family, how he wants to atone and how he is atoning. The public was too angry to listen and is too angry to listen. And the world Keigo ran from is the result. 

He lets himself cry.

Finally.

His shoulders shake as he hunches over himself. The tears slip down his chilled cheeks and make little divots where they fall into the snow beneath him. His little gasps turn into sobs, the kind that hurt your chest and give you a headache that lasts for days.

He repeats a little mantra between scratchy breaths—

“I’m still good.”

“I’m still good.”

“I’m still good.”

He falls against the thick bark of a tree and slides down to the ground. 

He let’s go.

It’s good for him, cleansing. Maybe it’s the rushing of the nearby river or the snow he's buried his hands in, but with each ragged breath he can feel some of that filth that’s clinging to him fall away. Not all of it, not by a long shot. 

But feeling the worst is the first step to feeling your best. 

So, when Keigo’s ready, he stands and moves forward. Trudges onward, albeit a bit slower. 

...

Keigo returns home just as the sky begins to change from red to indigo with the night. It paints the pines and evergreens an eerie, dark color, shadows long and deep against the fluffy snow.

His gut twists in knots as he gets closer to home. 

He’s tired. Exhausted. His eyes are still puffy from his tears, sore and aching. His body still feels tight, tense in his shoulders and arms as he grips the steering wheel. He needs rest. A good cup of tea and maybe a beer later. 

And you.

As weak as Keigo feels, he knows he fucked up... just a bit. 

It wasn’t fair to storm out. He isn’t dumb. All the same, if he stayed with you in the cabin, he probably would’ve said something he regretted. Or locked himself in the bedroom all day. It wouldn’t have been good or fair for you or him. 

(Coward.)

Probably, but he was also burned alive fairly recently, so he had to give himself a bit of credit. 

As he nears, his stomach drops. 

You’re on the porch. You sit on the steps, parka pooling around your waist as your head rests on your knees.

Something’s not right.

Some of his old, honed senses trill to life, seeing you. Something in his gut twists, the muscles in his back tense, the old ones that controlled his wings. 

You must be cold. 

Keigo leaves the car and slaps on a smile, “Waiting for me, starshine?” 

You twitch, curling over your body harder. 

Something is very wrong— 

He calls your name, your actual name, and you hardly stir. You all but twitch from where you sit, head tilting up just the slightest bit.  It’s not enough to ease any of the worry pulling his old muscles, if anything, it makes it worse.

He falls to his knees in front of you, ignoring the crack his bones make.

“How long have you been out here?” Too long, he knows the answer, but he still has to ask.

“... A while,” You murmur, barely audible. “You’re back.”

“I am,“ Keigo pushes you up by your shoulders, scanning your face as more fear curls in his gut. 

Your eyes are glassy and unfocused.

“We need to get you inside, now,” He isn’t sure if he sounds scared or angry (probably both), and he can’t make himself care. 

You’re freezing.

Too cold, way too cold.

Keigo had to take plenty of survival courses during his training with the Commission and he had learned plenty about hypothermia. His avian anatomy made him more susceptible to the cold and knowing the symptoms for himself kept him from turning into a bird-adjacent popsicle more than once. He’d rescued his handful of civilians—

(Don’t think about being a hero right now or you’re gonna start crying again.)

You’re not some civilian, you’re you and you’re in front of him with darkened lips and dull eyes and full panic breaks his ribs.

...

You remember how pretty red the sky was.

You like sunsets. 

You should see if Keigo wants to watch the sunset sometime.

Keigo’s gone.

You could drive—

Keigo drove away. You’re alone.

You aren’t sure how long you sat in the chill, but it was comforting despite how your fingers and toes began to ache. Outside, there were plenty of sounds and sights to keep you company. The wind whistled through trees, and the sky echoed a few, far-off sounds from distant civilization. 

It was nice. Peaceful, at the very least.

...

“Inside, you need to be inside,” Keigo sputters, pulling you up under your arms. Your feet drag for a moment before going flat, and you sway in his arms. 

Getting you inside makes his body ache in new ways, your weight mostly on his side. Old pains crawled to the surface as he dragged you to the couch, setting you down on the cushion and assessing you better.

His hands run over your body, over curves and divots he knew and loved and the chill of you filled him with dread.

“Your pants are wet from the snow,” Keigo swallows, rising. “I’m going to grab you dry clothes.”

As soon as he tries to move away, you catch his wrist in a weak grip.

And finally, half-lucidly, you regard him with terror in your eyes.

“You l-left,” You spit, lips curling over your teeth. “You left, Keigo.”

You use his real name and he really wants to die a little. 

Sure, Suits used it on the phone with him and it made him see blood fucking red, but it’s you, and you saying the name he never really had, for the first time, so fucking angrily makes part of his secretly fragile heart break.

He freezes, breathing hard through his nose as he looks down at you.

“I’m sorry,” He says softly. “Let me get you warm, then we can talk, okay?”

You don’t look convinced, tightening your grip on his wrist and pulling him closer.

Keigo gives in, so, so easily, dropping to his knees and pulling your icy hands into his. He rubs warmth into them, bringing them to his lips and breathing hot over your knuckles.

“Please, starshine. Let me get you warm.”

“I’m already warm,” Your voice slurs, entirely unconvincing.

“I say this very lovingly,” He says, somehow cracking a smile, “but you’re genuinely hypothermic. You can be as mad at me as you want, but you need to get warmed up.”

You chew your lip, cupping his cheeks with your freezing palms, “... You’re not leaving?”

Your voice drawls and Keigo makes a note to turn up the thermostat.

“No, god, no, I’m not,” He tries to assure you, shaking his head, but your grip only gets harsher. He placates you with a squeeze to your knee. “Please let me help.”

He can’t tell you how much he needs to. How hyper aware he is of your chill and of his own thumping heart. That protective urge in his chest wants to just pull you to his chest and wrap you up in him, in his heat, but that’s for later.

Your eyes' gaze goes softer, little specks of light bouncing between your irises. The room fills with blessed, familiar heat and Keigo can feel his shoulders slacken and some of the worry in his chest dissipate.

...

He returns with some of his own soft joggers, fleece-lined and well-loved. He grabbed a few layers, and an armful of blankets and pillows. Anything he could carry gets brought as his little, avian mind craves something he suppressed for years so well.

Nest, nest, nest.

Heat them first, then nest. 

He helps you slip into your new, dry clothes as your teeth begin to chatter. Thank fucking god. Keigo is smart enough to check your toes as he slips onto fuzzy, thermal socks, and they all look to be healthy and functioning. 

You’re quiet during the whole ordeal, save for soft breathing and snapping teeth. You occasionally grab his hand and hold it to whatever part of your skin was bared, mumbling something about how warm he is. 

Keigo eventually gets you settled and surrounded by blankets and pillows which you sink into, eyes hardly open. Only then does he feel like he can pull away enough to start the nearby fire.

It feels somewhat unnecessary, given you’re still heating the room. It’s probably somewhat for the atmosphere, considering the sky is nearly fully black. A bit of crackling flame and light would do you both good. 

(He rarely lights fire, but considering the flame is a kind red and not a fucking disgusting blue, he can bear it. Especially now.) 

When the fire is stoked, he turns back to you and deflates. 

“I’m sorry,” You say, all soft and half-lidded from the blankets. “That was... dumb.”

“It was.” 

Keigo can’t fight you on the obvious. 

There’s a goddamn list of questions he wants to ask you. ‘Why’s and ‘what’s, but he has a pretty good idea of why you were sitting outside and what you were thinking. 

He’s not sure you’d want to talk about it anyway. 

The couch creaks when he sits down a few feet from your little nest, running a tired hand over his face.

“... You know, this couch folds out,” You shift a little, slow and lethargic. Still cold. “We should sleep out here tonight.”

He turns to regards you, and it takes everything in him not to fucking break.

“Why?” His voice shakes and he knows you can tell.

You hum, leaning toward him, “Change of scenery. I think we could both use it.”

“Later.” Keigo agrees. The urge to wrap you up in his (wings) arms feels unbearable, the little avian tickings in his skull loud and needy. “Warm first. Futon later.”

You huff weakly, but lift the blankets to let Keigo slip behind you. His body curls around yours, finding the coldest parts of you and tending to them first. His hands clasp over yours and your feet get tucked between his calves. 

“Thanks,” You murmur, neutral and vacant.

Keigo doesn’t push you.

Instead, you stay tucked in his arms, still shivering, but significantly less cold. Your lips and cheeks look a far healthier color and they’re warm to the touch. He traces his fingertips over the curves of your face and neck, preening in the only way he can muster up.

You eventually break the silence, when the fire is all but embers.

“I heard some of that call…” Your voice trails off. “It sounded bad.”

“It was,” Keigo agrees with a little nod. He really doesn’t want to think about Suits and, you know, the rest of the world, but it feels necessary. “Very bad.”

“Who was it?”

“Old boss.”

“… And?”

Keigo sighs, squeezing you probably a little too tightly, “Why don’t we focus on warming you up from your hypothermic excursion and not my shitty life as a shitty hero—”

“You weren’t a shitty hero, Keigo,” He can hear the mourning in your voice and it makes him want to die, just a little. You cup his cheeks, eyes sad and soft around the edges. “You were a really good one.”

“Was I? News to me.” He laughs, the bitter sound tasting like bile. He hates it, the feel of it mixed with the heat and softness of you. It feels wrong. “I don’t want to talk about all that, starshine. Please just drop it.”

Your face hardens.

“No.”

“… No?”

“No, I’m not done,” You sigh, big and hard. “I think we’re more fucked up than we talk about, Keigo.”

He winces, but you keep going, and he doesn’t move to stop you.

“Probably.”

Your jaw sets like stone on stone. It makes him internally wince as your hands go to cup his cheeks.

“I’m fucked up, you’re fucked up, everything is fucked up. We can ignore it up here, quietly, but it’s true, isn’t it?”

Yes.

“Yeah.” He feels his gut roll, but he doesn’t stop you. His grip goes tighter on your hips. “You’re not wrong.”

“Can we just… Acknowledge it? Please.” You ask, beg, softly as you rub his cheeks with your thumbs. “Please, Keigo.”

He doesn’t know what to do at first. He really wants to lock up. Shut down. Lock all the nasty feelings in chest, behind his heart, so they can burrow into his spine and keep him moving forward.

He wraps his hands around your wrists.

Your eyes look glassy, tears sticking in your bottom eyelashes, but not daring to fall. Not yet.

“Keigo, I’m fucked up, I know that, and that’s okay,” You deflate a little. “I’m getting better. We’re getting better. I know we are.”

“We a-are.”

Keigo’s voice cracks, hoarse in his throat and tight as the uniform belt he used to wear. His lungs feel hot, too stuffed even as he tries to swallow the heat that’s welling up on the very back of his tongue.

“You are good, Keigo, I promise,” You lean in to give his forehead the lightest kiss and Keigo feels part of himself die in the best way. “Please, let’s just talk.”

And so, he does.

…

He tells you about Jin first.

You’d heard about him, the villain Hawks killed during the War. Published for the world to see, over and over, forever. The video was one you’d only seen once, during your early days at the hospital, but you could recall the footage on your grainy hospital television.

Your pretty eyes, pretty Keigo, cut him down. One of his old feathers, hardened into a stiff blade, struck Jin across the chest, arcing up to his neck and slicing a few important arteries  and veins. It was an imperfect job, one that probably made his death more painful and prolonged than it needed to be.

You don’t let go of Keigo’s cheeks as he tells you the story. You can’t, you’re too busy thumbing away the little tears that roll down his cheeks.

He speaks between sobs that break from his chest. Underused and much-needed.

“He was good, starshine,” Keigo curls in a little on himself, but you keep him mostly upright. “I had to, y-you know? I didn’t have a choice, if I didn’t—"

How many more people would be dead?

His body convulsed, the little tears turning fat as he collapsed into your chest and buried himself in you. Like he was hiding, and god, did you let him.

You hushed him, soothed him with little kisses, and listened.

“And then Dabi—”

You hate him, obviously. You only know his name and visage, and you hate him so much it hurts. Part of you wants to rub at his scars like he lets you, but you decide against it in Keigo’s fragility.

He tells you of the blue flames, how the boot felt against his back, how his throat burned for weeks from the heat and smoke. His grip on you goes so tight, you’re afraid he’s going to tear your shirt to shreds.

“He took them, starshine,” Keigo’s voice muffled into your shoulder, the sound of it rattling you. “He t-took them!”

And he slumps against you, well and truly, and can’t muster up another word. All you could do is hold him, rocking him from your little, shared spot on the couch and whisper to him little comforts. You’re crying a little too, breath tight and hazy as you let Keigo shatter in your arms.

He’s not ready to talk about his wings and that’s okay. More than okay.

So, you soothe him. He soothes you right back, rubbing at your sides, hips, thighs— whatever he can reach and touch and claim. You’re good, you’re the closest he’s going to get to permeance and he’ll be damned to let you go when you feel so good and he feels so fucking awful.

You fall back onto the chest, pulling Keigo with you so he can lay atop you. His ear presses to your chest, heart thumping in his ear while you lock your arms around him. Caged in and held, with the lightest pressure on the thick skin of his scars.

“I’ll never truly get it, I can’t,” You admit, quietly as you smooth back some of his tear-matted hair. “But I want to be here. I want to listen when you’re want to talk. Need to talk. You can dash off on your own, Keigo, that’s okay. Just know that I’ve got you to, okay?”

Keigo sniffled, peering up at you with wide eyes, “Are you sure you can handle it?”

“I am now, aren’t I? Just a few hours out from nearly being a popsicle,” You hum and joke, glowing from the inside out when Keigo graces you with a little smile.

It takes a few more moments for him to cover, haul himself up to the crook of your neck and breathing hard and deep for a while. Like he’s trying to absorb you through scent alone.

“… Are you okay?” Keigo asks, squeezing you so tight it hurts. (And you want more of it.) “You’re not as cold anymore.”

“I’m feeling okay,” You paw at your face a bit, rubbing your cheeks like they’re still numb and not flushed with blood and sticky with drying tears. “I just freaked out a little.”

“… Because I left?”

You nod, chewing your lips.

“I don’t want to be alone, Keigo,” You whisper it, though he already knows your admission. “I’m terrified of you leaving.”

“When I left,” Keigo rises to meet your gaze, gooey and cobbled. “Did you think I wouldn’t come back?”

“… Maybe,” You shake your head, refusing to look at him. “You didn’t say anything about coming back, just about… leftovers.”

You both frown.

“I panicked.” You shake your heard.

“… That’s what happens when you panic?”

“I guess?” Your mouth feels too dry. “I don’t know. I got scared. I panicked. What else was I supposed to do?”

There’s an obvious answer or two, but it’s unspoken.

“I’m not leaving,” Keigo rubs at your cheeks. “You’re gonna have to try pretty hard to get me gone, starshine. I love you too much to go easily.”

It’s a declaration, a strong one, and god does it feel fucking good to hear.

“… Promise?” You ask him as his palms cup your cheeks and jaw.

“Promise.”

“I heard on the call—”

Keigo interrupts you with a kiss, hard and long that steals your breath and makes your head spin.

“Promise.” Keigo breaths, pretty eyes meeting your heat-filled ones. “Everywhere, all the time, forever. I promise, I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s a start, even if that insecurity is so deeply rooted. The adoration in his eyes, and the sweetness of his touch tempers it all. It’s there still, just like how there’s so much unspoken that needs to be sorted, chewed on, and digested.

But now?

The embers in the hearth need another log or two. The futon needs to be folded out and I’d be best if you shared a cup or two of tea. Preferably something with lavender that’ll scent the cabin with the smells of spring and herbs.

Now, you’re both more than enough.

…

thank you for reading!!💞keep an eye out for part 3! 👀

ko-fi

[the-lonelybarricade]

for the feysand oneshot, how abouuuutttt............ omg a feysand wedding!!!!! we've been deprived of it and you're the only one i trust to write it correctly :D

Hello my lovely anon! Sorry it took me so long to get to this one, I got a bit swept away yesterday and then I was prepping for the ACoFD upload today, but we got to it in the end! This one was a little tough for me because I may or have not already written a Feysand wedding scene for ACoFD and I didn't want this one to by a copycat.

Anway, here's a short and canon compliant wedding scene starting immediately after the end of chapter 60 in ACoMaF:

Read on AO3

“So I won my wedding ring without even being asked if I wanted to marry you.”

“Perhaps.”

Feyre cocked her head. “Do--do you want me to wear it?”

“Only if you want to.”

“When we go to Hybern… Let’s say things go badly. Will anyone be able to tell that we’re mated? Could they use that against you?”

Rage flickered in his eyes. “If they see us together and can scent us both, they’ll know.”

“And I show up alone, wearing a Night Court wedding ring--”

He snarled softly.

Feyre closed the box, leaving the ring inside. “After we nullify the Cauldron, I want to do it all. Get the bond declared, get married, throw a stupid party and invite everyone in Velaris--all of it.”

Rhys took the box from Feyre’s hands and set it down on the nightstand before herding her toward the bed. “And what if I wanted to go one step beyond that?”

“I’m listening,” she purred as he laid her on the sheets.

And Rhys slowly explained his plan to Feyre as he unwound her in his arms. A whisper of words across the valley of her chest, his tongue and lips emphasizing each promise of devotion. He summarized the vows with his head buried between her legs, and explained the ceremony as their body joined. It was certainly a thorough demonstration. Once Feyre had thoroughly become undone in his embrace, he kissed her lips, her neck, her stomach, her legs, and helped her dress.

Still lost to the stupor of their love-making, they snuck out of the town house with a twin pair of elated grins. Rhys looked about as dazed and in love as Feyre felt. She took the moment to savour the feeling, understanding that it was fleeting. That tomorrow, they’d wake up and go to war. But right now, she was walking through Velaris with her mate at her side and the stars above and everything was as it should be. This taste of bliss, it would be worth whatever tomorrow brings.

When they arrived at the temple, the two of them were nearly giddy, drunk on the love and joy throbbing through the golden thread that tied them together. Their sacred bond. The High Priestess was already waiting at the entrance, having been mentally notified of their arrival by Rhysand. She offered them a pleasant smile beneath the hood of her blue robe and bowed her head respectfully before she led them through the temple.

They were escorted into a room with large moonstone arches in place of windows, the space completely open to the soft, saltwater breeze blowing in from the Sidra. The ceiling above was carved with markings reminiscent of Night Court and at its apex, it opened to the night sky. Feyre stared up in awe, marvelling at the waxing moon that shone through, bright and bold among the star-swept sky. It was the perfect place to offer her heart to her mate and his court.

Feyre turned to face Rhys. He was staring at her, adoration plain on his face, and her face heated to realize that he’d been marvelling her in mirror to her gaping at the temple.

Of the glorious sights in the world, Feyre, your beauty surpasses all.

She raised her brows, stepping closer to her mate to play at adjusting the lapels of his jacket. The sight before me certainly challenges such a statement. She made a point of sweeping her gaze over him, stopping at those heartbreaking eyes that were staring at her with such a soft love. Feyre swallowed thickly, feeling all at once enveloped in warmth, like she’d been bundled in a pool of silk.

Rhys swept his arms around her, encircling her in his embrace as he pulled her closer. Then what a view the pair of us must be, he mused.

The High Priestess had been scurrying about, gathering items for the ceremony, but now she appeared at their side. Any mortal notions about modesty didn’t seem to exist in fae ceremonies, for the priestess seemed almost encouraged by the way Feyre and Rhys were clutching onto each other. She made no move to separate them as she began the proceedings, and Feyre was grateful for being able to stay in Rhysand’s arms, safe and warm and complete.

“Feyre Cursebreaker,” she began, her voice loud and clear. It echoed in the open space of the room, carried through the gentle wind, “do you swear to protect and serve the Night Court; to uphold its laws and stand against its enemies; to lead and govern its people; to be a just ruler; and to bow to no and nothing but your crown?”

Feyre pulled away from Rhysand’s embrace, but kept his hand grasped firmly in her own as she faced the High Priestess. “I swear on my life,” she answered resolutely. “I will protect and serve the Night Court and its people. I will lead and govern as a just ruler, and I will uphold the Night Courts laws and stand against its enemies. I will bow to no and nothing but my crown.”

“Kneel now, Cursebreaker, to your crown and country.” The High Priestess gestured to the symbols carved into the moonstone floor and Feyre realized they were standing on the inside circle of the Night Court emblem, the High Priestess just outside the carving.

Feyre nodded, bowing to her knees before the three stars of Ramiel engraved on the floor. The Priestess retrieved a shallow bowl she’d placed on the ground and raised it before Feyre.

“Drink now, from the water that flows through the streams of Ramiel, and let the Mother bless and protect you as the High Lady of the Night Court.”

Feyre raised her chin and drank from the bowl, letting the cool water stay on her tongue as she sent a silent thank you to the Mother and her Cauldron, for having been blessed with such a place to call home, and such a mate to stand beside. And as she drank, she felt her right hand tingle as a twin to her bargain tattoo etched itself into her skin like a lace glove, marking her as High Lady.

When the High Priestess removed the bowl, Rhys was instantly there, fingers placed under her chin. He used that contact point to raise her back to her feet until their lips met. He kissed her so tenderly it scorched her soul, branded her there irrevocably. No one’s touch would ever feel so harmonious, so magnetic.

Then, Rhys pulled away. For a brief second their eyes met, and the burning reverence she saw in those starkissed eyes was staggering. Her whole body felt ablaze as he dropped to his own knees before her, drawing the back of her hand to his lips. “My Lady,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “I will protect and serve. Always. Your word, your command, your will, they are as good as my own, and I will uphold them all. Every breath I take, it will be in your service. Everything that I have, it is yours. Will you take me, as your mate and husband and High Lord?”

“I will,” Feyre said, her voice cracking on the word as she fought against the emotion that clogged her throat, that stung the back of her eyes. Were High Ladies allowed to become blubbering, happy messes in the sacred temples?

Your High Lord has already become one, so I don’t see why High Ladies should be excluded, Rhys murmured. Feyre met his glittering eyes, where tears fell freely down his cheeks. With a sob, Feyre joined him on the floor, both of them kneeling together on the Night Court emblem.

“Will you take me, Rhysand?” Feyre managed to choke out through her tears. “As your mate and wife and High Lady?”

“I already have,” he whispered. “From the moment I met you, and long before that. I have loved you and accepted you as anything you would offer to me. And I always will. My wife, my mate, my High Lady. I love you with everything I am.”

“I love you too, Rhys,” she answered, throwing her arms around his neck to crash her lips to his.

She could taste the salt of their tears, but beyond that she could taste him. Her mate, the soul for her soul, the very person she’d been searching for all her life. And as they burned together on the temple floor, as bright and enduring as the stars themselves, Feyre thought that she was finding more than her other half. She was finding herself, her family, her home, everything that had always felt unattainable and farfetched. For so long she’d never known what it was to be loved, but now, in her husband’s arms, crowned as his equal in every way, she felt so much more than that.

For the first time since turning High Fae, she truly felt immortal. Powerful, everlasting, eternal. High on love and life as she kissed her mate endlessly under the blanket of moonlight. She’d never dreamed she could feel this way, so liberated, so unabatedly happy.

To the people who look up at the stars and wish, Rhys.

To the stars who listen, mate. And the dreams, like this one, that are answered.

Taglist:  @cretaceous-therapod @live-the-fangirl-life @feybaenc @imsecretlyaherondale-blog @tanvee1231

[witch-and-a-half]

saving up

i’m back with a fic! it’s longer than i’d originally intended because i got carried away with a new idea at the end but hopefully you still like it.

notes: fred x reader, fluff, 7th year, no specific house, georgie gets a few fluffy friend bits too

words: 2.8k

- - -

[y/n] was flabbergasted, “What? You don’t want to go to Honeydukes tomorrow? They’re having a sale, Freddie.”

Her boyfriend shrugged beside her, “I don’t feel like spending a lot of money right now.”

“Why? You and George have been doing such a good job selling things around school… you don’t want to treat yourself a bit?”

Fred gave a silly grin and wiggled his eyebrows playfully, “I’m saving up.” His chest puffed proudly.

The two of them had reached [y/n]’s classroom, so Fred gave her a quick peck on the forehead. His eyes were bright as she grinned up at him. “Fred Weasley… not interested in a trip to Honeydukes… I might have to take you to see Madam Pomfrey.”

He just laughed before heading down the corridor.

~ ~ ~

[y/n] spent the day in Hogsmeade with a few friends, and Fred stayed behind to work on some products with George. When she got back to the Gryffindor Common Room that evening, the twins were sitting on the couch wrapping sweets in colorful foil.

“How was your day?” Fred asked when [y/n] sat down beside him. He set the foil aside and pulled her legs across his lap.

She pulled a cellophane bag of sweets from her knapsack and held it out for him. “It was good! Honeydukes was packed but I managed to knock a few first years out of the way so I could bring you some sweets.”

This prompted a laugh from both Fred and George, which made [y/n] beam. George shook his head and Fred thanked his girlfriend with a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Looks like you’ve had a productive day.” And she gestured to the packages of products strewn across the mahogany coffee table.

“Yep, we have,” George said merrily. He was counting out coins, writing down their profit, and splitting it into two piles. Fred hummed in agreement and rubbed his hand on [y/n]’s thigh. “Here’s your bit Freddie…” George passed a handful of knuts to his brother, “... and here is mine. I’ve almost got enough for that new chess set.”

[y/n]’s hand fell atop Fred’s and she gave him an accusatory look, “See! George is going to buy himself something nice. I don’t see why you-”

Fred interrupted with a chuckle, “I told you! I’m saving!”

“You deserve to get something nice for yourself. You’ve both been working so hard.”

George was still writing something down but smiled widely at the comment. Fred just looked at her face intently.

[y/n] laughed at the faraway look in his eyes, “Don’t look at me like that! What are you saving up for anyway?”

Fred shrugged and made a gesture like he was zipping his lips closed. [y/n] was a bit frustrated, but it wasn’t her money and she knew she had no business telling him what to do with it. But she was just so proud of how successful the twins had been and knew this was the most spending money they’d ever had, so she was a bit excited to see them get to buy themselves fun little treats. And she was a bit disappointed that Fred was so reluctant to do so.

~ ~ ~

A couple of months passed and Fred was still hell-bent on frugality. At first, [y/n] had tried to ask George—who’d bought a chess set, a shiny new trunk, and a tailored tweed suit jacket to wear “someday”—why his brother was so opposed to buying something nice for himself, but George just shrugged it off, “That’s just how he is, I guess.” [y/n] made her peace with it by the time their anniversary came along though; in fact, she was the one to suggest that the couple have a nice date instead of exchanging gifts.

The weather was warmer than normal—spring was just around the corner—as [y/n] walked toward the Black Lake with Fred. Their hands were intertwined and swung slightly between them as they walked. Fred laid out a blanket on the far side of the lake, where they were least likely to be disturbed, and started unpacking the basket he’d brought. There were pretty sandwiches and pieces of fruit and a little package of miniature pies. “Oh!” [y/n] exhaled in admiration, “This is so lovely.”

Fred nudged her slightly, “The kitchen elves were very generous,”

She laughed and wondered which parts of the lunch Fred had asked the house elves for and which parts he’d snuck out of the kitchen himself. The two snacked and talked for what must’ve been hours. They talked about everything and nothing all at once. The sun was beginning to set when Fred unwrapped his arms from around [y/n], who sighed sadly at the loss of contact. She turned to see Fred pull a small box from the picnic basket.

“Oh, Freddie…” Her voice was marbled with excitement and disappointment, “We promised no gifts…”

“Don’t think of it as a gift. It’s just a…” His smile was softer than it had been earlier in the day, “... a token of my affection.”

He passed the box into her hands and [y/n] unwrapped it slowly. She shook her head as she did so, overwhelmed by the surprise. Inside the box was a beautiful silver locket with an intricate floral design. When [y/n] realized where it was from, her heart sank.

~ ~ ~

Over the past summer, Fred had come to visit [y/n] in her hometown for a few days. She took him to all of her favorite places around town. One day, they were downtown and stopped in a small vintage store. Fred wandered to the back of the store, where they kept all the old Muggle comics and other old trinkets, while [y/n] looked through the vintage dresses and skirts.

When Fred found [y/n] again, she was looking into a glass case by the register and chatting with the woman behind the counter. He stood beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist.

“It’s absolutely beautiful…” [y/n] said breathily to the older woman, who wore glasses with red frames and had her hair in a playful half-up bun.

The woman smiled at her, “It’s one of our finest pieces. I can pull it out for you to have a better look?” [y/n] nodded eagerly and the woman set the display on top of the glass casing.

Fred looked down at the necklace [y/n] was studying through the glass: a silver locket. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to be able to clasp the necklace around her neck and see her joyful reaction to wearing such a pretty little thing.

[y/n], however, was barely aware of Fred’s presence as she spoke, “It’s so lovely, but I could never justify spending that much on a necklace right now. Maybe someday though…”

The woman nodded gently as she put the necklace away, “I understand completely. Maybe someday you can come back for it.” The couple thanked the woman before heading toward the door.

[y/n] turned her attention back to Fred, who was holding the door open for her, as he spoke, “You really liked that necklace?”

She shrugged, feigning benevolence, “Oh it was pretty but I don’t think I’d ever wear something that pricey.” But she was simultaneously imagining coming back to the store in a few years—once she’d graduated and was working—to buy that necklace as a gift to her younger self.

~ ~ ~

And now, only a few months later, she was holding the necklace in her hands. Fred’s thumb was nervously rubbing circles on her thigh and he watched her examine the dainty piece of jewelry. Tears were beginning to well up in her eyes and she suddenly felt so undeserving of everything she had in that moment.

“Oh, Freddie… you shouldn’t… I can’t take this.” She blinked and the first tear fell slowly down her cheek. Fred’s eyes narrowed with worry and endearment, “Of course you can. Do you not like it?”

[y/n] shook her head furiously, “Oh no, I love it. It’s perfect… but you shouldn’t have spent so much on me especially since you’ve been saving-”

Fred cut her off with a gentle chuckle, “Love, what do you think I’ve been saving up for?”

As all the pieces fell together, [y/n] squeezed her eyes shut. She needed a moment to sort out her overwhelming emotions. Her thoughts only became cloudier when she felt Fred press a kiss to her temple and take the necklace from her hand. Fred moved so he was slightly behind [y/n] and gathered her hair over her shoulder, which caused her eyes to flutter open again. His warm hands brushed her neck as he clasped the necklace. She looked back at him to see the brightest grin she’d ever seen him wear.

Fred tenderly took her hand and used his other arm to hold her to his chest. Stars were beginning to appear in the sky, their reflections shimmering on the glassy lake. Fred’s fingers were brushing mindlessly through [y/n]’s hair as they sat tangled in each other. They sat in silence for a few minutes before Fred cleared his throat.

“You know how George and I talk about starting a shop in Diagon Alley?”

[y/n] shifted so she could see Fred better, “Mhm,”

His words came spilling out, tinged with worry, “We’ve been talking about… leaving school early and getting a headstart on it. Between Umbridge and exams and-”

[y/n] pressed her lips to his for a moment, overjoyed by the idea. She knew how talented the twins were when it came to these kinds of things. They loved a little spontaneity and a risk, and they always managed to pull it all off. There was absolutely no reason why this newest scheme wouldn’t be the same.

“If that’s what you want to do, I think it’s a wonderful idea.”

Fred looked shocked, he’d expected her to worry or even try to convince him to stay. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t go if you didn’t want me to.”

She smiled up at him. The loving look in her eyes melted his worries and filled him with relief. “I’ll miss you, obviously. But we can send letters and then once I’m done with school I can come help out if you and George’ll have me. I think you’ll do an excellent job and I’m excited for you.”

“What is a girl as wonderful as you doing with a bloke like me? Merlin, I love you so much.”

Fred’s lips were back on hers before she could return the sentiment.

~ ~ ~

They walked back up towards the castle, their path illuminated by the moon. Their hands were intertwined again, but their bodies were too close together for their hands to swing like they had when the sun was still out. [y/n]’s free hand wandered to the locket on her chest again, still in disbelief that it was truly hers now.

“I still can’t believe you spent all your savings on me…” She said quietly, half hoping that Fred wouldn’t hear her.

His hand tightened around hers, “I wanted to give you something beautiful.” Then he shrugged playfully and added, “Plus, it wasn’t all my savings.”

[y/n] was relieved, “Oh? So what are you going to do with the rest?”

Fred hummed, taking a moment to choose his next words carefully. [y/n] looked up at him to see a grin wash over his face as he spoke, “I’m saving that… for the future.”

She rolled her eyes, disappointed but not surprised by his answer. They took another few steps and [y/n]’s gaze was back on the path before Fred spoke again, his voice low, “... for our future.”

[y/n] felt a blush warm her cheeks under the cool night air. Fred looked down at her to watch a range of emotions flood her face. She looked like she was about to laugh and cry all at once.

~ ~ ~

Less than a month later, [y/n] watched Fred and George Weasley soar across the sky above Hogwarts. They were surrounded by fireworks and the sound of cheering students. When George spotted her in the crowd, he gave her a cheerful wave and called out to Fred. His eyes locked on hers, even from so far away, and he blew her an exaggerated kiss before the brothers turned to head off on their new adventure.

They hadn’t explicitly told [y/n] that they were planning to leave that day, but she’d known. She’d known because George had spent the day before studying with her in the library—even though he was subtly studying from a finance textbook that definitely wouldn’t help him on his Transfiguration exam. She’d known because both boys had given her some of their old clothes they’d found as they went through their trunks the night before, so now she had a cool pair of corduroy slacks and some soft-from-wear t-shirts to remember them by. And she’d known from the way Fred had kissed her that morning before her exam. The kiss was warm and needy and especially fiery. And, when Fred pulled away, [y/n] could see the sadness in his eyes.

[y/n] quietly watched the Weasley “W” fade from the air as the other students began to head back inside. Once there was no longer any evidence that there were ever any fireworks in the sky, [y/n]’s hand found the locket again. She was shaken from her trance when she realized she’d never opened it. Guilt washed over her as she wondered if Fred would have wanted to see her reaction to whatever was inside, and then she felt worried that maybe nothing was inside. Shakily, she pulled the necklace so she could see the dangling piece of silver and opened the locket.

Inside was a picture she’d forgotten even existed. [y/n] was standing beside Fred on the castle steps outside the Yule Ball. He had on a smart suit and her hair fell delicately on her shoulders. Fred’s arm was draped around her in the loose way it did before they started dating. She remembered that George was behind the camera, and she and Fred were laughing at something he’d said. As they laughed in the photo, Fred’s arm tightened and pulled [y/n] closer to him. She could still remember the butterflies in her stomach as he did so too. [y/n] felt tears prick her eyes as she watched the two of them in the locket. Out of all the photos and memories she and Fred had, he had chosen this one for her to wear around her neck. He’d picked a photo that was taken only a couple hours before he’d nervously admitted that he fancied her and she'd first felt his soft lips on hers.

She closed the locket gently and refused to let the tears fall from her eyes as she walked back into the castle. [y/n] traipsed through the mess in the Great Hall corridor and her eyes fell on one of the only Educational Decrees still mostly intact on the floor. Her eyes lit up as she read it, and immediately she picked it up, knowing exactly where it belonged.

~ ~ ~

[y/n] knocked on the door of the Weasley twins’ shop, a brown paper package clutched nervously in her hand and the silver locket hung dutifully around her neck. Fred opened the door and pulled her into a tight embrace.

“What’s this?” Fred gestured to the package as he led her inside. George was painting one of the shelves on the wall on the floor above them and gave [y/n] a wide grin before rushing down for his own hug.

[y/n] told Fred and George about the day they'd left. She told Fred about how she’d opened the locket just after he’d left and how touched she’d been. Then she told them about how she’d found an Educational Decree only slightly frayed by the chaos, and how she’d framed it as a good-luck gift for their shop.

The look in Fred’s eyes as she spoke was distant, he was so overjoyed to be reunited with the love of his life that he barely even registered the fact that she’d omitted which Decree she’d found.

“What’s it say?” George asked, and [y/n] handed the package to him. She looked at Fred, expecting him to watch his brother open their gift, but instead saw the soft look in his eyes, which were fixed on her. [y/n] beamed and came to stand closer to him as he turned to see George pull out the orange frame.

George’s face lit up as he read the words on the paper, “Oi, this is perfect!” Then he turned it for Fred to see. [y/n] looked up at her boyfriend and watched a cheeky smile spread across his face. He looked down at her in disbelief as George propped up the frame on the check-out counter.

Fred shook his head and kissed his girlfriend’s forehead excitedly, “What would I do without you…”

[y/n]’s hand pressed to her chest, atop her locket, as Fred leaned across her to re-examine the rule Umbridge had put into place back at Hogwarts.

“Educational Decree Number 30 - ALL WEASLEY PRODUCTS WILL BE BANNED IMMEDIATELY.”

[duskwood-legacies]

Words: Waves 🌊, home, longing, sky.

Genre: Up to you ;)

Pairing: Jake x MC <3

"Hues of Pink and Blue"

•Fandom: Duskwood •Pairing/Character: Jake x MC •Word Count: 1.7k •Genre: Romance, Fluff •Summary: Long ago Jake discovered a place, hidden away from human touch and left deserted inside the face of earth. Nothing but ocean waves and himself have touched the secluded area that provided him shelter from his most worrisome days. As time went on and courage took the best of him, the moment he'd share this place with MC had finally come. •Author's Note: At the end of the story

-----

Emotions flourishing inside his chest and thoughts filled with imagined reactions, Jake pulled MC behind himself. His fingers intertwined hers, holding on tightly as he marched on.

Dawn settled over the wilderness. Dragonflies and waking-up fireflies passed them, increasing the anticipating burn on Jake’s skin. He longed this moment to come. He longed for the day courage took enough of him to lead MC this way.

The path Jake walked down on his worst days, the course he had taken as hope vanished from his life.

MC followed suit, trust fated her bond with Jake long ago. Secrets became a foreign phenomenon to them, tying both of their souls tighter together, day by day.

“Jake! Careful!” MC shouted. In the heat of his eagerness, Jake had picked up his pace and almost made him and her tumble to the ground. “You’re gonna hurt yourself!”

As they ventured along the coastline, she pictured all kinds of places Jake could take her. Fields filled with flowers, a deep blue deserted bay, a waterfall they’d share a long and passionate kiss under.

Although, her imagination was beyond underestimating the extent of the beauty she would witness in mere seconds.

The sacred sight of a cave’s entrance struck Jake’s vision, making him smile like a foolish child. It was everything he wished to do, introduce MC to all the beauty hidden behind the face of earth.

Fatigued light coated the entryway. MC’s interest was piqued, her eyes, curious as a puppy, inspected the way Jake was leading her along, the place he likely was aiming for.

One final glance back, one final grin, shot through Jake’s face as he turned around. MC couldn’t stop the small laugh inside her throat. His face shone with so much excitement and happiness, it reminded her of a young kitten chasing a ball of tin foil.

Colorful lights crossed their way as they stepped foot into the translucent cave, a gasp resonating from MC’s direction. With carefulness and a pleased smirk Jake led her along the trails made of stone. The walls and ceiling were lined with hundreds and hundreds of luminous crystals, large as trees. A place long forgotten, long untouched by humanity.

Serene ocean waves sang their gentle songs through hues of pink and blue. MC’s gaze wandered in awe, mouth agape, eyes wide open and breath captured inside her lungs.

Jake maneuvered her through the cave with ease and confidence, determination edging his frame.

His gaze constantly fell behind, an act of assuring himself of MC’s comfort and safety. Each time a smile would climb onto Jake’s face, feelings of love and affection dawning back on him, exactly like the day MC first admitted her interest in him.

Memories of their first meeting flared inside Jake’s mind, every so small detail invading his subconscious senses. The way MC’s confident and cheeky self fell into a shy and held-back demeanor, the way it matched so well with those other aspects he fell in love with.

One moment would always linger along this memory. MC’s voice broke off the first time she laughed in his presence, causing his own to erupt into a fit of laughter. It was such a small thing to her, yet it kept a safe and dear place inside his heart.

The image made his skin tingle with happiness.

Jake stopped on top of a bridge nature has carved between two cliffs. He turned around, dedicating every fiber of himself to MC. Her smile was comforting, eyes so soft and excited it made his stomach feel bubbly.

With all gentleness he was capable to collect he caressed MC’s cheek, making new sparks ignite inside her chest. She understood they were thinking of the same day, the same faithful evening. Those colors the crystals were illuminating enlightened Jake’s face and irises with a capturing trance. MC savored every piece of this moment, imprinted every shade and detail in her head.

The gap between them closed and their eyelids fell shut. MC combed her hand through Jake’s hair before letting it rest on his cheek, lightly pulling him closer. Thunder rang inside their hearts and veins, every kiss they shared felt like the first one over and over.

They broke apart. MC chuckled, closing in to rest her hand and head on Jake’s chest. He pulled her into an embrace, holding her softly as a thin piece of porcelain.

After eons he pulled away. He led her farther into the cave, walking on and on as MC followed him suit.

The crystals formed a harmony of blue, pink and grey the deeper they went, the more they dove into the secrecy of this hidden place. Eventually a large, clearing like area laid ahead. Sparkles on the floor shimmered in the colors of the shining stones around. A glowing, ashen like shine entwined the place, the calmness of the moon seeping into Jake’s and MC’s frames.

In the middle of it all Jake peacefully pulled MC down with him, observing her reaction with attention and excitement. She seemed happy, awestruck.

Both sat in lulled silence, listening to the harmony the ocean melodies were offering.

Once more Jake looked aside, expression falling at MC’s now faded smile. She didn’t resemble an image of confidence anymore, more so she looked unsatisfied and drifted away in the wrong thoughts. She tugged on her crop top and attempted to pull her already high-waisted jeans higher.

Jake examined her with caution. No long after he recognized the root of the problem. A sting made itself present inside his chest, the thought of MC minimalizing herself to something so small, so natural ached him.

He scooped closer to her, wrapping his arm around MC and placing his hand under hers on the crop top.

No muscle of hers moved, no word of hers was spoken. Jake placed a kiss on her temple. Offering reassurance to someone wasn’t one of his core strengths.

“Hey, look” He whispered, pulling back from MC and greatening their distance vaguely. Her focus parted away from her invalidating thoughts, briefly finding serenity inside Jake’s voice.

Jake pulled his shirt up, squeezing the rolls his belly now had due to sitting down. “I have them too!”

A surprised and grateful smile slithered onto MC’s expression, contaminating Jake to join in. He remembered all those times she comforted him on his darkest of days. Somehow she had always managed to demonstrate him he wasn’t alone, proved his emotions weren’t suffocating him with no opportunity for escape. The least he could do was attempting to pay her back the exact same way.

They laid back down onto the ground, a deep breath passing MC’s lips and leaving Jake to wonder. Was his attempt enough?

The moon shone brightly onto their faces. MC reached out, fingers stretched out and arm extended, longing to touch the moon, longing to take off into the sky and leaving behind nothing but scattered memories and insecurities. Desiring to take Jake’s hand and walk the moon’s cold surface.

Her daydream was interrupted by fingers intertwining with hers. Jake softly pulled her hand down to his mouth, placing light kisses on its back over and over until he rested it on his chest. His eyelids fell shut to quiet giggles of MC, a soft breeze of fresh adrenaline rushing through his veins.

Peaceful silence, nothing but waves and their thin breaths were heard.

A quiet weep took MC off guard. She drew her attention to Jake, rolling onto her side and gaze lingering on him with a worried, unfelt touch. A tear on Jake’s face betrayed what his mouth wanted to say, rendering him silent instead of telling excuses.

“Love…?”

One word. One word was all it took to disarm him. A smile, soft as the silver light, formed on Jake’s lips at MC’s innocent whisper.

His reaction evermore confused MC. Jake’s hand increased strength and pressure around hers, pushing it even further into his chest. He swung his free arm to cover his eyes, a low laugh crackling from his mouth and warming MC’s senses.

Jake’s head turned to look at her. Her breath hitched, a warm sensation running over her body as MC looked into his mellow gaze. His eyes gleamed with admiration, void of all the saddened emotions she expected to see.

No words were exchanged.

Yet both souls understood.

Jake’s thumb tenderly brushed over MC’s on his chest. Lost in lights of silver, blue and pink on her face, his brain froze the moment and relished and memorized every inch of MC’s features. Her grace dimmed the light of the crystals, made them look like child’s play, like a flower amongst many. So ordinary, so normal.

“I cannot believe I found someone like you.” A soft mutter ranked through Jake’s voice. MC chuckled, cheeks heating up with the bliss his words brought into her spirit.

“Likewise”

For minutes they laid on the crystal dusted ground, doing nothing but gazing at one another. Their hearts fluttered inside their chests as subtle shivers and trembles crept through their bodies.

Overwhelmed by emotions Jake looked skywards, vision grazing the lenient moonlight. The illusion of a small cottage on top of a cliff, blacked out by the bright shine of a full moon appeared in front of Jake’s inner eye. Outside he’d sit with MC, stargazing, holding hands and enjoying nothing but the night and each other’s presence. The home he had dreamed for both of them.

Sudden movement interrupted his imagination. MC laid curled up beside him, her head rested on his stomach and her hand still firmly held onto Jake’s on his chest. A sight so divine, so angelic he desired to never move again.

MC’s gaze lingered on their hands, the beauty of a million cherry petals on top of a flowing river sparkling inside her eyes. She made him feel at ease, made him feel like he doesn’t need to fantasize about a perfect home. Any place with her was more perfect than the most gracious of mansions, the most comfortable of apartments and more home than any house could provide.

Jake laid his head back down, closing his eyes and snaking his free arm around MC.

Their souls were at peace. A tranquil moment they shared, enough to tighten their bond, their trust, to a point unfathomable by human mind.

A tranquil moment, enough to erase the rest of the world out of their heads.

-----

A/N: Hi everyone!!💕 Writing this story was a lot of fun and, I must admit, I'm incredibly proud of the setting!🌿 Thanks a lot to @dreamer-writer-fangirl for enabling me this opportunity by requesting four words for me to write a story about💕

[collapse-and-comfort]

*Chopped chef’s voice* Today I’ve prepared for you: Caretaker rescuing their S/O Whumpee who has been tortured for information they didn’t have. Served with comfort. Thank you, as always, @lurkingwhump​ for the incredible request! Bon Appétit! 💕

(CW: Implied torture. Nothing graphic, though.) 

Whumpee’s pulse beat a blessedly steady tattoo against Caretaker’s fingertips.

“Help me get them down,” Caretaker told their teammate. Their words sounded so far away that they wondered if they’d even spoken them.  

When Teammate began taking a blade to the rope that held Whumpee’s arms above their head, Whumpee came to with a sharp intake of breath and started to writhe. Teammate ceased their efforts and Caretaker put one hand on Whumpee’s side and the other on their face, careful to avoid bruises and cuts.

“No more,” Whumpee rasped. Their eyes looked right through Caretaker as they tried to twist away. “Please, no more.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Easy, Whumpee! Baby, it’s me! It’s me! Shshsh!”

Whumpee continued to squirm, but with their arms pinioned above their head, they became winded in seconds and they sagged in their binds.

“Look at me Whumpee,” Caretaker said. “Please, I’m right here. I’m here.”

Whumpee’s wide, mistrustful eyes settled on Caretaker. Caretaker was  unsure if Whumpee was going to lash out, or try to pull away again, but Whumpee stayed still, save for the rapid rise and fall of their chest.

“Caretaker?” Teammate asked.

“Go ahead,” Caretaker said without looking at Teammate. “We’re gonna get you down now, Whumpee. Okay? We’re gonna get you out of here.”

Uninterrupted, Teammate made quick work of the rope. Whumpee let out a yelp when their weight was no longer supported, but Caretaker was there to catch them.

“I’ve gotcha,” Caretaker said in a voice that was trying to convince themself as much as they were Whumpee. “I’ve gotcha.You’re safe.”  

“I don’t think they’re going to be able to stand,” Teammate said.

Caretaker knew they were right. They allowed Teammate to take hold of Whumpee and they reluctantly let go of them. Caretaker bolstered themself against the nearest wall and sank down as Whumpee weakly tried to wrest themself away from Teammate.

“I know, I know, Whumpee,” Teammate said. Whumpee was no match for Teammate in their current state, but Teammate looked equally as helpless as they held onto Whumpee and tried to comfort them. Inwardly, Caretaker applauded Teammate’s unerring gentleness. “We’re here, Whumpee. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not.”

“Alright,” Caretaker said as they motioned for Teammate to lower Whumpee down to them.

The process was graceless and fraught. Caretaker and Teammate hushed Whumpee all the while and when they were settled on the ground. Caretaker wrapped their arms, gentle and steely all at once, around Whumpee.

“Easy,” Caretaker encouraged as their fingers traced circles below Whumpee’s collarbone. “It’s just me, hon. It’s me.”

“Caretaker?” Whumpee asked as their eyes wandered over Caretaker’s face. Their movements slowly stilled as their body caught up with what a deeper part of them already knew. Caretaker had them. They were safe.

“Mmhmm,” Caretaker said as they swallowed down an upwelling of emotion. They used their thumb to brush the tears away from Whumpee’s face while ignoring the new dampness on their own. “I’m gonna take you home.”

Dazedness and disbelief clung to Whumpee’s features, but they nodded and leaned their head against Caretaker’s chest.

“You came,” Whumpee whispered, as though were afraid to shatter an illusion. Their fingers clutched at Caretaker’s shirt, anchoring themself, convincing themself. “You came.”

“Of course I did,” Caretaker said as they kissed the top of Whumpee’s head. Something boiled over in them as they wondered what Whumper had done to make Whumpee ever question that.  

Teammate gave a discreet clearing of their throat, but didn’t make a move toward Caretaker and Whumpee.

“Go call an ambulance and wait for it,” Caretaker said. Teammate turned on their heels and followed the order without hesitation. Caretaker suspected they were relieved to be away from the sight and sound of Whumpee. They couldn’t blame them. Not really.

“Gonna get you some help,” Caretaker told them. They repeated that along with sentimental nothings as they ran their fingers through Whumpee’s lank, greasy hair. Then they said what they never thought they’d have another chance to say: “I love you so much.”

Whumpee sobbed quietly and Caretaker soothed them. They took inventory of Whumpee’s wounds as best they could and Whumpee laid against them, warm and alive. Caretaker would have found Whumpee one way or the other, but during their search, in their heart, they’d expected to see Whumpee’s corpse each time they opened any door they might have been behind.

The echoes of approaching footsteps came from down the hall.

Whumpee lifted their head and made a small, questioning sound. When the paramedics entered the room, their body went taut and they let out a strangled, animal noise. Whumpee’s back pressed hard into Caretaker’s chest and their arms, weakened from having been bound, flailed.

“No! N-no no no! Please!” Whumpee cried. They sounded as though something was crushing the air from their lungs.

“Get back,” Caretaker grunted as they waved the newcomers away with two harsh swipes of their hand.

Whumpee bucked against Caretaker and kicked out blindly. The paramedics backed up, but Whumpee continued to struggle and beg.

“Whoa, Whoa, whoa! It’s okay, Whumpee!” Caretaker said as they pinned one of Whumpee’s arms along their side and wrapped their other arm around Whumpee’s chest. Caretaker reined in their nerves and their tone. “Sweetie, it’s okay. Shshsh.”

“I don’t know!” Whumpee choked out as they thrashed. “I don’t know I don’t know I dunnoooo…”

Senseless and uncontrolled, Whumpee struggled and wept. Caretaker moved one of their legs so it was settled over Whumpee’s and they readjusted their grip on their upper body, pulling them closer as tenderly as they dared. They sat their chin on Whumpee’s shoulder. Whatever pain Whumpee’s injuries caused them was overshadowed by their panic.

“I’ve got you, Whumpee,” Caretaker told them. “They’re just here to help. I promise, honey. Ssssshhhh. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

Whumpee shook their head, but their energy began to flag and once they stopped thrashing, Caretaker could feel the way they were trembling. Whumpee’s body had never felt wrong against theirs, but it did now. It was too lean, too wired, as though the only thing animating it was terror.

“I don’t know,” Whumpee said. Each word was interrupted by a desperate gasp, but they continued chanting those three wretched words.

“It’s okay, Whumpee. You don’t have to know. You don’t have to say. Just breathe for me.”

Whumpee pulled in a breath that went on and on as though their lungs would never fill. Caretaker was certain Whumpee was going going to pass out. But then the air stuttered back out of them and they collapsed against Caretaker with a broken little sound.

“Okay, that’s it. Okay. Just like this,” Caretaker said as they put a hand over Whumpee’s chest and took an exaggerated breath in. “Just do what I’m doing.”

Caretaker slowly and deliberately exhaled and patted Whumpee’s chest. By the third time they did that, Whumpee was following along stiltedly. Caretaker praised them as they let go of Whumpee’s arm and brushed their hair back. They remembered the last time - and so many of the times before that - they'd run their hands through Whumpee’s hair. Now Whumpee’s hair was matted and dirty. It wasn’t a priority, not in the least, but Caretaker needed Whumpee to be clean and comfortable. And safe.

They’re safe now, Caretaker thought as they pressed a kiss to Whumpee’s jawline. Whumpee’s breathing hitched, but it was less frantic.

“Good, Whumpee,” Caretaker said as they moved their leg from over Whumpee’s and rested it alongside them. “You're doing so good.”

Whumpee slouched and began to reposition themself.

“Hey,” Caretaker gently said they loosened their hold on Whumpee. They were surprised and relieved when they felt Whumpee’s weight curl into them again, asking for comfort. Caretaker didn’t notice when tears began to soak into their shirt, and Whumpee’s quiet sobs were the only thing they heard. “I’m here, honey. Just let it out.”  

They did.

Caretaker wrapped an arm around Whumpee and with their other hand, they stroked their back and leaned their head down to meet Whumpee’s. They cradled them like that and Whumpee brought a hand up and grasped Caretaker’s forearm. The touch was familiar and so, so welcome.

Caretaker caught movement on the other side of the door. Whumpee’s hand tightened on them and Caretaker met the gaze of one of the paramedics, whose presence they’d all but forgotten. Caretaker held up a discrete finger.

Just a minute, they pleaded in silence.

“Whumpee?” Caretaker asked once the paramedic gave them a nod of understanding. “You with me?”

Whumpee searched Caretaker’s face. Caretaker had to keep themself from dropping their gaze to avoid all the hurt and uncertainty in Whumpee’s glassy, bloodshot eyes; they couldn’t let Whumpee down like that. Not after everything they’d already endured.

Whumpee licked their chapped lips. Their gaze skirted downward, but they nodded and pressed themself closer into Caretaker.

“Good,” Caretaker said. “That’s good. I’m going to take you out of this place, but can you...I need you to let the paramedics help, okay? They just want to make sure you’re alright. They’re not going to hurt you. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”  

Caretaker held their breath as they waited for a response.

“‘kay,” Whumpee mumbled into their shirt.

Caretaker lifted their chin, giving the paramedics permission to approach.

“Squeeze my hand as hard as you need to,” Caretaker said.

The paramedics’ words and gestures were efficient and gentle, but there was caution there too. Rightfully so, Caretaker knew. Caretaker talked and Whumpee listened. They held them through every flinch, and every groan. Caretaker kept Whumpee’s focus on them with kisses and reminders to look at them. All Whumpee needed to do was let them help.

Whumpee’s eyes grew heavier each time Caretaker’s fingers traced over their forehead.

[lumosinlove]

Sweater Weather

(warnings in tags)

part xvi

“Will you be okay here?”

Sirius watched Regulus stare around at his large, empty house. Regulus raised his eyebrows.

“Is Tom Riddle here? Or Severus Snape?”

Sirius scoffed. “No.”

“Then, yes. I’ll be okay here,” Regulus jerked his chin towards the door. “I know you have things you need to do.”

Sirius nodded, jingling his keys in his pocket nervously. “Yeah. I…Yeah, I showed you the fridge, take whatever you want, and there are a bunch of bedrooms to choose from. PlayStation and shit in the basement, there’s a synthetic rink if you want—”

Regulus snorted. “Of course, there is.”

Sirius smiled, rubbing the back of his neck, fingers finding the chain of his necklace. “There’s—”

“Sirius,” Regulus raised an eyebrow and sat down on a kitchen stool, pointedly taking out his phone. “I’ll literally be fine. I know how to drive, I know how to cook.”

It was Sirius’ turn to raise an eyebrow.

Regulus rolled his eyes. “I know how to order take out.”

“Right.”

“Don’t worry. I know this is weird. Go see your boyfriend.”

“Are you sure? I could take you to Dumo’s.”

“The last thing I want is to be fussed over right now,” Regulus said. “I’m probably going to go nap or something, okay?”

Sirius nodded slowly, swallowing. “Okay. Okay, um, I mean, I don’t want to assume anything, but I also—I might not be back tonight?”

Regulus laughed, and it was familiar. So familiar it hurt and felt good at the same time. “I should hope not, if all goes well.”

Sirius laughed, too, maybe a little awkwardly.

“Bye,” Regulus said, then, more softly. “And thanks.”

Sirius watched his garage door open slowly, coat pulled tightly around him as he pressed the button to start his car. His little brother, his previously estranged, hockey runaway brother, was hanging out in his house while he went to tell the love of his life that he loved him. Sirius took a deep breath, and put the car into reverse.

Remus knew he was coming, had told him to come. Things had been good on the phone, Remus had told him to hurry. Sirius wanted him with every movement. Drumming his hands on the wheel, glancing in each of his mirrors, puffing his breath out in fog. Sirius’ hands were jittery as he parked the car and jogged his way up the stairs instead of taking the elevator, just to try and calm himself down. The result was that Remus’ door was looming in front of him much sooner than he expected and all there was left to do was knock.

In Sirius’ gut, there was the chance Remus didn’t want him after all. There was the chance that he was still laying on the ice, blood his only companion, pretending he could want this boy.

It took a few moments, each one feeling longer than the last, until the door was swung wide to reveal Remus, soft in a too big sweatshirt. They stared at each other.

“Hi,” Sirius fidgeted, his hands in the pockets of his long, wool coat. “Sorry it took so long, I have, um—”

“Your brother at your house,” Remus finished for him. “Are you okay? What’s…I mean, I want to know what’s happening with that but first, I…” Remus looked up at him with large eyes that practically broke Sirius’ heart.

Sirius took a long breath.

“I’m just going to say it. I don’t want to accept the things I’m not happy with,” Sirius took a step inside, Remus’ chin tilting up to hold his eyes. “I never want to run again. Re… I’m so sorry. I’ll wait, I’ll leave, I’ll stay. Tell me what you need? Please?”

The air stilled between them. Remus’ apartment smelled warm, like late-night coffee and the fleece blanket he kept on his couch. Remus looked at Sirius like he was everything, just stumbling through his door. He reached up and took the edges of Sirius’ coat, pulling him inside the apartment. Sirius took that as the sign he longed for. He stepped forward again, their chests nearly together, and pressed his fingers to Remus’ neck. Remus closed his eyes at the touch before looking back up at him with a small smile.

“You’re doing what I need,” Remus said. “What do you need?”

“I’m scared of a lot of things right now,” Sirius whispered. “But I’m the most scared of losing you.”

Remus brought his hands up to hold Sirius’. “You are?”

Sirius hated that Remus even questioned it. He couldn’t seem to get close enough, pressing them together, feeling Remus’ warmth through his shirt, breaking through the cold wool of his coat.

“Remember what you said? What you said about people who told me I wasn’t good enough?”

Remus’ hands tightened around his wrists. His eyes filled, becoming bright, and he nodded. “I’d make you forget.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Sirius said softly. “But I didn’t need you to make me forget.” He stroked his thumbs through the slow tears that blinked down Remus’ cheeks. “I needed you, so I could see that they were wrong.”

Remus let out a tear filled breath, curving a hand around the back of Sirius’ neck.

“Re,” Sirius whispered, brushing their noses together. “I see now.”

Remus pulled him in. “C’est l’heure?” He twisted his wrist, making his watch flash in the dim light. It’s time? he had asked.

Sirius smiled, tears in his throat, relief in his chest. “Oui. Mon vœu.”

“Sirius,” Remus said, and pulled him in, arms tight around his neck. “Sirius, Sirius…”

Remus said his name until they were kissing, the door swinging shut behind them. Remus kissed Sirius hard, hands on his cheeks.

“Re,” Sirius said. “I love you. I love you so much, I love you—”

Remus laughed wetly, a sound of pure relief as he kissed Sirius again and again. “I love you, too.” He said it between each kiss.

Something released inside Sirius’ chest, something so long knotted that it had nearly melded together, something tight that, now snapped loose, made him gasp and stumble. Remus swallowed it, kissing him tenderly, hands in his hair.

They parted, finally, and looked at each other again. Remus broke into a smile first, palms passing over Sirius’ wind-cold cheeks.

Sirius kissed Remus again. “Merde, do you want to go out to dinner and, I don’t know, make out the entire time? Hold your hand and…”

Oh. Sirius wanted to hold Remus’ hand.

Remus laughed. “That is something we could do now.”

Sirius had barely let himself thing about it, all the possibilities, but now that he was, it was overwhelming. They’d get looks, comments, he was sure, but he was more than used to that. He would get looks, comments, slurs…but he’d also get Remus. Remus, who he could keep.

“I want to,” Remus said, but at the same time he pushed at the collar of Sirius’ long coat, easing it off of his suit clad shoulders. “But…what if I want you all to myself first?”

Sirius took in a long breath. “You have me.”

Remus leaned up for a kiss before hanging Sirius’ wool coat on the coat rack by the door, his suit jacket to follow. Sirius was standing in his white button down and tie, his slim trousers and his shoes, until Remus tapped them with his socked-feet and he toed them off.

“Come on,” Remus said, then smiled as he pulled him through the room. “I love you.”

Remus’ bedroom was familiar and warm, a relief from hotel rooms and the crowds. His bed was made, if not rumpled, and there was a few of of Sirius’ t-shirts folded on the dresser. The sight of them warmed Sirius thoroughly. It made him think of his empty house, Regulus there now. It made him think of Remus there, Remus living there.

Remus’s fingers rose to the buttons by Sirius’ neck, undoing them one by one.

“I missed you so much,” Remus said. “God, I can’t even…” Remus laughed, pressing a kiss to Sirius’ neck. “It feels like I saw you years ago.”

Sirius kissed Remus’ temple and Remus made a soft sound and finished off Sirius’ buttons, kissing the skin revealed as he eased the shirt away. It fell to the floor and Sirius reached for Remus’ sweatshirt hem, pushing it up until it fell, too.

Sirius looked at Remus’ shoulders, but he couldn’t even tell which one Greyback had destroyed. He bent anyway and placed a lingering kiss on each one. Remus watched him do it, hand in his hair and breath coming faster.

“Re,” Sirius began.

Remus ran his hands over Sirius’ shoulders. “You’re going to ask me about Greyback.”

Sirius hesitated, but nodded. “What—What he said, Remus. I can’t even…”

“It’s not a complicated story, and…and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all of it,” Remus glanced up at him before looking straight ahead at Sirius’ necklace, glinting gold and silver in the light.

“He cornered me after a game,” Remus said slowly, and Sirius held him closer, standing there together, half-bare at the foot of Remus’ bed. “Scouts were there. They’d talked to me first. People were saying that I would be…”

“Number one,” Sirius said, and Remus nodded.

“He cornered me in the recovery room. I was always the last one in there. And he dislocated my shoulder. And then just sort of…” Remus’ hand flew to his throat, fingertips brushing the soft, strong curve where his shoulder met his neck. “Just sort of kept pulling.”

“Oh, mon coeur,” Sirius breathed.

“Told me to hide it. Told me I was ruined. He’d hit me earlier that game,” Remus let out a tight laugh. “Pretty weird thing coming from a teammate, and he was super apologetic afterwards. I didn’t understand what had happened. But now I realize it was to explain my injury for the cameras. He told me he knew. But there was no way he could have. But I was scared.”

Remus looked up at him. “There.” He pressed his hands to Sirius’ cheeks and kissed him again. “That’s the story. And I’m not scared anymore.”

“Thank you,” Sirius said. “Re, you can trust me with anything, I know I was wrong—what I did—but you can.”

Remus shushed him softly, and Sirius closed his eyes, leaning their foreheads together.

“Baby, I trust you because you were wrong. You were wrong, and you owned up to it. What in hell is more trustworthy than that?”

They were both slowly stitching back together.

“You don’t have to apologize anymore,” Remus said. “Okay? It’s us now. It happened and we’re surviving pretty fucking well.” He grinned into their next kiss. “We’re in love and maybe the world’s not as bad as we thought it was.”

Sirius thought of the shock waves, one after another, and knew that this must be what it felt like to be settled, really settled. The landscape looked different, but it was better.

“I love you,” Sirius laughed, and took Remus’ hips in his hands, walking him slowly back towards the bed and making Remus smile. “And I want you.”

Remus’ hands went to Sirius’ belt, the buckle jingling softly as Remus undid it.

“You have me,” Remus said as his hands pushed beneath Sirius’ pants, easing them down for Sirius to kick off. Sirius was left in his underwear, Remus still had his sweatpants on. They were still both mostly soft, but Sirius wanted to change that. He wanted to love Remus in as many ways possible.

“Lay back,” Sirius said softly, pressing a kiss to Remus’ mouth, his cheeks. He eased Remus back onto the bed with more kisses and soft hands until Remus was pale against the pillows and his arms were around Sirius’ neck. His kisses began to feel frantic after a moment, like he was afraid to stop. Remus’ fingers were tight in Sirius’ hair and a few soft, high sounds escaped whenever the broke before he was tilting his chin up with bruising kisses. Sirius pulled back with a few softer ones until they were looking at each other again.

“I’m not leaving,” Sirius said, settling between Remus’ thighs. “I’m here.”

Sirius felt some of the tension leave Remus’ body and watched his eyebrows draw together. He nodded.

“I know,” Remus said. “I just—now that you’re here, the moments when I thought you might leave hurt more. But…it’s because I’m happy.” Remus’ fingers were softer now, brushing Sirius’ hair back lovingly. He laughed a little. “If that makes any sense.”

Sirius kissed him slowly, and felt the last of the tension leave. “It does.”

They kissed for a long time. Sirius didn’t know how long. He knew his lips felt raw and warm, that Remus was pliant and making soft sounds, and that their cocks were hard against each other. There was no urgency.

It was incredible, how much room there was for good things when you finally believed yourself to be good, too. And Sirius did. He didn’t regret himself anymore and he wasn’t ashamed. All that energy was being poured into himself. Into Regulus. It would be poured into his team and career. And finally, into Remus. Sirius felt light with it, like stepping from the ground onto the ice.

Remus’ hands went to Sirius’ boxers and pushed them down as they kissed. He swallowed Sirius’ groan as his cock pressed up freely against his stomach and reached down to gather the wetness down the shaft. When he started to press his hips up to get out of his sweatpants, Sirius leaned back and pulled them away, leaning forward to kiss his hips and stomach, back up his chest to his collarbones, and finally his shoulder. Sirius sucked warm kisses to where his muscles, once torn, dipped powerfully around his neck and arm, and then slotted their hips together with, finally, nothing between them.

“I want,” Remus breathed as Sirius rutted against him. He pressed his palms against Sirius’ back. “Sirius…”

“Yeah?” Sirius said. He’d do anything. He wanted everything.

“Will you fuck me?” Remus said softly, fingers in Sirius’ hair, pulling him in for another kiss. “Baby.”

Sirius half laughed, half groaned, and Remus smiled into their next kiss.

“Will I?” Sirius said and Remus laughed, too, hands pressing down Sirius’ back.

“Yes,” Sirius whispered, sucking a kiss into Remus’ jaw, his throat. “Yes…”

He throbbed with the thought of it, fingers shaky when Remus handed him a small bottle of lube that Sirius remembered from their first time, from Remus fucking Sirius.

Sirius rubbed a thumb over Remus’ hip, stroked his cock a few times, making him sigh. “Tell me what’s good, okay?”

Remus nodded, thighs spreading and feet planted on the bed.

Sirius went slow, watching Remus’ face more than anything else. Remus sunk back into the pillows, throat bared as Sirius kissed him, fingers gentle inside him. Remus kept him close, breath hitching as Sirius opened him up.

“It’s okay?” Sirius breathed. “Tell me, sweetheart.”

“Yes,” Remus said, and his mouth dropped open when Sirius curled his fingers. “Sirius.”

Sirius bent to kiss Remus’ jaw, his necklace brushing against Remus’ chest. Remus arched against him, breath hot against his neck as Sirius stroked his prostate. Remus’ cock drooled on his stomach, his hand tight around Sirius’ bicep.

“Love you,” Sirius whispered with a kiss to Remus’ jaw.

“Love you,” Remus gasped. “Love you, love you…”

Sirius moaned when he felt Remus tighten around his fingers, “Re…”

Remus tangled his fingers in Sirius’ hair, angling him into a deeper kiss. “I’m ready. Baby, I wan…”

Sirius pressed his fingers in one last time, drawing a high sound out of Remus that ended with a breathless laugh, brows drawn together.

“Fuck, you’re good at that.”

“Because I’m in love with you, that’s why.”

Remus wrapped his legs around Sirius’ waist. “Oh, yeah?”

Sirius pressed gentle kisses to Remus’ neck. He reached down a hand to wrap around Remus’ cock, giving it a few slow pulls before reaching for himself. “Je t’adore, mon vœu.”

Remus’ mouth dropped open as Sirius pressed into him slowly. “Oh—” Remus’ legs tightened around him, fingers pressing to his back. “Yes, baby, yes.”

Sirius wrapped his arms around Remus’ back until they were flushed together. It was mesmerizing, being close to him like this. Sirius drew in an unsteady breath at the heat, at Remus’ heels pressing against his ass. He watched Remus’ face as he pulled out until the tip caught, watched his eyes open and find his, amber in the dim light. He pushed back in, just as Remus pressed a hand to his cheek, thumb tracing over his bottom lip. Sirius closed his eyes, leaning into his palm.

“So good,” Remus breathed, his fingers sliding back into Sirius’ hair to pull him down for a kiss. His breathing hitched as Sirius pulled out and pushed in again. “So good…”

They were breathing each other’s air, the sweat shining Remus’ skin catching the light and drawing Sirius down to kiss it, tasting the salt on his throat and shoulders. He kissed his shoulder again and again, and Remus held him closer as he brought their hips together again and again.

“Re, you’re so—you feel—”

“Come here,” Remus said.

“I’m right here.”

Remus smiled, arching his back as Sirius snapped his hips forward again. “No, come here.”

Sirius didn’t have time to figure out what he meant when Remus was rolling them over. Sirius found himself on his back, laughing as Remus smiled down at him, pressing kiss after kiss to his mouth.

“C’est une…what,” Sirius panted. “Une cowgirl?”

Remus laughed, lacing their fingers together and pressing their hands over Sirius’ head. “I like to see you.”

Sirius groaned as Remus rocked down on him. He tightened his fingers around Remus’. “Fuck, Loops.”

Remus’s cock drooled onto Sirius’ stomach and Sirius felt his own pulse at the sight. Remus sat back, thighs tight around Sirius’, and ground down, hands slipping to press against Sirius’ chest.

Sirius felt his orgasm building as he looked at Remus’, how his eyes were closed, how it was Sirius who was making him feel this way. “I’m not going to last.” Sirius gripped Remus’ hips.

Remus leaned down to kiss him again, fucking back on Sirius in slow, hard thrusts. It pulled sounds out of Sirius before he could stop them, and he wrapped his arms around Remus’ shoulder. The pressure trapped Remus’ cock between them, making Remus’ hips stutter.

“Sirius,” Remus’ hips stilled as he panted. Remus clung to him, forehead against Sirius’ temple. Everything was momentarily still, breathing each other’s air, soaking in each other’s presence. 

“I have you,” Sirius pressed their mouths together and eased Remus on his back again. Remus looked gorgeous, turned on and needy, in Sirius’ arms. His hair was sweaty against his temples, eyes hazy and hooded, but happy. Sirius pushed his hair back from his forehead and kissed him, feeling like he couldn’t help it. “Je t’ai, je t’aime.”

Remus moaned, and locked his ankles around Sirius’ back, holding onto his shoulders from under his arms. “So good, baby, you’re so good—”

Sirius fucked his hips forward slowly, the same as Remus had been doing, and felt high on it, felt Remus tight and hot around him.

“I’m—I need to—”

Sirius groaned, pushing into Remus faster. They were panting into each other’s mouths in what would have been a kiss if they weren’t breathing so hard. Sirius felt his orgasm building again, cock hard and heavy inside Remus.

Remus got loud as Sirius sped up, breath punching out of him. He moaned Sirius’ name, heels digging into Sirius’ ass so that his cock rubbed between them.

“Sirius—Sirius—” Remus clung to him as he began to come.

Sirius fucked him through it, Remus’ mouth open as his cock pulsed between them, splashing hot against his chest. Sirius’ lips were against his jaw as he pressed in one more time and stayed there.

“Ah—” Remus’ eyes flashed open as Sirius stayed inside of him, grinding in and barely breathing. “Yes, yes—”

Sirius felt himself start to come before he could say, gasping and pressing closer to Remus. “Re…” Sirius couldn’t describe it, the heat on heat as his cock pulsed itself inside Remus.

The room quiet, the air conditioning cool against their sweaty skin. Remus took a breath in and then he was kissing Sirius again, slowly. Sirius’ kisses felt messy as he came down, and he let himself just be kissed. Remus turned them on their sides, leg still against Sirius’ hip, and they both sighed as Sirius, too sensitive now and soft, slipped out of him.

“Love you,” Remus whispered, then laughed quietly. “Fuck, that was amazing. Oh my god,” he mumbled the next words into their kiss.

Sirius smiled, breathing hard, and let his eyes slip closed as Remus kissed down his neck. “Are you going to let me take you out to dinner now?”

“Depends,” Remus laughed. “Can I reach across the table and wipe pizza grease off your lip as much as I want?”

That made Sirius laugh loudly, and he felt Remus’ own laugh against his chest.

“As long as I…” Sirius reached for Remus’ hand and their palms slotted together. He watched their fingers lace. “Can hold your hand.”

Remus sighed against him. “I think that sounds like a deal.”

~

Gryffindor was still freezing, but Remus was warm. Sirius drove them to Sid’s with one hand on his thigh, and, although out of sight, it didn’t matter who saw.

“You’re going to get pineapple pizza again?”

Remus laughed. “You remember?”

“I remember.”

“Yes,” Remus said, and patted his hand. “And you’re trying some this time.”

“I’ll try anything.”

“Wow, that’s such a lie.”

“Non,” Sirius squeezed his knee. “I will.”

“You’re too superstitious,” Remus laughed.

Sirius nodded grudgingly and Remus leaned over the center consul and pressed a kiss to his neck, just below where his hair curled.

“Were you?” Sirius asked quietly, glancing over at him from the road. “Superstitious, I mean.”

The question was one Remus had carefully not thought about for a long time, but he slot his fingers in-between Sirius’ and let himself remember.

“Very,” Remus said after a moment. “Almost to your level, so I really shouldn’t make fun of you…” he laughed, and then sighed. “But…it didn’t get me anywhere, you know? I can eat the same thing and do the same thing but…I’m as healed as I am today because of hard work.”

Sirius brought their hands up and kissed the back of Remus’ as they pulled into Sid’s parking lot and put the car into park.

But,” Remus smiled over at him. “I did luck out meeting you. And the boys. And with my life.” He reached over and cupped Sirius’ cheek, because he could, and kissed him. “And you.”

“So, luck does matter,” Sirius grinned. “Luck and hard work and you.”

“I suppose. Now come eat some lucky pineapple pizza with me.”

Sirius laughed as they got out. “Yes, sir.”

“Hi,” the host said. “Welcome to—oh my god.”

Sirius sent him a smile, his arm tight around Remus’ waist. Remus could tell he was nervous.

“Hi,” Remus said. “We were hoping we could get a table for two?”

The boy stared at them, eyes wide, and then nodded slowly. “I…yes. Yes, of course.”

As he lead them to their table and set their menus down, Remus could tell he was dying to say something. He managed to hold out until he was pouring them some ice water when—

“I really won’t make this a big deal, like, seriously, I won’t, but—I just—you guys are amazing. I’m like—Sirius Black: He’s gay, he’s incredible, he’s dating the hot guy who’s always on the bench.”

Sirius laughed and Remus felt his face heat.

“It’s really incredible, what you’ve done for our community,” the boy said. His name tag said Nate.

“Oh, no, we didn’t…” Sirius began, then looked at Remus. “I mean, we didn’t really do anything.”

“Yes, you well freaking did,” Nate said, setting their silverware down and looking at Sirius straight in the eye. “You didn’t deny it. You’re accepting it now. You renounced the hate. Have a fan-fucking-tastic meal, your pizza and drinks are on me.”

Remus gazed after him, mouth open and beginning to smile, then turned back to Sirius. Sirius looked back at him, and both of them just stared at each other. Sirius looked after Nate again and let out a laugh.

“That was…really nice.”

“Yeah,” Remus laughed, too. “Really nice.”

“I never…” Sirius looked down, pulling his water glass forward. “I guess I never thought about it like that. Being part of a community. Like a team?”

“I don’t know if I have either, actually,” Remus said, and then held his hand out across the table, palm up. “But I like it.”

Sirius smiled. “See? You are on the team.” He took Remus’ hand and squeezed gently. "I like being on the same team as you.”

Remus laughed. “Me too, baby.”

After they ordered, Sirius seemed fidgety.

“No, I’m good,” Sirius said when Remus asked. “I just can tell people are recognizing me.”

Remus glanced around. It was true. He could see people leaning across tables, a few phones held sneakily up above plates.

“Come here,” Remus said. “Scoot your chair around so your back is to the room next to me.”

Sirius looked behind him once before scooting his chair over, tugging his silverware and menu with him. He smiled sweetly as he scooched in, and then it felt more like it was just them. A brick wall had been behind Sirius and blocked most of the tables, and their bodies blocked the rest.

“I guess I didn’t really think this through,” Sirius laughed quietly. “I just…I wanted to be out with you.”

Remus smiled and took Sirius’ hand again. “I think with Nate working the floor, we’re pretty good here.”

“Oh, so you can just kiss me, then.”

Remus laughed and leaned forward, giving him a soft kiss. “I think I can.”

“One pineapple ham pizza for the lovebirds who are giving me life,” Nate said, setting it down. “And one pepperoni. You guys enjoy and let me know if you need anything else. Do you want a fudge sundae? I’m going to bring you a fudge sundae.”

Nate gave the back of Sirius’ chair a little tap as he walked away to take another table’s order.

“That is so not in my diet plan, but I deserve a fucking sundae.”

“Yes, you do,” Remus said, and picked up a piece of the pineapple pizza. “And now do your duty.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes at the pizza, but then slowly opened his mouth. Remus felt a little flushed as he folded the pizza a little so he could hold it out towards Sirius.

Sirius chewed slowly, expression entirely unreadable, and then swallowed.

“That was so gross.”

“It’s not,” Remus said, and then took the next bite. “Your tastebuds are broken.”

Sirius just pointedly picked up a piece of pepperoni.

“Jeez, that’s the biggest bite I’ve ever seen,” Remus said.

“Jeez.”

Remus shoved him and Sirius smiled.

“Love you,” he said.

Remus reached out and swiped his thumb over his bottom lip. “Love you.”

~

Remus woke up the next morning to kisses being pressed to his neck. He turned slowly in Sirius’ arms and pressed his nose again his bare chest.

“No alarms,” Sirius whispered, stroking a hand through Remus’ hair. “No practice, no media…”

“Your brother,” Remus mumbled.

Sirius laughed. “I’m trying to be romantic.”

Remus wrapped his leg around Sirius’ hip. “We’ll go this afternoon, we should make sure he’s okay.”

“I love you.”

Remus hummed sleepily and pressed a kissed to Sirius’ neck, and then he was asleep again, too content for anything else.

Sirius just held them together under the covers he remembered half throwing off last night, hot from pulling another orgasm from Remus after dinner. They would both need a shower, but now the sweat had long cooled and Sirius tucked them back in again, lulled to sleep by Remus’ breathing.

~

“Baby,” Remus said from near the toaster, and Sirius looked up from his coffee.

He smiled. “Yes?”

“Will you call my family with me?”

Sirius’ eyes widened in surprise. “You mean you haven’t…”

Remus, looking guilty, shook his head. “Not really. I…I thought I might lose you, and I didn’t want to…if I was going to come out to them, I wanted to know where I’d be. I didn’t want to be in limbo, I guess. I’ve been sure of myself for a really long time. I wanted to take the time to feel that way again, with or without you. And…” Remus smiled, glowing. “Yeah, here we are.”

Sirius kicked at the stool beside him, grinning. “Jules, too?”

Remus laughed. “My mom said he’s going crazy. I know that much.”

Remus picked up his phone and pulled up his mom’s contact, hitting the button for FaceTime.

Julian’s face filled up the entire screen, more nose and great, hazel eyes than anything else, shouting into the speakers. “Remus, Remus, Remus…”

“Hi, Jules,” Remus laughed.

“It’s been so long forever,” Julian said. “Remus, I saw—”

“Remus, sweetheart?” his mother’s voice came, and the phone was promptly pushed backwards to reveal Hope and Lyall, too. They looked out of breath, as if they had run at the sound of Julian chanting his brother’s name.

“Hi, guys.”

“Oh, hi, baby, hi,” Hope pressed her hand to her neck, grinning. “Oh, it’s so good to see your face.”

“We’re very happy you called,” Lyall said. “Very, very happy, Re.”

“Me, too. I’m sorry it took so long, I just…” Remus said, and was suddenly nervous in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. He cleared his throat. “Hey, I’ve got someone here with me, too.”

Remus glanced at Sirius who bit his lip as he leaned into frame with an awkward wave. “Hi—”

“Sirius,” Julian shrieked. “Sirius, you were kissing my brother.”

Remus’ heart skipped. He couldn’t tell. Julian’s face was pure awe, but that didn’t mean it was good or bad.

“Oh, Julian, that’s very rude,” Hope scolded. “We don’t know what you’re talking about, that is not something we know about, but I’m sure your brother has something he would like to tell us that’s very exciting news, and that he should have been able to tell us himself.”

Remus loved his mother more than anything. She managed to sound pissed about the pictures and elated for Remus at the same time. She was kind, loving, giving Remus as much of a chance to tell them himself as she could.

“Sorry, mama,” Julian said, but then broke into a grin that changed Remus’ entire world.

“Sirius can you be Remus’ boyfriend? Please?”

“Jules,” his mother said.

Remus felt tears stick in his throat.

“Sirius, it’s very good to see you again,” Lyall said, patting Julian’s head, as if he saw Sirius Black sitting in his son’s apartment every day.

“It’s good to see you, too, Mr. Lupin,” Sirius laughed, and Remus felt him glance at him. He reached out and took Sirius’ hand, lacing them on his thigh. It was out of frame, but Remus swore his mother caught it.

“So, this is… not exactly what I had planned,” Remus began. “But—”

“You’re in love with Sirius Black,” Julian burst out, and then clapped his hands over his mouth, looking at his mother.

“Julian Lupin.”

Remus shook his head. “It’s okay, mom.” He looked at Sirius, hair still mussed from sleep, tapping one finger against Remus’ knuckles. “Jules’ is right.”

Sirius’ eyes flickered over his face, smile growing slowly, then back at the camera. “And I’m in love with Remus Lupin, Jules, don’t forget that part.”

“Oh my god,” Julian was practically smushing his own cheeks. “Everyone at school was like, so crazy. Asking me questions. I’m famous. And some people were mean, and I was like, I don’t like you anymore. And mom said it was rude to talk about so I stopped because Remus hadn’t talked to us yet. But now do I get to say it?”

Remus looked at Sirius, who shrugged.

“It’s all I want to talk about to my friends, too,” he said, and Remus laughed.

“We’re so happy for you both,” Lyall said. “And Remus, I…”

Remus watched his father swallow over emotion.

“I’m very proud of you. Your mother and me both. Hell, I’m proud of both of you,” his father laughed wetly, waving his hands like he couldn’t believe he was crying. “That All-Star game, for fuck’s sake, it couldn’t have been easy.”

“Dad,” Julian said.

“Bad word, I know, I know, sorry, J.”

“It wasn’t,” Sirius said. “But it was worth it for where I am now.”

“C’est bien,” Lyall sent a thumbs up, and Sirius laughed.

“Oui, monsieur.”

“Sirius, I hope we will be seeing you soon, sweetheart,” Remus’ mother said. “I wish we could get off for Remus’ birthday but we’ll just have to celebrate at the,” she dropped her voice, “playoffs.”

Sirius, Julian, and Remus’ parents knocked on wood. Remus was going to cry. He rolled his eyes when Sirius took his knuckles for him and knocked on the seat of his chair.

“I hope Remus’ little apartment can fit all of us. That is, of course, if he’s still living there.”

Remus burst out laughing, covering his eyes with his hand. “Mom.”

Sirius laughed, too, wrapping an arm around Remus’ waist, more obviously this time. “I’m sure at my house we’ll all be very comfortable.”

Remus looked at him. They hadn’t talked about it, but the idea of driving to the rink every morning and home every night with Sirius, of making meals together, relaxing on the weekends…

“I’m sure we will,” Remus said softly, and very nearly kissed Sirius right there in front of his family. Which was definitely something he could do now, he realized.

“Well, we’ll let you go,” Remus’ mother said—knowing, as usual. “Call us soon, okay?”

“Please,” Julian said.

“I will, Jules,” Remus said. “Promise.”

The screen went blank just as Julian’s frame started to blur as he jumped around the living room. Remus sat for a moment, put his phone down flat on the counter slowly, and let out a long breath.

“Jeez,” Remus said. “Fuck.”

Sirius hauled Remus into his lap and Remus let all of his happiness and relief spill out between them. He laughed, maybe half cried, as they kissed, and it made Sirius’ eyes become bright, too. He rubbed his hands up and down Remus’ back, palms familiar and warm.

“C’est bien,” Sirius’ voice was raspy.

Remus nodded, laughing again and pressing kisses along Sirius’ cheek. “Yes, yes, yes.”

~

They entered Sirius’ kitchen quietly, Remus carrying an overnight bag—just in case.

“He used to be able to sleep for literal hours into the day,” Sirius had said in the car. “He could be asleep still.”

“We have time,” Remus said, and pulled Sirius’ hand into his. “I have an idea.”

“What?”

Remus kissed him, and then hiked his bag further up his shoulder and pulled him in the direction of the basement. “Come on.”

Sirius flicked the lights on, but even before that, the artificial ice seemed to glow in the dark of Sirius’ basement.

Remus sat down in one of the rink side leather chairs and unzipped his bag.

“When did you sneak those in there?” Sirius laughed as Remus pulled one of his skates out.

“When you were making coffee,” Remus smiled and took his shoes off. “Come on, get busy, Captain.”

They laced their skates beside each other, something that sent a strange mixture of emotions through Remus. He could remember what it felt like to do this every morning beside teammates. Then, he had watched the Lions doing it over and over. It had taken him a while to even think about putting skates on again. And now, here he was, without the secret that had kept him away, and about to skate with Sirius. His Sirius.

“I only keep my sticks here,” Sirius said as he took a few from the rack. “So, you’ll have to do with a little flexibility.”

Remus laughed and took it, along with the spare pair of gloves. “I think I can manage.”

The ice felt different, but it certainly did the trick and they glided around each other for a few moments, passing a puck back and forth in light strokes. The feeling sent a breath wavering out of Remus. The familiar magnetism of hockey, of Sirius. Remus held the puck back on Sirius’ next pass, and skated backwards a few strides, looking at him.

Sirius’ face lit up. “Oh yeah?” he pushed forward once, twice, shoulders shifting in the way they did on the ice, showing his full hight. He was a looming obstacle between Remus and the net, and Remus felt his heart jump.

He clicked the puck back and forth on his blade a few times.

“Yeah,” he said, and the took off.

Remus got right up to Sirius’ waiting stick and then twisted, spinning outward around him only to be cut off as he did, Sirius stealing the puck from between his legs.

“Oops,” Sirius laughed and took off towards the other end.

Remus grinned and stayed tight on his heels. It took a minute, but he managed to nudge Sirius enough into the side of the rink to grab the puck again. Sirius reached after it.

“Slash, slash!” Remus called. “That’s a fucking penalty.”

“I didn’t!” Sirius dug his blades in and skirted around the goal to get in Remus’ path. Remus laughed, but pulled up short, making Sirius have to stop hard, and right in front of him. He was breathing hard, eyes bright and pale.

“There’s no way I’m taking a shot with an unpadded Sirius Black standing right there,” Remus panted. “I’d get fired immediately. But you should know that it would have gone in.”

Sirius grinned, leaning on his stick with his gloves resting on top of it. He rested his chin on his gloves. “I know it would have.”

Remus knocked the puck so that it bounced against his skate. “Wanna run drills?”

Sirius groaned. “Of course you would like doing drills.”

“I love drills.”

Sirius let his stick clatter to the ground and pressed his gloves to either side of Remus’ face. “I love you,” he said before kissing him soundly.

Remus’ stick followed, wrapping his arms around Sirius’ waist and kissing him back, right there in front of the goal. It felt almost like being on center ice, kissing in Hogwarts stadium.

“I love you on skates,” Sirius mumbled. “You’re so fucking beautiful on skates.”

Remus made a face and Sirius kissed it away. Remus let him for a moment before pulling back with a laugh.

“I think we should go make some lunch. Maybe Regulus will be awake and just not know we’re here.”

“You mean you want to make my baby brother lunch?”

“Maybe I just want to have lunch with the Black brothers.”

“Yeah,” called a voice from up the stairs, making both Sirius and Remus jump. “This is cute, but I’m starving.”

Sirius laughed and Remus hid his face in Sirius’ neck. “Okay, Reg, we’re coming.”

They unlaced quickly and walked upstairs in their socks, Sirius in the lead. As they reached the light of Sirius’ main floor, Remus was suddenly nervous. All he knew about Regulus was that he was a younger version of Sirius, but with none of the support system. He had been seeped in the Snakes, and who knows what had happened after Sirius left home. On camera, the only way Remus had seen him, he was closely watched and fiery with deflection. Remus, frankly, didn’t know what to expect.

They walked into the kitchen to find Regulus sitting there in sweatpants and a ratty Snakes t-shirt. He watched them enter with familiar eyes, but an unfamiliar amused expression. He seemed a little lighter than the boy Remus had seen on TV.

“Hi Regulus,” Remus said. “I’m Remus. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ve heard great things.”

Sirius rolled his eyes as he opened the refrigerator and started taking out things for sandwiches. “Reg.”

Regulus flipped his phone around in his hands a few times before slouching against the kitchen counter. His gray eyes flicked up to Remus’ briefly. “You, too.”

“Do you like turkey sandwiches?”

“Re makes them with cranberry sauce,” Sirius added. “It’s really good.”

“Oh,” Regulus nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”

The kitchen lapsed into silence then as Regulus watched Sirius and Remus assemble sandwiches and talk softly together. After a few minutes, he laughed.

“What?” Sirius said as he spread mustard on a toasted piece of bread.

“Nothing,” Regulus said after a moment. “It’s just…well, one, I’ve never seen you in a kitchen.”

Remus snorted. “Me neither.”

“And two…” Regulus hesitated again. “I don’t know, you just…” he glanced at Remus. “Have a life here.”

Remus watched Sirius’ head jerked up. “What?”

“Not like,” Regulus shrugged. “I just mean it’s different.”

“I…” Sirius swallowed. “Yeah, I…”

“It’s because of you.”

Remus looked up when he realized Regulus was talking to him. “Oh.”

“Yes,” Sirius cut in. “But it’s also because I’ve been talking to someone.”

“You can say the word therapist in front of me.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think I couldn’t.”

Regulus went quiet again and looked down at the sandwich Sirius slid over to him. “I know.”

“Hey,” Remus looked at Sirius. “I can go.”

“No,” Regulus said. “Sorry. Thanks for the sandwich.”

“Reg, you don’t have to apologize for thinking this all is…insane. You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

Regulus looked at his brother. “Like that. That’s new.”

Remus looked between them, at Sirius taking a steady breath.

Sirius nodded. “I know. It’s…it’s new for me, too. All we used to do is apologize, non?”

Regulus took a bite of his sandwich and chewed slowly. He looked at Remus. “Is it true what Fenrir said? About you?”

Remus blinked.

“I overheard,” Regulus said. “People tend to overlook me when Sirius is around.” He smiled, but it was small. “I don’t think anyone else caught it, if you’re worried.”

“Yes,” Remus said softly. “It’s true.”

Regulus nodded. “I guess it’s not just my team that’s got bastards, then.”

Remus shook his head. “Guess not.”

Regulus looked at Sirius. “But your team seems to be bastard free.”

It was Sirius’ turn to smile a small smile. “Guess so.”

Regulus took another bite, swallowed, and looked determinedly between them.

“How do I get on it?”

~

On the first day back, Minnie was waiting for them in the Hogwarts lobby, phone in her hand until she seemed to sense them and looked up. Regulus was gazing around the room, at how his brother bumped fists with the security guards.

“Sirius,” she said. “Regulus. Mr. Lupin.”

“Just Remus.”

She smiled. “Of course. How are we all?”

“Good,” Sirius said quickly, and then beamed at Remus. Remus was going to melt.

Minnie looked at Regulus. “And you? Any regrets, better tell me now.”

“No regrets,” Regulus said. “Except staying so long.”

“Alright, then,” Minnie said. “Let’s go have a chat. You two, see you later.”

Regulus gave a little salute and followed Minnie towards the elevators. Remus looked at Sirius waving back, and then took two steps away before Sirius stopped, making Remus stop, too.

“Fuck, just…” Sirius touched Remus’ hand. “Just a second. Reg!”

Regulus turned, eyebrow arched. He was so similar to Sirius, and so different. Remus couldn’t imagine anyone making this kid do anything he didn’t want to.

“Are you…veux-tu que je vienne avec toi?”

Do you want me to come with you? Remus translated.

A funny look crossed Regulus’ face, and he just looked at his brother. He looked small in the vast lobby.

“It’s okay,” Regulus said finally. “I’ll tell you about it after. I promise.”

Sirius hesitated, but nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay. Yeah, I…”

“It’s okay,” Regulus repeated softly. “I’ve got Minnie.”

Minnie’s face softened at that, more so than Remus had seen it yet.

“Go to practice,” Regulus nodded, walked backwards to catch up with Minnie. “See you after.”

Sirius only turned around after they disappeared into the elevator, heading up into the office space above the rink. Remus took his hand, half relishing in the fact that he could, and half focused on comforting.

“He’ll be okay. You’re a good brother.”

Sirius sighed. “I know. I just…I don’t know what he went through. It’s strange thinking Minnie will know before I will.”

“Well…” Remus took a breath. “It might be easier for him to tell her than you. Like it’s easier for you to tell Heather stuff than me sometimes, right? It was easier for me to tell the therapist I saw about my shoulder than to tell the team. It’s like a step? You know?”

Sirius’ smile was slow, and he unlaced their hands just to wrap one arm around Remus’ shoulder. “I love you and your smart as hell.”

Remus laughed as Sirius swiped them through the player’s door. “I know.”

They could hear the locker room as they approached, the music blasting. Like it was just another day.

Sirius leant down for a kiss right in the hallway outside the locker room, before Remus had to split off towards his office.

“I guess I’ll meet you in there,” Remus said, a palm on Sirius’ chest.

“Guess so,” Sirius said. “Get ready for chaos.”

Sirius smiled—probably a little ridiculously—and watched Remus go, looking over his shoulder once before he walked into his office.

The world was new.

“Me and my fucking girlfriend jokes, eh?”

Sirius jumped and turned to see James walking towards him from the other end of the hall. He had his familiar green Northface jacket zipped up and a black Lions beanie pulled down over his ears against the cold, having just arrived.

Sirius’ heart pulled, remembering James standing outside his door for hours the night they returned from Florida, probably freezing and knocking, knocking, knocking—

“James…” Sirius began. “I’m—”

“Don’t apologize to me,” James said, and took two more strides to pull Sirius into a hard hug.

Sirius blinked over his shoulder for a moment, feeling James’ weight against him, and then wrapped his arms tightly around his back.

“I’m sorry I did that to you,” James said softly in Sirius’ ear. “I’m sorry you felt like you had to play along, fuck, I feel so horrible.”

“No,” Sirius said, surprised. He clutched James to him. “No, Pots, you didn’t—”

“Still,” James pulled away, his hazel eyes brimmed. “I’m—You’re my best friend. No matter what. I’m fucking happy as hell for you and Loops, Jesus fucking Christ, I’m so happy.”

Sirius let out a laugh, but they were both sort of crying.

“I should have let you in that night.”

James laughed too, wiping his eyes beneath his glasses. “My knuckles fucking hurt, man.”

They were hugging again when the locker room door opened and they heard a gasp.

“What the hell?” Thomas’ voice said. “This is not suppose to be happening in the hallway, we want to be part of the love, come on inside!”

Sirius groaned and wiped his sweatshirt sleeve over his eyes before Thomas pulled him under his arm. He was half-dressed in his hockey shorts and warm against Sirius’ side.

“Captain, you scored one beauty of a man, okay? Like, damn, Lupin? Damn.” He stopped, releasing Sirius and turned more serious—at least for himself. “I’m psyched for you guys. After everything that happened…if you need anything, okay? Me. I’m here.”

“Thanks, Talkie,” Sirius said. “Means a lot.”

“In bigger news,” Thomas said, and ran over to slap Logan’s ass. “I’m dating your sister Tremz.”

Thomas let out a long whoop, both fists in the air. Logan stared at him.

“Quoi?”

Finn cracked up and Logan slugged him in the arm. Finn pulled him in for a kiss.

“Ooh,” Thomas said. “So much love. I gotta play some love music, what’re we feeling, boys?”

A hand on Sirius’ arm distracted him from the scene as he was about to turn towards his stall, and he looked up to find Kuny standing there.

“Hey, Kuny,” Sirius said, a little unnerved by his expression. It was—almost nervous.

Evgeni pressed his hands around one of Sirius’. “Cap.”

Sirius glanced at Sergei, who was standing a little bit behind him, but clearly watching them.

“I…This is hard thing for me. Hard thing, and hard for me to say,” he glanced at Sergei, who nodded encouragingly.

“It’s okay, Zhenya,” Sergei said, using Evgeni’s Russian nickname.

Evgeni took a breath, and looked back at Sirius. “I’m want support you. I’m want. I just—can’t say to reporters sometimes.” Evgeni swallowed hard, looking pained. “Can’t support if I’m want to go home, see parents ever again, see family, play for Olympics. So sorry, Cap. Not mean anything. Best Captain. Best friend. Love Loops, too. Cap, I’m sorry, so sorry—”

“Kun,” Sirius shook his head, clapping his hand over both of Evgeni’s. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I understand, okay? Really. If anyone can understand wanting one thing and having to do another, it’s me. Don’t be sorry. I know you.” He gave his hands a squeeze, then pressed them to his broad shoulders, giving him a shake. "I know you, alright?”

“Nado say you understand,” Evgeni said with a sigh. He smiled. “Sergei, too. I’m still…is hard. Have to be careful. Stupid thing, to have to hide. Hope I’m can support soon. Glad you’re…open? Not right word? You know, glad you’re open now. Open for pass.”

Sergei chuckled from beside him. “He means free.”

Sirius laughed, too. “Me too, Kunz.”

Sirius dropped his bag in his stall and managed to shuck off his sweatshirt before a shadow fell over him and he looked up to meet Pascal’s eyes.

“I hear your little brother is in town,” Pascal said, arms crossed over his bare chest. “That is very interesting.”

“Lots of life’s been interesting lately,” Sirius huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, he’s…we’re figuring it out.”

“Lots of life is being figured out lately, too.”

“Oui,” Sirius said. “Dumo, listen—”

“No, you listen,” Pascal said. “I believe I will have a free basement soon,” Pascal glanced at Logan, who was watching something on Leo’s phone. “Just an offer.”

Sirius felt a familiar warm feeling in his chest that seemed to always come with Dumo. “You sure you want another Black brother in your house? We don’t do laundry, remember. Or cook.”

Pascal laughed, too, but pressed a palm to Sirius’ cheek. “I will always want you in my house. I feel the same about your brother. I am sure of it. Plus, you babysit, non?”

“Dumo…”

“Don’t cry,” Pascal said firmly, and pulled Sirius into a hug. “I will cry.”

Sirius laughed, throat tight for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Pascal gave him a few slaps on the back and pulled back with a kiss to his cheek. “Allez, mon fils. We have practice. Oh, good, there is the man of the hour.”

Remus walked into the locker room with Moody laughing, only to be tackled by Thomas a moment later.

“Loops, listen to my love playlist,” Sirius faintly heard him say.

“I thought I was the man of the hour,” Sirius said.

Pascal laughed. “You are always the man of the hour, give the rest of us a chance.”

Finn sauntered up to Remus, pushing his phone at him. “Your cute ass Sid’s date is all over instagram. You’re like America’s new power couple.”

Sirius watched Remus laugh and roll his eyes. “Well, I think that’s an improvement from the last time we were splashed across social media.”

“True.”

“Okay,” Coach called as he walked into the locker room, looking around at them all. “I don’t know how many couples are in this room anymore, but if any of you bring disagreements or drama onto the ice, you’re benched.” He walked over to the whiteboard and uncapped a marker. “That’s all I have to say about that, the rest is your business.” Coach gave a thumbs up, a little smile sneaking onto his face, and then flicked on the projector. “So. Let’s take a look at what we’ll be up against in Vegas tomorrow.”

~

Vegas was a million worlds crammed into one place, but Remus only cared about one. That world was Sirius, kissing him while they waited for the plane to reach its gate. Holding his hand while they shuffled sleepily onto the bus. Following him to his room once they got to the hotel, some of the other boys waving goodnight to them without a moment’s thought.

“I have to set my alarm early,” Remus said once they were getting ready for bed. “Are you sure you don’t want your own room? I know morning skate is optional tomorrow. You could sleep in.”

Sirius scoffed, tugging his clothes off haphazardly, then walking back into the bathroom to spit out his toothpaste and rinse—butt naked.

Remus really loved this new world.

“I am never sleeping alone again,” Sirius poked his head back out, the edges of his hair damp from the sink. “Unless you want to.”

Remus shook his head, and Sirius grinned. He walked back over to his suitcase and retrieved his pajama bottoms, tugging them on and then flopping down onto the bed on his stomach. Remus laughed and knelt on the bed beside him, throwing a leg over his hips.

“Want a massage?”

Sirius groaned happily. “Are you kidding? Yes.”

“Perks of dating your PT, I guess,” Remus said as he began to knead the muscles of Sirius’ shoulders. He ran his hands appreciatively over the vast expanse of Sirius’ back. “Or maybe for me, perks of dating a professional hockey player.”

Sirius just groaned into his folded arms.

“Anywhere particular?” Remus said.

“No, just you,” Sirius sighed.

Remus looked at the way his eyelashes were fanned out over his cheek, dark and thick, and leaned down to press a kiss between his the strong bunch of muscle where his shoulders met his spine. He felt Sirius’s back rise as he breathed in steadily, and then fall. It was rhythmic, and Remus pressed another kiss along his spine, and then another. He worked out the tenser muscles in Sirius’ shoulders and then moved down to his lower back, just above the swell of his ass.

Remus noticed Sirius’ hips beginning to minutely rock down against the bed just moments before Sirius reached back silently and pulled away his pajama bottoms until they were framing his ass, no doubt freeing his cock, too. He gasped, cheek against his forearm and eyes closed.

“Fuck baby…” Remus said softly, cock filling at the sight. He ran his hands over the meat of Sirius’ ass, bare now. Sirius’ lips parted and Remus leaned forward to kiss his neck and cheek, sloppily reaching his panting mouth. “Fuck, do you want to? You have a game tomorrow…”

“I want to,” Sirius opened his eyes, pupils blown. “I want to, we’ll go slow.”

Remus pressed his clothed, slowly filling cock against Sirius’ ass and Sirius moaned. “Yeah, please.”

Remus reached for his toiletries, still thankfully sitting beside them on the bed from unpacking, for the lube. He backed up, spreading Sirius’ thighs until Sirius got his knees under him and Remus could sit between them. He tugged Sirius’ pajama bottoms away, ruined and wet from his dripping cock.

“Jesus, you’re gonna ruin the fucking bedsheets, look at you,” Remus groaned and swiped a dry thumb over Sirius’ entrance before uncapping the lube. His own cock was tenting his underwear, the head pushing up against the elastic waistband. He gave himself a quick squeeze before focusing back on Sirius, slipping a finger inside of him.

He opened up Sirius slowly until Sirius was moaning with it, muffled by a pillow, and Remus had to pull his cock out, eyes closing with how turned on he was. He was hot in his own hand, and the tip pressed in easily, rendering Sirius silent.

“Re, Re, Re…” Sirius panted as Remus pushed inside of him. “Huh, fuck…”

“Shh, baby,” Remus grinned and smoothed his hands over Sirius’ hips before pulling back out. When he fucked in, he curled around Sirius as much as he could, eyes shut and breathing him in. “Nice and slow, right?”

Remus fucked Sirius like that, holding him close, telling him he loved him over and over until Sirius cried out and came with Remus’ fist around him. Remus kept his thrusts slow, fucking him through it, agonizing in Sirius’ walls pulsing around him, dragging against him. Remus let his mouth drop open, tasting Sirius’ sweaty skin as he finally came, orgasm rippling through him for a long time. Sirius was pliant beneath him, breathing hard. Remus stroked his cock, drawing shivers from him, until they collapsed together.

Sirius let out a breathless laugh when they finally stilled. “I think we forgot to be quiet.”

Remus smiled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder between breaths. His heart was pounding in the best way. “Oops.”

Sirius let out another noise as Remus pulled out carefully and cleaned them up.

“Well, now I’m tired,” Remus sighed as Sirius flicked off the light and pulled Remus against his chest.

Sirius hummed, yanking the tightly-made bed out of its tuck, and over them.

“Re,” Sirius said into the dark after a few moments.

“Hm?”

“Are you going to be okay tomorrow? I know you’re okay every other time, but…”

“But this feels different,” Remus finished, adjusting closer to Sirius. “I’ll be okay, though. He doesn’t have anything on me anymore.”

“Do you want to tell people? About him?”

Remus took a slow breath and felt Sirius’ hand press against his back. “I don’t know yet. I don’t think so. I don’t think I… I don’t think I want him mingled into this moment. Maybe one day but… I can’t prove anything, you know? And I don’t need to. I’m happier than he is, aren’t I?”

Sirius laughed softly. “Yeah, you are.”

“We’ll be okay,” Remus pressed a kiss to Sirius’ jaw.

~

The Vegas visitor’s locker room was buzzing with more nervous tension than usual. Coach was standing around a computer with some of the coaching staff, glasses low on his nose and nodding. The boys were in various state of dress, milling around and going through their routine. Kasey and Leo were bouncing tennis balls to each other off of a wall, Kuny was lying on the ground with his legs scissoring in the air. Sirius and James were in their stalls, talking hurriedly as usual, Sirius drawing a play out on his palm. Finn was standing near the coaches, looking at what they were watching via the projector with his bare arms crossed. Logan had his headphones on and his eyes closed.

“Alright boys,” Coach said, swiping his glasses off of his face and folding them into his shirt pocket. “Getting down to the wire here, okay? Closer and closer to that goal. We’ve been over this tape one hundred times, you know what to look for. I want you all to remember how much this means to you.”

Remus looked around the room. The team had stilled to listen. Some were nodding.

“How hard you’ve worked, what you’ve been through. Let’s not give it up now.”

There was the thumping of stalls.

“Okay?” Coach said. “I thought we could do a little something extra tonight, too. If you don’t want to, okay, but me and Alice talked and I would like to put up as an option that you use some Pride stick tape for this game. We have many people to show our support for tonight. Some who are in this room, and countless who aren’t,” He glanced around the room, and then at Remus. “Well, boys?”

“Hand it over Coach,” Pascal said, flicking his fingers. “Come on.”

“Bitch ass,” Finn nodded. “Dumo, pass me some.”

Remus laughed, and watched a few rolls slowly make their way around the locker room.

“Hello,” Thomas called as he wrapped long pieces around his socks instead of the usual clear sock tape. “Look at me, we’re hype.”

Remus grinned. “Nice one, Talkie.”

He found Sirius next, who was sitting very intently in his stall, meticulously and carefully wrapping the multicolored tape around his blade. He ripped it with his teeth, and then paused to type out a message on his phone.

“Hi,” Remus said, leaning against the side of his stall. “Nice stick.”

Sirius laughed. “Thanks.” He held up his phone. “Just checking on Regulus,” he said, and then tucked his phone behind him. “He’s skating. We’ll talk with Minnie when we get home, see what our plan is.”

“Sounds good to me,” Remus said.

Sirius stood and kissed him with a smile before pulling away to tug his pads on over his head, strapping them around his ribs. Remus loved the way Sirius looked in just his pads. Like some sort of hot Iron Man.

“Tell me if you need anything tonight,” Sirius said smoothing his jersey across his shoulder pads. “Okay?”

“I will,” Remus said. “Don’t worry, alright? Just win. Win for me.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “As if I could do anything else.”

“Alright boys,” Sirius said as they heard the Knights enter their home ice first. The crowd was roaring. “We win this? We’re one step closer to clinched.”

“We’re going for the you-know-what,” Finn shouted.

Thomas let out a long, very high pitched scream, and jumped at the same time Kuny did to bump chests. Remus raised his eyebrows at them, but smiled. It seemed to do the trick, and got the rest of the locker room going.

“That was easy,” Sirius whispered to Remus as he put his helmet on. As he passed into the tunnel, he pressed a kiss to Remus’ cheek. “See you out there.”

Remus laughed and tapped Sirius’ butt on his way out.

Thomas was behind him. “Give me one!”

“Those are exclusive, out you go,” Remus patted his helmet instead.

Thomas proceeded to howl out through the entire tunnel walk, much to the delight of the watching Lions fans at the glass.

“Lupin,” Moody said. “I believe this team of ours is going go high places.”

“Oh yeah?”

Moody smiled a rare smile. “I can feel it. In the leg.”

“I love that leg,” Finn said, touching it softly with his glove. “And these legs,” he turned around and tapped both of Leo’s goalie pads.

“Your distracting me,” Leo said.

“I certainly hope so.”

“Jesus Christ,” Moody said. “Move it along, move it along.”

Remus followed the team through the tunnel with Moody behind him. There were swarms of cameras along the glass, and Remus even caught some of them following him instead of the players. He kept his head down, taking his spot on the bench and busying himself with checking the med kits. The crowd was roaring as the teams joined each other on the ice.

“Just your luck your first game back is so high profile, eh,” Moody grumbled. “We got your back, kid.”

“Thanks,” Remus replied, and took a breath before looking out at the ice. Blizzard was starting tonight, warming up the crease with his blades and turning from side to side on a dime. Remus found Sirius, doing his usual. He smiled at the sight before slowly looking towards the Vegas side of the ice. In his mind, he knew he was unconsciously looking for Fenrir, but what drew his eyes instead couldn’t have been more opposite.

Marc-Andre Fleury, ready and warming up in his goal, had rainbow stick tape wrapped around his large goalie blade. It flashed out against his dark jersey.

“Wow,” Leo said faintly from beside him. He was standing, helmet perched on his head as he readied himself to go out onto the ice. His blue eyes were bright. “That’s…” Remus smiled, placing a hand on Leo’s shoulder pad.

“I’ve looked up to Flower forever, I…” he laughed. “Wow…”

“How are you doing, Knutty?” Remus said. “All this chaos, you were there for me but I haven’t really been there for you.”

Leo shook his head and smiled. “That’s not true. It’s really good. Really, really good. I mean,” Leo stepped onto the ice and spun around for a sip of water, leaning in on the boards. "I don’t think we’re going to be as public as you guys right now, just, well, because of the facts. The three of us are more expendable than Sirius, and after we talked to Alice, she said she wouldn’t put it passed the League to want to…”

“Be homophobic fucks.”

Leo nodded. “Exactly. But, I don’t think we mind. We’ve got our apartment, and so long as no press are around we’ve got the room. We’ve got the team. And we’ve got you and Cap. There’s hope for the future, you know?”

The words reminded Remus of the boy at Sid’s.

“You do. And, maybe without him knowing it, you’ve got Flower.”

Leo laughed, nose scrunching. “Yeah.”

“I wish all these guys were as great as Flower is,” Moody grumbled. “Exhibit A, ten o’clock.”

Remus swallowed. Fenrir was on his radar whenever they played Vegas, but he loomed like a shadow tonight. And with good reason. Sirius knew now. The team knew now.

Logan skated up to the bench and squirted some water into his mouth, eyes on Fenrir. “I’m ready to get dirty.”

“Let me get dirty with you,” James replied from Remus’ right.

Logan raised an eyebrow. “Be my guest, Pots.”

Fenrir was rounding the goal time after time and slamming the pucks in with his signature slap shot. Remus had stopped flinching a long time ago, but he still blinked. He saw Sirius swoop near the center line once, twice, and silently begged him not to cross it. His expression was already murderous.

“Don’t be stupid guys,” Remus said, dragging his eyes away from Fenrir and back to Logan and James. “Really. That won’t fix anything. Just win.”

“Roger that,” James gave him a salute.

Logan stayed back a moment and raised his eyebrow. “I hope you’ve told the captain that.”

“Oh, I have,” Remus smiled a half smile. “Please, Tremz. Just win, don’t get hurt. He’s not afraid to play dirty.”

“If you get hurt,” Leo said in a quiet voice. “There are so many things that I know you like now that I won’t do to you for a month.”

Remus snorted as Logan’s mouth fell open. He caught his mouth guard between his teeth and groaned out Leo’s name around it, chewing dejectedly.

“You heard me,” Leo smiled and skated off to warm up as back up.

Logan looked at Remus. “Fine.”

“Merci,” Remus laughed.

~

“The Vegas lazar shows are always so fucking wild,” Finn grumbled as a knight in a golden cape and no shirt skated around brandishing a sword. “I mean what is going on?”

“It’s the golden knight,” Logan said from in front of him. “Looks like your halloween costume at OKN. What year was that? 2014?”

Finn snorted. “Oh yeah, forgot about that. You’re one to talk though, you fucking slutty Batman.”

“Hey, I looked good.”

“Please let me see slutty Batman,” Leo whispered.

“Oh, I got you, baby,” Finn leaned back to say, and then leaned forward to Logan. “And yeah, you did.”

Remus laughed as the knight finally skated off and they announced the woman singing the national anthem. The conversation made him think of Sirius, soot-streaked in his fireman costume that night. He wondered what he could have done with it. He looked up and caught Sirius’ eye who smiled, as if reading Remus’ mind. He had his necklace in his hand and, as the song finished, where he would have jumped the boards, instead he leaned towards Remus.

“For good luck?”

Remus’ eyes widened. “Really?”

Sirius grinned and pressed a kiss to his lips, then to his necklace, before disappearing over the boards.

Remus definitely heard some jeers from behind the glass, but he heard some cheering, too. Mostly, he smiled stupidly as the lights came back up and the music blasted for game time.

“Keep it together, kid,” Moody chuckled.

“I am, I am,” Remus could see his grinning face on at least one camera, could practically hear Frank and Marlene on the home broadcast freaking out over the kiss. It would be all over twitter no doubt, all over the news. But it was okay now. This was a choice.

Puck drop was Sirius versus Karlsson. Sirius won it easily, kicking forward in fast strides out into the Knight’s zone before passing it off to James. James ducked around Reaves, then Whitecloud, before Olli picked it up in a drop pass, carried it further into the zone and—

“Fucking yes,” Logan thumbed the boards. “Slash, you mother fucks.”

Remus tried to hide a smile as Whitecloud was ushered into the penalty box.

“A minute in,” Finn said as he swung over the boards for the power play. “How’s that for winning, Lupin?”

“It’s a minute in,” Logan said with a shake of his head. “Calm down.”

But Remus agreed. It did feel like they were winning. James caught two goals in the first, and the first intermission was wild with the thought of him getting a hat trick.

In the locker room, sweaty and fresh off an interview with Rita, he stroked the rainbow tape. “Might have to keep this stuff around. Feels a little lucky, eh?”

Remus laughed. “I’d like to see it.”

“Oh, we’re getting you that hat trick,” Sirius knocked James’ helmet on his head as he walked past in just his hockey pants. Remus let himself look this time. Sweat shone across his shoulders.

“I hate that rat bastard,” Kasey said calmly as he wiped down his helmet. “Might kill him. Just might.”

“Love ya, Bliz,” Leo laughed.

The second period was shot off by a tricky goal by Sirius, that got called with interference. It set off a fight, Mark Stone pulling back to aim a punch at Sirius, his elbow catching Olli squarely in the mouth.

“No,” Thomas shouted from the bench. “I don’t believe.”

“Where?” Leo said to himself from beside Remus and Remus shook his head.

“Yeah, that looked fine to me.”

Timmy was on Stone now, being pulled apart by Sirius and Olli, who had blood quickly accumulating down his chin. Remus motioned him in and reached behind him for his med kit. Olli spit before climbing back over the boards.

“How do your teeth feel?” Remus said wryly. “Feel like spitting any out?”

Olli laughed and sat. “No, just caught my lip I think.”

As the refs reviewed the goal, Remus was leaning down to prod at the cut on Olli’s mouth when a sudden slash of ice sounded from in front of him.

“Good to see you, Lupin.”

Remus jolted upright, and Olli stood, too. He came eye to eye with Fenrir, blood dripping down his chin still.

“Wrong fucking bench,” Olli said lowly.

Fenrir just laughed. It raised the hair on Remus’ neck. Fenrir across the ice was one thing. Remus could handle that. But he had never spoken to Remus before. He had never engaged in contact of any kind.

Then, Sirius was there, skating up behind him and shoving him out from in front of Remus.

“Get the fuck away from him,” Sirius all but snarled.

“Oh, come on, we’re old teammates.”

“You’re not my teammate,” Remus said evenly, heart hammering.

Sirius shoved Grayback again, only this time Grayback shoved him back, snapping Sirius’ head back when he wasn’t expecting it.

“No, I guess I’m not you cocksu—”

“Break it up, fellas,” a ref skated between them. “That’s enough, the goal is good, let’s get back to it before I have to call you for delay of game.”

Fenrir jumped the boards to his own bench, and Sirius climbed over towards Remus. Remus wanted to reach out, but he knew that would hardly do either of them any favors.

“We’ll get him for that,” Sirius said as he sat, looking up at Remus. “That’s a slur, we can get him for that.”

“I’m witness,” Coach said. “Yes, we sure as hell can.”

“Fuck,” Leo’s blue eyes were dark. “Fuck, I wish I could fight.”

“No,” Finn and Logan said.

Remus gave Sirius’ shoulder two hard pats, then Leo’s, half trying to calm them, half trying to steady himself.

They were up three nothing. They were winning. Remus had already won. Fenrir was a person, but Remus had an entire fucking world.

He leaned down to check on Olli again, but looked at Sirius. “Love you.”

Sirius’s eyes were warm and determined. “I love you, too.”

“Loops, ow,” Olli complained, and they laughed.

The first part of the third period was a blur. The Knights’ defense seemed to get worse with every five minutes. They were up five nothing, Kasey was going to get a shut out, James got his hat trick and hats flew from the few Lions fans in the stands. Sirius laughed and slammed him into the boards to celebrate. The sight made Remus’ entire chest ache, remembering the first time. Sirius got off the ice and tussled Remus’ hair, too, with his glove, and Remus shoved him away, laughing.

They were winning. He—Fenrir’s dark eyes and snarl—was losing. The Vegas crowd was taunting, singing Kasey’s last name in an eerie, stretched out voice, trying to distract him, at the very least make him lose his shut out. They should have known Kasey better.

With five minutes left in the game, Sirius lined up for another face off against Karlsson. Sirius won it, and jetted forward, his eyes on the puck. James weaved his way across the ice, tapping his stick down, asking for the pass. Sirius saw, deked around Reaves. He had an open lane, a perfectly open lane—

Remus saw him coming like a shape in the night. No where, and then there.

Fenrir slammed into Sirius’ stomach, shouldering him against the boards with a sickening crack.

Remus felt his own chest do the same.

A whistle blew, and it bled into the ringing in Remus’ ears.

Sirius was down. Remus watched him try and push himself up once, twice, and then slump. Remus’ hand flew to his throat, where there was no air.

The bench was a flurry of motion instantly, Logan, Finn, Pascal, swinging themselves onto the ice and shouting at the referees.

James was on Grayback, knocking his helmet off but getting dragged away by a referee. The refs didn’t see Pascal coming, though. Pascal tossed off his gloves, grabbed Grayback by the neck and threw a hard punch to his jaw before anyone could see what was happening. Remus watched without breathing. Pascal pinned him against the boards.

And Sirius wasn’t getting up. Olli and Timmy knelt beside him.

Hits come out of no where. Remus knew that very well. But this hit had come from farther than no where. It had come from the unfathomed.

“Sirius,” Remus heard himself say. Medics ran out onto the ice and rolled Sirius onto his back, and then he was out of view. Remus couldn’t even tell if his eyes were open, couldn’t see what was wrong—

He turned to Arthur. “What is it, what is it—”

“We don’t know yet,” Arthur breathed. He held up his calling card in front of his mouth and spoke quickly to Moody and an assistant coach, out of view from any camera. Remus’ stomach lurched when he suddenly saw Alice there, standing just inside the tunnel with a hand to her chest.

Remus felt Moody’s hand on his back. “All right, kid. It’s okay.”

“He needs—take him back, take him away from the—”

A medic put his hand up and Remus knew that sign. Stretcher. They were calling for a stretcher.

Remus grabbed onto the boards and then Leo was there.

“Loops,” he heard Leo say faintly.

“Can you see anything,” Remus said. “Can you see him?”

“There’s no blood,” Leo said. “I think it’s a rib.”

Rib. Ribs could do any height of damage, or none at all.

The stretcher came flying out of the tunnel, and then Sirius was being ushered right past Remus. Remus pushed passed Coach, trying to get a glimpse. He saw a pale gray eye blinking quickly at the quiet crowd, and then Sirius was gone.

Remus looked out out at the ice, to the players still shouting at each other. James was red in the face behind the arms of a referee, and Pascal was spitting right in Fenrir’s. Thomas was on Karlsson. Fleury had skated back to his bench and was talking in quick French to one of his coaches. Their eyes met briefly before Remus looked at the clock, then back down the tunnel.

Two minutes and ten seconds. That was all that was left in the game.

~

They won. Technically. The locker room was deafening. The only sounds were tape being unwound and bags being unzipped, showers turning on. It felt like time had rewound itself, back to Snape’s hit. James hung back with Remus in the hallway near where Coach was on the phone.

“Sunrise Hospital,” Coach said to them, before continuing to talk.

“Okay,” James said, swiping his hands through his sweaty hair. “Alright, um, we’ll get a cab or—”

Fleury was there suddenly, appearing down the hallway from the direction of the home locker room. He stopped in front of them a little shyly, but held out something—car keys. “You should take my car. You’ll get there faster.” He was still in his full gear, tall in his skates, his kind eyes worried on Remus. “He is horrible. I hate his guts.”

Remus blinked at him, dazed, then nodded.

James took the keys. “Thank you, Fleury.”

It was the second time Remus had felt like he was going to pass out or throw up in a car with James.

“Loops,” James began. He was still mostly in his game dress, sweaty in his under armor and thrown on sweatpants. He still had his contacts in. There was stick tape on one of his shoulders. “It’s—fuck, Remus, I didn’t even see him coming, I…”

“It’s not your fault,” Remus said, and sounded bland even to himself. “You never can see them coming, no one can.”

“I…” James’ phone started ringing. “Fuck, can you get that for me?”

Remus fumbled for it by the gear shift, hoping it would be some news of Sirius. Celeste’s name flashed up at him. Maybe she was looking for news, too. Sirius was like a son to her.

“It’s Celeste.”

“What?” James’ head jerked towards him. “Answer, answer.”

“Celeste?” Remus said. “Hi, it’s Remus.”

“Remus, mon dieu,” Celeste sounded out of breath, and like she was on the road. “Are you on your way to the hospital?”

“Yeah,” Remus swallowed. “Sirius…”

“Lily’s water broke. Tell James to get here as soon as he can.”

“What?” Remus clutched James’ shoulder.

“What, what, what,” James shouted. “What?”

“Lily’s water broke,” Remus gripped tighter.

“Holy fuck,” James passed a hand through his sweaty hair. “Holy fuck, Lils—fuck, tell her I’m on my way. Fuck, I—fuck.”

“He’s coming,” Remus leaned forward against his seatbelt, as if that would make the car go faster. He was torn in two, Lily and Sirius. “Tell Lily.”

“Put me on the phone,” came Lily’s voice in the background. “Put me on the phone.”

Remus gasped in a breath and eyed an upcoming gas station, and then turned to James. “Pots, drop me off here. I’ll call a cab, you have to get to the airport—”

“James?” Lily’s voice came through the phone, and Remus quickly put it on speaker. “James?”

“Hi, Lils,” James said, and put his blinker on, taking a sharp turn into the gas station. “Hi sweetheart, are you okay? You feeling alright?”

“You’re not here and—and—” Lily’s voice was tearful and cut off by a groan.

James pulled the car into park and put a hand over his eyes, taking the phone from Remus. “I know. I know, fuck, I’m sorry, baby, I’m coming as fast as I can, okay? Are you okay?”

“Yes. Is Sirius okay?”

Remus closed his eyes, too, giving himself a second to rest his head back against the car.

“We don’t know anything.”

“It looked so bad, James. Remus?”

“I’m here,” Remus said. “I’m gonna get out and call a cab though so James can get to you, okay?”

“This hurts like a fucking bitch.”

Remus, despite everything, smiled a little. “You got this, Lils.”

“I guess we’ll just wish each other luck, huh?” Lily said faintly. “My boy will come to me, you go to yours.”

Remus swallowed and clicked open the passenger side door. “Yes. Good luck, Lils.”

James pulled him in for a quick one-armed hug. “Love you. Tell Cap that I…”

“He knows,” Remus said, jumping down to the hot smelling cement, even at this late hour. “I’ll keep you updated. You better do the same.”

James nodded, hazel eyes bright. “I will.”

Remus closed the door.

He stood there for a moment, watching James’ taillights disappear and mingle into the traffic.

A bell rang somewhere above him as he went inside, welcomed by the stale smell of chips and burnt coffee. The salesman gave him a phone number for a cab service, and Remus recited the address of the hospital on autopilot. His stomach rolled. Lily. Sirius. Fenrir. The postgame was still playing on the radio.

As Remus stood there, helpless in a gas station parking lot, a very old urge came flooding back. Calf stretches before thigh. Two bottles of water on the bench. Right foot first to step onto the ice. Pasta and marinara before home games, chicken and broccoli before away. Eggs morning of, pancakes after a win. Drag the puck around the goal crease twelve times. Calf stretches before thigh, two bottles of water on the bench, right foot first to step onto the ice, pasta and marinara home, chicken and broccoli away, eggs morning of, pancakes after a win, goal crease, calf, thigh, two bottles, right foot first, pasta, chicken, eggs, win, goal, do it right, win, goal, do something—

Remus sat down hard on the curb and put his head in his hands. He tired to remind himself that those were not the things that got him where he was today. But hockey was like that. Half control. Half commitment and work. And half chance.

Half sheer dumb luck.